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War and Peace 



BY LEO TOLSTOY 



Translated b\ LOUISE and AYLMER MAUDE 




WILLIAM BENTON, Publisher 



ENCYCLOPEDIA BR1TANNICA, INC. 



CHICAGO - LONDON - TORONTO 



BY ARRANGEMENT WITH OXFORD UNIVERSITY PRESS 



COPYRIGHT IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA, 1952, 
BY ENCYCLOPEDIA BRITANNICA,INC. 

COPYRIGHT 1952. COPYRIGHT UNDER INTERNATIONAL COPYRIG^ 
ENCYCLOP *:DIA BRITANNICA, INC. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED UNDER 
COPYRIGHT CONVENTIONS BY ENCYCLOPEDIA BRITANJ^ 



BIOGRAPHICAL NOTE 
LEO TOLSTOY, 18281910 



COUNT LEO NIKOLAYEVICH TOLSTOY was born 
August 28, 1828, at the family estate of Yasna- 
ya Polyana, in the province of Tula. His moth- 
er died when he was three and his father six 
years later. Placed in the care of his aunts, he 
passed many of his early years at Kazan, where, 
in 1844, after a preliminary training by French 
tutors, he entered the university. He cared lit- 
tle for the university and in 1847 withdrew be- 
cause of "ill-health and domestic circum- 
stances." He had, however, done a great deal 
of reading, of French, English, and Russian 
novels, the New Testament, Voltaire, and 
Hegel. The author exercising the greatest in- 
fluence upon him at this time was Rousseau; 
he read his complete works and for sometime 
wore about his neck a medallion of Rousseau. 

Immediately upon leaving the university, 
Tolstoy returned to his estate and, perhaps inr 
spired by his enthusiasm for Rousseau, pre- 
pared to devote himself to agriculture and to 
improving the condition of his serfs. His first 
attempt at social reform proved disappointing, 
and after six months he withdrew to Moscow 
and St. Petersburg, where he gave himself over 
to the irregular life characteristic of his class 
and time. In 1851, determined to "escape my 
debts and, more than anything else, my hab- 
its," he enlisted in the Army as a gentleman- 
volunteer, and went to the Caucasus. While at 
Tiflis, preparing for his examinations as a 
cadet, he wrote the first portion of the trilogy, 
Childhood, Boyhood, and Youth, in which he 
celebrated the happiness of "being with Na- 
ture, seeing her, communing with her." He al- 
so began The Cossacks with the intention of 
showing that culture is the enemy of happi- 
ness. Although continuing his army life, he 
gradually came to realize that "a military ca- 
reer is not for me, and the sooner I get out of 
it and devote myself entirely to literature the 
better." His Sevastopol Sketches (1855) were 
so successful that Czar Nicholas issued special 
orders that he should be removed from a post 
of danger. 

Returning to St. Petersburg, Tolstoy was re- 
ceived with great favor in both the official and 
literary circles of the capital. He soon became 



interested in the popular progressive move- 
ment of the time, and in 1857 he decided to go 
abroad and study the educational and munici- 
pal systems of other countries. That year, and 
again in 1860, he traveled in Europe. At Yas- 
naya Polyana in 1861 he liberated his serfs and 
opened a school, established on the principle 
that "everything which savours of compulsion 
is harmful." He started a magazine to promote 
his notions on education and at the same time 
served as an official arbitrator for grievances 
between the nobles and the recently emanci- 
pated serfs. By the end of 1863 he was so ex- 
hausted that he discontinued his activities and 
retired to the steppes to drink koumis for his 
health. 

Tolstoy had been contemplating marriage 
for some time, and in 1862 he married Sophie 
Behrs, sixteen years his junior, and the daugh- 
ter of a fashionable Moscow doctor. Their 
early married life at Yasnaya Polyana was 
tranquil. Family cares occupied the Countess, 
and in the course of her life she bore thirteen 
children, nine of whom survived infancy. Yet 
she also acted as a copyist for her husband, 
who after their marriage turned again to writ- 
ing. He was soon at work upon "a novel of 
the i8io's and *2o's" which absorbed all his 
time and effort. He went frequently to Mos- 
cow, "studying letters, diaries, and traditions" 
and "accumulated a whole library" of histori- 
cal material on the period. He interviewed 
survivors of the battles of that time and trav- 
eled to Borodino to draw up a map of the 
battleground. Finally, in 1869, after his work 
had undergone several changes in conception 
and he had "spent five years of uninterrupted 
andjgxceptionally strenuous labor Tnnierthe 
IbesfcondUtions of life/' he published War and 
Peace. Its appearance immediately established 
Tolstoy's reputation, and in the judgment of 
Turgenev, the acknowledged dean of Russian 
letters, gave him "first place among all our 
contemporary writers." 

The years immediately following the com- 
pletion of War and Peace were pa**efl in a 
great variety of occupations, none of which 
Tohtoy found satisfying. He tried busying 



VI 



BIOGRAPHICAL NOTE 



himself with the affairs of his estate, under- 
took the learning of Greek to read the ancient 
classics, turned again to education, wrote a 
series of elementary school books, and served 
as school inspector. With much urging from 
his wife and friends, he completed Anna Kare- 
nina, which appeared serially between 1875 
and 1877. Disturbed by what he considered his 
unreflective and prosperous existence, Tolstoy 
became increasingly interested in religion. At 
first he turned to the orthodox faith of the 
people. Unable to find rest there, he began a 
detailed examination of religions, and out of 
his reading, particularly of the Gospels, gradu- 
ally evolved his own personal doctrine. 

Following his conversion, Tolstoy adopted 
a new mode of life. He dressed like a peasant, 
devoted much of his time to manual work, 
learned shoemaking, and followed a vegetari- 
an diet. With the exception of his youngest 
daughter, Alexandra, Tolstoy's family re- 
mained hostile to his teaching. The breach be- 
tween him and his wife grew steadily wider. 
In 1879 he wrote the Kreutzer Sonata in which 
he attacked the normal state of marriage and 
extolled a life of celibacy and chastity. In 1881 
he divided his estate among his heirs and, a 
few years later, despite the opposition of his 
wife, announced that he would forego royal- 
ties on all the works published after his con- 
version. 

Tolstoy made no attempt at first to propa- 
gate his religious teaching, although it attracted 



many followers. After a visit to the Moscow 
slums iri 1881, he became concerned with social 
conditions, and he subsequently aided the suf- 
ferers of the famine by sponsoring two hun- 
dred and fifty relief kitchens. After his meet- 
ing and intimacy with Chertkov, "Tolstoyism" 
began to develop as an organized sect. Tol- 
stoy's writings became almost exclusively pre- 
occupied with religious problems. In addition 
to numerous pamphlets and plays, he wrote 
IV hat is Art? (1896), in which he explained 
his new aesthetic theories, and Hadji-Murad, 
(1904), which became the favorite work of his 
old age. Although his activities were looked 
upon with increasing suspicion by the official 
authorities, Tolstoy escaped official censure 
until 1901, when he was excommunicated by 
the Orthodox Church. His followers were f re- 
quently subjected to persecution, and many 
were either banished or imprisoned. 

Tolstoy's last years were embittered by 
mounting hostility within his own household. 
Although his personal life was ascetic, he felt 
the ambiguity of his position as a preacher of 
poverty living on his great estate. Finally, at 
the age of eighty-two, with the aid of his daugh- 
ter, Alexandra, he fled from home. His health 
broke down a few days later, and he was re- 
moved from the train to the station-master's 
hut at Astopovo, where he died, November 7, 
1910. He was buried at Yasnaya Polyana, in 
the first public funeral to be held in Russia 
without religious rites. 



CONTEXTS 



BIOGRAPHICAL NOTE v 

The Principal Characters in War and Peace 

Arranged in Family Groups xv 

Dates of Principal Historical Events xvi 

BOOK ONE 

1-5. Anna Sche'rer's soiree i 

6-3. Pierre at Prince Andrew's 1 1 

9. Pierre at Anatole Kurdgin's. D61ok- 

hov's bet 15 

10. A name day at the Rost6vs' 18 

11-1*4. Natasha and Boris 20 

15. Anna Mikhdylovna and Bon's go to the 

dying Count Beziikhov's 26 

16. Pierre at his father's house; talks with 

Boris 27 

17. Countess Rost6va and Anna Mikhay- 

lovna 30 

18-19. Dinner at the Rost6vs'. Marya Dmitri- 

cvna 31 

20. S6nyaand Natasha. Nicholassings.The 

Daniel Cooper 35 

21. At Count Bczukhov's. Prince Vasfli and 

Catiche 37 

22-23. Anna Mikhdylovna and Pierre at Count 

Bczukhov's 41 

24. Anna Mikhdylovna and Catiche strug- 

gle for the inlaid portfolio 45 

25. Bald Hills. Prince N. A. Bolkonski. 

Princess Mary's correspondence with 

Julie Kardgina 47 

26-27. Prince Andrew at Bald Hills 51 

28. Prince Andrew leaves to join the army. 

Princess Mary gives him an icon 55 

BOOK TWO 

1-2. Review near Braunau. Zherk6v and 
D61okhov 60 

3. Kutuzov and an Austrian general. ^Le 

malheureux Mack. Zherk6v's fool- 
ery 65 

4. Nicholas and Denisov. Telydnin and 

the missing purse 68 

5. Nicholas in trouble with his fellow of- 

ficers 72 

6-8. Crossing the Enns. Burning the bridge. 

Rost6v's baptism of fire 74 

9. Prince Andrew sent with dispatches to 

the Austrian court. The Minister of 

War 81 



10. Prince ( Andrew and Billbin 83 

1 1. Hippolyte Kuragin and les ndtres 86 

12. Prince Andrew received by the Emper- 

or Francis. Bilibin's story of the Tha- 
bor Bridge 87 

13-14. Prince Andrew returns to Kutuzov. 
Bagrati6n sent to Hollabriinn. 
Napoleon's letter to Murat 89 

15. Prince Andrew reports to Bagrati6n. 

Captain Tiishin. Soldiers at the front. 
D61okhov talks to a French grena- 
dier 94 

16. Prince Andrew surveys the position. 

The first shot 96 

17. Bagration in action. Tiishin's battery. 

Setting Schon Grabern on fire 97 
18-19. Battle scenes. Quarrelsome command- 
ers. Nicholas injured 99 

20. Panic. Timokhirfs counterattack. D6- 

lokhov's insistence. Tiishin's battery. 
Prince Andrew sent to order him to 
retreat 104 

2 1 . Withdrawal of the forces. Nicholas rides 

on a gun carriage. Tiishin called to 
account by Bagrati6n. Prince Andrew 
defends him. Nicholas' depression 

106 

BOOK THREE 

1-2. Prince Vasfli and Pierre. A soiree at 
AnnaPa vlovna's. IMene'sname day. 
Pierre's marriage 1 1 1 

3. Prince Vasili and Anatole visit Prince 

N. A. Bolkonski. Princess Mary's ap- 
pearance 119 

4. Lise, Mademoiselle Bourienne, Mary, 

Anatole, and old Bolkonski 122 

5. Her father's opposition to Mary's 

marrying. She finds Mademoiselle 
Bourienne and Anatole in the con- 
servatory; declines marriage 126 

6. A letter from Nicholas. S6nya and Na- 

tasha 128 

7. Nicholas visits Boris and Berg in camp. 

Nicholas tells of Schon Grabern. His 
encounter with Prince Andrew 131 

8. The Emperor reviews the army. En- 

thusiasm of Nicholas 135 

9. Boris visits Prince Andrew; at Olimitz. 

Prince Dolgoriikov 137 



vn 



V1U 



CONTENTS 



10. Nicholas not in the action at Wischau. 

The Emperor. Nicholas' devotion to 
him 140 

11. Preparations for action. Dolgorukov's 

opinion of Napoleon and of his posi- 
tion. Kutuzov's depression 142 

1 2. The Council of War. Weyrother's plans. 

Kutiizov sleeps. Prince Andrew's re- 
flections 144 

13. Rost6v at the front. Visit of Bagrati6n 

and Dolgonikov. Rost6v sent to rec- 
onnoiter. Napoleon's proclamation 

M7 

14-19. Battle of Austerlitz. Prince Andrew 
badly wounded 150 

BOOK FOUR 

1. Nicholas home on leave 165 

2. Preparations for Club dinner 168 

3. The dinner. Bagration as guest of 

honor 1 7 1 

4. Pierre challenges D61okhov 173 

5. The duel 176 

6. Pierre's separation from Hlene 177 

7. Andrew considered dead 1 79 

8. Lise's confinement. Andrew arrives 180 

9. Death of Lise 182 

10. Denfsov and D61okhov at the Rost6vs' 

83 

11. S6nya declines D61okhov's proposal 

12. logel's ball. Denfsov's mazurka 186 
13-14. Nicholas loses 43,000 rubles to D61ok- 

hov 188 

15. Nicholas at home. Natdsha sings 190 

16. Nicholas tells his father of his losses. 

Denfsov proposes to Natdsha 192 

BOOK FIVE 

1-2. Pierre meets Bazde"ev 194 

3-4. Pierre becomes a Freemason 198 

5. Pierre repulses Prince Vasfli 203 

6. A soiree at Anna Pdvlovna's. Hlene 

takes up Borfs 204 

7. Hippolyte at Anna Pdvlovna's 206 

8. Old Bolk6nski as commander in chief 

of the conscription. Andrew's anx- 
iety. A letter from his father 206 

9. Bilfbin's letter about the campaign. 

The baby convalescent 208 

10. Pierre goes to Kiev and visits his estates. 

Obstacles to the emancipation of his 
serfs 211 

11. Pierre visits Prince Andrew 213 

12. Pierre's and Prince Andrew's talk on 

the ferry raft 216 



13. "God's folk" at Bald Hills 218 

14. Old Bolk6nski and Pierre 220 

15. Nicholas rejoins his regiment. Shortage 

of provisions 221 

16. Denfsov seizes transports of food, gets 

into trouble, is wounded 223 

17-18. Nicholas visits Denfsov in hospital 225 

19. Borfs at Tilsit. Nicholas' inopportune 

visit 228 

20. Nicholas tries to present Denfsov's peti- 

tion at the Emperor's residence, but 
fails 230 

21. Napoleon and Alexander as allies. 

Perplexity of Nicholas. "Another 
bottle" 232 

BOOK SIX 

1-3. Prince Andrew's occupations at Bogu- 
charovo. His drive through the for- 
estthe bare oak. His visit to the Ros- 
t6vs at Otrddnoe. Overhears Natd- 
sha's talk with S6nya. Return through 
the forest the oak in leaf. He de- 
cides to go to Petersburg 235 

4-6. Sperdnski, Arakcheev, and Prince An- 
drew 238 

7-8. Pierre and the Petersburg Freemasons. 
He visits Joseph Alex^evich. Recon- 
ciliation with H^lene 243 
9. H^lene's social success. Her salon and 
relations with Borfs 247 

10. Pierre's diary 248 

11. The Rost6vs in Petersburg. Berg 

engaged to Vera and demands her 
dowry 250 

12. Natdsha and Borfs 251 

13. Natdsha's bedtime talks with her 

mother 252 

14-17. Natdsha's first grand ball. She dances 
with Prince Andrew 254 

18. Bitski calls on Prince Andrew. Dinner 
at Sperdnski's. Prince Andrew's dis- 
illusionment with him and his re- 
forms 260 
49. Prince Andrew calls on the Rost6vs. 
Natdsha's effect on him 262 
20-21. The Bergs' evening party 263 

22. Natdsha consults her mother. Prince 

Andrew confides in Pierre 265 

23. Prince N. Bolk6nski insists on post- 

ponement of his son's marriage. Na- 
tdsha's distress at Prince Andrew's 
absence. He returns and they become 
engaged 267 

24. Prince Andrew's last days with Na- 

tdsha 270 



CONTENTS 



25. Prince N. Bolk6nski's treatment of 

Mary. Her letter to Julie Kirdgina 

271 

26. Prince N. Bolk6nski threatens to marry 

Mile Bourienne 273 

BOOK SEVEN 

1. Nicholas Rost6v returns home on leave. 

His doubts about Natasha's engagement 

275 

2. Nicholas settles accounts with Mftenka 

277 

3. Nicholas decides to go hunting 278 

4. The wolf hunt begins 279 

5. The wolf is taken 281 

6. The fox hunt and the huntsmen's quarrel. 

Ildgin's courtesy. Chasing a hare. Ru- 
gdy's triumph 284 

7. An evening at "Uncle's." The balaldyka. 

Natasha's Russian dance 287 

8. His mother urges Nicholas to marry Julie 

Karagina, and grumbles at S6nya 291 

9. Christmas at Otradnoe. Natasha is de- 

pressed and capricious 292 

10. Nicholas, Natasha, and S6nya indulge in 

recollections. Dimmlcr plays and Nata- 
sha sings. The maskers. A troyka drive to 
the Melyuk6vs' 294 

11. At Melyuk6vka. Sonya goes to the barn to 

try her fortune 298 

12. The drive home. Natasha and S6nya try 

the future with looking glasses 300 

13. His mother opposes Nicholas' wish to 

marry S6nya, and he returns to his regi- 
ment. Natasha becomes restless and im- 
patient for Prince Andrew's return 301 

BOOK EIGHT 

1. Pierre's life in Moscow. Asks himself "What 

for?" and "Why?" 303 

2. Prince N. Bolk6nski in Moscow. His harsh 

treatment of Princess Mary. She teaches 
little Nicholas. The old prince and Mile 
Bourienne 305 

3. Dr. Mdtivier treated as a spy by the old 

prince. The dinner on the prince's name 
day 307 

4. Pierre and Princess Mary discuss Boris and 

Natdsha 309 

5. Boris and Julie. Their melancholy. Boris 

proposes and is accepted 3 1 1 

6. Count IlydRost6v,Natdsha,andS6nyastay 

with Mdrya Dmftrievna in Moscow 313 

7. Count Rost6v and Natdsha call on Prince 

N. Bolk6nski.They are received by Prin- 
cess Mary. Prince Bolk6nski's strange 



ix 

behavior. Mary and Natisha dislike one 
another 314 

8. The Rost6vs at the Opera. Hlne in the 

next box 316 

9. The Opera described. Anatole and Pierre 

arrive. Natdsha makes Hlne's ac- 
quaintance. Duport dances 318 

10. Hdtene presents Anatole to Natdsha. He 

courts her 320 

11. Anatole and D61okhov in Moscow 321 

12. Sunday at Mdrya Dmftrievna's. Hlne 

calls and invites the Rost6vs to hear Mile 
George recite. She tells Natdsha that 
Anatole is in love with her 322 

13. The reception at Hlne's. Mile George. 

Anatole dances with Natdsha and makes 
love to her. Her perplexity as to her 
own feelings 324 

14. Princess Mary's letter to Natdsha, who also 

receives one from Anatole 325 

15. S6nya finds Anatole's letter and remon- 

strates with Natdsha, who writes to Prin- 
cess Mary breaking off her engagement 
with Prince Andrew. A party at the 
Kardgins'. Anatole meets Natdsha. She 
is angry with S6nya, who resolves to pre- 
vent her elopement 327 

16. Anatole at Dolokhov's. Balagd 329 

17. Anatole sets off to abduct Natdsha, but en- 

counters Mdrya Dmftrievna's footman 

332 

18. Mdrya Dmitrievna reproaches Natdsha. 

Count Ilyd Rost6v is kept in ignorance 

333 

19. Pierre at Mdrya Dmftrievna's. He tells Na- 

tdsha that Anatole is married 334 

20. Pierre's explanation with Anatole 336 

21. Natdsha tries to poison herself. Prince An- 

drew returns to Moscow and Pierre talks 
to him 337 

22. Pierre and Natdsha. He tells her of his de- 

votion. The great comet of 1812 339 

BOOK NINE 

1. The year 1812. Rulers and generals are 

"history's slaves" 342 

2. Napoleon crosses the Niemen and sees 

Polish Uhlans drowned swimming the 
Vfliya 344 

3. Alexander I at Vflna. The ball at Count 

Bennigsen's. Borfs overhears the Em- 
peror speaking to Balashev and learns 
that the French have crossed the fron- 
tier. Alexander's letter to Napole6n 346 

4. Balashev's mission to Napoleon, He meets 

Murat, "the King of Naples" 347 



CONTENTS 



5. Balashev taken to Davout, who treats him 

badly, but he is at last presented to Na- 
poleon in Vilna 349 

6. Balashe'v's interview with Napoleon 350 

7. Balashev dines with Napoleon 354 

8. Prince Andrew on Kutiizov's staff in Mol- 

davia. He is sent to Barclay's army. Visits 
Bald Hills. His talks with his father and 
Princess Mary 355 

9. Prince Andrew in the army at Drissa. Eight 

conflicting parties 358 

10. Prince Andrew is introduced to Pfuel 361 

1 1. An informal Council of War. Pfuel's dog- 

matism 363 

it. Nicholas writes to Sdnya. He and Ilyin in 

a storm 365 

13. Mary Hendrfkhovna. The officers and the 

doctor 367 

14. Courage. Rost6v goes into action at Ostr6- 

vna 369 

15. Rost6v's hussars charge the French dra- 

goons. He wounds and captures* a pris- 
oner 370 

16. Natasha's illness. The use of doctors 372 

1 7. Natasha and Pierre. She prepares for com- 

munion with Bel6va. The church serv- 
ice. Her health improves 373 

18. Natasha attends Mass and hears the spe- 

cial prayer for victory 374 

19. Pierre's relation to life altered by his feel- 

ing for Natasha. 666. Napoleon as Anti- 
christ. Pierre's belief that he is destined 
to end Napoleon's power. He gets news 
for the Rost6vs 377 

10. Pierre at the Rost6vs'. Natasha again takes 
up her singing. S6nya reads Alexander's 
manifesto. Pe"tya declares that he will 
enter the army. Natasha realizes that 
Pierre loves her. He decides to cease go- 
ing to the Rostovs' 379 

at. Pe"tya goes to the Kremlin to see the Em- 
peror. He gets crushed. He secures a bis- 
cuit thrown by the Emperor after din- 
ner 382 

22. Assembly of gentry and merchants at the 

Sloboda Palace. A limited discussion. 
Pierre's part in it 384 

23. Count Rostopchfn's remarks. The offer 

made by the Moscow nobility and gen- 
try. The Emperor's speech. Pierre offers 
to supply and maintain a thousand men 

387 

BOOK TEN 

i. Reflections on the campaign of 1812. The 
course of events was fortuitous and un- 
foreseen by either side 389 



2. Prince N. Bolk6nski and his daughter. His 

fcreak with Mile Bourienne. Mary's cor- 
respondence with Julie. The old prince 
receives a letter from Prince Andrew 
but does not grasp its meaning and con- 
fuses the present invasion with the Pol- 
ish campaign of 1807 391 

3. The old prince sends Alpdtych to Smolensk 

with various commissions, and does not 
know where to have his bed placed. He 
remembers Prince Andrew's letter and 
reads and understands it 393 

4. Princess Mary sends a letter to the Gover- 

nor at Smolensk. Alpdtych sets off on 
August 4; reaches Smolensk that eve- 
ning and stays at Ferapontov's inn. Fir- 
ing heard outside the town. Next day he 
does his business, but finds alarm spread- 
ing, and is advised by the Governor that 
the Bolkonskis had better go to Mos- 
cow. The town bombarded. Ferap6ntov's 
cook has her thigh broken by a shell. 
Retreating soldiers loot Ferapontov's 
shop and he declares he will set his 
place on fire himself and not leave it 
to the French. Alpatych meets Prince 
Andrew, who has an encounter with 
Berg 395 

5. Prince Andrew passing Bald Hills with his 

regiment. The retreat: heat and terrible 
dust. He rides over to the house. The 
little girls and the plums. The soldiers 
bathe in a pond. "Cannon fodder." Ba- 
gration's letter to Arakche'ev 399 

6. Matter and form. Anna Pdvlovna's and 

He*lene's rival salons. Prince Vasfli's 
opinion of Kutiizov 403 

7. Napoleon orders an advance on Moscow. 

Napoleon's conversation with Lavrush- 
ka 405 

8. Prince Nicholas Bolkonski has a paralytic 

stroke and is taken to Bogucharovo. 
Princess Mary decides that they must 
move on to Moscow. Her last interview 
with her father. His affection for her. 
His death 406 

9. Character of the Bogucharovo peasantry 

and the baffling undercurrents in the 
life of the Russian people. The village 
Elder, Dron. Alpatych talks to him. The 
peasants decide not to supply horses or 
carts 410 

10. Mile Bourienne advises Princess Mary to 

appeal to the French for protection. 
Princess Mary speaks to Dron 412 

1 1 . Princess Mary addresses the peasants. They 



CONTENTS 



distrust her and refuse to leave Bogucha- 

rovo f 415 

i a. Princess Mary at night recalls her last sight 

of her father 4 1 6 

13. Nicholas and Ilyfn ride to Bogucharovo. 

They are asked by Alpatych to protect 
the princess. Nicholas makes her ac- 
quaintance and places himself at her 
service 417 

14. Nicholas calls the peasants to account and 

intimidates them. Carts and horses are 
provided for Princess Mary's departure. 
Princess Mary feels that she loves him 

419 

15. Prince Andrew goes to headquarters and 

meets Denfsov, who wants guerrilla 
troops to break the French line of 
communication. Kutuzov's reception of 
them. He transacts business 421 

16. The priest's wife offers Kutuzov "bread 

and salt." He has a further talk with 
Prince Andrew, who declines a place on 
the staff. Patience and Time. Prince An- 
drew's confidence in Kutuzov 424 

17. Moscow after the Emperor's visit. Rostop- 

chin's broadsheets. Julie's farewell wi- 
re" c. Forfeits for speaking French. Pierre 
hears of Princess Mary's arrival in Mos- 
cow 426 

18. Rostopchm's broadsheets. Pierre and the 

eldest princess. Leppich's balloon. A 
public flogging. Pierre leaves Moscow 
for the army 428 

19. Senselessness of the battle of Borodin6, 

and erroneousness of the historians' ac- 
counts of it. Where and how it was fought 

43 

20. Pierre encounters cavalry advancing and 

carts of wounded retiring. He talks to 
an army doctor. Pierre looks for the 
"position" occupied by the army. Peas- 
ant militia digging entrenchments 432 

21. Pierre ascends a knoll at G6rki, surveys 

the scene, and inquires as to the "posi- 
tion" occupied* A procession carrying 
the "Smolensk Mother of God." The 
reverence of the crowd and of Kutuzov 

434 

22. Boris meets Pierre. Dolokhov makes his 

way to Kutuzov. Kutuzov notices Pierre. 
D61okhov asks Pierre to be reconciled 

43 6 

23. Pierre rides to the left flank with Bennig- 

sen, who explains the "position" in a way 
Pierre does not understand and changes 
one of Kutiizov's dispositions 438 



xi 

24. Prince Andrew's reflections on life and 

death. Pierre comes to see him 439 

25. Tim6khin's opinion of Kutuzov. Prince 

Andrew on Barclay de Tolly. War and 
chess. The spirit of the army. Wolzogen 
and Clausewitz. "The war must be ex- 
tended widely." Pierre understands the 
importance of this war. "Not take pris- 
oners." What is war? Prince Andrew 
thinks of Natlsha 440 

26. De Beausset brings a portrait of the "King 

of Rome" to Napoleon. Napoleon's 
proclamation 444 

27. Napoleon's dispositions for the battle of 

Borodin6. They were not carried out 

445 

28. Napoleon's cold. Why the battle had to be 

fought 447 

29. Napoleon's talk to de Beausset and Rapp. 

The game begins 448 

30. Pierre views the battlefield from the knoll 

at Gorki 450 

31. Pierre at the Borodin6 bridge. Under fire. 

Goes to Ravski's Redoubt. His horse 
wounded under him. The Ravski Re- 
doubt. The young officer. Pierre is ac- 
cepted at the redoubt as one of the fam- 
ily. The flame of hidden fire in th men's 
souls. Shortage of ammunition. Pierre 
sees ammunition wagons blown up 451 

32. The redoubt captured by the French. 

Pierre's conflict with a French officer. 
The redoubt retaken by the Russian* 

455 

33. The course of the battle. Difficulty of dis- 

cerning what was going on. Things take 
their own course apart from the orders 
issued 456 

34. Reinforcements. Belliard appeals to Na- 

poleon. De Beausset proposes breakfast. 
Friant's division sent in support. The 
expected success not secured. Continu- 
ous and useless slaughter 457 

35. Kutuzov. His rebuke to Wolzogen. An or- 

der of the day for an attack tomorrow. 
The spirit of the army 459 

36. Prince Andrew with the reserve under fire. 

Hit by a bursting shell. Outside the 
dressing station 461 

37. The operating tent. Portion of Prince An- 

drew's thighbone extracted. Anatole's 
leg amputated. Prince Andrew pities 
him 464 

38. Napoleon is depressed. His mini and con- 

science darkened. His calculation that 
few Frenchmen perished in Russia 465 



xii 



CONTENTS 



39. Appearance of the field at the end of the 
battle. Doubts maturing in every soul. 
Only a little further effort needed to 
secure victory, but such effort impossi- 
ble. Could Napoleon have used his Old 
Guard? The Russians had gained a mor- 
al victory 467 

BOOK ELEVEN 

1. Continuity of motion. Achilles and the 

tortoise. The method of history; its 
explanation of events compared with 
explanations of the movement of a 
locomotive 469 

2. Summary of campaign before Boro- 

dino and explanation of Kutuzov's 
subsequent movements 470 

3-4. Kutuzov and his generals at Pokl6nny 
Hill. Council of War at Fill 472 

5. The author's reflections on the aban- 
donment of Moscow. Rostopchin's 
conduct and that of private individ- 
uals 475 

6-7. Helene in Petersburg. Conversion to 
I Catholicism and plans for remar- 

riage 476 

8-9. Pierre walks to Mozhdysk. His night 
lodging there. His dream, and his 
return to Moscow 480 

10-11. Pierre at Rostopchin's. The affair of 
Klyucharcv and Vercshchagin. Pierre 
leaves home secretly 482 

12-17. The Rost6vs: packing up and leaving 
Moscow. They allow wounded offi- 
cers to stay in their house and avail 
themselves of their carts to leave 
Moscow. Berg's wish to borrow a 
cart. Natasha when leaving Moscow 
sees and speaks to Pierre. Prince An- 
drew travels in their train of vehicles 

485 

18. Pierre at Bazd^ev's house. He wears a 

coachman's coat 496 

19. Napoleon surveys Moscow from Pok- 

16nny Hill. He awaits a deputation 
of les boyars 497 

20-23. Moscow compared to a queenless hive. 
The army's departure. Looting by 
Russian soldiers. The Moskvd bridge 
blocked, and cleared by Erm61ov. A 
brawl among workmen. Reading a 
Rostopchfn broadsheet to a crowd. 
Scene with the superintendent of 
police 499 

24-25. Rostopchfn. The killing of Vereshcha- 
gin. The released lunatics. Rostop- 



chfn's encounterwith Kutuzov at the 
' bridge 505 

26. The French enter Moscow. Shots from 
the Kremlin gate. The Fire of Mos- 
cow discussed 511 

27-29. Pierre: his plan to kill Napoleon. Baz- 
de*ev's drunken brother fires at Cap- 
tain Ramballe, who regards Pierre 
as a friend 513 

30-32. The Rost6vs at My tfshchi. Natasha sees 
Prince Andrew 521 

33-34. Pierre sets out to meet Napoleon. He 
saves a child, defends an Armenian 
girl from a French soldier, and is ar- 
rested as an incendiary 527 

BOOK TWELVE 

1-3. Anna PAvlovria's soiree. Talk of H- 
lene's illness. The Bishop's letter. 
Victory at Borodino reported. Death 
of Helene. News of abandonment of 
Moscow. Michaud's report 533 

4-8. Nicholas sent to Voronezh. An evening 
at the Governor's. Nicholas and 
Princess Mary. A letter from Sonya 

537 

9-13. Pierre's treatment as a prisoner. He is 
questioned by Davout. Shooting of 
prisoners. Platon Karataev 547 
14-16. Princess Mary goes to the Rost6vs' in 
Yaroslavl. Prince Andrew's last days 
and death 555 

BOOK THIRTEEN 
1-7. The cause of historical events. A sur- 
vey of movements of the Russian 
army after leaving Moscow. Napo- 
leon's letter to Kutuzov. The camp 
at Tarutino. Alexander's letters to 
Kutuzov. Ermolov and others absent 
when wanted. The battle postponed. 
Kutuzov's wrath. The action next 
day. Cossacks surprise Murat's army 
and capture prisoners, guns, and 
booty. Inactivity of the rest of the 
army 563 

8-10. Napoleon's measures. Proclamation in 
Moscow. Effects of pillage on French 
discipline 571 

11-14. Pierre: four weeks in captivity. Kara- 
taev and a French soldier. The French 
leave Moscow. The drum. Pierre's 
mental change; he recovers his grip 
on life. Exit of troops and prisoners. 
The road blocked. Pierre's reflec- 
tions 575 



CONTENTS 

15-19. The Russian army. Dokhtiirov. News 
of the French having left Moscow 
reaches Kutiizov at night. His emo- 13-81. 
tion. Cossacks nearly capture Napo- 
leon at Malo-Yarosldvets. He retreats 
by the Smolensk road. A third of his 
army melts away before reaching Vy- 
zma 582 



BOOK FOURTEEN 

1-2. National character of the war. A duel- 

ist who drops his rapier and seizes a 

cudgel. Guerrilla warfare. The spirit 

of the army 588 

3-11. The partisans or guerrillas. Denfsov, 

D61okhov, P(hya Rost6v, and Tik- 

hon. A French drummer boy. A visit 

to the enemy's camp. Attack on a 

French convoy. The death of Ptya 

59 

12-15. Pierre's journey among the prisoners. 

Karatjiev. His story of the merchant. 

His death. Pierre rescued 604 

16-18. The French retreat. Berthier's report 

to Napoleon. Their flight beyond 

Smolensk 609 

19. Why the French were not cut off by 

the Russians 611 



1-3. 



4-5. 



BOOK FIFTEEN 

TheRostovs. Natasha's grief. The news 
of Ptftya's death. Natdsha leaves with 
Princess Mary for Moscow 614 

Analysis of Kutiizov's movements 618 
6~g. Kutiizov at Krdsnoe; his speech to the 
army. Encampment for the night: 
soldier scenes. Ramballe's appear- 
ance with his orderly. The song of 
Henri Quatre. 621 

10-12. The crossing of the Berezina. Vflna. 



1-4. 



5-9- 



* xiii 

The Emperor Alexander. Kutiizov; 
his failing health 626 

Pierre. Illness and recovery at Orel. 
His new attitude to life and his fel- 
low men. His affairs. He goes to Mos- 
cow; the town's animation and rapid 
recovery. Pierre meets Natdsha at 
Princess Mary's. Love 631 

FIRST EPILOGUE 
Discussion of forces operating in his- 
tory. Chance and genius. The ideals 
of glory and grandeur. Alexander's 
renunciation of power. The purpose 
of a bee 645 

Death of old Count Rost6v. Nicholas 
in retirement. His mother. His meet- 
ing with Princess Mary. Their wed- 
ding; estate management in the coun- 
try; their family life. S6nya a sterile 
flower. Denfsov.' Nicholas' name day 

650 

10-14. Natdsha's and Pierre's family life. His 
return after a visit to Petersburg. The 
old countess in decay. Conversation 
about social tendencies, and indigna- 
tion at reactionary trend of the gov- 
ernment. Views of Pierre and Nich- 
olas 659 

15-16. The two married couples and their 
mutual relations. Natasha's jealousy. 
Young Nicholas Boik6nski's aspira- 
tions 669 

SECOND EPILOGUE 
1-12. A general discussion on the historians' 
study of human life, and on the diffi- 
culty of defining the forces that move 
nations. The problem of free will 
and necessity 675 



MAPS 

I. Battle of Austerlitz 697 

II. War of 1805 697 

III. Advance and Retreat of Napoleon, 1812 698 8c 699 

IV. Borodin6 698 
V. Moscow 699 



THE PRINCIPAL CHARACTERS ARRANGED 
IN FAMILY GROUPS 



THE BEZUKHOVS 

Count Cyril Bezukhov, a wealthy nobleman of Catherine the Great's time 
Pierre, his son, who, legitimized after his father's death, becomes Count 

Bezukhov //* central character of the novel. 
Princess Caliche, Pierre's cousin 

THE RosT6vs 

Count Ilyd Rost6v, a wealthy nobleman 

Countess Nataly Rost6va, his wife 

Count Nicholas Rostov, their elder son, who goes into the army as a cadet 

Count Peter (Pdtya) Rostov, their younger son 

Countess Ve"ra Rost6va, their elder daughter 

Countess Nataly (Natdsha) Rost6va, their younger daughter, the central 

female character 

S6nya, a poor niece of the Rostovs 
Lieutenant Alphonse Kdrlovich Berg, an officer who marries V&ra 

THE BoLK6NSKis 

Prince Nicholas Andre*evich Bolk6nski, a retired general 

Prince Andrew Bolk6nski, his son, a member of Kutuzov's staff 

Princess Mary Bolk6nskaya, his daughter 

Princess Elisabeth (Lise) Bolkonskaya, Prince Andrew's wife, "the most 

fascinating woman in Petersburg" 
Prince Nicholas (Koko) Andrd-evich Bolk6nski, Prince Andrew's son 

THE KURAGINS 

Prince Vasfli Kurdgin, an elderly nobleman 

Prince Hippolyte Kurdgin, his weak-minded elder son 

Prince Anatole Kurdgin, his profligate younger son 

Princess Hdlene Kunigina, his daughter, "the beautiful Helene" 

THE DRUBETSK6YS 

Princess Anna Mikhdylovna Drubetskdya, an impoverished noblewoman 
Prince Boris (B6ry) Drubetskoy, her son, who enters the army 
Julie Kardgina, an heiress t who later marries Boris 



XV 



DATES OF PRINCIPAL HISTORICAL EVENTS 



1805 



1807 



1812 



o. s. 
Oct. 11 

Oct. 23 
Oct. 24 
Oct. 28 
Oct. 30 

Nov. 4 
Nov. 4 
Noy. 19 
Nov. 20 



May 17 
June 12 
June 14 
July 13 
Aug. 4 
Aug. 5 
Aug. 7 

Aug. 8 
Aug. 10 
Aug. 17 

Aug. 17 
Aug. 24 
Aug. 26 
Sept. i 
Oct. 6 

C * ft 7 ' 
and 8 

Oct. 12 
Oct. 21 
Oct. 28- 
Nov. 2 
Nov. 4-8 
Nov. 9 
Nov. i4 
Nov. 23 
Dec. 6 



N. s. 
Oct. 23 

Nov. 4 
Nov. 5 
Nov. 9 
Nov. 11 
Nov. 16 
Nov. 16 
Dec. i 
Dec. 2 



Jan. 27 Feb. 8 
June 2 June 14 
June 13 June 25 



May 29 
June 24 
June 26 
July 25 
Aug. 16 
Aug. 17 
Aug. 19 

Aug. 20 
Aug. 22 
Aug. 29 

Aug. 29 
Sept. 5 
Sept. 7 
Sept. 13 
Oct. 18 



Kutuzov inspects regiment near Braunau. Lc 

malheureux Mack arrives 
The Russian army crosses the Enns 
Fight at Amstetten 

The Russian army crosses the Danube 
Defeats Mortier at Durrenstein 
Napoleon writes to Murat from Schonbrunn 
Battle of Schon Grabern 
The Council of War at Ostralitz 
Battle of Austerlitz 

Battle of Preussisch-Eylau 

Battle of Friedland 

The Emperors meet at Tilsit 

Napoleon leaves Dresden 

Napoleon crosses the Niemen and enters Russia 

Alexander sends Balashev to Napoleon 

The Pavlograd hussars in action at Ostr6vna 

Alpatych at Smolensk hears distant firing 

Bombardment at Smolensk 

Prince Nicholas Bolk6nski leaves Bald Hills for 

Bogucharovo 

Kutuzov appointed Commander in Chief 
Prince Andrew's column abreast of Bald Hills 
Kutuzov reaches Tsarevo-Zaymfshche and takes 

command of the army 
Nicholas Rost6v rides to Bogucharovo 
Battle of the Shevardino Redoubt 
Battle of Borodin6 

Kutuzov orders retreat through Moscow 
Battle of Tarutino 



Battle of Malo-Yaroslavets 
Cossacks harry the French at Vyazma 
t SmoMnik 



H 

and 20 

Oct. 24 
Nov. 2 
Nov. 9- 
Nov. 14 

Nov. i6-2oBattles at Krasnoe 
Nov. 21 Ney, with rearguard, reaches Orsh 
i6Nov. 26-28 Crossing of the Berezina 

Dec. 5 Napoleon abandons the army at Smorg6ni 
Dec. 18 He reaches Paris 



XVI 



Book One: 1805 



CHAPTER I 

WELL, PRINCE, so Genoa and Lucca are now 
just family estates of the Buonapartes. But I 
warn you, if you don't tell me that this means 
war, if you still try to defend the infamies and 
horrors perpetrated by that Antichrist I real- 
ly believe he is Antichrist I will have nothing 
more to do with you and you are no longer my 
friend, no longer my 'faithful slave,' as you 
call yourself! But how do you do? I see I have 
frightened you sit down and tell me all the 
news." 

It was in July, 1805, and the speaker was the 
well-known Anna Pdvlovna Sch^rer, maid of 
honor and favorite of the Empress Marya Fe- 
dorovna. With these words she greeted Prince 
Vasili Kurdgin, a man of high rank and impor- 
tance, who was the first to arrive at her recep- 
tion. Anna Pdvlovna had had a cough for some 
days. She was, as she said, suffering from la 
grippe; grippe being then a new word in St. 
Petersburg, used only by the elite. 

All her invitations without exception, writ- 
ten in French, and delivered by a scarlet-liver- 
ied footman that morning, ran as follows: 

"If you have nothing better to do, Count [or 
Prince], and if the prospect of spending an 
evening with a poor invalid is not too terrible, 
I shall be very charmed to see you tonight be- 
tween 7 and 10 Annette Sch^rer." 

"Heavens! what a virulent attack!" replied 
the prince, not in the least disconcerted by this 
reception. He had just entered, wearing an em- 
broidered court uniform, knee breeches, and 
shoes, and had stars on his breast and a serene 
expression on his flat face. He spoke in that 
refined French in which our grandfathers not 
only spoke but thought, and with the gentle, 
patronizing intonation natural to a man of 
importance who had grown old in society and 
at court. He went up to Anna Pavlovna, kissed 
her hand, presenting to her his bald, scented, 
and shining head, and complacently seated 
himself on the sofa. 

"First of all, dear friend, tell me how you 



are. Set your friend's mind at rest," said he 
without altering his tone, beneath the polite- 
ness and affected sympathy of which indiffer- 
ence and even irony could be discerned. 

"Can one be well while suffering morally? 
Can one be calm in tirrfes like these if one has 
any feeling?" said Anna Pdvlovna. "You are 
staying the whole evening, I hope?" 

"And the fete at the English ambassador's? 
Today is Wednesday. I must put in an appear- 
ance there," said the prince. "My daughter is 
coming for me to take me there." 

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

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

"Don't tease! Well, and what has been de- 
cided about Novosiltsev's dispatch? You know 
everything." 

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

Prince Vastti always spoke languidly, like 
an actor repeating a stale part. Anna Pdvlovna 
Scherer on the contrary, despite her forty years, 
overflowed with animation and impulsiveness. 
To be an enthusiast had become her social vo- 
cation and, sometimes even when she did not 
feel like it, she became enthusiastic in order 
not to disappoint the expectations of those 
who knew her. The subdued smile which, 
though it did not suit her faded features, al- 
ways played round her lips expressed, as in a 
spoiled child, a continual consciousness of her 
charming defect, which she neither wished, nor 
could, nor considered it necessary, to correct. 

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

"Oh, don't speak to me of Austria. Perhaps 



WAR AND PEACE 



I don't understand things, but Austria never 
has wished, and does not wish, for war. She is 
betraying us! Russia alone must save Europe. 
Our gracious sovereign recognizes his high vo- 
cation and will be true to it. That is the one 
thing I have faith in! Our good and wonder- 
ful sovereign has to perfonn the noblest role 
on earth, and he is so virtuous and noble that 
God will not forsake him. He will fulfill his 
vocation and crush the hydra of revolution, 
which has become more terrible than ever in 
the person of this murderer and villain! We 
alone must avenge the blood of the just one. 
. . . Whom, I ask you, can we rely on? . . . Eng- 
land with her commercial spirit will not and 
cannot understand the Emperor Alexander's 
loftiness of soul. She tias refused to evacuate 
Malta. She wanted to find, and still seeks, some 
secret motive in our actions. What answer did 
Novosiltsev get? None. The English have not 
understood and cannot understand the self- 
abnegation of our Emperor who wants noth- 
ing for himself, but only desires the good of 
mankind. And what have they promised? Noth- 
ing! And what little they have promised they 
will not perform! Prussia has always declared 
that Buonaparte is invincible and that all 
Europe is powerless before him. . . . And I 
don't believe a word that Hardenburg says, 
or Haugwitz either. This famous Prussian neu- 
trality is just a trap. I have faith only in God 
and the lofty destiny of our adored monarch. 
He will save Europe!" 

She suddenly paused, smiling at her own 
impetuosity. 

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

"In a moment. X propos"she added, becom- 
ing calm again, "I am expecting two very in- 
teresting men tonight, le Vicomte de Morte- 
mart, who is connected with the Montmoren- 
cys through the Rohans,oneof the best French 
families. He is one of the genuine dmigrh, the 
good ones. And also the Abbe* Morio. Do you 
know that profound thinker? He has been re- 
ceived by the Emperor. Had you heard?" 

"I shall be delighted to meet them," said the 
prince. "But tell me," he added with studied 
carelessness as if it had only just occurred to 
him, though the question he was about to ask 
was the chief motive of his visit, "is it true that 
the Dowager Empress wants Baron Funke to be 
appointed first secretary at Vienna? The baron 



by all accounts is a poor creature." 

Prince Vasfli wished to obtain this post for 
his son, but others were trying through the 
Dowager Empress Mdrya Fedorovna to secure 
it for the baron. 

Anna Pdvlovna almost closed her eyes to in- 
dicate that neither she nor anyone else had a 
right to criticize what the Empress desired or 
was pleased with. 

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

As she named the Empress, Anna Pdvlovna's 
face suddenly assumed an expression of pro- 
found and sincere devotion and respect min- 
gled with sadness, and thisoccurred every time 
she mentioned her illustrious patroness. She 
added that Her Majesty had deigned to show 
Baron Funke beaucoup d'estime, and again 
her face clouded over with sadness. 

The prince was silent and looked indiffer- 
ent. But, with the womanly and courtierlike 
quickness and tact habitual to her, Anna Pdv- 
lovna wished both to rebuke him (for daring 
to speak as he had done of a man recommended 
to the Empress) and at the same time to con- 
sole him, so she said: 

"Now about your family. Do you know that 
since your daughter came out everyone has 
been enraptured by her? They say she is amaz- 
ingly beautiful." 

The prince bowed to signify his respect and 
gratitude. 

"I often think," she continued after a short 
pause, drawing nearer to the prince and smil- 
ing amiably at him as if to show that political 
and social topics were ended and the time had 
come for intimate conversation "I often think 
how unfairly sometimes the joys of life are dis- 
tributed. Why has fate given you two such 
splendid children? I don't speak of Anatole, 
your youngest. I don't like him," she added in 
a tone admitting of no rejoinder and raising 
her eyebrows. "Two such charming children. 
And really you appreciate them less than any- 
one, and so you don't deserve to have them." 

And she smiled her ecstatic smile. 

"I can't help it," said the prince. "Lavater 
would have said I lack the bump of paternity." 

"Don't joke; I mean to have a serious talk 
with you. Do you know I am dissatisfied with 
your younger son? Between ourselves" (and 
her face assumed its melancholy expression), 
"he was mentioned at Her Majesty's and you 
were pitied. . . ." 

The prince answered nothing, but she 



BOOK ONE 



looked at him significantly, awaiting a reply. 
He frowned. 

"What would you have me do?" he said at 
last. "You know I did all a father could for 
their education, and they have both turned 
out fools. Hippolyte is at least a quiet fool, but 
Anatole is an active one. That is the only dif- 
ference between them." He said this smiling 
in a way more natural and animated than 
usual, so that the wrinkles round his mouth 
very clearly revealed something unexpectedly 
coarse and unpleasant. 

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

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

He said no more, but expressed his resigna- 
tion to cruel fate by a gesture. Anna Pdvlovna 
meditated. 

"Have you never thought of marrying your 
prodigal son Anatole?" she asked. "They say 
old maids have a mania for matchmaking, and 
though I don't feel that weakness in myself as 
yet, I know a little person who is very unhappy 
with her father. She is a relation of yours, 
Princess Mary Bolk6nskaya." 

Prince Vasili did not reply, though, with the 
quickness of memory and perception befitting 
a man of the world, he indicated by a move- 
ment of the head that he was considering this 
information. 

"Do you know," he said at last, evidently 
unable to check the sad current of his thoughts, 
"that Anatole is costing me forty thousand 
rubles a year? And," he went on after a pause, 
"what will it be in five years, if he goes on like 
this?" Presently he added: "That's what we 

fathers have to put up with Is this princess 

of yours rich?" 

"Her father is very rich and stingy. He lives 
in the country. He is the well-known Prince 
Bolk6nski who had to retire from the army un- 
der the late Emperor, and was nicknamed 'the 
King of Prussia.' He is very clever but eccen- 
tric, and a bore. The poor girl is very unhappy. 
She has a brother; I think you know him, he 
married Lise Meinen lately. He is an aide-de- 
camp of Kutiizov's and will be here tonight." 

"Listen, dear Annette," said the prince, sud- 
denly taking Anna Pdvlovna's hand and for 
some reason drawing it downwards. "Arrange 
that affair for me and I shall always be your 



most devoted slave slaje with an /, as a village 
elder of mine writes in his reports. She is rich 
and of good family and that's all I want." 

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

"Attendee" said Anna Pdvlovna, reflecting, 
"I'll speak to Lise, young Bolk6nski's wife, this 
very evening, and perhaps the thing can be 
arranged. It shall be on your family's behalf 
that I'll start my apprenticeship as old maid." 

CHAPTER II 

ANNA PAVLOVNA'S drawing room was gradually 
filling. The highest Petersburg society was as- 
sembled there: people differing widely in age 
and character but alike in the social circle to 
which they belonged. Prince Vasili's daughter, 
the beautiful Hlne, came to take her father 
to the ambassador's entertainment; she wore a 
ball dress and her badge as maid of honor. The 
youthful little Princess Bolkonskaya, known 
as la femme la plus sSduisante de Pfaersbourg? 
was also there. She had been married during 
the previous winter, and being pregnant did 
not go to any large gatherings, but only to small 
receptions. Prince Vasfli's son, Hippolyte, had 
come with Mortemart, whom he introduced. 
The Abb6 Morio and many others had also 
come. 

To each new arrival Anna Pdvlovna safcl, 
"You have not yet seen my aunt," or "You do 
not know my aunt?" and very gravely con- 
ducted him or her to a little old lady, wearing 
large bows of ribbon in her cap, who had come 
sailing in from another room as soon as the 
guests began to arrive; and slowly turning her 
eyes from the visitor to her aunt, Anna Pdv- 
lovna mentioned each one's name and then 
left them. 

Each visitor performed the ceremony of 
greeting this old aunt whom not one of them 
knew, not one of them wanted to know, and 
not one of them cared about; Anna Pdvlovna 
observed these greetings with mournful and sol- 
emn interest and silent approval. The aunt 
spoke to each of them in the same words, about 
their health and her own, and the health of 
Her Majesty, "who, thank God, was better to- 
day." And each visitor, though politeness pre- 
vented his showing impatience, left the old 
woman with a sense of relief at having per- 
formed a vexatious duty and did not return to 

1 The most fascinating woman in Petersburg. 



WAR AND PEACE 



her the whole evening. 

The young Princess Bolk6nskaya had 
brought some work in a gold-embroidered vel- 
vet bag. Her pretty little upper lip, on which 
a delicate dark down was just perceptible, was 
too short for her teeth, but it lifted all the more 
sweetly, and was especially charming when she 
occasionally drew it down to meet the lower 
lip. As is always the case with a thoroughly at- 
tractive woman, her defectthe shortness of 
her upperlip and her half-open mouth seemed 
to be her own special and peculiar form of 
beauty. Everyone brightened at the sight of 
this pretty young woman, so soon to become 
a mother, so full of life and health, and carry- 
ing her burden so lightly. Old men and dull 
dispirited young ones who looked at her, after 
being in her company and talking to her a 
litttle while, felt as if they too were becoming, 
like her, full of life and health. All who talked 
to her, and at each word saw her bright smile 
and the constant gleam of her white teeth, 
thought that they were in a specially amiable 
mood that day. 

The little princess went round the table 
with quick, short, swaying steps, her workbag 
on her arm, and gaily spreading out her dress 
sat down on a sofa near the silver samovar, as 
if all she was doing was a pleasure to herself 
and to all around her. "I have brought my 
work," said she in French, displaying her bag 
and addressing all present. "Mind, Annette, 
I hope you have not played a wicked trick on 
me," she added, turning to her hostess. "You 
wrote that it was to be quite a small reception, 
and just see how badly I am dressed." And she 
spread out her arms to show her short-waisted, 
lace-trimmed, dainty gray dress, girdled with 
a broad ribbon just below the breast. 

"Soyez tranquille, Lise, you will always be 
prettier than anyone else," replied Anna Pdv- 
lovna. 

"You know/' said the princess in the same 
tone of voice and still in French, turning to a 
general, "my husband is deserting me? He is 
going to get himself killed. Tell me what this 
wretched war is for?" she added, addressing 
Prince Vasfli, and without waiting for an an- 
swer she turned to speak to his daughter, the 
beautiful Hlne. 

"What a delightful woman this little prin- 
cess isl" said Prince Vasili to Anna Pdvlovna. 

One of the next arrivals was a stout, heavily 
built young man with close-cropped hair, spec- 
tacles, the light-colored breeches fashionable 
at that time, a very high ruffle, and a brown 



dress coat. This stout young man was an illegit- 
imate son^of Count Bezukhov, a well-known 
grandee of Catherine's time who now lay dy- 
ing in Moscow. The young man had not yet 
entered either the military or civil service, as 
he had only just returned from abroad where 
he had been educated, and this was his first ap- 
pearance in society. Anna Pdvlovna greeted 
him with the nod she accorded to the lowest 
hierarchy in her drawing room. But in spite of 
this lowest-grade greeting, a look of anxiety 
and fear, as at the sight of something too large 
and unsuited to the place, came over her face 
when she saw Pierre enter. Though he was cer- 
tainly rather bigger than the other men in the 
room, her anxiety could only have reference 
to the clever though shy, but observant and 
natural, expression which distinguished him 
from everyone else in that drawing room. 

"It is very good of you, Monsieur Pierre, to 
come and visit a poor invalid," said Anna Pdv- 
lovna, exchanging an alarmed glance with her 
aunt as she conducted him to her. 

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

Anna Pdvlovna's alarm was justified, for 
Pierre turned away from the aunt without wait- 
ing to hear her speech about Her Majesty's 
health. Anna Pdvlovna in dismay detained 
him with the words: "Do you know the Abbe* 
Morio? He is a most interesting man." 

"Yes, I have heard of his scheme for perpet- 
ual peace, and it is very interesting but hardly 
feasible." 

"You think so?" rejoined Anna Pdvlovna in 
order to say something and get away to attend 
to her duties as hostess. But Pierre now com- 
mitted a reverse act of impoliteness. First he 
had left a lady before she had finished speak- 
ing to him, and now he continued to speak to 
another who wished to getaway. With his head 
bent, and his big feet spread apart, he began 
explaining his reasons for thinking the abbess 
plan chimerical. 

"We will talk of it later," said Anna Pdv- 
lovna with a smile. 

And having got rid of this young man who 
did not know how to behave, she resumed her 
duties as hostess and continued to listen and 
watch, ready to help at any point where the 
conversation might happen to flag. As the fore- 
man of a spinning mill, when he has set the 
hands to work, goes round and notices here a 



BOOK ONE 



spindle that has stopped or there one that 
creaks or makes more noise than it should, and 
hastens to check the machine or set it in proper 
motion, so Anna Pavlovna moved about her 
drawing room, approaching now a silent, now 
a too-noisy group, and by a word or slight re- 
arrangement kept the conversational machine 
in steady, proper, and regular motion. But 
amid these cares her anxiety about Pierre was 
evident. She kept an anxious watch on him 
when he approached the group round Morte- 
mart to listen to what was being said there, and 
again when he passed to another group whose 
center was the abbe*. 

Pierre had been educated abroad, and this 
reception at Anna Pavlovna's was the first he 
had attended in Russia. He knew that all the 
intellectual lights of Petersburg were gathered 
there and, like a child in a toyshop, did not 
know which way to look, afraid of missing any 
clever conversation that was to be heard. See- 
ing the self-confident and refined expression 
on the faces of those present he was always ex- 
pecting to hear something very profound. At 
last he came up to Morio. Here the conversa- 
tion seemed interesting and he stood waiting 
for an opportunity to express his own views, 
as young people are fond of doing. 

CHAPTER III 

ANNA PAVLOVNA'S reception was in full swing. 
The spindles hummed steadily and ceaselessly 
on all sides. With the exception of the aunt, 
beside whom sat only one elderly lady, who 
with her thin careworn face was rather out of 
place in this brilliant society, the whole com- 
pany had settled into three groups. One, chiefly 
masculine, had formed round the abbe". An- 
other, of young people, was grouped round 
the beautiful Princess Hlne, Prince Vasfli's 
daughter, and the little Princess Bolk6nskaya, 
very pretty and rosy, though rather too plump 
for her age. The third group was gathered 
round Mortemart and Anna Pavlovna. 

The vicomte was a nice-looking young man 
with soft features and polished manners, who 
evidently considered himself a celebrity but 
out of politeness modestly placed himself at 
the disposal of the circle in which he found 
himself. Anna Pdvlovna was obviously serving 
him up as a treat to her guests. As a clever 
maitre d'hotel serves up as a specially choice 
delicacy a piece of meat that no one who had 
seen it in the kitchen would have cared to eat, 
so Anna Pavlovna served up to her guests, first 
the vicomte and then the abbe*, as peculiarly 



choice morsels. The group about Mortemart 
immediately began discussing the murder of the 
Due d'Enghien. The vicomte said that the Due 
d'Enghien had perished by his own magna- 
nimity, and that there were particular reasons 
for Buonaparte's hatred of him. 

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

The vicomte bowed and smiled courteously 
in token of his willingness to comply. Anna 
Pavlovna arranged a group round him, invit- 
ing everyone to listen to his tale. 

"The vicomte knew the due personally," 
whispered Anna Pdvlovna to one of the guests. 
"The vicomte is a wonderful raconteur," said 
she to another. "How evidently he belongs to 
the best society," said she to a third; and the 
vicomte was served up to the company in the 
choicest and most advantageous style, like a 
well-garnished joint of roast beef on a hot 
dish. 

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

"Come over here, Hlne, dear," said Anna 
Pvlovna to the beautiful young princess who 
was sitting some way off, the center of another 
group. 

The princess smiled. She rose with the same 
unchanging smile with which she had first en- 
tered the room the smile of a perfectly beauti- 
ful woman. With a slight rustle of her white 
dress trimmed with moss and ivy, with a gleam 
of white shoulders, glossy hair, and sparkling 
diamonds, she passed between the men who 
made way for her, not looking at any of them 
but smiling on all, as if graciously allowing 
each the privilege of admiring her beautiful 
figure and shapely shoulders, back, and bosom 
which in the fashion of those days were very 
much exposed and she seemed to bring the 
glamour of a ballroom with her as she moved 
toward Anna Pavlovna. Hlene was so lovely 
that not only did she not show any trace of 
coquetry, but on the contrary she even appeared 
shy of her unquestionable and all too victori- 
ous beauty. She seemed to wish, but to be un- 
able, to diminish its effect. 

"How lovely!" said everyone who saw her; 
and the vicomte lifted his shoulders and 
dropped his eyes as if startled by something ex- 
traordinary when she took her seat opposite and 
beamed upon him also with her unchanging 
smile. 



6 



WAR AND PEACE 



"Madame, I doubt my ability before such 
an audience," said he, smilingly inclining his 
head. 

The princess rested her bare round arm on 
a little table and considered a reply unneces- 
sary. She smilingly waited. All the time the 
story was being told she sat upright, glancing 
now at her beautiful round arm, altered in 
shape by its pressure on the table, now at her 
still more beautiful bosom, on which she read- 
justed a diamond necklace. From time to time 
she smoothed the folds of her dress, and when- 
ever the story produced an effect she glanced 
at Anna Pavlovna, at once adopted just the 
expression she saw on the maid of honor's face, 
and again relapsed into her radiant smile. 

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

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

There was a general movement as the prin- 
cess, smiling and talking merrily to everyone 
at once, sat down and gaily arranged herself in 
her seat. 

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

Prince Hippolyte, having brought the work- 
bag, joined the circle and moving a chair close 
to hers seated himself beside her. 

Le charmant Hippolyte was surprising by 
his extraordinary resemblance to his beautiful 
sister, but yet more by the fact that in spite of 
this resemblance he was exceedingly ugly. His 
features were like his sister's, but while in her 
case everything was lit up by a joyous, self- 
satisfied, youthful, and constant smile of ani- 
mation, and by the wonderful classic beauty 
of her figure, his face on the contrary was 
dulled by imbecility and a constant expression 
of sullen self-confidence, while his body was 
thin and weak. His eyes, nose, and mouth all 
seemed puckered into a vacant, wearied gri- 
mace, and his arms and legs always fell into 
unnatural positions. 

"It's not going to be a ghost story?" said he, 
sitting down beside the princess and hastily 
adjusting his lorgnette, as if without this in- 
strument he could not begin to speak. 

"Why no, my dear fellow," said the aston- 
ished narrator, shrugging his shoulders. 

"Because I hate ghost stones," said Prince 
Hippolyte in a tone which showed that he only 
understood die meaning of his words after he 
had uttered them. 



He spoke with such self-confidence that his 
hearers ould not be sure whether what he said 
was very witty or very stupid. He was dressed 
in a dark-green dress coat, knee breeches of 
the color of cuisse de nymphe effrayJe, as he 
called it, shoes, and silk stockings. 

The vicomte told his tale very neatly. It was 
an anecdote, then current, to the effect that 
the Due d'Enghien had gone secretly to Paris 
to visit Mademoiselle George; thatat her house 
he came upon Bonaparte, who also enjoyed 
the famous actress' favors, and that in his pres- 
ence Napoleon happened to fall into one of 
the fainting fits to which he was subject, and 
was thus at the due's mercy. The latter spared 
him, and this magnanimity Bonaparte subse- 
quently repaid by death. 

The story was very pretty and interesting, 
especially at the point where the rivals sud- 
denly recognized one another; and the ladies 
looked agitated. 

"Charming!" said Anna PAvlovna with an in- 
quiring glance at the little princess. 

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

The vicomte appreciated this silent praise 
and smiling gratefully prepared to continue, 
but just then Anna Pavlovna, who had kept a 
watchful eye on the young man who so alarmed 
her, noticed that he was talking too loudly 
and vehemently with the abbe", so she hurried 
to the rescue. Pierre had managed to start a 
conversation with the abb about the balance 
of power, and the latter, evidently interested 
by the young man's simple-minded eagerness, 
was explaining his pet theory. Both were talk- 
ing and listening too eagerly and too naturally, 
which was why Anna Pavlovna disapproved. 

"The means are . . . the balance of power in 
Europe and the rights of the people," the abbe* 
was saying. "It is only necessary for one power- 
ful nation like Russia barbaric as she is said 
to be to place herself disinterestedly at the 
head of an alliance having for its object the 
mai n tenance of the balance of power of Europe, 
and it would save the world!" 

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

At that moment Anna Pdvlovna came up and, 
looking severely at Pierre, asked the Italian 
how he stood the Russian climate. The Italian's 
face instantly changed and assumed an offen- 
sively affected, sugary expression, evidently 
habitual to him when conversing with women. 



BOOK 

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

Not letting the abbe" and Pierre escape, Anna 
Pdvlovna, the more conveniently to keep them 
under observation, brought them into the 
larger circle. 

CHAPTER IV 

JUST THEN another visitor entered the drawing 
room: Prince Andrew Bolk6nski, the little 
princess' husband. He was a very handsome 
young man, of medium height, with firm, clear- 
cut features. Everything about him, from his 
weary, bored expression to his quiet, measured 
step, offered a most striking contrast to his 
lively little wife. It was evident that he not 
only knew everyone in the drawing room, but 
had found them to be so tiresome that it 
wearied him to look at or listen to them. And 
among all these faces that he found so tedious, 
none seemed to bore him so much as that of 
his pretty wife. He turned away from her with 
a grimace that distorted his handsome face, 
kissed Anna Pdvlovna's hand, and screwing 
up his eyes scanned the whole company. 

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

"General Kutuzov," said Bolk6nski, speak- 
ing French and stressing the last syllable of the 
general's name like a Frenchman, "has been 
pleased to take me as an aide-de-camp. . . ." 

"And Lise, your wile?" 

"She will go to the country." 

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

"Andre," said his wife, addressing her hus- 
band in the same coquettish manner in which 
she spoke to other men, "the vicomte has been 
telling us such a tale about Mademoiselle 
George and Buonaparte!" 

Prince Andrew screwed up his eyes and 
turned away. Pierre, who from the moment 
Prince Andrew entered the room had watched 
him with glad, affectionate eyes, now came up 
and took his arm. Before he looked round 
Prince Andrew frowned again, expressing his 
annoyance with whoever was touching his arm, 
but when he saw Pierre's beaming face he gave 
him an unexpectedly kind and pleasant smile. 

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

"I knew you would be here," replied Pierre. 
"I will come to supper with you. May I?" he 



ONE 7 

added in a low voice so as not to disturb the 
vicomte who was continuing his story. 

"No, impossible 1" said Prince Andrew, 
laughing and pressing Pierre's hand to show 
that there was no need to ask the question. He 
wished to say something more, but at that mo- 
ment Prince Vastti and his daughter got up to 
go and the two young men rose to let them 
pass. 

"You must excuse me, dear Vicomte," said 
Prince Vasili to the Frenchman, holding him 
down by the sleeve in a friendly way to prevent 
his rising. "This unfortunate fete at the ambas- 
sador's deprives me of a pleasure, and obliges 
me to interrupt you. I am very sorry to leave 
your enchanting party," said he, turning to 
Anna Pdvlovna. 

His daughter, Princess He*lene, passed be- 
tween the chairs, lightly holding up the folds 
of her dress, and the smile shone still more 
radiantly on her beautiful face. Pierre gazed 
at her with rapturous, almost frightened, eyes 
as she passed him. 

"Very lovely," said Prince Andrew. 

"Very," said Pierre. 

In passing, Prince Vasili seized Pierre's hand 
and said to Anna Pdvlovna: "Educate this bear 
for me! He has been staying with me a whole 
month and this is the first time I have seen 
him in society. Nothing is so necessary for a 
young man as the society of clever women." 

ANNA PAVLOVNA smiled and promised to take 
Pierre in hand. She knew his father to be 
a connection of Prince Vasili's. The elderly 
lady who had been sitting with the old aunt 
rose hurriedly and overtook Prince Vasfli in 
the anteroom. All the affectation of interest 
she had assumed had left her kindly and tear- 
worn face and it now expressed only anxiety 
and fear. 

"How about my son Borfs, Prince?" said 
she, hurrying after him into the anteroom. "1 
can't remain any longer in Petersburg. Tell 
me what news I may take back to my poor 
boy." 

Although Prince Vasili listened reluctantly 
and not very politely to the elderly lady, even 
betraying some impatience, she gave him an 
ingratiating and appealing smile, and took his 
hand that he might not go away. 

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

"Believe me, Princess, I am ready to do all 
I can," answered Prince Vasili, "but it is dif- 



8 



WAR AND PEACE 



ficult for me to ask the Emperor. I should ad- 
vise you to appeal to Rumydntsev through 
Prince Golftsyn. That would be the best way." 

The elderly lady was a Princess Drubet- 
skdya, belonging to one of the best families in 
Russia, but she was poor, and having long been 
out of society had lost her former influential 
connections. She had now come to Petersburg 
to procure an appointment in the Guards for 
her only son. It was, in fact, solely to meet 
Prince Vasfli that she had obtained an invita- 
tion to Anna Pdvlovna's reception and had sat 
listening to the vicomte's story. Prince Vasfli's 
words frightened her, an embittered look 
clouded her once handsome face, but only for 
a moment; then she smiled again and clutched 
Prince Vasili's arm more tightly. 

"Listen to me, Prince," said she. "I have 
never yet asked you for anything and I never 
will again, nor have I ever reminded you of 
my father's friendship for you; but now I en- 
treat you for God's sake to do this for my son 
and I shall always regard you as a benefac- 
tor," she added hurriedly. "No, don't be angry, 
but promise! I have asked Golitsyn and he has 
refused. Be the kindhearted man you always 
were," she said, trying to smile though tears 
were in her eyes. 

"Papa, we shall be late," said Princess 
Hel&ne, turning her beautiful head and look- 
ing over her classically molded shoulder as 
she stood waiting by the door. 

Influence in society, however, is capital which 
has to be economized if it is to last. Prince 
Vasfli knew this, and having once realized 
that if he asked on behalf of all who begged 
of him, he would soon be unable to ask for 
himself, he became chary of using his influ- 
ence. But in Princess Drubetskdya's case he 
felt, after her second appeal, something like 
qualms of conscience. She had reminded him 
of what was quite true; he had been indebted to 
her father for the first steps in his career. More- 
over, he could see by her manners that she was 
one of those womenmostly mothers who, 
having once made up their minds, will not rest 
until they have gained their end, and are pre- 
pared if necessary to go on insisting day after 
day and hour after hour, and even to make 
scenes. This last consideration moved him. 

"My dear Anna Mikhdylovna," said he with 
his usual familiarity and weariness of tone, "it 
is almost impossible for me to do what you ask; 
but to prove my devotion to you and how I re- 
spect your father's memory, I will do the im- 
possibleyour son shall be transferred to the 



Guards. Here is my hand on it. Are you satis- 
fied?" * 

"My dear benefactor! This is what I ex- 
pected from you I knew your kindness!" He 
turned to go. 

"Wait just a word! When he has been trans- 
ferred to the Guards . . ." she faltered. "You 
are on good terms with Michael Ilari6novich 
Kuttizov . . . recommend Boris to him as adju- 
tant! Then I shall be at rest, and then . . ." 

Prince Vasili smiled. 

"No, I won't promise that. You don't know 
how Kutiizov is pestered since his appoint- 
ment as Commander in Chief. He told me 
himself that all the Moscow ladies have con- 
spired to give him all their sons as adjutants." 

"No, but do promise! I won't let you go! My 
dear benefactor . . ." 

"Papa," said his beautiful daughter in the 
same tone as before, "we shall be late." 

"Well, au revoir! Good-by! You hear her?" 

"Then tomorrow you will speak to the Em- 
peror?" 

"Certainly; but about Kutiizov, I don't 
promise." 

"Do promise, do promise, Vasfli!" cried 
Anna Mikhdylovna as he went, with the smile 
of a coquettish girl, which at one time prob- 
ably came naturally to her, but was now very 
ill-suited to her careworn face. 

Apparently she had forgotten her age and 
by force of habit employed all the old fem- 
inine arts. But as soon as the prince had gone 
her face resumed its former cold, artificial ex- 
pression. She returned to the group where the 
vicomte was still talking, and again pretended 
to listen, while waiting till it would be time 
to leave. Her task was accomplished. 

CHAPTER V 

"AND what do you think of this latest com- 
edy, the coronation at Milan?" asked Anna 
Pavlovna, "and of the comedy of the people 
of Genoa and Lucca laying their petitions 
before Monsieur Buonaparte, and Monsieur 
Buonaparte sitting on a throne and granting 
the petitions of the nations? Adorable! It is 
enough to make one's head whirl! It is as if 
the whole world had gone crazy." 

Prince Andrew looked Anna Pdvlovna 
straight in the face with a sarcastic smile. 

" 'Dieu me la donne, gare a qui la touched J 
They say he was very fine when he said that," 
he remarked, repeating the words in Italian: 

1 God has given it to me, let him who touches it 
beware) 



BOOK 

" 'Dio mi rha dato. Guai a chi la tocchi!' " 

"I hope this will prove the last cft*op that 
will make the glass run over," Anna Pavlovna 
continued. "The sovereigns will not be able to 
endure this man who is a menace to every- 
thing." 

"The sovereigns? I do not speak of Russia," 
said the vicomte, polite but hopeless: "The 
sovereigns, madame . . . What have they done 
for Louis XVII, for the Queen, or for Madame 
Elizabeth? Nothing!" and he became more an- 
imated. "And believe me, they are reaping the 
reward of their betrayal of the Bourbon cause. 
The sovereigns! Why, they are sending am- 
bassadors to compliment the usurper." 

And sighing disdainfully, he again changed 
his position. 

Prince Hippolyte, who had been gazing at 
the vicomte for some time through his lor- 
gnette, suddenly turned completely round to- 
ward the little princess, and having asked for 
a needle began tracing the Conde* coat of arms 
on the table. He explained this to her with as 
much gravity as if she had asked him to do it. 

"Baton de gueules, engrele de gueules d' 
azurmaison Condd," said he. 

The princess listened, smiling. 

"If Buonaparte remains on the throne of 
France a year longer," the vicomte continued, 
with the air of a man who, in a matter with 
which he is better acquainted than anyone else, 
does not listen to others but follows the cur- 
rent of his own thoughts, "things will have 
gone too far. By intrigues, violence, exile, and 
executions,French society I mean good French 
society will have been forever destroyed, and 
then . . ." 

He shrugged his shoulders and spread out 
his hands. JPierre wished to make a remark, for 
the conversation interested him, but Anna 
Pdvlovna, who had him under observation, in- 
terrupted: 

"The Emperor Alexander," said she, with 
the melancholy which always accompanied any 
reference of hers to the Imperial family, "has 
declared that he will leave it to the French 
people themselves to choose their own form 
of government; and I believe that once free 
from the usurper, the whole nation will cer- 
tainly throw itself into the arms of its rightful 
king," she concluded, trying to be amiable to 
the royalist emigrant. 

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



ONE 9 

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

"It is the Buonapartists who say that," re- 
plied the vicomte without looking at Pierre. 
"At the present time it is difficult to know the 
real state of French public opinion." 

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

It was evident that he did not like the vi- 
comte and was aiming his remarks at him, 
though without looking at him. 

" 'I showed them the path to glory, but they 
did not follow it,' " Prince Andrew continued 
after a short silence, again quoting Napoleon's 
words. " 'I opened my antechambers and they 
crowded in.' I do not know how far he was 
justified in saying so." 

"Not in the least," replied the vicomte. "Aft- 
er the murder of the due even the most par- 
tial ceased to regard him as a hero. If to some 
people," he went on, turning to Anna Pav- 
lovna, "he ever was a hero, after the murder 
of the due there was one martyr more in heav- 
en and one hero less on earth." 

Before Anna Pdvlovna and the others had 
time to smile their appreciation of the vi- 
comte's epigram, Pierre again broke into the 
conversation, and though Anna Pdvlovna felt 
sure he would say something inappropriate, 
she was unable to stop him. 

"The execution of the Due d'Enghien," de- 
clared Monsieur Pierre, "was a political neces- 
sity, and it seems to me that Napoleon showed 
greatness of soul by not fearing to take on him- 
self the whole responsibility of that deed." 

"Dieu! Mon Dieu!" muttered Anna Pav- 
lovna in a terrified whisper. 

"What, Monsieur Pierre . . . Do you con- 
sider that assassination shows greatness of 
soul?" said the little princess, smiling and 
drawing her work nearer to her. 

"Oh! Oh!" exclaimed several voices. 

"Capital!" said Prince Hippolyte in Eng- 
lish, and began slapping his knee with the 
palm of his hand. 

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

"I say so," he continued desperately, "be- 
cause the Bourbons fled from the Revolution 
leaving the people to anarchy, and Napoleon 
alone understood the Revolution and quelled 
it, and so for the general good, he could not 
stop short for the sake of one man's life." 



1O 

"Won't you come over to the other table?" 
suggested Anna Pvlovna, 

But Pierre continued his speech without 
heeding her. 

"No," cried he, becoming more and more 
eager, "Napoleon is great because he rose su- 
perior to the Revolution, suppressed its a- 
buses, preserved all that was good in itequal- 
ity of citizenship and freedom of speech and 
of the press and only for that reason did he 
obtain power." 

"Yes, if having obtained power, without a- 
vailing himself of it to commit murder he had 
restored it to the rightful king, I should have 
called him a great man," remarked the vi- 
comte. 

"He could not do that. The people only 
gave him power that he might rid them of the 
Bourbons and because they saw that he was a 
great man. The Revolution was a grand thing!" 
continued Monsieur Pierre, betraying by this 
desperate and provocative proposition his ex- 
treme youth and his wish to express all that 
was in his mind. 

"What? Revolution and regicide a grand 
thing? . . . Well, after that . . . But won't you 
come to this other table?" repeated Anna Pdv- 
lovna. 

"Rousseau's Contrat social," said the vi- 
comte with a tolerant smile. 

"I am not speaking of regicide, I am speak- 
ing about ideas." 

"Yes: ideas of robbery, murder, and regi- 
cide," again interjected an ironical voice. 

"Those were extremes, no doubt, but they 
are not what is most important. What is im- 
portant are the rights of man, emancipation 
from prejudices, and equality of citizenship, 
and all these ideas Napoleon has retained in 
full force." 

"Liberty and equality," said the vicomte 
contemptuously, as if at last deciding seriously 
to prove to this youth how foolish his words 
were, "high-sounding words which have long 
been discredited. Who does not love liberty 
and equality? Even our Saviour preached lib- 
erty and equality. Have people since the Rev- 
olution become happier? On the contrary. We 
wanted liberty, but Buonaparte has destroyed 
it." 

Prince Andrew kept looking with an a- 
mused smile from Pierre to the vicomte and 
from the vicomte to their hostess. In the first 
moment of Pierre's outburst Anna Pdvlovna, 
despite her social experience, was horror- 
struck. But when she saw that Pierre's sacri- 



WAR AND PEACE 



legious words had not exasperated the vi- 
comte, ahd had convinced herself that it was 
impossible to stop him, she rallied her forces 
and joined the vicomte in a vigorous attack on 
the orator. 

"But, my dear Monsieur Pierre," said she, 
"how do you explain the fact of a great man 
executing a due or even an ordinary man 
who is innocent and untried?" 

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

"And the prisoners he killed in Africa?That 
was horrible!" said the little princess, shrug- 
ging her shoulders. 

"He's a low fellow, say what you will," re- 
marked Prince Hippolyte. 

Pierre, not knowing whom to answer, looked 
at them all and smiled. His smile was unlike 
the half-smile of other people. When he smiled, 
his grave, even rather gloomy, look was instan- 
taneously replaced by another a childlike, 
kindly, even rather silly look, which seemed to 
ask forgiveness. 

The vicomte who was meeting him for the 
first time saw clearly that this young Jacobin 
was not so terrible as his words suggested. All 
were silent. 

"How do you expect him to answer you all 
at once?" said Prince Andrew. "Besides, in the 
actions of a statesman one has to distinguish 
between his acts as a private person, as a gen- 
eral, and as an emperor. So it seems to me." 

"Yes, yes, of course!" Pierre chimed in, 
pleased at the arrival of this reinforcement. 

"One must admit," continued Prince An- 
drew, "that Napoleon as a man was great on 
the bridge of Arcola, and in the hospital at 
Jaffa where he gave his hand to the plague- 
stricken; but . . . but there are other acts which 
it is difficult to justify." 

Prince Andrew, who had evidently wished 
to tone down the awkwardness of Pierre's re- 
marks, rose and made a sign to his wife that it 
was time to go. 

Suddenly Prince Hippolyte started up mak- 
ing signs to everyone to attend, and asking 
them all to be seated began: 

"I was told a charming Moscow story today 
and must treat you to it. Excuse me, Vicomte 
I must tell it in Russian or the point will be 
lost. . . ." And Prince Hippolyte began to tell 
his story in sucli Russian as a Frenchman 
would speak after spending about a year in 



BOOK ONE 



Russia. Everyone waited, so emphatically and 
eagerly did he demand their attention to his 
story. 

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

Here Prince Hippolyte paused, evidently 
collecting his ideas with difficulty. 

"She said ... Oh yes! She said, 'Girl,' to the 
maid, 'put on a livery, get up behind the car- 
riage, and come with me while I make some 
calls/ " 

Here Prince Hippolyte spluttered andburst 
out laughing long before his audience, which 
produced an effect unfavorable to the narra- 
tor. Several persons, among them the elderly 
lady and Anna Pavlovna, did however smile. 

"She went. Suddenly there was a great wind. 
The girl lost her hat and her long hair came 
down. . . ." Here he could contain himself no 
longer and went on, between gasps of laugh- 
ter: "And the whole world knew. . . ." 

And so the anecdote ended. Though it was 
unintelligible why he had told it, or why it 
had to be told in Russian, still Anna Pdvlovna 
and the others appreciated Prince Hippolyte's 
social tact in so agreeably ending Pierre's un- 
pleasant and unamiable outburst. After the 
anecdote the conversation broke up into in- 
significant small talk about the last and next 
balls, about theatricals, and who would meet 
whom, and when and where. 

CHAPTER VI 

HAVING THANKED Anna Pavlovna for her 
'charming soiree, the guests began to take their 
leave. 

Pierre was ungainly. Stout, about the aver- 
age height, broad, with huge red hands; he did 
not know, as the saying is, how to enter a draw- 
ing room and still less how to leave one; that 
is, how to say something particularly agreeable 
before going away. Besides this he was absent- 
minded. When he rose to go, he took up in- 
stead of his own, the general's three-cornered 
hat, and held it, pulling at the plume, till the 
general asked him to restore it. All his absent- 
mindedness and inability to enter a room and 
converse in it was, however, redeemed by his 
kindly, simple, and modest expression. Anna 
Pdvlovna turned toward him and, with a 
Christian mildness that expressed forgiveness 
of his indiscretion, nodded and said: "I hope to 
see you again, but I also hope you will change 



your opinions, my dear Monsieur Pierre." 

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

Prince Andrew had gone out into the hall, 
and, turning his shoulders to the footman who 
was helping him on with his cloak, listened in- 
differently to his wife's chatter with Prince 
Hippolyte who had also come into the hall. 
Prince Hippolyte stood close to the pretty, 
pregnant princess, and stared fixedly at hei 
through his eyeglass. 

"Go in, Annette, or you will catch cold," 
said the little princess, taking leave of Anna 
Pavlovna. "It is settled," she added in a low 
voice. 

Anna Pavlovna had already managed to 
speak to Lise about the match she contem- 
plated between Anatole and the little princess' 
sister-in-law. 

"I rely on you, my dear," said Anna Pdv- 
lovna, also in a low tone. "Write to her and 
let me know how her father looks at the mat- 
ter. An revoir!"znd she left the hall. 

Prince Hippolyte approached the little prin- 
cess and, bending his face close to her, began 
to whisper something. 

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

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

"They say die ball will be very good," re- 
plied the princess, drawing up her downy lit- 
tle lip. "All the pretty women in society will 
be there." 

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

Still smiling, she gracefully moved away, 



IS 

turning and glancing at her husband. Prince 
Andrew's eyes were closed, so weary and sleepy 
did he seem. 

"Are you ready?" he asked his wife, look- 
ing past her. 

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

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

The princess, picking up her dress, was tak- 
ing her seat in the dark carriage, her husband 
was adjusting his saber; Prince Hippolyte, un- 
der pretense of helping, was in everyone's 
way. 

"Allow me, sir/' said Prince Andrew in Rus- 
sian in a cold, disagreeable tone to Prince 
Hippolyte who was blocking his path. 

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

The postilion started, the carriage wheels 
rattled. Prince Hippolyte laughed spasmod- 
ically as he stood in the porch waiting for the 
vicomte whom he had promised to take home. 

"Well, mon cher" said the vicomte, having 
seated himself beside Hippolyte in the car- 
riage, "your little princess is very nice, very 
nice indeed, quite French," and he kissed the 
tips of his fingers. Hippolyte burst out laugh- 
ing. 

"Do you know, you are a terrible chap for 
all your innocent airs," continued the vicomte. 
"I pity the poor husband, that little officer who 
gives himself the airs of a monarch." 

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

Pierre reaching the house first went into 
Prince Andrew's study like one quite at home, 
and from habit immediately lay down on the 
sofa, took from the shelf the first book that 
came to his hand (it was Caesar's Commen- 
taries), and resting on his elbow, began read- 
ing it in the middle. 

"What have you done to Mile Sch^rer? She 
will be quite ill now," said Prince Andrew, as 
he entered the study, rubbing his small white 
hands. 

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

"That abbl is very interesting but he does 



WAR AND PEACE 



not see the thing in the right light. ... In my 
opinion perpetual peace is possible but I do 
not know how to express it ... not by a bal- 
ance of political power. . . ." 

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

"One can't everywhere say all one thinks, 
mon cher. Well, have you at last decided on 
anything? Are you going to be a guardsman or 
a diplomatist?" asked Prince Andrew after a 
momentary silence. 

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

"Really, I don't yet know. I don't like either 
the one or the other." 

"But you must decide on somethingl Your 
father expects it." 

Pierre at the age of ten had been sent a- 
broad with an abb as tutor, and had remained 
away till he was twenty. When he returned to 
Moscow his father dismissed the abbe* and said 
to the young man, "Now go to Petersburg, 
look round, and choose your profession. I will 
agree to anything. Here is a letter to Prince 
Vasili, and here is money. Write to me all 
about it, and I will help you in everything." 
Pierre had already been choosing a career for 
three months, and had not decided on any- 
thing. It was about this choice that Prince 
Andrew was speaking. Pierre rubbed his fore- 
head. 

"But he must be a Freemason," said he, re- 
ferring to the abb whom he had met that 
evening. ( 

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

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

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

"If no one fought except on his own con- 
viction, there would be no wars," he said. 

"And that would be splendid," said Pierre. 

Prince Andrew smiled ironically. 

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



BOOK ONE 



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

"What for? I don't know. I must. Besides 
that I am going . . ." He paused. "I am going 
because the life I am leading here does not 
suit mel" 

CHAPTER VII 

THE RUSTLE of a woman's dress was heard in 
the next room. Prince Andrew shook himself 
as if waking up, and his face assumed the look 
it had had in Anna Pdvlovna's drawing room. 
Pierre removed his feet from the sofa. The 
princess came in. She had changed her gown 
for a house dress as fresh and elegant as the 
other. Prince Andrew rose and politely placed 
a chair for her. 

"How is it," she began, as usual in French, 
settling down briskly and fussily in the easy 
chair, "how is it Annette never got married? 
How stupid you men all are not to have mar- 
ried her! Excuse me for saying so, but you 
have no sense about women. What an argu- 
mentative fellow you are, Monsieur Pierre!" 

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

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

"Ah, that is just what I tell himl" said she. 
"I don't understand it; I don't in the least un- 
derstand why men can't live without wars. 
How is it that we women don't want anything 
of the kind, don't need it? Now you shall 
judge between us. I always tell him: Here he 
is Uncle's aide-de-camp, a most brilliant posi- 
tion. He is so well known, so much appreciated 
by everyone. The other day at the Aprksins' I 
heard a lady asking, 'Is that the famous Prince 
Andrew?' I did indeed." She laughed. "He is 
so well received everywhere. He might easily 
become aide-de-camp to the Emperor. You 
know the Emperor spoke to him most gra- 
ciously. Annette and I were speaking of how to 
arrange it. What do you think?" 

Pierre looked at his friend and, noticing 
that he did not like the conversation, gave no 
reply. 

"When are you starting?" he asked. 

"Oh, don't speak of his going, don't! I won't 
hear it spoken of," said the princess in the 
same petulantly playful tone in which she had 
spoken to Hippolyte in the drawing room and 



which was so plainly ill-suited to the family 
circle of which Pierre was almost a member. 
"Today when I remembered that all these de- 
lightful associations must be broken off ... 
and then you know, Andr . . ." (she looked 
significantly at her husband) "I'm afraid, I'm 
afraid!" she whispered, and a shudder ran 
down her back. 

Her husband looked at her as if surprised to 
notice that someone besides Pierre and him- 
self was in the room, and addressed her in a 
tone of frigid politeness. 

"What is it you are afraid of, Lise? I don't 
understand," said he. 

"There, what egotists men all are: all, all 
egotists! Just for a whim of his own, goodness 
only knows why, he leaves me and locks me up 
alone in the country." 

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

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

Her tone was now querulous and her lip 
drawn up, giving her not a joyful, but an ani- 
mal, squirrel-like expression. She paused as if 
she felt it indecorous to speak of her preg- 
nancy before Pierre, though the gist of the 
matter lay in that. 

"I still can't understand what you are afraid 
of," said Prince Andrew slowly, not taking his 
eyes off his wife. 

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

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

"Your doctor tells you to go to bed earlier," 
said Prince Andrew. "You had better go." 

The princess said nothing, but suddenly her 
short downy lip quivered. Prince Andrew rose, 
shrugged his shoulders, and walked about the 
room. 

Pierre looked over his spectacles with nai've 
surprise, now at him and now at her, moved 
as if about to rise too, but changed his mind. 

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

"Lise!" was all Prince Andrew said. But that 
one word expressed an entreaty, a threat, and 
above all conviction that she would herself re- 
gret her words. But she went on hurriedly: 

"You treat me like an invalid or a child. I 



WAR AND PEACE 



see it all! Did you behave like that six months 
ago?" 

"Lise, I beg you to desist," said Prince An- 
drew still more emphatically. 

Pierre, who had been growing more and 
more agitated as he listened to all this, rose 
and approached the princess. He seemed un- 
able to bear the sight of tears and was ready to 
cry himself. 

"Calm yourself, Princess! It seems so to you 
because ... I assure you I myself have experi- 
enced . . . and so ... because . . . No, excuse 
me! An outsider is out of place here . . . No, 
don't distress yourself . . . Good-by!" 

Prince Andrew caught him by the hand. 

"No, wait, Pierre! The princess is too kind 
to wish to deprive me of the pleasure of spend- 
ing the evening with you." 

"No, he thinks only of himself," muttered the 
princess without restraining her angry tears. 

"Lise!" said Prince Andrew dryly, raising 
his voice to the pitch which indicates that pa- 
tience is exhausted. 

Suddenly the angry, squirrel-like expression 
of the princess' pretty face changed into a win- 
ning and piteous look of fear. Her beautiful 
eyes glanced askance at her husband's -face, 
and her own assumed the timid, deprecating 
expression of a dog when it rapidly but feebly 
wags its drooping tail. 

"M on Dieu, rnon Dieu!" she muttered, and 
lifting her dress with one hand she went up to 
her husband and kissed him on the forehead. 

"Good night, Lise," said he, rising and cour- 
teously kissing her hand as he would have done 
to a stranger. 

CHAPTER VIII 

THE FRIENDS were silent. Neither cared to be- 
gin talking. Pierre continually glanced at 
Prince Andrew; Prince Andrew rubbed his 
forehead with his small hand. 

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

They entered the elegant, newly decorated, 
and luxurious dining room. Everything from 
the table napkins to the silver, china, and glass 
bore that imprint of newness found in the 
households of the newly married. Halfway 
through supper Prince Andrew leaned his el- 
bows on the table and, with a look of nervous 
agitation such as Pierre had never before seen 
on his face, began to talk as one who has long 
had something on his mind and suddenly de- 
termines to speak out. 

"Never, never marry, my dear fellow! That's 



my advice: never marry till you can say to 
yoursel f that you have done all you are capa- 
ble of, and until you have ceased to love the 
woman of your choice and have seen her plain- 
ly as she is, or else you will make a cruel and 
irrevocable mistake. Marry when you are old 
and good for nothing or all that is good and 
noble in you will be lost. It will all be wasted 
on trifles. Yes! Yes! Yes! Don't look at me with 
such surprise. If you marry expecting anything 
from yourself in the future, you will feel at 
every step that for you all is ended, all is closed 
except the drawing room, where you will be 
ranged side by side with a court lackey and an 
idiot! . . . But what's the good? . . ." and he 
waved his arm. 

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

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

As he said this Prince Andrew was less than 
ever like that Bolk6nski who had lolled in 
Anna Pavlovna's easy chairs and with half- 
closed eyes had uttered French phrases be- 
tween his teeth. Every muscle of his thin face 
was now quivering with nervous excitement; 
his eyes, in which the fire of life had seemed 
extinguished, now flashed with brilliant light. 
It was evident that the more lifeless he seemed 
at ordinary times, the more impassioned he be- 
came in these moments of almost morbid irri- 
tation. 

"You don't understand why I say this," he 
continued, "but it is the whole story of life. 
You talk of Bonaparte and his career," said 
he (though Pierre had not mentioned Bona- 
parte), "but Bonaparte when he worked went 
step by step toward his goal. He was free, he 
had nothing but his aim to consider, and he 
reached it. But tie yourself up with a woman 
and, like a chained convict, you lose all free- 
dom! And all you have of hope and strength 
merely weighs you down and torments you 
with regret. Drawing rooms, gossip, balls, van- 
ity, and triviality these are the enchanted 
circle I cannot escape from. I am now going 
to the war, the greatest war there ever was, 
and I know nothing and am fit for nothing. 
I am very amiable and have a caustic wit," 
continued Prince Andrew, "and at Anna Pdv- 



BOOK ONE 



lovna's they listen to me. And that stupid set 
without whom my wife cannot exist, an4 those 
women ... If you only knew what those society 
women are, and women in general I My father 
is right. Selfish, vain, stupid, trivial in every- 
thingthat's what women are when you see 
them in their true colors! When you meet them 
in society it seems as if there were something 
in them, but there's nothing, nothing, noth- 
ing! No, don't marry, my dear fellow; don't 
marry!" concluded Prince Andrew. 

"It seems funny to me," said Pierre, "that 
you, you should consider yourself incapable 
and your life a spoiled life. You have every- 
thing before you, everything. And you . . ." 

He did not finish his sentence, but his tone 
showed how highly he thought of his friend 
and how much he expected of him in the fu- 
ture. 

"How can he talk like that?" thought Pierre. 
He considered his friend a model of perfec- 
tion because Prince Andrew possessed in the 
highest degree just the very qualities Pierre 
lacked, and which might be best described as 
strength of will. Pierre was always astonished 
at Prince Andrew's calm manner of treating 
everybody, his extraordinary memory, his ex- 
tensive reading (he had read everything, knew 
everything, and had an opinion about every- 
thing), but above all at his capacity for work 
and study. And if Pierre was often struck by 
Andrew's lack of capacity for philosophical 
meditation (to which he himself was particu- 
larly addicted), he regarded even this not as a 
defect but as a sign of strength. 

Even in the best, most friendly and sim- 
plest relations of life, praise and commenda- 
tion are essential, just as grease is necessary to 
wheels that they may run smoothly. 

"My part is played out," said Prince An- 
drew. "What's the use of talking about me? 
Let us talk about you," he added after a si- 
lence, smiling at his reassuring thoughts. 

That smile was immediately reflected on 
Pierre's face. 

"But what is there to say about me?" said 
Pierre, his face relaxing into a careless, merry 
smile. "What am I? An illegitimate son!" He 
suddenly blushed crimson, and it was plain that 
he had made a great effort to say this. "With- 
out a name and without means . . . And it 
really . , ." But he did not say what "it really" 
was. "For the present I am free and am all 
right. Only I haven't the least idea what I am 
to do; I wanted to consult you seriously." 

Prince Andrew looked kindly at him, yet 



his glance friendly and affectionate as it was 
expressed a sense of his own superiority. 

"I am fond of you, especially as you are the 
one live man among our whole set. Yes, you're 
all right! Choose what you will; it's all the 
same. You'll be all right anywhere. But look 
here: give up visiting those Kurdgins and lead- 
ing that sort of life. It suits you so badly all 
this debauchery, dissipation, and the rest of 
it!" 

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

"I don't understand it," replied Prince An- 
drew. "Women who are comme il faut, that's 
a different matter; but the Kuragins' set of 
women, 'women and wine,' I -don't under- 
stand!" 

Pierre was staying at Prince Vasili Kurdgin's 
and sharing the dissipated life of his son Ana- 
tole, the son whom they were planning to re- 
form by marrying him to Prince Andrew's 
sister. 

"Do you know?" said Pierre, as if suddenly 
struck by a happy thought, "seriously, I have 
long been thinking of it. ... Leading such a 
life I can't decide or think properly about any- 
thing. One's head aches, and one spends all 
one's money. He asked me for tonight, but 
1 won't go." 

"You give me your word of honor not to 
go?" 

"On my honor!" 

CHAPTER IX 

1 r WAS past one o'clock when Pierre left his 
friend. It was a cloudless, northern, summer 
night. Pierre took an open cab intending to 
drive straight home. But the nearer he drew to 
the house the more he felt the impossibility of 
going to sleep on such a night. It was light 
enough to see a long way in the deserted street 
and it seemed more like morning or evening 
than night. On the way Pierre remembered 
that Anatole Kuragin was expecting the usual 
set for cards that evening, after which there 
was generally a drinking bout, finishing with 
visits of a kind Pierre was very fond of. 

"I should like to go to Kuragin's," thought 
he. 

But he immediately recalled his promise to 
Prince Andrew not to go there. Then, as hap- 
pens to people of weak character, he desired 
so passionately once more to enjoy that dissi- 
pation he was so accustomed to that he de- 
cided to go. The thought immediately occurred 



i6 



WAR AND PEACE 



to him that his promise to Prince Andrew was 
of no account, because before he gave it he 
had already promised Prince Anatole to come 
to his gathering; "besides," thought he, "all 
such 'words of honor' are conventional things 
with no definite meaning, especially if one 
considers that by tomorrow one may be dead, 
or something so extraordinary may happen to 
one that honor and dishonor will be all the 
samel" Pierre often indulged in reflections 
of this sort, nullifying all his decisions and in- 
tentions. He went to Kurdgin's. 

Reaching the large house near the Horse 
Guards' barracks, in which Anatole lived, 
Pierre entered the lighted porch, ascended 
the stairs, and went in at the open door. There 
was no one in the anteroom; empty bottles, 
cloaks, and overshoes were lying about; there 
was a smell of alcohol, and sounds of voices 
and shouting in the distance. 

Cards and supper were over, but the visitors 
had not yet dispersed. Pierre threw off his 
cloak and entered the first room, in which were 
the remains of supper. A footman, thinking 
no one saw him, was drinking on the sly what 
was left in the glasses. From the third room 
came sounds of laughter, the shouting of famil- 
iar voices, the growling of a bear, and general 
commotion. Some eight or nine young men 
were crowding anxiously round an open win- 
dow. Three others were romping with a young 
bear, one pulling him by the chain and trying 
to set him at the others. 

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

"Mind, no holding on I" cried another. 

"I bet on Dolokhovl" cried a third. "Kura- 
gin, you part our hands." 

"There, leave Bruin alone; here's a bet on." 

"At one draught, or he loses!" shouted a 
fourth. 

"Jacob, bring a bottle!" shouted the host, 
a tall, handsome fellow who stood in the midst 
of the group, without a coat, and with his fine 
linen shirt unfastened in front. "Wait a bit, 
you fellows. . . . Here is Pdtya! Good man!" 
cried he, addressing Pierre. 

Another voice, from a man of medium 
height with clear blue eyes, particularly strik- 
ing among all these drunken voices by its sober 
ring, criedfrom thewindow: "Comehere; part 
the bets!" This was D61okhov, an officer of the 
Semenov regiment, a notorious gambler and 
duelist, who was living with Anatole. Pierre 
smiled, looking about him merrily. 

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

"Wait a bit, he is not drunk yet! A bottle 



here," said Anatole, and taking a glass from 
the ta^le he went up to Pierre. 

"First of all you must drink!" 

Pierre drank one glass after another, look- 
ing from under his brows at the tipsy guests 
who were again crowding round the window, 
and listening to their chatter. Anatole kept on 
refilling Pierre's glass while explaining that 
D61okhov was betting with Stevens, an Eng- 
lish naval officer, that he would drink a bottle 
of rum sitting on the outer ledge of the third- 
floor window with his legs hanging out. 

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

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

D61okhov was holding the Englishman's 
hand and clearly and distinctly repeating the 
terms of the bet, addressing himself particu- 
larly to Anatole and Pierre. 

D61okhov was of medium height, with curly 
hair and light-blue eyes. He was about twenty- 
five. Like all infantry officers he wore no mus- 
tache, so that his mouth, the most striking 
feature of his face, was clearly seen. The lines 
of that mouth were remarkably finely curved. 
The middle of the upper lip formed a sharp 
wedge and closed firmly on the firm lower one, 
and something like two distinct smiles played 
continually round the two corners of the 
mouth; this, together with the resolute, inso- 
lent intelligence of his eyes, produced an effect 
which made it impossible not to notice his 
face. D61okhov was a man of small means and 
no connections. Yet, though Anatole spent 
tens of thousands of rubles, D61okhov lived 
with him and had placed himself on such a 
footing that all who knew them, including Ana- 
tole himself , respected him more than they did 
Anatole. D61okhov could play all games and 
nearly always won. However much he drank, 
he never lost his clearheadedness. Both Kurdgin 
and D61okhov were at that time notorious 
among the rakes and scapegraces of Petersburg. 

The bottle of rum was brought. The window 
frame which prevented anyone from sitting 
on the outer sill was being forced out by two 
footmen, who were evidently flurried and in- 
timidated by the directions and shouts of the 
gentlemen around. 

Anatole with his swaggering air strode up to 
the window. He wanted to smash something. 
Pushing away the footmen he tugged at the 
frame, but could not move it. He smashed a 
pane. 



BOOK ONE 



"You have a try, Hercules/' said he, Burning 
to Pierre. 

Pierre seized the crossbeam, tugged, and 
wrenched the oak frame out with a crash. 

"Take it right out, or they'll think I'm hold- 
ing on," said D61okhov. 

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

"First-rate," said Pierre, looking at D61ok- 
hov, who with a bottle of rum in his hand was 
approaching the window, from which the light 
of the sky, the dawn merging with the after- 
glow of sunset, was visible. 

D61okhov,the bottle of rum still in his hand, 
jumped onto the window sill. "Listen!" cried 
he, standing there and addressing those in the 
room. All were silent. 

"I bet fifty imperials" he spoke French that 
the Englishman might understand him, but he 
did not speak it very well "I bet fifty im- 
perials ... or do you wish to make it a hun- 
dred?" added he, addressing the Englishman. 

"No, fifty," replied the latter. 

"All right. Fifty imperials . . . that I will 
drink a whole bottle of rum without taking 
it from my mouth, sitting outside the window 
on this spot" (he stooped and pointed to the 
sloping ledge outside the window) "and with- 
out holding on to anything. Is that right?" 

"Quite right," said the Englishman. 

Anatole turned to the Englishman and tak- 
ing him by one of the buttons of his coat and 
looking down at him the Englishman was 
short began repeating the terms of the wager 
to him in English. 

"Wait!" cried Dolokhov, hammering with 
the bottle on the window sill to attract atten- 
tion. "Wait a bit, Kuragin. Listen! If anyone 
else does the same, I will pay him a hundred 
imperials. Do you understand?" 

The Englishman nodded, but gave no in- 
dication whether he intended to accept this 
challenge or not. Anatole did not release him, 
and though he kept nodding to show that he 
understood, Anatole went on translating D6- 
lokhov's words into English. A thin young lad, 
an hussar of the Life Guards, who had been 
losing that evening, climbed on the window 
sill, leaned over, and looked down. 

"Ohl Ohl Oh!" he muttered, looking down 
from the window at the stones of the pave- 
ment. 

"Shut up!" cried D61okhov, pushing him 
away from the window. The lad jumped awk- 
wardly back into the room, tripping over his 
spurs. 



Placing the bottle on the window sill where 
he could reach it easily, D61okhov climbed 
carefully and slowly through the window and 
lowered his legs. Pressing against both sides 
of the window, he adjusted himself on his seat, 
lowered his hands, moved a little to the right 
and then to the left, and took up the bottle. 
Anatole brought two candles and placed them 
on the window sill, though it was already quite 
light. Dolokhov's back in his white shirt, and 
his curly head, were lit up from both sides. 
Everyone crowded to the window, the English- 
man in front. Pierre stood smiling but silent. 
One man, older than the others present, sud- 
denly pushed forward with a scared and angry 
look and wanted to seize hold of Dolokhov's 
shirt. 

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

Anatole stopped him. 

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

D61okhov turned round and, again holding 
on with both hands, arranged himself on his 
scat. 

"If anyone comes meddling again," said he, 
emitting the words separately through his thin 
compressed lips, "I willthrowhim down there. 
Now then!" 

Saying this he again turned round, dropped 
his hands, took the bottle and lifted it to his 
lips, threw back his head, and raised his free 
hand to balance himself. One of the footmen 
who had stooped to pick up some broken glass 
remained in that position without taking his 
eyes from the window and from D61okhov's 
back. Anatole stood erect with staring eyes. 
The Englishman looked on sideways, pursing 
up his lips. The man who had wished to stop 
the affair ran to a corner of the room and 
threw himself on a sofa with his face to the 
wall. Pierre hid his face, from which a faint 
smile forgot to fade though his features now 
expressed horror and fear. All were still. Pierre 
took his hands from his eyes. Dolokhov still 
sat in the same position, only his head was 
thrown further back till his curly hair touched 
his shirt collar, and the hand holding the bot- 
tle was lifted higher and higher and trembled 
with the effort. The bottle was emptying per- 
ceptibly and rising still higher and his head 
tilting yet further back. "Why is it so long?" 
thought Pierre. It seemed to him that more 
than half an hour had elapsed. Suddenly D6- 
lokhov made a backward movement with his 



i8 



WAR AND PEACE 



spine, and his arm trembled nervously; this 
was sufficient to cause his whole body to slip as 
he sat on the sloping ledge. As he began slip- 
ping down, his head and arm wavered still 
more with the strain. One hand moved as if to 
clutch the window sill, but refrained from 
touching it. Pierre again covered his eyes and 
thought he would never open them again. Sud- 
denly he was aware of a stir all around. He 
looked up: D61okhov was standing on the win- 
dow sill, with a pale but radiant face. 
"It's empty!" 

He threw the bottle to the Englishman, who 
caught it neatly. D61okhov jumped down. He 
smelt strongly of rum. 

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

The Englishman took out his purse and be- 
gan counting out the money. Drilokhov stood 
frowning and did not speak. Pierre jumped 
upon the window sill. 

"Gentlemen, who wishes to bet with me? I'll 
do the same thing!" he suddenly cried. "Even 
without a bet, there! Tell them to bring me a 

bottle. I'll do it Bring a bottle!" 

"Let him do it, let him do it," saidD61okhov, 
smiling. 

"What next? Have you gone mad? . . . No 
one would let you! . . . Why, you go giddy even 
on a staircase," exclaimed several voices. 

"I'll drink it! Let's have a bottle of rum!" 
shouted Pierre, banging the table with a deter- 
mined and drunken gesture and preparing to 
climb out of the window. 

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

"No, you'll never manage him that way," 
said Anatole. "Wait a bit and I'll get round 
him. . . . Listen! I'll take your bet tomorrow, 
but now we are all going to V 

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

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

CHAPTER X 

PRINCE Vxsiii kept the promise he had given 
to Princess Drubetskaya who had spoken to 
him on behalf of her only son Boris on the 
evening of Anna Pdvlovna's soiree. The mat- 
ter was mentioned to the Emperor, an excep- 
tion made, and Boris transferred into the regi- 
ment of Semenov Guards with the rank of cor- 



net. He received, however, no appointment 
to Ku c tiizov's staff despite all Anna Mikhay- 
lovna's endeavors and entreaties. Soon after 
Anna Pdvlovna's reception Anna Mikhdylovna 
returned to Moscow and went straight to her 
rich relations, the Rost6vs, with whom she 
stayed when in the town and where her darling 
B6ry, who had only just entered a regiment of 
the line and was being at once transferred to 
the Guards as a cornet, had been educated 
from childhood and lived for years at a time. 
The Guards had already left Petersburg on the 
tenth of August, and her son, who had re- 
mained in Moscow for his equipment, was to 
join them on the march to Radzivilov. 

It was St. Natalia's day and the name day of 
two of the Rost6vs the mother and the young- 
est daughter both named Nataly. Ever since 
the morning, carriages with six horses had been 
coming and going continually, bringing visi- 
tors to the Countess Rost6va's big house on the 
Povarskaya, so well known to all Moscow. The 
countess herself and her handsome eldest 
daughter were in the drawing-room with the 
visitors who came to congratulate, and who 
constantly succeeded one another in relays. 

The countess was a woman of about forty- 
five, with a thin Oriental type of face, evidently 
worn out with childbearing she had had 
twelve. A languor of motion and speech, re- 
sulting from weakness, gave her a distinguished 
air which inspired respect. Princess Anna Mi- 
kMylovna Drubetskdya, who as a member of 
the household was also seated in the drawing 
room, helped to receive and entertain the visi- 
tors. The young people were in one of the 
inner rooms, not considering it necessary to 
take part in receiving the visitors. The count 
met the guests and saw them off, inviting them 
all to dinner. 

"I am very, very grateful to you, mon cher" or 
"ma chre" he called everyone without excep- 
tion and without the slightest variation in his 
tone, "my dear," whether they were above or 
below him in rank "I thank you for myself 
and for our two dear ones whose name day 
we are keeping. But mind you come to dinner 
or I shall be offended, ma chtre! On behalf of 
the whole family I beg you to come, mon cher!" 
These words he repeated to everyone without 
exception or variation, and with the same ex- 
pression on his full, cheerful, clean-shaven 
face, the same firm pressure of the hand and 
the same quick, repeated bows. As soon as he 
had seen a visitor off he returned to one of 
those who were still in the drawing room, 



BOOK ONE 



drew a chair toward him or her, and jauntily 
spreading out his legs and putting hi hands 
on his knees with the air of a man who enjoys 
life and knows how to live, he swayed to and 
fro with dignity, offered surmises about the 
weather, or touched on questions of health, 
sometimes in Russian and sometimes in very 
bad but self-confident French; then again, like 
a man weary but unflinching in the fulfillment 
of duty, he rose to see some visitors off and, 
stroking his scanty gray hairs over his bald 
patch, also asked them to dinner. Sometimes 
on his way back from the anteroom he would 
pass through the conservatory and pantry into 
the large marble dining hall, where tables were 
being set out for eighty people; and looking 
at the footmen, who were bringing in silver 
and china, moving tables, and unfolding dam- 
ask table linen, he would call Dmitri Vasfle- 
vich, a man of good family and the manager of 
all his affairs, and while looking with pleasure 
at the enormous table would say: "Well, 
Dmitri, you'll see that things are all as they 
should be? That's right! The great thing is the 
serving, that's it." And with a complacent sigh 
he would return to the drawing room. 

"Mrya Lv6vna Kardgina and her daugh- 
ter!" announced the countess' gigantic foot- 
man in his bass voice, entering the drawing 
room. The countess reflected a moment and 
took a pinch from a gold snuffbox with her 
husband's portrait on it. 

"I'm quite worn out by these callers. How- 
ever, I'll see her and no more. She is so affected. 
Ask her in," she said to the footman in a sad 
voice, as if saying : "Very well, finish me off." 

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

"Dear Countess, what an age . . . She has 
been laid up, poor child ... at the Razum6v- 
ski's ball . . . and Countess Aprdksina ... I was 
so delighted ..." came the sounds of animated 
feminine voices, interrupting one another and 
mingling with the rustling of dresses and the 
scraping of chairs. Then one of those conver- 
sations began which last out until, at the first 
pause, the guests rise with a rustle of dresses 
and say, "I am so delighted . . . Mamma's 
health . . . and Countess Apraksina . . ." and 
then, again rustling, pass into the anteroom, 
put on cloaks or mantles, and drive away. The 
conversation was on the chief topic of the day: 
the illness of the wealthy and celebrated beau 
of Catherine's day, Count Bezukhov,and about 
his illegitimate son Pierre, the one who had 



behaved so improperly at Anna Pdvlovna's re- 
ception. 

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

"What is that?" asked the countess as if she 
did not know what the visitor alluded to, 
though she had already heard about the cause 
of Count Bezrikhov's distress some fifteen times. 

"That's what comes of a modern educa- 
tion," exclaimed the visitor. "It seems that 
while he was abroad this young man was al- 
lowed to do as he liked, and now in Petersburg 
I hear he has been doing such terrible things 
that he has been expelled by the police." 

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

"He chose his friends badly," interposed 
Anna Mikhaylovna. "Prince Vasili's son, he, 
and a certain Dolokhov have, it is said, been 
up to heaven only knows what! And they have 
had to suffer for it. D61okhov has been de- 
graded to the ranks and Bezukhov's son sent 
back to Moscow. Anatole Kurdgin's father 
managed somehow to get his son's affair 
hushed up, but even he was ordered out of 
Petersburg." 

"But what have they been up to?" asked the 
countess. 

"They are regular brigands, especially D6- 
lokhov," replied f the visitor. "He is a son of 
Mdrya Ivdnovna" D6tpkhova, such a worthy 
woman, but there, just fancy! Those three got 
hold of a bear somewhere, put it in a carriage, 
and set off with it to visit some actresses! The 
police tried to interfere, and what did the 
young men do? They tied a policeman and the 
bear back to back and put the bear into the 
Moyka Canal. And there was the bear swim- 
ming about with the policeman on his back!" 

"What a nice figure the policeman must 
have cut, my dear!" shouted the count, dying 
with laughter, 

"Oh, how dreadful! How can you laugh at 
it, Count?" 

Yet the ladies themselves could not help 
laughing. 

"It was all they could do to rescue the poor 
man," continued the visitor. "And to think it 
is Cyril Vladimirovich Bezukhov's son who 
amuses himself in this sensible manner! And 
he was said to be so well educated and clever. 
This is all that his foreign education has done 
for him! I hope that here in Moscow no one 
will receive him, in spite of his money. They 
wanted to introduce him to me, but I quite 
declined: I have my daughters to consider." 



2O 



WAR AND PEACE 



"Why do you say this young man is so rich?" 
asked die countess, turning away from the 
girls, who at once assumed an air of inatten- 
tion. "His children are all illegitimate. I drink 
Pierre also is illegitimate." 

The visitor made a gesture with her hand. 

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

Princess Anna MikMylovna intervened in 
the conversation, evidently wishing to show 
her connections and knowledge of what went 
on in society. 

"The fact of the matter is," said she signifi- 
cantly, and also in a half whisper, "everyone 
knows Count Cyril's reputation. ... He has 
lost count of his children, but this Pierre was 
his favorite." 

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

"He is very much altered now," said Anna 
Mikhaylovna. "Well, as I was saying, Prince 
Vasili is the next heir through his wife, but 
the count is very fond of Pierre, looked after 
his education, and wrote to the Emperor about 
him; so that in the case of his death and he is 
so ill that he may die at any moment, and Dr. 
Lorrain has come from Petersburg no one 
knows who will inherit his immense fortune, 
Pierre or Prince Vasili. Forty thousand serfs 
and millions of rubles! I know it all very well 
for Prince Vasili told me himself. Besides, 
Cyril Vladimirovich is my mother's second 
cousin. He's also my B6ry's godfather," she 
added, as if she attached no importance at all 
to the fact. 

"Prince Vasili arrived in Moscow yesterday. 
I hear he has come on some inspection busi- 
ness," remarked the visitor. 

"Yes, but between ourselves," said the prin- 
cess, "that is a pretext. The fact is he has come 
to see Count Cyril Vladimirovich, hearing how 
ill he is." 

"But do you know, my dear, that was a capi- 
tal joke," said the count; and seeing that the 
elder visitor was not listening, he turned to 
the young ladies. "I can just imagine what a 
funny figure that policeman cut!" 

And as he waved his arms to impersonate 
the policeman, his portly form again shook 
with a deep ringing laugh, the laugh of one 
who always eats well and, in particular, drinks 
well. "So do come and dine with usl" he said. 

CHAPTER XI 

SILENCE ENSUED. The countess looked at her 
callers, smiling affably, but not concealing the 



fact that she would not be distressed if they 
now r<,se and took their leave. The visitor's 
daughter was already smoothing down her 
dress with an inquiring look at her mother, 
when suddenly from the next room were heard 
the footsteps of boys and girls running to the 
door and the noise of a chair falling over, and 
a girl of thirteen, hiding something in the 
folds of her short muslin frock, darted in and 
stopped short in the middle of the room. It 
was evident that she had not intended her 
flight to bring her so far. Behind Her in the door- 
way appeared a student with a crimson coat 
collar, an officer of the Guards, a girl of fifteen, 
and a plump rosy-faced boy in a short jacket. 

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

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

"Ma chtre, there is a time for everything," 
said the countess with feigned severity. "You 
spoil her, Ilya," she added, turning to her hus- 
band. 

"How do you do, my dear? I wish you many 
happy returns of your name day," said the 
visitor. "What a charming child," she added, 
addressing the mother. 

This black-eyed, wide-mouthed girl, not 
pretty but full of life with childish bare 
shoulders which after her run heaved and 
shook her bodice, with black curls tossed back- 
ward, thin bare arms, little legs in lace-frilled 
drawers, and feet in low slippers was just at 
that charming age when a girl is no longer a 
child, though the child is not yet a young 
woman. Escaping from her father she ran to 
hide her flushed face in the lace of her mother's 
mantilla not paying the least attention to 
her severe remark and began to laugh. She 
laughed, and in fragmentary sentences tried 
to explain about a doll which she produced 
from the folds of her frock. 

"Do you see? . . . My doll . . . Mimi . . . You 
see . . ." was all Natasha managed to utter (to 
her everything seemed funny). She leaned 
against her mother and burst into such a loud, 
ringing fit of laughter that even the prim visi- 
tor could not help joining in. 

"Now then, go a way and take your monstros- 
ity with you," said the mother, pushing away 
her daughter with pretended sternness, and 
turning to the visitor she added: "She is my 
youngest girl." 

Natdsha, raising her face for a moment from 
her mother's mantilla, glanced up at her 



through tears of laughter, and again hid her 
face. 

The visitor, compelled to look on at this 
family scene, thought it necessary to take some 
part in it. 

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

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

Meanwhile the younger generation: Boris, 
the officer, Anna Mikhdylovna's son; Nicholas, 
the undergraduate, the count's eldest son; 
S6nya, the count's fifteen-year-old niece, and 
little P^tya, his youngest boy, had all settled 
down in the drawing room and were obviously 
trying to restrain within the bounds of de- 
corum the excitement and mirth that shone in 
all their faces. Evidently in the back rooms, 
from which they had dashed out so impetu- 
ously, the conversation had been more amus- 
ing than the drawing-room talk of society scan- 
dals, the weather, and Countess Apraksina. 
Now and then they glanced at one another, 
hardly able to suppress their laughter. 

The two young men, the student and the 
officer, friends from childhood, were of the 
same age and both handsome fellows, though 
not alike. Boris was tall and fair, and his calm 
and handsome face had regular, delicate fea- 
tures. Nicholas was short with curly hair and 
an open expression. Dark hairs were already 
showing on his upper lip, and his whole face 
expressed impetuosity and enthusiasm. Nicho- 
las blushed when he entered the drawingroom. 
He evidently tried to find something to say, 
but failed. Boris on the contrary at once found 
his footing, and related quietly and humor- 
ously how he had known that doll Mimi when 
she was still quite a young lady, before her nose 
was broken; how she had aged during the five 
years he had known her, and how her head 
had cracked right across the skull. Having said 
this he glanced at Natdsha. She turned away 
from him and glanced at her younger brother, 
who was screwing up his eyes and shaking 
with suppressed laughter, and unable to con- 
trol herself any longer, she jumped up and 
rushed from the room as fast as her nimble 
little feet would carry her. Boris did not laugh. 

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

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



BOOK ONE 21 

Boris quietly left the room and went in 
search of Natasha. The plump boy ran after 
them angrily, as if vexed that their program 
had been disturbed. 

THE ONLY young people remaining in the 
drawing room, not counting the young lady 
visitor and the countess' eldest daughter (who 
was four years older than her sister and be- 
haved already like a grown-up person), were 
Nicholas and S6nya, the niece. S6nya was a 
slender little brunette with a tender look in 
her eyes which were veiled by long lashes, 
thick black plaits coiling twice round her head, 
and a tawny tint in her complexion and espe- 
cially in the color of her slender but graceful 
and muscular arms and neck. By the grace of 
her movements, by the softness and flexibility 
of her small limbs, and by a certain coyness 
and reserve of manner, she reminded one of a 
pretty, half-grown kitten which promises to 
become a beautiful little cat. She evidently 
considered it proper to show an interest in the 
general conversation by smiling, but in spite 
of herself her eyes under their thick long lashes 
watched her cousin who was going to join the 
army, with such passionate girlish adoration 
that her smile could not for a single instant 
impose upon anyone, and it was clear that the 
kitten had settled down only to spring up with 
more energy and again play with her cousin 
as soon as they too could, like Natdsha and 
Boris, escape from the drawing room. 

"Ah yes, my dear," said the count, addressing 
the visitor and pointing to Nicholas, "his 
friend Borfs has become an officer, and so for 
friendship's sake he is leaving the university 
and me, his old father, and entering the mili- 
tary service, my dear. And there was a place 
and everything waiting for him in the Archives 
Department! Isn't that friendship?" remarked 
the count in an inquiring tone. 

"But they say that war has been declared," 
replied the visitor. 

"They've been saying so a long while," said 
the count, "and they'll say so again and again, 
and that will be the end of it. My dear, there's 
friendship for you," he repeated. "He's join- 
ing the hussars." 

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

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



WAR AND PEACE 



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

"Schubert, the colonel of the Pdvlograd Hus- 
sars, is dining with us today. He has been here 
on leave and is taking Nicholas back with him. 
It can't be helped!" said the count, shrugging 
his shoulders and speaking playfully of a mat- 
ter that evidently distressed him. 

"I have already told you, Papa," said his son, 
"that if you don't wish to let me go, I'll stay. 
But I know I am no use anywhere except in 
the army; I am not a diplomat or a govern- 
ment clerk. I don't know how to hide what 
I feel." As he spoke he kept glancing with the 
flirtatiousness of a handsome youth at S6nya 
and the young lady visitor. 

The little kitten, feasting her eyes on him, 
seemed ready at any moment to start her gam- 
bols again and display her kittenish nature. 

"All right, all right!" said the old count. "He 
always flares up! This Buonaparte has turned 
all their heads; they all think of how he rose 
from an ensign and became Emperor. Well, 
well, God grant it," he added, not noticing his 
visitor's sarcastic smile. 

The elders began talking about Bonaparte. 
Julie Kardgina turned to young Rost6v. 

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

The young man, flattered, sat down nearer 
to her with a coquettish smile, and engaged 
the smiling Julie in a confidential conversa- 
tion without at all noticing that his involun- 
tary smile had stabbed the heart of S6nya, who 
blushed and smiled unnaturally. In the midst 
of his talk he glanced round at her. She gave 
him a passionately angry glance, and hardly 
able to restrain her tears and maintain the 
artificial smile on her lips, she got up and left 
the room. All Nicholas' animation vanished. 
He waited for the first pause in the conversa- 
tion, and then with a distressed face left the 
room to find Sony a. 

"How plainly all these young people wear 
their hearts on their sleeves!" said Anna Mi- 
khdylovna, pointing to Nicholas as he went 
out. "Cousinage dangereux voisinage" 1 she 
added. 

"Yes," said the countess when the brightness 
these young people had brought into the room 
had vanished; and as if answering a question 
no one had put but which was always in her 
mind, "and how much suffering, how much 

1 Cousin hood is a dangerous neighborhood. 



anxiety one has had to go through that we 
might rejoice in them now! And yet really the 
anxiety is greater now than the joy. One is 
always, always anxious! Especially just at this 
age, so dangerous both for girls and boys." 

"It all depends on the bringing up," re- 
marked the visitor. 

"Yes, you're quite right," continued the 
countess. "Till now I have always, thank God, 
been my children's friend and had their full 
confidence," said she, repeating the mistake of 
so many parents who imagine that their chil- 
dren have no secrets from them. "I know I 
shall always be my daughters' first confidante, 
and that if Nicholas, with his impulsive na- 
ture, does get into mischief (a boy can't help 
it), he will all the same never be like those 
Petersburg young men." 

"Yes, they are splendid, splendid young- 
sters," chimed in the count, who always solved 
questions that seemed to him perplexing by 
deciding that everything was splendid. "Just 
fancy: wants to be an hussar. What's one to do, 
my dear?" 

"What a charming creature your younger 
girl is," said the visitor; "a little volcano!" 

"Yes, a regular volcano," said the count. 
"Takes after me! And what a voice she has; 
though she's my daughter, I tell the truth when 
I say she'll be a singer, a second Salomoni! We 
have engaged an Italian to give her lessons." 

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

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

"And she's in love with Boris already. Just 
fancy!" said the countess with a gentle smile, 
looking at Bon's' mother, and went on, evi- 
dently concerned with a thought that always 
occupied her: "Now you see if I were to be 
severe with her and to forbid it ... goodness 
knows what they might be up to on the sly" 
(she meant that they would be kissing), "but 
as it is, I know every word she utters. She will 
come running to me of her own accord in the 
evening and tell me everything. Perhaps I 
spoil her, but really that seems the best plan. 
With her elder sister I was stricter." 

"Yes, I was brought up quite differently," 
remarked the handsome elder daughter, Count- 
ess Ve*ra, with a smile. 

But the smile did not enhance V&ra's beauty 
as smiles generally do; on the contrary it gave 
her an unnatural, and therefore unpleasant, 
expression. Ve*ra was good-looking, not at all 



BOOK ONE 



stupid, quick at learning, was well brought up, 
and had a pleasant voice; what she said was 
true and appropriate, yet, strange to say, every- 
onethe visitors and countess aliketurned 
to look at her as if wondering why she had said 
it, and they all felt awkward. 

"People are always too clever with their eld- 
est children and try to make something excep- 
tional of them," said the visitor. 

"What's the good of denying it, my dear? 
Our dear countess was too clever with Wra," 
said the count. "Well, what of that? She's 
turned out splendidly all the same," he added, 
winking at V^ra. 

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

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

CHAPTER XIII 

WHEN Natdsha ran out of the drawing room 
she only went as far as the conservatory. There 
she paused and stood listening to the conver- 
sation in the drawing room, waiting for Boris 
to come out. She was already growing impa- 
tient, and stamped her foot, ready to cry at his 
not coming at once, when she heard the young 
man's discreet steps approaching neither quick- 
ly nor slowly. At this Natasha dashed swiftly 
among the flower tubs and hid there. 

Boris paused in the middle of the room, 
looked round, brushed a little dust from the 
sleeve of his uniform, and going up to a mirror 
examined his handsome face. Natdsha, very 
still, peered out from her ambush, waiting to 
see what he would do. He stood a little while 
before the glass, smiled, and walked toward 
the other door. Natasha was about to call him 
but changed her mind. "Let him look for me," 
thought she. Hardly had Boris gone than 
S6nya, flushed, in tears, and muttering angrily, 
came in at the other door. Natdsha checked 
her first impulse to run out to her, and re- 
mained in her hiding place, watching as un- 
der an invisible cap to see what went on in the 
world. She was experiencing a new and pecul- 
iar pleasure. S6nya, muttering to herself, kept 
looking round toward the drawing-room door. 
It opened and Nicholas came in. 

"S6nya, what is the matter with you? How 
can you?" said he, running up to her. 

"It's nothing, nothing; leave me alone!" 
sobbed S6nya. 

"Ah, I know what it is." 

"Well, if you do, so much the better, and 



you can go back to her!" 

"S6-o-onya! Look here! How can you tor- 
ture me and yourself like that, for a mere 
fancy?" said Nicholas taking her hand. 

S6nya did not pull it away, and left off cry- 
ing. Natdsha, not stirring and scarcely breath- 
ing, watched from her ambush with sparkling 
eyes. "What will happen now?" thought she. 

"Sonya! What is anyone in the world to me? 
You alone are everything!" said Nicholas. 
"And I will prove it to you." 

"I don't like you to talk like that." 

"Well, then, I won't; only forgive me, 
S6nya!" He drew her to him and kissed her. 

"Oh, how nice," thought Natdsha; and when 
S6nya and Nicholas had gone out of the con- 
servatory she followed and called Boris to her. 

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

Boris followed her, smiling. 

"What is the something?" asked he. 

She grew confused, glanced round, and, see- 
ing the doll she had thrown down on one of 
the tubs, picked it up. 

"Kiss the doll," said she. 

Boris looked attentively and kindly at her 
eager face, but did not reply. 

"Don't you want to? Well, then, come here," 
said she, and went further in among the plants 
and threw down the doll. "Closer, closer!" she 
whispered. 

She caught the young officer by his cuffs, and 
a look of solemnity and fear appeared on her 
flushed face. 

"And me? Would you like to kiss me?" she 
whispered almost inaudibly, glancing up at 
him from under her brows, smiling, and al- 
most crying from excitement. 

Boris blushed. 

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

Suddenly she jumped up onto a tub to be 
higher than he, embraced him so that both her 
slender bare arms clasped him above his neck, 
and, tossing back her hair, kissed him full on 
the lips. 

Then she slipped down among the flower- 
pots on the other side of the tubs and stood, 
hanging her head. 

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

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



24 

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

Natasha considered. 

"Thirteen, fourteen, fifteen, sixteen," she 
counted on her slender little fingers. "All rightl 
Then it's settled?" 

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

"Settled!" replied Boris. 

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

She took his arm and with a happy face went 
with him into the adjoining sitting room. 



CHAPTER XIV 

AFTER RECEIVING her visitors, the countess was 
so tired that she gave orders to admit no more, 
but the porter was told to be sure to invite to 
dinner all who came "to congratulate." The 
countess wished to have a te'te-a-te'te talk with 
the friend of her childhood, Princess Anna 
Mikhdylovna, whom she had not seen properly 
since she returned from Petersburg. Anna 
Mikhiylovna, with her tear- worn but pleasant 
face, drew her chair nearer to that of the 
countess. 

"With you I will be quite frank," said Anna 
MikMylovna. "There are not many left of us 
old friends! That's why I so value your friend- 
ship." 

Anna Mikhdylovna looked at Wra and 
paused. The countess pressed her friend's hand. 

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

The handsome Wra smiled contemptuously 
but did not seem at all hurt. 

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

But as she passed the sitting room she no- 
ticed two couples sitting, one pair at each win- 
dow. She stopped and smiled scornfully. S6nya 
was sitting close to Nicholas who was copying 
out some verses for her, the first he had ever 
written. Boris and Natdsha were at the other 
window and ceased talking when Wra entered. 
S6nya and Natasha looked at Wra with guilty, 
happy faces. 

It was pleasant and touching to see these 
little girls in love; but apparently the sight of 
them roused no pleasant feeling in Wra. 

"How often have I asked you not to take 
my things?" she said. "You have a room of your 



WAR AND PEACE 

own," ( and she took the inkstand from Nicholas. 

"In a minute, in a minute," he said, dipping 
his pen. 

"You always manage to do things at the 
wrong time," continued Wra. "You came 
rushing into the drawing room so that every- 
one felt ashamed of you." 

Though what she said was quite just, per- 
haps for that very reason no one replied, and 
the four simply looked at one another. She 
lingered in the room with the inkstand in her 
hand. 

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

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

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

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

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

"I should think not," said Wra, "because 
there can never be anything wrong in my be- 
havior. But I'll just tell Mamma how you are 
behaving with Boris." 

"Natlyallynichna behaves very well to me," 
remarked Boris. "I have nothing to complain 
of." 

"Don't, Boris! You are such a diplomat that 
it is really tiresome," said Natasha in a morti- 
fied voice that trembled slightly. (She used 
the word "diplomat," which was just then much 
in vogue among the children, in the special 
sense they attached to it.) "Why does she 
bother me?" And she added, turning to Wra, 
"You'll never understand it, because you've 
never loved anyone. You have no heart! You 
are a Madame de Genlis 1 and nothing more" 
(this nickname, bestowed on Wra by Nicholas, 
was considered very stinging), "and your great- 
est pleasure is to be unpleasant to people! Go 
and flirt with Berg as much as you please," she 
finished quickly. 

"I shall at any rate not run after a young 
man before visitors ..." 

"Well, now you've done what you wanted," 
put in Nicholas "said unpleasant things to 
everyone and upset them. Let's go to the nurs- 
ery." 

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



*A French writer of that period, authoress of 
educational works and novels. TR. 



BOOK ONE 



"The unpleasant things were said t<j me," 
remarked Vera, "I said none to anyone." 

"Madame de Genlis! Madame de GenlisI" 
shouted laughing voices through the door. 

The handsome Vdra, who produced such an 
irritating and unpleasant effect on everyone, 
smiled and, evidently unmoved by what had 
been said to her, went to the looking glass and 
arranged her hair and scarf. Looking at her 
own handsome face she seemed to become still 
colder and calmer. 

In the drawing room the conversation was 
still going on. 

"Ah, my dear," said the countess, "my life 
is not all roses either. Don't I know that at the 
rate we are living our means won't last long? 
It's all the Club and his easygoing nature. Even 
in the country do we get any rest? Theatricals, 
hunting, and heaven knows what besides! But 
don't let's talk about me; tell me how you 
managed every th ing. I often wonder at you, 
Annette how at your age you can rush off 
alone in a carriage to Moscow, to Petersburg, 
to those ministers and great people, and know 
how to deal with them all! It's quite astonish- 
ing. How did you get things settled? I couldn't 
possibly do it." 

"Ah, my love," answered Anna Mikhaylovna, 
"God grant you never know what it is to be 
left a widow without means and with a son 
you love to distraction! One learns many things 
then," she added with a certain pride. "That 
lawsuit taught me much. When I want to see 
one of those big people I write a note: 'Prin- 
cess So-and-So desires an interview with So- 
and-So,' and then I take a cab and go myself 
two, three, or four times till I get what I want. 
I don't mind what they think of me." 

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

"To Prance Vasfli. He was so kind. He at 
once agreed to everything, and put the matter 
before the Emperor," said Princess Anna Mi- 
khdylovna enthusiastically, quite forgetting all 
the humiliation she had endured to gain her 
end. 

"Has Prince Vasfli aged much?" asked the 
countess. "I have not seen him since we acted 
together at the Rumydntsovs' theatricals. I ex- 
pect he has forgotten me. He paid me attentions 
in those days," said the countess, with a smile. 



"He is just the same as ever," replied Anna 
Mikhdylovna, "overflowing with amiability. 
His position has not turned his head at all. He 
said to me, 'I am sorry I can do so little for 
you, dear Princess. I am at your command.' 
Yes, he is a fine fellow and a very kind rela- 
tion. But, Nataly, you know my love for my 
son: I would do anything for his happiness! 
And my affairs are in such a bad way that my 
position is now a terrible one," continued 
Anna Mikhaylovna, sadly, dropping her voice. 
"My wretched lawsuit takes all I have and 
makes no progress. Would you believe it, I 
have literally not a penny and don't know how 
to equip Boris." She took out her handkerchief 
and began to cry. "I need five hundred rubles, 
and have only one twenty-five-ruble note. I 
am in such a state. . . . My only hope now is 
in Count Cyril Vladimirovich Beziikhov. If he 
will not assist his godson you know he is Bory's 
godfather and allow him something for his 
maintenance, all my trouble will have been 
thrown away. ... I shall not be able to equip 
him." 

The countess' eyes filled with tears and she 
pondered in silence. 

"I often think, though, perhaps it's a sin," 
said the princess, "that here lives Count Cyril 
Vladfmirovith Beziikhov so rich, all alone . . . 
that tremendous fortune . . . and what is his 
life worth? It's a burden to him, and B6ry's 
life is only just beginning. . . ." 

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

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

And like a practical Petersburg lady who 
knows how to make the most of time, Anna 
Mikhdylovna sent someone to call her son, 
and went into the anteroom with him. 

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

"Are you going to Count Cyril Vladfmiro- 
vich, my dear?" said the count coming out 
from the dining hall into the anteroom, and 
he added: "If he is better, ask Pierre to dine 
with us. He has been to the house, you know, 
and danced with the children. Be sure to in- 



WAR AND PEACE 



vite him, my dear. We will see how Tards dis- 
tinguishes himself today. He says Count Orl6v 
never gave such a dinner as ours will bel" 

CHAPTER XV 

"Mv DEAR Boris," said Princess Anna Mikhdy- 
lovna to her son as Countess Rost6va's car- 
riage in which they were seated drove over the 
straw-covered street and turned into the wide 
courtyard of Count Cyril Vladfmirovich Bezu- 
khov'shouse. "My dear Boris," said the mother, 
drawing her hand from beneath her old man- 
tle and laying it timidly and tenderly on her 
son's arm, "be affectionate and attentive to 
him. Count Cyril Vladimirovich is your god- 
father after all, and your future depends on 
him. Remember that, my dear, and be nice to 
him, as you so well know how to be." 

"If only I knew that anything besides hu- 
miliation would come of it . . ." answered her 
son coldly. "But I have promised and will do 
it for your sake." 

Although the hall porter saw someone's 
carriage standing at the entrance, after scru- 
tinizing the mother and son (who without ask- 
ing to be announced had passed straight 
through the glass porch between the rows of 
statues in niches) and looking significantly at 
the lady's old cloak, he asked whether they 
wanted the count or the princesses, and, hear- 
ing that they wished to see the count, said his 
excellency was worse today, and that his excel- 
lency was not receiving anyone. 

"We may as well go back," said the son in 
French. 

"My dear!" exclaimed his mother implor- 
ingly, again laying her hand on his arm as if 
that touch might soothe or rouse him. 

Boris said no more, but looked inquiringly 
at his mother without taking off his cloak. 

"My friend," said Anna Mikhlylovna in 
gentle tones, addressing the hall porter, "I 
know Count Cyril Vladimirovich is very ill 
. . . that's why I have come ... I am a relation. 
I shall not disturb him, my friend ... I only 
need see Prince Vasili Serg^evich: he is stay- 
ing here, is he not? Please announce me." 

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

"Princess Drubetskdya to see Prince Vasili 
Serg^evich," he called to a footman dressed in 
knee breeches, shoes, and a swallow-tail coat, 
who ran downstairs and looked over from the 
halfway landing. 

The mother smoothed the folds of her dyed 
silk dress before a large Venetian mirror in 



the wajl, and in her trodden-down shoes brisk- 
ly ascended the carpeted stairs. 

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

The son, lowering his eyes, followed her 
quietly. 

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

Just as the mother and son, having reached 
the middle of the hall, were about to ask their 
way of an elderly footman who had sprung up 
as they entered, the bronze handle of one of 
the doors turned and Prince Vasili came out- 
wearing a velvet coat with a single star on his 
breast, as was his custom when at home tak- 
ing leave of a good-looking, dark-haired man. 
This was the celebrated Petersburg doctor, 
Lorrain. 

"Then it is certain?" said the prince. 

"Prince, humanum est errare, 1 but . . ." re- 
plied the doctor, swallowing his r% and pro- 
nouncing the Latin words with a French ac- 
cent. 

"Very well, very well . . ." 

Seeing Anna Mikhdylovna and her son, 
Prince Vasili dismissed the doctor with a bow 
and approached them silently and with a look 
of inquiry. The son noticed that an expression 
of profound sorrow suddenly clouded his 
mother's face, and he smiled slightly. 

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

Prince Vasili stared at her and at Boris ques- 
tioningly and perplexed. Boris bowed polite- 
ly. Prince Vasili without acknowledging the 
bow turned to Anna Mikhdylovna, answering 
her query by a movement of the head and lips 
indicating very little hope for the patient. 

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

Boris bowed again politely. * 

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

"I am glad I was able to do you a service, my 
dear Anna Mikhdylovna," said Prince Vasili, 
arranging his lace frill, and in tone and man- 
ner, here in Moscow to Anna Mikhdylovna 
whom he had placed under an obligation, as- 
suming an air of much greater importance than 

1 To err is human. 



BOOK ONE 



he had done in Petersburg at Anna Sender's 
reception. f 

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

"I am awaiting orders to join my new regi- 
ment, your excellency," replied Boris, betray- 
ing neither annoyance at the prince's brusque 
manner nor a desire to enterinto conversation, 
but speaking so quietly and respectfully that 
the prince gave him a searching glance. 

"Are you living with your mother?" 

"I am living at Countess Rost6va's," replied 
Boris, again adding, "your excellency." 

"That is, with Ilyd Rost6v who married Na- 
taly Shinshina," said Anna Mikhaylovna. 

"I know, I know," answered Prince Vasili in 
his monotonous voice. "I never could under- 
stand how Nataly made up her mind to marry 
that unlicked bear! A perfectly absurd and 
stupid fellow, and a gambler too, I am told." 

"But a very kind man, Prince," said Anna 
Mikhaylovna with a pathetic smile, as though 
she too knew that Count Rost6v deserved this 
censure, but asked him not to be too hard on 
the poor old man. "What do the doctors say?" 
asked the princess after a pause, her worn face 
again expressing deep sorrow. 

"They give little hope," replied the prince. 

"And I should so like to thank Uncle once 
for all his kindness to me and Boris. He is his 
godson," she added, her tone suggesting that 
this fact ought to give Prince Vasili much satis- 
faction. 

Prince Vasili became thoughtful and 
frowned. Anna Mikhdylovna saw that he was 
afraid of finding in her a rival for Count Be- 
zukhov's fortune, and hastened to reassure him. 

"If it were not for my sincere affection and 
devotion to Uncle" said she, uttering the word 
with peculiar assurance and unconcern, "I 
know his character: noble, upright . . . but you 
see he has no one with him except the young 
princesses. . . . They are still young. . . ." She 
bent her head and continued in a whisper: 
"Has he performed his final duty, Prince? How 
priceless are those last moments! It can make 
things no worse, and it is absolutely necessary 
to prepare him if he is so ill. We women, Prince," 
and she smiled tenderly, "always know how to 
say these things. I absolutely must see him, 
however painful it may be for me. I am used to 
suffering." 

Evidently the prince understood her, and al- 
so understood, as he had done at Anna Pdvlov- 



na's, that it would be difficult to get rid of Anna 
Mikhlylovna. 

"Would not such a meeting be too trying for 
him, dear Anna Mikhdylovna?" said he. "Let 
us wait until evening. The doctors are expect- 
ing a crisis." 

"But one cannot delay, Prince, at such a mo- 
ment! Consider that the welfare of his soul is 
at stake. Ah, it is awful: the duties of a Chris- 
tian . . ." 

A door of one of the inner rooms opened and 
one of the princesses, the count's niece, entered 
with a cold, stern face. The length of her body 
was strikingly out of proportion to her short 
legs. Prince Vasili turned to her. 

"Well, how is he?" 

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

"Ah, my dear, I hardly knew you," said Anna 
Mikhdylovna with a happy smile, ambling 
lightly up to the count's niece. "I have come, 
and am at your service to help you nurse my 
uncle. I imagine what you have gone through," 
and she sympathetically turned up her eyes. 

The princess gave no reply and did not even 
smile, but left the room at once. Anna Mikhay- 
lovna took off her gloves and, occupying the 
position she had conquered, settled down in an 
armchair, inviting Prince Vasfli to take a seat 
beside her. 

"Boris," she said to her son with a smile, "I 
shall go in to see the count, my uncle; but you, 
my dear, had better go to Pierre meanwhile and 
don't forget to give him the Rost6vs' invita- 
tion. They ask him to dinner. I suppose he 
won't go?" she continued, turning to the prince. 

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

He shrugged his shoulders. A footman con- 
ducted Boris down one flight of stairs and up 
another, to Pierre's rooms. 

CHAPTER XVI 

PIERRE, after all, had not managed to choose a 
career for himself in Petersburg, and had been 
expelled from there for riotous conduct and 
sent to Moscow. The story told about him at 
Count Rost6v's was true. Pierre had taken part 
in tying a policeman to a bear. He had now 
been for some days in Moscow and was staying 
as usual at his father's house. Though he ex- 
pected that the story of his escapade would be 



WAR AND PEACE 



already known in Moscow and that the ladies 
about his father who were never favorably 
disposed toward him would have used it to 
turn the count against him, he nevertheless on 
the day of his arrival went to his father's part 
of the house. Entering the drawing room, where 
the princesses spent most of their time, he 
greeted the ladies, two of whom were sitting at 
embroidery frames while a third read aloud. It 
was the eldest who was reading the one who 
had met Anna Mikhdylovna. The two younger 
ones were embroidering: both were rosy and 
pretty and they differed only in that one had a 
little mole on her lip which made her much 
prettier. Pierre was received as if he were a 
corpse or a leper. The eldest princess paused 
in her reading and silently stared at him with 
frightened eyes; the second assumed precisely 
the same expression; while the youngest, the 
one with the mole, who was of a cheerful and 
lively disposition, bent over her frame to hide 
a smile probably evoked by the amusing scene 
she foresaw. She drew her wool down through 
the canvas and, scarcely able to refrain from 
laughing, stooped as if trying to make out the 
pattern. 

"How do you do, cousin?" said Pierre. "You 
don't recognize me?" 

"I recognize you only too well, too well." 

"How is the count? Can I see him?" asked 
Pierre, awkwardly as usual, but unabashed. 

"The count is suffering physically and men- 
tally, and apparently you have done your best 
to increase his mental sufferings." 

"Can I see the count?" Pierre again asked. 

"Hm If you wish to kill him, to kill him 

outright, you can see him . . . Olga, go and see 
whether Uncle's beef tea is ready it is almost 
time," she added, giving Pierre to understand 
that they were busy, and busy making his fa- 
ther comfortable, while evidently he, Pierre, 
was only busy causing him annoyance. 

Olga went out. Pierre stood looking at the 
sisters; then he bowed and said: "Then I will 
go to my rooms. You will let me know when I 
can see him." 

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

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

Since then Pierre had not been disturbed 



and had spent the whole time in his rooms up- 
stairs. c 

When Boris appeared at his door Pierre was 
pacing up and down his room, stopping occa- 
sionally at a corner to make menacing gestures 
at the wall, as if running a sword through an 
invisible foe, and glaring savagely over his 
spectacles, and then again resuming his walk, 
muttering indistinct words, shrugging his 
shoulders and gesticulating. 

"England is done for," said he, scowling and 
pointing his finger at someone unseen. "Mr. 
Pitt, as a traitor to the nation and to the rights 
of man, is sentenced to . . ." But before Pierre 
who at that moment imagined himself to be 
Napoleon in person and to have just effected 
the dangerous crossing of the Straits of Dover 
and captured London could pronounce Pitt's 
sentence, he saw a well-built and handsome 
young officer entering his room. Pierre paused. 
He had left Moscow when Boris was a boy 01 
fourteen, and had quite forgotten him, but in 
his usual impulsive and hearty way he took 
Boris by the hand with a friendly smile. 

"Do you remember me?" asked Boris quietly 
with a pleasant smile. "I have come with my 
mother to see the count, but it seems he is not 
well." 

"Yes, it seems he is ill. People are always dis- 
turbing him," answered Pierre, trying to re- 
member who this young man was. 

Boris felt that Pierre did not recognize him 
but did not consider it necessary to introduce 
himself, and without experiencing the least em- 
barrassment looked Pierre straight in the face. 

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

"Ah, Count Rostov 1" exclaimed Pierre joy- 
fully. "Then you are his son, Ilyd?Only fancy,! 
didn't know you at first. Do you remember how 
we went to the Sparrow Hills with Madame 
Jacquot? . . . It's such an age ..." 

"You are mistaken," said Boris deliberately, 
with a bold and slightly sarcastic smile. "I am 
Boris, son of Princess Anna Mikh&ylovna Dru- 
betskdya. Rost6v, the father, is Ilya, and his 
son is Nicholas. I never knew any Madame Jac- 
quot." 

Pierre shook his head and arms as if attacked 
by mosquitoes or bees. 

"Oh dear, what am I thinking about? I've 
mixed every thing up. One has so many relatives 
in Moscow I So you are Boris? Of course. Well, 
now we know where we are. And what do you 
think of the Boulogne expedition? The English 



BOOK ONE 



will come off badly, you know, if Napoleon gets 
across the Channel. I think the expedition is 
quite feasible. If only Villeneuve doesn't make 
a mess of things!" 

Boris knew nothing about the Boulogne ex- 
pedition; he did not read the papers and it was 
the first time he had heard Villeneuve's name. 

"We here in Moscow are more occupied with 
dinner parties and scandal than with politics," 
said he in his quiet ironical tone. "I know noth- 
ing about it and have not thought about it. 
Moscow is chiefly busy with gossip," he contin- 
ued. "Just now they are talking about you and 
your father." 

Pierre smiled in his good-natured way as if 
afraid for his companion's sake that the latter 
might say something he would afterwards re- 
gret. But Boris spoke distinctly, clearly, and dry- 
ly, looking straight into Pierre's eyes. 

"Moscow has nothing else to do but gossip," 
Boris went on. "Everybody is wondering to 
whom the count will leave his fortune, though 
he may perhaps outlive us all, as I sincerely 
hope he will ..." 

"Yes, it is all very horrid," interrupted 
Pierre, "very horrid." 

Pierre was still afraid that this officer might 
inadvertently say something disconcerting to 
himself. 

"And it must seem to you," said Boris flush- 
ing slightly, but not changing his tone or atti- 
tude, "it must seem to you that everyone is try- 
ing to get something out of the rich man?" 

"So it does," thought Pierre. 

"But I just wish to say, to avoid misunder- 
standings, that you are quite mistaken if you 
reckon me or my mother among such people. 
We are very poor, but for my own part at any 
rate, for the very reason that your father is rich, 
I don't regard myself as a relation of his, and 
neither I nor my mother would ever ask or take 
anything from him." 

For a long time Pierre could not understand, 
but when he did, he jumped up from the sofa, 
seized Boris under the el bow in his quick, clum- 
sy way, and, blushing far more than Boris, be- 
gan to speak with a feeling of mingled shame 
and vexation. 

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

But Boris again interrupted him. 

"I am glad I have spoken out fully. Perhaps 
you did not like it? You must excuse me," said 
he, putting Pierre at ease instead of being put 
at ease by him, "but I hope I have not offended 
you. I always make it a rule to speak out. . . . 



Well, what answer am I to take? Will you come 
to dinner at the Rostrivs'?" 

And Boris, having apparently relieved him- 
self of an onerous duty and extricated himself 
from an awkward situation and placed another 
in it, became quite pleasant again. 

"No, but I say," said Pierre, calming down, 
"you are a wonderful fellowl What you have 
just said is good, very good. Of course you don't 
know me. We have not met for such a long 
time . . . not since we were children. You might 
think that I ... I understand, quite understand. 
I could not have done it myself, I should not 
have had the courage, but it's splendid. I am 
very glad to have made your acquaintance. It's 
queer," he added a f ter a pause, "that you should 
have suspected me!" He began to laugh. "Well, 
what of it! I hope we'll get better acquainted," 
and he pressed Boris' hand. "Do you know, I 
have not once been in to see the count. He has 

not sent forme I am sorry for him as a man, 

but what can one do?" 

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

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

A footman came in to summon Boris the 
princess was going. Pierre, in order to make 
Boris' better acquaintance, promised to come 
to dinner, and warmly pressing his hand looked 
affectionately over his spectacles into Boris* 
eyes. After he had gone Pierre continued pac- 
ing up and down" the room for a long time, no 
longer piercing an imaginary foe with his im- 
aginary sword, but smiling at the remembrance 
of that pleasant, intelligent, and resoluteyoung 
man. 

J As often happens in early youth, especially 
to one who leads a lonely life, he felt an unac- 
countable tenderness for this young man and 
made up his mind that they would be friends. 

Prince Vasili saw the princess off. She held a 
handkerchief to her eyes and her face was tear- 
ful. 

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

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

"Oh, he is in a dreadful state," said the moth- 



3 o WAR AND PEACE 

er to her son when they were in the carriage. 
"He hardly recognizes anybody." 

"I don't understand, Mamma what is his at- 
titude to Pierre?" asked the son. 

"The will will show that, my dear; our fate 
also depends on it." 

"But why do you expect that he will leave us 
anything?" 

"Ah, my dear! He is so rich, and we are so 
poor!" 

"Well, that is hardly a sufficient reason, 
Mamma . . ." 

"Oh, Heaven! How ill he is!" exclaimed the 
mother. 



CHAPTER XVII 

AFTER ANNA MIKHAYLOVNA had driven off with 
her son to visit Count Cyril Vladfmirovich Be- 
ziikhov, Countess Rost6va sat for a long time 
all alone applying her handkerchief to her eyes. 
At last she rang. 

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

The countess was upset by her friend's sor- 
row and humiliating poverty, and was there- 
fore out of sorts, a state of mind which with her 
always found expression in calling her maid 
"my dear" and speaking to her with exaggerat- 
ed politeness. 

"I am very sorry, ma'am," answered the maid. 

"Ask the count to come to me." 

The count came waddling in to see his wife 
with a rather guilty look as usual. 

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

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

"What are your commands, little countess?" 

"You see, my dear . . . What's that mess?" 
she said, pointing to his waistcoat. "It's the 
saute, most likely," she added with a smile. 
"Well, you see, Count, I want some money." 

Her face became sad. 

"Oh, little countess!" . . . and the count be- 
gan bustling to get out his pocketbook. 

"I want a great deal, Count! I want five hun- 
dred rubles," and taking out her cambric hand- 
kerchief she began wiping her husband's waist- 
coat. 

"Yes, immediately, immediately! Hey, who's 
there?" he called out in a tone only used by 
persons who are certain that those they call 



will rvsh to obey the summons. "Send Dmitri 
to me!" 

Dmitri, a man of good family who had been 
brought up in the count's house and now man- 
aged all his affairs, stepped softly into the room. 

"This is what I want, my dear fellow," said 
the count to the deferential young man who 
had entered. "Bring me . . ." he reflected a mo- 
ment, "yes, bring me seven hundred rubles, yes! 
But mind, don't bring me such tattered and 
dirty notes as last time, but nice clean ones for 
the countess." 

"Yes, Dmitri, clean ones, please," said the 
countess, sighing deeply. 

"When would you like them, your excellen- 
cy?" asked Dmitri. "Allow me to inform you 
. . . But, don't be uneasy," he added, noticing 
that the count was beginning to breathe heav- 
ily and quickly which was always a sign of ap- 
proaching anger. "I was forgetting ... Do you 
wish it brought at once?" 

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

"What a treasure that Dmftri is," added the 
count with a smile when the young man had 
departed. "There is never any 'impossible' 
with him. That's a thing I hate! Everything is 
possible." 

"Ah, money, Count, money! How much sor- 
row it causes in the world," said the countess. 
"But I am in great need of this sum." 

"You, my little countess, are a notorious 
spendthrift," said the count, and having kissed 
his wife's hand he went back to his study. 

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

"Well, my dear?" asked the countess. 

"Oh, what a terrible state he is in! One 
would not know him, he is so ill! I was only 
there a few moments and hardly said a 
word . . ." 

"Annette, for heaven's sake don't refuse me," 
the countess began, with a blush that looked 
very strange on her thin, dignified, elderly face, 
and she took the money from under the hand- 
kerchief. 

Anna Mikhaylovna instantly guessed her in- 
tention and stooped to be ready to embrace the 
countess at the appropriate moment. 

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

Anna Mikhdylovna was already embracing 
her and weeping. The countess wept too. They 
wept because they were friends, and because 



BOOK ONE 



they were kindhearted, and because t they 
friends from childhood had to think about 
such a base thing as money, and because their 
youth was over. . . . But those tears were pleas- 
ant to them both. 

CHAPTER XVIII 

COUNTESS ROSTOVA, with her daughters and a 
large number of guests, was already seated in 
the drawing room. The count took the gentle- 
men into his study and showed them his choice 
collection of Turkish pipes. From time to time 
he went out to ask: "Hasn't she come yet?" 
They were expecting Mdrya Dmf trievna Akhro- 
simova, known in society as le terrible dragon, 
a lady distinguished not for wealth or rank, 
but for common sense and frank plainness of 
speech. Mdrya Dmitrievna was known to the 
Imperial family as well as to all Moscow and 
Petersburg, and both cities wondered at her, 
laughed privately at her rudenesses, and told 
good stories about her, while none the less all 
without exception respected and feared her. 

In the count's room, which was full of tobac- 
co smoke, they talked of the war that had been 
announced in a manifesto, and about the re- 
cruiting. None of them had yet seen the man- 
ifesto, but they all knew it had appeared. The 
count sat on the sofa between two guests who 
were smoking and talking. He neither smoked 
nor talked, but bending his head first to one 
side and then to the other watched the smok- 
ers with evident pleasure and listened to the 
conversation of his two neighbors, whom he 
egged on against each other. 

One of them was a sallow, clean-shaven ci- 
vilian with a thin and wrinkled face, already 
growing old, though he was dressed like a most 
fashionable young man. He sat with his legs up 
on the sofa as if quite at home and, having 
stuck an amber mouthpiece far into his mouth, 
was inhaling the smoke spasmodically and 
screwing up his eyes. This was an old bachelor, 
Shinshfn, a cousin of the countess', a man with 
"a sharp tongue" as they said in Moscow soci- 
ety. He seemed to be condescending to his com- 
panion* The latter, a fresh, rosy officer of the 
Guards, irreproachably washed, brushed, and 
buttoned, held his pipe in the middle of his 
mouth and with red lips gently inhaled the 
smoke, letting it escape from his handsome 
mouth in rings. This was Lieutenant Berg, an 
officer in the Semenov regiment with whom 
Borfs was to travel to join the army, and about 
whom Natdsha had teased her elder sister Ye* ra, 
speaking of Berg as her "intended." The count 



sat between them and listened attentively. His 
favorite occupation when not playing boston, 
a card game he was very fond of, was that of 
listener, especially when he succeeded in set- 
ting two loquacious talkers at one another. 

"Well, then, old chap, mon tres honorable 
Alphonse Kdrlovich," said Shinshfn, laughing 
ironically and mixing the most ordinary Rus- 
sian expressions with the choicest French 
phrases which was a peculiarity of his speech. 
"Vous comptez vous faire des rentes sur Vttat;* 
you want to make something out of your com- 
pany?" 

"No, Peter Nikoldevich; I only want to show 
that in the cavalry the advantages are far less 
than in the infantry. Just consider my own po- 
sition now, Peter Nikoldevich . . ." 

Berg always spoke quietly, politely, and with 
great precision. His conversation always re- 
lated entirely to himself; he would remain calm 
and silent when the talk related to any topic 
that had no direct bearingon himself. He could 
remain silent for hours without being at all put 
out of countenance himself or making others 
uncomfortable, but as soon as the conversa- 
tion concerned himself he would begin to talk 
circumstantially and with evident satisfaction. 

"Consider my position, Peter Nikoldevich. 
Were I in the cavalry I should get not more 
than two hundred rubles every four months, 
even with the rank of lieutenant; but as it is I 
receive two hundred and thirty," said he, look- 
ing at Shinshfn and the count with a joyful, 
pleasant smile, as if it were obvious to him that 
his success must always be the chief desire of 
everyone else. 

"Besides that, Peter NikoMevich, by ex- 
changing into the Guards I shall be in a more 
prominent position," continued Berg, "and 
vacancies occur much more frequently in the 
Foot Guards. Then just think what can be done 
with two hundred and thirty rubles! I even 
manage to put a little aside and to send some- 
thing to my father," he went on, emitting a 
smoke ring. 

"La balance y est a A German knows how 

to skin a flint, as the proverb says," remarked 
Shinshfn, moving his pipe to the other side of 
his mouth and winking at the count. 

The count burst out laughing. The other 
guests seeing that Shinshfn was talking came 
up to listen. Berg, oblivious of irony or indif- 
ference, continued to explain how by exchang- 

1 You expect to make an income out of the gov- 
ernment. 
1 So that squares matters. 



WAR AND PEACE 



ing into the Guards he had already gained a 
step on his old comrades of the Cadet Corps; 
how in wartime the company commander might 
get killed and he, as senior in the company, 
might easily succeed to the post; how popular 
he was with everyone in the regiment, and how 
satisfied his father was with him. Berg evident- 
ly enjoyed narrating all this, and did not seem 
to suspect that others, too, might have their 
own interests. But all he said was so prettily se- 
date, and the naivete* of his youthful egotism 
was so obvious, that he disarmed his hearers. 

"Well, my boy, you'll get along wherever you 
go foot or horse that I'll warrant," said Shin- 
shin, patting him on the shoulder and taking 
his feet off the sofa. 

Berg smiled joyously. The count, followed 
by his guests, went into the drawing room. 

It was just the moment before a big dinner 
when the assembled guests, expecting the sum- 
mons to zakuska* avoid engaging in any long 
conversation but think it necessary to move 
about and talk, in order to show that they are 
not at all impatient for their food. The host 
and hostess look toward the door, and now and 
then glance at one another, and the visitors try 
to guess from these glances who, or what, they 
are waiting for some important relation who 
has not yet arrived, or a dish that is not yet 
ready. 

Pierre had come just at dinnertime and was 
sitting awkwardly in the middle of the drawing 
room on the first chair he had come across, 
blocking the way for everyone. The countess 
tried to make him talk, but he went on naively 
looking around through his spectacles as if in 
search of somebody and answered all her ques- 
tions in monosyllables. He was in the way and 
was the only one who did not notice the fact. 
Most of the guests, knowing of the affair with 
the bear, looked with curiosity at this big, stout, 
quiet man, wondering how such a clumsy, mod- 
est fellow could have played such a prank on a 
policeman. 

"You have only lately arrived?" the countess 
asked him. 

"Out, madame" replied he, looking around 
him. 

"You have not yet seen my husband?" 

"Non, madame." He smiled quite inappro- 
priately. 

"You have been in Paris recently, I believe? 
I suppose it's very interesting." 

"Very interesting." 

1 Hors d'oeuvres. 



Ths countess exchanged glances with Anna 
Mikhdylovna. The latter understood that she 
was being asked to entertain this young man, 
and sitting down beside him she began to speak 
about his father; but he answered her, as he had 
the countess, only in monosyllables. The other 
guests were all conversing with one another. 
"The Razum6vskis . . . It was charming . . . You 
are very kind . . . Countess Aprdksina . . ." was 
heard on all sides. The countess rose and went 
into the ballroom. 

"Mirya Dmitrievna?" came her voice from 
there. 

"Herself," came the answer in a rough voice, 
and Mrya Dmitrievna entered the room. 

All the unmarried ladies and even the mar- 
ried ones except the very oldest rose. Mdrya 
Dmitrievna paused at the door. Tall and stout, 
holding high her fifty-year-old head with its 
gray curls, she stood surveying the guests, and 
leisurely arranged her wide sleeves as if rolling 
them up. Mdrya Dmitrievna always spoke in 
Russian. 

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

"Well," said she, "how's my Cossack?" 
(Mdrya Dmitrievna always tailed Natdsha a 
Cossack) and she stroked the child's arm as she 
came up fearless and gay to kiss her hand. "I 
know she's a scamp of a girl, but I like her." 

She took a pair of pear-shaped ruby earrings 
from her huge reticule and, having given them 
to the rosy Natdsha, who beamed with the pleas- 
ure of her saint's-day fete, turned away at once 
and addressed herself to Pierre. 

"Eh, eh, friendl Come here a bit," said she, 
assuming a soft high tone of voice. "Come here, 
my friend . . ." and she ominously tucked up 
her sleeves still higher. Pierre approached, look- 
ing at her in a childlike way through his spec- 
tacles. 

"Come nearer, come nearer, friendl I used to 
be the only one to tell your father the truth 
when he was in favor, and in your case it's my 
evident duty." She paused. All were silent, ex- 
pectant of what was to follow, for this was 
clearly only a prelude. 



BOOK ONE 



33 



"A fine lad! My wordl A fine lad! . . . f His fa- 
ther lies on his deathbed and he amuses him- 
self setting a policeman astride a bear! For 
shame, sir, for shame! It would be better if you 
went to the war." 

She turned away and gave her hand to the 
count, who could hardly keep from laughing. 

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

The count went in first with Mdrya Dmftriev- 
na, the countess followed on the arm of a colo- 
nel of hussars, a man of importance to them be- 
cause Nicholas was to go with him to the regi- 
ment; then came Anna Mikhdylovna with 
Shinshfn. Berg gave his arm to Vcra. The smil- 
ing Julie Karagina went in with Nicholas. Aft- 
er them other couples followed, filling the 
whole dining hall, and last of all the children, 
tutors, and governesses followed singly. The 
footmen began moving about, chairs scraped, 
the band struck up in the gallery, and the guests 
settled down in their places. Then the strains 
of the count's household band were replaced 
by the clatter of knives and forks, the voices of 
visitors, and the soft steps of the footmen. At 
one end of the table sat the countess with Mdrya 
Dmitrievna on her right and Anna Mikhaylov- 
na on her left, the other lady visitors were far- 
ther down. At the other end sat the count, with 
the hussar colonel on his left and Shinshin and 
the other male visitors on his right. Midway 
down the long table on one side sat the grown- 
up young people: Ve"ra beside Berg, and Pierre 
beside Boris; and on the other side the children, 
tutors, and governesses. From behind the crys- 
tal decanters and fruit vases the count kept 
glancing at his wife and her tall cap with its 
light-blue ribbons, and busily filled his neigh- 
bors' glasses, not neglecting his own. The count- 
ess in turn, without omitting her duties as host- 
ess, threw significant glances from behind the 
pineapples at her husband whose face and bald 
head seemed by their redness to contrast more 
than usual with his gray hair. At the ladies' end 
an even chatter of voices was heard all the 
time, at the men's end the voices sounded loud- 
er and louder, especially that of the colonel of 
hussars who, growing more and more flushed, 
ate and drank so much that the count held him 
up as a pattern to the other guests. Berg with 
tender smiles was saying toVe*ra that love is not 
an earthly but a heavenly feeling. Borfs was 
tellinghis new friend Pierre who the guests were 
and exchanging glances with Natdsha, who was 
sitting opposite. Pierre spoke little but exam- 
ined the new faces, and ate a great deal. Of the 



two soups he chose turtle with savory patties 
and went on to the game without omitting a 
single dish or one of the wines. These latter 
the butler thrust mysteriously forward, wrapped 
in a napkin, from behind the next man's 
shoulders and whispered: "Dry Madeira" . . . 
"Hungarian" ... or "Rhine wine" as the case 
might be. Of the four crystal glasses engraved 
with the count's monogram that stood before 
his plate, Pierre held out one at random and 
drank with en joyment, gazing with ever-increas- 
ing amiability at the other guests. Natsha,who 
sat opposite, was looking at Borfs as girls of 
thirteen look at the boy they are in love with 
and have just kissed for the first time. Some- 
times that same look fell on Pierre, and that 
funny lively little girl's look made him inclined 
to laugh without knowing why. 

Nicholas sat at some distance from S6nya, be- 
side Jujie Karagina, to whom he was again talk- 
ing with the same involuntary smile. S6nya 
wore a company smile but was evidently tor- 
mented by jealousy; now she turned pale, now 
blushed and strained every nerve to over- 
hear what Nicholas and Julie were saying to 
one another. The governess kept look ing round 
uneasily as if preparing to resent any slight 
that might be put upon the children. The Ger- 
man tutor was trying to remember all the dish- 
es, wines, and kinds of dessert, in order to send 
a full description of the dinner to his people in 
Germany; and he felt greatly offended when 
the butler with a bottle wrapped in a napkin 
passed him by. He frowned, trying to appear as 
if he did not want any of that wine, but was 
mortified because no one would understand 
that it was not to quench his thirst or from 
greediness that he wanted it, but simply from a 
conscientious desire for knowledge. 

CHAPTER XIX 

AT THE MEN'S end of the table the talk grew 
more and more animated. The colonel told 
them that the declaration of war had already 
appeared in Petersburg and that a copy, which 
he had himself seen, had that day been for- 
warded by courier to the commander in 
chief. 

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

The colonel was a stout, tall, plethoric Ger- 
man, evidently devoted to the service and pa- 
triotically Russian. He resented Shinshfn's re- 
mark. 



34 



WAR AND PEACE 



"It is for the reasson, my goot sir," said he, 
speaking with a German accent, "for the reas- 
son zat ze Emperor knows zat. He declares in ze 
manifessto zat he cannot fiew wiz indifference 
ze danger vreatening Russia and zat ze safety 
and dignity of ze Empire as veil as ze sanctity 
of its alliances . . ." he spoke this last word with 
particular emphasis as if in it lay the gist of the 
matter. 

Then with the unerring official memory that 
characterized him he repeated from the open- 
ing words of the manifesto: 

. . . and the wish, which constitutes the Em- 
peror's sole and absolute aim to establish peace 
in Europe on firm foundations has now de- 
cided him to despatch part of the army abroad 
and to create a new condition for the attain- 
ment of that purpose. 

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

"Connaissez-vous le proverbe: l 'Jerome, Je- 
rome, do not roam, but turn spindles at 
home!'?" said Shinshfn, puckering his brows 
and smiling. "Cela nous convient a merveille* 
Suv6rov now he knew what he was about; yet 
they beat him & plate couture? and where are 
we to find Suv6rovs now? Je vous demande un 
peu"' said he, continually changing from 
French to Russian. 

"Ve must vight to the last tr-r-op of our 
ploodl" said the colonel, thumping the table; 
"and ve must tie for our Emperor, and zen all 
vill pe veil. And ve must discuss it as little as 
po-o-ossible" ... he dwelt particularly on the 
word possible . . . "as po-o-ossible," he ended, 
again turning to the count. "Zat is how ve old 
hussars look at it, and zere's an end of it! And 
how do you, a young man and a young hussar, 
how do you judge of it?" he added, addressing 
Nicholas, who when he heard that the war was 
being discussed had turned from his partner 
with eyes and ears intent on the colonel. 

"I am quite of your opinion," replied Nicho- 
las, flaming up, turning his plate round and 
moving his wineglasses about with as much de- 
cision and desperation as though he were at 
that moment facing some great danger. "J am 
convinced that we Russians must die or con- 
quer," he concluded, conscious as were oth- 
ersafter the words were uttered that his re- 
marks were too enthusiastic and emphatic for 

1 Do you know the proverb ? 

1 That suits us down to the ground. 

Hollow. 

* I just aak you that. 



the occasion and were therefore awkward. 

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

Sonya trembled all over and blushed to her 
ears and behind them and down to her neck 
and shoulders while Nicholas was speaking. 

Pierre listened to the colonel's speech and 
nodded approvingly. 

"That's fine," said he. 

"The young man's a real hussar!" shouted 
the colonel, again thumping the table. 

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

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

"It's all about the war," the count shouted 
down the table. "You know my son's going, 
Mdrya Dmftrievna? My son is going." 

"I have four sons in the army but still I don't 
fret. It is all in God's hands. You may die in 
your bed or God may spare you in a battle," re- 
plied Mdrya Dmftrievna's deep voice, which 
easily carried the whole length of the table. 

"That's true!" 

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

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

"I will," replied Nat&sha. 

Her face suddenly flushed with reckless and 
joyous resolution. She half rose, by a glance in- 
viting Pierre, who sat opposite, to listen to what 
was coming, and turning to her mother: 

"Mammal" rang out the clear contralto notes 
of Her childish voice, audible the whole length 
of the table. 

"What is it?" asked the countess, startled; 
but seeing by her daughter's face that it was on- 
ly mischief, she shook a finger at her sternly 
with a threatening and forbidding movement 
of her head. 

The conversation was hushed. 

"Mammal What sweets are we going to 
have?" and Natasha's voice sounded still more 
firm and resolute. 

The countess tried to frown, but could not. 
Mdrya Dmf trievna shook her fat finger. 

"Cossack!" she said threateningly. 

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



BOOK ONE 



35 



"You had better take care! "said thecountess. 

"Mamma! What sweets are we going to 
have?" Natdsha again cried boldly, with saucy 
gaiety, confident that her prank would betaken 
in good part. 

S6nya and fat little Ptya doubled up with 
laughter. 

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

"Ice pudding, but you won't get any," said 
Mdrya Dmftrievna. 

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

"Mrya Dmitrievna! What kind of ice pud- 
ding? I don't like ice cream." 

"Carrot ices." 

"No! What kind, Mdrya Dmftrievna? What 
kind?" she almost screamed; "I want to know!" 

Marya Dmftrievna and the countess burst 
out laughing, and all the guests joined in. Ev- 
eryone laughed, not at Marya Dmitrievna's an- 
swer but at the incredible boldness and smart- 
ness of this little girl who had dared to treat 
Marya Dmftrievna in this fashion. 

Natasha only desisted when she had been told 
that there would be pineapple ice. Before the 
ices, champagne was served round. The band 
again struck up, the count and countess kissed, 
and the guests, leaving their seats, went up to 
"congratulate" the countess, and reached 
across the table to clink glasses with the count, 
with the children, and with one another. Again 
the footmen rushed about, chairs scraped, and 
in the same order in which they had entered 
but with redder faces, the guests returned to 
the drawing room and to the count's study. 

CHAPTER XX 

THE CARD TABLES were drawn out, sets made 
up for boston, and the count's visitors settled 
themselves, some in the two drawing rooms, 
some in the sitting room, some in the library. 

The count, holding his cards fanwise, kept 
himself with difficulty from dropping into his 
usual after-dinner nap, and laughed at every- 
thing. The young people, at the countess* in- 
stigation, gathered round the clavichord and 
harp. Julie by general request played first. Aft- 
er she had played a little air with variations on 
the harp, she joined the other young ladies in 
begging Natasha and Nicholas, who were noted 
for their musical talent, to sing something. 
Natdsha, who wa% treated as though she were 
grown up, was evidently very proud of this but 
at the same time felt shy. 



"What shall we sing?" she said. 

" 'The Brook,' " suggested Nicholas. 

"Well, then, let's be quick. Boris, come here," 
said Natisha. "But where is S6nya?" 

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

Running into S6nya's room and not finding 
her there, Natdsha ran to the nursery, but S6n- 
yawas not there either. Natdsha concluded that 
she must be on the chest in the passage. The 
chest in the passage was the place of mourning 
for the younger female generation in the Ros- 
tov household. And there in fact was S6nya ly- 
ing face downward on Nurse's dirty feather 
bed on the top of the chest, crumpling her gau- 
zy pink dress under her, hiding her face with 
her slender fingers, and sobbing so convulsively 
that her bare little shoulders shook. Natasha's 
face, which had been so radiantly happy all 
that saint's day, suddenly changed: her eyes be- 
came fixed, and then a shiver passed down her 
broad neck and the corners of her mouth 
drooped. 

"S6nya! What is it? What is the matter? . . . 
Oo . . . Oo . . . Oo ... 1" And Natasha's large 
mouth widened, making her look quite ugly, 
and she began to wail like a baby without know- 
ing why, except that S6nya was crying. Sonya 
tried to lift her head to answer but could not, 
and hid her face still deeper in the bed. Nata- 
sha wept, sitting on the blue-striped feather 
bed and hugging her friend. With an effort 
S6nya sat up and began wiping her eyes and 
explaining. 

"Nicholas is going away in a week's time, his 
. . . papers . . . have come ... he told me him- 
self . . . but still I should not cry," and she 
showed a paper she held in her handwith the 
verses Nicholas had written, "still, I should not 
cry, but you can't ... no one can understand 
. . . what a soul he has!" 

And she began to cry again because he had 
such a noble soul. 

"It's all very well for you ... I am not envi- 
ous ... I love you and Boris also," she went on, 
gaining a little strength; "he is nice . . . there 

are no difficulties in yourway But Nicholas 

is my cousin . . . one would have to ... the 
Metropolitan himself . . . and even then it can't 
be done. And besides, if she tells Mamma" 
(S6nya looked upon the countess as her moth- 
er and called her so) "that I am spoiling 
Nicholas* career and am heartless and ungrate- 
ful, while truly . . . God is my witness," and 
she made the sign of the cross, "I love her so 
much, and all of you, only V^ra . . . And what 



WAR AND PEACE 



for? What have I done to her? I am so grateful 
to you that I would willingly sacrifice every- 
thing, only I have nothing " 

S6nya could not continue, and again hid her 
face in her hands and in the feather bed. Nata- 
sha began consoling her, but her face showed 
that she understood all the gravity of her 
friend's trouble. 

"S6nya," she suddenly exclaimed, as if she 
had guessed the true reason of her friend's sor- 
row, "I'm sure Ve'ra has said something to you 
since dinner? Hasn't she?" 

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

And again she began to sob, more bitterly 
than before. Natasha lifted her up, hugged her, 
and, smiling through her tears, began comfort- 
ing her. 

"Sonya, don't believe her, darling! Don't be- 
lieve her! Do you remember how we and Nich- 
olas, all three of us, talked in the sitting room 
after supper? Why, we settled how everything 
was to be. I don't quite remember how, but 
don't you remember that it could all be ar- 
ranged and how nice it all was? There's Uncle 
Shinshfn's brother has married his first cousin. 
And we are only second cousins, you know. 
And Boris says it is quite possible. You know 
I have told him all about it. And he is so clever 
and so good!" said Natasha. "Don't you cry, 
Sonya, dear love,darlingS6nya!" and she kissed 
her and laughed. "Wra's spiteful; never mind 
her! And all will come right and she won't say 
anything to Mamma. Nicholas will tell her 
himself, and he doesn't care at all for Julie." 

Natasha kissed her on the hair. 

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

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

"Really, truly!" answered Natdsha, pushing 
in a crisp lock that had strayed from under her 
friend's plaits. 

Both laughed. 

"Well, let's go and sing 'The Brook/ " 

"Come along!" 

"Do you know, that fat Pierre who sat op- 



posite me is so funny!" said Natdsha, stopping 
suddenly. "I feel so happy!" 
And she set off at a run along the passage. 
S6nya, shaking off some down which clung 
to her and tucking away the verses in the bos- 
om of her dress close to her bony little chest, 
ran after Natasha down the passage into the 
sitting room with flushed face and light, joy- 
ous steps. At the visitors' request the young 
people sang the quartette, "The Brook," with 
which everyone was delighted. Then Nicholas 
sang a song he had just learned: 

At nighttime in the moon's fair glow 
How sweet, as fancies wander free f 
To feel that in this world there's one 
Who still is thinking but of thee! 

That while her fingers touch the harp 
Wafting sweet music o'er the lea, 

It is for thee thus swells her heart, 
Sighing its message out to thee. . . . 

A day or two, then bliss unspoilt, 
But oh! till then I cannot live! . . . 

He had not finished the last verse before the 
young people began to get ready to dance in 
the large hall, and the sound of the feet and 
the coughing of the musicians were heard from 
the gallery. 

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

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

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

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

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



BOOK ONE 



Natasha blushed and laughed. 
"Well, really, Mamma! Why should you? 
What is there to be surprised at?" 

In the midst of the third tcossaise there was 
a clatter of chairs being pushed back in the 
sitting room where the count and Mdrya Dmi- 
trievna had been playing cards with the major- 
ity of the more distinguished and older visitors. 
They now, stretching themselves after sitting 
so long, and replacing their purses and pocket- 
books, entered the ballroom. First came Mdrya 
Dmitrievna and the count, both with merry 
countenances. The count, with playful cere- 
mony somewhat in ballet style, offered his bent 
arm to Marya Dmitrievna. He drew himself 
up, a smile of debonair gallantry lit up his 
face, and as soon as the last figure of the ecos- 
saise was ended, he clapped his hands to the 
musicians and shouted up to their gallery, ad- 
dressing the first violin: 

"Semen! Do you know the Daniel Cooper?" 

This was the count's favorite dance, which 
he had danced in his youth. (Strictly speak- 
ing, Daniel Cooper was one figure of the 
anglaise.) 

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

And indeed everybody in the room looked 
with a smile of pleasure at the jovial old gen- 
tleman, who standing beside his tall and stout 
partner, Mrya Dmftrievna, curved his arms, 
beat time, straightened his shoulders, turned 
out his toes, tapped gently with his foot, and, 
by a smile that broadened his round face more 
and more, prepared the onlookers for what 
was to follow. As soon as the provocatively gay 
strains of Daniel Cooper (somewhat resem- 
bling those of a merry peasant dance) began 
to sound, all the doorways of the ballroom 
were suddenly filled by the domestic serfs the 
men on one side and the women on the other 
who with beaming faces had come to see their 
master making merry. 

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

The count danced well and knew it. But his 
partner could not and did not want to dance 
well. Her enormous figure stood erect, her pow- 
erful arms hanging down (she had handed her 
reticule to the countess), and only her stern 
but handsome face really joined in the dance. 



37 



What was expressed by the whole of the count's 
plump figure, in Mdrya Dmitrievna found ex- 
pression only in her more and more beaming 
face and quivering nose. But if the count, get- 
ting more and more into die swingof it, charmed 
the spectators by the unexpectedness of his 
adroit maneuvers and the agility with which he 
capered about on his light feet, Mrya Dmi- 
trievna produced no less impression by slight ex- 
ertions the least effort to move her shoulders 
or bend her arms when turning, or stamp her 
foot which everyone appreciated in view of 
her size and habitual severity. The dance grew 
livelier and livelier. The other couples could 
not attract a moment's attention to their own 
evolutions and did not even try to do so. All 
were watching the count and Mdrya Dmi- 
trievna. Natasha kept pulling everyone by 
sleeve or dress, urging them to "look at Papa!" 
though as it was they never took their eyes off 
the couple. In the intervals of the dance the 
count, breathing deeply, waved and shouted to 
the musicians to play faster. Faster, faster, and 
faster; lightly, more lightly, and yet more light- 
ly whirled the count, flying round Marya Dmi- 
trievna, now on his toes, now on his heels; un- 
til, turning his partner round to her seat, he 
executed the final pas, raising his soft foot back- 
wards, bowing his perspiring head, smiling and 
making a wide sweep with his arm, amid a 
thunder of applause and laughter led by Nata- 
sha. Both partners stood still, breathing heavily 
and wiping their faces with their cambric 
handkerchiefs. 

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

"That was a Daniel Cooper!" exclaimed 
Mdrya Dmftrievna, tucking up her sleeves and 
puffing heavily. 

CHAPTER XXI 

WHILE in the Rost6vs' ballroom the sixth ang- 
laise was being danced, to a tune in which the 
weary musicians blundered, and while tired 
footmen and cooks were getting the supper, 
Count Beziikhov had a sixth stroke. The doc- 
tors pronounced recovery impossible. After a 
mute confession, communion was administered 
to the dying man, preparations made for the 
sacrament of unction, and in his house there 
was the bustle and thrill of suspense usual at 
such moments. Outside the house, beyond the 
gates, a group of undertakers, who hid when- 
ever a carriage drove up, waited in expectation 
of an important order for an expensive funer- 
al. The Military Governor of Moscow, who 



WAR AND PEACE 



had been assiduous in sending aides-de-camp 
to inquire after the count's health, came him- 
self that evening to bid a last farewell to the 
celebrated grandee of Catherine's court, Count 
Bezukhov. 

The magnificent reception room was crowd- 
ed. Everyone stood up respectfully when the 
Military Governor, having stayed about half 
an hour alone with the dying man, passed out, 
slightly acknowledging their bows and trying 
to escape as quickly as possible from the glances 
fixed on him by the doctors, clergy, and rela- 
tives of the family. Prince Vasfli, who had 
grown thinner and paler during the last few 
days, escorted him to the door, repeating some- 
thing to him several times in low tones. 

When the Military Governor had gone, 
Prince Vasfli sat down all alone on a chair in 
the ballroom, crossing one leg high over the 
other, leaning his elbow on his knee and cover- 
ing his face with his hand. After sitting so for a 
while he rose, and, looking about him with 
frightened eyes, went with unusually hurried 
steps down the long corridor leading to the 
back of the house, to the room of the eldest 
princess. 

Those who were in the dimly lit reception 
room spoke in nervous whispers, and, when- 
ever anyone went into or came from the dying 
man's room, grew silent and gazed with eyes 
full of curiosity or expectancy at his door, 
which creaked slightly when opened. 

"The limits of human life . . . are fixed and 
may not be o'erpassed," said an old priest to a 
lady who had taken a seat beside him and was 
listening naively to his words. 

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

"Ah, madam, it is a great sacrament," replied 
the priest, passing his hand over the thin griz- 
zled strands of hair combed back across his 
bald head. 

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

"Yes, and he is over sixty. I hear the count 
no longer recognizes anyone. They wished to 
administer the sacrament of unction." 

"I knew someone who received that sacra- 
ment seven times." 

The second princess had just come from the 
sickroom with her eyes red from weeping and 
sat down beside Dr. Lorrain, who was sitting 
in a graceful pose under a portrait of Cather- 



ine, leaning his elbow on a table. 

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

"Yes, indeed," replied the princess with a 
sigh. "So he may have something to drink?" 

Lorrain considered. 

"Has he taken his medicine?" 

"Yes." 

The doctor glanced at his watch. 

"Take a glass of boiled water and put a 
pinch of cream of tartar," and he indicated 
with his delicate fingers what he meant by a 
pinch. 

"Dere has neffer been a gase,"a German doc- 
tor was saying to an aide-de-camp, "dat one 
liffs after de sird sdroke." 

"Arid what a well-preserved man he was {"re- 
marked the aide-de-camp. "And who will in- 
herit his wealth?" he added in a whisper. 

"It von't go begging," replied the German 
with a smile. 

Everyone again looked toward the door, 
which creaked as the second princess went in 
with the drink she had prepared according to 
Lorrain's instructions. The German doctor 
went up to Lorrain. 

"Do you think he can last till morning?" 
asked the German, addressing Lorrain in 
French which he pronounced badly. 

Lorrain, pursing up his lips, waved a severe- 
ly negative finger before his nose. 

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

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

In this room it was almost dark; only two 
tiny lamps were burning before the icons and 
there was a pleasant scent of flowers and burnt 
pastilles. The room was crowded with small 
pieces of furniture, whatnots, cupboards, and 
little tables. The quilt of a high, white feather 
bed was just visible behind a screen. A small 
dog began to bark. 

"Ah, is it you, cousin?" 

She rose and smoothed her hair, which was 
as usual so extremely smooth that it seemed to 
be made of one piece with her head and cov- 
ered with varnish. 

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

"No, there is no change. I only came to have 



BOOK ONE 



39 



a talk about business, Catiche," l muttered the 
prince, seating himself wearily on the chair she 
had just vacated. "You have made the place 
warm, I must say," he remarked. "Well, sit 
down: let's have a talk." 

"I thought perhaps something had hap- 
pened/' she said with her unchanging stonily 
severe expression; and, sitting down opposite 
the prince, she prepared to listen. 

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

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

It was plain that this "well?" referred to 
much that they both understood without nam- 
ing. 

The princess, who had a straight, rigid body, 
abnormally long for her legs, looked directly at 
Prince Vasfli with no sign of emotion in her 
prominent gray eyes. Then she shook her head 
and glanced up at the icons with a sigh. This 
might have been taken as an expression of sor- 
row and devotion, or of weariness and hope of 
resting before long. Prince Vasili understood 
it as an expression of weariness. 

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

Prince Vasfli said no more and his cheeks be- 
gan to twitch nervously, now on one side, now 
on the other, giving his face an unpleasant ex- 
pression which was never to be seen on it in a 
drawing room. His eyes too seemed strange; at 
one moment they looked impudently sly and 
at the next glanced round in alarm. 

The princess, holding her little dog on her 
lap with her thin bony hands, looked atten- 
tively into Prince Vasfli's eyes evidently re- 
solved not to be the first to break silence, if she 
had to wait till morning. 

"Well, you see, my dear princess and cousin, 
Catherine Semenovna," continued Prince Va- 
sfli, returning to his theme, apparently not 
without an inner struggle; "at such a moment 
as this one must think of everything. One must 
think of the future, of all of you ... I love you 
all, like children of my own, as you know." 

The princess continued to look at him with- 
out moving, and with the same dull expres- 
sion. 

"And then of course my family has also to be 
considered," Prince Vasili went on, testily 
pushing away a little table without looking at 

1 Catherine. 



her. "You know, Catiche, that wg you three 
sisters, Mdmontov, and my wife are the count's 
only direct heirs. I know, I know how hard it 
is for you to talk or think of such matters. It is 
no easier for me; but, my dear, I am getting on 
for sixty and must be prepared for anything. 
Do you know I have sent for Pierre? The count," 
pointing to his portrait, "definitely demanded 
that he should be called." 

Prince Vasfli looked questioningly at the 
princess, but could not make out whether she 
was considering what he had just said or wheth- 
er she was simply looking at him. 

"There is one thing I constantly pray God 
to grant, mon cousin/' she replied, "and it is 
that He would be merciful to him and would 
allow his noble soul peacefully to leave this. . ." 

"Yes, yes, of course," interrupted Prince Va- 
sili impatiently, rubbing his bald head and an- 
grily pulling back toward him the little table 
that he had pushed away. "But ... in short, 
the fact is ... you know yourself that last win- 
ter the count made a will by which he left all 
his property, not to us his direct heirs, but to 
Pierre." 

"He has made wills enoughl" quietly re- 
marked the princess. "But he cannot leave the 
estate to Pierre. Pierre is illegitimate." 

"But, my dear," said Prince Vasfli suddenly, 
clutching the little table and becoming more 
animated and talking more rapidly: "what if 
a letter has been written to the Emperor in 
which the count asks for Pierre's legitimation? 
Do you understand that in consideration of 
the count's services, his request would be 
granted? . . ." 

The princess smiled as people do who think 
they know more about the subject under dis- 
cussion than those they are talking with. 

"I can tell you more," continued Prince Va- 
sfli, seizing her hand, "that letter was written, 
though it was not sent, and the Emperor knew 
of it. The only question is, has it been de- 
stroyed or not? If not, then as soon as all is 
over/' and Prince Vasfli sighed to intimate 
what he meant by the words all is over, "and 
the count's papers are opened, the will and 
letter will be delivered to the Emperor, and 
the petition will certainly be granted. Pierre 
will get everything as the legitimate son." 

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

"But, my poor Catiche, it is as clear as day- 
lightl He will then be the legal heir to every- 
thing and you won't get anything. You must 



WAR AND PEACE 



know, my dear, whether the will and letter 
were written, and whether they have been de- 
stroyed or not. And if they have somehow been 
overlooked, you ought to know where they are, 
and must find them, because . . ." 

"What next?" the princess interrupted, smil- 
ing sardonically and not changing the expres- 
sion of her eyes. "I am a woman, and you think 
we are all stupid; but I know this: an illegiti- 
mate son cannot inherit . . . un bdtard!" * she 
added, as if supposing that this translation of 
the word would effectively prove to Prince Va- 
sfli the invalidity of his contention. 

"Well, really, Catiche! Can't you under- 
stand! You are so intelligent, how is it you don't 
see that if the count has written a letter to the 
Emperor begging him to recognize Pierre as 
legitimate, it follows that Pierre will not be 
Pierre but will become Count Bezukhov, and 
will then inherit everything under the will? 
And if the will and letter are not destroyed, 
then you will have nothing but the consola- 
tion of having been dutiful et tout ce qui s* en- 
suit! * That's certain." 

"I know the will was made, but I also know 
that it is invalid; and you, mon cousin, seem to 
consider me a perfect fool," said the princess 
with the expression women assume when they 
suppose they are saying something witty and 
stinging. 

"My dear Princess Catherine Semenovna," 
began Prince Vasfli impatiently, "I came here 
not to wrangle with you, but to talk about 
your interests as with a kinswoman, a good, 
kind, true relation. And I tell you for the tenth 
time that if the letter to the Emperor and the 
will in Pierre's favor are among the count's 
papers, then, my dear girl, you and your sisters 
are not heiressesl If you don't believe me, then 
believe an expert. I have just been talking to 
Dmitri Oniifrich" (the family solicitor) "and 
he says the same." 

At this a sudden change evidently took place 
in the princess' ideas; her thin lips grew white, 
though her eyes did not change, and her voice 
when she began to speak passed through such 
transitions as she herself evidently did not ex- 
pect. 

"That would be a fine thing!" said she. "I 
never wanted anything and I don't now." 

She pushed the little dog off her lap and 
smoothed her dress. 

"And this is gratitudethis is recognition for 
those who have sacrificed everything for his 

1 A bastard. 

* And all that follows therefrom. 



sake!" she cried. "It's splendid! Fine! I don't 
want anything, Prince." 

"Yes, but you are not the only one. There 
are your sisters . . ." replied Prince Vasfli. 

But the princess did not listen to him. 

"Yes, I knew it long ago but had forgotten. 
I knew that I could expect nothing but mean- 
ness, deceit, envy, intrigue, and ingratitude 
the blackest ingratitude in this house . . ." 

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

"Yes, I was a fool! I still believed in people, 
loved them, and sacrificed myself. But only the 
base, the vile succeed! I know who has been in- 
triguing!" 

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

"There is still time, my dear. You must re- 
member, Catiche, that it was all done casually 
in a moment of anger, of illness, and was after- 
wards forgotten. Our duty, my dear, is to recti- 
fy his mistake, to ease his last moments by not 
letting him commit this injustice, and not to 
let him die feeling that he is rendering un- 
happy those who ..." 

"Who sacrificed everything for him," chimed 
in the princess, who would again have risen 
had not the prince still held her fast, "though 
he never could appreciate it. No, mon cousin/' 
she added with a sigh, "I shall always remem- 
ber that in this world one must expect no re- 
ward, that in this world there is neither honor 
nor justice. In this world one has to be cun- 
ning and cruel." 

"Now come, come! Be reasonable. I know 
your excellent heart." 

"No, I have a wicked heart." 

"I know your heart," repeated the prince. "I 
value your friendship and wish you to have as 
good an opinion of me. Don't upset yourself, 
and let us talk sensibly while there is still time, 

be it a day or be it but an hour Tell me all 

you know about the will, and above all where 
it is. You must know. We will take it at once 
and show it to the count. He has, no doubt, for- 
gotten it and will wish to destroy it. You un- 
derstand that my sole desire is conscientiously 
to carry out his wishes; that is my only reason 
for being here. I came simply to help him and 
you." 

"Now I see it all! I know who has been in- 
triguingI know!" cried the princess. 



BOOK ONE 



"That's not the point, my dear." 
"It's that protg of yours, that sweet Prin- 
cess Drubetskaya, that Anna Mikhaylovna 
whom I would not take for a housemaid . . . 
the infamous, vile woman 1" 

"Do not let us lose any time . . ." 
"Ah, don't talk to me! Last winter she whee- 
dled herself in here and told the count such 
vile, disgraceful things about us, especially a- 
bout Sophie I can't repeat them that it made 
the count quite ill and he would not see us for 
a whole fortnight. I know it was then he wrote 
this vile, infamous paper, but I thought the 
thing was invalid." 

"We've got to it at last why did you not tell 
me about it sooner?" 

"It's in the inlaid portfolio that he keeps un- 
der his pillow," said the princess, ignoring his 
question. "Now I know! Yes; if I have a sin, a 
great sin, it is hatred of that vile woman!" al- 
most shrieked the princess, now quite changed. 
"And what docs she come worming herself in 
here for? But I will give her a piece of my 
mind. The time will come!" 

CHAPTER XXII 

WHILE these conversations were going on in 
the reception room and the princess' room, a 
carriage containing Pierre (who had been sent 
for) and Anna Mikhaylovna (who found it nec- 
essary to accompany him) was driving into the 
court of Count Beziikhov's house. As the wheels 
rolled softly over the straw beneath the win- 
dows, Anna Mikhdylovna, having turned with 
words of comfort to her companion, realized 
that he was asleep in his corner and woke him 
up. Rousing himself, Pierre followed Anna 
Mikhaylovna out of the carriage, and only then 
began to think of the interview with his dying 
father which awaited him. He noticed that 
they had not come to the front entrance but to 
the backdoor. While he was getting down from 
the carriage steps two men, who looked like 
tradespeople, ran hurriedly from the entrance 
and hid in the shadow of the wall. Pausing for 
a moment, Pierre noticed several other men of 
the same kind hiding in the shadow of the 
house on both sides. But neither Anna Mik- 
haylovna nor the footman nor the coachman, 
who could not help seeing these people, took 
any notice of them. "It seems to be all right," 
Pierre concluded, and followed Anna Mikhay- 
lovna. She hurriedly ascended the narrow dim- 
ly lit stone staircase, calling to Pierre, who was 
lagging behind, to follow. Though he did not 
see why it was necessary for him to go to the 



count at all, still less why he had to go by the 
back stairs, yet judging byAnnaMikhiylovna's 
air of assurance and haste, Pierre concluded 
that it was all absolutely necessary. Halfway 
up the stairs they were almost knocked over by 
some men who, carrying pails, came running 
downstairs, their boots clattering. These men 
pressed close to the wall to let Pierre andAnna 
MikMylovna pass and did not evince the least 
surprise at seeing them there. 

"Is this the way to the princesses' apart- 
ments?" asked Anna Mikhaylovna of one of 
them. 

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

"Perhaps the count did not ask for me," said 
Pierre when he reached the landing. "I'd bet- 
ter go to my own room." 

Anna Mikhaylovna paused and waited for 
him to come up. 

"Ah, my friend!" she said, touching his arm 
as she had done her son's when speaking to 
him that afternoon, "believe me I suffer no 
less than you do, but be a man!" 

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

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

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

This door led into a back anteroom. An old 
man, a servant of the princesses, sat in a corner 
knitting a stocking. Pierre had never been in 
this part of the house and did not even know 
of the existence of these rooms. Anna Mikhay- 
lovna, addressing a maid who was hurrying 
past with a decanter on a tray as "my dear" and 
"my sweet," asked about the princesses' health 
and then led Pierre along a stone passage. The 
first door on the left led into the princesses' 
apartments. The maid with the decanter in 
her haste had not closed the door (everything 
in the house was done in haste at that time), 
and Pierre and Anna Mikhdylovna in passing 
instinctively glanced into the room, where 
Prince Vasili and the eldest princess were sit- 
ting close together talking. Seeing them pass, 
Prince Vasili drew back with obvious impa- 
tience, while the princess jumped up and with 



WAR AND PEACE 



a gesture of desperation slammed the door with 
all her might. 

This action was so unlike her usual compo- 
sure and the fear depicted on Prince Vasili's 
face so out of keeping with his dignity that 
Pierre stopped and glanced inquiringly over 
his spectacles at his guide. Anna Mikhdylovna 
evinced no surprise, she only smiled faintly 
and sighed, as if to say that this was no more 
than she had expected. 

"Be a man, my friend. I will look after your 
interests," said she in reply to his look, and 
went still faster along the passage. 

Pierre could not make out what it was all 
about, and still less what "watching over his 
interests" meant, but he decided that all these 
things had to be. From the passage they went 
into a large, dimly lit room adjoining the count's 
reception room. It was one of those sumptuous 
but cold apartments known to Pierre only from 
the front approach, but even in this room there 
now stood an empty bath, and water had been 
spilled on the carpet. They were met by a dea- 
con with a censer and by a servant who passed 
out on tiptoe without heeding them. They 
went into the reception room familiar to 
Pierre, with two Italian windows opening in- 
to the conservatory, with its large bust and full- 
length portrait of Catherine the Great. The 
same people were still sitting here in almost 
the same positions as before, whispering to one 
another. All became silent and turned to look 
at the pale tear-worn Anna Mikhylovna as she 
entered, and at the big stout figure of Pierre 
who, hanging his head, meekly followed her. 

Anna Mikhdylovna's face expressed a con- 
sciousness that the decisive moment had ar- 
rived. With the air of a practical Petersburg 
lady she now, keeping Pierre close beside her, 
entered the room even more boldly than that 
afternoon. She felt that as she brought with her 
the person the dying man wished to see, her 
own admission was assured. Casting a rapid 
glance at all those in the room and noticing 
the count's confessor there, she glided up to 
him with a sort of amble, not exactly bowing, 
yet seeming to grow suddenly smaller, and re- 
spectfully received the blessing first of one and 
then of another priest. 

"God be thanked that you are in time," said 
she to one of the priests; "all we relatives have 
been in such anxiety. This young man is the 
count's son," she added more softly. "What a 
terrible moment!" 

Having said this she went up to the doctor. 

"Dear doctor," said she, "this young man is 



the count's son. Is there any hope?" 

The doctor cast a rapid glance upwards and 
silently shrugged his shoulders. Anna Mikhiy- 
lovna with just the same movement raised her 
shoulders and eyes, almost closing the latter, 
sighed, and moved away from the doctor to 
Pierre. To him, in a particularly respectful and 
tenderly sad voice, she said: 

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

Pierre, having made up his mind to obey his 
monitress implicitly, moved toward the sofa 
she had indicated. As soon as Anna Mikhdy- 
lovna had disappeared he noticed that the eyes 
of all in the room turned to him with some- 
thing more than curiosity and sympathy. He 
noticed that they whispered to one another, 
casting significant looks at him with a kind of 
awe and even servility. A deference such as he 
had never before received vas shown him. A 
strange lady, the one who had been talking to 
the priests, rose and offered him her seat; an 
aide-de-camp picked up and returned a glove 
Pierre had dropped; the doctors became re- 
spectfully silent as he passed by, and moved to 
make way for him. At first Pierre wished to 
take another seat so as not to trouble the lady, 
and also to pick up the glove himself and to 
pass round the doctors who were not even in 
his way; but all at once he felt that this would 
not do, and that tonight he was a person o- 
bliged to perform some sort of awful rite which 
everyone expected of him, and that he was 
therefore bound to accept their services. He 
took the glove in silence from the aide-de-camp, 
and sat down in the lady's chair, placing his 
huge hands symmetrically on his knees in the 
nai've attitude of an Egyptian statue, and de- 
cided in his own mind that all was as it should 
be, and that in order not to lose his head and 
do foolish things he must not act on his own 
ideas tonight, but must yield himself up entire- 
ly to the will of those who were guiding him. 

Not two minutes had passed before Prince 
Vasili with head erect majestically entered the 
room. He was wearing his long coat with three 
stars on his breast. He seemed to have grown 
thinner since the morning; his eyes seemed 
larger than usual when he glanced round and 
noticed Pierre. He went up to him, took his 
hand (a thing he never used to do), and drew 
it downwards as if wishing to ascertain wheth- 
er it was firmly fixed on. 



BOOK ONE 



43 



"Courage, courage, my friend! He has^sked 
to see you. That is well!" and he turned to go. 

But Pierre thought it necessary to ask: "How 
is . . ." and hesitated, not knowing whether it 
would be proper to call the dying man "the 
count," yet ashamed to call him "father." 

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

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

"The divine mercy is inexhaustible! Unc- 
tion is about to be administered. Come." 

Pierre went in at the door, stepping on the 
soft carpet, and noticed that the strange lady, 
the aide-de-camp, and some of the servants, all 
followed him in, as if there were now no fur- 
ther need for permission to enter that room. 

CHAPTER XXIII 

PIERRE well knew this large room divided by 
columns and an arch, its walls hung round with 
Persian carpets. The part of the room behind 
the columns, with a high silk-curtained mahog- 
any bedstead on one side and on the other an 
immense case containing icons, was brightly 
illuminated with red light like a Russian church 
during evening service. Under the gleaming 
icons stood a long invalid chair, and in that 
chair on snowy-white smooth pillows, evident- 
ly freshly changed, Pierre saw covered to the 
waist by a bright green quiltthe familiar, ma- 
jestic figure of his father, Count Beziikhov, 
with that gray mane of hair above his broad 
forehead which reminded one of a lion, and 
the deep characteristically noble wrinkles of 
his handsome, ruddy face. He lay just under 
the icons; his large thick hands outside the 
quilt. Into the right hand, which was lying 
palm downwards, a wax taper had been thrust 
between forefinger and thumb, and an old serv- 
ant, bending over from behind the chair, held 
it in position. By the chair stood the priests, 



their long hair falling over their magnificent 
glittering vestments, with lighted tapers in their 
hands, slowly and solemnly conducting the 
service. A little behind them stood the two 
younger princesses holding handkerchiefs to 
their eyes, and just in front of them their eld- 
est sister, Catiche, with a vicious and deter- 
mined look steadily fixed on the icons, as though 
declaring to all that she could not answer for 
herself should she glance round. Anna Mikhdy- 
lovna,witha meek, sorrowful, and all-forgiving 
expression on her face, stood by the door near 
the strange lady. Prince Vasili in front of the 
door, near the invalid chair, a wax taper in his 
left hand, was leaning his left arm on the 
carved back of a velvet chair he had turned 
round for the purpose, and was crossing him- 
self with his right hand, turning his eyes up- 
ward each time he touched his forehead. His 
face wore a calm look of piety and resignation 
to the will of God. "If you do not understand 
these sentiments," he seemed to be saying, "so 
much the worse for you!" 

Behind him stood the aide-de-camp, the doc- 
tors, and the menservants; the men and wom- 
en had separated as in church. All were silently 
crossing themselves, and the reading of the 
church service, the subdued chanting of deep 
bass voices, and in the intervals sighs and the 
shuffling of feet were the only sounds that could 
be heard. Anna Mikhaylovna, with an air of 
importance that showed that she felt she quite 
knew what she was about, went across the room 
to where Pierre was standing and gave him a 
taper. He lit it and, distracted by observing 
those around him, began crossing himself with 
the hand that held the taper. 

Sophie, the rosy, laughter-loving, youngest 
princess with the mole, watched him. She 
smiled, hid her face in her handkerchief, and 
remained with it hidden for awhile; then look- 
ing up and seeing Pierre she again began to 
laugh. She evidently felt unable to look at him 
without laughing, but could not resist looking 
at him: so to be out of temptation she slipped 
quietly behind one of the columns. In the midst 
of the service the voices of the priests suddenly 
ceased, they whispered to one another, and the 
old servant who was holding the count's hand 
got up and said something to the ladies. Anna 
Mikhaylovna stepped forward and, stooping o- 
ver the dying man, beckoned to Lorrain from 
behind her back. The French doctor held no ta- 
per; he was leaning against one of the columns 
in a respectful attitude implying that he, a 
foreigner, in spite of all differences of faith, 



44 



understood the full importance of the rite now 
being performed and even approved of it. He 
now approached the sick man with the noise- 
less step of one in full vigor of life, with his 
delicate white fingers raised from the green 
quilt the hand that was free, and turning side- 
ways felt the pulse and reflected a moment. The 
sick man was given something to drink, there 
was a stir around him, then the people resumed 
their places and the service continued. During 
this interval Pierre noticed that Prince Vasili 
left the chair on which he had been leaning, 
and with an air which intimated that he knew 
what he was about and if others did not under- 
stand him it was so much the worse for them 
did not go up to the dying man, but passed 
by him, joined the eldest princess, and moved 
with her to the side of the room where stood 
the high bedstead with its silken hangings. On 
leaving the bed both Prince Vasili and the 
princess passed out by a back door, but returned 
to their places one after the other before the 
service was concluded. Pierre paid no more at- 
tention to thjs occurrence than to the rest of 
what went on, having made up his mind once 
for all that what he saw happening around him 
that evening was in some way essential. 

The chanting of the service ceased, and the 
voice of the priest was heard respectfully con- 
gratulating the dying man on having received 
the sacrament. The dying man lay as lifeless 
and immovable as before. Around him every- 
one began to stir: steps were audible and whis- 
pers, among which Anna Mikhaylovna's was 
the most distinct. 

Pierre heard her say: 

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

The sick man was so surrounded by doctors, 
princesses, and servants that Pierre could no 
longer see the reddish-yellow face with its gray 
mane which, though he saw other faces as well, 
he had not lost sight of for a single moment 
during the whole service. He judged by the 
cautious movements of those who crowded 
round the invalid chair that they had lifted the 
dying man and were moving him. 

"Catch hold of my arm or you'll drop him!" 
he heard one of the servants say in a frightened 
whisper. "Catch hold from underneath. Here!" 
exclaimed different voices; and the heavy 
breathing of the bearers and the shuffling of 
their feet grew more hurried, as if the weight 
they were carrying were too much for them. 

As the bearers, among whom was Anna Mik- 
haylovna, passed the young man he caught a 



WAR AND PEACE 

momentary glimpse between their heads and 
backs of the dying man's high, stout, uncovered 
chest and powerful shoulders, raised by those 
who were holding him under the armpits, and 
of his gray, curly, leonine head. This head, with 
its remarkably broad brow and cheekbones, its 
handsome, sensual mouth, and its cold, majes- 
tic expression, was not disfigured by the ap- 
proach of death. It was the same as Pierre re- 
membered it three months before, when the 
count had sent him to Petersburg. But now this 
head was swaying helplessly with the uneven 
movements of the bearers, and the cold listless 
gaze fixed itself upon nothing. 

After a few minutes' bustle beside the high 
bedstead, those who had carried the sick man 
dispersed. Anna Mikhaylovna touched Pierre's 
hand and said, "Come." Pierre went with her 
to the bed on which the sick man had been laid 
in a stately pose in keeping with the ceremony 
just completed. He lay with his head propped 
high on the pillows. His hands were symmetri- 
cally placed on the green silk quilt, the palms 
downward. When Pierre came up the count 
was gazing straight at him, but with a look the 
significance of which could not be understood 
by mortal man. Either this look meant nothing 
but that as long as one has eyes they must look 
somewhere, or it meant too much. Pierre hesi- 
tated, not knowing what to do, and glanced in- 
quiringly at his guide. Anna Mikhdylovna 
made a hurried sign with her eyes, glancing at 
the sick man's hand and moving her lips as if 
to send it a kiss. Pierre, carefully stretching his 
neck so as not to touch the quilt, followed 
her suggestion and pressed his lips to the large- 
boned, fleshy hand. Neither the hand nor a 
single muscle of the count's face stirred. Once 
more Pierre looked questioningly at Anna 
Mikhaylovna to see what he was to do next. 
Anna Mikhaylovna with her eyes indicated a 
chair that stood beside the bed. Pierre obedi- 
ently sat down, his eyes asking if he were doing 
right. Anna Mikhaylovna nodded approving- 
ly. Again Pierre fell into the naively symmetri- 
cal pose of an Egyptian statue, evidently dis- 
tressed that his stout and clumsy body took up 
so much room and doing his utmost to look as 
small as possible. He looked at the count, who 
still gazed at the spot where Pierre's face had 
been before he sat down. Anna Mikhaylovna 
indicated by her attitude her consciousness of 
the pathetic importance of these last moments 
of meeting between the father and son. This 
lasted about two minutes, which to Pierre 
seemed an hour. Suddenly the broad muscles 



BOOK ONE 



45 



and lines of the count's face began to twitch. 
The twitching increased, the handsome skouth 
was drawn to one side (only now did Pierre 
realize how near death his father was), and 
from that distorted mouth issued an indistinct, 
hoarse sound. Anna Mikhaylovna looked at- 
tentively at the sick man's eyes, trying to guess 
what he wanted; she pointed first to Pierre, then 
to some drink, then named Prince Vasfli in an 
inquiring whisper, then pointed to the quilt. 
The eyes and face of the sick man showed im- 
patience. He made an effort to look at the serv- 
ant who stood constantly at the head of the 
bed. 

"Wants to turn on the other side," whis- 
pered the servant, and got up to turn the 
count's heavy body toward the wall. 

Pierre' rose to help him. 

While the count was being turned over, one 
of his arms fell back helplessly and he made a 
fruitless effort to pull it forward. Whether he 
noticed the look of terror with which Pierre re- 
garded that lifeless arm, or whether some other 
thought flitted across his dying brain, at any 
rate he glanced at the refractory arm, at Pierre's 
terror-stricken face, and again at the arm, and 
on his face a feeble, piteous smile appeared, 
quite out of keeping with his features, that 
seemed to deride his own helplessness. At sight 
of this smile Pierre felt an unexpected quiver- 
ing in his breast and a tickling in his nose, and 
tears dimmed his eyes. The sick man was turned 
onto his side with his face to the wall. He sighed. 

"He is dozing," said Anna Mikhaylovna, ob- 
serving that one of the princesses was coming 
to take her turn at watching. "Let us go." 

Pierre went out. 

CHAPTER XXIV 

THERE WAS now no one in the reception 
room except Prince Vasfli and the eldest prin- 
cess, who were sitting under the portrait of 
Catherine the Great and talking eagerly. As 
soon as they saw Pierre and his companion they 
became silent, and Pierre thought he saw the 
princess hide something as she whispered: 

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

"Catiche has had tea served in the small draw- 
ing room," said Prince Vasili to Anna Mikhay- 
lovna. "Go and take something, my poor Anna 
Mikhdylovna, or you will not hold out." 

To Pierre he said nothing, merely giving his 
arm a sympathetic squeeze below the shoulder. 
Pierre went with Anna Mikhdylovna into the 
small drawing room. 

"There is nothing so refreshing after a sleep- 



less night as a cup of this delicious Russian tea," 
Lorrain was say ing with an air of restrained an- 
imation as he stood sipping tea from a delicate 
Chinese handleless cup before a table on which 
tea and a cold supper were laid in the small 
circular room. Around the table all who were 
at Count Bezukhov's house that night had gath- 
ered to fortify themselves. Pierre well remem- 
bered this small circular drawing room with its 
mirrors and little tables. During balls given at 
the house, Pierre, who did not know how to 
dance, had liked sitting in this room to watch 
the ladies who, as they passed through in their 
ball dresses with diamonds and pearls on their 
bare shoulders, looked at themselves in the 
brilliantly lighted mirrors which repeated their 
reflections several times. Now this same room 
was dimly lighted by two candles. On one small 
table tea things and supper dishes stood in dis- 
order, and in the middle of the night a motley 
throng of people sat there, not merrymaking, 
but somberly whispering, and betraying by ev- 
ery word and movement that they none of 
them forgot what was happening and what was 
about to happen in the bedroom. Pierre did not 
eat anything though he would very much have 
liked to. He looked inquiringly at his moni- 
tressand saw that she was again going on tiptoe 
to the reception room where they had left 
Prince Vasfli and the eldest princess. Pierre 
concluded that this also was essential, and after 
a short interval followed her. Anna Mikhdylov- 
na was standing beside the princess, and they 
were both speaking in excited whispers. 

"Permit me, Princess, to know what is neces- 
sary and what is not necessary, "said the young- 
er of the two speakers, evidently in the same 
state of excitement as when she had slammed 
the door of her room. 

"But, my dear princess," answered Anna 
Mikhaylovna blandly but impressively, block- 
ing the way to the bedroom and preventing the 
other from passing, "won't this be too much 
for poor Uncle at a moment when he needs re- 
pose? Worldly conversation at a moment when 
his soul is already prepared . . ." 

Prince Vasfli was seated in an easy chair in 
his familiar attitude, with one leg crossed high 
above the other. His cheeks, which were so flab- 
by that they looked heavier below, were twitch- 
ing violently; but he wore the air of a man lit- 
tle concerned in what the two ladies were say- 
ing. 

"Come, my dear Anna Mikhdylovna, let Ca- 
tiche do as she pleases. You know how fond 
the count is of her." 



WAR AND PEACE 



"I don't even know what is in this paper," 
said the younger of the two ladies, addressing 
Prince Vasili and pointing to an inlaid port- 
folio she held in her hand. "All I know is that 
his real will is in his writing table, and this is a 
paper he has forgotten. . . ." 

She tried to pass Anna Mikhdylovna, but the 
latter sprang so as to bar her path. 

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

The princess did not reply. Their efforts in 
the struggle for the portfolio were the only 
sounds Audible, but it was evident that if the 
princess did speak, her words would not be 
flattering to Anna Mikhdylovna. Though the 
latter held on tenaciously, her voice lost none 
of its honeyed firmness and softness. 

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

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

But Anna Mikhdylovna went forward a step 
or two to keep her hold on the portfolio, and 
changed her grip. 

Prince Vasili rose. "Oh!" said he with re- 
proach and surprise, "this is absurd! Come, let 
go I tell you." 

The princess let go. 

"And you too!" 

But Anna Mikhdylovna did not obey him. 

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

"But, Prince," said Anna Mikhdylovna, "aft- 
er such a solemn sacrament, allow him a mo- 
ment's peace! Here, Pierre, tell them your 
opinion," said she, turning to the young man 
who, having come quite close, was gazing with 
astonishment at the angry face of the princess 
which had lost all dignity, and at the twitch- 
ing cheeks of Prince Vasili. 

"Remember that you will answer for the con- 
sequences," said Prince Vasili severely. "You 
don't know what you are doing." 

"Vile woman!" shouted the princess, dart- 
ing unexpectedly at Anna Mikhdylovna and 



snatching the portfolio from her. 

Priice Vasili bent his head and spread out 
his hands. 

At this moment that terrible door, which 
Pierre had watched so long and which had al- 
ways opened so quietly, burst noisily open and 
banged against the wall, and the second of the 
three sisters rushed out wringing her hands. 

"What are you doing!" she cried vehemently. 
"He isdyingand you leave me alone with him!" 

Her sister dropped the portfolio. Anna Mik- 
hdylovna, stooping, quickly caught up the ob- 
ject of contention and ran into the bedroom. 
The eldest princess and Prince Vasfli, recover- 
ing themselves, followed her, A few minutes lat- 
er the eldest sister came out with a pale hard 
face, again biting her underlip. At sight of 
Pierre her expression showed an irrepressible 
hatred. 

"Yes, now you may be glad!" said she; "this 
is what you have been waiting for." And burst- 
ing into tears she hid her face in her handker- 
chief and rushed from the room. 

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

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

Anna Mikhdylovna came out last. She ap- 
proached Pierre with slow, quiet steps. 

"Pierre!" she said. 

Pierre gave her an inquiring look. She kissed 
the young man on his forehead, wetting him 
with her tears. Then after a pause she said: 

"He is no more " 

Pierre looked at her over his spectacles. 

"Come, I will go with you. Try to weep, noth- 
ing gives such relief as tears." 

She led him into the dark drawing room 
and Pierre was glad no one could see his face. 
Anna Mikhdylovna left him, and when she re- 
turned he was fast asleep with his head on his 
arm. 

In the morning Anna Mikhdylovna said to 
Pierre: 

"Yes, my dear, this is a great loss for us all, 
not to speak of you. But God will support you: 
you are young, and are now, I hope, in com- 
mand of an immense fortune. The will has not 



BOOK ONE 



47 



yet been opened. I knowyouwell enough to be 
sure that this will not turn your head, out it 
imposes duties on you, and you must be a man." 

Pierre was silent. 

"Perhaps later on I may tell you, my dear 
boy, that if I had not been there, God only 
knows what would have happened 1 You know, 
Uncle promised me only the day before yes- 
terday not to forget Boris. But he had no time. 
I hope, my dear friend, you will carry out your 
father's wish?" 

Pierre understood nothing of all this and 
coloring shyly looked in silence at Princess An- 
na Mikhaylovna. After her talk with Pierre, 
Anna Mikhaylovna returned to the Rost6vs' 
and went to bed. On waking in the morning she 
told the Rostovs and all her acquaintances the 
details of Count Bezukhov's death. She said the 
count had died as she would herself wish to die, 
that his end was not only touching but edify- 
ing. As to the last meeting between father and 
son, it was so touching that she could not think 
of it without tears, and did not know which 
had behaved better during those awful mo- 
mentsthe father who so remembered every- 
thing and everybody at the last and had spoken 
such pathetic words to the son, or Pierre, whom 
it had been pitiful to see, so stricken was he 
with grief, though he tried hard to hide it in or- 
der not to sadden his dying father. "It is pain- 
ful, but it does one good. It uplifts the soul to 
see such men as the old count and his worthy 
son," said she. Of the behavior of the eldest 
princess and Prince Vasili she spoke disapprov- 
ingly, but in whispers and as a great secret. 

CHAPTER XXV 

AT BALD HILLS, Prince Nicholas Andrevich 
Bolk6nski's estate, the arrival of young Prince 
Andrew and his wife was daily expected, but 
this expectation did not upset the regular rou- 
tine of life in the old prince's household. Gen- 
eral in Chief Prince Nicholas Andre*evich 
(nicknamed in society, "the King of Prussia") 
ever since the Emperor Paul had exiled him to 
his country estate had lived there continuously 
with his daughter, Princess Mary, and her com- 
panion, Mademoiselle Bourienne. Though in 
the new reign he was free to return to the capi- 
tals, he still continued to live in the country, 
remarking that anyone who wanted to see him 
could come the hundred miles from Moscow to 
Bald Hills, while he himself needed no one and 
nothing. He used to say that there are only two 
sources of human vice idleness and supersti- 
tion, and only two virtues activity and intel- 



ligence. He himself undertook his daughter's 
education, and to develop these two cardinal 
virtues in her gave her lessons in algebra and 
geometry till she was twenty, and arranged her 
life so that her whole time was occupied. He 
was himself always occupied: writing his mem- 
oirs, solving problems in higher mathematics, 
turning snuffboxes on a lathe, working in the 
garden, or superintending the building that 
was always going on at his estate. As regular- 
ity is a prime condition facilitating activity, 
regularity in his household was carried to the 
highest point of exactitude. He always came to 
table under precisely the same conditions, and 
not only at the same hour but at the same min- 
ute. With those about him, from his daughter 
to his serfs, the prince was sharp and invariably 
exacting, so that without being a hardhearted 
man he inspired such fear and respect as few 
hardhearted men would have aroused. Al- 
though he was in retirement and had now no 
influence in political affairs, every high official 
appointed to the province in which the prince's 
estate lay considered it his duty to visit him and 
waited in the lofty antechamber just as the ar- 
chitect, gardener, or Princess Mary did, till the 
prince appeared punctually to the appointed 
hour. Everyone sitting in this antechamber ex- 
perienced the same feeling of respect and even 
fear when the enormously high study door 
opened and showed the figure of a rather small 
old man, with powdered wig, small withered 
hands, and bushy gray eyebrows which, when 
he frowned, sometimes hid the gleam of his 
shrewd, youthfully glittering eyes. 

On the morning of the day that the young 
couple were to arrive, Princess Mary entered 
the antechamber as usual at the time appoint- 
ed for the morning greeting, crossing herself 
with trepidation and repeating a silent prayer. 
Every morning she came in like that, and ev- 
ery morning she prayed that the daily interview 
might pass off well. 

An old powdered manservant who was sit- 
ting in the antechamber rose quietly and said 
in a whisper: "Please walk in." 

Through the door came the regular hum of 
a lathe. The princess timidly opened the door 
which moved noiselessly and easily. She paused 
at the entrance. The prince was working at the 
lathe and after glancing round continued his 
work. 

The enormous study was full of things evi- 
dently in constant use. The large table covered 
with books and plans, the tall glass-fronted 
bookcases with keys in the locks, the high desk 



4 8 



WAR AND PEACE 



for writing while standing up, on which lay an 
open exercise book, and the lathe with tools 
laid ready to hand and shavings scattered 
aroundall indicated continuous, varied, and 
orderly activity. The motion of the small foot 
shod in a Tartar boot embroidered with silver, 
and the firm pressure of the lean sinewy hand, 
showed that the prince still possessed the tena- 
cious endurance and vigor of hardy old age. 
After a few more turns of the lathe he removed 
his foot from the pedal, wiped his chisel, 
dropped it into a leather pouch attached to the 
lathe, and, approaching the table, summoned 
his daughter. He never gave his children a bless- 
ing, so he simply held out his bristly cheek (as 
yet unshaven) and, regarding her tenderly and 
attentively, said severely: 

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

"For tomorrow!" said he, quickly finding 
the page and making a scratch from one para- 
graph to another with his hard nail. 

The princess bent over the exercise book on 
the table. 

"Wait a bit, here's a letter for you," said the 
old man suddenly, taking a letter addressed in 
a woman's hand from a bag hanging above the 
table, onto which he threw it. 

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

"From H^loi'se?" asked the prince with a 
cold smile that showed hisstill sound, yellowish 
teeth. 1 

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

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

"Read this if you like, Father," said the prin- 
cess, blushing still more and holding out the 
letter. 

"The third,! said the third 1" cried theprince 
abruptly, pushing the letter away, and leaning 
his elbows on the table he drew toward him 
the exercise book containing geometrical fig- 
ures. 

"Well, madam," he began, stooping over the 
book close to his daughter and placing an arm 
on the back of the chair on which she sat, so 

1 The prince is ironical. He knows the letter is 
from Julie, but alludes to Rousseau's novel, Julie, 
ou la nouvelle Htloise, which he, an admirer of 
Voltaire and of cold reason, heartily despised. TR. 



that she felt herself surrounded on all sides by 
the skrid scent of old age and tobacco, which 
she had known so long. "Now, madam, these 
triangles are equal; please note that the angle 
ABC . . ." 

The princess looked in a scared way at her 
father's eyes glittering close to her; the red 
patches on her face came and went, and it was 
plain that she understood nothing and was so 
frightened that her fear would prevent her un- 
derstanding any of her father's further explana- 
tions, however clear they might be. Whether it 
was the teacher's fault or the pupil's, this same 
thing happened every day: the princess' eyes 
grew dim, she could not see and could not hear 
anything, but was only conscious of her stern 
father's withered face close to her, of his breath 
and the smell of him, and could think only of 
how to get away quickly to her own room to 
make out the problem in peace. The old man 
was beside himself: moved the chair on which 
he was sitting noisily backward and forward, 
made efforts to control himself and not become 
vehement, but almost always did become ve- 
hement, scolded, and sometimes flung the ex- 
ercise book away. 

The princess gave a wrong answer. 

"Well now, isn't she a fool!" shouted the 
prince, pushing the book aside and turning 
sharply away; but rising immediately, he paced 
up and down, lightly touched his daughter's 
hair and sat down again. 

He drew up his chair and continued to ex- 
plain. 

"This won't do, Princess; it won't do," said 
he, when Princess Mary, having taken and 
closed the exercise book with the next day's 
lesson, was about to leave: "Mathematics are 
most important, madam! I don't want to have 
you like our silly ladies. Get used to it and 
you'll like it," and he patted her cheek. "It will 
drive all the nonsense out of your head." 

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

"Here is some sort of Key to the Mysteries 
that your Hdoi'se has sent you. Religious! I 
don't interfere with anyone's belief ... I have 
looked at it. Take it. Well, now go. Go." 

He patted her on the shoulder and himself 
closed the door after her. 

Princess Mary went back to her room with 
the sad, scared expression that rarely left her 
and which made her plain, sickly face yet plain- 
er. She sat down at her writing table, on which 
stood miniature portraits and which was lit- 



BOOK 

tered with books and papers. The princdfcs was 
as untidy as her father was tidy. She put down 
the geometry book and eagerly broke the seal 
of her letter. It was from her most intimate 
friend from childhood; that same Julie Kara- 
gina who had been at the Rost6vs' name-day 
party. 
Julie wrote in French: 

Dear and precious Friend, How terrible and 
frightful a thing is separation! Though I tell my- 
self that half my life and half my happiness are 
wrapped up in you, and that in spite of the distance 
separating us our hearts are united by indissoluble 
bonds, my heart rebels against fate and in spite of 
the pleasures and distractions around me I cannot 
overcome a certain secret sorrow that has been in 
my heart ever since we parted. Why are we not 
together as we were last summer, in your big study, 
on the blue sofa, the confidential sofa? Why can- 
not I now, as three months ago, draw fresh moral 
strength from your look, so gen tie, calm, and pene- 
trating, a look I loved so well and seem to see be- 
fore me as I write? 

Having read thus far, Princess Mary sighed 
and glanced into the mirror which stood on her 
right. It reflected a weak, ungraceful figure and 
thin face. Her eyes, always sad, now looked with 
particular hopelessness at her reflection in the 
glass. "She flatters me," thought the princess, 
turning away and continuing to read. But Julie 
did not flatter her friend, the princess' eyes- 
large, deep and luminous (it seemed as if at 
times there radiated from them shafts of warm 
light) were so beautiful that very of ten in spite 
of the plainness of her face they gave her an at- 
traction more powerful than that of beauty. 
But the princess never saw the beautiful ex- 
pression of her own eyes the look they had 
when she was not thinking of herself. As with 
everyone, her face assumed a forced unnatural 
expression as soon as she looked in a glass. She 
went on reading: 

All Moscow talks of nothing but war. One of my 
two brothers is already abroad, the other is with 
the Guards, who are starting on their march to the 
frontier. Our dear Emperor has left Petersburg 
and it is thought intends to expose his precious 
person to the chances of war. God grant that the 
Corsican monster who is destroying the peace of 
Europe may be overthrown by the angel whom it 
has pleased the Almighty, in His goodness, to give 
us as sovereignl To say nothing of my brothers, this 
war has deprived me of one of the associations 
nearest my heart. I mean young Nicholas Rostov, 
who with his enthusiasm could not bear to remain 
inactive and has left the university to join the 
army. I will confess to you, dear Mary, that in spite 
of his extreme youth his departure for the army 



ONE 



49 



was a great grief to me. This young man, of whom 
I spoke to you last summer, is so noble-minded 
and full of that real youthfulness which one sel- 
dom finds nowadays among our old men of twenty 
and, particularly, he is so frank and has so much 
heart. He is so pure and poetic that my relations 
with him, transient as they were, have been one 
of the sweetest comforts to my poor heart, which 
has already suffered so much. Someday I will tell 
you about our parting and all that was said then. 
That is still too fresh. Ah, dear friend, you are 
happy not to know these poignant joys and sor- 
rows. You are fortunate, for the latter are gen- 
erally the stronger! I know very well that Count 
Nicholas is too young ever to be more to me than 
a friend, but this sweet friendship, this poetic and 
pure intimacy, were what my heart needed. But 
enough of this! The chief news, about which all 
Moscow gossips, is the death of old Count Bezuk- 
hov, and his inheritance. Fancy! The three prin- 
cesses have received very little, Prince Vasili noth- 
ing, and it is Monsieur Pierre who has inherited 
all the property and has besides been recognized 
as legitimate; so that he is now Count Bezukhov 
and possessor of the finest fortune in Russia. It is 
rumored that Prince Vasili played a very despi- 
cable part in this affair and that he returned to 
Petersburg quite crestfallen. 

I confess I understand very little about all these 
matters of wills and inheritance; but I do know 
that since this young man, whom we all used to 
know as plain Monsieur Pierre, has become Count 
Bezukhov and the owner of one of the largest 
fortunes in Russia, I am much amused to watch 
the change in the tone and manners of the mam- 
mas burdened by marriageable daughters, and of 
the young ladies themselves, toward him, though, 
between you and me, he always seemed to me a 
poor sort of fellow. As for the past two years people 
have amused themselves by finding husbands for 
me (most of whom I don't even know), the match- 
making chronicles of Moscow now speak of me as 
the f u ture Countess Bezukhova. But you will under- 
stand that I have no desire for the post. A propos 
of marriages: do you know that a while ago that 
universal auntie Anna Mikhaylovna told me, un- 
der the seal of strict secrecy, of a plan of marriage 
for you. It is neither more nor less than with 
Prince Vasfli's son Anatole, whom they wish to re- 
form by marrying him to someone rich and dis~ 
tinguee, and it is on you that his relations' choice 
has fallen. I don't know what you will think of it, 
but I consider it my duty to let you know of it. He 
is said to be very handsome and a terrible scape- 
grace. That is all I have been able to find out 
about him. 

But enough of gossip. I am at the end of my 
second sheet of paper, and Mamma has sent for me 
to go and dine at the Apraksins'. Read the mystical 
book I am sending you; it has an enormous success 
here. Though there are things in it difficult for the 
feeble human mind to grasp, it is an admirable 



5 



WAR AND PEACE 



book which calms and elevates the soul. Adieu! 
Give my respects to monsieur your father and my 
compliments to Mademoiselle Bourienne. 1 em- 
brace you as I love you. JULIE 

P.S. Let me have news of your brother and his 
charming little wife. 

The princess pondered awhile with a 
thoughtful smile and her luminous eyes lit up 
so that her face was entirely transformed. Then 
she suddenly rose and with her heavy tread 
went up to the table. She took a sheet of paper 
and her hand moved rapidly over it. This is the 
reply she wrote, also in French: 

Dear and precious Friend, Your letter of the 
i$th has given me great delight. So you still love 
me, my romantic Julie? Separation, of which you 
say so much that is bad, does not seem to have had 
its usual effect on you. You complain of our sepa- 
ration. What then should I say, if I dared com- 
plain, I who am deprived of all who are dear to 
me? Ah, if we had not religion to console us life 
would be very sad. Why do you suppose that I 
should look severely on your affection for that 
young man? On such matters I am only severe with 
myself. I understand such feelings in others, and 
if never having felt them I cannot approve of 
them, neither do I condemn them. Only it seems 
to me that Christian love, love of one's neighbor, 
love of one's enemy, is worthier, sweeter, and bet- 
ter than the feelings which the beautiful eyes of a 
young man can inspire in a romantic and loving 
young girl like yourself. 

The news of Count Beziikhov's death reached 
us before your letter and my father was much 
affected by it. He says the count was the last rep- 
resentative but one of the great century, and that 
it is his own turn now, but that he will do all he 
can to let his turn come as late as possible. God 
preserve us from that terrible misfortune! 

I cannot agree with you about Pierre, whom I 
knew as a child. He always seemed to me to have 
an excellent heart, and that is the quality I value 
most in people. As to his inheritance and the part 
played by Prince Vasili, it is very sad for both. 
Ah, my dear friend, our divine Saviour's words, 
that it is easier for a camel to go through the eye 
of a needle than for a rich man to enter the King- 
dom of God, are terribly true. I pity Prince Vasili 
but am still more sorry for Pierre. So young, and 
burdened with such riches to what temptations 
he will be exposedl If I were asked what I desire 
most on earth, it would be to be poorer than the 
poorest beggar. A thousand thanks, dear friend, 
for the volume you have sent me and which has 
such success in Moscow. Yet since you tell me that 
among some good things it contains others which 
our weak human understanding cannot grasp, it 
seems to me rather useless to spend time in reading 
what is unintelligible and can therefore bear no 
fruit. I never could understand the fondness some 
people have for confusing their minds by dwelling 



on my^ical books that merely awaken their doubts 
and excite their imagination, giving them a bent 
for exaggeration quite contrary to Christian sim- 
plicity. Let us rather read the Epistles and Gospels. 
Let us not seek to penetrate what mysteries they 
contain; for how can we, miserable sinners that we 
are, know the terrible and holy secrets of Provi- 
dence while we remain in this flesh which forms 
an impenetrable veil between us and the Eternal? 
Let us rather confine ourselves to studying those 
sublime rules which our divine Saviour has left 
for our guidance here below. Let us try to conform 
to them and follow them, and let us be persuaded 
that the less we let our feeble human minds roam, 
the better we shall please God, who rejects all 
knowledge that does not come from Him; and the 
less we seek to fathom what He has been pleased 
to conceal from us, the sooner will He vouchsafe 
its revelation to us through His divine Spirit. 

My father has not spoken to me of a suitor, but 
has only told me that he has received a letter and 
is expecting a visit from Prince Vasili. In regard 
to this project of marriage for me, I will tell you, 
dear sweet friend, that I look on marriage as a 
divine institution to which we must conform. 
However painful it may be to me, should the Al- 
mighty ever lay the duties of wife and mother upon 
me I shall try to perform them as faithfully as 
I can, without disquieting myself by examining my 
feelings toward him whom He may give me for 
husband. 

I have had a letter from my brother, who an- 
nounces his speedy arrival at Bald Hills with his 
wife. This pleasure will be but a brief one, how- 
ever, for he will leave us again to take part in this 
unhappy war into which we have been drawn, 
God knows how or why. Not only where you are 
at the heart of affairs and of the world is the 
talk all of war, even here amid fieldwork and the 
calm of nature which townsfolk consider char- 
acteristic of the country rumors of war are heard 
and painfully felt. My father talks of nothing but 
marches and countermarches, things of which 1 
understand nothing; and the day before yesterday 
during my daily walk through the village I wit- 
nessed a heartrending scene. ... It was a convoy 
of conscripts enrolled from our people and start- 
ing to join the army. You should have seen the 
state of the mothers, wives, and children of the 
men who were going and should have heard the 
sobs. It seems as though mankind has forgotten 
the laws of its divine Saviour, Who preached love 
and forgiveness of injuries and that men attribute 
the greatest merit to skill in killing one another. 

Adieu, dear and kind friend; may our divine 
Saviour and His most Holy Mother keep you in 
their holy and all-powerful carel MARY 

"Ah, you are sending off a letter, Princess? I 
have already dispatched mine. I have written 
to my poor mother, "said the smiling Mademoi- 
selle Bourienne rapidly, in her pleasant mellow 



BOOK ONE 



tones and with guttural r's. She brought into 
Princess Mary's strenuous, mournful, and 
gloomy world a quite different atmosphere, 
careless, lighthearted, and self -satisfied. 

"Princess, I must warn you," she added, low- 
ering her voice and evidently listening to her- 
self with pleasure, and speaking with exagger- 
ated grasseyement? "the prince has been scold- 
ing Michael Ivanovich. He is in a very bad hu- 
mor, very morose. Be prepared." 

"Ah, dear friend," replied Princess Mary, "I 
have asked you never to warn me of the 
humor my father is in. I do not allow my- 
self to judge him and would not have others 
do so." 

The princess glanced at her watch and, see- 
ing that she was five minutes late in starting 
her practice on the clavichord, went into the 
sitting room with a look of alarm. Between 
twelve and two o'clock, as the day was mapped 
out, the prince rested and the princess played 
the clavichord. 

CHAPTER XXVI 

THE CRAY-HAIRED valet was sitting drowsily lis- 
tening to the snoring of the prince, who was in 
his large study. From the far side of the house 
through the closed doors came the sound of 
difficult passages twenty times repeated of a 
sonata by Dussek. 

Just then a closed carriage and another with 
a hood drove up to the porch. Prince Andrew 
got out of the carriage, helped his little wife to 
alight, and let her pass into the house before 
him. Old Tfkhon, wearing a wig, put his head 
out of the door of the antechamber, reported 
in a whisper that the prince was sleeping, and 
hastily closed the door. Tfkhon knew that nei- 
ther the son's arrival nor any other unusual 
event must be allowed to disturb the appointed 
order of the day. Prince Andrew apparently 
knew this as well as Tfkhon; he looked at his 
watch as if to ascertain whether his father's hab- 
its had changed since he was at home last, and, 
having assured himself that they had not, he 
turned to his wife. 

"He will get up in twenty minutes. Let us go 
across to Mary's room," he said. 

The little princess had grown stouter during 
this time, but her eyes and her short, downy, 
smiling lip lifted when she began to speak 
just as merrily and prettily as ever. 

"Why, this is a palace!" she said to her hus- 
band, looking around with the expression with 

1 The guttural pronunciation of the letter r, 
chiefly affected by Parisians.-TR. 



which people compliment their host at a ball. 
"Let's come, quick, quick!'* And with a glance 
round, she smiled at Tfkhon, at her husband, 
and at the footman who accompanied them. 

"Is that Mary practicing? Let's goquietlyand 
take her by surprise." 

Prince Andrew followed her with a courteous 
but sad expression. 

"You've grown older, Tfkhon," he said in 
passing to the old man, who kissed his hand. 

Before they reached the room from which the 
sounds of the clavichord came, the pretty, fair- 
haired Frenchwoman, Mademoiselle Bouri- 
enne, rushed out apparently beside herself with 
delight. 

"Ah! what joy for the princess!" exclaimed 
she: "At last! I must let her know." 

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

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

The little princess entered the room. The 
passage broke off in the middle, a cry was 
heard, then Princess Mary's heavy tread and the 
sound of kissing. When Prince Andrew went 
in the two princesses, who had only met once 
before for a short time at his wedding, were 
in each other's arms warmly pressing their lips 
to whatever place they happened to touch. 
Mademoiselle Bourienne stood near them press- 
ing her hand to her heart, with a beatific smile 
and obviously equally ready to cry or to laugh. 
Prince Andrew shrugged his shoulders and 
frowned, as lovers of music do when they hear 
a false note. The two women let go of one an- 
other, and then, as if afraid of being too late, 
seized each other's hands, kissing them and 
pulling them away, and again began kissing 
each other on the face, and then to Prince An- 
drew's surprise both began to cry and kissed 
again. Mademoiselle Bourienne also began to 
cry. Prince Andrew evidently felt ill at ease, 
but to the two women it seemed quite natural 
that they should cry, and apparently it never 
entered their heads that it could have been 
otherwise at this meeting. 

"Ah! my dear! . . . Ah! Mary! . . ." they sud- 
denly exclaimed, and then laughed. "I dreamed 
last night . . .""You were not expecting us? 
. . .""Ah! Mary, you have got thinner! . . ," 
"And you have grown stouter! ..." 



WAR AND PEACE 



"I knew the princess at once," put in Made- 
moiselle Bourienne. 

"And I had no idea! . . ." exclaimed Prin- 
cess Mary. "Ah, Andrew, I did not see you." 

Prince Andrew and his sister, hand in 
hand, kissed one another, and he told her she 
was still the same crybaby as ever. Princess 
Mary had turned toward her brother, and 
through her tears the loving, warm, gentle 
look of her large luminous eyes, very beautiful 
at that moment, rested on Prince Andrew's 
face. 

The little princess talked incessantly, her 
short, downy upper lip continually and rapid- 
ly touching her rosy nether lip when necessary 
and drawing up again next moment when her 
face broke into a smile of glittering teeth and 
sparkling eyes. She told of an accident they had 
had on the Spisski Hill which might have been 
serious for her in her condition, and immedi- 
ately after that informed them that she had left 
all her clothes in Petersburg and that heaven 
knew what she would have to dress in here; 
and that Andrew had quite changed, and that 
Kitty Odyntsova had married an old man, and 
that there was a suitor for Mary, a real one, 
but that they would talk of that later. Princess 
Mary was still looking silently at her brother 
and her beautiful eyes were full of love and 
sadness. It was plain that she was following a 
train of thought independent of her sister-in- 
law's words. In the midst of a description of 
the last Petersburg fete she addressed her broth- 
er: 

"So you are really going to the war, Andrew?" 
she said sighing. 

Lise sighed too. 

"Yes, and even tomorrow," replied her broth- 
en 

"He is leaving me here; God knows why, 
when he might have had promotion . . ." 

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

"Is it certain?" she said. 

The face of the little princess changed. She 
sighed and said: "Yes, quite certain. Ahl it is 
very dreadful . . ." 

Her lip descended. She brought her face 
close to her sister-in-law's and unexpectedly 
again began to cry. 

"She needs rest," said Prince Andrew with 
a frown. "Don't you, Lise? Take her to your 
room and I'll go to Father. How is he? Just the 
same?" 

"Yes, just the same. Though I don't know 



what fyour opinion will be," answered the prin- 
cess joyfully. 

"And are the hours the same? And the walks 
in the avenues? And the lathe?" asked Prince 
Andrew with a scarcely perceptible smile which 
showed that, in spite of all his love and respect 
for his father, he was aware of his weaknesses. 

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

When the twenty minutes had elapsed and 
the time had come for the old prince to get up, 
Tikhon came to call the young prince to his 
father. The old man made a departure from his 
usual routine in honor of his son's arrival: he 
gave orders to admit him to his apartments 
while he dressed for dinner. The old prince al- 
ways dressed in old-fashioned style, wearing an 
antique coat and powdered hair; and when 
Prince Andrew entered his father's dressing 
room (not with the contemptuous look and 
manner he wore in drawing rooms, but with 
the animated face with which he talked to 
Pierre), the old man was sitting on a large 
leather-covered chair, wrapped in a powder- 
ing mantle, entrusting his head to Tikhon. 

"Ah! here's the warrior! Wants to vanquish 
Buonaparte?" said the old man, shaking his 
powdered head as much as the tail, which Tik- 
hon was holding fast to plait, would allow. 

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

The old man was in a good temper after his 
nap before dinner. (He used to say that a nap 
"after dinner was silver before dinner, gold- 
en.") He cast happy, sidelong glances at his son 
from under his thick, bushy eyebrows. Prince 
Andrew went up and kissed his father on the 
spot indicated to him. He made no reply on 
his father's favorite topic making fun of the 
military men of the day, and more particular- 
ly of Bonaparte. 

"Yes, Father, I have come to you and brought 
my wife who is pregnant," said Prince Andrew, 
following every movement of his father's face 
with an eager and respectful look. "How is your 
health?" 

"Only fools and rakes fall ill, my boy. You 
know me: I am busy from morning till night 
and abstemious, so of course I am well." 

"Thank God," said his son smiling. 

"God has nothing to do with it! Well, go on," 



BOOK ONE 



53 



he continued, returning to his hobby; "till me 
how the Germans have taught you to fight Bo- 
naparte by this new science you call 'strategy.' " 

Prince Andrew smiled. 

"Give me time to collect my wits, Father," 
said he, with a smile that showed that his fa- 
ther's foibles did not prevent his son from lov- 
ing and honoring him. "Why, I have not yet 
had time to settle downl" 

"Nonsense, nonsense!" cried the old man, 
shaking his pigtail to see whether it was firmly 
plaited, and grasping hisson by the hand. "The 
house for your wife is ready. Princess Mary will 
take her there and show her over, and they'll 
talk nineteen to the dozen. That's their wom- 
an's way! I am glad to have her. Sit down and 
talk. About Mikhelson's army I understand 
Tolst6y's too ... a simultaneous expedition. . . . 
But what's the southern army to do? Prussia is 
neutral ... I know that. What about Austria?" 
said he, rising from his chair and pacing up 
and down the room followed by Tikhon, who 
ran after him, handing him different articles 
of clothing. "What of Sweden? How will they 
cross Pomerania?" 

Prince Andrew, seeing that his father in- 
sisted, began at first reluctantly, but gradual- 
ly with more and more animation, and from 
habit changing unconsciously from Russian to 
French as he went on to explain the plan of 
operation for the coming campaign. He ex- 
plained how an army, ninety thousand strong, 
was to threaten Prussia so as to bring her out 
of her neutrality and draw her into the war; 
how part of that army was to join some Swedish 
forces at Stralsund; how two hundred and 
twenty thousand Austrians, with a hundred 
thousand Russians, were to operate in Italy and 
on the Rhine; how fifty thousand Russians and 
as many English were to land at Naples, and 
how a total force of five hundred thousand 
men was to attack the French from different 
sides. The old prince did not evince the least 
interest during this explanation, but as if he 
were not listening to it continued to dress while 
walking about, and three times unexpectedly 
interrupted. Once he stopped it by shouting: 
"The white one, the white one!" 

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

"And will she soon be confined?" and shak- 
ing his head reproachfully said: "That's bad! 
Go on, go on." 

The third interruption came when Prince 
Andrew was finishing his description. The old 



man began to sing, in the cracked voice of old 
age: "Malbrook s'en va-t-en guerre. Dieu salt 
quand reviendra." * 

His son only smiled. 

"I don't say it's a plan I approve of," said 
the son; "I am only telling you what it is. Na- 
poleon has also formed his plan by now, not 
worse than this one." 

"Well, you've told me nothing new," and the 
old man repeated, meditatively and rapidly: 

"Dieu salt quand reviendra. Go to the din- 
ing room." 

CHAPTER XXVII 

AT THE appointed hour the prince, powdered 
and shaven, entered the dining room where his 
daughter-in-law, Princess Mary, and Mademoi- 
selle Bourienne were already awaiting him to- 
gether with his architect, who by a strange ca- 
price of his employer's was admitted to table 
though the position of that insignificant indi- 
vidual was such as could certainly not have 
caused him to expect that honor. The prince, 
who generally kept very strictly to social dis- 
tinctions and rarely admitted even important 
government officials to his table, had unex- 
pectedly selected Michael Iviinovich (who al- 
ways went into a corner to blow his nose on his 
checked handkerchief) to illustrate the theory 
that all men are equals, and had more than 
once impressed on his daughter that Michael 
Ivanovich was "not a whit worse than you or 
I." At dinner the prince usually spoke to the 
taciturn Michael Ivanovich more often than to 
anyone else. 

In the dining room, which like all the rooms 
in the house was exceedingly lofty, the mem- 
bers of the household and the footmen one 
behind each chair stood waiting for the prince 
to enter. The head butler, napkin on arm, 
was scanning the setting of the table, making 
signs to the footmen, and anxiously glancing 
from the clock to the door by which the prince 
was to enter. Prince Andrew was looking at 
a large gilt frame, new to him, containing 
the genealogical tree of the Princes Bolk6n- 
ski, opposite which hung another such frame 
with a badly painted portrait (evidently by 
the hand of the artist belonging to the estate) 
of a ruling prince, in a crown an alleged de- 
scendant of Rurik and ancestor of the Bolkdn- 
skis. Prince Andrew, looking again at that gene- 
alogical tree, shook his head, laughing as a man 
laughs who looks at a portrait so characteristic 

1 "Marlborough is going to the wars; God knows 
when he'll return." 



54 



of the original as to be amusing. 

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

Princess Mary looked at her brother in sur- 
prise. She did not understand what he was 
laughing at. Everything her father did inspired 
her with reverence and was beyond question. 

"Everyone has his Achilles' heel," continued 
Prince Andrew. "Fancy, with his powerful 
mind, indulging in such nonsense!" 

Princess Mary could not understand the bold- 
ness of her brother's criticism and was about to 
reply, when the expected footsteps were heard 
coming from the study. The prince walked in 
quickly and jauntily as was his wont, as if in- 
tentionally contrasting the briskness of his 
manners with the strict formality of his house. 
At that moment the great clock struck two and 
another with a shrill tone joined in from the 
drawing room. The prince stood still; his lively 
glittering eyes from under their thick, bushy 
eyebrows sternly scanned all present and rested 
on the little princess. She felt, as courtiers do 
when the Tsar enters, the sensation of fear and 
respect which the old man inspired in all 
around him. He stroked her hair and then pat- 
ted her awkwardly on the back of her neck. 

"I'm glad, glad, to see you," he said, looking 
attentively into her eyes, and then quickly went 
to his place and sat down. "Sit down, sit down! 
Sit down, Michael Iva"novichl" 

He indicated a place beside him to his daugh- 
ter-in-law. A footman moved the chair for her. 

"Ho, ho!" said the old man, casting his eyes 
on her rounded figure. "You've been in a hur- 
ry. That's bad I" 

He laughed in his usual dry, cold, unpleas- 
ant way, with his lips only and not with his 
eyes. 

"You must walk, walk as much as possible, as 
much as possible," he said. 

The little princess did not, or did not wish 
to, hear his words. She was silent and seemed 
confused. The prince asked her about her fa- 
ther, and she began to smile and talk. He asked 
about mutual acquaintances, and she became 
still more animated and chattered away giving 
him greetings from various people and retail- 
ing the town gossip. 

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

As she became animated the prince looked 
at her more and more sternly, and suddenly, 
as if he had studied her sufficiently and had 
formed a definite idea of her, he turned away 



WAR AND PEACE 

and Addressed Michael Iv^novich. 

"Well, Michael Ivdnovich, our Bonaparte 
will be having a bad time of it. Prince Andrew" 
(he always spoke thus of his son) "has been 
telling me what forces are being collected 
against him! While you and I never thought 
much of him." 

Michael Ivdnovich did not at all know when 
"you and I" had said such things about Bon- 
aparte, but understanding that he was wanted 
as a peg on which to hang the prince's favorite 
topic, he looked inquiringly at the young 
prince, wondering what would follow. 

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

And the conversation again turned on the 
war, on Bonaparte, and the generals and states- 
men of the day. The old prince seemed con- 
vinced not only that all the men of the day 
were mere babies who did not know the ABC 
of war or of politics, and that Bonaparte was 
an insignificant little Frenchy, successful only 
because there were no longer any Potemkins 
or Suvrirovs left to oppose him; but he was al- 
so convinced that there were no political diffi- 
culties in Europe and no real war, but only a 
sort of puppet show at which the men of the 
day were playing, pretending to do something 
real. Prince Andrew gaily bore with his father's 
ridicule of the new men, and drew him on and 
listened to him with evident pleasure. 

"The past always seems good," said he, "but 
did not Suv6rov himself fall into a trap Mo- 
reau set him, and from which he did not know 
how to escape?" 

"Who told you that? Who?" cried the prince. 
"Suv6rov!" And he jerked away his plate, which 
Tikhon briskly caught. "Suvorov! . . . Consider, 
Prince Andrew. Two . . . Frederick and Suvo- 
rov; Moreau! . . . Moreau would have been a 
prisoner if Suv6rov had had a free hand; but 
he had the Hofs-kriegs-wurst-schnapps-Rath l 
on his hands. It would have puzzled the devil 
himself! When you get there you'll find out 
what those Hofs-kriegs-wurst-Raths are! Suv6- 
rov couldn't manage them so what chance has 
Michael Kutiizov? No, my dear boy," he con- 
tinued, "you and your generals won't get on 
against Buonaparte; you'll have to call in the 
French, so that birds of a feather may fight to- 
gether. The German, Pahlen, has been sent to 
New York in America, to fetch the Frenchman, 
Moreau," he said, alluding to the invitation 
made that year to Moreau to enter the Russian 

1 "Court- war-sausage-schnapps-Council," the 
Austrian Council of War. TR. 



BOOK ONE 



55 



service. . . . "Wonderful I . . . Were the Potem- 
kins, Suv6rovs, and Orl6vs Germans? No, lad, 
either you fellows have all lost your wits, or I 
have outlived mine. May God help you, but 
we'll see what will happen. Buonaparte has 
become a great commander among them! 
Hm! . . ." 

"I don't at all say that all the plans are good," 
said Prince Andrew, "I am only surprised at 
your opinion of Bonaparte. You may laugh as 
much as you like, but all the same Bonaparte is 
a great general 1" 

"Michael Ivdnovich!" cried the old prince 
to the architect who, busy with his roast meat, 
hoped he had been forgotten: "Didn't I tell 
you Buonaparte was a great tactician? Here, he 
says the same thing." 

"To be sure, your excellency," replied the 
architect. 

The prince again laughed his frigid laugh. 

"Buonaparte was born with a silver spoon 
in his mouth. He has got splendid soldiers. Be- 
sides he began by attacking Germans. And on- 
ly idlers have failed to beat the Germans. Since 
the world began everybody has beaten the Ger- 
mans. They beat no one except one another. 
He made his reputation fighting them." 

And the prince began explaining all the 
blunders which, according to him, Bonaparte 
had made in his campaigns and even in poli- 
tics. His son made no rejoinder, but it was evi- 
dent that whatever arguments were presented 
he was as little able as his father to change his 
opinion. He listened, refraining from a reply, 
and involuntarily wondered how this old man, 
living alone in the country for so many years, 
could know and discuss so minutely and acute- 
ly all the recent European military and politi- 
cal events. 

"You think I'm an old man and don't un- 
derstand the present state of affairs?" con- 
cluded his father. "But it troubles me. I don't 
sleep at night. Come now, where has this great 
commander of yours shown his skill?" he con- 
cluded. 

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

"Well, then gooff to your Buonaparte 1 Made- 
moiselle Bourienne, here's another admirer of 
that powder-monkey emperor of yours," he ex- 
claimed in excellent French. 

"You know, Prince, I am not a Bonapartist!" 

"Dieu salt quand reviendra" . . . hummed 
the prince out of tune and, with a laugh still 
more so, he quitted the table. 

The little princess during the whole discus- 



sion and the rest of the dinner sat silent, glanc- 
ing with a frightened look now at her father- 
in-law and now at Princess Mary. When they 
left the table she took her sister-in-law's arm 
and drew her into another room. 

"What a clever man your father is," said 
she; "perhaps that is why I am afraid of him." 

"Oh, he is so kind I "answered Princess Mary. 

CHAPTER XXVIII 

PRINCE ANDREW was to leave next evening. The 
old prince, not altering his routine, retired as 
usual after dinner. The little princess was in 
her sister-in-law's room. Prince Andrew in a 
traveling coat without epaulettes had been 
packing with his valet in the rooms assigned to 
him. After inspecting the carriage himself and 
seeing the trunks put in, he ordered the horses 
to be harnessed. Only those things he always 
kept with him remained in his room; a small 
box, a large canteen fitted with silver plate, two 
Turkish pistols and a saber a present from his 
father who had brought it from the siege of 
Ochdkov. All these traveling effects of Prince 
Andrew's were in very good order: new, clean, 
and in cloth covers carefully tied with tapes. 

When starting on a journey or changing 
their mode of life, men capable of reflection 
are generally in a serious frame of mind. At 
such moments one reviews the past and plans 
for the future. Prince Andrew's face looked 
very thoughtful and tender. With his hands 
behind him he paced briskly from corner to 
corner of the room, looking straight before him 
and thoughtfully shaking his head. Did he fear 
going to the war, or was he sad at leaving his 
wife? perhaps both, but evidently he did not 
wish to be seen in that mood, for hearing foot- 
steps in the passage he hurriedly unclasped his 
hands, stopped at a table as if tying the cover 
of the small box, and assumed his usual tran- 
quil and impenetrable expression. It was the 
heavy tread of Princess Mary that he heard. 

"I hear you have given orders to harness," 
she cried, panting (she had apparently been 
running), "and I did so wish to have another 
talk with you alone 1 God knows how long we 
may again be parted. You are not angry with 
me for coming? You have changed so, Andrii- 
sha," she added, as if to explain such a ques- 
tion. 

She smiled as she uttered his pet name, "An- 
drusha." It was obviously strange to her to 
think that this stern handsome man should be 
Andnisha the slender mischievous boy who 
had been her playfellow in childhood. 



WAR AND PEACE 



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

"She was so tired that she has fallen asleep 
on the sofa in my room. Oh, Andrew I What a 
treasure of a wife you have," said she, sitting 
down on the sofa, facing her brother. "She is 
quite a child: such a dear, merry child. I have 
grown so fond of her." 

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

"One must be indulgent to littleweaknesses; 
who is free from them, Andrew? Don't forget 
that she has grown up and been educated in 
society, and so her position now is not a rosy 
one. We should enter into everyone's situation. 
Toutcomprendre,c'est tout pardonner. 1 Think 
what it must be for her, poor thing, after what 
she has been used to, to be parted from her 
husband and be left alone in the country, in 
her condition! It's very hard." 

Prince Andrew smiled as he looked at his 
sister, as we smile at those we think we thor- 
oughly understand. 

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

"I . . . that's different. Why speak of me? I 
don't want any other life, and can't, for I know 
no other. But think, Andrew: for a young soci- 
ety woman to be buried in the country during 
the best years of her life, all alone for Papa is 
always busy, and I ... well, you know what 
poor resources I have for entertaining a wom- 
an used to the best society. There is only Made- 
moiselle Bourienne " 

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

"No? She is very nice and kind and, above 
all, she's much to be pitied. She has no one, no 
one. To tell the truth, I don't need her, and 
she's even in my way. You know I always was 
a savage, and now am even more so. I like be- 
ing alone. . . . Father likes her very much. She 
and Michael Ivdnovich are the two people to 
whom he is always gentle and kind, because he 
has been a benefactor to them both. As Sterne 
says: 'We don't love people so much for the 
good they have done us, as for the good we 
have done them.' Father took her when she was 
homeless after losing her own father. She is 
very good-natured, and my father likes her way 
of reading. She reads to him in the evenings 
and reads splendidly." 

"To be quite frank, Mary, I expect Father's 
character sometimes makes things trying for 
1 To understand all is to forgive all. 



you, ^doesn't it?" Prince Andrew asked sud- 
denly. 

Princess Mary was first surprised and then 
aghast at this question. 

"For me? For me? , . . Trying for mel . . ." 
said she. 

"He always was rather harsh; and now I 
should think he's getting very trying," said 
Prince Andrew, apparently speaking lightly 
of their father in order to puzzle or test his 
sister. 

"You are good in every way, Andrew, but 
you have a kind of intellectual pride," said the 
princess, following the train of her own thoughts 
rather than the trend of the conversation "and 
that's a great sin. How can one judge Father? 
But even if one might, what feeling except 
veneration could such a man as my father 
evoke? And I am so contented and happy with 
him. I only wish you were all as happy as 
I am." 

Her brother shook his head incredulously. 

"The only thing that is hard for me ... I 
will tell you the truth, Andrew ... is Father's 
way of treating religious subjects. I don't un- 
derstand how a man of his immense intellect 
can fail to see what is as clear as day, and can 
go so far astray. That is the only thing that 
makes me unhappy. But even in this I can see 
lately a shade of improvement. His satire has 
been less bitter of late, and there was a monk 
he received and had a long talk with." 

"Ah! my dear, I am afraid you and your 
monk are wasting your powder," said Prince 
Andrew banteringly yet tenderly. 

"Ah! mon ami, I only pray, and hope that 
God will hear me. Andrew . . ." she said timid- 
ly after a moment's silence, "I have a great 
favor to ask of you." 

"What is it, dear?" 

"No promise that you will not refuse! It 
will give you no trouble and is nothing un- 
worthy of you, but it will comfort me. Promise, 
Andrusha! . . ." said she, putting her hand in 
her reticule but not yet taking out what she 
was holding inside it, as if what she held were 
the subject of her request and must not be 
shown before the request was granted. 

She looked timidly at her brother. 

"Even if it were a great deal of trouble . . ." 
answered Prince Andrew, as if guessing what it 
was about. 

"Think what you please! I know you are just 
like Father. Think as you please, but do this 
for my sakel Please do! Father's father, our 
grandfather, wore it in all his wars." (She still 



BOOK ONE 



did not take out what she was holding |n her 
reticule.) "So you promise?" 

"Of course. What is it?" 

"Andrew, I bless you with this icon and you 
must promise me you will never take it off. Do 
you promise?" 

"If it does not weigh a hundredweight and 
won't break my neck . . . To please you ..." 
said Prince Andrew. But immediately, notic- 
ing the pained expression his joke had brought 
to his sister's face, he repented and added: "I 
am glad; really, dear, I am very glad." 

"Against your will He will save and have 
mercy on you and bring you to Himself, for in 
Him alone is truth and peace," said she in a 
voice trembling with emotion, solemnly hold- 
ing up in both hands before her brother a 
small, oval, antique, dark-faced icon of the 
Saviour in a gold setting, on a finely wrought 
silver chain. 

She crossed herself, kissed the icon, and 
handed it to Andrew. 

"Please, Andrew, for my sake! . . ." 

Rays of gentle light shone from her large, 
timid eyes. Those eyes lit up the whole of her 
thin, sickly face and made it beautiful. Her 
brother would have taken the icon, but she 
stopped him. Andrew understood, crossed him- 
self and kissed the icon. There was a look of 
tenderness, for he was touched, but also a gleam 
of irony on his face. 

"Thank you, my dear." She kissed him on 
the forehead and sat down again on the sofa. 
They were silent for a while. 

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

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

Red patches appeared on Princess Mary's 
face and she was silent as if she felt guilty. 

"I have said nothing to you, but you have 
already been talked to. And I am sorry for 
that," he went on. 

The patches grew deeper on her forehead, 
neck, and cheeks. She tried to say something 
but could not. Her brother had guessed right: 
the little princess had been crying after dinner 
and had spoken of her forebodings about her 
confinement, and how she dreaded it, and had 
complained of her fate, her father-in-law, and 
her husband. After cry ing she had fallen asleep. 
Prince Andrew felt sorry for his sister. 



57 



"Know this, Mdsha: I can't reproach, have 
not reproached, and never shall reproach my 
wife with anything, and I cannot reproach my- 
self with anything in regard to her; and that 
always will be so in whatever circumstances 
I may be placed. But if you want to know the 
truth ... if you want to know whether I am 
happy? No! Is she happy? No! But why this is 
so I don't know . . ." 

As he said this he rose, went to his sister, and, 
stooping, kissed her forehead. His fine eyes lit 
up with a thoughtful, kindly, and unaccus- 
tomed brightness, but he was looking not at 
his sister but over her head toward the dark- 
ness of the open doorway. 

"Let us go to her, I must say good-by. Or 
go and wake her, and I'll come in a moment. 
Petrushka!" he called to his valet: "Come here, 
take these away. Put this on the seat and this 
to the right." 

Princess Mary rose and moved to the door, 
then stopped and said: "Andrew, if you had 
faith you would have turned to God and 
asked Him to give you the love you do not 
feel, and your prayer would have been an- 
swered." 

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

On the way to his sister's room, in the pas- 
sage which connected one wing with the other, 
Prince Andrew met Mademoiselle Bourienne 
smiling sweetly. It was the third time that day 
that, with an ecstatic and artless smile, she had 
met him in secluded passages. 

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

Prince Andrew looked sternly at her and an 
expression of anger suddenly came over his 
face. He said nothing to her but looked at her 
forehead and hair, without looking at her eyes, 
with such contempt that the Frenchwoman 
blushed and went away without a word. When 
he reached his sister's room his wife was al- 
ready awake and her merry voice, hurrying 
one word after another, came through the open 
door. She was speaking as usual in French, and 
as if after long self-restraint she wished to make 
up for lost time. 

"No, but imagine the old Countess Zubova, 1 
with false curls and her mouth full of false 
teeth, as if she were trying to cheat old age. 
... Ha, ha, ha! Mary!" 

This very sentence about Countess Ziibova 

1 The word zub means tooth, and a pun on this 
is intended. TR. 



WAR AND PEACE 



and this same laugh Prince Andrew had al- 
ready heard from his wife in the presence of 
others some five times. He entered the room 
softly. The little princess, plump and rosy, 
was sitting in an easy chair with her work 
in her hands, talking incessantly, repeating 
Petersburg reminiscences and even phrases. 
Prince Andrew came up, stroked her hair, 
and asked if she felt rested after their jour- 
ney. She answered him and continued her 
chatter. 

The coach with six horses was waiting at the 
porch. It was an autumn night, so dark that 
the coachman could not see the carriage pole. 
Servants with lanterns were bustling about in 
the porch. The immense house was brilliant 
with lights shining through its lofty windows. 
The domestic serfs were crowding in the hall, 
waiting to bid good-by to the young prince. 
The members of the household were all gath- 
ered in the reception hall: Michael Ivdnovich, 
Mademoiselle Bourienne, Princess Mary, and 
the little princess. Prince Andrew had been 
called to his father's study as the latter wished 
to say good-by to him alone. All were waiting 
for them to come out. 

When Prince Andrew entered the study the 
old man in his old-age spectacles and white 
dressing gown, in which he received no one but 
his son, sat at the table writing. He glanced 
round. 

"Going?" And he went on writing. 

"I've come to say good-by." 

"Kiss me here," and he touched his cheek: 
"Thanks, thanks!" 

"What do you thank me for?" 

"For not dilly-dallying and not hanging to a 
woman's apron strings. The Service before 
everything. Thanks, thanks!" And he went on 
writing, so that his quill spluttered and 
squeaked. "If you have anything to say, say it. 
These two things can be done together," he 
added. 

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

"Why talk nonsense? Say what you want." 

"When her confinement is due, send to 
Moscow for an accoucheur. . . . Let him be 
here " 

The old prince stopped writing and, as if 
not understanding, fixed his stern eyes on his 
son. 

"I know that no one can help if nature does 
not do her work/' said Prince Andrew, evident- 
ly confused. "I know that out of a million cases 
only one goes wrong, but it is her fancy and 



mine. They have been telling her things. She 
has had a dream and is frightened." 

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

He signed with a flourish and suddenly turn- 
ing to his son began to laugh. 

"It's a bad business, eh?" 

"What is bad, Father?" 

"The wife!" said the old prince, briefly and 
significantly. 

"I don't understand!" said Prince Andrew. 

"No, it can't be helped, lad," said the prince. 
"They're all like that; one can't unmarry. Don't 
be afraid; I won't tell anyone, but you know it 
yourself." 

He seized his son by the hand with small 
bony fingers, shook it, looked straight into his 
son's face with keen eyes which seemed to see 
through him, and again laughed his frigid 
laugh. 

The son sighed, thus admitting that his fa- 
ther had understood him. The old man con- 
tinued to fold and seal his letter, snatching up 
and throwing down the wax, the seal, and the 
paper, with his accustomed rapidity. 

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

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

"Listen!" said he; "don't worry about your 
wife: what can be done shall be. Now listen! 
Give this letter to Michael Ilaridnovich. 1 1 have 
written that he should make use of you in 
proper places and not keep you long as an ad- 
jutant: a bad position! Tell him I remember 
and like him. Write and tell me how he re- 
ceives you. If he is all right serve him. Nich- 
olas Bolk6nski's son need not serve under any- 
one if he is in disfavor. Now come here." 

He spoke so rapidly that he did not finish 
half his words, but his son was accustomed J;o 
understand him. He led him to the desk, raised 
the lid, drew out a drawer, and took out ati 
exercise book filled with his bold, tall, close 
handwriting. 

"I shall probably die before you. So remem- 
ber, these are my memoirs; hand them to the 
Emperor after my death. Now here is a Lom- 
bard bond and a letter; it is a premium for the 
man who writes a history of Suv6rov's wars. 
Send it to the Academy. Here are some jottings 

1 Kutiizov. 



BOOK ONE 



59 



for you to read when I am gone. You w Jl find 
them useful/' 

Andrew did not tell his father that he would 
no doubt live a long time yet. He felt that he 
must not say it. 

"I will do it all, Father," he said. 

"Well, now, good-by!" He gave his son his 
hand to kiss, and embraced him. "Remember 
this, Prince Andrew, if they kill you it will hurt 
me, your old father . . ." he paused unexpected- 
ly, and then in a querulous voice suddenly 
shrieked: "but if I hear that you have not be- 
haved like a son of Nicholas Bolk6nski, I shall 
be ashamed I" 

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

The old man was silent. 

"I also wanted to ask you," continued Prince 
Andrew, "if I'm killed and if I have a son, do 
not let him be taken away from you as I said 
yesterday ... let him grow up with you. . . . 
Please." 

"Not let the wife have him?" said the old 
mart, and laughed. 

They stood silent, facing one another. The 
old man's sharp eyes were fixed straight on his 
son's. Something twitched in the lower part of 
the old prince's face. 

"We've said good-by. Gol" he suddenly 
shouted in a loud, angry voice, opening his 
door. 

"What is it? What?" asked both princesses 
when they saw for a moment at the door Prince 
Andrew and the figure of the old man in a 



white dressing gown, spectacled and wigless, 
shouting in an angry voice. 

Prince Andrew sighed and made no reply. 

"Well!" he said, turning to his wife. 

And this "Well!" sounded coldly ironic, as 
if he were saying: "Now go through your per- 
formance." 

"Andrew, already!" said the little princess, 
turning pale and looking with dismay at her 
husband. 

He embraced her. She screamed and fell un- 
conscious on his shoulder. 

He cautiously released the shoulder she 
leaned on, looked into her face, and carefully 
placed her in an easy chair. 

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

The little princess lay in the armchair, Ma- 
demoiselle Bourienne chafing her temples. 
Princess Mary, supporting her sister-in-law, still 
looked with her beautiful eyes full of tears at 
the door through which Prince Andrew had 
gone and made the sign of the cross in his di- 
rection. From the study, like pistol shots, came 
the frequent sound of the old man angrily 
blowing his nose. Hardly had Prince Andrew 
gone when the study door opened quickly and 
the stern figure of the old man in the white 
dressing gown looked out. 

"Gone? That's all right!" said he; and look- 
ing angrily at the unconscious little princess, 
he shook his head reprovingly and slammed 
the door. 



Book Two: 1805 



CHAPTER I 

IN OCTOBER, 1805, a Russian army was occupy- 
ing the villages and towns of the Archduchy of 
Austria, and yet other regiments freshly arriv- 
ing from Russia were settling near the fortress 
of Braunau and burdening the inhabitants on 
whom they were quartered. Braunau was the 
headquarters of thecommander-in-chief, Kutii- 
zov. 

On October 11, 1805, one of the infantry 
regiments that had just reached Braunau had 
halted half a mile from the town, waiting to be 
inspected by the commander in chief. Despite 
the un-Russian appearance of the locality and 
surroundings fruit gardens, stone fences, tiled 
roofs, and hills in the distance and despite 
the fact that the inhabitants (who gazed with 
curiosity at the soldiers) were not Russians, the 
regiment had just the appearance of any Rus- 
sian regiment preparing for an inspection any- 
where in the heart of Russia. 

On the evening of the last day's march an or- 
der had been received that the commander in 
chief would inspect the regiment on the march. 
Though the words of the order were not clear 
to the regimental commander, and the ques- 
tion arose whether the troops were to be in 
marching order or not, it was decided at a con- 
sultation between the battalion commanders 
to present the regiment in parade order, on the 
principle that it is always better to "bow too 
low than not bow low enough." So the soldiers, 
after a twenty-mile march, were kept mefl iing 
and cleaning all night long without closing 
their eyes, while the adjutants and company 
commanders calculated and reckoned, and by 
morning the regiment instead of the strag- 
gling, disorderly crowd it had been on its last 
march the day before presented a well-or- 
dered array of two thousand men each of whom 
knew his place and his duty, had every button 
and every strap in place, and shone with clean- 
liness. And not only externally was all in or- 
der, but had it pleased the commander in chief 
to look under the uniforms he would have 



found on every man a clean shirt, and in every 
knapsack the appointed number of articles, 
"awl, soap, and all," as the soldiers say. There 
was only one circumstance concerning which 
no one could be at ease. It was the state of the 
soldiers' boots. More than half the men's boots 
were in holes. But this defect was not due to 
any fault of the regimental commander, for in 
spite of repeated demands boots had not been 
issued by the Austrian commissariat, and the 
regiment had marched some seven hundred 
miles. 

The commander of the regiment was an eld- 
erly, choleric, stout, and thick-set general with 
grizzled eyebrows and whiskers, and wider from 
chest to back than across the shoulders. He had 
on a brand-new uniform showing the creases 
where it had been folded and thick gold epau- 
lettes which seemed to stand rather than lie 
down on his massive shoulders. He had the air 
of a man happily performing one of the most 
solemn duties of his life. He walked about in 
front of the line and at every step pulled him- 
self up, slightly arching his back. It was plain 
that the commander admired his regiment, re- 
joiced in it, and that his whole mind was en- 
grossed by it, yet his strut seemed to indicate 
that, besides military matters, social interests 
arid the fair sex occupied no small part of his 
thoughts. 

"Well, Michael Mftrich, sir?" he said, ad- 
dressing one of the battalion commanders who 
smilingly pressed forward (it was plain that 
they both felt happy). "We had our hands full 
last night. However, I think the regiment is 
not a bad one, eh?" 

The battalion commander perceived the jo- 
vial irony and laughed. 

"It would not be turned off the field even on 
the Tsaritsin Meadow." * 

"What?" asked the commander. 

At that moment, on the road from the town 
on which signalers had been posted, two men 

1 The Tsaritsin Meadow, in St. Petersburg, was 
used for parades and reviews. TR. 



BOOK TWO 



61 



appeared on horse back. They were an aule-de- 
camp followed by a Cossack. 

The aide-de-camp was sent to confirm the 
order which had not been clearly worded the 
day before, namely, that the commander in 
chief wished to see the regiment just in the 
state in which it had been on the march: in 
their greatcoats, and packs, and without any 
preparation whatever. 

A member of the Hofkriegsrath from Vienna 
had come to Kutuzov the day before with pro- 
posals and demands for him to join up with 
the army of the Archduke Ferdinand and 
Mack, and Kutiizov, not considering this junc- 
tion advisable, meant, among other arguments 
in support of his view, to show the Austrian 
general the wretched state in which the troops 
arrived from Russia. With this object he in- 
tended to meet the regiment; so the worse the 
condition it was in, the better pleased the com- 
mander in chief would be. Though the aide- 
de-camp did not know these circumstances, he 
nevertheless delivered the definite order that 
the men should be in their greatcoats and in 
marching order, and that the commander in 
chief would otherwise be dissatisfied. On hear- 
ing this the regimental commander hung his 
head, silently shrugged his shoulders, and 
spread out his arms with a choleric gesture. 

"A fine mess we've made of it!" he remarked. 

"There now! Didn't I tell you, Michael Mit- 
rich, that if it was said 'on the march' it meant 
in greatcoats?" said he reproachfully to the 
battalion commander. "Oh, my God!" he ladd- 
ed, stepping resolutely forward. "Company 
commanders! " he shouted in a voice accustomed 
to comamnd. "Sergeants major! . . . How soon 
will he be here?" he asked the aide-de-camp 
with a respectful politeness evidently relating 
to the personage he was referring to. 

"In an hour's time, I should say." 

"Shall we have time to change clothes?" 

"I don't know, General " 

The regimental commander, going up to the 
line himself, ordered the soldiers to change in- 
to their greatcoats. The company commanders 
ran off to their companies, the sergeants major 
began bustling (the greatcoats were not in very 
good condition), and instantly the squares that 
had up to then been in regular order and si- 
lent began to sway and stretch and hum with 
voices. On all sides soldiers were running to 
and fro, throwing up their knapsacks with a 
jerk of their shoulders and pulling the straps 
over their heads, unstrapping their overcoats 
and drawing the sleeves on with upraised arms. 



In half an hour all was again in order, only 
the squares had become gray instead of black. 
The regimental commander walked with his 
jerky steps to the front of the regiment and 
examined it from a distance. 

"Whatever is this? This!" he shouted and 
stood still. "Commander of the third com- 
pany!" 

"Commander of the third company wanted 
by the general! . . . commander to the^getreral 
. . . third company to the commander.'/ The 
words passed along the lines and an adjutant 
ran to look for the missing officer. 

When the eager but misrepeated words had 
reached their destination in a cry of: "The 
general to the third company," the njissing of- 
ficer appeared from behind his company and, 
though he was a middle-aged man and not in 
the habit of running, trotted awkwardly stum- 
bling on his toes toward the general. The cap- 
tain's face showed the uneasiness of a school- 
boy who is told to repeat a lesson he has not 
learned. Spots appeared on his nose, the red- 
ness of which was evidently due to intemper- 
ance, and his mouth twitched nervously. The 
genera$lboked the captain up and down as he 
carne up panting, slackening his pace as he ap- 
proached. 

"You will soon be dressing your men in pet- 
ticoats! What is this?" shouted the regimental 
commander, thrusting forward his jaw and 
pointing at a soldier in the ranks of the third 
company in a greatcoat of bluish cloth, which 
contrasted with the others. "What have you 
been after? The commander in chief is ex- 
pected and you leave your place? Eh? I'll teach 
you to dress the men in fancy coats for a 
parade. . . . Eh . . . ?" 

The commander of the company, with his 
eyes fixed on his superior, pressed two fingers 
more and more rigidly to his cap, as if in this 
pres&ure lay his only hope of salvation. 

"\4jiell, why don't you speak? Whom have 
you^got there dressed up as a Hungarian?" 
said the commander with an austere gibe. 

"Your excellency . . ." 

"Well, your excellency, what? Your excel- 
lency! But what about your excellency? . . . no- 
body knows." 

"Your excellency, it's the officer Dolokhov, 
who has been reduced to the ranks," said the 
captain softly. 

"Well? Has he been degraded into a field 
marshal, or into a soldier? If a soldier, he should 
be dressed in regulation uniform like the oth- 
ers." 



WAR AND PEACE 



"Your excellency, you gave him leave your- 
self, on the march." 

"Gave him leave? Leave? That's just like you 
young men," said the regimental commander 
cooling down a little. "Leave indeed. . . . One 
says a word to you and you . . . What?" he added 
with renewed irritation, "I beg you to dress 
youffnen decently." 

And the commander, turning to look at the 
adfBifcfitr directed his jerky steps down the 
line. JHe was evidently pleased at his own dis- 
play of anger and walking up to the regiment 
wished to find a further excuse for wrath. Hav- 
ing snapped at an officer for an unpolished 
badge, at another because his line was not 
straigt&jhe reached the third company. 

"H-o-o-w are you standing? Where's your 
leg? Your leg?" shouted the cdfmnander with a 
tone of suffering in his voice, while there were 
still five men between him and D61okhov with 
his bluish-gray uniform. 

D61okhov slowly straightened his bent knee, 
lookii'ijf straight with his clear, insolent eyes in 
the general's faceiy 

"Why a blue toat? Off with it":*' . Sergeant 
major! Change his coat . . . the ras ^Wl^did 
not finish. 

"General, I must obey orders, but I am not 
bound to endure . . ." D61okhov hurriedly in- 
terrupted. 

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

"Not bound to endure insults," D61okhov 
concluded in loud, ringing tones. 

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

"I request you to have the goodness to change 
your coat," he said as he turned away. 

CHAPTER II 

"HE'S COMING!" shouted the signaler at that 
moment. 

The regimental commander, flushing, ran to 
his horse, seized the stirrup with trembling 
hands, threw his body across the saddle, righted 
himlelf, drew his saber, and with a happy and 
resolute countenance, opening his mouth awry, 
prepared to shout. The regiment fluttered like 
a bird preening its plumage and became mo- 
tionless. 

"Att-ention!" shouted the regimental com- 
mander in a soul-shaking voice which expressed 
joy for himself, severity for the regiment, and 
welcome for the approaching chief. 

Along the broad country road, edged on 



botty sides by trees, came a high, light blue Vi- 
ennese caliche, slightly creaking on its springs 
and drawn by six horses at a smart trot. Be- 
hind the caliche galloped the suite and a con- 
voy of Croats. Beside Kutuzov sat an Austrian 
general, in a white uniform that looked strange 
among the Russian black ones. The caliche 
stopped in front of the regiment. Kutiizov and 
the Austrian general were talking in low voices 
and Kutuzov smiled slightly as treading heavi- 
ly he stepped down from the carriage just as if 
those two thousand men breathlessly gazing at 
him and the regimental commander did not 
exist. 

The word of command rang out, and again 
the regiment quivered, as with a jingling sound 
it presented arms. Then amidst a dead silence 
the feeble voice of the commander in chief was 
heard. The regiment roared, "Health to your 
ex ... len . . . len . . . lency!" and again all be- 
came silent. At first Kutuzov stood still while 
the regiment moved; then he and the general 
in white, accompanied by the suite, walked be- 
tween the ranks. 

From the way the regimental commander sa- 
luted the commander in chief and devoured him 
with his eyes, drawing himself up obsequiously, 
and from the way he walked through the ranks 
behind the generals, bending forward and 
hardly able to restrain his jerky movements, 
and from the way he darted forward at every 
word or gesture of the commander in chief, it 
was evident that he performed his duty as a 
subordinate with even greater zeal than his 
duty as a commander. Thanks to the strictness 
and assiduity of its commander the regiment, in 
comparison with others that had reached Brau- 
nau at the same time, was in splendid condi- 
tion. There were only 217 sick and stragglers. 
Everything was in good order except the boots. 

Kutuzov walked through the ranks, some- 
times stopping to say a few friendly words to 
officers he had known in the Turkish war, some- 
times also to the soldiers. Looking at their boots 
he several times shook his head sadly, pointing 
them out to the Austrian general with an ex- 
pression which seemed to say that he was not 
blaming anyone, but could not help noticing 
what a bad state of things it was. The regimen- 
tal commander ran forward on each such occa- 
sion, fearing to miss a single word of the com- 
mander in chief's regarding the regiment. Be- 
hind Kutiizov, at a distance that allowed every 
softly spoken word to be heard, followed some 
twenty men of his suite. These gentlemen 
talked among themselves and sometimes 



BOOK 

laughed. Nearest of all to the comma Ader in 
chief walked a handsome adjutant. This was 
Prince Bolk6nski. Beside him was his comrade 
Nesvftski, a tall staff officer, extremely stout, 
with a kindly, smiling, handsome face and 
moist eyes. Nesvitski could hardly keep from 
laughter provoked by a swarthy hussar officer 
who walked beside him. This hussar, with a 
grave face and without a smile or a change in 
the expression of his fixed eyes, watched the 
regimental commander's back and mimicked 
his every movement. Each time the commander 
started and bent forward, the hussar started 
and bent forward in exactly the same manner. 
Nesvitski laughed and nudged the others to 
make them look at the wag. 

Kutuzov walked slowly and languidly past 
thousands of eyes which were starting from 
their sockets to watch their chief. On reaching 
the third company he suddenly stopped. His 
suite, not having expected this, involuntarily 
came closer to him. 

"Ah, Tim6khinl" said he, recognizing the 
red-nosed captain who had been reprimanded 
on account of the blue greatcoat. 

One would have thought it impossible for a 
man to stretch himself more than Tim6khin 
had done when he was reprimanded by the 
regimental commander, but now that the com- 
mander in chief addressed him he drew him- 
self up to such an extent that it seemed he 
could not have sustained it had the commander 
in chief continued to look at him, and so Ku- 
tuzov, who evidently understood his case and 
wished him nothing but good, quickly turned 
away, a scarcely perceptible smile flitting over 
his scarred and puffy face. 

"Another Ismail comrade/' said he. "A brave 
officer! Are you satisfied with him?" he asked 
the regimental commander. 

And the latter unconscious that he was be- 
ing reflected in the hussar officer as in a look- 
ing glass started, moved forward, and an- 
swered: "Highly satisfied, your excellency!" 

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

The regimental commander was afraid he 
might be blamed for this and did not answer. 
The hussar at that moment noticed the face of 
the red-nosed captain and his drawn-in stom- 
ach, and mimicked his expression and pose 
with such exactitude that Nesvftski could not 
help laughing. Kutiizov turned round. The 
officer evidently had complete control of his 
face, and while Kutiazov was turning managed 



TWO 63 

to make a grimace and then assume a most seri- 
ous, deferential, and innocent expression. 

The third company was the last, and Kutu- 
zov pondered, apparently trying to recollect 
something. Prince Andrew stepped forward 
from among the suite and said softly in French: 

"You told me to remind you of the officer 
D61okhov, reduced to the ranks in this regi- 
ment." -xflfeNMl 

"Where is D61okhov?" asked Kutuzov. 

D61okhov, who had already changed into a 
soldier's gray greatcoat, did not wait to be 
called. The shapely figure of the fair-haired sol- 
dier, with his clear blue eyes, stepped forward 
from the ranks, went up to the commander in 
chief, and presented arms. *&*** 

"Have yoi%j|fr complaint to make?" Kuttizov 
asked with^a slight frown. 

"This is D61okhov," said Prince Andrew. 

"Ah!" said Kutuzov. "I hope this will be a 
lesson to you. Do your duty. The Emperor is 
gracious, and I shan't forget you if you deserve 
well." 

The clejtf.blue eyes looked at the commander' 
in chi|jgust as boldly as they had looked at the 
^gftnental commander, seeming by their ex- 
pression to tear open the veil of convention 
that separates a commander in chief so widely 
from a private. 

"One thing I ask of your excellency," D61o- 
khov said in his firm, ringing, deliberate voice. 
"I ask an opportunity to atone for my fault and 
prove my devotion to His Majesty the Emper- 
or and to Russia!" 

Kutuzov turned away. The same smile of the 
eyes with which he had turned from Captain 
Tim6khin again flitted over his face. He turned 
away with a grimace as if to say that everything 
D61okhov had said to him and everything he 
could say had long been known to him, that he 
was weary of it and it was not at all what he 
wanted. He turned away and went to the car- 
riage. 

The regiment broke up into companies, 
which went to their appointed quarters near 
Braunau, where they hoped to receive boots and 
clothes and to rest after their hard marches. 

"You won't bear me a grudge, Prokh6r Ig- 
natych?"said the regimental commander, over- 
taking the third company on its way to its 
quarters and riding up to Captain Tim6khin 
who was walking in front. (The regimental 
commander's face now that the inspection was 
happily over beamed with irrepressible de- 
light.) "It's in the Emperor's service ... it can't 
be helped . . . one is sometimes a bit hasty on 



6 4 



WAR AND PEACE 



parade ... I am the first to apologize, you know 
me! . . . He was very pleased!" And he held out 
his hand to the captain. 

"Don't mention it, General, as if I'd be so 
bold!" replied the captain, his nose growing 
redder as he gave a smile which showed where 
two front teeth were missing that had been 
knocked out by the butt end of a gun at Ismail. 

"AfldLtf 11 Mr. D61okhov that I won't forget 
hinffnTmay be quite easy. And tell me, please 
I've been meaning to askhow is he behaving 
himself, and in general ..." 

"As far as theservice goes he is quite punctil- 
ious, your excellency; but his character . . ."said 
Timokhin. 

"And what about his character?" asked the 
regimental commander. ^ 

"It's different on different days," answered 
the captain. "One day he is sensible, well edu- 
cated, and good-natured, and the next he's a 
wild beast In Poland, if you please, he near- 
ly killed a Jew." 

"Oh, well, well!" remarked the regimental 
commander. "Still, one must have pity on a 
young man in misfortune. You know he has 
important connections . . . Well, theft*, you 
just ..." 

"I will, your excellency," said Timokhin, 
showing by his smile that he understood his 
commander's wish. 

"Well, of course, of course!" 

The regimental commander sought out D6- 
lokhov in the ranks and, reining in his horse, 
said to him: 

"After the next affair . . . epaulettes." 

D61okhov looked round but did not say any- 
thing, nor did the mocking smile on his lips 
change. 

"Well, that's all right," continued the regi- 
mental commander. "A cup of vodka for the 
men from me/' he added so that the soldiers 
could hear. "I thank you all! God be praised!" 
and he rode past that company and overtook 
the next one. 

"Well, he's really a good fellow, one can 
serve under him," said Tim6khin to the subal- 
tern beside him. 

"In a word, a hearty one . . ." said the subal- 
tern, laughing (the regimental commander was 
nicknamed King of Hearts). 

The cheerful mood of their officers after the 
inspection infected the soldiers. The company 
marched on gaily. The soldiers' voices could be 
heard on every side. 

"And they said Kutiizov was blind of one 
eye?" 



"Arid so he is! Quite blind!" 

"No, friend, he is sharper-eyed than you 
are. Boots and leg bands ... he noticed every- 
thing . . ." 

"When he looked at my feet, friend . . . well, 
thinks I ..." 

"And that other one with him, the Austrian, 
looked as if he were smeared with chalk as 
white as flour! I suppose they polish him up as 
they do the guns." 

"I say, F^deshon! . . . Did he say when the 
battles are to begin? You were near him. Ev- 
erybody said that Buonaparte himself was at 
Braunau." 

"Buonaparte himself! . . . Just listen to the 
fool, what he doesn't know! The Prussians are 
up in arms now. The Austrians, you see, are 
putting them down. When they've been put 
down, the war with Buonaparte will begin. 
And he says Buonaparte is in Braunau! Shows 
you're a fool. You'd better listen more careful- 

" 

"What devils these quartermasters are! See, 
the fifth company is turning into the village 
already . . . they will have their buckwheat 
cooked before we reach our quarters." 

"Give me a biscuit, you devil!" 

"And did you give me tobacco yesterday? 
That's just it, friend! Ah, well, never mind, 
here you are." 

"They might call a halt here or we'll have to 
do another four miles without eating." 

"Wasn't it fine when those Germans gave us 
lifts! You just sit still and are drawn along." 

"And here, friend, the people are quite beg- 
garly. There they all seemed to be Poles all 
under the Russian crown but here they're all 
regular Germans." 

"Singers to the front!" came the captain's or- 
der. 

And from the different ranks some twenty 
men ran to the front. A drummer, their leader, 
turned round facing the singers, and flourishing 
his arm, began a long-drawn-out soldiers' song, 
commencing with the words: "Morning 
dawned, the sun was rising" arid concluding: 
"On then, brothers, on to glory, led by Father 
Kdmenski" This song had been composed in 
the Turkish campaign and was now being sung 
in Austria, the only change being that the words 
"Father Kdmenski" were replaced by "Father 
Kutiizov." 

Having jerked out these last words as soldiers 
do and waved his arms as if flinging something 
to the ground, the drummer a lean, handsome 
soldier of fortylooked sternly at the singers 



BOOK TWO 



and screwed up his eyes. Then having satisfied 
himself that all eyes were fixed on him, he 
raised both arms as if carefully lifting some in- 
visible but precious object above his head and, 
holding it there for some seconds, suddenly 
flung it down and began: 

"Oh, my bower, oh, my bower . . ./" 

"Oh, my bower new . . ./" chimed in twenty 
voices, and the Castanet player, in spite of the 
burden of his equipment, rushed out to the 
front and, walking backwards before the com- 
pany, jerked his shoulders and flourished his 
castanets as if threatening someone. The sol- 
diers, swinging their arms and keeping time 
spontaneously, marched with long steps. Be- 
hind the company the sound of wheels, the 
creaking of springs, and the tramp of horses' 
hoofs were heard. Kutuzov and his suite were 
returning to the town. The commander in chief 
made a sign that the men should continue to 
march at ease, and he and all his suite showed 
pleasure at the sound of the singing and the 
sight of the dancing soldier and the gay and 
smartly marching men. In the second file from 
the right flank, beside which the carriage 
passed the company, a blue-eyed soldier invol- 
untarily attracted notice. It was D61okhov 
marching with particular grace and boldness 
in time to the song and looking at those driv- 
ing past as if he pitied all who were not at that 
moment marching with the company. The hus- 
sar cornet of Kutuzov's suite who had mim- 
icked the regimental commander, fell back 
from the carriage and rode up to D61okhov. 

Hussar cornet Zherk6v had at one time, in 
Petersburg, belonged to the wild set led by 
D61okhov. Zherk6v had met D61okhov abroad 
as a private and had not seen fit to recognize 
him. But now that Kutuzov had spoken to the 
gentleman ranker, he addressed him with the 
cordiality of an old friend. 

"My dear fellow, how are you?" said he 
through the singing, making his horse keep 
pace with the company. 

"How am I?" D61okhov answered coldly. "I 
am as you see." 

The lively song gave a special flavor to the 
tone of free and easv gaiety with which Zher- 
k6v spoke, and to the intentional coldness of 
D61okhov's reply. 

"And how do you get on with the officers?" 
inquired Zherk6v. 

"All right. They are good fellows. And how 
have you wriggled onto the staff?" 

"I was attached; I'm on duty." 

Both were silent. 



"She let the hawk fly upward from her wide 
right sleeve" went the song, arousing an invol- 
untary sensation of courage and cheerfulness. 
Their conversation would probably have been 
different but for the effect of that song. 

"Is it true that Austrians have been beaten?" 
asked D61okhov. 

"The devil only knowsl They say so." 

"I'm glad," answered D61okhov briefly and 
clearly, as the song demanded. 

"I say, come round some evening and we'll 
have a game of farol" said Zherk6v. 

"Why, have you too much money?" 

"Do come." 

"I can't. I've sworn not to. I won't drink and 
won't play till I get reinstated." 

"Well, that's only till the first engagement." 

"We shall see." 

They were again silent. 

"Come if you need anything. One can at least 
be of use on the staff . . ." 

D61okhov smiled. "Don't trouble. If I want 
anything, I won't beg I'll take itl" 

"Well, never mind; I only . . ." 

"And I only . . ." 

"Good-by." 

"Good health . . ." 

"It's a long, long way 
To my native land . . ." 

Zherkov touched his horse with the spurs; it 
pranced excitedly from foot to foot uncertain 
with which to start, then settled down, galloped 
past the company, and overtook the carriage, 
still keeping time to the song. 

CHAPTER III 

ON RETURNING from the review, Kutuzov took 
the Austrian general into his private room and, 
calling his adjutant, asked for some papers re- 
lating to the condition of the troops on their 
arrival, and the letters that had come from the 
Archduke Ferdinand, who was in command of 
the advanced army. Prince Andrew Bolk6nski 
came into the room with the required papers. 
Kutuzov and the Austrian member of the Hof- 
kriegsrath were sitting at the table on which a 
plan was spread out. 

"Ahl . . ." said Kutuzov glancing at Bolk6n- 
ski as if by this exclamation he was asking the 
adjutant to wait, and he went on with the con- 
versation in French. 

"All I can say, General," said he with a pleas- 
ant elegance of expression and intonation that 
obliged one to listen to each deliberately spok- 
en word. It was evident that Kutiizov himself 



66 



WAR AND PEACE 



listened with pleasure to his own voice. "All I 
can say, General, is that if the matter depend- 
ed on my personal wishes, the will of His Maj- 
esty the Emperor Francis would have been ful- 
filled long ago. I should long ago have joined 
the archduke. And believe me on my honor 
that to me personally it would be a pleasure to 
hand over the supreme command of the army 
into the hands of a better informed and more 
skillful generalof whom Austria has so many 
and to lay down all this heavy responsibility. 
But circumstances are sometimes too strong for 
us, General." 

And Kutuzov smiled in a way that seemed to 
say, "You are quite at liberty not to believe 
me and I don't even care whether you do or 
not, but you have no grounds for telling me so. 
And that is the whole point." 

The Austrian general looked dissatisfied, but 
had no option but to reply in the same tone. 

"On the contrary," he said, in a querulous 
and angry tone that contrasted with his flatter- 
ing words, "on the contrary, your excellency's 
participation in the common action is highly 
valued by His Majesty; but we think the pres- 
ent delay is depriving the splendid Russian 
troops and their commander of the laurels they 
have been accustomed to win in their battles," 
he concluded his evidently prearranged sen- 
tence. 

Kutuzov bowed with the same smile. 

"But that is my conviction, and judging by 
the last letter with which His Highness the 
Archduke Ferdinand has honored me, I imag- 
ine that the Austrian troops, under the direc- 
tion of so skillful a leader as General Mack, 
have by now already gained a decisive victory 
and no longer need our aid," said Kutuzov. 

The general frowned. Though there was no 
definite news of an Austrian defeat, there were 
many circumstances confirming the unfavor- 
able rumors that were afloat, and so Kutuzov's 
suggestion of an Austrian victory sounded much 
like irony. But Kutuzov went on blandly smil- 
ing with the same expression, which seemed to 
say that he had a right to suppose so. And, in 
fact, the last letter he had received from Mack's 
army informed him of a victory and stated stra- 
tegically the position of the army was very fa- 
vorable. 

"Give me that letter," said Kutuzov turning 
to Prince Andrew. "Please have a look at it" 
and Kutuzov with an ironical smile about the 
corners of his mouth read to the Austrian gen- 
eral the following passage, in German, from 
the Archduke Ferdinand's letter: 



We have fully concentrated forces of nearly 
seventy thousand men with whitfi to attack and 
defeat the enemy should he cross the Lech. Also, 
as we are masters of Ulm, we cannot be deprived 
of the advantage of commanding both sides of 
the Danube, so that should the enemy not cross 
the Lech, we can cross the Danube, throw ourselves 
on his line of communications, recross the river 
lower down, and frustrate his intention should he 
try to direct his whole force against our faithful 
ally. We shall therefore confidently await the 
moment when the Imperial Russian army will be 
fully equipped, and shall then, in conjunction 
with it, easily find a way to prepare for the enemy 
the fate he deserves. 

Kutuzov sighed deeply on finishing this para- 
graph and looked at the member of the Hof- 
kriegsrath mildly and attentively. 

"But you know the wise maxim, your excel- 
lency, advising one to expect the worst," said 
the Austrian general, evidently wishing to have 
done with jests and to come to business. He in- 
voluntarily looked round at the aide-de-camp. 

"Excuse me, General," interrupted Kutuzov, 
also turning to Prince Andrew. "Look here, my 
dear fellow, get from Kozl6vski all the reports 
from our scouts. Here are two letters from 
Count Nostitz and here is one from His High- 
ness the Archduke Ferdinand and here are 
these," he said, handing him several papers, 
"make a neat memorandum in French out of 
all this, showing all the news we have had of 
the movements of the Austrian army, and then 
give it to his excellency." 

Prince Andrew bowed his head in token of 
having understood from the first not only what 
had been said but also what Kutuzov would 
have liked to tell him. He gathered up the pa- 
pers and, with a bow to both, stepped softly over 
the carpet and went out into the waiting room. 

Though not much time had passed since 
Prince Andrew had left Russia, he had changed 
greatly during that period. In the expression 
of his face, in his movements, in his walk, scarce- 
ly a trace was left of his former affected languor 
and indolence. He now looked like a man who 
has no time to think of the impression he makes 
on others, but is occupied with agreeable and 
interesting work. His face expressed more sat- 
isfaction with himself and those around him, 
his smile and glance were brighter and more at- 
tractive. * > 

Kutuzov, whom he had overtaken in Poland, 
had received him very kindly/ promised not to 
forget Win* distinguished him |bove the other 
adjutants, and had taken him to Vienna and 
given him- the more serious commissions. From 



BOOK 

Vienna Kuttizov wrote to his old comrade, 
Prince Andrew's father. 

Your son bids fair to become an officer distin- 
guished by his industry, firmness, and expedition. 
I consider myself fortunate to have such a sub- 
ordinate by me. 

On Kutiizov's staff, among his fellow officers 
and in the army generally, Prince Andrew had, 
as he had had in Petersburg society, two quite 
opposite reputations. Some, a minority, ac- 
knowledged him to be different from them- 
selves and from everyone else, expected great 
things of him, listened to him, admired, and 
imitated him, and with them Prince Andrew 
was natural and pleasant. Others, the majority, 
disliked him and considered him conceited, 
cold, and disagreeable. But among these people 
Prince Andrew knew how to take his stand so 
that they respected and even feared him. 

Coming out of Kutiizov's room into the wait- 
ing room with the papers in his hand Prince 
Andrew came\ip to his comrade, the aide-de- 
camp on duty, Kozl6vski, who was sitting at the 
window with a book. 

"Well, Prince?" asked Kozl6vski. 

"I am ordered to write a memorandum ex- 
plaining why we are not advancing." 

"And why is it?" 

Prince Andrew shrugged his shoulders. 

"Any news from Mack?" 

"No." 

"If it were true that he has been beaten, news 
would have come." 

"Probably," said Prince Andrew moving to- 
ward the outer door. 

But at that instant a tall Austrian general in 
a greatcoat, with the order of Maria Theresa 
on his neck and a black bandage round his head, 
who had evidently just arrived, entered quick- 
ly, slamming the door. Prince Andrew stopped 
short. 

"Commander in Chief Kutuzov?" said the 
newly arrived general speaking quickly with a 
harsh German accent, looking to both sides 
and advancing straight toward the inner door. 

"The commander in chief is engaged," said 
Kozl6vski, going hurriedly up to the unknown 
general and blocking his way to the door. 
"Whom shall I announce?" 

The unknown general looked disdainfully 
down at Kozl6vski, who was rather short, as if 
surprised that anyone should not know him. 

"The commander in chief is engaged," re- 
peated Kozl6vski calmly. 

The general's face clouded, his lips quivered 



TWO 67 

and trembled. He took out a notebook, hur- 
riedly scribbled something in pencil, tore out 
the leaf, gave it to Kozl6vski, stepped quickly 
to the window, and threw himself into a chair, 
gazing at those in the room as if asking, "Why 
do they look at me?" Then he lifted his head, 
stretched his neck as if he intended to say some- 
thing, but immediately, with affected indiffer- 
ence, began to hum to himself, producing a 
queer sound which immediately broke off. The 
door of the private room opened and Kutu- 
zov appeared in the doorway. The general with 
the bandaged head bent forward as though run- 
ning away from some danger, and, making 
long, quick strides with his thin legs, went up 
to Kutiizov. 

"Vous voyez le malheureux Mack" he ut- 
tered in a broken voice. 

Kutiizov's face as he stood in the open door- 
way remained perfectly immobile for a few mo- 
ments. Then wrinkles ran over his face like a 
wave and his forehead became smooth again, 
he bowed his head respectfully, closed his eyes, 
silently let Mack enter his room before him, 
and closed the door himself behind him. 

The report which had been circulated that 
the Austrians had been beaten and that the 
whole army had surrendered at Ulm proved to 
be correct. Within half an hour adjutants had 
been sent in various directions with orders 
which showed that the Russian troops, who had 
hitherto been inactive, would also soon have to 
meet the enemy. 

Prince Andrew was one of those rare staff 
officers whose chief interest lay in the general 
progress of the war. When he saw Mack and 
heard the details of his disaster he understood 
that half the campaign was lost, understood all 
the difficulties of the Russian army's position, 
and vividly imagined what awaited it and the 
part he would have to play. Involuntarily he 
felt a joyful agitation at the thought of the hu- 
miliation of arrogant Austria and that in a 
week's time he might, perhaps, see and take 
part in the first Russian encounter with the 
French since Suv6rovmet them. He feared that 
Bonaparte's genius might outweigh all the cour- 
age of the Russian troops, and at the same time 
could not admit the idea of his hero being dis- 
graced. 

Excited and irritated by these thoughts 
Prince Andrew went toward his room to write 
to his father, to whom he wrote every day. In 
the corridor he met Nesvftski, with whom he 
shared a room, and the wag Zherk6v; they were 
as usual laughing. 



68 



WAR AND PEACE 



"Why are you so glum?" asked Nesvitski no- 
ticing Prince Andrew's pale face and glittering 
eyes. 

"There's nothing to be gay about/' answered 
Bolk6nski. 

Just as Prince Andrew met Nesvftski and 
Zherk6v, there came toward them from the oth- 
er end of the corridor, Strauch, an Austrian 
general who was on Kutiizov's staff in charge of 
the provisioning of the Russian army, and the 
member of the Hofkriegsrath who had arrived 
the previous evening. There was room enough 
in the wide corridor for the generals to pass the 
three officers quite easily, but Zherk6v, push- 
ing Nesvitski aside with his arm, said in a 
breathless voice, 

"They're coming! . . . they're coming! . . . 
Stand aside, make way, please make way!" 

The generals were passing by, looking as if 
they wished to avoid embarrassing attentions. 
On the face of the wag Zherk6v there sudden- 
ly appeared a stupid smile of glee which he 
seemed unable to suppress. 

"Your excellency," said he in German, step- 
ping forward and addressing the Austrian 
general, "I have the honor to congratulate 
you." 

He bowed his head and scraped first with one 
foot and then with the other, awkwardly, like 
a child at a dancing lesson. 

The member of the Hofkriegsrath looked at 
him severely but, seeing the seriousness of his 
stupid smile, could not but give him a moment's 
attention. He screwed up his eyes showing that 
he was listening. 

"I have the honor to congratulate you. Gen- 
eral Mack has arrived, quite well, only a little 
bruised just here," he added, pointing with a 
beaming smile to his head. 

The general frowned, turned away, and went 
on. 

"Gott, wie naiv!" * said he angrily, after he 
had gone a few steps. 

Nesvftski with a laugh threw his arms round 
Prince Andrew, but Bolk6nski, turning still 
paler, pushed him away with an angry look 
and turned to Zherkov. The nervous irritation 
aroused by the appearance of Mack, the news 
of his defeat, and the thought of what lay be- 
fore the Russian army found vent in anger at 
Zherk6v's untimely jest. 

"If you, sir, choose to make a buffoon of your- 
self," he said sharply, with a slight trembling 
of the lower jaw, "I can't prevent your doing 
so; but I warn you that if you dare to play the 

1 "Good God, what simplicity!" 



fool in my presence, I will teach you to behave 
yourself." 

Nesvitski and Zherk6v were so surprised by 
this outburst that they gazed at Bolk6nski si- 
lently with wide-open eyes. 

"What's the matter? I only congratulated 
them," said Zherkov. 

"I am not jestingwith you; please be silent!" 
cried Bolk6nski, and taking Nesvf tski's arm he 
left Zherkov, who did not know what to say. 

"Come, what's the matter, old fellow?" said 
Nesvftski trying to soothe him. 

"What's the matter?" exclaimed Prince An- 
drew standing still in his excitement. "Don't 
you understand that either we are officers serv- 
ing our Tsar and our country, rejoicing in the 
successes and grieving at the misfortunes of our 
common cause, or we are merely lackeys who 
care nothing for their master's business. Qua- 
rante mille homines massacres et Varme de 
nos allies detruite, et vous trouvez la le mot 
pour rire," 2 he said, as if strengthening his 
views by this French sentence. "C 9 est bien pour 
un garfonderiencornmecet individudontvous 
avez fait un ami, mais pas pour vous, pas pour 
vous* Only a hobbledehoy could amuse him- 
self in this way," he added in Russian but pro- 
nouncing the word with a French accent hav- 
ing noticed that Zherkov could still hear him. 

He waited a moment to see whether the cor- 
net would answer, but he turned and went out 
of the corridor. 

CHAPTER IV 

THE PAVLOGRAD HUSSARS were stationed two 
miles from Braunau. The squadron in which 
Nicholas Rostov served as a cadet was quartered 
in the German village of Salzeneck. The best 
quarters in the village were assigned to cavalry- 
captain Denfsov, the squadron commander, 
known throughout the whole cavalry division 
as Vdska Denfsov. Cadet Rost6v, ever since he 
had overtaken the regiment in Poland, had 
lived with the squadron commander. 

On October 1 1 , the day when all was astir at 
headquarters over the news of Mack's defeat, 
the camp life of the officers of this squadron 
was proceeding as usual. Denfsov, who had 
been losing at cards all night, had not yet come 
home when Rost6vrode back early in the morn- 
ing from a foraging expedition. Rost6v in his 

a "Forty thousand men massacred and the army 
of our allies destroyed, and you find that a cause 
for jesting!" 

8 "It is all very well for that good-for-nothing 
fellow of whom you have made a friend, but not 
for you, not for you." 



BOOK TWO 



cadet uniform, with a jerk to his horse, ro4e up 
to the porch, swung his leg over the saddle with 
a supple youthful movement, stood for a mo- 
ment in the stirrup as if loathe to part from his 
horse, and at last sprang down and called to his 
orderly. 

"Ah, Bondare*nko, dear friendl" said he to 
the hussar who rushed up headlong to the 
horse. "Walk him up and down, my dear fel- 
low," he continued, with that gay brotherly cor- 
diality which goodhearted young people show 
to everyone when they are happy. 

"Yes, your excellency," answered the Ukrain- 
ian gaily, tossing his head. 

"Mind, walk him up and down well!" 

Another hussar also rushed toward the horse, 
but Bondar^nko had already thrown the reins 
of the snaffle bridle over the horse's head. It 
was evident that the cadet was liberal with his 
tips and that it paid to serve him. Rost6v pat- 
ted the horse's neck and then his flank, and 
lingered for a moment. 

"Splendid I What a horse he will be I" he 
thought with a smile, and holding up his saber, 
his spurs jingling, he ran up the steps of the 
porch. His landlord, who in a waistcoat and 
a pointed cap, pitchfork in hand, was clearing 
manure from the cowhouse, looked out, and 
his face immediately brightened on seeing Ros- 
t6v. "Schon gut Morgen! Schon gut Morgen!" 1 
he said winking with a merry smile, evidently 
pleased to greet the young man. 

"Schon fleissig?"* said Rost6v with the same 
gay brotherly smile which did not leave his ea- 
ger face. "Hoch Oestreicher! Hoch Russen! 
Kaiser Alexander hoch!"* said he, quoting 
words often repeated by the German landlord. 

The German laughed, came out of the cow- 
shed, pulled off his cap, and waving it above 
his head cried: 

"Und die game Welt hoch!" 4 

Rost6v waved his cap above his head like the 
German and cried laughing, "Und vivat die 
game Welt!'" Though neither the German 
cleaning his cowshed nor Rost6v back with his 
platoon from foraging for hay had any reason 
for rejoicing, they looked at each other with 
joyful delight and brotherly love, wagged 
their heads in token of their mutual affec- 
tion, and parted smiling, the German return- 
ing to his cowshed and Rost6v going to the 

1 "A very good morning! A very good morning!" 
"Busy already?" 

"Hurrah for the Austrians! Hurrah for the 
Russians! Hurrah for the Emperor Alexander!" 
* "And hurrah for the whole world!" 



cottage he occupied with Denfsov. 

"What about your master?" he asked Lavru- 
shka, Denfsov's orderly, whom all the regiment 
knew for a rogue. 

"Hasn't been in since the evening. Must have 
been losing," answered Lavrushka. "I know by 
now, if he wins he comes back early to brag 
about it, but if he stays out till morning it 
means he's lost and will come back in a rage. 
Will you have coffee?" 

"Yes, bring some." 

Ten minutes later Lavrushka brought the 
coffee. "He's coming!" said he. "Now for trou- 
ble!" Rost6v looked out of the window and 
saw Denfsov coming home. Denfsov was a small 
man with a red face, sparkling black eyes, and 
black tousled mustache and hair. He wore an 
unfastened cloak, wide breeches hanging down 
in creases, and a crumpled shako on the back of 
his head. He came up to the porch gloomily, 
hanging his head. 

"Lavwuskal" he shouted loudly and angrily, 
"take it off, blockhead!" 

"Well, I am taking it off," replied Lavrushka's 
voice. 

"Ah, you're up already," said Denfsov, enter- 
ing the room. 

"Long ago," answered Rost6v, "I have al- 
ready been for the hay, and have seen Fraulein 
Mathilde." 

"Weally! And I've been losing, bwother. I 
lost yesterday like a damned fool!" cried Den- 
fsov, not pronouncing his r's. "Such ill luck! 
Such ill luck. As soon as you left, it began and 
went on. Hullo there! Tea!" 

Puckering up his face as though smiling, and 
showing his short strong teeth, he began with 
stubby fingers of both hands to ruffle up his 
thick tangled black hair. 

"And what devil made me go to that wat?" 
(an officer nicknamed "the rat") he said, rub- 
bing his forehead and whole face with both 
hands. "Just fancy, he didn't let me win a sin- 
gle cahd, not one cahd." 

He took the lighted pipe that was offered to 
him, gripped it in his fist, and tapped it on the 
floor, making the sparks fly, while he continued 
to shout. 

"He lets one win the singles and collahs it as 
soon as one doubles it; gives the singles and 
snatches the doubles!" 

He scattered the burning tobacco, smashed 
the pipe, and threw it away. Then he remained 
silent for a while, and all at once looked cheer- 
fully with his glittering, black eyes at Rost6v. 

"If at least we had some women here; but 



WAR AND PEACE 



there's nothing foh one to do but dwink. If we 
could only get to fighting soon. Hullo, who's 
there?" he said, turning to the door as he heard 
a tread of heavy boots and the clinking of spurs 
that came to a stop, and a respectful cough. 

"The squadron quartermaster 1" said La- 
vriishka. 

Denlsov's face puckered still more. 

"Wetched!" he muttered, throwing down a 
purse with some gold in it. "Wostov, deah fel- 
low, just see how much there is left and shove 
the purse undah the pillow," he said, and went 
out to the quartermaster. 

Rost6v took the money and, mechanically ar- 
ranging the old and new coins in separate piles, 
began counting them. 

"Ah! Telydnin! How d'ye do? They plucked 
me last night," came Denisov's voice from the 
next room. 

"Where? At Bykov's, at the rat's ... I knew 
it," replied a piping voice, and Lieutenant Tel- 
ydnin, a small officer of the same squadron, en- 
tered the room. 

Rost6v thrust the purse under the pillow and 
shook the damp little hand which was offered 
him. Telydnin for some reason had been trans- 
ferred from the Guards just before this cam- 
paign. He behaved very well in the regiment 
but was not liked; Rost6v especially detested 
him and was unable to overcome or conceal his 
groundless antipathy to the man. 

"Well, young cavalryman, how is my Rook 
behaving?" he asked. (Rook was a young horse 
Telydnin had sold to Rost6v.) 

The lieutenant never looked the man he was 
speaking to straight in the face; his eyes con- 
tinually wandered from one object to another. 

"I saw you riding this morn ing . . ." he added. 

"Oh, he's all right, a good horse," answered 
Rost6v, though the horse for which he had paid 
seven hundred rubbles was not worth half that 
sum. "He's begun to go a little lame on the left 
foreleg," he added. 

"The hoof's cracked! That's nothing. I'll 
teach you what to do and show you what kind 
of rivet to use." 

"Yes, please do," said Rost6v. 

"I'll show you, I'll show you! It's not a secret. 
And it's a horse you'll thank me for." 

"Then I'll have it brought round," said Ros- 
t6v wishing to avoid Telydnin, and he went 
out to give the order. 

In the passage Denisov, with a pipe, was 
squatting on the threshold facing the quarter- 
master who was reporting to him. On seeing 
Rost6v, Denfsov screwed up his face and point- 



ing of er his shoulder with his thumb to the 
room where Telydnin was sitting, he frowned 
and gave a shudder of disgust. 

"Ugh! I don't like that fellow," he said, re- 
gardless of the quartermaster's presence. 

Rost6v shrugged his shoulders as much as to 
say: "Nor do 1, but what's one to do?" and, 
having given his order, he returned to Telyd- 
nin. 

Telydnin was sitting in the same indolent 
pose in which Rostov had left him, rubbing 
his small white hands. 

"Well there certainly are disgusting people," 
thought Rost6v as he entered. 

"Have you told them to bring the horse?" 
asked Telydnin, getting up and looking care- 
lessly about him. 

"I have." 

"Let us go ourselves. I only came round to 
ask Denisov about yesterday's order. Have you 
got it, Denisov?" 

"Not yet. But where are you off to?" 

"I want to teach this young man how to shoe 
a horse," said Telydnin. 

They went through the porch and into the 
stable. The lieutenant explained how to rivet 
the hoof and went away to his own quarters. 

When Rostov went back there was a bottle 
of vodka and a sausage on the table. Denfsov 
was sitting there scratching with his pen on a 
sheet of paper. He looked gloomily in Rost6v's 
face and said: "I am witing to her." 

He leaned his elbows on the table with his 
pen in his hand and, evidently glad of a chance 
to say quicker in words what he wanted to 
write, told Rost6v the contents of his letter. 

"You see, my fwiend," he said, "we sleep 
when we don't love. We are childwen of the 
dust . . . but one falls in love and one is a God, 
one is pua' as on the fihst day of cweation . . . 
Who's that now? Send him to the devil, I'm 
busy!" he shouted to Lavrushka, who went up 
to him not in the least abashed. 

"Who should it be? You yourself told him to 
come. It's the quartermaster for the money." 

Denisov frowned and was about to shout 
some reply but stopped. 

"Wetched business," he muttered to himself. 
"How much is left in the puhse?" he asked, 
turning to Rost6v. 

"Seven new and three old imperials." 

"Oh, it's wetched! Well, what are you stand- 
ing there for, you sca'cwow? Call the quahteh- 
masteh," he shouted to Lavrushka. 

"Please, Denisov, let me lend you some: I 
have some, you know," said Rost6v, blushing. 



BOOK TWO 



"Don't like bowwowing from my own fel- 
lows, I don't/' growled Denisov. 

"But if you won't accept money from me like 
a comrade, you will offend me. Really I have 
some," Rost6v repeated. 

"No, I tell you." 

And Denisov went to the bed to get the purse 
from under the pillow. 

"Where have you put it, Wost6v?" 

"Under the lower pillow." 

"It's not there." 

Denfsov threw both pillows on the floor. The 
purse was not there. 

"That's a miwacle." 

"Wait, haven't you dropped it?" said Ros- 
tov, picking up the pillows one at a time and 
shaking them. 

He pulled off the quilt and shook it. The 
purse was not there. 

"Dear me, can I have forgotten? No, I re- 
member thinking that you kept it under your 
head like a treasure," said Rost6v. "I put it just 
here. Where is it?" he asked, turning to Lavni- 
shka. 

"I haven't been in the room. It must be 
where you put it." 

"But it isn't? . . ." 

"You're always like that; you thwow a thing 
down anywhere and forget it. Feel in your 
pockets." 

"No, if I hadn't thought of it being a treas- 
ure," said Rostov, "but I remember putting it 
there." 

Lavrtishka turned all the bftkling over, 
looked under the bed and under the table, 
searched everywhere, and stood still in the mid- 
dle of the room. Denisov silently watched La- 
vrushka's movements, and when the latter 
threw up his arms in surprise saying it was no- 
where to be found Denisov glanced at Rost6v. 

"Wost6v, you've not been playing schoolboy 
twicks. . . ." 

Rost6v felt Denf sov's gaze fixed on him, raised 
his eyes, and instantly dropped them again. All 
the blood which had seemed congested some- 
where below his throat rushed to his face and 
eyes. He could not draw breath. 

"And there hasn't been anyone in the room 
except the lieutenant and yourselves. It must 
be here somewhere," said Lavrtishka. 

"Now then, you devil's puppet, look alive 
and hunt for it!" shouted Denfsov, suddenly, 
turning purple and rushing at the man with a 
threatening gesture. "If the purse isn't found 
I'll flog you, I'll flog you all." 

Rost6v, his eyes avoiding Denisov, began 



buttoning his coat, buckled on his saber, and 
put on his cap. 

"I must have that purse, I tell you," shouted 
Denfsov, shaking his orderly by the shoulders 
and knocking him against the wall. 

"Denfsov, let him alone, I know who has 
taken it," said Rost6v, going toward the door 
without raising his eyes. Denisov paused, 
thought a moment, and, evidently understand- 
ing what Rost6v hinted at, seized his arm. 

"Nonsense!" he cried, and the veins on his 
forehead and neck stood out like cords. "You 
are mad, I tell you. I won't allow it. The purse 
is here! I'll flay this scoundwel alive, and it 
will be found." 

"I know who has taken it," repeated Rost6v 
in an unsteady voice, and went to the door. 

"And I tell you, don't you dahe to do it!" 
shouted Denfsov, rushing at the cadet to re- 
strain him. 

But Rost6v pulled away his arm and, with as 
much anger as though Denfsov were his worst 
enemy, firmly fixed his eyes directly on his face. 

"Do you understand what you're saying?" he 
said in a trembling voice. "There was no one 
else in the room except myself. So that if it is 
not so, then . . ." 

He could not finish, and ran out of the room. 

"Ah, may the devil take you and evewybody," 
were the last words Rost6v heard. 

Rostov went to Telynin's quarters. 

"The master is not in, he's gone to head- 
quarters," said Telydnin's orderly. "Has some- 
thing happened?" he added, surprised at the 
cadet's troubled face. 

"No, nothing." 

"You've only just missed him," said the or- 
derly. 

The headquarters were situated two miles 
away from Salzeneck, and Rost6v, without re- 
turning home, took a horse and rode there. 
There was an inn in the village which the of- 
ficers frequented. Rost6v rode up to it and saw 
Telyan in's horse at the porch. 

In the second room of the inn the lieuten- 
ant was sitting over a dish of sausages and a 
bottle of wine. 

"Ah, you've come here too, young man!" he 
said, smiling and raising his eyebrows. 

"Yes," said Rost6v as if it cost him a great 
deal to utter the word; and he sat down at the 
nearest table. 

Both were silent. There were two Germans 
and a Russian officer in the room. No one spoke 
and the only sounds heard were the clatter of 
knives and the munching of the lieutenant. 



WAR AND PEACE 



When Telydnin had finished his lunch he 
took out of his pocket a double purse and, 
drawing its rings aside with his small, white, 
turned-up fingers, drew out a gold imperial, 
and lifting his eyebrows gave it to the waiter. 

"Please be quick/' he said. 

The coin was a new one. Rost6v rose and 
went up to Telydnin. 

"Allow me to look at your purse," he said in 
a low, almost inaudible, voice. 

With shifting eyes but eyebrows still raised, 
Telydnin handed him the purse. 

"Yes, it's a nice purse. Yes, yes," he said, grow- 
ing suddenly pale, and added, "Look at it, 
young man." 

Rost6v took the purse in his hand, examined 
it and the money in it, and looked at Telydnin. 
The lieutenant was looking about in his usual 
way and suddenly seemed to grow very merry. 

"If we get to Vienna I'll get rid of it there 
but in these wretched little towns there's no- 
where to spend it," said he. "Well, let me have 
it, young man, I'm going." 

Rost6v did not speak. 

"And you? Are you going to have lunch too? 
They feed you quite decently here," continued 
Telydnin. "Now then, let me have it." 

He stretched out his hand to take hold of the 
purse. Rost6v let go of it. Telyinin took the 
purse and began carelessly slipping it into the 
pocket of his riding breeches, with his eyebrows 
lifted and his mouth slightly open, as if to say, 
"Yes, yes, I am putting my purse in my pocket 
and that's quite simple and is no one else's busi- 
ness." 

"Well, young man?" he said with a sigh, and 
from under his lifted brows he glanced into 
Rost6v's eyes. 

Some flash as of an electric spark shot from 
Telydnin's eyes to Rost6v's and back, and back 
again and again in an instant. 

"Come here," said Rostdv, catching hold of 
Telydnin's arm and almost dragging him to 
the window. "That money is Denisov's; you 
took it . . ." he whispered just above Telydnin's 
ear. 

"What? What? How dare you? What?" said 
Telyinin. 

But these words came like a piteous, despair- 
ing cry and an entreaty for pardon. As soon as 
Rost6v heard them, an enormous load of doubt 
fell from him. He was glad, and at the same in- 
stant began to pity the miserable man who 
stood before him, but the task he had begun 
had to be completed. 

"Heaven only knows what the people here 



may Imagine," muttered Telydnin, taking up 
his cap and moving toward a small empty room. 
"We must have an explanation . . ." 

"I know it and shall prove it," said Rost6v. 

"I . . ." 

Every muscle of Telydnin's pale, terrified 
face began to quiver, his eyes still shifted from 
side to side but with a downward look not ris- 
ing to Rost6v's face, and his sobs were audible. 

"Countl . . . Don't ruin a young fellow . . . 
here is this wretched money, take it . . ." He 
threw it on the table. "I have an old father 
and mother! . . ." 

RostcW took the money, avoiding Telynin's 
eyes, and went o'ut of the room without a word. 
But at the door he stopped and then retraced 
his steps. "O God," he said with tears in his 
eyes, "how could you do it?" 

"Count . . ." said Telydnin drawing nearer 
to him. 

"Don't touch me," said Rost6v,drawingback. 
"If you need it, take the money," and he threw 
the purse to him and ran out of the inn. 

CHAPTER V 

THAT SAME EVENING there was an animated dis- 
cussion among the squadron's officers in Denf- 
sov's quarters. 

"And I tell you, Rost6v, that you must apol- 
ogize to the colonel!" said a tall, grizzly-haired 
staff captain, with enormous mustaches and 
many wrinkles on his large features, to Rost6v 
who was crimson with excitement. 

The staff captain, Kfrsten, had twice been 
reduced to the ranks for affairs of honor and 
had twice regained his commission. 

"I will allow no one to call me a liar!" cried 
Rost6v. "He told me I lied, and I told him he 
lied. And there it rests. He may keep me on 
duty every day, or may place me under arrest, 
but no one can make me apologize, because if 
he, as commander of this regiment, thinks it 
beneath his dignity to give me satisfaction, 
then . . ." 

"You just wait a moment, my dear fellow, 
and listen," interrupted the staff captain in his 
deep bass, calmly stroking his long mustache. 
"You tell the colonel in the presence of other 
officers that an officer has stolen . . ." 

"I'm not to blame that the conversation be- 
gan in the presence of other officers. Perhaps I 
ought not to have spoken before them, but I 
am not a diplomatist. That's why I joined the 
hussars, thinking that here one would not need 
finesse; and he tells me that I am lying so let 
him give me satisfaction . . ." 



BOOK TWO 



"That's all right. No one thinks you a coward, 
but that's not the point. Ask Denfsov whether 
it is not out of the question for a cadet to de- 
mand satisfaction of his regimental command- 
er?" 

Denisov sat gloomily biting his mustache 
and listening to the conversation, evidently 
with no wish to take part in it. He answered 
the staff captain's question by a disapproving 
shake of his head. 

"You speak to the colonel about this nasty 
business before other officers," continued the 
staff captain, "and Bogddnich" (the colonel 
was called Bogdanich) "shuts you up." 

"He did not shut me up, he said I was tell- 
ing an untruth." 

"Well, have it so, and you talked a lot of 
nonsense to him and must apologize." 

"Not on any account!" exclaimed Rost6v. 

"I did not expect this of you," said the staff 
captain seriously and severely. "You don't wish 
to apologize, but, man, it's not only to him but 
to the whole regiment all of us you're to 
blame all round. The case is this: you ought to 
have thought the matter over and taken advice; 
but no, you go and blurt it all straight out be- 
fore the officers. Now what was the colonel to 
do? Have the officer tried and disgrace the 
whole regiment? Disgrace the whole regiment 
because of one scoundrel? Is that how you look 
at it? We don't see it like that. And Bogdanich 
was a brick: he told you you were saying what 
was not true. It's not pleasant, but what's to be 
done, my dear fellow? You landed yourself in 
it. And now, when one wants to smooth the 
thing over, some conceit prevents your apolo- 
gizing, and you wish to make the whole affair 
public. You are offended at being put on duty 
a bit, but why not apologize to an old and hon- 
orable officer? Whatever Bogdanich may be, 
anyway he is an honorable and brave old colo- 
nel! You're quick at taking offense, but you 
don't mind disgracing the whole regiment 1" 
The staff captain's voice began to tremble. 
"You have been in the regiment next to no 
time, my lad, you're here today and tomorrow 
you'll be appointed adjutant somewhere and 
can snap your fingers when it is said There are 
thieves among the Pdvlograd officers!' But it's 
not all the same to us! Am I not right, Denisov? 
It's not the same!" 

Denfsov remained silent and did not move, 
but occasionally looked with his glittering black 
eyes at Rost6v. 

"You value your own pride and don't wish 
to apologize," continued the staff captain, "but 



73 



we old fellows, who have grown up in and, 
God willing, are going to die in the regiment, 
we prize the honor of the regiment, and Bog- 
dnich knows it. Oh, we do prize it, old fel- 
low! And all this is not right, it's not right! You 
may take offense or not but I always stick to 
mother truth. It's not right!" 

And the staff captain rose and turned away 
from Rost6v. 

"That's twue, devil take i 1 1 " shouted Denfsov, 
jumping up. "Now then, Wost6v, now then!" 

Rost6v, growing red and pale alternately, 
looked first at one officer and then at the other. 

"No, gentlemen, no ... you mustn't think 
... I quite understand. You're wrong to think 
that of me ... I ... for me ... for the honor of 
the regiment I'd ... Ah well, I'll show that in 
action, and for me the honor of the flag . . .Well, 
never mind, it's true I'm to blame, to blame all 
round. Well, what else do you want? . . ." 

"Come, that's right, Count!" cried the staff 
captain, turning round and clapping Rost6v 
on the shoulder with his big hand. 

"I tell you," shouted Denisov, "he's a fine fel- 
low." 

"That's better, Count," said thestaff captain, 
beginning to address Rost6v by his title, as if 
in recognition of his confession. "Go and apol- 
ogize, your excellency. Yes, go!" 

"Gentlemen, I'll do anything. No one shall 
hear a word from me," said Rost6v in an implor- 
ing voice, "but I can't apologize, by God I can't, 
do what you will! How can I go and apologize 
like a little boy asking forgiveness?" 

Denfsov began to laugh. 

"It'll be worse for you. Bogddnich is vindic- 
tive and you'll pay for your obstinacy," said 
Kfrsten. 

"No, on my word it's not obstinacy! I can't 
describe the feeling. I can't . . ." 

"Well, it's as you like," said the staff captain. 
"And what has become of that scoundrel?" he 
asked Denfsov. 

"He has weported himself sick, he's to be 
stwuck off the list tomowwow," muttered Den- 
fsov. 

"It is an illness, there's no other way of ex- 
plaining it," said the staff captain. 

"Illness or not, he'd better not cwossmy path. 
I'd kill him!" shouted Denfsov in a bloodthirsty 
tone. 

Just then Zherk6v entered the room. 

"What brings you here?" cried the officers 
turning to the newcomer. 

"We're to go into action, gentlemen! Mack 
has surrendered with his whole army." 



74 



WAR AND PEACE 



"It's not true!" 

"I've seen him myself!" 

"What? Saw the real Mack? With hands and 
feet?" 

"Into action! Intoactioni Bring him a bottle 
for such news! But how did you come here?" 

"I've been sent back to the regiment all on 
account of that devil, Mack. An Austrian gen- 
eral complained of me. I congratulated him on 
Mack's arrival . . . What's the matter, Rost6v? 
You look as if you'd just come out of a hot 
bath." 

"Oh, my dear fellow, we're in such a stew 
here these last two days." 

The regimental adjutant came in and con- 
firmed the news brought by Zherk6v. They 
were under orders to advance next day. 

"We're going into action, gentlemen!" 

"Well, thank God! We've been sitting here 
too long!" 

CHAPTER VI 

Kunfzov FELL BACK toward Vienna, destroying 
behind him the bridges over the rivers Inn (at 
Braunau) and Traun (near Linz). On October 
23 the Russian troops were crossing tfye river 
Enns. At midday the Russian baggage train, 
the artillery, and columns of troops were de- 
filing through the town of Enns on both sides 
of the bridge. 

It was a warm, rainy, autumnal day. The wide 
expanse that opened out before the heights on 
which the Russian batteries stood guarding 
the bridge was at times veiled by a diaphanous 
curtain of slanting rain, and then, suddenly 
spread out in the sunlight, far-distant objects 
could be clearly seen glittering as though fresh- 
ly varnished. Down below, the little town could 
be seen with its white, red-roofed houses, its 
cathedral, and its bridge, on both sides of which 
streamed jostling masses of Russian troops. At 
the bend of the Danube, vessels, an island, and 
a castle with a park surrounded by the waters 
of the confluence of the Enns and the Danube 
became visible, and the rocky left bank of the 
Danube covered with pine forests, with a mystic 
background of green treetops and bluish gor- 
ges. The turrets of a convent stood out beyond 
a wild virgin pine forest, and far away on the 
other side of the Enns the enemy's horse patrols 
could be discerned. 

Among the field guns on the brow of the hill 
the general in command of the rearguard stood 
with a staff officer, scanning the country through 
his fieldglass. A little behind them Nesvftski, 
who had been sent to the rearguard by the com- 



maiVder in chief, was sitting on the trail of a 
gun carriage. A Cossack who accompanied him 
had handed him a knapsack and a flask, and 
Nesvf tski was treating some officers to pies and 
real doppelkummel. The officers gladly gath- 
ered round him, some on their knees, some 
squatting Turkish fashion on the wet grass. 

"Yes, the Austrian prince who built that cas- 
tle was no fool. It's a fine place! Why are you 
not eating any thing, gentlemen?" Nesvitski was 
saying. 

"Thank you very much, Prince," answered 
one of the officers, pleased to be talking to a 
staff officer of such importance. "It's a lovely 
place! We passed close to the park and saw 
two deer . . . and what a splendid house!" 

"Look, Prince," said another, who would 
have dearly liked to take another pie but felt 
shy, and therefore pretended to be examining 
the countryside "See, our infantrymen have 
already got there. Look there in the meadow 
behind the village, three of them are dragging 
something. They'll ransack that castle," he re- 
marked with evident approval. 

"So they will," said Nesvitski. "No, but what 
I should like," added he, munching a pie in his 
moist-lipped handsome mouth, "would be to 
slip in over there." 

He pointed with a smile to a turreted nun- 
nery, and his eyes narrowed and gleamed. 

"That would be fine, gentlemen!" 

The officers laughed. 

"Just to flutter the nuns a bit. They say there 
are Italian girls among them. On my word I'd 
give five years of my life for it!" 

"They must be feeling dull, too," said one of 
the bolder officers, laughing. 

Meanwhile the staff officer standing in front 
pointed out something to the general, who 
looked through his field glass. 

"Yes, so it is, so it is," said the general an- 
grily, lowering the field glass and shrugging his 
shoulders, "so it is! They'll be fired on at the 
crossing. And why are they dawdling there?" 

On the opposite side the enemy could be 
seen by the naked eye, and from their battery a 
milk-white cloud arose. Then came the distant 
report of a shot, and our troops could be seen 
hurrying to the crossing. 

Nesvftski rose, puffing, and went up to the 
general, smiling. 

"Would not your excellency like a little re- 
freshment?" he said. 

"It's a bad business," said the general with- 
out answering him, "our men have been wast- 
ing time." 



BOOK TWO 



75 



"Hadn't I better ride over, your excellency?" 
asked Nesvitski. 

"Yes, please do," answered the general, and 
he repeated the order that had already once 
been given in detail: "and tell the hussars that 
they are to cross last and to fire the bridge as I 
ordered; and the inflammable material on the 
bridge must be reinspected." 

"Very good," answered Nesvftski. 

He called the Cossack with his horse, told 
him to put away the knapsack and flask, and 
swung his heavy person easily into the saddle. 

"I'll really call in on the nuns," he said to 
the officers who watched him smilingly, and he 
rode off by the winding path down the hill. 

"Now then, let's see how far it will carry, 
Captain. Just tryl" said the general, turning to 
an artillery officer. "Have a little fun to pass 
the time." 

"Crew, to your gunsl" commanded the of- 
ficer. 

In a moment the men came running gaily 
from their campfires and began loading. 

"One!" came the command. 

Number one jumped briskly aside. The gun 
rang out with a deafening metallic roar, and 
a whistling grenade flew above the heads of 
our troops below the hill and fell far short of 
the enemy, a little smoke showing the spot 
where it burst. 

The faces of officers and men brightened up 
at the sound. Everyone gotupand began watch- 
ing the movements of our troops below, as 
plainly visible as if but a stone's throw away, 
and the movements of the approaching enemy 
farther off. At the same instant the sun came 
fully out from behind the clouds, and the clear 
sound of the solitary shot and the brilliance of 
the bright sunshine merged in a single joyous 
and spirited impression. 

CHAPTER VII 

Two OF the enemy's shots had already flown 
across the bridge, where there was a crush. Half- 
way across stood Prince Nesvitski, who had 
alighted from his horse and whose big body was 
jammed against the railings. He looked back 
laughing to the Cossack who stood a few steps 
behind him holding two horses by their bridles. 
Each time Prince Nesvftski tried to move on, 
soldiers and carts pushed him back again and 
pressed him against the railings, and all he 
could do was to smile. 

"What a fellow you are, friend!" said the 
Cossack to a convoy soldier with a wagon, who 
was pressing onto the infantrymen who were 



crowded together close to his wheels and his 
horses. "What a fellow! You can't wait a mo- 
ment! Don't you see the general wants to pass?" 

But the convoyman took no notice of the 
word "general" and shouted at the soldiers 
who were blocking his way. "Hi there, boys! 
Keep to the left! Wait a bit." But the soldiers, 
crowded together shoulder to shoulder, their 
bayonets interlocking, moved over the bridge 
in a dense mass. Looking down over the rails 
Prince Nesvftski saw the rapid, noisy little 
waves of the Enns, which rippling and eddying 
round the piles of the bridge chased each other 
along. Looking on the bridge^ he saw equally 
uniform living waves of soldiers, shoulder 
straps, covered shakos, knapsacks, bayonets, 
long muskets, and, under the shakos, faces with 
broad cheekbones, sunken cheeks, and listless 
tired expressions, and feet that moved through 
the sticky mud that covered the planks of the 
bridge. Sometimes through the monotonous 
waves of men, like a fleck of white foam on the 
waves of the Enns, an officer, in a cloak and 
with a type of face different from that of the 
men, squeezed his way along; sometimes like 
a chip of wood whirling in the river, an hussar 
on foot, an orderly, or a townsman was carried 
through the waves of infantry; and sometimes 
like a log floating down the river, an officers' or 
company's baggage wagon, piled high, leather- 
covered, and hemmed in on all sides, moved 
across the bridge. 

"It's as if a dam had burst," said the Cossack 
hopelessly. "Are there many more of you to 
come?" 

"A million all but one!" replied a waggish 
soldier in a torn coat, with a wink, and passed 
on followed by another, an old man. 

"If he" (he meant the enemy) "begins pop- 
ping at the bridge now," said the old soldier 
dismally to a comrade, "you'll forget to scratch 
yourself." 

That soldier passed on, and after him came 
another sitting on a cart. 

"Where the devil have the leg bands been 
shoved to?" said an orderly, running behind 
the cart and fumbling in the back of it. 

And he also passed on with the wagon. Then 
came some merry soldiers who had evidently 
been drinking. 

"And then, old fellow, he gives him one in 
the teeth with the butt end of his gun ..." a 
soldier whose greatcoat was well tucked up said 
gaily, with a wide swing of his arm. 

"Yes, the ham was just delicious . . ." an- 
swered another with a loud laugh. And they, 



7 6 



WAR AND PEACE 



too, passed on, so that Nesvftski did not learn 
who had been struck on the teeth, or what the 
ham had to do with it. 

"Bah! How they scurry. He just sends a ball 
and they think they'll all be killed," a sergeant 
was saying angrfly and reproachfully. 

"As it flies past me, Daddy, the ball I mean," 
said a young soldier with an enormous mouth, 
hardly refraining from laughing, "I felt like 
dying of fright. I did, 'pon my word, I got that 
frightened I" said he, as if bragging of having 
been frightened. 

That one also passed. Then followed a cart 
unlike any that had gone before. It was a Ger- 
man cart with a pair of horses led by a German, 
and seemed loaded with a whole houseful of 
effects. A fine brindled cow with a large udder 
was attached to the cart behind. A woman with 
an unweaned baby, an old woman, and a 
healthy German girl with bright red cheeks 
were sitting on some feather beds. Evidently 
these fugitives were allowed to pass by special 
permission. The eyes of all the soldiers turned 
toward the women, and while the vehicle was 
passing at foot pace all the soldiers' remarks re- 
lated to the two young ones. Every face bore 
almost the same smile, expressing unseemly 
thoughts about the women. 

"Just see, the German sausage is making 
tracks, tool" 

"Sell me the missis," said another soldier, ad- 
dressing the German, who, angry and fright- 
ened, strode energetically along with downcast 
eyes. 

"See how smart she's made herself! Oh, the 
devilsl" 

"There, Fed6tov,-you should be quartered 
on them!" 

"I have seen as much before now, mate!" 

"Where are you going?" asked an infantry 
officer who was eating an apple, also half smil- 
ing as he looked at the handsome girl. 

The German closed his eyes, signifying that 
he did not understand. 

"Take it if you like," said the officer, giving 
the girl an apple. 

The girl smiled and took it. Nesvftski like 
the rest of the men on the bridge did not take 
his eyes off the women till they had passed. 
When they had gone by, the same stream of 
soldiers followed, with the same kind of talk, 
and at last all stopped. As often happens, the 
horses of a convoy wagon became restive at the 
end of the bridge, and the whole crowd had to 
wait. 

"And why are they stopping? There's no 



proper order!" said the soldiers. "Where are 
you shoving to? Devil take you! Can't you wait? 
It'll be worse if he fires the bridge. See, here's 
an officer jammed in too" different voices 
were saying in the crowd, as the men looked at 
one another, and all pressed toward the exit 
from the bridge. 

Looking down at the waters of the Enns 
under the bridge, Nesvftski suddenly heard a 
sound new to him, of something swiftly ap- 
proaching . . . something big, that splashed in- 
to the water. 

"Just see where it carries to!" a soldier near 
by said sternly, looking round at the sound. 

"Encouraging us to get along quicker," said 
another uneasily. 

The crowd moved on again. Nesvftski re- 
alized that it was a cannon ball. 

"Hey, Cossack, my horse!" he said. "Now, 
then, you there! get out of theway! Makeway!" 

With great difficulty he managed to get to 
his horse, and shouting continually he moved 
on. The soldiers squeezed themselves to make 
way for him, but again pressed on him so that 
they jammed his leg, and those nearest him 
were not to blame for they were themselves 
pressed still harder from behind. 

"Nesvftski, Nesvftski! you numskull!" came 
a hoarse voice from behind him. 

Nesvftski looked round and saw, some fif- 
teen paces away but separated by the living 
mass of moving infantry, Vaska Denfsov, red 
and shaggy, with his cap on the back of his 
black head and a cloak hanging jauntily over 
his shoulder. 

"Tell these devils, these fiends, to let me 
pass!" shouted Denfsov evidently in a fit of 
rage, his coal-black eyes with their bloodshot 
whites glittering and rolling as he waved his 
sheathed saber in a small bare hand as red as 
his face. 

"Ah, Vaska!" joyfully replied Nesvftski. 
"What's up with you?" 

"The squadwon can't pass," shouted Vska 
Denfsov, showing his white teeth fiercely and 
spurring his black thoroughbred Arab, which 
twitched its ears as the bayonets touched it, 
and snorted, spurting white foam from his bit, 
tramping the planks of the bridge with his 
hoofs, and apparently ready to jump over the 
railings had his rider let him. "What is this? 
They're like sheep! Just like sheep! Out of the 
way! . . . Let us pass! . . . Stop there, you devil 
with the cart! I'll hack you with my saber!" he 
shouted, actually drawing his saber from its 
scabbard and flourishing it. 



BOOK TWO 



77 



The soldiers crowded against one another 
with terrified faces, and Denfsov joined Nesvit- 
ski. 

"How's it you're not drunk today?" said Nes- 
vitski when the other had ridden up to him. 

"They don't even give one time to dwink!" 
answered Vdska Denisov. "They keep dwag- 
ging the wegiment to and fwo all day. If they 
mean to fight, let's fight. But the devil knows 
what this is." 

"What a dandy you are today!" said Nesvft- 
ski, looking at Denfsov's new cloak and saddle- 
doth. 

Denisov smiled, took out of his sabretache a 
handkerchief that diffused a smell of perfume, 
and put it to Nesvftski's nose. 

"Of course. I'm going into action! I've 
shaved, bwushed my teeth, and scented my- 
self." 

The imposing figure of Nesvitski followed 
by his Cossack, and the determination of Deni- 
sov who flourished his sword and shouted fran- 
tically, had such an effect that they managed to 
squeeze through to the farther side of the 
bridge and stopped the infantry. Beside the 
bridge Nesvftski found the colonel to whom 
he had to deliver the order, and having done 
this he rode back. 

Having cleared the way Denisov stopped at 
the end of the bridge. Carelessly holding in his 
stallion that was neighing and pawing the 
ground, eager to rejoin its fellows, he watched 
his squadron draw nearer. Then the clang of 
hoofs, as of several horses galloping, resounded 
on the planks of the bridge, and the squadron, 
officers in front and men four abreast, spread 
across the bridge and began to emerge on his 
side of it. 

The infantry who had been stopped crowd- 
ed near the bridge in the trampled mud and 
gazed with that particular feeling of ill-will, 
estrangement, and ridicule with which troops 
of different arms usually encounter one anoth- 
er at the clean, smart hussars who moved past 
them in regular order. 

"Smart lads! Only fit for a fair!" said one. 

"What good are they? They're led about 
just for show!" remarked another. 

"Don't kick up the dust, you infantry 1" jested 
an hussar whose prancing horse had splashed 
mud over some foot soldiers. 

"I'd like to put you on a two days' march 
with a knapsack! Your fine cords would soon 
get a bit rubbed," said an infantryman, wiping 
the mud off his face with his sleeve. "Perched 
up there, you're more like a bird than a man." 



"There now, Zikin, they ought to put you 
on a horse. You'd look fine," said a corporal, 
chaffing a thin little soldier who bent under 
the weight of his knapsack. 

"Take a stick between your legs, that'll suit 
you for a horse!" the hussar shouted back. 

CHAPTER VIII 

THE LAST of the infantry hurriedly crossed the 
bridge, squeezing together as they approached 
it as if passing through a funnel. At last the 
baggage wagons had all crossed, the crush was 
less, and the last battalion came on to the bridge. 
Only Denisov's squadron of hussars remained 
on the farther side of the bridge facing the en- 
emy, who could be seen from the hill on the 
opposite bank but was not yet visible from the 
bridge, for the horizon as seen from the valley 
through which the river flowed was formed by 
the rising ground only half a mile away. At the 
foot of the hill lay wasteland over which a few 
groups of our Cossack scouts were moving. Sud- 
denly on the road at the top of the high ground, 
artillery and troops in blue uniform were seen. 
These were the French. A group of Cossack 
scouts retired down the hill at a trot. All the 
officers and men of Denisov's squadron, though 
they tried to talk of other things and to look in 
other directions, thought only of what was 
there on the hilltop, and kept constantly look- 
ing at the patches appearing on the skyline, 
which they knew to be the enemy's troops. The 
weather had cleared again since noon and the 
sun was descending brightly upon the Danube 
and the dark hills around it. It was calm, and 
at intervals the bugle calls and the shouts of 
the enemy could be heard from the hill. There 
was no one now between* the squadron and the 
enemy except a few scattered skirmishers. An 
empty space of some seven hundred yards was 
all that separated them. The enemy ceased fir- 
ing, and that stern, threatening, inaccessible, 
and intangible line which separates two hostile 
armies was all the more clearly felt. 

"One step beyond that boundary line which 
resembles the line dividing the living from the 
dead lies uncertainty, suffering, and death. And 
what is there? Who is there? there beyond that 
field, that tree, that roof lit up by the sun? No 
one knows, but one wants to know. You fear 
and yet long to cross that line, and know that 
sooner or later it must be crossed and you will 
have to find out what is there, just as you will 
inevitably have to learn what lies the other side 
of death. But you are strong, healthy, cheerful, 
and excited, and are surrounded by other such 



7 8 



WAR AND PEACE 



excitedly animated and healthy men." So 
thinks, or at any rate feels, anyone who comes 
in sight of the enemy, and that feeling gives a 
particular glamour and glad keenness of im- 
pression to everything that takes place at such 
moments. 

On the high ground where the enemy was, 
the smoke of a cannon rose, and a ball flew 
whistling over the heads of the hussar squad- 
ron. The officers who had been standing to- 
gether rode off to their places. The hussars be- 
gan carefully aligning their horses. Silence fell 
on the whole squadron. All were looking at the 
enemy in front and at the squadron command- 
er, awaiting the word of command. A second 
and a third cannon ball flew past. Evidently 
they were firing at the hussars, but the balls 
with rapid rhythmic whistle flew over the heads 
of the horsemen and fell somewhere beyond 
them. The hussars did not look round, but at 
the sound of each shot, as at the word of com- 
mand, the whole squadron with its rows of 
faces so alike yet so different, holding its breath 
while the ball flew past, rose in the stirrups and 
sank back again. The soldiers without turning 
their heads glanced at one another, curious to 
see their comrades' impression. Every face, from 
Denisov's to that of the bugler, showed one 
common expression of conflict, irritation, and 
excitement, around chin and mouth. The 
quartermaster frowned, looking at the soldiers 
as if threatening to punish them. Cadet Mir6- 
nov ducked every time a ball flew past. Rost6v 
on the left flank, mounted on his Rook a hand- 
some horse despite its game leg had the happy 
air of a schoolboy called up before a large audi- 
ence for an examination in which he feels sure 
he will distinguish himself. He was glancing at 
everyone with a clear, bright expression, as if 
asking them to notice how calmly he sat under 
fire. But despite himself, on his face too that 
same indication of something new and stern 
showed round the mouth. 

"Who's that curtseying there? Cadet Miw6- 
nov! That's not wight! Look at me," cried 
Denfsov who, unable to keep still on one 
spot, kept turning his horse in front of the 
squadron. 

The black, hairy, snub-nosed face of Vdska 
Denhov,and his whole short sturdy figure with 
the sinewy hairy hand and stumpy fingers in 
which he held the hilt of his naked saber, 
looked just as it usually did, especially toward 
evening when he had emptied his second bot- 
tle; he was only redder than usual. With his 
shaggy head thrown back like birds when they 



drink, pressing his spurs mercilessly into the 
sides of his good horse, Bedouin, and sitting as 
though falling backwards in the saddle, he gal- 
loped to the other flank of the squadron and 
shouted in a hoarse voice to the men to look to 
their pistols. He rode up to Kirsten. The staff 
captain on his broad-backed, steady mare came 
at a walk to meet him. His face with its long 
mustache was serious as always, only his eyes 
were brighter than usual. 

"Well, what about it?" said he to Denfsov. 
"It won't come to a fight. You'll see we shall 
retire." 

"The devil only knows what they're about!" 
muttered Denisov. "Ah, Wost6v," he cried no- 
ticing the cadet's bright face, "you've got it at 
last." 

And he smiled approvingly, evidently pleased 
with the cadet. Rost6v felt perfectly happy. 
Just then the commander appeared on the 
bridge. Denisov galloped up to him. 

"Your excellency! Let us attack them! I'll 
dwive them off." 

"Attack indeed!" said the colonel in a bored 
voice, puckering up his face as if driving off a 
troublesome fly. "And why are you stopping 
here? Don't you see the skirmishers are retreat- 
ing? Lead the squadron back." 

The squadron crossed the bridge and drew 
out of range of fire without having lost a single 
man. The second squadron that had been in 
the front line followed them across and the last 
Cossacks quitted the farther side of the river. 

The two Pavlograd squadrons, having crossed 
the bridge, retired up the hill one after the oth- 
er. Their colonel, Karl Bogddnich Schubert, 
came up to Denisov's squadron and rode at a 
footpace not far from Rost6v, without taking 
any notice of him although they were now 
meeting for the first time since their encounter 
concerning Telydnin. Rost6v, feeling that he 
was at the front and in the power of a man to- 
ward whom he now admitted that he had been 
to blame, did not lift his eyes from the colonel's 
athletic back, his nape covered with light hair, 
and his red neck. It seemed to Rost6v that Bog- 
ddnich was only pretending not to notice him, 
and that his whole aim now was to test the 
cadet's courage, so he drew himself up and 
looked around him merrily; then it seemed to 
him that Bogddnich rode so near in order to 
show him his courage. Next he thought that 
his enemy would send the squadron on a des- 
perate attack just to punish him Rost6v. Then 
he imagined how, after the attack, Bogdanich 
would come up to him as he lay wounded and 



BOOK TWO 



79 



would magnanimously extend the hand of 
reconciliation. 

The high-shouldered figure of Zherk6v, fa- 
miliar to the Pavlograds as he had but recently 
left their regiment, rode up to the colonel. Aft- 
er his dismissal from headquartersZherk6vhad 
not remained in the regiment, saying he was 
not such a fool as to slave at the front when he 
could get more rewards by doing nothing on 
the staff, and had succeeded in attaching him- 
self as an orderly officer to Prince Bagrati6n. 
He now came to his former chief with an order 
from the commander of the rearguard. 

"Colonel," he said, addressing Rost6v's en- 
emy with an air of gloomy gravity and glanc- 
ing round at his comrades, "there is an order 
to stop and fire the bridge." 

"An order to who?" asked the colonel mo- 
rosely. 

"I don't myself know 'to who,' " replied the 
cornet in a serious tone, "but the prince told 
me to 'go and tell the colonel that the hussars 
must return quickly and fire the bridge.' " 

Zherkov was followed by an officer of the 
suite who rode up to the colonel of hussars 
with the same order. After him the stout Nesvft- 
ski came galloping up on a Cossack horse that 
could scarcely carry his weight. 

"How's this, Colonel?" he shouted as he ap- 
proached. "I told you to fire the bridge, and 
now someone has gone and blundered; they 
are all beside themselves over there and one 
can't make anything out." 

The colonel deliberately stopped the regi- 
ment and turned to Nesvftski. 

"You spoke to me of inflammable material," 
said he, "but you said nothing about firing it." 

"But, my dear sir," said Nesvftski as he drew 
up, taking off his cap and smoothing his hair 
wet with perspiration with his plump hand, 
"wasn't I tellingyou to fire the bridge, when in- 
flammable material had been put in position?" 

"I am not your 'dear sir,' Mr. Staff Officer, 
and you did not tell me to burn the bridge 1 I 
know the service, and it is my habit orders 
strictly to obey. You said the bridge would be 
burned, but who would it burn, I could not 
know by the holy spirit!" 

"Ah, that's always the wayl" said Nesvitski 
with a wave of the hand. "How did you get 
here?" said he, turning to 'Zherk6v. 

"On the same business. But you are damp! 
Let me wring you out!" 

"You were saying, Mr. Staff Officer . . ." con- 
tinued the colonel in an offended tone. 

"Colonel," interrupted the officer of the 



suite, "you must be quick or the enemy will 
bring up his guns to use grapeshot." 

The colonel looked silently at the officer of 
the suite, at the stout staff officer, and at Zher- 
k6v, and he frowned. 

"I will the bridge fire," he said in a solemn 
tone as if to announce that in spite of all the 
unpleasantness he had to endure he would still 
do the right thing. 

Striking his horse with his long muscular 
legs as if it were to blame for everything, the 
colonel moved forward and ordered the second 
squadron, that in which Rostov was serving un- 
der Denfsov, to return to the bridge. 

"There, it's just as I thought," said Rost6v 
to himself. "He wishes to test me!" His heart 
contracted and the blood rushed to his face. 
"Let him see whether I am a coward!" he 
thought. 

Again on all the bright faces of the squadron 
the serious expression appeared that they had 
worn when under fire. Rost6v watched his en- 
emy, the colonel, closely to find in his face 
confirmation of his own conjecture, but the 
colonel did not once glance at Rost6v, and 
looked as he always did when at the front, sol- 
emn and stern. Then came the word of com- 
mand. 

"Look sharp! Look sharp!" several voices re- 
peated around him. 

Their sabers catching in the bridles and their 
spurs jingling, the hussars hastily dismounted, 
not knowing what they were to do. The men 
were crossing themselves. Rostov no longer 
looked at the colonel, he had no time. He was 
afraid of falling behind the hussars, so much 
afraid that his heart stood still. His hand trem- 
bled as he gave his horse into an orderly's 
charge, and he felt the blood rush to his heart 
with a thud. Denfsov rode past him, leaning 
back and shouting something. Rostov saw noth- 
ing but the hussars running all around him, 
their spurs catching and their sabers clattering. 

"Stretchers!" shouted someone behind him. 

Rost6v did not think what this call for 
stretchers meant; he ran on, trying only to be 
ahead of the others; but just at the bridge, not 
looking at the ground, he came on some sticky, 
trodden mud, stumbled, and fell on his hands. 
The others outstripped him. 

"At boss zides, Captain," he heard the voice 
of the colonel, who, having ridden ahead, had 
pulled up his horse near the bridge, with a tri- 
umphant, cheerful face. 

Rost6v wiping his muddy hands on his 
breeches looked at his enemy and was about to 



8o 



WAR AND PEACE 



run on, thinking that the farther he went to the 
front the better. But Bogdanich, without look- 
ing at or recognizing Rost6v, shouted to him: 

"Who's that running on the middle of the 
bridge? To the right! Come back, Cadetl" he 
cried angrily; and turning to Denisov, who, 
showing off his courage, had ridden on to the 
planks of the bridge: 

"Why run risks, Captain? You should dis- 
mount," he said. 

"Oh, every bullet has its billet," answered 
Vdska Denfsov, turning in his saddle. 

Meanwhile Nesvitski, Zherk6v, and the of- 
ficer of the suite were standing together out of 
range of the shots, watching, now the small 
group of men with yellow shakos, dark-green 
jackets braided with cord, and blue riding 
breeches, who were swarming near the bridge, 
and then at what was approaching in the dis- 
tance from the opposite side the blue uni- 
forms and groups with horses, easily recogniz- 
able as artillery. 

"Will they burn the bridge or not? Who'll 
get there first? Will they get there and fire the 
bridge or will the French get within grapeshot 
range and wipe them out?" These were the 
questions each man of the troops on the high 
ground above the bridge involuntarily asked 
himself with a sinking heart watching the 
bridge and the hussars in the bright evening 
light and the blue tunics advancing from the 
other side with their bayonets and guns. 

"Ugh. The hussars will get it hotl" said Nes- 
vftski; "they are within grapeshot range now." 

"He shouldn't have taken so many men," 
said the officer of the suite. 

"True enough," answered Nesvitski; "two 
smart fellows could have done the job just as 
well." 

"Ah, your excellency," put in Zherk6v, his 
eyes fixed on the hussars, but still with that 
naive air that made i t impossible to know wheth- 
er he was speaking in jest or in earnest. "Ah, 
your excellency 1 How you look at things! Send 
two men? And who then would give us the 
Vladimir medal and ribbon? But now, even if 
they do get peppered, the squadron may be 
recommended for honors and he may get a rib- 
bon. Our Bogddnich knows how things are 
done." 

"There now!" said the officer of the suite, 
"that's grapeshot." 

He pointed to the French guns, the limbers 
of which were being detached and hurriedly 
removed. 



On the French side, amid the groups with 
cannon, a cloud of smoke appeared, then a sec- 
ond and a third almost simultaneously, and at 
the moment when the first report was heard a 
fourth was seen. Then two reports one after 
another, and a third. 

"Oh! Ohl" groaned Nesvitski as if in fierce 
pain, seizing the officer of the suite by the arm. 
"Look! A man has fallen! Fallen, fallen!" 

"Two, I think." 

"If I were Tsar I would never go to war," 
said Nesvitski, turning away. 

The French guns were hastily reloaded. The 
infantry in their blue uniforms advanced to- 
ward the bridge at a run. Smoke appeared 
again but at irregular intervals, and grapeshot 
cracked and rattled onto the bridge. But this 
time Nesvitski could not see what was happen- 
ing there, as a dense cloud of smoke arose from 
it. The hussars had succeeded in setting it on 
fire and the French batteries were now firing at 
them, no longer to hinder them but because 
the guns were trained and there was someone 
to fire at. 

The French had time to fire three rounds of 
grapeshot before the hussars got back to their 
horses. Two were misdirected and the shot 
went too high, but the last round fell in the 
midst of a group of hussars and knocked three 
of them over. 

Rost6v, absorbed by his relations with Bog- 
ddnich, had paused on the bridge not knowing 
what to do. There was no one to hew down (as 
he had always imagined battles to himself), nor 
could he help to fire the bridge because he had 
not brought any burning straw with him like 
the other soldiers. He stood looking about him, 
when suddenly he heard a rattle on the bridge 
as if nuts were being spilt, and the hussar near- 
est to him fell against the rails with a groan. 
Rost6v ran up to him with the others. Again 
someone shouted, "Stretchers!" Four men 
seized the hussar and began lifting him. 

"Oooh! For Christ's sake let me alone! "cried 
the wounded man, but still he was lifted and 
laid on the stretcher. 

Nicholas Rost6v turned away and, as if 
searching for something, gazed into the dis- 
tance, at the waters of the Danube, at the sky, 
and at the sun. How beautiful the sky looked; 
how blue, how call , and how deep! How 
bright and glorious was the setting sun! With 
what soft glitter the waters of the distant Dan- 
ube shone. And fairer stijl were the faraway 
. blue mountains beyond the/iver, the nunnery, 
the mysterious gorges, and \ the pine forests 



BOOK TWO 



81 



veiled in mist to their summits . . . There was 
peace and happiness ... "I should wish for 
nothing else, nothing, if only I were there," 
thought Rost6v. "In myself alone and in that 
sunshine there is so much happiness; but here 
. . . groans, suffering, fear, and this uncertainty 
and hurry . . . There they are shouting again, 
and again are all running back somewhere, and 
I shall run with them, and it, death, is here 
above me and around . . . Another instant and 
I shall never again see the sun, this water, that 
gorgel ..." 

At that instant the sun began to hide behind 
the clouds, and other stretchers came into view 
before Rost6v. And the fear of death and of 
the stretchers, and love of the sun and of life, 
all merged into one feeling of sickening agita- 
tion. 

"O Lord God! Thou who art in that heaven, 
save, forgive, and protect me!" Rost6v whis- 
pered. 

The hussars ran back to the men who held 
their horses; their voices sounded louder and 
calmer, the stretchers disappeared from sight. 

"Well, fwiend? So you've smelt powdah!" 
shouted Vdska Denfsov just above his ear. 

"It's all over; but I am a cowardyes, a cow- 
ard!" thought Rost6v, and sighing deeply he 
took Rook, his horse, which stood resting one 
foot, from the orderly and began to mount. 

"Was that grapeshot?" he asked Denisov. 

"Yes and no mistake!" cried Denisov. "You 
worked likewegular bwicks and it's nasty work! 
An attack's pleasant work! Hacking away at 
the dogs! But this sort of thing is the very devil, 
with them shooting at you like a target." 

And Denfsov rode up to a group that had 
stopped near Rost6v, composed of the colonel, 
Nesvftski, Zherk6v, and the officer from the 
suite. 

"Well, it seems that no one has noticed," 
thought Rost6v. And this was true. No one had 
taken any notice, for everyone knew the sensa- 
tion which the cadet under fire for the first 
time had experienced. 

"Here's something for you to report," said 
Zherk6v. "See if I don't get promoted to a sub- 
lieutenancy." 

"Inform the prince that I the bridge fired!" 
said the colonel triumphantly and gaily. 

"And if he asks about the losses?" 

"A trifle/' said the colonel in his bass voice: 
"two hussars wounded, and one knocked out," 
he added, unable to restrain a happy smile, 
and pronouncing the phrase "knocked out" 
with ringing distinctness. 



CHAPTER IX 

PURSUED by the French army of a hundred 
thousand men under the command of Bona- 
parte, encountering a population that was un- 
friendly to it, losing confidence in its allies, suf- 
fering from shortness of supplies, and compell- 
ed to act under conditions of war unlike any- 
thing that had been foreseen, the Russian army 
of thirty-five thousand men commanded by Ku- 
tuzov was hurriedly retreating along the Dan- 
ube, stopping where overtaken by the enemy 
and fighting rearguard actions only as far as 
necessary to enable it to retreat without losing 
its heavy equipment. There had been actions 
at Lambach, Amstetten, and Melk; but despite 
the courage and endurance acknowledged 
even by the enemy with which the Russians 
fought, the only consequence of these actions 
was a yet more rapid retreat. Austrian troops 
that had escaped capture at Ulm and had joined 
Kutuzov at Braunau now separated from the 
Russian army, and Kutuzov was left with only 
his own weak and exhausted forces. The de- 
fense of Vienna was no longer to be thought 
of. Instead of an offensive, the plan of which, 
carefully prepared in accord with the modern 
science of strategics, had been handed to Ku- 
tuzov when he was in Vienna by the Austrian 
Hofkriegsrath, the sole and almost unattain- 
able aim remaining for him was to effect a 
junction with the forces that were advancing 
from Russia, without losing his army as Mack 
had done at Ulm. 

On the twenty-eighth of October Kutuzov 
with his army crossed to the left bank of the 
Danube and took up a position for the first 
time with the river between himself and the 
main body of the French. On the thirtieth he 
attacked Mortier's division, which was on the 
left bank, and broke it up. In this action for 
the first time trophies were taken: banners, 
cannon, and two enemy generals. For the first 
time, after a fortnight's retreat, the Russian 
troops had halted and after a fight had not on- 
ly held the field but had repulsed the French. 
Though the troops were ill-clad, exhausted, 
and had lost a third of their number in killed, 
wounded, sick, and stragglers; though a num- 
ber of sick and wounded had been abandoned 
on the other side of the Danube with a letter 
in which Kutuzov entrusted them to the hu- 
manity of the enemy; and though the big hos- 
pitals and the houses in Krems converted into 
military hospitals could no longer accommo- 
date all the sick and wounded, yet the stand 
made at Krems and the victory over Mortier 



82 



WAR AND PEACE 



raised the spirits of the army considerably. 
Throughout the whole army and at headquar- 
ters most joyful though erroneous rumors were 
rife of the imaginary approach of columns from 
Russia, of some victory gained by the Austri- 
ans, and of the retreat of the frightened Bona- 
parte. 

Prince Andrew during the battle had been 
in attendance on the Austrian General Schmidt, 
who was killed in the action. His horse had 
been wounded under him and his own arm 
slightly grazed by a bullet. As a mark of the 
commander in chief's special favor he was sent 
with the news of this victory to the Austrian 
court, now no longer at Vienna (which was 
threatened by the French) but at Brunn. De- 
spite his apparently delicate build Prince An- 
drew could endure physical fatigue far better 
than many very muscular men, and on the 
night of the battle, having arrived at Krems ex- 
cited but not weary, with dispatches from Dokh- 
turov to Kutiizov, he was sent immediately 
with a special dispatch to Brunn. To be so sent 
meant not only a reward but an important 
step toward promotion. 

The night was dark but starry, the road 
showed black in the snow that had fallen the 
previous day the day of the battle. Reviewing 
his impressions of the recent battle, picturing 
pleasantly to himself the impression his news 
of a victory would create, or recalling the send- 
off given him by the commander in chief and 
his fellow officers, Prince Andrew was gallop- 
ing along in a post chaise enjoying the feel- 
ings of a man who has at length begun to at- 
tain a long-desired happiness. As soon as he 
closed his eyes his ears seemed filled with the 
rattle of the wheels and the sensation of vic- 
tory. Then he began to imagine that the Rus- 
sians were running away and that he himself 
was killed, but he quickly roused himself with 
a feeling of joy, as if learning afresh that this 
was not so but that on the contrary the French 
had run away. He again recalled all the details 
of the victory and his own calm courage dur- 
ing the battle, and feeling reassured he dozed 
off. . . . The dark starry night was followed by 
a bright cheerful morning. The snow was thaw- 
ing in the sunshine, the horses galloped quick- 
ly, and on bqth sides of the road were forests 
of different kinds, fields, and villages. 

At one of the post stations he overtook a 
convoy of Russian wounded. The Russian of- 
ficer in charge of the transport lolled back in 
the front cart, shouting and scolding a soldier 
with coarse abuse. In each of the long German 



carts six or more pale, dirty, bandaged men 
were being jolted over the stony road. Some of 
them were talking (he heard Russian words), 
others were eating bread; the more severely 
wounded looked silently, with the languid in- 
terest of sick children, at the envoy hurrying 
past them. 

Prince Andrew told his driver to stop, and 
asked a soldier in what action they had been 
wounded. "Day before yesterday, on the Dan- 
ube," answered the soldier. Prince Andrew took 
out his purse and gave the soldier three gold 
pieces. 

"That's for them all," he said to the officer 
who came up. 

"Get well soon, lads!" he continued, turn- 
ing to the soldiers. "There's plenty to do still." 

"What news, sir?" asked the officer, evidently 
anxious to start a conversation. 

"Good newsl ... Go on!" he shouted to the 
driver, and they galloped on. 

It was already quite dark when Prince An- 
drew rattled over the paved streets of Briinn 
and found himself surrounded by high build- 
ings, the lights of shops, houses, and street 
lamps, fine carriages, and all that atmosphere 
of a large and active town which is always so 
attractive to a soldier after camp life. Despite 
his rapid journey and sleepless night, Prince 
Andrew when he drove up to the palace felt 
even more vigorous and alert than he had done 
the day before. Only his eyes gleamed feverish- 
ly and his thoughts followed one another with 
extraordinary clearness and rapidity. He again 
vividly recalled the details of the battle, no 
longer dim, but definite and in the concise form 
in which he imagined himself stating them to 
the Emperor Francis. He vividly imagined the 
casual questions that might be put to him and 
the answers he would give. He expected to be 
at once presented to the Emperor. At the chief 
entrance to the palace, however, an official came 
running out to meet him, and learning that he 
was a special messenger led him to another en- 
trance. 

"To the right from the corridor, Euer Hoch- 
geboren! There you*will find the adjutant on 
duty," said the official. "He will conduct you to 
the Minister of War." 

The adjutant on duty, meeting Prince An- 
drew, asked him to wait, and went in to the 
Minister of War. Five minutes later he returned 
and bowing with particular courtesy ushered 
Prince Andrew before him along a corridor to 
the cabinet where the Minister of War was at 
work. The adjutant by his elaborate courtesy 



BOOK 

appeared to wish to ward off any attempt at 
familiarity on the part o! the Russian messen- 
ger. 

Prince Andrew's joyous feeling was consid- 
erably weakened as he approached the door of 
the minister's room. He felt offended, and with- 
out his noticing it the feeling of offense im- 
mediately turned into one of disdain which 
was quite uncalled for. His fertile mind in- 
stantly suggested to him a point of view which 
gave him a right to despise the adjutant and 
the minister. "Away from the smell of powder, 
they probably think it easy to gain victories!" 
he thought. His eyes narrowed disdainfully, he 
entered the room of the Minister of War with 
peculiarly deliberate steps. This feeling of dis- 
dain was heightened when he saw the minister 
seated at a large table reading some papers and 
making pencil notes on them, and for the first 
two or three minutes taking no notice of his 
arrival. A wax candle stood at each side of the 
minister's bent bald head with its gray temples. 
He went on reading to the end, without rais- 
ing his eyes at the opening of the door and the 
sound of footsteps. 

"Take this and deliver it," said he to his ad- 
jutant, handing him the papers and still tak- 
ing no notice of the special messenger. 

Prince Andrew felt that either the actions of 
Kutuzov's army interested the Minister of War 
less than any of the other matters he was con- 
cerned with, or he wanted to give the Russian 
special messenger that impression. "But that is 
a matter of perfect indifference to me," he 
thought. The minister drew the remaining 
papers together, arranged them evenly, and 
then raised his head. He had an intellectual 
and distinctive head, but the instant he turned 
to Prince Andrew the firm, intelligent expres- 
sion on his face changed in a way evidently de- 
liberate and habitual to him. His face took on 
the stupid artificial smile (which does not even 
attempt to hide its artificiality) of a man who is 
continually receiving many petitioners one aft- 
er another. 

"From General Field Marshal Kutiizov?" he 
asked. "I hope it is good ftews? There has been 
an encounter with Mortier? A victory? It was 
high timel" 

He took the dispatch which was addressed to 
him and began to read it with a mournful ex- 
pression. 

"Oh, my God! My God! Schmidt!" he ex- 
claimed in German. "What a calamity! What 
a calamity!" 

Having glanced through the dispatch he laid 



TWO 83 

it on the table and looked at Prince Andrew, 
evidently considering something. 

"Ah, what a calamity! You say the affair was 
decisive? But Mortier is not captured." Again 
he pondered. "I am very glad you have brought 
good news, though Schmidt's death is a heavy 
price to pay for the victory. His Majesty will 
no doubt wish to see you, but not today. I thank 
you! You must have a rest. Be at the levee to- 
morrow after the parade. However, I will let 
you know." 

The stupid smile, which had left his face 
while he was speaking, reappeared. 

"Au revoir! Thank you very much. His Maj- 
esty will probably desire to see you," he added, 
bowing his head. 

When Prince Andrew left the palace-he felt 
that all the interest and happiness the victory 
had afforded him had been now left in the in- 
different hands of the Minister of War and the 
polite adjutant. The whole tenor of his thoughts 
instantaneously changed; the battle seemed the 
memory of a remote event long past. 

CHAPTER X 

PRINCE ANDREW stayed at Briinn with Bilibin, 
a Russian acquaintance of his in the diplomat- 
ic service. 

"Ah, my dear prince! I could not haveamore 
welcome visitor," said Bilibin as he came out 
to meet Prince Andrew. "Franz, put the prince's 
things in my bedroom," said he to the servant 
who was ushering Bolk6nski in. "So you're a 
messenger of victory, eh? Splendid! And I am 
sitting here ill, as you see." 

After washing and dressing, Prince Andrew 
came into the diplomat's luxurious study and 
sat down to the dinner prepared for him. Bili- 
bin settled down comfortably beside the fire. 

After his journey and the campaign during 
which he had been deprived of all the comforts 
of cleanliness and all the refinements of life, 
Prince Andrew felt a pleasant sense of repose 
among luxurious surroundings such as he had 
been accustomed to from childhood. Besides 
it was pleasant, after his reception by the Aus- 
trians, to speak if not in Russian (for they 
were speaking French) at least with a Russian 
who would, he supposed, share the general Rus- 
sian antipathy to the Austrians which was then 
particularly strong. 

Bilibin was a man of thirty-five, a bachelor, 
and of the same circle as Prince Andrew. They 
had known each other previously in Peters- 
burg, but had become more intimate when 
Prince Andrew was in Vienna with Kutuzov. 



84 

Just as Prince Andrew was a young man who 
gave promise of rising high in the military pro- 
fession, so to an even greater extent Bilibin 
gave promise of rising in his diplomatic career. 
He was still a young man but no longer a young 
diplomat, as he had entered the service at the 
age of sixteen, had been in Paris and Copen- 
hagen, and now held a rather important post 
in Vienna. Both the foreign minister and our 
ambassador in Vienna knew him and valued 
him. He was not one of those many diplomats 
who are esteemed because they have certain 
negative qualities, avoid doing certain things, 
and speafc|*French. He was one of those, who, 
liking work, knew how to do it, and despite his 
indolence would sometimes spend a whole 
qight at his writing table. He worked equally 
well whatever the import of his work. It was 
not the question "What for?" but the question 
"How?" that interested him. What the diplo- 
matic matter might be he did not care, but it 
gave him great pleasure to prepare a circular, 
memorandum, or report, skillfully, pointedly, 
and elegantly. Bilfbin's services were valued 
not only for what he wrote, but also for his 
skill in dealing and conversing with those in 
the highest spheres. 

Bilfbin liked conversation as he liked work, 
only when it could be made elegantly witty. In 
society he always awaited an opportunity to 
say something striking and took part in a con- 
versation only when that was possible. His con- 
versation was always sprinkled with wittily orig- 
inal, finished phrases of general interest. These 
sayings were prepared in the inner laboratory 
of his mind in a portable form as if intention- 
ally, so that insignificant society people might 
carry them from drawing room to drawing 
room. And, in fact, Bilfbin's witticisms were 
hawked about in the Viennese drawing rooms 
and often had an influence on matters consid- 
ered important. 

His thin, worn, sallow face was covered with 
deep wrinkles, which always looked as clean and 
well washed as the tips of one's fingers after a 
Russian bath. The movement of these wrinkles 
formed the principal play of expression on his 
face. Now his forehead would pucker into deep 
folds and his eyebrows were lifted, then his eye- 
brows would descend and deep wrinkles would 
crease his cheeks. His small, deep-set eyes al- 
ways twinkled and looked out straight. 

"Well, now tell me about your 'exploits," 
said he. 

Bolk6nski, very modestly without once men- 
tioning himself, described the engagement and 



WAR AND PEACE 

his reception by the Minister of War. 

"They received me and my news as one re- 
ceives a dog in a game of skittles," said he in 
conclusion. 

Bilibin smiled and the wrinkles on his face 
disappeared. 

"Cependant, mon cher" he remarked, exam- 
ining his nails from a distance and puckering 
the skin above his left eye, "malgre 1 la haute es- 
thne que je professe pour the Orthodox Rus- 
sian army, j'avoue que votre victoire n'est pas 
des plus victorieuses." a 

He went on talking in this way in French, 
uttering only those words in Russian on which 
he wished to put a contemptuous emphasis. 

"Come now! You with all your forces fall on 
the unfortunate Mortier and his one division, 
and even then Mortier slips through your fin- 
gers 1 Where's the victory?" 

"But seriously," said Prince Andrew, "we 
can at any rate say without boasting that it was 
a little better than at Ulm . . ." 

"Why didn't you capture one, just one, mar- 
shal for us?" 

"Because not everything happens as one ex- 
pects or with the smoothness of a parade. We 
had expected, as I told you, to get at their rear 
by seven in the morning but had not reached 
it by five in the afternoon." 

"And why didn't you do it at seven in the 
morning? You ought to have been there at sev- 
en in the morning," returned Bilfbin with a 
smile. "You ought to have been there at seven 
in the morning." 

"Why did you not succeed in impressing on 
Bonaparte by diplomatic methods that he had 
better leave Genoa alone?" retorted Prince 
Andrew in the same tone. 

"I know, "interrupted Bilfbin, "you're think- 
ing it's very easy to take marshals, sitting on a 
sofa by the fire! That is true, but still why 
didn't you capture him? So don't be surprised 
if not only the Minister of War but also his 
Most August Majesty the Emperor and King 
Francis is not much delighted by your victory. 
Even I, a poor secretary of the Russian Em- 
bassy, do not feel any need in token of my 
joy to give my Franz a thaler, or let him go 
with his Liebchen to the Prater. . . . True, 
we have no Prater here . . ." 

He looked straight at Prince Andrew and 
suddenly unwrinkled his forehead. 

"It is now my turn to ask you 'why?' mon 

1 "But, my dear fellow, with all my respect for 
the Orthodox Russian army, I must say that your 
victory was not particularly victorious." 



BOOK 

cher" said Bolk6nski. "I confess I do not un- 
derstand: perhaps there are diplomatic subtle- 
ties here beyond my feeble intelligence, but I 
can't make it out. Mack loses a whole army, 
the Archduke Ferdinand and the Archduke 
Karl give no signs of life and make blunder after 
blunder. Kutuzov alone at last gains a real vic- 
tory, destroying the spell of the invincibility of 
the French, and the Minister of War does not 
even care to hear the details." 

"That's just it, my dear fellow. You see it's 
hurrah for the Tsar, for Russia, for the Ortho- 
dox Greek faith! All that is beautiful, but what 
do we, I mean the Austrian court, care for your 
victories? Bring us nice news of a victory by the 
Archduke Karl or Ferdinand (one archduke's 
as good as another, as you know) and even if it 
is only over a fire brigade of Bonaparte's, that 
will be another story and we'll fire off some 
cannon! But this sort of thing seems done on 
purpose to vex us. The Archduke Karl does 
nothing, the Archduke Ferdinand disgraces 
himself. You abandon Vienna, give up its de- 
fenseas much as to say: 'Heaven is with us, 
but heaven help you and your capital!' The 
one general whom we all loved, Schmidt, you 
expose to a bullet, and then you congratulate 
us on the victory! Admit that more irritating 
news than yours could not have been conceived. 
It's as if it had been done on purpose, on pur- 
pose. Besides, suppose you did gain a brilliant 
victory, if even the Archduke Karl gained a 
victory, what effect would that have on the 
general course of events? It's too late now when 
Vienna is occupied by the French army!" 

"What? Occupied? Vienna occupied?" 

"Not only occupied, but Bonaparte is at 
Schonbrunn, and the count, our dear Count 
Vrbna, goes to him for orders." 

After the fatigues and impressions of the 
journey, his reception, and especially after hav- 
ing dined, Bolk6nski felt that he could not take 
in the full significance of the words he heard. 

"Count Lichtenfels was here this morning," 
Bilibin continued, "and showed me a letter in 
which the parade of the French in Vienna was 
fully described: Prince Murat et tout le trem- 
blement . . . You see that your victory is not a 
matter for great rejoicing and that you can't 
be received as a savior." 

"Really I don't care about that, I don't care 
at all," said Prince Andrew, beginning to un- 
derstand that his news of the battle before 
Krems was really of small importance in view 
of such events as the fall of Austria's capital. 
"How is it Vienna was taken? What of the 



TWO 85 

bridge and its celebrated bridgehead and Prince 
Auersperg? We heard reports that Prince Au- 
ersperg was defending Vienna?" he said. 

"Prince Auersperg is on this, on our side of 
the river, and is defending us doing it very 
badly, I think, but still he is defending us. But 
Vienna is on the other side. No, the bridge has 
not yet been taken and I hope it will not be, 
for it is mined and orders have been given to 
blow it up. Otherwise we should long ago have 
been in the mountains of Bohemia, and you 
and your army would have spent a bad quarter 
of an hour between two fires." 

"But still this does not mean that the cam- 
paign is over," said Prince Andrew. 

"Well, I think it is. The bigwigs here think 
so too, but they daren't say so. It will be as I 
said at the beginning of the campaign, it won't 
be your skirmishing at Durrenstein, or gun- 
powder at all, that will decide the matter, but 
those who devised it," said Bilfbin quoting one 
of his own mots, releasing the wrinkles on his 
forehead, and pausing. "The only question is 
what will come of the meeting between the Em- 
peror Alexander and the King of Prussia in 
Berlin? If Prussia joins the Allies, Austria's 
hand will be forced and there will be war. If 
not it is merely a question of settling where the 
preliminaries of the new Campo Formio are to 
be drawn up." 

"What an extraordinary genius!" Prince An- 
drew suddenly exclaimed, clenching his small 
hand and striking the table with it, "and what 
luck the man has!" 

"Buonaparte?" said Bilfbin inquiringly, 
puckering up his forehead to indicate that he 
was about to say something witty. "Buona- 
parte?" he repeated, accentuating the u: "I 
think, however, now that he lays down laws for 
Austria at Schonbrunn, il faut lui faire grace 
de I'u! * I shall certainly adopt an innovation 
and call him simply Bonapartel" 

"But joking apart," said Prince Andrew, "do 
you really think the campaign is over?" 

"This is what I think. Austria has been made 
a fool of, and she is not used to it. She will retal- 
iate. And she has been fooled in the first place 
because her provinces have been pillaged 
they say the Holy Russian army loots terribly 
her army is destroyed, her capital taken, and 
all this for the beaux yeux * of His Sardinian 
Majesty. And therefore this is between our- 
selves I instinctively feel that we are being de- 
ceived, my instinct tells me of negotiations with 

1 "We must let him off the u/" 
8 Fine eyes. 



86 



WAR AND PEACE 



France and projects for peace, a secret peace 
concluded separately." 

"Impossible!" cried Prince Andrew. "That 
would be too base." 

"If we live we shall see," replied Bilibin, his 
face again becoming smooth as a sign that the 
conversation was at an end. 

When Prince Andrew reached the room pre- 
pared for him and lay down in a clean shirt on 
the feather bed with its warmed and fragrant 
pillows, he felt that the battle of which he had 
brought tidings was far, far away from him. 
The alliance with Prussia, Austria's treachery, 
Bonaparte's new triumph, tomorrow's levee 
and parade, and the audience with the Emper- 
or Francis occupied his thoughts. 

He closed his eyes, and immediately a sound 
of cannonading, of musketry and the rattling 
of carriage wheels seemed to fill his ears, and 
now again drawn out in a thin line the mus- 
keteers were descending the hill, the French 
were firing, and he felt his heart palpitating as 
he rode forward beside Schmidt with the bul- 
lets merrily whistling all around, and he ex- 
perienced tenfold the joy of living, as he had 
not done since childhood. 

He woke up ... 

"Yes, that all happened!" he said, and, smil- 
ing happily to himself like a child, he fell into 
a deep, youthful slumber. 

CHAPTER XI 

NEXT DAY he woke late. Recalling his recent 
impressions, the first thought that came into 
his mind was that today he had to be presented 
to the Emperor Francis; he remembered the 
Minister of War, the polite Austrian adjutant, 
Bilibin, and last night's conversation. Having 
dressed for his attendance at court in full pa- 
rade uniform, which he had not worn for a 
long time, he went into Bilibin's study fresh, 
animated, and handsome, with his hand band- 
aged. In the study were four gentlemen of the 
diplomatic corps. With Prince Hippolyte Ku- 
ragin, who was a secretary to the embassy, Bol- 
k6nski was already acquainted. Bilibin intro- 
duced him to the others. 

The gentlemen assembled at Bilfbin's were 
young, wealthy, gay society men, who here, as 
in Vienna, formed a special set which Bilibin, 
their leader, called les ndtres* This set, consist- 
ing almost exclusively of diplomats, evidently 
had its own interests which had nothing to do 
with war or politics but related to high society, 
to certain women, and to the official side of the 

1 Ours. 



service. These gentlemen received Prince An- 
drew as one of themselves, an honor they did 
not extend to many. From politeness and to 
start conversation, they asked him a few ques- 
tions about the army and the battle, and then 
the talk went off into merry jests and gossip. 

"But the best of it was," said one, telling of 
the misfortune of a fellow diplomat, "that the 
Chancellor told him flatly that his appoint- 
ment to London was a promotion and that he 
was so to regard it. Can you fancy the figure he 
cut? . . ." 

"But the worst of it, gentlemen I am giving 
Kunigin away to you is that that man suffers, 
and this Don Juan, wicked fellow, is taking ad- 
vantage of it!" 

Prince Hippolyte was lolling in a lounge 
chair with his legs over its arm. He began to 
laugh. 

"Tell me about that!" he said. 

"Oh, you Don Juan! You serpent!" cried sev- 
eral voices. 

"You, Bolk6nski, don't know," said Bilibin 
turning to Prince Andrew, "that all the atroci- 
ties of the French army (I nearly said of the 
Russian army) are nothing compared to what 
this man has been doing among the women!" 

"La femme est la compagne de I'homme" 2 
announced Prince Hippolyte, and began look- 
ing through a lorgnette at his elevated legs. 

Bilibin and the rest of "ours" burst out laugh- 
ing in Hippolyte's face, and Prince Andrew 
saw that Hippolyte, of whomhe had to admit 
he had almost been jealous on his wife's ac- 
count, was the butt of this set. 

"Oh, I must give you a treat," Bilfbin whis- 
pered to Bolk6nski. "Kuragin is exquisite when 
he discusses politics you should see his grav- 
ity!" 

He sat down beside Hippolyte and wrink- 
ling his forehead began talking to him about 
politics. Prince Andrew and the others gath- 
ered round these two. 

"The Berlin cabinet cannot express a feel- 
ing of alliance," began Hippolyte gazing round 
with importance at the others, "without ex- 
pressing ... as in its last note . . . you under- 
stand . . . Besides, unless His Majesty the Em- 
peror derogates from the principle of our 
alliance . . . 

"Wait, I have not finished . . ." he said to 
Prince Andrew, seizing him by the arm, "I be- 
lieve that intervention will be stronger than 
nonintervention. And . . ."he paused. "Final- 
ly one cannot impute the nonreceipt of ourdis- 

2 "Woman is man's companion." 



BOOK TWO 



87 



patch of November 18. That is how it will 
end." And he released Bolk6nski's arm to in- 
dicate that he had now quite finished. 

"Demosthenes, I know thee by the pebble 
thou secretest in thy golden mouth 1" said Bilf- 
bin, and the mop of hair on his head moved 
with satisfaction. 

Everybody laughed, and Hippolyte louder 
than anyone. He was evidently distressed, and 
breathed painfully, but could not restrain the 
wild laughter that convulsed his usually impas- 
sive features. 

"Well now, gentlemen," said Bilibin, "Bol- 
k6nski is my guest in this house and in Briinn 
itself. I want to entertain him as far as I can, 
with all the pleasures of life here. If we were in 
Vienna it would be easy, but here, in this 
wretched Moravian hole, it is more difficult, 
and I beg you all to help me. Briinn's attrac- 
tions must be shown him. You can undertake 
the theater, I society, and you, Hippolyte, of 
course the women." 

"We must let him see Amelie, she's exqui- 
sitel" said one of "ours," kissing his finger tips. 

"In general we must turn this bloodthirsty 
soldier to more humane interests," said Bilibin. 

"I shall scarcely be able to avail myself of 
your hospitality, gentlemen, it is already time 
for me to go," replied Prince Andrew looking 
at his watch. 

"Where to?" 

"To the Emperor." 

"Oh! Ohl Oh!" 

"Well, au revoir, Bolk6nskil Au revoir, 
Prince! Come back early to dinner," cried sev- 
eral voices. "We'll take you in hand." 

"When speaking to the Emperor, try as far 
as you can to praise the way that provisions are 
supplied and the routes indicated," said Bilibin, 
accompanying him to the hall. 

"I should like to speak well of them, but as 
far as I know the facts, I can't," replied Bolk6n- 
ski, smiling. 

"Well, talk as much as you can, anyway. He 
has a passion for giving audiences, but he does 
not like talking himself and can't do it, as you 
will see/' 

CHAPTER XII 

AT THE LEVEE Prince Andrew stood among the 
Austrian officers as he had been told to, and the 
Emperor Francis merely looked fixedly into his 
face and just nodded to him with his long head. 
But after it was over, the adjutant he had seen 
the previous day ceremoniously informed Bol- 
k6nski that the Emperor desired to give him 



an audience. The Emperor Francis received 
him standing in the middle of the room. Be- 
fore the conversation began Prince Andrew 
was struck by the fact that the Emperor seemed 
confused and blushed as if not knowing what 
to say. 

"Tell me, when did the battle begin?" he 
asked hurriedly. 

Prince Andrew replied. Then followed oth- 
er questions just as simple: "Was Kutuzov well? 
When had he left Krems?" and so on. The Em- 
peror spoke as if his sole aim were to put a giv- 
en number of questions the answers to these 
questions, as was only too evident, did not in- 
terest him. 

"At what o'clock did the battle begin?" asked 
the Emperor. 

"I cannot inform Your Majesty at what 
o'clock the battle began at the front, but at 
Durrenstein, where I was, our attack began aft- 
er five in the afternoon," replied Bolk6nski 
growing more animated and expecting that he 
would have a chance to give a reliable account, 
which he had ready in his mind, of all he knew 
and had seen. But the Emperor smiled and in- 
terrupted him. 

"How many miles?" 

"From where to where, Your Majesty?" 

"From Durrenstein to Krems." 

"Three and a half miles, Your Majesty." 

"The French have abandoned the left bank?" 

"According to the scouts the last of them 
crossed on rafts during the night." 

"Is there sufficient forage in Krems?" 

"Forage has not been supplied to the ex- 
tent . . ." 

The Emperor interrupted him. 

"At what o'clock was General Schmidt 
killed?" 

"At seven o'clock, I believe." 

"At seven o'clock? It's very sad, very sad!" 

The Emperor thanked Prince Andrew and 
bowed. Prince Andrew withdrew and was im- 
mediately surrounded by courtiers on all sides. 
Everywhere he saw friendly looks and heard 
friendly words. Yesterday's adjutant re- 
proached him for not having stayed at the pal- 
ace, and offered him his own house. The Min- 
ister of War came up and congratulated him 
on the Maria Theresa Orderof the third grade, 
which the Emperor was conferring on him. The 
Empress' chamberlain invited him to see Her 
Majesty. The archduchess also wished to see 
him. He did not know whom to answer, and for 
a few seconds collected his thoughts. Then the 
Russian ambassador took him by the shoulder, 



88 



WAR AND PEACE 



led him to the window, and began to talk to 
him. 

Contrary to Bilibin's forecast the news he 
had brought was joyfully received. A thanks- 
giving service was arranged, Kutiizov was a- 
warded the Grand Cross of Maria Theresa, and 
the whole army received rewards. Bolk6nski 
was invited everywhere, and had to spend the 
whole morning calling on the principal Austri- 
an dignitaries. Between four and five in the aft- 
ernoon, having made all his calls, he was re- 
turning to Bilibin's house thinking out a let- 
ter to his father about the battle and his visit 
to Brunn. At the door he found a vehicle half 
full of luggage. Franz, Bilibin's man, was drag- 
ging a portmanteau with some difficulty out of 
the front door. 

Before returning to Bilibin's Prince Andrew 
had gone to a bookshop to provide himself with 
some books for the campaign, and had spent 
some time in the shop. 

"What is it?" he asked. 

"Oh, your excellency 1" said Franz, with diffi- 
culty rolling the portmanteau into the vehicle, 
"we are to move on still farther. The scoundrel 
is again at our heels!" 

"Eh? What?" asked Prince Andrew. 

Bilibin came out to meet him. His usually 
calm face showed excitement. 

"There now! Confess that this is delightful," 
said he. "This affair of the Thabor Bridge, at 
Vienna. . . . They have crossed without striking 
a blow!" 

Prince Andrew could not understand. 

"But where do you come from not to know 
what every coachman in the town knows?" 

"I come from the archduchess'. I heard noth- 
ing there." 

"And you didn't see that everybody is pack- 
ing up?" 

"I did not . . . What is it all about?" inquired 
Prince Andrew impatiently. 

"What's it all about? Why, the French have 
crossed the bridge that Auersperg was defend- 
ing, and the bridge was not blown up: so Murat 
is now rushing along the road to Brunn and 
will be here in a day or two." 

"What? Here? But why did they not blow up 
the bridge, if it was mined?" 

"That is what I ask you. No one, not even 
Bonaparte, knows why." 

Bolk6nski shrugged his shoulders. 

"But if the bridge is crossed it means that the 
army too is lost? It will be cut off," said he. 

"That's just it," answered Bilibin. "Listen! 
The French entered Vienna as I told you. Very 



well. Next day, which was yesterday, those gen- 
tlemen, messieurs les marechaux* Murat, Lan- 
nes, and Belliard, mount and ride to the bridge. 
(Observe that all three are Gascons.) 'Gentle- 
men,' says one of them, 'you know the Thabor 
Bridge is mined and doubly mined and that 
there are menacing fortifications at its head and 
an army of fifteen thousand men has been or- 
dered to blow up the bridge and not let us 
cross? But it will please our sovereign the Em- 
peror Napoleon if we take this bridge, so let 
us three go and take it!' 'Yes, let's!' say the oth- 
ers. And off they go and take the bridge, cross 
it, and now with their whole army are on this 
side of the Danube, marching on us, you, and 
your lines of communication." 

"Stop jesting," said Prince Andrew sadly and 
seriously. This news grieved him and yet he was 
pleased. 

As soon as he learned that the Russian army 
was in such a hopeless situation it occurred to 
him that it was he who was destined to lead it 
out of this position; that here was the Toulon 
that would lift him from the ranks of obscure 
officers and offer him the first step to fame! Lis- 
tening to Bilfbin he was already imagining how 
on reaching the army he would give an opin- 
ion at the war council which would be the only 
one that could save the army, and how he alone 
would be entrusted with the executing of the 
plan. 

"Stop this jesting," he said. 

"I am not jesting," Bilibin went on. "Noth- 
ing is truer or sadder. These gentlemen ride 
onto the bridge alone and wave white hand- 
kerchiefs; they assure the officer on duty that 
they, the marshals, are on their way to negoti- 
ate with Prince Auersperg. He lets them enter 
the tSte-de-pont* They spin him a thousand 
gasconades, saying that the war is over, that the 
Emperor Francis is arranging a meeting with 
Bonaparte, that they desire to see Prince Auers- 
perg, and so on. The officer sends for Auers- 
perg; these gentlemen embrace the officers, 
crack jokes, sit on the cannon, and meanwhile 
a French battalion gets to the bridge un- 
observed, flings the bags of incendiary material 
into the water, and approaches the tSte-de- 
pont. At length appears the lieutenant gener- 
al, our dear Prince Auersperg von Mautern 
himself. 'Dearest foe! Flower of the Austrian 
army, hero of the Turkish wars! Hostilities are 
ended, we can shake one another's hand. . . . 
The Emperor Napoleon burns with impatience 

1 The marshals. 
9 Bridgehead. 



BOOK TWO 



to make Prince Auersperg's acquaintance/ In a 
word, those gentlemen, Gascons indeed, so be- 
wildered him with fine words, and he is so flat- 
tered by his rapidly established intimacy with 
the French marshals, and so dazzled by the sight 
of Murat's mantle and ostrich plumes, qu'il n'y 
voit quedu feu,et oubliecelui qu'il devait faire 
faire sur Vennemi!" * In spite of the animation 
of his speech, Bilibin did not forget to pause 
after this mot to give time for its due apprecia- 
tion. "The French battalion rushes to the 
bridgehead, spikes the guns, and the bridge is 
taken 1 But what is best of all," he went on, his 
excitement subsiding under the delightful in- 
terest of his own story, "is that the sergeant in 
charge of the cannon which was to give the sig- 
nal to fire the mines and blow up the bridge, this 
sergeant, seeing that the French troops were 
running onto the bridge, was about to fire, but 
Lannes stayed his hand. The sergeant, who was 
evidently wiser than his general, goes up to 
Auersperg and says: 'Prince, you are being de- 
ceived, here are the French!' Murat, seeing that 
all is lost if the sergeant is allowed to speak, 
turns to Auersperg with feigned astonishment 
(he is a true Gascon) and says: 'I don't recog- 
nize the world-famous Austrian discipline, if 
you allow a subordinate to address you like 
that I' It was a stroke of genius. Prince Auers- 
perg feels his dignity at stake and orders the 
sergeant to be arrested. Come, you must own 
that this affair of the Thabor Bridge is delight- 
ful! It is not exactly stupidity, nor rascality " 

"It may be treachery," said Prince Andrew, 
vividly imagining the gray overcoats, wounds, 
the smoke of gunpowder, the sounds of firing, 
and the glory that awaited him. 

"Not that either. That puts the court in too 
bad a light," replied Bilibin. "It's not treachery 
nor rascality nor stupidity: it is just as at Ulm 
... it is .. ."he seemed to be trying to find the 
right expression. "C'est . . . c'est du Mack. Nous 
sommes mackJs [It is ... it is a bit of Mack. We 
are Macked]" he concluded, feeling that he 
had produced a good epigram, a fresh one that 
would be repeated. His hitherto puckered 
brow became smooth as a sign of pleasure, and 
with a slight smile he began to examine his 
nails. 

"Where are you off to?" he said suddenly to 
Prince Andrew who had risen and was going 
toward his room. 

"I am going away." 

"Where to?" 

1 That their fire gets into his eyes and he forgets 
that he ought to be firing at the enemy. 



"To the army." 

"But you meant to stay another two days?" 

"But now I am off at once." 

And Prince Andrew after giving directions 
about his departure went to his room. 

"Do you know, mon cher" said Bilfbin fol- 
lowing him, "1 have been thinking about you. 
Why are you going?" 

And in proof of the conclusiveness of his 
opinion all the wrinkles vanished from his face. 

Prince Andrew looked inquiringly at him 
and gave no reply. 

"Why are you going? I know you think it 
your duty to gallop back to the army now that 
it is in danger. I understand that. Mon cher, it 
is heroism!" 

"Not at all," said Prince Andrew. 

"But as you are a philosopher, be a consist- 
ent one, look at the other side of the question 
and you will see that your duty, on the con- 
trary, is to take care of yourself. Leave it to 
those who are no longer fit for anything else. 
. . . You have not been ordered to return and 
have not been dismissed from here; therefore, 
you can stay and go with us wherever our ill- 
luck takes us. They say we are going to Olmiitz, 
and Olmiitz is a very decent town. You and I 
will travel comfortably in my caliche." 

"Do stop joking, Bilibin," cried Bolk6nski. 

"I am speaking sincerely as a friend! Consid- 
er! Where and why are you going, when you 
might remain here? You are faced by one of 
two things," and the skin over his left temple 
puckered, "either you will not reach your reg- 
iment before peace is concluded, or you will 
share defeat and disgrace with Kutuzov's whole 
army." 

And Bilfbin unwrinkled his temple, feeling 
that the dilemma was insoluble. 

"I cannot argue about it," replied Prince 
Andrew coldly, but he thought: "I am going to 
save the army." 

"My dear fellow, you are a hero!" said Bili- 
bin. 

CHAPTER XIII 

THAT SAME NIGHT, having taken leave of the 
Minister of War, Bolkonski set off to rejoin the 
army, not knowing where he would find it and 
fearing to be-'captured by the French on the 
way to Krems. 

In Briinn everybody attached to the court 
was packing up, and the heavy baggage was al- 
ready being dispatched to Olmutz. Near Het- 
zelsdorf Prince Andrew struck the highroad 
along which the Russian army was moving 



WAR AND PEACE 



with great haste and in the greatest disorder. 
The road was so obstructed with carts that it 
was impossible to get by in a carriage. Prince 
Andrew took a horse and a Cossack from a Cos- 
sack commander, and hungry and weary, mak- 
ing his way past the baggage wagons, rode in 
search of the commander in chief and of hisown 
luggage. Very sinister reports of the position of 
the army reached him as he went along, and 
the appearance of the troops in their disorder- 
ly flight confirmed these rumors. 

"Cette armJe russe que I' or de I'Angleterre 
a transport^ des extrJmites de Vunivers, nous 
allons lui faire eprouver le meme sort(le sort 
de I'armee d'Ulm)."* He remembered these 
words in Bonaparte's address to his army at the 
beginning of the campaign, and they awoke in 
him astonishment at the genius of his hero, a 
feeling of wounded pride, and a hope of glory. 
"And should there be nothing left but to die?" 
he thought. "Well, if need be, I shall do it no 
worse than others." 

He looked with disdain at the endless con- 
fused mass of detachments, carts, guns, artillery, 
and again baggage wagons and vehicles of all 
kinds overtaking one another and blocking 
the muddy road, three and sometimes four 
abreast. From all sides, behind and before, as 
far as ear could reach, there were the rattle of 
wheels, the creaking of carts and gun carriages, 
the tramp of horses, the crack of whips, shouts, 
the urging of horses, and the swearing of sol- 
diers, orderlies, and officers. All along the sides 
of the road fallen horses were to be seen, some 
flayed, some not, and broken-down carts be- 
sidewhich solitary soldiers sat waiting forsome- 
thing, and again soldiers straggling from their 
companies, crowds of whom set off to the neigh- 
boring villages, or returned from them drag- 
ging sheep, fowls, hay, and bulging sacks. At 
each ascent or descent of the road the crowds 
were yet denser and the din of shouting more 
incessant. Soldiers floundering knee-deep in 
mud pushed the guns and wagons themselves. 
Whips cracked, hoofs slipped, traces broke, and 
lungs were strained with shouting. The offi- 
cers directing the march rode backward and 
forward between the carts. Their voices were 
but feebly heard amid the uproar and one saw 
by their faces that they despaired of the possi- 
bility of checking this disorder. 

"Here is our dear Orthodox Russian army," 

14i That Russian army which has been brought 
from the ends of the earth by English gold, we 
shall cause to share the same fate (the fate of the 
army at Ulm)." 



thought Bolk6nski, recalling Bilibin's words. 

Wishing to find outwhere the commanderin 
chief was, he rode up to a convoy. Directly op- 
posite to him came a strange one-horse vehicle, 
evidently rigged up by soldiers out of any 
available materials and looking like some- 
thing between a cart, a cabriolet, and a cateche. 
A soldier was driving, and a woman enveloped 
in shawls sat behind the apron under the leath- 
er hood of the vehicle. Prince Andrew rode up 
and was just putting his question to a soldier 
when his attention was diverted by the desper- 
ate shrieks of the woman in the vehicle. An of- 
ficer in charge of transport was beating the 
soldier who was driving the woman's vehicle 
for trying to get ahead of others, and the strokes 
of his whip fell on the apron of the equipage. 
The woman screamed piercingly. Seeing Prince 
Andrew she leaned out from behind the apron 
and, waving her thin arms from under the wool- 
en shawl, cried: 

"Mr. Aide-de-camp! Mr. Aide-de-camp! . . . 
For heaven's sake . . . Protect me! What will be- 
come of us? I am the wife of the doctor of the 

Seventh Chasseurs They won't let us pass, 

we are left behind and have lost our people . . ." 

"I'll flatten you into a pancake!" shouted the 
angry officer to the soldier. "Turn back with 
your slut I" 

"Mr. Aide-de-camp! Help me! . . . What does 
it all mean?" screamed the doctor's wife. 

"Kindly let this cart pass. Don't you see it's 
a woman?" said Prince Andrew ridingup to the 
officer. 

The officer glanced at him, and without re- 
plying turned again to the soldier. "I'll teach 
you to push on! , . . Back!" 

"Let them pass, I tell youl" repeated Prince 
Andrew, compressing his lips. 

"And who are you?" cried the officer, turning 
on him with tipsy rage, "who are you? Are you 
in command here? Eh? I am commander here, 
not you! Go back or I'll flatten you into a pan- 
cake," repeated he. This expression evidently 
pleased him. 

"That was a nice snub for the little aide-de- 
camp," came a voice from behind. 

Prince Andrew saw that the officer was in 
that state of senseless, tipsy rage when a man 
does not know what he is saying. He saw that 
his championship of the doctor's wife in her 
queer trap might expose him to what he dread- 
ed more than anything in the world to ridi- 
cule; but his instinct urged him on. Before the 
officer finished his sentence Prince Andrew, his 
face distorted with fury, rode up to him and 



BOOK 

raised his riding whip. 

"Kind . . . ly let them pass!" 

The officer flourished his arm and hastily 
rode away. 

"It's all the fault of these fellows on the staff 
that there's this disorder," he muttered. "Do as 
you like." 

Prince Andrew without lifting his eyes rode 
hastily away from the doctor's wife, who was 
calling him her deliverer, and recalling with a 
sense of disgust the minutest details of this hu- 
miliating scene he galloped on to the village 
where he was told that the commander in chief 
was. 

On reaching the village he dismounted and 
went to the nearest house, intending to rest if 
but for a moment, eat something, and try to 
sort out the stinging and tormenting thoughts 
that confused his mind. "This is a mob of 
scoundrels and not an army," he was thinking 
as he went up to the window of the first house, 
when a familiar voice called him by name. 

He turned round. Nesvitski's handsome face 
looked out of the little window. Nesvftski, mov- 
ing his moist lips as he chewed something, and 
flourishing his arm, called him to enter. 

"Bolk6nski! Bolk6nski! . . . Don't you hear? 
Eh? Come quick . . ." he shouted. 

Entering the house, Prince Andrew saw Nes- 
vftski and another adjutant having something 
to eat. They hastily turned round to him ask- 
ing if he had any news. On their familiar faces 
he read agitation and alarm. This was particu- 
larly noticeable on Nesvitski's usually laugh- 
ing countenance. 

"Where is the commander in chief?" asked 
Bolk6nski. 

"Here, in that house," answered the adju- 
tant. 

"Well, is it true that it's peace and capitula- 
tion?" asked Nesvftski. 

"I was going to ask you. I know nothing ex- 
cept that it was all I could do to get here." 

"And we, my dear boy! It's terrible! 1 was 
wrong to laugh at Mack, we're getting it still 
worse," said Nesvftski. "But sit down and have 
something to eat." 

"You won't be able to find either your bag- 
gage or anything else now, Prince. And God 
only knows where your man Peter is," said the 
other adjutant. 

"Where are headquarters?" 

"We are to spend the night in Znaim." 

"Well, I have got all I need into packs for 
two horses," said Nesvftski. "They've made up 
splendid packs for me fit to cross the Bohe- 



TWO 91 

mian mountains with. It's a bad lookout, old 
fellow! But what's the matter with you? You 
must be ill to shiver like that," he added, no- 
ticing that Prince Andrew winced as at an elec- 
tric shock. 

"It's nothing," replied Prince Andrew. 

He had just remembered his recent encoun- 
ter with the doctor's wife and the convoy offi- 
cer. 

"What is the commander in chief doing 
here?" he asked. 

"I can't make out at all," said Nesvitski. 

"Well, all I canmakeout is that everything is 
abominable, abominable, quite abominable!" 
said Prince Andrew, and he went off to the 
house where the commander in chief was. 

Passing by Kutiizov's carriage and the ex- 
hausted saddle horses of his suite, with their 
Cossacks who were talking loudly together, 
Prince Andrew entered the passage. Kutuzov 
himself, he was told, was in the house with 
Prince Bagrati6n and Weyrother. Weyrother 
was the Austrian general who had succeeded 
Schmidt. In the passage little Kozl6vski was 
squatting on his heels in front of a clerk. The 
clerk, with cuffs turned up, was hastily writing 
at a tub turned bottom upwards. Kozlovski's 
face looked worn he too had evidently not 
slept all night. He glanced at Prince Andrew 
and did not even nod to him. 

"Second line . . . have you written it?" he con- 
tinued dictating to the clerk. "The Kiev Gren- 
adiers, Podolian . . ." 

"One can't write so fast, your honor," said 
the clerk, glancing angrily and disrespectfully 
at Kozlovski. 

Through the door came the sounds of Kutu- 
zov's voice, excited and dissatisfied, interrupted 
by another, an unfamiliar voice. From the 
sound of these voices, the inattentive way Koz- 
16vski looked at him, the disrespectful manner 
of the exhausted clerk, the fact that the clerk 
and Kozl6vski were squatting on the floor by a 
tub so near to the commander in chief, and 
from the noisy laughter of the Cossacks holding 
the horses near the window, Prince Andrew 
felt that something important and disastrous 
was about to happen. 

He turned to Kozl6vski with urgent ques- 
tions. 

"Immediately, Prince," said Kozl6vski. "Dis- 
positions for Bagrati6n." 

"What about capitulation?" 

"Nothing of the sort. Orders are issued for a 
battle." 

Prince Andrew moved toward the door from 



WAR AND PEACE 



whence voices were heard. Just as he was going 
to open it the sounds ceased, the door opened, 
and Kutuzov with his eagle nose and puffy 
face appeared in the doorway. Prince Andrew 
stood right in front of Kutiizov but the expres- 
sion of the commander in chief's one sound eye 
showed him to be so preoccupied with thoughts 
and anxieties as to be oblivious of his presence. 
He looked straight at his adjutant's face with- 
out recognizing him. 

"Well, have you finished?" said he to Kozl6v- 
ski. 

"One moment, your excellency." 

Bagrati6n, a gaunt middle-aged man of me- 
dium height with a firm, impassive face of Ori- 
ental type, came out after the commander in 
chief. 

"I have the honor to present myself," repeat- 
ed Prince Andrew rather loudly, handing Kut- 
iizov an envelope. 

"Ah, from Vienna? Very good. Later, later 1" 

Kutiizov went out into the porch with Ba- 
grati6n. 

"Well, good-by, Prince," said he to Bagration. 
"My blessing, and may Christ be with you in 
your great endeavorl" 

His face suddenly softened and tears came in- 
to his eyes. With his left hand he drew Bagra- 
ti6n toward him, and with his right, on which 
he wore a ring, he made the sign of the cross 
over him with a gesture evidently habitual, of- 
fering his puffy cheek, but Bagrati6n kissed 
him on the neck instead. 

"Christ be with you!" Kutuzov repeated and 
went toward his carriage. "Get in with me," 
said he to Bolk6nski. 

"Your excellency, I should like to be of use 
here. Allow me to remain with Prince Bagra- 
ti6n's detachment." 

"Get in," said Kutuzov, and noticing that 
Bolk6nski still delayed, he added: "I need good 
officers myself, need them myself 1" 

They got into the carriage and drove for a 
few minutes in silence. 

"There is still much, much before us," he 
said, as if with an old man's penetration he un- 
derstood all that was passing in Bolk6nski's 
mind. "If a tenth part of his detachment re- 
turns I shall thank God," he added as if speak- 
ing to himself. 

Prince Andrew glanced at Kutiizov's face on- 
ly a foot distant from him and involuntarily 
noticed the carefully washed seams of the scar 
near his temple, where an Ismail bullet had 
pierced his skull, and the empty eye socket. 
"Yes, he has a right to speak so calmly of those 



men's death," thought Bolk6nski. 

"That is why I beg to be sent to that detach- 
ment," he said. 

Kutuzov did not reply. He seemed to have 
forgotten what he had been saying, and sat 
plunged in thought. Five minutes later, gently 
swaying on the soft springs of the carriage, he 
turned to Prince Andrew. There was not a trace 
of agitation on his face. With delicate irony he 
questioned Prince Andrew about the details 
of his interview with the Emperor, about the 
remarks he had heard at court concerning the 
Krems affair, and about some ladies they both 
knew. 

CHAPTER XIV 

ON NOVEMBER i Kutuzov had received, through 
a spy, news that the army he commanded was 
in an almost hopeless position. The spy reported 
that the French, after crossing the bridge at 
Vienna, were advancing in immense force up- 
on Kutiizov's line of communication with the 
troops that were arriving from Russia. If Ku- 
tuzov decided to remain at Krems, Napoleon's 
army of one hundred and fifty thousand men 
would cut him off completely and surround his 
exhausted army of forty thousand, and he 
would find himself in the position of Mack at 
Ulm. If Kutuzov decided to abandon the road 
connecting him with the troops arriving from 
Russia, he would have to march with no road 
into unknown parts of the Bohemian moun- 
tains, defending himself against superior forces 
of the enemy and abandoning all hope of a 
junction with Buxhowden. If Kutiizov decid- 
ed to retreat along the road from Krems to 
Olmiitz, to unite with the troops arriving 
from Russia, he risked being forestalled on 
that road by the French who had crossed 
the Vienna bridge, and encumbered by his 
baggage and transport, having to accept bat- 
tle on the march against an enemy three times 
as strong, who would hem him in from two 
sides. 

Kutiizov chose this latter course. 

The French, the spy reported, having crossed 
the Vienna bridge, were advancing by forced 
marches toward Znaim, which lay sixty-six 
miles off on the line of Kutiizov's retreat. If he 
reached Znaim before the French, there would 
be great hope of saving the army; to let the 
French forestall him at Znaim meant the ex- 
posure of his whole army to a disgrace such as 
that of Ulm, or to utter destruction. But to 
forestall the French with his whole army was 
impossible. The road for the French from Vi- 



BOOK TWO 



93 



enna to Znaim was shorter and better than the 
road for the Russians from Krems to Znaim. 

The night he received the news, Kutiizov 
sent Bagrati6n's vanguard, four thousand 
strong, to the right across the hills from the 
Krems-Znaim to the Vienna-Znaim road. Ba- 
grati6n was to make this march without rest- 
ing, and to halt facing Vienna with Znaim to 
his rear, and if he succeeded in forestalling the 
French he was to delay them as long as possible. 
Kutiizov himself with all his transport took the 
road to Znaim. 

Marching thirty miles that stormy night 
across roadless hills, with his hungry, ill-shod 
soldiers, and losing a third of his men as strag- 
glers by the way, Bagration came out on the 
Vienna-Znaim road at Hollabriinn a few hours 
ahead of the French who were approaching 
Hollabriinn from Vienna. Kutiizov with his 
transport had still to march for some days be- 
fore he could reach Znaim. Hence Bagrati6n 
with his four thousand hungry, exhausted men 
would have to detain for days the whole enemy 
army that came upon him at Hollabriinn, 
which was clearly impossible. But a freak of 
fate made the impossible possible. The success 
of the trick that had placed the Vienna bridge 
in the hands of the French without a fight led 
Murat to try to deceive Kutiizov in a similar 
way. Meeting Bagration's weak detachment on 
the Znaim road he supposed it to be Kutiizov's 
whole army. To be able to crush it absolutely 
he awaited the arrival of the rest of the troops 
who were on their way from Vienna, and with 
this object offered a three days' truce on condi- 
tion that botharmiesshould remain in position 
without moving. Murat declared that negoti- 
ations for peace were already proceeding, and 
that he therefore offered this truce to avoid un- 
necessary bloodshed. Count Nostitz, the Aus- 
trian general occupying the advanced posts, be- 
lieved Murat's emissary and retired, leaving 
Bagrati6n's division exposed. Another emis- 
sary rode to the Russian line to announce the 
peace negotiations and to offer the Russian ar- 
my the three days' truce. Bagration replied that 
he was not authorized either to accept or re- 
fuse a truce and sent his adjutant to Kutiizov to 
report the offer he had received. 

A truce was Kutiizov's sole chance of gain- 
ing time, giving Bagrati6n's exhausted troops 
some rest, and letting the transport and heavy 
convoys (whose movements were concealed 
from the French) advance if but one stage 
nearer Znaim. The offer of a truce gave the on- 
ly, and a quite unexpected, chance of saving 



the army. On receiving the news he immediate- 
ly dispatched Adjutant General Wintzinger- 
ode, who was in attendance on him, to the en- 
emy camp. Wintzingerode was not merely to 
agree to the truce but also to offer terms of ca- 
pitulation, and meanwhile Kutiizov sent his ad- 
jutants back to hasten to the utmost the move- 
ments of the baggage trains of the entire army 
along the Krems-Znaim road. Bagrati6n's ex- 
hausted and hungry detachment, which alone 
covered this movement of the transport and 
of the whole army, had to remain stationary 
in face of an enemy eight times as strong as it- 
self. 

Kutiizov's expectations that the proposals of 
capitulation (which were in no way binding) 
might give time for part of the transport to 
pass, and also that Murat's mistake would very 
soon be discovered, proved correct. As soon as 
Bonaparte (who was at Schonbrunn, sixteen 
miles from Hollabriinn) received Murat's dis- 
patch with the proposal of a truce and a capit- 
ulation, he detected a ruse and wrote the fol- 
lowing letter to Murat: 

Schonbrunn, 25th Brumaire, 1805, 
at eight o'clock in the morning 
To PRINCE MURAT, 

I cannot find words to express to you my dis- 
pleasure. You command only my advance guard, 
and have no right to arrange an armistice without 
my order. You are causing me to lose the fruits 
of a campaign. Break the armistice immediately 
and march on the enemy. Inform him that the 
general who signed that capitulation had no right 
to do so, and that no one but the Emperor of 
Russia has that right. 

If, however, the Emperor of Russia ratifies that 
convention, I will ratify it; but it is only a trick. 
March on, destroy the Russian army. . . . You are 
in a position to seize its baggage and artillery. 

The Russian Emperor's aide-de-camp is an im- 
postor. Officers are nothing when they have no 
powers; this one had none. . . . The Austrians let 
themselves be tricked at the crossing of the Vienna 
bridge, you are letting yourself be tricked by an 
aide-de-camp of the Emperor. 

NAPOLEON 

Bonaparte's adjutant rode full gallop with 
this menacing letter to Murat. Bonaparte him- 
self, not trusting to his generals, moved with 
all the Guards to the field of battle, afraid of 
letting a ready victim escape, and Bagrati6n's 
four thousand men merrily lighted campfires, 
dried and warmed themselves, cooked their 
porridge for the first time for three days, and 
not one of them knew or imagined what was in 
store for him. 



94 



WAR AND PEACE 



CHAPTER XV 

BETWEEN three and four o'clock in the after- 
noon Prince Andrew, who had persisted in his 
request to Kutuzov, arrived at Grunth and re- 
ported himself to Bagrati6n. Bonaparte's ad- 
jutant had not yet reached Murat's detach- 
ment and the battle had not yet begun. In Ba- 
grati6n's detachment no one knew anything of 
the general position of affairs. They talked of 
peace but did not believe in its possibility; oth- 
ers talked of a battle but also disbelieved in the 
nearness of an engagement. Bagrati6n, know- 
ing Bolk6nski to be a favorite and trusted ad- 
jutant, received him with distinction and spe- 
cial marks of favor, explaining to him that 
there would probably be an engagement that 
day or the next, and giving him full liberty to 
remain with him during the battle or to join 
the rearguard and have an eye on the order 
of retreat, "which is also very important." 

"However, there will hardly be an engage- 
ment today," said Bagrati6n as if to reassure 
Prince Andrew. 

"If he is one of the ordinary little staff dan- 
dies sent to earn a medal he can get his reward 
just as well in the rearguard, but if he wishes 
to stay with me, let him . . . he'll be of use 
here if he's a brave officer," thought Bagrati6n. 
Prince Andrew, without replying, asked the 
prince's permission to ride round the position 
to see the disposition of the forces, so as to 
know his bearings should he be sent to execute 
an order. The officer on duty, a handsome, ele- 
gantly dressed man with a diamond ring on his 
forefinger, who was fond of speaking French 
though he spoke it badly, offered to conduct 
Prince Andrew. 

On all sides they saw rain-soaked officers with 
dejected faces who seemed to be seeking some- 
thing, and soldiers dragging doors, benches, 
and fencing from the village. 

"There now, Prince! We can't stop those fel- 
lows/' said the staff officer pointing to the sol- 
diers. "The officers don't keep them in hand. 
And there," he pointed to a sutler's tent, "they 
crowd in and sit. This morning I turned them 
all out and now look, it's full again. I must go 
there, Prince, and scare them a bit. It won't 
take a moment." 

"Yes, let's go in and I will get myself a roll 
and some cheese," said Prince Andrew who 
had not yet had time to eat anything. 

"Why didn't you mention it, Prince? I would 
have offered you something." 

They dismounted and entered the tent. Sev- 
eral officers, with flushed and weary faces, were 



sitting at the table eating and drinking. 

"Now what does this mean, gentlemen?" said 
the staff officer, in the reproachful tone of a 
man who has repeated the same thing more 
than once. "You know it won't do to leave your 
posts like this. The prince gave orders that no 
one should leave his post. Now you, Captain," 
and he turned to a thin, dirty little artillery of- 
ficer who without his boots (he had given them 
to the canteen keeper to dry), in only his stock- 
ings, rose when they entered, smiling not alto- 
gether comfortably. 

"Well, aren't you ashamed of yourself, Cap- 
tain Tusliin?" he continued. "One would think 
that as an artillery officer you would set a good 
example, yet here you are without your boots! 
The alarm will be sounded and you'll be in a 
pretty position without your boots!" (The staff 
officer smiled.) "Kindly return to your posts, 
gentlemen, all of you, all!" he added in a tone 
of command. 

Prince Andrew smiled involuntarily as he 
looked at the artillery officer Tushin, who si- 
lent and smiling, shifting from one stockinged 
foot to the other, glanced inquiringly with his 
large, intelligent, kindly eyes from Prince An- 
drew to the staff officer. 

"The soldiers say it feels easier without 
boots," said Captain Tushin smiling shyly in 
his uncomfortable position, evidently wishing 
to adopt a jocular tone. But before he had fin- 
ished he felt that his jest was unacceptable and 
had not come off. He grew confused. 

"Kindly return to your posts," said the staff 
officer trying to preserve his gravity. 

Prince Andrew glanced again at the artillery 
officer's small figure. There was something pe- 
culiar about it, quite unsoldierly, rather comic, 
but extremely attractive. 

The staff officer and Prince Andrew mounted 
their horses and rode on. 

Having ridden beyond the village, contin- 
ually meeting and overtaking soldiers and of- 
ficers of various regiments, they saw on their 
left some entrenchments being thrown up, the 
freshly dug clay of which showed up red. Sev- 
eral battalions of soldiers, in their shirt sleeves 
despite the cold wind, swarmed in these earth- 
works like a host of white ants; spadefuls of red 
clay were continually being thrown up from 
behind the bank by unseen hands. Prince An- 
drew and the officer rode up, looked at the en- 
trenchment, and went on again. Just behind it 
they came upon some dozens of soldiers, con- 
tinually replaced by others, who ran from the 
entrenchment. They had to hold their noses 



BOOK TWO 



95 



and put their horses to a trot to escape from 
the poisoned atmosphere of these latrines. 

"Voild I'agrdment des camps, monsieur le 
prince" * said the staff officer. 

They rode up the opposite hill. From there 
the French could already be seen. Prince An- 
drew stopped and began examining the posi- 
tion. 

"That's our battery," said the staff officer in- 
dicating the highest point. "It's in charge of 
the queer fellow we saw without his boots. You 
can see everything from there; let's go there, 
Prince." 

"Thank you very much, I will go on alone," 
said Prince Andrew, wishing to rid himself of 
this staff officer's company, "please don't trou- 
ble yourself further." 

The staff officer remained behind and Prince 
Andrew rode on alone. 

The farther forward and nearer the enemy 
he went, the more orderly and cheerful were 
the troops. The greatest disorder and depres- 
sion had been in the baggage train he had passed 
that morning on the Znaim road seven miles 
away from the French. At Grunth also some ap- 
prehension and alarm could be felt, but the 
nearer Prince Andrew came to the French lines 
the more confident was the appearance of our 
troops. The soldiers in their greatcoats were 
ranged in lines, the sergeants major and com- 
pany officers were counting themen, poking the 
last man in each section in the ribs and telling 
him to hold his hand up. Soldiers scattered 
over the whole place were dragging logs and 
brushwood and were building shelters with 
merry chatter and laughter; around the fires 
sat others, dressed and undressed, drying their 
shirts and leg bands or mending boots or over- 
coats and crowding round the boilers and por- 
ridge cookers. In one company dinner was 
ready, and the soldiers were gazing eagerly at 
the steaming boiler, waiting till the sample, 
which a quartermaster sergeant was carrying in 
a wooden bowl to an officer who sat on a log be- 
fore his shelter, had been tasted. 

Another company, a lucky one for not all the 
companies had vodka, crowded round a pock- 
marked, broad-shouldered sergeant majorwho, 
tilting a keg, filled one after another the can- 
teen lids held out to him. The soldiers lifted 
the canteen lids to their lips with reverential 
faces, emptied them, rolling the vodka in their 
mouths, and walked away from the sergeant 
major with brightened expressions, licking 
their lips and wiping them on the sleeves of 

1 "This is a pleasure one gets in camp, Prince." 



their greatcoats. All their faces were as serene 
as if all this were happening at home awaiting 
peaceful encampment, and not within sight of 
the enemy before an action in which at least 
half of them would be left on the field. After 
passing a chasseur regiment and in the lines of 
the Kiev grenadiers fine fellows busy withsim- 
ilar peaceful affairs near the shelter of the reg- 
imental commander, higher than and different 
from the others, Prince Andrew came out in 
front of a platoon of grenadiers before whom 
lay a naked man. Two soldiers held him while 
two others were flourishing their switches and 
striking him regularly on his bare back. The 
man shrieked unnaturally. A stout major was 
pacing up and down the line, and regardless of 
the screams kept repeating: 

"It's a shame for a soldier to steal; a soldier 
must be honest, honorable, and brave, but if 
he robs his fellows there is no honor in him, 
he's a scoundrel. Go on! Go on!" 

So the swishing sound of the strokes, and the 
desperate but unnatural screams, continued. 

"Go on, go on!" said the major. 

A young officer with a bewildered and pained 
expression on his face stepped away from the 
man and looked round inquiringly at the ad- 
jutant as he rode by. 

Prince Andrew, having reached the front 
line, rode along it. Our front line and that of 
the enemy were far apart on the right and left 
flanks, but in the center where the men with a 
flag of truce had passed that morning, the lines 
were so near together that the men could see 
one another's faces and speak to one another. 
Besides the soldiers who formed the picket line 
on either side, there were many curious onlook- 
ers who, jesting and laughing, stared at their 
strange foreign enemies. 

Since early morning despite an injunction 
not to approach the picket line the officers 
had been unable to keep sight-seers away. The 
soldiers forming the picket line, like showmen 
exhibiting a curiosity, no longer looked at the 
French but paid attention to the sight-seers and 
grew weary waiting to be relieved. Prince An- 
drew halted to have a look at the French. 

"Look! Look there 1" one soldier was saying 
to another, pointing to a Russian musketeer 
who had gone up to the picket line with an of- 
ficer and was rapidly and excitedly talking to a 
French grenadier. "Hark to him jabbering! 
Fine, isn't it? It's all the Frenchycan do to keep 
up with him. There now, Sfdorov!" 

"Wait a bit and listen. It's fine!" answered 
Sfdorov, who was considered an adept at French. 



WAR AND PEACE 



The soldier to whom the laughers referred 
was Dolokhov. Prince Andrew recognized him 
and stopped to listen to what he was saying. 
D61okhov had come from the left flank where 
their regiment was stationed, with his captain. 

"Now then, go on, go on!" incited the officer, 
bending forward and trying not to lose a word 
of the speech which was incomprehensible to 
him. "More, please: more! What's he saying? 

D61okhov did not answer the captain; he 
had been drawn into a hot dispute with the 
French grenadier. They were naturally talking 
about the campaign. The Frenchman, confus- 
ing the Austrians with the Russians, was trying 
to prove that the Russians had surrendered and 
had fled all the way from Ulm, while D61okhov 
maintained that the Russians had not surren- 
dered but had beaten the French. 

"We have orders to drive you off here, and 
we shall drive you off," said D61okhov. 

"Only take care you and your Cossacks are 
not all captured!" said the French grenadier. 

The French onlookers and listeners laughed. 

"We'll make you dance as we did under Su- 
v6rov . . . ," * said D61okhov. 

"Qu' est-ce qu'H chante?" * asked a French- 
man. 

"It's ancient history," said another, guess- 
ing that it referred to a former war. "The Em- 
peror will teach your Suvara as he has taught 
the others ..." 

"Bonaparte ..." began D61okhov, but the 
Frenchman interrupted him. 

"Not Bonaparte. He is the Emperor! Sacrd 
nom . , . /" cried he angrily. 

"The devil skin your Emperor." 

And D61okhov swore at him in coarse sol- 
dier's Russian and shouldering his musket 
walked away. 

"Let us go, Ivan Lukich," he said to the cap- 
tain. 

"Ah, that's the way to talk French," said the 
picket soldiers. "Now, Sfdorov,you have a try!" 

Sfdorov, turning to the French, winked, and 
began to jabber meaningless sounds very fast: 
"Kari, mala, tafa, safi, muter, Kasha," he said, 
trying to give an expressive intonation to his 
voice. 

"Ho! ho! ho! Ha! ha! ha! ha! Ouh! ouh!" 
came peals of such healthy and good-humored 
laughter from the soldiers that it infected the 
French involuntarily, so much so that the only 
thing left to do seemed to be to unload the mus- 
kets, explode the ammunition, and all return 

1 "On vous fera danser" 

* "What's he singing about?" 



home as quickly as possible. 

But the guns remained loaded, the loopholes 
in blockhouses and entrenchments looked out 
just as menacingly, and the unlimbered can- 
non confronted one another as before. 

CHAPTER XVI 

HAVING RIDDEN round the whole line from right 
flank to left, Prince Andrew made his way up 
to the battery from which the staff officer had 
told him the whole field could be seen. Here 
he dismounted, and stopped beside the farthest 
of the four unlimbered cannon. Before theguns 
an artillery sentry was pacing up and down; he 
stood at attention when the officer arrived, but 
at a sign resumed his measured, monotonous 
pacing. Behind the guns were their limbers 
and still farther back picket ropes and artillery- 
men's bonfires. To the left, not far from the 
farthest cannon, was a small, newly constructed 
wattle shed from which came the sound of of- 
ficers' voices in eager conversation. 

It was true that a view over nearly the whole 
Russian position and the greater part of the 
enemy's opened out from this battery. Just fac- 
ing it, on the crest of the opposite hill, the vil- 
lage of Schon Grabern could be seen, and in 
three places to left and right the French troops 
amid the smoke of their campfires, the greater 
part of whom were evidently in the village it- 
self and behind the hill. To the left from that 
village, amid the smoke, was something resem- 
bling a battery, but it was impossible to see it 
clearly with the naked eye. Our right flank was 
posted on a rather steep incline which domi- 
nated the French position. Our infantry were 
stationed there, and at the farthest point the 
dragoons. In the center, where Tiishin's bat- 
tery stood and from which Prince Andrew was 
surveying the position, was the easiest and most 
direct descent and ascent to the brook separat- 
ing us from Schon Grabern. On the left our 
troops were close to a copse, in which smoked 
the bonfires of our infantry who were felling 
wood. The French line was wider than ours, 
and it was plain that they could easily outflank 
us on both sides. Behind our position was a 
steep and deep dip, making it difficult for ar- 
tillery and cavalry to retire. Prince Andrew 
took out his notebook and, leaning on the can- 
non, sketched a plan of the position. He made 
some notes on two points, intending to men- 
tion them to Bagrati6n. His idea was, first, to 
concentrate all the artillery in the center, and 
secondly, to withdraw the cavalry to the other 
side of the dip. Prince Andrew, being always 



BOOK TWO 



97 



near the commander in chief, closely follow- 
ing the mass movements and general orders, 
and constantly studying historical accounts of 
battles, involuntarily pictured to himself the 
course of events in the forthcoming action in 
broad outline. He imagined only important 
possibilities: "If the enemy attacks the right 
flank," he said to himself, "the Kiev grenadiers 
and the Pod61sk chasseurs must hold their po- 
sition till reserves from the center come up. In 
that case the dragoons could successfully make 
a flank counterattack. If they attack our center 
we, having the center battery on this high 
ground, shall withdraw the left flank under its 
cover, and retreat to the dip by echelons." So 
he reasoned. ... All the time he had been be- 
side the gun, he had heard the voices of the offi- 
cers distinctly, but as often happens had not 
understood a word of what they were saying. 
Suddenly, however, he was struck by a voice 
coming from the shed, and its tone was so sin- 
cere that he could not but listen. 

"No, friend," said a pleasant and, as it 
seemed to Prince Andrew, a familiar voice, 
"what I say is that if it were possible to know 
what is beyond death, none of us would be 
afraid of it. That's so, friend." 

Another, a younger voice, interrupted him: 
"Afraid or not, you can't escape it anyhow." 

"All the same, one is afraid! Oh, you clever 
people," said a third manly voice interrupt- 
ing them both. "Of course you artillery men 
are very wise, because you can take everything 
along with you vodka and snacks." 

And the owner of the manly voice, evidently 
an infantry officer, laughed. 

"Yes, one is afraid," continued the first speak- 
er, he of the familiar voice. "One is afraid of 
the unknown, that's what it is. Whatever we 
may say about the soul going to the sky ... we 
know there is no sky but only an atmosphere." 

The manly voice again interrupted the ar- 
tillery officer. 

"Well, stand us some of your herb vodka, 
Tushin," it said. 

"Why," thought Prince Andrew, "that's the 
captain who stood up in the sutler's hut with- 
out his boots." He recognized the agreeable, 
philosophizing voice with pleasure. 

"Some herb vodka? Certainly 1" said Tiishin. 
"But still, to conceive a future life . . ." 

He did not finish. Just then there was a whis- 
tle in the air; nearer and nearer, faster and 
louder, louder and faster, a cannon ball, as if 
it had not finished saying what was necessary, 
thudded into the ground near the shed with 



superhuman force, throwing up a mass of earth. 
The ground seemed to groan at the terrible im- 
pact. 

And immediately Tiishin, with a short pipe 
in the corner of his mouth and his kind, intel- 
ligent face rather pale, rushed out of the shed 
followed by the owner of the manly voice, a 
dashing infantry officer who hurried off to his 
company, buttoning up his coat as he ran. 

CHAPTER XVII 

MOUNTING HIS HORSE again Prince Andrew lin- 
gered with the battery, looking at the puff from 
the gun that had sent the ball. His eyes ran 
rapidly over the wide space, but he only saw 
that the hitherto motionless masses of the 
French now swayed and that there really was a 
battery to their left. The smoke above it had 
not yet dispersed. Two mounted Frenchmen, 
probably adjutants, were galloping up the hill. 
A small but distinctly visible enemy column 
was moving down the hill, probably to strength- 
en the front line. The smoke of the first shot 
had not yet dispersed before another puff ap- 
peared, followed by a report. The battle had 
begun 1 Prince Andrew turned his horse and 
galloped back to Grunth to find Prince Bagra- 
tion. He heard the cannonade behind him 
growing louder and more frequent. Evidently 
our guns had begun to reply. From the bottom 
of the slope, where the parleys had taken place, 
came the report of musketry. 

Lemarrois had just arrived at a gallop with 
Bonaparte's stern letter, and Murat, humili- 
ated and anxious to expiate his fault, had at 
once moved his forces to attack the center and 
outflank both the Russian wings, hoping be- 
fore evening and before the arrival of the Em- 
peror to crush the contemptible detachment 
that stood before him. 

"It has begun. Here it is!" thought Prince 
Andrew, feeling the blood rush to his heart. 
"But where and how will my Toulon present 
itself?" 

Passing between the companies that had been 
eating porridge and drinking vodka a quarter 
of an hour before, he saw everywhere the same 
rapid movement of soldiers forming ranks and 
getting their muskets ready, and on all their 
faces he recognized the same eagerness that 
filled his heart. "It has begun! Here it is, dread- 
ful but enjoyable!" was what the face of each 
soldier and each officer seemed to say. 

Before he had reached the embankments that 
were being thrown up, he saw, in the light of 
the dull autumn evening, mounted men com- 



WAR AND PEACE 



ing toward him. The foremost, wearing a Cos- 
sack cloak and lambskin cap and riding a 
white horse, was Prince Bagrati6n. Prince An- 
drew stopped, waiting for him to come up; 
Prince Bagrati6n reined in his horse and recog- 
nizing Prince Andrew nodded to him. He still 
looked ahead while Prince Andrew told him 
what he had seen. 

The feeling, "It has begun! Here it is!" was 
seen even on Prince Bagrati6n's hard brown 
face with its half-closed, dull, sleepy eyes. Prince 
Andrew gazed with anxious curiosity at that 
impassive face and wished he could tell what, 
if anything, this man was thinking and feeling 
at that moment. "Is there anything at all be- 
hind that impassive face?" Prince Andrew asked 
himself as he looked. Prince Bagrati6n bent 
his head in sign of agreement with what Prince 
Andrew told him, and said, "Very good!" in a 
tone that seemed to imply that everything that 
took place and was reported to him was exact- 
ly what he had foreseen. Prince Andrew, out of 
breath with his rapid ride, spoke quickly. Prince 
Bagrati6n, uttering his words with an Oriental 
accent, spoke particularly slowly, as if to im- 
press the fact that there was no need to hurry. 
However, he put his horse to a trot in the di- 
rection of Ttishin's battery. Prince Andrew fol- 
lowed with the suite. Behind Prince Bagrati6n 
rode an officer of the suite, the prince's per- 
sonal adjutant, Zherkriv, an orderly officer, the 
staff officer on duty, riding a fine bobtailed 
horse, and a civilian an accountant who had 
asked permission to be present at the battle 
out of curiosity. The accountant, a stout, full- 
faced man, looked around him with a nai've 
smile of satisfaction and presented a strange 
appearance among the hussars, Cossacks, and 
adjutants, in his camlet coat, as he jolted on his 
horse with a convoy officer's saddle. 

"He wants to see a battle," said Zherk6v to 
Bolk6nski, pointing to the accountant, "but 
he feels a pain in the pit of his stomach al- 
ready." 

"Oh, leave off!" said the accountant with a 
beaming but rather cunning smile, as if flat- 
tered at being made the subject of Zherk6v's 
joke, and purposely trying to appear stupider 
than he really was. 

"It is very strange, mon Monsieur Prince" 
said the staff officer. (He remembered that in 
French there is some peculiar way of address- 
ing a prince, but could not get it quite right.) 

By this time they were all approaching Tu- 
shin's battery, and a ball struck the ground in 
front of them. 



"What's that that has fallen?" asked the ac- 
countant with a naive smile. 

"A French pancake," answered Zherk6v. 

"So that's what they hit with?" asked the ac- 
countant. "How awful!" 

He seemed to swell with satisfaction. He had 
hardly finished speaking when they again heard 
an unexpectedly violent whistling which sud- 
denly ended with a thud into something soft 
. . . f-f-flop! and a Cossack, riding a little to 
their right and behind the accountant, crashed 
to earth with his horse. Zherkov and the staff 
officer bent over their saddles and turned their 
horses away. The accountant stopped, facing 
the Cossack, and examined him with attentive 
curiosity. The Cossack was dead, but the horse 
still struggled. 

Prince Bagrati6n screwed up his eyes, looked 
round, and, seeing the cause of the confusion, 
turned away with indifference, as if to say, "Is 
it worth while noticing trifles?" He reined in 
his horse with the ease of a skillful rider and, 
slightly bending over, disengaged his saber 
which had caught in his cloak. It was an old- 
fashioned saber of a kind no longer in general 
use. Prince Andrew remembered the story of 
Suvorov giving his saber to Bagrati6n in Italy, 
and the recollection was particularly pleasant 
at that moment. They had reached the battery 
at which Prince Andrew had been when he ex- 
amined the battlefield. 

"Whose company?" asked Prince Bagrati6n 
of an artilleryman standing by the ammuni- 
tion wagon. 

He asked, "Whose company?" but he really 
meant, "Are you frightened here?" and the 
artilleryman understood him. 

"Captain Tushin's, your excellency!" shout- 
ed the red-haired, freckled gunner in a merry 
voice, standing to attention. 

"Yes, yes," muttered Bagrati6n as if consid- 
ering something, and he rode past the limbers 
to the farthest cannon. 

As he approached, a ringing shot issued from 
it deafening him and his suite, and in the smoke 
that suddenly surrounded the gun they could 
see the gunners who had seized it straining to 
roll it quickly back to its former position. A 
huge, broad-shouldered gunner, Number One, 
holding a mop, his legs far apart, sprang to the 
wheel; while Number Two with a trembling 
hand placed a charge in the cannon's mouth. 
The short, round-shouldered Captain Tiishin, 
stumbling over the tail of the gun carriage, 
moved forward and, not noticing the general, 
looked out shading his eyes with his small hand. 



BOOK TWO 



99 



"Lift it two lines more and it will be just 
right," cried he in a feeble voice to which he 
tried to impart a dashing note, ill suited to his 
weak figure. "Number Two!" he squeaked. 
"Fire, Medve*devl" 

Bagrati6n called to him, and Tushin, raising 
three fingers to his cap with a bashful and awk- 
ward gesture not at all like a military salute 
but like a priest's benediction, approached the 
general. Though Tushin's guns had been in- 
tended to cannonade the valley, he was firing 
incendiary balls at the village of Schon Gra- 
bern visible just opposite, in front of which 
large masses of French were advancing. 

No one had given, Tushin orders where and 
at what to fire, but after consulting his ser- 
geant major, Zakharchenko, for whom he had 
great respect, he had decided that it would be 
a good thing to set fire to the village. "Very 
good I" said Bagrati6n in reply to the officer's 
report, and began deliberately to examine the 
whole battlefield extended before him. The 
French had advanced nearest on our right. Be- 
low the height on which the Kiev regiment was 
stationed, in the hollow where the rivulet 
flowed, the soul-stirring rolling and crackling 
of musketry was heard, and much farther to 
the right beyond the dragoons, the officer of 
the suite pointed out to Bagration a French 
column that was outflanking us. To the left 
the horizon was bounded by the adjacent wood. 
Prince Bagrad6n ordered two battalions from 
the center to be sent to reinforce the right 
flank. The officer of the suite ventured to re- 
mark to the prince that if these battalions went 
away, the guns would remain without support. 
Prince Bagrati6n turned to the officer and with 
his dull eyes looked at him in silence. It seemed 
to Prince Andrew that the officer's remark was 
just and that really no answer could be made 
to it. But at that moment an adjutant galloped 
up with a message from the commander of the 
regiment in the hollow and news that immense 
masses of the French were coming down upon 
them and that his regiment was in disorder 
and was retreating upon the Kiev grenadiers. 
Prince Bagration bowed his head in sign of as- 
sent and approval. He rode off at a walk to the 
right and sent an adjutant to the dragoons 
with orders to attack the French. But this ad- 
jutant returned half an hour later with the 
news that the commander of the dragoons had 
already retreated beyond the dip in the ground, 
as a heavy fire had been opened on him and he 
was losing men uselessly, and so had hastened 
to throw some sharpshooters into the wood. 



"Very good!" said Bagrati6n. 

As he was leaving the battery, firing was heard 
on the left also, and as it was too far to the left 
flank for him to have time to go there himself, 
Prince Bagrati6n sent Zherk6v to tell the gen- 
eral in command (the one who had paraded 
his regiment before Kutuzov at Braunau) that 
he must retreat as quickly as possible behind 
the hollow in the rear, as the right flank would 
probably not be able to withstand the enemy's 
attack very long. About Tushin and the bat- 
talion that had been in support of his battery 
all was forgotten. Prince Andrew listened at- 
tentively to Bagrati6n's colloquies with the 
commanding officers and the orders he gave 
them and, to his surprise, found that no orders 
were really given, but that Prince Bagrati6n 
tried to make it appear that everything done 
by necessity, by accident, or by the will of sub- 
ordinate commanders was done, if not by his 
direct command, at least in accord with his in- 
tentions. Prince Andrew noticed, however, that 
though what happened was due to chance and 
was independent of the commander's will, ow- 
ing to the tact Bagrati6n showed, his presence 
was very valuable. Officers who approached him 
with disturbed countenances became calm; sol- 
diers and officers greeted him gaily, grew more 
cheerful in his presence, and were evidently 
anxious to display their courage before him. 

CHAPTER XVIII 

PRINCE BAGRATION, having reached the high- 
est point of our right flank, began riding down- 
hill to where the roll of musketry was heard 
but where on account of the smoke nothing 
could be seen. The nearer they got to the hol- 
low the less they could see but the more they 
felt the nearness of the actual battlefield. They 
began to meet wounded men. One with a 
bleeding head and no cap was being dragged 
along by two soldiers who supported him un- 
der the arms. There was a gurgle in his throat 
and he was spitting blood. A bullet had evi- 
dently hit him in the throat or mouth. Another 
was walking sturdily by himself but without 
his musket, groaning aloud and swinging his 
ann which had just been hurt, while blood 
from it was streaming over his greatcoat as 
from a bottle. He had that moment been 
wounded and his face showed fear rather than 
suffering. Crossing a road they descended a 
steep incline and saw several men lying on the 
ground; they also met a crowd of soldiers some 
of whom were unwounded. The soldiers were 
ascending the hill breathing heavily, and de- 



1OO 



WAR AND PEACE 



spite the general's presence were talking loud- 
ly and gesticulating. In front of them rows of 
gray cloaks were already visible through the 
smoke, and an officer catching sight of Bagra- 
ti6n rushed shouting after the crowd of retreat- 
ing soldiers, ordering them back. Bagrati6n 
rode up to the ranks along which shots crackled 
now here and now there, drowning the sound 
of voices and the shouts of command. The whole 
air reeked with smoke. The excited faces of the 
soldiers were blackened with it. Some were 
using their ramrods, others putting powder on 
the touchpans or taking charges from their 
pouches, while others were firing, though who 
they were firing at could not be seen for the 
smoke which there was no wind to carry away. 
A pleasant humming and whistling of bullets 
were often heard. "What is this?" thought 
Prince Andrew approaching the crowd of sol- 
diers. "It can't be an attack, for they are not 
moving; it can't be a squarefor they are not 
drawn up for that." 

The commander of the regiment, a thin, 
feeble-looking old man with a pleasant smile 
his eyelids drooping more than half over his 
old eyes, giving him a mild expression, rode up 
to Bagrati6n and welcomed him as a host wel- 
comes an honored guest. He reported that his 
regiment had been attacked by French cavalry 
and that, though the attack had been repulsed, 
he had lost more than half his men. He said 
the attack had been repulsed, employing this 
military term to describe what had occurred to 
his regiment, but in reality he did not himself 
know what had happened during that half- 
hour to the troops entrusted to him, and could 
not say with certainty whether the attack had 
been repulsed or his regiment had been bro- 
ken up. All he knew was that at the commence- 
ment of the action balls and shells began fly- 
ing all over his regiment and hitting men and 
that afterwards someone had shouted "Caval- 
ry!" and our men had begun firing. They were 
still firing, not at the cavalry which had disap- 
peared, but at French infantry who had come 
into the hollow and were firing at our men. 
Prince Bagration bowed his head as a sign that 
this was exactly what he had desired and ex- 
pected. Turning to his adjutant he ordered 
him to bring down the two battalions of the 
Sixth Chasseurs whom they had just passed. 
Prince Andrew was struck by the changed ex- 
pression on Prince Bagrati6n's face at this mo- 
ment. It expressed the concentrated and hap- 
py resolution you see on the face of a man who 
on a hot day takes a final run before plunging 



into the water. The dull, sleepy expression was 
no longer there, nor the affectation of pro- 
found thought. The round, steady, hawk's eyes 
looked before him eagerly and rather disdain- 
fully, not resting on anything although his 
movements were still slow and measured. 

The commander of the regiment turned to 
Prince Bagration, entreating him to go back as 
it was too dangerous to remain where they 
were. "Please, your excellency, for God'ssake!" 
he kept saying, glancing for support at an of- 
ficer of the suite who turned away from him. 
"There, you see!" and he drew attention to the 
bullets whistling, singing, and hissing continu- 
ally around them. He spote in the tone of en- 
treaty and reproach that a carpenter uses to a 
gentleman who has picked up an ax: "We are 
used to it, but you, sir, will blister your hands." 
He spoke as if those bullets could not kill him, 
and his half-closed eyes gave still more persua- 
siveness to his words. The staff officer joined in 
the colonel's appeals, but Bagrati6n did not re- 
ply; he only gave an order to cease firing and 
re-form, so as to give room for the two ap- 
proaching battalions. While he was speaking, 
the curtain of smoke that had concealed the 
hollow, driven by a rising wind, began to move 
from right to left as if drawn by an invisible 
hand, and the hill opposite, with the French 
moving about on it, opened out before them. 
All eyes fastened involuntarily on this French 
column advancing against them and winding 
down over the uneven ground. One could al- 
ready see the soldiers' shaggy caps, distinguish 
the officers from the men, and see the standard 
flapping against its staff. 

"They march splendidly," remarked some- 
one in Bagrati6n's suite. 

The head of the column had already de- 
scended into the hollow. The clash would take 
place on this side of it 

The remains of our regiment which had been 
in action rapidly formed up and moved to the 
right; from behind it, dispersing the laggards, 
came two battalions of the Sixth Chasseurs in 
fine order. Before they had reached Bagration, 
the weighty tread of the mass of men marching 
in step could be heard. On their left flank, near- 
est to Bagrati6n, marched a company command- 
er, a fine round-faced man, with a stupid and 
happy expressionthe same man who had 
rushed out of the wattle shed. At that moment 
he was clearly thinking of nothing but how 
dashing a fellow he would appear as he passed 
the commander. 

With the self-satisfaction of a man on pa- 



BOOK TWO 



rade, he stepped lightly with his muscular legs 
as if sailing along, stretching himself to his full 
height without the smallest effort, his ease con- 
trasting with the heavy tread of the soldiers 
who were keeping step with him. He carried 
close to his leg a narrow unsheathed sword 
(small, curved, and not like a real weapon) and 
looked now at the superior officers and now 
back at the men without losing step, his whole 
powerful body turning flexibly. It was as if all 
the powers of his soul were concentrated on 
passing the commander in the best possible 
manner, and feeling that he was doing it well 
he was happy. "Left . . . left . . . left . . ." he 
seemed to repeat to himself at each alternate 
step; and in time to this, with stern but varied 
faces, the wall of soldiers burdened with knap- 
sacks and muskets marched in step, and each 
one of these hundreds of soldiers seemed to be 
repeating to himself at each alternate step, 
"Left . . . left . . . left ..." A fat major skirted 
a bush, puffing and falling out of step; a sol- 
dier who had fallen behind, his face showing 
alarm at his defection, ran at a trot, panting to 
catch up with his company. A cannon ball, 
cleaving the air, flew over the heads of Bagra- 
tion and his suite, and fell into the column to 
the measure of "Left . . . left!" "Close up!" 
came the company commander's voice in jaunty 
tones. The soldiers passed in a semicircle round 
something where the ball had fallen, and an 
old trooper on the flank, a noncommissioned 
officer who had stopped beside the dead men, 
ran to catch up his line and, falling into step 
with a hop, looked back angrily, and through 
the ominous silence and the regular tramp of 
feet beating the ground in unison, one seemed 
to hear left . . . left . . . left. 

"Well done, lads!" said Prince Bagrati6n. 

"Glad to do our best, your ex'len-lencyl" 
came a confused shout from the ranks. A mo- 
rose soldier marching on the left turned his 
eyes on Bagrati6n as he shouted, with an ex- 
pression that seemed to say: "We know that 
ourselves!" Another, without looking round, 
as though fearing to relax, shouted with his 
mouth wide open and passed on. 

The order was given to halt and down knap- 
sacks. 

Bagrati6n rode round the ranks that had 
marched past him and dismounted. He gave 
the reins to a Cossack, took off and handed 
over his felt coat, stretched his legs, and set his 
cap straight. The head of the French column, 
with its officers leading, appeared from below 
the hill. 



101 

"Forward, with God!" said Bagrati6n, in a 
resolute, sonorous voice, turning for a moment 
to the front line, and slightly swinging his 
arms, he went forward uneasily over the rough 
field with the awkward gait of a cavalryman. 
Prince Andrew felt that an invisible power was 
leading him forward, and experienced great 
happiness. 

The French were already near. Prince An- 
drew, walking beside Bagrati6n, could clearly 
distinguish their bandoliers, red epaulets, and 
even their faces. (He distinctly saw an old 
French officer who, with gaitered legs and 
turned-out toes, climbed the hill with difficul- 
ty.) Prince Bagrati6n gave no further orders 
and silently continued to walk on in front of 
the ranks. Suddenly one shot after another rang 
out from the French, smoke appeared all along 
their uneven ranks, and musket shots sounded. 
Several of our men fell, among them the round- 
faced officer who had marched so gaily and 
complacently. But at the moment the first re- 
port was heard, Bagrati6n looked round and 
shouted, "Hurrah!" 

"Hurrah ah! ah!" rang a long-drawn shout 
from our ranks, and passing Bagrati6n and rac- 
ing one another they rushed in an irregular 
but joyous and eager crowd down the hill at 
their disordered foe. 

CHAPTER XIX 

THE ATTACK of the Sixth Chasseurs secured the 
retreat of our right flank. In the center Tu- 
shin's forgotten battery, which had managed 
to set fire to theSchon Grabern village, delayed 
the French advance. The French were putting 
out the fire which the wind was spreading, and 
thus gave us time to retreat. The retirement of 
the center to the other side of the dip in the 
ground at the rear was hurried and noisy, but 
the different companies did not get mixed. But 
our left which consisted of the Az6v and Po- 
d61sk infantry and the Pavlograd hussars was 
simultaneously attacked and outflanked by su- 
perior French forces under Lannes and was 
thrown into confusion. Bagrati6n had sent 
Zherk6v to the general commanding that left 
flank with orders to retreat immediately. 

Zherk6v, not removing his hand from his 
cap, turned his horse about and galloped off. 
But no sooner had he left Bagrati6n than his 
courage failed him. He was seized by panic and 
could not go where it was dangerous. 

Having reached the left flank, instead of go- 
ing to the front where the firing was, he began 
to look for the general and his staff where they 



102 



WAR AND PEACE 



could not possibly be, and so did not deliver 
the order. 

The command of the left flank belonged by 
seniority to the commander of the regiment 
Kutiizov had reviewed at Braunau and in which 
D61okhovwas serving as a private. But the com- 
mand of the extreme left flank had been as- 
signed to the commander of the Pdvlograd regi- 
ment in which Rost6v was serving, and a mis- 
understanding arose. The two commanders 
were much exasperated with one another and, 
long after the action had begun on the right 
flank and the French were already advancing, 
were engaged in discussion with the sole ob- 
ject of offending one another. But the regi- 
ments, both cavalry and infantry, were by no 
means ready for the impending action. From 
privates to general they were not expecting a 
battle and were engaged in peaceful occupa- 
tions, the cavalry feeding the horses and the 
infantry collecting wood. 

"He higher iss dan I in rank," said the Ger- 
man colonel of the hussars, flushing and ad- 
dressing an adjutant who had ridden up, "so let 
him do vhat he vill, but I cannot sacrifice my 
hussars . . . Bugler, sount ze retreat!" 

But haste was becoming imperative. Cannon 
and musketry, mingling together, thundered 
on the right and in the center, while the ca- 
potes of Lannes' sharpshooters were already 
seen crossing the milldamand forming up with- 
in twice the range of a musket shot. The gen- 
eral in command of the infantry went toward 
his horse with jerky steps, and having mounted 
drew himself up very straight and tall and rode 
to the Piivlograd commander. The command- 
ers met with polite bows but with secret malev- 
olence in their hearts. 

"Once again, Colonel," said the general, "I 
can't leave half my men in the wood. I beg of 
you, I beg of you," he repeated, "to occupy the 
position and prepare for an attack." 

"I peg of you yourself not to mix in vot is 
not your pusiness!" suddenly replied the irate 
colonel. "If you vere in the cavalry . . ." 

"I am not in the cavalry, Colonel, but I am a 
Russian general and if you are not aware of 
the fact . . ." 

"Quite avare, your excellency," suddenly 
shouted the colonel, touching his horse and 
turning purple in the face. "Vill you be so goot 
to come to ze front and see dat zis position iss 
no goot? I don't vish to desstroy my men for 
your pleasurel" 

"You forget yourself, Colonel. I am not 
considering my own pleasure and I won't 



allow it to be said I" 

Taking the colonel's outburst as a challenge 
to his courage, the general expanded his chest 
and rode, frowning, beside him to the front 
line, as if their differences would be settled 
there amongst the bullets. They reached the 
front, several bullets sped over them, and they 
halted in silence. There was nothing fresh to 
be seen from the line, for from where they had 
been before it had been evident that it was im- 
possible for cavalry to act among the bushes 
and broken ground, as well as that the French 
were outflanking our left. Thegeneral and colo- 
nel looked sternly and significantly at one an- 
other like two fighting cocks preparing for bat- 
tle, each vainly trying to detect signs of coward- 
ice in the other. Both passed the examination 
successfully. As there was nothing to be said, and 
neither wished to give occasion for it to be al- 
leged that he had been the first to leave the 
range of fire, they would have remained there 
for a long time testing each other's courage 
had it not been that just then they heard the 
rattle of musketry and a muffled shout almost 
behind them in the wood. The French had at- 
tacked the men collecting wood in the copse. It 
was no longer possible for the hussars to re- 
treat with the infantry. They were cut off from 
the line of retreat on the left by the French. 
However inconvenient the position, it was now 
necessary to attack in order to cut away through 
for themselves. 

The squadron in which Rost6v was serving 
had scarcely time to mount before it was halted 
facing the enemy. Again, as at the Enns bridge, 
there was nothing between the squadron and 
the enemy, and again that terrible dividing 
line of uncertainty and fearresembling the 
line separating the living from the dead lay 
between them. All were conscious of this un- 
seen line, and the question whether they would 
cross it or not, and how they would cross it, 
agitated them all. 

The colonel rode to the front, angrily gave 
some reply to questions put to him by the of- 
ficers, and, like a man desperately insisting on 
having his own way, gave an order. No one 
said anything definite, but the rumor of an at- 
tack spread through the squadron. The com- 
mand to form up rang out and the sabers 
whizzed as they were drawn from their scab- 
bards. Still no one moved. The troops of 
the left flank, infantry and hussars alike, felt 
that the commander did not himself know 
what to do, and this irresolution communi- 
cated itself to the men. 



BOOK TWO 



103 



"If only they would be quick!" thought Ros- 
t6v, feeling that at last the time had come to 
experience the joy of an attack of which he had 
so often heard from his fellow hussars. 

"Fo'ward, with God, lads!" rang out Denf- 
sov's voice. "At a twot fo'wardl" 

The horses' croups began to sway in the front 
line. Rook pulled at the reins and started of 
his own accord. 

Before him, on the right, Rost6v saw the 
front lines of his hussars and still farther ahead 
a dark line which he could not see distinctly 
but took to be the enemy. Shots could be heard, 
but some way off. 

"Faster!" came the word of command, and 
Rost6v felt Rook's flanks drooping as he broke 
into a gallop. 

Rost6v anticipated his horse's movements 
and became more and more elated. He had 
noticed a solitary tree ahead of him. This tree 
had been in the middle of the line that had 
seemed so terrible and now he had crossed 
that line and not only was there nothing ter- 
rible, but everything was becoming more and 
more happy and animated. "Oh, how I will 
slash at him!" thought Rost6v, gripping the 
hilt of his saber. 

"Hur-a-a-a-ah!" came a roar of voices. "Let 
anyone come my way now," thought Rost6v 
driving his spurs into Rook and letting him go 
at a full gallop so that he outstripped the oth- 
ers. Ahead, the enemy was already visible. Sud- 
denly something like a birch broom seemed to 
sweep over the squadron. Rost6v raised his sa- 
ber, ready to strike, but at that instant the 
trooper Nikitenko, who was galloping ahead, 
shot away from him, and Rost6v felt as in a 
dream that he continued to be carried forward 
with unnatural speed but yet stayed on the 
same spot. From behind him Bondarchuk, an 
hussar he knew, jolted against him and looked 
angrily at him. Bondarchiik's horse swerved 
and galloped past. 

"How is it I am not moving? I have fallen, I 
am killed!" Rost6v asked and answered at the 
same instant. He was alone in the middle of a 
field. Instead of the moving horses and hussars' 
backs, he saw nothing before him but the mo- 
tionless earth and the stubble around him. 
There was warm blood under his arm. "No, I 
am wounded and the horse is killed." Rook 
tried to rise on his forelegs but fell back, pin- 
ning his rider's leg. Blood was flowing from his 
head; he struggled but could not rise. Rost6v 
also tried to rise but fell back, his sabretache 
having become entangled in the saddle. Where 



our men were, and where the French, he did 
not know. There was no one near. 

Havingdisentangledhisleg,herose. "Where, 
on which side, was now the line that had so 
sharply divided the two armies?" he asked him- 
self and could not answer. "Can something 
bad have happened to me?" he wondered as he 
got up: and at that moment he felt that some- 
thing superfluous was hangingon his benumbed 
left arm. The wrist felt as if it were not his. He 
examined his hand carefully, vainly trying to 
find blood on it. "Ah, here are people com- 
ing," he thought joyfully, seeing some men run- 
ning toward him. "They will help me!" In 
front came a man wearing a strange shako and 
a blue cloak, swarthy, sunburned, and with a 
hooked nose. Then came two more, and many 
more running behind. One of them said some- 
thing strange, not in Russian. In among the 
hindmost of these men wearing similar shakos 
was a Russian hussar. He was being held by 
the arms and his horse was being led behind 
him. 

"It must be one of ours, a prisoner. Yes. Can 
it be that they will take me too? Who are these 
men?" thought Rost6v, scarcely believing his 
eyes. "Can they be French?" He looked at the 
approaching Frenchmen, and though but a 
moment before he had been galloping to get at 
them and hack them to pieces, their proximity 
now seemed so awful that he could not believe 
his eyes. "Who are they? Why are they run- 
ning? Can they be coming at me? And why? To 
kill me? Me whom everyone is so fond of?" He 
remembered his mother's love for him, and his 
family's, and his friends', and the enemy's in- 
tention to kill him seemed impossible. "But 
perhaps they may do it!" For more than ten 
seconds he stood not moving from the spot or 
realizing the situation. The foremost French- 
man, the one with the hooked nose, was al- 
ready so close that the expression of his face 
could be seen. And the excited, alien face of 
that man, his bayonet hanging down, holding 
his breath, and running so lightly, frightened 
Rost6v. He seized his pistol and, instead of fir- 
ing it, flung it at the Frenchman and ran with 
all his might toward the bushes. He did not 
now run with the feeling of doubt and conflict 
with which he had trodden the Enns bridge, 
but with the feeling of a hare fleeing from the 
hounds. One single sentiment, that of fear for 
his young and happy life, possessed his whole 
being. Rapidly leaping the furrows, he fled 
across the field with the impetuosity he used to 
show at catchplay, now and then turning his 



104 



WAR AND PEACE 



good-natured, pale, young face to look back. A 
shudder of terror went through him: "No, bet- 
ter not look," he thought, but having reached 
the bushes he glanced round once more. The 
French had fallen behind, and just as he looked 
round the first man changed his run to a walk 
and, turning, shouted something loudly to a 
comrade farther back. Rost6v paused. "No, 
there's some mistake," thought he. "They can't 
have wanted to kill me." But at the same time, 
his left arm felt as heavy as if a seventy-pound 
weight were tied to it. He could run no more. 
The Frenchman also stopped and took aim. 
Rost6v closed his eyes and stooped down. One 
bullet and then another whistled past him. He 
mustered his last remaining strength, took hold 
of his left hand with his right, and reached the 
bushes. Behind these were some Russian sharp- 
shooters. 

CHAPTER XX 

THE INFANTRY regiments that had been caught 
unawares in the outskirts of the wood ran out 
of it, the different companies getting mixed, 
and retreated as a disorderly crowd. One sol- 
dier, in his fear, uttered the senseless cry, "Cut 
off!" that is so terrible in battle, and that word 
infected the whole crowd with a feeling of 
panic. 

"Surrounded! Cut off! We're lost!" shouted 
the fugitives. 

The moment he heard the firing and the cry 
from behind, the general realized that some- 
thing dreadful had happened to his regiment, 
and the thought that he, an exemplary officer 
of many years' service who had never been to 
blame, might be held responsible at headquar- 
ters for negligence or inefficiency so staggered 
him that, forgetting the recalcitrant cavalry 
colonel, his own dignity as a general, and above 
all quite forgetting the danger and all regard 
for self-preservation, he clutched the crupper 
of his saddle and, spurring his horse, galloped 
to the regiment under a hail of bullets which 
fell around, but fortunately missed him. His 
one desire was to know what was happening 
and at any cost correct, or remedy, the mistake 
if he had made one, so that he, an exemplary 
officer of twenty-two years' service, who had 
never been censured, should not be held to 
blame. 

Having galloped safely through the French, 
he reached afield behind the copse across which 
our men, regardless of orders, were running 
and descending the valley. That moment of 
moral hesitation which decides the fate of bat- 



tles had arrived. Would this disorderly crowd 
of soldiers attend to the voice of their command- 
er, or would they, disregarding him, continue 
their flight? Despite his desperate shouts that 
used to seem so terrible to the soldiers, despite 
his furious purple countenance distorted out 
of all likeness to his former self, and the flour- 
ishing of his saber, the soldiers all continued to 
run, talking, firing into the air, and disobeying 
orders. The moral hesitation which decided the 
fate of battles was evidently culminating in a 
panic. 

The general had a fit of coughing as a result 
of shouting and of the powder smoke and 
stopped in despair. Everything seemed lost. But 
at that moment the French who were attack- 
ing, suddenly and without any apparent rea- 
son, ran back and disappeared from the out- 
skirts, and Russian sharpshooters showed them- 
selves in the copse. It was Tim6khin's com- 
pany, which alone had maintained its order in 
the wood and, having lain in ambush in a 
ditch, now attacked the French unexpectedly. 
Tim6khin, armed only with a sword, had rushed 
at the enemy with such a desperate cry and such 
mad, drunken determination that, taken by 
surprise, the French had thrown down their 
muskets and run. D61okhov, running beside 
Timtikhin, killed a Frenchman at close quar- 
ters and was the first to seize the surrendering 
French officer by his collar. Our fugitives re- 
turned, the battalions re-formed, and the 
French who had nearly cut our left flank in 
half were for the moment repulsed. Our re- 
serve units were able to join up, and the fight 
was at an end. The regimental commander 
and Major Ekon6mov had stopped beside a 
bridge, letting the retreating companies pass 
by them, when a soldier came up and took hold 
of the commander's stirrup, almost leaning' 
against him. The man was wearing a bluish 
coat of broadcloth, he had no knapsack or cap, 
his head was bandaged, and over his shoulder a 
French munition pouch was slung. He had an 
officer's sword in his hand. The soldier was 
pale, his blue eyes looked impudently into the 
commander's face, and his lips were smiling. 
Though the commander was occupied in giv- 
ing instructions to Major Ekon6mov, he could 
not help taking notice of the soldier. 

"Your excellency, here are two trophies," 
said Ddlokhov, pointing to the French sword 
and pouch. "I have taken an officer prisoner. 1 
stopped the company." D61okhov breathed 
heavily from weariness and spoke in abrupt 
sentences. "The whole company can bear wit- 



BOOK TWO 



105 



ness. I beg you will remember this, your excel- 
lency!" 

"All right, all right," replied the command- 
er, and turned to Major Ekon6mov. 

But D61okhov did not go away; he untied 
the handkerchief around his head, pulled it 
off, and showed the blood congealed on his 
hair. 

"A bayonet wound. I remained at the front. 
Remember, your excellency!" 

Tushin's battery had been forgotten and on- 
ly at the very end of the action did Prince Ba- 
gration, still hearing the cannonade in the cen- 
ter, send his orderly staff officer, and later 
Prince Andrew also, to order the battery to re- 
tire as quickly as possible. When the supports 
attached to Tushin's battery had been moved 
away in the middle of the action by someone's 
order, the battery had continued firing and 
was only not captured by the French because 
the enemy could not surmise that anyone could 
have the effrontery to continue firing from 
four quite undefended guns. On the contrary, 
the energetic action of that battery led the 
French to suppose that here in the center 
the main Russian forces were concentrated. 
Twice they had attempted to attack this point, 
but on each occastion had been driven back by 
grapeshot from the four isolated guns on the 
hillock. 

Soon after Prince Bagrati6n had left him, 
Tushin had succeeded in setting fire to Schon 
Grabern. 

"Look at them scurrying! It's burning! Just 
see the smoke! Fine! Grand! Look at the smoke, 
the smoke! "exclaimed the artillerymen, bright- 
ening up. 

All the guns, without waiting for orders, 
were being fired in the direction of the confla- 
gration. As if urging each other on, the soldiers 
cried at each shot: "Fine! That's good! Look at 
it ... Grand!" The fire, fanned by the breeze, 
was rapidly spreading. The French columns 
that had advanced beyond the village went 
back; but as though in revenge for this failure, 
the enemy placed ten guns to the right of the 
village and began firing them at Tiishin's bat- 
tery. 

In their childlike glee, aroused by the fire 
and their luck in successfully cannonading the 
French, our artillerymen only noticed this bat- 
tery when two balls, and then four more, fell 
among our guns, one knocking over two horses 
and another tearing off a munition-wagon driv- 
er's leg. Their spirits once roused were, how- 



ever, not diminished, but only changed char- 
acter. The horses were replaced by others from 
a reserve gun carriage, the wounded were car- 
ried away, and the four guns were turned 
against the ten-gun battery. Tushin's compan- 
ion officer had been killed at the beginning of 
the engagement and within an hour seventeen 
of the forty men of the guns' crews had been 
disabled, but the artillerymen were still as 
merry and lively as ever. Twice they noticed 
the French appearing below them, and then 
they fired grapeshot at them. 

Little Tushin, moving feebly and awkward- 
ly, kept telling his orderly to "refill my pipe for 
that one!" and then, scattering sparks from it, 
ran forward shading his eyes with his small 
hand to look at the French. 

"Smack at 'em, lads!" he kept saying, seizing 
the guns by the wheels and working the screws 
himself. 

Amid the smoke, deafened by the incessant 
reports which always made him jump, Tushin 
not taking his pipe from his mouth ran from 
gun to gun, now aiming, now counting the 
charges, now giving orders about replacing 
dead or wounded horses and harnessing fresh 
ones, and shouting in his feeble voice, so high- 
pitched and irresolute. His face grew more and 
more animated. Only when a man was killed 
or wounded did he frown and turn away from 
the sight, shouting angrily at the men who, as 
is always the case, hesitated about lifting the 
injured or dead. The soldiers, for the most part 
handsome fellows and, as is always the case in 
an artillery company, a head and shoulders 
taller and twice as broad as their officer all 
looked at their commander like children in an 
embarrassing situation, and the expression on 
his face was invariably reflected on theirs. 

Owing to the terrible uproar and the neces- 
sity for concentration and activity, Tushin did 
not experience the slightest unpleasant sense 
of fear, and the thought that he might be killed 
or badly wounded never occurred to him. On 
the contrary, he became more and more elated. 
It seemed to him that it was a very long time 
ago, almost a day, since he had first seen the 
enemy and fired the first shot, and that the 
corner of the field he stood on was well-known 
and familiar ground. Though he thought of 
everything, considered everything, and did 
everything the best of officers could do in his 
position, he was in a state akin to feverish de- 
lirium or drunkenness. 

From the deafening sounds of his own guns 
around him, the whistle and thud of the 



io6 



WAR AND PEACE 



enemy's cannon balls, from the flushed and 
perspiring faces of the crew bustling round the 
guns, from the sight of the blood of men and 
horses, from the little puffs of smoke on the en- 
emy's side (always followed by a ball flying past 
and striking the earth, a man, a gun, a horse), 
from the sight of all these things a fantastic 
world of his own had taken possession of his 
brain and at that moment afforded him pleas- 
ure. The enemy's guns were in his fancy not 
guns but pipes from which occasional puffs 
were blown by an invisible smoker. 

"There . . . he's puffing again," muttered 
Tushin to himself, as a small cloud rose from 
the hill and was borne in a streak to the left 
by the wind. 

"Now look out for the ball . . . we'll throw it 
back/' 

"What do you want, your honor?" asked an 
artilleryman, standing close by, who heard him 
muttering. 

"Nothing . . . only a shell . . ." he answered. 

"Come along, our Matve*vna!" he said to 
himself. "Matvdvna" * was the name his fancy 
gave to the farthest gun of the battery, which was 
large and of an old pattern. The French swarm- 
ing round their guns seemed to him like ants. 
In that world, the handsome drunkard Num- 
ber One of the second gun's crew was "uncle"; 
Tushin looked at him more often than at any- 
one else and took delight in his every move- 
ment. The sound of musketry at the foot of the 
hill, now diminishing, now increasing, seemed 
like someone's breathing. He listened intently 
to the ebb and flow of these sounds. 

"Ah! Breathing again, breathingl" he mut- 
tered to himself. 

He imagined himself as an enormously tall, 
powerful man who was throwing cannon balls 
at the French with both hands. 

"Now then, Matvvna, dear old lady, don't 
let me downl" he was saying as he moved from 
the gun, when a strange, unfamiliar voice called 
above his head: "Captain Tushin! Captain!" 

Tushin turned round in dismay. It was the 
staff officer who had turned him out of the 
booth at Grunth. He was shouting in a gasping 
voice: 

"Are you mad? You have twice been ordered 
to retreat, and you . . ." 

"Why are they down on me?" thought Tu- 
shin, looking in alarm at his superior. 

"I ... don't . . ." he muttered, holding up 
two fingers to his cap. "I . . ." 

But the staff officer did not finish what he 

1 Daughter of Mathcw. 



wanted to say. A cannon ball, flying close to 
him, caused him to duck and bend over his 
horse. He paused, and just as he was about to 
say something more, another ball stopped him. 
He turned his horse and galloped off. 

"Retire! All to retire!" he shouted from a 
distance. 

The soldiers laughed. A moment later, an 
adjutant arrived with the same order. 

It was Prince Andrew. The first thing he saw 
on riding up to the space where Tushin's guns 
were stationed was an unharnessed horse with 
a broken leg, that lay screaming piteously be- 
side the harnessed horses. Blood was gushing 
from its leg as from a spring. Among the lim- 
bers lay several dead men. One ball after an- 
other passed over as he approached and he felt 
a nervous shudder run down his spine. But the 
mere thought of being afraid roused him 
again. "I cannot be afraid," thought he, and dis- 
mounted slowly among the guns. He delivered 
the order and did not leave the battery. He de- 
cided to have the guns removed from their 
positions and withdrawn in his presence. To- 
gether with Tushin, stepping across the bodies 
and under a terrible fire from the French, he 
attended to the removal of the guns. 

"A staff officer was here a minute ago, but 
skipped off," said an artilleryman to Prince 
Andrew. "Not like your honor!" 

Prince Andrew said nothing to Tushin. They 
were both so busy as to seem not to notice one 
another. When having limbered up the only 
two cannon that remained uninjured out of 
the four, they began moving down the hill 
(one shattered gun and one unicorn were left 
behind), Prince Andrew rode up to Tushin. 

"Well, till we meet again . . ." he said, hold- 
ing out his hand to Tushin. 

"Good-by, my dear fellow/' said Tiishin. 
"Dear soul! Good-by, my dear fellow!" and for 
some unknown reason tears suddenly filled his 
eyes. 

CHAPTER XXI 

THE WIND had fallen and black clouds, merg- 
ing with the powder smoke, hung low over the 
field of battle on the horizon. It was growing 
dark and the glow of two conflagrations was 
the more conspicuous. The cannonade was dy- 
ing down, but the rattle of musketry behind 
and on the right sounded oftener and nearer. 
As soon as Tushin with his guns, continually 
driving round or coming upon wounded men, 
was out of range of fire and had descended in- 
to the dip, he was met by some of the staff, 



BOOK TWO 



107 



among them the staff officer and Zherk6v, who 
had been twice sent to Tiishin's battery but 
had never reached it. Interrupting one anoth- 
er, they all gave, and transmitted, orders as to 
how to proceed, reprimanding and reproach- 
ing him. Tushin gave no orders, and silently 
fearing to speak because at every word he felt 
ready to weep without knowing why rode be- 
hind on his artillery nag. Though the orders 
were to abandon the wounded, many of them 
dragged themselves after the troops and begged 
for seats on the gun carriages. The jaunty in- 
fantry officer who just before the battle had 
rushed out of Tushin's wattle shed was laid, 
with a bullet in his stomach, on "Matvc*vna's" 
carriage. At the foot of the hill, a pale hussar 
cadet, supporting one hand with the other, came 
up to Tushin and asked for a seat. 

"Captain, for God's sake! I've hurt my arm," 
he said timidly. "For God's sake ... I can't 
walk. For God's sakel" 

It was plain that this cadet had already re- 
peatedly asked for a lift and been refused. He 
asked in a hesitating, piteous voice. 

"Tell them to give me a seat, for God's sakel" 

"Give him a seat," said Tushin. "Lay a cloak 
for him to sit on, lad," he said, addressing his 
favorite soldier. "And where is the wounded 
officer?" 

"He has been set down. He died," replied 
someone. 

"Help him up. Sit down, dear fellow, sit 
down I Spread out the cloak, Antonov." 

The cadet was Rost6v. With one hand he 
supported the other; he was pale and his jaw 
trembled, shivering feverishly. He was placed 
on "Matvvna," the gun from which they had 
removed the dead officer. The cloak they spread 
under him was wet with blood which stained 
his breeches and arm. 

"What, are you wounded, my lad?" said Tu- 
shin, approaching the gun on which Rost6v sat. 

"No, it's a sprain." 

"Then what is this blood on the gun car- 
riage?" inquired Tushin. 

"It was the officer, your honor, stained it," 
answered the artilleryman, wiping away the 
blood with his coat sleeve, as if apologizing for 
the state of his gun. 

It was all that they could do to get the guns 
up the rise aided by the infantry, and having 
reached the village of Gruntersdorf they halted. 
It had grown so dark that one could not dis- 
tinguish the uniforms ten paces off, and the 
firing had begun to subside. Suddenly, near by 
on the right, shouting and firing were again 



heard. Flashes of shot gleamed in the darkness. 
This was the last French attack and was met by 
soldiers who had sheltered in the village houses. 
They all rushed out of the village again, but 
Tushin's guns could not move, and the artil- 
lerymen, Tushin, and the cadet exchanged si- 
lent glances as they awaited their fate. The fir- 
ing died down and soldiers, talking eagerly, 
streamed out of a side street. 

"Not hurt, Pctr6v?" asked one. 

"We've given it 'em hot, mate! They won't 
make another push now," said another. 

"You couldn't see a thing. How they shot at 
their own fellows! Nothing could be seen. 
Pitch-dark, brother! Isn't there something to 
drink?" 

The French had been repulsed for the last 
time. And again and again in the complete 
darkness Tushin's guns moved forward, sur- 
rounded by the humming infantry as by a 
frame. 

In the darkness, it seemed as though a gloomy 
unseen river was flowing always in one direc- 
tion, humming with whispers and talk and the 
sound of hoofs and wheels. Amid the general 
rumble, the groans and voices of the wounded 
were more distinctly heard than any other 
sound in the darkness of the night. The gloom 
that enveloped the army was filled with their 
groans, which seemed to melt into one with the 
darkness of the night. After a while the mov- 
ing mass became agitated, someone rode past 
on a white horse followed by his suite, and 
said something in passing: "What did he say? 
Where to, now? Halt, is it? Did he thank us?" 
came eager questions from all sides. The whole 
moving mass began pressing closer together 
and a report spread that they were ordered to 
halt: evidently those in front had halted. All 
remained where they were in the middle of the 
muddy road. 

Fires were lighted and the talk became more 
audible. Captain Tushin, having given orders 
to his company, sent a soldier to find a dressing 
station or a doctor for the cadet, and sat down 
by a bonfire the soldiers had kindled on the 
road. Rost6v, too, dragged himself to the fire. 
From pain, cold, and damp, a feverish shiver- 
ing shook his whole body. Drowsiness was ir- 
resistibly mastering him, but he was keptawake 
by an excruciating pain in his arm, for which 
he could find no satisfactory position. He kept 
closing his eyes and then again looking at the 
fire, which seemed to him dazzlingly red, and 
at the feeble, round-shouldered figure of Tu- 
shin who was sitting cross-legged like a Turk 



io8 



WAR AND PEACE 



beside him. Ttishin's large, kind, intelligent 
eyes were fixed with sympathy and commisera- 
tion on Rost6v, who saw that Tushin with his 
whole heart wished to help him but could not. 

From all sides were heard the footsteps and 
talk of the infantry, who were walking, driv- 
ing past, and settling down all around. The 
sound of voices, the tramping feet, the horses' 
hoofs moving in mud, the crackling of wood 
fires near and afar, merged into one tremu- 
lous rumble. 

It was no longer, as before, a dark, unseen 
river flowing through the gloom, but a dark 
sea swelling and gradually subsiding after a 
storm. Rost6v looked at and listened listlessly 
to what passed before and around him. An in- 
fantryman came to the fire, squatted on his 
heels, held his hands to the blaze, and turned 
away his face. 

"You don't mind, your honor?" he asked Tu- 
shin. "I've lost my company, your honor. I 
don't know where . . . such bad luck!" 

With the soldier, an infantry officer with a 
bandaged cheek came up to the bonfire, and 
addressing Tushin asked him to have the guns 
moved a trifle to let a wagon go past. After he 
had gone, two soldiers rushed to the campfire. 
They were quarreling and fighting desperately, 
each trying to snatch from the other a boot 
they were both holding on to. 

"You picked it up? ... I dare say! You're 
very smart!" one of them shouted hoarsely. 

Then a thin, pale soldier, his neck band- 
aged with a bloodstained leg band, came up 
and in angry tones asked the artillerymen for 
water. 

"Must one die like a dog?" said he. 

Tushin told them to give the man some wa- 
ter. Then a cheerful soldier ran up, begging a 
little fire for the infantry. 

"A nice little hot torch for the infantry! 
Good luck to you, fellow countrymen. Thanks 
for the firewe'll return it with interest," said 
he, carrying away into the darkness a glowing 
stick. 

Next came four soldiers, carrying something 
heavy on a cloak, and passed by the fire. One 
of them stumbled. 

"Who the devil has put the logs on the 
road?" snarled he. 

"He's deadwhy carry him?" said another. 

"Shut up!" 

And they disappeared into the darkness with 
their load. 

"Still aching?" Tiishin asked Rost6v in a 
whisper. 



"Yes." 

"Your honor, you're wanted by the general. 
He is in the hut here," said a gunner, coming 
up to Tushin. 

"Coming, friend." 

Tushin rose and, buttoning his greatcoat 
and pulling it straight, walked away from the 
fire. 

Not far from the artillery campfire, in a hut 
that had been prepared for him, Prince Bagra- 
ti6n sat at dinner, talkingwith some command- 
ing officers who had gathered at his quarters. 
The little old man with the half-closed eyes 
was there greedily gnawing a mutton bone, and 
the general who had served blamelessly for 
twenty- two years, flushed by a glass of vodka 
and the dinner; and the staff officer with the 
signet ring, and Zhcrk6v, uneasily glancing at 
them all, and Prince Andrew, pale, with com- 
pressed lips and feverishly glittering eyes. 

In a corner of the hut stood a standard cap- 
tured from the French, and theaccountantwith 
the nai've face was feeling its texture, shaking 
his head in perplexity perhaps because the 
banner really interested him, perhaps because 
it was hard for him, hungry as he was, to look 
on at a dinner where there was no place for 
him. In the next hut there was a French colonel 
who had been taken prisoner by our dragoons. 
Our officers were flocking in to look at him. 
Prince Bagrati6n was thanking the individual 
commanders and inquiring into details of the 
action and our losses. The general whose regi- 
ment had been inspected at Braunau was in- 
forming the prince that as soon as the action 
began he had withdrawn from the wood, mus- 
tered the men who were woodcutting, and, al- 
lowing the French to pass him, had made a 
bayonet charge with two battalions and had 
broken up the French troops. 

"When I saw, your excellency, that their first 
battalion was disorganized, I stopped in the 
road and thought: 'I'll let them come on and 
will meet them with the fire of the whole bat- 
talion' and that's what I did." 

The general had so wished to do this and 
was so sorry he had not managed to do it that 
it seemed to him as if it had really happened. 
Perhaps it might really have been so? Could 
one possibly make out amid all that confusion 
what did or did not happen? 

"By the way, your excellency, I should inform 
you," he continued remembering D61okhov's 
conversation with Kutuzov and his last inter- 
view with the gentleman-ranker "that Private 
D61okhov, who was reduced to the ranks, took 



BOOK 

a French officer prisoner in my presence and 
particularly distinguished himself/' 

"I saw the Pdvlograd hussars attack there, 
your excellency," chimed in Zherk6v, looking 
uneasily around. He had not seen the hussars 
all that day, but had heard about them from an 
infantry officer. "They broke up two squares, 
your excellency/' 

Several of those present smiled at Zherk6v's 
words, expecting one of his usual jokes, but 
noticing that what he was saying redounded to 
the glory of our arms and of the day's work, 
they assumed a serious expression, though 
many of them knew that what he was saying 
was a lie devoid of any foundation. Prince Ba- 
grati6n turned to the old colonel: 

"Gentlemen, I thank you all; all arms have 
behaved heroically: infantry, cavalry, and ar- 
tillery. How was it that two guns were aban- 
doned in the center?" he inquired, searching 
with his eyes for someone. (Prince Bagrati6n 
did not ask about the guns on the left flank; he 
knew that all the guns there had been aban- 
doned at the very beginning of the action.) "I 
think I sent you?" he added, turning to the 
staff officer on duty. 

"One was damaged," answered the staff offi- 
cer, "and the other I can't understand. I was 
there all the time giving orders and had only 

just left It is true that it was hot there," he 

added, modestly. 

Someone mentioned that Captain Tushin 
was bivouacking close to the village and had al- 
ready been sent for. 

"Oh, but you were there?" said Prince Bagra- 
tion, addressing Prince Andrew. 

"Of course, weonly just missed one another," 
said the staff officer, with a smile to Bolk6nski. 

"I had not the pleasure of seeing you," said 
Prince Andrew, coldly and abruptly. 

All were silent. Tushin appeared at the 
threshold and made his way timidly from be- 
hind the backs of the generals. As he stepped 
past the generals in the crowded hut, feeling 
embarrassed as he always was by the sight of his 
superiors, he did not notice the staff of the 
banner and stumbled over it. Several of those 
present laughed. 

"How was it a gun was abandoned?" asked 
Bagrati6n, frowning, not so much at the cap- 
tain as at those who were laughing, among 
whom Zherk6v laughed loudest. 

Only now, when he was confronted by the 
stern authorities, did his guilt and the disgrace 
of having lost two guns and yet remaining alive 
present themselves to Tushin in all their hor- 



TWO 109 

ror. He had been so excited that he had not 
thought about it until that moment. The offi- 
cers' laughter confused himstill more. Hestood 
before Bagrati6n with his lower jaw trembling 
and was hardly able to mutter: "I don't know 
. . . your excellency ... I had no men . . . your 
excellency." 

"You might have taken some from the cov- 
ering troops." 

Tushin did not say that there were no cov- 
ering troops, though that was perfectly true. 
He was afraid of getting some other officer in- 
to trouble, and silently fixed his eyes on Ba- 
grati6n as a schoolboy who has blundered looks 
at an examiner. 

The silence lasted some time. Prince Bagra- 
ti6n, apparently not wishing to be severe, found 
nothing to say; the others did not venture to 
intervene. Prince Andrew looked at Tushin 
from under his brows and his fingers twitched 
nervously. 

"Your excellency!" Prince Andrew broke the 
silence with his abrupt voice, "you were pleased 
to send me to Captain Tiishin's battery. I went 
there and found two thirds of the men and 
horses knocked out, two guns smashed, and no 
supports at all." 

Prince Bagrati6n and Tushin looked with 
equal intentness at Bolk6nski, who spoke with 
suppressed agitation. 

"And, if your excellency will allow me to 
express my opinion," he continued, "we owe 
today's success chiefly to the action of that bat- 
tery and the heroic endurance of Captain Tu- 
shin and his company," and without awaiting 
a reply, Prince Andrew rose and left the table. 

Prince Bagrati6n looked at Tushin, evident- 
ly reluctant to show distrust in Bolk6nski's em- 
phatic opinion yet not feeling able fully to 
credit it, bent his head, and told Tushin that 
he could go. Prince Andrew went out with him. 

"Thank you; you saved me, my dear fellowl" 
said Tushin. 

Prince Andrew gave him a look, but said 
nothing and went away. He felt sad and de- 
pressed. It was all so strange, so unlike what 
he had hoped. 

"Who are they? Why are they here? What do 
they want? And when will all this end?" 
thought Rostc'w, looking at the changing shad- 
ows before him. The pain in his arm became 
more and more intense. Irresistible drowsiness 
overpowered him, red rings danced before his 
eyes, and the impression of those voices and 
faces and a sense of loneliness merged with the 



no 

physical pain. It was they, these soldiers- 
wounded and unwounded it was they who 
were crushing, weighing down, and twisting 
the sinews and scorching the flesh of his 
sprained arm and shoulder. To rid himself of 
them, he closed his eyes. 

For a moment he dozed, but in that short in- 
terval innumerable things appeared to him in 
a dream: his mother and her large white hand, 
S6nya's thin little shoulders, Natasha's eyes and 
laughter, Denfsovwith his voice and mustache, 
and Telyaninand all that affair with Telydnin 
and Bogdnich. That affair was the same thing 
as this soldier with the harsh voice, and it was 
that affair and this soldier that were so agoniz- 
ingly, incessantly pulling and pressing his arm 
and always dragging it in one direction. He 
tried to get away from them, but they would 
not for an instant let his shoulder move a hair's 
breadth. It would not acheit would be well 
if only they did not pull it, but it was impossible 
to get rid of them. 

He opened his eyes and looked up. The 
black canopy of night hung less than a yard 
above the glow of the charcoal. Flakes of fall- 



WAR AND PEACE 



ing snow were fluttering in that light. Tushin 
had not returned, the doctor had not come. He 
was alone now, except for a soldier who was 
sitting naked at the other side of the fire, warm- 
ing his thin yellow body. 

"Nobody wants me I" thought Rostov. 
"There is no one to help me or pity me. Yet I 
was once at home, strong, happy, and loved." 
He sighed and, doing so, groaned involuntar- 
ily. 

"Eh, is anything hurting you?" asked the sol- 
dier, shaking his shirt out over the fire, and not 
waiting for an answer he gave a grunt and add- 
ed: "What a lot of men have been crippled to- 
day frightful 1" 

Rost6v did not listen to the soldier. He looked 
at the snowflakes fluttering above the fire and 
remembered a Russian winter at his warm, 
bright home, his fluffy fur coat, his quickly 
gliding sleigh, his healthy body, and all the af- 
fection and care of his family. "And why did I 
come here?" he wondered. 

Next day the French army did not renew 
their attack, and the remnant of Bagrati6n's 
detachment was reunited to Kutiizov's army. 



Book Three: 1805 



CHAPTER I 

PRINCE VAS!LI was not a man who deliberately 
thought out his plans. Still less did he think of 
injuring anyone for his own advantage. He was 
merely a man of the world who had got on and 
to whom getting on had become a habit. 
Schemes and devices for which he never right- 
ly accounted to himself, but which formed the 
whole interest of his life, were constantly shap- 
ing themselves in his mind, arising from the 
circumstances and persons he met. Of these 
plans he had not merely one or two in his 
head but dozens, some only beginning to form 
themselves, some approaching achievement, 
and some in course of disintegration. He did 
not, for instance, say to himself: "This man 
now has influence, I must gain his confidence 
and friendship and through him obtain a spe- 
cial grant/' Nor did he say to himself: "Pierre 
is a rich man, I must entice him to marry my 
daughter and lend me the forty thousand ru- 
bles I need." But when he came across a man of 
position his instinct immediately told him that 
this man could be useful, and without any pre- 
meditation Prince Vasili took the first oppor- 
tunity to gain his confidence, flatter him, be- 
come intimate with him, and finally make his 
request. 

He had Pierre at hand in Moscow and pro- 
cured for him an appointment as Gentleman 
of the Bedchamber, which at that time con- 
ferred the status of Councilor of State, and 
insisted on the young man accompanying 
him to Petersburg and staying at his house. 
With apparent absent-mindedness, yet with 
unhesitating assurance that he was doing the 
right thing, Prince Vasili did everything 
to get Pierre to marry his daughter. Had he 
thought out his plans beforehand he could 
not have been so natural and shown such un- 
affected familiarity in intercourse with every- 
body both above and below him in social 
standing. Something always drew him toward 
those richer and more powerful than himself 
and he had rare skill in seizing the most op- 



portune moment for making use of people. 
Pierre, on unexpectedly becoming Count Be- 
ziikhov and a rich man, felt himself after his 
recent loneliness and freedom from cares so be- 
set and preoccupied that only in bed was he 
able to be by himself. He had to sign papers, to 
present himself at government offices, the pur- 
pose of which was not clear to him, to question 
his chief steward, to visit his estate near Mos- 
cow, and to receive many people who formerly 
did not even wish to know of his existence but 
would now have been offended and grieved 
had he chosen not to see them. These differ- 
ent people businessmen, relations, and ac- 
quaintances alike were all disposed to treat 
the young heir in the most friendly and flatter- 
ing manner: they were all evidently firmly con- 
vinced of Pierre's noble qualities. He was 
always hearing such words as: "With your re- 
markable kindness," or, "With your excellent 
heart," "You are yourself so honorable, Count," 
or, "Were he as clever as you," and so on, till 
he began sincerely to believe in his own excep- 
tional kindness and extraordinary intelligence, 
the more so as in the depth of his heart it had 
always seemed to him that he really was very 
kind and intelligent. Even people who had 
formerly been spiteful toward him and evident- 
ly unfriendly now became gentle and affection- 
ate. The angry eldest princess, with the long 
waist and hair plastered down like a doll's, had 
come into Pierre's room after the funeral. With 
drooping eyes and frequent blushes she told 
him she was very sorry about their past misun- 
derstandings and did not now feel she had a 
right to ask him for anything, except only for 
permission, after the blow she had received, to 
remain for a few weeks longer in the house 
she so loved and where she had sacrificed so 
much. She could not refrain from weeping 
at these words. Touched that this statuesque 
princess could so change, Pierre took her 
hand and begged her forgiveness, without 
knowing what for. From that day the eldest 
princess quite changed toward Pierre and 



WAR AND PEACE 



began knitting a striped scarf for him. 

"Do this for my sake, mon cher; after all, she 
had to put up with a great deal from the de- 
ceased," said Prince Vasfli to him, handing him 
a deed to sign for the princess' benefit. 

Prince Vaslli had come to the conclusion 
that it was necessary to throw this bone a bill 
for thirty thousand rubles to the poor prin- 
cess that it might not occur to her to speak of 
his share in the affair of the inlaid portfolio. 
Pierre signed the deed and after that the prin- 
cess grew still kinder. The younger sisters also 
became affectionate to him, especially the 
youngest, the pretty one with the mole, who 
often made him feel confused by her smiles 
and her own confusion when meeting him. 

It seemed so natural to Pierre that everyone 
should like him, and it would have seemed so 
unnatural had anyone disliked him, that he 
could not but believe in the sincerity of those 
around him. Besides, he had no time to ask 
himself whether these people were sincere or 
not. He was always busy and always felt in a 
state of mild and cheerful intoxication. He 
felt as though he were the center of some im- 
portant and general movement; that something 
was constantly expected of him, that if he did 
not do it he would grieve and disappoint many 
people, but if he did this and that, all would 
bewell; and he did what was demanded of him, 
but still that happy result always remained in 
the future. 

More than anyone else, Prince Vasfli took 
possession of Pierre's affairs and of Pierre him- 
self in those early days. From the death of 
Count Bezukhov he did not let go his hold of 
the lad. He had the air of a man oppressed by 
business, weary and suffering, who yet would 
not, for pity's sake, leave this helpless youth 
who, after all, was the son of his old friend and 
the possessor of such enormous wealth, to the 
caprice of fate and the designs of rogues. Dur- 
ing the few days he spent in Moscow after the 
death of Count Bezukhov, he would call Pierre, 
or go to him himself, and tell him what ought 
to be done in a tone of weariness and assurance, 
as if he were adding every time: "You know I 
am overwhelmed with business and it is purely 
out of charity that I trouble myself about you, 
and you also know quite well that what I pro- 
pose is the only thing possible." 

"Well, my dear fellow, tomorrow we are off 
at last," said Prince Vasfli one day, closing his 
eyes and fingering Pierre's elbow, speaking as 
if he were saying something which had long 
since been agreed upon and could not now be 



altered. "We start tomorrow and I'm giving 
you a place in my carriage. I am very glad. All 
our important business here is now settled, and 
I ought to have been off long ago. Here is some- 
thing I have received from the chancellor. I 
asked him for you, and you have been entered 
in the diplomatic corps and made a Gentleman 
of the Bedchamber. The diplomatic career now 
lies open before you." 

Notwithstanding the tone of wearied assur- 
ance with which these words were pronounced, 
Pierre, who had so long been considering his 
career, wished to make some suggestion. But 
Prince Vasili interrupted him in the special 
deep cooing tone, precluding the possibility of 
interrupting his speech, which he used in ex- 
treme cases when special persuasion was need- 
ed. 

"Mais, mon cher, I did this for my own sake, 
to satisfy my conscience, and there is nothing 
to thank me for. No one has ever complained 
yet of being too much loved; and besides, you 
are free, you could throw it up tomorrow. But 
you will see everything for yourself when you 
get to Petersburg. It is high time for you to get 
away from these terrible recollections." Prince 
Vasfli sighed. "Yes, yes, my boy. And my valet 
can go in your carriage. Ah! I was nearly for- 
getting," he added. "You know, mon cher,your 
father and I had some accounts to settle, so I 
have received what was due from the Ryazan 
estate and will keep it; you won't require it. 
We'll go into the accounts later." 

By "what was due from the Ryazan estate" 
Prince Vasfli meant several thousand rubles 
quitrent received from Pierre's peasants, which 
the prince had retained for himself. 

In Petersburg, as in Moscow, Pierre found 
the same atmosphere of gentleness and affec- 
tion. He could not refuse the post, or rather 
the rank (for he did nothing), that Prince Va- 
sfli had procured for him, and acquaintances, 
invitations, and social occupations were so num- 
erous that, even more than in Moscow, he felt 
a sense of bewilderment, bustle, and continual 
expectation of some good, always in front of 
him but never attained. 

Of his former bachelor acquaintances many 
were no longer in Petersburg, The Guards had 
gone to the front; D61okhov had been reduced 
to the ranks; Anatole was in the army some- 
where in the provinces; Prince Andrew was 
abroad; so Pierre had not the opportunity to 
spend his nights as he used to like to spend 
them, or to open his mind by intimate talks 
with a friend older than himself and whom he 



BOOK 

respected. His whole time was taken up with 
dinners and balls and was spent chiefly at 
Prince Vasili's house in the company of the 
stout princess, his wife, and his beautiful daugh- 
ter Hdene. 

Like the others, Anna Pdvlovna Sch^rer 
showed Pierre the change of attitude toward 
him that had taken place in society. 

Formerly in Anna Pdvlovna's presence, 
Pierre had always felt that what he was say- 
ing was out of place, tactless and unsuitable, 
that remarks which seemed to him clever while 
they formed in his mind became foolish as 
soon as he uttered them, while on the contrary 
Hippolyte's stupidest remarks came out clev- 
er and apt. Now everything Pierre said was 
charmant. Even if Anna Pavlovna did not say 
so, he could see that she wished to and only 
refrained out of regard for his modesty. 

In the beginning of the winter of 1805-6 
Pierre received one of Anna Pavlovna's usual 
pink notes with an invitation to which was 
added: "You will find the beautiful Hdlcne 
here, whom it is always delightful to see." 

When he read that sentence, Pierre felt for 
the first time that some link which other peo- 
ple recognized had grown up between himself 
and Hlne, and that thought both alarmed 
him, as if some obligation were being imposed 
on him which he could not fulfill, and pleased 
him as an entertaining supposition. 

Anna Pdvlovna's "At Home" was like the for- 
mer one, only the novelty she offered her guests 
this time was not Mortemart, but a diploma- 
tist fresh from Berlin with the very latest details 
of the Emperor Alexander's visit to Potsdam, 
and of how the two august friends had pledged 
themselves in an indissoluble alliance to up- 
hold the cause of justice against the enemy of 
the human race. Anna Pdvlovna received 
Pierre with a shade of melancholy, evidently 
relating to the young man's recent loss by the 
death of Count Bezukhov (everyone constant- 
ly considered it a duty to assure Pierre that he 
was greatly afflicted by the death of the father 
he had hardly known), and her melancholy was 
just like the august melancholy she showed at 
the mention of her most august Majesty the 
Empress MdryaFedorovna. Pierre felt flattered 
by this. Anna Pdvlovna arranged the different 
groups in her drawing room with her habitual 
skill. The large group, in which were Prince 
Vasili and the generals, had the benefit of the 
diplomat. Another group was at the tea table. 
Pierre wished to join the former, but Anna Pv- 
lovna who was in the excited condition of a 



THREE 113 

commander on a battlefield to whom thousands 
of new and brilliant ideas occur which there is 
hardly time to put in action seeing Pierre, 
touched his sleeve with her finger, saying: 

"Wait a bit, I have something in view for you 
this evening." (She glanced at Hdene and 
smiled at her.) "My dear Hlne, be charitable 
to my poor aunt who adores you. Go and keep 
her company for ten minutes. And that it will 
not be too dull, here is the dear count who will 
not refuse to accompany you." 

The beauty went to the aunt, but Anna Pav- 
lovna detained Pierre, looking as if she had to 
give some final necessary instructions. 

"Isn't she exquisite?" she said to Pierre, 
pointing to the stately beauty as she glided a- 
way."And how she carries herself! Forso young 
a girl, such tact, such masterly perfection of 
manner! It comes from her heart. Happy the 
man who wins her! With her the least worldly 
of men would occupy a most brilliant position 
in society. Don't you think so? I only wanted 
to know your opinion," and Anna Pdvlovna 
let Pierre go. 

Pierre, in reply, sincerely agreed with her as 
to Helene's perfection of manner. If he ever 
thought of H<Hne,itwas just of her beauty and 
her remarkable skill in appearing silently dig- 
nified in society. 

The old aunt received the two young people 
in her corner, but seemed desirous of hiding 
her adoration for Hdlene and inclined rather 
to show her fear of Anna Pdvlovna. She looked 
at her niece, as if inquiring what she was to do 
with these people. On leaving them, Anna Pdv- 
lovna again touched Pierre's sleeve, saying: "I 
hope you won't say that it is dull in my house 
again," and she glanced at HeUene. 

H^lene smiled, with a look implying that 
she did not admit the possibility of anyone see- 
ing her without being enchanted. The aunt 
coughed, swallowed, and said in French that 
she was very pleased to see Hlne, then she 
turned to Pierre with the same words of wel- 
come and the same look. In the middle of a dull 
and halting conversation, Hlene turned to 
Pierre with the beautiful bright smile that 
she gave to everyone. Pierre was so used to 
that smile, and it had so little meaning for him, 
that he paid no attention to it. The aunt was 
just speaking of a collection of snuffboxes that 
had belonged to Pierre's father, Count Be- 
ziikhov, and showed them her own box. Prin- 
cess Hdene asked to see the portrait of the 
aunt's husband on the box lid. 

"That is probably the work of Vinesse," said 



WAR AND PEACE 



Pierre, mentioning a celebrated miniaturist, 
and he leaned over the table to take the snuff- 
box while trying to hear what was being said 
at the other table. 

He half rose, meaning to go round, but the 
aunt handed him the snuff box, passing it across 
Hlne's back. Hlene stooped forward to make 
room, and looked round with a smile. She was, 
as always at evening parties, wearing a dress 
such as was then fashionable, cut very low at 
front and back. Her bust, which had always 
seemed like marble to Pierre, was so close to 
him that his shortsighted eyes could not but 
perceive the living charm of her neck and shoul- 
ders, so near to his lips that he need only have 
bent his head a little to have touched them. He 
was conscious of the warmth of her body, the 
scent of perfume, and the creaking of her cor- 
set as she moved. He did not see her marble 
beauty forming a complete whole with her dress, 
but all the charm of her body only covered by 
her garments. And having once seen this he 
could not help being aware of it, just as we can- 
not renew an illusion we have once seen 
through. 

"So you have never noticed before how beau- 
tiful I am?" Hlene seemed to say. "You had not 
noticed that I am a woman? Yes, I am a wom- 
an who may belong to anyone to you too," 
said her glance. And at that moment Pierre 
felt that Hdene not only could, but must, be 
his wife, and that it could not be otherwise. 

He knew this at that moment as surely as if 
he had been standing at the altar with her. 
How and when this would be he did not know, 
he did not even know if it would be a good 
thing (he even felt, he knew not why, that it 
would be a bad thing), but he knew it would 
happen. 

Pierre dropped his eyes, lifted them again, 
and wished once more to see her as a distant 
beauty far removed from him, as he had seen 
her every day.until then, but he could no long- 
er do it. He could not, any more than a man 
who has been looking at a tuft of steppe grass 
through the mist and taking it for a tree can 
again take it for a tree after he has once recog- 
nized it to be a tuft of grass. She was terribly 
close to him. She already had power over him, 
and between them there was no longer any 
barrier except the barrier of his own will. 

"Well, I will leave you in your little corner," 
came Anna Pdvlovna's voice, "I see you are 
all right there." 

And Pierre, anxiously trying to remember 
whether he had done anything reprehensible, 



looked round with a blush. It seemed to him 
that everyone knew what had happened to him 
as he knew it himself. 

A little later when he went up to the large 
circle, Anna Pdvlovna said to him: "I hear you 
are refitting your Petersburg house?" 

This was true. The architect had told him 
that it was necessary, and Pierre, without know- 
ing why, was having his enormous Petersburg 
house done up. 

"That's a good thing, but don't move from 
Prince Vasfli's. It is good to have a friend like 
the prince," she said, smiling at Prince Vastti. 
"I know something about that. Don't I? And 
you are still so young. You need advice. Don't 
be angry with me for exercising an old woman's 
privilege." 

She paused, as women always do, expecting 
something after they have mentioned their age. 
"If you marry it will be a different thing," she 
continued, uniting them both in one glance. 
Pierre did not look at Hdlene nor she at him. 
But she was just as terribly close to him. He 
muttered something and colored. 

When he got home he could not sleep for a 
long time for thinking of what had happened. 
What had happened? Nothing. He had merely 
understood that the woman he had known as a 
child, of whom when her beauty was mentioned 
he had said absent-mindedly: "Yes, she's good- 
looking," he had understood that this woman 
might belong to him. 

"But she's stupid. I have myself said she is 
stupid," he thought. "There is something nas- 
ty, something wrong, in the feeling she excites 
in me. I have been told that her brother Ana- 
tole was in love with her and she with him, 
that there was quite a scandal and that that's 
why he was sent away. Hippolyte is her 
brother . . . Prince Vastti is her father . . . It's 
bad " he reflected, but while he was think- 
ing this (the reflection was still incomplete), he 
caught himself smiling and was conscious that 
another line of thought had sprung up, and 
while thinking of her worthlessness he was also 
dreaming of how she would be his wife, how 
she would love him and become quite different, 
and how all he had thought and heard of her 
might be false. And he again saw her not as the 
daughter of Prince Vasfli, but visualized her 
whole body only veiled by its gray dress. "But 
no I Why did this thought never occur to me 
before?" and again he told himself that it was 
impossible, that there would be something un- 
natural, and as it seemed to him dishonorable, 
in this marriage. He recalled her former words 



BOOK THREE 



and looks and the words and looks of those who 
had seen them together. He recalled Anna Pdv- 
lovna's words and looks when she spoke to him 
about his house, recalled thousands of such 
hints from Prince Vasili and others, and was 
seized by terror lest he had already, in some 
way, bound himself to do something that was 
evidently wrong and that he ought not to do. 
But at the very time he was expressing this con- 
viction to himself, in another part of his mind 
her image rose in all its womanly beauty. 

CHAPTER II 

IN NOVEMBER, 1805, Prince Vasfli had to go on 
a tour of inspection in four different provinces. 
He had arranged this for himself so as to visit 
his neglected estates at the same time and pick 
up his son Anatole where his regiment was sta- 
tioned, and take him to visit Prince Nicholas 
Bolk6nski in order to arrange a match for him 
with the daughter of that rich old man. But be- 
fore leaving home and undertaking these new 
affairs, Prince Vasili had to settle matters with 
Pierre, who, it is true, had latterly spent whole 
days at home, that is, in Prince Vasfli's house 
where he was staying, and had been absurd, ex- 
cited, and foolish in He*lene's presence (as a 
lover should be), but had not yet proposed to 
her. 

"This is all very fine, but things must be set- 
tled," said Prince Vasili to himself, with a sor- 
rowful sigh, one morning, feeling that Pierre 
who was under such obligations to him ("But 
never mind that") was not behaving very well 
in this matter. "Youth, frivolity . . . well, God 
be with him," thought he, relishing his own 
goodness of heart, "but it must be brought to 
a head. The day after tomorrow will be Lelya's 
name day. I will invite two or three people, 
and if he does not understand what he ought 
to do then it will be my affair yes, my affair. I 
am her father." 

Six weeks after Anna Pavlovna's "At Home" 
and after the sleepless night when he had de- 
cided that to marry He*lene would be a calam- 
ity and that he ought to avoid her and go away, 
Pierre, despite that decision, had not left Prince 
Vasili's and felt with terror that in people's 
eyes he was every day more and more connected 
with her, that it was impossible for him to re- 
turn to his former conception of her, that he 
could not break away from her, and that though 
it would be a terrible thing he would have to 
unite his fate with hers. He might perhaps have 
been able to free himself but that Prince Vasili 
(who had rarely before given receptions) now 



hardly let a day go by without having an even- 
ing party at which Pierre had to be present un- 
less he wished to spoil the general pleasure and 
disappoint everyone's expectation. Prince Va- 
sili, in the rare moments when he was at home, 
would take Pierre's hand in passing and draw 
it downwards, or absent-mindedly hold out 
his wrinkled, clean-shaven cheek for Pierre to 
kiss and would say: "Till tomorrow," or, "Be 
in to dinner or I shall not see you," or, "I am 
staying in for your sake," and so on. And though 
Prince Vasili, when he stayed in (as he said) for 
Pierre's sake, hardly exchanged a couple of 
words with him, Pierre felt unable to disap- 
point him. Every day he said to himself one and 
the same thing: "It is time I understood her 
and made up my mind what she really is. Was 
1 mistaken before, or am I mistaken now? No, 
she is not stupid, she is an excellent girl," he 
sometimes said to himself, "she never makes a 
mistake, never says anything stupid. She says 
little, but what she does say is always clear and 
simple, so she is not stupid. She never was 
abashed and is not abashed now, so she cannot 
be a bad woman!" He had of ten begun to make 
reflections or think aloud in her company, and 
she had always answered him either by a brief 
but appropriate remark showing that it did 
not interest her or by a silent look and smile 
which more palpably than anything else showed 
Pierre her superiority. She was right in regard- 
ing all arguments as nonsense in comparison 
with that smile. 

She always addressed him with a radiantly 
confiding smile meant for him alone, in which 
there was something more significant than in 
the general smile that usually brightened her 
face. Pierre knew that everyone was waiting for 
him to say a word and cross a certain line, and 
he knew that sooner or later he would step 
across it, but an incomprehensible terror seized 
him at the thought of that dreadful step. A 
thousand times during that month and a half 
while he felt himself drawn nearer and nearer 
to that dreadful abyss, Pierre said to himself: 
"What am I doing? I need resolution. Can it 
be that I have none?" 

He wished to take a decision, but felt with 
dismay that in this matter he lacked that 
strength of will which he had known in him- 
self and really possessed. Pierre was one of 
those who are only strong when they feel 
themselves quite innocent, and since that day 
when he was overpowered by a feeling of de- 
sire while stooping over the snuffbox at Anna 
Pavlovna's, an unacknowledged sense of the 



n6 



WAR AND PEACE 



guilt of that desire paralyzed his will. 

On Hlne's name day, a small party of just 
their own people as his wife said met for sup- 
per at Prince Vasili's. All these friends and re- 
lations had been given to understand that the 
fate of the young girl would be decided that 
evening. The visitors were seated at supper. 
Princess Kuragina, a portly imposing woman 
who had once been handsome, was sitting at 
the head of the table. On either side of her sat 
the more important guests an old general and 
his wife, and Anna Pdvlovna Schdrer. At the 
other end sat the younger and less important 
guests, and there too sat the members of the 
family, and Pierre and Hlne, side by side. 
Prince Vasili was not having any supper: he 
went round the table in a merry mood, sitting 
down now by one, now by another, of the 
guests. To each of them he made some careless 
and agreeable remark except to Pierre and He*I- 
ne, whose presence he seemed not to notice. 
He enlivened the whole party. The wax can- 
dles burned brightly, the silver and crystal 
gleamed, so did the ladies' toilets and the gold 
and silver of the men's epaulets; servants in scar- 
let liveries moved round the table, and the clat- 
ter of plates, knives, and glasses mingled with 
the animated hum of several conversations. At 
one end of the table, the old chamberlain was 
heard assuring an old baroness that he loved 
her passionately, at which she laughed; at the 
other could be heard the story of the misfor- 
tunes of some Mary Viktorovna or other. At 
the center of the table, Prince Vasili attracted 
everybody's attention. With a facetious smile 
on his face, he was telling the ladies about last 
Wednesday's meeting of the Imperial Council, 
at which Sergey Kuzmich Vyazmftinov, the new 
military governor general of Petersburg, had 
received and read the then famous rescript of 
the Emperor Alexander from the army to Ser- 
ge'y Kuzmich, in which the Emperor said that 
he was receiving from all sides declarations of 
the people's loyalty, that the declaration from 
Petersburg gave him particular pleasure, and 
that he was proud to be at the head of such a 
nation and would endeavor to be worthy of it. 
This rescript began with the words: "Serge'y 
Kuzmich, From all sides reports reach me," etc. 

"Well, and so he never got farther than: 
'Serge'y Kuzmich'?" asked one of the ladies. 

"Exactly, not a hair's breadth farther," an- 
swered Prince Vasili, laughing, " 'Serge'y Kuz- 
mich . . . From all sides . . . From all sides . . . 
Serge'y Kuzmich . . .' Poor Vyazmitinov could 
not get any farther. He began the rescript again 



and again, but as soon as he uttered 'Serge'y 9 he 
sobbed, 'Kuz-mi-ch' tears, and 'From all sides' 
was smothered in sobs and he could get no far- 
ther. And again his handkerchief, and again: 
'Sergey Kuzmich, From all sides' . . . and tears, 
till at last somebody else was asked to read it." 

"Kuzmich . . . From all sides . . . and then 
tears," someone repeated laughing. 

"Don't be unkind," cried Anna Pdvlovna 
from her end of the table holding up a threat- 
ening finger. "He is such a worthy and excellent 
man, our dear Vyazmitinov " 

Everybody laughed a great deal. At the head 
of the table, where the honored guests sat, ev- 
eryone seemed to be in high spirits and under 
the influence of a variety of exciting sensations. 
Only Pierre and Hellene sat silently side by 
side almost at the bottom of the table, a sup- 
pressed smile brightening both their faces, a 
smile that had nothing to do with Sergey Kuz- 
mfch a smile of bashfulness at their own feel- 
ings. But much as all the rest laughed, talked, 
and joked, much as they enjoyed their Rhine 
wine, saute, and ices, and however they avoid- 
ed looking at the young couple, and heedless 
and unobservant as they seemed of them, 
one could feel by the occasional glances they 
gave that the story about Sergey Kuzmfch, the 
laughter, and the food were all a pretense, and 
that the whole attention of that company was 
directed to Pierre and Hlne. Prince Vasili 
mimicked the sobbing of Serge'y Kuzmfch and 
at the same time his eyes glanced toward his 
daughter, and while he laughed the expression 
on his face clearly said: "Yes . . . it's getting on, 
it will all be settled today." Anna Pdvlovna 
threatened him on behalf of "our dear Vyaz- 
mitinov," and in her eyes, which, for an in- 
stant, glanced at Pierre, Prince Vasfli read a 
congratulation on his future son-in-law and on 
his daughter's happiness. The old princess 
sighed sadly as she offered some wine to the 
old lady next to her and glanced angrily at her 
daughter, and her sigh seemed to say: "Yes, 
there's nothing left for you and me but to sip 
sweet wine, my dear, now that the time has 
come for these young ones to be thus boldly, 
provocatively happy." "And what nonsense all 
this is that I am saying!" thought a diploma- 
tist, glancing at the happy faces of the lovers. 
"That's happiness!" 

Into the insignificant, trifling, and artificial 
interests uniting that society had entered the 
simple feeling of the attraction of a healthy 
and handsome young man and woman for one 
another. And this human feeling dominated 



BOOK 

everything else and soared above all their af- 
fected chatter. Jests fell flat, news was not in- 
teresting, and the animation was evidently 
forced. Not only the guests but even the foot- 
men waiting at table seemed to feel this, and 
they forgot their duties as they looked at the 
beautiful He"lene with her radiant face and at 
the red, broad, and happy though uneasy face 
of Pierre. It seemed as if the very light of the 
candles was focused on those two happy faces 
alone. 

Pierre felt that he was the center of it all, and 
this both pleased and embarrassed him. He was 
like a man entirely absorbed in some occupa- 
tion. He did not see, hear, or understand any- 
thing clearly. Only now and then detached 
ideas and impressions from the world of reality 
shot unexpectedly through his mind. 

"So it is all finished!" he thought. "And how 
has it all happened? How quickly 1 Now I know 
that not because of her alone, nor of myself 
alone, but because of everyone, it must inevi- 
tably come about. They are all expecting it, 
they are so sure that it will happen that I can- 
not, I cannot, disappoint them. But how will it 
be? I do not know, but it will certainly happen!" 
thought Pierre, glancingat those dazzlingshoul- 
ders close to his eyes. 

Or he would suddenly feel ashamed of he 
knew not what. He felt it awkward to attract 
everyone's attention and to be considered a 
lucky man and, with his plain face, to be looked 
on as a sort of Paris possessed of a Helen. "But 
no doubt it always is and must be so!" he con- 
soled himself. "And besides, what have I done 
to bring it about? How did it begin? I traveled 
from Moscow with Prince Vasfli. Then there 
was nothing. So why should I not stay at his 
house? Then I played cards with her and picked 
up her reticule and drove out with her. How 
did it begin, when did it all come about?" And 
here he was sitting by her side as her betrothed, 
seeing, hearing, feel ing her nearness, her breath- 
ing, her movements, her beauty. Then it 
would suddenly seem to him that it was not 
she but he who was so unusually beautiful, and 
that that was why they all looked so at him, 
and flattered by this general admiration he 
would expand his chest, raise his head, and re- 
joice at his good fortune. Suddenly he heard 
a familiar voice repeating something to him a 
second time. But Pierre was so absorbed that 
he did not understand what was said. 

"I am asking you when you last heard from 
Bolk6nski," repeated Prince Vasfli a third time. 
"How absent-minded you are, my dear fellow." 



THREE 117 

Prince Vastti smiled, and Pierre noticed that 
everyone was smiling at him and He"lene. 
"Well, what of it, if you all know it?" thought 
Pierre. "What of it? It's the truth!" and he him- 
self smiled his gentle childlike smile, and He*l- 
ene smiled too. 

"When did you get the letter? Was it from 
Olmiitz?" repeated Prince Vasfli, who pretend- 
ed to want to know this in order to settle a 
dispute. 

"How can one talk or think of such trifles?" 
thought Pierre. 

"Yes, from Olmiitz," he answered, with a 
sigh. 

After supper Pierre with his partner fol- 
lowed the others into the drawing room. The 
guests began to disperse, some without taking 
leave of Hlne. Some, as if unwilling to dis- 
tract her from an important occupation, came 
up to her for a moment and made haste to go 
away, refusing to let her see them off. The di- 
plomatist preserved a mournful silence as he 
left the drawing room. He pictured the vanity 
of his diplomatic career in comparison with 
Pierre's happiness. The old general grumbled 
at his wife when she asked how his leg was. 
"Oh, the old fool," he thought. "That Princess 
Hlene will be beautiful still when she's fifty." 

"I think I may congratulate you," whispered 
Anna Pdvlovna to the old princess, kissing her 
soundly. "If I hadn't this headache I'd have 
stayed longer." 

The old princess did not reply, she was tor- 
mented by jealousy of her daughter's happiness. 

While the guests were taking their leave, 
Pierre remained for a long time alone with 
Helene in the little drawing room where 
they were sitting. He had often before, during 
the last six weeks, remained alone with her, 
but had never spoken to her of love. Now he 
felt that it was inevitable, but he could not 
make up his mind to take the final step. He 
felt ashamed; he felt that he was occupying 
someone else's place here beside Hlne. "This 
happiness is not for you," some inner voice 
whispered to him. "This happiness is for those 
who have not in them what there is in you." 

But, as he had to say something, he began by 
asking her whether she was satisfied with the 
party. She replied in her usual simple manner 
that this name day of hers had been one of the 
pleasantest she had ever had. 

Some of the nearest relatives had not yet left. 
They were sitting in the large drawing room. 
Prince Vasfli came up to Pierre with languid 
footsteps. Pierre rose and said it was getting 



n8 



WAR AND PEACE 



late. Prince Vasfli gave him a look of stern in- 
quiry, as though what Pierre had just said was 
so strange that one could not take it in. But 
then the expression of severity changed, and 
he drew Pierre's hand downwards, made him 
sit down, and smiled affectionately. 

"Well, Lelya?" he asked, turning instantly 
to his daughter and addressing her with the 
careless tone of habitual tenderness natural to 
parents who have petted their children from 
babyhood, but which Prince Vasili had only 
acquired by imitating other parents. 

And he again turned to Pierre. 

"Serge*y Kuzmfch From all sides" he said, 
unbuttoning the top button of his waistcoat. 

Pierre smiled, but his smile showed that he 
knew it was not the story about Serge*y Kuz- 
mfch that interested Prince Vasfli just then, 
and Prince Vasili saw that Pierre knew this. 
He suddenly muttered something and went 
away. It seemed to Pierre that even the prince 
was disconcerted. The sight of the discompo- 
sure of that old man of the world touched 
Pierre: he looked at Hlene and she too 
seemed disconcerted, and her look seemed to 
say: "Well, it is your own fault." 

"The step must be taken but I cannot, I can- 
not! "thought Pierre, and he again began speak- 
ing about indifferent matters, about Sergey 
Kuzmfch, asking what the point of the story 
was as he had not heard it properly. Hellene 
answered with a smile that she too had missed 
it. 

When Prince Vasfli returned to the drawing 
room, the princess, his wife, was talking in 
low tones to the elderly lady about Pierre. 

"Of course, it is a very brilliant match, but 
happiness, my dear . . ." 

"Marriages are made in heaven," replied the 
elderly lady. 

Prince Vasili passed by, seeming not to hear 
the ladies, and sat down on a sofa in a far cor- 
ner of the room. He closed his eyes and seemed 
to be dozing. His head sank forward and then 
he roused himself. 

"Aline," he said to his wife, "go and see what 
they are about." 

The princess went up to the door, passed by 
it with a dignified and indifferent air, and 
glanced into the little drawing room. Pierre 
and H&ene still sat talking just as before. 

"Still the same," she said to her husband. 

Prince Vasili frowned, twisting his mouth, 
his cheeks quivered and his face assumed the 
coarse, unpleasant expression peculiar to him. 
Shaking himself, he rose, threw back his head, 



and with resolute steps went past the ladies in- 
to the little drawing room. With quick steps he 
went joyfully up to Pierre. His face was so un- 
usually triumphant that Pierre rose in alarm 
on seeing it. 

"Thank God!" said Prince Vasfli. "My wife 
has told me everything!" (He put one arm 
around Pierre and the other around his daugh- 
ter.) "My dear boy . . . Lelya ... I am very 
pleased." (His voice trembled.) "I loved your 
father . . . and she will make you a good wife 
. . . God bless you! . . ." 

He embraced his daughter, and then again 
Pierre, and kissed him with his malodorous 
mouth. Tears actually moistened his cheeks. 

"Princess, come here!" he shouted. 

The old princess came in and also wept. The 
elderly lady was using her handkerchief too. 
Pierre was kissed, and he kissed the beautiful 
Hdlne's hand several times. After a while they 
were left alone again. 

"All this had to be and could not be other- 
wise," thought Pierre, "so it is useless to ask 
whether it is good or bad. It is good because 
it's definite and one is rid of the old torment- 
ing doubt." Pierre held the hand of his be- 
trothed in silence, looking at her beautiful bos- 
om as it rose and fell. 

"He*lene!" he said aloud and paused. 

"Something special is always said in such 
cases," he thought, but could not remember 
what it was that people say. He looked at her 
face. She drew nearer to him. Her face flushed. 

"Oh, take those off ... those . . ." she said, 
pointing to his spectacles. 

Pierre took them off, and his eyes, besides 
the strange look eyes have from which spec- 
tacles have just been removed, had also a fright- 
ened arid inquiring look. He was about tostoop 
over her hand and kiss it, but with a rapid, al- 
most brutal movement of her head, she inter- 
cepted his lips and met them with her own. 
Her face struck Pierre, by its altered, unpleas- 
antly excited expression. 

"It is too late now, it's done; besides I love 
her," thought Pierre. 

"Je vous aime!" * he said, remembering what 
has to be said at such moments: but his words 
sounded so weak that he felt ashamed of him- 
self. 

Six weeks later he was married, and settled 
in Count Beziikhov's large, newly furnished Pe- 
tersburg house, the happy possessor, as people 
said, of a wife who was a celebrated beauty and 
of millions of money. 

1 "I love you." 



BOOK 

CHAPTER III 

OLD PRINCE NICHOLAS BOLK/^NSKI received a 
letter from Prince Vasili in November, 1805, 
announcing that he and his son would be pay- 
ing him a visit. "I am starting on a journey of 
inspection, and of course I shall think nothing 
of an extra seventy miles to come and see you 
at the same time, my honored benefactor," 
wrote Prince Vasili. "My son Anatole is accom- 
panying me on his way to the army, so I hope 
you will allow him personally to express the 
deep respect that, emulating his father, he feels 
for you." 

"It seems that there will be no need to bring 
Mary out, suitors are coming to us of their own 
accord," incautiously remarked the little prin- 
cess on hearing the news. 

Prince Nicholas frowned, but said nothing. 

A fortnight after the letter Prince Vasili's 
servants came one evening in advance of him, 
and he and his son arrived next day. 

Old Bolk6nski had always had a poor opin- 
ion of Prince Vasfli's character, but more so 
recently, since in the new reigns of Paul arid 
Alexander Prince Vasili had risen to high po- 
sition and honors. And now, from the hints 
contained in his letter and given by the little 
princess, he saw which way the wind was blow- 
ing, and his low opinion changed intoa feeling 
of contemptuous ill will. He snorted whenev- 
er he mentioned him. On the day of Prince Va- 
sili's arrival, Prince Bolkonski was particularly 
discontented and out of temper. Whether he 
was in a bad temper because Prince Vasili was 
coming, or whether his being in a bad temper 
made him specially annoyed at Prince Vasili's 
visit, he was in a bad temper, and in the morn- 
ing Tfkhon had already advised the architect 
not to go the prince with his report. 

"Do you hear how he's walking?" said Tfk- 
hon, drawing the architect's attention to the 
sound of the prince's footsteps. "Stepping flat 
on his heels we know what that means " 

However, at nine o'clock the prince, in his 
velvet coat with a sable collar and cap, went 
out for his usual walk. It had snowed the day 
before and the path to the hothouse, along 
which the prince was in the habit of walking, 
had been swept: the marks of the broom were 
still visible in the snow and a shovel had been 
left sticking in one of the soft snowbanks that 
bordered both sides of the path. The prince 
went through the conservatories, the serfs' 
quarters, and the outbuildings, frowning and 
silent. 

"Can a sleigh pass?" he asked his overseer, a 



THREE 119 

venerable man, resembling his master in man- 
ners and looks, who was accompanying him 
back to the house. 

"The snow is deep. I am having the avenue 
swept, your honor." 

The prince bowed his head and went up to 
the porch. "God be thanked," thought the 
overseer, "the storm has blown over!" 

"It would have been hard to drive up, your 
honor," he added. "I heard, your honor, that 
a minister is coming to visit your honor." 

The prince turned round to the overseer 
and fixed his eyes on him, frowning. 

"What? A minister? What minister? Who 
gave orders?" he said in his shrill, harsh voice. 
"The road is not swept for the princess my 
daughter, but for a minister! For me, there are 
no ministers!" 

"Your honor, I thought . . ." 

"You thought!" shouted the prince, his 
words coming more and more rapidly and in- 
distinctly. "You thoughtl . . . Rascals! Black- 
guards! . . . I'll teach you to think!" and lifting 
his stick he swung it and would have hit Al- 
pitych, the overseer, had not the latter instinc- 
tively avoided the blow. "Thought . . . Black- 
guards . . ." shouted the prince rapidly. 

But although Alpdtych, frightened at his own 
temerity in avoiding the stroke, came up to the 
prince, bowing his bald head resignedly before 
him, or perhaps for that very reason, the prince, 
though he continued to shout: "Blackguards! 
. . . Throw the snow back on the road!" did not 
lift his stick again but hurried into the house. 

Before dinner, Princess Mary and Mademoi- 
selle Bourienne, who knew that the prince was 
in a bad humor, stood awaiting him; Mademoi- 
selle Bourienne with a radiant face that said: 
"I know nothing, I am the same as usual," and 
Princess Mary, pale, frightened, and with down- 
cast eyes. What she found hardest to bear was 
to know that on such occasions she ought to be- 
have like Mademoiselle Bourienne, but could 
not. She thought: "If I seem not to notice he 
will think that I do not sympathize with him; if 
I seem sad and out of spirits myself, he will say 
(as he has done before) that I'm in thedumps." 

The prince looked at his daughter's fright- 
ened face and snorted. 

"Fool ... or dummy!" he muttered. 

"And the other one is not here. They've been 
telling tales," he thoughtreferring to the lit- 
tle princess who was not in the dining room. 

"Where is the princess?" he asked. "Hiding?" 

"She is not very well," answered Mademoi- 
selle Bourienne with a bright smile, "so she 



ISO 



WAR AND PEACE 



won't come down. It is natural in her state." 

"Hm! Hml" muttered the prince, sitting 
down. 

His plate seemed to him not quite dean, and 
pointing to a spot he flung it away. Tikhon 
caught it and handed it to a footman. The lit- 
tle princess was not unwell, but had such an 
overpowering fear of the prince that, hearing 
he was in a bad humor, she had decided not to 
appear. 

"I am afraid for the baby," she said to Made- 
moiselle Bourienne: "Heaven knows what a 
fright might do." 

In general at Bald Hills the little princess 
lived in constant fear, and with a sense of an- 
tipathy to the old prince which she did not re- 
alize because the fear was so much the strong- 
er feeling. The prince reciprocated this antip- 
athy, but it was overpowered by his contempt 
for her. When the little princess had grown 
accustomed to life at Bald Hills, she took a 
special fancy to Mademoiselle Bourienne, 
spent whole days with her, asked her to sleep in 
her room, and often talked with her about the 
old prince and criticized him. 

"So we are to have visitors, mon prince?" re- 
marked Mademoiselle Bourienne, unfolding 
her white napkin with her rosy fingers. "His 
Excellency Prince Vasili Kurdgin and his son, 
I understand?" she said inquiringly. 

"Hml his excellency is a puppy. ... I got 
him his appointment in the service," said the 
prince disdainfully. "Why his son is coming I 
don't understand. Perhaps Princess Elizabeth 
and Princess Mary know. I don't want him." 
(He looked at his blushing daughter.) "Are 
you unwell today? Eh? Afraid of the 'minister' 
as that idiot Alpdtych called him this morn- 
ing?" 

"No, mon pkre" 

Though Mademoiselle Bourienne had been 
so unsuccessful in her choice of a subject, she 
did not stop talking, but chattered about the 
conservatories and the beauty of a flower that 
had just opened, and after the soup the prince 
became more genial. 

After dinner, he went to see his daughter-in- 
law. The little princess was sitting at a small 
table, chattering with Msha, her maid. She 
grew pale on seeing her father-in-law. 

She was much altered. She was now plain 
rather than pretty. Her cheeks had sunk, her 
lip was drawn up, and her eyes drawn down. 

"Yes, I feel a kind of oppression/' she said 
in reply to the prince's question as to how she 
felt 



"Do you want anything?" 

"No, merci, mon ptre." 

"Well, all right, all right." 

He left the room and went to the waiting 
room where Alpdtych stood with bowed head. 

"Has the snow been shoveled back?" 

"Yes, your excellency. Forgive me for heav- 
en's sake ... It was only my stupidity." 

"All right, all right," interrupted the prince, 
and laughing in his unnatural way, he stretched 
out his hand for Alpdtych to kiss, and then pro- 
ceeded to his study. 

Prince Vasili arrived that evening. He was 
met in the avenue by coachmen and footmen, 
who, with loud shouts, dragged his sleighs up 
to one of the lodges over the road purposely 
laden with snow. 

Prince Vastti and Anatole had separate rooms 
assigned to them. 

Anatole, having taken off his overcoat, sat 
with arms akimbo before a table on a corner of 
which he smilingly and absent-mindedly fixed 
his large and handsome eyes. He regarded his 
whole life as a continual round of amusement 
which someone for some reason had to provide 
for him. And he looked on this visit to a churl- 
ish old man and a rich and ugly heiress in the 
same way. All this might, he thought, turn out 
very well and amusingly. "And why not marry 
her if she really has so much money? That nev- 
er does any harm," thought Anatole. 

He shaved and scented himself with the care 
and elegance which had become habitual to 
him and, his handsome head held high, entered 
his father's room with the good-humored and 
victorious air natural to him. Prince Vasili's 
two valets were busy dressing him, and he 
looked round with much animation and cheer- 
fully nodded to his son as the latter entered, as 
if to say: "Yes, that's how I want you to look." 

"I say, Father, joking apart, is she very hid- 
eous?" Anatole asked, as if continuing a con- 
versation the subject of which had often been 
mentioned during the journey. 

"Enough! What nonsensel Above all, try to 
be respectful and cautious with the old prince." 

"If he starts a row I'll go away," said Prince 
Anatole. "I can't bear those old men! Eh?" 

"Remember, for you everything depends on 
this." 

In the meantime, not only was it known in 
the maidservants' rooms that the minister and 
his son had arrived, but the appearance of both 
had been minutely described. Princess Mary, 
was sitting alone in her room, vainly trying to 
master her agitation. 



BOOK THREE 



"Why did they write, why did Lise tell me 
about it? It can never happen!" she said, look- 
ing at herself in the glass. "Howshall I enter the 
drawing room? Even if I like him I can't now 
be myself with him." The mere thought of her 
father's look filled her with terror. The little 
princess and Mademoiselle Bourienne had al- 
ready received from Mdsha, the lady's maid, 
the necessary report of how handsome the min- 
ister's son was, with his rosy cheeks and dark 
eyebrows, and with what difficulty the father 
had dragged his legs upstairs while the son had 
followed him like an eagle, three steps at a time. 
Having received this information, the little 
princess and Mademoiselle Bourienne, whose 
chattering voices had reached her from the cor- 
ridor, went into Princess Mary's room. 

"You know they've come, Marie?" said the 
little princess, waddling in, and sinking heav- 
ily into an armchair. 

She was no longer in the loose gown she gen- 
erally wore in the morning, but had on one of 
her best dresses. Her hair was carefully done 
and her face was animated, which, however, 
did not conceal its sunken and faded outlines. 
Dressed as she used to be in Petersburg society, 
it was still more noticeable how much plainer 
she had become. Some unobtrusive touch had 
been added to Mademoiselle Bourienne's toi- 
let which rendered her fresh and pretty face yet 
more attractive. 

"What! Are you going to remain as you are, 
dear princess?" she began. "They'll be an- 
nouncing that the gentlemen are in the draw- 
ing room and we shall have to go down, and 
you have not smartened yourself up at all!" 

The little princess got up, rang for the maid, 
and hurriedly and merrily began to devise and 
carry out a plan of how Princess Mary should 
be dressed. Princess Mary's self-esteem was 
wounded by the fact that the arrival of a suitor 
agitated her, and still more so by both her com- 
panions' not having the least conception that 
it could be otherwise. To tell them that she felt 
ashamed for herself and for them would be to 
betray her agitation, while to decline their of- 
fers to dress her would prolong their banter 
and insistence. She flushed, her beautiful eyes 
grew dim, red blotches came on her face, and it 
took on the unattractive martyrlike expression 
it so often wore, as she submitted herself to 
Mademoiselle Bourienne and Lise. Both these 
women quite sincerely tried to make her look 
pretty. She was so plain that neither of them 
could think of her as a rival, so they began 
dressing her with perfect sincerity, and with 



121 

the naive and firm conviction women have 
that dress can make a face pretty. 

"No really, my dear, this dress is not pretty," 
said Lise, looking sideways at Princess Mary 
from a little distance. "You have a maroon 
dress, have it fetched. Really! You know the 
fate of your whole life may be at stake. But this 
one is too light, it's not becoming!" 

It was not the dress, but the face and whole 
figure of Princess Mary that was not pretty, 
but neither Mademoiselle Bourienne nor the 
little princess felt this; they still thought that 
if a blue ribbon were placed in the hair, the 
hair combed up, and the blue scarf arranged 
lower on the best maroon dress, and so on, all 
would be well. They forgot that the frightened 
face and the figure could not be altered, and 
that however they might change the setting and 
adornment of that face, it would still remain 
piteous and plain. After two or three changes 
to which Princess Mary meekly submitted, just 
as her hair had been arranged on the top of 
her head (a style that quite altered and spoiled 
her looks) and she had put on a maroon dress 
with a pale-blue scarf, the little princess walked 
twice round her, now adjusting a fold of the 
dress with her little hand, now arranging the 
scarf and looking at her with her head bent 
first on one side and then on the other. 

"No, it will not do," she said decidedly, clasp- 
ing her hands. "No, Mary, really this dress does 
not suit you. I prefer you in your little gray 
everyday dress. Now please, do it for my sake. 
Katie," she said to the maid, "bring the prin- 
cess her gray dress, and you'll see, Mademoi- 
selle Bourienne, how I shall arrange it," she 
added,smilingwith a foretaste of artistic pleas- 
ure. 

But when Katie brought the required dress, 
Princess Mary remained sitting motionless be- 
fore the glass, looking at her face, and saw in 
the mirror her eyes full of tears and her mouth 
quivering, ready to burst into sobs. 

"Come, dear princess," said Mademoiselle 
Bourienne, "just one more little effort." 

The little princess, taking the dress from the 
maid, came up to Princess Mary. 

"Well, now we'll arrange something quite 
simple and becoming," she said. 

The three voices, hers, Mademoiselle Bouri- 
enne's, and Katie's, who was laughing at some- 
thing, mingled in a merry sound, like the chirp- 
ing of birds. 

"No, leave me alone," said Princess Mary. 

Her voice sounded so serious and so sad that 
the chirping of the birds was silenced at once. 



122 

They looked at the beautiful, large, thought- 
ful eyes full of tears and of thoughts, gazing 
shiningly and imploringly at them, and under- 
stood that it was useless and even cruel to in- 
sist. 

"At least, change your coiffure," said the lit- 
tle princess. "Didn't I tell you," she went on, 
turning reproachfully to Mademoiselle Bouri- 
enne, "Mary's is a face which such a coiffure 
does not suit in the least. Not in the least! 
Please change it." 

"Leave me alone, please leave me alone! It 
is all quite the same to me," answered a voice 
struggling with tears. 

Mademoiselle Bourienne and the little prin- 
cess had to own to themselves that Princess 
Mary in this guise looked very plain, worse 
than usual, but it was too late. She was looking 
at them with an expression they both knew, an 
expression thoughtful and sad. This expres- 
sion in Princess Mary did not frighten them 
(she never inspired fear in anyone), but they 
knew that when it appeared on her face, she 
became mute and was not to be shaken in her 
determination. 

"You will change it, won't you?" said Lise. 
And as Princess Mary gave no answer, she left 
the room. 

Princess Mary was left alone. She did not 
comply with Lise's request, she not only left 
her hair as it was, but did not even look in her 
glass. Letting her arms fall helplessly, she sat 
with downcast eyes and pondered. A husband, 
a man, a strong dominant and strangely attrac- 
tive being rose in her imagination, and carried 
her into a totally different happy world of his 
own. She fancied a child, her ouw such as she 
had seen the day before in the arms of her 
nurse's daughter at her own breast, the hus- 
band standing by and gazing tenderly at her 
and the child. "But no, it is impossible, I am 
too ugly," she thought. 

"Please come to tea. The prince will be out 
in a moment," came the maid's voice at the 
door. 

She roused herself, and felt appalled at what 
she had been thinking, and before going down 
she went into the room where the icons hung 
and, her eyes fixed on the dark face of a large 
icon of the Saviour lit by a lamp, she stood be- 
fore it with folded hands for a few moments. A 
painful doubt filled her soul. Could the joy of 
love, of earthly love for a man, be for her? 
In her thoughts of marriage Princess Mary 
dreamed of happiness and of children, but her 
strongest, most deeply hidden longing was for 



WAR AND PEACE 



earthly love. The more she tried to hide this 
feeling from others and even from herself, the 
stronger it grew. "O God," she said, "how am 
I to stifle in my heart these temptations of the 
devil? How am I to renounce forever these vile 
fancies, so as peacefully to fulfill Thy will?" 
And scarcely had she put that question than 
God gave her the answer in her own heart. 
"Desire nothing for thyself, seek nothing, be 
not anxious or envious. Man's future and thy 
own fate must remain hidden from thee, but 
live so that thou mayest be ready for anything. 
If it be God's will to prove thee in the duties 
of marriage, be ready to fulfill His will." With 
this consoling thought (but yet with a hope 
for the fulfillment of her forbidden earthly 
longing) Princess Mary sighed, and having 
crossed herself went down, thinking neither of 
her gown and coifTure nor of how she would go 
in nor of what she would say. What could all 
that matter in comparison with the will of 
God, without Whose care not a hair of man's 
head can fall? 

CHAPTER IV 

WHEN PRINCESS MARY came down, Prince Va- 
sili and his son were already in the drawing 
room, talking to the little princess and Made- 
moiselle Bourienne. When she entered with 
her heavy step, treading on her heels, the gen- 
tlemen and Mademoiselle Bourienne rose and 
the little princess, indicating her to the gentle- 
men, said: "Voila Marie!" Princess Mary saw 
them all and saw them in detail. She saw Prince 
Vasili's face, serious for an instant at the sight 
of her, but immediately smiling again, and the 
little princess curiously noting the impression 
"Marie" produced on the visitors. And she saw 
Mademoiselle Bourienne, with her ribbon and 
pretty face, and her unusually animated look 
which was fixed on him, but him she could not 
see, she only saw something large, brilliant, 
and handsome moving toward her as she en- 
tered the room. Prince Vasf li approached first, 
and she kissed the bold forehead that bent 
over her hand and answered his question by 
saying that, on the contrary, she remembered 
him quite well. Then Anatole came up to her. 
She still could not see him. She only felt a soft 
hand taking hers firmly, and she touched with 
her lips a white forehead, over which was beau- 
tiful light-brown hair smelling of pomade. 
When she looked up at him she was struck by 
his beauty. Anatole stood with his right thumb 
under a button of his uniform, his chest ex- 
panded and his back drawn in, slightly swing- 



BOOK 

ing one foot, and, with his head a little bent, 
looked with beaming face at the princess with- 
out speaking and evidently not thinking about 
her at all. Anatole was not quick-witted, nor 
ready or eloquent in conversation, but he had 
the faculty, so invaluable in society, of compo- 
sure and imperturbable self-possession. If a 
man lacking in self-confidence remains dumb 
on a first introduction and betrays a conscious- 
ness of the impropriety of such silence and an 
anxiety to find something to say, the effect is 
bad. But Anatole was dumb, swung his foot, and 
smilingly examined the princess' hair. It was 
evident that he could be silent in this way for 
a very long time. "If anyone finds this silence 
inconvenient, let him talk, but I don't want 
to," he seemed to say. Besides this, in his be- 
havior to women Anatole had a manner which 
particularly inspires in them curiosity, awe, 
and even lovea supercilious consciousness of 
his own superiority. It was as if he said to them: 
"I know you, I know you, but why should I 
bother about you? You'd be only too glad, of 
course." Perhaps he did not really think this 
when he met women even probably he did 
not, for in general he thought very little but 
his looks and manner gave that impression. 
The princess felt this, and as if wishing to show 
him that she did not even dare expect to in- 
terest him, she turned to his father. The con- 
versation was general and animated, thanks to 
Princess Lise's voice and little downy lip that 
lifted over her white teeth. She met Prince Va- 
sfli with that playful manner often employed 
by lively chatty people, and consisting in the 
assumption that between the person they so 
address and themselves there are some semi- 
private, long-established jokes and amusing 
reminiscences, though no such reminiscences 
really existjust as none existed in this case. 
Prince Vasfli readily adopted her tone and the 
little princess also drew Anatole, whom she 
hardly knew, into these amusing recollections 
of things that had never occurred. Mademoi- 
selle Bourienne also shared them and even 
Princess Mary felt herself pleasantly made to 
share in these merry reminiscences. 

"Here at least we shall have the benefit of 
your company all to ourselves, dear prince," 
said the little princess (of course, in French) 
to Prince Vasili. "It's not as at Annette's l re- 
ceptions where you always ran away; you re- 
member cette chere Annette!" 

"Ah, but you won't talk politics to me like 
Annette!" 

1 Anna Pavlovna. 



123 



THREE 

"And our little tea table?" 

"Oh, yes!" 

"Why is it you were never at Annette's?" the 
little princess asked Anatole. "Ah, I know, I 
know," she said with a sly glance, "your broth- 
er Hippolyte told me about your goings on. 
Oh!" and she shook her finger at him, "I have 
even heard of your doings in Paris!" 

"And didn't Hippolyte tell you?" asked 
Prince Vasili, turning to his son and seizing 
the little princess' arm as if she would have run 
away and he had just managed to catch her, 
"didn't he tell you how he himself was pining 
for the dear princess, and how she showed him 
the door? Oh, she is a pearl among women, 
Princess," he added, turning to Princess Mary. 

When Paris was mentioned, Mademoiselle 
Bourienne for her part seized the opportunity 
of joining in the general current of recollec- 
tions. 

She took the liberty of inquiring whether it 
was long since Anatole had left Paris and how 
he had liked that city. Anatole answered the 
Frenchwoman very readily and, looking at her 
with a smile, talked to her about her native 
land. When he saw the pretty little Bourienne, 
Anatole came to the conclusion that he would 
not find Bald Hills dull either. "Notatall bad!" 
he thought, examining her, "not at all bad, 
that little companion! I hope she will bring 
her along with her when we're married, la 
petite est gentille" * 

The old prince dressed leisurely in his study, 
frowning and considering what he was to do. 
The coming of these visitors annoyed him. 
"What are Prince Vasili and that son of his to 
me? Prince Vasili is a shallow braggart and his 
son, no doubt, is a fine specimen, "he grumbled 
to himself. What angered him was that the 
coming of these visitors revived in his mind an 
unsettled question he always tried to stifle, one 
about which he always deceived himself. The 
question was whether he could ever bring him- 
self to part from his daughter and give her to 
a husband. The prince never directly asked 
himself that question, knowing beforehand 
that he would have to answer it justly, and jus- 
tice clashed not only with his feelings but with 
the very possibility of life. Life without Prin- 
cess Mary, little as he seemed to value her, was 
unthinkable to him. "And why should she 
marry?" he thought. "To be unhappy for cer- 
tain. There's Lise, married to Andrew a bet- 
ter husband one would think could hardly be 
found nowadays but is she contented with 

The little one is charming. 



124 



WAR AND PEACE 



her lot? And who would marry Marie for love? 
Plain and awkward! They'll take her for her 
connections and wealth. Are there no women 
living unmarried, and even the happier for it?" 
So thought Prince Bolk6nski while dressing, 
and yet the question he was always putting off 
demanded an immediate answer. Prince Vasfli 
had brought his son with the evident inten- 
tion of proposing, and today or tomorrow he 
would probably ask for an answer. His birth 
and position in society were not bad. "Well, 
I've nothing against it," the prince said to him- 
self, "but he must be worthy of her. And that 
is what we shall see." 

"That is what we shall see! That is what we 
shall see!" he added aloud. 

He entered the drawing room with his usual 
alert step, glancing rapidly round the com- 
pany. He noticed the change in the little prin- 
cess' dress, Mademoiselle Bourienne's ribbon, 
Princess Mary's unbecoming coiffure, Made- 
moiselle Bourienne's and Anatole's smiles, and 
the loneliness of his daughter amid the general 
conversation. "Got herself up like a fool!" he 
thought, looking irritably at her. "She is shame- 
less, and he ignores her!" 

He went straight up to Prince Vasili. 
"Well! How d'ye do? How d'ye do? Glad to 
see you!" 

"Friendship laughs at distance," began Prince 
Vasfli in his usual rapid, self-confident, familiar 
tone. "Here is my second son; please love and 
befriend him." 

Prince Bolk6nski surveyed Anatole. 
"Fine young fellow! Fine young fellow!" he 
said. "Well, come and kiss me," and he offered 
his cheek. 

Anatole kissed the old man, and looked at 
him with curiosity and perfect composure, 
waiting for a display of the eccentricities his 
father had told him to expect. 

Prince Bolk6nski sat down in his usual place 
in the corner of the sofa and, drawing up an 
armchair for Prince Vasili, pointed to it and 
began questioning him about political affairs 
and news. He seemed to listen attentively to 
what Prince Vasfli said, but kept glancing at 
Princess Mary. 

"And so they are writing from Potsdam al- 
ready?" he said, repeating Prince Vasfli's last 
words. Then rising, he suddenly went up to 
his daughter. 

"Is it for visitors you've got yourself up like 
that, eh?" said he. "Fine, very fine! You have 
done up your hair in this new way for the visi- 
tors, and before the visitors I tell you that in 



future you are never to dare to change your 
way of dress without my consent." 

"It was my fault, mon pkre" interceded the 
little princess, with a blush. 

"You must do as you please," said Prince 
Bolk6nski, bowing to his daughter-in-law, "but 
she need not make a fool of herself, she's plain 
enough as it is." 

And he sat down again, paying no more at- 
tention to his daughter, who was reduced to 
tears. 

"On the contrary, that coiffure suits the 
princess very well," said Prince Vasfli. 

"Now you, young prince, what's your name?" 
said Prince Bolk6nski, turning to Anatole, 
"come here, let us talk and get acquainted." 

"Now the fun begins," thought Anatole, sit- 
ting down with a smile beside the old prince. 

"Well, my dear boy, I hear you've been edu- 
cated abroad, not taught to read and write by 
the deacon, like your father and me. Now tell 
me, my dear boy, are you serving in the Horse 
Guards?" asked the old man, scrutinizing Ana- 
tole closely and intently. 

"No, I have been transferred to the line," 
said Anatole, hardly able to restrain his laugh- 
ter. 

"Ah! That's a good thing. So, my dear boy, 
you wish to serve the Tsar and the country? It 
is wartime. Such a fine fellow must serve. Well, 
are you off to the front?" 

"No, Prince, our regiment has gone to the 
front, but I am attached . . . what is it I am at- 
tached to, Papa?" said Anatole, turning to his 
father with a laugh. 

"A splendid soldier, splendid! 'What am I 
attached to!' Ha, ha, ha!" laughed Prince Bol- 
k6nski, and Anatole laughed still louder. Sud- 
denly Prince Bolk6nski frowned. 

"You may go," he said to Anatole. 

Anatole returned smiling to the ladies. 

"And so you've had him educated abroad, 
Prince Vasfli, haven't you?" said the old prince 
to Prince Vasfli. 

"I have done my best for him, and I can as- 
sure you the education there is much better 
than ours." 

"Yes, everything is different nowadays, every- 
thing is changed. The lad's a fine fellow, a fine 
fellow! Well, come with me now." He took 
Prince Vasfli's arm and led him to his study. 
As soon as they were alone together, Prince 
Vasfli announced his hopes and wishes to the 
old prince. 

"Well, do you think I shall prevent her, that 
I can't part from her?" said the old prince an- 



BOOK THREE 



125 



grily. "What an ideal I'm ready for it tomor- 
row! Only let me tell you, I want to know my 
son-in-law better. You know my principles 
everything aboveboardl I will ask her tomor- 
row in your presence; if she is willing, then he 
can stay on. He can stay and I'll see." The old 
prince snorted. "Let her marry, it's all the same 
to me!" he screamed in the same piercing tone 
as when parting from his son. 

"I will tell you frankly," said Prince Vasili 
in the tone of a crafty man convinced of the 
futility of being cunning with so keen-sighted 
a companion. "You know, you see right through 
people. Anatole is no genius, but he is an hon- 
est, goodhearted lad; an excellent son or kins- 
man." 

"All right, all right, we'll seel" 

As always happens when women lead lonely 
lives for any length of time without male soci- 
ety, on Anatole's appearance all the three wom- 
en of Prince Bolk6nski's household felt that 
their life had not been real till then. Their 
powers of reasoning, feeling, and observing 
immediately increased tenfold, and their life, 
which seemed to have been passed in darkness, 
was suddenly lit up by a new brightness, full of 
significance. 

Princess Mary grew quite unconscious of her 
face and coiffure. The handsome open face of 
the man who might perhaps be her husband 
absorbed all her attention. He seemed to her 
kind, brave, determined, manly, and magnani- 
mous. She felt convinced of that. Thousands 
of dreams of a future family life continually 
rose in her imagination. She drove them away 
and tried to conceal them. 

"But am I not too cold with him?" thought 
the princess. "I try to be reserved because in 
the depth of my soul I feel too near to him al- 
ready, but then he cannot know what I think of 
him and may imagine that I do not like him." 

And Princess Mary tried, but could not man- 
age, to be cordial to her new guest. "Poor girl, 
she's devilish ugly!" thought Anatole. 

Mademoiselle Bourienne, also roused to 
great excitement by Anatole's arrival, thought 
in another way. Of course, she, a handsome 
young woman without any definite position, 
without relations or even a country, did not in- 
tend to devote her life to serving Prince Bol- 
k6nski, to reading aloud to him and being 
friends with Princess Mary. Mademoiselle 
Bourienne had long been waiting for a Rus- 
sian prince who, able to appreciate at a glance 
her superiority to the plain, badly dressed, un- 
gainly Russian princesses, would fall in love 



with her and carry her off; and here at last 
was a Russian prince. Mademoiselle Bourienne 
knew a story, heard from her aunt but finished 
in her own way, which she liked to repeat to 
herself. It was the story of a girl who had been 
seduced, and to whom her poor mother (sa 
pauvre mtre) appeared, and reproached her 
for yielding to a man without being married. 
Mademoiselle Bourienne was often touched to 
tears as in imagination she told this story to 
him, her seducer. And now he, a real Russian 
prince, had appeared. He would carry her 
away and then sa pauvre mtre would appear 
and he would marry her. So her future shaped 
itself in Mademoiselle Bourienne's head at the 
very time she was talking to Anatole about 
Paris. It was not calculation that guided her 
(she did not even for a moment consider what 
she should do), but all this had long been famil- 
iar to her, and now that Anatole had appeared 
it just grouped itself around him and she 
wished and tried to please him as much as pos- 
sible. 

The little princess, like an old war horse 
that hears the trumpet, unconsciously and quite 
forgetting her condition, prepared for the fa- 
miliar gallop of coquetry, without any ulterior 
motive or any struggle, but with naive and 
lighthearted gaiety. 

Although in female society Anatole usually 
assumed the role of a man tired of being run 
after by women, his vanity was flattered by the 
spectacle of his power over these three women. 
Besides that, he was beginning to feel for the 
pretty and provocative Mademoiselle Bouri- 
enne that passionate animal feeling which was 
apt to master him with great suddenness and 
prompt him to the coarsest and most reckless 
actions. 

After tea, the company went into the sitting 
room and Princess Mary was asked to play on 
the clavichord. Anatole, laughing and in high 
spirits, came and leaned on his elbows, facing 
her and beside Mademoiselle Bourienne. Prin- 
cess Mary felt his look with a painfully joy- 
ous emotion. Her favorite sonata bore her in- 
to a most intimately poetic world and the look 
she felt upon her made that world still more 
poetic. But Anatole's expression, though 
his eyes were fixed on her, referred not to 
her but to the movements of Mademoiselle 
Bourienne's little foot, which he was. then 
touching with his own under the clavichord. 
Mademoiselle Bourienne was also look- 
ing at Princess Mary, and in her lovely eyes 
there was a look of fearful joy and hope 



126 



WAR AND PEACE 



that was also new to the princess. 

"How she loves me I" thought Princess Mary. 
"How happy I am now, and how happy I may 
be with such a friend and such a husband! 
Husband? Can it be possible?" she thought, 
not daring to look at his face, but still feeling 
his eyes gazing at her. 

In the evening, after supper, when all were 
about to retire, Anatole kissed Princess Mary's 
hand. She did not know how she found the 
courage, but she looked straight into his hand- 
some face as it came near to her shortsighted 
-eyes. Turning from Princess Mary he went up 
and kissed Mademoiselle Bourienne's hand. 
(This was not etiquette, but then he did every- 
thing so simply and with such assurancel) 
Mademoiselle Bourienne flushed, and gave the 
princess a frightened look. 

"What delicacy!" thought the princess. "Is it 
possible that Amdlie" (Mademoiselle Bouri- 
enne) "thinks I could be jealous of her, and 
not value her pure affection and devotion to 
me?" She went up to her and kissed her warm- 
ly. Anatole went up to kiss the little princess' 
hand. 

"No! No! No! When your father writfes to 
tell me that you are behaving well I will give 
you my hand to kiss. Not till then!" she said. 
And smilingly raising a finger at him, she left 
the room. 

CHAPTER V 

THEY ALL SEPARATED, but, except Anatole who 
fell asleep as soon as he got into bed, all kept 
awake a long time that night. 

"Is he really to be my husband, this stranger 
who is so kind yes, kind, that is the chief 
thing," thought Princess Mary; and fear, which 
she had seldom experienced, came upon her. 
She feared to look round, it seemed to her that 
someone was there standing behind the screen 
in the dark corner. And this someone was he 
the devil and he was also this man with the 
white forehead, black eyebrows, and red lips. 

She rang for her maid and asked her to sleep 
in her room. 

Mademoiselle Bourienne walked up and 
down the conservatory for a long time that eve- 
ning, vainly expecting someone, now smiling 
at someone, now working herself up to tears 
with the imaginary words of her pauvre mere 
rebuking her for her fall. 

The ij^tle princess grumbled to her maid 
that her bed was badly made. She could not lie 
either on her face or on her side. Every posi- 
tion was awkward and uncomfortable, and her 



burden oppressed her now more than ever be- 
cause Anatole's presence had vividly recalled 
to her the time when she was not like that and 
when everything was light and gay. She sat in 
an armchair in her dressing jacket and night- 
cap and Katie, sleepy and disheveled, beat and 
turned the heavy feather bed for the third 
time, muttering to herself. 

"I told you it was all lumps and holes!" 
the little princess repeated. "I should be glad 
enough to fall asleep, so it's not my fault!" and 
her voice quivered like that of a child about to 
cry. 

The old prince did not sleep either. Tikhon, 
half asleep, heard him pacing angrily about 
and snorting. The old prince felt as though he 
had been insulted through his daughter. The 
insult was the more pointed because it con- 
cerned not himself but another, his daughter, 
whom he loved more than himself. He kept 
telling himself that he would consider the 
whole matter and decide what was right and 
how he should act, but instead of that he only 
excited himself more and more. 

"The first man that turns up she forgets 
her father and everything else, runs upstairs 
and does up her hair and wags her tail and is 
unlike herself! Glad to throw her father over! 
And she knew I should notice it. Fr . . . fr . . . 
fr . . . ! And don't I see that that idiot had eyes 
only for Bourienne I shall have to get rid of 
her. And how is it she has not pride enough 
to see it? If she has no pride for herself she 
might at least have some for my sake! She must 
be shown that the blockhead thinks nothing of 
her and looks only at Bourienne. No, she has 
no pride . . . but I'll let her see. . . ." 

The old prince knew that if he told his 
daughter she was making a mistake and that 
Ana tole meant to flirt with Mademoiselle Bouri- 
enne, Princess Mary's self-esteem would be 
wounded and his point (not to be parted from 
her) would be gained, so pacifying himself 
with this thought, he called Tikhon and began 
to undress. 

"What devil brought them here?" thought 
he, while Tikhon was putting the nightshirt 
over his dried-up old body and gray-haired 
chest. "I never invited them. They came to dis- 
turb my life and there is not much of it left." 

"Devil take'em!" he muttered, while his head 
was still covered by the shirt. 

Tikhon knew his master's habit of some- 
times thinking aloud, and therefore met with 
unaltered looks the angrily inquisitive expres- 
sion of the face that emerged from the shirt. 



BOOK THREE 



127 



"Gone to bed?" asked the prince. 

Tikhon, like all good valets, instinctively 
knew the direction of his master's thoughts. He 
guessed that the question referred to Prince 
Vasfli and his son. 

"They have gone to bed and put out their 
lights, your excellency." 

"No good ... no good . . ." said the prince 
rapidly, and thrusting his feet into his slippers 
and his arms into the sleeves of his dressing 
gown, he went to the couch on which he slept. 

Though no words had passed between Ana- 
tole and Mademoiselle Bourienne, they quite 
understood one another as to the first part of 
their romance, up to the appearance of the 
pauvre mere; they understood that they had 
much to say to one another in private and so 
they had been seeking an opportunity since 
morning to meet one another alone. When 
Princess Mary went to her father's room at the 
usual hour, Mademoiselle Bourienne and Ana- 
tole met in the conservatory. 

Princess Mary went to the door of the study 
with special trepidation. It seemed to her that 
not only did everybody know that her fate 
would be decided that day, but that they also 
knew what she thought about it. She read this 
in Tikhon's face and in that of Prince Vasili's 
valet, who made her a low bow when she met 
him in the corridor carrying hot water. 

The old prince was very affectionate and 
careful in his treatment of his daughter that 
morning. Princess Mary well knew this pains- 
taking expression of her father's. His face wore 
that expression when his dry hands clenched 
with vexation at her not understanding a sum 
in arithmetic, when rising from his chair he 
would walk away from her, repeating in a low 
voice the same words several times over. 

He came to the point at once, treating her 
ceremoniously. 

"I have had a proposition made me concern- 
ing you," he said with an unnatural smile. "I 
expect you have guessed that Prince Vasili has 
not come and brought his pupil with him" 
(for some reason Prince Bolktinski referred to 
Anatole as a "pupil") "for the sake of my beau- 
tiful eyes. Last night a proposition was made 
me on your account and, as you know my prin- 
ciples, I refer it to you." 

"How am I to understand you, man perel" 
said the princess, growing pale and then blush- 
ing. 

"How understand me!" cried her father an- 
grily. "Prince Vasfli finds you to his taste as a 
daughter-in-law and makes a proposal to you 



on his pupil's behalf. That's how it's to be un- 
derstood 1 'How understand it'! ... And I ask 
you!" 

"I do not know what you think, Father," 
whispered the princess. 

"I? I? What of me? Leave me out of the 
question. I'm not going to get married. What 
about you? That's what I want to know." 

The princess saw that her father regarded 
the matter with disapproval, but at that mo- 
ment the thought occurred to her that her fate 
would be decided now or never. She lowered 
her eyes so as not to see the gaze under which 
she felt that she could not think, but would 
only be able to submit from habit, and she 
said: "I wish only to do your will, but if I had 
to express my own desire . . ." She had no time 
to finish. The old prince interrupted her. 

"That's admirable!" he shouted. "He will 
take you with your dowry and take Mademoi- 
selle Bourienne into the bargain. She'll be the 
wife, while you . . ." 

The prince stopped. He saw the effect these 
words had produced on his daughter. She low- 
ered her head and was ready to burst into tears. 

"Now then, now then, I'm only joking!" he 
said. "Remember this, Princess, I hold to the 
principle that a maiden has a full right to 
choose. I give you freedom. Only remember 
that your life's happiness depends on your de- 
cision. Never mind me!" 

"But I do not know. Father!" 

"There's no need to talk! He receives his 
orders and will marry you or anybody; but you 
are free to choose. ... Go to your room, think 
it over, and come back in an hour and tell me 
in his presence: yes or no. I know you will pray 
over it. Well, pray if you like, but you had bet- 
ter think it over. Go! Yes or no, yes or no, yes 
or no!" he still shouted when the princess, as 
if lost in a fog, had already staggered out of the 
study. 

Her fate was decided and happily decided. 
But what her father had said about Mademoi- 
selle Bourienne was dreadful. It was untrue to 
be sure, but still it was terrible, and she could 
not help thinking of it. She was going straight 
on through the conservatory, neither seeing 
nor hearing anything, when suddenly the well- 
known whisperingof Mademoiselle Bourienne 
aroused her. She raised her eyes, and two steps 
away saw Anatole embracing the Frenchwom- 
an and whispering something to her. With a 
horrified expression on his handsome face, An- 
atole looked at Princess Mary, but did not at 
once take his arm from the waist of Mademoi- 



128 



WAR AND PEACE 



selle Bourienne who had not yet seen her. 

"Who's that? Why? Wait a moment!" Ana- 
tole's face seemed to say. Princess Mary looked 
at them in silence. She could not understand 
it. At last Mademoiselle Bourienne gave a 
scream and ran away. Anatole bowed to Prin- 
cess Mary with a gay smile, as if inviting her to 
join in a laugh at this strange incident, and 
then shrugging his shoulders went to the door 
that led to his own apartments. 

An hour later, Ti'khon came to call Princess 
Mary to the old prince; he added that Prince 
Vasiii was also there. When Tikhon came to 
her Princess Mary was sitting on the sofa in 
her room, holding the weeping Mademoiselle 
Bourienne in her arms and gently stroking her 
hair. The princess* beautiful eyes with all their 
former calm radiance were looking with tend- 
er affection and pity at Mademoiselle Bouri- 
enne's pretty face. 

"No, Princess, I have lost your affection for- 
ever 1" said Mademoiselle Bourienne. 

"Why? I love you more than ever/'said Prin- 
cess Mary, "and I will try to do all I can for 
your happiness." 

"But you despise me. You who are so pure 
can never understand being so carried away by 
passion. Oh, only my poor mother . . ." 

"I quite understand," answered Princess 
Mary, with a sad smile. "Calm yourself, my 
dear. I will go to my father," she said, and went 
out. 

Prince Vasiii, with one leg thrown high over 
the other and a snuffbox in his hand, was sit- 
ting there with a smile of deep emotion on his 
face, as if stirred to his heart's core and himself 
regretting and laughing at his own sensibility, 
when Princess Mary entered. He hurriedly took 
a pinch of snuff. 

"Ah, my dear, my dear!" he began, rising 
and taking her by both hands. Then, sighing, 
he added: "My son's fate is in your hands. De- 
cide, my dear, good, gentle Marie, whom I have 
always loved as a daughter!" 

He drew back and a real tear appeared in 
his eye. 

"Fr ... fr ..." snorted Prince Bolkdnski. 
"The prince is making a proposition to you in 
his pupil's I mean, his son'sname. Do you 
wish or not to be Prince Anatole Kurdgin's 
wife? Reply: yes or no," he shouted, "and then 
I shall reserve the right to state my opinion al- 
so. Yes, my opinion, and only my opinion," 
added Prince Bolk6nski, turning to Prince Va- 
siii and answering his imploring look. "Yes, or 
no?" 



"My desire is never to leave you, Father, nev- 
er to separate my life from yours. I don't wish 
to marry," she answered positively, glancing at 
Prince Vasiii and at her father with her beauti- 
ful eyes. 

"Humbug! Nonsense! Humbug, humbug, 
humbug!" cried Prince Bolk6nski, frowning 
and taking his daughter's hand; he did not kiss 
her, but only bending his forehead to hers just 
touched it, and pressed her hand so that she 
winced and uttered a cry. 

Prince Vasfli rose. 

"My dear, I must tell you that this is a 
moment I shall never, never forget. But, 
my dear, will you not give us a little hope of 
touching this heart, so kind and generous? 
Say 'perhaps' . . . The future is so long. Say 
'perhaps.' " 

"Prince, what I have said is all there is in my 
heart. I thank you for the honor, but I shall 
never be your son's wife." 

"Well, so that's finished, my dear fellow! I 
am very glad to have seen you. Very glad! Go 
back to your rooms, Princess. Go!" said the old 
prince. "Very, very glad to have seen you," re* 
peated he, embracing Prince Vasfli. 

"My vocation is a different one," thought 
Princess Mary. "My vocation is to be happy 
with another kind of happiness, the happiness 
of love and self-sacrifice. And cost what it may, 
I will arrange poor Am^lie's happiness, she 
loves him so passionately, and so passionately 
repents. I will do all I can to arrange tjje match 
between them. If he is not rich I will^give her 
the means; I will ask my father and Andrew. I 
shall be so happy when she is his wife. She is 
so unfortunate, a stranger, alone, helpless! And, 
oh God, how passionately she must love him if 
she could so far forget herself! Perhaps I might 
have done the same! . . ." thought Princess 
Mary. 

CHAPTER VI 

IT WAS long since the Rost6vs had news of 
Nicholas. Not till midwinter was the count at 
last handed a letter addressed in his son's hand- 
writing. On receiving it, he ran on tiptoe to his 
study in alarm and haste, trying to escape no- 
tice, closed the door, and began to read the 
letter. 

Anna Mikhdylovna, who always knew every- 
thing that passed in the house, on hearing of 
the arrival of the letter went softly into the 
room and found the count with it in his hand, 
sobbing and laughing at the same time. 

Anna MikMylovna, though her circum- 



BOOK 

stances had improved, was still living with the 
Rost6vs. 

"My dear friend?" said she, in a tone of pa- 
thetic inquiry, prepared to sympathize in any 
way. 

The count sobbed yet more. 

"Nik61enka ... a letter ... wa ... a ... s 
. . . wounded . . . my darling boy . . . the count- 
ess ... promoted to be an officer . . . thank God 
. . . How tell the little countessl" 

Anna Mikhaylovna sat down beside him, with 
her own handkerchief wiped the tears from his 
eyes and from the letter, then having dried her 
own eyes she comforted the count, and decided 
that at dinner and till teatime she would pre- 
pare the countess, and after tea, with God's 
help, would inform her. 

At dinner Anna Mikhaylovna talked the 
whole time about the war news and about Ni- 
k61enka, twice asked when the last letter had 
been received from him, though she knew that 
already, and remarked that they might very 
likely be getting a letter from him that day. 
Each time that these hints began to make the 
countess anxious and she glanced uneasily at 
the count and at Anna Mikhaylovna, the lat- 
ter very adroitly turned the conversation to in- 
significant matters. Natasha, who, of the whole 
family, was the most gifted with a capacity to 
feel any shades of intonation, look, and ex- 
pression, pricked up her ears from the begin- 
ning of the meal and was certain that there 
was some secret between her father and Anna 
Mikhay'-vna, that it had something to do with 
her brotuer, and that Anna Mikh;iylovna was 
preparing them for it. Bold as she was, Nata- 
sha, who knew how sensitive her mother was 
to anything relating to Nik61enka,did not ven- 
ture to ask any questions at dinner, but she 
was too excited to eat anything and kept wrig- 
gling about on her chair regardless of her gov- 
erness' remarks. After dinner, she rushed head- 
long after Anna Mikhdylovna and, dashing at 
her, flung herself on her neck as soon as she 
overtook her in the sitting room. 

"Auntie, darling, do tell me what it is!" 

"Nothing, my dear." 

"No, dearest, sweet one, honey, I won't give 
up I know you know something." 

Anna Mikhaylovna shook her head. 

"You are a little slyboots," she said. 

"A letter from Nik61enka! I'm sure of it!" 
exclaimed Natasha, reading confirmation in 
Anna Mikhaylovna's face. 

"But for God's sake, be careful, you know 
how it may affect your mamma." 



THREE 129 

"I will, I will, only tell mel You won't? Then 
I will go and tell at once." 

Anna Mikhaylovna, in a few words, told her 
the contents of the letter, on condition that 
she should tell no one. 

"No, on my true word of honor," said Nata- 
sha, crossing herself, "I won't tell anyone!" and 
she ran off at once to S6nya. 

"Nik61enka . . . wounded ... a letter," she 
announced in gleeful triumph. 

"Nicholas!" was all Sonya said, instantly 
turning white. 

Natasha, seeing the impression the news of 
her brother's wound produced on S6nya, felt for*' 
the first time the sorrowful side of the news. 

She rushed to S6nya, hugged her, and began 
to cry. 

"A little wound, but he has been made an 
officer; he is well now, he wrote himself," said 
she through her tears. 

"There now! It's true that all you women 
are crybabies," remarked Pe*tya, pacing the 
room with large, resolute strides. "Now I'm 
very glad, very glad indeed, that my brother 
has distinguished himself so. You are all blub- 
berers and understand nothing." 

Natasha smiled through her tears. 

"You haven't read the letter?" asked Sonya. 

"No, but she said that it was all over and 
that he's now an officer." 

"Thank God!" said S6nya, crossing herself. 
"But perhaps she deceived you. Let us go to 
Mamma." 

Pdtya paced the room in silence for a time. 

"If I'd been in Nik61enka's place I would 
have killed even more of those Frenchmen," 
he said. "What nasty brutes they are! I'd have 
killed so many that there'd have been a heap 
of them." 

"Hold your tongue, P(hya, what a goose you 
are!" 

"I'm not a goose, but they are who cry about 
trifles," said Pdtya. 

"Do you remember him?" Natdsha suddenly 
asked, after a moment's silence. 

S6nya smiled. 

"Do I remember Nicholas?" 

"No, S6nya, but do you remember so that 
you remember him perfectly, remember every- 
thing?" said Natdsha, with an expressive ges- 
ture, evidently wishing to give her words a very 
definite meaning. "I remember Nik61enka too, 
I remember him well," she said. "But I don't 
remember Borfs. I don't remember him a bit." 

"What! You don't remember Boris?" asked 
S6nya in surprise. 



130 



WAR AND PEACE 



"It's not that I don't rememberI know what 
he is like, but not as I remember Nik61enka. 
HimI just shut my eyes and remember, but 
Boris . . . No!" (She shut her eyes.) "No! there's 
nothing at all." 

"Oh, Natdsha!" said S6nya, looking ecstati- 
cally and earnestly at her friend as if she did 
-ot consider her worthy to hear what she meant 
> say and as if she were saying it to someone 
Ise, with whom joking was out of the ques- 
[on, "I am in love with your brother once for 
11 and, whatever may happen to him or to me, 
hall never cease to love him as long as I live." 

Natdsha looked at S6nya with wondering 

nd inquisitive eyes, and said nothing. She felt 

lat Sonya was speaking the truth, that there 

ras such love as S6nya was speaking of. But 

_ Jatdsha had not yet felt anything like it. She 

believed it could be, but did not understand it. 

"Shall you write to him?" she asked. 

S6nya became thoughtful. The question of 
how to write to Nicholas, and whether she 
ought to write, tormented her. Now that he 
was already an officer and a wounded hero, 
would it be right to remind him of herself and, 
as it might seem, of the obligations to her he 
had taken on himself? 

"I don't know. I think if he writes, I will 
write too," she said, blushing. 

"And you won't feel ashamed to write to 
him?" 

S6nya smiled. 

"No." 

"And I should be ashamed to write to Boris. 
I'm not going to." 

"Why should you be ashamed?" 

"Well, I don't know. It's awkward and 
would make me ashamed." 

"And I know why she'd be ashamed," said 
Pe'tya, offended by Natasha's previous remark. 
"It's because she was in love with that fat one 
in spectacles" (that was how Ptya described 
his namesake, the new Count Bezukhov) "and 
now she's in love with that singer" (he meant 
Natdsha's Italian singing master), "that's why 
she's ashamed!" 

"Ptya, you're a stupid!" said Natdsha. 

"Not more stupid than you, madam," said 
the nine-year-old Ptya, with the air of an old 
brigadier. 

The countess had been prepared by Anna 
Mikhdylovna's hints at dinner. On retiring to 
her own room, she sat in an armchair, her eyes 
fixed on a miniature portrait of her son on the 
lid of a snuffbox, while the tears kept coming 
into her eyes. Anna Mikhdylovna, with the let- 



ter, came on tiptoe to the countess' door and 
paused. 

"Don't come in," she said to the old count 
who was following her, "Come later." And she 
went in, closing the door behind her. 

The count put his ear to the keyhole and lis- 
tened. 

At first he heard the sound of indifferent 
voices, then Anna Mikhdylovna's voice alone 
in a long speech, then a cry, then silence, then 
both voices together with glad intonations, 
and then footsteps. Anna Mikhdylovna opened 
the door. Her face wore the proud expression 
of a surgeon who has just performed a difficult 
operation and admits the public to appreciate 
his skill. 

"It is donel" she said to the count, pointing 
triumphantly to the countess, who sat holding 
in one hand the snuffbox with its portrait and 
in the other the letter, and pressing them al- 
ternately to her lips. 

When she saw the count, she stretched out 
her arms to him, embraced his bald head, over 
which she again looked at the letter and the 
portrait, and in order to press them again to 
her lips, she slightly pushed away the bald 
head. Ve>a, Natasha, S6nya, and Ptya now en- 
tered the room, and the reading of the letter 
began. After a brief description of the cam- 
paign and the two battles in which he had tak- 
en part, and his promotion, Nicholas said that 
he kissed his father's and mother's hands ask- 
ing for their blessing, and that he kissed Vra, 
Natdsha, and PiHya. Besides that, he sent greet- 
ings to Monsieur Schelling, Madame Schoss, 
and his old nurse, and asked them to kiss for 
him "dear S6nya, whom he loved and thought 
of just the same as ever." When she heard this 
S6nya blushed so that tears came into her eyes 
and, unable to bear the looks turned upon her, 
ran away into the dancing hall, whirled round 
it at full speed with her dress puffed out like a 
balloon, and, flushed and smiling, plumped 
down on the floor. The countess was crying. 

"Why are you crying, Mamma?" asked Vdra. 
"From all he says one should be glad and not 
cry." 

This was quite true, but the count, the count- 
ess, and Natasha looked at her reproachfully. 
"And who is it she takes after?" thought the 
countess. 

Nicholas' letter was read over hundreds of 
times, and those who were considered worthy 
to hear it had to come to the countess, for she 
did not let it out of her hands. The tutors came, 
and the nurses, and Dmitri, and several ac 



BOOK THREE 



quaintances, and the countess reread the letter 
each time with fresh pleasure and each time 
discovered in it fresh proofs of Nik61enka's vir- 
tues. How strange, how extraordinary, how joy- 
ful it seemed, that her son, the scarcely per- 
ceptible motion of whose tiny limbs she had 
felt twenty years ago within her, that son about 
whom she used to have quarrels with the too- 
indulgent count, that son who had first learned 
to say "pear" and then "granny," that this son 
should now be away in a foreign land amid 
strange surroundings, a manly warrior doing 
some kind of man's work of his own, without 
help or guidance. The universal experience of 
ages, showing that children do grow impercep- 
tibly from the cradle to manhood, did not exist 
for the countess. Her son's growth toward man- 
hood, at each of its stages, had seemed as extra- 
ordinary to her as if there had never existed 
the millions of human beings who grew up in 
the same way. As twenty years before, it seemed 
impossible that the little creature who lived 
somewhere under her heart would ever cry, 
suck her breast, and begin to speak, so now she 
could not believe that that little creature could 
be this strong, brave man, this model son and 
officer that, judging by this letter, he now was. 

"What a style! How charmingly he describes!" 
said she, reading the descriptive part of the let- 
ter. "And what a soul! Not a word about him- 
self. . . . Not a word! About some Denisov or 
other, though he himself, I dare say, is braver 
than any of them. He says nothing about his 
sufferings. What a heart! How like him it is! 
And how he has remembered everybody! Not 
forgetting anyone. I always said when he was 
only so high I always said . . ." 

For more than a week preparations were be- 
ing made, rough drafts of letters to Nicholas 
from all the household were written and copied 
out, while under the supervision of the count- 
ess and the solicitude of the count, money and 
all things necessary for the uniform and equip- 
ment of the newly commissioned officer were 
collected. Anna Mikhaylovna, practical wom- 
an that she was, had even managed by favor 
with army authorities to secure advantageous 
means of communication for herself and her 
son . She had opportunities of sending her letters 
to the Grand Duke Constan tine Pdvlovich, who 
commanded the Guards. The Rost6vs supposed 
that The Russian Guards, A broad, was quite a 
definite address, and that if a letter reached 
the Grand Duke in command of the Guards 
there was no reason why it should not reach 
the Pavlograd regiment, which was presuma- 



bly somewhere in the same neighborhood. And 
so it was decided to send the letters and money 
by the Grand Duke's courier to Boris and Boris 
was to forward them to Nicholas. The letters 
were from the old count, the countess, Ptya, 
Ve*ra, Natasha, and S6nya, and finally there 
were six thousand rubles for his outfit and vari- 
ous other things the old count sent to his son. 

CHAPTER VII 

ON THE twelfth of November, Kutiizov's active 
army, in camp before Olmiitz, was preparing 
to be reviewed next day by the two Emperors 
the Russian and the Austrian. The Guards, 
just arrived from Russia, spent the night ten 
miles from Olmiitz and next morning were to 
come straight to the review, reaching the field 
at Olmiitz by ten o'clock. 

That day Nicholas Rost6v received a letter 
from Borfs, telling him that the Ismaylov regi- 
ment was quartered for the night ten miles 
from Olmiitz and that he wanted to see him as 
he had a letter and money for him. Rostov was 
particularly in need of money now that the 
troops, after their active service, were stationed 
near Olmiitz and the camp swarmed with well- 
provisioned sutlers and Austrian Jews offering 
all sorts of tempting wares. The Pavlograds 
held feast after feast, celebrating awards they 
had received for the campaign, and made ex- 
peditions to Olmiitz to visit a certain Caroline 
the Hungarian, who had recently opened ares- 
taurant there with girls as waitresses. Rost6v, 
who had just celebrated his promotion to a 
cornetcy and bought Denfsov's horse, Bedouin, 
was in debt all round, to his comrades and the 
sutlers. On receiving Boris' letter he rode with 
a fellow officer to Olmiitz, dined there, drank 
a bottle of wine, and then set off alone to the 
Guards' camp to find his old playmate. Rost6v 
had not yet had time to get his uniform. He 
had on a shabby cadet jacket, decorated with 
a soldier's cross, equally shabby cadet's riding 
breeches lined with worn leather, and an of- 
ficer's saber with a sword knot. The Don horse 
he was riding was one he had bought from a 
Cossack during the campaign, and he wore a 
crumpled hussar cap stuck jauntily back on 
one side of his head. As he rode up to the camp 
he thought how he would impress Borfs and all 
his comrades of the Guards by his appearance 
that of a fighting hussar who had been under 
fire. 

The Guards had made their whole march as 
if on a pleasure trip, parading their cleanli- 
ness and discipline. They had come by easy 



WAR AND PEACE 



stages, their knapsacks conveyed on carts, and 
the Austrian authorities had provided excel- 
lent dinners for the officers at every halting 
place. The regiments had entered and left the 
town with their bands playing, and by the 
Grand Duke's orders the men had marched all 
the way instep (a practice on which the Guards 
prided themselves), the officers on foot and at 
their proper posts. Boris had been quartered, 
and had marched all the way, with Berg who 
was already in command of a company. Berg, 
who had obtained his captaincy during the 
campaign, had gained the confidence of his 
superiors by his promptitude and accuracy and 
had arranged his money matters very satisfac- 
torily. Boris, during the campaign, had made 
the acquaintance of many persons who might 
prove useful to him, and by a letter of recom- 
mendation he had brought from Pierre had be- 
come acquainted with Prince Andrew Bolk6n- 
ski, through whom he hoped to obtain a post 
on the commander in chief's staff. Berg and 
Boris, having rested after yesterday's march, 
were sitting, clean and neatly dressed, at a 
round table in the clean quarters allotted to 
them, playing chess. Berg held a smoking pipe 
between his knees. Boris, in the accurate way 
characteristic of him, was building a little pyra- 
mid of chessmen with his delicate white fingers 
while awaiting Berg's move, and watched his 
opponent's face, evidently thinking about the 
game as he always thought only of whatever he 
was engaged on. 

"Well, how are you going to get out of that?" 
he remarked. 

"We'll try to," replied Berg, touching a 
pawn and then removing his hand. 

At that moment the door opened. 

"Here he is at last!" shouted Rost6v. "And 
Berg too! Oh, you petisenfans, allay cushay 
dormir!" * he exclaimed, imitating his Russian 
nurse's French, at which he and Boris used to 
laugh long ago. 

"Dear me, how you have changed!" 

Boris rose to meet Rost6v, but in doing so 
did not omit to steady and replace some chess- 
men that were falling. He was about to em- 
brace his friend, but Nicholas avoided him. 
With that peculiar feeling of youth, that dread 
of beaten tracks, and wish to express itself in a 
manner different from that of its elders which 
is often insincere, Nicholas wished to do some- 
thing special on meeting his friend. He wanted 
to pinch him, push him, do anything but kiss 
hima thing everybody did. But notwithstand- 

1 "Little children, go to bed and sleep."-TR. 



ing this, Boris embraced him in a quiet, friend- 
ly way and kissed him three times. 

They had not met for nearly half a year and, 
being at the age when young men take their 
first steps on life's road, each saw immense 
changes in the other, quite a new reflection of 
the society in which they had taken those first 
steps. Both had changed greatly since they last 
met and both were in a hurry to show the 
changes that had taken place in them. 

"Oh, you damned dandies! Clean and fresh 
as if you'd been to a fete, not like us sinners of 
the line," cried Rost6v, with martial swagger 
and with baritone notes in his voice, new to 
Boris, pointing to his own mud-bespattered 
breeches. The German landlady, hearing Ros- 
tov's loud voice, popped her head in at the 
door. 

"Eh, is she pretty?" he asked with a wink. 

"Why do you shout so? You'll frighten them ! " 
said Boris. "I did not expect you today," he 
added. "I only sent you the note yesterday by 
Bolk6nski an adjutant of Kutuzov's, who's a 
friend of mine. I did not think he would get it 

to you so quickly Well, how are you? Been 

under fire already?" asked Boris. 

Without answering, Rostov shook the sol- 
dier's Cross of St. George fastened to the cord- 
ing of his uniform and, indicating a bandaged 
arm, glanced at Berg with a smile. 

"As you see," he said. 

"Indeed? Yes, yes!" said Boris, with a smile. 
"And we too have had a splendid march. You 
know, of course, that His Imperial Highness 
rode with our regiment all the time, so that we 
had every comfort and every advantage. What 
receptions we had in Poland! What dinners 
and balls! I can't tell you. And the Tsarvich 
was very gracious to all our officers." 

And the two friends told each other of their 
doings, the one of his hussar revels and life in 
the fighting line, the other of the pleasures 
and advantages of service under members of 
the Imperial family. 

"Oh, you Guards!" said Rost6v. "I say, send 
for some wine." 

Boris made a grimace. 

"If you really want it," said he. 

He went to his bed, drew a purse from un- 
der the clean pillow, and sent for wine. 

"Yes, and I have some money and a letter to 
give you," he added. 

Rost6v took the letter and, throwing the 
money on the sofa, put both arms on the table 
and began to read. After reading a few lines, 
he glanced angrily at Berg, then, meeting his 



BOOK THREE 



133 



eyes, hid his face behind the letter. 

"Well, they've sent you a tidy sum," said 
Berg, eying the heavy purse that sank into the 
sofa. "As for us, Count, -we get along on our 
pay. I can tell you for myself . . ." 

"I say, Berg, my dear fellow," said Rost6v, 
"when you get a letter from home and meet 
one of your own people whom you want to 
talk everything over with, and I happen to be 
there, I'll go at once, to be out of your way! 
Do go somewhere, anywhere ... to the devil 1" 
he exclaimed, and immediately seizing him by 
the shoulder and looking amiably into his face, 
evidently wishing to soften the rudeness of his 
words, he added, "Don't be hurt, my dear fel- 
low; you know I speak from my heart as to an 
old acquaintance." 

"Oh, don't mention it, Count! I quite un- 
derstand," said Berg, getting up and speaking 
in a muffled and guttural voice. 

"Go across to our hosts: they invited you," 
added Boris. 

Berg put on the cleanest of coats, without a 
spot or speck of dust, stood before a looking 
glass and brushed the hair on his temples up- 
wards, in the way affected by the Emperor 
Alexander, and, having assured himself from 
the way Rostov looked at it that his coat had 
been noticed, left the room with a pleasant 
smile. 

"Oh dear, what a beast I am!" muttered Ros- 
tov, as he read the letter. 

"Why?" 

"Oh, what a pig I am, not to have written 
and to have given them such a fright! Oh, what 
a pig I am!" he repeated, flushing suddenly. 
"Well, have you sent Gabriel for some wine? 
All right let's have some!" 

In the letter from his parents was enclosed a 
letter of recommendation to Bagrati6n which 
the old countess at Anna Mikhdylovna's advice 
had obtained through an acquaintance and 
sent to her son, asking him to take it to its des- 
tination and make use of it. 

"What nonsense! Much I need it!" said Ros- 
t6v, throwing the letter under the table. 

"Why have you thrown that away?" asked 
Boris. 

"It is some letter of recommendation . . . 
what the devil do I want it for!" 

"Why 'What the devil'?" said Boris, picking 
it up and reading the address. "This letter 
would be of great use to you." 

"I want nothing, and I won't be anyone's 
adjutant." 

"Why not?" inquired Boris. 



"It's a lackey's job!" 

"You are still the same dreamer, I see," re- 
marked Boris, shaking his head. 

"And you're still the same diplomatist! But 
that's not the point. . . . Come, how are you?" 
asked Rost6v. 

"Well, as you see. So far everything's all 
right, but I confess I should much like to be an 
adjutant and not remain at the front." 

"Why?" 

"Because when once a man starts on military 
service, he should try to make as successful a 
career of it as possible." 

"Oh, that's it!" said Rost6v, evidently think- 
ing of something else. 

He looked intently and inquiringly into his 
friend's eyes, evidently trying in vain to find 
the answer to some question. 

Old Gabriel brought in the wine. 

"Shouldn't we now send for Berg?" asked 
Boris. "He would drink with you. I can't." 

"Well, send for him . . . and how do you get 
on with that German?" asked Rost6v, with a 
contemptuous smile. 

"He is a very, very nice, honest, and pleasant 
fellow," answered Boris. 

Again Rost6v looked intently into Boris* 
eyes and sighed. Berg returned, and over the 
bottle of wine conversation between the three 
officers became animated. The Guardsmen told 
Rost6v of their march and how they had been 
made much of in Russia, Poland, and abroad. 
They spoke of the sayings and doings of their 
commander, the Grand Duke, and told stories 
of his kindness and irascibility. Berg, as usual, 
kept silent when the subject did not relate to 
himself, but in connection with the stories of 
the Grand Duke's quick temper he related with 
gusto how in Galicia he had managed to deal 
with the Grand Duke when the latter made a 
tour of the regiments and was annoyed at the 
irregularity of a movement. With a pleasant 
smile Berg related how the Grand Duke had 
ridden up to him in a violent passion, shout- 
ing: "Arnautsl" 1 ("Arnauts" was the Tsare"- 
vich's favorite expression when he was in a 
rage) and called for the company commander, 

"Would you believe it, Count, I was not at 
all alarmed, because I knew I was right. With- 
out boasting, you know, I may say that I know 
the Army Orders by heart and know the Regu- 
lations as well as I do the Lord's Prayer. So, 
Count, there never is any negligence in my 

1 Arnauts is a Turkish name for the Albanians, 
who supplied the Turks with irregular cavalry. 

-TR. 



'34 



WAR AND PEACE 



company, and so my conscience was at ease. I 

came forward " (Berg stood up and showed 

how he presented himself, with his hand to his 
cap, and really it would have been difficult for 
a face to express greater respect and self- 
complacency than his did.) "Well, he stormed 
at me, as the saying is, stormed andstormedand 
stormed! It was not a matter of life but rather 
of death, as the saying is. 'Albanians!' and 'dev- 
ils!' and 'To Siberia!' " said Berg with a saga- 
cious smile. "I knew I was in the right so I kept 
silent; was not that best, Count? . . . 'Hey, are 
you dumb?' he shouted. Still I remained silent. 
And what do you think, Count? The next day 
it was not even mentioned in the Orders of the 
Day. That's what keeping one's head means. 
That's the way, Count," said Berg, lighting his 
pipe and emitting rings of smoke. 

"Yes, that was fine," said Rostov, smiling. 

But Boris noticed that he was preparing to 
make fun of Berg, and skillfully changed the 
subject. He asked him to tell them how and 
where he got his wound. This pleased Rost6v 
and he began talking about it, and as he went 
on became more and more animated. He told 
them of his Schon Grabern affair, just as those 
who have taken part in a battle generally do 
describe it, that is, as they would like it to have 
been, as they have heard it described by others, 
and as sounds well, but not at all as it really 
was. Rost6v was a truthful young man and 
would on no account have told a deliberate lie. 
He began his story meaning to tell everything 
just as it happened, but imperceptibly, invol- 
untarily, and inevitably he lapsed into false- 
hood. If he had told the truth to his hearers 
who like himself had often heard stories of at- 
tacks and had formed a definite idea of what 
an attack was and were expecting to hear just 
such a story they would either not have be- 
lieved him or, still worse, would have thought 
that Rostov was himself to blame since what 
generally happens to the narrators of cavalry 
attacks had not happened to him. He could 
not tell them simply that everyone went at a 
trot and that he fell off his horse and sprained 
his arm and then ran as hard as he could from 
a Frenchman into the wood. Besides, to tell 
everything as it really happened, it would have 
been necessary to make an effort of will to tell 
only what happened. It is very difficult to tell 
the truth, and young people are rarely capable 
of it. His hearers expected a story of how be- 
side himself and all aflame with excitement, he 
had flown like a storm at the square, cut his 
way in, slashed right and left, how his saber 



had tasted flesh and he had fallen exhausted, 
and so on. And so he told them all that. 

In the middle of his story, just as he was 
saying: "You cannot imagine what a strange 
frenzy one experiences duringanattack/'Prince 
Andrew, whom Boris was expecting, entered 
the room. Prince Andrew, who liked to help 
young men, was flattered by being asked for 
his assistance and being well disposed toward 
Boris, who had managed to please him the day 
before, he wished to do what the young man 
wanted. Having been sent with papers from 
Kutii/ov to the Tsardvich, he looked in on 
Boris, hoping to find him alone. When he came 
in and saw an hussar of the line recounting his 
military exploits (Prince Andrew could not 
endure that sort of man), he gave Boris a pleas- 
ant smile, frowned as with half-closed eyes 
he looked at Rost6v, bowed slightly and wea- 
rily, and sat down languidly on the sofa: he 
felt it unpleasant to have dropped in on bad 
company. Rostov flushed up on noticing this, 
but he did not care, this was a mere stran- 
ger. Glancing, however, at Boris, he saw that 
he too seemed ashamed of the hussar of the 
line. 

In spite of Prince Andrew's disagreeable, 
ironical tone, in spite of the contempt with 
which Rostov, from his fighting army point of 
view, regarded all these little adjutants on the 
staff, of whom the newcomer was evidently one, 
Rost6v felt confused, blushed, and became si- 
lent. Boris inquired what news there might be 
on the staff, and what, without indiscretion, 
one might ask about our plans. 

"We shall probably advance," replied Bol- 
k6nski, evidently reluctant to say more in the 
presence of a stranger. 

Berg took the opportunity to ask, with great 
politeness, whether, as was rumored, the allow- 
ance of forage money to captains of companies 
would be doubled. To this Prince Andrew an- 
swered with a smile that he could give no 
opinion on such an important government or- 
der, and Berg laughed gaily. 

"As to your business," Prince Andrew con- 
tinued, addressing Boris, "we will talk of it 
later" (and he looked round at Rost6v). "Come 
to me after the review and we will do what is 
possible." 

And, having glanced round the room, Prince 
Andrew turned to Rostov, whose state of 
unconquerable childish embarrassment now 
changing to anger he did not condescend to 
notice, and said: "I think you were talking of 
the Schon Grabern affair? Were you there?" 



BOOK THREE 



"I was there," said Rost6v angrily, as if in- 
tending to insult the aide-de-camp. 

Bolk6nski noticed the hussar's state of mind, 
and it amused him. With a slightly contemptu- 
ous smile, he said: "Yes, there are many stories 
now told about that affair!" 

"Yes, stories!" repeated Rost6v loudly, look- 
ing with eyes suddenly grown furious, now at 
Boris, now at Bolk6nski. "Yes, many stories! 
But our stories are the stories of men who have 
been under the enemy's fire! Our stories have 
some weight, not like the stories of those fel- 
lows on the staff who get rewards without do- 
ing anything!" 

"Of whom you imagine me to be one?" said 
Prince Andrew, with a quiet and particularly 
amiable smile. 

A strange feeling of exasperation and yet of 
respect for this man's self-possession mingled 
at that moment in Rost6v's soul. 

"I am not talking about you," he said, "I 
don't know you and, frankly, I don't want to. 
I am speaking of the staff in general." 

"And I will tell you this," Prince Andrew in- 
terrupted in a tone of quiet authority, "you 
wish to insult me, and I am ready to agree with 
you that it would be very easy to do so if you 
haven't sufficient self-respect, but admit that 
the time and place are very badly chosen. In a 
day or two we shall all have to take part in a 
greater and more serious duel, and besides, 
Drubetsk6y, who says he is an old friend of 
yours, is not at all to blame that my face has 
the misfortune to displease you. However," he 
added rising, "you know my name and where 
to find me, but don't forget that I do not re- 
gard either myself or you as having been at all 
insulted, and as a man older than you, my ad- 
vice is to let the matter drop. Well then, on 
Friday after the review I shall expect you, 
Drubetsk6y. Au revoir!" exclaimed Prince An- 
drew, and with a bow to them both he went 
out. 

Only when Prince Andrew was gone did 
Rost6v think of what he ought to have said. 
And he was still more angry at having omitted 
to say it. He ordered his horse at once and, 
coldly taking leave of Boris, rode home. Should 
he go to headquarters next day and challenge 
that affected adjutant, or really let the matter 
drop, was the question that worried him all 
the way. He thought angrily of the pleasure he 
would have at seeing the fright of that small 
and frail but proud man when covered by his 
pistol, and then he felt with surprise that of 
all the men he knew there was none he would 



so much like to have for a friend as that very 
adjutant whom he so hated. 

CHAPTER VIII 

THE DAY AFTER Rost6v had been to see Boris, 
a review was held of the Austrian and Russian 
troops, both those freshly arrived from Russia 
and those who had been campaigning under 
Kutuzov. The two Emperors, the Russian with 
his heir the Tsardvich, and the Austrian with 
the Archduke, inspected the allied army of 
eighty thousand men. 

From early morning the smart clean troops 
were on the move, forming up on the field be- 
fore the fortress. Now thousands of feet and 
bayonets moved and halted at the officers' com- 
mand, turned with banners flying, formed up 
at intervals, and wheeled round other similar 
masses of infantry in different uniforms; now 
was heard the rhythmic beat of hoofs and the 
jingling of showy cavalry in blue, red, and 
green braided uniforms, with smartly dressed 
bandsmen in front mounted on black, roan, or 
gray horses; then again, spreading out with the 
brazen clatter of the polished shining cannon 
that quivered on the gun carriages and with 
the smell of linstocks, came the artillery which 
crawled between the infantry and cavalry and 
took up its appointed position. Not only the 
generals in full parade uniforms, with their 
thin or thick waists drawn in to the utmost, 
their red necks squeezed into their stiff collars, 
and wearing scarves and all their decorations, 
not only the elegant, pomaded officers, but 
every soldier with his freshly washed and 
shaven face and his weapons clean and pol- 
ished to the utmost, and every horse groomed 
till its coat shone like satin and every hair of 
its wetted mane lay smooth felt that no small 
matter was happening, but an important and 
solemn affair. Every general and every soldier 
was conscious of his own insignificance, aware 
of being but a drop in that ocean of men, and 
yet at thesame time was conscious of his strength 
as a part of that enormous whole. 

From early morning strenuous activities and 
efforts had begun and by ten o'clock all had 
been brought into due order. The ranks were 
drown up on the vast field. The whole army 
was extended in three lines: the cavalry in 
front, behind it the artillery, and behind that 
again the infantry. 

A space like a street was left between each 
two lines of troops. The three parts of that 
army were sharply distinguished: Kutiizov's 
fighting army (with the Pdvlograds on the right 



136 



WAR AND PEACE 



flank of the front); those recently arrived from 
Russia, both Guards and regiments of the line; 
and the Austrian troops. But they all stood in 
the same lines, under one command, and in a 
like order. 

Like wind over leaves ran an excited 
whisper: "They're coming! They're com- 
ing!" Alarmed voices were heard, and a 
stir of final preparation swept over all the 
troops. 

From the direction of Olmiitz in front of 
them, a group was seen approaching. And at 
that moment, though the day was still, a light 
gust of wind blowing over the army slightly 
stirred the streamers on the lances and the un- 
folded standards fluttered against their staffs. 
It looked as if by that slight motion the army 
itself was expressing its joy at the approach of 
the Emperors. One voice was heard shouting: 
"Eyes front!" Then, like the crowing of cocks 
at sunrise, this was repeated by others from 
various sides and all became silent. 

In the deathlike stillness only the tramp of 
horses was heard. This was the Emperors' suites. 
The Emperors rode up to the flank, and the 
trumpets of the first cavalry regiment played 
the general march. It seemed as though not the 
trumpeters were playing, but as if the army it- 
self, rejoicing at the Emperors' approach, had 
naturally burst into music. Amid these sounds, 
only the youthful kindly voice of the Emperor 
Alexander was clearly heard. He gave the words 
of greeting, and the first regiment roared "Hur- 
rah!" so deafeningly, continuously, and joy- 
fully that the men themselves were awed by 
their multitude and the immensity of the pow- 
er they constituted. 

Rostov, standing in the front lines of Kutu- 
zov's army which the Tsar approached first, ex- 
perienced the same feeling as every other man 
in that army: a feeling of self-forgetfulness, a 
proud consciousness of might, and a passion- 
ate attraction to him who was the cause of this 
triumph. 

He felt that at a single word from that man 
all this vast mass (and he himself an insignifi- 
cant atom in it) would go through fire and 
water, commit crime, die, or perform deeds of 
highest heroism, and so he could not but trem- 
ble and his heart stand still at the imminence 
of that word. 

"Hurrah! Hurrah! Hurrah!" thundered 
from all sides, one regiment after another greet- 
ing the Tsar with the strains of the march, and 
then "Hurrah!" . . . Then the general march, 
and again "Hurrah! Hurrah!" growing ever 



stronger and fuller and merging into a deafen- 
ing roar. 

Till the Tsar reached it, each regiment in its 
silence and immobility seemed like a lifeless 
body, but as soon as he came up it became 
alive, its thunder joining the roar of the whole 
line along which he had already passed. 
Through the terrible and deafening roar of 
those voices, amid the square masses of troops 
standing motionless as if turned to stone, hun- 
dreds of riders composing the suites moved 
carelessly but symmetrically and above all free- 
ly, and in front of them two men the Emper- 
ors. Upon them the undivided, tensely passion- 
ate attention of that whole mass of men was 
concentrated. 

The handsome young Emperor Alexander, 
in the uniform of the Horse Guards, wearing 
a cocked hat with its peaks front and back, 
with his pleasant face and resonant though not 
loud voice, attracted everyone's attention. 

Rostov was not far from the trumpeters, and 
with his keen sight had recognized the Tsar 
and watched his approach. When he was with- 
in twenty paces, and Nicholas could clearly 
distinguish every detail of his handsome, hap- 
py young face, he experienced a feeling of tend- 
erness and ecstasy such as he had never be- 
fore known. Every trait and every movement 
of the Tsar's seemed to him enchanting. 

Stopping in front of the Pdvlograds, the Tsar 
said something in French to the Austrian Em- 
peror and smiled. 

Seeing that smile, Rost6v involuntarily smiled 
himself and felt a still stronger flow of love 
for his sovereign. He longed to show that love 
in some way and knowing that this was impos- 
sible was ready to cry. The Tsar called the colo- 
nel of the regiment and said a few words to 
him. 

"Oh God, what would happen to me if the 
Emperor spoke to me?" thought Rost6v. "I 
should die of happiness!" 

The Tsar addressed the officers also: "I thank 
you all, gentlemen, I thank you with my whole 
heart." To Rost6v every word sounded like a 
voice from heaven. How gladly would he have 
died at once for his Tsar! 

"You have earned the St. George's standards 
and will be worthy of them." 

"Oh, to die, to die for him!" thought Rost6v. 

The Tsar said something more which Ros- 
t6v did not hear, and the soldiers, straining 
their lungs, shouted "Hurrah!" 

Rost6v too, bending over his saddle, shouted 
"Hurrah!" with all his might, feeling that he 



BOOK 

would like to injure himself by that shout, if 
only to express his rapture fully. 

The Tsar stopped a few minutes in front of 
the hussars as if undecided. 

"How can the Emperor be undecided?" 
thought Rost6v, but then even this indecision 
appeared to him majestic and enchanting, like 
everything else the Tsar did. 

That hesitation lasted only an instant. The 
Tsar's foot, in the narrow pointed boot then 
fashionable, touched the groin of the bobtailed 
bay mare he rode, his hand in a white glove 
gathered up the reins, and he moved off accom- 
panied by an irregularly swaying sea of aides- 
de-camp. Farther and farther he rode away, 
stopping at other regiments, till at last only 
his white plumes were visible to Rost6v from 
amid the suites that surrounded the Emperors. 

Among the gentlemen of the suite, Rost6v 
noticed Bolk6nski, sitting his horse indolently 
and carelessly. Rost6v recalled their quarrel of 
yesterday and the question presented itself 
whether he ought or ought not to challenge 
Bolk6nski. "Of course not!" he now thought. 
"Is it worth thinking or speaking of it at such 
a moment? At a time of such love, such rap- 
ture, and such self-sacrifice, what do any of our 
quarrels and affronts matter? I love and for- 
give everybody now." 

When the Emperor had passed nearly all 
the regiments, the troops began a ceremonial 
march past him, and Rost6v on Bedouin, re- 
cently purchased from Denfsov, rode past too, 
at the rear of his squadron that is, alone and 
in full view of the Emperor. 

Before he reached him, Rost6v, who was a 
splendid horseman, spurred Bedouin twice 
and successfully put him to the showy trot in 
which the animal went when excited. Bend- 
ing his foaming muzzle to his chest, his tail ex- 
tended, Bedouin, as if also conscious of the 
Emperor's eye upon him, passed splendidly, 
lifting his feet with a high and graceful action, 
as if flying through the air without touching 
the ground. 

Rost6v himself, his legs well back and his 
stomach drawn in and feeling himself one with 
his horse, rode past the Emperor with a frown- 
ing but blissful face "like a vewy devil," as 
Denfsov expressed it. 

"Fine fellows, the Pdvlogradsl" remarked 
the Emperor. 

"My God, how happy I should be if he or- 
dered me to leap into the fire this instant!" 
thought Rost6v. 

When the review was over, the newly ar- 



THREE 137 

rived officers, and also Kuttizov's, collected in 
groups and began to talk about the awards, 
about the Austrians and their uniforms, about 
their lines, about Bonaparte, and how badly 
the latter would fare now, especially if the Es- 
sen corps arrived and Prussia took our side. 

But the talk in every group was chiefly about 
the Emperor Alexander. His every word and 
movement was described with ecstasy. 

They all had but one wish: to advance as 
soon as possible against the enemy under the 
Emperor's command. Commanded by the Em- 
peror himself they could not fail to vanquish 
anyone, be it whom it might: so thought Ros- 
tov and most of the officers after the review. 

All were then more confident of victory than 
the winning of two battles would have made 
them. 

CHAPTER IX 

THE DAY AFTER the review, Boris, in his best 
uniform and with his comrade Berg's best 
wishes for success, rode to Olmiitz to see Bol- 
konski, wishing to profit by his friendliness and 
obtain for himself the best post he could pref- 
erably that of adjutant to some important 
personage, a position in the army which seemed 
to him most attractive. "It is all very well for 
Rost6v, whose father sends him ten thousand 
rubles at a time, to talk about not wishing to 
cringe to anybody and not be anyone's lackey, 
but I who have nothing but my brains have to 
make a career and must not miss opportunities, 
but must avail myself of them!" he reflected. 

He did not find Prince Andrew in Olmiitz 
that day, but the appearance of the town where 
the headquarters and the diplomatic corps 
were stationed and the two Emperors were 
living with their suites, households, and courts 
only strengthened his desire to belong to that 
higher world. 

He knew no one, and despite his smart 
Guardsman's uniform, all these exalted per- 
sonages passing in the streets in their elegant 
carriages with their plumes, ribbons, and med- 
als, both courtiers and military men, seemed 
so immeasurably above him, an insignificant 
officer of the Guards, that they not only did 
not wish to, but simply could not, be aware of 
his existence. At the quarters of the command- 
er in chief, Kutiizov, where he inquired for 
Bolk6nski, all the adjutants and even the or- 
derlies looked at him as if they wished to im- 
press on him that a great many officers like 
him were always coming there and that every- 
body was heartily sick of them. In spite of this, 



138 



WAR AND PEACE 



or rather because of it, next day, November 15, 
after dinner he again went to Olmiitz and, en- 
tering the house occupied by Kutiizov, asked 
for Bolk6nski. Prince Andrew was in and Boris 
was shown into a large hall probably formerly 
used for dancing, but in which five beds now 
stood, and furniture of various kinds: a table, 
chairs, and a clavichord. One adjutant, near- 
est the door, was sitting at the table in a Per- 
sian dressing gown, writing. Another, the red, 
stout Nesvitski, lay on a bed with his arms un- 
der his head, laughing with an officer who had 
sat down beside him. A third was playing a Vi- 
ennese waltz on the clavichord, while a fourth, 
lying on the clavichord, sang the tune. Bol- 
k6nski was not there. None of these gentlemen 
changed his position on seeing Boris. The one 
who was writing and whom Boris addressed 
turned round crossly and told him Bolk6nski 
was on duty and that he should go through the 
door on the left into the reception room if he 
wished to see him. Boris thanked him and went 
to the reception room, where he found some 
ten officers and generals. 

When he entered, Prince Andrew, his eyes 
drooping contemptuously (with that peculiar 
expression of polite weariness which plainly 
says, "If it were not my duty I would not talk 
to you for a moment"), was listening to an old 
Russian general with decorations, who stood 
very erect, almost on tiptoe, with a soldier's 
obsequious expression on his purple face, re- 
porting something. 

"Very well, then, be so good as to wait," said 
Prince Andrew to the general, in Russian, 
speaking with the French intonation he affect- 
ed when he wished to speak contemptuously, 
and noticing Boris, Prince Andrew, paying no 
more heed to the general who ran after him 
imploring him to hear something more, nod- 
ded and turned to him with a cheerful smile. 

At that moment Boris clearly realized what 
he had before surmised, that in the army, be- 
sides the subordination and discipline pre- 
scribed in the military code, which he and the 
others knew in the regiment, there was another, 
more important, subordination, which made 
this tight-laced, purple-faced general wait re- 
spectfully while Captain Prince Andrew, for his 
own pleasure, chose to chat with Lieutenant 
Drubetsk6y. More than ever was Boris re- 
solved to serve in future not according to the 
written code, but under this unwritten law. 
He felt now that merely by having been rec- 
ommended to Prince Andrew he had already 
risen above the general who at the front had 



the power to annihilate him, a lieutenant of 
the Guards. Prince Andrew came up to him 
and took his hand. 

"I am very sorry you did not find me in yes- 
terday. I was fussing about with Germans all 
day. We went with Weyrother to survey the 
dispositions. When Germans start being ac- 
curate, there's no end to it I" 

Boris smiled, as if he understood what Prince 
Andrew was alluding to as something general- 
ly known. But it was the first time he had heard 
Weyrother's name, or even the term "disposi- 
tions." 

"Well, my dear fellow, so you still want to 
be an adjutant? I have been thinking about 
you." 

"Yes, I was thinking" for some reason Boris 
could not help blushing "of asking the com- 
mander in chief. He has had a letter from 
Prince Kurdgin about me. I only wanted to 
ask because I fear the Guards won't be in ac- 
tion," he added as if in apology. 

"All right, all right. We'll talk it over," re- 
plied Prince Andrew. "Only let me report this 
gentleman's business, and I shall be at your 
disposal." 

While Prince Andrew went to report about 
the purple-faced general, that gentleman evi- 
dently not sharing Boris' conception of the ad- 
vantages of the unwritten code of subordina- 
tionlooked so fixedly at the presumptuous 
lieutenant who had prevented his finishing 
what he had to say to the adjutant that Boris 
felt uncomfortable. He turned away and waited 
impatiently for Prince Andrew's return from 
the commander in chief's room. 

"You see, my dear fellow, I have been think- 
ing about you," said Prince Andrew when they 
had gone into the large room where the clavi- 
chord was. "It's no use your going to the com- 
mander in chief. He would say a lot of pleas- 
ant things, ask you to dinner" ("That would 
not be bad as regards the unwritten code," 
thought Boris), "but nothing more would come 
of it. There will soon be a battalion of us aides- 
de-camp and adjutants! But this is what we'll 
do: I have a good friend, an adjutant general 
and an excellent fellow, Prince Dolgorukov; 
and though you may not know it, the fact is 
that now Kutiizov with his staff and all of us 
count for nothing. Everything is now centered 
round the Emperor. So we will go to Dolgoru- 
kov; I have to go there anyhow and I have al- 
ready spoken to him about you. We shall see 
whether he cannot attach you to himself or 
find a place for you somewhere nearer the sun." 



Prince Andrew always became specially keen 
when he had to guide a young man and help 
him to worldly success. Under cover of obtain- 
ing help of this kind for another, which from 
pride he would never accept for himself, he 
kept in touch with the circle which confers suc- 
cess and which attracted him. He very readily 
took up Boris' cause and went with him to Dol- 
goriikov. 

It was late in the evening when they entered 
the palace at Olmiitz occupied by the Emper- 
ors and their retinues. 

That same day a council of war had been 
held in which all the members of the Hof- 
kriegsrath and both Emperors took part. At 
that council, contrary to the views of the old 
generals Kutiizov and Prince Schwartzenberg, 
it had been decided to advance immediately 
and give battle to Bonaparte. The council of 
war was just over when Prince Andrew accom- 
panied by Boris arrived at the palace to find 
Dolgorukov. Everyone at headquarters was still 
under the spell of the day's council, at which 
the party of the young had triumphed. The 
voices of those who counseled delay and ad- 
vised waiting for something else before advanc- 
ing had been so completely silenced and their 
arguments confuted by such conclusive evi- 
dence of the advantages of attacking that what 
had been discussed at the council the coming 
battle and the victory that would certainly re- 
sult from it no longer seemed to be in the 
future but in the past. All the advantages were 
on our side. Our enormous forces, undoubted- 
ly superior to Napoleon's, were concentrated 
in one place, the troops inspired by the Em- 
perors' presence were eager for action. The 
strategic position where the operations would 
take place was familiar in all its details to the 
Austrian General Weyrother: a lucky accident 
had ordained that the Austrian army should 
maneuver the previous year on the very fields 
where the French had now to be fought; the 
adjacent locality was known and shown in 
every detail on the maps, and Bonaparte, evi- 
dently weakened, was undertaking nothing. 

Dolgorukov, one of the warmest advocates 
of an attack, had just returned from the coun- 
cil, tired and exhausted but eager and proud 
of the victory that had been gained. Prince 
Andrew introduced his prot^g^, but Prince 
Dolgonikov politely and firmly pressing his 
hand said nothing to Boris and, evidently un- 
able to suppress the thoughts which were up- 
permost in his mind at that moment, addressed 
Prince Andrew in French, 



BOOK THREE 139 

"Ah, my dear fellow, what a battle we have 



gained! God grant that the one that will result 
from it will be as victorious! However, my dear 
fellow," he said abruptly and eagerly, "I must 
confess to having been unjust to the Austrians 
and especially to Weyrother. What exactitude, 
what minuteness, what knowledge of the local- 
ity, what foresight for every eventuality, every 
possibility even to the smallest detail 1 No, my 
dear fellow, no conditions better than our pres- 
ent ones could have been devised. This combi- 
nation of Austrian precision with Russian val- 
orwhat more could be wished for?" 

"So the attack is definitely resolved on?" 
asked Bolk6nski. 

"And do you know, my dear fellow, it seems 
to me that Bonaparte has decidedly lost his 
bearings, you know that a letter was received 
from him today for the Emperor." Dolgorukov 
smiled significantly. 

"Is that so? And what did he say?" inquired 
Bolkonski. 

"What can he say? Tra-di-ri-di-ra and so on 
. . . merely to gain time. I tell you he is in our 
hands, that's certain! But what was most amus- 
ing," he continued, with a sudden, good-na- 
tured laugh, "was that we could not think how 
to address the reply! If not as 'Consul' and of 
course not as 'Emperor,' it seemed to me it 
should be to 'General Bonaparte.' " 

"But between not recognizing him as Em- 
peror and calling him General Bonaparte, 
there is a difference," remarked Bolk6nski. 

"That's just it," interrupted Dolgoriikov 
quickly, laughing. "You know Bilfbin he's a 
very clever fellow. He suggested addressing 
him as 'Usurper and Enemy of Mankind.' " 

Dolgorukov laughed merrily. 

"Only that?" said Bolk6nski. 

"All the same, it was Bilibin who found a 
suitable form for the address. He is a wise and 
clever fellow." 

"What was it?" 

"To the Head of the French Government 
. . . Au chef du gouvernement franfais," said 
Dolgorukov, with grave satisfaction. "Good, 
wasn't it?" 

"Yes, but he will dislike it extremely," said 
Bolk6nski. 

"Oh yes, very much! My brother knows him, 
he's dined with him the present Emperor- 
more than once in Paris, and tells me he never 
met a more cunning or subtle diplomatist 
you know, a combination of French adroitness 
and Italian play-acting! Do you know the tale 
about him and Count Mark6v? Count Mark6v 



140 



WAR AND PEACE 



was the only man who knew how to handle 
him. You know the story of the handkerchief? 
It is delightful!" 

And the talkative Dolgorukov, turning now 
to Boris, now to Prince Andrew, told how 
Bonaparte wishing to test Mark6v, our ambas- 
sador, purposely dropped a handkerchief in 
front of him and stood looking at Mark6v, 
probably expecting Mark6v to pick it up for 
him, and how Mark6v immediately dropped 
his own beside it and picked it up without 
touching Bonaparte's. 

"Delightful!" said Bolk6nski. "But I have 
come to you, Prince, as a petitioner on behalf 
of this young man. You see . . ." but before 
Prince Andrew could finish, an aide-de-camp 
came in to summon Dolgorukov to the Emper- 
or. 

"Oh, what a nuisance," said Dolgorukov, 
getting up hurriedly and pressing the hands of 
Prince Andrew and Boris. "You know I should 
be very glad to do all in my power both for you 
and for this dear young man." Again he pressed 
the hand of the latter with an expression of 
good-natured, sincere, and animated levity. 
"But you see . . . another time!" 

Boris was excited by the thought of being so 
close to the higher powers as he felt himself to 
be at that moment. He was conscious that here 
he was in contact with the springs that set in 
motion the enormous movements of the mass 
of which in his regiment he felt himself a tiny, 
obedient, and insignificant atom. They fol- 
lowed Prince Dolgorukov out into the corri- 
dor and met coming out of the door of the 
Emperor's room by which Dolgoriikov had en- 
tereda short man in civilian clothes with a 
clever face and sharply projecting jaw which, 
without spoiling his face, gave him a peculiar 
vivacity and shiftiness of expression. This short 
man nodded to Dolgorukov as to an intimate 
friend and stared at Prince Andrew with cool 
intensity, walking straight toward him and 
evidently expecting him to bow or to step out 
of his way. Prince Andrew did neither: a look 
of animosity appeared on his face and the oth- 
er turned away and went down the side of the 
corridor. 

"Who was that?" asked Boris. 

"He is one of the most remarkable, but to 
me most unpleasant of men the Minister of 
Foreign Affairs, Prince Adam Czartoryski. . . . 
It is such men as he who decide the fate of 
nations," added Bolk6nski with a sigh he 
could not suppress, as they passed out of the 
palace. 



Next day, the army began its campaign, and 
up to tl\e very battle of Austerlitz, Boris was 
unable to see either Prince Andrew or Dol- 
goriikov again and remained for a while with 
the Ismdylov regiment. 

CHAPTER X 

AT DAWN on the sixteenth of November, Denf- 
sov's squadron, in which Nicholas Rost6v served 
and which was in Prince Bagrati6n's detach- 
ment, moved from the place where it had 
spent the night, advancing into action as ar- 
ranged, and after going behind other columns 
for about two thirds of a mile was stopped on 
the highroad. Rost6v saw the Cossacks and 
then the first and second squadrons of hussars 
and infantry battalions and artillery pass by 
and go forward and then Generals Bagrati6n 
and Dolgorukov ride past with their adjutants. 
All the fear before action which he had experi- 
enced as previously, all the inner struggle to 
conquer that fear, all his dreams of distin- 
guishing himself as a true hussar in this battle, 
had been wasted. Their squadron remained in 
reserve and Nicholas Rost6v spent that day in 
a dull and wretched mood. At nine in the morn- 
ing, he heard firing in front and shouts of hur- 
rah, and saw wounded being brought back 
(there were not many of them), and at last he 
saw how a whole detachment of French caval- 
ry was brought in, convoyed by a sdtnya of 
Cossacks. Evidently the affair was over and, 
though not big, had been a successful engage- 
ment. The men and officers returning spoke 
of a brilliant victory, of the occupation of the 
town of Wischau and the capture of a whole 
French squadron. The day was bright and sun- 
ny after a sharp night frost, and the cheerful 
glitter of that autumn day was in keeping with 
the news of victory which was conveyed, not 
only by the tales of those who had taken part 
in it, but also by the joyful expression on the 
faces of soldiers, officers, generals, and adju- 
tants, as they passed Rostov going or coming. 
And Nicholas, who had vainly suffered all the 
dread that precedes a battle and had spent 
that happy day in inactivity, was all the more 
depressed. 

"Come here, Wost6v. Let's dwink to dwown 
our gwief!" shouted Denisov, who had settled 
down by the roadside with a flask and some 
food. 

The officers gathered round Denfsov's can- 
teen, eating and talking. 

"There! They are bringing another!" cried 
one of the officers, indicating a captive French 



BOOK THREE 



141 



dragoon who was being brought in on foot by 
two Cossacks. 

One of them was leading by the bridle a fine 
large French horse he had taken from the pris- 
oner. 

"Sell us that horse!" Denfsov called out to 
the Cossacks. 

"If you like, your honor!" 

The officers got up and stood round the Cos- 
sacks and their prisoner. The French dragoon 
was a young Alsatian who spoke French with a 
German accent. He was breathless with agita- 
tion, his face was red, and when he heard some 
French spoken he at once began speaking to 
the officers, addressing first one, then another. 
He said he would not have been taken, it was 
not his fault but the corporal's who had sent 
him to seize some horsecloths, though he had 
told him the Russians were there. And at every 
word he added: "But don't hurt my little 
horse!" and stroked the animal. It was plain 
that he did not quite grasp where he was. Now 
he excused himself for having been taken pris- 
oner and now, imagining himself before his 
own officers, insisted on his soldierly discipline 
and zeal in the service. He brought with him 
into our rearguard all the freshness of atmos- 
phere of the French army, which was so alien 
to us. 

The Cossacks sold the horse for two gold 
pieces, and Rost6v, being the richest of the of- 
ficers now that he had received his money, 
bought it. 

"But don't hurt my little horse!" said the 
Alsatian good-naturedly to Rost6v when the 
animal was handed over to the hussar. 

Rost6v smilingly reassured the dragoon and 
gave him money. 

"Alley! Alley!" said the Cossack, touching 
the prisoner's arm to make him go on. 

"The Emperor! The Emperor!" was sud- 
denly heard among the hussars. 

All began to run and bustle, and Rost6v saw 
coming up the road behind him several riders 
with white plumes in their hats. In a moment 
everyone was in his place, waiting. 

Rost6v did not know or remember how he 
ran to his place and mounted. Instantly his re- 
gret at not having been in action and his de- 
jected mood amid people of whom he was 
weary had gone, instantly every thought of 
himself had vanished. He was filled with hap- 
piness at his nearness to the Emperor. He felt 
that this nearness by itself made up to him for 
the day he had lost. He was happy as a lover 
when the longed-for moment of meeting ar- 



rives. Not daring to look round and without 
looking round, he was ecstatically conscious 
of his approach. He felt it not only from the 
sound of the hoofs of the approaching caval- 
cade, but because as he drew near everything 
grew brighter, more joyful, more significant, 
and more festive around him. Nearer and near- 
er to Rost6v came that sun shedding beams of 
mild and majestic light around, and already 
he felt himself enveloped in those beams, he 
heard his voice, that kindly, calm, and majestic 
voice that was yet so simple! And as if in ac- 
cord with Rostov's feeling, there was a deathly 
stillness amid which was heard the Emperor's 
voice. 

"The Pavlograd hussars?" he inquired. 

"The reserves, sire!" replied a voice, a very 
human one compared to that which had said: 
"The Pdvlograd hussars?" 

The Emperor drew level with Rostov and 
halted. Alexander's face was even more beau- 
tiful than it had been three days before at the 
review. It shone with such gaiety and youth, 
such innocent youth, that it suggested the live- 
liness of a fourteen-year-old boy, and yet it was 
the face of the majestic Emperor. Casually, 
while surveying the squadron, the Emperor's 
eyes met Rostov's and rested on them for not 
more than two seconds. Whether or no the 
Emperor understood what was going on in 
Rostov's soul (it seemed to Rostov that he un- 
derstood everything), at any rate his light-blue 
eyes gazed for about two seconds into Rost6v's 
face. A gentle, mild light poured from them. 
Then all at once he raised his eyebrows, ab- 
ruptly touched his horse with his left foot, and 
galloped on. 

The younger Emperor could not restrain his 
wish to be present at the battle and, in spite 
of the remonstrances of his courtiers, at twelve 
o'clock left the third column with which he 
had been and galloped toward the vanguard. 
Before he came up with the hussars, several 
adjutants met him with news of the successful 
result of the action. 

This battle, which consisted in the capture 
of a French squadron, was represented as a 
brilliant victory over the French, and so the 
Emperor and the whole army, especially while 
the smoke hung over the battlefield, believed 
that the French had been defeated and were 
retreating against their will. A few minutes 
after the Emperor had passed, the Pavlograd 
division was ordered to advance. In Wischau 
itself, a petty German town, Rostov saw the 
Emperor again. In the market place, where 



142 



WAR AND PEACE 



there had been some rather heavy firing before 
the Emperor's arrival, lay several killed and 
wounded soldiers whom there had not been 
time to move. The Emperor, surrounded by 
his suite of officers and courtiers, was riding a 
bobtailed chestnut mare, a different one from 
that which he had ridden at the review, and 
bending to one side he gracefully held a gold 
lorgnette to his eyes and looked at a soldier 
who lay prone, with blood on his uncovered 
head. The wounded soldier was so dirty, coarse, 
and revolting that his proximity to the Emper- 
or shocked Rostov. Rost6v saw how the Em- 
peror's rather round shoulders shuddered as 
if a cold shiver had run down them, how his 
left foot began convulsively tapping the horse's 
side with the spur, and how the well-trained 
horse looked round unconcerned and did not 
stir. An adjutant, dismounting, lifted the sol- 
dier under the arms to place him on a stretch- 
er that had been brought. The soldier groaned. 

"Gently, gentlyl Can't you do it more gent- 
ly?" said the Emperor apparently suffering 
more than the dying soldier, and he rode away. 

Rostov saw tears filling the Emperor's eyes 
and heard him, as he was riding away, say to 
Czartoryski: "What a terrible thing war is: 
what a terrible thing! Quelle terrible chose 
que la guerre!" 

The troops of the vanguard were stationed 
before Wischau, within sight of the enemy's 
lines, which all day long had yielded ground to 
us at the least firing. The Emperor's gratitude 
was announced to the vanguard, rewards were 
promised, and the men received a double ra- 
tion of vodka. The campfires crackled and the 
soldiers' songs resounded even more merrily 
than on theprevious night. Denisov celebrated 
his promotion to the rank of major, and Ros- 
t6v, who had already drunk enough, at the end 
of the feast proposed the Emperor's health. 
"Not 'our Sovereign, the Emperor,' as they say 
at official dinners," said he, "but the health of 
our Sovereign, that good, enchanting, and great 
man! Let us drink to his health and to the cer- 
tain defeat of the French! 

"If we fought before," he said, "not letting 
the French pass, as at Schon Grabern, what 
shall we not do now when he is at the front? 
We will all die for him gladly! Is it not so, gen- 
tlemen? Perhaps I am not saying it right, I 
have drunk a good dealbut that is how I feel, 
and so do you too! To the health of Alexander 
the First! Hurrah!" 

"Hurrah!" rang the enthusiastic voices of 
the officers. 



And the old cavalry captain, Kfrsten, shouted 
enthusiastically and no less sincerely than the 
twenty-year-old Rost6v. 

When the officers had emptied and smashed 
their glasses, Kirsten filled others and, in shirt 
sleeves and breeches, went glass in hand to the 
soldiers' bonfires and with his long gray mus- 
tache, his white chest showing under his open 
shirt, he stood in a majestic pose in the light of 
the campfire, waving his uplifted arm. 

"Lads! here's to our Sovereign, the Emper- 
or, and victory over our enemies! Hurrah!" he 
exclaimed in his dashing, old, hussar's bari- 
tone. 

The hussars crowded round and responded 
heartily with loud shouts. 

Late that night, when all had separated, 
Denfsov with his short hand patted his favor- 
ite, Rost6v, on the shoulder. 

"As there's no one to fall in love with on 
campaign, he's fallen in love with the Tsar," 
he said. 

"Denisov, don't make fun of it!" cried Ros- 
t6v. "It is such a lofty, beautiful feeling, such 



"I believe it, I believe it, fwiend, and I share 
and appwove. . . ." 

"No, you don't understand!" 

And Rostov got up and went wandering 
among the campfires, dreaming of what happi- 
ness it would be to die not in saving the Em- 
peror's life (he did not even dare to dream of 
that), but simply to die before his eyes. He 
really was in love with the Tsar and the glory 
of the Russian arms and the hope of future 
triumph. And he was not the only man to ex- 
perience that feeling during those memorable 
days preceding the battle of Austcrlitz: nine 
tenths of the men in the Russian army were 
then in love, though less ecstatically, with their 
Tsar and the glory of the Russian arms. 

CHAPTER XI 

THE NEXT DAY the Emperor stopped at Wis- 
chau, and Villier, his physician, was repeated- 
ly summoned to see him. At headquarters and 
among the troops near by the news spread that 
the Emperor was unwell. He ate nothing and 
had slept badly that night, those around him 
reported. The cause of this indisposition was 
the strong impression made on his sensitive 
mind by the sight of the killed and wounded. 
At daybreak on the seventeenth, a French 
officer who had come with a flag of truce, de- 
manding an audience with the Russian Em- 
peror, was brought into Wischau from our out- 



BOOK THREE 



143 



posts. This officer was Savary. The Emperor 
had only just fallen asleep and so Savary had 
to wait. At midday he was admitted to the Em- 
peror, and an hour later he rode off with Prince 
Dolgoriikovtothe advanced post of the French 
army. 

It was rumored that Savary had been sent to 
propose to Alexander a meeting with Napo- 
leon. To the joy and pride of the whole army, 
a personal interview was refused, and instead 
of the Sovereign, Prince Dolgorukov, the vic- 
tor at Wischau, was sent with Savary to negoti- 
ate with Napoleon if, contrary to expectations, 
these negotiations were actuated by a real de- 
sire for peace. 

Toward evening Dolgorukov came back, 
went straight to the Tsar, and remained alone 
with him for a long time. 

On the eighteenth and nineteenth of No- 
vember, the army advanced two days' march 
and the enemy's outposts after a brief inter- 
change of shots retreated. In the highest army 
circles from midday on the nineteenth, a great, 
excitedly bustling activity began whLh lasted 
till the morning of the twentieth, when the 
memorable battle of Austerlitz was fought. 

Till midday on the nineteenth, the activity 
the eager talk, running to and fro, and dis- 
patching of adjutants was con fined to the Em- 
peror's headquarters. But on the afternoon of 
that day, this activity reached Kutiizov's head- 
quarters and the staffs of the commanders of 
columns. By evening, the adjutants had spread 
it to all ends and parts of the army, and in the 
night from the nineteenth to the twentieth, 
the whole eighty thousand allied troops rose 
from their bivouacs to the hum of voices, and 
the army swayed and started in one enormous 
mass six miles long. 

The concentrated activity which had begun 
at the Emperor's headquarters in the morning 
and had started the whole movement that fol- 
lowed was like the first movement of the main 
wheel of a large tower clock. One wheel slow- 
ly moved, another was set in motion, and a 
third, and wheels began to revolve faster and 
faster, levers and cogwheels to work, chimes to 
play, figures to pop out, and the hands to ad- 
vance with regular motion as a result of all 
that activity. 

Just as in the mechanism of a clock, so in 
the mechanism of the military machine, an im- 
pulse once given leads to the final result; and 
just as indifferently quiescent till the moment 
when motion is transmitted to them are the 
parts of the mechanism which the impulse has 



not yet reached. Wheels creak on their axles as 
the cogs engage one another and the revolving 
pulleys whirr with the rapidity of their move- 
ment, but a neighboring wheel is as quiet and 
motionless as though it were prepared to re- 
main so for a hundred years; but the moment 
comes when the lever catches it and obeying 
the impulse that wheel begins to creak and 
joins in the common motion the result and 
aim of which are beyond its ken. 

Just as in a clock, the result of the compli- 
cated motion of innumerable wheels and pul- 
leys is merely a slow and regular movement of 
the hands which show the time, so the result 
of all the complicated human activities of 
1 60,000 Russians and French all their passions, 
desires, remorse, humiliations, sufferings, out- 
bursts of pride, fear, and enthusiasm was only 
the loss of the battle of Austerlitz, the so-called 
battle of the three Emperors that is to say, a 
slow movement of the hand on the dial of hu- 
man history. 

Prince Andrew was on duty that day and in 
constant attendance on the commander in 
chief. 

At six in the evening, Kutiizov went to the 
Emperor's headquarters and after staying but 
a short time with the Tsar went to see the grand 
marshal of the court, Count Tolst6y. 

Bolk6nski took the opportunity to go in to 
get some details of the coming action from 
Dolgorukov. He felt that Kutiizov was upset 
and dissatisfied about something and that at 
headquarters they were dissatisfied with him, 
and also that at the Emperor's headquarters 
everyone adopted toward him the tone of men 
who know something others do not know: he 
therefore wished to speak to Dolgorukov. 

"Well, how d'you do, my dear fellow?" said 
Dolgorukov, who was sitting at tea with Bili- 
bin. "The fete is for tomorrow. How is your 
old fellow? Out of sorts?" 

"I won't say he is out of sorts, but I fancy he 
would like to be heard." 

"But they heard him at the council of war 
and will hear him when he talks sense, but to 
temporize and wait for something now when 
Bonaparte fears nothing so much as a general 
battle is impossible." 

"Yes, you have seen him?" said Prince An- 
drew. "Well, what is Bonaparte like? How did 
he impress you?" 

"Yes, I saw him, and am convinced that he 
fears nothing so much as a general engage- 
ment," repeated Dolgonikov, evidently priz- 
ing this general conclusion which he had ar- 



144 



WAR AND PEACE 



rived at from his interview with Napoleon. "If 
he weren't afraid of a battle why did he ask for 
that interview? Why negotiate, and above all 
why retreat, when to retreat is so contrary to 
his method of conducting war? Believe me, he 
is afraid, afraid of a general battle. His hour 
has come! Mark my words I" 

"But tell me, what is he like, eh?" said Prince 
Andrew again. 

"He is a man in a gray overcoat, very anxi- 
ous that I should call him 'Your Majesty/ but 
who, to his chagrin, got no title frommel That's 
the sort of man he is, and nothing more," re- 
plied Dolgoriikov, looking round at Bilibin 
with a smile. 

"Despite my great respect for old Kutiizov," 
he continued, "we should be a nice set of fel- 
lows if we were to wait about and so give him 
a chance to escape, or to trick us, now that we 
certainly have him in our hands! No, we 
mustn't forget Suv6rov and his rule not to 
put yourself in a position to be attacked, but 
yourself to attack. Believe me in war the en- 
ergy of young men often shows the way better 
than all the experience of old Cunctators." 

"But in what position are we going to at- 
tack him? I have been at the outposts today 
and it is impossible to say where his chief 
forces are situated," said Prince Andrew. 

He wished to explain to Dolgoriikov a plan 
of attack he had himself formed. 

"Oh, that is all the same," Dolgoriikov said 
quickly, and getting up he spread a map on 
the table. "All eventualities have been fore- 
seen. If he is standing before Brunn . . ." 

And Prince Dolgoriikov rapidly but indis- 
tinctly explained Weyrother's plan of a flank- 
ing movement. 

Prince Andrew began to reply and to state 
his own plan, which might have been as good 
as Weyrother's, but for the disadvantage that 
Weyrother's had already been approved. As 
soon as Prince Andrew began to demonstrate 
the defects of the latter and the merits of his 
own plan, Prince Dolgoriikov ceased to listen 
to him and gazed absent-mindedly not at the 
map, but at Prince Andrew's face. 

"There will be a council of war at Kutiizov's 
tonight, though; you can say all this there," re- 
marked Dolgorukov. 

"I will do so," said Prince Andrew, moving 
away from the map. 

"Whatever are you bothering about, gentle- 
men?" said Bilibin, who, till then, had listened 
with an amused smile to their conversation 
and now was evidently ready with a joke. 



"Whether tomorrow brings victory or defeat, 
the glory of our Russian arms is secure. Except 
your Kutiizov, there is not a single Russian in 
command of a column! The commanders are: 
Herr General Wimpfen, le Comte de Langer- 
on, le Prince de Lichtenstein, le Prince de Ho- 
henlohe, and finally Prishprish, 1 and so on like 
all those Polish names." 

"Be quiet, backbiter!" said Dolgoriikov. "It 
is not true; there are now two Russians, Milo- 
rddovich, and Dokhtiirov, and there would be 
a third, Count Arakchev, if his nerves were 
not too weak." 

"However, I think General Kutiizov has 
come out," said Prince Andrew. "I wish you 
good luck and success, gentlemen!" he added 
and went out after shaking hands with Dol- 
gorukov and Bilibin. 

On the way home, Prince Andrew could not 
refrain from asking Kutiizov, who was sitting 
silently beside him, what he thought of tomor- 
row's battle. 

Kutiizov looked sternly at his adjutant and, 
after a pause, replied: "I think the battle will 
be lost, and so I told Count Tolst6y and asked 
him to tell the Emperor. What do you think 
he replied? 'But, my dear general, I am en- 
gaged with rice and cutlets, look after military 
matters yourself!' Yes . . . That was the answer 
I got!" 

CHAPTER XII 

SHORTLY AFTER nine o'clock that evening, Wey- 
rother drove with his plans to Kutiizov's quar- 
ters where the council of war was to be held. 
All the commanders of columns were sum- 
moned to the commander in chief's and with 
the exception of Prince Bagrati6n, who de- 
clined to come, were all there at the appointed 
time. 

Weyrother, who was in full control of the 
proposed battle, by his eagerness and briskness 
presented a marked contrast to the dissatisfied 
and drowsy Kutiizov, who reluctantly played 
the part of chairman and president of the 
council of war. Weyrother evidently felt him- 
self to be at the head of a movement that had 
already become unrestrainable. He was like a 
horse running downhill harnessed to a heavy 
cart. Whether he was pulling it or beingpushed 
by it he did not know, but rushed along at 
headlong speed with no time to consider what 
this movement might lead to. Weyrother had 
been twice that evening to the enemy's picket 
line to reconnoiter personally, and twice to the 

1 General Przebysz^wski. TR. 



BOOK THREE 



Emperors, Russian and Austrian, to report 
and explain, and to his headquarters where he 
had dictated the dispositions in German, and 
now, much exhausted, he arrived at Kutiizov's. 

He was evidently so busy that he even for- 
got to be polite to the commander in chief. He 
interrupted him, talked rapidly and indistinct- 
ly, without looking at the man he was address- 
ing, and did not reply to questions put to him. 
He was bespattered with mud and had a piti- 
ful, weary, and distracted air, though at the 
same time he was haughty and self-confident. 

Kutiizov was occupying a nobleman's castle 
of modest dimensions near Ostralitz. In the 
large drawing room which had become the 
commander in chief's office were gathered Ku- 
tiizov himself, Weyrother, and the members of 
the council of war. They were drinking tea, 
and only awaited Prince Bagrati6n to begin 
the council. At last Bagrati6n's orderly came 
with the news that the prince could not at- 
tend. Prince Andrew came in to inform the 
commander in chief of this and, availing him- 
self of permission previously given him by Ku- 
tiizov to be present at the council, he remained 
in the room. 

"Since Prince Bagration is not coming, we 
may begin," said Weyrother, hurriedly rising 
from his seat and going up to the table on 
which an enormous map of the environs of 
Briinn was spread out. 

Kutiizov, with his uniform unbuttoned so 
that his fat neck bulged over his collar as if es- 
caping, was sitting almost asleep in a low chair, 
with his podgy old hands resting symmetri- 
cally on its arms. At the sound of Weyrother's 
voice, he opened his one eye with an effort. 

"Yes, yes, if you please 1 It is already late," 
said he, and nodding his head he let it droop 
and again closed his eye. 

If at first the members of the council thought 
that Kutiizov was pretending to sleep, the 
sounds his nose emitted during the reading 
that followed proved that the commander in 
chief at that moment was absorbed by a far 
more serious matter than a desire to show his 
contempt for the dispositions or anything else 
he was engaged in satisfying the irresistible 
human need for sleep. He really was asleep. 
Weyrother, with the gesture of a man too busy 
to lose a moment, glanced at Kutiizov and, 
having convinced himself that he was asleep, 
took up a paper and in a loud, monotonous 
voice began to read out the dispositions for 
the impending battle, under a heading which 
he also read out: 



"Dispositions for an attack on the enemy 
position behind Kobelnitz and Sokolnitz, No- 
vember 30, 1805." 

The dispositions were very complicated and 
difficult. They began as follows: 

"As the enemy's left wing rests on wooded 
hills and his right extends along Kobelnitz 
and Sokolnitz behind the pondsuhat are there, 
while we, on the other hand, with our left wing 
by far outflank his right, it is advantageous to 
attack the enemy's latter wing especially if we 
occupy the villages of Sokolnitz and Kobelnitz, 
whereby we can both fall on his flank and pur- 
sue him over the plain between Schlappanitz 
and the Thuerassa forest, avoiding the defiles 
of Schlappanitz and Bellowitz which cover the 
enemy's front. For this object it is necessary 
that . . . The first column inarches . . . The 
second column marches . . . The third column 
marches . . ." and so on, read Weyrother. 

The generals seemed to listen reluctantly to 
the difficult dispositions. The tall, fair-haired 
General Buxhowden stood, leaning his back 
against the wall, his eyes fixed on a burning 
candle, and seemed not to listen or even to 
wish to be thought to listen. Exactly opposite 
Weyrother, with his glistening wide-open eyes 
fixed upon him and his mustache twisted up- 
wards, sat the ruddy Milorddovich in a mili- 
tary pose, his elbows turned outwards, his 
hands on his knees, and his shoulders raised. 
He remained stubbornly silent, gazing at Wey- 
rother's face, and only turned away his eyes 
when the Austrian chief of staff finished read- 
ing. Then Milorddovich looked round signifi- 
cantly at the other generals. But one could not 
tell from that significant look whether he 
agreed or disagreed and was satisfied or not with 
the arrangements. Next to Weyrother sat Count 
Langeron who, with a subtle smile that never 
left his typically southern French face during 
the whole time of the reading, gazed at his deli- 
cate fingers which rapidly twirled by its cor- 
ners a gold snuffbox on which was a portrait. 
In the middle of one of the longest sentences, 
he stopped the rotary motion of the snuffbox, 
raised his head, and with inimical politeness 
lurking in the corners of his thin lips inter- 
rupted Weyrother, wishing to say something. 
But the Austrian general, continuing to read, 
frowned angrily and jerked his elbows, as if to 
say: "You can tell me your views later, but now 
be so good as to look at the map and listen." 
Langeron lifted his eyes with an expression of 
perplexity, turned round to Milorddovich as 
if seeking an explanation, but meeting the lat- 



146 



WAR AND PEACE 



ter's impressive but meaningless gaze drooped 
his eyes sadly and again took to twirling his 
snuffbox. 

"A geography lesson I " he muttered as if to 
himself, but loud enough to be heard. 

Przebysz^wski, with respectful but dignified 
politeness, held his hand to his ear toward 
Weyrother, with the air of a man absorbed in 
attention. Dohktiirov, a little man, sat opposite 
Weyrother, with an assiduous and modest 
mien, and stooping over the outspread map 
conscientiously studied the dispositions and 
the unfamiliar locality. He asked Weyrother 
several times to repeat words he had not clear- 
ly heard and the difficult names of villages. 
Weyrother complied and Dohkturov noted 
them down. 

When the reading which lasted more than 
an hour was over, Langeron again brought his 
snuffbox to rest and, without looking at Wey- 
rother or at anyone in particular, began to say 
how difficult it was to carry out such a plan in 
which the enemy's position was assumed to be 
known, whereas it was perhaps not known, 
since the enemy was in movement. Langeron 's 
objections were valid but it was obvious that 
their chief aim was to show General Weyroth- 
er who had read his dispositions with as much 
self-confidence as if he were addressing school 
children that he had to do, not with fools, but 
witlrmen who could teach him something in 
military matters. 

When the monotonous sound of Weyroth- 
er's voice ceased, Kutuzov opened his eye as a 
miller wakes up when the soporific drone of 
the mill wheel is interrupted. He listened to 
what Langeron said, as if remarking, "So you 
are still at that silly business!" quickly closed 
his eye again, and let his head sink still lower. 

Langeron, trying as virulently as possible to 
sting Weyrother's vanity as author of the mili- 
tary plan, argued that Bonaparte might easily 
attack instead of being attacked, and so render 
the whole of this plan perfectly worthless. 
Weyrother met all objections with a firm and 
contemptuous smile, evidently prepared be- 
forehand to meet all objections be they what 
they might. 

"If he could attack us, he would have done 
so today," said he. 

"So you think he is powerless?" said Langer- 
on. 

"He has forty thousand men at most," re- 
plied Weyrother, with the smile of a doctor to 
whom an old wife wishes to explain the treat- 
ment of a case. 



"In that case he is inviting his doom by 
awaiting our attack," said Langeron, with a 
subtly ironical smile, again glancing round for 
support to Milorddovich who was near him. 

But Milorddovich was at that moment evi- 
dently thinking of anything rather than of 
what the generals were disputing about. 

"Ma foil" said he, "tomorrow we shall see 
all that on the battlefield." 

Weyrother again gave that smile which 
seemed to say that to him it was strange and 
ridiculous to meet objections from Russian 
generals and to have to prove to them what he 
had not merely convinced himself of, but had 
also convinced the sovereign Emperors of. 

"The enemy has quenched his fires and a 
continual noise is heard from his camp," said 
he. "What does that mean? Either he is retreat- 
ing, which is the only thing we need fear, or 
he is changing his position." (He smiled iron- 
ically.) "But even if he also took up a position 
in the Thuerassa, he merely saves us a great 
deal of trouble and all our arrangements to 
the minutest detail remain the same." 

"How is that? . . ." began Prince Andrew, 
who had for long been waiting an opportunity 
to express his doubts. 

Kutuzov here woke up, coughed heavily, and 
looked round at the generals. 

"Gentlemen, the dispositions for tomorrow 
or rather for today, for it is past midnight 
cannot now be altered," said he. "You have 
heard them, and we shall all do our duty. But 
before a battle, there is nothing more impor- 
tant . . ." he paused, "than to have a good 
sleep." 

He moved as if to rise. The generals bowed 
and retired. It was past midnight. Prince An- 
drew went out. 

The council of war, at which Prince Andrew 
had not been able to express his opinion as he 
had hoped to, left on him a vague and uneasy 
impression. Whether Dolgoriikov and Wey- 
rother, or Kutuzov, Langeron, and the others 
who did not approve of the plan of attack, 
were right he did not know. "But was it really 
not possible for Kutiizov to state his views 
plainly to the Emperor? Is it possible that on 
account of court and personal considerations 
tens of thousands of lives, and my life, my life," 
he thought, "must be risked?" 

"Yes, it is very likely that I shall be killed 
tomorrow," he thought. And suddenly, at this 
thought of death, a whole series of most dis- 
tant, most intimate, memories rose in his im- 



BOOK 

agination: he remembered his last parting from 
his father and his wife; he remembered the 
days when he first loved her. He thought of 
her pregnancy and felt sorry for her and for 
himself, and in a nervously emotional and sof- 
tened mood he went out of the hut in which 
he was billeted with Nesvitski and began to 
walk up and down before it. 

The night was foggy and through the fog the 
moonlight gleamed mysteriously. "Yes, tomor- 
row, tomorrow!" he thought. "Tomorrow ev- 
erything may be over for me! All these mem- 
ories will be no more, none of them will have 
any meaning for me. Tomorrow perhaps, even 
certainly, I have a presentiment that for the 
first time I shall have to show all I can do." 
And his fancy pictured the battle, its loss, the 
concentration of fighting at one point, and the 
hesitation of all the commanders. And then 
that happy moment, that Toulon for which he 
had so long waited, presents itself to him at 
last. He firmly and clearly expresses his opin- 
ion to Kutuzov, to Weyrother, and to the Em- 
perors. All are struck by the justness of his 
views, but no one undertakes to carry them 
out, so he takes a regiment, a divisionstipu- 
lates that no one is to interfere with his ar- 
rangementsleads his division to the decisive 
point, and gains the victory alone. "But death 
and suffering?" suggested another voice. Prince 
Andrew, however, did not answer that voice 
and went on dreaming of his triumphs. The 
dispositions for the next battle are planned by 
him alone. Nominally he is only an adjutant 
on Kutiizov's staff, but he does everything 
alone. The next battle is won by him alone. 
Kutuzov is removed and he is appointed . . . 
"Well and then?" asked the other voice. "If 
before that you are not ten times wounded, 
killed, or betrayed, well . . . what then? . . ." 
"Well then," Prince Andrew answered himself, 
"I don't know what will happen and don't 
want to know, and can't, but if I want this 
want glory, want to be known to men, want to 
be loved by them, it is not my fault that I want 
it and want nothing but that and live only for 
that. Yes, for that alone! I shall never tell any- 
one, but, oh God! what am I to do if I love 
nothing but fame and men's esteem? Death, 
wounds, the loss of family I fear nothing. And 
precious and dear as many persons are to me 
father, sister, wife those dearest to me yet 
dreadful and unnatural as it seems, I would give 
them all at once for a moment of glory, of tri- 
umph over men, of love from men I don't 
know and never shall know, for the love of 



THREE 147 

these men here," he thought, as he listened to 
voices in Kuttizov's courtyard. The voices were 
those of the orderlies who were packing up; 
one voice, probably a coachman's, was teasing 
Kutiizov's old cook whom Prince Andrew knew, 
and who was called Tit. He was saying, "Tit, 
I say, Tit!" 

"Well?" returned the old man. 

"Go, Tit, thresh a bit!" said the wag. 

"Oh, go to the devil!" called out a voice, 
drowned by the laughter of the orderlies and 
servants. 

"All the same, I love and value nothing but 
triumph over them all, I value this mystic pow- 
er and glory that is floating here above me in 
this mist!" 

CHAPTER XIII 

THAT SAME NIGHT, Rost6v was with a platoon 
on skirmishing duty in front of Bagrati6n's 
detachment. His hussars were placed along the 
line in couples and he himself rode along the 
line trying to master the sleepiness that kept 
coming over him. An enormous space, with 
our army's campfires dimly glowing in the fog, 
could be seen behind him; in front of him was 
misty darkness. Rostov could see nothing, peer 
as he would into that foggy distance: now some- 
thing gleamed gray, now there was something 
black, now little lights seemed to glimmer 
where the enemy ought to be, now he fancied 
it was only something in his own eyes. His eyes 
kept closing, and in his fancy appeared now 
the Emperor, now Denfsov, and now Moscow 
memories and he again hurriedly opened his 
eyes and saw close before him the head and 
ears of the horse he was riding, and sometimes, 
when he came within six paces of them, the 
black figures of hussars, but in the distance 
was still the same misty darkness. "Why not? 
... It might easily happen," thought Rost6v, 
"that the Emperor will meet me and give me 
an order as he would to any other officer; he'll 
say: 'Go and find out what's there.' There are 
many stories of his getting to know an officer in 
just such a chance way and attaching him to 
himself! What if he gave me a place near him? 
Oh, how I would guard him, how I would tell 
him the truth, how I would unmask his deceiv- 
ers!" And in order to realize vividly his love and 
devotion to the sovereign, Rost6v pictured to 
himself an enemy or a deceitful German, whom 
he would not only kill with pleasure but whom 
he would slap in the face before the Emperor. 
Suddenly a distant shout aroused him. He 
started and opened his eyes. 



148 



WAR AND PEACE 



"Where am I? Oh yes, in the skirmishing line 
. . . pass and watchword sh aft, Olmutz. What a 
nuisance that our squadron will be in reserve 
tomorrow/' he thought. "I'll ask leave to go to 
the front, this may be my only chance of see- 
ing the Emperor. It won't be long now before 
I am off duty. I'll take another turn and when 
I get back I'll go to the general and ask him." 
He readjusted himself in the saddle and touched 
up his horse to ride once more round his hus- 
sars. It seemed to him that it was getting light- 
er. To the left he saw a sloping descent lit up, 
and facing it a black knoll that seemed as steep 
as a wall. On this knoll there was a white patch 
that Rost6v could not at all make out: was it a 
glade in the wood lit up by the moon, or some 
unmelted snow, or some white houses? He even 
thought something moved on that white spot. 
"I expect it's snow . . . that spot ... a spot une 
tache/' he thought. "There now . . . it's not a 
tache . . . Natasha . . . sister, black eyes . . . Na 
. . . tasha . . . (Won't she be surprised when I 
tell her how I've seen the Emperor?) Natcisha 
. . . take mysabretache . . .""Keep to theright, 
your honor, there are bushes here," came the 
voice of an hussar, past whom Rost6v was rid- 
ing in the act of falling asleep. Rost6v lifted his 
head that had sunk almost to his horse's mane 
and pulled up beside the hussar. He was suc- 
cumbing to irresistible, youthful, childish drow- 
siness. "But what was I thinking? I mustn't for- 
get. How shall I speak to the Emperor? No, 
that's not it that's tomorrow. Oh yes! Natdsha 
. . . sabretache . . . saber them . . . Whom? The 
hussars . . . Ah, the hussars with mustaches. 
Along the Tverskiya Street rode the hussar 
with mustaches ... I thought about him too, 
just opposite Guryev's house . . . Old Guryev 
. . . Oh, but Denfsov's a fine fellow. But that's 
all nonsense. The chief thing is that the Em- 
peror is here. How he looked at me and wished 

to say something, but dared not No, it was 

I who dared not. But that's nonsense, the chief 
thing is not to forget the important thing I was 
thinking of. Yes, Na-tdsha, sabretache, oh, yes, 
yes! That's right!" And his head once more 
sank to his horse's neck. All at once it seemed 
to him that he was being fired at. "What? 
What? What? . . . Cut them down! What? . . ." 
said Rost6v, waking up. At the moment he 
opened his eyes he heard in front of him, where 
the enemy was, the long-drawn shouts of thou- 
sands of voices. His horse and the horse of the 
hussar near him pricked their ears at these 
shouts. Over there, where the shouting came 
from, a fire flared up and went out again, then 



another, and all along the French line on the 
hill fires flared up and the shouting grew loud- 
er and louder. Rost6v could hear the sound of 
French words but could not distinguish them. 
The din of many voices was too great; all he 
could hear was: "ahahah!" and "rrrr!" 

"What's that? What do you make of it?" said 
Rost6v to the hussar beside him. "That must 
be the enemy's camp!" 

The hussar did not reply. 

"Why, don't you hear it?" Rost6v asked 
again, after waiting for a reply. 

"Who can tell, your honor?" replied the hus- 
sar reluctantly. 

"From the direction, it must be the enemy," 
repeated Rost6v. 

"It may be he or it may be nothing," muttered 
the hussar. "It's dark . . . Steady!" he cried to 
his fidgeting horse. 

Rost6v's horse was also getting restive: it 
pawed the frozen ground, pricking its ears at 
the noise and looking at the lights. The shout- 
ing grew still louder and merged into a general 
roar that only an army of several thousand 
men could produce. The lights spread farther 
and farther, probably along the line of the 
French camp. Rost6v no longer wanted to 
sleep. The gay triumphant shouting of the 
enemy army had a stimulating effect on him. 
"Vive I'Empereur! VEmpereur!" he now 
heard distinctly. 

"They can't be far off, probably just beyond 
the stream," he said to the hussar beside him. 

The hussar only sighed without replying and 
coughed angrily. The sound of horse's hoofs 
approaching at a trot along the line of hussars 
was heard, and out of the foggy darkness the 
figure of a sergeant of hussars suddenly ap- 
peared, looming huge as an elephant. 

"Your honor, the generals I "said the sergeant, 
riding up to Rost6v. 

Rostov, still looking round toward the fires 
and the shouts, rode with the sergeant to meet 
some mounted men who were riding along the 
line. One was on a white horse. Prince Bagra- 
ti6n and Prince Dolgorukov with their adju- 
tants had come to witness the curious phenom- 
enon of the lights and shouts in the enemy's 
camp. Rost6v rode up to Bagrati6n, reported 
to him, and then joined the adjutants listen- 
ing to what the generals were saying. 

"Believe me," said Prince Dolgorukov, ad- 
dressing Bagrati6n, "it is nothing but a trick! 
He has retreated and ordered the rearguard to 
kindle fires and make a noise to deceive us." 

"Hardly," said Bagrati6n. "I saw them this 



BOOK THREE 



149 



evening on that knoll; if they had retreated 
they would have withdrawn from that too. . . . 
Officer!" said Bagratidn to Rost6v, "are the en- 
emy's skirmishers still there?" 

"They were there this evening, but now I 
don't know, your excellency. Shall I go with 
some of my hussars to see?" replied Rost6v. 

Bagrati6n stopped and, before replying, 
tried to see Rost6v's face in the mist. 

"Well, go and see," he said, after a pause. 

"Yes, sir." 

Rost6v spurred his horse, called to Sergeant 
Fddchenko and two other hussars, told them to 
follow him, and trotted downhill in the direc- 
tion from which the shouting came. He felt 
both frightened and pleased to be riding alone 
with three hussars into that mysterious and 
dangerous misty distance where no one had 
been before him. Bagrati6n called to him from 
the hill not to go beyond the stream, but Ros- 
tdv pretended not to hear him and did not 
stop but rodeon and on, continually mistaking 
bushes for trees and gullies for men and con- 
tinually discovering his mistakes. Having de- 
scended the hill at a trot, he no longer saw ei- 
ther our own or the enemy's fires, but heard 
the shouting of the French more loudly and 
distinctly. In the valley he saw before him 
something like a river, but when he reached it 
he found it was a road. Having come out onto 
the road he reined in his horse, hesitating 
whether to ride along it or cross it and ride 
over the black field up the hillside. To keep to 
the road which gleamed white in the mist 
would have been safer because it would be 
easier to see people coming along it. "Follow 
me!" said he, crossed the road, and began rid- 
ing up the hill at a gallop toward the point 
where the French pickets had been standing 
that evening. 

"Your honor, there he is!" cried one of the 
hussars behind him. And before Rost6v had 
time to make out what the black thing was 
that had suddenly appeared in the fog, there 
was a flash, followed by a report, and a bullet 
whizzing high up in the mist with a plaintive 
sound passed out of hearing. Another musket 
missed fire but flashed in the pan. Rost6v 
turned his horse and galloped back. Four more 
reports followed at intervals, and the bullets 
passed somewhere in the fog singing in differ- 
ent tones. Rost6v reined in his horse, whose 
spirits had risen, like his own, at the firing, and 
went back at a footpace. "Well, some more! 
Some more!" a merry voice was saying in his 
soul. But no more shots came. 



Only when approaching Bagrati6n did Ros- 
t6v let his horse gallop again, and with his hand 
at the salute rode up to the general. 

Dolgorukov was still insisting that the 
French had retreated and had only lit fires to 
deceive us. 

"What does that prove?" he was saying as 
Rost6v rode up. "They might rejreat and leave 
the pickets." 

"It's plain that they have not all gone yet, 
Prince," said Bagration. "Wait till tomorrow 
morning, we'll find out everything tomorrow." 

"The picket is still on the hill, your excel- 
lency, just where itwas in the even ing, "report- 
ed Rostov, stooping forward with his hand at 
the salute and unable to repress the smile of 
delight induced by his ride and especially by 
the sound of the bullets. 

"Very good, very good," said Bagrati6n. 
"Thank you, officer." 

"Your excellency," said Rost6v, "may I ask a 
favor?" 

"What is it?" 

"Tomorrow our squadron is to be in reserve. 
May I ask to beattached to the first squadron?" 

"What's your name?" 

"Count Rost6v." 

"Oh, very well, you may stay in attendance 
on me." 

"Count Ily Rost6v's son?" asked Dolgoru- 
kov. 

But Rost6v did not reply. 

"Then I may reckon on it, your excellency?" 

"I will give the order." 

"Tomorrow very likely I may be sent with 
some message to the Emperor," thought Rost6v. 
"Thank God!" 

The fires and shouting in the enemy's army 
were occasioned by the fact that while Napole- 
on's proclamation was being read to the troops 
the Emperor himself rode round his bivouacs. 
The soldiers, on seeing him, lit wisps of straw 
and ran after him, shouting, "Vive I'Emper- 
eurl" Napoleon's proclamation was as follows: 

Soldiers! The Russian army is advancing against 
you to avenge the Austrian army of Ulm. They are 
the same battalions you broke at Hollabrunn and 
have pursued ever since to this place. The position 
we occupy is a strong one, and while they are 
marching to go round me on the right they will 
expose a flank to me. Soldiers! I will myself direct 
your battalions. I will keep out of fire if you with 
your habitual valor carry disorder and confusion 
into the enemy's ranks, but should victory be in 
doubt, even for a moment, you will see your Em- 



1 5 

peror exposing himself to the first blows of the 
enemy, for there must be no doubt of victory, es- 
pecially on this day when what is at stake is the 
honor of the French infantry, so necessary to the 
honor of our nation. 

Do not break your ranks on the plea of remov- 
ing the wounded! Let every man be fully imbued 
with the thought that we must defeat these hire- 
lings of England, inspired by such hatred of our 
nation! This victory will conclude our campaign 
and we can return to winter quarters, where fresh 
French troops who are being raised in France will 
join us, and the peace I shall conclude will be 
worthy of my people, of you, and of myself. 

NAPOLEON 



CHAPTER XIV 

AT FIVE in the morning it was still quite dark. 
The troops of the center, the reserves, and Ba- 
grati6n's right flank had not yet moved, but on 
the left flank the columns of infantry, cavalry, 
and artillery, which were to be the first to de- 
scend the heights to attack the French right 
flank and drive it into the Bohemian moun- 
tains according to plan, were already up and 
astir. The smoke of the campfires, into which 
they were throwing everything superfluous, 
made the eyes smart. It was cold and dark. The 
officers were hurriedly drinking tea and break- 
fasting, the soldiers, munching biscuitand beat- 
ing a tattoo with their feet to warm themselves, 
gathering round the fires throwing into the 
flames the remains of sheds, chairs, tables, 
wheels, tubs, and everything that they did not 
want or could not carry away with them. Aus- 
trian column guides were moving in and out 
among the Russian troops and served as her- 
alds of the advance. As soon as an Austrian of- 
ficer showed himself near a commanding offi- 
cer's quarters, the regiment began to move: the 
soldiers ran from the fires, thrust their pipes in- 
to their boots, their bags into the carts, got 
their muskets ready, and formed rank. The of- 
ficers buttoned up their coats, buckled on their 
swords and pouches, and moved along the ranks 
shouting. The train drivers and orderlies har- 
nessed and packed the wagons and tied on the 
loads. The adjutants and battalion and regi- 
mental commanders mounted, crossed them- 
selves, gave final instructions, orders, and com- 
missions to the baggage men who remained be- 
hind, and the monotonous tramp of thousands 
of feet resounded. The column moved forward 
without knowing where and unable, from the 
masses around them, the smoke and the increas- 
ing fog, to see either the place they were leav- 
ing or that to which they were going. 



WAR AND PEACE 

A soldier on the march is hemmed in and 
borne along by his regiment as much as a 
sailor is by his ship. However far he has walked, 
whatever strange, unknown, and dangerous 
places he reaches, just as a sailor is always sur- 
rounded by the same decks, masts, and rigging 
of his ship, so the soldier always has around 
him the same comrades, the same ranks, the 
same sergeant major Ivan Mitrich, the same 
company dog Jack, and the same commanders. 
The sailor rarely cares to know the latitude in 
which his ship is sailing, but on the day of bat- 
tleheaven knows how and whencea stern 
note of which all are conscious sounds in the 
moral atmosphere of an army, announcing the 
approach of something decisive and solemn, 
and awakening in the men an unusual curios- 
ity. On the day of battle the soldiers excitedly 
try to get beyond the interests of their regiment, 
they listen intently, look about, and eagerly 
ask concerning what is going on around them. 

The fog had grown so dense that though it 
was growing light they could not see ten paces 
ahead. Bushes looked like gigantic trees and 
level ground like cliffs and slopes. Anywhere, 
on any side, one might encounter an enemy in- 
visible ten paces off. But the columns advanced 
for a long time, always in thesame fog, descend- 
ing and ascending hills, avoiding gardens and 
enclosures, going over new and unknown 
ground, and nowhere encountering the enemy. 
On the contrary, the soldiers became aware 
that in front, behind, and on all sides, other 
Russian columns were moving in the same di- 
rection. Every soldier felt glad to know that to 
the unknown place where he was going, many 
more of our men were going too. 

"There now, the Kiirskies have also gone 
past," was being said in the ranks. 

"It's wonderful what a lot of our troops have 
gathered, lads 1 Last night I looked at thecamp- 
fires and there was no end of them. A regular 
Moscow 1" 

Though none of the column commanders 
rode up to the ranks or talked to the men (the 
commanders, as we saw at the council of war, 
were out of humor and dissatisfied with the af- 
fair, and so did not exert themselves to cheer 
the men but merely carried out the orders), yet 
the troops marched gaily, as they always do 
when going into action, especially to an attack. 
But when they had marched for about an hour 
in the dense fog, the greater part of the men 
had to halt and an unpleasant consciousness of 
some dislocation and blunder spread through 
the ranks. How such a consciousness is com- 



BOOK THREE 



municated is very difficult to define, but it cer- 
tainly is communicated very surely, and flows 
rapidly, imperceptibly, and irrepressibly, as 
water does in a creek. Had the Russian army 
been alone without any allies, it might perhaps 
have been a long time before this consciousness 
of mismanagement became a general convic- 
tion, but as it was, the disorder was readily 
andnaturally attributed to thestupid Germans, 
and everyone was convinced that a dangerous 
muddle had been occasioned by the sausage 
eaters. 

"Why have we stopped? Is the way blocked? 
Or have we already come up against the 
French?" 

"No, one can't hear them. They'd be firing 
if we had." 

"They were in a hurry enough to start us, 
and now here we stand in the middle of a field 
without rhyme or reason. It's all those damned 
Germans' muddling! What stupid devils!" 

"Yes, I'd send them on in front, but no fear, 
they're crowding up behind. And now here we 
stand hungry." 

"I say, shall we soon be clear? They say the 
cavalry are blocking the way," said an officer. 

"Ah, those damned Germans! They don't 
know their own country!" said another. 

"What division are you?" shouted an adju- 
tant, riding up. 

"The Eighteenth." 

"Then why are you here? You should have 
gone on long ago, now you won't get there till 
evening." 

"What stupid orders! They don't themselves 
know what they are doing!" said the officer and 
rode off. 

Then a general rode past shouting something 
angrily, not in Russian. 

"Tafa-lafa! But what he's jabbering no one 
can make out," said a soldier, mimicking the 
general who had ridden away. "I'd shoot them, 
the scoundrels!" 

"We were ordered to be at the place before 
nine, but we haven't got halfway. Fine orders!" 
was being repeated on different sides. 

And the feeling of energy with which the 
troops had started began to turn into vexation 
and anger at the stupid arrangements and at 
the Germans. 

The cause of the confusion was that while 
the Austrian cavalry was moving toward our 
left flank, the higher command found that our 
center was too far separated from our right 
flank and the cavalry were all ordered to turn 
back to the right. Several thousand cavalry 



crossed in front of the infantry, who had to 
wait. 

At the front an altercation occurred between 
an Austrian guide and a Russian general. The 
general shouted a demand that the cavalry 
should be halted, the Austrian argued that not 
he, but the higher command, was to blame. 
The troops meanwhile stood growing listless 
and dispirited. After an hour's delay they at 
last moved on, descending the hill. The fog 
that was dispersing on the hill lay still more 
densely below, where they were descending. In 
front in the fog a shot was heard and then an- 
other, at first irregularly at varying intervals 
trata . . . tat and then more and more regular- 
ly and rapidly, and the action at the Goldbach 
Stream began. 

Not expecting to come on the enemy down 
by the stream, and having stumbled on him in 
the fog, hearing no encouraging word from 
their commanders, and with a consciousness of 
being too late spreading through the ranks, 
and above all being unable to see anything in 
front or around them in the thick fog, the 
Russians exchanged shots with the enemy la- 
zily and advanced and again halted, receiving 
no timely orders from ttye officers or adjutants 
who wandered about in the fog in those un- 
known surroundings unable to find their own 
regiments. In this way the action began for 
the first, second, and third columns, which had 
gone down into the valley. The fourth col- 
umn, with which Kutiizov was, stood on the 
Pratzen Heights. 

Below, where the fight was beginning, there 
was still thick fog; on the higher ground it was 
clearing, but nothing could be seen of what 
was going on in front. Whether all the enemy 
forces were, as we supposed, six miles away, or 
whether they were near by in that sea of mist, 
no one knew till after eight o'clock. 

It was nine o'clock in the morning. The fog 
lay unbroken like a sea down below, but high- 
er up at the village of Schlappanitz where Na- 
poleon stood with his marshals around him, it 
was quite light. Above him was a clear blue sky, 
and the sun's vast orb quivered like a huge hol- 
low, crimson float on the surface of that milky 
sea of mist. The whole French army, and even 
Napoleon himself with his staff, were not on 
the far side of the streams and hollows of Sok- 
olnitz and Schlappanitz beyond which we in- 
tended to take up our position and begin the 
action, but were on this side, so close to our 
own forces that Napoleon with the naked eye 
could distinguish a mounted man from one on 



WAR AND PEACE 



foot. Napoleon, in the blue cloak which he had 
worn on his Italian campaign, sat on his small 
gray Arab horse a little in front of his marshals. 
He gazed silently at the hills which seemed to 
rise out of the sea of mist and on which the 
Russian troops were moving in the distance, 
and he listened to the sounds of firing in the 
valley. Not a single muscle of his face which 
in those days was still thin moved. His gleam- 
ing eyes were fixed intently on one spot. His 
predictions were being justified. Part of the 
Russian force had already descended into the 
valley toward the ponds and lakes and part 
were leaving these Pratzen Heights which he 
intended to attack and regarded as the key to 
the position. He saw over the mist that in a hol- 
low between two hills near the village of Prat- 
zen, the Russian columns, their bayonets glit- 
tering, were moving continuously in one direc- 
tion toward the valley and disappearing one 
after another into the mist. From information 
he had received the evening before, from the 
sound of wheels and footsteps heard by the out- 
posts during the night, by the disorderly move- 
ment of the Russian columns, and from all in- 
dications, he saw clearly that the allies believed 
him to be far away in front of them, and that 
the columns moving near Pratzen constituted 
the center of the Russian army, and that that 
center was already sufficiently weakened to be 
successfully attacked. But still he did not begin 
the engagement. 

Today was a great day for him the anniver- 
sary of his coronation. Before dawn he had 
slept for a few hours, and refreshed, vigorous, 
and in good spirits, he mounted his horse and 
rode out into the field in that happy mood in 
which every thing seems possible and everything 
succeeds. He sat motionless, looking at the 
heights visible above the mist, and his cold face 
wore that special look of confident, self-com- 
placent happiness that one sees on the face of 
a boy happily in love. The marshals stood be- 
feind him not venturing to distract his atten- 
tion. He looked now at the Pratzen Heights, 
now at the sun floating up out of the mist. 

When the sun had entirely emerged from 
the fog, and fields and mist were aglow with 
dazzling light as if he had only awaited this to 
begin the action he drew the glove from his 
shapely white hand, made a sign with it to the 
marshals, and ordered the action to begin. The 
marshals, accompanied by adjutants, galloped 
off in different directions, and a few minutes 
later the chief forces of the French army moved 
rapidly toward those Pratzen Heights which 



were being more and more denuded by Rus- 
sian troops moving down the valley to their 
left 

CHAPTER XV 

AT EIGHT O'CLOCK Kuttizov rode to Pratzen at 
the head of the fourth column, Milorddovich's, 
the one that was to take the place of Przeby- 
szlwski's and Langeron's columns which had 
already gone down into the valley. He greeted 
the men of the foremost regiment and gave 
them the order to march, thereby indicating 
that he intended to lead that column himself. 
When he had reached the village of Pratzen he 
halted. Prince Andrew was behind, among the 
immense number forming the commander in 
chiefs suite. He was in a state of suppressed ex- 
citement and irritation, though controlledly 
calm as a man is at the approach of a long- 
awaited moment. He was firmly convinced that 
this was the day of his Toulon, or his bridge of 
Arcola. 1 How it would come about he did not 
know, but he felt sure it would do so. The lo- 
cality and the position of our troops were 
known to him as far as they could be known to 
anyone in our army. His own strategic plan, 
which obviously could not now be carried out, 
was forgotten. Now, entering into Weyrother's 
plan, Prince Andrew considered possible con- 
tingencies and formed new projects such as 
might call for his rapidity of perception and 
decision. 

To the left down below in the mist, the mus- 
ketry fire of unseen forces could be heard. It 
was there Prince Andrew thought the fight 
would concentrate. "There we shall encounter 
difficulties, and there," thought he, "I shall be 
sent with a brigade or division, and there, stand- 
ard in hand, I shall go forward and break what- 
ever is in front of me." 

He could not look calmly at the standards of 
the passing battalions. Seeing them he kept 
thinking, "That may be the very standard with 
which I shall lead the army." 

In the morning all that was left of the night 
mist on the heights was a hoar frost now turn- 
ing to dew, but in the valleys it still lay like a 
milk-white sea. Nothing was visible in the val- 
ley to the left into which our troops had de- 
scended and from whence came the sounds of 
firing. Above the heights was the dark clear sky, 
and to the right the vast orb of the sun. In 
front, far off on the farther shore of that sea of 

x The scene of Napoleon's brilliant victory in 
the province of Verona over greatly superior Aus- 
trian forces, in 1796. TR. 



BOOK THREE 



153 



mist, some wooded hills were discernible, and 
it was there the enemy probably was, for some- 
thing could be descried. On the right the 
Guards were entering the misty region with a 
sound of hoofs and wheels and now and then 
a gleam of bayonets; to the left beyond the vil- 
lage similar masses of cavalry came up and dis- 
appeared in the sea of mist. In front and behind 
moved infantry. The commander in chief was 
standing at the end of the village letting the 
troops pass by him. That morning Kutuzov 
seemed worn and irritable. The infantry pass- 
ing before him came to a halt without any 
command being given, apparently obstructed 
by something in front. 

"Do order them to form into battalion col- 
umns and go round the villagel" he said angri- 
ly to a general who had ridden up. "Don't you 
understand, your excellency, my dear sir, that 
you must not defile through narrow village 
streets when we are marching against the ene- 
my?" 

"I intended to re-form them beyond the vil- 
lage, your excellency," answered the general. 

Kutuzov laughed bitterly. 

"You'll make a fine thing of it, deploying in 
sight of the enemy! Very fine!" 

"The enemy is still far away, your excellency. 
According to the dispositions . . ." 

"The dispositions!" exclaimed Kutuzov bit- 
terly. "Who told you that? . . . Kindly do as you 
are ordered." 

"Yes, sir." 

"My dear fellow," Nesvftski whispered to 
Prince Andrew, "the old man is as surly as a 
dog." 

An Austrian officer in a white uniform with 
green plumes in his hat galloped up to Kutu- 
zov and asked in the Emperor's name had the 
fourth column advanced into action. 

Kutuzov turned round without answering 
and his eye happened to fall upon Prince An- 
drew, who was beside him. Seeing him, Kutu- 
zov's malevolent and caustic expression sof- 
tened, as if admitting that what was being done 
was not his adjutant's fault, and still not an- 
swering the Austrian adjutant, he addressed 
Bolk6nski. 

"Go, my dear fellow, and see whether the 
third division has passed the village. Tell it to 
stop and await my orders." 

Hardly had Prince Andrew started than he 
stopped him. 

"And ask whether sharpshooters have been 
posted," he added. "What are they doing? 
What are they doing?" he murmured to him- 



self, still not replying to the Austrian. 

Prince Andrew galloped off to execute the 
order. 

Overtaking the battalions that continued to 
advance, he stopped the third division and con- 
vinced himself that there really were no sharp- 
shooters in front of our columns. The colonel 
at the head of the regiment was much surprised 
at the commander in chief's order to throw out 
skirmishers. He had felt perfectly sure that 
there were other troops in front of him and 
that the enemy must be at least six miles away. 
There was really nothing to be seen in front 
except a barren descent hidden by dense mist. 
Having given orders in the commander in 
chief's name to rectify this omission, Prince 
Andrew galloped back. Kutuzov still in the 
same place, his stout body resting heavily in 
the saddle with the lassitude of age, sat yawn- 
ing wearily with closed eyes. The troops were 
no longer moving, but stood with the butts of 
their muskets on the ground. 

"All right, all right!" he said to Prince An- 
drew, and turned to a general who, watch in 
hand, was saying it was time they started as all 
the left-flank columns had already descended. 

"Plenty of time, your excellency," muttered 
Kutuzov in the midst of a yawn. "Plenty of 
time," he repeated. 

Just then at a distance behind Kutuzov was 
heard the sound of regiments saluting, and 
this sound rap idly came nearer along the whole 
extended line of the advancing Russian col- 
umns. Evidently the person they were greeting 
was riding quickly. When the soldiers of the 
regiment in front of which Kutuzov was stand- 
ing began to shout, he rode a little to one side 
and looked round with a frown. Along the road 
from Pratzen galloped what looked like a 
squadron of horsemen in various uniforms. 
Two of them rode side by side in front, at full 
gallop. One in a black uniform with white 
plumes in his hat rode a bobtailed chestnut 
horse, the other who was in a white uniform 
rode a black one. These were the two Emper- 
ors followed by their suites. Kutuzov, affecting 
the manners of an old soldier at the front, 
gave the command "Attention!" and rode up 
to the Emperors with a salute. His whole ap- 
pearance and manner were suddenly trans- 
formed. He put on the air of a subordinate 
who obeys without reasoning. With an affecta- 
tion of respect which evidently struck Alex- 
ander unpleasantly, he rode up and saluted. 

This unpleasant impression merely flitted 
over the young and happy face of the Emperor 



154 



WAR AND PEACE 



like a cloud of haze across a clear sky and van- 
ished. After his illness he looked rather thin- 
ner that day than on the field of Olmiitz where 
Bolkonski had seen him for the first time 
abroad, but there was still the same bewitching 
combination of majesty and mildness in his 
fine gray eyes, and on his delicate lips the same 
capacity for varying expression and the same 
prevalent appearance of goodhearted innocent 
youth. 

At the Olmiitz review he had seemed more 
majestic; here he seemed brighter and more 
energetic. He was slightly flushed after gallop- 
ing two miles, and reining in his horse he 
sighed restfully and looked round at the faces 
of his suite, young and animated as his own. 
Czartoryski, Novosiltsev, Prince Volk6nsky, 
Str6gonov, and the others, all richly dressed 
gay young men on splendid, well-groomed, 
fresh, only slightly heated horses, exchanging 
remarks and smiling, had stopped behind the 
Emperor. The Emperor Francis, a rosy, long- 
faced young man, sat very erect on his hand- 
some black horse, looking about him in a lei- 
surely and preoccupied manner. He beckoned 
to one of his white adjutants and asked some 
question"Most likely he is asking at what 
o'clock they started," thought Prince Andrew, 
watching his old acquaintance with a smile he 
could not repress as he recalled his reception 
at Brtinn. In the Emperors' suite were the 
picked young orderly officers of the Guard and 
line regiments, Russian and Austrian. Among 
them were grooms leading the Tsar's beautiful 
relay horses covered with embroidered cloths. 

As when a window is opened a whiff of fresh 
air from the fields enters a stuffy room, so a 
whiff of youthfulness, energy, and confidence 
of success reached Kutuzov's cheerless staff 
with the galloping advent of all these brilliant 
young men. 

"Why aren't you beginning, Michael Ilari6n- 
ovich?" said the Emperor Alexander hurried- 
ly to Kutuzov, glancing courteously at the 
same time at the Emperor Francis. 

"I am waiting, Your Majesty," answered Ku- 
tuzov, bending forward respectfully. 

The Emperor, frowning slightly, bent his 
ear forward as if he had not quite heard. 

"Waiting, Your Majesty," repeated Kutiizov. 
(Prince Andrew noted that Kutiizov's upper 
lip twitched unnaturally as he said the word 
"waiting.") "Not all the columns have formed 
up yet, Your Majesty." 

The Tsar heard but obviously did not like 
the reply; he shrugged his rather round shoul- 



ders and glanced at Novosiltsev who was near 
him, as if complaining of Kutiizov. 

"You know, Michael Ilari6novich, we are not 
on the Empress' Field where a parade does not 
begin till all the troops are assembled," said 
the Tsar with another glance at the Emperor 
Francis, as if inviting him if not to join in at 
least to listen to what he was saying. But the 
Emperor Francis continued to look about him 
and did not listen. 

"That is just why I do not begin, sire," said 
Kutuzov in a resounding voice, apparently to 
preclude the possibility of not being heard, 
and again something in his face twitched 
"That is just why I do not begin, sire, because 
we are not on parade and not on the Empress' 
Field," said he clearly and distinctly. 

In the Emperor's suite all exchanged rapid 
looks that expressed dissatisfaction and re- 
proach. "Old though he may be, he should not, 
he certainly should not, speak like that," their 
glances seemed to say. 

The Tsar looked intently and observantly 
into Kutuzov's eye waiting to hear whether he 
would say anything more. But Kutuzov, with 
respectfully bowed head, seemed also to be 
waiting. The silence lasted for about a min- 
ute. 

"However, if you command it, Your Majes- 
ty," said Kutiizov, lifting his head and again 
assuming his former tone of a dull, unreason- 
ing, but submissive general. 

He touched his horse and having called Mil- 
orddovich, the commander of the column, gave 
him the order to advance. 

The troops again began to move, and two 
battalions of the N6vgorod and one of the Ap- 
sheron regiment went forward past the Emper- 
or. 

As this Apsheron battalion marched by, the 
red- faced Milorddovich, without his greatcoat, 
with his Orders on his breast and an enormous 
tuft of plumes in his cocked hat worn on one 
side with its corners front and back, galloped 
strenuously forward, and with a dashing salute 
reined in his horse before the Emperor. 

"God be with you, general!" said the Em- 
peror. 

"Ma foi, sire, nous ferons ce qui sera dans 
noire possibility, sire"' 1 he answered gaily, 
raising nevertheless ironic smiles among the 
gentlemen of the Tsar's suite by his poor 
French. 

Milorddovich wheeled his horse sharply and 

1 "Indeed, Sire, we shall do everything that it is 
possible to do, Sire." 



BOOK 

stationed himself a little behind the Emperor. 
The Apsheron men, excited by the Tsar's pres- 
ence, passed in step before the Emperors and 
their suites at a bold, brisk pace. 

"Lads 1" shouted Milorddovich in a loud, self- 
confident, and cheery voice, obviously so elat- 
ed by the sound of firing, by the prospect of 
battle, and by the sight of the gallant Apsher- 
ons, his comrades in Suv6rov's time, now 
passing so gallantly before the Emperors, 
that he forgot the sovereigns' presence. "Lads, 
it's not the first village you've had to take," 
cried he. 

"Glad to do our best!" shouted the soldiers. 

The Emperor's horse started at the sudden 
cry. This horse that had carried the sovereign 
at reviews in Russia bore him also here on the 
field of Austerlitz, enduring the heedless blows 
of his left foot and pricking its ears at the sound 
of shots just as it had done on the Empress' Field, 
not understanding the significance of the fir- 
ing, nor of the nearness of the Emperor Fran- 
cis' black cob, nor of all that was being said, 
thought, and felt that day by its rider. 

The Emperor turned with a smile to one of 
his followers and made a remark to him, point- 
ing to the gallant Apsherons. 

CHAPTER XVI 

KUTI/ZOV accompanied by his adjutants rode 
at a walking pace behind the carabineers. 

When he had gone less than half a mile in 
the rear of the column he stopped at a solitary, 
deserted house that had probably once been an 
inn, where two roads parted. Both of them led 
downhill and troops were marching along 
both. 

The fog had begun to clear and enemy 
troops were already dimly visible about a mile 
and a half off on the opposite heights. Down 
below, on the left, the firing became more dis- 
tinct. Kutiizov had stopped and was speaking 
to an Austrian general. Prince Andrew, who 
was a little behind and looking at them, turned 
to an adjutant to ask him for a field glass. 

"Look, look! "said this adjutant, looking not 
at the troops in the distance, but down the hill 
before him. "It's the French!" 

The two generals and the adjutant took hold 
of the field glass, trying to snatch it from one 
another. The expression on all their faces sud- 
denly changed to one of horror. The French 
were supposed to be a mile and a half away, 
but had suddenly and unexpectedly appeared 
just in front of us. 

"It's the enemy? . . . No! . . . Yes, see it isl 



THREE 155 

... for certain. . . . But how is that?" said dif- 
ferent voices. 

With the naked eye Prince Andrew saw be- 
low them to the right, not more than five hun- 
dred paces from where Kutiizov was standing, 
a dense French column coining up to meet the 
Apsherons. *> 

"Here it is! The decisive moment has arrived. 
My turn has come," thought Prince Andrew, 
and striking his horse he rode up to Kutiizov. 

"The Apsherons must be stopped, your ex- 
cellency," cried he. But at that very instant a 
cloud of smoke spread all round, firing was 
heard quite close at hand, and a voice of naive 
terror barely two steps from Prince Andrew 
shouted, "Brothers! All's lost!" And at this 
voice, as if at a command, everyone began to 
run. 

Confused and ever-increasing crowds were 
running back to where five minutes before the 
troops had passed the Emperors. Not only 
would it have been difficult to stop that crowd, 
it was even impossible not to be carried back 
with it oneself. Bolk6nski only tried not to lose 
touch with it, and looked around bewildered 
and unable to grasp what was happening in 
front of him. Nesvftski with an angry face, red 
and unlike himself, was shouting to Kutiizov 
that if he did not ride away at once he would 
certainly be taken prisoner. Kutiizov remained 
in the same place and without answering drew 
out a handkerchief. Blood was flowing from 
his cheek. Prince Andrew forced his way to 
him. 

"You are wounded?" he asked, hardly able 
to master the trembling of his lower jaw. 

"The wound is not here, it is there!" said 
Kutiizov, pressing the handkerchief to his 
wounded cheek and pointing to the fleeing 
soldiers. "Stop them!" he shouted, and at the 
same moment, probably realizing that it was 
impossible to stop them, spurred his horse and 
rode to the right. 

A fresh wave of the flying mob caught him 
and bore him back with it. 

The troops were running in such a dense 
mass that once surrounded by them it was dif- 
ficult to get out again. One was shouting, "Get 
on! Why are you hinderingus?" Another in the 
same place turned round and fired in the air; a 
third was striking the horse Kutiizov himself 
rode. Having by a great effort got away to the 
left from that flood of men, Kutiizov, with his 
suite diminished by more than half, rode to- 
ward a sound of artillery fire near by. Having 
forced his way out of the crowd of fugitives, 



156 



WAR AND PEACE 



Prince Andrew, trying to keep near Kutuzov, 
saw on the slope of the hill amid the smoke a 
Russian battery that was still firingand French- 
men running toward it. Higher up stood some 
Russian infantry, neither moving forward to 
protect the battery nor backward with the flee- 
ing crowd. A mounted general separated him- 
self from the infantry and approached Kuttizov. 
Of Kutrizov's suite only four remained. They 
were all pale and exchanged looks in silence. 

"Stop those wretches 1" gasped Kutuzov to 
the regimental commander, pointing to the 
flying soldiers; but at that instant, as if to pun- 
ish him for those words, bullets flew hissing 
across the regiment and across Kutiizov's suite 
like a flock of little birds. 

The French had attacked the battery and, 
seeing Kutuzov, were firing at him. After this 
volley the regimental commander clutched at 
his leg; several soldiers fell, and a second lieu- 
tenant who was holding the flag let it fall from 
his hands. It swayed and fell, but caught on the 
muskets of the nearest soldiers. The soldiers 
started firing without orders. 

"Oh! Oh! Oh I 1 ' groaned Kutuzov despairing- 
ly and looked around. . . . "Bolk6nski!" he 
whispered, his voice trembling from a con- 
sciousness of the feebleness of age, "Bolk6nski ! " 
he whispered, pointing to the disordered bat- 
talion and at the enemy, "what's that?" 

But before he had finished speaking, Prince 
Andrew, feeling tears of shame and anger 
choking him, had already leapt from his horse 
and run to the standard. 

"Forward, lads!" he shouted in a voice pierc- 
ing as a child's. 

"Here it is!" thought he, seizing the staff of 
the standard and hearing with pleasure the 
whistle of 'bullets evidently aimed at him. Sev- 
eral soldiers fell. 

"Hurrah!" shouted Prince Andrew, and, 
scarcely able to hold up the heavy standard, he 
ran forward with full confidence that the whole 
battalion would follow him. 

And really he only ran a few steps alone. 
One soldier moved and then another and soon 
the whole battalion ran forward shouting "Hur- 
rah!" and overtook him. A sergeant of the bat- 
talion ran up and took the flag that was sway- 
ing from its weight in Prince Andrew's hands, 
but he was immediately killed. Prince Andrew 
again seized the standard and, dragging it by 
the staff, ran on with the battalion. In front he 
saw our artillerymen, some of whom were fight- 
ing, while others, having abandoned theirguns, 
were running toward him. He also saw French 



infantry soldiers who were seizing the artillery 
horses and turning the guns round. Prince An- 
drew and the battalion were already within 
twenty paces of the cannon. He heard the whis- 
tle of bullets above him unceasingly and to 
right and left of him soldiers continually 
groaned and dropped. But he did not look at 
them: he looked only at what was going on in 
front of him at the battery. He now saw clear- 
ly the figure of a red-haired gunner with his 
shako knocked awry, pulling one end of a mop 
while a French soldier tugged at the other. He 
could distinctly see the distraught yet angry 
expression on the faces of these two men, 
who evidently did not realize what they were 
doing. 

"What are they about?" thought Prince An- 
drew as he gazed at them. "Why doesn't the 
red-haired gunner run away as he is unarmed? 
Why doesn't the Frenchman stab him? He will 
not get away before the Frenchman remembers 
his bayonet and stabs him. . . ." 

And really another French soldier, trailing 
his musket, ran up to the struggling men, and 
the fate of the red-haired gunner, who had tri- 
umphantly secured the mop and still did not 
realize what awaited him, was about to be de- 
cided. But Prince Andrew did not see how it 
ended. It seemed to him as though one of the 
soldiers near him hit him on the head with the 
full swing of a bludgeon. It hurt a little, but 
the worst of it was that the pain distracted him 
and prevented his seeing what he had been 
looking at. 

"What's this? Am I falling? My legs are giv- 
ing way," thought he, and fell on his back. He 
opened his eyes, hoping to see how the strug- 
gle of the Frenchmen with the gunners ended, 
whether the red-haired gunner had been killed 
or not and whether the cannon had been cap- 
tured or saved. But he saw nothing. Above 
him there was now nothing but the sky the 
lofty sky, not clear yet still immeasurably lofty, 
with gray clouds gliding slowly across it. "How 
quiet, peaceful, and solemn; notat all as I ran," 
thought Prince Andrew "not as we ran, shout- 
ing and fighting, not at all as the gunner and 
the Frenchman with frightened and angry 
faces struggled for the mop: how differently do 
those clouds glide across that lofty infinite sky! 
How was it I did not see that lofty sky before? 
And how happy I am to have found it at last! 
Yes! All is vanity, all falsehood, except that in- 
finite sky. There is nothing, nothing, but that. 
But even it does not exist, there is nothing but 
quiet and peace. Thank God! . . ." 



BOOK THREE 



'57 



CHAPTER XVII 

ON OUR RIGHT FLANK commanded by Bagrati6n, 
at nine o'clock the battle had not yet begun. 
Not wishing to agree to Dolgorukov's demand 
to commence the action, and wishing to avert 
responsibility from himself, Prince Bagrati6n 
proposed to Dolgorukov to send to inquire of 
the commander in chief. Bagrati6n knew that 
as the distance between the two flanks was 
more than six miles, even if the messenger 
were not killed (which he very likely would 
be), and found the commander in chief (which 
would be very difficult), he would not be able 
to get back before evening. 

Bagrati6n cast his large, expressionless, sleepy 
eyes round his suite, and the boyish face of Ros- 
tov, breathless with excitement and hope, was 
the first to catch his eye. He sent him. 

"And if I should meet His Majesty before I 
meet the commander in chief, your excellency?" 
said Rost6v, with his hand to his cap. 

"You can give the message to His Majesty," 
said Dolgorukov, hurriedly interrupting Ba- 
grati6n. 

On being relieved from picket duty Rost6v 
had managed to get a few hours' sleep before 
morning and felt cheerful, bold, and resolute, 
with elasticity of movement, faith in his good 
fortune, and generally in that state of mind 
which makes everything seem possible, pleas- 
ant, and easy. 

All his wishes were being fulfilled that morn- 
ing: there was to be a general engagement in 
which he was taking part, more than that, he 
was orderly to the bravest general, and still 
more, he was going with a message to Kutiizov, 
perhaps even to the sovereign himself. The 
morning was bright, he had a good horse under 
him, and his heart was full of joy and happi- 
ness. On receiving the order he gave his horse 
the rein and galloped along the line. At first 
he rode along the line of Bagrati6n's troops, 
which had not yet advanced into action but 
were standing motionless; then he came to the 
region occupied by Uvarov's cavalry and here 
he noticed a stir and signs of preparation for 
battle; having passed Uvarov's cavalry he clear- 
ly heard the sound of cannon and musketry 
ahead of him. The firing grew louder and loud- 
er. 

In the fresh morning air were now heard, 
not two or three musket shots at irregular in- 
tervals as before, followed by one or two can- 
non shots, but a roll of volleys of musketry 
from the slopes of the hill before Pratzen, in- 
terrupted by such frequent reports of cannon 



that sometimes several of them were not sep- 
arated from one another but merged into a 
general roar. 

He could see puffs of musketry smoke that 
seemed to chase one another down the hill- 
sides, and clouds of cannon smoke rolling, 
spreading, and mingling with one another. He 
could also, by the gleam of bayonets visible 
through the smoke, make out moving masses 
of infantry and narrow lines of artillery with 
green caissons. 

Rost6v stopped his horse for a moment on a 
hillock to see what was going on, but strain his 
attention as he would he could not understand 
or make out anything of what was happening: 
there in the smoke men of some sort were mov- 
ing about, and in front and behind moved lines 
of troops; but why, whither, and who they were, 
it was impossible to make out. These sights and 
sounds had no depressing or intimidating ef- 
fect on him; on the contrary, they stimulated 
his energy and determination. 

"Go on! Go on! Give it them!" he mentally 
exclaimed at these sounds, and again proceed- 
ed to gallop along the line, penetrating farther 
and farther into the region where the army 
was already in action. 

"How it will be there I don't know, but all 
will be well!" thought Rost6v. 

After passing some Austrian troops he no- 
ticed that the next part of the line (the Guards) 
was already in action. 

"So much the better! I shall see it close," he 
thought. 

He was riding almost along the front line. A 
handful of men came galloping toward him. 
They were our Uhlans who with disordered 
ranks were returning from the attack. Rost6v 
got out of their way, involuntarily noticed that 
one of them was bleeding, and galloped on. 

"That is no business of mine," he thought. 
He had not ridden many hundred yards after 
that before he saw to his left, across the whole 
width of the field, an enormous mass of caval- 
ry in brilliant white uniforms, mounted on 
black horses, trotting straight toward him and 
across his path. Rostov put his horse to full 
gallop to get out of the way of these men, and 
he would have got clear had they continued at 
the same speed, but they kept increasing their 
pace, so that some of the horses were already 
galloping. Rost6v heard the thud of their hoofs 
and the jingle of their weapons and saw their 
horses, their figures, and even their faces, 
more and more distinctly. They were our 
Horse Guards, advancing to attack the French 



WAR AND PEACE 



cavalry that was coming to meet them. 

The Horse Guards were galloping, but still 
holding in their horses. Rost6v could already 
see their faces and heard the command: 
"Charge! "shouted by an officer who was urging 
his thoroughbred to full speed. Rost6v, fearing 
to be crushed or swept into the attack on the 
French, galloped along the front as hard as his 
horse could go, but still was not in time to avoid 
them. 

The last of the Horse Guards, a huge pock- 
marked fellow, frowned angrily on seeing Ros- 
t6v before him, with whom he would inevita- 
bly collide. This Guardsman would certainly 
have bowled Rost6v and his Bedouin over 
(Rost6v felt himself quite tiny and weak com- 
pared to these gigantic men and horses) had it 
not occurred to Rost6v to flourish his whip be- 
fore the eyes of the Guardsman's horse. The 
heavy black horse, sixteen hands high, shied, 
throwing back its ears; but the pockmarked 
Guardsman drove his huge spurs in violently, 
and the horse, flourishing its tail and extending 
its neck, galloped on yet faster. Hardly had the 
Horse Guards passed Rost6v before he heard 
them shout, "Hurrah!" and looking back saw 
that their foremost ranks were mixed up with 
some foreign cavalry with red epaulets, prob- 
ably French. He could see nothing more, for 
immediately afterwards cannon began firing 
from somewhere and smoke enveloped every- 
thing. 

At that moment, as the Horse Guards, hav- 
ing passed him, disappeared in the smoke, Ros- 
t6v hesitated whether to gallop after them or 
to go where he was sent. This was the brilliant 
charge of the Horse Guards that amazed the 
French themselves. Rost6v was horrified to 
hear later that of all that mass of huge and 
handsome men, of all those brilliant, rich 
youths, officers and cadets, who had galloped 
past him on their thousand-ruble horses, only 
eighteen were left after the charge. 

"Why should I envy them? My chance is not 
lost, ancUnaybe I shall see the Emperor imme- 
diately!" thojught Rost6v and galloped on. 

When he came level with the Foot Guards 
he noticed that about them and around them 
cannon balls were flying, of which he was 
aware not so much because he heard their 
sound as because he saw uneasiness on the sol- 
diers' faces and unnatural warlike solemnity 
on those of the officers. 

Passing behind one of the lines of a regiment 
of Foot Guards he heard a voice calling him 
by name. 



"Rost6v!" 

"What?" he answered, not recognizing Boris. 

"I say, we've been in the front line! Our reg- 
iment attacked!" said Boris with the happy 
smile seen on the faces of young men who have 
been under fire for the first time. 

Rost6v stopped. 

"Have you?" he said. "Well, how did it go?" 

"We drove them back!" said Boris with an- 
imation, growing talkative. "Can you imagine 
it?" and he began describing how the Guards, 
having taken up their position and seeing 
troops before them, thought they were Austri- 
ans, and all at once discovered from the cannon 
balls discharged by those troops that they were 
themselves in the front line and had unexpect- 
edly to go into action. RostcW without hearing 
Boris to the end spurred his horse. 

"Where are you off to?" asked Boris. 

"With a message to His Majesty." 

"There he is!" said Boris, thinking Rost6v 
had said "His Highness," and pointing to the 
Grand Duke who with his high shoulders and 
frowning brows stood a hundred paces away 
from them in his helmet and Horse Guards' 
jacket, shouting something to a pale, white- 
uniformed Austrian officer. 

"But that's the Grand Duke, and I want the 
commander in chief or the Emperor," said 
Rost6v, and was about to spur his horse. 

"Count! Count!" shouted Berg who ran up 
from the other side as eager as Boris. "Count! 
I am wounded in my right hand" (and he 
showed his bleeding hand with a handkerchief 
tied round it) "and I remained at the front. I 
held my sword in my left hand, Count. All oui 
family the von Bergs have been knights!" 

He said something more, but Rost6v did 
not wait to hear it and rode away. 

Having passed the Guards and traversed an 
empty space, Rostov, to avoid again getting in 
front of the first line as he had done when the 
Horse Guards charged, followed the line of 
reserves, going far round the place where the 
hottest musket fire and cannonade were heard. 
Suddenly he heard musket fire quite close in 
front of him and behind our troops, where he 
could never have expected the enemy to be. 

"What can it be?" he thought. "The enemy 
in the rear of our army? Impossible!" And sud- 
denly he was seized by a panic of fear for him- 
self and for the issue of the whole battle. "But 
be that what it may," he reflected, "there is no 
riding round it now. I must look for the com- 
mander in chief here, and if all is lost it is for 
me to perish with the rest." 



BOOK THREE 



The foreboding of evil that had suddenly 
come over Rost6v was more and more con- 
firmed the farther he rode into the region be- 
hind the village of Pratzen, which was full of 
troops of all kinds. 

"What does it mean? What is it? Whom are 
they firing at? Who is firing?" Rost6v kept ask- 
ing as he came up to Russian and Austrian sol- 
diers running in confused crowds across his 
path. 

"The devil knowsl They've killed everybody! 
It's all up nowl" he was told in Russian, Ger- 
man, and Czech by the crowd of fugitives who 
understood what was happening as little as he 
did. 

"Kill the Germans!" shouted one. 

"May the devil take them the traitors!" 

"Zum Henker diese Russen!" l muttered a 
German. 

Several wounded men passed along the road, 
and words of abuse, screams, and groans min- 
gled in a general hubbub, then the firing died 
down. Rost6v learned later that Russian and 
Austrian soldiers had been firing at one anoth- 
er. 

"My God! What does it all mean?" thought 
he. "And here, where at any moment the Em- 
peror may see them. . . . But no, these must be 
only a handful of scoundrels. It will soon be 
over, it can't be that, it can't be! Only to get 
past them quicker, quicker! " 

The idea of defeat and flight could not en- 
ter Rostov's head. Though he saw French can- 
non and French troops on the Pratzen Heights 
just where he had been ordered to look for the 
commander in chief, he could not, did not 
wish to, believe that. 

CHAPTER XVIII 

Rosx6v had been ordered to look for Kutuzov 
and the Emperor near the village of Pratzen. 
But neither they nor a single commanding of- 
ficer were there, only disorganized crowds of 
troops of various kinds. He urged on his al- 
ready weary horse to get quickly past these 
crowds, but the farther he went the more dis- 
organized they were. The highroad on which 
he had come out was thronged with caliches, 
carriages of all sorts, and Russian and Austri- 
an soldiers of all arms, some wounded and 
some not. This whole mass droned and jostled 
in confusion under the dismal influence of 
cannon balls flying from the French batteries 
stationed on the Pratzen Heights. 

"Where is the Emperor? Where is Kutuzov?" 

1 "Hang these Russians!" 



Rost6v kept asking everyone he could stop 
but got no answer from anyone. 

At last seizing a soldier by his collar he forcec 
him to answer. 

"Eh, brother! They've all bolted long ago!' 
said the soldier, laughing for some reason anc 
shaking himself free. 

Having left that soldier who was evidently 
drunk, Rost6v stopped the horse of a batmar 
or groom of some important personage and be 
gan to question him. The man announcec 
that the Tsar had been driven in a carriage ai 
full speed about an hour before along thatver 
road and that he was dangerously wounded. 

"It can't be!" said Rost6v. "It must hav< 
been someone else." 

"I saw him myself," replied the man with ; 
self-confident smile of derision. "I ought tc 
know the Emperor by now, after the times I'v< 
seen him in Petersburg. I saw him just as I se< 
you. . . . There he sat in the carriage as pale a 
any thing. How they made the four black horse 
fly! Gracious me, they did rattle past! It's tim< 
I knew the Imperial horses and Ilya Ivdnych. 
don't think Ilya drives anyone except th< 
Tsar!" 

Rost6v let go of the horse and was about t< 
ride on, when a wounded officer passing by ad 
dressed him: 

"Who is it you want?" he asked. "The com 
mander in chief? He was killed by a cannoi 
ball struck in the breast before our regiment. 1 

"Not killed wounded!" another officer coi 
reeled him. 

"Who? Kutuzov?" asked Rost6v. 

"Not Kutuzov, but what's his name well 
never mind . . . there are not many left alive 
Go that way, to that village, all the command 
ers are there," said the officer, pointing to th< 
village of Hosjeradek, and he walked on. 

Rost6v rode on at a footpace not knowin] 
why or to whom he was now going. The Em 
peror was wounded, the battle lost. It was im 
possible to doubt it now. Rost6v rode in th 
direction pointed out to him, in which he sa\ 
turrets and a church. What need to hurry 
What was he now to say to the Tsar or to Ku 
tiizov, even if they were alive and un wounded 

"Take this road, your honor, that way yoi 
will be killed at oncel" a soldier shouted t< 
him. "They'd kill you there!" 

"Oh, what are you talking about?" said an 
other. "Where is he to go? That way is nearer. 

Rost6v considered, and then went in the di 
rection where they said he would be killed. 

"It's all the same now. If the Emperor i 



i6o 



WAR AND PEACE 



wounded, am I to try to save myself?" he 
thought. He rode on to the region where the 
greatest number of men had perished in flee- 
ing from Pratzen. The French had not yet oc- 
cupied that region, and the Russians the un- 
injured and slightly woundedhad left it long 
ago. All about the field, like heaps of manure 
on well-kept plowland, lay from ten to fifteen 
dead and wounded to each couple of acres. The 
wounded crept together in twos and threes and 
one could hear their distressing screams and 
groans, sometimes feigned or so it seemed to 
Rost6v. He put his horse to a trot to avoid see- 
ing all these suffering men, and he felt afraid- 
afraid not for his life, but for the courage he 
needed and which he knew would not stand 
the sight of these unfortunates. 

The French, who had ceased firing at this 
field strewn with dead and wounded where 
there was no one left to fire at, on seeing an 
adjutant riding over it trained a gun on him 
and fired several shots. The sensation of those 
terrible whistling sounds and of the corpses 
around him merged in Rost6v's mind into a 
single feeling of terror and pity for himself. 
He remembered his mother's last letter. "What 
would she feel," thought he, "if she saw me 
here now on this field with the cannon aimed 
at me?" 

In the village of Hosjeradek there were Rus- 
sian troops retiring from the field of battle, 
who though still in some confusion were less 
disordered. The French cannon did not reach 
there and the musketry fire sounded far away. 
Here everyone clearly saw and said that the 
battle was lost. No one whom Rost6v asked 
could tell him where the Emperor or Kuttizov 
was. Some said the report that the Emperor 
was wounded was correct, others that it was 
not, and explained the false rumor that had 
spread by the fact that the Emperor's carriage 
had really galloped from the field of battle 
with the pale and terrified Ober-Hofmarschal 
Count Tolst6y, who had ridden out to the bat- 
tlefield with others in the Emperor's suite. One 
officer told Rost6v that he had seen someone 
from headquarters behind the village to the 
left, and thither Rost6v rode, not hoping to 
find anyone but merely to ease his conscience. 
When he had ridden about two miles and had 
passed the last of the Russian troops, he saw, 
near a kitchen garden with a ditch round it, 
two men on horseback facing the ditch. One 
with a white plume in his hat seemed familiar 
to Rostov; the other on a beautiful chestnut 
horse (which Rost6v fancied he had seen be- 



fore) rode up to the ditch, struck his horse with 
his spurs, and giving it the rein leaped lightly 
over. Only a little earth crumbled from the 
bank under the horse's hind hoofs. Turning 
the horse sharply, he again jumped the ditch, 
and deferentially addressed the horseman with 
the white plumes, evidently suggesting that he 
should do the same. The rider, whose figure 
seemed familiar to Rost6v and involuntarily 
riveted his attention, made a gesture of refusal 
with his head and hand and by that gesture 
Rost6v instantly recognized his lamented and 
adored monarch. 

"But it can't be he, alone in the midst of this 
empty field 1" thought Rost6v. At that moment 
Alexander turned his head and Rost6v saw the 
beloved features that were so deeply engraved 
on his memory. The Emperor was pale, his 
cheeks sunken and his eyes hollow, but the 
charm, the mildness of his features, was all the 
greater. Rost6v was happy in the assurance 
that the rumors about the Emperor being 
wounded were false. He was happy to be see- 
ing him. He knew that he might and even ought 
to go straight to him and give the message Dol- 
gorukov had ordered him to deliver. 

But as a youth in love trembles, is unnerved, 
and dares not utter the thoughts he has dreamed 
of for nights, but looks around for help or a 
chance of delay and flight when the longed-for 
moment comes and he is alone with her, so 
Rost6v, now that he had attained what he had 
longed for more than anything else in the 
world, did not know how to approach the Em- 
peror, and a thousand reasons occurred to him 
why it would be inconvenient, unseemly, and 
impossible to do so. 

"What I It is as if I were glad of a chance to 
take advantage of his being alone and de- 
spondent! A strange face may seem unpleasant 
or painful to him at this moment of sorrow; 
besides, what can I say to him now, when my 
heart fails me and my mouth feels dry at the 
mere sight of him?" Not one of the innumer- 
able speeches addressed to the Emperor that 
he had composed in his imagination could he 
now recall. Those speeches were intended for 
quite other conditions, they were for the most 
part to be spoken at a moment of victory and 
triumph, generally when he was dying of 
wounds and the sovereign had thanked him 
for heroic deeds, and while dying he expressed 
the love his actions had proved. 

"Besides how can I ask the Emperor for his 
instructions for the right flank now that it is 
nearly four o'clock and the battle is lost? No, 



BOOK THREE 



161 



certainly I must not approach him, I must not 
intrude on his reflections. Better die a thou- 
sand times than risk receiving an unkind look 
or bad opinion from him," Rost6v decided; 
and sorrowfully and with a heart full of despair 
he rode away, continually looking back at the 
Tsar, who still remained in the same attitude 
of indecision. 

While Rost6v was thus arguing with him- 
self and riding sadly away, Captain von Toll 
chanced to ride to the same spot, and seeing 
the Emperor at once rode up to him, offered 
his services, and assisted him to cross the ditch 
on foot. The Emperor, wishing to rest and feel- 
ing unwell, sat down under an apple tree and 
von Toll remained beside him. Rost6v from a 
distance saw with envy and remorse how von 
Toll spoke long and warmly to the Emperor 
and how the Emperor, evidently weeping, cov- 
ered his eyes with his hand and pressed von 
Toll's hand. 

"And I might have been in his place!" 
thought Rostov, and hardly restraining his 
tears of pity for the Emperor, he rode on in 
utter despair, not knowing where to or why he 
was now riding. 

His despair was all the greater from feeling 
that his own weakness was the cause of his grief. 

He might . . . not only might but should, 
have gone up to the sovereign. It was a unique 
chance to show his devotion to the Emperor 

and he had not made use of it "What have 

I done?" thought he. And he turned round 
and galloped back to the place where he had 
seen the Emperor, but there was no one be- 
yond the ditch now. Only some carts and car- 
riages were passing by. From one of the drivers 
he learned that Kutuzov's staff were not far off, 
in the village the vehicles were going to. Ros- 
tov followed them. In front of him walked Ku- 
tuzov's groom leading horses in horsecloths. 
Then came a cart, and behind that walked an 
old, bandy-legged domestic serf in a peaked 
cap and sheepskin coat. 

"Tit! I say, Tit!" said the groom. 

"What?" answered the old man absent-mind- 
edly. 

"Go, Tit! Thresh a bit!" 

"Oh, you fool!" said the old man, spitting 
angrily. Some time passed in silence, and then 
the same joke was repeated. 

Before five in the evening the battle had 
been lost at all points. More than a hundred 
cannon were already in the hands of the French. 

Przebyszlwski and his corps had laid down 



their arms. Other columns after losing half 
their men were retreating in disorderly con- 
fused masses. 

The remains of Langeron's andDokhtiirov's 
mingled forces were crowding around thedams 
and banks of the ponds near the village of* 
Augesd. 

After five o'clock it was only at the Augesd 
Dam that a hot cannonade (delivered by the 
French alone) was still to be heard from nu- 
merous batteries ranged on the slopes of the 
Pratzen Heights, directed at our retreating 
forces. 

In the rearguard, Dokhtiirov and others ral- 
lying some battalions kept up a musketry fire 
at the French cavalry that was pursuing our 
troops. It was growing dusk. On the narrow 
Augesd Dam where for so many years the old 
miller had been accustomed tositinhistasseled 
cap peacefully angling, while his grandson, 
with shirt sleeves rolled up, handled the floun- 
dering silvery fish in the watering can, on that 
dam over which for so many years Moravians 
in shaggy caps and blue jackets had peacefully 
driven their two-horse carts loaded with wheat 
and had returned dusty with flour whitening 
their carts on that narrow dam amid the wag- 
ons and the cannon, under the horses' hoofs 
and between the wagon wheels, men disfigured 
by fear of death now crowded together, crush- 
ing one another, dying, stepping over the dy- 
ing and killing one another, only to move on a 
few steps and be killed themselves in the same 
way. 

Every ten seconds a cannon ball flew com- 
pressing the air around, or a shell burst in the 
midst of that dense throng, killing some and 
splashing with blood those near them. 

D61okhov now an officer wounded in the 
arm, and on foot, with the regimental com- 
mander on horseback and some ten men of 
his company, represented all that was left of 
that whole regiment. Impelled by the crowd, 
they had got wedged in at the approach to the 
dam and, jammed in on all sides, had stopped 
because a horse in front had fallen under a 
cannon and the crowd were dragging it out. A 
cannon ball killed someone behind them, an- 
other fell in front and splashed D61okhov with 
blood. The crowd, pushing forward desperate- 
ly, squeezed together, moved a few steps, and 
again stopped. 

"Move on a hundred yards and we are cer- 
tainly saved, remain here another two minutes 
and it is certain death," thought each one. 

D61okhov who was in the midst of the crowd 



162 



WAR AND PEACE 



forced his way to the edge of the dam, throw- 
ing two soldiers off their feet, and ran onto the 
slippery ice that covered the millpool. 

"Turn this way!" he shouted, jumping over 
the ice which creaked under him; "turn this 
way!" he shouted to those with the gun. "It 
bears! . . ." 

The ice bore him but it swayed and creaked, 
and it was plain that it would give way not on- 
ly under a cannon or a crowd, but very soon 
even under his weight alone. The men looked 
at him and pressed to the bank, hesitating to 
step onto the ice. The general on horseback at 
the entrance to the dam raised his hand and 
opened his mouth to address D61okhov. Sud- 
denly a cannon ball hissed so low above the 
crowd that everyone ducked. It flopped into 
something moist, and the general fell from his 
horse in a pool of blood. Nobody gave him a 
look or thought of raising him. 

"Get onto the ice, over the ice! Go on! 
Turn! Don't you hear? Go on!" innumerable 
voices suddenly shouted after the ball had 
struck the general, the men themselves not 
knowing what, or why, they were shouting. 

One of the hindmost guns that was going 
onto the dam turned off onto the ice. Crowds 
of soldiers from the dam began running onto 
the frozen pond. The ice gave way under one 
of the foremost soldiers, and one leg slipped 
into the water. He tried to right himself but 
fell in up to his waist. The nearest soldiers 
shrank back, the gun driver stopped his horse, 
but from behind still came the shouts: "Onto 
the ice, why do you stop? Go on! Go on!" And 
cries of horror were heard in the crowd. The 
soldiers near the gun waved their arms and 
beat the horses to make them turn and move 
on. The horses moved off the bank. The ice, 
that had held under those on foot, collapsed 
in a great mass, and some forty men who were 
on it dashed, some forward and some back, 
drowning one another. 

Still the cannon balls continued regularly to 
whistle and flop onto the ice and into the wa- 
ter and oftenest of all among the crowd that 
covered the dam, the pond, and the bank. 

CHAPTER XIX 

ON THE PRATZEN HEIGHTS, where he had fallen 
with the flagstaff in his hand, lay Prince An- 
drew Bolk6nski bleeding profusely and un- 
consciously uttering a gentle, piteous, and 
childlike moan. 

Toward evening he ceased moaning and be- 
came quite still. He did not know how long 



his unconsciousness lasted. Suddenly he again 
felt that he was alive and suffering from a burn- 
ing, lacerating pain in his head. 

"Where is it, that lofty sky that I did not 
know till now, but saw today?" was his first 
thought. "And I did not know this suffering 
either," he thought. "Yes, I did not know any- 
thing, anything at all till now. But where am 
I?" 

He listened and heard the sound of approach- 
ing horses, and voices speaking French. He 
opened his eyes. Above him again was the same 
lofty sky with clouds that had risen and were 
floating still higher, and between them gleamed 
blue infinity. He did not turn his head and did 
not see those who, judging by the sound of 
hoofs and voices, had ridden up and stopped 
near him. 

It was Napoleon accompanied by two aides- 
de-camp. Bonaparte riding over the battlefield 
had given final orders to strengthen the bat- 
teries firing at the Augesd Dam and was look- 
ing at the killed and wounded left on the field. 

"Fine men!" remarked Napoleon, looking 
at a dead Russian grenadier, who, with his face 
buried in the ground and a blackened nape, 
lay on his stomach with an already stiffened 
arm flung wide. 

"The ammunition for the guns in position 
is exhausted, Your Majesty," said an adjutant 
who had come from the batteries that were fir- 
ing at Augesd. 

"Have some brought from the reserve," said 
Napoleon, and having gone on a few steps he 
stopped before Prince Andrew, who lay on his 
back with the flagstaff that had been dropped 
beside him. (The flag had already been taken 
by the French as a trophy.) 

"That's a fine death!" said Napoleon as he 
gazed at Bolk6nski. 

Prince Andrew understood that this was 
said of him and that it was Napoleon who said 
it. He heard the speaker addressed as Sire. But 
he heard the words as he might have heard the 
buzzing of a fly. Not only did they not interest 
him, but he took no notice of them and at once 
forgot them. His head was burning, he felt 
himself bleeding to death, and he saw above 
him the remote, lofty, and everlasting sky. He 
knew it was Napoleon his hero but at that 
moment Napoleon seemed to him such a small, 
insignificant creature compared with what was 
passing now between himself and that lofty in- 
finite sky with the clouds flying over it. At that 
moment it meant nothing to him who might 
be standing over him, or what was said of him; 



he was only glad that people were standing 
near him and only wished that they would help 
him and bring him back to life, which seemed 
to him so beautiful now that he had today 
learned to understand it so differently. He col- 
lected all his strength, to stir and utter a sound. 
He feebly moved his leg and uttered a weak, 
sickly groan which aroused his own pity. 

"Ah! He is alive," said Napoleon. "Lift this 
young man up and carry him to the dressing 
station." 

Having said this, Napoleon rode on to meet 
Marshal Lannes, who, hat in hand, rode up 
smiling to the Emperor to congratulate him 
on the victory. 

Prince Andrew remembered nothing more: 
he lost consciousness from the terrible pain of 
being lifted onto the stretcher, the jolting 
while being moved, and the probing of his 
wound at the dressing station. He did not re- 
gain consciousness till late in the day, when 
with other wounded and captured Russian of- 
ficers he was carried to the hospital. During 
this transfer he felt a little stronger and was 
able to look about him and even speak. 

The first words he heard on coming to his 
senses were those of a French convoy officer, 
who said rapidly: "We must halt here: the Em- 
peror will pass here immediately; it will please 
him to see these gentlemen prisoners." 

"There are so many prisoners today, nearly 
the whole Russian army, that he is probably 
tired of them," said another officer. 

"All the samel They say this one is the com- 
mander of all the Emperor Alexander's 
Guards," said the first one, indicating a Rus- 
sian officer in the white uniform of the Horse 
Guards. 

Bolk6nski recognized Prince Repnin whom 
he had met in Petersburg society. Beside him 
stood a lad of nineteen, also a wounded officer 
of the Horse Guards. 

Bonaparte, having come up at a gallop, 
stopped his horse. 

"Which is the senior?" he asked, on seeing 
the prisoners. 

They named the colonel, Prince Repnfn. 

"You are the commander of the Emperor 
Alexander's regiment of Horse Guards?" asked 
Napoleon. 

"Icommandedasquadron," replied Repnin. 

"Your regiment fulfilled its duty honorably," 
said Napoleon. 

"The praise of a great commander is a sol- 
dier's highest reward," said Repnin. 

"I bestow it with pleasure," said Napoleon. 



BOOK THREE 163 

"And who is that young man beside you?" 



Prince Repnfn named Lieutenant Sukht- 
len. 

After looking at him Napoleon smiled. 

"He's very young to come to meddle with 
us." 

"Youth is no hindrance to courage," mut- 
tered Sukhtlen in a failing voice. 

"A splendid reply!" said Napoleon. "Young 
man, you will go far!" 

Prince Andrew, who had also been brought 
forward before the Emperor's eyes to complete 
the show of prisoners, could not fail to attract 
his attention. Napoleon apparently remem- 
bered seeing him on the battlefield and, ad- 
dressing him, again used the epithet "young 
man" that was connected in his memory with 
Prince Andrew. 

"Well, and you, young man," said he. "How 
do you feel, mon brave?" 

Though five minutes before, Prince Andrew 
had been able to say a few words to the sol- 
diers who were carrying him, now with his eyes 
fixed straight on Napoleon, he was silent. . . . 
So insignificant at that moment seemed to him 
all the interests that engrossed Napoleon, so 
mean did his hero himself with his paltry 
vanity and joy in victory appear, compared to 
the lofty, equitable, and kindly sky which he 
had seen and understood, that he could not 
answer him. 

Every thing seemed so futile and insignificant 
in comparison with the stern and solemn train 
of thought that weakness from loss of blood, 
suffering, and the nearness of death aroused 
in him. Looking into Napoleon's eyes Prince 
Andrew thought of the insignificance of great- 
ness, the unimportance of life which no one 
could understand, and the still greater unim- 
portance of death, the meaning of which no 
one alive could understand or explain. 

The Emperor without waiting for an an- 
swer turned away and said to one of the officers 
as he went: "Have these gentlemen attended 
to and taken to my bivouac; let my doctor, Lar- 
rey, examine their wounds. Au revoir, Prince 
Repnfnl" and he spurred his horse and gal- 
loped away. 

His face shone with self-satisfaction and 
pleasure. 

The soldiers who had carried Prince An- 
drew had noticed and taken the little gold icon 
Princess Mary had hung round her brother's 
neck, but seeing the favor the Emperor showed 
the prisoners, they now hastened to return the 
holy image. 



164 



WAR AND PEACE 



Prince Andrew did not see how and by whom 
it was replaced, but the little icon with its thin 
gold chain suddenly appeared upon his chest 
outside his uniform. 

"It would be good," thought Prince Andrew, 
glancing at the icon his sister had hung round 
his neck with such emotion and reverence, "it 
would be good if everything were as clear and 
simple as it seems to Mary. How good it would 
be to know where to seek for help in this life, 
and what to expect after it beyond the grave! 
How happy and calm I should be if I could now 
say: 'Lord, have mercy on me!' . . . But to 
whom should I say that? Either to a Power in- 
definable, incomprehensible, which I not only 
cannot address but which I cannot even ex- 
press in words the Great All or Nothing" 
said he to himself, "or to that God who has 



increased and he grew delirious. Visions of 
his father, wife, sister, and future son, and 
the tenderness he had felt the night before 
the battle, the figure of the insignificant little 
Napoleon, and above all this the lofty sky, 
formed the chief subjects of his delirious 
fancies. 

The quiet home life and peaceful happiness 
of Bald Hills presented itself to him. He was 
already enjoying that happiness when that lit- 
tle Napoleon had suddenly appeared with his 
unsympathizing look of shortsighted delight at 
the misery of others, and doubts and torments 
had followed, and only the heavens promised 
peace. Toward morningall these dreams melted 
and merged into the chaos and darkness of un- 
consciousenss and oblivion, which in the opin- 
ion of Napoleon's doctor, Larrey, was much 



been sewn into this amulet by Mary I/There is more likely to end in death than in convales- 



nothing certain, nothing at all except the un- 
importance of everything I understand, and 
the greatness of something incomprehensible 
but all-importantj 

The stretchers moved on. At every jolt he 
again felt unendurable pain; his feverishness 



cence. 

"He is a nervous, bilious subject," said Lar- 
rey, "and will not recover." 

And Prince Andrew, with others fatally 
wounded, was left to the care of the inhabit- 
ants of the district. 



Book Four: 1806 



CHAPTER I 

EARLY IN THE YEAR 1806 Nicholas Rost6v re- 
turned home on leave. Denisov was going home 
to Vor6nezh and Rost6v persuaded him to 
travel with him as far as Moscow and to stay 
with him there. Meeting a comrade at the last 
post station but one before Moscow, Denfsov 
had drunk three bottles of wine with him 
and, despite the jolting ruts across the snow- 
covered road, did not once wake up on the way 
to Moscow, but lay at the bottom of the sleigh 
beside Rost6v, who grew more and more im- 
patient the nearer they got to Moscow. 

"How much longer? How much longer? Oh, 
these insufferable streets, shops, bakers' sign- 
boards, street lamps, and sleighs!" thought 
Rost6v, when their leave permits had been 
passed at the town gate and they had entered 
Moscow. 

"Denfsov! We're here! He's asleep," he add- 
ed, leaning forward with his whole body as if 
in that position he hoped to hasten the speed 
of the sleigh. 

Denisov gave no answer. 

"There's the corner at the crossroads, where 
the cabman, Zakhar, has his stand, and there's 
Zakhar himself and still the same horse! And 
here's the little shop where we used to buy gin- 
gerbread! Can't you hurry up? Now then!" 

"Which house is it?" asked the driver. 

"Why, that one, right at the end, the big 
one. Don't you see? That's our house," said 
Rost6v. "Of course, it's our house! Denisov, 
Denfsov I We're almost there!" 

Denfsov raised his head, coughed, and made 
no answer. 

"Dmftri," said Rostov to his valet on the 
box, "those lights are in our house, aren't 
they?" 

"Yes, sir, and there's a light in your father's 
study." 

"Then they've not gone to bed yet? What do 
you think? Mind now, don't forget to put out 
my new coat," added Rostdv, fingering his new 
mustache. "Now then, get on," he shouted to 



the driver. "Do wake up, Vdska!" he went on, 
turning to Denfsov, whose head was again nod- 
ding. "Come, get on! You shall have three ru- 
bles for vodka get on!" Rost6v shouted, when 
the sleigh was only three houses from his door. 
It seemed to him the horses were not moving 
at all. At last the sleigh bore to the right, drew 
up at an entrance, and Rost6v saw overhead 
the old familiar cornice with a bit of plaster 
broken off, the porch, and the post by the side 
of the pavement. He sprang out before the 
sleigh stopped, and ran into the hall. The 
house stood cold and silent, as if quite regard- 
less of who had come to it. There was no one 
in the hall. "Oh God! Is everyone all right?" 
he thought, stopping for a moment with a sink- 
ing heart, and then immediately starting to 
run along the hall and up the warped steps of 
the familiar staircase. The well-known old door 
handle, which always angered the countess 
when it was not properly cleaned, turned as 
loosely as ever. A solitary tallow candle burned 
in the anteroom. 

Old Michael was asleep on the chest. Prok6- 
fy, the footman, who was so strong that he 
could lift the back of the carriage from behind, 
sat plaiting slippers out of cloth selvedges. He 
looked up at the opening door and his expres- 
sion of sleepy indifference suddenly changed 
to one of delighted amazement. 

"Gracious heavens! The young count!" he 
cried, recognizing his young master. "Can it 
be? My treasure!" and Prok6fy, trembling 
with excitement, rushed toward the drawing- 
room door, probably in order to announce 
him, but, changing his mind, came back and 
stooped to kiss the young man's shoulder. 

"All well?" asked Rost6v, drawing away his 
arm. 

"Yes, God be thanked! Yes! They've just 
finished supper. Let me have a look at you, 
your excellency." 

"Is everything quite all right?" 

"The Lord be thanked, yes!" 

Rost6v, who had completely forgotten Denf- 



165 



i66 



WAR AND PEACE 



sov, not wishing anyone to forestall him, threw 
off his fur coat and ran on tiptoe through the 
large dark ballroom. All was the same: there 
were the same old card tables and the same 
chandelier with a cover over it; but someone 
had already seen the young master, and, be- 
fore he had reached the drawing room, some- 
thing flew out from a side door like a tornado 
and began hugging and kissing him. Another 
and yet another creature of the same kind 
sprang from a second door and a third; more 
hugging, more kissing, more outcries, and tears 
of joy. He could not distinguish which was 
Papa, which Natdsha, and which Ptya. Every- 
one shouted, talked, and kissed him at the 
same time. Only his mother was not there, he 
noticed that. 

"And I did not know . . . Nicholas . . . My 
darling! . . ." 

"Here he is ... our own . . . K61ya, a dear fel- 
low . . . How he has changed! . . . Where are 
the candles? . . . Tea! . . ." 

"And me, kiss me!" 

"Dearest . . . and mel" 

S6nya, Natdsha, Pdtya, Anna Mikhdylovna, 
Ve*ra, and the old count were all hugging him, 
and the serfs, men and maids, flocked into the 
room, exclaiming and oh-ing and ah-ing. 

Pe*tya, clinging to his legs, kept shouting, 
"And me too!" 

Natdsha, after she had pulled him down to- 
ward her and covered his face with kisses, hold- 
ing him tight by the skirt of his coat, sprang 
away and pranced up and down in one place 
like a goat and shrieked piercingly. 

All around were loving eyes glistening with 
tears of joy, and all around were lips seeking a 
kiss. 

S6nya too, all rosy red, clung to his arm and, 
radiant with bliss, looked eagerly toward his 
eyes, waiting for the look for which she longed. 
S6nya now was sixteen and she was very pretty, 
especially at this moment of happy, rapturous 
excitement. She gazed at him, not taking her 
eyes off him, and smiling and holding her 
breath. He gave her a grateful look, but was 
still expectant and looking for someone. The 
old countess had not yet come. But now steps 
were heard at the door, steps so rapid that they 
could hardly be his mother's. 

Yet it was she, dressed in a new gown which 
he did not know, made since he had left. All 
the others let him go, and he ran to her. When 
they met, she fell on his breast, sobbing. She 
could not lift her face, but only pressed it to 

Nicholas. 



the cold braiding of his hussar's jacket. Denf* 
sov, who had come into the room unnoticed by 
anyone, stood there and wiped his eyes at the 
sight. 

"Vasili Denfsov, your son's friend," he said, 
introducing himself to the count, who was 
looking inquiringly at him. 

"You are most welcome! I know, I know," 
said the count, kissing and embracing Denisov. 
"Nicholas wrote us ... Natdsha, Vera, look! 
Here is Denfsovl" 

The same happy, rapturous faces turned to 
the shaggy figure of Denisov. 

"Darling Denfsovl" screamed Natdsha, be- 
side herself with rapture, springing to him, 
putting her arms round him, and kissing him. 
This escapade made everybody feel confused. 
Denfsov blushed too, but smiled and, taking 
Natdsha's hand, kissed it. 

Denfsov was shown to the room prepared 
for him, and the Rostovs all gathered round 
Nicholas in the sitting room. 

The old countess, not letting go of his hand 
and kissing it every moment, sat beside him: 
the rest, crowding round him, watched every 
movement, word, or look of his, never taking 
their blissfully adoring eyes off him. His broth- 
er and sisters struggled for the places nearest 
to him and disputed with one another who 
should bring him his tea, handkerchief, and 
pipe. 

Rost6v was very happy in the love they 
showed him; but the first moment of meeting 
had been so beatific that his present joy seemed 
insufficient, and he kept expecting something 
more, more and yet more. 

Next morning, after the fatigues of their 
journey, the travelers slept till ten o'clock. 

In the room next their bedroom there was a 
confusion of sabers, satchels, sabretaches, open 
portmanteaus, and dirty boots. Two freshly 
cleaned pairs with spurs had just been placed 
by the wall. The servants were bringing in 
jugs and basins, hot water for shaving, and 
their well-brushed clothes. There was a mascu- 
line odor and a smell of tobacco. 

"Hallo, Gwfska my pipe!" came Vasili 
Denfsov's husky voice. "Wost6v, get up!" 

Rost6v, rubbing his eyes that seemed glued 
together, raised his disheveled head from the 
hot pillow. 

"Why, is it late?" 

"Late! It's nearly ten o'clock," answered Na- 
tdsha's voice. A rustle of starched petticoats 
and the whispering and laughter of girls' voices 
came from the adjoining room. The door was 



BOOK FOUR 



167 



opened a crack and there was a glimpse of 
something blue, of ribbons, black hair, and 
merry faces. It was Natasha, S6nya, and Pdtya, 
who had come to see whether they were get- 
ting up. 

"Nicholas! Get up!" Natasha's voice was 
again heard at the door. 

"Directly!" 

Meanwhile, Pe" tya, having found and seized 
the sabers in the outer room, with the delight 
boys feel at the sight of a military elder broth- 
er, and forgetting that it was unbecoming for 
the girls to see men undressed, opened the bed- 
room door. 

"Is this your saber?" he shouted. 

The girls sprang aside. Denfsov hid his hairy 
legs under the blanket, looking with a scared 
face at his comrade for help. The door, having 
let Ptya in, closed again. A sound of laughter 
came from behind it. 

"Nicholas! Come outinyourdressinggownl" 
said Natasha's voice. 

"Is this your saber?" asked Pe*tya. "Or is it 
yours?" he said, addressing the black-mustached 
Denisov with servile deference. 

Rost6v hurriedly put something on his feet, 
drew on his dressing gown, and went out. Na- 
tasha had put on one spurred boot and was 
just getting her foot into .the other. S6nya, 
when he came in, was twirling round and was 
about to expand her dresses into a balloon and 
sit down. They were dressed alike, in new pale- 
blue frocks, and were both fresh, rosy, and 
bright. S6nya ran away, but Natdsha, taking 
her brother's arm, led him into the sitting 
room, where they began talking. They hardly 
gave one another time to ask questions and 
give replies concerning a thousand little mat- 
ters which could not interest anyone but them- 
selves. Natasha laughed at every word he said 
or that she said herself, not because what they 
were saying was amusing, but because she felt 
happy and was unable to control her joy which 
expressed itself by laughter. 

"Oh, how nice, how splendid!" she said to 
everything. 

Rost6v felt that, under the influence of the 
warm rays of love, that childlike smile which 
had not once appeared on his face since he left 
home now for the first time after eighteen 
months again brightened his soul and his face. 

"No, but listen," she said, "now you are 
quite a man, aren't you? I'm awfully glad you're 
my brother." She touched his mustache. "I 
want to know what you men are like. Are you 
the same as we? No?" 



"Why did S6nya run away?" asked Rost6v. 

"Ah, yes! That's a whole long story! How 
are you going to speak to her thou or you?" 

"As may happen," said Rost6v. 

"No, call her you, please! I'll tell you all 
about it some other time. No, I'll tell you now. 
You know S6nya's my dearest friend. Such a 
friend that I burned my arm for hersake.Look 
here!" 

She pulled up her muslin sleeve and showed 
him a red scar on her long; slender, delicate 
arm, high above the elbow on that part that is 
covered even by a ball dress. 

"I burned this to prove my love for her. I just 
heated a ruler in the fire and pressed it there!" 

Sitting on the sofa with the little cushions 
on its arms, in what used to be his old school- 
room, and looking into Natasha's wildly bright 
eyes, Rostov re-entered that world of home and 
childhood which had no meaning for anyone 
else, but gave him some of the best joys of his 
life; and the burning of an arm with a ruler as 
a proof of love did not seem to him senseless, 
he understood and was not surprised at it. 

"Well, and is that all?" he asked. 

"We are such friends, such friends! All that 
ruler business was just nonsense, but we are 
friends forever. She, if she loves anyone, does 
it for life, but I don't understand that, I forget 
quickly." 

"Well, what then?" 

"Well, she loves me and you like that." 

Natiisha suddenly flushed. 

"Why, you remember before you went away? 

. . . Well, she says you are to forget all that 

She says: 'I shall love him always, but let him 
be free.' Isn't that lovely and noble! Yes, very 
noble? Isn't it?" asked Natasha, so seriously 
and excitedly that it was evident that what she 
was now saying she had talked of before, with 
tears. 

Rost6v became thoughtful. 

"I never go back on my word," he said. "Be- 
sides, S6nya is so charming that only a fool 
would renounce such happiness." 

"No, no!" cried Natasha, "she and I have al- 
ready talked it over. We knew you'd s,ay so. 
But it won't do, because you see, if you say 
that if you consider yourself bound by your 
promise it will seem as if she had not meant 
it seriously. It makes it as if you were marrying 
her because you must, and that wouldn't do at 
all." 

Rost6v saw that it had been well considered 
by them. S6nya had already struck him by her 
beauty on the preceding day. Today, when he 



i68 



WAR AND PEACE 



had caught a glimpse of her, she seemed still 
more lovely. She was a charming girl of six- 
teen, evidently passionately in love with him 
(he did not doubt that for an instant). Why 
should he not love her now, and even marry 
her, Rost6v thought, but just now there were 
so many other pleasures and interests before 
him! "Yes, they have taken a wise decision," he 
thought, "I must remain free." 

"Well then, that's excellent," said he. "We'll 
talk it over later on. Oh, how glad I am to have 
you! 

"Well, and are you still true to Boris?" he 
continued. 

"Oh, what nonsense!" cried Natdsha, laugh- 
ing. "I don't think about him or anyone else, 
and I don't want anything of the kind." 

"Dear me I Then what are you up to now?" 

"Now?" repeated Natdsha, and a happy smile 
lit up her face. "Have you seen Duport?" 

"No." 

"Not seen Duport the famous dancer? Well 
then, you won't understand. That's what I'm 
up to." 

Curving her arms, Natdsha held out her 
skirts as dancers do, ran back a few steps, 
turned, cut a caper, brought her little feet 
sharply together, and made some steps on the 
very tips of her toes. 

"See, I'm standing! See!" she said, but could 
not maintain herself on her toes any longer. 
"So that's what I'm up tol I'll never marry any- 
one, but will be a dancer. Only don't tell any- 
one." 

Rost6v laughed so loud and merrily that 
Denisov, in his bedroom, felt envious and Na- 
tdsha could not help joining in. 

"No, but don't you think it's nice?" she kept 
repeating. 

"Nice! And so you no longer wish to marry 
Boris?" 

Natdsha flared up. "I don't want to marry 
anyone. And I'll tell him so when I see him!" 

"Dear me!" said Rost6v. 

"But that's all rubbish," Natdsha chattered 
on. "And is Denfsov nice?" she asked. 

"Yes, indeed!" 

"Oh, well then, good-by: go and dress. Is he 
very terrible, Denisov?" 

"Why terrible?" asked Nicholas. "No, Vdska 
is a splendid fellow." 

"You call him Vdska? That's funny! And is 
he very nice?" 

"Very." 

"Well then, be quick. We'll all have break- 
fast together." 



And Natdsha rose and went out of the room 
on tiptoe, like a ballet dancer, but smiling as 
only happy girls of fifteen can smile. When 
Rost6v met S6nya in the drawing room, he red- 
dened. He did not know how to behave with 
her. The evening before, in the first happy mo- 
ment of meeting, they had kissed each other, 
but today they felt it could not be done; he felt 
that everybody, including his mother and sis- 
ters, was looking inquiringly at him and watch- 
ing to see how he would behave with her. He 
kissed her hand and addressed her not as thou 
but as you Sdnya. But their eyes met and said 
thou, and exchanged tender kisses. Her looks 
asked him to forgive her for having dared, by 
Natdsha's intermediacy, to remind him of his 
promise, and then thanked him for his love. 
His looks thanked her for offering him his free- 
dom and told her that one way or another he 
would never cease to love her, for that would 
be impossible. 

"How strange it is," said Wra, selecting a 
moment when all were silent, "that S6nya and 
Nicholas now say you to one another and meet 
like strangers." 

V^ra's remark was correct, as her remarks al- 
ways were, but, like most of her observations, 
it made everyone feel uncomfortable, not only 
S6nya, Nicholas, .and Natdsha, but even the 
old countess, who dreading this love affair 
which might hinder Nicholas from making a 
brilliant match blushed like a girl. 

Denfsov, to Rost6v's surprise, appeared in 
the drawing room with pomaded hair, per- 
fumed, and in a new uniform, looking just as 
smart as he made himself when going into bat- 
tle, and he was more amiable to the ladies and 
gentlemen than Rost6v had ever expected to 
see him. 

CHAPTER II 

ON HIS RETURN to Moscow from the army, 
Nicholas Rost6v was welcomed by his home cir- 
cle as the best of sons, a hero, and their darling 
Nik61enka; by his relations as a charming, at- 
tractive, and polite youngman; by his acquaint- 
ances as a handsome lieutenant of hussars, a 
good dancer, and one of the best matches in 
the city. 

The Rost6vs knew everybody in Moscow. 
The old count had money enough that year, 
as all his estates had been remortgaged, and so 
Nicholas, acquiring a trotter of his own, very 
stylish riding breeches of the latest cut, such as 
no one else yet had in Moscow, and boots of 
the latest fashion, with extremely pointed toes 



BOOK FOUR 



169 



and small silver spurs, passed his time very 
gaily. After a short period of adapting himself 
to the old conditions of life, Nicholas found it 
very pleasant to be at home again. He felt that 
he had grown up and matured very much. His 
despair at failing in a Scripture examination, 
his borrowing money from Gavrfl to pay a 
sleigh driver, his kissing S6nya on the sly he 
now recalled all this as childishness he had left 
immeasurably behind. Now he was a lieuten- 
ant of hussars, in a jacket laced with silver, and 
wearing the Cross of St. George, awarded to 
soldiers for bravery in action, and in the com- 
pany of well-known, elderly, and respected rac- 
ing men was training a trotter of his own for a 
race. He knew a lady on one of the boulevards 
whom he visited of an evening. He led the 
mazurka at the Arkhdrovs' ball, talked about 
the war with Field Marshal Kdmenski, visited 
the English Club, and was on intimate terms 
with a colonel of forty to whom Denisov had 
introduced him. 

His passion for the Emperor had cooled 
somewhat in Moscow. But still, as he did not 
see him and had no opportunity of seeing him, 
he often spoke about him and about his love 
for him, letting it be understood that he had 
not told all and that there was something in 
his feel ings for the Emperor not everyone could 
understand, and with his whole soul he shared 
the adoration then common in Moscow for the 
Emperor, who was spoken of as the "angel in- 
carnate." 

During Rost6v's short stay in Moscow, before 
rejoining the army, he did not draw closer to 
S6nya, but rather drifted away from her. She 
was very pretty and sweet, and evidently deep- 
ly in love with him, but he was at the period of 
youth when there seems so much to do that 
there is no time for that sort of thing and a 
young man fears to bind himself and prizes 
his freedom which he needs for so many other 
things. When he thought of S6nya, during this 
stay in Moscow, he said to himself, "Ah, there 
will be, and there are, many more such girls 
somewhere whom I do not yet know. There 
will be time enough to think about love when 
I want to, but now I have no time." Besides, 
it seemed to him that the society of women was 
rather derogatory to his manhood. He went to 
balls and into ladies' society with an affectation 
of doing so against his will. The races, the 
English Club, sprees with Denisov, and 
visits to a certain housethat was another 
matter and quite the thing for a dashing 
young hussarl 



At the beginning of March, old Count 
Rost6v was very busy arranging a dinner in 
honorof Prince Bagrati6n at the English Club. 

The count walked up and down the hall in 
his dressing gown, giving orders to the club 
steward and to the famous Feoktfst, the Club's 
head cook, about asparagus, fresh cucumbers, 
strawberries, veal, and fish for this dinner. The 
count had been a member and on the commit- 
tee of the Club from the day it was founded. To 
him the Club entrusted theaVrangement of the 
festival in honor of Bagrati6n, for few men 
knew so well how to arrange a feast on an open- 
handed, hospitable scale, and still fewer men 
would be so well able and willing to make up 
out of their own resources what might be need- 
ed for the success of the fete. The club cook and 
the steward listened to the count's orders with 
pleased faces, for they knew that under no oth- 
er management could they so easily extract a 
good profit for themselves from a dinner cost- 
ing several thousand rubles. 

"Well then, mind and have cocks' combs in 
the turtle soup, you know!" 

"Shall we have three cold dishes then?" asked 
the cook. 

The count considered. 

"We can't have lessyes, three . . . the may- 
onnaise, that's one," said he, bending down a 
finger. 

"Then am I to order those large sterlets?" 
asked the steward. 

"Yes, it can't be helped if they won't take 
less. Ah, dear me! I was forgetting. We must 
have another entree. Ah, goodness gracious!" 
he clutched at his head. "Who is going to get 
me the flowers? Dmftri! Eh, Dmitri 1 Gallop off 
to our Moscow estate," he said to the factotum 
who appeared at his call. "Hurry off and tell 
Maksim, the gardener, to set the serfs to work. 
Say that everything out of the hothouses must 
be brought here well wrapped up in felt. I must 
have two hundred pots here on Friday." 

Having given several more orders, he was 
about to go to his "little countess" to have a 
rest, but remembering something else of im- 
portance, he returned again, called back the 
cook and the club steward, and again began 
giving orders. A light footstep and the clinking 
of spurs were heard at the door, and the young 
count, handsome, rosy, with a dark little mus- 
tache, evidently rested and made sleeker by his 
easy life in Moscow, entered the room. 

"Ah, my boy, my head's in a whirl!" said the 
old man with a smile, as if he felt a little con- 
fused before his son, "Now, if you would only 



170 



WAR AND PEACE 



help a bit! I must have singers too. I shall have 
my own orchestra, but shouldn't we get the 
gypsy singers as well? You military men like 
that sort of thing." 

"Really, Papa, I believe Prince Bagrati6n 
worried himself less before the battle of Schon 
Grabern than you do now," said his son with 
a smile. 

The old count pretended to be angry. 

"Yes, you talk, but try it yourself!" 

And the count turned to the cook, who, with 
a shrewd and respectful expression, looked ob- 
servantly and sympathetically at the father and 
son. 

"What have the young people come to now- 
adays, eh, Feoktist?" said he. "Laughing at us 
old fellows!" 

"That's so, your excellency, all they have to 
do is to eat a good dinner, but providing it and 
serving it all up, that's not their business!" 

"That's it, that's it!" exclaimed the count, 
and gaily seizing his son by both hands, he 
cried, "Now I've got you, so take the sleigh 
and pair at once, and go to Bezukhob's, and 
tell him 'Count Ilyd has sent you to ask for 
strawberries and fresh pineapples.' We can't 
get them from anyone else. He's not there him- 
self, so you'll have to go in and ask the prin- 
cesses; and from there go on to the Rasgulyay 
the coachman Ipdtka knows and look up 
the gypsy Ilyushka, the one who danced at 
Count Orl6v's, you remember, in a white Cos- 
sack coat, and bring him along to me." 

"And am I to bring the gypsy girls along 
with him?" asked Nicholas, laughing. "Dear, 
dear! . . ." 

At that moment, with noiseless footsteps and 
with the businesslike, preoccupied, yet meekly 
Christian look which never left her face, Anna 
MikMylovna entered the hall. Though she 
came upon thecount in his dressing gown every 
day, he invariably became confused and 
begged her to excuse his costume. 

"No matter at all, my dear count," she said, 
meekly closing her eyes. "But I'll go to Bezuk- 
hov's myself. Pierre has arrived, and now we 
shall get anything we want from his hothouses. 
I have to see him in any case. He has forward- 
ed me a letter from Boris. Thank God, Boris 
is now on the staff." 

The count was delighted at Anna Mikhay- 
lovna's taking upon herself one of his com- 
missions and ordered the small closed carriage 
for her. 

"Tell Bezukhov to come. I'll put his name 
down. Is bis wife with him?" he asked. 



Anna Mikhdylovna turned up her eyes, and 
profound sadness was depicted on her face. 

"Ah, my dear friend, he is very unfortunate," 
she said. "If what we hear is true, it is dreadful. 
How little we dreamed of such a thing when 
we were rejoicing at his happiness! And such 
a lofty angelic soul as young Bezukhovl Yes, I 
pity him from my heart, and shall try to give 
him what consolation I can." 

"Wh-what is the matter?" asked both the 
young and old Rostov. 

Anna Mikhdylovna sighed deeply. 

"D61okhov, Mary Ivdnovna's son," she said 
in a mysterious whisper, "has compromised her 
completely, they say. Pierre took him up, in- 
vited him to his house in Petersburg, and now 
... she has come here and that daredevil after 
her!" said Anna Mikhylovna, wishing to show 
her sympathy for Pierre, but by involuntary 
intonations and a half smile betraying her 
sympathy for the "daredevil," as she called 
Ddlokhov. "They say Pierre is quite broken by 
his misfortune." 

"Dear, dear! But still tell him to come to the 
Club it will all blow over. It will be a tre- 
mendous banquet." 

Next day, the third of March, soon after one 
o'clock, two hundred and fifty members of the 
English Cluband fifty guests were awaiting the 
guest of honor and hero of the Austrian cam- 
paign, Prince Bagrati6n, to dinner. 

On the first arrival of the news of the battle 
of Austerlitz, Moscow had been bewildered. At 
that time, the Russians were so used to victories 
that on receiving news of the defeat some 
would simply not believe it, while others sought 
some extraordinary explanation of so strange 
an event. In the English Club, where all who 
were distinguished, important, and well in- 
formed forgathered when the news began to 
arrive in December, nothing was said about the 
war and the last battle, as though all were in a 
conspiracy of silence. The men who set the tone 
in conversation Count Rostopchin, Prince 
Yuri Dolgortikov, Valiiev, Count Mdrkov, and 
Prince Vyazemski did not show themselves at 
the Club, but met in private houses in inti- 
mate circles, and the Moscovites who took 
their opinions from others Ilya Rost6v among 
them remained for a while without any defi- 
nite opinion on the subject of the war and 
without leaders. The Moscovites felt that some- 
thing was wrong and that to discuss the bad 
news was difficult, and so it was best to be si- 
lent. But after a while, just as a jury comes out 
of its room, the bigwigs who guided the Club's 



BOOK FOUR 



171 



opinion reappeared, and everybody began 
speaking clearly and definitely. Reasons were 
found for the incredible! unheard-of, and im- 
possible event of a Russian defeat, everything 
became clear, and in all corners of Moscow 
the same things began to be said. These reasons 
were the treachery of the Austrians, a defective 
commissariat, the treachery of the Pole Przeby- 
szwski and of the Frenchman Langeron, Ku- 
tuzov's incapacity, and (it was whispered) the 
youth and inexperience of the sovereign, who 
had trusted worthless and insignificant people. 
But the army, the Russian army, everyone de- 
clared, was extraordinary and had achieved 
miracles of valor. The soldiers, officers, and gen- 
erals were heroes. But the hero of heroes was 
Prince Bagrati6n, distinguished by his Schon 
Grabern affair and by the retreat from Auster- 
litz, where he alone had withdrawn his col- 
umn unbroken and had all day beaten back an 
enemy force twice as numerous as his own. 
What also conduced to Bagrati6n's being se- 
lected as Moscow's hero was the fact that he 
had no connections in the city and was a stran- 
ger there. In his person, honor was shown to a 
simple fighting Russian soldier without con- 
nections and intrigues, and to one who was as- 
sociated by memories of the Italian campaign 
with the name of Suv6rov. Moreover, paying 
such honor to Bagrati6n was the best way of 
expressing disapproval and dislike of Kutiizov. 

"Had there been no Bagrati6n, it would 
have been necessary to invent him," said the 
wit Shinshfn, parodying the words of Voltaire. 
Kutiizov no one spoke of, except some who 
abused him in whispers, calling him a court 
weathercock and an old satyr. 

All Moscow repeated Prince Dolgonikov's 
saying: "If you go on modeling and model- 
ing you must get smeared with clay," suggest- 
ing consolation for our defeat by the memory 
of former victories; and the words of Rostop- 
chfn, that French soldiers have to be incited to 
battle by highfalutin words, and Germans by 
logical arguments to show them that it is more 
dangerous to run away than to advance, but 
that Russian soldiers only need to be restrained 
and held back! On all sides, new and fresh an- 
ecdotes were heard of individual examples of 
heroism shown by our officers and men at Aus- 
terlitz. One had saved a standard, another had 
killed five Frenchmen, a third had loaded five 
cannon singlehanded. Berg was mentioned, by 
those who did not know him, as having, when 
wounded in the right hand, taken his sword in 
the left, and gone forward. Of Bolk6nski, noth- 



ing was said, and only those who knew him in- 
timately regretted that he had died so young, 
leaving a pregnant wife with his eccentric 
father. 

CHAPTER III 

ON THAT third of March, all the rooms in the 
English Club were filled with a hum of conver- 
sation, like the hum of beesswarming in spring- 
time. The members and guests of the Club 
wandered hither and thither, sat, stood, met, 
and separated, some in uniform and some in 
evening dress, and a few here and there with 
powdered hair and in Russian kaftdns. Pow- 
dered footmen, in livery with buckled shoes 
and smart stockings, stood at every door anx- 
iously noting visitors' every movement in order 
to offer their services. Most of those present 
were elderly, respected men with broad, self- 
confident faces, fat fingers, and resolute ges- 
tures and voices. This class of guests and mem- 
bers sat in certain habitual places and met in 
certain habitual groups. A minority of those 
present were casual guests chiefly young men, 
among whom were Denfsov, Rostov, and D6- 
lokhov who was now again an officer in the 
Semenov regiment. The faces of these young 
people, especially those who were militarymen, 
bore that expression of condescending respect 
for their elders which seems to say to the older 
generation, "We are prepared to respect and 
honor you, but all the same remember that the 
future belongs to us." 

Nesvf tski was there as an old member of the 
Club. Pierre, who at his wife's command had 
let his hair grow and abandoned his spectacles, 
went about the rooms fashionably dressed but 
looking sad and dull. Here, as elsewhere, he 
was surrounded by an atmosphere of subser- 
vience to his wealth, and being in the habit of 
lording it over these people, he treated them 
with absent-minded contempt. 

By his age he should have belonged to the 
younger men, but by his wealth and connec- 
tions he belonged to the groups of old and hon- 
ored guests, and so he went from one group to 
another. Some of the most important old men 
were the center of groups which even strangers 
approached respectfully to hear the voices of 
well-known men. The largest circles formed 
round Count Rostopchfn, Valtiev, and Nary- 
shkin. Rostopchfn was describing how the Rus- 
sians had been overwhelmed by flying Austri- 
ans and had had to force their way through 
them with bayonets. 

Valiiev was confidentially telling that Uvdrov 



WAR AND PEACE 



had been sent from Petersburg to ascertain 
what Moscow was thinking about Austerlitz. 

In the third circle, Naryshkin was speaking 
of the meeting of the Austrian Council of War 
at which Suv6rov crowed like a cock in reply to 
the nonsense talked by the Austrian generals. 
Shinshfn, standing close by, tried to make a 
joke, saying that Kutuzov had evidently failed 
to learn from Suv6roveven so simple a thing as 
the art of crowing like a cock, but the elder 
members glanced severely at the wit, making 
him feel that in that place and on that day, it 
was improper to speak so of Kutuzov. 

Count Ilyd Rost6v, hurried and preoccupied, 
went about in his soft boots between the din- 
ing and drawing rooms, hastily greeting the 
important and unimportant, all of whom he 
knew, as if they were all equals, while his eyes 
occasionally sought out his fine well-set-up 
young son, resting on him and winking joyful- 
ly at him. Young Rost6v stood at a window 
with Dolokhov, whose acquaintance he had 
lately made and highly valued. The old count 
came up to them and pressed D61okhov's hand. 

"Please come and visit us ... you know my 
brave boy . . . been together out there . . . both 
playing the hero . . . Ah, Vasfli Igndtovich . . . 
How d'ye do, old fellow?" he said, turning to 
an old man who was passing, but before he had 
finished his greeting there was a general stir, 
and a footman who had run in announced, 
with a frightened face: "He's arrived!" 

Bells rang, the stewards rushed forward, and 
like rye shaken together in a shovelthe 
guests who had been scattered about in differ- 
ent rooms came together and crowded in the 
large drawing room by the door of the ball- 
room. 

Bagrati6n appeared in the doorway of the 
anteroom without hat or sword, which, in ac- 
cord with the Club custom, he had given up to 
the hall porter. He had no lambskin cap on his 
head, nor had he a loaded whip over his shoul- 
der, as when Rost6v had seen him on the eve 
of the battle of Austerlitz, but wore a tight new 
uniform with Russian and foreign Orders, and 
the Star of St. George on his left breast. Evi- 
dently just before coming to the dinner he had 
had his hair and whiskers trimmed, which 
changed his appearance for the worse. There 
was something naively festive in his air, which, 
in con junction with his firm and virile features, 
gave him a rather comical expression. Bekle- 
she*v and Theodore Uvdrov, who had arrived 
with him, paused at the doorway to allow him, 
as the guest of honor, to enter first. Bagrati6n 



was embarrassed, not wishing to avail himself 
of their courtesy, and this caused some delay 
at the doors, but after all he did at last enter 
first. He walked shyly and awkwardly over the 
parquet floor of the reception room, not know- 
ing what to do with his hands; he was more ac- 
customed to walk over a plowed field under 
fire, as he had done at the head of the Kursk 
regiment at Schon Grabern and he would 
have found that easier. The committeemen met 
him at the first door and, expressing their de- 
light at seeing such a highly honored guest, 
took possession of him as it were, without wait- 
ing for his reply, surrounded him, and led 
him to the drawing room. It was at first impos- 
sible to enter the drawing-room door for the 
crowd of members and guests jostling one an- 
other and trying to get a good look at Bagrati6n 
over each other's shoulders, as if he were some 
rare animal. Count Ilyd Rost6v, laughing and 
repeating the words, "Make way, dear boy! 
Make way, make way!" pushed through the 
crowd more energetically than anyone, led the 
guests into the drawing room, and seated them 
on the center sofa. The bigwigs, the most re- 
spected members of the Club, beset the new ar- 
rivals. Count Ilya, again thrusting his way 
through the crowd, went out of the drawing 
room and reappeared a minute later with an- 
other committeeman, carrying a large silver sal- 
ver which hepresented to Prince Bagrati6n.On 
the salver lay some verses composed and print- 
ed in the hero's honor. Bagrati6n, on seeing the 
salver,glanced around in dismay, as though seek- 
ing help. But all eyes demanded that he should 
submit. Feeling himself in their power, he res- 
olutely took the salver with both hands and 
looked sternly and reproachfully at the count 
who had presented it to him. Someone oblig- 
ingly took the dish from Bagrati6n (or he 
would, it seemed, have held it till evening and 
have gone in to dinner with it) and drew his 
attention to the verses. 

"Well, I will read them, then!" Bagrati6n 
seemed to say, and, fixing his weary eyes on the 
paper, began to read them with a fixed and 
serious expression. But the author himself took 
the verses and began reading them aloud. Ba- 
grati6n bowed his head and listened: 

Bring glory then to Alexander's reign 

And on the throne our Titus shield. 

A dreaded foe be thou, kindhearted as a man, 

A Rhipheus at home, a Caesar in the field! 

E'en fortunate Napoleon 

Knows by experience f now, Bagratidn, 

And dare not Herculean Russians trouble. . . . 



BOOK FOUR 

But before he had finished reading, a stentori- 
an major-domo announced that dinner was 
ready! The door opened, and from the din- 
ing room came the resounding strains of the 
polonaise: 



173 



Conquest's joyful thunder waken, 
Triumph, valiant Russians, now! . . . 

and Count Rost6v, glancing angrily at the au- 
thor who went on reading his verses, bowed to 
Bagrati6n. Everyone rose, feeling that dinner 
was more important than verses, and Bagrati6n, 
again preceding all the rest, went in to dinner. 
He was seated in the place of honor between 
two Alexanders Bekleshev and Naryshkin 
which was a significant allusion to the name of 
the sovereign. Three hundred persons took 
their seats in the dining room, according to 
their rank and importance: the more impor- 
tant nearer to the honored guest, as naturally 
as water flows deepest where the land lies low- 
est. 

Just before dinner, Count Ilya Rost6v pre- 
sented his son to Bagrati6n, who recognized 
him and said a few words to him, disjointed 
and awkward, as were all the words he spoke 
that day, and Count Ilya looked joyfully and 
proudly around while Bagrati6n spoke to his 
son. 

Nicholas Rost6v, with Denisov and his new 
acquaintance, D61okhov, sat almost at the mid- 
dle of the table. Facing them sat Pierre, beside 
Prince Nesvitski. Count Ilya Rost6v with the 
other members of the committee sat facing Ba- 
grati6n and, as the very personification of 
Moscow hospitality, did the honors to the 
prince. 

His efforts had not been in vain. The dinner, 
both the Lenten and the other fare, was splen- 
did, yet he could not feel quite at ease till the 
end of the meal. He winked at the butler, whis- 
pered directions to the footmen, and awaited 
each expected dish with some anxiety. Every- 
thing was excellent. With the second course, a 
gigantic sterlet (at sight of which Ilya Rost6v 
blushed with self-conscious pleasure), the foot- 
men began popping corks and filling the cham- 
pagne glasses. After the fish, which made a cer- 
tain sensation, the count exchanged glances 
with the other committeemen. "There will be 
many toasts, it's time to begin," he whispered, 
and taking up his glass, he rose. All were silent, 
waiting for what he would say. 

"To the health of our Sovereign, the Em- 
peror!" he cried, and at the same moment his 
kindly eyes grew moist with tears of joy and 



enthusiasm. The band immediately struck up 
"Conquest's joyful thunder waken . . ." All 
rose and cried "Hurrah!" Bagrati6n also rose 
and shouted "Hurrah!" in exactly the same 
voice in which he had shouted it on the field 
at Schon Grabern. Young Rost6v's ecstatic 
voice could be heard above the three hundred 
others. He nearly wept. "To the health of our 
Sovereign , the Emperor ! " he roared, ' 'Hurrah ! ' ' 
and emptying his glass at one gulp he dashed 
it to the floor. Many followed his example, and 
the loud shouting continued for a long time. 
When the voices subsided, the footmen cleared 
away the broken glass and everybody sat down 
again, smiling at the noise they had made and 
exchanging remarks. The old count rose once 
more, glanced at a note lying beside his plate, 
and proposed a toast, "To the health of the 
hero of our last campaign, Prince Peter Ivano- 
vich Bagrati6nl" and again his blue eyes grew 
moist. "Hurrah!" cried the three hundred 
voices again, but instead of the band a choir 
began singing a cantata composed by Paul 
Ivanovich Kutuzov: 

Russians! O'er all barriers on! 

Courage conquest guarantees; 

Have we not Bagratidnf 

He brings foemen to their knees, . . . etc. 

As soon as the singing was over, another and 
another toast was proposed and Count Ilyd 
Rost6v became more and more moved, more 
glass was smashed, and the shouting grew loud- 
er. They drank to Bekleshev, Naryshkin, Uv- 
rov, Dolgoriikov, Aprdksin, Valiiev, to thecom- 
mittee, to all the Club members and to all the 
Club guests, and finally to Count Ilya Rost6v 
separately, as the organizer of the banquet. At 
that toast, the count took out his handkerchief 
and, covering his face, wept outright. 

CHAPTER IV 

PIERRE SAT OPPOSITE D61okhov and Nicholas 
Rost6v. As usual, he ate and drank much, and 
eagerly. But those who knew him intimately 
noticed that some great change had come over 
him that day. He was silent all through dinner 
and looked about, blinking and scowling, or, 
with fixed eyes and a look of complete absent- 
mindedness, kept rubbing the bridge of his 
nose. His face was depressed and gloomy. He 
seemed to see and hear nothing of what was 
going on around him and to be absorbed by 
some depressing and unsolved problem. 

The unsolved problem that tormented him 
was caused by hints given by the princess, his 
cousin, at Moscow, concerning D61okhov's 



WAR AND PEACE 



intimacy with his wife, and by an anonymous 
letter he had received that morning, which in 
the mean jocular way common to anonymous 
letters said that he saw badly through his spec- 
tacles, but that his wife's connection with D61- 
okhov was a secret to no one but himself. 
Pierre absolutely disbelieved both the princess* 
hints and the letter, but he feared now to look 
at D61okhov, who was sitting opposite him. 
Every time he chanced to meet Drilokhov's 
handsome insolent eyes, Pierre felt something 
terrible and monstrous rising in his soul and 
turned quickly away. Involuntarily recalling 
his wife's past and her relations with D61okhov, 
Pierre saw clearly that what was said in the let- 
ter might be true, or might at least seem to be 
true had it not referred to his wife. He invol- 
untarily remembered how D61okhov, who had 
fully recovered his former position after the 
campaign, had returned to Petersburg and 
come to him. Availing himself of his friendly 
relations with Pierre as a boon companion, 
D6Iokhov had come straight to his house, and 
Pierre had put him up and lent him money. Pi- 
erre recalled how Hlne had smilingly ex- 
pressed disapproval of D61okhov's living at 
their house, and how cynically Dolokhov had 
praised his wife's beauty to him and from that 
time till they came to Moscow had not left 
them for a day. 

"Yes, he is very handsome," thought Pierre, 
"and I know him. It would be particularly 
pleasant to him to dishonor my name and rid- 
icule me, just because I have exerted myself on 
his behalf, befriended him, and helped him. I 
know and understand what a spice that would 
add to the pleasure of deceiving me, if it real- 
ly were true. Yes, if it were true, but I do not 
believe it. I have no right to, and can't, believe 
it." He remembered the expression Dolokhov's 
face assumed in his moments of cruelty, as 
when tying the policeman to the bear and 
dropping them into the water, or when he chal- 
lenged a man to a duel without any reason, or 
shot a post-boy's horse with a pistol. That ex- 
pression was often on D61okhov's face when 
looking at him. "Yes, he is a bully," thought 
Pierre, "to kill a man means nothing to him. 
It must seem to him that everyone is afraid of 
him, and that must please him. He must think 
that I, too, am afraid of him and in fact I am 
afraid of him/' he thought, and again he felt 
something terrible and monstrous rising in his 
soul. D61okhov, Denisov, and Rost6vwere now 
sitting opposite Pierre and seemed very gay. 
Rost6v was talking merrily to his two friends, 



one of whom was a dashing hussar and the oth- 
er a notorious duelist and rake, and every now 
and then he glanced ironically at Pierre, whose 
preoccupied, absent-minded, and massive fig- 
ure was a very noticeable one at the dinner. 
Rost6v looked inimically at Pierre, first be- 
cause Pierre appeared to his hussar eyes as a 
rich civilian, the husband of a beauty, and in 
a word an old woman; and secondly because 
Pierre in his preoccupation and absent-mind- 
edness had not recognized Rostov and had not 
responded to his greeting. When the Emperor's 
health was drunk, Pierre, lost in thought, did 
not rise or lift his glass. 

"What are you about?" shouted Rost6v, look- 
ing at him in an ecstacyof exasperation. "Don't 
you hear it's His Majesty the Emperor's health?" 

Pierre sighed, rose submissively, emptied his 
glass, and, waiting till all were seated again, 
turned with his kindly smile to Rostov. 

"Why, I didn't recognize you!" he said. But 
Rost6v was otherwise engaged; he was shout- 
ing "Hurrah!" 

"Why don't you renew the acquaintance?" 
said D61okhov to Rost6v. 

"Confound him, he's a fool!" said Rost6v. 

"One should make up to the husbands of 
pretty women," said Denisov. 

Pierre did not catch what they were saying, 
but knew they were talking about him. He red- 
dened and turned away. 

"Well, now to the health of handsome wom- 
en!" said D61okhov, and with a serious expres- 
sion, but with a smile lurking at the corners of 
his mouth, he turned with his glass to Pierre. 

"Here's to the health of lovely women, Pe- 
tcrkin and their lovers!" he added. 

Pierre, with downcast eyes, drank out of his 
glass without looking at D61okhov or answer- 
ing him. The footman, who was distributing 
leaflets with Kutuzov's cantata, laid one before 
Pierre as one of the principal guests. He was 
just going to take it when D61okhov, leaning 
across, snatched it from his hand and began 
reading it. Pierre looked at D61okhov and his 
eyes dropped, the something terrible and mon- 
strous that had tormented him all dinnertime 
rose and took possession of him. He leaned his 
whole massive body across the table. 

"How dare you take it?" he shouted. 

Hearing that cry and seeing to whom it was 
addressed, Nesvitski and the neighbor on his 
right quickly turned in alarm to Bezukhov. 

"Don't! Don't! What are you about?" whis- 
pered their frightened voices. 

D61okhov looked at Pierre with clear, mirth- 



BOOK FOUR 



ful, cruel eyes, and that smile of his which 
seemed to say, "Ah! This is what I like!" 

"You shan't have it!" he said distinctly. 

Pale, with quivering lips, Pierre snatched the 
copy. 

"You . . . ! you . . . scoundrel! I challenge 
you!" he ejaculated, and, pushing back his 
chair, he rose from the table. 

At the very instant he did this and uttered 
those words, Pierre felt that the question of his 
wife's guilt which had been tormenting him the 
whole day was finally and indubitably answered 
in the affirmative. He hated her and was for- 
ever sundered from her. Despite Denisov's re- 
quest that he would take no part in the matter, 
Rost6v agreed to be Dolokhov's second, and 
after dinner he discussed the arrangements for 
the duel with Nesvitski, Beziikhov's second. 
Pierre went home, but Rost6v with Dolokhov 
and Denfsov stayed on at the Club till late, 
listening to the gypsies and other singers. 

"Well then, till tomorrow at Sok61niki,"said 
D61okhov, as he took leave of Rostov in the 
Club porch. 

"And do you feel quite calm?" Rost6v asked. 

D61okhov paused. 

"Well, you see, I'll tell you the whole secret 
of dueling in two words. If you are going to 
fight a duel, and you make a will and write af- 
fectionate letters to your parents, and if you 
think you may be killed, you are a fool and are 
lost for certain. But go with the firm intention 
of killing your man as quickly and surely as 
possible, and then all will be right, as our bear 
huntsman at Kostromd used to tell me. 'Every- 
one fears a bear/ he says, 'but when you see one 
your fear's all gone, and your only thought is 
not to let^him get away!' And that's how it is 
with me. A demain, mon cher" * 

Next day, at eight in the morning, Pierre 
and Nesvftski drove to the Sok61niki forest and 
found D61okhov, Denfsov, and Rost6v already 
there. Pierre had the air of a man preoccupied 
with considerations which had no connection 
with the matter in hand. His haggard face was 
yellow. He had evidently not slept that night. 
He looked about distractedly and screwed up 
his eyes as if dazzled by the sun. He was entirely 
absorbed by two considerations: his wife's 
guilt, of which after his sleepless night he had 
not the slightest doubt, and the guiltlessness of 
D61okhov, who had no reason to preserve the 

honor of a man who was nothing to him "I 

should perhaps have done the same thing in his 
place," thought Pierre. "It's even certain that 

1 Till tomorrow, my dear fellow. 



I should have done the same, then why this 
duel, this murder? Either I shall kill him, or he 
will hit me in the head, or elbow, or knee. Can't 
I go away from here, run away, bury myself 
somewhere?" passed through his mind. But just 
at moments when such thoughts occurred to 
him, he would ask in a particularly calm and 
absent-minded way, which inspired the respect 
of the onlookers, "Will it be long? Are things 
ready?" 

When all was ready, the sabers stuck in the 
snow to mark the barriers, and the pistols load- 
ed, Nesvitski went up to Pierre. 

"I should not be doing my duty, Count," he 
said in timid tones, "and should not justify 
your confidence and the honor you have done 
me in choosing me for your second, if at this 
grave, this very grave, moment I did not tell 
you the whole truth. I think there is no suffi- 
cient ground for this affair, or for blood to be 
shed over it. ... You were not right, not quite 
in the right, you were impetuous . . ." 

"Oh yes, it is horribly stupid," said Pierre. 

"Then allow me to express your regrets, and 
I am sure your opponent will accept them," 
said Nesvftski (who like the others concerned 
in the affair, and like everyone in similar cases, 
did not yet believe that the affair had come to 
an actual duel). "You know, Count, it is much 
more honorable to admit one's mistake than to 
let matters become irreparable. There was no 
insult on either side. Allow me to convey . . ." 

"No! What is there to talk about?" said Pi- 
erre. "It'sall the same Is every thing ready?" 

he added. "Only tell me where to go and where 
to shoot," he said with an unnaturally gentle 
smile. 

He took the pistol in his hand and began ask- 
ing about the working of the trigger, as he had 
not before held a pistol in his hand a fact 
that he did not wish to confess. 

"Oh yes, like that, I know, I only forgot," 
said he. 

"No apologies, none whatever," said D61o- 
khov to Denfsov (who on his side had been at- 
tempting a reconciliation), and he also went 
up to the appointed place. 

The spot chosen for the duel was some eighty 
paces from the road, where the sleighs had 
been left, in a small clearing in the pine forest 
covered with melting snow, the frost having 
begun to break up during the last few days. 
The antagonists stood forty paces apart at the 
farther edge of the clearing. The seconds, meas- 
uring the paces, left tracks in the deep wet 
snow between the place where they had been 



176 



WAR AND PEACE 



standingand Nesvftski'sand D61okhov's sabers, 
which were stuck into the ground ten paces 
apart to mark the barrier. It was thawing and 
misty; at forty paces' distance nothing could 
be seen. For three minutes all had been ready, 
but they still delayed and all were silent. 

CHAPTER V 
"WELL, BEGIN!" said D61okhov. 

"All right," said Pierre, still smiling in the 
same way. A feeling of dread was in the air. It 
was evident that the affair so lightly begun 
could no longer be averted but was taking its 
course independently of men's will. 

Denisov first went to the barrier and an- 
nounced: "As the adve'sawies have wefused a 
weconciliation, please pwoceed.Take your pis- 
tols, and at the word thwee begin to advance. 

"O-ne! T-wol Thwee!" he shouted angrily 
and stepped aside. 

The combatants advanced along the trodden 
tracks, nearer and nearer to one another, be- 
ginning to see one another through the mist. 
They had the right to fire when they liked as 
they approached the barrier. D61okhov walked 
slowly without raising his pistol, looking in- 
tently with his bright, sparkling blue eyes into 
his antagonist's face. His mouth wore its usual 
semblance of a smile. 

"So I can fire when I like!" said Pierre, and 
at the word "three," he went quickly forward, 
missing the trodden path and stepping into the 
deep snow. He held the pistol in his right hand 
at arm's length, apparently afraid of shooting 
himself with it. His left hand he held careful- 
ly back, because he wished to support his right 
hand with it and knew he must not do so. Hav- 
ing advanced six paces and strayed off the track 
into the snow, Pierre looked down at his feet, 
then quickly glanced at D61okhov and, bend- 
ing his finger as he had been shown, fired. Not 
at all expecting so loud a report, Pierre shud- 
dered at the sound and then, smiling at his own 
sensations, stood still. The smoke, rendered 
denser by the mist, prevented him from seeing 
anything for an instant, but there was no second 
report as he had expected. He only heard D6- 
lokhov's hurried steps, and his figure came in 
view through the smoke. He was pressing one 
hand to his left side, while the other clutched 
his drooping pistol. His face was pale. Rost6v 
ran toward him and said something. 

"No-o-o!" muttered D61okhov through his 
teeth, "no, it's not over." And after stumbling 
a few staggering steps right up to the saber, he 
sank on the snow beside it. His left hand was 



bloody; he wiped it on his coat and supported 
himself with it. His frowning face was pallid 
and quivered. 

"Plea ..." began D61okhov, but could not at 
first pronounce the word. 

"Please," he uttered with an effort. 

Pierre, hardly restraining his sobs, began 
running toward D61okhov and was about to 
cross the space between the barriers, when D6- 
lokhov cried: 

"To your barrier! "and Pierre, grasping what 
was meant, stopped by his saber. Only ten paces 
divided them. D61okhov lowered his head to 
the snow, greedily bit at it, again raised his 
head, adjusted himself, drew in his legs and sat 
up, seeking a firm center of gravity. He sucked 
and swallowed the cold snow, his lips quivered, 
but his eyes, still smiling, glittered with effort 
and exasperation as he mustered his remaining 
strength. He raised his pistol and aimed. 

"Sideways! Cover yourself with your pistol!" 
ejaculated Nesvitski. 

"Cover yourself!" even Denisov cried to his 
adversary. 

Pierre, with a gentle smile of pity and re- 
morse, his arms and legs helplessly spread out, 
stood with his broad chest directly facing D6- 
lokhovand looked sorrowfully at him. Dcnfsov, 
Rostov, and Nesvitski closed their eyes. At the 
same instant they heard a report and Dolo- 
khov's angry cry. 

"Missed!" shouted Dolokhov, and he lay 
helplessly, face downwards on the snow. 

Pierre clutched his temples, and turning 
round went into the forest, trampling through 
the deep snow, and muttering incoherent 
words: 

"Folly . . . folly! Death . . . lies . . ." he re- 
peated, puckering his face. 

Nesvf tski stopped him and took him home. 

Rost6v and Denisov drove away with the 
wounded D61okhov. 

The latter lay silent in the sleigh with closed 
eyes and did not answer a word to the ques- 
tions addressed to him. But on entering Mos- 
cow he suddenly came to and, lifting his head 
with an effort, took Rost6v, who was sitting be- 
side him, by the hand. Rost6v was struck by the 
totally altered and unexpectedly rapturous 
and tender expression on Ddlokhov's face. 

"Well? How do you feel?" he asked. 

"Bad! But it's not that, my friend "said D61- 
okhov with a gasping voice. "Where are we? In 
Moscow, I know. I don't matter, but I have 
killed her, killed . . . She won't get over it! She 
won't survive. . . ." 



BOOK FOUR 



177 



"Who?" asked Rost6v. 

"My mother! My mother, my angel, my 
adored angel mother," and D61okhov pressed 
Rostov's hand and burst into tears. 

When he had become a little quieter, he ex- 
plained to Rost6v that he was living with his 
mother, who, if she saw him dying, would not 
survive it. He implored Rost6v to go on and 
prepare her. 

Rost6v went on ahead to do what was asked, 
and to his great surprise learned that D61okhov 
the brawler, D61okhov the bully, lived in Mos- 
cow with an old mother and a hunchback sis- 
ter, and was the most affectionate of sons and 
brothers. 

CHAPTER VI 

PIERRE HAD of late rarely seen his wife alone. 
Both in Petersburg and in Moscow their house 
was always full of visitors. The night after the 
duel he did not go to his bedroom but, as he 
often did, remained in his father's room, that 
huge room in which Count Bezukhovhad died. 

He lay down on the sofa meaning to fall 
asleep and forget all that had happened to him, 
but could not do so. Such a storm of feelings, 
thoughts, and memories suddenly arose within 
him that he could not fall asleep, nor even re- 
main in one place, but had to jump up and 
pace the room with rapid steps. Now he seemed 
to see her in the early days of their marriage, 
with bare shoulders and a languid, passionate 
look on her face, and then immediately he saw 
beside her D61okhov's handsome, insolent, 
hard, and mocking face as he had seen it at the 
banquet, and then that same face pale, quiver- 
ing, and suffering, as it had been when he reeled 
and sank on the snow. 

"What has happened?" he asked himself. "I 
have killed her lover, yes, killed my wife's lover. 
Yes, that was it! And why? How did I come to 
do it?" "Because you married her," answered 
an inner voice. 

"But in what was I to blame?" he asked. "In 
marrying her without loving her; in deceiving 
yourself and her." And he vividly recalled that 
moment after supper at Prince Vasili's, when 
he spoke those words he had found so difficult 
to utter: "I love you." "It all comes from that! 
Even then I felt it," he thought. "I felt then 
that it was not so, that I had no right to do it. 
And so it turns out." 

He remembered his honeymoon and blushed 
at the recollection. Particularly vivid, humili- 
ating, and shameful was the recollection of 
how one day soon after his marriage he came 



out of the bedroom into his study a little be- 
fore noon in his silk dressing gown and found 
his head steward there, who, bowing respect- 
fully, looked into his face and at his dressing 
gown and smiled slightly, as if expressing re- 
spectful understanding of his employer's hap- 
piness. 

"But how often I have felt proud of her, 
proud of her majestic beauty and social tact," 
thought he; "been proud of my house, in 
which she received all Petersburg, proud of 
her unapproachability and beauty. So this is 
what I was proud of! I then thought that I did 
not understand her. How often when consider- 
ing her character I have told myself that I was 
to blame for not understanding her, for not 
understanding that constant composure and 
complacency and lack of all interests or desires, 
and the whole secret lies in the terrible truth 
that she is a depraved woman. Now I have 
spoken that terrible word to myself all has be- 
come clear. 

"Anatole used to come to borrow money 
from her and used to kiss her naked shoulders. 
She did not give him the money, but let her- 
self be kissed. Her father in jest tried to rouse 
her jealousy, and she replied with a calm smile 
that she was not so stupid as to be jealous: 'Let 
him do what he pleases,' she used to say of me. 
One day I asked her if she felt any symptoms 
of pregnancy. She laughed contemptuously and 
said she was not a fool to want to have chil- 
dren, and that she was not going to have any 
children by me." 

Then he recalled the coarseness and blunt- 
ness of her thoughts and the vulgarity of the 
expressions that were natural to her, though 
she had been brought up in the most aristo- 
cratic circles. 

"I'm not such a fool. . . . Just you try it on. 
. . . Allez-vous promener/' 1 she used to say. 
Often seeing the success she had with young 
and old men and women Pierre could not un- 
derstand why he did not love her. 

"Yes, I never loved her," said he to himself; 
"I knew she was a depraved woman," he re- 
peated, "but dared not admit it to myself. And 
now there's D61okhov sitting in the snow with 
a forced smile and perhaps dying, while meet- 
ing my remorse with some forced bravado!" 

Pierre was one of those people who, in spite 
of an appearance of what is called weak char- 
acter, do not seek a confidant in their troubles. 
He digested his sufferings alone. 

"It is all, all her fault," he said to himself; 

1 "You clear out of this." 



i 7 8 



WAR AND PEACE 



"but what of that? Why did I bind myself to 
her? Why did I say 'Je vous aime' l to her, 
which was a lie, and worse than a lie? I am 
guilty and must endure . . . what? A slur on 
my name? A misfortune for life? Oh, that's 
nonsense," he thought. "The slur on my name 
and honor that's all apart from myself. 

"Louis XVI was executed because they said 
he was dishonorable and a criminal," came in- 
to Pierre's head, "and from their point of view 
they were right, as were those too who canon- 
ized him and died a martyr's death for his sake. 
Then Robespierre was beheaded for being a 
despot. Who is right and who is wrong? No 
one! But if you are alive live: tomorrow you'll 
die as I might have died an hour ago. And is it 
worth tormenting oneself, when one has only 
a moment of life in comparison with eternity?" 

But at the moment when he imagined him- 
self calmed by such reflections, she suddenly 
came into his mind as she was at the moments 
when he had most strongly expressed his in- 
sincere love for her, and he felt the blood rush 
to his heart and had again to get up and move 
about and break and tear whatever came to his 
hand. "Why did I tell her that 'Je vous aime'?" 
he kept repeating to himself. And when he 
had said it for the tenth time, Molire's words: 
"Mais que diable alloit-il faire dans cette ga- 
leref" * occurred to him, and he began to laugh 
at himself. 

In the night he called his valet and told him 
to pack up to go to Petersburg. He could not 
imagine how he could speak to her now. He 
resolved to go away next day and leave a letter 
informing her of his intention to part from 
her forever. 

Next morning when the valet came into the 
room with his coffee, Pierre was lying asleep 
on the ottoman with an open book in his hand. 

He woke up and looked round for a while 
with a startled expression, unable to realize 
where he was. 

"The countess told me to inquire whether 
your excellency was at home," said the valet. 

But before Pierre could decide what answer 
he would send, the countess herself in a white 
satin dressing gown embroidered with silver 
and with simply dressed hair (two immense 
plaits twice round her lovely head like a coro- 
net) entered the room, calm and majestic, ex- 
cept that there was a wrathful wrinkle on her 

1 1 love you. 

8 "What the dickens did he get himself into that 
mess for?" or, more literally, "What the devil was 
he going to do in that galley?" TR. 



rather prominent marble brow. With her im- 
perturbable calm she did not begin to speak in 
front of the valet. She knew of the duel and 
had come to speak about it. She waited till the 
valet had set down the coffee things and left 
the room. Pierre looked at her timidly over his 
spectacles, and like a hare surrounded by 
hounds who lays back her ears and continues 
to crouch motionless before her enemies, he 
tried to continue reading. But feeling this to 
be senseless and impossible, he again glanced 
timidly at her. She did not sit down but looked 
at him with a contemptuous smile, waiting for 
the valet to go. 

"Well, what's this now? What have you been 
up to now, I should like to know?" she asked 
sternly. 

"I? What have I . . . ?" stammered Pierre. 

"So it seems you're a hero, eh? Come now, 
what was this duel about? What is it meant to 
prove? What? I ask you." 

Pierre turned over heavily on the ottoman 
and opened his mouth, but could not reply. 

"If you won't answer, I'll tell you... "Hellene 
went on. "You believe everything you're told. 
You were told . . ." Hdene laughed, "that D6- 
lokhov was my lover," she said in French with 
her coarse plainness of speech, uttering the 
word amant as casually as any otherword, "and 
you believed it! Well, what have you proved? 
What does this duel prove? That you're a fool, 
que vous lies un sot, but everybody knew that. 
What will be the result? That I shall be the 
laughingstock of all Moscow, that everyone 
will say that you, drunk and not knowing what 
you were about, challenged a man you are 
jealous of without cause." Helene raised her 
voice and became more and more excited, "A 
man who's a better man than you in every 
way . . ." 

"Hm . . . Hm . . . !" growled Pierre, frown- 
ing without looking at her, and not moving a 
muscle. 

"And how could you believe he was my 
lover? Why? Because I like his company? If 
you were cleverer and more agreeable, I should 
prefer yours." 

"Don't speak to me ... I beg you," muttered 
Pierre hoarsely. 

"Why shouldn't I speak? I can speak as I 
like, and I tell you plainly that there are not 
many wives with husbands such as you who 
would not have taken lovers (des amants), but 
I have not done so," said she. 

Pierre wished to say something, looked at 
her with eyes whose strange expression she did 



BOOK FOUR 



179 



not understand, and lay down again. He was 
suffering physically at that moment, there was 
a weight on his chest and he could not breathe. 
He knew that he must do something to put an 
end to this suffering, but what he wanted to do 
was too terrible. 

"We had better separate," he muttered in a 
broken voice. 

"Separate? Very well, but only if you give 
me a fortune," said H61ne. "Separate! That's 
a thing to frighten me with!" 

Pierre leaped up from the sofa and rushed 
staggering toward her. 

"I'll kill you!" he shouted, and seizing the 
marble top of a table with a strength he had 
never before felt, he made a step toward her 
brandishing the slab. 

Hlne's face became terrible, she shrieked 
and sprang aside. His father's nature showed 
itself in Pierre. He felt the fascination and de- 
light of frenzy. He flung down the slab, broke 
it, and swooping down on her with outstretched 
hands shouted, "Get out!" in such a terrible 
voice that the whole house heard it with hor- 
ror. God knows what he would have done at 
that moment had H^lene not fled from the 
room. 

A week later Pierre gave his wife full power 
to control all his estates in Great Russia, which 
formed the larger part of his property, and left 
for Petersburg alone. 

CHAPTER VII 

Two MONTHS had elapsed since the news of 
the battle of Austerlitz and the loss of Prince 
Andrew had reached Bald Hills, and in spite 
of the letters sent through the embassy and all 
the searches made, his body had not been 
found nor was he on the list of prisoners. What 
was worst of all for his relations was the fact 
that there was still a possibility of his having 
been picked up on the battlefield by the peo- 
ple of the place and that he might now be ly- 
ing, recovering or dying, alone among stran- 
gers and unable to send news of himself. The 
gazettes from which the old prince first heard 
of the defeat at Austerlitz stated, as usual very 
briefly and vaguely, that after brilliant engage- 
ments the Russians had had to retreat and had 
made their withdrawal in perfect order. The 
old prince understood from this official report 
that our army had been defeated. A week after 
the gazette report of the battle of Austerlitz 
came a letter from Kutiizov informing the 
prince of the fate that had befallen his son. 



"Your son," wrote Kutiizov, "fell before my 
eyes, a standard in his hand and at the head of 
a regiment he fell as a hero, worthy of his fa- 
ther and his fatherland. To the great regret of 
myself and of the whole army it is still uncer- 
tain whether he is alive or not. I comfort my- 
self and you with the hope that your son is 
alive, for otherwise he would have been men- 
tioned among the officers found on the field of 
battle, a list of whom has been sent me under 
flag of truce." 

After receiving this news late in the evening, 
when he was alone in his study, the old prince 
went for his walk as usual next morning, but 
he was silent with his steward, the gardener, 
and the architect, and though he looked very 
grim he said nothing to anyone. 

When Princess Mary went to him at the us- 
ual hour he was working at his lathe and, as 
usual, did not look round at her. 

"Ah, Princess Mary!" he said suddenly in an 
unnatural voice, throwing down his chisel. 
(The wheel continued to revolve by its own 
impetus, and Princess Mary long remembered 
the dying creak of that wheel, which merged 
in her memory with what followed.) 

She approached him, saw his face, and some- 
thing gave way within her. Her eyes grew dim. 
By the expression of her father's face, not sad, 
not crushed, but angry and working unnatural- 
ly, she saw that hanging over her and about to 
crush her was some terrible misfortune, the 
worst in life, one she had not yet experienced, 
irreparable and incomprehensible the death 
of one she loved. 

"Father! Andrew!" said the ungraceful, 
awkward princess with such an indescribable 
charm of sorrow and self-forgetfulness that 
her father could not bear her look but turned 
away with a sob. 

"Bad news! He's not among the prisoners 
nor among the killed! Kutuzov writes . . ." and 
he screamed as piercingly as if he wished to 
drive the princess away by that scream . . . 
"Killed!" 

The princess did not fall down or faint. She 
was already pale, but on hearing these words 
her face changed and something brightened in 
her beautiful, radiant eyes. It was as if joy a 
supreme joy apart from the joys and sorrows of 
this world overflowed the great grief within 
her. She forgot all fear of her father, went up 
to him, took his hand, and drawing him down 
put her arm round his thin, scraggy neck. 

"Father," she said, "do not turn away from 
me, let us weep together." 



i8o 



WAR AND PEACE 



"Scoundrels! Blackguards 1" shrieked the old 
man, turning his face away from her. "Destroy- 
ing the army, destroying the men! And why? 
Go, go and tell Lise." 

The princess sank helplessly into an arm- 
chair beside her father and wept. She saw her 
brother now as he had been at the moment 
when he took leave of her and of Lise, his look 
tender yet proud. She saw him tender and 
amused as he was when he put on the little 
icon. "Did he believe? Had he repented of his 
unbelief? Was he now there? There in the 
realms of eternal peace and blessedness?" she 
thought. 

"Father, tell me how it happened," she asked 
through her tears. 

"Go! Go! Killed in battle, where the best of 
Russian men and Russia's glory were led to de- 
struction. Go, Princess Mary. Go and tell Lise. 
I will follow." 

When Princess Mary returned from her fa- 
ther, the little princess sat working and looked 
up with that curious expression of inner, hap- 
py calm peculiar to pregnant women. It was 
evident that her eyes did not see Princess Mary 
but were looking within . . . into herself ... at 
something joyful and mysterious taking place 
within her. 

"Mary," she said, moving away from the 
embroidery frame and lying back, "give me 
your hand." She took her sister-in-law's hand 
and held it below her waist. 

Her eyes were smilingexpectantly, her downy 
lip rose and remained lifted in childlike hap- 
piness. 

Princess Mary knelt down before her and 
hid her face in the folds of her sister-in-law's 
dress. 

"There, there! Do you feel it? I feel so 
strange. And do you know, Mary, I am going 
to love him very much," said Lise, looking 
with bright and happy eyes at her sister-in-law. 

Princess Mary could not lift her head, she 
was weeping. 

"What is the matter, Mary?" 

"Nothing . . . only I feel sad . . . sad about 
Andrew," she said, wiping away her tears on 
her sister-in-law's knee. 

Several times in the course of the morning 
Princess Mary began trying to prepare her sis- 
ter-in-law, and every time began to cry. Unob- 
servant as was the little princess, these tears, 
the cause of which she did not understand, 
agitated her. She said nothing but looked 
about uneasily as if in search of something. Be- 
fore dinner the old prince, of whom she was 



always afraid, came into her room with a pe- 
culiarly restless and malign expression and 
went out again without saying a word. She 
looked at Princess Mary, then sat thinking for 
a while with that expression of attention to 
something within her that is only seen in preg- 
nant women, and suddenly began to cry. 

"Has anything come from Andrew?" she 
asked. 

"No, you know it's too soon for news. But 
my father is anxious and I feel afraid." 

"So there's nothing?" 

"Nothing," answered Princess Mary, look- 
ing firmly with her radiant eyes at her sister-in- 
law. 

She had determined not to tell her and per- 
suaded her father to hide the terrible news 
from her till after her confinement, which was 
expected within a few days. Princess Mary and 
the old prince each bore and hid their grief in 
their own way. The old prince would not cher- 
ish any hope: he made up his mind that Prince 
Andrew had been killed, and though he sent 
an official to Austria to seek for traces of his 
son, he ordered a monument from Moscow 
which he intended to erect in his own garden 
to his memory, and he told everybody that his 
son had been killed. He tried not to change his 
former way of life, but his strength failed him. 
He walked less, ate less, slept less, and became 
weaker every day. Princess Mary hoped. She 
prayed for her brother as living and was al- 
ways awaiting news of his return. 

CHAPTER VIII 

DEAREST," said the little princess after break- 
fast on themorningof thenineteenthof March, 
and her downy little lip rose from old habit, 
but as sorrow was manifest in every smile, the 
sound of every word, and even every footstep 
in that house since the terrible news had come, 
so now the smile of the little princess influ- 
enced by the general mood though without 
knowing its cause was such as to remind one 
still more of the general sorrow. 

"Dearest, I'm afraid this morning's fruschti- 
que * as F6ka the cook calls it has disagreed 
with me." 

"What is the matter with you, my darling? 
You look pale. Oh, you are very pale!" said 
Princess Mary in alarm, running with her soft, 
ponderous steps up to her sister-in-law. 

"Your excellency, should not Mary Bogda- 
novna be sent for?" said one of the maids who 
was present. (Mary Bogddnovna was a mid- 

1 Fruhstiick: breakfast. 



BOOK FOUR 



181 



wife from the neighboring town, who had been 
at Bald Hills for the last fortnight.) 

"Oh yes," assented Princess Mary, "perhaps 
that's it. I'll go. Courage, my angel." She kissed 
Lise and was about to leave the room. 

"Oh, no, no!" And besides the pallor and 
the physical suffering on the little princess' 
face, an expression of childish fear of inevit- 
able pain showed itself. 

"No, it's only indigestion! . . . Say it's only 
indigestion, say so, Mary! Say . . ." And the lit- 
tle princess began to cry capriciously like a 
suffering child and to wring her little hands 
even with some affectation. Princess Mary ran 
out of the room to fetch Mary Bogda* novna. 

"Mon T>ieu! Mon Dieu! Oh!" she heard as 
she left the room. 

The midwife was already on her way to meet 
her, rubbing her small, plump white hands 
with an air of calm importance. 

"Mary Bogddnovna, I think it's beginning!" 
said Princess Mary looking at the midwifewith 
wide-open eyes of alarm. 

"Well, the Lord be thanked, Princess," said 
Mary Bogdnovna, not hastening her steps. 
"You young ladies should not know anything 
about it." 

"But how is it the doctor from Moscow is 
not here yet?" said the princess. (In accord- 
ance with Lise's and Prince Andrew's wishes 
they had sent in good time to Moscow for a 
doctor and were expecting him at any mo- 
ment.) 

"No matter, Princess, don't be alarmed,"said 
Mary Bogdnovna. "We'll manage very well 
without a doctor." 

Five minutes later Princess Mary from her 
room heard something heavy being carried by. 
She looked out. The menservants were carry- 
ing the large leather sofa from Prince An- 
drew's study into the bedroom. On their faces 
was a quiet and solemn look. 

Princess Mary sat alone in her room listen- 
ing to the sounds in the house, now and then 
opening her door when someone passed and 
watching what was going on in the passage. 
Some women passing with quiet steps in and 
out of the bedroom glanced at the princess and 
turned away. She did not venture to ask any 
questions, and shut the door again, now sitting 
down in her easy chair, now taking her prayer 
book, now kneeling before the icon stand. To 
her surprise and distress she found that her 
prayers did not calm her excitement. Suddenly 
her door opened softly and her old nurse, Pra- 
sk6vya Sdvishna, who hardly ever came to that 



room as the old prince had forbidden it, ap- 
peared on the threshold with a shawl round 
her head. 

"I've come to sit with you a bit, Mdsha," said 
the nurse, "and here I've brought the prince's 
wedding candles to light before his saint, my 
angel," she said with a sigh. 

"Oh, nurse, I'm so glad!" 

"God is merciful, birdie." 

The nurse lit the gilt candles before the 
icons and sat down by the door with her knit- 
ting. Princess Mary took a book and began 
reading. Only when footsteps or voices were 
heard did they look at one another, the prin- 
cess anxious and inquiring, the nurse encour- 
aging. Everyone in the house was dominated 
by the same feeling that Princess Mary experi- 
enced as she sat in her room. But owing to the 
superstition that the fewer the people who 
know of it the less a woman in travail suffers, 
everyone tried to pretend not to know; no 
one spoke of it, but apart from the ordinary 
staid and respectful good manners habitual in 
the prince's household, a common anxiety, a 
softening of the heart, and a consciousness 
that something great and mysterious was be- 
ing accomplished at that moment made itself 
felt. 

There was no laughter in the maids' large 
hall. In the menservants' hall all sat waiting, 
silently and alert. In the outlying serfs' quar- 
ters torches and candles were burning and no 
one slept. The old prince, stepping on his 
heels, paced up and down his study and sent 
Tikhon to ask Mary Bogddnovna what news. 
"Say only that 'the prince told me to ask,' and 
come and tell me her answer." 

"Inform the prince that labor has begun," 
said Mary Bogddnovna, giving the messenger a 
significant look. 

Tfkhon went and told the prince. 

"Very good!" said the prince closing the 
door behind him, and Tikhon did not hear 
the slightest sound from the study after that. 

After a while he re-entered it as if to snuff 
the candles, and, seeing the prince was lying 
on the sofa, looked at him, noticed his per- 
turbed face, shook his head, and going up to 
him silently kissed him on the shoulder and 
left the room without snuffing the candles or 
saying why he had entered. The most solemn 
mystery in the world continued its course. 
Evening passed, night came, and the feeling of 
suspense and softening of heart in the presence 
of the unfathomable did not lessen but in- 
creased. No one slept. 



i8* 



WAR AND PEACE 



It was one of those March nights when win- 
ter seems to wish to resume its sway and scat- 
ters its last snows and storms with desperate 
fury. A relay of horses had been sent up the 
highroad to meet the German doctor from 
Moscow who was expected every moment, and 
men on horseback with lanterns were sent to 
the crossroads to guide him over the country 
road with its hollows and snow-covered pools 
of water. 

Princess Mary had long since put aside her 
book: she sat silent, her luminous eyes fixed on 
her nurse's wrinkled face (every line of which 
she knew so well), on the lock of gray hair that 
escaped from under the kerchief, and the loose 
skin that hung under her chin. 

Nurse Sdvishna, knitting in hand, was tell- 
ing in low tones, scarcely hearing or under- 
standing her own words, what she had told 
hundreds of times before: how the late prin- 
cess had given birth to Princess Mary in Kish- 
enev with only a Moldavian peasant woman to 
help instead of a midwife. 

"God is merciful, doctors are never needed," 
she said. 

Suddenly a gust of wind beat violently a- 
gainst the casement of the window, from which 
the double frame had been removed (by order 
of the prince, one window frame was removed 
in each room as soon as the larks returned), 
and, forcing open a loosely closed latch, set the 
damask curtain flapping and blew out the can- 
dle with its chill, snowy draft. Princess Mary 
shuddered; her nurse, putting down the stock- 
ing she was knitting, went to the window and 
leaning out tried to catch the open casement. 
The cold wind flapped the ends of her ker- 
chief and her loose locks of gray hair. 

"Princess, my dear, there's someone driving 
up the avenue!" she said, holding the casement 
and not closing it. "With lanterns. Most likely 
the doctor." 

"Oh, my God! thank God!" said Princess 
Mary. "I must go and meet him, he does not 
know Russian." 

Princess Mary threw a shawl over her head 
and ran to meet the newcomer. As she was 
crossing the anteroom she saw through the 
window a carriage with lanterns, standing at 
the entrance. She went out on the stairs. On a 
bani&ter post stood a tallow candle which gut- 
tered in the draft. On the landing below, 
Philip, the footman, stood looking scared and 
holding another candle. Still lower, beyond 
the turn of the staircase, one could hear the 
footstep of someone in thick felt boots, and a 



voice that seemed familiar to Princess Mary 
was saying something. 

"Thank God!" said the voice. "And Father?" 

"Gone to bed," replied the voice of Demydn 
the house steward, who was downstairs. 

Then the voice said something more, Dem- 
ydn replied, and the steps in the felt boots ap- 
proached the unseen bend of the staircase more 
rapidly. 

"It's Andrew!" thought Princess Mary. "No 
it can't be, that would be too extraordinary," 
and at the very moment she thought this, the 
face and figure of Prince Andrew, in a fur 
cloak the deep collar of which was covered with 
snow, appeared on the landing where the foot- 
man stood with the candle. Yes, it was he, pale, 
thin, with a changed and strangely softened 
but agitated expression on his face. He came 
up the stairs and embraced his sister. 

"You did not get my letter?" he asked, and 
not waiting for a reply which he would not 
have received, for the princess was unable to 
speak he turned back, rapidly mounted the 
stairs again with the doctor who had entered 
the hall after him (they had met at the last 
post station), and again embraced his sister. 

"What a strange fate, Msha darling!" And 
having taken off his cloak and felt boots, he 
went to the little princess' apartment. 

CHAPTER IX 

THE LITTLE PRINCESS lay supported by pillows, 
with a white cap on her head (the pains had 
just left her). Strands of her black hair lay 
round her inflamed and perspiring cheeks, her 
charming rosy mouth with its downy lip was 
open and she was smiling joyfully. Prince An- 
drew entered and paused facing her at the foot 
of the sofa on which she was lying. Her glitter- 
ing eyes, filled with childlike fear and excite- 
ment, rested on him without changing their 
expression. "I love you all and have done no 
harm to anyone; why must I suffer so? Help 
me!" her look seemed to say. She saw her hus- 
band, but did not realize the significance of his 
appearance before her now. Prince Andrew 
went round the sofa and kissed her forehead. 

"My darling!" he said a word he had never 
used to her before. "God is merciful. . . ." 

She looked at him inquiringly and with child- 
like reproach. 

"I expected help from you and I get none, 
none from you either 1" said her eyes. She was 
not surprised at his having come; she did not 
realize that he had come. His coming had noth- 
ing to do with her sufferings or with their re- 



BOOK FOUR 



lief. The pangs began again and Mary Bogdd- 
novna advised Prince Andrew to leave the 
room. 

The doctor entered. Prince Andrew went 
out and, meeting Princess Mary, again joined 
her. They began talking in whispers, but their 
talk broke off at every moment. They waited 
and listened. 

"Go, dear," said Princess Mary. 

Prince Andrew went again to his wife and 
sat waiting in the room next to hers. A woman 
came from the bedroom with a frightened face 
and became confused when she saw Prince An- 
drew. He covered his face with his hands and 
remained so for some minutes. Piteous, help- 
less, animal moans came through the door. 
Prince Andrew got up, went to the door, and 
tried to open it. Someone was holding it shut. 

"You can't come in! You can't!" said a terri- 
fied voice from within. 

He began pacing the room. The screaming 
ceased, and a few more seconds went by. Then 
suddenly a terrible shriek it could not be hers, 
she could not scream like that came from the 
bedroom. Prince Andrew ran to the door; the 
scream ceased and he heard the wail of an in- 
fant. 

"What have they taken a baby in there for?" 
thought Prince Andrew in the first second. "A 
baby? What baby . . . ? Why is there a baby 
there? Or is the baby born?" 

Then suddenly he realized the joyful signif- 
icance of that wail; tears choked him, and 
leaning his elbows on the window sill be began 
to cry, sobbing like a child. The door opened. 
The doctor with his shirt sleeves tucked up, 
without a coat, pale and with a trembling jaw, 
came out of the room. Prince Andrew turned 
to him, but the doctor gave him a bewildered 
look and passed by without a word. A woman 
rushed out and seeing Prince Andrew stopped, 
hesitating on the threshold. He went into his 
wife's room. She was lying dead, in the same 
position he had seen her in five minutes be- 
fore and, despite the fixed eyes and the pallor 
of the cheeks, the same expression was on her 
charming childlike face with its upper lip cov- 
ered with tiny black hair. 

"I love you all, and have done no harm to 
anyone; and what have you done to me?" 
said her charming, pathetic, dead face. 

In a corner of the room something red and 
tiny gave a grunt and squealed in Mary Bog- 
ddnovna's trembling white hands. 

Two hours later Prince Andrew, stepping 



softly, went into his father's room. The old 
man already knew everything. He was stand- 
ing close to the door and as soon as it opened 
his rough old arms closed like a vise round his 
son's neck, and without a word he began to sob 
like a child. 

Three days later the little princess was buried, 
and Prince Andrew went up the steps to where 
the coffin stood, to give her the farewell kiss. 
And there in the coffin was the same face, 
though with closed eyes. "Ah, what have you 
done to me?" it still seemed to say, and Prince 
Andrew felt that something gave way in his 
soul and that he was guilty of a sin he could 
neither remedy nor forget. He could not weep. 
The old man too came up and kissed the wax- 
en little hands that lay quietly crossed one on 
the other on her breast, and to him, too, her 
face seemed to say: "Ah, what have you done 
to me, and why?" And at the sight the old man 
turned angrily away. 

Another five days passed, and thentheyoung 
Prince Nicholas Andntevich was baptized. The 
wet nurse supported the coverlet with her chin, 
while the priest with a goose feather anointed 
the boy's little red and wrinkled soles and 
palms. 

His grandfather, who was his godfather, trem- 
bling and afraid of dropping him, carried the 
infant round the battered tin font and handed 
him over to the godmother, Princess Mary. 
Prince Andrew sat in another room, faint with 
fear lest the baby should be drowned in the 
font, and awaited the termination of the cere- 
mony. He looked up joyfully at the baby when 
the nurse brought it to him and nodded ap- 
proval when she told him that the wax with 
the baby's hair had not sunk in the font but 
had floated. 

CHAPTER X 

ROSTOV'S SHARE in D61okhov's duel with Be- 
ziikhov was hushed up by the efforts of the old 
count, and instead of being degraded to the 
ranks as he expected he was appointed an ad- 
jutant to the governor general of Moscow. As 
a result he could not go to the country with 
the rest of the family, but was kept all summer 
in Moscow by his new duties. D61okhov recov- 
ered, and Rost6v became very friendly with 
him during his convalescence. D61okhov lay ill 
at his mother's who loved him passionately and 
tenderly, and old Mary Ivnovna, who had 
grown fond of Rost6v for his friendship to her 



184 



WAR AND PEACE 



Fdya, often talked to him about her son. 

"Yes, Count," she would say, "he is too no- 
ble and pure-souled for our present, depraved 
world. No one now loves virtue; it seems like 
a reproach to everyone. Now tell me, Count, 
was it right, was it honorable, of Beziikhov? 
And Fdya, with his noble spirit, loved him 
and even now never says a word against him. 
Those pranks in Petersburg when they played 
some tricks on a policeman, didn't they do it 
together? And therel Beziikhov got off scot- 
free, while F6dya had to bear the whole bur- 
Jen on his shoulders. Fancy what he had to go 
through! It's true he has been reinstated, but 
how could they fail to do that? I think there 
were not many such gallant sons of the father- 
land out there as he. And now this duel! 
Have these people no feeling, or honor? Know- 
ing him to be an only son, to challenge him 
and shoot so straight! It's well God had mercy 
on us. And what was it for? Who doesn't have 
intrigues nowadays? Why, if he was so jealous, 
as I see things he should have shown it sooner, 
but he lets it go on for months. And then to 
call him out, reckoning on Fdya not fighting 
because he owed him money! What baseness! 
What meanness! I know you understand Fe"d- 
ya, my dear count; that, believe me, is why I 
am so fond of you. Few people do understand 
him. He is such a lofty, heavenly soul!" 

D61okhov himself during his convalescence 
spoke to Rost6v in a way no one would have 
expected of him. 

"I know people consider me a bad man!" he 
said. "Let them! I don't care a straw about any- 
one but those I love; but those I love, I love so 
that I would give my life for them, and the oth- 
ers I'd throttle if they stood in my way. I have 
an adored, a priceless mother, and two or three 
friends you among them and as for the rest 
I only care about them in so far as they are 
harmful or useful. And most of them are harm- 
ful, especially the women. Yes, dear boy," he 
continued, "I have met loving, noble, high- 
minded men, but I have not yet met any wom- 
encountesses or cooks who were not venal. I 
have not yet met that divine purity and devo- 
tion I look for in women. If I found such a one 
I'd give my life for her! But those! . . ." and he 
made a gesture of contempt. "And believe me, 
if I still value my life it is only because I still 
hope to meet such a divine creature, who will 
regenerate, purify, and elevate me. But you 
don't understand it." 

"Oh, yes, I quite understand," answered Ros- 
tov, who was under his new friend's influence. 



In the autumn the Rost6vs returned to Mos- 
cow. Early in the winter Denfsov also came 
back and stayed with them. The first half of 
the winter of 1806, which Nicholas Rost6v 
spent in Moscow, was one of the happiest, mer- 
riest times for him and the whole family. Nich- 
olas brought many young men to his parents' 
house. Ve'ra was a handsome girl of twenty; 
Sdnya a girl of sixteen with all the charm of an 
opening flower; Natdsha, half grown up and 
half child, was now childishly amusing, now 
girlishly enchanting. 

At that time in the Rost6vs' house there pre- 
vailed an amorous atmosphere characteristic 
of homes where there are very young and very 
charming girls. Every young man who came to 
the house seeing those impressionable, smil- 
ing young faces (smiling probably at their own 
happiness), feeling the eager bustle around 
him, and hearing the fitful bursts of song and 
music and the inconsequent but friendly prat- 
tle* of young girls ready for anything and full 
of hope experienced the same feeling; shar- 
ing with the young folk of the Rost6vs' house- 
hold a readiness to fall in love and an expecta- 
tion of happiness. 

Among the young men introduced byRost6v 
one of the first was D61okhov, whom everyone 
in the house liked except Natdsha. She almost 
quarreled with her brother about him. She in- 
sisted that he was a bad man, and that in the 
duel with Beziikhov, Pierre was right and D6- 
lokhov wrong, and further that he was disa- 
greeable and unnatural. 

"There's nothing for me to understand," she 
cried out with resolute self-will, "he is wicked 
and heartless. There now, I like your Denisov 
though he is a rake and all that, still I like him; 
so you see I do understand. I don't know how 
to put it ... with this one everything is calcu- 
lated, and I don't like that. But Denfsov . . ." 

"Oh, Denfsov is quite different," replied 
Nicholas, implying that even Denfsov was noth- 
ing compared to D61okhov "you must under- 
stand what a soul there is in D61okhov, you 
should see him with his mother. Whata heart!" 

"Well, I don't know about that, but I am 
uncomfortable with him. And do you know he 
has fallen in love with S6nya?" 

"What nonsense. . . ." 

"I'm certain of it; you'll see." 

Natasha's prediction proved true. D61okhov, 
who did not usually care for the society of la- 
dies, began to come often to the house, and the 
question for whose sake he came (though no 
one spoke of it) was soon settled. He came be- 



cause of S6nya. And S6nya, though she would 
never have dared to say so, knew it and blushed 
scarlet every time D61okhov appeared. 

D61okhov often dined at the Rost6vs', never 
missed a performance at which they were pres- 
ent, and went to logel's balls for young people 
which the Rostovs always attended. He was 
pointedly attentive to S6nya and looked at her 
in such a way that not only could she not bear 
his glances without coloring, but even the old 
countess and Natasha blushed when they saw 
his looks. 

It was evident that this strange, strong man 
was under the irresistible influence of the dark, 
graceful girl who loved another. 

Rost6v noticed something new in D61okhov's 
relations with S6nya, but he did not explain to 
himself what these new relations were. "They're 
always in love with someone," he thought 
of S6nya and Natdsha. But he was not as much 
at ease with S6nya and D61okhov as before and 
was less frequently at home. 

In the autumn of 1806 everybody had again 
begun talking of the war with Napoleon with 
even greater warmth than the year before. Or- 
ders were given to raise recruits, ten men in 
every thousand for the regular army, and be- 
sides this, nine men in every thousand for the 
militia. Everywhere Bonaparte was anathema- 
tized and in Moscow nothing but the coming 
war was talked of. For the Rostov family the 
whole interest of these preparations for war 
lay in the fact that Nicholas would not hear of 
remaining in Moscow, and only awaited the 
termination of Denfsov's furlough afterChrist- 
mas to return with him to their regiment. His 
approaching departure did not prevent his 
amusing himself, but rather gave zest to his 
pleasures. He spent the greater part of his time 
away from home, at dinners, parties, and balls. 

CHAPTER XI 

ON THE THIRD DAY after Christmas Nicholas 
dined at home, a thing he had rarely done of 
late. It was a grand farewell dinner, as he and 
Denfsov were leaving to join their regiment 
after Epiphany. About twenty people were 
present, including D61okhov and Denfsov. 

Never had love been so much in the air, and 
never had the amorous atmosphere made itself 
so strongly felt in the Rost6vs' house as at this 
holiday time. "Seize the moments of happi- 
ness, love and be lovedl That is the only reality 
in the world, all else is folly. It is the one thing 
we are interested in here," said the spirit of 
the place. 



BOOK FOUR 185 

Nicholas, having as usual exhausted two 



pairs of horses, without visiting all the places 
he meant to go to and where he had been in- 
vited, returned home just before dinner. As 
soon as he entered he noticed and felt the ten- 
sion of the amorous air in the house, and also 
noticed a curious embarrassment among some 
of those present. S6nya, D61okhov, and the old 
countess were especially disturbed, and to a 
lesser degree Natdsha. Nicholas understood that 
something must have happened between S6n- 
ya and Dolokhov before dinner, and with the 
kindly sensitiveness natural to him was very 
gentle and wary with them both at dinner. On 
that same evening there was to be one of the 
balls that logel (the dancing master) gave for 
his pupils durings the holidays. 

"Nicholas, will you come to logel's? Please 
dol" said Natdsha. "He asked you, and Vasfli 
Dmftrich * is also going." 

"Where would I not go at the countess' com- 
mand!" said Denfsov, who at the Rostovs' had 
jocularly assumed the role of Natdsha's knight. 
"I'm even weady to dance the pas de chdle." 

"If I have time," answered Nicholas. "But I 
promised the Arkhdrovs; they have a party." 

"And you?" he asked D61okhov, but as soon 
as he had asked the question he noticed that it 
should not have been put. 

"Perhaps," coldly and angrily replied D6- 
lokhov, glancing at S6nya, and, scowling, he 
gave Nicholas just such a look as he had given 
Pierre at the Club dinner. 

"There is something up," thought Nicholas, 
and he was further confirmed in this conclu- 
sion by the fact that D61okhov left immediate- 
ly after dinner. He called Natdsha and asked 
her what was the matter. 

"And I was looking for you," said Natdsha 
running out to him. "I told you, but you would 
not believe it," she said triumphantly. "He has 
proposed to S6nya!" 

Little as Nicholas had occupied himself with 
S6nya of late, something seemed to give way 
within him at this news. D61okhov was a suit- 
able and in some respects a brilliant match for 
the dowerless, orphan girl. From the point of 
view of the old countess and of society it was 
out of the question for her to refuse him. And 
therefore Nicholas' first feeling on hearing the 
news was one of anger with Sonya. . . . He tried 
to say, "That's capital; of course she'll forget 
her childish promises and accept the offer," 
but before he had time to say it Natdsha began 
again. 

1 Denfsov. 



i86 



WAR AND PEACE 



"And fancy! she refused him quite definite- 
ly!" adding, after a pause, "she told him she 
loved another." 

"Yes, my S6nya could not have done other- 
wise!" thought Nicholas. 

"Much as Mamma pressed her, she refused, 
and I know she won't change once she has 
said . . ." 

"And Mamma pressed her!" said Nicholas 
reproachfully. 

"Yes," said Natdsha. "Do you know, Nich- 
olasdon't be angrybut I know you will not 
marry her. I know, heaven knows how, but I 
know for certain that you won't marry her." 

"Now you don't know that at all! "said Nich- 
olas. "But I must talk to her. What a darling 
S6nya is!" he added with a smile. 

"Ah, she is indeed a darling! I'll send her to 
you." 

And Natasha kissed her brother and ran 
away. 

A minute later S6nya came in with a fright- 
ened, guilty, and scared look. Nicholas went 
up to her and kissed her hand. This was the 
first time since his return that they had talked 
alone and about their love. 

"Sophie," he began, timidly at first and then 
more and more boldly, "if you wish to refuse 
one who is not only a brilliant and advanta- 
geous match but a splendid, noble fellow . . . 
he is my friend ..." 

S6nya interrupted him. 

"I have already refused," she said hurriedly. 

"If you are refusing for my sake, I am afraid 
that I ..." 

S6nya again interrupted. She gave him an 
imploring, frightened look. 

"Nicholas, don't tell me that!" she said. 

"No, but I must. It may be arrogant of me, 
but still it is best to say it. If you refuse him on 
my account, I must tell you the whole truth. 
I love you, and I think I love you more than 
anyone else. . . ." 

"That is enough for me," said S6nya, blush- 
ing. 

"No, but I have been in love a thousand 
times and shall fall in love again, though for 
no one have I such a feeling of friendship, 
confidence, and love as I have for you. Then I 
am young. Mamma does not wish it. In a word, 
I make no promise. And I beg you to consider 
Dolokhov's offer," he said, articulating his 
friend's name with difficulty. 

"Don't say that to me! I want nothing. I love 
you as a brother and always shall, and I want 
nothing more." 



"You are an angel: I am not worthy of you, 
but I am afraid of misleading you." 
And Nicholas again kissed her hand. 

CHAPTER XII 

IOGEL'S WERE the most enjoyable balls in Mos- 
cow. So said the mothers as they watched their 
young people executing their newly learned 
steps, and so said the youths and maidens them- 
selves as they danced till they were ready to 
drop, and so said the grown-up young men and 
women who came to these balls with an air of 
condescension and found them most enjoyable. 
That year two marriages had come of these 
balls. The two pretty young Princesses Gor- 
chak6v met suitors there and were married and 
so further increased the fame of these dances. 
What distinguished them from others was the 
absence of host or hostess and the presence of 
the good-natured logel, flying about like a 
feather and bowing according to the rules of 
his art, as he collected the tickets from all his 
visitors. There was the fact that only those 
came who wished to dance and amuse them- 
selves as girls of thirteen and fourteen do who 
are wearing long dresses for the first time. With 
scarcely any exceptions they all were, or seemed 
to be, pretty so rapturous were their smiles 
and so sparkling their eyes. Sometimes the best 
of the pupils, of whom Natasha, who was ex- 
ceptionally graceful, was first, even danced the 
pas de chdle, but at this last ball only the Jcos> 
saise, the anglaise, and the mazurka, which was 
just coming into fashion, were danced, logel 
had taken a ballroom in Bezukhov's house, and 
the ball, as everyone said, was a great success. 
There were many pretty girls and the Rost6v 
girls were among the prettiest. They were both 
particularly happy and gay. That evening, 
proud of D61okhov's proposal, her refusal, and 
her explanation with Nicholas, S6nya twirled 
about before she left home so that the maid 
could hardly get her hair plaited, and she was 
transparently radiant with impulsive joy. 

Natdsha no less proud of her first long dress 
and of being at a real ball was even happier. 
They were both dressed in white muslin with 
pink ribbons. 

Natdsha fell in love the very moment she en- 
tered the ballroom. She was not in love with 
anyone in particular, but with everyone. What- 
ever person she happened to look at she was in 
love with for that moment. 

"Oh, how delightful it is!" she kept saying, 
running up to S6nya. 

Nicholas and Denisov were walking up and 



BOOK FOUR 



187 



down, looking with kindly patronage at the 
dancers. 

"How sweet she is she will be a weal beau- 
ty 1" saidDenisov. 

"Who?" 

"Countess Natasha," answered Denisov. 

"And how she dances! What gwace!" he said 
again after a pause. 

"Who are you talking about?" 

"About your sister," ejaculated Denisov tes- 
tily. 

Rost6v smiled. 

"My dear count, you were one of my best pu- 
pils you must dance," said little logel coming 
up to Nicholas. "Look how many charming 
young ladies" He turned with the same re- 
quest to Denisov who was also a former pupil 
of his. 

"No, my dear fellow, I'll be a wallflower," 
said Denisov. "Don't you wecollect what bad 
use I made of your lessons?" 

"Oh no!" said logel, hastening to reassure 
him. "You were only inattentive, but you had 
talentoh yes, you had talent!" 

The band struck up the newly introduced 
mazurka. Nicholas could not refuse logel and 
asked S6nya to dance. Denfsov sat down by the 
old ladies and, leaning on his saber and beat- 
ing time with his foot, told them something 
funny and kept them amused, while he watched 
the young people dancing, logel with Natdsha, 
his pride and his best pupil, were the first cou- 
ple. Noiselessly, skillfully stepping with his lit- 
tle feet in low shoes, logel flew first across the 
hall with Natasha, who, though shy, went on 
carefully executing her steps. Denfsov did not 
take his eyes off her and beat time with his 
saber in a way that clearly indicated that if he 
was not dancing it was because he would not 
and not because he could not. In the middle 
of a figure he beckoned to Rost6v who was 
passing: 

"This is not at all the thing," he said. "What 
sort of Polish mazuwka is this? But she does 
dance splendidly." 

Knowing that Denisov had a reputation 
even in Poland for the masterly way in which 
he danced the mazurka, Nicholas ran up to 
Natasha: 

"Go and choose Denfsov. He is a real dancer, 
a wonder!" he said. 

When it came to Natdsha's turn to choose a 
partner, she rose and, tripping rapidly across 
in her little shoes trimmed with bows, ran tim- 
idly to the corner where Denfsov sat. She saw 
that everybody was looking at her and waiting. 



Nicholas saw that Denfsov was refusing though 
he smiled delightedly. He ran up to them. 

"Please, Vasfli Dmftrich," Natdsha was say- 
ing, "do come!" 

"Oh no, let me off, Countess," Denfsov re- 
plied. 

"Now then, Vdska," said Nicholas. 

"They coax me as if I were Vdska the cat!" 
said Denfsov jokingly. 

"I'll sing for you a whole evening," said Na- 
tdsha. 

"Oh, the faiwy! She can do anything with 
me!" said Denfsov, and he unhooked his saber. 
He came out from behind the chairs, clasped 
his partner's hand firmly, threw back his head, 
and advanced his foot, waiting for the beat. 
Only on horse back and in the mazurka was 
Denfsov's short stature not noticeable and he 
looked the fine fellow he felt himself to be. At 
the right beat of the music he looked sideways 
at his partner with a merry and triumphant 
air, suddenly stamped with one foot, bounded 
from the floor like a ball, and flew round the 
room taking his partner with him. He glided 
silently on one foot half across the room, and 
seeming not to notice the chairs was dashing 
straight at them, when suddenly, clinking his 
spurs and spreading out his legs, he stopped 
short on his heels, stood so a second, stamped 
on the spot clanking his spurs, whirled rapidly 
round, and, striking his left heel against his 
right, flew round again in a circle. Natdsha 
guessed what he meant to do, and abandoning 
herself to him followed his lead hardly know- 
ing how. First he spun her round, holding her 
now with his left, now with his right hand, then 
falling on one knee he twirled her round him, 
and again jumping up, dashed so impetuously 
forward that it seemed as if he would rush 
through the whole suite of rooms without draw- 
ing breath, and then he suddenly stopped and 
performed some new and unexpected steps. 
When at last, smartly whirling his partner 
round in front of her chair, he drew up with a 
click of his spurs and bowed to her, Natasha 
did not even make him a curtsy. She fixed her 
eyes on him in amazement, smiling as if she 
did not recognize him. 

"What does this mean?" she brought out. 

Although logel did not acknowledge this to 
be the real mazurka, everyone was delighted 
with Denfsov's skill, he was asked again and 
again as a partner, and the old men began smil- 
ingly to talk about Poland and the good old 
days. Denfsov, flushed after the mazurka and 
mopping himself with his handkerchief, sat 



i88 



WAR AND PEACE 



down by Natdsha and did not leave her for the 
rest of the evening. 

CHAPTER XIII 

FOR TWO DAYS after that Rost6v did not see 
D61okhov at his own or at D61okhov's home: 
on the third day he received a note from him: 

As I do not intend to be at your house again for 
reasons you know of, and am going to rejoin my 
regiment, I am giving a farewell supper tonight to 
my friendscome to the English Hotel. 

About ten o'clock Rost6v went to the English 
Hotel straight from the theater, where he had 
been with his family and Denisov. He was at 
once shown to the best room, which D61okhov 
had taken for that evening. Some twenty men 
were gathered round a table at which D61ok- 
hov sat between two candles. On the table was 
a pile of gold and paper money, and he was 
keeping the bank. Rost6v had not seen him 
since his proposal and S6nya's refusal and felt 
uncomfortable at the thought of how they 
would meet. 

D61okhov's clear, cold glance met Rost6v as 
soon as he entered the door, as though he had 
long expected him. 

"It's a long time since we met," he said. 
"Thanks for coming. I'll just finish dealing, 
and then Ilyiishka will come with his chorus." 

"I called once or twice at your house," said 
Rost6v, reddening. 

D61okhov made no reply. 

"You may punt," he said. 

Rost6v recalled at that moment a strange 
conversation he had once had with D61okhov. 
"None but fools trust to luck in play," D61ok- 
hov had then said. 

"Or are you afraid to play with me?" D61ok- 
hov now asked as if guessing Rost6v's thought. 

Beneath his smile Rostov saw in him the 
mood he had shown at the Club dinner and at 
other times, when as if tired of everyday life he 
had felt a need to escape from it by some 
strange, and usually cruel, action. 

Rost6v felt ill at ease. He tried, but failed, 
to find some joke with which to reply to D61ok- 
hov's words. But before he had thought of any- 
thing, D61okhov, looking straight in his face, 
said slowly and deliberately so that everyone 
could hear: 

"Do you remember we had a talk about cards 
. . . 'He's a fool who trusts to luck, one should 
make certain/ and I want to try." 

"To try his luck or the certainty?" Rostov 
asked himself. 



"Well, you'd better not play," D61okhov 
added, and springing a new pack of cards said: 
"Bank, gentlemen!" 

Moving the money forward he prepared to 
deal. Rost6v sat down by hi side and at first 
did not play. D61okhov kept glancing at him. 

"Why don't you play?" he asked. 

And strange to say Nicholas felt that he 
could not help taking up a card, putting a 
small stake on it, and beginning to play. 

"I have no money with me," he said. 

"I'll trust you." 

Rost6v staked five rubles on a card and lost, 
staked again, and again lost. D61okhov "killed," 
that is, beat, ten cards of Rost6v's running. 

"Gentlemen," said Dolokhov after he had 
dealt for some time. "Please place your money 
on the cards or I may get muddled in the reck- 
oning." 

One of the players said he hoped he might 
be trusted. 

"Yes, you might, but I am afraid of getting 
the accounts mixed. So I ask you to put the 
money on your cards," replied D61okhov. 
"Don't stint yourself, we'll settle afterwards," 
he added, turning to Rost6v. 

The game continued; a waiter kept handing 
round champagne. 

All Rost6v's cards were beaten and he had 
eight hundred rubles scored up against him. 
He wrote "800 rubles" on a card, but while 
the waiter filled his glass he changed his mind 
and altered it to his usual stake of twenty 
rubles. 

"Leave it," said Dolokhov, though he did 
not seem to be even looking at Rostov, "you'll 
win it back all the sooner. I lose to the others 
but win from you. Or are you afraid of me?" 
he asked again. 

Rost6v submitted. He let the eight hundred 
remain and laid down a seven of hearts with a 
torn corner, which he had picked up from the 
floor. He well remembered that seven after- 
wards. He laid down the seven of hearts, on 
which with a broken bit of chalk he had writ- 
ten "800 rubles" in clear upright figures; he 
emptied the glass of warm champagne that was 
handed him, smiled at D61okhov's words, and 
with a sinking heart, waiting for a seven to 
turn up, gazed at D61okhov's hands which held 
the pack. Much depended on Rost6v's win- 
ning or losing on that seven of hearts. On the 
previous Sunday the old count had given his 
son two thousand rubles, and though he al- 
ways disliked speaking of money difficulties 
had told Nicholas that this was all he could let 



BOOK 

him have till May, and asked him to be more 
economical this time. Nicholas had replied 
that it would be more than enough for him 
and that he gave his word of honor not to take 
anything more till the spring. Now only twelve 
hundred rubles was left of that money, so that 
this seven of hearts meant for him not only the 
loss of sixteen hundred rubles, but the neces- 
sity of going back on his word. With a sinking 
heart he watched D61okhov's hands and 
thought, "Now then, make haste and let me 
have this card and I'll take my cap and drive 
home to supper with Denfsov, Natdsha, and 
S6nya, and will certainly never touch a card 
again." At that moment his home life, jokes 
with Ptya, talks with S6nya, duets with Natd- 
sha, piquet with his father, and even his com- 
fortable bed in the house on the Povarskaya 
rose before him with such vividness, clearness, 
and charm that it seemed as if it were all a lost 
and unappreciated bliss, long past. He could 
not conceive that a stupid chance, letting the 
seven be dealt to the right rather than to the 
left, might deprive him of all this happiness, 
newly appreciated and newly illumined, and 
plunge him into the depths of unknown and 
undefined misery. That could not be, yet he* 
awaited with a sinking heart the movement of 
D61okhov's hands. Those broad, reddish hands, 
with hairy wrists visible from under the shirt 
cuffs, laid down the pack and took up a glass 
and a pipe that were handed him. 

"So you are not afraid to play with me?" re- 
peated D61okhov, and as if about to tell a good 
story he put down the cards, leaned back in his 
chair, and began deliberately with a smile: 

"Yes, gentlemen, I've been told there's a ru- 
mor going about Moscow that I'm a sharper, 
so I advise you to be careful." 

"Come now, deal I" exclaimed Rost6v. 

"Oh, those Moscow gossips!" said D61okhov, 
and he took up the cards with a smile. 

"Aah!" Rost6v almost screamed lifting both 
hands to his head. The seven he needed was ly- 
ing uppermost, the first card in the pack. He 
had lost more than he could pay. 

"Still, don't ruin yourself 1" said D61okhov 
with a side glance at Rost6v as he continued to 
deal. 

CHAPTER XIV 

AN HOUR and a half later most of the players 
were but little interested in their own play. 

The whole interestwas concentrated on Ros- 
t6v. Instead of sixteen hundred rubles he had 
a long column of figures scored against him, 



FOUR 189 

which he had reckoned up to ten thousand, 
but that now, as he vaguely supposed, must 
have risen to fifteen thousand. In reality it al- 
ready exceeded twenty thousand rubles. D6- 
lokhov was no longer listening to stories or 
telling them, but followed every movement of 
Rostov's hands and occasionally ran his eyes 
over the score against him. He had decided to 
play until that score reached forty-three thou- 
sand. He had fixed on that number because 
forty-three was the sum of his and S6nya's joint 
ages. Rost6v, leaning his head on both hands, 
sat at the table which was scrawled over with 
figures, wet with spilled wine, and littered with 
cards. One tormenting impression did not leave 
him: that those broad- boned reddish hands 
with hairy wrists visible from under the shirt 
sleeves, those hands which he loved and hated, 
held him in their power. 

"Six hundred rubles, ace, a corner, a nine 
. . . winning it back's impossible . . . Oh, how 
pleasant it was at home I . . . The knave, double 
or quits ... it can't bel . . . And why is he doing 
this to me?" Rostov pondered. Sometimes he 
staked a large sum, but Drilokhov refused to 
accept it and fixed the stake himself. Nicholas 
submitted to him, and at one moment prayed 
to God as he had done on the battlefield at the 
bridge over the Enns, and then guessed that 
the card that came first to hand from the crum- 
pled heap under the table would save him, 
now counted the cords on his coat and took a 
card with that number and tried staking the 
total of his losses on it, then he looked round 
for aid from the other players, or peered at the 
now cold face of D61okhov and tried to read 
what was passing in his mind. 

"He knows of course what this loss means to 
me. He can't want my ruin. Wasn't he my 
friend? Wasn't I fond of him? But it's not his 
fault. What's he to do if he has such luck? . . . 
And it's not my fault either," he thought to 
himself, "I have done nothing wrong. Have I 
killed anyone, or insulted or wished harm to 
anyone? Why such a terrible misfortune? And 
when did it begin? Such a little while ago 1 
came to this table with the thought of winning 
a hundred rubles to buy that casket for Mam- 
ma's name day and then going home. I was so 
happy, so free, so lightheartedl And I did not 
realize how happy I was! When did that end 
and when did this new, terrible state of things 
begin? What marked the change? I sat all the 
time in this same place at this table, chose and 
placed cards, and watched those broad-boned 
agile hands in the same way. When did it hap- 



igo 



WAR AND PEACE 



pen and what has happened? I am well and 
strong and still the same and in the same place. 
No, it can't be! Surely it will all end in noth- 
ing!" 

He was flushed and bathed in perspiration, 
though the room was not hot. His face was ter- 
rible and piteous to see, especially from its 
helpless efforts to seem calm. 

The score against him reached the fateful 
sum of forty-three thousand. Rost6v had just 
prepared a card, by bending the corner of 
which he meant to double the three thousand 
just put down to his score, when D61okhov, 
slamming down the pack of cards, put it aside 
and began rapidly adding up the total of Ros- 
t6v's debt, breaking the chalk as he marked the 
figures in his clear, bold hand. 

"Supper, it's time for supper! And here are 
the gypsies!" 

Some swarthy men and women were really 
entering from the cold outside and saying some- 
thing in their gypsy accents. Nicholas under- 
stood that it was all over; but he said in an in- 
different tone: 

"Well, won't you go on? I had a splendid 
card all ready," as if it were the fun of the 
game which interested him most. 

"It's all up! I'm lost!" thought he. "Now a 
bullet through my brainthat's all that's left 
me!" And at the same time he said in a cheer- 
ful voice: 

"Come now, just this one more little card!" 

"All right!" said D61okhov, having finished 
the addition. "All right! Twenty-one rubles," 
he said, pointing to the figure twenty-one by 
which the total exceeded the round sum of 
forty-three thousand; and taking up a pack he 
prepared to deal. Rost6v submissively unbent 
the corner of his card and, instead of the six 
thousand he had intended, carefully wrote 
twenty-one. 

"It's all the same to me," he said. "I only 
want to see whether you will let me win this 
ten, or beat it." 

D61okhov began to deal seriously. Oh, how 
Rost6v detested at that moment those hands 
with their short reddish fingers and hairy 
wrists, which held him in their power. . . . The 
ten fell to him. 

"You owe forty-three thousand, Count," said 
D61okhov, and stretching himself he rose from 
the table. "One does get tired sitting so long," 
he added. 

"Yes, I'm tired too," said Rost6v. 

D61okhov cut him short, as if to remind him 
that it was not for him to jest. 



"When am I to receive the money, Count?" 

Rost6v, flushing, drew D61okhov into the 
next room. 

"I cannot pay it all immediately. Will you 
take an I.O.U.?" he said. 

"I say, Rost6v," said D61okhov clearly, smil- 
ing and looking Nicholas straight in the eyes, 
"you know the saying, 'Lucky in love, unlucky 
at cards.' Your cousin is in love with you, I 
know." 

"Oh, it's terrible to feel oneself so in this 
man's power," thought Rost6v. He knew what 
a shock he would inflict on his father and 
mother by the news of this loss, he knew what 
a relief it would be to escape it all, and felt 
that Dolokhov knew that he could save him 
from all this shame and sorrow, but wanted 
now to play with him as a cat does with a 
mouse. 

"Your cousin . . ." D61okhov started to say, 
but Nicholas interrupted him. 

"My cousin has nothing to do with this and 
it's not necessary to mention her!" he ex- 
claimed fiercely. 

"Then when am I to have it?" 

"Tomorrow," replied Rost6v and left the 
'room. 

CHAPTER XV 

To SAY "tomorrow" and keep up a dignified 
tone was not difficult, but to go home alone, 
see his sisters, brother, mother, and father, con- 
fess and ask for money he had no right to after 
giving his word of honor, was terrible. 

At home, they had not yet gone to bed. The 
young people, after returning from the theater, 
had had supper and were grouped round the 
clavichord. As soon as Nicholas entered, he 
was enfolded in that poetic atmosphere of love 
which pervaded the Rost6v household that 
winter and, now after D61okhov's proposal and 
logel's ball, seemed to have grown thicker 
round S6nya and Natdsha as the air does be- 
fore a thunderstorm. S6nya and Natasha, in 
the light-blue dresses they had worn at the 
theater, looking pretty and conscious of it, 
were standing by the clavichord, happy and 
smiling. Vera was playing chess with Shinshin 
in the drawing room. The old countess, wait- 
ing for the return of her husband and son, sat 
playing patience with the old gentlewoman 
who lived in their house. Denfsov, with spar- 
kling eyes and ruffled hair, sat at the clavichord 
striking chords with his short fingers, his legs 
thrown back and his eyes rolling as he sang, 
with his small, husky, but true voice, some 



BOOK FOUR 



verses called "Enchantress," which he had com- 
posed, and to which he was trying to fit music: 

Enchantress, say, to my forsaken lyre 
What magic power is this recalls me still? 
What spark has set my inmost soul on fire, 
What is this bliss that makes my fingers thrill? 

He was singing in passionate tones, gazing with 
his sparkling black-agate eyes at the frightened 
and happy Natdsha. 

"Splendid! Excellent!" exclaimed Natdsha. 
"Another verse," she said, without noticing 
Nicholas. 

"Everything's still the same with them," 
thought Nicholas, glancing into the drawing 
room, where he saw Vra and his mother with 
the old lady. 

"Ah, and here's Nicholas!" cried Natdsha, 
running up to him. 

"Is Papa at home?" he asked. 

"I am so glad you've come!" said Natdsha, 
without answering him. "We are en joying our- 
selves! Vasfli Dmftrich is staying a day longer 
for my sake! Did you know?" 

"No, Papa is not back yet," said S6nya. 

"Nicholas, have you come? Come here, 
dear!" called the old countess from the draw- 
ing room. 

Nicholas went to her, kissed her hand, and 
sitting down silently at her table began to 
watch her hands arranging the cards. From the 
dancing room, they still heard the laughter 
and merry voices trying to persuade Natdsha to 
sing. 

"All wight! All wight!" shouted Denfsov. 
"It's no good making excuses now! It's your 
turn to sing the ba'cawolla I entweat you!" 

The countess glanced at her silent son. 

"What is the matter?" she asked. 

"Oh, nothing," said he, as if weary of being 
continually asked the same question. "Will 
Papa be back soon?" 

"I expect so." 

"Everything's the same with them. They 
know nothing about it! Where am I to go?" 
thought Nicholas, and went again into the 
dancing room where the clavichord stood. 

S6nya was sitting at the clavichord, playing 
the prelude to Denfsov's favorite barcarolle. 
Natdsha was preparing to sing. Denfsov was 
looking at her with enraptured eyes. 

Nicholas began pacing up and down the 
room. 

"Why do they want to make her sing? How 
can she sing? There's nothing to be happy 
about I " thought he. 



S6nya struck the first chord of the prelude. 

"My God, I'm a ruined and dishonored man! 
A bullet through my brain is the only thing 
left me not singing!" his thoughts ran on. "Go 
away? But where to? It's all one let them sing!" 

He continued to pace the room, looking 
gloomily at Denfsov and the girls and avoiding 
their eyes. 

"Nik61enka, what is the matter?" S6nya's 
eyes fixed on him seemed to ask. She noticed at 
once that something had happened to him. 

Nicholas turned away from her. Natdsha too, 
with her quick instinct, had instantly noticed 
her brother's condition. But, though she no- 
ticed it, she was herself in such high spirits at 
that moment, so far from sorrow, sadness, or 
self-reproach, that she purposely deceived her- 
self as young people of ten do." No, I am too hap- 
py now to spoil my enjoyment by sympathy with 
anyone's sorrow," she felt, and she said to her- 
self: "No, I must be mistaken, he must be feel- 
ing happy, just as I am." 

"Now, Sonya!" she said, going to the very 
middle of the room, where she considered the 
resonance was best. 

Having lifted her head and let her arms 
droop lifelessly, as ballet dancers do, Natdsha, 
rising energetically from her heels to her toes, 
stepped to the middle of the room and stood 
still. 

"Yes, that's me!"sheseemed to say, answering 
the rapt gaze with which Denfsov followed her. 

"And what is she so pleased about?" thought 
Nicholas, looking at his sister. "Why isn't she 
dull and ashamed?" 

Natdsha took the first note, her throat 
swelled, her chest rose, her eyes became serious. 
At that moment she was oblivious of her sur- 
roundings, and from her smiling lips flowed 
sounds which anyone may produce at the same 
intervals and hold for the same time, but which 
leave you cold a thousand times and the thou- 
sand and first time thrill you and make you 
weep. 

Natdsha, that winter, had for the first time 
begun to sing seriously, mainly because Den- 
fsov so delighted in her singing. She no longer 
sang as a child, there was no longer in her sing- 
ing that comical, childish, painstaking effect 
that had been in it before; but she did not yet 
sing well, as all the connoisseurs who heard her 
said: "It is not trained, but it is a beautiful 
voice that must be trained." Only they gener- 
ally said this some time after she had finished 
singing. While that untrained voice, with its 
incorrect breathing and labored transitions, 



WAR AND PEACE 



was sounding, even the connoisseurs said noth- 
ing, but only delighted in it and wished to hear 
it again. In her voice there was a virginal 
freshness, an unconsciousness of her own pow- 
ers, and an as yet untrained velvety softness, 
which so mingled with her lack of art in sing- 
ing that it seemed as if nothing in that voice 
could be altered without spoiling it. 

"What is this?" thought Nicholas, listening 
to her with widely opened eyes. "What has 
happened to her? How she is singing today 1" 
And suddenly the whole world centered for 
him on anticipation of the next note, the next 
phrase, and everything in the world was di- 
vided into three beats: "Oh mio crudelc affet- 
to" . . . One, two, three . . . one, two, three . . . 
One . . . "Oh mio crudele affetto." . . . One, 
two, three . . . One. "Oh, this senseless life of 
ours!" thought Nicholas. "All this misery, and 
money, and D61okhov, and anger, and honor 
it's all nonsense . . . but this is real. . . . Now 
then, Natdsha, now then, dearest! Now then, 
darling! How will she take that si? She's taken 
it! Thank God!" And without noticing that he 
was singing, to strengthen the si he sung a 
second, a third below the high note. "Ah, God! 
How fine! Did I really take it? How fortunate!" 
he thought. 

Oh, how that chord vibrated, and how moved 
was something that was finest in Rostov's soul! 
And this something was apart from everything 
else in the world and above everything in the 
world. "What were losses, and D61okhov, and 
words of honor? . . . All nonsense! One might 
kill and rob and yet be happy " 

CHAPTER XVI 

IT WAS LONG since Rost6v had felt such enjoy- 
ment from music as he did that day. But no 
sooner had Natdsha finished her barcarolle 
than reality again presented itself. He got up 
without saying a word and went downstairs to 
his own room. A quarter of an hour later the 
old count came in from his Club, cheerful and 
contented. Nicholas, hearing him drive up, 
went to meet him. 

"Well had a good time?" said the old count, 
smiling gaily and proudly at his son. 

Nicholas tried to say "Yes," but could not: 
and he nearly burst into sobs. The count was 
lighting his pipe and did not notice his son's 
condition. 

"Ah, it can't be avoided!" thought Nicholas, 
for the first and last time. And suddenly, in the 
most casual tone, which made him feel ashamed 
of himself, he said, as if merely asking his fa- 



ther to let him have the carriage to drive to 
town: 

"Papa, I have come on a matter of business. 
I was nearly forgetting. I need some money." 

"Dear me!" said his father, who was in a spe- 
cially good humor. "I told you it would not be 
enough. How much?" 

"Very much," said Nicholas flushing, and 
with a stupid careless smile, for which he was 
long unable to forgive himself, "I have lost a 
little, I mean a good deal, a great deal forty- 
three thousand." 

"What! To whom? . . . Nonsense!" cried the 
count, suddenly reddening with an apoplectic 
flush over neck and nape as old people do. 

"I promised to pay tomorrow," said Nicho- 
las. 

"Well! . . ."said the old count, spreading out 
his arms and sinking helplessly on the sofa. 

"It can't behelped! It happens toeveryone!" 
said the son, with a bold, free, and easy tone, 
while in his soul he regarded himself as a 
worthless scoundrel whose whole life could not 
atone for his crime. He longed to kiss his fa- 
ther's hands and kneel to beg his forgiveness, 
but said, in a careless and even rude voice, that 
it happens to everyone! 

The old count cast down his eyes on hearing 
his son's words and began bustlingly searching 
for something. 

"Yes, yes," he muttered, "it will be difficult, 
I fear, difficult to raise . . . happens to every- 
body! Yes, who has not done it?" 

And with a furtive glance at his son's face, 
the count went out of the room. . . . Nicholas 
had been prepared for resistance, but had not 
at all expected this. 

"Papa! Pa-pa!" he called after him, sobbing, 
"forgive me!" And seizing his father's hand, he 
pressed it to his lips and burst into tears. 

While father and son were having their ex- 
planation, the mother and daughter were hav- 
ing one not less important. Natdsha came run- 
ning to her mother, quite excited. , 

"Mamma! . . . Mamma! . . . He has made 
me . . ." 

"Made what?" 

"Made, made me an offer, Mamma! Mam- 
ma!" she exclaimed. 

The countess did not believe her ears. Den- 
isov had proposed. To whom? To this chit of a 
girl, Natasha, who not so long ago was playing 
with dolls and who was still having lessons. 

"Don't, Natdsha! What nonsense!" she said, 
hoping it was a joke. 

"Nonsense, indeed! lamtellingyou the fact," 



BOOK 

said Natasha indignantly. "I come to ask you 
what to do, and you call it 'nonsense!' " 

The countess shrugged her shoulders. 

"If it is true that Monsieur Denfsov has made 
you a proposal, tell him he is a fool, that's all I" 

"No, he's not a fool!" replied Natasha indig- 
nantly and seriously. 

"Well then, what do you want? You're all in 
love nowadays. Well, if you are in love, mar- 
ry him!" said the countess, with a laugh of an- 
noyance. "Good luck to you!" 

"No, Mamma, I'm not in love with him, I 
suppose I'm not in love with him." 

"Well then, tell him so." 

"Mamma, are you cross? Don't be cross, dear! 
Is it my fault?" 

"No, but what is it, my dear? Do you want 
me to go and tell him?" said the countess smil- 
ing. 

"No, I will do it myself, only tell me what to 
say. It's all very well for you," said Natdsha, 
with a responsive smile. "You should have seen 
how he said it! I know he did not mean to say 
it, but it came out accidently." 

"Well, all the same, you must refuse him." 

"No, I mustn't. I am so sorry for him! He's 
so nice." 

"Well then, accept his offer. It's high time 
for you to be married," answered the countess 
sharply and sarcastically. 

"No, Mamma, but I'm so sorry for him. I 
don't know how I'm to say it." 

"And there's nothing for you to say. I shall 
speak to him myself," said the countess, indig- 
nant that they should have dared to treat this 
little Natdsha as grown up. 

"No, not on any account! I will tell him my- 
self, and you'll listen at the door," and Natasha 
ran across the drawing room to the dancing 
hall, where Denfsov was sitting on the same 
chair by the clavichord with his face in his 
hands. 

He jumped up at the sound of her light step. 

"Nataly," he said, moving with rapid steps 
toward her, "decide my fate. It is in your hands." 

"Vasfli Dmitrich, I'm so sorry for you! . . . 
No, but you are so nice . . . but it won't do ... 
not that . . . but as a friend, I shall always love 
you." 



FOUR 193 

Denlsov bent over her hand and she heard 
strange sounds she did not understand. She 
kissed his rough curly black head. At this in- 
stant, they heard the quick rustle of the count- 
ess' dress. She came up to them. 

"Vasfli Dmitrich, I thankyou for the honor," 
she said, with an embarrassed voice, though it 
sounded severe to Denlsov "but my daughter 
is so young, and I thought that, as my son's 
friend, you would have addressed yourself 
first to me. In that case you would not have 
obliged me to give this refusal." 

"Countess . . ." said Denfsov, with downcast 
eyes and a guilty face. He tried to say more, but 
faltered. 

Natasha could not remain calm, seeing him 
in such a plight. She began to sob aloud. 

"Countess, I have done w'ong," Denfsov 
went on in an unsteady voice, "but believe me, 
I so adore your daughter and all your family 
that I would give my life twice over . . ." He 
looked at the countess, and seeing her severe 
face said: "Well, good-by, Countess," and kiss- 
ing her hand, he left the room with quick reso- 
lute strides, without looking at Natasha. 

Next day Rost6vsaw Denfsov off. He did not 
wish to stay another day in Moscow. All Denf- 
sov's Moscow friends gave him a farewell en- 
tertainment at the gypsies', with the result that 
he had no recollection of how he was put in the 
sleigh or of the first three stages of his journey. 

After Denfsov's departure, Rost6v spent an- 
other fortnight in Moscow, without going out 
of the house, waiting for the money his father 
could not at once raise, and he spent most of 
his time in the girls' room. 

S6nya was more tender and devoted to him 
than ever. It was as if she wanted to show him 
that his losses were an achievement that made 
her love him all the more, but Nicholas now 
considered himself unworthy of her. 

He filled the girls' albums with verses and 
music, and having at last sent D61okhov the 
whole forty-three thousand rubles and received 
his receipt, he left at the end of November, 
without taking leave of any of his acquaint- 
ances, to overtake his regiment which was al- 
ready in Poland. 



Book Five: 1806-07 



CHAPTER I 

AFTER HIS INTERVIEW with his wife Pierre left 
for Petersburg. At the Torzh6k post station, 
either there were no horses or the postmaster 
would not supply them. Pierre was obliged to 
wait. Without undressing, he lay down on the 
leather sofa in front of a round table, put his 
big feet in their overboots on the table, and 
began to reflect. 

"Will you have the portmanteaus brought in? 
And a bed got ready, and tea?" asked his valet. 

Pierre gave no answer, for he neither heard 
nor saw anything. He had begun to think of 
the last station and was still pondering on the 
same question one so important that he took 
no notice of what went on around him. Not 
only was he indifferent as to whether he got to 
Petersburg earlier or later, or whether he se- 
cured accommodation at this station, but com- 
pared to the thoughts that now occupied him 
it was a matter of indifference whether he re- 
mained there for a few hours or for the rest of 
his life. 

The postmaster, his wife, the valet, and a 
peasant woman selling Torzh6k embroidery 
came into the room offering their services. 
Without changing his careless attitude, Pierre 
looked at them over his spectacles unable to 
understand what they wanted or how they 
could go on living without having solved the 
problems that so absorbed him. He had been 
engrossed by the same thoughts ever since the 
day he returned from Sok61niki after the duel 
and had spent that first agonizing, sleepless 
night. But now, in the solitude of the journey, 
they seized him with special force. No matter 
what he thought about, he always returned to 
these same questions which he could not solve 
and yet could not cease to ask himself. It was 
as if the thread of the chief screw which held 
his life together were stripped, so that thescrew 
could not get in or out, but went on turning 
uselessly in the same place. 

The postmaster came in and began obse- 
quiously to beg his excellency to wait only two 



hours, when, come what might, he would let 
his excellency have the courier horses. It was 
plain that he was lying and only wanted to get 
more money from the traveler. 

"Is this good or bad?" Pierre asked himself. 
"It is good for me, bad for another traveler, 
and for himself it's unavoidable, because he 
needs money for food; the man said an officer 
had once given him a thrashing for letting a 
private traveler have the courier horses. But 
the officer thrashed him because he had to get 
on as quickly as possible. And I," continued 
Pierre, "shot Dolokhov because I considered 
myself injured, and Louis XVI was executed 
because they considered him a criminal, and a 
year later they executed those who executed 
him also for some reason. What is bad? What 
is good? What should one love and what hate? 
What does one live for? And what am I? What 
is life, and what is death? What power governs 
all?" 

There was no answer to any of these ques- 
tions, except one, and that not a logical answer 
and not at all a reply to them. The answer was: 
"You'll die and all will end. You'll die and 
know all, or cease asking." But dying was also 
dreadful. 

The Torzh6k peddler woman, in a whining 
voice, went on offering her wares, especially a 
pair of goatskin slippers. "I have hundreds of 
rubles I don't know what to do with, and she 
stands in her tattered cloak looking timidly at 
me," he thought. "And what does she want the 
money for? As if that money could add a hair's 
breadth to her happiness or peaceof mind. Can 
anything in the world make her or me less a 
prey to evil and death? death which ends all 
and must come today or tomorrow at any rate, 
in an instant as compared with eternity." And 
again he twisted the screw with the stripped 
thread, and again it turned uselessly in the 
same place. 

His servant handed him a half-cut novel, in 
the form of letters, by Madame de Souza. He 
began reading about the sufferings and virtu- 



'94 



BOOK FIVE 



195 



>us struggles of a certain Emilie de Mansfeld. 
'And why did she resist her seducer when she 
ioved him?" he thought. "God could not have 
put into her heart an impulse that was against 
His will. My wife as she once was did not 
itruggle, and perhaps she was right. Nothing 
has been found out, nothing discovered," 
Pierre again said to himself. "All we can know 
is that we know nothing. And that's the height 
->f human wisdom." 

Everything within and around him seemed 
:on fused, senseless, and repellent. Yet in this 
very repugnance to all his circumstances Pierre 
found a kind of tantalizing satisfaction. 

"I make bold to ask your excellency to move 
\ little for this gentleman," said the postmaster, 
entering the room followed by another travel- 
er, also detained for lack of horses. 

The newcomer was a short, large-boned, yel- 
low-faced, wrinkled old man, with gray bushy 
eyebrows overhanging bright eyes of an indefi- 
nite grayish color. 

Pierre took his feet off the table, stood up, 
and lay down on a bed that had been got ready 
for him, glancing now and then at the newcom- 
er, who, with a gloomy and tired face, was 
wearily taking off his wraps with the aid of his 
servant, and not looking at Pierre. With a pair 
of felt boots on his thin bony legs, and keep- 
ing on a worn, nankeen-covered, sheepskin 
coat, the traveler sat down on the sofa, leaned 
back his big head with its broad temples and 
close-cropped hair, and looked at Beziikhov. 
The stern, shrewd, and penetrating expression 
of that look struck Pierre. He felt a wish to 
speak to the stranger, but by the time he had 
made up his mind to ask him a question about 
the roads, the traveler had closed his eyes. His 
shriveled old hands were folded and on the 
finger of one of them Pierre noticed a large cast- 
iron ring with a seal representing a death's- 
head. The stranger sat without stirring, either 
resting or, as it seemed to Pierre, sunk in pro- 
found and calm meditation. His servant was 
also a yellow, wrinkled old man, without beard 
or mustache, evidently not because he was shav- 
en but because they had never grown. This ac- 
tive old servant was unpacking the traveler's 
canteen and preparing tea. He brought in a 
boiling samovar. When everything was ready, 
the stranger opened his eyes, moved to the 
table, filled a tumbler with tea for himself and 
one for the beardless old man to whom he 
passed it. Pierre began to feel a sense of un- 
easiness, and the need, even the inevitability, of 
entering into conversation with this stranger. 



The servant brought back his tumbler turned 
upside down, 1 with an unfinished bit of nib- 
bled sugar, and asked if anything more would 
be wanted. 

"No. Give me the book," said the stranger. 

The servant handed him a book which 
Pierre took to be a devotional work, and the 
traveler became absorbed in it. Pierre looked 
at him. All at once the stranger closed the book, 
putting in a marker, and again, leaning with 
his arms on the back of the sofa, sat in his 
former position with his eyes shut. Pierre looked 
at him and had not time to turn away when the 
old man, opening his eyes, fixed his steady and 
severe gaze straight on Pierre's face. 

Pierre felt confused and wished to avoid that 
look, but the bright old eyes attracted him ir- 
resistibly. 

CHAPTER II 

"I HAVE THE PLEASURE of addressing Count Be- 
ziikhov, if I am not mistaken," said the stran- 
ger in a deliberate and loud voice. 

Pierre looked silently and inquiringly at him 
over his spectacles. 

"I have heard of you, my dear sir," continued 
the stranger, "and of your misfortune." He 
seemed to emphasize the last word, as if to say 
"Yes, misfortune! Call it what you please, I 
know that what happened to you in Moscow 
was a misfortune." "I regret it very much, my 
dear sir." 

Pierre flushed and, hurriedly putting his legs 
down from the bed, bent forward toward the 
old man with a forced and timid smile. 

"I have not referred to this out of curiosity, 
my dear sir, but for greater reasons." 

He paused, his gaze still on Pierre, and moved 
aside on the sofa by way of inviting the other 
to take a seat beside him. Pierre felt reluctant 
to enter into conversation with this old man, 
but, submitting to him involuntarily, came up 
and sat down beside him. 

"You are unhappy, my dear sir," the stranger 
continued. "You are young and I am old. I 
should like to help you as far as lies in my 
power." 

"Oh, yes!" said Pierre, with a forced smile. 
"I am very grateful to you. Where are you trav- 
eling from?" 

The stranger's face was not genial, it was 
even cold and severe, but in spite of this, both 
the face and words of his new acquaintance 
were irresistibly attractive to Pierre. 

"But if for any reason you don't feel inclined 

1 To indicate he did not want more tea. 



ig6 



WAR AND PEACE 



to talk to me," said the old man, "say so, my 
dear sir." And he suddenly smiled, in an un- 
expected and tenderly paternal way, 

"Oh no, not at all! On the contrary, I am 
very glad to make your acquaintance," said 
Pierre. And again, glancing at the stranger's 
hands, he looked more closely at the ring, with 
its skulla Masonic sign. 

"Allow me to ask," he said, "are you a Ma- 
son?" 

"Yes, I belong to the Brotherhood of the 
Freemasons," said the stranger, looking deep- 
er and deeper into Pierre's eyes. "And in their 
name and my own I hold out a brotherly hand 
to you." 

"I am afraid," said Pierre, smiling, and wa- 
vering between the confidence the personality 
of the Freemason inspired in him and his own 
habit of ridiculing the Masonic beliefs "I am 
afraid I am very far from understanding how 
am I to put it? I am afraid my way of looking 
at the world is so*opposed to yours that we 
shall not understand one another." 

"I knowyour outlook," said the Mason, "and 
the view of life you mention, and which you 
think is the result of your own mental efforts, 
is the one held by the majority of people, and 
is the invariable fruit of pride, indolence, and 
ignorance. Forgive me, my dear sir, but if I 
had not known it I should not have addressed 
you. Your view of life is a regrettable delusion." 

"Just as I may suppose you to be deluded," 
said Pierre, with a faint smile. 

"I should never dare to say that I know the 
truth," said the Mason, whose words struck 
Pierre more and more by their precision and 
firmness. "No one can attain to truth by him- 
self. Only by laying stone on stone with the co- 
operation of all, by the millions of generations 
from our forefather Adam to our own times, is 
that temple reared which is to be a worthy 
dwelling place of the Great God," he added, 
and closed his eyes. 

"I ought to tell you that I do not believe 
... do not believe in God," said Pierre, regret- 
fully and with an effort, feeling it essential to 
speak the whole truth. 

The Mason looked intently at Pierre and 
smiled as a rich man with millions in hand 
might smile at a poor fellow who told him that 
he, poor man, had not the five rubles that 
would make him happy. 

"Yes, you do not know Him, my dear sir," 
said the Mason. "You cannot know Him. You 
do not know Him and that is why you are un- 
happy." 



"Yes, yes, I am unhappy," assented Pierre. 
"But what am I to do?" 

"You know Him not, my dear sir, and so you 
are very unhappy. You do not know Him, but 
He is here, He is in me, He is in my words, He 
is in thee,and even in those blasphemous words 
thou hast just uttered!" pronounced the Mason 
in a stern and tremulous voice. 

He paused and sighed, evidently trying to 
calm himself. 

"If He were not," he said quietly, "you and 
I would not be speaking of Him, my dear sir. 
Of what, of whom, are we speaking? Whom 
hast thou denied?" he suddenly asked with ex- 
ulting austerity and authority in his voice. 
"Who invented Him, if He did not exist? 
Whence came thy conception of the existence 
of such an incomprehensible Being? Why didst 
thou, and why did the whole world, conceive 
the idea of the existence of such an incompre- 
hensible Being, a Being all-powerful, eternal, 
and infinite in all His attributes? . . ." 

He stopped and remained silent for a long 
time. 

Pierre could not and did not wish to break 
this silence. 

"He exists, but to understand Him is hard," 
the Mason began again, looking not at Pierre 
but straight before him, and turning the leaves 
of his book with his old hands which from ex- 
citement he could not keep still. "If it were a 
man whose existence thou didst doubt I could 
bring him to thee, could take him by the hand 
and show him to thee. But how can I, an insig- 
nificant mortal, show His omnipotence, His in- 
finity, and all His mercy to one who is blind, 
or who shuts his eyes that he may not see or 
understand Him and may not see or under- 
stand his own vileness and sinfulness?" He 
paused again. "Who art thou? Thou dreamest 
that thou art wise because thou couldst utter 
those blasphemous words," he went on, with a 
somber and scornful smile. "And thou art more 
foolish and unreasonable than a little child, 
who, playing with the parts of a skillfully made 
watch, dares to say that, as he does not under- 
stand its use, he does not believe in the master 
who made it. To know Him is hard. . . . For 
ages, from our forefather Adam to our own 
day, we labor to attain that knowledge and are 
still infinitely far from our aim; but in our 
lack of understanding we see only our weak- 
ness and His greatness. . . ." 

Pierre listened with swelling heart, gazing 
into the Mason's face with shining eyes, not 
interrupting or questioning him, but believ- 



ing with his whole soul what the stranger said. 
Whether he accepted the wise reasoning con- 
tained in the Mason's words, or believed as a 
child believes, in the speaker's tone of convic- 
tion and earnestness, or the tremor of the speak- 
er's voicewhich sometimes almost broke or 
those brilliant aged eyes grown old in this con- 
viction, or the calm firmness and certainty of 
his vocation, which radiated from his whole be- 
ing (and which struck Pierre especially by con- 
trast with his own dejection and hopelessness) 
at any rate, Pierre longed with his whole soul 
to believe and he did believe, and felt a joyful 
sense of comfort, regeneration, and return to 
life. 

"He is not to be apprehended by reason, 
but by life," said the Mason. 

"I do not understand," said Pierre, feeling 
with dismay doubts reawakening. He was 
afraid of any want of clearness, any weakness, 
in the Mason's arguments; he dreaded not to 
be able to believe in him. "I don't under- 
stand," he said, "how it is that the mind of 
man cannot attain the knowledge of which 
you speak." 

The Mason smiled with his gentle fatherly 
smile. 

"The highest wisdom and truth are like the 
purest liquid we may wish to imbibe," he said. 
"Can I receive that pure liquid into an impure 
vessel and judge of its purity? Only by the in- 
ner purification of myself can I retain in some 
degree of purity the liquid I receive." 

"Yes, yes, that is so," said Pierre joyfully. 

"The highest wisdom is not founded on rea- 
son alone, not on those worldly sciences of phys- 
ics, history, chemistry, and the like, into which 
intellectual knowledge is divided. The highest 
wisdom is one. The highest wisdom has but 
one science the science of the whole the sci- 
ence explaining the whole creation and man's 
place in it. To receive that science it is neces- 
sary to purify and renew one's inner self, and 
so before one can know, it is necessary to be- 
lieve and to perfect one's self. And to attain 
this end, we have the light called conscience 
that God has implanted in our souls." 

"Yes, yes," assented Pierre. 

"Look then at thy inner self with the eyes of 
the spirit, and ask thyself whether thou art con- 
tent with thyself. What -hast thou attained re- 
lying on reason only? What art thou? You are 
young, you are rich, you are clever, you are well 
educated. And what have you done with all 
these good gifts? Are you content with yourself 
and with your life?" 



BOOK FIVE 197 

"No, I hate my life," Pierre muttered, winc- 



ing. 

"Thou hatest it. Then change it, purify thy- 
self; and as thou art purified, thou wilt gain 
wisdom. Look at your life, my dear sir. How 
have you spent it? In riotous orgies and de- 
bauchery, receiving everything from society 
and giving nothing in return. You have be- 
come the possessor of wealth. How have you 
used it? What have you done for your neigh- 
bor? Have you ever thought of your tens of 
thousands of slaves? Have you helped them 
physically and morally? No! You have profited 
by their toil to lead a profligate life. That is 
what you have done. Have you chosen a post 
in which you might be of service to your neigh- 
bor? No! You have spent your life in idleness. 
Then you married, my dear sirtook on your- 
self responsibility for the guidance of a young 
woman; and what have you done? You have 
not helped her to find the way of truth, my 
dear sir, but have thrust her into an abyss of de- 
ceit and misery. A man offended you and you 
shot him, and you say you do not know God 
and hate your life. There is nothing strange in 
that, my dear sir!" 

After these words, the Mason, as if tired by 
his long discourse, again leaned his arms on 
the back of the sofa and closed his eyes. Pierre 
looked at that aged, stern, motionless, almost 
lifeless face and moved his lips without utter- 
ing a sound. He wished to say, "Yes, a vile, idle, 
vicious life!" but dared not break the silence. 

The Mason cleared his throat huskily, as 
old men do, and called his servant. 

"How about the horses?" he asked, without 
looking at Pierre. 

"The exchange horses have just come," an- 
swered the servant. "Will you not rest here?" 

"No, tell them to harness." 

"Can he really be going away and leaving me 
alone without having told me all, and without 
promising to help me?" thought Pierre, rising 
with downcast head; and he began to pace the 
room, glancing occasionally at the Mason. "Yes, 
I never thought of it, but I have led a con- 
temptible and profligate life, though I did not 
like it and did not want to," thought Pierre. 
"But this man knows the truth and, if he wished 
to, could disclose it to me." 

Pierre wished to say this to the Mason, but 
did not dare to. The traveler, having packed 
his things with his practiced hands, began fas- 
tening his coat. When he had finished, he turned 
to Bezukhov, and said in a tone of indifferent 
politeness: 



198 



WAR AND PEACE 



"Where are you going to now, my dear sir?" 

"I? . . . I'm going to Petersburg/' answered 
Pierre, in a childlike, hesitating voice. "I thank 
you. I agree with all you have said. But do not 
suppose me to be so bad. With my whole soul 
I wish to be what you would have me be, but 
I have never had help from anyone. . . . But it 
is I, above all, who am to blame for everything. 
Help me, teach me, and perhaps I may . . ." 

Pierre could not go on. He gulped and turn- 
ed away. 

The Mason remained silent for a long time, 
evidently considering. 

"Help comes from God alone," he said, "but 
such measure of help as our Order can bestow 
it will render you, my dear sir. You are going to 
Petersburg. Hand this to Count Willarski" (he 
took out his notebook and wrote a few words 
on a large sheet of paper folded in four). "Al- 
low me to give you a piece of advice. When you 
reach the capital, first of all devote some time 
to solitude and self-examination and do not 
resume your former way of life. And now I 
wish you a good journey, my dear sir," he add- 
ed, seeing that his servant had entered ". . . and 
success." 

The traveler was Joseph Alextfevich Bazd- 
ev, as Pierre saw from the postmaster's book. 
Bazde*ev had been one of the best-known Free- 
masons and Martinists,even in Novfkov's time. 
For a long while after he had gone, Pierre did 
not go to bed or order horses but paced up and 
down the room, pondering over his vicious 
past, and with a rapturous sense of beginning 
anew pictured to himself the blissful, irre- 
proachable, virtuous future that seemed to him 
so easy. It seemed to him that he had been vi- 
cious only because he had somehow forgotten 
how good it is to be virtuous. Not a trace of his 
former doubts remained in his soul. He firmly 
believed in the possibility of the brotherhood 
of men united in the aim of supporting one an- 
other in the path of virtue, and that is how 
Freemasonry presented itself to him. 

CHAPTER III 

ON REACHING Petersburg Pierre did not let 
anyone know of his arrival, he went nowhere 
and spent whole days in reading Thomas a 
Kempis, whose book had been sent him by 
someone unknown. One thing he continually 
realized as he read that book: the joy, hitherto 
unknown to him, of believing in the possibil- 
ity of attaining perfection, and in the possibil- 
ity of active brotherly love among men, which 
Joseph Alex^evich had revealed to him. A 



week after his arrival, the young Polish count, 
Willarski, whom Pierre had known slightly in 
Petersburg society, came into his room one eve- 
ning in the official and ceremonious manner 
in which D61okhov's second had called on him, 
and, having closed the door behind him and 
satisfied himself that there was nobody else in 
the room, addressed Pierre. 

"I have come to you with a message and an 
offer, Count," he said without sitting down. "A 
person of very high standing in our Brother- 
hood has made application for you to be re- 
ceived into our Order before the usual term 
and has proposed to me to be your sponsor. I 
consider it a sacred duty to fulfill that person's 
wishes. Do you wish to enter the Brotherhood 
of Freemasons under my sponsorship?" 

The cold, austere tone of this man, whom he 
had almost always before met at balls, amiably 
smiling in the society of the most brilliant 
women, surprised Pierre. 

"Yes, I do wish it," said he. 

Willarski bowed his head. 

"Onemore question, Count," hesaid, "which 
I beg you to answer in all sincerity not as a 
future Mason but as an honest man: have you 
renounced your former convictions do you be- 
lieve in God?" 

Pierre considered. 

"Yes . . . yes, I believe in God," he said. 

"In that case . . ." began Willarski, but Pierre 
interrupted him. 

"Yes, I do believe in God," he repeated. 

"In that case we can go," said Willarski. "My 
carriage is at your service." 

Willarski was silent throughout the drive. 
To Pierre's inquiries as to what he must do and 
how he should answer, Willarski only replied 
that brothers more worthy than he would test 
him and that Pierre had only to tell the truth. 

Having entered the courtyard of a large 
house where the Lodge had its headquarters, 
and having ascended a dark staircase, they en- 
tered a small well-lit anteroom where they took 
off their cloaks without the aid of a servant. 
From there they passed into another room. A 
man in strange attire appeared at the door. 
Willarski, stepping toward him, said some- 
thing to him in French in an undertone and 
then went up to a small wardrobe in which 
Pierre noticed garments such as he had never 
seen before. Having taken a kerchief from the 
cupboard, Willarski bound Pierre's eyes with 
it and tied it in a knot behind, catching some 
hairs painfully in the knot. Then he drew his 
face down, kissed him, and taking him by the 



BOOK FIVE 



199 



hand led him forward. The hairs tied in the 
knot hurt Pierre and there were lines of pain 
on his face and a shamefaced smile. His huge 
figure, with arms hanging down and with a 
puckered, though smiling face, moved after 
Willarski with uncertain, timid steps. 

Having led him about ten paces, Willarski 
stopped. 

"Whatever happens to you," he said, "you 
must bear it all manfully if you have firmly re- 
solved to join our Brotherhood." (Pierre nod- 
ded affirmatively.) "When you hear a knock at 
the door, you will uncover your eyes," added 
Willarski. "I wish you courage and success," 
and, pressing Pierre's hand, he went out. 

Left alone, Pierre went on smiling in the 
same way. Once or twice he shrugged his shoul- 
ders and raised his hand to the kerchief, as if 
wishing to take it off, but let it drop again. 
The five minutes spent with his eyes bandaged 
seemed to him an hour. His arms felt numb, 
his legs almost gave way, it seemed to him that 
he was tired out. He experienced a variety of 
most complex sensations. He felt afraid of 
what would happen to him and still more 
afraid of showing his fear. He felt curious to 
know what was going to happen and what 
would be revealed to him; but most of all, he 
felt joyful that the moment had come when he 
would at last start on that path of regeneration 
and on the actively virtuous life of which he 
had been dreaming since he met Joseph Alex- 
evich. Loud knocks were heard at the door. Pi- 
erre took the bandage off his eyes and glanced 
around him. The room was in black darkness, 
only a small lamp was burning inside some- 
thing white. Pierre went nearer and saw that 
the lamp stood on a black table on which lay 
an open book. The book was the Gospel, and 
the white thing with the lamp inside was a hu- 
man skull with its cavities and teeth. After 
reading the first words of the Gospel: "In the 
beginning was the Word and the Word was 
with God," Pierre went round the table and 
saw a large open box filled with something. It 
was a coffin with bones inside. He was not at 
all surprised by what he saw. Hoping to enter 
on an entirely new life quite unlike the old one, 
he expected everything to be unusual, even 
more unusual than what he was seeing. A 
skull, a coffin, the Gospel it seemed to him 
that he had expected all this and even more. 
Trying to stimulate his emotions he looked 
around. "God, death, love, the brotherhood 
of man," he kept saying to himself, associat- 
ing these words with vague yet joyful ideas. 



The door opened and someone came in. 

By the dim light, to which Pierre had already 
become accustomed, he saw a rather short man. 
Having evidently come from the light into the 
darkness, the man paused, then moved with 
cautious steps toward the table and placed on 
it his small leather-gloved hands. 

This short man had on a white leather apron 
which covered his chest and part of his legs; he 
had on a kind of necklace above which rose a 
high white ruffle, outlining his rather long 
face which was lit up from below. 

"For what have you come hither?" asked the 
newcomer, turning in Pierre's direction at a 
slight rustle made by the latter. "Why have you, 
who do not believe in the truth of the light 
and who have not seen the light, come here? 
What do you seek from us? Wisdom, virtue, en- 
lightenment?" 

At the moment the door opened and the 
stranger came in, Pierre felt a sense of awe and 
veneration such as he had experienced in his 
boyhood at confession; he felt himself in the 
presence of one socially a complete stranger, 
yet nearer to him through the brotherhood of 
man. With bated breath and beating heart he 
moved toward the Rhetor (by which name the 
brother who prepared a seeker for entrance in- 
to the Brotherhood was known). Drawing near- 
er, he recognized in the Rhetor a man he knew, 
Smolyaninov, and it mortified him to think 
that the newcomer was an acquaintance he 
wished him simply a brother and a virtuous in- 
structor. For a long time he could not utter a 
word, so that the Rhetor had to repeat his ques- 
tion. 

"Yes ... I ... I ... desire regeneration," 
Pierre uttered with difficulty. 

"Very well," said Smolyaninov, and went on 
at once: "Have you any idea of the means by 
which our holy Order will help you to reach 
your aim?" said he quietly and quickly. 

"I ... hope ... for guidance . . . help ... in 
regeneration," said Pierre, with a trembling 
voice and some difficulty in utterance due to 
his excitement and to being unaccustomed to 
speak of abstract matters in Russian. 

"What is your conception of Freemasonry?" 

"I imagine that Freemasonry is the fraternity 
and equality of men who have virtuous aims," 
said Pierre, feeling ashamed of the inadequacy 
of his words for the solemnity of the moment, 
as he spoke. "I imagine * . ." 

"Good!" said the Rhetor quickly, apparent- 
ly satisfied with this answer. "Have you sought 
for means of attaining your aim in religion?" 



2OO 

"No, I considered it erroneous and did not 
follow it," said Pierre, so softly that the Rhetor 
did not hear him and asked him what he was 
saying. "I have been an atheist," answered 
Pierre. 

"You are seeking for truth in order to follow 
its laws in your life, therefore you seek wisdom 
and virtue. Is that not so?" said the Rhetor, 
after a moment's pause. 

"Yes, yes," assented Pierre. 

The Rhetor cleared his throat, crossed his 
gloved hands on his breast, and began to speak. 

"Now I must disclose to you the chief aim of 
our Order," he said, "and if this aim coincides 
with yours, you may enter our Brotherhood 
with profit. The first and chief object of our 
Order, the foundation on which it rests and 
which no human power can destroy, is the pres- 
ervation and handing on to posterity of a cer- 
tain important mystery . . . which has come 
down to us from the remotest ages, even from 
the first man a mystery on which perhaps the 
fate of mankind depends. But since this mys- 
tery is of such a nature that nobody can know 
or use it unless he be prepared by long and dil- 
igent self-purification, not everyone can hope 
to attain itquickly. Hencewe have a secondary 
aim, that of preparing our members as much as 
possible to reform their hearts, to purify and 
enlighten their minds, by means handed on to 
us by tradition from those who have striven to 
attain this mystery, and thereby to render them 
capable of receiving it. 

"By purifyingand regeneratingour members 
we try, thirdly, to improve the whole human 
race, offering it in our members an example of 
piety and virtue, and thereby try with all our 
might to combat theevil which sways the world. 
Think this over and I will come to you again." 

"To combat the evil which sways the world 
. . ." Pierre repeated, and a mental image of his 
future activity in this direction rose in his 
mind. He imagined men such as he had himself 
been a fortnight ago, and he addressed an edify- 
ing exhortation to them. He imagined to him- 
self vicious and unfortunate people whom he 
would assist by word and deed, imagined op- 
pressors whose victims he would rescue. Of the 
three objects mentioned by the Rhetor, this 
last, that of improving mankind, especially ap- 
pealed to Pierre. The important mystery men- 
tioned by the Rhetor, though it aroused his cu- 
riosity, did not seem to him essential, and the 
second aim, that of purifying and regenerating 
himself, did not much interest him because at 
that moment he felt with delight that he was 



WAR AND PEACE 



already perfectly cured of his former faults and 
was ready for all that was good. 

Half an hour later, the Rhetor returned to 
inform the seeker of the seven virtues, corre- 
sponding to the seven steps of Solomon's tem- 
ple, which every Freemason should cultivate in 
himself. These virtues were: i. Discretion, the 
keeping of the secrets of the Order. 2. Obedi- 
ence to those of higher ranks in the Order. 
3. Morality. 4. Love of mankind. 5. Courage. 
6. Generosity. 7. The love of death. 

"In the seventh place, try, by the frequent 
thought of death," the Rhetor said, "to bring 
yourself to regard it not as a dreaded foe, but 
as a friend that frees the soul grown weary in 
the labors of virtue from this distressful life, 
and leads it to its place of recompense and 
peace." 

"Yes, that must be so," thought Pierre, when 
after these words the Rhetor went away, leav- 
ing him to solitary meditation. "It must be so, 
but I am still so weak that I love my life, the 
meaning of which is only now gradually open- 
ing before me." But five of the other virtues 
which Pierre recalled, counting them on his 
fingers, he felt already in his soul: courage, 
generosity, morality, love of mankind, and es- 
pecially obedience which did not even seem to 
him a virtue, but a joy. (He now felt so glad to 
be free from his own lawlessness and to sub- 
mit his will to those who knew the indubitable 
truth.) He forgot what the seventh virtue was 
and could not recall it. 

The third time the Rhetor came back more 
quickly and asked Pierre whether he was still 
firm in his intention and determined to sub- 
mit to all that would be required of him. 

"I am ready for everything," said Pierre. 

"I must also inform you," said the Rhetor, 
"that our Order delivers its teaching not in 
words only but also by other means, which may 
perhaps have a stronger effect on the sincere 
seeker after wisdom and virtue than mere 
words. This chamberwith what yousee therein 
should already have suggested to your heart, 
if it is sincere, more than words could do. You 
will perhaps also see in your further initiation 
a like method of enlightenment. Our Order 
imitates the ancient societies that explained 
their teaching by hieroglyphics. A hieroglyph," 
said the Rhetor, "is an emblem of something 
not cognizable by the senses but which possess- 
es qualities resembling those of the symbol." 

Pierre knew very well what a hieroglyph 
was, but dared not speak. He listened to the 
Rhetor in silence, feeling from all he said that 



BOOK FIVE 



his ordeal was about to begin. 

"If you are resolved, I must begin your ini- 
tiation/ 1 said the Rhetor coming closer to 
Pierre. "In token of generosity I ask you to 
give me all your valuables." 

"But I have nothing here," replied Pierre, 
supposing that he was asked to give up all he 
possessed. 

"What you have with you: watch, money, 
rings. . . ." 

Pierre quickly took out his purse and watch, 
but could not manage for some time to get the 
wedding ring off his fat finger. When that had 
been done, the Rhetor said: 

"In token of obedience, I ask you to undress." 

Pierre took off his coat, waistcoat, and left 
boot according to the Rhetor's instructions. 
The Mason drew the shirt back from Pierre's 
left breast, and stooping down pulled up the 
left leg of his trousers to above the knee. 
Pierre hurriedly began taking off his right 
boot also and was going to tuck up the other 
trouser leg to save this stranger the trouble, 
but the Mason told him that was not neces- 
sary and gave him a slipper for his left foot. 
With a childlike smile of embarrassment, 
doubt, and self-derision, which appeared on 
his face against his will, Pierre stood with his 
arms hanging down and legs apart, before 
his brother Rhetor, and awaited his further 
commands. 

"And now, in token of candor, I ask you to 
reveal to me your chief passion," said the lat- 
ter. 

"My passion! I have had so many," replied 
Pierre. 

"That passion which more than all others 
caused you to waver on the path of virtue," 
said the Mason. 

Pierre paused, seeking a reply. 

"Wine? Gluttony? Idleness? Laziness? Irri- 
tability? Anger? Women?" He went over his 
vices in his mind, not knowing to which of 
them to give the pre-eminence. 

"Women," he said in a low, scarcely audible 
voice. 

The Mason did not move and for a long 
time said nothing after this answer. At last he 
moved up to Pierre and, taking the kerchief 
that lay on the table, again bound his eyes. 

"For the last time I say to you turn all your 
attention upon yourself, put a bridle on your 
senses, and seek blessedness, not in passion but 
in your own heart. The source of blessedness 
is not without us but within. . . ." 

Pierre had already long been feeling in him- 



201 

self that refreshing source of blessedness which 
now flooded his heart with glad emotion. 

CHAPTER IV 

SOON AFTER THIS there came into the dark cham- 
ber to fetch Pierre, not the Rhetor but Pierre's 
sponsor, Willarski, whom he recognized by his 
voice. To fresh questions as to the firmness of 
his resolution Pierre replied: "Yes, yes, I agree," 
and with a beaming, childlike smile, his fat 
chest uncovered, stepping unevenly and timid- 
ly in one slippered and one booted foot, he ad- 
vanced, while Willarski held a sword to his 
bare chest. He was conducted from that room 
along passages that turned backwards and for- 
wards and was at last brought to the doors of 
the Lodge. Willarski coughed, he was answered 
by the Masonic knock with mallets, the doors 
opened before them. A bass voice (Pierre was 
still blindfold) questioned him as to who he 
was, when and where he was born, and so on. 
Then he was again led somewhere still blind- 
fold, and as they went along he was told alle- 
gories of the toils of his pilgrimage, of holy 
friendship, of the Eternal Architect of the uni- 
verse, and of the courage with which he should 
endure toils and dangers. During these wander- 
ings, Pierre noticed that he was spoken of now 
as the "Seeker," now as the "Sufferer," and now 
as the "Postulant," to the accompaniment of 
various knockings with mallets and swords. As 
he was being led up to some object he noticed 
a hesitation and uncertainty among his con- 
ductors. He heard those around him disput- 
ing in whispers and one of them insisting that 
he should be led along a certain carpet. After 
that they took his right hand, placed it on 
something, and told him to hold a pair of com- 
passes to his left breast with the other hand and 
to repeat after someone who read aloud an oath 
of fidelity to the laws of the Order. The candles 
were then extinguished and some spirit lighted, 
as Pierre knew by the smell, and he was told 
that he would now see the lesser light. The 
bandage was taken off his eyes and, by the faint 
light of the burning spirit, Pierre, as in a dream, 
saw several men standing before him, wearing 
aprons like the Rhetor's and holding swords in 
their hands pointed at his breast. Among them 
stood a man whose white shirt was stained with 
blood. On seeing this, Pierre moved forward 
with his breast toward the swords, meaning 
them to pierce it. But the swords were drawn 
back from him and he was at once blindfold- 
ed again. 
"Now thou hast seen the lesser light," ut- 



202 

tered a voice. Then the candles were relit and 
he was told that he would see the full light; the 
bandage was again removed and more than 
ten voices said together: "Sic transit gloria mun- 
di." 

Pierre gradually began to recover himself 
and looked about at the room and at the peo- 
ple in it. Round a long table covered with 
black sat some twelve men in garments like 
those he had already seen. Some of them 
Pierre had met in Petersburg society. In the 
President's chair sat a young man he did not 
know, with a peculiar cross hanging from his 
neck. On his right sat the Italian abb whom 
Pierre had met at Anna Pavlovna's two years 
before. There were also present a very distin- 
guished dignitary and a Swiss who had former- 
ly been tutor at the Kuragins'. All maintained 
a solemn silence, listening to the words of the 
President, who held a mallet in his hand. Let 
into the wall was a star-shaped light. At one 
side of the table was a small carpet with var- 
ious figures worked upon it, at the other was 
something resembling an altar on which lay 
a Testament and a skull. Round it stood seven 
large candlesticks like those used in churches. 
Two of the brothers led Pierre up to the altar, 
placed his feet at right angles, and bade him lie 
down, saying that he must prostrate himself 
at the Gates of the Temple. 

"He must first receive the trowel," whispered 
one of the brothers. 

"Oh, hush, please!" said another. 

Pierre, perplexed, looked round with his 
shortsighted eyes without obeying, and sud- 
denly doubts arose in his mind. "Where am I? 
What am I doing? Aren't they laughing at me? 
Shan't I be ashamed to remember this?" But 
these doubts only lasted a moment. Pierre 
glanced at the serious faces of those around, re- 
membered all he had already gone through, 
and realized that he could not stop halfway. 
He was aghast at his hesitation and, trying to 
arouse his former devotional feeling, prostrat- 
ed himself before the Gates of the Temple. 
And really, the feeling of devotion returned to 
him even more strongly than before. When he 
had lain there some time, he was told to get up, 
and a white leather apron, such as the others 
wore, was put on him: he was given a trowel 
and three pairs of gloves, and then the Grand 
Master addressed him. He told him that he 
should try to do nothing to stain the whiteness 
of that apron, which symbolized strength and 
purity; then of the unexplained trowel, he 
told him to toil with it to cleanse his own heart 



WAR AND PEACE 



from vice, and indulgently to smooth with it 
the heart of his neighbor. As to the first pair of 
gloves, a man's, he said that Pierre could not 
know their meaning but must keep them. The 
second pair of man's gloves he was to wear at 
the meetings, and finally of the third, a pair of 
women's gloves, he said: "Dear brother, these 
woman's gloves are intended for you too. Give 
them to the woman whom you shall honor 
most of all. This gift will be a pledge of your 
purity of heart to her whom you select to be your 
worthy helpmeet in Masonry." And after a 
pause, he added: "But beware, dear brother, 
that these gloves do not deck hands that are 
unclean." While the Grand Master said these 
last words it seemed to Pierre that he grew em- 
barrassed. Pierre himself grew still more con- 
fused, blushed like a child till tears came to 
his eyes, began looking about him uneasily, 
and an awkward pause followed. 

This silence was broken by one of the breth- 
ren, who led Pierre up to the rug and began 
reading to him from a manuscript book an ex- 
planation of all the figures on it: the sun, the 
moon, a hammer, a plumb line, a trowel, a 
rough stone and a squared stone, a pillar, three 
windows, and so on. Then a place was assigned 
to Pierre, he was shown the signs of the Lodge, 
told the password, and at last was permitted to 
sit down. The Grand Master began reading the 
statutes. They were very long, and Pierre, from 
joy, agitation, and embarrassment, was not in 
a state to understand what was being read. He 
managed to follow only the last words of the 
statutes and these remained in his mind. 

"In our temples we recognize no other dis- 
tinctions," read the Grand Master, "but those 
between virtue and vice. Beware of making any 
distinctions which may infringe equality. Fly 
to a brother's aid whoever he may be, exhort 
him who goeth astray, raise him that falleth, 
never bear malice or enmity toward thy broth- 
er. Be kindly and courteous. Kindle in all 
hearts the flame of virtue. Share thy happiness 
with thy neighbor, and may envy never dim the 
purity of that bliss. Forgive thy enemy, do not 
avenge thyself except by doing him good. Thus 
fulfilling the highest law thou shalt regain 
traces of the ancient dignity which thou hast 
lost." 

He finished and, getting up, embraced and 
kissed Pierre, who, with tears of joy in his eyes, 
looked round him, not knowing how to answer 
the congratulations and greetings from ac- 
quaintances that met him on all sides. He ac- 
knowledged no acquaintances but saw in all 



BOOK FIVE 



203 



these men only brothers, and burned with im- 
patience to set to work with them. 

The Grand Master rapped with his mallet. 
All the Masons sat down in their places, and 
one of them read an exhortation on the neces- 
sity of humility. 

The Grand Master proposed that the last du- 
ty should be performed, and the distinguished 
dignitary who bore the title of "Collector of 
Alms" went round to all the brothers. Pierre 
would have liked to subscribe all he had, but 
fearing that it might look like pride subscribed 
the same amount as the others. 

The meeting was at an end, and on reaching 
home Pierre felt as if he had returned from a 
long journey on which he had spent dozens of 
years, had become completely changed, and 
had quite left behind his former habits and 
way of life. 

CHAPTERV 

THE DAY AFTER he had been received into the 
Lodge, Pierre was sitting at home reading a 
book and trying to fathom the significance of 
the Square, one side of which symbolized God, 
another moral things, a third physical things, 
and the fourth a combination of these. Now 
and then his attention wandered from the book 
and the Square and he formed in imagination 
a new plan of life. On the previous evening at 
the Lodge, he had heard that a rumor of his 
duel had reached the Emperor and that it 
would be wiser for him to leave Petersburg. 
Pierre proposed going to his estates in the 
south and there attending to the welfare of his 
serfs. He was joyfully planning this new life, 
when Prince Vasili suddenly entered the room. 

"My dear fellow, what have you been up to 
in Moscow? Why have you quarreled with 
Hlne, mon cherf You are under a delusion," 
said Prince Vasili, as he entered. "I know all 
about it, and I can tell you positively that He*- 
lene is as innocent before you as Christ was be- 
fore the Jews." 

Pierre was about to reply, but Prince Vasili 
interrupted him. 

"And why didn't you simply come straight to 
me as to a friend? I know all about it and un- 
derstand it all," he said. "You behaved as be- 
comes a man who values his honor, perhaps too 
hastily, but we won't go into that. But consid- 
er the position in which you are placing her 
and me in the eyes of society, and even of the 
court," he added, lowering his voice. "She is 
living in Moscow and you are here. Remember, 
dear boy," and he drew Pierre's arm down- 



wards, "it is simply a misunderstanding. I ex- 
pect you feel it so yourself. Let us write her a 
letter at once, and she'll come here and all 
will be explained, or else, my dear boy, let me 
tell you it's quite likely you'll have to suffer 
for it." 

Prince Vasili gave Pierre a significant look. 

"I know from reliable sources that the Dow- 
ager Empress is taking a keen interest in the 
whole affair. You know she is very gracious to 



Pierre tried several times to speak, but, on 
one hand, Prince Vasfli did not let him and, on 
the other, Pierre himself feared to begin to 
speak in the tone of decided refusal and dis- 
agreement in which he had firmly resolved to 
answer his father-in-law. Moreover, the words 
of the Masonic statutes, "be kindly and courte- 
ous," recurred to him. He blinked, went red, 
got up and sat down again, struggling with 
himself to do what was for him the most diffi- 
cult thing in lifeto say an unpleasant thing 
to a man's face, to say what the other, whoever 
he might be, did not expect. He was so used to 
submitting to Prince Vasili's tone of careless 
self-assurance that he felt he would be unable 
to withstand it now, but he also felt that on 
what he said now his future depended wheth- 
er he would follow the same old road, or that 
new path so attractively shown him by the Ma- 
sons, on which he firmly believed he would be 
reborn to a new life. 

"Now, dear boy," said Prince Vasili playful- 
ly, "say 'yes,' and I'll write to her myself, and 
we will kill the fatted calf." 

But before Prince Vasili had finished his 
playful speech, Pierre, without looking at him, 
and with a kind of fury that made him like his 
father, muttered in a whisper: 

"Prince, I did not ask you here. Go, please 
gol" And he jumped up and opened the door 
for him. 

"Gol" he repeated, amazed at himself and 
glad to see the look of confusion and fear that 
showed itself on Prince Vasili's face. 

"What's the matter with you? Are you ill?" 

"Gol" the quivering voice repeated. And 
Prince Vasili had to go without receiving any 
explanation. 

A week later, Pierre, having taken leave of 
his new friends, the Masons, and leaving large 
sums of money with them for alms, went away 
to his estates. His new brethren gave him let- 
ters to the Kiev and Odessa Masons and prom- 
ised to write to him and guide him in his new 
activity. 



204 



WAR AND PEACE 



CHAPTER VI 

THE DUEL between Pierre and D61okhov was 
hushed up and, in spite of the Emperor's se- 
verity regarding duels at that time, neither the 
principals nor their seconds suffered for it. 
But the story of the duel, confirmed by Pierre's 
rupture with his wife, was the talk of society. 
Pierre who had been regarded with patroniz- 
ing condescension when he was an illegitimate 
son, and petted and extolled when he was the 
best match in Russia, had sunk greatly in the 
esteem of society after his marriage when the 
marriageable daughters and their mothers had 
nothing to hope from himespecially as he did 
not know how, and did not wish, to court so- 
ciety's favor. Now he alone was blamed for 
what had happened, he was said to be insanely 
jealous and subject like his father to fits of 
bloodthirsty rage. And when after Pierre's de- 
parture Hlene returned to Petersburg, she 
was received by all her acquaintances not only 
cordially, but even with a shade of deference 
due to her misfortune. When conversation 
turned on her husband Hlene assumed a dig- 
nified expression, which with characteristic 
tact she had acquired though she did not un- 
derstand its significance. This expression sug- 
gested that she had resolved to endure her 
troubles uncomplainingly and that her hus- 
band was a cross laid upon her by God. Prince 
Vasfli expressed his opinion more openly. He 
shrugged his shoulders when Pierre was men- 
tioned and, pointing to his forehead, remarked: 
"A bit touched I always said so." 
"I said from the first," declared Anna Pav- 
lovna referring to Pierre, "I said at the time 
and before anyone else" (she insisted on her 
priority) "that that senseless young man was 
spoiled by the depraved ideas of these days. I 
said so even at the time when everybody was 
in raptures about him, when he had just re- 
turned from abroad, and when, if you remem- 
ber, he posed as a sort of Marat at one of my 
soirees. And how has it ended? I was against 
this marriage even then and foretold all that 
has happened." 

Anna Pavlovna continued to give on free eve- 
nings the same kind of soirees as before such 
as she alone had the gift of arranging at which 
was to be found "the cream of really good so- 
ciety, the bloom of the intellectual essence of 
Petersburg," as she herself put it. Besides this 
refined selection of society Anna Pdvlovna's 
receptions were also distinguished by the fact 
that she always presented some new and inter- 
esting person to the visitors and that nowhere 



else was the state of the political thermometer 
of legitimate Petersburg court society so clear- 
ly and distinctly indicated. 

Toward the end of 1806, when all the sad 
details of Napoleon's destruction of the Prus- 
sian army at Jena and Auerstadt and the sur- 
render of most of the Prussian fortresses had 
been received, when our troops had already 
entered Prussia and our second war with Na- 
poleon was beginning, Anna Pavlovna gave one 
of her soirees. The "cream of really good soci- 
ety" consisted of the fascinating Hlne, for- 
saken by her husband, Mortemart, the delight- 
ful Prince Hippolyte who had just returned 
from Vienna, two diplomatists, the old aunt, a 
young man referred to in that drawing room as 
"a man of great merit" (un homme de beau- 
coup de mMte), a newly appointed maid of 
honor and her mother, and several other less 
noteworthy persons. 

The novelty Anna Pdvlovna was setting be- 
fore her guests that evening was Boris Drubet- 
sk6y, who had just arrived as a special mes- 
senger from the Prussian army and was aide- 
de-camp to a very important personage. 

The temperature shown by the political 
thermometer to the company that evening was 
this: 

"Whatever the European sovereigns and com- 
manders may do to countenance Bonaparte, 
and to cause me y and us in general, annoyance 
and mortification, our opinion of Bonaparte 
cannot alter. We shall not cease to express our 
sincere views on that subject, and can only say 
to the Kingof Prussia and others: 'So much the 
worse for you. Tu Vas voulu, George Dandin,' l 
that's all we have to say about it!" 

When Boris, who was to be served up to the 
guests, entered the drawing room, almost all 
the company had assembled, and the conversa- 
tion, guided by Anna Pdvlovna, was about our 
diplomatic relations with Austria and the hope 
of an alliance with her. 

Boris, grown more manly and looking fresh, 
rosy and self-possessed, entered the drawing 
room elegantly dressed in the uniform of an 
aide-de-camp and was duly conducted to pay 
his respects to the aunt and then brought back 
to the general circle. 

Anna Pavlovna gave him her shriveled hand 
to kiss and introduced him to several persons 
whom he did not know, giving him a whispered 
description of each. 

"Prince Hippolyte Kurdgin charming 

1 "You would have it so." George Dandin is a 
comedy by Moli&re. TR, 



BOOK FIVE 



205 



young fellow; M. Kronqcharg d'affaires from 
Copenhagen a profound intellect/' and sim- 
ply, "Mr. Shftov a man of great merit" this 
of the man usually so described. 

Thanks to Anna Mikhdylovna's efforts, his 
own tastes, and the peculiarities of his reserved 
nature, Boris had managed during his service 
to place himself very advantageously. He was 
aide-de-camp to a very important personage, 
had been sent on a very important mission to 
Prussia, and had just returned from there as a 
special messenger. He had become thoroughly 
conversant with that unwritten code with which 
he had been so pleased at Olmutz and accord- 
ing to which an ensign might rank incompa- 
rably higher than a general, and according to 
which what was needed for success in the serv- 
- ice was not effort or work, or courage, or perse- 
verance, but only the knowledge of how to get 
on with those who can grant rewards, and he 
was himself often surprised at the rapidity of 
his success and at the inability of others* to un- 
derstand these things. In consequence of this 
discovery his whole manner of life, all his re- 
lations with old friends, all his plans for his 
future, were completely altered. He was not 
rich, but would spend his last groat to be bet- 
ter dressed than others, and would rather de- 
prive himself of many pleasures than allow 
himself to be seen in a shabby equipage or ap- 
pear in the streets of Petersburg in an old uni- 
form. He made friends with and sought the ac- 
quaintance of only those above him in posi- 
tion and who could therefore be of use to him. 
He liked Petersburg and despised Moscow. 
The remembrance of the Rostovs' house and 
of his childish love for Natasha was unpleasant 
to him and he had not once been to see the 
Rost6vs since the day of his departure for the 
army. To be in Anna Pavlovna's drawing room 
he considered an important step up in the serv- 
ice, and he at once understood his role, letting 
his hostess make use of whatever interest he 
had to offer. He himself carefully scanned each 
face, appraising the possibilities of establish- 
ing intimacy with each of those present, and 
the advantages that might accrue. He took the 
seat indicated to him beside the fair He"lene 
and listened to the general conversation. 

"Vienna considers the bases of the proposed 
treaty so unattainable that not even a continu- 
ity of most brilliant successes would secure 
them, and she doubts the means we have of 
gaining them. That is the actual phrase used 
by the Vienna cabinet/' said the Danish charge* 
d'affaires. 



"The doubt is flattering/' said "the man of 
profound intellect/' with a subtle smile. 

"We must distinguish between the Vienna 
cabinet and the Emperor of Austria/' said 
Mortemart. "The Emperor of Austria can nev- 
er have thought of such a thing, it is only the 
cabinet that says it." 

"Ah, my dear vicomte," put in Anna Pdvlov- 
na, "L'Urope" (for some reason she called it 
Urope as if that were a specially refined French 
pronunciation which she could allow herself 
when con versing with a Frenchman), "L'Urope 
ne sera jamais noire allide sincere." l 

After that Anna Pavlovna led up to the 
courage and firmness of the King of Prussia, in 
order to draw Boris into the conversation. 

Boris listened attentively to each of the 
speakers, awaitinghis turn, but managed mean- 
while to look round repeatedly at his neigh" 
bor, the beautiful He4ene, whose eyes severa* 
times met those of the handsome young aide 
de-camp with a smile. "> 

Speaking of the position of Prussia, Ann' 
Pdvlovna very naturally asked Boris to te v 
them about his journey to Glogau and in wha 1 
state he found the Prussian army. Boris, speak- 
ing with deliberation, told them in pure, cor- 
rect French many interesting details about 
the armies and the court, carefully abstaining 
from expressing an opinion of his own about 
the facts he was recounting. For some time 
he engrossed the general attention, and 
Anna Pdvlovna felt that the novelty she 
had served up was received with pleasure by 
all her visitors. The greatest attention of 
all to Boris* narrative was shown by Hlne. 
She asked him several questions about his 
journey and seemed greatly interested in 
the state of the Prussian army. As soon as he 
had finished she turned to him with her usual 
smile. 

"You absolutely must come and see me," she 
said in a tone that implied that, for certain con- 
siderations he could not know of, this was ab- 
solutely necessary. 

"On Tuesday between eight and nine. It 
will give me great pleasure." 

Boris promised to fulfill her wish and was 
about to begin a conversation with her, when 
Anna PAvlovna called him away on the pretext 
that her aunt wished to hear him. 

"You know her husband, of course?" said 
Anna Pdvlovna, dosing her eyes and indicat- 
ing Hdene with a sorrowful gesture. "Ah, she 
is such an unfortunate and channing woman ! 

1 "Europe will never be our sincere ally." 



206 



WAR AND PEACE 



Don't mention him before her please don't I It 
is too painful for her!" 

CHAPTER VII 

WHEN BORIS and Anna Pdvlovna returned to 
the others Prince Hippolyte had the ear of the 
company. 

Bending forward in his armchair he said: 
"Le Roi de Prusse!" and having said this 
laughed. Everyone turned toward him. 

"Le Roi de Prusse?" Hippolyte said inter- 
rogatively, again laughing, and then calmly 
and seriously sat back in his chair. Anna Pdv- 
lovna waited for him to go on, but asheseemed 
quite decided to say no more she began to tell 
of how at Potsdam the impious Bonaparte had 
stolen the sword of Frederick the Great. 

"It is the sword of Frederick the Great which 

. . ." she began, but Hippolyte interrupted 
icr with the words: "Le Roi de Prusse . . ." and 
tgain,assoon as all turned toward him, excused 
timself and said no more. 

Anna Pdvlovna frowned. Mortemart, Hip- 
KByte's friend, addressed him firmly. 

"Come now, what about your R oide Prusse?" 

Hippolyte laughed as if ashamed of laugh- 
ing. 

"Oh, it's nothing. I only wished to say . . ." 
(he wanted to repeat a joke he had heard in 
Vienna and which he had been trying all that 
evening to get in) "I only wished to say that 
we are wrong to fight pour le Roi de Prusse!" l 

Boris smiled circumspectly, so that it might 
be taken as ironical or appreciative according 
to the way the joke was received. Everybody 
laughed. 

"Your joke is too bad, it's witty but unjust," 
said Anna Pdvlovna, shaking her little shriveled 
finger at him. 

"We are not fighting pour le Roi de Prusse f 
but for right principles. Oh, that wicked Prince 
Hippolyte!" she said. 

The conversation did not flag all evening 
and turned chiefly on the political news. It be- 
came particularly animated toward the end of 
the evening when the rewards bestowed by the 
Emperor were mentioned. 

"You know N N received a snuffbox with 
the portrait last year?" said "the man of pro- 
found intellect." "Why shouldn't S- S- get 
the same distinction?" 

"Pardon me! A snuffbox with the Emperor's 
portrait is a reward but not a distinction," said 
the diplomatist "a gift, rather." 

14 Tor the King of Prussia" a phrase used in 
French to denote "for a trifle of no value." TR. 



"There are precedents, I may mention 
Schwarzenberg." 

"It's impossible," replied another. 

"Will you bet? The ribbon of the order is a 
different matter " 

When everybody rose to go, Hlne who 
had spoken very little all the evening again 
turned to Boris, asking him in a tone of caress- 
ing significant command to come to her on 
Tuesday. 

"It is of great importance to me," she said, 
turning with a smile toward Anna Pdvlovna, 
and Anna Pdvlovna, with the same sad smile 
with which she spoke of her exalted patroness, 
supported Hdtene's wish. 

It seemed as if from some words Boris had 
spoken that evening about the Prussian army, 
Hlne had suddenly found it necessary to see 
him. She seemed to promise to explain that ne- 
cessity to him when he came on Tuesday. 

But on Tuesday evening, having come to 
Hlrte's splendid salon, Boris received no clear 
explanation of why it had been necessary for 
him to come. There were other guests and the 
countess talked little to him, and only as he 
kissed her hand on taking leave said unexpect- 
edly and in a whisper, with a strangely unsmil- 
ing face: "Come to dinner tomorrow ... in the 
evening. You must come . . . Come!" 

During that stay in Petersburg, Boris became 
an intimate in the countess* house. 

CHAPTER VIII 

THE WAR was flaming up and nearing the Rus- 
sian frontier. Everywhere one heard curses on 
Bonaparte, "the enemy of mankind." Militia- 
men and recruits were being enrolled in the 
villages, and from the seat of war came contra- 
dictory news, false as usual and therefore vari- 
ously interpreted. The life of old Prince Bol- 
k6nski, Prince Andrew, and Princess Mary had 
greatly changed since 1805. 

In 1806 the old prince was made one of the 
eight commanders in chief then appointed to 
supervise the enrollment decreed throughout 
Russia. Despite the weakness of age, which had 
become particularly noticeable since the time 
when he thought his son had been killed, he 
did not think it right to refuse a duty to which 
he had been appointed by the Emperor him- 
self, and this fresh opportunity for action gave 
him new energy and strength. He was continu- 
ally traveling through the three provinces en- 
trusted to him, was pedantic in the fulfillment 
of his duties, severe to cruelty with his subordi- 
nates, and went into everything down to the 



BOOK FIVE 



207 



minutest details himself. Princess Mary had 
ceased taking lessons in mathematics from her 
father, and when the old prince was at home 
went to his study with the wet nurse and little 
Prince Nicholas (as his grandfather called 
him). The baby Prince Nicholas lived with his 
wet nurse and nurse Sdvishna in the late prin- 
cess 1 rooms and Princess Mary spent most of 
the day in the nursery, taking a mother's place 
to her little nephew as best she could. Made- 
moiselle Bourienne, too, seemed passionately 
fond of the boy, and Princess Mary often de- 
prived herself to give her friend the pleasure 
of dandling the little angel as she called her 
nephew and playing with him. 

Near the altar of the church at Bald Hills 
there was a chapel over the tomb of the little 
princess, and in this chapel was a marble monu- 
ment brought from Italy, representingan angel 
with outspread wings ready to fly upwards. 
The angel's upper lip was slightly raised as 
though about to smile, and once on coming 
out of the chapel Prince Andrew and Princess 
Mary admitted to one another that the angel's 
face reminded them strangely of the little prin- 
cess. But what was still stranger, though of this 
Prince Andrew said nothing to his sister, was 
that in the expression the sculptor had hap- 
pened to give the angel's face, Prince Andrew 
read the same mild reproach he had read on 
the face of his dead wife: "Ah, why have you 
done this to me?" 

Soon after Prince Andrew's return the old 
prince made over to him a large estate, Bogu- 
chdrovo, about twenty-five miles from Bald 
Hills. Partly because of the depressing memo- 
ries associated with Bald Hills, partly because 
Prince Andrew did not always feel equal to 
bearing with his father's peculiarities, and part- 
ly because he needed solitude, Prince Andrew 
made use of Bogucharovo, began building and 
spent most of his time there. 

After the Austerlitz campaign Prince An- 
drew had firmly resolved not to continue his 
military service, and when the war recom- 
menced and everybody had to serve, he took a 
post under his father in the recruitment so as 
to avoid active service. The old prince and his 
son seemed to have changed roles since the 
campaign of 1805. The old man, roused by ac- 
tivity, expected the best results from the new 
campaign, while Prince Andrew on the con- 
trary, taking no part in the war and secretly 
regretting this, saw only the dark side. 

On February 26, 1807, the old prince set off 
on one of his circuits. Prince Andrew remained 



at Bald Hills as usual during his father's ab- 
sence. Little Nicholas had been unwell for 
four days. The coachman who had driven the 
old prince to town returned bringing papers 
and letters for Prince Andrew. 

Not finding the young prince in his study 
the valet went with the letters to Princess 
Mary's apartments, but did not find him there. 
He was told that the prince had gone to the 
nursery. 

"If you please, your excellency, Petriisha has 
brought some papers," said one of the nurse- 
maids to Prince Andrew who was sitting on a 
child's little chair while, frowning and with 
trembling hands, he poured drops from a medi- 
cine bottle into a wineglass half full of water. 

"What is it?" he said crossly, and, his hand 
shaking unintentionally, he poured too many 
drops into the glass. He threw the mixture on- 
to the floor and asked for some more water. 
The maid brought it. 

There were in the room a child's cot, two 
boxes, two armchairs, a table, a child's table, 
and the little chair on which Prince Andrew 
was sitting. The curtains were drawn, and a 
single candle was burningon the table, screened 
by a bound music book so that the light did not 
fall on the cot. 

"My dear," said Princess Mary, addressing 
her brother from beside the cot where she was 
standing, "better wait a bit ... later . . ." 

"Oh, leave off, you always talk nonsense and 
keep putting things off and this is what comes 
of itl" said Prince Andrew in an exasperated 
whisper, evidently meaning to wound his sis- 
ter. 

"My dear, really . . . it's better not to wake 
him . . . he's asleep," said the princess in a tone 
of entreaty. 

Prince Andrew got up and went on tiptoe 
up to the little bed, wineglass in hand. 

"Perhaps we'd really better not wake him," 
he said hesitating. 

"As you please . . . really ... I think so ... 
but as you please," said Princess Mary, evident- 
ly intimidated and confused that her opinion 
had prevailed. She drew her brother's atten- 
tion to the maid who was calling him in a whis- 
per. 

It was the second night that neither of them 
had slept, watching the boy who was in a high 
fever. These last days, mistrusting their house- 
hold doctor and expecting another for whom 
they had sent to town, they had been trying 
first one remedy and then another. Worn out 
by sleeplessness and anxiety they threw their 



208 



WAR AND PEACE 



burden of sorrow on one another, and re- 
proached and disputed with each other. 

"Petriisha has come with papers from your 
father," whispered the maid. 

Prince Andrew went out. 

"Devil take them!" he muttered, and after 
listening to the verbal instructions his father 
had sent and taking the correspondence and 
his father's letter, he returned to the nursery. 

"Well?" he asked. 

"Still the same. Wait, for heaven's sake. Karl 
Ivnich always says that sleep is more impor- 
tant than anything," whispered Princess Mary 
with a sigh. 

Prince Andrew went up to the child and felt 
him. He was burning hot. 

"Confound you and your Karl Ivdnich!" He 
took the glass with the drops and again went 
up to the cot. 

"Andrew, don't!" said Princess Mary. 

But he scowled at her angrily though also 
with suffering in his eyes, and stooped glass in 
hand over the infant. 

"But I wish it," he said. "I beg yougive it 
him!" 

Princess Mary shrugged her shoulders but 
took the glass submissively and calling the 
nurse began giving the medicine. The child 
screamed hoarsely. Prince Andrew winced and, 
clutching his head, went out and sat down on 
a sofa in the next room. 

He still had all the letters in his hand. Open- 
ing them mechanically he began reading. The 
old prince, now and then using abbreviations, 
wrote in his large elongated hand on blue pa- 
per as follows : 

Have just this moment received by special mes- 
senger very joyful newsif it's not false. Bennig- 
sen seems to have obtained a complete victory over 
Buonaparte at Eyiau. In Petersburg everyone is 
rejoicing, and the rewards sent to the army are 
innumerable. Though he is a German I congrat- 
ulate him! I can't make out what the commander 
at K6rchevo a certain Khandrik6v is up to; till 
now the additional men and provisions have not 
arrived. Gallop off to him at once and say I'll have 
his head off if everything is not here in a week. 
Have received another letter about the Preussisch- 
Eylau battle from P&enka he took part in it 
and it's all true. When mischief-makers don't med- 
dle even a German beats Buonaparte. He is said to 
be fleeing in great disorder. Mind you gallop off to 
K6rchevo without delay and carry out instruc- 
tions! 

Prince Andrew sighed and broke the seal of 
another envelope. It was a closely written let- 
ter of two sheets from Bilibin. He folded it up 



without reading it and reread his father's let- 
ter, ending with the words: "Gallop off to K6r- 
chevo and carry out instructions!" 

"No, pardon me, I won't go now till the 
child is better," thought he, going to the door 
and looking into the nursery. 

Princess Mary was still standing by the cot, 
gently rocking the baby. 

"Ah yes, and what else did he say that's un- 
pleasant?" thought Prince Andrew, recalling 
his father's letter. "Yes, we have gained a vic- 
tory over Bonaparte, just when I'm not serv- 
ing. Yes, yes, he's always poking fun at me 

Ah, well! Let him!" And he began reading Bil- 
ibin's letter which was written in French. He 
read without understanding half of it, read on- 
ly to forget, if but for a moment, what he had 
too long been thinking of so painfully to the 
exclusion of all else. 

CHAPTER IX 

BIL!BIN WAS NOW at army headquarters in a 
diplomatic capacity, and though he wrote in 
French and used French jests and French id- 
ioms, he described the whole campaign with a 
fearless self-censure and self-derision genuine- 
ly Russian. Bilfbin wrote that the obligation of 
diplomatic discretion tormented him, and he 
was happy to have in Prince Andrew a reliable 
correspondent to whom he could pour out the 
bile he had accumulated at the sight of all that 
was being done in the army. The letter was 
old, having been written before the battle at 
Preussisch-Eylau. 

"Since the day of our brilliant success at Aus- 
terlitz," wrote Bilfbin, "as you know, my dear 
prince, I never leave headquarters. I have cer- 
tainly acquired a taste for war, and it is just as 
well for me; what I have seen during these last 
three months is incredible. 

"I begin ab ovo. 'The enemy of the human 
race,' as you know, attacks the Prussians. The 
Prussians are our faithful allies who have only 
betrayed us three times in three years. We take 
up their cause, but it turns out that 'the enemy 
of the human race' pays no heed to our fine 
speeches and in his rude and savage way 
throws himself on the Prussians without giving 
them time to finish the parade they had begun, 
and in two twists of the hand he breaks them 
to smithereens and installs himself in the pal- 
ace at Potsdam. 

" 1 most ardently desire/ writes the King of 
Prussia to Bonaparte, 'that Your Majesty should 
be received and treated in my palace in a man- 
ner agreeable to yourself, and in so far as cir- 



BOOK FIVE 



209 



cumstances allowed, I have hastened to take 
all steps to that end. May I have succeeded!' 
The Prussian generals pride themselves on be- 
ing polite to the French and lay down their 
arms at the first demand. 

"The head of the garrison at Glogau, with 
ten thousand men, asks the King of Prussia 
what he is to do if he is summoned to surren- 
der. . . . All this is absolutely true. 

"In short, hoping to settle matters by taking 
up a warlike attitude, it turns out that we have 
landed ourselves in war, and what is more, in 
war on our own frontiers, with and for the King 
of Prussia. We have everything in perfect or- 
der, only one little thing is lacking, namely, a 
commander in chief. As it was considered that 
the Austerlitz success might have been more 
decisive had the commander in chief not been 
so young, all our octogenarians were reviewed, 
and of Prozor6vski and Kmenski the latter 
was preferred. The general comes to us, Suv6- 
rov-like, in a kibitka, 1 and is received with ac- 
clamations of joy and triumph. 

"On the 4th, the first courier arrives from 
Petersburg. The mails are taken to the field 
marshal's room, for he likes to do everything 
himself. I am called in to help sort the letters 
and take those meant for us. The field marshal 
looks on and waits for letters addressed to him. 
We search, but none are to be found. The field 
marshal grows impatient and sets to work him- 
self and finds letters from the Emperor to 
Count T., Prince V., and others. Then he bursts 
into one of his wild furies and rages at every- 
one and everything, seizes the letters, opens 
them, and reads those from the Emperor ad- 
dressed to others. 'Ah! So that's the way they 
treat me! No confidence in me! Ah, ordered to 
keep an eye on me! Very well then! Get along 
with you!' So he writes the famous order of the 
clay to General Bennigsen: 

" 'I am wounded and cannot ride and conse- 
quently cannot command the army. You have 
brought your army corps to Pultiisk, routed: 
here it is exposed, and without fuel or forage, 
so something must be done, and, as you your- 
self reported to Count Buxhowden yesterday, 
you must think of retreating to our frontier 
which do today.' 

" 'From all my riding,' he writes to the Em- 
peror, 'I have got a saddle sore which, coming 
after all my previous journeys, quite prevents 
my riding and commanding so vast an army, 
so I have passed on the command to the gen- 

1 An old-fashioned wooden cart with a covered 
top.-TR. 



eral next in seniority, Count Buxhowden, hav- 
ing sent him my whole staff and all that be- 
longs to it, advising him if there is a lack of 
bread, to move farther into the interior of 
Prussia, for only one day's ration of bread re- 
mains, and in some regiments none at all, as 
reported by the division commanders, Oster- 
mann and Sedmorckzki, and all that the peas- 
ants had has been eaten up. I myself will re- 
main in hospital at Ostrolenka till I recover. 
In regard to which I humbly submit my re- 
port, with the information that if the army re- 
mains in its present bivouac another fortnight 
there will not be a healthy man left in it by 
spring. 

" 'Grant leave to retire to his country seat to 
an old man who is already in any case dishon- 
ored by being unable to fulfill the great and 
glorious task for which he was chosen. I shall 
await your most gracious permission here in 
hospital, that I may not have to play the part 
of a secretary rather than commander in the 
army. My removal from the army does not pro- 
duce the slightest stir a blind man has left it. 
There are thousands such as I in Russia.' 

"The field marshal is angry with the Emper- 
or and he punishes us all, isn't it logical? 

"This is the first act. Those that follow are 
naturally increasingly interesting and enter- 
taining. After the field marshal's departure it 
appears that we are within sight of the enemy 
and must give battle. Buxhowden is command- 
er in chief by seniority, but General Bennig- 
sen does not quite see it; more particularly as 
it is he and his corps who are within sight of 
the enemy and he wishes to profit by the op- 
portunity to fight a battle 'on his own hand* as 
the Germans say. He does so. This is the battle 
of Pultiisk, which is considered a great victory 
but in my opinion was nothing of the kind. 
We civilians, as you know, have a very bad way 
of deciding whether a battle was won or lost. 
Those who retreat after a battle have lost it is 
what we say; and according to that it is we who 
lost the battle of Pultiisk. In short, we retreat 
after the battle but send a courier to Peters- 
burg with news of a victory, and General Ben- 
nigsen, hoping to receive from Petersburg the 
post of commander in chief as a reward for his 
victory, does not give up the command of the 
army to General Buxhowden. During this in- 
terregnum we begin a very original and inter- 
esting series of maneuvers. Our aim is no 
longer, as it should be, to avoid or attack the 
enemy, but solely to avoid General Buxhowden 
who by right of seniority should be our chief. 



210 

So energetically do we pursue this aim that aft- 
er crossing an unfordable river we burn the 
bridges to separate ourselves from our enemy, 
who at the moment is not Bonaparte but Bux- 
howden. General Buxhowden was all but at- 
tacked and captured by a superior enemy force 
as a result of one of these maneuvers that en- 
abled us to escape him. Buxhowden pursues us 
we scuttle. He hardly crosses the river to our 
side before we recross to the other. At last our 
enemy, Buxhowden, catches us and attacks. 
Both generals are angry, and the result is a 
challenge on Buxhowden's part and an epilep- 
tic fit on Bennigsen's. But at the critical mo- 
ment the courier who carried the news of our 
victory at Pulttisk to Petersburg returns bring- 
ing our appointment as commander in chief, 
and our first foe, Buxhowden, is vanquished; 
we can now turn our thoughts to the second, 
Bonaparte. But as it turns out, just at that mo- 
ment a third enemy rises before usnamely 
the Orthodox Russian soldiers, loudly demand- 
ing bread, meat, biscuits, fodder, and whatnot! 
The stores are empty, the roads impassable. 
The Orthodox begin looting, and in a way of 
which our last campaign can give you no idea. 
Half the regiments form bands and scour the 
countryside and put everything to fire and 
sword. The inhabitants are totally ruined, the 
hospitals overflow with sick, and famine is 
everywhere. Twice the marauders even attack 
our headquarters, and the commander in chief 
has to ask for a battalion to disperse them. 
During one of these attacks they carried off my 
empty portmanteau and my dressing gown. 
The Emperor proposes to give all commanders 
of divisions the right to shoot marauders, but 
I much fear this will oblige one half the army 
to shoot the other." 

At first Prince Andrew read with his eyes 
only, but after a while, in spite of himself (al- 
though he knew how far it was safe to trust 
Bilibin), what he had read began to interest 
him more and more. When he had read thus 
far, he crumpled the letter up and threw it 
away. It was not what he had read that vexed 
him, but the fact that the life out there in which 
he had now no part could perturb him. He 
shut his eyes, rubbed his forehead as if to rid 
himself of all interest in what he had read, and 
listened to what was passing in the nursery. 
Suddenly he thought he heard a strange noise 
through the door. He was seized with alarm 
lest something should have happened to the 
child while he was reading the letter. He went 
on tiptoe to the nursery door and opened it. 



WAR AND PEACE 



Just as he went in he saw that the nurse was 
hiding something from him with a scared look 
and that Princess Mary was no longer by the 
cot. 

"My dear," he heard what seemed to him her 
despairing whisper behind him. 

As often happens afterlongsleeplessnessand 
long anxiety, he was seized by an unreasoning 
panic it occurred to him that the child was 
dead. All that he saw and heard seemed to con- 
firm this terror. 

"All is over," he thought, and a cold sweat 
broke out on his forehead. He went to the cot 
in confusion, sure that he would find it empty 
and that the nurse had been hiding the dead 
baby. He drew the curtain aside and for some 
time his frightened, restless eyes could not find 
the baby. At last he saw him: the rosy boy had 
tossed about till he lay across the bed with his 
head lower than the pillow, and was smacking 
his lips in his sleep and breathing evenly. 

Prince Andrew was as glad to find the boy 
like that, as if he had already lost him. He bent 
over him and, as his sister had taught him, 
tried with his lips whether the child was still 
feverish. The soft forehead was moist. Prince 
Andrew touched the head with his hand; even 
the hair was wet, so profusely had the child 
perspired. He was not dead, but evidently the 
crisis was over and he was convalescent. Prince 
Andrew longed to snatch up, to squeeze, to 
hold to his heart, this helpless little creature, 
but dared not do so. He stood over him, gazing 
at his head and at the little arms and legs 
which showed under the blanket. He heard a 
rustle behind him and a shadow appeared un- 
der the curtain of the cot. He did not look 
round, but still gazing at the infant's face lis- 
tened to his regular breathing. The dark shad- 
ow was Princess Mary, who had come up to the 
cot with noiseless steps, lifted the curtain, and 
dropped it again behind her. Prince Andrew 
recognized her without looking and held out 
his hand to her. She pressed it. 

"He has perspired," said Prince Andrew. 

"I was coming to tell you so." 

The child movedslightly in his sleep,smiled, 
and rubbed his forehead against the pillow. 

Prince Andrew looked at his sister. In the 
dim shadow of the curtain her luminous eyes 
shone more brightly than usual from the tears 
of joy that were in them. She leaned over to 
her brother and kissed him, slightly catching 
the curtain of the cot. Each made the other a 
warning gesture and stood still in the dim 
light beneath the curtain as if not wishing to 



BOOK FIVE 



211 



leave that seclusion where they three were shut 
off from all the world. Prince Andrew was the 
first to move away, ruffling his hair against the 
muslin of the curtain. 

"Yes, this is the one thing left me now/' he 
said with a sigh. 

CHAPTER X 

SOON AFTER his admission to the Masonic Broth- 
erhood, Pierre went to the Kiev province, 
where he had the greatest number of serfs, tak- 
ing with him full directions which he had writ- 
ten down for his own guidance as to what he 
should do on his estates. 

When he reached Kiev he sent for all his 
stewards to the head office and explained to 
them his intentions and wishes. He told them 
that steps would be taken immediately to free 
his serfs and that till then they were not to be 
overburdened with labor, women while nurs- 
ing their babies were not to be sent to work, 
assistance was to be given to the serfs, punish- 
ments were to be admonitory and not corporal, 
and hospitals, asylums, and schools were to be 
established on all the estates. Some of the stew- 
ards (there were semiliterate foremen among 
them) listened with alarm, supposing these 
words to mean that the young count was dis- 
pleased with their management and embezzle- 
ment of money, some after their first fright 
were amused by Pierre's lisp and the new words 
they had not heard before, others simply en- 
joyed hearing how the master talked, while the 
cleverest among them, including the chief 
steward, understood from this speech how they 
could best handle the master for their own 
ends. 

The chief steward expressed great sympathy 
with Pierre's intentions, but remarked that be- 
sides these changes it would be necessary to go 
into the general state of affairs which was far 
from satisfactory. 

Despite Count Bezukhov's enormous wealth, 
since he had come into an income which was 
said to amount to five hundred thousand ru- 
bles a year, Pierre felt himself far poorer than 
when his father had made him an allowance 
of ten thousand rubles. He had a dim percep- 
tion of the following budget: 

About 80,000 went in payments on all the 
estates to the Land Bank, about 30,000 went 
for the upkeep of the estate near Moscow, the 
town house, and the allowance to the three 
princesses; about 15,000 was given in pensions 
and the same amount for asylums; 150,000 ali- 
mony was sent to the countess; about 70,000 



went for interest on debts. The building of a 
new church, previously begun, had cost about 
10,000 in each of the last two years, and he 
did not know how the rest, about 100,000 
rubles, was spent, and almost every year he was 
obliged to borrow. Besides this the chief stew- 
ard wrote every year telling him of fires and 
bad harvests, or of the necessity of rebuild- 
ing factories and workshops. So the first task 
Pierre had to face was one for which he had 
very little aptitude or inclination practical 
business. 

He discussed estate affairs every day with his 
chief steward. But he felt that this did not for- 
ward matters at all. He felt that these consulta- 
tions were detached from real affairs and did 
not link up with them or make them move. On 
the one hand, the chief steward put the state of 
things to him in the very worst light, pointing 
out the necessity of paying off the debts and 
undertaking new activities with serf labor, to 
which Pierre did not agree. On the other hand, 
Pierre demanded that steps should be taken to 
liberate the serfs, which the steward met by 
showing the necessity of first paying off the 
loans from the Land Bank, and theconsequent 
impossibility of a speedy emancipation. 

The steward did not say it was quite impos- 
sible, but suggested selling the forests in the 
province of Kostroma, the land lower down 
the river, and the Crimean estate, in order to 
make it possible: all of which operations ac- 
cording to him were connected with such com- 
plicated measuresthe removal of injunctions, 
petitions, permits, and so on that Pierre be- 
came quite bewildered and only replied: 

"Yes, yes, do so." 

Pierre had none of the practical persistence 
that would have enabled him to attend to the 
business himself and so he disliked it and only 
tried to pretend to the steward that he was at- 
tending to it. The steward for his part tried to 
pretend to the count that he considered these 
consultations very valuable for the proprietor 
and troublesome to himself. 

In Kiev Pierre found some people he knew, 
and strangers hastened to make his acquaint- 
ance and joyfully welcomed the rich newcomer, 
the largest landowner of the province. Temp- 
tations to Pierre's greatest weakness the one 
to which he had confessed when admitted to 
the Lodge were so strong that he could not re- 
sist them. Again whole days, weeks, and months 
of his life passed in as great a rush and were as 
much occupied with evening parties, dinners, 
lunches, and balls, giving him no time for re- 



212 



WAR AND PEACE 



flection, as in Petersburg. Instead of the new 
life he had hoped to lead he still lived the old 
life, only in new surroundings. 

Of the three precepts of Freemasonry Pierre 
realized that he did not fulfill the one which 
enjoined every Mason to set an example of 
moral life, and that of the seven virtues he 
lacked two morality and the love of death. He 
consoled himself with the thought that he ful- 
filled another of the precepts that of reform- 
ing the human race and had other virtues- 
love of his neighbor, and especially generosity. 

In the spring of 1807 he decided to return to 
Petersburg. On the way he intended to visit 
all his estates and see for himself how far his 
orders had been carried out and in what state 
were the serfs whom God had entrusted to his 
care and whom he intended to benefit. 

The chief steward, who considered the young 
count's attempts almost insane unprofitable 
to himself, to the count, and to the serfs made 
some concessions. Continuing to represent the 
liberation of the serfs as impracticable, he ar- 
ranged for the erection of large buildings- 
schools, hospitals, and asylums on all the es- 
tates before the master arrived. Everywhere 
preparations were made not for ceremonious 
welcomes (which he knew Pierre would not 
like), but for just such gratefully religious ones, 
with offerings of icons and the bread and salt 
of hospitality, as, according to his understand- 
ing of his master, would touch and delude him. 

The southern spring, the comfortable rapid 
traveling in a Vienna carriage, and the soli- 
tude of the road, all had a gladdening effect on 
Pierre. The estates he had not before visited 
were each more picturesque than the other; 
the serfs everywhere seemed thriving and touch- 
ingly grateful for the benefits conferred on 
them. Everywhere were receptions, which 
though they embarrassed Pierre awakened a 
joyful feeling in the depth of his heart. In one 
place the peasants presented him with bread 
and salt and an icon of Saint Peter and Saint 
Paul, asking permission, as a mark of their 
gratitude for the benefits he had conferred on 
them, to build a new chantry to the church at 
their own expense in honor of Peter and Paul, 
his patron saints. In another place the women 
with infants in arms met him to thank him for 
releasing them from hard work. On a third es- 
tate the priest, bearing a cross, came to meet 
him surrounded by children whom, by the 
count's generosity, he was instructing in read- 
ing, writing, and religion. On all his estates 
Pierre saw with his own eyes brick buildings 



erected or in course of erection, all on one 
plan, for hospitals, schools, and almshouses, 
which were soon to be opened. Everywhere he 
saw the stewards' accounts, according to which 
the serfs' manorial labor had been diminished, 
and heard the touching thanks of deputations 
of serfs in their full-skirted blue coats. 

What Pierre did not know was that the place 
where they presented him with bread and salt 
and wished to build a chantry in honor of 
Peter and Paul was a market village where a 
fair was held on St. Peter's day, and that the 
richest peasants (who formed the deputation) 
had begun the chantry long before, but that 
nine tenths of the peasants in that village were 
in a state of the greatest poverty. He did not 
know that since the nursing mothers were no 
longer sent to work on his land, they did still 
harder work on their own land. He did not 
know that the priest who met him with the 
cross oppressed the peasants by his exactions, 
and that the pupils' parents wept at having to 
let him take their children and secured their 
release by heavy payments. He did not know 
that the brick buildings, built to plan, were 
being built by serfs whose manorial labor was 
thus increased, though lessened on paper. He 
did not know that where the steward had 
shown him in the accounts that the serfs' pay- 
ments had been diminished by a third, their 
obligatory manorial work had been increased 
by a half. And so Pierre was delighted with his 
visit to his estates and quite recovered the phil- 
anthropic mood in which he had left Peters- 
burg, and wrote enthusiastic letters to his 
"brother-instructor" as he called the Grand 
Master. 

"How easy it is, how little effort it needs, to 
do so much good," thought Pierre, "and how 
little attention we pay to itl" 

He was pleased at the gratitude he received, 
but felt abashed at receiving it. This gratitude 
reminded him of how much more he might do 
for these simple, kindly people. 

The chief steward, a very stupid but cun- 
ning man who saw perfectly through the nai've 
and intelligent count and played with him as 
with a toy, seeing the effect these prearranged 
receptions had on Pierre, pressed him still 
harder with proofs of the impossibility and 
above all the uselessness of freeing the serfs, 
who were quite happy as it was. 

Pierre in his secret soul agreed with the stew- 
ard that it would be difficult to imagine hap- 
pier people, and that God only knew what 
would happen to them when they were free, 



BOOK FIVE 



but he insisted, though reluctantly, on what he 
thought right. The steward promised to do all 
in his power to carry out the count's wishes, 
seeing clearly that not only would the count 
never be able to find out whether all measures 
had been taken for the sale of the land and 
forests and to release them from the Land Bank, 
but would probably never even inquire and 
would never know that the newly erected build- 
ings were standing empty and that the serfs 
continued to give in money and work all that 
other people's serfs gave that is to say, all that 
could be got out of them. 

CHAPTER XI 

RETURNING FROM his journey through South 
Russia in the happiest state of mind, Pierre 
carried out an intention he had long had of 
visiting his friend Bolk6nski, whom he had not 
seen for two years. 

Bogucharovo lay in a flat uninteresting part 
of the country among fields and forests of fir 
and birch, which were partly cut down. The 
house lay behind a newly dug pond filled with 
water to the brink and with banks still bare of 
grass. It was at the end of a village that stretched 
along the highroad in the midst of a young 
copse in which were a few fir trees. 

The homestead consisted of a threshing floor, 
outhouses, stables, a bathhouse, a lodge, and a 
large brick house with semicircular facade still 
in course of construction. Round the house 
was a garden newly laid out. The fences and 
gates were new and solid; two fire pumps and a 
water cart, painted green, stood in a shed; the 
paths were straight, the bridges were strong 
and had handrails. Everything bore an impress 
of tidiness and good management. Some do- 
mestic serfs Pierre met, in reply to inquiries as 
to where the prince lived, pointed out a small 
newly built lodge close to the pond. Ant6n, a 
man who had looked after Prince Andrew in 
his boyhood, helped Pierre out of his carriage, 
said that the prince was at home, and showed 
him into a clean little anteroom. 

Pierre was struck by the modesty of the small 
though clean house after the brilliant surround- 
ings in which he had last met his friend in 
Petersburg. 

He quickly entered the small reception room 
with its sdll-un plastered wooden walls redo- 
lent of pine, and would have gone farther, but 
Ant6n ran ahead on tiptoe and knocked at a 
door. 

"Well, what is it?" came a sharp, unpleasant 
voice. 



"A visitor," answered Ant6n. 

"Ask him to wait," and the sound was heard 
of a chair being pushed back. 

Pierre went with rapid steps to the door and 
suddenly came face to face with Prince An- 
drew, who came out frowning and looking old. 
Pierre embraced him and lifting his spectacles 
kissed his friend on the cheek and looked at 
him closely. 

"Well, I did not expect you, I am very glad," 
said Prince Andrew. 

Pierre said nothing; he looked fixedly at his 
friend with surprise. He was struck by the 
change in him. His words were kindly and 
there was a smile on his lips and face, but his 
eyes were dull and lifeless and in spite of his 
evident wish to do so he could not give them a 
joyous and glad sparkle. Prince Andrew had 
grown thinner, paler, and more manly-looking, 
but what amazed and estranged Pierre till he 
got used to it were his inertia and a wrinkle on 
his brow indicating prolonged concentration 
on some one thought. 

As is usually the case with people meeting 
after a prolonged separation, it was long be- 
fore their conversation could settle on any- 
thing. They put questions and gave brief re- 
plies about things they knew ought to be talked 
over at length. At last the conversation gradu- 
ally settled on some of the topics at first lightly 
touched on: their past life, plans for the fu- 
ture, Pierre's journeys and occupations, the 
war, and so on. The preoccupation and de- 
spondency which Pierre had noticed in his 
friend's look was now still more clearly ex- 
pressed in the smile with which he listened to 
Pierre, especially when he spoke with joyful 
animation of the past or the future. It was as if 
Prince Andrew would have liked to sympathize 
with what Pierre was saying, but could not. 
The latter began to feel that it was in bad taste 
to speak of his enthusiasms, dreams, and hopes 
of happiness or goodness, in Prince Andrew's 
presence. He was ashamed to express his new 
Masonic views, which had been particularly re- 
vived and strengthened by his late tour. He 
checked himself, fearing to seem naive, yet he 
felt an irresistible desire to show his friend as 
soon as possible that he was now a quite dif- 
ferent, and better, Pierre than he had been in 
Petersburg. 

"I can't tell you how much I have lived 
through since then. I hardly know myself 
again." 

"Yes, we have altered much, very much, since 
then," said Prince Andrew. 



214 

"Well, and you? What are your plans?" 

"Plans!" repeated Prince Andrew ironically. 
"My plans?" he said, as if astonished at the 
word. "Well, you see, I'm building. I mean to 
settle here altogether next year " 

Pierre looked silently and searchingly into 
Prince Andrew's face, which had grown much 
older. 

"No, I meant to ask . . ." Pierre began, but 
Prince Andrew interrupted him. 

"But why talk of me? . . . Talk to me, yes, tell 
me about your travels and all you have been 
doing on your estates." 

Pierre began describing what he had done 
on his estates, trying as far as possible to con- 
ceal his own part in the improvements that 
had been made. Prince Andrew several times 
prompted Pierre's story of what he had been 
doing, as though it were all an old-time story, 
and he listened not only without interest but 
even as if ashamed of what Pierre was telling 
him. 

Pierre felt uncomfortable and even depressed 
in his friend's company and at last became si- 
lent. 

"I'll tell you what, my dear fellow," said 
Prince Andrew, who evidently also felt de- 
pressed and constrained with his visitor, "I am 
only bivouacking here and have just come to 
look round. I am going back to my sister today. 
I will introduce you to her. But of course you 
know her already," he said, evidently trying to 
entertain a visitor with whom he now found 
nothing in common. "We will go after dinner. 
And would you now like to look round my 
place?" 

They went out and walked about till din- 
nertime, talking of the political news and com- 
mon acquaintances like people who do not 
know each other intimately. Prince Andrew 
spoke with some animation and interest only 
of the new homestead he was constructing and 
its buildings, but even here, while on the scaf- 
folding, in the midst of a talk explaining the 
future arrangements of the house, he inter- 
rupted himself: 

"However, this is not at all interesting. Let 
us have dinner, and then we'll set off." 

At dinner, conversation turned on Pierre's 
marriage. 

"I was very much surprised when I heard 
of it," said Prince Andrew. 

Pierre blushed, as he always did when it was 
mentioned, and said hurriedly: "I will tell you 
some time how it all happened. But you know 
it is all over, and forever." 



WAR AND PEACE 

" "Forever?" said Prince Andrew. "Nothing's 
forever." 

"But you know how it all ended, don't you? 
You heard of the duel?" 

"And so you had to go through that tool" 

"One thing I thank God for is that I did not 
kill that man," said Pierre. 

"Why so?" asked Prince Andrew. "To kill a 
vicious dog is a very good thing really." 

"No, to kill a man is bad wrong." 

"Why is it wrong?" urged Prince Andrew. 
"It is not given to man to know what is right 
and what is wrong. Men always did and always 
will err, and in nothing more than in what 
they consider right and wrong." 

"What does harm to another is wrong," said 
Pierre, feeling with pleasure that for the first 
time since his arrival Prince Andrew was roused, 
had begun to talk, and wanted to express what 
had brought him to his present state. 

"And who has told you what is bad for an- 
other man?" he asked. 

"Bad! Bad!" exclaimed Pierre. "We all know 
what is bad for ourselves." 

"Yes, we know that, but the harm I am con- 
scious of in myself is something I cannot in- 
flict on others," said Prince Andrew, growing 
more and more animated and evidently wish- 
ing to express his new outlook to Pierre. He 
spoke in French. "I only know two very real evils 
in life: remorse and illness. The only good is 
the absence of those evils. To live for myself 
avoiding those two evils is my whole philoso- 
phy now." 

"And love of one's neighbor, and self-sacri- 
fice?" began Pierre. "No, I can't agree with 
you! To live only so as not to do evil and not 
to have to repent is not enough. I lived like 
that, I lived for myself and ruined my life. And 
only now when I am living, or at least trying" 
(Pierre's modesty made him correct himself) 
"to live for others, only now have I understood 
all the happiness of life. No, I shall not agree 
with you, and you do not really believe what 
you are saying." Prince Andrew looked silently 
at Pierre with an ironic smile. 

"When you sec ,my sister, Princess Mary, 
you'll get on with her," he said. "Perhaps you 
are right for yourself," he added after a short 
pause, "but everyone lives in his own way. You 
lived for yourself and say you nearly ruined 
your life and only found happiness when you 
began living for others. I experienced just the 
reverse. I lived for glory. And after all what is 
glory? The same love of others, a desire to do 
something for them, a desire for their approv- 



BOOK FIVE 



215 



al. So I lived for others, and not almost, but 
quite, ruined my life. And I have become calm- 
er since I began to live only for myself." 

"But what do you mean by living only for 
yourself?" asked Pierre, growing excited. 
"What about your son, your sister, and your 
father?" 

"But that's just the same as myself they are 
not others" explained Prince Andrew. "The 
others, one's neighbors, le prochain, as you and 
Princess Mary call it, are the chief source of 
all error and evil. Le prochain your Kiev 
peasants to whom you want to do good." 

And he looked at Pierre with a mocking, 
challenging expression. He evidently wished 
to draw him on. 

"You are joking," replied Pierre, growing 
more and more excited. "What error or evil 
can there be in my wishing to do good, and 
even doing a littlethough I did very little and 
did it very badly? What evil can there be in it 
if unfortunate people, our serfs, people like 
ourselves, were growing up and dying with no 
idea of God and truth beyond ceremonies and 
meaningless prayers and are now instructed in 
a comforting belief in future life, retribution, 
recompense, and consolation? What evil and 
error are there in it, if people were dying of 
disease without help while material assistance 
could so easily be rendered, and I supplied 
them with a doctor, a hospital, and an asylum 
for the aged? And is it not a palpable, unques- 
tionable good if a peasant, or a woman with a 
baby, has no rest day or night and I give them 
rest and leisure?" said Pierre, hurrying and 
lisping. "And I have done that though badly 
and to a small extent; but I have done some- 
thing toward it and you cannot persuade me 
that it was not a good action, and more than 
that, you can't make me believe that you do 
not think so yourself. And the main thing is," 
he continued, "that I know, and know for cer- 
tain, that the enjoyment of doing this good is 
the only sure happiness in life." 

"Yes, if you put it like that it's quite a dif- 
ferent matter," said Prince Andrew. "I build a 
house and lay out a garden, and you build 
hospitals. The one and the other may serve as 
a pastime. But what's right and what's good 
must be judged by one who knows all, but not 
by us. Well, you want an argument," he added, 
"come on then." 

They rose from the table and sat down in 
the entrance porch which served as a veranda. 

"Come, let's argue then," said Prince An- 
drew. "You talk of schools," he went on, crook- 



ing a finger, "education and so forth; that is, 
you want to raise him" (pointing to a peasant 
who passed by them taking off his cap) "from 
his animal condition and awaken in him spir- 
itual needs, while it seems to me that animal 
happiness is the only happiness possible, and 
that is just what you want to deprive him of. I 
envy him, but you want to make him what I 
am, without giving him my means. Then you 
say, 'lighten his toil.' But as I see it, physical 
labor is as essential to him, as much a condi- 
tion of his existence, as mental activity is to 
you or me. You can't help thinking. I go to bed 
after two in the morning, thoughts come and 
I can't sleep but toss about till dawn, because 
I think and can't help thinking, just as he 
can't help plowing and mowing; if he didn't, 
he would go to the drink shop or fall ill. Just 
as I could not stand his terrible physical labor 
but should die of it in a week, so he could not 
stand my physical idleness, but would grow 
fat and die. The third thing what else was it 
you talked about?" and Prince Andrew crooked 
a third finger. "Ah, yes, hospitals, medicine. 
He has a fit, he is dying, and you come and 
bleed him and patch him up. He will drag 
about as a cripple, a burden to everybody, for 
another ten years. It would be far easier and 
simpler for him to die. Others are being born 
and there are plenty of them as it is. It would 
be different if you grudged losing a laborer 
that's how I regard him but you want to cure 
him from love of him. And he does not want 
that. And besides, what a notion that medicine 
ever cured anyonel Killed them, yes!" said he, 
frowning angrily and turning away from Pierre. 

Prince Andrew expressed his ideas so clearly 
and distinctly that it was evident he had re- 
flected on this subject more than once, and he 
spoke readily and rapidly like a man who has 
not talked for a long time. His glance became 
more animated as his conclusions became more 
hopeless. 

"Oh, that is dreadful, dreadful!" said Pierre. 
"I don't understand how one can live with 
such ideas. I had such moments myself not long 
ago, in Moscow and when traveling, but at 
such times I collapsed so that I don't live at all 
everything seems hateful to me . . . myself 
most of all. Then I don't eat, don't wash . . . 
and how is it with you? . . ." 

"Why not wash? That is not cleanly," said 
Prince Andrew; "on the contrary one must try 
to make one's life as pleasant as possible. I'm 
alive, that is not my fault, so I must live out 
my life as best I can without hurting others." 



2l6 



WAR AND PEACE 



"But with such ideas what motive have you 
for living? One would sit without moving, un- 
dertaking nothing " 

"Life as it is leaves one no peace. I should be 
thankful to do nothing, but here on the one 
hand the local nobility have done me the hon- 
or to choose me to be their marshal; it was all 
I could do to get out of it. They could not un- 
derstand that I have not the necessary qualifi- 
cations for it the kind of good-natured, fussy 
shallowness necessary for the position. Then 
there's this house, which must be built in or- 
der to have a nook of one's own in which to be 
quiet. And now there's this recruiting." 

"Why aren't you serving in the army?" 

"After Austerlitz!" said Prince Andrew 
gloomily. "No, thank you very much! I have 
promised myself not to serve again in the ac- 
tive Russian army. And I won't not even if 
Bonaparte were here at Smolensk threatening 
Bald Hills even then I wouldn't serve in the 
Russian armyl Well, as I was saying," he con- 
tinued, recovering his composure, "now there's 
this recruiting. My father is chief in command 
of the Third District, and my only way of 
avoiding active service is to serve under him." 

"Then you are serving?" 

"I am." 

He paused a little while. 

"And why do you serve?" 

"Why, for this reason! My father is one of 
the most remarkable men of his time. But he 
is growing old, and though not exactly cruel 
he has too energetic a character. He is so ac- 
customed to unlimited power that he is terri- 
ble, and now he has this authority of a com- 
mander in chief of the recruiting, granted by 
the Emperor. If I had been two hours late a 
fortnight ago he would have had a paymaster's 
clerk at Yiikhnovna hanged," said Prince An- 
drew with a smile. "So I am serving because I 
alone have any influence with my father, and 
now and then can save him from actions which 
would torment him afterwards." 

"Well, there you see!" 

"Yes, but it is not as you imagine," Prince 
Andrew continued. "I did not, and do not, in 
the least care about that scoundrel of a clerk 
who had stolen some boots from the recruits; 
I should even have been very glad to see him 
hanged, but I was sorry for my father that 
again is for myself." 

Prince Andrew grew more and more ani- 
mated. His eyes glittered feverishly while he 
tried to prove to Pierre that in his actions there 
was no desire to do good to his neighbor. 



"There now, you wish to liberate your serfs," 
he continued; "that is a very good thing, but 
not for you I don't suppose you ever had any- 
one flogged or sent to Siberia and still less for 
your serfs. If they are beaten, flogged, or sent 
to Siberia, I don't suppose they are any the 
worse off. In Siberia they lead the same animal 
life, and the stripes on their bodies heal, and 
they are happy as before. But it is a good thing 
for proprietors who perish morally, bring re- 
morse upon themselves, stifle this remorse and 
grow callous, as a result of being able to inflict 
punishments justly and unjustly. It is those peo- 
ple I pity, and for their sake I should like to 
liberate the serfs. You may not have seen, but I 
have seen, how good men brought up in those 
traditions of unlimited power, in time when 
they grow more irritable, become cruel and 
harsh, are conscious of it, but cannot restrain 
themselves and grow more and more misera- 
ble." 

Prince Andrew spoke so earnestly that Pierre 
could not help thinking that these thoughts 
had been suggested to Prince Andrew by his 
father's case. 

He did not reply. 

"So that's what I'm sorry for human dignity, 
peace of mind, purity, arid not the serfs' backs 
and foreheads, which, beat and shave as you 
may, always remain the same backs and fore- 
heads." 

"No, no! A thousand times no! I shall never 
agree with you," said Pierre. 

CHAPTER XII 

IN THE EVENING Andrew and Pierre got into the 
open carriage and drove to Bald Hills. Prince 
Andrew, glancing at Pierre, broke the silence 
now and then with remarks which showed that 
he was in a good temper. 

Pointing to the fields, he spoke of the im- 
provements he was making in his husbandry. 

Pierre remained gloomily silent, answering 
in monosyllables and apparently immersed in 
his own thoughts. 

He was thinking that Prince Andrew was 
unhappy, had gone astray, did not see the true 
light, and that he, Pierre, ought to aid, en- 
lighten, and raise him. But as soon as he 
thought of what he should say, he felt that 
Prince Andrew with one word, one argument, 
would upset all his teaching, and he shrank 
from beginning, afraid of exposing to possible 
ridicule what to him was precious and sacred. 

"No, but why do you think so?" Pierre sud- 
denly began, lowering his head and looking 



BOOK FIVE 



217 



like a bull about to charge, "why do you think 
so? You should not think so." 

"Think? What about?" asked Prince Andrew 
with surprise. 

"About life, about man's destiny. It can't be 
so. I myself thought like that, and do you know 
what saved me? Freemasonry! No, don't smile. 
Freemasonry is not a religious ceremonial sect, 
as I thought it was: Freemasonry is the best ex- 
pression of the best, the eternal, aspects of hu- 
manity." 

And he began to explain Freemasonry as he 
understood it to Prince Andrew. He said that 
Freemasonry is the teaching of Christianity 
freed from the bonds of State and Church, a 
teaching of equality, brotherhood, and love. 

"Only our holy brotherhood has the real 
meaning of life, all the rest is a dream," said 
Pierre. "Understand, my dear fellow, that out- 
side this union all is filled with deceit and 
falsehood and I agree with you that nothing is 
left for an intelligent and good man but to 
live out his life, like you, merely trying not to 
harm others. But make our fundamental con- 
victions your own, join our brotherhood, give 
yourself up to us, let yourself be guided, and 
you will at once feel yourself, as I have felt my- 
self, a part of that vast invisible chain the be- 
ginning of which is hidden in heaven," said 
Pierre. 

Prince Andrew, looking straight in front of 
him, listened in silence to Pierre's words. More 
than once, when the noise of the wheels pre- 
vented his catching wliat Pierre said, he asked 
him to repeat it, and by the peculiar glow that 
came into Prince Andrew's eyes and by his 
silence, Pierre saw that his words were not in 
vain and that Prince Andrew would not in- 
terrupt him or laugh at what he said. 

They reached a river that had overflowed its 
banks and which they had to cross by ferry. 
While the carriage and horses were beingplaced 
on it, they also stepped on the raft. 

Prince Andrew, leaning his arms on the raft 
railing, gazed silently at the flooding waters 
glittering in the setting sun. 

"Well, what do you think about it?" Pierre 
asked. "Why are you silent?" 

"What do I think about it? I am listening to 
you. It's all very well. . . . You say: join our 
brotherhood and we will show you the aim of 
life, the destiny of man, and the laws which gov- 
ern the world. But who are we? Men. How is it 
you know everything? Why do I alone not see 
what you see? You see a reign of goodness and 
truth on earth, but I don't see it." 



Pierre interrupted him. 

"Do you believe in a future life?" he asked. 

"A futurelife?" Prince Andrew repeated, but 
Pierre, giving him no time to reply, took the 
repetition for a denial, the more readily as he 
knew Prince Andrew's former atheistic con- 
victions. 

"You say you can't see a reign of goodness 
and truth on earth. Nor could I, and it can- 
not be seen if one looks on our life here as the 
end of everything. On earth f here on this earth" 
(Pierre pointed to the fields), "there is no 
truth, all is false and evil; but in the universe, 
in the whole universe, there is a kingdom of 
truth, and we who are now the children of 
earth are eternallychildren of the whole uni- 
verse. Don't I feel in my soul that I am part of 
this vast harmonious whole? Don't I feel that 
I form one link, one step, between the lower 
and higher beings, in this vast harmonious mul- 
titude of beings in whom the Deity the Su- 
preme Power if you prefer the term is mani- 
fest? If I see, clearly see, that ladder leading 
from plant to man, why should I suppose it 
breaks off at me and does not go farther and 
farther? I feel that I cannot vanish, since noth- 
ing vanishes in this world, but that I shall al- 
ways exist and always have existed. I feel that 
beyond me and above me there are spirits, and 
that in this world there is truth." 

"Yes, that is Herder's theory," said Prince 
Andrew, "but it is not that which can convince 
me, dear friend life and death are what con- 
vince. What convinces is when one sees a be- 
ing dear to one, bound up with one's own life, 
before whom one was to blame and had hoped 
to make it right" (Prince Andrew's voice trem- 
bled and he turned away), "and suddenly that 
being is seized with pain, suffers, and ceases to 
exist. . . . Why? It cannot be that there is no 

answer. And I believe there is That's what 

convinces, that is what has convinced me," said 
Prince Andrew. 

"Yes, yes, of course," said Pierre, "isn't that 
what I'm saying?" 

"No. All I say is that it is not argument that 
convinces me of the necessity of a future life, 
but this: when you go hand in hand with some- 
one and all at once that person vanishes there, 
into nowhere, and you yourself are left facing 
that abyss, and look in. And I have looked 
in. . . ." 

"Well, that's it then! You know that there is 
a there and there is a Someone? There is the 
future life. The Someone is God." 

Prince Andrew did not reply. The carriage 



2l8 



WAR AND PEACE 



and horses had long since been taken off, onto 
the farther bank, and reharnessed. The sun 
had sunk half below the horizon and an eve- 
ning frost was starring the puddles near the fer- 
ry, but Pierre and Andrew, to the astonishment 
of the footmen, coachmen, and ferrymen, still 
stood on the raft and talked. 

"If there is a God and future life, there is 
truth and good, and man's highest happiness 
consists in striving to attain them. We must 
live, we must love, and we must believe that we 
live not only today on this scrap of earth, but 
have lived and shall live forever, there, in the 
Whole," said Pierre, and he pointed to the sky. 

Prince Andrew stood leaning on the railing 
of theraft listening to Pierre, and he gazed with 
his eyes fixed on the red reflection of the sun 
gleaming on the blue waters. There was per- 
fect stillness. Pierre became silent. The raft had 
long since stopped and only the waves of the 
current beat softly against it below. Prince An- 
drew felt as if the sound of the waves kept up 
a refrain to Pierre's words, whispering: 

"It is true, believe it." 

He sighed, and glanced with a radiant, child- 
like, tender look at Pierre's face, flushed and 
rapturous, but yet shy before his superior 
friend. 

"Yes, if it only were sol "said Prince Andrew. 
"However, it is time to get on," he added, and, 
stepping off the raft, he looked up at the sky 
to which Pierre had pointed, and for the first 
time since Austerlitz saw that high, everlasting 
sky he had seen while lying on that battlefield; 
and something that had long been slumbering, 
something that was best within him, sudden- 
ly awoke, joyful and youthful, in his soul. It 
vanished as soon as he returned to the custom- 
ary conditions of his life, but he knew that this 
feeling which he did not know how to develop 
existed within him. His meeting with Pierre 
formed an epoch in Prince Andrew's life. 
Though outwardly he continued to live in the 
same old way, inwardly he began a new life. 

CHAPTER XIII 

IT WAS getting dusk when Prince Andrew and 
Pierre drove up to the front entrance of the 
house at Bald Hills. As they approached the 
house, Prince Andrew with a smile drew Pierre's 
attention to a commotion going on at the back 
porch. A woman, bent with age, with a wallet 
on her back, and a short, long-haired, young 
man in a black garment had rushed back to the 
gate on seeing the carriage driving up. Two 
women ran out after them, and all four, look- 



ing round at the carriage, ran in dismay up the 
steps of the back porch. 

"Those are Mary's 'God's folk,' " said Prince 
Andrew. "They have mistaken us for my father. 
This is the one matter in which she disobeys 
him. He orders these pilgrims to be driven 
away, but she receives them." 

"But what are 'God's folk'?" asked Pierre. 

Prince Andrew had no time to answer. The 
servants came out to meet them, and he asked 
where the old prince was and whether he was 
expected back soon. 

The old prince had gone to the town and was 
expected back any minute. 

Prince Andrew led Pierre to his own apart- 
ments, which were always kept in perfect order 
and readiness for him in his father's house; he 
himself went to the nursery. 

"Let us go and see my sister," he said to 
Pierre when he returned. "I have not found 
her yet, she is hiding now, sitting with her 
'God's folk.' It will serve her right, she will be 
confused, but you will see her 'God's folk.' It's 
really very curious." 

"What are 'God's folk'?" asked Pierre. 

"Come, and you'll see for yourself." 

Princess Mary really was disconcerted and 
red patches came on her face when they went 
in. In her snug room, with lamps burning be- 
fore the icon stand, a young lad with a long 
nose and long hair, wearing a monk's cassock, 
sat on the sofa beside her, behind a samovar. 
Near them, in an armchair, sat a thin, shriveled, 
old woman, with a meek expression on her 
childlike face. 

"Andrew, why didn't you warn me?" said the 
princess, with mild reproach, as she stood be- 
fore her pilgrims like a hen before her chick- 
ens. 

"Charmde de vous voir. Je suis trs contente 
de vous voir" l she said to Pierre as he kissed 
her hand. She had known him as a child, and 
now his friendship with Andrew, his misfor- 
tune with his wife, and above all his kindly, 
simple face disposed her favorably toward him. 
She looked at him with her beautiful radiant 
eyes and seemed to say, "I like you very much, 
but please don't laugh at my people." After 
exchanging the first greetings, they sat down. 

"Ah, and Ivdnushka is here tool" said Prince 
Andrew, glancing with a smile at the young 
pilgrim. 

"Andrew!" said Princess Mary, imploringly. 
"// faut que vous sachiez que c'cst une 

1 "Delighted to see you. I am very glad to sec 
you." 



BOOK FIVE 



219 



fcmme" l said Prince Andrew to Pierre. 

"Andrew, au nom de Dieu!" a Princess Mary 
repeated. 

It was evident that Prince Andrew's ironical 
tone toward the pilgrims and Princess Mary's 
helpless attempts to protect them were their 
customary long-established relations on the 
matter. 

"Maw, ma bonne ami*/' said Prince Andrew, 
"vous devriez au contraire m'Stre reconnais- 
sante de ce que j'explique d Pierre votre inti- 
mite 1 avec ce jeune homme" * 

"Really?" said Pierre, gazing over his spec- 
tacles with curiosity and seriousness (forwhich 
Princess Mary was specially grateful to him) 
into Ivanushka's face, who, seeing that she was 
being spoken about, looked round at them all 
with crafty eyes. 

Princess Mary's embarrassment on her peo- 
ple's account was quite unnecessary. They were 
not in the least abashed. The old woman, low- 
ering her eyes but casting side glances at the 
newcomers, had turned her cup upside down 
and placed a nibbled bit of sugar beside it, and 
sat quietly in her armchair, though hoping to 
be offered another cup of tea. Ivdnushka, sip- 
ping out of her saucer, looked with sly woman- 
ish eyes from under her brows at the young 
men. 

"Where have you been? To Kiev?" Prince 
Andrew asked the old woman. 

"I have, good sir," she answered garrulously. 
"Just at Christmastime I was deemed worthy to 
partake of the holy and heavenly sacrament at 
the shrine of the saint. And now I'm from Kol- 
yzin, master, where a great and wonderful 
blessing has been revealed." 

"And was Ivanushka with you?" 

"I go by myself, benefactor," said Ivdnushka, 
trying to speak in a bass voice. "I only came 
across Pelage*ya in Yiikhnovo. . . ." 

Pelage*ya interrupted her companion; she 
evidently wished to tell what she had seen. 

"In Kolydzin, master, a wonderful blessing 
has been revealed." 

"What is it? Some new relics?" asked Prince 
Andrew. 

"Andrew, do leave off," said Princess Mary. 
"Don't tell him, Pelagya." 

"No . . . why not, my dear, why shouldn't I? 
I like him. He is kind, he is one of God's cho- 

1 "You must know that this is a woman." 

* "For heaven's sake." 

* "But, my dear, you ought on the contrary to be 
grateful to me for explaining to Pierre your inti- 
macy with this young man." 



sen, he's a benefactor, he once gave me ten ru- 
bles, I remember. When I was in Kiev, Crazy 
Cyril says to me (he's one of God's own and 
goes barefoot summer and winter), he says, 
'Why are you not going to the right place? Go 
to Kolyizin where a wonder-working icon of 
the Holy Mother of God has been revealed.' 
On hearing those words I said good-by to the 
holy folk and went." 

All were silent, only the pilgrim woman 
went on in measured tones, drawing in her 
breath. 

"So I come, master, and the people say tome: 
'A great blessing has been revealed, holy oil 
trickles from the cheeks of our blessed Mother, 
the Holy Virgin Mother of God.' . . ." 

"All right, all right, you can tell us after- 
wards," said Princess Mary, flushing. 

"Let me ask her," said Pierre. "Did you see 
it yourselves?" he inquired. 

"Oh, yes, master, I was found worthy. Such a 
brightness on the face like the light of heaven, 
and from the blessed Mother's cheek it drops 
and drops. . . ." 

"But, dear me, that must be a fraud!" said 
Pierre, naively, who had listened attentively to 
the pilgrim. 

"Oh, master, what are you say ing?" exclaimed 
the horrified Pelage* ya, turn ing to Princess Mary 
for support. 

"They impose on the people," he repeated. 

"Lord Jesus Christ!" exclaimed the pilgrim 
Woman, crossing herself. "Oh, don't speak so, 
master 1 There was a general who did not be- 
lieve, and said, 'The monks cheat,' and as soon 
as he'd said it he went blind. And he dreamed 
that the Holy Virgin Mother of the Kiev cata- 
combs came to him and said, 'Believe in meand 
I will make you whole.' So he begged: 'Take 
me to her, take me to her.' It's the real truth 
I'm telling you, I saw it myself. So he was 
brought, quite blind, straight to her, and he 
goes up to her and falls down and says, 'Make 
me whole,' says he, 'and I'll give thee what the 
Tsar bestowed on me.' I saw it myself, master, 
the star is fixed into the icon. Well, and what 
do you think? He received his sight! It's a sin 
to speak so. God will punish you," she said ad- 
monishingly, turning to Pierre. 

"How did the star get into the icon?" Pierre 
asked. 

"And was the Holy Mother promoted to the 
rank of general?" said Prince Andrew, with a 
smile. 

Pelagc*ya suddenly grew quite pale and 
clasped her hands. 



220 



WAR AND PEACE 



"Oh, master, master, what a sin! And you 
who have a son I" she began, her pallor sud- 
denly turning to a vivid red. "Master, what 
have you said? God forgive you!" And she 
crossed herself. "Lord forgive him! My dear, 
what does it mean? . . ." she asked, turning to 
Princess Mary. She got up and, almost crying, 
began to arrange her wallet. She evidently felt 
frightened and ashamed to have accepted char- 
ity in a house where such things could be said, 
and was at the same time sorry to have now to 
forgo the charity of this house. 

"Now, why need you do it?" said Princess 
Mary. "Why did you come to me? . . ." 

"Come, Pelagdya, I was joking," said Pierre. 
"Princesse, ma parole, je n'ai pas voulu Voffen- 
jer. 1 1 did not mean anything, I wasonlyjoking," 
he said, smiling shyly and trying to efface his 
offense. "It was all my fault, and Andrew was 
only joking." 

Pelag^ya stopped doubtfully, but in Pierre's 
face there was such a look of sincere penitence, 
and Prince Andrew glanced so meekly now at 
her and now at Pierre, that she was gradually 
reassured. 

CHAPTER XIV 

THE PILGRIM WOMAN was appeased and, being 
encouraged to talk, gave a long account of Fa- 
ther Amphilochus, who led so holy a life that 
his hands smelled of incense, and how on her 
last visit to Kiev some monks she knew let her 
have the keys of the catacombs, and how she, 
taking some dried bread with her, had spent 
two days in the catacombs with the saints. "I'd 
pray awhile to one, ponder awhile, then go on 
to another. I'd sleep a bit and then again go 
and kiss the relics, and there was such peace all 
around, such blessedness, that one don't want 
to come out, even into the light of heaven 
again." 

Pierre listened to her attentively and serious- 
ly. Prince Andrew went out of the room, and 
then, leaving "God's folk" to finish their tea, 
Princess Mary took Pierre into the drawing 
room. 

"You are very kind," she said to him. 

"Oh, I really did not mean to hurt her feel- 
ings. I understand them so well and have the 
greatest respect for them." 

Princess Mary looked at him silently and 
smiled affectionately. 

"I have known you a long time, you see, and 
am as fond of you as of a brother," she said. 

1 "Princess, on my word, I did not wish to offend 
her/' 



"How do you find Andrew?" she added hur- 
riedly, not giving him time to reply to her af- 
fectionate words. "I am very anxious about 
him. His health was better in the winter, but 
last spring his wound reopened and the doctor 
said he ought to go away for a cure. And I am 
also very much afraid for him spiritually. He 
has not a character like us women who, when 
we suffer, can weep away our sorrows. He keeps 
it all within him. Today he is cheerful and in 
good spirits, but that is the effect of your visit 
he is not often like that. If you could per- 
suade him to go abroad. He needs activity, and 
this quiet regular life is very bad for him. Oth- 
ers don't notice it, but I see it." 

Toward ten o'clock the menservants rushed 
to the front door, hearing the bells of the old 
prince's carriage approaching. Prince Andrew 
and Pierre also went out into the porch. 

"Who's that?" asked the old prince, notic- 
ing Pierre as he got out of the carriage. 

"Ah! Very glad! Kiss me," he said, having 
learned who the young stranger was. 

The old prince was in a good temper and 
very gracious to Pierre. 

Before supper, Prince Andrew, coming back 
to his father's study, found him disputing hot- 
ly with his visitor. Pierre was maintaining that 
a time would come when there would be no 
more wars. The old prince disputed it chaffing- 
ly, but without getting angry. 

"Drain the blood from men's veins and put 
in water instead, then there will be no more 
war! Old women's nonsense old women's 
nonsense!" he repeated, but still he patted 
Pierre affectionately on the shoulder, and then 
went up to the table where Prince Andrew, ev- 
idently not wishing to join in the conversation, 
was looking over the papers his father had 
brought from town. The old prince went up to 
him and began to talk business. 

"The marshal, a Count Rost6v, hasn't sent 
half his contingent. He came to town and 
wanted to invite me to dinner I gave him a 
pretty dinner! . . . And there, look at this. . . . 
Well, my boy," the old prince went on, address- 
ing his son and patting Pierre on the shoulder. 
"A fine fellow your friend I like him! He 
stirs me up. Another says clever things and one 
doesn't care to listen, but this one talks rub- 
bish yet stirs an old fellow up. Well, go! Get 
along! Perhaps I'll come and sit with you at 
supper. We'll have another dispute. Make 
friends with my little fool, Princess Mary," he 
shouted after Pierre, through the door. 

Only now, on his visit to Bald Hills, did 



BOOK FIVE 



Pierre fully realize the strength and charm of 
his friendship with Prince Andrew. That charm 
was not expressed so much in his relations with 
him as with all his family and with the house- 
hold. With the stern old prince and the gen- 
tle, timid Princess Mary, though he had scarce- 
ly known them, Pierre at once felt like an old 
friend. They were all fond of him already. Not 
only Princess Mary, who had been won by his 
gentleness with the pilgrims, gave him her most 
radiant looks, but even the one-year-old "Prince 
Nicholas" (as his grandfather called him) 
smiled at Pierre and let himself be taken in his 
arms, and Michael Ivdnovich and Mademoi- 
selle Bourienne looked at him with pleasant 
smiles when he talked to the old prince. 

The old prince came in to supper; this was 
evidently on Pierre's account. And during the 
two days of the young man's visit he was ex- 
tremely kind to him and told him to visit them 
again. 

When Pierre had gone and the members of 
the household met together, they began to ex- 
prtss their opinions of him as people always 
do after a new acquaintance has left, but as 
seldom happens, no one said anything but 
what was good of him. 

CHAPTER XV 

WHEN RETURNING from his leave, Rostov felt, 
for the first time, how close was the bond that 
united him to Denfsovand the whole regiment. 

On approaching it, Rost6v felt as he had 
done when approaching his home in Moscow. 
When he saw the first hussar with the unbut- 
toned uniform of his regiment, when he rec- 
ognized red-haired Dem^ntyev and saw the 
picket ropes of the roan horses, when Lavru- 
shka gleefully shouted to his master, "The 
count has cornel" and Denfsov, who had been 
asleep on his bed, ran all disheveled out of the 
mud hut to embrace him, and the officers col- 
lected round to greet the new arrival, Rostov 
experienced the same feeling as when his moth- 
er, his father, and his sister had embraced him, 
and tears of joy choked him so that he could 
not speak. The regiment was also a home, and 
as unalterably dear and precious as his parents' 
house. 

When he had reported himself to the com- 
mander of the regiment and had been reas- 
signed to his former squadron, had been on 
duty and had gone out foraging, when he had 
again entered into all the little interests of the 
regiment and felt himself deprived of liberty 
and bound in one narrow, unchanging frame, 



he experienced the same sense of peace, of mor- 
al support, and the same senseof being at home 
here in his own place, as he had felt under the 
parental roof. But here was none of all that 
turmoil of the world at large, where he did not 
know his right place and took mistaken deci- 
sions; here was no ScSnya with whom he ought, 
or ought not, to have an explanation; here was 
no possibility of going there or not going there; 
here there were not twenty- four hours in the 
day which could be spent in such a variety of 
ways; there was not that innumerable crowd of 
people of whom not one was nearer to him or 
farther from him than another; there were 
none of those uncertain and undefined money 
relations with his father, and nothing to recall 
that terrible loss to D61okhov. Here, in the reg- 
iment, all was clear and simple. The whole 
world was divided into two unequal parts: one, 
our Pdvlograd regiment; the other, all the rest. 
And the rest was no concern of his. In the regi- 
ment, everything was definite: who was lieu- 
tenant, who captain, who was a good fellow, 
who a bad one, and most of all, who was a com- 
rade. The canteenkeeper gave one credit, one's 
pay came every four months, there was nothing 
to think out or decide, you had only to do noth- 
ing that was considered bad in the Pavlograd 
regiment and, when given an order, to do what 
was clearly, distinctly, and definitely ordered 
and all would be well. 

Having once more entered into the definite 
conditions of this regimental life, Rost6v felt 
the joy and relief a tired man feels on lying 
down to rest. Life in the regiment, during this 
campaign, was all the pleasanter for him, be- 
cause, after his loss to D61okhov (for which, in 
spite of all his family's efforts to console him, 
he could not forgive himself), he had made up 
his mind to atone for his fault by serving, not 
as he had done before, but really well, and by 
being a perfectly first-rate comrade and officer 
in a word, a splendid man altogether, a thing 
which seemed so difficult out in the world, but 
so possible in the regiment. 

After his losses, he had determined to pay 
back his debt to his parents in five years. He re- 
ceived ten thousand rubles a year, but now re- 
solved to take only two thousand and leave the 
rest to repay the debt to his parents. 

Our army, after repeated retreats and ad- 
vances and battles at Pultiisk and Preussisch- 
Eylau, was concentrated near Bartenstein. It 
was awaiting the Emperor's arrival and the be- 
ginning of a new campaign. 

The Pdvlograd regiment, belonging to that 



22* 



WAR AND PEACE 



part of the army which had served in the 1805 
campaign, had been recruiting up to strength 
in Russia, and arrived too late to take part in 
the first actions of the campaign. It had been 
neither at Pultusk nor at Preussisch-Eylau and, 
when it joined the army in the field in the sec- 
ond half of the campaign, was attached to Pld- 
tov's division. 

Pldtov's division was acting independently 
of the main army. Several times parts of the 
Pdvlograd regiment had exchanged shots with 
the enemy, had taken prisoners, and once had 
even captured Marshal Oudinot's carriages. In 
April the Pdvlograds were stationed immova- 
bly for some weeks near a totally ruined and 
deserted German village. 

A thaw had set in, it was muddy and cold, 
the ice on the river broke, and the roads be- 
came impassable. For days neither provisions 
for the men nor fodder for the horses had been 
issued. As no transports could arrive, the men 
dispersed about the abandoned and deserted 
villages, searching for potatoes, but found few 
even of these. 

Everything had been eaten up and the in- 
habitants had all fled if any remained, they 
were worse than beggars and nothing more 
could be taken from them; even the soldiers, 
usually pitiless enough, instead of taking any- 
thing from them, often gave them the last of 
their rations. 

The Pdvlograd regiment had had only two 
men wounded in action, but had lost nearly half 
its men from hunger and sickness. In the hos- 
pitals, death was so certain that soldiers suffer- 
ing from fever, or the swelling that came from 
bad food, preferred to remain on duty, and 
hardly able to drag their legs went to the front 
rather than to the hospitals. When spring came 
on, the soldiers found a plant just showing out 
of the ground that looked like asparagus, which, 
for some. reason, they called "Mdshka's sweet 
root." It was very bitter, but they wandered 
about the fields seeking it and dug it out with 
their sabers and ate it, though they were or- 
dered not to do so, as it was a noxious plant. 
That spring a new disease broke out among the 
soldiers, a swelling of the arms, legs, and face, 
which the doctors attributed to eating this root. 
But in spite of all this, the soldiers of Denisov's 
squadron fed chiefly on "Mdshka's sweet root," 
because it was the second week that the last of 
the biscuits were being doled out at the rate of 
half a pound a man and the last potatoes re- 
ceived had sprouted and frozen. 

The horses also had been fed for a fortnight 



on straw from the thatched roofs and had be- 
come terribly thin, though still covered with 
tufts of felty winter hair. 

Despite this destitution, the soldiers and of- 
ficers went on living just as usual. Despite their 
pale swollen faces and tattered uniforms, the 
hussars formed line for roll call, kept things in 
order, groomed their horses, polished their 
arms, brought in straw from the thatched roofs 
in place of fodder, and sat down to dine round 
the caldrons from which they rose up hungry, 
joking about their nasty food and their hunger. 
As usual, in their spare time, they lit bonfires, 
steamed themselves before them naked; 
smoked, picked out and baked sprouting rot- 
ten potatoes, told and listened to stories of Po- 
tdmkin's and Suv6rov's campaigns, or to leg- 
ends of Alesha the Sly, or the priest's laborer 
Mik61ka. 

The officers, as usual, lived in twos and threes 
in the roofless, half-ruined houses. The seniors 
tried to collect straw and potatoes and, in gen- 
eral, food for the men. The younger ones oc- 
cupied themselves as before, some playing cards 
(there was plenty of money, though there was 
no food), some with more innocent games, such 
as quoits and skittles. The general trend of 
the campaign was rarely spoken of, partly be- 
cause nothing certain was known about it, 
partly because there was a vague feeling that 
in the main it was going badly. 

Rost6v lived, as before, with Denfsov, and 
since their furlough they had become more 
friendly than ever. Denisov never spoke of Ros- 
tov's family, but by the tender friendship his 
commander showed him, Rost6v felt that the 
elder hussar's luckless love for Natdsha played 
a part in strengthening their friendship. Den- 
fsov evidently tried to expose Rost6v to dan- 
ger as seldom as possible, and after an action 
greeted his safe return with evident joy. On 
one of his foraging expeditions, in a deserted 
and ruined village to which he had come in 
search of provisions, Rost6v found a family 
consisting of an old Pole and his daughter with 
an infant in arms. They were half clad, hungry, 
too weak to get away on foot and had no means 
of obtaining a conveyance. Rost6v brought 
them to his quarters, placed them in his own 
lodging, and kept them for some weeks while 
the old man was recovering. One of his com- 
rades, talking of women, began chaffing Ros- 
t6v, saying that he was more wily than any of 
them and that it would not be a bad thing if 
he introduced to them the pretty Polish girl he 
had saved. Rost6v took the joke as an insult, 



BOOK FIVE 



223 



flared up, and said such unpleasant things to 
the officer that it was all Denfsov could do to 
prevent aduel.Whentheofficerhad goneaway, 
Denfsov, who did not himself know what Ros- 
t6v's relations with the Polish girl might be, be- 
gan to upbraid him for his quickness of tem- 
per, and Rostov replied: 

"Say what you like. . . . She is like a sister to 
me, and I can't tell you how it offended me 
. . . because . . . well, for that reason. . . ." 

Denisov patted him on the shoulder and be- 
gan rapidly pacing the room without looking 
at Rostov, as was his way at moments of deep 
feeling. 

"Ah, what a mad bweed you Wostovs are!" 
he muttered, and Rost6v noticed tears in his 
eyes. 

CHAPTER XVI 

IN APRIL the troops were enlivened by news 
of the Emperor's arrival, but Rost6v had no 
chance of being present at the review he held 
at Bartenstein, as the Pavlograds were at the 
outposts far beyond that place. 

They were bivouacking. Denisov and Ros- 
t6v were living in an earth hut, dug out for 
them by the soldiers and roofed with branches 
and turf. The hut was made in the following 
manner, which had then come into vogue. A 
trench was dug three and a half feet wide, four 
feet eight inches deep, and eight feet long. At 
one end of the trench, steps were cut out and 
these formed the entrance and vestibule. The 
trench itself was the room, in which the lucky 
ones, such as the squadron commander, had a 
board, lying on piles at the end opposite the 
entrance, to serve as a table. On each side of 
the trench, the earth was cut out to a breadth 
of about two and a half feet, and this did duty 
for bedsteads and couches. The roof was so 
constructed that one could stand up in the mid- 
dle of the trench and could even sit up on the 
beds if one drew close to the table. Denfsov, 
who was living luxuriously because the sol- 
diers of his squadron liked him, had also a 
board in the roof at the farther end, with a 
piece of (broken but mended) glass in it for a 
window. When it was very cold, embers from 
the soldiers' campfire were placed on a bent 
sheet of iron on the steps in the "reception 
room" as Denfsov called that part of the hut 
and it was then so warm that the officers, of 
whom there were always some with Denfsov 
and Rost6v, sat in their shirt sleeves. 

In April, Rost6v was on orderly duty. One 
morning, between seven and eight, returning 



after a sleepless night, he sent for embers, 
changed his rain-soaked underclothes, said his 
prayers, drank tea, got warm, then tidied up 
the things on the table and in his own corner, 
and, his face glowing from exposure to the 
wind and with nothing on but his shirt, lay 
down on his back, putting his arms under his 
head. He was pleasantly considering the prob- 
ability of being promoted in a few days for his 
last reconnoitering expedition, and was await- 
ing Denisov, who had gone out somewhere and 
with whom he wanted a talk. 

Suddenly he heard Denisov shouting in a vi- 
brating voice behind the hut, evidently much 
excited. Rost6v moved to the window to see 
whom he was speaking to, and saw the quarter- 
master, Topche'enko. 

"I ordered you not to let them eat that Mash- 
ka woot stuff!" Denisov was shouting. "And I 
saw with my own eyes how Lazarchuk bwought 
some fwom the fields." 

"I have given the order again and again, 
your honor, but they don't obey, "answered the 
quartermaster. 

Rost6v lay down again on his bed and 
thought complacently: "Let him fuss and bus- 
tle now, my job's done and I'm lying down- 
capitally!" He could hear that Lavrushka 
that sly, bold orderly of Denisov's was talking, 
as well as the quartermaster. Lavrushka was 
saying something about loaded wagons, bis- 
cuits, and oxen he had seen when he had gone 
out for provisions. 

Then Denisov's voice was heard shouting 
farther and farther away. "Saddle! Second pla- 
toon!" 

"Where are they off to now?" thought Ros- 
t6v. 

Five minutes later, Denfsov came into the 
hut, climbed with muddy boots on the bed, 
lit his pipe, furiously scattered his things 
about, took his leaded whip, buckled on his 
saber, and went out again. In answer to Ros- 
t6v's inquiry where he was going, he answered 
vaguely and crossly that he had some business. 

"Let God and our gweat monarch judge me 
afterwards!" said Denfsov going out, and Ros- 
t6v heard the hoofs of several horses splashing 
through the mud. He did not % even trouble to 
find out where Denfsov had gone. Having got 
warm in his corner, he fell asleep and did not 
leave the hut till toward evening. Denfsov had 
not yet returned. The weather had cleared up, 
and near the next hut two officers and a cadet 
were playing svdyka, laughing as they threw 
their missiles which buried themselves in the 



224 



WAR AND PEACE 



soft mud. Rostdv joined them. In the middle 
of the game, the officers saw some wagons ap- 
proaching with fifteen hussars on their skinny 
horses behind them. The wagons escorted by 
the hussars drew up to the picket ropes and a 
crowd of hussars surrounded them. 

"There now, Denfsov has been worrying," 
said Rost6v, "and here are the provisions." 

"So they are!" said the officers. "Won't the 
soldiers be glad!" 

A little behind the hussars came Denfsov, 
accompanied by two infantry officers with 
whom he was talking. 

Rost6v went to meet them. 

"I warn you, Captain," one of the officers, a 
short thin man, evidently very angry, was say- 
ing. 

"Haven't I told you I won't give them up?" 
replied Denfsov. 

"You will answer for it, Captain. It is mu- 
tinyseizing the transport of one's own army. 
Our men have had nothing to eat for two days." 

"And mine have had nothing for two weeks," 
said Denfsov. 

"It is robbery! You'll answer for it, sir!" said 
the infantry officer, raising his voice. 

"Now, what are you pestewing me for?" 
cried Denfsov, suddenly losing his temper. "I 
shall answer for it and not you, and you'd bet- 
ter not buzz about here till you get hurt. Be off I 
Go!" he shouted at the officers. 

"Very well, then!" shouted the little officer, 
undaunted and not riding away. "If you are 
determined to rob, I'll . . ." 

"Go to the devil! quick ma'ch, while you're 
safe and sound!" and Denfsov turned his horse 
on the officer. 

"Very well, very well!" muttered the officer, 
threateningly, and turning his horse he trotted 
away, jolting in his saddle. 

"A dog astwide a fence! A weal dog astwide 
a fence!" shouted Denfsov after him (the most 
insulting expression a cavalryman can address 
to a mounted infantryman) and riding up to 
Rost6v, he burst out laughing. 

"I've taken twansports from the infantwy by 
force!" he said. "After all, can't let our men 
starve." 

The wagons that had reached the hussars 
had been consigned to an infantry regiment, 
but learning from La vnishka that the transport 
was unescorted, Denfsov with his hussars had 
seized it by force. The soldiers had biscuits 
dealt out to them freely, and they even shared 
them with the other squadrons. 

The next day the regimental commander 



sent for Denfsov, and holding his fingers spread 
out before his eyes said: 

"This is howl look at thisaffair: I know noth- 
ing about it and won't begin proceedings, but 
I advise you to ride over to the staff and settle 
the business there in the commissariat depart- 
ment and if possible sign a receipt forsuch and 
such stores received. If not, as the demand was 
booked against an infantry regiment, there will 
be a row and the affair may end badly." 

From the regimental commander's, Denfsov 
rode straight to the staff with a sincere desire 
to act on this advice. In the evening he came 
back to his dugout in a state such as Rostov 
had never yet seen him in. Denfsov could not 
speak and gasped for breath. When Rostov 
asked what was the matter, he only uttered 
some incoherent oaths and threats in a hoarse, 
feeble voice. 

Alarmed at Denfsov's condition, Rost6v sug- 
gested that he should undress, drink some wa- 
ter, and send for the doctor. 

"Twy me for wobbewy ... oh! Some more 
water . . . Let them twy me, but I'll always 
thwash scoundwels . . . and I'll tell the Empe- 
wo' . . . Ice . . ." he muttered. 

The regimental doctor, when he came, said 
it was absolutely necessary to bleed Denfsov. A 
deep saucer of black blood was taken from his 
hairy arm and only then was he able to relate 
what had happened to him. 

"I get there," began Denfsov. " 'Now then, 
where's your chief's quarters?' They were point- 
ed out. 'Please to wait.' 'I've widden twenty 
miles and have duties to attend to and no 
time to wait. Announce me/ Vewy well, so 
out comes their head chief also took it into his 
head to lecture me: 'It's wobbewy!' 'Wobbe- 
wy,' I say, 'is not done by a man who seizes pwo- 
visions to feed his soldiers, but by him who 
takes them to fill his own pockets!' 'Will you 
please be silent?' 'Vewy good!' Then he says: 
'Go and give a weceipt to the commissioner, 
but your affair will be passed on to headquar- 
ters.' I go to the commissioner. I enter, and at 
the table . . . who do you think? No, but wait a 
bit! . . . Who is it that's starving us?" shouted 
Denfsov, hitting the table with the fist of his 
newly bled arm so violently that the table near- 
ly broke down and the tumblers on it jumped 
about. "Telydnin! 'What? So it's you who's 
starving us to death! Is it? Take this and this!' 
and I hit him so pat, stwaight on his snout . . . 
'Ah, what a . . .what . . . 1'and I sta'ted f washing 
him . . .Well, I've had a bit of fun I can tell you!" 
cried Denfsov, gleeful and yet angry, his white 



BOOK FIVE 



225 



teeth showing under his black mustache. 
"I'd have killed him if they hadn't taken him 
awayl" 

"But what are you shouting for? Calm your- 
self," said Rost6v. "You've set your arm bleed- 
ing afresh. Wait, we must tie it up again." 

Denisov was bandaged up again and put to 
bed. Next day he woke calm and cheerful. 

But at noon the adjutant of the regiment 
came into Rost6v's and Denfsov's dugout with 
a grave and serious face and regretfully showed 
them a paper addressed to Major Denfsov from 
the regimental commander in which inquiries 
were made about yesterday's occurrence. The 
adjutant told them that the affair was likely 
to take a very bad turn: that a court-martial 
had been appointed, and that in view of the 
severity with which marauding and insubordi- 
nation were now regarded, degradation to the 
ranks would be the best that could be hoped 
for. 

The case, as represented by the offended par- 
ties, was that, after seizing the transports, Ma- 
jor Denisov, being drunk, went to the chief 
quartermaster and without any provocation 
called him a thief, threatened to strike him, 
and on being led out had rushed into the office 
and given two officials a thrashing, and dislo- 
cated the arm of one of them. 

In answer to Rost6v's renewed questions, 
Denfsov said, laughing, that he thought he re- 
membered that some other fellow had got 
mixed up in it, but that it was all nonsense and 
rubbish, and he did not in the least fear any 
kind of trial, and that if those scoundrels dared 
attack him he would give them an answer that 
they would not easily forget. 

Denfsov spoke contemptuously of the whole 
matter, but Rost6v knew him too well not to 
detect that (while hiding it from others) at 
heart he feared a court-martial and was wor- 
ried over the affair, which was evidently tak- 
ing a bad turn. Every day, letters of inquiry 
and notices from the court arrived, and on the 
first of May, Denfsov was ordered to hand the 
squadron over to the next in seniority and ap- 
pear before the staff of his division to explain 
his violence at the commissariat office. On the 
previous day Pldtov reconnoitered with two 
Cossack regiments and two squadrons of hus- 
sars. Denisov, as was his wont, rode out in front 
of the outposts, parading his courage. A bullet 
fired by a French sharpshooter hit him in the 
fleshy part of his leg. Perhaps at another time 
Denfsov would not have left the regiment for 
so slight a wound, but now he took advantage 



of it to excuse himself from appearing at the 
staff and went into hospital. 

CHAPTER XVII 

IN JUNE the battle of Friedland was fought, in 
which the Pavlograds did not take part, and 
after that an armistice was proclaimed. Rost6v, 
who felt his friend's absence very much, having 
no news of him since he left and feeling very 
anxious about his wound and the progress of 
his affairs, took advantage of the armistice to 
get leave to visit Denfsov in hospital. 

The hospital was in a small Prussian town 
that had been twice devastated by Russian and 
French troops. Because it was summer, when it 
is so beautiful out in the fields, the little town 
presented a particularly dismal appearance 
with its broken roofs and fences, its foul streets, 
tattered inhabitants, and the sick and drunken 
soldiers wandering about. 

The hospital was in a brick building with 
some of the window frames and panes broken 
and a courtyard surrounded by the remains of 
a wooden fence that had been pulled to pieces. 
Several bandaged soldiers, with pale swollen 
faces, were sitting or walking about in the sun- 
shine in the yard. 

Directly Rost6v entered the door he was en- 
veloped by a smell of putrefaction and hospital 
air. On the stairs he met a Russian army doc- 
tor smoking a cigar. The doctor was followed 
by a Russian assistant. 

"I can't tear myself to pieces," the doctor was 
saying. "Come to Makar Alexe*evich in the eve- 
ning. I shall be there." 

The assistant asked some further questions. 

"Oh, do the best you can! Isn't it all the 
same?" The doctor noticed Rost6v coming up- 
stairs. 

"What do you want, sir?" said the doctor. 
"What do you want? The bullets having spared 
you, do you want to try typhus? This is a pest- 
house, sir." 

"How so?" asked Rost6v. 

"Typhus, sir. It's death to go in. Only we 
two, Mak^ev and I" (he pointed to the assist- 
ant), "keep on here. Some five of us doctors 
have died in this place. . . . When a new one 
comes he is done for in a week," said the doc- 
tor with evident satisfaction. "Prussian doctors 
have been invited here, but our allies don't 
like it at all." 

Rost6v explained that he wanted to see Ma- 
jor Denfsov of the hussars, who was wounded. 

"I don't know. I can't tell you, sir. Only 
think] I am alone in charge of three hospitals 



226 



WAR AND PEACE 



with more than four hundred patients! It's 
well that the charitable Prussian ladies send us 
two pounds of coffee and some lint each month 
or we should be lost!" he laughed. "Four hun- 
dred, sir, and they're always sending me fresh 
ones. There are four hundred? Eh?" he asked, 
turning to the assistant. 

The assistant looked fagged out. He was evi- 
dently vexed and impatient for the talkative 
doctor to go. 

"Major Denisov," Rost6v said again. "He 
was wounded at Molliten." 

"Dead, I fancy. Eh, Mak^ev?" queried the 
doctor, in a tone of indifference. 

The assistant, however, did not confirm the 
doctor's words. 

"Is he tall and with reddish hair?" asked the 
doctor. 

Rost6v described Denisov's appearance. 

"There was one like that," said the doctor, 
as if pleased. "That one is dead, I fancy. How- 
ever, I'll look up our list. We had a list. Have 
you got it, Makev?" 

"Makir Alextfevich has the list," answered 
the assistant. "But if you'll step into the officers' 
wards you'll see for yourself," he added, turn- 
ing to Rostov. 

"Ah, you'd better not go, sir," said the doc- 
tor, "or you may have to stay here yourself." 

But Rost6v bowed himself away from the 
doctor and asked the assistant to show him the 
way. 

"Only don't blame me!" the doctor shouted 
up after him. 

Rost6v and the assistant went into the dark 
corridor. The smell was so strong there that 
Rost6v held his nose and had to pause and 
collect his strength before he could go on. A 
door opened to the right, and an emaciated 
sallow man on crutches, barefoot and in un- 
derclothing, limped out and, leaning against 
the doorpost, looked with glittering envious 
eyes at those who were passing. Glancing in at 
the door,Rost6v saw that the sick and wounded 
were lying on the floor on straw and overcoats. 

"May I go in and look?" 

"What is there to see?" said the assistant. 

But, just because the assistant evidently did 
not want him to go in, Rost6v entered the sol- 
diers' ward. The foul air, to which he had al- 
ready begun to get used in the corridor, was 
still stronger here. It was a little different, 
more pungent, and one felt that this was where 
it originated. 

In the long room, brightly lit up by the sun 
through the large windows, the sick and wound- 



ed lay in two rows with their heads to the walls, 
and leaving a passage in the middle. Most of 
them were unconscious and paid no attention 
to the newcomers. Those who were conscious 
raised themselves or lifted their thin yellow 
faces, and all looked intently at Rost6v with 
the same expression of hope, of relief, re- 
proach, and envy of another's health. Rost6v 
went to the middle of the room and looking 
through the open doors into the two adjoining 
rooms saw the same thing there. He stood still, 
looking silently around. He had not at all ex- 
pected such a sight. Just before him, almost 
across the middle of the passage on the bare 
floor, lay a sick man, probably a Cossack to 
judge by the cut of his hair. The man lay on 
his back, his huge arms and legs outstretched. 
His face was purple, his eyes were rolled back 
so that only the whites were seen, and on his 
bare legs and arms which were still red, the 
veins stood out like cords. He was knocking 
the back of his head against the floor, hoarsely 
uttering some word which he kept repeating. 
Rost6v listened and made out the word. It 
was "drink, drink, a drinkl" Rost6v glanced 
round, looking for someone who would put 
this man back in his place and bring him wa- 
ter. 

"Who looks after the sick here?" he asked 
the assistant. 

Just then a commissariat soldier, a hospital 
orderly, came in from the next room, march- 
ing stiffly, and drew up in front of Rost6v. 

"Good day, your honor!" he shouted, roll- 
ing his eyes at Rostov and evidently mistaking 
him for one of the hospital authorities. 

"Get him to his place and give him some 
water," said Rost6v, pointing to the Cossack. 

"Yes, your honor," the soldier replied com- 
placently, and rolling his eyes more than ever 
he drew himself up still straighter, but did not 
move. 

"No, it's impossible to do anything here," 
thought Rost6v, lowering his eyes, and he was 
going out, but became aware of an intense look 
fixed on him on his right, and he turned. Close 
to the corner, on an overcoat, sat an old, un- 
shaven, gray-bearded soldier as thin as a skele- 
ton, with a stern sallow face and eyes intently 
fixed on Rost6v. The man's neighbor on one 
side whispered something to him, pointing at 
Rost6v, who noticed that the old man wanted 
to speak to him. He drew nearer and saw that 
the old man had only one leg bent under him, 
the other had been amputated above the knee. 
His neighbor on the other side, who lay mo- 



BOOK 

tionless some distance from him with his head 
thrown back, was a young soldier with a snub 
nose. His pale waxen face was still freckled 
and his eyes were rolled back. Rost6v looked 
at the young soldier and a cold chill ran down 
his back. 

"Why, this one seems . . ." he began, turning 
to the assistant. 

"And how we've been begging, your honor," 
said the old soldier, his jaw quivering. "He's 
been dead since morning. After all we're men, 
not dogs." 

"I'll send someone at once. He shall be tak- 
en away taken a way at once," said the assistant 
hurriedly. "Let us go, your honor." 

"Yes, yes, let us go," said Rost6v hastily, and 
lowering his eyes and shrinking, he tried to 
pass unnoticed between the rows of reproach- 
ful envious eyes that were fixed upon him, and 
went out of the room. 

CHAPTER XVIII 

GOING ALONG the corridor, the assistant led 
Rost6v to the officers' wards, consisting of three 
rooms, the doors of which stood open. There 
were beds in these rooms and the sick and 
wounded officers were lying or sitting on them. 
Some were walking about the rooms in hospital 
dressing gowns. The first person Rostov met 
in the officers' ward was a thin little man with 
one arm, who was walking about the first room 
in a nightcap and hospital dressing gown, with 
a pipe between his teeth. Rost6v looked at him, 
trying to remember where he had seen him be- 
fore. 

"See where we've met again I" said the little 
man. "Tushin, Tiishin, don't you remember, 
who gave you a lift at Schon Grabern? And 
I've had a bit cut off, you see . . ." he went on 
with a smile, pointing to the empty sleeve of 
his dressing gown. "Looking for Vasili Dmft- 
rich Denfsov? My neighbor," he added, when 
he heard who Rost6v wanted. "Here, here," 
and Tiishin led him into the next room, from 
whence came sounds of several laughing voices. 

"How can they laugh, or even live at all 
here?" thought Rost6v, still aware of that 
smell of decomposing flesh that had been so 
strong in the soldiers' ward, and still seeming 
to see fixed on him those envious looks which 
had followed him out from both sides, and the 
face of that young soldier with eyes rolled 
back. 

Denfsov lay asleep on his bed with his head 
under the blanket, though it was nearly noon. 

"Ah, Wost6v? How are you, how are you?" 



FIVE 227 

he called out, still in the same voice as in the 
regiment, but Rost6v noticed sadly that under 
this habitual ease and animation some new, 
sinister, hidden feeling showed itself in the 
expression of Denfsov's face and the intona- 
tions of his voice. 

His wound, though a slight one, had not yet 
healed even now, six weeks after he had been 
hit. His face had the same swollen pallor as the 
faces of the other hospital patients, but it was 
not this that struck Rostov. What struck him 
was that Denfsov did not seem glad to see him, 
and smiled at him unnaturally. He did not 
ask about the regiment, nor about the general 
state of affairs, and when Rost6v spoke of these 
matters did not listen. 

Rostov even noticed that Denfsov did not 
like to be reminded of the regiment, or in gen- 
eral of that other free life which was going on 
outside the hospital. He seemed to try to for- 
get that old life and was only interested in the 
affair with the commissariat officers. On Ros- 
t6v's inquiry as to how the matter stood, he at 
once produced from under his pillow a paper 
he had received from the commission and the 
rough draft of his answer to it. He became ani- 
mated when he began reading his paper and 
specially drew Rostov's attention to the sting- 
ing rejoinders he made to his enemies. His 
hospital companions, who had gathered round 
Rost6v a fresh arrival from the world outside 
gradually began to disperse as soon as Denf- 
sov began reading his answer. Rost6v noticed 
by their faces that all those gentlemen had al- 
ready heard that story more than once and 
were tired of it. Only the man who had the 
next bed, a stout Uhlan, continued to sit on 
his bed, gloomily frowning and smoking a 
pipe, and little one-armed Tiishin still lis- 
tened, shaking his head disapprovingly. In the 
middle of the reading, the Uhlan interrupted 
Denisov. 

"But what I say is," he said, turning to Ros- 
t6v, "it would be best simply to petition the 
Emperor for pardon. They say great rewards 
will now be distributed, and surely a pardon 
would be granted. . . ." 

"Me petition the Einpcwo' 1 " exclaimed Denf- 
sov, in a voice to which he tried hard to give 
the old energy and fire, but which sounded like 
an expression of irritable impotence. "What 
for? If I were a wobber I would ask mercy, but 
I'm being court-martialed for bwinging wob- 
bers to book. Let them twy me, I'm not afwaid 
of anyone. I'veserved the Tsar and mycountwy 
honowably and have not stolen! And am I to 



2*8 



WAR AND PEACE 



be degwaded? , . . Listen, I'm w'iting to them 
stwaight. This is what I say: 'If I had wobbed 
the Tweasuwy . . .' " 

"It's certainly well written," said Tiishin, 
"but that's not the point, Vasili Dmitrich," 
and he also turned to Rost6v. "One has to sub- 
mit, and Vasili Dmftrich doesn't want to. You 
know the auditor told you it was a bad busi- 
ness." 

"Well, let it be bad," said Denfsov. 

"The auditor wrote out a petition for you," 
continued Tiishin, "and you ought to sign it 
and ask this gentleman to take it. No doubt he" 
(indicating Rost6v) "has connections on the 
staff. You won't find a better opportunity." 

"Haven't I said I'm not going to gwovel?" 
Denfsov interrupted him, and went on read- 
ing his paper. 

Rostov had not the courage to persuade 
Denisov, though he instinctively felt that the 
way advised by Tiishin and the other officers 
was the safest, and though he would have been 
glad to be of service to Denisov. He knew his 
stubborn will and straightforward hasty tem- 

M*r. 

) When the reading of Denisov's virulent re- 
'ply, which took more than an hour, was over, 
Rost6v said nothing, and he spent the rest of 
the day in a most dejected state of mind amid 
Denisov's hospital comrades, who had gathered 
round him, telling them what he knew and lis- 
tening to their stories. Denisov was moodily 
silent all the evening. 

Late in the evening, when Rost6v was about 
to leave, he asked Denisov whether he had no 
commission for him. 

"Yes, wait a bit," said Denisov, glancing 
round at the officers, and taking his papers 
from under his pillow he went to the window, 
where he had an inkpot, and sat down to write. 

"It seems it's no use knocking one's head 
against a walll" he said, coming from the win- 
dow and giving Rost6v a large envelope. In it 
was the petition to the Emperor drawn up by 
the auditor, in which Denisov, without allud- 
ing to the offenses of the commissariat officials, 
simply asked for pardon. 

"Hand it in. It seems . . ." 

He did not finish, but gave a painfully un- 
natural smile. 

CHAPTER XIX 

HAVING RETURNED to the regiment and told 
the commander the state of Denisov's affairs, 
Rost6v rode to Tilsit with the letter to the 
Emperor. 



On the thirteenth of June the French and 
Russian Emperors arrived in Tilsit. Boris Dru- 
betsk6y had asked the important personage on 
whom he was in attendance, to include him in 
the suite appointed for the stay at Tilsit. 

"I should like to see the great man," he said, 
alluding to Napoleon, whom hitherto he, like 
everyone else, had always called Buonaparte. 

"You are speaking of Buonaparte?" asked 
the general, smiling. 

Boris looked at his general inquiringly and 
immediately saw that he was being tested. 

"I am speaking, Prince, of the Emperor Na- 
poleon," he replied. The general patted him 
on the shoulder, with a smile. 

"You will go far," he said, and took him to 
Tilsit with him. 

Boris was among the few present at the Nie- 
men on the day the two Emperors met. He saw 
the raft, decorated with monograms, saw Napo- 
leon pass before the French Guards on the 
farther bank of the river, saw the pensive face 
of the Emperor Alexander as he sat in silence 
in a tavern on the bank of the Niemen await- 
ing Napoleon's arrival, saw both Emperors get 
into boats, and saw how Napoleon reaching 
the raft first stepped quickly forward to meet 
Alexander and held out his hand to him, arid 
how they both retired into the pavilion. Since 
he had begun to move in the highest circles 
Boris had made it his habit to watch attentive- 
ly all that went on around him and to note it 
down. At the time of the meeting at Tilsit he 
asked the names of those who had come with 
Napoleon and about the uniforms they wore, 
and listened attentively to words spoken by im- 
portant personages. At the moment the Em- 
perors went into the pavilion he looked at his 
watch, and did not forget to look at it again 
when Alexander came out. The interview had 
lasted an hour and fifty-three minutes. He 
noted this down that same evening, among oth- 
er facts he felt to be of historic importance. As 
the Emperor's suite was a very small one, it was 
a matter of great importance, for a man who 
valued his success in the service, to be at Tilsit 
on the occasion of this interview between the 
two Emperors, and having succeeded in this, 
Boris felt that henceforth his position was ful- 
ly assured. He had not only become known, 
but people had grown accustomed to him and 
accepted him. Twice he had executed commis- 
sions to the Emperor himself, so that the latter 
knew his face, and all those at court, far from 
cold-shouldering him as at first when they con- 
sidered him a newcomer, would now have been 



BOOK FIVE 



229 



surprised had he been absent. 

Borfs lodged with another adjutant, the Pol- 
ish Count Zhilinski. Zhilinski, a Pole brought 
up in Paris, was rich, and passionately fond of 
the French, and almost every day of the stay at 
Tilsit, French officers of the Guard and from 
French headquarters were dining and lunch- 
ing with him and Boris. 

On the evening of the twenty-fourth of June, 
Count Zhilfnski arranged a supper for his 
French friends. The guest of honor was an aide- 
de-camp of Napoleon's, there were also several 
French officers of the Guard, and a page of Na- 
poleon's, a young lad of an old aristocratic 
French family. That same day, Rost6v, profit- 
ing by the darkness to avoid being recognized 
in civilian dress, came to Tilsit and went to the 
lodging occupied by Borfs and Zhilinski. 

Rostov, in common with the whole army 
from which he came, was far from having ex- 
perienced the change of feeling toward Napo- 
leon and the French who from being foes had 
suddenly become friends that had taken place 
at headquarters and in Boris. In the army, Bon- 
aparte and the French were still regarded with 
mingled feelings of anger, contempt, and fear. 
Only recently, talkingwith one of PLltov's Cos- 
sack officers, Rost6v had argued that if Napole- 
on were taken prisoner he would be treated not 
as a sovereign, but as a criminal. Quite lately, 
happening to meet a wounded French colonel 
on the road, Rost6v had maintained with heat 
that peace was impossible between a legitimate 
sovereign and the criminal Bonaparte. Rost6v 
was therefore unpleasantly struck by the pres- 
ence of French officers in Boris' lodging, dressed 
in uniforms he had been accustomed to see 
from quite a different point of view from the 
outposts of the flank. As soon as he noticed a 
French officer, who thrust his head out of the 
door, that warlike feeling of hostility which he 
always experienced at the sight of the enemy 
suddenly seized him. He stopped at the thresh- 
old and asked in Russian whether Drubetsk6y 
lived there. Boris, hearing a strange voice in 
the anteroom, came out to meet him. An ex- 
pression of annoyance showed itself for a mo- 
ment on his face on first recognizing Rost6v. 

"Ah, it's you? Very glad, very glad to see you," 
he said, however, coming toward him with a 
smile. But Rost6v had noticed his first impulse. 

"I've come at a bad time I think. I should 
not have come, but I have business," he said 
coldly. 

"No, I only wonder how you managed to get 
away from your regiment. Dans un moment jc 



suis & vous," l he said, answering someone who 
called him. 

"I see I'm intruding," Rost6v repeated. 

The look of annoyance had already disap- 
peared from Borfs' face: having evidently re- 
flected and decided how to act, he very quiet- 
ly took both Rost6v's hands and led him into 
the next room. His eyes, looking serenely and 
steadily at Rost6v, seemed to be veiled by some- 
thing, as if screened by blue spectacles of con- 
ventionality. So it seemed to Rost6v. 

"Oh, come now! As if you could come at a 
wrong time!" said Boris, and he led him into 
the room where the supper table was laid and 
introduced him to his guests, explaining that 
he was not a civilian, but an hussar officer, and 
an old friend of his. 

"Count Zhilinski le Comic N. N. le Capi- 
taine S. S.," said he, naming his guests. Rost6v 
looked frowningly at the Frenchmen, bowed 
reluctantly, and remained silent. 

Zhilinski evidently did not receive this new 
Russian person very willingly into his circle 
and did not speak to Rost6v. Boris did not ap- 
pear to notice the constraint the newcomer 
produced and, with the same pleasant compo- 
sure and the same veiled look in his eyes with 
which he had met Rost6v, tried to enliven the 
conversation. One of the Frenchmen, with the 
politeness characteristic of his countrymen, ad- 
dressed the obstinately taciturn Rost6v, say- 
ing that the latter had probably come to Tilsit 
to see the Emperor. 

"No, 1 came on business," replied Rostov, 
briefly. 

Rostov had been out of humor from the mo- 
ment he noticed the look of dissatisfaction on 
Boris' face, and as always happens to those in 
a bad humor, it seemed to him that everyone 
regarded him with aversion and that he was in 
everybody's way. He really was in their way, 
for he alone took no part in the conversation 
which again became general. The looks the 
visitors cast on him seemed to say: "And what 
is he sitting here for?" He rose and went up to 
Borfs. 

"Anyhow, I'm in your way," he said in a low 
tone. "Corrie and talk over my business and I'll 
go away." 

"Oh, no, not at all," said Borfs. "But if you 
are tired, come and lie down in my room and 
have a rest." 

"Yes, really . . ." 

They went into the little room where Boris 
slept. Rost6v, without sitting down, began at 

1 "In a minute I shall be at your disposal." 



230 



WAR AND PEACE 



once, irritably (as if Boris were to blame in 
some way) telling him about Denisov's affair, 
asking him whether, through his general, he 
could and would intercede with the Emperor 
on Denisov's behalf and get Denisov's petition 
handed in. When he and Boris were alone, Ros- 
t6v felt for the first time that he could not look 
Boris in the face without a sense of awkward- 
ness. Boris, with one leg crossed over the other 
and stroking his left hand with the slender fin- 
gers of his right, listened to Rost6v as a general 
listens to the report of a subordinate, now look- 
ing aside and now gazing straight into Rost6v's 
eyes with the same veiled look. Each time this 
happened Rost6v felt uncomfortable and cast 
down his eyes. 

"I have heard of such cases and know that 
His Majesty is very severe in such affairs. I 
think it would be best not to bring it before the 
Emperor, but to apply to the commander of 
the corps. . . . But in general, I think . . ." 

"So you don't want to do anything? Well 
then, say so!" Rostov almost shouted, not look- 
ing Boris in the face. 

Boris smiled. 

"On the contrary, I will do what I can. Only 
I thought . . ." 

At that moment Zhilfnski's voice was heard 
calling Boris. 

"Well then, go, go, go . . ." said Rost6v, and 
refusing supper and remaining alone in the 
little room, he walked up and down for a long 
time, hearing the lighthearted French conver- 
sation from the next room. 

CHAPTER XX 

ROSTOV HAD COME toTilsiton the day least suit- 
able for a petition on Denisov's behalf. He 
could not himself go to the general in attend- 
ance as he was in mufti and had come to Tilsit 
without permission to do so, and Boris, even 
had he wished to, could not have done so on 
the following day. On that day, June 27, the 
preliminaries of peace were signed. The Em- 
perors exchanged decorations: Alexander re- 
ceived the Cross of the Legion of Honor and 
Napoleon the Order of St. Andrew of the First 
Degree, and a dinner had been arranged for 
the evening, given by a battalion of the French 
Guards to the Preobrazhdnsk battalion. The 
Emperors were to be present at that banquet. 

Rost6v felt so ill at ease and uncomfortable 
with Boris that, when the latter looked in after 
supper, he pretended to be asleep, and early 
next morning went away, avoiding Boris. In his 
civilian clothes and a round hat, he wandered 



about the town, staring at the French and 
their uniforms and at the streets and houses 
where the Russian and French Emperors were 
staying. In a square he saw tables being set up 
and preparations made for the dinner; he saw 
the Russian and French colors draped from side 
to side of the streets, with hugh monograms 
A and AT. In the windows of the houses also 
flags and bunting were displayed. 

"Boris doesn't want to help me and I don't 
want to ask him. That's settled," thought Nich- 
olas. "All is over between us, but I won't leave 
here without having done all I can for Denisov 
and certainly not without getting his letter to 
the Emperor. The Emperor! . . . He is here!" 
thought Rost6v, who had unconsciously re- 
turned to the house where Alexander lodged. 

Saddled horses were standing before the 
house and the suite were assembling, evidently 
preparing for the Emperor to come out. 

"I may see him at any moment," thought Ros- 
t6v. "If only I were to hand the letter direct to 
him and tell him all ... could they really ar- 
rest me for my civilian clothes? Surely not! He 
would understand on whose side justice lies. 
He understands everything, knows everything. 
Who can be more just, more magnanimous 
than he? And even if they did arrest me for be- 
ing here, what would it matter?" thought he, 
looking at an officer who was entering the 
house the Emperor occupied. "After all, peo- 
ple do go in. ... It's all nonsense! I'll go in 
and hand the letter to the Emperor myself, so 
much the worse for Drubetsk6y who drives me 
to it!" And suddenly with a determination he 
himself did not expect, Rost6v felt for the let- 
ter in his pocket and went straight to the house. 

"No, I won't miss my opportunity now, as I 
did after Austerlitz," he thought, expecting ev- 
ery moment to meet the monarch, and con- 
scious of the blood that rushed to his heart at 
the thought. "I will fall at his feet and beseech 
him. He will lift me up, will listen, and will 
even thank me. 'I am happy when I can do 
good, but to remedy injustice is the greatest 
happiness,' " Rost6v fancied the sovereign 
saying. And passing people who looked after 
him with curiosity, he entered the porch of 
the Emperor's house. 

A broad staircase led straight up from the 
entry, and to the right he saw a closed door. 
Below, under the staircase, was a door leading 
to the lower floor. 

"Whom do you want?" someone inquired. 

"To hand in a letter, a petition, to His Maj- 
esty/' said Nicholas, with a tremor in his voice. 



BOOK FIVE 



231 



"A petition? This way, to the officer on duty" 
(he was shown the door leading downstairs), 
"only it won't be accepted." 

On hearing this indifferent voice, Rost6v 
grew frightened at what he was doing; the 
thought of meeting the Emperor at any mo- 
ment was so fascinating and consequently so 
alarming that he was ready to run away, but 
the official who had questioned him opened the 
door, and Rost6v entered. 

A short stout man of about thirty, in white 
breeches and high boots and a batiste shirt that 
he had evidently only just put on, was standing 
in that room, and his valet was buttoning on to 
the back of his breeches a new pair of hand- 
some silk-embroidered braces that, for some 
reason, attracted Rostov's attention. This man 
was speaking to someone in the ad join ing room. 

"A good figure and in her first bloom," he 
was saying, but on seeing Rost6v, he stopped 
short and frowned. 

"What is it? A petition?" 

"What is it?" asked the person in the other 
room. 

"Another petitioner," answered the man 
with the braces. 

"Tell him to come later. He'll be coming out 
directly, we must go." 

"Later . . . later! Tomorrow. It's too late " 

Rostov turned and was about to go, but the 
man in the braces stopped him. 

"Whom have you come from? Who are you?" 

"I come from Major Denisov," answered 
Rost6v. 

"Are you an officer?" 

"Lieutenant Count Rostov." 

"What audacity! Hand it in through your 
commander. And go along with you . . . go," 
and he continued to put on the uniform the 
valet handed him. 

Rost6v went back into the hall and noticed 
that in the porch there were many officers and 
generals in full parade uniform, whom he had 
to pass. 

Cursing his temerity, his heart sinking at the 
thought of finding himself at any moment face 
to face with the Emperor and being put to shame 
and arrested in his presence, fully alive now to 
the impropriety of his conduct and repenting 
of it, Rost6v, with downcast eyes, was making 
his way out of the house through the brilliant 
suite when a familiar voice called him and a 
hand detained him. 

"What are you doing here, sir, in civilian 
dress?" asked a deep voice. 

It was a cavalry general who had obtained 



the Emperor's special favor during this cam- 
paign, and who had formerly commanded the 
division in which Rost6v was serving. 

Rost6v, in dismay, began justifying himself, 
but seeing the kindly, jocular face of the gener- 
al, he took him aside and in an excited voice 
told him the whole affair, asking him to inter- 
cede for Denfsov, whom the general knew. Hav- 
ing heard Rost6v to the end, the general shook 
his head gravely. 

"I'm sorry, sorry for that fine fellow. Give 
me the letter." 

Hardly had Rost6v handed him the letter 
and finished explaining Denfsov's case, when 
hasty steps and the jingling of spurs were heard 
on thestairs,and thegeneral, leaving him, went 
to the porch. The gentlemen of the Emperor's 
suite ran down the stairs and went to their 
horses. Hayne, the same groom who had been 
at Austerlitz, led up the Emperor's horse, and 
the faint creak of a footstep Rost6v knew at 
once was heard on the stairs. Forgetting the 
danger of being recognized, Rostov went close 
to the porch, together with some inquisitive 
civilians, and again, after two years, saw those 
features he adored: that same face and same 
look and step, and the same union of majesty 
and mildness. . . . And the feeling of enthusi- 
asm and love for his sovereign rose again in 
Rostov's soul in all its old force. In the uniform 
of the Preobrazh^nsk regiment white chamois- 
leather breeches and high boots and wearing 
a star Rost6v did not know (it was that of the 
Legion d'honneur), the monarch came out in- 
to the porch, putting on his gloves and carry- 
ing his hat under his arm. He stopped and 
looked about him, brightening everything 
around by his glance. He spoke a few words to 
some of the generals, and, recognizing the for- 
mer commander of Rost6v's division, smiled 
and beckoned to him. 

All the suite drew back and Rostov saw the 
general talking for some time to the Emperor. 

The Emperor said a few words to him and 
took a step toward his horse. Again the crowd 
of members of the suite and street gazers 
(amongwhomwas Rost6v) moved nearer to the 
Emperor. Stopping beside his horse, with his 
hand on the saddle, the Emperor turned to the 
cavalry general and said in a loud voice, evi- 
dently wishing to be heard by all: 

"I cannot do it, General. I cannot, because 
the law is stronger than I," and he raised his 
foot to the stirrup. 

Thegeneral bowed his head respectfully, and 
the monarch mounted and rodedown thestreet 



WAR AND PEACE 



at a gallop. Beside himself with enthusiasm, 
Rost6v ran after him with the crowd. 

CHAPTER XXI 

THE EMPEROR rode to the square where, facing 
one another, a battalion of the Preobrazhnsk 
regiment stood on the right and a battalion of 
the French Guards in their bearskin caps on 
the left. 

As the Tsar rode up to one flank of the bat- 
talions, which presented arms, another group 
of horsemen galloped up to the opposite flank, 
and at the head of them Rostov recognized Na- 
poleon. It could be no one else. He came at a 
gallop, wearing a small hat, a blue uniform 
open over a white vest, and the St. Andrew rib- 
bon over his shoulder. He was riding a very 
fine thoroughbred gray Arab horsewith a crim- 
son gold-embroidered saddlecloth. On ap- 
proaching Alexander he raised his hat, and as 
he did so, Rost6v, with his cavalryman's eye, 
could not help noticing that Napoleon did not 
sit well or firmly in the saddle. The battalions 
shouted "Hurrah!" and "Vive I'Empereur!" 
Napoleon said something to Alexander, and 
both Emperors dismounted and took each oth- 
er's hands. Napoleon's face wore an unpleas- 
ant and artificial smile. Alexander was saying 
something affable to him. 

In spite of the trampling of the French gen- 
darmes' horses, which were pushing back the 
crowd, Rost6vkept his eyes on every movement 
of Alexander and Bonaparte. It struck him as 
a surprise that Alexander treated Bonaparte as 
an equal and that the latter was quite at ease 
with the Tsar, as if such relations with an Em- 
peror were an everyday matter to him. 

Alexander and Napoleon, with the long train 
of their suites, approached the right flank of 
the Preobrazh^nsk battalion and came straight 
up to the crowd standing there. The crowd un- 
expectedly found itself so close to the Emper- 
ors that Rostov, standing in the front row, was 
afraid he might be recognized. 

"Sire, I ask your permission to present the 
Legion of Honor to the bra vest of your soldiers," 
said a sharp, precise voice, articulating every 
letter. 

This was said by the undersized Napoleon, 
looking up straight into Alexander's eyes. 
Alexander listened attentively to what was 
said to him and, bending his head, smiled 
pleasantly. 

"To him who has borne himself most brave- 
ly in this last war," added Napoleon, accentuat- 
ing each syllable, as with a composure and as- 



surance exasperating to Rost6v, he ran his eyes 
over the Russian ranks drawn up before him, 
who all presented arms with their eyes fixed on 
their Emperor. 

"Will Your Majesty allow me to consult the 
colonel?" said Alexander and took a few hasty 
steps toward Prince Kozldvski, the commander 
of the battalion. 

Bonaparte meanwhile began taking the glove 
off his small white hand, tore it in doing so, 
and threw it away. An aide-de-camp behind 
him rushed forward and picked it up. 

"To whom shall it be given?" the Emperor 
Alexander asked Kosl6vski, in Russian in a 
low voice. 

"To whomever Your Majesty commands." 

The Emperor knit his brows with dissatisfac- 
tion and, glancing back, remarked: 

"But we must give him an answer." 

Kozl6vski scanned the ranks resolutely and 
included Rostov in his scrutiny. 

"Can it be me?" thought Rost6v. 

"Ldzarevl" the colonel called, with a frown, 
and Ldzarev, the first soldier in the rank, 
stepped briskly forward. 

"Where are you off to? Stop here!" voices 
whispered to Ldzarev who did not know where 
to go. Ldzarev stopped, casting a sidelong look 
at his colonel in alarm. His face twitched, as 
often happens to soldiers called before the 
ranks. 

Napoleon slightly turned his head, and put 
his plump little hand out behind him as if to 
take something. The members of his suite, guess- 
ing at once what he wanted, moved about and 
whispered as they passed something from one 
to another, and a page the same one Rost6v 
had seen the previous evening at Boris' -ran 
forward and, bowing respectfully over the out- 
stretched hand and not keeping it waiting a 
moment, laid in it an Order on a red ribbon. 
Napoleon, without looking, pressed two fingers 
together and the badge was between them. 
Then he approached Ldzarev (who rolled his 
eyes and persistently gazed at his own mon- 
arch), looked round at the Emperor Alexander 
to imply that what he was now doing was done 
for the sake of his ally, and the small white 
hand holding the Order touched one of Lza- 
rev's buttons. It was as if Napoleon knew that 
it was only necessary for his hand to deign to 
touch that soldier's breast for the soldier to be 
forever happy, rewarded, and distinguished 
from everyone else in the world. Napoleon 
merely laid the cross on Ldzarev's breast and, 
dropping his hand, turned toward Alexander 



BOOK FIVE 



as though sure that the cross would adhere 
there. And it really did. 

Officious hands, Russian and French, im- 
mediately seized the cross and fastened it to the 
uniform. Ldzarev glanced morosely at the lit- 
tle man with white hands who was doing some- 
thing to him and, still standing motionless pre- 
senting arms, looked again straight into Alex- 
ander's eyes, as if asking whether he should 
stand there, or go away, or do something else. 
But receiving no orders, he remained for some 
time in that rigid position. 

The Emperors remounted and rode away. 
The Preobrazhe*nsk battalion, breaking rank, 
mingled with the French Guards and sat down 
at the tables prepared for them. 

Lazarev sat in the place of honor. Russian 
and French officers embraced him, congratulat- 
ed him, and pressed his hands. Crowds of offi- 
cers and civilians drew near merely to see him. 
A rumble of Russian and French voices and 
laughter filled the air round the tables in the 
square. Two officers with flushed faces, look- 
ing cheerful and happy, passed by Rost6v. 

"What d'you think of the treat? All on silver 
plate," one of them was saying. "Have you seen 
Lazarev?" 

"I have." 

"Tomorrow, I hear, the Preobrazhnskiswill 
give them a dinner." 

"Yes, but what luck for Ldzarev! Twelve 
hundred francs' pension for life." 

"Here's a cap, lads!" shouted a Preobraz- 
hdnsk soldier, donning a shaggy French cap. 

"It's a fine thing! First-rate!" 

"Have you heard the password?" asked one 
Guards' officer of another. "The day before yes- 
terday it was 'Napoldon, France, bravoure'; 
yesterday, 'Alexandre, Russie, grandeur.' One 
day our Emperor gives it and next day Napo- 
leon. Tomorrow our Emperor will send a St. 
George's Cross to the bravest of the French 
Guards. It has to be done. He must respond in 
kind." 

Borfs, too, with his friend Zhilfnski, came to 
see the Preobrazhdnsk banquet. On his way 
back, he noticed Rost6v standing by the cor- 
ner of a house. 

"Rost6v! How d'you do? We missed one an- 
other," he said, and could not refrain from ask- 
ing what was the matter, so strangely dismal 
and troubled was Rost6v's face. 

"Nothing, nothing," replied Rost6v. 

"You'll call round?" 

"Yes, I will." 

Rost6v stood at that corner for a long time, 



watching the feast from a distance. In his mind, 
a painful process was going on which he could 
not bring to a conclusion. Terrible doubts rose 
in his soul. Now he remembered Denisov with 
his changed expression, his submission, and the 
whole hospital, with arms and legs torn off and 
its dirt and disease. So vividly did he recall that 
hospital stench of dead flesh that he looked 
round to see where the smell came from. Next 
he thought of that self-satisfied Bonaparte, 
with his small white hand, who was now an Em- 
peror, liked and respected by Alexander. Then 
why those severed arms and legs and those dead 
men? . . . Then again he thought of Ldzarev re- 
warded and Denfsov punished and unpar- 
doned. He caught himself harboring such 
strange thoughts that he was frightened. 

The smell of the food the Preobrazhnskis 
were eating and a sense of hunger recalled him 
from these reflections; he had to get something 
to eat before going away. He went to a hotel he 
had noticed that morning. There he found so 
many people, among them officers who, like 
himself, had come in civilian clothes, that he 
had difficulty in getting a dinner. Two officers 
of his own division joined him. The conversa- 
tion naturally turned on the peace. The offi- 
cers, his comrades, like most of the army, were 
dissatisfied with the peace concluded after the 
battle of Friedland. They said that had we held 
out a little longer Napoleon would have been 
done for, as his troops had neither provisions 
nor ammunition. Nicholas ate and drank 
(chiefly the latter) in silence. He finished a 
couple of bottles of wine by himself. The pro- 
cess in his mind went on tormenting him with- 
out reaching a conclusion. He feared to give 
way to his thoughts, yet could not get rid of 
them. Suddenly, on one of the officers' saying 
that it was humiliating to look at the French, 
Rostov began shouting with uncalled-for wrath, 
and therefore much to the surprise of the offi- 
cers: 

"How can you judge what's best?" he cried, 
the blood suddenly rushing to his face. "How 
can you judge the Emperor's actions? What 
right have we to argue? We cannot compre- 
hend either the Emperor'saims or his actions!" 

"But I never said a word about the Emper- 
or!" said the officer, justifying himself, and un- 
able to understand Rostov's outburst, except 
on the supposition that he was drunk. 

But Rost6v did not listen to him. 

"We are not diplomatic officials, we are sol- 
diers and nothing more," he went on. "If we 
are ordered to die, we must die. If we're pun- 



234 



WAR AND PEACE 



ished, it means that we have deserved it, it's 
not for us to judge. If the Emperor pleases to 
recognize Bonaparte as Emperor and to con- 
clude an alliance with him, it means that that 
is the right thing to do. If once we begin judg- 
ing and arguing about everything, nothing sa- 
cred will be left! That way we shall be saying 
there is no God nothing!" shouted Nicholas, 
banging the table very little to the point as it 
seemed to his listeners, but quite relevantly to 
the course of his own thoughts. 

"Our business is to do our duty, to fight and 
not to think! That's all " said he. 

"And to drink/' said one of the officers, not 
wishing to quarrel. 

"Yes, and to drink, "assented Nicholas. "Hul- 
lo there! Another bottle!" he shouted. 

In 1808 the Emperor Alexander went to Er- 
furt for a fresh interview with the Emperor Na- 
poleon, and in the upper circles of Petersburg 
there was much talk of the grandeur of this 
important meeting. 



CHAPTER XXII 

In 1809 the intimacy between "the world's 
two arbiters," as Napoleon and Alexander were 
called, was such that when Napoleon declared 
war on Austria a Russian corps crossed the 
frontier to co-operate with our old enemy 
Bonaparte against our old ally the Emperor of 
Austria, and in court circles the possibility of 
marriage between Napoleon and one of Al- 
exander's sisters was spoken of. But besides 
considerations of foreign policy, the attention 
of Russian society was at that time keenly di- 
rected on the internal changes that were being 
undertaken in all the departments of govern- 
ment. 

Life meanwhile real life, with its essential 
interests of health and sickness, toil and rest, 
and its intellectual interests in thought, sci- 
ence, poetry, music, love, friendship, hatred, 
and passions went on as usual, independently 
of and apart from political friendship or en- 
mity with Napoleon Bonaparte and from all 
the schemes of reconstruction. 



Book Six: 1808-10 



CHAPTER I 

PRINCE ANDREW had spent two years continu- 
ously in the country. 

All the plans Pierre had attempted on his es- 
tatesand constantly changing from one thing 
to another had never accomplishedwere car- 
ried out by Prince Andrew without display and 
without perceptible difficulty. 

He had in the highest degree a practical te- 
nacity which Pierre lacked, and without fuss 
or strain on his part this set things going. 

On one of his estates the three hundred serfs 
were liberated and became free agricultural 
laborers this being one of the first examples 
of the kind in Russia. On other estates the 
serfs' compulsory labor was commuted for a 
quitrent. A trained midwife was engaged for 
Bogucharovo at his expense, and a priest was 
paid to teach reading and writing to the chil- 
dren of the peasants and household serfs. 

Prince Andrew spent half his time at Bald 
Hills with his father and his son, who was still 
in the care of nurses. The other half he spent 
in "Bogucharovo Cloister/' as his father called 
Prince Andrew's estate. Despite the indiffer- 
ence to the affairs of the world he had expressed 
to Pierre, he diligently followed all that went 
on, received many books, and to his surprise 
noticed that when he or his father had visitors 
from Petersburg, the very vortex of life, these 
people lagged behind himself who never left 
the country in knowledge of what was hap- 
pening in home and foreign affairs. 

Besides being occupied with his estates and 
reading a great variety of books, Prince An- 
drew was at this time busy with a critical sur- 
vey of our last two unfortunate campaigns, and 
with drawing up a proposal for a reform of the 
army rules and regulations. 

In the spring of 1 809 he went to visit the Ry- 
azdn estates which had been inherited by his 
son, whose guardian he was. 

Warmed by the spring sunshine he sat in 
the caliche looking at the new grass, the first 
leaves on th birches, and the first puffs of 



white spring clouds floating across the clear 
blue sky. He was not thinking of anything, but 
looked absent-mindedly and cheerfully from 
side to side. 

They crossed the ferry where he had talked 
with Pierre the year before. They went through 
the muddy village, past threshing floors and 
green fields of winter rye, downhill where snow 
still lodged near the bridge, uphill where the 
clay had been liquefied by the rain, past strips 
of stubble land and bushes touched with green 
here and there, and into a birch forest grow- 
ing on both sides of the road. In the forest it 
was almost hot, no wind could be felt. The 
birches with their sticky green leaves were mo- 
tionless, and lilac-colored flowers and the first 
blades of green grass were pushing up and 
lifting last year's leaves. The coarse evergreen 
color of the small fir trees scattered here and 
there among the birches was an unpleasant re- 
minder of winter. On entering the forest the 
horses began to snort and sweated visibly. 

Peter the footman made some remark to the 
coachman; the latter assented. But apparently 
the coachman's sympathy was not enough for 
Peter, and he turned on the box toward his 
master. 

"How pleasant it is, your excellency!" he said 
with a respectful smile. 

"What?" 

"It's pleasant, your excellency!" 

"What is he talking about?" thought Prince 
Andrew. "Oh, the spring, I suppose," he 
thought as he turned round. "Yes, really every- 
thing is green already. . . . How early! The 
birches and cherry and alders too are coming 
out. . . . But the oaks show no sign yet. Ah, here 
is one oak!" 

At the edge of the road stood an oak. Prob- 
ably ten times the age of the birches that formed 
the forest, it was ten times as thick and twice as 
tall as they. It was an enormous tree, its girth 
twice as great as a man could embrace, and evi- 
dently long ago some of its branches had been 
broken off and its bark scarred. With its huge 



WAR AND PEACE 



ungainly limbs sprawling unsymmetrically, 
and its gnarled hands and fingers, it stood an 
aged, stern, and scornful monster among the 
smiling birch trees. Only the dead-looking ev- 
ergreen firs dotted about in the forest, and this 
oak, refused to yield to the charm of spring or 
notice either the spring or the sunshine. 

"Spring, love, happiness!" this oak seemed to 
say. "Are you not weary of that stupid, mean- 
ingless, constantly repeated fraud? Always the 
same and always a fraud! There is no spring, 
no sun, no happiness! Look at those cramped 
dead firs, ever the same, and at me too, stick- 
ing out my broken and barked fingers just 
where they have grown, whether from my back 
or my sides: as they have grown so I stand, and 
I do not believe in your hopes and your lies." 

As he passed through the forest Prince An- 
drew turned several times to look at that oak, 
as if expecting something from it. Under the 
oak, too, were flowers and grass, but it stood 
among them scowling, rigid, misshapen, and 
grim as ever. 

"Yes, the oak is right, a thousand times right," 
thought Prince Andrew. "Let others the young 
yield afresh to that fraud, but we know life, 
our life is finished!" 

A whole sequence of new thoughts, hopeless 
but mournfully pleasant, rose in his soul in 
connection with that tree. During this journey 
he, as it were, considered his life afresh and ar- 
rived at his old conclusion, restful in its hope- 
lessness: that it was not for him to begin any- 
thing anew but that he must live out his life, 
content to do no harm, and not disturbing 
himself or desiring anything. 

CHAPTER II 

PRINCE ANDREW had to see the Marshal of the 
Nobility for the district in connection with the 
affairs of the Ryazan estate of which he was 
trustee. This Marshal was Count Ilyd Rost6v, 
and in the middle of May Prince Andrew went 
to visit him. 

It was now hot spring weather. The whole 
forest was already clothed in green. It was 
dusty and so hot that on passing near water one 
longed to bathe. 

Prince Andrew, depressed and preoccupied 
with the business about which he had to speak 
to the Marshal, was driving up the avenue in 
the grounds of the Rost6vs' house at Otradnoe. 
He heard merry girlish cries behind some trees 
on the right and saw a group of girls running to 
cross the path of his caliche. Ahead of the rest 
and nearer to him ran a dark-haired, remark- 



ably slim, pretty girl in a yellow chintz dress, 
wiih a white handkerchief on her head from 
under which loose locks of hair escaped. The 
girl was shouting something but, seeing that he 
was a stranger, ran back laughing without look- 
ing at him. 

Suddenly, he did not know why, he felt a 
pang. The day was so beautiful, the sun so 
bright, everything around so gay, but that slim 
pretty girl did not know, or wish to know, of 
his existence and was contented and cheerful 
in her own separate probably foolish but 
bright and happy life. "What is she so glad 
about? What is she thinking of? Not of the mil- 
itary regulations or of the arrangement of the 
Ryazan serfs' quitrents. Of what is she think- 
ing? Why is she so happy?" Prince Andrew 
asked himself with instinctive curiosity. 

In 1809 Count Ilyd Rost6v was living at 
Otrddnoe just as he had done in former years, 
that is, entertaining almost the whole province 
with hunts, theatricals, dinners, and music. He 
was glad to see Prince Andrew, as he was to 
see any new visitor, and insisted on his staying 
the night. 

During the dull day, in the course of which 
he was entertained by his elderly hosts and by 
the more important of the visitors (the old 
count's house was crowded on account of an 
approaching name day), Prince Andrew repeat- 
edly glanced at Natisha, gay and laughing 
among the younger members of the company, 
and asked himself each time, "What is she 
thinking about? Why is she so glad?" 

That night, alone in new surroundings, he 
was long unable to sleep. He read awhile and 
then put out his candle, but relit it. It was hot 
in the room, the inside shutters of which were 
closed. He was cross with the stupid old man 
(as he called Rost6v), who had made him stay 
by assuring him that some necessary documents 
had not yet arrived from town, and he was vexed 
with himself for having stayed. 

He got up and went to the window to open 
it. As soon as he opened the shutters the moon- 
light, as if it had long been watching for this, 
burst into the room. He opened the casement. 
The night was fresh, bright, and very still. Just 
before the window was a row of pollard trees, 
looking black on one side and with a silvery 
light on the other. Beneath the trees grew some 
kind of lush, wet, bushy vegetation with silver- 
lit leaves and stems here and there. Farther 
back beyond the dark trees a roof glittered with 
dew, to the right was a leafy tree with brilliant- 
ly white trunk and branches, and above it shone 



BOOK SIX 



237 



the moon, nearly at its full, in a pale, almost 
starless, spring sky. Prince Andrew leaned his 
elbows on the window ledge and his eyes rested 
on that sky. 

His room was on the first floor. Those in the 
rooms above were also awake. He heard female 
voices overhead. 

"Just once more," said a girlish voice above 
him which Prince Andrew recognized at once. 

"But when are you coming to bed?" replied 
another voice. 

"I won't, I can't sleep, what's the use? Come 
now for the last time." 

Two girlish voices sang a musical passage 
the end of some song. 

"Oh,howlovelyl Now go to sleep, and there's 
an end of it." 

"You go to sleep, but I can't," said the first 
voice, coming nearer to the window. She was 
evidently leaning right out, for the rustle of 
her dress and even her breathing could be 
heard. Everything was stone-still, like the moon 
and its light and the shadows. Prince Andrew, 
too, dared not stir, for fear of betraying his un- 
intentional presence. 

"S6nyal S6nyal" he again heard the first 
speaker. "Oh, how can you sleep? Only look 
how glorious it is! Ah, how glorious! Do wake 
up, S6nya!" she said almost with tears in her 
voice. "There never, never was such a lovely 
night before!" 

S6nya made some reluctant reply. 

"Do just come and see what a moon! . . . Oh, 
how lovely! Come here. . . . Darling, sweet- 
heart, come here! There, you see? I feel like 
sitting down on my heels, putting my arms 
round my knees like this, straining tight, as 
tight as possible, and flying away! Like this " 

"Take care, you'll fall out." 

He heard the sound of a scuffle and S6nya's 
disapproving voice: "It's past one o'clock." 

"Oh, you only spoil things for me. All right, 

go>g ! " 

Again all was silent, but Prince Andrew 
knew she was still sitting there. From time to 
time he heard a soft rustle and at times a sigh. 

"O God, O God! What does it mean?" she 
suddenly exclaimed. "To bed then, if it must 
be!" and she slammed the casement. 

"For her I might as well not exist!" thought 
Prince Andrew while he listened to her voice, 
for some reason expecting yet fearing that she 
might say something about him. "There she is 
again! As if it were on purpose," thought he. 

In his soul there suddenly arose such an un- 
expected turmoil of youthful thoughts and 



hopes, contrary to the whole tenor of his life, 
that unable to explain his condition to himself 
he lay down and fell asleep at once. 

CHAPTER III 

NEXT MORNING, having taken leave of no one 
but the count, and not waiting for the ladies to 
appear, Prince Andrew set off for home. 

It was already the beginning of June when 
on his return journey he drove into the birch 
forest where the gnarled old oak had made so 
strange and memorable an impression on him. 
In the forest the harness bells sounded yet more , 
muffled than they had done six weeks before, 
for now all was thick, shady, and dense, and 
the young firs dotted about in the forest did not 
jar on the general beauty but, lending them* 
selves to the mood around, were delicately 
green with fluffy young shoots. 

The whole day had been hot. Somewhere a 
storm was gathering, but only a small cloud . 
had scattered some raindrops lightly, sprin- 
kling the road and the sappy leaves. The left 
side of the forest was dark in the shade, the 
right side glittered in the sunlight, wet and 
shiny and scarcely swayed by the breeze. Every- 
thing was in blossom, the nightingales trilled, 
and their voices reverberated now near, now 
far away. 

"Yes, here in this forest was that oak with 
which I agreed," thought Prince Andrew. "But 
where is it?" he again wondered, gazing at the 
left side of the road, and without recognizing 
it he looked with admiration at the very oak 
he sought. The old oak, quite transfigured, 
spreading out a canopy of sappy dark-green 
foliage, stood rapt and slightly trembling in the 
rays of the evening sun. Neither gnarled fin- 
gers nor old scars nor old doubts and sorrows 
were any of them in evidence now. Through 
the hard century-old bark, even where there 
were no twigs, leaves had sprouted such as one 
could hardly believe the old veteran could have 
produced. 

"Yes, it is the same oak," thought Prince An- 
drew, and all at once he was seized by an un- 
reasoning springtime feeling of joy and renew- 
al. All the best moments of his life suddenly 
rose to his memory. Austerlitz with the lofty 
heavens, his wife's dead reproachful face, 
Pierre at the ferry, that girl thrilled by the 
beauty of the night, and that night itself and 
the moon, and ... all this rushed suddenly to 
his mind. 

"No, life is not over at thirty-one!" Prince 
Andrew suddenly decided finally and decisively. 



838 

"It is not enough for me to know what I have 
in me everyone must know it: Pierre, and 
that young girl who wanted to fly away into the 
sky, everyone must know me, so that my life 
may not be lived for myself alone while others 
live so apart from it, but so that it may be re- 
flected in them all, and they and I may live in 
harmony!" 



On reaching home Prince Andrew decided 
to go to Petersburg that autumn and found all 
sorts of reasons for this decision. A whole series 
of sensible and logical considerations showing 
it to be essential for him to go to Petersburg, 
and even to re-enter the service, kept spring- 
ing up in his mind. He could not now under- 
stand how he could ever even have doubted the 
necessity of taking an active share in life, just 
as a month before he had not understood how 
the idea of leaving the quiet country could 
ever enter his head. It now seemed clear to him 
that all his experience of life must be senseless- 
ly wasted unless he applied it to some kind of 
work and again played an active part in life. 
He did not even remember how formerly, on 
the strength of similar wretched logical argu- 
ments, it had seemed obvious that he would 
be degrading himself if he now, after the les- 
sons he had had in life, allowed himself to be- 
lieve in the possibility of being useful and in 
the possibility of happiness or love. Nowreason 
suggested quite the opposite. After that jour- 
ney to Ryazan he found the country dull; his 
former pursuits no longer interested him, and 
often when sitting alone in his study he got up, 
went to the mirror, and gazed a long time at his 
own face. Then he would turn away to the por- 
trait of his dead Lise, who with hair curled a la 
grecque looked tenderly and gaily at him out 
of the gilt frame. She did not now say those 
former terrible words to him, but looked sim- 
ply, merrily, and inquisitively at him. And 
Prince Andrew, crossing his arms behind him, 
Jong paced the room, now frowning, now smil- 
ing, as he reflected on those irrational, inex- 
pressible thoughts, secret as a crime, which al- 
tered his whole life and were connected with 
Pierre, with fame, with the girl at the window, 
the oak, and woman's beauty and love. And if 
anyone came into his room at such moments 
he was particularly cold, stern, and above all 
unpleasantly logical. 

"My dear," Princess Mary entering at such a 
moment would say, "little Nicholas can't go 
out today, it's very cold." 

"If it were hot," Prince Andrew would reply 



WAR AND PEACE 

at such times very dryly to his sister, "he could 
go out in his smock, but as it is cold he must 
wear warm clothes, which were designed for 
that purpose. That is what follows from the 
fact that it is cold; and not that a child who 
needs fresh air should remain at home," he 
would add with extreme logic, as if punishing 
someone for those secret illogical emotions that 
stirred within him. 

At such moments Princess Mary would think 
how intellectual work dries men up. 



CHAPTER IV 

PRINCE ANDREW arrived in Petersburg in Au- 
gust, 1809. It was the time when the youthful 
Sperdnski was at the zenith of his fame and his 
reforms were being pushed forward with the 
greatest energy. That same August the Emper- 
or was thrown from his cal&che, injured his leg, 
and remained three weeks at Peterhof, receiv- 
ing Speranski every day and no one else. At 
that time the two famous decrees were being 
prepared that so agitated societyabolishing 
court ranks and introducing examinations to 
qualify for the grades of Collegiate Assessor 
and State Councilorand not merely these but 
a whole state constitution, intended to change 
the existing order of government in Russia: le- 
gal, administrative, and financial, from the 
Council of State down to the district tribunals. 
Now those vague liberal dreams with which the 
Emperor Alexander had ascended the throne, 
and which he had tried to put into effect with 
the aid of his associates, Czartoryski, Novosflt- 
sev, Kochubdy, and Str6ganov whom he him- 
self in jest had called his Comitd desalut public 
were taking shape and being realized. 

Now all these men were replaced by Speran- 
ski on the civil side, and Arakche"ev on the mili- 
tary. Soon after his arrival Prince Andrew, as 
a gentleman of the chamber, presented himself 
at court and at a levee. The Emperor, though 
he met him twice, did not favor him with a 
single word. It had always seemed to Prince 
Andrew before that he was antipathetic to the 
Emperor and that the latter disliked his face 
and personality generally, and in the cold, re- 
pellent glance the Emperor gave him, he now 
found further confirmation of this surmise. 
The courtiers explained the Emperor's neglect 
of him by His Majesty's displeasure at Bol- 
k6nski's not having served since 1805. 

"I know myself that one cannot help one's 
sympathies and antipathies," thought Prince 
Andrew, "so it will not do to present my pro- 
posal for the reform of the army regulations to 



BOOK SIX 



the Emperor personally, but the project will 
speak for itself." 

He mentioned what he had written to an 
old field marshal, a friend of his father's. The 
field marshal made an appointment to see him, 
received him graciously, and promised to in- 
form the Emperor. A few days later Prince An- 
drew received notice that he was to go to see 
the Minister of War, Count Arakchev. 

On the appointed day Prince Andrew en- 
tered Count Arakchev's waiting room at nine 
in the morning. 

He did not know Arakch^ev personally, had 
never seen him, and all he had heard of him in- 
spired him with but little respect for the man. 

"He is Minister of War, a man trusted by the 
Emperor, and I need not concern myself about 
his personal qualities: he has been commis- 
sioned to consider my project, so he alone can 
get it adopted/' thought Prince Andrew as he 
waited among a number of important and un- 
important people in Count Arakchev's wait- 
ing room. 

During his service, chiefly as an adjutant, 
Prince Andrew had seen the anterooms of many 
important men, and the different types of such 
rooms were well known to him. Count Arak- 
ch^ev's anteroom had quite a special character. 
The faces of the unimportant people awaiting 
their turn for an audience showed embarrass- 
ment and servility; the faces of those of higher 
rank expressed a common feeling of awkward- 
ness, covered by a mask of unconcern and rid- 
icule of themselves, their situation, and the per- 
son for whom they were waiting. Some walked 
thoughtfully up and down, others whispered 
and laughed. Prince Andrew heard the nick- 
name "SilaAndr^evich" 1 and the words, "Uncle 
will give it to us hot," in reference to Count 
Arakch^ev. One general (an important per- 
sonage), evidently feeling offended at having 
to wait so long, sat crossing and uncrossing his 
legs and smiling contemptuously to himself. 

But the moment the door opened one feel- 
ing alone appeared on all faces that of fear. 
Prince Andrew for the second time asked the 
adjutant on duty to take in his name, but re- 
ceived an ironical look and was told that his 
turn would come in due course. After some 
others had been shown in and out of the min- 
ister's room by the adjutant on duty, an officer 
who struck Prince Andrew by his humiliated 
and frightened air was admitted at that terri- 
ble door. This officer's audience lasted a long 

l Sila means "force." 



time. Then suddenly the grating sound of a 
harsh voice was heard from the other side of 
the door, and the officer-with pale face and 
trembling lips came out and passed through 
the waiting room, clutching his head. 

After this Prince Andrew was conducted to 
the door and the officer on duty said in a whis- 
per, "To the right, at the window." 

Prince Andrew entered a plain tidy room 
and saw at the table a man of forty with a long 
waist, a long closely cropped head, deep wrin- 
kles, scowling brows above dull greenish-hazel 
eyes and an overhanging red nose. Arakch^ev 
turned his head toward him without looking at 
him. 

"What is your petition?" asked Arakchdev. 

"I am not petitioning, your excellency," re- 
turned Prince Andrew quietly. 

Arakchev's eyes turned toward him. 

"Sit down," said he. "Prince Bolk6nski?" 

"I am not petitioning about anything. His 
Majesty the Emperor has deigned to send your 
excellency a project submitted by me . . ." 

"You see, my dear sir, I have read your proj- 
ect," interrupted Arakch^ev, uttering only the 
first words amiably and then again without 
looking at Prince Andrew relapsing gradual- 
ly into a tone of grumbling contempt. "You 
are proposing new military laws? There are 
many laws but no one to carry out the old ones. 
Nowadays everybody designs laws, it is easier 
writing than doing." 

"I came at His Majesty the Emperor's wish 
to learn from your excellency how you propose 
to deal with the memorandum I have present- 
ed," said Prince Andrew politely. 

"I have endorsed a resolution on your mem- 
orandum and sent it to the committee. I do not 
approve of it," said Arakch^ev, rising and tak- 
ing a paper from his writing table. "Here!" 
and he handed it to Prince Andrew. 

Across the paper was scrawled in pencil, 
without capital letters, misspelled, and with- 
out punctuation: "Unsoundly constructed be- 
cause resembles an imitation of the French mil- 
itary code and from the Articles of War need- 
lessly deviating." 

"To what committee has the memorandum 
been referred?" inquired Prince Andrew. 

"To the Committee on Army Regulations, 
and I have recommended that your honor 
should be appointed a member, but without a 
salary." 

Prince Andrew smiled. 

"I don't want one." 

"A member without salary," repeated Arak- 



240 WAR AND PEACE 

chev. "I have the honor . . . Ehl Call the next 
one! Who else is there?" he shouted, bowing to 
Prince Andrew. 



CHAPTER V 

WHILE WAITING for the announcement of his 
appointment to the committee Prince Andrew 
looked up his former acquaintances, particu- 
larly those he knew to be in power and whose 
aid he might need. In Petersburg he now ex- 
perienced the same feeling he had had on the 
eve of a battle, when troubled by anxious cu- 
riosity and irresistibly attracted to the ruling 
circles where the future, on which the fate of 
millions depended, was beingshaped. From the 
irritation of the older men, the curiosity of the 
uninitiated, the reserve of the initiated, the 
hurry and preoccupation of everyone, and the 
innumerable committees and commissions of 
whose existence he learned every day, he felt 
that now, in 1809, here in Petersburg a vast 
civil conflict was in preparation, the command- 
er in chief of which was a mysterious person he 
did not know, but who was supposed to be a 
man of genius Speranski. And this movement 
of reconstruction of which Prince Andrew had 
a vague idea, and Sperdnski its chief promoter, 
began to interest him so keenly that the ques- 
tion of the army regulations quickly receded to 
a secondary place in his consciousness. 

Prince Andrew was most favorably placed to 
secure a good reception in the highest and most 
diverse Petersburg circles of the day. The re- 
forming party cordially welcomed and courted 
him, in the first place because he was reputed to 
be clever and very well read, and secondly be- 
cause by liberating his serfs he had obtained 
the reputation of being a liberal. The party of 
the old and dissatisfied, who censured the in- 
novations, turned to him expecting his sympa- 
thy in their disapproval of the reforms, simply 
because he was the son of his father. The fem- 
inine society world welcomed him gladly, be- 
cause he was rich, distinguished, a good match, 
and almost a newcomer, with a halo of romance 
on account of his supposed death and the tragic 
loss of his wife. Besides this the general opin- 
ion of all who had known him previously was 
that he had greatly improved during these last 
five years, having softened and grown more 
manly, lost his former affectation, pride, and 
contemptuous irony, and acquired the serenity 
that comes with years. People talked about 
him, were interested in him, and wanted to 
meet him. 

The day after his interview with Count Ar- 



akch^ev, Prince Andrew spent the evening at 
Count Kochub^y's. He told the count of his 
interview with Sila Andre evich (Kochube*y 
spoke of Arakche*ev by that nickname with the 
same vague irony Prince Andrew had noticed 
in the Minister of War's anteroom). 

"Mon cher f even in this case you can't do 
without Michael Mikhdylovich Sperdnski. He 
manages everything. I'll speak to him. He has 
promised to come this evening." 

"What has Speranski to do with the army 
regulations?" asked Prince Andrew. 

Kochube*y shook his head smilingly, as if sur- 
prised at Bolk6nski's simplicity. 

"We were talking to him about you a few days 
ago," Kochube*y continued, "and about your 
freed plowmen." 

"Oh, is it you, Prince, who have freed your 
serfs?" said an old man of Catherine's day, 
turning contemptuously toward Bolk6nski. 

"It was a small estate that brought in no prof- 
it," replied Prince Andrew, trying to extenuate 
his action so as not to irritate the old man use- 
lessly. 

"Afraid of being late . . ." said the old man, 
looking at Kochubdy. 

"There's one thing I don't understand," he 
continued. "Who will plow the land if they are 
set free? It is easy to write laws, but difficult to 

rule Just the same as now I ask you, Count 

who will be heads of the departments when 
everybody has to pass examinations?" 

"Those who pass the examinations, I sup- 
pose," replied Kochub^y, crossing his legs and 
glancing round. 

"Well, I have Prydniclmikov serving under 
me, a splendid man, a priceless man, but he's 
sixty. Is he to go up for examination?" 

"Yes, that's a difficulty, as education is not at 
all general, but . . ." 

Count Kochub^ydid not finish. He rose, took 
Prince Andrew by the arm, and went to meet 
a tall, bald, fair man of about forty with a 
large open forehead and a long face of unusu- 
al and peculiar whiteness, who was just enter- 
ing. The newcomer wore a blue swallow-tail 
coat with a cross suspended from his neck and a 
star on his left breast. It was Sperdnski. Prince 
Andrew recognized him at once, and felt a 
throb within him, as happens at critical mo- 
ments of life. Whether it was from respect, en- 
vy, or anticipation, he did not know. Speran- 
ski's whole figure was of a peculiar type that 
made him easily recognizable. In the society in 
which Prince Andrew lived he had never seen 
anyone who together with awkward and clum- 



BOOK SIX 



sy gestures possessed such calmness and self- 
assurance; he had never seen so resolute yet 
gentle an expression as that in those half-closed, 
rather humid eyes, or so firm a smile that ex- 
pressed nothing; nor had he heard such a re- 
fined, smooth, soft voice; above all he had nev- 
er seen such delicate whiteness of face or hands 
hands which were broad, but very plump, soft, 
and white. Such whiteness and softness Prince 
Andrew had only seen on the faces of soldiers 
who had been long in hospital. This was Spe- 
rdnski, Secretary of State, reporter to the Em- 
peror and his companion at Erfurt, where he 
had more than once met and talked with Na- 
poleon. 

Sperdnski did not shift his eyes from one face 
to another as people involuntarily do on en- 
tering a large company and was in no hurry to 
speak. He spoke slowly, with assurance that he 
would be listened to, and he looked only at 
the person with whom he was conversing. 

Prince Andrew followed Sperdnski's every 
word and movement with particular attention. 
As happens to some people, especially to men 
who judge those near to them severely, he al- 
ways on meeting anyone newespecially any- 
one whom, like Speranski, he knew by reputa- 
tionexpected to discover in him the perfec- 
tion of human qualities. 

Speranski told Kochubdy he was sorry he 
had been unable to come sooner as he had been 
detained at the palace. He did not say that the 
Emperor had kept him, and Prince Andrew 
noticed this affectation of modesty. When Ko- 
chube*y introduced Prince Andrew, Sperdnski 
slowly turned his eyes to Bolk6nski with his 
customary smile and looked at him in silence. 

"I am very glad to make your acquaintance. 
I had heard of you, as everyone has," he said 
after a pause. 

Kochube"y said a few words about the recep- 
tion Arakch^ev had given Bolk6nski. Sperdnski 
smiled more markedly. 

"The chairman of the Committee on Army 
Regulations is my good friend Monsieur Mag- 
nftski," he said, fully articulating every word 
and syllable, "and if you like I can put you in 
touch with him." He paused at the full stop. 
"I hope you will find him sympathetic and 
ready to co-operate in promoting all that is 
reasonable." 

A circle soon formed round Sperdnski, and 
the old man who had talked about his subordi- 
nate Prydnichnikov addressed a question to 
him. 

Prince Andrew without joining in the con- 



versation watched every movement of Sperdn- 
ski's: this man, not long since an insignificant 
divinity student, who now, Bolk6nski thought, 
held in his hands those plump white hands 
the fate of Russia. Prince Andrew was struck 
by the extraordinarily disdainful composure 
with which Sperdnski answered the old man. 
He appeared to address condescending words 
to him from an immeasurable height. When 
the old man began to speak too loud, Sperdn- 
ski smiled and said he could not judge of the 
advantage or disadvantage of what pleased the 
sovereign. 

Having talked for a little while in the gen- 
eral circle, Sperdnski rose and coming up to 
Prince Andrew took him along to the other 
end of the room. It was clear that he thought it 
necessary to interest himself in Bolk6nski. 

"I had no chance to talk with you, Prince, 
during the animated conversation in which 
that venerable gentleman involved me," he 
said with a mildly contemptuous smile, as if 
intimating by that smile that he and Prince 
Andrew understood the insignificance of the 
people with whom he had just been talking. 
This flattered Prince Andrew. "I have known 
of you for a long time: first from your action 
with regard to your serfs, a first example, of 
which it is very desirable that there should be 
more imitators; and secondly because you are 
one of those gentlemen of the chamber who 
have not considered themselves offended by 
the new decree concerning the ranks allotted 
to courtiers, which is causing so much gossip 
and tittle-tattle." 

"No," said Prince Andrew, "my father did 
not wish me to take advantage of the privilege. 
I began the service from the lower grade." 

"Your father, a man of the last century, evi- 
dently stands above our contemporaries who 
so condemn this measure which merely re- 
establishes natural justice." 

"I think, however, that these condemnations 
have some ground," returned Prince Andrew, 
trying to resist Sperdnski's influence, of which 
he began to be conscious. He did not like to 
agree with him in everything and felt a wish to 
contradict. Though he usually spoke easily and 
well, he felt a difficulty in expressing himself 
now while talking with Sperdnski. He was too 
much absorbed in observing the famous man's 
personality. 

"Grounds of personal ambition maybe," 
Sperdnski put in quietly. 

"And of state interest to some extent," said 
Prince Andrew. 



242 



WAR AND PEACE 



"What do you mean?" asked Sperdnski quiet- 
ly, lowering his eyes. 

"I am an admirer of Montesquieu," replied 
Prince Andrew, "and his idea that le principe 
des monarchies est I'honneur me paratt in- 
contestable. Certains droits et privileges de la 
noblesse me paraissent Stre des moyens de sou- 
tenir ce sentiment." * 

The smile vanished from Sperdnski's white 
face, which was much improved by the change. 
Probably Prince Andrew's thought interested 
him. 

"Si vous envisagez la question sous ce point 
de vue" * he began, pronouncing French with 
evident difficulty, and speaking even slower 
than in Russian but quite calmly. 

Sperdnski went on to say that honor, I'hon- 
neur, cannot be upheld by privileges harmful 
to the service; that honor, I'honneur, is either 
a negative concept of not doing what is blame- 
worthy or it is a source of emulation in pursuit 
of commendation and rewards, which recog- 
nize it. His arguments were concise, simple, 
and clear. 

"An institution upholding honor, the source 
of emulation, is one similar to the Legion 
d'honneurot the great Emperor Napoleon, not 
harmful but helpful to the success of the serv- 
ice, but not a class or court privilege." 

"I do not dispute that, but it cannot be de- 
nied that court privileges have attained the 
same end," returned Prince Andrew. "Every 
courtier considers himself bound to maintain 
his position worthily." 

"Yet you do not care to avail yourself of the 
privilege, Prince," said Sperdnski, indicating 
by a smile that he wished to finish amiably an 
argument which was embarrassing for his com- 
panion. "If you will do me the honor of call- 
ing on me on Wednesday," he added, "I will, 
after talking with Magnitski, let you know 
what may interest you, and shall also have the 
pleasure of a more detailed chat with you." 

Closing his eyes, he bowed a la franfaise, 
without taking leave, and trying to attract as 
little attention as possible, he left the room. 

CHAPTER VI 

DURING the first weeks of his stay in Petersburg 
Prince Andrew felt the whole trend of thought 
he had formed during his life of seclusion quite 

1 "The principle of monarchies is honor seems 
to me incontestable. Certain rights and privileges 
for the aristocracy appear to me a means of main- 
taining that sentiment." 

* "If you regard the question from that point of 
view." 



overshadowed by the trifling cares that en- 
grossed him in that city. 

On returning home in the evening he would 
jot down in his notebook four or five necessary 
calls or appointments for certain hours. The 
mechanism of life, the arrangement of the day 
so as to be in time everywhere, absorbed the 
greater part of his vital energy. He did noth- 
ing, did not even think or find time to think, 
but only talked, and talked successfully, of 
what he had thought while in the country. 

He sometimes noticed with dissatisfaction 
that he repeated the same remark on the same 
day in different circles. But he was so busy for 
whole days together that he had no time to no- 
tice that he was thinking of nothing. 

As he had done on their first meeting at Ko- 
chuby's, Sperdnski produced a strong impres- 
sion on Prince Andrew on the Wednesday, 
when he received him tthe-d-tte at his own 
house and talked to him long and confiden- 
tially. 

To Bolk6nski so many people appeared con- 
temptible and insignificant creatures, and he 
so longed to find in someone the living ideal of 
that perfection toward which he strove, that he 
readily believed that in Sperdnski he had found 
this ideal of a perfectly rational and virtuous 
man. Had Sperdnski sprung from the same 
class as himself and possessed the same breed- 
ing and traditions, Bolkonski would soon have 
discovered his weak, human, unheroic sides; 
but as it was, Sperdnski's strange and logical 
turn of mind inspired him with respect all the 
more because he did not quite understand him. 
Moreover, Sperdnski, either because he appre- 
ciated the other's capacity or because he con- 
sidered it necessary to win him to his side, 
showed off his dispassionate calm reasonable- 
ness before Prince Andrew and flattered him 
with that subtle flattery which goes hand in 
hand with self-assurance and consists in a tacit 
assumption that one's companion is the only 
man besides oneself capable of understanding 
the folly of the rest of mankind and the reason- 
ableness and profundity of one's own ideas. 

During their long conversation on Wednes- 
day evening, Sperdnski more than once re- 
marked: "We regard everything that is above 
the common level of rooted custom . . ." or, 
with a smile: "But we want the wolves to be 
fed and the sheep to be safe . . ." or: "They 
cannot understand this . . ." and all in a way 
that seemed to say: "We, you and I, under- 
stand what they are and who we are/' 

This first long conversation with Sperdnski 



BOOK SIX 



243 



only strengthened in Prince Andrew the feel- 
ing he had experienced toward him at their 
first meeting. He saw in him a remarkable, 
clear-thinking man of vast intellect who by 
his energy and persistence had attained power, 
which he was using solely for the welfare of 
Russia. In Prince Andrew's eyes Sperdnski was 
the man he would himself have wished to be 
one who explained all the facts of life reason- 
ably, considered important only what was ra- 
tional, and was capable of applying the stand- 
ard of reason to everything. Every thing seemed 
so simple and clear in Sperdnski's exposition 
that Prince Andrew involuntarily agreed with 
him about everything. If he replied and ar- 
gued, it was only because he wished to main- 
tain his independence and not submit to Spe- 
rdnski's opinions entirely. Everything was right 
and everything was as it should be: only one 
thing disconcerted Prince Andrew. This was 
Sperdnski's cold, mirrorlike look, which did 
not allow one to penetrate to his soul, and his 
delicate white hands, which Prince Andrew 
involuntarily watched as one does watch the 
hands of those who possess power. This mirror- 
like gaze and those delicate hands irritated 
Prince Andrew, he knew not why. He was un- 
pleasantly struck, too, by the excessive con- 
tempt for others that he observed in Sperdnski, 
and by the diversity of lines of argument he 
used to support his opinions. He made use of 
every kind of mental device, except analogy, 
and passed too boldly, it seemed to Prince An- 
drew, from one to another. Now he would take 
up the position of a practical man and con- 
demn dreamers; now that of a satirist, and 
laugh ironically at his opponents; now grow 
severely logical, or suddenly rise to the realm 
of metaphysics. (This last resource was one he 
very frequently employed.) He would transfer 
a question to metaphysical heights, pass on to 
definitions of space, time, and thought, and, 
having deduced the refutation he needed, 
would again descend to the level of the origi- 
nal discussion. 

In general the trait of Sperdnski's mentality 
which struck Prince Andrew most was his ab- 
solute and unshakable belief in the power and 
authority of reason. It was evident that the 
thought could never occur to him which to 
Prince Andrew seemed so natural, namely, that 
it is after all impossible to express all one 
thinks; and that he had never felt the doubt, 
"Is not all I think and believe nonsense?" And 
it was just this peculiarity of Sperdnski's mind 
that particularly attracted Prince Andrew. 



During the first period of their acquaintance 
Bolk6nski felt a passionate admiration for him 
similar to that which he had once felt for 
Bonaparte. The fact that Sperdnski was the 
son of a village priest, and that stupid people 
might meanly despise him on account of his 
humble origin (as in fact many did), caused 
Prince Andrew to cherish his sentiment for 
him the more, and unconsciously to strengthen 
it. 

On that first evening Bolk6nski spent with 
him, having mentioned the Commission for the 
Revision of the Code of Laws, Sperdnski told 
him sarcastically that the Commission had ex- 
isted for a hundred and fifty years, had cost 
millions, and had done nothing except that 
Rosenkampf had stuck labels on the corre- 
sponding paragraphs of the different codes. 

"And that is all the state has for the millions 
it has spent," said he. "We want to give the 
Senate new juridical powers, but we have no 
laws. That is why it is a sin for men like you, 
Prince, not to serve in these times!" 

Prince Andrew said that for that work an 
education in jurisprudence was needed which 
he did not possess. 

"But nobody possesses it, so what would you 
have? It is a vicious circle from which we must 
break a way out." 

A week later Prince Andrew was a member 
of the Committee on Army Regulations and 
what he had not at all expected was chairman 
of a section of the committee for the revision 
of the laws. At Sperdnski's request he took the 
first part of the Civil Code that was being 
drawn up and, with the aid of the Code Napo- 
teon and the Institutes of Justinian, he worked 
at formulating the section on Personal Rights. 

CHAPTER VII 

NEARLY TWO YEARS before this, in 1808, Pierre 
on returning to Petersburg after visiting his 
estates had involuntarily found himself in a 
leading position among the Petersburg Free- 
masons. He arranged dining and funeral lodge 
meetings, enrolled new members, and busied 
himself uniting various lodges and acquiring 
authentic charters. He gave money for the 
erection of temples and supplemented as far 
as he could the collection of alms, in regard to 
which the majority of members were stingy 
and irregular. He supported almost single- 
handed a poor house the order had founded in 
Petersburg. 

His life meanwhile continued as before, with 
the same infatuations and dissipations. He 



244 WAR AND PEACE 

liked to dine and drink well, and though he 
considered it immoral and humiliating could 
not resist the temptations of the bachelor cir- 
cles in which he moved. 

Amid the turmoil of his activities and dis- 
tractions, however, Pierre at the end of a year 
began to feel that the more firmly he tried to 
rest upon it, the more Masonic ground on 
which he stood gave way under him. At the 
same time he felt that the deeper the ground 
sank under him the closer bound he involun- 
tarily became to the order. When he had joined 
the Freemasons he had experienced the feel- 
ing of one who confidently steps onto the 
smooth surface of a bog. When he put his foot 
down it sank in. To make quite sure of the 
firmness of the ground, he put his other foot 
down and sank deeper still, became stuck in 
it, and involuntarily waded knee-deep in the 

bog- 
Joseph Alex^evich was not in Petersburg- 
he had of late stood aside from the affairs of 
"the Petersburg lodges and lived almost entirely 
in Moscow. All the members of the lodges 
were men Pierre knew in ordinary life, and it 
was difficult for him to regard them merely as 
Brothers in Freemasonry and not as Prince B. 
or Ivdn Vasilevich D., whom he knew in soci- 
ety mostly as weak and insignificant men. Un- 
der the Masonic aprons and insignia he saw 
the uniforms and decorations at which they 
aimed in ordinary life. Often after collecting 
alms, and reckoning up twenty to thirty rubles 
received for the most part in promises from a 
dozen members, of whom half were as well able 
to pay as himself, Pierre remembered the 
Masonic vow in which each Brother promised 
to devote all his belongings to his neighbor, 
and doubts on which he tried not to dwell 
arose in his soul. 

He divided the Brothers he knew into four 
categories. In the first he put those who did 
not take an active part in the affairs of the 
lodges or in human affairs, but were exclusive- 
ly occupied with the mystical science of the or- 
der: with questions of the threefold designa- 
tion of God, the three primordial elements- 
sulphur, mercury, and salt or the meaning of 
the square and all the various figures of the 
temple of Solomon. Pierre respected this class 
of Brothers to which the elder ones chiefly be- 
longed, including, Pierre thought, Joseph 
Alexevich himself, but he did not share their 
interests. His heart was not in the mystical as- 
pect of Freemasonry. 
In the second category Pierre reckoned him- 



self and others like him, seeking and vacillat- 
ing, who had not yet found in Freemasonry a 
straight and comprehensible path, but hoped 
to do so. 

In the third category he included those 
Brothers (the majority) who saw nothing in 
Freemasonry but the external forms and cere- 
monies, and prized the strict performance of 
these forms without troubling about their pur- 
port or significance. Such were Willarski and 
even the Grand Master of the principal lodge. 

Finally, to the fourth category also a great 
many Brothers belonged, particularly those 
who had lately joined. These according to 
Pierre's observations were men who had no be- 
lief in anything, nor desire for anything, but 
joined the Freemasons merely to associate with 
the wealthy young Brothers who were influ- 
ential through their connections or rank, and 
of whom there were very many in the lodge. 

Pierre began to feel dissatisfied with what he 
was doing. Freemasonry, at any rate as he saw 
it here, sometimes seemed to him based merely 
on externals. He did not think of doubting 
Freemasonry itself, but suspected that Russian 
Masonry had taken a wrong path and deviated 
from its original principles. And so toward the 
end of the year he went abroad to be initiated 
into the higher secrets of the order. 

In the summer of 1809 Pierre returned to 
Petersburg. Our Freemasons knew from cor- 
respondence with those abroad that Beziikhov 
had obtained the confidence of many highly 
placed persons, had been initiated into many 
mysteries, had been raised to a higher grade, 
and was bringing back with him much that 
might conduce to the advantage of the Mason- 
ic cause in Russia. The Petersburg Freemasons 
all came to see him, tried to ingratiate them- 
selves with him, and it seemed to them all that 
he was preparing something for them and con- 
cealing it. 

A solemn meeting of the lodge of the second 
degree was convened, at which Pierre promised 
to communicate to the Petersburg Brothers 
what he had to deliver to them from the high- 
est leaders of their order. The meeting was a 
full one. After the usual ceremonies Pierre 
rose and began his address. 

"Dear Brothers," he began, blushing and 
stammering, with a written speech in his hand, 
"it is not sufficient to observe our mysteries in 
the seclusion of our lodge we must act act! 
We are drowsing, but we must act." Pierre 
raised his notebook and began to read. 

"For the dissemination of pure truth and to 



BOOK SIX 



245 



secure the triumph of virtue," he read, "we 
must cleanse men from prejudice, diffuse prin- 
ciples in harmony with the spirit of the times, 
undertake the education of the young, unite 
ourselves in indissoluble bonds with the wisest 
men, boldly yet prudently overcome supersti- 
tions, infidelity, and folly, and form of those 
devoted to us a body linked together by unity 
of purpose and possessed of authority and 
power. 

"To attain this end we must secure a pre- 
ponderance of virtue over vice and must en- 
deavor to secure that the honest man may, 
even in this world, receive a lasting reward for 
his virtue. But in these great endeavors we are 
gravely hampered by the political institutions 
of today. What is to be done in these circum- 
stances? To favor revolutions, overthrow every- 
thing, repel force by force? . . . No I We are very 
far from that. Every violent reform deserves 
censure, for it quite fails to remedy evil while 
men remain what they are, and also because 
wisdom needs no violence. 

"The whole plan of our order should be 
based on the idea of preparing men of firm- 
ness and virtue bound together by unity of 
conviction aiming at the punishment of vice 
and folly, and patronizing talent and virtue: 
raising worthy men from the dust and attach- 
ing them to our Brotherhood. Only then will 
our order have the power unobtrusively to 
bind the hands of the protectors of disorder 
and to control them without their being aware 
of it. In a word, we must found a form of gov- 
ernment holding universal sway, which should 
be diffused over the whole world without de- 
stroying the bonds of citizenship, and beside 
which all other governments can continue in 
their customary course and do everything ex- 
cept what impedes the great aim of our order, 
which is to obtain for virtue the victory over 
vice. This aim was that of Christianity itself. 
It taught men to be wise and good and for 
their own benefit to follow the example and 
instruction of the best and wisest men. 

"At that time, when everything was plunged 
in darkness, preaching alone was of course suf- 
ficient. The novelty of Truth endowed her 
with special strength, but now we need much 
more powerful methods. It is now necessary 
that man, governed by his senses, should find 
in virtue a charm palpable to those senses. It 
is impossible to eradicate the passions; but we 
must strive to direct them to a noble aim, and 
it is therefore necessary that everyone should 
be able to satisfy his passions within the limits 



of virtue. Our order should provide means to 
that end. 

"As soon as we have a certain number of 
worthy men in every state, each of them again 
training two others and all being closely united, 
everything will be possible for our order, 
which has already in secret accomplished much 
for the welfare of mankind." 

This speech not only made a strong impres- 
sion, but created excitement in the lodge. The 
majority of the Brothers, seeing in it dangerous 
designs of Illuminism, 1 met it with a coldness 
that surprised Pierre. The Grand Master be- 
gan answering him, and Pierre began develop- 
ing his views with more and more warmth. It 
was long since there had been so stormy a meet- 
ing. Parties were formed, some accusing Pierre 
of Illuminism, others supporting him. At that 
meeting l>e was struck for the first time by the 
endless variety of men's minds, which prevents 
a truth from ever presenting itself identically 
to two persons. Even those members who 
seemed to be on his side understood him in 
their own way with limitations and alterations 
he could not agree to, as what he always wanted 
most was to convey his thought to others just 
as he himself understood it. 

At the end of the meeting the Grand Master 
with irony and ill-will reproved Bezukhov for 
his vehemence and said it was not love of vir- 
tue alone, but also a love of strife that had 
moved him in the dispute. Pierre did not an- 
swer him and asked briefly whether his pro- 
posal would be accepted. He was told that it 
would not, and without waiting for the usual 
formalities he left the lodge and went home. 

CHAPTER VIII 

AGAIN PIERRE was overtaken by the depression 
he so dreaded. For three days after the delivery 
of his speech at the lodge he lay on a sofa at 
home receiving no one and going nowhere. 

It was just then that he received a letter from 
"his wife, who implored him to see her, telling 
him how grieved she was about him and how 
she wished to devote her whole life to him. 

At the end of the letter she informed him 
that in a few days she would return to Peters- 
burg from abroad. 

Following this letter one of the Masonic 
Brothers whom Pierre respected less than the 
others forced his way in to see him and, turn- 
ing the conversation upon Pierre's matrimoni- 
al affairs, by way of fraternal advice expressed 

1 The Illuminati sought to substitute republican 
for monarchical institutions. 



WAR AND PEACE 



the opinion that his severity to his wife was 
wrong and that he was neglecting one of the 
first rules of Freemasonry by not forgiving the 
penitent. 

At the same time his mother-in-law, Prince 
Vasfli's wife, sent to him imploring him to 
come if only for a few minutes to discuss a most 
important matter. Pierre saw that there was a 
conspiracy against him and that they wanted 
to reunite him with his wife, and in the mood 
he then was, this was not even unpleasant to 
him. Nothing mattered to him. Nothing in life 
seemed to him of much importance, and un- 
der the influence of the depression that pos- 
sessed him he valued neither his liberty nor his 
resolution to punish his wife. 

"No one is right and no one is to blame; so 
she too is not to blame," he thought. 

If he did not at once give his consent to a 
reunion with his wife, it was only because in 
his state of depression he did not feel able to 
take any step. Had his wife come to him, he 
would not have turned her away. Compared to 
what preoccupied him, was it not a matter of 
indifference whether he lived with his wife or 
not? 

Without replying either to his wife or his 
mother-in-law, Pierre late one night prepared 
for a journey and started for Moscow to see 
Joseph Alex^evich. This is what he noted in 
his diary: 

Moscow, ijth November 

I have just returned from my benefactor, and 
hasten to write down what I have experienced. 
Joseph Alexevich is living poorly and has for 
three years been suffering from a painful disease 
of the bladder. No one has ever heard him utter a 
groan or a word of complaint. From morning till 
late at night, except when he eats his very plain 
food, he is working at science. He received me 
graciously and made me sit down on the bed on 
which he lay. I made the sign of the Knights of 
the East and of Jerusalem, and he responded in 
the same manner, asking me with a mild smile 
what I had learned and gained in the Prussian 
and Scottish lodges. I told him everything as best 
I could, and told him what I had proposed to our 
Petersburg lodge, of the bad reception I had en- 
countered, and of my rupture with the Brothers. 
Joseph Alexdevich, having remained silent and 
thoughtful for a good while, told me his view of 
the matter, which at once lit up for me my whole 
past and the future path I should follow. He sur- 
prised me by asking whether I remembered the 
threefold aim of the order: (i) The preservation 
and study of the mystery, (a) The purification and 
reformation of oneself for its reception, and (3) 
The improvement of the human race by striving 



for such purification. Which is the principal aim 
of these three? Certainly self-reformation and self- 
purification. Only to this aim can we always strive 
independently of circumstances. But at the same 
time just this aim demands the greatest efforts of 
us; and so, led astray by pride, losing sight of this 
aim, we occupy ourselves either with the mystery 
which in our impurity we are unworthy to receive, 
or seek the reformation of the human race while 
ourselves setting an example of baseness and prof- 
ligacy. Ilium inism is not a pure doctrine, just be- 
cause it is attracted by social activity and puffed 
up by pride. On this ground Joseph Alexevich 
condemned my speech and my whole activity, and 
in the depth of my soul I agreed with him. Talk- 
ing of my family affairs he said to me, "the chief 
duty of a true Mason, as I have told you, lies in 
perfecting himself. We often think that by remov- 
ing all the difficulties of our life we shall more 
quickly reach our aim, but on the contrary, my 
dear sir, it is only in the midst of worldly cares that 
we can attain our three chief aims: (i) Self-knowl- 
edgefor man can only know himself by compari- 
son, (2) Self-perfecting, which can only be attained 
by conflict, and (3) The attainment of the chief 
virtue love of death. Only the vicissitudes of life 
can show us its vanity and develop our innate love 
of death or of rebirth to a new life." These words 
are all the more remarkable because, in spite of 
his great physical sufferings, Joseph Alexeevich is 
never weary of life though he loves death, for 
which in spite of the purity and loftiness of his 
inner man he does not yet feel himself sufficiently 
prepared. My benefactor then explained to me 
fully the meaning of the Great Square of creation 
and pointed out to me that the numbers three and 
seven are the basis of everything. He advised me 
not to avoid intercourse with the Petersburg 
Brothers, but to take up only second-grade posts in 
the lodge, to try, while diverting the Brothers 
from pride, to turn them toward the true path of 
self-knowledge and self-perfecting. Besides this he 
advised me for myself personally above all to keep 
a watch over myself, and to that end he gave me 
a notebook, the one I am now writing in and in 
which I will in future note down all my actions. 

Petersburg, 2}rd November 

I am again living with my wife. My mother-in- 
law came to me in tears and said that Helene was 
here and that she implored me to hear her; that 
she was innocent and unhappy at my desertion, 
and much more. I knew that if I once let myself 
see her I should not have strength to go on refus- 
ing what she wanted. In my perplexity I did not 
know whose aid and advice to seek. Had my bene- 
factor been here he would have told me what to 
do. I went to my room and reread Joseph Alexe- 
vich's letters and recalled my conversations with 
him, and deduced from it all that I ought not to 
refuse a suppliant, and ought to reach a helping 
hand to everyone especially to one so closely 



bound to me and that I must bear my cross. 
But if I forgive her for the sake of doing right, 
then let union with her have only a spiritual aim. 
That is what I decided, and what I wrote to Joseph 
Alexe"evich. I told my wife that I begged her to 
forget the past, to forgive me whatever wrong I 
may have done her, and that I had nothing to for- 
give. It gave me joy to tell her this. She need not 
know how hard it was for me to see her again. I 
have settled on the upper floor of this big house 
and am experiencing a happy feeling of regenera- 
tion. 

CHAPTER IX 

AT THAT TIME, as always happens, the highest 
society that met at court and at the grand balls 
was divided into several circles, each with its 
own particular tone. The largest of these was 
the French circle of the Napoleonic alliance, 
the circle of Count Rumydntsev and Caulain- 
court. In this group HeUene, as soon as she had 
settled in Petersburg with her husband, took a 
very prominent place. She was visited by the 
members of the French embassy and by many 
belonging to that circle and noted for their in- 
tellect and polished manners. 

Hellene had been at Erfurt during the fa- 
mous meeting of the Emperors and had brought 
from there these connections with the Napole- 
onic notabilities. At Erfurt her success had been 
brilliant. Napoleon himself had noticed her in 
the theater and said of her: "C'est un superbe 
animal." l Her success as a beautiful and ele- 
gant woman did not surprise Pierre, for she 
had become even handsomer than before. What 
did surprise him was that during these last two 
years his wife had succeeded in gaining the 
reputation "d' une femme charmante, aussi 
spirituelle que belle." 3 The distinguished 
Prince de Ligne wrote her eight-page letters. 
Bilibin saved up his epigrams to produce them 
in Countess Bezukhova's presence. To be re- 
ceived in the Countess Bezukhova's salon was 
regarded as a diploma of intellect Young men 
read books before attending Hlne's evenings, 
to have something to say in her salon, and 
secretaries of the embassy, and even ambassa- 
dors, confided diplomatic secrets to her, so that 
in a way Hdene was a power. Pierre, who knew 
she was very stupid, sometimes attended, with 
a strange feeling of perplexity and fear, her 
evenings and dinner parties, where politics, 
poetry, and philosophy were discussed. At these 
parties his feelings were like those of a con- 

1 "That's a superb animal." 
""Of a charming woman, as witty as she is 
lovely." 



BOOK SIX 247 

juror who always expects his trick to be found 



out at any moment. But whether because stu- 
pidity was just what was needed to run such a 
salon, or because those who were deceived 
found pleasure in the deception, at any rate it 
remained unexposed and Hlene Bezukhova's 
reputation as a lovely and clever woman be- 
came so firmly established that she could say 
the emptiest and stupidest things andyet every- 
body would go into raptures over every word 
of hers and look for a profound meaning in it 
of which she herself had no conception. 

Pierre was just the husband needed for a 
brilliant society woman. He was that absent- 
minded crank, a grand seigneur husband who 
was in no one's way, and far from spoiling the 
high tone and general impression of the draw- 
ing room, he served, by the contrast he pre- 
sented to her, as an advantageous background 
to his elegant and tactful wife. Pierre during 
the last two years, as a result of his continual 
absorption in abstract interests and his sincere 
contempt for all else, had acquired in his wife's 
circle, which did not interest him, that air of 
unconcern, indifference, and benevolence to- 
ward all, which cannot be acquired artificially 
and therefore inspires involuntary respect. He 
entered his wife's drawing room as one enters 
a theater, was acquainted with everybody, 
equally pleased to see everyone, and equally in- 
different to them all. Sometimes he joined in a 
conversation which interested him and, regard- 
less of whether any "gentlemen of the embassy" 
were present or not, lispingly expressed his 
views, which were sometimes not at all in ac- 
cord with the accepted tone of the moment. 
But the general opinion concerning the queer 
husband of "the most distinguished woman in 
Petersburg" was so well established that no 
one took his freaks seriously. 

Among the many young men who frequented 
her house every day, Boris Drubetsk6y, who had 
already achieved great success in the service, 
was the most intimate friend of the Bezukhov 
household since Hlne's return from Erfurt. 
Hlene spoke of him as "mon page" and 
treated him like a child. Her smile for him was 
the same as for everybody, but sometimes that 
smile made Pierre uncomfortable. Toward him 
Boris behaved with a particularly dignified and 
sad deference. This shade of deference also dis- 
turbed Pierre. He had suffered so painfully 
three years before from the mortification to 
which his wife had subjected him that he now 
protected himself from the danger of its repeti- 
tion, first by not being a husband to his wife, 



WAR AND PEACE 



and secondly by not allowing himself to sus- 
pect. 

"No, now that she has become a bluestock- 
ing she has finally renounced her former in- 
fatuations," he told himself. "There has never 
been an instance of a bluestocking being car- 
ried away by affairs of the heart"a statement 
which, though gathered from an unknown 
source, he believed implicitly. Yet strange to 
say Borfs' presence in his wife's drawing room 
(and he was almost always there) had a physi- 
cal effect upon Pierre; it constricted his limbs 
and destroyed the unconsciousness and free- 
dom of his movements. 

"What a strange antipathy," thought Pierre, 
"yet I used to like him very much." 

In the eyes of the world Pierre was a great 
gentleman, the rather blind and absurd hus- 
band of a distinguished wife, a clever crank 
who did nothing but harmed nobody and was 
a first-rate, good-natured fellow. But a com- 
plex and difficult process of internal develop- 
ment was taking place all this time in Pierre's 
soul, revealing much to him and causing him 
many spiritual doubts and joys. 

CHAPTER X 

PIERRE WENT ON with his diary, and this is what 
he wrote in it during that time: 
November 



Got up at eight, read the Scriptures, then went 
to my duties. [By Joseph Alexevich's advice Pierre 
had entered the service of the state and served on 
one of the committees.] Returned home for dinner 
and dined alone the countess had many visitors 
I do not like. I ate and drank moderately and after 
dinner copied out some passages for the Brothers. 
In the evening I went down to the countess and 
told a funny story about B., and only remembered 
that I ought not to have done so when everybody 
laughed loudly at it. 

I am going to bed with a happy and tranquil 
mind. Great God, help me to walk in Thy paths, 
(i) to conquer anger by calmness and delibera- 
tion, (2) to vanquish lust by self-restraint and re- 
pulsion, (3) to withdraw from worldliness, but not 
avoid (a) the service of the state, (b) family du- 
ties, (c) relations with my friends, and (d) the 
management of my affairs. 

2jth November 

I got up late. On waking I lay long in bed yield- 
ing to sloth. O God, help and strengthen me that I 
may walk in Thy ways! Read the Scriptures, but 
without proper feeling. Brother Uriisov came and 
we talked about worldly vanities. He told me of 
the Emperor's new projects. I began to criticize 
them, but remembered my rules and my benefac- 
tor's wordsthat a true Freemason should be a 



zealous worker for the state when his aid is re- 
quired and a quiet onlooker when not called on 
to assist. My tongue is my enemy. Brothers G. V. 
and O. visited me and we had a preliminary talk 
about the reception of a new Brother. They laid 
on me the duty of Rhetor. I feel myself weak and 
unworthy. Then our talk turned to the interpre- 
tation of the seven pillars and steps of the Tem- 
ple, the seven sciences, the seven virtues, the seven 
vices, and the seven gifts of the Holy Spirit. 
Brother O. was very eloquent. In the evening the 
admission took place. The new decoration of the 
premises contributed much to the magnificence of 
the spectacle. It was Borfs Drubetskoy who was ad- 
mitted. I nominated him and was the Rhetor. A 
strange feeling agitated me all the time I was 
alone with him in the dark chamber. I caught my- 
self harboring a feeling of hatred toward him 
which I vainly tried to overcome. That is why I 
should really like to save him from evil and lead 
him into the path of truth, but evil thoughts of 
him did not leave me. It seemed to me that his ob- 
ject in entering the Brotherhood was merely to be 
intimate and in favor with members of our lodge. 
Apart from the fact that he had asked me several 
times whether N. and S. were members of our 
lodge (a question to which I could not reply) and 
that according to my observation he is incapable 
of feeling respect for our holy order and is too pre- 
occupied and satisfied with the outer man to de- 
sire spiritual improvement, I had no cause to 
doubt him, but he seemed to me insincere, and all 
the time I stood alone with him in the dark tem- 
ple it seemed to me that he was smiling con- 
temptuously at my words, and I wished really to 
stab his bare breast with the sword I held to it. I 
could not be eloquent, nor could I frankly men- 
tion my doubts to the Brothers and to the Grand 
Master. Great Architect of Nature, help me to find 
the true path out of the labyrinth of lies! 

After this, three pages were left blank in the 
diary, and then the following was written: 

I have had a long and instructive talk alone with 
Brother V.,who advised me to hold fast by Brother 
A. Though I am unworthy, much was revealed to 
me. Adonai is the name of the creator of the world. 
Elohim is the name of the ruler of all. The third 
name is the name unutterable which means the 
All. Talks with Brother V. strengthen, refresh, and 
support me in the path of virtue. In his presence 
doubt has no place. The distinction between the 
poor teachings of mundane science and our sa- 
cred all-embracing teaching is clear to me. Human 
sciences dissect everything to comprehend it, and 
kill everything to examine it. In the holy science 
of our order all is one, all is known in its entirety 
and life. The Trinity-the three elements of mat- 
terare sulphur, mercury, and salt. Sulphur is of 
an oily and fiery nature; in combination with salt 
by its fiery nature it arouses a desire in the latter 
by means of which it attracts mercury, seizes it, 



BOOK SIX 



holds it, and in combination produces other bod- 
ies. Mercury is a fluid, volatile, spiritual essence. 
Christ, the Holy Spirit, HimI . . . 

3rd December 

Awoke late, read the Scriptures but was apa- 
thetic. Afterwards went and paced up and down 
the large hall. I wished to meditate, but instead 
my imagination pictured an occurrence of four 
years ago, when D61okhov, meeting me in Moscow 
after our duel, said he hoped I was enjoying per- 
fect peace of mind in spite of my wife's absence. 
At the time I gave him no answer. Now I recalled 
every detail of that meeting and in my mind gave 
him the most malevolent and bitter replies. I rec- 
ollected myself and drove away that thought only 
when I found myself glowing with anger, but I did 
not sufficiently repent. Afterwards Boris Drubet- 
sk6y came and began relating various adventures. 
His coming vexed me from the first, and I said 
something disagreeable to him. He replied. I flared 
up and said much that was unpleasant and even 
rude to him. He became silent, and I recollected 
myself only when it was too late. My God, I can- 
not get on with him at all. The cause of this is my 
egotism. I set myself above him and so become 
much worse than he, for he is lenient to my rude- 
ness while I on the contrary nourish contempt for 
him. O God, grant that in his presence I may 
rather see my own vileness, and behave so that he 
too may benefit. After dinner I fell asleep and as 
I was drowsing off I clearly heard a voice saying in 
my left ear, "Thy day!" 

I dreamed that I was walking in the dark and 
was suddenly surrounded by dogs, but I went on 
undismayed. Suddenly a smallish dog seized my 
left thigh with its teeth and would not let go. I 
began to throttle it with my hands. Scarcely had I 
torn it off before another, a bigger one, began bit- 
ing me. I lifted it up, but the higher I lifted it the 
bigger and heavier it grew. And suddenly Brother 
A. came and, taking my arm, led me to a building 
to enter which we had to pass along a narrow 
plank. I stepped on it, but it bent and gave way 
and I began to clamber up a fence which I could 
scarcely reach with my hands. After much effort I 
dragged myself up, so that my legs hung down on 
one side and my body on the other. I looked round 
and saw Brother A. standing on the fence and 
pointing me to a broad avenue and garden, and in 
the garden was a large and beautiful building. I 
woke up. O Lord, great Architect of Nature, help 
me to tear from myself these dogs my passions 
especially the last, which unites in itself the 
strength of all the former ones, and aid me to 
enter that temple of virtue to a vision of which I 
attained in my dream. 

7th December 

I dreamed that Joseph Alexevich was sitting in 
my house, and that I was very glad and wished to 
entertain him. It seemed as if I chattered inces- 



santly with other people and suddenly remem- 
bered that this could not please him, and I wished 
to come close to him and embrace him. But as 
soon as I drew near I saw that his face had changed 
and grown young, and he was quietly telling me 
something about the teaching of our order, but 
so softly that I could not hear it. Then it seemed 
that we all left the room and something strange 
happened. We were sitting or lying on the floor. 
He was telling me something, and I wished to 
show him my sensibility, and not listening to 
what he was saying I began picturing to myself the 
condition of my inner man and the grace of God 
sanctifying me. And tears came into my eyes, and 
I was glad he noticed this. But he looked at me 
with vexation and jumped up, breaking off his re- 
marks. I felt abashed and asked whether what he 
had been saying did not concern me; but he did 
not reply, gave me a kind look, and then we sud- 
denly found ourselves in my bedroom where there 
is a double bed. He lay down on the edge of it and 
I burned with longing to caress him and lie down 
too. And he said, "Tell me frankly what is your 
chief temptation? Do you know it? I think you 
know it already." Abashed by this question, I re- 
plied that sloth was my chief temptation. He 
shook his head incredulously; and even more 
abashed, I said that though I was living with my 
wife as he advised, I was not living with her as her 
husband. To this he replied that one should not 
deprive a wife of one's embraces and gave me to 
understand that that was my duty. But I replied 
that I should be ashamed to do it, and suddenly 
everything vanished. And I awoke and found in 
my mind the text from the Gospel: "The life was 
the light of men. And the light shineth in dark- 
ness; and the darkness comprehended it not." 
Joseph Alexevich's face had looked young and 
bright. That day I received a letter from my bene- 
factor in which he wrote about "conjugal duties." 

9th December 

I had a dream from which I awoke with a throb- 
bing heart. I saw that I was in Moscow in my house, 
in the big sitting room, and Joseph Alexevich 
came in from the drawing room. I seemed to know 
at once that the process of regeneration had al- 
ready taken place in him, and I rushed to meet 
him. I embraced him and kissed his hands, and 
he said, "Hast thou noticed that my face is dif- 
ferent?" I looked at him, still holding him in my 
arms, and saw that his face was young, but that 
he had no hair on his head and his features were 
quite changed. And I said, "I should have known 
you had I met you by chance," and I thought to 
myself, "Am I telling the truth?" And suddenly I 
saw him lying like a dead body; then he gradually 
recovered and went with me into my study carry- 
ing a large book of sheets of drawing paper; I 
said, "I drew that," and he answered by bowing 
his head. I opened the book, and on all the pages 
there were excellent drawings. And in my dream 



250 



WAR AND PEACE 



I knew that these drawings represented the love 
adventures of the soul with its beloved. And on its 
pages I saw a beautiful representation of a maiden 
in transparent garments and with a transparent 
body, flying up to the clouds. And I seemed to 
know that this maiden was nothing else than a 
representation of the Song of Songs. And looking 
at those drawings I dreamed I felt that I was do- 
ing wrong, but could not tear myself away from 
them. Lord, help mel My God, if Thy forsaking 
me is Thy doing, Thy will be done; but if I am 
myself the cause, teach me what I should do! I 
shall perish of my debauchery if Thou utterly de- 
sertest me! 



CHAPTER XI 

THE Rosx6vs' MONETARY AFFAIRS had not im- 
proved during the two years they had spent in 
the country. 

Though Nicholas Rostov had kept firmly to 
his resolution and was still serving modestly in 
an obscure regiment, spending comparatively 
little, the way of life at Otradnoe Mftenka's 
management of affairs, in particular was such 
that the debts inevitably increased every year. 
The only resource obviously presenting itself 
to the old count was to apply for an official 
post, so he had come to Petersburg to look for 
one and also, as he said, to let the lassies enjoy 
themselves for the last time. 

Soon after their arrival in Petersburg Berg 
proposed to Ve*ra and was accepted. 

Though in Moscow the Rostovs belonged to 
the best society without themselves giving it a 
thought, yet in Petersburg their circle of ac- 
quaintances was a mixed and indefinite one. 
In Petersburg they were provincials, and the 
very people they had entertained in Moscow 
without inquiring to what set they belonged, 
here looked down on them. 

The Rost6vs lived in the same hospitable 
way in Petersburg as in Moscow, and the most 
diverse people met at their suppers. Country 
neighbors from Otradnoe, impoverished old 
squires and their daughters, Per6nskaya a maid 
of honor, Pierre Beziikhov, arid the son of their 
district postmaster who had obtained a post in 
Petersburg. Among the men who very soon be- 
came frequent visitors at the Rost6vs' house in 
Petersburg were Boris, Pierre whom the count 
had met in the street and dragged home with 
him, and Berg who spent whole days at the 
Rost6vs' and paid the eldest daughter, Count- 
ess Ve'ra, the attentions a young man pays when 
he intends to propose. 

Not in vain had Berg shown everybody his 
right hand wounded at Austerlitz and held a 



perfectly unnecessary sword in his left. He nar 
rated that episode so persistently and with st\ 
important an air that everyone believed in the 
merit and usefulness of his deed, and he had 
obtained two decorations for Austerlitz. 

In the Finnish war he also managed to dis- 
tinguish himself. He had picked up the scrap 
of a grenade that had killed an aide-de-camp 
standing near the commander in chief and had 
taken it to his commander. Just as he had done 
after Austerlitz, he related this occurrence at 
such length and so insistently that everyone 
again believed it had been necessary to do this, 
and he received two decorations for the Fin- 
nish war also. In 1809 he was a captain in the 
Guards, wore medals, and held some special 
lucrative posts in Petersburg. 

Though some skeptics smiled when told of 
Berg's merits, it could not be denied that he 
was a painstaking and brave officer, on excel- 
lent terms with his superiors, and a moral 
young man with a brilliant career before him 
and an assured position in society. 

Four years before, meeting a German com- 
rade in the stalls of a Moscow theater, Berg 
had pointed out Ve'ra Rost6va to him and had 
said in German, "das soil mein Weib werden," 1 
and from that moment had made up his mind 
to marry her. Now in Petersburg, having con- 
sidered the Rost6vs' position and his own, he 
decided that the time had come to propose. 

Berg's proposal was at first received with a 
perplexity that was not flattering to him. At 
first it seemed strange that the son of an ob- 
scure Livonian gentleman should propose mar- 
riage to a Countess Rost6va; but Berg's chief 
characteristic was such a naive and goocl- 
natured egotism that the Rost6vs involuntarily 
came to think it would be a good thing, since 
he himself was so firmly convinced that it was 
good, indeed excellent. Moreover, the Rostovs' 
affairs were seriously embarrassed, as the suitor 
could not but know; and above all, Ve'ra was 
twenty-four, had been taken out everywhere, 
and though she was certainly good-looking and 
sensible, no one up to now had proposed to 
her. So they gave their consent. 

"You see," said Berg to his comrade, whom 
he called "friend" only because he knew that 
everyone has friends, "you see, I have consid- 
ered it all, and should not marry if I had not 
thought it all out or if it were in any way un- 
suitable. But on the contrary, my papa and 
mamma are now provided for I have arranged 
that rent for them in the Baltic Provincesand 

1 "That girl shall be my wife." 



I can live in Petersburg on my pay, and with 
her fortune and my good management we can 
get along nicely. I am not marrying for money 
I consider that dishonorablebut a wife 
should bring her share and a husband his. I 
have my position in the service, she has con- 
nections and some means. In our times that is 
worth something, isn't it? But above all, she is 
a handsome, estimable girl, and she loves 
me. . . ." 

Berg blushed and smiled. 

"And I love her, because her character is 
sensible and very good. Now the other sister, 
though they are the same family, is quite dif- 
ferentan unpleasant character and has not 
the same intelligence. She is so ... you know? 
. . . Unpleasant . . . But my fiancee! . . . Well, 
you will be coming," he was going to say, "to 
dine," but changed his mind and said, "to take 
tea with us," and quickly doubling up his 
tongue he blew a small round ring of tobacco 
smoke, perfectly embodying his dream of hap- 
piness. 

After the first feeling of perplexity aroused 
in the parents by Berg's proposal, the holiday 
tone of joyousness usual at such times took pos- 
session of the family, but the rejoicing was ex- 
ternal and insincere. In the family's feeling to- 
ward this wedding a certain awkwardness and 
constraint was evident, as if they were ashamed 
of not having loved Ve*ra sufficiently and of be- 
ing so ready to get her off their hands. The old 
count felt this most. He would probably have 
been unable to state the cause of his embarrass- 
ment, but it resulted from the state of his af- 
fairs. He did not know at all how much he had, 
what his debts amounted to, or what dowry he 
could give V6ra. When his daughters were 
born he had assigned to each of them, for her 
dowry, an estate with three hundred serfs; but 
one of these estates had already been sold, and 
the other was mortgaged and the interest so 
much in arrears that it would have to be sold, 
so that it was impossible to give it to Vera. Nor 
had he any money. 

Berg had already been engaged a month, 
and only a week remained before the wedding, 
but the count had not yet decided in his own 
mind the question of the dowry, nor spoken to 
hiswifeabout it. Atone time the count thought 
of giving her the Ryazan estate or of selling a 
forest, at another time of borrowing money on 
a note of hand. A few days before the wedding 
Berg entered the count's study early one morn- 
ing and, with a pleasant smile, respectfully 
asked his future father-in-law to let him know 



BOOK SIX 251 

what Wra's dowry would be. The count was so 



disconcerted by this long-foreseen inquiry that 
without consideration he gave the first reply 
that came into his head. "I like your being busi- 
nesslike about it. ... I like it. You shall be 
satisfied. . . ." 

And patting Berg on the shoulder he got up, 
wishing to end the conversation. But Berg, 
smiling pleasantly, explained that if he did not 
know for certain how much Vra would have 
and did not receive at least part of the dowry in 
advance, he would have to break matters off. 

"Because, consider, Count if I allowed my- 
self to marry now without having definite 
means to maintain my wife, I should be acting 
badly " 

The conversation ended by the count, who 
wished to be generous and to avoid further im- 
portunity, saying that he would give a note of 
hand for eighty thousand rubles. Berg smiled 
meekly, kissed the count on the shoulder, and 
said that he was very grateful, but that it was 
impossible for him to arrange his new life with- 
out receiving thirty thousand in ready money. 
"Or at least twenty thousand, Count," he added, 
"and then a note of hand for only sixty thou- 
sand." 

"Yes, yes, all rightl" said the count hurried- 
ly. "Only excuse me, my dear fellow, I'll give 
you twenty thousand and a note of hand for 
eighty thousand as well. Yes, yes! Kiss me." 

CHAPTER XII 

NATASHA WAS SIXTEEN and it was the year 1809, 
the very year to which she had counted on her 
fingers with Boris after they had kissed four 
years ago. Since then she had not seen him. Be- 
fore S6nya and her mother, if Boris happened 
to be mentioned, she spoke quite freely of that 
episode as of some childish, long-forgotten mat- 
ter that was not worth mentioning. But in the 
secret depths of her soul the question whether 
her engagement to Boris was a jest or an im- 
portant, binding promise tormented her. 

Since Boris left Moscow in 1805 to join the 
army he had not seen the Rostovs. He had been 
in Moscow several times, and had passed near 
Otradnoe, but had never been to see them. 

Sometimes it occurred to Natdsha that he did 
not wish to see her, and this conjecture was 
confirmed by the sad tone in which her elders 
spoke of him. 

"Nowadays old friends are not remembered," 
the countess would say when Borfs was men- 
tioned. 

Anna Mikhaylovna also had of late visited 



252 



WAR AND PEACE 



them less frequently, seemed to hold herself 
with particular dignity, and always spoke rap- 
turously and gratefully of the merits of her son 
and the brilliant career on which he had en- 
tered. When the Rost6vs came to Petersburg 
Boris called on them. 

He drove to their house in some agitation. 
The memory of Natasha was his most poetic 
recollection. But he went with the firm inten- 
tion of letting her and her parents feel that the 
childish relations between himself and Natasha 
could not be binding either on her or on him. 
He had a brilliant position in society thanks to 
his intimacy with Countess Bezukhova, a bril- 
liant position in the service thanks to the pat- 
ronage of an important personage whose com- 
plete confidence he enjoyed, and he was begin- 
ning to make plans for marrying one of the 
richest heiresses in Petersburg, plans which 
might very easily be realized. When he entered 
the Rost6vs' drawing room Natdsha was in her 
own room. When she heard of his arrival she 
almost ran into the drawing room, flushed and 
beaming with a more than cordial smile. 

Boris remembered Natasha in a short dress, 
with dark eyes shining from under her curls 
and boisterous, childish laughter, as he had 
known her four years before; and so he was tak- 
en aback when quite a different Natasha en- 
tered, and his face expressed rapturous aston- 
ishment. This expression on his face pleased 
Natasha. 

"Well, do you recognize your little madcap 
playmate?" asked the countess. 

Boris kissed Natdsha's hand and said that he 
was astonished at the change in her. 

"How handsome you have grown!" 

"I should think sol replied Natdsha's laugh- 
ing eyes. 

"And is Papa older?" she asked. 

Natdsha sat down and, without joining in 
Boris* conversation with the countess, silently 
and minutely studied her childhood's suitor. 
He felt the weight of that resolute and affec- 
tionate scrutiny and glanced at her occasional- 
ly. 

Boris* uniform, spurs, tie, and the way his 
hair was brushed were all comme il faut and in 
the latest fashion. This Natdsha noticed at 
once. He sat rather sideways in the armchair 
next to the countess, arranging with his right 
hand the cleanest of gloves that fitted his left 
hand like a skin, and he spoke with a particu- 
larly refined compression of his lips about the 
amusements of the highest Petersburg society, 
recalling with mild irony old times in Mos- 



cow and Moscow acquaintances. It was not 
accidentally, Natasha felt, that he alluded, 
when speaking of the highest aristocracy, to an 
ambassador's ball he had attended, and to in- 
vitations he had received from N.N. and S.S. 

All this time Natdsha sat silent, glancing up 
at him from under her brows. This gaze dis- 
turbed and confused Boris more and more. He 
looked round more frequently toward her, and 
broke off in what he was saying. He did not 
stay more than ten minutes, then rose and took 
his leave. The same inquisitive, challenging, 
and rather mocking eyes still looked at him. 
After his first visit Boris said to himself that Na- 
tdsha attracted him just as much as ever, but 
that he must not yield to that feeling, because 
to marry her, a girl almost without fortune, 
would mean ruin to his career, while to renew 
their former relations without intending to 
marry her would be dishonorable. Boris made 
up his mind to avoid meeting Natdsha, but de- 
spite that resolution he called again a few days 
later and began calling often and spending 
whole days at the Rost6vs'. It seemed to him 
that he ought to have an explanation with Na- 
tdsha and tell her that the old times must be 
forgotten, that in spite of everything . . . she 
could not be his wife, that he had no means, 
and they would never let hermarryhim. But he 
failed to do so and felt awkward about enter- 
ing on such an explanation. From day to day 
he became more and more entangled. It seemed 
to her mother and S6nya that Natdsha was in 
love with Boris as of old. She sang him his fa- 
vorite songs, showed him her album, making 
him write in it, did not allow him to allude to 
the past, letting it be understood how delight- 
ful was the present; and every day he went away 
in a fog, without having said what he meant to, 
and not knowing what he was doing or why he 
came, or how it would alf end. He left off visit- 
ing Hdlene and received reproachful notes 
from her every day, and yet he continued to 
spend whole days with the Rost6vs. 

CHAPTER XIII 

ONE NIGHT when the old countess, in nightcap 
and dressing jacket, without her false curls, 
and with her poor little knob of hair showing 
under her white cotton cap, knelt sighing and 
groaning on a rug and bowing to the ground 
in prayer, her door creaked and Natdsha, also 
in a dressing jacket with slippers on her bare 
feet and her hair in curlpapers, ran in. The 
countess her prayerful mood dispelled 
looked round and frowned. She was finishing 



her last prayer: "Can it be that this couch will 
be my grave?" Natasha, flushed and eager, 
seeing her mother in prayer, suddenly checked 
her rush, half sat down, and unconsciously put 
out her tongue as if chiding herself. Seeing that 
her mother was still praying she ran on tiptoe 
to the bed and, rapidly slipping one little foot 
against the other, pushed off her slippers and 
jumped onto the bed the countess had feared 
might become her grave. This couch was high, 
with a feather bed and five pillows each small- 
er than the one below. Natasha jumped on it, 
sank into the feather bed, rolled over to the 
wall, and began snuggling up the bedclothes 
as she settled down, raising her knees to her 
chin, kicking out and laughing almost inaudi- 
bly, now covering herself up head and all, and 
now peeping at her mother. The countess 
finished her prayers and came to the bed 
with a stern face, but seeing that Natasha's 
head was covered, she smiled in her kind, 
weak way. 

"Now then, now then!" said she. 

"Mamma, can we have a talk? Yes?" said Na- 
tasha. "Now, just one on your throat and an- 
other . . . that'll do!" And seizing her mother 
round the neck, she kissed her on the throat. 
In her behavior to her mother Natasha seemed 
rough, but she was so sensitive and tactful that 
however she clasped her mother she always 
managed to do it without hurting her or mak- 
ing her feel uncomfortable or displeased. 

"Well, what is it tonight?" said the mother, 
having arranged her pillows and waited until 
Natdsha, after turning over a couple of times, 
had settled down beside her under the quilt, 
spread out her arms, and assumed a serious ex- 
pression. 

These visits of Natasha's at night before the 
count returned from his club were one of the 
greatest pleasures of both mother and daugh- 
ter. 

"What is it tonight? But I have to tell 
you ..." 

Natdsha put her hand on her mother's mouth. 

"About Boris ... I know," she said seriously; 
"that's what I have come about. Don't say it 
I know. No, do tell me!" and she removed her 
hand. "Tell me, Mamma! He's nice?" 

"Natasha, you are sixteen. At your age I was 
married. You say Boris is nice. He is very nice, 
and I love him like a son. But what then? . . . 
What are you thinking about? You have quite 
turned his head, I can see that. . . ." 

As she said this the countess looked round 
at her daughter. Natdsha was lying looking 



BOOK SIX 253 

steadily straight before her at one of the ma- 



hogany sphinxes carved on the corners of the 
bedstead, so that the countess only saw her 
daughter's face in profile. That face struck her 
by its peculiarly serious and concentrated ex- 
pression. 

Natdsha was listening and considering. 

"Well, what then?" said she. 

"You have quite turned his head, and why? 
What do you want of him? You know you can't 
marry him." 

"Why not?" said Natdsha, without changing 
her position. 

"Because he is young, because he is poor, be- 
cause he is a relation . . . and because you your- 
self don't love him." 

"How do you know?" 

"I know. It is not right, darling!" 

"But if I want to . . ," said Natdsha. 

"Leave off talking nonsense," said the count- 
ess. 

"But if I want to . . ." 

"Natdsha, I am in earnest . . ." 

Natdsha did not let her finish. She drew the 
countess' large hand to her, kissed it on the 
back and then on the palm, then again turned 
it over and began kissing first one knuckle, 
then the space between the knuckles, then the 
next knuckle, whispering, "January, February, 
March, April, May. Speak, Mamma, why don't 
you say anything? Speak!" said she, turning to 
her mother, who was tenderly gazing at her 
daughter and in that contemplation seemed to 
have forgotten all she had witffc&to say. 

"It won't do, my love! Not everyone will un- 
derstand this friendship dating from your 
childish days, and to see him so intimate with 
you may injure you in the eyes of other young 
men who visit us, and above all it torments 
him for nothing. He may already have found a 
suitable and wealthy match, and now he's half 
crazy." 

"Crazy?" repeated Natdsha. 

"I'll tell you some things about myself. I had 
a cousin . . ." 

"I know! Cyril Matvdich . . . but he is old." 

"He was not always old. But this is what I'll 
do, Natdsha, I'll have a talk with Boris. He 
need not come so often, ..." 

"Why not, if he likes to?" 

"Because I know it will end in nothing. . , ." 

"How can you know? No, Mamma, don't 
speak to him! What nonsense!" said Natdsha 
in the tone of one being deprived of her prop- 
erty. "Well, I won't marry, but let him come if 
he enjoys it and I enjoy it." Natdsha smiled 



254 



WAR AND PEACE 



and looked at her mother. "Not to marry, but 
just so," she added. 

"How 50, my pet?" 

"Just so. There's no need for me to marry 
him. But . . . just 50." 

"Just so, just so," repeated the countess, and 
shaking all over, she went off into a good- 
humored, unexpected, elderly laugh. 

"Don't laugh, stop!" cried Natasha. "You're 
shaking the whole bedl You're awfully likeme, 
just such another giggler. . . . Wait . . ." and 
she seized the countess' hands and kissed a 
knuckle of the little finger, saying, "June," and 
continued, kissing, "July, August," on the oth- 
er hand. "But, Mamma, is he very much in 
love? What do you think? Was anybody ever 
so much in love with you? And he's very nice, 
very, very nice. Only not quite my taste he is 
so narrow, like the dining-room clock. . . . Don't 
you understand? Narrow, you know gray, light 
gray..." 

"What rubbish you're talking!" said the 
countess. 

Natasha continued: "Don't you really un- 
derstand? Nicholas would understand. . . . Be- 
zukhov, now, is blue, dark-blue and red, and 
he is square." 

"You flirt with him too," said the countess, 
laughing. 

"No, he is a Freemason, I have found out. 
He is fine, dark-blue and red. . . . How can I 
explain it to you?" 

"Little countess!" the count's voice called 
from behind the door. "You're not asleep?" 
Natdsha jumped up, snatched up her slippers, 
and ran barefoot to her own room. 

It was a long time before she could sleep. 
She kept thinking that no one could under- 
stand all that she understood and all there was 
in her. 

"S6nya?" she thought, glancing at that curled- 
up, sleeping little kitten with her enormous 
plait of hair. "No, how could she? She's virtu- 
ous. She fell in love with Nicholas and does 
not wish to know anything more. Even Mam- 
ma does not understand. It is wonderful how 
clever I am and how . . . charming she is," she 
went on, speaking of herself in the third per- 
son, and imagining it was some very wise man 
the wisest and best of men who was saying 
it of her. "There is everything, everything in 
her," continued this man. "She is unusually in- 
telligent, charming . . . and then she is pretty, 
uncommonly pretty, and agile she swims and 
rides splendidly . . . and her voice! One can 
really say it's a wonderful voice 1" 



She hummed a scrap from her favorite opera 
by Cherubini, threw herself on her bed, laughed 
at the pleasant thought that she would imme- 
diately fall asleep, called Dunydsha the maid 
to put out the candle, and before Dunydsha 
had left the room had already passed into yet 
another happier world of dreams, where every- 
thing was as light and beautiful as in reality, 
and even more so because it was different. 

Next day the countess called Boris aside and 
had a talk with him, after which he ceased com- 
ing to the Rost6vs*. 

CHAPTER XIV 

ON THE THIRTY-FIRST OF DECEMBER, New Year's 

Eve, 1809-10, an old grandee of Catherine's 
day was giving a ball and midnight supper. 
The diplomatic corps and the Emperor himself 
were to be present. 

The grandee's well-known mansion on the 
English Quay glittered with innumerable lights. 
Police were stationed at the brightly lit en- 
trance which was carpeted with red baize, and 
not only gendarmes but dozens of police of- 
ficers and even the police master himself stood 
at the porch. Carriages kept driving away and 
fresh ones arriving, with red-liveried footmen 
and footmen in plumed hats. From the car- 
riages emerged men wearing uniforms, stars, 
and ribbons, while ladies in satin and ermine 
cautiously descended the carriage steps which 
were let down for them with a clatter, and then 
walked hurriedly and noiselessly over the baize 
at the entrance. 

Almost every time a new carriage drove up a 
whisper ran through the crowd and caps were 
doffed. 

"The Emperor? . . . No, a minister . . . prince 
. . . ambassador. Don't you see the plumes? . . ." 
was whispered among the crowd. 

One person, better dressed than the rest, 
seemed to know everyone and mentioned by 
name the greatest dignitaries of the day. 

A third of the visitors had already arrived, 
but the Rost6vs, who were to be present, were 
still hurrying to get dressed. 

There had been many discussions and prepa- 
rations for this ball in the Rost6v family, many 
fears that the invitation would not arrive, that 
the dresses would not be ready, or that some- 
thing would not be arranged as it should be. 

Mdrya Igndtevna Per6nskaya, a thin and 
shallow maid of honor at the court of the Dow- 
ager Empress, who was a friend and relation of 
the countess and piloted the provincial Rost6vs 



BOOK SIX 



in Petersburg high society, was to accompany 
them to the ball. 

They were to call for her at her house in the 
Taurida Gardens at ten o'clock, but it was al- 
ready five minutes to ten, and the girls were 
not yet dressed. 

Natasha was going to her first grand ball. She 
had got up at eight that morning and had been 
in a fever of excitement and activity all day. 
All her powers since morning had been con- 
centrated on ensuring that they all she her- 
self, Mamma, and S6nya should be as well 
dressed as possible. S6nya and her mother put 
themselves entirely in her hands. The countess 
was to wear a claret-colored velvet dress, and 
the two girls white gauze over pink silk slips, 
with roses on their bodices and their hair 
dressed & In grecque. 

Everything essential had already been done; 
feet, hands, necks, and ears washed, perfumed, 
and powdered, as befits a ball; the openwork 
silk stockings and white satin shoes with rib- 
bons were already on; the hairdressing was al- 
most done. S6nya was finishing dressing and so 
was the countess, but Natasha, who had bustled 
about helping them all, was behindhand. She 
was still sitting before a looking-glass with a 
dressing jacket thrown over her slender shoul- 
ders. S6nya stood ready dressed in the middle 
of the room and, pressing the head of a pin till 
it hurt her dainty finger, was fixingon a lastrib- 
bon that squeaked as the pin went through it. 

"That's not the way, that's not the way, 
S6nya!" cried Natdsha turning her head and 
clutching with both hands at her hair which 
the maid who was dressing it had not time to 
release. "That bow is not right. Come here!" 

S6nya sat down and Natdsha pinned the rib- 
bon on differently. 

"Allow me, Missl I can't do it like that," said 
the maid who was holding Natasha's hair. 

"Oh, dearl Well then, wait. That's right, 
S6nya." 

"Aren't you ready? It is nearly ten," came 
the countess' voice. 

"Directly! Directly! And you, Mamma?" 

"I have only my cap to pin on." 

"Don't do it without me!" called Natdsha. 
"You won't do it right." 

"But it's already ten." 

They had decided to be at the ball by half- 
past ten, and Natdsha had still to get dressed 
and they had to call at the Taurida Gardens. 

When her hair was done, Natasha, in her 
short petticoat from under which her dancing 
shoes showed, and in her mother's dressing 



jacket, ran up to S6nya, scrutinized her, and 
then ran to her mother. Turning her mother's 
head this way and that, she fastened on the cap 
and, hurriedly kissing her gray hair, ran back 
to the maids who were turning up the hem of 
her skirt. 

The cause of the delay was Natasha's skirt, 
which was too long. Two maids were turning 
up the hem and hurriedly biting off the ends 
of thread. A third with pins in her mouth was 
running about between the countess and S6n- 
ya, and a fourth held the whole of the gossa- 
mer garment up high on one uplifted hand. 

"Mdvra, quicker, darling!" 

"Give me my thimble, Miss, from there . . ." 

"Whenever will you be ready?" asked the 
count coming to the door. "Here is some scent. 
Per6nskaya must be tired of waiting." 

"It's ready, Miss," said the maid, holding up 
the shortened gauze dress with two fingers, and 
blowing arid shaking something off it, as if by 
this to express a consciousness of the airiness 
and purity of what she held. 

Natdsha began putting on the dress. 

"In a minute! In a minute! Don't come in, 
Papa!" she cried to her father as he opened the 
door speaking from under the filmy skirt which 
still covered her whole face. 

Sonya slammed the door to. A minute later 
they let the count in. He was wearing a blue 
swallow-tail coat, shoes and stockings, and was 
perfumed and his hair pomaded. 

"Oh, Papal how nice you look! Charming!" 
cried Natasha, as she stood in the middle of the 
room smoothing out the folds of the gauze. 

"If you please, Miss! allow me," said the 
maid, who on her knees was pulling the skirt 
straight and shifting the pins from one side of 
her mouth to the other with her tongue. 

"Say what you like," exclaimed S6nya, in a 
despairing voice as she looked at Natdsha, "say 
what you like, it's still too long." 

Natdsha stepped back to look at herself in 
the pier glass. The dress was too long. 

"Really, madam, it is not at all too long," 
said Mdvra, crawling on her knees after her 
young lady. 

"Well, if it's too long we'll take it up ... 
we'll tack it up in one minute," said the reso- 
lute Dunydsha taking a needle that was stuck 
on the front of her little shawl and, still kneel- 
ing on the floor, set to work once more. 

At that moment, with soft steps, the count- 
ess came in shyly, in her cap and velvet gown. 

"Oo-oo, my beauty!" exclaimed the count, 
"she looks better than any of you!" 



WAR AND PEACE 



He would have embraced her but, blushing, 
she stepped aside fearing to be rumpled. 

"Mamma, your cap, more to this side," said 
Natdsha. "I'll arrange it," and she rushed for- 
ward so that the maids who were tacking up 
her skirt could not move fast enough and a 
piece of gauze was torn off. 

"Oh goodness! What has happened? Really 
it was not my fault I " 

"Never mind, I'll run it up, it won't show," 
said Dunydsha. 

"What a beauty a very queen!" said the 
nurse as she came to the door. "And S6nya! 
They are lovely I" 

At a quarter past ten they at last got into 
their carriages and started. But they had still 
to call at the Taurida Gardens. 

Per6nskaya was quite ready. In spite of her 
age and plainness she had gone through the 
same process as the Rost6vs, but with less flur- 
ryfor to her it was a matter of routine. Her 
ugly old body was washed, perfumed, and pow- 
dered in just the same way. She had washed be- 
hind her ears just as carefully, and when she 
entered her drawing room in her yellow dress, 
wearing her badge as maid of honor, her old 
lady's maid was as full of rapturous admira- 
tion as the Rost6vs' servants had been. 

She praised the Rost6vs' toilets. They praised 
her taste and toilet, and at eleven o'clock, care- 
ful of their coiffures and dresses, they settled 
themselves in their carriages and drove off. 

CHAPTER XV 

NATASHA had not had a moment free since 
early morning and had not once had time to 
think of what lay before her. 

In the damp chill air and crowded closeness 
of the swaying carriage, she for the first time 
vividly imagined what was in store for her 
there at the ball, in those brightly lighted rooms 
with music, flowers, dances, the Emperor, 
and all the brilliant young people of Peters- 
burg. The prospect was so splendid that she 
hardly believed it would come true, so out of 
keeping was it with the chill darkness and 
closeness of the carriage. She understood all 
that awaited her only when, after stepping 
over the red baize at the entrance, she entered 
the hall, took off her fur cloak, and, beside 
S6nya and in front of her mother, mounted 
the brightly illuminated stairs between the 
flowers. Only then did she remember how she 
must behave at a ball, and tried to assume the 
majestic air she considered indispensable for 
a girl on such an occasion. But, fortunately for 



her, she felt her eyes growing misty, she saw 
nothing clearly, her pulse beat a hundred to 
the minute, and the blood throbbed at her 
heart. She could not assume that pose, which 
would have made her ridiculous, and she moved 
on almost fainting from excitement and try- 
ing with all her might to conceal it. And this 
was the very attitude that became her best. Be- 
fore and behind them other visitors were en- 
tering, also talking in low tones and wearing 
ball dresses. The mirrors on the landing re- 
flected ladies in white, pale-blue, and pink 
dresses, with diamonds and pearls on their bare 
necks and arms. 

Natasha looked in the mirrors and could not 
distinguish her reflection from the others. All 
was blended into one brilliant procession. On 
entering the ballroom the regular hum of 
voices, footsteps, and greetings deafened Na- 
tdsha, and the light and glitter dazzled her still 
more. The host and hostess, who had already 
been standing at the door for half an hour re- 
peating the same words to the various arrivals, 
"Charmt de vous voir" l greeted the Rost6vs 
and Per6nskaya in the same manner. 

The two girls in their white dresses, each 
with a rose in her black hair, both curtsied in 
the same way, but the hostess' eye involuntarily 
rested longer on the slim Natasha. She looked 
at her and gave her alone a special smile in 
addition to her usual smile as hostess. Looking 
at her she may have recalled the golden, irre- 
coverable days of her own girlhood and her 
own first ball. The host also followed Natdsha 
with his eyes and asked the count which was 
his daughter. 

"Charming!" said he, kissing the tips of his 
fingers. 

In the ballroom, guests stood crowding at 
the entrance doors awaiting the Emperor. The 
countess took up a position in one of the front 
rows of that crowd. Natdsha heard and felt 
that several people were asking about her and 
looking at her. She realized that those noticing 
her liked her, and this observation helped to 
calm her. 

"There are some like ourselves and some 
worse," she thought. 

Per6nskaya was pointing out to the count- 
ess the most important people at the ball. 

"That is the Dutch ambassador, do you see? 
That gray-haired man," she said, indicating an 
old man with a profusion of silver-gray curly 
hair, who was surrounded by ladies laughing at 
something he said. 

1 "Delighted to sec you." 



BOOK SIX 



257 



"Ah, here she is, the Queen of Petersburg, 
Countess Bezukhova," said Per6nskaya, indi- 
cating Hlne who had just entered. "How 
lovely! She is quite equal to Marya Ant6nov- 
na. 1 See how the men, young and old, pay court 
to her. Beautiful and clever . . . they say Prince 

is quite mad about her. But see, those two, 

though not good-looking, are even more run 
after." 

She pointed to a lady who was crossing the 
room followed by a very plain daughter. 

"She is a splendid match, a millionairess," 
said Per6nskaya. "And look, here come her 
suitors." 

"That is Bezukhova's brother, Anatole Ku- 
ragin," she said, indicating a handsome officer 
of the Horse Guards who passed by them with 
head erect, looking at somcthingover the heads 
of the ladies. "He's handsome, isn't he? I hear 
they will marry him to that rich girl. But your 
cousin, Drubetsk6y, is also very attentive to 
her. They say she has millions. Oh yes, that's 
the French ambassador himself!" she replied 
to the countess' inquiry about Caulaincourt. 
"Looks as if he were a king! All the same, the 
French are charming, very charming. No one 
more charming in society. Ah, here she is! Yes, 
she is still the most beautiful of them all, our 
Marya Ant6novna! And how simply she is 
dressed! Lovely! And that stout one in spec- 
tacles is the universal Freemason," she went 
on, indicating Pierre. "Put him beside his wife 
and he looks a regular buffoon!" 

Pierre, swaying his stout body, advanced, 
making way through the crowd and nodding 
to right and left as casually and good-natured- 
ly as if he were passing through a crowd at a 
fair. He pushed through, evidently looking for 
someone. 

Natasha looked joyfully at the familiar face 
of Pierre, "the buffoon," as Per6nskaya had 
called him, and knew he was looking for them, 
and for her in particular. He had promised to 
be at the ball and introduce partners to her. 

But before he reached them Pierre stopped 
beside a very handsome, dark man of middle 
height, and in a white uniform, who stood by 
a window talking to a tall man wearing stars 
and a ribbon. Natasha at once recognized the 
shorter and younger man in the white uni- 
form: it was Bolk6nski, who seemed to her 
to have grown much younger, happier, and 
better-looking. 

"There's someone else we know Bolk6nski, 
do you see, Mamma?" said Natasha, pointing 

1 Alexander I's mistress. TR. 



out Prince Andrew. "You remember, he stayed 
a night with us at Otradnoe." 

"Oh, you know him?" said Per6nskaya. "I 
can't bear him. // fait & present la pluie et le 
beau temps. 9 He's too proud for anything. 
Takes after his father. And he's hand in glove 
with Sperdnski, writing some project or other. 
Just look how he treats the ladies! There's one 
talking to him and he has turned away," she 
said, pointing at him. "I'd give it to him if he 
treated me as he does those ladies." 

CHAPTER XVI 

SUDDENLY EVERYBODY STIRRED, began talking, 
and pressed forward and then back, and be- 
tween the two rows, which separated, the Em- 
peror entered to the sounds of music that had 
immediately struck up. Behind him walked his 
host and hostess. He walked in rapidly, bow- 
ing to right and left as if anxious to get the 
first moments of the reception over. The band 
played the polonaise in vogue at that time on 
account of the words that had been set to it, 
beginning: "Alexander, Elisaveta, all our hearts 
you ravish quite ..." The Emperor passed on 
to the drawing room, the crowd made a rush 
for the doors, and several persons with excited 
faces hurried there and back again. Then the 
crowd hastily retired from the drawing-room 
door, at which the Emperor reappeared talk- 
ing to the hostess. A young man, looking dis- 
traught, pounced down on the ladies, asking 
them to move aside. Some ladies, with faces be- 
traying complete forgetfulness of all the rules 
of decorum, pushed forward to the detriment 
of their toilets. The men began to choose part- 
ners and take their places for the polonaise. 

Everyone moved back, and the Emperor 
came smiling out of the drawing room leading 
his hostess by the hand but not keeping time 
to the music. The host followed with Marya 
Ant6novna Naryshkina; then came ambassa- 
dors, ministers, and various generals, whom 
Per6nskaya diligently named. More than half 
the ladies already had partners and were tak- 
ing up, or preparing to take up, their positions 
for the polonaise. Natasha felt that she would 
be left with her mother and S6nya among a 
minority of women who crowded near the wall, 
not having been invited to dance. She stood 
with her slender arms hanging down, her 
scarcely defined bosom rising and falling regu- 
larly, and with bated breath and glittering, 
frightened eyes gazed straight before her, evi- 
dently prepared for the height of joy or misery. 

8 "He is all the rage just now." 



WAR AND PEACE 



She was not concerned about the Emperor or 
any of those great people whom Per6nskaya 
was pointing out she had but one thought: 
"Is it possible no one will ask me, that I shall 
not be among the first to dance? Is it possible 
that not one of all these men will notice me? 
They do not even seem to see me, or if they do 
they look as if they were saying, 'Ah, she's not 
the one I'm after, so it's not worth looking at 
her!' No, it's impossible," she thought. "They 
must know how I long to dance, how splendid- 
ly I dance, and how they would enjoy dancing 
with me." 

The strains of the polonaise, which had con- 
tinued for a considerable time, had begun to 
sound like a sad reminiscence in Natasha's ears. 
She wanted to cry. Per6nskaya had left them. 
The count was at the other end of the room. 
She and the countess and S6nya were standing 
by themselves as in the depths of a forest amid 
that crowd of strangers, with no one interested 
in them and not wanted by anyone. Prince An- 
drew with a lady passed by, evidently not recog- 
nizing them. The handsome Anatole was smil- 
ingly talking to a partner on his arm and 
looked at Natdsha as one looks at a wall. Boris 
passed them twice and each time turned away. 
Berg and his wife, who were not dancing, came 
up to them. 

This family gathering seemed humiliating 
to Natdsha as if there were nowhere else for 
the family to talk but here at the ball. She did 
not listen to or look at Vera, who was telling 
her something about her own green dress. 

At last the Emperor stopped beside his last 
partner (he had danced with three) and the 
music ceased. A worried aide-de-camp ran up 
to the Rostrivs requesting them to stand far- 
ther back, though as it was they were already 
close to the wall, and from the gallery re- 
sounded the distinct, precise, enticingly rhyth- 
mical strains of a waltz. The Emperor looked 
smilingly down the room. A minute passed but 
no one had yet begun dancing. An aide-de- 
camp, the Master of Ceremonies, went up to 
Countess Bezukhova and asked her to dance. 
She smilingly raised her hand and laid it on 
his shoulder without looking at him. The aide- 
de-camp, an adept in his art, grasping his part- 
ner firmly round her waist, with confident de- 
liberation started smoothly, gliding first round 
the edge of the circle, then at the corner of the 
room he caught Hlne's left hand and turned 
her, the only sound audible, apart from the 
ever-quickening music, being the rhythmic click 
of the spurs on his rapid, agile feet, while at 



every third beat his partner's velvet dress spread 
out and seemed to flash as she whirled round. 
Natdsha gazed at them and was ready to cry 
because it was not she who was dancing that 
first turn of the waltz. 

Prince Andrew, in the white uniform of a 
cavalry colonel, wearing stockings and danc- 
ing shoes, stood looking animated and bright 
in the front row of the circle not far from the 
Rost6vs. Baron Firhoff was talking to him 
about the first sitting of the Council of State to 
be held next day. Prince Andrew, as one close- 
ly connected with Sperdnski and participating 
in the work of the legislative commission, could 
give reliable information about that sitting, 
concerning which various rumors were cur- 
rent. But not listening to what Firhoff was say- 
ing, he was gazing now at the sovereign and 
now at the men intending to dance who had 
not yet gathered courage to enter the circle. 

Prince Andrew was watching these men 
abashed by the Emperor's presence, and the 
women who were breathlessly longing to be 
asked to dance. 

Pierre came up to him and caught him by 
the arm. 

"You always dance. I have a protge*e, the 
young Rost6va, here. Ask her," he said. 

"Where is she?" asked Bolk6nski. "Excuse 
me!" he added, turning to the baron, "we will 
finish this conversation elsewhere at a ball 
one must dance." He stepped forward in the 
direction Pierre indicated. The despairing, de- 
jected expression of Natdsha's face caught his 
eye. He recognized her, guessed her feelings, 
saw that it was her dbut, remembered her 
conversation at the window, and with an ex- 
pression of pleasure on his face approached 
Countess Rost6va. 

"Allow me to introduce you to my daughter," 
said the countess, with heightened color. 

"I have the pleasure of being already ac- 
quainted, if the countess remembers me," said 
Prince Andrew with a low and courteous bow 
quite belying Per6nskaya's remarks about his 
rudeness, and approaching Natdsha he held 
out his arm to grasp her waist before he had 
completed his invitation. He asked her to waltz. 
That tremulous expression on Natdsha's face, 
prepared either for despair or rapture, sud- 
denly brightened into a happy, grateful, child- 
like smile. 

"I have long been waiting for you," that 
frightened happy little girl seemed to say by 
the smile that replaced the threatened tears, as 
she raised her hand to Prince Andrew's shoul- 



BOOK SIX 



der. They were the second couple to enter the 
circle. Prince Andrew was one of the best danc- 
ers of his day and Natasha danced exquisitely. 
Her little feetin their white satin dancing shoes 
did their work swiftly, lightly, and independ- 
ently of herself, while her face beamed with 
ecstatic happiness. Her slender bare arms and 
neck werenot beautiful compared to Helene's 
her shoulders looked thin and her bosom un- 
developed. But Helene seemed, as it were, hard- 
ened by a varnish left by the thousands of looks 
that had scanned her person, while Natasha was 
like a girl exposed for the first time, who would 
have felt very much ashamed had she not been 
assured that this was absolutely necessary. 

Prince Andrew liked dancing, and wishing to 
escape as quickly as possible from the political 
and clever talk which everyone addressed to 
him, wishing also to break up the circle of re- 
straint he disliked, caused by the Emperor's 
presence, he danced, and had chosen Natasha 
because Pierre pointed her out to him and be- 
cause she was the first pretty girl who caught 
his eye; but scarcely had he embraced that slen- 
der supple figure and felt her stirring so close 
to him and smiling so near him than the wine 
of her charm rose to his head, and he felt him- 
self revived and rejuvenated when after leav- 
ing her he stood breathing deeply and watch- 
ing the other dancers. 

CHAPTER XVII 

AFTER PRINCE ANDREW, Boris came up to ask 
Natasha fora dance, and then the aide-de-camp 
who had opened the ball, and several other 
young men, so that, flushed and happy, and 
passing on her superfluous partners to S6nya, 
she did not cease dancing all the evening. She 
noticed and saw nothing of what occupied ev- 
eryone else. Not only did she fail to notice that 
the Emperor talked a long time with the French 
ambassador, and how particularly gracious he 
was to a certain lady, or that Prince So-and-so 
and So-and-so did and said this and that, and 
that Helene had great success andwashonored 
by the special attention of So-and-so, but she 
did not even see the Emperor, and only noticed 
that he had gone because the ball became live- 
lier after his departure. For one of the merry 
cotillions before supper Prince Andrew was 
again her partner. He reminded her of their 
first encounter in the Otradnoe avenue, and 
how she had been unable to sleep that moon- 
light night, and told her how he had involun- 
tarily overheard her. Natasha blushed at that 
recollection and tried to excuse herself, as if 



there had been something to be ashamed of in 
what Prince Andrew had overheard. 

Like all men who have grown up in society, 
Prince Andrew liked meeting someone there 
notof the conventional society stamp. Andsuch 
was Natasha, with her surprise, her delight, her 
shyness, and even her mistakes in speaking 
French. With her he behaved with special care 
and tenderness, sitting beside her and talking 
of the simplest and most unimportant matters; 
he admired her shy grace. In the middle of the 
cotillion, having completed one of the figures, 
Natdsha, still out of breath, was returning to 
her seat when another dancer chose her. She 
was tired and panting and evidently thought 
of declining, but immediately put her hand 
gaily on the man's shoulder, smiling at Prince 
Andrew. 

"I'd be glad to sit beside you and rest: I'm 
tired; but you see how they keep asking me, 
and I'm glad of it, I'm happy and I love every- 
body, and you and I understand it all," and 
much, much more was said in her smile. When 
her partner left her Natasha ran across the 
room to choose two ladies for the figure. 

"If she goes to her cousin first and then to 
another lady, she will be my wife," said Prince 
Andrew to himself quite to his own surprise, as 
he watched her. She did go first to her cousin. 

"Whatrubbish sometimes enters one's head 1" 
thought Prince Andrew, "but what is certain is 
that that girl is so charming, so original, that 
she won't be dancing here a month before she 
will be married. . . . Such as she are rare here," 
he thought, as Natdsha, readjusting a rose that 
was slipping on her bodice, settled herself be- 
side him. 

When the cotillion was over the old count in 
his blue coat came up to the dancers. He invit- 
ed Prince Andrew to come and see them, and 
asked his daughter whether she was enjoying 
herself. Natdsha did not answer at once but 
only looked up with a smile that said reproach- 
fully: "How can you ask such a question?" 

"I have never enjoyed myself so much be- 
forel" she said, and Prince Andrew noticed 
how her thin arms rose quickly as if to embrace 
her father and instantly dropped again. Nata- 
sha was happier than she had ever been in her 
life. She was at that height of bliss when one 
becomes completely kind and good and does 
not believe in the possibility of evil, unhappi- 
ness, or sorrow. 

At that ball Pierre for the first time felt 
humiliated by the position his wife occupied 
in court circles. He was gloomy and absent- 



260 



WAR AND PEACE 



minded. A deep furrow ran across his fore- 
head, and standing by a window he stared 
over his spectacles seeing no one. 

On her way to supper Natasha passed him. 

Pierre's gloomy, unhappy look struck her. 
She stopped in front of him. She wished to help 
him, to bestow on him the superabundance of 
her own happiness. 

"How delightful it is, Count!"said she. "Isn't 
it?" 

Pierre smiled absent-mindedly, evidently not 
grasping what she said. 

"Yes, I am very glad," he said. 

"How can people be dissatisfied with any- 
thing?" thought Natdsha. "Especially such a 
capital fellow as Bezukhov!" In Natasha's eyes 
all the people at the ball alike were good, kind, 
and splendid people, loving one another; none 
of them capable of injuring another and so 
they ought all to be happy. 

CHAPTER XVIII 

NEXT DAY Prince Andrew thought of the ball, 
but his mind did not dwell on it long. "Yes, it 
was a very brilliant ball," and then . . . "Yes, 
that little Rost6va is very charming. There's 
something fresh, original, un-Petersburg-like 
about her that distinguishes her." That was all 
he thought about yesterday's ball, and after his 
morning tea he set to work. 

But either from fatigue or want of sleep he 
was ill-disposed for work and could get noth- 
ing done. He kept criticizing his own work, as 
he often did, and was glad when he heard some- 
one coming. 

The visitor was Bftski, who served on var- 
ious committees, frequented all the societies in 
Petersburg, and was a passionate devotee of the 
new ideas and of Sperdnski, and a diligent Pe- 
tersburg newsmonger one of those men who 
choose their opinions like their clothes accord- 
ing to the fashion, but who for that very reason 
appear to be the wannest partisans. Hardly 
had he got rid of his hat before he ran into 
Prince Andrew's room with a preoccupied air 
and at once began talking. He had just heard 
particulars of that morning's sitting of the 
Council of State opened by the Emperor, and 
he spoke of it enthusiastically. The Emperor's 
speech had been extraordinary. It had been a 
speech such as only constitutional monarchs 
deliver. "The Sovereign plainly said that the 
Council and Senate are estates of the realm, he 
said that the government must rest not on au- 
thority but on secure bases. The Emperor said 
that the fiscal system must be reorganized and 



the accounts published," recounted Bitski, em- 
phasizing certain words and opening his eyes 
significantly. 

"Ah, yesl Today's events mark an epoch, the 
greatest epoch in our history," he concluded. 

Prince Andrew listened to the account of 
the opening of the Council of State, which he 
had so impatiently awaited and to which he 
had attached such importance, and was sur- 
prised that this event, now that it had taken 
place, did not affect him, and even seemed 
quite insignificant. He listened with quiet 
irony to Bitski's enthusiastic account of it. A 
very simple thought occurred to him: "What 
does it matter to me or to Bftski what the Em- 
peror was pleased to say at the Council? Can 
all that make me any happier or better?" 

And this simple reflection suddenly destroyed 
all the interest Prince Andrew had felt in the 
impending reforms. He was going to dine that 
evening at Sperdnski's, "with only a few 
friends," as the host had said when inviting 
him. The prospect of that dinner in the inti- 
mate home circle of the man he so admired had 
greatly interested Prince Andrew, especially as 
he had not yet seen Sperdnski in his domestic 
surroundings, but now he felt disinclined to go 
to it. 

At the appointed hour, however, he entered 
the modest house Sperdnski owned in the Tau- 
rida Gardens. In the parqueted dining room of 
this small house, remarkable for its extreme 
cleanliness (suggesting that of a monastery), 
Prince Andrew, who was rather late, found 
the friendly gathering of Sperdnski's intimate 
acquaintances already assembled at five o'clock. 
There were no ladies present except Sperdnski's 
little daughter (long-faced like her father) and 
her governess. The other guests were Gervais, 
Magnftski, and Stoly'pin. While still in the an- 
teroom Prince Andrew heard loud voices and 
a ringing staccato laugh a laugh such as one 
hears on the stage. Someone it sounded like 
Sperdnski was distinctly ejaculating ha-ha-ha. 
Prince Andrew had never before heard Sperdn- 
ski's famous laugh, and this ringing, high- 
pitched laughter from a statesman made a 
strange impression on him. 

He entered the din ing room. The whole com- 
pany were standing between two windows at 
a small table laid with hors-d'oeuvres. Speran- 
ski, wearing a gray swallow-tail coat with a star 
on the breast, and evidently still the same waist- 
coat and high white stock he had worn at the 
meeting of the Council of State, stood at the 
table with a beaming countenance. His guests 



BOOK SIX 



261 



surrounded him. Magnitski, addressing him- 
self to Sperdnski, was relating an anecdote, 
and Sperdnski was laughing in advance at what 
Magnitski was going to say. When Prince An- 
drew entered the room Magnitski's words were 
again crowned by laughter. Stolypin gave a 
deep bass guffaw as he munched a piece of bread 
and cheese. Gervais laughed softly with a hiss- 
ing chuckle, and Sperdnski in a high-pitched 
staccato manner. 

Still laughing, Sperdnski held out his soft 
white hand to Prince Andrew. 

"Very pleased to see you, Prince/' he said. 
"Onemoment . . ." he wenton, turning to Mag- 
nftski and interrupting his story. "We have 
agreed that this is a dinner for recreation, with 
not a word about business!" and turning again 
to the narrator he began to laugh afresh. 

Prince Andrew looked at the laughing Spe- 
rdnski with astonishment, regret, and disillu- 
sionment. It seemed to him that this was not 
Sperdnski but someone else. Everything that 
had formerly appeared mysterious and fascinat- 
ing in Sperdnski suddenly became plain and 
unattractive. 

At dinner the conversation did not cease for 
a moment and seemed to consist of the contents 
of a book of funny anecdotes. Before Magnft- 
ski had finished his story someone else was anx- 
ious to relate something still funnier. Most of 
the anecdotes, if not relating to the state serv- 
ice, related to people in the service. It seemed 
that in this company the insignificance of those 
people was so definitely accepted that the only 
possible attitude toward them was one of good- 
humored ridicule. Sperdnski related how at the 
Council that morning a deaf dignitary, when 
asked his opinion, replied that he thought so 
too. Gervais gave a long account of an official 
revision, remarkable for the stupidity of every- 
body concerned. Stolypin, stuttering, broke in- 
to the conversation and began excitedly talk- 
ing of the abuses that existed under the former 
order of things threatening to give a serious 
turn to the conversation. Magnitski starting 
quizzing Stolypin about his vehemence. Ger- 
vais intervened with a joke, and the talk revert- 
ed to its former lively tone. 

Evidently Sperdnski liked to rest after his 
labors and find amusement in a circle of 
friends, and his guests, understanding his wish, 
tried to enliven him and amuse themselves. But 
their gaiety seemed to Prince Andrew mirthless 
and tiresome. Sperdn ski's high-pitched voice 
struck him unpleasantly, and the incessant 
laughter grated on him like a false note. Prince 



Andrew didnot laugh and feared that hewould 
be a damper on the spirits of the company, but 
no one took any notice of his being out of har- 
mony with the general mood. They all seemed 
very gay. 

He tried several times to join in the conver- 
sation, but his remarks were tossed aside each 
time like a cork thrown out of the water, and 
he could not jest with them. 

There was nothing wrong or unseemly in 
what they said, it was witty and might have 
been funny, but it lacked just that something 
which is the salt of mirth, and they were not 
even aware that such a thing existed. 

After dinner Sperdnski's daughter and her 
governess rose. He patted the little girl with 
his white hand and kissed her. And that ges- 
ture, too, seemed unnatural to Prince Andrew. 

The men remained at table over their port- 
English fashion. In the midst of a conversation 
that was started about Napoleon's Spanish af- 
fairs, which they all agreed in approving, 
Prince Andrew began to express a contrary 
opinion. Sperdnski smiled and, with an evi- 
dent wish to prevent the conversation from 
taking an unpleasant course, told a story that 
had no connection with the previous conver- 
sation. For a few moments all were silent. 

Having sat some time at table, Sperdnski 
corked a bottle of wine and, remarking, "Now- 
adays good wine rides in a carriage and pair," 
passed it to the servant and got up. All rose and 
continuing to talk loudly went into the drawing 
room. Two letters brought by a courier were 
handed to Sperdnski and he took them to his 
study. As soon as he had left the room the gen- 
eral merriment stopped and the guests began 
to converse sensibly and quietly with one an- 
other. 

"Now for the recitation!" said Sperdnski on 
return ing from his study. "A wonderful talent!" 
he said to Prince Andrew, and Magnftski im- 
mediately assumed a pose and began reciting 
some humorous verses in French which he had 
composed about various well-known Peters- 
burg people. He was interrupted several times 
by applause. When the verses were finished 
Prince Andrew went up to Sperdnski and took 
his leave. 

"Where are you off to so early?" asked Spe- 
rdnski. 

"I promised to go to a reception." 

They said no more. Prince Andrew looked 
closely into those mirrorlike, impenetrable 
eyes, and felt that it had been ridiculous of him 
to have expected anything from Sperdnski and 



26* 



WAR AND PEACE 



from any of his own activities connected with 
him, or ever to have attributed importance to 
what Sperdnski was doing. That precise, mirth- 
less laughter rang in Prince Andrew's ears long 
after he had left the house. 

When he reached home Prince Andrew be- 
gan thinking of his life in Petersburg during 
those last four months as if it were something 
new. He recalled his exertions and solicitations, 
and the history of his project of army reform, 
which had been accepted for consideration and 
which they were trying to pass over in silence 
simply because another, a very poor one, had 
already been prepared and submitted to the 
Emperor. He thought of the meetings of a com- 
mittee of which Berg was a member. He remem- 
bered how carefully and at what length every- 
thing relating to form and procedure was dis- 
cussed at those meetings, and how sedulously 
and promptly all that related to the gist of the 
business was evaded. He recalled his labors on 
the Legal Code, and how painstakingly he had 
translated the articles of the Roman and French 
codes into Russian, and he felt ashamed of him- 
self. Then he vividly pictured to himself Bo- 
guchdrovo, his occupations in the country, his 
journey to Ryazan; he remembered the peas- 
ants and Dron the village elder, and mentally 
applying to them the Personal Rights he had 
divided into paragraphs, he felt astonished that 
he could have spent so much time on such use- 
less work. 

CHAPTER XIX 

NEXT DAY Prince Andrew called at a few houses 
he had not visited before, and among them at 
the Rost6vs' with whom he had renewed ac- 
quaintance at the ball. Apart from considera- 
tions of politeness which demanded the call, he 
wanted to see that original, eager girl who had 
left such a pleasant impression on his mind, in 
her own home. 

Natdsha was one of the first to meet him. She 
was wearing a dark-blue house dress in which 
Prince Andrew thought her even prettier than 
in her ball dress. She and all the Rost6v family 
welcomed him as an old friend, simply and cor- 
dially. The whole family, whom he had former- 
ly judged severely, now seemed to him to con- 
sist of excellent, simple, and kindly people. The 
old count's hospitality and good nature, which 
struck one especially in Petersburg as a pleas- 
ant surprise, were such that Prince Andrew 
could not refuse to stay to dinner. "Yes," he 
thought, "they are capital people, whoof course 
have not the slightest idea what a treasure they 



possess in Natdsha; but they are kindly folk and 
form the best possible setting for this striking- 
ly poetic, charming girl, overflowing with life!" 

In Natdsha Prince Andrew was conscious of 
a strange world completely alien to him and 
brimful of joys unknown to him, a different 
world, that in the Otrddnoe avenue and at the 
window that moonlight night had already be- 
gun to disconcert him. Now this world discon- 
certed him no longer and was no longer alien 
to him, but he himself having entered it found 
in it a new enjoyment. 

After dinner Natdsha, at Prince Andrew's re- 
quest, went to the clavichord and began sing- 
ing. Prince Andrew stood by a window talking 
to the ladies and listened to her. In the midst 
of a phrase he ceased speaking and suddenly 
felt tears choking him, a thing he had thought 
impossible for him. He looked at Natdsha as 
she sang, and something new and joyful stirred 
in his soul. He felt happy and at the same time 
sad. He had absolutely nothing to weep about 
yet he was ready to weep. What about? His 
former love? The little princess? His disillu- 
sionments? . . . His hopes for the future? . . . 
Yes and no. The chief reason was a sudden, viv- 
id sense of the terrible contrast between some- 
thing infinitely great and illimitable within 
him and that limited and material something 
that he, and even she, was. This contrast 
weighed on and yet cheered himwhileshesang. 

As soon as Natdsha had finished she went up 
to him and asked how he liked her voice. She 
asked this and then became confused, feeling 
that she ought not to have asked it. He smiled, 
looking at her, and said he liked her singing as 
he liked everything she did. 

Prince Andrew left the Rost6vs' late in the 
evening. He went to bed from habit, but soon 
realized that he could not sleep. Having lit his 
candle he sat up in bed, then got up, then lay 
down again not at all troubled by his sleepless- 
ness: his soul was as fresh and joyful as if he 
had stepped out of a stuffy room into God's 
own fresh air. It did not enter his head that he 
was in love with Natdsha; he was not thinking 
about her, but only picturing her to himself, 
and in consequence all life appeared in a new 
light. "Why do I strive, why do I toil in this 
narrow, confined frame, when life, all life with 
all its joys, is open to me?" said he to himself. 
And for the first time for a very long while he 
began making happy plans for the future. He 
decided that he must attend to his son's educa- 
tion by finding a tutor and putting the boy in 
his charge, then he ought to retire from theserv- 



BOOK SIX 



263 



ice and go abroad, and see England, Switzer- 
land, and Italy. "I must use my freedom while 
I feel so much strength and youth in me," he 
said to himself. "Pierre was right when he said 
one must believe in the possibility of happiness 
in order to be happy, and now I do believe in 
it. Let the dead bury their dead, but while one 
has life one must live and be happy!" thought 
he. 

CHAPTER XX 

ONE MORNING Colonel Berg, whom Pierre knew 
as he knew everybody in Moscow and Peters- 
burg, came to see him. Berg arrived in an im- 
maculate brand-new uniform, with his hair po- 
maded and brushed forward over his temples 
as the Emperor Alexander wore his hair. 

"I have just been to see the countess, your 
wife. Unfortunately she could not grant my re- 
quest, but I hope, Count, I shall be more for- 
tunate with you," he said with a smile. 

"What is it you wish, Colonel? I am at your 
service." 

"I have now quite settled in my new rooms, 
Count" (Berg said this with perfect conviction 
that this information could not but be agree- 
able), "and so I wish to arrange just a small par- 
ty formy own and my wife's friends." (Hesmiled 
still more pleasantly.) "I wished to ask the 
countess and you to do me the honor of coming 
to tea and to supper." 

Only Countess Hlne, considering the soci- 
ety of such people as the Bergs beneath her, 
could be cruel enough to refuse such an invita- 
tion. Berg explained so clearly why he wanted 
to collect at his house a small but select com- 
pany, and why this would give him pleasure, 
and why though he grudged spending money 
,on cards or anything harmful, he was prepared 
to run into some expense for the sake of good 
societythat Pierre could not refuse, and 
promised to come. 

"But don't be late, Count, if I may venture 
to ask; about ten minutes to eight, please. We 
shall make up a rubber. Our general is coming. 
He is very good to me. We shall have supper, 
Count. So you will do me the favor." 

Contrary to his habit of being late, Pierre 
on that day arrived at the Bergs' house, not at 
ten but at fifteen minutes to eight. 

Having prepared everything necessary for 
the party, the Bergs were ready for their guests' 
arrival. 

In their new, clean, and light study with its 
small busts and pictures and new furniture sat 
Berg and his wife. Berg, closely buttoned up 



in his new uniform, sat beside his wife explain- 
ing to her that one always could and should be 
acquainted with people above one, because on- 
ly then does one get satisfaction from acquaint- 
ances. 

"You can get to know something, you can 
ask for something. See how I managed from 
my first promotion." (Berg measured his life 
not by years but by promotions.) "My comrades 
are still nobodies, while I am only waiting for 
a vacancy to command a regiment, and have 
the happiness to be your husband." (He rose 
and kissed Vcra's hand, and on the way to her 
straightened out a turned-up corner of the car- 
pet.) "And how have I obtained all this? Chief- 
ly by knowing how to choose my acquaintances. 
It goes without saying that one must be consci- 
entious and methodical." 

Berg smiled with a sense of his superiority 
over a weak woman, and paused, reflecting that 
this dear wife of his was after all but a weak 
woman who could not understand all that con- 
stitutes a man's dignity, what it was ein Mann 
zu sein.* Wra at the same time was smiling with 
a sense of superiority over her good, conscien- 
tious husband, who all the same understood 
life wrongly, as according to Ve*ra all men did. 
Berg, judging by his wife, thought all women 
weak and foolish. Vera, judging only by her 
husband and generalizing from that observa- 
tion, supposed that all men, though they un- 
derstand nothing and are conceited and sel- 
fish, ascribe common sense to themselves alone. 

Berg rose and embraced his wife carefully, 
so as not to crush her lace fichu for which he 
had paid a good price, kissing her straight on 
the lips. 

"The only thing is, we mustn't have chil- 
dren too soon," he continued, following an un- 
conscious sequence of ideas. 

"Yes," answered Ve*ra, "I don't at all want 
that. We must live for society." 

"Princess Yusiipova wore one exactly like 
this," said Berg, pointing to the fichu with a 
happy and kindly smile. 

Just then Count Beziikhov was announced. 
Husband and wife glanced at one another, 
both smiling with self-satisfaction, and each 
mentally claiming the honor of this visit. 

"This is what comes of knowing how to make 
acquaintances," thought Berg. "This is what 
comes of knowing how to conduct oneself." 

"But please don't interrupt me when I am 
entertaining the guests," said Vera, "because I 
know what interests each of them and what to 

1 To be a man. 



264 

say to different people." 

Berg smiled again. 

"It can't be helped: men must sometimes 
have masculine con versa tion," said he. 

They received Pierre in their small, new 
drawing-room, where it was impossible to sit 
down anywhere without disturbing its sym- 
metry, neatness, and order; so it was quite 
comprehensible and not strange that Berg, hav- 
ing generously offered to disturb the symmetry 
of an armchair or of the sofa for his dear guest, 
but being apparently painfully undecided on 
the matter himself, eventually left the visitor 
to settle the question of selection. Pierre dis- 
turbed the symmetry by moving a chair for him- 
self, and Berg and V^ra immediately began their 
evening party, interrupting each other in their 
efforts to entertain their guest. 

Ve*ra, having decided in her own mind that 
Pierre ought to be entertained with conversa- 
tion about the French embassy, at once began 
accordingly. Berg, having decided that mascu- 
line conversation was required, interrupted his 
wife's remarks and touched on the question of 
the war with Austria, and unconsciously 
jumped from the general subject to personal 
considerations as to the proposals made him to 
take part in the Austrian campaign and the 
reasons why he had declined them. Though 
the conversation was very incoherent and Ve*ra 
was angry at the intrusion of the masculine el- 
ement, both husband and wife felt with satis- 
faction that, even if only one guest was pres- 
ent, their evening had begun very well and was 
as like as two peas to every other evening party 
with its talk, tea, and lighted candles. 

Before long Boris, Berg's old comrade, ar- 
rived. There was a shade of condescension and 
patronage in his treatment of Berg and Ve*ra. 
After Boris came a lady with the colonel, then 
the general himself, then the Rost6vs, and the 
party became unquestionably exactly like all 
other evening parties. Berg and Ve*ra could not 
repress their smiles of satisfaction at the sight 
of all this movement in their drawing room, at 
the sound of the disconnected talk, the rustling 
of dresses, and the bowing and scraping. Every- 
thing was just as everybody always has it, es- 
pecially so the general, who admired the apart- 
ment, patted Berg on the shoulder, and with 
parental authority superintended the setting 
out of the table for boston. The general sat 
down by Count Ilya Rost6v, who was next to 
himself the most important guest. The old peo- 
ple sat with the old, the young with the young, 
and the hostess at the tea table, on which stood 



WAR AND PEACE 

exactly the same kind of cakes in a silver cake 



basket as the Panins had at their party. Every- 
thing was just as it was everywhere else. 

CHAPTER XXI 

PIERRE, as one of the principal guests, had to 
sit down to boston with Count Rost6v, the 
general, and the colonel. At the card table he 
happened to be directly facing Natdsha, and 
was struck by a curious change that had come 
over her since the ball. She was silent, and not 
only less pretty than at the ball, but only re- 
deemed from plainness by her look of gentle 
indifference to everything around. 

"What's the matter with her?" thought 
Pierre, glancing at her. She was sitting by her 
sister at the tea table, and reluctantly, without 
looking at him, made some reply to Boris who 
sat down beside her. After playing out a 
whole suit and to his partner's delight taking 
five tricks, Pierre, hearing greetings and the 
steps of someone who had entered the room 
while he was picking up his tricks, glanced 
again at Natasha. 

"What has happened to her?" he asked him- 
self with still greater surprise. 

Prince Andrew was standing before her, 
saying something to her with a look of tender 
solicitude. She, having raised her head, w-is 
looking up at him, flushed and evidently try- 
ing to master her rapid breathing. And the 
bright glow of some inner fire that had been 
suppressed was again alight in her. She was 
completely transformed and from a plain girl 
had again become what she had been at the 
ball. 

Prince Andrew went up to Pierre, and the 
latter noticed a new and youthful expression 
in his friend's face. 

Pierre changed places several times during 
the game, sitting now with his back to Natdsha 
and now facing her, but during the whole of 
the six rubbers he watched her and his friend. 

"Something very important is happening be- 
tween them," thought Pierre, and a feeling that 
was both joyful and painful agitated him and 
made him neglect the game. 

After six rubbers the general got up, saying 
that it was no use playing like that, and Pierre 
was released. Natdsha on one side was talking 
with S6nya and Boris, and Ve*ra with a subtle 
smile was saying something to Prince Andrew. 
Pierre went up to his friend and, asking wheth- 
er they were talking secrets, sat down beside 
them. Vra, having noticed Prince Andrew's 
attentions to Natdsha, decided that at a party, 



BOOK SIX 



265 



a real evening party, subtle allusions to the 
tender passion were absolutely necessary and, 
seizing a moment when Prince Andrew was 
alone, began a conversation with him about 
feelings in general and about her sister. With 
so intellectual a guest as she considered Prince 
Andrew to be, she felt that she had to employ 
her diplomatic tact. 

When Pierre went up to them he noticed 
that Vera was being carried away by her self- 
satisfied talk, but that Prince Andrew seemed 
embarrassed, a thing that rarely happened with 
him. 

"What do you think?" Wra was saying with 
an arch smile. "You are so discerning, Prince, 
and understand people's characters so well at 
a glance. What do you think of Natalie? Could 
she be constant in her attachments? Could she, 
like other women" (Vra meant herself), "love 
a man once for all and remain true to him for- 
ever? That is what I consider true love. What 
do you think, Prince?" 

"I know your sister too little," replied Prince 
Andrew, with a sarcastic smile under which he 
wished to hide his embarrassment, "to be able 
to solve so delicate a question, and then I have 
noticed that the less attractive a woman is the 
more constant she is likely to be," he added, 
and looked up at Pierre who was just approach- 
ing them. 

"Yes, that is true, Prince. In our days," con- 
tinued Wra mentioning "our days" as peo- 
ple of limited intelligence are fond of doing, 
imagining that they have discovered and ap- 
praised the peculiar! ties of "our days" and that 
human characteristics change with the times 
"in our days a girl has so much freedom that 
the pleasure of being courted often stifles real 
feeling in her. And it must be confessed that 
Natalie is very susceptible." This return to the 
subject of Natalie caused Prince Andrew to 
knit his brows with discomfort: he was about 
to rise, but Wra continued with a still more 
subtle smile: 

"I think no one has been more courted than 
she," she went on, "but till quite lately she nev- 
er cared seriously for anyone. Now you know, 
Count," she said to Pierre, "even our dear cous- 
in Boris, who, between ourselves, was very far 
gone in the land of tenderness . . ." (alluding 
to a map of love much in vogue at that time). 

Prince Andrew frowned and remained si- 
lent. 

"You are friendly with Bods, aren't you?" 
asked V6ra. 

"Yes, I know him. ..." 



"I expect he has told you of his childish love 
for Natasha?" 

"Oh, there was childish love?" suddenly asked 
Prince Andrew, blushing unexpectedly. 

"Yes, you know between cousins intimacy 
often leads to love. Le cousinage est un dan- 
gereux voisinage* Don't you think so?" 

"Oh , undoubtedly I " said Prince Andrew, and 
with sudden and unnatural liveliness he began 
chaffing Pierre about the need to be very care- 
ful with his fifty-year-old Moscow cousins, and 
in the midst of these jesting remarks he rose, 
taking Pierre by the arm, and drew him aside. 

"Well?" asked Pierre, seeing his friend's 
strange animation with surprise, and noticing 
the glance he turned on Natisha as he rose. 

"I must ... I must have a talk with you," 
said Prince Andrew. "You know that pair of 
women's gloves?" (He referred to the ftf asonic 
gloves given to a newly initiated Brother to 
present to the woman he loved.) "I ... but no, 
I will talk to you later on," and with a strange 
light in his eyes and restlessness in his move- 
ments, Prince Andrew approached Natdsha 
and sat down beside her. Pierre saw how Prince 
Andrew asked her something and how she 
flushed as she replied. 

But at that moment Berg came to Pierre and 
began insisting that he should take part in an 
argument between the general and the colonel 
on the affairs in Spain. 

Berg was satisfied and happy. The smile of 
pleasure never left his face. The party was very 
successful and quite like other parties he had 
seen. Everything was similar: the ladies' subtle 
talk, the cards, the general raising his voice at 
the card table, and the samovar arid the tea 
cakes; only one thing was lacking that he had al- 
ways seen at the evening parties he wished to 
imitate. They had not yet had a loud conversa- 
tion among the men and a dispute about some- 
thing important and clever. Now the general 
had begun such a discussion and so Berg drew 
Pierre to it. 

CHAPTER XXII 

NEXT DAY, having been invited by the count, 
Prince Andrew dined with the Rost6vs and 
spent the rest of the day there. 

Everyone in the house realized for whose 
sake Prince Andrew came, and without con- 
cealing it he tried to be with Natdsha all day. 
Not only in the soul of the frightened yet hap- 
py and enraptured Natisha, but in the whole 
house, there was a feeling of awe at something 

1 "Cousinhood is a dangerous neighbor hood." 



266 



WAR AND PEACE 



important that was bound to happen. The 
countess looked with sad and sternly serious 
eyes at Prince Andrew when he talked to Na- 
tdsha and timidly started some artificial con- 
versation about trifles as soon as he looked her 
way. S6nya was afraid to leave NatAsha and 
afraid of being in the way when she was with 
them, Natasha grew pale, in a panic of expec- 
tation, when she remained alone with him for 
a moment. Prince Andrew surprised her by his 
timidity. She felt that he wanted to say some- 
thing to her but could not bring himself to do 
so. 

In the evening, when Prince Andrew had 
left, the countess went up to Natdsha and 
whispered: "Well, what?" 

"Mamma! For heaven's sake don't ask me 
anything now! One can't talk about that," said 
Natdsha. 

But all the same that night Natdsha, now 
agitated and now frightened, lay a long time in 
her mother's bed gazing straight before her. 
She told her how he had complimented her, 
how he told her he was going abroad, asked her 
where they were going to spend the summer, 
and then how he had asked her about Boris. 

"But such a ... such a ... never happened 
to me before!" she said. "Only I feel afraid in 
his presence. I am always afraid when I'm with 
him. What does that mean? Does it mean that 
it's the real thing? Yes? Mamma, are you 
asleep?" 

"No, my love; I am frightened myself," an- 
swered her mother. "Now go!" 

"All the same I shan't sleep. What silliness, 
to sleep! Mummy! Mummy! such a thing never 
happened to me before," she said, surprised 
and alarmed at the feeling she was aware of in 
herself. "And could we ever have thought! . . ." 

It seemed to Natdsha that even at the time 
she first saw Prince Andrew at Otradnoe she 
had fallen in love with him. It was as if she 
feared this strange, unexpected happiness of 
meeting again the very man she had then cho- 
sen (she was firmly convinced she had done so) 
and of finding him, as it seemed, not indiffer- 
ent to her. 

"And it had to happen that he should come 
specially to Petersburg while we are here. And 
it had to happen that we should meet at that 
ball. It is fate. Clearly it is fate that everything 
led up to this! Already then, directly I saw him 
I felt something peculiar." 

"What else did he say to you? What are those 
verses? Read them . . ." said her mother, 
thoughtfully, referring to some verses Prince 



Andrew had written in Natdsha's album. 

"Mamma, one need not be ashamed of his 
being a widower?" 

"Don't, Natdshal Pray to God. 'Marriages 
are made in heaven,' " said her mother. 

"Darling Mummy, how I love you! How hap- 
py I am!" cried Natdsha, shedding tears of joy 
and excitement and embracing her mother. 

At that very time Prince Andrew was sitting 
with Pierre and telling him of his love for Na- 
tdsha and his firm resolve to make her his wife. 

That day Countess Hlene had a reception 
at her house. The French ambassador was there, 
and a foreign prince of the blood who had of 
late become a frequent visitor of hers, and 
many brilliant ladies and gentlemen. Pierre, 
who had come downstairs, walked through the 
rooms and struck everyone by his preoccupied, 
absent-minded, and morose air. 

Since the ball he had felt the approach of a 
fit of nervous depression and had made desper- 
ate efforts to combat it. Since the intimacy of 
his wife with the royal prince, Pierre had un- 
expectedly been made a gentleman of the bed- 
chamber, and from that time he had begun to 
feel oppressed and ashamed in court society, 
and dark thoughts of the vanity of all things 
human came to him oftener than before. At 
the same time the feeling he had noticed be- 
tween his protge*e Natasha and Prince An- 
drew accentuated his gloom by the contrast be- 
tween his own position and his friend's. He 
tried equally to avoid thinking about his wife, 
and about Natasha and Prince Andrew; and 
again everything seemed to him insignificant 
in comparison with eternity; again the ques- 
tion: for what? presented itself; and he forced 
himself to work day and night at Masonic la- 
bors, hoping to drive away the evil spirit that 
threatened him. Toward midnight, after he 
had left the countess' apartments, he was sit- 
ting upstairs in a shabby dressing gown, copy- 
ing out the original transactions of the Scottish 
lodge of Freemasons at a table in his low room 
cloudy with tobacco smoke, when someone 
came in. It was Prince Andrew. 

"Ah, it's you!" said Pierre with a preoccu- 
pied, dissatisfied air. "And I, you see, am hard 
at it." He pointed to his manuscript book with 
that air of escaping from the ills of life with 
which unhappy people look at their work. 

Prince Andrew, with a beaming, ecstatic ex- 
pression of renewed life on his face, paused in 
front of Pierre and, not noticing his sad look, 
smiled at him with the egotism of joy. 

"Well, dear heart," said he, "I wanted to tell 



BOOK 

you about it yesterday and I have come to do 
so today. I never experienced anything like it 
before. I am in love, my friend!" 

Suddenly Pierre heaved a deep sigh and 
dumped his heavy person down on the sofa be- 
side Prince Andrew. 

"With Natdsha Rost6va, yes?" said he. 

"Yes, yes! Who else should it be? I should 
never have believed it, but the feel ing is strong- 
er than I. Yesterday I tormented myself and 
suffered, but I would not exchange even that 
torment for anything in the world, I have not 
lived till now. At last I live, but I can't live 
without her! But can she love me? ... I am too 
old for her. . . . Why don't you speak?" 

"I? I? What did I tell you?" said Pierre sud- 
denly, rising and beginning to pace up and 
down the room. "I always thought it. ... That 
girl is such a treasure . . . she is a rare girl. . . . 
My dear friend, I entreat you, don't philoso- 
phize, don't doubt, marry, marry, marry. . . . 
And I am sure there will not be a happier man 
than you." 

"But what of her?" 

"She loves you." 

"Don't talk rubbish . . ." said Prince An- 
drew, smiling and looking into Pierre's eyes. 

"She does, I know," Pierre cried fiercely. 

"But do listen," returned Prince Andrew, 
holding him by the arm. "Do you know the 
condition I am in? I must talk about it to some- 
one." 

"Well, go on, go on. I am very glad," said 
Pierre, and his face really changed, his brow be- 
came smooth, and he listened gladly to Prince 
Andrew. Prince Andrew seemed, and really was, 
quite a different, quite a new man. Where was 
his spleen, his contempt for life, his disillusion- 
ment? Pierre was the only person to whom he 
made up his mind to speak openly; and to him 
he told all that was in his soul. Now he boldly 
and lightly made plans for an extended future, 
said he could not sacrifice his own happiness to 
his father's caprice, and spoke of how he would 
either make his father consent to this marriage 
and love her, or would do without his consent; 
then he marveled at the feeling that had mas- 
tered him as at something strange, apart from 
and independent of himself. 

"1 should not have believed anyone who 
told me that I was capable of such love," said 
Prince Andrew. "It is not at all the same feel- 
ing that I knew in the past. The whole world is 
now for me divided into two halves: one half 
is she, and there all is joy, hope, light: the oth- 
er half is everything where she is not, and there 



SIX 267 

all is gloom and darkness. . . ." 

"Darkness and gloom," reiterated Pierre: 
"yes, yes, I understand that." 

"I cannot help loving the light, it is not my 
fault. And I am very happy! You understand 
me? I know you are glad for my sake." 

"Yes, yes," Pierre assented, looking at his 
friend with a touched and sad expression in 
his eyes. The brighter Prince Andrew's lot ap- 
peared to him, the gloomier seemed his own. 

CHAPTER XXIII 

PRINCE ANDREW needed his father's consent to 
his marriage, and to obtain this he started for 
the country next day. 

His father received his son's communication 
with external composure, but inward wrath. 
He could not comprehend how anyone could 
wish to alter his life or introduce anythingnew 
into it, when his own life was already ending. 
"If only they would let me end my days as I 
want to," thought the old man, "then they 
might do as they please." With his son, how- 
ever, he employed the diplomacy he reserved 
for important occasions and, adopting a quiet 
tone, discussed the whole matter. 

In the first place the marriage was not a bril- 
liant one as regards birth, wealth, or rank. 
Secondly, Prince Andrew was no longer as 
young as he had been and his health was poor 
(the old man laid special stress on this), while 
she was very young. Thirdly, he had a son 
whom it would be a pity to entrust to a chit of 
a girl. "Fourthly and finally," the father said, 
looking ironically at his son, "I beg you to put 
it off for a year: go abroad, take a cure, look 
out as you wanted to for a German tutor for 
Prince Nicholas. Then if your love or passion 
or obstinacy as you please is still as great, 
marry! And that's my last word on it. Mind, 
the last! . . ." concluded the prince, in a tone 
which showed that nothing would make him 
alter his decision. 

Prince Andrew saw clearly that the old man 
hoped that his feelings, or his fianceVs, would 
not stand a year's test, or that he (the old prince 
himself) would die before then, and he de- 
cided to conform to his father's wishto pro- 
pose, and postpone the wedding for a year. 

Three weeks after the last evening he had 
spent with the Rost6vs, Prince Andrew re- 
turned to Petersburg. 

Next day after her talk with her mother Na- 
tdsha expected Bolk6nski all day, but he did 
not come. On the second and third day it was 



268 



WAR AND PEACE 



the same. Pierre did not come either and Na- 
tdsha, not knowing that Prince Andrew had 
gone to see his father, could not explain his ab- 
sence to herself. 

Three weeks passed in this way. Natdsha 
had no desire to go out any where and wandered 
from room to room like a shadow, idle and list- 
less; she wept secretly at night and did not go 
to her mother in the evenings. She blushed 
continually and was irritable. It seemed to her 
that everybody knew about her disappoint- 
ment and was laughing at her and pitying her. 
Strong as was her inward grief, this wound to 
her vanity intensified her misery. 

Once she came to her mother, tried to say 
something, and suddenly began to cry. Her 
tears were those of an offended child who does 
not know why it is being punished. 

The countess began to soothe Natdsha, who 
after first listening to her mother's words, sud- 
denly interrupted her: 

"Leave off, Mamma! I don't think, and don't 
want to think about ill He just came and then 
left off, left off. ..." 

Her voice trembled, and she again nearly 
cried, but recovered and went on quietly: 

"And I don't at all want to get married. And 
I am afraid of him; I have now become quite 
calm, quite calm." 

The day after this conversation Natdsha put 
on the old dress which she knew had the pecul- 
iar property of conducing to cheerfulness in 
the mornings, and that day she returned to the 
old way of life which she had abandoned since 
the ball. Having finished her morning tea she 
went to the ballroom, which she particularly 
liked for its loud resonance, and began singing 
her solfeggio. When she had finished her first 
exercise she stood still in the middle of the 
room and sang a musical phrase that particu- 
larly pleased her. She listened joyfully (as 
though she had not expected it) to the charm 
of the notes reverberating, filling the whole 
empty ballroom, and slowly dying away; and 
all at once she felt cheerful. "What's the good 
of making so much of it? Things are nice as it 
is," she said to herself, and she began walking 
up and down the room, not stepping simply 
on the resounding parquet but treading with 
each step from the heel to the toe (she had on 
a new and favorite pair of shoes) and listening 
to the regular tap of the heel and creak of the 
toe as gladly as she had to the sounds of her 
own voice. Passing a mirror she glanced into 
it. "There, that's mel" the expression of her 
face seemed to say as she caught sight of her- 



self. "Well, and very nice too! I need nobody." 

A footman wanted to come in to clear away 
something in the room but she would not let 
him, and having closed the door behind him 
continued her walk. That morning she had re- 
turned to her favorite moodlove of, and de- 
light in, herself. "How charming that Natdsha 
isl" she said again, speaking as some third, col- 
lective, male person. "Pretty, a good voice, 
young, and in nobody's way if only they leave 
her in peace." But however much they left her 
in peace she could not now be at peace, and im- 
mediately felt this. 

In the hall the porch door opened, and some- 
one asked, "At home?" and then footsteps were 
heard. Natdsha was looking at the mirror, but 
did not see herself. She listened to the sounds 
in the hall. When she saw herself, her face was 
pale. It was he. She knew this for certain, 
though she hardly heard his voice through the 
closed doors. 

Pale and agitated, Natasha ran into the draw- 
ing room. 

"Mamma! Bolk6nski has come!" she said. 
"Mamma, it is awful, it is unbearable! I don't 
want ... to be tormented! What am I to 
do? . . ." 

Before the countess could answer, Prince 
Andrew entered the room with an agitated and 
serious face. As soon as he saw Natdsha his face 
brightened. He kissed the countess' hand and 
Natasha's, and sat down beside the sofa. 

"It is long since we had the pleasure . . ." be- 
gan the countess, but Prince Andrew inter- 
rupted her by answering her intended ques- 
tion, obviously in haste to say what he had to. 

"I have not been to see you all this time be- 
cause I have been at my father's. I had to talk 
over a very important matter with him. I only 
got back last night," he said glancing at Na- 
tdsha; "I want to have a talk with you, Count- 
ess," he added after a moment's pause. 

The countess lowered her eyes, sighing 
deeply. 

"I am at your disposal," she murmured. 

Natdsha knew that she ought to go away, 
but was unable to do so: something gripped 
her throat, and regardlessof manners she stared 
straight at Prince Andrew with wide-open eyes. 

"At once? This instant! . . . No, it can't be!" 
she thought. 

Again he glanced at her, and that glance con- 
vinced her that she was not mistaken. Yes, at 
once, that very instant, her fate would be de- 
cided. 

"Go, Natasha! I will call you," said the 



BOOK SIX 



269 



countess in a whisper. 

Natasha glanced with frightened imploring 
eyes at Prince Andrew and at her mother and 
went out. 

"I have come, Countess, to ask for your 
daughter's hand," said Prince Andrew. 

The countess* face flushed hotly, but she 
said nothing. 

"Your offer . . ." she began at last sedately. 
He remained silent, looking into her eyes. 
"Your offer . . ." (she grew confused) "is agree- 
able to us, and ... I accept your offer. I am 
glad. And my husband ... I hope . . . but it will 
depend on her. . . ." 

"I will speak to her when I have your con- 
sent Do you give it to me?" said Prince An- 
drew. 

"Yes," replied the countess. She held out her 
hand to him, and with a mixed feeling of es- 
trangement and tenderness pressed her lips to 
his forehead as he stooped to kiss her hand. 
She wished to love him as a son, but felt that to 
her he was a stranger and a terrifying man. "I 
am sure my husband will consent," said the 
countess, "but your father . . ." 

"My father, to whom I have told my plans, 
has made it an express condition of his consent 
that the wedding is not to take place for a year. 
And I wished to tell you of that," said Prince 
Andrew. 

"It is true that Natasha is still young, but 
so long as that? . . ." 

"It is unavoidable," said Prince Andrew with 
a sigh. 

"I will send her to you," said the countess, 
and left the room. 

"Lord have mercy upon usl" she repeated 
while seeking her daughter. 

S6nya said that Natasha was in her bedroom. 
Natasha was sitting on the bed, pale and dry- 
eyed, and was gazing at the icons and whisper- 
ing something as she rapidly crossed herself. 
Seeing her mother she jumped up and flew to 
her. 

"Well, Mamma? . . . Well? . . ." 

"Go, go to him. He is asking for your hand," 
said the countess, coldly it seemed to Natasha. 
"Go . . . go," said the mother, sadly and re- 
proachfully, with a deep sigh, as her daughter 
ran away. 

Natasha never remembered how she entered 
the drawing room. When she came in and saw 
him she paused. "Is it possible that this stranger 
has now become everything to me?" she asked 
herself, and immediately answered," Yes, every- 
thingl He alone is now dearer to me than every- 



thing in the world." Prince Andrew came up 
to her with downcast eyes. 

"I have loved you from the very first mo- 
ment I saw you. May I hope?" 

He looked at her and was struck by the seri- 
ous impassioned expression of her face. Her 
face said: "Why ask? Why doubt what you can- 
not but know? Why speak, when words cannot 
express what one feels?" 

She drew near to him and stopped. He took 
her hand and kissed it. 

"Do you love me?" 

"Yes, yes!" Natasha murmured as if in vexa- 
tion. Then she sighed loudly and, catching her 
breath more and more quickly, began to sob. 

"What is it? What's the matter?" 

"Oh, I am so happy!" she replied, smiled 
through her tears, bent over closer to him, 
paused for an instant as if asking herself wheth- 
er she might, and then kissed him. 

Prince Andrew held her hands, looked into 
her eyes, and did not find in his heart his former 
love for her. Something in him had suddenly 
changed; there was no longer the former poetic 
and mystic charm of desire, but there was pity 
for her feminine and childish weakness, fear 
at her devotion and trustfulness, and an op- 
pressive yet joyful sense of the duty that now 
bound him to her forever. The present feeling, 
though not so bright and poetic as the former, 
was stronger and more serious. 

"Did your mother tell you that it cannot be 
for a year?" asked Prince Andrew, still looking 
into her eyes. 

"Is it possible that I the 'chit of a girl,' as 
everybody called me," thought Natdsha "is it 
possible that I am now to be the wife and the 
equal of this strange, dear, clever man whom 
even my father looks up to? Can it be true? 
Can it be true that there can be no more play- 
ing with life, that now I am grown up, that on 
me now lies a responsibility for my every word 
and deed? Yes, but what did he ask me?" 

"No," she replied, but she had not under- 
stood his question. 

"Forgive mel" he said. "But you areso young, 
and I have already been through so much in 
life. I am afraid for you, you do not yet know 
yourself." 

Natasha listened wtih concentrated atten- 
tion, trying but failing to take in the meaning 
of his words. 

"Hard as this year which delays my happi- 
ness will be," continued Prince Andrew, "it 
will give you time to be sure of yourself. I ask 
you to make me happy in a year, but you are 



270 



WAR AND PEACE 



free: our engagement shall remain a secret, 
and should you find that you do not love me, 
or should you come to love ..." said Prince 
Andrew with an unnatural smile. 

"Why do you say that?" Natdsha interrupted 
him. "You know that from the very day you 
first came to Otrddnoe I have loved you," she 
cried, quite convinced that she spoke the truth. 

"In a year you will learn to know your- 
self. . . ." 

"A whole year!" Natasha repeated suddenly, 
only now realizing that the marriage was to be 
postponed for a year. "But why a year? Why a 
year? . . ." 

Prince Andrew began to explain to her the 
reasons for this delay. Natasha did not hear 
him. 

"And can't it be helped?" she asked. Prince 
Andrew did not reply, but his face expressed 
the impossibility of altering that decision. 

"It's awful! Oh, it's awful! awful!" Natdsha 
suddenly cried, and again burst into sobs. "I 
shall die, waiting a year: it's impossible, it's aw- 
ful!" She looked into her lover's face and saw 
in it a look of commiseration and perplexity. 

"No, no! I'll do anything!" she said, sudden- 
ly checking her tears. "I am so happy." 

The father and mother came into the room 
and gave the betrothed couple their blessing. 

From that day Prince Andrew began to fre- 
quent the Rost6vs' as Natdsha's affianced lover. 

CHAPTER XXIV 

No BETROTHAL CEREMONY took place and Na- 
tdsha's engagement to Bolk6nski was not an- 
nounced; Prince Andrew insisted on that. He 
said that as he was responsible for the delay he 
ought to bear the whole burden of it; that he 
had given his word and bound himself forever, 
but that he did not wish to bind Natdsha and 
gave her perfect freedom. If after six months 
she felt that she did not love him she would 
have full right to reject him. Naturally neither 
Natasha nor her parents wished to hear of this, 
but Prince Andrew was firm. He came every 
day to the Rost6vs', but did not behave to Na- 
tdsha as an affianced lover: he did not use the 
familiar thou, but said you to her, and kissed 
only her hand. After their engagement, quite 
different, intimate, and natural relations sprang 
up between them. It was as if they had not 
known each other till now. Both liked to re- 
call how they had regarded each other when 
as yet they were nothing to one another; they 
felt themselves now quite different beings: 
then they were artificial, now natural and sin- 



cere. At first the family felt some constraint in 
intercourse with Prince Andrew; he seemed a 
man from another world, and for a long time 
Natdsha trained the family to get used to him, 
proudly assuring them all that he only ap- 
peared to be different, but was really just like 
all of them, and that she was not afraid of him 
and no one else ought to be. After a few days 
they grew accustomed to him, and without re- 
straint in his presence pursued their usual way 
of life, in which he took his part. He could talk 
about rural economy with the count, fashions 
with the countess and Natdsha, and about al- 
bums and fancywork with S6nya. Sometimes 
the household both among themselves and in 
his presence expressed their wonder at how it 
had all happened, and at the evident omens 
there had been of it: Prince Andrew's coming 
to Otrddnoe and their coming to Petersburg, 
and the likeness between Natdsha and Prince 
Andrew which her nurse had noticed on his 
first visit, and Andrew's encounter with Nich- 
olas in 1805, and many other incidents beto- 
kening that it had to be. 

In the house that poetic dullness and quiet 
reigned which always accompanies the pres- 
ence of a betrothed couple. Often when all sit- 
ting together everyone kept silent. Sometimes 
the others would get up and go away and the 
couple, left alone, still remained silent. They 
rarely spoke of their future life. Prince An- 
drew was afraid and ashamed to speak of it. 
Natdsha shared this as she did all his feelings, 
which she constantly divined. Once she began 
questioning him about his son. Prince Andrew 
blushed, as he often did now Natdsha particu- 
larly liked it in him and said that his son 
would not live with them. 

"Why not?" asked Natdsha in a frightened 
tone. 

"I cannot take him away from his grand- 
father, and besides . . ." 

"How I should have loved him!" said Na- 
tdsha, immediately guessing his thought; "but 
I know you wish to avoid any pretext for find- 
ing fault with us." 

Sometimes the old count would come up, 
kiss Prince Andrew, and ask his advice about 
Pe* tya's education or Nicholas' service. The old 
countess sighed as she looked at them; S6nya 
was always getting frightened lest she should 
be in the way and tried to find excuses for leav- 
ing them alone, even when they did not wish 
it. When Prince Andrew spoke (he could tell 
a story very well), Natdsha listened to him with 
pride; when she spoke she noticed with fear 



BOOK SIX 



271 



and joy that he gazed attentively and scruti- 
nizingly at her. She asked herself in perplexity: 
"What does he look for in me? He is trying to 
discover something by looking at me! What if 
what he seeks in me is not there?" Sometimes 
she fell into one of the mad, merry moods char- 
acteristic of her, and then she particularly loved 
to hear and see how Prince Andrew laughed. 
He seldom laughed, but when he did he aban- 
doned himself entirely to his laughter, and aft- 
er such a laugh she always felt nearer to him. 
Natdsha would have been completely happy if 
the thought of the separation awaiting her and 
drawing near had not terrified her, just as the 
mere thought of it made him turn pale and 
cold. 

On the eve of his departure from Petersburg 
Prince Andrew brought with him Pierre, who 
had not been to the Rostovs' once since the 
ball. Pierre seemed disconcerted and embar- 
rassed. He was talking to the countess, and Na- 
tdsha sat down beside a little chess table with 
S6nya, thereby inviting Prince Andrew to come 
too. He did so. 

"You have known Bezukhov a long time?" 
he asked. "Do you like him?" 

"Yes, he's a dear, but very absurd." 

And as usual when speaking of Pierre, she 
began to tell anecdotes of his absent-minded- 
ness, some of which had even been invented 
about him. 

"Do you know I have entrusted him with our 
secret? I have known him from childhood. He 
has a heart of gold. I beg you, Natalie," Prince 
Andrew said with sudden seriousness "I am 
going away and heaven knows what may hap- 
pen. You may cease to ... all right, I know I 
am not to say that. Only this, then: whatever 
may happen to you when I am not here . . ." 

"What can happen?" 

"Whatever trouble may come," Prince An- 
drew continued, "I beg you, Mademoiselle 
Sophie, whatever may happen, to turn to him 
alone for advice and helpl He is a most absent- 
minded and absurd fellow, but he has a heart 
of gold." 

Neither her father, nor her mother, nor S6n- 
ya, nor Prince Andrew himself could have fore- 
seen how the separation from her lover would 
act on Natdsha. Flushed and agitated she went 
about the house all that day, dry-eyed, occupied 
with most trivial matters as if not understand- 
ing what awaited her. She did not even cry 
when, on taking leave, he kissed her hand for 
the last time. "Don't gol" she said in a tone 
that made him wonder whether he really ought 



not to stay and which he remembered long aft- 
erwards. Nor did she cry when he was gone; 
but for several days she sat in her room dry- 
eyed, taking no interest in anything and only 
saying now and then, "Oh, why did he go 



But a fortnight after his departure, to the 
surprise of those around her, she recovered 
from her mental sickness just as suddenly and 
became her old self again, but with a change 
in her moral physiognomy, as a child gets up 
after a long illness with a changed expression 
of face. 

CHAPTER XXV 

DURING THAT YEAR after his son's departure, 
Prince Nicholas Bolk6nski's health and temper 
became much worse. He grew still more irri- 
table, and it was Princess Mary who generally 
bore the brunt of his frequent fits of unpro- 
voked anger. He seemed carefully to seek out 
her tender spots so as to torture her mentally 
as harshly as possible. Princess Mary had two 
passions and consequently two joys her neph- 
ew, little Nicholas, and religion and these 
were the favorite subjects of the prince's at- 
tacks and ridicule. Whatever was spoken of he 
would bring round to the superstitiousness of 
old maids, or the petting and spoiling of chil- 
dren. "You want to make him" little Nicholas 
"into an old maid like yourselfl A pity! 
Prince Andrew wants a son and not an old 
maid," he would say. Or, turning to Mademoi- 
selle Bourienne, he would ask her in Princess 
Mary's presence how she liked our village 
priests and icons and would joke about them. 

He continually hurt Princess Mary's feelings 
and tormented her, but it cost her no effort to 
forgive him. Could he be to blame toward her, 
or could her father, whom she knew loved her 
in spite of it all, be unjust? And what is justice? 
The princess never thought of that proud word 
"justice." All the complex laws of man cen- 
tered for her in one clear and simple law the 
law of love and self-sacrifice taught us by Him 
who lovingly suffered for mankind though He 
Himself was God. What had she to do with 
the justice or injustice of other people? She 
had to endure and love, and that she did. 

During the winter Prince Andrew had come 
to Bald Hills and had been gay, gentle, and 
more affectionate than Princess Mary had 
known him for a long time past. She felt that 
something had happened to him, but he said 
nothing to her about his love. Before he left he 
had a long talk with his father about some- 



WAR AND PEACE 



thing, and Princess Mary noticed that before 
his departure they were dissatisfied with one 
another. 

Soon after Prince Andrew had gone, Prin- 
cess Mary wrote to her friend Julie Karagina 
in Petersburg, whom she had dreamed (as aB 
girls dream) of marrying to her brother, and 
who was at that time in mourning for her own 
brother, killed in Turkey. 

Sorrow, it seems, is our common lot, my dear, 
tender friend Julie. 

Your loss is so terrible that I can only explain it 
to myself as a special providence of God who, lov- 
ing you, wishes to try you and your excellent 
mother. Oh, my friend! Religion, and religion 
alone, canI will not say comfort us but save us 
from despair. Religion alone can explain to us 
what without its help man cannot comprehend: 
why, for what cause, kind and noble beings able 
to find happiness in lifenot merely harming no 
one but necessary to the happiness of others are 
called away to God, while cruel, useless, harmful 
persons, or such as are a burden to themselves and 
to others, are left living. The first death I saw, 
and one I shall never forget that of my dear sis- 
ter-in-lawleft that impression on me. Just as you 
ask destiny why your splendid brother had to die, 
so I asked why that angel Lise, who not only never 
wronged anyone, but in whose soul there were 
never any unkind thoughts, had to die. And what 
do you think, dear friend? Five years have passed 
since then, and already I, with my petty under- 
standing, begin to see clearly why she had to die, 
and in what way that death was but an expression 
of the infinite goodness of the Creator, whose 
every action, though generally incomprehensible 
to us, is but a manifestation of His infinite love 
for His creatures. Perhaps, I often think, she was 
too angelically innocent to have the strength to 
perform all a mother's duties. As a young wife she 
was irreproachable; perhaps she could not have 
been so as a mother. As it is, not only has she left 
us, and particularly Prince Andrew, with the pur- 
est regrets and memories, but probably she will 
there receive a place I dare not hope for myself. 
But not to speak of her alone, that early and ter- 
rible death has had the most beneficent influence 
on me and on my brother in spite of all our grief. 
Then, at the moment of our loss, these thoughts 
could not occur to me; I should then have dis- 
missed them with horror, but now they are very 
dear and certain. I write all this to you, dear 
friend, only to convince you of the Gospel truth 
which has become for me a principle of life: not 
a single hair of our heads will fall without His 
will. And His will is governed only by infinite love 
for us, and so whatever befalls us is for our good. 

You ask whether we shall spend next winter in 
Moscow. In spite of my wish to see you, I do not 
think so and do not want to do so. You will be sur- 
prised to hear that the reason for this is Buona- 



parte! The case is this: my father's health is grow- 
ing noticeably worse, he cannot stand any contra- 
diction and is becoming irritable. This irritability 
is, as you know, chiefly directed to political ques- 
tions. He cannot endure the notion that Buona- 
parte is negotiating on equal terms with all the 
sovereigns of Europe and particularly with our 
own, the grandson of the Great Catherine! As you 
know, I am quite indifferent to politics, but from 
my father's remarks and his talks with Michael 
Ivanovich I know all that goes on in the world 
and especially about the honors conferred on 
Buonaparte, who only at Bald Hills in the whole 
world, it seems, is not accepted as a great man, 
still less as Emperor of France. And my father can- 
not stand this. It seems to me that it is chiefly 
because of his political views that my father is re- 
luctant to speak of going to Moscow; for he fore- 
sees the encounters that would result from his way 
of expressing his views regardless of anybody. All 
the benefit he might derive from a course of treat- 
ment he would lose as a result of the disputes 
about Buonaparte which would be inevitable. In 
any case it will be decided very shortly. 

Our family life goes on in the old way except 
for my brother Andrew's absence. He, as I wrote 
you before, has changed very much of late. After 
liis sorrow he only this year quite recovered his 
spirits. He has again become as I used to know 
him when a child: kind, affectionate, with that 
heart of gold to which I know no equal. He has 
realized, it seems to me, that life is not over for 
him. But together with this mental change he has 
grown physically much weaker. He has become 
thinner and more nervous. I am anxious about 
him and glad he is taking this trip abroad which 
the doctors recommended long ago. I hope it will 
cure him. You write that in Petersburg he is 
spoken of as one of the most active, cultivated, and 
capable of the young men. Forgive my vanity as a 
relation, but I never doubted it. The good he has 
done to everybody here, from his peasants up to 
the gentry, is incalculable. On his arrival in Peters- 
burg he received only his due. I always wonder at 
the way rumors fly from Petersburg to Moscow, es- 
pecially such false ones as that you write about I 
mean the report of my brother's betrothal to the 
little Rostova. I do not think my brother will ever 
marry again, and certainly not her; and this is 
why: first, I know that though he rarely speaks 
about the wife he has lost, the grief of that loss has 
gone too deep in his heart for him ever to decide 
to give her a successor and our little angel a step- 
mother. Secondly because, as far as I know, that 
girl is not the kind of girl who could please Prince 
Andrew. I do not think he would choose her for a 
wife, and frankly I do not wish it. But I am run- 
ning on too long and am at the end of my second 
sheet. Good-by, my dear friend. May God keep 
you in His holy and mighty care. My dear friend, 
Mademoiselle Bourienne, sends you kisses. 

MARY 



BOOK SIX 



273 



CHAPTER XXVI 

IN THE MIDDLE of the summer Princess Mary re- 
ceived an unexpected letter from Prince An- 
drew in Switzerland in which he gave her 
strange and surprising news. He informed her 
of his engagement to Natasha Rostova. The 
whole letter breathed loving rapture for his 
betrothed and tender and confiding affection 
for his sister. He wrote that he had never loved 
as he did now and that only now did he under- 
stand and know what life was. He asked his 
sister to forgive him for not having told her of 
his resolve when he had last visited Bald Hills, 
though he had spoken of it to his father. He 
had not done so for fear Princess Mary should 
ask her father to give his consent, irritating 
him and having to bear the brunt of his dis- 
pleasure without attaining her object. "Be- 
sides," he wrote, "the matter was not then so 
definitely settled as it is now. My father then 
insisted on a delay of a year and now already 
six months, half of that period, have passed, 
and my resolution is firmer than ever. If the 
doctors did not keep me here at the spas I 
should be back in Russia, but as it is I have to 
postpone my return for three months. You 
know me and my relations with Father. I want 
nothing from him. I have been and always 
shall be independent; but to go against his will 
and arouse his anger, now that he may perhaps 
remain with us such a short time, would de- 
stroy half my happiness. I am now writing to 
him about the same question, and beg you to 
choose a good moment to hand him the let- 
ter and to let me know how he looks at the 
whole matter and whether there is hope that 
he may consent to reduce the term by four 
months." 

After long hesitations, doubts, and prayers, 
Princess Mary gave the letter to her father. The 
next day the old prince said to her quietly: 

"Write and tell your brother to wait till I 
am dead. ... It won't be long I shall soon set 
him free." 

The princess was about to reply, but her fa- 
ther would not let her speak and, raising his 
voice more and more, cried: 

"Marry, marry, my boy! ... A good family I 
. . . Clever people, eh? Rich, eh? Yes, a nice 
stepmother little Nicholas will havel Write 
and tell him that he may marry tomorrow if he 
likes. She will be little Nicholas' stepmother 
and I'll marry Bouriennel . . . Ha, ha, hal He 
mustn't be without a stepmother either! Only 
one thing, no more women are wanted in my 
house let him marry and live by himself. Per- 



haps you will go and live with him too?" he 
added, turning to Princess Mary. "Go in heav- 
en's name! Go out into the frost . . . the frost 
... the frost!" 

After this outburst the prince did not speak 
any more about the matter. But repressed vex- 
ation at his son's poor-spirited behavior found 
expression in his treatment of his daughter. 
To his former pretexts for irony a fresh one 
was now added allusions to stepmothers and 
amiabilities to Mademoiselle Bourienne. 

"Why shouldn't I marry her?" he asked his 
daughter. "She'll make a splendid princess!" 

And latterly, to her surprise and bewilder- 
ment, Princess Mary noticed that her father was 
really associating more and more with the 
Frenchwoman. She wrote to Prince Andrew 
about the reception of his letter, but comforted 
him with hopes of reconciling their father to 
the idea. 

Little Nicholas and his education, herbroth- 
er Andrew, and religion were Princess Mary's 
joys and consolations; but besides that, since 
everyone must have personal hopes, Princess 
Mary in the profoundest depths of her heart 
had a hidden dream and hope that supplied 
the chief consolation of her life. This comfort- 
ing dream and hope were given her by God's 
folk the half-witted and other pilgrims who 
visited her without the prince's knowledge. 
The longer she lived, the more experience and 
observation she had of life, the greater was her 
wonder at the shortsightedness of men who seek 
enjoyment and happiness here on earth: toil- 
ing, suffering, struggling, and harming one an- 
other, to obtain that impossible, visionary, sin- 
ful happiness. Prince Andrew had loved his 
wife, she died, but that was riot enough: he 
wanted to bind his happiness to another wom- 
an. Her father objected to this because he 
wanted a more distinguished and wealthier 
match for Andrew. And they all struggled and 
suffered and tormented one another and in- 
jured their souls, their eternal souls, for the at- 
tainment of benefits which endure but for an 
instant. Not only do we know this ourselves, 
but Christ, the Son of God, came down to earth 
and told us that this life is but for a moment 
and is a probation; yet we cling to it and think 
to find happiness in it. "How is it that no one 
realizes this?" thought Princess Mary. "No one 
except these despised God's folk who, wallet 
on back, come to me by the back door, afraid 
of being seen by the prince, not for fear of ill- 
usage by him but for fear of causing him to sin. 
To leave family, home, and all the cares of 



*74 



WAR AND PEACE 



worldly welfare, in order without clinging to 
anything to wander in hempen rags from place 
to place under an assumed name, doing no one 
any harm but praying for all for those who 
drive one away as well as for those who pro- 
tect one: higher than that life and truth there 
is no life or truth!" 

There was one pilgrim, a quiet pockmarked 
little woman of fifty called Theodosia, who for 
over thirty years had gone about barefoot and 
worn heavy chains. Princess Mary was particu- 
larly fond of her. Once, when in a room with a 
lamp dimly lit before the icon Theodosia was 
talking of her life, the thought that Theodosia 
alone had found the true path of life suddenly 
came to Princess Mary with such force that she 
resolved to become a pilgrim herself. When 
Theodosia had gone to sleep Princess Mary 
thought about this for a long time, and at last 
made up her mind that, strange as it might 
seem, she must go on a pilgrimage. She dis- 
closed this thought to no one but to her con- 
fessor, Father Akfnfi, the monk, and he ap- 
proved of her intention. Under guise of a pres- 
ent for the pilgrims, Princess Mary prepared 
a pilgrim's complete costume for herself: a 
coarse smock, bast shoes, a rough coat, and a 
black kerchief. Often, approaching the chest 
of drawers containing this secret treasure, Prin- 



cess Mary paused, uncertain whether the time 
had not already come to put her project into 
execution. 

Often, listening to the pilgrims' tales, she 
was so stimulated by their simple speech, me- 
chanical to them but to her so full of deep 
meaning, that several times she was on the 
point of abandoning everything and running 
away from home. In imagination she already 
pictured herself by Theodosia's side, dressed in 
coarse rags, walking with a staff, a wallet on 
her back, along the dusty road, directing her 
wanderings from one saint's shrine to another, 
free from envy, earthly love, or desire, and 
reaching at last the place where there is no 
more sorrow or sighing, but eternal joy and 
bliss. 

"I shall come to a place and pray there, and 
before having time to get used to it or getting 
to love it, I shall go farther. I will go on till my 
legs fail, and I'll lie down and die somewhere, 
and shall at last reach that eternal, quiet ha- 
ven, where there is neither sorrow nor sighing 
..." thought Princess Mary. 

But afterwards, when she saw her father and 
especially little Koko (Nicholas), her resolve 
weakened. She wept quietly, and felt that she 
was a sinner who loved her father and little 
nephew more than God. 



Book Seven: 1810-11 



CHAPTER I 

THE BIBLE LEGEND tells us that the absence of 
laboridleness was a condition of the first 
man's blessedness before the Fall. Fallen man 
has retained a love of idleness, but the curse 
weighs on the race not only because we have to 
seek our bread in the sweat of our brows, but 
because our moral nature is such that we can- 
not be both idle and at ease. An inner voice 
tells us we are in the wrong if we are idle. If 
man could find a state in which he felt that 
though idle he was fulfilling his duty, he would 
have found one of the conditions of man's 
primitive blessedness. And such a state of obli- 
gatory and irreproachable idleness is the lot of 
a whole class the military. The chief attrac- 
tion of military service has consisted and will 
consist in this compulsory and irreproachable 
idleness. 

Nicholas Rost6v experienced this blissful 
condition to the full when, after 1807, he con- 
tinued to serve in the Pdvlograd regiment, in 
which he already commanded the squadron he 
had taken over from Denfsov. 

Rost6v had become a bluff, good-natured 
fellow, whom his Moscow acquaintances would 
have considered rather bad form, but who was 
liked and respected by his comrades, subordi- 
nates, and superiors, and was well contented 
with his life. Of late, in 1809, he found in let- 
ters from home more frequent complaints from 
his mother that their affairs were falling into 
greater and greater disorder, and that it was 
time for him to come back to gladden and com- 
fort his old parents. 

Reading these letters, Nicholas felt a dread 
of their wanting to take him away from sur- 
roundings in which, protected from all the en- 
tanglements of life, he was living so calmly and 
quietly. He felt that sooner or later he would 
have to re-enter that whirlpool of life, with its 
embarrassments and affairs to be straightened 
out, its accounts with stewards, quarrels, and 
intrigues, its ties, society, and with S6nya's love 
and his promise to her. It was all dreadfully 



difficult and complicated; and he replied to his 
mother in cold, formal letters in French, begin- 
ning: "My dear Mamma," and ending: "Your 
obedient son," which said nothing of when he 
would return. In 1810 he received letters from 
his parents, in which they told him of Natasha's 
engagement to Bolk6nski, and that the wed- 
ding would be in a year's time because the old 
prince made difficulties. This letter grieved 
and mortified Nicholas. In the first place he 
was sorry that Natdsha, for whom he cared 
more than for anyone else in the family, should 
be lost to the home; and secondly, from his 
hussar point of view, he regretted not to have 
been there to show that fellow Bolk6nski that 
connection with him was no such great honor 
after all, and that if he loved Natdsha he might 
dispense with permission from his dotard fa- 
ther. For a moment he hesitated whether he 
should not apply for leave in order to see Na- 
tdsha before she was married, but then came 
the maneuvers, and considerations about S6n- 
ya and about the confusion of their affairs, and 
Nicholas again put it off. But in the spring of 
that year, he received a letter from his mother, 
written without his father's knowledge, and 
that letter persuaded him to return. She wrote 
that if he did not come and take matters in 
hand, their whole property would be sold by 
auction and they would all have to go begging. 
The count was so weak, and trusted Mftenka 
so much, and was so good-natured, that every- 
body took advantage of him and things were 
going from bad to worse. "For God's sake, I 
implore you, come at once if you do not wish 
to make me and the whole family wretched," 
wrote the countess. 

This letter touched Nicholas. He had that 
common sense of a matter-of-fact man which 
showed him what he ought to do. 

The right thing now was, if not to retire 
from the service, at any rate to go home on 
leave. Why he had to go he did not know; but 
after his after-dinner nap he gave orders to 
saddle Mars, an extremely vicious gray stallion, 



*75 



276 

that had not been ridden for a long time, and 
when he returned with the horse all in a lather, 
he informed Lavriishka (Denfsov's servant 
who had remained with him) and his comrades 
who turned up in the evening that he was ap- 
plying for leave and was going home. Difficult 
and strange as it was for him to reflect that he 
would go away without having heard from the 
staff and this interested him extremely 
whether he was promoted to a captaincy or 
would receive the Order of St. Anne for the 
last maneuvers; strange as it was to think that 
he would go away without having sold his three 
roans to the Polish Count Golukhovski, who 
was bargaining for the horses Rost6v had 
betted he would sell for two thousand rubles; 
incomprehensible as it seemed that the ball 
the hussars were giving in honor of the Polish 
Mademoiselle Przazdziecka (out of rivalry to 
the Uhlans who had given one in honor of 
their Polish Mademoiselle Borzozowska) would 
take place without him he knew he must go 
away from this good, bright world to some- 
where where everything was stupid and con- 
fused. A week later he obtained his leave. His 
hussar comrades not only those of his own 
regiment, but the whole brigade gave Rostov 
a dinner to which the subscription was fifteen 
rubles a head, and at which there were two 
bands and two choirs of singers. Rost6v danced 
the Trepak with Major Basov; the tipsy officers 
tossed, embraced, and dropped RostcW; the 
soldiers of the third squadron tossed him too, 
and shouted "hurrah!" and then they put him 
in his sleigh and escorted him as far as the first 
post station. 

During the first half of the journey from 
Kremenchug to Kiev all Rost6v's thoughts, as 
is usual in such cases, were behind him, with the 
squadron; but when he had gone more than 
halfway he began to forget his three roans and 
Dozhoyve*yko, his quartermaster, and to won- 
der anxiously how things would be at Otrad- 
noe and what he would find there. Thoughts 
of home grew stronger the nearer he approached 
it far stronger, as though this feeling of his 
was subject to the law by which the force of at- 
traction is in inverse proportion to the square 
of the distance. At the last post station before 
Otrddnoe he gave the driver a three-ruble tip, 
and on arriving he ran breathlessly, like a boy, 
up the steps of his home. 

After the rapture of meeting, and after that 
odd feeling of unsatisfied expectation the 
feeling that "everything is just the same, so 



WAR AND PEACE 

down in his old home world. His father and 
mother were much the same, only a little older. 
What was new in them was a certain uneasi- 
ness and occasional discord, which there used 
not to be, and which, as Nicholas soon found 
out, was due to the bad state of their affairs. 
S6nya was nearly twenty; she had stopped 
growing prettier and promised nothing more 
than she was already, but that was enough. 
She exhaled happiness and love from the time 
Nicholas returned, and the faithful, unalter- 
able love of this girl had a gladdening effect on 
hirn. P(kya and Natasha surprised Nicholas 
most. Pc"tya was a big handsome boy of thir- 
teen, merry, witty, and mischievous, with a 
voice that was already breaking. As for Nata- 
sha, for a long while Nicholas wondered and 
laughed whenever he looked at her. 

"You're not the same at all," he said. 

"How? Am I uglier?" 

"On the contrary, but what dignityl A prin- 
cess!" he whispered to her. 

"Yes,. yes, yes!" cried Natasha, joyfully. 

She told him about her romance with Prince 
Andrew and of his visit to Otrddnoe and 
showed him his last letter. 

"Well, are you glad?" Natdsha asked. "I am 
so tranquil and happy now." 

"Very glad," answered Nicholas. "He is an 

excellent fellow And are you very much in 

love?" 

"How shall I put it?" replied Natdsha. "I 
was in love with Boris, with my teacher, and 
with Denisov, but this is quite different. I feel 
at peace and settled. I know that no better 
man than he exists, and I am calm and con- 
tented now. Not at all as before." 

Nicholas expressed his disapproval of the 
postponement of the marriage for a year; but 
Natdsha attacked her brother with exaspera- 
tion, proving to him that it could not be oth- 
erwise, and that it would be a bad thing to en- 
ter a family against the father's will, and that 
she herself wished it so. 

"You don't at all understand/' she said. 

Nicholas was silent and agreed with her. 

Her brother often wondered as he looked at 
her. She did not seem at all like a girl in love 
and parted from her affianced husband. She 
was even-tempered and calm and quite as 
cheerful as of old. This amazed Nicholas and 
even made him regard Bolk6nski's courtship 
skeptically. He could not believe that her 
fate was sealed, especially as he had not seen 
her with Prince Andrew. It always seemed- 



why did I hurry?" Nicholas began to settle to him that there was something not quite 



right about this intended marriage. 

"Why this delay? Why no betrothal?" he 
thought. Once, when he had touched on this 
topic with his mother, he discovered, to his sur- 
prise and somewhat to his satisfaction, that in 
the depth of her soul she too had doubts about 
this marriage. 

"You see he writes," said she, showing her 
son a letter of Prince Andrew's, with that la- 
tent grudge a mother always has in regard to a 
daughter's future married happiness, "he writes 
that he won't come before December. What 
can be keeping him? Illness, probably! His 
health is very delicate. Don't tell Natdsha. And 
don't attach importance to her being so bright: 
that's because she's living through the last days 
of her girlhood, but I know what she is like 
every time we receive a letter from him! How- 
ever, God grant that everything turns out 
well!" (She always ended with these words.) 
"He is an excellent man!" 

CHAPTER II 

AFTER REACHING HOME Nicholas was at first 
serious and even dull. He was worried by the 
impending necessity of interferinginthestupid 
business matters for which his mother had 
called him home. To throw off this burden as 
quickly as possible, on the third day after his 
arrival he went, angry and scowling and with- 
out answering questions as to where he was 
going, to Mitenka's lodge and demanded an 
account of everything. But what an account of 
everything might be Nicholas knew even less 
than the frightened and bewildered Mitenka. 
The conversation and the examination of the 
accounts with Mitenka did not last long. The 
village elder, a peasant delegate, and the vil- 
lage clerk, who were waiting in the passage, 
heard with fear and delight first the young 
count's voice roaring and snapping and rising 
louder and louder, and then words of abuse, 
dreadful words, ejaculated one after the other. 

"Robber! . . . Ungrateful wretch! . . .I'll hack 
the dog to pieces! I'm not my father! . . . Rob- 
bing us! . . ." and so on. 

Then with no less fear and delight they saw 
how the young count, red in the face and with 
bloodshot eyes, dragged MUenka out by the 
scruff of the neck and applied his foot and 
knee to him behind with great agility at con- 
venient moments between the words, shout- 
ing, "Be off! Never let me see your face here 
again, you villain!" 

Mitenka flew headlong down the six steps 
and ran away into the shrubbery. (This shrub- 



BOOK SEVEN 277 

bery was a well-known haven of refuge for cul- 



prits at Otrddnoe. Mftenka himself, returning 
tipsy from the town, used to hide there, and 
many of the residents at Otrddnoe, hiding from 
Mitenka, knew of its protective qualities.) 

Mf tenka's wife and sisters-in-law thrust their 
heads and frightened faces out of the door of a 
room where a bright samovar was boiling and 
where the steward's high bedstead stood with 
its patchwork quilt. 

The young count paid no heed to them, but, 
breathing hard, passed by with resolute strides 
and went into the house. 

The countess, who heard at once from the 
maids what had happened at the lodge, was 
calmed by the thought that now their affairs 
would certainly improve, but on the other 
hand felt anxious as to the effect this excite- 
ment might have on her son. She went several 
times to his door on tiptoe and listened, as he 
lighted one pipe after another. 

Next day the old count called his son aside 
and, with an embarrassed smile, said to him: 

"But you know, my dear boy, it's a pity you 
got excited! Mitenka has told me all about it." 

"I knew," thought Nicholas, "that I should 
never understand any thing in this crazy world." 

"You were angry that he had not entered 
those 700 rubles. But they were carried for- 
wardand you did not look at the other page." 

"Papa, he is a blackguard and a thief! I know 
he is! And what I have done, I have done; but, 
if you like, I won't speak to him again." 

"No, my dear boy" (the count, too, felt em- 
barrassed. He knew he had mismanaged his 
wife's property and was to blame toward his 
children, but he did not know how to remedy 
it). "No, I beg you to attend to the business. I 
am old. I ..." 

"No, Papa. Forgive me if I have caused you 
unpleasantness. I understand it all less than 
you do." 

"Devil take all these peasants, and money 
matters, and carryings forward from page to 
page," he thought. "I used to understand what 
a 'corner* and the stakes at cards meant, but 
carrying forward to another page I don't un- 
derstand at all," said he to himself, and after 
that he did not meddle in business affairs. But 
once the countess called her son and informed 
him that she had a promissory note from Anna 
Mikhdylovna for two thousand rubles, and 
asked him what he thought of doing with it. 

"This," answered Nicholas. "You say it rests 
with me. Well, I don't like Anna Mikhdylov- 
na and I don't like Boris, but they were our 



278 



WAR AND PEACE 



friends and poor. Well then, this I" and he tore 
up the note, and by so doing caused the old 
countess to weep tears of joy. After that, young 
Rost6v took no further part in any business af- 
fairs, but devoted himself with passionate en- 
thusiasm to what was to him a new pursuit 
the chase for which his father kept a large 
establishment. 

CHAPTER III 

THE WEATHER was already growing wintry and 
morning frosts congealed an earth saturated 
by autumn rains. The verdure had thickened 
and its bright green stood out sharply against 
the brownish strips of winter rye trodden down 
by the cattle, and against the pale-yellow stub- 
ble of the spring sowing and the reddish strips 
of buckwheat. The wooded ravines and the 
copses, which at the end of August had still 
been green islands amid black fields and stub- 
ble, had become golden and bright-red islands 
amid the green winter rye. The hares had al- 
ready half changed their summer coats, the fox 
cubs were beginning to scatter, and the young 
wolves were bigger than dogs. It was the best 
time of the year for the chase. The hounds of 
that ardent young sportsman Rostov had not 
merely reached hard winter condition, but 
were so jaded that at a meetingof the huntsmen 
it was decided to give them a three days' rest 
and then, on the sixteenth of September, to go 
on a distant expedition, starting from the oak 
grove where there was an undisturbed litter of 
wolf cubs. 

All that day the hounds remained at home. 
It was frosty and the air was sharp, but toward 
evening the sky became overcast and it began 
to thaw. On the fifteenth, when young Rost6v, 
in his dressing gown, looked out of the window, 
he saw it was an unsurpassable morning for 
hunting: it was as if the sky were melting and 
sinking to the earth without any wind. The 
only motion in the air was that of the dripping, 
microscopic particles of drizzling mist. The 
bare twigs in the garden were hung with trans- 
parent drops which fell on the freshly fallen 
leaves. The earth in the kitchen garden looked 
wet and black and glistened like poppy seed 
and at a short distance merged into the dull, 
moist veil of mist. Nicholas went out into the 
wet and muddy porch. There was a smell of 
decaying leaves and of dog. Milka, a black- 
spotted, broad-haunched bitch with prominent 
black eyes, got up on seeing her master, 
stretched her hind legs, lay down like a hare, 
and then suddenly jumped up and licked him 



right on his nose and mustache. Another bor- 
zoi, a dog, catching sight of his master from the 
garden path, arched his back and, rushing 
headlong toward the porch with lifted tail, be- 
gan rubbing himself against his legs. 

"O-hoy!" came at that moment, that inimi- 
table huntsman's call which unites the deepest 
bass with the shrillest tenor, and round the 
corner came Daniel the head huntsman and 
head kennelman, a gray, wrinkled old man 
with hair cut straight over his forehead, Ukrain- 
ian fashion, a long bent whip in his hand, and 
that look of independence and scorn of every- 
thing that is only seen in huntsmen. He doffed 
his Circassian cap to his master and looked at 
him scornfully. This scorn was not offensive to 
his master. Nicholas knew that this Daniel, dis- 
dainful of everybody and who considered him- 
self above them, was all the same his serf and 
huntsman. 

"Daniel!" Nicholas said timidly, conscious 
at the sight of the weather, the hounds, and the 
huntsman that he was being carried away by 
that irresistible passion for sport which makes 
a man forget all his previous resolutions, as a 
lover forgets in the presence of his mistress. 

"What orders, your excellency?" said the 
huntsman in his deep bass, deep as a proto- 
deacon's and hoarse with hallooing and two 
flashing black eyes gazed from under his brows 
at his master, who was silent. "Can you resist 
it?" those eyes seemed to be asking. 

"It's a good day, eh? For a hunt and a gallop, 
eh?" asked Nicholas, scratching Mflka behind 
the ears. 

Daniel did not answer, but winked instead. 

"I sent Uvrirka at dawn to listen," his bass 
boomed out after a minute's pause. "He says 
she's moved them into the OtrAdnoe enclosure. 
They were howling there." (This meant that 
the she-wolf, about whom they both knew, had 
moved with her cubs to the Otradnoe copse, a 
small place a mile and a half from the house.) 

"We ought to go, don't you think so?" said 
Nicholas. "Come to me with Uvrka." 

"As you please." 

"Then put off feeding them." 

"Yes, sir." 

Five minutes later Daniel and Uvdrka were 
standing in Nicholas' big study. Though Daniel 
was not a big man, to see him in a room was 
like seeing a horse or a bear on the floor among 
the furniture and surroundings of human life. 
Daniel himself felt this, and as usual stood just 
inside the door, trying to speak softly and not 
move, for fear of breaking something in the 



BOOK SEVEN 



master's apartment, and he hastened to say all 
that was necessary so as to get from under that 
ceiling, out into the open under the sky once 
more. 

Having finished his inquiries and extorted 
from Daniel an opinion that the hounds were 
fit (Daniel himself wished to go hunting), Nich- 
olas ordered the horses to be saddled. But just 
as Daniel was about to go Natdsha came in with 
rapid steps, not having done up her hair or fin- 
ished dressing and with her old nurse's big 
shawl wrapped round her. Pe'tya ran in at the 
same time. 

"You are going?" asked Natdsha. "I knew you 
would! S6nya said you wouldn't go, but I knew 
that today is the sort of day when you couldn't 
help going." 

"Yes, we are going," replied Nicholas reluc- 
tantly, for today, as he intended to hunt seri- 
ously, he did not want to take Natasha and Pe't- 
ya. "We are going, but only wolf hunting: it 
would be dull for you." 

"You know it is my greatest pleasure," said 
Natdsha. "It's not fair; you are going by your- 
self, are having the horses saddled and said 
nothing to us about it." 

" 'No barrier bars a Russian's path' we'll 
go!" shouted Pdtya. 

"But you can't. Mamma said you mustn't," 
said Nicholas to Natdsha. 

"Yes, I'll go. I shall certainly go," said Na- 
tdsha decisively. "Daniel, tell them to saddle 
for us, and Michael must come with my dogs," 
she added to the huntsman. 

It seemed to Daniel irksome and improper 
to be in a room at all, but to have anything to 
do with a young lady seemed to him impossible. 
He cast down his eyes and hurried out as if it 
were none of his business, careful as he went 
not to inflict any accidental injury on the 
young lady. 

CHAPTER IV 

THE OLD COUNT, who had always kept up an 
enormous hunting establishment but had now 
handed it all completely over to his son's care, 
being in very good spirits on this fifteenth of 
September, prepared to go out with the others. 
In an hour's time the whole hunting party 
was at the porch. Nicholas, with a stern and 
serious air which showed that now was no time 
for attending to trifles, went past Natdsha and 
Ptya who were trying to tell him something. 
He had a look at all the details of the hunt, sent 
a pack of hounds and huntsmen on ahead to 
find the quarry, mounted his chestnut Done* ts, 



and whistling to his own leash of borzois, set 
off across the threshing ground to a field lead- 
ing to the Otrddnoe wood. The old count's 
horse, a sorrel gelding called Viflydnka, was led 
by the groom in attendance on him, while the 
count himself was to drive in a small trap 
straight to a spot reserved for him. 

They were taking fifty-four hounds, with six 
hunt attendants and whippers-in. Besides the 
family, there were eight borzoi kennelmen and 
more than forty borzois, so that, with the bor- 
zois on the leash belonging to members of the 
family, there were about a hundred and thirty 
dogs and twenty horsemen. 

Each dog knew its master and its call. Each 
man in the hunt knew his business, his place, 
and what he had to do. As soon as they had 
passed the fence they all spread out evenly and 
quietly, without noise or talk, along the road 
and field leading to the Otrddnoe covert. 

The horses stepped over the field as over a 
thick carpet, now and then splashing into pud- 
dles as they crossed a road. The misty sky still 
seemed to descend evenly and imperceptibly 
toward the earth, the air was still, warm, and 
silent. Occasionally the whistle of a huntsman, 
the snort of a horse, the crack of a whip, or the 
whine of a straggling hound could be heard. 

When they had gone a little less than a mile, 
five more riders with dogs appeared out of the 
mist, approaching the Rostovs. In front rode a 
fresh-looking, handsome old man with a large 
gray mustache. 

"Good morning, Uncle!" said Nicholas, when 
the old man drew near. 

"That's it. Come on! ... I was sure of it," 
began "Uncle." (He was a distant relative of 
the Rostovs', a man of small means, and their 
neighbor.) "I knew you wouldn't be able to re- 
sist it and it's a good thing you're going. That's 
it! Come on!" (This was "Uncle's" favorite ex- 
pression.) "Take the covert at once, for my Gir- 
chik says the Ildgins are at Korniki with their 
hounds. That's it. Come on! ... They'll take 
the cubs from under your very nose." 

"That's where I'm going. Shall we join up 
our packs?" asked Nicholas. 

The hounds were joined into one pack, and 
"Uncle" and Nicholas rode on side by side. Na- 
tdsha, muffled up in shawls which did not hide 
her eager face and shining eyes, galloped up to 
them. She was followed by Ptya who always 
kept close to her, by Michael, a huntsman, and 
by a groom appointed to look after her. Ptya, 
who was laughing, whipped and pulled at his 
horse. Natdsha sat easily and confidently on 



280 



WAR AND PEACE 



her black Ardbchik and reined him in without 
effort with a firm hand. 

"Uncle" looked round disapprovingly at Pe"t- 
ya and Natdsha. He did not like to combine 
frivolity with the serious business of hunting. 

"Good morning, Uncle! We are going too!" 
shouted Ptya. 

"Good morning, good morning! But don't 
go overriding the hounds," said "Uncle" stern- 

iy- 

"Nicholas, what a fine dog Trunfla is! He 
knew me," said Natdsha, referring to her favor- 
ite hound. 

"In the first place, Trunfla is not a 'dog/ but 
a harrier," thought Nicholas, and looked stern- 
ly at his sister, trying to make her feel the dis- 
tance that ought to separate them at that mo- 
ment. Natdsha understood it. 

"You mustn't think we'll be in anyone's way, 
Uncle," she said. "We'll go to our places and 
won't budge." 

"A good thing too, little countess," said "Un- 
cle," "only mind you don't fall off your horse," 
he added, "becausethat's it, come on! you've 
nothing to hold on to." 

The oasis of the Otrddnoe covert came in 
sight a few hundred yards off, the huntsmen 
were already nearing it. Rostov, having finally 
settled with "Uncle" where they should set on 
the hounds, and having shown Natasha where 
she was to standa spot where nothing could 
possibly run out went round above the ravine. 

"Well, nephew, you're going for a big wolf," 
said "Uncle." "Mind and don't let her slip!" 

"That's as may happen," answered Rost6v. 
"Karay, here!" he shouted, answering "Uncle's" 
remark by this call to his borzoi. Karay was a 
shaggy old dog with a hanging jowl, famous 
for having tackled a big wolf unaided. They 
all took up their places. 

The old count, knowing his son's ardor in 
the hunt, hurried so as not to be late, and the 
hunstmen had not yet reached their places 
when Count Ilyd Rostov, cheerful, flushed, and 
with quivering cheeks, drove up with his black 
horses over the winter rye to the place reserved 
for him, where a wolf might come out. Having 
straightened his coat and fastened on his hunt- 
ing knives and horn, he mounted his good, 
sleek, well-fed, and comfortable horse, Viflyan- 
ka, which was turning gray, like himself. His 
horses and trap were sent home. Count Ilyd 
Rost6v, though not at heart a keen sportsman, 
knew the rulesof the hunt well, and rode to the 
bushy edge of the road where he was to stand, 
arranged his reins, settled himself in the sad- 



dle, and, feeling that he was ready, looked 
about with a smile. 

Beside him was Simon Chekmar, his person- 
al attendant, an old horseman now somewhat 
stiff in the saddle. Chekmar held in leash three 
formidable wolfhounds, who had, however, 
grown fat like their master and his horse. Two 
wise old dogs lay down unleashed. Some hun- 
dred paces farther along the edge of the wood 
stood Mitka, the count's other groom, a daring 
horseman and keen rider to hounds. Before the 
hunt, by old custom, the count had drunk a 
silver cupful of mulled brandy, taken a snack, 
and washed it down with half a bottle of his 
favorite Bordeaux. 

He was somewhat flushed with the wine and 
the drive. His eyes were rather moist and glit- 
tered more than usual, and as he sat in his sad- 
dle, wrapped up in his fur coat, he looked like 
a child taken out for an outing. 

The thin, hollow-cheeked Chekmar, having 
got everything ready, kept glancing at his mas- 
ter with whom he had lived on the best of terms 
for thirty years, and understanding the mood 
he was in expected a pleasant chat. A third 
person rode up circumspectly through the wood 
(it was plain that he had had a lesson) and 
stopped behind the count. This person was a 
gray-bearded old man in a woman's cloak, with 
a tall peaked cap on his head. He was the buf- 
foon, who went by a woman's name, Nastdsya 
Ivanovna. 

"Well, Nastdsya Ivdnovna!" whispered the 
count, winking at him. "If you scare away the 
beast, Daniel'll give it you!" 

"I know a thing or two myself!" said Nas- 
tdsya Ivdnovna. 

"Hush!" whispered the count and turned to 
Simon. "Have you seen the young countess?" 
he asked. "Where is she?" 

"With young Count Peter, by the Zhdrov 
rank grass," answered Simon, smiling. "Though 
she's a lady, she's very fond of hunting." 

"And you're surprised at the way she rides, 
Simon, eh?" said the count. "She's as good as 
many a man!" 

"Of course! It's marvelous. So bold, so easy!" 

"And Nicholas? Where is he? By the Lyddov 
upland, isn't he?" 

"Yes, sir. He knows where to stand. He un- 
derstands the matter so well that Daniel and I 
are often quite astounded," said Simon, well 
knowing what would please his master. 

"Rides well, eh? And how well he looks on 
his horse, eh?" 

"A perfect picture! How he chased a fox out 



BOOK SEVEN 



281 



of the rank grass by the Zavarzinsk thicket the 
other day! Leaped a fearful place; what a sight 
when they rushed from the covert . . . the horse 
worth a thousand rubles and the rider beyond 
all price! Yes, one would have to search far to 
find another as smart." 

"To search far . . ." repeated the count, evi- 
dently sorry Simon had not said more. "To 
search far," he said, turning back the skirt of 
his coat to get at his snuffbox. 

"The other day when he came out from Mass 
in full uniform, Michael Sid6rych . . ." Simon 
did not finish, for on the still air he had dis- 
tinctly caught the music of the hunt with only, 
two or three hounds giving tongue. He bent 
down his head and listened, shaking a warn- 
ing finger at his master. "They are on the scent 
of the cubs . . ." he whispered, "straight to the 
Lyadov uplands." 

The count, forgetting to smooth out the 
smile on his face, looked into the distance 
straight before him, down the narrow open 
space, holding the snuff box in his hand but not 
taking any. After the cry of the hounds came 
the deep tones of the wolf call from Daniel's 
hunting horn; the pack joined the first three 
hounds and they could be heard in full cry, 
with that peculiar lift in the note that indicates 
that they are after a wolf. The whippers-in no 
longer set on the hounds, but changed to the 
cry of ulyulyu, and above the others rose Dan- 
iel's voice, now a deep bass, now piercingly 
shrill. His voice seemed to fill the whole wood 
and carried far beyond out into the open field. 

After listening a few moments in silence, the 
count and his attendant convinced themselves 
that the hounds had separated into two packs: 
the sound of the larger pack, eagerly giving 
tongue, began to die away in the distance, the 
other pack rushed by the wood past the count, 
and it was with this that Daniel's voice was 
heard calling ulyulyu. The sounds of both 
packs mingled and broke apart again, but both 
were becoming more distant. 

Simon sighed and stooped to straighten the 
leash a young borzoi had entangled; the count 
too sighed and, noticing the snuffbox in his 
hand, opened it and took a pinch. "Backl" 
cried Simon to a borzoi that was pushing for- 
ward out of the wood. The count started and 
dropped the snuffbox. Nastasya Ivanovna dis- 
mounted to pick it up. The count and Simon 
were looking at him. 

Then, unexpectedly, as often happens, the 
sound of the hunt suddenly approached, as if 
the hounds in full cry and Daniel ulyulyuing 



were just in front of them. 

The count turned and saw on his right Mit- 
ka staring at him with eyes starting out of his 
head, raising his cap and pointing before him 
to the other side. 

"Look out!" he shouted, in a voice plainly 
showing that he had long fretted to utter that 
word, and letting the borzois slip he galloped 
toward the count. 

The count and Simon galloped out of the 
wood and saw on their left a wolf which, softly 
swaying from side to side, was coming at a 
quiet lope farther to the left to the very place 
where they were standing. The angry borzois 
whined and getting free of the leash rushed 
past the horses' feet at the wolf. 

The wolf paused, turned its heavy forehead 
toward the dogs awkwardly, like a man suffer- 
ing from the quinsy, and, still slightly swaying 
from side to side, gave a couple of leaps and 
with a swish of its tail disappeared into the 
skirt of the wood. At the same instant, with a 
cry like a wail, first one hound, then another, 
and then another, sprang helter-skelter from 
the wood opposite and the whole pack rushed 
across the field toward the very spot where the 
wolf had disappeared. The hazel bushes parted 
behind the hounds and Daniel's chestnut horse 
appeared, dark with sweat. On its long back 
sat Daniel, hunched forward, capless, his di- 
sheveled gray hair hanging over his flushed, 
perspiring face. 

"Ulyulyulyu! ulyulyu! . . ." he cried. When 
he caught sight of the count his eyes flashed 
lightning. 

"Blast you! "he shouted, holding up his whip 
threateningly at the count. 

"You've let the wolf go! . . .What sportsmen I" 
and as if scorning to say more to the frightened 
and shamefaced count, he lashed the heaving 
flanks of his sweating chestnut gelding with all 
the anger the count had aroused and flew off 
after the hounds. The count, like a punished 
schoolboy, looked round, trying by a smile to 
win Simon'ssympathyforhis plight. But Simon 
was no longer there. He was galloping round 
by the bushes while the field was coming up 
on both sides, all trying to head the wolf, but 
it vanished into the wood before they could do 
so. 

CHAPTER V 

NICHOLAS ROSTOV meanwhile remained at his 
post, waiting for the wolf. By the way the hunt 
approached and receded, by the cries of the 
dogs whose notes were familiar to him, by the 



282 



WAR AND PEACE 



way the voices of the huntsmen approached, 
receded, and rose, he realized what was hap- 
pening at the copse. He knew that young and 
old wolves were there, that the hounds had 
separated into two packs, that somewhere a 
wolf was being chased, and that something had 
gone wrong. He expected the wolf to come his 
way any moment. He made thousands of dif- 
ferent conjectures as to where and from what 
side the beast would come and how he would 
set upon it. Hope alternated with despair. Sev- 
eral times he addressed a prayer to God that 
the wolf should come his way. He prayed with 
that passionate and shame-faced feeling with 
which men pray at moments of great excite- 
ment arising from trivial causes. "What would 
it be to Thee to do this for me?" he said to 
God. "I know Thou art great, and that it is a 
sin to ask this of Thee, but for God's sake do 
let the old wolf come my way and let Karay 
spring at it in sight of 'Uncle' who is watch- 
ing from over there and seize it by the throat 
in a death grip!" A thousand times during that 
half-hour Rost6v cast eager and restless glances 
over the edge of the wood, with the two scrag- 
gy oaks rising above the aspen undergrowth 
and the gully with its water-worn side and 
"Uncle's" cap just visible above the bush on his 
right. 

"No, I shan't have such luck," thought Ros- 
t6v, "yet what wouldn't it be worth! It is not to 
be! Everywhere, at cards and in war, I am al- 
ways unlucky." Memories of Austerlitz and of 
D61okhov flashed rapidly and clearly through 
his mind. "Only once in my life to get an old 
wolf, I want only that!" thought he, straining 
eyes and ears and looking to the left and then 
to the right and listening to the slightest vari- 
ation of note in the cries of the dogs. 

Again he looked to the right and saw some- 
thing running toward him across the deserted 
field. "No, it can't be!" thought Rost6v, tak- 
ing a deep breath, as a man does at the coming 
of something long hoped for. The height of 
happiness was reached and so simply, with- 
out warning, or noise, or display, that Rost6v 
could not believe his eyes and remained in 
doubt for over a second. The wolf ran for- 
ward and jumped heavily over a gully that 
lay in her path. She was an old animal with a 
gray back and big reddish belly. She ran with- 
out hurry, evidently feeling sure that no one 
saw her. Rost6v, holding his breath, looked 
round at the borzois. They stood or lay not see- 
ing the wolf or understanding the situation. 
Old Karay had turned his head and was angri- 



ly searching for fleas, baring his yellow teeth 
and snapping at his hind legs. 

"Ulyulyulyu!" whispered Rost6v, pouting 
his lips. The borzois jumped up, jerking the 
rings of the leashes and pricking their ears. 
Karay finished scratching his hindquarters 
and, cocking his ears, got up with quivering 
tail from which tufts of matted hair hung 
down. 

"Shall I loose them or not?" Nicholas asked 
himself as the wolf approached him coming 
from the copse. Suddenly the wolf's whole phys- 
iognomy changed: she shuddered, seeing what 
she had probably never seen before human 
eyes fixed upon her and turning her head a 
little toward Rost6v, she paused. 

"Back or forward? Eh, no matter, forward 
. . ." the wolf seemed to say to herself, and she 
moved forward without again looking round 
and with a quiet, long, easy yet resolute lope. 

"Ulyulyu!" cried Nicholas, in a voice not his 
own, and of its own accord his good horse dart- 
ed headlong downhill, leaping over gullies to 
head off the wolf, and the borzois passed it, 
running faster still. Nicholas did not hear his 
own cry nor feel that he was galloping, nor see 
the borzois, nor the groundover which he went: 
he saw only the wolf, who, increasing her speed, 
bounded on in the same direction along the 
hollow. The first to come into view was Milka, 
with her black markings and powerful quarters, 
gaining upon the wolf. Nearer and nearer . . . 
now she was ahead of it; but the wolf turned 
its head to face her, and instead of putting on 
speed as she usually did Mflka suddenly raised 
her tail and stiffened her forelegs. 

"Ulyulyulyulyu!" shouted Nicholas. 

The reddish Lyubfm rushed forward from 
behind Milka, sprang impetuously at the wolf, 
and seized it by its hindquarters, but immedi- 
ately jumped aside in terror. The wolf crouched, 
gnashed her teeth, and again rose and bound- 
ed forward, followed at the distance of a couple 
of feet by all the borzois, who did not get any 
closer to her. 

"She'll get away! No, it's impossible! "thought 
Nicholas, still shouting with a hoarse voice. 

"Karay, ulyulyu! . . ." he shouted, looking 
round for the old borzoi who was now his only 
hope. Karay, with all the strength age had left 
him, stretched himself to the utmost and, watch- 
ing the wolf, galloped heavily aside to intercept 
it. But the quickness of the wolf's lope and the 
borzoi's slower pace made it plain that Karay 
had miscalculated. Nicholas could already see 
not far in front of him the wood where the wolf 



BOOK SEVEN 



283 



would certainly escape should she reach it. But, 
coining toward him, he saw hounds and a hunts- 
man galloping almost straight at the wolf. 
There was still hope. A long, yellowish young 
borzoi, one Nicholas did not know, from an- 
other leash, rushed impetuously at the wolf 
from in front and almost knocked her over. But 
the wolf jumped up more quickly than anyone 
could have expected and, gnashing her teeth, 
flew at the yellowish borzoi, which, with a 
piercing yelp, fell with its head on the ground, 
bleeding from a gash in its side. 

"Karay? Old fellow! . . ." wailed Nicholas. 

Thanks to the delay caused by this crossing 
of the wolf's path, the old dog with its felted 
hair hanging from its thigh was within five 
paces of it. As if aware of her danger, the wolf 
turned her eyes on Karay, tucked her tail yet 
further between her legs, and increased her 
speed. But here Nicholas only saw that some- 
thing happened to Karay the borzoi was sud- 
denly on the wolf, and they rolled together 
down into a gully just in front of them. 

That instant, when Nicholas saw the wolf 
strugglingin thegullywith the dogs, while from 
under them could be seen her gray hair and out- 
stretched hind leg and her frightened choking 
head, with her ears laid back (Karay was pin- 
ning her by the throat), was the happiest mo- 
ment of his life. With his hand on his saddle- 
bow, he was ready to dismount and stab the 
wolf, when she suddenly thrust her head up 
from among that mass of dogs, and then her 
forepaws were on the edge of the gully. She 
clicked her teeth (Karay no longer had her by 
the throat), leaped with a movement of her 
hind legs out of the gully, and having disen- 
gaged herself from the dogs, with tail tucked 
in again, went forward. Kardy, his hair bris- 
tling, and probably bruised or wounded, 
climbed with difficulty out of the gully. . 

"Oh my God! Why?" Nicholas cried in des- 
pair. 

i "Uncle's" huntsman was galloping from the 
other side across the wolf's path and his borzois 
once more stopped the animal's advance. She 
was again hemmed in. 

Nicholas and his attendant, with "Uncle" 
and his huntsman, were all riding round the 
wolf, crying "ulyulyu!" shouting and prepar- 
ing to dismount each moment that the wolf 
crouched back, and starting forward again ev- 
ery time she shook herself and moved toward 
the wood where she would be safe. 

Already, at the beginning of this chase, 
Daniel, hearing theulyulyuing, had rushed out 



from the wood. He saw Karay seize the wolf, 
and checked his horse, supposing the affair to 
be over. But when he saw that the horsemen 
did not dismount and that the wolf shook her- 
self and ran for safety, Daniel set his chestnut 
galloping, not at the wolf but straight toward 
the wood, just as Karay had run to cut the ani- 
mal off. As a result of this, he galloped up to 
the wolf just when she had been stopped a sec- 
ond time by "Uncle's" borzois. 

Daniel galloped up silently, holding a naked 
dagger in his left hand and thrashing the la- 
boring sides of his chestnut horse with his whip 
as if it were a flail. 

Nicholas neither saw nor heard Daniel un- 
til the chestnut, breathing heavily, panted past 
him, and he heard the fall of a body and saw 
Daniel lying on the wolf's back among the dogs, 
trying to seize her by the ears. It was evident 
to the dogs, the hunters, and to the wolf her- 
self that all was now over. The terrified wolf 
pressed back her ears and tried to rise, but the 
borzois stuck to her. Daniel rose a little, took 
a step, and with his whole weight, as if lying 
down to rest, fell on the wolf, seizing her by 
the ears. Nicholas was about to stab her, but 
Daniel whispered, "Don't! We'll gag her!" and, 
changing his position, set his foot on the wolf's 
neck. A stick was thrust between her jaws and 
she was fastened with a leash, as if bridled, her 
legs were bound together, and Daniel rolled 
her over once or twice from side to side. 

With happy, exhausted faces, they laid the 
old wolf, alive, on a shying and snorting horse 
and, accompanied by the dogs yelping at her, 
took her to the place where they were all to 
meet. The hounds had killed two of the cubs 
and the borzois three. The huntsmen assem- 
bled with their booty and their stories, and all 
came to look at the wolf, which, with her 
broad-browed head hanging down and the bit- 
ten stick between her jaws, gazed with great 
glassy eyes at this crowd of dogs and men sur- 
rounding her. When she was touched, she jerked 
her bound legs and looked wildly yet simply at 
everybody. Old Count Rost6valso rode up and 
touched the wolf. 

"Oh, what a formidable one!" said he. "A 
formidable one, eh?" he asked Daniel, who was 
standing near. 

"Yes, your excellency," answered Daniel, 
quickly doffing his cap. 

The count remembered the wolf he had let 
slip and his encounter with Daniel. 

"Ah, but you are a crusty fellow, friend!" 
said the count. 



284 



WAR AND PEACE 



For sole reply Daniel gave him a shy, child- 
like, meek, and amiable smile. 

CHAPTER VI 

THE OLD COUNT went home, and Natdsha and 
P^tya promised to return very soon, but as it 
was still early the hunt went farther. At mid- 
day they put the hounds into a ravine thickly 
overgrown with young trees. Nicholas standing 
in a fallow field could see all his whips. 

Facing him lay a field of winter rye, and there 
his own huntsman stood alone in a hollow be- 
hind a hazel bush. The hounds had scarcely 
been loosed before Nicholas heard one he 
knew, Volt6rn, giving tongue at intervals; oth- 
er hounds joined in, now pausing and now a- 
gain giving tongue. A moment later he heard a 
cry from the wooded ravine that a fox had been 
found, and the whole pack, joining together, 
rushed along the ravine toward theryefield and 
away from Nicholas. 

He saw the whips in their red caps galloping 
along the edge of the ravine, he even saw the 
hounds, and was expecting a fox to show itself 
at any moment on the ryefield opposite. 

The huntsman standing in the hollow moved 
and loosed his borzois, and Nicholas saw a 
queer, short-legged red fox with a fine brush 
going hard across the field. The borzois bore 
down on it. ... Now they drew close to the fox 
which began to dodge between the field in 
sharper and sharper curves, trailing its brush, 
when suddenly a strange white borzoi dashed 
in followed by a black one, and everything was 
in confusion; the borzois formed a star-shaped 
figure, scarcely swaying their bodies and with 
tails turned away from the center of the group. 
Two huntsmen galloped up to the dogs; one in 
a red cap, the other, a stranger, in a green coat. 

"What's this?" thought Nicholas. "Where's 
that huntsman from? He is not 'Uncle's' man." 

The huntsmen got the fox, but stayed there 
a long time without strapping it to the saddle. 
Their horses, bridled and with high saddles, 
stood near them and there too the dogs were 
lying. The huntsmen waved their arms and 
did something to the fox. Then from that spot 
came the sound of a horn, with the signal agreed 
on in case of a fight. 

"That's Ilagin's huntsman havinga row with 
our Ivdn," said Nicholas* groom. 

Nicholas sent the man to call Natasha and 
Ptya to him, and rode at a footpace to the 
place where the whips were getting the hounds 
together. Several of the field galloped to the 
spot where the fight was going on. 



Nicholas dismounted, and with Natasha and 
Pe"tya, who had ridden up, stopped near the 
hounds, waiting to see how the matter would 
end. Out of the bushes came the huntsman who 
had been fighting and rode toward his young 
master, with the fox tied to his crupper. While 
still at a distance he took off his cap and tried 
to speak respectfully, but he was pale and 
breathless and his face was angry. One of his 
eyes was black, but he probably was not even 
aware of it. 

"What has happened?" asked Nicholas. 

"A likely thing, killing a fox our dogs had 
huntedl And it was my gray bitch that caught 
it! Go to law, indeed! ... He snatches at the 
fox! I gave him one with the fox. Here it is on 
my saddle! Do you want a taste of this? . . ." 
said the huntsman, pointing to his dagger and 
probably imagining himself still speaking to 
his foe. 

Nicholas, not stopping to talk to the man, 
asked his sister and Petya to wait for him and 
rode to the spot where the enemy's, Ildgin's, 
hunting party was. 

The victorious huntsman rode off to join the 
field, and there, surrounded by inquiring sym- 
pathizers, recounted his exploits. 

The facts were that Ildgin, with whom the 
Rostovs had a quarrel and were at law, hunted 
over places that belonged bv custom to the Ros- 
tovs, and had now, as if purposely, sent his men 
to the very woods the Rost6vs were hunting 
and let his man snatch a fox their dogs had 
chased. 

Nicholas, though he had never seen Ildgin, 
with his usual absence of moderation in judg- 
ment, hated him cordially from reports of his 
arbitrariness and violence, and regarded him 
as his bitterest foe. He rode in angry agitation 
toward him, firmly grasping his whip and ful- 
ly prepared to take the most resolute and des- 
perate steps to punish his enemy. 

Hardly had he passed an angle of the wood 
before a stout gentleman in a beaver cap came 
riding toward him on a handsome raven-black 
horse, accompanied by two hunt servants. 

Instead of an enemy, Nicholas found in Ild- 
gin a stately and courteous gentleman who was 
particularly anxious to make the young count's 
acquaintance. Having ridden up to Nicholas, 
Ildgin raised his beaver cap and said he much 
regretted what had occurred and would have 
the man punished who had allowed himself to 
seize a fox hunted by someone else's borzois. 
He hoped to become better acquainted with 
the count and invited him to draw his covert. 



BOOK SEVEN 



285 



Natdsha, afraid that her brother would do 
something dreadful, had followed him in some 
excitement. Seeing the enemies exchanging 
friendly greetings, she rode up to them. Ilagin 
lifted his beaver cap still higher to Natasha 
and said, with a pleasant smile, that the young 
countess resembled Diana in her passion for 
the chase as well as in her beauty, of which he 
had heard much. 

To expiate his huntsman's offense, Ilagin 
pressed the Rost6vs to come to an upland of 
his about a mile away which he usually kept for 
himself and which, he said, swarmed with hares. 
Nicholas agreed, and the hunt, now doubled, 
moved on. 

The way to Ilagin's upland was across the 
fields. The hunt servants fell into line. The 
masters rode together. "Uncle," Rost6v, and 
Ilagin kept stealthily glancing at one another's 
dogs, trying not to be observed by their com- 
panions and searching uneasily for rivals to 
their own borzois. 

Rost6v was particularly struck by the beauty 
of a small, pure-bred, red-spotted bitch on Il- 
agin's leash, slender but with muscles like steel, 
a delicate muzzle, and prominent black eyes. 
He had heard of the swiftness of Ilagin's bor- 
zois, and in that beautiful bitch saw a rival to 
his own Milka. 

In the middle of a sober conversation begun 
by Ilagin about the year's harvest, Nicholas 
pointed to the red-spotted bitch. 

"A fine little bitch, that!" said he in a care- 
less tone. "Is she swift?" 

"That one? Yes, she's a good dog, gets what 
she's after," answered Ilagin indifferently, of 
the red-spotted bitch Erza, for which, a year 
before, he had given a neighbor three families 
of house serfs. "So in your parts, too, the har- 
vest is nothing to boast of, Count?" he went 
on, continuing the conversation they had be- 
gun. And considering it polite to return the 
young count's compliment, Ilagin looked at 
his borzois and picked out Mflka who attract- 
ed his attention by her breadth. "That black- 
spotted one of yours is finewell shaped!" 
said he. 

"Yes, she's fast enough," replied Nicholas, 
and thought: "If only a full-grown hare would 
cross the field now I'd show you what sort of 
borzoi she is, M and turning to his groom, he 
said he would give a ruble to anyone who found 
a hare. 

"I don't understand," continued Ilagin, 
"how some sportsmen can be so jealous about 
game and dogs. For myself, I can tell you, 



Count, I enjoy riding in company such as this 
. . . what could be better?" (he again raised his 
cap to Natasha) "but as for counting skins 
and what one takes, I don't care about that." 

"Of course not!" 

"Or being upset because someone else's bor- 
zoi and not mine catches something. All I care 
about is to enjoy seeing the chase, is it not so, 
Count? For I consider that . . ." 

"A-tu!" came the long-drawn cry of one of 
the borzoi whippers-in, who had halted. He 
stood on a knoll in the stubble, holding his 
whip aloft, and again repeated his long-drawn 
cry, "A-tu!" (This call and the uplifted whip 
meant that he saw a sitting hare.) 

"Ah, he has found one, I think," said Ilagin 
carelessly. "Well, let us course it, Count." 

"Yes, we must ride up. . . . Shall we both 
course it?" answered Nicholas, seeing in Erzd 
and "Uncle's" red Rugay two rivals he had nev- 
er yet had a chance of pitting against his own 
borzois. "And suppose they outdo my Milka at 
once!" he thought as he rode with "Uncle" and 
Ildgin toward the hare. 

"A full-grown one?" asked Ilagin as he ap- 
proached the whip who had sighted the hare 
and not without agitation he looked round and 
whistled to Erza. 

"And you, Michael Nikan6rovich?" he said, 
addressing "Uncle." 

The latter was riding with a sullen expres- 
sion on his face. 

"How can I join in? Why, you've given a vil- 
lage for each of your borzois! That's it, come 
on! Yours are worth thousands. Try yours a- 
gainst one another, you two, and I'll look on!" 

"Rugay, hey, hey!" he shouted. "Rugiyush- 
kal" he added, involuntarily by this diminutive 
expressing his affection and the hopes he placed 
on this red borzoi. Natasha saw and felt the agi- 
tation the two elderly men and her brother 
were trying to conceal, and was herself excited 
by it. 

The huntsman stood halfway up the knoll 
holding up his whip and the gentlefolk rode 
up to him at a footpace; the hounds that were 
far off on the horizon turned away from the 
hare, and the whips, but not the gentlefolk, al- 
so moved away. All were moving slowly and 
sedately. 

"How is it pointing?" asked Nicholas, rid- 
ing a hundred paces toward the whip who had 
sighted the hare. 

But before the whip could reply, the hare, 
scenting the frost coming next morning, was 
unable to rest and leaped up. The pack on 



286 



WAR AND PEACE 



leash rushed downhill in full cry after the hare, 
and from all sides the borzois that were not 
on leash darted after the hounds and the hare. 
All the hunt, who had been moving slowly, 
shouted, "Stop!" calling in the hounds, while 
the borzoi whips, with a cry of "A-tu!" galloped 
across the field, setting the borzois on the hare. 
The tranquil Ildgin, Nicholas, Natdsha, and 
"Uncle" flew, reckless of where and how they 
went, seeing only the borzois and the hare and 
fearing only to lose sight even for an instant of 
the chase. The hare they had started was a 
strong and swift one. When he jumped up he 
did not run at once, but pricked his ears listen- 
ing to the shouting and trampling that resound- 
ed from all sides at once. He took a dozen 
bounds, not very quickly, letting the borzois 
gain on him, and, finally having chosen his di- 
rection and realized his danger, laid back his 
ears and rushed off headlong. He had been ly- 
ing in the stubble, but in front of him was the 
autumn sowing where the ground was soft. 
The two borzois of the huntsman who had 
sighted him, having been the nearest, were the 
first to see and pursue him, but they had not 
gone far before login's red-spotted Erzd passed 
them, got within a length, flew at the hare with 
terrible swiftness aiming at his scut, and, think- 
ing she had seized him, rolled over like a ball. 
The hare arched his back and bounded off yet 
more swiftly. From behind Erzd rushed the 
broad-haunched, black-spotted Milka and be- 
gan rapidly gaining on the hare. 

"Mildshka, dear!" rose Nicholas* trium- 
phant cry. It looked as if Milka would immedi- 
ately pounce on the hare, but she overtook him 
and flew past. The hare had squatted. Again 
the beautiful Erzd reached him, but when close 
to the hare's scut paused as if measuring the 
distance, so as not to make a mistake this time 
but seize his hind leg. 

"Erzd, darling!" Ildgin wailed in a voice un- 
like his own. Erza did not hearken to his ap- 
peal. At the very moment when she would have 
seized her prey, the hare moved and darted 
along the balk between the winter rye and the 
stubble. Again Erza and Mflka were abreast, 
running like a pair of carriage horses, and be- 
gan to overtake the hare, but it was easier for 
the hare to run on the balk and the borzois did 
not overtake him so quickly. 

"Rugay, Rugdyushka! That's it, come on!" 
came a third voice just then, and "Uncle's" red 
borzoi, straining and curving its back, caught 
up with the two foremost borzois, pushed 
ahead of them regardless of the terrible strain, 



put on speed close to the hare, knocked it off 
the balk onto the ryefield, again put on speed 
still more viciously, sinking to his knees in the 
muddy field, and all one could see was how, 
muddying his back, he rolled over with the 
hare. A ring of borzois surrounded him. A mo- 
ment later everyone had drawn up round the 
crowd of dogs. Only the delighted "Uncle" dis- 
mounted, and cut off a pad, shaking the hare 
for the blood to drip off, and anxiously glanc- 
ing round with restless eyes while his arms 
and legs twitched. He spoke without himself 
knowing whom to or what about. "That's it, 
come on! That's a dog! . . . There, it has beat- 
en them all, the thousand-ruble as well as the 
one-ruble borzois. That's it, come on!" said he, 
panting and looking wrathfully around as if 
he were abusing someone, as if they were all 
his enemies and had insulted him, and only 
now had he at last succeeded in justifying him- 
self. "There are your thousand-ruble ones. . . . 
That's it, come on! . . ." 

"Rugay, here's a pad for you I "he said, throw- 
ing down the hare's muddy pad. "You've de- 
served it, that's it, come on!" 

"She'd tired herself out, she'd run it down 
three times by herself," said Nicholas, also not 
listening to anyone and regardless of whether 
he were heard or not. 

"But what is there in running across it like 
that?" said Ilagin's groom. 

"Once she had missed it and turned it away, 
any mongrel could take it," ILigin was saying 
at the same time, breathless from his gallop and 
his excitement. At the same moment Nauisha, 
without drawing breath, screamed joyously, ec- 
statically, and so piercingly that it set every- 
one's ear tingling. By that shriek she expressed 
what the others expressed by all talkingat once, 
and it was so strange that she must herself have 
been ashamed of so wild a cry and everyone else 
would have been amazed at it at any other time. 
"Uncle" himself twisted up the hare, threw it 
neatly and smartly across his horse's back as if 
by that gesture he meant to rebuke everybody, 
and, with an air of not wishing to speak to any- 
one, mounted his bay and rode off. The others 
all followed, dispirited and shamefaced, and 
only much later were they able to regain their 
former affectation of indifference. For a long 
time they continued to look at red Rugay who, 
his arched back spattered with mud and clank- 
ing the ring of his leash, walked along just be- 
hind "Uncle's" horse with the serene air of a 
conqueror. 

"Well, I am like any other dog as long as it's 



BOOK SEVEN 



287 



not a question of coursing. But when it is, then 
look out!" his appearance seem to Nicholas to 
be saying. 

When, much later, "Uncle" rode up to Nich- 
olas and began talking to him, he felt flattered 
that, after what had happened, "Uncle" 
deigned to speak to him. 

CHAPTER VII 

TOWARD EVENING Ilagin took leave of Nicholas, 
who found that they were so far from home 
that he accepted "Uncle's" offer that the hunt- 
ing party should spend the night in his little 
village of Mikhaylovna. 

"And if you put up at my house that will be 
better stilL That's it, come onl" said "Uncle." 
"You see it's damp weather, and you could 
rest, and the little countess could be driven 
home in a trap." 

"Uncle's" offer was accepted. A huntsman 
was sent to Otradnoe for a trap, while Nicho- 
las rode with Natdsha and Ptya to "Uncle's" 
house. 

Some five male domestic serfs, big and little, 
rushed out to the front porch to meet their 
master. A score of women serfs, old and young, 
as well as children, popped out from the back 
entrance to have a look at the hunters who 
were arriving. The presenceof Natasha a worn- 
an, a lady, and on horseback raised the curi- 
osity of the serfs to such a degree that many of 
them came up to her, stared her in the face, 
and unabashed by her presence made remarks 
about her as though she were some prodigy on 
show and not a human being able to hear or 
understand what was said about her. 

"Arfnka! Look, she sits sideways! There she 
sits and her skirt dangles. . . . See, she's got a 
little hunting horn!" 

"Goodness gracious! See her knife? . . ." 

"Isn't she a Tartar!" 

"How is it you didn't go head over heels?" 
asked the boldest of all, addressing Natdsha 
directly. 

"Uncle" dismounted at the porch of his lit- 
tle wooden house which stood in the midst of 
an overgrown garden and, after a glance at 
his retainers, shouted authoritatively that the 
superfluous ones should take themselves off and 
that all necessary preparations should be made 
to receive the guests and the visitors. 

The serfs all dispersed. "Uncle" lifted Na- 
tdsha off her horse and taking her hand led her 
up the rickety wooden steps of the porch. The 
house, with its bare, unplastered log walls, was 
not overclean it did not seem that those liv- 



ing in it aimed at keeping it spotless but nei- 
ther was it noticeably neglected. In the entry 
there was a smell of fresh apples, and wolf and 
fox skins hung about. 

"Uncle" led the visitors through the ante- 
room into a small hall with a folding table and 
red chairs, then into the drawing room with a 
round birchwood table and a sofa, and finally 
into his private room where there was a tattered 
sofa, a worn carpet, and portraits of Suv6rov, 
of the host's father and mother, and of himself 
in military uniform. The study smelt strongly 
of tobacco and dogs. "Uncle" asked his visitors 
to sit down and make themselves at home, and 
then went out of the room. Rugay, his back still 
muddy, came into the room and lay down on 
the sofa, cleaning himself with his tongue and 
teeth. Leading from the study was a passage in 
which a partition with ragged curtains could 
be seen. From behind this came women's laugh- 
ter and whispers. Natasha, Nicholas, and PeHya 
took off their wraps and sat down on the sofa. 
PC* tya, leaning on his elbow, fell asleep at once. 
Natasha and Nicholas were silent. Their faces 
glowed, they were hungry and very cheerful. 
They looked at one another (now that the 
hunt was over and they were in the house, 
Nicholas no longer considered it necessary to 
show his manly superiority over his sister), Na- 
tdsha gave him a wink, and neither refrained 
long from bursting into a peal of ringinglaugh- 
ter even before they had a pretext ready to ac- 
count for it. 

After a while "Uncle" came in, in a Cossack 
coat, blue trousers, and small top boots. And 
Natasha felt that this costume, the very one 
she had regarded with surprise and amusement 
at Otrddnoe, was just the right thing and not 
at all worse than a swallow-tail or frock coat. 
"Uncle" too was in high spirits and far from 
being offended by the brother's and sister's 
laughter (it could never enter his head that 
they might be laughing at his way of life) he 
himself joined in the merriment. 

"That's right, young countess, that's it, come 
on! I never saw anyone like her!" said he, offer- 
ing Nicholas a pipe with a long stem and, with 
a practiced motion of three fingers, taking 
down another that had been cut short. "She's 
ridden all day like a man, and is as fresh as 
ever!" 

Soon after "Uncle's" reappearance the door 
was opened, evidently from the sound by a 
barefooted girl, and a stout, rosy, good-looking 
woman of about forty, with a double chin and 
full red lips, entered carrying a large loaded 



288 



WAR AND PEACE 



tray. With hospitable dignity and cordiality in 
her glance and in every motion, she looked at 
the visitors and, with a pleasant smile, bowed 
respectfully. In spite of her exceptional stout- 
ness, which caused her to protrude her chest 
and stomach and throw back her head, this 
woman (who was "Uncle's" housekeeper) trod 
very lightly. She went to the table, set down 
the tray, and with her plump white hands deft- 
ly took from it the bottles and various hors 
d'oeuvres and dishes and arranged them on 
the table. When she had finished, she stepped 
aside and stopped at the door with a smile on 
her face. "Here I am. I am she! Now do you 
understand 'Uncle'?" her expression said to 
Rost6v. How could one help understanding? 
Not only Nicholas, but even Natasha under- 
stood the meaning of his puckered brow and 
the happy complacent smile that slightly puck- 
ered his lips when Anfsya Fedorovna entered. 
On the tray was a bottle of herb wine, different 
kinds of vodka, pickled mushrooms, rye cakes 
made with buttermilk, honey in the comb, still 
mead and sparkling mead, apples, nuts (raw 
and roasted), and nut-and- honey sweets. After- 
wards she brought a freshly roasted chicken, 
ham, preserves made with honey, and preserves 
made with sugar. 

All this was the fruit of Anisya Fedorovna's 
housekeeping, gathered and prepared by her. 
The smell and taste of it all had a smack of 
Anfsya Fedorovna herself: a savor of juiciness, 
cleanliness, whiteness, and pleasant smiles. 

"Take this, little Lady-Countess!" she kept 
saying, as she offered Natdsha first one thing 
and then another. 

Natdsha ate of everything and thought she 
had never seen or eaten such buttermilk cakes, 
such aromatic jam, such honey-and-nut sweets, 
or such a chicken anywhere. Anfsya Fedorovna 
left the room. 

After supper, over their cherry brandy, Ros- 
t6v and "Uncle" talked of past and future 
hunts, of Rugdy and Ildgin's dogs, while Na- 
tdsha sat upright on the sofa and listened with 
sparkling eyes. She tried several times to wake 
Ptya that he might eat something, but he only 
muttered incoherent words without waking 
up. Natdsha felt so lighthearted and happy in 
these novel surroundings that she only feared 
the trap would come for her too soon. After a 
casual pause, such as often occurs when re- 
ceiving friends for the first time in one's own 
house, "Uncle," answering a thought that was 
in his visitors' minds, said: 

"This, you see, is how I am finishing my days. 



. . . Death will come. That's it, come onl Noth- 
ing will remain. Then why harm anyone?" 

"Uncle's" face was very significant and even 
handsome as he said this. Involuntarily Ros- 
tov recalled all the good he had heard about 
him from his father and the neighbors. 
Throughout the whole province "Uncle" had 
the reputation of being the most honorable 
and disinterested of cranks. They called him 
in to decide family disputes, chose him as ex- 
ecutor, confided secrets to him, elected him to 
be a justice and to other posts; but he always 
persistently refused public appointments, pass- 
ing the autumn and spring in the fields on his 
bay gelding, sitting at home in winter, and ly- 
ing in his overgrown garden in summer. 

"Why don't you enter the service, Uncle?" 

"I did once, but gave it up. I am not fit for 
it. That's it, come on! I can't make head or tail 
of it. That's for youI haven't brains enough. 
Now, hunting is another matter that's it, come 
on! Open the door, there!" he shouted. "Why 
have you shut it?" 

The door at the end of the passage led to the 
huntsmen's room, as they called the room for 
the hunt servants. 

There was a rapid patter of bare feet, and 
an unseen hand opened the door into the hunts- 
men's room, from which came the clear sounds 
of a balaldyka on which someone, who was evi- 
dently a master of the art, was playing. Natd- 
sha had been listening to those strains forsome 
time and now went out into the passage to 
hear better. 

"That's Mftka, my coachman. ... I have got 
him a good balaldyka. I'm fond of it," said 
"Uncle." 

It was the custom for Mftka to play the bala- 
ldyka in the huntsmen's room when "Uncle" 
returned from the chase. "Uncle" was fond of 
such music. 

"How good! Really very good!" said Nich- 
olas with some unintentional superciliousness, 
as if ashamed to confess that the sounds pleased 
him very much. 

"Very good?" said Natdsha reproachfully, 
noticing her brother's tone. "Not Very good' 
it's simply delicious!" 

Just as "Uncle's" pickled mushrooms, honey, 
and cherry brandy had seemed to her the best 
in the world, so also that song, at that moment, 
seemed to her the acme of musical delight. 

"More, please, morel" cried Natdsha at the 
door as soon as the balaldyka ceased. Mftka 
tuned up afresh, and recommenced thrum- 
ming the balaldyka to the air of My Lady, with 



BOOK SEVEN 



289 



trills and variations. "Uncle" sat listening, 
slightly smiling, with his head on one side. The 
air was repeated a hundred times. The balalay- 
ka was retuned several times and the same notes 
were thrummed again, but the listeners did 
not grow weary of it and wished to hear it again 
and again. Anisya Fedorovna came in and 
leaned her portly person against the doorpost. 

"You like listening?" she said to Natasha, 
with a smile extremely like "Uncle's." "That's 
a good player of ours," she added. 

"He doesn't play that part rightl" said "Un- 
cle" suddenly, with an energetic gesture. "Here 
he ought to burst out that's it, come on ! ought 
to burst out." 

"Do you play then?" asked Natasha. 

"Uncle" did not answer, but smiled. 

"Anisya, go and see if the strings of my gui- 
tar are all right. I haven't touched it for a long 
time. That's it come on! I've given it up." 

Anfsya Fedorovna, with her light step, will- 
ingly went to fulfill her errand and brought 
back the guitar. 

Without looking at anyone, "Uncle" blew 
the dust off it and, tapping the case with his 
bony fingers, tuned the guitar and settled him- 
self in his armchair. He took (he guitar a little 
above the fingerboard, arching his left elbow 
with a somewhat theatrical gesture, and, with 
a wink at Anisya Fedorovna, struck a single 
chord, pure and sonorous, and then quietly, 
smoothly, and confidently began playing in 
very slow time, not My Lady, but the well- 
known song: Came a maiden down the street. 
The tune, played with precision^and in exact 
time, began to thrill in the hearts of Nicholas 
and Natdsha, arousing in them the same kind 
of sober mirth as radiated from Anisya Fedo- 
rovna's whole being. Anisya Fedorovna flushed, 
and drawing her kerchief over her face went 
laughing out of the room. "Uncle" continued 
to play correctly, carefully, with energetic firm- 
ness, looking with a changed and inspired ex- 
pression at the spot where Anfsya Fedorovna 
had just stood. Something seemed to be laugh- 
ing a little on one side of his face under his 
gray mustaches, especially as the song grew 
brisker and the time quicker and when, here 
and there, as he rah his fingers over the strings, 
something seemed to snap. 

"Lovely, lovely I Go on, Uncle, go on!" 
shouted Natasha as soon as he had finished. 
She jumped up and hugged and kissed him. 
"Nicholas, NicholasI" she said, turning to her 
brother, as if asking him: "What is it moves me 
so?" 



Nicholas too was greatly pleased by "Un- 
cle's" playing, and "Uncle" played the piece 
over again. Anfsya Fedorovna's smiling face re- 
appeared in the doorway and behind hers oth- 
er faces. . . . 

Fetching water clear and sweet, 
Stop, dear maiden, I entreat 

played "Uncle" once more, running his fingers 
skillfully over the strings, and then he stopped 
short and jerked his shoulders. 

"Go on, Uncle dear," Nauisha wailed in an 
imploring tone as if her life depended on it. 

"Uncle" rose, and it was as if there were two 
men in him: one of them smiled seriously at 
the merry fellow, while the merry fellow struck 
a naive and precise attitude preparatory to a 
folk dance. 

"Now then, niece!" he exclaimed, waving to 
Natasha the hand that had just struck a chord. 

Natasha threw off the shawl from her shoul- 
ders, ran forward to face "Uncle," and setting 
her arms akimbo also made a motion with her 
shoulders and struck an attitude. 

Where, how, and when had this young count- 
ess, educated by an emigree French governess, 
imbibed from the Russian air she breathed 
that spirit and obtained that manner which 
the pas de chdle * would, one would have sup- 
posed, long ago have effaced? But the spirit 
and the movements were those inimitable and 
un teachable Russian ones that "Uncle" had 
expected of her. As soon as she had struck her 
pose, and smiled triumphantly, proudly, and 
with sly merriment, the fear that had at first 
seized Nicholas and the others that she might 
not do the right thing was at an end, and they 
were already admiring her. 

She did the right thing with such precision, 
such complete precision, that Anisya Fedorov- 
na, who had at once handed her the handker- 
chief she needed for the dance, had tears in 
her eyes, though she laughed as she watched 
this slim, graceful countess, reared in silks and 
velvets and so different from herself, who yet 
was able to understand all that was in Anfsya 
and in Anfsya's father and mother and aunt, 
and in every Russian man and woman. 

"Well, little countess; that's it come on!" 
cried "Uncle," with a joyous laugh, having 
finished the dance. "Well done, niece! Now a 
fine young fellow must be found as husband 
for you. That's it come on!" 

"He's chosen already," said Nicholas smil- 
ing. 

1 The French shawl dance. 



WAR AND PEACE 



"Oh?" said "Uncle" in surprise, looking in- 
quiringly at Natdsha, who nodded her head 
with a happy smile. 

"And such a one!" she said. But as soon as 
she had said it a new train of thoughts and 
feelings arose in her. "What did Nicholas' smile 
mean when he said 'chosen already'? Is he glad 
of it or not? It is as if he thought my Bolk6nski 
would not approve of or understand our gaiety. 
But he would understand it all. Where is he 
now?" she thought, and her face suddenly be- 
came serious. But this lasted only a second. 
"Don't dare to think about it," she said to her- 
self, and sat down again smilingly beside "Un- 
cle," begging him to play something more. 

"Uncle" played another song and a valse; 
then after a pause he cleared his throat and 
sang his favorite hunting song: 

As 'twas growing dark last night 
Fell the snow so soft and light . /. 

"Uncle" sang as peasants sing, with full and 
nai've conviction that the whole meaning of a 
song lies in the words and that the tune comes 
of itself, and that apart from the words there 
is no tune, which exists only to give measure 
to the words. As a result of this the unconsid- 
ered tune, like the song of a bird, was extra- 
ordinarily good. Natasha was in ecstasies over 
"Uncle's" singing. She resolved to give up 
learning the harp and to play only the guitar. 
She asked "Uncle" for his guitar and at once 
found the chords of the song. 

After nine o'clock two traps and three 
mounted men, who had been sent to look for 
them, arrived to fetch Natdsha and Pdtya. The 
count and countess did not know where they 
were and were very anxious, said one of the 
men. 

Ptya was carried out like a log and laid in 
the larger of the two traps. Natasha and Nich- 
olas got into the other. "Uncle" wrapped Na- 
tdsha up warmly and took leave of her with 
quite a new tenderness. He accompanied them 
on foot as far as the bridge that could not be 
crossed, so that they had to go round by the 
ford, and he sent huntsmen to ride in front 
with lanterns. 

"Good-by, dear niece," his voice called out 
of the darkness not the voice Natdsha had 
known previously, but the one that had sung 
As 'twas growing dark last night. 

In the village through which they passed 
there were red lights and a cheerful smell of 
smoke. 

"What a darling Uncle is!" said Natdsha, 



when they had come out onto the highroad. 

"Yes," returned Nicholas. "You're not cold?" 

"No. I'm quite, quite all right. I feel so com- 
fortable!" answered Natdsha, almost perplexed 
by her feelings. They remained silent a long 
while. The night was dark and damp. They 
could not see the horses, but only heard them 
splashing through the unseen mud. 

What was passing in that receptive childlike 
soul that so eagerly caught and assimilated all 
the diverse impressions of life? How did they 
all find place in her? But she was very happy. 
As they were near ing home she suddenly struck 
up the air of As 'twas growing dark last night- 
the tune of which she had all the way been try- 
ing to get and had at last caught. 

"Got it?" said Nicholas. 

"What were you thinking about just now, 
Nicholas?" inquired Natdsha. 

They were fond of asking one another that 
question. 

"I?" said Nicholas, trying to remember. 
"Well, you see, first I thought that Rugdy, the 
red hound, was like Uncle, and that if he were 
a man he would always keep Uncle near him, 
if not for his riding, then for his manner. What 
a good fellow Uncle is! Don't you think so? ... 
Well, and you?" 

"I? Wait a bit, wait Yes, first I thought 

that we are driving along and imagining that 
we are going home, but that heaven knows 
where we are really going in the darkness, and 
that we shall arrive and suddenly find that we 
are not in Otrddnoe, but in Fairyland. And 
then I thought . . . No, nothing else." 

"I know, I expect you thought of him," said 
Nicholas, smiling as Natdsha knew by the 
sound of his voice. 

"No," said Natdsha, though she had in reali- 
ty been thinking about Prince Andrew at the 
same time as of the rest, and of how he would 
have liked "Uncle." "And then I was saying to 
myself all the way, 'How well Anfsya carried 
herself, how well!' " And Nicholas heard her 
spontaneous, happy, ringing laughter. "And 
do you know," she suddenly said, "I know that 
I shall never again be as happy and tranquil as 
I am now." 

"Rubbish, nonsense, humbug!" exclaimed 
Nicholas, and he thought: "How charming this 
Natdsha of mine is! I have no other friend like 
her and never shall have. Why should she 
marry? We might always drive about together!" 

"What a darling this Nicholas of mine is!" 
thought Natdsha. 

"Ah, there are still lights in the drawing- 



BOOK SEVEN 



291 



room!" she said, pointing to the windows of 
the house that gleamed invitingly in the moist 
velvety darkness of the night. 

CHAPTER VIII 

COUNT ILYA Rosi6v had resigned the position 
of Marshal of the Nobility because it involved 
him in too much expense, but still his affairs 
did not improve. Natasha and Nicholas often 
noticed their parents conferring together anx- 
iously and privately and heard suggestions of 
selling the fine ancestral Rost6v house and es- 
tate near Moscow. It was not necessary to en- 
tertain so freely as when the count had been 
Marshal, and life atOtrddnoe was quieter than 
in former years, but still the enormous house 
and its lodges were full of people and more 
than twenty sat down to table every day. These 
were all their own people who had settled 
down in the house almost as members of the 
family, or persons who were, it seemed, obliged 
to live in the count's house. Such were Dimm- 
ler the musician and his wife, Vogel the 
dancing master and his family, Bel6va, an old 
maiden lady, an inmate of the house, and many 
others such as P<kya's tutors, the girls' former 
governess, and other people who simply found 
it preferable and more advantageous to live in 
the count's house than at home. They had not 
as many visitors as before, but the old habits of 
life without which the count and countess could 
not conceive of existence remained unchanged. 
There was still the hunting establishment 
which Nicholas had even enlarged, the same 
fifty horses and fifteen grooms in the stables, 
the same expensive presents and dinner parr 
ties to the whole district on name days; there 
were still the count's games of whist and bos- 
ton, at whichspreading out his cards so that 
everybody could see them he let himself be 
plundered of hundreds of rubles every day by 
his neighbors, who looked upon an opportu- 
nity to play a rubber with Count Rost6v as a 
most profitable source of income. 

The count moved in his affairs as in a huge 
net, trying not to believe that he was entangled 
but becoming more and more so at every step, 
and feeling too feeble to break the meshes or 
to set to work carefully and patiently to disen- 
tangle them. The countess, with her loving 
heart, felt that her children were being ruined, 
that it was not the count's fault for he could 
not help being what he was that (though he 
tried to hide it) he himself suffered from the 
consciousness of his own and his children's 
ruin, and she tried to find means of remedying 



the position. From her feminine point of view 
she could see only one solution, namely, for 
Nicholas to marry a rich heiress. She felt this to 
be their last hope and that if Nicholas refused 
the match she had found for him, she would 
have to abandon the hope of ever getting mat- 
ters right. This match was with Julie Karagina, 
the daughter of excellent and virtuous parents, 
a girl the Rost6vs had known from childhood, 
and who had now become a wealthy heiress 
through the death of the last of her brothers. 

The countess had written direct to Julie's 
mother in Moscow suggesting a marriage be- 
tween their children and had received a favor- 
able answer from her. Karagina had replied 
that for her part she was agreeable, and every- 
thing would depend on her daughter's incli- 
nation. She invited Nicholas to come to Mos- 
cow. 

Several times the countess, with tears in her 
eyes, told her son that now both her daughters 
were settled, her only wish was to see him mar- 
ried. She said she could lie down in her grave 
peacefully if that were accomplished. Then 
she told him that she knew of a splendid girl 
and tried to discover what he thought about 
marriage. 

At other times she praised Julie to him and 
advised him to go to Moscow during the holi- 
days to amuse himself. Nicholas guessed what 
his mother's remarks were leading to and dur- 
ing one of these conversations induced her to 
speak quite frankly. She told him that her only 
hope of getting their affairs disentangled now 
lay in his marrying Julie Karagina. 

"But, Mamma, suppose I loved a girl who 
has no fortune, would you expect me to sacri- 
fice my feelings and my honor for the sake of 
money?" he asked his mother, not realizing the 
cruelty of his question and only wishing to 
show his noble-mindedness. 

"No, you have not understood me," said his 
mother, not knowing how to justify herself. 
"You have not understood me, Nikolenka. It 
is your happiness I wish for," she added, feel- 
ing that she was telling an untruth and was 
becoming entangled. She began to cry. 

"Mamma, don't cry! Only tell me that you 
wish it, and you know I will give my life, any- 
thing, to put you at ease," said Nicholas. "I 
would sacrifice any thing for you even my feel- 
ings." 

But the countess did not want the question 
put like that: she did not want a sacrifice from 
her son, she herself wished to make a sacrifice 
for him. 



2Q2 



WAR AND PEACE 



"No, you have not understood me, don't let 
us talk about it," she replied, wiping away her 
tears. 

"Maybe I do love a poor girl," said Nicholas 
to himself. "Am I to sacrifice my feelings and 
my honor for money? I wonder how Mamma 
could speak so to me. Because S6nya is poor I 
must not love her," he thought, "must not re- 
spond to her faithful, devoted love? Yet I 
should certainly be happier with her than with 
some doll-like Julie. I can always sacrifice my 
feelings for my family's welfare," he said to 
himself, "but I can't coerce my feelings. If I 
love Sonya, that feeling is for me stronger and 
higher than all else." 

Nicholas did not go to Moscow, and the 
countess did not renew the conversation with 
him about marriage. She saw with sorrow, and 
sometimes with exasperation, symptoms of a 
growing attachment between her son and the 
portionless Sonya. Though she blamed herself 
for it, she could not refrain from grumbling at 
and worrying Sonya, often pulling herup with- 
out reason, addressing her stiffly as "my dear," 
and using the formal "you" instead of the inti- 
mate "thou" in speaking to her. The kind- 
hearted countess was the more vexed with Son- 
ya because that poor, dark-eyed niece of hers 
was so meek, so kind, so devotedly grateful to 
her benefactors, and so faithfully, unchanging- 
ly, and unselfishly in love with Nicholas, that 
there were no grounds for finding fault with 
her. 

Nicholas was spending the last of his leave 
at home. A fourth letter had come from Prince 
Andrew, from Rome, in which he wrote that 
he would have been on his way back to Russia 
long ago had not his wound unexpectedly re- 
opened in the warm climate, which obliged 
him to defer his return till the beginning of 
the new year. Natdsha was still as much in love 
with her betrothed, found the same comfort in 
that love, and was still as ready to throw her- 
self into all the pleasures of life as before; but 
at the end of the fourth month of their separa- 
tion she began to have fits of depression which 
she could not master. She felt sorry for herself: 
sorry that she was being wasted all this time 
and of no use to anyonewhile she felt herself 
so capable of loving and being loved. 

Things were not cheerful in the Rost6vs* 
home. 

CHAPTER IX 

CHRISTMAS CAME and except for the ceremonial 
Mass, the solemn and wearisome Christmas 



congratulations from neighbors and servants, 
and the new dresses everyone put on, there 
were no special festivities, though the calm 
frost of twenty degrees Reaumur, 1 the dazzling 
sunshine by day, and the starlight of the win- 
ter nights seemed to call for some special cele- 
bration of the season. 

On the third day of Christmas week, after 
the midday dinner, all the inmates of the house 
dispersed to various rooms. It was the dullest 
time of the day. Nicholas, who had been visit- 
ing some neighbors that morning, was asleep 
on the sitting-room sofa. The old count was 
resting in his study. Sonya sat in the drawing 
room at the round table, copying a design for 
embroidery. The countess was play ing patience. 
Nastasya Ivanovna the buffoon sat with a sad 
face at the window with two old ladies. Nata- 
sha came into the room, went up to S6nya, 
glanced at what she was doing, and then went 
up to her mother and stood without speaking. 

"Why are you wandering about like an out- 
cast?" asked her mother. "What do you want?" 

"Him ... I want him . . . now, this minute! I 
want him!" said Natasha, with glittering eyes 
and no sign of a smile. 

The countess lifted her head and looked at- 
tentively at her daughter. 

"Don't look at me, Mamma! Don't look; I 
shall cry directly." 

"Sit down with me a little," said the count- 
ess. 

"Mamma, I want him. Why should I be 
wasted like this, Mamma?" 

Her voice broke, tears gushed from her eyes, 
and she turned quickly to hide them and left 
the room. 

She passed into the sitting room, stood there 
thinking awhile, and then went into the maids' 
room. There an old maidservant was grum- 
bling at a young girl who stood panting, hav- 
ing just run in through the cold from the serfs' 
quarters. 

"Stop playing there's a time for everything," 
said the old woman. 

"Let her alone, Kondratevna," said Natdsha. 
"Go, Mavrushka, go." 

Having released Mavrushka, Natasha crossed 
the dancing hall and went to the vestibule. 
There an old footman and two young ones 
were playing cards. They broke off and rose as 
she entered. 

"What can I do with them?" thought Natd- 
sha. 

"Oh, Nikita, please go ... where can I send 

1 13 degrees below zero, Fahrenheit. TR. 



BOOK SEVEN 



293 



him? . . . Yes, go to the yard and fetch a fowl, 
please, a cock, and you, Mfsha, bring me some 
oats. M l 

"Just a few oats?" said Mfsha, cheerfully and 
readily. 

"Go, go quickly," the old man urged him. 

"And you, Theodore, get me a piece of 
chalk." 

On her way past the butler's pantry she told 
them to set a samovar, though it was not at all 
the time for tea. 

F6ka, the butler, was the most ill-tempered 
person in the house. Natasha liked to test her 
power over him. He distrusted the order and 
asked whether the samovar was really wanted. 

"Oh dear, what a young lady!" said F6ka, 
pretending to frown at Natdsha. 

No one in the house sent people about or 
gave them as much trouble as Natdsha did. She 
could not see people unconcernedly, but had 
to send them on some errand. She seemed to 
be trying whether any of them would get angry 
or sulky with her; but the serfs fulfilled no 
one's orders so readily as they did hers. "What 
can I do, where can I go?" thought she, as she 
went slowly along the passage. 

"Nastdsya Ivdnovna, what sort of children 
shall I have?" she asked the buffoon, who was 
coming toward her in a woman's jacket. 

"Why, fleas, crickets, grasshoppers," an- 
swered the buffoon. 

"O Lord, O Lord, it's always the same! Oh, 
where am I to go? What am I to do with my- 
self?" And tapping with her heels, she ran 
quickly upstairs to see Vogel and his wife who 
lived on the upper story. 

Two governesses were sitting with the Vogels 
at a table, on which were plates of raisins, wal- 
nuts, and almonds. The governesses were dis- 
cussing whether it was cheaper to live in Mos- 
cow or Odessa. Natdsha sat down, listened to 
their talk with a serious and thoughtful air, 
and then got up again. 

"The island of Madagascar," she said, "Ma- 
da-gas-car," she repeated, articulating each syl- 
lable distinctly, and, not replying to Madame 
Schoss who asked her what she was saying, she 
went out of the room. 

Her brother Ptya was upstairs too; with the 
man in attendance on him he was preparing 
fireworks to let off that night. 

"Ptya! Ptya!" she called to him. "Carry me 
downstairs." 

1 Feeding a fowl with grain arranged on the 
floor is a way of telling fortunes at Christmastime. 
-TR. 



Ptya ran up and offered her his back. She 
jumped on it, putting her arms round his neck, 
and he pranced along with her. 

"No, don't . . . the island of Madagascar!" 
she said, and jumping off his back she went 
downstairs. 

Having as it were reviewed her kingdom, 
tested her power, and made sure that everyone 
was submissive, but that all the same it was 
dull, Natdsha betook herself to the ballroom, 
picked up her guitar, sat down in a dark corner 
behind a bookcase, and began to run her fin- 
gers over the strings in the bass, picking out a 
passage she recalled from an opera she had 
heard in Petersburg with Prince Andrew. What 
she drew from the guitar would have had no 
meaning for other listeners, but in her imagi- 
nation a whole series of reminiscences arose 
from those sounds. She sat behind the book- 
case with her eyes fixed on a streak of light es- 
caping from the pantry door and listened to 
herself and pondered. She was in a mood for 
brooding on the past. 

Sonya passed to the pantry with a glass in 
her hand. Natdsha glanced at her and at the 
crack in the pantry door, and it seemed to her 
that she remembered the light falling through 
that crack once before and Sonya passing with 
a glass in her hand. "Yes, it was exactly the 
same," thought Natasha. 

"S6nya, what is this?" she cried, twanging a 
thick string. 

"Oh, you are there!" said S6nya with a start, 
and came near and listened. "I don't know. A 
storm?" she ventured timidly, afraid of being 
wrong. 

"There! That's just how she started and just 
how she came up smiling timidly when all this 
happened before," thought Natdsha, "and in 
just the same way I thought there was some- 
thing lacking in her." 

"No, it's the chorus from The Water-Carrier, 
listen!" and Natdsha sang the air of the chorus 
so that Sonya should catch it. "Where were you 
going?" she asked. 

"To change the water in this glass. I am just 
finishing the design." 

"You always find something to do, but I 
can't," said Natdsha. "And where's Nicholas?" 

"Asleep, I think." 

"S6nya, go and wake him," said Natdsha. 
"Tell him I want him to come and sing." 

She sat awhile, wondering what the mean- 
ing of it all having happened before could be, 
and without solving this problem, or at all re- 
gretting not having done so, she again passed 



294 

in fancy to the time when she was with him 

and he was looking at her with a lover's eyes. 

"Oh, if only he would come quicker! I am so 
afraid it will never be! And, worst of all, I am 
growing oldthat's the thing! There won't 
then be in me what there is now. But perhaps 
he'll come today, will come immediately. Per- 
haps he has come and is sitting in the drawing 
room. Perhaps he came yesterday and I have 
forgotten it." She rose, put down the guitar, 
and went to the drawing room. 

All the domestic circle, tutors, governesses, 
and guests, were already at the tea table. The 
servants stood round the tablebut Prince An- 
drew was not there and life was going on as be- 
fore. 

"Ah, here she is!" said the old count, when 
he saw Natasha enter. "Well, sit down by me." 
But Natasha stayed by her mother and glanced 
round as if looking for something. 

"Mamma!" she muttered, "give him to me, 
give him, Mamma, quickly, quickly!" and she 
again had difficulty in repressing her sobs. 

She sat down at the table and listened to the 
conversation between the elders and Nicholas, 
who had also come to the table. "My God, my 
God! The same faces, the same talk, Papa hold- 
ing his cup and blowing in the same way!" 
thought Natasha, feeling with horror a sense 
of repulsion rising up in her for the whole 
household, because they were always the same. 

After tea, Nicholas, Sonya, and Natdshawent 
to the sitting room, to their favorite corner 
where their most intimate talks always began. 

CHAPTER X 

DOES IT EVER HAPPEN TO YOU," said Natdsha to 
her brother, when they settled down in the sit- 
ting room, "does it ever happen to you to feel 
as if there were nothing more to come noth- 
ing; that everything good is past? And to feel 
not exactly dull, but sad?" 

"I should think so!" he replied. "I have felt 
like that when everything was all right and 
everyone was cheerful. The thought has come 
into my mind that I was already tired of it all, 
and that we must all die. Once in the regiment 
I had not gone to some merrymaking where 
there was music . . . and suddenly 1 felt so de- 
pressed ..." 

"Oh yes, I know, I know, I know!" Natdsha 
interrupted him. "When I was quite little that 
used to be so with me. Do you remember when 
I was punished once about some plums? You 
were all dancing, and I sat sobbing in the 
schoolroom? I shall never forget it: I felt sad 



WAR AND PEACE 

and sorry for everyone, for myself, and for 
everyone. And I was innocent that was the 
chief thing," said Natdsha. "Do you remem- 
ber?" 

"I remember," answered Nicholas. "I re- 
member that I came to you afterwards and 
wanted to comfort you, but do you know, I felt 
ashamed to. We were terribly absurd. I had a 
funny doll then and wanted to give it to you. 
Do you remember?" 

"And do you remember," Natasha asked with 
a pensive smile, "how once, long, long ago, 
when we were quite little, Uncle called us into 
the study that was in the old house and it 
was dark we went in and suddenly there 
stood . . ." 

"A Negro," chimed in Nicholas with a smile 
of delight. "Of course I remember. Even now 
I don't know whether there really was a Negro, 
or if we only dreamed it or were told about 
him." 

"He was gray, you remember, and had white 
teeth, and stood and looked at us. . . ." 

"Sonya, do you remember?" asked Nicholas. 

"Yes, yes, I do remember something too," 
S6nya answered timidly. 

"You know I have asked Papa and Mamma 
about that Negro," said Natasha, "and they say 
there was no Negro at all. But you see, you re- 
member!" 

"Of course I do, I remember his teeth as if I 
had just seen them." 

"How strange it is! It's as if it were a dream! I 
like that." 

"And do you remember how we rolled hard- 
boiled eggs in the ballroom, and suddenly two 
old women began spinning round on the car- 
pet? Was that real or not? Do you remember 
what fun it was?" 

"Yes, and you remember how Papa in his 
blue overcoat fired a gun in the porch?" 

So they went through their memories, smil- 
ing with pleasure: not the sad memories of old 
age, but poetic, youthful ones those impres- 
sions of one's most distant past in which dreams 
and realities blend and they laughed with 
quiet enjoyment. 

S6nya, as always, did not quite keep pace 
with them, though they shared the same remi- 
niscences. 

Much that they remembered had slipped 
from her mind, and what she recalled did not 
arouse the same poetic feeling as they experi- 
enced. She simply enjoyed their pleasure and 
tried to fit in with it. 

She only really took part when they recalled 



BOOK SEVEN 



S6nya's first arrival. She told them how afraid 
she had been of Nicholas because he had on a 
corded jacket and her nurse had told her that 
she, too, would be sewn up with cords. 

"And I remember their telling me that you 
had been born under a cabbage," said Natdsha, 
"and I remember that I dared not disbelieve it 
then, but knew that it was not true, and I felt 
so uncomfortable." 

While they were talking a maid thrust her 
head in at the other door of the sitting room. 

"They have brought the cock, Miss," she 
said in a whisper. 

"It isn't wanted, P61ya. Tell them to take it 
away," replied Natdsha. 

In the middle of their talk in the sitting 
room, Dimmler came in and went up to the 
harp that stood there in a corner. He took off 
its cloth covering, and the harp gave out a jar- 
ring sound. 

"Mr. Dimmler, please play my favorite noc- 
turne by Field," came the old countess' voice 
from the drawing room. 

Dimmler struck a chord and, turning to Na- 
tasha, Nicholas, and Sonya, remarked: "How 
quiet you young people are!" 

"Yes, we're philosophizing," said Natdsha, 
glancing round for a moment and then con- 
tinuing the conversation. They were now dis- 
cussing dreams. 

Dimmler began to play; Natasha went on 
tiptoe noiselessly to the table, took up a can- 
dle, carried it out, and returned, seating her- 
self quietly in her former place. It was dark in 
the room especially where they were sitting on 
the sofa, but through the big windows the sil- 
very light of the full moon fell on the floor. 
Dimmler had finished the piece but still sat 
softly running his fingers over the strings, evi- 
dently uncertain whether to stop or to play 
something else. 

"Do you know," said Natdsha in a whisper, 
moving closer to Nicholas and S6nya, "that 
when one goes on and on recalling memories, 
one at last begins to remember what happened 
before one was in the world " 

"That is metempsychosis," said S6nya, who 
had always learned well, and remembered 
everything. "The Egyptians believed that our 
souls have lived in animals, and will go back 
into animals again." 

"No, I don't believe we ever were in ani- 
mals," said Natdsha, still in a whisper though 
the music had ceased. "But I am certain that 
we were angels somewhere there, and have been 
here, and that is why we remember. . . ." 



"May I join you?" said Dimmler who had 
come up quietly, and he sat down by them. 

"If we have been angels, why have we fallen 
lower?" said Nicholas. "No, that can't be!" 

"Not lower, who said we were lower? . . . 
How do I know what I was before?" Natdsha 
rejoined with conviction. "The soul is immor- 
talwell then, if I shall always live I must have 
lived before, lived for a whole eternity." 

"Yes, but it is hard for us to imagine eter- 
nity," remarked Dimmler, who had joined the 
young folk with a mildly condescending smile 
but now spoke as quietly and seriously as they. 

"Why is it hard to imagine eternity?" said 
Natasha. "It is now today, and it will be to- 
morrow, and always; and there was yesterday, 
and the day before. . . ." 

"Natdsha! Now it's your turn. Sing me some- 
thing," they heard the countess say. "Why are 
you sitting there like conspirators?" 

"Mamma, I don't at all want to," replied 
Natdsha, but all the same she rose. 

None of them, not even the middle-aged 
Dimmler, wanted to break off their conversa- 
tion and quit that corner in the sitting room, 
but Natdsha got up and Nicholas sat down at 
the clavichord. Standing as usual in the mid- 
dle of the hall and choosing the place where 
the resonance was best, Natdsha began to sing 
her mother's favorite song. 

She had said she did not want to sing, but it 
was long since she had sung, and long before 
she again sang, as she did that evening. The 
count, from his study where he was talking to 
Mitenka, heard her and, like a schoolboy in a 
hurry to run out to play, blundered in his talk 
while giving orders to the steward, and at last 
stopped, while Mftenka stood in front of him 
also listening and smiling. Nicholas did not 
take his eyes off his sister and drew breath in 
time with her. Sonya, as she listened, thought 
of the immense difference there was between 
herself and her friend, and how impossible it 
was for her to be anything like as bewitching 
as her cousin. The old countess sat with a bliss- 
ful yet sad smile and with tears in her eyes, oc- 
casionally shaking her head. She thought of 
Natdsha and of her own youth, and of how 
there was something unnatural and dreadful 
in this impending marriage of Natdsha and 
Prince Andrew. 

Dimmler, who had seated himself beside the 
countess, listened with closed eyes. 

"Ah, Countess," he said at last, "that's a Euro- 
pean talent, she has nothing to learn what 
softness, tenderness, and strength. . . ." 



WAR AND PEACE 



"Ah, how afraid I am for her, how afraid I 
ami" said the countess, not realizing to whom 
she was speaking. Her maternal instinct told 
her that Natisha had too much of something, 
and that because of this she would not be hap- 
py. Before Natdsha had finished singing, four- 
teen-year-old Ptya rushed in delightedly, to 
say that some mummers had arrived. 

Natasha stopped abruptly. 

"Idiot I" she screamed at her brother and, 
running to a chair, threw herself on it, sobbing 
so violently that she could not stop for a long 
time. 

"It's nothing, Mamma, really it's nothing; 
only P^tya startled me," she said, trying to 
smile, but her tears still flowed and sobs still 
choked her. 

The mummers (some of the house serfs) 
dressed up as bears, Turks, innkeepers, and 
ladiesfrightening and funny bringing in 
with them the cold from outside and a feeling 
of gaiety, crowded, at first timidly, into the 
anteroom, then hiding behind one another they 
pushed into the ballroom where, shyly at first 
and then more and more merrily and heartily, 
they started singing, dancing, and playing 
Christmas games. The countess, when she had 
identified them and laughed at their costumes, 
went into the drawing room. The count sat in 
the ballroom, smiling radiantly and applaud- 
ing the players. The young people had disap- 
peared. 

Half an hour later there appeared among 
the other mummers in the ballroom an old 
lady in a hooped skirt this was Nicholas. A 
Turkish girl was P^tya. A clown was Dimmler. 
An hussar was Natasha, and a Circassian was 
S6nya with burnt-cork mustache and eyebrows. 

After the condescending surprise, nonrecog- 
nition, and praise, from those who were not 
themselves dressed up, the young people de- 
cided that their costumes were so good that 
they ought to be shown elsewhere. 

Nicholas, who, as the roads were in splendid 
condition, wanted to take them all for a drive 
in his troyka, proposed to take with them about 
a dozen of the serf mummers and drive to "Un- 
cle's." 

"No, why disturb the old fellow?" said the 
countess. "Besides, you wouldn't have room to 
turn round there. If you must go, go to the 
Melyuk6vs'." 

Melyuk6va was a widow, who, with her fami- 
ly and their tutors and governesses, lived three 
miles from the Rost6vs. 

"That's right, my dear," chimed in the old 



count, thoroughly aroused. "I'll dress up at 
once and go with them. I'll make Pashetteopen 
her eyes." 

But the countess would not agree to his go- 
ing; he had had a bad leg all these last days. It 
was decided that the count must not go, but 
that if Louisa Ivdnovna (Madame Schoss) 
would go with them, the young ladies might go 
to the Melyuk6vs', S6nya, generally so timid 
and shy, more urgently than anyone begging 
Louisa Ivanovna not to refuse. 

S6nya's costume was the best of all. Her mus- 
tache and eyebrows were extraordinarily be- 
coming. Everyone told her she looked very 
handsome, and she was in a spirited a-nd ener- 
getic mood unusual with her. Some inner voice 
told her that now or never her fate would be 
decided, and in her male attire she seemed 
quite a different person. Louisa Ivdnovna con- 
sented to go, and in half an hour four troyka 
sleighs with large and small bells, their run- 
ners squeaking and whistling over the frozen 
snow, drove up to the porch. 

Natasha was foremost in setting a merry holi- 
day tone, which, passing from one to another, 
grew stronger and stronger and reached its 
climax when they all came out into the frost 
and got into the sleighs, talking, calling to one 
another, laughing, and shouting. 

Two of the troykas were the usual house- 
hold sleighs, the third was the old count's with 
a trotter from the Orl6v stud as shaft horse, 
the fourth was Nicholas* own with a short shag- 
gy black shaft horse. Nicholas, in his old lady's 
dress over which he had belted his hussar over- 
coat, stood in the middle of the sleigh, reins in 
hand. 

It was so light that he could see the moon- 
light reflected from the metal harness disks 
and from the eyes of the horses, who looked 
round in alarm at the noisy party under the 
shadow of the porch roof. 

Natdsha, S6nya, Madame Schoss, and two 
maids got into Nicholas' sleigh; Dimmler, his 
wife, and Ptya, into the old count's, and the 
rest of the mummers seated themselves in the 
other two sleighs. 

"You go ahead, Zakhdrl" shouted Nicholas 
to his father's coachman, wishing for a chance 
to race past him. 

The old count's troyka, with Dimmler and 
his party, started forward, squeaking on its 
runners as though freezing to the snow, its 
deep-toned bell clanging. The side horses, 
pressing against the shafts of the middle 
horse, sank in the snow, which was dry and 



BOOK SEVEN 



glittered like sugar, and threw it up. 

Nicholas set off, following the first sleigh; 
behind him the others moved noisily, their 
runners squeaking. At first they drove at a 
steady trot along the narrow road. While they 
drove past the garden the shadows of the bare 
trees often fell across the road and hid the 
brilliant moonlight, but as soon as they were 
past the fence, the snowy plain bathed in moon- 
light and motionless spread out before them 
glittering like diamonds and dappled with 
bluish shadows. Bang, bang! went the first 
sleigh over a cradle hole in the snow of the 
road, and each of the other sleighs jolted in 
the same way, and rudely breaking the frost- 
bound stillness, the troykas began to speed 
along the road, one after the other. 

"A hare's track, a lot of tracks!" rang out Na- 
tAsha's voice through the frost-bound air. 

"How light it is, Nicholas!" came S6nya's 
voice. 

Nicholas glanced round at S6nya, and bent 
down to see her face closer. Quite a new, sweet 
face with black eyebrows and mustaches peeped 
up at him from her sable furs so close and yet 
so distant in the moonlight. 

"That used to be S6nya," thought he, and 
looked at her closer and smiled. 

"What is it, Nicholas?" 

"Nothing," said he and turned again to the 
horses. 

When they came out onto the beaten high- 
roadpolished by sleigh runners and cut up 
by rough-shod hoofs, the marks of which were 
visible in the moonlight the horses began to 
tug at the reins of their own accord and in- 
creased their pace. The near side horse, arch- 
ing his head and breaking into a short canter, 
tugged at his traces. The shaft horse swayed 
from side to side, moving his ears as if asking: 
"Isn't it time to begin now?" In front, already 
far ahead the deep bell of the sleigh ringing 
farther and farther off, the black horses driven 
by Zakhar could be clearly seen against the 
white snow. From that sleigh one could hear 
the shouts, laughter, and voices of the mum- 
mers. 

"Gee up, my darlings!" shouted Nicholas, 
pulling the reins to one side and flourishing 
the whip. 

It was only by the keener wind that met 
them and the jerks given by the side horses 
who pulled harder ever increasing their gal- 
lopthat one noticed how fast the troyka was 
flying. Nicholas looked back. With screams, 
squeals, and waving of whips that caused even 



the shaft horses to gallop the other sleighs fol- 
lowed. The shaft horse swung steadily beneath 
the bow over its head, with no thought of 
slackening pace and ready to put on speed 
when required. 

Nicholas overtook the first sleigh. They were 
driving downhill and coming out upon a broad 
trodden track across a meadow, near a river. 

"Where are we?" thought he. "It's the Kos6y 
meadow, I suppose. But no this is something 
new I've never seen before. This isn't the Ko- 
soy meadow nor the Demkin hill, and heaven 
only knows what it is! It is something new and 
enchanted. Well, whatever it may be . . ." And 
shouting to his horses, he began to pass the first 
sleigh. 

Zakhar held back his horses and turned his 
face, which was already covered with hoarfrost 
to his eyebrows. 

Nicholas gave the horses the rein, and Zak- 
hdr, stretching out his arms, clucked his tongue 
and let his horses go. 

"Now, look out, master!" he cried. 

Faster still the two troykas flew side by side, 
and faster moved the feet of the galloping side 
horses. Nicholas began to draw ahead. Zakhar, 
while still keeping his arms extended, raised 
one hand with the reins. 

"No you won't, master!" he shouted. 

Nicholas put all his horses to a gallop and 
passed Zakhar. The horses showered the fine 
dry snow on the faces of those in the sleigh 
beside them sounded quick ringing bells and 
they caught confused glimpses of swiftly mov- 
ing legs and the shadows of the troyka they 
were passing. The whistling sound of the run- 
ners on the snow and the voices of girls shriek- 
ing were heard from different sides. 

Again checking his horses, Nicholas looked 
around him. They were still surrounded by the 
magic plain bathed in moonlight andspangled 
with stars. 

"Zakhdr is shouting that I should turn to the 
left, but why to the left?" thought Nicholas. 
"Are we getting to the Melyuk6vs'? Is this Mel- 
yukovka? Heaven only knows where we are go- 
ing, and heaven knows what is happening to 
us but ft is very strange and pleasant what- 
ever it is." And he looked round in the sleigh. 

"Look, his mustache and eyelashes are all 
white!" said one of the strange, pretty, unfa- 
miliar people the one with fine eyebrows and 
mustache. 

"I think this used to be Natasha," thought 
Nicholas, "and that was Madame Schoss, but 
perhaps it's not, and this Circassian with the 



WAR AND PEACE 



mustache I don't know, but I love her." 

"Aren't you cold?" he asked. 

They did not answer but began to laugh. 
Dimmler from the sleigh behind shouted some- 
thing probably something funny but they 
could not make out what he said. 

"Yes, yes!" some voices answered, laughing. 

"But here was a fairy forest with black mov- 
ing shadows, and a glitter of diamonds and a 
flight of marble steps and the silver roofs of 
fairy buildings and the shrill yells of some ani- 
mals. And if this is really Melyuk6vka, it is still 
stranger that we drove heaven knows where 
and have come to Melyuk6vka," thought Nich- 
olas. 

It really was Melyuk6vka, and maids and 
footmen with merry faces came running out to 
the porch carrying candles. 

"Who is it?" asked someone in the porch, 

"The mummers from the count's. I know by 
the horses," replied some voices. 

CHAPTER XI 

PELAGYA DANILOVNA MELYUK6vA, a broadly 
built, energetic woman wearing spectacles, sat 
in the drawing room in a loose dress, sur- 
rounded by her daughters whom she was try- 
ing to keep from feeling dull. They were quiet- 
ly dropping melted wax into snow and looking 
at the shadows the wax figures would throw on 
the wall, when they heard the steps and voices 
of new arrivals in the vestibule. 

Hussars, ladies, witches, clowns, and bears, 
after clearing their throats and wiping the 
hoarfrost from their faces in the vestibule, 
came into the ballroom where candles were 
hurriedly lighted. The clown Dimmler and 
the lady Nicholas started a dance. Sur- 
rounded by the screaming children the mum- 
mers, covering their faces and disguising their 
voices, bowed to their hostess and arranged 
themselves about the room. 

"Dear me! there's no recognizing them! And 
Natdsha! See whom she looks like! She really 
reminds me of somebody. But Herr Dimmler 
isn't he good! I didn't know him! And how 
he dances. Dear me, there's a Circassian. Real- 
ly, how becoming it is to dear S6nya. And who 
is that? Well, you have cheered us up! Nikfta 
and Vdnya clear away the tables! And we 
were sitting so quietly. Ha, ha, ha! ... The 
hussar, the hussar! Just like a boy! And the 
legs! ... I can't look at him . . ." different 
voices were saying. 

Natdsha, the young Melyuk6vs' favorite, dis- 
appeared with them into the back rooms where 



a cork and various dressing gowns and male 
garments were called for arid received from 
the footman by bare girlish arms from behind 
the door. Ten minutes later, all the young Mel- 
yuk6vs joined the mummers. 

Pelage*ya Danflovna, having given orders to 
clear the rooms for the visitors and arranged 
about refreshments for the gentry and the serfs, 
went about among the mummers without re- 
moving her spectacles, peering into their faces 
with a suppressed smile and failing to recog- 
nize any of them. It was not merely Dimmler 
and the Rost6vs she failed to recognize, she did 
not even recognize her own daughters, or her 
late husband's dressing gowns and uniforms, 
which they had put on. 

"And who is this?" she asked her governess, 
peering into the face of her own daughter 
dressed up as a Kazdn-Tartar. "I suppose it is 
one of theRost6vs! Well, Mr. Hussar, and what 
regiment do you serve in?" she asked Natasha. 
"Here, hand some fruit jelly to the Turk!" she 
ordered the butler who was handing things 
round. "That's not forbidden by his law." 

Sometimes, as she looked at the strange but 
amusing capers cut by the dancers, who hav- 
ing decided once for all that being disguised, 
no one would recognize them were not at all 
shy, Pclage'ya Danflovna hid her face in her 
handkerchief, and her whole stout body shook 
with irrepressible, kindly, elderly laughter. 

"My little Sasha! Look at Sdsha!" she said. 

After Russian country dances and chorus 
dances, Pelagdya Danflovna made the serfs and 
gentry join in one large circle: a ring, a string, 
and a silver ruble were fetched and they all 
played games together. 

In an hour, all the costumes were crumpled 
and disordered. The corked eyebrows and mus- 
taches were smeared over the perspiring, 
flushed, and merry faces. Pelage"ya Danilovna 
began to recognize the mummers, admired 
their cleverly contrived costumes, and particu- 
larly how they suited the young ladies, and she 
thanked them all for having entertained her 
so well. The visitors were invited to supper in 
the drawing room, and the serfs had something 
served to them in the ballroom. 

"Now to tell one's fortune in the empty bath- 
house is frightening!" said an old maid who 
lived with the Melyuk6vs, during supper. 

"Why?" said the eldest Melyuk6v girl. 

"You wouldn't go, it takes courage. . . ." 

"I'll go," said S6nya. 

"Tell what happened to the young lady!" 
said the second Melyuktiv girl. 



BOOK SEVEN 



*99 



"Well," began the old maid, "a young lady 
once went out, took a cock, laid the table for 
two, all properly, and sat down. After sitting a 
while, she suddenly hears someone coming . . . 
a sleigh drives up with harness bells; she hears 
him coming! He comes in, just in the shape of 
a man, like an officer comes in and sits down 
to table with her." 

"Ah! ah!" screamed Natdsha, rolling her 
eyes with horror. 

"Yes? And how . . . did he speak?" 

"Yes, like a man. Everything quite all right, 
and he began persuading her; and she should 
have kept him talking till cockcrow, but shegot 
frightened, just got frightened and hid her face 
in her hands. Then he caught her up. It was 
lucky the maids ran in just then. . . ." 

"Now, why frighten them?" said Pelagdya 
Danflovna. 

"Mamma, you used to try your fate your- 
self . . ." said her daughter. 

"And how does one do it in a barn?" in- 
quired S6nya. 

"Well, say you went to the barn now, and lis- 
tened. It depends on what you hear; hammer- 
ing and knocking that's bad; but a sound of 
shifting grain is good and one sometimes hears 
that, too." 

"Mamma, tell us what happened to you in 
the barn." 

Pelagya Danilovna smiled. 

"Oh, I've forgotten . . ." she replied. "But 
none of you would go?" 

"Yes, I will; Pelag^ya Danilovna, let mel I'll 
go," said S6nya. 

"Well, why not, if you're not afraid?" 

"Louisa Ivanovna, may I?" asked S6nya. 

Whether they were playing the ring and 
string game or the ruble game or talking as 
now, Nicholas did not leave S6nya's side, and 
gazed at her with quite new eyes. It seemed to 
him that it was only today, thanks to that burnt- 
cork mustache, that he had fully learned to 
know her. And really, that evening, S6nya was 
brighter, more animated, and prettier than 
Nicholas had ever seen her before. 

"So that's what she is like; what a fool I have 
been!" he thought gazing at her sparkling eyes, 
and under the mustache a happy rapturous 
smile dimpled her cheeks, a smile he had never 
seen before. 

"I'm not afraid of anything," said S6nya. 
"May I go at once?" She got up. 

They told her where the barn was and how 
she should stand and listen, and they handed 
her a fur cloak. She threw this over her head 



and shoulders and glanced at Nicholas. 

"What a darling that girl is!" thought he. 
"And what have I been thinking of till now?" 

S6nya went out into the passage to go to the 
barn. Nicholas went hastily to the front porch, 
saying he felt too hot. The crowd of people 
really had made the house stuffy. 

Outside, there was the same cold stillness and 
the same moon, but even brighter than before. 
The light was so strong and the snow sparkled 
with so many stars that one did not wish to 
look up at the sky and the real stars were un- 
noticed. The sky was black and dreary, while 
the earth was gay. 

"I am a fool, a fool! what have I been wait- 
ing for?" thought Nicholas, and running out 
from the porch he went round the corner of 
the house and along the path that led to the 
back porch. He knew Sonya would pass that 
way. Halfway lay some snow-covered piles of 
firewood and across and along them a network 
of shadows from the bare old lime trees fell on 
the snow and on the path. This path led to the 
barn. The log walls of the barn and its snow- 
covered roof, that looked as if hewn out of 
some precious stone, sparkled in the moon- 
light. A tree in the garden snapped with the 
frost, and then all was again perfectly silent. 
His bosom seemed to inhale not air but the 
strength of eternal youth and gladness. 

From the back porch came the sound of feet 
descending the steps, the bottom step upon 
which snow had fallen gave a ringing creak and 
he heard the voice of an old maidservant say- 
ing, "Straight, straight, along the path, Miss. 
Only, don't look back." 

"I am not afraid," answered S6nya's voice, 
and along the path toward Nicholas came the 
crunching, whistling sound of S6nya's feet in 
her thin shoes. 

S6nya came along, wrapped in her cloak. 
She was only a couple of paces away when she 
saw him, and to her too he was not the Nich- 
olas she had known and always slightly feared. 
He was in a woman's dress, with tousled hair 
and a happy smile new to S6nya.Sheran rapid- 
ly toward him. 

"Quite different and yet the same," thought 
Nicholas, looking at her face all lit up by the 
moonlight. He slipped his arms under the 
cloak that covered her head, embraced her, 
pressed her to him, and kissed her on the lips 
that wore a mustache and had a smell of burnt 
cork. S6nya kissed him full on the lips, and 
disengaging her little hands pressed them to 
his cheeks. 



goo 



WAR AND PEACE 



"S6nya!" . . . "Nicholas!" . . . was all they 
said. They ran to the barn and then back 
again, re-entering, he by the front and she 
by the back porch. 

CHAPTER XII 

WHEN THEY ALL DROVE BACK from Pelage*ya 
Danilovna's, Natasha, who always saw and no- 
ticed everything, arranged that she and Ma- 
dame Schoss should go back in the sleigh with 
Dimmler, and Sonya with Nicholas and the 
maids. 

On the way back Nicholas drove at a steady 
pace instead of racing and kept peering by that 
fantastic all-transforming light into S6nya's 
face and searching beneath the eyebrows and 
mustache for his former and his present Sonya 
from whom he had resolved never to be parted 
again. He looked and recognizing in her both 
the old and the newS6nya,andbeingreminded 
by the smell of burnt cork of the sensation of 
her kiss, inhaled the frosty air with a lull breast 
and, looking at the ground flying beneath him 
and at the sparkling sky, felt himself again in 
fairyland. 

"Sonya, is it well with thee?" he asked from 
time to time. 

"Yes!" she replied. "And with thee?" 

When halfway home Nicholas handed the 
reins to the coachman and ran for a moment 
to Natasha's sleigh and stood on its wing. 

"Natasha!" he whispered in French, "do you 
know I have made up my mind about Sonya?" 

"Have you told her?" asked Natasha, sud- 
denly beaming all over with joy. 

"Oh, how strange you are with that mus- 
tache and those eyebrows! . . . Natasha are 
you glad?" 

"I am so glad, so glad! I was beginning to be 
vexed with you. I did not tell you, but you have 
been treating her badly. What a heart she has, 
Nicholas! I am horrid sometimes, but I was 
ashamed to be happy while Sonya was not," 
continued Natasha. "Now I am so glad! Well, 
run back to her." 

"No, wait a bit. . . . Oh, how funny you look!" 
cried Nicholas, peering into her face and find- 
ing in his sister too something new, unusual, 
and bewitchingly tender that he had not seen 
in her before. "Natlsha, it's magical, isn't it?" 

"Yes/' she replied. "You have done splendid- 
ly." 

"Had I seen her before as she is now," thought 
Nicholas, "I should long ago have asked her 
what to do and have done whatever she told 
me, and all would have been well." 



"So you are glad and I have done right?" 

"Oh, quite right! I had a quarrel with Mam- 
ma some time ago about it. Mamma said she 
was angling for you. How could she say such a 
thing! I nearly stormed at Mamma. I will never 
let anyone say anything bad of S6nya, for there 
is nothing but good in her." 

"Then it's all right?" said Nicholas, again 
scrutinizing the expression of his sister's face 
to see if she was in earnest. Then he jumped 
down and, his boots scrunching the snow, ran 
back to his sleigh. The same happy, smilingCir- 
cassian, with mustache and beaming eyes look- 
ing up from under a sablehood, was still sitting 
there, and that Circassian was S6nya, and that 
Scmya was certainly his future happy and lov- 
ing wife. 

When they reached home and had told their 
mother how they had spent the evening at the 
Melyukrivs', the girls went to their bedroom. 
When they had undressed, but without wash- 
ing off the cork mustaches, they sat a long time 
talking of their happiness. They talked of how 
they would live when they were married, how 
their husbands would be friends, and how hap- 
py they would be. On Natasha's table stood 
two looking glasses which Dunydsha had pre- 
pared beforehand. 

"Only when will all that be? I am afraid nev- 
er. ... It would be too good!" said Natdsha, 
rising and going to the looking glasses. 

"Sit down, Natasha; perhaps you'll see him," 
said Sonya. 

Natasha lit the candles, one on each side of 
one of the looking glasses, and sat down. 

"I see someone with a mustache," said Na- 
tasha, seeing her own face. 

"You mustn't laugh, Miss," said Dunyasha. 

With S6nya's help and the maid's, Natdsha 
got the glass she held into the right position 
opposite the other; her face assumed a serious 
expression and she sat silent. She sat a long 
time looking at the receding line of candles re- 
flected in the glasses and expecting (from tales 
she had heard) to see a coffin, or him, Prince 
Andrew, in that last dim, indistinctly outlined 
square. But ready as she was to take the small- 
est speck for the image of a man or of a coffin, 
she saw nothing. She began blinking rapidly 
and moved away from the looking glasses. 

"Why is it others see things arid I don't?" she 
said. "You sit down now, S6nya. You absolute- 
ly must, tonight! Do it for me Today I feel 

so frightened!" 

S6nya sat down before the glasses, got the 
right position, and began looking. 



BOOK SEVEN 



301 



"Now, Miss S6nya is sure to see something," 
whispered Dunydsha; "while you do nothing 
but laugh." 

S6nya heard this and Natasha's whisper: 

"I know she will. She saw something last 
year." 

For about three minutes all were silent. 

"Of course she will!" whispered Natasha, 
but did not finish . . . suddenly S6nya pushed 
away the glass she was holding and covered her 
eyes with her hand. 

"Oh, Natdsha!" she cried. 

"Did you see? Did you? What was it?" ex- 
claimed Natdsha, holding up the looking glass. 

S6nya had not seen anything, she was just 
wanting to blink and to get up when she heard 
Natdsha say, "Of course she will!" She did not 
wish to disappoint cither Dunyashaor Natasha, 
but it was hard to sit still. She did not herself 
know how or why the exclamation escaped her 
when she covered her eyes. 

"You saw him?" urged Natasha, seizing her 
hand. 

"Yes. Wait a bit ... I ... saw him," S6nya 
could not help saying, not yet knowing whom 
Natasha meant by him, Nicholas or Prince An- 
drew. 

"But why shouldn't I say I saw something? 
Others do see! Besides who can tell whether I 
saw anything or not?" flashed through S6nya's 
mind. 

"Yes, I saw him," she said. 

"How? Standing or lying?" 

"No, I saw ... At first there was nothing, 
then I saw him lying down." 

"Andrew lying? Is he ill?" asked Natdsha,her 
frightened eyes fixed on her friend. 

"No, on the contrary, on the contrary! His 
face was cheerful, and he turned to me." And 
when saying this she herself fancied she had 
really seen what she described. 

"Well, and then, S6nya? . . ." 

"After that, I could not make out what there 
was; something blue and red " 

"S6nyal When will he come back? When 
shall I see him! O, God, how afraid I am for 
him and for myself and about everything! . . ." 
Natisha began, and without replying to S6nya's 
words of comfort she got into bed, and long 
after her candle was out lay open-eyed and mo- 
tionless, gazing at the moonlight through the 
frosty windowpanes. 

CHAPTER XIII 

SOON AFTER THE CHRISTMAS HOLIDAYS Nicholas 

told his mother of his love for S6nya and of his 



firm resolve to marry her. The countess, who 
had long noticed what was going on between 
them and was expecting this declaration, lis- 
tened to him in silence and then told her son 
that he might marry whom he pleased, but 
that neither she nor his father would give their 
blessing to such a marriage. Nicholas, for the 
first time, felt that his mother was displeased 
with him and that, despite her love for him, 
she would not give way. Coldly, without look- 
ing at her son, she sent for her husband and, 
when he came, tried briefly and coldly to in- 
form him of the facts, in her son's presence, but 
unable to restrain herself she burst into tears of 
vexation and left the room. The old count be- 
gan irresolutely to admonish Nicholas and beg 
him to abandon his purpose. Nicholas replied 
that he could not go back on his word, and his 
father, sighing and evidently disconcerted, very 
soon became silent and went in to the countess. 
In all his encounters with his son, the count 
was always conscious of his own guilt toward 
him for having wasted the family fortune, and 
so he could not be angry with him for refus- 
ing to marry an heiress and choosing the dower- 
less S6nya. On this occasion, he was only more 
vividly conscious of the fact that if his affairs 
had not been in disorder, no better wife for 
Nicholas than S6nya could have been wished 
for, and that no one but himself with his Mi- 
tenka and his uncomfortable habits was to 
blame for the condition of the family finances. 

The father and mother did not speak of the 
matter to their son again, but a few days later 
the countess sent for S6nya and, with a cruelty 
neither of them expected, reproached her niece 
for trying to catch Nicholas and for ingrati- 
tude. Sonya listened silently with downcast eyes 
to the countess' cruel words, without under- 
standing what was required of her. She was 
ready to sacrifice everything for her benefac- 
tors. Self-sacrifice was her most cherished idea; 
but in this case she could not see what she 
ought to sacrifice, or for whom. She could not 
help loving the countess and the whole Rost6v 
family, but neither could she help loving Nich- 
olas and knowing that his happiness depended 
on that love. She was silent and sad and did 
not reply. Nicholas felt the situation to be in- 
tolerable and went to have an explanation with 
his mother. He first implored her to forgive 
him and S6nya and consent to their marriage, 
then he threatened that if she molested S6nya 
he would at once marry her secretly. 

The countess, with a coldness her son had 
never seen in her before, replied that he was 



WAR AND PEACE 



of age, that Prince Andrew was marrying with- 
out his father's consent, and he could do the 
same, but that she would never receive that 
intriguer as her daughter. 

Exploding at the word intriguer, Nicholas, 
raising his voice, told his mother he had never 
expected her to try to force him to sell his feel- 
ings, but if that were so, he would say for the 
last time . . . But he had no time to utter the de- 
cisive word which the expression of his face 
caused his mother to await with terror, and 
which would perhaps have forever remained a 
cruel memory to them both. He had not time 
to say it, for Natdsha, with a pale and set face, 
entered the room from the door at which she 
had been listening. 

"Nicholas, you are talking nonsense! Be qui- 
et, be quiet, be quiet, I tell you! . . ." she almost 
screamed, so as to drown his voice. 

"Mamma darling, it's not at all so ... my 
poor, sweet darling," she said to her mother, 
who conscious that they had been on the brink 
of a rupture gazed at her son with terror, but 
in the obstinacy and excitement of the conflict 
could not and would not give way. 

"Nicholas, I'll explain to you. Go away! Lis- 
ten, Mamma darling," said Natdsha. 

Her words were incoherent, but they attained 
the purpose at which she was aiming. 

The countess, sobbing heavily, hid her face 
on her daughter's breast, while Nicholas rose, 
clutching his head, and left the room. 

Natasha set to work to effect a reconciliation, 
and so far succeeded that Nicholas received a 
promise from his mother that Sonya should not 
be troubled, while he on his side promised not 
to undertake anything without his parents' 
knowledge. 

Firmly resolved, after putt ing his affairs in or- 
der in the regiment, to retire from the army and 
return and marry S6nya, Nicholas, serious, sor- 
rowful, and at variance with his parents, but, 
as it seemed to him, passionately in love, left at 
the beginning of January to rejoin his regi- 
ment. 

After Nicholas had gone things in the Ros- 



t6v household were more depressing than ever, 
and the countess fell ill from mental agitation. 

S6nya was unhappy at the separation from 
Nicholas and still more so on account of the 
hostile tone the countess could not help adopt- 
ing toward her. The count was more perturbed 
than ever by the condition of his affairs, which 
called for some decisive action. Their town 
house and estate near Moscow had inevitably 
to be sold, and for this they had to go to Mos- 
cow. But the countess' health obliged them to 
delay their departure from day to day. 

Natasha, who had borne the first period of 
separation from her betrothed lightly and even 
cheerfully, now grew more agitated and impa- 
tient every day. The thought that her best days, 
which she would have employed in loving him, 
were being vainly wasted, with no advantage to 
anyone, tormented her incessantly. His letters 
for the most part irritated her. It hurt her to 
think that while she lived only in the thought 
of him, he was living a real life, seeing new 
places and new people that interested him. 
The more interesting his letters were the more 
vexed she felt. Her letters to him, far from giv- 
ing her any comfort, seemed to her a wearisome 
and artificial obligation. She could not write, 
because she could not conceive the possibility 
of expressing sincerely in a letter even a thou- 
sandth part of what she expressed by voice, 
smile, and glance. She wrote to him formal, 
monotonous, and dry letters, to which she at- 
tached no importance herself, and in the rough 
copies of which the countess corrected her mis- 
takes in spelling. 

There was still no improvement in the count- 
ess' health, but it was impossible to defer the 
journey to Moscowany longer. Natasha's trous- 
seau had to be ordered and the house sold. 
Moreover, Prince Andrew was expected in 
Moscow, where old Pri nee Bolk6nski was spend- 
ing the winter, and Natdsha felt sure he had al- 
ready arrived. 

So the countess remained in the country, and 
the count, taking S6nya and Natdsha with him, 
went to Moscow at the end of January. 



Book Eight: 1811-12 



CHAPTER I 

AFTER PRINCE ANDREW'S engagement to Na- 
tasha, Pierre without any apparent cause sud- 
denly felt it impossible to go on living as be- 
fore. Firmly convinced as he was of the truths 
revealed to him by his benefactor, and happy 
as he had been in perfecting his inner man, to 
which he had devoted himself with such ardor 
all the zest of such a life vanished after the 
engagement of Andrew and Natasha and the 
death of Joseph Alexe'evich, the news of which 
reached him almost at the same time. Only the 
skeleton of life remained: his house, a brilliant 
wife who now enjoyed the favors of a very 
important personage, acquaintance with all 
Petersburg, and his court service with its dull 
formalities. And this life suddenly seemed to 
Pierre unexpectedly loathsome. He ceased keep- 
ing a diary, avoided the company of the Broth- 
ers, began going to the Club again, drank a 
great deal, and came once more in touch with 
the bachelor sets, leading such a life that the 
Countess Hdlene thought it necessary to speak 
severely to him about it. Pierre felt that she was 
right, and to avoid compromising her went 
away to Moscow. 

In Moscow as soon as he entered his huge 
house in which the faded and fading princesses 
still lived, with its enormous retinue; as soon 
as, driving through the town, he saw the Iberi- 
an shrine with innumerable tapers burning be- 
fore the golden covers of the icons, the Kremlin 
Square with its snow undisturbed by vehicles, 
the sleigh drivers and hovels of the Sivtsev 
Vrazh6k, those old Moscovites who desired 
nothing, hurried nowhere, and were ending 
their days leisurely; when he saw those old 
Moscow ladies, the Moscow balls, and the Eng- 
lish Club, he felt himself at home in a quiet 
haven. In Moscow he felt at peace, at home, 
warm and dirty as in an old dressing gown. 

Moscow society, from the old women down 
to the children, received Pierre like a long- 
expected guest whose place was always ready 
awaiting him. For Moscow society Pierre was 



the nicest, kindest, most intellectual, merriest, 
and most magnanimous of cranks, a heedless, 
genial nobleman of the old Russian type. His 
purse was always empty because it was open to 
everyone. 

Benefit performances, poor pictures, statues, 
benevolent societies, gypsy choirs, schools, sub- 
scription dinners, sprees, Freemasons, church- 
es, and books no one and nothing met with a 
refusal from him, and had it not been for two 
friends who had borrowed large sums from 
him and taken him under their protection, he 
would have given everything away. There was 
never a dinner or soiree at the Club without 
him. As soon as he sank into his place on the 
sofa after two bottles of Margaux he was sur- 
rounded, and talking, disputing, and joking 
began. When there were quarrels, his kindly 
smile and well-timed jests reconciled the antag- 
onists. The Masonic dinners were dull and 
dreary when he was not there. 

When after a bachelor supper he rose with 
his amiable and kindly smile, yielding to the 
entreaties of the festive company to drive off 
somewhere with them, shouts of delight and 
triumph arose among the young men. At balls 
he danced if a partner was needed. Young la- 
dies, married and unmarried, liked him be- 
cause without making love to any of them, he 
was equally amiable to all, especially after sup- 
per. "// est charmant; il n'a pas de sexe," * they 
said of him. 

Pierre was one of those retired gentlemen- 
in-waiting of whom there were hundreds good- 
humoredly ending their days in Moscow. 

How horrified he would have been seven 
years before, when he first arrived from abroad, 
had he been told that there was no need for 
him to seek or plan anything, that his rut had 
long been shaped, eternally predetermined, 
and that wriggle as he might, he would be what 
all in his position were. He could not have be- 
lieved itl Had he not at one time longed with 
all his heart to establish a republic in Russia; 

1 "He is charming; he has no sex." 



33 



34 



WAR AND PEACE 



then himself to be a Napoleon; then to be a 
philosopher; and then a strategist and the con- 
queror of Napoleon? Had he not seen the pos- 
sibility of, and passionately desired, the regen- 
eration of the sinful human race, and his own 
progress to the highest degree of perfection? 
Had he not established schools and hospitals 
and liberated his serfs? 

But instead of all thathere he was, the 
wealthy husband of an unfaithful wife, a re- 
tired gentleman-in-waiting, fond of eating and 
drinking and, as he unbuttoned his waistcoat, 
of abusing the government a bit, a member of 
the Moscow English Club, and a universal fa- 
vorite in Moscow society. For a long time he 
could not reconcile himself to the idea that he 
was one of those same retired Moscow gentle- 
men-in-waiting he had so despised seven years 
before. 

Sometimes he consoled himself with the 
thought that he was only living this life tem- 
porarily; but then he was shocked by the 
thought of how many, like himself, had en- 
tered that life and that Club temporarily, with 
all their teeth and hair, and had only left it 
when not a single tooth or hair remained. 

In moments of pride, when he thought of his 
position it seemed to him that he was quite 
different and distinct from those other retired 
gentlemen-in-waiting he had formerly de- 
spised: they were empty, stupid, contented fel- 
lows, satisfied with their position, "while I am 
still discontented and want to do something 
for mankind. But perhaps all these comrades 
of minestruggled just like me and sought some- 
thing new, a path in life of their own, and like 
me were brought by force of circumstances, so- 
ciety, and race by that elemental force against 
which man is powerless to the condition I am 
in," said he to himself in moments of humility; 
and after living some time in Moscow he no 
longer despised, but began to grow fond of, to 
respect, and to pity his comrades in destiny, as 
he pitied himself. 

Pierre no longer suffered moments of despair, 
hypochondria, and disgust with life, but the 
malady that had formerly found expression in 
such acute attacks was driven inwards and nev- 
er left him for a moment. "What for? Why? 
What is going on in the world?" he would ask 
himself in perplexity several times a day, in- 
voluntarily beginning to reflect anew on the 
meaning of the phenomena of life; but know- 
ing by experience that there were no answers 
to these questions he made haste to turn away 
from them, and took up a book, or hurried off 



to the Club or to Apoll6n Nikoldevich's, to 
exchange the gossip of the town. 

"Hlne, who has never cared for anything 
but her own body and is one of the stupidest 
women in the world," thought Pierre, "is re- 
garded by people as the acme of intelligence 
and refinement, and they pay homage to her. 
Napoleon Bonaparte was despised by all as 
long as he was great, but now that he has be- 
come a wretched comedian the Emperor Fran- 
cis wants to offer him his daughter in an illegal 
marriage. The Spaniards, thro ugh the Catholic 
clergy, offer praise to God for their victory over 
the French on the fourteenth of June, and the 
French, also through the Catholic clergy, offer 
praise because on that same fourteenth of 
June they defeated the Spaniards. My brother 
Masons swear by the blood that they are ready 
to sacrifice everything for their neighbor, but 
they do not give a ruble each to the collections 
for the poor, and they intrigue, the Astraea 
Lodge against the Manna Seekers, and fuss 
about an authentic Scotch carpet and a charter 
that nobody needs, and the meaning of which 
the very man who wrote it does not understand. 
We all profess the Christian law of forgiveness 
of injuries and love of our neighbors, the law 
in honor of which we have built in Moscow 
forty times forty churches but yesterday a de- 
serter was knouted to death and a minister of 
that same law of love and forgiveness, a priest, 
gave the soldier a cross to kiss before his exe- 
cution." So thought Pierre, and the whole of 
this general deception which everyone accepts, 
accustomed as he was to it, astonished him each 
time as if it were something new. "I under- 
stand the deception and confusion," he 
thought, "but how am I to tell them all that I 
see? I have tried, and have always found that 
they too in the depths of their souls under- 
stand it as I do, and only try not to see it. So 
it appears that it must be so! But Iwhat is to 
become of me?" thought he. He had the unfor- 
tunate capacity many men, especially Russians, 
have of seeing and believing in the possibility 
of goodness and truth, but of seeing the evil 
and falsehood of life too clearly to be able to 
take a serious part in it. Every sphere of work 
was connected, in his eyes, with evil and decep- 
tion. Whatever he tried to be, whatever he en- 
gaged in, the evil and falsehood of it repulsed 
him and blocked every path of activity. Yet he 
had to live and to find occupation. It was too 
dreadful to be under the burden of these in- 
soluble problems, so he abandoned himself to 
any distraction in order to forget them. He 



BOOK EIGHT 



35 



frequented every kind of society, drank much, 
bought pictures, engaged in building, and 
above allread. 

He read, and read everything that came to 
hand. On coming home, while his valets were 
still taking off his things, he picked up a book 
and began to read. From reading he passed to 
sleeping, from sleeping to gossip in drawing 
rooms of the Club, from gossip to carousals and 
women; from carousals back to gossip, reading, 
and wine. Drinking became more and more a 
physical and also a moral necessity. Though 
the doctors warned him that with his corpu- 
lence wine was dangerous for him, he drank a 
great deal. He was only quite at ease when 
having poured several glasses of wine mechan- 
ically into his large mouth he felt a pleasant 
warmth in his body, an amiability toward all 
his fellows, and a readiness to respond super- 
ficially to every idea without probing it deep- 
ly. Only after emptying a bottle or two did he 
feel dimly that the terribly tangled skein of 
life which previously had terrified him was not 
as dreadful as he had thought. He was always 
conscious of some aspect of that skein, as with 
a buz/ing in his head after dinner or supper he 
chatted or listened to conversation or read. But 
under the influence of wine he said to himself: 
"It doesn't matter. I'll get it unraveled. I have 
a solution ready, but have no time now I'll 
think it all out later onl" But the later on 
never came. 

In the morning, on an empty stomach, all 
the old questions appeared as insoluble and 
terrible as ever, and Pierre hastily picked up 
a book, and if anyone came to see him he was 
glad. 

Sometimes he remembered how he had heard 
that soldiers in war when entrenched under 
the enemy's fire, if they have nothing to do, try 
hard to find some occupation the more easily 
to bear the danger. To Pierre all men seemed 
like those soldiers, seeking refuge from life: 
some in ambition, some in cards, some in fram- 
ing laws, some in women, some in toys, some 
in horses, some in politics, some in sport, some 
in wine, and some in governmental affairs. 
"Nothing is trivial, and nothing is important, 
it's all the same only to save oneself from it as 
best one can," thought Pierre. "Only not to see 
it, that dreadful it!" 

CHAPTER II 

AT THE BEGINNING OF WINTER Prince Nicholas 
Bolk6nski and his daughter moved to Moscow. 
At that time enthusiasm for the Emperor Alex- 



ander's regime had weakened and a patriotic 
and anti-French tendency prevailed there, and 
this, togetherwith his past and his intellect and 
his originality, at once made Prince Nicholas 
Bolkcmski an object of particular respect to 
the Moscovites and the center of the Moscow 
opposition to the government. 

The prince had aged very much that year. 
He showed marked signs of senility by a tend- 
ency to fall asleep, forgetfulness of quite re- 
cent events, remembrance of remote ones, and 
the childish vanity with which he accepted the 
role of head of the Moscow opposition. In 
spite of this the old man inspired in all his 
visitors alike a feeling of respectful veneration 
especially of an evening when he came in to 
tea in his old-fashioned coat and powdered 
wig and, aroused by anyone, told his abrupt 
stories of the past, or uttered yet more abrupt 
and scathing criticisms of the present. For them 
all, that old-fashioned house with its gigantic 
mirrors, pre-Revolution furniture, powdered 
footmen, and the stern shrewd old man (him- 
self a relic of the past century) with his gentle 
daughter and the pretty Frenchwoman who 
were reverently devoted to him presented a 
majestic and agreeable spectacle. But the visi- 
tors did not reflect that besides the couple of 
hours during which they saw their host, there 
were also twenty-two hours in the day during 
which the private and intimate lifeof the house 
continued. 

Latterly that private life had become very 
trying for Princess Mary. There in Moscow she 
was deprived of her greatest pleasures talks 
with the pilgrims and the solitude which re- 
freshed her at Bald Hills and she had none of 
the advantages and pleasures of city life. She 
did not go out into society; everyone knew 
that her father would not let her go anywhere 
without him, and his failing health prevented 
his going out himself, so that she was not in- 
vited to dinners and evening parties. She had 
quite abandoned the hope of getting married. 
She saw the coldness and malevolence with 
which the old prince received and dismissed 
the young men, possible suitors, who some- 
times appeared at their house. She had no 
friends: during this visit to Moscow she had 
been disappointed in the two who had been 
nearest to her. Mademoiselle Bourienne, with 
whom she had never been able to be quite 
frank, had now become unpleasant to her, and 
for various reasons Princess Mary avoided her. 
Julie, with whom she had corresponded for 
the last five years, was in Moscow, but proved 



306 WAR AND PEACE 

to be quite alien to her when they met. Just 
then Julie, who by the death of her brothers 
had become one of the richest heiresses in Mos- 
cow, was in the full whirl of society pleasures. 
She was surrounded by young men who, she 
fancied, had suddenly learned to appreciate 
her worth. Julie was at that stage in the life of 
a society woman when she feels that her last 
chance of marrying has come and that her fate 
must be decided now or never. On Thursdays 
Princess Mary remembered with a mournful 
smile that she now had no one to write to, since 
Julie whose presence gave her no pleasure- 
was here and they met every week. Like the old 
emigrd who declined to marry the lady with 
whom he had spent his evenings for years, she 
regretted Julie's presence and having no one to 
write to. In Moscow Princess Mary had no one 
to talk to, no one to whom to confide her sor- 
row, and much sorrow fell to her lot just then. 
The time for Prince Andrew's return and mar- 
riage was approaching, but his request to her 
to prepare his father for it had not been car- 
ried out; in fact, it seemed as if matters were 
quite hopeless, for at every mention of the 
young Countess Rost6va the old prince (who 
apart from that was usually in a bad temper) 
lost control of himself. Another lately added 
sorrow arose from the lessons she gave her six- 
year-old nephew. To her consternation she 
detected in herself in relation to little Nich- 
olas some symptoms of her father's irritability. 
However often she told herself that she must 
not get irritable when teaching her nephew, 
almost every time that, pointer in hand, she 
sat down to show him the French alphabet, 
she so longed to pour her own knowledge 
quickly and easily into the child who was al- 
ready afraid that Auntie might at any moment 
get angry that at his slightest inattention she 
trembled, became flustered and heated, raised 
her voice, and sometimes pulled him by the 
arm and put him in the corner. Having put 
him in the corner she would herself begin to 
cry over her cruel, evil nature, and little Nicho- 
las, following her example, would sob, and 
without permission would leave his corner, 
come to her, pull her wet hands from her face, 
and comfort her. But what distressed the prin- 
cess most of all was her father's irritability, 
which was always directed against her and had 
of late amounted to cruelty. Had he forced her 
to prostrate herself to the ground all night, 
had he beaten her or made her fetch wood or 
water, it would never have entered her mind 
to think her position hard; but this loving des- 



potthe more cruel because he loved her and 
for that reason tormented himself and her 
knew how not merely to hurt and humiliate 
her deliberately, but to show her that she was 
always to blame for everything. Of late he had 
exhibited a new trait that tormented Princess 
Mary more than anything else; this was his 
ever-increasing intimacy with Mademoiselle 
Bourienne. The idea that at the first moment 
of receiving the news of his son's intentions 
had occurred to him in jest that if Andrew 
got married he himself would marry Bouri- 
enne had evidently pleased him, and latterly 
he had persistently, and as it seemed to Prin- 
cess Mary merely to offend her, shown special 
endearments to the companion and expressed 
his dissatisfaction with his daughter by demon- 
strations of love of Bourienne. 

One day in Moscow in Princess Mary's pres- 
ence (she thought her father did it purposely 
when she was there) the old prince kissed Made- 
moiselle Bourienne's hand and, drawing hereto 
him, embraced her affectionately. Princess Mary 
flushed and ran out of the room. A few min- 
utes later Mademoiselle Bourienne came into 
Princess Mary's room smiling and making 
cheerful remarks in her agreeable voice. Prin- 
cess Mary hastily wiped away her tears, went 
resolutely up to Mademoiselle Bourienne, 
and evidently unconscious of what she 
was doing began shouting in angry haste 
at the Frenchwoman, her voice breaking: 
"It's horrible, vile, inhuman, to take advan- 
tage of the weakness . . ." She did not finish. 
"Leave my room," she exclaimed, and burst 
into sobs. 

Next day the prince did not say a word to 
his daughter, but she noticed that at dinner he 
gave orders that Mademoiselle Bourienne 
should be served first. After dinner, when the 
footman handed coffee and from habit began 
with the princess, the prince suddenly grew 
furious, threw his stick at Philip, and instantly 
gave instructions to have him conscripted for 
the army. 

"He doesn't obey ... I said it twice . . . and 
he doesn't obey! She is the first person in this 
house; she's my best friend," cried the prince. 
"And if you allow yourself," he screamed in a 
fury, addressing Princess Mary for the first 
time, "to forget yourself again before her as 
you dared to do yesterday, I will show you who 
is master in this house. Go! Don't let me set 
eyes on you; beg her pardon!" 

Princess Mary asked Mademoiselle Bouri- 
enne's pardon, and also her father's pardon 



BOOK EIGHT 



for herself and for Philip the footman, who 
had begged for her intervention. 

At such moments something like a pride of 
sacrifice gathered in her soul. And suddenly 
that father whom she had judged would look 
for his spectacles in her presence, fumbling 
near them and not seeing them, or would for- 
get something that had just occurred, or take 
a false step with his failing legs and turn to see 
if anyone had noticed his feebleness, or, worst 
of all, at dinner when there were no visitors to 
excite him would suddenly fall asleep, letting 
his napkin drop and his shaking head sink 
over his plate. "He is old and feeble, and I 
dare to condemn him!" she thought at such 
moments, with a feeling of revulsion against 
herself. 

CHAPTER III 

IN 1811 there was living in Moscow a French 
doctor Me* tivier who had rapidly become the 
fashion. He was enormously tall, handsome, 
amiable as Frenchmen are, and was, as all Mos- 
cow said, an extraordinarily clever doctor. He 
was received in the best houses not merely as a 
doctor, but as an equal. 

Prince Nicholas had always ridiculed medi- 
cine, but latterly on Mademoiselle Bourienne's 
advice had allowed this doctor to visit him and 
had grown accustomed to him. Me*tivier came 
to see the prince about twice a week. 

On December 6 St. Nicholas* Day and the 
prince's name day all Moscow came to the 
prince's front door but he gave orders to ad- 
mit no one and to invite to dinner only a small 
number, a list of whom he gave to Princess 
Mary. 

Mdtivier, who came in the morning with his 
felicitations, considered it proper in his quality 
of doctor de forcer la consigned as he told Prin- 
cess Mary, and went in to see the prince. It 
happened that on that morning of his name 
day the prince was in one of his worst moods. 
He had been going about the house all the 
morning finding fault with everyone and pre- 
tending not to understand what was said to 
him and not to be understood himself. Prin- 
cess Mary well knew this mood of quiet ab- 
sorbed querulousness, which generally culmi- 
nated in a burst of rage, and she went about all 
that morning as though facing a cocked and 
loaded gun and awaited the inevitable explo- 
sion. Until the doctor's arrival the morning 
had passed off safely. After admitting the doc- 
tor, Princess Mary sat down with a book in the 

1 To force the guard. 



drawing room near the door through which 
she could hear all that passed in the study. 

At first she heard only Me* tivier's voice, then 
her father's, then both voices began speaking 
at the same time, the door was flung open, and 
on the threshold appeared the handsome figure 
of the terrified MeHivierwith his shock of black 
hair, and the prince in his dressing gown and 
fez, his face distorted with fury and the pupils 
of his eyes rolled downwards. 

"You don't understand?" shouted the prince, 
"but I do! French spy, slave of Buonaparte, 
spy, get out of my house! Be off, I tell you . . ." 
and he slammed the door. 

Mdtivier, shrugging his shoulders, went up to 
Mademoiselle Bourienne who at the sound of 
shouting had run in from an adjoining room. 

"The prince is not very well: bile and rush 
of blood to the head. Keep calm, I will call 
again tomorrow," said Mdtivier; and putting 
his fingers to his lips he hastened away. 

Through the study door came the sound of 
slippered feet and the cry: "Spies, traitors, 
traitors everywhere! Not a moment's peace in 
my own house!" 

After Me*tivier's departure the old prince 
called his daughter in, and the whole weight 
of his wrath fell on her. She was to blame that 
a spy had been admitted. Had he not told her, 
yes, told her to make a list, and not to admit 
anyone who was not on that list? Then why 
was that scoundrel admitted? She was the cause 
of it all. With her, he said, he could not have a 
moment's peace and could not die quietly. 

"No, ma'am! We must part, we must part! 
Understand that, understand it! I cannot en- 
dure any more," he said, and left the room. 
Then, as if afraid she might find some means 
of consolation, he returned and trying to ap- 
pear calm added: "And don't imagine I have 
said this in a moment of anger. I am calm, I 
have thought it over, and it will be carried out 
we must part; so find some place for your- 
self I . . ." But he could not restrain himself and 
with the virulence of which only one who 
loves is capable, evidently suffering himself, 
he shook his fists at her and screamed: 

"If only some fool would marry her!" Then 
he slammed the door, sent for Mademoiselle 
Bourienne, and subsided into his study. 

At two o'clock the six chosen guests assem- 
bled for dinner. 

These guests the famous Count Rostop- 
chin, Prince Lopukhfn with his nephew, Gen- 
eral Chatrov an old war comrade of the prince's, 
and of the younger generation Pierre and 



WAR AND PEACE 



Boris Drubetsk6y awaited the prince in the 
drawing room. 

Boris, who had come to Moscow on leave a 
few days before, had been anxious to be pre- 
sented to Prince Nicholas Bolk6nski, and had 
contrived to ingratiate himself so well that the 
old prince in his case made an exception to the 
rule of not receiving bachelors in his house. 

The prince's house did not belong to what is 
known as fashionable society, but his little cir- 
clethough not much talked about in town- 
was one it was more flattering to be received in 
than any other. Boris had realized this the 
week before when the commander in chief in 
his presence invited Rostopchin to dinner on 
St. Nicholas' Day, and Rostopchin had replied 
that he could not come: 

"On that day I always go to pay my devo- 
tions to the relics of Prince Nicholas Bolk6n- 
ski." 

"Oh, yes, yes!" replied the commander in 
chief. "How is he? . . ." 

The small group that assembled before din- 
ner in the lofty old-fashioned drawing room 
with its old furniture resembled the solemn 
gathering of a court of justice. All were silent 
or talked in low tones. Prince Nicholas came 
in serious and taciturn. Princess Mary seemed 
even quieter and more diffident than usual. 
The guests were reluctant to address her, feel- 
ing that she was in no mood for their conversa- 
tion. Count Rostopchfn alone kept the con- 
versation going, now relating the latest town 
news, and now the latest political gossip. 

Lopukhin and the old general occasionally 
took part in the conversation. Prince Bolk6n- 
ski listened as a presiding judge receives a re- 
port, only now and then, silently or by a brief 
word, showing that he took heed of what was 
being reported to him. The tone of the con- 
versation was such as indicated that no one ap- 
proved of what was being done in the political 
world. Incidents were related evidently con- 
firming the opinion that everything was going 
from bad to worse, but whether telling a story 
or giving an opinion the speaker always 
stopped, or was stopped, at the point beyond 
which his criticism might touch the sovereign 
himself. 

At dinner the talk turned on the latest politi- 
cal news: Napoleon's seizure of the Duke of 
Oldenburg's territory, and the Russian Note, 
hostile to Napoleon, which had been sent to 
all the European courts. 

"Bonaparte treats Europe as a pirate does a 
captured vessel/ 1 said Count Rostopchin, re- 



peating a phrase he had uttered several times 
before. "One only wonders at the long-suffer- 
ing or blindness of the crowned heads. Now 
the Pope's turn has come and Bonaparte doesn't 
scruple to depose the head of the Catholic 
Churchyet all keep silent! Our sovereign 
alone has protested against the seizure of the 
Duke of Oldenburg's territory, and even . . ." 
Count Rostopchin paused, feeling that he had 
reached the limit beyond which censure was 
impossible. 

"Other territories have been offered in ex- 
change for the Duchy of Oldenburg," said 
Prince Bolkonski. "He shifts the Dukes about 
as I might move my serfs from Bald Hills to 
Bogucharovo or my Ryazan estates." 

"The Duke of Oldenburg bears his misfor- 
tunes with admirable strength of character and 
resignation," remarked Boris, joining in re- 
spectfully. 

He said this because on his journey from 
Petersburg he had had the honor of being pre- 
sented to the Duke. Prince Bolkonski glanced 
at the young man as if about to say something 
in reply, but changed his mind, evidently con- 
sidering him too young. 

"I have read our protests about the Olden- 
burg affair and was surprised how badly the 
Note was worded," remarked Count Rostop- 
chin in the casual tone of a man dealing with 
a subject quite familiar to him. 

Pierre looked at Rostopchfn with nai've as- 
tonishment, not understanding why he should 
be disturbed by the bad composition of the 
Note. 

"Does it matter, Count, how the Note is 
worded," he asked, "so long as its substance is 
forcible?" 

"My clear fellow, with our five hundred thou- 
sand troops it should be easy to have a good 
style," returned Count Rostopchin. 

Pierre now understood the count's dissatis- 
faction with the wording of the Note. 

"One would have thought quill drivers 
enough had sprung up," remarked the old 
prince. "There in Petersburg they are always 
writing not notes only but even new laws. My 
Andrew there has written a whole volume of 
laws for Russia. Nowadays they are always writ- 
ing!" and he laughed unnaturally. 

There was a momentary pause in the con- 
versation; the old general cleared his throat to 
draw attention. 

"Did you hear of the last event at the review 
in Petersburg? The figure cut by the new 
French ambassador," 



BOOK EIGHT 



39 



"Eh? Yes, I heard something: he said some- 
thing awkward in His Majesty's presence." 

"His Majesty drew attention to the Grena- 
dier division and to the march past," continued 
the general, "and it seems the ambassador took 
no notice and allowed himself to reply that: 
'We in France pay no attention to such trifles!' 
The Emperor did not condescend to reply. At 
the next review, they say, the Emperor did not 
once deign to address him." 

All were silent. On this fact relating to the 
Emperor personally, it was impossible to pass 
any judgment. 

"Impudent fellows!" said the prince. "You 
know Mtivier? I turned him out of my house 
this morning. He was here; they admitted him 
in spite of my request that they should let no 
one in," he went on, glancing angrily at his 
daughter. 

And he narrated his whole conversation with 
the French doctor and the reasons that con- 
vinced him that M^tivier was a spy. Though 
these reasons were very insufficient and ob- 
scure, no one made any rejoinder. 

After the roast, champagne was served. The 
guests rose to congratulate the old prince. 
Princess Mary, too, went round to him. 

He gave her a cold, angry look and offered 
her his wrinkled, clean-shaven cheek to kiss. 
The whole expression of his face told her that 
he had not forgotten the morning's talk, that 
his decision remained in force, and only the 
presence of visitors hindered his speaking of 
it to her now. 

When they went into the drawing room 
where coffee was served, the old men sat to- 
gether. 

Prince Nicholas grew more animated and 
expressed his views on the impending war. 

He said that our wars with Bonaparte would 
be disastrous so long as we sought alliances 
with the Germans and thrust ourselves into 
European affairs, into which we had been 
drawn by the Peace of Tilsit. "We ought not 
to fight either for or against Austria. Our po- 
litical interests are all in the East, and in re- 
gard to Bonaparte the only thing is to have an 
armed frontier and a firm policy, and he will 
never dare to cross the Russian frontier, as was 
the case in 1807!" 

"How can we fight the French, Prince?" said 
Count Rostopchin. "Can we arm ourselves 
against our teachers and divinities? Look at 
our youths, look at our ladiesl The French 
are our Gods: Paris is our Kingdom of 
Heaven." 



He began speaking louder, evidently to be 
heard by everyone. 

"French dresses, French ideas, French feel- 
ings! There now, you turned M^tivier out by 
the scruff of his neck because he is a French- 
man and a scoundrel, but our ladies crawl aft- 
er him on their knees. I went to a party last 
night, and there out of five ladies three were 
Roman Catholics and had the Pope's indul- 
gence for doing woolwork on Sundays. And 
they themselves sit there nearly naked, like the 
signboards at our Public Baths if I may say so. 
Ah, when one looks at our young people, Prince, 
one would like to take Peter the Great's old 
cudgel out of the museum and belabor them in 
the Russian way till all the nonsense jumps 
out of them." 

All were silent. The old prince looked at Ros- 
topchfn with a smile and wagged his head ap- 
provingly. 

"Well, good-by, your excellency, keep well!" 
said Rostopchfn, getting up with characteristic 
briskness and holding out his hand to the 
prince. 

"Good-by, my dear fellow His words are 

music, I never tire of hearing him!" said the 
old prince, keeping hold of the hand and of- 
fering his cheek to be kissed. 

Following Rostopchin's example the others 
also rose. 

CHAPTER IV 

PRINCESS MARY, as she sat listening to the old 
men's talk and faultfinding, understood noth- 
ing of what she heard; she only wondered 
whether the guests had all observed her fa- 
ther's hostile attitude toward her. She did not 
even notice the special attentions and amiabil- 
ities shown her during dinner by Boris Drubet- 
sk6y, who was visiting them for the third time 
already. 

Princess Mary turned with an absent-minded 
questioning look to Pierre, who hat in hand 
and with a smile on his face was the last of the 
guests to approach her after the old prince had 
gone out and they were left alone in the draw- 
ing room. 

"May I stay a little longer?" he said, letting 
his stout body sink into an armchair beside her. 

"Oh yes," she answered. "You noticed noth- 
ing?" her look asked. 

Pierre was in an agreeable after-dinner mood. 
He looked straight before him and smiled 
quietly. 

"Have you known that young man long, 
Princess?" he asked 



310 

"Who?" 

"Drubetsk6y." 

"No, not long. . . ." 

"Do you like him?" 

"Yes, he is an agreeable young man. . . . Why 
do you ask me that?" said Princess Mary, still 
thinking of that morning's conversation with 
her father. 

"Because I have noticed that when a young 
man comes on leave from Petersburg to Mos- 
cow it is usually with the object of marrying 
an heiress." 

"You have observed that?" said Princess 
Mary. 

"Yes," returned Pierre with a smile, "and 
this young man now manages matters so that 
where there is a wealthy heiress there he is too. 
I can read him like a book. At present he is 
hesitating whom to lay siege to you or Made- 
moiselle Julie Kardgina. He is very attentive 
to her." 

"He visits them?" 

"Yes, very often. And do you know the new 
way of courting?" said Pierre with an amused 
smile, evidently in that cheerful mood of good- 
humored raillery for which he so often re- 
proached himself in his diary. 

"No," replied Princess Mary. 

"To please Moscow girls nowadays one has 
to be melancholy. He is very melancholy with 
Mademoiselle Karigina," said Pierre. 

"Really?" asked Princess Mary, looking into 
Pierre's kindly face and still thinking of her 
own sorrow. "It would be a relief," thought 
she, "if I ventured to confide what I am feeling 
to someone. I should like to tell everything to 
Pierre. He is kind and generous. It would be a 
relief. He would give me advice." 

"Would you marry him?" 

"Oh, my God, Count, there are moments 
when I would marry anybodyl" she cried sud- 
denly to her own surprise and with tears in her 
voice. "Ah, how bitter it is to love someone 
near to you and to feel that . . ." she went on 
in a trembling voice, "that you can do nothing 
for him but grieve him, and to know that you 
cannot alter this. Then there is only one thing 
leftto go away, but where could I go?" 

"What is wrong? What is it, Princess?" 

But without finishing what she was saying, 
Princess Mary burst into tears. 

"I don't know what is the matter with me 
today. Don't take any notice forget what I 
have said!" 

Pierre's gaiety vanished completely. He anx- 
iously questioned the princess, asked her to 



WAR AND PEACE 

speak out fully and confide her grief to him; 



but she only repeated that she begged him to 
forget what she had said, that she did not re- 
member what she had said, and that she had 
no trouble except the one he knew ofthat 
Prince Andrew's marriage threatened to cause 
a rupture between father and son. 

"Have you any news of the Rost6vs?" she 
asked, to change the subject. "I was told they 
are coming soon. I am also expecting Andrew 
any day. I should like them to meet here." 

"And how does he now regard the matter?" 
asked Pierre, referring to the old prince. 

Princess Mary shook her head. 

"What is to be done? In a few months the 
year will be up. The thing is impossible. I on- 
ly wish I could spare my brother the first mo- 
ments. I wish they would come sooner. I hope 
to be friends with her. You have known them 
a long time," said Princess Mary. "Tell me 
honestly the whole truth: what sort of girl is 
she, and what do you think of her? The real 
truth, because you know Andrew is risking so 
much doing this against his father's will that I 
should like to know. . . ." 

An undefined instinct told Pierre that these 
explanations, and repeated requests to be told 
the whole truth, expressed ill-will on the prin- 
cess' part toward her future sister-in-law and a 
wish that he should disapprove of Andrew's 
choice; but in reply he said what he felt rather 
than what he thought. 

"I don't know how to answer your ques- 
tion," he said, blushing without knowing why. 
"I really don't know what sort of girl she is; I 
can't analyze her at all. She is enchanting, but 
what makes her so I don't know. That is all 
one can say about her." 

Princess Mary sighed, and the expression on 
her face said: "Yes, that's what I expected and 
feared." 

"Is she clever?" she asked. 

Pierre considered. 

"I think not," he said, "and yet yes. She 
does not deign to be clever. . . . Oh no, she is 
simply enchanting, and that is all." 

Princess Mary again shook her head disap- 
provingly. 

"Ah, I so long to like her! Tell her so if you 
see her before I do." 

"I hear they are expected very soon," said 
Pierre. 

Princess Mary told Pierre of her plan to be- 
come intimate with her future sister-in-law as 
soon as the Rostovs arrived and to try to ac- 
custom the old prince to her. 



BOOK EIGHT 



CHAPTER V 

BORIS HAD NOT SUCCEEDED in making a wealthy 
match in Petersburg, so with the same object 
in view he came to Moscow. There he wavered 
between the two richest heiresses, Julie and 
Princess Mary. Though Princess Mary despite 
her plainness seemed to him more attractive 
than Julie, he, without knowing why, felt awk- 
ward about paying court to her. When they 
had last met on the old prince's name day, she 
had answered at random all his attempts to 
talk sentimentally, evidently not listening to 
what he was saying. 

Julie on the contrary accepted his attentions 
readily, though in a manner peculiar to her- 
self. 

She was twenty-seven. After the death of her 
brothers she had become very wealthy. She was 
by now decidedly plain, but thought herself 
not merely as good-looking as before but even 
far more attractive. She was confirmed in this 
delusion by the fact that she had become a 
very wealthy heiress and also by the fact that 
the older she grew the less dangerous she be- 
came to men, and the more freely they could 
associate with her and avail themselves of her 
suppers, soirees, and the animated company 
that assembled at her house, without incurring 
any obligation. A man who would have been 
afraid ten years before of going every day to 
the house when there was a girl of seventeen 
there, for fear of compromising her and com- 
mitting himself, would now go boldly every 
day and treat her not as a marriageable girl 
but as a sexless acquaintance. 

That winter the Kardgins' house was the 
most agreeable and hospitable in Moscow. In 
addition to the formal evening and dinner 
parties, a large company, chiefly of men, gath- 
ered there every day, supping at midnight 
and staying till three in the morning. Julie 
never missed a ball, a promenade, or a play. 
Her dresses were always of the latest fashion. 
But in spite of that she seemed to be disillu- 
sioned about everything and told everyone 
that she did not believe either in friendship or 
in love, or any of the joys of life, and expected 
peace only "yonder." She adopted the tone of 
one who has suffered a great disappointment, 
like a girl who has either lost the man she loved 
or been cruelly deceived by him. Though noth- 
ing of the kind had happened to her she was 
regarded in that light, and had even herself 
come to believe that she had suffered much in 
life. This melancholy, which did not prevent 
her amusing herself, did not hinder the young 



people who came to her house from passing 
the time pleasantly. Every visitor who came to 
the house paid his tribute to the melancholy 
mood of the hostess, and then amused himself 
with society gossip, dancing, intellectual games, 
and bouts rimts? which were in vogue at the 
Kardgins'. Only a few of these young men, 
among them Boris, entered more deeply into 
Julie's melancholy, and with these she had pro- 
longed conversations in private on the vanity 
of all worldly things, and to them she showed 
her albums filled with mournful sketches, max- 
ims, and verses. 

To Boris, Julie was particularly gracious: 
she regretted his early disillusionment with 
life, offered him such consolation of friendship 
as she who had herself suffered so much could 
render, and showed him her album. Boris 
sketched two trees in the album and wrote: 
"Rustic trees, your dark branches shed gloom 
and melancholy upon me." 

On another page he drewa tomb, and wrote: 

La mort est sec our able et la mort est tranquille. 
Ah! contre les douleurs il n'y a pas d'autre asile.* 

Julia said this was charming. 

"There is something so enchanting in the 
smile of melancholy," she said to Boris, repeat- 
ing word for word a passage she had copied 
from a book. "It is a ray of light in the dark- 
ness, a shade between sadness and despair, 
showing the possibility of consolation." 

In reply Boris wrote these lines: 

Aliment de poison d'une dine trop sensible, 
Toi, sans qui le bonheur me serait impossible, 
Tendre me'lancholie, ah, viens me consoler, 
Viens calmer les tourments de ma sombre retraite, 
Et mile une douceur secrete 
A ces pleurs que je sens couler. 3 

For Boris, Julie played most doleful noc- 
turnes on her harp. Boris read Poor Liza aloud 
to her, and more than once interrupted the 
reading because of the emotions that choked 
him. Meeting at large gatherings Julie and 

*A game in which rhymes were given to the 
players, to which they had to fit lines making up 
a verse. TR. 
8 Death gives relief and death is peaceful. 

Ah! from suffering there is no other refuge. 
8 Poisonous nourishment of a too sensitive soul, 
Thou, without whom happiness would for me 

be impossible, 

Tender melancholy, ah, come to console me, 
Come to calm the torments of my gloomy re- 
treat, 

And mingle a secret sweetness 
With these tears that I feel to be flowing. 



WAR AND PEACE 



Boris looked on one another as the only souls 
who understood one another in a world of in- 
different people. 

Anna Mikhdylovna, who often visited the 
Karigins, while playing cards with the mother 
made careful inquiries as to Julie's dowry (she 
was to have two estates in P<*nza and the Niz- 
heg6rod forests). Anna Mikhdylovna regarded 
the refined sadness that united her son to the 
wealthy Julie with emotion, and resignation 
to the Divine will. 

"You are always charming and melancholy, 
my dear Julie," she said to the daughter. "Boris 
says his soul finds repose at your house. He has 
suffered so many disappointments and is so 
sensitive," said she to the mother. "Ah, my 
dear, I can't tell you how fond I have grown of 
Julie latterly," she said to her son. "But who 
could help loving her? She is an angelic be- 
ing! Ah, Boris, Boris!" she paused. "And how 
I pity her mother," she went on; "today she 
showed me her accounts and letters from Pe*n- 
za (they have enormous estates there), and she, 
poor thing, has no one to help her, and they 
do cheat her so!" 

Boris smiled almost imperceptibly while lis- 
tening to his mother. He laughed blandly at 
her naive diplomacy but listened to what she 
had to say, and sometimes questioned her care- 
fully about the Pnza and Nizheg6rod estates. 

Julie had long been expecting a proposal 
from her melancholy adorer and was ready to 
accept it; but some secret feeling of repulsion 
for her, for her passionate desire to get mar- 
ried, for her artificiality, and a feeling of horror 
at renouncing the possibility of real love still 
restrained Boris. His leave was expiring. He 
spent every day and whole days at the Kard- 
gins', and every day on thinking the matter 
over told himself that he would propose to- 
morrow. But in Julie's presence, looking at her 
red face and chin (nearly always powdered), 
her moist eyes, and her expression of continual 
readiness to pass at once from melancholy to 
an unnatural rapture of married bliss, Boris 
could not utter the decisive words, though in 
imagination he had long regarded himself as 
the possessor of those Pe*nza and Nizheg6rod 
estates and had apportioned the use of the in- 
come from them. Julie saw Boris* indecision, 
and sometimes the thought occurred to her 
that she was repulsive to him, but her feminine 
self-deception immediately supplied her with 
consolation, and she told herself that he was 
only shy from love. Her melancholy, however, 
began to turn to irritability, and not long be- 



fore Boris' departure she formed a definite plan 
of action. Just as Boris' leave of absence was 
expiring, Anatole Kuragin made his appear- 
ance in Moscow, and of course in the Kargins' 
drawing room, and Julie, suddenly abandon- 
ing her melancholy, became cheerful and very 
attentive to Kurdgin. 

"My dear," said Anna Mikhdylovna to her 
son, "I know from a reliable source that Prince 
Vasili has sent his son to Moscow to get him 
married to Julie. I am so fond of Julie that I 
should be sorry for her. What do you think of 
it, my dear?" 

The idea of being made a fool of and of hav- 
ing thrown away that whole month of arduous 
melancholy service to Julie, and of seeing all 
the revenue from the Pe*nza estates which he 
had already mentally apportioned and put to 
proper use fall into the hands of another, and 
especially into the hands of that idiot Anatole, 
pained Boris. He drove to the Karagins' with 
the firm intention of proposing. Julie met him 
in a gay, careless manner, spoke casually of 
how she had enjoyed yesterday's ball, and asked 
when he was leaving. Though Boris had come 
intentionally to speak of his love and therefore 
meant to be tender, he began speaking irrita- 
bly of feminine inconstancy, of how easily wom- 
en can turn from sadness to joy, and how their 
moods depend solely on who happens to be 
paying court to them. Julie was offended and 
replied that it was true that a woman needs 
variety, and the same thing over and over again 
would weary anyone. 

"Then I should advise you . . ." Boris began, 
wishing to sting her; but at that instant the 
galling thought occurred to him that he might 
have to leave Moscow without having accom- 
plished his aim, and have vainly wasted his ef- 
fortswhich was a thing he never allowed to 
happen. 

He checked himself in the middle of the 
sentence, lowered his eyes to avoid seeing her 
unpleasantly irritated and irresolute face, and 
said: 

"I did not come here at all to quarrel with 
you. On the contrary . . ." 

He glanced at her to make sure that he might 
go on. Her irritability had suddenly quite van- 
ished, and her anxious, imploring eyes were 
fixed on him with greedy expectation. "I can 
always arrange so as not to see her often," 
thought Boris. "The affair has been begun and 
must be finished!" He blushed hotly, raised his 
eyes to hers, and said: 

"You know my feelings for you!" 



BOOK EIGHT 



There was no need to say more: Julie's face 
shone with triumph and self-satisfaction; but 
she forced Boris to say all that is said on such 
occasions that he loved her and had never 
loved any other woman more than her. She 
knew that for the P^nza estates and Nizheg6- 
rod forests she could demand this, and she re- 
ceived what she demanded. 

The affianced couple, no longer alluding to 
trees that shed gloom and melancholy upon 
them, planned the arrangements of a splendid 
house in Petersburg, paid calls, and prepared 
everything for a brilliant wedding. 

CHAPTER VI 

AT THE END OF jANUARYoldCount Rost6vwent 
to Moscow with Natasha and Sonya. The count- 
ess was still unwell and unable to travel but it 
was impossible to wait for her recovery. Prince 
Andrew was expected in Moscow any day, the 
trousseau had to be ordered and the estate near 
Moscow had to be sold, besides which the op- 
portunity of presenting his future daughter-in- 
law to old Prince Bolk6nski while he was in 
Moscow could not be missed. The Rostovs' 
Moscow house had not been heated that winter 
and, as they had come only for a short time 
and the countess was not with them, the count 
decided to stay with Marya Dmitrievna Akhro- 
simova, who had long been pressing her hospi- 
tality on them. 

Late one evening the Rostovs' four sleighs 
drove into Marya Dmitrievna's courtyard in 
the old Konyusheny street. Marya Dmitrievna 
lived alone. She had already married off her 
daughter, and her sons were all in the service. 

She held herself as erect, told everyone her 
opinion as candidly, loudly, and bluntly as ev- 
er, and her whole bearing seemed a reproach 
to others for any weakness, passion, or tempta- 
tionthe possibilityof which shedid riotadmit. 
From early in the morning, wearing a dressing 
jacket, she attended to her household affairs, 
and then she drove out: on holy days to church 
and after the service to jails and prisons on 
affairs of which she never spoke to anyone. On 
ordinary days, after dressing, she received peti- 
tioners of various classes, of whom there were 
always some. Then she had dinner, a substan- 
tial and appetizing meal at which there were 
always three or four guests; after dinner she 
played a game of boston, and at night she had 
the newspapers or a new book read to her while 
she knitted. She rarely made an exception and 
went out to pay visits, and then only to the 
most important persons in the town. 



She had not yet gone to bed when the Ros- 
t6vs arrived and the pulley of the hall door 
squeaked from the cold as it let in the Rost6vs 
and their servants. Mdrya Dmitrievna, with her 
spectacles hanging down on her nose and her 
head flung back, stood in the hall doorway 
looking with a stern, grim face at the new ar- 
rivals. One might have thought she was angry 
with the travelers and would immediately turn 
them out, had she not at the same time been 
giving careful instructions to the servants for 
the accommodation of the visitors and their be- 
longings. 

"The count's things? Bring them here/' she 
said, pointing to the portmanteaus and not 
greeting anyone. "The young ladies'? There to 
the left. Now what are you dawdling for?" she 
cried to the maids. "Get the samovar ready! . . . 
You've grown plumper and prettier," she re- 
marked, drawing Natasha (whose cheeks were 
glowing from the cold) to her by the hood. 
"Fool You are coldl Now take off your things, 
quick 1" she shouted to the count who was go- 
ing to kiss her hand. "You're half frozen, I'm 
sure! Bring some rum for teal . . . Bon jour, S6n- 
ya dear!" she added, turning to Sonya and in- 
dicating by this French greeting her slightly 
contemptuous though affectionate attitude to- 
ward her. 

When they came in to tea, having taken off 
their outdoor things and tidied themselves up 
after their journey, Marya Dmitrievna kissed 
them all in due order. 

"I'm heartily glad you have come and are 
staying with me. It was high time," she said, 
giving Natasha a significant look. "The old 
man is here and his son's expected any day. 
You'll have to make his acquaintance. But we'll 
speak of that later on," she added, glancing at 
S6nya with a look that showed she did not want 
to speak of it in her presence. "Now listen, "she 
said to the count. "What do you want tomor- 
row? Whom will you send for? Shinshin?" she 
crooked one of her fingers. "The sniveling An- 
na Mikhaylovna? That's two. She's here with 
her son. The son is getting married! Then Be- 
zukhov, eh? He is here too, with his wife. He 
ran away from her and she came galloping aft- 
er him. He dined with me on Wednesday. As 
for them" and she pointed to the girls "to- 
morrowl'll take them first to the Iberianshrine 
of the Mother of God, and then we'll drive to 
the Super-Rogue's. 1 1 suppose you'll have ev- 
erything new. Don't judge by me: sleeves 

1 A pun on Suppert-Roguet, the dressmaker's 
name. TR. 



3*4 



WAR AND PEACE 



nowadays are this sizel The other day young 
Princess Irina Vasflevna came to see me; she 
was an awful sightlooked as if she had put 
two barrels on her arms. You know not a day 

passes now without some new fashion And 

what have you to do yourself?" she asked the 
count sternly. 

"One thing has come on top of another: her 
rags to buy, and now a purchaser has turned 
up for the Moscow estate and for the house. If 
you will be so kind, I'll fix a time and go down 
to the estate just for a day, and leave my lassies 
with you." 

"All right. All right. They'll be safe with me, 
as safe as in Chancery 1 I'll take them where they 
must go, scold them a bit, and pet them a bit," 
said Mdrya Dmftrievna, touching her god- 
daughter and favorite, Natasha, on the cheek 
with her large hand. 

Next morning Mdrya Dmftrievna took the 
young ladies to the Iberian shrine of the Moth- 
er of God and to Madame Suppert-Roguct, 
who was so afraid of Mdrya Dmitrievna that 
she always let her have costumes at a loss mere- 
ly to get rid of her. Mdrya Dmitrievna ordered 
almost the whole trousseau. When they got 
home she turned every body out of the room ex- 
cept Natdsha, and then called her pet to her 
armchair. 

"Well, now we'll talk. I congratulate you on 
your betrothed. You've hooked a fine fellow! I 
am glad for your sake and I've known him 
since he was so high." She held her hand a cou- 
ple of feet from the ground. Natdsha blushed 
happily. "I like him and all his family. Now 
listen! You know that old Prince Nicholas much 
dislikes his son's marrying. The old fellow's 
crotchety! Of course Prince Andrew is not a 
child and can shift without him, but it's not 
nice to enter a family against a father's will. 
One wants to do it peacefully and lovingly. 
You're a clever girl and you'll know how to 
manage. Be kind, and use your wits. Then all 
will be well." 

Natdsha remained silent, from shyness Mdrya 
Dmftrievna supposed, but really because she 
disliked anyone interfering in what touched 
her love of Prince Andrew, which seemed to 
her so apart from all human affairs that no one 
could understand it. She loved and knew Prince 
Andrew, he loved her only, and was to come 
one of these days and take her. She wanted 
nothing more. 

"You see I have known him a long time and 
am also fond of Mary, your future sister-in-law. 
'Husbands' sisters bring up blisters/ but this 



one wouldn't hurt a fly. She has asked me to 
bring you two together. Tomorrow you'll go 
with your father to see her. Be very nice and 
affectionate to her: you're younger than she. 
When he comes, he'll find you already know 
his sister and father and are liked by them. Am 
I right or not? Won't that be best?" 
"Yes, it will," Natdsha answered reluctantly. 

CHAPTER VII 

NEXT DAY, by Mdrya Dmf trievna's advice, Count 
Rost6v took Natdsha to call on Prince Nicholas 
Bolk6nski. The count did not set out cheerful- 
ly on this visit, at heart he felt afraid. He well 
remembered the last interview he had had with 
the old prince at the time of the enrollment, 
when in reply to ah invitation to dinner he 
had had to listen to an angry reprimand for 
not having provided his full quota of men. Na- 
tdsha, on the other hand, having put on her 
best gown, was in the highest spirits. "They 
can't help liking me," she thought. "Everybody 
always has liked me, and I am so willing to do 
anything they wish, so ready to be fond of him 
for being his father andof her for being his 
sister that there is no reason for them not to 
like me. . . ." 

They drove up to the gloomy old house on 
the Vozdvfzhenka and entered the vestibule. 

"Well, the Lord have mercy on us!" said the 
count, half in jest, half in earnest; but Natdsha 
noticed that her father was flurried on entering 
the anteroom and inquired timidly and softly 
whether the prince and princess were at home. 

When they had been announced a perturba- 
tion was noticeable among the servants. The 
footman who had gone to announce them was 
stopped by another in the large hall and they 
whispered to one another. Then a maidservant 
ran into the hall and hurriedly said something, 
mentioning the princess. At last an old, cross- 
looking footman came and announced to the 
Rost6vs that the prince was not receiving, but 
that the princess begged them to walk up. The 
first person who came to meet the visitors was 
Mademoiselle Bourienne. She greeted the fa- 
ther and daughter with special politeness and 
showed them to the princess' room. The prin- 
cess, looking excited and nervous, her face 
flushed in patches, ran in to meet the visitors, 
treading heavily, and vainly trying to appear 
cordial and at ease. From the first glance Prin- 
cess Mary did not like Natdsha. She thought 
her too fashionably dressed, frivolously gay and 
vain. She did not at all realize that before hav- 
ing seen her future sister-in-law she was prej- 



BOOK EIGHT 



udiced against her by involuntary envy of her 
beauty, youth, and happiness, as well as by 
jealousy of her brother's love for her. Apart 
from this insuperable antipathy to her, Prin- 
cess Mary was agitated just then because on the 
Rost6vs' being announced, the old prince had 
shouted that he did not wish to see them, that 
Princess Mary might do so if she chose, but they 
were not to be admitted to him. She had decid- 
ed to receive them, but feared lest the prince 
might at any moment indulge in some freak, 
as he seemed much upset by the Rost6vs' visit. 

"There, my dear princess, I've brought you 
my songstress," said the count, bowing and 
looking round uneasily as if afraid the old 
prince might appear. "I am so glad you should 
get to know one another . . . very sorry the prince 
is still ailing," and after a few more common- 
place remarks he rose. "If you'll allow me to 
leave my Natdsha in your hands for a quarter 
of an hour, Princess, I'll drive round to see An- 
na Semenovnsft it's quite near in the Dogs' 
Square, and then I'll come back for her." 

The count had devised this diplomatic ruse 
(as he afterwards told his daughter) to give the 
future sisters-in-law an opportunity to talk to 
one another freely, but another motive was to 
avoid the danger of encountering the old prince, 
of whom he was afraid. He did not mention 
this, to his daughter, but Natdsha noticed her 
father's nervousness and anxiety and felt mor- 
tified by it. She blushed for him, grew still an- 
grier at having blushed, and looked at the 
princess with a bold and defiant expression 
which said that she was not afraid of anybody. 
The princess told the count that she would be 
delighted, and only begged him to stay longer 
at Anna Semenovna's, and he departed. 

Despite the uneasy glances thrown at her by 
Princess Mary who wished to have a tete-a-tdte 
with Natasha Mademoiselle Bourienne re- 
mained in the room and persistently talked 
about Moscow amusements and theaters. Na- 
tasha felt offended by the hesitation she had 
noticed in the anteroom, by her father's nerv- 
ousness, and by the unnatural manner of the 
princess who she thought was making a fa- 
vor of receiving her, and so everything dis- 
pleased her. She did not like Princess Mary, 
whom she thought very plain, affected, and dry. 
Natdsha suddenly shrank into herself and invol- 
untarily assumed an offhand air which alien- 
ated Princess Mary still more. After five minutes 
of irksome, constrained conversation, they 
heard the sound of slippered feet rapidly ap- 
proaching. Princess Mary looked frightened. 



The door opened and the old prince, in a dress- 
ing gown and a white nightcap, came in. 

"Ah, madam!" he began. "Madam, Count- 
ess ... Countess Rostova, if I am not mistaken 
... I beg you to excuse me, to excuse me ... I 
did not know, madam. God is my witness, I did 
not know you had honored us with a visit, and 
I came in such a costume only to see my daugh- 
ter. I beg you to excuse me ... God is my wit- 
ness, I didn't know" he repeated, stressing 
the word "God" so unnaturally and so unpleas- 
antly that Princess Mary stood with downcast 
eyes not daring to look either at her father or 
at Natdsha. 

Nor did the latter, having risen and curtsied, 
know what to do. Mademoiselle Bourienne 
alone smiled agreeably. 

"I beg you to excuse me, excuse me! God is 
my witness, I did not know," muttered the old 
man, and after looking Natdsha over from head 
to foot he went out. 

Mademoiselle Bourienne was the first to re- 
cover herself after this apparition arid began 
speaking about the prince's indisposition. Na- 
tdsha and Princess Mary looked at one anoth- 
er in silence, and the longer they did so with- 
out saying what they wanted to say, the greater 
grew their antipathy to one another. 

When the count returned, Natdsha was im- 
politely pleased and hastened to get away: at 
that moment she hated the stiff, elderly prin- 
cess, who could place her in such an embarrass- 
ing position and had spent half an hour with 
her without once mentioning Prince Andrew. 
"I couldn't begin talking about him in the 
presence of that Frenchwoman," thought Na- 
tdsha. The same thought was meanwhile tor- 
menting Princess Mary. She knew what she 
ought to have said to Natdsha, but she had 
been unable to say it because Mademoiselle 
Bourienne was in the way, and because, with- 
out knowing why, she felt it very difficult to 
speak of the marriage. When the count was al- 
ready leaving the room, Princess Mary went up 
hurriedly to Natdsha, took her by the hand, and 
said with a deep sigh: 

"Wait, I must . . ." 

Natdsha glanced at her ironically without 
knowing why. 

"Dear Natalie," said Princess Mary, "I want 
you to know that I am glad my brother has 
found happiness. . . ." 

She paused, feeling that she was not telling 
the truth. Natdsha noticed this and guessed its 
reason. 

"I think, Princess, it is not convenient to 



WAR AND PEACE 



speak of that now," she said with external dig- 
nity and coldness, though she felt the tears 
choking her. 

"What have I said and what have I done?" 
thought she, as soon as she was out of the room. 

They waited a long time for Natasha to come 
to dinner that day. She sat in her room crying 
like a child, blowing her nose and sobbing. S6n- 
ya stood beside her, kissing her hair. 

"Natasha, what is it about?" she asked. 
"What do they matter to you? It will all pass, 
Natdsha." 

"But if you only knew how offensive it was 
... as if I ..." 

"Don't talk about it, Natasha. It wasn't your 
fault so why should you mind? Kiss me," said 
S6nya. 

Natasha raised her head and, kissing her 
friend on the lips, pressed her wet face against 
her. 

"I can't tell you, I don't know. No one's to 
blame," said Natasha "It's my fault. But it all 
hurts terribly. Oh, why doesn't he come? . . ." 

She came in to dinner with red eyes. Mrya 
Dmitrievna, who knew how the prince had re- 
ceived the Rostovs, pretended not to notice 
how upset Natasha was and jested resolutely 
and loudly at table with the count and the 
other guests. 

CHAPTER VIII 

THAT EVENING the Rost6vs went to the Opera, 
for which Mdrya Dmitrievna had taken a box. 

Natasha did not want to go, but could not re- 
fuse Marya Drni'trievna's kind offer which was 
intended expressly for her. When she came 
ready dressed into the ballroom to await her 
father, and looking in the large mirror there 
saw that she was pretty, very pretty, she felt 
even more sad, but it was a sweet, tender sad- 
ness. 

"O God, if he were here now I would not 
behave as I did then, but differently. I would 
not be silly and afraid of things, I would sim- 
ply embrace him, cling to him, and make him 
look at me with those searching inquiring eyes 
with which he has so often looked at me, and 
then I would make him laugh as he used to 
laugh. And his eyes how I see those eyes!" 
thought Natasha. "And what do his father and 
sister matter to me? I love him alone, him, him, 
with that face and those eyes, with his smile, 
manly and yet childlike. . . . No, I had better 
not think of him; not think of him but forget 
him, quite forget him for the present. I can't 
bear this waiting and I shall cry in a minute!" 



and she turned away from the glass, making an 
effort not to cry. "And how can S6nya love 
Nicholas so calmlyand quietlyand wait so long 
and so patiently?" thought she, looking at S6n- 
ya, who also came in quite ready, with a fan in 
her hand. "No, she's altogether different. I 
can't!" 

Natasha at that moment felt so softened and 
tender that it was not enough for her to love 
and know she was beloved, she wanted now, at 
once, to embrace the man she loved, to speak 
and hear from him words of love such as filled 
her heart. While she sat in the carriage beside 
her father, pensively watching the lights of the 
street lamps flickering on the frozen window, 
she felt still sadder and more in love, and for- 
got where she was going and with whom. Hav- 
ing fallen into the line of carriages, the Ros- 
tovs' carriage drove up to the theater, its wheels 
squeaking over the snow. Natasha and S6nya, 
holding up their dresses, jumped out quickly. 
The count got out helped by thefltaotmen, and, 
passing among men and women who were en- 
tering and the program sellers, they all three 
went along the corridor to the first row of box- 
es. Through the closed doors the music was al- 
ready audible. 

"Natasha, your hair! . . ." whispered S6nya. 

An attendant deferentially and quickly 
slipped before the ladies and opened the door 
of their box. The music sounded louder and 
through the door rows of brightly lit boxes in 
which ladies sat with bare arms and shoulders, 
and noisy stalls brilliant with uniforms, glit- 
tered before their eyes. A lady entering the next 
box shot a glance of feminine envy at Natasha. 
The curtain had not yet risen and the overture 
was being played. Natasha, smoothing her 
gown, went in with S6nya and sat down, scan- 
ning the brilliant tiers of boxes opposite. A sen- 
sation she had not experienced for a long time 
that of hundreds of eyes looking at her bare 
arms and neck suddenly affected her both 
agreeably and disagreeably and called up a 
whole crowd of memories, desires and emo- 
tions associated with that feeling. 

The two remarkably pretty girls, Natasha and 
S6nya, with Count Rost6v who had not been 
seen in Moscow for a long time, attracted gen- 
eral attention. Moreover, everybody knew 
vaguely of Natasha's engagement to Prince An- 
drew, and knew that the Rostovs had lived in 
the country ever since, and all looked with cu- 
riosity at a fiancee who was making one of the 
best matches in Russia. 

Natdsha's looks, as everyone told her, had 



BOOK EIGHT 



improved in the country, and that evening 
thanks to her agitation she was particularly 
pretty. She struck those who saw her by her full- 
ness of life and beauty, combined with her in- 
difference to everything about her. Her black 
eyes looked at the crowd without seeking any- 
one, and her delicate arm, bare to above the el- 
bow, lay on the velvet edge of the box, while, 
evidently unconsciously, she opened and closed 
her hand in time to the music, crumpling her 
program. "Look, there's Al^nina," said S6nya, 
"with her mother, isn't it?" 

"Dear me, Michael Kirttovich has grown still 
stouter!" remarked the count. 

"Look at our Anna Mikhdylovna what a 
headdress she has on!" 

"The Karagins, Julieand Boris with them. 
One can see at once that they're engaged " 

"Drubetskoy has proposed?" 

"Oh yes, I heard it today," said Shinshin, 
coming into the Rostovs' box. 

Natasha looked in the direction in which her 
father's eyes were turned and saw Julie sitting 
beside her mother with a happy look on her 
face and a string of pearls round her thick red 
neckwhich Natiisha knew was covered with 
powder. Behind them, wearing a smile and 
leaning over with an ear to Julie's mouth, was 
Boris* handsome smoothly brushed head. He 
looked at the Rostrtvs from under his brows and 
said something, smiling, to his betrothed. 

"They are talking about us, about me and 
him!" thought Natasha. "And he no doubt is 
calming her jealousy of me. They needn't trou- 
ble themselves! If only they knew how little I 
am concerned about any of them." 

Behind them sat Anna Mikhaylovna wearing 
a green headdress and with a happy look of res- 
ignation to the will of God on her face. Their 
box was pervaded by that atmosphere of an af- 
fianced couple which Natasha knew so well 
and liked so much. She turned away and sud- 
denly remembered all that had been so humil- 
iating in her morning's visit. 

"What right has he not to wish to receive 
me into his family? Oh, better not think of it 
not till he comes back!" she told herself, and 
began looking at the faces, some strange and 
some familiar, in the stalls. In the front, in the 
very center, leaning back against the orchestra 
rail, stood D61okhov in a Persian dress, his 
curly hair brushed up into a huge shock. He 
stood in full view of the audience, well aware 
that he was attracting everyone's attention, yet 
as much at ease as though he were in his own 
room. Around him thronged Moscow's most 



brilliant young men, whom he evidently dom- 
inated. 

The count, laughing, nudged the blushing 
Sonya and pointed to her former adorer. 

"Do you recognize him?" said he. "And where 
has he sprung from?" he asked, turning to 
Shinshin. "Didn't he vanish somewhere?" 

"He did," replied Shinshin. "He was in the 
Caucasus and ran away from there. They say 
he has been acting as minister to some ruling 
prince in Persia, where he killed the Shah's 
brother. Now all the Moscow ladies are mad 
about him! It's 'D61okhov the Persian' that does 
it! We never hear a word but D61okhov is men- 
tioned. They swear by him, they offer him to 
you as they would a dish of choice sterlet. D61o- 
khov and Anatole Kurigin have turned all our 
ladies' heads." 

A tall, beautiful woman with a mass of plait- 
ed hair and much exposed plump white shoul- 
ders arid neck, round which she wore a double 
string of large pearls, entered the adjoining 
box rustling her heavy silk dress and took a long 
time settling into her place. 

Natdsha involuntarily gazed at that neck, 
those shoulders, and pearls and coiffure, and 
admired the beauty of the shoulders and the 
pearls. While Natdsha was fixing her gaze on 
her for the second time the lady looked round 
and, meeting the count's eyes, nodded to him 
and smiled. She was the Countess Beziikhova, 
Pierre's wife, and the count, who knew every- 
one in society, leaned over and spoke to her. 

"Have you been here long, Countess?" he in- 
quired. "I'll call, I'll call to kiss your hand. I'm 
here on business and have brought my girls 
with me. They say Semenova acts marvelously. 
Count Pierre never used to forget us. Is he 
here?" 

"Yes, he meant to look in," answered Hlne, 
and glanced attentively at Natdsha. 

Count Rost6v resumed his seat. 

"Handsome, isn't she?" he whispered to Na- 
tdsha. 

"Wonderful!" answered Natdsha. "She's a 
woman one could easily fall in love with." 

Just then the last chords of the overture were 
heard and the conductor tapped with his stick. 
Some latecomers took their seats in the stalls, 
and the curtain rose. 

As soon as it rose everyone in the boxes and 
stalls became silent, and all the men, old and 
young, in uniform and evening dress, and all 
the women with gems on their bare flesh, turned 
their whole attention with eager curiosity to 
the stage. Natasha too began to look at it. 



WAR AND PEACE 



CHAPTER IX 

THE FLOOR OF THE STAGE consisted of smooth 
boards, at the sides was some painted card- 
board representing trees, and at the back was 
a cloth stretched over boards. In the center of 
the stage sat some girls in red bodices and white 
skirts. One very fat girl in a white silk dress sat 
apart on a low bench, to the back of which a 
piece of green cardboard was glued. They all 
sang something. When they had finished their 
song the girl in white went up to the prompt- 
er's box and a man with tight silk trousers over 
his stout legs, and holding a plume and a dag- 
ger, went up to her and began singing, waving 
his arms about. 

First the man in the tight trousers sang alone, 
then she sang, then they both paused while the 
orchestra played and the man fingered the hand 
of the girl in white, obviously awaiting the beat 
to start singing with her. They sang together 
and everyone in the theater began clapping 
and shouting, while the man and woman on 
the stage who represented lovers began smil- 
ing, spreading out their arms, and bowing. 

After her life in the country, and in her pres- 
ent serious mood, all this seemed grotesque and 
amazing to Natdsha. She could not follow the 
opera nor even listen to the music; she saw on- 
ly the painted cardboard and the queerly 
dressed men and women who moved, spoke, 
and sang so strangely in that brilliant light. 
She knew what it was all meant to represent, 
but it was so pretentiously false and unnatural 
that she first felt ashamed for the actors and 
then amused at them. She looked at the faces of 
the audience, seeking in them the same senseof 
ridicule and perplexity she herself experienced, 
but they all seemed attentive to what was hap- 
pening on the stage, and expressed delight 
which to Natdsha seemed feigned. "I suppose 
it has to be like this!" she thought. She kept 
looking round in turn at the rows of pomaded 
heads in the stalls and then at the seminude 
women in the boxes, especially at H^lene in 
the next box, who apparently quite unclothed 
sat with a quiet tranquil smile, not taking her 
eyes off the stage. And feeling the bright light 
that flooded the whole place and the warm air 
heated by the crowd, Natdsha little by little be- 
gan to pass into a state of intoxication she had 
not experienced for a long while. She did not 
realize who and where she was, nor what was 
going on before her. As she looked and thought, 
the strangest fancies unexpectedly and discon- 
nectedly passed through her mind: the idea oc- 
curred to her of jumping onto the edge of the 



box and singing the air the actress was singing, 
then she wished to touch with her fan an old 
gentleman sitting not far from her, then to 
lean over to Hlene and tickle her. 

At a moment when all was quiet before the 
commencement of a song, a door leading to the 
stalls on the side nearest the Rost6vs' box 
creaked, and the steps of a belated arrival were 
heard. "There's Kurdgin!" whispered Shinshfn. 
Countess Bezukhova turned smiling to the new- 
comer, and Natdsha, following the direction of 
that look, saw an exceptionally handsome ad- 
jutant approaching their box with aself-assured 
yet courteous bearing. This was Anatole Kurd- 
gin whom she had seen and noticed long ago at 
the ball in Petersburg. He was now in an adju- 
tant's uniform with one epaulet and a shoulder 
knot. He moved with a restrained swagger 
which would have been ridiculous had he not 
been so good-looking and had his handsome 
face not worn such an expression of good- 
humored complacency and gaiety. Though the 
performance was proceeding, he walked delib- 
erately down the carpeted gangway, his sword 
and spurs slightly jingling and his handsome 
perfumed head held high. Having looked at 
Natdsha he approached his sister, laid his well- 
gloved hand on the edge of her box, nodded to 
her, and leaning forward asked a question, with 
a motion toward Natdsha. 

"Mais charmante!" said he, evidently refer- 
ring to Natdsha, who did not exactly hear his 
words but understood them from the move- 
ment of his lips. Then he took his place in the 
first row of the stalls and sat down beside D6- 
lokhov, nudging with his elbow in a friendly 
and offhand way that D61okhov whom others 
treated so fawningly. He winked at him gaily, 
smiled, and rested his foot against the orchestra 
screen. 

"How like the brother is to the sister," re- 
marked the count. "And how handsome they 
both are!" 

Shinshi'n, lowering his voice, began to tell 
the count of some intrigue of Kurdgin'sin Mos- 
cow, and Natdsha tried to overhear it just be- 
cause he had said she was "charmante." 

The first act was over. In the stalls everyone 
began moving about, going out and coming in. 

Boris came to the Rost6vs' box, received 
their congratulations very simply, and raising 
his eyebrows with an absent-minded smile con- 
veyed to Natdsha and Sonya his fiancee's invi- 
tation to her wedding, and went away. Natdsha 
with a gay, coquettish smile talked to him, and 
congratulated on his approaching wedding that 



BOOK EIGHT 



same Boris with whom she had formerly been 
in love. In the state of intoxication she was 
in, everything seemed simple and natural. 

The scantily clad Hlne smiled at everyone 
in the same way, and Natasha gave Boris a sim- 
ilar smile. 

Hdne's box was filled and surrounded from 
the stalls by the most distinguished and intel- 
lectual men, who seemed to vie with one anoth- 
er in their wish to let everyone see that they 
knew her. 

During the whole of that entr'acte Kurdgin 
stood with D61okhov in front of the orchestra 
partition, looking at the Rostovs' box. Natasha 
knew he was talking about her and this afford- 
ed her pleasure. She even turned so that he 
should see her profile in what she thought was 
its most becoming aspect. Before the beginning 
of the second act Pierre appeared in the stalls. 
The Rostovs had not seen him since their ar- 
rival. His face looked sad, and he had grown 
still stouter since Natasha last saw him. He 
passed up to the front rows, not noticing any- 
one. Anatole went up to him and began speak- 
ing to him, looking at and indicating the Ros- 
tovs' box. On seeing Natasha Pierre grew ani- 
mated and, hastily passing between the rows, 
came toward their box. When he got there he 
leaned on his elbows and, smiling, talked to her 
for a long time. While conversing with Pierre, 
Natasha heard a man's voice in Countess Beziik- 
hova's box and something told her it was Kurd- 
gin. She turned and their eyes met. Almost 
smiling, he gazed straight into her eyes with 
such an enraptured caressing look that it seemed 
strange to be so near him, to look at him like 
that, to be so sure he admired her, and not to 
be acquainted with him. 

In the second act there was scenery repre- 
senting tombstones, and there was a round hole 
in the canvas to represent the moon, shades 
were raised over the footlights, and from horns 
and contrabass came deep notes while many 
people appeared from right and left wearing 
black cloaks and holding things like daggers in 
their hands. They began waving their arms. 
Then some other people ran in and began drag- 
ging away the maiden who had been in white 
and was now in light blue. They did not drag 
her away at once, but sang with her for a long 
time and then at last dragged her off, and be- 
hind the scenes something metallic was struck 
three times and everyone knelt down and sang 
a prayer. All these things were repeatedly inter- 
rupted by the enthusiastic shouts of the audi- 
ence. 



319 



During this act every time Natasha looked 
toward the stalls she saw Anatole Kurdgin with 
an arm thrown across the back of his chair, star- 
ing at her. She was pleased to see that he was 
captivated by her and it did not occur to her 
that there was anything wrong in it. 

When the second act was over Countess Be- 
ziikhova rose, turned to the Rost6vs' box her 
whole bosom completely exposed beckoned 
the old count with a gloved finger, and paying 
no attention to those who had entered her box 
began talking to him with an amiable smile. 

"Do make me acquainted with your charm- 
ing daughters," said she. "The whole town is 
singing their praises and I don't even know 
them." 

Nattlsha rose and curtsied to the splendid 
countess. She was so pleased by praise from 
this brilliant beauty that she blushed with 
pleasure. 

"I want to become a Moscovite too, now," 
said Hlne. "How is it you're not ashamed to 
bury such pearls in the country?" 

Countess Beziikhova quite deserved her rep- 
utation of being a fascinating woman. She 
could say what she did not think especially 
what was flattering quite simply and natural- 

iy- 

"Dear count, you must let me look afteryour 
daughters! Though I am not staying here long 
this time nor are you I will try to amuse them. 
I have already heard much of you in Peters- 
burg and wanted to get to know you," said she 
to Natasha with her stereotyped and lovely 
smile. "I had heard about you from my page, 
Drubetskoy. Have you heard he is getting mar- 
ried? And also from my husband's friend Bol- 
k6nski, Prince Andrew Bolk6nski," she went 
on with special emphasis, implying that she 
knew of his relation to Natasha. To get better 
acquainted she asked that one of the young 
ladies should come into her box for the rest of 
the performance, and Natdsha moved over to 
it. 

The scene of the third act represented a pal- 
ace in which many candles were burning and 
pictures of knights with short beards hung on 
the walls. In the middle stood what were prob- 
ably a king and a queen. The king waved his 
right arm and, evidently nervous, sang some- 
thing badly and sat down on a crimson throne. 
The maiden who had been first in white and 
then in light blue, now wore only a smock, and 
stood beside the throne with her hair down. 
She sangsomething mournfully, addressing the 
queen, but the king waved his arm severely, 



320 



WAR AND PEACE 



and men and women with bare legs came in 
from both sides and began dancing all together. 
Then the violins played very shrilly and mer- 
rily and one of the women with thick bare legs 
and thin arms, separating from the others, went 
behind the wings, adjusted her bodice, returned 
to the middle of the stage, and began jump- 
ing and striking one foot rapidly against the 
other. In the stalls everyone clapped and shout- 
ed "bravo!" Then one of the men went into a 
corner of the stage. The cymbals and horns in 
the orchestra struck up more loudly, and this 
man with bare legs jumped very high and waved 
his feet about very rapidly. (He was Duport, 
who received sixty thousand rubles a year for 
this art.) Everybody in the stalls, boxes, and 
galleries began clapping and shouting with all 
their might, and the man stopped and began 
smiling and bowing to all sides. Then other 
men and women danced with bare legs. Then 
the king again shouted to the sound of music, 
and they all began singing. But suddenly a 
storm came on, chromatic scales and diminished 
sevenths were heard in the orchestra, everyone 
ran off, again dragging one of their number 
away, and the curtain dropped. Once more 
there was a terrible noise and clatter among the 
audience, and with rapturous faces everyone 
began shouting: "Duport I Duport! Duport!" 
Natdsha no longer thought this strange. She 
look about with pleasure, smiling joyfully. 

"Isn't Duport delightful?" Hlneasked her. 

"Oh, yes," replied Natdsha. 

CHAPTER X 

DURING THE entr'acte a whiff of cold air came 
into Hlne's box, the door opened, and Ana- 
tole entered, stooping and trying not to brush 
against anyone. 

"Let me introduce my brother to you," said 
Hlne, her eyes shifting uneasily from Na- 
tdsha to Anatole. 

Natdsha turned her pretty little head toward 
the elegant young officer and smiled at him 
over her bare shoulder. Anatole, who was as 
handsome at close quarters as at a distance, sat 
down beside her and told her he had long 
wished to have this happinessever since the 
Naryshkins' ball in fact, at which he had had 
the well-remembered pleasure of seeing her. 
Kurdgin was much more sensible and simple 
with women than among men. He talked bold- 
ly and naturally, and Natasha was strangely 
and agreeably struck by the fact that there was 
nothing formidable in this man about whom 
there was so much talk, but that on the con- 



trary his smile was most nai've, cheerful, and 
good-natured. 

Kurdgin asked her opinion of the perform- 
ance and told her how at a previous perform- 
ance Semenova had fallen down on the stage. 

"And do you know, Countess," he said, sud- 
denly addressing her as an old, familiar ac- 
quaintance, "we are getting up a costume tour- 
nament; you ought to take part in it! It will 
be great fun. We shall all meet at the Kardgins'l 
Please come! No! Really, eh?" said he. 

While saying this he never removed his smil- 
ing eyes from her face, her neck, and her bare 
arms. Natdsha knew for certain that he was en- 
raptured by her. This pleased her, yet his pres- 
ence made her feel constrained and oppressed. 
When she was not looking at him she felt 
that he was looking at her shoulders, and she 
involuntarily caught his eye so that he should 
look into hers rather than this. But looking in- 
to his eyes she was frightened, realizing that 
there was not that barrier of modesty she had 
always felt between herself and other men. She 
did not know how it was that within five min- 
utes she had come to feel herself terribly near 
to this man. When she turned away she feared 
he might seize her from behind by her bare arm 
and kiss her on the neck. They spoke of most 
ordinary things, yet she felt that they were clos- 
er to one another than she had ever been to 
any man. Natdsha kept turning to Hdene and 
to her father, as if asking what it all meant, but 
He*lene was engaged in conversation with a 
general and did not answer her look, and her 
father's eyes said nothing but what they always 
said: "Having a good time? Well, I'm glad of 
it!" 

During one of these moments of awkward 
silence when Anatole's prominent eyes were 
gazing calmly and fixedly at her, Natdsha, to 
break the silence, asked him how he liked Mos- 
cow. She asked the question and blushed. She 
felt all the time that by talking to him she was 
doing something improper. Anatole smiled as 
though to encourage her. 

"At first I did not like it much, because what 
makesa townpleasantcejorcf lesjoliesjemmes? 
isn't that so? But now I like it very much in- 
deed," he said, looking at her significantly. 
"You'll come to the costume tournament, 
Countess? Do come!" and putting out his hand 
to her bouquet and dropping his voice, he add- 
ed, "You will be the prettiest there. Do come, 
dear countess, and give me this flower as a 
pledge!" 

1 Are the pretty women. 



BOOK EIGHT 



321 



Natdsha did not understand what he was 
saying any more than he did himself, but she 
felt that his incomprehensible words had an 
improper intention. She did not know what to 
say and turned away as if she had not heard his 
remark. But as soon as she had turned away she 
felt that he was there, behind, so close behind 
her. 

"How is he now? Confused? Angry? Ought 
I to put it right?" she asked herself, and she 
could not refrain from turning round. She 
looked straight into his eyes, and his nearness, 
self-assurance, and the good-natured tenderness 
of his smile vanquished her. She smiled just as 
he was doing, gazing straight into his eyes. 
And again she felt with horror that no barrier 
lay between him and her. 

The curtain rose again. Anatole left the box, 
serene and gay. Natasha went back to her fa- 
ther in the other box, now quite submissive to 
the world she found herself in. All that was 
going on before her now seemed quite nat- 
ural, but on the other hand all her previous 
thoughts of her betrothed, of Princess Mary, 
or of life in the country did not once recur 
to her mind and were as if belonging to a re- 
mote past. 

In the fourth act there was some sort of dev- 
il who sang waving his arm about, till the 
boards were withdrawn from under him and he 
disappeared down below. That was the only 
part of the fourth act that Natasha saw. She 
felt agitated and tormented, and the cause of 
this was Kurdgin whom she could not help 
watching. As they were leaving the theater An- 
atole came up to them, called their carriage, 
and helped them in. As he was putting Na- 
tdsha in he pressed her arm above the elbow. 
Agitated and flushed she turned round. He was 
looking at her with glittering eyes, smiling ten- 
derly. 

Only after she had reached home was Na- 
tasha able clearly to think over what had hap- 
pened to her, and suddenly remembering 
Prince Andrew she was horrified, and at tea to 
which all had sat down after the opera, she 
gave a loud exclamation, flushed, and ran out 
of the room. 

"O God! I am lost!" she said to herself. "How 
could I let him?" She sat for a long time hiding 
her flushed face in her hands trying to realize 
what had happened to her, but was unable ei- 
ther to understand what had happened or what 
she felt. Everything seemed dark, obscure, and 
terrible. There in that enormous, illuminated 



theater where the bare-legged Duport, in a tin- 
sel-decorated jacket, jumped about to the music 
on wet boards, and young girls and old men, and 
the nearly naked Hdene with her proud, calm 
smile, rapturously cried "bravo!" there in the 
presence of that Hellene it had all seemed -clear 
and simple; but now, alone by herself, it was 
incomprehensible. "What is it? What was that 
terror I felt of him? What is this gnawing of 
conscience I am feeling now?" she thought. 

Only to the old countess at night in bed 
could Natasha have told all she was feeling. 
She knew that S6nya with her severe and sim- 
ple views would cither not understand it at all 
or would be horrified at such a confession. So 
Natdsha tried to solve what was torturing her 
by herself. 

"Am I spoiled for Andrew's love or not?"she 
asked herself, and with soothing irony replied: 
"What a fool I am to ask that! What did hap- 
pen to me? Nothing! I have clone nothing, I 
didn't lead him on at all. Nobody will know 
and I shall never see him again," she told her- 
self. "So it is plain that nothing has happened 
and there is nothing to repent of, and Andrew 
can love me still. But why 'still?' O God, why 
isn't he here?" Natdsha quieted herself for a 
moment, but again some instinct told her that 
though all this was true, and though nothing 
had happened, yet the former purity of her 
love for Prince Andrew had perished. And 
again in imagination she went over her whole 
conversation with Kuragin, and again saw the 
face, gestures, arid tender smile of that bold 
handsome man when he pressed her arm. 

CHAPTER XI 

ANATOLE KURAGIN was staying in Moscow be- 
cause his father had sent him away from Pe- 
tersburg, where he had been spending twenty 
thousand rubles a year in cash, besides running 
up debts for as much more, which his creditors 
demanded from his father. 

His father announced to him that he would 
now pay half his debts for the last time, but on- 
ly on condition that he went to Moscow as ad- 
jutant to the commander in chief a post his 
father had procured for him and would at 
last try to make a good match there. He indi- 
cated tohim Princess Mary and Julie Kardgina. 

Anatole consented and went to Moscow, 
where he put up at Pierre's house. Pierre re- 
ceived him unwillingly at first, but got used to 
him after a while, sometimes even accompanied 
him on his carousals, and gave him money un- 
der the guise of loans. 



3** 



WAR AND PEACE 



As Shinshin had remarked, from the time of 
his arrival Anatole had turned the heads of the 
Moscow ladies, especially by the fact that he 
slighted them and plainly preferred the gyp- 
sy girls and French actresses with the chief of 
whon^, Mademoiselle George, he was said to be 
on intimate relations. He had never missed a 
carousal at Danflov's or other Moscow revel- 
ers', drank whole nights through, outvying ev- 
eryone else, and was at all the balls and parties 
of the best society. There was talk of his in- 
trigues with some of the ladies, and he flirted 
with a few of them at the balls. But he did not 
run after the unmarried girls, especially the 
rich heiresses who were most of them plain. 
There was a special reason for this, as he had 
got married two years beforea fact known on- 
ly to his most intimate friends. At that time 
while with his regiment in Poland, a Polish 
landowner of small means had forced him to 
marry his daughter. Anatole had very soon 
abandoned his wife and, for a payment which 
he agreed to send to his father-in-law, had ar- 
ranged to be free to pass himself off as a bach- 
elor. 

Anatole was always con tent with his position, 
with himself, and with others. He was instinc- 
tively and thoroughly convinced that it was 
impossible for him to live otherwise than as he 
did and that he had never in his life done any- 
thing base. He was incapable of considering 
how his actions might affect others or what the 
consequences of this or that action of his might 
be. He was convinced that, as a duck is so made 
that it must live in water, so God had made 
him such that he must spend thirty thousand 
rubles a year and always occupy a prominent 
position in society. He believed this so firmly 
that others, looking at him, were persuaded of 
it too and did not refuse him either a leading 
place in society or money, which he borrowed 
from anyone and everyone and evidently 
would not repay. 

He was not a gambler, at any rate he did not 
care about winning. He was not vain. He did 
not mind what people thought of him. Still less 
could he be accused of ambition. More than 
once he had vexed his father by spoiling his 
own career, and he laughed at distinctions of 
all kinds. He was not mean, and did not refuse 
anyone who asked of him. All he cared about 
was gaiety and women, and as according to his 
ideas there was nothing dishonorable in these 
tastes, and he was incapable of considering what 
the gratification of his tastes entailed for oth- 
ers, he honestly considered himself irreproach- 



able, sincerely despised rogues and bad peo- 
ple, and with a tranquil conscience carried his 
head high. 

Rakes, those male Magdalenes, have a se- 
cret feeling of innocence similar to that which 
female Magdalenes have, based on the same 
hope of forgiveness. "All will be forgiven her, 
for she loved much; and all will be forgiven 
him, for he enjoyed much." 

D61okhov, who had reappeared that year in 
Moscow after his exile and his Persian adven- 
tures, and was leading a life of luxury, gam- 
bling, and dissipation, associated with his old 
Petersburg comrade Kurdgin and made use of 
him for his own ends. 

Anatole was sincerely fond of D61okhov for 
his cleverness and audacity. D61okhov, who 
needed Anatole Kurdgin's name, position, and 
connections as a bait to draw rich young men 
into his gambling set, made use of him and 
amused himself at his expense without letting 
the other feel it. Apart from the advantage he 
derived from Anatole, the very process of 
dominating another's will was in itself a pleas- 
ure, a habit, and a necessity to D61okhov. 

Natdsha had made a strong impression on 
Kurdgin. At supper after the opera he described 
to D61okhov with the air of a connoisseur the 
attractions of her arms, shoulders, feet, and 
hair and expressed his intention of making 
love to her. Anatole had no notion and was in- 
capable of considering what might come of 
such love-making, as he never had any notion 
of the outcome of any of his actions. 

"She's first-rate, my dear fellow, but not for 
us," replied Dolokhov. 

"I will tell my sister to ask her to dinner," 
said Anatole. "Eh?" 

"You'd better wait till she's married. . . ." 

"You know, I adore little girls, they lose 
their heads at once," pursued Anatole. 

"You have been caught once already by a 
'little girl'," said D61okhov who knew of Ku- 
rdgin's marriage. "Take care!" 

"Well, that can't happen twice! Eh?" said 
Anatole, with a good-humored laugh. 

CHAPTER XII 

THE DAY AFTER THE OPERA the Rost6vs went 
nowhere and nobody came to see them. Mrya 
Dmitrievna talked to the count about some- 
thing which they concealed from Natasha. Na- 
tdsha guessed they were talking about the old 
prince and planning something, and this dis- 
quieted and offended her. She was expecting 
Prince Andrew any moment and twice that 



BOOK EIGHT 



323 



day sent a manservant to the Vozdvizhenka to 
ascertain whether he had come. He had not ar- 
rived. She suffered more now than during her 
first days in Moscow. To her impatience and 
pining for him were now added the unpleas- 
ant recollection of her interview with Princess 
Mary and the old prince, and a fear and anxi- 
ety of which she did not understand the cause. 
She continually fancied that either he would 
never come or that something would happen 
to her before he came. She could no longer 
think of him by herself calmly and continuous- 
ly as she had done before. As soon as she be- 
gan to think of him, the recollection of the old 
prince, of Princess Mary, of the theater, and 
of Kurdgin mingled with her thoughts. The 
question again presented itself whether she 
was not guilty, whether she had not already 
broken faith with Prince Andrew, and again 
she found herself recalling to the minutest de- 
tail every word, every gesture, and every shade 
in the play of expression on the face of the 
man who had been able to arouse in her such 
an incomprehensible and terrifying feeling. 
To the family Natasha seemed livelier than 
usual, but she was far less tranquil and happy 
than before. 

On Sunday morning Mdrya Dmitrievna in- 
vited her visitors to Mass at her parish church 
-the Church of the Assumption built over the 
graves of victims of the plague. 

"I don't like those fashionable churches," 
she said, evidently priding herself on her in- 
dependence of thought. "God is the same every- 
where. We have an excellent priest, he con- 
ducts the service decently and with dignity, and 
the deacon is the same. What holiness is there 
in giving concerts in the choir? I don't like it, 
it's just self-indulgence!" 

Mdrya Dmftrievna liked Sundays and knew 
how to keep them. Her whole house was 
scrubbed and cleaned on Saturdays; neither 
she nor the servants worked, and they all wore 
holiday dress and went to church. At her table 
there were extra dishes at dinner, and the serv- 
ants had vodka and roast goose or suckling pig. 
But in nothing in the house was the holiday 
so noticeable as in Mdrya Dmitrievna's broad, 
stern face, which on that day wore an invari- 
able look of solemn festivity. 

After Mass, when they had finished their 
coffee in the dining room where the loose cov- 
ers had been removed from the furniture, a 
servant announced that the carriage was ready, 
and Mdrya Dmftrievna rose with a stern air. 
She wore her holiday shawl, in which she paid 



Calls, and announced that she was going to see 
Prince Nicholas Bolk6nski to have an explana- 
tion with him about Natdsha. 

After she had gone, a dressmaker from Ma- 
dame Suppert-Roguet waited on the Rost6vs, 
and Natdsha, very glad of this diversion, hav- 
ing shut herself into a room adjoining the 
drawing room, occupied herself trying on the 
new dresses. Just as she had put on a bodice 
without sleeves and only tacked together, and 
was turning her head to see in the glass how 
the back fitted, she heard in the drawing room 
the animated sounds of her father's voice and 
another's a woman's that made her flush. It 
was Hlne. Natdsha had not time to take off 
the bodice before the door opened and Count- 
ess Beziikhova, dressed in a purple velvet gown 
with a high collar, came into the room beam- 
ing with good-humored amiable smiles. 

"Oh, my enchantress I "she cried to the blush- 
ing Natdsha. "Charming! No, this is really be- 
yond anything, my dear count," said she to 
Count Rostov who had followed her in. "How 
can you live in Moscow and go nowhere? No, 
I won't let you off! Mademoiselle George will 
recite at my house tonight and there'll be some 
people, and if you don't bring your lovely girls 
who are prettier than Mademoiselle George 
I won't know you! My husband is away in 
Tver or I would send him to fetch you. You 
must come. You positively must! Between eight 
and nine." 

She nodded to the dressmaker, whom she 
knew and who had curtsied respectfully to her, 
and seated herself in an armchair beside the 
looking glass, draping the folds of her velvet 
dress picturesquely. She did not cease chatter- 
ing good-naturedly and gaily, continually prais- 
ing Natdsha's beauty. She looked at Natasha's 
dresses and praised them, as well as a new dress 
of her own made of "metallic gauze," which 
she had received from Paris, and advised Na- 
tdsha to have one like it. 

"But anything suits you, my charmer!" she 
remarked. 

A smile of pleasure never left Natdsha's face. 
She felt happy and as if she were blossoming 
under the praise of this dear Countess Beziik- 
hova who had formerly seemed to her so unap- 
proachable and important and was now so 
kind to her. Natdsha brightened up and felt al- 
most in love with this woman, who was so 
beautiful and so kind. Hdene for her part was 
sincerely delighted with Natdsha and wished 
to give her a good time. Anatole had asked her 
to bring him and Natdsha together, and she 



3*4 



WAR AND PEACE 



was calling on the Rost6vs for that purpose. 
The idea of throwing her brother and Natasha 
together amused her. 

Though at one time, in Petersburg, she had 
been annoyed with Natdsha for drawing Boris 
away, she did not think of that now, and in her 
own way heartily wished Natdsha well. As she 
was leaving the Rost6vs she called her protegee 
aside. 

"My brother dined with me yesterdaywe 
nearly died of laughter he ate nothing and 
kept sighing for you, my charmer! He is madly, 
quite madly, in love with you, my dear." 

Natdsha blushed scarlet when she heard this. 

"How she blushes, how she blushes, my pret- 
ty!" said He*lene. "You must certainly come. If 
you love somebody, my charmer, that is not a 
reason to shut yourself up. Even if you are en- 
gaged, I am sure your fiance* would wish you to 
go into society rather than be bored to death." 

"So she knows I am engaged, and she and 
her husband Pierrethat good Pierre have 
talked and laughed about this. So it's all right." 
And again, under He*lene's influence, what 
had seemed terrible now seemed simple and 
natural. "And she is such a grande dame, so 
kind, and evidently likes me so much. And why 
not enjoy myself?" thought Natdsha, gazing at 
Hellene with wide-open, wondering eyes. 

Mdrya Dmitrievna came back to dinner taci- 
turn and serious, having evidently suffered a 
defeat at the old prince's. She was still too agi- 
tated by the encounter to be able to talk of the 
affair calmly. In answer to the count's inquiries 
she replied that things were all right and that 
she would tell about it next day. On hearing of 
Countess Bezukhova's visit and the invitation 
for that evening, Mdrya Dmftrievna remarked: 

"I don't care to have anything to do with 
Bezukhova and don't advise you to; however, 
if you've promised go. It will divert your 
thoughts," she added, addressing Natdsha. 

CHAPTER XIII 

COUNT ROSTOV took the girls to Countess Be- 
zukhova's. There were a good many people 
there, but nearly all strangers to Natdsha. 
Count Rost6v was displeased to see that the 
company consisted almost entirely of men and 
women known for the freedom of their con- 
duct. Mademoiselle George was standing in a 
corner of the drawing room surrounded by 
young men. There were several Frenchmen 
present, among them Mdtivier who from the 
time He*lene reached Moscow had been an inti- 
mate in her house. The count decided not to 



sit down to cards or let his girls out of his sight 
and to get away as soon as Mademoiselle 
George's performance was over. 

Anatole was at the door, evidently on the 
lookout for the Rost6vs. Immediately after 
greeting the count he went up to Natdsha and 
followed her. As soon as she saw him she was 
seized by the same feeling she had had at the 
opera gratified vanity at his admiration of her 
and fear at the absence of a moral barrier be- 
tween them. 

He"lene welcomed Natdsha delightedly and 
was loud in admiration of her beauty and her 
dress. Soon after their arrival Mademoiselle 
George went out of the room to change her 
costume. In the drawing room people began 
arranging the chairs and taking their seats. 
Anatole moved a chair for Natdsha and was 
about to sit down beside her, but the count, 
who never lost sight of her, took the seat him- 
self. Anatole sat down behind her. 

Mademoiselle George, with her bare, fat, 
dimpled arms, and a red shawl draped over 
one shoulder, came into the space left vacant 
for her, and assumed an unnatural pose. En- 
thusiastic whispering was audible. 

Mademoiselle George looked sternly and 
gloomily at the audience and began reciting 
some French verses describing her guilty love 
for her son. In some places she raised her voice, 
in others she whispered, lifting her head tri- 
umphantly; sometimes she paused and uttered 
hoarse sounds, rolling her eyes. 

"Adorable! divine! delicious!" was heard 
from every side. 

Natasha looked at the fat actress, but neither 
saw nor heard nor understood anything of 
what went on before her. She only felt herself 
again completely borne away into this strange 
senseless world so remote from her old world 
a world in which it was impossible to know 
what was good or bad, reasonable or senseless. 
Behind her sat Anatole, and conscious of his 
proximity she experienced a frightened sense 
of expectancy. 

After the first monologue the whole com- 
pany rose and surrounded Mademoiselle 
George, expressing their enthusiasm. 

"How beautiful she is!" Natdsha remarked 
to her father who had also risen and was mov- 
ing through the crowd toward the actress. 

"I don't think so when I look at youl" said 
Anatole, following Natdsha. He said this at a 
moment when she alone could hear him. "You 
are enchanting . . . from the moment I saw you 
I have never ceased . . ." 



BOOK EIGHT 



325 



"Come, come, Natdsha!" said the count, as 
he turned back for his daughter. "How beau- 
tiful she isl" Natasha without saying anything 
stepped up to her father and looked at him 
with surprised inquiring eyes. 

After giving several recitations, Mademoi- 
selle George left, and Countess Beziikhova 
asked her visitors into the ballroom. 

The count wished to go home, but He*lene 
entreated him not to spoil her improvised ball, 
and the Rostovs stayed on. Anatole asked Na- 
tasha for a valse and as they danced he pressed 
her waist and hand and told her she was be- 
witching and that he loved her. During the 
ccossaise, which she also danced with him, An- 
atole said nothing when they happened to be 
by themselves, but merely gazed at her. Nata- 
sha lifted her frightened eyes to him, but there 
was such confident tenderness in his affection- 
ate look and smile that she could not, whilst 
looking at him, say what she had to say. She 
lowered her eyes. 

"Don't say such things to me. I am betrothed 
and love another," she said rapidly. . . . She 
glanced at him. 

Anatole was not upset or pained by what 
she had said. 

"Don't speak to me of that! What can I do?" 
said he. "I tell you I am madly, madly, in love 
with you! Is it my fault that you are enchant- 
ing? . . . It's our turn to begin." 

Natdsha, animated and excited, looked 
about her with wide-open frightened eyes and 
seemed merrier than usual. She understood 
hardly anything that went on that evening. 
They danced the ecossaise and the Grossvater 
Her father asked her to come home, but she 
begged to remain. Wherever she went and 
whomever she was speaking to, she felt his eyes 
upon her. Later on she recalled how she had 
asked her father to let her go to the dressing 
room to rearrange her dress, that Hlene had 
followed her and spoken laughingly of her 
brother's love, and that she again met Anatole 
in the little sitting room. Hlene had disap- 
peared leaving them alone, and Anatole had 
taken her hand and said in a tender voice: 

"I cannot come to visit you but is it possible 
that I shall never see you? I love you madly. 
Can I never . . . ?" and, blocking her path, he 
brought his face close to hers. 

His large, glittering, masculine eyes were so 
close to hers that she saw nothing but them. 

"Natalie?" he whispered inquiringly while 
she felt her hands being painfully pressed. 
"Natalie?" 



"I don't understand. I have nothing to say," 
her eyes replied. 

Burning lips were pressed to hers, and at the 
same instant she felt herself released, and 
Hlne's footsteps and the rustle of her dress 
were heard in the room. Natasha looked round 
at her, and then, red and trembling, threw a 
frightened look of inquiry at Anatole and 
moved toward the door. 

"One word, just one, for God's sake!" cried 
Anatole. 

She paused. She so wanted a word from him 
that would explain to her what had happened 
and to which she could find no answer. 

"Natalie, just a word, only one!" he kept re- 
peating, evidently not knowing what to say 
and he repeated it till Hlene came up to 
them. 

He*lenc returned with Natdsha to the draw- 
ing room. The Rostovs went away without 
staying for supper. 

After reaching home Natasha did not sleep 
all night. She was tormented by the insoluble 
question whether she loved Anatole or Prince 
Andrew. She loved Prince Andrew she re- 
membered distinctly how deeply she loved him. 
But she also loved Anatole, of that there was 
no doubt. "Else how could all this have hap- 
pened?" thought she. "If, after that, I could re- 
turn his smile when saying good-by, if I was 
able to let it come to that, it means that I loved 
him from the first. It means that he is kind, 
noble, and splendid, and I could not help lov- 
ing him. What am I to do if I love him and the 
other one too?" she asked herself, unable to 
find an answer to these terrible questions. 

CHAPTER XIV 

MORNING CAME with its cares and bustle. Every- 
one got up and began to move about and talk, 
dressmakers came again. Mdrya Dmitrievna 
appeared, and they were called to breakfast. 
Natasha kept looking uneasily at everybody 
with wide-open eyes, as if wishing to intercept 
every glance directed toward her, and tried to 
appear the same as usual. 

After breakfast, which was her best time, 
Mdrya Dmitrievna sat down in her armchair 
and called Natdsha and the count to her. 

"Well, friends, I have now thought the whole 
matter over and this is my advice," she began. 
"Yesterday, as you know, I went to see Prince 

Bolk6nski. Well, I had a talk with him He 

took it into his head to begin shouting, but I 
am not one to be shouted down. I said what I 
had to say!" 



3*6 



WAR AND PEACE 



"Well, and he?" asked the count. 

"He? He's crazy ... he did not want to listen. 
But what's the use of talking? As it is we have 
worn the poor girl out," said M^rya Dmf triev- 
na. "My advice to you is finish your business 
and go back home to Otrddnoe . . . and wait 
there." 

"Oh, no!" exclaimed Natasha. 

"Yes, go back," said Mrya Dmftrievna,"and 
wait there. If your betrothed comes here now 
there will be no avoiding a quarrel; but alone 
with the old man he will talk things over and 
then come on to you." 

Count Rost6v approved of this suggestion, 
appreciating its reasonableness. If the old man 
came round it would be all the better to visit 
him in Moscow or at Bald Hills later on; and 
if not, the wedding, against his wishes, could 
only be arranged at Otrddnoe. 

"That is perfectly true. And I am sorry I 
went to see him and took her," said the old 
count. 

"No, why be sorry? Being here, you had to 
pay your respects. But if he won't that's his 
affair," said M^rya Dmhrievna, looking for 
something in her reticule. "Besides, the trous- 
seau is ready, so there is nothing to wait for; 
and what is not ready I'll send after you. 
Though I don't like letting you go, it is the 
best way. So go, with God's blessing!" 

Having found what she was looking for in 
the reticule she handed it to Natasha. It was a 
letter from Princess Mary. 

"She has written to you. How she torments 
herself, poor thing! She's afraid you might 
think that she does not like you." 

"But she doesn't like me," said Natasha. 

"Don't talk nonsense!" cried Mrya Dmftri- 
evna. 

"I shan't believe anyone, I know she doesn't 
like me," replied Natisha boldly as she took 
the letter, and her face expressed a cold and 
angry resolution that caused Mdrya Dmftri- 
evna to look at her more intently and to frown. 

"Don't answer like that, my good girl!" she 
said. "What I say is true! Write an answer!" 

Natasha did not reply and went to her own 
room to read Princess Mary's letter. 

Princess Mary wrote that she was in despair 
at the misunderstanding that had occurred be- 
tween them. Whatever her father's feelings 
might be, she begged Natasha to believe that 
she could not help loving her as the one cho- 
sen by her brother, for whose happiness she 
was ready to sacrifice everything. 

"Do not think, however," she wrote, "that 



my father is ill-disposed toward you. He is an 
invalid and an old man who must be forgiven; 
but he is good and magnanimous and will love 
her who makes his son happy." Princess Mary 
went on to ask Natasha to fix a time when she 
could see her again. 

After reading the letter Natdsha sat down at 
the writing table to answer it. "Dear Princess," 
she wrote in French quickly and mechanically, 
and then paused. What more could she write 
after all that had happened the evening be- 
fore? "Yes, yes! All that has happened, and 
now all is changed," she thought as she sat with 
the letter she had begun before her. "Must I 
break off with him? Must I really? That's aw- 
ful . . ." arid to escape from these dreadful 
thoughts she went to S6nya and began sorting 
patterns with her. 

After dinner Nat'tsha went to her room and 
again took up Princess Mary's letter. "Can it 
be that it is all over?" she thought. "Can it be 
that all this has happened so quickly and has 
destroyed all that went before?" She recalled 
her love for Prince Andrew in all its former 
strength, and at the same time felt that she 
loved Kur^gin. She vividly pictured herself as 
Prince Andrew's wife, and the scenes of happi- 
ness with him she had so often repeated in her 
imagination, and at the same time, aglow with 
excitement, recalled every detail of yesterday's 
interview with Anatole. 

"Why could that not be as well?" she some- 
times asked herself in complete bewilderment. 
"Only so could I be completely happy; but 
now I have to choose, and I can't be happy 
without either of them. Only," she thought, 
"to tell Prince Andrew what has happened or 
to hide it from him are both equally impos- 
sible. But with that one nothing is spoiled. 
But am I really to abandon forever the joy of 
Prince Andrew's love, in which I have lived so 
long?" 

"Please, Miss!" whispered a maid entering 
the room with a mysterious air. "A man told 
me to give you this" and she handed Natrisha 
a letter. 

"Only, for Christ's sake . . ." the girl went 
on, as Natasha, without thinking, mechanical- 
ly broke the seal and read a love letter from 
Anatole, of which, without taking in a word, 
she understood only that it was a letter from 
him from the man she loved. Yes, she loved 
him, or else how could that have happened 
which had happened? And how could she have 
a love letter from him in her hand? 

With trembling hands Natasha held that 



BOOK 

passionate love letter which D61okhov had 
composed for Anatole, and as she read it she 
found in it an echo of all that she herself im- 
agined she was feeling. 

"Since yesterday evening my fate has been 
sealed; to be loved by you or to die. There is 
no other way for me," the letter began. Then 
he went on to say that he knew her parents 
would not give her to him for this there were 
secret reasons he could reveal only to her but 
that if she loved him she need only say the 
word yes, and no human power could hinder 
their bliss. Love would conquer all. He would 
steal her away and carry her off to the ends of 
the earth. 

"Yes, yesl I love him!" thought Natasha, 
reading the letter for the twentieth time and 
finding some peculiarly deep meaning in each 
word of it. 

That evening Mdrya Dmftrievna was going 
to the Akhdrovs' and proposed to take the 
girls with her. Natasha, pleading a headache, 
remained at home. 

CHAPTER XV 

ON RETURNING late in the evening Sonya went 
to Natasha's room, and to her surprise found 
her still dressed and asleep on the sofa. Open 
on the table beside her lay Anatole's letter. 
Sonya picked it up and read it. 

As she read she glanced at the sleeping Na- 
tdsha, trying to find in her face an explanation 
of what she was reading, but did not find it. 
Her face was calm, gentle, and happy. Clutch- 
ing her breast to keep herself from choking, 
Sonya, pale and trembling with fear and agi- 
tation, sat down in an armchair and burst into 
tears. 

"How was it I noticed nothing? How could 
it go so far? Can she have left off loving Prince 
Andrew? And how could she let Kuragin go to 
such lengths? He is a deceiver and a villain, 
that's plain! What will Nicholas, dear noble 
Nicholas, do when he hears of it? So this is the 
meaning of her excited, resolute, unnatural 
look the day before yesterday, yesterday, and 
today," thought S6nya. "But it can't be that 
she loves him! She probably opened the letter 
without knowing who it was from. Probably 
she is offended by it. She could not do such a 
thing!" 

S6nya wiped away her tears and went up to 
Natasha, again scanning her face. 

"Natdsha 1" she said, just audibly. 

Natdsha awoke and saw S6nya. 

"Ah, you're back?" 



EIGHT 327 

And with the decision and tenderness that 
often come at the moment of awakening, she 
embraced her friend, but noticing S6nya's 
look of embarrassment, her own face expressed 
confusion and suspicion. 

ilS6nya, you've read that letter?" she de- 
manded. 

"Yes," answered Sonya softly. 

Natasha smiled rapturously. 

"No, S6nya, I can't any longer!" she said. "I 
can't hide it from you any longer. You know, 
we love one another! S6nya, darling, he writes 
. . . S6nya . . ." 

S6nya stared open-eyed at Natdsha, unable 
to believe her ears. 

"And Bolk6nski?" she asked. 

"Ah, Sonya, if you only knew how happy I 
am!" cried Natdsha. "You don't know what 
love is " 

"But, Natasha, can that be all over?" 

Natasha looked at Sonya with wide-open 
eyes as if she could not grasp the question. 

"Well, then, are you refusing Prince An- 
drew?" said Sonya. 

"Oh, you don't understand anything! Don't 
talk nonsense, just listen!" said Natdsha, with 
momentary vexation. 

"But I can't believe it," insisted Sonya. "I 
don't understand. How is it you have loved a 
man for a whole year and suddenly . . . Why, 
you have only seen him three times! Natdsha, 
I don't believe you, you're joking! In three 
days to forget everything and so . . ." 

"Three days?" said Natdsha. "It seems to me 
I've loved him a hundred years. It seems to me 
that I have never loved anyone before. You 
can't understand it. ... S6nya, wait a bit, sit 
here," and Natdsha embraced and kissed her. 

"I had heard that it happens like this, and 
you must have heard it too, but it's only now 
that I feel such love. It's not the same as be- 
fore. As soon as I saw him I felt he was my mas- 
ter and I his slave, and that I could not help 
loving him. Yes, his slave! Whatever he orders 
I shall do. You don't understand that. What 
can I do? What can I do, Sonya?" cried Natd- 
sha with a happy yet frightened expression. 

"But think what you are doing," cried Son- 
ya. "I can't leave it like this. This secret cor- 
respondence . . . How could you let him go so 
far?" she went on, with a horror and disgust 
she could hardly conceal. 

"I told you that I have no will," Natdsha re- 
plied. "Why can't you understand? I love him I" 

"Then I won't let it come to that ... I shall 
telll" cried S6nya, bursting into tears. 



328 



"What do you mean? For God's sake ... If 
you tell, you are my enemy!" declared Nat- 
sha. "You want me to be miserable, you want 
us to be separated " 

When she saw Natasha's fright, S6nya shed 
tears of shame and pity for her friend. 

"But what has happened between you?" she 
asked. "What has he said to you? Why doesn't 
he come to the house?" 

Natdsha did not answer her questions. 

"For God's sake, S6nya, don't tell anyone, 
don't torture me," Natdsha entreated. "Re- 
member no one ought to interfere in such mat- 
ters! I have confided in you. . . ." 

"But why this secrecy? Why doesn't he come 
to the house?" asked S6nya. "Why doesn't he 
openly ask for your hand? You know Prince 
Andrew gave you complete freedom if it is 
really so; but I don't believe it! Natasha, have 
you considered what these secret reasons can 
be?" 

Natasha looked at S6nya with astonishment. 
Evidently this question presented itself to her 
mind for the first time and she did not know 
how to answer it. 

"I don't know what the reasons are. But 
there must be reasons!" 

S6nya sighed and shook her head incredu- 
lously. 

"If there were reasons ..." she began. 

But Natasha, guessing her doubts, inter- 
rupted her in alarm. 

"S6nya, one can't doubt him! One can't, one 
can't! Don't you understand?" she cried. 

"Does he love you?" 

"Does he love me?" Natasha repeated with a 
smile of pity at her friend's lack of comprehen- 
sion. "Why, you have read his letter and you 
have seen him." 

"But if he is dishonorable?" 

"He! dishonorable? If you only knew!" ex- 
claimed Natasha. 

"If he is an honorable man he should either 
declare his intentions or cease seeing you; and 
if you won't do this, I will. I will write to him, 
and I will tell Papal" said Sonya resolutely. 

"But I can't live without him!" cried Nata- 
sha. 

"Natdsha, I don't understand you. And what 
are you saying! Think of your father and of 
Nicholas." 

"I don't want anyone, I don't love anyone 
but him. How dare you say he is dishonorable? 
Don't you know that I love him?" screamed 
Natisha. "Go away, S6nya! I don't want to 
quarrel with you, but go, for God's sake got 



WAR AND PEACE 

You see how I am suffering!" Natasha cried 
angrily, in a voice of despair and repressed ir- 
ritation. S6nya burst into sobs and ran from 
the room. 

Natasha went to the table and without a 
moment's reflection wrote that answer to Prin- 
cess Mary which she had been unable to write 
all the morning. In this letter she said briefly 
that all their misunderstandings were at an 
end; that availing herself of the magnanimity 
of Prince Andrew who when he went abroad 
had given her her freedom, she begged Prin- 
cess Mary to forget everything and forgive her 
if she had been to blame toward her, but that 
she could not be his wife. At that moment this 
all seemed quite easy, simple, and clear to Na- 
tdsha. 



On Friday the Rostovs were to return to the 
country, but on Wednesday the count went 
with the prospective purchaser to his estate 
near Moscow. 

On the day the count left, S6nya and Natl- 
sha were invited to a big dinner party at the 
Kardgins', and Mrya Dmftrievna took them 
there. At that party Natasha again met Ana- 
tole, and S6nya noticed that she spoke to him, 
trying not to be overheard, and that all through 
dinner she was more agitated than ever. When 
they got home Natasha was the first to begin 
the explanation Sonya expected. 

"There, S6nya, you were talking all sorts of 
nonsense about him," Natasha began in a mild 
voice such as children use when they wish to be 
praised. "We have had an explanation today." 

"Well, what happened? What did he say? 
Natdsha, how glad I am you're not angry with 
me! Tell me everything the whole truth. What 
did he say?" 

Natdsha became thoughtful. 

"Oh,S6nya, if you knew him as I do! He said 
. . . He asked me what I had promised Bolk6n- 
ski. He was glad I was free to refuse him." 

S6nya sighed sorrowfully. 

"But you haven't refused Bolk6nski?" said 
she. 

"Perhaps I have. Perhaps all is over between 
me and Bolk6nski. Why do you think so badly 
of me?" 

"I don't think anything, only I don't under- 
stand this . . ." 

"Wait a bit, S6nya, you'll understand every- 
thing. You'll see what a man he is! Now don't 
think badly ot me or of him. I don't think bad- 
ly of anyone: I love and pity everybody. But 
what am I to do?" 



BOOK EIGHT 



S6nya did not succumb to the tender tone 
Natdsha used toward her. The more emotional 
and ingratiating the expression of Natasha's 
face became, the more serious and stern grew 
S6nya's. 

"Natasha," said she, "you asked me not to 
speak to you, and I haven't spoken, but now 
you yourself have begun. I don't trust him, Na- 
tdsha. Why this secrecy?" 

"Again, again!" interrupted Natasha. 

"Natdsha, I am afraid for you!" 

"Afraid of what?" 

"I am afraid you're going to your ruin," said 
S6nya resolutely, and was herself horrified at 
what she had said. 

Anger again showed in Natasha's face. 

"And I'll go to my ruin, I will, as soon as pos- 
sible! It's not your business! It won't be you, 
but I, who'll suffer. Leave rne alone, leave me 
alone! I hate you!" 

"Natasha!" moaned Sonya, aghast. 

"I hate you, I hate you! You're myenemy for- 
ever!" And Natasha ran out of the room. 

Natdsha did not speak to Sonya again and 
avoided her. With the same expression of agi- 
tated surprise and guilt she went about the 
house, taking up now one occupation, now an- 
other, and at once abandoning them. 

Hard as it was for Sonya, she watched her 
friend and did not let her out of her sight. 

The day before the count was to return, Son- 
ya noticed that Natdsha sat by the drawing- 
room window all the morning as if expecting 
something and that she made a sign to an offi- 
cer who drove past, whom Sonya took to be 
Anatolc. 

Sonya began watching her friend still more 
attentively and noticed that at dinner and all 
that evening Natdsha was in a strange and un- 
natural state. She answered questions at ran- 
dom, began sentences she did not finish, and 
laughed at everything. 

After tea Sonya noticed a housemaid at Na- 
tdsha's door timidly waiting to let her pass. She 
let the girl go in, and then listening at the door 
learned that another letter had beendelivered. 

Then suddenly it became clear to Sonya that 
Natdsha had some dreadful plan for that eve- 
ning. Sonya knocked at her door. Natdsha did 
not let her in. 

"She will run away with him!" thought S6n- 
ya. "She is capable of anything. There was 
something particularly pathetic and resolute 
in her face today. She cried as she said good-by 
to Uncle," Sonya remembered. "Yes, that's it, 
she means to elope with him, but what am I to 



329 



do?" thought she, recalling all the signs that 
clearly indicated that Natdsha had some ter- 
rible intention. "The count is away. What am 
I to do? Write to Kurdgin demanding an ex- 
planation? But what is there to oblige him to 
reply? Write to Pierre, as Prince Andrew asked 
me to in case of some misfortune? . . . But per- 
haps she really has already refused Bolk6nski 
she sent a letter to Princess Mary yesterday. 

And Uncle is away " To tell Mdrya Dmftri- 

evna who had such faith in Natdsha seemed to 
S6nya terrible. "Well, anyway," thought Son- 
ya as she stood in the dark passage, "now or 
never I must prove that I remember the fam- 
ily's goodness to me and that I love Nicholas. 
Yes! If I don't sleep for three nights I'll not 
leave this passage and will hold her back by 
force and not let the family be disgraced," 
thought she. 

CHAPTER XVI 

ANATOLE had lately moved to D61okhov's. The 
plan for Natalie Rostova's abduction had been 
arranged and the preparations made by D61o- 
khov a few days before, and on the day that 
Sonya, after listening at Natdsha's door, re- 
solved to safeguard her, it was to have been put 
into execution. Natdsha had promised to come 
out to Kurdgin at the back porch at ten that 
evening. Kurdgin was to put her into a troyka 
he would have ready and to drive her forty 
miles to the village of Kdmenka, where an un- 
frocked priest was in readiness to perform a 
marriage ceremony over them. At Kdmenka a 
relay of horses was to wait which would take 
them to the Warsaw highroad, and from there 
they would hasten abroad with post horses. 

Anatole had a passport, an order for post 
horses, ten thousand rubles he had taken from 
his sister and another ten thousand borrowed 
with Dolokhov's help. 

Two witnesses for the mock marriage Khvos- 
tikov, a retired petty official whom Dolokhov 
made use of in his gambling transactions, and 
Makdrin, a retired hussar, a kindly, weak fel- 
low who had an unbounded affection for Kura- 
gin were sitting at tea in Dolokhov's front 
room. 

In his large study, the walls of which were 
hung to the ceiling with Persian rugs, bear- 
skins, and weapons, sat D61okhov in a travel- 
ing cloak and high boots, at an open desk on 
which lay an abacus and some bundles of paper 
money. Anatole, with uniform unbuttoned, 
walked to and fro from the room where the 
witnesses were sitting, through the study to the 



33 



WAR AND PEACE 



room behind, where his French valet and oth- 
ers were packing the last of his things. D61o- 
khovwas counting themoneyand noting some- 
thing down. 

"Well," he said, "Khv6stikov must have two 
thousand." 

"Give it to him, then," said Anatole. 

"Makdrka" (their name for Makdrin) "will 
go through fire and water for you for nothing. 
So here are our accounts all settled," said 
Ddlokhov, showing him the memorandum. "Is 
that right?" 

"Yes, of course," returned Anatole, evident- 
ly not listening to D61okhov and looking 
straight before him with a smile that did not 
leave his face. 

D61okhov banged down the lid of his desk 
and turned to Anatole with an ironic smile: 

"Do you know? You'd really better drop it 
all. There's still time!" 

"Fool," retorted Anatole. "Don't talk non- 
sense I If you only knew . . . it's the devil knows 
what!" 

"No, really, give it up! "said D61okhov."I am 
speaking seriously. It's no joke, this plot you've 
hatched." 

"What, teasing agaia? Go to the devil! Eh?" 
said Anatole, making a grimace. "Really it's no 
time for your stupid jokes," and he left the 
room. 

D61okhov smiled contemptuously and con- 
descendingly when Anatole had gone out. 

"You wait a bit," he called after him. "I'm 
not joking, I'm talking sense. Come here, come 
here!" 

Anatole returned and looked at D61okhov, 
trying to give him his attention and evidently 
submitting to him involuntarily. 

"Now listen to me. I'm telling you this for the 
last time. Why should I joke about it? Did I 
hinder you? Who arranged everything for you? 
Who found the priest and got the passport? 
Who raised the money? I did it all." 

"Well, thank you for it. Do you think I am 
not grateful?" And Anatole sighed and em- 
braced D61okhov. 

"I helped you, but all the same I must tell 
you the truth; it is a dangerous business, and if 
you think about it a stupid business. Well, 
you'll carry her off all right! Will they let it 
stop at that? It will come out that you're al- 
ready married. Why, they'll have you in the 
criminal court. . . ." 

"Oh, nonsense, nonsense!" Anatole ejaculat- 
ed and again made a grimace. "Didn't I ex- 
plain to you? What?" And Anatole, with the 



partiality dull-witted people have for any con- 
clusion they have reached by their own reason- 
ing, repeated the argument he had already put 
to D61okhov a hundred times. "Didn't I ex- 
plain to you that I have come to this conclu- 
sion: if this marriage is invalid," he went on, 
crooking one finger, "then I have nothing to 
answer for; but if it is valid, no matter! Abroad 
no one will know anything about it. Isn't that 
so? And don't talk to me, don't, don't." 

"Seriously, you'd better drop it! You'll only 
get yourself into a mess!" 

"Go to the devil!" cried Anatole and, clutch- 
ing his hair, left the room, but returned at 
once and dropped into an armchair in front of 
D61okhov with his feet tucked under him. "It's 
the very devil! What? Feel how it beats!" He 
took D61okhov's hand and put it on his heart. 
"What a foot, my dear fellow! What a glance! 
A goddess!" he added in French. "What?" 

D61okhov with a cold smile and a gleam in 
his handsome insolent eyes looked at him evi- 
dently wishing to get some more amusement 
out of him. 

"Well and when the .money's gone, what 
then?" 

"What then? Eh?" repeated Anatole, sincere- 
ly perplexed by a thought of the future. "What 

then? . . . Then, I don't know But why talk 

nonsense!" He glanced at his watch. "It'stime!" 

Anatole went into the back room. 

"Now then I Nearly ready? You're dawdling! " 
he shouted to the servants. 

D61okhov put away the money, called a foot- 
man whom he ordered to bring something for 
them to eat and drink before the journey, and 
went into the room where Khv6stikov and 
Makrin were sitting. 

Anatole lay on the sofa in the study leaning 
on his elbow and smiling pensively, while his 
handsome lips muttered tenderly to himself. 

"Come and eat something. Have a drink!" 
D61okhov shouted to him from the other room. 

"I don't want to," answered Anatole contin- 
uing to smile. 

"Come! Balagd is here." 

Anatole rose and went into the dining room. 
Balagd was a famous troyka driver who had 
known D61okhov and Anatole some six years 
and had given them good service with his troy- 
kas. More than once when Anatole's regiment 
was stationed at Tver he had taken him from 
Tver in the evening, brought him to Moscow 
by daybreak, and driven him back again the 
next night. More than once he had enabled 
Dblokhov to escape when pursued. More than 



BOOK EIGHT 



33* 



once he had driven them through the town with 
gypsies and "ladykins"as he called thecocottes. 
More than once in their service he had run 
over pedestrians and upset vehicles in the 
streets of Moscow and had always been pro- 
tected from the consequences by "my gentle- 
men" as he called them. He had ruined more 
than one horse in theirservice. More than once 
they had beaten him, and more than once they 
had made him drunk on champagne and Ma- 
deira, which he loved; and he knew more than 
one thing about each of them which would 
long ago have sent an ordinary man to Siberia. 
They often called Balagd into their orgies and 
made him drink and dance at the gypsies', and 
more than one thousand rubles of their money 
had passed through his hands. In their service 
he risked his skin and his life twenty times a 
year, and in their service had lost more horses 
than the money he had from them would buy. 
But he liked them; liked that mad driving at 
twelve miles an hour, liked upsetting a driver 
or running down a pedestrian, and flying at 
full gallop through the Moscow streets. He 
liked to hear those wild, tipsy shouts behind 
him: "Get on! Get on!" when it was impossible 
to go any faster. He liked giving a painful lash 
on the neck to some peasant who, more dead 
than alive, was already hurrying out of his 
way. "Real gentlemen!" he considered them. 

Anatole and D61okhov liked Balagd too for 
his masterly driving and because he liked the 
things they liked. With others Balagd bargained, 
charging twenty-five rubles for a two hours' 
drive, and rarely drove himself, generally let- 
ting his young men do so. But with "his gentle- 
men" he always drove himself and never de- 
manded anything for his work. Only a couple 
of times a year when he knew from their val- 
ets that they had money in hand he would turn 
up of a morning quite sober and with a deep 
bow would ask them to help him. The gentle- 
men always made him sit down. 

"Do help me out, Theodore Ivdnych, sir," or 
"your excellency," he would say. "I am quite 
out of horses. Let me have what you can to go 
to the fair." 

And Anatole and D61okhov, when they had 
money, would give him a thousand or a couple 
of thousand rubles. 

Balagd was a fair-haired, short, and snub- 
nosed peasantof about twenty-seven; red-faced, 
with a particularly red thick neck, glittering 
little eyes, and a small beard. He wore a fine, 
dark-blue, silk-lined cloth coat over a sheep- 
skin. 



On entering the room now he crossed him- 
self, turning toward the front corner of the 
room, and went up to D61okhov, holding out a 
small, black hand. 

"Theodore Ivdnych I" he said, bowing. 
** "How d'you do, friend? Well, here he is!" 

"Good day, your excellency!" he said, again 
holding out his hand to Anatole who had just 
come in. 

"I say, Balagd," said Anatole, putting his 
hands on the man's shoulders, "do you care for 
me or not? Eh? Now, do me a service. . . . What 
horses have you come with? Eh?" 

"As your messenger ordered, your special 
beasts," replied Balagd. 

"Well, listen, Balaga! Drive all three to 
death but get me there in three hours. Eh?" 

"When they are dead, what shall I drive?" 
said Balagd with a wink. 

"Mind, I'll smash your face in! Don't make 
jokes! "cried Anatole, suddenly rolling his eyes. 

"Why joke?" said the driver, laughing. "As if 
I'd grudge my gentlemen anything! As fast as 
ever the horses can gallop, so fast we'll go!" 

"Ah!" said Anatole. "Well, sit down." 

"Yes, sit down!" said D61okhov. 

"I'll stand, Theodore Ivdnych." 

"Sit down; nonsense! Have a drink!" said 
Anatole, and filled a large glass of Madeira for 
him. 

The driver's eyes sparkled at the sight of the 
wine. After refusing it for manners' sake, he 
drank it and wiped his mouth with a red silk 
handkerchief he took out of his cap. 

"And when are we to start, your excellency?" 

"Well . . ." Anatole looked at his watch. 
"We'll start at once. Mind, Balagd! You'll get 
there in time? Eh?" 

"That depends on our luck in starting, else 
why shouldn't we be there in time?" replied 
Balagd. "Didn't we get you to Tver in seven 
hours? I think you remember that, your ex- 
cellency?" 

"Do you know, one Christmas I drove from 
Tver," said Anatole, smiling at the recollection 
and turning to Makdrin who gazed rapturous- 
ly at him with wide-open eyes. "Will you be- 
lieve it, Makdrka, it took one's breath away, 
the rate we flew. We came across a train of 
loaded sleighs and drove right over two of them. 
Eh?" 

"Those were horses!" Balagd continued the 
tale. "That time I'd harnessed two young side 
horses with the bay in the shafts," he went on, 
turning to Ddlokhov. "Will you believe it, 
Theodore Ivdnych, those animals flew forty 



WAR AND PEACE 



miles? I couldn't hold them in, my hands grew 
numb in the sharp frost so that I threw down 
the reins 'Catch hold yourself, your excellen- 
cy!' says I, and I just tumbled on the bottom of 
the sleigh and sprawled there. It wasn't a case 
of urging them on, there was no holding them 
in till we reached the place. The devils took 
us there in three hours! Only the neurone died 
of it." 

CHAPTER XVII 

ANATOLE went out of the room and returned 
a few minutes later wearing a fur coat girt with 
a silver belt, and a sable cap jauntily set on one 
side and very becoming to his handsome face. 
Having looked in a mirror, and standing before 
D61okhov in the same pose he had assumed be- 
fore it, he lifted a glass of wine. 

''Well, good-by, Theodore. Thank you for 
everything and farewell!" said Anatole. "Well, 
comrades and friends . . ." he considered for a 
moment ". . . of my youth, farewell!" he said, 
turning to Makdrin and the others. 

Though they were all going with him, An- 
atole evidently wished to make something 
touching and solemn out of this address to his 
comrades. He spoke slowly in a loud voice and 
throwing out his chest slightly swayed one leg. 

"All take glasses; you too, Balagd. Well, com- 
rades and friends of my youth, we've had our 
fling and lived and reveled. Eh? And now, 
when shall we meet again? I am going abroad. 
We have had a good time now farewell, ladsl 
To our health! Hurra 'i! . . ." he cried, and emp- 
tying his glass flung it on the floor. 

"Tp your health!" said Balagd who also emp- 
tied kis glass, and wiped his mouth with his 
handkerchief. 

Makdrin embraced Anatole with tears in his 
eyes. 

"Ah, Prince, how sorry I am to part from 
you!" 

"Let's go. Let's go!" cried Anatole. 

Balagd was about to leave the room. 

"No, stop!" said Anatole. "Shut the door; we 
have first to sit down. That's the way." 

They shut the door and all sat down. 1 

"Now, quick march, lads!" said Anatole, ris- 
ing- 
Joseph, his valet, handed him his sabretache 
and saber, and they all went out into the vesti- 
bule. 

"And where's the fur cloak?" asked Dolo- 

1 This is in accord with a Russian superstition 
as to what should be done when starting on a 
journey. TR. 



khov. "Hey, Igndtkal Go to Matrena Matr^vna 
and ask her for the sable cloak. I have heard 
what elopements are like," continued D61okhov 
with a wink. "Why, she'll rush out more dead 
than alive just in the things she is wearing; if 
you delay at all there'll be tears and 'Papa' and 
'Mamma,' and she's frozen in a minute and 
must go back but you wrap the fur cloak 
round her first thing and carry her to the sleigh." 

The valet brought a woman's fox-lined cloak. 

"Fool, I told you the sable one! Hey, Matrena, 
the sable!" he shouted so that his voice rang 
far through the rooms. 

A handsome, slim, and pale-faced gypsy girl 
with glittering black eyes and curly blue-black 
hair, wearing a red shawl, ran out with a sable 
mantle on her arm. 

"Here, I don't grudge it take it!" she said, 
evidently afraid of her master and yet regret- 
ful of her cloak. 

Dolokhov, without answering, took the cloak, 
threw it over Matrena, and wrapped her up in 
it. 

"That's the way," said D61okhov, "and then 
so!" arid he turned the collar up round her 
head, leavingonlya littleof the face uncovered. 
"And then so, do you see?" and he pushed An- 
atole's head forward to meet the gap left by 
the collar, through which Matrena's brilliant 
smile was seen. 

"Well, good-by, Matrena," said Anatole, 
kissing her. "Ah, my revels here are over. Re- 
member me to Stcshka. There, good-by! Good- 
by, Matrena, wish me luck!" 

"Well, Prince, may God give you great luck!" 
said Matrena in her gypsy accent. 

Two troykas were standing before the porch 
and two young drivers were holding the horses. 
Balagd took his seat in the front one and hold- 
ing his elbows high arranged the reins deliber- 
ately. Anatole and Dolokhov got in with him. 
Makdrin, Khvostikov, and a valet seated them- 
selves in the other sleigh. 

"Well, are you ready?" asked Balagd. 

"Go!" he cried, twisting the reins round his 
hands, and the troyka tore down the Nikftski 
Boulevard. 

"Tproo! Get out of the way! Hi! . . . Tproo! 
. . ." The shouting of Balagd and of the sturdy 
young fellow seated on the box was all that 
could be heard. On the Arbdt Square the troy- 
ka caught against a carnage; something cracked, 
shouts were heard, and the troyka flew along 
the Arbdt Street. 

After taking a turn along the Podnovinski 
Boulevard, Balagd began to rein in, and turn- 



ing back drew up at the crossing of the old 
Konyusheny Street. 

The young fellow on the box jumped down 
to hold the horses and Anatole and D61okhov 
went along the pavement. When they reached 
the gate D61okhov whistled. The whistle was 
answered, and a maidservant ran out. 

"Come into the courtyard or you'll be seen; 
she'll come out directly," said she. 

D61okhov stayed by the gate. Anatole fol- 
lowed the maid into the courtyard, turned the 
corner, and ran up into the porch. 

He was met by Gabriel, Mdrya Dmitrievna's 
gigantic footman. 

"Come to the mistress, please," said the foot- 
man in his deep bass, intercepting any retreat. 

"To what mistress? Who are you?" asked An- 
atole in a breathless whisper. 

"Kindly step in, my orders are to bring you 
in." 

"Kurginl Come backl" shouted D61okhov. 
"Betrayed! Back!" 

Dolokhov, after Anatole entered, had re- 
mained at the wicket gate and was struggling 
with the yard porter who was trying to lock it. 
With a last desperate effort Dolokhov pushed 
the porter aside, and when Anatole ran back 
seized him by the arm, pulled him through the 
wicket, and ran back with him to the troyka. 

CHAPTER XVIII 

MARYA DMITRIEVN A, having found S6nya weep- 
ing in the corridor, made her confess every- 
thing, and intercepting the note to Natasha she 
read it and went into Natasha's room with it 
in her hand. 

"You shameless good-for-nothing!" said she. 
"I won't hear a word." 

Pushing back Natasha who looked at her 
with astonished but tearless eyes, she locked 
her in; and having given orders to the yard 
porter to admit the persons who would be com- 
ing that evening, but not to let them out again, 
and having told the footman to bring them up 
to her, she seated herself in the drawing room to 
await the abductors. 

When Gabriel came to inform her that the 
men who had come had run away again, she 
rose frowning, and clasping her hands behind 
her paced through the rooms a long time con- 
sidering what she should do. Toward midnight 
she went to Natasha's room fingering the key 
in her pocket. S6nya was sitting sobbing in the 
corridor. "MArya Dmitrievna, for God's sake 
let me in to herl" she pleaded, but Mdrya 
Dmitrievna unlocked the door and went in 



BOOK EIGHT 333 

without giving her an answer. . . . "Disgusting, 



abominable ... In my house . . . horrid girl, 
hussy! I'm only sorry for her father!" thought 
she, trying to restrain her wrath. "Hard as it 
may be, I'll tell them all to hold their tongues 
a^nd will hide it from the count." She entered 
the room with resolute steps. Natasha was lying 
on the sofa, her head hidden in her hands, and 
she did not stir. She was in just the same posi- 
tion in which Marya Dmitrievna had left her. 

"A nice girl! Very nice!" said Marya Dmi- 
trievna. "Arranging meetings with lovers in my 
house! It's no use pretending: you listen when 
I speak to you!" And Marya Dmitrievna 
touched her arm. "Listen when I speak! You've 
disgraced yourself like the lowest of hussies. 
I'd treat you differently, but I'm sorry for your 
father, so I will conceal it." 

Natasha did not change her position, but her 
whole body heaved with noiseless, convulsive 
sobs which choked her. Marya Dmitrievna 
glanced round at Sonya and seated herself on 
the sofa beside Natasha. 

"It's lucky for him that he escaped me; but 
I'll find him!" she said in her rough voice. "Do 
you hear what I am saying or not?" she added. 

She put her large hand under Natasha's 
face and turned it toward her. Both Marya 
Dmitrievna and Sonya were amazed when they 
saw how Natasha looked. Her eyes were dry 
and glistening, her lips compressed, her cheeks 
sunken. 

"Let me be! ... What is- it to me? ... I shall 
die!" she muttered, wrenching herself from 
Mdrya Dmitrievna's hands with a vicious ef- 
fort and sinking down again into her former 
position. 

"Natalie!" said Mrya Dmitrievna. "I wish 
for your good. Lie still, stay like that then, I 
won't touch you. But listen. I won't tell you 
how guilty you are. You know that yourself. 
But when your father comes back tomorrow- 
what am I to tell him? Eh?" 

Again Natasha's body shook with sobs. 

"Suppose he finds out, and your brother, 
and your betrothed?" 

"I have no betrothed: I have refused him!" 
cried Natasha. 

"That's all the same," continued Mdrya Dmi- 
trievna. "If they hear of this, will they let it pass? 
He, your father, I know him ... if he chal- 
lenges him to a duel will that be all right? Eh?" 

"Oh, let me be! Why have you interfered at 
all? Why? Why? Who asked you to?" shouted 
Natisha, raising herself on the sofa and look- 
ing malignantly at M&rya Dmitrievna. 



334 



WAR AND PEACE 



"But what did you want?" cried Mdrya Dmf- 
trievna, growing angry again. "Were you kept 
under lock and key? Who hindered his coming 
to the house? Why carry you off as if you were 
some gypsy singing girl? . . . Well, if he had car- 
ried you off ... do you think they wouldn't 
have found him? Your father, or brother, or 
your betrothed? And he's a scoundrel, a wretch 
that's a fact!" 

"He is better than any of you!" exclaimed 
Natdsha getting up. "If you hadn't interfered 
. . . Oh, my God! What is it all? What is it? 
Sonya, why? ... Go away!" 

And she burst into sobs with the despairing 
vehemence with which people bewail disasters 
they feel they have themselves occasioned. 
Mdrya Dmftrievna was about to speak again, 
but Natdsha cried out: 

"Go away! Go away! You all hate and despise 
me!" and she threw herself back on the sofa. 

Mdrya Dmitrievnawent on admonishing her 
for some time, en joining on her that it must all 
be kept from her father and assuring her that 
nobody would know anything about it if only 
Natdsha herself would undertake to forget it 
all and not let anyone see that something had 
happened. Natdsha did not reply, nor did she 
sob any longer, but she grew cold and had a 
shivering fit. Mdrya Dmitrievna put a pillow 
under her head, covered her with two quilts, 
and herself brought her some lime-flower wa- 
ter, but Natdsha did not respond to her. 

"Well, let her sleep," said Mdrya Dmitriev- 
na as she went out of the room supposing Na- 
tdsha to be asleep. 

But Natdsha was not asleep; with pale face 
and fixed wide-open eyes she looked straight 
before her. All that night she did not sleep or 
weep and did not speak to S6nya who got up 
and went to her several times. 

Next day Count Rostov returned from his 
estate near Moscow in time for lunch as he had 
promised. He was in very good spirits; the af- 
fair with the purchaser was going on satisfac- 
torily, and there was nothing to keep him any 
longer in Moscow, away from the countess 
whom he missed. Mdrya Dmftrievna met him 
and told him that Natdsha had been very un- 
well the day before and that they had sent for 
the doctor, but that she was better now. Na- 
tdsha had not left her room that morning. With 
compressed and parched lips and dry fixed 
eyes, she sat at the window, uneasily watching 
the people who drove past and hurriedly glanc- 
ing round at anyone who entered the room. 
She was evidently expecting news of him and 



that he would come or would write to her. 

When the count came to see her she turned 
anxiously round at the sound of a man's foot- 
step, and then her face resumed its cold and 
malevolent expression. She did not even get up 
to greet him. 

"What is the matter with you, my angel? Are 
you ill?" asked the count. 

After a moment's silence Natdsha answered: 
"Yes, ill." 

In reply to the count's anxious inquiries as 
to why she was so dejected and whether any- 
thing had happened to her betrothed, she as- 
sured him that nothinghad happened and asked 
him not to worry. Mdrya Dmftrievna confirmed 
Natdsha's assurances that nothing had hap- 
pened. From the pretense of illness, from his 
daughter's distress, and by the embarrassed 
faces of Sonya and Mdrya Dmftrievna, the 
count saw clearly that something had gone 
wrong during his absence, but it was so terrible 
for him to think that anything disgraceful had 
happened to his beloved daughter, and he so 
prized his own cheerful tranquillity, that he 
avoided inquiries and tried to assure himself 
that nothing particularly had happened; and 
he was only dissatisfied that her indisposition 
delayed their return to the country. 

CHAPTER XIX 

FROM THE DAY his wife arrived in Moscow 
Pierre had been intending to go away some- 
where, so as not to be near her. Soon after the 
Rostovs came to Moscow the effect Natdsha 
had on him made him hasten to carry out his 
intention. He went to Tver to see Joseph 
Alexe*evich's widow, who had long since prom- 
ised to hand over to him some papers of her 
deceased husband's. 

When he returned to Moscow Pierre was 
handed a letter from Mdrya Dmftrievna ask- 
ing him to come and see her on a matter of 
great importance relating to Andrew Bolkon- 
ski and his betrothed. Pierre had been avoid- 
ing Natdsha because it seemed to him that his 
feeling for her was stronger than a married 
man's should be for his friend's fiancde. Yet 
some fate constantly threw them together. 

"What can have happened? And what can 
they want with me?" thought he ashedressedto 
go to Mdrya Dmftrievna's. "If only Prince An- 
drew would hurry up and come and marry her I" 
thought he on his way to the house. 

On the Tversk6y Boulevard a familiar voice 
called to him. 

"Pierre! Been back long?" someone shouted. 



BOOK EIGHT 



335 



Pierre raised his head. In a sleigh drawn by two 
gray trotting-horses that were bespattering the 
dashboard with snow, Anatole and his constant 
companion Makdrin dashed past. Anatole was 
sitting upright in the classic pose of military 
dandies, the lower part of his face hidden by 
his beaver collar and his head slightly bent. His 
face was fresh and rosy, his white-plumed hat, 
tilted to one side, disclosed his curled and po- 
maded hair besprinkled with powdery snow. 

"Yes, indeed, that's a true sage," thought 
Pierre. "He sees nothing beyond the pleasure 
of the moment, nothing troubles him and so 
he is always cheerful, satisfied, and serene. 
What wouldn't I give to be like himl" he 
thought enviously. 

In Mdrya Dmitrievna's anteroom the foot- 
man who helped him off with his fur coat said 
that the mistress asked him to come to her bed- 
room. 

When he opened the ballroom door Pierre 
saw Natdsha sitting at the window, with a thin, 
pale, and spiteful face. She glanced round at 
him, frowned, and left the room with an ex- 
pression of cold dignity. 

"What has happened?" asked Pierre, enter- 
ing Marya Dmftrievna's room. 

"Fine doings {"answered Mdrya Drnitrievna. 
"For fifty-eight years have I lived in this world 
and never known anything so disgraceful!" 

And having put him on his honor not to 
repeat anything she told him, Mdrya Drnitri- 
evna informed him that Natasha had refused 
Prince Andrew without her parents' knowl- 
edge and that the cause of this was Anatole 
Kurdgin into whose society Pierre's wife had 
thrown her and with whom Natdsha had tried 
to elope during her father's absence, in order 
to be married secretly. 

Pierre raised his shoulders and listened open- 
mouthed to what was told him, scarcely able to 
believe his own ears. That Prince Andrew's 
deeply loved affianced wife the same Natdsha 
Rost6va who used to be so charming should 
give up Bolk6nski for that fool Anatole who 
was already secretly married (as Pierre knew), 
and should be so in love with him as to agree 
to run away with him, was something Pierre 
could not conceive and could not imagine. 

He could not reconcile the charming impres- 
sion he had of Natdsha, whom he had known 
from a child, with this new conception of her 
baseness, folly, and cruelty. He thought of his 
wife. "They are all alikel" he said to himself, 
reflecting that he was not the only man unfor- 
tunate enough to be tied to a bad woman. But 



still he pitied Prince Andrew to the point of 
tears and sympathized with his wounded pride, 
and the more he pitied his friend the more did 
he think with contempt and even with disgust 
of that Natdsha who had just passed him in 
the ballroom with such a look of cold dignity. 
He did not know that Natdsha's soul was over- 
flowing with despair, shame, and humiliation, 
and that it was not her fault that her face hap- 
pened to assume an expression of calm dignity 
and severity. 

"But how get married?" said Pierre, in an- 
swer to Mdrya Dmftrievna. "He could not 
marry he is married!" 

"Things get worse from hour to hour!" ejac- 
ulated Mdrya Dmftrievna. "A niceyouth! What 
a scoundrel! And she's expecting him expect- 
ing him since yesterday. She must be told! Then 
at least she won't go on expecting him." 

After hearing the details of Anatole's mar- 
riage from Pierre, and giving vent to her anger 
against Anatole in words of abuse, Mdrya 
Drnitrievna told Pierre why she had sent for 
him. She was afraid that the count or Bolk6n- 
ski, who might arrive at any moment, if they 
knew of this affair (which she hoped to hide 
from them) might challenge Anatole to a duel, 
and she therefore asked Pierre to tell his broth- 
er-in-law in her name to leave Moscow and not 
dare to let her set eyes on him again. Pierre- 
only now realizing the danger to the old count, 
Nicholas, and Prince Andrew promised to do 
as she wished. Having briefly and exactly ex- 
plained her wishes to him, she let him go to 
the drawing room. 

"Mind, the count knows nothing. Behave as 
if you know nothing either," she said. "And I 
will go and tell her it is no use expecting him! 
And stay to dinner if you care to!" she called 
after Pierre. 

Pierre met the old count, who seemed nerv- 
ous and upset. That morning Natdsha had told 
him that she had rejected Bolk6nski. 

"Troubles, troubles, my dear fellow!" he 
said to Pierre. "What troubles one has with 
these girls without their mother! I do so regret 

having come here I will be frank with you. 

Have you heard she has broken off her engage- 
ment without consulting anybody? It's true 
this engagement never was much to my liking. 
Of course he is an excellent man, but still, with 
his father's disapproval they wouldn't have 
been happy, and Natdsha won't lack suitors. 
Still, it has been going on so long, and to take 
such a step without father's or mother's con- 
sent! And now she's ill, and God knows what! 



336 



WAR AND PEACE 



It's hard, Count, hard to manage daughters in 
their mother's absence. . . ." 

Pierre saw that the count was much upset 
and tried to change the subject, but the count 
returned to his troubles. 

S6nya entered the room with an agitated 
face. 

"Natdsha is not quite well; she's in her room 
and would like to see you. Mdrya Dmftrievna 
is with her and she too asks you to come." 

"Yes, you are a great friend of Bolk6nski's, 
no doubt she wants to send him a message," 
said the count. "Oh dearl Oh dearl How happy 
it all was!" 

And clutching the spare gray locks on his 
temples the count left the room. 

When Mdrya Dmftrievna told Natdsha that 
Anatole was married, Natdsha did not wish to 
believe it and insisted on having it confirmed 
by Pierre himself. S6nya told Pierre this as she 
led him along the corridor to Natasha's room. 

Natdsha, pale and stern, was sitting beside 
Mdrya Dmftrievna, and her eyes, glittering fe- 
verishly, met Pierre with a questioning look 
the moment he entered. She did not smile or 
nod, butonlygazed fixedly at him, and her look 
asked only one thing: was he a friend, or like 
the others an enemy in regard to Anatole? As 
for Pierre, he evidently did not exist for her. 

"He knows all about it," said Mdrya Dmitri- 
evna pointing to Pierre and addressing Natd- 
sha. "Let him tell you whether I have told the 



//Natdsha looked from one to the other as a 
hunted and wounded animal looks at the ap- 
proaching dogs and sportsmen. 

"Natdlya Ilynfchna," Pierre began, drop- 
ping his eyes with a feeling of pity for her and 
loathing for the thing he had to do, "whether 
it is true or not should make no difference to 
you, because ..." 

"Then it is not true that he's married 1" 

"Yes, it is true." 

"Has he been married long?" she asked. "On 
your honor? . . ." 

Pierre gave his word of honor. 

"Is he still here?" she asked, quickly. 

"Yes, I have just seen him." 

She was evidently unable to speak and made a 
sign with her hands that they should leave her 
alone. 

CHAPTER XX 

PIERRE did not stay for dinner, but left the 
room and went away at once. He drove through 
the town seeking Anatole Kuragin, at the 



thought of whom now the blood rushed to his 
heart and he felt a difficulty in breathing. He 
was not at the ice hills, nor at the gypsies', nor 
at Komoneno's. Pierre drove to the Club. In 
the Club all was going on as usual. The mem- 
bers who were assembling for dinner were sit- 
ting about in groups; they greeted Pierre and 
spoke of the town news. The footman having 
greeted him, knowing his habits and his ac- 
quaintances, told him there was a place left 
for him in the small dining room and that 
Prince Michael Zakhdrych was in the library, 
but Paul Timofe*evich had not yet arrived. 
One of Pierre's acquaintances, while they were 
talking about the weather, asked if he had 
heard of Kuragin's abduction of Rostova which 
was talked of in the town, and was it true? 
Pierre laughed and said it was nonsense for he 
had just come from the Rostovs'. He asked 
everyone about Anatole. One man told him he 
had not come yet, and another that he was 
coming to dinner. Pierre felt it strange to sec 
this calm, indifferent crowd of people unaware 
of what was going on in his soul. He paced 
through the ballroom, waited till everyone had 
come, and as Anatole had not turned up did 
not stay for dinner but drove home. 

Anatole, for whom Pierre was looking, dined 
that day with D61okhov, consulting him as to 
how to remedy this unfortunate affair. It 
seemed to him essential to see Natdsha. In the 
evening he drove to his sister's to discuss with 
her how to arrange a meeting. When Pierre re- 
turned home after vainly hunting all over 
Moscow, his valet informed him that Prince 
Anatole was with the countess. The countess' 
drawing room was full of guests. 

Pierre without greeting his wife whom lie 
had not seen since his return at that moment 
she was more repulsive to him than everen- 
tered the drawing room and seeing Anatole 
went up to him. 

"Ah, Pierre," said the countess going up to 
her husband. "You don't know what a plight 
our Anatole . . ." 

She stopped, seeing in the forward thrust of 
her husband's head, in his glowing eyes and his 
resolute gait, the terrible indications of that 
rage and strength which she knew and had 
herself experienced after his duel with D61okh- 
ov. 

"Where you are, there is vice and evill" said 
Pierre to his wife. "Anatole, come with me! I 
must speak to you," he added in French. 

Anatole glanced round at his sister and rose 
submissively, ready to follow Pierre. Pierre, 



BOOK EIGHT 



337 



taking him by the arm, pulled him to ward him- 
self and was leading him from the room. 

"If you allow yourself in my drawing room 
. . ." whispered Hel6ne, but Pierre did not re- 
ply and went out of the room. 

Anatole followed him with his usual jaunty 
step but his face betrayed anxiety. 

Having entered his study Pierre closed the 
door and addressed Anatole without looking 
at him. 

"You promised Countess Rost6va to marry 
her and were about to elope with her, is that 
so?" 

"Mon cher" answered Anatole (their whole 
conversation was in French), "I don't consider 
myself bound to answer questions put to me 
in that tone." 

Pierre's face, already pale, became distorted 
by fury. He seized Anatole by the collar of his 
uniform with his big hand and shook him 
from side to side till Anatole's face showed a 
sufficient degree of terror. 

"When I tell you that I must talk to you! 
. . ." repeated Pierre. 

"Come now, this is stupid. What?" said Ana- 
tole, fingering a button of his collar that had 
been wrenched loose with a bit of the cloth. 

"You're a scoundrel and a blackguard, and 
I don't know what deprives me from the pleas- 
ure of smashing your head with this!" said 
Pierre, expressing himself so artificially because 
he was talking French. 

He took a heavy paperweight and lifted it 
threateningly, but at once put it back in its 
place. 

"Did you promise to marry her?" 

"I ... I ... I didn't think of it. I never prom- 
ised, because ..." 

Pierre interrupted him. 

"Have you any letters of hers? Any letters?" 
he said, moving toward Anatole. 

Anatole glanced at him and immediately 
thrust his hand into his pocket and drew out 
his pocketbook. 

Pierre took the letter Anatole handed him 
and, pushing aside a table that stood in his 
way, threw himself on the sofa. 

"1 shan't be violent, don't be afraid!" said 
Pierre in answer to a frightened gesture of 
Anatole's. "First, the letters," said he, as if re- 
peating a lesson to himself. "Secondly," he con- 
tinued after a short pause, again rising and 
again pacing the room, "tomorrow you must 
get out of Moscow." 

"But how can I? . . ." 

"Thirdly/' Pierre continued without listen- 



ing to him, "you must never breathe a word 
of what has passed between you and Countess 
Rost6va. I know I can't prevent your doing so, 
but if you have a spark of conscience . . ." 
Pierre paced the room several times in silence. 
Anatole sat at a table frowning and biting 
his lips. 

"After all, you must understand that besides 
your pleasure there is such a thing as other 
people's happiness and peace, and that you are 
ruining a whole life for the sake of amusing 
yourself! Amuse yourself with women like my 
wife with them you are within your rights, 
for they know what you want of them. They 
are armed against you by the same experience 
of debauchery; but to promise a maid to marry 
her ... to deceive, to kidnap. . . . Don't you 
understand that it is as mean as beating an 
old man or a child? . . ." 

Pierre paused and looked at Anatole no 
longer with an angry but with a questioning 
look. 

"I don't know about that, eh?" said Anatole, 
growing more confident as Pierre mastered his 
wrath. "I don't know that and don't want to," 
he said, not looking at Pierre and with a slight 
tremor of his lower jaw, "but you have used 
such words to me 'mean* and so on which as 
a man of honor I can't allow anyone to use." 

Pierre glanced at him with amazement, un- 
able to understand what he wanted. 

"Though it was tete-a-tete," Anatole con- 
tinued, "still I can't . . ." 

"Is it satisfaction you want?" said Pierre 
ironically. 

"You could at least take back your words. 
What? If you want me to do as you wish, eh?" 

"I take them back, I take them back!" said 
Pierre, "and I ask you to forgive me." Pierre 
involun tarily glanc eel at the loose button. "And 
if you require money lor your journey . . ." 

Anatole smiled. The expression of that base 
and cringing smile, which Pierre knew so well 
in his wife, revolted him. 

"Oh, vile and heartless brood! "he exclaimed, 
and left the room. 

Next day Anatole left for Petersburg. 

CHAPTER XXI 

PIERRE drove to Marya Dmitrievna's to tell her 
of the fulfillment of her wish that Kurdgin 
should be banished from Moscow. The whole 
house was in a state of alarm and commotion. 
Natdsha was very ill, having, as Mdrya Dmitri- 
evna told him in secret, poisoned herself the 
night after she had been told that Anatole was 



338 



WAR AND PEACE 



married, with some arsenic she had stealthily 
procured. After swallowing a little she had 
been so frightened that she woke S6nya and 
told her what she had done. The necessary 
antidotes had been administered in time and 
she was now out of danger, though still so 
weak that it was out of the question to move 
her to the country, and so the countess had 
been sent for. Pierre saw the distracted count, 
and S6nya, who had a tear-stained face, but he 
could not see Natasha. 

Pierre dined at the club that day and heard 
on all sides gossip about the attempted abduc- 
tion of Rost6va. He resolutely denied these 
rumors, assuring everyone that nothing had 
happened except that his brother-in-law had 
proposed to her and been refused. It seemed to 
Pierre that it was his duty to conceal the whole 
affair and re-establish Natdsha's reputation. 

He was awaiting Prince Andrew's return 
with dread and went every day to the old 
prince's for news of him. 

Old Prince Bolk6nski heard all the rumors 
current in the town from Mademoiselle Bouri- 
enne and had read the note to Princess Mary 
in which Natdsha had broken off her engage- 
ment. He seemed in better spirits than usual 
and awaited his son with great impatience. 

Some days after Anatole's departure Pierre 
received a note from Prince Andrew, inform- 
ing him of his arrival and asking him to come 
to see him. 

As soon as he reached Moscow, Prince An- 
drew had received from his father Natdsha's 
note to Princess Mary breaking off her engage- 
ment (Mademoiselle Bourienne had purloined 
it from Princess Mary and given it to the old 
prince), and he heard from him the story of 
Natdsha's elopement, with additions. 

Prince Andrew had arrived in the evening 
and Pierre came to see him next morning. 
Pierre expected to find Prince Andrew in al- 
most the same state as Natdsha and was there- 
fore surprised on entering the drawing room 
to hear him in the study talking in a loud ani- 
mated voice about some intrigue going on in 
Petersburg. The old prince's voice and anoth- 
er now and then interrupted him. Princess 
Mary came out to meet Pierre. She sighed, 
looking toward the door of the room where 
Prince Andrew was, evidently intending to ex- 
press her sympathy with his sorrow, but Pierre 
saw by her face that she was glad both at what 
had happened and at the way her brother had 
taken the news of Natasha's faithlessness. 

"He says he expected it," she remarked. "I 



know his pride will not let him express his 
feelings, but still he has taken it better, far 
better, than I expected. Evidently it had to 
be. . . ." 

"But is it possible that all is really ended?" 
asked Pierre. 

Princess Mary looked at him with astonish- 
ment. She did not understand how he could 
ask such a question. Pierre went into the study. 
Prince Andrew, greatly changed and plainly 
in better health, but with a fresh horizontal 
wrinkle between his brows, stood in civilian 
dress facing his father and Prince Meshchrski, 
warmly disputing and vigorously gesticulating. 
The conversation was a^out Sperdnski the 
news of whose sudden exile and alleged treach- 
ery had just reached Moscow. 

"Now he is censured and accused by all who 
were enthusiastic about him a month ago," 
Prince Andrew was saying, "and by those who 
were unable to understand his aims. To judge 
a man who is in disfavor and to throw on him 
all the blame of other men's mistakes is very 
easy, but I maintain that if anything good has 
been accomplished in this reign it was done by 
him, by him alone." 

He paused at the sight of Pierre. His face 
quivered and immediately assumed a vindictive 
expression. 

"Posterity will do him justice," he concluded, 
and at once turned to Pierre. 

"Well, how are you? Still getting stouter?" 
he said with animation, but the new wrinkle 
on his forehead deepened. "Yes, I am well," he 
said in answer to Pierre's question, and smiled. 

To Pierre that smile said plainly: "I am well, 
but my health is now of no use to anyone." 

After a few words to Pierre about the awful 
roads from the Polish frontier, about people 
he had met in Switzerland who knew Pierre, 
and about M. Dessalles, whom he had brought 
from abroad to be his son's tutor, Prince An- 
drew again joined warmly in the conversation 
about Sperdnski which was still going on be- 
tween the two old men. 

"If there were treason, or proofs of secret re- 
lations with Napoleon, they would have been 
made public," he said with warmth and haste. 
"I do not, and never did, like Sperdnski per- 
sonally, but I like justice!" 

Pierre now recognized in his friend a need 
with which he was only too familiar, to get ex- 
cited and to have arguments about extraneous 
matters in order to stifle thoughts that were 
too oppressive and too intimate. 

When Prince Meshch^rski had left, Prince 



Andrew took Pierre's arm and asked him into 
the room that had been assigned him. A bed 
had been made up there, and some open port- 
manteaus and trunks stood about. Prince An- 
drew went to one and took out a small casket, 
from which he drew a packet wrapped in pa- 
per. He did it all silently and very quickly. He 
stood up and coughed. His face was gloomy 
and his lips compressed. 

"Forgive me for troubling you. . . ." 

Pierre saw that Prince Andrew was going to 
speak of Natasha, and his broad face expressed 
pity and sympathy. This expression irritated 
Prince Andrew, and in a determined, ringing, 
and unpleasant tone he continued: 

"I have received a refusal from Countess 
Rost6va and have heard reports of your broth- 
er-in-law having sought her hand, or something 
of that kind. Is that true?" 

"Both true and untrue," Pierre began; but 
Prince Andrew interrupted him. 

"Here are her letters and her portrait," said 
he. 

He took the packet from the table and 
handed it to Pierre. 

"Give this to the countess ... if you see her." 

"She is very ill," said Pierre. 

"Then she is here still?" said Prince Andrew. 
"And Prince Kuragin?" he added quickly. 

"He left long ago. She has been at death's 
door." 

"I much regret her illness," said Prince An- 
drew; and he smiled like his father, coldly, 
maliciously, and unpleasantly. 

"So Monsieur Kuragin has not honored 
Countess Rost6va with his hand?" said Prince 
Andrew, and he snorted several times. 

"He could not marry, for he was married al- 
ready," said Pierre. 

Prince Andrew laughed disagreeably, again 
reminding one of his father. 

"And where is your brother-in-law now, if I 
may ask?" he said. 

"He has gone to Peters . . . But I don't know," 
said Pierre. 

"Well, it doesn't matter," said Prince An- 
drew. "Tell Countess Rost6va that she was 
and is perfectly free and that I wish her all 
that is good." 

Pierre took the packet. Prince Andrew, as if 
trying to remember whether he had something 
more to say, or waiting to see if Pierre would 
say anything, looked fixedly at him. 

"I say, do you remember our discussion in 
Petersburg?" asked Pierre, "about ..." 

"Yes," returned Prince Andrew hastily. "I 



BOOK EIGHT 359 

said that a fallen woman should be forgiven, 



but I didn't say I could forgive her. I can't." 

"But can this be compared . . .?" said Pierre. 

Prince Andrew interrupted him and cried 
sharply: "Yes, ask her hand again, be magnani- 
mous, and so on? . . . Yes, that would be very 
noble, but I am unable to follow in that gen- 
tleman's footsteps. If you wish to be my friend 
never speak to me of that ... of all that! Well, 
good-by. So you'll give her the packet?" 

Pierre left the room and went to the old 
prince and Princess Mary. 

The old man seemed livelier than usual. 
Princess Mary was the same as always, but be- 
neath her sympathy for her brother, Pierre 
noticed her satisfaction that the engagement 
had been broken off. Looking at them Pierre 
realized what contempt and animosity they all 
felt for the Rost6vs, and that it was impossible 
in their presence even to mention the name of 
her who could give up Prince Andrew for any- 
one else. 

At dinner the talk turned on the war, the 
approach of which was becoming evident. 
Prince Andrew talked incessantly, arguing now 
with his father, now with the Swiss tutor Des- 
salles, and showing an unnatural animation, 
the cause of which Pierre so well understood. 

CHAPTER XXII 

THAT SAME EVENING Pierre went to the Ros- 
t6vs' to fulfill the commission entrusted to 
him. Natdsha was in bed, the count at the Club, 
and Pierre, after giving the letters to S6nya, 
went to Mdrya Dmitrievna who was interested 
to know how Prince Andrew had taken the 
news. Ten minutes later S6nya came to Mirya 
Dmitrievna. 

"Natdsha insists on seeing Count Peter Kirf- 
lovich," said she. 

"But how? Are we to take him up to her? 
The room there has not been tidied up." 

"No, she has dressed and gone into the draw- 
ing room," said S6nya. 

Mdrya Dmitrievna only shrugged her shoul- 
ders. 

"When will her mother come? She has wor- 
ried me to death! Now mind, don't tell her 
everything!" said she to Pierre. "One hasn't 
the heart to scold her, she is so much to be 
pitied, so much to be pitied." 

Natasha was standing in the middle of the 
drawing room, emaciated, with a pale set face, 
but not at all shamefaced as Pierre expected 
to find her. When he appeared at the door she 
grew flurried, evidently undecided whether to 



340 



WAR AND PEACE 



go to meet him or to wait till he came up. 

Pierre hastened to her. He thought she 
would give him her hand as usual; but she, 
stepping up to him, stopped, breathing heavily, 
her arms hanging lifelessly just in the pose she 
used to stand in when she went to the middle 
of the ballroom to sing, but with quite a dif- 
ferent expression of face. 

"Peter Kirf lovich," she began rapidly, "Prince 
Bolk6nski was your friend is your friend," 
she corrected herself. (It seemed to her that 
everything that had once been must now 
be different.) "He told me once to apply to 
you . . ." 

Pierre sniffed as he looked at her, but did 
not speak. Till then he had reproached herein 
his heart and tried to despise her, but he now 
felt so sorry for her that there was no room in 
his soul for reproach. 

"He is here now: tell him ... to for ... for- 
give me!" 

She stopped and breathed still more quick- 
ly, but did not shed tears. 

"Yes ... I will tell him," answered Pierre; 
"but . . ." 

He did not know what to say. 

Natdsha was evidently dismayed at the 
thoughtof what he might think she had meant. 

"No, I know all is over," she said hurriedly. 
"No, that can never be. I'm only tormented by 
the wrong I have done him. Tell him only that 
I beg him to forgive, forgive, forgive me for 
everything " 

She trembled all over and sat down on a 
chair. 

A sense of pity he had never before known 
overflowed Pierre's heart. 

"I will tell him, I will tell him everything 
once more," said Pierre. "But ... I should like 
to know one thing. . . ." 

"Know what?" Natdsha's eyes asked. 

"I should like to know, did you love . . ." 
Pierre did not know how to refer to Anatole 
and flushed at the thought of him "did you 
love that bad man?" 

"Don't call him bad!" said Natasha. "But I 
don't know, don't know at all. . . ." 

She began to cry arid a still greater sense of 
pity, tenderness, and love welled up in Pierre. 
He felt the tears trickle under his spectacles 
and hoped they would not be noticed. 

"We won't speak of it any more, my dear," 
said Pierre, and his gentle, cordial tone sud- 
denly seemed very strange to Natdsha. . 

"We won't speak of it, my dear I'll tell him 
everything; but one thing 1 beg of you, con- 



sider me your friend and if you want help, ad- 
vice, or simply to open your heart to someone 
not now, but when your mind is clearer 
think of me!" He took her hand and kissed it, 
"I shall be happy if it's in my power . . ." 

Pierre grew confused. 

"Don't speak to me like that. I am not worth 
it!" exclaimed Natdsha and turned to leave the 
room, but Pierre held her hand. 

He knew he had something more to say to 
her. But when he said it he was amazed at his 
own words. 

"Stop, stop! You have your whole life be- 
fore you," said he to her. 

"Before me? No! All is over for me," she re- 
plied with shame and self-abasement. 

"All over?" he repeated. "If I were not my- 
self, but the handsomest, cleverest, and best 
man in the world, and were free, I would this 
moment ask on my knees for your hand and 
your love!" 

For the first time for many days Natdsha 
wept tears of gratitude and tenderness, and 
glancing at Pierre she went out of the room. 

Pierre too when she had gone almost ran in- 
to the anteroom, restraining tears of tender- 
ness and joy that choked him, and without 
finding the sleeves of his fur cloak threw it on 
and got into his sleigh. 

"Where to now, your excellency?" asked the 
coachman. 

"Where to?" Pierre asked himself. "Where 
can I go now? Surely not to the Club or to pay 
calls?" All men seemed so pitiful, so poor, in 
comparison with this feeling of tenderness and 
love he experienced: in comparison with that 
softened, grateful, last look she had given him 
through her tears. 

"Home!" said Pierre, and despite twenty- 
two degrees of frost Fahrenheit he threw open 
the bearskin cloak from his broad chest and 
inhaled the air with joy. 

It was clear and frosty. Above the dirty, ill- 
lit streets, above the black roofs, stretched the 
dark starry sky. Only looking up at the sky did 
Pierre cease to feel how sordid and humiliating 
were all mundane things compared with the 
heights to which his soul had just been raised. 
At the entrance to the Arbdt Square an im- 
mense expanse of dark starry sky presented it- 
self to his eyes. Almost in the center of it, a- 
bove the Prechfstenka Boulevard, surrounded 
and sprinkled on all sides by stars but distin- 
guished from them all by its nearness to the 
earth, its white light, and its long uplifted tail, 
shone the enormous and brilliant comet of 



BOOK EIGHT 341 

1812 the comet which was said to portend all ly like an arrow piercing the earthto remain 
kinds of woes and the end of the world. In fixed in a chosen spot, vigorously holding its 
Pierre, however, that comet with its long lumi- tail erect, shining and displaying its white 
nous tail aroused no feeling of fear. On the lightamidcountlessotherscintillatingstars.lt 
contrary he gazed joyfully, his eyes moist with seemed to Pierre that this comet fully re- 
tears, at this bright comet which, having trav- sponded to what was passing in his own sof- 
cled in its orbit with inconceivable velocity tened and uplifted soul, now blossoming into 
through immeasurable space, seemed sudden- a new life. 



Book Nine: 1812 



CHAPTER I 

FROM THE CLOSE of the year 1811 an intensified 
arming and concentrating of the forces of 
Western Europe began, and in 1812 these 
forces millions of men, reckoning those trans- 
porting and feeding the army moved^from 
the west eastwards to the Russian frontier, to- 
ward which since 1811 Russian forces had been 
similarly drawn. On the twelfth of June, 1812, 
the forces of Western Europe crossed the Rus- 
sian frontier and war began, that is, an event 
took place opposed to human reason and to 
human nature. Millions of men perpetrated 
against one another such innumerable crimes, 
frauds, treacheries, thefts, forgeries, issues of 
false money, burglaries, incendiarisms, and 
murders as in whole centuries are not recorded 
in the annals of all the law courts of the world, 
but which those who committed them did not 
at the time regard as being crimes. 

What produced this extraordinary occur- 
rence? What were its causes? The historians 
tell us with nai've assurance that its causes were 
the wrongs inflicted on the Duke of Olden- 
burg, the nonobservance of the Continental 
System, the ambition of Napoleon, the firm- 
ness of Alexander, the mistakes of the diplo- 
matists, and so on. 

Consequently, it would only have been nec- 
essary for Metternich, Rumyanstev, or Talley- 
rand, between a levee and an evening party, to 
have taken proper pains and written a more 
adroit note, or for Napoleon to have written 
to Alexander: "My respected Brother, I con- 
sent to restore the duchy to the Duke of Old- 
enburg" and there would have been no war. 

We can understand that the matter seemed 
like that to contemporaries. It naturally seemed 
to Napoleon that the war was caused by Eng- 
land's intrigues (as in fact he said on the island 
of St. Helena). It naturally seemed to members 
of the English Parliament that the cause of the 
war was Napoleon's ambition; to the Duke of 
Oldenburg, that the cause of the war was the 
violence done to him; to businessmen that 



the cause of the war was the Continental Sys- 
tem which was ruining Europe; to the generals 
and old soldiers that the chief reason for the 
war was the necessity of giving them employ- 
ment; to the legitimists of that day that it was 
the need of re-establishing les bons principes, 
and to the diplomatists of that time that it all 
resulted from the fact that the alliance be- 
tween Russia and Austria in 1809 had not been 
sufficiently well concealed from Napoleon, and 
from the awkward wording of Memorandum 
No. 178. It is natural that these and a count- 
less and infinite quantity of other reasons, the 
number depending on the endless diversity of 
points of view, presented themselves to the 
men of that day; but to us, to posterity who 
view the thing that happened in all its magni- 
tude and perceive its plain and terrible mean- 
ing, these causes seem insufficient. To us it is 
incomprehensible that millions of Christian 
men killed and tortured each other either be- 
cause Napoleon was ambitious or Alexander 
was firm, or because England's policy was astute 
or the Duke of Oldenburg wronged. We can- 
not grasp what connection such circumstances 
have with the actual fact of slaughter and vio- 
lence: why because the Duke was wronged, 
thousands of men from the other side of Eu- 
rope killed and ruined the people of Smolensk 
and Moscow and were killed by them. 

To us, their descendants, who are not his- 
torians and are not carried away by the process 
of research and can therefore regard the event 
with unclouded common sense, an incalculable 
number of causes present themselves. The 
deeper we delve in search of these causes the 
more of them we find; and each separate cause 
or whole series of causes appears to us equally 
valid in itself and equally false by its insignif- 
icance compared to the magnitude of the 
events, and by its impotence apart from the 
cooperation of all the other coincident causes 
to occasion the event. To us, the wish or ob- 
jection of this or that French corporal to serve 
a second term appears as much a cause as Na- 



34* 



BOOK NINE 



343 



poleon's refusal to withdraw his troops beyond 
the Vistula and to restore the duchy of Olden- 
burg; for had he not wished to serve, and had 
a second, a third, and a thousandth corporal 
and private also refused, there would have 
been so many less men in Napoleon's army 
and the war could not have occurred. 

Had Napoleon not taken offense at the de- 
mand that he should withdraw beyond the 
Vistula, and not ordered his troops to advance, 
there would have been no war; but had all his 
sergeants objected to serving a second term 
then also there could have been no war. Nor 
could there have been a war had there been 
no English intrigues and no Duke of Olden- 
burg, and had Alexander not felt insulted, and 
had there not been an autocratic government 
in Russia, or a Revolution in France and a 
subsequent dictatorship and Empire, or all the 
things that produced the French Revolution, 
and so on. Without each of these causes noth- 
ing could have happened. So all these causes- 
myriads of causes coincided to bring it about. 
And so there was no one cause for that occur- 
rence, but it had to occur because it had to. 
Millions of men, renouncing their human feel- 
ings and reason, had to go from west to east to 
slay their fellows, just as some centuries previ- 
ously hordes of men had come from the east to 
the west, slaying their fellows. 

The actions ot Napoleon and Alexander, on 
whose words the event seemed to hang, were 
as little voluntary as the actions of any soldier 
who was drawn into the campaign by lot or by 
conscription. This could not be otherwise, for 
in order that the will of Napoleon and Alex- 
ander (on whom the event seemed to depend) 
should be carried out, the concurrence of in- 
numerable circumstances was needed without 
any one of which the event could not have tak- 
en place. It was necessary that millions of men 
in whose hands lay the real power the soldiers 
who fired, or transported provisions and guns 
should consent to carry out the will of these 
weak individuals, and should have been in- 
duced to do so by an infinite numberof diverse 
and complex causes. 

We are forced to fall back on fatalism as an 
explanation of irrational events (that is to say, 
events the reasonableness of which we do not 
understand). The more we try to explain such 
events in history reasonably, the more unrea- 
sonable and incomprehensible do they become 
to us. 

Each man lives for himself, using his free- 
dom to attain his personal aims, and feels with 



his whole being that he can now do or abstain 
from doing this or that action; but as soon as 
he has done it, that action performed at a cer- 
tain moment in time becomes irrevocable and 
belongs to history, in which it has not a free 
but a predestined significance. 

There are two sides to the life of every man, 
his individual life, which is the more free the 
more abstract its interests, and his elemental 
hive life in which he inevitably obeys laws laid 
down for him. 

Man lives consciously for himself, but is an 
unconscious instrument in the attainment of 
the historic, universal, aims of humanity. A 
deed done is irrevocable, and its result coin- 
ciding in time with the actions of millions of 
other men assumes anhistoricsignificance.The 
higher a man stands on the social ladder, the 
more people he is connected with and the 
more power he has over others, the more evi- 
dent is the predestination and inevitability of 
his every action. 

"The king's heart is in the hands of the 
Lord." 

A king is history's slave. 

History, that is, the unconscious, general, 
hive life of mankind, uses every moment of 
the life of kings as a tool for its own purposes. 

Though Napoleon at that time, in 1812, was 
more convinced than ever that it depended on 
him, verser (on ne pas verser) le sang de ses 
peuples l as Alexander expressed it in the last 
letter he wrote him he had never been so 
much in the grip of inevitable laws, which com- 
pelled him, while thinking that he was acting 
on his own volition, to perform for the hive 
life that is to say, for history whatever had 
to be performed. 

The people of the west moved eastwards to 
slay their fellow men, and by the law of coin- 
cidence thousands of minute causes fitted in 
and co-ordinated to produce that movement 
and war: reproaches for the nonobservance of 
the Continental System, the Duke of Olden- 
burg's wrongs, the movement of troops into 
Prussia undertaken (as it seemed to Napo- 
leon) only for the purpose of securing an 
armed peace, the French Emperor's love and 
habit of war coinciding with his people's in- 
clinations, allurement by the grandeur of the 
preparations, and the expenditure on those 
preparations and the need of obtaining ad- 
vantages to compensate for that expenditure, 
the intoxicating honors he received in Dres- 

1 "To shed (or not to shed) the blood of his peo- 
ples." 



344 



WAR AND PEACE 



den, the diplomatic negotiations which, in the 
opinion of contemporaries, were carried on 
with a sincere desire to attain peace, but which 
only wounded the self-love of both sides, and 
millions and millions of other causes that 
adapted themselves to the event that was 
happening or coincided with it. 

When an apple has ripened and falls, why 
does it fall? Because of its attraction to the 
earth, because its stalk withers, because it is 
dried by the sun, because it grows heavier, be- 
cause the wind shakes it, or because the boy 
standing below wants to eat it? 

Nothing is the cause. All this is only the co- 
incidence of conditions in which all vital or- 
ganic and elemental events occur. And the 
botanist who finds that the apple falls because 
the cellular tissue decays and so forth is equal- 
ly right with the child who stands under the 
tree and says the apple fell because he wanted 
to eat it and prayed for it. Equally right or 
wrong is he who says that Napoleon went to 
Moscow because he wanted to, and perished 
because Alexander desired his destruction, and 
he who says that an undermined hill weighing 
a million tons fell because the last navvy struck 
it for the last time with his mattock. In historic 
events, the so-called great men are labels giv- 
ing names to events, and like labels they have 
but the smallest connection with the event it- 
self. 

Every act of theirs, which appears to them 
an act of their own will, is in an historical 
sense involuntary and is related to the whole 
course of history and predestined from eternity. 

CHAPTER II 

ON THE TWENTY-NINTH OF MAY Napoleon left 

Dresden, 1 where he had spent three weeks sur- 
rounded by a court that included princes, 
dukes, kings, and even an emperor. Before 
leaving, Napoleon showed favor to the em- 
peror, kings, and princes who had deserved it, 
reprimanded the kings and princes with whom 
he was dissatisfied, presented pearls and dia- 
monds of his ownthat is, which he had taken 
from other kings to the Empress of Austria, 
and having, as his historian tells us, tenderly 
embraced the Empress Marie Louisewho re- 
garded him as her husband, though he had left 
another wife in Paris left her grieved by the 
parting which she seemed hardly able to bear. 
Though the diplomatists still firmly believed 
in the possibility of peace and worked zealous- 

1 According to the Gregorian or "New Style" cal- 
endar. TR. 



ly to that end, and though the Emperor Napo- 
leon himself wrote a letter to Alexander, call- 
ing him Monsieur mon frere, and sincerely as- 
sured him that he did not want war and would 
always love and honor him yet he set off to 
join his army, and at every station gave fresh 
orders to accelerate the movement of his troops 
from west to east. He went in a traveling coach 
with six horses, surrounded by pages, aides-de- 
camp, and an escort, along the road to Posen, 
Thorn, Danzig, and Konigsberg. At each of 
these towns thousands of people met him with 
excitement and enthusiasm. 

The army was moving from west to east, and 
relays of six horses carried him in the same 
direction. On the tenth of June, 2 coming up 
with the army, he spent the night in apart- 
ments prepared for him on the estate of a 
Polish count in the Vilkavisski forest. 

Next day, overtaking the army, he went in 
a carriage to the Niemen, and, changing into 
a Polish uniform, he drove to the riverbank in 
order to select a place for the crossing. 

Seeing, on the other side, some Cossacks (Ics 
Cosaques) and the wide-spreading steppes in 
the midst of which lay the holy city of Moscow 
(Moscou, la ville sainte), the capital of a realm 
such as the Scythia into which Alexander the 
Great had marched Napoleon unexpectedly, 
and contrary alike to strategic and diplomatic 
considerations, ordered an advance, and the 
next day his army began to cross the Niemen. 

Early in the morning of the twelfth of June 
he came out of his tent, which was pitched that 
day on the steep left bank of the Niemen, and 
looked through a spyglass at the streams of his 
troops pouring out of the Vilkavisski forest 
and flowing over the three bridges thrown 
across the river. The troops, knowing of the 
Emperor's presence, were on the lookout for 
him, and when they caught sight of a figure in 
an overcoat arid a cocked hat standing apart 
from his suite in front of his tent on the hill, 
they threw up their caps and shouted: "Vive 
VEmpereur!" and one after another poured in 
a ceaseless stream out of the vast forest that 
had concealed them and, separating, flowed on 
and on by the three bridges to the other side. 

"Now we'll go into action. Oh, when he 
takes it in hand himself, things get hot ... by 
heaven! . . . There he is! ... Vive VEmpereur! 
So these are the steppes of Asia! It's a nasty 
country all the same. Au revoir, Beauchd; I'll 
keep the best palace in Moscow for you! Au 
revoir. Good luck! . . . Did you see the Emper- 

a Old style. 



BOOK 

or? Vive I'Empereur! . . . preur!\l they make 
me Governor of India, Gerard, I'll make you 
Minister of Kashmir that's settled. Vive I'Em- 
pereur! Hurrah I hurrah! hurrah! The Cos- 
sacksthose rascals see how they run! Vive 
I'Empereur! There he is, do you see him? I've 
seen him twice, as I see you now. The little 
corporal ... I saw him give the cross to one of 
the veterans. . . . Vive I'Empereur!" came the 
voices of men, old and young, of most diverse 
characters and social positions. On the faces 
of all was one common expression of joy at the 
commencement of the long-expected campaign 
and of rapture and devotion to the man in the 
gray coat who was standing on the hill. 

On the thirteenth of June a rather small, 
thoroughbred Arab horse was brought to Na- 
poleon. He mounted it and rode at a gallop to 
one of the bridges over the Niemcn, deafened 
continually by incessant and rapturous accla- 
mations which he evidently endured only be- 
cause it was impossible to forbid the soldiers to 
express their love of him by such shouting, but 
the shouting which accompanied him every- 
where disturbed him and distracted him from 
the military cares that had occupied him from 
the time he joined the army. He rode across 
one of the swaying pontoon bridges to the far- 
ther side, turned sharply to the left, and gal- 
loped in the direction of K6vno, preceded by 
enraptured, mounted chasseurs of the Guard 
who, breathless with delight, galloped ahead 
to clear a path for him through the troops. On 
reaching the broad river Viliya, he stopped 
near a regiment of Polish Uhlans stationed by 
the river. 

"Vivat!" shouted the Poles, ecstatically, 
breaking their ranks and pressing against one 
another to see him. 

Napoleon looked up and down the river, 
dismounted, and sat down on a log that lay on 
the bank. At a mute sign from him, a telescope 
was handed him which he rested on the back 
of a happy page who had run up to him, and 
he gazed at the opposite bank. Then he be- 
came absorbed in a map laid out on the logs. 
Without lifting his head he said something, 
and two of his aides-de-camp galloped off to 
the Polish Uhlans. 

"What? What did he say?" was heard in the 
ranks of the Polish Uhlans when one of the 
aides-de-camp rode up to them. 

The order was to find a ford and to cross the 
river. The colonel of the Polish Uhlans, a' 
handsome old man, flushed and, fumbling in 
his speech from excitement, asked the aide-de- 



NINE 345 

camp whether he would be permitted to swim 
the river with his Uhlans instead of seeking a 
ford. In evident fear of refusal, like a boy asking 
for permission to get on a horse, he begged to 
be allowed to swim across the river before the 
Emperor's eyes. The aide-de-camp replied that 
probably the Emperor would not be displeased 
at this excess of zeal. 

As soon as the aide-de-camp had said this, 
the old mustached officer, with happy face and 
sparkling eyes, raised his saber, shouted "Fi- 
vat!" and, commanding the Uhlans to follow 
him, spurred his horse and galloped into the 
river. He gave an angry thrust to his horse, 
which had grown restive under him, and 
plunged into the water, heading for the deep- 
est part where the current was swift. Hun- 
dreds of Uhlans galloped in after him. It was 
cold and uncanny in the rapid current in the 
middle of the stream, and the Uhlans caught 
hold of one another as they fell off their horses. 
Some of the horses were drowned and some of 
the men; the others tried to swim on, some in 
the saddle and some clinging to their horses' 
manes. They tried to make their way forward 
to the opposite bank and, though there was a 
ford one third of a mile away, were proud that 
they were swimming and drowning in this riv- 
er under the eyes of the man who sat on the 
log and was not even looking at what they 
were doing. When the aide-de-camp, having re- 
turned and choosing an opportune moment, 
ventured to draw the Emperor's attention to 
the devotion of the Poles to his person, the lit- 
tle man in the gray overcoat got up and, hav- 
ing summoned Berthier, began pacing up and 
down the bank with him, giving him instruc- 
tions and occasionally glancing disapproving- 
ly at the drowning Uhlans who distracted his 
attention. 

For him it was no new conviction that his 
presence in any part of the world, from Africa 
to the steppes of Muscovy alike, was enough to 
dumfound people and impel them to insane 
self-oblivion. He called for his horse and rode 
to his quarters. 

Some forty Uhlans were drowned in the riv- 
er, though boats were sent to their assistance. 
The majority struggled back to the bank from 
which they had started. The colonel and some 
of his men got across and with difficulty clam- 
bered out on the further bank. And as soon as 
they had got out, in their soaked and stream- 
ing clothes, they shouted "Vivat!'' and looked 
ecstatically at the spot where Napoleon had 
been but where he no longer was and at that 



346 

moment considered themselves happy. 

That evening, between issuing one order 
that the forged Russian paper money prepared 
for use in Russia should be delivered as quick- 
ly as possible and another that a Saxon should 
be shot, on whom a letter containing informa- 
tion about the orders to the French army had 
been found, Napoleon also gave instructions 
that the Polish colonel who had needlessly 
plunged into the river should be enrolled in 
the Legion d'honneur of which Napoleon was 
himself the head. 

Quos vult perdere demcntat* 

CHAPTER III 

THE EMPEROR OF RUSSIA had, meanwhile, been 
in Vilna for more than a month, reviewing 
troops and holding maneuvers. Nothing was 
ready for the war that everyone expected and 
to prepare for which the Emperor had come 
from Petersburg. There was no general plan 
of action. The vacillation between the various 
plans that were proposed had even increased 
after the Emperor had been at headquarters 
for a month. Each of the three armies had its 
own commander in chief, but there was no 
supreme commander of all the forces, and the 
Emperor did not assume that responsibility 
himself. 

The longer the Emperor remained in Vilna 
the less did everybodytired of waiting pre- 
pare for the war. All the efforts of those who 
surrounded the sovereign seemed directed 
merely to making him spend his time pleasant- 
ly and forget that war was impending. 

In June, after many balls and fetes given by 
the Polish magnates, by the courtiers, and by 
the Emperor himself, it occurred to one of the 
Polish aides-de-camp in attendance that a din- 
ner and ball should be given for the Emperor 
by his aides-de-camp. This idea was eagerly re- 
ceived. The Emperor gave his consent. The 
aides-de-camp collected money by subscription. 
The lady who was thought to be most pleasing 
to the Emperor was invited to act as hostess. 
Count Bennigsen, being a landowner in the 
Vilna province, offered his country house for 
the fete, and the thirteenth of June was fixed 
for a ball, dinner, regatta, and fireworks at 
Zakret, Count Bennigsen's country seat. 

The very day that Napoleon issued the or- 
der to cross the Niemen, and his vanguard, 
driving off the Cossacks, crossed the Russian 
frontier, Alexander spent the evening at the 

1 Those whom (God) wishes to destroy he drives 
mad. 



WAR AND PEACE 

entertainment given by Jus aides-de-camp at 
Bennigsen's country house. 

It was a gay and brilliant fete. Connoisseurs 
of such matters declared that rarely had so 
many beautiful women been assembled in one 
place. Countess Beziikhova was present among 
other Russian ladies who had followed the sov- 
ereign from Petersburg to Vilna and eclipsed 
the refined Polish ladies by her massive, so- 
called Russian type of beauty. The Emperor 
noticed her and honored her with a dance. 

Boris Drubetsk6y, having left his wife in 
Moscow and being for the present en gargon 
(as he phrased it), was also there and, though 
not an aide-de-camp, had subscribed a large 
sum toward the expenses. Boris was now a rich 
man who had risen to high honors and no 
longer sought patronage but stood on an equal 
footing with the highest of those of his own 
age. He was meeting Hlne in Vilna after not 
having seen her for a long time and did not 
recall the past, but as Hdfcne was enjoying the 
favors of a very important personage and Boris 
had only recently married, they met as good 
friends of long standing. 

At midnight dancing was still going on. 
Hlne, not having a suitable partner, herself 
offered to dance the mazurka with Boris. They 
were the third couple. Boris, coolly looking at 
Hlne's dazzling bare shoulders which e- 
merged from a dark, gold-embroidered, gauze 
gown, talked to her of old acquaintances and 
at the same time, unaware of it himself and 
unnoticed by others, never for an instant 
ceased to observe the Emperor who was in the 
same room. The Emperor was not dancing, he 
stood in the doorway, stopping now one pair 
and now another with gracious words which 
he alone knew how to utter. 

As the mazurka began, Boris saw that Adju- 
tant General Balashev, one of those in closest 
attendance on the Emperor, went up to him 
and contrary to court etiquette stood near him 
while he was talking to a Polish lady. Having 
finished speaking to her, the Emperor looked 
inquiringly at Balashev and, evidently under- 
standing that he only acted thus because there 
were important reasons for so doing, nodded 
slightly to the lady and turned to him. Hardly 
had Balashgv begun to speak before a look of 
amazement appeared on the Emperor's face. 
He took Balashev by the arm and crossed the 
room with him, unconsciously clearing a path 
seven yards wide as the people on both sides 
made way for him. Boris noticed Arakchev's 
excited face when the sovereign went out with 



Balashe'v. Arakche*ev looked at the Emperor 
from under his brow and, sniffing with his red 
nose, stepped forward from the crowd as if ex- 
pecting the Emperor to address him. (Boris 
understood that Arakche"ev envied Balashev 
and was displeased that evidently important 
news had reached the Emperor otherwise than 
through himself.) 

But the Emperor and Balashev passed out 
into the illuminated garden without noticing 
Arakchev who, holding his sword and glanc- 
ing wrathfully around, followed some twenty 
paces behind them. 

All the time Boris was going through the 
figures of the mazurka, he was worried by the 
question of what news Balashev had brought 
and how he could find it out before others. 

In the figure in which he had to choose two 
ladies, he whispered to Hlne that he meant 
to choose Countess Potocka who, he thought, 
had gone out onto the veranda, and glided over 
the parquet to the door opening into the gar- 
den, where, seeing Balashev and the Emperor 
returning to the veranda, he stood still. They 
were moving toward the door. Boris, fluttering 
as if he had not had time to withdraw, respect- 
fully pressed close to the doorpost with bowed 
head. 

The Emperor, with the agitation of one who 
has been personally affronted, was finishing 
with these words: 

"To enter Russia without declaring war! I 
will not make peace as long as a single armed 
enemy remains in my country!" 

It seemed to Boris that it gave the Emperor 
pleasure to utter these words. He was satisfied 
with the form in which he had expressed his 
thoughts, but displeased that Boris had over- 
heard it. 

"Let no one know of it!" the Emperor added 
with a frown. 

Boris understood that this was meant for 
him and, closing his eyes, slightly bowed his 
head. The Emperor re-entered the ballroom 
and remained there about another half-hour. 

Boris was thus the first to learn the news 
that the French army had crossed the Niemen 
and, thanks to this, was able to show certain 
important personages that much that was con- 
cealed from others was usually known to him, 
and by this means he rose higher in their esti- 
mation. 

\ 

The unexpected news of the French having 
crossed the Niemen was particularly startling 
after a month of unfulfilled expectations, and 



BOOK NINE 347 

at a ball. On first receiving the news, under the 



influence of indignation and resentment the 
Emperor had found a phrase that pleased him, 
fully expressed his feelings, and has since be- 
come famous. On returning home at two 
o'clock that night he sent for his secretary, 
Shishk6v, and told him to write an order to 
the troops and a rescript to Field Marshal 
Prince Saltyk6v, in which he insisted on the 
words being inserted that he would not make 
peace so long as a single armed Frenchman re- 
mained on Russian soil. 

Next day the following letter was sent to 
Napoleon: 

Monsieur mon fr&re, 

Yesterday I learned that, despite the loyalty with 
which I have kept my engagements with Your 
Majesty, your troops have crossed the Russian 
frontier, and I have this moment received from 
Petersburg a note, in which Count Lauriston in- 
forms me, as a reason for this aggression, that Your 
Majesty has considered yourself to be in a state of 
war with me from the time Prince Kurakin asked 
for his passports. The reasons on which the Due 
de Bassano based his refusal to deliver them to 
him would never have led me to suppose that that 
incident could serve as a pretext for aggression. In 
fact, the ambassador, as he himself has declared, 
was never authorized to make that demand, and 
as soon as I was informed of it I let him know how 
much I disapproved of it and ordered him to re- 
main at his post. If Your Majesty does not intend 
to shed the blood of our peoples for such a mis- 
understanding, and consents to withdraw your 
troops from Russian territory, I will regard what 
has passed as not having occurred and an under- 
standing between us will be possible. In the con- 
trary case, Your Majesty, I shall see myself forced 
to repel an attack that nothing on my part has 
provoked. It still depends on Your Majesty to pre- 
serve humanity from the calamity of another war. 
I am, etc., 

(signed) ALEXANDER 

CHAPTER IV 

AT TWO in the morning of the fourteenth of 
June, the Emperor, having sent for Balashev 
and read him his letter to Napoleon, ordered 
him to take it and hand it personally to the 
French Emperor. When dispatching Balashev, 
the Emperor repeated to him the worcfc that 
he would not make peace so long as a single 
armed enemy remained on Russian soil and 
told him to transmit those words to Napoleon. 
Alexander did not insert them in his letter to 
Napoleon, because with his characteristic tact 
he felt it would be injudicious to use them at 
a moment when a last attempt at reconcili- 



348 

ation was being made, but he definitely in- 
structed Balashev to repeat them personally to 
Napoleon. 

Having set off in the small hours of the four- 
teenth, accompanied by a bugler and two Cos- 
sacks, Balashev reached the French outposts at 
the village of Ryk6nty, on the Russian side of 
the Niemen, by dawn. There he was stopped 
by French cavalry sentinels. 

A French noncommissioned officer of hus- 
sars, in crimson uniform and a shaggy cap, 
shouted to the approaching Balashev to halt. 
Balashev did not do so at once, but continued 
to advance along the road at a walking pace. 

The noncommissioned officer frowned and, 
muttering words of abuse, advanced his horse's 
chest against Balashev, put his hand to his 
saber, and shouted rudely at the Russian gen- 
eral, asking: was he deaf that he did not do as 
he was told? Balashev mentioned who he was. 
The noncommissioned officer began talking 
with his comrades about regimental matters 
without looking at the Russian general. 

After living at the seat of the highest author- 
ity and power, after conversing with the Em- 
peror less than three hours before, and in gen- 
eral being accustomed to the respect due to his 
rank in the service, Balashcv found it very 
strange here on Russian soil to encounter this 
hostile, and still more this disrespectful, appli- 
cation of brute force to himself. 

The sun was only just appearing from be- 
hind the clouds, the air was fresh and dewy. A 
herd of cattle was being driven along the road 
from the village, and over the fields the larks 
rose trilling, one after another, like bubbles 
rising in water. 

Balashev looked around him, awaiting the 
arrival of an officer from the village. The Rus- 
sian Cossacks and bugler and the French hus- 
sars looked silently at one another from time 
to time. 

A French colonel of hussars, who had evi- 
dently just left his bed, came riding from the 
village on a handsome sleek gray horse, accom- 
panied by two hussars. The officer, the soldiers, 
and their horses all looked smart and well 
kept. 

It was that first period of a campaign when 
troops are still in full trim, almost like that of 
peacetime maneuvers, but with a shade of mar- 
tial swagger in their clothes, and a touch of the 
gaiety and spirit of enterprise which always ac- 
company the opening of a campaign. 

The French colonel with difficulty repressed 
a yawn, but was polite and evidently under- 



WAR AND PEACE 

stood BalasheVs importance. He led him past 
his soldiers and behind the outposts and told 
him that his wish to be presented to the Em- 
peror would most likely be satisfied immedi- 
ately, as the Emperor's quarters were, he be- 
lieved, not far off. 

They rode through the village of Ryk6nty, 
past tethered French hussar horses, past senti- 
nels and men who saluted their colonel and 
stared with curiosity at a Russian uniform, and 
came out at the other end of the village. The 
colonel said that the commander of the divi- 
sion was a mile and a quarter away and would 
receive Balashev and conduct him to his desti- 
nation. 

The sun had by now risen and shone gaily 
on the bright verdure. 

They had hardly ridden up a hill, past a 
tavern, before they saw a group of horsemen 
coming toward them. In front of the group, on 
a black horse with trappings that glittered in 
the sun, rode a tall man with plumes in his hat 
and black hair curling down to his shoulders. 
He wore a red mantle, and stretched his long 
legs forward in French fashion. This man rode 
toward Balashev at a gallop, his plumes flow- 
ing and his gems and gold lace glittering in 
the bright June sunshine. 

Balashev was only two horses' length from 
the equestrian with the bracelets, plumes, neck- 
laces, and gold embroidery, who was galloping 
toward him with a theatrically solemn counte- 
nance, when Julner, the French colonel, whis- 
pered respectfully: "The King of Naples!" It 
was, in fact, Murat, now called "King of Na- 
ples." Though it was quite incomprehensible 
why he should be King of Naples, he was 
called so, and was himself convinced that he 
was so, and therefore assumed a more solemn 
and important air than formerly. He was so 
sure that he really was the King of Naples that 
when, on the eve of his departure from that 
city, while walking through the streets with his 
wife, some Italians called out to him: "Viva il 
re!" 1 he turned to his wife with a pensive smile 
and said: "Poor fellows, they don't know that I 
am leaving them tomorrow I" 

But though he firmly believed himself to be 
King of Naples and pitied the grief felt by the 
subjects he was abandoning, latterly, after he 
had been ordered to return to military service 
and especially since his last interview with 
Napoleon in Dan/ig, when his august brother- 
in-law had told him: "I made you King that 
you should reign in my way, but not in yours I" 

1 "Long live the King!" 



BOOK NINE 



349 



he had cheerfully taken up his familiar busi- 
ness, andlike a well-fed but not overfat horse 
that feels himself in harness and grows skittish 
between the shafts he dressed up in clothes 
as variegated and expensive as possible, and 
gaily and contentedly galloped along theroads 
of Poland, without himself knowing why or 
whither. 

On seeing the Russian general he threw back 
his head, with its long hair curling to his shoul- 
ders, in a majestically royal manner, and looked 
inquiringly at the French colonel. The colonel 
respectfully informed His Majesty of Balashev's 
mission, whose name he could not pronounce. 

"De Bal-machve!" said the King (overcom- 
ing by his assurance the difficulty that had pre- 
sented itself to the colonel). "Charmed to make 
your acquaintance, General!" he added, with 
a gesture of kingly condescension. 

As soon as the King began to speak loud 
and fast his royal dignity instantly forsook him, 
and without noticing it he passed into his nat- 
ural tone of good-natured familiarity. He laid 
his hand on the withers of Balashev's horse 
and said: 

"Well, General, it all looks like war," as if 
regretting a circumstance of which he was un- 
able to judge. 

"Your Majesty," replied Balashev, "my mas- 
ter, the Emperor, does not desire war and as 
Your Majesty sees . . ." said Balashe'v, using the 
words Your Majesty at every opportunity, with 
the affectation unavoidable in frequently 
addressing one to whom the title was still a 
novelty. 

Murat's face beamed with stupid satisfaction 
as he listened to "Monsieur de Bal-macheve." 
But royautt oblige!* and he felt it incumbent 
on him, as a king and an ally, to confer on 
state affairs with Alexander's envoy. He dis- 
mounted, took Balashev's arm, and moving a 
few steps away from his suite, which waited 
respectfully, began to pace up and down with 
him, trying to speak significantly. He referred 
to the fact that the Emperor Napoleon had re- 
sented the demand that he should withdraw 
his troops from Prussia, especially when that 
demand became generally known and the dig- 
nity of France was thereby offended. 

Balashe'v replied that there was nothing of- 
fensive in the demand, because . . . but Murat 
interrupted him. 

"Then you don't consider the Emperor Alex- 
ander the aggressor?" he asked unexpectedly, 
with a kindly and foolish smile. 

1 "Royalty has its obligations." 



Balashe'v told him why he considered Napo- 
leon to be the originator of the war. 

"Oh, my dear general!" Murat again inter- 
rupted him, "with all my heart I wish the Em- 
perors may arrange the affair between them, 
and that the war begun by no wish of mine 
may finish as quickly as possiblel" said he, in 
the tone of a servant who wants to remain 
good friends with another despite a quarrel 
between their masters. 

And he went on to inquiries about the Grand 
Duke and the state of his health, and to remi- 
niscences of the gay and amusing times he had 
spent with him in Naples. Then suddenly, as 
if remembering his royal dignity, Murat sol- 
emnly drew himself up, assumed the pose in 
which he had stood at his coronation, and, wav- 
ing his right arm, said: 

"I won't detain you longer, General. I wish 
success to your mission," and with his em- 
broidered red mantle, his flowing feathers, and 
his glittering ornaments, he rejoined his suite 
who were respectfully awaiting him. 

Balashev rode on, supposing from Murat's 
words that he would very soon be brought be- 
fore Napoleon himself. But instead of that, at 
the next village the sentinels of Davout's in- 
fantry corps detained him as the pickets of the 
vanguard had done, and an adjutant of the 
corps commander, who was fetched, conducted 
him into the village to Marshal Davout. 

CHAPTER V 

DAVOUT WAS TO NAPOLEON what Arakchdev 
was to Alexander though not a coward like 
Arakchdev, he was as precise, as cruel, and as 
unable to express his devotion to his monarch 
except by cruelty. 

In the organism of states such men are nec- 
essary, as wolves are necessary in the organism 
of nature, and they always exist, always appear 
and hold their own, however incongruous their 
presence and their proximity to the head of 
the government may be. This inevitability 
alone can explain how the cruel Arakch^ev, 
who tore out a grenadier's mustache with his 
own hands, whose weak nerves rendered him 
unable to face danger, and who was neither 
an educated man nor a courtier, was able to 
maintain his powerful position with Alexan- 
der, whose own character was chivalrous, no- 
ble, and gentle. 

Balashev found Davout seated on a barrel 
in the shed of a peasant's hut, writing he was 
auditing accounts. Better quarters could have 
been found him, but Marshal Davout was one 



35 



WAR AND PEACE 



of those men who purposely put themselves in 
most depressing conditions to have a justifica- 
tion for being gloomy. For the same reason 
they are always hard at work and in a hurry. 
"How can I think of the bright side of life 
when, as you see, I am sitting on a barrel and 
working in a dirty shed?" the expression of 
his face seemed to say. The chief pleasure and 
necessity of such men, when they encounter 
anyone who shows animation, is to flaunt their 
own dreary, persistent activity. Davout allowed 
himself that pleasure when Balashev was 
brought in. He became still more absorbed in 
his task when the Russian general entered, and 
after glancing ove^ his spectacles at BalasheVs 
face, which was animated by the beauty of the 
morning and by his talk with Murat, he did 
not rise or even stir, but scowled still more and 
sneered malevolently. 

When he noticed in Balashev's face the dis- 
agreeable impression this reception produced, 
Davout raised his head and coldly asked what 
he wanted. 

Thinking he could have been received in 
such a manner only because Davout did not 
know that he was adjutant general to the Em- 
peror Alexander and even his envoy to Napo- 
leon, Balashev hastened to inform him of his 
rank and mission. Contrary to his expectation, 
Davout, after hearing him, became still surlier 
and ruder. 

"Where is your dispatch?" he inquired. 
"Give it to me. I will send it to the Emperor." 

Balashev replied that he had been ordered 
to hand it personally to the Emperor. 

"Your Emperor's orders are obeyed in your 
army, but here," said Davout, "you must do 
as you're told." 

And, as if to make the Russian general still 
more conscious of his dependence on brute 
force, Davout sent an adjutant to call the of- 
ficer on duty. 

Balashev took out the packet containing the 
Emperor's letter and laid it on the table (made 
of a door with its hinges still hanging on it, 
laid across two barrels). Davout took the packet 
and read the inscription. 

"You are perfectly at liberty to treat me with 
respect or not," protested Balashev, "but per- 
mit me to observe that I have the honor to be 
adjutant general to His Majesty " 

Davout glanced at him silently and plainly 
derived pleasure from the signs of agitation 
and confusion which appeared on Balashev's 
face. 

"You will be treated as is fitting," said he 



and, putting the packet in his pocket, left the 
shed. 

A minute later the marshal's adjutant, de 
Castres, came in and conducted Balashev to 
the quarters assigned him. 

That day he dined with the marshal, at the 
same board on the barrels. 

Next day Davout rode out early and, after 
asking Balashev to come to him, peremptorily 
requested him to remain there, to move on 
with the baggage train should orders come for 
it to move, and to talk to no one except Mon- 
sieur de Castres. 

After four days of solitude, ennui, and con- 
sciousness of his impotence and insignificance 
particularly acute by contrast with the sphere 
of power in which he had so lately moved 
and after several marches with the marshal's 
baggage and the French army, which occupied 
the whole district, Balashev was brought to Vil- 
na now occupied by the French through the 
very gate by which he had left it four days pre- 
viously. 

Next day the imperial gentleman-in-wait- 
ing, the Comte de Turenne, came to Balashev 
and informed him of the Emperor Napoleon's 
wish to honor him with an audience. 

Four days before, sentinels of the Preobraz- 
hnsk regiment had stood in front of the house 
to which Balashev was conducted, and now 
two French grenadiers stood there in blue uni- 
forms unfastened in front and with shaggy 
caps on their heads, and an escort of hussars 
and Uhlans and a brilliant suite of aides-de- 
camp, pages, and generals, who were waiting 
for Napoleon to come out, were standing at 
the porch, round his saddle horse and his 
Mameluke, Rustan. Napoleon received Bala- 
shev in the very house in Vflna from which 
Alexander had dispatched him on his mission. 

CHAPTER VI 

THOUGH BALASHEV was used to imperial pomp, 
he was amazed at the luxury and magnificence 
of Napoleon's court. 

The Comte de Turenne showed him into a 
big reception room where many generals, gen- 
tlemen-in-waiting, and Polish magnates sev- 
eral of whom Balashev had seen at the court of 
the Emperor of Russia were waiting. Duroc 
said that Napoleon would receive the Russian 
general before going for his ride. 

After some minutes, the gentleman-in- 
waiting who was on duty came into the great 
reception room and, bowing politely, asked 
Balashev to follow him. 



BOOK NINE 



35 1 



Balashe'v went into a small reception room, 
one door of which led into a study, the very 
one from which the Russian Emperor had dis- 
patched him on his mission. He stood a minute 
or two, waiting. He heard hurried footsteps 
beyond the door, both halves of it were opened 
rapidly; all was silent and then from the study 
the sound was heard of other steps, firm and 
resolute they were those of Napoleon. He 
had just finished dressing for his ride, and 
wore a blue uniform, opening in front over 
a white waistcoat so long that it covered his 
rotund stomach, white leather breeches tight- 
ly fitting the fat thighs of his short legs, and 
Hessian boots. His short hair had evidently 
just been brushed, but one lock hung down in 
the middle of his broad forehead. His plump 
white neck stood out sharply above the black 
collar of his uniform, and he smelled of Eau 
de Cologne. His full face, rather young-look- 
ing, with its prominent chin, wore a gracious 
and majestic expression of imperial welcome. 

He entered briskly, with a jerk at every step 
and his head slightly thrown back. His whole 
short corpulent figure with broad thick shoul- 
ders, and chest and stomach involuntarily pro- 
truding, had that imposing and stately appear- 
ance one sees in men of forty who live in com- 
fort. It was evident, too, that he was in the best 
of spirits that day. 

He nodded in answer to BalasheVs low and 
respectful bow, and coming up to him at once 
began speaking like a man who values every 
moment of his time and does not condescend 
to prepare what he has to say but is sure he 
will always say the right thing and say it well. 

"Good day, General!" said he. "I have re- 
ceived the letter you brought from the Emper- 
or Alexander and am very glad to see you." 
He glanced with his large eyes into BalasheVs 
face and immediately looked past him. 

It was plain that BalasheVs personality did 
not interest him at all. Evidently only what 
took place within his own mind interested him. 
Nothing outside himself had any significance 
for him, because everything in the world, it 
seemed to him, depended entirely on his will. 

"I do not, and did not, desire war," he con- 
tinued, "but it has been forced on me. Even 
now" (he emphasized the word) "I am ready 
to receive any explanations you can give me." 

And he began clearly and concisely to ex- 
plain his reasons for dissatisfaction with the 
Russian government. Judging by the calmly 
moderate and amicable tone in which the 
French Emperor spoke, Balashev was firmly 



persuaded that he wished for peace and in- 
tended to enter into negotiations. 

When Napoleon, having finished speaking, 
looked inquiringly at the Russian envoy, Bala- 
shev began a speech he had prepared long be- 
fore: "Sire! The Emperor, my master . . ." but 
the sight of the Emperor's eyes bent on him 
confused him. "You are flurried compose 
yourself!" Napoleon seemed to say, as with a 
scarcely perceptible smile he looked at Bala- 
sheVs uniform and sword. 

Balashev recovered himself and began to 
speak. He said that the Emperor Alexander did 
not consider Kurakin's demand for his pass- 
ports a sufficient cause for war; that Kurdkin 
had acted on his own initiative and without 
his sovereign's assent, that the Emperor Alex- 
ander did not desire war, and had no relations 
with England. 

"Not yet!" interposed Napoleon, and, as if 
fearing to give vent to his feelings, he frowned 
and nodded slightly as a sign that Balashev 
might proceed. 

After saying all he had been instructed to 
say, Balashev added that the Emperor Alex- 
ander wished for peace, but would not enter 
into negotiations except on condition that . . . 
Here Balashev hesitated: he remembered the 
words the Emperor Alexander had not writ- 
ten in his letter, but had specially inserted in 
the rescript to Saltyk6v and had told Balashev 
to repeat to Napoleon. Balashev remembered 
these words, "So long as a single armed foe re- 
mains on Russian soil," but some complex feel- 
ing restrained him. He could not utter them, 
though he wished to do so. He grew confused 
and said: "On condition that the French army 
retires beyond the Niemen." * 

Napoleon noticed BalasheVs embarrassment 
when uttering these last words; hfc face twitched 
and the calf of his left leg began to quiver rhyth- 
mically. Without moving from where he stood 
he began speaking in a louder tone and more 
hurriedly than before. During the speech that 
followed, Balashev, who more than once low- 
ered his eyes, involuntarily noticed the quiver- 
ing of Napoleon's left leg which increased the 
more the more Napoleon raised his voice. 

"I desire peace, no less than the Emperor 
Alexander," he began. "Have I not foreighteen 
months been doing everything to obtain it? I 
havewaited eighteen months for explanations. 
But in order to begin negotiations, what is de- 
manded of me?" he said, frowning and making 

1 The Niemen, in 1812, was the frontier between 
Russia and Poland. TR. 



352 WAR AND PEACE 

an energetic gesture of inquiry with his small mencement of the interview. 



white plump hand. 

"The withdrawal of your army beyond the 
Niemen, sire," replied Balashev. 

"The Niemen?" repeated Napoleon. "So 
now you want me to retire beyond the Niemen 
-only the Niemen?" repeated Napoleon, look- 
ing straight at Balashev. 

The latter bowed his head respectfully. 

Instead of the demand of four months earli- 
er to withdraw from Pomerania, only a with- 
drawal beyond the Niemen was now demand- 
ed. Napoleon turned quickly and began to 
pace the room. 

"You say the demand now is that I am to 
withdraw beyond the Niemen before com- 
mencing negotiations, but in just the same way 
two months z^o the demand was that I should 
withdraw beyond the Vistula and the Oder, 
and yet you are willing to negotiate." 

He went in silence from one corner of the 
room to the other and again stopped in front 
of Balashev. Balashev noticed that his left leg 
was quivering faster than before and his face 
seemed petrified in its stern expression. This 
quivering of his left leg was a thing Napoleon 
was conscious of. "The vibration of my left calf 
is a great sign with me," he remarked at a later 
date. 

**Such demands as to retreat beyond the Vis- 
tula and Oder may be made to a Prince of Ba- 
den, but not tome!" Napoleon almost screamed, 
quite to his own surprise. "If you gave me Pe- 
tersburg and Moscow I could not accept such 
conditions. You say I have begun this war! But 
who first joined his army? The Emperor Alex- 
ander, not I! And you offer me negotiations 
when I have expended millions, when you are 
in alliance with England, and when your po- 
sition is a bad one. You offer me negotiations! 
But what is the aim of your alliance with Eng- 
land? What has she given you?" he continued 
hurriedly, evidently no longer trying to show 
the advantages of peace and discuss its possibil- 
ity, but only to prove his own rectitude and 
power and Alexander's errors and duplicity. 

The commencement of his speech had ob- 
viously been made with the in tendon of demon- 
strating the advantages of his position and 
showing that he was nevertheless willing to ne- 
gotiate. But he had begun talking, and the 
more he talked the less could he control his 
words. 

The whole purport of his remarks now was 
evidently to exalt himself and insult Alexander 
just what he had least desired at the com- 



"I hear you have made peace with Turkey?" 

Balashev bowed his head affirmatively. 

"Peace has been concluded ..." he began. 

But Napoleon did not let him speak. He evi- 
dently wanted to do all the talking himself, 
and continued to talk with the sort of elo- 
quence and unrestrained irritability to which 
spoiled people are so prone. 

"Yes, I know you have made peace with the 
Turks without obtaining Moldavia and Wal- 
lachia; I would have given your sovereign those 
provinces as I gave him Finland. Yes," he 
went on, "I promised and would have given 
the Emperor Alexander Moldavia and Walla- 
chia, and now he won't have those splendid 
provinces. Yet he might have united them to 
his empire and in a single reign would have 
extended Russia from the Gulf of Bothnia to 
the mouths of the Danube. Catherine the Great 
could not have done more," said Napoleon, 
growing more and more excited as he paced 
up and down the room, repeating to Balashtiv 
almost the very words he had used to Alexan- 
der himself at Tilsit. "All that, he would have 
owed to my friendship. Oh, what a splendid 
reign!" he repeated several times, then paused, 
drew from his pocket a gold snuffbox, lifted it 
to his nose, and greedily sniffed at it. 

"What a splendid reign the Emperor Alex- 
ander's might have been!" 

He looked compassionately at Balashev, and 
as soon as the latter tried to make some rejoin- 
der hastily interrupted him. 

"What could he wish or look for that he 
would not have obtained through my friend- 
ship?" demanded Napoleon, shrugging his 
shoulders in perplexity. "But no, he has pre- 
ferred to surround himself with my enemies, 
and with whom? With Steins, Armfeldts, Ben- 
nigsens, and Wintzingerodes! Stein, a traitor 
expelled from his own country; Armfeldt, a 
rake and an intriguer; Wintzingerode, a fugi- 
tive French subject; Bennigsen, rather more of 
a soldier than the others, but all the same an 
incompetent who was unable to do anything 
in 1807 and who should awaken terrible mem- 
ories in the Emperor Alexander's mind. . . . 
Granted that were they competent they might 
be made use of," continued Napoleonhardly 
able to keep pace in words with the rush of 
thoughts that incessantly sprang up, proving 
how right and strong he was (in his perception 
the two were one and the same) "but they are 
not even that! They are neither fit for war nor 
peace! Barclay is said to be the most capable 



BOOK NINE 



353 



of them all, but I cannot say so, judging by his 
first movements. And what are they doing, all 
these courtiers? Pfuel proposes, Armfeldt dis- 
putes, Bennigsen considers, and Barclay, called 
on to act, does not know what to decide on, and 
time passes bringing no result. Bagrati6n alone 
is a military man. He's stupid, but he has ex- 
perience, a quick eye, and resolution. . . . And 
what role is your young monarch playing in 
that monstrous crowd? They compromise him 
and throw on him the responsibility for all 
that happens. A sovereign should not be with 
the army unless he is a general I" said Napole- 
on, evidently uttering these words as a direct 
challenge to the Emperor. He knew how Alex- 
ander desired to be a military commander. 

"The campaign began only a week ago, and 
you haven't even been able to defend Vilna. 
You are cut in two and have been driven out 
of the Polish provinces. Your army is grum- 
bling." 

"On the contrary, Your Majesty," said Bala- 
shev, hardly able to remember what had been 
said to him and following these verbal fireworks 
with difficulty, "the troops are burning with 
eagerness . . ." 

"I know everything!" Napoleon interrupted 
him. "I know everything. I know the number 
of your battalions as exactly as I know my own. 
You have not two hundred thousand men, and 
I have three times that number. I give you my 
word of honpr/'said Napoleon, forgetting that 
his word of honor could carry no weight "I 
give you my word of honor that I have five hun- 
dred and thirty thousand men this side of the 
Vistula. The Turks will be of no use to you; 
they are worth nothing and have shown it by 
making peace with you. As for the Swedes it is 
their fate to be governed by mad kings. Their 
king was insane and they changed him for an- 
other Bernadotte, who promptly went mad 
for no Swede would ally himself with Russia 
unless he were mad." 

Napoleon grinned maliciously and again 
raised his snuffbox to his nose. 

Balashev knew how to reply to each of Na- 
poleon's remarks, and would have done so; he 
continually made the gesture of a man wishing 
to say something, but Napoleon always inter- 
rupted him. To the alleged insanity of the 
Swedes, Balashev wished to reply that when 
Russia is on her side Sweden is practically an 
island: but Napoleon gave an angry exclama- 
tion to drown his voice. Napoleon was in that 
state of irritability in which a man has to talk, 
talk, and talk, merely to convince himself that 



he is -in the right. Balashev began to feel un- 
comfortable: as envoy he feared to demean his 
dignity and felt the necessity of replying; but, 
as a man, he shrank before the transport of 
groundless wrath that had evidently seized Na- 
poleon. He knew that none of the words now 
uttered by Napoleon had any significance, and 
that Napoleon himself would be ashamed of 
them when he came to his senses. Balashev 
stood with downcast eyes, looking at the move- 
ments of Napoleon's stout legs and trying to 
avoid meeting his eyes. 

"But what do I care about your allies?" said 
Napoleon. "I have allies the Poles. There are 
eighty thousand of them and they fight like 
lions. And there will be two hundred thousand 
of them." 

And probably still more perturbed by the 
fact that he had uttered this obvious falsehood, 
and that Balashev still stood silently before 
him in the same attitude of submission to fate, 
Napoleon abruptly turned round, drew close 
to Balashev's face, and, gesticulating rapidly 
and energetically with his white hands, almost 
shouted: 

"Know that if you stir up Prussia against me, 
I'll wipe it off the map of Europe!" hedeclared, 
his face pale and distorted by anger, and he 
struck one of hissmall hands energetically with 
the other. "Yes, I will throw you back beyond 
the Dvina and beyond the Dnieper, and will 
re-erect against you that barrier * which it was 
criminal and blind of Europe to allow to be de- 
stroyed. Yes, that is what will happen to you. 
That is what you have gained by alienating 
me!" And he walked silently several times up 
and down the room, his fat shoulders twitch- 
ing. 

He put his snuffbox into his waistcoat pock- 
et, took it out again, lifted it several times to 
his nose, and stopped in front of Balashev. He 
paused, looked ironically straight into Bala- 
sheVs eyes, and said in a quiet voice: 

"And yet what a splendid reign your master 
might have had!" 

Balashev, feeling it incumbent on him to re- 
ply, said that from the Russian side things did 
not appear in so gloomy a light. Napoleon was 
silent, still looking derisively at him and evi- 
dently not listening to him. Balashev said that 
in Russia the best results were expected from 
the war. Napoleon nodded condescendingly, as 
if to say, "I know it's your duty to say that, but 
you don't believe it yourself. I have convinced 
you." 

1 Namely, a large Polish state. TR. 



354 



WAR AND PEACE 



When Balashev had ended, Napoleon again 
took out his snuffbox, sniffed at it, and stamped 
his foot twice on the floor as a signal. The door 
opened, a gentleman-in-waiting, bending re- 
spectfully, handed the Emperor his hat and 
gloves; another brought him a pocket handker- 
chief. Napoleon, without giving them a glance, 
turned to Balashev: 

"Assure the Emperor Alexander from me," 
said he, taking his hat, "that I am as devoted 
to him as before: I know him thoroughly and 
very highly esteem his lofty qualities. I will de- 
tain you no longer, General; you shall receive 
my letter to the Emperor." 

And Napoleon went quickly to the door. Ev- 
eryone in the reception room rushed forward 
and descended the staircase. 



VII 

AFTER ALL THAT Napoleon had said to him 
those bursts of anger and the last dryly spoken 
words: "I will detain you no longer, General; 
you shall receive my letter," Balashev felt con- 
vinced that Napoleon would not wish to see 
him, and would even avoid another meeting 
with him an insulted envoy especially as he 
had witnessed his unseemly anger. But, to his 
surprise, Balashev received, through Duroc, an 
invitation to dine with the Emperor that day. 

Bessi&res, Caulaincourt, and Berthier were 
present at that dinner. 

Napoleon met Balashev cheerfully and ami- 
ably. He not only showed no sign of constraint 
or self-reproach on account of his outburst that 
morning, but, on the contrary, tried to reas- 
sure Balashev. It was evident that he had long 
been convinced that it was impossible for him 
to make a mistake, and that in his perception 
whatever he did was right, not because it har- 
monized with any idea of right and wrong, but 
because he did it. 

The Emperor was in very good spirits after 
his ride through Vilna, where crowds of peo- 
ple had rapturously greeted and followed him. 
From all the windows of the streets through 
which he rode, rugs, flags, and his monogram 
were displayed, and the Polish ladies, welcom- 
ing him, waved their handkerchiefs to him. 

At dinner, having placed Balashev beside 
him, Napoleon not only treated him amiably 
but behaved as if Balashev were one of his own 
courtiers, one of those who sympathized with 
his plans and ought to rejoice at his success. In 
the course of conversation he mentioned Mos- 
cow and questioned Balashev about the Rus- 
sian capital, not merely as an interested trav- 



eler asks about a new city he intends to visit, 
but as if convinced that Balashev, as a Russian, 
must be flattered by his curiosity. 

"How many inhabitants are there in Mos- 
cow? How many houses? Is it true that Moscow 
is called 'Holy Moscow'? How many churches 
are there in Moscow?" he asked. 

And receiving the reply that there were more 
than two hundred churches, he remarked: 

"Why such a quantity of churches?" 

"The Russians are very devout," replied Bal- 
ashev. 

"But a large number of monasteries and 
churches is always a sign of the backwardness 
of a people," said Napoleon, turning to Cau- 
laincourt for appreciation of this remark. 

Balashev respectfully ventured to disagree 
with the French Emperor. 

"Every country has its own character," said 
he. 

"But nowhere in Europe is there anything 
like that," said Napoleon. 

"I beg Your Majesty's pardon," returned Bal- 
ashev, "besides Russia there is Spain, where 
there are also many churches and monasteries." 

This reply of BalasheVs, which hinted at the 
recent defeats of the French in Spain, was 
much appreciated when he related it at Alex- 
ander's court, but it was not much appreciated 
at Napoleon's dinner, where it passed unno- 
ticed. 

The uninterested and perplexed faces of 
the marshals showed that they were puzzled as 
to what BalasheVs tone suggested. "If there is 
a point we don't see it, or it is not at all witty," 
their expressions seemed to say. So little was 
his rejoinder appreciated that Napoleon did 
not notice it at all and naively asked Balashev 
through what towns the direct road from there 
to Moscow passed. Balashev, who was on the 
alert all through the dinner, replied that just 
as "all roads lead to Rome," so all roads lead 
to Moscow: there were many roads, and "among 
them the road through Poltdva, which Charles 
XII chose." Balashev involuntarily flushed 
with pleasure at the aptitude of this reply, but 
hardly had he uttered the word Poltdva before 
Caulaincourt began speaking of the badness of 
the road from Petersburg to Moscow and of 
his Petersburg reminiscences. 

After dinner they went to drink coffee in Na- 
poleon's study, which four days previously had 
been that of the Emperor Alexander. Napole- 
on sat down, toying with his S&vres coffee cup, 
and motioned Balashev to a chair beside him. 

Napoleon was in that well-known after-din- 



BOOK NINE 



S55 



ner mood which, more than any reasoned cause, 
makes a man contented with himself and dis- 
posed to consider everyone his friend. Itseemed 
to him that he was surrounded by men who 
adored him: and he felt convinced that, after 
his dinner, Balashev too was his friend and wor- 
shiper. Napoleon turned to him with a pleas- 
ant, though slightly ironic, smile. 

"They tell me this is the room the Emperor 
Alexander occupied? Strange, isn't it, Gener- 
al?" he said, evidently not doubting that this 
remark would be agreeable to his hearer since 
it went to prove his, Napoleon's, superiority to 
Alexander. 

Balashev could make no reply and bowed his 
head in silence. 

"Yes. Four days ago in this room, Wintzing- 
erode and Stein were deliberating," continued 
Napoleon with the same derisive and self-con- 
fident smile. "What I can't understand," he 
went on, "is that the Emperor Alexander has 
surrounded himself with my personal enemies. 
That I do not . . . understand. Has he not 
thought that I may do thesame?"and he turned 
inquiringly to Balashev, and evidently this 
thought turned him back on to the track of his 
morning's anger, which was still fresh in him. 

"And let him know that I will do sol" said 
Napoleon, rising and pushing his cup away 
with his hand. "I'll drive all his Wiirttemberg, 
Baden, and Weimar relations out of Germany. 
. . . Yes. I'll drive them out. Let him prepare 
an asylum for them in Russial" 

Balashev bowed his head with an air indicat- 
ing that he would like to make his bow and 
leave, and only listened because he could not 
help hearing what was said to him. Napoleon 
did not notice this expression; he treated Bal- 
ashev not as an envoy from his enemy, but as a 
man now fully devoted to him and who must 
rejoice at his former master's humiliation. 

"And why has the Emperor Alexander taken 
command of the armies? What is the good of 
that? War is my profession, but his business is 
to reign and not to command armies 1 Why has 
he taken on himself such a responsibility?" 

Again Napoleon brought out his snuffbox, 
paced several times up and down the room in 
silence, and then, suddenly and unexpectedly, 
went up to Balashev and with a slight smile, as 
confidently, quickly, and simply as if he were 
doing something not merely important but 
pleasing to Balashev, he raised his hand to the 
forty-year-old Russian general's face and, tak- 
ing him by the ear, pulled it gently, smiling 
with his lips only. 



To have one's ear pulled by the Emperor 
was considered the greatest honor and mark of 
favor at the French court. 

"Well, adorer and courtier of the Emperor 
Alexander, why don't you say anything?" said 
he, as if it was ridiculous, in his presence, to be 
the adorer and courtier of anyone but himself, 
Napoleon. "Are the horses ready for the gener- 
al?" he added, with a slight inclination of 
his head in reply to BalasheVs bow. "Let him 
have mine, he has a long way to go/" 

The letter taken by Balashev was the last 
Napoleon sent to Alexander. Every detail of 
the interview was communicated to the Rus- 
sian monarch, and the war began. . . . 

CHAPTER VIII 

AFTER HIS INTERVIEW with Pierre in Moscow, 
Prince Andrew went to Petersburg, on business 
as he told his family, bufirdrtTy^^eet Ana- 
tole Kurdgin whom he felt it necessary to en- 
counter. On reaching Petersburg he inquired 
for Kuragin but the latter had already left the 
city. Pierre had warned his brother-in-law that 
Prince Andrew was on his track. Anatole Kura- 
gin promptly obtained an appointment from 
the Minister of War and went to join the army 
in Moldavia. While in Petersburg Prince An- 
drew met Kutiizov, his former commander who 
was always well disposed toward him, and Ku- 
tiizov suggested that he should accompany him 
to the army in Moldavia, to which the old gen- 
eral had been appointed commander in chief. 
So Prince Andrew, having received an appoint- 
ment on the headquarters staff, left for Turkey. 
Prince Andrew did not think it proper to 
write and challenge Kurdgin. He thought that 
if he challenged him without some fresh cause 
it might compromise the young Countess Ros- 
t6va and so he wanted to meet Kurdgin per- 
sonally in order to find a fresh pretext for a 
duel. But he again failed to meet Kuragin in 
Turkey, for soon after Prince Andrew arrived, 
the latter re turned to Russia. In a new country, 
amid new conditions, Prince Andrew found 
life easier to bear. After his betrothed had brok- 
en faith with him which he felt the more a- 
cutely the more he tried to conceal its effects 
the surroundings in which he had been happy 
became trying to him, and the freedom and in- 
dependence he had once prized so highly were 
still more so. Not only could he no longer think 
the thoughts that had first come to him as he 
lay gazing at the sky on the field of Austerlitz 
and had later enlarged upon with Pierre, and 
which had filled his solitude at Boguchdrovo 



356 



WAR AND PEACE 



and then in Switzerland and Rome, but he 
even dreaded to recall them and the bright and 
boundless horizons they had revealed. He was 
now concerned only with the nearest practical 
matters unrelated to his past interests, and he 
seized on these the more eagerly the more those 
past interests were closed to him. It was as if 
that lofty, infinite canopy of heaven that had 
once towered above him had suddenly turned 
into a low, solid vault that weighed him down, 
in which all was clear, but nothing eternal or 
mysterious. 

Of the activities that presented themselves to 
him, army service was the simplest and most 
familiar. As a general on duty on Kutuzov's 
staff, he applied himself to business with zeal 
and perseverance and surprised Kutiizov by his 
willingness and accuracy in work. Not having 
found KurAgin in Turkey, Prince Andrew did 
not thinkJj^Q^x^iK to rush back to Russia 
after him, but all the sime he knew that how- 
ever long it might be before he met Kur&gin, 
despite his contempt for him and despite all 
the proofs he deduced to convince himself that 
it was not worth stooping to a conflict with him 
he knew that when he did meet him he would 
not be able to resist calling him out, any more 
than a ravenous man can help snatching at 
food. And the consciousness that the insult was 
not yet avenged, that his rancor was still un- 
spent, weighed on his heart and poisoned the 
artificial tranquillity which he managed to ob- 
tain in Turkey by means of restless, plodding, 
and rather vainglorious and ambitious activity. 

I n the year 1812, when news of the war with 
Napoleon reached Bucharest where Kutu/ov 
had been living for two months, passing his 
days and nights with a Wallachian woman- 
Prince Andrew asked Kutiizov to transfer him 
to the Western Army. Kutuzov, who was al- 
ready weary of Bolk6nski's activity which 
seemed to reproach his own idleness, very read- 
ily let him go and gave him a mission to Bar- 
clay de Tolly. 

Before joining the Western Army which was 
then, in May, encamped at Drissa, Prince An- 
drew visited Bald Hills which was directly on 
his way, being only two miles off the Smolensk 
highroad. During the last three years there had 
been so many changes in his life, he had thought, 
felt, and seen so much (having traveled both 
in the east and the west), that on reaching Bald 
Hills it struck him as strange and unexpected 
to find the way of life there unchanged and still 
the same in every detail. He entered through 
the gates with their stone pillars and drove up 



the avenue leading to the house as if he were 
entering an enchanted, sleeping castle. The 
same old stateliness, the same cleanliness, the 
same stillness reigned there, and inside there 
was the same furniture, the same walls, sounds, 
and smell, and the same timid faces, only some- 
what older. Princess Mary was still the same tim- 
id, plain maiden getting on in years, uselessly 
and joylessly passing the bestyearsof her life in 
fearand constant suffering. Mademoiselle Bou- 
rienne was the same coquettish, self-satisfied 
girl, enjoying every moment of her existence 
and full of joyous hopes for the future. She 
had merely become more self-confident, Prince 
Andrew thought. Dessalles, the tutor he had 
brought from Switzerland, was wearing a coat 
of Russian cut and talking broken Russian to 
the servants, but was still the same narrowly in- 
telligent, conscientious, and pedantic precep- 
tor. The old prince had changed in appearance 
only by the loss of a tooth, which left a notice- 
able gap on one side of his mouth; in character 
he was the same as ever, only showing still more 
irritability and skepticism as to what was hap- 
pening in the world. Little Nicholas alone had 
changed. He had grown, become rosier, had 
curly dark hair, and, when merry and laugh- 
ing, quite unconsciously lifted the upper lip 
of his pretty little mouth just as the little prin- 
cess used to do. He alone did not obey the law 
of immutability in the enchanted, sleeping cas- 
tle. But though externally all remained as of 
old, the inner relations of all these people had 
changed since Prince Andrew had seen them 
last. The household was divided into two alien 
and hostile camps, who changed their habits 
for his sake and only met because he was there. 
To the one camp belonged the old prince, Mad- 
moiselle Bourienne, and the architect; to the 
other Princess Mary, Dessalles, little Nicholas, 
and all the old nurses and maids. 

During his stay at Bald Hills all the family 
dined together, but they were ill at ease and 
Prince Andrew felt that he was a visitor for 
whose sake an exception was being made and 
that his presence made them all feel awkward. 
Involuntarily feeling this at dinner on the 
first day, he was taciturn, and the old prince 
noticing this also became morosely dumb and 
retired to his apartments directly after dinner. 
In the evening, when Prince Andrew went to 
him and, trying to rouse him, began to tell 
him of the young Count Kmensky's campaign, 
the old prince began unexpectedly to talk 
about Princess Mary, blaming her for her 
superstitions and her dislike of Mademoiselle 



BOOK 

Bourienne, who, he said, was the only person 
really attached to him. 

The old prince said that if he was ill it was 
only because of Princess Mary: that she pur- 
posely worried and irritated him, and that by 
indulgence and silly talk she was spoiling little 
Prince Nicholas. The old prince knew very well 
that he tormented his daughter and that her 
life was very hard, but he also knew that he 
could not help tormenting her and that she de- 
served it. "Why does Prince Andrew, who sees 
this, say nothing to me about his sister? Docs 
he think me a scoundrel, or an old fool who, 
without any reason, keeps his own daughter at 
a distance and attaches this Frenchwoman to 
himself? He doesn't understand, so I must ex- 
plain it, and hemust hearme out," thought the 
old prince. And he began explaining why he 
could not put up with his daughter's unreason- 
able character. 

"If you ask me," said Prince Andrew, with- 
out looking up (he was censuring his father 
for the first time in his life), "I did not wish to 
speak about it, but as you ask me 1 will give 
you niy frank opinion. If there is any misun- 
derstanding a nd discord between you a nd Mary-, 
I can't blame her for it at all. 1 know how she 
loves and respects you. Since you ask me," 
continued Prince Andrew, becoming irritable 
as he was always liable to do of late "I can 
only say that if there are any misunderstand- 
ings they are caused by that worthless woman, 
who is not fit to be my sister's companion." 

The old man at first stared fixedly at his son, 
and an unnatural smile disclosed the fresh gap 
between his teeth to which Prince Andrew 
could not get accustomed. 

"What companion, my dear boy? Eh? You've 
already been talking it over! Eh?" 

"Father, I did not want to judge," said 
Prince Andrew, in a hard and bitter tone, "but 
you challenged me, and I have said, and always 
shall say, that Mary is not to blame, but Ihose 
to blamethe one to blame is that French- 
woman." 

"Ah, he has passed judgment . . . passed judg- 
ment!" said the old man in a low voice and, as 
it seemed to Prince Andrew, with some embar- 
rassment, but then he suddenly jumped up and 
cried: "Be off, be off! Let not a trace of you re- 
main here! . . ." 

Prince Andrew wished to leave at once, but 
Princess Mary persuaded him to stay another 
day. That day he did not see his father, who 
did not leave his room and admitted no one 



NINE 357 

but Mademoiselle Bourienne and Tikhon, but 
asked several times whether his son had gone. 
Next day, before leaving, Prince Andrew went 
to his son's rooms. The boy, curly-headed like 
his mother and glowing with health, sat on his 
knee, and Prince Andrew began telling him 
the story of Bluebeard, but fell into a reverie 
without finishing the story. He thought not of 
this pretty child, his son whom he held on his 
knee, but of himself. He sought in himself ei- 
ther remorse for having angered his father or 
regret at leaving home for the first time in his 
life on bad terms with him, and was horrified 
to find neither. What meant still more to him 
was that he sought and did not find in himself 
the former tenderness for his son which he had 
hoped to reawaken by caressing the boy and 
taking him on his knee. 

"Well, go on!" said r .VstfnjiiowiL 

Prince Andrew, witnout replyirfgV put him 
down from his knee and went out of the room. 

As soon as Prince Andrew had given up his 
daily occupations, and especially on returning 
to the old conditions of life amid which he had 
been happy, weariness of life overcame him 
with its former intensity, and he hastened to 
escape from these memories and to find some 
work as soon as possible. 

"So you've decided to go, Andrew?" asked 
his sister. 

"Thank God that I can," replied Prince An- 
drew. "1 am very sorry you can't." 

"Why do you say that?" replied Princess 
Mary. "Why do you say that, when you are go- 
ing to this terrible war, and he is so old? Made- 
moiselle Bourienne says he has been asking 
about you. ..." 

As soon as she began to speak of that, her 
lips trembled and her tears began to fall. Prince 
Andrew turned away and began pacing the 
room. 

"Ah, my God! my God! When one thinks 
who and what what trash can cause people 
misery!" he said with a malignity that alarmed 
Princess Mary. 

She understood that when speakingof "trash" 
he referred not only to Mademoiselle Bouri- 
enne, the cause of her misery, but also to the 
man who had ruined his own happiness. 

"Andrew! One thing I beg, I entreat of you!" 
she said, touching his elbow and looking at 
him with eyes that shone through her tears. "1 
understand you" (she looked down). "Don't 
imagine that sorrow is the work of men. Meri 
are His tools." She looked a little above Prince 
Andrew's head with the confident, accustomed 



WAR AND PEACE 



look with which one looks at the place where 
a familiar portrait hangs. "Sorrow is sent by 
Him, not by men. Men are His instruments, 
they are not to blame. II you think someone 
has wronged you, forget it and forgivel We 
have no right to punish. And then you will 
know the happiness of forgiving." 

"If I were a woman I would do so, Mary. 
That is a woman's virtue. But a man should 
not and cannot forgive and forget," he replied, 
and though till that moment he had not been 
thinking of Kuragin, all his unexpended anger 
suddenly swelled up in his heart. 

"If Mary is already persuading me to forgive, 
it means that I ought longago to have punished 
him," he thought. And giving her no further 
reply, he began thinking of the glad vindictive 
moment when he would meet Kuriigin who he 
knew y^ *w-'*> fee ^my. 

PrincciVMary beggecj him to stay one day 
more, saying that she kil*w how unhappy her 
father would be if AndreV left without being 
reconciled to him, but Prince Andrew replied 
that he would probably soon be back again 
from the army and would certainly write to his 
father, but that the longer he stayed now the 
more embittered their differences would be- 
come. 

"Good-by, Andrew! Remember that misfor- 
tunes come from God, and men are never to 
blame," were the last words he heard from his 
sister when he took leave of her. 

"Then it must be so!" thought Prince An- 
drew as he drove out of the avenue from the 
house at Bald Hills. "She, poor innocent crea- 
ture, is left to be victimized by an old man who 
has outlived his wits. The old man feels he is 
guilty, but cannot change himself. My boy is 
growing up and rejoices in life, in which like 
everybody else he will deceive or be deceived. 
And I am off to the army. Why? I myself don't 
know. I want to meet that man whom I despise, 
so as to give him a chance to kill and laugh at 
me!" 

These conditions of life had been the same 
before, but then they were all connected, while 
now they had all tumbled to pieces. Only 
senseless things, lacking coherence, presented 
themselves one after another to Prince An- 
drew's mind. 

CHAPTER IX 

PRINCE ANDREW reached the general headquar- 
ters of the army at the end of June. The first 
army, with which was the Emperor, occupied 
the fortified camp at Drissa; the second army 



was retreating, trying to effect a junction with 
the first one from which it was said to be cut off 
by large French forces. Everyone was dissatis- 
fied with the general course of affairs in the 
Russian army, but no one anticipated any dan- 
ger of invasion of the Russian provinces, and 
no one thought the war would extend farther 
than the western, the Polish, provinces. 

Prince Andrew found Barclay de Tolly, to 
whom he had been assigned, on the bank of 
the Drissa. As there was not a single town or 
large village in the vicinity of the camp, the 
immense number ot generals and courtiers ac- 
companying the army were living in the best 
houses of the villages on both sides of the river, 
over a radius of six miles. Barclay de Tolly was 
quartered nearly three miles from the Emperor. 
He received Bolkonski stiflly and coldly and 
told him in his foreign accent that he would 
mention him to the Emperor for a decision as 
to his employment, but asked him meanwhile to 
remain on his staff. Anatole Kuragin, whom 
Prince Andrew had hoped to find with the ar- 
my, was not there. He had gone to Petersburg, 
but Prince Andrew was glad to hear this. His 
mind was occupied by the interests of the cen- 
ter that was conducting a gigantic war, and he 
was glad to be free for a while from the distrac- 
tion caused by the thought of Kuragin. Dur- 
ing the first four days, while no duties were re- 
quired of him, Prince Andrew rode round the 
whole fortified camp and, by the aid of his own 
knowledge and by talks with experts, tried to 
form a definite opinion about it. But the ques- 
tion whether the camp was advantageous or 
disadvantageous remained for him undecided. 
Already from his military experience and what 
he had seen in the Austrian campaign, he had 
come to the conclusion that in war the most 
deeply considered plans have no significance 
and that all depends on the way unexpected 
movements of the enemy that cannot be fore- 
seenare met, and on how and by whom the 
whole matter is handled. To clear up this last 
point for hiiqself, Prince Andrew, utilizing his 
position and acquaintances, tried to fathom 
the character of the control of the army arid of 
the men and parties engaged in it, and he de- 
duced for himself the following idea of the state 
of affairs. 

While the Emperor had still been at Vflna, 
the forces had been divided into three armies. 
First, the army under Barclay de Tolly, second- 
ly, the army under Bagrati6n, and thirdly, the 
one commanded by Tormdsov. The Emperor 
was with the first army, but not as commander 



BOOK NINE 



359 



in chief. In the orders issued it was stated, not 
that the Emperor would take command, but 
only that he would be with the army. The Em- 
peror, moreover, had with him not a command- 
er in chief's staff but the imperial headquarters 
staff. In attendance on him was the head of the 
imperial staff, Quartermaster General Prince 
Volkonski, as well as generals, imperial aides- 
de-camp, diplomatic officials, and a large num- 
ber of foreigners, but not the army staff. 
Besides these, there were in attendance on the 
Emperor without any definite appointments: 
Arakch^ev, the ex-Minister of War; Count Bcn- 
nigsen, the senior general in rank; the Grand 
DukeTsard-vich Constantine Pavlovich; Count 
Rumydntsev, the Chancellor; Stein, a former 
Prussian minister; Armfeldt, a Swedish gener- 
al; Pfuel, the chief author of the plan of cam- 
paign; Paulucci, an adjutant general and Sar- 
dinian emigrd; Wolzogen and many others. 
Though these men had no military appoint- 
ment in the army, their position gave them in- 
fluence, and often a corps commander, or even 
the commander in chief, did not know in what 
capacity he was questioned by Bennigsen, the 
Grand Duke, Arakchdev, or Prince Volkonski, 
or was given this or that advice and did not know 
whether a certain order received in the form of 
advice emanated from the man who gave it or 
from the Emperor and whether it had to be ex- 
ecuted or not. But this was only the external 
condition; the essential significance of the 
presence of the Emperor and of all these peo- 
ple, from a courtier's point of view (and in an 
Emperor's vicinity all became courtiers), was 
clear to everyone. It was this: the Emperor did 
not assume the title of commander in chief, but 
disposed of all the armies; the men around him 
were his assistants. Arakch^ev was a faithful 
custodian to enforce order and acted as the sov- 
ereign's bodyguard. Bennigsen was a landlord 
in the Vilna province who appeared to be do- 
ing the honors of the district, but was in real- 
ity a good general, useful as an adviser and 
ready at hand to replace Barclay. The Grand 
Duke was there because it suited him to be. The 
ex-Minister Stein was there because his advice 
was useful and the Emperor Alexander held 
him in high esteem personally. Armfeldt viru- 
lently hated Napoleon and was a general full 
of self-confidence, a quality that always influ- 
enced Alexander. Paulucci was there because 
he was bold and decided in speech. The adju- 
tants general were there because they always 
accompanied the Emperor, and lastly and chief- 
ly Pfuel was there because he had drawn up 



the plan of campaign against Napoleon and, 
having induced Alexander to believe in the 
efficacy of that plan, was directing the whole 
business of the war. With Pfuel was Wolzogen, 
who expressed Pfuel's thoughts in a more com- 
prehensible way than Pfuel himself (who was 
a harsh, bookish theorist, self-confident to the 
point of despising everyone else) was able to 
do. 

Besides these Russians and foreigners who 
propounded new and unexpected ideas every 
day especially the foreigners, who did so with 
a boldness characteristic of people employed in 
a country not their own there were many sec- 
ondary personages accompanying the army be- 
cause their principals were there. 

Among the opinions and voices in this im- 
mense, restless, brilliant, and proud sphere, 
Prince Andrew noticed the following sharply 
defined subdivisions of tendencies and parties: 

The first party consisted of Pfuel and his ad- 
herentsmilitary theorists who believed in a 
science of war with immutable laws laws of 
oblique movements, outflankings, and so forth. 
Pfuel and hisadherentsdemanded a retirement 
into the depths of the country in accordance 
with precise laws defined by a pseudo-theory 
of war, and they saw only barbarism, ignorance, 
or evil intention in every deviation from that 
theory. To this party belonged the foreign no- 
bles, Wolzogen, Wintzingerode, and others, 
chiefly Germans. 

The second party was directly opposed to the 
first; one extreme, as always happens, was met 
by representatives of the other. The members 
of this party were those who had demanded an 
advance from Vilna into Poland and freedom 
from all prearranged plans. Besides being ad- 
vocates ot bold action, this section also repre- 
sented nationalism, which made them still more 
one-sided in the dispute. They were Russians: 
Bagration, Ermolov (who was beginning to 
come to the front), and others. At that time a 
famous joke of Erm61ov's was being circulated, 
that as a great favor he had petitioned the Em- 
peror to make him a German. The men of that 
party, remembering Suv6rov, said that what 
one had to do was not to reason, or stick pins 
into maps, but to fight, beat the enemy, keep 
him out of Russia, and not let the army get dis- 
couraged. 

To the third party in which the Emperor 
had most confidence belonged the courtiers 
who tried to arrange compromises between the 
other two. The members of this party, chiefly 
civilians and to whom Arakche'ev belonged, 



WAR AND PEACE 



thought and said what men who have no con- 
victions but wish to seem to have some gener- 
ally say. They said that undoubtedly war, par- 
ticularly against such a genius as Bonaparte 
(they called him Bonaparte now), needs most 
deeply devised plans and profound scientific 
knowledge and in that respect Pfuel was a 
genius, but at the same time it had to be ac- 
knowledged that the theorists are often one- 
sided, and therefore one should not trust them 
absolutely, but should also listen to what Pfuel's 
opponents and practical men of experience in 
warfare had to say, and then choose a middle 
course. They insisted on the retention of the 
camp at Drissa, according to Pfuel's plan, but 
on changing the movements of the other ar- 
mies. Though, by this course, neither one aim 
nor the other could be attained, yet it seemed 
best to the adherents of this third party. 

Of a fourth opinion the most conspicuous 
representative was the Tsar^vich, who could 
not forget his disillusionment at Austerlitz, 
where he had ridden out at the head of the 
Guards, in his casque and cavalry uniform as to 
a review, expecting to crush the French gal- 
lantly; but unexpectedly finding himself in the 
front line had narrowly escaped amid the gen- 
eral confusion. The men of this party had both 
the quality and the defect of frankness in their 
opinions. They feared Napoleon, recognized 
his strength and their own weakness, and frank- 
ly said so. They said: "Nothing but sorrow, 
shame, and ruin will come of all this! We have 
abandoned Vilna and Vitebsk and shall aban- 
don Drissa. The only reasonable thing left to 
do is to conclude peace as soon as possible, be- 
fore we are turned out of Petersburg.'* 

This view was very general in the upper ar- 
my circles and found support also in Peters- 
burg and from the chancellor, Rumydntsev, 
who, for other reasons of state, was in favor of 
peace. 

The fifth party consisted of those who were 
adherents of Barclay de Tolly, not so much as 
a man but as minister of war and commander 
in chief. "Be he what he may" (they always be- 
gan like that), "he is an honest, practical man 
and we have nobody better. Give him real 
power, for war cannot be conducted success- 
fully without unity of command, and he will 
show what he can do, as he did in Finland. 
If our army is well organized and strong 
and has withdrawn to Drissa without suffer- 
ing any defeats, we owe this entirely to Bar- 
clay. If Barclay is now to be superseded by 
Bennigsen all will be lost, for Bennigsen 



showed his incapacity already in 1807." 

The sixth party, the Bennigsenites, said, on 
the contrary, that at any rate there was no one 
more active and experienced than Bennigsen: 
"and twist about as you may, you will have to 
come to Bennigsen eventually. Let the others 
make mistakes now ! " said they, arguing that our 
retirement to Drissa was a most shameful re- 
verse and an unbroken series of blunders. "The 
more mistakes that are made the better. It will 
at any rate be understood all the sooner that 
things cannot go on like this. What is wanted 
is not some Barclay or other, but a man like 
Bennigsen, who made his mark in 1807, and to 
whom Napoleon himself did justice a man 
whose authority would be willingly recognized, 
and Bennigsen is the only such man." 

The seventh party consisted of the sort of 
people who are always to be found, especially 
around young sovereigns, and of whom there 
were particularly many round Alexander gen- 
erals and imperial aides-de-camp passionately 
devoted to the Emperor, not merely as a mon- 
arch but as a man, adoring him sincerely and 
disinterestedly, as Rost6v had done in 1805, 
and who saw in him not only all the virtues 
but all human capabilities as well. These men, 
though enchanted with the sovereign for refus- 
ing the command of the army, yet blamed him 
for such excessive modesty, and only desired 
and insisted that their adored sovereign should 
abandon his diffidence and openly announce 
that he would place himself at the head of the 
army, gather round him a commander in chiefs 
staff, and, consulting experienced theoreticians 
and practical men where necessary, would him- 
self lead the troops, whose spirits would there- 
by be raised to the highest pitch. 

The eighth and largest group, which in its 
enormous numbers was to the others as ninety- 
nine to one, consisted of men who desired nei- 
ther peace nor war, neither an advance nor a 
defensive camp at the Drissa or anywhere else, 
neither Barclay nor the Emperor, neither Pfuel 
nor Bennigsen, but only the one most essential 
thing as much advantage and pleasure for 
themselves as possible. In the troubled waters 
of conflicting and intersecting intrigues that 
eddied about the Emperor's headquarters, it 
was possible to succeed in many ways unthink- 
able at other times. A man who simply wished 
to retain his lucrative post would today agree 
with Pfuel, tomorrow with his opponent, and 
the day after, merely to avoid responsibility or 
to please the Emperor, would declare that he 
had no opinion at all on the matter. Another 



BOOK 

who wished to gain some advantage would &- 
tract the Emperor's attention by loudly acfvo- 
cating the very thing the Emperor had hinted 
at the day before, and would dispute and shout 
at the council, beating his breast and challeng- 
ing those who did not agree with him to duels, 
thereby proving that he was prepared to sac- 
rifice himself for the common good. A third, 
in the absence of opponents, between two coun- 
cils would simply solicit a Special gratuity for 
his faithful services, well knowing that at that 
moment people would be too busy to refuse 
him. A fourth while seemingly overwhelmed 
with work would often come accidentally un- 
der the Emperor's eye. A fifth, to achieve his 
long-cherished aim of dining with the Emper- 
or, would stubbornly insist on the correctness 
or falsity of some newly emerging opinion and 
for this object would produce arguments more 
or less forcible and correct. 

All the men of this party were fishing for 
rubles, decorations, and promotions, and in 
this pursuit watched only the weathercock of 
imperial favor, and directly they noticed it 
turning in any direction, this whole drone pop- 
ulation of the army began blowing hard that 
way, so that it was all the harder for the Em- 
peror to turn it elsewhere. Amid the uncer- 
tainties of the position, with the menace of 
serious danger giving a peculiarly threaten- 
ing character to everything, amid this vortex of 
intrigue, egotism, conflict of views and feelings, 
and the diversity of race among these people- 
tins eighth and largest party of those preoccu- 
pied with personal interests imparted great 
confusion and obscurity to the common task. 
Whatever question arose, a swarm of these 
drones, without having finished their buzzing 
on a previous theme, flew over to the new one 
and by their hum drowned and obscured the 
voices of those who were disputing honestly. 

From among all these parties, just at the 
time Prince Andrew reached the army, another, 
a ninth party, was being formed and was be- 
ginning to raise its voice. This was the party of 
the elders, reasonable men experienced and 
capable in state affairs, who, without sharing 
any of those conflicting opinions, were able to 
take a detached view of what was gong on at 
the staff at headquarters and to consider means 
of escape from this muddle, indecision, intrica- 
cy, and weakness. 

The men of this party said and thought that 
what was wrong resulted chiefly from the Em- 
peror's presence in the army with his military 
court and from the consequent presence there 



NINE 361 

of a-n indefinite, conditional, and unsteady fluc- 
tuation of relations, which is in place at court 
but harmful in an army; that a sovereign should 
reign but not command the army, and that the 
only way out of the position would be for the 
Emperor and his court to leave the army; that 
the mere presence of the Emperor paralyzed 
the action of fifty thousand men required to 
secure his personal safety, and that the worst 
commander in chief if independent would be 
better than the very best one trammeled by the 
presence and authority of the monarch. 

Just at the time Prince Andrew was living 
unoccupied at Drissa, Shishk6v, the Secretary 
of State and one of the chief representatives of 
this party, wrote a letter to the Emperor which 
Arakche"ev and Balashev agreed to sign. In this 
letter, availing himself of permission given 
him by the Emperor to discuss the general 
course of affairs, he respectfully suggested on 
the plea that it was necessary for the sovereign 
to arouse a warlike spirit in the people of 
the capital that the Emperor should leave the 
army. 

That arousing of the people by their sov- 
ereign and his call to them to defend their 
country the very incitement which was the 
chief cause of Russia's triumph in so far as it 
was produced by the Tsar's personal presence 
in Moscow was suggested to the Emperor, and 
accepted by him, as a pretext for quitting the 
army. 

CHAPTER X 

THIS LETTER had not yet been presented to the 
Emperor when Barclay, one day at dinner, in- 
formed Bolk6nski that the sovereign wished to 
see him personally, to question him about 
Turkey, and that Prince Andrew was to pre- 
sent himself at Bennigsen's quarters at six that 
evening. 

News was received at the Emperor's quarters 
that very day of a fresh movement by Napo- 
leon which might endanger the army news 
subsequently found to be false. And that morn- 
ing Colonel Michaud had ridden round the 
Drissa fortifications with the Emperor and had 
pointed out to him that this fortified camp 
constructed by Pfuel, and till then considered 
a chef-d'oeuvre of tactical science which would 
ensure Napoleon's destruction, was an absurd- 
ity, threatening the destruction of the Russian 
army. 

Prince Andrew arrived at Bennigsen's quar- 
tersa country gentleman's house of moderate 
size, situated on the very banks of the river, 



36* WAR AND PEACE 

Neither Bennigsen nor the Emperor was there, 
but Chernyshev, the Emperor's aide-de-camp, 
received Bolk6nski and informed him that the 
Emperor, accompanied by General Bennigsen 
and Marquis Paulucci, had gone a second time 
that day to inspect the fortifications of the 
Drissa camp, of the suitability of which serious 
doubts were beginning to be felt. 

Chernyshev was sitting at a window in the 
first room with a French novel in his hand. 
This room had probably been a music room; 
there was still an organ in it on which some 
rugs were piled, and in one corner stood the 
folding Bedstead of Bennigsen's adjutant. This 
adjutant was also there and sat dozing on the 
rolled-up bedding, evidently exhausted by work 
or by feasting. Two doors led from the room, 
one straight on into what had been the draw- 
ing room, and another, on the right, to the 
study. Through the first door came the sound 
of voices con versing in German and occasional- 
ly in French. In that drawing room were gath- 
ered, by the Emperor's wish, not a military 
council (the Emperor preferred indefinite- 
ness), but certain persons whose opinions he 
wished to know in view of the impending dif- 
ficulties. It was not a council of war, but, as it 
were, a council to elucidate certain questions 
for the Emperor personally. To this semicoun- 
cil had been invited the Swedish General Arm- 
feldt, Adjutant General Wolzogen, Wintzinge- 
rode (whom Napoleon had referred to as a 
renegade French subject), Michaud, Toll, 
Count Stein who was not a military man at all, 
and Pfuel himself, who, as Prince Andrew had 
heard, was the mainspring of the whole affair. 
Prince Andrew had an opportunity of getting 
a good look at him, for Pfuel arrived soon after 
himself and, in passing through to the draw- 
ing room, stopped a minute to speak to Cher- 
nyshev. 

At first sight, Pfuel, in his ill-made uniform 
of a Russian general, which fitted him badly 
like a fancy costume, seemed familiar to Prince 
Andrew, though he saw him now for the first 
time. There was about him something of Wey- 
rother, Mack, and Schmidt, and many other 
German theorist-generals whom Prince An- 
drew had seen in 1805, but he was more typical 
than any of them. Prince Andrew had never 
yet teen a German theorist in whom all the 
characteristics of those others were united to 
such an extent. 

Pfuel was short and very thin but broad- 
boned, o! coarse, robust build, broad in the 
hips, and with prominent shoulder blades. His 



face was much wrinkled and his eyes deep set. 
His hair had evidently been hastily brushed 
smooth in front of the temples, but stuck up 
behind in quaint little tufts. He entered the 
room, looking restlessly and angrily around, 
as if afraid of everything in that large apart- 
ment. Awkwardly holding up his sword, he ad- 
dressed Chernyshev and asked in German 
where the Emperor was. One could see that he 
wished to pass through the rooms as quickly as 
possible, finish with the bows and greetings, 
and sit down to business in front of a map, 
where he would feel at home. He nodded hur- 
riedly in reply to Chernyshev, and smiled iron- 
ically on hearing that the sovereign was in- 
specting the fortifications that he, Pfuel, had 
planned in accord with his theory. He muttered 
something to himself abruptly and in a bass 
voice, as self-assured Germans doit might 
have been "stupid fellow" ... or "the whole 
affair will be ruined," or "something absurd 
will come of it." . . . Prince Andrew did not 
catch what he said and would have passed on, 
but Chernyshev introduced him to Pfuel, re- 
marking that Prince Andrew was just back 
from Turkey where the war had terminated so 
fortunately. Pfuel barely glanced not so much 
at Prince Andrew as past him and said, with 
a laugh: "That must have been a fine tactical 
war"; and, laughing contemptuously, went on 
into the room from which the sound of voices 
was heard. 

Pfuel, always inclined to be irritably sarcas- 
tic, was particularly disturbed that day, evi- 
dently by the fact that they had dared to in- 
spect and criticize his camp in his absence. 
From this short interview with Pfuel, Prince 
Andrew, thanks to his Austerlitz experiences, 
was able to form a clear conception of the man. 
Pfuel was one of those hopelessly and immu- 
tably self-confident men, self-confident to the 
point of martyrdom as only Germans are, be- 
cause only Germans are self-confident on the 
basis of an abstract notion science, that is, the 
supposed knowledge of absolute truth. A 
Frenchman is self-assured because he regards 
himself personally, both in mind and body, as 
irresistibly attractive to men and women. An 
Englishman is self-assured, as being a citizen 
of the best-organized state in the world, and 
therefore as an Englishman always knows what 
he should do and knows that all he does as an 
Englishman is undoubtedly correct. An Italian 
is self-assured because he is excitable and easily 
forgets himself and other people. A Russian is 
self-assured just because he knows nothing and 



BOOK 

does not want to know anything, since he does 
not believe that anything can be known. The 
German's self-assurance is worst of all, stronger 
and more repulsive than any other, because he 
imagines that he knows the truthscience 
which he himself has invented but which is for 
him the absolute truth. 

Pfuel was evidently of that sort. He had a 
science the theory of oblique movements de- 
duced by him from the history of Frederick 
the Great's wars, and all he came across in the 
history of more recent warfare seemed to him 
absurd and barbarous monstrous collisions in 
which so many blunders were committed by 
both sides that these wars could not be called 
wars, they did not accord with the theory, and 
therefore could not serve as material for science. 

In 1806 Pfuel had been one of those respon- 
sible for the plan of campaign that ended in 
Jena and Auerstadt, but he did not see the 
least proof of the fallibility of his theory in the 
disasters of that war. On the contrary, the de- 
viations made from his theory were, in his 
opinion, the sole cause of the whole disaster, 
and with characteristically gleeful sarcasm he 
would remark, "There, I said the whole affair 
would go to the devil!" Pfuel was one of those 
theoreticians who so love their theory that they 
lose sight of the theory's object its practical 
application. His love of theory made him hate 
everything practical, and he would not listen 
to it. He was even pleased by failures, for fail- 
ures resulting from deviations in practice from 
the theory only proved to him the accuracy of 
his theory. 

He said a few words to Prince Andrew and 
Chernyshev about the present war, with the 
air of a man who knows beforehand that all 
will go wrong, and who is not displeased that 
it should be so. The unbrushed tufts of hair 
sticking up behind and the hastily brushed 
hair on his temples expressed this most elo- 
quently. 

He passed into the next room, and the deep, 
querulous sounds of his voice were at once 
heard from there. 

CHAPTER XI 

PRINCE ANDREW'S eyes were still following Pfuel 
out of the room when Count Bennigsen en- 
tered hurriedly, and nodding to Bolk6nski, 
but not pausing, went into the study, giving 
instructions to his adjutant as he went. The 
Emperor was following him, and Bennigsen 
had hastened on to make some preparations, 
and to be ready to receive the sovereign. Cher- 



NINE 363 

nyshev and Prince Andrew went out into the 
porch, where the Emperor, who looked fa- 
tigued, was dismounting. Marquis Paulucci 
was talking to him with particular warmth and 
the Emperor, with his head bent to the left, 
was listening with a dissatisfied air. The Em- 
peror moved forward evidently wishing to end 
the conversation, but the flushed and excited 
Italian, oblivious of decorum, followed him 
and continued to speak. 

"And as for the man who advised forming 
this camp the Drissa camp," said Paulucci, as 
the Emperor mounted the steps and noticing 
Prince Andrew scanned his unfamiliar face, 
"as to that person, sire . . ." continued Pauluc- 
ci, desperately, apparently unable to restrain 
himself, "the man who advised the Drissa camp 
I see no alternative but the lunatic asylum or 
the gallows!" 

Without heeding the end of the Italian's re- 
marks, and as though not hearing them, the 
Emperor, recognizing Bolk6nski, addressed him 
graciously. 

"I am very glad to see you! Go in there 
where they are meeting, and wait for me." 

The Emperor went into the study. He was 
followed by Prince Peter Mikhaylovich Vol- 
k6nski and Baron Stein, and the door closed 
behind them. Prince Andrew, taking advan- 
tage of the Emperor's permission, accompanied 
Paulucci, whom he had known in Turkey, in- 
to the drawing room where the council was as- 
sembled. 

Prince Peter Mikhdylovich Volk6nski occu- 
pied the position, as it were, of chief of the 
Emperor's staff. He came out of the study into 
the drawing room with some maps which he 
spread on a table, and put questions on which 
he wished to hear the opinion of the gentle- 
men present. What had happened was that 
news (which afterwards proved to be false) 
had been received during the night of a move- 
ment by the French to outflank the Drissa 
camp. 

The first to speak was General Armfeldt 
who, to meet the difficulty that presented it- 
self, unexpectedly proposed a perfectly new 
position away from the Petersburg and Mos- 
cow roads. The reason for this was inexplicable 
(unless he wished to show that he, too, could 
have an opinion), but he urged that at this 
point the army should unite and there await 
the enemy. It was plain that Armfeldt had 
thought out that plan long ago and now ex- 
. pounded it not so much to answer the ques- 
tions putwhich, in fact, his plan did not an- 



364 



WAR AND PEACE 



swer as to avail himself of the opportunity to 
air it. It was one of the millions of proposals, 
one as good as another, that could be made as 
long as it was quite unknown what character 
the war would take. Some disputed his argu- 
ments, others defended them. Young Count 
Toll objected to the Swedish general's views 
more warmly than anyone else, and in the 
course of the dispute drew from his side pocket 
a well-filled notebook, which he asked permis- 
sion to read to them. In these voluminous notes 
Toll suggested another scheme, totally differ- 
ent from Armfeldt's or Pfuel's plan of cam- 
paign. In answer to Toll, Paulucci suggested 
an advance and an attack, which, he urged, 
could alone extricate us from the present un- 
certainty and from the trap (as he called the 
Drissa camp) in which we were situated. 

During all these discussions Pfuel and his 
interpreter, Wolzogen (his "bridge" in court 
relations), were silent. Pfuel only snorted con- 
temptuously and turned away, to show that he 
would never demean himself by replying to 
such nonsense as he was now hearing. So when 
Prince Volk6nski, who was in the chair, called 
on him to give his opinion, he merely said: 

"Why ask me? General Armfeldt has pro- 
posed a splendid position with an exposed 
rear, or why not this Italian gentleman's at- 
tackvery fine, or a retreat, also goodl Why 
ask me?" said he. "Why, you yourselves know 
everything better than I do." 

But when Volk6nski said, with a frown, that 
it was in the Emperor's name that he asked his 
opinion, Pfuel rose and, suddenly growing ani- 
mated, began to speak: 

"Everything has been spoiled, everything 
muddled, everybody thought they knew better 
than I did, and now you come to me! How 
mend matters? There is nothing to mend! The 
principles laid down by me must be strictly ad- 
hered to," said he, drumming on the tablewith 
his bony fingers. "What is the difficulty? Non- 
sense, childishness!" 

He went up to the map and speaking rapid- 
ly began proving that no eventuality could al- 
ter the efficiency of the Drissa camp, that every- 
thing had been foreseen, and that if the enemy 
were really going to outflank it, the enemy 
would inevitably be destroyed. 

Paulucci, who did not know German, began 
questioning him in French. Wolzogen came to 
the assistance of his chief, who spoke French 
badly, and began translating for him, hardly 
able to keep pace with Pfuel, who was rapidly 
demonstrating that not only all that had hap- 



pened, but all that could happen, had been 
foreseen in his scheme, and that if there were 
now any difficulties the whole fault lay in the 
fact that his plan had not been precisely exe- 
cuted. He kept laughing sarcastically, he dem- 
onstrated, and at last contemptuously ceased 
to demonstrate, like a mathematician who 
ceases to prove in various ways the accuracy of 
a problem that has already been proved. Wol- 
zogen took his place and continued to explain 
his views in French, every now and then turn- 
ing to Pfuel and saying, "Is it not so, your ex- 
cellency?" But Pfuel, like a man heated in a 
fight who strikes those on his own side, shouted 
angrily at his own supporter, Wolzogen: 

"Well, of course, what more is there to ex- 
plain?" 

Paulucci and Michaud both attacked Wol- 
/ogen simultaneously in French. Armfeldt ad- 
dressed Pfuel in German. Toll explained to 
Volkonski in Russian. Prince Andrew listened 
and observed in silence. 

Of all these men Prince Andrew sympathized 
most with Pfuel, angry, determined, and ab- 
surdly self-confident as he was. Of all those 
present, evidently he alone was not seeking 
anything for himself, nursed no hatred against 
anyone, and only desired that the plan, formed 
on a theory arrived at by years of toil, should be 
carried out. He was ridiculous, and unpleasant- 
ly sarcastic, but yet he inspired involuntary re- 
spect by his boundless devotion to an idea. Be- 
sides this, the remarks of all except Pfuel had 
one common trait that had not been noticeable 
at the council of war in 1805: there was now a 
panic fear of Napoleon's genius, which, though 
concealed, was noticeable in every rejoinder. 
Everything was assumed to be possible for Na- 
poleon, they expected him from every side, 
and invoked his terrible name to shatter each 
other's proposals. Pfuel alone seemed to con- 
sider Napoleon a barbarian like everyone else 
who opposed his theory. But besides this feel- 
ing of respect, Pfuel evoked pity in Prince An- 
drew. From the tone in which the courtiers 
addressed him and the way Paulucci had al- 
lowed himself to speak of him to the Emperor, 
but above all from a certain desperation in 
Pfuel's own expressions, it was clear that the 
others knew, and Pfuel himself felt, that his 
fall was at hand. And despite his self-confi- 
dence and grumpy German sarcasm he was 
pitiable, with his hair smoothly brushed on the 
temples and sticking up in tufts behind. 
Though he concealed the fact under a show of 
irritation and contempt, he was evidently in 



BOOK NINE 



365 



despair that the sole remaining chance of veri- 
fying his theory by a huge experiment and 
proving its soundness to the whole world was 
slipping away from him. 

The discussions continued a long time, and 
the longer they lasted the more heated became 
the disputes, culminating in shouts and per- 
sonalities, and the less was it possible to arrive 
at any general conclusion from all that had 
been said. Prince Andrew, listening to this 
polyglot talk and to these surmises, plans, ref- 
utations, and shouts, felt nothing but amaze- 
ment at what they were saying. A thought that 
had long since and often occurred to him dur- 
ing his military activitiesthe idea that there 
is not and cannot be any science of war, and 
that therefore there can be no such thing as a 
military genius now appeared to him an ob- 
vious truth. "What theory and science is possi- 
ble about a matter the conditions and circum- 
stances of which are unknown and cannot be 
defined, especially when the strength of the 
acting forces cannot be ascertained? No one 
was or is able to foresee in what condition our 
or the enemy's armies will be in a day's time, 
and no one can gauge the force of this or that 
detachment. Sometimes when there is not a 
coward at the front to shout, 'We are cut off!' 
and start running, but a brave and jolly lad 
who shouts, 'Hurrah!' a detachment of five 
thousand is worth thirty thousand, as at Schon 
Grabern, while at times fifty thousand run 
from eight thousand, as at Austerlitz. What 
science can there be in a matter in which, as in 
all practical matters, nothing can be defined 
and everything depends on innumerable con- 
ditions, the significance of which is determined 
at a particular moment which arrives no one 
knows when? Armfeldt says our army is cut in 
half, and Paulucci says we have got the French 
army between two fires; Michaud says that the 
worthlessness of the Drissa camp lies in having 
the river behind it, and Pfuel says that is what 
constitutes its strength; Toll proposes one 
plan, Armfeldt another, and they are all good 
and all bad, and the advantages of any sugges- 
tions can be seen only at the moment of trial. 
And why do they all speak of a 'military gen- 
ius'? Is a man a genius who can order bread to 
be brought up at the right time and say who 
is to go to the right and who to the left? It is 
only because military men are invested with 
pomp and power and crowds of sychophants 
flatter power, attributing to it qualities of gen- 
ius it does not possess. The best generals I 
have known were, on the contrary, stupid or 



absent-minded men. Bagrati6n was the best, 
Napoleon himself admitted that. And Bona- 
parte himself 1 I remember his limited, self- 
satisfied face on the field of Austerlitz. Not on- 
ly does a good army commander not need any 
special qualities, on the contrary he needs the 
absence of the highest and best human attri- 
buteslove, poetry, tenderness, and philosoph- 
ic inquiring doubt. He should be limited, 
firmly convinced that what he is doing is very 
important (otherwise he will not have sufficient 
patience), and only then will he be a brave lead- 
er. God forbid that he should be humane, should 
love, or pity, or think of what is just and un- 
just. It is understandable that a theory of their 
'genius' was invented for them long ago be- 
cause they have power! The success of a mili- 
tary action depends not on them, but on the 
man in the ranks who shouts, 'We are lostl' or 
who shouts, 'Hurrahl' And only in the ranks 
can one serve with assurance of being useful." 

So thought Prince Andrew as he listened to 
the talking, and he roused himself only when 
Paulucci called him and everyone was leaving. 

At the review next day the Emperor asked 
Prince Andrew where he would like to serve, 
and Prince Andrew lost his standing in court 
circles forever by not asking to remrfin attached 
to the sovereign's person, but for permission to 
serve in the army. 

CHAPTER XII 

BEFORE THE BEGINNING of the campaign, Ros- 
t6v had received a letter from his parents in 
which they told him briefly of Natdsha's illness 
and the breaking off of her engagement to 
Prince Andrew (which they explained by Na- 
tdsha's having rejected him) and again asked 
Nicholas to retire from the army and return 
home. On receiving this letter, Nicholas did 
not even make any attempt to get leave of ab- 
sence or to retire from the army, but wrote to 
his parents that he was sorry Natasha was ill 
and her engagement broken off, and that he 
would do all he could to meet their wishes. 
To S6nya he wrote separately. 

"Adored friend of my soul! "he wrote. "Noth- 
ing but honor could keep me from returning 
to the country. But now, at the commence- 
ment of the campaign, I should feel dishon- 
ored, not only in my comrades' eyes but in my 
own, if I preferred my own happiness to my 
love and duty to the Fatherland. But this shall 
be our last separation. Believe me, directly 
the war is over, if I am still alive and still loved 
by you, I will throw up everything and fly to 



366 

you, to press you forever to my ardent breast." 

It was, in fact, only the commencement of 
the campaign that prevented Rost6v from re- 
turning home as he had promised and marry- 
ing S6nya. The autumn in Otradnoe with the 
hunting, and the winter with the Christmas 
holidays and Sonya's love, had opened out to 
him a vista of tranquil rural joys and peace 
such as he had never known before, and which 
now allured him. "A splendid wife, children, a 
good pack of hcunds, a dozen leashes of smart 
borzois, agriculture, neighbors, service by elec- 
tion . . ." thought he. But now the campaign 
was beginning, and he had to remain with his 
regiment. And since it had to be so, Nicholas 
Rost6v, as was natural to him, felt contented 
with the life he led in the regiment and was 
able to find pleasure in that life. 

On his return from his furlough Nicholas, 
having been joyfully welcomed by his com- 
rades, was sent to obtain remounts and brought 
back from the Ukraine excellent horses which 
pleased him and earned him commendation 
from his commanders. During his absence he 
had been promoted captain, and when the 
regiment was put on war footing with an in- 
crease in numbers, he was again allotted his 
old squadrbn. 

The campaign began, the regiment was 
moved into Poland on double pay, new of- 
ficers arrived, new men and horses, and above 
all everybody was infected with the merrily ex- 
cited mood that goes with the commencement 
of a war, and Rostov, conscious of his advan- 
tageous position in the regiment, devoted him- 
self entirely to the pleasures and interests of 
military service, though he knew that sooner 
or later he would have to relinquish them. 

The troops retired from Vilna for various 
complicated reasons of state, political and 
strategic. Each step of the retreat was accom- 
panied by a complicated interplay of interests, 
arguments, and passions at headquarters. For 
the Pavlograd hussars, however, the whole of 
this retreat during the finest period of summer 
and with sufficient supplies was a very simple 
and agreeable business. 

It was only at headquarters that there was 
depression, uneasiness, and intriguing; in the 
body of the army they did not ask themselves 
where they were going or why. If they regretted 
having to retreat^, it was only because they had 
to leave billets they had grown accustomed to, 
or some pretty young Polish lady. If the 
thought that things looked bad chanced to en- 
ter anyone's head, he tried to be as cheerful as 



WAR AND PEACE 



befits a good soldier and not to think of the 
general trend of affairs, but only of the task 
nearest to hand. First they camped gaily be- 
fore Vilna, making acquaintance with the 
Polish landowners, preparing for reviews and 
being reviewed by the Emperor and other high 
commanders. Then came an order to retreat to 
Sventsyani and destroy any provisions they 
could not carry away with them. Sventsyani 
was remembered by the hussars only as the 
drunken camp, a name the whole army gave to 
their encampment there, and because many 
complaints were made against the troops, who, 
taking advantage of the order to collect provi- 
sions, took also horses, carriages, and carpets 
from the Polish proprietors. Rostov remem- 
bered Sventsydni, because on the first day of 
their arrival at that small town he changed his 
sergeant major and was unable to manage all 
the drunken men of his squadron who, un- 
known to him, had appropriated five barrels 
of old beer. From Sventsyani they retired far- 
ther and farther to Drissa, and thence again 
beyond Drissa, drawing near to the frontier of 
Russia proper. 

On the thirteenth of July the Pdvlograds 
took part in a serious action for the first time. 

On the twelfth of July, on the eve of that 
action, there was a heavy storm of rain and 
hail. In general, the summer of 1812 was re- 
markable for its storms. 

The two Pdvlograd squadrons were bivouack- 
ing on a field of rye, which was already in ear 
but had been completely trodden down by 
cattle and horses. The rain was descending in 
torrents, and Rostov, with a young officer 
named Ilyfn, his protg, was sitting in a hasti- 
ly constructed shelter. An officer of their regi- 
ment, with long mustaches extending onto his 
cheeks, who after riding to the staff had been 
overtaken by the rain, entered Rost6v'ssheltcr. 

"I have come from the staff, Count. Have 
you heard of Ra^vski's exploit?" 

And the officer gave them details of the Sal- 
tanov battle, which he had heard at the staff. 

Rostov, smoking his pipe and turning his 
head about as the water trickled down his 
neck, listened inattentively, with an occasional 
glance at Ilyfn, who was pressing close to him. 
This officer, a lad of sixteen who had recently 
joined the regiment, was now in the same rela- 
tion to Nicholas that Nicholas had been to 
Denfsov seven years before. Ilyin tried to imi- 
tate Rost6v in everything and adored him as 
a girl might have done. 

Zdrzhinski, the officer with the long mus- 



BOOK NINE 



tache, spoke grandiloquently of the Saltanov 
dam being "a Russian Thermopylae," and of 
how a deed worthy of antiquity had been per- 
formed by General Ravski. He recounted how 
Rae* vski had led his two sons onto the dam un- 
der terrific fire and had charged with them be- 
side him. Rost6v heard the story and not only 
said nothing to encourage Zdrzhinski's enthu- 
siasm but, on the contrary, looked like a man 
ashamed of what he was hearing, though with 
no intention of contradicting it. Since the cam- 
paigns of Austerlitz and of 1807 Rost6v knew 
by experience that men always lie when de- 
scribing military exploits, as he himself had 
done when recounting them; besides that, he 
had experience enough to know that nothing 
happens in war at all as we can imagine or re- 
late it. And so he did not like Zdrzhinski's tale, 
nor did he like Zdrzhinski himself who, with 
his mustaches extending over his cheeks, bent 
low over the face of his hearer, as was his habit, 
and crowded Rost6v in the narrow shanty. 
Rost6v looked at him in silence. "In the first 
place, there must have been such a confusion 
and crowding on the dam that was being at- 
tacked that if Rae*vski did lead his sons there, 
it could have had no effect except perhaps on 
some dozen men nearest to him/' thought he, 
"the rest could not have seen how or with 
whom Radvski came onto the dam. And even 
those who did see it would not have been 
much stimulated by it, for what had they to do 
with Ravski's tender paternal feelings when 
their own skins were in danger? And besides, 
the fate of the Fatherland did not depend on 
whether they took the Saltdnov dam or not, as 
we are told was the case at Thermopylae. So 
why should he have made such a sacrifice? And 
why expose his own children in the battle? I 
would not have taken my brother Pe*tya there, 
or even Ilyin, who's a stranger to me but a nice 
lad, but would have tried to put them some- 
where under cover," Nicholas continued to 
think, as he listened to Zdrzhinski. But he did 
not express his thoughts, for in such matters, 
too, he had gained experience. He knew that 
this tale redounded to the glory of our arms 
and so one had to pretend not to doubt it. And 
he acted accordingly. 

"I can't stand this any more," said Ilyfn, no- 
ticing that Rost6v did not relish Zdrzhinski's 
conversation. "My stockings and shirt . . . and 
the water is running on my seatl I'll go and 
look for shelter. The rain seems less heavy." 

Ilyfn went out and Zdrzhinski rode away. 

Five minutes later Ilyfn, splashing through 



567 

the mud, came running back to the shanty. 

"Hurrah! Rostov, come quick! I've found it! 
About two hundred yards away there's a tavern 
where ours have already gathered. We can at 
least get dry there, and Mary Hendrfkhovna's 
there." 

Mary Hendrfkhovna was the wife of the regi- 
mental doctor, a pretty young German woman 
he had married in Poland. The doctor, wheth- 
er from lack of means or because he did not 
like to part from his young wife in the early 
days of their marriage, took her about with 
him wherever the hussar regiment went and 
his jealousy had become a standing joke among 
the hussar officers. 

Rost6v threw his cloak over his shoulders, 
shouted to Lavriishka to follow with the things, 
and now slipping in the mud, now splashing 
right through it set off with Ilyfn in the les- 
sening rain and the darkness that was occa- 
sionally rent by distant lightning. 

"Rost6v, where are you?" 

"Here. What lightning!" they called to one 
another. 

CHAPTER XIII 

IN THE TAVERN, before which stood the doctor's 
covered cart, there were already some five of- 
ficers. Mary Hendrfkhovna, a plump little 
blonde German, in a dressing jacket and night- 
cap, was sitting on a broad bench in the front 
corner. Her husband, the doctor, lay asleep be- 
hind her. Rost6v and Ilyfn, on entering the 
room, were welcomed with merry shouts and 
laughter. 

"Dear me, how jolly we are!" said Rost6v 
laughing. 

"And why do you stand there gaping?" 

"What swells they are! Why, the water 
streams from them! Don't make our drawing 
room so wet." 

"Don't mess Mary Hendrikhovna's dress!" 
cried other voices. 

Rostov and Ilyfn hastened to find a corner 
where they could change into dry clothes 
without offending Mary Hendrfkhovna's 
modesty. They were going into a tiny recess 
behind a partition to change, but found 
it completely filled by three officers who sat 
playing cards by the light of a solitary candle 
on an empty box, and these officers would 
on no account yield their position. Mary 
Hendrfkhovna obliged them with the loan 
of a petticoat to be used as a curtain, and be- 
hind that screen Rost6v and Ilyfn, helped 
by Lavriishka who had brought their kit*. 



368 



WAR AND PEACE 



changed their wet things for dry ones. 

A fire was made up in the dilapidated brick 
stove. A board was found, fixed on two saddles 
and covered with a horsecloth, a small samovar 
was produced and a cellaret and half a bottle 
of rum, and having asked Mary Hendrfkhovna 
to preside, they all crowded round her. One of- 
fered her a clean handkerchief to wipe her 
charming hands, another spread a jacket un- 
der her little feet to keep them from the damp, 
another hung his coat over the window to keep 
out the draft, and yet another waved the flics 
off her husband's face, lest he should wake up. 

"Leave him alone," said Mary Hendrikhov- 
na, smiling timidly and happily. "He is sleep- 
ing well as it is, after a sleepless night." 

"Oh, no, Mary Hendrikhovna," replied the 
officer, "one must look after the doctor. Per- 
haps he'll take pity on me someday, when it 
comes to cutting off a leg or an arm for me." 

There were only three tumblers, the water 
was so muddy that one could not make out 
whether the tea was strong or weak, and the 
samovar held only six tumblers of water, but 
this made it all the pleasanter to take turns in 
order of seniority to receive one's tumbler from 
Mary Hendrikhovna's plump little hands with 
their short and not overclean nails. All the of- 
ficers appeared to be, and really were, in love 
with her that evening. Even those playing 
cards behind the partition soon left their game 
and came over to the samovar, yielding to the 
general mood of courting Mary Hendrikhov- 
na. She, seeing herself surrounded by such 
brilliant and polite young men, beamed with 
satisfaction, try as she might to hide it, and 
perturbed as she evidently was each time her 
husband moved in his sleep behind her. 

There was only one spoon, sugar was more 
plentiful than anything else, but it took too 
long to dissolve, so it was decided that Mary 
Hendrikhovna should stir the sugar for every- 
one in turn. Rost6v received his tumbler, and 
adding some rum to it asked Mary Hendrik- 
hovna to stir it. 

"But you take it without sugar?" she said, 
smiling all the time, as if everything she said 
and everything the others said was very amus- 
ing and had a double meaning. 

"It is not the sugar I want, but only that 
your little hand should stir my tea." 

Mary Hendrikhovna assented and began 
looking for the spoon which someone mean- 
while had pounced on. 

"Use your finger, Mary Hendrfkhovna, it 
will be still nicer," said Rost6v. 



"Too hotl" she replied, blushing with pleas- 
ure. 

Ilyin put a few drops of rum into the bucket 
of water and brought it to Mary Hendrikhov- 
na, asking her to stir it with her finger. 

"This is my cup," said he. "Only dip your 
finger in it and I'll drink it all up." 

When they had emptied the samovar, Ros- 
t6v took a pack of cards and proposed that 
they should play "Kings" with Mary Hendrik- 
hovna. They drew lots to settle who should 
make up her set. At Rost6v's suggestion it was 
agreed that whoever became "King" should 
have the right to kiss Mary Hendrikhovna's 
hand, and that the "Booby" should go to refill 
and reheat the samovar for the doctor when 
the latter awoke. 

"Well, but supposing Mary Hendrfkhovna 
is 'King'?" asked Ilyin. 

"As it is, she is Queen, and her word is law!" 

They had hardly begun to play before the 
doctor's disheveled head suddenly appeared 
from behind Mary Hendrikhovna. He had 
been awake for some time, listening to what 
was being said, and evidently found nothing 
entertaining or amusing in what was going on. 
His face was sad and depressed. Without greet- 
ing the officers, he scratched himself and asked 
to be allowed to pass as they were blocking the 
way. As soon as he had left the room all the of- 
ficers burst into loud laughter and Mary Hen- 
drikhovna blushed till her eyes filled with tears 
and thereby became still more attractive to 
them. Returning from the yard, the doctor 
told his wife (who had ceased to smile so hap- 
pily, and looked at him in alarm, awaiting her 
sentence) that the rain had ceased and they 
must go to sleep in their covered cart, or every- 
thing in it would be stolen. 

"But I'll send an orderly Two of them!" 

said Rost6v. "What an idea, doctorl" 

"I'll stand guard on it myself!" said Ilyin. 

"No, gentlemen, you have had your sleep, 
but I have not slept for two nights," replied 
the doctor, and he sat down morosely beside 
his wife, waiting for the game to end. 

Seeing his gloomy face as he frowned at his 
wife, the officers grew still merrier, and some 
of them could not refrain from laughter, for 
which they hurriedly sought plausible pre- 
texts. When he had gone, taking his wife with 
him, and had settled down with her in their 
covered cart, the officers lay down in the tavern, 
covering themselves with their wet cloaks, but 
they did not sleep for a long time; now they 
exchanged remarks, recalling the doctor's un- 



BOOK 

easiness and his wife's delight, now they ran 
out into the porch and reported what was tak- 
ing place in the covered trap. Several times 
Rost6v, covering his head, tried to go to sleep, 
but some remark would arouse him and con- 
versation would be resumed, to the accom- 
paniment of unreasoning, merry, childlike 
laughter. 

CHAPTER XIV 

IT WAS nearly three o'clock but no one was yet 
asleep, when the quartermaster appeared with 
an order to move on to the little town of Os- 
tr6vna. Still laughing and talking, the officers 
began hurriedly getting ready and again boiled 
some muddy water in the samovar. But Ros- 
t6v went off to his squadron without waiting 
for tea. Day was breaking, the rain had ceased, 
arid the clouds were dispersing. It felt damp 
and cold, especially in clothes that were still 
moist. As they left the tavern in the twilight of 
the dawn, Rost6v and Ilyin both glanced un- 
der the wet and glistening leather hood of the 
doctor's cart, from under the apron of which 
his feet were sticking out, and in the middle of 
which his wife's nightcap was visible and her 
sleepy breathing audible. 

"She really is a dear little thing," said Ros- 
t6v to Ilyin, who was following him. 

"A charming woman!" said Ilyin, with all 
the gravity of a boy of sixteen. 

Half an hour later the squadron was lined 
up on the road. The command was heard to 
"mount" and the soldiers crossed themselves 
and mounted. Rostov riding in front gave the 
order "Forward!" and the hussars, with clank- 
ing sabers and subdued talk, their horses' 
hoofs splashing in the mud, defiled in fours 
and moved along the broad road planted 
with birch trees on each side, following the 
infantry and a battery that had gone on in 
front. 

Tattered, blue-purple clouds, reddening in 
the east, were scudding before the wind. It was 
growing lighter and lighter. That curly grass 
which always grows by country roadsides be- 
came clearly visible, still wet with the night's 
rain; the drooping branches of the birches, al- 
so wet, swayed in the wind and flung down 
bright drops of water to one side. The soldiers' 
faces were more and more clearly visible. Ros- 
t6v, always closely followed by Ilyin, rode 
along the side of the road between two rows of 
birch trees. 

When campaigning, Rost6v allowed himself 
the indulgence of riding not a regimental but 



NINE 



3 6 9 



a Cossack horse. A judge of horses and a sports- 
man, he had lately procured himself a large, 
fine, mettlesome, Done*ts horse, dun-colored, 
with light mane and tail, and when he rode it 
no one could outgallop him. To ride this horse 
was a pleasure to him, and he thought of the 
horse, of the morning, of the doctor's wife, but 
not once of the impending danger. 

Formerly, when going into action, Rost6v 
had felt afraid; now he had not the least feel- 
ing of fear. He was fearless, not because he had 
grown used to being under fire (one cannot 
grow used to danger), but because he had 
learned how to manage his thoughts when in 
danger. He had grown accustomed when go- 
ing into action to think about anything but 
what would seem most likely to interest him 
the impending danger. During the first period 
of his service, hard as he tried and much as he 
reproached himself with cowardice, he had not 
been able to do this, but with time it had come 
of itself. Now he rode beside Ilyin under the 
birch trees, occasionally plucking leaves from 
a branch that met his hand, sometimes touch- 
ing his horse's side with his foot, or, without 
turning round, handing a pipe he had finished 
to an hussar riding behind him, with as calm 
and careless an air as though he were merely 
out for a ride. He glanced with pity at the ex- 
cited face of Ilyin, who talked much and in 
great agitation. He knew from experience the 
tormenting expectation of terror and death 
the cornet was suffering and knew that only 
time could help him. 

As soon as the sun appeared in a clear strip 
of sky beneath the clouds, the wind fell, as if 
it dared not spoil the beauty of the summer 
morning after the storm; drops still continued 
to fall, but vertically now, and all was still. 
The whole sun appeared on the horizon and 
disappeared behind a long narrow cloud that 
hung above it. A few minutes later it reap- 
peared brighter still from behind the top of 
the cloud, tearing its edge. Everything grew 
bright and glittered. And with that light, and 
as if in reply to it, came the sound of guns 
ahead of them. 

Before Rostov had had time to consider and 
determine the distance of that firing, Count 
Ostermann-Tolstoy's adjutant came galloping 
from Vitebsk with orders to advance at a trot 
along the road. 

The squadron overtook and passed the in- 
fantry and the battery which had also quick- 
ened their pace rode down a hill, and passing 
through an empty and deserted village again 



37 



WAR AND PEACE 



ascended. The horses began to lather and the 
men to flush. 

"Haiti Dress your ranks!" the order of the 
regimental commander was heard ahead. "For- 
ward by the left. Walk, march!" came the or- 
der from in front. 

And the hussars, passing along the line of 
troops on the left flank of our position, halted 
behind our Uhlans who were in the front line. 
To the right stood our infantry in a dense 
column: they were the reserve. Higher up the 
hill, on the very horizon, our guns were visible 
through the wonderfully clear air, brightly 
illuminated by slanting morn ing sunbeams. In 
front, beyond a hollow dale, could be seen the 
enemy's columns and guns. Our advanced line, 
already in action, could be heard briskly ex- 
changing shots with the enemy in the dale. 

At these sounds, long unheard, Rost6v's 
spirits rose, as at the strains of the merriest 
music. Trap-ta-ta-tap! cracked the shots, now 
together, now several quickly one after anoth- 
er. Again all was silent and then again it 
sounded as if someone were walking on deto- 
nators and exploding them. 

The hussars remained in the same place for 
about an hour. A cannonade began. Count 
Ostermann with his suite rode up behind the 
squadron, halted, spoke to the commander of 
the regiment, and rode up the hill to the guns. 

After Ostermann had gone, a command rang 
out to the Uhlans. 

"Form column! Prepare to charge!" 

The infantry in front of them parted into 
platoons to allow the cavalry to pass. The Uh- 
lans started, the streamers on their spears flut- 
tering, and trotted downhill toward the French 
cavalry which was seen below to the left. 

As soon as the Uhlans descended the hill, 
the hussars were ordered up the hill to support 
the battery. As they took the places vacated by 
the Uhlans, bullets came from the front, whin- 
ing and whistling, but fell spent without tak- 
ing effect. 

The sounds, which he had not heard for so 
long, had an even more pleasurable and ex- 
hilarating effect on Rost6v than the previous 
sounds of firing. Drawing himself up, he viewed 
the field of battle opening out before him from 
the hill, and with his whole soul followed the 
movement of the Uhlans. They swooped down 
dose to the French dragoons, something con- 
tused happened there amid the smoke, and 
five minutes later our Uhlans were galloping 
back, not to the place they had occupied but 
more to the left, and among the orange-colored 



Uhlans on chestnut horses and behind them, 
in a large group, blue French dragoons on gray 
horses could be seen. 

CHAPTER XV 

ROSTOV, with his keen sportsman's eye, was 
one of the first to catch sight of these blue 
French dragoons pursuing our Uhlans. Nearer 
and nearer in disorderly crowds came the Uh- 
lans and the French dragoons pursuing them. 
He could already see how these men, who 
looked so small at the foot of the hill, jostled 
and overtook one another, waving their arms 
and their sabers in the air. 

Rost6v gazed at what was happening before 
him as at a hunt. He felt instinctively that if 
the hussars struck at the French dragoons now, 
the latter could not withstand them, but if a 
charge was to be made it must be done now, at 
that very moment, or it would be too late. He 
looked around. A captain, standing beside him, 
was gazing like himself with eyes fixed on the 
cavalry below them. 

"Andrew Sevastyinychl" said Rost6v. "You 
know, we could crush them " 

"A fine thing tool" replied the captain, "and 
really . . ." 

Rost6v, without waiting to hear him out, 
touched his horse, galloped to the front of his 
squadron, and before he had time to finish 
giving the word of command, the whole squad- 
ron, sharing his feeling, was following him. 
Rost6v himself did not know how or why he 
did it. He acted as he did when hunting, with- 
out reflecting or considering. He saw the dra- 
goons near and that they were galloping in dis- 
order; he knew they could not withstand an 
attack knew there was only that moment and 
that if he let it slip it would not return. The 
bullets were whining and whistling so stimu- 
latingly around him and his horse was so eager 
to go that he could not restrain himself. He 
touched his horse, gave the word of command, 
and immediately, hearing behind him the 
tramp of the horses of his deployed squadron, 
rode at full trot downhill toward the dragoons. 
Hardly had they reached the bottom of the hill 
before their pace instinctively changed to a 
gallop, which grew faster and faster as they 
drew nearer to our Uhlans and the French 
dragoons who galloped after them. The dra- 
goons were now close at hand. On seeing the 
hussars, the foremost began to turn, while 
those behind began to halt. With the same 
feeling with which he had galloped across the 
path of a wolf, Rost6v gave rein to his Done* ts 



BOOK NINE 



horse and galloped to intersect the path of the 
dragoons' disordered lines. One Uhlan stopped, 
another who was on foot flung himself to the 
ground to avoid being knocked over, and a 
riderless horse fell in among the hussars. Near- 
ly all the French dragoons were galloping back. 
Rost6v, picking out one on a gray horse, dashed 
after him. On the way he came upon a bush, 
his gallant horse cleared it, and almost before 
he had righted himself in his saddle he saw 
that he would immediately overtake the en- 
emy he had selected. That Frenchman, by his 
uniform an officer, was going at a gallop, 
crouching on his gray horse and urging it on 
with his saber. In another moment Rost6v's 
horse dashed its breast against the hindquarters 
of the officer's horse, almost knocking it over, 
and at the same instant Rost6v, without know- 
ing why, raised his saber and struck the French- 
man with it. 

The instant he had done this, all Rost6v's 
animation vanished. The officer fell, not so 
much from the blowwhich had but slightly 
cut his arm above the elbow as from the 
shock to his horse and from fright. Rost6v 
reined in his horse, and his eyes sought his foe 
to see whom he had vanquished. The French 
dragoon officer was hopping with one foot on 
the ground, the other being caught in the stir- 
rup. His eyes, screwed up with fear as if he 
every moment expected another blow, gazed 
up at Rost6v with shrinking terror. His pale 
and mud-stained face fair and young, with a 
dimple in the chin and light-blue eyes was 
not an enemy's face at all suited to a battlefield, 
but a most ordinary, homelike face. Before 
Rost6v had decided what to do with him, the 
officer cried, "I surrenderl" He hurriedly but 
vainly tried to get his foot out of the stirrup 
and did not remove his frightened blue eyes 
from Rost6v's face. Some hussars who galloped 
up disengaged his foot and helped him into 
the saddle. On all sides, the hussars were busy 
with the dragoons; one was wounded, but 
though his face was bleeding, he would not 
give up his horse; another was perched up be- 
hind an hussar with his arms round him; a 
third was being helped by an hussar to mount 
his horse. In front, the French infantry were 
firing as they ran. The hussars galloped hastily 
back with their prisoners. Rost6v galloped back 
with the rest, aware of an unpleasant feeling 
of depression in his heart. Something vague 
and confused, which he could not at all ac- 
count for, had come over him with the capture 
of that officer and the blow he had dealt him. 



Count Ostermann-Tolst6y met the return- 
ing hussars, sent for Rostov, thanked him, and 
said he would report his gallant deed to the 
Emperor and would recommend him for a St. 
George's Cross. When sent for by Count Oster- 
mann, Rost6v, remembering that he had 
charged without orders, felt sure his command- 
er was sending for him to punish him for 
breach of discipline. Ostermann's flattering 
words and promise of a reward should there- 
fore have struck him all the more pleasantly, 
but he still felt that same vaguely disagreeable 
feeling of moral nausea. "But what on earth is 
worrying me?" he asked himself as he rode 
back from the general. "Ilyfn? No, he's safe. 
Have I disgraced myself in any way? No, that's 
not it." Something else, resembling remorse, 
tormented him. "Yes, oh yes, that French of- 
ficer with the dimple. And I remember how 
my arm paused when I raised it." 

Rost6v saw the prisoners being led away and 
galloped after them to have a look at his 
Frenchman with the dimple on his chin. He 
was sitting in his foreign uniform on an hussar 
packhorse and looked anxiously about him. 
The sword cut on his arm could scarcely be 
called a wound. He glanced at Rost6v with a 
feigned smile and waved his hand in greeting. 
Rost6v still had the same indefinite feeling, as 
of shame. 

All that day and the next his friends and 
comrades noticed that Rost6v, without being 
dull or angry, was silent, thoughtful, and pre- 
occupied. He drank reluctantly, tried to re- 
main alone, and kept turning something over 
in his mind. 

Rostov was always thinking about that bril- 
liant exploit of his, which to his amazement 
had gained him the St. George's Cross and even 
given him a reputation for bravery, and there 
was something he could not at all understand. 
"So others are even more afraid than I ami" 
he thought. "So that's all there is in what is 
called heroism I And did I do it for my country's 
sake? And how was he to blame, with his dim- 
ple and blue eyes? And how frightened he wasl 
He thought that I should kill him. Why should 
I kill him? My hand trembled. And they have 
given me a St. George's Cross. ... I can't make 
it out at all." 

But while Nicholas was considering these 
questions and still could reach no clear solu- 
tion of what puzzled him so, the wheel of for- 
tune in the service, as often happens, turned 
in his favor. After the affair at Ostr6vna he 
was brought into notice, received command of 



37* 

an hussar battalion, and when a brave officer 

was needed he was chosen. 

CHAPTER XVI 

ON RECEIVING NEWS of Natdsha's illness, the 
countess, though not quite well yet and still 
weak, went to Moscow with Pdtya and the 
rest of the household, and the whole family 
moved from Marya Dmftrievna's house to their 
own and settled down in town. 

Natdsha's illness was so serious that, fortu- 
nately for her and for her parents, the consider- 
ation of all that had caused the illness, her 
conduct and the breaking off of her engage- 
ment, receded into the background. She was 
so ill that it was impossible for them to consid- 
er in how far she was to blame for what had 
happened. She could not eat or sleep, grew 
visibly thinner, coughed, and, as the doctors 
made them feel, was in danger. They could not 
think of anything but how to help her. Doctors 
came to see her singly and in consultation, 
talked much in French, German, and Latin, 
blamed one another, and prescribed a great 
variety of medicines for all the diseases known 
to them, but the simple idea never occurred 
to any of them that they could not know the 
disease Natasha was suffering from, as no dis- 
ease suffered by a live man can be known, for 
every living person has his own peculiarities 
and always has his own peculiar, personal, nov- 
el, complicated disease, unknown to medicine 
not a disease of the lungs, liver, skin, heart, 
nerves, and so on mentioned in medical books, 
but a disease consisting of one of the innumer- 
able combinations of the maladies of those or- 
gans. This simple thought could not occur to 
the doctors (as it cannot occur to a wizard that 
he is unable to work his charms) because the 
business of their lives was to cure, and they re- 
ceived money for it and had spent the best 
years of their lives on that business. But, above 
all, that thought was kept out of their minds 
by the fact that they saw they were really use- 
ful, as in fact they were to the whole Rost6v 
family. Their usefulness did not depend on 
making the patient swallow substances for the 
most part harmful (the harm was scarcely per- 
ceptible, as they were given in small doses), 
but they were useful, necessary, and indispen- 
sable because they satisfied a mental need of 
the invalid and of those who loved her and 
that is why there are, and always will be, 
pseudo-healers, wise women, homeopaths, and 
allopaths. They satisfied that eternal human 
need for hope of relief, for sympathy, and that 



WAR AND PEACE 

something should be done, which is felt by 
those who are suffering. They satisfied the need 
seen in its most elementary form in a child, 
when it wants to have a place rubbed that has 
been hurt. A child knocks itself and runs at 
once to the arms of its mother or nurse to have 
the aching spot rubbed or kissed, and it feels 
better when this is done. The child cannot 
believe that the strongest and wisest of its peo- 
ple have no remedy for its pain, and the hope 
of relief and the expression of its mother's 
sympathy while she rubs the bump comforts it. 
The doctors were of use to Natdsha because 
they kissed and rubbed her bump, assuring 
her that it would soon pass if only the coach- 
man went to the chemist's in the Arbdt and 
got a powder and some pills in a pretty box for 
a ruble and seventy kopeks, and if she took 
those powders in boiled water at intervals of 
precisely two hours, neither more nor less. 

What would S6nya and the count and count- 
ess have done, how would they have looked, if 
nothing had been done, if there had not been 
those pills to give by the clock, the warm drinks, 
the chicken cutlets, and all the other details of 
life ordered by the doctors, the carrying out of 
which supplied an occupation and consola- 
tion to the family circle? How would the count 
have borne his clearly loved daughter's illness 
had he not known that it was costing him a 
thousand rubles, and that he would not grudge 
thousands more to benefit her, or had he not 
known that if her illness continued he would 
not grudge yet other thousands and would take 
her abroad for consultations there, and had he 
not been able to explain the details of howMe"- 
tivier and Feller had not understood the symp- 
toms, but Frise had, and Miidrov had diag- 
nosed them even better? What would the 
countess have done had she not been able 
sometimes to scold the invalid for not strictly 
obeying the doctor's orders? 

"You'll never get well like that," she would 
say, forgetting her grief in her vexation, "if 
you won't obey the doctor and take your medi- 
cine at the right time! You mustn't trifle with 
it, you know, or it may turn to pneumonia!' 
she would go on, deriving much comfort from 
the utterance of that foreign word, incompre- 
hensible to others as well as to herself. 

What would S6nya have done without the 
glad consciousness that she had not undressed 
during the first three nights, in order to be 
ready to carry out all the doctor's injunctions 
with precision, and that she still kept awake at 
night so as not to miss the proper time when 



BOOK NINE 



373 



the slightly harmful pills in the little gilt box 
had to be administered? Even to Natasha her- 
self it was pleasant to see that so many sacri- 
fices were being made for her sake, and to know 
that she had to take medicine at certain hours, 
though she declared that no medicine would 
cure her and that it was all nonsense. And it was 
even pleasant to be able to show, by disregard- 
ing the orders, that she did not believe in medi- 
cal treatment and did not value her life. 

The doctor came every day, felt her pulse, 
looked at her tongue, and regardless of her 
grief-stricken face joked with her. But when 
he had gone into another room, to which the 
countess hurriedly followed him, he assumed 
a grave air and thoughtfully shaking his head 
said that though there was danger, he had 
hopes of the effect of this last medicine and 
one must wait and see, that the malady was 
chiefly mental, but . . . And the countess, try- 
ing to conceal the action from herself and from 
him, slipped a gold coin into his hand and al- 
ways returned to the patient with a more tran- 
quil mind. 

The symptoms of Natdsha's illness were that 
she ate little, slept little, coughed, and was al- 
ways low-spirited. The doctors said that she 
could not get on without medical treatment, so 
they kept her in the stifling atmosphere of the 
town, and the Rostovs did riot move to the 
country that summer of 1812. 

In spite of the many pills she swallowed and 
the drops and powders out of the little bottles 
and boxes of which Madame Schoss who was 
fond of such things made a large collection, and 
in spite of being deprived of the country life to 
which she was accustomed, youth prevailed. 
Natdsha's grief began to be overlaid by the 
impressions of daily life, it ceased to press so 
painfully on her heart, it gradually faded into 
the past, and she began to recover physically. 

CHAPTER XVII 

NATASHA WAS CALMER but no happier. She not 
merely avoided all external forms of pleasure 
balls, promenades, concerts, and theaters 
but she never laughed without a sound of tears 
in her laughter. She could not sing. As soon as 
she began to laugh, or tried to sing by herself, 
tears choked her: tears of remorse, tears at the 
recollection of those pure times which could 
never return, tears of vexation that she should 
so uselessly have ruined her young life which 
might have been so happy. Laughter and sing- 
ing in particular seemed to her like a blas- 
phemy, in face of her sorrow. Without any 



need of self-restraint, no wish to coquet ever 
entered her head. She said and felt at that time 
that no man was more to her than Nastisya 
Ivdnovna, the buffoon. Something stood senti- 
nel within her and forbade her every joy. Be- 
sides, she had lost all the old interests of her 
carefree girlish life that had been so full of hope. 
The previous autumn, the hunting, "Uncle," 
and the Christmas holidays spent with Nicho- 
las at Otrddnoe were what she recalled often- 
est and most painfully. What would she not 
have given to bring back even a single day of 
that timel But it was gone forever. Her pre- 
sentiment at the time had not deceived her 
that that state of freedom and readiness for 
any enjoyment would not return again. Yet it 
was necessary to live on. 

It comforted her to reflect that she was not 
better as she had formerly imagined, but worse, 
much worse, than anybody else in the world. 
But this was not enough. She knew that, and 
asked herself, "What next?" But there was 
nothing to come. There was no joy in life, yet 
life was passing. Natasha apparently tried not 
to be a burden or a hindrance to anyone, but 
wanted nothing for herself. She kept away 
from everyone in the house and felt at ease on- 
ly with her brother Ptya. She liked to be with 
him better than with the others, and when 
alone with him she sometimes laughed. She 
hardly ever left the house and of those who 
came to see them was glad to see only one per- 
son, Pierre. It would have been impossible to 
treat her with more delicacy, greater care, and 
at the same time more seriously than did Count 
Bezukhov. Natdsha unconsciously felt this del- 
icacy and so found great pleasure in his society. 
But she was not even grateful to him for it; 
nothing good on Pierre's part seemed to her to 
be an effort, it seemed so natural for him to be 
kind to everyone that there was no merit in 
his kindness. Sometimes Natdsha noticed em- 
barrassment and awkwardness on his part in 
her presence, especially when he wanted to do 
something to please her, or feared that some- 
thing they spoke of would awaken memories 
distressing to her. She noticed this and attrib- 
uted it to his general kindness and shyness, 
which she imagined must be the same toward 
everyone as it was to her. After those involun- 
tary words that if he were free he would have 
asked on his knees for her hand and her love- 
uttered at a moment when she was so strongly 
agitated, Pierre never spoke to Natdsha of his 
feelings; and it seemed plain to her that those 
words, which had then so comforted her, were 



374 



spoken as all sorts of meaningless words are 
spoken to comfort a crying child. It was not be- 
cause Pierre was a married man, but because 
Natasha felt very strongly with him that moral 
barrier the absence of which she had experi- 
enced with Kuragin that it never entered her 
head that the relations between him and her- 
self could lead to love on her part, still less 
on his, or even to the kind of tender, self- 
conscious, romantic friendship between a 
man and a woman of which she had known 
several instances. 

Before the end of the fast of St. Peter, Agra- 
fna Ivdnovna Belova, a country neighbor of 
the Rostovs, came to Moscow to pay her devo- 
tions at the shrines of the Moscow saints. She 
suggested that Natdsha should fast and pre- 
pare for Holy Communion, and Natasha glad- 
ly welcomed the idea. Despite the doctor's or- 
ders that she should not go out early in the 
morning, Natasha insisted on fasting and pre- 
paring for the sacrament, not as they generally 
prepared for it in the Rostov family by attend- 
ing three services in their own house, but as 
Agrafe"na Ivdnovna did, by going to church 
every day for a week and not once missing 
Vespers, Matins, or Mass. 

The countess was pleased with Natasha's 
zeal; after the poor results of the medical treat- 
ment, in the depths of her heart she hoped that 
prayer might help her daughter more than 
medicines and, though not without fear and 
concealing it from the doctor, she agreed to 
Natasha's wish and entrusted her to Belova. 
Agrafcna Ivanovna used to come to wake Na- 
tasha at three in the morning, but generally 
found her already awake. She was afraid of be- 
ing late for Matins. Hastily washing, and meek- 
ly putting on her shabbiest dress and an old 
mantilla, Natasha, shivering in the fresh air, 
went out into the deserted streets lit by the 
clear light of dawn. By Agraf^na Ivanovna's 
advice Natasha prepared herself not in their 
own parish, but at a church where, according 
to the devout Agratena Ivanovna, the priest 
was a man of very severe and lofty life. There 
were never many people in the church; Nata- 
sha always stood beside Belova in the customary 
place before an icon of the Blessed Virgin, let 
into the screen before the choir on the left 
side, and a feeling, new to her, of humility be- 
fore something great and incomprehensible, 
seized her when at that unusual morning hour, 
gazing at the dark face of the Virgin illumi- 
nated by the candles burning before it and by 
the morning light falling from the window, 



WAR AND PEACE 

she listened to the words of the service which 
she tried to follow with understanding. When 
she understood them her personal feeling be- 
came interwoven in the prayers with shades of 
its own. When she did not understand, it was 
sweeter still to think that the wish to under- 
stand everything is pride, that it is impossible 
to understand all, that it is only necessary to 
believe and to commit oneself to God, whom 
she felt guiding her soul at those moments. She 
crossed herself, bowed low, and when she did 
not understand, in horror at her own vileness, 
simply asked God to forgive her everything, 
everything, and to have mercy upon her. The 
prayers to which she surrendered herself most 
of all were those of repentance. On her way 
home at an early hour when she met no one 
but bricklayers going to work or men sweeping 
the street, and everybody within the houses was 
still asleep, Natdsha experienced a feeling new 
to her, a sense of the possibility of correcting 
her faults, the possibility of a new, clean life, 
and of happiness. 

During the whole week she spent in this 
way, that feeling grew every day. And the hap- 
piness of taking communion, or "communing" 
as Agrafe"na Ivdnovna, joyously playing with 
the word, called it, seemed to Natasha so great 
that she felt she should never live till that 
blessed Sunday. 

But the happy day came, and on that memo- 
rable Sunday, when, dressed in white muslin, 
she returned home after communion, for the 
first time for many months she felt calm and 
not oppressed by the thought of the life that 
lay before her. 

The doctor who came to see her that day or- 
dered her to continue the powders he had pre- 
scribed a fortnight previously. 

"She must certainly go on taking them morn- 
ing and evening," said he, evidently sincerely 
satisfied with his success. "Only, please be par- 
ticular about it. 

"Be quite easy," he continued playfully, as 
he adroitly took the gold coin in his palm. 
"She will soon be singing and frolicking about. 
The last medicine has done her a very great 
deal of good. She has freshened up very much." 

The countess, with a cheerful expression on 
her face, looked down at her nails and spat a 
little for luck as she returned to the drawing 
room. 



CHAPTER XVIII 

AT THE BEGINNING of July more and more dis- 
quieting reports about the war began to spread 



BOOK NINE 



in Moscow; people spoke of an appeal by the 
Emperor to the people, and of his coming him- 
self from the army to Moscow. And as up to the 
eleventh of July no manifesto or appeal had 
been received, exaggerated reports became 
current about them and about the position of 
Russia. It was said that the Emperor was leav- 
ing the army because it was in danger, it was 
said that Smolensk had surrendered, that Na- 
poleon had an army of a million and only a 
miracle could save Russia. 

On the eleventh of July, which was Satur- 
day, the manifesto was received but was not 
yet in print, and Pierre, who was at the Ros- 
tovs', promised to come to dinner next day, 
Sunday, and bring a copy of the manifesto and 
appeal, which he would obtain from Count 
Rostopchin. 

That Sunday, the Rost6vs went to Mass at 
the RazurruVvskis' private chapel as usual. It 
was a hot July day. Even at ten o'clock, when 
the Rostovs got out of their carriage at the 
chapel, the sultry air, the shouts of hawkers, 
the light and gay summer clothes of the crowd, 
the dusty leaves of the trees on the boulevard, 
the sounds of the band and the white trousers 
of a battalion marching to parade, the rattling 
of wheels on the cobblestones, and the brilliant, 
hot sunshine were all full of that summer lan- 
guor, that content and discontent with the pres- 
ent, which is most strongly felt on a bright, hot 
day in town. All the Moscow notabilities, all 
the Rost6vs' acquaintances, were at the Razu- 
m6vskis' chapel, for, as if expecting something 
to happen, many wealthy families who usually 
left town for their country estates had not 
gone away that summer. As Natasha, at her 
mother's side, passed through the crowd be- 
hind a liveried footman who cleared the way 
for them, she heard a young man speaking about 
her in too loud a whisper. 

"That's Rostova, the one who ..." 

"She's much thinner, but all the same she's 
prettyl" 

She heard, or thought she heard, the names 
of Kuragin and Bolk6nski. But she was always 
imagining that. It always seemed to her that 
everyone who looked at her was thinking only 
of what had happened to her. With a sinking 
heart, wretched as she always was now when 
she found herself in a crowd, Natasha in her 
lilac silk dress trimmed with black lace walked 
as women can walkwith the more repose 
and stateliness the greater the pain and shame 
in her soul. She knew for certain that she was 
pretty, but this no longer gave her satisfaction 



375 



as it used to. On the contrary it tormented her 
more than anything else of late, and particular- 
ly so on this bright, hot summer day in town. 
"It's Sunday again another week past," she 
thought, recalling that she had been here the 
Sunday before, "and always the same life that 
is no life, and the same surroundings in which 
it used to be so easy to live. I'm pretty, 1'myoung, 
and I know that now I am good. I used to be 
bad, but now I know I am good," she thought, 
"but yet my best years are slipping by and are 
no good to anyone." She stood by her mother's 
side and exchanged nods with acquaintances 
near her. From habit she scrutinized the ladies' 
dresses, condemned the bearing of a lady stand- 
ing close by who was not crossing herself prop- 
erly but in a cramped manner, and again she 
thought with vexation that she was herself be- 
ing judged and was judging others, and sud- 
denly, at the sound of the service, she felt hor- 
rified at her own vileness, horrified that the 
former purity of her soul was again lost to her. 

A comely, fresh-looking old man was con- 
ducting the service with that mild solemnity 
which has so elevating and soothing an effect 
on the souls of the worshipers. The gates of the 
sanctuary screen were closed, the curtain was 
slowly drawn, and from behind it a soft myste- 
rious voice pronounced some words. Tears, the 
cause of which she herself did not understand, 
made Natdsha's breast heave, and a joyous but 
oppressive feeling agitated her. 

"Teach me what I should do, how to live my 
life, how I may grow good forever, forever!" 
she pleaded. 

The deacon came out onto the raised space 
before the altar screen and, holding his thumb 
extended, drew his long hair from under his 
dalmatic and, making the sign of the cross on 
his breast, began in a loud and solemn voice to 
recite the words of the prayer. . . . 

"In peace let us pray unto the Lord." 

"As one community, without distinction of 
class, without enmity, united by brotherly love 
let us prayl" thought Natasha. 

"For the peace that is from above, and for 
the salvation of our souls." 

"For the world of angels and all the spirits 
who dwell above us," prayed Natdsha. 

When they prayed for the warriors, she 
thought of her brother and Denisov. When 
they prayed for all traveling by land and sea, 
she remembered Prince Andrew, prayed for 
him, and asked God to forgive her all the 
wrongs she had done him. When they prayed 
for those who love us, she prayed for the mem- 



376 



WAR AND PEACE 



bers of her own family, her father and mother 
and Sonya, realizing for the first time how 
wrongly she had acted toward them, and feel- 
ing all the strength of her love for them. When 
they prayed for those who hate us, she tried to 
think of her enemies and people who hated 
her, in order to pray for them. She included 
among her enemies the creditors and all who 
had business dealings with her father, and al- 
ways at the thought of enemies and those who 
hated her she remembered Anatole who had 
done her so much harmand though he did 
not hate her she gladly prayed for him as for 
an enemy. Only at prayer did she feel able to 
think clearly and calmly of Prince Andrew and 
Anatole, as men for whom her feelings were as 
nothing compared with her awe and devotion 
to God. When they prayed for the Imperial 
family and the Synod, she bowed very low and 
made the sign of the cross, saying to herself that 
even if she did not understand, still she could 
not doubt, and at any rate loved the govern- 
ing Synod and prayed for it. 

When he had finished the Litany the deacon 
crossed the stole over his breast and said, "Let 
us commit ourselves and our whole lives to 
Christ the Lord!" 

"Commit ourselves to God," Natdsha in- 
wardly repeated. "Lord God, I submit myself 
to Thy willl" she thought. "I want nothing, 
wish for nothing; teach me what to do and 
how to use my willl Take me, take mel" prayed 
Natasha, with impatient emotion in her heart, 
not crossing herself but letting her slender arms 
hang down as if expecting some invisible pow- 
er at any moment to take her and deliver her 
from herself, from her regrets, desires, remorse, 
hopes, and sins. 

The countess looked round several times at 
her daughter's softened face and shining eyes 
and prayed God to help her. 

Unexpectedly, in the middle of the service, 
and not in the usual order Natasha knew so 
well, the deacon brought out a small stool, the 
one he knelt on when praying on Trinity Sun- 
day, and placed it before the doors of the sanc- 
tuary screen. The priest came out with his pur- 
ple velvet biretta on his head, adjusted his 
hair, and knelt down with an effort. Every- 
body followed his example and they looked at 
one another in surprise. Then came the prayer 
just received from the Synod a prayer for the 
deliverance of Russia from hostile invasion. 

"Lord God of might, God of our salvation!" 
began the priest in that voice, clear, not gran- 
diloquent but mild, in which only the Slav 



clergy read and which acts so irresistibly on a 
Russian heart. 

"Lord God of might, God of our salvation! 
Look this day in mercy and blessing on Thy 
humble people, and graciously hear us, spare 
us, and have mercy upon us! This foe con- 
founding Thy land, desiring to lay waste the 
wholeworld, rises against us; these lawless men 
are gathered together to overthrow Thy king- 
dom, to destroy Thy dear Jerusalem, Thy be- 
loved Russia; to defile Thy temples, to over- 
throw Thine altars, and to desecrate our 
holy shrines. How long, O Lord, how long 
shall the wicked triumph? How long shall they 
wield unlawful power? 

"Lord God! Hear us when we pray to Thee; 
strengthen with Thy might our most gracious 
sovereign lord, the Emperor Alexander Pdvlo- 
vich; be mindful of his uprightness and meek- 
ness, reward him according tohis righteousness, 
and let it preserve us, Thy chosen Israel! Bless 
his counsels, his undertakings, and his work; 
strengthen his kingdom by Thine almighty 
hand, and give him victory over his enemy, 
even as Thou gavest Moses the victory over 
Amalek, Gideon over Midian, and David over 
Goliath. Preserve his army, put a bow of brass 
in the hands of those who have armed them- 
selves in Thy Name, and gird their loins with 
strength for the fight. Take up the spear and 
shield and arise to help us; confound and put 
to shame those who have devised evil against 
us, may they be before the faces of Thy faith- 
ful warriors as dust before the wind, and may 
Thy mighty Angel confound them and put 
them to flight; may they be ensnared when they 
know it not, and may the plots they have laid 
in secret be turned against them; let them fall 
before Thy servants' feet and be laid low by 
our hosts! Lord, Thou art able to save both 
great and small; Thou art God, and man can- 
not prevail against Thee! 

"God of our fathers! Remember Thy boun- 
teous mercy and loving-kindness which are 
from of old; turn not Thy face from us, but 
be gracious to our unworthiness, and in Thy 
great goodness and Thy many mercies regard 
not our transgressions and iniquities! Create 
in us a clean heart and renew a right spirit 
within us, strengthen us all in Thy faith, forti- 
fy our hope, inspire us with true love one for 
another, arm us with unity of spirit in the 
righteous defense of the heritage Thou gavest 
to us and to our fathers, and let not the scepter 
of the wicked be exalted against the destiny of 
those Thou hast sanctified. 



BOOK NINE 



377 



"O Lord our God, in whom we believe and 
in whom we put our trust, let us not be con- 
founded in our hope of Thy mercy, and give 
us a token of Thy blessing, that those who hate 
us and our Orthodox faith may see it and be 
put to shame and perish, and may all the na- 
tions know that Thou art the Lord and we are 
Thy people. Show Thy mercy upon us this day, 
O Lord, and grant us Thy salvation; make the 
hearts of Thy servants to rejoice in Thy mercy; 
smite down our enemies and destroy them 
swiftly beneath the feet of Thy faithful serv- 
ants! For Thou art the defense, the succor, and 
the victory of them that put their trust in Thee, 
and to Thee be all glory, to Father, Son, and 
Holy Ghost, now and forever, world without 
end. Amen." 

In Natasha's receptive condition of soul this 
prayer affected her strongly. She listened to ev- 
ery word about the victory of Moses over Am- 
alek,of Gideon over Midian,and of David over 
Goliath, and about the destruction of "Thy 
Jerusalem," and she prayed to God with the 
tenderness and emotion with which her heart 
was overflowing, but without fully understand- 
ing what she was asking of God in that prayer. 
She shared with all her heart in the prayer for 
the spirit of righteousness, for the strengthen- 
ing of the heart by faith and hope, and its an- 
imation by love. But she could not pray that 
her enemies might be trampled under foot 
when but a few minutes before she had been 
wishing she had more of them that she might 
pray for them. But neither could she doubt 
the righteousness of the prayer that was being 
read on bended knees. She felt in her heart a 
devout and tremulous awe at the thought of 
the punishment that overtakes men for their 
sins, and especially of her own sins, and she 
prayed to God to forgive them all, and her too, 
and to give them all, and her too, peace and 
happiness. And it seemed to her that God 
heard her prayer. 

CHAPTER XIX 

FROM THE DAY when Pierre, after leaving the 
Rost6vs' with Natasha's grateful look fresh in 
his mind, had gazed at the comet that seemed to 
be fixed in the sky and felt that something new 
was appearing on his own horizon from that 
day the problem of the vanity and uselessness 
of all earthly things, that had incessantly tor- 
mented him, no longer presented itself. That 
terrible question "Why?" "Wherefore?" which 
had come to him amid every occupation, was 
now replaced, not by another question or by a 



reply to the former question, but by her image. 
When he listened to, or himself took part in, 
trivial conversations, when he read or heard 
of human baseness or folly, he was not horri- 
fied as formerly, and did not ask himself why 
men struggled so about these things when all 
is so transient and incomprehensiblebut he 
remembered her as he had last seen her, and 
all his doubts vanished not because she had 
answered the questions that had haunted him, 
but because his conception of her transferred 
him instantly to another, a brighter, realm of 
spiritual activity in which no one could be jus- 
tified or guilty a realm of beauty and love 
which it was worth living for. Whatever world- 
ly baseness presented itself to him, he said to 
himself: 

"Well, supposing N. N. has swindled the 
country and the Tsar, and the country and the 
Tsar confer honors upon him, what does that 
matter? She smiled at me yesterday and asked 
me to come again, and I love her, and no one 
will ever know it." And his soul felt calm and 
peaceful. 

Pierre still went into society, drank as much 
and led the same idle and dissipated life, be- 
cause besides the hours he spent at the Ros- 
t6vs' there were other hours he had to spend 
somehow, and the habits and acquaintances he 
had made in Moscow formed a current that 
bore him along irresistibly. But latterly, when 
more and more disquieting reports came from 
the seat of war and Natasha's health began to 
improve and she no longer aroused in him the 
former feeling of careful pity, an ever-increas- 
ing restlessness, which he could not explain, 
took possession of him. He felt that the condi- 
tion he was in could not continue long, that 
a catastrophe was coming which would change 
his whole life, and he impatiently sought ev- 
erywhere for signs of that approaching catas- 
trophe. One of his brother Masons had re- 
vealed to Pierre the following prophecy con- 
cerning Napoleon, drawn from the Revelation 
of St. John. 

In chapter 13, verse 18, of the Apocalypse, 
it is said: 

Here is wisdom. Let him that hath un- 
derstanding count the number of the 
beast: for it is the number of a man; and 
his number is Six hundred threescore and 
six. 
And in the fifth verse of the same chapter: 

And there was given unto him a mouth 
speaking great things and blasphemies; 



378 

and power was given unto him to contin- 
ue forty and two months. 

The French alphabet, written out with the 
same numerical values as the Hebrew, in which 
the first nine letters denote units and the oth- 
ers tens, will have the following significance: 



a 
i 
1 

20 



b c 

* 3 
m 
30 40 



n 



t 
100 



u 
no 



e 

5 
o 

50 

V 
120 



f g h 
678 

p q 
GO 70 

w 



WAR AND PEACE 

what means, he was connected with the great 
event foretold in the Apocalypse he did not 
know, but he did not doubt that connection 
for a moment. His love for Natdsha, Antichrist, 
Napoleon, the invasion, the comet, 666, L'Em- 
pereurNapole'on^nd L'russe Besuhof all this 
had to mature and culminate, to lift him out 
of that spellbound, petty sphere of Moscow 
habits in which he felt himself held captive, and 
lead him to a great achievement and great hap- 
piness. 



i k 

9 
r 

80 90 
x y 



10 

s 



130 140 150 



z 

160 



Writing the words L'Empereur Napoleon in 
numbers, it appears that the sum of them is 
666, 1 and that Napoleon was therefore the beast 
foretold in the Apocalypse. Moreover, by ap- 
plying the same system to the words quarante- 
deuxf which was the term allowed to the beast 
that "spoke great things and blasphemies," the 
same number 666 was obtained; from which 
it followed that the limit fixed for Napoleon's 
power had come in the year 1812 when the 
French emperor was forty-two. This prophecy 
pleased Pierre very much and he often asked 
himself what would put an end to the power 
of the beast, that is, of Napoleon, and tried by 
the same system of using letters as numbers and 
adding them up, to find an answer to the ques- 
tion that engrossed him. He wrote the words 
L'Empereur Alexandre, La nation russe and 
added up their numbers, but the sums were 
either more or less than 666. Once when mak- 
ing such calculations he wrote down his own 
name in French, Comte Pierre Besouhoff, but 
the sum of the numbers did not come right. 
Then he changed the spelling, substituting a 
z for the s and adding de and the article le, still 
without obtaining the desired result. Then it 
occurred to him: if the answer to the question 
were contained in his name, his nationality 
would also be given in the answer. So he wrote 
Le russe Besuhof and adding up the numbers 
got 671. This was only five too much, and five 
was represented by e, the very letter elided 
from the article le before the word Empereur. 
By omitting the e> though incorrectly, Pierre 
got the answer he sought. L'russe Besuhof made 
666. This discovery excited him. How, or by 

1 Including a 5 for the letter e dropped by eli- 
sion from the le before Empereur. TR. 
1 Forty-two. 



On the eve of the Sunday when the special 
prayer was read, Pierre had promised the Ros- 
t6vs to bring them, from Count Rostopchfn 
whom he knew well, both the appeal to the 
people and the latest news from the army. In 
the morning, when he went to call at Rostop- 
chin's he met there a courier fresh from the ar- 
my, an acquaintance of his own, who often 
danced at Moscow balls. 

"Do, please, for heaven's sake, relieve me of 
something!" said the courier. "I have a sackful 
of letters to parents." 

Among these letters wat one from Nicholas 
Rost6vto his father. Pierre took that letter, and 
Rostopchfn also gave him the Emperor's ap- 
peal to Moscow, which had just been printed, 
the last army orders, and his own most recent 
bulletin. Glancing through the army orders, 
Pierre found in one of them, in the lists of killed, 
wounded, and rewarded, the name of Nicholas 
Rost6v, awarded a St. George's Cross of the 
Fourth Class for courage shown in the Ostr6v- 
na affair, and in the same order the name of 
Prince Andrew Bolk6nski, appointed to the 
command of a regiment of Chasseurs. Though 
he did not want to remind the Rost6vs of Bol- 
k6nski, Pierre could not refrain from making 
them happy by the news of their son's having 
received a decoration, so he sent that printed 
army order and Nicholas' letter to the Rost6vs, 
keeping the appeal, the bulletin, and the other 
orders to take with him when he went to din- 
ner. 

His conversation with Count Rostopchin 
and the latter's toneof anxious hurry, the meet- 
ing with the courier who talked casually of how 
badly things were going in the army, the ru- 
mors of the disco very of spies in Moscow and of 
a leaflet in circulation stating that Napoleon 
promised to be in both the Russian capitals by 
the autumn, and the talk of the Emperor's being 
expected to arrive next day all aroused with 
fresh force that feeling of agitation and expec- 
tation in Pierre which he had been conscious 



BOOK NINE 



of ever since the appearance of the comet, and 
especially since the beginning of the war. 

He had long been thinking of enter ing the ar- 
my and would have done so had he not been 
hindered, first, by his membership of the Society 
of Freemasons to which he was bound by oath 
and which preached perpetual peace and the ab- 
olition of war, and secondly, by the fact that 
when he saw the great mass of Muscovites who 
had donned uniform and were talking patriot- 
ism, he somehow felt ashamed to take the step. 
But the chief reason for not carrying out his 
intention to enter the army lay in the vague 
idea that he was L'russe Besuhof who had the 
number of the beast, 666; that his part in the 
great affair of setting a limit to the power of 
the beast that spoke great and blasphemous 
things had been predestined from eternity, and 
that therefore he ought not to undertake any- 
thing, but wait for what was bound to come to 
pass. 

CHAPTER XX 

A FEW INTIMATE FRIENDS were dining with the 
Rost6vs that day, as usual on Sundays. 

Pierre came early so as to find them alone. 

He had grown so stout this year that he 
would have been abnormal had he not been so 
tall, so broad of limb, and so strong that he car- 
ried his bulk with evident ease. 

He went up the stairs, puffing and muttering 
something. His coachman did not even ask 
whether he was* to wait. He knew that when his 
master was at the Rost6vs' he stayed till mid- 
night. The Rost6vs' footman rushed eagerly 
forward to help him off with his cloak and take 
his hat and stick. Pierre, from club habit, al- 
ways left both hat and stick in the anteroom. 

The first person he saw in the house was Na- 
tasha. Even before he saw her, while taking off 
his cloak, he heard her. She was practicing sol- 
fa exercises in the music room. He knew that 
she had not sung since her illness, and so the 
sound of her voice surprised and delighted him. 
He opened the door softly and saw her, in the 
lilac dress she had worn at church, walking 
about the room singing. She had her back to 
him when he opened the door, but when, turn- 
ing quickly, she saw his broad, surprised face, 
she blushed and came rapidly up to him. 

"I want to try to sing again," she said, add- 
ing as if by way of excuse, "it is, at least, some- 
thing to do*" 

"That's capital!" 

"How glad I am you've come! I am so hap- 
py today," she said, with the old animation 



379 



Pierre had not seen in her for a long time. "You 
know Nicholas has received a St. George's 
Cross? I am so proud of him." 

"Oh yes, I sent that announcement. But I 
don't want to interrupt you," he added, and 
was about to go to the drawing room. 

Natasha stopped him. 

"Count, is it wrong of me to sing?" she said 
blushing, and fixing her eyes inquiringly on 
him. 

"No . . . Why should it be? On the contrary 
. . . But why do you ask me?" 

"I don't know myself," Natdsha answered 
quickly, "but I should not like to do anything 
you disapproved of. I believe in you complete- 
ly. You don't know how important you are to 
me, how much you've done for me. ..." She 
spoke rapidly and did not notice how Pierre 
flushed at her words. "I saw in that same army 
order that he, Bolk6nski" (she whispered the 
name hastily), "is in Russia, and in the army 
again. What do you think?" she was speaking 
hurriedly, evidently afraid her strength might 
fail her "Will he ever forgive me? Will he not 
always have a bitter feeling toward me? What 
do you think? What do you think?" 

"I think . . ." Pierre replied, "that he has 
nothing to forgive If I were in his place . . ." 

By association of ideas, Pierre was at once 
carried back to the day when, trying to com- 
fort her, he had said that if he were not him- 
self but the best man in the world and free, he 
would ask on his knees for her hand; and the 
same feeling of pity, tenderness, and love took 
possession of him and the same words rose to 
his lips. But she did not give him time to say 
them. 

"Yes, you . . . you . . ." she said, uttering the 
word you rapturously" that's a different thing. 
I know no one kinder, more generous, or bet- 
ter than you; nobody could be! Had you not 
been there then, and now too, I don't know 
what would have become of me, because . . ." 

Tears suddenly rose in her eyes, she turned 
away, lifted her music before her eyes, began 
singing again, and again began walking up and 
down the room. 

Just then Ptya came running in from the 
drawing room. 

Ptkya was now a handsome rosy lad of fifteen 
with full red lips and resembled Natasha. He 
was preparing to enter the university, but he 
and his friend Obotenski had lately, in secret, 
agreed to join the hussars. 

Ptya had come rushing out to talk to hia 
namesake about this affair. He had asked 



380 WAR AND PEACE 

Pierre to find out whether he would be accepted 
in the hussars. 

Pierre walked up and down the drawing 
room, not listening to what Ptya was saying. 

Pe"tya pulled him by the arm to attract his 
attention. 

"Well, what about my plan? Peter Kirttych, 
for heaven's sake! You are my only hope I" said 
Pekya. 

"Oh yes, your plan. To join the hussars? I'll 
mention it, I'll bring it all up today." 

"Well, mon cher, have you got the manifes- 
to?" asked the old count. "The countess has 
been to Mass at the Razumovskis' and heard 
the new prayer. She says it's very fine." 

"Yes, I've got it," said Pierre. "The Emperor 
is to be here tomorrow . . . there's to be an Ex- 
traordinary Meeting of the nobility, and they 
are talking of a levy of ten men per thousand. 
Oh yes, let me congratulate you!" 

"Yes, yes, thank God! Well, and what news 
from the army?" 

"We are again retreating. They say we're al- 
ready near Smolensk," replied Pierre. 

"O Lord, O Lord!" exclaimed the count. 
"Where is the manifesto?" 

"The Emperor's appeal? Oh yes!" 

Pierre began feeling in his pockets for the 
papers, but could not find them. Still slapping 
his pockets, he kissed the hand of the countess 
who entered the room and glanced uneasily 
around, evidently expecting Natasha, who had 
left off singing but had not yet come into the 
drawing room. 

"On my word, I don't know what I've done 
with it," he said. 

"There he is, always losing everything!" re- 
marked the countess. 

Natasha entered with a softened and agitat- 
ed expression of face and sat down looking si- 
lently at Pierre. As soon as she entered, Pierre's 
features, which had been gloomy, suddenly 
lighted up, and while still searching for the pa- 
pers he glanced at her several times. 

"No, really! I'll drive home, I must have left 
them there. I'll certainly . . ." 

"But you'll be late for dinner." 

"Oh! And my coachman has gone." 

But S6nya, who had gone to look for the pa- 
pers in the anteroom, had found them in 
Pierre's hat, where he had carefully tucked 
them under the lining. Pierre was about to be- 
gin reading. 

"No, after dinner," said the old count, evi- 
dently expecting much enjoyment from that 
reading. 



At dinner, at which champagne was drunk to 
the health of the new chevalier of St. George, 
Shinshfn told them the town news, of the ill- 
ness of the old Georgian princess, of Mdtivier's 
disappearance from Moscow, and of how some 
German fellow had been brought to Rostop- 
chin and accused of being a French "spyer" (so 
Count Rostopchin had told thestory),and how 
Rostopchfn let him go and assured the people 
that he was "not a spire at all, but only an old 
German ruin." 

"People are being arrested . . ." said the 
count. "I've told the countess she should not 
speak French so much. It's not the time for it 
now." 

"And have you heard?" Shinshin asked. 
"Prince Golitsyn has engaged a master to teach 
him Russian. It is becoming dangerous to speak 
French in the streets." 

"And how about you, Count Peter Kirilych? 
If they call up the militia, you too will have to 
mount a horse," remarked the old count, ad- 
dressing Pierre. 

Pierre had been silent and preoccupied all 
through dinner, seeming not to grasp what was 
said. He looked at the count. 

"Oh yes, the war," he said. "No! What sort 
of warrior should I make? And yet everything 
is so strange, so strange! I can't make it out. I 
don't know, I am very far from having military 
tastes, but in these times no one can answer 
for himself." 

After dinner the count settled himself com- 
fortably in an easy chair and with a serious 
face asked Sonya, who was considered an ex- 
cellent reader, to read the appeal. 

"To Moscow, our ancient Capital! 

"The enemy has entered the borders of Russia 
with immense forces. He comes to despoil our be- 
loved country," 

Sonya read painstakingly in her high-pitched 
voice. The count listened with closed eyes, 
heaving abrupt sighs at certain passages. 

Natasha sat erect, gazing with a searching 
look now at her father and now at Pierre. 

Pierre felt her eyes on him and tried not to 
look round. The countess shook her head dis- 
approvingly and angrily at every solemn expres- 
sion in the manifesto. In all these words she 
saw only that the danger threatening her son 
would not soon be over. Shinshin, with a sar- 
castic smile on his lips, was evidently preparing 
to make fun of anything that gave him the op- 
portunity: S6nya's reading, any remark of the 
count's, or even the manifesto itself should no 
better pretext present itself. 



BOOK 

After reading about the dangers that threat- 
ened Russia, the hopes the Emperor placed on 
Moscow and especially on its illustrious nobil- 
ity, S6nya, with a quiver in her voice due chief- 
ly to the attention that was being paid to her, 
read the last words: 

"We ourselves will not delay to appear among 
our people in that Capital and in others parts of 
our realm for consultation, and for the direction 
of all our levies, both those now barring the ene- 
my's path and those freshly formed to defeat him 
wherever he may appear. May the ruin he hopes to 
bring upon us recoil on his own head, and may 
Europe delivered from bondage glorify the name 
of Russia!" 

"Yes, that's itl" cried the count, opening his 
moist eyes and sniffing repeatedly, as if a strong 
vinaigrette had been held to his nose; and he 
added, "Let the Emperor but say the word and 
we'll sacrifice everything and begrudge noth- 
ing." 

Before Shinshin had time to utter the joke 
he was ready to make on the count's patriotism, 
Natdsha jumped up from her place and ran to 
her father. 

"What a darling our Papa isl" she cried, kiss- 
ing him, and she again looked at Pierre with 
the unconscious coquetry that had returned to 
her with her better spirits. 

"There! Here's a patriot for you!" said Shin- 
shin. 

"Not a patriot at all, but simply . . ." Natdsha 
replied in an injured tone. "Everything seems 
funny to you, but this isn't at all a joke. . . ." 

"A joke indeed!" put in the count. "Let him 
but say the word and we'll all go. ... We're 
not Germansl" 

"But did you notice, it says, 'for consulta- 
tion'?" said Pierre. 

"Never mind what it's for. . . ." 

At this moment, Ptya, to whom nobody 
was praying any attention, came up to his 
father with a very flushed face and said in his 
breaking voice that was now deep and now 
shrill: 

"Well, Papa, I tell you definitely, and Mam- 
ma too, it's as you please, but I say definitely 
that you must let me enter the army, because I 
can't . . . that's all. . . ." 

The countess, in dismay, looked up to heav- 
en, clasped her hands, and turned angrily to 
her husband. 

"That comes of your talking!" said she. 

But the count had already recovered from 
his excitement. 



NINE 381 

"Come, come!" said he. "Here's a fine war- 
rior! No! Nonsense! You must study." 

"It's not nonsense, Papa. Fedya Obotenski is 
younger than I, and he's going too. Besides, all 
the same I can't study now when . . ." Petya 
stopped short, flushed till he perspired, but 
still got out the words, "when our Fatherland 
is in danger." 

"That'll do, that'll do nonsense. . . ." 

"But you said yourself that we would sacri- 
fice everything." 

"Pckya! Be quiet, I tell you!" cried the count, 
with a glance at his wife, who had turned pale 
and was staring fixedly at her son. 

"And I tell you Peter Kirttych here will also 
tell you . . ." 

"Nonsense, I tell you. Your mother's milk 
has hardly dried on your lips and you want to 
go into the army! There, there, I tell you," and 
the count moved to go out of the room, taking 
the papers, probably to reread them in his 
study before having a nap. 

"Well, Peter Kiiilych, let's go and have a 
smoke," he said. 

Pierre was agitated and undecided. Natasha's 
unwontedly brilliant eyes, continually glancing 
at him with a more than cordial look, had re- 
duced him to this condition. 

"No, I think I'll go home." 

"Home? Why, you meant to spend the eve- 
ning with us. ... You don't often come nowa- 
days as it is, and this girl of mine," said the 
count good-naturedly, pointing to Natasha, 
"only brightens up when you're here." 

"Yes, I had forgotten ... I really must 
go home . . . business . . ." said Pierre hur- 
riedly. 

"Well, then, au revoir!" said the count, and 
went out of the room. 

"Why are you going? Why are you upset?" 
asked Natdsha, and she looked challengingly 
into Pierre's eyes. 

"Because I love you!" was what he wanted to 
say, but he did not say it, and only blushed till 
the tears came, and lowered his eyes. 

"Because it is better forme to come less of ten 
. . . because . . . No, simply I have business " 

"Why? No, tell me!" Natdsha began resolute- 
ly and suddenly stopped. 

They looked at each other with dismayed 
and embarrassed faces. He tried to smile 
but could not: his smile expressed suffering, 
and he silently kissed her hand and went 
out. 

Pierre made up his mind not to go to the Ros- 
t6vs' any more. 



382 



WAR AND PEACE 



CHAPTER XXI 

AFTER THE definite refusal he had received, Pe*t- 
ya went to his room and there locked himself 
in and wept bitterly. When he came in to tea, 
silent, morose, and with tear-stained face, every- 
body pretended not to notice anything. 

Next day the Emperor arrived in Moscow, 
and several of the Rost6vs' domestic serfs 
begged permission to go to have a look at him. 
That morning Pckya was a long time dressing 
and arranging his hair and collar to look like 
a grown-up man. He frowned before his look- 
ing glass, gesticulated, shrugged his shoulders, 
and finally, without saying a word to anyone, 
took his cap and left the house by the back 
door, trying to avoid notice. P(hya decided to 
go straight to where the Emperor was and to 
explain frankly to some gentleman-in-waiting 
(he imagined the Emperor to be always sur- 
rounded by gentlemen-in-waiting) that he, 
Count Rost6v, in spite of his youth wished to 
serve his country; that youth could be no hin- 
drance to loyalty, and that he was ready to ... 
While dressing, Pc^tya had prepared many fine 
things he meant to say to the gentleman-in- 
waiting. 

It was on the very fact of being so young 
that PeHya counted for success in reaching the 
Emperor he even thought how surprised every- 
one would be at his youthfulriess and yet in 
the arrangement of his collar and hair and by 
his sedate deliberate walk he wished to appear 
a grown-up man. But the farther he went and 
the more his attention was diverted by the 
ever-increasing crowds moving toward the 
Kremlin, the less he remembered to walk with 
the sedateness and deliberation of a man. As 
he approached the Kremlin he even began to 
avoid being crushed and resolutely stuck out 
his elbows in a menacing way. But within the 
Trinity Gateway he was so pressed to the wall 
by people who probably were unaware of the 
patriotic intentions with which he had come 
that in spite of all his determination he had to 
give in, and stop while carriages passed in, 
rumbling beneath the archway. Beside Pe"tya 
stood a peasant woman, a footman, two trades- 
men, and a discharged soldier. After standing 
some time in the gateway, Ptftya tried to move 
forward in front of the others without waiting 
for all the carriages to pass, and he began reso- 
lutely working his way with his elbows, but the 
woman just in front of him, who was the first 
against whom he directed his efforts, angrily 
shouted at him: 

"What are you shoving for, young lordling? 



Don't you see we're all standing still? Then 
why push?" 

"Anybody can shove," said the footman, and 
also began working his elbows to such effect 
that he pushed P^tya into a very filthy corner 
of the gateway. 

P6tya wiped his perspiring face with his 
hands and pulled up the damp collar which he 
had arranged so well at home to seem like a 
man's. 

He felt that he no longer looked presentable, 
and feared that if he were now to approach the 
gentlemen-in-waiting in that plight he would 
not be admitted to the Emperor. But it was 
impossible to smarten oneself up or move to 
another place, because of the crowd. One of 
the generals who drove past was an acquaint- 
ance of the Rostcws', and P^tya thought of ask- 
ing his help, but came to the conclusion that 
that would not be a manly thing to do. When 
the carriages had all passed in, the crowd, car- 
rying Ptya with it, streamed forward into the 
Krdmlin Square which was already full of peo- 
ple. There were people not only in the square, 
but everywhere on the slopes and on the roofs. 
As soon as Ptftya found himself in the square 
he clearly heard the sound of bells and the joy- 
ous voices of the crowd that filled the whole 
Kremlin. 

For a while the crowd was less dense, but 
suddenly all heads were bared, and everyone 
rushed forward in one direction. PC* tya was be- 
ing pressed so that he could scarcely breathe, 
and everybody shouted, "Hurrah! hurrah! hur- 
rah!" Pe*tya stood on tiptoe and pushed and 
pinched, but could see nothing except the peo- 
ple about him. 

All the faces bore the same expression of ex- 
citement and enthusiasm. A tradesman's wife 
standing beside Pe"tya sobbed, and the tears 
ran down her cheeks. 

"Father! Angel! Dear one!" she kept repeat- 
ing, wiping away her tears with her fingers. 

"Hurrah!" was heard on all sides. 

For a moment the crowd stood still, but then 
it made another rush forward. 

Quite beside himself, P^tya, clinching his 
teeth and rolling his eyes ferociously, pushed 
forward, elbowing his way and shouting "hur- 
rah!" as if he were prepared that instant to kill 
himself and everyone else, but on both sides 
of him other people with similarly ferocious 
faces pushed forward and every body- shouted 
"hurrah!" 

"So this is what the Emperor is I" thought 
Pehya. "No, I can't petition him myself that 



BOOK NINE 



383 



would be too bold." But in spite of this he con- 
tinued to struggle desperately forward, and 
from between the backs of those in front he 
caught glimpses of an open space with a strip 
of red cloth spread out on it; but just then the 
crowd swayed back the police in front were 
pushing back those who had pressed too close 
to the procession: the Emperor was passing 
from the palace to the Cathedral of the As- 
sumptionand P(kya unexpectedly received 
such a blow on his side and ribs and was 
squeezed so hard that suddenly everything 
grew dim before his eyes and he lost conscious- 
ness. When he came to himself, a man of cleri- 
cal appearance with a tuft of gray hair at the 
back of his head and wearing a shabby blue 
cassock probably a church clerk and chanter 
was holding him under the arm withone hand 
while warding off the pressure of the crowd 
with the other. 

"You've crushed the young gentleman!"said 
the clerk. "What are you up to? Gently! . . . 
They've crushed him, crushed him!" 

The Emperor entered the Cathedral of the 
Assumption. The crowd spread out again more 
evenly, and the clerk led Ptftya pale and breath- 
lessto the Tsar-cannon. 1 Several people were 
sorry for Pe*tya, and suddenly a crowd turned 
toward him and pressed round him. Those 
who stood nearest him attended to him, un- 
buttoned his coat, seated him on the raised 
platform of the cannon, and reproached those 
others (whoever they might be) who had 
crushed him. 

"One might easily get killed that way! What 
do they mean by it? Killing people! Poor dear, 
he's as white as a sheet!" various voices were 
heard saying. 

Ptya soon came to himself, the color re- 
turned to his face, the pain had passed, and at 
the cost of that temporary unpleasantness he 
had obtained a place by the cannon from where 
he hoped to see the Emperor who would be re- 
turning that way. P(hya no longer thought of 
presenting his petition. If he could only see 
the Emperor he would be happy 1 

While the service was proceeding in the 
Cathedral of the Assumption it was a com- 
bined service of prayer on the occasion of the 
Emperor's arrival and of thanksgiving for the 
conclusion of peace with the Turks the crowd 
outside spread out and hawkers appeared, sell- 
ing kvas, gingerbread, and poppyseed sweets 
(of which Ptya was particularly fond), and- 

1 A very large cannon cast in 1488 and preserved 
in the Moscow Kremlin as a curiosity. TR. 



ordinary conversation could again be heard. A 
tradesman's wife was showing a rent in her 
shawl and telling how much the shawl had 
cost; another was saying that all silk goods had 
now got dear. The clerk who had rescued Pt- 
yawas talking to a functionary about the priests 
who were officiating that day with the bishop. 
The clerk several times used the word "plena- 
ry" (of the service), a word P^tya did not un- 
derstand. Two young citizens were joking with 
some serf girls who were cracking nuts. All 
these conversations, especially the joking with 
the girls, were such as might have had a par- 
ticular charm for P^tya at his age, but they did 
not interest him now. He sat on his elevation 
the pedestal of the cannon still agitated as be- 
fore by the thought of the Emperor and by his 
love for him. The feeling of pain and fear he 
had experienced when he was being crushed, 
together with that of rapture, still further in- 
tensified his sense of the importance of the oc- 
casion. 

Suddenly the sound of a firing of cannon 
was heard from the embankment, to celebrate 
the signing of peace with the Turks, and the 
crowd rushed impetuously toward the embank- 
ment to watch the firing. Pe"tya too would have 
run there, but the clerk who had taken the 
young gentleman under his protection stopped 
him. The firing was still proceeding when of- 
ficers, generals, and gentlemen-in-waiting came 
running out of the cathedral, and after them 
others in a more leisurely manner: caps were 
again raised, and those who had run to look at 
the cannon ran back again. At last four men in 
uniforms and sashes emerged from the cathe- 
dral doors. "Hurrah! hurrah!" shouted the 
crowd again. 

"Which is he? Which?" asked P^tya in a 
tearful voice, of those around him, but no one 
answered him, everybody was too excited; and 
Pdtya, fixing on one of those four men, whom 
he could not clearly see for the tears of joy that 
filled his eyes, concentrated all his enthusiasm 
on him though it happened not to be the Em- 
perorfrantically shouted "Hurrah!" and re- 
solved that tomorrow, come what might, he 
would join the army. 

The crowd ran after the Emperor, followed 
him to the palace, and began to disperse. It 
was already late, and Ptya had not eaten any- 
thing and was drenched with perspiration, yet 
he did not go home but stood with that dimin- 
ishing, but still considerable, crowd before the 
palace while the Emperor dined looking in 
at the palace windows, expecting he knew not 



WAR AND PEACE 



what, .and envying alike the notables he saw 
arriving at the entrance to dine with the Em- 
peror and the court footmen who served at 
table, glimpses of whom could be seen through 
the windows. 

While the Emperor was dining, Valuev, look- 
ing out of the window, said: 

"The people are still hoping to see Your 
Majesty again." 

The dinner was nearly over, and the Emper- 
or, munching a biscuit, rose and went out onto 
the balcony. The people, with Petya among 
them, rushed toward the balcony. 

"Angel! Dear one! Hurrah! Father! . . ." 
cried the crowd, and Ptya with it, and again 
the women and men of weaker mold, Pdtya 
among them, wept with joy. 

A largish piece of the biscuit the Emperor 
was holding in his hand broke off, fell on the 
balcony parapet, and then to the ground. A 
coachman in a jerkin, who stood nearest, sprang 
forward and snatched it up. Several people in 
the crowd rushed at the coachman. Seeing this 
the Emperor had a plateful of biscuits brought 
him and began throwing them down from the 
balcony. Ptya's eyes grew bloodshot, and still 
more excited by the danger of being crushed, 
he rushed at the biscuits. He did not know 
why, but he had to have a biscuit from the 
Tsar's hand and he felt that he must not give 
way. He sprang forward and upset an old 
woman who was catching at a biscuit; the old 
woman did not consider herself defeated though 
she was lying on the ground she grabbed at 
some biscuits but her hand did not reach them. 
Pe*tya pushed her hand away with his knee, 
seized a biscuit, and as if fearing to be too late, 
again shouted "Hurrah!" with a voice already 
hoarse. 

The Emperor went in, and after that the 
greater part of the crowd began to disperse. 

"There I I said if only we waited and so it 
was!" was being joyfully said by various peo- 
pie. 

Happy as Ptya was, he felt sad at having to 
go home knowing that all the enjoyment of 
that day was over. He did not go straight home 
from the Kremlin, but called on his friend 
Obol^nski, who was fifteen and was also enter- 
ing the regiment. On returning home Ptya 
announced resolutely and firmly that if he was 
not allowed to enter the service he would run 
away. And next day, Count Ilyd Rost6v though 
he had not yet quite yielded went to inquire 
how he could arrange for Ptya to serve where 
there would be least danger. 



CHAPTER XXII 

Two DAYS LATER, on the fifteenth of July, an 
immense number of carriages were standing 
outside the Slob6da Palace. 
The great halls were full. In the first were 
the nobility and gentry in their uniforms, in 
the second bearded merchants in full-skirted 
coats of blue cloth and wearing medals. In the 
noblemen's hall there was an incessant move- 
ment and buzz of voices. The chief magnates 
sat on high-backed chairs at a large table under 
the portrait of the Emperor, but most of the 
gentry were strolling about the room. 

All these nobles, whom Pierre met every day 
at the Club or in their own houses, were in uni- 
form some in that of Catherine's day, others 
in that of the Emperor Paul, others again in 
the new uniforms of Alexander's time or the 
ordinary uniform of the nobility, and the gen- 
eral characteristic of being in uniform imparted 
something strange and fantastic to these di- 
verse and familiar personalities, both old and 
young. The old men, dim-eyed, toothless, bald, 
sallow, and bloated, or gaunt and wrinkled, 
were especially striking. For the most part they 
sat quietly in their places and were silent, or, 
if they walked about and talked, attached them- 
selves to someone younger. On all these faces, 
as on the faces of the crowd Petya had seen in 
the Square, there was a striking contradiction: 
the general expectation of a solemn event, and 
at the same time the everyday interests in a 
boston card party, Peter the cook,ZinafdaDmi- 
trievna's health, and so on. 

Pierre was there too, buttoned up since early 
morning in a nobleman's uniform that had be- 
come too tight for him. He was agitated; this 
extraordinary gathering not only of nobles but 
also of the merchant-class les dtats gdntraux 
(States-General) evoked in him a whole series 
of ideas he had long laid aside but which were 
deeply graven in his soul: thoughts of the Con- 
trat social and the French Revolution. The 
words that had struck him in the Emperor's 
appeal that the sovereign was coming to the 
capital for consultation with his people- 
strengthened this idea. And imagining that in 
this direction something important which he 
had long awaited was drawing near, he strolled 
about watching and listening to conversations, 
but nowhere finding any confirmation of the 
ideas that occupied him. 

The Emperor's manifesto was read, evoking 
enthusiasm, and then all moved about discus- 
sing it. Besides the ordinary topics of conver- 
sation, Pierre heard questions of where the 



BOOK 

marshals of the nobility were to stand when 
the Emperor entered, when a ball should be 
given in the Emperor's honor, whether they 
should group themselves by districts or by 
whole provinces . . . and so on; but as soon as 
the war was touched on, or what the nobility 
had been convened for, the talk became unde- 
cided and indefinite. Then all preferred listen- 
ing to speaking. 

A middle-aged man, handsome and virile, in 
the uniform of a retired naval officer, was speak- 
ing in one of the rooms, and a small crowd was 
pressing round him. Pierre went up to the cir- 
cle that had formed round the speaker and lis- 
tened. Count Ilyd Rost6v, in a military uni- 
form of Catherine's time, was sauntering with 
a pleasant smile among the crowd, with all of 
whom he was acquainted. He too approached 
that group and listened with a kindly smile 
and nods of approval, as he always did, to what 
the speaker was saying. The retired naval man 
was speaking very boldly, as was evident from 
the expression on the faces of the listeners and 
from the fact that some people Pierre knew as 
the meekest and quietest of men walked away 
disapprovingly or expressed disagreement with 
him. Pierre pushed his way into the middle of 
the group, listened, and convinced himself that 
the man was indeed a liberal, but of views 
quite different from his own. The naval officer 
spoke in a particularly sonorous, musical, and 
aristocratic baritone voice, pleasantly swallow- 
ing his r's and generally slurring his conso- 
nants: the voice of a man calling out to his serv- 
ant, "Heah! Bwing me my pipe!" It was indic- 
ative of dissipation and the exercise of author- 
ity. 

"What if the Smolensk people have offahd 
to waise militia for the Empewah? Ah we to 
take Smolensk as our patte'n? If the noble awis- 
tocwacy of the pwovince of Moscow thinks fit, 
it can show its loyalty to our sov'weign the 
Empewah in othah ways. Have we fo'gotten 
the waising of the militia in the yeah 'seven? 
All that did was to enwich the pwiests' sons 
and thieves and wobbahs. . . ." 

Count llyd Rost6v smiled blandly and nod- 
ded approval. 

"And was our militia of any use to the Em- 
pia? Not at all! It only wuined our farmingl 
Bettah have another conscwiption . . . o' ou' 
men will wetu'n neithah soldiers no' peasants, 
and we'll get only depwavity fwom them. The 
nobility don't gwudge theah lives evewy one 
of us will go and bwing in more wecwuits, and 
the sov'weign" (that was the way he referred 



NINE 385 

to the Emperor) "need only say the word and 
we'll all die fo* him!" added the orator with 
animation. 

Count Rost6v's mouth watered with pleasure 
and he nudged Pierre, but Pierre wanted to 
speak himself. He pushed forward, feeling 
stirred, but not yet sure what stirred him or 
what he would say. Scarcely had he opened his 
mouth when one of the senators, a man with- 
out a tooth in his head, with a shrewd though 
angry expression, standing near the first speak- 
er, interrupted him. Evidently accustomed to 
managing debates and to maintaining an ar- 
gument, he began in low but distinct tones: 

"I imagine, sir," said he, mumbling with his 
toothless mouth, "that we have been summoned 
here not to discuss whether it's best for the em- 
pire at the present moment to adopt conscrip- 
tion or to call out the militia. We have been 
summoned to reply to the appeal with which 
our sovereign the Emperor has honored us. 
But to judge what is best conscription or the 
militia we can leave to the supreme authori- 
ty. . . ." 

Pierre suddenly saw an outlet for his excite- 
ment. He hardened his heart against the sena- 
tor who was introducing this set and narrow 
attitude into the deliberations of the nobility. 
Pierre stepped forward and interrupted him. 
He himself did not yet know what he would 
say, but he began to speak eagerly, occasional- 
ly lapsing into French or expressing himself in 
bookish Russian. 

"Excuse me, your excellency," he began. (He 
was well acquainted with the senator, but 
thought it necessary on this occasion to ad- 
dress him formally.) "Though I don't agree 
with the gentleman . . ." (he hesitated: he 
wished to say, "Mon ires honorable pr^opin- 
ant""My very honorable opponent") "with 
the gentleman . . . whom I have not the honor 
of knowing, I suppose that the nobility have 
been summoned not merely to express their 
sympathy and enthusiasm but also to consider 
the means by which we can assist our Father- 
land! I imagine," he went on, warming to his 
subject, "that the Emperor himself would not 
be satisfied to find in us merely owners of serfs 
whom we are willing to devote to his service, 
and chair a canon* we are ready to make of 
ourselves and not to obtain from us any co- 
co-counsel." 

Many persons withdrew from the circle, no- 
ticing the senator's sarcastic smile and the free- 
dom of Pierre's remarks. Only Count Rost6v 

1 "Food for cannon." 



386 



was pleased with them as he had been pleased 
with those of the naval officer, the senator, and 
in general with whatever speech he had last 
heard. 

"I think that before discussing these ques- 
tions," Pierre continued, "we should ask the 
Emperor most respectfully ask His Majesty 
to let us know the number of our troops and 
the position in which our army and our forces 
now are, and then . . ." 

But scarcely had Pierre uttered these words 
before he was attacked from three sides. The 
most vigorous attack came from an old ac- 
quaintance, a boston player who had always 
been well disposed toward him, Stepan Step- 
anovich Adraksin. Adraltsin was in uniform, 
and whether as a result of the uniform or from 
some other cause Pierre saw before him quite a 
different man. With a sudden expression of 
malevolence on his aged face, Adrdksin shouted 
at Pierre: 

"In the first place, I tell you we have no right 
to question the Emperor about that, and sec- 
ondly, if the Russian nobility had that right, 
the Emperor could not answer such a question. 
The troops are moved according to the enemy's 
movements and the number of men increases 
and decreases " 

Another voice, that of a nobleman of medi- 
um height and about forty years of age, whom 
Pierre had formerly met at the gypsies' and 
knew as a bad cardplayer, and who, also trans- 
formed by his uniform, came up to Pierre, in- 
terrupted Adrdksin. 

"Yes, and this is not a time for discussing," 
he continued, "but for acting: there is war in 
Russia! The enemy is advancing to destroy 
Russia, to desecrate the tombs of our fathers, 
to carry off our wives and children." The no- 
bleman smote his breast. "We will all arise, 
every one of us will go, for our father the 
Tsar!" he shouted, rolling his bloodshot eyes. 
Several approving voices were heard in the 
crowd. "We are Russians and will not grudge 
our blood in defense of our faith, the throne, 
and the Fatherland! We must cease raving if 
we are sons of our Fatherland! We will show 
Europe how Russia rises to the defense of Rus- 
sia!" 

Pierre wished to reply, but could not get in 
a word. He felt that his words, apart from what 
meaning they conveyed, were less audible than 
the sound of his opponent's voice. 

Count Rost6v at the back of the crowd was 
expressing approval; several persons, briskly 



WAR AND PEACE 

turning a shoulder to the orator at the end of 



a phrase, said: 

"That's right, quite right! Just so!" 

Pierre wished to say that he was ready to 
sacrifice his money, his serfs, or himself, only 
one ought to know the state of affairs in order 
to be able to improve it, but he was unable to 
speak. Many voices shouted and talked at the 
same time, so that Count Rost6v had not time 
to signify his approval of them all, and the 
group increased, dispersed, re-formed, and then 
moved with a hum of talk into the largest hall 
and to the big table. Not only was Pierre's at- 
tempt to speak unsuccessful, but he was rude- 
ly interrupted, pushed aside, and people turned 
away from him as from a common enemy. This 
happened not because they were displeased by 
the substance of his speech, which had even 
been forgotten after the many subsequent 
speeches, but to animate it the crowd needed 
a tangible object to love and a tangible object 
to hate. Pierre became the latter. Many other 
orators spoke after the excited nobleman, and 
all in the same tone. Many spoke eloquently 
and with originality. 

Glinka, the editor of the Russian Messenger, 
who was recognized (cries of "author! author!" 
were heard in the crowd), said that "hell must 
be repulsed by hell," and that he had seen a 
child smiling at lightning flashes and thunder- 
claps, but "we will not be that child." 

"Yes, yes, at thunderclaps!" was repeated 
approvingly in the back rows of the crowd. 

The crowd drew up to the large table, at 
which sat gray-haired or bald seventy-year-old 
magnates, uniformed and besashed, almost all 
of whom Pierre had seen in their own homes 
with their buffoons, or playing boston at the 
clubs. With an incessant hum of voices the 
crowd advanced to the table. Pressed by the 
throng against the high backs of the chairs, the 
orators spoke one after another and sometimes 
two together. Those standing behind noticed 
what a speaker omitted to say and hastened to 
supply it. Others in that heat and crush racked 
their brains to find some thought and hastened 
to utter it. The old magnates, whom Pierre 
knew, sat and turned to look first at one and 
then at another, and their faces for the most 
part only expressed the fact that they found it 
very hot. Pierre, however, felt excited, and the 
general desire to show that they were ready to 
go to all lengthswhich found expression in 
the tones and looks more than in the substance 
of the speeches infected him too. He did not 



BOOK 

renounce his opinions, but felt himself in 
some way to blame and wished to justify him- 
self. 

"I only said that it would be more to the 
purpose to make sacrifices when we know what 
is needed!" said he, trying to be heard above 
the other voices. 

One of the old men nearest to him looked 
round, but his attention was immediately di- 
verted by an exclamation at the other side of 
the table. 

"Yes, Moscow will be surrenderedl She will 
be our expiation!" shouted one man. 

"He is the enemy of mankind!" cried anoth- 
er. "Allow me to speak. . . ." "Gentlemen, you 
are crushing me! . . ." 

CHAPTER XXIII 

AT THAT MOMENT Count Rostopchfn with his 
protruding chin and alert eyes, wearing the 
uniform of a general with sash over his shoul- 
der, entered the room, stepping briskly to the 
front of the crowd of gentry. 

"Our sovereign the Emperor will be here in 
a moment," said Rostopchfn. "I am straight 
from the palace. Seeing the position we are 
in, I think there is little need for discussion. 
The Emperor has deigned to summon us 
and the merchants. Millions will pour forth 
from there" he pointed to the merchants' 
hall "but our business is to supply men and 
not spare ourselves. . . . That is the least we 
can do!" 

A conference took place confined to the 
magnates sitting at the table. The whole con- 
sultation passed more than quietly. After all 
the preceding noise the sound of their old 
voices saying one after another, "I agree," or 
for variety, "I too am of that opinion," and so 
on had even a mournful effect. 

The secretary was told to write down the 
resolution of the Moscow nobility and gentry, 
that they would furnish ten men, fully 
equipped, out of every thousand serfs, as the 
Smolensk gentry had done. Their chairs made 
a scraping noise as the gentlemen who had 
conferred rose with apparent relief, and began 
walking up and d6wn, arm in arm, to stretch 
their legs and converse in couples. 

"The Emperor! The Emperor!" a sudden 
cry resounded through the halls and the whole 
throng hurried to the entrance. 

The Emperor entered the hall through a 
broad path between two lines of nobles. Every 
face expressed respectful, awe-struck curiosity. 



NINE 387 

Pierre stood rather far off and could not hear 
all that the Emperor said. From what he did 
hear he understood that the Emperor spoke of 
the danger threatening the empire and of the 
hopes he placed on the Moscow nobility. He 
was answered by a voice which informed him 
of the resolution just arrived at. 

"Gentlemen!" said the Emperof with aquiv- 
ering voice. 

There was a rustling among the crowd and 
it again subsided, so that Pierre distinctly heard 
the pleasantly human voice of the Emperor 
saying with emotion: 

"I never doubted the devotion of the Rus- 
sian nobles, but today it has surpassed my ex- 
pectations. I thank you in the name of the 
Fatherland! Gentlemen, let us act! Time is 
most precious " 

The Emperor ceased speaking, the crowd 
began pressing round him, and rapturous ex- 
clamations were heard from all sides. 

"Yes, most precious ... a royal word," said 
Count Rost6v, with a sob. Hestood at the back, 
and, though he had heard hardly anything, un- 
derstood everything in his own way. 

From the hall of the nobility the Emperor 
went to that of the merchants. There he re- 
mained about ten minutes. Pierre was among 
those who saw him come out from the mer- 
chants' hall with tears of emotion in his eyes. 
As became known later, he had scarcely begun 
to address the merchants before tears gushed 
from his eyes and he concluded in a trembling 
voice. When Pierre saw the Emperor he was 
coming out accompanied by two merchants, 
one of whom Pierre knew, a fat otkupshchik. 1 
The other was the mayor, a man with a thin 
sallow face and narrow beard. Both were weep- 
ing. Tears filled the thin man's eyes, and the 
fat otkupshchik sobbed outright like a child 
and kept repeating: 

"Our lives and property take them, Your 
Majesty!" 

Pierre's one feeling at the moment was a de- 
sire to show that he was ready to go all lengths 
and was prepared to sacrifice everything. He 
now felt ashamed of his speech with its consti- 
tutional tendency and sought an opportunity 
of effacing it. Having heard that Count Mam6- 
nov was furnishing a regiment, Beztikhov at 
once informed Rostopchfn that he would give 
a thousand men and their maintenance. 

*A dealer in spirits one who leased from the 
government the monopoly of the sale of spirits for 
a certain district.-Tn, 



388 WAR AND PEACE 

Old Rost6v could not tell his wife of what sembled nobles all took off their uniforms and 

had passed without tears, and at once con- settled down again in their homes and clubs, 

sented to P6tya's request and went himself to and not without some groans gave orders to 

enter his name. their stewards about the enrollment, feeling 

Next day the Emperor left Moscow, The as- amazed themselves at what they had done. 



Book Ten: 1812 



CHAPTER I 

NAPOLEON BEGAN the war with Russia because 
he could not resist going to Dresden, could not 
help having his head turned by the homage he 
received, could not help donning a Polish uni- 
form and yielding to the stimulating influence 
of a June morning, and could not refrain from 
bursts of anger in the presence of Kurakin and 
then of Balashev. 

Alexander refused negotiations because he 
felt himself to be personally insulted. Barclay 
de Tolly tried to command the army in the 
best way, because he wished to fulfill his duty 
and earn fame as a great commander. Rostov 
charged the French because he could not re- 
strain his wish for a gallop across a level field; 
and in the same way the innumerable people 
who took part in the war acted in accord with 
their personal characteristics, habits, circum- 
stances, and aims. They were moved by fear or 
vanity, rejoiced or were indignant, reasoned, 
imagining that they knew what they were do- 
ing and did it of their own free will, but they 
all were involuntary tools of history, carrying 
on a work concealed from them but compre- 
hensible to us. Such is the inevitable fate of 
men of action, and the higher they stand in the 
social hierarchy the less are they free. 

The actors of 1812 have long since left the 
stage, their personal interests have vanished 
leaving no trace, anci nothing remains of that 
time but its historic results. 

Providence compelled all these men, striv- 
ing to attain personal aims, to further the ac- 
complishment of a stupendous result no one 
of them at all expected neither Napoleon, 
nor Alexander, nor still less any of those who 
did the actual fighting. 

The cause of the destruction of the French 
army in 1812 is clear to us now. No one will 
deny that that cause was, on the one hand, its 
advance into the heart of Russia late in the 
season without any preparation for a winter 
campaign and, on the 'other, the character giv- 
en to the war by the burning of Russian towns 



and the hatred of the foe this aroused among 
the Russian people. But no one at the time 
foresaw (what now seems so evident) that this 
was the only way an army of eight hundred 
thousand men the best in the world and led 
by the best general could be destroyed in con- 
flict with a raw army of half its numerical 
strength, and led by inexperienced command- 
ers as the Russian army was. Not only did no 
one see this, but on the Russian side every ef- 
fort was made to hinder the only thing that 
could save Russia, while on the French side, 
despite Napoleon's experience and so-called 
military genius, every effort was directed to 
pushing on to Moscow at the end of the sum- 
mer, that is, to doing the very thing that was 
bound to lead to destruction. 

In historical works on the year 1812 French 
writers are very fond of saying that Napoleon 
felt the danger of extending his line, that he 
sought a battle and that his marshals advised 
him to stop at Smolensk, and of making similar 
statements to show that the danger of the cam- 
paign was even then understood. Russian au- 
thors are still fonder of telling us that from the 
commencement of the campaign a Scythian 
war plan was adopted to lure Napoleon into 
the depths of Russia, and this plan some of 
them attribute to Pfuel, others to a certain 
Frenchman, others to Toll, and others again to 
Alexander himself pointing to notes, projects, 
and letters which contain hints of such a line 
of action. But all these hints at what happened, 
both from the French side and the Russian, 
are advanced only because they fit in with the 
event. Had that event not occurred these hints 
would have been forgotten, as we have forgot- 
ten the thousands and millions of hints and 
expectations to the contrary which were cur- 
rent then but have now been forgotten because 
the event falsified them. There are always so 
many conjectures as to the issue of any event 
that however it may end there will always be 
people to say: "I said then that it would be so/' 
quite forgetting that amid their innumerable 



389 



WAR AND PEACE 



conjectures many were to quite the contrary 
effect. 

Conjectures as to Napoleon's awareness of 
the danger of extending his line, and (on the 
Russian side) as to luring the enemy into the 
depths of Russia, are evidently of that kind, 
and only by much straining can historians at- 
tribute such conceptions to Napoleon and his 
marshals, or such plans to the Russian com- 
manders. All the facts are in flat contradiction 
to such conjectures. During the whole period 
of the war not only was there no wish on the 
Russian side to draw the French into the heart 
of the country, but from their first entry into 
Russia everything was done to stop them. And 
not only was Napoleon not afraid to extend 
his line, but he welcomed every step forward 
as a triumph and did not seek battle as eagerly 
as in former campaigns, but very lazily. 

At the very beginning of the war our armies 
were divided, and our sole aim was to unite 
them, though uniting the armies was no ad- 
vantage if we meant to retire and lure the en- 
emy into the depths of the country. Our Em- 
peror joined the army to encourage it to de- 
fend every inch of Russian soil and not to re- 
treat. The enormous Drissa camp was formed 
on Pfuel's plan, and there was no intention of 
retiring farther. The Emperor reproached the 
commanders in chief for every step they re- 
tired. He could not bear the idea of letting the 
enemy even reach Smolensk, still less could he 
contemplate the burning of Moscow, and 
when our armies did unite he was displeased 
that Smolensk was abandoned and burned 
without a general engagement having been 
fought under its walls. 

So thought the Emperor, and the Russian 
commanders and people were still more pro- 
voked at the thought that our forces were re- 
treating into the depths of the country. 

Napoleon having cut our armies apart ad- 
vanced far into the country and missed several 
chances of forcing an engagement. In August 
he was at Smolensk and thought only of how to 
advance farther, though as we now see that ad- 
vance was evidently ruinous to him. 

The facts clearly show that Napoleon did 
not foresee the danger of the advance on Mos- 
cow, nor did Alexander and the Russian com- 
manders then think of luring Napoleon on, 
but quite the contrary. The luring of Napo- 
leon into the depths of the country was not 
the result of any plan, for no one believed it to 
be possible; it resulted from a most complex 
interplay of intrigues, aims, and wishes among 



those who took part in the war and had no per- 
ception whatever of the inevitable, or of the 
one way of saving Russia. Everything came 
about fortuitously. The armies were divided at 
the commencement of the campaign. We tried 
to unite them, with the evident intention of 
giving battle and checking the enemy's ad- 
vance, and by this effort to unite them while 
avoiding battle with a much stronger enemy, 
and necessarily withdrawing the armies at an 
acute angle we led the French on to Smolensk. 
But we withdrew at an acute angle not only 
because the French advanced between our two 
armies; the angle became still more acute and 
we withdrew still farther, because Barclay de 
Tolly was an unpopular foreigner disliked by 
Bagrati6n (who would come under his com- 
mand), and Bagrati6n being in command of 
the second army tried to postpone joining up 
and coming under Barclay's command as long 
as he could. Bagration was slow in effecting 
the junction though that was the chief aim of 
all at headquarters because, as he alleged, he 
exposed his army to danger on this march, and 
it was best for him to retire more to the left 
and more to the south, worrying the enemy 
from flank and rear and securing from the 
Ukraine recruits for his army; and it looks as 
if he planned this in order not to come under 
the command of the detested foreigner Bar- 
clay, whose rank was inferior to his own. 

The Emperor was with the army to encour- 
age it, but his presence and ignorance of what 
steps to take, and the enormous number of ad- 
visers and plans, destroyed the first army's en- 
ergy and it retired. 

The intention was to make a stand at the 
Drissa camp, but Paulucci, aiming at becom- 
ing commander in chief, unexpectedly em- 
ployed his energy to influence Alexander, and 
Pfuel's whole plan was .abandoned and the 
command entrusted to Barclay. But as Barclay 
did not inspire confidence his power was lim- 
ited. The armies were divided, there was no 
unity of command, and Barclay was unpopu- 
lar; but from this confusion, division, and the 
unpopularity of the foreign commander in 
chief, there resulted on the one hand indecision 
and the avoidance of a battle (which we could 
not have refrained from had the armies been 
united and had someone else, instead of Bar- 
clay, been in command) and on the other an 
ever-increasing indignation against the foreign- 
ers and an increase in patriotic zeal. 

At last the Emperor left the army, and as the 
most convenient and indeed the only pretext 



BOOK TEN 



for his departure it was decided that it was nec- 
essary for him to inspire the people in the 
capitals and arouse the nation in general to a 
patriotic war. And by this visit of the Emperor 
to Moscow the strength of the Russian army 
was trebled. 

He left in order not to obstruct the com- 
mander in chief's undivided control of the 
army, and hoping that more decisive action 
would then be taken, but the command of the 
armies became still more contused and enfee- 
bled. Bennigsen, the Tsare*vich, and a swarm 
of adjutants general remained with the army 
to keep the commander in chief under obser- 
vation and arouse his energy, and Barclay, 
feeling less free than ever under the observa- 
tion of all these "eyes of the Emperor," be- 
came still more cautious of undertaking any 
decisive action and avoided giving battle. 

Barclay stood for caution. The Tsare*vich 
hinted at treachery and demanded a general 
engagement. Lubomirski, Bronnitski, Wlocki, 
and the others of that group stirred up so much 
trouble that Barclay, under pretext of sending 
papers to the Emperor, dispatched these Polish 
adjutants general to Petersburg and plunged 
into an open struggle with Bennigsen and the 
TsareVich. 

At Smolensk the armies at last reunited, 
much as Bagrati6n disliked it. 

Bagrati6n drove up in a carriage to the house 
occupied by Barclay. Barclay donned his sash 
and came out to meet and report to his senior 
officer Bagrati6n. 

Despite his seniority in rank Bagrati6n, in 
this contest of magnanimity, took his orders 
from Barclay, but, having submitted, agreed 
with him less than ever. By the Emperor's or- 
ders Bagration reported direct to him. He 
wrote to Arakche'ev, the Emperor's confidant: 
"It must be as my sovereign pleases, but I can- 
not work with the Minister (meaning Barclay). 
For God's sake send me somewhere else if only 
in command of a regiment. I cannot stand it 
here. Headquarters are so full of Germans that 
a Russian cannot exist and there is no sense in 
anything. I thought I was really serving my sov- 
ereign and the Fatherland, but it turns out 
that I am serving Barclay. I confess I do not 
want to." 

The swarm of Bronnftskis and Wintzinge- 
rodes and their like still further embittered the 
relations between the commanders in chief, 
and even less unity resulted. Preparations were 
made to fight th Frencn before Smolensk. A 
general was sent to survey the position. This 



general, hating Barclay, rode to visit a friend 
of his own, a corps commander, and, having 
spent the day with him, returned to Barclay 
and condemned, as unsuitable from every point 
of view, the battleground he had not seen. 

While disputes and intrigues were going on 
about the future field of battle, and while we 
were looking for the French having lost touch 
with them the French stumbled upon Neve*- 
rovski's division and reached the walls of Smo- 
tensk. 

It was necessary to fight an unexpected bat- 
tle at Smolensk to save our lines of communi- 
cation. The battle was fought and thousands 
were killed on both sides. 

Smolensk was abandoned contrary to the 
wishes of the Emperor and of the whole peo- 
ple. But Smol6nsk was burned by its own in- 
habitants who had been misled by their gov.- 
ernor. And these ruined inhabitants, setting 
an example to other Russians, went to Moscow 
thinking only of their own losses but kindling 
hatred of the foe. Napoleon advanced farther 
and we retired, thus arriving at the very result 
which caused his destruction. 

CHAPTER II 

THE DAY after his son had left, Prince Nicholas 
sent for Princess Mary to come to his study. 

"Well? Are you satisfied now?" said he. 
"You've made me quarrel with my son! Satis- 
fied, are you? That's all you wanted! Satisfied? 
... It hurts me, it hurts. I'm old and weak and 
this is what you wanted. Well then, gloat over 
it! Gloat over it!" 

After that Princess Mary did not see her fa- 
ther for a whole week. He was ill and did not 
leave his study. 

Princess Mary noticed to her surprise that 
during this illness the old prince not only ex- 
cluded her from his room, but did not admit 
Mademoiselle Bourienne either. Tikhon alone 
attended him. 

At the end of the week the prince reappeared 
and resumed his former way of life, devoting 
himself with special activity to building opera- 
tions and the arrangement of the gardens and 
completely breaking off his relations with 
Mademoiselle Bourienne. His looks and cold 
tone to his daughter seemed to say: "There, 
you see? You plotted against me, you lied to 
Prince Andrew about my relations with that 
Frenchwoman and made me quarrel with him, 
but you see I need neither her nor you!" 

Princess Mary spent half of every day with 
little Nicholas, watching his lessons, teaching 



39* WAR AND PEACE 

him Russian and music herself, and talking to 
Dessalles; the rest of the day she spent over her 
books, with her old nurse, or with "God's folk" 
who sometimes came by the back door to see 
her. 

Of the war Princess Mary thought as women 
do think about wars. She feared for her brother 
who was in it, was horrified by and amazed at 
the strange cruelty that impels men to kill one 
another, but she did not understand the signif- 
icance of this war, which seemed to her like all 
previous wars. She did not realize the signifi- 
cance of this war, though Dessalles with whom 
she constantly conversed was passionately in- 
tereste<J in its progress and tried to explain his 
own conception of it to her, and though the 
"God's folk" who came to see her reported, in 
their own way, the rumors current among the 
people of an invasion by Antichrist, and though 
Julie (now Princess Drubetskdya), who had re- 
sumed correspondence with her, wrote patri- 
otic letters from Moscow. 

"I write you in Russian, my good friend," 
wrote Julie in her Frenchified Russian, "be- 
cause I have a detestation for all the French, 
and the same for their language which I can- 
not support to hear spoken We in Moscow 

are elated by enthusiasm for our adored Em- 
peror. 

"My poor husband is enduring pains and 
hunger in Jewish taverns, but the news which 
I have inspires me yet more. 

"You heard probably of the heroic exploit 
of Rae* vski, embracing his two sons and saying: 
'I will perish with them but we will not be 
shaken!' And truly though the enemy was 
twice stronger than we, we were unshakable. 
We pass the time as we can, but in war as in 
war! The princesses Aline and Sophie sit whole 
days with me, and we, unhappy widows of live 
men, make beautiful conversations over our 
char pie, only you, my friend, are missing ..." 
and so on. 

The chief reason Princess Mary did not re- 
alize the full significance of this war was that 
the old prince never spoke of it, did not recog- 
nize it, and laughed at Dessalles when he men- 
tioned it at dinner. The prince's tone was so 
calm and confident that Princess Mary un- 
hesitatingly believed him. 

All that July the old prince was exceedingly 
active and even animated. He planned anoth- 
er garden and began a new building for the 
domestic serfs. The only thing that made Prin- 
cess Mary anxious about him was that he slept 
very little and, instead of sleeping in his study 



as usual, changed his sleeping place every day. 
One day he would order his camp bed to be 
set up in the glass gallery, another day he re- 
mained on the couch or on the lounge chair in 
the drawing room and dozed there without un- 
dressing, while instead of Mademoiselle Bou- 
rienne a serf boy read to him. Then again he 
would spend a night in the dining room. 

On August i, a second letter was received 
from Prince Andrew. In his first letter which 
came soon after he had left home, Prince An- 
drew had dutifully asked his father's forgive- 
ness for what he had allowed himself to say 
and begged to be restored to his favor. To this 
letter the old prince had replied affectionately, 
and from that time had kept the Frenchwom- 
an at a distance. Prince Andrew's second let- 
ter, written near Vitebsk after the French had 
occupied that town, gave a brief account of the 
whole campaign, enclosed for them a plan he 
had drawn and forecasts as to the further prog- 
ress of the war. In this letter Prince Andrew 
pointed out to his father the danger of staying 
at Bald Hills, so near the theater of war and on 
the army's direct line of march, and advised 
him to move to Moscow. 

At dinner that day, on Dessalles' mention- 
ing that the French were said to have already 
entered Vitebsk, the old prince remembered 
his son's letter. 

"There was a letter from Prince Andrew to- 
day," he said to Princess Mary "Haven't you 
read it?" 

"No, Father," she replied in a frightened 
voice. 

She could not have read the letter as she did 
not even know it had arrived. 

"He writes about this war," said the prince, 
with the ironic smile that had become habitual 
to him in speaking of the present war. 

"That must be very interesting," said Des- 
salles. "Prince Andrew is in a position to 
know . . ." 

"Oh, very interesting!" said Mademoiselle 
Bourienne. 

"Go and get it for me," said the old prince 
to Mademoiselle Bourienne. "You knowun- 
der the paperweight on the little table." 

Mademoiselle Bourienne jumped up ea- 
gerly. 

"No, don't!" he exclaimed with a frown. 
"You go, Michael Ivdnovich." 

Michael Iv^novich rose and went to the 
study. But as soon as he had left the room the 
old prince, looking uneasily round, threw 
down his napkin and went himself. 



BOOK TEN 



393 



"They can't do anything . . . always make 
some muddle," he muttered. 

While he was away Princess Mary, Dessalles, 
Mademoiselle Bourienne, and even little Nich- 
olas exchanged looks in silence. The old prince 
returned with quick steps, accompanied by 
Michael Ivdnovich, bringing the letter and a 
plan. These he put down beside himnot let- 
ting anyone read them at dinner. 

On moving to the drawing room he handed 
the letter to Princess Mary and, spreading out 
before him the plan of the new building and 
fixing his eyes upon it, told her to read the let- 
ter aloud. When she had done so Princess 
Mary looked inquiringly at her father. He was 
examining the plan, evidently engrossed in his 
own ideas. 

"What do you think of it, Prince?" Dessalles 
ventured to ask. 

"1? I? . . ." said the prince as if unpleasantly 
awakened, and not taking his eyes from the 
plan of the building. 

"Very possibly the theater of war will move 
so near to us that . . ." 

"Ha ha ha! The theater of warl" said the 
prince. "I have said and still say that the thea- 
ter of war is Poland and the enemy will never 
get beyond the Niemen." 

Dessalles looked in amazement at the prince, 
who was talking of the Niemen when the en- 
emy was already at the Dnieper, but Princess 
Mary, forgetting the geographical position of 
the Niemen, thought that what her father was 
saying was correct. 

"When the snow melts they'll sink in the 
Polish swamps. Only they could fail to see it," 
the prince continued, evidently thinking of 
the campaign of 1807 which seemed to him so 
recent. "Bennigsen should have advanced in- 
to Prussia sooner, then things would have tak- 
en a different turn . . ." 

"But, Prince," Dessalles began timidly, "the 
letter mentions Vitebsk " 

"Ah, the letter? Yes . . ." replied the prince 
peevishly. "Yes ... yes .. ." His face suddenly 
took on a morose expression. He paused. "Yes, 
he writes that the French were beaten at ... at 
. . . what river is it?" 

Dessalles dropped his eyes. 

"The prince says nothing about that," he re- 
marked gently. 

"Doesn't he? But I didn't invent it myself." 

No one spoke for a long time. 

"Yes ... yes .. .Well, Michael Ivdnovich," 
he suddenly went on, raising his head and 
pointing to the plan of the building, "tell me 



how you mean to alter it. . . ." 

Michael Ivdnovich went up to the plan, and 
the prince after speaking to him about the new 
building looked angrily at Princess Mary and 
Dessalles and went to his own room. 

Princess Mary saw Dessalles' embarrassed 
and astonished look fixed on her father, no- 
ticed his silence, and was struck by the fact that 
her father had forgotten his son's letter on the 
drawing-room table; but she was not only 
afraid to speak of it and ask Dessalles the rea- 
son of his confusion and silence, but was afraid 
even to think about it. 

In the evening Michael Ivdnovich, sent by 
the ptince, came to Princess Mary for Prince 
Andrew's letter which had been forgotten in 
the drawing room. She gave it to him and, un- 
pleasant as it was to her to do so, ventured to 
ask him what her father was doing. 

"Always busy," replied Michael Ivdnovich 
with a respectfully ironic smile which caused 
Princess Mary to turn pale. "He's worrying 
very much about the new building. He has 
been reading a little, but now" Michael Ivan- 
ovich went on, lowering his voice "now he's 
at his desk, busy with his will, I expect." (One 
of the prince's favorite occupations of late had 
been the preparation of some papers he meant 
to leave at his death and which he called his 
"will.") 

"And Alpdtych is being sent to Smolensk?" 
asked Princess Mary. 

"Oh, yes, he has been waiting to start for 
some time." 

CHAPTER III 

WHEN MICHAEL IVANOVICH returned to the 
study with the letter, the old prince, with spec- 
tacles on and a shade over his eyes, was sitting 
at his open bureau with screened candles, hold- 
ing a paper in his outstretched hand, and in a 
somewhat dramatic attitude was reading his 
manuscript his "Remarks" as he termed it 
which was to be transmitted to the Emperor 
after his death. 

When Michael Ivdnovich went in there were 
tears in the prince's eyes evoked by the memo- 
ry of the time when the paper he was now read- 
ing had been written. He took the letter from 
Michael Ivdnovich's hand, put it in his pocket, 
folded up his papers, and called in Alpdtych 
who had long been waiting. 

The prince had a list of things to be bought 
in Smolensk and, walking up and down the 
room past Alpdtych who stood by the door, he 
gave his instructions. 



394 WAR AND PEACE 

"First, notepaper do you hear? Eight quires, 
like this sample, gilt-edged ... it must be exact- 
ly like the sample. Varnish, sealing wax, as in 
Michael Ivdnovich's list." 

He paced up and down for a while and 
glanced at his notes. 

"Then hand to the governor in person a let- 
ter about the deed." 

Next, bolts for the doors of the new build- 
ing were wanted and had to be of a special 
shape the prince had himself designed, and a 
leather case had to be ordered to keep the 
"will" in. 

The instructions to Alpdtych took over two 
hours and still the prince did not let him go. 
He sat down, sank into thought, closed his eyes, 
and dozed off. Alpdtych made a slight move- 
ment. 

"Well, go, go! If anything more is wanted 
I'll send after you." 

Alpdtych went out. The prince again went 
to his bureau, glanced into it, fingered his pa- 
pers, closed the bureau again, and sat down at 
the table to write to the governor. 

It was already late when he rose after seal- 
ing the letter. He wished to sleep, but he knew 
he would not be able to and that most depress- 
ing thoughts came to him in bed. So he called 
Tikhon and went through the rooms with him 
to show him where to set up the bed for that 
night. 

He went about looking at every corner. 
Every place seemed unsatisfactory, but worst 
of all was his customary couch in the study. 
That couch was dreadful to him, probably be- 
cause of the oppressive thoughts he had had 
when lying there. It was unsatisfactory every- 
where, but the corner behind the piano in the 
sitting room was better than other places: he 
had never slept there yet. 

With the help of a footman Tfkhon brought 
in the bedstead and began putting it up. 

"That's not right! That's not right!" cried 
the prince, and himself pushed it a few inches 
from the corner and then closer in again. 

"Well, at last I've finished, now I'll rest," 
thought the prince, and let Tikhon undress him. 

Frowning with vexation at the effort neces- 
sary to divest himself of his coat and trousers, 
the prince undressed, sat down heavily on the 
bed, and appeared to be meditating as he 
looked contemptuously at his withered yellow 
legs. He was not meditating, but only defer- 
ring the moment of making the effort to lift 
those legs up and turn over on the bed. "Ugh, 
how hard it is! Oh, that this toil might end and 



you would release me!" thought he. Pressing 
his lips together he made that effort for the 
twenty- thousandth time and lay down. But 
hardly had he done so before he felt the bed 
rocking backwards and forwards beneath him 
as if it were breathing heavily and jolting. This 
happened to him almost every night. He 
opened his eyes as they were closing. 

"No peace, damn them!" he muttered, an- 
gry he knew not with whom. "Ah yes, there was 
something else important, very important, 
that I was keeping till I should be in bed. The 
bolts? No, I told him about them. No, it was 
something, something in the drawing room. 
Princess Mary talked some nonsense. Dessalles, 
that fool, said something. Something in my 
pocketcan't remember. . . . 

"Tikhon, what did we talk about at dinner?" 

"About Prince Michael . . ." 

"Be quiet, quiet!" The prince slapped his 
hand on the table. "Yes, I know, Prince An- 
drew's letter! Princess Mary read it. Dessalles 
said something about Vitebsk. Now I'll read 
it." 

He had the letter taken from his pocket 
and the table on which stood a glass of lem- 
onade and a spiral wax handle moved close 
to the bed, and putting on his spectacles he 
began reading. Only now in the stillness of the 
night, reading it by the faint light under the 
green shade, did he grasp its meaning for a 
moment. 

"The French at Vitebsk, in four days' march 
they may be at Smolensk; perhaps are already 
there! Tikhon!" Tfkhon jumped up. "No, no, 
I don't want anything!" he shouted. 

He put the letter under the candlestick and 
closed his eyes. And there rose before him the 
Danube at bright noonday: reeds, the Russian 
camp, and himself a young general without a 
wrinkle on his ruddy face, vigorous and alert, 
entering Potemkin's gaily colored tent, and a 
burning sense of jealousy of "the favorite" agi- 
tated him now as strongly as it had done then. 
He recalled all the words spoken at that first 
meeting with Potemkin. And he saw before 
him a plump, rather sallow-faced, short, stout 
woman, the Empress Mother, with her smile 
and her words at her first gracious reception of 
him, and then that same face on the catafalque, 
and the encounter he had with Ztibov over her 
coffin about his right to kiss her hand. 

"Oh, quicker, quicker! To get back to that 
time and have done with all the present! Quick- 
er, quicker and that they should leave me in 
peacel" 



BOOK 

CHAPTER IV 

BALD HILLS, Prince Nicholas Bolk6nski's es- 
tate, lay forty miles east from Smolensk and 
two miles from the main road to Moscow. 

The same evening that the prince gave his 
instructions to Alpatych, Dessalles, having 
asked to see Princess Mary, told her that, as the 
prince was not very well and was taking no steps 
to secure his safety, though from Prince An- 
drew's letter it was evident that to remain at 
Bald Hills might be dangerous, he respectfully 
advised her to send a letter by Alpatych to the 
Provincial Governor at Smolensk, asking him . 
to let her know the state of affairs and the ex- 
tent of the danger to which Bald Hills was ex- 
posed. Dessalles wrote this letter to the Gover- 
nor for Princess Mary, she signed it, and it was 
given to Alpatych with instructions to hand it 
to the Governor and to come back as quickly 
as possible if there was danger. 

Having received all his orders Alpdtych, wear- 
ing a white beaver hat a present from the 
prince and carrying a stick as the prince did, 
went out accompanied by his family. Three 
well-fed roans stood ready harnessed to a small 
conveyance with a leather hood. 

The larger bell was muffled and the little bells 
on the harness stuffed with paper. The prince 
allowed no one at Bald Hills to drivewith ring- 
ing bells, but on a long journey Alpatych liked 
to have them. His satellites the senior clerk, 
a countinghouse clerk, a scullery maid, a cook, 
two old women, a little pageboy, the coachman, 
and various domestic serfs were seeing him 
off. 

His daughter placed chintz-covered down 
cushions for him to sit on and behind his back. 
His old sister-in-law popped in a small bundle, 
and one of the coachmen helped him into the 
vehicle. 

"There! There! Women's fuss! Women, 
women!" said Alpatych, puffing and speaking 
rapidly just as the prince did, and he climbed 
into the trap. 

After giving the clerk orders about the work 
to be done, Alpatych, not trying to imitate the 
prince now, lifted the hat from his bald head 
and crossed himself three times. 

"If there is anything . . . come back, Ydkov 
Alpdtych! For Christ's sake think of us!" cried 
his wife, referring to the rumors of war and the 
enemy. 

"Women, women! Women's fuss!" muttered 
Alpdtych to himself and started on his journey, 
looking round at the fields of yellow rye and 
the still-green, thickly growing oats, and at oth- 



TEN 395 

er quite black fields just being plowed a second 
time. 

As he went along he looked with pleasure 
at the year's splendid crop of corn, scrutinized 
the strips of ryefield which here and there were 
already being reaped, made his calculations as 
to the sowing and the harvest, and asked him- 
self whether he had not forgotten any of the 
prince's orders. 

Having baited the horses twice on the way, 
he arrived at the town toward evening on the 
fourth of August. 

Alpatych kept meeting and overtaking bag- 
gage trains and troops on the road. As he ap- 
proached Smolensk he heard the sounds of dis- 
tant firing, but these did not impress him. 
What struck him most was the sight of a splen- 
did field of oats in which a camp had been 
pitched and which was being mown down by 
the soldiers, evidently for fodder. This fact 
impressed Alpdtych, but in thinking about his 
own business he soon forgot it. 

All the interests of his life for more than 
thirty years had been bounded by the will of 
the prince, and he never went beyond that 
limit. Everything not connected with the exe- 
cution of the prince's orders did not interest 
and did not even exist for Alpdtych. 

On reaching Smolensk on the evening of 
the fourth of August he put up in the Gdchina 
suburb across the Dnieper, at the inn kept by 
Ferap6ntov, where he had been in the habit of 
putting up for the last thirty years. Some thirty 
years ago Ferap6ntov, by Alpatych's advice, had 
bought a wood from the prince, had begun to 
trade, and now had a house, an inn, and a corn 
dealer's shop in that province. He was a stout, 
dark, red-faced peasant in the forties, with 
thick lips, a broad knob of a nose, similar knobs 
over his black frowning brows, and a round 
belly. 

Wearing a waistcoat over his cotton shirt, 
Ferap6ntov was standing before his shop which 
opened onto the street. On seeing Alpatych he 
went up to him. 

"You're welcome, Ydkov Alpdtych. Folks are 
leaving the town, but you have come to it," 
said he. 

"Why are they leaving the town?" asked Al- 
ptych. 

"That's what I say. Folks are foolish! Always 
afraid of the French." 

"Women's fuss, women's fuss!" said Alpdtych. 

"Just what I think, Ydkov Alpdtych. What I 
say is: orders have been given not to let them in, 
so that must be right. And the peasants are ask- 



396 



WAR AND PEACE 



ing three rubles for carting it isn't Christian!" 

Yakov Alpdtych heard without heeding. He 
asked for a samovar and for hay for his horses, 
and when he had had his tea he went to bed. 

All night long troops were moving past the 
inn. Next morning Alpdtych donned a jacket 
he wore only in town and went out on business. 
It was a sunny morning and by eight o'clock 
it was already hot. "A good day for harvesting," 
thought Alpatych. 

From beyond the town firing had been heard 
since earlymorning. At eight o'clock the boom- 
ing of cannon was added to the sound of mus- 
ketry. Many people were hurrying through the 
streets and there were many soldiers, but cabs 
were still driving about, tradesmen stood at 
their shops, and service was being held in the 
churches as usual. Alpitych went to the shops, 
to government offices, to the post office, and to 
the Governor's. In the offices and shops and at 
the post office everyone was talking about the 
army and about the enemy who was already at- 
tacking the town, everybody was asking what 
should be done, and all were trying to calm one 
another. 

In front of the Governor's house Alpitych 
found a large number of people, Cossacks, and 
a traveling carriage of the Governor's. At the 
porch he met two of the landed gentry, one of 
whom he knew. This man, an ex-captain of 
police, was saying angrily: 

"It's no joke, you know! It's all very well if 
you're single. 'One man though undone is but 
one/ as the proverb says, but with thirteen in 
your family and all the property . . . They've 
brought us to utter ruin! What sort of gover- 
nors are they to do that? They ought to be 
hanged the brigands! . . ." 

"Oh come, that's enough!" said the other. 

"What do I care? Let him hear! We're not 
dogs," said the ex-captain of police, and look- 
ing round he noticed Alpdtych. 

"Oh, Ydkov Alpatych! What have you come 
for?" 

"To see the Governor by his excellency's or- 
der," answered Alpdtych, lifting his head and 
proudly thrusting his hand into the bosom of 
his coat as he always did when he mentioned 

the prince "He has ordered me to inquire 

into the position of affairs," he added. 

"Yes, go and find out!" shouted the angry 
gentleman. "They've brought things to such a 
pass that there are no carts or anything! . . . 
There it is again, do you hear?" said he, point- 
ing in the direction whence came the sounds of 
firing. 



"They've brought us all to ruin . . . the brig- 
ands!" he repeated, and descended the porch 
steps. 

Alpatych swayed his head and went upstairs. 
In the waiting room were tradesmen, women, 
and officials, looking silently at one another. 
The door of the Governor's room opened and 
they all rose and moved forward. An official 
ran out, said some words to a merchant, called 
a stout official with a cross hanging on his neck 
to follow him, and vanished again, evidently 
wishing to avoid the inquiring looks and ques- 
tions addressed to him. Alpatych moved for- 
ward and next time the official came out ad- 
dressed him, one hand placed in the breast of 
his buttoned coat, and handed him two letters. 

"To his Honor Baron Asch, from General-in- 
Chief Prince Bolk6nski," he announced with 
such solemnity and significance that the official 
turned to him and took the letters. 

A few minutes later the Governor received 
Alpatych and hurriedly said to him: 

"Inform the prince and princess that I knew 
nothing: I acted on the highest instructions 
here . . ." and he handed a paper to Alpdtych. 
"Still, as the prince is unwell my advice is that 
they should go to Moscow. I am just starting 
myself. Inform them ..." 

But the Governor did not finish: a dusty per- 
spiring officer ran into the room and began to 
say something in French. The Governor's face 
expressed terror. 

"Go," he said, nodding his head to Alpdtych, 
and began questioning the officer. 

Eager, frightened, helpless glances were 
turned on Alpdtych when he came out of the 
Governor's room. Involuntarily listening now 
to the firing, which had drawn nearer and was 
increasing in strength, Alpdtych hurried to his 
inn. The paper handed to him by the Govern- 
or said this: 

"I assure you that the town of Smolensk is not 
in the slightest danger as yet and it is unlikely that 
it will be threatened with any. I from the one side 
and Prince Bagrati6n from the other are marching 
to unite our forces before Smolensk, which junction 
will be effected on the 22nd instant, and both ar- 
mies with their united forces will defend our com- 
patriots of the province entrusted to your care till 
our efforts shall have beaten back the enemies of 
our Fatherland, or till the last warrior in our val- 
iant ranks has perished. From this you will see that 
you have a perfect right to reassure the inhabitants 
of Smolensk, for those defended by two such brave 
armies may feel assured of victory." (Instructions 
from Barclay de Tolly to Baron Asch, the civil 
governor of Smolensk, 1812.) 



BOOK TEN 



397 



People were anxiously roaming about the 
streets. 

Carts piled high with household utensils, 
chairs, and cupboards kept emerging from the 
gates of the yards and moving along the streets. 
Loaded carts stood at the house next to Fera- 
p6ntov's and women were wailing and lament- 
ing as they said good-by. A small watchdog 
ran round barking in front of the harnessed 
horses. 

Alpdtych entered the innyard at a quicker 
pace than usual and went straight to the shed 
where his horses and trap were. The coachman 
was asleep. He woke him up, told him to har- 
ness, and went into the passage. From the host's 
room came the sounds of a child crying, the de- 
spairing sobs of a woman, and the hoarse an- 
gry shouting of Ferap6ntov. The cook began 
running hither and thither in the passage like 
a frightened hen, just as Alpdtych entered. 

"He's done her to death. Killed the mistressl 
. . . Beat her . . . dragged her about so! ..." 

"What for?" asked Alpdtych. 

"She kept begging to go away. She's a wom- 
an! 'Take me away,' says she, 'don't let me 
perish with my little children! Folks,' she says, 
'are all gone, so why,' she says, 'don't we go?' 
And he began beating and pulling her about 
so!" 

At these words Alpdtych nodded as if in ap- 
proval, and not wishing to hear more went to 
the door of the room opposite the innkeeper's, 
where he had left his purchases. 

"You brute, you murderer! "screamed a thin, 
pale woman who, with a baby in her arms and 
her kerchief torn from her head, burst through 
the door at that moment and down the steps 
into the yard. 

Ferap6ntov came out after her, but on see- 
ing Alpdtych adjusted his waistcoat, smoothed 
his hair, yawned, and followed Alpatych into 
the opposite room. 

"Going already?" said he. 

Alpdtych, without answering or looking at 
his host, sorted his packages and asked how 
much he owed. 

"We'll reckon up! Well, have you been to 
the Governor's?" asked Ferap6ntov. "What has 
been decided?" 

Alpdtych replied that the Governor had not 
told him anything definite. 

"With our business, how can we get away?" 
said Ferap6ntov. "We'd have to pay seven ru- 
bles a cartload to Dorogobuzh and I tell them 
they're not Christians to ask iti Selivdnov, now, 
did a good stroke last Thursdaysold flour to 



the army at nine rubles a sack. Will you have 
some tea?" he added. 

While the horses were being harnessed Al- 
patych and Ferap6ntov over their tea talked of 
the price of corn, the crops, and the good weath- 
er for harvesting. 

"Well, it seems to be getting quieter," re- 
marked Ferap6ntov, finishing his third cup of 
tea and getting up. "Ours must have got the 
best of it. The orders were not to let them in. 
So we're in force, it seems. . . . They say the 
other day Matthew Ivdnych Pldtov * drove them 
into the river Mdrina and drowned some eight- 
een thousand in one day." 

Alpjitych collected his parcels, handed them 
to the coachman who had come in, and settled 
up with the innkeeper. The noise of wheels, 
hoofs, and bells was heard from the gateway as 
a little trap passed out. 

It was by now late in the afternoon. Half 
the street was in shadow, the other half bright- 
ly lit by the sun. Alpatych looked out of the 
window and went to the door. Suddenly the 
strange sound of a far-off whistling and thud 
was heard, followed by a boom of cannon blend- 
ing into a dull roar that set the windows rat- 
tling. 

He went out into the street: two men were 
running past toward the bridge. From different 
sides came whistling sounds and the thud of 
cannon balls and bursting shells falling on the 
town. But these sounds were hardly heard in 
comparison with the noise of the firing outside 
the town and attracted little attention from 
the inhabitants. The town was being bombard- 
ed by a hundred and thirty guns which Napo- 
leon had ordered up after four o'clock. The 
people did not at once realize the meaning of 
this bombardment. 

At first the noise of the falling bombs and 
shells only aroused curiosity. Ferap6ntov's 
wife, who till then had not ceased wailing un- 
der the shed, became quiet and with the baby 
in her arms went to the gate, listening to the 
sounds and looking in silence at the people. 

The cook and a shop assistant came to the 
gate. With lively curiosity everyone tried to 
get a glimpse of the projectiles as they flew 
over their heads. Several people came round 
the corner talking eagerly. 

"What force!" remarked one. "Knocked the 
roof and ceiling all to splinters!" 

"Routed up the earth like a pig," said an- 
other. 

"That's grand, it bucks one up!" laughed 

1 Hetman of the Cossack army. TR. 



398 



WAR AND PEACE 



the first. "Lucky you jumped aside, or it would 
have wiped you out!" 

Others joined those men and stopped and 
told how cannon balls had fallen on a house 
close to them. Mean while still more projectiles, 
now with the swift sinister whistle of a cannon 
ball, now with the agreeable intermittent whis- 
tle of a shell, flew over people's heads incessant- 
ly, but not one fell close by, they all flew over. 
Alpdtych was getting into his trap. The inn- 
keeper stood at the gate. 

"What are you staring at?" he shouted to the 
cook, who in her red skirt, with sleeves rolled 
up, swinging her bare elbows, had stepped to 
the corner to listen to what was being said. 

"What marvels!" she exclaimed, but hearing 
her master's voice she turned back, pulling 
down her tucked-up skirt. 

Once moresomethingwhistled, but this time 
quite close, swooping downwards like a little 
bird; a flame flashed in the middle of the street, 
something exploded, and the street was shroud- 
ed in smoke. 

"Scoundrel, what are you doing?" shouted 
the innkeeper, rushing to the cook. 

At that moment the pitiful wailing of wom- 
en was heard from different sides, the fright- 
ened baby began to cry, and people crowded 
silently with pale faces round the cook. The 
loudest sound in that crowd was her wailing. 

"Oh-h-h! Dear souls, dear kind souls! Don't 
let me die! My good souls! . . ." 

Five minutes later no one remained in the 
street. The cook, with her thigh broken by a 
shell splinter, had been carried into the kitch- 
en. Alpdtych, his coachman, Ferap6ntov's wife 
and children and the house porter were all sit- 
ting in the cellar, listening. The roar of guns, 
the whistling of projectiles, and the piteous 
moaning of the cook, which rose above the oth- 
er sounds, did not cease fora moment. The mis- 
tress rocked and hushed her baby and when 
anyone came into the cellar asked in a pathetic 
whisper what had become of her husband who 
had remained in the street. A shopman who 
entered told her that her husband had gone 
with others to the cathedral, whence they were 
fetching the wonder-working icon of Smolensk. 

Toward dusk the cannonade began to sub- 
side. Alpdtych left the cellar and stopped in the 
doorway. The evening sky that had been so 
clear was clouded with smoke, through which, 
high up, the sickle of the new moon shone 
strangely. Now that the terrible din of the guns 
had ceased a hush seemed to reign over the 
town, broken only by the rustle of footsteps, 



the moaning, the distant cries, and the crackle 
of fires which seemed widespread everywhere. 
The cook's moans had now subsided. On two 
sides black curling clouds of smoke rose and 
spread from the fires. Through the streets sol- 
diers in various uniforms walked or ran con- 
fusedly in different directions like ants from a 
ruined ant-hill. Several of them ran into Fera- 
pontov's yard before Alpdtych's eyes. Alpdtych 
went out to the gate. A retreating regiment, 
thronging and hurrying, blocked the street. 

Noticing him, an officer said: "The town is 
being abandoned. Get away, get away!" and 
then, turning to the soldiers, shouted: 

"I'll teach you to run into the yards!" 

Alpdtych went back to the house, called the 
coachman, and told him to set off. Ferap6ntov's 
whole household came out too, following Al- 
pdtych and the coachman. The women, who 
had been silent till then, suddenly began to 
wail as they looked at the fires the smoke and 
even the flames of which could be seen in the 
failing twilight and as if in reply the same 
kind of lamentation was heard from other parts 
of the street. Inside the shed Alpdtych and the 
coachman arranged the tangled reins and traces 
of their horses with trembling hands. 

As Alpdtych was driving out of the gate he 
saw some ten soldiers in Ferapontov's open 
shop, talking loudly and filling their bags and 
knapsacks with flour and sunflower seeds. Just 
then Ferapontov returned and entered his shop. 
On seeing the soldiers he was about to shout 
at them, but suddenly stopped and, clutching 
at his hair, burst into sobs and laughter: 

"Loot everything, lads! Don't let those devils 
get it!" he cried, taking some bags of flour him- 
self and throwing them into the street. 

Some of the soldiers were frightened and ran 
away, others went on filling their bags. On see- 
ing Alpdtych, FerapcSntov turned to him: 

"Russia is done for!" he cried. "Alpdtych, 
I'll set the place on fire myself. We're done 
for! . . ." and Ferap6ntov ran into the yard. 

Soldiers were passing in a constant stream 
along the street blocking it completely, so that 
Alpdtych could not pass out and had to wait. 
Ferap6ntov's wife and children were also sit- 
ting in a cart waiting till it was possible to drive 
out. 

Night had come. There were stars in the sky 
and the new moon shone out amid the smoke 
that screened it. On the sloping descent to the 
Dnieper Alpdtych's cart and that of the inn- 
keeper's wife, which were slowly moving amid 
the rows of soldiers and of other vehicles, had 



BOOK TEN 



399 



to stop. In a side street near the crossroads 
where the vehicles had stopped, a house ariti 
some shops were on fire. This fire was already 
burning itself out. The flames now died down 
and were lost in the black smoke, now sudden- 
ly flared up again brightly, lighting up with 
strange distinctness the faces of the people 
crowding at the crossroads. Black figures flit- 
ted about before the fire, and through the in- 
cessant crackling of the flames talking and 
shouting could be heard. Seeing that his trap 
would not be able to move on for some time, 
Alpdtych got down and turned into the side 
street to look at the fire. Soldiers were contin- 
ually rushing backwards and forwards near it, 
and he saw two of them and a man in a frieze 
coat dragging burning beams in to another yard 
across the street, while others carried bundles 
of hay. 

Alpdtych went up to a large crowd standing 
before a high barn which was blazing briskly. 
The walls were all on fire and the back wall had 
fallen in, the wooden roof was collapsing, and 
the rafters were alight. The crowd was evident- 
ly watching for thereof to fall in, and Alpdtych 
watched for it too. 

"Alpatych!" a familiar voice suddenly hailed 
the old man. 

"Mercy on us! Your excellency!" answered 
Alpatych, immediately recognizing the voice 
of his young prince. 

Prince Andrew in his riding cloak, mounted 
on a black horse, was looking at Alpatych from 
the back of the crowd. 

"Why are you here?" he asked. 

"Your . . . your excellency," stammered Al- 
pdtych and broke into sobs. "Are we really 
lost? Master! . . ." 

"Why are you here?" Prince Andrew repeat- 
ed. 

At that moment the flames flared up and 
showed his young master's pale worn face. Al- 
pdtych told how he had been sent there and 
how difficult it was to get away. 

"Are we really quite lost, your excellency?" 
he asked again. 

Prince Andrew without replying took out 
a notebook and raising his knee began writing 
in pencil on a page he tore out. He wrote to 
his sister: 

"Smolensk is being abandoned. Bald Hills will 
be occupied by the enemy within a week. Set off 
immediately for Moscow. Let me know at once 
when you will start. Send by special messenger to 
Usvydzh." 

Having written this and given the paper to 



Alpdtych, he told him how to arrange for the 
departure of the prince, the princess, his son, 
and the boy's tutor, and how and where to let 
him know immediately. Before he had had time 
to finish giving these instructions, a chief of 
staff followed by a suite galloped up to him. 

"You are a colonel?" shouted the chief of 
staff with a German accent, in a voice familiar 
to Prince Andrew. "Houses are set on fire in 
your presence and you stand by! What does 
this mean? You will answer for it!" shouted 
Berg, who was now assistant to the chief of 
staff of the commander of the left flank of the 
infantry of the first army, a place, as Berg said, 
"very agreeable and well en Evidence." 

Prince Andrew looked at him and without 
replying went on speaking to Alpdtych. 

"So tell them that I shall await a reply till 
the tenth, and if by the tenth I don't receive 
news that they have all got away I shall have to 
throw up everything and come myself to Bald 
Hills." 

"Prince," said Berg, recognizing Prince An- 
drew, "I only spoke because I have to obey or- 
ders, because I always do obey exactly You 

must please excuse me," he went on apologet- 
ically. 

Something cracked in the flames. The fire 
died down for a moment and wreaths of black 
smoke rolled from under the roof. There was 
another terrible crash and something huge col- 
lapsed. 

"Ou-rou-rou!" yelled the crowd, echoing the 
crash of the collapsing roof of the barn, the 
burning grain in which diffused a cakelike 
aroma all around. The flames flared up again, 
lighting the animated, delighted, exhausted 
faces of the spectators. 

The man in the frieze coat raised his arms 
and shouted: 

"It's fine, lads! Now it's raging . . . It's fine!" 

"That's the owner himself," cried several 
voices. 

"Well then," continued Prince Andrew to 
Alpdtych, "report to them as I have told you"; 
and not replying a word to Berg who was now 
mute beside him, he touched his horse and rode 
down the side street. 

CHAPTER V 

FROM SMOLENSK the troops continued to re- 
treat, followed by the enemy. On the tenth of 
August the regiment Prince Andrew command- 
ed was marching along the highroad past the 
avenue leading to Bald Hills. Heat and drought 
had continued for more than three weeks. 



4<x> 

Each day fleecy clouds floated across the sky 
and occasionally veiled the sun, but toward 
evening the sky cleared again and the sun set 
in reddish-brown mist. Heavy night dews alone 
refreshed the earth. The unreaped corn was 
scorched and shed its grain. The marshes dried 
up. The cattle lowed from hunger, finding no 
food on the sun-parched meadows. Only at 
night and in the forests while the dew lasted 
was there any freshness. But on the road, the 
highroad along which the troops marched, 
there was no such freshness even at night or 
when the road passed through the forest; the 
dew was imperceptible on the sandy dust 
churned up more than six inches deep. As soon 
as day dawned the march began. The artillery 
and baggage wagons moved noiselessly through 
the deep dust that rose to the very hubs of the 
wheels, and the infantry sank ankle-deep in 
that soft, choking, hot dust that never cooled 
even at night. Some of this dust was kneaded 
by the feet and wheels, while the rest rose and 
hung like a cloud over the troops, settling in 
eyes, ears, hair, and nostrils, and worst of all in 
the lungs of the men and beasts as they moved 
along that road. The higher the sun rose the 
higher rose that cloud of dust, and through the 
screen of its hot fine particles one could look 
with naked eye at the sun, which showed like 
a huge crimson ball in the unclouded sky. 
There was no wind, and the men choked in 
that motionless atmosphere. They marched 
with handkerchiefs tied over their noses and 
mouths. When they passed through a village 
they all rushed to the wells and fought for the 
water and drank 't down to the mud. 

Prince Andrew was in command of a regi- 
ment, and the management of that regiment, 
the welfare of the men and the necessity of re- 
ceiving and giving orders, engrossed him. The 
burning of Smolensk and its abandonment 
made an epoch in his life. A novel feeling of 
anger against the foe made him forget his own 
sorrow. He was entirely devoted to the affairs 
of his regiment and was considerate and kind 
to his men and officers. In the regiment they 
called him "our prince," were proud of him 
and loved him. But he was kind and gentle on- 
ly to those of his regiment, to Tim6khin and 
the like people quite new to him, belonging 
to a different world and who could not know 
and understand his past. As soon as he came 
across a former acquaintance or anyone from 
the staff, he bristled up immediately and grew 
spiteful, ironical, and contemptuous. Every- 
thing that reminded him of his past was repug- 



WAR AND PEACE 

nant to him, and so in his relations with that 
fdriner circle he confined himself to trying to 
do his duty and not to be unfair. 

In truth everything presented itself in a dark 
and gloomy light to Prince Andrew, especially 
after the abandonment of Smolensk on the 
sixth of August (he considered that it could 
and should have been defended) and after his 
sick father had had to flee to Moscow, abandon- 
ing to pillage his dearly beloved Bald Hills 
which he had built and peopled. But despite 
this, thanks to his regiment, Prince Andrew had 
something to think about entirely apart from 
general questions. Two days previously he had 
received news that his father, son, and sister 
had left for Moscow; and though there was 
nothing for him to do at Bald Hills, Prince An- 
drew with a characteristic desire to foment his 
own grief decided that he must ride there. 

He ordered his horse to be saddled and, leav- 
ing his regiment on the march, rode to his fa- 
ther's estate where he had been born and spent 
his childhood. Riding past the pond where 
there used always to be dozens of women chat- 
tering as they rinsed their linen or beat it with 
wooden beetles, Prince Andrew noticed that 
there was not a soul about and that the little 
washing wharf, torn from its place and half sub- 
merged, was floating on its side in the middle 
of the pond. He rode to the keeper's lodge. No 
one was at the stone entrance gates of the drive 
and the door stood open. Grass had already be- 
gun to grow on the garden paths, and horses 
and calves were straying in the English park. 
Prince Andrew rode up to the hothouse; some 
of the glass panes were broken, and of the trees 
in tubs some were overturned and others dried 
up. He called for Tards the gardener, but no 
one replied. Having gone round the corner of 
the hothouse to the ornamental garden, he saw 
that the carved garden fence was broken and 
branches of the plum trees had been torn off 
with the fruit. An old peasant whom Prince 
Andrew in his childhood had often seen at the 
gate was sitting on a green garden seat, plait- 
ing a bast shoe. 

He was deaf and did not hear Prince Andrew 
ride up. He was sitting on the seat the old 
prince used to like to sit on, and beside him 
strips of bast were hanging on the broken and 
withered branch of a magnolia. 

Prince Andrew rode up to the house. Sev- 
eral limes in the old garden had been cut down 
and a piebald mare and her foal were wander- 
ing in front of the house among the rosebushes. 
The shutters were all closed, except at one 



BOOK TEN 



401 



window which was open. A little serf boy, see- 
ing Prince Andrew, ran into the house. Al- 
pdtych, having sent his family away, was alone 
at Bald Hills and was sitting indoors reading 
the Lives of the Saints. On hearing that Prince 
Andrew had come, he went out with his spec- 
tacles on his nose, buttoning his coat, and, hast- 
ily stepping up, without a word began weeping 
and kissing Prince Andrew's knee. 

Then, vexed at his own weakness, he turned 
away and began to report on the position of af- 
fairs. Everything precious and valuable had 
been removed to Bogucharovo. Seventy quar- 
ters of grain had also been carted away. The 
hay and the spring corn, of which Alpdtych 
said there had been a remarkable crop that 
year, had been commandeered by the troops 
and mown down while still green. The peas- 
ants were ruined; some of them too had gone 
to Bogucharovo, only a few remained. 

Without waiting to hear him out, Prince An- 
drew asked: 

"When did my father and sister leave?" 
meaning when did they leave for Moscow. 

Alpatych, understanding the question to re- 
fer to their departure for Boguchdrovo, re- 
plied that they had left on the seventh and 
again went into details concerning the estate 
management, asking for instructions. 

"Am I to let the troops have the oats, and to 
take a receipt for them? We have still six hun- 
dred quarters left," he inquired. 

"What am I to say to him?" thought Prince 
Andrew, looking down on the old man's bald 
head shining in the sun and seeing by the ex- 
pression on his face that the old man himself 
understood how untimely such questions were 
and only asked them to allay his grief. 

"Yes, let them have it," replied Prince An- 
drew. 

"If you noticed some disorder in the garden," 
said Alpdtych, "it was impossible to prevent it. 
Three regiments have been here and spent the 
night, dragoons mostly. I took down the name 
and rank of their commanding officer, to hand 
in a complaint about it." 

"Well, and what are you going to do? Will 
you stay here if the enemy occupies the place?" 
asked Prince Andrew. 

Alpdtych turned his face to Prince Andrew, 
looked at him, and suddenly with a solemn 
gesture raised his arm. 

"He is my refuge! His will be donel" he ex- 
claimed. 

A group of bareheaded peasants was ap- 
proaching across the meadow toward the prince. 



"Well, good-byl" said Prince Andrew, bend- 
ing over to Alpdtych. "You must go away too, 
take away what you can and tell the serfs to go 
to the Ryazdn estate or to the one near Mos- 
cow." 

Alpdtych clung to Prince Andrew's leg and 
burst into sobs. Gently disengaging himself, 
the prince spurred his horse and rode down the 
avenue at a gallop. 

The old man was still sitting in the orna- 
mental garden, like a fly impassive on the face 
of a loved one who is dead, tapping the last on 
which he was making the bast shoe, and two 
littlegirls, running out from the hothouse carry- 
ing in their skirts plums they had plucked from 
the trees there, came upon Prince Andrew. On 
seeing the young master, the elder one with 
frightened look clutched her younger compan- 
ion by the hand and hid with her behind a birch 
tree, not stopping to pick up some green plums 
they had dropped. 

Prince Andrew turned away with startled 
haste, unwilling to let them see that they had 
been observed. He was sorry for the pretty 
frightened little girl, was afraid of looking at 
her, and yet felt an irresistible desire to do so. 
A new sensation of comfort and relief came 
over him when, seeing these girls, he realized 
the existence of other human interests entirely 
aloof from his own and just as legitimate as 
those that occupied him. Evidently these girls 
passionately desired one thing to carry away 
and eat those green plums without being caught 
and Prince Andrew shared their wish for the 
success of their enterprise. He could not resist 
looking at them once more. Believing their 
danger past, they sprang from their ambush 
and, chirruping something in their shrill little 
voices and holding up their skirts, their bare 
little sunburned feet scampered merrily and 
quickly across the meadow grass. 

Prince Andrew was somewhat refreshed by 
having ridden off the dusty highroad along 
which the troops were moving. But not far 
from Bald Hills he again came out on the road 
and overtook his regiment at its halting place 
by the dam of a small pond. It was past one 
o'clock. The sun, a red ball through the dust, 
burned and scorched his back intolerably 
through his black coat. The dust always hung 
motionless above the buzz of talk that came 
from the resting troops. There was no wind. 
As he crossed the dam Prince Andrew smelled 
the ooze and freshness of the pond. He longed 
to get into that water, however dirty it might 
be, and he glanced round at the pool from 



40? 



WAR AND PEACE 



whence came sounds of shrieks and laughter. 
The small, muddy, green pond had risen vis- 
ibly more than a foot, flooding the dam, be- 
cause it was full of the naked white bodies of 
soldiers with brick-red hands, necks, and faces, 
who were splashing about in it. All this naked 
white human flesh, laughing and shrieking, 
floundered about in that dirty pool like carp 
stuffed into a watering can, and the suggestion 
of merriment in that floundering mass rendered 
it specially pathetic. 

One fair-haired young soldier of the third 
company, whom Prince Andrew knew and 
who had a strap round the calf of one leg, 
crossed himself, stepped back to get a good run, 
and plunged into the water; another, a dark 
noncommissioned officer who was always shag- 
gy, stood up to his waist in the water joyfully 
wriggling his muscular figure and snorted with 
satisfaction as he poured the water over his 
head with hands blackened to the wrists. There 
were sounds of men slapping one another, 
yelling, and puffing. 

Everywhere on the bank, on the dam, and 
in the pond, there was healthy, white, muscu- 
lar flesh. The officer, Tim6khin, with his red 
little nose, standing on the dam wiping himself 
with a towel, felt confused at seeing the prince, 
but made up his mind to address him neverthe- 
less. 

"It's very nice, your excellency! Wouldn't 
you like to?" said he. 

"It's dirty," replied Prince Andrew, making 
a grimace. 

"We'll clear it out for you in a minute," said 
Tim6khin, and, still undressed, ran off to clear 
the men out of the pond. 

"The prince wants to bathe." 

"What prince? Ours?" said many voices, and 
the men were in such haste to clear out that the 
prince could hardly stop them. He decided that 
he would rather souse himself with water in the 
barn. 

"Flesh, bodies, cannon fodder!" he thought, 
and he looked at his own naked body and shud- 
dered, not from cold but from a sense of dis- 
gust and horror he did not himself understand, 
aroused by the sight of that immense number 
of bodies splashing about in the dirty pond. 

On the seventh of August Prince Bagrati6n 
wrote as follows from his quarters at Mikhay- 
lovka on the Smolensk road: 

Dear Count Alexis Andrevich (He was writ- 
ing to Arakche'ev but knew that his letter would be 
read by the Emperor, and therefore weighed every 



word in it to the best of his ability.) 

I expect the Minister [Barclay de Tolly] has al- 
ready reported the abandonment of Smolensk to 
the enemy. It is pitiable and sad, and the whole 
army is in despair that this most important place 
has been wantonly abandoned. I, for my part, 
begged him personally most urgently and finally 
wrote him, but nothing would induce him to con- 
sent. I swear to you on my honor that Napoleon 
was in such a fix as never before and might have 
lost half his army but could not have taken Smo- 
le"nsk. Our troops fought, and are fighting, as 
never before. With fifteen thousand men I held 
the enemy at bay for thirty-five hours and beat 
him; but he would not hold out even for fourteen 
hours. It is disgraceful, a stain on our army, and 
as for him, he ought, it seems to me, not to live. If 
he reports that our losses were great, it is not true; 
perhaps about four thousand, not more, and not 
even that; but even were they ten thousand, that's 
war! But the enemy has lost masses. . . . 

What would it have cost him to hold out for 
another two days? They would have had to retire 
of their own accord, for they had no water for men 
or horses. He gave me his word he would not re- 
treat, but suddenly sent instructions that he was 
retiring that night. We cannot fight in this way, 
or we may soon bring the enemy to Moscow. . . . 

There is a rumor that you are thinking of peace. 
God forbid that you should make peace after all 
our sacrifices and such insane retreats! You would 
set all Russia against you and every one of us 
would feel ashamed to wear the uniform. If it has 
come to this we must fight as long as Russia can 
and as long as there are men able to stand. . . . 

One man ought to be in command, and not two. 
Your Minister may perhaps be good as a Minister, 
but as a general he is not merely bad but execra- 
ble, yet to him is entrusted the fate of our whole 
country. ... I am really frantic with vexation; for- 
give my writing boldly. It is clear that the man 
who advocates the conclusion of a peace, and that 
the Minister should command the army, does not 
love our sovereign and desires the ruin of us all. 
So I write you frankly: call out the militia. For the 
Minister is leading these visitors after him to Mos- 
cow in a most masterly way. The whole army feels 
great suspicion of the Imperial aide-de-camp Wol- 
zogen. He is said to be more Napoleon's man than 
oui-s, and he is always advising the Minister. I am 
not merely civil to him but obey him like a cor- 
poral, though I am his senior. This is painful, but, 
loving my benefactor and sovereign,! submit. Only 
I am sorry for the Emperor that he entrusts our 
fine army to such as he. Consider that on our re- 
treat we have lost by fatigue and left in the hos- 
pital more than fifteen thousand men, and had 
we attacked this would not have happened. Tell 
me, for God's sake, what will Russia, our mother 
Russia, say to our being so frightened, and why 
are we abandoning our good and gallant Father- 
land to such rabble and implanting feelings of 



BOOK TEN 



403 



hatred and shame in all our subjects? What are 
we scared at and of whom are we afraid? I am not 
to blame that the Minister is vacillating, a coward, 
dense, dilatory, and has all bad qualities. The 
whole army bewails it and calls down curses upon 
him. . . . 

CHAPTER VI 

AMONG THE innumerable categories applicable 
to the phenomena of human life one may dis- 
criminate between those in which substance 
prevails and those in which form prevails. To 
the latter as distinguished from village, coun- 
try, provincial, or even Moscow lifewe may 
allot Petersburg life, and especially the life of 
its salons. That life of the salons is unchanging. 
Since the year 1805 we had made peace and had 
again quarreled with Bonaparte and had made 
constitutions and unmade them again, but the 
salons of Anna Pavlovnaand Helene remained 
just as they had been the one seven and the 
other five years before. At Anna Pavlovna's 
they talked with perplexity of Bonaparte's suc- 
cesses just as before and saw in them and in 
the subservience shown to him by the European 
sovereigns a malicious conspiracy, the sole ob- 
ject of which was to cause unpleasantness and 
anxiety to the court circle of which Anna Pav- 
lovna was the representative. And in Helene's 
salon, which Rumyantsev 1 himself honored 
with his visits, regarding He'lene as a remark- 
ably intelligent woman, they talked with the 
same ecstacy in 1812 as in 1808 of the "great 
nation" and the "great man,"andregrettedour 
rupture with France, a rupture which, accord- 
ing to them, ought to be promptly terminated 
by peace. 

Of late, since the Emperor's return from the 
army, there had been some excitement in these 
conflicting salon circles and some demonstra- 
tions of hostility to one another, but each camp 
retained its own tendency. In Anna Pavlovna's 
circle only those Frenchmen were admitted who 
were deep-rooted legitimists, and patriotic 
views were expressed to the effect that one 
ought not to go to the French theater and that 
to maintain the French troupe was costing the 
government as much as a whole army corps. 
The progress of the war was eagerly followed, 
and only the reports most flattering to our ar- 
my were circulated. In the French circle of He*- 
lene and Rumyantsev the reports of the cruel- 
ty of the enemy and of the war were contradict- 
ed and all Napoleon's attempts at conciliation 

1 Count N. P. Rumyantsev had been Minister of 
Foreign Affairs in 1807, and in 1809 became Chan- 
cellor. TR. 



were discussed. In that circle they discounte- 
nanced those who advised hurried preparations 
for a removal to Kazan of the court and the 
girls' educational establishments under the pa- 
tronage of the Dowager Empress. In Helena's 
circle the war in general was regarded as a se- 
ries of formal demonstrations which would very 
soon end in peace, and the view prevailed ex- 
pressed by BiHbin--whonow in Petersburg was 
quite at home in Helene's house, which every 
clever man was obliged to visit that not by 
gunpowder but by those who invented it would 
matters be settled. In that circle the Moscow 
enthusiasm news of which had reached Peters- 
burg simultaneously with the Emperor's re- 
turnwas ridiculed sarcastically and very clev- 
erly, though with much caution. 

Anna Pavlovna's circle on the contrary was 
enraptured by this enthusiasm and spoke of it 
as Plutarch speaks of the deeds of the ancients. 
Prince Vasf li, who still occupied his former im- 
portant posts, formed a connecting link be- 
tween these two circles. He visited his "good 
friend Anna Pavlovna"aswell as his daughter's 
"diplomatic salon," and often in his constant 
comings and goings between the two camps be- 
came confused and said at Helene's what he 
should have said at Anna Pavlovna's and vice 
versa. 

Soon after the Emperor's return Prince Va- 
sili in a conversation about the war at Anna 
Pavlovna's severely condemned Barclay de Tol- 
ly, but was undecided as to who ought to be 
appointed commander in chief. One of the 
visitors, usually spoken of as "a man of great 
merit," having described how he had that day 
seen Kutuzov, the newly chosen chief of the 
Petersburg militia, presiding over the enroll- 
ment of recruits at the Treasury, cautiously 
ventured to suggest that Kutuzov would be the 
man to satisfy all requirements. 

Anna Pavlovna remarked with a melancholy 
smile that Kutuzov had done nothing but cause 
the Emperor annoyance. 

"I have talked and talked at the Assembly of 
the Nobility," Prince Vasili interrupted, "but 
they did not listen to me. I told them his elec- 
tion as chief of the militia would not please the 
Emperor. They did not listen to me. 

"It's all this mania for opposition," he went 
on. "And who for? It is all because we want to 
ape the foolish enthusiasm of those Musco- 
vites," Prince Vasili continued, forgetting for 
a moment that though at Helene's one had to 
ridicule the Moscow enthusiasm, at Anna Pav- 
lovna's one had to be ecstatic about it. But he 



404 



WAR AND PEACE 



retrieved his mistake at once. "Now, is it suit- 
able that Count Kutuzov, the oldest general 
in Russia, should preside at that tribunal? He 
will get nothing for his pains! How could they 
make a man commander in chief who cannot 
mount a horse, who drops asleep at a council, 
and has the very worst morals 1 A good reputa- 
tion he made for himself at Bucharest! I don't 
speak of his capacity as a general, but at a time 
like this how can they appoint a decrepit, blind 
old man, positively blind? A fine idea to have 
a blind general! He can't see anything. To play 
blindman's bluff? He can't see at all!" 

No one replied to his remarks. 

This was quite correct on the twenty-fourth 
of July. But on the twenty-ninth of July Ku- 
tuzov received the title of Prince. This might 
indicate a wish to get rid of him, and therefore 
Prince Vasili's opinion continued to be correct 
though he was not now in any hurry to express 
it. But on the eighth of August a committee, 
consisting of Field Marshal Saltyk6v, Arak- 
chev, Vyazmitinov, Lopukhin, and Kochuby 
met to consider the progress of the war. This 
commit tee came to the conclusion that our fail- 
ures were due to a want of unity in the com- 
mand and though the members of the commit- 
tee were aware of the Emperor's dislike of Ku- 
tuzov, after a short deliberation they agreed to 
advise his appointment as commander in chief. 
That same day Kutuzov was appointed com- 
mander in chief with full powers over the 
armies and over the whole region occupied by 
them. 

On the ninth of August Prince Vasfli at An- 
na Pdvlovna's again met the "man of great 
merit." The latter was very attentive to Anna 
Pavlovna because he wanted to be appointed 
director of one of the educational establish- 
ments for young ladies. Prince Vasili entered 
the room with the air of a happy conqueror 
who has attained the object of his desires. 

"Well, have you heard the great news? 
Prince Kutuzov is field marshal! All dissensions 
are at an end! I am so glad, so delighted! At 
last we have a man!" said he, glancing sternly 
and significantly round at everyone in the draw- 
ing room. 

The "man of great merit," despite his desire 
to obtain thepost of director, could not refrain 
from reminding Prince Vasili of his former 
opinion. Though this was impolite to Prince 
Vasili in Anna Pdvlovna's drawing room, and 
also to Anna Pavlovna herself who had re- 
ceived the news with delight, he could not re- 
sist the temptation, 



"But, Prince, they say he is blindl" said he, 
reminding Prince Vasfli of his own words. 

"Eh? Nonsense! He sees well enough," said 
Prince Vasili rapidly, in a deep voice and with 
a slight coughthe voice and cough with which 
he was wont to dispose of all difficulties. 

"He sees well enough," he added. "And 
what I am so pleased about," he went on, "is 
that our sovereign has given him full powers 
over all the armies and the whole region pow- 
ers no commander in chief ever had before. He 
is a second autocrat," he concluded with a vic- 
torious smile. 

"God grant it! God grant it!" said Anna 
Pdvlovna. 

The "man of great merit," who was still a 
novice in court circles, wishing to flatter Anna 
Pdvlovna by defending her former position on 
this question, observed: 

"It is said that the Emperor was reluctant to 
give Kutuzov those powers. They say he blushed 
like a girl to whom Joconde * is read, when he 
said to Kutuzov: 'Your Emperor and the Father- 
land award you this honor.' " 

"Perhaps the heart took no part in that 
speech," said Anna Pdvlovna. 

"Oh, no, no!" warmly rejoined Prince Vasili, 
who would not now yield Kutuzov to anyone; 
in his opinion Kutuzovwas not only admirable 
himself, but was adored by everybody. "No, 
that's impossible," said he, "for our sovereign 
appreciated him so highly before." 

"God grant only that Prince Kutuzov as- 
sumes real power and does not allow anyone to 
put a spoke in his wheel," observed Anna Pdv- 
lovna. 

Understanding at once to whom she allud- 
ed, Prince Vasili said in a whisper: 

"I know for a fact that Kutuzov made it an 
absolute condition that the Tsar^vich should 
not be with the army. Do you know what he 
said to the Emperor?" 

And Prince Vasili repeated the words sup- 
posed to have been spoken by Kutuzov to the 
Emperor. "I can neither punish him if he does 
wrong nor reward him if he does right." 

"Oh, a very wise man is Prince Kutuzov! I 
have known him a long time!" 

"They even say," remarked the "man of 
great merit" who did not yet possess courtly 
tact, "that his excellency made it an express 
condition that the sovereign himself should not 
be with the army." 

As soon as he said this both Prince Vasfli and 

1 Joconde La Fontaine's first contds in verse, 
which are considered improper,~TR. 



BOOK TEN 



405 



Anna Pdvlovna turned away from him and 
glanced sadly at one another with a sigh at his 
naivete*. 

CHAPTER VII 

WHILE THIS was taking place in Petersburg the 
French had already passed Smolensk and were 
drawing nearer and nearer to Moscow. Napo- 
leon's historian Thiers, like other of his his- 
torians, trying to justify his hero says that he 
was drawn to the walls of Moscow against his 
will. He is as right as other historians who look 
for the explanation of historic events in the 
will of one man; he is as right as the Russian 
historians who maintain that Napoleon was 
drawn to Moscow by the skill of the Russian 
commanders. Here besides the law of retrospec- 
tion, which regards all the past as a prepara- 
tion for events that subsequently occur, the 
law of reciprocity comes in, confusing the whole 
matter. A good chessplayer having lost a game 
is sincerely convinced that his loss resulted 
from a mistake he made and looks for that mis- 
take in the opening, but forgets that at each 
stage of the game there were similar mistakes 
and that none of his moves were perfect. He 
only notices the mistake to which he pays at- 
tention, because his opponent took advantage 
of it. How much more complex than this is the 
game of war, which occurs under certain limits 
of time, and where it is not one will that ma- 
nipulates lifelessobjects, but everything results 
from innumerable conflicts of various willsl 

After Smolensk Napoleon sought a battle be- 
yond Dorogobuzh at Vyazma, and then at 
Tsdrevo-Zaymishche, but it happened that ow- 
ing to a conjunction of innumerable circum- 
stances the Russians could not give battle till 
they reached Borodin6, seventy miles from 
Moscow. From Vyazma Napoleon ordered a 
direct advance on Moscow. 

Moscou, la capitate asiatique de ce grand 
empire, la ville sacreedes peuples d'Alexandre, 
Moscou avec ses innombrables eglises en forme 
de pagodes chinoises, 1 this Moscow gave Na- 
poleon's imagination no rest. On the march 
from Vydzma to Tsarevo-Zaymishche he rode 
his light bay bobtailed ambler accompanied by 
his Guards, his bodyguard, his pages, and aides- 
de-camp. Berthier, his chief of staff, dropped 
behind to question a Russian prisoner cap- 
tured by the cavalry. Followed by Lelorgne 

1 "Moscow, the Asiatic capital of this great em- 
pire, the sacred city of Alexander's people, Moscow 
with its innumerable churches shaped like Chinese 
pagodas." 



d'Ideville, an interpreter, he overtook Napo- 
leon at a gallop and reined in his horse with an 
amused expression. 

"Well?" asked Napoleon. 

"One of Platov's Cossacks says that Pldtov's 
corps is joining up with the main army and 
that Kutiizov has been appointed commander 
in chief. He is a very shrewd and garrulous 
fellow." 

Napoleon smiled and told them to give the 
Cossack a horse and bring the man to him. He 
wished to talk to him himself. Several adju- 
tants galloped off, and an hour later, Lavriish- 
ka, the serf Denfsov had handed over to Ros- 
t6v, rode up to Napoleon in an orderly's jack- 
et and on a French cavalry saddle, with a ro- 
guish, merry, and tipsy face. Napoleon told 
him to ride by his side and began questioning 
him. 

"You are a Cossack?" 

"Yes, a Cossack, your Honor." 

"The Cossack, not knowing in what com- 
pany he was, for Napoleon's plain appearance 
had nothing about it that would reveal to an 
Oriental mind the presence of a monarch, 
talked with extreme familiarity of the incidents 
of the war," says Thiers, narrating this episode. 
In reality Lavriishka, having got drunk the 
day before and left his master dinnerless, had 
been whipped and sent to the village in quest 
of chickens, where he engaged in looting till 
the French took him prisoner. Lavriishka was 
one of those coarse, bare-faced lackeys who 
have seen all sorts of things, consider it neces- 
sary to do everything in a mean and cunning 
way, are ready to render any sort of service 
to their master, and are keen at guessing 
their master's baser impulses, especially those 
prompted by vanity and pettiness. 

Finding himself in the company of Napole- 
on, whose identity he had easily and surely rec- 
ognized, Lavriishka was not in the least abashed 
but merely did his utmost to gain his new mas- 
ter's favor. 

He knew very well that this was Napoleon, 
but Napoleon's presence could no more intim- 
idate him than Rost6v's, or a sergeant major's 
with the rods, would have done, for he had 
nothing that either the sergeant major or Na- 
poleon could deprive him of. 

So he rattled on, telling all the gossip he had 
heard among the orderlies. Much of it was true. 
But when Napoleon asked him whether the 
Russians thought they would beat Bonaparte 
or not, Lavriishka screwed up his eyes and con- 
sidered. 



406 



WAR AND PEACE 



In this question he saw subtle cunning, as 
men of his type see cunning in everything, so 
he frowned and did not answer immediately. 

"It's like this," he said thoughtfully, "if 
there's a battle soon, yours will win. That's 
right. But if three days pass, then after that, 
well, then that same battle will not soon be 
over." 

Lelorgne d'Ideville smilingly interpreted 
this speech to Napoleon thus: "If a battle takes 
place within the next three days the French 
will win, but if later, God knows what will 
happen." Napoleon did not smile, though he 
was evidently in high good humor, and he or- 
dered these words to be repeated. 

Lavrushka noticed this and to entertain him 
further, pretending not to know who Napo- 
leon was, added: 

"We know that you have Bonaparte and that 
he has beaten everybody in the world, but we 
are a different matter . . ."without knowing 
why or how this bit of boastful patriotism 
slipped out at the end. 

The interpreter translated these words with- 
out the last phrase, and Bonaparte smiled. 
"The young Cossack made his mighty inter- 
locutor smile," says Thiers. After riding a few 
paces in silence, Napoleon turned to Berthier 
and said he wished to see how the news that he 
was talking to the Emperor himself, to that 
very Emperor who had written his immortally 
victorious name on the Pyramids, would affect 
this enfant du Don. 1 

The fact was accordingly conveyed toLavru- 
shka. 

La vrtishka, understanding that this was done 
to perplex him and that Napoleon expected 
him to be frightened, to gratify his new mas- 
ters promptly pretended to be astonished and 
awe-struck, opened his eyes wide, and assumed 
the expression he usually put on when taken 
to be whipped. "As soon as Napoleon's inter- 
preter had spoken," says Thiers, "the Cossack, 
seized by amazement, did not utter another 
word, but rode on, his eyes fixed on the con- 
queror whose fame had reached him across the 
steppes of the East. All his loquacity was sud- 
denly arrested and replaced by a naive and si- 
lent feeling of admiration. Napoleon, after 
making the Cossack a present, had him set free 
like a bird restored to its native fields." 

Napoleon rode on, dreaming of the Moscow 
that so appealed to his imagination, and "the 
bird restored to its native fields" galloped to 
our outposts, inventing on the way all that had 

1 "Child of the Don." 



not taken place but that he meant to relate to 
his comrades. What had really taken place he 
did not wish to relate because it seemed to him 
not worth telling. He found the Cossacks, in- 
quired for the regiment operating with Pla- 
tov's detachment, and by evening found his 
master, Nicholas Rost6v, quartered at Yank6- 
vo. Rost6v was just mounting to go for a ride 
round the neighboring villages with Ilyfn; he 
let Lavriishka have another horse and took him 
along with him. 

CHAPTER VIII 

PRINCESS MARY was not in Moscow and out of 
danger as Prince Andrew supposed. 

After the return of Alpatych from Smolensk 
the old prince suddenly seemed to awake as 
from a dream. He ordered the militiamen to 
be called up from the villages and armed, and 
wrote a letter to the commander in chief in- 
forming him that he had resolved to remain at 
Bald Hills to the last extremity and to defend 
it, leaving to the commander in chief's discre- 
tion to take measures or not for the defense of 
Bald Hills, where one of Russia's oldest gen- 
erals would be captured or killed, and he an- 
nounced to his household that he would re- 
main at Bald Hills. 

But while himself remaining, he gave in- 
structions for the departure of the princess and 
Dessalles with the little prince to Boguchdrovo 
and thence to Moscow. Princess Mary, alarmed 
by her father's feverish and sleepless activity 
after his previous apathy, could not bring her- 
self to leave him alone and for the first time in 
her life ventured to disobey him. She refused 
to go away arid her father's fury broke over her 
in a terrible storm. He repeated every injustice 
he had ever inflicted on her. Trying to convict 
her, he told her she had worn him out, had 
caused his quarrel with his son, had harbored 
nasty suspicions of him, making it the object 
of her life to poison his existence, and he drove 
her from his study telling her that if she did 
not go away it was all the same to him. He de- 
clared that he did not wish to remember her 
existence and warned her not to dare to let 
him see her. The fact that he did not, as she 
had feared, order her to be carried away by 
force but only told her not to let him see her 
cheered Princess Mary. She knew it was a proof 
that in the depth of his soul he was glad she 
was remaining at home and had not gone away. 

The morning after little Nicholas had left, 
the old prince donned his full uniform and 
prepared to visit the commander in chief. His 



BOOK TEN 



407 



caUche was already at the door. Princess Mary 
saw him walk out of the house in his uniform 
wearing all his orders and go down the garden 
to review his armed peasants and domestic 
serfs. She sat by the window listening to his 
voice which reached her from the garden. Sud- 
denly several men came running up the avenue 
with frightened faces. 

Princess Mary ran out to the porch, down 
the flower-bordered path, and into the avenue. 
A large crowd of militiamen and domestics 
were moving toward her, and in their midst 
several men were supporting by the armpits 
and dragging along a little old man in a uni- 
form and decorations. She ran up to him and, 
in the play of the sunlight that fell in small 
round spots through the shade of the lime-tree 
avenue, could not be sure what change there 
was in his face. All she could see was that his 
former stern and determined expression had 
altered to one of timidity and submission. On 
seeing his daughter he moved his helpless lips 
and made a hoarse sound. It was impossible to 
make out what he wanted. He was lifted up, 
carried to his study, and laid on the very couch 
he had so feared of late. 

The doctor, who was fetched that same night, 
bled him and said that the prince had had a 
seizure paralyzing his right side. 

It was becoming more and more dangerous 
to remain at Bald Hills, and next day they 
moved the prince to Bogucharovo, the doctor 
accompanying him. 

By the time they reached Bogucharovo, Des- 
salles and the little prince had already left for 
Moscow. 

For three weeks the old prince lay stricken 
by paralysis in the new house Prince Andrew 
had built at Bogucharovo, ever in the same 
state, getting neither better nor worse. He was 
unconscious and lay like a distorted corpse. He 
muttered unceasingly, his eyebrows and lips 
twitching, and it was impossible to tell wheth- 
er he understood what was going on around 
him or not. One thing was certain that he 
was suffering and wished to say something. But 
what it was, no one could tell: it might be 
some caprice of a sick and half-crazy man, or it 
might relate to public affairs, or possibly to 
family concerns. 

The doctor said this restlessness did not 
mean anything and was due to physical causes; 
but Princess Mary thought he wished to tell 
her something, and the fact that her presence 
always increased his restlessness confirmed her 
opinion. 



He was evidently suffering both physically 
and mentally. There was no hope of recovery. 
It was impossible for him to travel, it would 
not do to let him die on the road. "Would it 
not be better if the end did come, the very 
end?" Princess Mary sometimes thought. Night 
and day, hardly sleeping at all, she watched 
him and, terrible to say, often watched him not 
with hope of finding signs of improvement but 
wishing to find symptoms of the approach of 
the end. 

Strange as it was to her to acknowledge this 
feeling in herself, yet there it was. And what 
seemed still more terrible to her was that since 
her father's illness began (perhaps even sooner, 
when she stayed with him expectingsomething 
to happen), all the personal desires and hopes 
that had been forgotten or sleeping within her 
had awakened. Thoughts that had not entered 
her mind for yearsthoughts of a life free from 
the fear of her father, and even the possibility 
of love and of family happiness floated con- 
tinually in her imagination like temptations of 
the devil. Thrust them aside as she would, 
questions continually recurred to her as to how 
she would order her life now, after that. These 
were temptations of the devil and Princess 
Mary knew it. She knew that the sole weapon 
against him was prayer, and she tried to pray. 
She assumed an attitude of prayer, looked at 
the icons, repeated the words of a prayer, but 
she could not pray. She felt that a different 
world had now taken possession of her the 
life of a world of strenuous and free activity, 
quite opposed to the spiritual world in which 
till now she had been confined and in which 
her greatest comfort had been prayer. She could 
not pray, could not weep, and worldly cares 
took possession of her. 

It was becoming dangerous to remain in 
Bogucharovo. News of the approach of the 
French came from all sides, and in one village, 
ten miles from Boguchdrovo, a homestead had 
been looted by French marauders. 

The doctor insisted on the necessity of mov- 
ing the prince; the provincial Marshal of the 
Nobility sent an official to Princess Mary to 
persuade her to get away as quickly as possible, 
and the head of the rural police having come 
to Bogucharovo urged the same thing, saying 
that the French were only some twenty-five 
miles away, that French proclamations were 
circulating in the villages, and that if the prin- 
cess did not take her father away before the 
fifteenth, he could not answer for the conse- 
quences. 



WAR AND PEACE 



The princess decided to leave on the fif- 
teenth. The cares of preparation and giving 
orders, for which everyone came to her, occu- 
pied her all day. She spent the night of the 
fourteenth as usual, without undressing, in the 
room next to the one where the prince lay. 
Several times, waking up, she heard his groans 
and muttering, the creak of his bed, and the 
steps of Tikhon and the doctor when they 
turned him over. Several times she listened at 
the door, and it seemed to her that his mutter- 
ings were louder than usual and that they 
turned him over oftener. She could not sleep 
and several times went to the door and listened, 
wishing to enter but not deciding to do so. 
Though he did riot speak, Princess Mary saw 
and knew how unpleasant every sign of anxiety 
on his account was to him. She had noticed 
with what dissatisfaction he turned from the 
look she sometimes involuntarily fixed on him. 
She knew that her going in during the night 
at an unusual hour would irritate him. 

But never had she felt so grieved for him or 
so much afraid of losing him. She recalled all 
her life with him and in every word and act of 
his found an expression of his love of her. Occa- 
sionally amid these memories temptations of 
the devil would surge into her imagination: 
thoughts of how things would be after his 
death, and how her new, liberated life would 
be ordered. But she drove these thoughts away 
with disgust. Toward morning he became quiet 
and she fell asleep. 

She woke late. That sincerity which often 
comes with waking showed her clearly what 
chiefly concerned her about her father's illness. 
On waking she listened to what was going on 
behind the door and, hearing him groan, said 
to herself with a sigh that things were still the 
same. 

"But what could have happened? What did 
I want? I want his death!" she cried with a 
feeling of loathing for herself. 

She washed, dressed, said her prayers, and 
went out to the porch. In front of it stood car- 
nages without horses and things were being 
packed into the vehicles. 

It was a warm, gray morning. Princess Mary 
stopped at the porch, still horrified by her 
spiritual baseness and trying to arrange her 
thoughts before going to her father. The doc- 
tor came downstairs and went out to her. 

"He is a little better today," said he. "I was 
looking for you. One can make out something 
of what he is saying. His head is clearer. Come 
in, he is asking for you. . . ." 



Princess Mary's heart beat so violently at 
this news that she grew pale and leaned against 
the wall to keep from falling. To see him, talk 
to him, feel his eyes on her now that her whole 
soul was overflowing with those dreadful, 
wicked temptations, was a torment of joy and 
terror. 

"Come," said the doctor. 

Princess Mary entered her father's room and 
went up to his bed. He was lying on his back 
propped up high, and his small bony hands 
with their knotted purple veins were lying on 
the quilt; his left eye gazed straight before him, 
his right eye was awry, and his brows and lips 
motionless. He seemed altogether so thin, 
small, and pathetic. His face seemed to have 
shriveled or melted; his features had grown 
smaller. Princess Mary went up and kissed his 
hand. His left hand pressed hers so that she 
understood that he had long been waiting for 
her to come. He twitched her hand, and his 
brows and lips quivered angrily. 

She looked at him in dismay trying to guess 
what he wanted of her. When she changed her 
position so that his left eye could see her face 
he calmed down, not taking his eyes off her for 
some seconds. Then his lips and tongue moved, 
sounds came, and he begati to speak, gazing 
timidly and imploringly at her, evidently 
afraid that she might not understand. 

Straining all her faculties Princess Mary 
looked at him. The comic efforts with which 
he moved his tongue made her drop her eyes 
and with difficulty repress the sobs that rose 
to her throat. He said something, repeating the 
same words several times. She could not under- 
stand them, but tried to guess what he was say- 
ing and inquiringly repeated the words he ut- 
tered. 

"Mmm ... ar ... ate ... ate . . ." he repeated 
several times. 

It was quite impossible to understand these 
sounds. The doctor thought he had guessed 
them, and inquiringly repeated: "Mary, are 
you afraid?" The prince shook his head, and 
again repeated the same sounds. 

"My mind, my mind aches?" questioned 
Princess Mary. 

He made a mumbling sound in confirma- 
tion of this, took her hand, and began pressing 
it to different parts of his breast as if trying to 
find the right place for it. 

"Always thoughts . . . about you . . . thoughts 
. . ." he then uttered much more clearly than 
he had done before, now that he was sure of 
being understood. 



BOOK TfcN 



Princess Mary pressed her head against his 
hand, trying to hide her sobs and tears. 

He moved his hand over her hair. 

"I have been calling you all night . . ." he 
brought out. 

"If only I had known . . ." she said through 
her tears. "I was afraid to come in." 

He pressed her hand. 

"Weren't you asleep?" 

"No, I did not sleep," said Princess Mary, 
shaking her head. 

Unconsciously imitating her father, she now 
tried to express herself as he did, as much as 
possible by signs, and her tongue too seemed 
to move with difficulty. 

"Dear one . . . Dearest . . ." Princess Mary 
could not quite make out what he said, but 
from his look it was clear that he had uttered a 
tender caressing word such as he had never 
used to her before. "Why didn't you come in?" 

"And I, I was wishing for his death!" thought 
Princess Mary. 

He was silent awhile. 

"Thank you . . . daughter dearl . . . for all, 
for all ... forgive! . . . thank you! . . . forgive! 
. . . thank you! ..." and tears began to flow from 
his eyes. "Call Andrew!" he said suddenly, and 
a childish, timid expression of doubt showed 
itself on his face as he spoke. 

He himself seemed aware that his demand 
was meaningless. So at least it seemed to Prin- 
cess Mary. 

"I have a letter from him," she replied. 

He glanced at her with timid surprise. 

"Where is he?" 

"He's with the army, Father, at Smolensk." 

He closed his eyes and remained silent a 
long time. Then as if in answer to his doubts 
and to confirm the fact that now he under- 
stood and remembered everything, he nodded 
his head and reopened his eyes. 

"Yes," he said, softly and distinctly. "Russia 
has perished. They've destroyed her." 

And he began to sob, and again tears flowed 
from his eyes. Princess Mary could no longer 
restrain herself and wept while she gazed at his 
face. 

Again he closed his eyes. His sobs ceased, he 
pointed to his eyes, and Tfkhon, understand- 
ing him, wiped away the tears. 

Then he again opened his eyes and said 
something none of them could understand for 
a long time, till at last Tikhon understood and 
repeated it. Princess Mary had sought the mean- 
ing of his words in the mood in which he had 
just been speaking. She thought he was speak- 



ing of Russia, or Prince Andrew, of herself, of 
his grandson, or of his own death, and so she 
could not guess his words. 

"Put on your white dress. I like it," was what 
he said. 

Having understood this Princess Mary 
sobbed still louder, and the doctor taking her 
arm led her out to the veranda, soothing her 
and trying to persuade her to prepare for her 
journey. When she had left the room the prince 
again began speaking about his son, about the 
war, and about the Emperor, angrily twitching 
his brows and raising his hoarse voice, and 
then he had a second and final stroke. 

Princess Mary stayed on the veranda. The 
day had cleared, it was hot and sunny. She 
could understand nothing, think of nothing 
and feel nothing, except passionate love for 
her father, love such as she thought she had 
never felt till that moment. She ran out sob- 
bing into the garden and as far as the pond, 
along the avenues of young lime trees Prince 
Andrew had planted. 

"Yes ...I...I...I wished for his death! 
Yes, I wanted it to end quicker. ... I wished to 
be at peace. . . . And what will become of me? 
What use will peace be when he is no longer 
here?" Princess Mary murmured, pacing the 
garden with hurried steps and pressing her 
hands to her bosom which heaved with con- 
vulsive sobs. 

When she had completed the tour of the 
garden, which brought her again to the house, 
she saw Mademoiselle Bourienne who had re- 
mained at Bogucharovo and did not wish to 
leave itcoming toward her with a stranger. 
This was the Marshal of the Nobility of the 
district, who had come personally to point out 
to the princess the necessity for her prompt de- 
parture. Princess Mary listened without under- 
standing him; she led him to the house, offered 
him lunch, and sat down with him. Then, 
excusing herself, she went to the door of 
the old prince's room. The doctor came out 
with an agitated face and said she could not 
enter. 

"Go away, Princess! Go away ... go away!" 

She returned to the garden and sat down on 
the grass at the foot of the slope by the pond, 
where no one could see her. She did not know 
how long she had been there when she was 
aroused by the sound of a woman's footsteps 
running along the path. She rose and saw Dun- 
yasha her maid, who was evidently looking for 
her, and who stopped suddenly as if in alarm 
on seeing her mistress. 



4io 



WAR AND PEACE 



"Please come, Princess . . . The Prince . . ." 
said Dunydsha in a breaking voice. 

"Immediately, I'm coming, I'm coming 1" re- 
plied the princess hurriedly, not giving Dun- 
ydsha time to finish what she was saying, and 
trying to avoid seeing the girl she ran toward 
the house. 

"Princess, it's God's willl You must be pre- 
pared for everything," said the Marshal, meet- 
ing her at the house door. 

"Let me alone; it's not true!" she cried an- 
grily to him. 

The doctor tried to stop her. She pushed 
him aside and ran to her father's door. "Why 
are these people with frightened faces stop- 
ping me? I don't want any of theml And what 
are they doing here?" she thought. She opened 
the door and the bright daylight in that previ- 
ously darkened room startled her. In the room 
were her nurse and other women. They all 
drew back from the bed, making way for her. 
He was still lying on the bed as before, but the 
stern expression of his quiet face made Prin- 
cess Mary stop short on the threshold. 

"No, he's not dead it's impossiblel" she told 
herself and approached him, and repressing the 
terror that seized her, she pressed her lips to his 
cheek. But she stepped back immediately. All 
the force of the tenderness she had been feel- 
ing for him vanished instantly and was re- 
placed by a feeling of horror at what lay there 
before her. "No, he is no morel He is not, but 
here where he was is something unfamiliarand 
hostile, some dreadful, terrifying, and repellent 
mystery I" And hiding her face in her hands, 
Princess Mary sank into the arms of the doctor, 
who held her up. 



In the presence 
the women washed 



nd the doctor, 
at had been the 



p 

tied his head up with a nanclkercITTeTTffaTThe 
mouth should not stiffen while open, and with 
another handkerchief tied together the legs 
that were already spreading apart. Then they 
dressed him in uniform with his decorations 
and placed his shriveled little body on a table. 
Heaven only knows who arranged all this and 
when, but it all got done as if of its own ac- 
cord. Toward night candles were burning 
round his coffin, a pall was spread over it, the 
floor was strewn with sprays of juniper, a 
printed band was tucked in under his shriveled 
head, and in a corner of the room sat a chanter 
reading the psalms. 

Just as horses shy and snort and gather about 
a dead horse, so the inmates of the house and 



strangers crowded into the drawing room round 
the coffin the Marshal, the village Elder, peas- 
ant womenand all with fixed and frightened 
eyes, crossing themselves, bowed and kissed the 
old prince's cold and stiffened hand. 

CHAPTER IX 

UNTIL PRINCE ANDREW settled in Boguchdrovo 
its owners had always been absentees, and its 
peasants were of quite a different character 
from those of Bald Hills. They differed from 
them in speech, dress, and disposition. They 
were called steppe peasants. The old prince 
used to approve of them for their endurance at 
work when they came to Bald Hills to help with 
the harvest or to dig ponds and ditches, but he 
disliked them for their boorishness. 

Prince Andrew's last stay at Boguchdrovo, 
when he introduced hospitals and schools and 
reduced the quitrent the peasants had to pay, 
had not softened their disposition but had on 
the contrary strengthened in them the traits of 
character the old prince called boorishness. 
Various obscure rumors were always current 
among them: at one time a rumor that they 
would all be enrolled as Cossacks; at another 
of a new religion to which they were all to be 
converted; then of some proclamation of the 
Tsar's and of an oath to the Tsar Paul in 1 797 
(in connection with which it was rumored that 
freedom had been granted them but the land- 
owners had stopped it), then of Peter Fedoro- 
vich's 1 return to the throne in seven years' 
time, when everything would be made free and 
so "simple" that there would be no restrictions. 
Rumors of the war with Bonaparte and his in- 
vasion were connected in their minds with the 
same sort of vague notions of Antichrist, the 
end of the world, and "pure freedom." 

In the vicinity of Bogucharovo were large 
villages belonging to the crown or to owners 
whose serfs paid quitrent and could work 
where they pleased. There were very few resi- 
dent landlords in the neighborhood and also 
very few domestic or literate serfs, and in the 
lives of the peasantry of those parts the myste- 
rious undercurrents in the life of the Russian 
people, the causes and meaning of which are 
so baffling to contemporaries, were more clear- 
ly and strongly noticeable than among others. 
One instance, which had occurred some twenty 
years before, was a movement among the peas- 
ants to emigrate to some unknown "warm riv- 

1 Peter III, who was assassinated, or died, on the 
accession of his wife, Catherine II, to the throne in 



BOOK 

ers." Hundreds of peasants, among them the 
Boguchdrovo folk, suddenly began selling their 
cattle and moving in whole families toward 
the southeast. As birds migrate to somewhere 
beyond the sea, so these men with their wives 
and children streamed to the southeast, to parts 
where none of them had ever been. They set 
off in caravans, bought their freedom one by 
one or ran away, and drove or walked toward 
the "warm rivers." Many of them were pun- 
ished, some sent to Siberia, many died of cold 
and hunger on the road, many returned of 
their own accord, and the movement died down 
of itself just as it had sprung up, without ap- 
parent reason. But such undercurrents still 
existed among the people and gathered new 
forces ready to manifest themselves just as 
strangely, unexpectedly, and at the same time 
simply, naturally, and forcibly. Now in 1812, 
to anyone living in close touch with these peo- 
ple it was apparent that these undercurrents 
were acting strongly and nearing an eruption. 

Alpdtych, who had reached Boguchdrovo 
shortly before the old prince's death, noticed 
an agitation among the peasants, and that con- 
trary to what was happening in the Bald Hills 
district, where over a radius of forty miles all 
the peasants were moving away and leaving 
their villages to be devastated by the Cossacks, 
the peasants in the steppe region round Bogu- 
chdrovo were, it was rumored, in touch with 
the French, received leaflets from them that 
passed from hand to hand, and did not migrate. 
He learned from domestic serfs loyal to him 
that the peasant Karp, who possessed great 
influence in the village commune and had re- 
cently been away driving a government trans- 
port, had returned with news that the Cossacks 
were destroying deserted villages, but that the 
French did not harm them. Alpdtych also knew 
that on the previous day another peasant had 
even brought from the village of Visloukhovo, 
which was occupied by the French, a procla- 
mation by a French general that no harm 
would be done to the inhabitants, and if they 
remained they would be paid for anything tak- 
en from them. As proof of this the peasant 
had brought from Visloukhovo a hundred ru- 
bles in notes (he did not know that they were 
false) paid to him in advance for hay. 

More important still, Alpdtych learned that 
on the morning of the very day he gave the vil- 
lage Elder orders to collect carts to move the 
princess* luggage from Boguchdrovo, there had 
been a village meeting at which it had been de- 
cided not to move but to wait. Yet there was 



TEN 411 

no time to waste. On the fifteenth, the day of 
the old prince's death, the Marshal had insisted 
on Princess Mary's leaving at once, as it was 
becoming dangerous. He had told her that aft- 
er the sixteenth he could not be responsible 
for what might happen. On the evening of the 
day the old prince died the Marshal went away, 
promising to return next day for the funeral. 
But this he was unable to do, for he received 
tidings that the French had unexpectedly ad- 
vanced, and had barely time to remove his own 
family and valuables from his estate. 

For some thirty years Boguchdrovo had been 
managed by the village Elder, Dron, whom the 
old prince called by the diminutive "Dr6nush- 
ka." 

Dron was one of those physically and men tal- 
ly vigorous peasants who grow big beards as 
soon as they are of age and go on unchanged 
till they are sixty or seventy, without a gray 
hair or the loss of a tooth, as straight and strong 
at sixty as at thirty. 

Soon after the migration to the "warm riv- 
ers," in which he had taken part like the rest, 
Dron was made village Elder and overseer of 
Boguchdrovo, and had since filled that post ir- 
reproachably for twenty-three years. The peas- 
ants feared him more than they did their mas- 
ter. The masters, both the old prince and the 
young, and the steward respected him and 
jestingly called him "the Minister." During 
the whole time of his service Dron had never 
been drunk or ill, never after sleepless nights 
or the hardest tasks had he shown the least fa- 
tigue, and though he could not read he had 
never forgotten a single money account or the 
number of quarters of flour in any of the end- 
less cartloads he sold for the prince, nor a sin- 
gle shock of the whole corn crop on any single 
acre of the Boguchdrovo fields. 

Alpdtych, arriving from the devastated Bald 
Hills estate, sent for his Dron on the day of 
the prince's funeral and told him to have 
twelve horses got ready for the princess* car- 
riages and eighteen carts for the things to be 
removed from Boguchdrovo. Though the peas- 
ants paid quitrent, Alpdtych thought no dif- 
ficulty would be made about complying with 
this order, for there were two hundred and 
thirty households at work in Boguchdrovo and 
the peasants were well to do. But on hearing 
the order Dron lowered his eyes and remained 
silent. Alpdtych named certain peasants he 
knew, from whom he told him to take the carts. 

Dron replied that the horses of these peas- 
ants were away carting. Alpdtych named oth- 



412 WAR AND PEACE 

crs, but they too, according to Dron, had no 
horses available: some horses were carting for 
the government, others were too weak, and 
others had died for want of fodder. It seemed 
that no horses could be had even for the car- 
riages, much less for the carting. 

Alpdtych looked intently at Dron and 
frowned. Just as Dron was a model village Eld- 
er, so Alpdtych had not managed the prince's 
estates for twenty years in vain. He was a model 
steward, possessing in the highest degree the 
faculty of divining the needs and instincts of 
those he dealt with. Having glanced at Dron 
he at once understood that his answers did not 
express his personal views but the general 
mood of the Boguchdrovo commune, by which 
the Elder had already been carried away. But 
he also knew that Dron, who had acquired 
property and was hated by the commune, must 
be hesitating between the two camps: the mas- 
ters' and the serfs'. He noticed this hesitation 
in Dron's look and therefore frowned and 
moved closer up to him. 

"Now just listen, Dr6nushka," said he. 
"Don't talk nonsense to me. His excellency 
Prince Andrew himself gave me orders to move 
all the people away and not leave them with 
the enemy, and there is an order from the Tsar 
about it too. Anyone who stays is a traitor to 
the Tsar. Do you hear?" 

"I hear," Dron answered without lifting his 
eyes. 

Alpdtych was not satisfied with this reply. 

"Eh, Dron, it will turn out badly 1" he said, 
shaking his head. 

"The power is in your hands," Dron rejoined 
sadly. 

"Eh, Dron, drop it!" Alpdtych repeated, 
withdrawing his hand from his bosom and sol- 
emnly pointing to the floor at Dron's feet. "I 
can see through you and three yards into the 
ground under you," he continued, gazing at 
the floor in front of Dron. 

Dron was disconcerted, glanced furtively at 
Alpdtych and again lowered his eyes. 

"You drop this nonsense and tell the people 
to get ready to leave their homes and go to 
Moscow and to get carts ready for tomorrow 
morning for the princess* things. And don't go 
to any meeting yourself, do you hear?" 

Dron suddenly fell on his knees. 

"Ydkov Alpdtych, discharge me! Take the 
keys from me and discharge me, for Christ's 
sake!" 

"Stop that!" cried Alpdtych sternly. "I see 
through you and three yards under you," he 



repeated, knowing that his skill in beekeeping, 
his knowledge of the right time to sow the oats, 
and the fact that he had been able to retain 
the old prince's favor for twenty years had long 
since gained him the reputation of being a 
wizard, and that the power of seeing three 
yards under a man is considered an attribute 
of wizards. 

Dron got up and was about to say something, 
but Alpdtych interrupted him. 

"What is it you have got into your heads, 
eh? . . . What are you thinking of, eh?" 

"What am I to do with the people?" said 
Dron. "They're quite beside themselves; I have 
already told them . . ." 

" 'Told them,' I dare say!" said Alpdtych. 
"Are they drinking?" he asked abruptly. 

"Quite beside themselves, Ydkov Alpdtych; 
they've fetched another barrel." 

"Well, then, listen! I'll go to the police of- 
ficer, and you tell them so, and that they must 
stop this and the carts must be got ready." 

"I understand." 

Alpdtych did not insist further. He had man- 
aged people for a long time and knew that the 
chief way to make them obey is to show no sus- 
picion that they can possibly disobey. Having 
wrung a submissive "I understand" from Dron, 
Alpatych contented himself with that, though 
he not only doubted but felt almost certain 
that without the help of troops the carts would 
not be forthcoming. 

And so it was, for when evening came no 
carts had been provided. In the village, out- 
side the drink shop, another meeting was be- 
ing held, which decided that the horses should 
be driven out into the woods and the carts 
should not be provided. Without saying any- 
thing of this to the princess, Alpdtych had his 
own belongings taken out of the carts which 
had arrived from Bald Hills and had those 
horses got ready for the princess' carriages. 
Meanwhile he went himself to the police au- 
thorities. 

CHAPTER X 

AFTER HER FATHER'S FUNERAL Princess Mary 
shut herself up in her room and did not admit 
anyone. A maid came to the door to say that 
Alpdtych was asking for orders about their de- 
parture. (This was before his talk with Dron.) 
Princess Mary raised herself on the sofa on 
which she had been lying and replied through 
the closed door that she did not mean to go 
away and begged to be left in peace. 
The windows of the room in which she was 



BOOK TEN 



4*3 



lying looked westward. She lay on the sofa with 
her face to the wall, fingering the buttons of 
the leather cushion and seeing nothing but 
that cushion, and her confused thoughts were 
centered on one subject the irrevocability of 
death and her own spiritual baseness, which 
she had not suspected, but which had shown 
itself during her father's illness. She wished to 
pray but did not dare to, dared not in her 
present state of mind address herself to God. 
She lay for a long time in that position. 

The sun had reached the other side of the 
house, and its slanting rays shone into theopen 
window, lighting up the room and part of the 
morocco cushion at which Princess Mary was 
looking. The flow of her thoughts suddenly 
stopped. Unconsciously she sat up, smoothed 
her hair, got up, and went to the window, in- 
voluntarily inhaling the freshness of the clear 
but windy evening. 

"Yes, you can well enjoy the evening now! 
He is gone and no one will hinder you," she 
said to herself, and sinking into a chair she let 
her head fall on the window sill. 

Someone spoke her name in a soft and ten- 
der voice from the garden and kissed her head. 
She looked up. It was Mademoiselle Bouri- 
enne in a black dress and weepers. She softly 
approached Princess Mary, sighed, kissed her, 
and immediately began to cry. The princess 
looked up at her. All their former disharmony 
and her own jealousy recurred to her mind. 
But she remembered too how he had changed 
of late toward Mademoiselle Bourienne and 
could not bear to see her, thereby showing how 
unjust were the reproaches Princess Mary had 
mentally addressed to her. "Besides, is it for 
me, for me who desired his death, to condemn 
anyone?" she thought. 

Princess Mary vividly pictured to herself the 
position of Mademoiselle Bourienne, whom 
she had of late kept at a distance, but who yet 
was dependent on her and living in her house. 
She felt sorry for her and held out her hand 
with a glance of gentle inquiry. Mademoiselle 
Bourienne at once began crying again and 
kissed that hand, speaking of the princess' sor- 
row and making herself a partner in it. She 
said her only consolation was the fact that the 
princess allowed her to share her sorrow, that 
all the old misunderstandings should sink into 
nothing but this great grief; that she felt her- 
self blameless in regard to everyone, and that 
he, from above, saw her affection and grati- 
tude. The princess heard her, not heeding her 
words but occasionally looking up at her and 



listening to the sound of her voice. 

"Your position is doubly terrible, dear prin- 
cess," said Mademoiselle Bourienne after a 
pause. "I understand that you could not, and 
cannot, think of yourself, but with my love for 
you I must do so. ... Has Alpdtych been to 
you? Has he spoken to you of going away?" she 
asked. 

Princess Mary did not answer. She did not 
understand who was to go or where to. "Is it 
possible to plan or think of anything now? Is 
it not all the same?" she thought, and did not 
reply. 

"You know, chere Marie/' said Mademoi- 
selle Bourienne, "that we are in danger are 
surrounded by the French. It would be danger- 
ous to move now. If we go we are almost sure 
to be taken prisoners, and God knows . . ." 

Princess Mary looked at her companion with- 
out understanding what she was talking about. 

"Oh, if anyone knew how little anything 
matters to me now," she said. "Of course I 
would on no account wish to go away from 
him. . . . Alpdtych did say something about go- 
ing. . . . Speak to him; I can do nothing, noth- 
ing, and don't want to. . . ." 

"I've spoken to him. He hopes we should be 
in time to get away tomorrow, but I think it 
would now be better to stay here," said Made- 
moiselle Bourienne. "Because, you will agree, 
chere Marie, to fall into the hands of the sol- 
diers or of riotous peasants would be terrible." 

Mademoiselle Bourienne took from her 
reticule a proclamation (not printed on ordi- 
nary Russian paper) of General Rameau's, tell- 
ing people not to leave their homes and that 
the French authorities would afford them prop- 
er protection. She handed this to the princess. 

"I think it would be best to appeal to that 
general," she continued, "and I am sure that 
all due respect would be shown you." 

Princess Mary read the paper, and her face 
began to quiver with stifled sobs. 

"From whom did you get this?" she asked. 

"They probably recognized that I am French, 
by my name," replied Mademoiselle Bouri- 
enne blushing. 

Princess Mary, with the paper in her hand, 
rose from the window and with a pale face 
went out of the room and into what had been 
Prince Andrew's study. 

"Dunydsha,send Alpatych,or Dr6nushka, or 
somebody to me!" she said, "and tell Mademoi- 
selle Bourienne not to come to me," she added, 
hearing Mademoiselle Bourienne's voice. "We 
must go at once, at once!" she said, appalled at 



414 



WAR AND PEACE 



the thought of being left in the hands of the 
French. 

"If Prince Andrew heard that I was in the 
power of the French! That I, the daughter of 
Prince Nicholas Bolk6nski, asked General Ra- 
meau for protection and accepted his favorl" 
This idea horrified her, made her shudder, 
blush, and feel sudi a rush of anger and pride 
as she had never experienced before. All that 
was distressing, and especially all that was hu- 
miliating, in her position rose vividly to her 
mind. "They, the French, would settle in this 
house: M. le General Rameau would occupy 
Prince Andrew's study and amuse himself by 
looking through and reading his letters and 
papers. Mademoiselle Bourienne would do 
the honors of Boguchdrovo for him. I should 
be given a small room as a favor, the soldiers 
would violate my father's newly dug grave to 
steal his crosses and stars, they would tell me 
of their victories over the Russians, and would 
pretend to sympathize with my sorrow . . ." 
thought Princess Mary, not thinking her own 
thoughts but feeling bound to think like her 
father and her brother. For herself she did not 
care where she remained or what happened to 
her, but she felt herself the representative of 
her dead father and of Prince Andrew. Invol- 
untarily she thought their thoughts and felt 
their feelings. What they would have said and 
what they would have done she felt bound to 
say and do. She went into Prince Andrew's 
study, trying to enter completely into his ideas, 
and considered her position. 

The demands of life, which had seemed to 
her annihilated by her father's death, all at 
once rose before her with a new, previously un- 
known force and took possession of her. 

Agitated and flushed she paced the room, 
sending now for Michael Ivanovich and now 
for Tikhon or Dron. Dunydsha, the nurse, and 
the other maids could not say in how far Made- 
moiselle Bourienne's statement was correct. 
Alpdtych was riot at home, he had gone to the 
police. Neither could the architect Michael 
Ivanovich, who on being sent for came in with 
sleepy eyes, tell Princess Mary anything. With 
just the same smile of agreement with which 
for fifteen years he had been accustomed to 
answer the old prince without expressing views 
of his own, he now replied to Princess Mary, so 
that nothing definite could be got from his 
answers. The old valet Tikhon, with sunken, 
emaciated face that bore the stamp of incon- 
solable grief, replied: "Yes, Princess" to all 
Princess Mary's questions and hardly refrained 



from sobbing as he looked at her. 

At length Dron, the village Elder, entered 
the room and with a deep bow to Princess 
Mary came to a halt by the doorpost. 

Princess Mary walked up and down the 
room and stopped in front of him. 

"Dr6nushka," she said, regarding as a sure 
friend this Dr6nushka who always used to 
bring a special kind of gingerbread from his 
visit to the fair at Vyazma every year and smil- 
ingly offer it to her, "Dr6nushka, now since 
our misfortune . . ." she began, but could not 
go on. 

"We are all in God's hands," said he, with a 
sigh. 

They were silent for a while. 

"Dronushka, Alpdtych has gone off some- 
where and I have no one to turn to. Is it true, 
as they tell me, that I can't even go away?" 

"Why shouldn't you go away, your excel- 
lency? You can go," said Dron. 

"I was told it would be dangerous because 
of the enemy. Dear friend, I can do nothing. I 
understand nothing. I have nobody I I want to 
go away tonight or early tomorrow morning." 

Dron paused. He looked askance at Princess 
Mary and said: "There are no horses; I told 
Ydkov Alpdtych so." 

"Why are there none?" asked the princess. 

"It's all God's scourge," said Dron. "What 
horses we had have been taken for the army or 
have died this is such a year! It's not a case of 
feeding horses we may die of hunger ourselves 1 
As it is, some go three days without eating. 
We've nothing, we've been ruined." 

Princess Mary listened attentively to what 
he told her. 

"The peasants are ruined? They have no 
bread?" she asked. 

"They're dying of hunger," said Dron. "It's 
not a case of carting." 

"But why didn't you tell me, Dr6nushka? 
Isn't it possible to help them? I'll do all I 
can. . . ." 

To Princess Mary it was strange that now, at 
a moment when such sorrow was filling her 
soul, there could be rich people and poor, and 
the rich could refrain from helping the poor. 
She had heard vaguely that there was such a 
thing as "landlord's corn" which was some- 
times given to the peasants. She also knew that 
neither her father nor her brother would re- 
fuse to help the peasants in need, she only 
feared to make some mistake in speaking 
about the distribution of the grain she wished 
to give. She was glad such cares presented them- 



BOOK TEN 



415 



selves, enabling her without scruple to forget 
her own grief. She began asking Dron about 
the peasants' needs and what there was in 
Boguchdrovo that belonged to the landlord. 

"But we have grain belonging to my broth- 
er?" she said. 

"The landlord's grain is all safe," replied 
Dron proudly. "Our prince did not order it to 
be sold." 

"Give it to the peasants, let them have all 
they need; I give you leave in my brother's 
name," said she. 

Dron made no answer but sighed deeply. 

"Give them that corn if there is enough of 
it. Distribute it all. I give this order in my 
brother's name; and tell them that what is ours 
is theirs. We do not grudge them anything. 
Tell them so." 

Dron looked intently at the princess while 
she was speaking. 

"Discharge me, little mother, for God's sakel 
Order the keys to be taken from me," said he. 
"I have served twenty-three years and have 
done no wrong. Discharge me, for God's sake!" 

Princess Mary did not understand what he 
wanted of her or why he was asking to be dis- 
charged. She replied that she had never doubt- 
ed his devotion and that she was ready to do 
anything for him and for the peasants. 

CHAPTER XI 

AN HOUR LATER Dunydsha came to tell the prin- 
cess that Dron had come, and all the peasants 
had assembled at the barn by the princess' or- 
der and wished to have word with their mis- 
tress. 

"But I never told them to come," said Prin- 
cess Mary. "I only told Dron to let them have 
the grain." 

"Only, for God's sake, Princess dear, have 
them sent away and don't go out to them. It's 
all a trick," said Dunydsha, "and when Yakov 
Alpdtych returns let us get away . . . and please 
don't . . ." 

"What is a trick?" asked Princess Mary in 
surprise. 

"I know it is, only listen to me for God's 
sake! Ask nurse too. They say they don't agree 
to leave Bogucharovo as you ordered." 

"You're making some mistake. I never or- 
dered them to go away," said Princess Mary. 
"Call Drdnushka." 

Dron came and confirmed Dunydsha's words; 
the peasants had come by the princess' order. 

"But I never sent for them," declared the 
princess. "You must have given my message 



wrong. I only said that you were to give them 
the grain." 

Dron only sighed in reply. 

"If you order it they will go away," said he. 

"No, no. I'll go out to them," said Princess 
Mary, and in spite of the nurse's and Dunyd- 
sha's protests she went out into the porch; 
Dron, Dunydsha, the nurse, and Michael Ivdn- 
ovich following her. 

"They probably think I am offering them 
the grain to bribe them to remain here, while 
I myself go away leaving them to the mercy of 
the French," thought Princess Mary. "I will 
offer them monthly rations and housing at our 
Moscow estate. I am sure Andrew would do 
even more in rny place," she thought as she 
went out in the twilight toward the crowd 
standing on the pasture by the barn. 

The men crowded closer together, stirred, 
and rapidly took off their hats. Princess Mary 
lowered her eyes and, tripping over her skirt, 
came close up to them. So many different eyes, 
old and young, were fixed on her, and there 
were so many different faces, that she could 
not distinguish any of them and, feeling that 
she must speak to them all at once, did not 
know how to do it. But again the sense that she 
represented her father and her brother gave 
her courage, and she boldly began her speech. 

"I am very glad you have come," she said 
without raising her eyes, and feeling her heart 
beating quickly and violently. "Dronushka 
tells me that the war has ruined you. That is 
our common misfortune, and I shall grudge 
nothing to help you. I am myself going away 
because it is dangerous here . . . the enemy is 
near . . . because ... I am giving you every- 
thing, my friends, and I beg you to take every- 
thing, all our grain, so that you may not suffer 
want! And if you have been told that I am giv- 
ing you the grain to keep you here that is not 
true. On the contrary, I ask you to go with all 
your belongings to our estate near Moscow, 
and I promise you I will see to it that there you 
shall want for nothing. You shall be given 
food and lodging." 

The princess stopped. Sighs were the only 
sound heard in the crowd. 

"I am not doing this on my own account," 
she continued, "I do it in the name of my dead 
father, who was a good master to you, and of 
my brother and his son." 

Again she paused. No one broke the silence. 

"Ours is a common misfortune and we will 
share it together. All that is mine is yours," she 
concluded, scanning the faces before her. 



416 



All eyes were gazing at her with one and the 
same expression. She could not fathom wheth- 
er it was curiosity, devotion, gratitude, or ap- 
prehension and distrust but the expression 
on all the faces was identical. 

"We are all very thankful for your bounty, 
but it won't do for us to take the landlord's 
grain," said a voice at the back of the crowd. 

"But why not?" asked the princess. 

No one replied and Princess, Mary, looking 
round at the crowd, found that every eye she 
met now was immediately dropped. 

"But why don't you want to take it?" she 
asked again. 

No one answered. 

The silence began to oppress the princess 
and she tried to catch someone's eye. 

"Why don't you speak?" she inquired of a 
very old man who stood just in front of her 
leaning on his stick. "If you think something 
more is wanted, tell mel I will do anything," 
said she, catching his eye. 

But as if this angered him, he bent his head 
quite low and muttered: 

"Why should we agree? We don't want the 
grain." 

"Why should we give up everything? We 
don't agree. Don't agree. . . . We are sorry for 
you, but we're not willing. Go away yourself, 
alone . . ." came from various sides of the crowd. 

And again all the faces in that crowd bore 
an identical expression, though now it was 
certainly not an expression of curiosity or grati- 
tude, but of angry resolve. 

"But you can't have understood me," said 
Princess Mary with a sad smile. "Why don't 
you want to go? I promise to house and feed 
you, while here the enemy would ruin you " 

But her voice was drowned by the voices of 
the crowd. 

"We're not willing. Let them ruin us! We 
won't take your grain. We don't agree." 

Again Princess Mary tried to catch some- 
one's eye, but not a single eye in the crowd was 
turned to her; evidently they were all trying to 
avoid her look. She felt strange and awkward. 

"Oh yes, an artful tale! Follow her into 
slavery! Pull down your houses and go into 
bondage! I dare say! Til give you grain, in- 
deed!' she says," voices in the crowd were heard 
saying. 

With drooping head Princess Mary left the 
crowd and went back to the house. Having re- 
peated her order to Dron to have horses ready 
for her departure next morning, she went to 



WAR AND PEACE 

her room and remained alone with her own 
thoughts. 



CHAPTER XII 

FOR A LONG TIME that night Princess Mary sat 
by the open window of her room hearing the 
sound of the peasants' voices that reached her 
from the village, but it was not of them she was 
thinking. She felt that she could not under- 
stand them however much she might think 
about them. She thought only of one thing, 
her sorrow, which, after the break caused by 
cares for the present, seemed already to be- 
long to the past. Now she could remember it 
and weep or pray. 

After sunset the wind had dropped. The 
night was calm and fresh. Toward midnight 
the voices began to subside, a cock crowed, the 
full moon began to show from behind the lime 
trees, a fresh white dewy mist began to rise, 
and stillness reigned over the village and the 
house. 

Pictures of the near past her father's illness 
and last moments rose one after another to 
her memory. With mournful pleasure she now 
lingered over these images, repelling with hor- 
ror only the last one, the picture of his death, 
which she felt she could not contemplate even 
in imagination at this still and mystic hour of 
night. And these pictures presented themselves 
to her so clearly and in such detail that they 
seemed now present, now past, and now fu- 
ture. 

She vividly recalled the moment when he 
had his first stroke and was being dragged 
along by his armpits through the garden at 
Bald Hills, muttering something with his help- 
less tongue, twitching his gray eyebrows and 
looking uneasily and timidly at her. 

"Even then he wanted to tell me what he 
told me the day he died," she thought. "He had 
always thought what he said then." And she re- 
called in all its detail the night at Bald Hills 
before he had the last stroke, when with a fore- 
boding of disaster she had remained at home 
against his will. She had not slept and had 
stolen downstairs on tiptoe, and going to the 
door of the conservatory where he slept that 
night had listened at the door. In a suffering 
and weary voice he was saying something to 
Tikhon, speaking of the Crimea and its warm 
nights and of the Empress. Evidently he had 
wanted to talk. "And why didn't he call me? 
Why didn't he let me be there instead of Tfk- 
lion?" Princess Mary had thought and thought 



BOOK TEN 



47 



again now. "Now he will never tell anyone 
what he had in his soul. Never will that mo- 
ment return for him or for me when he might 
have said all he longed to say, and not Tikhon 
but I might have heard and understood him. 
Why didn't I enter the room?" she thought. 
"Perhaps he would then have said to me what 
he said the day he died. While talking to Tik- 
hon he asked about me twice. He wanted to see 
me, and I was standing close by, outside the 
door. It was sad and painful for him to talk to 
Tikhon who did not understand him. I re- 
member how he began speaking to him about 
Lise as if she were alive he had forgotten she 
was dead and Tikhon reminded him that she 
was no more, and he shouted, Tool!' He was 
greatly depressed. From behind the door I 
heard how he lay down on his bed groaning 
and loudly exclaimed, 'My God!' Why didn't I 
go in then? What could he have done to me? 
What could I have lost? And perhaps he would 
then have been comforted and would have 
said that word to me." And Princess Mary ut- 
tere^l aloud the caressing word he had said to 
her on the day of his death. "Dear-est!" she re- 
peated, and began sobbing, with tears that re- 
lieved her soul. She now saw his face before 
her. And not the face she had known ever since 
she coujp remember and had always seen at a 
distance, but the timid, feeble face she had 
seen for the first time quite closely, with all its 
wrinkles and details, when she stooped near to 
his mouth to catch v;hat he said. 

"Dear-estl" she repeated again. 

"What was he thinking when he uttered that 
word? What is he thinking now?" This ques- 
tion suddenly presented itself to her, and in 
answer she saw him before her with the expres- 
sion that was on his face as he lay in his coffin 
with his chin bound up with a white handker- 
chief. And the horror that had seized her when 
she touched him and convinced herself that 
that was not he, but something mysterious and 
horrible, seized her again. She tried to think of 
something else and to pray, but could do nei- 
ther. With wide-open eyes she gazed at the 
moonlight and the shadows, expecting every 
moment to see his dead face, and she felt that 
the silence brooding over the house and with- 
in it held her fast. 

"Dunydsha," she whispered. "Dunydshal" 
she screamed wildly, and tearing herself out of 
this silence she ran to the servants' quarters to 
meet her old nurse and the maidservants who 
came running toward her. 



CHAPTER XIII 

ON THE SEVENTEENTH OF AUGUST Rost6vand II- 
yin, accompanied by Lavrushka who had just 
returned from captivity and by an hussar or- 
derly, left their quarters at Yank6vo, ten miles 
from Bogucharovo, and went for a ride to try 
a new horse Ilyin had bought and to find out 
whether there was any hay to be had in the 
villages. 

For the last three days Boguchdrovo had lain 
between the two hostile armies, so that it was 
as easy for the Russian rearguard to get to it as 
for the French vanguard; Rostov, as a careful 
squadron commander, wished to take such pro- 
visions as remained at Bogucharovo before the 
French could get them. 

Rostov and Ilyin were in the merriest of 
moods. On the way to BogucMrovo, a princely 
estate with a dwelling house and farm where 
they hoped to find many domestic serfs and 
pretty girls, they questioned Lavrushka about 
Napoleon and laughed at his stories, and raced 
one another to try Ilyfn's horse. 

Rost6v had no idea that the village he was 
entering was the property of that very Bolkon- 
ski who had been engaged to his sister. 

Rostov and Ilyin gave rein to their horses for 
a last race along the incline before reaching 
BogucMrovo, and Rostov, outstripping Ilyin, 
was the first to gallop into the village street. 

"You're first!" cried Ilyfn, flushed. 

"Yes, always first both on the grassland and 
here," answered Rostov, stroking his heated 
Donets horse. 

"And I'd have won on my Frenchy, your ex 
cellcncy," said Lavrushka from behind, allud- 
ing to his shabby cart horse, "only I didn't wish 
to mortify you." 

They rode at a footpace to the barn, where a 
large crowd of peasants was standing. 

Some of the men bared their heads, others 
stared at the new arrivals without doffing their 
caps. Two tall old peasantswith wrinkled faces 
and scanty beards emerged from the tavern, 
smiling, staggering, and singing some incoher- 
ent song, and approached the officers. 

"Fine fellows!" said Rost6v laughing. "Is 
there any hay here?" 

"And how like one another," said Ilyin. 

"A mo-o-st me-r-r-y co-o-m-pa . . .1" sang one 
of the peasants with a blissful smile. 

One of the men came out of the crowd and 
went up to Rostov. 

"Who do you belong to?" he asked. 

"The French," replied Ilyin jestingly, "and 



418 



WAR AND PEACE 



here is Napoleon himself" and he pointed to 
Lavriishka. 

"Then you are Russians?" the peasant asked 
again. 

"And is there a large force of you here?" said 
another, a short man, coming up. 

"Very large," answered Rost6v. "But why 
have you collected here?" he added. "Is it a 
holiday?" 

"The old men have met to talk over the busi- 
ness of the commune," replied the peasant, 
moving away. 

At that moment, on the road leading from 
the big house, two women and a man in a white 
hat were seen coming toward the officers. 

"The one in pink is mine, so keep off!" said 
Ilyin on seeing Dunysha running resolutely 
toward him. 

"She'll be ours!" said Lavriishka to Ilyin, 
winking. 

"What do you want, ray pretty?" said Ilyin 
with a smile. 

"The princess ordered me to ask your regi- 
ment and your name." 

"This is Count Rost6v, squadron command- 
er, and I am your humble servant." 

"Co-o-om-pa-nyl" roared the tipsy peasant 
with a beatific smile as he looked at Ilyin talk- 
ing to the girl. Following Dunydsha, Alpatych 
advanced to Rost6v, having bared his head 
while still at a distance. 

"May I make bold to trouble your honor?" 
said he respectfully, but with a shade of con- 
tempt for the youthfulness of this officer and 
with a hand thrust into his bosom. "My mistress, 
daughter of General in Chief Prince Nicholas 
Bolk6nski who died on the fifteenth of this 
month, finding herself in difficulties owing to 
the boorishness of these people" he pointed 
to the peasants "asks you to come up to the 
house. . . . Won't you, please, ride on a little 
farther," said Alpdtych with a melancholy 
smile, "as it is not convenient in the presence 
of ... ?" He pointed to the two peasants who 
kept as close to him as horseflies to a horse. 

"Ahl . . . Alpdtych ... Ah, Ydkov Alpdtych 
. . . Grand! Forgive us for Christ's sake, eh?" 
said the peasants, smiling joyfully at him. 

Rost6v looked at the tipsy peasants and 
smiled. 

"Or perhaps they amuse your honor?" re- 
marked Alpdtychwith a staid air, as he pointed 
at the old men with his free hand. 

"No, there's not much to be amused at here," 
said Rostov, and rode on a little way. "What's 
the matter?" he asked. 



"I make bold to inform your honor that the 
rude peasants here don't wish to let the mis- 
tress leave the estate, and threaten to unharness 
her horses, so that though everything has been 
packed up since morning, her excellency can- 
not get away." 

"Impossible!" exclaimed Rost6v. 

"I have the honor to report to you the actual 
truth," said Alpdtych. 

Rost6v dismounted, gave his horse to the or- 
derly, and followed Alpatych to the house, 
questioning him as to the state of affairs. It ap- 
peared that the princess' offer of corn to the 
peasants the previous day, and her talk with 
Dron and at the meeting, had actually had so 
bad an effect that Dron had finally given up 
the keys and joined the peasants and had not 
appeared when Alpdtych sent for him; and 
that in the morning when the princess gave or- 
ders to harness for her journey, the peasants 
had come in a large crowd to the barn and sent 
word that they would not let her leave the vil- 
lage: that there was an order not to move, and 
that they would unharness the horses. Alpdtych 
had gone out to admonish them, but was told 
(it was chiefly Karp who did the talking, Dron 
not showing himself in the crowd) that they 
could not let the princess go, that there was an 
order to the contrary, but that if she stayed 
they would serve her as before and obey her 
in everything. 

At the moment when Rost6v and Ilyfn were 
galloping along the road, Princess Mary, de- 
spite the dissuasions of Alpatych, her nurse, and 
the maids, had given orders to harness and in- 
tended to start, but when the cavalrymen were 
espied they were taken for Frenchmen, the 
coachman ran away, and the women in the 
house began to wail. 

"Father! Benefactor! God has sent you!" ex- 
claimed deeply moved voices as Rostov passed 
through the anteroom. 

Princess Mary was sitting helpless and be- 
wildered in the large sitting room, when Ros- 
t6v was shown in. She could not grasp who he 
was and why he had come, or what was happen- 
ing to her. When she saw his Russian face, and 
by his walk and the first words he uttered rec- 
ognized him as a man of her own class, she 
glanced at him with her deep radiant look and 
began speaking in a voice that faltered and 
trembled with emotion. This meeting imme- 
diately struck Rost6v as a romantic event. "A 
helpless girl overwhelmed with grief, left to the 
mercy of coarse, rioting peasants! And what a 
strange fate sent me here! What gentleness and 



BOOK TEN 



4'9 



nobility there are in her features and expres- 
sion!" thought he as he looked at her and lis- 
tened to her timid story. 

When she began to tell him that all this had 
happened the day after her father's funeral, her 
voiced trembled. She turned away, and then, 
as if fearing he might take her words as meant 
to move him to pity, looked at him with an ap- 
prehensive glance of inquiry. There were tears 
in Rost6v's eyes. Princess Mary noticed this 
and glanced gratefully at him with that radiant 
look which caused the plainness of her face to 
be forgotten. 

"I cannot express, Princess, how glad I am 
that I happened to ride here and am able to 
show my readiness to serve you," said Rost6v, 
rising. "Go when you please, and I give you my 
word of honor that no one shall dare to cause 
you annoyance if only you will allow me to 
act as your escort." And bowing respectfully, 
as if to a lady of royal blood, he moved toward 
the door. 

Rost6v's deferential tone seemed to indicate 
that though he would consider himself happy 
to be acquainted with her, he did not wish to 
take advantage of her misfortunes to intrude 
upon her. 

Princess Mary understood this and appreci- 
ated his delicacy. 

"I am very, very grateful to you," she said in 
French, "but I hope it was all a misunderstand- 
ing and that no one is to blame for it." She sud- 
denly began to cry. 

"Excuse me!" she said. 

Rost6v, knitting his brows, left the room 
with another low bow. 

CHAPTER XIV 

WELL, is she pretty? Ah, friendmy pink one 
is delicious; her name is Dunydsha " 

But on glancing at Rostov's face Ilyin 
stopped short. He saw that his hero and com- 
mander was following quite a different train 
of thought. 

Rostov glanced angrily at Ilyf n and without 
replying strode off with rapid steps to the vil- 
lage. 

"I'll show them; I'll give it to them, the brig- 
ands 1" said he to himself. 

Alpdtych at a gliding trot, only just manag- 
ing not to run,kept up with him with difficulty. 

"What decision have you been pleased to 
come to?" said he. 

Rost6v stopped and, clenching his fists, sud- 
denly and sternly turned on Alpdtych. 

"Decision? What decision? Old dotardl . . ." 



cried he. "What have you been about? Eh? The 
peasants are rioting, and you can't manage 
them? You're a traitor yourself 1 1 knowyou. I'll 
flay you all alive! . . ."And as if afraid of wasting 
his store of anger, he left Alpltych and went 
rapidly forward. Alpdtych, mastering his of- 
fended feelings, kept pace with Rost6v at a 
gliding gait and continued to impart his views. 
He said the peasants were obdurate and that at 
the present moment it would be imprudent to 
"overresist" them without an armed force, and 
would it not be better first to send for the mil- 
itary? 

"I'll give them armed force . . . I'll 'overresist' 
them!" uttered Rost6v meaninglessly, breath- 
less with irrational animal fury and the need 
to vent it. 

Without considering what he would do he 
moved unconsciously with quick, resolute steps 
toward the crowd. And the nearer he drew to 
it the more Alpdtych felt that this unreason- 
able action might produce good results. The 
peasants in the crowd were similarly impressed 
when they saw Rostov's rapid, firm steps and 
resolute, frowning face. 

After the hussars had come to the village and 
Rostov had gone to see the princess, a certain 
confusion and dissension had arisen among the 
crowd. Some of the peasants said that these 
new arrivals were Russians and might take it 
amiss that the mistress was beingdetained. Dron 
was of this opinion, but as soon as he expressed 
it Karp and others attacked their ex-Elder. 

"How many years have you been fattening 
on the commune?" Karp shouted at him. "It's 
all one to you! You'll dig up your pot of money 
and take it away with you. . . . What does it 
matter to you whether our homes are ruined 
or not?" 

"We've been told to keep order, and that no 
one is to leave their homes or take away a sin- 
gle grain, and that's all about it!" cried anoth- 
er. 

"It was your son's turn to be conscripted, but 
no fear! You begrudged your lump of a son," a 
little old man suddenly began attacking Dron 
"and so they took my Viinka to be shaved for 
a soldier! But we all have to die." 

"To be sure, we all have to die. I'm not 
against the commune," said Dron. 

"That's it not against ill You've filled your 
belly. . . ." 

The two tall peasants had their say. As soon 
as Rost6v, followed by Ilyfn, Lavriishka, and 
Alpdtych, came up to the crowd, Karp, thrust- 
ing his fingers into his belt and smiling a lit- 



420 



tie, walked to the front. Dron on the contrary 
retired to the rear and the crowd drew closer 
together. 

"Who is your Elder here? Hey?" shouted 
Rostdv, coming up to the crowd with quick 
steps. 

"The Elder? What do you want with 
him? . . ." asked Karp. 

But before the words were well out of his 
mouth, his cap flew off and a fierce blow jerked 
his head to one side. 

"Caps off, traitors!" shouted Rost6v in a 
wrathful voice. "Where's the Elder?" he cried 
furiously. 

"The Elder. ... He wants the Eldcrl . . . 
Dron Zakharych, you!" meek and flustered 
voices here and there were heard calling and 
caps began to come off their heads. 

"We don't riot, we're following the orders," 
declared Karp, and at that moment several 
voices began speaking together. 

"It's as the old men have decided there's 
too many of you giving orders." 

"Arguing? Mutiny! . . . Brigands! Traitors!" 
cried Rostov unmeaningly in a voice not his 
own, gripping Karp by the collar. "Bind him, 
bind him!" he shouted, though there was no 
one to bind him but Lavriishka and Alpdtych. 

Lavrushka, however, ran up to Karp and 
seized him by the arms from behind. 

"Shall I call up our men from beyond the 
hill?" he called out. 

Alpiitych turned to the peasants and ordered 
two of them by name to come and bind Karp. 
The men obediently came out of the crowd 
and began taking off their belts. 

"Where's the Elder?" demanded Rost6v in a 
loud voice. 

With a pale and frowning face Dron stepped 
out of the crowd. 

"Are you the Elder? Bind him, Lavrushkal" 
shouted Rost6v, as if that order, too, could not 
possibly meet with any opposition. 

And in fact two more peasants began bind- 
ing Dron, who took off his own belt and hand- 
ed it to them, as if to aid them. 

"And you all listen to me!" said Rost6v to 
the peasants. "Be off to your houses at once, 
and don't let one of your voices be heard! " 

"Why, we've not done any harm! We did it 
just out of foolishness. It's all nonsense. ... I 
said then that it was not in order," voices were 
heard bickering with one another. 

"There! What did I say?" said Alpdtych, 
coming into his own again. "It's wrong, lads!" 

"All our stupidity, Ykov Alpdtych," came 



WAR AND PEACE 

the answers, and the crowd began at once to 
disperse through the village. 

The two bound men were led off to the mas- 
ter's house. The two drunken peasants followed 
them. 

"Aye, when I look at you! . . ." said one of 
them to Karp. 

"How can one talk to the masters like that? 
What were you thinking of, you fool?" added 
the other "A real iool!" 

Two hours later the carts were standing in 
the courtyard of the Boguchdrovo house. The 
peasants were briskly carrying out the propri- 
etor's goods and packing themon the carts, and 
Dron, liberated at Princess Mary's wish from 
the cupboard where he had been confined, was 
standing in the yard directing the men. 

"Don't put it in so carelessly," said oneof the 
peasants, a man with a round smiling face, tak- 
ing a casket from a housemaid. "You know it 
has cost money! How can you chuck it in like 
that or shove it under the cord where it'll get 
rubbed? I don't like that way of doing things. 
Let it all be done properly, according to rule. 
Look here, put it under the bast matting and 
cover it with hay that's the way!" 

"Eh, books, books!" said another peasant, 
bringing out Prince Andrew's library cup- 
boards. "Don't catch up against it! It's heavy, 
lads solid books." 

"Yes, they worked all day and didn't play!" 
remarked the tall, round-faced peasant gravely, 
pointing with a significant wink at the diction- 
aries that were on the top. 



Unwilling to obtrude himself on the prin- 
cess, Rost6v did not go back to the house but 
remained in the village awaiting her depar- 
ture. When her carriage drove out of the house, 
he mounted and accompanied her eight miles 
from Boguchdrovo to where the road was occu- 
pied by our troops. At the inn at Yank6vo he 
respectfully took leave of her, for the first time 
permitting himself to kiss her hand. 

"How can you speak so!" he blushingly re- 
plied to Princess Mary's expressions of grati- 
tude for her deliverance, as she termed what 
had occurred. "Any police officer would have 
done as much! If we had had only peasants to 
fight, we should not have let the enemy come 
so far," said he with a sense of shame and wish- 
ing to change the subject. "I am only happy to 
have had the opportunity of making your ac- 
quaintance. Good-by, Princess. I wish you hap- 
piness and consolation and hope to meet you 
again in happier circumstances. If you don't 



BOOK TEN 



421 



want to make me blush, please don't thank 
me!" 

But the princess, if she did not again thank 
him in words, thanked him with the whole ex- 
pression of her face, radiant with gratitude and 
tenderness. She could not believe that there 
was nothing to thank him for. On the contrary, 
it seemed to her certain that had he not been 
there she would have perished at the hands of 
the mutineers and of the French, and that he 
had exposed himself to terrible and obvious 
danger to save her, and even more certain was 
it that he was a man of lofty and noble soul, 
able to understand her position and her sor- 
row. His kind, honest eyes, with the tears ris- 
ing in them when she herself had begun to cry 
as she spoke of her loss, did not leave her mem- 
ory. 

When she had taken leave of him and re- 
mained alone she suddenly felt her eyes filling 
with tears, and then not for the first time the 
strange question presented itself to her: did 
she love him? 

On the rest of the way to Moscow, though 
the princess' position was not a cheerful one, 
Dunyasha, who went with her in the carriage, 
more than once noticed that her mistress leaned 
out of the window and smiled at something 
with an expression of mingled joy and sorrow. 

"Well, supposing I do love him?" thought 
Princess Mary. 

Ashamed as she was of acknowledging to her- 
self that she had fallen in love with a man who 
would perhaps never love her, she comforted 
herself with the thought that no one would 
ever know it and that she would not be to 
blame if, without ever speaking of it to any- 
one, she continued to the end of her life to 
love the man with whom she had fallen in love 
for the first and last time in her life. 

Sometimes when she recalled his looks, his 
sympathy, and his words, happiness did not 
appear impossible to her. It was at those mo- 
ments that Dunyasha noticed her smiling as 
she looked out of the carriage window. 

"Was it not fate that brought him to Bogu- 
chdrovo, and at that very moment?" thought 
Princess Mary. "And that caused his sister to 
refuse my brother?" 1 And in all this Princess 
Mary saw the hand of Providence. 

The impression the princess made on Ros- 
t6v was a very agreeable one. To remember 
her gave him pleasure, and when his comrades, 
hearing of his adventure at Boguchdrovo, ral- 

*A woman might not marry her brother's or 
sister's brother-in-law and vice versa. TR. 



lied him on having gone to look for hay and 
having picked up one of the wealthiest heiresses 
in Russia, he grew angry. It made him angry 
just because the idea of marrying the gentle 
Princess Mary, who was attractive to him and 
had an enormous fortune, had against his will 
more than once entered his head. For himself 
personally Nicholas could not wish for a better 
wife: by marrying her he would make the 
countess his mother happy, would be able to 
put his father's affairs in order, and would even 
he felt it ensure Princess Mary's happiness. 
But Sonya? And his plighted word? That was 
why Rostov grew angry when he was rallied 
about Princess Bolk6nskaya. 

CHAPTER XV 

ON RECEIVING COMMAND of the armies Kutiizov 
remembered Prince Andrew and sent an order 
for him to report at headquarters. 

Prince Andrew arrived at Tsdrevo-Zaymish- 
che on the very day and at the very hour that 
Kutuzov was reviewing the troops for the first 
time. He stopped in the village at the priest's 
house in front of which stood the commander 
in chief's carriage, and he sat down on the 
bench at the gate awaiting his Serene High- 
ness, as everyone now called Kutuzov, From 
the field beyond the village came now sounds 
of regimental music and now the roar of many 
voices shouting "Hurrah!" to the new com- 
mander in chief. Two orderlies, a courier and 
a major-domo, stood near by, some ten paces 
from Prince Andrew, availing themselves of 
Kutiizov's absence and of the fine weather. A 
short, swarthy lieutenant colonel of hussars 
with thick mustaches and whiskers rode up 
to the gate and, glancing at Prince Andrew, in- 
quired whether his Serene Highness was put- 
ting up there and whether he would soon be 
back. 

Prince Andrew replied that he was not on his 
Serene Highness' staff but was himself a new 
arrival. The lieutenant colonel turned to a 
smart orderly, who, with the peculiar contempt 
with which a commander in chief's orderly 
speaks to officers, replied: 

"What? His Serene Highness? I expect he'll 
be here soon. What do you want?" 

The lieutenant colonel of hussars smiled be- 
neath his mustache at the orderly's tone, dis- 
mounted, gave his horse to a dispatch runner, 
and approached Bolk6nski with a slight bow. 
Bolk6nski made room for him on the bench 
and the lieutenant colonel sat down beside 
him. 



422 



WAR AND PEACE 



"You're also waiting for the commander in 
chief?" said he. "They say he weceives evewy- 
one, thank Godl . . . It's awful with those sau- 
sage eaters! Ermolov had weason to ask to be 
pwomoted to be a German! Now p'waps Wus- 
sians will get a look in. As it was, devil only 
knows what was happening. We kept wetweat- 
ing and wetweating. Did you take part in the 
campaign?" he asked. 

"I had the pleasure," replied Prince Andrew, 
"not only of taking part in the retreat but of 
losing in that retreat all I held dear not to 
mention the estate and home of my birth my 
father, who died of grief. I belong to the prov- 
ince of Smolensk." 

"Ah? You're Pwince Bolk6nski? Vcwy glad 
to make your acquaintance! I'm Lieutenant 
Colonel Denfsov, better known as 'Vaska,' " 
said Denisov, pressing Prince Andrew's hand 
and looking into his face with a particularly 
kindly attention. "Yes, I heard," said he sym- 
pathetically, and after a short pause added: 
"Yes, it's Scythian warfare. It's all vcwy well 
only not for those who get it in the neck. 
So you are Pwince Andwew Bolk6nski?" He 
swayed his head. "Vewy pleased, Pwince, to 
make your acquaintance!" he repeated again, 
smiling sadly, and he again pressed Prince An- 
drew's hand. 

Prince Andrew knew Denisov from what Na- 
tasha had told him of her first suitor. This 
memory carried him sadly and sweetly back to 
those painful feelings of which he had not 
thought lately, but which still found place in 
his souL Of late he had received so many new 
and very serious impressions such as the re- 
treat from Smolensk, his visit to Bald Hills, 
and the recent news of his father's death and 
had experienced so many emotions, that for a 
long time past those memories had not entered 
his mind, and now that they did, they did not 
act on him with nearly their former strength. 
For Denisov, too, the memories awakened by 
the name of Bolk6nski belonged to a distant, 
romantic past, when after supper and after 
Natasha's singing he had proposed to a little 
girl of fifteen without realizing what he was 
doing. He smiled at the recollection of that 
time and of his love for Natdsha, and passed at 
once to what now interested him passionately 
and exclusively. This was a plan of campaign 
he had devised while serving at the outposts 
during the retreat. He had proposed that plan 
to Barclay de Tolly and now wished to pro- 
pose it to Kutiizov. The plan was based on the 
fact that the French line of operation was too 



extended, and it proposed that instead of, or 
concurrently with, action on the front to bar 
the advance of the French, we should attack 
their line of communication. He began ex- 
plaining his plan to Prince Andrew. 

"They can't hold all that line. It's impossible. 
I will undertake to bweak thwough. Give me 
five hundwed men and I will bweak the line, 
that's certain! There's only one way guewilla 
warfare!" 

Denisov rose and began gesticulating as he 
explained his plan to Bolk6nski. In the midst 
of his explanation shouts were heard from the 
army, growing more incoherent and more dif- 
fused, mingling with music and songs and com- 
ing from the field where the review was held. 
Sounds of hoofs and shouts were nearing the 
village. 

"He's coming! He's coming!" shouted a Cos- 
sack standing at the gate. 

Bolk6nski and Denisov moved to the gate, at 
which a knot of soldiers (a guard of honor) was 
standing, and they saw Kutiizov coming down 
the street mounted on a rather small sorrel 
horse. A huge suite of generals rode behind 
him. Barclay was riding almost beside him, and 
a crowd of officers ran after and around them 
shouting, "Hurrah!" 

His adjutants galloped into the yard be- 
fore him. Kutiizov was impatiently urging on 
his horse, which ambled smoothly under his 
weight, and he raised his hand to his white 
Horse Guard's cap with a red band and no 
peak, nodding his head continually. When he 
came up to the guard of honor, a fine set of 
Grenadiers mostly wearing decorations, who 
were giving him the salute, he looked at them 
silently and attentively for nearly a minute 
with the steady gaze of a commander and then 
turned to the crowd of generals and officers 
surrounding him. Suddenly his face assumed 
a subtle expression, he shrugged his shoulders 
with an air of perplexity. 

"And with such fine fellows to retreat and 
retreat! Well, good-by, General," he added, 
and rode into the yard past Prince Andrew and 
Denisov. 

"Hurrah! hurrah! hurrah! "shouted those be- 
hind him. 

Since Prince Andrew had last seen him Ku- 
tiizov had grown still more corpulent, flaccid, 
and fat. But the bleached eyeball, the scar, and 
the familiar weariness of his expression were 
still the same. He was wearing the white Horse 
Guard's cap and a military overcoat with a 
whip hanging over his shoulder by a thin strap. 



BOOK TEN 



423 



He sat heavily and swayed limply on his brisk 
little horse. 

"Whew . . . whew . . . whew I" he whistled 
just audibly as he rode into the yard. His face 
expressed the relief of relaxed strain felt by a 
man who means to rest after a ceremony. He 
drew his left foot out of the stirrup and, lurch- 
ing with his whole body and puckering his face 
with the effort, raised it with difficulty onto the 
saddle, leaned on his knee, groaned, and si ipped 
down into the arms of the Cossacks and adju- 
tants who stood ready to assist him. 

He pulled himself together, looked round, 
screwing up his eyes, glanced at Prince An- 
drew, and, evidently not recognizing him, 
moved with his waddling gait to the porch. 
"Whew . . . whew . . . whew!" he whistled, and 
again glanced at Prince Andrew. As often oc- 
curs with old men, it was only after some sec- 
onds that the impression produced by Prince 
Andrew's face linked itself up with Kutiizov's 
remembrance of his personality. 

"Ah, how do you do, my dear prince? How 
do you do, my dear boy? Come along . . ." said 
he, glancing wearily round, and he stepped on- 
to the porch which creaked under his weight. 

He unbuttoned his coat and sat down on a 
bench in the porch. 

"And how's your father?" 

"I received news of his death, yesterday," re- 
plied Prince Andrew abruptly. 

Kutuzov looked at him with eyes wide open 
with dismay and then took off his cap and 
crossed himself: 

"May the kingdom of Heaven be hisl God's 
will be done to us all!" He sighed deeply, his 
whole chest heaving, and was silent for a while. 
"I loved him and respected him, and sympa- 
thize with you with all my heart." 

He embraced Prince Andrew, pressing him 
to his fat breast, and for some time did not let 
him go. When he released him Prince Andrew 
saw that Kutuzov's flabby lips were trembling 
and that tears were in his eyes, He sighed and 
pressed on the bench with both hands to 
raise himself. 

"Cornel Come with me, we'll have a talk," 
said he. 

But at that moment Denfsov, no more in- 
timidated by his superiors than by the enemy, 
came with jingling spurs up the steps of the 
porch, despite the angry whispers of the ad- 
jutants who tried to stop him. Kutuzov, his 
hands still pressed on the seat, glanced at him 
glumly. Denfsov, having given his name, an- 
nounced that he had to communicate to his 



Serene Highness a matter of great importance 
for their country's welfare. Kutuzov looked 
wearily at him arid, lifting his hands with a 
gesture of annoyance, folded them across his 
stomach, repeating the words: "For our coun- 
try's welfare? Well, what is it? Speak!" Den- 
isov blushed like a girl (it was strange to see 
the color rise in that shaggy, bibulous, time- 
worn face) and boldly began to expound his 
plan of cutting the enemy's lines of communi- 
cation between Smolensk and Vydzma. Denisov 
came from those parts and knew the country 
well. His plan seemed decidedly a good one, es- 
pecially from the strength of conviction with 
which he spoke. Kutuzov looked down at his 
own legs, occasionally glancing at the door of 
the adjoining hut as if expecting something 
unpleasant to emerge from it. And from that 
hut, while Denfsov was speaking, a general with 
a portfolio under his arm really did appear. 

"What?" said Kutuzov, in the midst of Den- 
isov 's explanations, "are you ready so soon?" 

"Ready, your Serene Highness," replied the 
general. 

Kutuzov swayed his head, as much as to say: 
"How is one man to deal with it all?" and 
again listened to Denfsov. 

"I give my word of honor as a Wussian of- 
ficer," said Denfsov, "that I can bweak Na- 
poleon's line of communication!" 

"What relation are you to Intendant Gen- 
eral Kirfl A ndre*evich Denisov?" asked Kutuzov, 
interrupting him. 

"He is my uncle, your Sewene Highness." 

"Ah, we were friends," said Kutuzov cheer- 
fully. "All right, all right, friend, stay here at 
the staff and tomorrow we'll have a talk." 

With a nod to Denfsov he turned away and 
put out his hand for the papers Konovnftsyn 
had brought him. 

"Would not your Serene Highness like to 
come inside?" said the general on duty in a dis- 
contented voice, "the plans must be examined 
and several papers have to be signed." 

An adjutant came out and announced that 
everything was in readiness within. But Kutu- 
zov evidently did not wish to enter that room 
till he was disengaged. He made a grimace 

"No, tell them to bring a small table out 
here, my dear boy. I'll look at them here," said 
he. "Don't go away," he added, turning to 
Prince Andrew, who remained in the porch 
and listened to the general's report. 

While this was being given, Prince Andrew 
heard the whisper of a woman's voice and the 
rustle of a silk dress behind the door. Several 



424 



WAR AND PEACE 



times on glancing that way he noticed behind 
that door a plump, rosy, handsome woman in 
a pink dress with a lilac silk kerchief on her 
head, holding a dish and evidently awaiting 
the entrance of the commander in chief. Ku- 
tuzov's adjutant whispered to Prince Andrew 
that this was the wite of the priest whose home 
it was, and that she intended to offer his Se- 
rene Highness bread and salt. "Her husband 
has welcomed his Serene Highness with the 
cross at the church, and she intends to wel- 
come him in the house. , . . She's very pretty," 
added the adjutant with a smile. At those words 
Kutuzov looked round. He was listening to the 
general's reportwhich consisted chiefly of a 
criticism of the position at Tsarevo-Zay- 
mishche as he had listened to Denfsov, and 
seven years previously had listened to the dis- 
cussion at the Austerlitz council of war. He 
evidently listened only because he had ears 
which, though there was a piece of tow in one 
of them, could not help hearing; but it was ev- 
ident that nothing the general could say would 
surprise or even interest him, that he knew all 
that would be said beforehand, and heard it all 
only because he had to, as one has to listen to 
the chanting of a service of prayer. All that 
Denisov had said was clever and to the point. 
What the general was saying was even more 
clever and to the point, but it was evident that 
Kutuzov despised knowledge and cleverness, 
and knew of something else that would decide 
the matter something independent of clever- 
ness and knowledge. Prince Andrew watched 
the commander in chief's face attentively, and 
the only expression he could see there was one 
of boredom, curiosity as to the meaning of the 
feminine whispering behind the door, and a 
desire to observe propriety. It was evident that 
Kutuzov despised cleverness and learning and 
even the patriotic feeling shown by Denisov, 
but despised them not because of his own in- 
tellect, feelings, or knowledge he did not try 
to display any of these but because of some- 
thing else. He despised them because of his 
old age and experience of life. The only in- 
struction Kutuzov gave of his own accord dur- 
ing that report referred to looting by the Rus- 
sian troops. At the end of the report the gen- 
eral put before him for signature a paper re- 
lating to the recovery of payment from army 
commanders for green oats mown down by the 
soldiers, when landowners lodged petitions 
for compensation. 

After hearing the matter, Kutiizov smacked 
his lips together and shook his head. 



"Into the stove . . . into the fire with itl I tell 
you once for all, my dear fellow," said he, "in- 
to the fire with all such things! Let them cut 
the crops and burn wood to their hearts' con- 
tent. I don't order it or allow it, but I don't 
exact compensation either. One can't get on 
without it. 'When wood is chopped the chips 
will fly.' " He looked at the paper again. "Oh, 
this German precision!" he muttered, shaking 
his head. 

CHAPTER XVI 

"WELL, THAT'S ALL!" said Kutiizov as he signed 
the last of the documents, and rising heavily 
and smoothing out the folds in his fat white 
neck he moved toward the door with a more 
cheerful expression. 

The priest's wife, flushing rosy red, caught 
up the dish she had after all not managed to 
present at the right moment, though she had 
so long been preparing for it, and with a low 
bow offered it to Kutuzov. 

He screwed up his eyes, smiled, lifted her 
chin with his hand, and said: 

"Ah, what a beauty I Thank you, sweetheart!" 

He took some gold pieces from his trouser 
pocket and put them on the dish for her. 
"Well, my dear, and how are we getting on?" 
he asked, moving to the door of the room as- 
signed to him. The priest's wife smiled, and 
with dimples in her rosy cheeks followed him 
into the room. The adjutant came out to the 
porch and asked Prince Andrew to lunch with 
him. Half an hour later Prince Andrew was 
again called to Kutuzov. He found him reclin- 
ing in an armchair, still in the same unbut- 
toned overcoat. He had in his hand a French 
book which he closed as Prince Andrew en- 
tered, marking the place with a knife. Prince 
Andrew saw by the cover that it was Les Chev- 
aliers du Cygne by Madame de Genlis. 

"Well, sit clown, sit down here. Let's have a 
talk," said Kutuzov. "It's sad, very sad. But re- 
member, my clear fellow, that I am a father to 
you, a second father. . . ." 

Prince Andrew told Kutuzov all he knew of 
his father's death, and what he had seen at 
Bald Hills when he passed through it. 

"What . . . what they have brought us to!" 
Kutuzov suddenly cried in an agitated voice, 
evidently picturing vividly to himself from 
Prince Andrew's story the condition Russia was 
in. "But give me time, give me time!" he said 
with a grim look, Evidently not wishing to con- 
tinue this agitating conversation, and added: 
"I sent for you to keep you with me." 



BOOK 

"I thank your Serene Highness, but I fear I 
am no longer fit for the staff," replied Prince 
Andrew with a smile which Kuttizov noticed. 

Kutuzov glanced inquiringly at him. 

"But above all," added Prince Andrew, "I 
have grown used to my regiment, am fond of 
the officers, and I fancy the men also like me. I 
should be sorry to leave the regiment. If I de- 
cline the honor of being with you, believe 
me . . ." 

A shrewd, kindly, yet subtly derisive expres- 
sion lit up Kutuzov's podgy face. He cut Bol- 
k6nski short. 

"I am sorry, for I need you. But you're right, 
you're right! It's not here that men are needed. 
Advisers are always plentiful, but men are not. 
The regiments would not be what they are if 
the would-be advisers served there as you do. 
I remember you at Austerlitz. ... I remember, 
yes, I remember you with the standard!" said 
Kutuzov, and a flush of pleasure suffused 
Prince Andrew's face at this recollection. 

Taking his hand and drawing him down- 
wards, Kutuzov offered his cheek to be kissed, 
and again Prince Andrew noticed tears in the 
old man's eyes. Though Prince Andrew knew 
that Kutuzov's tears came easily, and that he 
was particularly tender to and considerate of 
him from a wish to show sympathy with his loss, 
yet this reminder of Austerlitz was both pleas- 
ant and flattering to him. 

"Go your way and God be with you. I know 
your path is the path of honor!" He paused. "I 
missed you at Bucharest, but I needed some- 
one to send." And changing the subject, Kutu- 
zov began to speak of the Turkish war and the 
peace that had been concluded. "Yes, I have 
been much blamed," he said, "both for that 
war and the peace . . . but everything came at 
the right time. Tout vient a point & celui qui 
salt attendre? And there were as many advisers 
there as here . . ." he went on, returning to the 
subject of "advisers" which evidently occupied 
him. "Ah, those advisers!" said he. "If we had 
listened to them all we should not have made 
peace with Turkey and should not have been 
through with that war. Everything in haste, 
but more haste, less speed. Kamenski would 
have been lost if he had not died. He 
stormed fortresses with thirty thousand men. 
It is not difficult to capture a fortress but it is 
difficult to win a campaign. For that, not storm- 
ing and attacking but patience and time are 
wanted. Kdmenski sent soldiers to Rustchuk, 

1 "Everything comes in time to him who knows 
how to wait," 



TEN 425 

but I only employed these two things and took 
more fortresses than Kdmenski and made the 
Turks eat horseflesh I" He swayed his head. 
"And the French shall too, believe me," he 
went on, growing warmer and beating his 
chest, "I'll make them eat horseflesh!" And 
tears again dimmed his eyes. 

"But shan't we have to accept battle?" re- 
marked Prince Andrew. 

"We sha'll if everybody wants it; it can't be 

helped But believe me, my dear boy, there 

is nothing stronger than those two: patience 
and time, they will do it all. But the advisers 
n'entendent pas de cette oreille, voiia le mal* 
Some want a thing others don't. What's one 
to do?" he asked, evidently expecting an an- 
swer. "Well, what do you want us to do?" he 
repeated and his eye shone with a deep, shrewd 
look. "I'll tell you what to do," he continued, 
as Prince Andrcwstill did not reply: "I will tell 
you what to do, and what I do. Dans le doute, 
mon cher," he paused, "abstiens-toi" 8 he ar- 
ticulated the French proverb deliberately. 

"Well, good-by, my dear fellow; remember 
that with all my heart I share your sorrow, and 
that for you I am not a Serene Highness, nor a 
prince, nor a commander in chief, but a father! 
If you want anything come straight to me. 
Good-by, my dear boy." 

Again he embraced and kissed Prince An- 
drew, but before the latter had left the room 
Kutuzov gave a sigh of relief and went on with 
his unfinished novel, Les Chevaliers du Cygne 
by Madame de Gcnlis. 

Prince Andrew could not have explained 
how or why it was, but after that interview 
with Kutuzov he went back to his regiment re- 
assured as to the general course of affairs and 
as to the man to whom it had been entrusted. 
The more he realized the absence of all per- 
sonal motive in that old man in whom there 
seemed to remain only the habit of passions, 
and in place of an intellect (grouping events 
and drawing conclusions) only the capacity 
calmly to contemplate the course of events 
the more reassured he was that everything 
would be as it should. "He will not bring in 
any plan of his own. He will not devise or un- 
dertake anything," thought Prince Andrew, 
"but he will hear everything, remember every- 
thing, and put everything in its place. He will 
not hinder anything useful nor allow anything 
harmful. He understands that there is some- 
thing stronger and more important than his 

a "Don't see it that way, that's the trouble." 

8 "When in doubt, my dear fellow, do nothing," 



426 



WAR AND PEACE 



own will the inevitable course of events, and 
he can see them and grasp their significance, 
and seeing that significance can refrain from 
meddling and renounce his personal wish di- 
rected to something else. And above all," 
thought Prince Andrew, "one believes in him 
because he's Russian, despite the novel byGen- 
lis and the French proverbs, and because his 
voice shook when he said: 'What they have 
brought us to!' and had a sob in it when he 
said he would 'make them eat horseflesh!' " 

On such feelings, more or less dimly shared 
by all, the unanimity and general approval 
were founded with which, despite court influ- 
ences, the popular choice of Kutiizov as com- 
mander in chief was received. 

CHAPTER XVII 

AFTER THE EMPEROR had left Moscow, life 
flowed on there in its usual course, and its 
course was so very usual that it was difficult to 
remember the recent days of patriotic elation 
and ardor, hard to believe that Russia was real- 
ly in danger and that the members of the Eng- 
lish Club were also sons of the Fatherland 
ready to sacrifice everything for it. The one 
thing that recalled the patriotic fervor every- 
one had displayed during the Emperor's stay 
was the call for contributions of men and 
money, a necessity that as soon as the prom- 
ises had been made assumed a legal, official 
form and became unavoidable. 

With the enemy's approach to Moscow, the 
Moscovites' view of their situation did not 
grow more serious but on the contrary became 
even more frivolous, as always happens with 
people who see a great danger approaching. 
At the approach of danger there are always 
two voices that speak with equal power in the 
human soul: one very reasonably tells a man 
to consider the nature of the danger and the 
means of escaping it; the other, still more 
reasonably, says that it is too depressing and 
painful to think of the danger, since it is not 
in man's power to foresee everything and avert 
the general course of events, and it is therefore 
better to disregard what is painful till it comes, 
and to think about what is pleasant. In solitude 
a man generally listens to the first voice, but in 
society to the second. So it was now with the 
inhabitants of Moscow. It was long since peo- 
ple had been as gay in Moscow as that year. 

Rostopchin's broadsheets, headed by wood- 
cuts of a drink shop, a potman, and a Moscow 
burgher called Karpiishka Chigirin, "who 
having been a militiaman and having had rath- 



er too much at the pub heard that Napoleon 
wished to come to Moscow, grew angry , abused 
the French in very bad language f came out of 
the drink shop, and, under the sign of the ea- 
gle, began to address the assembled people" 
were read and discussed, together with the lat- 
est of Vasfli Lvovich Pushkin's bouts rime's. 

In the corner room at the Club, members 
gathered to read these broadsheets, and some 
liked the way Karpushka jeered at the French, 
saying: "They will swell up with Russian cab- 
bage, burst with our buckwheat porridge, and 
choke themselves with cabbage soup. They are 
all dwarfs and one peasant woman will toss 
three of them with a hayfork/' Others did not 
like that tone and said itwas stupid and vulgar. 
It was said that Rostopchfn had expelled all 
Frenchmen and even all foreigners from Mos- 
cow, and that there had been some spies and 
agents of Napoleon among them; but this was 
told chiefly to introduce Rostopchfn's witty re- 
mark on that occasion. The foreigners were 
deported to Nizhni by boat, and Rostopchin 
had said to them in French: "Rentrez en vous- 
mSmes; entrez dans la barque, et n'en faites 
pas une barque de Charon." * There was talk 
of all the government offices having been al- 
ready removed from Moscow, and to this Shin- 
shfn's witticism was added that for that alone 
Moscow ought to be grateful to Napoleon. It 
was said that Mam6nov's regiment would cost 
him eight hundred thousand rubles, and that 
Bezukhov had spent even more on his, but that 
the best thing about Beziikhov's action was 
that he himself was going to don a uniform 
and ride at the head of his regiment without 
charging anything for the show. 

"You don't spare anyone," said Julie Dru- 
betskdya as she collected and pressed together 
a bunch of raveled lint with her thin, beringed 
fingers. 

Julie was preparing to leave Moscow next 
day and was giving a farewell soiree. 

"Bezukhov est ridicule, but he is so kind and 
good-natured. What pleasure is there to be so 
caustique?" 

"A forfeit!" cried a young man in militia 
uniform whom Julie called "mon chevalier," 
and who was going with her to Nizhni. 

In Julie's set, as in many other circles in Mos- 
cow, it had been agreed that they would speak 
nothing but Russian and that those who made 
a slip and spoke French should pay fines to the 
Committee of Voluntary Contributions. 

1 "Think it over; get into the barque, and take 
care not to make it a barque of Charon." 



BOOK TEN 



4*7 



"Another forfeit for a Gallicism/' said a Rus- 
sian writer who was present. " 'What pleasure 
is there to be' is not Russian I" 

"You spare no one," continued Julie to the 
young man without heeding the author's re- 
mark. * 

"For caustiqueI am guilty and will pay, 
and I am prepared to pay again for the pleas- 
ure of telling you the truth. For Gallicisms I 
won't be responsible," she remarked, turning to 
the author: "I have neither the money nor the 
time, like Prince GaHtsyn, to engage a master 
to teach me Russian!" 

"Ah, here he isl" she added. "Quand on ... 
No, no," she said to the militia officer, "you 
won't catch me. Speak of the sun and you see 
its rays I "and she smiled amiably at Pierre. "We 
were just talking of you," she said with the fa- 
cility in lying natural to a society woman. "We 
were saying that your regiment would be sure 
to be better than Mam6nov's." 

"Oh, don't talk to me of my regiment," re- 
plied Pierre, kissing his hostess' hand and tak- 
ing a seat beside her. "I am so sick of it." 

"You will, of course, command it yourself?" 
said Julie, directing a sly, sarcastic glance to- 
ward the militia officer, 

The latter in Pierre's presence had ceased to 
be caustic, and his face expressed perplexity 
as to what Julie's smile might mean. In spite 
of his absent-mindedness and good nature, Pi- 
erre's personality immediately checked any at- 
tempt to ridicule him to his face. 

"No," said Pierre, with a laughing glance at 
his big, stout body. "I should make too good a 
target for the French, besides I am afraid I 
should hardly be able to climb onto a horse." 

Among those whom Julie's guests happened 
to choose to gossip about were the Rost6vs. 

"I hear that their affairs are in a very bad 
way," said Julie. "And he is so unreasonable, 
the count himself I mean. The Razum6vskis 
wanted to buy his house and his estate near 
Moscow, but it drags on and on. He asks too 
much." 

"No, I think the sale will come off in a few 
days," said someone, "Though it is madness to 
buy anything in Moscow now." 

"Why?" asked Julie. "You don't think Mos- 
cow is in danger?" 

"Then why are you leaving?" 

"I? What a question! I am going because . . . 
well, because everyone is going: and besides 
I am not Joan of Arc or an Amazon." 

"Well, of course, of course! Let me have 
some more strips of linen." 



"If he manages the business properly he will 
be able to pay off all his debts," said the militia 
officer, speaking of Rost6v. 

"A kindly old man but not up to much. And 
why do they stay on so long in Moscow? They 
meant to leave for the country long ago. Na- 
talie is quite well again now, isn't she?" Julie 
asked Pierre with a knowing smile. 

"They are waiting for their younger son," 
Pierre replied. "He joined Obotenski's Cos- 
sacks and went to Bdlaya Tsrkov where the 
regiment is being formed. But now they have 
had him transferred to my regiment and are 
expecting him every day. The count wanted to 
leave long ago, but the countess won't on any 
account leave Moscow till her son returns." 

"I met them the day before yesterday at the 
Arkharovs'. Natalie has recovered her looks and 
is brighter. She sang a song. How easily some 
people get over everything!" 

"Get over what?" inquired Pierre, looking 
displeased. 

Julie smiled. 

"You know, Count, such knights as you are 
only found in Madame de Souza's novels." 

"What knights? What do you mean?" de- 
manded Pierre, blushing. 

"Oh, come, my dear count! C'est la fable de 
tout Moscou. Je vous admire, ma parole d'hon- 
neur!" * 

"Forfeit, forfeit!" cried the militia officer. 

"All right, one can't talk how tiresome!" 

"What is 'the talk of all Moscow'?" Pierre 
asked angrily, rising to his feet. 

"Come now, Count, you know!" 

"I don't know anything about it," said Pi- 
erre. 

"I know you were friendly with Natalie, and 
so ... but I was always more friendly with Vera 
that dear Wra." 

"No, madamel" Pierre continued in a tone 
of displeasure, "I have not taken on myself the 
role of Natalie Rost6va's knight at all, and 
have not been to their house for nearly a month. 
But I cannot understand the cruelty . . ." 

"Qwe s' excuse s' accuse" a said Julie, smiling 
and waving the lint triumphantly, and to 
have the last word she promptly changed the 
subject. "Do you know what I heard today? 
Poor Mary Bolk6nskaya arrived in Moscow 
yesterday. Do you know that she has lost her 
father?" 

"Really? Where is she? I should like very 

1 "It is the talk of all Moscow. My word, I ad- 
mire you!" 
* "Who excuses himself, accuses himself." 



428 

much to see her," said Pierre. 

"I spent the evening with her yesterday. She 
is going to their estate near Moscow either to- 
day or tomorrow morning, with her nephew." 

"Well, and how is she?" asked Pierre. 

"She is well, but sad. But do you know who 
rescued her? It is quite a romance. Nicholas 
Rost6v! She was surrounded, and they wanted 
to kill her and had wounded some of her peo- 
ple. He rushed in and saved her. . . ." 

"Another romance," said the militia officer. 
"Really, this general flight has been arranged 
to get all the old maids married off. Catiche is 
one and Princess Bolkonskaya another." 

"Do you know, I really believe she is un pe- 
tit pen amoureuse du jeune homme." 8 

"Forfeit, forfeit, forfeit!" 

"But how could one say that in Russian?" 

CHAPTER XVIII 

WHEN PIERRE returned home he was handed 
two of Rostopchin's broadsheets that had been 
brought that day. 

The first declared that the report that Count 
Rostopchin had forbidden people to leave 
Moscow was false; on the contrary he was glad 
that ladies and tradesmen's wives were leaving 
the city. "There will be less panic and less gos- 
sip," ran the broadsheet, "but I will stake my 
lifeon it that that scoundrel will not enter Mos- 
cow." These words showed Pierre clearly for 
the first time that the French would enter Mos- 
cow. The second broadsheet stated that our 
headquarters were at Vydzma, that Count Witt- 
genstein had defeated the French, but that as 
many of the inhabitants of Moscow wished to 
be armed, weapons were ready for them at the 
arsenal: sabers, pistols, and muskets which 
could be had at a low price. The tone of the 
proclamation was not as jocose as in the former 
Chigirin talks. Pierre pondered over these 
broadsheets. Evidently the terrible stormcloud 
he had desired with the whole strength of his 
soul but which yet aroused involuntary horror 
in him was drawing near. 

"Shall I join the army and enter the service, 
or wait?" he asked himself for the hundredth 
time. He took a pack of cards that lay on the 
table and began to lay them out for a game of 
patience. 

"If this patience comes out," he said to him- 
self after shuffling the cards, holding them in 
his hand, and lifting his head, "if it comes out, 
it means . . . what does it mean?" 

He had not decided what it should mean 

8 "A little bit in love with the young man." 



WAR AND PEACE 



when he heard the voice of the eldest princess 
at the door asking whether she might come in. 

"Then it will mean that I must go to the ar- 
my," said Pierre to himself. "Come in, come 
in!" he added to the princess. 

Only the eldest princess, the one with the 
stony face and long waist, was still living in 
Pierre's house. The two younger ones had both 
married. 

"Excuse my coming to you, cousin," she said 
in a reproachful and agitated voice. "You 
know some decision must be come to. What is 
going to happen? Everyone has left Moscow 
and the people are rioting. How is it that we 
are staying on?" 

"On the contrary, things seem satisfactory, 
ma cousine," said Pierre in the bantering tone 
he habitually adopted toward her, always feel- 
ing uncomfortable in the role of her benefac- 
tor. 

"Satisfactory, indeed! Very satisfactory! Bar- 
bara Ivanovna told me today how our troops 
are distinguishing themselves. It certainly does 
them credit! And the people too are quite mu- 
tinousthey no longer obey, even my maid has 
taken to being rude. At this rate they will soon 
begin beating us. One can't walk in the streets. 
But, above all, the French will be here any 
day now, so what are we waiting for? I ask just 
one thing of you, cousin," she went on, "ar- 
range for me to be taken to Petersburg. What- 
ever I may be, I can't live under Bonaparte's 
rule." 

"Oh, come, ma cousine! Where do you get 
your information from? On the contrary . . ." 

"I won't submit to your Napoleon! Others 
may if they please. ... If you don't want to do 
this . . ." 

"But I will, I'll give the order at once." 

The princess was apparently vexed at not 
having anyone to be angry with. Muttering to 
herself, she sat down on a chair. 

"But you have been misinformed," said 
Pierre. "Everything is quiet in the city and 
there is not the slightest danger. See! I've just 
been reading . . ." He showed her the broad- 
sheet. "Count Rostopchfn writes that he will 
stake his life on it that the enemy will not en- 
ter Moscow." 

"Oh, that count of yours!" said the princess 
malevolently. "He is a hypocrite, a rascal who 
has himself roused the people to riot. Didn't he 
write in those idiotic broadsheets that anyone, 
'whoever it might be, should be dragged to the 
lockup by his hair? (How silly!) 'And honor 
and glory to whoever captures him/ he says. 



BOOK TEN 



This is what his cajolery has brought us to! 
Barbara Ivdnovna told me the mob nearly 
killed her because she said something in 
French." 

"Oh, but it's so ... You take everything so to 
heart," said Pierre, and began laying out his 
cards for patience. 

Although that patience did come out, Pierre 
did not join the army, but remained in desert- 
ed Moscow ever in the same state of agitation, 
irresolution, and alarm, yet at the same time 
joyfully expecting something terrible. 

Next day toward evening the princess set off, 
and Pierre's head steward came to inform him 
that the money needed for the equipment of 
his regiment could not be found without selling 
one of the estates. In general the head steward 
made out to Pierre that his project of raising a 
regiment would ruin him. Pierre listened to 
him, scarcely able to repress a smile. 

"Well then, sell it," said he. "What's to be 
done? I can't draw back now!" 

The worse everything became, especially his 
own affairs, the better was Pierre pleased and 
the more evident was it that the catastrophe he 
expected was approaching. Hardly anyone he 
knew was left in town. Julie had gone, and so 
had Princess Mary. Of his intimate friends on- 
ly the Rost6vs remained, but he did not go to 
see them. 

To distract his thoughts he drove that day 
to the village of Voronts6vo to see the great 
balloon Leppich was constructing to destroy 
the foe, and a trial balloon that was to go up 
next day. The balloon was not yet ready, but 
Pierre learned that it was being constructed by 
the Emperor's desire. The Emperor had writ- 
ten to Count Rostopchin as follows: 

As soon as Leppich is ready, get together a crew 
of reliable and intelligent men for his car and send 
a courier to General Kutuzov to let him know. I 
have informed him of the matter. 

Please impress upon Leppich to be very careful 
where he descends for the first time, that he may 
not make a mistake and fall into the enemy's 
hands. It is essential for him to combine his move- 
ments with those of the commander in chief. 

On his way home from Voronts6vo, as he was 
passing the Bol6tnoe Place Pierre, seeing a 
large crowd round the L6bnoe Place, stopped 
and got out of his trap. A French cook accused 
of being a spy was being flogged. The flogging 
was only just over, and the executioner was re- 
leasing from the flogging bench a stout man 
with red whiskers, in blue stockings and a 
green jacket, who was moaning piteously. An- 



other criminal, thin and pale, stood near. Judg- 
ing by their faces they were both Frenchmen. 
With a frightened and suffering look resem- 
bling that on the thin Frenchman's face, Pierre 
pushed his way in through the crowd. 

"What is it? Who is it? What is it for?" he 
kept asking. 

But the attention of the crowd officials, 
burghers, shopkeepers, peasants, and women 
in cloaks and in pelisses was so eagerly cen- 
tered on what was passing in L6bnoe Place that 
no one answered him. The stout man rose, 
frowned, shrugged his shoulders, and evidently 
trying to appear firm began to pull on his jack- 
et without looking about him, but suddenly his 
lips trembled and he began to cry, in the way 
full-blooded grown-up men cry, though angry 
with himself for doing so. In the crowd peo- 
ple began talking loudly, to stifle their feelings 
of pity as it seemed to Pierre. 

"He's cook to some prince." 

"Eh, mounseer, Russian sauce seems to be 
sour to a Frenchman . . . sets his teeth on edgel" 
said a wrinkled clerk who was standing behind 
Pierre, when the Frenchman began to cry. 

The clerk glanced round, evidently hoping 
that his joke would be appreciated. Some peo- 
ple began to laugh, others continued to watch 
in dismay the executioner who was undressing 
the other man. 

Pierre choked, his face puckered, and he 
turned hastily away, went back to his trap mut- 
tering something to himself as he went, and 
took his seat. As they drove along he shuddered 
and exclaimed several times so audibly that the 
coachman asked him: 

"What is your pleasure?" 

"Where are you going?" shouted Pierre to 
the man, who was driving to Lubyanka Street. 

"To the Governor's, as you ordered," an- 
swered the coachman. 

"Fool! Idiot!" shouted Pierre, abusing his 
coachman a thing he rarely did. "Home, I told 
you! And drive faster, blockhead!" "I must get 
away this very day," he murmured to himself. 

At the sight of the tortured Frenchman and 
the crowd surrounding the L6bnoe Place, 
Pierre had so definitely made up his mind that 
he could no longer remain in Moscow and 
would leave for the army that very day that it 
seemed to him that either he had told the 
coachman this or that the man ought to have 
known it for himself. 

On reaching .home Pierre gave orders to 
Evstfey his head coachman who knew every- 
thing, could do anything, and was known to all 



430 

Moscow that he would leave that night for 
the army at Mozhdysk, and that his saddle 
horses should be sent there. This could not all 
be arranged that day, so on Evstdfey's represen- 
tation Pierre had to put off his departure till 
next day to allow time for the relay horses to 
be sent on in advance. 

On the twenty-fourth the weather cleared 
up after a spell of rain, and after dinner Pierre 
left Moscow. When changing horses that night 
in Perkhushkovo, he learned that there had 
been a great battle that evening. (This was the 
battle of Shevdrdino.) He was told that there 
in Perkhushkovo the earth trembled from the 
firing, but nobody could answer his questions 
as to who had won. At dawn next day Pierre 
was approaching Mozhdysk. 

Every house in Mozhdysk had soldiers quar- 
tered in it, and at the hostel where Pierre was 
met by his groom and coachman there was no 
room to be had. It was full of officers. 

Everywhere in Mozhaysk and beyond it, 
troops were stationed or on the march. Cos- 
sacks, foot and horse soldiers, wagons, caissons, 
and cannon were everywhere. Pierre pushed 
forward as fast as he could, and the further he 
left Moscow behind and the deeper he plunged 
into that sea of troops the more was he over- 
come by restless agitation and a new and joy- 
ful feeling he had not experienced before. It 
was a feeling akin to what he had felr at the 
Slob6da Palace during the Emperor's visita 
sense of the necessity of undertaking some- 
thing and sacrificing something. lie now ex- 
perienced a glad consciousness that everything 
that constitutes men's happiness the comforts 
of life, wealth, even life itself is rubbish it is 
pleasant to throw away, compared with some- 
thing . . . With what? Pierre could not say, and 
he did not try to determine for whom and for 
what he felt such particular delight in sacrific- 
ing everything. He was not occupied with the 
question of what to sacrifice for; the fact of 
sacrificing in itself afforded him a new and joy- 
ous sensation. 

CHAPTER XIX 

ON THE TWENTY-FOURTH OF AUGUST the battle 
of the Shevdrdino Redoubt was fought, on the 
twenty-fifth not a shot was fired by either side, 
and on the twenty-sixth the battle of Borodin6 
itself took place. 

Why and how were the battles of Shevdrdino 
and Borodin6 given and accepted? Why was 
the battle of Borodin6 fought? There was not 
the least sense in it for either the French or 



WAR AND PEACE 

the Russians. Its immediate result for the Rus- 
sians was, and wa^ bound to be, that we were 
brought nearer to the destruction of Moscow 
which we feared more than anything in the 
world; and for the French its immediate re- 
sult was that they were brought nearer to the 
destruction of their whole army which they 
feared more than anything in the world. What 
the result must be was quite obvious, and yet 
Napoleon offered and Kutuzov accepted that 
battle. 

If the commanders had been guided by rea- 
son, it would seem that it must have been ob- 
vious to Napoleon that by advancing thirteen 
hundred miles and giving battle with a prob- 
ability of losing a quarter of his army, he was 
advancing to certain destruction, and it must 
have been equally clear to Kutiizov that by ac- 
cepting battle and risking the loss of a quarter 
of his army he would certainly lose Moscow. 
For Kutuzov this was mathematically clear, as 
it is that if when playing draughts I have one 
man less and go on exchanging, I shall certainly 
lose, and therefore should not exchange. When 
my opponent has sixteen men and I have four- 
teen, I am only one eighth weaker than he, but 
when I have exchanged thirteen more men he 
will be three times as strong as I am. 

Before the battle of Borodin6 our strength 
in proportion to the French was about as five 
to six, but after that battle it was little more 
than one to two: previously we had a hundred 
thousand against a hundred and twenty thou- 
sand; afterwards little more than fifty thousand 
against a hundred thousand. Yet the shrewd and 
experienced Kutuzov accepted the battle, 
while Napoleon, who was said to be a com- 
mander of genius, gave it, losing a quarter of 
his army and lengthening his lines of commu- 
nication still more. If it is said that he expected 
to end the campaign by occupying Moscow as 
he had ended a previous campaign by occupy- 
ing Vienna, there is much evidence to the con- 
trary. Napoleon's historians themselves tell us 
that from Smolensk onwards he wished to stop, 
knew the danger of his extended position, 
and knew that the occupation of Moscow would 
not be the end of the campaign, for he had seen 
at Smolensk the state in which Russian towns 
were left to him, and had not received a single 
reply to his repeated announcements of his 
wish to negotiate. 

In giving and accepting battle at Borodin6, 
Kutuzov acted involuntarily and irrationally. 
But later on, to fit what had occurred, the his- 
torians provided cunningly devised evidence 



of the foresight and genius of the generals, who 
of all the blind tools of history were the most 
enslaved and involuntary. 

The ancients have left us model heroic po- 
ems in which the heroes furnish the whole in- 
terest of the story, and we are still unable to 
accustom ourselves to the fact that for our ep- 
och histories of that kind are meaningless. 

On the other question, how the battle of 
Borodin6 and the preceding battle of Shevdr- 
dino were fought, there also exists a definite 
and well-known, but quite false, conception. 
All the historians describe the affair as follows: 

The Russian army, they say, in its retreat 
from Smolensk sought out for itself the best 
position for a general engagement and found 
such a position at Borodind. 

The Russians, they say, fortified this posi- 
tion in advance on the left of the highroad 
(from Moscow to Smolensk) and almost at a 
right angle to it, from Borodind to Utitsa, at 
the very place where the battle was fought. 

In front of this position, they say, a fortified 
outpost was set up on the Shevdrdino mound 
to observe the enemy. On the twenty-fourth, 
we are told, Napoleon attacked this advanced 
post and took it, and, on the twenty-sixth, at- 
tacked the whole Russian army, which was in 
position on the field of Borodino. 

So the histories say, and it is all quite wrong, 
as anyone who cares to look into the matter 
can easily convince himself. 

The Russians did not seek out the best po- 
sition but, on the contrary, during the retreat 
passed many positions better than Borodin6. 
They did not stop at any one of these positions 
because Kutuzov did not wish to occupy a po- 
sition he had not himself chosen, because the 
popular demand for a battle had not yet ex- 
pressed itself strongly enough, and because 
Milorddovich had not yet arrived with the mi- 
litia, and for many other reasons. The fact is 
that other positions they had passed were 
stronger, and that the position at Borodin6 
(the one where the battle was fought), far from 
being strong, was no more a position than any 
other spot one might find in the Russian Em- 
pire by sticking a pin into the map at hazard. 

Not only did the Russians not fortify the po- 
sition on the field of Borodin6 to the left of, 
and at a right angle to, the highroad (that is, 
the position on which the battle took place), 
but never till the twenty-fifth of August, 1812, 
did they think that a battle might be fought 
there. This was shown first by the fact that 
there were no entrenchments there by the 



BOOK TEN 431 

twenty-fifth, and that those begun on the 



twenty-fifth and twenty-sixth were not complet- 
ed, and secondly, by the position of the Shevar- 
dino Redoubt. That redoubt was quite sense- 
less in front of the position where the battle 
was accepted. Why was it more strongly forti- 
fied than any other post? And why were all ef- 
forts exhausted and six thousand men sacri- 
ficed to defend it till late at night on the 
twenty-fourth? A Cossack patrol would have 
sufficed to observe the enemy. Thirdly, as proof 
that the position on which the battle was 
fought had not been foreseen and that the 
Shevdrdino Redoubt was not an advanced post 
of that position, we have the fact that up to the 
twenty-fifth, Barclay de Tolly and Bagrati6n 
were convinced that the Shevdrdino Redoubt 
was the left flank of the position, and that Ku- 
tuzov himself in his report, written in hot haste 
after the battle, speaks of the Shevdrdino Re- 
doubt as the left flank of the position. It was 
much later, when reports on the battle of Bor- 
odin6 were written at leisure, that the incorrect 
and extraordinary statement was invented 
(probably to justify the mistakes of a com- 
mander in chief who had to be represented as 
infallible) that the Shevdrdino Redoubt was an 
advanced post whereas in reality it was sim- 
ply a fortified point on the left flank and that 
the battle of Borodino was fought by us on an 
entrenched position previously selected, where- 
as it was fought on a quite unexpected spot 
which was almost unentrenched. 

The case was evidently this: a position was 
selected along the river Kolochd which crosses 
the highroad not at a right angle but at an 
acute angle so that the left flank was at She- 
vdrdino, the right flank near the village of N6- 
voe, and the center at Boroclin6 at the conflu- 
ence of the rivers Kolochd and Voyna. 

To anyone who looks at the field of Boro- 
dino without thinking of how the battle was 
actually fought, this position, protected by the 
river Kolochd, presents itself as obvious for an 
army whose object was to prevent an enemy 
from advancing along the Smolensk road to 
Moscow. 

Napoleon, riding to Value"vo on the twenty- 
fourth, did not see (as the history books say he 
did) the position of the Russians from Utftsa 
to Borodin6 (he could not have seen that po- 
sition because it did not exist), nor did he see 
an advanced post of the Russian army, but 
while pursuing the Russian rearguard he came 
upon the left flank of the Russian position at 
the Shevdrdino Redoubt and unexpectedly 



432 



WAR AND PEACE 



for the Russians moved his army across the Ko- 
lochd. And the Russians, not having time to 
begin a general engagement, withdrew their 
left wing from the position they had intended 
to occupy and took up a new position which 
had not been foreseen andwas not fortified. By 
crossing to the other side of the Kolochd to the 
left of the highroad, Napoleon shifted the 
whole forthcoming battle from right to left 
(looking from the Russian side) and trans- 
ferred it to the plain between Utitsa, Seme- 
novsk, and Borodino a plain no more advan- 
tageous as a position than any other plain in 
Russia and there the whole battle of the 
twenty-sixth of August took place. [See the 
rough outline of the plan of the intended bat- 
tle and of the battle that actually took place.] 

Had Napoleon not ridden out on the eve- 
ning of the twenty-fourth to the Kolochd, and 
had he not then ordered an immediate attack 
on the redoubt but had begun the attack next 
morning, no one would have doubted that the 
Shevdrdino Redoubt was the left flank of our 
position, and the battlewould have taken place 
where we expected it. In that case we should 
probably have defended the Shevdrdino Re- 
doubtour left flank still more obstinately. 
We should have attacked Napoleon in the 
center or on the right, and the engagement 
would have taken place on the twenty- filth, in 
the position we intended and had fortified. But 
as the attack on our left flank took place in the 
evening after the retreat of our rearguard (that 
is, immediately after the fight at Gridneva), 
and as the Russian commanders did not wish, 
or were not in time, to begin a general engage- 
ment then on theeveningof the twenty-fourth, 
the first and chief action of the battle of Boro- 
dino was already lost on the twenty-fourth, 
and obviously led to the loss of the one fought 
on the twenty-sixth. 

After the loss of the Shevdrdino Redoubt, we 
found ourselves on the morning of the twenty- 
fifth without a position for our left flank, and 
were forced to bend it back and hastily en- 
trench it where it chanced to be. 

Notonlywas the Russian army on the twenty- 
sixth defended by weak, unfinished entrench- 
ments, but the disadvantage of that position 
was increased by the fact that the Russian com- 
mandersnot having fully realized what had 
happened, namely the loss of our position on 
the left flank and the shifting of the whole field 
of the forthcoming battle from right to left- 
maintained their extended position from the 
village of N6voe to Utftsa, and consequently 



had to move their forces from right to left dur- 
ing the battle. So it happened that throughout 
the whole battle the Russians opposed the en- 
tire French army launched against our left 
flank with but half as many men. (Poniatow- 
ski's action against Utftsa, and Uvdrov's on the 
right flank against the French, were actions 
distinct from the main course of the battle.) 
So the battle of Borodin6 did not take place at 
all as (in an effort to conceal our commanders' 
mistakes even at the cost of diminishing the 
glory due to the Russian army and people) it 
has been described. The battle of BorodimS 
was not fought on a chosen and entrenched 
position with forces only slightly weaker than 
those of the enemy, but, as a result of the 
loss of the Shevdrdino Redoubt, the Russians 
fought the battle of Borodin6 on an open and 
almost unentrenched position, with forces on- 
ly half as numerous as the French; that is to 
say, under conditions in which it was not mere- 
ly unthinkable to fight for ten hours and se- 
cure an indecisive result, but unthinkable to 
keep an army even from complete disintegra- 
tion and flight. 

CHAPTER XX 

ON THE MORNING of the twenty-fifth Pierre was 
leaving Mozhdysk. At the descent of the high 
steep hill, down which a winding road led out 
of the town past the cathedral on the right, 
where a service was being held and the bells 
were ringing, Pierre got out of his vehicle and 
proceeded on foot. Behind him a cavalry regi- 
ment was coming down the hill preceded by its 
singers. Coming up toward him was a train of 
carts carrying men who had been wounded in 
the engagement the day before. The peasant 
drivers, shouting and lashing their horses, kept 
crossing from side to side. The carts, in each of 
which three or four wounded soldiers were ly- 
ing or sitting, jolted over the stones that had 
been thrown on the steep incline to make it 
something like a road. The wounded, band- 
aged with rags, with pale cheeks, compressed 
lips, and knitted brows, held on to the sides of 
the carts as they were jolted against one anoth- 
er. Almost all of them stared with naive, child- 
like curiosity at Pierre's white hat and green 
swallow-tail coat. 

Pierre's coachman shouted angrily at the 
convoy of wounded to keep to one side of the 
road. The cavalry regiment, as it descended the 
hill with its singers, surrounded Pierre's car- 
riage and blocked the road. Pierre stopped, 
being pressed against the side of the cutting in 



BOOK TEN 



433 



which the road ran. The sunshine from behind 
the hill did not penetrate into the cutting and 
there it was cold and damp, but above Pierre's 
head was the bright August sunshine and the 
bells sounded merrily. One of the carts with 
wounded stopped by the side of the road close 
to Pierre. The driver in his bast shoes ran pant- 
ing up to it, placed a stone under one of its 
tireless hind wheels, and began arranging the 
breech-band on his little horse. 

One of the wounded, an old soldier with a 
bandaged arm who was following the cart on 
foot, caught hold of it with his sound hand and 
turned to look at Pierre. 

"I say, fellow countryman I Will they set us 
down here or take us on to Moscow?" h asked. 

Pierre was so deep in thought that he did not 
hear the question. He was looking now at the 
cavalry regiment that had met the convoy of 
wounded, now at the cart by which he was 
standing, in which two wounded men were 
sitting and one was lying. One of those sitting 
up in the cart had probably been wounded in 
the cheek. His whole head was wrapped in 
rags and one check was swollen to the size of a 
baby's head. His nose and mouth were twisted 
to one side. This soldier was looking at the 
cathedral and crossing himself. Another, a 
young lad, a fair-haired recruit as white as 
though there was no blood in his thin face, 
looked at Pierre kindly, with a fixed smile. 
The third lay prone so that his face was not 
visible. The cavalry singers were passing close 
by: 

Ah lost, quite lost . . . is my head so keen, 
Living in a foreign land . . . 

they sang their soldiers' dance song. 

As if responding to them but with a different 
sort of merriment, the metallic sound of the 
bells reverberated high above and the hot rays 
of the sun bathed the top of the opposite slope 
with yet another sort of merriment. But be- 
neath the slope, by the cart with the wounded 
near the panting little nag where Pierre stood, 
it was damp, somber, and sad. 

The soldier with the swollen cheek looked 
angrily at the cavalry singers. 

"Oh, the coxcombs 1" he muttered reproach- 
fully. 

"It's not the soldiers only, but I've seen peas- 
ants today, too. . . . The peasants even they 
have to go," said the soldier behind the cart, 
addressing Pierre with a sad smile. "No dis- 
tinctions made nowadays. . . . They want the 
whole nation to fall on them in a word, it's 
Moscow! They want to make an end of it." 



In spite of the obscurity of the soldier's 
words Pierre understood what he wanted to say 
and nodded approval. 

The road was clear again; Pierre descended 
the hill and drove on. 

He kept looking to either side of the road 
for familiar faces, but only saw everywhere the 
unfamiliar faces of various military men of 
different branches of the service, who all 
looked with astonishment at his white hat and 
green tail coat. 

Having gone nearly three miles he at last 
met an acquaintance and eagerly addressed 
him. This was one of the head army doctors. 
He was driving toward Pierre in a covered gig, 
sitting beside a young surgeon, and on recog- 
nizing Pierre he told the Cossack who occupied 
the driver's seat to pull up. 

"Count! Your excellency, how come you to 
be here?" asked the doctor. 

"Well, you know, I wanted to see . . ." 

"Yes, yes, there will be something to see " 

Pierre got out and talked to the doctor, ex- 
plaining his intention of taking part in a bat- 
tle. 

The doctor advised him to apply direct to 
Kutiizov. 

"Why should you be God knows where out 
of sight, during the battle?" he said, exchang- 
ing glances with his young companion. "Any- 
how his Serene Highness knows you and will 
receive you graciously. That's what you must 
do." 

The doctor seemed tired and in a hurry. 

"You think so? ... Ah, I also wanted to ask 
you where our position is exactly?" said Pierre. 

"The position?" repeated the doctor. "Well, 
that's not my line. Drive past Tatdrinova, a 
lot of digging is going on there. Go up the hill- 
ock and you'll see." 

"Can one see from there? ... If you would 

But the doctor interrupted him and moved 
toward his gig. 

"I would go with you but on my honor I'm 
up to here" and he pointed to his throat. "I'm 
galloping to the commander of the corps. How 
do matters stand? . . . You know, Count, there'll 
be a battle tomorrow. Out of an army of a hun- 
dred thousand we must expect at least twenty 
thousand wounded, and we haven't stretchers, 
or bunks, or dressers, or doctors enough for six 
thousand. We have ten thousand carts, but we 
need other things as well we must manage as 
best we can!" 

The strange thought that of the thousands 



434 



WAR AND PEACE 



of men, young and old, who had stared with 
merry surprise at his hat (perhaps the very 
men he had noticed), twenty thousand were 
inevitably doomed to wounds and death amazed 
Pierre. 

"They may die tomorrow; why are they 
thinking of anything but death?" And by some 
latent sequence of thought the descent of the 
Mozhdysk hill, the carts with the wounded, the 
ringing bells, the slanting rays of the sun, and 
the songs of the cavalrymen vividly recurred to 
his mind. 

"The cavalry ride to battle and meet the 
wounded and do not for a moment think of 
what awaits them, but pass by, winking at the 
wounded. Yet from among these men twenty 
thousand are doomed to die, and they wonder 
at my hat! Strange!" thought Pierre, continu- 
ing his way to Tatarinova. 

In front of a landowner's house to the left of 
the road stood carriages, wagons, and crowds 
of orderlies and sentinels. The commander in 
chief was putting up there, but just when 
Pierre arrived he was not in and hardly any of 
the staff were therethey had gone to the 
church service. Pierre drove on toward G6rki. 

When he had ascended the hill and reached 
the little village street, he saw for the first time 
peasant militiamen in their white shirts and 
with crosses on their caps, who, talking and 
laughing loudly, animated and perspiring, 
were at work on a huge knoll overgrown with 
grass to the right of the road. 

Some of them were digging, others were 
wheeling barrowloads of earth along planks, 
while others stood about doing nothing. 

Two officers were standing on the knoll, di- 
recting the men. On seeing these peasants, who 
were evidently still amused by the novelty of 
their position as soldiers, Pierre once more 
thought of the wounded men at Mozhdysk and 
understood what the soldier had meant when 
he said: "They want the whole nation to fall 
on them." The sight of these bearded peasants 
at work on the battlefield, with their queer, 
clumsy boots and perspiring necks, and their 
shirts opening from the left toward the middle, 
unfastened, exposing their sunburned collar- 
bones, impressed Pierre more strongly with the 
solemnity and importance of the moment than 
anything he had yet seen or heard. 



CHAPTER XXI 

PIERRE STEPPED OUT of his carriage and, pass- 
ing the toiling militiamen, ascended the 
knoll from which, according to the doctor, 



the battlefield could be seen. 

It was about eleven o'clock. The sun shone 
somewhat to the left and behind him and 
brightly lit up the enormous panorama which, 
rising like an amphitheater, extended before 
him in the clear rarefied atmosphere. 

From above on the left, bisecting that am- 
phitheater, wound the Smolensk highroad, 
passing through a village with a white church 
some five hundred paces in front of the knoll 
and below it. This was Borodin6. Below the 
village the road crossed the river by a bridge 
and, winding down and up, rose higher and 
higher to the village of Valiievo visible about 
four miles away, where Napoleon was then sta- 
tioned. Beyond Valiievo the road disappeared 
into a yellowing forest on the horizon. Far in 
the distance in that birch and fir forest to the 
right of the road, the cross and belfry of the 
Kolochd Monastery gleamed in the sun. Here 
and there over the whole of that blue expanse, 
to right and left of the forest and the road, 
smoking campfires could be seen and indefinite 
masses of troops ours and the enemy's. The 
ground to the right along the course of the 
Kolochd and Moskvd rivers was broken and 
hilly. Between the hollows the villages of Bez- 
ziibova and Zakhdrino showed in the distance. 
On the left the ground was more level; there 
were fields of grain, and the smoking ruins of 
Semenovsk, which had been burned down, 
could be seen. 

All that Pierre saw was so indefinite that 
neither the left nor the right side of the field 
fully satisfied his expectations. Nowhere could 
he see the battlefield he had expected to find, 
but only fields, meadows, troops, woods, the 
smoke of campfires, villages, mounds, and 
streams; and try as he would he could descry 
no military "position" in this place which 
teemed with life, nor could he even distinguish 
our troops from the enemy's. 

"I must ask someone who knows," bethought, 
and addressed an officer who was looking with 
curiosity at his huge unmilitary figure. 

"May I ask you," said Pierre, "what village 
that is in front?" 

"Biirdino, isn't it?" said the officer, turning 
to his companion. 

"Borodin6," the other corrected him. 

The officer, evidently glad of an opportu- 
nity for a talk, moved up to Pierre. 

"Are those our men there?" Pierre inquired. 

"Yes, and there, further on, are the French," 
said the officer. "There they are, there . . . you 
can see them." 



BOOK TEN 



435 



"Where? Where?" asked Pierre. 

"One can see them with the naked eye. . . . 
Why, therel" 

The officer pointed with his hand to the 
smoke visible on the left beyond the river, and 
the same stern and serious expression that 
Pierre had noticed on many of the faces he had 
met came into his face. 

"Ah, so those are the French! And over there? 
. . ." Pierre pointed to a knoll on the left, near 
which some troops could be seen. 

"Those are ours." 

"Ah, ours I And there? . . ." Pierre pointed to 
another knoll in the distance with a big tree on 
it, near a village that lay in a hollow where also 
some campfires were smoking and something 
black was visible. 

"That's his again," said the officer. (It was 
the Shevdrdino Redoubt.) "It was ours yester- 
day, but now it is his" 

"Then how about our position?" 

"Our position?" replied the officer with a 
smile of satisfaction. "I can tell you quite clear- 
ly, because I constructed nearly all our en- 
trenchments. There, you see? There's our cen- 
ter, at Borodin6, just there," and he pointed to 
the village in front of them with the white 
church. "That's where one crosses the Kolocha. 
You see down there where the rows of hay are 
lying in the hollow, there's the bridge. That's 
our center. Our right flank is over there" he 
pointed sharply to the right, far away in the 
broken ground "That's where the Moskva 
River is, and we have thrown up three redoubts 
there, very strong ones. The left flank . . ." 
here the officer paused. "Well, you see, that's 
difficult to explain. . . . Yesterday our left flank 
was there at Shevdrdino, you see, where the 
oak is, but now we have withdrawn our left 
wing now it is over there, do you see that vil- 
lage and the smoke? That's Semenovsk, yes, 
there," he pointed to Ravski's knoll. "But the 
battle will hardly be there. His having moved 
his troops there is only a ruse; he will probably 
pass round to the right of the Moskva. But 
wherever it may be, many a man will be miss- 
ing tomorrow 1" he remarked. 

An elderly sergeant who had approached the 
officer while he was giving these explanations 
had waited in silence for him to finish speak- 
ing, but at this point, evidently not liking the 
officer's remark, interrupted him. 

"Gabions must be sent for," said he stern- 

iy- 

The officer appeared abashed, as though he 
understood that one might think of how many 



men would be missing tomorrow but ought not 
to speak of it. 

"Well, send number three company again," 
the officer replied hurriedly. 

"And you, are you one of the doctors?" 

"No, I've come on my own," answered Pierre, 
and he went down the hill again, passing the 
militiamen. 

"Oh, those damned fellows!" muttered the 
officer who followed him, holding his nose as 
he ran past the men at work. 

"There they are . . . bringing her, coming . . . 
There they are . . . They'll be here in a minute 
. . ." voices were suddenly heard saying; and 
officers, soldiers, and militiamen began run- 
ning forward along the road. 

A church procession was coming up the hill 
from Borodim'). First along the dusty road came 
the infantry in ranks, bareheaded and with 
arms reversed. From behind them came the 
sound of church singing. 

Soldiers and militiamen ran bareheaded past 
Pierre toward the procession. 

"They are bringing her, our Protectress! . . . 
The Iberian Mother of God!" someone cried. 

"The Smolensk Mother of God," another 
corrected him. 

The militiamen, both those who had been 
in the village and those who had been at work 
on the battery, threw down their spades and 
ran to meet the church procession. Following 
the battalion that marched along the dusty 
road came priests in their vestments one little 
old man in a hood with attendants and singers. 
Behind them soldiers and officers bore a large, 
dark-faced icon with an embossed metal cover. 
This was the icon that had been brought from 
Smolensk and had since accompanied the army. 
Behind, before, and on both sides, crowds of 
militiamen with bared heads walked, ran, and 
bowed to the ground. 

At the summit of the hill they stopped with 
the icon; the men who had been holding it up 
by the linen bands attached to it were relieved 
by others, the chanters relit their censers, and 
service began. The hot rays of the sun beat 
down vertically and a fresh soft wind played 
with the hair of the bared heads and with the 
ribbons decorating the icon. The singing did 
not sound loud under the open sky. An im- 
mense crowd of bareheaded officers, soldiers, 
and militiamen surrounded the icon. Behind 
the priest and a chanter stood the notabilities 
on a spot reserved for them. A bald general with 
a St. George's Cross on his neck stood just be- 
hind the priest's back, and without crossing 



436 



WAR AND PEACE 



himself (he was evidently a German) patiently 
awaited the end of the service, which he con- 
sidered it necessary to hear to the end, prob- 
ably to arouse the patriotism of the Russian 
people. Another general stood in a martial pose, 
crossing himself by shaking his hand in front 
of his chest while looking about him. Standing 
among the crowd of peasants, Pierre recognized 
several acquaintances among these notables, 
but did not look at them his whole attention 
was absorbed in watching the serious expression 
on the faces of the crowd of soldiers and militia- 
men who were all gazing eagerly at the icon. 
As soon as the tired chanters, who were sing- 
ing the service for the twentieth time that day, 
began lazily and mechanically to sing: "Save 
from calamity Thy servants, O Motherof God," 
and the priest and deacon chimed in: "For to 
Thee under God we all flee as to an inviolable 
bulwark and protection," there again kindled 
in all those faces the same expression of con- 
sciousness of the solemnity of the impending 
moment that Pierre had seen on the faces at 
the foot of the hill at MozMysk and momen- 
tarily on many and many faces he had met that 
morning; and heads were bowed more fre- 
quently and hair tossed back, and sighs and the 
sound men made as they crossed themselves 
were heard. 

The crowd round the icon suddenly parted 
and pressed against Pierre. Someone, a very 
important personage judging by the haste with 
which way was made for him, was approaching 
the icon. 

It was Kutuzov, who had been riding round 
the position and on his way back to Tatdrino- 
va had stopped where the service was being 
held. Pierre recognized him at once by his pe- 
culiar figure, which distinguished him from ev- 
erybody else. 

With a longovercoat on his exceedingly stout, 
round-shouldered body, with uncovered white 
head and puffy face showing the white ball of 
the eye he had lost, Kutuzov walked with 
plunging, swaying gait into the crowd and 
stopped behind the priest. He crossed himself 
with an accustomed movement, bent till he 
touched the ground with his hand, and bowed 
his white head with a deep sigh. Behind Kutu- 
zov was Bennigsen and the suite. Despite the 
presence of the commander in chief, who at- 
tracted the attention of all the superior officers, 
the militiamen and soldiers continued their 
prayers without looking at him. 

When the service was over, Kutuzov stepped 
up to the icon, sank heavily to his knees, bowed 



to the ground, and for a long time tried vainly 
to rise, but could not do so on account of his 
weakness and weight. His white head twitched 
with the effort. At last he rose, kissed the icon 
as a child does with naively pouting lips, and 
again bowed till he touched the ground with 
his hand. The other generals followed his ex- 
ample, then the officers, and after them with 
excited faces, pressing on one another, crowd- 
ing, panting, and pushing, scrambled the sol- 
diers and militiamen. 

CHAPTER XXII 

STAGGERING amid the crush, Pierre looked about 
him. 

"Count Peter Kirilovich! How did you get 
here?" said a voice. 

Pierre looked round. Boris Drubetsk6y, 
brushing his knees with his hand (he had 
probably soiled them when he, too, had knelt 
before the icon), came up to him smiling. 
Boris was elegantly dressed, with a slightly 
martial touch appropriate to a campaign. He 
wore a long coat and like Kutuzov had a whip 
slung across his shoulder. 

Meanwhile Kutuzov had reached the village 
and seated himself in the shade of the nearest 
house, on a bench which one Cossack had run 
to fetch and another had hastily covered with a 
rug. An immense and brilliant suite surround- 
ed him. 

The icon was carried further, accompanied 
by the throng. Pierre stopped some thirty paces 
from Kutuzov, talking to Boris. 

He explained his wish to be present at the 
battle and to see the position. 

"This is what you must do," said Boris. "I 
will do the honors of the camp to you. You will 
see everything best from where Count Ben- 
nigsen will be. I am in attendance on him, you 
know; I'll mention it to him. But if you want 
to ride round the position, come along with us. 
We are just going to the left flank. Then when 
we get back, do spend the night with me and 
we'll arrange a game of cards. Of course you 
know Dmitri Serge'evich? Those are his quar- 
ters," and he pointed to the third house in the 
village of G6rki. 

"But I should like to see the right flank. 
They say it's very strong," said Pierre. "I should 
like to start from the Moskva River and ride 
round the whole position." 

"Well, you can do that later, but the chief 
thing is the left flank." 

"Yes, yes. But where is Prince Bolk6nski's 
regiment? Can you point it out to me?" 



BOOK TEN 



437 



"Prince Andrew's? We shall pass it and I'll 
take you to him." 

"What about the left flank?" asked Pierre. 

"To tell you the truth, between ourselves, 
God only knows what state our left flank is in," 
said Boris confidentially lowering his voice. 
"It is not at all what Count Bennigsen intend- 
ed. He meant to fortify that knoll quite differ- 
ently, but . . ." Boris shrugged his shoulders, 
"his Serene Highness would not have it, or 
someone persuaded him. You see . . ." but 
Boris did not finish, for at that moment Kaysa- 
rov, Kutuzov's adjutant, came up to Pierre. 
"Ah, Kaysarov!" said Boris, addressing him 
with an unembarrassed smile, "I was just try- 
ing to explain our position to the count. It is 
amazing how his Serene Highness could so fore- 
see the intentions of the French!" 

"You mean the left flank?" asked Kaysarov. 

"Yes, exactly; the left flank is now extremely 
strong." 

Though Kutuzov had dismissed all unneces- 
sary men from the staff, Boris had contrived to 
remain at headquarters after the changes. He 
had established himself with Count Bennigsen, 
who, like all on whom Boris had been in at- 
tendance, considered young Prince Drubet- 
sk6y an invaluable man. 

In the higher command there were two sharp- 
ly defined parties: Kutuzov's party and that of 
Bennigsen, the chief of staff. Boris belonged to 
the latter and no one else, while showing ser- 
vile respect to Kutuzov, could so create an im- 
pression that the old fellow was not much good 
and that Bennigsen managed everything. Now 
the decisive moment of battle had come when 
Kutuzov would be destroyed and the power 
pass to Bennigsen, or even if Kutuzov won the 
battle it would be felt that everything was 
done by Bennigsen. In any case many great re- 
wards would have to be given for tomorrow's 
action, and new men would come to the front. 
So Boris was full of nervous vivacity all day. 

After Kaysdrov, others whom Pierre knew 
came up to him, and he had not time to reply 
to all the questions about Moscow that were 
showered upon him, or to listen to all that was 
told him. The faces all expressed animation 
and apprehension, but it seemed to Pierre that 
the cause of the excitement shown in some of 
these faces lay chiefly in questions of personal 
success; his mind, however, was occupied by 
the different expression he saw on other faces 
an expression that spoke not of personal 
matters but of the universal questions of life 
and death. Kutuzov noticed Pierre's figure 



and the group gathered round him. 
"Call him to me," said Kutuzov. 
An adjutant told Pierre of his Serene High- 
ness' wish, and Pierre went toward Kutuzov's 
bench. But a militiaman got there before him. 
It was D61okhov. 

"How did that fellow get here?" asked 
Pierre. 

"He's a creature that wriggles in anywhere!" 
was the answer. "He has been degraded, you 
know. Now he wants to bob up again. He's 
been proposing some scheme or other and has 
crawled into the enemy's picket line at night. 
. . . He's a brave fellow." 

Pierre took off his hat and bowed respectful- 
ly to Kutuzov. 

"I concluded that if I reported to your Se- 
rene Highness you might send me away or say 
that you knew what I was reporting, but then 
I shouldn't lose anything . . ." D61okhov was 
saying. 

"Yes, yes." 

"But if I were right, I should be rendering 
a service to my Fatherland for which I am ready 
to die." 

"Yes, yes." 

"And should your Serene Highness require 
a man who will not spare his skin, please think 
of me. . . . Perhaps I may prove useful to your 
Serene Highness." 

"Yes . . . Yes ..." Kutuzov repeated, his 
laughing eye narrowing more and more as he 
looked at Pierre. 

Just then Boris, with his courtierlike adroit- 
ness, stepped up to Pierre's side near Kutuzov 
and in a most natural manner, without raising 
his voice, said to Pierre, as though continuing 
an interrupted conversation: 

"The militia have put on clean white shirts 
to be ready to die. What heroism, Count!" 

Boris evidently said this to Pierre in order 
to be overheard by his Serene Highness. He 
knew Kutuzov's attention would be caught by 
those words, and so it was. 

"What are you saying about the militia?" he 
asked Boris. 

"Preparing for tomorrow, your Serene High- 
nessfor death they have put on clean shirts." 

"Ah ... a wonderful, a matchless people!" 
said Kutuzov; and he closed his eyes and swayed 
his head. "A matchless people!" he repeated 
with a sigh. 

"So you want to smell gunpowder?" he said 
to Pierre. "Yes, it's a pleasant smell. I have the 
honor to be one of your wife's adorers. Is she 
well? My quarters are at your service." 



438 



WAR AND PEACE 



And as often happens with old people, Ku- 
tuzov began looking about absent-mindedly 
as if forgetting all he wanted to say or do. 

Then, evidently remembering what he want- 
ed, he beckoned to Andrew Kaysdrov, his ad- 
jutant's brother. 

"Those verses . . . those verses of M drin's . . . 
how do they go, eh? Those he wrote about Ger- 
dkov: 'Lectures for the corps inditing.' . . . Re- 
cite them, recite them!" said he, evidently pre- 
paring to laugh. 1 

Kaysdrov recited. . . . Kutiizov smilingly nod- 
ded his head to the rhythm of the verses. 

When Pierre had left Kutiizov, D61okhov 
came up to him and took his hand. 

"I am very glad to meet you here, Count/' 
he said aloud, regardless of the presence of 
strangers and in a particularly resolute and 
solemn tone. "On the eve of a day when God 
alone knows who of us is fated to survive, I am 
glad of this opportunity to tell you that I re- 
gret the misunderstandings that occurred be- 
tween us and should wish you not to have any 
ill feeling for me. I beg you to forgive me." 

Pierre looked at Dolokhov with a smile, not 
knowing what to say to him. With tears in his 
eyes D61okhov embraced Pierre and kissed him. 

Boris said a few words to his general, and 
Count Bennigsen turned to Pierre and pro- 
posed that he should ride with him along the 
line. 

"It will interest you," said he. 

"Yes, very much," replied Pierre. 

Half an hour later Kutiizov left for Tatdri- 
nova, and Bennigsen and his suite, with Pierre 
among them, set out on their ride along the 
line. 

CHAPTER XXIII 

FROM G6RKI, Bennigsen descended the high- 
road to the bridge which, when they had 
looked at it from the hill, the officer had pointed 
out as being the center of our position and 
where rows of fragrant new-mown hay lay by 
the riverside. They rode across that bridge into 
the village of Borodin6 and thence turned to 
the left, passing an enormous number of troops 

1 S. N. Marin, an aide-de-camp to Alexander I, 
was well known for his parodies and amusing 
verses. G. V. Gerdkov was a captain in the army, a 
teacher in the military school, and the author of 
numerous patriotic works of very poor quality. 
M drin's verse about him was: 

You will always go on writing 
And to death your readers bore: 
Lectures for the corps inditing 
Be a captain evermore. 

-TR. 



and guns, and came to a high knoll where mi- 
litiamen were digging. This was the redoubt, 
as yet unnamed, which afterwards became 
known as the Ratfvski Redoubt, or the Knoll 
Battery, but Pierre paid no special attention 
to it. He did not know that it would become 
more memorable to him than any other spot 
on the plain of Borodin6. 

They then crossed the hollow to Semenovsk, 
where the soldiers were dragging away the last 
logs from the huts and barns. Then they rode 
downhill and uphill, across a rycfield trodden 
and beaten down as if by hail, following a 
track freshly made by the artillery over the fur- 
rows of the plowed land, and reached some 
fleches a which were still being dug. 

At the fleches Bennigsen stopped and began 
looking at the Shevdrdino Redoubt opposite, 
which had been ours the day before and where 
several horsemen could be descried. The offi- 
cers said that either Napoleon or Murat was 
there, and they all gazed eagerly at this little 
group of horsemen. Pierre also looked at them, 
trying to guess which of the scarcely discernible 
figures was Napoleon. At last those mounted 
men rode away from the mound and disap- 
peared. 

Bennigsen spoke to a general who ap- 
proached him, and began explaining the whole 
position of our troops. Pierre listened to him, 
straining each faculty to understand the es- 
sential points of the impending battle, but was 
mortified to feel that his mental capacity was 
inadequate for the task. He could make noth- 
ing of it. Bennigsen stopped speaking and, 
noticing that Pierre was listening, suddenly 
said to him: 

"I don't think this interests you?" 

"On the contrary it's very interesting!" re- 
plied Pierre not quite truthfully. 

From the fleches they rode still farther to the 
left, along a road winding through a thick, 
low-growing birch wood. In the middle of the 
wood a brown hare with white feet sprang out 
and, scared by the tramp of the many horses, 
grew so confused that it leaped along the road 
in front of them for some time, arousing gen- 
eral attention and laughter, and only when sev- 
eral voices shouted at it did it dart to one side 
and disappear in the thicket. After going 
through the wood for about a mile and a half 
they came out on a glade where troops of Tiich- 
kov's corps were stationed to defend the left 
flank. 

Here, at the extreme left flank, Bennigsen 

3 A kind of entrenchment.-L. TOLSTOY 



talked a great deal and with much heat, and, 
as it seemed to Pierre, gave orders of great mil- 
itary importance. In front of Tuchkov's troops 
was some high ground not occupied by troops. 
Bennigsen loudly criticized this mistake, say- 
ing that it was madness to leave a height which 
commanded the country around unoccupied 
and to place troops below it. Some of the gen- 
erals expressed the same opinion. One in par- 
ticular declared with martial heat that they 
were put there to be slaughtered. Bennigsen on 
his own authority ordered the troops to occu- 
py the high ground. This disposition on the 
left flank increased Pierre's doubt of his own 
capacity to understand military matters. Lis- 
tening to Bennigsen and the generals criticiz- 
ing the position of the troops behind the hill, 
he quite understood them and shared their 
opinion, but for that very reason he could not 
understand how the man who put them there 
behind the hill could have made so gross and 
palpable a blunder. 

Pierre did not know that these troops were 
not, as Bennigsen supposed, put there to de- 
fend the position, but were in a concealed po- 
sition as an ambush, that they should not be 
seen and might be able to strike an approaching 
enemy unexpectedly. Bennigsen did not know 
this and moved the troops forward according 
to his own ideas without mentioning the mat- 
ter to the commander in chief. 

CHAPTER XXIV 

ON THAT BRIGHT EVENING of AugUSt 25, PrinCC 

Andrew lay leaning on his elbow in a broken- 
down shed in the village of Knyazk6vo at the 
further end of his regiment's encampment. 
Through a gap in the broken wall he could 
see, beside the wooden fence, a row of thirty- 
year-old birches with their lower branches 
lopped off, a field on which shocks of oats were 
standing, and some bushes near which rose the 
smoke of campfires the soldiers' kitchens. 

Narrow and burdensome and useless to any- 
one as his life now seemed to him, Prince An- 
drew on the eve of battle felt agitated and ir- 
ritable as he had done seven years before at 
Austerlitz. 

He had received and given the orders for 
next day's battle and had nothing more to do. 
But his thoughts the simplest, clearest,- and 
therefore most terrible thoughts would give 
him no peace. He knew that tomorrow's battle 
would be the most terrible of all he had taken 
part in, and for the first time in his life the pos- 
sibility of death presented itself to him not 



BOOK TEN 439 

in relation to any worldly matter or with ref- 



erence to its effect on others, but simply in re- 
lation to himself, to his own soul vividly, 
plainly, terribly, and almost as a certainty. And 
from the height of this perception all that had 
previously tormented and preoccupied him 
suddenly became illumined by a cold white 
light without shadows, without perspective, and 
without distinction of outline. All life appeared 
to him like magic-lantern pictures at which he 
had long been gazing by artificial light through 
a glass. Now he suddenly saw those badly daubed 
pictures in clear daylight and without a glass. 
"Yes, yes! There they are, those false images 
that agitated, enraptured, and tormented me," 
said he to himself, passing in review the princi- 
pal pictures of the magic lantern of life and 
regarding them now in the cold white daylight 
of his clear perception of death. "There they 
are, those rudely painted figures that once 
seemed splendid and mysterious. Glory, the 
good of society, love of a woman, the Fatherland 
itself how important these pictures appeared 
to me, with what profound meaning they 
seemed to be filled! And it is all so simple, pale, 
and crude in the cold white light of this morn- 
ing which I feel is dawning for me." The three 
great sorrows ot his life held his attention in 
particular: his love for a woman, his father's 
death, and the French invasion which had over- 
run half Russia. "Love! . . . that little girl who 
seemed tome brimmingover with mystic forces! 
Yes, indeed, 1 loved her. I made romantic plans 
of love and happiness with her! Oh, what a 
boy I was!" he said aloud bitterly. "Ah me! I 
believed in some ideal love which was to 
keep her faithful to me for the whole year of 
my absence! Like the gentle dove in the fable 
she was to pine apart from me. . . . But it was 
much simpler really. ... It was all very simple 
and horrible. 

"When my father built Bald Hills bethought 
the place was his: his land, his air, his peasants. 
But Napoleon came and swept him aside, un- 
conscious of his existence, as lie might brush a 
chip from his path, and his Bald Hills and his 
whole life fell to pieces. Princess Mary says it 
is a trial sent from above. What is the trial for, 
when he is not here and will never return? He 
is not here! For whom then is the trial intend- 
ed? The Fatherland, the destruction of Mos- 
cow! And tomorrow I shall be killed, perhaps 
not even by a Frenchman but by one of our 
own men, by a soldier discharging a musket 
close to my ear as one of them did yesterday, 
and the French will come and take me by head 



440 



WAR AND PEACE 



and heels and fling me into a hole that I may 
not stink under their noses, and new condi- 
tions of life will arise, which will seem quite 
ordinary to others and about which I shall 
know nothing. I shall not exist. . . ." 

He looked at the row of birches shining in 
the sunshine, with their motionless green and 
yellow foliage and white bark. "To die ... to 
be killed tomorrow . . . That I should not 
exist . . . That all this should still be, but no 
me. . . ." 

And the birches with their light and shade, 
the curly clouds, the smoke of the campfires, 
and all that was around him changed and 
seemed terrible and menacing. A cold shiver 
ran down his spine. lie rose quickly, went out 
of the shed, and began to walk about. 

After he had returned, voices were heard 
outside the shed. "Who's that?" he cried. 

The red-nosed Captain Timokhin, formerly 
D61okhov's squadron commander, but now 
from lack of officers a battalion commander, 
shyly entered the shed followed by an adju- 
tant and the regimental paymaster. 

Prince Andrew rose hastily, listened to the 
business they had come about, gave them some 
further instructions, and was about to dismiss 
them when he heard a familiar, lisping voice 
behind the shed. 

"Devil take it!" said the voice of a man 
stumbling over something. 

Prince Andrew looked out of the shed and 
saw Pierre, who had tripped over a pole on the 
ground and had nearly fallen, coming his way. 
It was unpleasant to Prince Andrew to meet 
people of his own set in general, and Pierre 
especially, for he reminded him of all the pain- 
ful moments of his last visit to Moscow. 

"You? What a surprise!" said he. "What 
brings you here? This is unexpected!" 

As he said this his eyes and face expressed 
more than coldness they expressed hostility, 
which Pierre noticed at once. He had ap- 
proached the shed full of animation, but on 
seeing Prince Andrew's face he felt constrained 
and ill at ease. 

"I have come . . . simply . . . you know . . . 
come ... it interests me," said Pierre, who had 
so often that day senselessly repeated thatword 
"interesting." "I wish to see the battle." 

"Oh yes, and what do the Masonic brothers 
say about war? How would they stop it?" said 
Prince Andrew sarcastically. "Well, and how's 
Moscow? And my people? Have they reached 
Moscow at last?" he asked seriously. 

"Yes, they have. Julie Drubetskaya told me 



so. I went to see them, but missed them. They 
have gone to your estate near Moscow/' 

CHAPTER XXV 

THE OFFICERS were about to take leave, but 
Prince Andrew, apparently reluctant to be left 
alone with his friend, asked them to stay and 
have tea. Seats were brought in and so was the 
tea. The officers gazed with surprise at Pierre's 
huge stout figure and listened to his talk of 
Moscow and the position of our army, round 
which he had ridden. Prince Andrew remained 
silent, and his expression was so forbidding 
that Pierre addressed his remarks chiefly to Ti- 
m6khin, the good-natured battalion com- 
mander. 

"So you understand the whole position of 
our troops?" Prince Andrew interrupted him. 

"Yes that is, how do you mean?" said Pierre. 
"Not being a military man I can't say I have 
understood it fully, but I understand the gen- 
eral position." 

"Well, then, you know more than anyone 
else, be it who it may," said Prince Andrew. 

"Oh!" said Pierre, looking over his spectacles 
in perplexity at Prince Andrew. "Well, and 
what do you think of Kutiizov's appointment?" 
he asked. 

"I was very glad of his appointment, that's 
all I know," replied Prince Andrew. 

"And tell me your opinion of Barclay de 
Tolly. In Moscow they are saying heaven knows 
what about him. . . . What do you think of 
him?" 

"Ask them," replied Prince Andrew, indicat- 
ing the officers. 

Pierre looked at Timokhin with the conde- 
scendingly interrogative smile with which ev- 
erybody involuntarily addressed that officer. 

"We see light again, since his Serenity has 
been appointed, your excellency," said Timo- 
khin timidly, and continually turning to glance 
at his colonel. 

"Why so?" asked Pierre. 

"Well, to mention only firewood and fodder, 
let me inform you. Why, when we were retreat- 
ing from Sventsyani we dare not touch a stick 
or a wisp of hay or anything. You see, we were 
going away, so he would get it all; wasn't it so, 
your excellency?" and again Tim6khin turned 
to the prince. "But we daren't. In our regi- 
ment two officers were court-martialed for that 
kind of thing. But when his Serenity took com- 
mand every thing became straightforward. Now 
we see light. . . ." 

"Then why was it forbidden?" 



BOOK TEN 



441 



Tim6khin looked about in confusion, not 
knowing what or how to answer such a ques- 
tion. Pierre put the same question to Prince 
Andrew. 

"Why, so as not to lay waste the country we 
were abandoning to the enemy," said Prince 
Andrewwith venomous irony. "It is very sound: 
one can't permit the land to be pillaged and ac- 
custom the troops to marauding. At Smolensk 
too he judged correctly that the French might 
outflank us, as they had larger forces. But he 
could not understand this," cried Prince An- 
drew in a shrill voice that seemed to escape 
him involuntarily: "he could not understand 
that there, for the first time, we were fighting 
for Russian soil, and that there was a spirit in 
the men such as I had never seen before, that 
we had held the French for two days, and that 
that success had increased ourstrength tenfold. 
He ordered us to retreat, and all our efforts 
and losses went for nothing. He had no 
thought of betraying us, he tried to do the best 
he could, he thought out everything, and that 
is why he is unsuitable. He is unsuitable now, 
just because he plans out everything very thor- 
oughly and accurately as every German has to. 
How can I explain? . . . Well, say your father 
has a German valet, and he is a splendid valet 
and satisfies your father's requirements better 
than you could, then it's all right to let him 
serve. But if your father is mortally sick you'll 
send the valet away and attend to your father 
with your own un practiced, awkward hands, 
and will soothe him better than a skilled man 
who is a stranger could. So it has been with 
Barclay. While Russia was well, a foreigner 
could serve her and be a splendid minister; but 
as soon as she is in danger she needs one of her 
own kin. But in your Club they have been mak- 
ing him out a traitor! They slander him as a 
traitor, and the only result will be that after- 
wards, ashamed of their false accusations, they 
will make him out a hero or a genius instead of 
a traitor, and that will be still more unjust. He 
is an honest and very punctilious German." 

"And they say he's a skillful commander," 
rejoined Pierre. 

"I don't understand what is meant by 'a skill- 
ful commander/ "replied Prince Andrew iron- 
ically. 

"A skillful commander?" replied Pierre. 
"Why, one who foresees all contingencies . . . 
and foresees the adversary's intentions." 

"But that's impossible," said Prince Andrew 
as if it were a matter settled long ago. 

Pierre looked at him in surprise. 



"And yet they say that war is like a game of 
chess?" he remarked. 

"Yes," replied Prince Andrew, "but with this 
little difference, that in chess you may think 
over each move as long as you please and are 
not limited for time, and with this difference 
too, that a knight is always stronger than a 
pawn, and two pawns are always stronger than 
one, while in war a battalion is sometimes 
stronger than a division and sometimes weaker 
than a company. The relative strength of 
bodies of troops can never be known to any- 
one. Believe me," he went on, "if things de- 
pended on arrangements made by the staff, I 
should be there making arrangements, but in- 
stead of that I have the honor to serve here in 
the regiment with these gentlemen, and I con- 
sider that on us tomorrow's battle will depend 
and not on those others. . . . Success never de- 
pends, and never will depend, on position, or 
equipment, or even on numbers, and least of 
all on position." 

"But on what then?" 

"On the feeling that is in me and in him," he 
pointed to Tim6khin, "and in each soldier." 

Prince Andrew glanced at Timokhin, who 
looked at his commander in alarm and bewil- 
derment. In contrast to his former reticent taci- 
turnity Prince Andrew now seemed excited. 
He could apparently not refrain from express- 
ing the thoughts that had suddenly occurred 
to him. 

"A battle is won by those who firmly resolve 
to win it! Why did we lose the battle at Auster- 
litz? The French losses were almost equal to 
ours, but very early we said to ourselves that we 
were losing the battle, and we did lose it. And 
we said so because we had nothing to fight for 
there, we wanted to get away from the battle- 
field as soon as we could. 'We've lost, so let us 
run,' and we ran. If we had not said that till 
the evening, heaven knows what might not 
have happened. But tomorrow we shan't say 
it! You talk about our position, the left flank 
weak and the right flank too extended," he 
went on. "That's all nonsense, there's nothing 
of the kind. But what awaits us tomorrow? A 
hundred million most diverse chances which 
will be decided on the instant by the fact that 
our men or theirs run or do not run, and that 
this man or that man is killed, but all that is 
being done at present is only play. The fact is 
that those men with whom you have ridden 
round the position not only do not help mat- 
ters, but hinder. They are only concerned with 
their own petty interests." 



44* 



WAR AND PEACE 



"At such a moment?" said Pierre reproach- 
fully. 

"At such a moment!" Prince Andrew re- 
peated. "To them it is only a moment afford- 
ing opportunities to undermine a rival and ob- 
tain an extra cross or ribbon. For me tomorrow 
means this: a Russian army of a hundred thou- 
sand and a French army of a hundred thousand 
have met to fight, and the thing is that these 
two hundred thousand men will fight and the 
side that fights more fiercely and spares itself 
least will win. And if you like I will tell you 
that whatever happens and whatever muddles 
those at the top may make, we shall win to- 
morrow's battle. Tomorrow, happen what may, 
we shall win!" 

"There now, your excellency! That's the 
truth, the real truth," said Tim6khin. "Who 
would spare himself now? The soldiers in my 
battalion, believe me, wouldn't drink their 
vodka! 'It's not the day for that!' they say." 

All were silent. The officers rose. Prince An- 
drew went out of the shed with them, giving 
final orders to the adjutant. After they had gone 
Pierre approached Prince Andrew and was 
about to start a conversation when they heard 
theclatter of three horses' hoof son the road not 
far from the shed, and looking in that direction 
Prince Andrew recognized Wolzogen and 
Clausewitz accompanied by a Cossack. They 
rode close by continuing to converse, and 
Prince Andrew involuntarily heard these 
words: 

"Der Krieg muss in Raum verlegt werden. 
Der Ansicht kann ich nicht genug Preis ge- 
ben" l said one of them. 

"Oh, ja" said the other, "der Zweck ist nur 
den Feind zu schwtichen, so kann man gewiss 
nicht den Verlust der Priv at-Personen in Ach- 
tung nehmen." * 

"Oh, no," agreed the other. 

"Extend widely!" said Prince Andrew with 
an angry snort, when they had ridden past. 
"In that 'extend' were my father, son, and sis- 
ter, at Bald Hills. That's all the same to him! 
That's what I was saying to youthose German 
gentlemen won't win the battle tomorrow but 
will only make all the mess they can, because 
they have nothing in their German heads but 
theories not worth an empty eggshell and 
haven't in their hearts the one thing needed to- 

1<4 The war must be extended widely. I cannot 
sufficiently commend that view." 

* "Oh, yes, the only aim is to weaken the enemy, 
so of course one cannot take into account the loss 
of private individuals." 



morrow that which Timokhin has. They have 
yielded up all Europe to him f and have now 
come to teach us. Fine teachers!" and again his 
voice grew shrill. 

"So you think we shall win tomorrow's bat- 
tle?" asked Pierre. 

"Yes, yes," answered Prince Andrew absent- 
ly. "One thing I would do if I had the power," 
he began again, "I would not take prisoners. 
Why take prisoners? It's chivalry! The French 
have destroyed my home and are on their way 
to destroy Moscow, they have outraged and are 
outraging me every moment. They are my ene- 
mies. In my opinion they are all criminals. And 
so thinks Timokhin and the whole army. They 
should be executed! Since they are my foes they 
cannot be my friends, whatever may have been 
said at Tilsit." 

"Yes, yes," muttered Pierre, looking with 
shining eyes at Prince Andrew. "I quite agree 
with you!" 

The question that had perturbed Pierre on 
the Mozhdysk hill and all that day now seemed 
to him quite clear and completely solved. He 
now understood the whole meaning and im- 
portance of this war and of the impending bat- 
tle. All he had seen that day, all the significant 
and stern expressions on the faces he had seen 
in passing, were lit up for him by a new light. 
He understood that latent heat (as they say 
in physics) of patriotism which was present in 
all these men he had seen, and this explained 
to him why they all prepared for death calmly, 
and as it were lightheartedly. 

"Not take prisoners," Prince Andrew con- 
tinued: "That by itself would quite change the 
whole war and make it less cruel. As it is we 
have played at war that's what's vile! We play 
at magnanimity and all that stuff. Such magna- 
nimity and sensibility are like the magnanimity 
and sensibility of a lady who faints when she 
sees a calf being killed: she is so kind-hearted 
that she can't look at blood, but enjoys eat- 
ing the calf served up with sauce. They talk to 
us of the rules of war, of chivalry, of flags of 
truce, of mercy to the unfortunate and so on. 
It's all rubbish! I saw chivalry and flags of truce 
in 1805; they humbugged us and we hum- 
bugged them. They plunder other people's 
houses, issue false paper money, and worst of all 
they kill my children and my father, and then 
talk of rules of war and magnanimity to foes! 
Take no prisoners, but kill and be killed! He 
who has come to this as I have through the 
same sufferings ..." 

Prince Andrew, who had thought it was all 



BOOK TEN 



443 



the same to him whether or not Moscow was 
taken as Smolensk had been, was suddenly 
checked in his speech by an unexpected cramp 
in his throat. He paced up and down a few 
times in silence, but his eyes glittered feverish- 
ly and his lips quivered as he began speaking. 

"If there was none of this magnanimity in 
war, we should go to war only when it was 
worth while going to certain death, as now. 
Then there would not be war because Paul 
Ivdnovich had offended Michael Ivnovich. 
And when there was a war, like this one, it 
would be warl And then the detennination of 
the troops would be quite different. Then all 
these Westphalians and Hessians whom Na- 
poleon is leading would not follow him into 
Russia, and we should not go to fight in Aus- 
tria and Prussia without knowing why. War 
is not courtesy but the most horrible thing in 
life; and we ought to understand that and not 
play at war. We ought to accept this terrible 
necessity sternly and seriously. It all lies in 
that: get rid of falsehood and let war be war 
and not a game. As it is now, war is the favor- 
ite pastime of the idle and frivolous. The mili- 
tary calling is the most highly honored. 

"But what is war? What is needed for suc- 
cess in warfare? What are the habits of the 
military? The aim of war is murder; the meth- 
ods of war are spying, treachery, and their en- 
couragement, the ruin of a country's inhabit- 
ants, robbing them or stealing to provision the 
army, and fraud and falsehood termed mili- 
tary craft. The habits of the military class are 
the absence of freedom, that is, discipline, idle- 
ness, ignorance, cruelty, debauchery, and 
drunkenness. And in spite of all this it is the 
highest class, respected by everyone. All the 
kings, except the Chinese, wear military uni- 
forms, and he who kills most people receives 
the highest rewards. 

"They meet, as we shall meet tomorrow, to 
murder one another; they kill and maim tens 
of thousands, and then have thanksgiving serv- 
ices for having killed so many people (they 
even exaggerate the number), and they an- 
nounce a victory, supposing that the more peo- 
ple they have killed the greater their achieve- 
ment. How does God above look at them and 
hear them?" exclaimed Prince Andrew in a 
shrill, piercing voice. "Ah, my friend, it has of 
late become hard for me to live. I see that I 
have begun to understand too much. And it 
doesn't do for man to taste of the tree of knowl- 
edge of good and evil. . . . Ah, well, it's not for 
longl" he added. 



"However, you're sleepy, and it's time for 
me to sleep. Go back to G6rkil" said Prince 
Andrew suddenly. 

"Oh, nol" Pierre replied, looking at Prince 
Andrew with frightened, compassionate eyes. 

"Go, gol Before a battle one must have one's 
sleep out," repeated Prince Andrew. 

He came quickly up to Pierre and embraced 
and kissed him. 

"Good-by, be offl" he shouted. "Whether 
we meet again or not . . ." and turning away 
hurriedly he entered the shed. 

It was already dark, and Pierre could not 
make out whether the expression of Prince 
Andrew's face was angry or tender. 

For some time he stood in silence consider- 
ing whether he should follow him or go away. 
"No, he does not want itl" Pierre concluded. 
"And I know that this is our last meeting!" He 
sighed deeply and rode back to G6rki. 

On re-entering the shed Prince Andrew lay 
down on a rug, but he could not sleep. 

He closed his eyes. One picture succeeded 
another in his imagination. On one of them he 
dwelt long and joyfully. He vividly recalled an 
evening in Petersburg. Natdsha with animated 
and excited face was telling him how she had 
gone to look for mushrooms the previous sum- 
mer and had lost her way in the big forest. She 
incoherently described the depths of the forest, 
her feelings, and a talk with a beekeeper she 
met, and constantly interrupted her story to 
say: "No, I can't! I'm not telling it right; no, 
you don't understand," though he encouraged 
her by saying that he did understand, and he 
really had understood all she wanted to say. 
But Natasha was not satisfied with her own 
words: she felt that they did not convey the 
passionately poetic feeling she had experi- 
enced that day and wished to convey. "He was 
such a delightful old man, and it was so dark 
in the forest . . . and he had such kind . . . No, 
I can't describe it," she had said, flushed and 
excited. Prince Andrew smiled now the same 
happy smile as then when he had looked into 
her eyes. "I understood her," he thought. "I 
not only understood her, but it was just that 
inner, spiritual force, that sincerity, that frank- 
ness of soulthat very soul of hers which 
seemed to be fettered by her body it was that 
soul I loved in her . . . loved so strongly and 
happily . . ." and suddenly he remembered how 
his love had ended. "He did not need anything 
of that kind. He neither saw nor understood 
anything of the sort. He only saw in her a 
pretty and fresh young girl, with whom he did 



444 



not deign to unite his fate. And I? . 
is still alive and gay!" 

Prince Andrew jumped upas if someone had 
burned him, and again began pacing up and 
down in front of the shed. 

CHAPTER XXVI 

ON AUGUST 25, the eve of the battle of Boro- 
din6, M. de Beausset, prefect of the French 
Emperor's palace, arrived at Napoleon's quar- 
ters at Valuevo with Colonel Fabvier, the form- 
er from Paris and the latter from Madrid. 

Donning his court uniform, M. de Beausset 
ordered a box he had brought for the Emperor 
to be carried before him and entered the first 
compartment of Napoleon's tent, where he be- 
gan opening the boxwhile conversingwith Na- 
poleon's aides-de-camp who surrounded him. 

Fabvier, not entering the tent, remained at 
the entrance talking to some generals of his 
acquaintance. 

The Emperor Napoleon had not yet left his 
bedroom and was finishing his toilet. Slightly 
snorting and grunting, he presented now his 
back and now his plump hairy chest to the 
brush with which his valet was rubbing him 
down. Another valet, with his finger over the 
mouth of a bottle, was sprinkling Eau de Co- 
logne on the Emperor's pampered body with 
an expression which seemed to say that he 
alone knew where and how much Eau de Co- 
logne should be sprinkled. Napoleon's short 
hair was wet and matted on the forehead, but 
his face, though puffy and yellow, expressed 
physical satisfaction. "Go on, harder, go onl" 
he muttered to the valet who was rubbing him, 
slightly twitching and grunting. An aide-de- 
camp, who had entered the bedroom to report 
to the Emperor the number of prisoners taken 
in yesterday's action, was standing by the door 
after delivering his message, awaiting permis- 
sion to withdraw. Napoleon, frowning, looked 
at him from under his brows. 

"No prisoners!" said he, repeating the aide- 
de-camp's words. "They are forcing us to exter- 
minate them. So much the worse for the Rus- 
sian army. ... Go on ... harder, harder!" he 
muttered, hunching his back and presenting 
his fat shoulders. 

"All right. Let Monsieur de Beausset enter, 
and Fabvier too/' he said, nodding to the aide- 
de-camp. 

"Yes, sire," and the aide-de-camp disappeared 
through the door of the tent. 

Two valets rapidly dressed His Majesty, and 
wearing the blue uniform of the Guards he 



WAR AND PEACE 

and he 



went with firm quick steps to the reception 
room. 

De Beausset's hands meanwhile were busily 
engaged arranging the present he had brought 
from the Empress, on two chairs directly in 
front of the entrance. But Napoleon had 
dressed and come out with such unexpected ra- 
pidity that he had not time to finish arranging 
the surprise. 

Napoleon noticed at once what they were 
about and guessed that they were not ready. 
He did not wish to deprive them of the pleas- 
ure of giving him a surprise, so he pretended 
not to see de Beausset and called Fabvier to 
him, listening silently and with a stern frown 
to what Fabvier told him of the heroism and 
devotion of his troops fighting at Salamanca, 
at the other end of Europe, with but one 
thought to be worthy of their Emperor and 
but one fear to fail to please him. The result 
of that battle had been deplorable. Napoleon 
made ironic remarks during Fabvier's account, 
as if he had not expected that matters could go 
otherwise in his absence. 

"I must make up for that in Moscow," said 
Napoleon. "I'll see you later," he added, and 
summoned de Beausset, who by that time had 
prepared the surprise, having placed something 
on the chairs and covered it with a cloth. 

De Beausset bowed low, with that courtly 
French bow which only the old retainers of 
the Bourbons knew how to make, and ap* 
preached him, presenting an envelope. 

Napoleon turned to him gaily and pulled his 
ear. 

"You have hurried here. I am very glad. Well, 
what is Paris saying?" he asked, suddenly 
changing his former stern expression fora most 
cordial tone. 

"Sire, all Paris regrets your absence," re- 
plied de Beausset as was proper. 

But though Napoleon knew that de Beaus- 
set had to say something of this kind, and 
though in his lucid moments he knew it was 
untrue, he was pleased to hear it from him. 
Again he honored him by touching his ear. 

"I am very sorry to have made you travel so 
far," said he. 

"Sire, I expected nothing less than to find 
you at the gates of Moscow," replied de Beaus- 
set. 

Napoleon smiled and, lifting his head absent- 
mindedly, glanced to the right. An aide-de-camp 
approached with gliding steps and offered him 
a gold snuffbox, which he took. 

"Yes, it has happened luckily for you," he 



BOOK TEN 



445 



said, raising the open snuffbox to his nose. 
"You are fond of travel, and in three days you 
will see Moscow. You surely did not expect to 
see that Asiatic capital. You will have a pleas- 
ant journey." 

De Beausset bowed gratefully at this regard 
for his taste for travel (of which he had not 
till then been aware). 

"Ha, what's this?" asked Napoleon, noticing 
that all the courtiers were looking at some- 
thing concealed under a cloth. 

With courtly adroitness de Beausset half 
turned and without turning his back to the 
Emperor retired two steps, twitching off the 
cloth at the same time, and said: 

"A present to Your Majesty from the Em- 
press." 

It was a portrait, painted in bright colors by 
Gerard, of the son iDorne to Napoleon by the 
daughter of the Emperor of Austria, the boy 
whom for some reason everyone called "The 
King of Rome." 

A very pretty curly-headed boy with a look 
of the Christ in the Sistine Madonna was de- 
picted playing at stick and ball. The ball rep- 
resented the terrestrial globe and the stick in 
his other hand a scepter. 

Though it was not clear what the artist meant 
to express by depicting the so-called King of 
Rome spiking the earth with a stick, the alle- 
gory apparently seemed to Napoleon, as it 
had done to all who had seen it in Paris, quite 
clear and very pleasing. 

"The King of Rome!" he said, pointing to 
the portrait with a graceful gesture. "Admi- 
rable!" 

With the natural capacity of an Italian for 
changing the expression of his face at will, he 
drew nearer to the portrait and assumed a 
look of pensive tenderness. He felt that what 
he now said and did would be historical, and 
it seemed to him that it would now be best for 
him whose grandeur enabled his son to play 
stick and ball with the terrestrial globe to 
show, in contrast to that grandeur, the sim- 
plest paternal tenderness. His eyes grew dim, 
he moved forward, glanced round at a chair 
(which seemed to place itself under him), and 
sat down on it before the portrait. At a single 
gesture from him everyone went out on tiptoe, 
leaving the great man to himself and his emo- 
tion. 

Having sat still for a while he touched him- 
self not knowing why the thick spot of paint 
representing the highest light in the portrait, 
rose, and recalled de Beausset and the officer 



on duty. He ordered the portrait to be carried 
outside his tent, that the Old Guard, stationed 
round it, might not be deprived of the pleas- 
ure of seeing the King of Rome, the son and 
heir of their adored monarch. 

And while lie was doing M. de Beausset the 
honor of breakfasting with him, they heard, as 
Napoleon had anticipated, the rapturous cries 
of the officers and men of the Old Guard who 
had run up to see the portrait. 

"Vive I'Empereur! Vive le roi de Rome! Vive 
I'Empereur!" came those ecstatic cries. 

After breakfast Napoleon in de Beausset's 
presence dictated his order of the day to the 
army. 

"Short and energetic!" he remarked when he 
had read over the proclamation which he had 
dictated straight off without corrections. It 
ran: 

Soldiers! This is the battle you have so longed 
for. Victory depends on you. It is essential for us; 
it will give us all we need: comfortable quarters 
and a speedy return to our country. Behave as you 
did at Austerlkz, Friedland, Vitebsk, and Srno- 
16nsk. Let our remotest posterity recall your 
achievements this day with pride. Let it be said of 
each of you: "He was in the great battle before 
Moscow 1" 

"Before Moscow!" repeated Napoleon, and 
inviting M. de Beausset, who was so fond of 
travel, to accompany him on his ride, he went 
out of the tent to where the horses stood sad- 
dled. 

"Your Majesty is too kind! "replied de Beaus- 
set to the invitation to accompany the Emper- 
or; he wanted to sleep, did not know how to 
ride and was afraid of doing so. 

But Napoleon nodded to the traveler, and 
de Beausset had to mount. When Napoleon 
came out of the tent theshouting of the Guards 
before his son's portrait grew still louder. Na- 
poleon frowned. 

"Take him away!" he said, pointing with a 
gracefully majestic gesture to the portrait. "It 
is too soon for him to see a field of battle." 

De Beausset closed his eyes, bowed his head, 
and sighed deeply, to indicate how profoundly 
he valued and comprehended the Emperor's 
words. 

CHAPTER XXVII 

ON THE TWENTY-FIFTH OF AUGUST, SO his histO- 

rians tell us, Napoleon spent the whole day on 
horseback inspecting the locality, considering 
plans submitted to him by his marshals, and 
personally giving commands to his generals. 



446 



WAR AND PEACE 



The original line of the Russian forces along 
the river KolochA had been dislocated by the 
capture of the Shevdrdino Redoubt on the 
twenty-fourth, and part of the linethe left 
flank had been drawn back. That part of the 
line was not entrenched and in front of it the 
ground was more open and level than else- 
where. It was evident to anyone, military or 
not, that it was here the French should attack. 
It would seem that not much consideration 
was needed to reach this conclusion, nor any 
particular care or trouble on the part of the 
Emperor and his marshals, nor was there any 
need of that special and supreme quality 
called genius that people are so apt to ascribe 
to Napoleon; yet the historians who described 
the event later and the men who then sur- 
rounded Napoleon, and he himself, thought 
otherwise. 

Napoleon rode over the plain and surveyed 
the locality with a profound air and in silence, 
nodded with approval or shook his head du- 
biously, and without communicating to the 
generals around him the profound course of 
ideas which guided his decisions merely gave 
them his final conclusions in the form of com- 
mands. Having listened to a suggestion from 
Davout,who was now called Prince d'Eckmiihl, 
to turn the Russian left wing, Napoleon said 
it should not be done, without explaining why 
not. To a proposal made by General Campan 
(who was to attack the fleches) to lead his divi- 
sion through the woods, Napoleon agreed, 
though the so-called Duke of Elchingen (Ney) 
ventured to remark that a movement through 
the woods was dangerous and might disorder 
the division. 

Having inspected the country opposite the 
Shevardino Redoubt, Napoleon pondered a 
little in silence and then indicated the spots 
where two batteries should be set up by the 
morrow to act against the Russian entrench- 
ments, and the places where, in line with them, 
the field artillery should be placed. 

After giving these and other commands he 
returned to his tent, and the dispositions for 
the battle were written down from his dicta- 
tion. 

These dispositions, of which the French his- 
torians write with enthusiasm and other his- 
torians with profound respect, were as follows: 

At dawn the two new batteries established dur- 
ing the night on the plain occupied by the Prince 
d'Eckmiihl will open fire on the two opposing 
batteries of the enemy. 

At the same time the commander of the artil- 



lery of the ist Corps, General Pernetti, with thirty 
cannon of Campan's division and all the howitzers 
of Dessaix's and Friant's divisions, will move for- 
ward, open fire, and overwhelm with shellfire the 
enemy's battery, against which will operate: 

24 guns of the artillery of the Guards 
30 guns of Campan's division 
and 8 guns of Friant's and Dessaix's divisions 

in all 62 guns. 

The commander of the artillery of the grd 
Corps, General Fouch, will place the howitzers of 
the srd and 8th Corps, sixteen in all, on the flanks 
of the battery that is to bombard the entrench- 
ment on the left, which will have forty guns in 
all directed against it. 

General Sorbier must be ready at the first order 
to advance with all the howitzers of the Guard's 
artillery against either one or other of the en- 
trenchments. 

During the cannonade Prince Poniatowski is to 
advance through the wood on the village and turn 
the enemy's position. 

General Campan will move through the wood 
to seize the first fortification. 

After the advance has begun in this manner, 
orders will be given in accordance with the en- 
emy's movements. 

The cannonade on the left flank will begin as 
soon as the guns of the right wing are heard. The 
sharpshooters of Morand's division and of the 
vice-King's 1 division will open a heavy fire on see- 
ing the attack commence on the right wing. 

The vice-King will occupy the village and cross 
by its three bridges, advancing to the same heights 
as Morand's and Gerard's divisions, which under 
his leadership will be directed against the redoubt 
arid come into line with the rest of the forces. 

All this must be done in good order (le tout se 
fera avec ordre et melhode) as far as possible re- 
taining troops in reserve. 

The Imperial Camp near Mozhdysk, 

September, 6, 2 1812. 

These dispositions, which are very obscure 
and confused if one allows oneself to regard 
the arrangements without religious awe of his 
genius, related to Napoleon's orders to deal 
with four points four different orders. Not 
one of these was, or could be, carried out. 

In the disposition it is said first that the bat- 
teries placed on the spot chosen by Napoleon, 
with the guns of Pernetti and Fouche 1 which 
were to come in line with them, 102 guns in 
all, were to open fire and shower shells on the 
Russian fldches and redoubts. This could not 

1 Murat.-TR. 

8 The date of this French proclamation is New 
Style, and corresponds to August 25, Old Style. 
TR. 



BOOK 

be done, as from the spots selected by Napo- 
leon the projectiles did not carry to the Russian 
works, and those 102 guns shot into the air un- 
til the nearest commander, contrary to Napo- 
leon's instructions, moved them forward. 

The second order was that Poniatowski, 
moving to the village through the wood, should 
turn the Russian left flank. This could not be 
done and was not done, because Poniatowski, 
advancing on the village through the wood, 
met Tuchk6v there barring his way, and could 
not and did not turn the Russian position. 

The third order was: General Campan will 
move through the wood to seize the first forti- 
fication. General Campan's division did not 
seize the first fortification but was driven back, 
for on emerging from the wood it had to re- 
form under grapeshot, of which Napoleon was 
unaware. 

The fourth order was: The vice-King will 
occupy the village (Borodin6) and cross by its 
three bridges, advancing to the same heights 
as Morand's and Gerard's divisions (for whose 
movements no directions are given), which un- 
der his leadership will be directed against the 
redoubt and come into line with the rest of 
the forces. 

As far as one can make out, not so much from 
this unintelligible sentence as from the at- 
tempts the vice-King made to execute the or- 
ders given him, he was to advance from the 
left through Borodino to the redoubt while the 
divisions of Morand and Gerard were to ad- 
vance simultaneously from the front. 

All this, like the other parts of the disposi- 
tion, was not and could not be executed. Aft- 
er passing through Borodino the vice-King was 
driven back to the Kolocha and could get no 
farther; while the divisions of Morand and Ge*- 
rard did not take the redoubt but were driv- 
en back, and the redoubt was only taken at the 
end of the battle by the cavalry (a thing prob- 
ably unforeseen and not heard of by Napoleon). 
So not one of the orders in the disposition was, 
or could be, executed. But in the disposition 
it is said that, after the fight has commenced in 
this manner, orders will be given in accordance 
with the enemy's movements, and so it might 
be supposed that all necessary arrangements 
would be made by Napoleon during the bat- 
tle. But this was not and could not be done, 
for during the whole battle Napoleon was 
so far away that, as appeared later, he could 
not know the course of the battle and not 
one of his orders during the fight could be 
executed. 



TEN 447 

CHAPTER XXVIII 

MANY HISTORIANS SAY that the French did not 
win the battle of Borodin6 because Napoleon 
had a cold, and that if he had not had a cold 
the orders he gave before and during the bat- 
tle would have been still more full of genius 
and Russia would have been lost and the face 
of the world have been changed. To historians 
who believe that Russia was shaped by the 
will of one manPeter the Great and that 
France from a republic became an empire and 
French armies went to Russia at the will of 
one man Napoleon to say that Russia re- 
mained a power because Napoleon had a bad 
cold on the twenty-fourth of August may seem 
logical and convincing. 

If it had depended on Napoleon's will to fight 
or not to fight the battle of Borodin6, and if 
this or that other arrangement depended on 
his will, then evidently a cold affecting the 
manifestation of his will might have saved Rus- 
sia, and consequently the valet who omitted 
to bring Napoleon his waterproof boots on the 
twenty-fourth would have been the savior of 
Russia. Along that line of thought such a de- 
duction is indubitable, as indubitable as the 
deduction Voltaire made in jest (without 
knowing what he was jesting at) when he saw 
that the Massacre of St. Bartholomew was due 
to Charles IX's stomach being deranged. But 
to men who do not admit that Russia was 
formed by the will of one man, Peter I, or that 
the French Empire was formed and the war 
with Russia begun by the will of one man, Na- 
poleon, that argument seems not merely un- 
true and irrational, but contrary to all human 
reality. To the question of what causes historic 
events another answer presents itself, namely, 
that the course of human events is predeter- 
mined from on high depends on the coinci- 
dence of the wills of all who take part in the 
events, and that a Napoleon's influence on the 
course of these events is purely external and 
fictitious. 

Strange as at first glance it may seem to sup- 
pose that the Massacre of St. Bartholomew was 
not due to Charles IX's will, though he gave 
the order for it and thought it was done as a 
result of that order; and strange as it may seem 
to suppose that the slaughter of eighty thou- 
sand men at Borodin6 was not due to Napo- 
leon's will, though he ordered the commence- 
ment and conduct of the battle and thought it 
was done because he ordered it; strange as 
these suppositions appear, yet human dignity 
which tells me that each of us is, if not more 



448 



WAR AND PEACE 



at least not less a man than the great Napole- 
ondemands the acceptance of that solution of 
the question, and historic investigation abun- 
dantly confirms it. 

At the battle of Borodin6 Napoleon shot at 
no one and killed no one. That was all done 
by the soldiers. Therefore it was not he who 
killed people. 

The French soldiers went to kill and be 
killed at the battle of Borodin6 not because of 
Napoleon's orders but by their own volition. 
The whole army French, Italian, German, 
Polish, and Dutch hungry, ragged, and weary 
of the campaign, felt at the sight of an army 
blocking their road to Moscow that the wine 
was drawn and must be drunk. Had Napoleon 
then forbidden them to fight the Russians, they 
would have killed him and have proceeded to 
fight the Russians because it was inevitable. 

When they heard Napoleon's proclamation 
offering them, as compensation for mutilation 
and death, the words of posterity about their 
having been in the battle before Moscow, they 
cried "Vive I'Empereur!" just as they had cried 
"Vive I'Empereur!" at the sight of the portrait 
of the boy piercing the terrestrial globe with a 
toy stick, and just as they would have cried 
"Vive I'Empereur !" at any nonsense that might 
be told them. There was nothing left for them 
to do but cry "Vive I'Empereur!" and go to 
fight, in order to get food and rest as conquer- 
ors in Moscow. So it was not because of Napo- 
leon's commands that they killed their fellow 
men. 

And it was not Napoleon who directed the 
course of the battle, for none of his orders were 
executed and during the battle he did not 
know what was going on before him. So the 
way in which these people killed one another 
was not decided by Napoleon's will but oc- 
curred independently of him, in accord with 
the will of hundreds of thousands of people 
who took part in the common action. It only 
seemed to Napoleon that it all took place by 
his will. And so the question whether he had 
or had not a cold has no more historic interest 
than the cold of the least of the transport sol- 
diers. 

Moreover, the assertion made by various writ- 
ers that his cold was the cause of his disposi- 
tions not being as well planned as on former 
occasions, and of his orders during the battle 
not being as good as previously, is quite base- 
less, which again shows that Napoleon's cold 
on the twenty-sixth of August was unimpor- 
tant. 



The dispositions cited above are not at all 
worse, but are even better, than previous dis- 
positions by which he had won victories. His 
pseudo-orders during the battle were also no 
worse than formerly, but much the same as us- 
ual. These dispositions and orders only seem 
worse than previous ones because the battle of 
Borodin6 was the first Napoleon did not win. 
The profounclest and most excellent disposi- 
tions and orders seem very bad, and every 
learned militarist criticizes them with looks of 
importance, when they relate to a battle that 
has been lost, and the very worst dispositions 
and orders seem very good, and serious people 
fill whole volumes to demonstrate their merits, 
when they relate to a battle that has been won. 

The dispositions drawn up by Weyrother 
for the battle of Austerlitz were a model of per- 
fection for that kind of composition, but still 
they were criticized criticized for their very 
perfection, for their excessive minuteness. 

Napoleon at the battle of Borodin6 fulfilled 
his office as representative of authority as well 
as, and even better than, at other battles. He 
did nothing harmful to the progress of the bat- 
tle; he inclined to the most reasonable opin- 
ions, he made no confusion, did not contradict 
himself, did not get frightened or run away 
from the field of battle, but with his great tact 
and military experience carried out his role of 
appearing to command, calmly and with dig- 
nity. 

CHAPTER XXIX 

ON RETURNING fromasecond careful inspection 
of the lines, Napoleon remarked: 

"The chessmen are set up, the game will be- 
gin tomorrow I" 

Having ordered punch and summoned de 
Beausset, he began to talk to him about Paris 
and about some changes he meant to make in 
the Empress' household, surprising the prefect 
by his memory of minute details relating to the 
court. 

He showed an interest in trifles, joked about 
de Beausset's love of travel, and chatted care- 
lessly, as a famous, self-confident surgeon who 
knows his job does when turning up his sleeves 
and putting on his apron while a patient is be- 
ing strapped to the operating table. "The mat- 
ter is in my hands and is clear and definite in 
my head. When the times comes to set to work 
I shall do it as no one else could, but now I can 
jest, and the more I jest and the calmer I am 
the more tranquil and confident you ought to 
be, and the more amazed at my genius." 



BOOK 

Having finished his second glass of punch, 
Napoleon went to rest before the serious busi- 
ness which, he considered, awaited him next 
day. He was so much interested in that task that 
he was unable to sleep, and in spite of his cold 
which had grown worse from the dampness of 
the evening, he went into the large division of 
the tent at three o'clock in the morning, loudly 
blowing his nose. He asked whether the Rus- 
sians had not withdrawn, and was told that the 
enemy's fires were still in the same places. He 
nodded approval. 

The adjutant in attendance came into the 
tent. 

"Well, Rapp, do you think we shall do good 
business today?" Napoleon asked him. 

"Without doubt, sire," replied Rapp. 

Napoleon looked at him. 

"Do you remember, sire, what you did me the 
honor to say at Smolensk?" continued Rapp. 
"The wine is drawn and must be drunk." 

Napoleon frowned and sat silent for a long 
time leaning his head on his hand. 

"This poor army!" he suddenly remarked. 
"Jt has diminished greatly since Smolensk. For- 
tune is frankly a courtesan, Rapp. I have al- 
ways said so and I am beginning to experience 
it. But the Guards, Rapp, the Guards are in- 
tact?" he remarked interrogatively. 

"Yes, sire," replied Rapp. 

Napoleon took a lozenge, put it in his mouth, 
and glanced at his watch. He was not sleepy 
and it was still not nearly morning. It was im- 
possible to give further orders for the sake of 
killing time, for the orders had all been given 
and were now being executed. 

"Have the biscuits and rice been served out 
to the regiments of the Guards?" asked Napo- 
leon sternly. 

"Yes, sire." 

"The rice too?" 

Rapp replied that he had given the Emper- 
or's order about the rice, but Napoleon shook 
his head in dissatisfaction as if not believing 
that his order had been executed. An attend- 
ant came in with punch. Napoleon ordered an- 
other glass to be brought for Rapp, and silent- 
ly sipped his own. 

"I have neither taste nor smell," he remarked, 
sniffing at his glass. "This cold is tiresome. 
They talk about medicinewhat is the good of 
medicine when it can't cure a coldl Corvisart 
gave me these lozenges but they don't help at 
all. What can doctors cure? One can't cure 
anything. Our body is a machine for living. It 
is organized for that, it is its nature. Let life go 



TEN 449 

on in it unhindered and let it defend itself, it 
will do more than if you paralyze it by encum- 
bering it with remedies. Our body is like a 
perfect watch that should go for a certain time; 
the watchmaker cannot open it, he can only ad- 
just it by fumbling, and that blindfold. . . . 
Yes, our body is a machine for living, that is all." 
And having entered on the path of defini- 
tion, of which he was fond, Napoleon suddenly 
and unexpectedly gave a new one. 

"Do you know, Rapp, what military art is?" 
asked he. "It is the art of being stronger than 
the enemy at a given moment. That's all." 

Rapp made no reply. 

"Tomorrow we shall have to deal with Ku- 
tuzov!" said Napoleon. "We shall see! Do you 
remember at Braunau he commanded an army 
for three weeks and did not once mount a 
horse to inspect his entrenchments. . . . We 
shall see!" 

He looked at his watch. It was still only four 
o'clock. He did not feel sleepy. The punch was 
finished and there was still nothing to do. He 
rose, walked to and fro, put on a warm over- 
coat and a hat, and went out of the tent. The 
night was dark and damp, a scarcely percepti- 
ble moisture was descending from above. Near 
by, the campfires were dimly burning among 
the French Guards, and in the distance those 
of the Russian line shone through the smoke. 
The weather was calm, and the rustle and 
tramp of the French troops already beginning 
to move to take up their positions were clearly 
audible. 

Napoleon walked about in front of his tent, 
looked at the fires and listened to these sounds, 
and as he was passing a tall guardsman in a 
shaggy cap, who was standing sentinel before 
his tent and had drawn himself up like a black 
pillar at sight of the Emperor, Napoleon 
stopped in front of him. 

"What year did you enter the service?" he 
asked with that affectation of military blunt- 
ness and geniality with which he always ad- 
dressed the soldiers. 

The man answered the question. 

"Ah! One of the old onesl Has your regi- 
ment had its rice?" 

"It has, Your Majesty." 

Napoleon nodded and walked away. 

At half-past five Napoleon rode to the vil- 
lage of Shevardino. 

It was growing light, the sky was clearing, on- 
ly a single cloud lay in the east. The aban- 
doned campfires were burning themselves out 



45 

in the faint morning light. 

On the right a single deep report of a can- 
non resounded and died away in the prevail- 
ing silence. Some minutes passed. A second and 
a third report shook the air, then a fourth and 
a fifth boomed solemnly near by on the right. 

The first shots had not yet ceased to rever- 
berate before others rang out and yet more 
were heard mingling with and overtaking one 
another. 

Napoleon with his suite rode up to the She- 
vdrdino Redoubt where he dismounted. The 
game had begun. 

CHAPTER XXX 

ON RETURNING to G6rki after having seen 
Prince Andrew, Pierre ordered his groom to 
get the horses ready and to call him early in the 
morning, and then immediately fell asleep be- 
hind a partition in a corner Boris had given 
up to him. 

Before he was thoroughly awake next morn- 
ing everybody had already left the hut. The 
panes were rattling in the little windows and 
his groom was shaking him. 

"Your excellency! Your excellency! Your ex- 
cellency I" he kept repeating pertinaciously 
while he shook Pierre by the shoulder without 
looking at him, having apparently lost hope 
of getting him to wake up. 

"What? Has it begun? Is it time?" Pierre 
asked, waking up. 

"Hear the firing," said the groom, a dis- 
charged soldier. "All the gentlemen have gone 
out, and his Serene Highness himself rode past 
long ago." 

Pierre dressed hastily and ran out to the 
porch. Outside all was bright, fresh, dewy, and 
cheerful. The sun, just bursting forth from be- 
hind a cloud that had concealed it, was shining, 
with rays still half broken by the clouds, over 
the roofs of the street opposite, on the dew- 
besprinkled dust of the road, on the walls of 
the houses, on the windows, the fence, and on 
Pierre's horses standing before the hut. The 
roar of guns sounded more distinct outside. An 
adjutant accompanied by a Cossack passed by 
at a sharp trot. 

"It's time, Count; it's time!" cried the adju- 
tant. 

Telling the groom to follow him with the 
horses, Pierre went down the street to the knoll 
from which he had looked at the field of battle 
the day before. A crowd of military men was 
assembled there, members of the staff could be 
heard conversing in French, and Kuttizov's 



WAR AND PEACE 



gray head in a white cap with a red band was 
visible, his gray nape sunk between his shoul- 
ders. He was looking through a field glass down 
the highroad before him. 

Mounting the steps to the knoll Pierre looked 
at the scene before him, spellbound by its beau- 
ty. It was the same panorama he had admired 
from that spot the day before, but now the 
whole place was full of troops and covered by 
smoke clouds from the guns, and the slanting 
rays of the bright sun, rising slightly to the left 
behind Pierre, cast upon it through the clear 
morning air penetrating streaks of rosy, golden- 
tinted light and long dark shadows. The forest 
at the farthest extremity of the panorama 
seemed carved in some precious stone of a yel- 
lowish-green color; its undulating outline was 
silhouetted against the horizon and was pierced 
beyond Valuevo by the Smolensk highroad 
crowded with troops. Nearer at hand glittered 
golden cornfields interspersed with copses. 
There were troops to be seen everywhere, in 
front and to the right and left. All this was 
vivid, majestic, and unexpected; but what im- 
pressed Pierre most of all was the view of the 
battlefield itself, of Borodin6 and the hollows 
on both sides of the Kolocha\ 

Above the Kolocha, in Borodin6 and on 
both sides of it, especially to the left where the 
V6yna flowing between its marshy banks falls 
into the Kolochd, a mist had spread which 
seemed to melt, to dissolve, and to become 
translucent when the brilliant sun appeared 
and magically colored and outlined every thing. 
The smoke of the guns mingled with this mist, 
and over the whole expanse and through that 
mist the rays of the morning sun were reflect- 
ed, flashing back like lightning from the water, 
from the dew, and from the bayonets of the 
troops crowded together by the riverbanks 
and in Borodin6. A white church could be 
seen through the mist, and here and there the 
roofs of huts in Borodin6 as well as dense 
masses of soldiers, or green ammunition chests 
and ordnance. And all this moved, or seemed 
to move, as the smoke and mist spread out over 
the whole space. Just as in the mist-enveloped 
hollow near Borodin6, so along the entire line 
outside and above it and especially in the 
woods and fields to the left, in the valleys and 
on the summits of the high ground, clouds of 
powder smoke seemed continually to spring 
up out of nothing, now singly, now several at 
a time, some translucent, others dense, which, 
swelling, growing, rolling, and blending, ex- 
tended over the whole expanse. 



BOOK TEN 



45' 



These puffs of smoke and (strange to say) 
the sound of the firing produced the chief beau- 
ty of the spectacle. 

"Puff!" suddenly a round compact cloud of 
smoke was seen merging from violet into gray 
and milky white, and "boom!" came the re- 
port a second later. 

"Puff! puff!" and two clouds arose pushing 
one another and blending together; and 
"boom, boom!" came the sounds confirming 
what the eye had seen. 

Pierre glanced round at the first cloud, which 
he had seen as a round compact ball, and in its 
place already were balloons of smoke floating 
to one side, and "puff" (with a pause) "puff, 
puff!" three and then four more appeared 
and then from each, with the same interval 
"boom boom, boom!" came the fine, firm, 
precise sounds in reply. It seemed as if those 
smoke clouds sometimes ran and sometimes 
stood still while woods, fields, and glittering 
bayonets ran past them. From the left, over 
fields and bushes, those large balls of smoke 
were continually appearing followed by their 
solemn reports, while nearer still, in the hol- 
lows and woods, there burst from the muskets 
small cloudlets that had no time to become 
balls, but had their little echoes in just the 
same way. "Trakh-ta-ta-takh!" came the fre- 
quent crackle of musketry, but it was irregular 
and feeble in comparison with the reports of 
the cannon. 

Pierre wished to be there with that smoke, 
those shining bayonets, that movement, and 
those sounds. He turned to look at Kutuzov 
and his suite, to compare his impressions with 
those of others. They were all looking at the 
field of battle as he was, and, as it seemed to 
him, with the same feelings. All their faces 
were now shining with that latent warmth of 
feeling Pierre had noticed the day before and 
had fully understood after his talk with Prince 
Andrew. 

"Go, my dear fellow, go ... and Christ be 
with you I" Kutuzov was saying to a general 
who stood beside him, not taking his eye from 
the battlefield. 

Having received this order the general 
passed by Pierre on his way down the knoll. 

"To the crossing!" said the general coldly 
and sternly in reply to one of the staff who 
asked where he was going. 

'Til go there too, I tool" thought Pierre, and 
followed the general. 

The general mounted a horse a Cossack had 
brought him. Pierre went to his groom who 



was holding his horses and, asking which was 
the quietest, clambered onto it, seized it by 
the mane, and turning out his toes pressed his 
heels against its sides and, feeling that his 
spectacles were slipping off but unable to let 
go of the mane and reins, he galloped after the 
general, causing the staff officers to imile as 
they watched him from the knoll. 

CHAPTER XXXI 

HAVING DESCENDED the hill the general after 
whom Pierre was galloping turned sharply to 
the left, and Pierre, losing sight of him, gal- 
loped in among some ranks of infantry march- 
ing ahead of him. He tried to pass either in 
front of them or to the right or left, but there 
were soldiers everywhere, all with the same pre- 
occupied expression and busy with some un- 
seen but evidently important task. They all 
gazed with the same dissatisfied and inquir- 
ing expression at this stout man in a white hat, 
who for some unknown reason threatened to 
trample them under his horse's hoofs. 

"Why ride into the middle of the battalion?" 
one of them shouted at him. 

Another prodded his horse with the butt 
end of a musket, and Pierre, bending over his 
saddlebow and hardly able to control his shy- 
ing horse, galloped ahead of the soldiers where 
there was a free space. 

There was a bridge ahead of him, where oth- 
er soldiers stood firing. Pierre rode up to them. 
Without being aware of it he had come to the 
bridge across the Kolochd between G6rki and 
Borodin6, which the French (having occupied 
Borodin6) were attacking in the first phase of 
the battle. Pierre saw that there was a bridge 
in front of him and that soldiers were doing 
something on both sides of it and in the mead- 
ow, among the rows of new-mown hay which 
he had taken no notice of amid the smoke of 
the campfires the day before; but despite the 
incessant firing going on there he had no idea 
that this was the field of battle. He did not no- 
tice the sound of the bullets whistling from 
every side, or the projectiles that flew over 
him, did not see the enemy on the other side 
of the river, and for a long time did not notice 
the killed and wounded, though many fell near 
him. He looked about him with a smile which 
did not leave his face. 

"Why's that fellow in front of the line?" 
shouted somebody at him again. 

"To the leftl . . . Keep to the right!" the men 
shouted to him. 

Pierre went to the right, and unexpectedly 



45* 



WAR AND PEACE 



encountered one of Ra^vski's adjutants whom 
he knew. The adjutant looked angrily at him, 
evidently also intending to shout at him, but 
on recognizing him he nodded. 

"How have you got here?" he said, and gal- 
loped on. 

Pierre, feeling out of place there, having 
nothing to do, and afraid of getting in some- 
one's way again, galloped after the adjutant. 

"What's happening here? May I come with 
you?" he asked. 

"One moment, one moment!" replied the 
adjutant, and riding up to a stout colonel who 
was standing in the meadow, he gave him some 
message and then addressed Pierre. 

"Why have you come here, Count?" he asked 
with a smile. "Still inquisitive?" 

"Yes, yes," assented Pierre. 

But the adjutant turned his horse about and 
rode on. 

"Here it's tolerable," said he, "but with Ba- 
grati6n on the left flank they're getting it 
frightfully hot." 

"Really?" said Pierre. "Where is that?" 

"Come along with me to our knoll. We can 
get a view from there and in our battery it is 
still bearable," said the adjutant. "Will you 
come?" 

"Yes, I'll come with you," replied Pierre, 
looking round for his groom. 

It was only now that he noticed wounded 
men staggering along or being carried on 
stretchers. On that very meadow he had rid- 
den over the day before, a soldier was lying 
athwart the rows of scented hay, with his head 
thrown awkwardly back and his shako off. 

"Why haven't they carried him away?" Pierre 
was about to ask, but seeing the stern expres- 
sion of the adjutant who was also looking that 
way, he checked himself. 

Pierre did not find his groom and rode 
along the hollow with the adjutant to RacV 
ski's Redoubt. His horse lagged behind the ad- 
jutant's and jolted him at every step. 

"You don't seem to be used to riding, 
Count?" remarked the adjutant. 

"No, it's not that, but her action seems so 
jerky," said Pierre in a puzzled tone. 

"Why . . . she's wounded!" said the adju- 
tant. "In the off foreleg above the knee. A bul- 
let, no doubt. I congratulate you, Count, on 
your baptism of fire!" 

Having ridden in the smoke past the Sixth 
Corps, behind the artillery which had been 
moved forward and was in action, deafening 
them with the noise of firing, they came to a 



small wood. There it was cool and quiet, with 
a scent of autumn. Pierre and the adjutant dis- 
mounted and walked up the hill on foot. 

"Is the general here?" asked the adjutant 
on reaching the knoll. 

"He was here a minute ago but has just gone 
that way," someone told him, pointing to the 
right. 

The adjutant looked at Pierre as if puzzled 
what to do with him now. 

"Don't trouble about me," said Pierre. "I'll 
go up onto the knoll if I may?" 

"Yes, do. You'll see everything from there 
and it's less dangerous, and I'll come for you." 

Pierre went to the battery and the adjutant 
rode on. They did not meet again, and only 
much later did Pierre learn that he lost an arm 
that day. 

The knoll to which Pierre ascended was that 
famous one afterwards known to the Russians 
as the Knoll Battery or RacH'ski's Redoubt, 
and to the French as la grande redoute, la fa- 
tale redoute, la redoute du centre, around 
which tens of thousands fell, and which the 
French regarded as the key to the whole po- 
sition. 

This redoubt consisted of a knoll, on three 
sides of which trenches had been dug. Within 
the entrenchment stood ten guns that were 
being fired through openings in the earth- 
work. 

In line with the knoll on both sides stood 
other guns which also fired incessantly. A little 
behind the guns stood infantry. When ascend- 
ing that knoll Pierre had no notion that this 
spot, on which small trenches had been dug 
and from which a few guns were firing, was 
the most important point of the battle. 

On the contrary, just because he happened 
to be there he thought it one of the least sig- 
nificant parts of the field. 

Having reached the knoll, Pierre sat down 
at one end of a trench surrounding the battery 
and gazed at what was going on around him 
with an unconsciously happy smile. Occasion- 
ally he rose and walked about the battery still 
with that same smile, trying not to obstruct 
the soldiers who were loading, hauling the 
guns, and continually running past him with 
bags and charges. The guns of that battery were 
being fired continually one after another with 
a deafening roar, enveloping the whole neigh- 
borhood in powder smoke. 

In contrast with the dread felt by the in- 
fantrymen placed in support, here in the bat- 
tery where a small number of men busy at their 



BOOK 

work were separated from the rest by a trench, 
everyone experienced a common and as it were 
family feeling of animation. 

The intrusion of Pierre's nonmilitary figure 
in a white hat made an unpleasant impression 
at first. The soldiers looked askance at him with 
surprise and even alarm as they went past him. 
The senior artillery officer, a tall, long-legged, 
pockmarked man, moved over to Pierre as if 
to see the action of the farthest gun and looked 
at him with curiosity. 

A young round-faced officer, quite a boy still 
and evidently only just out of the Cadet Col- 
lege, who was zealously commanding the two 
guns entrusted to him, addressed Pierre sternly. 

"Sir," he said, "permit me to ask you to 
stand aside. You must not be here." 

The soldiers shook their heads disapprov- 
ingly as they looked at Pierre. But when they 
had convinced themselves that this man in the 
white hat was doing no harm, but either sat 
quietly on the slope of the trench with a shy 
smile or, politely making way for the soldiers, 
paced up and down the battery under fire as 
calmly as if he were on a boulevard, their feel- 
ing of hostile distrust gradually began to 
change into a kindly and bantering sympathy, 
such as soldiers feel for their dogs, cocks, goats, 
and in general for the animals that live with 
the regiment. The men soon accepted Pierre 
into their family, adopted him, gave him a 
nickname ("our gentleman"), and made kind- 
ly fun of him among themselves. 

A shell tore up the earth two paces from Pi- 
erre and he looked around with a smile as he 
brushed from his clothes some earth it had 
thrown up. 

"And how's it you're not afraid, sir, really 
now?" a red-faced, broad-shouldered soldier 
asked Pierre, with a grin that disclosed a set 
of sound, white teeth. 

"Are you afraid, then?" said Pierre. 

"What else do you expect?" answered the 
soldier. "She has no mercy, you know! When 
she comes spluttering down, out go your in- 
nards. One can't help being afraid," he said 
laughing. 

Several of the men, with bright kindly faces, 
stopped beside Pierre. They seemed not to have 
expected him to talk like anybody else, and the 
discovery that he did so delighted them. 

"It's the business of us soldiers. But in a 
gentleman it's wonderful! There's a gentle- 
man for you I" 

"To your places!" cried the young officer to 
the men gathered round Pierre. 



TEN 453 

The young officer was evidently exercising 
his duties for the first or second time and 
therefore treated both his superiors and the 
men with great precision and formality. 

The booming cannonade and the fusillade 
of musketry were growing more intense over 
the whole field, especially to the left where Ba- 
grati6n's fleches were, but where Pierre was 
the smoke of the firing made it almost im- 
possible to distinguish anything. Moreover, 
his whole attention was engrossed by watch- 
ing the family circle separated from all else 
formed by the men in the battery. His first 
unconscious feeling of joyful animation pro- 
duced by the sights and sounds of the battle- 
field was now replaced by another, especially 
since he had seen that soldier lying alone in 
the hayfield. Now, seated on the slope of the 
trench, he observed the faces of those around 
him. 

By ten o'clock some twenty men had already 
been carried away from the battery; two guns 
were smashed and cannon balls fell more and 
more frequently on the battery and spent 
bullets buzzed and whistled around. But the 
men in the battery seemed not to notice this, 
and merry voices and jokes were heard on all 
sides. 

"A live one!" shouted a man as a whistling 
shell approached. 

"Not this wayl To the infantry!" added an- 
other with loud laughter, seeing the shell fly 
past and fall into the ranks of the supports. 

"Are you bowing to a friend, eh?" remarked 
another, chaffing a peasant who ducked low 
as a cannon ball flew over. 

Several soldiers gathered by the wall of the 
trench, looking out to see what was happen- 
ing in front. 

"They've withdrawn the front line, it has 
retired," said they, pointing over the earth- 
work. 

"Mind your own business," an old sergeant 
shouted at them. "If they've retired it's because 
there's work for them to do farther back." 

And the sergeant, taking one of the men by 
the shoulders, gave him a shove with his knee. 
This was followed by a burst of laughter. 

"To the fifth gun, wheel it up!" came shouts 
from one side. 

"Now then, all together, like bargees!" rose 
the merry voices of those who were moving the 
gun. 

"Oh, she nearly knocked our gentleman's hat 
off!" cried the red-faced humorist, showing his 
teeth and chaffing Pierre. "Awkward baggage!" 



454 WAR AND PEACE 

he added reproachfully to a cannon ball that 
struck a cannon wheel and a man's leg. 

"Now then, you foxes!" said another, laugh- 
ing at some militiamen who, stooping low, en- 
tered the battery to carry away the wounded 
man. 

"So this gruel isn't to your taste? Oh, you 
crows! You're scared!" they shouted at the mi- 
litiamen who stood hesitating before the man 
whose leg had been torn off. 

"There, lads . . . oh, oh!" they mimicked the 
peasants, "they don't like it at all!" 

Pierre noticed that after every ball that hit 
the redoubt, and after every loss, the liveliness 
increased more and more. 

As the flames of the fire hidden within come 
more and more vividly and rapidly from an 
approaching thundercloud, so, as if in opposi- 
tion to what was taking place, the lightning of 
hidden fire growing more and more intense 
glowed in the faces of these men. 

Pierre did not look out at the battlefield and 
was not concerned to know what was happen- 
ing there; he was entirely absorbed in watch- 
ing this fire which burned ever more brightly 
and which he felt was flaming up in the same 
way in his own soul. 

At ten o'clock the infantry that had been 
among the bushes in front of the battery and 
along the Kdmenka streamlet retreated. From 
the battery they could be seen running back 
past it carrying their wounded on their mus- 
kets. A general with his suite came to the bat- 
tery, and after speaking to the colonel gave 
Pierre an angry look and went away again 
having ordered the infantry supports behind 
the battery to lie down, so as to be less ex- 
posed to fire. After this from amid the ranks 
of infantry to the right of the battery came the 
sound of a drum and shouts of command, and 
from the battery one saw how those ranks of 
infantry moved forward. 

Pierre looked over the wall of the trench and 
was particularly struck by a pale young officer 
who, letting his sword hang down, was walking 
backwards and kept glancing uneasily around. 

The ranks of the infantry disappeared amid 
the smoke but their long-drawn shout and rap- 
id musketry firing could still be heard. A few 
minutes later crowds of wounded men and 
stretcher-bearers came back from that direction. 
Projectiles began to fall still more frequently 
in the battery. Several men were lying about 
who had not been removed. Around the cannon 
the men moved still more briskly and busily. No 
one any longer took notice of Pierre. Once or 



twice he was shouted at for being in the way. 
The senior officer moved with big, rapid strides 
from one gun to another with a frowning face. 
The young officer, with his face still more 
flushed, commanded the men more scrupulous- 
ly than ever. The soldiers handed up the 
charges, turned, loaded, and did their business 
with strained smartness. They gave little jumps 
as they walked, as though they were on springs. 

The storrncloud had come upon them, and 
in every face the fire which Pierre had watched 
kindle burned up brightly. Pierre was standing 
beside the commanding officer. The young offi- 
cer, his hand to his shako, ran up to his su- 
perior. 

"I have the honor to report, sir, that only 
eight rounds are left. Are we to continue fir- 
ing?" he asked. 

"Grapcshot!" the senior shouted, without 
answering the question, looking over the wall 
of the trench. 

Suddenly something happened: the young 
officer gave a gasp and benclingdouble sat down 
on the ground like a bird shot on the wing. 
Everything became strange, confused, and 
misty in Pierre's eyes. 

One cannon ball after another whistled by 
and struck the earthwork, a soldier, or a gun. 
Pierre, who had not noticed these sounds be- 
fore, now heard nothing else. On the right of 
the battery soldiers shouting "Hurrah!" were 
running not forwards but backwards, it seemed 
to Pierre. 

A cannon ball struck the very end of the 
earthwork by which he was standing, crumbling 
down the earth; a black ball flashed before his 
eyes and at the same instant plumped into 
something. Some militiamen who were enter- 
ing the battery ran back. 

"All with grapeshotl" shouted the officer. 

The sergeant ran up to the officer and in a 
frightened whisper informed him (as a butler 
at dinner informs his master that there is no 
more of some wine asked for) that there were 
no more charges. 

"The scoundrels! What are they doing?" 
shouted the officer, turning to Pierre. 

The officer's face was red and perspiring and 
his eyes glittered under his frowning brow. 

"Run to the reserves and bring up the am- 
munition boxes!" he yelled, angrily avoiding 
Pierre with his eyes and speaking to his men. 

"I'll go," said Pierre. 

The officer, without answering him, strode 
across to the opposite side. 

"Don't fire Wait!" he shouted. 



BOOK TEN 



455 



The man who had been ordered to go for 
ammunition stumbled against Pierre. 

"Eh, sir, this is no place for you," said he, 
and ran down the slope. 

Pierre ran after him, avoiding the spot where 
the young officer was sitting. 

One cannon ball, another, and a third flew 
over him, falling in front, beside, and behind 
him. Pierre ran down the slope. "Where am I 
going?" he suddenly asked himself when he 
was already near the green ammunition wag- 
ons. He halted irresolutely, not knowing 
whether to return or go on. Suddenly a terrible 
concussion threw him back wards to the ground. 
At the same instant he was da/zled by a great 
flash of flame, and immediately a deafening 
roar, crackling, and whistling made his ears 
tingle. 

When he came to himself he was sitting on 
the ground leaning on his hands; the ammu- 
nition wagons he had been approaching no 
longer existed, only charred green boards and 
rags littered the scorched grass, and a horse, 
dangling fragments of its shaft behind it, gal- 
loped past, while another horse lay, like Pi- 
erre, on the ground, uttering prolonged and 
piercing cries. 

CHAPTER XXXII 

BESIDE HIMSELF with terror Pierre jumped up 
and ran back to the battery, as to the only ref- 
uge from the horrors that surrounded him. 

On entering the earthwork he noticed that 
there were men doing something there but that 
no shots were being fired from the battery. He 
had no time to realize who these men were. He 
saw the senior officer lying on the earth wall 
with his back turned as if he were examining 
something down below and that one of the sol- 
diers he had noticed before was struggling for- 
ward shouting "Brothers!" and trying to free 
himself from some men who were holding him 
by the arm. He also saw something else that 
was strange. 

But he had not time to realize that the colo- 
nel had been killed, that the soldier shouting 
"Brothers!" was a prisoner, and that another 
man had been bayoneted in the back before 
his eyes, for hardly had he run into the re- 
doubt before a thin, sallow-faced, perspiring 
man in a blue uniform rushed on him sword 
in hand, shouting something. Instinctively 
guarding against the shockfor they had been 
running together at full speed before they saw 
one another Pierre put out his hands and 
seized the man (a French officer) by the shoul- 



der with one hand and by the throat with the 
other. The officer, dropping his sword, seized 
Pierre by his collar. 

For some seconds they gazed with frightened 
eyes at one another's unfamiliar faces and both 
were perplexed at what they had done and 
what they were to do next. "Am I taken pris- 
oner or have I taken him prisoner?" each was 
thinking. But the French officer was evidently 
more inclined to think he had been taken pris- 
oner because Pierre's strong hand, impelled by 
instinctive fear, squeezed his throat ever tight- 
er and tighter. The Frenchman was about to 
say something, when just above their heads, 
terrible and low, a cannon ball whistled, and 
it seemed to Pierre that the French officer's 
head had been torn off, so swiftly had he 
ducked it. 

Pierre too bent his head and let his hands 
fall. Without further thought as to who had 
taken whom prisoner, the Frenchman ran back 
to the battery and Pierre ran down the slope 
stumbling over the dead and wounded who, it 
seemed to him, caught at his feet. But before 
he reached the foot of the knoll he was met by 
a dense crowd of Russian soldiers who, stum- 
bling, tripping up, and shouting, ran merrily 
and wildly toward the battery. (This was the 
attack for which Erm61ov claimed the credit, 
declaring that only his courage and good luck 
made such a feat possible: it was the attack in 
which he was said to have thrown some St. 
George's Crosses he had in his pocket into the 
battery for the first soldiers to take who got 
there.) 

The French who had occupied the battery 
fled, and our troops shouting "Hurrah!" pur- 
sued them so far beyond the battery that it was 
difficult to call them back. 

The prisoners were brought down from the 
battery and among them was a wounded French 
general, whom the officers surrounded. Crowds 
of wounded some known to Pierre and some 
unknown Russians and French, with faces 
distorted by suffering, walked, crawled, and 
were carried on stretchers from the battery. 
Pierre again went up onto the knoll where he 
had spent over an hour, and of that family 
circle which had received him as a member he 
did not find a single one. There were many 
dead whom he did not know, but some he rec- 
ognized. The young officer still sat in the same 
way, bent double, in a pool of blood at the 
edge of the earth wall. The red-faced man was 
still twitching, but they did not carry him 
away. 



456 



WAR AND PEACE 



Pierre ran down the slope once more. 

"Now they will stop it, now they will be hor- 
rified at what they have donel" he thought, 
aimlessly going toward a crowd of stretcher- 
bearers moving from the battlefield. 

But behind the veil of smoke the sun was 
still high, and in front and especially to the 
left, near Semenovsk, something seemed to be 
seething in the smoke, and the roar of cannon 
and musketry did not diminish, but even in- 
creased to desperation like a man who, strain- 
ing himself, shrieks with all his remaining 
strength. 

CHAPTER XXXIII 

THE CHIEF ACTION of the battle of Borodin6 
was fought within the seven thousand feet be- 
tween Borodin6 and Bagrati6n's fleches. Be- 
yond that space there was, on the one side, a 
demonstration made by the Russians with 
Uvdrov's cavalry at midday, and on the other 
side, beyond Utitsa, Poniatowski's collision 
with Tuchk6v; but these two were detached 
and feeble actions in comparison with what 
took place in the center of the battlefield. On 
the field between Borodin6 and the fleches, be- 
side the wood, the chief action of the day took 
place on an open space visible from both sides 
and was fought in the simplest and most art- 
less way. 

The battle began on both sides with a can- 
nonade from several hundred guns. 

Then when the whole field was covered with 
smoke, two divisions, Campan's and Dessaix's, 
advanced from the French right, while Murat's 
troops advanced on Borodino from their left. 

From the Shevdrdino Redoubt where Napo- 
leon was standing the fleches were two thirds 
of a mile away, and it was more than a mile as 
the crow flies to Borodin6, so that Napoleon 
could not see what was happening there, es- 
pecially as the smoke mingling with the mist 
hid the whole locality. The soldiers of Dessaix's 
division advancing against the fleches could 
only be seen till they had entered the hollow 
that lay between them and the fleches. As soon 
as they had descended into that hollow, the 
smoke of the guns and musketry on the fleches 
grew so dense that it covered the whole ap- 
proach on that side of it. Through the smoke 
glimpses could be caught of something black 
probably menand at times the glint of 
bayonets. But whether they were moving or 
stationary, whether they were French or Rus- 
sian, could not be discovered from the Shevar- 
dino Redoubt. 



The sun had risen brightly and its slanting 
rays struck straight into Napoleon's face as, 
shading his eyes with his hand, he looked at 
the fleches.The smoke spread out before them, 
and at times it looked as if the smoke were 
moving, at times as if the troops moved. Some- 
times shouts were heard through the firing, 
but it was impossible to tell what was being 
done there. 

Napoleon, standing on the. knoll, looked 
through a field glass, and in its small circlet 
saw smoke and men, sometimes his own and 
sometimes Russians, but when he looked 
again with the naked eye, he could not tell 
where what he had seen was. 

He descended the knoll and began walking 
up and down before it. 

Occasionally he stopped, listened to the fir- 
ing, and gazed intently at the battlefield. 

But not only was it impossible to make out 
what was happening from where he was stand- 
ing down below, or from the knoll above on 
which some of his generals had taken their 
stand, but even from the fleches themselves 
in which by this time there were now Russian 
and now French soldiers, alternately or to- 
gether, dead, wounded, alive, frightened, or 
maddened even at those fleches themselves it 
was impossible to make out what was taking 
place. There for several hours amid incessant 
cannon and musketry fire, now Russians were 
seen alone, now Frenchmen alone, now in- 
fantry, and now cavalry: they appeared, fired, 
fell, collided, not knowing what to do with 
one another, screamed, and ran back again. 

From the battlefield adjutants he had sent 
out, and orderlies from his marshals, kept 
galloping up to Napoleon with reports of the 
progress of the action, but all these reports 
were false, both because it was impossible in 
the heat of battle to say what was happening 
at any given moment and because many of the 
adjutants did not go to the actual place of 
conflict but reported what they had heard from 
others; and also because while an adjutant was 
riding more than a mile to Napoleon circum- 
stances changed and the news he brought was 
already becoming false. Thus an adjutant gal- 
loped up from Murat with tidings that Boro- 
din6 had been occupied and the bridge over 
the Kolochd was in the hands of the French. 
The adjutant asked whether Napoleon wished 
the troops to cross it? Napoleon gave orders 
that the troops should form up on the farther 
side and wait. But before that order was given 
almost as soon in fact as the adjutant had 



BOOK TEN 



457 



left Borodin6 the bridge had been retaken by 
the Russians and burned, in the very skirmish 
at which Pierre had been present at the begin- 
ning of the battle. 

An adjutant galloped up from the fleches 
with a pale and frightened face and reported 
to Napoleon that their attack had been re- 
pulsed, Campan wounded, and Davout killed; 
yet at the very time the adjutant had been told 
that the French had been repulsed, the fitches 
had in fact been recaptured by other French 
troops, and Davout was alive and only slightly 
bruised. On the basis of these necessarily un- 
trustworthy reports Napoleon gave his orders, 
which had either been executed before he 
gave them or could not be and were not exe- 
cuted. 

The marshals and generals, who were nearer 
to the field of battle but, like Napoleon, did 
not take part in the actual fighting and only 
occasionally went within musket range, made 
their own arrangements without asking Napo- 
leon and issued orders where and in what di- 
rection to fire and where cavalry should gallop 
and infantry should run. But even theirorders, 
like Napoleon's, were seldom carried out, and 
then but partially. For the most part things 
happened contrary to their orders. Soldiers 
ordered to advance ran back on meetinggrape- 
shot; soldiers ordered to remain where they 
were, suddenly, seeing Russians unexpectedly 
before them, sometimes rushed back and some- 
times forward, and the cavalry dashed without 
orders in pursuit of the flying Russians. In this 
way two cavalry regiments galloped through 
the Semenovsk hollow and as soon as they 
reached the top of the incline turned round 
and galloped full speed back again. The in- 
fantry moved in the same way, sometimes run- 
ning to quite other places than those they 
were ordered to go to. All orders as to where 
and when to move the guns, when to send in- 
fantry to shoot or horsemen to ride down the 
Russian infantry all such orders were given 
by the officers on the spot nearest to the units 
concerned, without asking either Ney, Davout, 
or Murat, much less Napoleon. They did not 
fear getting into trouble for not fulfilling or- 
ders or for acting on their own initiative, for 
in battle what is at stake is what is dearest to 
manhis own life and it sometimes seems that 
safety lies in running back, sometimes in run- 
ning forward; and these men who were right 
in the heat of the battle acted according to the 
mood of the moment. In reality, however, all 
these movements forward and backward did 



not improve or alter the position of the troops. 
All their rushing and galloping at one another 
did little harm, the harm of disablement and 
death was caused by the balls and bullets that 
flew over the fields on which these men were 
floundering about. As soon as they left the 
place where the balls and bullets were flying 
about, their superiors, located in the back- 
ground, re-formed them and brought them 
under discipline and under the influence of 
that discipline led them back to the zone of 
fire, where under the influence of fear of death 
they lost their discipline and rushed about ac- 
cording to the chance promptings of the throng. 

CHAPTER XXXIV 

NAPOLEON'S GENERALS Davout, Ney, and Mu- 
rat, who were near that region of fire and 
sometimes even entered it repeatedly led in- 
to it huge masses of well-ordered troops. But 
contrary to what had always happened in their 
former battles, instead of the news they ex- 
pected of the enemy's flight, these orderly 
masses returned thence as disorganized and 
terrified mobs. The generals re-formed them, 
but their numbers constantly decreased. In the 
middle of the day Murat sent his adjutant to 
Napoleon to demand reinforcements. 

Napoleon sat at the foot of the knoll, drink- 
ing punch, when Murat's adjutant galloped 
up with an assurance that the Russians would 
be routed if His Majesty would let him have 
another division. 

"Reinforcements?" said Napoleon in a tone 
of stern surprise, looking at the adjutant a 
handsome lad with long black curls arranged 
like Murat's own as though he did not under- 
stand his words. 

"Reinforcements!" thought Napoleon to 
himself. "How can they need reinforcements 
when they already have half the army directed 
against a weak, unentrenched Russian wing?" 

"Tell the King of Naples," said he sternly, 
"that it is not noon yet, and I don't yet see my 
chessboard clearly. Go! ..." 

The handsome boy adjutant with the long 
hair sighed deeply without removing his hand 
from his hat and galloped back to where men 
were being slaughtered. 

Napoleon rose and having summoned Caul- 
aincourt and Berthier began talking to them 
about matters unconnected with the battle. 

In the midst of this conversation, which was 
beginning to interest Napoleon, Berthier's eyes 
turned to look at a general with a suite, who 
was galloping toward the knoll on a lathering 



458 



WAR AND PEACE 



horse. It was Belliard. Having dismounted he 
went up to the Emperor with rapid strides and 
in a loud voice began boldly demonstrating 
the necessity of sending reinforcements. He 
swore on his honor that the Russians were lost 
if the Emperor would give another division. 

Napoleon shrugged his shoulders and con- 
tinued to pace up and down without replying. 
Belliard began talking loudly and eagerly to 
the generals of the suite around him. 

"You are very fiery, Belliard," said Napo- 
leon, when he again came up to the general. 
"In the heat of a battle it is easy to make a 
mistake. Go and have another look and then 
come back to me." 

Before Belliard was out of sight, a messenger 
from another part of the battlefield galloped 
up. 

"Now then, what do you want?" asked Na- 
poleon in the tone of a man irritated at being 
continually disturbed. 

"Sire, the prince . . ." began the adjutant. 

"Asks for reinforcements?" said Napoleon 
with an angry gesture. 

The adjutant bent his head affirmatively and 
began to report, but the Emperor turned from 
him, took a couple of steps, stopped, came 
back, and called Berthier. 

"We must give reserves," he said, moving 
his arms slightly apart. "Who do you think 
should be sent there?" he asked of Berthier 
(whom he subsequently termed "that gosling 
I have made an eagle"). 

"Send ClaparMe's division, sire," replied 
Berthier, who knew all the divisions, regi- 
ments, and battalions by heart. 

Napoleon nodded assent. 

The adjutant galloped to Claparede's divi- 
sion and a few minutes later the Young Guards 
stationed behind the knoll moved forward. 
Napoleon gazed silently in that direction. 

"Nol" he suddenly said to Berthier. "I can't 
send Clapar&de. Send Friant's division." 

Though there was no advantage in sending 
Friant's division instead of CJapar&de's, and 
even in obvious inconvenience and delay in 
stopping Claparede and sending Friant now, 
the order was carried out exactly. Napoleon 
did not notice that in regard to his army he 
was playing the part of a doctor who hinders 
by his medicines a role he 10 justly under- 
stood and condemned. 

Friant's division disappeared as the others 
had done into the smoke of the battlefield. 
From all sides adjutants continued to arrive at 
a gallop and as if by agreement all said the 



same thing. They all asked for reinforcements 
and all said that the Russians were holding their 
positions and maintaining a hellish fire under 
which the French army was melting away. 

Napoleon sat on a campstool, wrapped in 
thought. 

M. de Beausset, the man so fond of travel, 
having fasted since morning, came up to the 
Emperor and ventured respectfully to suggest 
lunch to His Majesty. 

"I hope I may now congratulate Your Maj- 
esty on a victory?" said he. 

Napoleon silently shook his head in nega- 
tion. Assuming the negation to refer only to 
the victory and not to the lunch, M. de Beaus- 
set ventured with respectful jocularity to re- 
mark that there is no reason for not having 
lunch when one can get it. 

"Go away . . ." exclaimed Napoleon sudden- 
ly and morosely, and turned aside. 

A beatific smile of regret, repentance, and 
ecstasy beamed on M. de Beausset's face and 
he glided away to the other generals. 

Napoleon was experiencing a feeling of de- 
pression like that of an ever-lucky gambler 
who, after recklessly flinging money about and 
always winning, suddenly just when he has 
calculated all the chances of the game, finds 
that the more he considers his play the more 
surely he loses. 

His troops were the same, his generals the 
same, the same preparations had been made, 
the same dispositions, and the same proclama- 
tion courte et tnergique, he himself was still 
the same: he knew that and knew that he was 
now even more experienced and skillful than 
before. Even the enemy was the same as at 
Austerlitz and Friedland yet the terrible stroke 
of his arm had supernaturally become impo- 
tent. 

All the old methods that had been unfail- 
ingly crowned with success: the concentration 
of batteries on one point, an attack by reserves 
to break the enemy's line, and a cavalry attack 
by "the men of iron," all these methods had 
already been employed, yet not only was there 
no victory, but from all sides came the same 
news of generals killed and wounded, of rein- 
forcements needed, of the impossibility of driv- 
ing back the Russians, and of disorganization 
among his own troops. 

Formerly, after he had given two or three 
orders and uttered a few phrases, marshals and 
adjutants had come galloping up with con- 
gratulations and happy faces, announcing the 
trophies taken, the corps of prisoners, bundles 



BOOK TEN 



459 



of enemy eagles and standards, cannon and 
stores, and Murat had only begged leave to 
loose the cavalry to gather in the baggage 
wagons. So it had been at Lodi, Marengo, Ar- 
cola, Jena, Austerlitz, Wagram, and so on. 
But now something strange was happening to 
his troops. 

Despite news of the capture of the fitches, 
Napoleon saw that this was not the same, not 
at all the same, as what had happened in his 
former battles. He saw that what he was feel- 
ing was felt by all the men about him experi- 
enced in the art of war. All their faces looked 
dejected, and they all shunned one another's 
eyes only a de Beausset could fail to grasp the 
meaning of what was happening. 

But Napoleon with hts long experience of 
war well knew the meaning of a battle not 
gained by the attacking side in eight hours, 
after all efforts had been expended. He knew 
that it was a lost battle and that the least acci- 
dent might now with the fight balanced on 
such a strained center destroy him and his 
army. 

When he ran his mind over the whole of 
this strange Russian campaign in which not 
one battle had been won, and in which not a 
flag, or cannon, or army corps had been cap- 
tured in two months, when he looked at the 
concealed depression on the faces around him 
and heard reports of the Russians still holding 
their ground a terrible feeling like a night- 
mare took possession of him, and all the un- 
lucky accidents that might destroy him oc- 
curred to his mind. The Russians might fall 
on his left wing, might break through his cen- 
ter, he himself might be killed by a stray can- 
non ball. All this was possible. In former 
battles he had only considered the possibilities 
of success, but now innumerable unlucky 
chances presented themselves, and he expected 
them all. Yes, it was like a dream in which a 
man fancies that a ruffian is coming to attack 
him, and raises his arm to strike that ruffian a 
terrible blow which he knows should annihi- 
late him, but then feels that his arm drops 
powerless and limp like a rag, and the horror 
of unavoidable destruction seizes him in his 
helplessness. 

The news that the Russians were attacking 
the left flank of the French army aroused that 
horror in Napoleon. He sat silently on a camp- 
stool below the knoll, with head bowed and 
elbows on his knees. Berthier approached and 
suggested that they should ride along the line 
to ascertain the position of affairs. 



"What? What do you say?" asked Napoleon. 
"Yes, tell them to bring me my horse." 

He mounted and rode toward Semenovsk. 

Amid the powder smoke, slowly dispersing 
over the whole space through which Napoleon 
rode, horses and men were lying in pools of 
blood, singly or in heaps. Neither Napoleon 
nor any of his generals had ever before seen 
such horrors or so many slain in such a small 
area. The roar of guns, that had not ceased for 
ten hours, wearied the ear and gave a peculiar 
significance to the spectacle, as music does to 
tableaux vivants. Napoleon rode up the high 
ground at Semenovsk, and through the smoke 
saw ranks of men in uniforms of a color un- 
familiar to him. They were Russians. 

The Russians stood in serried ranks behind 
Semenovsk village and its knoll, and their guns 
boomed incessantly along their line and sent 
forth clouds of smoke. It was no longer a bat- 
tle: it was a continuous slaughter which could 
be of no avail either to the French or the Rus- 
sians. Napoleon stopped his horse and again 
fell into the reverie from which Berthier had 
aroused him. He could not stop what was go- 
ing on before him and around him and was 
supposed to be directed by him and to depend 
on him, and from its lack of success this affair, 
for the first time, seemed to him unnecessary 
and horrible. 

One of the generals rode up to Napoleon 
and ventured to offer to lead the Old Guard 
into action. Ney and Berthier, standing near 
Napoleon, exchanged looks and smiled con- 
temptuously at this general's senseless offer. 

Napoleon bowed his head and remained si- 
lent a long time. 

"At eight hundred leagues from France, I 
will not have my Guard destroyed 1" he said, 
and turning his horse rode back toShevdrdino. 

CHAPTER XXXV 

ON THE RUG-COVERED BENCH where Pierre had 
seen him in the morning sat Kutuzov, his gray 
head hanging, his heavy body relaxed. He 
gave no orders, but only assented to or dis- 
sented from what others suggested. 

"Yes, yes, do that," he replied to various 
proposals. "Yes, yes: go, dear boy, and have a 
look," he would say to one or another of those 
about him; or, "No, don't, we'd better wait!" 
He listened to the reports that were brought 
him and gave directions when his subordinates 
demanded that of him; but when listening to 
the reports it seemed as if he were not inter- 
ested in the import of the words spoken, but 



460 

rather in something elsein the expression of 
face and tone of voice of those who were re- 
porting. By long years of military experience 
he knew, and with the wisdom of age under- 
stood, that it is impossible for one man to 
direct hundreds of thousands of others strug- 
gling with death, and he knew that the result 
of a battle is decided not by the orders of a 
commander in chief, nor the place where the 
troops are stationed, nor by the number of 
cannon or of slaughtered men, but by that in- 
tangible force called the spirit of the army, 
and he watched this force and guided it in as 
far as that was in his power. 

Kutiizov's general expression was one of 
concentrated quiet attention, and his face wore 
a strained look as if he found it difficult to 
master the fatigue of his old and feeble body. 

At eleven o'clock they brought him news 
that the (leches captured by the French had 
been retaken, but that Prince Bagration was 
wounded. Kutiizov groaned and swayed his 
head. 

"Ride over to Prince Peter Ivanovich and 
find out about it exactly/' he said to one of his 
adjutants, and then turned to the Duke of 
Wurttemberg who was standing behind him. 

"Will Your Highness please take command 
of the first army?" 

Soon after the duke's departure before he 
could possibly have reached Semenovsk his 
adjutant came back from him and told Kutii- 
zov that the duke asked for more troops. 

Kutuzov made a grimace and sent an order 
to Dokhtiirov to take over the command of the 
first army, and a request to the duke whom he 
said he could not spare at such an important 
moment to return to him. When they brought 
him news that Murat had been taken prisoner, 
and the staff officers congratulated him, Ku- 
tuzov smiled. 

"Wait a little, gentlemen," said he. "The 
battle is won, and there is nothing extraordi- 
nary in the capture of Murat. Still, it is better 
to wait before we rejoice." 

But he sent an adjutant to take the news 
round the army. 

When Scherbinin came galloping from the 
left flank with news that the French had cap- 
tured the fleches and the village of Semenovsk, 
Kutiizov, guessing by the sounds of the battle 
and by Scherbinin's looks that the news was 
bad, rose as if to stretch his legs and, taking 
Scherbinin's arm, led him aside. 

"Go, my dear fellow," he said to Erm61ov, 
"and see whether something can't be done." 



WAR AND PEACE 

Kutuzov was in G6rki, near the center of the 
Russian position. The attack directed by Na- 
poleon against our left flank had been several 
times repulsed. In the center the French had 
not got beyond Borodin6, and on their left 
flank Uvarov's cavalry had put the French to 
flight. 

Toward three o'clock the French attacks 
ceased. On the faces of all who came from the 
field of battle, and of those who stood around 
him, Kutuzov noticed an expression of extreme 
tension. He was satisfied with the day's success 
a success exceeding his expectations, but the 
old man's strength was failing him. Several 
times his head dropped low as if it were falling 
and he dozed off. Dinner was brought him. 

Adjutant General Wolzogen, the man who 
when riding past Prince Andrew had said, 
"the war should be extended widely," and 
whom Bagrati6n so detested, rode up while Ku- 
tiizov was at dinner. Wolzogen had come from 
Barclay de Tolly to report on the progress of 
affairs on the left flank. The sagacious Barclay 
de Tolly, seeing crowds of wounded men run- 
ning back and the disordered rear of the army, 
weighed all the circumstances, concluded that 
the battle was lost, and sent his favorite officer 
to the commander in chief with that news. 

Kutuzov was chew ing a piece of roast chicken 
with difficulty and glanced at Wolzogen with 
eyes that brightened under their puckering 
lids. 

Wolzogen, nonchalantly stretching his legs, 
approached Kutuzov with a half-contemptu- 
ous smile on his lips, scarcely touching the 
peak of his cap. 

He treated his Serene Highness with a some- 
what affected nonchalance intended to show 
that, as a highly trained military man, he left 
it to Russians to make an idol of this useless 
old man, but that he knew whom he was deal- 
ing with. "Der alte Herr" (as in their own set 
the Germans called Kutuzov) "is making him- 
self very comfortable," thought Wolzogen, and 
looking severely at the dishes in front of Ku- 
tuzov he began to report to "the old gentle- 
man" the position of affairs on the left flank 
as Barclay had ordered him to and as he him- 
self had seen and understood it. 

"All the points of our position are in the 
enemy's hands and we cannot dislodge them 
for lack of troops, the men are running away 
and it is impossible to stop them," he re- 
ported. 

Kutuzov ceased chewing and fixed an aston- 
ished gaze on Wolzogen, as if not understand 



ing what was said to him. Wolzogen, noticing 
"the old gentleman's" agitation, said with a 
smile: 

"I have not considered it right to conceal 
from your Serene Highness what I have seen. 
The troops are in complete disorder. . . ." 

"You have seen? You have seen? . . ." Kutii- 
zov shouted frowning, and rising quickly he 
went up to Wolzogen. 

"How . . . how dare you! . . ." he shouted, 
choking and making a threatening gesture 
with his trembling arms: "How dare you, sir, 
say that to me? You know nothing about it. 
Tell General Barclay from me that his infor- 
mation is incorrect and that the real course of 
the battle is better known to me, the com- 
mander in chief, than to him." 

Wolzogen was about to make a rejoinder, 
but Kutuzov interrupted him. 

"The enemy has been repulsed on the left 
and defeated on the right flank. If you have 
seen amiss, sir, do not allow yourself to say 
what you don't know! Be so good as to ride to 
General Barclay and inform him of my firm 
intention to attack the enemy tomorrow," said 
Kutuzov sternly. 

All were silent, and the only sound audible 
was the heavy breathing of the panting old 
general. 

"They are repulsed everywhere, for which I 
thank God and our brave army! The enemy is 
beaten, and tomorrow we shall drive him from 
the sacred soil of Russia," said Kutuzov cross- 
ing himself, and he suddenly sobbed as his 
eyes filled with tears. 

Wolzogen, shrugging his shoulders and curl- 
ing his lips, stepped silently aside, marveling 
at "the old gentleman's" conceited stupidity. 

"Ah, here he is, my hero!" said Kutuzov to a 
portly, handsome, dark-haired general who 
was just ascending the knoll. 

This was Rae!vski, who had spent the whole 
day at the most important part of the field of 
Borodin6. 

Radvski reported that the troops were firmly 
holding their ground and that the French no 
longer ventured to attack. 

After hearing him, Kutuzov said in French: 

"Then you do not think, like some others, 
that we must retreat?" 

"On the contrary, your Highness, in inde- 
cisive actions it is always the most stubborn 
who remain victors," replied Ra^vski, "and in 
my opinion . . ." 

"Kaysdrovl" Kuttizov called to his adjutant. 
"Sit down and write out the order of the day 



BOOK TEN 461 

for tomorrow. And you," he continued, address- 



ing another, "ride along the line and an- 
nounce that tomorrow we attack." 

While Kutuzov was talking to Ravski and 
dictating the order of the day, Wolzogen re- 
turned from Barclay and said that General 
Barclay wished to have written confirmation 
of the order the field marshal had given. 

Kutuzov, without looking at Wolzogen, gave 
directions ior the order to be written out 
which the former commander in chief, to avoid 
personal responsibility, very judiciously wished 
to receive. 

And by means of that mysterious indefin- 
able bond which maintains throughout an 
army one and the same temper, known as "the 
spirit of the army," and which constitutes the 
chief sinew of war, Kutuzov's words, his order 
for a battle next day, immediately became 
known from one end of the army to the other. 

It was far from being the same woids or the 
same order that reached the farthest links of 
that chain. The tales passing from mouth to 
mouth at different ends of the army did not 
even resemble what Kutuzov had said, but the 
sense of his words spread everywhere because 
what he said was not the outcome of cunning 
calculations, but of a feeling that lay in the 
commander in chief's soul as in that of every 
Russian. 

And on learning that tomorrow they were to 
attack the enemy, and hearing from the high- 
est quarters a confirmation of what they wanted 
to believe, the exhausted, wavering men felt 
comforted and inspirited. 

CHAPTER XXXVI 

PRINCE ANDREW'S REGIMENT was among the re- 
serves which till after one o'clock were stationed 
inactive behind Semenovsk, under heavy artil- 
lery fire. Toward two o'clock the regiment, 
having already lost more than two hundred 
men, was moved forward into a trampled oat- 
field in the gap between Semenovsk and the 
Knoll Battery, where thousands of men per- 
ished that day and on which an intense, con- 
centrated fire from several hundred enemy 
guns was directed between one and two 
o'clock. 

Without moving from that spot or firing a 
single shot the regiment here lost another 
third of its men. From in front and especially 
from the right, in the unlifting smoke the 
guns boomed, and out of the mysterious do- 
main of smoke that overlay the whole space 
in front, quick hissing cannon balls and slow 



462 

whistling shells flew unceasingly. At times, as 
if to allow them a respite, a quarter of an hour 
passed during which the cannon balls and 
shells all flew overhead, but sometimes several 
men were torn from the regiment in a minute 
and the slain were continually being dragged 
away and the wounded carried off. 

With each fresh blow less and less chance 
of life remained for those not yet killed. The 
regiment stood in columns of battalion, three 
hundred paces apart, but nevertheless the 
men were always in one and the same mood. 
All alike were taciturn and morose. Talk was 
rarely heard in the ranks, and it ceased alto- 
gether every time the thud of a successful shot 
and the cry of "stretchers!" was heard. Most of 
the time, by their officers' order, the men sat 
on the ground. One, having taken off his 
shako, carefully loosened the gathers of its lin- 
ing and drew them tight again; another, rub- 
bing some dry clay between his palms, polished 
his bayonet; another fingered the strap and 
pulled the buckle of his bandolier, while an- 
other smoothed and refolded his leg bands 
and put his boots on again. Some built little 
houses of the tufts in the plowed ground, or 
plaited baskets from the straw in the cornfield. 
All seemed fully absorbed in these pursuits. 
When men were killed or wounded, when rows 
of stretchers went past, when some troops re- 
treated, and when great masses of the enemy 
came into view through the smoke, no one 
paid any attention to these things. But when 
our artillery or cavalry advanced or some of 
our infantry were seen to move forward, words 
of approval were heard on all sides. But the 
liveliest attention was attracted by occurrences 
quite apart from, and unconnected with, the 
battle. It was as if the minds of these morally 
exhausted men found relief in everyday, com- 
monplace occurrences. A battery of artillery 
was passing in front of the regiment. The 
horse of an ammunition cart put its leg over a 
trace. "Hey, look at the trace horse 1 . . . Get 
her leg out! She'll fall. . . . Ah, they don't see 
it!" came identical shouts from the ranks all 
along the regiment. Another time, general at- 
tention was attracted by a small brown dog, 
coming heaven knows whence, which trotted 
in a preoccupied manner in front of the ranks 
with tail stiffly erect till suddenly a shell fell 
close by, when it yelped, tucked its tail be- 
tween its legs, and darted aside. Yells and 
shrieks of laughter rose from the whole regi- 
ment. But such distractions lasted only a mo- 
ment, and for eight hours the men had been 



WAR AND PEACE 

inactive, without food, in constant fear of 



death, and their pale and gloomy faces grew 
ever paler and gloomier. 

Prince Andrew, pale and gloomy like every- 
one in the regiment, paced up and down from 
the border of one patch to another, at the edge 
of the meadow beside an oatfield, with head 
bowed and arms behind his back. There was 
nothing for him to do and no orders to be 
given. Everything went on of itself. The killed 
were dragged from the front, the wounded 
carried away, and the ranks closed up. If any 
soldiers ran to the rear they returned immedi- 
ately and hastily. At first Prince Andrew, con- 
sidering it his duty to rouse the courage of the 
men and to set them an example, walked about 
among the ranks, but he soon became con- 
vinced that this was unnecessary and that there 
was nothing he could teach them. All the pow- 
ers of his soul, as of every soldier there, were 
unconsciously bent on avoiding the contem- 
plation of the horrors of their situation. He 
walked along the meadow, dragging his feet, 
rustling the grass, and gazing at the dust that 
covered his boots; now he took big strides try- 
ing to keep to the footprints left on the mead- 
ow by the mowers, then he counted his steps, 
calculating how often he must walk from one 
strip to another to walk a mile, then he stripped 
the flowers from the wormwood that grew a- 
long a boundary rut, rubbed them in his palms, 
and smelled their pungent, sweetly bitter scent. 
Nothing remained of the previous day's 
thoughts. He thought of nothing. He listened 
with weary ears to the ever-recurring sounds, 
distinguishing the whistle of flying projectiles 
from the booming of the reports, glanced at 
the tiresomely familiar faces of the men of the 
first battalion, and waited. "Here it comes . . . 
this one is coming our way again!" he thought, 
listening to an approaching whistle in the hid- 
den region of smoke. "One, another! Again! 
It has hit. . . ." He stopped and looked at the 
ranks. "No, it has gone over. But this one has 
hit!" And again he started trying to reach the 
boundary strip in sixteen paces. A whizz and 
a thud! Five paces from him, a cannon ball 
tore up the dry earth and disappeared. A chill 
ran down his back. Again he glanced at the 
ranks. Probably many had been hit a large 
crowd had gathered near the second battalion. 

"Adjutant!" he shouted. "Order them not 
to crowd together." 

The adjutant, having obeyed this instruc- 
tion, approached Prince Andrew. From the oth- 
er side a battalion commander rode up. 



BOOK TEN 



463 



"Look out I" came a frightened cry from a 
soldier and, like a bird whirring in rapid flight 
and alighting on the ground, a shell dropped 
with little noise within two steps of Prince An- 
drew and close to the battalion commander's 
horse. The horse first, regardless of whether it 
was right or wrong to show fear, snorted, reared 
almost throwing the major, and galloped aside. 
The horse's terror infected the men. 

"Lie down!" cried the adjutant, throwing 
himself flat on the ground. 

Prince Andrew hesitated. The smoking shell 
spun like a top between him and the prostrate 
adjutant, near a wormwood plant between the 
field and the meadow. 

"Can this be death?" thought Prince An- 
drew, looking with a quite new, envious glance 
at the grass, the wormwood, and the streamlet 
of smoke that curled up from the rotating 
black ball. "I cannot, I do not wish to die. I 
love life I love this grass, this earth, this 
air. . . ." He thought this, and at the same time 
remembered that people were looking at him. 

"It's shameful, sirl" he said to the adjutant. 
"What . . ." 

He did not finish speaking. At one and the 
same moment came the sound of an explosion, 
a whistle of splinters as from a breaking win- 
dow frame, a suffocating smell of powder, and 
Prince Andrew started to one side, raising his 
arm, and fell on his chest. Several officers ran 
up to him. From the right side of his abdomen, 
blood was welling out making a large stain on 
the grass. 

The militiamen with stretchers who were 
called up stood behind the officers. Prince An- 
drew lay on his chest with his face in the grass, 
breathing heavily and noisily. 

"What are you waiting for? Come alongl" 

The peasants went up and took him by his 
shoulders and legs, but he moaned piteously 
and, exchanging looks, they set him down 
again. 

"Pick him up, lift him, it's all the samel" 
cried someone. 

They again took him by the shoulders and 
laid him on the stretcher. 

"Ah, God! My God! What is it? The stom- 
ach? That means death! My God!" voices 
among the officers were heard saying. 

"It flew a hair's breadth past my ear," said 
the adjutant. 

The peasants, adjusting the stretcher to their 
shoulders, started hurriedly along the path 
they had trodden down, to the dressing sta- 
tion. 



"Keep in step! Ah . . . those peasants!" 
shouted an officer, seizing by their shoulder's 
and checking the peasants, who were walking 
unevenly and jolting the stretcher. 

"Get into step, Fedor ... I say, Fedorl" said 
the foremost peasant. 

"Now that's right!" said the one behind joy- 
fully, when he had got into step. 

"Your excellency! Eh, Prince!" said the 
trembling voice of Tim6khin, who had run up 
and was looking down on the stretcher. 

Prince Andrew opened his eyes and looked 
up at the speaker from the stretcher into which 
his head had sunk deep and again his eyelids 
drooped. 

The militiamen carried Prince Andrew to 
the dressing station by the wood, where wagons 
were stationed. The dressing station consisted 
of three tents with flaps turned back, pitched 
at the edge of a birch wood. In the wood, wag- 
ons and horses were standing. The horses were 
eating oats from their movable troughs and 
sparrows flew down and peeked the grains that 
fell. Some crows, scenting blood, flew among 
the birch trees cawing impatiently. Around 
the tents, over more than five acres, blood- 
stained men in various garbs stood, sat, or lay. 
Around the wounded stood crowds of soldier 
stretcher-bearers with dismal and attentive 
faces, whom the officers keeping order tried in 
vain to drive from the spot. Disregarding the 
officers' orders, the soldiers stood leaning 
against their stretchers and gazing intently, as 
if trying to comprehend the difficult problem 
of what was taking place before them. From 
the tents came now loud angry cries and now 
plaintive groans. Occasionally dressers ran out 
to fetch water, or to point out those who were 
to be brought in next. The wounded men 
awaiting their turn outside the tents groaned, 
sighed, wept, screamed, swore, or asked for 
vodka. Some were delirious. Prince Andrew's 
bearers, stepping over the wounded who had 
not yet been bandaged, took him, as a regi- 
mental commander, close up to one of the tents 
and there stopped, awaiting instructions. 
Prince Andrew opened his eyes and for a long 
time could not make out what was going on 
around him. He remembered the meadow, 
the wormwood, the field, the whirling black 
ball, and his sudden rush of passionate love of 
life. Two steps from him, leaning against a 
branch and talking loudly and attracting gen- 
eral attention, stood a tall, handsome, black- 
haired noncommissioned officer with a ban- 



464 



WAR AND PEACE 



daged head. He had been wounded in the 
head and leg by bullets. Around him, eagerly 
listening to his talk, a crowd of wounded and 
stretcher-bearers was gathered. 

"We kicked him out from there so that 
he chucked everything, we grabbed the King 
himself I" cried he, looking around him 
with eyes that glittered with fever. "If only 
reserves had come up just then, lads, there 
wouldn't have been nothing left of himl I tell 
you surely. . . ." 

Like all the others near the speaker, Prince 
Andrew looked at him with shining eyes and 
experienced a sense of comfort. "But isn't it 
all the same now?" thought he. "And what will 
be there, and what has there been here? Why 
was I so reluctant to part with life? There was 
something in this life I did not and do not 
understand." 

CHAPTER XXXVII 
ONE OF THE DOCTORS came out of the tent in a 
bloodstained apron, holding a cigar between 
the thumb and little finger of one of his small 
bloodstained hands, so as not to smear it. He 
raised his head and looked about him, but 
above the level of the wounded men. He evi- 
dently wanted a little respite. After turning 
his head from right to left for some time, he 
sighed and looked down. 

"All right, immediately," he replied to a 
dresser who pointed Prince Andrew out to 
him, and he told them to carry him into the 
tent. 

Murmurs arose among the wounded who 
were waiting. 

"It seems that even in the next world only 
the gentry are to have a chance!" remarked 
one. 

Prince Andrew was carried in and laid on a 
table that had only just been cleared and which 
a dresser was washing down. Prince Andrew 
could not make out distinctly what was in that 
tent. The pitiful groans from all sides and the 
torturing pain in his thigh, stomach, and back 
distracted him. All he saw about him merged 
into a general impression of naked, bleeding 
human bodies that seemed to fill the whole of 
the low tent, as a few weeks previously, on that 
hot August day, such bodies had filled the 
dirty pond beside the Smolensk road. Yes, it 
was the same flesh, the same chair & canon, the 
sight of which had even then filled him with 
horror, as by a presentiment. 

There were three operating tables in the 
tent. Two were occupied, and on the third 



they placed Prince Andrew, For a little while 
he was left alone and involuntarily witnessed 
what was taking place on the other two tables. 
On the nearest one sat a Tartar, probably a 
Cossack, judging by the uniform thrown down 
beside him. Four soldiers were holding him, 
and a spectacled doctor was cutting into his 
muscular brown back. 

"Ooh, ooh, oohl" grunted the Tartar, and 
suddenly lifting up his swarthy snub-nosed 
face with its high cheekbones, and baring his 
white teeth, he began to wriggle and twitch 
his body and utter piercing, ringing, and pro- 
longed yells. On the other table, round which 
many people were crowding, a tall well-fed 
man lay on his back with his head thrown 
back. His curly hair, its color, and the shape 
of his head seemed strangely familiar to Prince 
Andrew. Several dressers were pressing on his 
chest to hold him down. One large, white, 
plump leg twitched rapidly all the time with a 
feverish tremor. The man was sobbing and 
choking convulsively. Two doctors one of 
whom was pale and trembling were silently 
doing something to this man's other, gory leg. 
When he had finished with the Tartar, whom 
they covered with an overcoat, the spectacled 
doctor came up to Prince Andrew, wiping his 
hands. 

He glanced at Prince Andrew's face and 
quickly turned away. 

"Undress him! What are you waiting for?" 
he cried angrily to the dressers. 

His very first, remotest recollections of child- 
hood came back to Prince Andrew's mind when 
the dresser with sleeves rolled up began hastily 
to undo the buttons of his clothes and un- 
dressed him. The doctor bent down over the 
wound, felt it, and sighed deeply. Then he 
made a sign to someone, and the torturing pain 
in his abdomen caused Prince Andrew to lose 
consciousness. When he came to himself the 
splintered portions of his thighbone had been 
extracted, the torn flesh cut away, and the 
wound bandaged. Water was being sprinkled 
on his face. As soon as Prince Andrew opened 
his eyes, the doctor bent over, kissed him silent- 
ly on the lips, and hurried away. 

After the sufferings he had been enduring, 
Prince Andrew enjoyed a blissful feeling such 
as he had riot experienced for a long time. All 
the best and happiest moments of his life es 
pecially his earliest childhood, when he used to 
be undressed and put to bed, and when lean- 
ing over him his nurse sang him to sleep and 
he, burying his head in the pillow, felt happy 



BOOK 

in the mere consciousness of life returned to 
his memory, not merely as something past but 
as something present. 

The doctors were busily engaged with the 
wounded man the shape of whose head seemed 
familiar to Prince Andrew: they were lifting 
him up and trying to quiet him. 

"Show it to me Oh,ooh . . . Ohl Oh,oohl" 

his frightened moans could be heard, subdued 
by suffering and broken by sobs. 

Hearing those moans Prince Andrew wanted 
to weep. Whether because he was dying with- 
out glory, or because he was sorry to part with 
life, or because of those memories of a child- 
hood that could not return, or because he was 
suffering and others were suffering and that 
man near him was groaning so piteously he 
felt like weeping childlike, kindly, and al- 
most happy tears. 

The wounded man was shown his amputat- 
ed leg stained with clotted blood and with the 
boot still on. 

"Oh! Oh, oohl" he sobbed, like a woman. 

The doctor who had been standing beside 
him, preventing Prince Andrew from seeing 
his face, moved away. 

"My Godl What is this? Why is he here?" 
said Prince Andrew to himself. 

In the miserable, sobbing, enfeebled man 
whose leg had just been amputated, he recog- 
nized Anatole Kuragin. Men were supporting 
him in their arms and offering him a glass of 
water, but his trembling, swollen lips could 
not grasp its rim. Anatole was sobbing pain- 
fully. "Yes, it is he! Yes, that man is somehow 
closely and painfully connected with me," 
thought Prince Andrew, not yet clearly grasp- 
ing what he saw before him. "What is the con- 
nection of that man with my childhood and my 
life?" he asked himself without finding an an- 
swer. And suddenly a new unexpected memory 
from that realm of pure and loving childhood 
presented itself to him. He remembered Na- 
tasha as he had seen her for the first time at the 
ball in 1810, with her slender neck and arms and 
with a frightened happy face ready for rapture, 
and love and tenderness for her, stronger and 
more vivid than ever, awoke in his soul. He 
now remembered the connection that existed 
between himself and this man who was dimly 
gazing at him through tears that filled his swol- 
len eyes. He remembered everything, and ec- 
static pity and love for that man overflowed 
his happy heart. 

Prince Andrew could no longer restrain him- 
self and wept tender loving tears for his fel- 



TEN 465 

low men, for himself, and for his own and 
their errors. 

"Compassion, love of our brothers, for those 
who love us and for those who hate us, love of 
our enemies; yes, that love which God preached 
on earth and which Princess Mary taught me 
and I did not understand that is what made 
me sorry to part with life, that is what re- 
mained for me had I lived. But now it is too 
late. I know it 1" 

CHAPTER XXXVIII 
THE TERRIBLE SPECTACLE of the battlefield cov- 
ered with dead and wounded, together with 
the heaviness of his head and the news that 
some twenty generals he knew personally had 
been killed or wounded, and the consciousness 
of the impotence of his once mighty arm, pro- 
duced an unexpected impression on Napoleon 
who usually liked to look at the killed and 
wounded, thereby, he considered, testing his 
strength of mind. This day the horrible ap- 
pearance of the battlefield overcame that 
strength of mind which he thought constitut- 
ed his merit and his greatness. He rode hurried- 
ly from the battlefield and returned to the She- 
vardino knoll, where he sat on his campstool, 
his sallow face swollen and heavy, his eyes dim, 
his nose red, and his voice hoarse, involunta- 
rily listening, with downcast eyes, to the sounds 
of firing. With painful dejection he awaited 
the end of this action, in which he regarded 
himself as a participant and which he was un- 
able to arrest. A personal, human feeling for 
a brief moment got the better of the artificial 
phantasm of life he had served so long. He 
felt in his own person the sufferings and death 
he had witnessed on the battlefield. The heavi- 
ness of his head and chest reminded him of the 
possibility of suffering and death for himself. 
At that moment he did not desire Moscow, or 
victory, or glory (what need had he for any 
more glory?). The one thing he wished for was 
rest, tranquillity, and freedom. But when he 
had been on the Semenovsk heights the artil- 
lery commander had proposed to him to bring 
several batteries of artillery up to those heights 
to strengthen the fire on the Russian troops 
crowded in front of Knyazkovo. Napoleon had 
assented and had given orders that news should 
be brought him of the effect those batteries 
produced. 

An adjutant came now to inform him that 
the fire of two hundred guns had been concen- 
trated on the Russians, as he had ordered, but 
that they still held their ground. 



466 



WAR AND PEACE 



"Our fire is mowing them down by rows, but 
still they hold on," said the adjutant 

"They want more! . . ." said Napoleon in a 
hoarse voice. 

"Sire?" asked the adjutant who had not heard 
the remark. 

"They want more!" croaked Napoleon 
frowning. "Let them have it!" 

Even before he gave that order the thing he 
did not desire, and for which he gave the order 
only because he thought it was expected of 
him, was being done. And he fell back into 
that artificial realmof imaginary greatness, and 
againas a horse walking a treadmill thinks 
it is doing something for itself he submissive- 
ly fulfilled the cruel, sad, gloomy, and inhuman 
role predestined for him. 

And not for that day and hour alone were the 
mind and conscience darkened of this man on 
whom the responsibility for what was happen- 
ing lay more than on all the others who took 
part in it. Never to the end of his life could he 
understand goodness, beauty, or truth, or the 
significance of his actions which were too con- 
trary to goodness and truth, too remote from 
everything human, for him ever to be able to 
grasp their meaning. He could not disavow his 
actions, belauded as they were by half the world, 
and so he had to repudiate truth, goodness, and 
all humanity. 

Not only on that day, as he rode over the 
battlefield strewn with men killed and maimed 
(by his will as he believed), did he reckon as 
he looked at them how many Russians there 
were for each Frenchman and, deceiving him- 
self, find reason for rejoicing in the calculation 
that there were five Russians for every French- 
man. Not on that day alone did he write in a 
letter to Paris that "the battlefield was superb," 
because fifty thousand corpses lay there, but 
even on the island of St. Helena in the peace- 
ful solitude where he said he intended to de- 
vote his leisure to an account of the great deeds 
he had done, he wrote: 

The Russian war should have been the most 
popular war of modern times: it was a war of good 
sense, for real interests, for the tranquillity and 
security of all; it was purely pacific and conserva- 
tive. 

It was a war for a great cause, the end of un- 
certainties and the beginning of security. A new 
horizon and new labors were opening out, full of 
well-being and prosperity for all. The European 
system was already founded; all that remained 
was to organize it. 

Satisfied on these great points and with tran- 
quillity everywhere, I too should have had my 



Congress and my Holy Alliance. Those ideas were 
stolen from me. In that reunion of great sovereigns 
we should have discussed our interests like one 
family, and have rendered account to the peoples 
as clerk to master. 

Europe would in this way soon have been, in 
fact, but one people, and anyone who traveled 
anywhere would have found himself always in the 
common fatherland. I should have demanded the 
freedom of all navigable rivers for everybody, that 
the seas should be common to all, and that the 
great standing armies should be reduced hence- 
forth to mere guards for the sovereigns. 

On returning to France, to the bosom of the 
great, strong, magnificent, peaceful, and glorious 
fatherland, I should have proclaimed her frontiers 
immutable; all future wars purely defensive, all 
aggrandizement antinational. I should have as- 
sociated my son in the Empire; my dictatorship 
would have been finished, and his constitutional 
reign would have begun. 

Paris would have been the capital of the world, 
and the French the envy of the nations! 

My leisure then, and my old age, would have 
been devoted, in company with the Empress and 
during the royal apprenticeship of my son, to 
leisurely visiting, with our own horses and like a 
true country couple, every corner of the Empire, 
receiving complaints, redressing wrongs, and scat- 
tering public buildings and benefactions on all 
sides and everywhere. 

Napoleon, predestined by Providence for 
the gloomy role of executioner of the peo- 
ples, assured himself that the aim of his actions 
had been the peoples' welfare and that he 
could control the fate of millions and by the 
employment of power confer benefactions. 

"Of four hundred thousand men who crossed the 
Vistula," he wrote further of the Russian war, 
"half were Austrians, Prussians, Saxons, Poles, Ba- 
varians, Wurttembergers, Mecklenburgers, Span- 
iards, Italians, and Neapolitans. The Imperial ar- 
my, strictly speaking, was one third composed of 
Dutch, Belgians, men from the borders of the 
Rhine, Piedmontese, Swiss, Genevese, Tuscans, Ro- 
mans, inhabitants of the Thirty-second Military 
Division, of Bremen, of Hamburg, and so on: it 
included scarcely a hundred and forty thousand 
who spoke French. The Russian expedition actual- 
ly cost France less than fifty thousand men; the 
Russian army in its retreat from Vttna to Moscow 
lost in the various battles four times more men 
than the French army; the burning of Moscow cost 
the lives of a hundred thousand Russians who died 
of cold and want in the woods; finally, in its march 
from Moscow to the Oder the Russian army also 
suffered from the severity of the season; so that 
by the the time it reached Vilna it numbered only 
fifty thousand, and at Kalisch less than eighteen 
thousand." 



BOOK TEN 



467 



He imagined that the war with Russia came 
about by his will, and the horrors that occurred 
did not stagger his soul. He boldly took the 
whole responsibility for what happened, and 
his darkened mind found justification in the 
belief that among the hundreds of thousands 
who perished there were fewer Frenchmen 
than Hessians and Bavarians. 

CHAPTER XXXIX 

SEVERAL TENS OF THOUSANDS of the slain lay in 
diverse postures and various uniforms on the 
fields and meadows belonging to the Davydov 
family and to the crown serfs those fields and 
meadows where for hundreds of years the 
peasants of Borodin6, G6rki, Shevardino, and 
Semenovsk had reaped their harvests and pas- 
tured their cattle. At the dressing stations the 
grass and earth were soaked with blood for a 
space of some three acres around. Crowds of 
men of various arms, wounded and unwound- 
ed, with frightened faces, dragged themselves 
back to Mozhaysk from the one army and back 
to Valiievo from the other. Other crowds, ex- 
hausted and hungry, went forward led by their 
officers. Others held their ground and contin- 
ued to fire. 

Over the whole field, previously so gaily 
beautiful with the glitter of bayonets and cloud- 
lets of smoke in the morning sun, there now 
spread a mist of damp and smoke and a strange 
acid smell of saltpeter and blood. Clouds gath- 
ered and drops of rain began to fall on the dead 
and wounded, on the frightened, exhausted, 
and hesitating men, as if to say: "Enough, menl 
Enough! Cease . . . bethink yourselvesl What 
are you doing?" 

To the men of both sides alike, worn out by 
want of food and rest, it began equally to ap- 
pear doubtful whether they should continue 
to slaughter one another; all the faces ex- 
pressed hesitation, and the question arose in 
every soul: "For what, for whom, must I kill 
and be killed? . . . You may go and kill whom 
you please, but I don't want to do so any more I" 
By evening this thought had ripened in every 
soul. At any moment these men might have 
been seized with horror at what they were do- 
ing and might have thrown up everything and 
run away anywhere. 

But though toward the end of the battle the 
men felt all the horror of what they were do- 
ing, though they would have been glad to 
leave off, some incomprehensible, mysterious 
power continued to control them, and they 
still brought up the charges, loaded, aimed, 



and applied the match, though only one artil- 
leryman survived out of every three, and 
though they stumbled and panted with fatigue, 
perspiring and stained with blood and pow- 
der. The cannon balls flew just as swiftly and 
cruelly from both sides, crushing human bod- 
ies, and that terrible work which was not done 
by the will of a man but at the will of Him 
who governs men and worlds continued. 

Anyone looking at the disorganized rear of 
the Russian army would have said that, if only 
the French made one more slight effort, it 
would disappear; and anyone looking at the 
rear of the French army would have said that 
the Russians need only make one more slight 
effort and the French would be destroyed. But 
neither the French nor the Russians made that 
effort, and the flame of battle burned slowly 
out. 

The Russians did not make that effort be- 
cause they were not attacking the French. At 
the beginning of the battle theystood blocking 
the way to Moscow and they still did so at the 
end of the battle as at the beginning. But even 
had the aim of the Russians been to drive the 
French from their positions, they could not 
have made this last effort, for all the Russian 
troops had been broken up, there was no part 
of the Russian army that had not suffered in 
the battle, and though still holding their 
positions they had lost ONE HALF of their 
army. 

The French, with the memory of all their 
former victories during fifteen years, with the 
assurance of Napoleon's invincibility, with 
the consciousness that they had captured part 
of the battlefield and had lost only a quarter 
of their men and still had their Guards intact, 
twenty thousand strong, might easily have 
made that effort. The French who had attacked 
the Russian army in order to drive it from its 
position ought to have made that effort, for 
as long as the Russians continued to block the 
road to Moscow as before, the aim of the 
French had not been attained and all their 
efforts and losses were in vain. But the French 
did not make that effort. Some historians say 
that Napoleon need only have used his Old 
Guards, who were intact, and the battle would 
have been won. To speak of what would have 
happened had Napoleon sent his Guards is 
like talking of what would happen if autumn 
became spring. It could not be. Napoleon did 
not give his Guards, not because he did not 
want to, but because it could not be done. All 
the generals, officers, and soldiers of the French 



4 68 



WAR AND PEACE 



army knew it could not be done, because the 
flagging spirit of the troops would not permit 
it. 

It was not Napoleon alone who had experi- 
enced that nightmare feeling of the mighty 
arm being stricken powerless, but all the gen- 
erals and soldiers of his army whether they 
had taken part in the battle or not, after all 
their experience of previous battles when aft- 
er one tenth of such efforts the enemy had fled 
experienced a similar feeling of terror before 
an enemy who, after losing HALF his men, stood 
as threateningly at the end as at the beginning 
of the battle. The moral force of the attacking 
French army was exhausted. Not that sort of 
victory which is defined by the capture of pieces 
of material fastened to sticks, called standards, 
and of the ground on which the troops had 
stood and were standing, but a moral victory 
that convinces the enemy of the moral superi- 



ority of his opponent and of his own impotence 
was gained by the Russians at Borodin6. The 
French invaders, like an infuriated animal that 
has in its onslaught received a mortal wound, 
felt that they were perishing, but could not 
stop, any more than the Russian army, weak- 
er by one half, could help swerving. By the im- 
petus gained, the French army was still able to 
roll forward to Moscow, but there, without 
further effort on the part of the Russians, it 
had to perish, bleeding from the mortal wound 
it had received at Borodin6. The direct conse- 
quence of the battle of Borodino was Napo- 
leon's senseless flight from Moscow, his retreat 
along the old Smolensk road, the destruction 
of the invading army of five hundred thousand 
men, and the downfall of Napoleonic France, 
on which at Borodino for the first time the 
hand of an opponent of stronger spirit had 
been laid. 



Book Eleven: 1812 



CHAPTER I 

ABSOLUTE CONTINUITY of motion is not compre- 
hensible to the human mind. Laws of motion 
of any kind become comprehensible to man 
only when he examines arbitrarily selected el- 
ements of that motion; but at the same time, 
a large proportion of human error comes from 
the arbitrary division of continuous motion 
into discontinuous elements. There is a well- 
known, so-called sophism of the ancients con- 
sisting in this, that Achilles could never catch 
up with a tortoise he was following, in spite of 
the fact that he traveled ten times as fast as the 
tortoise. By the time Achilles has covered the 
distance that separated him from the tortoise, 
the tortoise has covered one tenth of that dis- 
tance ahead of him: when Achilles has covered 
that tenth, the tortoise has covered another one 
hundredth, and so on forever. This problem 
seemed to the ancients insoluble. The absurd 
answer (that Achilles could never overtake the 
tortoise) resulted from this: that motion was 
arbitrarily divided into discontinuous ele- 
ments, whereas the motion both of Achilles 
and of the tortoise was continuous. 

By adopting smaller and smaller elements of 
motion we only approach a solution of the 
problem, but never reach it. Only when we 
have admitted the conception of the infinite- 
ly small, and the resulting geometrical pro- 
gression with a common ratio of one tenth, 
and have found the sum of this progression 
to infinity, do we reach a solution of the prob- 
lem. 

A modern branch of mathematics having 
achieved the art of dealing with the infinitely 
small can now yield solutions in other more 
complex problems of motion which used to 
appear insoluble. 

This modern branch of mathematics, un- 
known to the ancients, when dealing with 
problems of motion admits the conception of 
the infinitely small, and so conforms to the 
chief condition of motion (absolute continui- 
ty) and thereby corrects the inevitable error 



which the human mind cannot avoid when 
it deals with separate elements of motion in- 
stead of examining continuous motion. 

In seeking the laws of historical movement 
just the same thing happens. The movement of 
humanity, arising as it does from innumerable 
arbitrary human wills, is continuous. 

To understand the laws of this continuous 
movement is the aim of history. But to arrive 
at these laws, resulting from the sum of all those 
human wills, man's mind postulates arbitrary 
and disconnected units. The first method of 
history is to take an arbitrarily selected series 
of continuous events and examine it apart 
from others, though there is and can be no be- 
ginning to any event, for one event always 
flows uninterruptedly from another. 

The second method is to consider the ac- 
tions of some one man a king or a command- 
eras equivalent to the sum of many individ- 
ual wills; whereas the sum of individual wills 
is never expressed by the activity of a single his- 
toric personage. 

Historical science in its endeavor to draw 
nearer to truth continually takes smaller and 
smaller units for examination. But however 
small the units it takes, we feel that to take 
any unit disconnected from others, or to as- 
sume a beginning of any phenomenon, or to 
say that the will of many men is expressed by 
the actions of any one historic personage, is in 
itself false. 

It needs no critical exertion to reduce utter- 
ly to dust any deductions drawn from history. 
It is merely necessary to select some larger or 
smaller unit as the subject of observation as 
criticism has every right to do, seeing that 
whatever unit history observes must always be 
arbitrarily selected. 

Only by taking infinitesimally small units 
for observation (the differential of history, 
that is, the individual tendencies of men) and 
attaining to the art of integrating them (that 
is, finding the sum of these infinitesimals) can 
we hope to arrive at the laws of history. 



469 



470 



The first fifteen years of the nineteenth cen- 
tury in Europe present an extraordinary move- 
ment of millions of people. Men leave their 
customary pursuits, hasten from one side of 
Europe to the other, plunder and slaughter 
one another, triumph and are plunged in de- 
spair, and for some years the whole course of 
life is altered and presents an intensive move- 
ment which first increases and then slackens. 
What was the cause of this movement, by what 
laws was it governed? asks the mind of man. 

The historians, replying to this question, lay 
before us the sayings and doings of a few dozen 
men in a building in the city of Paris, calling 
these sayings and doings "the Revolution"; 
then they give a detailed biography of Napo- 
leon and of certain people favorable or hostile 
to him; tell of the influence some of these peo- 
ple had on others, and say: that is why this 
movement took place and those are its laws. 

But the mind of man not only refuses to be- 
lieve this explanation, but plainly says that 
this method of explanation is fallacious, be- 
cause in it a weaker phenomenon is taken as 
the cause of a stronger. The sum of human 
wills produced the Revolution and Napoleon, 
and only the sum of those wills first tolerated 
and then destroyed them. 

"But every time there have been conquests 
there have been conquerors; every time there 
has been a revolution in any state there have 
been great men," says history. And, indeed, hu- 
man reason replies: every time conquerors ap- 
pear there have been wars, but this does not 
prove that the conquerors caused the wars and 
that it is possible to find the laws of a war in 
the personal activity of a single man. When- 
ever I look at my watch and its hands point to 
ten, I hear the bells of the neighbor ing church; 
but because the bells begin to ring when the 
hands of the clock reach ten, I have no right to 
assume that the movement of the bells is caused 
by the position of the hands of the watch. 

Whenever I see the movement of a locomo- 
tive I hear the whistle and see the valves open- 
ing and wheels turning; but I have no right to 
conclude that the whistling and the turning of 
wheels are the cause of the movement of the 
engine. 

The peasants say that a cold wind blows in 
late spring because the oaks are budding, and 
really every spring cold winds do blow when 
the oak is budding. But though I do not know 
what causes the cold winds to blow when the 
oak buds unfold, I cannot agree with the peas- 
ants that the unfolding of the oak buds is the 



WAR AND PEACE 

cause of the cold wind, for the force of the 
wind is beyond the influence of the buds. I see 
only a coincidence of occurrences such as hap- 
pens with all the phenomena of life, and I see 
that however much and however carefully I 
observe the hands of the watch, and the valves 
and wheels of the engine, and the oak, I shall 
not discover the cause of the bells ringing, the 
engine moving, or of the winds of spring. Todo 
that I must entirely change my point of view 
and study the laws of the movement of steam, 
of the bells, and of the wind. History must do 
the same. And attempts in this direction have 
already been made. 

To study the laws of history we must com- 
pletely change the subject of our observation, 
must leave aside kings, ministers, and generals, 
and study the common, infmitcsimally small 
elements by which the masses are moved. No 
one can say in how far it is possible for man to 
advance in this way toward an understanding 
of the laws of history; but it is evident that on- 
ly along that path does the possibility of discov- 
ering the laws of history lie, and that as yet 
not a millionth part as much mental effort has 
been applied in this direction by historians as 
has been devoted to describing the actions of 
various kings, commanders, and ministers and 
propounding the historians' own reflections 
concerning these actions. 



CHAPTER II 

THE FORCES of a dozen European nations burst 
into Russia. The Russian army and people 
avoided a collision till Smolensk was reached, 
and again from Smolensk to Borodin6. The 
French army pushed on to Moscow, its goal, its 
impetus ever increasing as it neared its aim, 
just as the velocity of a falling body increases 
as it approaches the earth. Behind it were sev- 
en hundred miles of hunger-stricken, hostile 
country; ahead were a few dozen miles sepa- 
rating it from its goal. Every soldier in Napo- 
leon's army felt this and the invasion moved 
on by its own momentum. 

The more the Russian army retreated the 
more fiercely a spirit of hatred of the enemy 
flared up, and while it retreated the army in- 
creased and consolidated. At Borodin6 a col- 
lision took place. Neither army was broken 
up, but the Russian army retreated immediate- 
ly after the collision as inevitably as a ball re- 
coils after colliding with another having a 
greater momentum, and with equal inevitabil- 
ity the ball of invasion that had advanced with 
such momentum rolled on for some distance, 



BOOK ELEVEN 



47 1 



though the collision had deprived it of all its 
force. 

The Russians retreated eighty milesto be- 
yond Moscowand the French reached Mos- 
cow and there came to a standstill. For five 
weeks after that there was not a single battle. 
The French did not move. As a bleeding, mor- 
tally wounded animal licks its wounds, they 
remained inert in Moscow for five weeks, and 
then suddenly, with no fresh reason, fled back: 
they made a dash for the Kaluga road, and 
(after a victory for at Malo-Yaroslavets the 
field of conflict again remained theirs) without 
undertaking a single serious battle, they fled 
still more rapidly back to Smolensk, beyond 
Smolensk, beyond the Berezina, beyond Vilna, 
and farther still. 

On the eveningof the twenty-sixth of August, 
Kutuzov and the whole Russian army were con- 
vinced that the battle of Borodino was a victory. 
Kutuzov reported so to the Emperor. He gave 
orders to prepare for a fresh conflict to finish 
the enemy and did this not to deceive anyone, 
but because he knew that the enemy was beat- 
en, as everyone who had taken part in the bat- 
tle knew it. 

But all that evening and next day reports 
came in one after another of unheard-of losses, 
of the loss of half the army, and a fresh battle 
proved physically impossible. 

It was impossible to give battle before infor- 
mation had been collected, the wounded gath- 
ered in, the supplies of ammunition replen- 
ished, the slain reckoned up, new officers ap- 
pointed to replace those who had been killed, 
and before the men had had food and sleep. 
And meanwhile, the very next morning after 
the battle, the French army advanced of itself 
upon the Russians, carried forward by the 
force of its own momentum now seemingly in- 
creased in inverse proportion to the square of 
the distance from its aim. Kutuzov's wish was 
to attack next day, and the whole army desired 
to do so. But to make an attack the wish to do 
so is not sufficient, there must also be a possi- 
bility of doing it, and that possibility did not 
exist. It was impossible not to retreat a day's 
march, and then in the same way it was impos- 
sible not to retreat another and a third day's 
march, and at last, on the first of September 
when the army drew near Moscow despite the 
strength of the feeling that had arisen in all 
ranks the force of circumstances compelled it 
to retire beyond Moscow. And the troops re- 
tired one more, last, day's march, and aban- 
doned Moscow to the enemy. 



For people accustomed to think that plans 
of campaign and battles are made by generals 
as any one of us sitting over a map in his 
study may imagine how he would have ar- 
ranged things in this or that battle the ques- 
tions present themselves: Why did Kutuzov 
during the retreat not do this or that? Why did 
he not take up a position before reaching Fill? 
Why did he not retire at once by the Kaluga 
road, abandoning Moscow? and so on. People 
accustomed to think in that way forget, or do 
not know, the inevitable conditions which al- 
ways limit the activities of any commander in 
chief. The activity of a commander in chief 
does not at all resemble the activity we imagine 
to ourselves when we sit at ease in our studies 
examining some campaign on the map, with 
a certain number of troops on this and that 
side in a certain known locality, and begin our 
plans from some given moment. A commander 
in chief is never dealing with the beginning of 
any event the position from which we always 
contemplate it. The commander in chief is 
always in the midst of a series of shifting events 
and so he never can at any moment consider 
the whole import of an event that is occurring. 
Moment by moment the event is imperceptibly 
shaping itself, and at every moment of thiscon- 
tinuous, uninterrupted shaping of events the 
commander in chief is in the midst of a most 
complex play of intrigues, worries, contingen- 
cies, authorities, projects, counsels, threats, and 
deceptions and is continually obliged to reply 
to innumerable questions addressed to him, 
which constantly conflict with one another. 

Learned military authorities quite seriously 
tell us that Kutuzov should have moved his ar- 
my to the Kaluga road long before reaching 
FiH, and that somebody actually submitted 
such a proposal to him. But a commander in 
chief, especially at a difficult moment, has al- 
ways before him not one proposal but dozens 
simultaneously. And all these proposals, based 
on strategics and tactics, contradict each other. 

A commander in chiefs business, it would 
seem, is simply to choose one of these projects. 
But even that he cannot do. Events and time 
do not wait. For instance, on the twenty-eighth 
it is suggested to him to cross to the Kaluga 
road, but just then an adjutant gallops up from 
Milorddovich asking whether he is to engage 
the French or retire. An order must be given 
him at once, that instant. And the order to re- 
treat carries us past the turn to the Kaluga 
road. And after the adjutant comes the com- 
missary general asking where the stores are to 



47* 



WAR AND PEACE 



be taken, and the chief of the hospitals asks 
where the wounded are to go, and a courier 
from Petersburg brings a letter from the sov- 
ereign which does not admit of the possibility 
of abandoning Moscow, and the commander 
in chief's rival, the man who is undermining 
him (and there are always not merely one but 
several such), presents a new project diametri- 
cally opposed to that of turning to the Kaluga 
road, and the commander in chief himself 
needs sleep and refreshment to maintain his 
energy, and a respectable general who has 
been overlooked in the distribution of rewards 
comes to complain, and the inhabitants of the 
district pray to be defended, and an officer sent 
to inspect the locality comes in and gives a re- 
port quite contrary to what was said by the 
officer previously sent; and a spy, a prisoner, 
and a general who has been on reconnaissance, 
all describe the position of the enemy's army 
differently. People accustomed to misunder- 
stand or to forget these inevitable conditions 
of a commander in chiefs actions describe to 
us, for instance, the position of the army at 
Fill and assume that the commander in chief 
could, on the first of September, quite freely 
decide whether to abandon Moscow or defend 
it; whereas, with the Russian army less than 
four miles from Moscow, no such question 
existed. When had that question been settled? 
At Drissa and at Smolensk and most palpably 
of all on the twenty-fourth of August at She- 
vardino and on the twenty-sixth at liorodino, 
and each day and hour and minute of the 
retreat from Borodin6 to Fill. 

CHAPTER III 

WHEN ERMOLOV, having been sent by Kutuzov 
to inspect the position, told the field marshal 
that it was impossible to fight there before 
Moscow and that they must retreat, Kutuzov 
looked at him in silence. 

"Give me your hand," said he and, turning 
it over so as to feel the pulse, added: "You are 
not well, my dear fellow. Think what you are 
saying!" 

Kutuzov could not yet admit the possibility 
of retreating beyond Moscow without a battle. 

On the Poklonny Hill, four miles from the 
Dorogomilov gate of Moscow, Kutuzov got out 
of his carriage and sat down on a bench by the 
roadside. A great crowd of generals gathered 
round him, and Count Rostopchin, who had 
come out from Moscow, joined them. This 
brilliant company separated into several 
groups who all discussed the advantages and 



disadvantages of the position, the state of the 
army, the plans suggested, the situation of 
Moscow, and military questions generally. 
Though they had not been summoned for the 
purpose, and though it was not so called, they 
all felt that this was really a council of war. 
The conversations all dealt with public ques- 
tions. If anyone gave or asked for personal 
news, it was done in a whisper and they im- 
mediately reverted to general matters. No jokes, 
or laughter, or smiles even, were seen among 
all these men. They evidently all made an ef- 
fort to hold themselves at the height the situa- 
tion demanded. And all these groups, while 
talking among themselves, tried to keep near 
the commander in chief (whose bench formed 
the center of the gathering) and to speak so 
that he might overhear them. The commander 
in chief listened to what was being said and 
sometimes asked them to repeat their remarks, 
but did not himself take part in the conversa- 
tions or express any opinion. After hearing 
what was being said by one or other of these 
groups he generally turned away with an air 
of disappointment, as though they were not 
speaking of anything he wished to hear. Some 
discussed the position that had been chosen, 
criticizing not the position itself so much as 
the mental capacity of those who had chosen 
it. Others argued that a mistake had been made 
earlier and that a battle should have been 
fought two days before. Others again spoke of 
the battle of Salamanca, which was described 
by Crosart, a newly arrived Frenchman in a 
Spanish uniform. (This Frenchman and one 
of the German princes serving with the Rus- 
sian army were discussing the siege of Sara- 
gossaand considering the possibility of defend- 
ing Moscow in a similar manner.) Count Ros- 
topchin was telling a fourth group that he was 
prepared to die with the city train bands under 
the walls of the capital, but that he still could 
not help regretting having been left in igno- 
rance of what was happening, and that had he 
known it sooner things would have been dif- 
ferent. ... A fifth group, displaying the pro- 
fundity of their strategic perceptions, discussed 
the direction the troops would now have to 
take. A sixth group was talking absolute non- 
sense. Kutiizov's expression grew more and 
more preoccupied and gloomy. From all this 
talk he sawonly one thing: that to defend Mos- 
cow was a physical impossibility in the full 
meaning of those words, that is to say, so ut- 
terly impossible that if any senseless command- 
er were to give orders to fight, confusion would 



result but the battle would still not take place. 
It would not take place because the command- 
ers not merely all recognized the position to be 
impossible, but in their conversations were 
only discussing what would happen after its 
inevitable abandonment. How could the com- 
manders lead their troops to a field of battle 
they considered it impossible to hold? The 
lower-grade officers and even the soldiers (who 
too reason) also considered the position im- 
possible and therefore could not go to fight, 
fully convinced as they were of defeat. If Ben- 
nigsen insisted on the position being defended 
and others still discussed it, the question was 
no longer important in itself but only as a pre- 
text for disputes and intrigue. This Kutuzov 
knew well. 

Bennigsen, who had chosen the position, 
warmly displayed his Russian patriotism (Ku- 
tuzov could not listen to this without wincing) 
by insisting that Moscow must be defended. 
His aim was as clear as daylight to Kutuzov: if 
the defense failed, to throw the blame on Ku- 
tuzov who had brought the army as far as the 
Sparrow Hills without giving battle; if it suc- 
ceeded, to claim the success as his own; or if 
battle were not given, to clear himself of the 
crime of abandoning Moscow. But this intrigue 
did not now occupy the old man's mind. One 
terrible question absorbed him and to that 
question he heard no reply from anyone. The 
question for him now was: "Have I really al- 
lowed Napoleon to reach Moscow, and when 
did I do so? When was it decided? Can it have 
been yesterday when I ordered Platov to retreat, 
or was it the evening before, when I had a nap 
and told Bennigsen to issue orders? Or was it 
earlier still? . . . When, when was this terrible 
affair decided? Moscow must be abandoned. 
The army must retreat and the order to do so 
must be given." To give that terrible order 
seemed to him equivalent to resign ing the com- 
mand of the army. And not only did he love 
power to which he was accustomed (the hon- 
ours awarded to Prince Prozorovski, under 
whom he had served in Turkey, galled him), 
but he was convinced that he was destined to 
save Russia and that that was why, against the 
Emperor's wish and by the will of the people, 
he had been chosen commander in chief. He 
was convinced that he alone could maintain 
command of the army in these difficult cir- 
cumstances, and that in all the world he alone 
could encounter the invincible Napoleon with- 
out fear, and he was horrified at the thought of 
the order he had to issue. But something had 



BOOK ELEVEN 473 

to be decided, and these conversations around 
him which were assuming too free a character 
must be stopped. 

He called the most important generals to 
him. 

"My head, be it good or bad, must depend 
on itself," said he, rising from the bench, and 
he rode to Fill where his carriages were wait- 
ing. 



CHAPTER IV 

THE COUNCIL OF WAR began to assemble at 
two in the afternoon in the better and roomier 
part of Andrew Savostyanov's hut. The men, 
women, and children of the large peasant fam- 
ily crowded into the back room across the pas- 
sage. Only MaLisha, Andrew's six-yearold 
granddaughter whom his Serene Highness had 
petted and to whom he had given a lump of 
sugar while drinking his tea, remained on the 
top of the brick oven in the larger room. Ma- 
lasha looked down from the oven with shy de- 
light at the faces, uniforms, and decorations 
of the generals, who one after another came 
into the room and sat clown on the broad 
benches in the corner under the icons. "Grand- 
dad" himself, as Malasha in her own mind 
called Kutuzov, sat apart in a dark corner be- 
hind the oven. lie sat, sunk deep in a folding 
armchair, and continually cleared his throat 
and pulled at the collar of his coat which, 
though it was unbuttoned, still seemed to 
pinch his neck. Those who entered went up 
one by one to the field marshal; he pressed the 
hands of some and nodded to others. His ad- 
jutant Kaysarov was about to draw back the 
curtain of the window facing Kutuzov, but the 
latter moved his hand angrily and Kaysdrov 
understood that his Serene Highness did not 
wish his face to be seen. 

Round the peasant's deal table, on which lay 
maps, plans, pencils, and papers, so many peo- 
ple gathered that the orderlies brought in an- 
other bench and put it beside the table. Erm6- 
lov, Kaysdrov, and Toll, who had just arrived, 
sat down on this bench. In the foremost place, 
immediately under the icons, sat Barclay de 
Tolly, his high forehead merging into his bald 
crown. He had a St. George's Cross round his 
neck and looked pale and ill. He had been 
feverish for two days and was now shivering 
and in pain. Beside him sat Uvdrov, who with 
rapid gesticulations was giving him some in- 
formation, speaking in low tones as they all 
did. Chubby little Dokhtiirov was listening at- 
tentively with eyebrows raised and arms fold- 



474 



WAR AND PEACE 



ed on his stomach. On the other side sat Count 
Ostermann-Tolst6y, seemingly absorbed in his 
own thoughts. His broad head with its bold 
features and glittering eyes was resting on his 
hand. Ravski, twitching forward the black 
hair on his temples as was his habit, glanced 
now at Kutuzov and now at the door with a 
look of impatience. Konovnitsyn's firm, hand- 
some, and kindly face was lit up by a tender, 
sly smile. His glance met Maldsha's, and the 
expression of his eyes caused the little girl to 
smile. 

They were all waiting for Bennigsen, who 
on the pretext of inspecting the position was 
finishing his savory dinner. They waited for 
him from four till six o'clock and did not be- 
gin their deliberations all that time but talked 
in low tones of other matters. 

Only when Bennigsen had entered the hut 
did Kutuzov leave his corner and draw toward 
the table, but not near enough for the candles 
that had been placed there to light up his face. 

Bennigsen opened the council with the ques- 
tion: "Are we to abandon Russia's ancient and 
sacred capital without a struggle, or are we to 
defend it?" A prolonged and general silence 
followed. There was a frown on every face and 
only Kutuzov's angry grunts and occasional 
cough broke the silence. All eyes were gazing 
at him. Mal&sha too looked at "Granddad." 
She was nearest to him and saw how his face 
puckered; he seemed about to cry, but this did 
not last long. 

"Russia's ancient and sacred capital!" he 
suddenly said, repeating Bennigsen's words in 
an angry voice and thereby drawing attention 
to the false note in them. "Allow me to tell you, 
your excellency, that that question has no 
meaning fora Russian." (He lurched hisheavy 
body forward.) "Such a question cannot be 
put; it is senseless! The question I have asked 
these gentlemen to meet to discuss is a military 
one. The question is that of saving Russia. Is 
it better to give up Moscow without a battle, 
or by accepting battle to risk losing the army 
as well as Moscow? That is the question on 
which I want your opinion," and he sank back 
in his chair. 

The discussion began. Bennigsen did not 
yet consider his game lost. Admitting the view 
of Barclay and others that a defensive battle 
at Fili was impossible, but imbued with Rus- 
sian patriotism and the love of Moscow, he 
proposed to move troops from the right to the 
left flank during the night and attack the 
French right flank the following day. Opin- 



ions were divided, and arguments were ad- 
vanced for and against that project. Ermolov, 
Dokhturov, and Ravski agreed with Bennig- . 
sen. Whether feeling it necessary to make a 
sacrifice before abandoning the capital or 
guided by other, personal considerations, these 
generals seemed not to understand that this 
council could not alter the inevitable course of 
events and that Moscow was in effect already 
abandoned. The other generals, however, un- 
derstood it and, leaving aside the question of 
Moscow, spoke of the direction the army should 
take in its retreat. Matesha, who kept her eyes 
fixed on what was going on before her, under- 
stood the meaning of the council differently. 
It seemed to her that it was only a personal 
struggle between "Granddad" and "Long-coat" 
as she termed Bennigsen. She saw that they 
grew spiteful when they spoke to one another, 
and in her heart she sided with "Granddad." 
In the midst of the conversation she noticed 
"Granddad" give Bennigsen a quick, subtle 
glance, and then to her joy she saw that "Grand- 
dad" said something to "Long-coat" which set- 
tled him. Bennigsen suddenly reddened and 
paced angrily up and down the room. What 
so affected him was Kutuzov's calm and quiet 
comment on the advantage or disadvantage of 
Bennigsen's proposal to move troops by night 
from the right to the left flank to attack the 
French right wing. 

"Gentlemen," said Kutuzov, "I cannot ap- 
prove of the count's plan. Moving troops in 
close proximity to an enemy is always danger- 
ous, and military history supports that view. 
For instance . . ." Kutuzov seemed to reflect, 
searching for an example, then with a clear, 
nai've look at Bennigsen he added: "Oh yes; 
take the battle of Friedland, which I think the 
count well remembers, and which was . . . not 
fully successful, only because our troops were 
rearranged too near the enemy. . . ." 

There followed a momentary pause, which 
seemed very long to them all. 

The discussion recommenced, but pauses fre- 
quently occurred and they all felt that there 
was no more to be said. 

During one of these pauses Kuttizov heaved 
a deep sigh as if preparing to speak. They all 
looked at him. 

"Well, gentlemen, I see that it is I who will 
have to pay for the broken crockery," said he, 
and rising slowly he moved to the table. "Gen- 
tlemen, I have heard your views. Some of you 
will not agree with me. But I," he paused, "by 
the authority entrusted to me by my Sovereign 



BOOK ELEVEN 



475 



and country, order a retreat." 

After that the generals began to disperse 
with the solemnity and circumspect silence of 
people who are leaving after a funeral. 

Some of the generals, in low tones and in a 
strain very different from the way they had 
spoken during the council, communicated 
something to their commander in chief. 

Malasha, who had long been expected for 
supper, climbed carefully backwards down 
from the oven, her bare little feet catching at 
its projections, and slipping between the legs 
of the generals she darted out of the room. 

When he had dismissed the generals Kutu- 
zov sat a long time with his elbows on the 
table, thinking always of the same terrible 
question: "When, when did the abandonment 
of Moscow become inevitable? When was that 
done which settled the matter? And who was 
to blame for it?" 

"I did not expect this/' said he to his adju- 
tant Schneider when the latter came in late 
that night. "I did not expect this! I did not 
think this would happen." 

"You should take some rest, your Serene 
Highness," replied Schneider. 

"But nol They shall eat horseflesh yet, like 
the Turks I" exclaimed Kutiizov without reply- 
ing, striking the table with his podgy fist. 
"They shall too, if only . . ." 

CHAPTER V 

AT THAT VERY TIME, in circumstances even more 
important than retreating without a battle, 
namely the evacuation and burning of Mos- 
cow, Rostopchfn, who is usually represented 
as being the instigator of that event, acted in 
an altogether different manner from Kutiizov. 

After the battle of Borodin6 the abandon- 
ment and burning of Moscow was as inevi- 
table as the retreat of the army beyond Moscow 
without fighting. 

Every Russian might have predicted it, not 
by reasoning but by the feeling implanted in 
each of us and in our fathers. 

The same thing that took place in Moscow 
had happened in all the towns and villages on 
Russian soil beginning with Smolensk, with- 
out the participation of Count Rostopchfn and 
his broadsheets. The people awaited the en- 
emy unconcernedly, did not riot or become ex- 
cited or tear anyone to pieces, but faced its 
fate, feeling within it the strength to find what 
it should do at that most difficult moment. 
And as soon as the enemy drew near the weal thy 
classes went away abandoning their property, 



while the poorer remained and burned and 
destroyed what was left. 

The consciousness that this would be so and 
would always be so was and is present in the 
heart of every Russian. And a consciousness of 
this, and a foreboding that Moscow would be 
taken, was present in Russian Moscow society 
in 1812. Those who had quitted Moscow al- 
ready in July and at the beginning of August 
showed that they expected this. Those who 
went away, taking what they could and aban- 
doning their houses and half their belong- 
ings, did so from the latent patriotism which 
expresses itself not by phrases or by giving 
one's children to save the fatherland and 
similar unnatural exploits, but unobtrusively, 
simply, organically, and therefore in the way 
that always produces the most powerful re- 
sults. 

"It is disgraceful to run away from danger; 
only cowards are running away from Moscow," 
they were told. In his broadsheets Rostopchin 
impressed on them that to leave Moscow was 
shameful. They were ashamed to be called 
cowards, ashamed to leave, but still they left, 
knowing it had to be done. Why did they go? 
It is impossible to suppose that Rostopchfn 
had scared them by his accounts of horrors Na- 
poleon had committed in conquered countries. 
The first people to go away were the rich edu- 
cated people who knew quite well that Vienna 
and Berlin had remained intact and that dur- 
ing Napoleon's occupation the inhabitants 
had spent their time pleasantly in the com- 
pany of the charming Frenchmen whom the 
Russians, and especially the Russian ladies, 
then liked so much. 

They went away because for Russians there 
could be no question as to whether things 
would go well or ill under French rule in Mos- 
cow. It was out of the question to be under 
French rule, it would be the worst thing that 
could happen. They went away even before 
the battle of Borodin6 and still more rapidly 
after it, despite Rostopchin's calls to defend 
Moscow or the announcement of his intention 
to take the wonder-working icon of the Iberi- 
an Mother of God and go to fight, or of the 
balloons that were to destroy the French, and 
despite all the nonsense Rostopchfn wrote in 
his broadsheets. They knew that it was for the 
army to fight, and that if it could not succeed 
it would not do to take young ladies and house 
serfs to the Three Hills quarter of Moscow to 
fight Napoleon, and that they must go away, 
sorry as they were to abandon their property 



476 



WAR AND PEACE 



to destruction. They went away without think- 
ing of the tremendous significance of that im- 
mense and wealthy city being given over to 
destruction, for a great city with wooden build- 
ings was certain when abandoned by its in- 
habitants to be burned. They went away each 
on his own account, and yet it was only in con- 
sequence of their going away that the momen- 
tous event was accomplished that will always 
remain the greatest glory of the Russian peo- 
ple. The lady who, afraid of being stopped by 
Count Rostopchin's orders, had already in 
June moved with her Negroes and her women 
jesters from Moscow to her Saratov estate, with 
a vague consciousness that she was not Bona- 
parte's servant, was really, simply, and truly 
carrying out the great work which saved Russia. 
But Count Rostopchin, who now taunted those 
who left Moscow and now had the govern- 
ment offices removed; now distributed quite 
useless weapons to the drunken rabble; now 
had processions displaying the icons, arid now 
forbade Father Augustin to remove icons or 
the relics of saints; now seized all the private 
carts in Moscow and on one hundred and 
thirty-six of them removed the balloon that 
was being constructed by Leppich; now hinted 
that he would burn Moscow and related how 
he had set fire to his own house; now wrote a 
proclamation to the French solemnly upbraid- 
ing them for having destroyed his Orphanage; 
now claimed the glory of having hinted that 
he would burn Moscow and now repudiated 
the deed; now ordered the people to catch all 
spies and bring them to him, and now re- 
proached them for doing so; now expelled all 
the French residents from Moscow, and now 
allowed Madame Aubert-Chalme' (the center 
of the whole French colony in Moscow) to re- 
main, but ordered the venerable old postmas- 
ter Klyucharev to be arrested and exiled for no 
particular offense; now assembled the people 
at the Three Hills to fight the French and now, 
to get rid of them, handed over to them a man 
to be killed and himself drove away by a back 
gate; now declared that he would not survive 
the fall of Moscow, and now wrote French 
verses in albums concerning his share in the 
affair this man did not understand the mean- 
ing of what was happening but merely wanted 
to do something himself that would astonish 
people, to perform some patriotically heroic 
feat; and like a child he made sport of the mo- 
mentous and unavoidable event the abandon- 
ment and burning of Moscow and tried with 
his puny hand now to speed and now to stay 



the enormous, popular tide that bore him 
along with it. 

CHAPTER VI 

HEL&NE, having returned with the court from 
Vilna to Petersburg, found herself in a difficult 
position. 

In Petersburg she had enjoyed the special 
protection of a grandee who occupied one of 
the highest posts in the Empire. In Vilna she 
had formed an intimacy with a young foreign 
prince. When she returned to Petersburg both 
the magnate and the prince were there, and 
both claimed their rights. He'lene was faced by 
a new problem how to preserve her intimacy 
with both without offending either. 

What would have seemed difficult or even 
impossible to another woman did not cause 
the least embarrassment to Countess Bezukho- 
va, who evidently deserved her reputation of 
being a very clever woman. Had she attempted 
concealment, or tried to extricate herself from 
her awkward position by cunning, she would 
have spoiled her case by acknowledging her- 
self guilty. But Hellene, like a really great man 
who can do whatever he pleases, at once as- 
sumed her own position to be correct, as she 
sincerely believed it to be, and that everyone 
else was to blame. 

The first time the young foreigner allowed 
hirnselt to reproach her, she lifted her beauti- 
ful head and, half turning to him, said firmly: 
"That's just like a man selfish and cruel! I 
expected nothing else. A woman sacrifices her- 
self for you, she suffers, and this is her reward! 
What right have you, monseigneur, to demand 
an account of my attachments and friendships? 
He is a man who has been more than a father 
to me I" The prince was about to say some- 
thing, but He'lene interrupted him. 

"Well, yes," said she, "it may be that he has 
other sentiments for me than those of a father, 
but that is not a reason for me to shut my door 
on him. I am not a man, that I should repay 
kindness with ingratitude! Know, monsei- 
gneur, that in all that relates to my intimate 
feelings I render account only to God and to 
my conscience," she concluded, layinghcr hand 
on her beautiful, fully expanded bosom and 
looking up to heaven. 

"But for heaven's sake listen to mel" 

"Marry me, and I will be your slavel" 

"But that's impossible." 

"You won't deign to demean yourself by 
marrying me, you . . ." said He'lfcne, beginning 
to cry. 



The prince tried to comfort her, but Hlene, 
as if quite distraught, said through her tears 
that there was nothing to prevent her marry- 
ing, that there were precedents (there were up 
to that time very few, but she mentioned Na- 
poleon and some other exalted personages), 
that she had never been her husband's wife, 
and that she had been sacrificed. 

"But the law, religion . . .".said the prince, 
already yielding. 

"The law, religion . . . What have they been 
invented for if they can't arrange that?" said 



The prince was surprised that so simple 
an idea had not occurred to him, and he ap- 
plied for advice to the holy brethren of the 
Society of Jesus, with whom he was on inti- 
mate terms. 

A few days later at one of those enchanting 
fetes which Hlenc gave at her country house 
on the Stone Island, the charming Monsieur 
de Jobert, a man no longer young, with snow- 
white hair and brilliant black eyes, a Jesuit d 
robe courte, 1 was presented to her, and in the 
garden by the light of the illuminations and to 
the sound of music talked to her for a long 
time of the love of God, of Christ, of the Sacred 
Heart, and of the consolations the one true 
Catholic religion affords in this world and the 
next. Htf'lcne was touched, and more than once 
tears rose to her eyes and to those of Monsieur 
de Jobert and their voices trembled. A dance, 
for which her partner came to seek her, put an 
end to her discourse with her future directeur 
de conscience, but the next evening Monsieur 
de Jobert came to see Helene when she was 
alone, and after that often came again. 

One day he took the countess to a Roman 
Catholic church, where she knelt down before 
the altar to which she was led. The enchant- 
ing, middle-aged Frenchman laid his hands on 
her head and, as she herself afterward de- 
scribed it, she felt something like a fresh breeze 
wafted into her soul. It was explained to her 
that this was la grdce. 

After that a long-frocked abb was brought 
to her. She confessed to him, and he absolved 
her from her sins. Next day she received a box 
containing the Sacred Host, which was left at 
her house for her to partake of. A few days 
later Helene learned with pleasure that she 
had now been admitted to the true Catholic 
Church and that in a few days the Pope him- 
self would hear of her and would send her a 
certain document. 

1 Lay member of the Society of Jesus. 



BOOK ELEVEN 477 

All that was done around her and to her at 
this time, all the attention devoted to her by 
so many clever men and expressed in such 
pleasant, refined ways, and the state of dove- 
like purity she was now in (she wore only 
white dresses and white ribbons all that time) 
gave her pleasure, but her pleasure did not 
cause her for a moment to forget her aim. And 
as it always happens in contests of cunning 
that a stupid person gets the better of cleverer 
ones, Htflt-ne having realized that the main 
object of all these words and all this trouble 
was, after converting her to Catholicism, to 
obtain money from her for Jesuit institutions 
(as to which she received indications) before 
parting with her money insisted that the vari- 
ous operations necessary to free her from her 
husband should be performed. In her view the 
aim of every religion was merely to preserve 
certain proprieties while affording satisfaction 
to human desires. And with this aim, in one 
of her talks with her Father Confessor, she in- 
sisted on an answer to the question, in how far 
was she bound by her marriage? 

They were sitting in the twilight by a win- 
dow in the drawing room. The scent of flowers 
came in at the window. Hc*lcne was wearing a 
white dress, transparent over her shoulders and 
bosom. The abbe*, a well-fed man with a plump, 
clean-shaven chin, a pleasant firm mouth, and 
white hands meekly folded on his knees, sat 
close to Helene and, with a subtle smile on his 
lips and a peaceful look of delight at her 
beauty, occasionally glanced at her face as he 
explained his opinion on the subject. He*lene 
with an uneasy smile looked at his curly hair 
and his plump, clean-shaven, blackish cheeks 
and every moment expected the conversation 
to take a fresh turn. But the abbe 1 , though he 
evidently enjoyed the beauty of his compan- 
ion, was absorbed in his mastery of the matter. 

The course of the Father Confessor's argu- 
ments ran as follows: "Ignorant of the import 
of what you were undertaking, you made a 
vow of conjugal fidelity to a man who on his 
part, by entering the married state without 
faith in the religious significance of marriage, 
committed an act of sacrilege. That marriage 
lacked the dual significance it should have had. 
Yet in spite of this your vow was binding. You 
swerved from it. What did you commit by so 
acting? A venial, or a mortal, sin? A venial sin, 
for you acted without evil intention. If now 
you married again with the object of bearing 
children, your sin might be forgiven. But the 
question is again a twofold one: firstly . , ." 



478 

But suddenly Hlne, who was getting bored, 
said with one of her bewitching smiles: "But I 
think that having espoused the true religion I 
cannot be bound by what a false religion laid 
upon me." 

The director of her conscience was astounded 
at having the case presented to him thus with 
the simplicity of Columbus' egg. He was de- 
lighted at the unexpected rapidity of his pu- 
pil's progress, but could not abandon the edi- 
fice of argument he had laboriously constructed. 

"Let us understand one another, Countess," 
said he with a smile, and began refuting his 
spiritual daughter's arguments. 

CHAPTER VII 

HELENE UNDERSTOOD that the question was very 
simple and easy from the ecclesiastical point 
of view, and that her directors were making 
difficulties only because they were apprehen- 
sive as to how the matter would be regarded 
by the secular authorities. 

So she decided that it was necessary to pre- 
pare the opinion of society. She provoked the 
jealousy of the elderly magnate and told him 
what she had told her other suitor; that is, she 
put the matter so that the only way for him to 
obtain a right over her was to marry her. The 
elderly magnate was at first as much taken 
aback by this suggestion of marriage with a 
woman whose husband was alive, as the young- 
er man had been, but He"lene's imperturbable 
conviction that it was as simple and natural as 
marrying a maiden had its effect on him too. 
Had Hellene herself shown the least sign of 
hesitation, shame, or secrecy, her cause would 
certainly have been lost; but not only did she 
show no signs of secrecy or shame, on the con- 
trary, with good-natured naivete she told her 
intimate friends (and these were all Peters- 
burg) that both the prince and the magnate 
had proposed to her and that she loved both 
and was afraid of grieving either. 

A rumor immediately spread in Petersburg, 
not that Helene wanted to be divorced from 
her husband (had such a report spread many 
would have opposed so illegal an intention) 
but simply that the unfortunate and interest- 
ing Hellene was in doubt which of the two 
men she should marry. The question was no 
longer whether this was possible, but only 
which was the better match and how the mat- 
ter would be regarded at court. There were, it 
is true, some rigid individuals unable to rise to 
the height of such a question, who saw in the 
project a desecration of the sacrament of mar- 



WAR AND PEACE 



riage, but there were not many such and they 
remained silent, while the majority were inter- 
ested in Hellene's good fortune and in the 
question which match would be the more ad- 
vantageous. Whether it was right or wrong to 
remarry while one had a husband living they 
did not discuss, for that question had evi- 
dently been settled by people "wiser than you 
or me," as they said, and to doubt the correct- 
ness of that decision would be to risk exposing 
one's stupidity and incapacity to live in society. 

Only MArya Dmitrievna Akhrosimova, who 
had come to Petersburg that summer to see 
one of her sons, allowed herself plainly to ex- 
press an opinion contrary to the general one. 
Meeting Hellene at a ball she stopped her in 
the middle of the room and, amid general si- 
lence, said in her gruff voice: "So wives of liv- 
ing men have started marrying again! Perhaps 
you think you have invented a novelty? You 
have been forestalled, my dearl It was thought 
of long ago. It is done in all the brothels," and 
with these words Mdrya Dmitrievna, turning 
up her wide sleeves with her usual threatening 
gesture and glancing sternly round, moved 
across the room. 

Though people were afraid of Marya Dmi- 
trievna she was regarded in Petersburg as a 
buffoon, and so of what she had said they only 
noticed, and repeated in a whisper, the one 
coarse word she had used, supposing the whole 
sting of her remark to lie in that word. 

Prince Vasili, who of late very often forgot 
what he had said and repeated one and the 
same thing a hundred times, remarked to his 
daughter whenever he chanced to see her: 

"Helene, I have a word to say to you," and 
he would lead her aside, drawing her hand 
downward. "I have heard of certain projects 
concerning . . . you know. Well, my dear child, 
you know how your father's heart rejoices to 
know that you . . . You have suffered so much. 
. . . But, my dear child, consult only your own 
heart. That is all I have to say," and conceal- 
ing his unvarying emotion he would press his 
cheek against his daughter's and move away. 

Bilfbin, who had not lost his reputation of 
an exceedingly clever man, and who was oneof 
the disinterested friends so brilliant a woman 
as Helene always hasmen friends who can 
never change into lovers once gave her his 
view of the matter at a small and intimate 
gathering. 

"Listen, Bilibin," said Helene (she always 
called friends of that sort by their surnames), 
and she touched his coat sleeve with her white, 



BOOK ELEVEN 



479 



beringed fingers. "Tell me, as you would a 
sister, what I ought to do. Which of the two?" 

Bilibin wrinkled up the skin over his eye- 
brows and pondered, with a smile on his lips. 

"You are not taking me unawares, you know," 
said he. "As a true friend, I have thought and 
thought again about your affair. You see, if 
you marry the prince" he meant the younger 
man and he crooked one finger, "you forever 
lose the chance of marrying the other, and you 
will displease the court besides. (You know 
there is some kind of connection.) But if you 
marry the old count you will make his last 
days happy, and as widow of the Grand . . . the 
prince would no longer be making a misalli- 
ance by marrying you," and Bilfbin smoothed 
out his forehead. 

"That's a true friend I" said Hlene beam- 
ing, and again touching Bilfbin's sleeve. "But 
I love them, you know, and don't want to dis- 
tress either of them. I would give my life for 
the happiness of them both." 

Bilibin shrugged his shoulders, as much as 
to say that not even he could help in that dif- 
ficulty. 

"Unemaitresse-femme!* That's what is called 
putting things squarely. She would like to be 
married to all three at the same time," thought 
he. 

"But tell me, how will your husband look 
at the matter?" Bilibin asked, his reputation 
being so well established that he did not fear 
to ask so naive a question. "Will he agree?" 

"Oh, he loves me so!" said Hlne, who for 
some reason imagined that Pierre too loved 
her. "He will do anything for me." 

Bilibin puckered his skin in preparation for 
something witty. 

"Even divorce you?" said he. 

Helene laughed. 

Among those who ventured to doubt the 
justifiability of the proposed marriage was He 1 - 
lne's mother, Princess Kurdgina. She was con- 
tinually tormented by jealousy of her daugh- 
ter, and now that jealousy concerned a sub- 
ject near to her own heart, she could not rec- 
oncile herself to the idea. She consulted a Rus- 
sian priest as to the possibility of divorce and 
remarriage during a husband's lifetime, and 
the priest told her that it was impossible, and 
to her delight showed her a text in the Gospel 
which (as it seemed to him) plainly forbids 
remarriage while the husband is alive. 

Armed with these arguments, which ap- 
peared to her unanswerable, she drove to her 

1 A masterly woman. 



daughter's early one morning so as to find her 
alone. 

Having listened to her mother's objections, 
Helene smiled blandly and ironically. 

"But it says plainly: 'Whosoever shall marry 
her that is divorced . . .' " said the old prin- 
cess. 

"Ah, Maman, ne dites pas de bStises. Vous 
ne comprenez rien. Dans ma position fat des 
devoirs,"* said Helene changing from Rus- 
sian, in which language she always felt that 
her case did not sound quite clear, into French 
which suited it better. 

"But, my dear . . ." 

"Oh, Mamma, how is it you don't understand 
that the Holy Father, who has the right to 
grant dispensations . . ." 

Just then the lady companion who lived 
with H^lene came in to announce that Hi? 
Highness was in the ballroom and wished tc 
see her. 

"Non, dites-lui que je ne veux pas le voir 
que je suis furieuse centre lui> parce qu'il m' c 
manque parole" 8 

"Comtesse, a tout peche misMcorde" * saic 
a fair-haired young man with a long face anc 
nose, as he entered the room. 

The old princess rose respectfully and curt 
sied. The young man who had entered took nc 
notice of her. The princess nodded to hei 
daughter and sidled out of the room. 

"Yes, she is right," thought the old princess 
all her convictions dissipated by the appear 
ance of His Highness. "She is right, but how i: 
it that we in our irrecoverable youth did no 
know it? Yet it is so simple," she thought as sru 
got into her carriage. 

By the beginning of August Hlne's affair 
were clearly defined and she wrote a letter t< 
her husbandwho, as she imagined, loved he 
very much informing him of her intention t< 
marry N.N. and of her having embraced th< 
one true faith, and asking him to carry out al 
die formalities necessary for a divorce, whicl 
would be explained to him by the bearer o 
the letter. 

And so I pray God to have you, my friend, ii 
His holy and powerful keeping Your frien 
HcHene. 

8 "Oh, Mamma, don't talk nonsense! You don' 
understand anything. In my position I have obli 
gations." 

*"No, tell him I don't wish to see him, I ar 
furious with him for not keeping his word to ine. 
* "Countess, there is mercy for every sin. 



480 

This letter was brought to Pierre's house 
when he was on the field of Borodin6. 



CHAPTER VIII 

TOWARD THE END of the battle of Borodin6, 
Pierre, having run down from Rae"vski's bat- 
tery a second time, made his way through a 
gully to Knyazk6vo with a crowd of soldiers, 
reached the dressing station, and seeing blood 
and hearing cries and groans hurried on, still 
entangled in the crowds of soldiers. 

The one thing he now desired with his whole 
soul was to get away quickly from the terrible 
sensations amid which he had lived that day 
and return to ordinary conditions of life and 
sleep quietly in a room in his own bed. He felt 
that only in the ordinary conditions of life 
would he be able to understand himself and 
all he had seen and felt. But such ordinary 
conditions of life were nowhere to be found. 

Though shells and bullets did not whistle 
over the road along which he was going, still 
on all sides there was what there had been on 
the field of battle. There were still the same 
suffering, exhausted, and sometimes strangely 
indifferent faces, the same blood, the same sol- 
diers' overcoats, the same sounds of firing 
which, though distant now, still aroused terror, 
and besides this there were the foul air and the 
dust. 

Having gone a couple of miles along the 
Mozhaysk road, Pierre sat down by the road- 
side. 

Dusk had fallen, and the roar of guns died 
away. Pierre lay leaning on his elbow for a long 
time, gazing at the shadows that moved past 
him in the darkness. He was continually imag- 
ining that a cannon ball was flying toward him 
with a terrific whizz, and then he shuddered 
and sat up. He had no idea how long he had 
been there. In the middle of the night three 
soldiers, having brought some firewood, set- 
tled down near him and began lighting a fire. 

The soldiers, who threw sidelong glances at 
Pierre, got the fire to burn and placed an iron 
pot on it into which they broke some dried 
bread and put a little dripping. The pleasant 
odor of greasy viands mingled with the smell 
of smoke. Pierre sat up and sighed. The three 
soldiers were eating and talking among them- 
selves, taking no notice of him. 

"And who may you be?" one of them sud- 
denly asked Pierre, evidently meaning what 
Pierre himself had in mind, namely: "If you 
want to eat we'll give you some food, only let 
us know whether you are an honest man." 



WAR AND PEACE 

"I, I ..." said Pierre, feeling it necessary to 
minimize his social position as much as possi- 
ble so as to be nearer to the soldiers and better 
understood by them. "By rights I am a militia 
officer, but my men are not here. I came to the 
battle and have lost them." 

"There now!" said one of the soldiers. 

Another shook his head. 

"Would you like a little mash?" the first sol- 
dier asked, and handed Pierre a wooden spoon 
after licking it clean. 

Pierre sat down by the fire and began eating 
the mash, as they called the food in the caul- 
dron, and he thought it more delicious than 
any food he had ever tasted. As he sat bending 
greedily over it, helping himself to large spoon- 
fuls and chewing one after another, his face 
was lit up by the fire and the soldiers looked 
at him in silence. 

"Where have you to go to? Tell us!" said 
one of them. 

"To Mozhdysk." 

"You're a gentleman, aren't you?" 

"Yes." 

"And what's your name?" 

"Peter Kirilych." 

"Well then, Peter Kirilych, come along with 
us, we'll take you there." 

In the total darkness the soldiers walked 
with Pierre to Mozhdysk. 

By the time they got near Mozhdysk and be- 
gan ascending the steep hill into the town, the 
cocks were already crowing. Pierre went on 
with the soldiers, quite forgetting that his inn 
was at the bottom of the hill and that he had 
already passed it. He would not soon have re- 
membered this, such was his state of forgetful- 
ness, had he not halfway up the hill stumbled 
upon his groom, who had been to look for him 
in the town and was returning to the inn. The 
groom recognized Pierre in the darkness by 
his white hat. 

"Your excellency!" he said. "Why, we were 
beginning to despair! How is it you are on 
foot? And where are you going, please?" 

"Oh, yes!" said Pierre. 

The soldiers stopped. 

"So you've found your folk?" said one of 
them. "Well, good-by, Peter Kirilych-isn't it?" 

"Good-by, Peter Kirilychl" Pierre heard the 
other voices repeat. 

"Good-by!" he said and turned with his 
groom toward the inn. 

"I ought to give them something!" he 
thought, and felt in his pocket. "No, better 
notl" said another, inner voice. 



BOOK ELEVEN 



481 



There was not a room to be had at the inn, 
they were all occupied. Pierre went out into 
the yard and, covering himself up head and 
all, lay down in his carriage. 

CHAPTER IX 

SCARCELY HAD PIERRE laid his head on the pil- 
low before he felt himself falling asleep, but 
suddenly, almost with the distinctness of re- 
ality, he heard the boom, boom, boom of fir- 
ing, the thud of projectiles, groans and cries, 
and smelled blood and powder, and a feeling 
of horror and dread of death seized him. Filled 
with fright he opened his eyes and lifted his 
head from under his cloak. All was tranquil 
in the yard. Only someone's orderly passed 
through the gateway, splashing through the 
mud, and talked to the innkeeper. Above 
Pierre's head some pigeons, disturbed by the 
movement he had made in sitting up, fluttered 
under the dark roof of the penthouse. The 
whole courtyard was permeated by a strong 
peaceful smell of stable yards, delightful to 
Pierre at that moment. He could see the clear 
starry sky between the dark roofs of two pent- 
houses. 

"Thank God, there is no more of that!" he 
thought, covering up his head again. "Oh, 
what a terrible thing is fear, and how shame- 
fully I yielded to it! But they . . . they were 
steady and calm all the time, to the end . . ." 
thought he. 

They, in Pierre's mind, were the soldiers, 
those who had been at the battery, those who 
had given him food, and those who had prayed 
before the icon. They, those strange men he 
had not previously known, stood out clearly 
and sharply from everyone else. 

"To be a soldier, just a soldier!" thought 
Pierre as he fell asleep, "to enter communal 
life completely, to be imbued by what makes 
them what they are. But how cast off all the 
superfluous, devilish burden of my outer man? 
There was a time when I could have done it. I 
could have run away from my father, as I 
wanted to. Or 1 might have been sent to serve 
as a soldier after the duel with D61okhov." 
And the memory of the dinner at the English 
Club when he hacl challenged Dolokhov flashed 
through Pierre's mind, and then he remem- 
bered his benefactor at Torzhok. And now a 
picture of a solemn meeting of the lodge pre- 
sented itself to his mind. It was taking place at 
the English Club and someone near and dear 
to him sat at the end of the table. "Yes, that is 
hel It is my benefactor. But he died!" thought 



Pierre. "Yes, he died, and I did not know he 
was alive. How sorry I am that he died, and 
how glad I am that he is alive again!" On one 
side of the table sat Anatole, Dolokhov, Nes- 
vftski, Denisov, and others like them (in his 
dream the category to which these men be- 
longed was as clearly defined in his mind as 
the category of those he termed they), and he 
heard those people, Anatole and Dolokhov, 
shouting and singing loudly; yet through their 
shouting the voice of his benefactor was heard 
speaking all the time and the sound of his 
words was as weighty and uninterrupted as the 
booming on the battlefield, but pleasant and 
comforting. Pierre did not understand what 
his benefactor was saying, but he knew (the 
categories of thoughts were also quite distinct 
in his dream) that he was talking of goodness 
and the possibility of being what they were. 
And they with their simple, kind, firm faces 
surrounded his benefactor on all sides. But 
though they were kindly they did not look at 
Pierre and did not know him. Wishing to 
speak and to attract their attention, he got up, 
but at that moment his legs grew cold and 
bare. 

He felt ashamed, and with one arm covered 
his legs from whichhiscloakhad in factslipped. 
For a moment as he was rearranging his cloak 
Pierre opened his eyes and saw the same pent- 
house roofs, posts, and yard, but now they were 
all bluish, lit up, and glittering with frost or 
dew. 

"It is dawn," thought Pierre. "But that's not 
what I want. I want to hear and understand 
my benefactor's words." Again he covered him- 
self up with his cloak, but now neither the 
lodge nor his benefactor was there. There were 
only thoughts clearly expressed in words 
thoughts that someone was uttering or that he 
himself was formulating. 

Afterwards when he recalled those thought? 
Pierre was convinced that someone outside 
himself had spoken them, though the impres 
sions of that day had evoked them. He had 
never, it seemed to him, been able to think 
and express his thoughts like that when awake 

"To endure war is the most difficult subor 
d ination of man's freedom to the law of God/ 
the voice had said. "Simplicity is submission tc 
the will of God; you cannot escape from Him 
And they are simple. They do not talk, but act 
The spoken word is silver but the unspoken ii 
golden. Man can be master of nothing whil< 
he fears death, but he who does not fear it pos 
sesses all. If there were no suffering, man woulc 



WAR AND PEACE 



not know his limitations, would not know 
himself. The hardest thing [Pierre went on 
thinking, or hearing, in his dream] is to be 
able in your soul to unite the meaning of all. 
To unite all?" he asked himself. "No, not to 
unite. Thoughts cannot be united, but to har- 
ness all these thoughts together is what we 
need! Yes, one must harness them, must har- 
ness them!" he repeated to himself with in- 
ward rapture, feeling that these words and they 
alone expressed what he wanted to say and 
solved the question that tormented him. 

"Yes, one must harness, it is time to harness." 

"Time to harness, time to harness, your ex- 
cellency! Your excellency!" some voice was re- 
peating. "We must harness, it is time to har- 
ness. . . ." 

It was the voice of the groom, trying to wake 
him. The sun shone straight into Pierre's face. 
He glanced at the dirty innyard in the middle 
of which soldiers were watering their lean 
horses at the pump while carts were passing 
out of the gate. Pierre turned away with re- 
pugnance, and closing his eyes quickly fell 
back on the carriage seat. "No, I don't want 
that, I don't want to see and understand that. 
I want to understand what was revealing itself 
to me in my dream. One second more and I 
should have understood it all! But what am 1 
to do? Harness, but how can I harness every- 
thing?" and Pierre felt with horror that the 
meaning of all he had seen and thought in the 
dream had been destroyed. 

The groom, the coachman, and the innkeep- 
er told Pierre that an officer had come with 
news that the French were already near Moz- 
hiysk and that our men were leaving it. 

Pierre got up and, having told them to har- 
ness and overtake him, went on foot through 
the town. 

The troops were moving on, leaving about 
ten thousand wounded behind them. There 
were wounded in the yards, at the windows of 
the houses, and the streets were crowded with 
them. In the streets, around carts that were to 
take some of the wounded away, shouts, curses, 
and blows could be heard. Pierre offered the 
use of his carriage, which had overtaken him, 
to a wounded general he knew, and drove with 
him to Moscow. On the way Pierre was told 
of the death of his brother-in-law Anatole and 
of that of Prince Andrew. 

CHAPTER X 

ON THE THIRTIETH OF AUGUST Pierre reached 
Moscow. Close to the gates of the city he was 



met by Count Rostopchfn's adjutant. 

"We have been looking for you everywhere," 
said the adjutant. "The count wants to see you 
particularly. He asks you to come to him at 
once on a very important matter." 

Without going home Pierre took a cab and 
drove to see the Moscow commander in chief. 

Count Rostopchfn had only that morning 
returned to town from his summer villa at So- 
k61niki. The anteroom and reception room of 
his house were full of officials who had been 
summoned or had come for orders. Vasflchi- 
kov and Pldtov had already seen the count and 
explained to him that it was impossible to de- 
fend MoscoW and that it would have to be sur- 
rendered. Though this news was being con- 
cealed from the inhabitants, the officialsthe 
heads of the various government departments 
knew that Moscow would soon be in the en- 
emy's hands, just as Count Rostopchin himself 
knew it, and to escape personal responsibility 
they had all come to the governor to ask how 
they were to deal with their various depart- 
ments. 

As Pierre was entering the reception room 
a courier from the army came out of Rostop- 
chin's private room. 

In answer to questions with which he was 
greeted, the courier made a despairing gesture 
with his hand and passed through the room. 

While waiting in the reception room Pierre 
with weary eyes watched the various officials, 
old and young, military and civilian, who were 
there. They all seemed dissatisfied and uneasy. 
Pierre went up to a group of men, one of 
whom he knew. After greeting Pierre they con- 
tinued their conversation. 

"If they're sent out and brought back again 
later on it will do no harm, but as things are 
now one can't answer for anything." 

"But you see what he writes . . ." said an- 
other, pointing to a printed sheet he held in 
his hand. 

"That's another matter. That's necessary for 
the people," said the first. 

"What is it?" asked Pierre. 

"Oh, it's a fresh broadsheet." 

Pierre took it and began reading. 

His Serene Highness has passed through Moz- 
hiysk in order to join up with the troops moving 
toward him and has taken up a strong position 
where the enemy will not soon attack him. Forty- 
eight guns with ammunition have been sent him 
from here, and his Serene Highness says he will 
defend Moscow to the last drop of blood and is 
even ready to fight in the streets. Do not be upset, 



brothers, that the law courts are closed; things 
have to be put in order, and we will deal with vil- 
lains in our own way! When the time comes I shall 
want both town and peasant lads and will raise 
the cry a day or two beforehand, but they are not 
wanted yet so I hold my peace. An ax will be use- 
ful, a hunting spear not bad, but a three-pronged 
fork will be best of all: a Frenchman is no heavier 
than a sheaf of rye. Tomorrow after dinner I shall 
take the Iberian icon of the Mother of God to the 
wounded in the Catherine Hospital where we will 
have some water blessed. That will help them to 
get well quicker. I, too, am well now: one of my 
eyes was sore but now I am on the lookout with 
both. 

"But military men have told me that it is 
impossible to fight in the town/' said Pierre, 
"and that the position . . ." 

"Well, of course! That's what we were say- 
ing," replied the first speaker. 

"And what does he mean by 'One of my 
eyes was sore but now I am on the lookout with 
both'?" asked Pierre. 

"The count had a sty," replied the adjutant 
smiling, "and was very much upset when I told 
him people had come to ask what was the mat- 
ter with him. By the by, Count," he added 
suddenly, addressing Pierre with a smile, "we 
heard that you have family troubles and that 
the countess, your wife . . ." 

"I have heard nothing," Pierre replied un- 
concernedly. "But what have you heard?" 

"Oh, well, you know people often invent 
things. I only say what I heard." 

"But what did you hear?" 

"Well, they say," continued the adjutant 
with the same smile, "that the countess, your 
wife, is preparing to go abroad. I expect it's 
nonsense. . . ." 

"Possibly," remarked Pierre, looking about 
him absent-mindedly. "And who is that?" he 
asked, indicating a short old man in a clean 
blue peasant overcoat, with a big snow-white 
beard and eyebrows and a ruddy face. 

"He? That's a tradesman, that is to say, he's 
the restaurant keeper, Vereshchdgin. Perhaps 
you have heard of that affair with the procla- 
mation." 

"Oh, so that is Vereshchgin!" said Pierre, 
looking at the firm, calm face of the old man 
and seeking any indication of his being a 
traitor. 

"That's not he himself, that's the father of 
the fellow who wrote the proclamation," said 
the adjutant. "The young man is in prison 
and I expect it will go hard with him." 

An old gentleman wearing a star and anoth- 



BOOK ELEVEN 483 

er official, a German wearing a cross round his 



neck, approached the speaker. 

"It's a complicated story, you know," said 
the adjutant. "That proclamation appeared 
about two months ago. The count was in- 
formed of it. He gave orders to investigate the 
matter. Gabriel Ivdnovich here made the in- 
quiries. The proclamation had passed through 
exactly sixty-three hands. He asked one, 'From 
whom did you get it?' 'From so-and-so.' He went 
to the next one. 'From whom did you get it?' 
and so on till he reached Vereshch^gin, a half- 
educated tradesman, you know, 4 a pet of a 
trader,' " said the adjutant smiling. "They 
asked him, 'Who gave it you?' And the point is 
that we knew whom he had it from. He could 
only have had it from the Postmaster. But evi- 
dently they had come to some understanding. 
He replied: 'From no one; I made it up my- 
self.' They threatened and questioned him, 
but he stuck to that: 'I made it up myself.' And 
so it was reported to the count, who sent for 
the man. 'From whom did you get the procla- 
mation?' 'I wrote it myself.' Well, you know 
the count," said the adjutant cheerfully, with a 
smile of pride, "he flared up dreadfullyand 
just think of the fellow's audacity, lying, and 
obstinacy!" 

"And the count wanted him to say it was 
from Klyucharev? I understand!" said Pierre. 

"Not at all," rejoined the adjutant in dis- 
may. "Klyucharev had his own sins to answer 
for without that and that is why he has been 
banished. But the point is that the count was 
much annoyed. 'How could you have written 
it yourself?' said he, arid he took up the Ham- 
burg Gazette that was lying on the table. 
'Here it is! You did not write it yourself but 
translated it, and translated it abominably, be- 
cause you don't even know French, you fool.' 
And what do you think? 'No,' said he, 'I have 
not read any papers, I made it up myself.' 'If 
that's so, you're a traitor and I'll have you 
tried, and you'll be hanged! Say from whom 
you had it.' 'I have seen no papers, I made it 
up myself.' And that was the end of it. The 
count had the father fetched, but the fellow 
stuck to it. He was sent for trial and con- 
demned to hard labor, I believe. Now the fa- 
ther has come to intercede for him. But he's a 
good-for-nothing lad! You know that sort of 
tradesman's son, a dandy and lady-killer. He 
attended some lectures somewhere and imag- 
ines that the devil is no match for him. That's 
the sort of fellow he is. His father keeps a cook- 
shop here by the Stone Bridge, and you know 



WAR AND PEACE 



there was a large icon of God Almighty painted 
with a scepter in one hand and an orb in the 
other. Well, he took that icon home with him 
for a few days and what did he do? He found 
some scoundrel of a painter . . ." 

CHAPTER XI 

IN THE MIDDLE of this fresh talc Pierre was 
summoned to the commander in chief. 

When he entered the private room Count 
Rostopchin, puckering his face, was rubbing 
his forehead and eyes with his hand. A short 
man was saying something, but when Pierre 
entered he stopped speaking and went out. 

"Ah, how do you do, great warrior?" said 
Rostopchin as soon as the short man had left 
the room. "We have heard of your prowess. 
But that's not the point. Between ourselves, 
mon cher, do you belong to the Masons?" he 
went on severely, as though there were some- 
thing wrong about it which he nevertheless 
intended to pardon. Pierre remained silent. "I 
am well informed, my friend, but I am aware 
that there are Masons and Masons and I hope 
that you are not one of those who on pretense 
of saving mankind wish to ruin Russia." 

"Yes, I am a Mason," Pierre replied. 

"There, you see, mon cher! I expect you 
know that Messrs. Spcranski and Magnitski 
have been deported to their proper place. Mr. 
Klyucharev has been treated in the same way, 
and so have others who on the plea of building 
up the temple of Solomon have tried to de- 
stroy the temple of their fatherland. You can 
understand that there are reasons for this and 
that I could not have exiled the Postmaster 
had he not been a harmful person. It has now 
come to my knowledge that you lent him your 
carriage for his removal from town, and that 
you have even accepted papers from him for 
safe custody. I like you and don't wish you any 
harm and as you are only half my age I ad- 
vise you, as a father would, to cease all com- 
munication with men of that stamp and to 
leave here as soon as possible." 

"But what did Klyucharevdo wrong, Count?" 
asked Pierre. 

"That is for me to know, but not for you to 
ask," shouted Rostopchfn. 

"If he is accused of circulating Napoleon's 
proclamation it is not proved that he did so," 
said Pierre without looking at Rostopchfn, "and 
Vereshchdgin ..." 

"There we are!" Rostopchin shouted at 
Pierre louder than before, frowning suddenly. 
"Vereshch^gin is a renegade and a traitor who 



will be punished as he deserves," said he with 
the vindictive heat with which people speak 
when recalling an insult. "But I did not sum- 
mon you to discuss my actions, but to give you 
advice or an order if you prefer it. I beg you 
to leave the town and break off all communica- 
tion with such men as Klyucharev. And I will 
knock the nonsense outof anybody" but prob- 
ably rcali/ing that he was shouting at Beziik- 
hov who so far was not guilty of anything, he 
added, taking Pierre's hand in a friendly man- 
ner, "We arc on the eve of a public disaster 
and I haven't time to be polite to everybody 
who has business with me. My head is some- 
times in a whirl. Well, mon cher, what are you 
doing personally?" 

"Why, nothing," answered Pierre without 
raising his eyes or changing the thoughtful ex- 
pression of his face. 

The count frowned. 

"A word of friendly advice, mon cher. Be off 
as soon as you can, that's all I have to tell you. 
Happy he who has ears to hear. Good-by, my 
dear fellow. Oh, by the by! "he shouted through 
the doorway after Pierre, "is it true that the 
countess has fallen into the clutches of the 
holy fathers of the Society of Jesus?" 

Pierre did not answer and left Rostopchfn's 
room more sullen and angry than he had ever 
before shown himself. 

When he reached home it was already get- 
ting dark. Some eight people had come to see 
him that evening: thesecretary of a committee, 
the colonel of his battalion, his steward, his 
major-domo, and various petitioners. They all 
had business with Pierre and wanted decisions 
from him. Pierre did not understand and was 
not interested in any of these questions and 
only answered them in order to get rid of these 
people. When left alone at last he opened and 
read his wife's letter. 

"They, the soldiers at the battery, Prince 
Andrew killed . . . that old man . . . Simplicity 
is submission to God. Suffering is necessary . . . 
the meaning of all ... one must harness . . . 
my wife is getting married . . . One must for- 
get and understand . . ." And going to his bed 
he threw himself on it without undressing and 
immediately fell asleep. 

When he awoke next morning the major- 
domo came to inform him that a special mes- 
senger, a police officer, had come from Count 
Rostopchin to know whether Count Beziikhov 
had left or was leaving the town. 

A dozen persons who had business with 
Pierre were awaiting him in the drawing room. 



BOOK ELEVEN 



485 



Pierre dressed hurriedly and, instead of going 
to see them, went to the back porch and out 
through the gate. 

From that time till the end of the destruc- 
tion of Moscow no one of Beziikhov's house- 
hold, despite all the search they made, saw 
Pierre again or knew where he was. 

CHAPTER XII 

THE Ros'i6vs remained in Moscow till the first 
of September, that is, till the eve of the en- 
emy's entry into the city. 

After P(kya had joined Oboldnski's regi- 
ment of Cossacks and left for Belaya Tserkov 
where that regiment was forming, the countess 
was seized with terror. The thought that both 
her sons were at the war, had both gone from 
under her wing, that today or tomorrow either 
or both of them might be killed like the three 
sons of one of her acquaintances, struck her 
that summer for the first time with cruel clear- 
ness. She tried to get Nicholas back and wished 
to go herself to join P(kya, or to get him an ap- 
pointment somewhere in Petersburg, but nei- 
ther of these proved possible. Ptya could not 
return unless his regiment did so or unless he 
was transferred to another regiment on active 
service. Nicholas was somewhere with the army 
and had not sent a word since his last letter, in 
which he had given a detailed account of his 
meeting with Princess Mary. The countess did 
not sleep at night, or when she did fall asleep 
dreamed that she saw her sons lying dead. Aft- 
er many consultations and conversations, the 
count at last devised means to tranquillize her. 
He got Ptya transferred from Obolenski's regi- 
ment to Beziikhov's, which was in training 
near Moscow. Though Pd-tya would remain in 
the service, this transfer would give the coun- 
tess the consolation of seeing at least one of 
her sons under her wing, and she hoped to ar- 
range matters for her P(hya so as not to let him 
go again, but always get him appointed to 
places where he could not possibly take part 
in a battle. As long as Nicholas alone was in 
danger the countess imagined that she loved 
her first-born more than all her other children 
and even reproached herself for it; but when 
her youngest: the scapegrace who had been 
bad at lessons, was always breaking things in 
the house and making himself a nuisance to 
everybody, that snub-nosed Ptya with his 
merry black eyes and fresh rosy cheeks where 
soft down was just beginning to show when 
he was thrown amid those big, dreadful, cruel 
men who were fighting somewhere about some- 



thing and apparently finding pleasure in it- 
then his mother thought she loved him more, 
much more, than all her other children. The 
nearer the time came for Ptya to return, the 
more uneasy grew the countess. She began to 
think she would never live to see such happi- 
ness. The presence of Sonya, of her beloved 
Natasha, or even of her husband irritated her. 
"What do I want with them? I want no one 
but P6tya," she thought. 

At the end of August the Rost6vs received 
another letter from Nicholas. He wrote from 
the province ot Vor6nezh where he had been 
sent to procure remounts, but that letter did 
riot set the countess at ease. Knowing that one 
son was out of danger she became the more 
anxious about Ptya. 

Though by the twentieth of August nearly 
all the Rostovs' acquaintances had left Mos- 
cow, and though everybody tried to persuade 
the countess to get away as quickly as possible, 
.she would not hear of leaving before her treas- 
ure, her adored Pe*tya, returned. On the twenty- 
eighth of August he arrived. The passionate 
tenderness with which his mother received 
him did not please the sixteen-year-old officer. 
Though she concealed from him her intention 
of keeping him under her wing, Petya guessed 
her designs, and instinctively fearing that he 
might give way to emotion when with her 
might "become womanish" as he termed it to 
himselfhe treated her coldly, avoided her, 
and during his stay in Moscow attached him- 
self exclusively to Natasha for whom he had al- 
ways had a particularly brotherly tenderness, 
almost lover-like. 

Owing to the count's customary carelessness 
nothing was ready for their departure by the 
twenty-eighth of August and the carts that 
were to come from their Ryazdn and Moscow 
estates to remove their household belongings 
did not arrive till the thirtieth. 

From the twenty-eighth till the thirty- first 
all Moscow was in a bustle and commotion. 
Every day thousands of men wounded at Boro- 
din6 were brought in by the Dorogomilov gate 
and taken to various parts of Moscow, and 
thousands of carts conveyed the inhabitants 
and their possessions out by the other gates. 
In spite of Rostopchfn's broadsheets, or be- 
cause of them or independently of them, the 
strangest and most contradictory rumors were 
current in the town. Some said that no one was 
to be allowed to leave the city, others on the 
contrary said that all the icons had been taken 
out of the churches and everybody was to be 



486 WAR AND 

ordered to leave. Some said there had been an- 
other battle after Borodino at which the French 
had been routed, while others on the contrary 
reported that the Russian army had been de- 
stroyed. Some talked about the Moscow militia 
which, preceded by the clergy, would go to the 
Three Hills; others whispered that Augustin * 
had been forbidden to leave, that traitors had 
been seized, that the peasants were rioting and 
robbing people on their way from Moscow, 
and so on. But all this was only talk; in reality 
(though the Council of Filf, at which it was 
decided to abandon Moscow, had not yet been 
held) both those who went away and those who 
remained behind felt, though they did not 
show it, that Moscow would certainly be aban- 
doned, and that they ought to get away as 
quickly as possible and save their belongings. 
It was felt that everything would suddenly 
break up and change, but up to the first of 
September nothing had done so. As a criminal 
who is being led to execution knows that he 
must die immediately, but yet looks about him 
and straightens the cap that is awry on his 
head, so Moscow involuntarily continued its 
wonted life, though it knew that the time of its 
destruction was near when the conditions of 
life to which its people were accustomed to 
submit would be completely upset. 

During the three days preceding the occupa- 
tion of Moscow the whole Rostov family was 
absorbed in various activities. The head of the 
family, Count Ilyd Rost6v, continually drove 
about the city collecting the current rumors 
from all sides and gave superficial and hasty 
orders at home about the preparations for their 
departure. 

The countess watched the things being 
packed, was dissatisfied with everything, was 
constantly in pursuit of Ptya who was always 
running away from her, and was jealous of 
Natisha with whom he spent all his time. S6n- 
ya alone directed the practical side of matters 
by getting things packed. But of late S6nya 
had been particularly sad and silent. Nicholas' 
letter in which he mentioned Princess Mary 
had elicited, in her presence, joyous comments 
from the countess, who saw an intervention of 
Providence in this meeting of the princess and 
Nicholas. 

"I was never pleased at Bolk6nski's engage- 
ment to Natdsha," said the countess, "but I al- 
ways wanted Nicholas to marry the princess, 
and had a presentiment that it would happen. 
What a good thing it would bel" 

1 Archbishop of Moscow. TR. 



PEACE 

S6nya felt that this was true: that the only 
possibility of retrieving the Rostovs' affairs was 
by Nicholas marrying a rich woman, and that 
the princess was a good match. It was very bit- 
ter for her. But despite her grief, or perhaps 
just because of it, she took on herself all the 
difficult work of directing the storingand pack- 
ing of their things and was busy for whole days. 
The count and countess turned to her when 
they had any orders to give. Ptya and Nata- 
sha on the contrary, far from helping their 
parents, were generally a nuisance and a hin- 
drance to everyone. Almost all day long the 
house resounded with their running feet, their 
cries, and their spontaneous laughter. They 
laughed and were gay not because there was 
any reason to laugh, but because gaiety and 
mirth were in their hearts and so everything 
that happened was a cause for gaiety and 
laughter to them. P<hya was in high spirits be- 
cause having left home a boy he had returned 
(as everybody told him) a fine young man, be- 
cause he was at home, because he had left Be*- 
laya Tscrkov where there was no hope of soon 
taking part in a battle and had come to Mos- 
cow where there was to be fighting in a few 
days, and chiefly because Natdsha, whose lead 
he always followed, was in high spirits. Nata- 
sha was gay because she had been sad too long 
and now nothing reminded her of the cause of 
her sadness, and because she was feeling well. 
She was also happy because she had someone 
to adore her: the adoration of others was a 
lubricant the wheels of her machine needed to 
make them run freely and Pchya adored her. 
Above all, they were gay because there was a 
war near Moscow, there would be fighting at 
the town gates, arms were being given out, 
everybody was escaping going away some- 
where, and in general something extraordinary 
was happening, and that is always exciting, 
especially to the young. 

CHAPTER XIII 

ON SATURDAY, the thirty-first of August, every- 
thing in the Rost6vs' house seemed topsy-turvy. 
All the doors were open, all the furniture was 
being carried out or moved about, and the 
mirrors and pictures had been taken down. 
There were trunks in the rooms, and hay, 
wrapping paper, and ropes were scattered 
about. The peasants and house serfs carrying 
out the things were treading heavily on the 
parquet floors. The yard was crowded with 
peasant carts, some loaded high and already 
corded up, others still empty. 



BOOK ELEVEN 



487 



The voices and footsteps of the many serv- 
ants and of the peasants -who had come with 
the carts resounded as they shouted to one an- 
other in the yard and in the house. The count 
had been out since morning. The countess had 
a headache brought on by all the noise and 
turmoil and was lying down in the new sitting 
room with a vinegar compress on her head. 
Pdtya was not at home, he had gone to visit a 
friend with whom he meant to obtain a trans- 
fer from the militia to the active army. S6nya 
was in the ballroom looking after the packing 
of the glass and china. Natdsha was sitting on 
the floor of her dismantled room with dresses, 
ribbons, and scarves strewn all about her, gaz- 
ing fixedly at the floor and holding in her 
hands the old ball dress (already out of fash- 
ion) which she had worn at her first Petersburg 
ball. 

Natasha was ashamed of doing nothing when 
everyone else was so busy, and several times 
that morning had tried to set to work, but her 
heart was not in it, and she could not and did 
not know how to do anything except with all 
her heart and all her might. For a while she 
had stood beside S6nya while the china was 
being packed and tried to help, but soon gave 
it up and went to her room to pack her own 
things. At first she found it amusing to give 
away dresses and ribbons to the maids, but 
when that was done and what was left had still 
to be packed, she found it dull. 

"Dunydsha, you packl You will, won't you, 
dear?" And when Dunydsha willingly prom- 
ised to do it all for her, Natasha sat down on 
the floor, took her old ball dress, and fell into 
a reverie quite unrelated to what ought to 
have occupied her thoughts now. She was 
roused from her reverie by the talk of the maids 
in the next room (which was theirs) and by 
the sound of their hurried footsteps going to 
the back porch. Natdsha got up and looked 
out of the window. An enormously long row 
of carts full of wounded men had stopped in 
the street. 

The housekeeper, the old nurse, the cooks, 
coachmen, maids, footmen, postilions, and 
scullions stood at the gate, staring at the 
wounded. 

Natdsha, throwing a clean pocket handker- 
chief over her hair and holding an end of it in 
each hand, went out into the street. 

The former housekeeper, old Mdvra Kuz- 
minichna, had stepped out of the crowd by 
the gate, gone up to a cart with a hood con- 
structed of bast mats, and was speaking to a 



pale young officer who lay inside. Natdsha 
moved a few steps forward and stopped shyly, 
still holding her handkerchief, and listened to 
what the housekeeper was saying. 

"Then you have nobody in Moscow?" she 
was saying. "You would be more comfortable 
somewhere in a house ... in ours, for instance 
. . . the family are leaving." 

"I don't know if it would be allowed," re- 
plied the officer in a weak voice. "Here is our 
commanding officer . . . ask him," and he 
pointed to a stout major who was walking back 
along the street past the row of carts. 

Natdsha glanced with frightened eyes at the 
face of the wounded officer and at once went 
to meet the major. 

"May the wounded men stay in our house?" 
she asked. 

The major raised his hand to his cap with a 
smile. 

"Which one do you want, Ma'am'selle?"said 
he, screwing up his eyes and smiling. 

Natdsha quietly repeated her question, and 
her face and whole manner were so serious, 
though she was still holding the ends of her 
handkerchief, that the major ceased smiling 
and after some reflection as if considering in 
how far the thing was possiblereplied in the 
affirmative. 

"Oh yes, why not? They may," he said. 
With a slight inclination of her head, Natd- 
sha stepped back quickly to Mdvra Kuzminich- 
na, who stood talking compassionately to the 
officer. 

"They may. He says they mayl" whispered 
Natdsha. 

The cart in which the officer lay was turned 
into the Rostovs* yard, and dozens of carts 
with wounded men t>egan at the invitation of 
the townsfolk ttf turn into the yards and to 
draw up at the entrances of the houses in Po- 
varskdya Street. Natdsha was evidently pleased 
to be dealing with new people outside the ordi- 
nary routine of her life. She and Mdvra Kuz- 
minichna tried to get as many of the wounded 
as possible into their yard. 

"Your Papa must be told, though," said Md- 
vra Kuzminichna. 

"Never mind, never mind, what does it mat- 
ter? For one day we can move into the draw- 
ing room. They can have all our half of the 
house." 

"There now, young lady, you do take things 
into your head! Even if we put them into the 
wing, the men's room, or the nurse's room, we 
must ask permission." 



488 

"Well, I'll ask." 

Natdsha ran into the house and went on tip- 
toe through the half-open door into the sitting 
room, where there was a smell of vinegar and 
Hoffman's drops. 1 

"Are you asleep, Mamma?" 

"Oh, what sleep?" said the countess, 
waking up just as she was dropping into a 
doze. 

"Mamma darlingl" said Natdsha, kneeling 
by her mother and bringing her face close to 
her mother's, "I am sorry, forgive me, I'll nev- 
er do it again; I woke you up! Mavra Kuzmfn- 
ichna has sent me: they have brought some 
wounded here officers. Will you let them 
come? They have nowhere to go. I knew you'd 
let them come . . ." she said quickly all in one 
breath. 

"What officers? Whom have they brought? I 
don't understand anything about it," said the 
countess. 

Natdsha laughed, and the countess too smiled 
slightly. 

"I knew you'd give permission ... so I'll tell 
them," and, having kissed her mother, Nata- 
sha got up and went to the door. 

In the hall she met her father, who had re- 
turned with bad news. 

"We've stayed too long! "said the count with 
involuntary vexation. "The Club is closed and 
the police are leaving." 

"Papa, is it all right I've invited some of 
the wounded into the house?" said Natdsha. 

"Of course it is," he answered absently. 
"That's not the point. I beg you not to indulge 
in trifles now, but to help to pack, and tomor- 
row we must go, go, go! . . ." 

And the count gave a similar order to the 
major-domo and the servants. 

At dinner Ptya having returned home told 
them the news he had heard. He said the peo- 
ple had been getting arms in the Kremlin, and 
that though Rostopchin's broadsheet had said 
that he would sound a call two or three days 
in advance, the order had certainly already 
been given for everyone to go armed to the 
Three Hills tomorrow, and that there would 
be a big battle there. 

The countess looked with timid horror at 
her son's eager, excited face as he said this. She 
realized that if she said a word about his not 
going to the battle (she knew he enjoyed the 
thought of the impending engagement) he 
would say something about men, honor, and 
the fatherland something senseless, masculine, 

1 A medicine much used in Russia. TR. 



WAR AND PEACE 

and obstinate which there would be no con- 
tradicting, and her plans would be spoiled; 
and so, hoping to arrange to leave before then 
and take Pe* tya with her as their protector and 
defender, she did not answer him, but after 
dinner called the count aside and implored 
him with tears to take her away quickly, that 
very night if possible. With a woman's invol- 
untary loving cunning she, who till then had 
not shown any alarm, said that she would die 
of fright if they did not leave that very night. 
Without any pretense she was now afraid of 
everything. 



CHAPTER XIV 

MADAME SCHOSS, who had been out to visit her 
daughter, increased the countess' fears still 
more by telling what she had seen at a spirit 
dealer's in Myasnftski Street. When returning 
by that street she had been unable to pass be- 
cause of a drunken crowd rioting in front of 
the shop. She had taken a cab and driven home 
by a side street and the cabman had told her 
that the people were breaking open the bar- 
rels at the drink store, having received orders 
to do so. 

After dinner the whole Rost6v household 
set to work with enthusiastic haste packing 
their belongings and preparing for their de- 
parture. The old count, suddenly setting to 
work, kept passing from the yard to the house 
and back again, shouting confused instructions 
to the hurrying people, and flurrying themstill 
more. Pctya directed things in the yard. S6nya, 
owing to the count's contradictory orders, lost 
her head and did not know what to do. The 
servants ran noisily about the house and yard, 
shouting and disputing. Natdsha, with the ar- 
dor characteristic of all she did, suddenly set 
to work too. At first her intervention in the 
business of packing was received skeptically. 
Everybody expected some prank from her and 
did not wish to obey her; but she resolutely 
and passionately demanded obedience, grew 
angry and nearly cried because they did not 
heed her, and at last succeeded in making them 
believe her. Her first exploit, which cost her 
immense effort and established her authority, 
was the packing of the carpets. The count had 
valuable Gobelin tapestries and Persian carpets 
in the house. When Natdsha set to work two 
cases were standing open in the ballroom, one 
almost full up with crockery, the other with 
carpets. There was also much china standing 
on the tables, and still more was being brought 



BOOK ELEVEN 

in from the storeroom. A third case was needed 
and servants had gone to fetch it. 

"S6nya, wait a bit we'll pack everything in- 
to these," said Natdsha. 

"You can't, Miss, we have tried to," said the 
butler's assistant. 

"No, wait a minute, please." 

And Natdsha began rapidly taking out of 
the case dishes and plates wrapped in paper. 

"The dishes must go in here among the car- 
pets," said she. 

"Why, it's a mercy if we can get the carpets 
alone into three cases," said the butler's assist- 
ant. 

"Oh, wait, please!" And Natdsha began 
rapidly and deftly sorting out the things. 
"These aren't needed," said she, putting aside 
some plates of Kiev ware. "These yes, these 
must go among the carpets," she said, referring 
to the Saxony china dishes. 

"Don't, Natdsha! Leave it alone! We'll get 
it all packed," urged S6nya reproachfully. 

"What a young lady she is!" remarked the 
major-domo. 

But Natdsha would not give in. She turned 
everything out and began quickly repacking, 
deciding that the inferior Russian carpets and 
unnecessary crockery should not be taken at 
all. When everything had been taken out of 
the cases, they recommenced packing, and it 
turned out that when the cheaper things not 
worth taking had nearly all been rejected, the 
valuable ones really did all go into the two 
cases. Only the lid of the case containing the 
carpets would not shut down. A few more 
things might have been taken out, but Natd- 
sha insisted on having her own way. She 
packed, repacked, pressed, made the butler's 
assistant and P^tya whom she had drawn in- 
to the business of packing press on the lid, 
and made desperate efforts herself. 

"That's enough, Natdsha," said S6nya. "I 
see you were right, but just take out the top 
one." 

"I won't!" cried Natdsha, with one hand 
holding back the hair that hung over her per- 
spiring face, while with the other she pressed 
down the carpets. "Now press, Pe'tya! Press, 
Vasflich, press hard!" she cried. 

The carpets yielded and the lid closed; Na- 
tdsha, clapping her hands, screamed with de- 
light and tears fell from her eyes. But this only 
lasted a moment. She at once set to work afresh 
and they now trusted her completely. The 
count was not angry even when they told him 
that Natdsha had countermanded an order of 



489 

his, and the servants now came to her to ask 
whether a cart was sufficiently loaded, and 
whether it might be corded up. Thanks to Na- 
tasha's directions the work now Tvent on ex- 
peditiously, unnecessary things were left, and 
the most valuable packed as compactly as pos- 
sible. 

But hard as they all worked till quite late 
that night, they could not get everything 
packed. The countess had fallen asleep and 
the count, having put off their departure till 
next morning, went to bed. 

S6nya and Natasha slept in the sitting room 
without undressing. 

That night another wounded man was 
driven down the Povarskdya, and Mdvra Kuz- 
mfnichna, who was standing at the gate, had 
him brought into the Rost6vs' yard. Mdvra 
Kuzminichna concluded that he w;is a very im- 
portant man. He was being conveyed in a ca- 
Idchevfitli a raised hood, and was quite covered 
by an apron. On the box beside the driver sat 
a venerable old attendant. A doctor and two 
soldiers followed the carriage in a cart. 

"Please come in here. The masters are going 
away and the whole house will be empty," said 
the old woman to the old attendant. 

"Well, perhaps," said he with a sigh. "We 
don't expect to get him home alive! We have 
a house of our own in Moscow, but it's a long 
way from here, and there's nobody living in 
it." 

"Do us the honor to come in, there's plenty 
of everything in the master's house. Come in," 
said Mdvra Kuzmfnichna. "Is he very ill?" she 
asked. 

The attendant made a hopeless gesture. 

"We don't expect to get him home! We must 
ask the doctor." 

And the old servant got down from the box 
and went up to the cart. 

"All right!" said the doctor. 

The old servant returned to the cal&che, 
looked into it, shook his head disconsolately, 
told the driver to turn into the yard, and 
stopped beside Mdvra Kuzminichna. 

"O, Lord Jesus Christ!" she murmured. 

She invited them to take the wounded man 
into the house. 

"The masters won't object . . ." she said. 

But they had to avoid carrying the man up- 
stairs, and so they took him into the wing and 
put him in the room that had been Madame 
Schoss'. 

This wounded man was Prince Andrew Bol- 
k6nski. 



49<> 



WAR AND PEACE 



CHAPTER XV 

Moscow's LAST DAY had come. It was a clear 
bright autumn day, a Sunday. The church bells 
everywhere were ringing for service, just as 
usual on Sundays. Nobody seemed yet to re- 
alize what awaited the city. 

Only two things indicated the social condi- 
tion of Moscow the rabble, that is the poor 
people, and the price of commodities. An 
enormous crowd of factory hands, house serfs, 
and peasants, with whom some officials, semi- 
narists, and gentry were mingled, had gone 
early that morning to the Three Hills. Having 
waited there for Rostopchfn who did not turn 
up, they became convinced that Moscow would 
be surrendered, and then dispersed all about 
the town to the public houses and cookshops. 
Prices too that day indicated the state of af- 
fairs. The price of weapons, of gold, of carts 
and horses, kept rising, but the value of paper 
money and city articles kept falling, so that 
by midday there were instances of carters re- 
moving valuable goods, such as cloth, and re- 
ceiving in payment a half of what they carted, 
while peasant horses were fetching five hun- 
dred rubles each, and furniture, mirrors, and 
bronzes were being given away for nothing. 

In the Rostovs' staid old-fashioned house the 
dissolution of former conditions of life was but 
little noticeable. As to the serfs the only indi- 
cation was that three out of their huge retinue 
disappeared during the night, but nothing was 
stolen; and as to the value of their possessions, 
the thirty peasant carts that had come in from 
their estates and which many people envied 
proved to be extremely valuable and they were 
offered enormous sums of money for them. 
Not only were huge sums offered for the horses 
and carts, but on the previous evening and 
early in the morning of the first of September, 
orderlies and servants sent by wounded officers 
came to the Rost6vs' yard, and wounded men 
dragged themselves there from the Rost6vs' 
and from neighboring houses where they were 
accommodated, entreating the servants to try 
to get them a lift out of Moscow. The major- 
domo to whom these en treaties were addressed, 
though he was sorry for the wounded, resolute- 
ly refused, saying that he dare not even men- 
tion the matter to the count. Pity these wound- 
ed men as one might, it was evident that if 
they were given one cart there would be no 
reason to refuse another, or all the carts and 
one's own carriages as well. Thirty carts could 
not save all the wounded and in the general 
catastrophe one could not disregard oneself and 



one's own family. So thought the major-domo 
on his master's behalf. 

On waking up that morning Count Ilyd Ros- 
t6v left his bedroom softly, so as not to wake 
the countess who had fallen asleep only toward 
morning, and came out to the porch in his 
lilac silk dressing gown. In the yard stood the 
carts ready corded. The carriages were at the 
front porch. The major-domo stood at the porch 
talking to an elderly orderly and to a pale 
young officer with a bandaged arm. On seeing 
the count the major-domo made a significant 
and stern gesture to them both to go away. 

"Well, Vasflich, is everything ready?" asked 
the count, and stroking his bald head he looked 
good-naturedly at the officer and the orderly 
and nodded to them. (He liked to see new 
faces.) 

"We can harness at once, your excellency." 

"Well, that's right. As soon as the countess 
wakes we'll be off, God willing! What is it, 
gentlemen?" he added, turning to the officer. 
"Are you staying in my house?" 

The officer came nearer and suddenly his face 
flushed crimson. 

"Count, be so good as to allow me . . . for 
God's sake, to get into some corner of one of 
your carts I I have nothing here with me. ... I 
shall be all right on a loaded cart " 

Before the officer had finished speaking the 
orderly made the same request on behalf of 
his master. 

"Oh, yes, yes, yes!" said the count hastily. "I 
shall be very pleased, very pleased. Vasilich, 
you'll see to it. Just unload one or two carts. 
Well, what of it ... do what's necessary . . ." 
said the count, muttering some indefinite or- 
der. 

But at the same moment an expression of 
warm gratitude on the officer's face had al- 
ready sealed the order. The count looked 
around him. In the yard, at the gates, at the 
window of the wings, wounded officers and 
their orderlies were to be seen. They were all 
looking at the count and moving toward the 
porch. 

"Please step into the gallery, your excel- 
lency," said the major-domo. "What are your 
orders about the pictures?" 

The count went into the house with him, 
repeating his order not to refuse the wounded 
who asked for a lift. 

"Well, never mind, some of the things can 
be unloaded," he added in a soft, confidential 
voice, as though afraid of being overheard. 

At nine o'clock the countess woke up, and 



BOOK 

Matrena Timoteevna, who had been her lady's 
maid before her marriage and now performed 
a sort of chief gendarme's duty for her, came 
to say that Madame Schoss was much offended 
and the young ladies' summer dresses could 
not be left behind. On inquiry, the countess 
learned that Madame Schoss was offended be- 
cause her trunk had been taken down from 
its cart, and all the loads were being uncorded 
and the luggage taken out of the carts to make 
room for wounded men whom the count in the 
simplicity of his heart had ordered that they 
should take with them. The countess sent for 
her husband. 

"What is this, my dear? I hear that the lug- 
gage is being unloaded/' 

"You know, love, I wanted to tell you . . . 
Countess dear ... an officer came to me to ask 
for a few carts for the wounded. After all, ours 
are things that can be bought but think what 
being left behind means to them! . . . Really 
now, in our own yardwe asked them in our- 
selves and there are officers among them. . . . 
You know, I think, my dear ... let them be 
taken . . . where's the hurry?" 

The count spoke timidly, as he always did 
when talking of money matters. The countess 
was accustomed to this tone as a precursor of 
news of something detrimental to the chil- 
dren's interests, such as the building of a new 
gallery or conservatory, the inauguration of a 
private theater or an orchestra. She was accus- 
tomed always to oppose anything announced 
in that timid tone and considered it her duty 
to do so. 

She assumed her dolefully submissive man- 
ner and said to her husband: ''Listen to me, 
Count, you have managed matters so that we 
are getting nothing for the house, and now you 
wish to throw away all our all the children's 
property 1 You said yourself that we have a 
hundred thousand rubles' worth of things in 
the house. I don't consent, my dear, I don't! Do 
as you please! It's the government's business to 
look after the wounded; they know that. Look 
at the Lopukhfns opposite, they cleared out 
everything two days ago. That's what other peo- 
ple do. It's only we who are such fools. If you 
have no pity on me, have some for the chil- 
dren." 

Flourishing his arms in despair the count 
left the room without replying. 

"Papa, what are you doing that for?" asked 
Natasha, who had followed him into her 
mother's room. 

"Nothing! What business is it of yours?" 



ELEVEN 491 

muttered the count angrily. 

"But I heard," said Natdsha. "Why does 
Mamma object?" 

"What business is it of yours?" cried the 
count. 

Natdsha stepped up to the window and pon- 
dered. 

"Papa! Here's Berg coming to see us," said 
she, looking out of the window. 

CHAPTER XVI 

BERG, the Rost6vs' son-in-law, was already a 
colonel wearing the orders of Vladimir and 
Anna, and he still filled the quiet and agree- 
able post of assistant to the head of the staff of 
the assistant commander of the first division 
of the Second Army. 

On the first of September he had come to 
Moscow from the army. 

He had nothing to do in Moscow, but he had 
noticed that everyone in the army was asking 
for leave to visit Moscow and had something 
to do there. So he considered it necessary to 
ask for leave of absence for family and domes- 
tic reasons. 

Berg drove up to his father-in-law's house 
in his spruce little trap with a pair of sleek 
roans, exactly like those of a certain prince. He 
looked attentively at the carts in the yard and 
while going up to the porch took out a clean 
pocket handkerchief and tied a knot in it. 

From the anteroom Berg ran with smooth 
though impatient steps into the drawing room, 
where he embraced the count, kissed the hands 
of Natdsha and S6nya, and hastened to inquire 
after "Mamma's" health. 

"Health, at a time like this?" said the count. 
"Come, tell us the news! Is the army retreating 
or will there be another battle?" 

"God Almighty alone can decide the fate of 
our fatherland, Papa," said Berg. "The army 
is burning with a spirit of heroism and the 
leaders, so to say, have now assembled in coun- 
cil. No one knows what is coming. But in gen- 
eral I can tell you, Papa, that such a heroic 
spirit, the truly antique valor of the Russian 
army, which they which it" (he corrected 
himself) "has shown or displayed in the battle 
of the twenty-sixththere are no words worthy 
to do it justice! I tell you, Papa" (he smote 
himself on the breast as a general he had heard 
speaking had done, but Berg did it a trifle late 
for he should have struck his breast at the words 
"Russian army"), "I tell you frankly that we, 
the commanders, far from having to urge the 
men on or anything of that kind, could hardly 



49* 



restrain those . . . those . . . yes, those exploits 
of antique valor," he went on rapidly. "Gen- 
eral Barclay de Tollyrisked his life everywhere 
at the head of the troops, I can assure you. Our 
corps was stationed on a hillside. You can im- 
agine!" 

And Berg related all that he remembered of 
the various talcs he had heard those days. Na- 
tdsha watched him with an intent gaze that 
confused him, as if she were trying to find in 
his face the answer to some question. 

"Altogether such heroism as was displayed 
by the Russian warriors cannot be imagined or 
adequately praised! "said Berg, glancing round 
at Natasha, and as if anxious to conciliate her, 
replying to her intent look with a smile. " 'Rus- 
sia is not in Moscow, she lives in the hearts of 
her sons!' Isn't it so, Papa?" said he. 

Just then the countess came in from the sit- 
ting room with a weary and dissatisfied expres- 
sion. Berg hurriedly jumped up, kissed her 
hand, asked about her health, and, swaying his 
head from side to side to express sympathy, re- 
mained standing beside her. 

"Yes, Mamma, I tell you sincerely that these 
are hard and sad times for every Russian. But 
why are you so anxious? You have still time to 
get away. . . ." 

"I can't think what the servants are about," 
said the countess, turning to her husband. "I 
have just been told that nothing is ready yet. 
Somebody after all must see to things. One 
misses Mitenka at such times. There won't be 
any end to it." 

The count was about to say something, but 
evidently restrained himself. He got up from 
his chair and went to the door. 

At that moment Berg drew out his handker- 
chief as if to blow his nose and, seeing the knot 
in it, pondered, shaking his head sadly and sig- 
nificantly. 

"And I have a great favor to ask of you, Pa- 
pa," said he. 

"Hm . . ." said the count, and stopped. 

"I was driving past Yusupov's house just 
now," said Berg with a laugh, "when the stew- 
ard, a man I know, ran out and asked me 
whether I wouldn't buy something. I went in 
out of curiosity, you know, and there is a small 
chiffonier and a dressing table. You know how 
dear Ve"ra wanted a chiffonier like that and 
how we had a dispute about it." (At the men- 
tion of the chiffonier and dressing table Berg 
involuntarily changed his tone to one of pleas- 
ure at his admirable domestic arrangements.) 
"And it's such a beautyl It pulls out and has 



WAR AND PEACE 

a secret English drawer, you know! And dear 
Vera has long wanted one. I wish to give her a 
surprise, you see. I saw so many of those peas- 
ant carts in your yard. Please let me have one, 
I will pay the man well, and . , ." 

The count frowned and coughed. 

"Ask the countess, I don't give orders." 

"If it's inconvenient, please don't," said 
Berg. "Only I so wanted it, for dear Wra's 
sake." 

"Oh, go to the devil, all of you! To the devil, 
the devil, the devil . . . !" cried the old count. 
"My head's in a whirl!" 

And he left the room. The countess began to 
cry. 

"Yes, Mammal Yes, these are very hard 
times!" said Berg. 

Natdsha left the room with her father and, 
as if finding it difficult to reach some decision, 
first followed him and then ran downstairs. 

Petya was in the porch, engaged in giving 
out weapons to the servants who were to leave 
Moscow. The loaded carts were still standing 
in the yard. Two of them had been uncorded 
and a wounded officer was climbing into one 
of them helped by an orderly. 

"Do you know what it's about?" Pdtya asked 
Natasha. 

She understood that he meant what were 
their parents quarreling about. She did not 
answer. 

"It's because Papa wanted to give up all the 
carts to the wounded," said Pdtya. "Vasilich 
told me. I consider . . ." 

"I consider," Natdsha suddenly almost shout- 
ed, turning her angry face to Petya,"! consider 
it so horrid, so abominable, so ... I don't know 
what. Are we despicable Germans?" 

Her throat quivered with convulsive sobs 
and, afraid of weakening and letting the force 
of her anger run to waste, she turned and 
rushed headlong up the stairs. 

Berg was sitting beside the countess consol- 
ing her with the respectful attention of a rela- 
tive. The count, pipe in hand, was pacing up 
and down the room, when Natasha, her face 
distorted by anger, burst in like a tempest and 
approached her mother with rapid steps. 

"It's horrid! It's abominable!" she screamed. 
"You can't possibly have ordered it!" 

Berg and the countess looked at her, per- 
plexed and frightened. The count stood still 
at the window and listened. 

"Mamma, it's impossible: see what is going 
on in the yard I" she cried. "They will be 
left! . . ." 



BOOK ELEVEN 
you? Who are 



493 



"What's the matter with 
'they'? What do you want?" 

"Why, the wounded! It's impossible, Mam- 
ma. It's monstrous! . . . No, Mamma darling, 
it's not the thing. Please forgive me, darling. 
. . . Mamma, what does it matter what we take 
away? Only look what is going on in the yard 
. . . Mamma! . . . It's impossible!" 

The count stood by the window and listened 
without turning round. Suddenly he sniffed 
and put his face closer to the window. 

The countess glanced at her daughter, saw 
her face full of shame for her mother, saw her 
agitation, and understood why her husband 
did not turn to look at her now, and she glanced 
round quite disconcerted. 

"Oh, do as you like! Am I hindering any- 
one?" she said, not surrendering at once. 

"Mamma, darling, forgive me!" 

But the countess pushed her daughter away 
and went up to her husband. 

"My dear, you order what is right. . . . You 
know I don't understand about it," said she, 
dropping her eyes shamefacedly. 

"The eggs . . . the eggs are teaching the hen 
. . ." muttered the count through tears of joy, 
and he embraced his wife who was glad to hide 
her look of shame on his breast. 

"Papa! Mamma! May I see to it? May I? 
. . ." asked Natdsha. "We will still take all the 
most necessary things." 

The count nodded affirmatively, and Na- 
tdsha, at the rapid pace at which she used to 
run when playing at tag, ran through the ball- 
room to the anteroom and downstairs into the 
yard. 

The servants gathered round Natdsha, but 
could not believe the strange order she brought 
them until the count himself, in his wile's 
name, confirmed the order to give up all the 
carts to the wounded and take the trunks to the 
storerooms. When they understood that order 
the servants set to work at this new task with 
pleasure and zeal. It no longer seemed strange 
to them but on the contrary it seemed the only 
thing that could be done, just as a quarter of 
an hour before it had not seemed strange to 
anyone that the wounded should be left be- 
hind and the goods carted away but that had 
seemed the only thing to do. 

The whole household, as if to atone for not 
having done it sooner, set eagerly to work at 
the new task of placing the wounded in the 
carts. The wounded dragged themselves out of 
their rooms and stood with pale but happy 
faces round the carts. The news that carts were 



to be had spread to the neighboring houses, 
from which wounded men began to come into 
the Rost6vs' yard. Many of the wounded 
asked them not to unload the carts but only to 
let them sit on the top of the things. But the 
work of unloading, once started, could not be 
arrested. It seemed not to matter whether all 
or only half the things were left behind. Cases 
full of china, bronzes, pictures, and mirrors 
that had been so carefully packed the night 
before now lay about the yard, and still they 
went on searching for and finding possibili- 
ties of unloading this or that and letting the 
wounded have another and yet another cart. 

"We can take four more men," said the 
steward. "They can have my trap, or else what 
is to become of them?" 

"Let them have my wardrobe cart," said the 
countess. "Dunyasha can go with me in the 
carriage." 

They unloaded the wardrobe cart and sent 
it to take wounded men from a house two 
doors off. The whole household, servants in- 
cluded, was bright and animated. Natdsha was 
in a state of rapturous excitement such as she 
had not known for a long time. 

"What could we fasten this onto?" asked the 
servants, trying to fix a trunk on the narrow 
footboard behind a carriage. "We must keep 
at least one cart." 

"What's in it?" asked Natasha. 

"The count's books." 

"Leave it, Vasilich will put it away. It's not 
wanted." 

The phaeton was full of people and there 
was a doubt as to where Count Peter could sit. 

"On the box. You'll sit on the box, won't you, 
Ptya?" cried Natdsha. 

S6nya too was busy all this time, but the aim 
of her efforts was quite different from Natd- 
sha's. She was putting away the things that had 
to be left behind and making a list of them as 
the countess wished, and she tried to get as 
much taken away with them as possible. 

CHAPTER XVII 

BEFORE TWO O'CLOCK in the afternoon the Ros- 
t6vs' four carriages, packed full and with the 
horses harnessed, stood at the front door. One 
by one the carts with the wounded had moved 
out of the yard. 

The caliche in which Prince Andrew was be- 
ing taken attracted S6nya's attention as it passed 
the front porch. With the help of a maid she 
was arranging a seat for the countess in the 
huge high coach that stood at the entrance. 



494 



WAR AND PEACE 



"Whose caleche is that?" she inquired, lean- 
ing out of the carriage window. 

"Why, didn't you know, Miss?" replied the 
maid. "The wounded prince: he spent the 
night in our house and is going with us." 

"But who is it? What's his name?" 

"It's our intended that was Prince Bolk6n- 
ski himself! They say he is dying," replied the 
maid with a sigh. 

S6nya jumped out of the coach and ran to 
the countess. The countess, tired out and al- 
ready dressed in shawl and bonnet for her 
journey, was pacing up and down the drawing 
room, waiting for the household to assemble 
for the usual silent prayer with closed doors 
before starting. Natdsha was not in the room. 

"Mamma," said S6nya, "Prince Andrew is 
here, mortally wounded. He is going with us." 

The countess opened her eyes in dismay and, 
seizing S6nya's arm, glanced around. 

"Natasha?" she murmured. 

At that moment this news had only one sig- 
nificance for both of them. They knew their 
Natdsha, and alarm as to what would happen 
if she heard this news stifled all sympathy for 
the man they both liked. 

"Natdsha does not know yet, but he is go- 
ing with us," said S6nya. 

"You say he is dying?" 

S6nya nodded. 

The countess put her arms around S6nya 
and began to cry. 

"The ways of God are past finding out!" she 
thought, feeling that the Almighty Hand, 
hitherto unseen, was becoming manifest in all 
that was now taking place. 

"Well, Mamma? Everything is ready. What's 
the matter?" asked Natdsha, as with animated 
face she ran into the room. 

"Nothing," answered the countess. "If ev- 
erything is ready let us start." 

And the countess bent over her reticule to 
hide her agitated face. S6nya embraced Na- 
tsha and kissed her. 

Natdsha looked at her inquiringly. 

"What is it? What has happened?" 

"Nothing . . . No . . ." 

"Is it something very bad for me? What is 
it?" persisted Natdsha with her quick intuition. 

Sonya sighed and made no reply. The 
count, Pdtya, Madame Schoss, Mdvra Kuzmf- 
nichna, and Vasflich came into the drawing 
room and, having closed the doors, they all 
sat down and remained for some moments 
silently seated without looking at one an- 
other. 



The count was the first to rise, and with a 
loud sigh crossed himself before the icon. All 
the others did the same. Then the count em- 
braced Mdvra Kuzmfnichna and Vasflich, who 
were to remain in Moscow, and while they 
caught at his hand and kissed his shoulder he 
patted their backs lightly with some vaguely 
affectionate and comforting words. The count- 
ess went into the oratory and there S6nya found 
her on her knees before the icons that had been 
left here and there hanging on the wall. (The 
most precious ones, with which some family 
tradition was connected, were being taken with 
them.) 

In the porch and in the yard the men whom 
Ptya had armed with swords and daggers, with 
trousers tucked inside their high boots and 
with belts and girdles tightened, were taking 
leave of those remaining behind. 

As is always the case at a departure, much 
had been forgotten or put in the wrong place, 
and for a long time two menservants stood one 
on each side of the open door and the carnage 
steps waiting to help the countess in, while 
maids rushed with cushions and bundles from 
the house to the carriages, the caleche, the pha- 
eton, and back again. 

"They always will forget every thingl" said 
the countess. "Don't you know I can't sit like 
that?" 

And Dunyasha, with clenched teeth, with- 
out replying but with an aggrieved look on her 
face, hastily got into the coach to rearrange the 
seat. 

"Oh, those servants!" said the count, sway- 
ing his head. 

Efim, the old coachman, who was the only 
one the countess trusted to drive her, sat 
perched up high on the box and did not so 
much as glance round at what was going on be- 
hind him. From thirty years' experience he 
knew it would be some time yet before the or- 
der, "Be off, in God's name!" would be given 
him: and he knew that even when it was said 
he would be stopped once or twice more while 
they sent back to fetch something that had 
been forgotten, and even after that he would 
again be stopped and the countess herself 
would lean out of the window and beg him 
for the love of heaven to drive carefully down 
the hill. He knew all this and therefore waited 
calmly for what would happen, with more pa- 
tience than the horses, especially the near one, 
the chestnut Falcon, who was pawing the 
ground and champing his bit. At last all were 
seated, the carriage steps were folded and 



BOOK ELEVEN 



495 



pulled up, the door was shut, somebody was 
sent for a traveling case, and the countess 
leaned out and said what she had to say. Then 
Efim deliberately doffed his hat and began 
crossing himself. The postilion and all the oth- 
er servants did the same. "Off, in God's name!" 
said Efim, putting on his hat. "Start!" The 
postilion started the horses, the off pole horse 
tugged at his collar, the high springs creaked, 
and the body of the coach swayed. The foot- 
man sprang onto the box of the moving coach 
which jolted as it passed out of the yard onto 
the uneven roadway; the other vehicles jolted 
in their turn, and the procession of carriages 
moved up the street. In the carriages, the cale- 
che f and the phaeton, all crossed themselves as 
they passed the church opposite the house. 
Those who were to remain in Moscow walked 
on either side of the vehicles seeing the trav- 
elers off. 

Rarely had Natasha experienced so joyful a 
feeling as now, sitting in the carriage beside 
the countess and gazing at the slowly receding 
walls of forsaken, agitated Moscow. Occasion- 
ally she leaned out of the carriage window and 
looked back and then forward at the long train 
of wounded in front of them. Almost at the 
head of the line she could see the raised hood 
of Prince Andrew's caliche. She did not know 
who was in it, but each time she looked at the 
procession her eyes sought that caleche. She 
knew it was right in front. 

In Kiidrino, from the Nikftski, Prdsnya, and 
Podnovinsk Streets came several other trains 
of vehicles similar to the Rost6vs', and as they 
passed along the Sad6vaya Street the carriages 
and carts formed two rows abreast. 

As they were going round the Siikharev wa- 
ter tower Natasha, who was inquisitively and 
alertly scrutinizing the people driving or walk- 
ing past, suddenly cried out in joyful surprise: 

"Dear me! Mamma, S6nya, look, it's he!" 

"Who? Who?" 

"Look! Yes, on my word, it's Bezukhov!" 
said Natdsha, putting her head out of the car- 
riage and staring at a tall, stout man in a coach- 
man's long coat, who from his manner of walk- 
ing and moving was evidently a gentleman in 
disguise, and who was passing under the arch 
of the Siikharev tower accompanied by a small, 
sallow-faced, beardless old man in a frieze coat. 

"Yes, it really is Bezukhov in a coachman's 
coat, with a queer-looking old boy. Really," 
said Natdsha, "look, lookl" 

"No, it's not he. How can you talk such non- 
sense?" 



"Mamma," screamed Natdsha, "I'll stake my 
head it's he! I assure you! Stop, stop!" she cried 
to the coachman. 

But the coachman could not stop, for from 
the Meshchdnski Street came more carts and 
carriages, and the Rost6vs were being shouted 
at to move on and not block the way. 

In fact, however, though now much farther 
off than before, the Rost6vs all saw Pierre or 
someone extraordinarily like him in a coach- 
man's coat, going down the street with head 
bent and a serious face beside a small, beard- 
less old man who looked like a footman. That 
old man noticed a face thrust out of the car- 
riage window gazing at them, and respectfully 
touching Pierre's elbow said something to him 
and pointed to the carriage. Pierre, evidently 
engrossed in thought, could not at first under- 
stand him. At length when he had understood 
and looked in the direction the old man indi- 
cated, he recognized Natdsha, and following 
his first impulse stepped instantly and rapidly 
toward the coach. But having taken a dozen 
steps he seemed to remember something and 
stopped. 

Natdsha's face, leaning out of the window, 
beamed with quizzical kindliness. 

"Peter Kirilovich, come here! We have rec- 
ognized you! This is wonderful!" she cried, 
holding out her hand to him. "What are you 
doing? Why are you like this?" 

Pierre took her outstretched hand and kissed 
it awkwardly as he walked along beside her 
while the coach still moved on. 

"What is the matter, Count?" asked the 
countess in a surprised and commiserating 
tone. 

"What? What? Why? Don't ask me," said 
Pierre, and looked round at Natdsha whose 
radiant, happy expression of which he was 
conscious without looking at her filled him 
with enchantment. 

"Are you remaining in Moscow, then?" 

Pierre hesitated. 

"In Moscow?" he said in a questioning tone. 
"Yes, in Moscow. Goodby!" 

"Ah, if only I were a man! I'd certainly stay 
with you. How splendid!"said Natdsha. "Mam- 
ma, if you'll let me, I'll stay!" 

Pierre glanced absently at Natdsha and was 
about to say something, but the countess inter- 
rupted him. 

"You were at the battle, we heard." 

"Yes, I was," Pierre answered. "There will 
be another battle tomorrow . . ." he began, but 
Natdsha interrupted him. 



WAR AND PEACE 



"But what is the matter with you, Count? 
You are not like yourself. . . ." 

"Oh, don't ask me, don't ask me! I don't 
know myself. Tomorrow . . . But no! Good-by, 
good-byl" he muttered. "It's an awful time!" 
and dropping behind the carriage he stepped 
onto the pavement. 

Natdsha continued to lean out of the win- 
dow for a long time, beaming at him with her 
kindly, slightly quizzical, happy smile. 

CHAPTER XVIII 

FOR THE LASTTWO DAYS, ever since leavinghome, 
Pierre had been living in the empty house of 
his deceased benefactor, Bazddev. This is how 
it happened. 

When he woke up on the morning after his 
return to Moscow and his interview with 
Count Rostopchfn, he could not for some time 
make out where he was and what was expected 
of him. When he was informed that among 
others awaiting him in his reception room 
there was a Frenchman who had brought a let- 
ter from his wife, the Countess Hellene, he felt 
suddenly overcome by that sense of confusion 
and hopelessness to which he was apt to suc- 
cumb. He felt that everything was now at an 
end, all was in confusion and crumbling to 
pieces, that nobody was right or wrong, the 
future held nothing, and there was no escape 
from this position. Smiling unnaturally and 
muttering to himself, he first sat down on the 
sofa in an attitude of despair, then rose, went 
to the door of the reception room and peeped 
through the crack, returned flourishing his 
arms, and took up a book. His major-domo 
came in a second time to say that the French- 
man who had brought the letter from the 
countess was very anxious to see him if only 
for a minute, and that someone from Bazdev's 
widow had called to ask Pierre to take charge 
of her husband's books, as she herself was leav- 
ing for the country. 

"Oh, yes, in a minute; wait ... or no! No, of 
course ... go and say I will come directly/' 
Pierre replied to the major-domo. 

But as soon as the man had left the room 
Pierre took up his hat which was lying on the 
table and went out of his study by the other 
door. There was no one in the passage. He 
went along the whole length of this passage to 
the stairs and, frowning and rubbing his fore- 
head with both hands, went down as far as the 
first landing. The hall porter was standing at 
the front door. From the landing where Pierre 
stood there was a second staircase leading to 



the back entrance. He went down that stair- 
case and out into the yard. No one had seen 
him. But there were some carriages waiting, 
and as soon as Pierre stepped out of the gate 
the coachmen and the yard porter noticed him 
and raised their caps to him. When he felt he 
was being looked at he behaved like an ostrich 
which hides its head in a bush in order not to 
be seen: he hung his head and quickening his 
pace went down the street. 

Of all the affairs awaiting Pierre that day 
the sorting of Joseph Bazd^ev's books and 
papers appeared to him the most necessary. 

He hired the first cab he met and told the 
driver to go to the Patriarch's Ponds, where 
the widow Bazdev's house was. 

Continually turning round to look at the 
rows of loaded carts that were making their 
way from all sides out of Moscow, and balanc- 
ing his bulky body so as not to slip out ^f the 
ramshackle old vehicle, Pierre, experiencing 
the joyful feeling of a boy escaping from school, 
began to talk to his driver. 

The man told him that arms were being dis- 
tributed today at the Krdmlin and that tomor- 
row everyone would be sent out beyond the 
Three Hills gates and a great battle would be 
fought there. 

Having reached the Patriarch's Ponds Pierre 
found the Bazddevs' house, where he had not 
been for a long time past. He went up to the 
gate. Gerasim, that sallow beardless old man 
Pierre had seen at Torzh6k five years before 
with Joseph Ba/dcev, came out in answer to 
his knock. 

"At home?" asked Pierre. 

"Owing to the present state of things Sophia 
Danilovna has gone to theTorzhok estate with 
the children, your excellency." 

"I will come in all the same, I have to look 
through the books," said Pierre. 

"Be so good as to step in. Makar Alex^evich, 
the brother of my late master may the king- 
dom of heaven be his has remained here, but 
he is in a weak state as you know," said the old 
servant. 

Pierre knew that Makar Alex^evich was 
Joseph Bazddev's half-insane brother and a 
hard drinker. 

"Yes, yes, I know. Let us go in . . ." said 
Pierre and entered the house. 

A tall, bald-headed old man with a red nose, 
wearing a dressing gown and with galoshes on 
his bare feet, stood in the anteroom. On seeing 
Pierre he muttered something angrily and 
went away along the passage. 



BOOK ELEVEN 

"He was a very clever man but has now 
grown quite feeble, as your honor sees," said 
Gerasim. "Will you step into the study?" Pierre 
nodded. "As it was sealed up so it has remained, 
but Sophia Danilovna gave orders that if any- 
one should come from you they were to have 
the books." 

Pierre went into that gloomy study which he 
had entered with such trepidation in his bene- 
factor's lifetime. The room, dusty and un- 
touched since the death of Joseph Bazd^ev, was 
now even gloomier. 

Gerdsim opened one of the shutters and left 
the room on tiptoe. Pierre went round the 
study, approached the cupboard in which the 
manuscripts were kept, and took out what had 
once been one of the most important, the holy 
of holies of the order. This was the authentic 
Scotch Acts with Bazdev's notes and explana- 
tion.. He sat down at the dusty writing table, 
and, having laid the manuscripts before him, 
opened them out, closed them, finally pushed 
them away, and resting his head on his hand 
sank into meditation. 

Gerdsim looked cautiously into the study 
several times and saw Pierre always sitting in 
the same attitude. 

More than two hours passed and Gerasim 
took the liberty of making a slight noise at the 
door to attract his attention, but Pierre did 
not hear him. 

"Is the cabman to be discharged, your hon- 
or?" 

"Oh yes!" said Pierre, rousing himself and 
rising hurriedly. "Look here," he added, tak- 
ing Gerasim by a button of his coat and look- 
ing down at the old man with moist, shining, 
and ecstatic eyes, "I say, do you know that 
there is going to be a battle tomorrow?" 

"We heard so," replied the man. 

"I beg you not to tell anyone who I am, and 
to do what I ask you." 

"Yes, your excellency," replied Gerasim. 
"Will you have something to eat?" 

"No, but I want something else. I want peas- 
ant clothes and a pistol," said Pierre, unex- 
pectedly blushing. 

"Yes, your excellency," said Gcrdsim after 
thinking for a moment. 

All the rest of that day Pierre spent alone in 
his benefactor's study, and Gerasim heard him 
pacing restlessly from one corner to another 
and talking to himself. And he spent the night 
on a bed made up for him there. 

Gerasim, being a servant who in his time 
had seen many strange things, accepted Pierre's 



497 

taking up his residence in the house without 
surprise, and seemed pleased to have someone 
to wait on. That same eveningwithout even 
asking himself what they were wanted for he 
procured a coachman's coat and cap for Pierre, 
and promised to get him the pistol next day. 
Makar Alex^evich came twice that evening 
shuffling along in his galoshes as far as the 
door and stopped and looked ingratiatingly at 
Pierre. But as soon as Pierre turned toward 
him he wrapped his dressing gown around him 
with a shamefaced and angry look and hurried 
away. It was when Pierre (wearing the coach- 
man's coat which Gerdsim had procured for 
him and had disinfected by steam) was on his 
way with the old man to buy the pistol at the 
Siikharev market that he met the Rost6vs. 

CHAPTER XIX 

KUTUZOV'S ORDER to retreat through Moscow 
to the Ryazan road was issued at night on the 
first of September. 

The first troops started at once, and during 
the night they marched slowly and steadily 
without hurry. At daybreak, however, those 
nearing the town at the Dorogomilov bridge 
saw ahead of them masses of soldiers crowding 
and hurrying across the bridge, ascending on 
the opposite side and blocking the streets and 
alleys, while endless masses of troops were bear- 
ing down on them from behind, and an un- 
reasoning hurry and alarm overcame them. 
They all rushed forward to the bridge, onto 
it, and to the fords and the boats. Kutiizov 
himself had driven round by side streets to the 
other side of Moscow. 

By ten o'clock in the morning of the second 
of September, only the rearguard remained in 
the Dorogomilov suburb, where they had am- 
ple room. The main army was on the other 
side of Moscow or beyond it. 

At that very time, at ten in the morning of 
the second of September, Napoleon was stand- 
ing among his troops on the Pokl6nny Hill 
looking at the panorama spread out before 
him. From the twenty-sixth of August to the 
second of September, that is from the battle of 
Borodinti to the entry of the French into Mos- 
cow, during the whole of that agitating, mem- 
orable week, there had been the extraordi- 
nary autumn weather that always comes as a 
surprise, when the sun hangs low and gives 
more heat than in spring, when everything 
shines so brightly in the rare clear atmosphere 
that the eyes smart, when the lungs are strength- 
ened and refreshed by inhaling the aromatic 



498 



WAR AND PEACE 



autumn air, when even the nights are warm, 
and when in those dark warm nights, golden 
stars startle and delight us continually by fall- 
ing from the sky. 

At ten in the morning of the second of Sep- 
tember this weather still held. 

The brightness of the morning was magical. 
Moscow seen from the Pokl6nny Hill lay spa- 
ciously spread out with her river, her gardens, 
and her churches, and she seemed to be living 
her usual life, her cupolas glittering like stars 
in the sunlight. 

The view of the strange city with its pecul- 
iar architecture, such as he had never seen be- 
fore, filled Napoleon with the rather envious 
and uneasy curiosity men feel when they see 
an alien form of life that has no knowledge of 
them. This city was evidently living with the 
full force of its own life. By the indefinite signs 
which, even at a distance, distinguish a living 
body from a dead one, Napoleon from the Po- 
k!6nny Hill perceived the throb of life in the 
town and felt, as it were, the breathing of that 
great and beautiful body. 

Every Russian looking at Moscow feels her 
to be a mother; every foreigner who sees her, 
even if ignorant of her significance as the 
mother city, must feel her feminine character, 
and Napoleon felt it. 

"Cette ville asiatique aux innombrables 4g- 
Uses, Moscou la saint e. La voil& done en fin , 
cette fameuse ville! II etait temps" * said he, 
and dismounting he ordered a plan of Moscow 
to be spread out before him, and summoned 
Lelorgne d'Ideville, the interpreter. 

"A town captured by the enemy is like a 
maid who has lost her honor," thought he (he 
had said so to Tuchk6v at Smolensk). From 
that point of view he gazed at the Oriental 
beauty he had not seen before. It seemed 
strange to him that his long-felt wish, which 
had seemed unattainable, had at last been re- 
alized. In the clear morning light he gazed 
now at the city and now at the plan, consider- 
ing its details, and the assurance of possessing 
it agitated and awed him. 

"But could it be otherwise?" he thought. 
"Here is this capital at my feet. Where is Alex- 
ander now, and of what is he thinking? A 
strange, beautiful, and majestic city; and a 
strange and majestic moment! In what light 
must I appear to them!" thought he, thinking 
of his troops. "Here she is, the reward for all 

1 "That Asiatic city of the innumerable churches, 
holy Moscow! Here it is then at last, that famous 
city. It was high time." 



those fainthearted rnen, M he reflected, glanc- 
ing at those near him and at the troops who 
were approaching and forming up. "One word 
from me, one movement of my hand, and that 
ancient capital of the Tsars would perish. But 
my clemency is always ready to descend upon 
the vanquished. I must be magnanimous and 
truly great. But no, it can't be true that I am 
in Moscow," he suddenly thought. "Yet here 
she is lying at my feet, with her golden domes 
and crosses scintillating and twinkling in the 
sunshine. But I shall spare her. On the ancient 
monuments of barbarism and despotism I will 
inscribe great words of justice and mercy. . . . 
It is just this which Alexander will feel most 
painfully, I know him." (It seemed to Napo- 
leon that the chief import of what was taking 
place lay in the personal struggle between him- 
self and Alexander.) "From the height of the 
Kremlin yes, there is the Kremlin, yes I will 
give them just laws; I will teach them the 
meaning of true civilization, I will make gen- 
erations of boyars remember their conqueror 
with love. I will tell the deputation that I did 
not, and do not, desire war, that I have waged 
war only against the false policy of their court; 
that I love and respect Alexander and that in 
Moscow I will accept terms of peace worthy 
of myself and of my people. I do not wish to 
utilize the fortunes of war to humiliate an 
honored monarch. 'Boyars,' I will say to them, 
'I do not desire war, I desire the peace and 
welfare of all my subjects.' However, I know 
their presence will inspire me, and I shall speak 
to them as I always do: clearly, impressively, 
and majestically. But can it be true that I am 
in Moscow? Yes, there she lies." 

"Qu r on m'amene les boyars" a said he to his 
suite. 

A general with a brilliant suite galloped off 
at once to fetch the boyars. 

Two hours passed. Napoleon had lunched 
and was again standing in the same place on 
the Pokl6nny Hill awaiting the deputation. 
His speech to the boyars had already taken 
definite shape in his imagination. That speech 
was full of dignity and greatness as Napoleon 
understood it. 

He was himself carried away by the tone of 
magnanimity he intended to adopt toward 
Moscow. In his imagination he appointed days 
for assemblies at the palace of the Tsars, at 
which Russian notables and his own would 
mingle. He mentally appointed a governor, 
one who would win the hearts of the people. 

1 "Bring the boyars to me." 



BOOK ELEVEN 

Having learned that there were many chari- 
table institutions in Moscow he mentally de- 
cided that he would shower favors on them all. 
He thought that, as in Africa he had to put on 
a burnoose and sit in a mosque, so in Moscow 
he must be beneficent like the Tsars. And in 
order finally to touch the hearts of the Rus- 
siansand being like all Frenchmen unable to 
imagine anything sentimental without a refer- 
ence to ma ch&re, ma tendre, ma pauvre m&re * 
he decided that he would place an inscrip- 
tion on all these establishments in large letters: 
"This establishment is dedicated to my dear 
mother." Or no, it should be simply: Maison 
de ma Mtrefhe concluded. "But am I really 
in Moscow? Yes, here it lies before me, but 
why is the deputation from the city so long in 
appearing?" he wondered. 

Meanwhile an agitated consultation was be- 
ing carried on in whispers among his generals 
and marshals at the rear of his suite. Those 
sent to fetch the deputation had returned with 
the news that Moscow was empty, that every- 
one had left it. The faces of those who were 
not conferring together were pale and per- 
turbed. They were not alarmed by the fact that 
Moscow had been abandoned by its inhabi- 
tants (grave as that fact seemed), but by the 
question how to tell the Emperor without 
putting him in the terrible position of appear- 
ing ridiculous that he had been awaiting the 
boyars so long in vain: that there were drunk- 
en mobs left in Moscow but no one else. Some 
said that a deputation of some sort must be 
scraped together, others disputed that opinion 
and maintained that the Emperor should first 
be carefully and skillfully prepared, and then 
told the truth. 

"He will have to be told, all the same," said 
some gentlemen of the suite. "But, gentlemen 



499 

drawn out was beginning to lose its sublimity, 
gave a sign with his hand. A single report of a 
signaling gun followed, and the troops, who 
were already spread out on different sides of 
Moscow, moved into the city through the Tver, 
Kaluga, and Dorogomflov gates. Faster and 
faster, vying with one another, they moved at 
the double or at a trot, vanishing amid the 
clouds of dust they raised and making the air 
ring with a deafening roar of mingling shouts. 
Drawn on by the movement of his troops 
Napoleon rode with them as far as the Doro- 
gomilov gate, but there again stopped and, dis- 
mounting from his horse, paced for a long 
time by the Kammer-Kolle'zski rampart, await- 
ing the deputation. 



The position was the more awkward because 
the Emperor, meditating upon his magnani- 
mous plans, was pacing patiently up and down 
before the outspread map, occasionally glanc- 
ing along the road to Moscow from under his 
lifted hand with a bright and proud smile. 

"But it's impossible . . ." declared the gentle- 
men of the suite, shrugging their shoulders but 
not venturing to utter the implied word le 
ridicule. . . . 

At last the Emperor, tired of futile expecta- 
tion, his actor's instinct suggesting to him that 
the sublime moment having been too long 

1 "My dear, my tender, my poor mother." 
1 "House of my Mother." 



CHAPTER XX 

MEANWHILE Moscow was empty. There were 
still people in it, perhaps a fiftieth part of its 
former inhabitants had remained, but it was 
empty. It was empty in the sense that a dying 
queenless hive is empty. 

In a queenless hive no life is left though to 
a superficial glance it seems as much alive as 
other hives. 

The bees circle round a queenless hive in the 
hot beams of the midday sun as gaily as around 
the living hives; from a distance it smells of 
honey like the others, and bees fly in and out 
in the same way. But one has only to observe 
that hive to realize that there is no longer 
any life in it. The bees do not fly in the same 
way, the smell and the sound that meet the 
beekeeper are not the same. To the beekeep- 
er's tap on the wall of the sick hive, instead 
of the former instant unanimous humming 
of tens of thousands of bees with their ab- 
domens threateningly compressed, and pro- 
ducing by the rapid vibration of their wings 
an aerial living sound, the only reply is a dis- 
connected buzzing from different parts of the 
deserted hive. From the alighting board, in- 
stead of the former spirituous fragrant smell of 
honey and venom, and the warm whiffs of 
crowded life, comes an odor of emptiness and 
decay mingling with the smell of honey. There 
are no longer sentinels sounding the alarm 
with their abdomens raised, and ready to die 
in defense of the hive. There is no longer the 
measured quiet sound of throbbing activity, 
like the sound of boiling water, but diverse 
discordant sounds of disorder. In and out of 
the hive long black robber bees smeared with 
honey fly timidly and shiftily. They do not 
sting, but crawl away from danger. Formerly 



5 oo 



WAR AND PEACE 



only bees laden with honey flew into the hive, 
and they flew out empty; now they fly out 
laden. The beekeeper opens the lower part of 
the hive and peers in. Instead of black, glossy 
beestamed by toil, clinging to one another's 
legs and drawing out the wax, with a ceaseless 
hum of labor that used to hang in long clus- 
ters down to the floor of the hive, drowsy 
shriveled bees crawl about separately in vari- 
ous directions on the floor and walls of the 
hive. Instead of a neatly glued floor, swept by 
the bees with the fanning of their wings, there 
is a floor littered with bits of wax, excrement, 
dying bees scarcely moving their legs, and dead 
ones that have not been cleared away. 

The beekeeper opens the upper part of the 
hive and examines the super. Instead of serried 
rows of bees sealing up every gap in the combs 
and keeping the brood warm, he sees the skill- 
ful complex structures of the combs, but no 
longer in their former state of purity. All is 
neglected and foul. Black robber bees are 
swiftly and stealthily prowling about the 
combs, and the short home bees, shriveled and 
listless as if they were old, creep slowly about 
without trying to hinder the robbers, having 
lost all motive and all sense of life. Drones, 
bumblebees, wasps, and butterflies knock awk- 
wardly against the walls of the hive in their 
flight. Here and there among the cells con- 
taining dead brood and honey an angry buzz- 
ing can sometimes be heard. Here and there a 
couple of bees, by force of habit and custom 
cleaning out the brood cells, with efforts be- 
yond their strength laboriously drag away a 
dead bee or bumblebee without knowing why 
they do it. In another corner two old bees are 
languidly fighting, or cleaning themselves, or 
feeding one another, without themselves know- 
ing whether they do it with friendly or hostile 
intent. In a third place a crowd of bees, crush- 
ing one another, attack some victim and fight 
and smother it, and the victim, enfeebled or 
killed, drops from above slowly and lightly as 
a feather, among the heap of corpses. The 
keeper opens the two center partitions to ex- 
amine the brood cells. In place of the former 
close dark circles formed by thousands of bees 
sitting back to back and guarding the high 
mystery of generation, he sees hundreds of 
dull, listless, and sleepy shells of bees. They 
have almost all died unawares, sitting in the 
sanctuary they had guarded and which is now 
no more. They reek of decay and death. Only 
a few of them still move, rise, and feebly fly to 
settle on the enemy's hand, lacking the spirit 



to die stinging him; the rest are dead and fall 
as lightly as fish scales. The beekeeper closes 
the hive, chalks a mark on it, and when he 
has time tears out its contents and burns it 
clean. 

So in the same way Moscow was empty when 
Napoleon, weary, uneasy, and morose, paced 
up and down in front of the Kdmmer-Kollez- 
ski rampart, awaiting what to his mind was a 
necessary, if but formal, observance of the 
proprieties a deputation. 

In various corners of Moscow there still re- 
mained a few people aimlessly moving about, 
following their old habits and hardly aware of 
what they were doing. 

When with due circumspection Napoleon 
was informed that Moscow was empty, he 
looked angrily at his informant, turned away, 
and silently continued to walk to and fro. 

"My carriage!" he said. 

He took his seat beside the aide-de-camp on 
duty and drove into the suburb. "Moscow de- 
serted!" he said to himself. "What an incredi- 
ble event!" 

He did not drive into the town, but put up 
at an inn in the Dorogomilov suburb. 

The coup de theatre had not come off. 

CHAPTER XXI 

THE RUSSIAN TROOPS were passing through 
Moscow from two o'clock at night till two in 
the afternoon and bore away with them the 
wounded and the last of the inhabitants who 
were leaving. 

The greatest crush during the movement of 
the troops took place at the Stone, Moskva, 
and,Yatiza bridges. 

While the troops, dividing into two parts 
when passing around the Kremlin, were throng- 
ing the Moskvil and the Stone bridges, a great 
many soldiers, taking advantage of the stop- 
page and congestion, turned back from the 
bridges and slipped stealthily and silently past 
the church of Vasili the Beatified and under 
the Borovitski gate, back up the hill to the 
Red Square where some instinct told them 
they could easily take things not belonging to 
them. Crowds of the kind seen at cheap sales 
filled all the passages and alleys of the Bazaar. 
But there were no dealers with voices of ingra- 
tiating affability inviting customers to enter; 
there were no hawkers, nor the usual motley 
crowd of female purchasers but only soldiers, 
in uniforms and overcoats though without 
muskets, entering the Bazaar empty-handed 
and silently making their way out through 



BOOK ELEVEN 



501 



its passages with bundles. Tradesmen and 
their assistants (of whom there were but 
few) moved about among the soldiers quite 
bewildered. They unlocked their shops and 
locked them up again, and themselves carried 
goods away with the help of their assistants. On 
the square in front of the Bazaar were drum- 
mers beating the muster call. But the roll of 
the drums did not make the looting soldiers 
run in the direction of the drum as formerly, 
but made them, on the contrary, run farther 
away. Among the soldiers in the shops and 
passages some men were to be seen in gray 
coats, with closely shaven heads. 1 Two officers, 
one with a scarf over his uniform and mounted 
on a lean, dark-gra'y horse, the other in an 
overcoat and on foot, stood at the corner of 
the Ilyfnka Street, talking. A third officer gal- 
loped up to them. 

"The general orders them all to be driven 
out at once, without fail. This is outrageous! 
Half the men have dispersed." 

"Where are you off to? ... Where? . . ." he 
shouted to three infantrymen without muskets 
who, holding up the skirts of their overcoats, 
were slipping past him into the Bazaar pas- 
sage. "Stop, you rascals!" 

"But how are you going to stop them?" re- 
plied another officer. "There is no getting 
them together. The array should push on be- 
fore the rest bolt, that's all!" >T 

"How can one push on? They are stuck 
there, wedged on the bridge, and don't move. 
Shouldn't we put a cordon round to prevent 
the rest from running away?" 

"Come, go in there and drive them out!" 
shouted the senior officer. 

The officer in the scarf dismounted, called 
up a drummer, and went with him into the 
arcade. Some soldiers started running away in 
a group. A shopkeeper with red pimples on his 
cheeks near the nose, and a calm, persistent, 
calculating expression on his plump face, hur- 
riedly and ostentatiously approached the of- 
ficer, swinging his arms. 

"Your honor!" said he. "Be so good as to 
protect us! We won't grudge trifles, you are 
welcome to anything we shall be delighted! 
Pray! . . . I'll fetch a piece of cloth at once for 
such an honorable gentleman, or even two 
pieces with pleasure. For we feel how it is; but 
what's all this sheer robbery! If you please, 
could not guards be placed if only to let us 
close the shop. . . ." 

1 Prisoners who had been released from jail. 
TR. 



Several shopkeepers crowded round the of- 
ficer. 

"Eh, what twaddle!" said one of them, a 
thin, stern-looking man. "When one's head is 
gone one doesn't weep for one's hair! Take 
what any of you like!" And flourishing his 
arm energetically he turned sideways to the 
officer. 

"It's all very well for you, Ivdn Sidorych, to 
talk," said the first tradesman angrily. "Please 
step inside, your honor!" 

"Talk indeed!" cried the thin one. "In my 
three shops here I have a hundred thousand 
rubles' worth of goods. Can they be saved when 
the army has gone? Eh, what people! 'Against 
God's might our hands can't fight.' " 

"Come inside, your honor!" repeated the 
first tradesman, bowing. 

The officer stood perplexed and his face 
showed indecision. 

"It's not my business!" he exclaimed, and 
strode on quickly down one of the passages. 

From one open shop came the sound of 
blows and vituperation, and just as the officer 
came up to it a man in a gray coat with a shav- 
en head was flung out violently. 

This man, bent double, rushed past the 
tradesman and the officer. The officer pounced 
on the soldiers who were in the shops, but at 
that moment fearful screams reached them 
from the huge crowd on the Moskvi bridge 
and the officer ran out into the square. 

"What is it? What is it?" he asked, but his 
comrade was already galloping off past Vasili 
the Beatified in the direction from which the 
screams carne. 

The officer mounted his horse and rode aft- 
er him. When he reached the bridge he saw 
two unlhnbered guns, the infantry crossing 
the bridge, several overturned carts, and fright- 
ened and laughing faces among the troops. Be- 
side the cannon a cart was standing to which 
two horses were harnessed. Four borzois with 
collars were pressing close to the wheels. The 
cart was loaded high, and at the very top, be- 
side a child's chair with its legs in the air, sat 
a peasant woman uttering piercing and des- 
perate shrieks. He was told by his fellow officers 
that the screams of the crowd and the shrieks of 
the woman were due to the fact that General 
Erm61ov, coming up to the crowd and learning 
that soldiers were dispersing among the shops 
while crowds of civilians blocked the bridge, 
had ordered two guns to be unlimbered and 
made a show of firing at the bridge. The crowd, 
crushing one another, upsetting carts, and 



502 

shouting and squeezing desperately, had 
cleared off the bridge and the troops were now 
moving forward. 

CHAPTER XXII 

MEANWHILE, the city itself was deserted. There 
was hardly anyone in the streets. The gates 
and shops were all closed, only here and there 
round the taverns solitary shouts or drunken 
songs could be heard. Nobody drove through 
the streets and footsteps were rarely heard. 
The Povarskdya was quite still and deserted. 
The huge courtyard of the RosttWs' house was 
littered with wisps of hay and with dung from 
the horses, and not a soul was to be seen there. 
In the great drawing room of the house, which 
had been left with all it contained, were two 
people. They were the yard porter Ignat, and 
the pageboy Mishka, Vasilich's grandson who 
had stayed in Moscow with his grandfather. 
Mishka had opened the clavichord and was 
strumming on it with one finger. The yard 
porter, his arms akimbo, stood smiling with 
satisfaction before the large mirror. 

"Isn't it fine, eh, Uncle Ignat?" said the boy, 
suddenly beginning to strike the keyboard with 
both hands. 

"Only fancy!" answered Ignat, surprised at 
the broadening grin on his face in the mirror. 

"Impudence! Impudence!" they heard be- 
hind them the voice of Mavra Kuzmfnichna 
who had entered silently. "How he's grinning, 
the fat mug! Is that what you're here for? 
Nothing's cleared away down there and Vasi- 
lich is worn out. Just you wait a bit!" 

Ignat left off smiling, adjusted his belt, and 
went out of the room with meekly downcast 
eyes. 

"Aunt, I did it gently," said the boy. 

"I'll give you something gently, you monkey 
you!" cried Mdvra Kuzminichna, raising her 
arm threateningly. "Go and get the samovar to 
boil for your grandfather." 

Mdvra Kuzmfnichna flicked the dust off the 
clavichord and closed it, and with a deep sigh 
left the drawing room and locked its main 
door. 

Going out into the yard she paused to con- 
sider where she should go next to drink tea 
in the servants' wing with Vasflich, or into the 
storeroom to put away what still lay about. 

She heard the sound of quick footsteps in the 
quiet street. Someone stopped at the gate, and 
the latch rattled as someone tried to open it. 

Mavra Kuzminichna went to the gate. 

"Who do you want?" 



WAR AND PEACE 

"The count Count Ilya Andrevich Ros- 
t6v." 

"And who are you?" 

"An officer, I have to see him," came the 
reply in a pleasant, well-bred Russian voice. 

Mavra Kuzmfnichna opened the gate and 
an officer of eighteen, with the round face of a 
Rost6v, entered the yard. 

"They have gone away, sir. Went away yes- 
terday at vespertime," said Mdvra Kuzminich- 
na cordially. 

The young officer standing in the gateway, 
as if hesitating whether to enter or not, clicked 
his tongue. 

"Ah, how annoying!" he muttered. "I should 
have come yesterday Ah, what a pity." 

Meanwhile, Mdvra Kuzminichna was atten- 
tively and sympathetically examining the fa- 
miliar Rost6v features of tlie young man's face, 
his tattered coat and trodden-down boots. 

"What did you want to see the count for?" 
she asked. 

"Oh well ... it can't be helped!" said he in 
a tone of vexation and placed his hand on the 
gate as if to leave. 

He again paused in indecision. 

"You see," he suddenly said, "I am a kins- 
man of the count's and he has been very kind 
to me. As you see" (he glanced with an amused 
air and good-natured smile at his coat and 
boots) "my things are worn out and I have no 
money, so I was going to ask the count . . ." 

Mdvra Kuzmfnichna did not let him finish. 

"Just wait a minute, sir. One little moment," 
said she. 

And as soon as the officer let go of the gate 
handle she turned and, hurrying away on her 
old legs, went through the back yard to the 
servants' quarters. 

While Mdvra Kuzmfnichna was running to 
her room the officer walked about the yard gaz- 
ing at his worn-out boots with lowered head 
and a faint smile on his lips. "What a pity I've 
missed Uncle! What a nice old woman! Where 
has she run off to? And how am I to find the 
nearest way to overtake my regiment, which 
must by now be getting near the Rog6zhski 
gate?" thought he. Just then Mdvra Kuzmi- 
nichna appeared from behind the corner of 
the house with a frightened yet resolute look, 
carrying a rolled-up check kerchief in her 
hand. While still a few steps from the officer 
she unfolded the kerchief and took out of it a 
white twenty- five-ruble assignat and hastily 
handed it to him. 

"If his excellency had been at home, as a 



BOOK ELEVEN 

kinsman he would of course . . . but as it is . . ." 

Mdvra Kuzminichna grew abashed and con- 
fused. The officer did not decline, but took the 
note quietly and thanked her. 

"If the count had been at home . . ." Ma" vra 
Kuzmfnichna went on apologetically. "Christ 
be with you, sir! May God preserve you!" said 
she, bowing as she saw him out. 

Swaying his head and smiling as if amused 
at himself, the officer ran almost at a trot 
through the deserted streets toward the Yauza 
bridge to overtake his regiment. 

But Ma* vra Kuzminichna stood at the closed 
gate for some time with moist eyes, pensively 
swaying her head and feeling an unexpected 
flow of motherly tenderness and pity for the 
unknown young officer. 



53 



CHAPTER XXIII 

FROM AN UNFINISHED HOUSE on the Varvdrka, 
the ground floor of which was a dramshop, 
came drunken shouts and songs. On benches 
round the tables in a dirty little room sat some 
ten factory hands. Tipsy and perspiring, with 
dim eyes and wide-open mouths, they were all 
laboriously singing some song or other. They 
were singing discordantly, arduously, and with 
great effort, evidently not because they wished 
to sing, but because they wanted to show they 
were drunk and on a spree. One, a tall, fair- 
haired lad in a clean blue coat, was standing 
over the others. His face with its fine straight 
nose would have been handsome had it not 
been for his thin, compressed, twitching lips 
and dull, gloomy, fixed eyes. Evidently pos- 
sessed by some idea, he stood over those who 
were singing, and solemnly and jerkily flour- 
ished above their heads his white arm with the 
sleeve turned up to the elbow, trying unnatu- 
rally to spread out his dirty fingers. The sleeve 
of his coat kept slipping down and he always 
carefully rolled it up again with his left hand, 
as if it were most important that the sinewy- 
white arm he was flourishing should be bare. 
In the midst of the song cries were heard, and 
fighting and blows in the passage and porch. 
The tall lad waved his arm. 

"Stop it!" he exclaimed peremptorily. 
"There's a fight, lads!" And, still rolling up his 
sleeve, he went out to the porch. 

The factory hands followed him. These 
men, who under the leadership of the tall lad 
were drinking in the dramshop that morning, 
had brought the publican some skins from the 
factory and for this had had drink served them. 
The blacksmiths from a neighboring smithy, 



hearing the sounds of revelry in the tavern . 
and supposing it to have been broken into, 
wished to force their way in too and a fight in 
the porch had resulted. 

The publican was fighting one of the smiths 
at the door, and when the workmen came out 
the smith, wrenching himself free from the 
tavernkecper, fell face downward on the pave- 
ment. 

Another smith tried to enter the doorway, 
pressing against the publican with his chest. 

The lad with the turned-up sleeve gave the 
smith a blow in the face and cried wildly: 
"They're fighting us, lads!" 

At that moment the first smith got up and, 
scratching his bruised face to make it bleed, 
shouted in a tearful voice: "Police! Murder! 
. . . They've killed a man, lads!" 

"Oh, gracious me, a man beaten to death- 
killed! . . ." screamed a woman coming out of 
a gate close by. 

A crowd gathered round the bloodstained 
smith. 

"Haven't you robbed people enough tak- 
ing their last shirts?" said a voice addressing 
the publican. "What have you killed a man 
for, you thief?" 

The tall lad, standing in the porch, turned 
his bleared eyes from the publican to the smith 
and back again as if considering whom he 
ought to fight now. 

"Murderer!" he shouted suddenly to the 
publican. "Bind him, lads!" 

"I daresay you would like to bind me!" 
shouted the publican, pushing away the men 
advancing on him, and snatching his cap from 
his head he flung it on the ground. 

As if this action had some mysterious and 
menacing significance, the workmen surround- 
ing the publican paused in indecision. 

"I know the law very well, mates! I'll take 
the matter to the captain of police. You think 
I won't get to him? Robbery is not permitted 
to anybody nowadays!" shouted the publican, 
picking up his cap. 

"Come along then! Come along then!" the 
publican and the tall young fellow repeated 
one after the other, and they moved up the 
street together. 

The bloodstained smith went beside them. 
The factory hands and others followed be- 
hind, talking and shouting. 

At the corner of the Moroseyka, opposite a 
large house with closed shutters and bearing a 
bootmaker's signboard, stood a score of thin, 
worn-out, gloomy-faced bootmakers, wearing 



WAR AND PEACE 



overalls and long tattered coats. 

"He should pay folks off properly/' a thin 
workingman, with frowning brows and a 
straggly beard, was saying. 

"But he's sucked our blood and now he thinks 
he's quit of us. He's been misleading us all 
the week and now that he's brought us to this 
pass he's made off." 

On seeing the crowd and the bloodstained 
man the workman ceased speaking, and with 
eager curiosity all the bootmakers joined the 
moving crowd. 

"Where are all the folks going?" 

"Why, to the police, of course!" 

"I say, is it true that we have been beaten?" 
"And what did you think? Look what folks 
are saying." 

Questions and answers were heard. The pub- 
lican, taking advantage of the increased crowd, 
dropped behind and returned to his tavern. 

The tall youth, not noticing the disappear- 
ance of his foe, waved his bare arm and went 
on talking incessantly, attracting general at- 
tention to himself. It was around him that the 
people chiefly crowded, expecting answers 
from him to the questions that occupied all 
their minds. 

"He must keep order, keep the law, that's 
what the government is there for. Am I not 
right, good Christians?" said the tall youth, 
with a scarcely perceptible smile. "He thinks 
there's no government! How can one do with- 
out government? Or else there would be plenty 
who'd rob us." 

"Why talk nonsense?" rejoined voices in the 
crowd. "Will they give up Moscow like this? 
They told you that for fun, and you believed 
it! Aren't there plenty of troops on the march? 
Let him in, indeed! That's what the govern- 
ment is for. You'd better listen to what people 
are saying," said some of the mob pointing to 
the tall youth. 

By the wall of China-Town a smaller group 
of people were gathered round a man in a 
frieze coat who held a paper in his hand. 

"An ukase, they are reading an ukdsel Read- 
ing an ukise!" cried voices in the crowd, and 
the people rushed toward the reader. 

The man in the frieze coat was reading the 
broadsheet of August 31. When the crowd col- 
lected round him he seemed confused, but at 
the demand of the tall lad who had pushed his 
way up to him, he began in a rather tremulous 
voice to read the sheet from the beginning. 

"Early tomorrow I shall go to his Serene 
Highness/' he read ("Sirin Highness" said the 



tall fellow with a triumphant smile on his lips 
and a frown on his brow), "to consult with him, 
to act, and to aid the army to exterminate 
these scoundrels. We too will take part . . ." 
the reader went on, and then paused ("Do 
you see," shouted the youth victoriously, "he's 

going to clear up the whole affair for you "), 

"in destroying them, and will send these visi- 
tors to the devil. I will come back to dinner, 
and we'll set to work. We will do, completely 
do, and undo these scoundrels." 

The last words were read out in the midst 
of complete silence. The tall lad hung his head 
gloomily. It was evident that no one had un- 
derstood the last part. In particular, the words 
"I will come back to dinner," evidently dis- 
pleased both reader and audience. The peo- 
ple's minds were tuned to a high pitch and 
this was too simple and needlessly comprehen- 
sibleit was what any one of them might have 
said and therefore was what an ukase emanat- 
ing from the highevSt authority should not say. 

They all stood despondent and silent. The 
tall youth moved his lips and swayed from side 
to side. 

"We should ask him . . . that's he himself!" 
. . . "Yes, ask him indeed!" . . . "Why not? He'll 
explain" . . . voices in the rear of the crowd 
were suddenly heard saying, and the general 
attention turned to the police superintendent's 
trap which drove into the square attended by 
two mounted dragoons. 

The superintendent of police, who hadgone 
that morning by Count Rostopchin's orders to 
burn the barges and had in connection with 
that matter acquired a large sum of money 
which was at that moment in his pocket, on 
seeing a crowd bearing down upon him told 
his coachman to stop. 

"What people are these?" he shouted to the 
men, who were moving singly and timidly in 
the direction of his trap. 

"What people are these?" he shouted again, 
receiving no answer. 

"Your honor . . ." replied the shopman in 
the frieze coat, "your honor, in accord with 
the proclamation of his highest excellency the 
count, they desire to serve, not sparing their 
lives, and it is not any kind of riot, but as his 
highest excellence said . . ." 

"The count has not left, he is here, and an 
order will be issued concerning you," said the 
superintendent of police. "Go on!" he ordered 
his coachman. 

The crowd halted, pressing around those 
who had heard what the superintendent had 



BOOK ELEVEN 



55 



said, and looking at the departing trap. 

The superintendent of police turned round 
at that moment with a scared look, said some- 
thing to his coachman, and his horses increased 
their speed. 

"It's a fraud, lads! Lead the way to him, 
himself!" shouted the tall youth. "Don't let 
him go, lads! Let him answer us! Keep him!" 
shouted different voices, and the people dashed 
in pursuit of the trap. 

Following the superintendent of police and 
talking loudly the crowd went in the direction 
of the Lubyanka Street. 

"There now, the gentry and merchants have 
gone away and left us to perish. Do they think 
we're dogs?" voices in the crowd were heard 
saying more and more frequently. 

CHAPTER XXIV 

ON THE EVENING of the first of September, after 
his interview with Kutuzov, Count Rostopchin 
had returned to Moscow mortified and of- 
fended because he had not been invited to at- 
tend the council of war, and because Kutuzov 
had paid no attention to his offer to take part 
in the defense of the city; amazed also at the 
novel outlook revealed to him at the camp, 
which treated the tranquillity of the capital 
and its patriotic fervor as not merely secondary 
but quite irrelevant and unimportant matters. 
Distressed, offended, and surprised by all this, 
Rostopchfn had returned to Moscow. After 
supper he lay down on a sofa without undress- 
ing, and was awakened soon after midnight 
by a courier bringing him a letter from Kutu- 
zov. This letter requested the count to send 
police officers to guide the troops through the 
town, as the army was retreating to the Ryazan 
road beyond Moscow. This was not news to 
Rostopchin. He had known that Moscow 
would be abandoned not merely since his in- 
terview the previous day with Kutuzov on the 
Pokl6nny Hill but ever since the battle of 
Borodin6, for all the generals who came to 
Moscow after that battle had said unanimously 
that it was impossible to fight another battle, 
and since then the government property had 
been removed every night, and half the inhabi- 
tants had left the city with Rostopchfn's own 
permission. Yet all the same this information 
astonished and irritated the count, coming as 
it did in the form of a simple note with an or- 
der from Kutuzov, and received at night, break- 
ing in on his beauty sleep. 

When later on in his memoirs Count Ros- 
topchin explained his actions at this time, he 



repeatedly says that he was then actuated by 
two important considerations: to maintain 
tranquillity in Moscow and expedite the de- 
parture of the inhabitants. If one accepts this 
twofold aim all Rostopchfn's actions appear ir- 
reproachable. "Why were the holy relics, the 
arms, ammunition, gunpowder, and stores of 
corn not removed? Why were thousands of in- 
habitants deceived into believing that Moscow 
would not be given up and thereby ruined?" 
"To preserve the tranquillity of the city," ex- 
plains Count Rostopchin. "Why were bundles 
of useless papers from the government offices, 
and Leppich's balloon and other articles re- 
moved?" "To leave the town empty," explains 
Count Rostopchin. One need only admit that 
public tranquillity is in danger and any action 
finds a justification. 

All the horrors of the reign of terror were 
based only on solicitude for public tranquil- 
lity. 

On what, then, was Count Rostopchfn's fear 
for the tranquillity of Moscow based in 1812? 
What reason was there for assuming any prob- 
ability of an uprising in the city? The inhabi- 
tants were leaving it and the retreating troops 
were filling it. Why should that cause the 
masses to riot? 

Neither in Moscow nor anywhere in Russia 
did anything resembling an insurrection ever 
occur when the enemy entered a town. More 
than ten thousand people were still in Moscow 
on the first and second of September, and except 
for a mob in the governor's courtyard, assem- 
bled there at his bidding, nothing happened. 
It is obvious that there would have been even 
less reason to expect a disturbance among the 
people if after the battle of Borodin6, when 
the surrender of Moscow became certain or at 
least probable, Rostopchin instead of exciting 
the people by distributing arms and broad- 
sheets had taken steps to remove all the holy 
relics, the gunpowder, munitions, and money, 
and had told the population plainly that the 
town would be abandoned. 

Rostopchin, though he had patriotic senti- 
ments, was a sanguine and impulsive man who 
had always moved in the highest administra- 
tive circles and had no understanding at all of 
the people he supposed himself to be guiding. 
Ever since the enemy's entry into Smolensk he 
had in imagination been playing the role of 
director of the popular feeling of "the heart of 
Russia." Not only did it seem to him (as to all 
administrators) that he controlled the external 
actions of Moscow's inhabitants, but he also 



WAR AND PEACE 



thought he controlled their mental attitude by 
means of his broadsheets and posters, written 
in a coarse tone which the people despise in 
their own class and do not understand from 
those in authority. Rostopchfn was so pleased 
with the fine role of leader of popular feeling, 
and had grown so used to it, that the necessity 
of relinquishing that role and abandoning 
Moscow without any heroic display took him 
unawares and he suddenly felt the ground slip 
away from under his feet, so that he positively 
did not-know what to do. Though he knew it 
was coming, he did not till the last moment 
wholeheartedly believe that Moscow would be 
abandoned, and did not prepare for it. The in- 
habitants left against his wishes. If the govern- 
ment offices were removed, this was only done 
on the demand of officials to whom the count 
yielded reluctantly. He was absorbed in the 
role he had created for himself. As is often the 
case with those gifted with an ardent imagina- 
tion, though he had long known that Moscow 
would be abandoned he knew it only with his 
intellect, he did not believe it in his heart and 
did not adapt himself mentally to this new 
position of affairs. 

All his painstaking and energetic activity 
(in how far it was useful and had any effect on 
the people is another question) had been sim- 
ply directed toward arousing in the masses his 
own feeling of patriotic hatred of the French. 

But when events assumed their true histori- 
cal character, when expressing hatred for the 
French in words proved insufficient, when it 
was not even possible to express that hatred by 
fighting a battle, when self-confidence was of 
no avail in relation to the one question before 
Moscow, when the whole population streamed 
out of Moscow as one man, abandoning their 
belongings and proving by that negative ac- 
tion all the depth of their national feeling, 
then the role chosen by Rostopchin suddenly 
appeared senseless. He unexpectedly felt him- 
self ridiculous, weak, and alone, with no ground 
to stand on. 

When, awakened from his sleep, he received 
that cold, peremptory note from Kutiizov, he 
felt the more irritated the more he felt himself 
to blame. All that he had been specially put in 
charge of, the state property which he should 
have removed, was still in Moscow and it was 
no longer possible to take the whole of it away. 

"Who is to blame for it? Who has let things 
come to such a pass?" he ruminated. "Not I, 
of course. I had everything ready. I had Mos- 
cow firmly in hand. And this is what they have 



let it come to! Villains! Traitors!" he thought, 
without clearly defining who the villains and 
traitors were, but feeling it necessary to hate 
those traitors whoever they might be who were 
to blame for the false and ridiculous position 
in which he found himself. 

All that night Count Rostopchfn issued or- 
ders, for which people came to him from all 
parts of Moscow. Those about him had never 
seen the count so morose and irritable. 

"Your excellency, the Director of the Regis- 
trar's Department has sent for instructions .... 
From the Consistory, from the Senate, from 
the University, from the Foundling Hospital, 
the Suffragan has sent . . . asking for informa- 
tion. . . . What are your orders about the Fire 
Brigade? From the governor of the prison . . . 
from the superintendent of the lunatic asy- 
lum . . ." All night long such announcements 
were continually being received by the count. 

To all these inquiries he gave brief and an- 
gry replies indicating that orders from him 
were not now needed, that the whole affair, 
carefully prepared by him, had now been 
ruined by somebody, and that that somebody 
would have to bear the whole responsibility 
for all that might happen. 

"Oh, tell that blockhead," he said in reply 
to the question from the Registrar's Depart- 
ment, "that he should remain to guard his 
documents. Now why are you asking silly ques- 
tions about the Fire Brigade? They have horses, 
let them be off to Vladimir, and not leave them 
to the French." 

"Your excellency, the superintendent of the 
lunatic asylum has come: what are your com- 
mands?" 

"My commands? Let them go away, that's all. 
. . . And let the lunatics out into the town. 
When lunatics command our armies God evi- 
dently means these other madmen to be free." 

In reply to an inquiry about the convicts in 
the prison, Count Rostopchfn shouted angrily 
at the governor: 

"Do you expect me to give you two battal- 
ionswhich we have not got for a convoy? Re- 
lease them, that's all about it!" 

"Your excellency, there are some political 
prisoners, Meshk6v, Vereshchagin . . ." 

"Vereshchdgin! Hasn't he been hanged yet?" 
shouted Rostopchfn. "Bring him to me!" 

CHAPTER XXV 

TOWARD NINE O'CLOCK in the morning, when 
the troops were already moving through Mos- 
cow, nobody came to the count any more for 



BOOK ELEVEN 

instructions. Those who were able to get away 
were going of their own accord, those who re- 
mained behind decided for themselves what 
they must do. 

The count ordered his carriage that he might 
drive to Sok61niki, and sat in his study with 
folded hands, morose, sallow, and taciturn. 

In quiet and untroubled times it seems to 
every administrator that it is only by his ef- 
forts that the whole population under his rule 
is kept going, and in this consciousness of be- 
ing indispensable every administrator finds the 
chief reward of his labor and efforts. While the 
sea of history remains calm the ruler-adminis- 
trator in his frail bark, holding on with a boat 
hook to the ship of the people and himself 
moving, naturally imagines that his efforts 
move the ship he is holding on to. But as soon 
as a storm arises and the sea begins to heave 
and the ship to move, such a delusion is no 
longer possible. The ship moves independent- 
ly with its own enormous motion, the boat 
hook no longer reaches the moving vessel, and 
suddenly the administrator, instead of appear- 
ing a ruler and a source of power, becomes an 
insignificant, useless, feeble man. 

Rostopchfn felt this, and it was this which 
exasperated him. 

The superintendent of police, whom the 
crowd had stopped, went in to see him at the 
same time as an adjutant who informed the 
count that the horses were harnessed. They 
were both pale, and the superintendent of 
police, after reporting that he had executed 
the instructions he had received, informed the 
count that an immense crowd had collected 
in the courtyard and wished to see him. 

Without saying a word Rostopchf n rose and 
walked hastily to his light, luxurious drawing 
room, went to the balcony door, took hold of 
the handle, let it go again, and went to the 
window from which he had a better view of 
the whole crowd. The tall lad was standing in 
front, flourishing his arm and saying some- 
thing with a stern look. The bloodstained smith 
stood beside him with a gloomy face. A drone 
of voices was audible through the closed win- 
dow. 

"Is my carriage ready?" asked Rostopchfn, 
stepping back from the window. 

"It is, your excellency," replied the adjutant. 

Rostopchfn went again to the balcony door. 

"But what do they want?" he asked the su- 
perintendent of police. 

"Your excellency, they say they have got 
ready, according to your orders, to go against 



507 

the French, and they shouted something about 
treachery. But it is a turbulent crowd, your 
excellency I hardly managed to get away from 
it. Your excellency, I venture to suggest . . ." 

"You may go. I don't need you to tell me 
what to do!" exclaimed Rostopchin angrily. 

He stood by the balcony door looking at the 
crowd. 

"This is what they have done with Russia! 
This is what they have done with me!" thought 
he, full of an irrepressible fury that welled up 
within him against the someone to whom what 
was happening might be attributed. As often 
happens with passionate people, he was mas- 
tered by anger but was still seeking an object 
on which to vent it. "Here is that mob, the 
dregs of the people," he thought as he gazed 
at the crowd: "this rabble they have roused by 
their folly! They want a victim," he thought 
as he looked at the tall lad flourishing his arm. 
And this thought occurred to him just because 
he himself desired a victim, something on 
which to vent his rage. 

"Is the carriage ready?" he asked again. 

"Yes, your excellency. What are your orders 
about Vereshchagin? He is waiting at the 
porch," said the adjutant. 

"Ah!" exclaimed Rostopchfn, as if struck by 
an unexpected recollection. 

And rapidly opening the door he went reso- 
lutely out onto the balcony. The talking in- 
stantly ceased, hats and caps were doffed, and 
all eyes were raised to the count. 

"Good morning, lads!" said the count brisk- 
ly and loudly. "Thank you for coming. I'll 
come out to you in a moment, but we must first 
settle with the villain. We must punish the 
villain who has caused the ruin of Moscow. 
Wait for me!" 

And the count stepped as briskly back into 
the room and slammed the door behind him. 

A murmur of approbation and satisfaction 
ran through the crowd. "He'll settle with all 
the villains, you'll seel And you said the French 
. . . He'll show you what law is!" the mob were 
saying as if reproving one another for their 
lack of confidence. 

A few minutes later an officer came hurried- 
ly out of the front door, gave an order, and 
the dragoons formed up in line. The crowd 
moved eagerly from the balcony toward the 
porch. Rostopchfn, coming out there with 
quick angry steps, looked hastily around as if 
seeking someone. 

"Where is he?" he inquired. And as he spoke 
he saw a young man coming round the corner 



508 



WAR AND PEACE 



of the house between two dragoons. He had a 
long thin neck, and his head, that had been 
half shaved, was again covered by short hair. 
This young man was dressed in a threadbare 
blue cloth coat lined with fox fur, that had 
once been smart, and dirty hempen convict 
trousers, over which were pulled his thin, dirty, 
trodden-down boots. On his thin, weak legs 
were heavy chains which hampered his irreso- 
lute movements. 

"Ah!" said Rostopchin, hurriedly turning 
away his eyes from the young man in the fur- 
lined coat and pointing to the bottom step of 
the porch. "Put him there." 

The young man in his clattering chains 
stepped clumsily to the spot indicated, hold- 
ing away with one finger the coat collar which 
chafed his neck, turned his long neck twice 
this way and that, sighed, and submissively 
folded before him his thin hands, unused to 
work. 

For several seconds while the young man 
was taking his place on the step the silence 
continued. Only among the back rows of the 
people, who were all pressing toward the one 
spot, could sighs, groans, and the shuffling of 
feet be heard. 

While waiting for the young man to take his 
place on the step Rostopchin stood frowning 
and rubbing his face with his hand. 

"Lads!" said he, with a metallic ring in his 
voice. "This man, Vereshchdgin, is the scoun- 
drel by whose doing Moscow is perishing." 

The young man in the fur-lined coat, stoop- 
ing a little, stood in a submissive attitude, his 
fingers clasped before him. His emaciated 
young face, disfigured by the half-shaven head, 
hung down hopelessly. At the count's first 
words he raised it slowly and looked up at him 
as if wishing to say something or at least to 
meet his eye. But Rostopchin did not look at 
him. A vein in the young man's long thin neck 
swelled like a cord and went blue behind the 
ear, and suddenly his face flushed. 

All eyes were fixed on him. He looked at 
the crowd, and rendered more hopeful by the 
expression he read on the faces there, he smiled 
sadly and timidly, and lowering his head shift- 
ed his feet on the step. 

"He has betrayed his Tsar and his country, 
he had gone over to Bonaparte. He alone of 
all the Russians has disgraced the Russian 
name, he has caused Moscow to perish," said 
Rostopchin in a sharp, even voice, but sudden- 
ly he glanced down at Vereshchagin who con- 
tinued to stand in the same submissive atti- 



tude. As if inflamed by the sight, he raised his 
arm and addressed the people, almost shout- 
ing: 

"Deal with him as you think fit! I hand him 
over to you." 

The crowd remained silent and only pressed 
closer and closer to one another. To keep one 
another back, to breathe in that stifling atmos- 
phere, to be unable to stir, and to await some- 
thing unknown, uncomprehendecl, and terri- 
ble, was becoming unbearable. Those stand- 
ing in front, who had seen and heard what had 
taken place before them, all stood with wide- 
open eyes and mouths, straining with all their 
strength, and held back the crowd that was 
pushing behind them. 

"Beat him! . . . Let the traitor perish and 
not disgrace the Russian name!" shouted Ros- 
topchin. "Cut him clown. I command it." 

Hearing not so much the words as the angry 
tone of Rostopchin's voice, the crowd moaned 
and heaved forward, but again paused. 

"Count!" exclaimed the timid yet theatrical 
voice of Vereshchdgin in the midst of the mo- 
mentary silence that ensued, "Count! One God 
is above us both. . . ." He lifted his head and 
again the thick vein in his thin neck filled with 
blood and the color rapidly came and went in 
his face. 

He did not finish what he wished to say. 

"Cut him down! I command it . . ." shouted 
Rostopchfn, suddenly growing pale like Vere- 
shchagin. 

"Draw sabers!" cried the dragoon officer, 
drawing his own. 

Another still stronger wave flowed through 
the crowd and reaching the front ranks carried 
it swaying to the very steps of the porch. The 
tall youth, with a stony look on his face, and 
rigid and uplifted arm, stood beside Veresh- 
chdgin. 

"Saber him!" the dragoon officer almost 
whispered. 

And one of the soldiers, his face all at once 
distorted with fury, struck Vereshchdgin on 
the head with the blunt side of his saber. 

"Ah!" cried Vereshchdgin in meek surprise, 
looking round with a frightened glance as if 
not understanding why this was done to him. 
A similar moan of surprise and horror ran 
through the crowd. "O Lord!" exclaimed a 
sorrowful voice. 

But after the exclamation of surprise that 
had escaped from Vereshchdgin he uttered a 
plaintive cry of pain, and that cry was fatal. 
The barrier of human feeling, strained to the 



BOOK ELEVEN 



utmost, that had held the crowd in check sud- 
denly broke. The crime had begun and must 
now be completed. The plaintive moan of re- 
proach was drowned by the threatening and 
angry roar of the crowd. Like the seventh and 
last wave that shatters a ship, that last irresisti- 
ble wave burst from the rear and reached the 
front ranks, carrying them of! their feet and 
engulfing them all. The dragoon was about to 
repeat his blow. Vereshchagin with a cry of 
horror, covering his head with his hands, rushed 
toward the crowd. The tall youth, against 
whom he stumbled, seized his thin neck with 
his hands and, yelling wildly, fell with him un- 
der the feet of the pressing, struggling crowd. 

Some beat and tore at Vcreshcndgin, others 
at the tall youth. And the screams of those 
that were being trampled on and of those who 
tried to rescue the tall lad only increased the 
fury of the crowd. It was a long time before 
the dragoons could extricate the bleeding 
youth, beaten almost to death. And for a long 
time, despite the feverish haste with which the 
mob tried to end the work that had been be- 
gun, those who were hitting, throttling, and 
tearing at Vereshchagin were unable to kill 
him, for the crowd pressed from all sides, 
swaying as one mass with them in the center 
and rendering it impossible for them either to 
kill him or let him go. 

"Hit him with an ax, eh! . . . Crushed? . . . 
Traitor, he sold Christ . . . Still alive . . . tena- 
cious . . . serve him right! Torture serves a thief 
right. Use the hatchet! . . . What still alive?" 

Only when the victim ceased to struggle and 
his cries changed to a long-drawn, measured 
death rattle did the crowd around his pros- 
trate, bleeding corpse begin rapidly to change 
places. Each one came up, glanced at what had 
been done, and with horror, reproach, and as- 
tonishment pushed back again. 

"O Lord! The people are like wild beasts! 
How could he be alive?" voices in the crowd 
could be heard saying. "Quite a young fellow 
too . . . must have been a merchant's son. What 
men! . . . and they say he's not the right one. 
. . . How not the right one? . . . O Lord! And 
there's another has been beaten too they say 
he's nearly done for. . . . Oh, the people . . . 
Aren't they afraid of sinning? . . ." said the 
same mob now, looking with pained distress at 
the dead body with its long, thin, half-severed 
neck and its livid face stained with blood and 
dust. 

A painstaking police officer, considering the 
presence of a corpse in his excellency's court- 



yard unseemly, told the dragoons to take it 
away. Two dragoons took it by its distorted legs 
and dragged it along the ground. The gory, 
dust-stained, half-shaven head with its long 
neck trailed twisting along the ground. The 
crowd shrank back from it. 

At the moment when Vereshchdgin fell and 
the crowd closed in with savage yells and swayed 
about him, Rostopchin suddenly turned pale 
and, instead of going to the back entrance 
where his carriage awaited him, went with 
hurried steps and bent head, not knowing 
where and why, along the passage leading to 
the rooms on the ground floor. The count's 
face was white and he could not control the 
feverish twitching of his lower jaw. 

"This way, your excellency . . . Where are 
you going? . . . This way, please . . ." said a 
trembling, frightened voice behind him. 

Count Rostopchin was unable to reply and, 
turning obediently, went in the direction in- 
dicated. At the back entrancestood his caliche. 
The distant roar of the yelling crowd was audi- 
ble even there. He hastily took his seat and 
told the coachman to drive him to his country 
house in Sokolniki. 

When they reached the Myasnitski Street 
and could no longer hear the shouts of the 
mob, the count began to repent. He remem- 
bered with dissatisfaction the agitation and 
fear he had betrayed before his subordinates. 
"The mob is terrible disgusting," he said to 
himself in French. "They are like wolves whom 
nothing but flesh can appease." "Count! One 
God is above us both!" Vereshcha* gin's words 
suddenly recurred to him, and a disagreeable 
shiver ran down his back. But this was only a 
momentary feeling and Count Rostopchin 
smiled disdainfully at himself. "I had other 
duties," thought he. "The people had to be 
appeased. Many other victims have perished 
and are perishing for the public good" and 
he began thinking of his social duties to his 
family and to the city entrusted to him, and 
of himself not himself as Theodore Vasilye- 
vich Rostopchin (he fancied that Theodore 
Vasflyevich Rostopchfn was sacrificing him- 
self for the public good) but himself as gov- 
ernor, the representative of authority and of 
the Tsar. "Had I been simply Theodore Vasfl- 
yevich my course of action would have been 
quite different, but it was my duty to safe- 
guard my life and dignity as commander in 
chief." 

Lightly swaying on the flexible springs of nis 
carriage and no longer hearing the terrible 



5 io 



WAR AND PEACE 



sounds of the crowd, Rostopchfn grew physi- 
cally calm and, as always happens, as soon as 
he became physically tranquil his mind de- 
vised reasons why he should be mentally tran- 
quil too. The thought which tranquillized Ros- 
topchfn was not a new one. Since the world be- 
gan and men have killed one another no one 
has ever committed such a crime against his 
fellow man without comforting himself with 
this same idea. This idea is le bien public, the 
hypothetical welfare of other people. 

To a man not swayed by passion that wel- 
fare is never certain, but he who commits such 
a crime always knows just where that welfare 
lies. And Rostopchin now knew it. 

Not only did his reason not reproach him 
for what he had done, but he even found cause 
for self-satisfaction in having so successfully 
contrived to avail himself of a convenient op- 
portunity to punish a criminal and at the same 
time pacify the mob. 

"Vereshchdgin was tried and condemned to 
death," thought Rostopchin (though the Sen- 
ate had only condemned Vereshchagin to hard 
labor), "he was a traitor and a spy. I could not 
let him go unpunished and so I have killed 
two birds with one stone: to appease the mob 
I gave them a victim and at the same time pun- 
ished a miscreant." 

Having reached his country house and be- 
gun to give orders about domestic arrange- 
ments, the count grew quite tranquil. 

Half an hour later he was driving with his 
fast horses across the Sok61niki field, no longer 
thinking of what had occurred but considering 
what was to come. He was driving to the Yaiiza 
bridge where he had heard that Kutuzov was. 
Count Rostopchfn was mentally preparing the 
angry and stinging reproaches he meant to 
address to Kutuzov for his deception. He 
would make that foxy old courtier feel that 
the responsibility for all the calamities that 
would follow the abandonment of the city and 
the ruin of Russia (as Rostopchin regarded it) 
would fall upon his doting old head. Planning 
beforehand what he would say to Kutuzov, 
Rostopchfn turned angrily in his caliche and 
gazed sternly from side to side. 

The Sok61niki field was deserted. Only at 
the end of it, in front of the almshouse and the 
lunatic asylum, could be seen some people in 
white and others like them walking singly 
across the field shouting and gesticulating. 

One of these was running to cross the path 
of Count Rostopchfn's carriage, and the count 
himself, his coachman, jnd his dragoons looked 



with vague horror and curiosity at these re- 
leased lunatics and especially at the one run- 
ning toward them. 

Swaying from side to side on his long, thin 
legs in his fluttering dressing gown, this luna- 
tic was running impetuously, his gaze fixed on 
Rostopchin, shouting something in a hoarse 
voice and making signs to him to stop. The 
lunatic's solemn, gloomy face was thin and 
yellow, with its beard growing in uneven tufts. 
His black, agate pupils with saffron-yellow 
whites moved restlessly near the lower eyelids. 

"Stop! Pull up, I tell you!" he cried in a 
piercing voice, and again shouted something 
breathlessly with emphatic intonations and 
gestures. 

Coming abreast of the caliche he ran be- 
side it. 

"Thrice have they slain me, thrice have I 
risen from the dead. They stoned me, crucified 
me ... I shall rise . . . shall rise . . . shall rise. 
They have torn my body. The kingdom of God 
will be overthrown . . . Thrice will I overthrow 
it and thrice re-establish it!" he cried, raising 
his voice higher and higher. 

Count Rostopchin suddenly grew pale as he 
had done when the crowd closed in on Veresh- 
cMgin. He turned away. "Go fas ... faster!" 
he cried in a trembling voice to his coachman. 
The caliche flew over the ground as fast as the 
horses could draw it, but for a long time Count 
Rostopchin still heard the insane despairing 
screams growing fainter in the distance, while 
his eyes saw nothing but the astonished, fright- 
ened, bloodstained face of "the traitor" in the 
fur-lined coat. 

Recent as that mental picture was, Rostop- 
chfn already felt that it had cut deep into his 
heart and drawn blood. Even now he felt clear- 
ly that the gory trace of that recollection would 
not pass with time, but that the terrible mem- 
ory would, on the contrary, dwell in his heart 
ever more cruelly and painfully to the end of 
his life. He seemed still to hear the sound of 
his own words: "Cut him down! I command 
it " 

"Why did I utter those words? It was by some 
accident I said them. ... I need not have said 
them," he thought. "And then nothing would 
have happened." He saw the frightened and 
then infuriated face of the dragoon who dealt 
the blow, the look of silent, timid reproach 
that boy in the fur-lined coat had turned upon 
him. "But I did not do it for my own sake. I 
was bound to act that way. . . . The mob, the 
traitor . . . the public welfare," thought he. 



BOOK ELEVEN 



Troops were still crowding at the Yauza 
bridge. It was hot. Kutuzov, dejected and 
frowning, sat on a bench by the bridge toying 
with his whip in the sand when a caliche 
dashed up noisily. A man in a general's uni- 
form with plumes in his hat went up to Kutti- 
zov and said something in French. It was Count 
Rostopchfn. He told Kutuzov that he had come 
because Moscow, the capital, was no more and 
only the army remained. 

"Things would have been different if your 
Serene Highness had not told me that you 
would not abandon Moscow without another 
battle; all this would not have happened," he 
said. 

Kutuzov looked at Rostopchfn as if, not 
grasping what was said to him, he was trying 
to read something peculiar written at that mo- 
ment on the face of the man addressing him. 
Rostopchfn grew confused and became silent. 
Kutuzov slightly shook his head and not tak- 
ing his penetrating gaze from Rostopchfn's 
face muttered softly: 

"No! I shall not give up Moscow without a 
battle!" 

Whether Kutuzovwas thinkingofsomething 
entirely different when he spoke those words, 
or uttered them purposely, knowing them to 
be meaningless, at any rate Rostopchfn made 
no reply and hastily left him. And strange to 
say, the Governor of Moscow, the proud Count 
Rostopchfn, took up a Cossack whip and went 
to the bridge where he began with shouts to 
drive on the carts that blocked the way. 

CHAPTER XXVI 

TOWARD FOUR O'CLOCK in the afternoon Mur- 
at's troops were entering Moscow. In front rode 
a detachment of Wiirttemberg hussars and be- 
hind them rode the King of Naples himself 
accompanied by a numerous suite. 

About the middle of the Arbat Street, near 
the Church of the Miraculous Icon of St. 
Nicholas, Murat halted to await news from the 
advanced detachment as to the condition in 
which they had found the citadel, le Kremlin. 

Around Murat gathered a group of those 
who had remained in Moscow. They all stared 
in timid bewilderment at the strange, long- 
haired commander dressed up in feathers and 
gold. 

"Is that their Tsar himself? He's not bad!" 
low voices could be heard saying. 

An interpreter rode up to the group. 

"Take off your cap . . . your caps!" These 
words went from one to another in the crowd. 



The interpreter addressed an old porter and 
asked if it was far to the Kremlin. The porter, 
listening in perplexity to the unfamiliar Polish 
accent and not realizing that the interpreter 
was speaking Russian, did not understand 
what was being said to him and slipped be- 
hind the others. 

Murat approached the interpreter and told 
him to ask where the Russian army was. One 
of the Russians understood what was asked 
and several voices at once began answering 
the interpreter. A French officer, returning 
from the advanced detachment, rode up to 
Murat and reported that the gates of the cita- 
del had been barricaded and that there was 
probably an ambuscade there. 

"Good!" said Murat and, turning to one of 
the gentlemen in his suite, ordered four light 
guns to be moved forward to fire at the gates. 

The guns emerged at a trot from the column 
following Murat and advanced up the Arbat. 
When they reached the end of the Vozdvfzhen- 
ka Street they halted and drew up in the Square. 
Several French officers superintended the plac- 
ing of the guns and looked at the Kremlin 
through field glasses. 

The bells in the Kremlin were ringing for 
vespers, and this sound troubled the French. 
They imagined it to be a call to arms. A few 
infantrymen ran to the Kutdfyev Gate. Beams 
and wooden screens had been put there, and 
two musket shots rang out from under the gate 
as soon as an officer and men began to run 
toward it. A general who was standing by the 
guns shouted some words of command to the 
officer, and the latter ran back again with his 
men . 

The sound of three more shots came from 
the gate. 

One shot struck a French soldier's foot, and 
from behind the screens came the strange 
sound of a few voices shouting. Instantly as at 
a word of command the expression of cheerful 
serenity on the faces of the French general, of- 
ficers, and men changed to one of determined 
concentrated readiness for strife and suffering. 
To all of them from the marshal to the least 
soldier, that place was not the Vozdvizhenka, 
Mokhavaya, or Kutdfyev Street, nor the Trd- 
itsa Gate (places familiar in Moscow), but a 
new battlefield which would probably prove 
sanguinary. And all made ready for that battle. 
The cries from the gates ceased. The guns 
were advanced, the artillerymen blew the ash 
off their linstocks, and an officer gave the word 
"Fire!" This was followed by two whistling 



5** 



WAR AND PEACE 



sounds of canister shot, one after another. The 
shot rattled against the stone of the gate and 
upon the wooden beams and screens, and two 
wavering clouds of smoke rose over the Square. 

A few instants after the echo of the reports 
resounding over the stone-built Kremlin had 
died away the French heard a strange sound 
above their head. Thousands of crows rose 
above the walls and circled in the air, cawing 
and noisily flapping their wings. Together with 
that sound came a solitary human cry from the 
gateway and amid the smoke appeared the fig- 
ure of a bareheaded man in a peasant's coat. 
He grasped a musket and took aim at the 
French. "Fire!" repeated the officer once more, 
and the reports of a musket and of two cannon 
shots were heard simultaneously. The gate was 
again hidden by smoke. 

Nothing more stirred behind the screens 
and the French infantry soldiers and officers 
advanced to the gate. In the gateway lay three 
wounded and four dead. Two men in peasant 
coats ran away at the foot of the wall, toward 
the Znmenka. 

"Clear that away!" said the officer, pointing 
to the beams and the corpses, and the French 
soldiers, after dispatching the wounded, threw 
the corpses over the parapet. 

Who these men were nobody knew. "Clear 
that away!" was all that was said of them, and 
they were thrown over the parapet and re- 
moved later on that they might not stink. 
Thiers alone dedicates a few eloquent lines to 
their memory: "These wretches had occupied 
the sacred citadel, having supplied themselves 
with guns from the arsenal, and fired" (the 
wretches) "at the French. Some of them were 
sabered and the Kremlin was purged of their 
presence." 

Murat was informed that the way had been 
cleared. The French entered the gates and be- 
gan pitching their camp in the Senate Square. 
Out of the windows of the Senate House the 
soldiers threw chairs into the Square for fuel 
and kindled fires there. 

Other detachments passed through the Kre*m- 
lin and encamped along the Moros^yka, the 
Lubynka, and Pokr6vka Streets. Others quar- 
tered themselves along the Vozdvizhenka, the 
Nik61ski, and the Tversk6y Streets. No masters 
of the houses being found any where, the French 
were not billeted on the inhabitants as is usual 
in towns but lived in it as in a camp. 

Though tattered, hungry, worn out, and re- 
duced to a third of their original number, the 
French entered Moscow in good marching or- 



der. It was a weary and famished, but still a 
fighting and menacing army. But it remained 
an army only until its soldiers had dispersed 
into their different lodgings. As soon ^.s the 
men of the various regiments began td dis- 
perse among the wealthy and deserted hotises, 
the army was lost forever and there came into 
being something nondescript, neither citizens 
nor soldiers but what are known as marauders. 
When five weeks later these same men left Mos- 
cow, they no longer formed an army. They 
were a mob of marauders, each carrying a 
quantity of articles which seemed to him valu- 
able or useful. The aim of each man when he 
left Moscow was no longer, as it had been, to 
conquer, but merely to keep what he had ac- 
quired. Like a monkey which puts its paw in- 
to the narrow neck of a jug, and having seized 
a handful of nuts will not open its fist for fear 
of losing what it holds, and therefore perishes, 
the French when they left Moscow had inevi- 
tably to perish because they carried their loot 
with them, yet to abandon what they had stolen 
was as impossible for them as it is for the mon- 
key to open its paw and let go of its nuts. Ten 
minutes after each regiment had entered a 
Moscow district, not a soldier or officer was left. 
Men in military uniforms and Hessian boots 
could be seen through the windows, laughing 
and walking through the rooms. In cellars and 
storerooms similar men were busy among the 
provisions, and in the yards unlocking or 
breaking open coach house and stable doors, 
lighting fires in kitchens and kneading and 
baking bread with rolled-up sleeves, and cook- 
ing; or frightening, amusing, or caressing wom- 
en and children. There were many such men 
both in the shops and houses but there was 
no army. 

Order after order was issued by the French 
commanders that day forbidding the men to 
disperse about the town, sternly forbidding 
any violence to the inhabitants or any looting, 
and announcing a roll call for that very eve- 
ning. But despite all these measures the men, 
who had till then constituted an army, flowed 
all over the wealthy, deserted city with its com- 
forts and plentiful supplies. As a hungry herd 
of cattle keeps well together when crossing a 
barren field, but gets out of hand and at once 
disperses uncontrollably as soon as it reaches 
rich pastures, so did the army disperse all over 
the wealthy city. 

No residents were left in Moscow, and the 
soldiers like water percolating through sand 
spread irresistibly through the city in all di- 



BOOK ELEVEN 



513 



rections from the Kremlin into which they had 
first marched. The cavalry, on entering a mer- 
chant's house that had been abandoned and 
finding there stabling more than sufficient for 
their horses, went on, all the same, to the next 
house which seemed to them better. Many of 
them appropriated several houses, chalked their 
names on them, and quarreled and even fought 
with other companies for them. Before they 
had had time to secure quarters the soldiers 
ran out into the streets to see the city and, 
hearing that everything had been abandoned, 
rushed to places where valuables were to be 
had for the taking. The officers followed to 
check the soldiers and were involuntarily drawn 
into doing the same. In Carriage Row carriages 
had been left in the shops, and generals flocked 
there to select caleches and coaches for them- 
selves. The few inhabitants who had remained 
invited commanding officers to their houses, 
hoping thereby to secure themselves from be- 
ing plundered. There were masses of wealth 
and there seemed no end to it. All around the 
quarters occupied by the French were other 
regions still unexplored and unoccupied where, 
they thought, yet greater riches might be 
found. And Moscow engulfed the army ever 
deeper and deeper. When water is spilled on 
dry ground both the dry ground and the water 
disappear and mud results; and in the same 
way the entry of the famished army into the 
rich and deserted city resulted in fires and loot- 
ing and the destruction of both the army and 
the wealthy city. 

The French attributed the Fire of Moscow 
au patriotisme feroce de Rostopchine? the 
Russians to the barbarity of the French. In 
reality, however, it was not, and could not be, 
possible to explain the burning of Moscow by 
making any individual, or any group of peo- 
ple, responsible for it. Moscow was burned be- 
cause it found itself in a position in which any 
town built of wood was bound to burn, quite 
apart from whether it had, or had not, a hun- 
dred and thirty inferior fire engines. Deserted 
Moscow had to burn as inevitably as a heap of 
shavings has to burn on which sparks continu- 
ally fall for several days. A town built of wood, 
where scarcely a clay passes without conflagra- 
tions when the house owners are in residence 
and a police force is present, cannot help burn- 
ing when its inhabitants have left it and it is 
occupied by soldiers who smoke pipes, make 
campfires of the Senate chairs in the Senate 

1 To Rostopchfn's ferocious patriotism. 



Square, and cook themselves meals twice a day. 
In peacetime it is only necessary to billet troops 
in the villages of any district and the number 
of fires in that district immediately increases. 
How much then must the probability of fire 
be increased in an abandoned, wooden town 
where foreign troops are quartered. "Le patrio- 
tisme feroce deRostopchine"and the barbarity 
of the French were not to blame in the matter. 
Moscow was set on fire by the soldiers' pipes, 
kitchens, and campfires, and by the careless- 
ness of-enemy soldiers occupying houses they 
did not own. Even if there was any arson (which 
is very doubtful, for no one had any reason to 
burn the houses in any case a troublesome 
and dangerous thing to do), arson cannot be 
regarded as the cause, for the same thing would 
have happened without any incendiarism. 

However tempting it might be for the French 
to blame Rostopchfn's ferocity and for Rus- 
sians to blame the scoundrel Bonaparte, or 
later on to place an heroic torch in the hands 
of their own people, it is impossible not to see 
that there could be no such direct cause of the 
fire, for Moscow had to burn as every village, 
factory, or house must burn which is left by its 
owners and in which strangers are allowed to 
live and cook their porridge. Moscow was 
burned by its inhabitants, it is true, but by 
those who had abandoned it and not by those 
who remained in it. Moscow when occupied 
by the enemy did not remain intact like Berlin, 
Vienna, and other towns, simply because its 
inhabitants abandoned it and did not wel- 
come the French with bread and salt, nor bring 
them the keys of the city. 

CHAPTER XXVII 

THE ABSORPTION of the French by Moscow, ra- 
diating starwise as it did, only reached the 
quarter where Pierre was staying by the eve- 
ning of the second of September. 

After the last two days spent in solitude and 
unusual circumstances, Pierre was in a state 
bordering on insanity. He was completely ob- 
sessed by one persistent thought. He did not 
know how or when this thought had taken 
such possession of him, but he remembered 
nothing of the past, understood nothing of 
the present, and all he saw and heard ap- 
peared to him like a dream. 

He had left home only to escape the intri- 
cate tangle of life's demands that enmeshed 
him, and which in his present condition he was 
unable to unravel. He had gone to Joseph 
Alexe*evich's house, on the plea of sorting the 



WAR AND PEACE 



deceased's books and papers, only in search of 
rest from life's turmoil, for in his mind the 
memory of Joseph Alexevich was connected 
with a world of eternal, solemn, and calm 
thoughts, quite contrary to the restless confu- 
sion into which he felt himself being drawn. 
He sought a quiet refuge, and in Joseph Alex- 
evich's study he really found it. When he sat 
with his elbows on the dusty writing table in 
the deathlike stillness of the study, calm and 
significant memories of the last few days rose 
one after another in his imagination, particu- 
larly of the battle of Borodin6 and of that 
vague sense of his own insignificance and in- 
sincerity compared with the truth, simplicity, 
and strength of the class of men he mentally 
classed as they. When Gerdsim roused him 
from his reverie the idea occurred to him of 
taking part in the popular defense of Moscow 
which he knew was projected. And with that 
object he had asked Gerdsim to get him a peas- 
ant's coat and a pistol, confiding to him his in- 
tentions of remaining in Joseph Alexevich's 
house and keeping his name secret. Then dur- 
ing the first day spent in inaction and solitude 
(he tried several times to fix his attention on 
the Masonic manuscripts, but was unable to 
do so) the idea that had previously occurred to 
him of the cabalistic significance of his name 
in connection with Bonaparte's more than 
once vaguely presented itself. But the idea that 
he, L'russe Besuhof, was destined to set a limit 
to the power of the Beast was as yet only one 
of the fancies that often passed through his 
mind and left no trace behind. 

When, having bought the coat merely with 
the object of taking part among the people in 
the defense of Moscow, Pierre had met the 
Rost6vs and Natdsha had said to him: "Are 
you remaining in Moscow? . . . How splendid!" 
the thought flashed into his mind that it really 
would be a good thing, even if Moscow were 
taken, for him to remain there and do what 
he was predestined to do. 

Next day, with the sole idea of not sparing 
himself and not lagging in any way behind 
them, Pierre went to the Three Hills gate. But 
when he returned to the house convinced that 
Moscow would not be defended, he suddenly 
felt that what before had seemed to him mere- 
ly a possibility had now become absolutely nec- 
essary and inevitable. He must remain in Mos- 
cow, concealing his name, and must meet Na- 
poleon and kill him, and either perish or put 
an end to the misery of all Europe which it 
seemed to him was solely due to Napoleon. 



Pierre knew all the details of the attempt on 
Bonaparte's life in 1809 by a German student 
in Vienna, and knew that the student had been 
shot. And the risk to which he would expose 
his life by carrying out his design excited him 
still more. 

Two equally strong feelings drew Pierre ir- 
resistibly to this purpose. The first was a feel- 
ing of the necessity of sacrifice and suffering in 
view of the common calamity, the same feeling 
that had caused him to go to Mozhdysk on the 
twenty-fifth and to make his way to the very 
thick of the battle and had now caused him to 
run away from his home and, in place of the 
luxury and comfort to which he was accus- 
tomed, to sleep on a hard sofa without undress- 
ing and eat the same food as Gerdsim. The oth- 
er was that vague and quite Russian feeling of 
contempt for everything conventional, artifi- 
cial, and human for everything the majority 
of men regard as the greatest good in the world. 
Pierre had first experienced this strange and 
fascinating feeling at the Slob6da Palace, when 
he had suddenly felt that wealth, power, and 
lifeall that men so painstakingly acquire and 
guard if it has any worth has so only by rea- 
son of the joy with which it can all be renounced. 

It was the feeling that induces a volunteer 
recruit to spend his last penny on drink, and 
a drunken man to smash mirrors or glasses for 
no apparent reason and knowing that it will 
cost him all the money he possesses: the feel- 
ing which causes a man to perform actions 
which from an ordinary point of view are in- 
sane, to test, as it were, his personal power and 
strength, affirming the existence of a higher, 
no n human criterion of life. 

From the very day Pierre had experienced 
this feeling for the first time at the Slob6da 
Palace he had been continuously under its in- 
fluence, but only now found full satisfaction 
for it. Moreover, at this moment Pierre was 
supported in his design and prevented from 
renouncing it by what he had already done in 
that direction. If he were now to leave Mos- 
cow like everyone else, his flight from home, 
the peasant coat, the pistol, and his announce- 
ment to the Rost6vs that he would remain in 
Moscow would all become not merely mean- 
ingless but contemptible and ridiculous, and 
to this Pierre was very sensitive. 

Pierre's physical condition, as is always the 
case, corresponded to his mental state. The 
unaccustomed coarse food, the vodka he drank 
during those days, the absence of wine and 
cigars, his dirty unchanged linen, two almost 



BOOK ELEVEN 



sleepless nights passed on a short sofa without 
bedding all this kept him in a state of excite- 
ment bordering on insanity. 

It was two o'clock in the afternoon. The 
French had already entered Moscow. Pierre 
knew this, but instead of acting he only thought 
about his undertaking, going over its minutest 
details in his mind. In his fancy he did not 
clearly picture to himself either the striking of 
the blow or the death of Napoleon, but with 
extraordinary vividness and melancholy en- 
joyment imagined his own destruction and 
heroic endurance. 

"Yes, alone, for the sake of all, I must do it 
or perish I" he thought. "Yes, I will approach 
. . . and then suddenly . . . with pistol or dag- 
ger? But that is all the same! 'It is not I but 
the hand of Providence that punishes thee,' I 
shall say," thought he, imagining what he would 
say when killing Napoleon. "Well then, take 
me and execute me!" he went on, speaking to 
himself and bowing his head with a sad but 
firm expression. 

While Pierre, standing in the middle of the 
room, was talking to himself in this way, the 
study door opened and on the threshold ap- 
peared the figure of Makar Alexevich, always 
so timid before but now quite transformed. 

His dressing gown was unfastened, his face 
red and distorted. He was obviously drunk. On 
seeing Pierre he grew confused at first, but 
noticing embarrassment on Pierre's face im- 
mediately grew bold and, staggering on his 
thin legs, advanced into the middle of the 
room. 

"They're frightened," he said confidentially 
in a hoarse voice. "I say I won't surrender, I 
say . . . Am I not right, sir?" 

He paused and then suddenly seeing the 
pistol on the table seized it with unexpected 
rapidity and ran out into the corridor. 

Gerdsim and the porter, who had followed 
Makar Alexevich, stopped him in the vesti- 
bule and tried to take the pistol from him. 
Pierre, coming out into the corridor, looked 
with pity and repulsion at the half-crazy old 
man. Makar Alexdevich, frowning with exer- 
tion, held on to the pistol and screamed hoarse- 
ly, evidently with some heroic fancy in his 
head. 

"To arms! Board them! No, you shan't get 
it," he yelled. 

"That will do, please, that will do. Have the 
goodness please, sir, to let go! Please, sir . . ." 
pleaded Geraim, trying carefully to steer Ma- 
kar Alexevich by the elbows back to the door. 



5*5 
shouted 



"Who are you? Bonaparte! . 
Makar Alexevich. 

"That's not right, sir. Come to your room, 
please, and rest. Allow me to have the pistol." 

"Be off, thou base slave! Touch me not! See 
this?" shouted Makar Alex^evich, brandish- 
ing the pistol. "Board them!" 

"Catch hold!" whispered Gerdsim to the 
porter. 

They seized Makar Alex^evich by the arms 
and dragged him to the door. 

The vestibule was filled with the discordant 
sounds of a struggle and of a tipsy, hoarse 
voice. 

Suddenly a fresh sound, a piercing feminine 
scream, reverberated from the porch and the 
cook came running into the vestibule. 

"It's them! Gracious heavens! O Lord, four 
of them, horsemen!" she cried. 

Gerdsim and the porter let Makar Alexe*- 
evich go, and in the now silent corridor the 
sound of several hands knocking at the front 
door could be heard. 

CHAPTER XXVIII 

PIERRE, having decided that until he had car- 
ried out his design he would disclose neither 
his identity nor his knowledge of French, stood 
at the half-open door of the corridor, intend- 
ing to conceal himself as soon as the French 
entered. But the French entered and still Pierre 
did not retire an irresistible curiosity kept 
him there. 

There were two of them. One was an officer 
a tall, soldierly, handsome man the other 
evidently a private or an orderly, sunburned, 
short, and thin, with sunken cheeks and a dull 
expression. The officer walked in front, lean- 
ing on a stick and slightly limping. When he 
had advanced a few steps he stopped, having 
apparently decided that these were good quar- 
ters, turned round to the soldiers standing at 
the entrance, and in a loud voice of command 
ordered them to put up the horses. Having 
done that, the officer, lifting his elbow with a 
smart gesture, stroked hjs mustache and light- 
ly touched his hat. 

"Bon/our, la compagnie!"* said he gaily, 
smiling and looking about him. 

No one gave any reply. 

"Vous ties le bourgeois!" * the officer asked 
Gerasim. 

Gerdsim gazed at the officer with an alarmed 
and inquiring look. 

1 "Good day, everybody!" 
1 "Are you the master nere?" 



WAR ANi> PEACE 



"Quartier, quartier, logement!" said the of- 
ficer, looking down at the little man with a con- 
descending and good-natured smile. "Les fran- 
caissont de bons enfants. Que diable! Voyons! 
Ne nous factions pas, mon vieux!" * added he, 
clapping the scared and silent Gerdsim on the 
shoulder. "Well, does no one speak French in 
this establishment?" he asked again in French, 
looking around and meeting Pierre's eyes. 
Pierre moved away from the door. 

Again the officer turned to Gerdsim and 
asked him to show him the rooms in the house. 

"Master, not here don't understand . . . me, 
you . . ." said Gerasim, trying to render his 
words more comprehensible by contorting 
them. 

Still smiling, the French officer spread out 
his hands before Gerasim's nose, intimating 
that he did not understand him either, and 
moved, limping, to the door at which Pierre 
was standing. Pierre wished to go away and 
conceal himself, but at that moment he saw 
Makar Alexdevichappcaringat the open kitch- 
en door with the pistol in his hand. With a 
madman's cunning, Makar Alexe"evicheyed the 
Frenchman, raised his pistol, and took aim. 

"Board them!" yelled the tipsy man, trying 
to press the trigger. Hearing the yell the officer 
turned round, and at the same moment Pierre 
threw himself on the drunkard. Just when 
Pierre snatched at and struck up the pistol Ma- 
kdr Alex^evich at last got his fingerson the trig- 
ger, there was a deafening report, and all were 
enveloped in a cloud of smoke. The French- 
man turned pale and rushed to the door. 

Forgetting his intention of concealing his 
knowledge of French, Pierre, snatching away 
the pistol and throwing it down, ran up to the 
officer and addressed him in French. 

"You are not wounded?" he asked. 

"I think not," answered the Frenchman, 
feeling himself over. "But I have had a lucky 
escape this time," he added, pointing to the 
damaged plaster of the wall. "Who is that man?" 
said he, looking sternly at Pierre. 

"Oh, I am really in despair at what has oc- 
curred," said Pierre rapidly, quite forgetting 
the part he had intended to play. "He is an un- 
fortunate madman who did not know what he 
was doing." 

The officer went up to Makdr Alex^evichand 
took him by the collar. 

Makar Alexeevich was standing with parted 

1 "Quarters, quarters, lodgings! The French are 
good fellows. What the devil! There, don't let us 
be cross, old fellow!" 



lips, swaying, as if about to fall asleep, as he 
leaned against the wall. 

"Brigand! You shall pay for this," said the 
Frenchman, letting go of him. "We French are 
merciful after victory, but we do not pardon 
traitors," he added, with a look of gloomy dig- 
nity and a fine energetic gesture. 

Pierre continued, in French, to persuade the 
officer not to hold that drunken imbecile to ac- 
count. The Frenchman listened in silence with 
the same gloomy expression, but suddenly 
turned to Pierre with a smile. For a few sec- 
onds he looked at him in silence. His hand- 
some face assumed a melodramatically gentle 
expression arid he held out his hand. 

"You have saved my life. You are French," 
said he. 

For a Frenchman that deduction was indu- 
bitable. Only a Frenchman could perform a 
great deed, and to save his life the life of M. 
Ramballc, captain of the igth Light Regiment 
was undoubtedly a very great deed. 

But however indubitable that conclusion and 
the officer's conviction based upon it, Pierre 
felt it necessary to disillusion him. 

"I am Russian," he said quickly. 

"Tut, tut, tut! Tell that to others," said the 
officer, waving his finger before his nose and 
smiling. "You shall tell me all about that pres- 
ently. I am delighted to meet a compatriot. 
Well, and what are we to do with this man?" 
he added, addressing himself to Pierre as to a 
brother. 

Even if Pierre were not a Frenchman, hav- 
ing once received that loftiest of human appel- 
lations he could not renounce it, said the offi- 
cer's look and tone. In reply to his last question 
Pierre again explained who Makar Alexeevich 
was and how just before their arrival that 
drunken imbecile had seized the loaded pistol 
which they had not had time to recover from 
him, and begged the officer to let the deed go 
unpunished. 

The Frenchman expanded his chest and 
made a majestic gesture with his arm. 

"You have saved my life! You are French. 
You ask his pardon? I grant it you. Lead that 
man away!" said he quickly and energetically, 
and taking the arm of Pierre whom he had 
promoted to be a Frenchman for saving his 
life, he went with him into the room. 

The soldiers in the yard, hearing the shot, 
came into the passage asking what had hap- 
pened, and expressed their readiness to punish 
the culprits, but the officer sternly checked 
them. 



BOOK ELEVEN 



"You will be called in when you are wanted," 
he said. 

The soldiers went out again, and the order- 
ly, who had meanwhile had time to visit the 
kitchen, came up to his officer. 

"Captain, there is soup and a leg of mutton 
in the kitchen," said he. "Shall I serve them 
up?" 

"Yes, and some wine," answered the cap- 
tain. 

CHAPTER XXIX 

WHEN THE FRENCH OFFICER went into the room 
with Pierre the latter again thought it his duty 
to assure him that he was not French and 
wished to go away, but the officer would not 
hear of it. He was so very polite, amiable, good- 
natured, and genuinely grateful to Pierre for 
saving his life that Pierre had not the heart to 
refuse, and sat down with him in the parlor 
the first room they entered. To Pierre's as- 
surances that he was not a Frenchman, the 
captain, evidently not understanding how any- 
one could decline so flattering an appellation, 
shrugged his shoulders and said that if Pierre 
absolutely insisted on passing for a Russian 
let it be so, but for all that he would be for- 
ever bound to Pierre by gratitude for saving 
his life. 

Had this man been endowed with the slight- 
est capacity for perceiving the feelings of oth- 
ers, and had he at all understood what Pierre's 
feelings were, the latter would probably have 
left him, but the man's animated obtuseness 
to everything other than himself disarmed 
Pierre. 

"A Frenchman or a Russian prince incog- 
nito," said the officer, looking at Pierre's fine 
though dirty linen and at the ring on his fin- 
ger. "I owe my life to you and offer you my 
friendship. A Frenchman never forgets either 
an insult or a service. I offer you my friendship. 
That is all I can say." 

There was so much good nature and nobility 
(in the French sense of the word) in the officer's 
voice, in the expression of his face and in his 
gestures, that Pierre, unconsciously smiling in 
response to the Frenchman's smile, pressed the 
hand held out to him. 

"Captain Ramballe, of the 131!! Light Reg- 
iment, Chevalier of the Legion of Honor for 
the affair on the seventh of September," he in- 
troduced himself, a self-satisfied irrepressible 
smile puckering his lips under his mustache. 
"Will you now be so good as to tell me with 
whom I have the honor of conversing so pleas- 



antly, instead of being in the ambulance with 
that maniac's bullet in my body?" 

Pierre replied that he could not tell him 
his name and, blushing, began to try to invent 
a name and to say something about his reason 
for concealing it, but the Frenchman hastily 
interrupted him. 

"Oh, please!" said he. "I understand your 
reasons. You are an officer ... a superior officer 
perhaps. You have borne arms against us. 
That's not my business. I owe you my life. 
That is enough for me. I am quite at your serv- 
ice. You belong to the gentry?" he concluded 
with a shade of inquiry in his tone. Pierre bent 
his head. "Your baptismal name, if you please. 
That is all I ask. Monsieur Pierre, you say. . . . 
Excellent! That's all I want to know." 

When the mutton and an omelet had been 
served and a samovar and vodka brought, with 
some wine which the French had taken from 
a Russian cellar and brought with them, Ram- 
balle invited Pierre to share his dinner, and 
himself began to eat greedily and quickly like 
a healthy and hungry man, munching his food 
rapidly with his strong teeth, continually 
smacking his lips, and repeating "Excellent! 
Delicious!" His face grew red and was covered 
with perspiration. Pierre was hungry and 
shared the dinner with pleasure. Morel, the 
orderly, brought some hot water in a saucepan 
and placed a bottle of claret in it. He also 
brought a bottle of kvass, taken from the kitch- 
en for them to try. That beverage was already 
known to the French and had been given a 
special name. They called it limonade de co- 
chon (pig's lemonade), and Morel spoke well 
of the limonade de cochon he had found in the 
kitchen. But as the captain had the wine they 
had taken while passing through Moscow, he 
left the kvass to Morel and applied himself to 
the bottle of Bordeaux. He wrapped the bot- 
tle up to its neck in a table napkin and poured 
out wine for himself and for Pierre. The satis- 
faction of his hunger and the wine rendered 
the captain still more lively and he chatted in- 
cessantly all through dinner. 

"Yes, my dear Monsieur Pierre, I owe you a 
fine votive candle for saving me from that 
maniac. . . . You see, I have bullets enough in 
my body already. Here is one I got at Wagram" 
(he touched his side) "and a second at Smo- 
tensk" he showed a scar on his cheek "and 
this leg which as you see does not want to 
march, I got that on the seventh at the great 
battle of la Moskowa. Sacrd Dieu! It was splen- 
did! That deluge of fire was worth seeing. It 



WAR AND PEACE 



was a tough job you set us there, my word! 
You may be proud of it! And on my honor, in 
spite of the cough I caught there, I should be 
ready to begin again. I pity those who did not 
see it." 

"I was there," said Pierre. 

"Bah, really? So much the betterl You are 
certainly brave foes. The great redoubt held 
out well, by my pipe!" continued the French- 
man. "And you made us pay dear for it. I was 
at it three times sure as I sit here. Three 
times we reached the guns and three times we 
were thrown back like cardboard figures. Oh, it 
was beautiful, Monsieur Pierre! Your grena- 
diers were splendid, by heaven! I saw them 
close up their ranks six times in succession and 
march as if on parade. Fine fellows! Our King 
of Naples, who knows what's what, cried 
'Bravo!' Ha, ha! So you are one of us soldiers!" 
he added, smiling, after a momentary pause. 
"So much the better, so much the better, Mon- 
sieur Pierre! Terrible in battle . . . gallant . . . 
with the fair" (he winked and smiled), "that's 
what the French are, Monsieur Pierre, aren't 
they?" 

The captain was so naively and good-humor- 
edly gay, so real, and so pleased with himself 
that Pierre almost winked back as he looked 
merrily at him. Probably the word "gallant" 
turned the captain's thoughts to the state of 
Moscow. 

"Apropos, tell me please, is it true that the 
women have all left Moscow? What a queer 
idea! What had they to be afraid of?" 

"Would not the French ladies leave Paris if 
the Russians entered it?" asked Pierre. 

"Ha, ha, ha!" The Frenchman emitted a 
merry, sanguine chuckle, patting Pierre on the 
shoulder. "What a thing to say!" he exclaimed. 
"Paris? . . . But Paris, Paris . . ." 

"Paris the capital of the world," Pierre fin- 
ished his remark for him. 

The captain looked at Pierre. He had a hab- 
it of stoppingshort in the middle of his talk and 
gazing intently with his laughing, kindly eyes. 

"Well, if you hadn't told me you were Rus- 
sian, I should have wagered that you were 
Parisian! You have that ... I don't know what, 
that . . ." and having uttered this compliment, 
he again gazed at him in silence. 

"I have been in Paris. I spent years there," 
said Pierre. 

"Oh yes, one sees that plainly. Paris! ... A 
man who doesn't know Paris is a savage. You 
can tell a Parisian two leagues off. Paris is Tal- 
ma, la Duch^nois, Potier, the Sorbonne, the 



boulevards," x and noticing that his conclusion 
was weaker than what had gone before, he add- 
ed quickly: "There is only one Paris in the 
world. You have been to Paris and have re- 
mained Russian. Well, I don't esteem you the 
less for it." 

Under the influence of the wine he had 
drunk, and after the days he had spent alone 
with his depressing thoughts, Pierre involun- 
tarily enjoyed talking with this cheerful and 
good-natured man. 

"To return to your ladies I hear they are 
lovely. What a wretched idea to go and bury 
themselves in the steppes when the French ar- 
my is in Moscow. What a chance those girls 
have missed! Your peasants, now that's an- 
other thing; but you civilized people, you 
ought to know us better than that. We took 
Vienna, Berlin, Madrid, Naples, Rome, War- 
saw, all the world's capitals. . . . We are feared, 
but we are loved. We are nice to know. And 
then the Emperor . . ." he began, but Pierre 
interrupted him. 

"The Emperor," Pierre repeated, and his 
face suddenly became sad and embarrassed, 
"is the Emperor . . .?" 

"The Emperor? He is generosity, mercy, jus- 
tice, order, genius that's what the Emperor 
is! It is I, Ramballe, who tell you so. ... I assure 
you I was his enemy eight years ago. My fa- 
ther was an emigrant count. . . . But that man 
has vanquished me. He has taken hold of me. 
I could not resist the sight of the grandeur and 
glory with which he has covered France. When 
I understood what he wanted when I saw 
that he was preparing a bed of laurels for us, 
you know, I said to myself: 'That is a monarch/ 
and I devoted myself to him! So there! Oh yes, 
mon cher, he is the greatest man of the ages 
past or future." 

"Is he in Moscow?" Pierre stammered with a 
guilty look. 

The Frenchman looked at his guilty face 
and smiled. 

"No, he will make his entry tomorrow," he 
replied, and continued his talk. 

Their conversation was interrupted by the 
cries of several voices at the gate and by Morel, 
who came to say that some Wurttemberg hus- 
sars had come and wanted to put up their 
horses in the yard where the captain's horses 
were. This difficulty had arisen chiefly because 
the hussars did not understand what was said 
to them in French. 

1 The famous tragedian Talma, the actress Du- 
che'nois, the comedian Potier. TR. 



The captain had their senior sergeant called 
in, and in a stern voice asked him to what reg- 
iment he belonged, who was his commanding 
officer, and by what right he allowed himself 
to claim quarters that were already occupied. 
The German who knew little French, answered 
the two first questions by giving the names of 
his regiment and of his commanding officer, 
but in reply to the third question which he did 
not understand said, introducing broken 
French into his own German, that he was the 
quartermaster of the regiment and his com- 
mander had ordered him to occupy all the 
houses one after another. Pierre, who knew 
German, translated what the German said to 
the captain and gave the captain's reply to the 
Wurttemberg hussar in German. When he had 
understood what was said to him, the German 
submitted and took his men elsewhere. The 
captain went out into the porch and gave some 
orders in a loud voice. 

When he returned to the room Pierre was 
sitting in the same place as before, with his 
head in his hands. His face expressed suffering. 
He really was suffering at that moment. When 
the captain went out and he was left alone, 
suddenly he came to himself and realized the po- 
sition he was in. It was not that Moscow had 
been taken or that the happy conquerors were 
masters in it and were patronizing him. Painful 
as that was it was not that which tormented 
Pierre at the moment. He was tormented by the 
consciousness of his own weakness. The few 
glasses of wine he had drunk and the conversa- 
tion with this good-natured man had destroyed 
the mood of concentrated gloom in which he 
had spent the last few days and which was es- 
sential for the execution of his design. The pis- 
tol, dagger, and peasant coat were ready. Napo- 
leon was to enter the town next day. Pierre still 
considered that it would be a useful and worthy 
action to slay the evildoer, but now he felt that 
he would not do it. He did not know why, but 
he felt a foreboding that he would not carry 
out his intention. He struggled against the con- 
fession of his weakness but dimly felt that he 
could not overcome it and that his former 
gloomy frame of mind, concerning vengeance, 
killing, and self-sacrifice, had been dispersed 
like dust by contact with the first man he 
met. 

The captain returned to the room, limping 
slightly and whistling a tune. 

The Frenchman's chatter which had previ- 
ously amused Pierre now repelled him. The 
tune he was whistling, his gait, and the gesture 



BOOK ELEVEN 519 

with which he twirled his mustache, all now 
seemed offensive. "I will go away immediately. 
I won't say another word to him," thought 
Pierre. He thought this, but still sat in the 
same place. A strange feeling of weakness tied 
him to the spot; he wished to get up and go 
away, but could not do so. 

The captain, on the other hand, seemed 
very cheerful. He paced up and down the room 
twice. His eyes shone and his mustache twitched 
as if he were smiling to himself at some amus- 
ing thought. 

"The colonel of those Wurttembergers is de- 
lightful," he suddenly said. "He's a German, 
but a nice fellow all the same. . . . But he's a 
German." He sat down facing Pierre. "By the 
way, you know German, then?" 

Pierre looked at him in silence. 

"What is the German for 'shelter'?" 

"Shelter?" Pierre repeated. "The German 
for shelter is Unterkunjt." 

"How do you say it?" the captain asked 
quickly and doubtfully. 

"Unterkunft," Pierre repeated. 

"Onterkoff," said the captain and looked at 
Pierre for some seconds with laughing eyes. 
"These Germans are first-rate fools, don't you 
think so, Monsieur Pierre?" he concluded. 

"Well, let's have another bottle of this Mos- 
cow Bordeaux, shall we? Morel will warm us 
up another little bottle. Morel!" he called out 
gaily. 

Morel brought candles and a bottle of wine. 
The captain looked at Pierre by the candle- 
light and was evidently struck by the troubled 
expression on his companion's face. Ramballe, 
with genuine distress and sympathy in his face, 
went up to Pierre and bent over him. 

"There now, we're sad," said he, touching 
Pierre's hand. "Have I upset you? No, really, 
have you anything against me?" he asked 
Pierre. "Perhaps it's the state of affairs?" 

Pierre did not answer, but looked cordially 
into the Frenchman's eyes whose expression of 
sympathy was pleasing to him. 

"Honestly, without speaking of what I owe 
you, I feel friendship for you. Can I do any- 
thing for you? Dispose of me. It is for life and 
death. I say it with my hand on my heart!" said 
he, striking his chest. 

"Thank you," said Pierre. 

The captain gazed intently at him as he 
had done when he learned that "shelter" was 
Unterkunft in German, and his face suddenly 
brightened. 

"Well, in that case, I drink to our friend- 



5*0 



WAR AND PEACE 



ship!" he cried gaily, filling two glasses with 
wine. 

Pierre took one of the glasses and emptied it. 
Ramballe emptied his too, again pressed 
Pierre's hand, and leaned his elbows on the 
table in a pensive attitude. 

"Yes, my dear friend," he began, "such is 
fortune's caprice. Who would have said that I 
should be a soldier and a captain of dragoons 
in the service of Bonaparte, as we used to call 
him? Yet here I am in Moscow with him. I 
must tell you, mon cher" he continued in the 
sad and measured tones of a man who intends 
to tell a long story, "that our name is one of 
the most ancient in France." 

And with a Frenchman's easy and naive 
frankness the captain told Pierre the story of 
his ancestors, his childhood, youth, and man- 
hood, and all about his relations and his finan- 
cial and family affairs, "ma pauvre mtre" play- 
ing of course an important part in the story. 

"But all that is only life's setting, the real 
thing is love love! Am I not right, Monsieur 
Pierre?" said he, growing animated. "Another 
glass?" 

Pierre again emptied his glass and poured 
himself out a third. 

"Oh, women, women!" and the captain, 
looking with glistening eyes at Pierre, began 
talking of love and of his love affairs. 

There were very many of these, as one could 
easily believe, looking at the officer's hand- 
some, self-satisfied face, and noting the eager 
enthusiasm with which he spoke of women. 
Though all Ramballe's love stories had the 
sensual character which Frenchmen regard as 
the special charm and poetry of love, yet he 
told his story with such sincere conviction that 
he alone had experienced and known all the 
charm of love and he described women so al- 
luringly that Pierre listened to him with curi- 
osity. 

It was plain that I' amour which the French- 
man was so fond of was not that low and simple 
kind that Pierre had once felt for his wife, nor 
was it the romantic love stimulated by himself 
that he experienced for Natasha. (Ramballe de- 
spised both these kinds of love equally: the one 
he considered the "love of clodhoppers" and 
the other the "love of simpletons.") L 'amour 
which the Frenchman worshiped consisted 
principally in the unnaturalness of his relation 
to the woman and in a combination of incon- 
gruities giving the chief charm to the feeling. 

Thus the captain touchingly recounted the 
story of his love for a fascinating marquise of 



thirty-five and at the same time for a charm- 
ing, innocent child of seventeen, daughter of 
the bewitching marquise. The conflict of mag- 
nanimity between the mother and the daugh- 
ter, ending in the mother's sacrificing herself 
and offering her daughter in marriage to her 
lover, even now agitated the captain, though it 
was the memory of a distant past. Then he re- 
counted an episode in which the husband 
played the part of the lover, and he the lover 
assumed the role of the husband, as well as 
several droll incidents from his recollections of 
Germany, where "shelter" is called Unterkunft, 
and where the husbands eat sauerkraut and the 
young girls are "too blonde." 

Finally, the latest episode in Poland still 
fresh in the captain's memory, and which he 
narrated with rapid gestures and glowing face, 
was of how he had saved the life of a Pole (in 
general, the saving of life continually occurred 
in the captain's stories) and the Pole had en- 
trusted to him his enchanting wife (parisienne 
de cceur) while himself entering the French 
service. The captain was happy, the enchant- 
ing Polish lady wished to elope with him, but, 
prompted by magnanimity, the captain re- 
stored the wife to the husband, saying as he did 
so: "I have saved your life, and I save your 
honor!" Having repeated these words the cap- 
tain wiped his eyes and gave himself a shake, 
as if driving away the weakness which assailed 
him at this touching recollection. 

Listening to the captain's tales, Pierre as 
often happens late in the evening and under 
the influence of wine followed all that was 
told him, understood it all, and at the same 
time followed a train of personal memories 
which, he knew not why, suddenly arose in his 
mind. While listening to these love stories his 
own love for Natasha unexpectedly rose to his 
mind, and going over the pictures of that love 
in his imagination he mentally compared 
them with Ramballe's tales. Listening to the 
story of the struggle between love and duty, 
Pierre saw before his eyes every minutest de- 
tail of his last meeting with the object of his 
love at the Sukharev water tower. At the time 
of that meeting it had not produced an effect 
upon him he had not even once recalled it. But 
now itseemed to him that that meeting had had 
in it something very important and poetic. 

"Peter Kirflovich, come herel We have rec- 
ognized you," he now seemed to hear the words 
she had uttered and to see before him her 
eyes, her smile, her traveling hood, and a stray 
lock of her hair . . . and there seemed to him 



BOOK ELEVEN 



something pathetic and touching in all this. 

Having finished his tale about the enchant- 
ing Polish lady, the captain asked Pierre if 
he had ever experienced a similar impulse to 
sacrifice himself for love and a feeling of envy 
of the legitimate husband. 

Challenged by this question Pierre raised his 
head and felt a need to express the thoughts 
that filled his mind. He began to explain that 
he understood love for a women somewhat 
differently. He said that in all his life he had 
loved and still loved only one woman, and that 
she could never be his. 

"Tiens!" said the captain. 

Pierre then explained that he had loved this 
woman from his earliest years, but that he had 
not dared to think of her because she was too 
young, and because he had been an illegitimate 
son without a name. Afterwards when he had 
received a name and wealth he dared not think 
of her because he loved her too well, placing 
her far above everything in the world, and es- 
pecially therefore above himself. 

When he had reached this point, Pierre asked 
the captain whether he understood that. 

The captain made a gesture signifying that 
even if he did not understand it he begged 
Pierre to continue. 

"Platonic love, clouds . . ." he muttered. 

Whether it was the wine he had drunk, or 
an impulse of frankness, or the thought that 
this man did not, and never would, know any 
of those who played a part in his story, or 
whether it was all these things together, some- 
thing loosened Pierre's tongue. Speaking thick- 
ly and with a faraway look in his shining eyes, 
he told the whole story of his life: his marriage, 
Natasha's love for his best friend, her betrayal 
of him, and all his own simple relations with 
her. Urged on oy Ramballe's questions he also 
told what he had at first concealed his own po- 
sition and even his name. 

More than anything else in Pierre's story the 
captain was impressed by the fact that Pierre 
was very rich, had two mansions in Moscow, 
and that he had abandoned everything and 
not left the city, but remained there conceal- 
ing his name and station. 

When it was late at night they went out to- 
gether into the street. The night was warm and 
light. To the left of the house on the Pokr6vka 
a fire glowed the first of those that were be- 
ginning in Moscow. To the right and high up 
in the sky was the sickle of the waning moon 
and opposite to it hung that bright comet 
which was connected in Pierre's heart with his 



love. At the gate stood Gerdsim, the cook, and 
two Frenchmen. Their laughter and their mu- 
tually incomprehensible remarks in two lan- 
guages could be heard. They were looking at 
the glow seen in the town. 

There was nothing terrible in the one small, 
distant fire in the immense city. 

Gazing at the high starry sky, at the moon, 
at the comet, and at the glow from the fire, 
Pierre experienced a joyful emotion. "There 
now, how good it is, what more does one need?" 
thought he. And suddenly remembering his 
intention he grew dizzy and felt so faint that 
he leaned against the fence to save himself 
from falling. 

Without taking leave of his new friend. 
Pierre left the gate with unsteady steps and re- 
turning to his room lay down on the sofa and 
immediately fell asleep. 

CHAPTER XXX 

THE GLOW of the first fire that began on the 
second of September was watched from the 
various roads by the fugitive Muscovites and 
by the retreating troops, with many different 
feelings. 

The Rostov party spent the night at Mytish- 
chi, fourteen miles from Moscow. They had 
started so late on the first of September, the 
road had been so blocked by vehicles a nd troops, 
so many things had been forgotten for which 
servants were sent back, that they had decided 
to spend that night at a place three miles out 
of Moscow. The next morning they woke late 
and were again delayed so often that they only 
got as far as Great Mytfshchi. At ten o'clock 
that evening the Rost6v family and the wound- 
ed traveling with them were all distributed in 
the yards and huts of that large village. The 
Rostovs' servants and coachmen and the or- 
derlies of the wounded officers, after attending 
to their masters, had supper, fed the horses, 
and came out into the porches. 

In a neighboring hut lay Rac" vski's adjutant 
with a fractured wrist. The awful pain he suf- 
fered made him moan incessantly and piteous- 
ly, and his moaning sounded terrible in the 
darkness of the autumn night. He had spent 
the first night in the same yard as the Rostovs. 
The countess said she had been unable to close 
her eyes on account of his moaning, and at 
Mystfshchi she moved into a worse hut simply 
to be farther away from the wounded man. 

In the darkness of the night one of the serv- 
ants noticed, above the high body of a coach 
standing before the porch, the small glow of 



5** 



WAR AND PEACE 



another fire. One glow had long been visible 
and everybody knew that it was Little Mytish- 
chi burning set on fire by Mam6nov's Cos- 
sacks. 

"But look here, brothers, there's another 
fire!" remarked an orderly. 

All turned their attention to the glow. 

"But they told us Little Mytishchi had been 
set on fire by Mam6nov's Cossacks." 

"But that's not Mytishchi, it's farther away." 

"Look, it must be in Moscow!" 

Two of the gazers went round to the other 
side of the coach and sat down on its steps. 

"It's more to the left, why, Little Mytishchi 
is over there, and this is right on the other 
side." 

Several men joined the first two. 

"See how it's flaring," said one. "That's a 
fire in Moscow: either in the Sushchvski or 
the Rog6zhski quarter." 

No one replied to this remark and for some 
time they all gazed silently at the spreading 
flames of the second fire in the distance. 

Old Daniel Ter^ntich, the count's valet (as 
he was called), came up to the group and shout- 
ed at Mishka. 

"What are you staring at, you good-for-noth- 
ing? . . . The count will be calling and there's 
nobody there; go and gather the clothes to- 
gether." 

"I only ran out to get some water," said 
Mishka. 

"But what do you think, Daniel Ter^ntich? 
Doesn't it look as if that glow were in Mos- 
cow?" remarked one of the footmen. 

Daniel Ter^ntich made no reply, and again 
for a long time they were all silent. The glow 
spread, rising and falling, farther and farther 
still. 

"God have mercy. . . . It's windy and dry 
. . ." said another voice. 

"Just look! See what it's doing now. O Lord! 
You can even see the crows flying. Lord have 
mercy on us sinners!" 

"They'll put it out, no fear!" 

"Who's to put it out?" Daniel Ter^ntich, 
who had hitherto been silent, was heard to say. 
His voice was calm and deliberate. "Moscow it 
is, brothers," said he. "Mother Moscow, the 
white . . ." his voice faltered, and he gave way 
to an old man's sob. 

And it was as if they had all only waited for 
this to realize the significance for them of the 
glow they were watching. Sighs were heard, 
words of prayer, and the sobbing of the count's 
old valet. 



CHAPTER XXXI 

THE VALET, returning to the cottage, informed 
the count that Moscow was burning. The count 
donned his dressing gown and went out to 
look. S6nya and Madame Schoss, who had not 
yet undressed, went out with him. Only Nata- 
sha and the countess remained in the room. 
Ptya was no longer with the family, he had 
gone on with his regiment which was making 
for Tr6itsa. 

The countess, on hearing that Moscow was 
on fire, began to cry. Natdsha, pale, with a 
fixed look, was sitting on the bench under the 
icons just where she had sat down on arriving 
and paid no attention to her father's words. 
She was listening to the ceaseless moaning of 
the adjutant, three houses off. 

"Oh, how terrible," said S6nya, returning 
from the yard chilled and frightened. "I be- 
lieve the whole of Moscow will burn, there's an 
awful glow! Natdsha, do look! You can see it 
from the window," she said to her cousin, evi- 
dently wishing to distract her mind. 

But Natdsha looked at her as if not under- 
standing what was said to her and again fixed 
her eyes on the corner of the stove. She had 
been in this condition of stupor since the morn- 
ing, when S6nya, to the surprise and annoy- 
ance of the countess, had for some unaccount- 
able reason found it necessary to tell Natdsha 
of Prince Andrew's wound and of his being 
with their party. The countess had seldom 
been so angry with anyone as she was with 
S6nya. S6nya had cried and begged to be for- 
given and now, as if trying to atone for her 
fault, paid unceasing attention to her cousin. 

"Look, Natdsha, how dreadfully it is burn- 
ing! "said she. 

"What's burning?" asked Natdsha. "Oh, yes, 
Moscow." 

And as if in order not to offend S6nya and 
to get rid of her, she turned her face to the 
window, looked out in such a way that it was 
evident that she could not see anything, and 
again settled down in her former attitude. 

"But you didn't see it!" 

"Yes, really I did," Natdsha replied in a 
voice that pleaded to be left in peace. 

Both the countess and S6nya understood 
that, naturally, neither Moscow nor the burn- 
ing of Moscow nor anything else could seem of 
importance to Natdsha. 

The count returned and lay down behind 
the partition. The countess went up to her 
daughter and touched her head with the back 
of her hand as she was wont to do when Natd- 



BOOK ELEVEN 



5*3 



sha was ill, then touched her forehead with her 
lips as if to feel whether she was feverish, and 
finally kissed her. 

"You are cold. You are trembling all over. 
You'd better lie down," said the countess. 

"Lie down? All right, I will. I'll lie down at 
once," said Natasha. 

When Natdsha had been told that morning 
that Prince Andrew was seriously wounded 
and was traveling with their party, she had at 
first asked many questions: Where was he go- 
ing? How was he wounded? Was it serious? And 
could she see him? But after she had been told 
that she could not see him, that he was serious- 
ly wounded but that his life was not in danger, 
she ceased to ask questions or to speak at all, 
evidently disbelieving what they told her, and 
convinced that say what she might she would 
still be told the same. All the way she had sat 
motionless in a corner of the coach with wide- 
open eyes, and the expression in them which 
the countess knew so well and feared so much, 
and now she sat in the same way on the bench 
where she had seated herself on arriving. She 
was planning something and either deciding 
or had already decided something in her mind. 
The countess knew this, but what it might be 
she did not know, and this alarmed and tor- 
mented her. 

"Natdsha, undress, darling; lie down on my 
bed." 

A bed had been made on a bedstead for the 
countess only. Madame Schoss and the two girls 
were to sleep on some hay on the floor. 

"No, Mamma, I will lie down here on the 
floor," Natasha replied irritably and she went 
to the window and opened it. Through the 
open window the moans of the adjutant could 
be heard more distinctly. She put her head out 
into the damp night air, and the countess saw 
her slim neck shaking with sobs and throbbing 
against the window frame. Natdsha knew it 
was not Prince Andrew who was moaning. She 
knew Prince Andrew was in the same yard as 
themselves and in a part of the hut across the 
passage; but this dreadful incessant moaning 
made her sob. The countess exchanged a look 
with S6nya. 

"Lie down, darling; lie down, my pet," said 
the countess, softly touching Natasha's shoul- 
ders. "Come, lie down." 

"Oh, yes ... I'll lie down at once," said Na- 
tdsha, and began hurriedly undressing, tugging 
at the tapes of her petticoat. 

When she had thrown off her dress and put 
on a dressing jacket, she sat down with her 



foot under her on the bed that had been made 
up on the floor, jerked her thin and rather 
short plait of hair to the front, and began re- 
plaiting it. Her long, thin, practiced fingers 
rapidly unplaited, replaited, and tied up her 
plait. Her head moved from side to side from 
habit, but her eyes, feverishly wide, looked 
fixedly before her. When her toilet for the 
night was finished she sank gently onto the 
sheet spread over the hay on the side nearest 
the door. 

"Natdsha, you'd better lie in the middle," 
said S6nya. 

"I'll stay here," muttered Natdsha. "Do lie 
down," she added crossly, and buried her face 
in the pillow. 

The countess, Madame Schoss, and S6nya 
undressed hastily and lay down. The small 
lamp in front of the icons was the only light 
left in the room. But in the yard there was a 
light from the fire at Little Mytishchi a mile 
and a half away, and through the night came 
the noise of people shouting at a tavern Ma- 
m6nov's Cossacks had set up across the street, 
and the adjutant's unceasing moans could still 
be heard. 

For a long time Natdsha listened attentively 
to the sounds that reached her from inside and 
outside the room and did not move. First she 
heard her mother praying and sighing and the 
creaking of her bed under her, then Madame 
Schoss 1 familiar whistling snore and S6nya's 
gentle breathing. Then the countess called to 
Natdsha. Natdsha did not answer. 

"I think she's asleep, Mamma," said S6nya 
softly. 

After a short silence the countess spoke again 
but this time no one replied. 

Soon after that Natdsha heard her mother's 
even breathing. Natdsha did not move, though 
her little bare foot, thrust out from under the 
quilt, was growing cold on the bare floor. 

As if to celebrate a victory over everybody, 
a cricket chirped in a crack in the wall. A cock 
crowed far off and another replied near by. 
The shouting in the tavern had died down; 
only the moaning of the adjutant was heard. 
Natdsha sat up. 

"S6nya, are you asleep? Mamma?" she whis- 
pered. 

No one replied. Natdsha rose slowly and care- 
fully, crossed herself, and stepped cautiously 
on the cold and dirty floor with her slim, sup- 
ple, bare feet. The boards of the floor creaked. 
Stepping cautiously from one foot to the other 
she ran like a kitten the few steps to the door 



WAR AND PEACE 



and grasped the cold door handle. 

It seemed to her that something heavy was 
beating rhythmically against all the walls of 
the room: it was her own heart, sinking with 
alarm and terror and overflowing with love. 

She opened the door and stepped across the 
threshold and onto the cold, damp earthen 
floor of the passage. The cold she felt refreshed 
her. With her bare feet she touched a sleeping 
man, stepped over him, and opened the door 
into the part of the hut where Prince Andrew 
lay. It was dark in there. In the farthest corner, 
on a bench beside a bed on which something 
was lying, stood a tallow candle with a long, 
thick, and smoldering wick. 

From the moment she had been told that 
morning of Prince Andrew's wound and his 
presence there, Natasha had resolved to see 
him. She did not know why she had to, she 
knew the meeting would be painful, but felt 
the more convinced that it was necessary. 

All day she had lived only in hope of seeing 
him that night. But now that the moment had 
come she was filled with dread of what she 
might see. How was he maimed? What was left 
of him? Was he like that incessant moaning of 
the adjutant's? Yes, he was altogether like that. 
In her imagination he was that terrible moan- 
ing personified. When she saw an indistinct 
shape in the corner, and mistook his knees 
raised under the quilt for his shoulders, she 
imagined a horrible body there, and stood still 
in terror. But an irresistible impulse drew her 
forward. She cautiously took one step and then 
another, and found herself in the middle of a 
small room containing baggage. Another man 
Tim6khin was lying in a corner on the 
benches beneath the icons, and two others 
the doctor and a valet lay on the floor. 

The valet sat up and whispered something. 
Tim6khin, kept awake by the pain in his 
wounded leg, gazed with wide-open eyes at this 
strange apparition of a girl in a white chemise, 
dressing jacket, and nightcap. The valet's 
sleepy, frightened exclamation, "What do you 
want? What's the matter?" made Natdsha ap- 
proach more swiftly to what was lying in the 
corner. Horribly unlike a man as that body 
looked, she must see him. She passed the valet, 
the snuff fell from the candle wick, and she saw 
Prince Andrew clearly with his arms outside 
the quilt, and such as she had always seen him. 

He was the same as ever, but the feverish 
color of his face, his glittering eyes rapturously 
turned toward her, and especially his neck, 
delicate as a child's, revealed by the turn-down 



collar of his shirt, gave him a peculiarly inno- 
cent, childlike look, such as she had never seen 
on him before. She went up to him and with 
a swift, flexible, youthful movement dropped 
on her knees. 

He smiled and held out his hand to her. 

CHAPTER XXXII 

SEVEN DAYS had passed since Prince Andrew 
found himself in the ambulance station on the 
field of Borodin6. His feverish state and the 
inflammation of his bowels, which were in- 
jured, were in the doctor's opinion sure to 
carry him off. But on the seventh day he ate 
with pleasure a piece of bread with some tea, 
and the doctor noticed that his temperature 
was lower. He had regained consciousness that 
morning. The first night after they left Mos- 
cow had been fairly warm and he had remained 
in the caltche, but at Mytishchi the wounded 
man himself asked to be taken out and given 
some tea. The pain caused by his removal into 
the hut had made him groan aloud and again 
lose consciousness. When he had been placed 
on his camp bed he lay for a long time motion- 
less with closed eyes. Then he opened them 
and whispered softly: "And the tea?" His re- 
membering such a small detail of everyday life 
astonished the doctor. He felt Prince Andrew's 
pulse, and to his surprise and dissatisfaction 
found it had improved. He was dissatisfied be- 
cause he knew by experience that if his patient 
did not die now, he would do so a little later 
with greater suffering. Tim6khin, the red-nosed 
major of Prince Andrew's regiment, had joined 
him in Moscow and was being taken along 
with him, having been wounded in the leg at 
the battleofBorodin6. They were accompanied 
by a doctor, Prince Andrew's valet, his coach- 
man, and two orderlies. 

They gave Prince Andrew some tea. He 
drank it eagerly, looking with feverish eyes at 
the door in front of him as if trying to under- 
stand and remember something. 

"I don't want any more. Is Tim6khin here?" 
he asked. 

Tim6khin crept along the bench to him. 

"I am here, your excellency." 

"How's your wound?" 

"Mine, sir? All right. But how about you?" 

Prince Andrew again pondered as if trying 
to remember something. 

"Couldn't one get a book?" he asked. 

"What book?" 

"The Gospels. I haven't one." 

The doctor promised to procure it for him 



BOOK 

and began to ask how he was feeling. Prince 
Andrew answered all his questions reluctantly 
but reasonably, and then said he wanted a 
bolster placed under him as he was uncomfort- 
able and in great pain. The doctor and valet 
lifted the cloak with which he was covered and, 
making wry faces at the noisome smell of mor- 
tifying flesh that came from the wound, began 
examining that dreadful place. The doctor was 
very much displeased about something and 
made a change in the dressings, turning the 
wounded man over so that he groaned again 
and grew unconscious and delirious from the 
agony. He kept asking them to get him the 
book and put it under him. 

"What trouble would it be to you?" he said. 
"I have not got one. Please get it for me and 
put it under me for a moment," he pleaded in 
a piteous voice. 

The doctor went into the passage to wash his 
hands. 

"You fellows have no conscience," said he to 
the valet who was pouring water over his 
hands. "For just one moment I didn't look aft- 
er you ... It's such pain, you know, that I 
wonder how he can bear it." 

"By the Lord Jesus Christ, I thought we had 
put something under him!" said the valet. 

The first time Prince Andrew understood 
where he was and what was the matter with 
him and remembered being wounded and how 
was when he asked to be carried into the hut 
after his caliche had stopped at Mytishchi. Aft- 
er growing confused from pain while being 
carried into the hut he again regained con- 
sciousness, and while drinking tea once more 
recalled all that had happened to him, and 
above all vividly remembered the moment at 
the ambulance station when, at the sight of 
the sufferings of a man he disliked, those new 
thoughts had come to him which promised 
him happiness. And those thoughts, though 
now vague and indefinite, again possessed his 
soul. He remembered that he had now a new 
source of happiness and that this happiness 
had something to do with the Gospels. That 
was why he asked for a copy of them. The un- 
comfortable position in which they had put 
him and turned him over again confused his 
thoughts, and when he came to himself a third 
time it was in the complete stillness of the 
night. Everybody near him was sleeping. A 
cricket chirped from across the passage; some- 
one was shouting and singing in the street; 
cockroaches rustled on the table, on the icons, 
and on the walls, and a big fly flopped at the 



ELEVEN 525 

head of the bed and around the candle beside 
him, the wick of which was charred and had 
shaped itself like a mushroom. 

His mind was not in a normal state. A 
healthy man usually thinks of, feels, and re- 
members innumerable things simultaneously, 
but has the power and will to select one se- 
quence of thoughts or events on which to fix 
his whole attention. A healthy man can tear 
himself away from the deepest reflections to 
say a civil word to someone who comes in and 
can then return again to his own thoughts. 
But Prince Andrew's mind was not in a normal 
state in that respect. All the powers of his mind 
were more active and clearer than ever, but 
they acted apart from his will. Most diverse 
thoughts and images occupied him simultane- 
ously. At times his brain suddenly began to 
work with a vigor, clearness, and depth it had 
never reached when he was in health, but sud- 
denly in the midst of its work it would turn to 
some unexpected idea and he had not the 
strength to turn it back again. 

"Yes, a new happiness was revealed to me of 
which man cannot be deprived," he thought 
as he lay in the semi-darkness of the quiet hut, 
gazing fixedly before him with feverish, wide- 
open eyes. "A happiness lying beyond material 
forces, outside the material influences that act 
on mana happiness of the soul alone, the 
happiness of loving. Every man can under- 
stand it, but to conceive it and enjoin it was 
possible only for God. But how did God en- 
join that law? And why was the Son . . . ?" 

And suddenly the sequence of these thoughts 
broke off, and Prince Andrew heard (without 
knowing whether it was a delusion or reality) 
a soft whispering voice incessantly and rhyth- 
mically repeating "piti-piti-piti," and then "ti- 
ti," and then again "piti-piti-piti," and "ti-ti" 
once more. At the same time he felt that above 
his face, above the very middle of it, some 
strange airy structure was being erected out of 
slender needles or splinters, to the sound of 
this whispered music. He felt that he had to 
balance carefully (though it was difficult) so 
that this airy structure should not collapse; but 
nevertheless it kept collapsing and again slow- 
ly rising to the sound of whispered rhythmic 
music "it stretches, stretches, spreading out 
and stretching," said Prince Andrew to him- 
self. While listening to this whispering and 
feeling the sensation of this drawing out and 
the construction of this edifice of needles, he 
also saw by glimpses a red halo round the 
candle, and heard the rustle of the cockroaches 



526 



WAR AND PEACE 



and the buzzing of the fly that flopped against 
his pillow and his face. Each time the fly 
touched his face it gave him a burning sensa- 
tion and yet to his surprise it did not destroy 
the structure, though it knocked against the 
very region of his face where it was rising. But 
besides this there was something else of im- 
portance. It was something white by the door 
the statue of a sphinx, which also oppressed 
him. 

"But perhaps that's my shirt on the table," 
he thought, "and that's my legs, and that is 
the door, but why is it always stretching and 
drawing itself out, and 'piti-piti-piti' and 'ti-ti* 
and 'piti-piti-piti' . . . ? That's enough, please 
leave off!" Prince Andrew painfully entreated 
someone. And suddenly thoughts and feelings 
again swam to the surface of his mind with 
peculiar clearness and force. 

"Yes love," he thought again quite clearly. 
"But not love which loves for something, for 
some quality, for some purpose, or for some 
reason, but the love which I while dying- 
first experienced when I saw my enemy and yet 
loved him. I experienced that feeling of love 
which is the very essence of the soul and does 
not require an object. Now again I feel that 
bliss. To love one's neighbors, to love one's 
enemies, to love everything, to love God in 
all His manifestations. It is possible to love 
someone dear to you with human love, but an 
enemy can only be loved by divine love. That 
is why I experienced such joy when I felt that 
I loved that man. What has become of him? Is 
he alive? . . . 

"When loving with human love one may 
pass from love to hatred, but divine love can- 
not change. No, neither death nor anything 
else can destroy it. It is the very essence of the 
soul. Yet how many people have I hated in my 
life? And of them all, I loved and hated none 
as I did her." And he vividly pictured to him- 
self Natdsha, not as he had done in the past 
with nothing but her charms which gave him 
delight, but for the first time picturing to him- 
self her soul. And he understood her feelings, 
her sufferings, shame, and remorse. He now 
understood for the first time all the cruelty of 
his rejection of her, the cruelty of his rupture 
with her. "If only it were possible for me to see 
her once more! Just once, looking into those 
eyes to say . . ." 

"Piti-piti-piti and ti-ti and piti-piti-piti 
boom!" flopped the fly. ... And his attention 
was suddenly carried into another world, a 
world of reality and delirium in which some- 



thing particular was happening. In that world 
some structure was still being erected and did 
not fall, something was still stretching out, and 
the candle with its red halo was still burning, 
and the same shir tl ike sphinx lay near the 
door; but besides all this something creaked, 
there was a whiff of fresh air, and a new white 
sphinx appeared, standing at the door. And 
that sphinx had the pale face and shining eyes 
of the very Natdsha of whom he had just been 
thinking. 

"Oh, how oppressive this continual delirium 
is," thought Prince Andrew, trying to drive 
that face from his imagination. But the face 
remained before him with the force of reality 
and drew nearer. Prince Andrew wished to re- 
turn to that former world of pure thought, but 
he could not, and delirium drew him back into 
its domain. The soft whispering voice con- 
tinued its rhythmic murmur, something op- 
pressed him and stretched out, and the strange 
face was before him. Prince Andrew collected 
all his strength in an effort to recover his senses, 
he moved a little, and suddenly there was a 
ringing in his ears, a dimness in his eyes, and 
like a man plunged into water he lost con- 
sciousness. When he came to himself, Natdsha, 
that same living Natdsha whom of all people 
he most longed to love wtih this new pure 
divine love that had been revealed to him, was 
kneeling before him. He realized that it was 
the real living Natdsha, and he was not sur- 
prised but quietly happy. Natdsha, motionless 
on her knees (she was unable to stir), with 
frightened eyes riveted on him, was restraining 
her sobs. Her face was pale and rigid. Only in 
the lower part of it something quivered. 

Prince Andrew sighed with relief, smiled, 
and held out his hand. 

"You?" he said. "How fortunatel" 

With a rapid but careful movement Natdsha 
drew nearer to him on her knees and, taking 
his hand carefully, bent her face over it and 
began kissing it, just touching it lightly with 
her lips. 

"Forgive me!" she whispered, raising her 
head and glancing at him. "Forgive me!" 

"I love you," said Prince Andrew. 

"Forgive ... I" 

"Forgive what?" he asked. 

"Forgive me for what I ha-ve do-ne!" fal- 
tered Natdsha in a scarcely audible, broken 
whisper, and began kissing his hand more 
rapidly, just touching it with her lips. 

"I love you more, better than before," said 
Prince Andrew, lifting her face with his hand 



BOOK ELEVEN 



527 



so as to look into her eyes. 

Those eyes, filled with happy tears, gazed at 
him timidly, compassionately, and with joyous 
love. Natasha's thin pale face, with its swollen 
lips, was more than plain it was dreadful. But 
Prince Andrew did not see that, he saw her 
shining eyes which were beautiful. They heard 
the sound of voices behind them. 

Peter the valet, who was now wide awake, 
had roused the doctor. Tim6khin, who had not 
slept at all because of the pain in his leg, had 
long been watching all that was going on, care- 
fully covering his bare body with the sheet as 
he huddled up on his bench. 

"What's this?" said the doctor, rising from 
his bed. "Please go away, madam!" 

At that moment a maid sent by the countess, 
who had noticed her daughter's absence, 
knocked at the door. 

Like a somnambulist aroused from her sleep 
Natasha went out of the room and, returning 
to her hut, fell sobbing on her bed. 

From that time, during all the rest of the 
Rostovs' journey, at every halting place and 
wherever they spent a night, Natdsha never 
left the wounded Bolk6nski, and the doctor 
had to admit that he had not expected from a 
young girl either such firmness or such skill in 
nursing a wounded man. 

Dreadful as the countess imagined it would 
be should Prince Andrew die in her daughter's 
arms during the journey as, judging by what 
the doctor said, it seemed might easily happen 
she could not oppose Natasha. Though with 
the intimacy now established between the 
wounded man and Natasha the thought oc- 
curred that should he recover their former en- 
gagement would be renewed, no one least of 
all Natasha and Prince Andrew spoke of this: 
the unsettled question of life and death, which 
hung not only over Bolk6nski but over all 
Russia, shut out all other considerations. 

CHAPTER XXXIII 

ON THE THIRD OF SEPTEMBER Pierre awoke late. 
His head was aching, the clothes in which he 
had slept without undressing felt uncomfort- 
able on his body, and his mind had a dim con- 
sciousness of something shameful he had done 
the day before. That something shameful was 
his yesterday's conversation with Captain Ram- 
balle. 

It was eleven by the clock, but it seemed 
peculiarly dark out of doors. Pierre rose, 
rubbed his eyes, and seeing the pistol with an 



engraved stock which Gerasim had replaced 
on the writing table, he remembered where he 
was and what lay before him that very day. 

"Am I not too late?" he thought. "No, prob- 
ably he won't make his entry into Moscow be- 
fore noon." 

Pierre did not allow himself to reflect on 
what lay before him, but hastened to act. 

After arranging his clothes, he took the pis- 
tol and was about to go out. But it then oc- 
curred to him for the first time that he certain- 
ly could not carry the weapon in his hand 
through the streets. It was difficult to hide such 
a big pistol even under his wide coat. He could 
not carry it unnoticed in his belt or under his 
arm. Besides, it had been discharged, and he 
had not had time to reload it. "No matter, the 
dagger will do," he said to himself, though 
when planning his design he had more than 
once come to the conclusion that the chief 
mistake made by the student in 1809 had been 
to try to kill Napoleon with a dagger. But as 
his chief aim consisted not in carrying out his 
design, but in proving to himself that he would 
not abandon his intention and was doing all 
he could to achieve it, Pierre hastily took the 
blunt jagged dagger in a green sheath which 
he had bought at the Sukharev market with 
the pistol, and hid it under his waistcoat. 

Having tied a girdle over his coat and pulled 
his cap low on his head, Pierre went down the 
corridor, trying to avoid making a noise or 
meeting the captain, and passed out into the 
street. 

The conflagration, at which he had looked 
with so much indifference the evening before, 
had greatly increased during the night. Mos- 
cow was on fire in several places. The build- 
ings in Carriage Row, across the river, in the 
Bazaar and the Povarsk6y, as well as the barges 
on the Moskva* River and the timber yards by 
the Dorogomflov Bridge, were all ablaze. 

Pierre's way led through side streets to the 
Povarskoy and from there to the church of St. 
Nicholas on the Arbat, where he had long be- 
fore decided that the deed should be done. The 
gates of most of the houses were locked and 
the shutters up. The streets and lanes were 
deserted. The air was full of smoke and the 
smell of burning. Now and then he met Rus- 
sians with anxious and timid faces, and French- 
men with an air not of the city but of the 
camp, walking in the middle of the streets. 
Both the Russians and the French looked at 
Pierre with surprise. Besides his height and 
stoutness, and the strange morose look of suf- 



5*8 

fering in his face and whole figure, the Rus- 
sians stared at him because they could not make 
out to what class he could belong. The French 
followed him with astonishment in their eyes 
chiefly because Pierre, unlike all the other Rus- 
sians who gazed at the French with fear and 
curiosity, paid no attention to them. At the 
gate of one house three Frenchmen, who were 
explaining something to some Russians who 
did not understand them, stopped Pierre ask- 
ing if he did not know French. 

Pierre shook his head and went on. In an- 
other side street a sentinel standing beside a 
green caisson shouted at him, but only when 
the shout was threateningly repeated and he 
heard the click of the man's musket as he 
raised it did Pierre understand that he had to 
pass on the other side of the street. He heard 
nothing and saw nothing of what went on 
around him. He carried his resolution within 
himself in terror and haste, like something 
dreadful and alien to him, for, after the previ- 
ous night's experience, he was afraid of losing 
it. But he was not destined to bring his mood 
safely to his destination. And even had he not 
been hindered by anything on the way, his 
intention could not now have been carried out, 
for Napoleon had passed the Arbat more than 
four hours previously on his way from the Do- 
rogomflov suburb to the Kremlin, and was 
now sitting in a very gloomy frame of mind in 
a royal study in the Kremlin, giving detailed 
and exact orders as to measures to be taken im- 
mediately to extinguish the fire, to prevent 
looting, and to reassure the inhabitants. But 
Pierre did not know this; he was entirely ab- 
sorbed in what lay before him, and was tor- 
turedas those are who obstinately undertake 
a task that is impossible for them not because 
of its difficulty but because of its incompati- 
bility with their natures by the fear of weaken- 
ing at the decisive moment and so losing his 
self-esteem. 

Though he heard and saw nothing around 
him he found his way by instinct and did not 
go wrong in the side streets that led to the 
Povarsk6y. 

As Pierre approached that street the smoke 
became denser and denser he even felt the 
heat of the fire. Occasionally curly tongues of 
flame rose from under the roofs of the houses. 
He met more people in the streets and they 
were more excited. But Pierre, though he felt 
that something unusual was happening around 
him, did not realize that he was approaching 
the fire. As he was going along a footpath across 



WAR AND PEACE 



a wide-open space adjoining the Povarsk6y on 
one side and the gardens of Prince Gruzfnski's 
house on the other, Pierre suddenly heard the 
desperate weeping of a woman close to him. 
He stopped as if awakening from a dream and 
lifted his head. 

By the side of the path, on the dusty dry 
grass, all sorts of household goods lay in a 
heap : feather beds, a samovar, icons, and trunks. 
On the ground, beside the trunks, sat a thin 
woman no longer young, with long, prominent 
upper teeth, and wearing a black cloak and 
cap. This woman, swaying to and fro and mut- 
tering something, was choking with sobs. Two 
girls of about ten and twelve, dressed in dirty 
short frocks and cloaks, were staring at their 
mother with a look of stupefaction on their 
pale frightened faces. The youngest child, a 
boy of about seven, who wore an overcoat and 
an immense cap evidently not his own, was 
crying in his old nurse's arms. A dirty, bare- 
footed maid was sitting on a trunk, and, hav- 
ing undone her pale-colored plait, was pulling 
it straight and sniffing at her singed hair. The 
woman's husband, a short, round-shouldered 
man in the undress uniform of a civilian of- 
ficial, with sausage-shaped whiskers and show- 
ing under his square-set cap the hair smoothly 
brushed forward over his temples, with ex- 
pressionless face was moving the trunks, which 
were placed one on another, and was dragging 
some garments from under them. 

As soon as she saw Pierre, the woman almost 
threw herself at his feet. 

"Dear people, good Christians, save me, help 
me, dear friends . . . help us, somebody," she 
muttered between her sobs. "My girl . . . My 
daughter 1 My youngest daughter is left be- 
hind. She's burned! Ooh! Was it for this I 
nursed you. . . . Ooh!" 

"Don't, Mary Nikoldevna!" said her hus- 
band to her in a low voice, evidently only to 
justify himself before the stranger. "Sister must 
have taken her, or else where can she be?" he 
added. 

"Monster! Villain!" shouted the woman an- 
grily, suddenly ceasing to weep. "You have no 
heart, you don't feel for your own child! An- 
other man would have rescued her from the 
fire. But this is a monster and neither a man 
nor a father! You, honored sir, are a noble 
man," she went on, addressing Pierre rapidly 
between her sobs. "The fire broke out along- 
side, and blew our way, the maid called out 
Tire!' and we rushed to collect our things. We 
ran out just as we were. . . . This is what we 



BOOK ELEVEN 



529 



have brought away. . . . The icons, and my 
dowry bed, all the rest is lost. We seized the 
children. But not Katie! Oohl O Lord! . . ." 
and again she began to sob. "My child, my dear 
one! Burned, burned!" 

"But where was she left?" asked Pierre. 

From the expression of his animated face 
the woman saw that this man might help her. 

"Oh, dear sir!" she cried, seizing him by the 
legs. "My benefactor, set my heart at ease. . . . 
Anfska,go, you horrid girl, show him the way!" 
she cried to the maid, angrily opening her 
mouth and still farther exposing her long 
teeth. 

"Show me the way, show me, I ... I'll do it," 
gasped Pierre rapidly. 

The dirty maidservant stepped from behind 
the trunk, put up her plait, sighed, and went 
on her short, bare feet along the path. Pierre 
felt as if he had come back to life after a heavy 
swoon. He held his head higher, his eyes shone 
with the light of life, and with swift steps he 
followed the maid, overtook her, and came out 
on the Povarsk6y. The whole street was full of 
clouds of black smoke. Tongues of flame here 
and there broke through that cloud. A great 
number of people crowded in front of the con- 
flagration. In the middle of the street stood a 
French general saying something to those 
around him. Pierre, accompanied by the maid, 
was advancing to the spot where the general 
stood, but the French soldiers stopped him. 

"On ne passe pas!" * cried a voice. 

"This way, uncle," cried the girl. "We'll pass 
through the side street, by the Nikulins'I" 

Pierre turned back, giving a spring now and 
then to keep up with her. She ran across the 
street, turned down a side street to the left, 
and, passing three houses, turned into a yard 
on the right. 

"It's here, close by," said she and, running 
across the yard, opened a gate in a wooden 
fence and, stopping, pointed out to him a small 
wooden wing of the house, which was burning 
brightly and fiercely. One of its sides had fallen 
in, another was on fire, and bright flames issued 
from the openings of the windows and from 
under the roof. 

As Pierre passed through the fence gate, he 
was enveloped by hot air and involuntarily 
stopped. 

"Which is it? Which is your house?" he 
asked. 

"Ooh!" wailed the girl, pointing to the wing. 
"That's it, that was our lodging. You've burned 

10 You can't pass!" 



to death, our treasure, Katie, my precious little 
missy! Ooh!" lamented Aniska, who at the 
sight of the fire felt that she too must give ex- 
pression to her feelings. 

Pierre rushed to the wing, but the heat was 
so great that he involuntarily passed round in 
a curve and came upon the large house that 
was as yet burning only at one end, just below 
the roof, and around which swarmed a crowd 
of Frenchmen. At first Pierre did not realize 
what these men, who were dragging something 
out, were about; but seeing before him a 
Frenchman hitting a peasant with a blunt sa- 
ber and trying to take from him a fox-fur coat, 
he vaguely understood that looting was going 
on there, but he had no time to dwell on that 
idea. 

The sounds of crackling and the din of fall- 
ing walls and ceilings, the whistle and hiss of 
the flames, the excited shouts of the people, 
and the sight of the swayingsmoke, now gather- 
ing into thick black clouds and now soaring 
up with glittering sparks, with here and there 
dense sheaves of flame (now red and now like 
golden fish scales creeping along the walls), 
and the heat and smoke and rapidity of mo- 
tion, produced on Pierre the usual animating 
effects of a conflagration. It had a peculiarly 
strong effect on him because at the sight of the 
fire he felt himself suddenly freed from the 
ideas that had weighed him down. He felt 
young, bright, adroit, and resolute. He ran 
round to the other side of the lodge and was 
about to dash into that part of it which was 
still standing, when just above his head he 
heard several voices shouting and then a crack- 
ing sound and the ring of something heavy 
falling close beside him. 

Pierre looked up and saw at a window of the 
large house some Frenchmen who had just 
thrown out the drawer of a chest, filled with 
metal articles. Other French soldiers standing 
below went up to the drawer. 

"What does this fellow want?" shouted one 
of them referring to Pierre. 

"There's a child in that house. Haven't you 
seen a child?" cried Pierre. 

"What's he talking about? Get along!" said 
several voices, and one of the soldiers, evident- 
ly afraid that Pierre might want to take from 
them some of the plate and bronzes that were 
in the drawer, moved threateningly toward 
him. 

"A child?" shouted a Frenchman fromabove. 
"I did hear something squealing in the garden. 
Perhaps it's his brat that the fellow is look- 



53 

ing for. After all, one must be human, you 

know. . . ." 

"Where is it? Where?" said Pierre. 

"There! There!" shouted the Frenchman at 
the window, pointing to the garden at the back 
of the house. "Wait a bit I'm coming down." 

And a minute or two later the Frenchman, a 
black-eyed fellow with a spot on his cheek, in 
shirt sleeves, really did jump out of a window 
on the ground floor, and clapping Pierre on 
the shoulder ran with him into the garden. 

"Hurry up, you others!" he called out to his 
comrades. "It's getting hot." 

When they reached a gravel path behind 
the house the Frenchman pulled Pierre by the 
arm and pointed to a round, graveled space 
where a three-year-old girl in a pink dress was 
lying under a seat. 

"There is your child! Oh, a girl, so much the 
better!" said the Frenchman. "Good-by, Fatty. 
We must be human, we are all mortal you 
know!" and the Frenchman with the spot on 
his cheek ran back to his comrades. 

Breathless with joy, Pierre ran to the little 
girl and was going to take her in his arms. But 
seeing a stranger the sickly, scrofulous-looking 
child, unattractively like her mother, began to 
yell and run away. Pierre, however, seized her 
and lifted her in his arms. She screamed des- 
perately and angrily and tried with her little 
hands to pull Pierre's hands away and to bite 
them with her slobbering mouth. Pierre was 
seized by a sense of horror and repulsion such 
as he had experienced when touching some 
nasty little animal. But he made an effort not 
to throw the child down and ran with her to 
the large house. It was now, however, impossi- 
ble to get back the way he had come; the maid, 
Anfska, was no longer there, and Pierre with a 
feeling of pity and disgust pressed the wet, 
painfully sobbing child to himself as tenderly 
as he could and ran with her through the gar- 
den seeking another way out. 

CHAPTER XXXIV 

HAVING RUN through different yards and side 
streets, Pierre got back with his little burden 
to the Gruzfnski garden at the corner of the 
Povarsk6y. He did not at first recognize the 
place from which he had set out to look for the 
child, so crowded was it now with people and 
goods that had been dragged out of the houses. 
Besides Russian families who had taken refuge 
here from the fire with their belongings, there 
were several French soldiers in a variety of 
clothing. Pierre took no notice of them. He 



WAR AND PEACE 

hurried to find the family of that civil servant 
in order to restore the daughter to her mother 
and go to save someone else. Pierre felt that he 
had still much to do and to do quickly. Glow- 
ing with the heat and from running, he felt at 
that moment more strongly than ever the sense 
of youth, animation, and determination that 
had come on him when he ran to save the 
child. She had now become quiet and, clinging 
with her little hands to Pierre's coat, sat on his 
arm gazing about her like some little wild ani- 
mal. He glanced at her occasionally with a 
slight smile. He fancied he saw something 
pathetically innocent in that frightened, sickly 
little face. 

He did not find the civil servant or his wife 
where he had left them. He walked among the 
crowd with rapid steps, scanning the various 
faces he met. Involuntarily he noticed a Geor- 
gian or Armenian family consisting of a very 
handsome old man of Oriental type, wearing 
a new, cloth-covered, sheepskin coat and new 
boots, an old woman of similar type, and a 
young woman. That very young woman seemed 
to Pierre the perfection of Oriental beauty, 
with her sharply outlined, arched, black eye- 
brows and the extraordinarily soft, bright col- 
or of her long, beautiful, expressionless face. 
Amid the scattered property and the crowd on 
the open space, she, in her rich satin cloak 
with a bright lilac shawl on her head, suggested 
a delicate exotic plant thrown out onto the 
snow. She was sitting on some bundles a little 
behind the old woman, and looked from un- 
der her long lashes with motionless, large, al- 
mond-shaped eyes at the ground before her. 
Evidently she was aware of her beauty and 
fearful because of it. Her face struck Pierre 
and, hurrying along by the fence, he turned 
several times to look at her. When he had 
reached the fence, still without finding those 
he sought, he stopped and looked about him. 

With the child in his arms his figure was now 
more conspicuous than before, and a group of 
Russians, both men and women, gathered 
about him. 

"Have you lost anyone, my dear fellow? 
You're of the gentry yourself, aren't you? 
Whose child is it?" they asked him. 

Pierre replied that the child belonged to a 
woman in a black coat who had been sitting 
there with her other children, and he asked 
whether anyone knew where she had gone. 

"Why, that must be the Anferovs," said an 
old deacon, addressing a pockmarked peasant 
woman. "Lord have mercy, Lord have mercy!" 



he added in his customary bass. 

"The Anfrovs?No," said the woman. "They 
left in the morning. That must be either Mary 
Nikoldevna's or the Ivanovs'l" 

"He says 'a woman/ and Mary Nikoldevna 
is a lady," remarked a house serf. 

"Do you know her? She's thin, with long 
teeth," said Pierre. 

"That's Mary Nikoldevna! They went in- 
side the garden when these wolves swooped 
down," said the woman, pointing totheFrench 
soldiers. 

"O Lord, have mercy!" added the deacon. 

"Go over that way, they're there. It's shel 
She kept on lamenting and crying," continued 
the woman. "It's she. Here, this way!" 

But Pierre was not listening to the woman. 
He had for some seconds been intently watch- 
ing what was going on a few steps away. He 
was looking at the Armenian family and at 
two French soldiers who had gone up to them. 
One of these, a nimble little man, was wearing 
a blue coat tied round the waist with a rope. 
He had a nightcap on his head and his feet 
were bare. The other, whose appearance par- 
ticularly struck Pierre, was a long, lank, round- 
shouldered, fair-haired man, slow in his move- 
ments and with an idiotic expression of face. 
He wore a woman's loose gown of frieze, blue 
trousers, and large torn Hessian boots. The 
little barefooted Frenchman in the blue coat 
went up to the Armenians and, saying some- 
thing, immediately seized the old man by his 
legs and the old man at once began pulling off 
his boots. The other in the frieze gown stopped 
in front of the beautiful Armenian girl and 
with his hctnds in his pockets stood staring at 
her, motionless and silent. 

"Here, take the child!" said Pierre peremp- 
torily and hurriedly to the woman, handing 
the little girl to her. "Give her back to them, 
give her back!" he almost shouted, putting the 
child, who began screaming, on the ground, 
and again looking at the Frenchman and the 
Armenian family. 

The old man was already sitting barefoot. 
The little Frenchman had secured his second 
boot and was slapping one boot against the 
other. The old man was saying something in a 
voice broken by sobs, but Pierre caught but a 
glimpse of this, his whole attention was di- 
rected to the Frenchman in the frieze gown 
who meanwhile, swaying slowly from side to 
side, had drawn nearer to the young woman 
and taking his hands from his pockets had 
seized her by the neck. 



BOOK ELEVEN 531 

The beautiful Armenian still sat motionless 
and in the same attitude, with her long lashes 
drooping as if she did not see or feel what the 
soldier was doing to her. 

While Pierre was running the few steps that 
separated him from the Frenchman, the tall 
marauder in the frieze gown was already tear- 
ing from her neck the necklace the young 
Armenian was wearing, and the young wom- 
an, clutching at her neck, screamed pierc- 
ingly. 

"Let that woman alone!" exclaimed Pierre 
hoarsely in a furious voice, seizing the soldier 
by his round shoulders and throwing him 
aside. 

The soldier fell, got up, and ran away. But 
his comrade, throwing down the boots and 
drawing his sword, moved threateningly to- 
ward Pierre. 

"Voyons, pas de bStises!" * he cried. 

Pierre was in such a transport of rage that 
he remembered nothing and his strength in- 
creased tenfold. He rushed at the barefooted 
Frenchman and, before the latter had time to 
draw his sword, knocked him off his feet and 
hammered him with his fists. Shouts of ap- 
proval were heard from the crowd around, and 
at the same moment a mounted patrol of French 
Uhlans appeared from round the corner. The 
Uhlans came up at a trot to Pierre and the 
Frenchman and surrounded them. Pierre re- 
membered nothing of what happened after 
that. He only remembered beating someone 
and being beaten and finally feeling that his 
hands were bound and that a crowd of French 
soldters stood around him and were searching 
him. 

"Lieutenant, he has a dagger," were the 
first words Pierre understood. 

"Ah, a weapon?" said the officer and turned 
to the barefooted soldier who had been ar- 
rested with Pierre. "All right, you can tell all 
about it at the court-martial." Then he turned 
to Pierre. "Do you speak French?" 

Pierre looked around him with bloodshot 
eyes and did not reply. His face probably looked 
very terrible, for the officer said something in 
a whisper and four more Uhlans left the 
ranks and placed themselves on both sides of 
Pierre. 

"Do you speak French?" the officer asked 
again, keeping at a distance from Pierre. "Call 
the interpreter." 

A little man in Russian civilian clothes rode 
out from the ranks, and by his clothes and 

1 "Look here, no nonsense!" 



532 WAR AND PEACE 

manner of speaking Pierre at once knew him 
to be a French salesman from one of the Mos- 
cow shops. 

"He does not look like a common man/' said 
the interpreter, after a searching look at Pierre. 

"Ah, he looks very much like an incendiary," 
remarked the officer. "And ask him who he is," 
he added. 

"Who are you?" asked the interpreter in 
poor Russian. "You must answer the chief." 

"I will not tell you who I am. I am your 
prisoner take me!" Pierre suddenly replied in 
French. 

"Ah, ah!" muttered the officer with a frown. 
"Well then, march!" 

A crowd had collected round the Uhlans. 
Nearest to Pierre stood the pockmarked peas- 
ant woman with the little girl, and when the 
patrol started she moved forward. 

"Where are they taking you to, you poor 
dear?" said she. "And the little girl, the little 
girl, what am I to do with her if she's not 
theirs?" said the woman. 

"What does that woman want?" asked the 
officer. 

Pierre was as if intoxicated. His elation in- 



creased at the sight of the little girl he had 
saved. 

"What does she want?" he murmured. "She 
is bringing me my daughter whom I have just 
saved from the flames," said he. "Good-by!" 
And without knowing how this aimless lie had 
escaped him, he went along with resolute and 
triumphant steps between the French soldiers. 

The French patrol was one of those sent out 
through the various streets of Moscow by Du- 
rosnel's order to put a stop to the pillage, and 
especially to catch the incendiaries who, ac- 
cording to the general opinion which had 
that day originated among the higher French 
officers, were the cause of the conflagrations. 
After marching through a number of streets the 
patrol arrested five more Russian suspects: a 
small shopkeeper, two seminary students, a 
peasant, and a house serf, besides several 
looters. But of all these various suspected 
characters, Pierre was considered to be the 
most suspicious of all. When they had all 
been brought for the night to a large house 
on the Zubov Rampart that was being used as 
a guardhouse, Pierre was placed apart under 
strict guard. 



Book Twelve: 1812 



CHAPTER I 

IN PETERSBURG at that time a complicated 
struggle was being carried on with greater heat 
than ever in the highest circles, between the 
parties of Rumyantsev, the French, Marya Fe- 
dorovna, the Tsarvich, and others, drowned 
as usual by the buzzing of the court drones. But 
the calm, luxurious life of Petersburg, con- 
cerned only about phantoms and reflections 
of real life, went on in its old way and made it 
hard, except by a great effort, to realize the 
danger and the difficult position of the Rus- 
sian people. There were the same receptions 
and balls, the same French theater, the same 
court interests and service interests and in- 
trigues as usual. Only in the very highest cir- 
cles were attempts made to keep in mind the 
difficulties of the actual position. Stories were 
whispered of how differently the two Empresses 
behaved in these difficult circumstances. The 
Empress Marya, concerned for the welfare of 
the charitable and educational institutions un- 
der her patronage, had given directions that 
they should all be removed to Kazdn, and the 
things belonging to these institutions had al- 
ready been packed up. The Empress Elisabeth, 
however, when asked what instructions she 
would be pleased to give with her characteris- 
tic Russian patriotism had replied that she 
could give no directions about state institu- 
tions for that was the affair of the sovereign, 
but as far as she personally was concerned she 
would be the last to quit Petersburg. 

At Anna Pavlovna's on the twenty-sixth of 
August, the very day of the battle of Borodin6, 
there was a soiree, the chief feature of which 
was to be the reading of a letter from His Lord- 
ship the Bishop when sending the Emperor 
an icon of the Venerable Sergius. It was re- 
garded af a model of ecclesiastical, patriotic 
eloquence. Prince Vasili himself, famed for his 
elocution, was to read it. (He used to read at 
the Empress'.) The art of his reading was sup- 
posed to lie in rolling out the words, quite in- 
dependently of their meaning, in a loud and 



singsong voice alternating between a despair- 
ing wail and a tender murmur, so that the 
wail fell quite at random on one word and the 
murmur on another. This reading, as was al- 
ways the case at Anna Pavlovna's soirees, had 
a political significance. That evening she ex- 
pected several important personages who had 
to be made ashamed of their visits to the French 
theater and aroused to a patriotic temper. A 
good many people had already arrived, but 
Anna Pavlovna, not yet seeing all those whom 
she wanted in her drawing room, did not let 
the reading begin but wound up the springs of 
a general conversation. 

The news of the day in Petersburg was the 
illness of Countess Bezukhova. She had fallen 
ill unexpectedly a few days previously, had 
missed several gatherings of which she was 
usually the ornament, and was said to be receiv- 
ing no one, and instead of the celebrated Pe- 
tersburg doctors who usually attended her had 
entrusted herself to some Italian doctor who 
was treating her in some new and unusual 
way. 

They all knew very well that the enchanting 
countess' illness arose from an inconvenience 
resulting from marrying two husbands at the 
same time, and that the Italian's cure consist- 
ed in removing such inconvenience; but in 
Anna Pavlovna's presence no one dared to 
think of this or even appear to know it. 

"They say the poor countess is very ill. The 
doctor says it is angina pectoris." 

"Angina? Oh, that's a terrible illness!" 

"They say that the rivals are reconciled, 
thanks to the angina . . ." and the word angina 
was repeated with great satisfaction. 

"The old count is pathetic, they say. He cried 
like a child when the doctor told him the case 
was dangerous." 

"Oh, it would be a terrible loss, she is an en- 
chanting woman." 

"You are speaking of the poor countess?" 
said Anna Pavlovna, coming up just then. "I 
sent to ask for news, and hear that she is a lit- 



534 



WAR AND PEACE 



tie better. Oh, she is certainly the most charm- 
ing woman in the world," she went on, with a 
smile at her own enthusiasm. "We belong to 
different camps, but that does not prevent my 
esteeming her as she deserves. She is very un- 
fortunate!" added Anna Pdvlovna. 

Supposing that by these words Anna Pav- 
lovna was somewhat lifting the veil from the 
secret of the countess' malady, an unwary young 
man ventured to express surprise that well- 
known doctors had not been called in and that 
the countess was being attended by a charlatan 
who might employ dangerous remedies. 

"Your information may be better than mine," 
Anna Pavlovna suddenly and venomously re- 
torted on the inexperienced young man, "but 
I know on good authority that this doctor is a 
very learned and able man. He is private phy- 
sician to the Queen of Spain." 

And having thus demolished the young man, 
Anna Pavlovna turned to another group where 
Bilibin was talking about the Austrians: hav- 
ing wrinkled up his face he was evidently pre- 
paring to smooth it out again and utter one of 
his mots. 

"I think it is delightful," he said, referring 
to a diplomatic note that had been sent to Vi- 
enna with some Austrian banners captured 
from the French by Wittgenstein, "the hero of 
Petropol" as he was then called in Petersburg. 

"What? What's that?" asked Anna Pdvlovna, 
securing silence for the mot, which she had 
heard before. 

And Bilfbin repeated the actual words of 
the diplomatic dispatch, which he had himself 
composed. 

"The Emperor returns these Austrian ban- 
ners," said Bilibin, "friendly banners gone 
astray and found on a wrong path," and his 
brow became smooth again. 

"Charming, charming!" observed Prince 
Vasili. 

"The path to Warsaw, perhaps," Prince Hip- 
polyte remarked loudly and unexpectedly. Ev- 
erybody looked at him, not understanding what 
he meant. Prince Hippolyte himself glanced 
around with amused surprise. He knew no 
more than the others what his words meant. 
During his diplomatic career he had more than 
once noticed that such utterances were re- 
ceived as very witty, and at every opportunity 
he uttered in that way the first words that en- 
tered his head. "It may turn out very well," he 
thought, "but if not, they'll know how to ar- 
range matters." And really, during the awk- 
ward silence that ensued, that insufficiently pa- 



triotic person entered whom Anna Pdvlovna 
had been waiting for and wished to convert, 
and she, smiling and shaking a finger at Hip- 
polyte, invited Prince Vasfli to the table and 
bringing him two candles and the manuscript 
begged him to begin. Everyone became silent. 

"Most Gracious Sovereign and Emperor!" Prince 
Vasili sternly declaimed, looking round at his au- 
dience as if to inquire whether anyone had any- 
thing to say to the contrary. But no one said any- 
thing. "Moscow, our ancient capital, the New Jeru- 
salem, receives her Christ" he placed a sudden 
emphasis on the word her "as a mother receives 
her /calous sons into her arms, and through the 
gathering mists, foreseeing the brilliant glory of thy 
rule, sings in exultation, 'Hosanna, blessed is he 
that cometh!' " 

Prince Vasili pronounced these last words 
in a tearful voice. 

Bilibin attentively examined his nails, and 
many of those present appeared intimidated, 
as if asking in what they were to blame. Anna 
Pdvlovna whispered the next words in advance, 
like an old woman muttering the prayer at 
Communion: "Let the bold and insolent Goli- 
ath . . ." she whispered. 

Prince Vasili continued. 

"Let the bold and insolent Goliath from the 
borders of France encompass the realms of Russia 
with death-bearing terrors; humble Faith, the 
sling of the Russian David, shall suddenly smite his 
head in his blood-thirsty pride. This icon of the 
Venerable Sergius, the servant of God and zealous 
champion of old of our country's weal, is offered 
to Your Imperial Majesty. I grieve that my wan- 
ing strength prevents my rejoicing in the sight of 
your most gracious presence. 1 raise fervent prayers 
to Heaven that the Almighty may exalt the race of 
the just, and mercifully fulfill the desires of Your 
Majesty." 

"What force! What a style!" was uttered in 
approval both of reader and of author. 

Animated by that address Anna Pdvlovna's 
guests talked for a long time of the state of the 
fatherland and offered various conjectures as 
to the result of the battle to be fought in a few 
days. 

"You will see," said Anna Pdvlovna, "that to- 
morrow, on the Emperor's birthday, we shall 
receive news. I have a favorable presentiment!" 

CHAPTER II 

ANNA PAVLOVNA'S presentiment was in fact ful- 
filled. Next day during the service at the palace 
church in honor of the Emperor's birthday, 
Prince Volkdnski was called out of the church 
and received a dispatch from Prince Kutuzov. 



BOOK TWELVE 



535 



It was Kutuzov's report, written from Tatari- 
nova on the day of the battle. Kunizov wrote 
that the Russians had not retreated a step, that 
the French losses were much heavier than ours, 
and that he was writing in haste from the field 
of battle before collecting full information. It 
followed that there must have been a victory. 
And at once, without leaving the church, thanks 
were rendered to the Creator for His help and 
for the victory. 

Anna Pavlovna's presentiment was justified, 
and all that morning a joyously festive mood 
reigned in the city. Everyone believed the vic- 
tory to have been complete, and some even 
spoke of Napoleon's having been captured, of 
his deposition, and of the choice of a new ruler 
for France. 

It is very difficult for events to be reflected in 
their real strength and completeness amid the 
conditions of court life and far from the scene 
of action. General events involuntarily group 
themselves around some particular incident. 
So now the courtiers' pleasure was based as 
much on the fact that the news had arrived on 
the Emperor's birthday as on the fact of the 
victory itself. It was like a successfully arranged 
surprise. Mention was made in Kutuzov's re- 
port of the Russian losses, among which fig- 
ured the names of Tuchk6v, Bagrati6n, and 
Kutaysov. In the Petersburg world this sad 
side of the affair again involuntarily centered 
round a single incident: Kutdysov's death. Ev- 
erybody knew him, the Emperor liked him, and 
he was young and interesting. That day every- 
one met with the words: 

"What a wonderful coincidence! Just during 
the service. But what a loss Kutdysov is! How 
sorry I am!" 

"Whatdid I tell you about Kutiizov?" Prince 
Vasfli now said with a prophet's pride. "1 al- 
ways said he was the only man capable of de- 
feating Napoleon." 

But next day no news arrived from the army 
and the public mood grew anxious. The 
courtiers suffered because of the suffering the 
suspense occasioned the Emperor. 

"Fancy the Emperor's position!" said they, 
and instead of extolling Kutiizov as they had 
done the day before, they condemned him as 
the cause of the Emperor's anxiety. That day 
Prince Vasili no longer boasted of his protege* 
Kutiizov, but remained silent when the com- 
mander in chief was mentioned. Moreover, 
toward evening, as if everything conspired to 
make Petersburg society anxious and uneasy, 
a terrible piece of news was added. Countess 



Hdene Beziikhova had suddenly died of that 
terrible malady it had been so agreeable to 
mention. Officially, at large gatherings, every- 
one said that Countess Beziikhova had died of 
a terrible attack of angina pectoris, but in in- 
timate circles details were mentioned of how 
the private physician of the Queen of Spain 
had prescribed small doses of a certain drug to 
produce a certain effect; but H61ne, tortured 
by the fact that the old count suspected her 
and that her husband to whom she had written 
(that wretched, profligate Pierre) had not re- 
plied, had suddenly taken a very large dose of 
the drug, and had died in agony before assist- 
ance could be rendered her. It was said that 
Prince Vasfli and the old count had turned 
upon the Italian, but the latter had produced 
such letters from the unfortunate deceased 
that they had immediately let the matter drop. 

Talk in general centered round three melan- 
choly facts: the Emperor's lack of news, the loss 
of Kutaysov, and the death of Hlne. 

On the third day after Kutuzov's report a 
country gentleman arrived from Moscow, and 
news of the surrender of Moscow to the French 
spread through the whole town. This was ter- 
rible! What a position for the Emperor to be 
in! Kutiizov was a traitor, and Prince Vasfli 
during the visits of condolence paid to him 
on the occasion of his daughter's death said of 
Kutiizov, whom he had formerly praised (it 
was excusable for him in his grief to forget what 
he had said), that it was impossible to expect 
anything else from a blind and depraved old 
man. 

"I only wonder that the fate of Russia could 
have been entrusted to such a man." 

As long as this news remained unofficial it 
was possible to doubt it, but the next day the 
following communication was received from 
Count Rostopchin: 

Prince Kutiizo\ 's adjutant has brought me a let- 
ter in which he demands police officers to guide 
the army to the Ryazan road. He writes that he is 
regretfully abandoning Moscow. Sire! Kutuzov's 
action decides the fate of the capital and of your 
empire! Russia will shudder to learn of the aban- 
donment of the city in which her greatness is cen- 
tered and in which lie the ashes of your ancestors! 
I shall follow the army. I have had everything re- 
moved, and it only remains for me to weep over 
the fate of my fatherland. 

On receiving this dispatch the Emperor sent 
Prince Volk6nski to Kutiizov with the follow- 
ing rescript: 

Prince Michael Ilari6novich! Since the twenty- 



536 

ninth of August I have received no communica- 
tion from you, yet on the first of September I re- 
ceived from the commander in chief of Moscow, 
via Yaroslavl, the sad news that you, with the 
army, have decided to abandon Moscow. You can 
yourself imagine the effect this news has had on 
me, and your silence increases my astonishment. I 
am sending this by Adjutant-General Prince Vol- 
kdnski, to hear from you the situation of the army 
and the reasons that have induced you to take this 
melancholy decision. 

CHAPTER III 

NINE DAYS after the abandonment of Moscow, 
a messenger from Kutuzov reached Petersburg 
with the official announcement of that event. 
This messenger was Michaud, a Frenchman 
who did not know Russian, but who was quoi- 
que Stranger, russe de cceur et d'dme* as he 
said of himself. 

The Emperor at once received this messenger 
in his study at the palace on Stone Island. Mi- 
chaud, who had never seen Moscow before the 
campaign and who did not know Russian, yet 
felt deeply moved (as he wrote) when he ap- 
peared before notre trts gracieux souverain * 
with the news of the burning of Moscow, dont 
les flammes tclairaient sa route. 3 

Though the source of M. Michaud's chagrin 
must have been different from that which 
caused Russians to grieve, he had such a sad 
face when shown into the Emperor's study that 
the latter at once asked: 

"Have you brought me sad news, Colonel?" 

"Very sad, sire/' replied Michaud, lowering 
his eyes with a sigh. "The abandonment of 
Moscow." 

"Have they surrendered my ancient capital 
without a battle?" asked the Emperor quickly, 
his face suddenly flushing. 

Michaud respectfully delivered the message 
Kutuzov had entrusted to him, which was that 
it had been impossible to fight before Moscow, 
and that as the only remaining choice was be- 
tween losing the army as well as Moscow, or 
losing Moscow alone, the field marshal had to 
choose the latter. 

The Emperor listened in silence, not look- 
ing at Michaud. 

"Has the enemy entered the city?" he asked. 

"Yes, sire, and Moscow is now in ashes. I 
left it all in flames," replied Michaud in a de- 
cided tone, but glancing at the Emperor he 
was frightened by what he had done. 

1 Though a foreigner, Russian in heart and soul. 

* Our most gracious sovereign. 

' Whose flames illumined his route. 



WAR AND PEACE 

The Emperor began to breathe heavily and 
rapidly, his lower lip trembled, and tears in- 
stantly appeared in his fine blue eyes. 

But this lasted only a moment. He suddenly 
frowned, as if blaming himself for his weakness, 
and raising his head addressed Michaud in a 
firm voice: 

"I see, Colonel, from all that is happening, 
that Providence requires great sacrifices of us. 
... I am ready to submit myself in all things 
to His will; but tell me, Michaud, how did you 
leave the army when it saw my ancient capital 
abandoned without a battle? Did you not no- 
tice discouragement? . . ." 

Seeing that his most gracious ruler was calm 
once more, Michaud also grew calm, but was 
not immediately ready to reply to the Emper- 
or's direct and relevant question which re- 
quired a direct answer. 

"Sire, will you allow me to speak frankly 
as befits a loyal soldier?" he asked to gain time. 

"Colonel, I always require it," replied the 
Emperor. "Conceal nothing from me, I wish 
to know absolutely how things are." 

"Sirel" said Michaud with a subtle, scarcely 
perceptible smile on his lips, having now pre- 
pared a well-phrased reply, "sire, I left the 
whole army, from its chiefs to the lowest sol- 
dier, without exception in desperate and ago- 
nized terror . . ." 

"How is that?" the Emperor interrupted 
him, frowning sternly. "Would misfortune 
make my Russians lose heart? . . . Never!" 

Michaud had only waited for this to bring 
out the phrase he had prepared. 

"Sire," he said, with respectful playfulness, 
"they are only afraid lest Your Majesty, in the 
goodness of your heart, should allow yourself 
to be persuaded to make peace. They are burn- 
ing for the combat," declared this representa- 
tive of the Russian nation, "and to prove to 
Your Majesty by the sacrifice of their lives how 
devoted they are " 

"Ah!" said the Emperor reassured, and with 
a kindly gleam in his eyes, he patted Michaud 
on the shoulder. "You set me at ease, Colonel." 

He bent his head and was silent for some 
time. 

"Well, then, go back to the army/' he said, 
drawing himself up to his full height and ad- 
dressing Michaud with a gracious and majestic 
gesture, "and tell our brave men and all my 
good subjects wherever you go that when I have 
not a soldier left I shall put myself at the head 
of my beloved nobility and my good peasants 
andsouse the last resources of my empire. It still 



offers me more than my enemies suppose," said 
the Emperor growing more and more ani- 
mated; "but should it ever be ordained by Di- 
vine Providence," he continued, raising to heav- 
en his fine eyes shining with emotion, "that my 
dynasty should cease to reign on the throne of 
my ancestors, then after exhausting all the 
means at my command, I shall let my beard 
grow to here" (he pointed halfway down his 
chest) "and go and eat potatoes with the mean- 
est of my peasants, rather than sign the dis- 
grace of my country and of my beloved people 
whose sacrifices I know how to appreciate." 

Having uttered these words in an agitated 
voice the Emperor suddenly turned away as if 
to hide from Michaud the tears that rose to his 
eyes, and went to the further end of his study. 
Having stood there a few moments, he strode 
back to Michaud and pressed his arm below 
the elbow with a vigorous movement. The Em- 
peror's mild and handsome face was flushed 
and his eyes gleamed with resolution and an- 
ger. 

"Colonel Michaud, do not forget what I say 
to you here, perhaps we may recall it with pleas- 
ure someday . . . Napoleon or I," said the Em- 
peror, touching his breast. "We can no longer 
both reign together. I have learned to know 
him, and he will not deceive me any more. . . ." 

And the Emperor paused, with a frown. 

When he heard these words and saw the ex- 
pression of firm resolution in the Emperor's 
eyes, Michaud quoique etranger, russe de 
cceur et d'dmeat that solemn moment felt 
himself enraptured by all that he had heard 
(as he used afterwards to say), and gave ex- 
pression to his own feelings and those of the 
Russian people whose representative he con- 
sidered himself to be, in the following words: 

"Sirel" said he, "Your Majesty is at this mo- 
ment signing the glory of the nation and the 
salvation of Europe!" 

With an inclination of the head the Emper- 
or dismissed him. 



CHAPTER IV 

IT is NATURAL for us who were not living in 
those days to imagine that when half Russia 
had been conquered and the inhabitants were 
fleeing to distant provinces, and one levy after 
another was being raised for the defense of the 
fatherland, all Russians from the greatest to 
the least were solely engaged in sacrificing 
themselves, saving their fatherland, or weep- 
ing over its downfall. The tales and descrip- 
tions of that time without exception speak on- 



BOOK TWELVE 537 

ly of the self-sacrifice, patriotic devotion, de- 
spair, grief, and the heroism of the Russians. 
But it was not really so. It appears so to us be- 
cause we see only the general historic interest 
of that time and do not see all the personal 
human interests that people had. Yet in reality 
those personal interests of the moment so much 
transcend the general interests that they al- 
ways prevent the public interest from being felt 
or even noticed. Most of the people at that 
time paid no attention to the general progress 
of events but were guided only by their private 
interests, and they were the very people whose 
activities at that period were most useful. 

Those who tried to understand the general 
course of events and to take part in it by self- 
sacrifice and heroism were the most useless 
members of society, they saw everything up- 
side down, and all they did for the common 
good turned out to be useless and foolishlike 
Pierre's and Mamonov's regiments which loot- 
ed Russian villages, and the lint the young 
ladies prepared and that never reached the 
wounded, and so on. Even those, fond of in- 
tellectual talk and of expressing their feelings, 
who discussed Russia's position at the time in- 
voluntarily introduced into their conversation 
either a shade of pretense and falsehood or use- 
less condemnation and anger directed against 
people accused of actions no one could pos- 
sibly be guilty of. In historic events the rule 
forbidding us to eat of the fruit of the Tree of 
Knowledge is specially applicable. Only un- 
conscious action bears fruit, and he who plays 
a part in an historic event never understands 
its significance. If he tries to realize it his efforts 
are fruitless. 

The more closely a man was engaged in the 
events then taking place in Russia the less did 
he realize their significance. In Petersburg and 
in the provinces at a distance from Moscow, 
ladies, and gentlemen in militia uniforms, 
wept for Russia and its ancient capital and 
talked of self-sacrifice and so on; but in the ar- 
my which retired beyond Moscow there was 
little talk or thought of Moscow, and when 
they caught sight of its burned ruins no one 
swore to be avenged on the French, but they 
thought about their next pay, their next quar- 
ters, of Matreshka the vivandiere, and like 
matters. 

As the war had caught him in the service, 
Nicholas Rost6v took a close and prolonged 
part in the defense of his country, but did so 
casually, without any aim at self-sacritice, and 
he therefore looked at what was going on in 



538 WAR AND PEACE 

Russia without despair and without dismally 
racking his brains over it. Had he been asked 
what he thought of the state of Russia, he 
would have said that it was not his business to 
think about it, that Kutuzov and others were 
there for that purpose, but that he had heard 
that the regiments were to be made up to their 
full strength, that fighting would probably go 
on for a long time yet, and that things being 
so it was quite likely he might be in command 
of a regiment in a couple of years' time. 

As he looked at the matter in this way, he 
learned that he was being sent to Voronezh to 
buy remounts for his division, not only with- 
out regret at being prevented from taking part 
in the coming battle, but with the greatest 
pleasure which he did not conceal and which 
his comrades fully understood. 

A few days before the battle of Borodin6, 
Nicholas received the necessary money and war- 
rants, and having sent some hussars on in ad- 
vance, he set out with post horses for Vor6nezh. 

Only a man who has experienced it that is, 
has passed some months continuously in an at- 
mosphere of campaigning and war can under- 
stand the delight Nicholas felt when he es- 
caped from the region covered by the army's 
foraging operations, provision trains, and hos- 
pitals. When free from soldiers, wagons, and 
the filthy traces of a camp he saw villages with 
peasants and peasant women, gentlemen's 
country houses, fields where cattle were graz- 
ing, posthouses with stationmasters asleep in 
them, he rejoiced as though seeing all this for 
the first time. What for a long while specially 
surprised and delighted him were the women, 
young and healthy, without a dozen officers 
making up to each of them; women, too, who 
were pleased and flattered that a passing offi- 
cer should joke with them. 

In the highest spirits Nicholas arrived at 
night at a hotel in Vor6nezh, ordered things 
he had long been deprived of in camp, and 
next day, very clean-shaven and in a full-dress 
uniform he had not worn for a long time, went 
to present himself to the authorities. 

The commander of the militia was a civilian 
general, an old man who was evidently pleased 
with his military designation and rank. He re- 
ceived Nicholas brusquely (imagining this to 
be characteristically military) and questioned 
him with an important air, as if considering 
the general progress of affairs and approving 
and disapproving with full right to do so. 
Nicholas was in such good spirits that this 
merely amused him. 



From the commander of the militia he drove 
to the governor. The governor was a brisk 
little man, very simple and affable. He indi- 
cated the stud farms at which Nicholas might 
procure horses, recommended to him a horse 
dealer in the town and a landowner fourteen 
miles out of town who had the best horses, and 
promised to assist him in every way. 

"You are Count Ilyi Rost6v's son? My wife 
was a great friend of your mother's. We are at 
home on Thursdays today is Thursday, so 
please come and see us quite informally," said 
the governor, taking leave of him. 

Immediately on leaving the governor's, Nich- 
olas hired post horses and, taking his squad- 
ron quartermaster with him, drove at a gallop 
to the landowner, fourteen miles away, who 
had the stud. Everything seemed to him pleas- 
ant and easy during that first part of his stay 
in Vor6nezh and, as usually happens when a 
man is in a pleasant state of mind, everything 
went well and easily. 

The landowner to whom Nicholas went was 
a bachelor, an old cavalryman, a horse fancier, 
a sportsman, the possessor of some century-old 
brandy and some old Hungarian wine, who 
had a snuggery where he smoked, and who 
owned some splendid horses. 

In very few words Nicholas bought seven- 
teen picked stallions for six thousand rubles 
to serve, as he said, as samples of his remounts. 
After dining and taking rather too much of 
the Hungarian wine, Nicholas having ex- 
changed kisses with the landowner, with whom 
he was already on the friendliest terms gal- 
loped back over abominable roads, in the 
brightest frame of mind, continually urging 
on the driver so as to be in time for the gov- 
ernor's party. 

When he had changed, poured water over 
his head, and scented himself, Nicholas arrived 
at the governor's rather late, but with the 
phrase "better late than never" on his lips. 

It was not a ball, nor had dancing been an- 
nounced, but everyone knew that Catherine 
Petr6vna would play valses and the tcossaise 
on the clavichord and that there would be 
dancing, and so everyone had corneas to a ball. 

Provincial life in 1812 went on very much 
as usual, but with this difference, that it was 
livelier in the towns in consequence of the ar- 
rival of many wealthy families from Moscow, 
and as in everything that went on in Russia at 
that time a special recklessness was noticeable, 
an "in for a penny, in for a poundwho cares?" 
spirit, and the inevitable small talk, instead of 



BOOK TWELVE 



5S9 



turning on the weather and mutual acquaint- 
ances, now turned on Moscow, the army, and 
Napoleon. 

The society gathered together at the gover- 
nor's was the best in Vor6nezh. 

There were a great many ladies and some of 
Nicholas* Moscow acquaintances, but there 
were no men who could at all vie with the cav- 
alier of St. George, the hussar remount officer, 
the good-natured and well-bred Count Rost6v. 
Among the men was an Italian prisoner, an 
officer of the French army; and Nicholas felt that 
the presence of that prisoner enhanced his own 
importance as a Russian hero. The Italian was, 
as it were, a war trophy. Nicholas felt this, it 
seemed to him that everyone regarded the Ital- 
ian in the same light, and he treated him cor- 
dially though with dignity and restraint. 

As soon as Nicholas entered in his hussar 
uniform, diffusing around him a fragrance of 
perfume and wine, and had uttered the words 
"better late than never" and heard them re- 
peated several times by others, people clustered 
around him; all eyes turned on him, and he 
felt at once that he had entered into his prop- 
er position in the province that of a universal 
favorite: a very pleasant position, and intox- 
icatingly so after his long privations. At post- 
ing stations, at inns, and in the landowner's 
snuggery, maidservants had been flattered by 
his notice, and here too at the governor's party 
there were (as it seemed to Nicholas) an inex- 
haustible number of pretty young women, mar- 
ried and unmarried, impatiently awaiting his 
notice. The women and girls flirted with him 
and, from the first day, the old people concerned 
themselves to get this fine young daredevil of an 
hussar married and settled down. Among these 
was the governor's wife herself, who welcomed 
Rost6v as a near relative and called him "Nich- 
olas." 

Catherine Petrdvna did actually play valses 
and the tcossaise, and dancing began in which 
Nicholas still further captivated the provincial 
society by his agility. His particularly free man- 
ner of dancing even surprised them all. Nicho- 
las was himself rather surprised at the way he 
danced that evening. He had never danced like 
that in Moscow and would even have consid- 
ered such a very free and easy manner improp- 
er and in bad form, but here he felt it incum- 
bent on him to astonish them all by something 
unusual, something they would have to accept 
as the regular thing in the capital though new 
to them in the provinces. 

All the evening Nicholas paid attention to a 



blue-eyed, plump and pleasing little blonde, 
the wife of one of the provincial officials. With 
the naive conviction of young men in a merry 
mood that other men's wives were created for 
them, Rost6v did not leave the lady's side and 
treated her husband in a friendly and conspira- 
torial style, as if, without speaking of it, they 
knew how capitally Nicholas and the lady 
would get on together. The husband, however, 
did not seem to share that conviction and tried 
to behave morosely with Rost6v. But the lat- 
ter's good-natured nai'vet was so boundless 
that sometimes even he involuntarily yielded 
to Nicholas* good humor. Toward the end of 
the evening, however, as the wife's face grew 
more flushed and animated, the husband's be- 
came more and more melancholy and solemn, 
as though there were but a given amount of 
animation between them and as the wife's 
share increased the husband's diminished. 

CHAPTER V 

NICHOLAS SAT leaning slightly forward in an 
armchair, bending closely over the blonde lady 
and paying her mythological compliments with 
a smile that never left his face. Jauntily shift- 
ing the position of his legs in their tight rid- 
ing breeches, diffusing an odor of perfume, 
and admiring his partner, himself, and the fine 
outlines of his legs in their well-fitting Hessian 
boots, Nicholas told the blonde lady that he 
wished to run away with a certain lady here in 
Vor6nezh. 

"Which lady?" 

"A charming lady, a divine one. Her eyes" 
(Nicholas looked at his partner) "are blue, her 
mouth coral and ivory; her figure" (he glanced 
at her shoulders) "like Diana's. . . ." 

The husband came up and sullenly asked his 
wife what she was talking about. 

"Ah, Nikita Ivzhiych!" cried Nicholas, rising 
politely, and as if wishing Nikita Ivnych to 
share his joke, he began to tell him of his in- 
tention to elope with a blonde lady. 

The husband smiled gloomily, the wife gaily. 
The governor's good-natured wife came up 
with a look of disapproval. 

"Anna Ignityevna wants to see you, Nicho- 
las," said she, pronouncing the name so that 
Nicholas at once understood that Anna Ignat- 
yevna was a very important person. "Come, 
Nicholasl You know you let me call you so?" 

"Oh, yes, Aunt. Who is she?" 

"Anna Igndtyevna Malvintseva. She has 
heard from her niece how you rescued her. . . . 
Can you guess?" 



540 

"I rescued such a lot of them!" said Nic^io- 
las. 

"Her niece, Princess Bolk6nskaya. She is here 
in Vor6nezh with her aunt. Oho! How you 
blush. Why, are . . . ?" 

"Not a bit! Please don't, Aunt!" 

"Very well, very well! . . . Oh, what a fellow 
you are!" 

The governor's wife led him up to a tall and 
very stout old lady with a blue headdress, who 
had just finished her game of cards with the 
most important personages of the town. This 
was Malvintseva, Princess Mary's aunt on her 
mother's side, a rich, childless widow who al- 
ways lived in Voronezh. When Rost6v ap- 
proached her she was standing settling up for 
the game. She looked at him and, screwing up 
her eyes sternly, continued to upbraid the gen- 
eral who had won from her. 

"Very pleased, mon cher" she then said, 
holding out her hand to Nicholas. "Pray come 
and see me." 

After a few words about Princess Mary and 
her late father, whom Malvintseva had evident- 
ly not liked, and having asked what Nicholas 
knew of Prince Andrew, who also was evident- 
ly no favorite of hers, the important old lady 
dismissed Nicholas after repeating her invita- 
tion to come to see her. 

Nicholas promised to come and blushed 
again as he bowed. At the mention of Princess 
Mary he experienced a feeling of shyness and 
even of fear, which he himself did not under- 
stand. 

When he had parted from Malvintseva Nich- 
olas wished to return to the dancing, but the 
governor's little wife placed her plump hand 
on his sleeve and, saying that she wanted to 
have a talk with him, led him to her sitting 
room, from which those who were there imme- 
diately withdrew so as not to be in her way. 

"Do you know, dear boy," began the gov- 
ernor's wife with a serious expression on her 
kind little face, "that really would be the match 
for you: would you like me to arrange it?" 

"Whom do you mean, Aunt?" asked Nicho- 
las. 

"I will make a match for you with the prin- 
cess. Catherine Petr6vna speaks of Lily, but I 
say, no the princess! Do you want me to do it? 
I am sure your mother will be grateful to me. 
What a charming girl she is, really! And she 
is not at all so plain, either." 

"Not at all," replied Nicholas as if offended 
at the idea. "As befits a soldier, Aunt, I don't 
force myself on anyone or refuse anything," he 



AND PEACE 

said before he had time to consider what he 
was saying. 

"Well then, remember, this is not a joke!" 

"Of course not!" 

"Yes, yes," the governor's wife said as if talk- 
ing to herself. "But, my dear boy, among oth- 
er things you are too attentive to the other, 
the blonde. One is sorry for the husband, 
really. . . ." 

"Oh no, we are good friends with him," said 
Nicholas in the simplicity of his heart; it did 
not enter his head that a pastime so pleasant 
to himself might not be pleasant to someone 
else. 

"But what nonsense 1 have been saying to 
the governor's wife!" thought Nicholas sud- 
denly at supper. "She will really begin to ar- 
range a match . . . and Sonya . . . ?" And on 
taking leave of the governor's wife, when she 
again smilingly said to him, "Well then, re- 
member!" he drew her aside. 

"But see here, to tell you the truth, Aunt . . ." 

"What is it, my dear? Come, let's sit down 
here," said she. 

Nicholas suddenly felt a desire and need to 
tell his most intimate thoughts (which he 
would not have told to his mother, his sister, 
or his friend) to this woman who was almost a 
stranger. When he afterwards recalled that im- 
pulse to unsolicited and inexplicable frankness 
which had very important results for him, it 
seemed to him as it seems to everyone in such 
cases that it was merely some silly whim that 
seized him: yet that burst of frankness, to- 
gether with other trifling events, had immense 
consequences for him and for all his family. 

"You see, Aunt, Mamma has long wanted 
me to marry an heiress, but the very idea of 
marrying for money is repugnant to me." 

"Oh yes, I understand," said the governor's 
wife. 

"But Princess Bolk6nskaya that's another 
matter. I will tell you the truth. In the first 
place I like her very much, I feel drawn to her; 
and then, after I met her under such circum- 
stancesso strangely, the idea of ten occurred to 
me: 'This is fate.' Especially if you remember 
that Mamma had long been thinking of it; but 
I had never happened to meet her before, some- 
how it had always happened that we did not 
meet. And as long as my sister Natasha was en- 
gaged to her brother it was of course out of 
the question for me to think of marrying her. 
And it must needs happen that I should meet 
her just when Natdsha's engagement had been 
broken off ... and then everything , , . So you 



BOOK TWELVE 



see ... I never told this to anyone and never 
will, only to you." 

The governor's wife pressed his elbow grate- 
fully. 

"You know S6nya, my cousin? I love her, and 
promised to marry her, and will do so. ... So 
you see there can be no question about" said 
Nicholas incoherently and blushing. 

"My dear boy, what a way to look at it! You 
know S6nya has nothing and you yourself say 
your Papa's affairs are in a very bad way. And 
what about your mother? It would kill her, 
that's one thing. And what sort of life would 
it be for S6nya if she's a girl with a heart? 
Your mother in despair, and you all ruined. . . . 
No, my dear, you and S6nya ought to under- 
stand that." 

Nicholas remained silent. It comforted him 
to hear these arguments. 

"All the same, Aunt, it is impossible," he re- 
joined with a sigh, after a short pause. "Be- 
sides, would the princess have me? And besides, 
she is now in mourning. How can one think of 
it!" 

"But you don't suppose I'm going to get you 
married at once? There is always a right way 
of doing things," replied the governor's wife. 

"What a matchmaker you are, Aunt . . ." said 
Nicholas, kissing her plump little hand. 

CHAPTER VI 

ON REACHING Moscow after her meeting with 
Rost6v, Princess Mary had found her nephew 
there with his tutor, and a letter from Prince 
Andrew giving her instructions how to get to 
her Aunt Malvfntseva at Vor6nezh. That feel- 
ing akin to temptation which had tormented 
her during her father's illness, since his death, 
and especially since her meeting with Rost6v 
was smothered by arrangements for the jour- 
ney, anxiety about her brother, settling in a 
new house, meeting new people, and attend- 
ing to her nephew's education. She was sad. 
Now, after a month passed in quiet sur- 
roundings, she felt more and more deeply the 
loss of her father which was associated in her 
mind with the ruin of Russia. She was agitat- 
ed and incessantly tortured by the thought of 
the dangers to which her brother, the only in- 
timate person now remaining to her, was ex- 
posed. She was worried too about her nephew's 
education for which she had always felt her- 
self incompetent, but in the depths of her soul 
she felt at peace a peace arising from con- 
sciousness of having stifled those personal 
dreams and hopes that had been on the point 



of awakening within her and were related to 
her meeting with Rost6v. 

The day after her party the governor's wife 
came to see Malvintseva and, after discussing 
her plan with the aunt, remarked that though 
under present circumstances a formal betroth- 
al was, of course, not to be thought of, all the 
same the young people might be brought to- 
gether and could get to know one another. 
Malvintseva expressed approval, and the gov- 
ernor's wife began to speakof Rost6vin Mary's 
presence, praising him and telling how he had 
blushed when Princess Mary's name was men- 
tioned. But Princess Mary experienced a pain- 
ful rather than a joyful feeling her mental 
tranquillity was destroyed, and desires, doubts, 
self-reproach, and hopes reawoke. 

During the two days that elapsed before Ros- 
t6v called, Princess Mary continually thought 
of how she ought to behave to him. First she 
decided not to come to the drawing room when 
he called to see her aunt that it would not be 
proper for her, in her deep mourning, to re- 
ceive visitors; then she thought this would be 
rude after what he had done for her; then it 
occurred to her that her aunt and the gover- 
nor's wife had intentions concerning herself 
and Rost6v their looks and words at times 
seemed to confirm this supposition then she 
told herself tnat only she, with her sinful na- 
ture, could think this of them: they could not 
forget that situated as she was, while still wear- 
ing deep mourning, such matchmaking would 
be an insult to her and to her father's memory. 
Assuming that she did go down to see him, 
Princess Mary imagined the words he would 
say to her and what she would say to him, and 
these words sometimes seemed undeservedly 
cold and then to mean too much. More than 
anything she feared lest the confusion she felt 
might overwhelm her and betray her as soon 
as she saw him. 

But when on Sunday after church the foot- 
man announced in the drawing room that 
Count Rostov had called, the princess showed 
no confusion, only a slight blush suffused her 
cheeks and her eyes lit up with a new and ra- 
diant light. 

"You have met him, Aunt?" said she in a 
calm voice, unable herself to understand that 
she could be outwardly so calm and natural. 

When Rost6v entered the room, the princess 
dropped her eyes for an instant, as if to give 
the visitor time to greet her aunt, and then just 
as Nicholas turned to her she raised her head 
and met his Iqpk with shining eyes. With a 



54* 



WAR AND PEACE 



movement full of dignity and grace she half 
rose with a smile of pleasure, held out her slen- 
der, delicate hand to him, and began to speak 
in a voice in which for the first time new deep 
womanly notes vibrated. Mademoiselle Bouri- 
enne, who was in the drawing room, looked at 
Princess Mary in bewildered surprise. Herself 
a consummate coquette, she could not have 
maneuvered better on meeting a man she 
wished to attract. 

"Either black is particularly becoming to 
her or she really has greatly improved without 
my having noticed it. And above all, what tact 
and grace!" thought Mademoiselle Bourienne. 

Had Princess Mary been capableof reflection 
at that moment, she would have been more 
surprised than Mademoiselle Bourienne at the 
change that had taken place in herself. From 
the moment she recognized that dear, loved 
face, a new life force took possession of her 
and compelled her to speak and act apart from 
her own will. From the time Rostov entered, 
her face became suddenly transformed. It was 
as if a light had been kindled in a carved and 
painted lantern and the intricate, skillful, ar- 
tistic work on its sides, that previously seemed 
dark, coarse, and meaningless, was suddenly 
shown up in unexpected and striking beauty. 
For the first time all that pure, spiritual, in- 
ward travail through which she had lived ap- 
peared on the surface. All her inward labor, 
her dissatisfaction with herself, her sufferings, 
her strivings after goodness, her meekness, love, 
and self-sacrifice all this now shone in those 
radiant eyes, in her delicate smile, and in ev- 
ery trait of her gentle face. 

Rost6v saw all this as clearly as if he had 
known her whole life. He felt that the being 
before him was quite different from, and bet- 
ter than, anyone he had met before, and above 
all better than himself. 

Their conversation was very simple and un- 
important. They spoke of the war, and like 
everyone else unconsciously exaggerated their 
sorrow about it; they spoke of their last meet- 
ingNicholas trying to change the subject 
they talked of the governor's kind wife, of Nich- 
olas' relations, and of Princess Mary's. 

She did not talk about her brother, divert- 
ing the conversation as soon as her aunt men- 
tioned Andrew. Evidently she could speak of 
Russia's misfortunes with a certain artificiality, 
but her brother was too near her heart and she 
neither could nor would speak lightly of him. 
Nicholas noticed this, as he noticed every 
shade of Princess Mary's character with an ob- 



servation unusual to him, and everything con- 
firmed his conviction that she was a quite un- 
usual and extraordinary being. Nicholas 
blushed and was confused when people spoke 
to him about the princess (as she did when he 
was mentioned) and even when he thought of 
her, but in her presence he felt quite at ease, 
and said not at all what he had prepared, but 
what, quite appropriately, occurred to him at 
the moment. 

When a pause occurred during his short 
vist, Nicholas, as is usual when there are chil- 
dren, turned to Prince Andrew's little son, ca- 
ressing him and asking whether he would like 
to be an hussar. He took the boy on his knee, 
played with him, and looked round at Princess 
Mary. With a softened, happy, and timid look 
she watched the boy she loved in the arms of 
the man she loved. Nicholas also noticed that 
look and, as if understanding it, flushed with 
pleasure and began to kiss the boy with good- 
natured playfulness. 

As she was in mourning Princess Mary did 
not go out into society, and Nicholas did not 
think it the proper thing to visit her again; but 
all the same the governor's wife went on with 
her matchmaking, passing on to Nicholas the 
flattering things Princess Mary said of him and 
vice versa, and insisting on his declaring him- 
self to Princess Mary. For this purpose she ar- 
ranged a meeting between the young people at 
the bishop's house before Mass. 

Though Rostov told the governor's wife that 
he would not make any declaration to Princess 
Mary, he promised to go. 

As at Tilsit Rostov had not allowed himself 
to doubt that what everybody considered right 
was right, so now, after a short but sincere strug- 
gle between his effort to arrange his life by his 
own sense of justice, and in obedient submis- 
sion to circumstances, he chose the latter and 
yielded to the power he felt irresistibly carry- 
ing him he knew not where. He knew that aft- 
er his promise to S6nya it would be what he 
deemed base to declare his feelings to Princess 
Mary. And he knew that he would never act 
basely. But he also knew (or rather felt at the 
bottom of his heart) that by resigning himself 
now to the force of circumstances and to those 
who were guiding him, he was not only doing 
nothing wrong, but was doing something very 
very important more important than anything 
he had ever done in his life. 

After meeting Princess Mary, though the 
course of his life went on externally as before, 
all his former amusements lost their charm for 



BOOK TWELVE 

lim and he often thought about her. But he 
lever thought about her as he had thought of 
ill the young ladies without exception whom 
he had met in society, nor as he had for a long 
.ime, and at one time rapturously, thought 
ibout S6nya. He had pictured each of those 
roung ladies as almost all honest-hearted young 
men do, that is, as a possible wife, adapting 
her in his imagination to all the conditions of 
married life: a white dressing gown, his wife 
it the tea table, his wife's carriage, little ones, 
Mamma and Papa, their relations to her, and 
o on and these pictures of the future had giv- 
zn him pleasure. But with Princess Mary, to 
whom they were trying to get him engaged, he 
could never picture anything of future mar- 
ried life. If he tried, his pictures seemed in- 
congruous and false. It made him afraid. 



543 



CHAPTER VII 

THE DREADFUL NEWS of the battle of Borodino, 
of our losses in killed and wounded, and the 
still more terrible news of the loss of Moscow 
reached Voronezh in the middle of September. 
Princess Mary, having learned of her brother's 
wound only from the Gazette and having no 
definite news of him, prepared (so Nicholas 
beard, he had not seen her again himself) to set 
off in search of Prince Andrew. 

When he received the news of the battle of 
Borodin6 and the abandonment of Moscow, 
Rost6v was not seized with despair, anger, the 
desire for vengeance, or any feeling of that 
kind, but everything in Vor6nezh suddenly 
seemed to him dull and tiresome, and he ex- 
perienced an indefinite feeling of shame and 
awkwardness. The conversations he heard 
seemed to him insincere; he did not know how 
to judge all these affairs and felt that only in 
the regiment would everything again become 
clear to him. He made haste to finish buying 
the horses, and often became unreasonably an- 
gry with his servant and squadron quartermas- 
ter. 

A few days before his departure a special 
thanksgiving, at which Nicholas was present, 
was held in the cathedral for the Russian vic- 
tory. He stood a little behind the governor and 
held himself with military decorum through 
the service, meditating on a great variety of 
subjects. When the service was over the gov- 
ernor's wife beckoned him to her. 

"Have you seen the princess?" she asked, 
indicating with a movement of her head a lady 
standing on the opposite side, beyond the 
choir. 



Nicholas immediately recognized Princess 
Mary not so much by the profile he saw under 
her bonnet as by the feeling of solicitude, ti- 
midity, and pity that immediately overcame 
him. Princess Mary, evidently engrossed by her 
thoughts, was crossing herself for the last time 
before leaving the church. 

Nicholas looked at her face with surprise. It 
was the same face he had seen before, there 
was the same general expression of refined, in- 
ner, spiritual labor, but now it was quite dif- 
ferently lit up. There was a pathetic expres- 
sion of sorrow, prayer, and hope in it. As had 
occurred before when she was present, Nicho- 
las went up to her without waiting to be 
prompted by the governor's wife and not ask- 
ing himself whether or not it was right and 
proper to address her here in church, and told 
her he had heard of her trouble and sympa- 
thized with his whole soul. As soon as she heard 
his voice a vivid glow kindled in her face, light- 
ing up both her sorrow and her joy. 

"There is one thing I wanted to tell you, 
Princess," said Rostov. "It is that if your broth- 
er, Prince Andrew Nikolaevich, were not living, 
it would have been at once announced in the 
Gazette, as he is a colonel." 

The princess looked at him, not grasping 
what he was saying, but cheered by the expres- 
sion of regretful sympathy on his face. 

"And I have known so many cases of a splin- 
ter wound" (the Gazette said it was a shell) 
"either proving fatal at once or being very 
slight," continued Nicholas. "We must hope 
for the best, and I am sure ..." 

Princess Mary interrupted him. 

"Oh, that would be so dread . . ." she began 
and, prevented by agitation from finishing, she 
bent her head with a movement as graceful as 
everything she did in his presence and, look- 
ing up at him gratefully, went out, following 
her aunt. 

That evening Nicholas did not go out, but 
stayed at home to settle some accounts with 
the horse dealers. When he had finished that 
business it was already too late to go anywhere 
but still too early to go to bed, and for a long 
time he paced up and down the room, reflect- 
ing on his life, a thing he rarely did. 

Princess Mary had made an agreeable im- 
pression on him when he had met her in Smo- 
16nsk province. His having encountered her 
in such exceptional circumstances, and his 
mother having at one time mentioned her to 
him as a good match, had drawn his particular 
attention to her. When he met her again in 



544 

Vor6nezh the impression she made on him was 
not merely pleasing but powerful. Nicholas 
had been struck by the peculiar moral beauty 
he observed in her at this time. He was, how- 
ever, preparing to go away and it had not en- 
tered his head to regret that he was thus de- 
priving himself of chances of meeting her. But 
that day's encounter in church had, he felt, 
sunk deeper than was desirable for his peace 
of mind. That pale, sad, refined face, that radi- 
ant look, those gentle graceful gestures, and 
especially the deep and tender sorrow expressed 
in all her features agitated him and evoked his 
sympathy. In men Rost6v could not bear to see 
the expression of a higher spiritual life (that 
was why he did not like Prince Andrew) and 
he referred to it contemptuously as philosophy 
and dreaminess, but in Princess Mary that very 
sorrow which revealed the depth of a whole 
spiritual world foreign to him was an irresist- 
ible attraction. 

"She must be a wonderful woman. A real 
angel!" he said to himself. "Why am I not 
free? Why was I in such a hurry with S6nya?" 
And he involuntarily compared the two: the 
lack of spirituality in the one and the abun- 
dance of it in the other a spirituality he him- 
self lacked and therefore valued most highly. 
He tried to picture what would happen were 
he free. How he would propose to her and how 
she would become his wife. But no, he could 
not imagine that. He felt awed, and no clear 
picture presented itself to his mind. He had 
long ago pictured to himself a future with S6n- 
ya, and that was all clear and simple just be- 
cause it had all been thought out and he knew 
all there was in S6nya, but it was impossible to 
picture a future with Princess Mary, because 
he did not understand her but simply loved 
her. 

Reveries about S6nya had had something 
merry and playful in them, but to dream of 
Princess Mary was always difficult and a little 
frightening. 

"How she prayed!" he thought. "It was plain 
that her whole soul was in her prayer. Yes, that 
was the prayer that moves mountains, and I 
am sure her prayer will be answered. Why 
don't I pray for what I want?" he suddenly 
thought. "What do I want? To be free, released 
from S6nya . . . She was right," he thought, re- 
membering what the governor's wife had said: 
"Nothing but misfortune can come of marry- 
ing S6nya. Muddles, grief for Mamma . . . busi- 
ness difficulties . . . muddles, terrible muddles! 
Besides, I don't love her not as I should. O, 



WAR AND PEACE 

God! release me from this dreadful, inextric- 
able position!" he suddenly began to pray. 
"Yes, prayer can move mountains, but one 
must have faith and not pray as Natdsha and I 
used to as children, that the snow might turn 
into sugar and then run out into the yard 
to see whether it had done so. No, but I am not 
praying for trifles now," he thought as he put 
his pipe down in a corner, and folding his 
hands placed himself before the icon. Softened 
by memories of Princess Mary he began to pray 
as he had not done for a long time. Tears were 
in his eyes and in his throat when the door 
opened and Lavnishka came in with some 
papers. 

"Blockhead! Why do you come in without 
being called?" cried Nicholas, quickly chang- 
ing his attitude. 

"From the governor," said Lavrushka in a 
sleepy voice. "A courier has arrived and there's 
a letter for you." 

"Well, all right, thanks. You can go!" 

Nicholas took the two letters, one of which 
was from his mother and the other from S6n- 
ya. He recognized them by the handwriting 
and opened S6nya's first. He had read only a 
few lines when he turned pale and his eyes 
opened wide with fear and joy. 

"No, it's not possible!" he cried aloud. 

Unable to sit still he paced up and down the 
room holding the letter and reading it. He 
glanced through it, then read it again, and 
then again, and standing still in the middle 
of the room he raised his shoulders, stretching 
out his hands, with his mouth wide open and 
his eyes fixed. What he had just been pray- 
ing for with confidence that God would hear 
him had come to pass; but Nicholas was as 
much astonished as if it were something ex- 
traordinary and unexpected, and as if the 
very fact that it had happened so quickly 
proved that it had not come from God to 
whom he fyad prayed, but by some ordinary 
coincidence. 

This unexpected and, as it seemed to Nich- 
olas, quite voluntary letter from S6nya freed 
him from the knot that fettered him and from 
which there had seemed no escape. She wrote 
that the last unfortunate events the loss of al- 
most the whole of the Rost6vs' Moscow prop- 
ertyand the countess* repeatedly expressed 
wish that Nicholas should marry Princess Bol- 
k6nskaya, together with his silence and cold- 
ness of late, had all combined to make her de- 
cide to release him from his promise and set 
him completely free. 



BOOK TWELVE 



545 



It would be too painful to me to think that I 
night be a cause of sorrow or discord in the fam- 
ly that has been so good to me (she wrote), and 
ny love has no aim but the happiness of those I 
ove; so, Nicholas, I beg you to consider yourself 
r rce, and to be assured that, in spite of everything, 
10 one can love you more than does 

YOUR SONYA 

Both letters were written from Tr6itsa. The 
:>ther, from the countess, described their last 
iays in Moscow, their departure, the fire, and 
the destruction of all their property. In this 
letter the countess also mentioned that Prince 
\ndrew was among the wounded traveling 
ivith them; his state was very critical, but the 
:ioctor said there was now more hope. S6nya 
md Natasha were nursing him. 

Next day Nicholas took his mother's letter 
ind went to see Princess Mary. Neither he nor 
>he said a word about what "Natasha nursing 
him" might mean, but thanks to this letter 
Nicholas suddenly became almost as intimate 
with the princess as if they were relations. 

The following day he saw Princess Mary off 
an her journey to Yaroslavl, and a few days 
later left to rejoin his regiment. 

CHAPTER VIII 

SONYA'S LETTKR written from Tr6itsa, which 
had come as an answer to Nicholas* prayer, was 
prompted by this: the thought of getting Nich- 
olas married to an heiress occupied the old 
countess' mind more and more. She knew that 
>6nya was the chief obstacle to this happening, 
and Sonya's life in the countess' house had 
Epown harder and harder, especially after they 
had received a letter from Nicholas telling of 
his meeting with Princess Mary in Bogucharo- 
vo. The countess let no occasion slip of mak- 
ing humiliating or cruel allusions to Sonya. 

But a few days before they left Moscow, 
moved and excited by all that was going on, 
she called S6nya to her and, instead of re- 
proaching and making demands on her, tear- 
fully implored her to sacrifice herself and re- 
pay all that the family had done for her by 
breaking off her engagement with Nicholas. 

"I shall not be at peace till you promise me 
this." 

S6nya burst into hysterical tears and replied 
through her sobs that she would do anything 
and was prepared for anything, but gave no 
actual promise and could not bring herself to 
decide to do what was demanded of her. She 
must sacrifice herself for the family that had 
reared and brought her up. To sacrifice her- 



self for others was Sonya's habit. Her position 
in the house was such that only by sacrifice 
could she show her worth, and she was accus- 
tomed to this and loved doing it. But in all her 
former acts of self-sacrifice she had been hap- 
pily conscious that they raised her in her own 
esteem and in that of others, and so made her 
more worthy of Nicholas whom she loved more 
than anything in the world. But now they 
wanted her to sacrifice the very thing that con- 
stituted the whole reward for her self-sacrifice 
and the whole meaning of her life. And for the 
first time she felt bitterness against those who 
had been her benefactors only to torture her 
the more painfully; she felt jealous of Natasha 
who had never experienced anything of this 
sort, had never needed to sacrifice herself, but 
made others sacrifice themselves for her and 
yet was beloved by everybody. And for the first 
time S6nya felt that out of her pure, quiet love 
for Nicholas a passionate feeling was begin- 
ning to grow up which was stronger than prin- 
ciple, virtue, or religion. Under the influence 
of this feeling S6nya, whose life of dependence 
had taught her involuntarily to be secretive, 
having answered the countess in vague general 
terms, avoided talking with her and resolved 
to wait till she should see Nicholas, not in or- 
der to set him free but on the contrary at that 
meeting to bind him to her forever. 

The bustle and terror of the Rostovs' last 
days in Moscow stifled the gloomy thoughts 
that oppressed Sonya. She was glad to find es- 
cape from them in practical activity. But when 
she heard of Prince Andrew's presence in their 
house, despite her sincere pity for him and for 
Natdsha, she was seized by a joyful and super- 
stitious feeling that God did not intend her to 
be separated from Nicholas. She knew that 
Natasha loved no one but Prince Andrew and 
had never ceased to love him. She knew that 
being thrown together again under such ter- 
rible circumstances they would again fall in 
love with one another, and that Nicholas would 
then not be able to marry Princess Mary as 
they would be within the prohibited degrees 
of affinity. Despite all the terror of what had 
happened during those last days and during 
the first days of their journey, this feeling that 
Providence was intervening in her personal 
affairs cheered Sonya. 

At the Tr6itsa monastery the Rost6vs first 
broke their journey for a whole day. 

Three large rooms were assigned to them in 
the monastery hostelry, one of which was oc- 
cupied by Prince Andrew. The wounded man 



546 WAR AND PEACE 

was much better that day and Natdsha was sit- 
ting with him. In the next room sat the count 
and countess respectfully conversing with the 
prior, who was calling on them as old acquaint- 
ances and benefactors of the monastery. S6n- 
ya was there too, tormented by curiosity as to 
what Prince Andrew and Natasha were talking 
about. She heard the sound of their voices 
through the door. That door opened and Na- 
tdsha came out, looking excited. Not noticing 
the monk, who had risen to greet her and was 
drawing back the wide sleeve on his right arm, 
she went up to S6nya and took her hand. 

"Natdsha, what are you about? Come here!" 
said the countess. 

Natdsha went up to the monk for his bless- 
ing, and he advised her to turn for aid to God 
and His saint. 

As soon as the prior withdrew, Natdsha took 
her friend by the hand and went with her into 
the unoccupied room. 

"S6nya, will he live?" she asked. "S6nya, 
how happy I am, and how unhappy! . . . S6n- 
ya, dovey, everything is as it used to be. If only 
he lives! He cannot . . . because . . . because . . . 
of . . ." and Natdsha burst into tears. 

"Yes! I knew it! Thank God!" murmured 
S6nya. "He will live." 

Sonya was not less agitated than her friend 
by the latter's fear and grief and by her own 
personal feelings which she shared with no 
one. Sobbing, she kissed and comforted Natd- 
sha. "If only he lives!" she thought. Having 
wept, talked, and wiped away their tears, the 
two friends went together to Prince Andrew's 
door. Natdsha opened it cautiously and glanced 
into the room, S6nya standing beside her at 
the half-open door. 

Prince Andrew was lying raised high on 
three pillows. His pale face was calm, his eyes 
closed, and they could see his regular breath- 
ing. 

"O, Natdsha!" S6nya suddenly almost 
screamed, catching her companion's arm and 
stepping back from the door. 

"What? What is it?" asked Natdsha. 

"It's that, that . . ." said S6nya, with a white 
face and trembling lips. 

Natdsha softly closed the door and went with 
Sonya to the window, not yet understanding 
what the latter was telling her. 

"You remember," said S6nya with a solemn 
and frightened expression. "You remember 
when I looked in the mirror for you ... at 
Otrddnoe at Christinas? Do you remember 
what I saw?" 



"Yes, yes!" cried Natdsha opening her eyes 
wide, and vaguely recalling that S6nya had 
told her something about Prince Andrew 
whom she had seen lying down. 

"You remember?" S6nya went on. "I saw 
it then and told everybody, you and Dunydsha. 
I saw him lying on a bed," said she, making a 
gesture with her hand and a lifted finger at 
each detail, "and that he had his eyes closed 
and was covered just with a pink quilt,, and 
that his hands were folded," she concluded, 
convincing herself that the details she had just 
seen were exactly what she had seen in the 
mirror. 

She had in fact seen nothing then but had 
mentioned the first thing that came into her 
head, but what she had invented then seemed 
to her now as real as any other recollection. 
She not only remembered what she had then 
saidthat he turned to look at her and smiled 
and was covered with something red but was 
firmly convinced that she had then seen and 
said that he was covered with a pink quilt and 
that his eyes were closed. 

"Yes, yes, it really was pink!" cried Natdsha, 
who now thought she too remembered the 
word pink being used, and saw in this the 
most extraordinary and mysterious part of the 
prediction. 

"But what does it mean?" she added medita- 
tively. 

"Oh, I don't know, it is all so strange," re- 
plied S6nya, clutching at her head. 

A few minutes later Prince Andrew rang 
and Natdsha went to him, but S6nya, feeling 
unusually excited and touched, remained at 
the window thinking about the strangeness of 
what had occurred. 



They had an opportunity that day to send 
letters to the army, and the countess was writ- 
ing to her son. 

"S6nyal" said the countess, raising her eyes 
from her letter as her niece passed, "S6nya, 
won't you write to Nicholas?" She spoke in a 
soft, tremulous voice, and in the weary eyes 
that looked over her spectacles S6nya read all 
that the countess meant to convey with these 
words. Those eyes expressed entreaty, shame 
at having to ask, fear of a refusal, and readi- 
ness for relentless hatred in case of such refusal. 

S6nya went up to the countess and, kneeling 
down, kissed her hand. 

"Yes, Mamma, I will write," said she. 

S6nya was softened, excited, and touched by 
all that had occurred that day, especially by 



BOOK TWELVE 

the mysterious fulfillment she had just seen of 
her vision. Now that she knew that the renewal 
of Natdsha's relations with Prince Andrew 
would prevent Nicholas from marrying Prin- 
cess Mary, she was joyfully conscious of a re- 
turn of that self-sacrificing spirit in which she 
was accustomed to live and loved to live. So 
with a joyful consciousness of performing a 
magnanimous deedinterrupted several times 
by the tears that dimmed her velvety black 
eyes she wrote that touching letter the arrival 
of which had so amazed Nicholas. 



547 



CHAPTER IX 

THE OFFICER AND SOLDIERS who had arrested 
Pierre treated him with hostility but yet with 
respect, in the guardhouse to which he was 
taken. In their attitude toward him could still 
be felt both uncertainty as to who he might be 
perhaps a very important person and hostil- 
ity as a result of their recent personal conflict 
with him. 

But when the guard was relieved next morn- 
ing, Pierre felt that for the new guard both 
officers and men he was not as interesting as 
he had been to his captors; and in fact the 
guard of the second day did not recognize in 
this big, stout man in a peasant coat the vigor- 
ous person who had fought so desperately with 
the marauder and the convoy and had uttered 
those solemn words about saving a child; they 
saw in him only No. 17 of the captured Rus- 
sians, arrested and detained for some reason 
by order of the Higher Command. If they 
noticed anything remarkable about Pierre, it 
was only his unabashed, meditative concentra- 
tion and thoughtfulness, and the way he spoke 
French, which struck them as surprisingly 
good. In spite of this he was placed that day 
with the other arrested suspects, as the sepa- 
rate room he had occupied was required by an 
officer. 

All the Russians confined with Pierre were 
men of the lowest class and, recognizing him 
as a gentleman, they all avoided him, more es- 
pecially as he spoke French. Pierre felt sad at 
hearing them making fun of him. 

That evening he learned that all these pris- 
oners (he, probably, among them) were to be 
tried for incendiarism. On the third day he 
was taken with the others to a house where a 
French general with a white mustache sat with 
two colonels and other Frenchmen with scarves 
on their arms. With the precision and definite- 
ness customary in addressing prisoners, and 
which is supposed to preclude human frailty, 



Pierre like the others was questioned as to who 
he was, where he had been, with what object, 
and so on. 

These questions, like questions put at trials 
generally, left the essence of the matter aside, 
shut out the possibility of that essence's being 
revealed, and were designed only to form a 
channel through which the judges wished the 
answers of the accused to flow so as to lead to 
the desired result, namely a conviction. As 
soon as Pierre began to say anything that did 
not fit in with that aim, the channel was re- 
moved and the water could flow to waste. Pierre 
felt, moreover, what the accused always feel at 
their trial, perplexity as to why these questions 
were put to him. He had a feeling that it was 
only out of condescension or a kind of civility 
that this device of placing a channel was em- 
ployed. He knew he was in these men's power, 
that only by force had they brought him there, 
that force alone gave them the right to de- 
mand answers to their questions, and that the 
sole object of that assembly was to inculpate 
him. And so, as they had the power and wish 
to inculpate him, this expedient of an inquiry 
and trial seemed unnecessary. It was evident 
that any answer would lead to conviction. 
When asked what he was doing when he was 
arrested, Pierre replied in a rather tragic man- 
ner that he was restoring to its parents a child 
he had saved from the flames. Why had he 
fought the marauder? Pierre answered that he 
"was protecting a woman," and that "to pro- 
tect a woman who was being insulted was the 
duty of every man; that . . ." They interrupted 
him, for this was not to the point. Why was he 
in the yard of a burning house where witnesses 
had seen him? He replied that he had gone 
out to see what was happening in Moscow. 
Again they interrupted him: they had not 
asked where he was going, but why he was 
found near the fire? Who was he? they asked, 
repeating their first question, which he had de- 
clined to answer. Again he replied that he 
could not answer it. 

"Put that down, that's bad . . . very bad/' 
sternly remarked the general with the white 
mustache and red flushed face. 

On the fourth day fires broke out on the 
Ziibovski rampart. 

Pierre and thirteen others were moved to 
the coach house of a merchant's house near 
the Crimean bridge. On his way through the 
streets Pierre felt stifled by the smoke which 
seemed to hang over the whole city. Fires were 



548 WAR AND PEACE 

visible on all sides. He did not then realize the 
significance of the burning of Moscow, and 
looked at the fires with horror. 

He passed four days in the coach house near 
the Crimean bridge and during that time 
learned, from the talk of the French soldiers, 
that all those confined there were awaiting a 
decision which might come any day from the 
marshal. What marshal this was, Pierre could 
not learn from the soldiers. Evidently for them 
"the marshal "represented a very high and rath- 
er mysterious power. 

These first days, before the eighth of Sep- 
tember when the prisoners were had up for a 
second examination, were the hardest of all 
for Pierre. 



CHAPTER X 

ON THE EIGHTH OF SEPTEMBER an officer avery 
important one judging by the respect the 
guards showed him entered the coach house 
where the prisoners were. This officer, proba- 
bly someone on the staff, was holding a paper 
in his hand, and called over all the Russians 
there, naming Pierre as "the man who does 
not give his name." Glancing indolently and 
indifferently at all the prisoners, he ordered 
the officer in charge to have them decently 
dressed and tidied up before taking them to 
the marshal. An hour later a squad of soldiers 
arrived and Pierre with thirteen others was led 
to the Virgin's Field. It was a fine day, sunny 
after rain, and the air was unusually pure. The 
smoke did not hang low as on the day when 
Pierre had been taken from the guardhouse 
on the Zubovski rampart, but rose through the 
pure air in columns. No flames were seen, but 
columns of smoke rose on all sides, and all 
Moscow as far as Pierre could see was one vast 
charred ruin. On all sides there were waste 
spaces with only stoves and chimney stacks 
still standing, and here and there the black- 
ened walls of some brick houses. Pierre gazed 
at the ruins and did not recognize districts he 
had known well. Here and there he could see 
churches that had not been burned. The Krm- 
lin, which was not destroyed, gleamed white in 
the distance with its towers and the belfry of 
Ivan the Great. The domes of the New Con- 
vent of the Virgin glittered brightly and its 
bells were ringing particularly clearly. These 
bells reminded Pierre that it was Sunday and 
the feast of the Nativity of the Virgin. But 
there seemed to be no one to celebrate this 
holiday: everywhere were blackened ruins, and 
the few Russians to be seen were tattered and . 



frightened people who tried to hide when they 
saw the French. 

It was plain that the Russian nest was ruined 
and destroyed, but in place of the Russian or- 
der of life that had been destroyed, Pierre un- 
consciously felt that a quite different, firm, 
French order had been established over this 
ruined nest. He felt this in the looks of the sol- 
diers who, marching in regular ranks briskly 
and gaily, were escorting him and the other 
criminals; he felt it in the looks of an impor- 
tant French official in a carriage and pair driven 
by a soldier, whom they met on the way. He 
felt it in the merry sounds of regimental music 
he heard from the left side of the field, and felt 
and realized it especially from the list of pris- 
oners the French officer had read out when he 
came that morning. Pierre had been taken by 
one set of soldiers and led first to one and then 
to another place with dozens of other men, and 
it seemed that they might have forgotten him, 
or confused him with the others. But no: the 
answers he had given when questioned had 
come back to him in his designation as "the 
man who does not give his name," and under 
that appellation, which to Pierre seemed ter- 
rible, they were now leading him somewhere 
with unhesitating assurance on their faces that 
he and all the other prisoners were exactly the 
ones they wanted and that they were being 
taken to the proper place. Pierre felt himself 
to be an insignificant chip fallen among the 
wheels of a machine whose action he did not 
understand but which was working well. 

He and the other prisoners were taken to 
the right side of the Virgin's Field, to a large 
white house with an immense garden not far 
from the convent. This was Prince Shcherba- 
tov's house, where Pierre had often been in 
other days, and which, as he learned from the 
talk of the soldiers, was now occupied by the 
marshal, the Duke of Eckmiihl (Davout). 

They were taken to the entrance and led in- 
to the house one by one. Pierre was the sixth 
to enter. He was conducted through a glass 
gallery, an anteroom, and a hall, which were 
familiar to him, into a long low study at the 
door of which stood an adjutant. 

Davout, spectacles on nose, sat bent over a 
table at the further end of the room. Pierre 
went close up to him, but Davout, evidently 
consulting a paper that lay before him, did not 
look up. Without raising his eyes, he said in a 
low voice: < 

"Who are you?" 

Pierre was silent because he was incapable 



BOOK TWELVE 

of uttering a word. To him Davout was not 
merely a French general, but a man notorious 
for his cruelty. Looking at his cold face, as he 
sat like a stern schoolmaster who was prepared 
to wait awhile for an answer, Pierre felt that 
every instant of delay might cost him his life; 
but he did not know what to say. He did not 
venture to repeat what he had said at his first 
examination, yet to disclose his rank and posi- 
tion was dangerous and embarrassing. So he 
was silent. But before he had decided what to 
do, Davout raised his head, pushed his spec- 
tacles back on his forehead, screwed up his 
eyes, and looked intently at him. 

"I know that man," he said in a cold, meas- 
ured tone, evidently calculated to frighten 
Pierre. 

The chill that had been running down 
Pierre's back now seized his head as in a vise. 

"You cannot know me, General, I have nev- 
er seen you . . ." 

"He is a Russian spy," Davout interrupted, 
addressing another general who was present, 
but whom Pierre had not noticed. 

Davout turned away. With an unexpected 
reverberation in his voice Pierre rapidly be- 
gan: 

"No, monseigneur," he said, suddenly re- 
membering that Davout was a duke. "No, mon- 
seigneur, you cannot have known me. I am a 
militia officer and have not quitted Moscow." 

"Your name?" asked Davout. 

"Bezukhov." 

"What proof have I that you are not lying?" 

"Monseigneur!" exclaimed Pierre, not in an 
offended but in a pleading voice. 

Davout looked up and gazed intently at him. 
For some seconds they looked at one another, 
and that look saved Pierre. Apart from condi- 
tions of war and law, that look established hu- 
man relations between the two men. At that 
moment an immense number of things passed 
dimly through both their minds, and they re- 
alized that they were both children of human- 
ity and were brothers. 

At the first glance, when Davout had only 
raised his head from the papers where human 
affairs and lives were indicated by numbers, 
Pierre was merely a circumstance, and Davout 
could have shot him without burdening his 
conscience with an evil deed, but now he saw 
in him a human being. He reflected for a mo- 
ment. 

"How can you show me that you are telling 
the truth?" said Davout coldly. 

Pierre remembered Ramballe, and named 



549 

him and his regiment and the street where the 
house was. 

"You are not what you say," returned Da- 
vout. 

In a trembling, faltering voice Pierre began 
adducing proofs of the truth of his statements. 

But at that moment an adjutant entered and 
reported something to Davout. 

Davout brightened up at the news the ad- 
jutant brought, and began buttoning up his 
uniform. It seemed that he had quite forgotten 
Pierre. 

When the adjutant reminded him of the 
prisoner, he jerked his head in Pierre's direc- 
tion with a frown and ordered him to be led 
away. But where they were to take him Pierre 
did not know: back to the coach house or to 
the place of execution his companions had 
pointed out to him as they crossed the Virgin's 
Field. 

He turned his head and saw that the adju- 
tant was putting another question to Davout. 

"Yes, of coursel" replied Davout, but what 
this "yes" meant, Pierre did not know. 

Pierre could not afterwards remember how 
he went, whether it was far, or in which direc- 
tion. His faculties were quite numbed, he was 
stupefied, and noticing nothing around him 
went on moving his legs as the others did till 
they all stopped and he stopped too. The only 
thought in his mind at that time was: who was 
it that had really sentenced him to death? Not 
the men on the commission that had first ex- 
amined him not one of them had wished to 
or, evidently, could have done it. It was not 
Davout, who had looked at him in so human a 
way. In another moment Davout would have 
realized that he was doing wrong, but just then 
the adjutant had come in and interrupted him. 
The adjutant, also, had evidently had no evil 
intent though he might have refrained from 
coming in. Then who was executing him, kill- 
ing him, depriving him of life him, Pierre, 
with all his memories, aspirations, hopes, and 
thoughts? Who was doing this? And Pierre felt 
that it was no one. 

It was a system a concurrence of circum- 
stances. 

A system of some sort was killing him 
Pierre depriving him of life, of everything, 
annihilating him. 



CHAPTER XI 

FROM PRINCE SHCHERBJITOV'S house the pris- 
oners were led straight down the Virgin's Field, 
to the left of the nunnery, as far as a kitchen 



55<> 



WAR AND PEACE 



garden in which a post had been set up. Be- 
yond that post a fresh pit had been dug in the 
ground, and near the post and the pit a large 
crowd stood in a semicircle. The crowd con- 
sisted of a few Russians and many of Napo- 
leon's soldiers who were not on dutyGer- 
mans, Italians, and Frenchmen, in a variety of 
uniforms. To the right and left of the post 
stood rows of French troops in blue uniforms 
with red epaulets and high boots and shakos. 

The prisoners were placed in a certain or- 
der, according to the list (Pierre was sixth), 
and were led to the post. Several drums sud- 
denly began to beat on both sides of them, 
and at that sound Pierre felt as if part of his 
soul had been torn away. He lost the power of 
thinking or understanding. He could only hear 
and see. And he had only one wish that the 
frightful thing that had to happen should hap- 
pen quickly. Pierre looked round at his fellow 
prisoners and scrutinized them. 

The two first were convicts with shaven heads. 
One was tall and thin, the other dark, shaggy, 
and sinewy, with a flat nose. The third was a 
domestic serf, about forty-five years old, with 
grizzled hair and a plump, well-nourished body. 
The fourth was a peasant, a very handsome 
man with a broad, light-brown beard and black 
eyes. The fifth was a factory hand, a thin, 
sallow-faced lad of eighteen in a loose coat. 

Pierre heard the French consulting whether 
to shoot them separately or two at a time. "In 
couples," replied the officer in command in a 
calm voice. There was a stir in the ranks of 
the soldiers and it was evident that they were 
all hurrying not as men hurry to do some- 
thing they understand, but as people hurry to 
finish a necessary but unpleasant and incom- 
prehensible task. 

A French official wearing a scarf came up to 
the right of the row of prisoners and read out 
the sentence in Russian and in French. 

Then two pairs of Frenchmen approached 
the criminals and at the officer's command took 
the two convicts who stood first in the row. 
The convicts stopped when they reached the 
post and, while sacks were being brought, 
looked dumbly around as a wounded beast 
looks at an approaching huntsman. One crossed 
himself continually, the other scratched his 
back and made a movement of the lips resem- 
bling a smile. With hurried hands the soldiers 
blindfolded them, drawing the sacks over their 
heads, and bound them to the post. 

Twelve sharpshooters with muskets stepped 
out of the ranks with a firm regular tread and 



halted eight paces from the post. Pierre turned 
away to avoid seeing what was going to hap- 
pen. Suddenly a crackling, rolling noise was 
heard which seemed to him louder than the 
most terrific thunder, and he looked round. 
There was some smoke, and the Frenchmen 
were doing something near the pit, with pale 
faces and trembling hands. Two more prisoners 
were led up. In the same way and with similar 
looks, these two glanced vainly at the onlook- 
ers with only a silent appeal for protection in 
their eyes, evidently unable to understand or 
believe what was going to happen to them. 
They could not believe it because they alone 
knew what their life meant to them, and so 
they neither understood nor believed that it 
could be taken from them. 

Again Pierre did not wish to look and again 
turned away; but again the sound as of a fright- 
ful explosion struck his ear, and at the same 
moment he saw smoke, blood, and the pale, 
scared faces of the Frenchmen who were again 
doing something by the post, their trembling 
hands impeding one another. Pierre, breath- 
ing heavily, looked around as if asking what it 
meant. The same question was expressed in 
all the looks that met his. 

On the faces of all the Russians and of the 
French soldiers and officers without exception, 
he read the same dismay, horror, and conflict 
that were in his own heart. "But who, after all, 
is doing this? They are all suffering as I am. 
Who then is it? Who?" flashed for an instant 
through his mind. 

"Sharpshooters of the 86th, forward I" 
shouted someone. The fifth prisoner, the one 
next to Pierre, was led away alone. Pierre did 
not understand that he was saved, that he and 
the rest had been brought there only to wit- 
ness the execution. With ever-growing horror, 
and no sense of joy or relief, he gazed at what 
was taking place. The fifth man was the factory 
lad in the loose cloak. The moment they laid 
hands on him he sprang aside in terror and 
clutched at Pierre. (Pierre shuddered and 
shook himself free.) The lad was unable to 
walk. They dragged him along, holding him 
up under the arms, and he screamed. When 
they got him to the post he grew quiet, as if he 
suddenly understood something. Whether he 
understood tha t screami ng was useless or wheth- 
er he thought it incredible that men should 
kill him, at any rate he took his stand at the 
post, waiting to be blindfolded like the others, 
and like a wounded animal looked around 
him with glittering eyes. 



BOOK TWELVE 

Pierre was no longer able to turn away and 
close his eyes. His curiosity and agitation, like 
that of the whole crowd, reached the highest 
pitch at this fifth murder. Like the others this 
fifth man seemed calm; he wrapped his loose 
cloak closer and rubbed one bare foot with 
the other. 

When they began to blindfold him he him- 
self adjusted the knot which hurt the back of 
his head; then when they propped him against 
the bloodstained post, he leaned back and, not 
being comfortable in that position, straight- 
ened himself, adjusted his feet, and leaned back 
again more comfortably. Pierre did not take 
his eyes from him and did not miss his slightest 
movement. 

Probably a word of command was given and 
was followed by the reports of eight muskets; 
but try as he would Pierre could not afterwards 
remember having heard the slightest sound of 
the shots. He only saw how the workman sud- 
denly sank down on the cords that held him, 
how blood showed itself in two places, how 
the ropes slackened under the weight of the 
hanging body, and how the workman sat down, 
his head hanging unnaturally and one leg bent 
under him. Pierre ran up to the post. No one 
hindered him. Pale, frightened people were 
doing something around the workman. The 
lower jaw of an old Frenchman with a thick 
mustache trembled as he untied the ropes. The 
body collapsed. The soldiers dragged it awk- 
wardly from the post and began pushing it in- 
to the pit. 

They all plainly and certainly knew that 
they were criminals who must hide the traces 
of their guilt as quickly as possible. 

Pierre glanced into the pit and saw that the 
factory lad was lying with his knees close up 
to his head and one shoulder higher than the 
other. That shoulder rose and fell rhythmical- 
ly and convulsively, but spadefuls of earth were 
already being thrown over the whole body. 
One of the soldiers, evidently suffering, shouted 
gruffly and angrily at Pierre to go back. But 
Pierre did not understand him and remained 
near the post, and no one drove him away. 

When the pit had been filled up a command 
was given. Pierre was taken back to his place, 
and the rows of troops on both sides of the 
post made a half turn and went past it at a 
measured pace. The twenty-four sharpshooters 
with discharged muskets, standing in the cen- 
ter of the circle, ran back to their places as the 
companies passed by. 

Pierre gazed now with dazed eyes at these 



55 1 

sharpshooters who ran in couples out of the 
circle. All but one rejoined their companies. 
This one, a young soldier, his face deadly pale, 
his shako pushed back, and his musket resting 
on the ground, still stood near the pit at the 
spot from which he had fired. He swayed like 
a drunken man, taking some steps forward and 
back to save himself from falling. An old, non- 
commissioned officer ran out of the ranks and 
taking him by the elbow dragged him to his 
company. The crowd of Russians and French- 
men began to disperse. They all went away 
silently and with drooping heads. 

"That will teach them to start fires," said 
one of the Frenchmen. 

Pierre glanced round at the speaker and saw 
that it was a soldier who was trying to find 
some relief after what had been done, but was 
not able to do so. Without finishing what he 
had begun to say he made a hopeless move- 
ment with his arm and went away. 

CHAPTER XII 

AFTER THE EXECUTION Pierre was separated 
from the rest of the prisoners and placed alone 
in a small, ruined, and befouled church. 

Toward evening a noncommissioned officer 
entered with two soldiers and told him that he 
had been pardoned and would now go to the 
barracks for the prisoners of war. Without un- 
derstanding what was said to him, Pierre got 
up and went with the soldiers. They took him 
to the upper end of the field, where there were 
some sheds built of charred planks, beams, and 
battens, and led him into one of them. In the 
darkness some twenty different men surround- 
ed Pierre. He looked at them without under- 
standing who they were, why they were there, 
or what they wanted of him. He heard what 
they said, but did not understand the meaning 
of the words and made no kind of deduction 
from or application of them. He replied to 
questions they put to him, but did not consid- 
er who was listening to his replies, nor how 
they would understand them. He looked at 
their faces and figures, but they all seemed to 
him equally meaningless. 

From the moment Pierre had witnessed those 
terrible murders committed by men who did 
not wish to commit them, it was as if the main- 
spring of his life, on which everything de- 
pended and which made everything appear 
alive, had suddenly been wrenched out and 
everything had collapsed into a heap of mean- 
ingless rubbish. Though he did not acknowl- 
edge it to himself, his faith in the right order- 



55* 



WAR AND PEACE 



ing of the universe, in humanity, in his own 
soul, and in God, had been destroyed. He had 
experienced this before, but never so strongly 
as now. When similar doubts had assailed him 
before, they had been the result of his own 
wrongdoing, and at the bottom of his heart he 
had felt that relief from his despair and from 
those doubts was to be found within himself. 
But now he felt that the universe had crumbled 
before his eyes and only meaningless ruins re- 
mained, and this not by any fault of his own. 
He felt that it was not in his power to regain 
faith in the meaning of life. 

Around him in the darkness men were stand- 
ing and evidently something about him inter- 
ested them greatly. They were telling him 
something and asking him something. Then 
they led him away somewhere, and at last he 
found himself in a corner of the shed among 
men who were laughing and talking on all 
sides. 

"Well, then, mates . . . that very prince who 
. . ." some voice at the other end of the shed 
was saying, with a strong emphasis on the word 
who. 

Sitting silent and motionless on a heap of 
straw against the wall, Pierre sometimes opened 
and sometimes closed his eyes. But as soon as 
he closed them he saw before him the dreadful 
face of the factory lad -especially dreadful be- 
cause of its simplicity and the faces of the 
murderers, even more dreadful because of 
their disquiet. And he opened his eyes again 
and stared vacantly into the darkness around 
him. 

Beside him in a stooping position sat a small 
man of whose presence he was first made aware 
by a strong smell of perspiration which came 
from him every time he moved. This man was 
doing something to his legs in the darkness, 
and though Pierre could not see his face he felt 
that the man continually glanced at him. On 
growing used to the darkness Pierre saw that 
the man was taking off his leg bands, and the 
way he did it aroused Pierre's interest. 

Having unwound the string that tied the 
band on one leg, he carefully coiled it up and 
immediately set to work on the other leg, 
glancing up at Pierre. While one hand hung 
up the first string the other was already un- 
winding the band on the second leg. In this 
way, having carefully removed the leg bands 
by deft circular motions of his arm following 
one another uninterruptedly, the man hung 
the leg bands up on some pegs fixed above his 
bead* Then he took out a knife, cut something, 



closed the knife, placed it under the head of 
his bed, and, seating himself comfortably, 
clasped his arms round his lifted knees and 
fixed his eyes on Pierre. The latter was con- 
scious of something pleasant, comforting, and 
well rounded in these deft movements, in the 
man's well-ordered arrangements in his corner, 
and even in his very smell, and he looked at 
the man without taking his eyes from him. 

"You've seen a lot of trouble, sir, eh?" the 
little man suddenly said. 

And there was so much kindliness and sim- 
plicity in his singsong voice that Pierre tried to 
reply, but his jaw trembled and he felt tears 
rising to his eyes. The little fellow, giving Pierre 
no time to betray his confusion, instantly con- 
tinued in the same pleasant tones: 

"Eh, lad, don't fret!" said he, in the tender 
singsong caressing voice old Russian peasant 
women employ. "Don't fret, friend'suffer an 
hour, live for an age!' that's how it is, my dear 
fellow. And here we live, thank heaven, with- 
out offense. Among these folk, too, there are 
good men as well as bad," said he, and still 
speaking, he turned on his knees with a supple 
movement, got up, coughed, and went off to 
another part of the shed. 

"Eh, you rascal!" Pierre heard the same kind 
voice saying at the other end of the shed. "So 
you've come, you rascal? She remembers. . . . 
Now, now, that'll do!" 

And the soldier, pushing away a little dog 
that was jumping up at him, returned to his 
place and sat down. In his hands he had some- 
thing wrapped in a rag. 

"Here, eat a bit, sir," said he, resuming his 
former respectful tone as he unwrapped and 
offered Pierre some baked potatoes. "We had 
soup for dinner and the potatoes are grand!" 

Pierre had not eaten all day arid the smell of 
the potatoes seemed extremely pleasant to him. 
He thanked the soldier and began to eat. 

"Well, are they all right?" said the soldier 
with a smile. "You should do like this." 

He took a potato, drew out his clasp knife, 
cut the potato into two equal halves on the 
palm of his hand, sprinkled some salt on it 
from the rag, and handed it to Pierre. 

"The potatoes are grandl" he said once 
more. "Eat some like that!" 

Pierre thought he had never eaten anything 
that tasted better. 

"Oh, I'm all right/' said he, "but why did 
they shoot those poor fellows? The last one 
was hardly twenty." 

"Tss, tt . . . 1" said the little man. "Ah, what 



BOOK TWELVE 



553' 



a sin ... what a sin!" he added quickly, and as 
if his words were always waiting ready in his 
mouth and flew out involuntarily he went on: 
"How was it, sir, that you stayed in Moscow?" 

"I didn't think they would come so soon. I 
stayed accidentally," replied Pierre. 

"And how did they arrest you, dear lad? At 
your house?" 

"No, I went to look at the fire, and they 
arrested me there, and tried me as an incendi- 
ary." 

"Where there's law there's injustice," put in 
the little man. 

"And have you been here long?" Pierre asked 
as he munched the last of the potato. 

"I? It was last Sunday they took me, out of 
a hospital in Moscow." 

"Why, are you a soldier then?" 

"Yes, we are soldiers of the Apsheron regi- 
ment. I was dying of fever. We weren't told 
anything. There were some twenty of us lying 
there. We had no idea, never guessed at all." 

"And do you feel sad here?" Pierre inquired. 

"How can one help it, lad? My name is Plat- 
on, and the surname is Karataev," he added, 
evidently wishing to make it easier for Pierre 
to address him. "They call me 'little falcon' in 
the regiment. How is one to help feeling sad? 
Moscowshe's the mother of cities. How can 
one see all this and not feel sad? But 'the mag- 
got gnaws the cabbage, yet dies first'; that's 
what the old folks used to tell us," he added 
rapidly. 

"What? What did you say?" asked Pierre. 

"Who? I?" said Karataev. "I say things hap- 
pen not as we plan but as God judges," he re- 
plied, thinking that he was repeating what he 
had said before, and immediately continued: 

"Well, and you, have you a family estate, sir? 
And a house? So you have abundance, then? 
And a housewife? And your old parents, are 
they still living?" he asked. 

And though it was too dark for Pierre to see, 
he felt that a suppressed smile of kindliness 
puckered the soldier's lips as he put these 
questions. He seemed grieved that Pierre had 
no parents, especially that he had no mother. 

"A wife for counsel, a mother-in-law for wel- 
come, but there's none as dear as one's own 
mother 1" said he. "Well, and have you little 
ones?" he went on asking. 

Again Pierre's negative answer seemed to 
distress him, and he hastened to add: 

"Never mind! You're young folks yet, and 
please God may still have some. The great 
thine is to live in harmony. . . ." 



"But it's all the same now," Pierre could not 
help saying. 

"Ah, my dear fellow!" rejoined Karatdev, 
"never decline a prison or a beggar's sack!" 

He seated himself more comfortably and 
coughed, evidently preparing to tell a long 
story. 

"Well, my dear fellow, I was still living at 
home," he began. "We had a well-to-do home- 
stead, plenty of land, we peasants lived well 
and our house was one to thank God for. When 
Father and we went out mowing there were 
seven of us. We lived well. We were real peas- 
ants. It so happened . . ." 

And Platon Karatdev told a long story of 
how he had gone into someone's copse to take 
wood, how he had been caught by the keeper, 
had been tried, flogged, and sent to serve as a 
soldier. 

"Well, lad," and a smile changed the tone of 
his voice, "we thought it was a misfortune but 
it turned out a blessing! If it had not been for 
my sin, my brother would have had to go as a 
soldier. But he, my younger brother, had five 
little ones, while I, you see, only left a wife 
behind. We had a little girl, but God took her 
before I went as a soldier. 1 come home on 
leave and I'll tell you how it was, I look and 
see that they are living better than before. The 
yard full of cattle, the women at home, two 
brothers away earning wages, andonly Michael 
the youngest, at home. Father, he says, 'All my 
children are the same to me: it hurts the same 
whichever finger gets bitten. But if Plat6n 
hadn't been shaved for a soldier, Michael 
would have had to go.' He called us all to him 
and, will you believe it, placed us in front of 
the icons. 'Michael,' he says, 'come here and 
bow down to his feet; and you, young woman, 
you bow down too; and you, grandchildren, 
also bow down before him! Do you under- 
stand?' he says. That's how it is, dear fellow. 
Fate looks for a head. But we are always judg- 
ing, 'that's not wellthat's not right!' Our luck 
is like water in a dragnet: you pull at it and 
it bulges, but when you've drawn it out it's 
empty! That's how it is." 

And Plat6n shifted his seat on the straw. 

After a short silence he rose. 

"Well, I think you must be sleepy," said he, 
and began rapidly crossing himself and repeat- 
ing: 

"Lord Jesus Christ, holy Saint Nicholas, 
Frola and Lavra! Lord Jesus Christ, holy Saint 
Nicholas, Frola and Lavra! Lord Jesus Christ, 
have mercv on us and save us I" he concluded, 



554 



WAR AND PEACE 



then bowed to the ground, got up, sighed, and 
sat down again on his heap of straw. "That's 
the way. Lay me down like a stone, O God, 
and raise me up like a loaf," he muttered as he 
lay down, pulling his coat over him. 

"What prayer was that you were saying?" 
asked Pierre. 

"Eh?" murmured Plat6n, who had almost 
fallen asleep. "What was I saying? I was pray- 
ing. Don't you pray?" 

"Yes, I do," said Pierre. "But what was that 
you said: Frola and Lavra?" 

"Well, of course," replied Plat6n quickly, 
"the horses' saints. One must pity the animals 
too. Eh, the rascal! Now you've curled up and 
got warm, you daughter of a bitch!" said Kara- 
tev, touching the dog that lay at his feet, and 
again turning over he fell asleep immediately. 

Sounds of crying and screaming came from 
somewhere in the distance outside, and flames 
were visible through the cracks of the shed, 
but inside it was quiet and dark. For a long 
time Pierre did not sleep, but lay with eyes 
open in the darkness, listening to the regular 
snoring of Plat6n who lay beside him, and he 
felt that the world that had been shattered was" 
once more stirring in his soul with a new 
beauty and on new and unshakable founda- 
tions. 

CHAPTER XIII 

TWENTY-THREE SOLDIERS, three officers, and 
two officials were confined in the shed in which 
Pierre had been placed and where he remained 
for four weeks. 

When Pierre remembered them afterwards 
they all seemed misty figures to him except 
Plat6n Karatdev, who always remained in his 
mind a most vivid and precious memory and 
the personification of everything Russian, 
kindly, and round. When Pierre saw his neigh- 
bor next morning at dawn the first impression 
of him, as of something round, was fully con- 
firmed: Plat6n's whole figure in a French 
overcoat girdled with a cord, a soldier's cap, 
and bast shoes was round. His head was quite 
round, his back, chest, shoulders, and even his 
arms, which he held as if ever ready to em- 
brace something, were rounded, his pleasant 
smile and his large, gentle brown eyes were 
also round. 

Plat6n Karataev must have been fifty, judg- 
ing by his stories of campaigns he had been in, 
told as by an old soldier. He did not himself 
know his age and was quite unable to deter- 
mine it. But his brilliantly white, strong teeth 



which showed in two unbroken semicircles 
when he laughed as he often did were all 
sound and good, there was not a gray hair in 
his beard or on his head, and his whole body 
gave an impression of suppleness and especial- 
ly of firmness and endurance. 

His face, despite its fine, rounded wrinkles, 
had an expression of innocence and youth, his 
voice was pleasant and musical. But the chief 
peculiarity of his speech was its directness and 
appositeness. It was evident that he never con- 
sidered what he had said or was going to say, 
and consequently the rapidity and justice of 
his intonation had an irresistible persuasive- 
ness. 

His physical strength and agility during the 
first days of his imprisonment were such that 
he seemed not to know what fatigue and sick- 
ness meant. Every night before lying down, he 
said: "Lord, lay me down as a stone and raise 
me up as a loaf!" and every morning on get- 
ting up, he said: "I lay down and curled up, I 
get up and shake myself." And indeed he only 
had to lie down, to fall asleep like a stone, and 
he only had to shake himself, to be ready with- 
out a moment's delay for some work, just as 
children are ready to play directly they awake. 
He could do everything, not very well but not 
badly. He baked, cooked, sewed, planed, and 
mended boots. He was always busy, and only 
at night allowed himself conversation of which 
he was fond and songs. He did not sing like a 
trained singer who knows he is listened to, but 
like the birds, evidently giving vent to the 
sounds in the same way that one stretches one- 
self or walks about to get rid of stiffness, and 
the sounds were always high-pitched, mourn- 
ful, delicate, and almost feminine, and his face 
at such times was very serious. 

Having been taken prisoner and allowed his 
beard to grow, he seemed to have thrown off 
all that had been forced upon him everything 
military and alien to himself and had returned 
to his former peasant habits. 

"A soldier on leave a shirt outside 
breeches," l he would say. 

He did not like talking about his life as a 
soldier, though he did not complain, and often 
mentioned that he had not been flogged once 
during the whole of his army service. When 
he related anything it was generally some old 
and evidently precious memory of his "Chris- 

1 The peasants wear their shirts fastened by a 
girdle at the waist and hanging loose outside their 
breeches, whereas a soldier's shirt is tucked inside. 
-TR. 



BOOK TWELVE 



555 



tian" life, as he called his peasant existence. 
The proverbs, of which his talk was full, were 
for the most part not the coarse and indecent 
saws soldiers employ, but those folk sayings 
which taken without a context seem so insig- 
nificant, but when used appositely suddenly ac- 
quire a significance of profound wisdom. 

He would often say the exact opposite of 
what he had said on a previous occasion, yet 
both would be right. He liked to talk and he 
talked well, adorning his speech with terms of 
endearment and with folk sayings which Pierre 
thought he invented himself, but the chief 
charm of his talk lay in the fact that the com- 
monest events sometimes just such as Pierre 
had witnessed without taking notice of them 
assumed in Karatdev's speech a character of 
solemn fitness. He liked to hear the folk tales 
one of the soldiers used to tell of an evening 
(they were always the same), but most of all he 
liked to hear stories of real life. He would 
smile joyfully when listening to such stories, 
now and then putting in a word or asking a 
question to make the moral beauty of what he 
was told clear to himself. Karataev had no at- 
tachments, friendships, or love, as Pierre un- 
derstood them, but loved and lived affection- 
ately with everything life brought him in con- 
tact with, particularly with man not any par- 
ticular man, but those with whom he happened 
to be. He loved his dog, his comrades, the 
French, and Pierre who was his neighbor, but 
Pierre felt that in spite of Karataev's affection- 
ate tenderness for him (by which he uncon- 
sciously gave Pierre's spiritual life its due) he 
would not have grieved for a moment at part- 
ing from him. And Pierre began to feel in the 
same way toward Karataev. 

To all the other prisoners Plat6n Karataev 
seemed a most ordinary soldier. They called 
him "little falcon" or "Plat6sha," chaffed him 
good-naturedly, and sent him on errands. But 
to Pierre he always remained what he had 
seemed that first night: an unfathomable, 
rounded, eternal personification of the spirit 
of simplicity and truth. 

Plat6n Karataev knew nothing by heart ex- 
cept his prayers. When he began to speak he 
seemed not to know how he would conclude. 

Sometimes Pierre, struck by the meaning of 
his words, would ask him to repeat them, but 
Plat6n could never recall what he had said a 
moment before, just as he never could repeat 
to Pierre the words of his favorite song: native 
and birch tree and my heart is sick occurred in 
it, but when spoken and not sung, no meaning 



could be got out of it. He did not, and could 
not, understand the meaning of words apart 
from their context. Every word and action of 
his was the manifestation of an activity un- 
known to him, which was his life. But his life, 
as he regarded it, had no meaning as a sepa- 
rate thing. It had meaning only as part of a 
whole of which he was always conscious. His 
words and actions flowed from him as evenly, 
inevitably, and spontaneously as fragrance ex- 
hales from a flower. He could not understand 
the value or significance of any word or deed 
taken separately. 

CHAPTER XIV 

WHEN PRINCESS MARY heard from Nicholas 
that her brother was with the Rost6vs at Yaro- 
slavl she at once prepared to go there, in spite 
of her aunt's efforts to dissuade her and not 
merely to go herself but to take her nephew 
with her. Whether it were difficult or easy, pos- 
sible or impossible, she did not ask and did 
not want to know: it was her duty not only 
herself to be near her brother who was perhaps 
dying, but to do everything possible to take his 
son to him, and so she prepared to set off. That 
she had not heard from Prince Andrew him- 
self, Princess Mary attributed to his being too 
weak to write or to his considering the long 
journey too hard and too dangerous for her 
and his son. 

In a few days Princess Mary was ready to 
start. Her equipages were the huge family 
coach in which she had traveled to Voronezh, a 
semiopen trap, and a baggage cart. With her 
traveled Mademoiselle Bourienne, little Nich- 
olas and his tutor, her old nurse, three maids, 
Tikhon, and a young footman and courier her 
aunt had sent to accompany her. 

The usual route through Moscow could not 
be thought of, and the roundabout way Prin- 
cess Mary was obliged to take through Lipetsk, 
Ryazan, Vladimir, and Shuya was very long 
and, as post horses were not everywhere ob- 
tainable, very difficult, and near Ryazan where 
the French were said to have shown themselves 
was even dangerous. 

During this difficult journey Mademoiselle 
Bourienne, Dessalles, and Princess Mary's serv- 
ants were astonished at her energy and firmness 
of spirit. She went to bed later and rose earlier 
than any of them, and no difficulties daunted 
her. Thanks to her activity and energy, which 
infected her fellow travelers, they approached 
Yaroslavl by the end of the second week. 

The last days of her stay in Vor6nezh had 



55 6 

been the happiest of her life. Her love for Ros- 
t6v no longer tormented or agitated her. It 
filled her whole soul, had become an integral 
part of herself, and she no longer struggled 
against it. Latterly she had become convinced 
that she loved and was beloved, though she 
never said this definitely to herself in words. 
She had become convinced of it at her last in- 
terview with Nicholas, when he had come to 
tell her that her brother was with the Rostovs. 
Not by a single word had Nicholas alluded to 
the fact that Prince Andrew's relations with 
Natdsha might, if he recovered, be renewed, 
but Princess Mary saw by his face that he knew 
and thought of this. 

Yet in spite of that, his relation to her con- 
siderate, delicate, and loving not only re- 
mained unchanged, but it sometimes seemed 
to Princess Mary that he was even glad that 
the family connection between them allowed 
him to express his friendship more freely. She 
knew that she loved for the first and only 
time in her life and felt that she was beloved, 
and was happy in regard to it. 

But this happiness on one side of her spir- 
itual nature did not prevent her feeling grief 
for her brother with full force; on the contrary, 
that spiritual tranquillity on the one side made 
it the more possible for her to give full play to 
her feeling for her brother. That feeling was 
so strong at the moment of leaving Voronezh 
that those who saw her off, as they looked at 
her careworn, despairing face, felt sure she 
would fall ill on the journey. But the very dif- 
ficulties and preoccupations of the journey, 
which she took so actively in hand, saved her 
fora while from her grief and gave her strength. 

As always happens when traveling, Princess 
Mary thought only of the journey itself, for- 
getting its object. But as she approached Yaro- 
slavl the thought of what might await her 
there not after many days, but that very eve- 
ningagain presented itself to her and her agi- 
tation increased to its utmost limit. 

The courier who had been sent on in ad- 
vance to find out where the Rost6vs were stay- 
ing in Yaroslavl, and in what condition Prince 
Andrew was, when he met the big coach just 
entering the town gates was appalled by the 
terrible pallor of the princess* face that looked 
out at him from the window. 

"I have found out everything, your excel- 
lency: the Rost6vs are staying at the merchant 
Brdnnikov's house, in the Square not far 
from here, right above the V61ga," said the 
courier. 



WAR AND PEACE 

Princess Mary looked at him with frightened 
inquiry, not understanding why he did not 
reply to what she chiefly wanted to know: how 
was her brother? Mademoiselle Bourienne put 
that question for her. 

"How is the prince?" she asked. 

"His excellency is staying in the same house 
with them." 

"Then he is alive," thought Princess Mary, 
and asked in a low voice: "How is he?" 

"The servants say he is still the same." 

What "still the same" might mean Princess 
Mary did not ask, but with an unnoticed glance 
at little seven-year-old Nicholas, who was sit- 
ting in front of her looking with pleasure at the 
town, she bowed her head and did not raise it 
again till the heavy coach, rumbling, shaking, 
and swaying, came to a stop. The carriage steps 
clattered as they were let down. 

The carriage door was opened. On the left 
there was water a great river and on the right 
a porch. There were people at the entrance: 
servants, and a rosy girl with a large plait of 
black hair, smiling as it seemed to Princess 
Mary in an unpleasantly affected way. (This 
was S6nya.) Princess Mary ran up the steps. 
"This way, this wayl" said the girl, with the 
same artificial smile, and the princess found 
herself in the hall facing an elderly woman of 
Oriental type, who came rapidly to meet her 
with a look of emotion. This was the countess. 
She embraced Princess Mary and kissed her. 

"Mon enfant!" she muttered, "je vous aime 
et vous connais depuis longtemps." * 

Despite her excitement, Princess Mary re- 
alized that this was the countess and that it was 
necessary to say something to her. Hardly 
knowing how she did it, she contrived to utter 
a few polite phrases in French in the same tone 
as those that had been addressed to her, and 
asked: "How is he?" 

"The doctor says that he is not in danger," 
said the countess, but as she spoke she raised 
her eyes with a sigh, and her gesture conveyed 
a contradiction of her words. 

"Where is he? Can I see him can I?" asked 
the princess. 

"One moment, Princess, one moment, my 
dearl Is this his son?" said the countess, turn- 
ing to little Nicholas who was coming in 
with Dessalles. "There will be room for every- 
body, this is a big house. Oh, what a lovely 
boy!" 

The countess took Princess Mary into the 

1 "My childl I love you and have known you a 
long time." 



BOOK TWELVE 

drawing room, where S6nya was talking to 
Mademoiselle Bourienne. The countess ca- 
ressed the boy, and the old count came in and 
welcomed the princess. He had changed very 
much since Princess Mary had last seen him. 
Then he had been a brisk, cheerful, self-assured 
old man; now he seemed a pitiful, bewildered 
person. While talking to Princess Mary he con- 
tinually looked round as if asking everyone 
whether he was doing the right thing. After 
the destruction of Moscow and of his property, 
thrown out of his accustomed groove he seemed 
to have lost the sense of his own significance and 
to feel that there was no longer a place for him 
in life. 

In spite of her one desire to see her brother 
as soon as possible, and her vexation that at 
the moment when all she wanted was to see 
him they should be trying to entertain her and 
pretending to admire her nephew, the princess 
noticed all that was going on around her and 
felt the necessity of submitting, for a time, to 
this new order of things which she had entered. 
She knew it to be necessary, and though it was 
hard for her she was not vexed with these peo- 
pie. 

"This is my niece," said the count, intro- 
ducing S6nya "You don't know her, Princess?" 

Princess Mary turned to S6nya and, trying 
to stifle the hostile feeling that arose in her 
toward the girl, she kissed her. But she felt op- 
pressed by the fact that the mood of everyone 
around her was so far from what was in her 
own heart. 

"Where is he?" she asked again, addressing 
them all. 

"He is downstairs. Natasha is with him," 
answered S6nya, flushing. "We have sent to 
ask. I think you must be tired, Princess." 

Tears of vexation showed themselves in 
Princess Mary's eyes. She turned away and was 
about to ask the countess again how to go to 
him, when light, impetuous, and seemingly 
buoyant steps were heard at the door. The 
princess looked round and saw Natdsha coming 
in, almost running that Natasha whom she 
had liked so little at their meeting in Moscow 
long since. 

But hardly had the princess looked at Na- 
tdsha's face before she realized that here was 
a real comrade in her grief, and consequently a 
friend. She ran to meet her, embraced her, and 
began to cry on her shoulder. 

As soon as Natdsha, sitting at the head of 
Prince Andrew's bed, heard of Princess Mary's 
arrival, she softly left his room and hastened to 



557 

her with those swift steps that had sounded 
buoyant to Princess Mary. 

There was only one expression on her agitat- 
ed face when she ran into the drawing room- 
that of love boundless love for him, for her, 
and for all that was near to the man she loved; 
and of pity, suffering for others, and passion- 
ate desire to give herself entirely to helping 
them. It was plain that at that moment there 
was in Natasha's heart no thought of herself 
or of her own relations with Prince Andrew. 

Princess Mary, with her acute sensibility, 
understood all this at the first glance at Nata- 
sha's face, and wept on her shoulder with sor- 
rowful pleasure. 

"Come, come to him, Mary," said Natdsha, 
leading her into the other room. 

Princess Mary raised her head, dried her 
eyes, and turned to Natdsha. She felt that from 
her she would be able to understand and learn 
everything. 

"How . . ." she began her question but 
stopped short. 

She felt that it was impossible to ask, or to 
answer, in words. Natasha's face and eyes would 
have to tell her all more clearly and profound- 



Natdsha was gazing at her, but seemed afraid 
and in doubt whether to say all she knew or 
not; she seemed to feel that before those lumi- 
nous eyes which penetrated into the very 
depths of her heart, it was impossible not to 
tell the whole truth which she saw. And sud- 
denly, Natdsha's lips twitched, ugly wrinkles 
gathered round her mouth, and covering her 
face with her hands she burst into sobs. 

Princess Mary understood. 

But she still hoped, and asked, in words she 
herself did not trust: 

"But how is his wound? What is his general 
condition?" 

"You, you . . . will see," was all Natasha 
could say. 

They sat a little while downstairs near his 
room till they had left off crying and were able 
to go to him with calm faces. 

"How has his whole illness gone? Is it long 
since he grew worse? When did this happen?" 
Princess Mary inquired. 

Natdsha told her that at first there had been 
danger from his feverish condition and the 
pain he suffered, but at Tr6itsa that had passed 
and the doctor had only been afraid of gan- 
grene. That danger had also passed. When 
they reached Yarosldvl the wound had begun 
to fester (Natdsha knew all about such things 



WAR AND PEACE 



as festering) and the doctor had said that the 
festering might take a normal course. Then fe- 
ver set in, but the doctor had said the fever was 
not very serious. 

"But two days ago this suddenly happened," 
said Natdsha, struggling with her sobs. "I don't 
know why, but you will see what he is like." 

"Is he weaker? Thinner?" asked the princess. 

"No, it's not that, but worse. You will see. 
O, Mary, he is too good, he cannot, cannot live, 
because . . ." 

CHAPTER XV 

WHEN NATASHA opened Prince Andrew's door 
with a familiar movement and let Princess 
Mary pass into the room before her, the prin- 
cess felt the sobs rising in her throat. Hard as 
she had tried to prepare herself, and now tried 
to remain tranquil, she knew that she would be 
unable to look at him without tears. 

The princess understood what Natasha had 
meant by the words: "two clays ago this sudden- 
ly happened." She understood those words to 
mean that he had suddenly softened and that 
this softening and gentleness were signs of ap- 
proaching death. As she stepped to the door 
she already saw in imagination Andrew's face 
as she remembered it in childhood, a gentle, 
mild, sympathetic face which he had rarely 
shown, and which therefore affected her very 
strongly. She was sure he would speak soft, 
tender words to her such as her father had ut- 
tered before his death, and that she would not 
be able to bear it and would burst into sobs in 
his presence. Yet sooner or later it had to be, 
and she went in. The sobs rose higher and 
higher in her throat as she more and more 
clearly distinguished his form and her short- 
sighted eyes tried to make out his features, and 
then she saw his face and met his gaze. 

He was lying in a squirrel-fur dressing gown 
on a divan, surrounded by pillows. He was 
thin and pale. In one thin, translucently white 
hand he held a handkerchief, while with the 
other he stroked the delicate mustache he had 
grown, moving his fingers slowly. His eyes 
gazed at them as they entered. 

On seeing his face and meeting his eyes Prin- 
cess Mary's pace suddenly slackened, she felt 
her tears dry up and her sobs ceased. She sud- 
denly felt guilty and grew timid on catching 
the expression of his face and eyes. 

"But in what am I to blame?" she asked her- 
self. And his cold, stern look replied: "Because 
you are alive and thinking of the living, while 
I ..." 



In the deep gaze that seemed to look not out- 
wards but inwards there was an almost hostile 
expression as he slowly regarded his sister and 
Natdsha. 

He kissed his sister, holding her hand in his 
as was their wont. 

"How are you, Mary? How did you manage 
to get here?" said he in a voice as calm and 
aloof as his look. 

Had he screamed in agony, that scream 
would not have struck such horror into Prin- 
cess Mary's heart as the tone of his voice. 

"And have you brought little Nicholas?" he 
asked in the same slow, quiet manner and with 
an obvious effort to remember. 

"How are you now?" said Princess Mary, 
herself surprised at what she was saying. 

"That, my dear, you must ask the doctor," 
he replied, and again making an evident effort 
to be affectionate, he said with his lips only 
(his words clearly did not correspond to his 
thoughts): 

"Merci, chere amie, d'etre venue." l 

Princess Mary pressed his hand. The pres- 
sure made him wince just perceptibly. He was 
silent, and she did not know what to say. She 
now understood what had happened to him 
two days before. In his words, his tone, and 
especially in that calm, almost antagonistic 
look could be felt an estrangement from every- 
thing belonging to this world, terrible in one 
who is alive. Evidently only with an effort 
did he understand anything living; but it 
was obvious that he failed to understand, 
not because he lacked the power to do so 
but because he understood something else- 
something the living did not and could not 
understand and which wholly occupied his 
mind. 

"There, you see how strangely fate has 
brought us together," said he, breaking the si- 
lence and pointing to Natasha. "She looks aft- 
er me all the time." 

Princess Mary heard him and did not under- 
stand how he could say such a thing. He, the 
sensitive, tender Prince Andrew, how could he 
say that, before her whom he loved and who 
loved him? Had he expected to live he could 
not have said those words in that offensively 
cold tone. If he had not known that he was 
dying, how could he have failed to pity her and 
how could he speak like that in her presence? 
The only explanation was that he was indiffer- 
ent, because something else, much more im- 
portant, had been revealed to him. 

1 "Thank you for coming, my dear." 



BOOK TWELVE 



559 



The conversation was cold and disconnect- 
ed and continually broke off. 

"Mary came by way of Ryazdn," said Nata- 
sha. 

Prince Andrew did not notice that she called 
his sister Mary, and only after calling her so in 
his presence did Natisha notice it herself. 

"Really?" he asked. 

"They told her that all Moscow has been 
burned down, and that . . ." 

Natasha stopped. It was impossible to talk. 
It was plain that he was making an effort to lis- 
ten, but could not do so. 

"Yes, they say it's burned," he said. "It's a 
great pity," and he gazed straight before him, 
absently stroking his mustache with his fingers. 

"And so you have met Count Nicholas, 
Mary?" Prince Andrew suddenly said, evident- 
ly wishing to speak pleasantly to them. "He 
wrote here that he took a great liking to you," 
he went on simply and calmly, evidently un- 
able to understand all the complex significance 
his words had for living people. "If you liked 
him too, it would be a good thing for you to 
get married," he added rather more quickly, 
as if pleased at having found words he had 
long been seeking. 

Princess Mary heard his words but they had 
no meaning for her, except as a proof of how 
far away he now was from everything living. 

"Why talk of me?" she said quietly and 
glanced at Natasha. 

Nat&sha, who felt her glance, did not look 
at her. All three were again silent. 

"Andrew, would you like . . ." Princess Mary 
suddenly said in a trembling voice, "would you 
like to see little Nicholas? He is always talking 
about you!" 

Prince Andrew smiled just perceptibly and 
for the first time, but Princess Mary, who knew 
his face so well, saw with horror that he did not 
smile with pleasure or affection for his son, 
but with quiet, gentle irony because he thought 
she was trying what she believed to be the last 
means of arousing him. 

"Yes, I shall be very glad to see him. Is he 
quite well?" 

When little Nicholas was brought in to Prince 
Andrew's room he looked at his father with 
frightened eyes, but did not cry, because no one 
else was crying. Prince Andrew kissed him and 
evidently did not know what to say to him. 

When Nicholas had been led away, Princess 
Mary again went up to her brother, kissed him, 
and unable to restrain her tears any longer 
began to cry. 



He looked at her attentively. 

"Is it about Nicholas?" he asked. 

Princess Mary nodded her head, weeping. 

"Mary, you know the Gosp . . ." but he 
broke off. 

"What did you say?" 

"Nothing. You mustn't cry here," he said, 
looking at her with the same cold expression. 

When Princess Mary began to cry, he under- 
stood that she was crying at the thought that 
little Nicholas would be left without a father. 
With a great effort he tried toreturn to lifeand 
to see things from their point of view. 

"Yes, to them it must seem sadl" he thought. 
"But how simple it is. 

"The fowls of the air sow not, neither do 
they reap, yet your Father feedeth them," he 
said to himself and wished to say to Princess 
Mary; "but no, they will take it their own way, 
they won't understand! They can't understand 
that all those feelings they prize so all our 
feelings, all those ideas that seem so important 
to us, are unnecessary. We cannot understand 
one another," and he remained silent. 

Prince Andrew's little son was seven. He 
could scarcely read, and knew nothing. After 
that day he lived through many things, gaining 
knowledge, observation, and experience, but 
had he possessed all the faculties he afterwards 
acquired, he could not have had a better or 
more profound understanding of the meaning 
of the scene he had witnessed between his fa- 
ther, Mary, and Natasha, than he had then. He 
understood it completely, and, leaving the room 
without crying, went silently up to Natdsha 
who had come out with him and looked shyly 
at her with his beautiful, thoughtful eyes, then 
his uplifted, rosy upper lip trembled and lean- 
ing his head against her he began to cry. 

After that he avoided Dessalles and the 
countess who caressed him and either sat alone 
or came timidly to Princess Mary, or to Na- 
tAsha of whom he seemed even fonder than 
of his aunt, and clung to them quietly and 
shyly. 

When Princess Mary had left Prince An- 
drew she fully understood what Natdsha's face 
had told her. She did not speak any more to 
Natdsha of hopes of saving his life. She took 
turns with her beside his sofa, and did not cry 
any more, but prayed continually, turning in 
soul to that Eternal and Unfathomable, whose 
presence above the dying man was now so evi- 
dent. 



5 6 

CHAPTER XVI 

NOT ONLY did Prince Andrew know he would 
die, but he felt that he was dying and was al- 
ready half dead. He was conscious of an aloof- 
ness from everything earthly and a strange and 
joyous lightness of existence. Without haste 
or agitation he awaited what was coming. That 
inexorable, eternal, distant, and unknown 
the presence of which he had felt continually 
all his life was now near to him and, by the 
strange lightness he experienced, almost com- 
prehensible and palpable. . . . 

Formerly he had feared the end. He had 
twice experienced that terribly tormenting 
fear of death the end but now he no longer 
understood that fear. 

He had felt it for the first time when the 
shell spun like a top before him, and he looked 
at the fallow field, the bushes, and the sky, and 
knew that he was face to face with death. When 
he came to himself after being wounded and 
the flower of eternal, unfettered love had in- 
stantly unfolded itself in his soul as if freed 
from the bondage of life that had restrained it, 
he no longer feared death and ceased to think 
about it. 

During the hours of solitude, suffering, and 
partial delirium he spent after he was wound- 
ed, the more deeply he penetrated into the 
new principle of eternal love revealed to him, 
the more he unconsciously detached himself 
from earthly life. To love everything and ev- 
erybody and always to sacrifice oneself for love 
meant not to love anyone, not to live this earth- 
ly life. And the more imbued he became with 
that principle of love, the more he renounced 
life and the more completely he destroyed that 
dreadful barrier which in the absence of such 
love stands between life and death. When 
during those first days he remembered that he 
would have to die, he said to himself: "Well, 
what of it? So much the better!" 

But after the night in Mytishchi when, half 
delirious, he had seen her for whom he longed 
appear before him and, having pressed her 
hand to his lips, had shed gentle, happy tears, 
love for a particular woman again crept un- 
observed into his heart and once more bound 
him to life. And joyful and agitating thoughts 
began to occupy his mind. Recalling the mo- 
ment at the ambulance station when he had 
seen KurAgin, he could not now regain the 
feeling he then had, but was tormented by the 
question whether Kurdgin was alive. And he 
dared not inquire. 



WAR AND PEACE 

His illness pursued its normal physical 
course, but what Natdsha referred to when she 
said: "This suddenly happened," had occurred 
two days before Princess Mary arrived. It was 
the last spiritual struggle between life and 
death, in which death gained the victory. It 
was the unexpected realization of the fact that 
he still valued life as presented to him in the 
form of his love for Natdsha, and a last, though 
ultimately vanquished, attack of terror before 
the unknown. 

It was evening. As usual after dinner he was 
slightly feverish, and his thoughts were pre- 
ternaturally clear. S6nya was sitting by the 
table. He began to doze. Suddenly a feeling of 
happiness seized him. 

"Ah, she has come!" thought he. 

And so it was: in S6nya's place sat Natasha 
who had just come in noiselessly. 

Since she had begun looking after him, he had 
always experienced this physical consciousness 
of her nearness. She was sitting in an armchair 
placed sideways, screening the light of the can- 
dle from him, and was knitting a stocking. 
She had learned to knit stockings since Prince 
Andrew had casually mentioned that no one 
nursed the sick so well as old nurses who knit 
stockings, and that there is something soothing 
in the knitting of stockings. The needles clicked 
lightly in her slender, rapidly moving hands, 
and he could clearly see the thoughtful profile 
of her drooping face. She moved, and the ball 
rolled off her knees. She started, glanced round 
at him, and screening the candle with her hand 
stooped carefully with a supple and exact 
movement, picked up the ball, and regained 
her former position. 

He looked at her without moving and saw 
that she wanted to draw a deep breath after 
stooping, but refrained from doing so and 
breathed cautiously. 

At the Troitsa monastery they had spoken 
of the past, and he had told her that if he 
lived he would always thank God for his 
wound which had brought them together 
again, but after that they never spoke of the 
future. 

"Can it or can it not be?" he now thought 
as he looked at her and listened to the light 
click of the steel needles. "Can fate have 
brought me to her so strangely only for me to 
die? ... Is it possible that the truth of life has 
been revealed to me only to show me that I 
have spent my life in falsity? I love her more 
than anything in the world! But what am I to 
do if I love her?" he thought, and he involun- 



BOOK TWELVE 

tarily groaned, from a/iabit acquired during 
his sufferings. 

On hearing that sound Natdsha put down 
the stocking, leaned nearer to him, and sud- 
denly, noticing his shining eyes, stepped light- 
ly up to him and bent over him. 

"You are not asleep?" 

"No, I have been looking at you a long time. 
I felt you come in. No one else gives me that 
sense of soft tranquillity that you do ... that 
light. I want to weep for joy." 

Natdsha drew closer to him. Her face shone 
with rapturous joy. 

"Natdsha, I love you too muchl More than 
anything in the world." 

"And I!" She turned away for an instant. 
"Why too much?" she asked. 

"Why too much? . , . Well, what do you 
think, what do you feel in your soul, your 
whole soul shall I live? What do you think?" 

"I am sureof it, surel" Natdsha almost shout- 
ed, taking hold of both his hands with a pas- 
sionate movement. 

He remained silent awhile. 

"How good it would be!" and taking her 
hand he kissed it. 

Natasha felt happy and agitated, but at 
once remembered that this would not do and 
that he had to be quiet. 

"But you have not slept," she said, repress- 
ing her joy. "Try to sleep . . . please!" 

He pressed her hand and released it, and 
she went back to the candleand sat down again 
in her former position. Twice she turned and 
looked at him, and her eyes met his beaming 
at her. She set herself a task on her stocking 
and resolved not to turn round till it was fin- 
ished. 

Soon he really shut his eyes and fell asleep. 
He did not sleep long and suddenly awoke 
with a start and in a cold perspiration. 

As he fell asleep he had still been thinking 
of the subject that now always occupied his 
mind about life and death, and chiefly about 
death. He felt himself nearer to it. 

"Love? What is love?" he thought. 

"Love hinders death. Love is life. All, every- 
thing that I understand, I understand only 
because I love. Everything is, everything ex- 
ists, only because 1 love. Everything is united 
by it alone. Love is God, and to die means that 
I, a particle of love, shall return to the general 
and eternal source." These thoughts seemed to 
him comforting. But they were only thoughts. 
Something was lacking in them, they were not 
clear, they were too one-sidedly personal and 



561 

brain-spun. And there was the former agita- 
tion and obscurity. He fell asleep. 

He dreamed that he was lying in the room he 
really was in, but that hewas quite well and un- 
wounded. Many various, indifferent, and insig- 
nificant people appeared before him. He talked 
to them and discussed something trivial. They 
were preparing to go away somewhere. Prince 
Andrew dimly realized that all this was trivial 
and that he had more important cares, but he 
continued to speak, surprising them by empty 
witticisms. Gradually, unnoticed, all these per- 
sons began to disappear and a single question, 
that of the closed door, superseded all else. He 
rose and went to the door to bolt and lock it. 
Everything depended on whether he was, or 
was not, in time to lock it. He went, and tried 
to hurry, but his legs refused to move and he 
knew he would not be in time to lock the door 
though he painfullystrained all his powers. He 
was seized by an agonizing fear. And that fear 
was the fear of death. It stood behind the door. 
But just when he was clumsily creeping to- 
ward the door, that dreadful something on the 
other side was already pressing against it 
and forcing its way in. Something not hu- 
mandeathwas breaking in through that 
door, and had to be kept out. He seized the 
door, making a final effort to hold it back to 
lock it was no longer possible but his efforts 
were weak and clumsy and the door, pushed 
from behind by that terror, opened and closed 
again. 

Once again it pushed from outside. His last 
superhuman efforts were vain and both halves 
of the door noiselessly opened. It entered, and 
it was death, and Prince Andrew died. 

But at the instant he died, Prince Andrew re- 
membered that he was asleep, and at the very 
instant he died, having made an effort, he 
awoke. 

"Yes, it was death! I died and woke up. 
Yes, death is an awakening!" And all at once it 
grew light in his soul and the veil that had till 
then concealed the unknown was lifted from 
his spiritual vision. He felt as if powers till 
then confined within him had been liberated, 
and that strange lightness did not again leave 
him. 

When, waking in a cold perspiration, he 
moved on the divan, Natdsha went up and 
asked him what was the matter. He did not 
answer and looked at her strangely, not under- 
standing. 

That was what had happened to him two 
days before Princess Mary's arrival. From that 



56* 

day, as the doctor expressed it, the wasting 
fever assumed a malignant character, but what 
the doctor said did not interest Natasha, she 
saw the terrible moral symptoms which to 
her were more convincing. 

From that day an awakening from life came 
to Prince Andrew together with his awakening 
from sleep. And compared to the duration of 
life it did not seem to him slower than an 
awakening from sleep compared to the dura- 
tion of a dream. 

There was nothing terrible or violent in this 
comparatively slow awakening. 

His last days and hours passed in an ordinary 
and simple way. Both Princess Mary and Na- 
tdsha, who did not leave him, felt this. They 
did not weep or shudder and during these last 
days they themselves felt that they were not 
attending on him (he was no longer there, he 
had left them) but on what reminded them 
most closely of him his body. Both felt this so 
strongly that the outward and terrible side of 
death did not affect them and they did not feel 
it necessary to foment their grief. Neither in his 
presence nor out of it did they weep, nor did 
they ever talk to one another about him. They 
felt that they could not express in words what 
they understood. 

They both saw that he was sinking slowly 
and quietly, deeper and deeper, away from 
them, and they both knew that this had to be 
so and that it was right. 

He confessed, and received communion: ev- 
eryone came to take leave of him. When they 
brought his son to him, he pressed his lips to 



WAR AND PEACE 

the boy's and turnec|taway, not because he 
felt it hard and sad (Princess Mary and Nat- 
sha understood that) but simply because he 
thought it was all that was required of him, 
but when they told him to bless the boy, he did 
what was demanded and looked round as if 
asking whether there was anything else he 
should do. 

When the last convulsions of the body, which 
the spirit was leaving, occurred, Princess Mary 
and Natdsha were present. 

"Is it over?" said Princess Mary when his 
body had for a few minutes lain motionless, 
growing cold before them. Natdsha went up, 
looked at the dead eyes, and hastened to close 
them. She closed them but did not kiss them, 
but clung to that which reminded her most 
nearly of him his body. 

"Where has he gone? Where is he now? . . ." 

When the body, washed and dressed, lay in 
the coffin on a table, everyone came to take 
leave of him and they all wept. 

Little Nicholas cried because his heart was 
rent by painful perplexity. The countess and 
S6nya cried from pity for Natasha and because 
he was no more. The old count cried because 
he felt that before long, he, too, must take the 
same terrible step. 

Natdsha and Princess Mary also wept now, 
but not because of their own personal grief; 
they wept with a reverent and softening emo- 
tion which had taken possession of their souls 
at the consciousness of the simple and solemn 
mystery of death that had been accomplished 
in their presence. 



Book Thirteen: 1812 



CHAPTER I 

MAN'S MIND cannot grasp the causes of events 
in their completeness, but the desire to find 
those causes is implanted in man's soul. And 
without considering the multiplicity and com- 
plexity of the conditions any one of which 
taken separately may seem to be the cause, he 
snatches at the first approximation to a cause 
that seems to him intelligible and says: "This 
is the cause!" In historical events (where the 
actions of men are the subject of observation) 
the first and most primitive approximation to 
present itself was the will of the gods and, aft- 
er that, the will of those who stood in the most 
prominent position the heroes of history. But 
we need only penetrate to the essence of any 
historic event which lies in the activity of the 
general mass of men who take part in it to be 
convinced that the will of the historic hero 
does not control the actions of the mass but is 
itself continually controlled. It may seem to 
be a matter of indifference whether we under- 
stand die meaning of historical events this 
way or that; yet there is the same difference 
between a man who says that the people of the 
West moved on the East because Napoleon 
wished it and a man who says that this hap- 
pened because it had to happen, as there is be- 
tween those who declared that the earth was 
stationary and that the planets moved round 
it and those who admitted that they did not 
know what upheld the earth, but knew there 
were laws directing its movement and that of 
the other planets. There is, and can be, no 
cause of an historical event except the one 
cause of all causes. But there are laws direct- 
ing events, and some of these laws are known 
to us while we are conscious of others we can- 
not comprehend. The discovery of these laws 
is only possible when we have quite abandoned 
the attempt to find the cause in the will of 
some one man, just as the discovery of the laws 
of the motion of the planets was possible only 
when men abandoned the conception of the 
fixity of the earth. 



The historians consider that, next to the 
battle of Borodin6 and the occupation of Mos- 
cow by the enemy and its destruction by fire, 
th'e most important episode of the war of 1812 
was the movement of the Russian army from 
the Ryazan to the Kaluga road and to the 
Tarutino camp the so-called flank march 
across the Krdsnaya Fakhra River. They as- 
cribe the glory of that achievement of genius 
to different men and dispute as to whom the 
honor is due. Even foreign historians, includ- 
ing the French, acknowledge the genius of the 
Russian commanders when they speak of that 
Rank march. But it is hard to understand why 
military writers, and following them others, 
consider this flank march to be the profound 
conception of some one man who saved Rus- 
sia and destroyed Napoleon. In the first place 
it is hard to understand where the profundity 
and genius of this movement lay, for not much 
mental effort was needed to see that the best 
position for an army when it is not being at- 
tacked is where there are most provisions; and 
even a dull boy of thirteen could have guessed 
that the best position for an army after its re- 
treat from Moscow in 1812 was on the Kaluga 
road. So it is impossible to understand by what 
reasoning the historians reach the conclusion 
that this maneuver was a profound one. And 
it is even more difficult to understand just why 
they think that this maneuver was calculated 
to save Russia and destroy the French; for this 
flank march, had it been preceded, accom- 
panied, or followed by other circumstances, 
might have proved ruinous to the Russians 
and salutary for the French. If the position of 
the Russian army really began to improve 
from the time of that march, it does not at all 
follow that the march was the cause of it. 

That flank march might not only have failed 
to give any advantage to the Russian army, 
but might in other circumstances have led to 
its destruction. What would have happened 
had Moscow not burned down? If Murat had 
not lost sight of the Russians? If Napoleon had 



563 



564 



not remained inactive? If the Russian army at 
Krasnaya Fakhra had given battle as Berinig- 
sen and Barclay advised? What would have 
happened had the French attacked the Rus- 
sians while they were marching beyond the 
Fakhra? What would have happened if on ap- 
proaching Tarutino, Napoleon had attacked 
the Russians with but a tenth of the energy he 
had shown when he attacked them at Smo- 
le*nsk? What would have happened had the 
French moved on Petersburg? ... In any of 
these eventualities the flank march that brought 
salvation might have proved disastrous. 

The third and most incomprehensible thing 
is that people studying history deliberately 
avoid seeing that this flank march cannot be 
attributed to any one man, that no one ever 
foresaw it, and that in reality, like the retreat 
from Fill, it did not suggest itself to anyone in 
its entirety, but resultedmoment by moment, 
step by step, event by event from an endless 
number of most diverse circumstances and was 
only seen in its entirety when it had been ac- 
complished and belonged to the past. 

At the council at Fili the prevailing thought 
in the minds of the Russian commanders was 
the one naturally suggesting itself, namely, a 
direct retreat by the Nizhni road. In proof of 
this there is the fact that the majority of the 
council voted for such a retreat, and above all 
there is the well-known conversation after the 
council, between the commander in chief and 
Lansk6y, who was in charge of the commissa- 
riat department. Lanskoy informed the com- 
mander in chief that the army supplies were 
for the most part stored along the Oka in the 
Tula and Ryazan provinces, and that if they re- 
treated on Nizhni the army would be separated 
from its supplies by the broad river Oka, which 
cannot be crossed early in winter. This was the 
first indication of the necessity of deviating 
from what had previously seemed the most 
natural course a direct retreat on Nizhni- 
N6vgorod.The army turned more to the south, 
along the Ryazan road and nearer to its sup- 
plies. Subsequently the inactivity of the French 
(who even lost sight of the Russian army), con- 
cern for the safety of the arsenal at Tula, and 
especially the advantages of drawing nearer to 
its supplies caused thearmy to turn still further 
south to the Tula road. Having crossed over, 
by a forced march, to the Tula road beyond the 
Fakhra, the Russian commanders intended to 
remain at Podolsk and had no thought of the 
Tartitino position; but innumerable circum- 
stances and the reappearance of French troops 



WAR AND PEACE 

who had for a time lost touch with the Rus- 
sians, and projects of giving battle, and above 
all the abundance of provisions in Kaluga 
province, obliged our army to turn still more 
to the south and to cross from the Tula to the 
Kaluga road and go toTariitino, which was be- 
tween the roads along which those supplies 
lay. Just as it is impossible to say when it was 
decided to abandon Moscow, so it is impossible 
to say precisely when, or by whom, it was de- 
cided to move to Tarutino. Only when the 
army had got there, as the result of innumer- 
able and varying forces, did people begin to 
assure themselves that they had desired this 
movement and long ago foreseen its result. 



CHAPTER II 

THE FAMOUS FLANK MOVEMENT merely consist- 
ed in this: after the advance of the French had 
ceased, the Russian army, which had been con- 
tinually retreating straight back from the in- 
vaders, deviated from that direct course and, 
not finding itself pursued, was naturally drawn 
toward the district where supplies were abun- 
dant. 

If instead of imagining to ourselves com- 
manders of genius leading the Russian army, 
we picture that army without any leaders, it 
could not have done anything but make a re- 
turn movement toward Moscow, describing 
an arc in the direction where most provisions 
were to be found and where the country was 
richest. 

That movement from the Nizhni to the Ry- 
azdn, Tula, and Kaluga roads was so natural 
that even the Russian marauders moved in that 
direction, and demands were sent from Peters- 
burg for Kutuzov to take his army that way. 
At Tarutino Kutuzov received what was almost 
a reprimand from the Emperor for having 
moved his army along the Ryazan road, and the 
Emperor's letter indicated to him the very po- 
sition he had already occupied near Kaluga. 

Having rolled like a ball in the direction of 
the impetus given by the whole campaign and 
by the battle of Borodin6, the Russian army 
when the strength of that impetus was exhaust- 
ed and no fresh push was received assumed 
the position natural to it. 

Kutuzov's merit lay, not in any strategic ma- 
neuver of genius, as it is called, but in the fact 
that he alone understood the significance of 
what had happened. He alone then understood 
the meaning of the French army's inactivity, 
he alone continued to assert that the battle of 
Borodin6 had been a victory, he alone who as 



commander in chief might have been expected 
to be eager to attack employed his whole 
strength to restrain the Russian army from use- 
less engagements. 

The beast wounded at Borodin6 was lying 
where the fleeing hunter had left him; but 
whether he was still alive, whether he was 
strong and merely lying low, the hunter did 
not know. Suddenly the beast was heard to 
moan. 

The moan of that wounded beast (the 
French army) which betrayed its calamitous 
condition was the sending of Lauriston to Ku- 
tuzov's camp with overtures for peace. 

Napoleon, with his usual assurance that 
whatever entered his head was right, wrote to 
Kutuzov the first words that occurred to him, 
though they were meaningless. 

MONSIEUR LE PRINCE KOUTOUZOV: I am sending 
one of my adjutants-general to discuss several in- 
teresting questions with you. I beg your Highness 
to credit what he says to you, especially when he 
expresses the sentiment of esteem and special re- 
gard I have long entertained for your person. This 
letter having no other object, I pray God t mon- 
sieur le prince Koutouzov f to keep you in His holy 
and gracious protection! NAPOLEON 

Moscow, October 30, 1812 

Kutuzov replied: "I should be cursed by pos- 
terity were I looked on as the initiator of a 
settlement of any sort. Such is the present 
spirit of my nation." But he continued to exert 
all his powers to restrain his troops from at- 
tacking. 

During the month that the French troops 
were pillaging in Moscow and the Russian 
troops were quietly encamped at Tariitino, a 
change had taken place in the relative strength 
of the two armies both in spirit and in num- 
beras a result of which the superiority had 
passed to the Russian side. Though the condi- 
tion and numbers of the French army were un- 
known to the Russians, as soon as that change 
occurred the need of attacking at once showed 
itself by countless signs. These signs were: 
Lauriston's mission; the abundance of pro- 
visions at Tarutino; the reports coming in from 
all sides of the inactivity and disorder of the 
French; the flow of recruits to our regiments; 
the fine weather; the long rest the Russian 
soldiers had enjoyed, and the impatience to 
do what they had been assembled for, which 
usually shows itself in an army that has been 
resting; curiosity as to what the French army, 
so long lost sight of, was doing; the boldness 
with which our outposts now scouted close up 



BOOK THIRTEEN 565 

to the French stationed at Tarutino; the news 
of easy successes gained by peasants and guer- 
rilla troops over the French, the envy aroused 
by this; the desire for revenge that lay in the 
heart of every Russian as long as the French 
were in Moscow, and (above all) a dim con- 
sciousness in every soldier's mind that the rel- 
ative strength of the armies had changed and 
that the advantage was now on our side. There 
was a substantial change in the relative strength, 
and an advance had become inevitable. And 
at once, as a clock begins to strike and chime 
as soon as the minute hand has completed a 
full circle, this change was shown by an in- 
creased activity, whirring, and chiming in the 
higher spheres. 



CHAPTER III 

THE RUSSIAN ARMY was commanded by Kutu- 
zov and his staff, and also by the Emperor from 
Petersburg. Before the news of the abandon- 
ment of Moscow had been received in Peters- 
burg, a detailed plan of the whole campaign 
had been drawn up and sent to Kutuzov for 
his guidance. Though this plan had been 
drawn up on the supposition that Moscow was 
still in our hands, it was approved by the 
staff and accepted as a basis for action. Kutu- 
zov only replied that movements arranged 
from a distance were always difficult to execute. 
So fresh instructions were sent for the solu- 
tion of difficulties that might be encountered, 
as well as fresh people who were to watch Ku- 
tiizov's actions and report upon them. 

Besides this, the whole staff of the Russian 
army was now reorganized. The posts left va- 
cant by Bagrati6n, who had been killed, and 
by Barclay, who had gone away in dudgeon, 
had to be filled. Very serious consideration 
was given to the question whether it would be 
better to put A in B's place and B in D's, or on 
the contrary to put D in A's place, and so on 
as if anything more than A's or B's satisfaction 
depended on this. 

As a result of the hostility between Kutuzov 
and Bennigsen, his Chief of Staff, the presence 
of confidential representatives of the Emperor, 
and these transfers, a more than usually com- 
plicated play of parties was going on among 
the staff of the army. A was undermining B, 
D was undermining C, and so on in all possi- 
ble combinations and permutations. In all 
these plottings the subject of intrigue was gen- 
erally the conduct of the war, which all these 
men believed they were directing; but this af- 
fair of the war went on independently of them, 



5 66 



WAR AND PEACE 



as it had to go: that is, never in the way peo- 
ple devised, but flowing always from the es- 
sential attitude of the masses. Only in the high- 
est spheres did all these schemes, crossings, and 
interminglings appear to be a true reflection 
of what had to happen. 

Prince Michael Ilarionovich! (wrote the Em- 
peror on the second of October in a letter that 
reached Kutuzov after the battle at Tarutino) 
Since September 2 Moscow has been in the hands 
of the enemy. Your last reports were written on 
the twentieth, and during all this time not only 
has no action been taken against the enemy or for 
the relief of the ancient capital, but according to 
your last report you have even retreated farther. 
Serpukhov is already occupied by an enemy de- 
tachment and Tula with its famous arsenal, so in- 
dispensable to the army, is in danger. From Gen- 
eral Wintzingerode's reports, I see lhat an enemy 
corps of ten thousand men is moving on the Peters- 
burg road. Another corps of several thousand men 
is moving on Dmftrov. A third has advanced along 
the Vladimir road, and a fourth, rather consider- 
able detachment is stationed between Ruza and 
Mozhaysk. Napoleon himself was in Moscow as 
late as the twenty-fifth. In view of all this informa- 
tion, when the enemy has scattered his forces in 
large detachments, and with Napoleon and his 
Guards in Moscow, is it possible that the enemy's 
forces confronting you are so considerable as not 
to allow of your taking the offensive? On the con- 
trary, he is probably pursuing you with detach- 
ments, or at most with an army corps much 
weaker than the army entrusted to you. It would 
seem that, availing yourself of these circumstances, 
you might advantageously attack a weaker enemy 
and annihilate him, or at least oblige him to re- 
treat, retaining in our hands an important part 
of the provinces now occupied by the enemy, and 
thereby averting danger from Tula and other 
towns in the interior. You will be responsible if 
the enemy is able to direct a force of any si/e 
against Petersburg to threaten this capital in 
which it has not been possible to retain many 
troops; for with the army entrusted to you, and 
acting with resolution and energy, you have ample 
means to avert this fresh calamity. Remember 
that you have still to answer to our offended 
country for the loss of Moscow. You have experi- 
enced my readiness to reward you. That readiness 
will not weaken in me, but I and Russia have a 
right to expect from you all the zeal, firmness, and 
success which your intellect, military talent, and 
the courage of the troops you command justify us 
in expecting. 

But by the time this letter, which proved 
that the real relation of the forces had already 
made itself felt in Petersburg, was dispatched, 
Kutuzov had found himself unable any longer 
to restrain the army he commanded from at- 



tacking and a battle had taken place. 

On the second of October a Cossack, Shapo- 
valov, who was out scouting, killed one hare 
and wounded another. Following the wounded 
hare he made his way far into the forest and 
came upon the left flank of Murat's army, en- 
camped there without any precautions. The 
Cossack laughingly told his comrades how he 
had almost fallen into the hands of the French. 
A cornet, hearing the story, informed his com- 
mander. 

The Cossack was sent for and questioned. 
The Cossack officers wished to take advantage 
of this chance to capture some horses, but one 
of the superior officers, who was acquainted 
with the higher authorities, reported the in- 
cident to a general on the staff. The state of 
things on the staff had of late been exceeding- 
ly strained. Erm61ov had been to see Bennig- 
sen a few days previously and had entreated 
him to use his influence with the commander 
in chief to induce him to take the offensive. 

"If I did not know you I should think you 
did not want what you are asking for. I need 
only advise anything and his Highness is sure 
to do the opposite," replied Bennigsen. 

The Cossack's report, confirmed by horse 
patrols who were sent out, was the final proof 
that events had matured. The tightly coiled 
spring was released, the clock began to whirr 
and the chimes to play. Despite all his sup- 
posed power, his intellect, his experience, and 
his knowledge of men, Kutiizov having taken 
into consideration the Cossack's report, a note 
from Bennigsen who sent personal reports to 
the Emperor, the wishes he supposed the Em- 
peror to hold, and the fact that all the generals 
expressed the same wishcould no longer check 
the inevitable movement, and gave the order 
to do what he regarded as useless and harmful 
gave his approval, that is, to the accomplished 
fact. 

CHAPTER IV 

BKNNIGSEN'S NOTE and the Cossack's informa- 
tion that the left flank of the French was un- 
guarded were merely final indications that it 
was necessary to order an attack, and it was 
fixed for the fifth of October. 

On the morning of the fourth of October 
Kutuzov signed the dispositions. Toll read 
them to Erm61ov, asking him to attend to the 
further arrangements. 

"All right all right. I haven't time just now," 
replied Erm61ov, and left the hut. 

The dispositions drawn up by Toll were very 



BOOK THIRTEEN 

good. As in the Austerlitz dispositions, it was 
writtenthough not in German this time: 

"The First Column will march here and 
here," "the Second Column will march there 
and there," and so on; and on paper, all these 
columns arrived at their places at the appointed 
time and destroyed the enemy. Everything had 
been admirably thought out as is usual in dis- 
positions, and as is always the case, not a single 
column reached its place at the appointed 
time. 

When the necessary number of copies of the 
dispositions had been prepared, an officer was 
summoned and sent to deliver them to Ermo- 
lov to deal with. A young officer of the Horse 
Guards, Kutuzov's orderly, pleased at the im- 
portance of the mission entrusted to him, went 
to Erm61ov's quarters. 

"Gone away," said Erm61ov's orderly. 

The officer of the Horse Guards went to a 
general with whom Ermolov was often to be 
found. 

"No, and the general's out too." 

The officer, mounting his horse, rode off to 
someone else. 

"No, he's gone out." 

"If only they don't make me responsible for 
this delay! What a nuisance it is!" thought the 
officer, and he rode round the whole camp. 
One man said he had seen Erm61ov ride past 
with some other generals, others said he must 
have returned home. The officer searched till 
six o'clock in the evening without even stop- 
ping to eat. Ermolov was nowhere to be found 
and no one knew where he was. The officer 
snatched a little food at a comrade's, and rode 
again to the vanguard to find Miloradovich. 
Milorddovich too was away, but here he was 
told that he had gone to a ball at General Ki- 
kin's and that Erm61ov was probably there 
too. 

"But where is it?" 

"Why, there, over at Echkino," said a Cos- 
sack officer, pointing to a country house in the 
far distance. 

"What, outside our line?" 

"They've put two regiments as outposts, and 
they're having such a spree there, it's awful 1 
Two bands and three sets of singers!" 
f The officer rode out beyond our lines to 
Echkino. While still at a distance he heard as 
he rode the merry sounds of a soldier's dance 
song proceeding from the house. 

"In the meadows ... in the meadows!" he 
heard, accompanied by whistling and the sound 
of a torban, drowned every now and then by 



567 

shouts. These sounds made his spirits rise, but 
at the same time he was afraid that he would 
be blamed for not having executed sooner the 
important order entrusted to him. It was al- 
ready past eight o'clock. He dismounted and 
went up into the porch of a large country 
house which had remained intact between the 
Russian and French forces. In the refreshment 
room and the hall, footmen were bustling 
about with wine and viands. Groups of singers 
stood outside the windows. The officer was ad- 
mitted and immediately saw all the chief gen- 
erals of the army together, and among them 
Ermolov's big imposing figure. They all had 
their coats unbuttoned and were standing in a 
semicircle with flushed and animated faces, 
laughing loudly. In the middle of the room a 
short handsome general with a red face was 
dancing the trepdk with much spirit and agil- 
ity. 

"Ha, ha, ha! Bravo, Nicholas Ivdnych! Ha, 
ha, ha!" 

The officer felt that by arriving with impor- 
tant orders at such a moment he was doubly to 
blame, and he would have preferred to wait; 
but one of the generals espied him and, hear- 
ing what he had come about, informed Erm6- 
lov. 

Ermolov came forward with a frown on his 
face and, hearing what the officer had to say, 
took the papers from him without a word. 

"You think he went off just by chance?" said 
a comrade, who was on the staff that evening, 
to the officer of the Horse Guards, referring to 
Ermolov. "It was a trick. It was done on pur- 
pose to get Konovnitsyn into trouble. You'll 
see what a mess there'll be tomorrow." 

CHAPTER V 

NEXT DAY the decrepit Kutiizov, having given 
orders to be called early, said his prayers, 
dressed, and, with an unpleasant consciousness 
of having to direct a battle he did not approve 
of, got into his caleche and drove from Leta- 
sh6vka (a village three and a half miles from 
Tariitino) to the place where the attacking 
columns were to meet. He sat in the caltche, 
dozing and waking up by turns, and listening 
for any sound of firing on the right as an indi- 
cation that the action had begun. But all was 
still quiet. A damp dull autumn morning was 
just dawning. On approaching Tariitino Ku- 
tiizov noticed cavalrymen leading their horses 
to water across the road along which he was 
driving. Kutiizov looked at them searchingly, 



568 

stopped his carriage, and inquired what regi- 
ment they belonged to. They belonged to a 
column that should have been far in front and 
in ambush long before then. "It may be a mis- 
take," thought the old commander in chief. 
But a little further on he saw infantry regi- 
ments with their arms piled and the soldiers, 
only partly dressed, eating their rye porridge 
and carrying fuel. He sent for an officer. The 
officer reported that no order to advance had 
been received. 

"How! Not rec . . ." Kutuzov began, but 
checked himself immediately and sent for a 
senior officer. Getting out of his caltche, he 
waited with drooping head and breathing 
heavily, pacing silently up and down. When 
Efkhen, the officer of the general staff whom 
he had summoned, appeared, Kutuzov went 
purple in the face, not because that officer was 
to blame for the mistake, but because he was 
an object of sufficient importance for him to 
vent his wrath on. Trembling and panting the 
old man fell into that state of fury in which he 
sometimes used to roll on the ground, and he 
fell upon Eykhen, threatening him with his 
hands, shouting and loading him with gross 
abuse. Another man, Captain Br6zin, who hap- 
pened to turn up and who was not at all to 
blame, suffered the same fate. 

"What sort of another blackguard are you? 
I'll have you shot! Scoundrels!" yelled Kutu- 
zov in a hoarse voice, waving his arms and reel- 
ing. 

He was suffering physically. He, the com- 
mander in chief, a Serene Highness who every- 
body said possessed powers such as no man had 
ever had in Russia, to be placed in this posi- 
tionmade the laughingstock of the whole ar- 
my! "I needn't have been in such a hurry to 
pray about today, or have kept awake think- 
ing everything over all night," thought he to 
himself. "When I was a chit of an officer no 
one would have dared to mock me so ... and 
now!" He was in a state of physical suffering 
as if from corporal punishment, and could not 
avoid expressing it by cries of anger and dis- 
tress. But his strength soon began to fail him, 
and looking about him, conscious of having 
said much that was amiss, he again got into his 
caliche and drove back in silence. 

His wrath, once expended, did not return, 
and blinking feebly he listened to excuses and 
self-justifications (Erm61ov did not come to 
see him till the next day) and to the insistence 
of Bennigsen, Konovnitsyn, and Toll that the 
movement that had miscarried should be exe- 



WAR AND PEACE 

cuted next day. And once more Kutiizov had 
to consent. 

CHAPTER VI 

NEXT DAY the troops assembled in their ap- 
pointed places in the evening and advanced 
during the night. It was an autumn night with 
dark purple clouds, but no rain. The ground 
was damp but not muddy, and the troops ad- 
vanced noiselessly, only occasionally a jingling 
of the artillery could be faintly heard. The 
men were forbidden to talk out loud, to smoke 
their pipes, or to strike a light, and they tried 
to prevent their horses neighing. The secrecy 
of the undertaking heightened its charm and 
they marched gaily. Some columns, supposing 
they had reached their destination, halted, 
piled arms, and settled down on the cold 
ground, but the majority marched all night 
and arrived at places where they evidently 
should not have been. 

Only Count Orlov-Denisov with his Cos- 
sacks (the least important detachment of all) 
got to his appointed place at the right time. 
This detachment halted at the outskirts of a 
forest, on the path leading from the village of 
Stromilova to Dmftrovsk. 

Toward dawn, Count Orlov-Denfsov, who 
had dozed off, was awakened by a deserter from 
the French army being brought to him. This 
was a Polish sergeant of Poniatowski's corps, 
who explained in Polish that he had come 
over because he had been slighted in the serv- 
ice: that he ought long ago to have been made 
an officer, that he was braver than any of them, 
and so he had left them and wished to pay 
them out. He said that Murat was spending 
the night less than a mile from where they 
were, and that if they would let him have a 
convoy of a hundred men he would capture 
him alive. Count Orl6v-Denfsov consulted his 
fellow officers. 

The offer was too tempting to be refused. 
Everyone volunteered to go and everybody ad- 
vised making the attempt. After much disput- 
ing and arguing, Major-General Grkov with 
two Cossack regiments decided to go with the 
Polish sergeant. 

"Now, remember," said Count Orl6v-Denf- 
sov to the sergeant at parting, "if you have 
been lying I'll have you hanged like a dog; but 
if it's true you shall have a hundred gold 
pieces!" 

Without replying, the sergeant, with a reso- 
lute air, mounted and rode away with Grkov 
whose men had quickly assembled. They dis- 



BOOK THIRTEEN 



569 



appeared into the forest, and Count Orl6v- 
Denfsov, having seen Grkov off, returned, 
shivering from the freshness of the early dawn 
and excited by what he had undertaken on his 
own responsibility, and began looking at the 
enemy camp, now just visible in the deceptive 
light of dawn and the dying campfires. Our 
columns ought to have begun to appear on an 
open declivity to his right. He looked in that 
direction, but though the columns would have 
been visible quite far off, they were not to be 
seen. It seemed to the count that things were 
beginning to stir in the French camp, and his 
keen-sighted adjutant confirmed this. 

"Oh, it is really too late," said Count Orl6v, 
looking at the camp. 

As often happens when someone we have 
trusted is no longer before our eyes, it sudden- 
ly seemed quite clear and obvious to him that 
the sergeant was an impostor, that he had lied, 
and that the whole Russian attack would be 
ruined by the absence of those two regiments, 
which he would lead away heaven only knew 
where. How could one capture a commander 
in chief from among such a mass of troops! 

"I am sure that rascal was lying," said the 
count. 

"They can still be called back," said one of 
his suite, who like Count Orlov felt distrustful 
of the adventure when he looked at the en- 
emy's camp. 

"Eh? Really . . . what do you think? Should 
we let them go on or not?" 

"Will you have them fetched back?" 

"Fetch them back, fetch them backl" said 
Count Orlov with sudden determination, look- 
ing at his watch. "It will be too late. It is quite 
light." 

And the adjutant galloped through the 
forest after Grkov. When Grkov returned, 
Count Orl6v-Denfsov, excited both by the 
abandoned attempt and by vainly awaiting the 
infantry columns that still did not appear, as 
well as by the proximity of the enemy, resolved 
to advance. All his men felt the same excite- 
ment. 

"Mountl" he commanded in a whisper. The 
men took their places and crossed themselves. 
. . . "Forward, with God's aid!" 

"Hurrah-ah-ahl" reverberated in the forest, 
and the Cossack companies, trailing their 
lances and advancing one after another as if 
poured out of a sack, dashed gaily across the 
brook toward the camp. 

One desperate, frightened yell from the first 
French soldier who saw the Cossacks, and all 



who were in the camp, undressed and only just 
waking up, ran off in all directions, abandon- 
ing cannons, muskets, and horses. 

Had the Cossacks pursued the French, with- 
out heeding what was behind and around 
them, they would have captured Murat and 
everything there. That was what the officers 
desired. But it was impossible to make the Cos- 
sacks budge when once they had got booty and 
prisoners. None of them listened to orders. 
Fifteen hundred prisoners and thirty-eight 
guns were taken on the spot, besides standards 
and (what seemed most important to the Cos- 
sacks) horses, saddles, horsecloths, and the like. 
All this had to be dealt with, the prisoners and 
guns secured, the booty divided not without 
some shouting and even a little fighting among 
themselves and it was on this that the Cos- 
sacks all busied themselves. 

The French, not being farther pursued, be- 
gan to recover themselves: they formed into 
detachments and began firing. Orl6v-Denisov, 
still waiting for the other columns to arrive, 
advanced no further. 

Meantime, according to the dispositions 
which said that "the First Column will march" 
and so on, the infantry of the belated columns, 
commanded by Bennigsen and directed by Toll, 
had started in due order and, as always hap- 
pens, had got somewhere, but not to their ap- 
pointed places. As always happens the men, 
starting cheerfully, began to halt; murmurs 
were heard, there was a sense of confusion, and 
finally a backward movement. Adjutants and 
generals galloped about, shouted, grew angry, 
quarreled, said they had come quite wrong and 
were late, gave vent to a little abuse, and at 
last gave it all up and went forward, simply to 
get somewhere. "We shall get somewhere or 
other!" And they did indeed get somewhere, 
though not to their right places; a few even- 
tually even got to their right place, but too 
late to be of any use and only in time to be 
fired at. Toll, who in this battle played the 
part of Weyrother at Austerlitz, galloped as- 
siduously from place to place, finding every- 
thing upside down everywhere. Thus he stum- 
bled on Bagovut's corps in a wood when it was 
already broad daylight, though the corps should 
long before have joined Orl6v-Denisov. Ex- 
cited and vexed by the failure and supposing 
that someone must be responsible for it, Toll 
galloped up to the commander of the corps 
and began upbraiding him severely, saying that 
he ought to be shot. General Bagoviit, a fight- 
ing old soldier of placid temperament, being 



57<> 

also upset by all the delay, confusion, and 
cross-purposes, fell into a rage to everybody's 
surprise and quite contrary to his usual char- 
acter and said disagreeable things to Toll. 

"I prefer not to take lessons from anyone, 
but I can die with my men as well as anybody," 
he said, and advanced with a single division. 

Coming out onto a field under the enemy's 
fire, this brave general went straight ahead, 
leading his men under fire, without consider- 
ing in his agitation whether going into action 
now, with a single division, would be of any 
use or no. Danger, cannon balls, and bullets 
were just what he needed in his angry mood. 
One of the first bullets killed him, and other 
bullets killed many of his men. And his divi- 
sion remained under fire for some time quite 
uselessly. 

CHAPTER VII 

MEANWHILE ANOTHER COLUMN was to have at- 
tacked the French from the front, but Kutu 
zov accompanied that column. He well knew 
that nothing but confusion would come of this 
battle undertaken against his will, and as far 
as was in his power held the troops back. He 
did not advance. 

He rode silently on his small gray horse, in- 
dolently answering suggestions that they should 
attack. 

"The word attack is always on your tongue, 
but you don't see that we are unable to execute 
complicated maneuvers," said he to Milora- 
dovich who asked permission to advance. 

"We couldn't take Murat prisoner this morn- 
ing or get to the place in time, and nothing 
can be done now!" he replied to someone else. 

When Kutuzov was informed that at the 
French rear where according to the reports 
of the Cossacks there had previously been no- 
bodythere were now two battalions of Poles, 
he gave a sidelong glance at Erm61ov who was 
behind him and to whom he had not spoken 
since the previous day. 

"You see! They are asking to attack and mak- 
ing plans of all kinds, but as soon as one gets 
to business nothing is ready, and the enemy, 
forewarned, takes measures accordingly." 

Erm61ov screwed up his eyes and smiled 
faintly on hearing these words. He understood 
that for him the storm had blown over, and 
that Kutuzov would content himself with that 
hint. 

"He's having a little fun at my expense/' 
said Ermolov softly, nudging with his knee 
Raevski who was at his side. 



WAR AND PEACE 

Soon after this, Erm61ov moved up to Kutu- 
zov and respectfully remarked: 

"It is not too late yet, your Highnessthe 
enemy has not gone away if you were to or- 
der an attack! If not, the Guards will not so 
much as see a little smoke." 

Kutuzov did not reply, but when they re- 
ported to him that Murat's troops were in re- 
treat he ordered an advance, though at every 
hundred paces he halted for three quarters of 
an hour. 

The whole battle consisted in what Orl6v- 
Denisov's Cossacks had done: the rest of the 
army merely lost some hundreds of men use- 
lessly. 

In consequence of this battle Kutuzov re- 
ceived a dianiond decoration, and Bennigsen 
some diamonds and a hundred thousand ru- 
bles, others also received pleasant recognitions 
corresponding to their various grades, and fol- 
lowing the battle fresh changes were made in 
the staff. 

"That's how everything is done with us, all 
topsy-turvy!" said the Russian officers and gen- 
erals after the Tarutino battle, letting it be 
understood that some fool there is doing things 
all wrong but that we ourselves should not have 
done so, just as people speak today. But peo- 
ple who talk like that either do not know what 
they are talking about or deliberately deceive 
themselves. No battle Tarutino, Borodin6, or 
Austerlitz takes place as those who planned 
it anticipated. That is an essential condition. 
. A countless number of free forces (for no- 
where is man freer than during a battle, where 
it is a question of life and death) influence the 
course taken by the fight, and that course nev- 
er can be known in advance and never coin- 
cides with the direction of any one force. 

If many simultaneously and variously di- 
rected forces act on a given body, the direction 
of its motion cannot coincide with any one of 
those forces, but will always be a mean what 
in mechanics is represented by the diagonal of 
a parallelogram of forces. 

If in the descriptions given by historians, 
especially French ones, we find their wars and 
battles carried out in accordance with previ- 
ously formed plans, the only conclusion to be 
drawn is that those descriptions are false. 

The battle of Tariitino obviously did not 
attain the aim Toll had in view to lead the 
troops into action in the order prescribed by 
the dispositions; nor that which Count Orl6v- 
Denisov may have had in view to take Murat 
prisoner; nor the result of immediately de- 



BOOK THIRTEEN 

stroying the whole corps, which Bennigsen and 
others may have had in view; nor the aim of 
the officer who wished to go into action to dis- 
tinguish himself; nor that of the Cossack who 
wanted more booty than he got, and so on. But 
if the aim of the battle was what actually re- 
sulted and what all the Russians of that day 
desired to drive the French out of Russia and 
destroy their army it is quite clear that the 
battle of Tanitino, just because of its incon- 
gruities, was exactly what was wanted at that 
stage of the campaign. It would be difficult 
and even impossible to imagine any result more 
opportune than the actual outcome of this bat- 
tle. With a minimum of effort and insignifi- 
cant losses, despite the greatest confusion, the 
most important results of the whole campaign 
were attained: the transition from retreat to 
advance, an exposure of the weakness of the 
Frdnch, and the administration of that shock 
which Napoleon's army had only awaited to 
begin its flight. 



57* 



CHAPTER VIII 

NAPOLEON ENTERS Moscow after the brilliant 
victory de la Moskowa; there can be no doubt 
about the victory for the battlefield remains in 
the hands of the French. The Russians retreat 
and abandon their ancient capital. Moscow, 
abounding in provisions, arms, munitions, and 
incalculable wealth, is in Napoleon's hands. 
The Russian army, only half the strength of 
the French, does not make a single attempt to 
attack for a whole month. Napoleon's position 
is most brilliant. He can either fall on the Rus- 
sian army with double its strength and destroy 
it; negotiate an advantageous peace, or in case 
of a refusal make a menacing move on Peters- 
burg, or even, in the case of a reverse, return 
to Smolensk or Vflna; or remain in Moscow; 
in short, no special genius would seem to be 
required to retain the brilliant position the 
French held at that time. For that, only very 
simple and easy steps were necessary: not to 
allow the troops to loot, to prepare winter 
clothing of which there was sufficient in Mos- 
cow for the whole army and methodically to 
collect the provisions, of which (according to 
the French historians) there were enough in 
Moscow to supply the whole army for six 
months. Yet Napoleon, that greatest of all 
geniuses, who the historians declare had con- 
trol of the army, took none of these steps. 

He not merely did nothing of the kind, but 
on the contrary he used his power to select the 
most foolish and ruinous of all the courses 



open to him. Of all that Napoleon might have 
done: wintering in Moscow, advancing on 
Petersburg or on Nizhni-N6vgorod, or retiring 
by a more northerly or more southerly route 
(say by the road Kuttizov afterwards took), 
nothing more stupid or disastrous can be im- 
agined than what he actually did. He remained 
in Moscow till October, letting the troops 
plunder the city; then, hesitating whether to 
leave a garrison behind him, he quitted Mos- 
cow, approached Kutuzov without joining bat- 
tle, turned to the right and reached Malo- 
Yarosldvets, again without attempting to break 
through and take the road Kutuzov took, but 
retiring instead to Mozhdysk along the dev- 
astated Smolensk road. Nothing more stupid 
than that could have been devised, or more 
disastrous for the army, as the sequel showed. 
Had Napoleon's aim been to destroy his army, 
the most skillful strategist could hardly have 
devised any series of actions that would so com- 
pletely have accomplished that purpose, inde- 
pendently of anything the Russian army might 
do. 

Napoleon, the man of genius, did this! But 
to say that he destroyed his army because he 
wished to, or because he was very stupid, would 
be as unjust as to say that he had brought his 
troops to Moscow because he wished to and be- 
cause he was very clever and a genius. 

In both cases his personal activity, having 
no more force than the personal activity of 
any soldier, merely coincided with the laws 
that guided the event. 

The historians quite falsely represent Na- 
poleon's faculties as having weakened in Mos- 
cow, and do so only because the results did 
not justify his actions. He employed all his 
ability and strength to do the best he could for 
himself and his army, as he had done previous- 
ly and as he did subsequently in 1813. His ac- 
tivity at that time was no less astounding than 
it was in Egypt, in Italy, in Austria, and in 
Prussia. We do not know for certain in how 
far his genius was genuine in Egypt where 
forty centuries looked down upon his grandeur 
for his great exploits there are all told us by 
Frenchmen. We cannot accurately estimate his 
genius in Austria or Prussia, for we have to 
draw our information from French or German 
sources, and the incomprehensible surrender 
of whole corps without fighting and of for- 
tresses without a siege must incline Germans 
to recognize his genius as the only explanation 
of the war carried on in Germany. But we, 
thank God, kave no need to recognize his gen- 



57* 



WAR AND PEACE 



ius in order to hide our shame. We have paid 
for the right to look at the matter plainly and 
simply, and we will not abandon that right. 

His activity in Moscow was as amazing and 
as full of genius as elsewhere. Order after or- 
der and plan after plan were issued by him 
from the time he entered Moscow till the time 
he left it. The absence of citizens and of a dep- 
utation, and even the burning of Moscow, 
did not disconcert him. He did not lose sight 
either of the welfare of his army or of the do- 
ings of the enemy, or of the welfare of the peo- 
ple of Russia, or of the direction of affairs in 
Paris, or of diplomatic considerations con- 
cerning the terms of the anticipated peace. 

CHAPTER IX 

WITH REGARD to military matters, Napoleon 
immediately on his entry into Moscow gave 
General Sabastiani strict orders to observe the 
movements of the Russian army, sent army 
corps out along the different roads, and charged 
Murat to find Kutuzov. Then he gave careful 
directions about the fortification of the Kre*m- 
lin, and drew up a brilliant plan for a future 
campaign over the whole map of Russia. 

With regard to diplomatic questions, Napo- 
leon summoned Captain Yakovlev, who had 
been robbed and was in rags and did not know 
how to get out of Moscow, minutely explained 
to him his whole policy and his magnanimity, 
and having written a letter to the Emperor 
Alexander in which he considered it his duty 
to inform his Friend and Brother that Rostop- 
chin had managed affairs badly in Moscow, he 
dispatched Ydkovlev to Petersburg. 

Having similarly explained his views and his 
magnanimity to Tut61min, he dispatched that 
old man also to Petersburg to negotiate. 

With regard to legal matters, immediately 
after the fires he gave orders to find and exe- 
cute'the incendiaries. And the scoundrel Ros- 
topchfn was punished by an order to burn 
down his houses. 

With regard to administrative matters, Mos- 
cow was granted a constitution. A municipality 
was established and the following announce- 
ment issued: 

INHABITANTS OF MOSCOW! 
Your misfortunes are cruel, but His Majesty the 
Emperor and King desires to arrest their course. 
Terrible examples have taught you how he pun- 
ishes disobedience and crime. Strict measures have 
been taken to put an end to disorder and to re- 
establish public security. A paternal administra- 
tion, chosen from among yourselves, will form 



your municipality or city government. It will take 
care of you, of your needs, and of your welfare. Its 
members will be distinguished by a red ribbon 
worn across the shoulder, and the mayor of the 
city will wear a white belt as well. But when not 
on duty they will only wear a red ribbon round 
the left arm. 

The city police is established on its former foot- 
ing, and better order already prevails in conse- 
quence of its activity. The government has ap- 
pointed two commissaries general, or chiefs of 
police, and twenty commissaries or captains of 
wards have been appointed to the different wards 
of the city. You will recognize them by the white 
ribbon they will wear on the left arm. Several 
churches of different denominations are open, and 
divine service is performed in them unhindered. 
Your fellow citizens are returning every day to 
their homes, and orders have been given that they 
should find in them the help and protection due 
to their misfortunes. These are the measures the 
government has adopted to re-establish order and 
relieve your condition. But to achieve this aim it is 
necessary that you should add your efforts and 
should, if possible, forget the misfortunes you have 
suffered, should entertain the hope of a less cruel 
fate, should be certain that inevitable and ignomin- 
ious death awaits those who make any attempt 
on your persons or on what remains of your prop- 
erty, and finally that you should not doubt that 
these will be safeguarded, since such is the will of 
the greatest and most just of monarchs. Soldiers and 
citizens, of whatever nation you may be, re-estab- 
lish public confidence, the source of the welfare of 
a state, live like brothers, render mutual aid and 
protection one to another, unite to defeat the in- 
tentions of the evil-minded, obey the military and 
civil authorities, and your tears will soon cease to 
flow! 

With regard to supplies for the army, Napo- 
leon decreed that all the troops in turn should 
enter Moscow d la maraude * to obtain provi- 
sions for themselves, so that the army might 
have its future provided for. 

With regard to religion, Napoleon ordered 
the priests to be brought back and services to 
be again performed in the churches. 

With regard to commerce and to provision- 
ing the army, the following was placarded 
everywhere: 

PROCLAMATION 

You, peaceful inhabitants of Moscow, artisans 
and workmen whom misfortune has driven from 
the city, and you scattered tillers of the soil, still 
kept out in the fields by groundless fear, listen! 
Tranquillity is returning to this capital and order 
is being restored in it. Your fellow countrymen are 
emerging boldly from their hiding places on find- 

1 As looters. 



BOOK THIRTEEN 



57S 



ing that they are respected. Any violence to them 
or to their property is promptly punished. His 
Majesty the Emperor and King protects them, and 
considers no one among you his enemy except 
those who disobey his orders. He desires to end 
your misfortunes and restore you to your homes 
and families. Respond, therefore, to his benevolent 
intentions and come to us without fear. Inhabi- 
tants, return with confidence to your abodes! You 
will soon find means of satisfying your needs. 
Craftsmen and industrious artisans, return to your 
work, your houses, your shops, where the protec- 
tion of guards awaits you! You shall receive proper 
pay for your work. And lastly you too, peasants, 
come from the forests where you are hiding in 
terror, return to your huts without fear, in full 
assurance that you will find protection! Markets 
are established in the city where peasants can bring 
their surplus supplies and the products of the soil. 
The government has taken the following steps to 
ensure freedom of sale for them: (i) From today, 
peasants, husbandmen, and those living in the 
neighborhood of Moscow may without any danger 
bring their supplies of all kinds to two appointed 
markets, of which one is on the Mokhovaya Street 
and the other at the Provision Market. (2) Such 
supplies will be bought from them at such prices 
as seller and buyer may agree on, and if a seller 
is unable to obtain a fair price he will be free to 
take his goods back to his village and no one may 
hinder him under any pretense. (3) Sunday and 
Wednesday of each week are appointed as the chief 
market days and to that end a sufficient number of 
troops will be stationed along the highroads on 
Tuesdays and Saturdays at such distances from the 
town as to protect the carts. (4) Similar measures 
will be taken that peasants with their carts and 
horses may meet with no hindrance on their re- 
turn journey. (5) Steps will immediately be taken 
to re-establish ordinary trading. 

Inhabitants of the city and villages, and you, 
workingmen and artisans, to whatever nation you 
belong, you are called on to carry out the paternal 
intentions of His Majesty the Emperor and King 
and to co-operate with him for the public welfare! 
Lay your respect and confidence at his feet and do 
not delay to unite with us! 

With the object of raising the spirits of the 
troops and of the people, reviews were con- 
stantly held and rewards distributed. The Em- 
peror rode through the streets to comfort the 
inhabitants, and, despite his preoccupation 
with state affairs, himself visited the theaters 
that were established by his order. 

In regard to philanthropy, the greatest vir- 
tue of crowned heads, Napoleon also did all in 
his power. He caused the words Maison de ma 
M&re to be inscribed on the charitable institu- 
tions, thereby combining tender filial affection 
with the majestic benevolence of a monarch. 



He visited the Foundling Hospital and, allow- 
ing the orphans saved by him to kiss his white 
hands, graciously conversed with Tutolmin. 
Then, as Thiers eloquently recounts, he or- 
dered his soldiers to be paid in forged Russian 
money which he had prepared: "Raising the 
use of these means by an act worthy of himself 
and of the French army, he let relief be dis- 
tributed to those who had been burned out. 
But as food was too precious to be given to 
foreigners, who were for the most part ene- 
mies, Napoleon preferred to supply them with 
money with which to purchase food from out- 
side, and had paper rubles distributed to them." 
With reference to army discipline, orders 
were continually being issued to inflict severe 
punishment for the non performance of mili- 
tary duties and to suppress robbery. 

CHAPTER X 

BUT STRANGE TO SAY, all these measures, efforts, 
and plans which were not at all worse than 
others issued in similar circumstances did not 
affect the essence of the matter but, like the 
hands of a clock detached from the mechanism, 
swung about in an arbitrary and aimless way 
without engaging the cogwheels. 

With reference to the military side the plan 
of campaign that work of genius of which 
Thiers remarks that, "His genius never de- 
vised anything more profound, more skillful, 
or more admirable," and enters into a polemic 
with M. Fain to prove that this work of genius 
must be referred not to the fourth but to the 
fifteenth of October that plan never was or 
could be executed, for it was quite out of 
touch with the facts of the case. The fortifying 
of the Kremlin, for which la Mosqute (as Na- 
poleon termed the church of Basil the Beati- 
fied) was to have been razed to the ground, 
proved quite useless. The mining of the Krm- 
lin only helped toward fulfilling Napoleon's 
wish that it should be blown up when he left 
Moscow as a child wants the floor on which 
he has hurt himself to be beaten. The pursuit 
of the Russian army, about which Napoleon 
was so concerned, produced an unheard-of re- 
sult. The French generals lost touch with the 
Russian army of sixty thousand men, and ac- 
cording to Thiers it was only eventually found, 
like a lost pin, by the skilland apparently the 
genius of Murat. 

With reference to diplomacy, all Napoleon's 
arguments as to his magnanimity and justice, 
both to Tut61min and to Ykovlev (whose 
chief concern was to obtain a greatcoat and a 



574 



WAR AND PEACE 



conveyance), proved useless; Alexander did 
not receive these envoys and did not reply to 
their embassage. 

With regard to legal matters, after the exe- 
cution of the supposed incendiaries the rest of 
Moscow burned down. 

With regard to administrative matters, the 
establishment of a municipality did not stop 
the robberies and was only of use to certain 
people who formed part of that municipality 
and under pretext of preserving order looted 
Moscow or saved their own property from be- 
ing looted. 

With regard to religion, as to which in Egypt 
matters had so easily been settled by Napo- 
leon's visit to a mosque, no results were 
achieved. Two or three priests who were found 
in Moscow did try to carry out Napoleon's 
wish, but one of them was slapped in the face 
by a French soldier while conducting service, 
and a French official reported of another that: 
"The priest whom I found and invited to say 
Mass cleaned and locked up the church. That 
night the doors were again broken open, the 
padlocks smashed, the books mutilated, and 
other disorders perpetrated." 

With reference to commerce, the proclama- 
tion to industrious workmen and to peasants 
evoked no response. There were no industri- 
ous workmen, and the peasants caught the com- 
missaries who ventured too far out of town 
with the proclamation and killed them. 

As to the theaters for the entertainment of 
the people and the troops, these did not meet 
with success either. The theaters set up in the 
Kremlin and in Posnyakov's house were closed 
again at once because the actors and actresses 
were robbed. 

Even philanthropy did not have the desired 
effect. The genuine as well as the false paper 
money which flooded Moscow lost its value. 
The French, collecting booty, cared only for 
gold. Not only was the paper money valueless 
which Napoleon so graciously distributed to 
the unfortunate, but even silver lost its value 
in relation to gold. 

But the most amazing example of the inef- 
fectiveness of the orders given by the authori- 
ties at that time was Napoleon's attempt to 
stop the looting and re-establish discipline. 

This is what the army authorities were re- 
porting: 

"Looting continues in the city despite the 
decrees against it. Order is not yet restored and 
not a single merchant is carrying on trade in a 
lawful manner. The sutlers alone venture to 



trade, and they sell stolen goods." 

"The neighborhood of my ward continues 
to be pillaged by soldiers of the $rd Corps 
who, not satisfied with taking from the unfor- 
tunate inhabitants hiding in the cellars the 
little they have left, even have the ferocity to 
wound them with their sabers, as I have re- 
peatedly witnessed." 

"Nothing new, except that the soldiers are 
robbing and pillaging October 9." 

"Robbery and pillaging continue. There is 
a band of thieves in our district who ought to 
be arrested by a strong force October 1 1." 

"The Emperor is extremely displeased that 
despite the strict orders to stop pillage, parties 
of marauding Guards are continually seen re- 
turning to the Kremlin. Among the Old Guard 
disorder and pillage were renewed more vio- 
lently than ever yesterday evening, last night, 
and today. The Emperor sees with regret that 
the picked soldiers appointed to guard his per- 
son, who should set an example of discipline, 
carry disobedience to such a point that they 
break into the cellars and stores containing 
army supplies. Others have disgraced them- 
selves to the extent of disobeying sentinels and 
officers, and have abused and beaten them." 

"The Grand Marshal of the palace," wrote 
the governor, "complains bitterly that in spite 
of repeated orders, the soldiers continue to 
commit nuisances in all the courtyards and 
even under the very windows of the Emperor." 

That army, like a herd of cattle run wild 
and trampling underfoot the provender which 
might have saved it from starvation, disinte- 
grated and perished with each additional day 
it remained in Moscow. But it did not go away. 

It began to run away only when suddenly 
seized by a panic caused by the capture of trans- 
port trains on the Smolensk road, and by the 
battle of Tanitino. The news of that battle of 
Tarutino, unexpectedly received by Napoleon 
at a review, evoked in him a desire to punish 
the Russians (Thiers says), and he issued the 
order for departure which the whole army was 
demanding. 

Fleeing from Moscow the soldiers took with 
them everything they had stolen. Napoleon, 
too, carried away his own personal trdsor, but 
on seeing the baggage trains that impeded the 
army, he was (Thiers says) horror-struck. And 
yet with his experience of war he did not order 
all the superfluous vehicles to be burned, as he 
had done with those of a certain marshal when 
approaching Moscow. He gazed at the caliches 
and carriages in which soldiers were riding and 



BOOK THIRTEEN 

remarked that it was a very good thing, as those 
vehicles could be used to carry provisions, the 
sick, and the wounded. 

The plight of the whole army resembled 
that of a wounded animal which feels it is per- 
ishing and does not know what it is doing. To 
study the skillful tactics and aims of Napoleon 
and his army from the time it entered Moscow 
till it was destroyed is like studying the dying 
leaps and shudders of a mortally wounded ani- 
mal. Very often a wounded animal, hearing a 
rustle, rushes straight at the hunter's gun, runs 
forward and back again, and hastens its own 
end. Napoleon, under pressure from his whole 
army, did the same thing. The rustle of the 
battle of Tarutino frightened the beast, and it 
rushed forward onto the hunter's gun, reached 
him, turned back, and finally like any wild 
beast ran back along the most disadvanta- 
geous and dangerous path, where the old scent 
was familiar. 

During the whole of that period Napoleon, 
who seems to us to have been the leader of all 
these movements as the figurehead of a ship 
may seem to a savage to guide the vessel acted 
like a child who, holding a couple of strings 
inside a carriage, thinks he is driving it. 



575 



CHAPTER XI 

EARLY IN THE MORNING of the sixth of October 
Pierre went out of the shed, and on returning 
stopped by the door to play with a little blue- 
gray dog, with a long body and short bandy 
legs, that jumped about him. This little dog 
lived in their shed, sleeping beside Karatacv at 
night; it sometimes made excursions into the 
town but always returned again. Probably it 
had never had an owner, and it still belonged 
to nobody and had no name. The French called 
it Azor; the soldier who told stories called it 
Femgalka; Karataev and others called it Gray, 
or sometimes Flabby. Its lack of a master, a 
name, or even of a breed or any definite color 
did not seem to trouble the blue-gray dog in 
the least. Its furry tail stood up firm and round 
as a plume, its bandy legs served it so well that 
it would often gracefully lift a hind leg and 
run very easily and quickly on three legs, as if 
disdaining to use all four. Everything pleased 
it. Now it would roll on its back, yelping with 
delight, now bask in the sun with a thoughtful 
air of importance, and now frolic about play- 
ing with a chip of wood or a straw. 

Pierre's attire by now consisted of a dirty 
torn shirt (the only remnant of his former 
clothing), a pair of soldier's trousers which by 



Karatdev's advice he tied with string round the 
ankles for warmth, and a peasant coat and cap. 
Physically he had changed much during this 
time. He no longer seemed stout, though he 
still had the appearanccof solidityandstrength 
hereditary in his family. A beard and mustache 
covered the lower part of his face, and a tangle 
of hair, infested with lice, curled round his head 
like a cap. The look of his eyes was resolute, 
calm, and animatedly alert, as never before. 
The former slackness which had shown itself 
even in his eyes was now replaced by an ener- 
getic readiness for action and resistance. His 
feet were bare. 

Pierre first looked down the field across 
which vehicles and horsemen were passing that 
morning, then into the distance across the riv- 
er, then at the dog who was pretending to be 
in earnest about biting him, and then at his 
bare feet which he placed with pleasure in vari- 
ous positions, moving his dirty thick big toes. 
Every time he looked at his bare feet a smile 
of animated self-satisfaction flitted across his 
face. The sight of them reminded him of all he 
had experienced and learned during these 
weeks and this recollection was pleasant to 
him. 

For some days the weather had been calm 
and clear with slight frosts in the mornings 
what is called an "old wives' summer." 

In the sunshine the air was warm, and that 
warmth was particularly pleasant with the in- 
vigorating freshness of the morning frost still 
in the air. 

On everything far and near lay the magic 
crystal glitter seen only at that tinieof autumn. 
The Sparrow Hills were visible in the distance, 
with the village, the church, and the large white 
house. The bare trees, the sand, the bricks and 
roofs of the houses, the green church spire, and 
the corners of the white house in the distance, 
all stood out in the transparent air in most 
delicate outline and with unnatural clearness. 
Near by could be seen the familiar ruins of a 
half-burned mansion occupied by the French, 
with lilac bushes still showing dark green be- 
side the fence. And even that ruined and be- 
fouled house which in dull weather was re- 
pulsively ugly- seemed quietly beautiful now, 
in the clear, motionless brilliance. 

A French corporal, with coat unbuttoned in 
a homely way, a skullcap on his head, and a 
short pipe in his mouth, came from behind a 
corner of the shed and approached Pierre with 
a friendly wink. 

"What sunshine, Monsieur Kiril!" (Their 



576 

name for Pierre.) "Eh? Just like springl" 

And the corporal leaned against the door 
and offered Pierre his pipe, though whenever 
he offered it Pierre always declined it. 

"To be on the march in such weather . . ." 
he began. 

Pierre inquired what was being said about 
leaving, and the corporal told him that nearly 
all the troops were starting and there ought to 
be an order about the prisoners that day. Soko- 
lov, one of the soldiers in the shed with Pierre, 
was dying, and Pierre told the corporal that 
something should be done about him. The 
corporal replied that Pierre need not worry 
about that as they had an ambulance and a 
permanent hospital and arrangements would 
be made for the sick, and that in general every- 
thing that could happen had been foreseen by 
the authorities. 

"Besides, Monsieur Kiril, you have only to 
say a word to the captain, you know. He is a 
man who never forgets anything. Speak to the 
captain when he makes his round, he will do 
anything for you." 

(The captain of whom the corporal spoke 
often had long chats with Pierre and showed 
him all sorts of favors.) 

" 'You see, St. Thomas,' he said to me the 
other day. 'Monsieur Kiril is a man of educa- 
tion, who speaks French. He is a Russian sei- 
gneur who has had misfortunes, but he is a man. 
He knows what's what. ... If he wants any- 
thing and asks me, he won't get a refusal. When 
one has studied, you see, one likes education 
and well-bred people.' It is for your sake I 
mention it, Monsieur Kiril. The other day if 
it had not been for you that affair would have 
ended ill." 

And after chatting a while longer, the cor- 
poral went away. (The affair he had alluded 
to had happened a few days beforea fight be- 
tween the prisoners and the French soldiers, 
in which Pierre had succeeded in pacifying his 
comrades.) Some of the prisoners who had 
heard Pierre talking to the corporal immedi- 
ately asked what the Frenchman had said. While 
Pierre was repeating what he had been told 
about the army leaving Moscow, a thin, sallow, 
tattered French soldier came up to the door of 
the shed. Rapidly and timidly raising his fin- 
gers to his forehead by way of greeting, he 
asked Pierre whether the soldier Platoche to 
whom he had given a shirt to sew was in that 
shed. 

A week before the French had had boot 
leather and linen issued to them, which they 



WAR AND PEACE 



had given out to the prisoners to make up into 
boots and shirts for them. 

"Ready, ready, dear fellow!" said Karatdev, 
coming out with a neatly folded shirt. 

Karatdev, on account of the warm weather 
and for convenience at work, was wearing only 
trousers and a tattered shirt as black as soot. 
His hair was bound round, workman fashion, 
with a wisp of lime-tree bast, and his round 
face seemed rounder and pleasanter than ever. 

"A promise is own brother to performance! 
I said Friday and here it is, ready," said Plat6n, 
smiling and unfolding the shirt he had sewn. 

The Frenchman glanced around uneasily 
and then, as if overcoming his hesitation, rapid- 
ly threw off his uniform and put on the shirt. 
He had a long, greasy, flowered silk waistcoat 
next to his sallow, thin bare body, but no shirt. 
He was evidently afraid the prisoners looking 
on would laugh at him, and thrust his head 
into the shirt hurriedly. None of the prisoners 
said a word. 

"See, it fits well!" Plat6n kept repeating, 
pulling the shirt straight. 

The Frenchman, having pushed his head 
and hands through, without raising his eyes, 
looked down at the shirt and examined the 
seams. 

"You see, dear man, this is not a sewing 
shop, and I had no proper tools; and, as they 
say, one needs a tool even to kill a louse," said 
Plat6n with one of his round smiles, obviously 
pleased with his work. 

"It's good, quite good, thank you," said the 
Frenchman, in French, "but there must be 
some linen left over." 

"It will, fit better still when it sets to your 
body," said Karatdev, still admiring his handi- 
work. "You'll be nice and comfortable. . . ." 

"Thank*s, thanks, old fellow But the bits 

left over?" said the Frenchman again and 
smiled. He took out an assignation ruble note 
and gave it to Karatdev. "But give me the 
pieces that are over." 

Pierre saw that Plat6n did not want to un- 
derstand what the Frenchman was saying, and 
he looked on without interfering. Karatdev 
thanked the Frenchman for the money and 
went on admiring his own work. The French- 
man insisted on having the pieces returned 
that were left over and asked Pierre to trans- 
late what he said. 

"What does he want the bits for?" said Kara- 
tdev. "They'd make fine leg bands for us. Well, 
never mind." 

And Karatdev, with a suddenly changed and 



BOOK THIRTEEN 

saddened expression, took a small bundle of 
scraps from inside his shirt and gave it to the 
Frenchman without looking at him. "Oh dear 1" 
muttered Karataev and went away. The French- 
man looked at the linen, considered for a mo- 
ment, then looked inquiringly at Pierre and, 
as if Pierre's look had told him something, sud- 
denly blushed and shouted in a squeaky voice: 

"Platoche! Eh, Platochel Keep them your- 
self 1" And handing back the odd bits he turned 
and went out. 

"There, look at that," said Kara tdev, swaying 
his head. "People said they were not Christians, 
but they too have souls. It's what the old folk 
used to say: 'A sweating hand's an open hand, 
a dry hand's close/ He's naked, but yet he's 
given it back." 

Karataev smiled thoughtfully and was silent 
awhile looking at the pieces. 

"But they'll make grand leg bands, dear 
friend," he said, and went back into the shed. 



577 



CHAPTER XII 

FOUR WEEKS had passed since Pierre had been 
taken prisoner and though the French had of- 
fered to move him from the men's to the of- 
ficers' shed, he had stayed in the shed where he 
was first put. 

In burned and devastated Moscow Pierre 
experienced almost the extreme limits of pri- 
vation a man can endure; but thanks to his 
physical strength and health, of which he had 
till then been unconscious, and thanks especial- 
ly to the fact that the privations came so 
gradually that it was impossible to say when 
they began, he endured his position not only 
lightly but joyfully. And just at this time he 
obtained the tranquillity and ease of mind he 
had formerly striven in vain to reach. He had 
long sought in different ways that tranquillity 
of mind, that inner harmony which had so im- 
pressed him in the soldiers at the battle of Bo- 
rodino. He had sought it in philanthropy, in 
Freemasonry, in the dissipations of town life, 
in wine, in heroic feats of self-sacrifice, and in 
romantic love for Natdsha; he had sought it by 
reasoning and all these quests and experi- 
ments had failed him. And now without think- 
ing about it he had found that peace and in- 
ner harmony only through the horror of death, 
through privation, and through what he rec- 
ognized in Karatdev. 

Those dreadful moments he had lived 
through at the executions had as it were for- 
ever washed away from his imagination and 
memory the agitating thoughts and feelings 



that had formerly seemed so important. It did 
not now occur to him to think of Russia, or the 
war, or politics, or Napoleon. It was plain to 
him that all these things were no business of 
his, and that he was not called on to judge con- 
cerning them and therefore could not do so. 
"Russia and summer weather are not bound 
together," he thought, repeating words of Ka- 
ratacv's which he found strangely consoling. 
His intention of killing Napoleon and his cal- 
culations of the cabalistic number of the beast 
of the Apocalypse now seemed to him mean- 
ingless and even ridiculous. His anger with his 
wife and anxiety that his name should not be 
smirched now seemed not merely trivial but 
even amusing. What concern was it of his that 
somewhere or other that woman was leading 
the life she preferred? What did it matter to 
anybody, and especially to him, whether or not 
they found out that their prisoner's name was 
Count Bezukhov? 

He now often remembered his conversation 
with Prince Andrew and quite agreed with 
him, though he understood Prince Andrew's 
thoughts somewhat differently. Prince Andrew 
had thought and said that happiness could on- 
ly be negative, but had said it with a shade of 
bitterness and irony as though he was really 
saying that all desire for positive happiness is 
implanted in us merely to torment us and nev- 
er be satisfied. But Pierre believed it without 
any mental reservation. The absence of suffer- 
ing, the satisfaction of one's needs and conse- 
quent freedom in the choice of one's occupa- 
tion, that is, of one's way of life, now seemed 
to Pierre to be indubitably man's highest hap- 
piness. Here and now for the first time he fully 
appreciated the enjoyment of eating when he 
wanted to eat, drinking when he wanted to 
drink, sleeping when he wanted to sleep, of 
warmth when he was cold, of talking to a fel- 
low man when he wished to talk and to hear a 
human voice. The satisfaction of one's needs- 
good food, cleanliness, and freedomnow that 
he was deprived of all this, seemed to Pierre to 
constitute perfect happiness; and the choice of 
occupation, that is, of his way of life now that 
that choice was so restricted seemed to him 
such an easy matter that he forgot that a super- 
fluity of the comforts of life destroys all joy in 
satisfying one's needs, while great freedom in 
the choice of occupation such freedom as 
his wealth, his education, and his social posi- 
tion had given him in his own life is just 
what makes the choice of occupation in- 
solubly difficult and destroys the desire and 



578 

possibility of having an occupation. 

All Pierre's daydreams now turned on the 
time when he would be free. Yet subsequently, 
and for the rest of his life, he thought and 
spoke with enthusiasm of that month of cap- 
tivity, of those irrecoverable, strong, joyful 
sensations, and chiefly of the complete peace 
of mind and inner freedom which he experi- 
enced only during those weeks. 

When on the first day he got up early, went 
out of the shed at dawn, and saw the cupolas 
and crosses of the New Convent of the Virgin 
still dark at first, the hoarfrost on the dusty 
grass, the Sparrow Hills, and the wooded banks 
above the winding river vanishing in the pur- 
ple distance, when he felt the contact of the 
fresh air and heard the noise of the crows fly- 
ing from Moscow across the field, and when 
afterwards light gleamed from the east and the 
sun's rim appeared solemnly from behind a 
cloud, and the cupolas and crosses, the hoar- 
frost, the distance and the river, all began to 
sparkle in the glad light Pierre felt a new joy 
and strength in life such as he had never be- 
fore known. And this not only stayed with him 
during the whole of his imprisonment, but 
even grew in strength as the hardships of his 
position increased. 

That feeling of alertness and of readiness for 
anything was still further strengthened in him 
by the high opinion his fellow prisoners formed 
of him soon after his arrival at the shed. With 
his knowledge of languages, the respect shown 
him by the French, his simplicity, his readiness 
to give anything asked of him (he received the 
allowance of three rubles a week made to of- 
ficers); with his strength, which he showed to 
the soldiers by pressing nails into the walls of 
the hut; his gentleness to his companions, and 
his capacity for sitting still and thinking with- 
out doing anything (which seemed to them in- 
comprehensible), he appeared to them a rather 
mysterious and superior being. The very quali- 
ties that had been a hindrance, if not actually 
harmful, to him in the world he had lived in 
his strength, his disdain for the comforts of 
life, his absent-mindedness and simplicity 
here among these people gave him almost the 
status of a hero. And Pierre felt that their opin- 
ion placed responsibilities upon him. 



CHAPTER XIII 
THE FRENCH EVACUATION began on the night 
between the sixth and seventh of October: 
kitchens and sheds were dismantled, carts 
loaded, and troops and baggage trains started. 



WAR AND PEACE 

At seven in the morning a French convoy in 
marching trim, wearing shakos and carrying 
muskets, knapsacks, and enormous sacks, stood 
in front of the sheds, and animated French talk 
mingled with curses sounded all along the 
lines. 

In the shed everyone was ready, dressed, 
belted, shod, and only awaited the order to 
start. The sick soldier, Sokol6v, pale and thin 
with dark shadows round his eyes, alone sat in 
his place barefoot and not dressed. His eyes, 
prominent from the emaciation of his face, 
gazed inquiringly at his comrades who were 
paying no attention to him, and he moaned 
regularly and quietly. It was evidently not so 
much his sufferings that caused him to moan 
(he had dysentery) as his fear and grief at be- 
ing left alone. 

Pierre, girt with a rope round his waist and 
wearing shoes Karatdev had made for him 
from some leather a French soldier had torn 
off a tea chest and brought to have his boots 
mended with, went up to the sick man and 
squatted down beside him. 

"You know, Sokol6v, they are not all going 
away! They have a hospital here. You may be 
better off than we others/' said Pierre. 

"O LordI Oh, it will be the death of me! O 
Lord!" moaned the man in a louder voice. 

"I'll go and ask them again directly," said 
Pierre, rising and going to the door of the shed. 

Just as Pierre reached the door, the corporal 
who had offered him a pipe the day before 
came up to it with two soldiers. The corporal 
and soldiers were in marching kit with knap- 
sacks and shakos that had metal straps, and 
these changed their familiar faces. 

The corporal came, according to orders, to 
shut the door. The prisoners had to be counted 
before being let out. 

"Corporal, what will they do with the sick 
man? . . ." Pierre began. 

But even as he spoke he began to doubt 
whether this was the corporal he knew or a 
stranger, so unlike himself did the corporal 
seem at that moment. Moreover, just as Pierre 
was speaking a sharp rattle of drums was sud- 
denly heard from both sides. The corporal 
frowned at Pierre's wdrds and, uttering some 
meaningless oaths, slammed the door. The shed 
became semidark, and the sharp rattle of the 
drums on two sides drowned the sick man's 



groans. 

"There it ist . . . It again! . . ." said Pierre to 
himself, and an involuntary shudder ran down 
his spine. In the corporal's changed face, in 



BOOK THIRTEEN 

the sound of his voice, in the stirring and deaf- 
ening noise of the drums, he recognized that 
mysterious, callous force which compelled peo- 
ple against their will to kill their fellow men 
that force the effect of which he had witnessed 
during the executions. To fear or to try to es- 
cape that force, to address entreaties or exhor- 
tations to those who served as its tools, was use- 
less. Pierre knew this now. One had to wait 
and endure. He did not again go to the sick 
man, nor turn to look at him, but stood frown- 
ing by the door of the hut. 

When that door was opened and the pris- 
oners, crowding against one another like a flock 
of sheep, squeezed into the exit, Pierre pushed 
his way forward and approached that very cap- 
tain who as the corporal had assured him was 
ready to do anything for him. The captain was 
also in marching kit, and on his cold face ap- 
peared that same it which Pierre had recog- 
nized in the corporal's words and in the roll of 
the drums. 

"Pass on, pass on I" the captain reiterated, 
frowning sternly, and looking at the prisoners 
who thronged past him. 

Pierre went up to him, though he knew his 
attempt would be vain. 

"What now?" the officer asked with a cold 
look as if not recognizing Pierre. 

Pierre told him about the sick man. 

"He'll manage to walk, devil take him!" said 
the captain. "Pass on, pass onl" he continued 
without looking at Pierre. 

"But he is dying," Pierre again began. 

"Be so good . . ." shouted the captain, frown- 
ing angrily. 

"Dram- da- da- dam, dam-dam . . ." rattled the 
drums, and Pierre understood that this mysteri- 
ous force completely controlled these men and 
that it was now useless to say any more. 

The officer prisoners were separated from the 
soldiers and told to march in front. There were 
about thirty officers, with Pierre among them, 
and about three hundred men. 

The officers, who had come from the other 
sheds, were all strangers to Pierre and much 
better dressed than he. They looked at him 
and at his shoes mistrustfully, as at an alien. 
Not far from him walked a fat major with a sal- 
low, bloated, angry face, who was wear ing a Ka- 
zan dressing grown tied round with a towel, 
and who evidently enjoyed the respect of his 
fellow prisoners. He kept one hand, in which 
he clasped his tobacco pouch, inside the bosom 
of his dressing gown and held the stem of his 
pipe firmly with the other. Panting and puffing, 



579 

the major grumbled and growled at everybody 
because hp thought he was being pushed and 
that they were all hurrying when they had no- 
where to hurry to and were -all surprised at 
something when, there was nothing to be sur- 
prised at. Another, a thin little officer, was 
speaking to everyone, conjecturing where they 
were now being taken and how far they would 
get that day. An official in felt boots and wear- 
ing a commissariat uniform ran round from 
side to side and gazed at the ruins of Moscow, 
loudly announcing his observations as to what 
had been burned down and what this or that 
part of the city was that they could see. A third 
officer, who by his accent was a Pole, disputed 
with the commissariat officer, arguing that he 
was mistaken in his identification of the differ- 
ent wards of Moscow. 

"What are you disputing about?" said the 
major angrily. "What does it matter whether it 
is St. Nicholas or St. Blasius? You see it's burned 
down, and there's an end of it. ... What are 
you pushing for? Isn't the road wide enough?" 
said he, turning to a man behind him who was 
not pushing him at all. 

"Oh, oh, oh! What have they done?" the 
prisoners on one side and another were heard 
saying as they gazed on the charred ruins. "All 
beyond the river, and Zubova, and in the Krm- 
lin. . . . Just look! There's not half of it left. Yes, 
I told you the whole quarter beyond the riv- 
er, and so it is." 

"Well, you know it's burned, so what's the 
use of talking?" said the major. 

As they passed near a church in the Kham6v- 
niki (one of the few unburned quarters of 
Moscow) the whole mass of prisoners suddenly 
started to one side and exclamations of horror 
and disgust were heard. 

"Ah, the villains! What heathens! Yes; dead, 
dead, so he is. ... And smeared with some- 
thing!" 

Pierre too drew near the church where the 
thing was that evoked these exclamations, and 
dimly made out something leaning against the 
palings surrounding the church. From the 
words of his comrades who saw better than he 
did, he found that this was the body of a man, 
set upright against the palings with its face 
smeared with soot. 

"Go on! What the devil ... Go on! Thirty 
thousand devils! ..." the convoy guards began 
cursing and the French soldiers, with fresh 
virulence, drove away with their swords the 
crowd of prisoners who were gazing at the dead 
man. 



5 8o 



WAR AND PEACE 



CHAPTER XIV 

THROUGH THE CROSS STREETS of the Khamovni- 
ki quarter the prisoners marched, followed 
only by their escort and the vehicles and wag- 
ons belonging to that escort, but when they 
reached the supply stores they came among a 
huge and closely packed train of artillery min- 
gled with private vehicles. 

At the bridge they all halted, waiting for 
those in front to get across. From the bridge 
they had a view of endless lines of moving bag- 
gage trains before and behind them. To the 
right, where the Kaluga road turns near Nes- 
kuchny, endless rows of troops and carts 
stretched away into the distance. These were 
troops of Beauharnais' corps which had start- 
ed before any of the others. Behind, along the 
riverside and across the Stone Bridge, were 
Ney's troops and transport. 

Davout's troops, in whose charge were the 
prisoners, were crossing the Crimean bridge 
and some were already debouching into the 
Kaluga road. But the baggage trains stretched 
out so that the last of Beauharnais' train had 
not yet got out of Moscow and reached the Ka- 
luga road when the vanguard of Ney's army 
was already emerging from the Great Ordy nka 
Street. 

When they had crossed the Crimean bridge 
the prisoners moved a few steps forward, halt- 
ed, and again moved on, and from all sides ve- 
hicles and men crowded closer and closer to- 
gether. They advanced the few hundred paces 
that separated the bridge from the Kaluga 
road, taking more than an hour to do so, and 
came out upon the square where the streets of 
the Transmoskvd. ward and the Kaluga road 
converge, and the prisoners jammed close to- 
gether had to stand for some hours at that cross- 
way. From all sides, like the roar of the sea, 
were heard the rattle of wheels, the tramp of 
feet, and incessant shouts of anger and abuse. 
Pierre stood pressed against the wall of a 
charred house, listening to that noise which 
mingled in his imagination with the roll of 
the drums. 

To get a better view, several officer prisoners 
climbed onto the wall of the half-burned house 
against which Pierre was leaning. 

"What crowds! Just look at the crowds! . . . 
They've loaded goods even on the cannon! 
Look there, those are furs!" they exclaimed. 
"Just see what the blackguards have looted. . . . 
There! See what that one has behind in the 
cart. . . . Why, those are settings taken from 
some icons, by heaven! . . . Oh, the rascals! . . . 



See how that fellow has loaded himself up, he 
can hardly walk! Good lord, they've even 
grabbed those chaises! ... See that fellow there 
sitting on the trunks. . . . Heavens! They're 
fighting." 

"That's right, hit him on the snout on his 
snout! Like this, we shan't get away before 
evening. Look, look there. . . . Why, that must 
be Napoleon's own. See what horses! And the 
monograms with a crown! It's like a portable 
house. . . . That fellow's dropped his sack and 
doesn't see it. Fighting again ... A woman 
with a baby, and not bad-looking either! Yes, 
I dare say, that's the way they'll let you pass. 
. . . Just look, there's no end to it. Russian 
wenches, by heaven, so they are! In carriages 
see how comfortably they've settled them- 
selves!" 

Again, as at the church in Kham6vniki, a 
wave of general curiosity bore all the prisoners 
forward onto the road, and Pierre, thanks to 
his stature, saw over the heads of the others 
what so attracted their curiosity. In three car- 
riages involved among the munition carts, close- 
ly squeezed together, sat women with rouged 
faces, dressed in glaring colors, who were shout- 
ing something in shrill voices. 

From the moment Pierre had recognized the 
appcaranceof themysterious force nothing had 
seemed to him strange or dreadful: neither the 
corpse smeared with soot for fun nor these 
women hurrying away nor the burned ruihs of 
Moscow. All that he now witnessed scarcely 
made an impression on him as if his soul, 
making ready for a hard struggle, refused to re- 
ceive impressions that might weaken it. 

The women's vehicles drove by. Behind them 
came more carts, soldiers, wagons, soldiers, gun 
carriages, carriages, soldiers, ammunition carts, 
more soldiers, and now and then women, 

Pierre did not see the people as individuals 
but saw their movement. 

All these people and horses seemed driven 
forward by some invisible power. During the 
hour Pierre watched them they all came flow- 
ing from the different streets with one and the 
same desire to get on quickly; they all jostled 
one another, began to grow angry and to fight, 
white teeth gleamed, brows frowned, ever the 
same words of abuse flew from side to side, and 
all the faces bore the same swaggeringly reso- 
lute and coldly cruel expression that had struck 
Pierre thatmorningon the corporal's face when 
the drums were beating. 

It was not till nearly evening that the officer 
commanding the escort collected his men and 



BOOK THIRTEEN 



581 



with shouts and quarrels forced his way in 
among the baggage trains, and the prisoners, 
hemmed in on all sides, emerged onto the Ka- 
luga road. 

They marched very quickly, without resting, 
and halted only when the sun began to set. 
The baggage carts drew up close together and 
the men began to prepare for their night's rest. 
They all appeared angry and dissatisfied. For 
a long time, oaths, angry shouts, and fighting 
could be heard from all sides. A carriage that 
followed the escort ran into one of the carts 
and knocked a hole in it with its pole. Several 
soldiers ran toward the cart from different 
sides: some beat the carriage horses on their 
heads, turning them aside, others fought 
among themselves, and Pierre saw that one 
German was badly wounded on the head by a 
sword. 

It seemed that all these men, now that they 
had stopped amid fields in the chill dusk of 
the autumn evening, experienced one and the 
same feeling of unpleasant awakening from 
the hurry and eagerness to push on that had 
seized them at the start. Once at a standstill 
they all seemed to understand that they did not 
yet know where they were going, and that much 
that was painful and difficult awaited them on 
this journey. 

During this halt the escort treated the pris- 
oners even worse than they had done at the 
start. It was here that the prisoners for the first 
time received horseflesh for their meat ration. 

From the officer down to the lowest soldier 
they all showed what seemed like personal spite 
against each of the prisoners, in unexpected 
contrast to their former friendly relations. 

This spite increased still more when, on call- 
ing over the roll of prisoners, it was found that 
in the bustle of leaving Moscow one Russian 
soldier, who had pretended to suffer from colic, 
had escaped. Pierre saw a Frenchman beat a 
Russian soldier cruelly for straying too far 
from the road, and heard his friend the cap- 
tain reprimand and threaten to court-martial 
a noncommissioned officer on account of the 
escape of the Russian. To the noncommissioned 
officer's excuse that the prisoner was ill and 
could not walk, the officer replied that the or- 
der was to shoot those who lagged behind. 
Pierre felt that that fatal force which had 
crushed him during the executions, but which 
he had not felt during his imprisonment, now 
again controlled his existence. It was terrible, 
but he felt that in proportion to the efforts of 
that fatal force to crush him, there grew and 



strengthened in his soul a power of life inde- 
pendent of it. 

He ate his supper of buckwheat soup with 
horseflesh and chatted with his comrades. 

Neither Pierre nor any of the others spoke 
of what they had seen in Moscow, or of the 
roughness of their treatment by the French, or 
of the order to shoot them which had been an- 
nounced to them. As if in reaction against the 
worsening of their position they were all par- 
ticularly animated and gay. They spoke of per- 
sonal reminiscences, of amusing scenes they 
had witnessed during the campaign, and avoid- 
ed all talk of their present situation. 

The sun had set long since. Bright stars shone 
out here and there in the sky. A red glow as of 
a conflagration spread above the horizon from 
the rising full moon, and that vast red ball 
swayed strangely in the gray haze. It grew light. 
The evening was ending, but the night had not 
yet come. Pierre got up and left his new com- 
panions, crossing between the campfires to the 
other side of the road where he had been told 
the common soldier prisoners were stationed. 
He wanted to talk to them. On the road he was 
stopped by a French sentinel who ordered him 
back. 

Pierre turned back, not to his companions by 
the campfire, but to an unharnessed cart 
where there was nobody. Tucking his legs un- 
der him and dropping his head he sat down on 
the cold ground by the wheel of the cart and 
remained motionless a long while sunk in 
thought. Suddenly he burst out into a fit of his 
broad, good-natured laughter, so loud that 
men from various sides turned with surprise 
to see what this strange and evidently solitary 
laughter could mean. 

"Ha-ha-ha!" laughed Pierre. And he said 
aloud to himself: "The soldier did not let me 
pass. They took me and shut me up. They hold 
me captive. What, me? Me? My immortal soul? 
Ha-ha-ha! Ha-ha-ha! . . ." and he laughed till 
tears started to his eyes. 

A man got up and came to see what this 
queer big fellow was laughing at all by him- 
self. Pierre stopped laughing, got up, went 
farther away from the inquisitive man, and 
looked around him. 

The huge, endless bivouac that had previ- 
ously resounded with the cracklingof campfires 
and the voices of many men had grown quiet, 
the red campfires were growing paler and dy- 
ing down. High up in the light sky hung the 
full moon. Forests and fields beyond the camp, 
unseen before, were now visible in the dis- 



582 

tance. And farther still, beyond those forests 
and fields, the bright, oscillating, limitless dis- 
tance lured one to itself. Pierre glanced up at 
the sky and the twinkling stars in its faraway 
depths. "And all that is me, all that is within 
me, and it is all II" thought Pierre. "And they 
caught all that and put it into a shed boarded 
up with planks!" He smiled, and went and 
lay down to sleep beside his companions. 

CHAPTER XV 

IN THE EARLY DAYS of October another envoy 
came to Kutuzov with a letter from Napoleon 
proposing peace and falsely dated from Mos- 
cow, though Napoleon was already not far 
from Kutuzov on the old Kaluga road. Kutu- 
zov replied to this letter as he had done to the 
one formerly brought by Lauriston, saying that 
there could be no question of peace. 

Soon after that a report was received from 
D6rokhov's guerrilla detachment operating to 
the left of Tariitino that troops of Broussier's 
division had been seen at Forminsk and that 
being separated from the rest of the French 
army they might easily be destroyed. The 
soldiers and officers again demanded action. 
Generals on the staff, excited by the memory 
of the easy victory at Tanitino, urged Kutuzov 
to carry out Dorokhov's suggestion. Kutuzov 
did not consider any offensive necessary. The 
result was a compromise which was inevitable: 
a small detachment was sent to Formfnsk to 
attack Broussier. 

By a strange coincidence, this task, which 
turned out to be a most difficult and important 
one, was entrusted to Dokhtiirov that same 
modest little Dokhtiirov whom no one had de- 
scribed to us as drawing up plans of 'battles, 
dashing about in front of regiments, shower- 
ing crosses on batteries, and so on, and who 
was thought to be and was spoken of as un- 
decided and undiscerning but whom we find 
commanding wherever the position was most 
difficult all through the Russo-French wars 
from Austerlitz to the year 1813. At Austerlitz 
he remained last at the Augezd dam, rallying 
the regiments, saving what was possible when 
all were flying and perishing and not a single 
general was left in the rearguard. Ill with fever 
he went to Smolensk with twenty thousand 
men to defend the town against Napoleon's 
whole army. In Smolensk, at the Maldkhov 
Gate, he had hardly dozed off in a paroxysm of 
fever before he was awakened by the bombard- 
ment of the town and Smolensk held out all 
day long. At the battle of Borodin6, when 



WAR AND PEACE 

Bagrati6n was killed and nine tenths of the 
men of our left flank had fallen and the full 
force of the French artillery fire was directed 
against it, the man sent there was this same 
irresolute and undiscerning Dokhtiirov Kut- 
uzov hastening to rectify a mistake he had 
made by sending someone else there first. And 
the quiet little Dokhtiirov rode thither, and 
Borodin6 became the greatest glory of the 
Russian army. Many heroes have been de- 
scribed to us in verse and prose, but of Dokh- 
tiirov scarcely a word has been said. 

It was Dokhtiirov again whom they sent to 
Formfnsk and from there to Mdlo-Yarosldvets, 
the place where the last battle with the French 
was fought and where the obvious disintegra- 
tion of the French army began; and we are 
told of many geniuses and heroes of that 
period of the campaign, but of Dokhtiirov 
nothing or very little is said and that dubi- 
ously. And this silence about Dokhtiirov is the 
clearest testimony to his merit. 

It is natural for a man who docs not under- 
stand the workings of a machine to imagine 
that a shaving that has fallen into it by chance 
and is interfering with its action and tossing 
about in it is its most important part. The man 
who does not understand the construction of 
the machine cannot conceive that the small 
connecting cogwheel which revolves quietly is 
one of the most essential parts of the machine, 
and not the shaving which merely harms and 
hinders the working. 

On the tenth of October when Dokhtiirov 
had gone halfway to Forminsk and stopped at 
the village of Arist6vo, preparing faithfully to 
execute the orders he had received, the whole 
French army having, in its convulsive move- 
ment, reached Murat's position apparently in 
order to give battle suddenly without any 
reason turned off to the left onto the new 
Kaluga road and began to enter Formfnsk, 
where only Broussier had been till then. At 
that time Dokhtiirov had under his command, 
besides D6rokhov's detachment, the two small 
guerrilla detachments of Figner and Sesldvin. 

On the evening of October 1 1 Seslvin came 
to the Arist6vo headquarters with a French 
guardsman he had captured. The prisoner 
said that the troops that had entered Formfnsk 
that day were the vanguard of the whole army, 
that Napoleon was there and the whole army 
had left Moscow four days previously. That 
same evening a house serf who had come from 
Borovsk said he had seen an immense army 
entering the town. Some Cossacks of Dokhtii- 



BOOK THIRTEEN 

rov's detachment reported having sighted the 
French Guards marching along the road to 
B6rovsk. From all these reports it was evident 
that where they had expected to meet a single 
division there was now the whole French army 
marching from Moscow in an unexpected di- 
rectionalong the Kaluga road. Dokhturov 
was unwilling to undertake any action, as it 
was not clear to him now what he ought to do. 
He had been ordered to attack Formfnsk. But 
only Broussier had been there at that time and 
now the whole French army was there. Erm6- 
lov wished to act on his own judgment, but 
Dokhturov insisted that he must have Kutii- 
zov's instructions. So it was decided to send a 
dispatch to the staff. 

For this purpose a capable officer, Bolkhovf- 
tinov, was chosen, who was to explain the 
whole affair by word of mouth, besides deliver- 
ing a written report. Toward midnight Bolk- 
hovitinov, having received the dispatch and 
verbal instructions, galloped off to the General 
Staff accompanied by a Cossack with spare 
horses. 



583 



CHAPTER XVI 

IT WAS a warm, dark, autumn night. It had 
been raining for four days. Having changed 
horses twice and galloped twenty miles in an 
hour and a half over a sticky, muddy road, 
Bolkhovitinov reached Litashevka after one 
o'clock at night. Dismounting at a cottage on 
whose wattle fence hung a signboard, GENERAL 
STAFF, and throwing down his reins, he en- 
tered a dark passage. 

"The general on duty, quickl It's very im- 
portant!" said he to someone who had risen 
and was sniffing in the dark passage. 

"He has been very unwell since the evening 
and this is the third night he has not slept," 
said the orderly pleadingly in a whisper. "You 
should wake the captain first." 

"But this is very important, from General 
Dokhturov," said Bolkhovitinov, entering the 
open door which he had found by feeling in 
the dark. 

The orderly had gone in before him and 
began waking somebody. 

"Your honor, your honor! A courier." 

"What? What's that? From whom?" came a 
sleepy voice. 

"From Dokhturov and from Alexdy Petr6- 
vich. Napoleon is at Forminsk," said Bolkhovl- 
tinov, unable to see in the dark who was speak- 
ing but guessing by the voice that it was not 
Konovnitsyn. 



The man who had wakened yawned and 
stretched himself. 

"I don't like waking him/ 1 he said, fumbling 
for something. "He is very ill. Perhaps this is 
only a rumor." 

"Here is the dispatch," said Bolkhovitinov. 
"My orders are to give it at once to the gen- 
eral on duty." 

"Wait a moment, I'll light a candle. You 
damned rascal, where do you always hide it?" 
said the voice of the man who was stretching 
himself, to the orderly. (This was Shcherbinin, 
Konovnitsyn's adjutant.) "I've found it, I've 
found itl" he added. 

The orderly was striking a light and Shcher- 
bfnin was fumbling for something on the 
candlestick. 

"Oh, the nasty beasts!" said he with disgust. 

By the light of the sparks Bolkhovftinov saw 
Shcherbinin's youthful face as he held the 
candle, and the face of another man who was 
still asleep. This was Konovnitsyn. 

When the flame of the sulphur splinters 
kindled by the tinder burned up, first blue and 
then red, Shcherbinin lit the tallow candle, 
from the candlestick of which the cockroaches 
that had been gnawing it were running away, 
and looked at the messenger. Bolkhovitinov 
was bespattered all over with mud and had 
smeared his face by wiping it with his sleeve. 

"Who gave the report?" inquired Shchfer- 
binin, taking the envelope. 

"The news is reliable," said Bolkhovitinov. 
"Prisoners, Cossacks, and the scouts all say the 
same thing." 

"There's nothing to be done, we'll have to 
wake him," said Shcherbinin, rising and going 
up to the man in the nightcap who lay cov- 
ered by a greatcoat. "Peter PetrovichI" said he. 
(Konovnftsyn did not stir.) "To the General 
Staff!" he said with a smile, knowing that those 
words would be sure to arouse him. 

And in fact the head in the nightcap was 
lifted at once. On Konovnitsyn's handsome, 
resolute face with checks flushed by fever, 
there still remained for an instant a faraway 
dreamy expression remote from present af- 
fairs, but then he suddenly started and his 
face assumed its habitual calm and firm ap- 
pearance. 

"Well, what is it? From whom?" he asked 
immediately but without hurry, blinking at 
the light. 

While listening to theofficer's report Konov- 
nftsyn broke the seal and read the dispatch. 
Hardly had he done so before he lowered his 



WAR AND PEACE 



legs in their woolen stockings to the earthen 
floor and began putting on his boots. Then he 
took off his nightcap, combed his hair over 
his temples, and donned his cap. 

"Did you get here quickly? Let us go to his 
Highness." 

Konovnftsyn had understood at once that 
the news brought was of great importance and 
that no time must be lost. He did not consider 
or ask himself whether the news was good or 
bad. That did not interest him. He regarded 
the whole business of the war not with his 
intelligence or his reason but by something 
else. There was within him a deep unex- 
pressed conviction that all would be well, but 
that one must not trust to this and still less 
speak about it, but must only attend to one's 
own work. And he did his work, giving his 
whole strength to the task. 

Peter Petr6vich Konovnftsyn, like Dokhtu- 
rov, seems to have been included merely for 
propriety's sake in the list of the so-called 
heroes of 1812 the Barclays, Ra^vskis, Erm6- 
lovs, Pldtovs, and Milordoviches. Like Dokh- 
turov he had the reputation of being a man 
of very limited capacity and information, and 
like Dokhturov he never made plans of battle 
but was always found where the situation was 
most difficult. Since his appointment as gen- 
eral on duty he had always slept with his door 
open, giving orders that every messenger 
should be allowed to wake him up. In battle 
he was always under fire, so that Kutuzov re- 
proved him for it and feared to send him to 
the front, and like Dokhturov he was one of 
those unnoticed cogwheels that, without clat- 
ter or noise, constitute the most essential part 
of the machine. 

Coming out of the hut into the damp, dark 
night Konovnitsyn frowned partly from an 
increased pain in his head and partly at the 
unpleasant thought that occurred to him, of 
how all that nest of influential men on the 
staff would be stirred up by this news, espe- 
cially Bennigsen, who ever since Tariitino had 
been at daggers drawn with Kutuzov; and how 
they would make suggestions, quarrel, issue 
orders, and rescind them. And this premoni- 
tion was disagreeable to him though he knew 
it could not be helped. 

And in fact Toll, to whom he went to com- 
municate the news, immediately began to ex- 
pound his plans to a general sharing his quar- 
ters, until Konovnftsyn, who listened in weary 
silence, reminded him that they must go to 
see his Highness. 



CHAPTER XVII 

Kurtizov like all old people did not sleep 
much at night. He often fell asleep unex- 
pectedly in the daytime, but at night, lying 
on his bed without undressing, he generally 
remained awake thinking. 

So he lay now on his bed, supporting his 
large, heavy, scarred head on his plump hand, 
with his one eye open, meditating and peer- 
ing into the darkness. 

Since Bennigsen, who corresponded with 
the Emperor and had more influence than 
anyone else on the staff, had begun to avoid 
him, Kutuzov was more at ease as to the pos- 
sibility of himself and his troops being obliged 
to take part in useless aggressive movements. 
The lesson of the Tariitino battle and of the 
day before it, which Kutuzov remembered 
with pain, must, he thought, have some effect 
on others too. 

"They must understand that we can only 
lose by taking the offensive. Patience and time 
are my warriors, my champions," thought 
Kutuzov. He knew that an apple should not 
be plucked while it is green. It will fall of it- 
self when ripe, but if picked unripe the apple 
is spoiled, the tree is harmed, and your teeth 
are set on edge. Like an experienced sports- 
man he knew that the beast was wounded, and 
wounded as only the whole strength of Russia 
could have wounded it, but whether it was 
mortally wounded or not was still an unde- 
cided question. Now by the fact of Lauriston 
and BarthtHemi having been sent, and by the 
reports of the guerrillas, Kutuzov was almost 
sure that the wound was mortal. But he needed 
further proofs and it was necessary to wait. 

"They want to run to see how they have 
wounded it. Wait and we shall see! Continual 
maneuvers, continual advances!" thought he. 
"What for? Only to distinguish themselves! 
As if fighting were fun. They are like children 
from whom one can't get any sensible account 
of what has happened because they all want 
to show how well they can fight. But that's 
not what is needed now. 

"And what ingenious maneuvers they all 
propose to me! It seems to them that when 
they have thought of two or three contin- 
gencies" (he remembered the general plan 
sent him from Petersburg) "they have fore- 
seen everything. But the contingencies are 
endless." 

The undecided question as to whether the 
wound inflicted at Borodin6 was mortal or not 
had hung over Kutuzov's head for a whole 



month. On the one hand the French had oc- 
cupied Moscow. On the other Kutiizov felt 
assured with all his being that the terrible 
blow into which he and all the Russians had 
put their whole strength must have been mor- 
tal. But in any case proofs were needed; he 
had waited a whole month for them and grew 
more impatient the longer he waited. Lying 
on his bed during those sleepless nights he did 
just what he reproached those younger gen- 
erals for doing. He imagined all sorts of pos- 
sible contingencies, just like the younger men, 
but with this difference, that he saw thousands 
of contingencies instead of two or three and 
based nothing on them. The longer he 
thought the more contingencies presented 
themselves. He imagined all sorts of move- 
ments of the Napoleonic army as a whole or 
in sections against Petersburg, or against 
him, or to outflank him. He thought too of 
the possibility (which he feared most of all) 
that Napoleon might fight him with his own 
weapon and remain in Moscow awaiting him. 
Kutuzov even imagined that Napoleon's army 
might turn back through Medyn and Yukh- 
nov, but the one thing he could not foresee 
was what happenedthe insane, convulsive 
stampede of Napoleon's army during its first 
eleven days after leaving Moscow: a stampede 
which made possible what Kutuzov had not 
yet even dared to think of the complete ex- 
termination of the French. Dorokhov's report 
about Broussier's division, the guerrillas' re- 
ports of distress in Napoleon's army, rumors 
of preparations for leaving Moscow, all con- 
firmed the supposition that the French army 
was beaten and preparing for flight. But these 
were only suppositions, which seemed im- 
portant to the younger men but not to Kutu- 
zov. With his sixty years' experience he knew 
what value to attach to rumors, knew how apt 
people who desire anything are to group all 
news so that it appears to confirm what they 
desire, and he knew how readily in such cases 
they omit all that makes for the contrary. And 
the more he desired it the less he allowed him- 
self to believe it. This question absorbed all 
his mental powers. All else was to him only 
life's customary routine. To such customary 
routine belonged his conversations with the 
staff, the letters he wrote from Tarutino to 
Madame de Stael, the reading of novels, the 
distribution of awards, his correspondence 
with Petersburg, and so on. But the destruc- 
tion of the French, which he alone foresaw, 
was his heart's one desire. 



BOOK THIRTEEN 585 

On the night of the eleventh of October he 
lay leaning on his arm and thinking of that. 

There was a stir in the next room and he 
heard the steps of Toll, Konovnitsyn, and 
Bolkhovftinov. 

"Eh, who's there? Come in, come in I What 
news?" the field marshal called out to them. 

While a footman was lighting a candle, Toll 
communicated the substance of the news. 

"Who brought it?" asked Kutuzov with a 
look which, when the candle was lit, struck 
Toll by its cold severity. 

"There can be no doubt about it, your High- 
ness." 

"Call him in, call him here." 

Kutuzov sat up with one leg hanging down 
from the bed and his big paunch resting 
against the other which was doubled under 
him. He screwed up his seeing eye to scrutinize 
the messenger more carefully, as if wishing to 
read in his face what preoccupied his own 
mind. 

"Tell me, tell me, friend," said he to Bolk- 
hovitinov in his low, aged voice, as he pulled 
together the shirt which gaped open on his 
chest, "come nearer nearer. What news have 
you brought me? Eh? That Napoleon has left 
Moscow? Are you sure? Eh?" 

Bolkhovitinov gave a detailed account from 
the beginning of all he had been told to re- 
port. 

"Speak quicker, quicker! Don't torture 
me!" Kutuzov interrupted him. 

Bolkhovitinov told him everything and was 
then silent, awaiting instructions. Toll was be- 
ginning to say something but Kutuzov check- 
ed him. He tried to say something, but his face 
suddenly puckered and wrinkled; he waved 
his arm at Toll and turned to the opposite side 
of the room, to the corner darkened by the 
icons that hung there. 

"O Lord, my Creator, Thou has heard our 
prayer . . ." said he in a tremulous voice with 
folded hands. "Russia is saved. I thank Thee, 
O Lord!" and he wept. 



CHAPTER XV11I 

FROM THE TIME he received this news to the 
end of the campaign all Kutuzov's activity 
was directed toward restraining his troops, by 
authority, by guile, and by entreaty, from use- 
less attacks, maneuvers, or encounters with 
the perishing enemy. Dokhtiirov went to 
Mlo-Yarosldvets, but Kuti'izov lingered with 
the main army and gave orders for the evacua- 
tion of Kaluga a retreat beyond which town 



586 

seemed to him quite possible* 

Everywhere Kuttizov retreated, but the en- 
emy without waiting for his retreat fled in the 
opposite direction. 

Napoleon's historians describe to us his 
skilled maneuvers at Tarutino and Malo- 
Yaroslavets, and make conjectures as to what 
would have happened had Napoleon been in 
time to penetrate into the rich southern prov- 
inces. 

But not to speak of the fact that nothing 
prevented him from advancing into those 
southern provinces (for the Russian army did 
not bar his way), the historians forget that 
nothing could have saved his army, for then 
already it bore within itself the germs of in- 
evitable ruin. How could that army which 
had found abundant supplies in Moscow and 
had trampled them underfoot instead of keep- 
ing them, and on arriving at Smolensk had 
looted provisions instead of storing them 
how could that army recuperate in Kaluga 
province, which was inhabited by Russians 
such as those who lived in Moscow, and where 
fire had the same property of consuming what 
was set ablaze? 

That army could not recover anywhere. 
Since the battle of Borodin6 and the pillage of 
Moscow it had borne within itself, as it were, 
the chemical elements of dissolution. 

The members of what had once been an 
army Napoleon himself and all his soldiers- 
fled without knowing whither, each concerned 
only to make his escape as quickly as possible 
from this position, of the hopelessness of 
which they were all more or less vaguely con- 
scious. 

So it came about that at the council at 
Malo-Yaroslavets, when the generals pretend- 
ing to confer together expressed various opin- 
ions, all mouths were closed by the opinion 
uttered by the simple-minded soldier Mouton 
who, speaking last, said what they all felt: 
that the one thing needful was to get away as 
quickly as possible; and no one, not even 
Napoleon, could say anything against that 
truth which they all recognized. 

But though they all realized that it was 
necessary to get away, there still remained a 
feeling of shame at admitting that they must 
flee. An external shock was needed to over- 
come that shame, and this shock came in due 
time. It was what the French called "le hourra 
de I'Empereur" 1 

1 Hourra was the cheer the Russian troops gave 
when charging the enemy. TR. 



WAR AND PEACE 

The day after the council at Mdlo-Yarosla- 
vets Napoleon rode out early in the morning 
amid the lines of his army with his suite of 
marshals and an escort, on the pretext of in- 
specting the army and the scene of the pre- 
vious and of the impending battle. Some Cos- 
sacks on the prowl for booty fell in with the 
Emperor and very nearly captured him. If the 
Cossacks did not capture Napoleon then, what 
saved him was the very thing that was destroy- 
ing the French army, the booty on which the 
Cossacks fell. Here as at Tanitino they went 
after plunder, leaving the men. Disregarding 
Napoleon they rushed after the plunder and 
Napoleon managed to escape. 

When les enfants du Don might so easily 
have taken the Emperor himself in the midst 
of his army, it was clear that there was nothing 
for it but to fly as fast as possible along the 
nearest, familiar road. Napoleon with his 
forty-year-old stomach understood that hint, 
not feeling his former agility and boldness, 
and under the influence of the fright the Cos- 
sacks had given him he at once agreed with 
Mouton and issued orders as the historians 
tell us to retreat by the Smolensk road. 

That Napoleon agreed with Mouton, and 
that the army retreated, does not prove that 
Napoleon caused it to retreat, but that the 
forces which influenced the whole army and 
directed it along the Mozhdysk (that is, the 
Smolensk) road acted simultaneously on him 
also. 

CHAPTER XIX 

A MAN IN MOTION always devises an aim for 
that motion. To be able to go a thousand miles 
he must imagine that something good awaits 
him at the end of those thousand miles. One 
must have the prospect of a promised land to 
have the strength to move. 

The promised land for the French during 
their advance had been Moscow, during their 
retreat it was their native land. But that native 
land was too far off, and for a man going a 
thousand miles it is absolutely necessary to 
set aside his final goal and to say to himself: 
"Today I shall get to a place twenty-five miles 
off where I shall rest and spend the night," 
and during the first day's journey that resting 
place eclipses his ultimate goal and attracts 
all his hopes and desires. And the impulses 
felt by a single person are always magnified 
in a crowd. 

For the French retreating along the old 
Smolensk road, the final goal their native 



BOOK THIRTEEN 



58? 



land was too remote, and their immediate 
goal was Smolensk, toward which all their 
desires and hopes, enormously intensified in 
the mass, urged them on. It was not that they 
knew that much food and fresh troops await- 
ed them in Smolensk, nor that they were told 
so (on the contrary their superior officers, and 
Napoleon himself, knew that provisions were 
scarce there), but because this alone could give 
them strength to move on and endure their 
present privations. So both those who knew 
and those who did not know deceived them- 
selves, and pushed on to Smolensk as to a 
promised land. 

Coming out onto the highroad the French 
fled with surprising energy and unheard-of 
rapidity toward the goal they had fixed on. 
Besides the common impulse which bound 
the whole crowd of French into one mass and 
supplied them with a certain energy, there was 
another cause binding them together their 
great numbers. As with the physical law of 
gravity, their enormous mass drew the individ- 
ual human atoms to itself. In their hundreds 
of thousands they moved like a whole nation. 

Each of them desired nothing more than 
to give himself up as a prisoner to escape from 
all this horror and misery; but on the one 
hand the force of this common attraction to 
Smolensk, their goal, drew each of them in 
the same direction; on the other hand an 
army corps could not surrender to a company, 
and though the French availed themselves of 
every convenient opportunity to detach them- 
selves and to surrender on the slightest decent 
pretext, such pretexts did not always occur. 
Their very numbers and their crowded and 
swift movement deprived them of that possi- 
bility and rendered it not only difficult but 
impossible for the Russians to stop this move- 
ment, to which the French were directing all 
their energies. Beyond a certain limit no me- 
chanical disruption of the body could hasten 
the process of decomposition. 

A lump of snow cannot be melted instan- 



taneously. There is a certain limit of time in 
less than which no amount of heat can melt 
the snow. On the contrary the greater the heat 
the more solidified the remaining snow be- 
comes. 

Of the Russian commanders Kutuzov alone 
understood this. When the flight of the French 
army along the Smolensk road became well de- 
fined, what Konovnitsyn had foreseen on the 
night of the eleventh of October began to oc- 
cur. The superior officers all wanted to dis- 
tinguish themselves, to cut off, to seize, to 
capture, and to overthrow the French, and all 
clamored for action. 

Kutuzov alone used all his power (and such 
power is very limited in the case of any com- 
mander in chief) to prevent an attack. 

He could not tell them what we say now: 
"Why fight, why block the road, losing our 
own men and inhumanly slaughtering unfor- 
tunate wretches? What is the use of that, when 
a third of their army has melted away on the 
road from Moscow to Vydzma without any 
battle?" But drawing from his aged wisdom 
what they could understand, he told them of 
the golden bridge, and they laughed at and 
slandered him, flinging themselves on, rend- 
ing and exulting over the dying beast. 

Erm61ov, Milorddovich, Pldtov, and others 
in proximity to the French near Vydzma could 
not resist their desire to cut off and break up 
two French corps, and by way of reporting 
their intention to Kutuzov they sent him a 
blank sheet of paper in an envelope. 

And try as Kutuzov might to restrain the 
troops, our men attacked, trying to bar the 
road. Infantry regiments, we are told, ad- 
vanced to the attack with music and with 
drums beating, and killed and lost thousands 
of men. 

But they did not cut off or overthrow any- 
body and the French army, closing up more 
firmly at the danger, continued, while steadily 
melting away, to pursue its fatal path to Smo- 
tensk. 



Book Fourteen: 1812 



CHAPTER I 

THE BATTLE OF BoRODiN6, with the occupation 
of Moscow that followed it and the flight of 
the French without further conflicts, is one of 
the most instructive phenomena in history. 

All historians agree that the external activ- 
ity of states and nations in their conflicts with 
one another is expressed in wars, and that as 
a direct result of greater or less success in war 
the political strength of states and nations in- 
creases or decreases. 

Strange as may be the historical account of 
how some king or emperor, having quarreled 
with another, collects an army, fights his 
enemy's army, gains a victory by killing three, 
five, or ten thousand men, and subjugates a 
kingdom and an entire nation of several mil- 
lions, all the facts of history (as far as we know 
it) confirm the truth of the statement that the 
greater or lesser success of one army against 
another is the cause, or at least an essential 
indication, of an increase or decrease in the 
strength of the nation even though it is un- 
intelligible why the defeat of an army a 
hundredth part of a nation should oblige 
that whole nation to submit. An army gains a 
victory, and at once the rights of the conquer- 
ing nation have increased to the detriment of 
the defeated. An army has suffered defeat, and 
at once a people loses its rights in proportion 
to the severity of the reverse, and if its army 
suffers a complete defeat the nation is quite 
subjugated. 

So according to history it has been found 
from the most ancient times, and so it is to our 
own day. All Napoleon's wars serve to confirm 
this rule. In proportion to the defeat of the 
Austrian army Austria loses its rights, and the 
rights and the strength of France increase. 
The victories of the French at Jena and Auer- 
stadt destroy the independent existence of 
Prussia. 

But then, in 1812, the French gain a victory 
near Moscow. Moscow is taken and after that, 
with no further battles, it is not Russia that 



ceases to exist, but the French army of six 
hundred thousand, and then Napoleonic 
France itself. To strain the facts to fit the rules 
of history: to say that the field of battle at 
Borodino remained in the hands of the Rus- 
sians, or that after Moscow there were other 
battles that destroyed Napoleon's army, is im- 
possible. 

After the French victory at Borodin6 there 
was no general engagement nor any that were 
at all serious, yet the French army ceased to 
exist. What does this mean? If it were an ex- 
ample taken from the history of China, we 
might say that it was not an historic phenom- 
enon (which is the historians' usual expedient 
when anything does not fit their standards); 
if the matter concerned some brief conflict in 
which only a small number of troops took 
part, we might treat it as an exception; but 
this event occurred before our fathers' eyes, 
and for them it was a question of the life or 
death of their fatherland, and it happened in 
the greatest of all known wars. 

The period of the campaign of 1812 from 
the battle of Borodino to the expulsion of the 
French proved that the winning of a battle 
does not produce a conquest and is not even 
an invariable indication of conquest; it proved 
that the force which decides the fate of peoples 
lies not in the conquerors, nor even in armies 
and battles, but in something else. 

The French historians, describing the con- 
dition of the French army before it left Mos- 
cow, affirm that all was in order in the Grand 
Army, except the cavalry, the artillery, and the 
transport there was no forage for the horses 
or the cattle. That was a misfortune no one 
could remedy, for the peasants of the district 
burned their hay rather than let the French 
have it. 

The victory gained did not bring the usual 
results because the peasants Karp and Vlas 
(who after the French had evacuated Moscow 
drove in their carts to pillage the town, and 
in general personally failed to manifest any 



BOOK FOURTEEN 



heroic feelings), and the whole innumerable 
multitude of such peasants, did not bring 
their hay to Moscow for the high price offered 
them, but burned it instead. 

Let us imagine two men who have come out 
to fight a duel with rapiers according to all 
the rules of the art of fencing. The fencing has 
gone on for some time; suddenly one of the 
combatants, feeling himself wounded and 
understanding that the matter is no joke but 
concerns his life, throws down his rapier, 
and seizing the first cudgel that comes to hand 
begins to brandish it. Then let us imagine that 
the combatant who so sensibly employed the 
best and simplest means to attain his end was 
at the same time influenced by traditions of 
chivalry and, desiring to conceal the facts of 
the case, insisted that he had gained his vic- 
tory with the rapier according to all the rules 
of art. One can imagine what confusion and 
obscurity would result from such an account 
of the duel. 

The fencer who demanded a contest accord- 
ing to the rules of fencing was the French 
army; his opponent who threw away the rapier 
and snatched up the cudgel was the Russian 
people; those who try to explain the matter 
according to the rules of fencing are the his- 
torians who have described the event. 

After the burning of Smolensk a war began 
which did not follow any previous traditions 
of war. The burning of towns and villages, the 
retreats after battles, the blow dealt at Boro- 
din6 and the renewed retreat, the burning of 
Moscow, the capture of marauders, the seizure 
of transports, and the guerrilla war were all de- 
partures from the rules. 

Napoleon felt this, and from the time he 
took up the correct fencing attitude in Moscow 
and instead of his opponent's rapier saw a 
cudgel raised above his head, he did not cease 
to complain to Kutuzov and to the Emperor 
Alexander that the war was being carried on 
contrary to all the rules as if there were any 
rules for killing people. In spite of the com- 
plaints of the French as to the nonobservance 
of the rules, in spite of the fact that to some 
highly placed Russians it seemed rather dis- 
graceful to fight widi a cudgel and they wanted 
to assume a pose en quarie or en tierce accord- 
ing to all the rules, and to make an adroit 
thrust en prime, and so on the cudgel of the 
people's war was lifted with all its menacing 
and majestic strength, and without consulting 
anyone's tastes or rules and regardless of any- 
thing else, it rose and fell with stupid simplic- 



589 



ity, but consistently, and belabored the French 
till the whole invasion had perished. 

And it is well for a people who do not as 
the French did in 1813 salute according to all 
the rules of art, and, presenting the hilt of their 
rapier gracefully and politely, hand it to their 
magnanimous conqueror, but at the moment 
of trial, without asking what rules others have 
adopted in similar cases, simply and easily 
pick up the first cudgel that comes to hand and 
strike with it till the feeling of resentment and 
revenge in their soul yields to a feeling of con- 
tempt and compassion. 

CHAPTER II 

ONE OF THE MOST obvious and advantageous 
departures from the so-called laws of war is the 
action of scattered groups against men pressed 
together in a mass. Such action always occurs 
in wars that take on a national character. In 
such actions, instead of two crowds opposing 
each other, the men disperse, attack singly, run 
away when attacked by stronger forces, but 
again attack when opportunity offers. This was 
done by the guerrillas in Spain, by the moun- 
tain tribes in the Caucasus, and by the Russians 
in 1812. 

People have called this kind of war "guer- 
rilla warfare" and assume that by so calling it 
they have explained its meaning. But such a 
war does not fit in under any rule and is di- 
rectly opposed to a well-known rule of tactics 
which is accepted as infallible. That rule says 
that an attacker should concentrate his forces 
in order to be stronger than his opponent at 
the moment of conflict. 

Guerrilla war (always successful, as history 
shows) directly infringes that rule. 

This contradiction arises from the fact that 
military science assumes the strength of an 
army to be identical with its numbers. Mili- 
tary science says that the more troops the 
greater the strength. Les gros bataillons ont 
tou jours raison. 1 

For military science to say this is like defin- 
ing momentum in mechanics by reference to 
the mass only: stating that momenta are equal 
or unequal to each other simply because the 
masses involved are equal or unequal. 

Momentum (quantity of motion) is the 
product of mass and velocity. 

In military affairs the strength of an army is 
the product of its mass and some unknown x. 

Military science, seeing in history innumer- 
able instances of the fact that the size of any 

1 Large battalions are always victorious. 



590 



army does not coincide with its strength and 
that small detachments defeat larger ones, ob- 
scurely admits the existence of this unknown 
factor and tries to discover itnow in a geo- 
metric formation, now in the equipment em- 
ployed, now, and most usually, in the genius 
of the commanders. But the assignment of 
these various meanings to the factor does not 
yield results which accord with the historic 
facts. 

Yet it is only necessary to abandon the false 
view (adopted to gratify the "heroes") of the 
efficacy of the directions issued in wartime by 
commanders, in order to find this unknown 
quantity. 

That unknown quantity is the spirit of the 
army, that is to say, the greater or lesser readi- 
ness to fight and face danger felt by all the 
men composing an army, quite independently 
of whether they are, or are not, fighting under 
the command of a genius, in two- or three-line 
formation, with cudgels or with rifles that re- 
peat thirty times a minute. Men who want to 
fight will always put themselves in the most 
advantageous conditions for fighting. 

The spirit of an army is the factor which 
multiplied by the mass gives the resulting 
force. To define and express the significance of 
this unknown factor the spirit of an army- 
is a problem for science. 

This problem is only solvable if we cease 
arbitrarily to substitute for the unknown x 
itself the conditions under which that force 
becomes apparent such as the commands of 
the general, the equipment employed, and so 
on mistaking these for the real significance of 
the factor, and if we recognize this unknown 
quantity in its entirety as being the greater or 
lesser desire to fight and to face danger. Only 
then, expressing known historic facts by equa- 
tions and comparing the relative significance 
of this factor, can we hope to define the un- 
known. 

Ten men, battalions, or divisions, fighting 
fifteen men, battalions, or divisions, conquer- 
that is, kill or take captive all the others, 
while themselves losing four, so that on the 
one side four and on the other fifteen were 
lost. Consequently the four were equal to the 
fifteen, and therefore 4x=i5)j. Consequently 
x/y=i$/4. This equation does not give us the 
value of the unknown factor but gives us a 
ratio between two unknowns. And by bring- 
ing variously selected historic units (battles, 
campaigns, periods of war) into such equa- 
tions, a series of numbers could be obtained in 



WAR AND PEACE 

which certain laws should exist and might be 
discovered. 

The tactical rule that an army should act in 
masses when attacking, and in smaller groups 
in retreat, unconsciously confirms the truth 
that the strength of an army depends on its 
spirit. To lead men forward under fire more 
discipline (obtainable only by movement in 
masses) is needed than is needed to resist at- 
tacks. But this rule which leaves out of account 
the spirit of the army continually proves in- 
correct and is in particularly striking contrast 
to the facts when some strong rise or fall in the 
spirit of the troops occurs, as in all national 
wars. 

The French, retreating in 1812 though ac- 
cording to tactics they should have separated 
into detachments to defend themselves con- 
gregated into a mass because the spirit of the 
army had so fallen that only the mass held the 
army together. The Russians, on the contrary, 
ought according to tactics to have attacked in 
mass, but in fact they split up into small units, 
because their spirit had so risen that separate 
individuals, without orders, dealt blows at the 
French without needing any compulsion to in- 
duce them to expose themselves to hardships 
and dangers. 



CHAPTER III 

THE SO-CALLED PARTISAN WAR began with the 
entry of the French into Smolensk. 

Before partisan warfare had been officially 
recognized by the government, thousands of 
enemy stragglers, marauders, and foragers had 
been destroyed by the Cossacks and the peas- 
ants, who killed them off as instinctively as dogs 
worry a stray .mad dog to death. Denis Davy- 
dov, with his Russian instinct, was the first to 
recognize the value of this terrible cudgel 
which regardless of the rules of military sci- 
ence destroyed the French, and to him belongs 
the credit for taking the first step toward regu- 
larizing this method of warfare. 

On August 24 Davydov's first partisan de- 
tachment was formed and then others were 
recognized. The further the campaign pro- 
gressed the more numerous these detachments 
became. 

The irregulars destroyed the great army 
piecemeal. They gathered the fallen leaves that 
dropped of themselves from that withered tree 
the French army and sometimes shook that 
tree itself. By October, when the French were 
fleeing toward Smolensk, there were hundreds 
of such companies, of various sizes and char- 



BOOK FOURTEEN 

icters. There were some that adopted all the 
irmy methods and had infantry, artillery, 
rtaffs, and the comforts of life. Others con- 
sisted solely of Cossack cavalry. There were 
also small scratch groups of foot and horse, and 
groups of peasants and landowners that re- 
mained unknown. A sacristan commanded one 
party which captured several hundred prison- 
ers in the course of a month; and there was 
Vasilfsa, the wife of a village elder, who slew 
hundreds of the French. 

The partisan warfare flamed up most fiercely 
In the latter daysof October. Its first period had 
passed: when the partisans themselves, amazed 
at their own boldness, feared every minute to 
be surrounded and captured by the French, 
and hid in the forests without unsaddling, 
hardly daring to dismount and always expect- 
ing to be pursued. By the end of October this 
kind of warfare had taken definite shape: it 
had become clear to all what could be ventured 
against the French and what could not. Now 
only the commanders of detachments with 
staffs, and moving according to rules at a dis- 
tance from the French, still regarded many 
things as impossible. The small bands that had 
started their activities long before and had al- 
ready observed the French closely considered 
things possible which the commanders of the 
big detachments did not dare to contemplate. 
The Cossacks and peasants who crept in among 
the French now considered everything possible. 

On October 22, Denisov (who was one of 
the irregulars) was with his group at the height 
of the guerrilla enthusiasm. Since early morn- 
ing he and his party had been on the move. 
All day long he had been watching from the 
forest that skirted the highroad a large French 
convoy of cavalry baggage and Russian prison- 
ers separated from the rest of the army, which 
as was learned from spies and prisoners was 
moving under a strong escort to Smolensk. Be- 
sides Denisov and D61okhov (who also led a 
small party and moved in Denisov's vicinity), 
the commanders of some large divisions with 
staffs also knew of this convoy and, as Denfsov 
expressed it, were sharpening their teeth for 
it. Two of the commanders of large parties- 
one a Pole and the other a German sent in- 
vitations to Denisov almost simultaneously, re- 
questing him to join up with their divisions 
to attack the convoy. 

"No, bwother, I have gwown mustaches my- 
self," said Denisov on reading these docu- 
ments, and he wrote to the German that, de- 
spite his heartfelt desire to serve under so val- 



591 

iant and renowned a general, he had to forgo 
that pleasure because he was already under the 
command of the Polish general. To the Polish 
general he replied to the same effect, inform- 
ing him that he was already under the com- 
mand of the German. 

Having arranged matters thus, Denfsov and 
D61okhov intended, without reporting mat- 
ters to the higher command, to attack and 
seize that convoy with their own small forces. 
On October 22 it was moving from the village 
of Mikiilino to that of Shamshevo. To the left 
of the road between Mikulino and Shdmshevo 
there were large forests, extending in some 
places up to the road itself though in others a 
mile or more back from it. Through these 
forests Denfsov and his party rode all day, 
sometimes keeping well back in them and 
sometimes coming to the very edge, but never 
losing sight of the moving French. That morn- 
ing, Cossacks of Denisov's party had seized 
and carried off into the forest two wagons 
loaded with cavalry saddles, which had stuck 
in the mud not far from Mikulino where the 
forest ran close to the road. Since then, and 
until evening, the party had watched the move- 
ments of the French without attacking. It was 
necessary to let the French reach Shdmshevo 
quietly without alarming them and then, after 
joining Dolokhov who was to come that eve- 
ning to a consultation at a watchman's hut in 
the forest less than a mile from Shamshevo, to 
surprise the French at dawn, falling like an 
avalanche on their heads from two sides, and 
rout and capture them all at one blow. 

In their rear, more than a mile from Miku- 
lino where the forest came right up to the 
road, six Cossacks were posted to report if any 
fresh columns of French should show them- 
selves. 

Beyond Shdmshevo, D61okhov was to observe 
the road in the same way, to find out at what 
distance there were other French troops. They 
reckoned that the convoy had fifteen hundred 
men. Denfsov had two hundred, and D61okhov 
might have as many more, but the disparity 
of numbers did not deter Denisov. All that he 
now wanted to know was what troops these 
were and to learn that he had to capture a 
"tongue" that is, a man from the enemy col- 
umn. That morning's attack on the wagons 
had been made so hastily that the Frenchmen 
with the wagons had all been killed; only a 
little drummer boy had been taken alive, and 
as he was a straggler he could tell them noth- 
ing definite about the troops in that column. 



59* 



WAR AND PEACE 



Denisov considered it dangerous to make a 
second attack for fear of putting the whole 
column on the alert, so he sent Tikhon Shcher- 
baty, a peasant of his party, to Shdmshevo to 
try and seize at least one of the French quarter- 
masters who had been sent on in advance. 

CHAPTER IV 

IT WAS a warm rainy autumn day. The sky and 
the horizon were both the color of muddy 
water. At times a sort of mist descended, and 
then suddenly heavy slanting rain came down. 

Denisov in a felt cloak and a sheepskin cap 
from which the rain ran down was riding a 
thin thoroughbred horse with sunken sides. 
Like his horse, which turned its head and laid 
its ears back, he shrank from the driving rain 
and gazed anxiously before him. His thin face 
with its short, thick black beard looked angry. 

Beside Denisov rode an esaul, 1 Denfsov's 
fellow worker, also in felt cloak and sheepskin 
cap, and riding a large sleek Don horse. 

Esaul Lovdyski the Third was a tall man as 
straight as an arrow, pale-faced, fair-haired, 
with narrow light eyes and with calm self-satis- 
faction in his face and bearing. Though it was 
impossible to say in what the peculiarity of the 
horse and rider lay, yet at first glance at the 
esaul and Denfsov one saw that the latter 
was wet and uncomfortable and was a man 
mounted on a horse, while looking at the esaul 
one saw that he was as comfortable and as 
much at ease as always and that he was not a 
man who had mounted a horse, but a man who 
was one with his horse, a being consequently 
possessed of twofold strength. 

A little ahead of them walked a peasant 
guide, wet to the skin and wearing a gray 
peasant coat and a white knitted cap. 

A little behind, on a poor, small, lean Kirg- 
hiz mount with an enormous tail and mane 
and a bleeding mouth, rode a young officer in 
a blue French overcoat. 

Beside him rode an hussar, with a boy in a 
tattered French uniform and blue cap behind 
him on the crupper of his horse. The boy held 
on to the hussar with cold, red hands, and rais- 
ing his eyebrows gazed about him with sur- 
prise. This was the French drummer boy cap- 
tured that morning. 

Behind them along the narrow, sodden, cut- 
up forest road came hussars in threes and fours, 
and then Cossacks: some in felt cloaks, some 
in French greatcoats, and some with horse- 
cloths over their heads. The horses, being 

1 A captain of Cossacks. 



drenched by the rain, all looked black whether 
chestnut or bay. Their necks, with their wet, 
close-clinging manes, looked strangely thin. 
Steam rose from them. Clothes, saddles, reins, 
were all wet, slippery, and sodden, like the 
ground and the fallen leaves that strewed the 
road. The men sat huddled up trying not to 
stir, so as to warm the water that had trickled 
to their bodies and not admit the fresh cold 
water that was leaking in under their seats, 
their knees, and at the back of their necks. In 
the midst of the outspread line of Cossacks two 
wagons, drawn by French horses and by saddled 
Cossack horses that had been hitched on in 
front, rumbled over the tree stumps and 
branches and splashed through the water that 
lay in the ruts. 

Denisov's horse swerved aside to avoid a 
pool in the track and bumped his rider's knee 
against a tree. 

"Oh, the devil!" exclaimed Denisov angrily, 
and showing his teeth he struck his horse three 
times with his whip, splashing himself and his 
comrades with mud. 

Denisov was out of sorts both because of the 
rain and also from hunger (none of them had 
eaten anything since morning), and yet more 
because he still had no news from D61okhov 
and the man sent to capture a "tongue" had 
not returned. 

"There'll hardly be another such chance to 
fall on a transport as today. It's too risky to at- 
tack them by oneself, and if we put it off till an- 
other day one of the big guerrilla detachments 
will snatch the prey from under our noses," 
thought Denisov, continually peering forward, 
hoping to see a messenger from D61okhov. 

On coming to a path in the forest along 
which he could see far to the right, Denisov 
stopped. 

"There's someone coming," said he. 

The esaul looked in the direction Denfsov 
indicated. 

"There are two, an officer and a Cossack. But 
it is not presupposable that it is the lieutenant 
colonel himself," said the esaul, who was fond 
of using words the Cossacks did not know. 

The approaching riders having descended 
a decline were no longer visible, but they re- 
appeared a few minutes later. In front, at a 
weary gallop and using his leather whip, rode 
an officer, disheveled and drenched, whose 
trousers had worked up to above his knees. Be- 
hind him, standing in the stirrups, trotted a 
Cossack. The officer, a very young lad with a 
broad rosy face and keen merry eyes, galloped 



BOOK FOURTEEN 

up to Denisov and handed him a sodden en- 



593 



velope. 

"From the general," said the officer. "Please 
excuse its not being quite dry." 

Denfsov, frowning, took the envelope and 
opened it. 

"There, they kept telling us: 'It's dangerous, 
it's dangerous,' " said the officer, addressing 
the esaul while Denfsov was reading the dis- 
patch. "But Komar6v and I" he pointed to 
the Cossack "were prepared. We have each 

of us two pistols But what's this?" he asked, 

noticing the French drummer boy. "A pris- 
oner? You've already been in action? May I 
speak to him?" 

"Wost6v! Ptya!" exclaimed Denisov, hav- 
ing run through the dispatch. "Why didn't you 
say who you were?" and turning with a smile 
he held out his hand to the lad. 

The officer was Pe" tya Rost6v. 

All the way Ptya had been preparing him- 
self to behave with Denisov as befitted a grown- 
up man and an officer without hinting at 
their previous acquaintance. But as soon as 
Denfsov smiled at him Petya brightened up, 
blushed with pleasure, forgot the official man- 
ner he had been rehearsing, and began telling 
him how he had already been in a battle near 
Vydzma and how a certain hussar had distin- 
guished himself there. 

"Well, I am glad to see you," Denisov inter- 
rupted him, and his face again assumed its 
anxious expression. 

"Michael Feoklftych," said he to the esaul, 
"this is again fwom that German, you know. 
He" he indicated Pdtya "is serving under 
him." 

And Denisov told the esaul that the dis- 
patch just delivered was a repetition of the Ger- 
man general's demand that he should join 
forces with him for an attack on the transport. 

"If we don't take it tomowwow, he'll snatch 
it fwom under our noses," he added. 

While Denisov was talking to the esaul, 
Pdtya abashed by Denisov's cold tone and 
supposing that it was due to the condition of 
his trousers furtively tried to pull them down 
under his greatcoat so that no one should no- 
tice it, while maintaining as martial an air as 
possible. 

"Will there be any orders, your honor?" he 
asked Denfsov, holding his hand at the salute 
and resuming the game of adjutant and gen- 
eral for which he had prepared himself, "or 
shall I remain with your honor?" 

"Orders?" Denfsov repeated thoughtfully. 



But can you stay till tomowwow?" 
"Oh, please . . . May I stay with you?" cried 



"But, just what did the genewal tell you? 
To weturn at once?" asked Denfsov. 

P<kya blushed. 

"He gave me no instructions. I think I 
could?" he returned, inquiringly. 

"Well, all wight," said Denfsov. 

And turning to his men he directed a party 
to go on to the halting place arranged near the 
watchman's hut in the forest, and told the 
officer on the Kirghiz horse (who performed 
the duties of an adjutant) to go and find out 
where D61okhov was and whether he would 
come that evening. Denisov himself intended 
going with the esaul and P(hya to the edge of 
the forest where it reached out to Shamshevo, 
to have a look at the part of the French biv- 
ouac they were to attack next day. 

"Well, old fellow," said he to the peasant 
guide, "lead us to Shamshevo." 

Denisov, PeHya, and the esaul, accompanied 
by some Cossacks and the hussar who had the 
prisoner, rode to the left across a ravine to the 
edge of the forest. 

CHAPTER V 

THE RAIN HAD STOPPED, and only the mist was 
falling and drops from the trees. Denisov, the 
esaul, and Pckya rode silently, following the 
peasant in the knitted cap who, stepping 
lightly with outturned toes and moving noise- 
lessly in his bast shoes over the roots and wet 
leaves, silently led them to the edge of the 
forest. 

He ascended an incline, stopped, looked 
about him, and advanced to where the screen 
of trees was less dense. On reaching a large 
oak tree that had not yet shed its leaves, he 
stopped and beckoned mysteriously to them 
with his hand. 

Denisov and Pckya rode up to him. From the 
spot where the peasant was standing they could 
see the French. Immediately beyond the forest, 
on a downward slope, lay a field of spring rye. 
To the right, beyond a steep ravine, was a 
small village and a landowner's house with a 
broken roof. In the village, in the house, in the 
garden, by the well, by the pond, over all the 
rising ground, and all along the road uphill 
from the bridge leading to the village, not 
more than five hundred yards away, crowds of 
men could be seen through the shimmering 
mist. Their un-Russian shouting at their horses 
which were straining uphill with the carts, and 



594 

their calls to one another, could be clearly 

heard. 

"Bwing the prisoner here," said Denfsov in 
a low voice, not taking his eyes off the French. 

A Cossack dismounted, lifted the boy down, 
and took him to Denfsov. Pointing to the 
French troops, Denisov asked him what these 
and those of them were. The boy, thrusting his 
cold hands into his pockets and lifting his eye- 
brows, looked at Denisov in affright, but in 
spite of an evident desire to say all he knew 
gave confused answers, merely assenting to 
everything Denfsov asked him. Denfsov turned 
away from him frowning and addressed the 
esaul, conveying his own conjectures to him. 

P<kya, rapidly turning his head, looked now 
at the drummer boy, now at Denisov, now at 
the esaul, and now at the French in the village 
and along the road, trying not to miss any- 
thing of importance. 

"Whether Dolokhov comes or not, we must 
seize it, eh?" said Denfsov with a merry sparkle 
in his eyes. 

"It is a very suitable spot," said the esaul. 

"We'll send the iniantwy down by the 
swamps," Denisov continued. "They'll cweep 
up to the garden; you'll wide up fwom there 
with the Cossacks" he pointed to a spot in the 
forest beyond the village "and I with my hus- 
sars fwom here. And at the signal shot . . ." 

"The hollow is impassable there's a swamp 
there," said the esaul. "The horses would sink. 
We must ride round more to the left. . . ." 

While they were talking in undertones the 
crack of a shot sounded from the low ground 
by the pond, a puff of white smoke appeared, 
then another, and the sound of hundreds of 
seemingly merry French voices shouting to- 
gether came up from the slope. For a moment 
Denfsov and the esaul drew back. They were 
so near that they thought they were the cause 
of the firing and shouting. But the firing and 
shouting did not relate to them. Down below, 
a man wearing something red was running 
through the marsh. The French were evidently 
firing and shouting at him. 

"Why, that's our Tfkhon," said the esaul. 

"So it is! It is!" 

"The wascall" said Denfsov. 

"He'll get away!" said the esaul, screwing up 
his eyes. 

The man whom they called Tfkhon, having 
run to the stream, plunged in so that the water 
splashed in the air, and, having disappeared 
for an instant, scrambled out on all fours, all 
black with the wet, and ran on. The French 



WAR AND PEACE 

who had been pursuing him stopped. 

"Smart, that!" said the esaul. 

"What a beast!" said Denfsov with his 
former look of vexation. "What has he been 
doing all this time?" 

"Who is he?" asked P<hya. 

"He's our plastun. 1 1 sent him to capture a 
'tongue.' " 

"Oh, yes," said P^tya, nodding at the first 
words Denfsov uttered as if he understood it 
all, though he really did not understand any- 
thing of it. 

Tfkhon Shcherbdty was one of the most in- 
dispensable men in their band. He was a peas- 
ant from Pokr6vsk, near theriver Gzhat. When 
Denfsov had come to Pokr6vsk at the begin- 
ning of his operations and had as usual sum- 
moned the village elder and asked him what 
he knew about the French, the elder, as though 
shielding himself, had replied, as all village 
elders did, that he had neither seen nor heard 
anything of them. But when Denfsov explained 
that his purpose was to kill the French, and 
asked if no French had strayed that way, the 
elder replied that some "more-orderers" had 
really been at their village, but that Tfkhon 
Shcherbaty was the only man who dealt with 
such matters. Denfsov had Tfkhon called and, 
having praised him for his activity, said a few 
words in the elder's presence about loyalty to 
the Tsar and the country and the hatred of 
the French that all sons of the fatherland 
should cherish. 

"We don't do the French any harm," said 
Tfkhon, evidently frightened by Denfsov's 
words. "We only fooled about with the lads 
for fun, you know! We killed a score or so of 
'more-orderers,' but we did no harm else. . . ." 

Next day when Denfsov had left Pokr6vsk, 
having quite forgotten about this peasant, it 
was reported to him that Tfkhon had attached 
himself to their party and asked to be allowed 
to remain with it. Denfsov gave orders to let 
him do so. 

Tfkhon, who at first did rough work, laying 
campfires, fetching water, flaying dead horses, 
and so on, soon showed a great liking and 
aptitude for partisan warfare. At night he 
would go out for booty and always brought 
back French clothing and weapons, and when 
told to would bring in French captives also. 
Denfsov then relieved him from drudgery and 
began taking him with him when he went out 
on expeditions and had him enrolled among 
the Cossacks. 

1 An unmounted sharpshooter. TR. 



BOOK FOURTEEN 



595 



Tfkhon did not like riding, and always went 
on foot, never lagging behind the cavalry. He 
was armed with a musketoon (which he car- 
ried rather as a joke), a pike and an ax, which 
latter he used as a wolf uses its teeth, with equal 
ease picking fleas out of its fur or crunching 
thick bones. Tikhon with equal accuracy would 
split logs with blows at arm's length, or hold- 
ing the head of the ax would cut thin little 
pegs or carve spoons. In Denfsov's party he 
held a peculiar and exceptional position. When 
anything particularly difficult or nasty had to 
be done to push a cart out of the mud with 
one's shoulders, pull a horse out of a swamp by 
its tail, skin it, slink in among the French, or 
walk more than thirty miles in a day every- 
body pointed laughingly at Tikhon. 

"It won't hurt that devil he's as strong as a 
horse!" they said of him. 

Once a Frenchman Tikhon was trying to 
capture fired a pistol at him and shot him in the 
fleshy part of the back. That wound (which 
Tfkhon treated only with internal and exter- 
nal applications of vodka) was the subject of 
the liveliest jokes by the whole detachment- 
jokes in which Tfkhon readily joined. 

"Hallo, matel Never again? Gave you a 
twist?" the Cossacks would banter him. And 
Tfkhon, purposely writhing and making faces, 
pretended to be angry and swore at the French 
with the funniest curses. The only effect of this 
incident on Tfkhon was that after being 
wounded he seldom brought in prisoners. 

He was the bravest and most useful man in 
the party. No one found more opportunities 
for attacking, no one captured or killed more 
Frenchmen, and consequently he was made the 
buffoon of all the Cossacks and hussars and 
willingly accepted that role. Now he had been 
sent by Denfsov overnight to Shamshevo to 
capture a "tongue." But whether because he 
had not been content to take only one French- 
man or because he had slept through the night, 
he had crept by day into some bushes right 
among the French and, as Denfsov had wit- 
nessed from above, had been detected by them. 

CHAPTER VI 

AFTER TALKING for some time with the esaul 
about next day's attack, which now, seeing 
how near they were to the French, he seemed 
to have definitely decided on, Denfsov turned 
his horse and rode back. 

"Now, my lad, we'll go and get dwy," he said 
to P6tya. 

As they approached the watchhouse Denfsov 



stopped, peering into the forest. Among the 
trees a man with long legs and long, swinging 
arms, wearing a short jacket, bast shoes, and 
a Kazan hat, was approaching with long, light 
steps. He had a musketoon over his shoulder 
and an ax stuck in his girdle. When he espied 
Denfsov he hastily threw something into the 
bushes, removed his sodden hat by its floppy 
brim, and approached his commander. It was 
Tfkhon. His wrinkled and pockmarked face 
and narrow little eyes beamed with self-satisfied 
merriment. He lifted his head high and gazed 
at Denfsov as if repressing a laugh. 

"Well, where did you disappear to?" in- 
quired Denfsov. 

"Where did I disappear to? I went to get 
Frenchmen," answered Tikhon boldly and 
hurriedly, in a husky but melodious bass 
voice. 

"Why did you push yourself in there by day- 
light? You ass! Well, why haven't you taken 
one?" 

"Oh, I took one all right," said Tfkhon. 
"Where is he?" 

"You see, I took him first thing at dawn," 
Tfkhon continued, spreading out his flat feet 
with outturned toes in their bast shoes. "I took 
him into the forest. Then I see he's no good 
and think I'll go and fetch a likelier one." 

"You see? . . . What a wogue it's just as I 
thought," said Denisov to the esaul. "Why 
didn't you bwing that one?" 

"What was the good of bringing him?" 
Tfkhon interrupted hastily and angrily "that 
one wouldn't have done for you. As if I don't 
know what sort you want!" 

"What a bwute you are! . . . Well?" 
"I went for another one," Tfkhon con- 
tinued, "and I creptlike this through the wood 
and lay down." (He suddenly lay down on his 
stomach with a supple movement to show how 
he had done it.) "One turned up and I grabbed 
him, like this." (He jumped up quickly and 
lightly.) " 'Come along to the colonel/ I said. 
He starts yelling, and suddenly there were 
four of them. They rushed at me with their 
little swords. So I went for them with my ax, 
this way: 'What are you up to?' says I. 'Christ 
be with you!' " shouted Tfkhon, waving his 
arms with an angry scowl and throwing out his 
chest. 

"Yes, we saw from the hill how you took to 
your heels through the puddles!" said the 
esaul, screwing up his glittering eyes. 

Ptya badly wanted to laugh, but noticed 
that they all refrained from laughing. He 



596 



WAR AND PEACE 



turned his eyes rapidly from Tikhon's face to 
the esaul's and Denfsov's, unable to make out 
what it all meant. 

"Don't play the fool!" said Denfsov, cough- 
ing angrily. "Why didn't you bwing the first 
one?" 

Tikhon scratched his back with one hand 
and his head with the other, then suddenly his 
whole face expanded into a beaming, foolish 
grin, disclosing a gap where he had lost a tooth 
(that was why he was called Shcherbaty the 
gap-toothed). Denfsov smiled, and Ptya burst 
into a peal of merry laughter in which Tikhon 
himself joined. 

"Oh, but he was a regular good-for-nothing," 
said Tfkhon. "The clothes on him poor stuff! 
How could I bring him? And so rude, your 
honor! Why, he says: 'I'm a general's son my- 
self, I won't go!' he says." 

"You are a bwute!" said Denisov. "I wanted 
to question . . ." 

"But I questioned him," said Tikhon. "He 
said he didn't know much. 'There are a lot of 
us,' he says, 'but all poor stuff only soldiers in 
name,' he says. 'Shout loud at them,' he says, 
'and you'll take them all,' " Tikhon concluded, 
looking cheerfully and resolutely into Deni- 
sov's eyes. 

"I'll give you ahundwedsharp lashes that'll 
teach you to play the fool!" said Denisov 
severely. 

"But why are you angry?" remonstrated 
Tfkhon, "just as if I'd never seen your French- 
men! Only wait till it gets dark and I'll fetch 
you any of them you want three if you like." 

"Well, let's go," said Denisov, and rode all 
the way to the watchhouse in silence and 
frowning angrily. 

Tikhon followed behind and P^tya heard 
the Cossacks laughing with him and at him, 
about some pair of boots he had thrown into 
the bushes. 

When the fit of laughter that had seized him 
at Tfkhon's words and smile had passed and 
Ptya realized for a moment that this Tfkhon 
had killed a man, he felt uneasy. He looked 
round at the captive drummer boy and felt a 
pang in his heart. But this uneasiness lasted 
only a moment. He felt it necessary to hold his 
head higher, to brace himself, and to ques- 
tion the esaul with an air of importance about 
tomorrow's undertaking, that he might not be 
unworthy of the company in which he found 
himself. 

The officer who had been sent to inquire 
met Denfsov on the way with the news that 



D61okhov was soon coming and that all was 
well with him. 

Denfsovat once cheered upand, calling Ptya 
to him, said: "Well, tell me about yourself." 

CHAPTER VII 

PTYA, HAVING LEFT his people after their de- 
parture from Moscow, joined his regiment and 
was soon taken as orderly by a general com- 
manding a large guerrilla detachment. From 
the time he received his commission, and espe- 
cially since he had joined the active army and 
taken part in the battle of Vyazma, Pe*tya had 
been in a constant state of blissful excitement 
at being grown-up and in a perpetual ecstatic 
hurry not to miss any chance to do something 
really heroic. He was highly delighted with 
what he saw and experienced in the army, but 
at the same time it always seemed to him that 
the really heroic exploits were being per- 
formed just where he did not happen to be. 
And he was always in a hurry to get where he 
was not. 

When on the twenty-first of October his gen- 
eral expressed a wish to send somebody to 
Denisov's detachment, P^tya begged so pite- 
ously to be sent that the general could not re- 
fuse. But when dispatching him he recalled 
P^tya's mad action at the battle of VyAzma, 
where instead of riding by the road to the place 
to which he had been sent, he had galloped to 
the advanced line under the fire of the French 
and had there twice fired his pistol. So now 
the general explicitly forbade his taking part 
in any action whatever of Denfsov's. That was 
why Pchya had blushed and grown confused 
when Denfsov asked him whether he could 
stay. Before they had ridden to the outskirts 
of the forest P^tya had considered that he must 
carry out his instructions strictly and return at 
once. But when he saw the French and saw 
Tikhon and learned that there would certainly 
be an attack that night, he decided, with the 
rapidity with which young people change their 
views, that the general, whom he had greatly 
respected till then, was a rubbishy German, 
that Denfsov was a hero, the esaul a hero, and 
Tfkhon a hero too, and that it would be shame- 
ful for him to leave them at a moment of dif- 
ficulty. 

It was already growing dusk when Denfsov, 
Ptya, and the esaul rode up to the watchhouse. 
In the twilight saddled horses could be seen, 
and Cossacks and hussars who had rigged up 
rough shelters in the glade and were kindling 
glowing fires in a hollow of the forest where 



BOOK FOURTEEN 



597 



the French could not see the smoke. In the 
passage of the small watchhouse a Cossack with 
sleeves rolled up was chopping some mutton. 
In the room three officers of Denisov's band 
were converting a door into a tabletop. Ptya 
took off his wet clothes, gave them to be dried, 
and at once began helping the officers to fix up 
the dinner table. 

In ten minutes the table was ready and a 
napkin spread on it. On the table were vodka, 
a flask of rum, white bread, roast mutton, and 
salt. 

Sitting at table with the officers and tearing 
the fat savory mutton with his hands, down 
which the grease trickled, Ptya was in an 
ecstatic childish state of love for all men, and 
consequently of confidence that others loved 
him in the same way. 

"So then what do you think, Vasfli Dmf- 
trich?" said he to Denfsov. "It's all right my 
staying a day with you?" And not waiting for 
a reply he answered his own question: "You 
see I was told to find out well, I am finding 
out. . . . Only do let me into the very . . . into 
the chief ... I don't want a reward. . . . But I 
want . . ." 

Ptya clenched his teeth and looked around, 
throwing back his head and flourishing his 
arms. 

"Into the vewy chief . . ." Denisov repeated 
with a smile. 

"Only, please let me command something, 
so that I may really command . . ." Ptya went 
on. "What would it be to you? . . . Oh, you 
want a knife?" he said, turning to an officer 
who wished to cut himself a piece of mutton. 

And he handed him his clasp knife. The 
officer admired it. 

"Please keep it. I have several like it," said 
Ptya, blushing. "Heavens! I was quite for- 
getting!" he suddenly cried. "I have some rai- 
sins, fine ones; you know, seedless ones. We 
have a new sutler and he has such capital 
things. I bought ten pounds. I am used to 
something sweet. Would you like some? . . ." 
and Ptya ran out into the passage to his Cos- 
sack and brought back some bags which con- 
tained about five pounds of raisins. "Have 
some, gentlemen, have some!" 

"You want a coffeepot, don't you?" he asked 
the esaul "I bought a capital one from our 
sutler! He has splendid things. And he's very 
honest, that's the chief thing. I'll be sure to 
send it to you. Or perhaps your flints are giv- 
ing out, or are worn out that happens some- 
times, you know. I have brought some with 



me, here they are" and he showed a bag "a 
hundred flints. I bought them very cheap. 
Please take as many as you want, or all if you 
like " 

Then suddenly, dismayed lest he had said 
too much, Ptya stopped and blushed. 

He tried to remember whether he had not 
done anything else that was foolish. And run- 
ning over the events of the day he remembered 
the French drummer boy. "It's capital for us 
here, but what of him? Where have they put 
him? Have they fed him? Haven't they hurt 
his feelings?" he thought. But having caught 
himself saying too much about the flints, he 
was now afraid to speak out. 

"I might ask," he thought, "but they'll say: 
'He's a boy himself and so he pities the boy.' 
I'll show them tomorrow whether I'm a boy. 
Will it seem odd if I ask?" Ptya thought. 
"Well, never mind!" and immediately, blush- 
ing and looking anxiously at the officers to see 
if they appeared ironical, he said: 

"May I call in that boy who was taken pris- 
oner and give him something to eat? . . . Per- 
haps . . ." 

"Yes, he's a poor little fellow," said Denisov, 
who evidently saw nothing shameful in this 
reminder. "Call him in. His name is Vincent 
Bosse. Have him fetched." 

"I'll call him," said Pekya. 

"Yes, yes, call him. A poor little fellow," 
' Denisov repeated. 

Ptya was standing at the door when Denisov 
said this. He slipped in between the officers, 
came close to Denisov, and said: 

"Let me kiss you, dear old fellow! Oh, how 
fine, how splendid!" 

And having kissed Denfsov he ran out of the 
hut. 

"Bosse! Vincent!" Ptya cried, stopping out- 
side the door. 

"Who do you want, sir?" asked a voice in 
the darkness. 

Ptya replied that he wanted the French lad 
who had been captured that day. 

"Ah, Ves^nny?" said a Cossack. 

Vincent, the boy's name, had already been 
changed by the Cossacks into Vestnny (vernal) 
and into Vestnya by the peasants and soldiers. 
In both these adaptations the reference to 
spring (vesnd) matched the impression made 
by the young lad. 

"He is warming himself there by the bon- 
fire. Ho, Vesnyal Vesnyal Ves^nny!" laugh- 
ing voices were heard calling to one another 
in the darkness* 



598 



WAR AND PEACE 



"He's a smart lad," said an hussar standing 
near Ptya. "We gave him something to eat 
a while ago. He was awfully hungry!" 

The sound of bare feet splashing through 
the mud was heard in the darkness, and the 
drummer boy came to the door. 

"Ah, c'est vous!" said P<hya. "Voulez-vous 
manger* N'ayez pas peur, on ne vous {era pas 
de mat," J he added shyly and affectionately, 
touching the boy's hand. "Entrez, entrez." a 

"Merci, monsieur'' 3 said the drummer boy 
in a trembling almost childish voice, and he 
began scraping his dirty feet on the threshold. 

There were many things Petya wanted to 
say to the drummer boy, but did not dare to. 
He stood irresolutely beside him in the pas- 
sage. Then in the darkness he took the boy's 
hand and pressed it. 

"Come in, come in!" he repeated in a gentle 
whisper. "Oh, what can I do for him?" he 
thought, and opening the door he let the boy 
pass in first. 

When the boy had entered the hut, Pdtya 
sat down at a distance from him, considering 
it beneath his dignity to pay attention to him. 
But he fingered the money in his pocket and 
wondered whether it would seem ridiculous 
to give some to the drummer boy. 

CHAPTER VIII 

THE ARRIVAL OF D6LOKHOV diverted P^tya's at- 
tention from the drummer boy, to whom Denf- 
sov had had some mutton and vodka given, 
and whom he had had dressed in a Russian 
coat so that he might be kept with their band 
and not sent away with the other prisoners. 
Pe"tya had heard in the army many stories of 
D61okhov's extraordinary bravery and of his 
cruelty to the French, so from the moment he 
entered the hut Pe*tya did not take his eyes 
from him, but braced himself up more and 
more and held his head high, that he might 
not be unworthy even of such company. 

D61okhov's appearance amazed Ptya by its 
simplicity. 

Denisov wore a Cossack coat, had a beard, 
had an icon of Nicholas the Wonder- Worker 
on his breast, and his way of speaking and 
everything he did indicated his unusual posi- 
tion. But Dolokhov, who in Moscow had worn 
a Persian costume, had now the appearance of 
a most correct officer of the Guards. He was 

1 "Ah, it's you! Do you want something to eat? 
Don't be afraid, they won't hurt you." 
* "Come in, come in." 
8 "Thank you, sir." 



clean-shaven and wore a Guardsman's padded 
coat with an Order of St. George at his button- 
hole and a plain forage cap set straight on his 
head. He took off his wet felt cloak in a corner 
of the room, and without greeting anyone went 
up to Denfsov and began questioning him 
about the matter in hand. Denisov told him of 
the designs the large detachments had on the 
transport, of the message Ptya had brought, 
and his own replies to both generals. Then he 
told him all he knew of the French detach- 
ment. 

"That's so. But we must know what troops 
they are and their numbers," said D61okhov. 
"It will be necessary to go there. We can't start 
the affair without knowing for certain how 
many of them there are. I like to work accu- 
rately. Here now wouldn't one of these gen- 
tlemen like to ride over to the French camp 
with me? I have brought a spare uniform." 

"I, I ... I'll go with you!" cried Pckya. 

"There's no need for you to go at all," said 
Denisov, addressing D61okhov, "and as for 
him, I won't let him go on any account." 

"I like that!" exclaimed P^tya. "Why 
shouldn't I go?" 

"Because it's useless." 

"Well, you must excuse me, because . . . be- 
cause ... I shall go, and that's all. You'll take 
me, won't you?" he said, turning to Dolokhov. 

"Why not?" D61okhov answered absently, 
scrutinizing the face of the French drummer 
boy. "Have you had that youngster with you 
long?" he asked Denisov. 

"He was taken today but he knows nothing. 
I'm keeping him with me." 

"Yes, and where do you put the others?" 
inquired Dolokhov. 

"Where? I send them away and take a we- 
ceipt for them," shouted Denisov, suddenly 
flushing. "And I say boldly that I have not a 
single man's life on my conscience. Would it 
be difficult for you to send thirty or thwee hun- 
dwed men to town under escort, instead of 
staining I speak bluntly staining the honor 
of a soldier?" 

"That kind of amiable talk would be suit- 
able from this young count of sixteen," said 
D61okhov with cold irony, "but it's time for 
you to drop it." 

"Why, I've not said anything! I only say 
that I'll certainly go with you," said Ptya 
shyly. 

"But for you and me, old fellow, it's time to 
drop these amenities," continued D61okhov, 
as if he found particular pleasure in speaking 



BOOK FOURTEEN 

of this subject which irritated Denfsov. "Now, 
why have you kept this lad?" he went on, sway- 
ing his head. "Because you are sorry for him! 
Don't we know those 'receipts' of yours? You 
send a hundred men away, and thirty get there. 
The rest either starve or get killed. So isn't it 
all the same not to send them?" 

The esaul, screwing up his light-colored 
eyes, nodded approvingly. 

"That's not the point. I'm not going to dis- 
cuss the matter. I do not wish to take it on my 
conscience. You say they'll die. All wight. Only 
not by my fault!" 

D61okhov began laughing. 

"Who has told them not to capture me these 
twenty times over? But if they did catch me 
they'd string me up to an aspen tree, and you 
with all your chivalry just the same." He 
paused. "However, we must get to work. Tell 
the Cossack to fetch my kit. I have two French 
uniforms in it. Well, are you coming with me?" 
he asked P<kya. 

"I? Yes, yes, certainly!" cried Ptya, blush- 
ing almost to tears and glancing at Denfsov. 

While D61okhov had been disputing with 
Denfsov what should be done with prisoners, 
Ptftya had once more felt awkward and restless; 
but again he had no time to grasp fully what 
they were talking about. "If grown-up, dis- 
tinguished men think so, it must be necessary 
and right," thought he. "But above all Denfsov 
must not dare to imagine that I'll obey him and 
that he can order me about. I will certainly go 
to the French camp with D61okhov. If he can, 
so can I!" 

And to all Denisov's persuasions, Pchya re- 
plied that he too was accustomed to do every- 
thing accurately and not just anyhow, and that 
he never considered personal danger. 

"For you'll admit that if we don't know for 
sure how many of them there are . . . hundreds 
of lives may depend on it, while there are only 
two of us. Besides, I want to go very much and 
certainly will go, so don't hinder me," said he. 
"It will only make things worse. . . ." 



599 



CHAPTER IX 

HAVING PUT ON French greatcoats and shakos, 
Ptya and D61okhov rode to the clearing from 
which Denfsov had reconnoitered the French 
camp, and emerging from the forest in pitch 
darkness they descended into the hollow. On 
reaching the bottom, D61okhov told the Cos- 
sacks accompanying him to await him there 
and rode on at a quick trot along the road to 
the bridge. P^tya, his heart in his mouth with 



excitement, rode by his side. 

"If we're caught, I won't be taken alive! I 
have a pistol," whispered he. 

"Don't talk Russian," said D61okhov in a 
hurried whisper, and at that very moment they 
heard through the darkness the challenge: "Qui 
viveV 1 and the click of a musket. 

The blood rushed to Pchya's face and he 
grasped his pistol. 

"Landers du 6-me," 2 replied D61okhov, 
neither hastening nor slackening his horse's 
pace. 

The black figure of a sentinel stood on the 
bridge. 

"M ot d'ordre." * 

Dolokhov reined in his horse and advanced 
at a walk. 

"Dites done, le colonel Gerard eat ici?" * he 
asked. 

"Mot d'ordre'' repeated the sentinel, bar- 
ring the way and not replying. 

"Quand un officier fait sa ronde, les sentinel- 
les ne demandent pas le mot d'ordre . . ." cried 
Dolokhov suddenly flaring up and riding 
straight at the sentinel. "Je vous demande si 
le colonel est ici." 5 

And without waiting for an answer from 
the sentinel, who had stepped aside, D61okhov 
rode up the incline at a walk. 

Noticing the black outline of a man crossing 
the road, D61okhov stopped him and inquired 
where the commander and officers were. The 
man, a soldier with a sack over his shoulder, 
stopped, came close up to Dolokhov's horse, 
touched it with his hand, and explained sim- 
ply and in a friendly way that the commander 
and the officers were higher up the hill to the 
right in the courtyard of the farm, as he called 
the landowner's house. 

Having ridden up the road, on both sides 
of which French talk could be heard around 
the campfires, D61okhov turned into the court- 
yard of the landowner's house. Having ridden 
in, he dismounted and approached a big blaz- 
ing campfire, around which sat several men 
talking noisily. Something was boiling in a 
small cauldron at the edge of the fire and a 
soldier in a peaked cap and blue overcoat, lit 
up by the fire, was kneeling beside it stirring 
its contents with a ramrod. 

"Who goes there?" 

"Lancers of the 6th Regiment." 

"Password." 

"Tell me, is Colonel Gerard here?" 

"When an officer is making his round, sentinels 
don't ask him for the password. ... I am asking 
you if the colonel is here." 



6oo 



WAR AND PEACE 



"Oh, he's a hard nut to crack," said one of 
the officers who was sitting in the shadow at 
the other side of the fire. 

"He'll make them get a move on, those fel- 
lows!" said another, laughing. 

Both fell silent, peering out through the 
darkness at the sound of D61okhov's and 
P^tya's steps as they advanced to the fire lead- 
ing their horses. 

"Bonjour, messieurs!" J said Dolokhov loud- 
ly and clearly. 

There was a stir among the officers in the 
shadow beyond the fire, and one tall, long- 
necked officer, walking round the fire, came 
up to D61okhov. 

"Is that you, Cldment?" he asked. "Where 
the devil . . . ?" But, noticing his mistake, he 
broke off short and, with a frown, greeted 
Dolokhov as a stranger, asking what he could 
do for him. 

Dolokhov said that he and his companion 
were trying to overtake their regiment, and 
addressing the company in general asked 
whether they knew anything of the 6th Regi- 
ment. None of them knew any thing, and Ptya 
thought the officers were beginning to look at 
him and D61okhov with hostility and suspi- 
cion. For some seconds all were silent. 

"If you were counting on the evening soup, 
you have come too late," said a voice from be- 
hind the fire with a repressed laugh. 

Dolokhov replied that they were not hungry 
and must push on farther that night. 

He handed the horses over to the soldier 
who was stirring the pot and squatted down 
on his heels by the fire beside the officer with 
the long neck. That officer did not take his 
eyes from D61okhov and again asked to what 
regiment he belonged. D61okhov, as if he had 
not heard the question, did not reply, but 
lighting a short French pipe which he took 
from his pocket began asking the officer in 
how far the road before them was safe from 
Cossacks. 

"Those brigands are everywhere," replied 
an officer from behind the fire. 

D61okhov remarked that the Cossacks were 
a danger only to stragglers such as his compan- 
ion and himself, "but probably they would not 
dare to attack large detachments?" he added 
inquiringly. No one replied. 

"Well, now he'll come away," P^tya thought 
every moment as he stood by the campfire lis- 
tening to the talk. 

But D61okhov restarted the conversation 

*"Good day, gentlemen!" 



which had dropped and began putting direct 
questions as to how many men there were in 
the battalion, how many battalions, and how 
many prisoners. Asking about the Russian 
prisoners with that detachment, D61okhov 
said: 

"A horrid business dragging these corpses 
about with one! It would be better to shoot 
such rabble," and burst into loud laughter, so 
strange that Ptya thought the French would 
immediately detect their disguise, and invol- 
untarily took a step back from the campfire. 

No one replied a word to D61okhov's laugh- 
ter, and a French officer whom they could not 
see (he lay wrapped in a greatcoat) rose and 
whispered something to a companion. D61ok- 
hov got up and called to the soldier who was 
holding their horses. 

"Will they bringour horses or not?" thought 
P^tya, instinctively drawing nearer to D61ok- 
hov. 

The horses were brought. 

"Good evening, gentlemen," said D61okhov. 

Pdtya wished to say "Good night" but could 
not utter a word. The officers were whispering 
together. D61okhov was a long time mounting 
his horse which would not stand still, then he 
rode out of the yard at a footpace. Ptya rode 
beside him, longing to look round to see 
whether or no the French were running after 
them, but not daring to. 

Coming out onto the road D61okhov did 
not ride back across the open country, but 
through the village. At one spot he stopped 
and listened. "Do you hear?" he asked. Ptya 
recognized the sound of Russian voices and 
saw the dark figures of Russian prisoners round 
their campfires. When they had descended to 
the bridge Ptya and D61okhov rode past the 
sentinel, who without saying a word paced mo- 
rosely up and down it, then they descended 
into the hollow where the Cossacks awaited 
them. 

"Well now, good-by. Tell Denfsov, 'at the 
first shot at daybreak,' " said D61okhov and 
was about to ride away, but Pchya seized hold 
of him. 

"Really!" he cried, "you are such a hero! 
Oh, how fine, how splendid! How I love 
you!" 

"All right, all right!" said D61okhov. But 
Ptya did not let go of him and D61okhov saw 
through the gloom that Ptya was bending to- 
ward him and wanted to kiss him. D61okhov 
kissed him, laughed, turned his horse, and van- 
ished into the darkness. 



BOOK FOURTEEN 



601 



CHAPTER X 

HAVING RETURNED to the watchman's hut, 
Ptya found Denisov in the passage. He was 
awaiting Pehya's return in a state of agitation, 
anxiety, and self-reproach for having let him 

go- 

"Thank God!" he exclaimed. "Yes, thank 
God!" he repeated, listening to Pe*tya's raptur- 
ous account. "But, devil take you, I haven't 
slept because of you! Well, thank God. Now 
lie down. We can still get a nap before morn- 
ing." 

"But . . . no," said Ptya, "I don't want to 
sleep yet. Besides I know myself, if I fall asleep 
it's finished. And then I am used to not sleep- 
ing before a battle." 

He sat awhile in the hut joyfully recalling 
the details of his expedition and vividly pic- 
turing to himself what would happen next 
day. 

Then, noticing that Denisov was asleep, he 
rose and went out of doors. 

It was still quite dark outside. The rain was 
over, but drops were still falling from the trees. 
Near the watchman's hut the black shapes of 
the Cossacks' shanties and of horses tethered to- 
gether could be seen. Behind the hut the dark 
shapes of the two wagons with their horses be- 
side them were discernible, and in the hollow 
the dying campfire gleamed red. Not all the 
Cossacks and hussars were asleep; here and 
there, amid the sounds of falling drops and 
the munching of the horses near by, could be 
heard low voices which seemed to be whisper- 
ing. 

Ptya came out, peered into the darkness, 
and went up to the wagons. Someone was snor- 
ing under them, and around them stood sad- 
dled horses munching their oats. In the dark 
Ptya recognized his own horse, which he called 
"Karabdkh" * though it was of Ukranian breed, 
and went up to it. 

"Well, Karabdkh! We'll do some service to- 
morrow," said he, sniffing its nostrils and kiss- 
ing it. 

"Why aren't you asleep, sir?" said a Cossack 
who was sitting under a wagon. 

"No, ah . . . Likhachev isn't that your name? 
Do you know I have only just come back! 
We've been into the French camp." 

And Pdtya gave the Cossack a detailed ac- 
count not only of his ride but also of his object, 
and why he considered it better to risk his life 
than to act "just anyhow." 

1 Karabakh is a district in the sou them Caucasus, 
famous for its breed of horses. TR. 



"Well, you should get some sleep now," said 
the Cossack. 

"No, I am used to this," said Ptya. "I say, 
aren't the flints in your pistols worn out? I 
brought some with me. Don't you want any? 
You can have some." 

The Cossack bent forward from under the 
wagon to get a closer look at Pdtya. 

"Because I am accustomed to doing every- 
thing accurately," said Ptya. "Some fellows 
do things just anyhow, without preparation, 
and then they're sorry for it afterwards. I don't 
like that." 

"Just so," said the Cossack. 

"Oh yes, another thing! Please, my dear 
fellow, will you sharpen my saber for me? It's 
got bl . . ." (Pckya feared to tell a lie, and the 
saber never had been sharpened.) "Can you do 
it?" 

"Of course I can." 

Likhachev got up, rummaged in his pack, 
and soon Pdtya heard the warlike sound of 
steel on whetstone. He climbed onto the wagon 
and sat on its edge. The Cossack was sharpen- 
ing the saber under the wagon. 

"I say! Are the lads asleep?" asked Ptya. 

"Some are, and some aren'tlike us." 

"Well, and that boy?" 

"Vese*nny? Oh, he's thrown himself down 
there in the passage. Fast asleep after his 
fright. He was that glad!" 

After that Ptya remained silent for a long 
time, listening to the sounds. He heard foot- 
steps in the darkness and a black figure ap- 
peared. 

"What are you sharpening?" asked a man 
coming up to the wagon. 

"Why, this gentleman's saber." 

"That's right," said the man, whom Ptya 
took to be an hussar. "Was the cup left here?" 

"There, by the wheel!" 

The hussar took the cup. 

"It must be daylight soon," said he, yawn- 
ing, and went away. 

Ptya ought to have known that he was in 
a forest with Denfsov's guerrilla band, less 
than a mile from the road, sitting on a wagon 
captured from the French beside which horses 
were tethered, that under it Likhachev was sit- 
ting sharpening a saber for him, that the big 
dark blotch to the right was the watchman's 
hut, and the red blotch below to the left was 
the dying embers of a campfire, that the man 
who had come for the cup was an hussar who 
wanted a drink; but he neither knew nor 
wanted to know anything of all this. He was 



602 



WAR AND PEACE 



in a fairy kingdom where nothing resembled 
reality. The big dark blotch might really be 
the watchman's hut or it might be a cavern 
leading to the very depths of the earth. Per- 
haps the red spot was a fire, or it might be the 
eye of an enormous monster. Perhaps he was 
really sitting on a wagon, but it might very 
well be that he was not sitting on a wagon 
but on a terribly high tower from which, if 
he fell, he would have to fall for a whole day 
or a whole month, or go on falling and never 
reach the bottom. Perhaps it was just the Cos- 
sack, Likhachev, who was sitting under the 
wagon, but it might be the kindest, bravest, 
most wonderful, most splendid man in the 
world, whom no one knew of. It might really 
have been that an hussar came for water and 
went back into the hollow, but perhaps he had 
simply vanisheddisappeared altogether and 
dissolved into nothingness. 

Nothing Ptya could have seen now would 
have surprised him. He was in a fairy kingdom 
where everything was possible. 

He looked up at the sky. And the sky was a 
fairy realm like the earth. It was clearing, and 
over the tops of the trees clouds were swiftly 
sailing as if unveiling the stars. Sometimes it 
looked as if the clouds were passing, and a 
clear black sky appeared. Sometimes it seemed 
as if the black spaces were clouds. Sometimes 
the sky seemed to be rising high, high over- 
head, and then it seemed to sink so low that 
one could touch it with one's hand. 

P^tya's eyes began to close and he swayed a 
little. 

The trees were dripping. Quiet talking was 
heard. The horses neighed and jostled one 
another. Someone snored. 

"Ozheg-zheg, Ozheg-zheg . . ." hissed the 
saber against the whetstone, and suddenly 
Ptya heard an harmonious orchestra playing 
some unknown, sweetly solemn hymn. Ptya 
was as musical as Natdsha and more so than 
Nicholas, but had never learned music or 
thought about it, and so the melody that un- 
expectedly came to his mind seemed to him 
particularly fresh and attractive. The music 
became more and more audible. The melody 
grew and passed from one instrument to an- 
other. And what was played was a fugue 
though Ptya had not the least conception of 
what a fugue is. Each instrument now re- 
sembling a violin and now a horn, but better 
and clearer than violin or horn played its 
own part, and before it had finished the mel- 
ody merged with another instrument that be- 



gan almost the same air, and then with a third 
and a fourth; and they all blended into one 
and again became separate and again blended, 
now into solemn church music, now into some- 
thing dazzlingly brilliant and triumphant. 

"Oh why, that was in a dream!" Ptya said 
to himself, as he lurched forward. "It's in my 
ears. But perhaps it's music of my own. Well, 
go on, my music! Now! . . ." 

He closed his eyes, and, from all sides as if 
from a distance, sounds fluttered, grew into 
harmonies, separated, blended, and again all 
mingled into the same sweet and solemn 
hymn. "Oh, this is delightful! As much as I 
like and as I like!" said Ptya to himself. He 
tried to conduct that enormous orchestra. 

"Now softly, softly die away!" and the 
sounds obeyed him. "Now fuller, more joyful. 
Still more and more joyful!" And from an un- 
known depth rose increasingly triumphant 
sounds. "Now voices join in!" ordered Ptya. 
And at first from afar he heard men's voices 
and then women's. The voices grew in har- 
monious triumphant strength, and P^tya lis- 
tened to their surpassing beauty in awe and 
joy. 

With a solemn triumphal march there min- 
gled a song, the drip from the trees, and the 
hissing of the saber, "Ozheg-zheg-zheg . . ." 
and again the horses jostled one another and 
neighed, not disturbing the choir but joining 
in it. 

Ptya did not know how long this lasted: he 
enjoyed himself all the time, wondered at his 
enjoyment and regretted that there was no 
one to share it. He was awakened by Lik- 
hache'v's kindly voice. 

"It's ready, your honor; you can split a 
Frenchman in half with it!" 

Ptya woke up. 

"It's getting light, it's really getting light!" 
he exclaimed. 

The horses that had previously been in- 
visible could now be seen to their very tails, 
and a watery light showed itself through the 
bare branches. Ptya shook himself, jumped 
up, took a ruble from his pocket and gave it 
to Likhachev; then he flourished the saber, 
tested it, and sheathed it. The Cossacks were 
untying their horses and tightening their sad- 
dle girths. 

"And here's the commander," said Likha- 
che*v. 

Denisov came out of the watchman's hut 
and, having called P^tya, gave orders to get 
ready. 



BOOK FOURTEEN 



603 



CHAPTER XI 

THE MEN rapidly picked out their horses in 
the semidarkness, tightened their saddle girths, 
and formed companies. Denisov stood by the 
watchman's hut giving final orders. The in- 
fantry of the detachment passed along the 
road and quickly disappeared amid the trees 
in the mist of early dawn, hundreds of feet 
splashing through the mud. The esaul gave 
some orders to his men. Pe"tya held his horse 
by the bridle, impatiently awaiting the order 
to mount. His face, having been bathed in 
cold water, was all aglow, and his eyes were 
particularly brilliant. Cold shivers ran down 
his spine and his whole body pulsed rhythmi- 
cally. 

"Well, is ev'wything weady?" asked Denisov. 
"Bwing the horses." 

The horses were brought. Denisov was 
angry with the Cossack because the saddle 
girths were too slack, reproved him, and 
mounted. Ptya put his foot in the stirrup. His 
horse by habit made as if to nip his leg, but 
Ptya leaped quickly into the saddle uncon- 
scious of his own weight and, turning to look 
at the hussars starting in the darkness behind 
him, rode up to Denisov. 

"Vasili Dmitrich, entrust me with some com- 
mission! Please . . . for God's sake ... 1" said 
he. 

Denisov seemed to have forgotten Pe"tya's 
very existence. He turned to glance at him. 

"I ask one thing of you," he said sternly, "to 
obey me and not shove you'self fo'ward any- 
where." 

He did not say another word to P^tya but 
rode in silence all the way. When they had 
come to the edge of the forest it was noticeably 
growing light over the field. Denisov talked in 
whispers with the esaul and the Cossacks rode 
past P<kya and Denisov. When they had all 
ridden by, Denisov touched his horse and rode 
down the hill. Slipping onto their haunches 
and sliding, the horses descended with their 
riders into the ravine. Ptya rode beside Denf- 
sov, the pulsation of his body constantly in- 
creasing. It was getting lighter and lighter, 
but the mist still hid distant objects. Having 
reached the valley, Denisov looked back and 
nodded to a Cossack beside him. 

"The signall" said he. 

The Cossack raised his arm and a shot rang 
out. In an instant the tramp of horses gallop- 
ing forward was heard, shouts came from vari- 
ous sides, and then more shots. 

At the first sound of trampling hoofs and 



shouting, Ptya lashed his horse and loosening 
his rein galloped forward, not heeding Denisov 
who shouted at him. It seemed to Ptya that at 
the moment the shot was fired it suddenly be- 
came as bright as noon. He galloped to the 
bridge. Cossacks were galloping along the road 
in front of him. On the bridge he collided with 
a Cossack who had fallen behind, but he gal- 
loped on. In front of him soldiers, probably 
Frenchmen, were running from right to left 
across the road. One of them fell in the mud 
under his horse's feet. 

Cossacks were crowding about a hut, busy 
with something. From the midst of that crowd 
terrible screams arose. Pchya galloped up, and 
the first thing he saw was the pale face and 
trembling jaw of a Frenchman, clutching the 
handle of a lance that had been aimed at him. 

"Hurrah! . . . Lads! . . . ours!" shouted Ptya, 
and giving rein to his excited horse he gal- 
loped forward along the village street. 

He could hear shooting ahead of him. Cos- 
sacks, hussars, and ragged Russian prisoners, 
who had come running from both sides of the 
road, were shouting something loudly and in- 
coherently. A gallant-looking Frenchman, in 
a blue overcoat, capless, and with a frowning 
red face, had been defending himself against 
the hussars. When Ptya galloped up the 
Frenchman had already fallen. "Too late 
again!" flashed through Pdtya's mind and he 
galloped on to the place from which the rapid 
firing could be heard. The shots came from 
the yard of the landowner's house he had 
visited the night before with Dolokhov. The 
French were making a stand there behind a 
wattle fence in a garden thickly overgrown 
with bushes and were firing at the Cossacks 
who crowded at the gateway. Through the 
smoke, as he approached the gate, Pchya saw 
Dolokhov, whose face was of a pale-greenish 
tint, shouting to his men. "Go round! Wait 
for the infantry!" he exclaimed as Pe*tya rode 
up to him. 

"Wait? . . . Hurrah-ah-ah!" shouted Ptya, 
and without pausing a moment galloped to 
the place whence came the sounds of firing 
and where the smoke was thickest. 

A volley was heard, and some bullets whistled 
past, while others plashed against something. 
The Cossacks and D61okhov galloped after 
Ptya into the gateway of the courtyard. In the 
dense wavering smoke some of the French 
threw down their arms and ran out of the 
bushes to meet the Cossacks, while others ran 
down the hill toward the pond. Ptya was 



604 



WAR AND PEACE 



galloping along the courtyard, but instead of 
holding the reins he waved both his arms 
about rapidly and strangely, slipping farther 
and farther to one side in his saddle. His 
horse, having galloped up to a campfire that 
was smoldering in the morning light, stopped 
suddenly, and Ptya fell heavily on to the 
wet ground. The Cossacks saw that his arms 
and legs jerked rapidly though his head was 
quite motionless. A bullet had pierced his 
skull. 

After speaking to the senior French officer, 
who came out of the house with a white 
handkerchief tied to his sword and announced 
that they surrendered, D61okhov dismounted 
and went up to Ptya, who lay motionless with 
outstretched arms. 

"Done for!" he said with a frown, and went 
to the gate to meet Denfsov who was riding 
toward him. 

"Killed?" cried Denisov, recognizing from 
a distance the unmistakably lifeless attitude- 
very familiar to him in which P^tya's body 
was lying. 

"Done forl" repeated Dolokhov as if the 
utterance of these words afforded him pleas- 
ure, and he went quickly up to the prisoners, 
who were surrounded by Cossacks who had 
hurried up. "We won't take them!" he called 
out to Denisov. 

Denisov did not reply; he rode up to Ptya, 
dismounted, and with trembling hands turned 
toward himself the bloodstained, mud-bespat- 
tered face which had already gone white. 

"I am used to something sweet. Raisins, 
fine ones . . . take them all!" he recalled Pdtya's 
words. And the Cossacks looked round in sur- 
prise at the sound, like the yelp of a dog, with 
which Denfsov turned away, walked to the 
wattle fence, and seized hold of it. 

Among the Russian prisoners rescued by 
Denfsov and Dolokhov was Pierre Bezukhov. 

CHAPTER XII 

DURING THE WHOLE of their march from Mos- 
cow no fresh orders had been issued by the 
French authorities concerning the party of 
prisoners among whom was Pierre. On the 
twenty-second of October that party was no 
longer with the same troops and baggage trains 
with which it had left Moscow. Half the 
wagons laden with hardtack that had traveled 
the first stages with them had been captured 
by Cossacks, the other half had gone on ahead. 
Not one of those dismounted cavalrymen who 
had marched in front of the prisoners was 



left; they had all disappeared. The artillery 
the prisoners had seen in front of them during 
the first days was now replaced by Marshal 
Junot's enormous baggage train, convoyed by 
Westphalians, Behind the prisoners came a 
cavalry baggage train. 

From Vyazma onwards the French army, 
which had till then moved in three columns, 
went on as a single group. The symptoms of 
disorder that Pierre had noticed at their first 
halting place after leaving Moscow had now 
reached the utmost limit. 

The road along which they moved was 
bordered on both sides by dead horses; ragged 
men who had fallen behind from various regi- 
ments continually changed about, now join- 
ing the moving column, now again lagging 
behind it. 

Several times during the march false alarms 
had been given and the soldiers of the escort 
had raised their muskets, fired, and run head- 
long, crushing one another, but had after- 
wards reassembled and abused each other for 
their causeless panic. 

These three groups traveling together the 
cavalry stores, the convoy of prisoners, and 
Junot's baggage train still constituted a sep- 
arate and united whole, though each of the 
groups was rapidly melting away. 

Of the artillery baggage train which had 
consisted of a hundred and twenty wagons, 
not more than sixty now remained; the rest 
had been captured or left behind. Some of 
Junot's wagons also had been captured or 
abandoned. Three wagons had been raided 
and robbed by stragglers from Davout's corps. 
From the talk of the Germans Pierre learned 
that a larger guard had been allotted to that 
baggage train than to the prisoners, and that 
one of their comrades, a German soldier, had 
been shot by the marshal's own order because 
a silver spoon belonging to the marshal had 
been found in his possession. 

The group of prisoners had melted away 
most of all. Of the three hundred and thirty 
men who had set out from Moscow fewer than 
a hundred now remained. The prisoners were 
more burdensome to the escort than even the 
cavalry saddles or Junot's baggage. They under- 
stood that the saddles and Junot's spoon might 
be of some use, but that cold and hungry 
soldiers should have to stand and guard equally 
cold and hungry Russians who froze and 
lagged behind on the road (in which case the 
order was to shoot them) was not merely in- 
comprehensible but revolting. And the escort, 



BOOK FOURTEEN 



605 



as if afraid, in the grievous condition they 
themselves were in, of giving way to the pity 
they felt for the prisoners and so rendering 
their own plight still worse, treated them with 
particular moroseness and severity. 

At Dorogobuzh while the soldiers of the 
convoy, after locking the prisoners in a stable, 
had gone off to pillage their own stores, several 
of the soldier prisoners tunneled under the 
wall and ran away, but were recaptured by 
the French and shot. 

The arrangement adopted when they start- 
ed, that the officer prisoners should be kept 
separate from the rest, had long since been 
abandoned. All who could walk went together, 
and after the third stage Pierre had rejoined 
Karatdev and the gray-blue bandy-legged dog 
that had chosen Karataev for its master. 

On the third day after leaving Moscow 
Karatdev again fell ill with the fever he had 
suffered from in the hospital in Moscow, and as 
he grew gradually weaker Pierre kept away 
from him. Pierre did not know why, but since 
Karataev had begun to grow weaker it had 
cost him an effort to go near him. When he 
did so and heard the subdued moaning with 
which Karataev generally lay down at the 
halting places, and when he smelled the odor 
emanating from him which was now stronger 
than before, Pierre moved farther away and 
did not think about him. 

While imprisoned in the shed Pierre had 
learned not with his intellect but with his 
whole being, by life itself, that man is created 
for happiness, that happiness is within him, in 
the satisfaction of simple human needs, and 
that all unhappiness arises not from privation 
but from superfluity. And now during these 
last three weeks of the march he had learned 
still another new, consolatory truththat noth- 
ing in this world is terrible. He had learned 
that as there is no condition in which man 
can be happy and entirely free, so there is no 
condition in which he need be unhappy and 
lack freedom. He learned that suffering and 
freedom have their limits and that those limits 
are very near together; that the person in a 
bed of roses with one crumpled petal suffered 
as keenly as he now, sleeping on the bare damp 
earth with one side growing chilled while the 
other was warming; and that when he had put 
on tight dancing shoes he had suffered just as 
he did now when he walked with bare feet 
that were covered with sores his footgear hav- 
ing long since fallen to pieces. He discovered 
that when he had married his wife of his own 



free will as it had seemed to himhe had been 
no more free than now when they locked him 
up at night in a stable. Of all that he himself 
subsequently termed his sufferings, but which 
at the time he scarcely felt, the worst was the 
state of his bare, raw, and scab-covered feet. 
(The horseflesh was appetizing and nourish- 
ing, the saltpeter flavor of the gunpowder they 
used instead of salt was even pleasant; there 
was no great cold, it was always warm walking 
in the daytime, and at night there were the 
campfires; the lice that devoured him warmed 
his body.) The one thing that was at first hard 
to bear was his feet. 

After the second day's march Pierre, having 
examined his feet by the campfire, thought it 
would be impossible to walk on them; but 
when everybody got up he went along, limp- 
ing, and, when he had warmed up, walked 
without feeling the pain, though at night his 
feet were more terrible to look at than before. 
However, he did not look at them now, but 
thought of other things. 

Only now did Pierre realize the full strength 
of life in man and the saving power he has 
of transferring his attention from one thing 
to another, which is like the safety valve 
of a boiler that allows superfluous steam to 
blow off when the pressure exceeds a certain 
limit. 

He did not see and did not hear how they 
shot the prisoners who lagged behind, though 
more than a hundred perished in that way. He 
did not think of Karataev who grew weaker 
every day and evidently would soon have to 
share that fate. Still less did Pierre think about 
himself. The harder his position became and 
the more terrible the future, the more inde- 
pendent of that position in which he found 
himself were the joyful and comforting 
thoughts, memories, and imaginings that came 
to him. 

CHAPTER XIII 

AT MIDDAY on the twenty-second of October 
Pierre was going uphill along the muddy, slip- 
pery road, looking at his feet and at the rough- 
ness of the way. Occasionally he glanced at the 
familiar crowd around him and then again at 
his feet. The former and the latter were alike 
familiar and his own. The blue-gray bandy- 
legged dog ran merrily along the side of the 
road, sometimes in proof of its agility and self- 
satisfaction lifting one hind leg and hopping 
along on three, and then again going on all 
four and rushing to bark at the crows that sat 



6o6 



WAR AND PEACE 



on the carrion. The dog was merrier and sleek- 
er than it had been in Moscow. All around lay 
the flesh of different animals from men to 
horses in various stages of decomposition; 
and as the wolves were kept off by the passing 
men the dog could eat all it wanted. 

It had been raining since morning and had 
seemed as if at any moment it might cease and 
the sky clear, but after a short break it began 
raining harder than before. The saturated road 
no longer absorbed the water, which ran along 
the ruts in streams. 

Pierre walked along, looking from side to 
side, counting his steps in threes, and reckon- 
ing them off on his fingers. Mentally address- 
ing the rain, he repeated: "Now then, now 
then, go on! Pelt harder!" 

It seemed to him that he was thinking of 
nothing, but far down and deep within him 
his soul was occupied with something impor- 
tant and comforting. This something was a 
most subtle spiritual deduction from a con- 
versation with Karataev the day before. 

At their yesterday's halting place, feeling 
chilly by a dying campfire, Pierre had got up 
and gone to the next one, which was burning 
better. There Platon Karataev was sitting cov- 
ered up head and all with his greatcoat as if 
it were a vestment, telling the soldiers in his 
effective and pleasant though now feeble voice 
a story Pierre knew. It was already past mid- 
night, the hour when Karataev was usually free 
of his fever and particularly lively. When 
Pierre reached the fire and heard Platon 's 
voice enfeebled by illness, and saw his pathetic 
face brightly lit up by the blaze, he felt a pain- 
ful prick at his heart. His feeling of pity for 
this man frightened him and he wished to go 
away, but there was no other fire, and Pierre 
sat down, trying not to look at Plat6n. 

"Well, how are you?" he asked. 

"How am I? If we grumble at sickness, God 
won't grant us death," replied Plat6n, and at 
once resumed the story he had begun. 

"And so, brother," he continued, with a 
smile on his pale emaciated face and a particu- 
larly happy light in his eyes, " you see, broth- 
er . . ." 

Pierre had long been familiar with that 
story. Karataev had told it to him alone some 
half-dozen times and always with a specially 
joyful emotion. But well as he knew it, Pierre 
now listened to that tale as to something new, 
and the quiet rapture Karataev evidently felt 
as he told it communicated itself also to Pierre. 
The story was of an old merchant who lived a 



good and God-fearing life with his family, and 
who went once to the Nizhni fair with a com- 
paniona rich merchant. 

Having put up at an inn they both went to 
sleep, and next morning his companion was 
found robbed and with his throat cut. A blood- 
stained knife was found under the old mer- 
chant's pillow. He was tried, knouted, and his 
nostrils having been torn off, "all in due 
form" as Karataev put it, he was sent to hard 
labor in Siberia. 

"And so, brother" (it was at this point that 
Pierre came up), "ten years or more passed by. 
The old man was living as a convict, submit- 
ting as he should and doing no wrong. Only 
he prayed to God for death. Well, one night 
the convicts were gathered just as we are, with 
the old man among them. And they began tell- 
ing what each was suffering for, and how they 
had sinned against God. One told how he had 
taken a life, another had taken two, a third 
had set a house on fire, while another had 
simply been a vagrant and had done nothing. 
So they asked the old man: 'What are you be- 
ing punished for, Daddy?' 'I, my dear broth- 
ers,' said he, 'am being punished for my own 
and other men's sins. But I have not killed 
anyone or taken anything that was not mine, 
but have only helped my poorer brothers. I 
was a merchant, my dear brothers, and had 
much property.' And he went on to tell them 
all about it in due order. 'I don't grieve for 
myself,' he says, 'God, it seems, has chastened 
me. Only I am sorry for rny old wife and the 
children,' and the old man began to weep. 
Now it happened that in the group was the 
very man who had killed the other merchant. 
'Where did it happen, Daddy?' he said. 'When, 
and in what month?' He asked all about it and 
his heart began to ache. So he comes up to the 
old man like this, and falls down at his feet! 
'You are perishing because of me, Daddy,' he 
says. 'It's quite true, lads, that this man,' he 
says, 'is being tortured innocently and for 
nothing! I,' he says, 'did that deed, and I put 
the knife under your head while you were 
asleep. Forgive me, Daddy,' he says, 'for Christ's 
sake!' " 

Karataev paused, smiling joyously as he 
gazed into the fire, and he drew the logs to- 
gether. 

"And the old man said, 'God will forgive 
you, we are all sinners in His sight. I suffer 
for my own sins,' and he wept bitter tears. 
Well, and what do you think, dear friends?" 
Karatdev continued, his face brightening more 



BOOK FOURTEEN 



607 



and more with a rapturous smile as if what he 
now had to tell contained the chief charm and 
the whole meaning of his story: "What do you 
think, dear fellows? That murderer confessed 
to the authorities. 'I have taken six lives/ he 
says (he was a great sinner), 'but what I am 
most sorry for is this old man. Don't let him 
suffer because of me.' So he confessed and it 
was all written down and the papers sent off in 
due form. The place was a long way off, and 
while they were judging, what with one thing 
and another, filling in the papers all in due 
formthe authorities I meantime passed. 
The affair reached the Tsar. After a while the 
Tsar's decree came: to set the merchant free 
and give him a compensation that had been 
awarded. The paper arrived and they began 
to look for the old man. 'Where is the old man 
who has been suffering innocently and in 
vain? A paper has come from the Tsar!' so 
they began looking for him/' here Karatdev's 
lower jaw trembled, "but God had already 
forgiven him he was dead! That's how it was, 
dear fellows!" Karataev concluded and sat for 
a long time silent, gazing before him with a 
smile. 

And Pierre's soul was dimly but joyfully 
filled not by the story itself but by its mysteri- 
ous significance: by the rapturous joy that lit 
up Karataev's face as he told it, and the mystic 
significance of that joy. 

CHAPTER XIV 

"A vos places!'' * suddenly cried a voice. 

A pleasant feeling of excitement and an ex- 
pectation of something joyful and solemn was 
aroused among the soldiers of the convoy and 
the prisoners. From all sides came shouts of 
command, and from the left came smartly 
dressed cavalrymen on good horses, passing 
the prisoners at a trot. The expression on all 
faces showed the tension people feel at the 
approach of those in authority. The prisoners 
thronged together and were pushed off the 
road. The convoy formed up. 

"The Emperor! The Emperor! The Mar- 
shall The Dukel" and hardly had the sleek 
cavalry passed, before a carriage drawn by 
six gray horses rattled by. Pierre caught a 
glimpse of a man in a three-cornered hat with 
a tranquil look on his handsome, plump, white 
face. It was one of the marshals. His eye fell on 
Pierre's large and striking figure, and in the 
expression with which he frowned and looked 

l "To your places!" 



away Pierre thought he detected sympathy and 
a desire to conceal that sympathy. 

The general in charge of the stores galloped 
after the carriage with a red and frightened 
face, whipping up his skinny horse. Several 
officers formed a group and some soldiers 
crowded round them. Their faces all looked 
excited and worried. 

"What did he say? What did he say?" Pierre 
heard them ask. 

While the marshal was passing, the prison- 
ers had huddled together in a crowd, and 
Pierre saw Karatdev whom he had not yet seen 
that morning. He sat in his short overcoat 
leaning against a birch tree. On his face, be- 
sides the look of joyful emotion it had worn 
yesterday while telling the tale of the merchant 
who suffered innocently, there was now an ex- 
pression of quiet solemnity. 

Karataev looked at Pierre with his kindly 
round eyes now filled with tears, evidently 
wishing him to come near that he might say 
something to him. But Pierre was not suffi- 
ciently sure of himself. He made as if he did not 
notice that look and moved hastily away. 

When the prisoners again went forward 
Pierre looked round. Karatdev was still sitting 
at the side of the road under the birch tree and 
two Frenchmen were talking over his head. 
Pierre did not look round again but went 
limping up the hill. 

From behind, where Karatdev had been sit- 
ting, came the sound of a shot. Pierre heard 
it plainly, but at that moment he remembered 
that he had not yet finished reckoning up how 
many stages still remained to Smolensk a cal- 
culation he had begun before the marshal 
went by. And he again started reckoning. Two 
French soldiers ran past Pierre, one of whom 
carried a lowered and smoking gun. They 
both looked pale, and in the expression on 
their faces one of them glanced timidly at 
Pierre there was something resembling what 
he had seen on the face of the young soldier 
at the execution. Pierre looked at the soldier 
and remembered that, two days before, that 
man had burned his shirt while drying it at 
the fire and how they had laughed at him. 

Behind him, where Karataev had been sit- 
ting, the dog began to howl. "What a stupid 
beast! Why is it howling?" thought Pierre. 

His comrades, the prisoner soldiers walking 
beside him, avoided looking back at the place 
where the shot had been fired and the dog was 
howling, just as Pierre did, but there w-is a 
set look on all their faces. 



6o8 



WAR AND PEACE 



CHAPTER XV 



THE STORES, the prisoners, and the marshal's 
baggage train stopped at the village of Sham- 
shevo. The men crowded together round the 
campfires. Pierre went up to the fire, ate some 
roast horseflesh, lay down with his back to the 
fire, and immediately fell asleep. He again 
slept as he had done at Mozhdysk after the 
battle of Borodin6. 

Again real events mingled with dreams and 
again someone, he or another, gave expression 
to his thoughts, and even to the same thoughts 
that had been expressed in his dream at 
Mozhdysk. 

"Life is everything. Life is God. Everything 
changes and moves and that movement is God. 
And while there is life there is joy in con- 
sciousness of the divine. To love life is to love 
God. Harder and more blessed than all else 
is to love this life in one's sufferings, in in- 
nocent sufferings." 

"Karatdevl" came to Pierre's mind. 

And suddenly he saw vividly before him a 
long-forgotten, kindly old man who had given 
him geography lessons in Switzerland. "Wait 
a bit," said the old man, and showed Pierre a 
globe. This globe was alivea vibrating ball 
without fixed dimensions. Its whole surface 
consisted of drops closely pressed together, and 
all these drops moved and changed places, 
sometimes several of them merging into one, 
sometimes one dividing into many. Each drop 
tried to spread out and occupy as much space 
as possible, but others striving to do the same 
compressed it, sometimes destroyed it, and 
sometimes merged with it. 

"That is life," said the old teacher. 

"How simple and clear it is," thought Pierre. 
"How is it I did not know it before?" 

"God is in the midst, and each drop tries to 
expand so as to reflect Him to the greatest 
extent. And it grows, merges, disappears from 
the surface, sinks to the depths, and again 
emerges. There now, Karataev has spread out 
and disappeared. Do you understand, my 
child?" said the teacher. 

"Do you understand, damn you?" shouted 
a voice, and Pierre woke up. 

He lifted himself and sat up. A Frenchman 
who had just pushed a Russian soldier away 
was squatting by the fire, engaged in roasting 
a piece of meat stuck on a ramrod. His sleeves 
were rolled up and his sinewy, hairy, red hands 
with their short fingers deftly turned the ram- 
rod. His brown morose face with frowning 



brows was clearly visible by the glow of the 
charcoal. 

"It's all the same to him," he muttered, turn- 
ing quickly to a soldier who stood behind him. 
"Brigand! Get away!" 

And twisting the ramrod he looked gloom- 
ily at Pierre, who turned away and gazed into 
the darkness. A prisoner, the Russian soldier 
the Frenchman had pushed away, was sitting 
near the fire patting something with his hand. 
Looking more closely Pierre recognized the 
blue-gray dog, sitting beside the soldier, wag- 
ging its tail. 

"Ah, he's come?" said Pierre. "And Plat" he 
began, but did not finish. 

Suddenly and simultaneously a crowd of 
memories awoke in his fancy of the look Pla- 
t6n had given him as he sat under the tree, of 
the shot heard from that spot, of the dog's 
howl, of the guilty faces of the two Frenchmen 
as they ran past him, of the lowered and smok- 
ing gun, and of Karatdev's absence at this halt 
and he was on the point of realizing that 
Karataev had been killed, but just at that in- 
stant, he knew not why, the recollection came 
to his mind of a summer evening he had spent 
with a beautiful Polish lady on the veranda of 
his house in Kiev. And without linking up 
the events of the day or drawing a conclusion 
from them, Pierre closed his eyes, seeing a 
vision of the country in summertime mingled 
with memories of bathing and of the liquid, 
vibrating globe, and he sank into water so 
that it closed over his head. 

Before sunrise he was awakened by shouts 
and loud and rapid firing. French soldiers were 
running past him. 

"The Cossacks!" one of them shouted, and 
a moment later a crowd of Russians surround- 
ed Pierre. 

For a long time he could not understand 
what was happening to him. All around he 
heard his comrades sobbing with joy. 

"Brothers! Dear fellows! Darlings!" old 
soldiers exclaimed, weeping, as they embraced 
Cossacks and hussars. 

The hussars and Cossacks crowded round 
the prisoners; one offered them clothes, an- 
other boots, and a third bread. Pierre sobbed 
as he sat among them and could not utter a 
word. He hugged the first soldier who ap- 
proached him, and kissed him, weeping. 

D61okhov stood at the gate of the ruined 
house, letting a crowd of disarmed Frenchmen 
pass by. The French, excited by all that had 
happened, were talking loudly among them- 



BOOK FOURTEEN 



609 



selves, but as they passed D61okhov who gently 
switched his boots with his whip and watched 
them with cold glassy eyes that boded no good, 
they became silent. On the opposite side stood 
D61okhov's Cossack, counting the prisoners 
and marking off each hundred with a chalk 
line on the gate. 

"How many?" D61okhov asked the Cossack. 

"The second hundred," replied the Cos- 
sack. 

"Filez, filez!" * D61okhov kept saying, having 
adopted this expression from the French, and 
when his eyes met those of the prisoners they 
flashed with a cruel light. 

Denisov, bareheaded and with a gloomy 
face, walked behind some Cossacks who were 
carrying the body of Ptya Rost6v to a hole 
that had been dug in the garden. 

CHAPTER XVI 

AFTER THE TWENTY-EIGHTH OF OCTOBER when 
the frosts began, the flight of the French as- 
sumed a still more tragic character, with men 
freezing, or roasting themselves to death at the 
campfires, while carriages with people dressed 
in furs continued to drive past, carrying away 
the property that had been stolen by the Em- 
peror, kings, and dukes; but the process of the 
flight and disintegration of the French army 
went on essentially as before. 

From Moscow to Vyizma the French army 
of seventy-three thousand men not reckoning 
the Guards (who did nothing during the 
whole war but pillage) was reduced to thirty- 
six thousand, though not more than five thou- 
sand had fallen in battle. From this beginning 
the succeeding terms of the progression could 
be determined mathematically. The French 
army melted away and perished at the same 
rate from Moscow to Vyazma, from Vyazma to 
Smolensk, from Smolensk to the Berezina, and 
from the Berezina to Vilna independently of 
the greater or lesser intensity of the cold, the 
pursuit, the barring of the way, or any other 
particular conditions. Beyond Vyazma the 
French army instead of moving in three col- 
umns huddled together into one mass, and so 
went on to the end. Berthier wrote to his Em- 
peror (we know how far commanding officers 
allow themselves to diverge from the truth in 
describing the condition of an army) and this 
is what he said: 

I deem it my duty to report to Your Majesty the 
condition of the various corps I have had occasion 

1 "Get along, get along!" 



to observe during different stages of the last two 
or three days' march. They are almost disbanded. 
Scarcely a quarter of the soldiers remain with the 
standards of their regiments, the others go off by 
themselves in different directions hoping to find 
food and escape discipline. In general they regard 
Smolensk as the place where they hope to recover. 
During the last few days many of the men have 
been seen to throw away their cartridges and their 
arms. In such a state of affairs, whatever your ulti- 
mate plans may be, the interest of Your Majesty's 
service demands that the army should be rallied at 
Smolensk and should first of all be freed from in- 
effectives, such as dismounted cavalry, unnecessary 
baggage, and artillery material that is no longer 
in proportion to the present forces. The soldiers, 
who are worn out with hunger and fatigue, need 
supplies as well as a few days' rest. Many have died 
these last days on the road or at the bivouacs. This 
state of things is continually becoming worse and 
makes one fear that unless a prompt remedy is 
applied the troops will no longer be under control 
in case of an engagement. 
November 9: twenty miles from Smolensk. 

After staggering into Smolensk which 
seemed to them a promised land, the French, 
searching for food, killed one another, sacked 
their own stores, and when everything had 
been plundered fled farther. 

They all went without knowing whither or 
why they were going. Still less did that genius, 
Napoleon, know it, for no one issued any 
orders to him. But still he and those about 
him retained their old habits: wrote com- 
mands, letters, reports, and orders of the day; 
called one another sire, mon cousin, prince 
d'Eckrniihl, roi de Naples, and so on. But these 
orders and reports were only on paper, noth- 
ing in them was acted upon for they could not 
be carried out, and though they entitled one 
another Majesties, Highnesses, or Cousins, 
they all felt that they were miserable wretches 
who had done much evil for which they had 
now to pay. And though they pretended to be 
concerned about the army, each was thinking 
only of himself and of how to get away quickly 
and save himself. 

CHAPTER XVII 

THE MOVEMENTS of the Russian and French 
armies during the campaign from Moscow 
back to the Niemen were like those in a game 
of Russian blindman's bluff, in which two 
players are blindfolded and one of them oc- 
casionally rings a little bell to inform the 
catcher of his whereabouts. First he rings his 
bell fearlessly, but when he gets into a tight 



6io 



WAR AND PEACE 



place he runs away as quietly as he can, and 
often thinking to escape runs straight into his 
opponent's arms. 

At first while they were still moving along 
the Kaluga road, Napoleon's armies made 
their presence known, but later when they 
reached the Smolensk road they ran holding 
the clapper of their bell tight and of ten think- 
ing they were escaping ran right into the Rus- 
sians. 

Owing to the rapidity of the French flight 
and the Russian pursuit and the consequent 
exhaustion of the horses, the chief means of 
approximately ascertaining the enemy's posi- 
tionby cavalry scoutingwas not available. 
Besides, as a result of the frequent and rapid 
change of position by each army, even what 
information was obtained could not be de- 
livered in time. If news was received one day 
that the enemy had been in a certain position 
the day before, by the third day when some- 
thing could have been done, that army was 
already two days' march farther on and in 
quite another position. 

One army fled and the other pursued. Be- 
yond Smolensk there were several different 
roads available for the French, and one would 
have thought that during their stay of four 
days they might have learned where the enemy 
was, might have arranged some more advan- 
tageous plan and undertaken something new. 
But after a four days' halt the mob, with no 
maneuvers or plans, again began running 
along the beaten track, neither to the right 
nor to the left but along the old the worst- 
road, through Krasnoe and Orsha. 

Expecting the enemy from behind and not 
in front, the French separated in their flight 
and spread out over a distance of twenty-four 
hours. In front of them all fled the Emperor, 
then the kings, then the dukes. The Russian 
army, expecting Napoleon to take the road to 
the right beyond the Dnieper which was the 
only reasonable thing for him to do them- 
selves turned to the right and came out onto 
the highroad at Krasnoe. And here as in a 
game of blindman's buff the French ran into 
our vanguard. Seeing their enemy unexpect- 
edly the French fell into confusion and stopped 
short from the sudden fright, but then they 
resumed their flight, abandoning their com- 
rades who were farther behind. Then for three 
days separate portions of the French army-- 
first Murat's (the vice-king's), then Davout's, 
and then Ney's ran, as it were, the gauntlet of 
the Russian army. They abandoned one an- 



other, abandoned all their heavy baggage, 
their artillery, and half their men, and fled, 
getting past the Russians by night by making 
semicircles to the right. 

Ney, who came last, had been busying him- 
self blowing up the walls of Smolensk which 
were in nobody's way, because despite the un- 
fortunate plight of the French or because of 
it, they wished to punish the floor against 
which they had hurt themselves. Ney, who had 
had a corps of ten thousand men, reached 
Napoleon at Orsha* with only one thousand 
men left, having abandoned all the rest and 
all his cannon, and having crossed the Dnieper 
at night by stealth at a wooded spot. 

From Orshd they fled farther along the 
road to Vilna, still playing at blindman's buff 
with the pursuing army. At the Berezina 
they again became disorganized, many were 
drowned and many surrendered, but those 
who got across the river fled farther. Their 
supreme chief donned a fur coat and, having 
seated himself in a sleigh, galloped on alone, 
abandoning his companions. The others who 
could do so drove away too, leaving those who 
could not to surrender or die. 

CHAPTER XVIII 

THIS CAMPAIGN consisted in a flight of the 
French during which they did all they could 
to destroy themselves. From the time they 
turned onto the Kaluga road to the day their 
leader fled from the army, none of the move- 
ments of the crowd had any sense. So one 
might have thought that regarding this period 
of the campaign the historians, who attributed 
the actions of the mass to the will of one man, 
would have found it impossible to make the 
story of the retreat fit their theory. But no! 
Mountains of books have been written by the 
historians about this campaign, and every- 
where are described Napoleon's arrangements, 
the maneuvers, and his profound plans which 
guided the army, as well as the military genius 
shown by his marshals. 

The retreat from Malo-Yaroslavets when he 
had a free road into a well-supplied district 
and the parallel road was open to him along 
which Kutiizov afterwards pursued him this 
unnecessary retreat along a devastated road- 
is explained to us as being due to profound 
considerations. Similarly profound considera- 
tions are given for his retreat from Smolensk 
to Orsha. Then his heroism at Krasnoe is de- 
scribed, where he is reported to have been 
prepared to accept battle and take personal 



BOOK FOURTEEN 



611 



command, and to have walked about with a 
birch stick and said: 

"J'ai assez fait I'empereur; il est temps de 
faire le general" * but nevertheless immedi- 
ately ran away again, abandoning to its fate 
the scattered fragments of the army he left 
behind. 

Then we are told of the greatness of soul 
of the marshals, especially of Ney a greatness 
of soul consisting in this: that he made his way 
by night around through the forest and across 
the Dnieper and escaped to Orsha, abandon- 
ing standards, artillery, and nine tenths of his 
men. 

And lastly, the final departure of the great 
Emperor from his heroic army is presented to 
us by the historians as something great and 
characteristic of genius. Even that final run- 
ning away, described in ordinary language as 
the lowest depth of baseness which every child 
is taught to be ashamed of even that act finds 
justification in the historians' language. 

When it is impossible to stretch the very 
elastic threads of historical ratiocination any 
farther, when actions are clearly contrary to 
all that humanity calls right or even just, the 
historians produce a saving conception of 
"greatness." "Greatness," it seems, excludes the 
standards of right and wrong. For the "great" 
man nothing is wrong, there is no atrocity for 
which a "great" man can be blamed. 

"C'est grand!" 2 say the historians, and 
there no longer exists either good or evil but 
only "grand" and "not grand." Grand is good, 
not grand is bad. Grand is the characteristic, in 
their conception, of some special animals 
called "heroes. "And Napoleon, escaping home 
in a warm fur coat and leaving to perish those 
who were not merely his comrades but were 
(in his opinion) men he had brought there, 
feels que c'est grand, 9 and his soul is tran- 
quil. 

"Du sublime (he saw something sublime in 
himseff) au ridicule il n'y a qu'un pas" * said 
he. And the whole world for fifty years has 
been repeating: "Sublime! Grand! Napoleon 
le Grand!" Du sublime au ridicule il n'y a 
qu'un pas. 

And it occurs to no one that to admit a 
greatness not commensurable with the stand- 
ard of right and wrong is merely to admit 

1 "I have acted the Emperor long enough; it is 
time to act the general." 

"It is great!" 

8 That it is great. 

4 "From the sublime to the ridiculous is but a 
step." 



one's own nothingness and immeasurable 
meanness. 

For us with the standard of good and evil 
given us by Christ, no human actions are in- 
commensurable. And there is no greatness 
where simplicity, goodness, and truth are ab- 
sent. 

CHAPTER XIX 

WHAT RUSSIAN, reading the account of the last 
part of the campaign of 1812, has not experi- 
enced an uncomfortable feeling of regret, dis- 
satisfaction, and perplexity? Who has not 
asked himself how it is that the French were 
not all captured or destroyed when our three 
armies surrounded them in superior numbers, 
when the disordered French, hungry and 
freezing, surrendered in crowds, and when (as 
the historians relate) the aim of the Russians 
was to stop the French, to cut them off, and 
capture them all? 

How was it that the Russian army, which 
when numerically weaker than the French had 
given battle at Borodin6, did not achieve its 
purpose when it had surrounded the French 
on three sides and when its aim was to cap- 
ture them? Can the French be so enormously 
superior to us that when we had surrounded 
them with superior forces we could not beat 
them? How could that happen? 

History (or what is called by that name) re- 
plying to these questions says that this oc- 
curred because Kutuzov and Tormdsov and 
Chichag6v, and this man and that man, did 
not execute such and such maneuvers. . . . 

But why did they not execute those maneu- 
vers? And why if they were guilty of not carry- 
ing out a prearranged plan were they not tried 
and punished? But even if we admitted that 
Kutuzov, Chichag6v, and others were the cause 
of the Russian failures, it is still incomprehen- 
sible why, the position of the Russian army 
being what it was at Kr&moe and at the Bere- 
zina (in both cases we had superior forces), 
the French army with its marshals, kings, and 
Emperor was not captured, if that was what 
the Russians aimed at. 

The explanation of this strange fact given 
by Russian military historians (to the effect 
that Kutiizov hindered an attack) is unfound- 
ed, for we know that he could not restrain the 
troops from attacking at Vyazma and Taru- 
tino. 

Why was the Russian army which with in- 
ferior forces had withstood the enemy in full 
strength at Borodin6 defeated at Krdsnoeand 



612 



WAR AND PEACE 



the Berezina by the disorganized crowds of the 
French when it was numerically superior? 

If the aim of the Russians consisted in cut- 
ting off and capturing Napoleon and his mar- 
shalsand that aim was not merely frustrated 
but all attempts to attain it were most shame- 
fully baffledthen this last period of the cam- 
paign is quite rightly considered by the French 
to be a series of victories, and quite wrongly 
considered victorious by Russian historians. 

The Russian military historians in so far 
as they submit to claims of logic must admit 
that conclusion, and in spite of their lyrical 
rhapsodies about valor, devotion, and so forth, 
must reluctantly admit that the French retreat 
from Moscow was a series of victories for Na- 
poleon and defeats for Kutuzov. 

But putting national vanity entirely aside 
one feels that such a conclusion involves a con- 
tradiction, since the series of French victories 
brought the French complete destruction, while 
the series of Russian defeats led to the total 
destruction of their enemy and the liberation 
of their country. 

The source of this contradiction lies in the 
fact that the historians studying the events 
from the letters of the sovereigns and the gen- 
erals, from memoirs, reports, projects, and so 
forth, have attributed to this last period of the 
war of 1812 an aim that never existed, namely 
that of cutting off and capturing Napoleon 
with his marshals and his army. 

There never was or could have been such 
an aim, for it would have been senseless and 
its attainment quite impossible. 

It would have been senseless, first because 
Napoleon's disorganized army was flying from 
Russia with all possible speed, that is to say, 
was doing just what every Russian desired. So 
what was the use of performing various opera- 
tions on the French who were running away 
as fast as they possibly could? 

Secondly, it would have been senseless to 
block the passage of men whose whole energy 
was directed to flight. 

Thirdly, it would have been senseless to 
sacrifice one's own troops in order to destroy 
the French army, which without external in- 
terference was destroying itself at such a rate 
that, though its path was not blocked, it could 
not carry across the frontier more than it 
actually did in December, namely a hundredth 
part of the original army. 

Fourthly, it would have been senseless to 
wish to take captive the Emperor, kings, and 
dukes whose capture would have been in- the 



highest degree embarrassing for the Russians, 
as the most adroit diplomatists of the time 
(Joseph de Maistre and others) recognized. 
Still more senseless would have been the wish 
to capture army corps of the French, when our 
own army had melted away to half before 
reaching Krdsnoe and a whole division would 
have been needed to convoy the corps of 
prisoners, and when our men were not always 
getting full rations and the prisoners already 
taken were perishing of hunger. 

All the profound plans about cutting off 
and capturing Napoleon and his army were 
like the plan of a market gardener who, when 
driving out of his garden a cow that had 
trampled down the beds he had planted, 
should run to the gate and hit the cow on the 
head. The only thing to be said in excuse of 
that gardener would be that he was very 
angry. But not even that could be said for 
those who drew up this project, for it was not 
they who had suffered from the trampled beds. 

But besides the fact that cutting off Na- 
poleon with his army would have been sense- 
less, it was impossible. 

It was impossible first because as experi- 
ence shows that a three-mile movement of 
columns on a battlefield never coincides with 
the plans the probability of Chichag6v, Kut- 
uzov, and Wittgenstein effecting a junction on 
time at an appointed place was so remote as 
to be tantamount to impossibility, as in fact 
thought Kutuzov, who when he received the 
plan remarked that diversions planned over 
great distances do not yield the desired re- 
sults. 

Secondly it was impossible, because to para- 
lyze the momentum with which Napoleon's 
army was retiring, incomparably greater forces 
than the Russians possessed would have been 
required. 

Thirdly it was impossible, because the mili- 
tary term "to cut off" has no meaning. One 
can cut off a slice of bread, but not an army. 
To cut off an army to bar its road is quite 
impossible, for there is always plenty of room 
to avoid capture and there is the night when 
nothing can be seen, as the military scientists 
might convince themselves by the example of 
Krdsnoe and of the Berezina. It is only pos- 
sible to capture prisoners if they agree to be 
captured, just as it is only possible to catch a 
swallow if it settles on one's hand. Men can 
only be taken prisoners if they surrender ac- 
cording to the rules of strategy and tactics, as 
the Germans did. But the French troops quite 



BOOK FOURTEEN 

rightly did not consider that this suited them, 
since death by hunger and cold awaited them 
in flight or captivity alike. 

Fourthly and chiefly it was impossible, be- 
cause never since the world began has a war 
been fought under such conditions as those 
that obtained in 1812, and the Russian army 
in its pursuit of the French strained its strength 
to the utmost and could not have done more 
without destroying itself. 

During the movement of the Russian army 
from Tarutino to Krasnoe it lost fifty thou- 
sand sick or stragglers, that is a number equal 
to the population of a large provincial town. 
Half the men fell out of the army without a 
battle. 

And it is of this period of the campaign- 
when the army lacked boots and sheepskin 
coats, was short of provisions and without 
vodka, and was camping out at night for 
months in the snow with fifteen degrees of 
frost, 1 when there were only seven or eight 
hours of daylight and the rest was night in 
which the influence of discipline cannot be 
maintained, when men were taken into that 
region of death where discipline fails, not for 
a few hours only as in a battle, but for months, 
where they were every moment fighting death 
from hunger and cold, when half the army 
perished in a single monthit is of this period 
of the campaign that the historians tell us how 
Milorddovich should have made a flank march 
to such and such a place, Tormasov to another 
place, and Chichag6v should have crossed 
(more than knee-deep in snow) to somewhere 
else, and how so-and-so "routed" and "cut off" 
the French and so on and so on. 

The Russians, half of whom died, did all 
that could and should have been done to at- 
tain an end worthy of the nation, and they are 
two degrees below zero Fahrenheit. 



6.3 



1 Reaumur 

-TR. 



not to blame because other Russians, sitting 
in warm rooms, proposed that they should do 
what was impossible. 

All that strange contradiction now difficult 
to understand between the facts and the his- 
torical accounts only arises because the his- 
torians dealing with the matter have written 
the history of the beautiful words and senti- 
ments of various generals, and not the history 
of the events. 

To them the words of Milordovich seem 
very interesting, and so do their surmises and 
the rewards this or that general received; but 
the question of those fifty thousand men who 
were left in hospitals and in graves does not 
even interest them, for it does not come with- 
in the range of their investigation. 

Yet one need only discard the study of the 
reports and general plans and consider the 
movement of those hundreds of thousands of 
men who took a direct part in the events, and 
all the questions that seemed insoluble easily 
and simply receive an immediate and certain 
solution. 

The aim of cutting off Napoleon and his 
army never existed except in the imaginations 
of a dozen people. It could not exist because 
it was senseless and unattainable. 

The people had a single aim: to free their 
land from invasion. That aim was attained in 
the first place of itself, as the French ran away, 
and so it was only necessary not to stop their 
flight. Secondly it was attained by the guerrilla 
warfare which was destroying the French, and 
thirdly by the fact that a large Russian army 
was following the French, ready to use its 
strength in case their movement stopped. 

The Russian army had to act like a whip 
to a running animal. And the experienced 
driver knew it was better to hold the whip 
raised as a menace than to strike the running 
animal on the head. 



Book Fifteen: 1812-13 



CHAPTER I 

WHEN SEEING a dying animal a man feels a 
sense of horror: substance similar to his own is 
perishing before his eyes. But when it is a be- 
loved and intimate human being that is dying, 
besides this horror at the extinction of life 
there is a severance, a spiritual wound, which 
like a physical wound is sometimes fatal and 
sometimes heals, but always aches and shrinks 
at any external irritating touch. 

After Prince Andrew's death Natdsha and 
Princess Mary alike felt this. Drooping in spirit 
and closing their eyes before the menacing 
cloud of death that overhung them, they dared 
not look life in the face. They carefully guard- 
ed their open wounds from any rough and 
painful contact. Everything: a carriage pass- 
ing rapidly in the street, a summons to dinner, 
the maid's inquiry what dress to prepare, or 
worse still any word of insincere or feeble 
sympathy, seemed an insult, painfully irritated 
the wound, interrupting that necessary quiet 
in which they both tried to listen to the stern 
and dreadful choir that still resounded in their 
imagination, and hindered their gazing into 
those mysterious limitless vistas that for an in- 
stant had opened out before them. 

Only when alone together were they free 
from such outrage and pain. They spoke little 
even to one another, and when they did it was 
of very unimportant matters. 

Both avoided any allusion to the future. 
To admit the possibility of a future seemed to 
them to insult his memory. Still more carefully 
did they avoid anything relating to him who 
was dead. It seemed to them that what they 
had lived through and experienced could not 
be expressed in words, and that any reference 
to the details of his life infringed the majesty 
and sacredness of the mystery that had been 
accomplished before their eyes. 

Continued abstention from speech, and con- 
stant avoidance of everything that might lead 
up to the subject this halting on all sides at 
the boundary of what they might not mention 



brought before their minds with still greater 
purity and clearness what they were both feel- 
ing. 

But pure and complete sorrow is as impos- 
sible as pure and complete joy. Princess Mary, 
in her position as absolute and independent 
arbiter of her own fate and guardian and in- 
structor of her nephew, was the first to be 
called back to life from that realm of sorrow 
in which she had dwelt for the first fortnight. 
She received letters from her relations to which 
she had to reply; the room in which little 
Nicholas had been put was damp and he be- 
gan to cough; Alpatych came to Yaroslavl with 
reports on the state of their affairs and with 
advice and suggestions that they should return 
to Moscow to the house on the Vozdvfzhenka 
Street, which had remained uninjured and 
needed only slight repairs. Life did not stand 
still and it was necessary to live. Hard as it was 
for Princess Mary to emerge from the realm 
of secluded contemplation in which she had 
lived till then, and sorry and almost ashamed 
as she felt to leave Natasha alone, yet the cares 
of life demanded her attention and she in- 
voluntarily yielded to them. She went through 
the accounts with Alpatych, conferred with 
Dessalles about her nephew, and gave orders 
and made preparations for the journey to 
Moscow. 

Natasha remained alone and, from the time 
Princess Mary began making preparations for 
departure, held aloof from her too. 

Princess Mary asked the countess to let 
Natasha go with her to Moscow, and both par- 
ents gladly accepted this offer, for they saw 
their daughter losing strength every day and 
thought that a change of scene and the advice 
of Moscow doctors would be good for her. 

"I am not going anywhere," Natasha replied 
when this was proposed to her. "Do please just 
leave me alonel" And she ran out of the room, 
with difficulty refraining from tears of vexa- 
tion and irritation rather than of sorrow. 

After she felt herself deserted by Princess 



614 



BOOK FIFTEEN 



615 



Mary and alone in her grief, Natasha spent 
most of the time in her room by herself, sitting 
huddled up feet and all in the corner of the 
sofa, tearing and twisting something with her 
slender nervous fingers and gazing intently and 
fixedly at whatever her eyes chanced to fall on. 
This solitude exhausted and tormented her 
but she was in absolute need of it. As soon as 
anyone entered she got up quickly, changed 
her position and expression, and picked up a 
book or some sewing, evidently waiting im- 
patiently for the intruder to go. 

She felt all the time as if she might at any 
moment penetrate that on whichwith a ter- 
rible questioning too great for her strength 
her spiritual gaze was fixed. 

One day toward the end of December Natd- 
sha, pale and thin, dressed in a black woolen 
gown, her plaited hair negligently twisted into 
a knot, was crouched feet and all in the corner 
of her sofa, nervously crumpling and smooth- 
ing out the end of her sash while she looked 
at a corner of the door. 

She was gazing in the direction in which he 
had gone to the other side of life. And that 
other side of life, of which she had never be- 
fore thought and which had formerly seemed 
to her so far away and improbable, was now 
nearer and more akin and more comprehen- 
sible than this side of life, where everything 
was either emptiness and desolation or suffer- 
ing and indignity. 

She was gazing where she knew him to be; 
but she could not imagine him otherwise than 
as he had been here. She now saw him again as 
he had been at Mytishchi, at Tr6itsa, and at 
Yarosldvl. 

She saw his face, heard his voice, repeated 
his words and her own, and sometimes devised 
other words they might have spoken. 

There he is lying back in an armchair in his 
velvet cloak, leaning his head on his thin pale 
hand. His chest is dreadfully hollow and his 
shoulders raised. His lips are firmly closed, his 
eyes glitter, and a wrinkle comes and goes on 
his pale forehead. One of his legs twitches just 
perceptibly, but rapidly. Natasha knows that 
he is struggling with terrible pain. "What is 
that pain like? Why does he have that pain? 
What does he feel? How does it hurt him?" 
thought Natasha. He noticed her watching 
him, raised his eyes, and began to speak seri- 
ously: 

"One thing would be terrible," said he: "to 
bind oneself forever to a suffering man. It 
would be continual torture." And he looked 



searchingly at her. Natdsha as usual answered 
before she had time to think what she would 
say. She said: "This can't go on it won't. You 
will get well quite well." 

She now saw him from the commencement 
of that scene and relived what she had then 
felt. She recalled his long sad and severe look 
at those words and understood the meaning of 
the rebuke and despair in that protracted gaze. 

"I agreed," Natasha now said to herself, 
"that it would be dreadful if he always con- 
tinued to suffer. I said it then only because it 
would have been dreadful for him, but he 
understood it differently. He thought it would 
be dreadful for me. He then still wished to 
live and feared death. And I said it so awk- 
wardly and stupidly! I did not say what I 
meant. I thought quite differently. Had I said 
what I thought, I should have said: even if he 
had to go on dying, to die continually before 
my eyes, I should have been happy compared 
with what I am now. Now there is nothing . . . 
nobody. Did he know that? No, he did not 
and never will know it. And now it will never, 
never be possible to put it right." And now 
he again seemed to be saying the same words 
to her, only in her imagination Natdsha this 
time gave him a different answer. She stopped 
him and said: "Terrible lor you, but not for 
me! You know that for me there is nothing in 
life but you, and to suffer with you is the great- 
est happiness for me," and he took her hand 
and pressed it as he had pressed it that terrible 
evening four days before his death. And in 
her imagination she said other tender and lov- 
ing words whidi she might have said then but 
only spoke now: "I love theel . . . thee! I love, 
love . . ." she said, convulsively pressing her 
hands and setting her teeth with a desperate 
effort. . . . 

She was overcome by sweet sorrow and tears 
were already rising in her eyes; then she sud- 
denly asked herself to whom she was saying 
this. Again everything was shrouded in hard, 
dry perplexity, and again with a strained frown 
she peered toward the world where he was. 
And now, now it seemed to her she was pene- 
trating the mystery. . . . But at the instant 
when it seemed that the incomprehensible was 
revealing itself to her a loud rattle of the door 
handle struck painfully on her ears. Dunydsha, 
her maid, entered the room quickly and 
abruptly with a frightened look on her face 
and showing no concern for her mistress. 

"Come to your Papa at once, please!" s?id 
she with a strange, excited look. "A misfor- 



6i6 



WAR AND PEACE 



tune . . . about Peter Ilynich ... a letter/' she 
finished with a sob. 

CHAPTER II 

BESIDES A FEELING of aloofness from everybody 
Natdsha was feeling a special estrangement 
from the members of her own family. All of 
them her father, mother, and S6nya were so 
near to her, so familiar, so commonplace, that 
all their words and feelings seemed an insult 
to the world in which she had been living of 
late, and she felt not merely indifferent to them 
but regarded them with hostility. She heard 
Dunydsha's words about Peter Ilynich and a 
misfortune, but did not grasp them. 

"What misfortune? What misfortune can 
happen to them? They just live their own old, 
quiet, and commonplace life," thought Natd- 
sha. 

As she entered the ballroom her father was 
hurriedly coming out of her mother's room. 
His face was puckered up and wet with tears. 
He had evidently run out of that room to give 
vent to the sobs that were choking him. When 
he saw Natdsha he waved his arms despairingly 
and burst into convulsively painful sobs that 
distorted his soft round face. 

"Pe . . . P^tya . . . Go, go, she ... is call- 
ing . . ." and weeping like a child and quickly 
shuffling on his feeble legs to a chair, he almost 
fell into it, covering his face with his hands. 

Suddenly an electric shock seemed to run 
through Natdsha's whole being. Terrible an- 
guish struck her heart, she felt a dreadful ache 
as if something was being torn inside her and 
she were dying. But the pain was immediately 
followed by a feeling of release from the op- 
pressive constraint that had prevented her 
taking part in life. The sight of her father, the 
terribly wild cries of her mother that she heard 
through the door, made her immediately for- 
get herself and her own grief. 

She ran to her father, but he feebly waved 
his arm, pointing to her mother's door. Prin- 
cess Mary, pal&and with quivering chin, came 
out from that room and taking Natdsha by the 
arm said something to her. Natdsha neither 
saw nor heard her. She went in with rapid steps, 
pausing at the door for an instant as if strug- 
gling with herself, and then ran to her mother. 

The countess was lying in an armchair in a 
strange and awkward position, stretching out 
and beating her head against the wall. S6nya 
and the maids were holding her arms. 

"Natasha! Natdsha! . . ." cried the countess. 
"It's not true . . . it's not true . . , He's ly- 



ing . . . Natdsha!" she shrieked, pushing those 
around her away. "Go away, all of you; it's not 
true! Killed! ... ha, ha, ha! ... It's not true!" 

Natdsha put one knee on the armchair, 
stooped over her mother, embraced her, and 
with unexpected strength raised her, turned 
her face toward herself, and clung to her. 

"Mummy! . . . darling! ... I am here, my 
dearest Mummy," she kept on whispering, not 
pausing an instant. 

She did not let go of her mother but strug- 
gled tenderly with her, demanded a pillow and 
hot water, and unfastened and tore open her 
mother's dress. 

"My dearest darling . . . Mummy, my pre- 
cious! . . ." she whispered incessantly, kissing 
her head, her hands, her face, and feeling her 
own irrepressible and streaming tears tickling 
her nose and cheeks. 

The countess pressed her daughter's hand, 
closed her eyes, and became quiet for a mo- 
ment. Suddenly she sat up with unaccustomed 
swiftness, glanced vacantly around her, and 
seeing Natdsha began to press her daughter's 
head with all her strength. Then she turned 
toward her daughter's face which was wincing 
with pain and gazed long at it. 

"Natdsha, you love me?" she said in a soft 
trustful whisper. "Natdsha, you would not de- 
ceive me? You'll tell me the whole truth?" 

Natdsha looked at her with eyes full of tears 
and in her look there was nothing but love and 
an entreaty for forgiveness. 

"My darling Mummy 1" she repeated, strain- 
ing all the power of her love to find some way 
of taking on herself the excess of grief that 
crushed her mother. 

And again in a futile struggle with reality 
her mother, refusing to believe that she could 
live when her beloved boy was killed in the 
bloom of life, escaped from reality into a 
world of delirium. 

Natdsha did not remember how that day 
passed nor that night, nor the next day and 
night. She did not sleep and did not leave her 
mother. Her persevering and patient love 
seemed completely to surround the countess 
every moment, not explaining or consoling, 
but recalling her to life. 

During the third night the countess kept 
very quiet for a few minutes, and Natdsha 
rested her head on the arm of her chair and 
closed her eyes, but opened them again on 
hearing the bedstead creak. The countess was 
sitting up in bed and speaking softly. 

"How glad I am you have come. You are 



BOOK FIFTEEN 

tired. Won't you have some tea?" Natasha 
went up to her. "You have improved in looks 
and grown more manly/' continued the count- 
ess, taking her daughter's hand. 

"Mammal What are you saying? . . ." 
"Natdsha, he is no more, no more!" 
And embracing her daughter, the countess 
began to weep for the first time. 



617 



CHAPTER III 

PRINCESS MARY postponed her departure. S6nya 
and the count tried to replace Natdsha but 
could not. They saw that she alone was able to 
restrain her mother from unreasoning despair. 
For three weeks Natdsha remained constantly 
at her mother's side, sleepingon a lounge chair 
in her room, making her eat and drink, and 
talking to her incessantly because the mere 
sound of her tender, caressing tones soothed 
her mother. 

The mother's wounded spirit could not heal. 
Petya's death had torn from her half her life. 
When the news of Pdtya's death had come she 
had been a fresh and vigorous woman of fifty, 
but a month later she left her room a listless 
old woman taking no interest in life. But the 
same blow that almost killed the countess, this 
second blow, restored Natasha to life. 

A spiritual wound produced by a rending of 
the spiritual body is like a physical wound 
and, strange as it. may seem, just as a deep 
wound may heal and its edges join, physical 
and spiritual wounds alike can yet heal com- 
pletely only as the result of a vital force from 
within. 

Natasha's wound healed in that way. She 
thought her life was ended, but her love for her 
mother unexpectedly showed her that the es- 
sence of life love was still active within her. 
Love awoke and so did life. 

Prince Andrew's last days had bound Prin- 
cess Mary and Natasha together; this new sor- 
row brought them still closer to one another. 
Princess Mary put off her departure, and for 
three weeks looked after Natdsha as if she had 
been a sick child. The last weeks passed in her 
mother's bedroom had strained Natdsha's phys- 
ical strength. 

One afternoon noticing Natasha shivering 
with fever, Princess Mary took her to her own 
room and made her lie down on the bed. Nata- 
sha lay down, but when Princess Mary had 
drawn the blinds and was going away she called 
her back. 

"I don't want to sleep, Mary, sit by me a 
little." 



"You are tiredtry to sleep." 

"No, no. Why did you bring me away? She 
will be asking for me." 

"She is much better. She spoke so well to- 
day," said Princess Mary. 

Natdsha lay on the bed and in the semidark- 
ness of the room scanned Princess Mary's face. 

"Is she like him?" thought Natdsha. "Yes, 
like and yet not like. But she is quite original, 
strange, new, and unknown. And she loves me. 
What is in her heart? All that is good. But 
how? What is her mind like? What does she 
think about me? Yes, she is splendid!" 

"Mary," she said timidly, drawing Princess 
Mary's hand to herself, "Mary, you mustn't 
think me wicked. No? Mary darling, how I love 
you! Let us be quite, quite friends." 

And Natdsha, embracing her, began kissing 
her face and hands, making Princess Mary feel 
shy but happy by this demonstration of her 
feelings. 

From that day a tender and passionate friend- 
ship such as exists only between women was 
established between Princess Mary and Nata- 
sha. They were continually kissing and saying 
tender things to one another and spent most 
of their time together. When one went out the 
other became restless and hastened to rejoin 
her. Together they felt more in harmony with 
one another than either of them felt with her- 
self when alone. A feeling stronger than friend- 
ship sprang up between them; an exclusive 
feeling of life being possible only in each 
other's presence. 

Sometimes they were silent for hours; some- 
times after they were already in bed they would 
begin talking and go on till morning. They 
spoke most of what was long past. Princess 
Mary spoke of her childhood, of her mother, 
her father, and her daydreams; and Natdsha, 
who with a passive lack of understanding had 
formerly turned away from that life of devo- 
tion, submission, and the poetry of Christian 
self-sacrifice, now feeling herself bound to 
Princess Mary by affection, learned to love her 
past too and to understand a side of life pre- 
viously incomprehensible to her. She did not 
think of applying submission and self-abnega- 
tion to her own life, for she was accustomed to 
seek other joys, but she understood and loved 
in another those previously incomprehensible 
virtues. For Princess Mary, listening to Natd- 
sha's tales of childhood and early youth, there 
also opened out a new and hitherto uncom- 
prehended side of life: belief in life and its 
enjoyment. 



6i8 



WAR AND PEACE 



Just as before, they never mentioned him 
so as not to lower (as they thought) their 
exalted feelings by words; but this silence about 
him had the effect of making them gradually 
begin to forget him without being conscious 
of it. 

Natasha had grown thin and pale and phys- 
ically so weak that they all talked about her 
health, and this pleased her. But sometimes 
she was suddenly overcome by fear not only of 
death but of sickness, weakness, and loss of 
good looks, and involuntarily she examined 
her bare arm carefully, surprised at its thin- 
ness, and in the morning noticed her drawn 
and, as it seemed to her, piteous face in her 
glass. It seemed to her that things must be so, 
and yet it was dreadfully sad. 

One day she went quickly upstairs and 
found herself out of breath. Unconsciously 
she immediately invented a reason for going 
down, and then, testing her strength, ran up- 
stairs again, observing the result. 

Another time when she called Dunyasha her 
voice trembled, so she called again though 
she could hear Dunydsha coming called her 
in the deep chest tones in which she had been 
wont to sing, and listened attentively to herself. 

She did not know and would not have be- 
lieved it, but beneath the layer of slime that 
covered her soul and seemed to her impene- 
trable, delicate young shoots of grass were al- 
ready sprouting, which taking root would so 
cover with their living verdure the grief that 
weighed her down that it would soon no 
longer be seen or noticed. The wound had be- 
gun to heal from within. 

At the end of January Princess Mary left for 
Moscow, and the count insisted on Natasha's 
going with her to consult the doctors. 

CHAPTER IV 

AFTER THE ENCOUNTER at Vyazma, where Kutii- 
zov had been unable to hold back his troops in 
their anxiety to overwhelm and cut off the 
enemy and so on, the farther movement of the 
fleeing French, and of the Russians who pur- 
sued them, continued as far as Krdsnoe with- 
out a battle. The flight was so rapid that the 
Russian army pursuing the French could not 
keep up with them; cavalry and artillery 
horses broke down, and the information re- 
ceived of the movements of the French was 
never reliable. 

The men in the Russian army were so 
worn out by this continuous marching at the 
rate of twenty-seven miles a day that they 



could not go any faster. 

To realize the degree of exhaustion of the 
Russian army it is only necessary to grasp 
clearly the meaning of the fact that, while 
not losing more than five thousand killed and 
wounded after Tarutino and less than a hun- 
dred prisoners, the Russian army which left 
that place a hundred thousand strong reached 
Krdsnoe with only fifty thousand. 

The rapidity of the Russian pursuit was just 
as destructive to our army as the flight of the 
French was to theirs. The only difference was 
that the Russian army moved voluntarily, with 
no such threat of destruction as hung over the 
French, and that the sick Frenchmen were left 
behind in enemy hands while the sick Russians 
left behind were among their own people. The 
chief cause of the wastage of Napoleon's army 
was the rapidity of its movement, and a con- 
vincing proof of this is the corresponding de- 
crease of the Russian army. 

Kutiizov as far as was in his power, instead 
of trying to check the movement of the French 
as was desired in Petersburg and by the Russian 
army generals, directed his whole activity here, 
as he had done at Tarutino and Vydzma, to 
hastening it on while easing the movement of 
our army. 

But besides this, since the exhaustion and 
enormous diminution of the army caused by 
the rapidity of the advance had become evi- 
dent, another reason for slackening the pace 
and delaying presented itself to Kutiizov. The 
aim of the Russian army was to pursue the 
French. The road the French would take was 
unknown, and so the closer our troops trod on 
their heels the greater distance they had to 
cover. Only by following at some distance 
could one cut across the zigzag path of the 
French. All the artful maneuvers suggested by 
our generals meant fresh movements of the 
army and a lengthening of its marches, where- 
as the only reasonable aim was to shorten those 
marches. To that end Kutiizov's activity was 
directed during the whole campaign from Mos- 
cow to Vilna not casually or intermittently 
but so consistently that he never once deviated 
from it. 

Kutiizov felt and knew not by reasoning or 
science but with the whole of his Russian be- 
ingwhat every Russian soldier felt: that the 
French were beaten, that the enemy was flying 
and must be driven out; but at the same time 
he like the soldiers realized all the hardship of 
this march, the rapidity of which was unparal- 
leled for such a time of year. 



BOOK FIFTEEN 



619 



But to the generals, especially the foreign 
ones in the Russian army, who wished to dis- 
tinguish themselves, to astonish somebody, 
and for some reason to capture a king or a 
duke it seemed that now when any battle 
must be horrible and senseless was the very 
time to fight and conquer somebody. Kutuzov 
merely shrugged his shoulders when one after 
another they presented projects of maneuvers 
to be made with those soldiers ill-shod, in- 
sufficiently clad, and half starved who within 
a month and without fighting a battle had 
dwindled to half their number, and who at 
the best if the flight continued would have to 
go a greater distance than that they had already 
traversed, before they reached the frontier. 

This longing to distinguish themselves, to 
maneuver, to overthrow, and to cut off showed 
itself particularly whenever the Russians stum- 
bled on the French army. 

So it was at Krasnoe, where they expected to 
find one of the three French columns and 
stumbled instead on Napoleon himself with 
sixteen thousand men. Despite all Kutuzov's 
efforts to avoid that ruinous encounter and to 
preserve his troops, the massacre of the broken 
mob of French soldiers by worn-out Russians 
continued at Krasnoe for three days. 

Toll wrote a disposition: "The first column 
will march to so and so," etc. And as usual 
nothing happened in accord with the disposi- 
tion. Prince Eugene of Wiirttemberg fired 
from a hill over the French crowds that were 
running past, and demanded reinforcements 
which did not arrive. The French, avoiding 
the Russians, dispersed and hid themselves in 
the forest by night, making their way round 
as best they could, and continued their flight. 

Miloradovich, who said he did not want to 
know anything about the commissariat affairs 
of his detachment, and could never be found 
when he was wanted that chevalier sans peur 
et sans reproche 1 as he styled himself who 
was fond of parleys with the French, sent en- 
voys demanding their surrender, wasted time, 
and did not do what he was ordered to do. 

"I give you that column, lads," he said, rid- 
ing up to the troops and pointing out the 
French to the cavalry. 

And the cavalry, with spurs and sabers urg- 
ing on horses that could scarcely move, trotted 
with much effort to the column presented to 
them that is to say, to a crowd of Frenchmen 
stark with cold, frost-bitten, and starving and 
the column that had been presented to them 

1 Knight without fear and without reproach. 



threw down its arms and surrendered as it had 
long been anxious to do. 

At Krasnoe they took twenty-six thousand 
prisoners, several hundred cannon, and a stick 
called a "marshal's staff," and disputed as 
to who had distinguished himself and were 
pleased with their achievement though they 
much regretted not having taken Napoleon, 
or at least a marshal or a hero of some sort, 
and reproached one another and especially 
Kutuzov for having failed to do so. 

These men, carried away by their passions, 
were but blind tools of the most melancholy 
law of necessity, but considered themselves 
heroes and imagined that they were accom- 
plishing a most noble and honorable deed. 
They blamed Kutuzov and said that from the 
very beginning of the campaign he had pre- 
vented their vanquishing Napoleon, that he 
thought of nothing but satisfying his passions 
and would not advance from the Linen Fac- 
tories because he was comfortable there, that 
at Krasnoe he checked the advance because 
on learning that Napoleon was there he had 
quite lost his head, and that it was probable 
that he had an understanding with Napoleon 
and had been bribed by him," and so on, and 
so on. 

Not only did his contemporaries, carried 
away by their passions, talk in this way, but 
posterity and history have acclaimed Napoleon 
as grand, while Kutuzov is described by for- 
eigners as a crafty, dissolute, weak old courtier, 
and by Russians as something indefinite a 
sort of puppet useful only because he had a 
Russian name. 

CHAPTER V 

IN 1812 and 1813 Kutuzov was openly accused 
of blundering. The Emperor was dissatisfied 
with him. And in a history recently written by 
order of the Highest Authorities it is said that 
Kutuzov was a cunning court liar, frightened 
of the name of Napoleon, and that by his 
blunders at Krasnoe and the Berezina he de- 
prived the Russian army of the glory of com- 
plete victory over the French. 8 

Such is the fate not of great men (grands 
hommes) whom the Russian mind does not 
acknowledge, but of those rare and always soli- 

Wilson's Diary. L. TOLSTOY. Sir Robert 
Thomas Wilson was British military commissioner 
at the Russian headquarters in 1812-14. TR. 

* History of the year 1812. The character of 
Kutuzov and reflections on the unsatisfactory re- 
sults of the battles at Krdsnoe, by Bogdanovich. 
L. TOLSTOY. 



620 



WAR AND PEACE 



tary individuals who, discerning the will of 
Providence, submit their personal will to it. 
The hatred and contempt of the crowd punish 
such men for discerning the higher laws. 

For Russian historians, strange and terrible 
to say, Napoleon that most insignificant tool 
of history who never anywhere, even in exile, 
showed human dignity Napoleon is the ob- 
ject of adulation and enthusiasm; he is grand. 
But Kutiizov the man who from the begin- 
ning to the end of his activity in 1812, never 
once swerving by word or deed from Borodin6 
to Vilna, presented an example exceptional in 
history of self-sacrifice and a present conscious- 
ness of the future importance of what was 
happening Kutiizov seems to them something 
indefinite and pitiful, and when speaking of 
him and of the year 1812 they always seem a 
little ashamed. 

And yet it is difficult to imagine an histori- 
cal character whose activity was so unswerv- 
ingly directed to a single aim; and it would be 
difficult to imagine any aim more worthy or 
more consonant with the will of the whole 
people. Still more difficult would it be to find 
an instance in history of the aim of an his- 
torical personage being so completely accom- 
plished as that to which all Kutiizov's efforts 
were directed in 1812. 

Kutiizov never talked of "forty centuries 
looking down from the Pyramids," of the sac- 
rifices he offered for the fatherland, or of 
what he intended to accomplish or had ac- 
complished; in general he said nothing about 
himself, adopted no prose, always appeared to 
be the simplest and most ordinary of men, and 
said the simplest and most ordinary things. 
He wrote letters to his daughters and to Ma- 
dame de Stael, read novels, liked the society of 
pretty women, jested with generals, officers, and 
soldiers, and never contradicted those who 
tried to prove anything to him. When Count 
Rostopchin at the Yaiiza bridge galloped up to 
Kutiizov with personal reproaches for having 
caused the destruction of Moscow, and said: 
"How was it you promised not to abandon 
Moscow without a battle?" Kutiizov replied: 
"And I shall not abandon Moscow without a 
battle," though Moscow was then already aban- 
doned. When Arakch^ev, coming to him from 
the Emperor, said that Erm61ov ought to be 
appointed chief of the artillery, Kutiizov re- 
plied: "Yes, I was justsayingso myself," though 
a moment before he had said quite the con- 
trary. What did it matter to him who then 
alone amid a senseless crowd understood the 



whole tremendous significance of what was 
happening what did it matter to him whether 
Rostopchin attributed the calamities of Mos- 
cow to him or to himself? Still less could it 
matter to him who was appointed chief of the 
artillery. 

Not merely in these cases but continually 
did that old man who by experience of life 
had reached the conviction that thoughts and 
the words serving as their expression are not 
what move people use quite meaningless 
words that happened to enter his head. 

But that man, so heedless of his words, did 
not once during the whole time of his activity 
utter one word inconsistent with the single 
aim toward which he moved throughout the 
whole war. Obviously in spite of himself, in 
very diverse circumstances, he repeatedly ex- 
pressed his real thoughts with the bitter con- 
viction that he would not be understood. Be- 
ginning with the battle of Borodin6, from 
which time his disagreement with those about 
him began, he alone said that the battle of 
Borodind was a victory, and repeated this 
both verbally and in his dispatches and re- 
ports up to the time of his death. He alone 
said that the loss of Moscow is not the loss of 
Russia. In reply to Lauriston's proposal of 
peace, he said: There can be no peace, for such 
is the people's will. He alone during the re- 
treat of the French said that all our maneuvers 
are useless, everything is being accomplished 
of itself better than we could desire; that the 
enemy must be offered "a golden bridge"; that 
neither the Tarutino, the Vyazma, nor the 
Krdsnoe battles were necessary; that we must 
keep some force to reach the frontier with, 
and that he would not sacrifice a single Rus- 
sian for ten Frenchmen. 

And this courtier, as he is described to us, 
who lies to Arakchdev to please the Emperor, 
he alone incurring thereby the Emperor's 
displeasure said in Vflna that to carry the 
war beyond the frontier is useless and harm- 
ful. 

Nor do words alone prove that only he 
understood the meaning of the events. His 
actions without the smallest deviation were 
all directed to one and the same threefold end: 
(i) to brace all his strength for conflict with 
the French, (2) to defeat them, and (3) to drive 
them out of Russia, minimizing as far as pos- 
sible the sufferings of our people and of our 
army. 

This procrastinator Kutiizov, whose motto 
was "Patience and Time," this enemy of de- 



BOOK FIFTEEN 



621 



cisive action, gave battle at Borodin6, invest- 
ing the preparations for it with unparalleled 
solemnity. This Kuttizov who before the battle 
of Austerlitz began said that it would be lost, 
he alone, in contradiction to everyone else, de- 
clared till his death that Borodin6 was a vic- 
tory, despite the assurance of generals that 
the battle was lost and despite the fact that 
for an army to have to retire after winning 
a battle was unprecedented. He alone during 
the whole retreat insisted that battles, which 
were useless then, should not be fought, and 
that a new war should not be begun nor the 
frontiers of Russia crossed. 

It is easy now to understand the significance 
of these events if only we abstain from at- 
tributing to the activity of the mass aims that 
existed only in the heads of a dozen individuals 
for the events and their results now lie be- 
fore us. 

But how did that old man, alone, in opposi- 
tion to the general opinion, so truly discern 
the importance of the people's view of the 
events that in all his activity he was never 
once untrue to it? 

The source of that extraordinary power of 
penetrating the meaning of the events then 
occuring lay in the national feeling which he 
possessed in full purity and strength. 

Only the recognition of the fact that he pos- 
sessed this feeling caused the people in so 
strange a manner, contrary to the Tsar's wish, 
to select him an old man in disfavor to be 
their representative in the national war. And 
only that feeling placed him on that highest 
human pedestal from which he, the command- 
er in chief, devoted all his powers not to slay- 
ing and destroying men but to saving and 
showing pity on them. 

That simple, modest, and therefore truly 
great, figure could not be cast in the false 
mold of a European hero the supposed ruler 
of men that history has invented. 

To a lackey no man can be great, for a 
lackey has his own conception of greatness. 

CHAPTER VI 

THE FIFTH OF NOVEMBER was the first day of 
what is called the battle of Krasnoe. Toward 
evening after much disputing and many mis- 
takes made by generals who did not go to 
their proper places, and after adjutants had 
been sent about with counterorders when it 
had become plain that the enemy was every- 
where in flight and that there could and would 
be no battle, Kutuzov left Krdsnoe and went 



to D6broe whither his headquarters had that 
day been transferred. 

The day was clear and frosty. Kutuzov rode 
to Dobroe on his plump little white horse, fol- 
lowed by an enormous suite of discontented 
generals who whispered among themselves be- 
hind his back. All along the road groups of 
French prisoners captured that day (there 
were seven thousand of them) were crowding 
to warm themselves at campfires. Near D6broe 
an immense crowd of tattered prisoners, buzz- 
ing with talk and wrapped and bandaged in 
anything they had been able to get hold of, 
were standing in the road beside a long row 
of unharnessed French guns. At the approach 
of the commander in chief the buzz of talk 
ceased and all eyes were fixed on Kutuzov 
who, wearing a white cap with a red band and 
a padded overcoat that bulged on his round 
shoulders, moved slowly along the road on his 
white horse. One of the generals was reporting 
to him where the guns and prisoners had been 
captured. 

Kutuzov seemed preoccupied and did not 
listen to what the general was saying. He 
screwed up his eyes with a dissatisfied look as 
he gazed attentively and fixedly at these prison- 
ers, who presented a specially wretched ap- 
pearance. Most of them were disfigured by 
frost-bitten noses and cheeks, and nearly all 
had red, swollen, and festering eyes. 

One group of the French stood close to the 
road, and two of them, one of whom had his 
face covered with sores, were tearing a piece 
of raw flesh with their hands. There was some- 
thing horrible and bestial in the fleeting glance 
they threw at the riders and in the malevolent 
expression with which, after a glance at Kutu- 
zov, the soldier with the sores immediately 
turned away and went on with what he was 
doing. 

Kutuzov looked long and intently at these 
two soldiers. He puckered his face, screwed 
up his eyes, and pensively swayed his head. At 
another spot he noticed a Russian soldier 
laughingly patting a Frenchman on the 
shoulder, saying something to him in a friendly 
manner, and Kutuzov with the same expres- 
sion on his face again swayed his head. 

"What were you saying?" he asked the gen- 
eral, who continuing his report directed the 
commander in chief's attention to some stand- 
ards captured from the French and standing 
in front of the Preobrazh^nsk regiment. 

"Ah, the standards! "said Kutiizov, evidently 
detaching himself with difficulty from the 



622 



WAR AND PEACE 



thoughts that preoccupied him. 

He looked about him absently. Thousands of 
eyes were looking at him from all sides await- 
ing a word from him. 

He stopped in front of the Preobrazh^nsk 
regiment, sighed deeply, and closed his eyes. 
One of his suite beckoned to the soldiers carry- 
ing the standards to advance and surround the 
commander in chief with them. Kutuzov was 
silent for a few seconds and then, submitting 
with evident reluctance to the duty imposed 
by his position, raised his head and began to 
speak. A throng of officers surrounded him. He 
looked attentively around at the circle of 
officers, recognizing several of them. 

"I thank you all!" he said, addressing the 
soldiers and then again the officers. In the still- 
ness around him his slowly uttered words were 
distinctly heard. "I thank you all for your hard 
and faithful service. The victory is complete 
and Russia will not forget you! Honor to you 
forever." 

He paused and looked round. 

"Lower its head, lower it!" he said to a 
soldier who had accidentally lowered the 
French eagle he was holding before the Pre- 
obrazhensk standards. "Lower, lower, that's it. 
Hurrah, lads!" he added, addressing the men 
with a rapid movement of his chin. 

"Hur-r-rahl" roared thousands of voices. 

While the soldiers were shouting Kutuzov 
leaned forward in his saddle and bowed his 
head, and his eye lit up with a mild and ap- 
parently ironic gleam. 

"You see, brothers . . ." said he when the 
shouts had ceased . . . and all at once his voice 
and the expression of his face changed. It was 
no longer the commander in chief speaking 
but an ordinary old man who wanted to tell 
his comrades something very important. 

There was a stir among the throng of officers 
and in the ranks of the soldiers, who moved 
that they might hear better what he was going 
to say. 

"You see, brothers, I know it's hard for you, 
but it can't be helped! Bear up; it won't be 
for long now! We'll see our visitors off and 
then we'll rest. The Tsar won't forget your 
service. It is hard for you, but still you are at 
home while they you see what they have come 
to," said he, pointing to the prisoners. "Worse 
off than our poorest beggars. While they were 
strong we didn't spare ourselves, but now we 
may even pity them. They are human beings 
too. Isn't it so, lads?" 

He looked around, and in the direct, re- 



spectful, wondering gaze fixed upon him he 
read sympathy with what he had said. His face 
grew brighter and brighter with an old man's 
mild smile, which drew the corners of his lips 
and eyes into a cluster of wrinkles. He ceased 
speaking and bowed his head as if in per- 
plexity. 

"But after all who asked them here? Serves 
them right, the bloody bastards!" he cried, sud- 
denly lifting his head. 

And flourishing his whip he rode off at a 
gallop for the first time during the whole 
campaign, and left the broken ranks of the 
soldiers laughing joyfully and shouting "Hur- 
rah!" 

Kutuzov's words were hardly understood by 
the troops. No one could have repeated the 
field marshal's address, begun solemnly and 
then changing into an old man's simplehearted 
talk; but the hearty sincerity of that speech, 
the feeling of majestic triumph combined with 
pity for the foe and consciousness of the justice 
of our cause, exactly expressed by that old 
man's good-natured expletives, was not merely 
understood but lay in the soul of every soldier 
and found expression in their joyous and 
long-sustained shouts. Afterwards when one 
of the generals addressed Kutuzov asking 
whether he wished his caliche to be sent for, 
Kutuzov in answering unexpectedly gave a 
sob, being evidently greatly moved. 

CHAPTER VII 

WHEN THE TROOPS reached their night's halt- 
ing place on the eighth of November, the last 
day of the Krdsnoe battles, it was already grow- 
ing dusk. All day it had been calm and frosty 
with occasional lightly falling snow and to- 
ward evening it began to clear. Through the 
falling snow a purple-black and starry sky 
showed itself and the frost grew keener. 

An infantry regiment which had left Taru- 
tino three thousand strong but now numbered 
only nine hundred was one of the first to 
arrive that night at its halting place a village 
on the highroad. The quartermasters who 
met the regiment announced that all the huts 
were full of sick and dead Frenchmen, cavalry- 
men, and members of the staff. There was on- 
ly one hut available for the regimental com- 
mander. 

The commander rode up to his hut. The 
regiment passed through the village and 
stacked its arms in front of the last huts. 

Like some huge many-limbed animal, the 
regiment began to prepare its lair and its food. 



BOOK FIFTEEN 



623 



One part of it dispersed and waded knee-deep 
through the snow into a birch forest to the 
right of the village, and immediately the sound 
of axes and swords, the crashing of branches, 
and merry voices could be heard from there. 
Another section amid the regimental wagons 
and horses which were standing in a group was 
busy getting out caldrons and rye biscuit, and 
feeding the horses. A third section scattered 
through the village arranging quarters for the 
staff officers, carrying out the French corpses 
that were in the huts, and dragging away 
boards, dry wood, and thatch from the roofs, 
for the campfires, or wattle fences to serve for 
shelter. 

Some fifteen men with merry shouts were 
shaking down the high wattle wall of a shed, 
the roof of which had already been removed. 

"Now then, all togethershovel" cried the 
voices, and the huge surface of the wall, 
sprinkled with snow and creaking with frost, 
was seen swaying in the gloom of the night. 
The lower stakes cracked more and more and 
at last the wall fell, and with it the men who 
had been pushing it. Loud, coarse laughter 
and joyous shouts ensued. 

"Now then, catch hold in twosl Hand up 
the lever 1 That's it. ... Where are you shoving 
to?" 

"Now, all together! But wait a moment, 
boys . . . With a song!" 

All stood silent, and a soft, pleasant velvety 
voice began to sing. At the end of the third 
verse as the last note died away, twenty voices 
roared out at once: "Oo-oo-oo-oo! That's it. 
All together! Heave away, boys! . . ." but de- 
spite their united efforts the wattle hardly 
moved, and in the silence that followed the 
heavy breathing of the men was audible. 

"Here, you of the Sixth Company! Devils 
that you are! Lend a hand . . . will you? You 
may want us one of these days." 

Some twenty men of the Sixth Company 
who were on their way into the village joined 
the haulers, and the wattle wall, which was 
about thirty-five feet long and seven feet high, 
moved forward along the village street, sway- 
ing, pressing upon and cutting the shoulders 
of the gasping men. 

"Get along . . . Falling? What are you stop- 
ping for? There now. ..." 

Merry senseless words of abuse flowed freely. 

"What are you up to?" suddenly came the 
authoritative voice of a sergeant major who 
came upon the men who were hauling their 
burden. "There are gentry here; the general 



himself is in that hut, and you foul-mouthed 
devils, you brutes, I'll give it to youl" shouted 
he, hitting the first man who came in his way 
a swinging blow on the back. "Can't you make 
less noise?" 

The men became silent. The soldier who 
had been struck groaned and wiped his face, 
which had been scratched till it bled by his 
falling against the wattle. 

"There, how that devil hits out! He's made 
my face all bloody," said he in a frightened 
whisper when the sergeant major had passed 
on. 

"Don't you like it?" said a laughing voice, 
and moderating their tones the men moved 
forward. 

When they were out of the village they be- 
gan talking again as loud as before, interlard- 
ing their talk with the same aimless exple- 
tives. 

In the hut which the men had passed, the 
chief officers had gathered and were in ani- 
mated talk over their tea about the events of 
the day and the maneuvers suggested for to- 
morrow. It was proposed to make a flank 
march to the left, cut off the Vice-King (Murat) 
and capture him. 

By the time the soldiers had dragged the 
wattle fence to its place the campfires were 
blazing on all sides ready for cooking, the 
wood crackled, the snow was melting, and 
black shadows of soldiers flitted to and fro all 
over the occupied space where the snow had 
been trodden down. 

Axes and choppers were plied all around. 
Everything was done without any orders be- 
ing given. Stores of wood were brought for 
the night, shelters were rigged up for the 
officers, caldrons were being boiled, and mus- 
kets and accouterments put in order. 

The wattle wall the men had brought was 
set up in a semicircle by the Eighth Company 
as a shelter from the north, propped up by 
musket rests, and a campfire was built before 
it. They beat the tattoo, called the roll, had 
supper, and settled down round the fires for 
the night some repairing their footgear, some 
smoking pipes, and some stripping themselves 
naked to steam the lice out of their shirts. 

CHAPTER VIII 

ONE WOULD HAVE THOUGHT that under the al- 
most incredibly wretched conditions the Rus- 
sian soldiers were in at that timelacking 
warm boots and sheepskin coats, without a 
roof over their heads, in the snow with eighteen 



624 



degrees of frost, 1 and without even full rations 
(the commissariat did not always keep up 
with the troops) they would have presented 
a very sad and depressing spectacle. 

On the contrary, the army had never under 
the best material conditions presented a more 
cheerful and animated aspect. This was be- 
cause all who began to grow depressed or who 
lost strength were sifted out of the army day 
by day. All the physically or morally weak had 
long since been left behind and only the 
flower of the army physically and mentally- 
remained. 

More men collected behind the wattle fence 
of the Eighth Company than anywhere else. 
Two sergeants major were sitting with them 
and their campfire blazed brighter than the 
others. For leave to sit by their wattle they de- 
manded contributions of fuel. 

"Eh, Makdev! What has become of you, you 
Son of a bitch? Are you lost or have the wolves 
eaten you? Fetch some more wood!" shouted 
a red-haired and red-faced man, screwing up 
his eyes and blinking because of the smoke 
but not moving back from the fire. "And you, 
Jackdaw, go and fetch some wood I" said he 
to another soldier. 

This red-haired man was neither a sergeant 
nor a corporal, but being robust he ordered 
about those weaker than himself. The soldier 
they called "Jackdaw," a thin little fellow 
with a sharp nose, rose obediently and was 
about to go but at that instant there came into 
the light of the fire the slender, handsome 
figure of a young soldier carrying a load of 
wood. 

"Bring it here that's fine!" 

They split up the wood, pressed it down on 
the fire, blew at it with their mouths, and 
fanned it with the skirts of their greatcoats, 
making the flames hiss and crackle. The men 
drew nearer and lit their pipes. The handsome 
young soldier who had brought the wood, 
setting his arms akimbo, began stamping his 
cold feet rapidly and deftly on the spot where 
he stood. 

"Mother! The dew is cold but clear It's 

well that I'm a musketeer . . ." he sang, pre- 
tending to hiccough after each syllable. 

"Look out, your soles will fly off!" shouted 
the red-haired man, noticing that the sole of 
the dancer's boot was hanging loose. "What a 
fellow you are for dancing!" 

The dancer stopped, pulled off the loose 

1 R&mmur eight degrees Ijelow zero Fahrenheit. 
-TR. 



WAR AND PEACE 

piece of leather, and threw it on the fire. 

"Right enough, friend," said he, and, hav- 
ing sat down, took out of his knapsack a scrap 
of blue French cloth, and wrapped it round 
his foot. "It's the steam that spoils them," he 
added, stretching out his feet toward the fire. 

"They'll soon be issuing us new ones. They 
say that when we've finished hammering them, 
we're to receive double kits!" 

"And that son of a bitch Petr6v has lagged 
behind after all, it seems," said one sergeant 
major. 

"I've had an eye on him this long while," 
said the other. 

"Well, he's a poor sort of soldier. . . ." 

"But in the Third Company they say nine 
men were missing yesterday." 

"Yes, it's all very well, but when a man's 
feet are frozen how can he walk?" 

"Eh? Don't talk nonsense!" said a sergeant 
major. 

"Do you want to be doing the same?" said 
an old soldier, turning reproachfully to the 
man who had spoken of frozen feet. 

"Well, you know," said the sharp-nosed man 
they called Jackdaw in a squeaky and un- 
steady voice, raising himself at the other side 
of the fire, "a plump man gets thin, but for a 
thin one it's death. Take me, now! I've got no 
strength left," he added, with sudden resolu- 
tion turning to the sergeant major. "Tell them 
to send me to hospital; I'm aching all over; 
anyway I shan't be able to keep up." 

"That'll do, that'll do!" replied the sergeant 
major quietly. 

The soldier said no more and the talk went 



"What a lot of those Frenchies were taken 
today, and the fact is that not one of them 
had what you might call real boots on," said a 
soldier, starting a new theme. "They were no 
more than make-believes." 

"The Cossacks have taken their boots. They 
were clearing the hut for the colonel and 
carried them out. It was pitiful to see them, 
boys," put in the dancer. "As they turned 
them over one seemed still alive and, would 
you believe it, he jabbered something in their 
lingo." 

"But they're a clean folk, lads," the first 
man went on; "he was white as white as 
birchbark and some of them are such fine 
fellows, you might think they were nobles." 

"Well, what do you think? They make 
soldiers of all classes there." 

"But they don't understand our talk at all/' 



BOOK FIFTEEN 



625 



>aid the dancer with a puzzled smile. "I asked 
lim whose subject he was, and he jabbered in 
lis own way. A queer lot!" 

"But it's strange, friends," continued the 
nan who had wondered at their whiteness, "the 
peasants at Mozhaysk were saying that when 
:hey began burying the dead where the bat- 
Lie was you know well, those dead had been 
lying there for nearly a month, and says the 
peasant, 'they lie as white as paper, clean, and 
not as much smell as a puff of powder smoke.' " 

"Was it from the cold?" asked someone. 

"You're a clever fellow! From the cold in- 
deed! Why, it was hot. If it had been from the 
cold, ours would not have rotted either. 'But,' 
he says, 'go up to ours and they are all rotten 
and maggoty. So/ he says, 'we tie our faces up 
with kerchiefs and turn our heads away as we 
drag them off: we can hardly do it. But theirs,' 
he says, 'are white as paper and not so much 
smell as a whiff of gunpowder.' " 

All were silent. 

"It must be from their food," said the ser- 
geant major. "They used to gobble the same 
food as the gentry." 

No one contradicted him. 

"That peasant near Mozhdysk where the 
battle was said the men were all called up 
from ten villages around and they carted for 
twenty days and still didn't finish carting the 
dead away. And as for the wolves, he says . . ." 

"That was a real battle," said an old soldier. 
"It's the only one worth remembering; but 
since that . . . it's only been tormenting folk." 

"And do you know, Daddy, the day before 
yesterday we ran at them and, my word, 
they didn't let us get near before they just 
threw down their muskets and went on their 
knees. 'Pardon!' they say. That's only one case. 
They say Pldtov took 'Poleon himself twice. 
But he didn't know the right charm. He 
catches him and catches him no good! He 
turns into a bird in his hands and Hies away. 
And there's no way of killing him either." 

"You're a first-class liar, Kiselev, when I 
come to look at you!" 

"Liar, indeed! It's the real truth." 

"If he fell into my hands, when I'd caught 
him I'd bury him in the ground with an aspen 
stake to fix him down. What a lot of men he's 
ruined!" 

"Well, anyhow we're going to end it. He 
won't come here again," remarked the old 
soldier, yawning. 

The conversation flagged, and the soldiers 
began settling down to sleep. 



"Look at the stars. It's wonderful how they 
shine! You would think the women had spread 
out their linen," said one of the men, gazing 
with admiration at the Milky Way. 

"That's a sign of a good harvest next year." 

"We shall want some more wood." 

"You warm your back and your belly gets 
frozen. That's queer." 

"O Lord!" 

"What are you pushing for? Is the fire only 
for you? Look how he's sprawling!" 

In the silence that ensued, the snoring of 
those who had fallen asleep could be heard. 
Others turned over and warmed themselves, 
now and again exchanging a few words. From 
a campfire a hundred paces off came a sound 
of general, merry laughter. 

"Hark at them roaring there in the Fifth 
Company!" said one of the soldiers, "and 
what a lot of them there are!" 

One of the men got up and went over to the 
Fifth Company. 

"They're having such fun," said he, coming 
back. "Two Frenchies have turned up. One's 
quite frozen and the other's an awful swag- 
gerer. He's singing songs. . . ." 

"Oh, I'll go across and have a look. . . ." 

And several of the men went over to the 
Fifth Company. 

CHAPTER IX 

THE FIFTH COMPANY was bivouacking at the 
very edge of the forest. A huge campfire was 
blazing brightly in the midst of the snow, 
lighting up the branches of trees heavy with 
hoarfrost. 

About midnight they heard the sound of 
steps in the snow of the forest, and the crack- 
ling of dry branches. 

"A bear, lads," said one of the men. 

They all raised their heads to listen, and out 
of the forest into the bright firelight stepped 
two strangely clad human figures clinging to 
one another. 

These were two Frenchmen who had been 
hiding in t^e forest. They came up to the fire, 
hoarsely uttering something in a language our 
soldiers did not understand. One was taller 
than the other; he wore an officer's hat and 
seemed quite exhausted. On approaching the 
fire he had been going to sit down, but fell. 
The other, a short sturdy soldier with a shawl 
tied round his head, was stronger. He raised 
his companion and said something, pointing 
to his mouth. The soldiers surrounded the 
Frenchmen, spread a greatcoat on the ground 



6*6 



WAR AND PEACE 



for the sick man, and brought some buck wheat 
porridge and vodka for both of them. 

The exhausted French officer was Ramballe 
and the man with his head wrapped in the 
shawl was Morel, his orderly. 

When Morel had drunk some vodka and 
finished his bowl of porridge he suddenly be- 
came unnaturally merry and chattered inces- 
santly to the soldiers, who could not under- 
stand him. Ramballe refused food and rest- 
ing his head on his elbow lay silent beside the 
campfire, looking at the Russian soldiers with 
red and vacant eyes. Occasionally he emitted 
a long-drawn groan and then again became 
silent. Morel, pointing to his shoulders, tried 
to impress on the soldiers the fact that Ram- 
balle was an officer and ought to be warmed. 
A Russian officer who had come up to the fire 
sent to ask his colonel whether he would not 
take a French officer into his hut to warm him, 
and when the messenger returned and said 
that the colonel wished the officer to be 
brought to him, Ramballe was told to go. He 
rose and tried to walk, but staggered and 
would have fallen had not a soldier standing 
by held him up. 

"You won't do it again, eh?" said one of the 
soldiers, winking and turning mockingly to 
Ramballe. 

"Oh, you fool! Why talk rubbish, lout that 
you are a real peasant!" came rebukes from 
all sides addressed to the jesting soldier. 

They surrounded Ramballe, lifted him on 
the crossed arms of two soldiers, and carried 
him to the hut. Ramballe put his arms around 
their necks while they carried him and began 
wailing plaintively: 

"Oh, you fine fellows, my kind, kind friends! 
These are men! Oh, my brave, kind friends," 
and he leaned his head against the shoulder 
of one of the men like a child. 

Meanwhile Morel was sitting in the best 
place by the fire, surrounded by the soldiers. 

Morel, a short sturdy Frenchman with in- 
flamed and streaming eyes, was wearing a 
woman's cloak and had a shawl yed woman 
fashion round his head over his cap. He was 
evidently tipsy, and was singing a French 
song in a hoarse broken voice, with an arm 
thrown round the nearest soldier. The soldiers 
simply held their sides as they watched him. 

"Now then, now then, teach us how it goes! 
I'll soon pick it up. How is it?" said the man 
a singer and a wag whom Morel was embrac- 
ing. 

"Vive Henri Quatre! Vive ce roi vaillant!" 



sang Morel, winking. "Ce diable & quatre . . ." * 

"Vivarikal Vif-seruvaru! Sedyablyaka!" re- 
peated the soldier, flourishing his arm and 
really catching the tune. 

"Bravo! Ha, ha, ha!" rose their rough, joy- 
ous laughter from all sides. 

Morel, wrinkling up his face, laughed too. 

"Well, go on, go on!" 

"Qui eut le triple talent, 
De boire, de battre, 
Et d'etre un vert galant . . ." 2 

"It goes smoothly, too. Well, now, ZaletAev!" 

"Ke . . ." Zaletaev brought out with effort: 
"ke-e-e-e," he drawled, laboriously pursing 
his lips, "le-trip-ta-la-de-bu-de-ba, e de-tra-va- 
ga-la!" he sang. 

"Fine! Just like the Frenchie! Oh, ho ho! 
Do you want some more to eat?" 

"Give him some porridge: it takes a long 
time to get filled up after starving." 

They gave him some more porridge and 
Morel with a laugh set to work on his third 
bowl. All the young soldiers smiled gaily as 
they watched him. The older men, who thought 
it undignified to amuse themselves with such 
nonsense, continued to lie at the opposite side 
of the fire, but one would occasionally raise 
himself on an elbow and glance at Morel with 
a smile. 

"They are men too," said one of them as he 
wrapped himself up in his coat. "Even worm- 
wood grows on its own root." 

"O Lord, O Lord! How starry it is! Tre- 
mendous! That means a hard frost. . . ." 

They all grew silent. The stars, as if know- 
ing that no one was looking at them, began 
to disport themselves in the dark sky: now 
flaring up, now vanishing, now trembling, 
they were busy whispering something glad- 
some and mysterious to one another. 

CHAPTER X 

THE FRENCH ARMY melted away at the uni- 
form rate of a mathematical progression; and 
that crossing of the Bere/ina about which so 
much has been written was only one inter- 
mediate stage in its destruction, and not at 
all the decisive episode of the campaign. If so 
much has been and still is written about the 
Berezina, on the French side this is only be- 

1 "Long live Henry the Fourth, that valiant king! 
That rowdy devil." 

* Who had a triple talent 
For drinking, for fighting, 
And for being a gallant old boy . . . 



BOOK FIFTEEN 

cause at the broken bridge across that river 
the calamities their army had been previously 
enduring were suddenly concentrated at one 
moment into a tragic spectacle that remained 
in every memory, and on the Russian side 
merely because in Petersburg far from the 
seat of war a plan (again one of Pfuel's) had 
been devised to catch Napoleon in a strategic 
trap at the Berezina River. Everyone assured 
himself that all would happen according to 
plan, and therefore insisted that it was just 
the crossing of the Berezina that destroyed the 
French army. In reality the results of the cross- 
ing were much less disastrous to the French 
in guns and men lost than Krasnoe had been, 
as the figures show. 

The sole importance of the crossing of the 
Berezina lies in the fact that it plainly and 
indubitably proved the fallacy of all the plans 
for cutting off the enemy's retreat and the 
soundness of the only possible line of action 
the one Kutuzov and the general mass of the 
army demanded namely, simply to follow the 
enemy up. The French crowd fled at a con- 
tinually increasing speed and all its energy 
was directed to reaching its goal. It fled like a 
wounded animal and it was impossible to 
block its path. This was shown not so much 
by the arrangements it made for crossing as 
by what took place at the bridges. When the 
bridges broke down, unarmed soldiers, people 
from Moscow and women with children who 
were with the French transport, all carried 
on by vis inertiapressed forward into boats 
and into the ice-covered water and did not 
surrender. 

That impulse was reasonable. The condi- 
tion of fugitives and of pursuers was equally 
bad. As long as they remained with their own 
people each might hope for help from his 
fellows and the definite place he held among 
them. But those who surrendered, while re- 
maining in the same pitiful plight, would be 
on a lower level to claim a share in the necessi- 
ties of life. The French did not need to be in- 
formed of the fact that half the prisoners 
with whom the Russians did not know what to 
do perished of cold and hunger despite their 
captors' desire to save them; they felt that it 
could not be otherwise. The most compassion- 
ate Russian commanders, those favorable to 
the French and even the Frenchmen in the 
Russian service could do nothing for the 
prisoners. The French perished from the con- 
ditions to which the Russian army was itself 
exposed. It was impossible to 'take bread and 



627 

clothes from our hungry and indispensable 
soldiers to give to the French who, though not 
harmful, or hated, or guilty, were simply un- 
necessary. Some Russians even did that, but 
they were exceptions. 

Certain destruction lay behind the French 
but in front there was hope. Their ships had 
been burned, there was no salvation save in 
collective flight, and on that the wholestrength 
of the French was concentrated. 

The farther they fled the more wretched be- 
came the plight of the remnant, especially after 
the Berezina, on which (in consequence of 
the Petersburg plan) special hopes had been 
placed by the Russians, and the keener grew 
the passions of the Russian commanders, who 
blamed one another and Kutuzov most of all. 
Anticipation that the failure of the Petersburg 
Berezina plan would be attributed to Kutuzov 
led to dissatisfaction, contempt, and ridicule, 
more and more strongly expressed. The ridi- 
cule and contempt were of course expressed in 
a respectful form, making it impossible for 
him to ask wherein he was to blame. They did 
not talk seriously to him; when reporting to 
him or asking for his sanction they appeared 
to be fulfilling a regrettable formality, but 
they winked behind his back and tried to mis- 
lead him at every turn. 

Because they could not understand him all 
these people assumed that it was useless to 
talk to the old man; that he would never grasp 
the profundity of their plans, that he would 
answer with his phrases (which they thought 
were mere phrases) about a "golden bridge," 
about the impossibility of crossing the frontier 
with a crowd of tatterdemalions, and so forth. 
They had heard all that before. And all he 
said that it was necessary to await provisions, 
or that the men had no boots was so simple, 
while what they proposed was so complicated 
and clever, that it was evident that he was old 
and stupid and that they, though not in power, 
were commanders of genius. 

After the junction with the army of the 
brilliant admiral and Petersburg hero Witt- 
genstein, this mood and the gossip of the staff 
reached their maximum. Kutuzov saw this 
and merely sighed and shrugged his shoulders. 
Only once, after the affair of the Berezina, did 
he get angry and write to Bennigsen (who re- 
ported separately to the Emperor) the follow- 
ing letter: 

"On account of your spells of ill health, will 
your excellency please be so good as to set off 
for Kaluga on receipt of this, and there await 



6 2 8 



WAR AND PEACE 



further commands and appointments from 
His Imperial Majesty." 

But after Bennigsen's departure, the Grand 
Duke Tsarvich Constantine Pdvlovich joined 
the army. He had taken part in the beginning 
of the campaign but had subsequently been 
removed from the army by Kutiizov. Now hav- 
ing come to the army, he informed Kutiizov 
of the Emperor's displeasure at the poor suc- 
cess of our forces and the slowness of their 
advance. The Emperor intended to join the 
army personally in a few days' time. 

The old man, experienced in court as well 
as in military affairs this same Kutuzov who 
in August had been chosen commander in 
chief against the sovereign's wishes and who 
had removed the Grand Duke and heir- 
apparent from the armywho on his own 
authority and contrary to the Emperor's will 
had decided on the abandonment of Moscow, 
now realized at once that his day was over, 
that his part was played, and that the power 
he was supposed to hold was no longer his. 
And he understood this not merely from the 
attitude of the court. He saw on the one hand 
that the military business in which he had 
played his part was ended and felt that his 
mission was accomplished; and at the same 
time he began to be conscious of the physical 
weariness of his aged body and of the necessity 
of physical rest. 

On the twenty-ninth of November Kutuzov 
entered Vflna his "dear Vilna" as he called it. 
Twice during his career Kutuzov had been 
governor of Vilna. In that wealthy town, which 
had not been injured, he found old friends 
and associations, besides the comforts of life 
of which he had so long been deprived. And 
he suddenly turned from the cares of anny 
and state and, as far as the passions that seethed 
around him allowed, immersed himself in the 
quiet life to which he had formerly been ac- 
customed, as if all that was taking place and 
all that had still to be done in the realm of 
history did not concern him at all. 

Chichag6v, one of the most zealous "cutters- 
off" and "breakers-up," who had first wanted 
to effect a diversion in Greece and then in 
Warsaw but never wished to go where he was 
sent: Chichag6v, noted for the boldness with 
which he spoke to the Emperor, and who con- 
sidered Kutuzov to be under an obligation to 
him because when he was sent to make peace 
with Turkey in 1811 independently of Kutu- 
zov, and found that peace had already been 
concluded, he admitted to the Emperor that 



the merit of securing that peace was really 
Kutiizov's; this Chichag6v was the first to meet 
Kutiizov at the castle where the latter was to 
stay. In undress naval uniform, with a dirk, 
and holding his cap under his arm, he handed 
Kutuzov a garrison report and the keys of the 
town. The contemptuously respectful attitude 
of the younger men to the old man in his dot- 
age was expressed in the highest degree by the 
behavior of Chichag6v, who knew of the ac- 
cusations that were being directed against 
Kutuzov. 

When speaking to Chichagov, Kutuzov in- 
cidentally mentioned that the vehicles packed 
with china that had been captured from him 
at Borfsov had been recovered and would be 
restored to him. 

"You mean to imply that I have nothing to 
eat out of. ... On the contrary, I can supply 
you with everything even if you want to give 
dinner parties," warmly replied Chichagov, 
who tried by every word he spoke to prove 
his own rectitude and therefore imagined 
Kutuzov to be animated by the same de- 
sire. 

Kutuzov, shrugging his shoulders, replied 
with his subtle penetrating smile: "I meant 
merely to say what I said." 

Contrary to the Emperor's wish Kutuzov 
detained the greater part of the army at Vilna. 
Those about him said that he became extra- 
ordinarily slack and physically feeble during 
his stay in that town. He attended to army 
affairs reluctantly, left everything to his gen- 
erals, and while awaiting the Emperor's arrival 
led a dissipated life. 

Having left Petersburg on the seventh of 
December with his suite Count Tolst6y, 
Prince Volk6nski, Arakchdev, and others the 
Emperor reached Vilna on the eleventh, and 
in his traveling sleigh drove straight to the 
castle. In spite of the severe frost some hun- 
dred generals and staff officers in full parade 
uniform stood in front of the castle, as well 
as a guard of honor of the Semenov regi- 
ment. 

A courier who galloped to the castle in ad- 
vance, in a troyka with three foam-flecked 
horses, shouted "Coming!" and Konovnftsyn 
rushed into the vestibule to inform Kutiizov, 
who was waiting in the hall porter's little 
lodge. 

A minute later the old man's large stout 
figure in full-dress uniform, his chest covered 
with orders and a scarf drawn round his stom- 
ach, waddled out into the porch. He put on 



BOOK FIFTEEN 



629 



his hat with its peaks to the sides and, holding 
his gloves in his hand and walking with an 
effort sideways down the steps to the level of 
the street, took in his hand the report he had 
prepared for the Emperor. 

There was running to and fro and whisper- 
ing; another troyka flew furiously up, and 
then all eyes were turned on an approaching 
sleigh in which the figures of the Emperor and 
Volk6nski could already be descried. 

From the habit of fifty years all this had a 
physically agitating effect on the old general. 
He carefully and hastily felt himself all over, 
readjusted his hat, and pulling himself to- 
gether drew himself up and, at the very mo- 
ment when the Emperor, having alighted from 
the sleigh, lifted his eyes to him, handed him 
the report and began speaking in his smooth, 
ingratiating voice. 

The Emperor with a rapid glance scanned 
Kutiizov from head to foot, frowned for an in- 
stant, but immediately mastering himself 
went up to the old man, extended his arms 
and embraced him. And this embrace too, 
owing to a long-standing impression related 
to his innermost feelings, had its usual effect 
on Kutiizov and he gave a sob. 

The Emperor greeted the officers and the 
Semenov guard, and again pressing the old 
man's hand went with him into the castle. 

When alone with the field marshal the Em- 
peror expressed his dissatisfaction at the slow- 
ness of the pursuit and at the mistakes made 
at Krisnoe and the Berezina, and informed 
him of his intentions for a future campaign 
abroad. Kutiizov made no rejoinder or remark. 
The same submissive, expressionless look with 
which he had listened to the Emperor's com- 
mands on the field of Austerlitz seven years 
before settled on his face now. 

When Kutiizov came out of the study and 
with lowered head was crossing the ballroom 
withrtiis heavy waddling gait, he was arrested 
by someone's voice saying: 

"Your Serene Highness!" 

Kutiizov raised his head and looked for a 
long while into the eyes of Count Tolst6y, 
who stood before him holding a silver salver 
on which lay a small object. Kutiizov seemed 
not to understand what was expected of 
him. 

Suddenly he seemed to remember; a scarcely 
perceptible smile flashed across his puffy face, 
and bowing low and respectfully he took the 
object that lay on the salver. It was the Order 
of St. George of the First Class, 



CHAPTER XI 

NEXT DAY the field marshal gave a dinner and 
ball which the Emperor honored by his pres- 
ence. Kutiizov had received the Order of St. 
George of the First Class and the Emperor 
showed him the highest honors, but everyone 
knew of the imperial dissatisfaction with him. 
The proprieties were observed and the Emper- 
or was the first to set that example, but every- 
body understood that the old man was blame- 
worthy and good-for-nothing. When Kutiizov, 
conforming to a custom of Catherine's day, 
ordered the standards that had been captured 
to be lowered at the Emperor's feet on his en- 
tering the ballroom, the Emperor made a wry 
face and muttered something in which some 
people caught the words, "the old comedian." 
The Emperor's displeasure with Kutiizov 
was specially increased at Vflna by the fact 
that Kutiizov evidently could not or would 
not understand the importance of the coming 
campaign. 

When on the following morning the Em- 
peror said to the officers assembled about him: 
"You have not only saved Russia, you have 
saved Europe!" they all understood that the 
war was not ended. 

Kutiizov alone would not see this and open- 
ly expressed his opinion that no fresh war 
could improve the position or add to the glory 
of Russia, but could only spoil and lower the 
glorious position that Russia had gained. He 
tried to prove to the Emperor the impossibil- 
ity of levying fresh troops, spoke of the hard- 
ships already endured by the people, of the 
possibility of failure and so forth. 

This being the field marshal's frame of mind 
he was naturally regarded as merely a hin- 
drance and obstacle to the impending war. 

To avoid unpleasant encounters with the 
old man, the natural method was to do what 
had been done with him at Austerlitz and with 
Barclay at the beginning of the Russian cam- 
paignto transfer the authority to the Emper- 
or himself, thus cutting the ground from under 
the commander in chief's feet without upset- 
ting the old man by informing him of the 
change. 

With this object his staff was gradually re- 
constructed and its real strength removed 
and transferred to the Emperor. Toll, Konov- 
nitsyn, and Erm61ov received fresh appoint- 
ments. Everyone spoke loudly of the field 
marshal's great weakness and failing health. 

His health had to be bad for his place to 
be taken away and given to another. And in 



WAR AND PEACE 



fact his health was poor. 

So naturally, simply, and gradually just as 
he had come from Turkey to the Treasury in 
Petersburg to recruit the militia, and then to 
the army when he was needed there now 
when his part was played out, Kutuzov's place 
was taken by a new and necessary performer. 

The war of 1812, besides its national signifi- 
cance dear to every Russian heart, was now to 
assume another, a European, significance. 

The movement of peoples from west to east 
was to be succeeded by a movement of peoples 
from east to west, and for this fresh war an- 
other leader was necessary, having qualities 
and views differing from Kutuzov's and ani- 
mated by different motives. 

Alexander I was as necessary for the move- 
ment of the peoples from east to west and for 
the refixing of national frontiers as Kutuzov 
had been for the salvation and glory of Russia. 

Kutuzov did not understand what Europe, 
the balance of power, or Napoleon meant. He 
could not understand it. For the representative 
of the Russian people, after the enemy had 
been destroyed and Russia had been liberated 
and raised to the summit of her glory, there 
was nothing left to do as a Russian. Nothing 
remained for the representative of the na- 
tional war but to die, and Kutuzov died. 

CHAPTER XII 

As GENERALLY HAPPENS, Pierre did not feel the 
full effects of the physical privation and strain 
he had suffered as prisoner until after they 
were over. After his liberation he reached 
Orel, and on the third day there, when pre- 
paring to go to Kiev, he fell ill and was laid 
up for three months. He had what the doctors 
termed "bilious fever." But despite the fact 
that the doctors treated him, bled him, and 
gave him medicines to drink, he recovered. 

Scarcely any impression was left on Pierre's 
mind by all that happened to him from the 
time of his rescue till his illness. He remem- 
bered only the dull gray weather now rainy 
and now snowy, internal physical distress, and 
pains in his feet and side. He remembered a 
general impression of the misfortunes and 
sufferings of people and of being worried by 
the curiosity of officers and generals who ques- 
tioned him, he also remembered his difficulty 
in procuring a conveyance and horses, and 
above all he remembered his incapacity to 
think and feel all that time. On the day of 
his rescue he had seen the body of Ptya 
Rost6v. That same day he had learned that 



Prince Andrew, after surviving the battle of 
Borodin6 for more than a month, had recently 
died in the Rostovs' house at Yaroslavl, and 
Denfsov who told him this news also mentioned 
Heine's death, supposing that Pierre had 
heard of it long before. All this at the time 
seemed merely strange to Pierre: he felt he 
could not grasp its significance. Just then he 
was only anxious to get away as quickly as 
possible from places where people were killing 
one another, to some peaceful refuge where 
he could recover himself, rest, and think over 
all the strange new facts he had learned; but 
on reaching Orel he immediately fell ill. When 
he came to himself after his illness he saw in 
attendance on him two of his servants, Tere*nty 
and Vska, who had come from Moscow; and 
also his cousin the eldest princess, who had 
been living on his estate at Elects and hearing 
of his rescue and illness had come to look after 
him. 

It was only gradually during his convales- 
cence that Pierre lost the impressions he had 
become accustomed to during the last few 
months and got used to the idea that no one 
would oblige him to go anywhere tomorrow, 
that no one would deprive him of his warm 
bed, and that he would be sure to get his din- 
ner, tea, and supper. But for a long time in 
his dreams he still saw himself in the condi- 
tions of captivity. In the same way little by 
little he came to understand the news he had 
been told after his rescue, about the death of 
Prince Andrew, the death of his wife, and the 
destruction of the French. 

A joyous feeling of freedom that complete 
inalienable freedom natural to man which 
he had first experienced at the first halt out- 
side Moscow filled Pierre's soul during his 
convalescence. He was surprised to find that 
this inner freedom, which was independent of 
external conditions, now had as it were an 
additional setting of external liberty. He was 
alone in a strange town, without acquaint- 
ances. No one demanded anything of him or 
sent him anywhere. He had all he wanted: 
the thought of his wife which had been a 
continual torment to him was no longer there, 
since she was no more. 

"Oh, how good! How splendid!" said he to 
himself when a cleanly laid table was moved 
up to him with savory beef tea, or when he 
lay down for the night on a soft clean bed, or 
when he remembered that the French had 
gone and that his wife was no more. "Oh, how 
good, how splendid!" 



BOOK FIFTEEN 



631 



And by old habit he asked himself the 
question: "Well, and what then? What am 
I going to do?" And he immediately gave him- 
self the answer: "Well, I shall live. Ah, how 
splendid!" 

The very question that had formerly tor- 
mented him, the thing he had continually 
sought to find the aim of lifeno longer 
existed for him now. That search for the aim 
of life had not merely disappeared tempo- 
rarilyhe felt that it no longer existed for him 
and could not present itself again. And this 
very absence of an aim gave him the complete, 
joyous sense of freedom which constituted his 
happiness at this time. 

He could not see an aim, for he now had 
faith not faith in any kind of rule, or words, 
or ideas, but faith in an ever-living, ever- 
manifest God. Formerly he had sought Him 
in aims he set himself. That search for an 
aim had been simply a search for God, and 
suddenly in his captivity he had learned not 
by words or reasoning but by direct feeling 
what his nurse had told him long ago: that 
God is here and everywhere. In his captivity 
he had learned that in Karatdev God was 
greater, more infinite and unfathomable than 
in the Architect of the Universe recognized 
by the Freemasons. He felt like a man who 
after straining his eyes to see into the far dis- 
tance finds what he sought at his very feet. All 
his life he had looked over the heads of the 
men around him, when he should have merely 
looked in front of him without straining his 
eyes. 

In the past he had never been able to find 
that great inscrutable infinite something. He 
had only felt that it must exist somewhere and 
had looked for it. In everything near and com- 
prehensible he had seen only what was limited, 
petty, commonplace, and senseless. He had 
equipped himself with a mental telescope and 
looked into remote space, where petty world- 
liness hiding itself in misty distance had seem- 
ed to him great and infinite merely because it 
was not clearly seen. And such had European 
life, politics, Freemasonry, philosophy, and 
philanthropy seemed to him. But even then, 
at moments of weakness as he had accounted 
them, his mind had penetrated to those dis- 
tances and he had there seen the same petti- 
ness, worldliness, and senselessness. Now, how- 
ever, he had learned to see the great, eternal, 
and infinite in everything, and therefore to 
see it and enjoy its contemplation he natu- 
rally threw away the telescope through which 



he had till now gazed over men's heads, and 
gladly regarded the ever-changing, eternally 
great, unfathomable, and infinite life around 
him. And the closer he looked the more tran- 
quil and happy he became. That dreadful ques- 
tion, "What for?" which had formerly destroyed 
all his mental edifices, no longer existed for 
him. To that question, "What for?" a simple 
answer was now always ready in his soul: "Be- 
cause there is a God, that God without whose 
will not one hair falls from a man's head." 

CHAPTER XIII 

IN EXTERNAL WAYS Pierre had hardly changed 
at all. In appearance he was just what he used 
to be. As before he was absent-minded and 
seemed occupied not with what was before 
his eyes but with something special of his own. 
The difference between his former and present 
self was that formerly when he did not grasp 
what lay before him or was said to him, he 
had puckered his forehead painfully as if 
vainly seeking to distinguish something at a 
distance. At present he still forgot what was 
said to him and still did not see what was 
before his eyes, but he now looked with a 
scarcely perceptible and seemingly ironic smile 
at what was before him and listened to what 
was said, though evidently seeing and hearing 
something quite different. Formerly he had 
appeared to be a kindhearted but unhappy 
man, and so people had been inclined to avoid 
him. Now a smile at the joy of life always 
played round his lips, and sympathy for others 
shone in his eyes with a questioning look as 
to whether they were as contented as he was, 
and people felt pleased by his presence. 

Previously he had talked a great deal, grew 
excited when he talked, and seldom listened; 
now he was seldom carried away in conversa- 
tion and knew how to listen so that people 
readily told him their most intimate secrets. 

The princess, who had never liked Pierre 
and had been particularly hostile to him since 
she had felt herself under obligations to him 
after the old count's death, now after staying 
a short time in Orel where she had come in- 
tending to show Pierre that in spite of his in- 
gratitude she considered it her duty to nurse 
him felt to her surprise and vexation that she 
had become fond of him. Pierre did not in 
any way seek her approval, he merely studied 
her with interest. Formerly she had felt that he 
regarded her with indifference and irony, and 
so had shrunk into herself as she did with 
others and had shown him only the combative 



WAR AND PEACE 



side of her nature; but now he seemed to be 
trying to understand the most intimate places 
of her heart, and, mistrustfully at first but 
afterwards gratefully, she let him see the hid- 
den, kindly sides of her character. 

The most cunning man could not have crept 
into her confidence more successfully, evoking 
memories of the best times of her youth and 
showing sympathy with them. Yet Pierre's 
cunning consisted simply in finding pleasure 
in drawing out the human qualities of the 
embittered, hard, and (in her own way) proud 
princess. 

"Yes, he is a very, very kind man when he 
is not under the influence of bad people but 
of people such as myself," thought she. 

His servants too Ter^nty and Vdska in 
their own way noticed the change that had 
taken place in Pierre. They considered that he 
had become much "simpler." Ter^nty, when 
he had helped him undress and wished him 
good night, often lingered with his master's 
boots in his hands and clothes over his arm, 
to see whether he would not start a talk. And 
Pierre, noticing that Ter^nty wanted a chat, 
generally kept him there. 

"Well, tell me ... now, how did you get 
food?" he would ask. 

And Ter^nty would begin talking of the 
destruction of Moscow, and of the old count, 
and would stand for a long time holding the 
clothes and talking, or sometimes listening to 
Pierre's stories, and then would go out into 
the hall with a pleasant sense of intimacy with 
his master and affection for him. 

The doctor who attended Pierre and visited 
him every day, though he considered it his 
duty as a doctor to pose as a man whose every 
moment was of value to suffering humanity, 
would sit for hours with Pierre telling him his 
favorite anecdotes and his observations on the 
characters of his patients in general, and 
especially of the ladies. 

"It's a pleasure to talk to a man like that; 
he is not like our provincials," he would 
say. 

There were several prisoners from the 
French army in Orel, and the doctor brought 
one of them, a young Italian, to see Pierre. 

This officer began visiting Pierre, and the 
princess used to make fun of the tenderness 
the Italian expressed for him. 

The Italian seemed happy only when he 
could come to see Pierre, talk with him, tell 
him about his past, his life at home, and his 
love, and pour out to him his indignation 



against the French and especially against Na- 
poleon. 

"If all Russians are in the least like you, it 
is sacrilege to fight such a nation," he said to 
Pierre. "You, who have suffered so from the 
French, do not even feel animosity toward 
them." 

Pierre had evoked the passionate affection 
of the Italian merely by evoking the best side 
of his nature and taking a pleasure in so do- 
ing. 

During the last days of Pierre's stay in Orel 
his old Masonic acqaintance Count Willarski, 
who had introduced him to the lodge in 1807, 
came to see him. Willarski was married to a 
Russian heiress who had a large estate in Orel 
province, and he occupied a temporary post 
in the commissariat department in that town. 

Hearing that Beziikhov was in Orel, Will- 
arski, though they had never been intimate, 
came to him with the professions of friendship 
and intimacy that people who meet in a desert 
generally express for one another. Willarski 
felt dull in Orel and was pleased to meet a 
man of his own circle and, as he supposed, of 
similar interests. 

But to his surprise Willarski soon noticed 
that Pierre had lagged much behind the times, 
and had sunk, as he expressed it to himself, 
into apathy and egotism. 

"You are letting yourself go, my dear fel- 
low," he said. 

But for all that Willarski found it pleasanter 
now than it had been formerly to be with 
Pierre, and came to see him every day. To 
Pierre as he looked at and listened to Willar- 
ski, it seemed strange to think that he had been 
like that himself but a short time before. 

Willarski was a married man with a family, 
busy with his family affairs, his wife's affairs, 
and his official duties. He regarded all these 
occupations as hindrances to life, and consid- 
ered that they were all contemptible because 
their aim was the welfare of himself and his 
family. Military, administrative, political, and 
Masonic interests continually absorbed his 
attention. And Pierre, without trying to change 
the other's views and without condemning 
him, but with the quiet, joyful, and amused 
smile now habitual to him, was interested in 
this strange though very familiar phenomenon. 

There was a new feature in Pierre's rela- 
tions with Willarski, with the princess, with 
the doctor, and with all the people he now 
met, which gained for him the general good 
will. This was his acknowledgment of the im- 



BOOK FIFTEEN 

possibility of changing a man's convictions by 
words, and his recognition of the possibility 
of everyone thinking, feeling, and seeing 
things each from his own point of view. This 
legitimate peculiarity of. each individual which 
used to excite and irritate Pierre now became 
a basis of the sympathy he felt for, and the 
interest he took in, other people. The differ- 
ence, and sometimes complete contradiction, 
between men's opinions and their lives, and be- 
tween one man and another, pleased him and 
drew from him an amused and gentle smile. 

In practical matters Pierre unexpectedly felt 
within himself a center of gravity he had pre- 
viously lacked. Formerly all pecuniary ques- 
tions, especially requests for money to which, 
as an extremely wealthy man, he was very fre- 
quently exposed, produced in him a state of 
hopeless agitation and perplexity. "To give or 
not to give?" he had asked himself. "I have it 
and he needs it. But someone else needs it still 
more. Who needs it most? And perhaps they 
are both impostors?" In the old days he had 
been unable to find a way out of all these sur- 
mises and had given to all who asked as long 
as he had anything to give. Formerly he had 
been in a similar state of perplexity with re- 
gard to every question concerning his property, 
when one person advised one thing and an- 
other something else. 

Now to his surprise he found that he no 
longer felt either doubt or perplexity about 
these questions. There was now within him 
a judge who by some rule unknown to him 
decided what should or should not be done. 

He was as indifferent as heretofore to money 
matters, but now he felt certain of what ought 
and what ought not to be done. The first time 
he had recourse to his new judge was when a 
French prisoner, a colonel, came to him and, 
after talking a great deal about his exploits, 
concluded by making what amounted to a 
demand that Pierre should give him four 
thousand francs to send to his wife and chil- 
dren. Pierre refused without the least difficulty 
or effort, and was afterwards surprised how 
simple and easy had been what used to ap- 
pear so insurmountably difficult. At the same 
time that he refused the colonel's demand he 
made up his mind that he must have recourse 
to artifice when leaving Orel, to induce the 
Italian officer to accept some money of which 
he was evidently in need. A further proof to 
Pierre of his own more settled outlook on 
practical matters was furnished by his decision 
with regard to his wife's debts and to the re- 



633 



building of his houses in and near Moscow. 

His head steward came to him at Orel and 
Pierre reckoned up with him his diminished 
income. The burning of Moscow had cost him, 
according to the head steward's calculation, 
about two million rubles. 

To console Pierre for these losses the head 
steward gave him an estimate showing that 
despite these losses his income would not be 
diminished but would even be increased if he 
refused to pay his wife's debts which he was 
under no obligation to meet, and did not re- 
build his Moscow house and the country house 
on his Moscow estate, which had cost him 
eighty thousand rubles a year and brought in 
nothing. 

"Yes, of course that's true," said Pierre with 
a cheerful smile. "I don't need all that at all. 
By being ruined I have become much richer." 

But in January Sav^lich came from Moscow 
and gave him an account of the state of things 
there, and spoke of the estimate an architect 
had made of the cost of rebuilding the town 
and country houses, speaking of this as of a set- 
tled matter. About the same time he received 
letters from Prince Vasili and other Peters- 
burg acquaintancesspeakingof his wife'sdebts. 
And Pierre decided that the steward's pro- 
posals which had so pleased him were wrong 
and that he must go to Petersburg and settle 
his wife's affairs and must rebuild in Moscow. 
Why this was necessary he did not know, but 
he knew for certain that it was necessary. His 
income would be reduced by three fourths, 
but he felt it must be done. 

Willarski was going to Moscow and they 
agreed to travel together. 

During the whole time of his convalescence 
in Orel Pierre had experienced a feeling of 
joy, freedom, and life; but when during his 
journey he found himself in the open world 
and saw hundreds of new faces, that feeling 
was intensified. Throughout his journey he 
felt like a schoolboy on holiday. Everyone 
the stagecoach driver, the post-house overseers, 
the peasants on the roads and in the villages- 
had a new significance for him. The presence 
and remarks of Willarski who continually de- 
plored the ignorance and poverty of Russia 
and its backwardness compared with Europe 
only heightened Pierre's pleasure. Where Will- 
arski saw deadness Pierre saw an extraordinary 
strength and vitality the strength which in 
that vast space amid the snows maintained the 
life of this original, peculiar, and unique peo- 
ple. He did not contradict Willarski and even 



634 

seemed to agree with himan apparent agree- 
ment being the simplest way to avoid discus- 



WAR AND PEACE 

and more difficult and assumed more definite 
forms. 



sions that could lead to nothingand he 
smiled joyfully as he listened to him. 

CHAPTER XIV 

IT WOULD BE difficult to explain why and whither 
ants whose heap has been destroyed are hurry- 
ing: some from the heap dragging bits of rub- 
bish, larvae, and corpses, others back to the 
heap, or why they jostle, overtake one another, 
and fight, and it would be equally difficult to 
explain what caused the Russians after the 
departure of the French to throng to the place 
that had formerly been Moscow. But when we 
watch the ants round their ruined heap, the 
tenacity, energy, and immense number of the 
delving insects prove that despite the destruc- 
tion of the heap, something indestructible, 
which though intangible is the real strength of 
the colony, still exists; and similarly, though 
in Moscow in the month of October there was 
no government and no churches, shrines, riches, 
or housesit was still the Moscow it had been 
in August. All was destroyed, except something 
intangible yet powerful and indestructible. 

The motives of those who thronged from all 
sides to Moscow after it had been cleared of 
the enemy were most diverse and personal, 
and at first for the most part savage and brutal. 
One motive only they all had in common: a 
desire to get to the place that had been called 
Moscow, to apply their activities there. 

Within a week Moscow already had fifteen 
thousand inhabitants, in a fortnight twenty- 
five thousand, and so on. By the autumn of 
1813 the number, ever increasing and increas- 
ing, exceeded what it had been in 1812. 

The first Russians to enter Moscow were 
the Cossacks of Wint/ingerode's detachment, 
peasants from the adjacent villages, and resi- 
dents who had fled from Moscow and had been 
hiding in its vicinity. The Russians who en- 
tered Moscow, finding it plundered, plundered 
it in their turn. They continued what the 
French had begun. Trains of peasant carts 
came to Moscow to carry off to the villages 
what had been abandoned in the ruined 
houses and the streets. The Cossacks carried 
off what they could to their camps, and the 
householders seized all they could find in other 
houses and moved it to their own, pretending 
that it was their property. 

But the first plunderers were followed by a 
second and a third contingent, and with in- 
creasing numbers plundering became more 



The French found Moscow abandoned but 
with all the organizations of regular life, with 
diverse branches of commerce and craftsman- 
ship, with luxury, and governmental and re- 
ligious institutions. These forms were lifeless 
but still existed. There were bazaars, shops, 
warehouses, market stalls, granaries for the 
most part still stocked with goods and there 
were factories and workshops, palaces and 
wealthy houses filled with luxuries, hospitals, 
prisons, government offices, churches, and 
cathedrals. The longer the French remained 
the more these forms of town life perished, 
until finally all was merged into one confused, 
lifeless scene of plunder. 

The more the plundering by the French con- 
tinued, the more both the wealth of Moscow 
and the strength of its plunderers was de- 
stroyed. But plundering by the Russians, with 
which the reoccupation of the city began, had 
an opposite effect: the longer it continued and 
the greater the number of people taking part 
in it the more rapidly was the wealth of the 
city and its regular life restored. 

Besides the plunderers, very various people, 
some drawn by curiosity, some by official duties, 
some by self-interesthouse owners, clergy, 
officials of all kinds, tradesmen, artisans, and 
peasants streamed in to Moscow as blood flows 
to the heart. 

Within a week the peasants who came with 
empty carts to carry off plunder were stopped 
by the authorities and made to cart the corpses 
out of the town. Other peasants, having heard 
of their comrades' discomfiture, came to town 
bringing rye, oats, and hay, and beat down 
one another's prices to below what they had 
been in former days. Gangs of carpenters hop- 
ing for high pay arrived in Moscow every day, 
and on all sides logs were being hewn, new 
houses built, and old, charred ones repaired. 
Tradesmen began trading in booths. Cook- 
shops and taverns were opened in partially 
burned houses. The clergy resumed the serv- 
ices in many churches that had not been burn- 
ed. Donors contributed Church property that 
had been stolen. Government clerks set up 
their baize-covered tables and their pigeon- 
holes of documents in small rooms. The higher 
authorities and the police organized the dis- 
tribution of goods left behind by the French. 
The owners of houses in which much property 
had been left, brought there from other houses, 
complained of the injustice of taking every- 



BOOK FIFTEEN 



635 



thing to the Faceted Palace in the Kremlin; 
others insisted that as the French had gathered 
things from different houses into this or that 
house, it would be unfair to allow its owner 
to keep all that was found there. They abused 
the police and bribed them, made out esti- 
mates at ten times their value for government 
stores that had perished in the fire, and de- 
manded relief. And Count Rostopchin wrote 
proclamations. 

CHAPTER XV 

AT THE END of January Pierre went to Moscow 
and stayed in an annex of his house which had 
not been burned. He called on Count Ros- 
topchfn and on some acquaintances who were 
back in Moscow, and he intended to leave for 
Petersburg two days later. Everybody was cele- 
brating the victory, everything was bubbling 
with life in the ruined but reviving city. Every- 
one was pleased to see Pierre, everyone wished 
to meet him, and everyone questioned him 
about what he had seen. Pierre felt particularly 
well disposed toward them all, but was now 
instinctively on his guard for fear of binding 
himself in any way. To all questions put to 
himwhether important or quite trifling such 
as: Where would he live? Was he going to re- 
build? When was he going to Petersburg and 
would he mind taking a parcel for someone? 
he replied: "Yes, perhaps," or, "I think so," 
and so on. 

He had heard that the Rost6vs were at Kos- 
tromd but the thought of Natasha seldom 
occurred to him. If it did it was only as a pleas- 
ant memory of the distant past. He felt him- 
self not only free from social obligations but 
also from that feeling which, it seemed to him, 
he had aroused in himself. 

On the third day after his arrival he heard 
from the Drubetsk6ys that Princess Mary was 
in Moscow. The death, sufferings, and last days 
of Prince Andrew had often occupied Pierre's 
thoughts and now recurred to him with fresh 
vividness. Having heard at dinner that Prin- 
cess Mary was in Moscow and living in her 
house which had not been burned in Voz- 
dvizhenka Street, he drove that same evening 
to see her. 

On his way to the house Pierre kept think- 
ing of Prince Andrew, of their friendship, of 
his various meetings with him, and especially 
of the last one at Borodin6. 

"Is it possible that he died in the bitter frame 
of mind he was then in? Is it possible that the 
meaning of life was not disclosed to him be- 



fore he died?" thought Pierre. He recalled 
Karataev and his death and involuntarily be- 
gan to compare these two men, so different, 
and yet so similar in that they had both lived 
and both died and in the love he felt for both 
of them. 

Pierre drove up to the house of the old 
prince in a most serious mood. The house had 
escaped the fire; it showed signs of damage but 
its general aspect was unchanged. The old foot- 
man, who met Pierre with a stern face as if 
wishing to make the visitor feel that the ab- 
sence of the old prince had not disturbed the 
order of things in the house, informed him 
that the princess had gone to her own apart- 
ments, and that she received on Sundays. 

"Announce me. Perhaps she will see me," 
said Pierre. 

"Yes, sir," said the man. "Please step into 
the portrait gallery." 

A few minutes later the footman returned 
with Dessalles, who brought word from the 
princess that she would be very glad to see 
Pierre if he would excuse her want of cere- 
mony and come upstairs to her apartment. 

In a rather low room lit by one candle sat 
the princess and with her another person 
dressed in black. Pierre remembered that the 
princess always had lady companions, but who 
they were and what they were like he never 
knew or remembered. "This must be one of 
her companions," he thought, glancing at the 
lady in the black dress. 

The princess rose quickly to meet him and 
held out her hand. 

"Yes," she said, looking at his altered face 
after he had kissed her hand, "so this is how we 
meet again. He often spoke of you even at the 
very last," she went on, turning her eyes from 
Pierre to her companion with a shyness that 
surprised him for an instant. 

"I was so glad to hear of your safety. It was 
the first piece of good news we had received 
for a long time." 

Again the princess glanced round at her 
companion with even more uneasiness in her 
manner and was about to add something, but 
Pierre interrupted her. 

"Just imagine I knew nothing about him!" 
said he. "I thought he had been killed. All I 
know I heard at second hand from others. I 
only know that he fell in with the Rost6vs. 
. . . What a strange coincidence 1" 

Pierre spoke rapidly and with animation. He 
glanced once at the companion's face, saw her 
attentive and kindly gaze fixed on him, and, 



636 



WAR AND PEACE 



as often happens when one is talking, felt 
somehow that this companion in the black 
dress was a good, kind, excellent creature who 
would not hinder his conversing freely with 
Princess Mary. 

But when he mentioned the Rost6vs, Prin- 
cess Mary's face expressed still greater embar- 
rassment. She again glanced rapidly from 
Pierre's face to that of the lady in the black 
dress and saidT 

"Do you really not recognize her?" 

Pierre looked again at the companion's pale, 
delicate face with its black eyes and peculiar 
mouth, and something near to him, long for- 
gotten and more than sweet, looked at him 
from those attentive eyes. 

"But no, it can't be!" he thought. "This 
stern, thin, pale face that looks so much older! 
It cannot be she. It merely reminds me of her." 
But at that moment Princess Mary said, "Natd- 
sha!" And with difficulty, effort, and stress, like 
the opening of a door grown rusty on its hinges, 
a smile appeared on the face with the atten- 
tive eyes, and from that opening door came a 
breath of fragrance which suffused Pierre with 
a happiness he had long forgotten and of which 
he had not even been thinking especially at 
that moment. It suffused him, seized him, and 
enveloped him completely. When she smiled 
doubt was no longer possible, it was Natasha 
and he loved her. 

At that moment Pierre involuntarily be- 
trayed to her, to Princess Mary, and above all 
to himself, a secret of which he himself had 
been unaware. He flushed joyfully yet with 
painful distress. He tried to hide his agitation. 
But the more he tried to hide it the more 
clearly clearer than any words could have 
donedid he betray to himself, to her, and to 
Princess Mary that he loved her. 

"No, it's only the unexpectedness of it," 
thought Pierre. But as soon as he tried to con- 
tinue the conversation he had begun with 
Princess Mary he again glanced at Natasha, 
and a still-deeper flush suffused his face and 
a still-stronger agitation of mingled joy and 
fear seized his soul. He became confused in his 
speech and stopped in the middle of what he 
was saying. 

Pierre had failed to notice Natasha because 
he did not at all expect to see her there, but he 
had failed to recognize her because the change 
in her since he last saw her was immense. She 
had grown thin and pale, but that was not 
what made her unrecognizable; she was un- 
recognizable at the moment he entered because 



on that face whose eyes had always shone with 
a suppressed smile of the joy of life, now when 
he first entered and glanced at her there was 
not the least shadow of a smile: only her eyes 
were kindly attentive and sadly interrogative. 
Pierre's confusion was not reflected by any 
confusion on Natdsha's part, but only by the 
pleasure that just perceptibly lit up her whole 
face. 

CHAPTER XVI 

"SHE HAS COME to stay with me," said Princess 
Mary. "The count and countess will be here 
in a few days. The countess is in a dreadful 
state; but it was necessary for Natasha herself 
to see a doctor. They insisted on her coming 
with me." 

"Yes, is there a family free from sorrow now?" 
said Pierre, addressing Natdsha. "You know 
it happened the very day we were rescued. I 
saw him. What a delightful boy he was!" 

Natdsha looked at him, and by way of an- 
swer to his words her eyes widened and lit up. 

"What can one say or think of as a consola- 
tion?" said Pierre. "Nothing! Why had such a 
splendid boy, so full of life, to die?" 

"Y^s, in these days it would be hard to live 
without faith . . ." remarked Princess Mary. 

"Yes, yes, that is really true," Pierre hastily 
interrupted her. 

"Why is it true?" Natdsha asked, looking at- 
tentively into Pierre's eyes. 

"How can you ask why?" said Princess Mary. 
"The thought alone of what awaits . . ." 

Natdsha without waiting for Princess Mary 
to finish again looked inquiringly at Pierre. 

"And because," Pierre continued, "only one 
who believes that there is a God ruling us can 
bear a loss such as hers and . . . yours." 

Natdsha had already opened her mouth to 
speak but suddenly stopped. Pierre hurriedly 
turned away from her and again addressed 
Princess Mary, asking about his friend's last 
days. 

Pierre's confusion had now almost vanished, 
but at the same time he felt that his freedom 
had also completely gone. He felt that there 
was now a judge of his every word and action 
whose judgment mattered more to him than 
that of all the rest of the world. As he spoke 
now he was considering what impression his 
words would make on Natdsha. He did not 
purposely say things to please her, but what- 
ever he was saying he regarded from her stand- 
point. 

Princess Mary reluctantly as is usual in such 



BOOK FIFTEEN 

cases began telling of the condition in which 
she had found Prince Andrew. But Pierre's 
face quivering with emotion, his questions and 
his eager restless expression, gradually com- 
pelled her to go into details which she feared 
to recall for her own sake. 

"Yes, yes, and so ... ?" Pierre kept saying 
as he leaned toward her with his whole body 
and eagerly listened to her story. "Yes, yes ... 
so he grew tranquil and softened? With all his 
soul he had always sought one thing to be 
perfectly good so he could not be afraid of 
death. The faults he had if he had any were 
not of his making. So he did soften? . . . What 
a happy thing that he saw you again," he added, 
suddenly turning to Natasha and looking at 
her with eyes full of tears. 

Natasha's face twitched. She frowned and 
lowered her eyes for a moment. She hesitated 
for an instant whether to speak or not. 

"Yes, that was happiness," she then said in 
her quiet voice with its deep chest notes. "For 
me it certainly was happiness." She paused. 
"And he ... he ... he said he was wishing for 
it at the very moment I entered the room. . . ." 

Natdsha's voice broke. She blushed, pressed 
her clasped hands on her knees, and then con- 
trolling herself with an evident effort lifted 
her head and began to speak rapidly. 

"We knew nothing of it when we started 
from Moscow. I did not dare to ask about him. 
Then suddenly S6nya told me he was traveling 
with us. I had no idea and could not imagine 
what state he was in, all I wanted was to see 
him and be with him," she said, trembling, 
and breathing quickly. 

And not letting them interrupt her she went 
on to tell what she had never yet mentioned 
to anyone all she had lived through during 
those three weeks of their journey and life at 
Yarosldvl. 

Pierre listened to her with lips parted and 
eyes fixed upon her full of tears. As he listened 
he did not think of Prince Andrew, nor of 
death, nor of what she was telling. He listened 
to her and felt only pity for her, for what she 
was suffering now while she was speaking. 

Princess Mary, frowning in her effort to 
hold back her tears, sat beside Natdsha, and 
heard for the first time the story of those last 
days of her brother's and Natdsha's love. 

Evidently Natdsha needed to tell that pain- 
ful yet joyful tale. 

She spoke, mingling most trifling details 
with the intimate secrets of her soul, and it 
seemed as if she could never finish. Several 



637 
times she repeated the same thing twice. 

Dessalles' voice was heard outside the door 
asking whether little Nicholas might come in 
to say good night. 

"Well, that's all everything," said Natdsha. 

She got up quickly just as Nicholas entered, 
almost ran to the door which was hidden by 
curtains, struck her head against it, and rushed 
from the room with a moan either of pain or 
sorrow. 

Pierre gazed at the door through which she 
had disappeared and did not understand why 
he suddenly felt-all alone in the world. 

Princess Mary roused him from his abstrac- 
tion by drawing his attentioa to her nephew 
who had entered the room. 

At that moment of emotional tenderness 
young Nicholas' face, which resembled his 
father's, affected Pierre so much that when he 
had kissed the boy he got up quickly, took out 
his handkerchief, and went to the window. He 
wished to take leave of Princess Mary, but she 
would not let him go. 

"No, Natdsha and I sometimes don't go to 
sleep till after two, so please don't go. I will 
order supper. Go downstairs, we will come im- 
mediately." 

Before Pierre left the room Princess Mary 
told him: "This is the first time she has talked 
of him like that." 



CHAPTER XVII 

PIERRE WAS SHOWN into the large, brightly lit 
dining room; a few minutes later he heard 
footsteps and Princess Mary entered with 
Natdsha. Natdsha was calm, though a severe 
and grave expression had again settled on her 
face. They all three of them now experienced 
that feeling of awkwardness which usually fol- 
lows after a serious and heartfelt talk. It is im- 
possible to go back to the same conversation, to 
talk of trifles is awkward, and yet the desire 
to speak is there and silence seems like affecta- 
tion. They went silently to table. The foot- 
men drew back the chairs and pushed them up 
again. Pierre unfolded his cold table napkin 
and, resolving to break the silence, looked at 
Natdsha and at Princess Mary. They had evi- 
dently both formed the same resolution; the 
eyes of both shone with satisfaction and a con- 
fession that besides sorrow life also has joy. 

"Do you take vodka, Count?" asked Princess 
Mary, and those words suddenly banished the 
shadows of the past, "Now tell us about your- 
self," said she. "One hears such improbable 
wonders about you/' 



638 



WAR AND PEACE 



"Yes," replied Pierre with the smile of mild 
irony now habitual to him. "They even tell 
me wonders I myself never dreamed of 1 Mary 
Abrdmovna invited me to her house and kept 
telling me what had happened, or ought to 
have happened, to me. Stepan Stepanych also 
instructed me how I ought to tell of my expe- 
riences. In general I have noticed that it is 
very easy to be an interesting man (I am an in- 
teresting man now); people invite me out and 
tell me all about myself." 

Natasha smiled and was on the point of 
speaking. 

"We have been told," Princess Mary inter- 
rupted her, "that you lost two millions in 
Moscow. Is that true?" 

"But I am three times as rich as before,'* re- 
turned Pierre. 

Though the position was now altered by his 
decision to pay his wife's debts and to rebuild 
his houses, Pierre still maintained that he had 
become three times as rich as before. 

"What I have certainly gained is freedom," 
he began seriously, but did not continue, no- 
ticing that this theme was too egotistic. 

"And are you building?" 

"Yes. Savelich says I must!" 

"Tell me, you did not know of the countess' 
death when you decided to remain in Mos- 
cow?" asked Princess Mary and immediately 
blushed, noticing that her question, following 
his mention of freedom, ascribed to his words 
a meaning he had perhaps not intended. 

"No," answered Pierre, evidently not con- 
sidering awkward the meaning Princess Mary 
had given to his words. "I heard of it in Orel 
and you cannot imagine how it shocked me. 
We were not an exemplary couple," he added 
quickly, glancing at Natdsha and noticing on 
her face curiosity as to how he would speak of 
his wife, "but her death shocked me terribly. 
When two people quarrel they are always both 
in fault, and one's own guilt suddenly becomes 
terribly serious when the other is no longer 
alive. And then such a death . . . without friends 
and without consolation! I am very, very sorry 
for her," he concluded, and was pleased to no- 
tice a look of glad approval on Natasha's face. 

"Yes, and so you are once more an eligible 
bachelor," said Princess Mary. 

Pierre suddenly flushed crimson and for a 
long time tried not to look at Natdsha. When 
he ventured to glance her way again her face 
was cold, stern, and he fancied even con- 
temptuous. 

"And did you really see and speak to Na- 



poleon, as we have been told?" said Princess 
Mary. 

Pierre laughed. 

"No, not oncel Everybody seems to imagine 
that being taken prisoner means being Napo- 
leon's guest. Not only did I never see him but 
I heard nothing about himI was in much 
lower company!" 

Supper was over, and Pierre who at first de- 
clined to speak about his captivity was gradu- 
ally led on to do so. 

"But it's true that you remained in Moscow 
to kill Napoleon?" Natdsha asked with a slight 
smile. "I guessed it then when we met at the 
Sukharev tower, do you remember?" 

Pierre admitted that it was true, and from 
that was gradually led by Princess Mary's ques- 
tions and especially by Natasha's into giving 
a detailed account of his adventures. 

At first he spoke with the amused and mild 
irony now customary with him toward every- 
body and especially toward himself, but when 
he came to describe the horrors and sufferings 
he had witnessed he was unconsciously car- 
ried away and began speaking with the sup- 
pressed emotion of a man re-experiencing in 
recollection strong impressions he has lived 
through. 

Princess Mary with a gentle smile looked 
now at Pierre and now at Natasha. In the 
whole narrative she saw only Pierre and his 
goodness. Natasha, leaning on her elbow, the 
expression of her face constantly changing 
with the narrative, watched Pierre with an 
attention that never wanderedevidently her- 
self experiencing all that he described. Not 
only her look, but her exclamations and the 
brief questions she put, showed Pierre that she 
understood just what he wished to convey. It 
was clear that she understood not only what 
he said but also what he wished to, but could 
not, express in words. The account Pierre 
gave of the incident with the child and the 
woman for protecting whom he was arrested 
was this: "It was an awful sight children aban- 
doned, some in the flames . . . One was snatched 
out before my eyes . . . and there were women 
who had their things snatched off and their 
earrings torn out . . ." he flushed and grew con- 
fused. "Then a patrol arrived and all the men 
all those who were not looting, that is were 
arrested, and I among them." 

"I am sure you're not telling us everything; 
I am sure you did something . . ." said Natdsha, 
and pausing added, "something fine?" 

Pierre continued. When he spoke of the exe- 



BOOK FIFTEEN 



639 



cution he wanted to pass over the horrible de- 
tails, but Natasha insisted that he should not 
omit anything. 

Pierre began to tell about Karatdev, but 
paused. By this time he had risen from the ta- 
ble and was pacing the room, Natasha follow- 
ing him with her eyes. Then he added: 

"No, you can't understand what I learned 
from that illiterate manthat simple fellow." 

"Yes, yes, go onl" said Natdsha. "Where is 
he?" 

"They killed him almost before my eyes." 

And Pierre, his voice trembling continually, 
went on to tell of the last days of their retreat, 
of Karatdev's illness and his death. 

He told of his adventures as he had never 
yet recalled them. He now, as it were, saw a 
new meaning in all he had gone through. Now 
that he was telling it all to Natdsha he experi- 
enced that pleasure which a man has when 
women listen to himnot clever women who 
when listening either try to remember what 
they hear to enrich their minds and when op- 
portunity offers to retell it, or who wish to 
adopt it to some thought of their own and 
promptly contribute their own clever com- 
ments prepared in their own little mental work- 
shop but the pleasure given by real women 
gifted with a capacity to select and absorb the 
very best a man shows of himself. Natasha with- 
out knowing it was all attention: she did not 
lose a word, no single quiver in Pierre's voice, 
no look, no twitch of a muscle in his face, nor 
a single gesture. She caught the unfinished 
word in its flight and took it straight into her 
open heart, divining the secret meaning of all 
Pierre's mental travail. 

Princess Mary understood his story and sym- 
pathized with him, but she now saw something 
else that absorbed all her attention. She saw 
the possibility of love and happiness between 
Natasha and Pierre, and the first thought of 
this filled her heart with gladness. 

It was three o'clock in the morning. The 
footmen came in with sad and stern faces to 
change the candles, but no one noticed them. 

Pierre finished his story. Natasha continued 
to look at him intently with bright, attentive, 
and animated eyes, as if trying to understand 
something more which he had perhaps left un- 
told. Pierre in shamefaced and happy confu- 
sion glanced occasionally at her, and tried to 
think what to say next to introduce a fresh 
subject. Princess Mary was silent. It occurred 
to none of them that it was three o'clock and 
time to go to bed. 



"People speak of misfortunes and suffer- 
ings," remarked Pierre, "but if at this moment 
I were asked: 'Would you rather be what you 
were before you were taken prisoner, or go 
through all this again?' then for heaven's sake 
let me again have captivity and horsefleshl 
We imagine that when we are thrown out of 
our usual ruts all is lost, but it is only then that 
what is new and good begins. While there is 
life there is happiness. There is much, much 
before us. I say this to you," he added, turning 
to Natdsha. 

"Yes, yes," she said, answering something 
quite different. "I too should wish nothing but 
to relive it all from the beginning." 

Pierre looked intently at her. 

"Yes, and nothing more," said Natdsha. 

"It's not true, not true!" cried Pierre. "I am 
not to blame for beingalive and wishing to live 
nor you either." 

Suddenly Natasha bent her head, covered 
her face with her hands, and began to cry. 

"What is it, Natdsha?" said Princess Mary. 

"Nothing, nothing." She smiled at Pierre 
through her tears. "Good night! It is time for 
bed." 

Pierre rose and took his leave. 

Princess Mary and Natdsha met as usual in 
the bedroom. They talked of what Pierre had 
told them. Princess Mary did not express her 
opinion of Pierre nor did Natasha speak of 
him. 

"Well, good night, Mary!' 1 said Natasha. 
"Do you know, I am often afraid that by not 
speaking of him" (she meant Prince Andrew) 
"for fear of not doing justice to our feelings, 
we forget him." 

Princess Mary sighed deeply and thereby ac- 
knowledged the justice of Natasha's remark, 
but she did not express agreement in words. 

"Is it possible to forget?" said she. 

"It did me so much good to tell all about it 
today. It was hard and painful, but good, very 
good!" said Natdsha. "I am sure he really loved 
him. That is why I told him . . . Was it all 
right?" she added, suddenly blushing. 

"To tell Pierre? Oh, yes. What a splendid 
man he is!" said Princess Mary. 

"Do you know, Mary . . ." Natdsha suddenly 
said with a mischievous smile such as Princess 
Mary had not seen on her face for a long time, 
"he has somehow grown so clean, smooth, and 
freshas if he had just come out of a Russian 
bath; do you understand? Out of a moral bath. 
Isn't it true?" 



640 



WAR AND PEACE 



"Yes," replied Princess Mary. "He has great- 
ly improved." 

"With a short coat and his hair cropped; 
just as if, well, just as if he had come straight 
from the bath . . . Papa used to ..." 

"I understand why he" (Prince Andrew) 
"liked no one so much as him," said Princess 
Mary. 

"Yes, and yet he is quite different. They say 
men are friends when they are quite different. 
That must be true. Really he is quite unlike 
him in everything." 

"Yes, but he's wonderful." 

"Well, good night," said Natdsha. 

And the same mischievous smile lingered 
for a long time on her face as if it had been 
forgotten there. 

CHAPTER XVIII 

IT WAS A LONG TIME before Pierre could fall 
asleep that night. He paced up and down his 
room, now turning his thoughts on a difficult 
problem and frowning, now suddenly shrug- 
ging his shoulders and wincing, and now smil- 
ing happily. 

He was thinking of Prince Andrew, of Nata- 
sha, and of their love, at one moment jealous 
of her past, then reproaching himself for that 
feeling. It was already six in the morning and 
he still paced up and down the room. 

"Well, what's to be done if it cannot be 
avoided? What's to be done? Evidently it has 
to be so," said he to himself, and hastily un- 
dressing he got into bed, happy and agitated 
but free from hesitation or indecision. 

"Strange and impossible as such happiness 
seems, I must do everything that she and 1 
may be man and wife," he told himself. 

A few days previously Pierre had decided to 
go to Petersburg on the Friday. When he awoke 
on the Thursday, Savlich came to ask him 
about packing for the journey. 

"What, to Petersburg? What is Petersburg? 
Who is therein Petersburg?" he asked involun- 
tarily, though only to himself. "Oh, yes, long 
ago before this happened I did for some reason 
mean to go to Petersburg," he reflected. "Why? 
But perhaps I shall go. What a good fellow he is 
and how attentive, and how he remembers 
everything," he thought, looking at Sav^lich's 
old face, "and what a pleasant smile he has!" 

"Well, Sav&ich, do you still not wish to ac- 
cept your freedom?" Pierre asked him. 

"What's the good of freedom to me, your 
excellency? We lived under the late count the 
kingdom of heaven be his! and we have lived 



under you too, without ever being wronged." 

"And your children?" 

"The children will live just the same. With 
such masters one can live." 

"But what about my heirs?" said Pierre. 
"Supposing I suddenly marry ... it might hap- 
pen," he added with an involuntary smile. 

"If I may take the liberty, your excellency, it 
would be a good thing." 

"How easy he thinks it," thought Pierre. "He 
doesn't know how terrible it is and how dan- 
gerous. Too soon or too late ... it is terrible!" 

"So what are your orders? Are you starting 
tomorrow?" asked Save*lich. 

"No, I'll put it off for a bit. I'll tell you later. 
You must forgive the trouble I have put you 
to," said Pierre, and seeing Save*lich smile, he 
thought: "But how strange it is that he should 
not know that now there is no Petersburg for 
me, and that that must be settled first of all! 
But probably he knows it well enough and is 
only pretending. Shall I have a talk with him 
and see what he thinks?" Pierre reflected. "No, 
another time." 

At breakfast Pierre told the princess, his 
cousin, that he had been to see Princess Mary 
the day before and had there met "Whom do 
you think? Natasha Rost6va!" 

The princess seemed to see nothing more 
extraordinary in that than if he had seen Anna 
Semenovna. 

"Do you know her?" asked Pierre. 

"I have seen the princess," she replied. "I 
heard that they were arranging a match for 
her with young Rost6v. It would be a very 
good thing for the Rost6vs, they are said to 
be utterly ruined." 

"No; I mean doyouknowNatdsha Rost6va?" 

"1 heard about that affair of hers at the time. 
It was a great pity." 

"No, she either doesn't understand or is pre- 
tending," thought Pierre. "Better not say any- 
thing to her either." 

The princess too had prepared provisions 
for Pierre's journey. 

"How kind they all are," thought Pierre. 
"What is surprising is that they should trouble 
about these things now when it can no longer 
be of interest to them. And all for me!" 

On the same day the Chief of Police came 
to Pierre, inviting him to send a representative 
to the Faceted Palace to recover things that 
were to be returned to their owners that day. 

"And this man too," thought Pierre, looking 
into the face of the Chief of Police. "What a 
fine, good-looking officer and how kind. Fancy 



BOOK FIFTEEN 

bothering about such trifles now\ And they 
actually say he is not honest and takes bribes. 
What nonsense! Besides, why shouldn't he take 
bribes? That's the way he was brought up, and 
everybody does it. But what a kind, pleasant 
face and how he smiles as he looks at me." 

Pierre went to Princess Mary's to dinner. 

As he drove through the streets past the 
houses that had been burned down, he was 
surprised by the beauty of those ruins. The 
picturesqueness of the chimney stacks and tum- 
ble-down walls of the burned-out quarters of 
the town, stretching out and concealing one 
another, reminded him of the Rhine and the 
Colosseum. The cabmen he met and their pas- 
sengers, the carpenters cutting the timber for 
new houses with their axes, the women hawk- 
ers, and the shopkeepers, all looked at him with 
cheerful beaming eyes that seemed to say: "Ah, 
there he is! Let's see what will come of it!" 

At the entrance to Princess Mary's house 
Pierre felt doubtful whether he had really 
been there the night before and had really seen 
Natdsha and talked to her. "Perhaps I imagined 
it; perhaps I shall go in and find no one there." 
But he had hardly entered the room before he 
felt her presence with his whole being by the 
loss of his sense of freedom. She was in the 
same black dress with soft folds and her hair 
was done the same way as the day before, yet 
she was quite different. Had she been like this 
when he entered the day before he could not 
for a moment have failed to recognize her. 

She was as he had known her almost as a 
child and later on as Prince Andrew's fiancee. 
A bright questioning light shone in her eyes, 
and on her face was a friendly and strangely 
roguish expression. 

Pierre dined with them and would have 
spent the whole evening there, but Princess 
Mary was going to vespers and Pierre left the 
house with her. 

Next day he came early, dined, and stayed 
the whole evening. Though Princess Mary and 
Natasha were evidently glad to see their visitor 
and though all Pierre's interest was now cen- 
tered in that house, by the evening they had 
talked over everything and the conversation 
passed from one trivial topic to another and 
repeatedly broke off. He stayed so long that 
Princess Mary and Natdsha exchanged glances, 
evidently wondering when he would go. Pierre 
noticed this but could not go. He felt uneasy 
and embarrassed, but sat on because he simply 
could not get up and take his leave. 

Princess Mary, foreseeing no end to this, 



641 

rose first, and complaining of a headache be- 
gan to say good night. 

"So you are going to Petersburg tomorrow?" 
she asked. 

"No, I am not going," Pierre replied hastily, 
in a surprised tone and as though offended. 
"Yes ... no ... to Petersburg? Tomorrow 
but I won't say good-by yet. I will call round 
in case you have any commissions for me," 
said he, standing before Princess Mary and 
turning red, but not taking his departure. 

Natasha gave him her hand and went out. 
Princess Mary on the other hand instead of go- 
ing away sank into an armchair, and looked 
sternly and intently at him with her deep, ra- 
diant eyes. The weariness she had plainly 
shown before had now quite passed off. With a 
deep and long-drawn sigh she seemed to be pre- 
pared for a lengthy talk. 

When Natdsha left the room Pierre's confu- 
sion and awkwardness immediately vanished 
and were replaced by eager excitement. He 
quickly moved an armchair toward Princess 
Mary. 

"Yes, I wanted to tell you," said he, answer- 
ing her look as if she had spoken. "Princess, 
help me! What am I to do? Can I hope? Prin- 
cess, my dear friend, listenl I know it all. I 
know I am not worthy of her, I know it's im- 
possible to speak of it now. But I want to be a 
brother to her. No, not that, I don't, I can't . . ." 

He paused and rubbed his face and eyes 
with his hands. 

"Well," he went on with an evident effort 
at self-control and coherence. "I don't know 
when I began to love her, but I have loved her 
and her alone all my life, and I love her so that 
I cannot imagine life without her. I cannot 
propose to her at present, but the thought that 
perhaps she might someday be my wife and 
that I may be missing that possibility . . . that 
possibility ... is terrible. Tell me, can I hope? 
Tell me what I am to do, dear princess!" he 
added after a pause, and touched her hand as 
she did not reply. 

"I am thinking of what you have told me," 
answered Princess Mary. "This is what I will 
say. You are right that to speak to her of love 
at present . . ." 

Princess Mary stopped. She was going to say 
that to speak of love was impossible, but she 
stopped because she had seen by the sudden 
change in Natdsha two days before that she 
would not only not be hurt if Pierre spoke of 
his love, but that it was the very thing she 
wished for. 



648 



WAR AND PEACE 



"To speak to her now wouldn't do," said the 
princess all the same. 

"But what am I to do?" 

"Leave it to me," said Princess Mary. "I 
know . . ." 

Pierre was looking into Princess Mary's eyes. 

"Well? . . . Well? . . ." he said. 

"I know that she loves . . . will love you," 
Princess Mary corrected herself. 

Before her words were out, Pierre had sprung 
up and with a frightened expression seized 
Princess Mary's hand. 

"What makes you think so? You think I may 
hope? You think . . . ?" 

"Yes, I think so," said Princess Mary with a 
smile. "Write to her parents, and leave it to 
me. 1 will tell her when I can. I wish it to hap- 
pen and my heart tells me it will." 

"No, it cannot be I How happy I am! But it 
can't be. . . . How happy I am! No, it can't 
be!" Pierre kept saying as he kissed Princess 
Mary's hands. 

"Go to Petersburg, that will be best. And I 
will write to you," she said. 

"To Petersburg? Go there? Very well, I'll go. 
But I may come again tomorrow?" 

Next day Pierre came to say good-by. Natisha 
was less animated than she had been the day 
before; but that day as he looked at her Pierre 
sometimes felt as if he was vanishing and that 
neither he nor she existed any longer, that 
nothing existed but happiness. "Is it possible? 
No, it can't be," he told himself at every look, 
gesture, and word that filled his soul with 
joy. 

When on saying good-by he took her thin, 
slender hand, he could not help holding it a 
little longer in his own. 

"Is it possible that this hand, that face, those 
eyes, all this treasure of feminine charm so 
strange to me now, is it possible that it will 
one day be mine forever, as familiar to me as 
I am to myself? . . . No, that's impossible! . . ." 

"Good-by, Count," she said aloud. "I shall 
look forward very much to your return," she 
added in a whisper. 

And these simple words, her look, and the 
expression on her face which accompanied 
them, formed for two months the subject of in- 
exhaustible memories, interpretations, and 
happy meditations for Pierre. " 'I shall look 

forward very much to your return ' Yes, yes, 

how did she say it? Yes, 'I shall look forward 
very much to your return.' Oh, how happy I 
am! What is happening to me? How happy I 
ami" said Pierre to himself. 



CHAPTER XIX 

THERE WAS NOTHING in Pierre's soul now at all 
like what had troubled it during his courtship 
of H&fcne. 

He did not repeat to himself with a sicken- 
ing feeling of shame the words he had spoken, 
or say: "Oh, why did I not say that?" and, 
"Whatever made me say 'Je vous aime'?" On 
the contrary, he now repeated in imagination 
every word that he or Natdsha had spoken and 
pictured every detail of her face and smile, 
and did not wish to diminish or add anything, 
but only to repeat it again and again. There 
was now not a shadow of doubt in his mind as 
to whether what he had undertaken was right 
or wrong. Only one terrible doubt sometimes 
crossed his mind: "Wasn't it all a dream? Isn't 
Princess Mary mistaken? Am I not too con- 
ceited and self-confident? I believe all this 
and suddenly Princess Mary will tell her, and 
she will be sure to smile and say: 'How strange! 
He must be deluding himself. Doesn't he know 
that he is a man, just a man, while I . . . ? I am 
something altogether different and higher.' " 

That was the only doubt often troubling 
Pierre. He did not now make any plans. The 
happiness before him appeared so inconceiv- 
able that if only he could attain it, it would be 
the end of all things. Everything ended with 
that. 

A joyful, unexpected frenzy, of which he had 
thought himself incapable, possessed him. The 
whole meaning of lifenot for him alone but 
for the whole world seemed to him centered 
in his love and the possibility of being loved 
by her. At times everybody seemed to him to 
be occupied with one thing only his future 
happiness. Sometimes it seemed to him that 
other people were all as pleased as he was him- 
self and merely tried to hide that pleasure by 
pretending to be busy with other interests. In 
every word and gesture he saw allusions to his 
happiness. He often surprised those he met by 
his significantly happy looks and smiles which 
seemed to express a secret understanding be- 
tween him and them. And when he realized 
that people might not be aware of his happi- 
ness, he pitied them with his whole heart and 
felt a desire somehow to explain to them that 
all that occupied them was a mere frivolous 
trifle unworthy of attention. 

When it was suggested to him that he should 
enter the civil service, or when the war or any 
general political affairs were discussed on the 
assumption that everybody's welfare depended 
on this or that issue of events, he would listen 



BOOK FIFTEEN 



64S 



with a mild and pitying smile and surprise 
people by his strange comments. But at this 
time he saw everybody both those who, as 
he imagined, understood the real meaning of 
life (that is, what he was feeling) and those 
unfortunates who evidently did not under- 
stand it in the bright light of the emotion that 
shone within himself, and at once without any 
effort saw in everyone he met everything that 
was good and worthy of being loved. 

When dealing with the affairs and papers 
of his dead wife, her memory aroused in him 
no feeling but pity that she had not known the 
bliss he now knew. Prince Vasili, who having 
obtained a new post and some fresh decora- 
tions was particularly proud at this time, 
seemed to him a pathetic, kindly old man much 
to be pitied. 

Often in afterlife Pierre recalled this period 
of blissful insanity. All the views he formed 
of men and circumstances at this time re- 
mained true for him always. He not only did 
not renounce them subsequently, but when he 
was in doubt or inwardly at variance, he re- 
ferred to the views he had held at this time of 
his madness and they always proved correct. 

"I may have appeared strange and queer 
then," he thought, "but I was not so mad as I 
seemed. On the contrary 1 was then wiser and 
had more insight than at any other time, and 
understood all that is worth understanding 
in life, because . . . because I was happy." 

Pierre's insanity consisted in not waiting, as 
he used to do, to discover personal attributes 
which he termed "good qualities" in people 
before loving them; his heart was now over- 
flowing with love, and by loving people with- 
out cause he discovered indubitable causes for 
loving them. 

CHAPTER XX 

AFTER PIERRE'S DEPARTURE that first evening, 
when Natdsha had said to Princess Mary with 
a gaily mocking smile: "He looks just, yes, just 
as if he had come out of a Russian bath in a 
short coat and with his hair cropped," some- 
thing hidden and unknown to herself, but 
irrepressible, awoke in Natdsha's soul. 

Everything: her face, walk, look, and voice, 
was suddenly altered. To her own surprise a 
power of life and hope of happiness rose to 
the surface and demanded satisfaction. From 
that evening she seemed to have forgotten all 
that had happened to her. She no longer com- 
plained of her position, did not say a word 
about the past, and no longer feared to make 



happy plans for the future. She spoke little of 
Pierre, but when Princess Mary mentioned 
him a long-extinguished light once more kin- 
dled in her eyes and her lips curved with a 
strange smile. 

The change that took place in Natasha at 
first surprised Princess Mary; but when she 
understood its meaning it grieved her. "Can 
she have loved my brother so little as to be 
able to forget him so soon?" she thought when 
she reflected on the change. But when she was 
with Natdsha she was not vexed with her and 
did not reproach her. The reawakened power 
of life that had seized Natasha was so evidently 
irrepressible and unexpected by her that in 
her presence Princess Mary felt that she had 
no right to reproach her even in her heart. 

Natasha gave herself up so fully and frankly 
to this new feeling that she did not try to hide 
the fact that she was no longer sad, but bright 
and cheerful. 

When Princess Mary returned to her room 
after her nocturnal talk with Pierre, Natdsha 
met her on the threshold. 

"He has spoken? Yes? He has spoken?" she 
repeated. 

And a joyful yet pathetic expression which 
seemed to beg forgiveness for her joy settled 
on Natdsha's face. 

"1 wanted to listen at the door, but I knew 
you would tell me." 

Understandable and touching as the look 
with which Natasha gazed at her seemed to 
Princess Mary, and sorry as she was to see her 
agitation, these words pained her for a mo- 
ment. She remembered her brother and his 
love. 

"But what's to be done? She can't help it," 
thought the princess. 

And with a sad and rather stern look she 
told Natdsha all that Pierre had said. On hear- 
ing that he was going to Petersburg Natdsha 
was astounded. 

"To Petersburgl" she repeated as if unable 
to understand. 

But noticing the grieved expression on Prin- 
cess Mary's face she guessed the reason of that 
sadness and suddenly began to cry. 

"Mary," said she, "tell me what I should dol 
I am afraid of being bad. Whatever you tell 
me, I will do. Tell me " 

"You love him?" 

"Yes," whispered Natdsha. 

"Then why are you crying? I am happy for 
your sake," said Princess Mary, who because 
of those tears quite forgave Natdsha's joy. 



644 WAR AND PEACE 

"It won't be just yet someday. Think what They were silent awhile. 

fun it will be when I am his wife and you "But why go to Petersburg?" Natdsha sud- 

marry Nicholas!" denly asked, and hastily replied to her own 

"Natdsha, I have asked you not to speak of question. "But no, no, he must. . . . Yes, Mary, 

that. Let us talk about you." He must. . . ." 



First Epilogue: 1813-20 



CHAPTER I 

SEVEN YEARS had passed. The storm- tossed sea 
of European history had subsided within its 
shores and seemed to have become calm. But 
the mysterious forces that move humanity (mys- 
terious because the laws of their motion are un- 
known to us) continued to operate. 

Though the surface of the sea of history 
seemed motionless, the movement of humanity 
went on as unceasingly as the flow of time. Var- 
ious groups of people formed and dissolved, 
the coming formation and dissolution of king- 
doms and displacement of peoples was in 
course of preparation. 

The sea of history was not driven spasmodi- 
cally from shore to shore as previously. It was 
seething in its depths. Historic figures were not 
borne by the waves from one shore to another 
as before. They now seemed to rotate on one 
spot. The historical figures at the head of ar- 
mies, who formerly reflected the movement of 
the masses by ordering wars, campaigns, and 
battles, now reflected the restless movement 
by political and diplomatic combinations, laws, 
and treaties. 

The historians call this activity of the histor- 
ical figures "the reaction." 

In dealing with this period they sternly con- 
demn the historical personages who, in their 
opinion, caused what they describe as the re- 
action. All the well-known people of that pe- 
riod, from Alexander and Napoleon to Ma- 
dame de Stael, Photius, Schelling, Fichte, Cha- 
teaubriand, and the rest, pass before their 
stern judgment seat and are acquitted or con- 
demned according to whether they conduced 
to progress or to reaction. 

According to their accounts a reaction took 
place at that time in Russia also, and the chief 
culprit was Alexander I, the same man who ac- 
cording to them was the chief cause of the lib- 
eral movement at the commencement of his 
reign, being the savior of Russia. 

There is no one in Russian literature now, 
from schoolboy essayist to learned historian, 



who does not throw his little stone at Alexan- 
der for things he did wrong at this period of 
his reign. 

"He ought to have acted in this way and in 
that way. In this case he did well and in that 
case badly. He behaved admirably at the be- 
ginning of his reign and during 1812, but act- 
ed badly by giving a constitution to Poland, 
forming the Holy Alliance, entrusting power 
to Arakche"ev, favoring GoHtsyn and mysticism, 
and afterwards Shishk6v and Photius. He also 
acted badly by concerning himself with the ac- 
tive army and disbanding the Semenov regi- 
ment." 

It would take a dozen pages to enumerate 
all the reproaches the historians address to 
him, based on their knowledge of what is good 
for humanity. 

What do these reproaches mean? 

Do not the very actions for which the histo- 
rians praise Alexander I (the liberal attempts 
at the beginning of his reign, his struggle with 
Napoleon, the firmness he displayed in 1812 
and the campaign of 1813) flow from the same 
sourcesthe circumstances of his birth, educa- 
tion, and lifethat made his personality what 
it was and from which the actions for which 
they blame him (the Holy Alliance, the resto- 
ration of Poland, and the reaction of 1820 and 
later) also flowed? 

In what does the substance of those reproach- 
es lie? 

It lies in the fact that an historic character 
like Alexander I, standing on the highest pos- 
sible pinnacle of human power with the blind- 
ing light of history focused upon him; a char- 
acter exposed to those strongest of all influ- 
ences: the intrigues, flattery, and self-deception 
inseparable from power; a character who at 
every moment of his life felt a responsibility 
for all that was happening in Europe; and not 
a fictitious but a live character who like every 
man had his personal habits, passions, and im- 
pulses toward goodness, beauty, and truth 
that this character though not lacking in vir- 



645 



646 



WAR AND PEACE 



tue (the historians do not accuse him of that) 
had not the same conception of the welfare 
of humanity fifty years ago * as a present-day 
professor who from his youth upwards has 
been occupied with learning: that is, with 
books and lectures and with taking notes from 
them. 

But even if we assume that fifty years ago 
Alexander I was mistaken in his view of what 
was good for the people, we must inevitably 
assume that the historian who judges Alexan- 
der will also after the lapse of some time turn 
out to be mistaken in his view of what is good 
for humanity. This assumption is all the more 
natural and inevitable because, watching the 
movement of history, we sec that every year 
and with each new writer, opinion as to what 
is good for mankind changes; so that what 
once seemed good, ten years later seems bad, 
and vice versa. And what is more, we find at 
one and the same time quite contradictory 
views as to what is bad and what is good in his- 
tory: some people regard giving a constitu- 
tion to Poland and forming the Holy Alliance 
as praiseworthy in Alexander, while others re- 
gard it as blameworthy. 

The activity of Alexander or of Napoleon 
cannot be called useful or harmful, for it is 
impossible to say for what it was useful or 
harmful. If that activity displeases somebody, 
this is only because it does not agree with his 
limited understanding of what is good. Wheth- 
er the preservation of my father's house in 
Moscow, or the glory of the Russian arms, or 
the prosperity of the Petersburg and other uni- 
versities, or the freedom of Poland or the great- 
ness of Russia, or the balance of power in Eu- 
rope, or a certain kind of European culture 
called "progress" appear to me to be good or 
bad, I must admit that besides these things the 
action of every historic character has other 
more general purposes inaccessible to me. 

But let us assume that what is called science 
can harmonize all contradictions and possesses 
an unchanging standard of good and bad by 
which to try historic characters and events; let 
us say that Alexander could have done every- 
thing differently; let us say that with guidance 
from those who blame him and who profess to 
know the ultimate aim of the movement of hu- 
manity, he might have arranged matters ac- 
cording to the program his present accusers 
would have given him of nationality, freedom, 
equality, and progress (these, I think, cover the 
ground). Let us assume that this program was 

1 War and Peace was completed in 1869. TR. 



possible and had then been formulated, and 
that Alexander had acted on it. What would 
then have become of the activity of all those 
who opposed the tendency that then prevailed 
in the governmentan activity that in the 
opinion of the historians was good and benefi- 
cent? Their activity would not have existed: 
there would have been no life, there would 
have been nothing. 

If we admit that human life can be ruled by 
reason, the possibility of life is destroyed. 

CHAPTER II 

IF WE ASSUME as the historians do that great 
men lead humanity to the attainment of cer- 
tain ends the greatness of Russia or of France, 
the balance of power in Europe, the diffusion 
of the ideas of the Revolution, general prog- 
ress, or anything else then it is impossible 
to explain the facts of history without intro- 
ducing the conceptions of chance and genius. 

If the aim of the European wars at the be- 
ginning of the nineteenth century had been 
the aggrandizement of Russia, that aim might 
have been accomplished without all the pre- 
ceding wars and without the invasion. If the 
aim was the aggrandizement of France, that 
might have been attained without the Revolu- 
tion and without the Empire. If the aim was 
the dissemination of ideas, the printing press 
could have accomplished that much better 
than warfare. If the aim was the progress of 
civilization, it is easy to sec that there are other 
ways of diffusing civilization more expedient 
than by the destruction of wealth and of hu- 
man lives. 

Why did it happen in this and not in some 
other way? 

Because it happened so! "Chance created the 
situation; genius utilized it," says history. 

But what is chance? What is genius? 

The words chance and genius do not denote 
any really existing thing and therefore can- 
not be defined. Those words only denote a 
certain stage of understanding of phenomena. 
I do not know why a certain event occurs; I 
think that I cannot know it; so I do not try to 
know it and I talk about chance. I see a force 
producing effects beyond the scope of ordinary 
human agencies; I do not understand why this 
occurs and I talk of genius. 

To a herd of rams, the ram the herdsman 
drives each evening into a special enclosure 
to feed and that becomes twice as fat as the 
others must seem to be a genius. And it must 
appear an astonishing conjunction of genius 



FIRST EPILOGUE 



647 



with a whole series of extraordinary chances 
that this ram, who instead of getting into the 
general fold every evening goes into a special 
enclosure where there are oatsthat this very 
ram, swelling with fat, is killed for meat. 

But the rams need only cease to suppose that 
all that happens to them happens solely for 
the attainment of their sheepish aims; they 
need only admit that what happens to them 
may also have purposes beyond their ken, and 
they will at once perceive a unity and coher- 
ence in what happened to the ram that was 
fattened. Even if they do not know for what 
purpose they are fattened, they will at least 
know that all that happened to the ram did 
not happen accidentally, and will no longer 
need the conceptions of chance or genius. 

Only by renouncing our claim to discern a 
purpose immediately intelligible to us, and ad- 
mitting the ultimate purpose to be beyond 
our ken, may we discern the sequence of ex- 
periences in the lives of historic characters and 
perceive the cause of the effect they produce 
(incommensurable with ordinary human capa- 
bilities), and then the words chance and genius 
become superfluous. 

We need only confess that we do not know 
the purpose of the European convulsions and 
that we know only the facts that is, the mur- 
ders, first in France, then in Italy, in Africa, in 
Prussia, in Austria, in Spain, and in Russia 
and that the movements from the west to the 
east and from the east to the west form the es- 
sence and purpose of these events, and not 
only shall we have no need to see exceptional 
ability and genius in Napoleon and Alexander, 
but we shall be unable to consider them to be 
anything but like other men, and we shall not 
be obliged to have recourse to chance for an 
explanation of those small events which made 
these people what they were, but it will be 
clear that all those small events were inevita- 
ble. 

By discarding a claim to knowledge of the 
ultimate purpose, we shall clearly perceive 
that just as one cannot imagine a blossom or 
seed for any single plant better suited to it than 
those it produces, so it is impossible to imagine 
any two people more completely adapted down 
to the smallest detail for the purpose they had 
to fulfill, than Napoleon and Alexander with 
all their antecedents. 

CHAPTER III 

THE FUNDAMENTAL and essential significance 
of the European events of the beginning of the 



nineteenth century lies in the movement of 
the mass of the European peoples from west 
to east and afterwards from east to west. The 
commencement of that movement was the 
movement from west to east. For the peoples of 
the west to be able to make their warlike move- 
ment to Moscow it was necessary: (i) that they 
should form themselves into a military group 
of a size able to endure a collision with the 
warlike military group of the east, (2) that 
they should abandon all established traditions 
and customs, and (3) that during their military 
movement they should have at their head a 
man who could justify to himself and to them 
the deceptions, robberies, and murders which 
would have to be committed during that move- 
ment. 

And beginning with the French Revolution 
the old inadequately large group was destroyed, 
as well as the old habits and traditions, and 
step by step a group was formed of larger di- 
mensions with new customs and traditions, 
and a man was produced who would stand at 
the head of the coming movement and bear 
the responsibility for all that had to be done. 

A man without convictions, without habits, 
without traditions, without a name, and not 
even a Frenchman, emerges by what seem 
the strangest chances from among all the 
seething French parties, and without joining 
any one of them is borne forward to a promi- 
nent position. 

The ignorance of his colleagues, the weak- 
ness and insignificance of his opponents, the 
frankness of his falsehoods, and the dazzling 
and self-confident limitations of this man raise 
him to the head of the army. The brilliant 
qualities of the soldiers of the army sent to 
Italy, his opponents' reluctance to fight, and 
his own childish audacity and self-confidence 
secure him military fame. Innumerable so- 
called chances accompany him everywhere. 
The disfavor into which he falls with the rul- 
ers of France turns to his advantage. His at- 
tempts to avoid his predestined path are un- 
successful: he is not received into the Russian 
service, and the appointment he seeks in Tur- . 
key comes to nothing. During the war in Italy 
he is several times on the verge of destruction 
and each time is saved in an unexpected man- 
ner. Owing to various diplomatic considera- 
tions the Russian armies just those which 
might have destroyed his prestige do not ap- 
pear upon the scene till he is no longer there. 

On his return from Italy he finds the gov- 
ernment in Paris in a process of dissolution in 



648 



WAR AND PEACE 



which all those who are in it are inevitably 
wiped out and destroyed. And by chance an 
escape from this dangerous position presents 
itself in the form of an aimless and senseless 
expedition to Africa. Again so-called chance 
accompanies him. Impregnable Malta surren- 
ders without a shot; his most reckless schemes 
are crowned with success. The enemy's fleet, 
which subsequently did not let a single boat 
pass, allows his entire army to elude it. In 
Africa a whole series of outrages are commit- 
ted against the almost unarmed inhabitants. 
And the men who commit these crimes, es- 
pecially their leader, assure themselves that 
this is admirable, this is glory it resembles 
Caesar and Alexander the Great and is there- 
fore good. 

This ideal of glory and grandeur which 
consists not merely in considering nothing 
wrong that one does but in priding oneself on 
every crime one commits, ascribing to it an in- 
comprehensible supernatural significance 
that ideal, destined to guide this man and his 
associates, had scope for its development in 
Africa. Whatever he does succeeds. The plague 
does not touch him. The cruelty of murdering 
prisoners is not imputed to him as a fault. His 
childishly rash, uncalled-for, and ignoble de- 
parture from Africa, leaving his comrades in 
distress, is set down to his credit, and again the 
enemy's fleet twice lets him slip past. When, 
intoxicated by the crimes he has committed so 
successfully, he reaches Paris, the dissolution 
of the republican government, which a year 
earlier might have ruined him, has reached its 
extreme limit, and his presence there now as a 
newcomer free from party entanglements can 
only serve to exalt him and though he him- 
self has no plan, he is quite ready for his new 
r61e. 

He had no plan, he was afraid of everything, 
but the parties snatched at him and demanded 
his participation. 

He alone with his ideal of glory and gran- 
deur developed in Italy and Egypt, his insane 
self-adulation, his boldness in crime and frank- 
ness in lyinghe alone could justify what had 
to be done. 

He is needed for the place that awaits him, 
and so almost apart from his will and despite 
his indecision, his lack of a plan, and all his 
mistakes, he is drawn into a conspiracy that 
aims at seizing power and the conspiracy is 
crowned with success. 

He is pushed into a meeting of the legisla- 
ture. In alarm he wishes to flee, considering 



himself lost. He pretends to fall into a swoon 
and says senseless things that should have 
ruined him. But the once proud and shrewd 
rulers of France, feeling that their part is 
played out, are even more bewildered than he, 
and do not say the words they should have said 
to destroy him and retain their power. 

Chance f millions of chances, give him power, 
and all men as if by agreement co-operate to 
confirm that power. Chance forms the charac- 
ters of the rulers of France, who submit to him; 
chance forms the character of Paul I of Russia 
who recognizes his government; chance con- 
trives a plot against him which not only fails 
to harm him but confirms his power. Chance 
puts the Due d'Enghien in his hands and un- 
expectedly causes him to kill him thereby con- 
vincing the mob more forcibly than in any 
other way that he had the right, since he had 
the might. Chance contrives that though he 
directs all his efforts to prepare an expedition 
against England (which would inevitably have 
ruined him) he never carries out that inten- 
tion, but unexpectedly falls upon Mack and 
the Austrians, who surrender without a battle. 
Chance and genius give him the victory at 
Austerlitz; and by chance all men, not only the 
French but all Europe except England which 
does not take part in the events about to hap- 
pendespite their former horror and detesta- 
tion of his crimes, now recognize his authority, 
the title he has given himself, and his ideal of 
grandeur and glory, which seems excellentand 
reasonable to them all. 

As if measuring themselves and preparing 
for the coming movement, the western forces 
push toward the east several times in 1805, 
1806, 1807, and 1809, gaining strength and 
growing. In 1811 the group of people that had 
formed in France unites into one group with 
the peoples of Central Europe. The strength 
of the justification of the man who stands at 
the head of the movement grows with the in- 
creased size of the group. During the ten-year 
preparatory period this man had formed rela- 
tions with all the crowned heads of Europe. 
The discredited rulers of the world can op- 
pose no reasonable ideal to the insensate Na- 
poleonic ideal of glory and grandeur. One aft- 
er another they hasten to display their insig- 
nificance before him. The King of Prussia 
sends his wife to seek the great man's mercy; 
the Emperor of Austria considers it a favor 
that this man receives a daughter of the Caesars 
into his bed; the Pope, the guardian of all that 
the nations hold sacred, utilizes religion for 



FIRST EPILOGUE 

the aggrandizement of the great man. It is not 
Napoleon who prepares himself for the accom- 
plishment of his role, so much as all those 
round him who prepare him to take on him- 
self the whole responsibility for what is hap- 
pening and has to happen. There is no step, 
no crime or petty fraud he commits, which in 
the mouths of those around him is not at once 
represented as a great deed. The most suitable 
fete the Germans can devise for him is a cele- 
bration of Jena and Auerstadt. Not only is he 
great, but so are his ancestors, his brothers, his 
stepsons, and his brothers-in-law. Everything 
is done to deprive him of the remains of his 
reason and to prepare him for his terrible 
part. And when he is ready so too are the forces. 

The invasion pushes eastward and reaches 
its final goalMoscow. That city is taken; the 
Russian army suffers heavier losses than the 
opposing armies had suffered in the former war 
from Austerlitz to Wagram. But suddenly in- 
stead of those chances and that genius which 
hitherto had so consistently led him by an un- 
interrupted series of successes to the predes- 
tined goal, an innumerable sequence of inverse 
chances occur from the cold in his head at 
Borodin6 to the sparks which set Moscow on 
fire, and the frosts and instead of genius, stu- 
pidity and immeasurable baseness become evi- 
dent. 

The invaders flee, turn back, flee again, and 
all the chances are now not for Napoleon but 
always against him. 

A countermovement is then accomplished 
from east to west with a remarkable resem- 
blance to the preceding movement from west 
to east. Attempted drives from east to west- 
similar to the contrary movements of 1805, 
1807, and 1809 precede the great westward 
movement; there is the same coalescence into 
a group of enormous dimensions; the same 
adhesion of the people of Central Europe to 
the movement; the same hesitation midway, 
and the same increasing rapidity as the goal is 
approached. 

Paris, the ultimate goal, is reached. The Na- 
poleonic government and army are destroyed. 
Napoleon himself is no longer of any account; 
all his actions are evidently pitiful and mean, 
but again an inexplicable chance occurs. The 
allies detest Napoleon whom they regard as 
the cause of their sufferings. Deprived of pow- 
er and authority, his crimes and his craft ex- 
posed, he should have appeared to them what 
he appeared ten years previously and one year 
lateran outlawed brigand. But by some 



649 

strange chance no one perceives this. His part 
is not yet ended. The man who ten years be- 
fore and a year later was considered an out- 
lawed brigand is sent to an island two days' 
sail from France, which for some reason is pre- 
sented to him as his dominion, and guards are 
given to him and millions of money are paid 
him. 



CHAPTER IV 

THE FLOOD OF NATIONS begins to subside into 
its normal channels. The waves of the great 
movement abate, and on the calm surface ed- 
dies are formed in which float the diplomatists, 
who imagine that they have caused the floods 
to abate. 

But the smooth sea again suddenly becomes 
disturbed. The diplomatists think that their 
disagreements are the cause of this fresh pres- 
sure of natural forces; they anticipate war be- 
tween their sovereigns; the position seems to 
them insoluble. But the wave they feel to be 
rising does not come from the quarter they 
expect. It rises again from the same point as 
before Paris. The last backwash of the move- 
ment from the west occurs: a backwash which 
serves to solve the apparently insuperable dip- 
lomatic difficulties and ends the military move- 
ment of that period of history. 

The man who had devastated France returns 
to France alone, without any conspiracy and' 
without soldiers. Any guard might arrest him, 
but by a strange chance no one does so and all 
rapturously greet the man they cursed the day 
before and will curse again a month later. 

This man is still needed to justify the final 
collective act. 

That act is performed. 

The last role is played. The actor is bidden 
to disrobe and wash off his powder and paint: 
he will not be wanted any more. 

And some years pass during which he plays 
a pitiful comedy to himself in solitude on his 
island, justifying his actions by intrigues and 
lies when the justification is no longer needed, 
and displaying to the whole world what it was 
that people had mistaken for strength as long 
as an unseen hand directed his actions. 

The manager having brought the drama to 
a close and stripped the actor shows him to us. 

"See what you believed in! This is he I Do 
you now see that it was not he but I who 
moved you?" 

But dazed by the force of the movement, it 
was long before people understood this. 

Still greater coherence and inevitability is 



650 WAR AND PEACE 

seen in the life of Alexander I, the man who 
stood at the head of the countermovement 
from east to west. 

What was needed for him who, overshadow- 
ing others, stood at the head of that movement 
from east to west? 

What was needed was a sense of justice and 
a sympathy with European affairs, but a re- 
mote sympathy not dulled by petty interests; 
a moral superiority over those sovereigns of 
the day who co-operated with him; a mild and 
attractive personality; and a personal griev- 
ance against Napoleon. And all this was found 
in Alexander I; all this had been prepared by 
innumerable so-called chances in his life: his 
education, his early liberalism, the advisers 
who surrounded him, and by Austerlitz, and 
Tilsit, and Erfurt. 

During the national war he was inactive be- 
cause he was not needed. But as soon as the 
necessity for a general European war presented 
itself he appeared in his place at the given mo- 
ment and, uniting the nations of Europe, led 
them to the goal. 

The goal is reached. After the final war of 
1815 Alexander possesses all possible power. 
How does he use it? 

Alexander I the pacifier of Europe, the 
man who from his early years had striven only 
for his people's welfare, the originator of the 
liberal innovations in his fatherland now that 
he seemed to possess the utmost power and 
therefore to have the possibility of bringing 
about the welfare of his peoplesat the time 
when Napoleon in exile was drawing up child- 
ish and mendacious plans of how he would 
have made mankind happy had he retained 
power Alexander I, having fulfilled his mis- 
sion and feeling the hand of God upon him, 
suddenly recognizes the insignificance of that 
supposed power, turns away from it, and gives 
it into the hands of contemptible men whom 
he despises, saying only: 

"Not unto us, not unto us, but unto Thy 
Name! ... I too am a man like the rest of you. 
Let me live like a man and think of my soul 
and of God." 

As the sun and each atom of ether is a sphere 
complete in itself, and yet at the same time 
only a pan of a whole too immense for man to 
comprehend, so each individual has within 
himself his own aims and yet has them to serve 
a general purpose incomprehensible to man. 

A bee settling on a flower has stung a child. 
And the child is afraid of bees and declares 
that bees exist to sting people. A poet admires 



the bee sucking from the chalice of a flower 
and says it exists to suck the fragrance of flow- 
ers. A beekeeper, seeing the bee collect pollen 
from flowers and carry it to the hive, says that 
it exists to gather honey. Another beekeeper 
who has studied the life of the hive more close- 
ly says that the bee gathers pollen dust to feed 
the young bees and rear a queen, and that it 
exists to perpetuate its race. A botanist notices 
that the bee flying with the pollen'of a male 
flower to a pistil fertilizes the latter, and sees 
in this the purpose of the bee's existence. An- 
other, observing the migration of plants, no- 
tices that the bee helps in this work, and may 
say that in this lies the purpose of the bee. But 
the ultimate purpose of the bee is not exhaust- 
ed by the first, the second, or any of the proc- 
esses the human mind can discern. The higher 
the human intellect rises in the discovery of 
these purposes, the more obvious it becomes 
that the ultimate purpose is beyond our com- 
prehension. 

All that is accessible to man is the relation 
of the life of the bee to other manifestations of 
life. And so it is with the purpose of historic 
characters and nations. 

CHAPTER V 

NATASHA'S WEDDING to Bezukhov, which took 
place in 1813, was the last happy event in the 
family of the old Rost6vs. Count Ilyd Rostov 
died that same year and, as always happens, 
after the father's death the family group broke 
up. 

The events of the previous year: the burn- 
ing of Moscow and the flight from it, the death 
of Prince Andrew, Natasha's despair, P^tya's 
death, and the old countess' grief fell blow aft- 
er blow on the old count's head. He seemed to 
be unable to understand the meaning of all 
these events, and bowed his old head in a spir- 
itual sense as if expecting and inviting further 
blows which would finish him. He seemed now 
frightened and distraught and now unnatural- 
ly animated and enterprising. 

The arrangements for Natasha's marriage 
occupied him for a while. He ordered dinners 
and suppers and obviously tried to appear 
cheerful, but his cheerfulness was not infec- 
tious as it used to be: on the contrary it evoked 
the compassion of those who knew and liked 
him. 

When Pierre and his wife had left, he grew 
very quiet and began to complain of depres- 
sion. A few days later he fell ill and took to his 
bed. He realized from the first that he would 



FIRST EPILOGUE 



651 



not get up again, despite the doctor's encour- 
agement. The countess passed a fortnight in 
an armchair by his pillow without undressing. 
Every time she gave him his medicine he sobbed 
and silently kissed her hand. On his last day, 
sobbing, he asked her and his absent son to 
forgive him for having dissipated their prop- 
ertythat being the chief fault of which he was 
conscious. After receiving communion and 
unction he quietly died; and next day a throng 
of acquaintances who came to pay their last 
respects to the deceased filled the house rented 
by the Rostovs. All these acquaintances, who 
had so often dined and danced at his house 
and had so often laughed at him, now said, 
with a common feeling of self-reproach and 
emotion, as if justifying themselves: "Well, 
whatever he may have been he was a most 
worthy man. You don't meet such men nowa- 
days. . . .And which of us has not weaknesses 
of his own?" 

It was just when the count's affairs had be- 
come so involved that it was impossible to say 
what would happen if he lived another year 
that he unexpectedly died. 

Nicholas was with the Russian army in Paris 
when the news of his father's death reached 
him. He at once resigned his commission, and 
without waiting for it to be accepted took leave 
of absence and went to Moscow. The state of 
the count's affairs became quite obvious a 
month after his death, surprising everyone by 
the immense total of small debts the existence 
of which no one had suspected. The debts 
amounted to double the value of the property. 

Friends and relations advised Nicholas to 
decline the inheritance. But he regarded such 
a refusal as a slur on his father's memory, 
which he held sacred, and therefore would not 
hear of refusing and accepted the inheritance 
together with the obligation to pay the debts. 

The creditors who had so long been silent, 
restrained by a vague but powerful influence 
exerted on them while he lived by the count's 
careless good nature, all proceeded to enforce 
their claims at once. As always happens in 
such cases rivalry sprang up as to which should 
get paid first, and those who like Mitenka held 
promissory notes given them as presents now 
became the most exacting of the creditors. 
Nicholas was allowed no respite and no peace, 
and those who had seemed to pity the old man 
the cause of their losses (if they were losses) 
now remorselessly pursued the young heir 
who had voluntarily undertaken the debts and 
was obviously not guilty of contracting them. 



Not one of the plans Nicholas tried suc- 
ceeded; the estate was sold by auction for half 
its value, and half the debts still remained un- 
paid. Nicholas accepted thirty thousand ru- 
bles offered him by his brother-in-law Beziik- 
hov to pay off debts he regarded as genuinely 
due for value received. And to avoid being im- 
prisoned for the remainder, as the creditors 
threatened, he re-entered the government serv- 
ice. 

He could not rejoin the army where he 
would have been made colonel at the next va- 
cancy, for his mother now clung to him as her 
one hold on life; and so despite his reluctance 
to remain in Moscow among people who had 
known him before, and despite his abhorrence 
of the civil service, he accepted a post in Mos- 
cow in that service, doffed the uniform of 
which he was so fond, and moved with his 
mother and S6nya to a small house on the Sf- 
vtsev Vrazhek. 1 

Natdsha and Pierre were living in Peters- 
burg at the time and had no clear idea of 
Nicholas' circumstances. Having borrowed 
money from his brother-in-law, Nicholas tried 
to hide his wretched condition from him. His 
position was the more difficult because with 
his salary of twelve hundred rubles he had not 
only to keep himself, his mother, and S6nya, 
but had to shield his mother from knowledge 
of their poverty. The countess could not con- 
ceive of life without the luxurious conditions 
she had been used to from childhood and, un- 
able to realize how hard it was for her son, 
kept demanding now a carriage (which they 
did not keep) to send for a friend, now some 
expensive article of food for herself, or wine 
for her son, or money to buy a present as a sur- 
prise for Natisha or S6nya, or for Nicholas 
himself. 

S6nya kept house, attended on her aunt, 
read to her, put up with her whims and secret 
ill-will, and helped Nicholas to conceal their 
poverty from the old countess. Nicholas felt 
himself irredeemably indebted to Sonya for 
all she was doing for his mother and greatly 
admired her patience and devotion, but tried 
to keep aloof from her. 

He seemed in his heart to reproach her for 
being too perfect, and because there was noth- 
ing to reproach her with. She had all that peo- 
ple are valued for, but little that could have 
made him love her. He felt that the more he 
valued her the less he loved her. He had taken 
her at her word when she wrote giving him his 

1 A poor quarter of Moscow. TR. 



652 



WAR AND PEACE 



freedom and now behaved as if all that had 
passed between them had been long forgotten 
and could never in any case be renewed. 

Nicholas* position became worse and worse. 
The idea of putting something aside out of his 
salary proved a dream. Not only did he not 
save anything, but to comply with his mother's 
demands he even incurred some small debts. 
He could see no way out of this situation. The 
idea of marrying some rich woman, which was 
suggested to him by his female relations, was 
repugnant to him. The other way out his 
mother's death never entered his head. He 
wished for nothing and hoped for nothing, 
and deep in his heart experienced a gloomy 
and stern satisfaction in an uncomplaining en- 
durance of his position. He tried to avoid his 
old acquaintances with their commiseration 
and offensive offers of assistance; he avoided 
all distraction and recreation, and even at 
home did nothing but play cards with his 
mother, pace silently up and down the room, 
and smoke one pipe after another. He seemed 
carefully to cherish within himself the gloomy 
mood which alone enabled him to endure his 
position. i 

CHAPTER VI 

AT THE BEGINNING of winter Princess Mary 
came to Moscow. From reports current in town 
she learned how the Rost6vswere situated, and 
how "the son has sacrificed himself for his 
mother," as people were saying. 

"I never expected anything else of him," 
said Princess Mary to herself, feeling a joyous 
sense of her love for him. Remembering her 
friendly relations with all the Rost6vs which 
had made her almost a member of the family, 
she thought it her duty to go to see them. But 
remembering her relations with Nicholas in 
Vor6nezh she was shy about doing so. Making 
a great effort she did however go to call on 
them a few weeks after her arrival in Moscow. 

Nicholas was the first to meet her, as the 
countess' room could only be reached through 
his. But instead of being greeted with pleasure 
as she had expected, at his first glance at her 
his face assumed a cold, stiff, proud expression 
she had not seen on it before. He inquired 
about her health, led the way to his mother, 
and having sat there for five minutes left the 
room. 

When the princess came out of the countess' 
room Nicholas met her again, and with marked 
solemnity and stiffness accompanied her to the 
anteroom. To her remarks about his mother's 



health he made no reply. "What's that to you? 
Leave me in peace," his looks seemed to say. 

"Why does she come prowling here? What 
does she want? I can't bear these ladies and all 
these civilities!" said he aloud in S6nya's pres- 
ence, evidently unable to repress his vexation, 
after the princess' carriage had disappeared. 

"Oh, Nicholas, how can you talk like that?" 
cried S6nya, hardly able to conceal her delight. 
"She is so kind and Mamma is so fond of herl" 

Nicholas did not reply and tried to avoid 
speaking of the princess any more. But after 
her visit the old countess spoke of her several 
times a day. 

She sang her praises, insisted that her son 
must call on her, expressed a wish to see her 
often, but yet always became ill-humored when 
she began to talk about her. 

Nicholas tried to keep silence when his 
mother spoke of the princess, but his silence ir- 
ritated her. 

"She is a very admirable and excellent young 
woman," said she, "and you must go and call 
on her. You would at least be seeing somebody, 
and I think it must be dull for you only seeing 
us." 

"But I don't in the least want to, Mamma." 

"You used to want to, and now you don't. 
Really I don't understand you, my dear. One 
day you are dull, and the next you refuse to 
see anyone." 

"But I never said I was dull." 

"Why, you said yourself you don't want 
even to see her. She is a very admirable young 
woman and you always liked her, but now 
suddenly you have got some notion or other in 
your head. You hide everything from me." 

"Not at all, Mamma." 

"If I were asking you to do something disa- 
greeable now but I only ask you to return a 
call. One would think mere politeness re- 
quired it. ... Well, I have asked you, and now 
I won't interfere any more since you have se- 
crets from your mother." 

"Well, then, I'll go if you wish it." 

"It doesn't matter to me. I only wish it for 
your sake." 

Nicholas sighed, bit his mustache, and laid 
out the cards for a patience, trying to divert 
his mother's attention to another topic. 

The same conversation was repeated next 
day and the day after, and the day after that. 

After her visit to the Rost6vs and her unex- 
pectedly chilly reception by Nicholas, Prin- 
cess Mary confessed to herself that she had 
been right in not wishing to be the first to call. 



FIRST EPILOGUE 



"I expected nothing else," she told herself, 
calling her pride to her aid. "I have nothing to 
do with him and I only wanted to see the old 
lady, who was always kind to me and to whom 
I am under many obligations." 

But she could not pacify herself with these 
reflections; a feeling akin to remorse troubled 
her when she thought of her visit. Though she 
had firmly resolved not to call on the Rost6vs 
again and to forget the whole matter, she felt 
herself all the time in an awkward position. And 
when she asked herself what distressed her, she 
had to admit that it was her relation to Rostov. 
His cold, polite manner did not express his 
feeling for her (she knew that) but it con- 
cealed something, and until she could discover 
what that something was, she felt that she 
could not be at ease. 

One day in midwinter when sitting in the 
schoolroom attending to her nephew's lessons, 
she was informed that Rost6v had called. With 
a firm resolution not to betray herself and not 
show her agitation, she sent for Mademoiselle 
Bourienne and went with her to the drawing 
room. 

Her first glance at Nicholas* face told her 
that he had only come to fulfill the demands 
of politeness, and she firmly resolved to main- 
tain the tone in which he addressed her. 

They spoke of the countess* health, of their 
mutual friends, of the latest war news, and 
when the ten minutes required by propriety 
had elapsed after which a visitor may rise, 
Nicholas got up to say good-by. 

With Mademoiselle Bourienne's help the 
princess had maintained the conversation very 
well, but at the very last moment, just when 
he rose, she was so tired of talking of what did 
not interest her, and her mind was so full of 
the question why she alone was granted so lit- 
tle happiness in life, that in a fit of absent- 
mindedness she sat still, her luminous eyes 
gazing fixedly before her, not noticing that he 
had risen. 

Nicholas glanced at her and, wishing to ap- 
pear not to notice her abstraction, made some 
remark to Mademoiselle Bourienne and then 
again looked at the princess. She still sat mo- 
tionless with a look of suffering on her gentle 
face. He suddenly felt sorry for her and was 
vaguely conscious that he might be the cause 
of the sadness her face expressed. He wished to 
help her and say something pleasant, but could 
think of nothing to say. 

"Good-by, Princess!" said he. 

She started, flushed, and sighed deeply. 



653 



"Oh, I beg your pardon/' she said as if wak- 
ing up. "Are you going already, Count? Well 
then, good-by! Oh, but the cushion for the 
countess!" 

"Wait a moment, I'll fetch it," said Made- 
moiselle Bourienne, and she left the room. 

They both sat silent, with an occasional 
glance at one another. 

"Yes, Princess," said Nicholas at last with a 
sad smile, "it doesn't seem long ago since we 
first met at Boguchdrovo, but how much water 
has flowed since then! In what distress we all 
seemed to be then, yet I would give much to 
bring back that time . . . but there's no bring- 
ing it back." 

Princess Mary gazed intently into his eyes 
with her own luminous ones as he said this. 
She seemed to be trying to fathom the hidden 
meaning of his words which would explain his 
feeling for her. 

"Yes, yes," said she, "but you have no reason 
to regret the past, Count. As I understand your 
present life, I think you will always recall it 
with satisfaction, because the self-sacrifice that 
fills it now . . ." 

"I cannot accept your praise," he interrupted 
her hurriedly. "On the contrary I continually 
reproach myself. . . . But this is not at all an 
interesting or cheerful subject." 

His face again resumed its former stiff and 
cold expression. But the princess had caught a 
glimpse of the man she had known and loved, 
and it was to him that she now spoke. 

"I thought you would allow me to tell you 
this," she said. "I had come so near to you . . . 
and to all your family that I thought you would 
not consider my sympathy misplaced, but I 
was mistaken," and suddenly her voice trem- 
bled. "I don't know why," she continued, re- 
covering herself, "but you used to be different, 
and . . ." 

"There are a thousand reasons why! 9 laying 
special emphasis on the why. "Thank you, 
Princess," he added softly. "Sometimes it is 
hard." 

"So that's why! That's why!" a voice whis- 
pered in Princess Mary's soul. "No, it was not 
only that gay, kind, and frank look, not only 
that handsome exterior, that I loved in him. I 
divined his noble, resolute, self-sacrificing spirit 
too," she said to herself. "Yes, he is poor now 
and I am rich. . . . Yes, that's the only reason. 
. . . Yes, were it not for that . . ."And remem- 
bering his former tenderness, and looking now 
at his kind, sorrowful face, she suddenly un- 
derstood the cause of his coldness. 



654 



WAR AND PEACE 



"But why, Count, why?" she almost cried, 
unconsciously moving closer to him. "Why? 
Tell me. You must tell me!" 

He was silent. 

"I don't understand your why, Count," she 
continued, "but it's hard for me ... I confess 
it. For some reason you wish to deprive me of 
our former friendship. And that hurts me." 
There were tears in her eyes and in her voice. 
"I have had so little happiness in life that every 
loss is hard for me to bear. . . . Excuse me, 
good-by!" and suddenly she began to cry and 
was hurrying from the room. 

"Princess, for God's sake!" he exclaimed, try- 
ing to stop her. "Princess!" 

She turned round. For a few seconds they 
gazed silently into one another's eyes and 
what had seemed impossible and remote sud- 
denly became possible, inevitable, and very 
near. 

CHAPTER VII 

IN THE WINTER of 1813 Nicholas married Prin- 
cess Mary and moved to Bald Hills with his 
wife, his mother, and S6nya. 

Within four years he had paid off all his re- 
maining debts without selling any of his wife's 
property, and having received a small inherit- 
ance on the death of a cousin he paid his debt 
to Pierre as well. 

In another three years, by 1820, he had so 
managed his affairs that he was able to buy a 
small estate adjoining Bald Hills and was ne- 
gotiating to buy back Otrddnoe that being 
his pet dream. 

Having started farming from necessity, he 
soon grew so devoted to it that it became his 
favorite and almost his sole occupation. Nich- 
olas was a plain farmer: he did not like inno- 
vations, especially the English ones then com- 
ing into vogue. He laughed at theoretical 
treatises on estate management, disliked fac- 
tories, the raising of expensive products, and 
the buying of expensive seed corn, and did not 
make a hobby of any particular part of the 
work on his estate. He always had before his 
mind's eye the estate as a whole and not any 
particular part of it. The chief thing in his eyes 
was not the nitrogen in the soil, nor the oxy- 
gen in the air, nor manures, nor special plows, 
but that most important agent by which nitro- 
gen, oxygen, manure, and plow were made ef- 
fectivethe peasant laborer. When Nicholas 
first began farming and began to understand 
its different branches, it was the serf who es- 
pecially attracted his attention. The peasant 



seemed to him not merely a tool, but also a 
judge of farming and an end in himself. At 
first he watched the serfs, trying to understand 
their aims and what they considered good and 
bad, and only pretended to direct them and 
give orders while in reality learning from them 
their methods, their manner of speech, and 
their judgment of what was good and bad. 
Only when he had understood the peasants' 
tastes and aspirations, had learned to talk their 
language, to grasp the hidden meaning of 
their words, and felt akin to them did he be- 
gin boldly to manage his serfs, that is, to per- 
form toward them the duties demanded of 
him. And Nicholas' management produced 
very brilliant results. 

Guided by some gift of insight, on taking up 
the management of the estates he at once un- 
erringly appointed as bailiff, village elder, and 
delegate, the very men the serfs would them- 
selves have chosen had they had the right to 
choose, and these posts never changed hands. 
Before analyzing the properties of manure, be- 
fore entering into the debit and credit (as he 
ironically called it), he found out how many 
cattle the peasants had and increased the num- 
ber by all possible means. He kept the peasant 
families together in the largest groups possible, 
not allowing the family groups to divide into 
separate households. He was hard alike on the 
lazy, the depraved, and the weak, and tried to 
get them expelled from the commune. 

He was as careful of the sowing and reaping 
of the peasants' hay and corn as of his own, 
and few landowners had their crops sown and 
harvested so early and so well, or got so good a 
return, as did Nicholas. 

He disliked having anything to do with the 
domestic serfs the "drones" as he called them 
and everyone said he spoiled them by his 
laxity. When a decision had to be taken re- 
garding a domestic serf, especially if one had 
to be punished, he always felt undecided and 
consulted everybody in the house; but when it 
was possible to have a domestic serf conscripted 
instead of a land worker he did so without the 
least hesitation. He never felt any hesitation 
in dealing with the peasants. He knew that his 
every decision would be approved by them all 
with very few exceptions. 

He did not allow himself either to be hard 
on or punish a man, or to make things easy for 
or reward anyone, merely because he felt in- 
clined to do so. He could not have said by what 
standard he judged what he should or should 
not do, but the standard was quite firm and 



definite in his own mind. 

Often, speaking with vexation of some fail- 
ure or irregularity, he would say: "What can 
one do with our Russian peasants?" and imag- 
ined that he could not bear them. 

Yet he loved "our Russian peasants" and 
their way of life with his whole soul, and for 
that very reason had understood and assimi- 
lated the one way and manner of farming 
which produced good results. 

Countess Mary was jealous of this passion of 
her husband's and regretted that she could not 
share it; but she could not understand the joys 
and vexations he derived from that world, to 
her so remote and alien. She could not under- 
stand why he was so particularly animated and 
happy when, after getting up at daybreak and 
spending the whole morning in the fields or 
on the threshing floor, he returned from the 
sowing or mowing or reaping to have tea with 
her. She did not understand why he spoke with 
such admiration and delight of the farming of 
the thrifty and well-to-do peasant Matthew 
Ermishin, who with his family had carted corn 
all night; or of the fact that his (Nicholas') 
sheaves were already stacked before anyone 
else had his harvest in. She did not understand 
why he stepped out from the window to the 
veranda and smiled under his mustache and 
winked so joyfully, when warm steady rain be- 
gan to fall on the dry and thirsty shoots of the 
young oats, or why when the wind carried away 
a threatening cloud during the hay harvest he 
would return from the barn, flushed, sun- 
burned, and perspiring, with a smell of worm- 
wood and gentian in his hair and, gleefully 
rubbing his hands, would say: "Well, one more 
day and my grain and the peasants' will all be 
under cover." 

Still less did she understand why he, kind- 
hearted and always ready to anticipate her 
wishes, should become almost desperate when 
she brought him a petition from some peasant 
men or women who had appealed to her to be 
excused some work; why he, that kind Nicho- 
las, should obstinately refuse her, angrily ask- 
ing her not to interfere in what was not her 
business. She felt he had a world apart, which 
he loved passionately and which had laws she 
had not fathomed. 

Sometimes when, trying to understand him, 
she spoke of the good work he was doing for 
his serfs, he would be vexed and reply: "Not in 
the least; it never entered my head and I 
wouldn't do that for their goodl That's all 
poetry and old wives' talkall that doing good 



FIRST EPILOGUE 655 

to one's neighborl What I want is that our 



children should not have to go begging. I must 
put our affairs in order while I am alive, that's 
all. And to do that, order and strictness are 
essential. . . . That's all about it!" said he, 
clenching his vigorous fist. "And fairness, of 
course," he added, "for if the peasant is naked 
and hungry and has only one miserable horse, 
he can do no good either for himself or for 
me." 

And all Nicholas did was fruitful probably 
just because he refused to allow himself to 
think that he was doing good to others for vir- 
tue's sake. His means increased rapidly; serfs 
from neighboring estates came to beg him to 
buy them, and long after his death the memory 
of his administration was devoutly preserved 
among the serfs. "He was a master . . . the peas- 
ants' affairs first and then his own. Of course 
he was not to be trifled with either in a word, 
he was a real masterl" 

CHAPTER VIII 

ONE MATTER connected with his management 
sometimes worried Nicholas, and that was his 
quick temper together with his old hussar hab- 
it of making free use of his fists. At first he saw 
nothing reprehensible in this, but in the sec- 
ond year of his marriage his view of that form 
of punishment suddenly changed. 

Once in summer he had sent for the village 
elder from Boguchdrovo, a man who had suc- 
ceeded to the post when Dron died and who 
was accused of dishonesty and various irregu- 
larities. Nicholas went out into the porch to 
question him, and immediately after the elder 
had given a few replies the sound of cries and 
blows were heard. On returning to lunch Nich- 
olas went up to his wife, who sat with her head 
bent low over her embroidery frame, and as 
usual began to tell her what he had been do- 
ing that morning. Among other things he spoke 
of the Boguchclrovo elder. Countess Mary 
turned red and then pale, but continued to sit 
with head bowed and lips compressed and gave 
her husband no reply. 

"Such an insolent scoundrel! "he cried, grow- 
ing hot again at the mere recollection of him. 
"If he had told me he was drunk and did not 
see ... But what is the matter with you, Mary?" 
he suddenly asked. 

Countess Mary raised her head and tried to 
speak, but hastily looked down again and her 
lips puckered. 

"Why, whatever is the matter, my dearest^" 

The looks of the plain Countess Mary always 



6 5 6 

improved when she was in tears. She never 
cried from pain or vexation, but always from 
sorrow or pity, and when she wept her radiant 
eyes acquired an irresistible charm. 

The moment Nicholas took her hand she 
could no longer restrain herself and began to 
cry. 

"Nicholas, I saw it ... he was to blame, but 
why do you . . . Nicholas!" and she covered her 
face with her hands. 

Nicholas said nothing. He flushed crimson, 
left her side, and paced up and down the room. 
He understood what she was weeping about, 
but could not in his heart at once agree with 
her that what he had regarded from childhood 
as quite an everyday event was wrong. "Is it 
just sentimentality, old wives' tales, or is she 
right?" he asked himself. Before he had solved 
that point he glanced again at her face filled 
with love and pain, and he suddenly realized 
that she was right and that he had long been 
sinning against himself. 

"Mary," he said softly, going up to her, "it 
will never happen again; I give you my word. 
Never," he repeated in a trembling voice like 
a boy asking for forgiveness. 

The tears flowed faster still from the count- 
ess' eyes. She took his hand and kissed it. 

"Nicholas, when did you break your cameo?" 
she asked to change the subject, looking at his 
finger on which he wore a ring with a cameo of 
Laocoon's head. 

"Today it was the same affair. Oh, Mary, 
don't remind me of ill" and again he flushed. 
"I give you my word of honor it shan't occur 
again, and let this always be a reminder to me," 
and he pointed to the broken ring. 

After that, when in discussions with his vil- 
lage elders or stewards the blood rushed to his 
face and his fists began to clench, Nicholas 
would turn the broken ring on his finger and 
would drop his eyes before the man who was 
making him angry. But he did forget himself 
once or twice within a twelvemonth, and then 
he would go and confess to his wife, and would 
again promise that this should really be the 
very last time. 

"Mary, you must despise mel" he would say. 
"I deserve it." 

"You should go, go away at once, if you don't 
feel itrong enough to control yourself," she 
would reply sadly, trying to comfort her hus- 
band. 

Among the gentry of the province Nicholas 
was respected but not liked. He did not con- 
cern himself with the interests of his own class, 



WAR AND PEACE 

and consequently some thought him proud and 
others thought him stupid. The whole sum- 
mer, from spring sowing to harvest, he was 
busy with the work on his farm. In autumn he 
gave himself up to hunting with the same busi- 
nesslike seriousness leaving home for a month, 
or even two, with his hunt. In winter he visited 
his other villages or spent his time reading. 
The books he read were chiefly historical, and 
on these he spent a certain sum every year. He 
was collecting, as he said, a serious library, and 
he made it a rule to read through all the books 
he bought. He would sit in his study with a 
grave air, reading a task he first imposed up- 
on himself as a duty, but which afterwards be- 
came a habit affording him a special kind of 
pleasure and a consciousness of being occu- 
pied with serious matters. In winter, except 
for business excursions, he spent most of his 
time at home making himself one with his 
family and entering into all the details of his 
children's relations with their mother. The 
harmony between him and his wife grew closer 
and closer and he daily discovered fresh spir- 
itual treasures in her. 

From the time of his marriage S6nya had 
lived in his house. Before that, Nicholas had 
told his wife all that had passed between him- 
self andS6nya, blaming himself and commend- 
ing her. He had asked Princess Mary to be 
gentle and kind to his cousin. She thoroughly 
realized the wrong he had doneS6nya, felt her- 
self to blame toward her, and imagined that 
her wealth had influenced Nicholas' choice. 
She could not find fault with S6nya in any way 
and tried to be fond of her, but often felt ill- 
will toward her which she could not overcome. 

Once she had a talk with her friend Natasha 
about S6nya and about her own injustice to- 
ward her. 

"You know," said Natasha, "you have read 
the Gospels a great deal there is a passage in 
them that just fits S6nya." 

"What?" asked Countess Mary, surprised. 

" 'To him that hath shall be given, and from 
him that hath not shall be taken away.' You 
remember? She is one that hath not; why, I 
don't know. Perhaps she lacks egotism, I don't 
know, but from her is taken away, and every- 
thing has been taken away. Sometimes I am 
dreadfully sorry for her. Formerly I very much 
wanted Nicholas to marry her, but I always 
had a sort of presentiment that it would not 
come off. She is a sterile flower, you know- 
like some strawberry blossoms. Sometimes I 
am sorry for her, and sometimes I think she 



FIRST EPILOGUE 

doesn't feel it as you or I would." 

Though Countess Mary told Natdsha that 
those words in the Gospel must be understood 
differently, yet looking at S6nya she agreed 
with Natasha's explanation. It really seemed 
that S6nya did not feel her position trying, and 
had grown quite reconciled toherlotasa$ter//e 
flower. She seemed to be fond not so much of 
individuals as of the family as a whole. Like a 
cat, she had attached herself not to the people 
but to the home. She waited on the old count- 
ess, petted and spoiled the children, was al- 
ways ready to render the small services for 
which she had a gift, and all this was uncon- 
sciously accepted from her with insufficient 
gratitude. 

The country seat at Bald Hills had been re- 
built, though not on the same scale as under 
the old prince. 

The buildings, begun under straitened cir- 
cumstances, were more than simple. The im- 
mense house on the old stone foundations was 
of wood, plastered only inside. It had bare 
deal floors and was furnished with very simple 
hard sofas, armchairs, tables, and chairs made 
by their own serf carpenters out of their own 
birchwood. The house was spacious and had 
rooms for the house serfs and apartments for 
visitors. Whole families of the Rostovs' and 
Bolk6nskis' relations sometimes came to Bald 
Hills with sixteen horses and dozens of serv- 
ants and stayed for months. Besides that, four 
times a year, on the name days and birthdays 
of the hosts, as many as a hundred visitors 
would gather there for a day or two. The rest 
of the year life pursued its unbroken routine 
with its ordinary occupations, and its break- 
fasts, lunches, dinners, and suppers, provided 
out of the produce of the estate. 



657 



CHAPTER IX 

IT WAS the eve of St. Nicholas, the fifth of De- 
cember, 1820. Natasha had been staying at her 
brother's with her husband and children since 
early autumn. Pierre had gone to Petersburg 
on business of his own for three weeks as he 
said, but had remained there nearly seven 
weeks and was expected back every minute. 

Besides the Beziikhov family, Nicholas' old 
friend t the retired General Vasili Dmitrich 
Denisov was staying with the Rost6vs this fifth 
of December. 

On the sixth, which was his name day when 
the house would be full of visitors, Nicholas 
knew he would have to exchange his Tartar 
tunic for a tail coat, and put on narrow boots 



with pointed toes, and drive to the new church 
he had built, and then receive visitors who 
would come to congratulate him, offer them re- 
freshments, and talk about the elections of the 
nobility; but he considered himself entitled to 
spend the eve of that day in his usual way. He 
examined the bailiff's accounts of the village 
in Ryazan which belonged to his wife's neph- 
ew, wrote two business letters, and walked over 
to the granaries, cattle yards and stables be- 
fore dinner. Having taken precautions against 
the general drunkenness to be expected on the 
morrow because it was a great saint's day, he 
returned to dinner, and without having time 
for a private talk with his wife sat down at 
the long table laid for twenty persons, at 
which the whole household had assembled. At 
that table were his mother, his mother's old 
lady companion Bel6va, his wife, their three 
children with their governess and tutor, his 
wife's nephew with his tutor, S6nya, Denisov, 
Natasha, her three children, their governess, 
and old Michael Ivnovich,the late prince's ar- 
chitect, who was living on in retirement at 
Bald Hills. 

Countess Mary sat at the other end of the 
table. When her husband took his place she 
concluded, from the rapid manner in which 
after taking up his table napkin he pushed 
back the tumbler and wineglass standing be- 
fore him, that he was out of humor, as was 
sometimes the case when he came in to din- 
ner straight from the farm especially before 
the soup. Countess Mary well knew that mood 
of his, and when she herself was in agood frame 
of mind quietly waited till he had had his soup 
and then began to talk to him and make him 
admit that there was no cause for his ill-humor. 
But today she quite forgot that and was hurt 
that he should be angry with her without any 
reason, and she felt unhappy. She asked him 
where he had been. He replied. She again in- 
quired whether everything was going well on 
the farm. Her unnatural tone made him wince 
unpleasantly and he replied hastily. 

"Then I'm not mistaken," thought Countess 
Mary. "Why is he cross with me?" She conclud- 
ed from his tone that he was vexed with her 
and wished to end the conversation. She knew 
her remarks sounded unnatural, but could not 
refrain from asking some more questions. 

Thanks to Denfsov the conversation at table 
soon became general and lively, and she did 
not talk to her husband. When they left the 
table and went as usual to thank the old count- 
ess, Countess Mary held out her hand and 



6 5 8 



WAR AND PEACE 



kissed her husband, and asked him why he was 
angry with her. 

"You always have such strange fancies! I 
didn't even think of being angry," he replied. 

But the word always seemed to her to im- 
ply: "Yes, I am angry but I won't tell you why." 

Nicholas and his wife lived together so hap- 
pily that even S6nya and the old countess, who 
felt jealous and would have liked them to dis- 
agree, could find nothing to reproach them 
with; but even they had their moments of an- 
tagonism. Occasionally, and it was always just 
after they had been happiest together, they 
suddenly had a feeling of estrangement and 
hostility, which occurred most frequently dur- 
ing Countess Mary's pregnancies, and this was 
such a time. 

"Well, messieurs et mesdames" said Nicho- 
las loudly and with apparent cheerfulness (it 
seemed to Countess Mary that he did it on pur- 
pose to vex her), "I have been on my feet since 
six this morn ing. Tomorrow I shall have tosuf- 
fer, so today I'll go and rest." 

And without a word to his wife he went to 
the little sitting room and lay down on the 
sofa. 

"That's always the way," thought Countess 
Mary. "He talks to everyone except me. I see 
... I see that I am repulsive to him, especially 
when I am in this condition." She looked down 
at her expanded figure and in the glass at her 
pale, sallow, emaciated face in which her eyes 
now looked larger than ever. 

And everything annoyed her Denfsov's 
shouting and laughter, Natasha's talk, and es- 
pecially a quick glance S6nya gave her. 

S6nya was always the first excuse Countess 
Mary found for feeling irritated. 

Having sat awhile with her visitors without 
understanding anything of what they were 
saying, she softly left the room and went to 
the nursery. 

The children were playing at "going to Mos- 
cow" in a carriage made of chairs and invited 
her to go with them. She sat down and played 
with them a little, but the thought of her hus- 
band and his unreasonable crossness worried 
her. She got up and, walking on tiptoe with 
difficulty, went to the small sitting room. 

"Perhaps he is not asleep; I'll have an ex- 
planation with him," she said to herself. Little 
Andrew, her eldest boy, imitating his mother, 
followed her on tiptoe. She did not notice him. 

"Mary, dear, I think he is asleephe was so 
tired," said S6nya, meeting her in the large 
sitting room (it seemed to Countess Mary that 



she crossed her path everywhere). "Andrew 
may wake him." 

Countess Mary looked round, saw little An- 
drew following her, felt that S6nya was right, 
and for that very reason flushed and with evi- 
dent difficulty refrained from saying something 
harsh. She made no reply, but to avoid obeying 
S6nya beckoned to Andrew to follow her quiet- 
ly and went to the door. S6nya went away by 
another door. From the room in which Nicho- 
las was sleeping came the sound of his even 
breathing, every slightest tone of which was fa- 
miliar to his wife. As she listened to it she saw 
before her his smooth handsome forehead, his 
mustache, and his whole face, as she had so 
often seen it in the stillness of the night when 
he slept. Nicholas suddenly moved and cleared 
his throat. And at that moment little Andrew 
shouted from outside the door: "Papa! Mam- 
ma's standing herel" Countess Mary turned 
pale with fright and made signs to the boy. 
He grew silent, and quiet ensued fora moment, 
terrible to Countess Mary. She knew how 
Nicholas disliked being waked. Then through 
the door she heard Nicholas clearing his throat 
again and stirring, and his voice said crossly: 

"I can't get a moment's peace. . . . Mary, is 
that you? Why did you bring him here?" 

"I only came in to look and did not notice 
. . . forgive me. . . ." 

Nicholas coughed and said no more. Count- 
ess Mary moved away from the door and took 
the boy back to the nursery. Five minutes later 
little black-eyed three-year-old Natasha, her 
father's pet, having learned from her brother 
that Papa was asleep and Mamma was in the 
sitting room, ran to her father unobserved by 
her mother. The dark-eyed little girl boldly 
opened the creaking door, went up to the sofa 
with energetic steps of her sturdy little legs, 
and having examined the position of her fa- 
ther, who was asleep with his back to her, rose 
on tiptoe and kissed the hand which lay under 
his head. Nicholas turned with a tender smile 
on his face. 

"Natdsha, Natasha!" came Countess Mary's 
frightened whisper from the door. "Papa wants 
to sleep." 

"No, Mamma, he doesn't want to sleep," said 
little Natdsha with conviction. "He's laugh- 
ing." 

Nicholas lowered his legs, rose, and took 
his daughter in his arms. 

"Come in, Mary," he said to his wife. 

She went in and sat down by her husband. 

"I did not notice him following me/' she 



FIRST EPILOGUE 

said timidly. "I just looked in." 

Holding his little girl with one arm, Nicholas 
glanced at his wife and, seeing her guilty ex- 
pression, put his other arm around her and 
kissed her hair. 

"May I kiss Mamma?" he asked Natasha. 

Natasha smiled bashfully. 

"Again I" she commanded, pointing with a 
peremptory gesture to the spot where Nicho- 
las had placed the kiss. 

"I don't know why you think I am cross," 
said Nicholas, reply ing to the question he knew 
was in his wife's mind. 

"You have no idea how unhappy, how lone- 
ly, I feel when you are like that. It always seems 
to me . . ." 

"Mary, don't talk nonsense. You ought to be 
ashamed of yourself 1" he said gaily. 

"It seems to be that you can't love me, that 
I am so plain . . . always . . . and now ... in 
this cond . . ." 

"Oh, how absurd you arel It is not beauty 
that endears, it's love that makes us see beauty. 
It is only Malvinas and women of that kind 
who are loved for their beauty. But do I love 
my wife? I don't love her, but ... I don't know 
how to put it. Without you, or when some- 
thing comes between us like this, I seem lost 
and can't do anything. Now do I love my fin- 
ger? I don't love it, but just try to cut it offl" 

"I'm not like that myself, but I understand. 
So you're not angry with me?" 

"Awfully angry!" he said, smiling and get- 
ting up. And smoothing his hair he began to 
pace the room. 

"Do you know, Mary, what I've been think- 
ing?" he began, immediately thinking aloud 
in his wife's presence now that they had made 
it up. 

He did not ask if she was ready to listen to 
him. He did not care. A thought had occurred 
to him and so it belonged to her also. And he 
told her of his intention to persuade Pierre to 
stay with them till spring. 

Countess Mary listened till he had finished, 
made some remark, and in her turn began 
thinking aloud. Her thoughts were about the 
children. 

"You can see the woman in her already," 
she sajfl in French, pointing to little Natasha. 
"You reproach us women with being illogical. 
Here is our logic. I say: 'Papa wants to sleep!' 
but she says, 'No, he's laughing.' And she was 
right," said Countess Mary with a happy smile. 

"Yes, yes." And Nicholas, taking his little 
daughter in his strong hand, lifted her high, 



6 59 

placed her on his shoulder, held her by the 
legs, and paced the room with her. There was 
an expression of carefree happiness on the 
faces of both father and daughter. 

"But you know you may be unfair. You are 
too fond of this one," his wife whispered in 
French. 

"Yes, but what am I to do? ... I try not to 
show . . ." 

At that moment they heard the sound of the 
door pulley and footsteps in the hall and ante- 
room, as if someone had arrived. 

"Somebody has come." 

"I am sure it is Pierre. I will go and see," said 
Countess Mary and left the room. 

In her absence Nicholas allowed himself to 
give his little daughter a gallop round the 
room. Out of breath, he took the laughing 
child quickly from his shoulder and pressed 
her to his heart. His capers reminded him of 
dancing, and looking at the child's round hap- 
py little face he thought of what she would be 
like when he was an old man, taking her into 
society and dancing the mazurka with her as 
his old father had danced Daniel Cooper with 
his daughter. 

"It is he, it is he, Nicholas!" said Countess 
Mary, re-entering the room a few minutes lat- 
er. "Now our Natdsha has come to life. You 
should have seen her ecstasy, and how he caught 
it for having stayed away so long. Well, come 
along now, quick, quick! It's time you two were 
parted," she added, looking smilingly at the 
little girl who clung to her father. 

Nicholas went out holding the child by the 
hand. 

Countess Mary remained in the sittingroom. 

"I should never, never have believed that 
one could be so happy," she whispered to her- 
self. A smile lit up her face but at the same 
time she sighed, and her deep eyes expressed a 
quiet sadness as though she felt, through her 
happiness, that there is another sort of hap- 
piness unattainable in this life and of which 
she involuntarily thought at that instant. 

CHAPTER X 

NATASHA HAD MARRIED in the early spring of 
1813, and in 1820 already had three daughters 
besides a son for whom she had longed and 
whom she was now nursing. She had grown 
stouter and broader, so that it was difficult to 
recognize in this robust, motherly woman the 
slim, lively Natdsha of former days. Hfer fea- 
tures were more defined and had a calm, soft, 
and serene expression. In her face there was 



66o 



WAR AND PEACE 



none of the ever-glowing animation that had 
formerly burned there and constituted its 
charm. Now her face and body were often all 
that one saw, and her soul was not visible at 
all. All that struck the eye was a strong, hand- 
some, and fertile woman. The old fire very 
rarely kindled in her face now. That happened 
only when, as was the case that day, her hus- 
band returned home, or a sick child was conva- 
lescent, or when she and Countess Mary spoke 
of Prince Andrew (she never mentioned him 
to her husband, who she imagined was jealous 
of Prince Andrew's memory), or on the rare 
occasions when something happened to induce 
her to sing, a practice she had quite abandoned 
since her marriage. At the rare moments when 
the old fire did kindle in her handsome, fully 
developed body she was even more attractive 
than in former days. 

Since their marriage Natasha and her hus- 
band had lived in Moscow, in Petersburg, on 
their estate near Moscow, or with her mother, 
that is to say, in Nicholas' house. The young 
Countess Beziikhova was not often seen in so- 
ciety, and those who met her there were not 
pleased with her and found her neither at- 
tractive nor amiable. Not that Natasha liked 
solitude she did not know whether she liked 
it or not, she even thought that she did riot- 
but with her pregnancies, her confinements, 
the nursing of her children, and sharing every 
moment of her husband's life, she had de- 
mands on her time which could be satisfied 
only byrenouncingsociety. All who had known 
Natasha before her marriage wondered at the 
change in her as at something extraordinary. 
Only the old countess with her maternal in- 
stinct had realized that all Natasha's outbursts 
had been due to her need of children and a 
husband as she herself had once exclaimed at 
Otradnoe not so much in fun as in earnest 
and her mother was now surprised at the sur- 
prise expressed by those who had never under- 
stood Natasha, and she kept saying that she 
had always known that Natasha would make 
an exemplary wife and mother. 

"Only she lets her love of her husband and 
children overflow all bounds," said the count- 
ess, "so that it even becomes absurd." 

Natasha did not follow the golden rule ad- 
vocated by clever folk, especially by the French, 
which says that a girl should not let herself go 
when she marries, should not neglect her ac- 
complishments, should be even more careful 
of her appearance than when she was unmar- 
ried, and should fascinate her husband as much 



as she did before he became her husband. Na- 
tasha on the contrary had at once abandoned 
all her witchery, of which her singing had been 
an unusually powerful part. She gave it up 
just because it was so powerfully seductive. 
She took no pains with her manners or with 
delicacy of speech, or with her toilet, or to show 
herself to her husband in her most becoming 
attitudes, or to avoid inconveniencing him 
by being too exacting. She acted in contradic- 
tion to all those rules. She felt that the allure- 
ments instinct had formerly taught her to use 
would now be merely ridiculous in the eyes of 
her husband, to whom she had from the first 
moment given herself up entirely that is, with 
her whole soul, leaving no corner of it hidden 
from him. She felt that her unity with her hus- 
band was not maintained by the poetic feel- 
ings that had attracted him to her, but by 
something else indefinite but firm as the bond 
between her own body and soul. 

To fluff out her curls, put on fashionable 
dresses, and sing romantic songs to fascinate 
her husband would have seemed as strange as 
to adorn herself to attract herself. To adorn 
herself for others might perhaps have been 
agreeable she did not know but she had no 
time at all for it. The chief reason for devoting 
no time either to singing, to dress, or to choos- 
ing her words was that she really had no time 
to spare for these things. 

We know that man has the faculty of becom- 
ing completely absorbed in a subject however 
trivial it may be, and that there is no subject so 
trivial that it will not grow to infinite propor- 
tions if one's entire attention is devoted to it. 

The subject which wholly engrossed Nata- 
sha's attention was her family: that is, her hus- 
band whom she had to keep so that he should 
belong entirely to her and to the home, and 
the children whom she had to bear, bring into 
the world, nurse, and bring up. 

And the deeper she penetrated, not with 
her mind only but with her whole soul, her 
whole being, into the subject that absorbed 
her, the larger did that subject grow and the 
weaker and more inadequate did her own pow- 
ers appear, so that she concentrated them whol- 
ly on that one thing and yet was unable to ac- 
complish all that she considered necessary. 

There were then as now conversations and 
discussions about women's rights, the relations 
of husband and wife and their freedom and 
rights, though these themes were not yet 
teamed questions as they are now; but these 
topics were not merely uninteresting to Na- 



FIRST EPILOGUE 



661 



tdsha, she positively did not understand them. 

These questions, then as now, existed only 
for those who see nothing in marriage but the 
pleasure married people get from one another, 
that is, only the beginnings of marriage and 
not its whole significance, which lies in the 
family. 

Discussions and questions of that kind, which 
are like the question of how to get the greatest 
gratification from one's dinner, did not then 
and do not now exist for those for whom the 
purpose of a dinner is the nourishment it af- 
fords; and the purpose of marriage is the fam- 
ily. 

If the purpose of dinner is to nourish the 
body, a man who eats two dinners at once 
may perhaps get more enjoyment but will not 
attain his purpose, for his stomach will not di- 
gest the two dinners. 

If the purpose of marriage is the family, the 
person who wishes to have many wives or hus- 
bands may perhaps obtain much pleasure, but 
in that case will not have a family. 

If the purpose of food is nourishment and 
the purpose of marriage is the family, the whole 
question resolves itself into not eating more 
than one can digest, and not having more wives 
or husbands than are needed for the family 
that is, one wife or one husband. Natisha need- 
ed a husband. A husband was given her and he 
gave her a family. And she not only saw no 
need of any other or better husband, but as all 
the powers of her soul were intent on serving 
that husband and family, she could not imag- 
ine and saw no interest in imagining how it 
would be if things were different. 

Natasha did not care for society in general, 
but prized the more the society of her rela- 
tivesCountess Mary, and her brother, her 
mother, and S6nya. She valued the company 
of those to whom she could come striding di- 
sheveled from the nursery in her dressing gown, 
and with joyful face show a yellow instead of 
a green stain on baby's napkin, and from whom 
she could hear reassuring words to the effect 
that baby was much better. 

To such an extent had Natasha let herself go 
that the way she dressed and did her hair, her 
ill-chosen words, and her jealousy she was 
jealouiof S6nya, of the governess, and of every 
woman, pretty or plain were habitual sub- 
jects of jest to those about her. The general 
opinion was that Pierre was under his wife's 
thumb, which was really true. From the very 
first days of their married life Natasha had an- 
nounced her demands. Pierre was greatly sur- 



prised by his wife's view, to him a perfectly 
novel one, that every moment of his life be- 
longed to her and to the family. His wife's de- 
mands astonished him, but they also flattered 
him, and he submitted to them. 

Pierre's subjection consisted in the fact that 
he not only dared not flirt with, but dared not 
even speak smilingly to, any other woman; did 
not dare dine at the Club as a pastime, did not 
dare spend money on a whim, and did not dare 
absent himself for any length of time, except 
on business in which his wife included his in- 
tellectual pursuits, which she did not in the 
least understand but to which she attributed 
great importance. To make up for this, at 
home Pierre had the right to regulate his life 
and that of the whole family exactly as he 
chose. At home Natdsha placed herself in the 
position of a slave to her husband, and the 
whole household went on tiptoe when he was 
occupied that is, was reading or writing in his 
study. Pierre had but to show a partiality for 
anything to get just what he liked done always. 
He had only to express a wish and Natasha 
would jump up and run to fulfill it. 

The entire household was governed accord- 
ing to Pierre's supposed orders, that is, by his 
wishes which Natasha tried to guess. Their 
way of life and place of residence, their ac- 
quaintances and ties, Natasha's occupations, 
the children's upbringing, were all selected not 
merely with regard to Pierre's expressed wishes, 
but to what Natasha from the thoughts he ex- 
pressed in conversation supposed his wishes to 
be. And she deduced the essentials of his wish- 
es quite correctly, and having once arrived at 
them clung to them tenaciously. When Pierre 
himself wanted to change his mind she would 
fight him with his own weapons. 

Thus in a time of trouble ever memorable to 
him after the birth of their first child who was 
delicate, when they had to change the wet 
nurse three times and Natdsha fell ill from de- 
spair, Pierre one day told her of Rousseau's 
view, with which he quite agreed, that to have 
a wet nurse is unnatural and harmful. When 
her next baby was born, despite the opposi- 
tion of her mother, the doctors, and even of 
her husband himself who were all vigorously 
opposed to her nursing her baby herself, a 
thing then unheard of and considered injuri- 
ousshe insisted on having her own way, and 
after that nursed all her babies herself. 

It very often happened that in a moment of 
irritation husband and wife would have a dis- 
pute, but long afterwards Pierre to his sur- 



662 



WAR AND PEACE 



prise and delight would find in his wife's ideas 
and actions the very thought against which she 
had argued, but divested of everything super- 
fluous that in the excitement of the dispute he 
had added when expressing his opinion. 

After seven years of marriage Pierre had the 
joyous and firm consciousness that he was not 
a bad man, and he felt this because he saw 
himself reflected in his wife. He felt the good 
and bad within himself inextricably mingled 
and overlapping. But only what was really 
good in him was reflected in his wife, all that 
was not quite good was rejected. And this was 
not the result of logical reasoning but was a 
direct and mysterious reflection. 

CHAPTER XI 

Two MONTHS PREVIOUSLY when Pierre was al- 
ready staying with the Rost6vs he had received 
a letter from Prince Theodore, asking him to 
come to Petersburg to confer on some impor- 
tant questions that were being discussed there 
by a society of which Pierre was one of the 
principal founders. 

On reading that letter (she always read her 
husband's letters) Natdsha herself suggested 
that he should go to Petersburg, though she 
would feel his absence very acutely. She at- 
tributed immense importance to all her hus- 
band's intellectual and abstract interests 
though she did not understand them, and she 
always dreaded being a hindrance to him in 
such matters. To Pierre's timid look of inquiry 
after reading the letter she replied by asking 
him to go, but to fix a definite date for his re- 
turn. He was given four weeks' leave of ab- 
sence. 

Ever since that leave of absence had expired, 
more than a fortnight before, Natasha had 
been in a constant state of alarm, depression, 
and irritability. 

Denisov, now a general on the retired list 
and much dissatisfied with the present state of 
affairs, had arrived during that fortnight. He 
looked at Natasha with sorrow and surprise as 
at a bad likeness of a person once dear. A dull, 
dejected look, random replies, and talk about 
the nursery was all he saw and heard from his 
former enchantress. 

Natasha was sad and irritable all that time, 
especially when her mother, her brother, S6nya, 
or Countess Mary in their efforts to console her 
tried to excuse Pierre and suggested reasons 
for his delay in returning. 

"It's all nonsense, all rubbish those discus- 
sions which lead to nothing and all those idi- 



otic societies!" Natasha declared of the very af- 
fairs in the immense importance of which she 
firmly believed. 

And she would go to the nursery to nurse 
P6tya, her only boy. No one else could tell her 
anything so comforting or so reasonable as 
this little three-month-old creature when he 
lay at her breast and she was conscious of the 
movement of his lips and the snuffling of his 
little nose. That creature said: "You are angry, 
you are jealous, you would like to pay him 
out, you are afraidbut here am II And I am 
he . . ." and that was unanswerable. It was 
more than true. 

During that fortnight of anxiety Natasha 
resorted to the baby for comfort so often, and 
fussed over him so much, that she overfed him 
and he fell ill. She was terrified by his illness, 
and yet that was just what she needed. While 
attending to him she bore the anxiety about 
her husband more easily. 

She was nursing her boy when the sound of 
Pierre's sleigh was heard at the front door, and 
the old nurse knowing how to please her mis- 
tressentered the room inaudibly but hurried- 
ly and with a beaming face. 

"Has he come?" Natdsha asked quickly in a 
whisper, afraid to move lest she should rouse 
the dozing baby. 

"He's come, ma'am," whispered the nurse. 

The blood rushed to Natdsha's face and her 
feet involuntarily moved, but she could not 
jump up and run out. The baby again opened 
his eyes and looked at her. "You're here?" he 
seemed to be saying, and again lazily smacked 
his lips. 

Cautiously withdrawing her breast, Natdsha 
rocked him a little, handed him to the nurse, 
and went with rapid steps toward the door. 
But at the door she stopped as if her conscience 
reproached her for having in her joy left the 
child too soon, and she glanced round. The 
nurse with raised elbows was lifting the in- 
fant over the rail of his cot. 

"Go, ma'aml Don't worry, go!" she whis- 
pered, smiling, with the kind of familiarity 
that grows up between a nurse and her mis- 
tress. 

Natdsha ran with light footsteps to the ante- 
room. 

Denfsov, who had come out of the study in- 
to the dancing room with his pipe, now for the 
first time recognized the old Natdsha. A flood 
of brilliant, joyful light poured from her trans- 
figured face. 

"He's come!" she exclaimed as she ran past, 



FIRST EPILOGUE 

and Denfsov felt that he too was delighted that 
Pierre, whom he did not much care for, had re- 
turned. 

On reaching the vestibule Natasha saw a tall 
figure in a fur coat unwinding his scarf. "It's 
he! It's really hel He has come!" she said to 
herself, and rushing at him embraced him, 
pressed his head to her breast, and then pushed 
him back and gazed at his ruddy, happy face, 
covered with hoarfrost. "Yes, it is he, happy 
and contented. . . ." 

Then all at once she remembered the tor- 
tures of suspense she had experienced for the 
last fortnight, and the joy that had lit up her 
face vanished; she frowned and overwhelmed 
Pierre with a torrent of reproaches and angry 
words. 

"Yes, it's all very well for you. You are 
pleased, you've had a good time. . . . But what 
about me? You might at least have shown con- 
sideration for the children. I am nursing and 
my milk was spoiled. . . . Pckya was at death's 
door. But you were enjoying yourself. Yes, en- 
joying . . ." 

Pierre knew he was not to blame, for he 
could not have come sooner; he knew this out- 
burst was unseemly and would blow over in a 
minute or two; above all he knew that he him- 
self was bright and happy. He wanted to smile 
but dared not even think of doing so. He made 
a piteous, frightened face and bent down. 

"I could not, on my honor. But how is Pe*t- 
ya?" 

"All right now. Come along! I wonder you're 
not ashamed! If only you could see what I was 
like without you, how I suffered!" 

"You are well?" 

"Come, come!" she said, not letting go of his 
arm. And they went to their rooms. 

When Nicholas and his wife came to look for 
Pierre he was in the nursery holding his baby 
son, who was again awake, on his huge right 
palm and dandling him. A blissful bright smile 
was fixed on the baby's broad face with its 
toothless open mouth. The storm was long 
since over and there was bright, joyous sun- 
shine on Natasha's face as she gazed tenderly 
at her husband and child. 

"And have you talked everything well over 
with Prince Theodore?" she asked. 

"Yes, capitally." 

"You see, he holds it up." (She meant the 
baby's head.) "But how he did frighten me ... 
You've seen the princess? Is it true she's in love 
with that . . ." 

"Yes, just fancy . . ." 



663 

At that moment Nicholas and Countess 
Mary came in. Pierre with the baby on his 
hand stooped, kissed them, and replied to 
their inquiries. But in spite of much that was 
interesting and had to be discussed, the baby 
with the little cap on its unsteady head evi- 
dently absorbed all his attention. 

"How sweet!" said Countess Mary, looking 
at and playing with the baby. "Now, Nicholas," 
she added, turning to her husband, "I can't 
understand how it is you don't see the charm 
of these delicious marvels." 

"I don't and can't," replied Nicholas, look- 
ing coldly at the baby. "A lump of flesh. Come 
along, Pierre!" 

"And yet he's such an affectionate father," 
said Countess Mary, vindicating her husband, 
"but only after they are a year old or so . . ." 

"Now, Pierre nurses them splendidly," said 
Natasha. "He says his hand is just made for a 
baby's seat. Just look!" 

"Only not for this . . ." Pierre suddenly ex- 
claimed with a laugh, and shifting the baby 
he gave him to the nurse. 



CHAPTER XII 

As IN EVERY large household, there were at 
Bald Hills several perfectly distinct worlds 
which merged into one harmonious whole, 
though each retained its own peculiarities and 
made concessions to the others. Every event, 
joyful or sad, that took place in that house was 
important to all these worlds, but each had its 
own special reasons to rejoice or grieve over 
that occurrence independently of the others. 

For instance, Pierre's return was a joyful and 
important event and they all felt it to be so. 

The servants the most reliable judges of 
their masters because they judge not by their 
conversation or expressions of feeling but by 
their acts and way of life were glad of Pierre's 
return because they knew that when he was 
there Count Nicholas would cease going every 
day to attend to the estate, and would be in bet- 
ter spirits and temper, and also because they 
would all receive handsome presents for the 
holidays. 

The children and their governesses were 
glad of Pierre's return because no one else 
drew them into the social life of the household 
as he did. He alone could play on the clavichord 
that dcossaise (his only piece) to which, as he 
said, all possible dances could be danced, and 
they felt sure he had brought presents for them 
all. 

Young Nicholas, now a slim lad of fifteen, 



664 



WAR AND PEACE 



delicate and intelligent, with curly light-brown 
hair and beautiful eyes, was delighted because 
Uncle Pierre as he called him was the object 
of his rapturous and passionate affection. No 
one had instilled into him this love for Pierre 
whom he saw only occasionally. Countess 
Mary who had brought him up had done her 
utmost to make him love her husband as she 
loved him, and little Nicholas did love his un- 
cle, but loved him with just a shade of con- 
tempt. Pierre, however, he adored. He did not 
want to be an hussar or a Knight of St. George 
like his uncle Nicholas; he wanted to be learn- 
ed, wise, and kind like Pierre. In Pierre's pres- 
ence his face always shone with pleasure and 
he flushed and was breathless when Pierre 
spoke to him. He did not miss a single word 
he uttered, and would afterwards, with Dessal- 
les or by himself, recall and reconsider the 
meaningof everything Pierre had said. Pierre's 
past life and his unhappiness prior to 18 1 2 (of 
which young Nicholas had formed a vague po- 
etic picture from some words he had overheard), 
his adventures in Moscow, his captivity, Plat6n 
Karataev (of whom he had heard from Pierre), 
his love for Natdsha (of whom the lad was also 
particularly fond), and especially Pierre's 
friendship with the father whom Nicholas 
could not remember all this made Pierre in 
his eyes a hero and a saint. 

From broken remarks about Natasha and his 
father, from the emotion with which Pierre 
spoke of that dead father, and from the careful, 
reverent tenderness with which Natdsha spoke 
of him, the boy, who was only just beginning 
to guess what love is, derived the notion that 
his father had loved Natdsha and when dying 
had left her to his friend. But the father whom 
the boy did not remember appeared to him a 
divinity who could not be pictured, and of 
whom he never thought without a swelling 
heart and tears of sadness and rapture. So the 
boy also was happy that Pierre had arrived. 

The guests welcomed Pierre because he al- 
ways helped to enliven and unite any company 
he was in. 

The grown-up members of the family, not 
to mention his wife, were pleased to have back 
a friend whose presence made life run more 
smoothly and peacefully. 

The old ladies were pleased with the pres- 
ents he brought them, and especially that Na- 
tdsha would now be herself again. 

Pierre felt the different outlooks of these 
various worlds and made haste to satisfy all 
their expectations. 



Though the most absent-minded and for- 
getful of men, Pierre, with the aid of a list his 
wife drew up, had now bought everything, not 
forgetting his mother-and brother-in-law's com- 
missions, nor the dress material for a present 
to Bel6va, nor toys for his wife's nephews. In 
the early days of his marriage it had seemed 
strange to him that his wife should expect him 
not to forget to procure all the things he under- 
took to buy, and he had been taken aback by 
her serious annoyance when on his first trip 
he forgot everything. But in time he grew used 
to this demand. Knowing that Natasha asked 
nothing for herself, and gave him commissions 
for others only when he himself had offered to 
undertake them, he now found an unexpected 
and childlike pleasure in this purchase of 
presents for everyone in the house, and never 
forgot anything. If he now incurred Natasha's 
censure it was only for buying too many and 
too expensive things. To her other defects (as 
most people thought them, but which to Pierre 
were qualities) of untidiness and neglect of 
herself, she now added stinginess. 

From the time that Pierre began life as a 
family man on a footing entailing heavy ex- 
penditure, he had noticed to his surprise that 
he spent only half as much as before, and that 
his affairs which had been in disorder of late, 
chiefly because of his first wife's debts had be- 
gun to improve. 

Life was cheaper because it was circum- 
scribed: that most expensive luxury, the kind 
of life that can be changed at any moment, was 
no longer his nor did he wish for it. He felt 
that his way of life had now been settled once 
for all till death and that to change it was not 
in his power, and so that way of life proved 
economical. 

With a merry, smiling face Pierre was sort- 
ing his purchases. 

"What do you think of this?" said he, un- 
rolling a piece of stuff like a shopman. 

Natasha, who was sitting opposite to him 
with her eldest daughter on her lap, turned 
her sparkling eyes swiftly from her husband 
to the things he showed her. 

"That's for Bel6va? Excellentl" She felt the 
quality of the material. "It was a ruble an ar- 
shin, I suppose?" 

Pierre told her the price. 

"Too dear!" Natdsha remarked. "How 
pleased the children will be and Mamma too! 
Only you need not have bought me this," she 
added, unable to suppress a smile as she gazed 
admiringly at a gold comb set with pearls, of 



FIRST EPILOGUE 



a kind then just coming into fashion. 

"Adele tempted me: she kept on telling me 
to buy it," returned Pierre. 

"When am I to wear it?" and Natdsha stuck 
it in her coil of hair. "When I take little Mdsha 
into society? Perhaps they will be fashionable 
again by then. Well, let's go now." 

And collecting the presents they went first 
to the nursery and then to the old countess* 
rooms. 

The countess was sitting with her companion 
Bel6va, playing grand-patience as usual, when 
Pierre and Natdsha came into the drawing 
room with parcels under their arms. 

The countess was now over sixty, was quite 
gray, and wore a cap with a frill that sur- 
rounded her face. Her face had shriveled, her 
upper lip had sunk in, and her eyes were dim. 

After the deaths of her son and husband in 
such rapid succession, she felt herself a being 
accidentally forgotten in this world and left 
without aim or object for her existence. She 
ate, drank, slept, or kept awake, but did not 
live. Life gave her no new impressions. She 
wanted nothing from life but tranquillity, and 
that tranquillity only death could give her. 
But until death came she had to go on living, 
that is, to use her vital forces. A peculiarity 
one sees in very young children and very old 
people was particularly evident in her. Her life 
had no external aims only a need to exercise 
her various functions and inclinations was ap- 
parent. She had to eat, sleep, think, speak, weep, 
work, give vent to her anger, and so on, merely 
because she had a stomach, a brain, muscles, 
nerves, and a liver. She did these things not 
under any external impulse as people in the 
full vigor of life do, when behind the purpose 
for which they strive that of exercising their 
functions remains unnoticed. She talked only 
because she physically needed to exercise her 
tongue and lungs. She cried as a child does, be- 
cause her nose had to be cleared, and so on. 
What for people in their full vigor is an aim 
was for her evidently merely a pretext. 

Thus in the morning especially if she had 
eaten anything rich the day before she felt a 
need of being angry and would choose as the 
handiest pretext BekSva's deafness. 

She would begin to say something to her in 
a low tone from the other end of die room. 

"It seems a little warmer today, my dear," 
she would murmur. 

And when Bel6va replied: "Oh yes, they've 
come," she would mutter angrily: "O Lord! 
How stupid and deaf she is!" 



Another pretext would be her snuff, which 
would seem too dry or too damp or not rubbed 
fine enough. After these fits of irritability her 
face would grow yellow, and her maids knew 
by infallible symptoms when Bel6va would 
again be deaf, the snuff damp, and the count- 
ess' face yellow. Just as she needed to work off 
her spleen so she had sometimes to exercise her 
still-existing faculty of thinking and the pre- 
text for that was a game of patience. When she 
needed to cry, the deceased count would be 
the pretext. When she wanted to be agitated, 
Nicholas and his health would be the pretext, 
and when she felt a need to speak spitefully, 
the pretext would be Countess Mary. When 
her vocal organs needed exercise, which was 
usually toward seven o'clock when she had 
had an after-dinner rest in a darkened room, 
the pretext would be the retelling of the same 
stories over and over again to the same audi- 
ence. 

The old lady's condition was understood by 
the whole household though no one ever spoke 
of it, and they all made every possible effort 
to satisfy her needs. Only by a rare glance ex- 
changed with a sad smile between Nicholas, 
Pierre, Natdsha, and Countess Mary was the 
common understanding of her condition ex- 
pressed. 

But those glances expressed something 
more: they said that she had played her part 
in life, that what they now saw was not her 
whole self, that we must all become like her, 
and that they were glad to yield to her, to re- 
strain themselves for this once precious being 
formerly as full of life as themselves, but now 
so much to be pitied. "Memento mori" said 
these glances. 

Only the really heartless, the stupid ones of 
that household, and the little children failed 
to understand this and avoided her. 

CHAPTER XIII 

WHEN PIERRE and his wife entered thedrawing 
room the countess was in one of her customary 
states in which she needed the mental exertion 
of playing patience, and so though by force 
of habit she greeted him with the words she al- 
ways used when Pierre or her son returned aft- 
er an absence: "High time, my dear, high time! 
We were all weary of waiting for you. Well, 
thank God!" and received her presents with 
another customary remark: "It's not the gift 
that's precious, my dear, but that you give it 
to me, an old woman . . ."yet it was evident 
that she was not pleased by Pierre's arrival at 



666 



WAR AND PEACE 



that moment when it diverted her attention 
from the unfinished game. 

She finished her game of patience and only 
then examined the presents. They consisted 
of a box for cards, of splendid workmanship, a 
bright-blue Sevres tea cup with shepherdesses 
depicted on it and with a lid, and a gold snuff- 
box with the count's portrait on the lid which 
Pierre had had done by a miniaturist in Pe- 
tersburg. The countess had long wished for 
such a box, but as she did not want to cry just 
then she glanced indifferently at the portrait 
and gave her attention chiefly to the box for 
cards. 

"Thank you, my dear, you have cheered me 
up/' said she as she always did. "But best of 
all you have brought yourself back for I never 
saw anything like it, you ought to give your 
wife a scolding! What are we to do with her? 
She is like a mad woman when you are away. 
Doesn't see anything, doesn't remember any- 
thing," she went on, repeating her usual 
phrases. "Look, Anna Timofevna,"she added 
to her companion, "see what a box for cards 
my son has brought usl" 

Belova admired the presents and was de- 
lighted with her dress material. 

Though Pierre, Natdsha, Nicholas, Countess 
Mary, and Denfsov had much to talk about 
that they could not discuss before the old 
countess not that anything was hidden from 
her, but because she had dropped so far be- 
hindhand in many things that had they begun 
to converse in her presence they would have 
had to answer inopportune questions and to 
repeat what they had already told her many 
times: that so-and-so was dead and so-and-so 
was married, which she would again be unable 
to remember yet they sat at tea round the 
samovar in the drawing room from habit, and 
Pierre answered the countess' questions as to 
whether Prince Vasili had aged and whether 
Countess Mary Alexdevna had sent greetings 
and still thought of them, arid other matters 
that interested no one and to which she herself 
was indifferent. 

Conversation of this kind, interesting to no 
one yet unavoidable, continued all through 
teatime. All the grown-up members of the fam- 
ily were assembled near the round tea table at 
which S6nya presided beside the samovar. The 
children with their tutors and governesses had 
had tea and their voices were audible from the 
next room. At tea all sat in their accustomed 
places: Nicholas beside the stove at a small ta- 
ble where his tea was handed to him; Milka,the 



old gray borzoi bitch (daughter of the first MU- 
ka), with a quite gray face and large black eyes 
that seemed more prominent than ever, lay on 
the armchair beside him; Denfsov, whose curly 
hair, mustache, and whiskers had turned half 
gray, sa t beside Coun tess Mary wi th his general's 
tunic unbuttoned; Pierre sat between his wife 
and the old countess. He spoke of what heknew 
might interest the old lady and that she could 
understand. He told her of external social 
events and of the people who had formed the 
circle of her contemporaries and had once been 
a real, living, and distinct group, but who were 
now for the most part scattered about the world 
and like herself were garnering the last ears of 
the harvests they had sown in earlier years. But 
to the old countess those contemporaries of 
hers seemed to be the only serious and real so- 
ciety. Natasha saw by Pierre's animation that 
his visit had been interesting and that he had 
much to tell them but dare not say it before 
the old countess. Denisov, not being a member 
of the family, did not understand Pierre's cau- 
tion and being, as a malcontent, much inter- 
ested in what was occurring in Petersburg, 
kept urging Pierre to tell them about what had 
happened in the Semenovsk regiment, then 
about Arakchdev, and then about the Bible 
Society. Once or twice Pierre was carried away 
and began to speak of these things, but Nicho- 
las and Natasha always brought him back to 
the health of Prince Ivdn and Countess Mary 
Alexdevna. 

"Well, and all this idiocy Gossner and Ta- 
twinova?" Denfsov asked. "Is that weally still 
going on?" 

"Going on?" Pierre exclaimed. "Why more 
than everl The Bible Society is the whole gov- 
ernment now!" 

"What is that, mon cher ami?" asked the 
countess, who had finished her tea and evident- 
ly needed a pretext for being angry after her 
meal. "What are you saying about the govern- 
ment? I don't understand." 

"Well, you know, Maman," Nicholas inter- 
posed, knowing how to translate things into 
his mother's language, "Prince Alexander Golf- 
tsyn has founded a society and in consequence 
has great influence, they say." 

"Arakche'ev and Golftsyn," incautiously re- 
marked Pierre, "are now the whole govern- 
ment! And what a government! They see trea- 
son everywhere and are afraid of everything." 

"Well, and how is Prince Alexander to 
blame? He is a most estimable man. I used to 
meet him at Mary Ant6novna's," said the 



FIRST EPILOGUE 

countess in an offended tone; and still more 
offended that they all remained silent, she 
went on: "Nowadays everyone finds fault. A 
Gospel Society! Well, and what harm is there 
in that?" and she rose (everybody else got up 
too) and with a severe expression sailed back 
to her table in the sitting room. 

The melancholy silence that followed was 
broken by the sounds of the children's voices 
and laughter from the next room. Evidently 
some jolly excitement was going on there. 

"Finished, finished!" little Natasha's gleeful 
yell rose above them all. 

Pierre exchanged glances with Countess 
Mary and Nicholas (Natasha he never lost 
sight of) and smiled happily. 

"That's delightful music!" said he. 

"It means that Anna Makarovna has finished 
her stocking," said Countess Mary. 

"Oh, I'll go and see," said Pierre, jumping 
up. "You know," he added, stopping at the 
door, "why I'm especially fond of that music? 
It is always the first thing that tells me all is 
well. When I was driving here today, the nearer 
I got to the house the more anxious I grew. As 
I entered the anteroom I heard Andnisha's 
peals of laughter and that meant that all was 
well." 

"I know! I know that feeling," said Nicho- 
las. "But I mustn't go there those stockings 
are to be a surprise for me." 

Pierre went to the children, and the shout- 
ing and laughter grew still louder. 

"Come, Anna Makdrovna," Pierre's voice 
was heard saying, "come here into the middle 
of the room and at the word of command, 'One, 
two/ and when I say 'three' . . . You stand here, 
and you in my arms well now! One, two! . . ." 
said Pierre, and a silence followed: "three!" 
and a rapturously breathless cry of children's 
voices filled the room. "Two, two!" they 
shouted. 

This meant two stockings, which by a secret 
process known only to herself Anna Makrov- 
na used to knit at the same time on the same 
needles, and which, when they were ready, she 
always triumphantly drew, one out of the oth- 
er, in the children's presence. 



667 



CHAPTER XIV 

SOON AFTER THIS the children came in to say 
good night. They kissed everyone, the tutors 
and governesses made their bows, and they 
went out. Only young Nicholas and his tutor 
remained. Dessalles whispered to the boy to 
come downstairs. 



"No, Monsieur Dessalles, I will ask my aunt 
to let me stay," replied Nicholas Bolkonski al- 
so in a whisper. 

"Ma tante, please let me stay," said he, go- 
ing up to his aunt. 

His face expressed entreaty, agitation, and 
ecstasy. Countess Mary glanced at him and 
turned to Pierre. 

"When you are here he can't tear himself 
away," she said. 

"I will bring him to you directly, Monsieur 
Dessalles. Good night!" said Pierre, giving his 
hand to the Swiss tutor, and he turned to 
young Nicholas with a smile. "You and I 
haven't seen anything of one another yet. . . . 
How like he is growing, Mary!" he added, ad- 
dressing Countess Mary. 

"Like my father?" asked the boy, flushing 
crimson and looking up at Pierre with bright, 
ecstatic eyes. 

Pierre nodded, and went on with what he 
had been saying when the children had inter- 
rupted. Countess Mary sat down doing wool- 
work; Natasha did not take her eyes off her 
husband. Nicholas and Dcnfsov rose, asked for 
their pipes, smoked, went to fetch more tea 
from Sonya who sat weary but resolute at the 
samovar and questioned Pierre. The curly- 
headed, delicate boy sat with shining eyes un- 
noticed in a corner, starting every now and 
then and muttering something to himself, and 
evidently experiencing a new and powerful 
emotion as he turned his curly head, with his 
thin neck exposed by his turn-down collar, to- 
ward the place where Pierre sat. 

The conversation turned on the contempo- 
rary gossip about those in power, in which 
most people see the chief interest of home 
politics. Denfsov, dissatisfied with the govern- 
ment on account of his own disappointments 
in the service, heard with pleasure of the things 
done in Petersburg which seemed to him stu- 
pid, and made forcible and sharp comments 
on what Pierre told them. 

"One used to have to be a German now one 
must dance with Tatawinova and Madame 
Kwiidener, and wead Ecka'tshausen and the 
bwethwen. Oh, they should let that fine fellow 
Bonaparte lose he'd knock all this nonsense 
out of them! Fancy giving the command of the 
Semenov wegiment to a fellow like that 
Schwa'tz!" he cried. 

Nicholas, though free from Denfsov's readi- 
ness to find fault with everything, also thought 
that discussion of the government was a very 
serious and weighty matter, and the fact that 



668 



WAR AND PEACE 



A had been appointed Minister of This and 
B Governor General of That, and that the 
Emperor had said so-and-so and this minister 
so-and-so, seemed to him very important. And 
so he thought it necessary to take an interest 
in these things and to question Pierre. The 
questions put by these two kept the conversa- 
tion from changing its ordinary character of 
gossip about the higher government circles. 

But Natdsha, knowing all her husband's ways 
and ideas, saw that he had long been wishing 
but had been unable to divert the conversa- 
tion to another channel and express his own 
deeply felt idea for the sake of which he had 
gone to Petersburg to consult with his new 
friend Prince Theodore, and she helped him 
by asking how his affairs with Prince Theodore 
had gone. 

4 'What was it about?" asked Nicholas. 

"Always the same thing," said Pierre, look- 
ing round at his listeners. "Everybody sees that 
things are going so badly that they cannot be 
allowed to go on so and that it is the duty of all 
decent men to counteract it as far as they can." 

"What can decent men do?" Nicholas in- 
quired, frowning slightly. "What can be done?" 

"Why, this . . ." 

"Come into my study," said Nicholas. 

Natdsha, who had long expected to be fetched 
to nurse her baby, now heard the nurse calling 
her and went to the nursery. Countess Mary 
followed her. The men went into the study 
and little Nicholas Bolk6nski followed them 
unnoticed by his uncle and sat down at the 
writing table in a shady corner by the window. 

"Well, what would you do?" asked Denfsov. 

"Always some fantastic schemes," said Nich- 
olas. 

"Why this," began Pierre, not sitting down 
but pacing the room, sometimes stopping short, 
gesticulating, and lisping: "the position in 
Petersburg is this: the Emperor does not look 
into anything. He has abandoned himself alto- 
gether to this mysticism" (Pierre could not 
tolerate mysticism in anyone now). "He seeks 
only for peace, and only these people sans foi 
ni loi * can give it him people who recklessly 
hack at and strangle everything Magnftski, 
Arakchev, and tutti quanti. . . . You will agree 
that if you did not look after your estates your- 
self but only wanted a quiet life, the harsher 
your steward was the more readily your object 
might be attained," he said to Nicholas. 

"Well, what does that lead up to?" said 
Nicholas. 

1 Without faith or law. 



"Well, everything is going to ruin! Robbery 
in the law courts, in the army nothing but 
flogging, drilling, and Military Settlements; 
the people are tortured, enlightenment is sup- 
pressed. All that is young and honest is crushed! 
Everyone sees that this cannot go on. Every- 
thing is strained to such a degree that it will 
certainly break," said Pierre (as those who 
examine the actions of any government have 
always said since governments began). "I told 
them just one thing in Petersburg." 

"Told whom?" 

"Well, you know whom," said Pierre, with a 
meaning glance from under his brows. "Prince 
Theodore and all those. To encourage culture 
and philanthropy is all very well of course. 
The aim is excellent but in the present cir- 
cumstances something else is needed." 

At that moment Nicholas noticed the pres- 
ence of his nephew. His face darkened and he 
went up to the boy. 

"Why are you here?" 

"Why? Let him be," said Pierre, taking Nich- 
olas by the arm and continuing. "That is not 
enough, I told them. Something else is needed. 
When you stand expecting the overstrained 
string to snap at any moment, when everyone 
is expecting the inevitable catastrophe, as 
many as possible must join hands as closely as 
they can to withstand the general calamity. 
Everything that is young and strong is being 
enticed away and depraved. One is lured by 
women, another by honors, a third by ambi- 
tion or money, and they go over to that camp. 
No independent men, such as you or I, are left. 
What I say is widen the scope of our society, 
let the mot d'ordre be not virtue alone but in- 
dependence and action as well!" 

Nicholas, who had left his nephew, irritably 
pushed up an armchair, sat down in it, and 
listened to Pierre, coughing discontentedly and 
frowning more and more. 

"But action with what aim?" he cried. "And 
what position will you adopt toward the gov- 
ernment?" 

"Why, the position of assistants. The society 
need not be secret if the government allows it. 
Not merely is it not hostile to government, but 
it is a society of true conservatives a society of 
gentlemen in the full meaning of that word. 
It is only to prevent some Pugache*v or other 
from killing my children and yours,* and Arak- 
che*ev from sending me off to some Military 
Settlement. We join hands only for the public 

8 Pugachev was the Cossack leader of a great 
peasant rising in Catherine the Great's time. TR. 



FIRST EPILOGUE 



welfare and the general safety." 

"Yes, but it's a secret society and therefore a 
hostile and harmful o;ie which can only cause 
harm." 

"Why? Did the Tugendbund which saved 
Europe" (they did not then venture to sug- 
gest that Russia had saved Europe) "do any 
harm? The Tugendbund is an alliance of vir- 
tue: it is love, mutual help ... it is what Christ 
preached on the Cross." 

Natdsha, who had come in during the con- 
versation, looked joyfully at her husband. It 
was not what he was saying that pleased her 
that did not even interest her, for it seemed to 
her that it was all extremelysimpleand thatshe 
had known it a long time (it seemed so to her 
because she knew that it sprang from Pierre's 
whole soul), but it was his animated and en- 
thusiastic appearance that made her glad. 

The boy with the thin neck stretching out 
from the turn-down collar whom everyone 
had forgotten ga/ed at Pierre with even great- 
er and more rapturous joy. Every word of 
Pierre's burned into his heart, and with a 
nervous movement of his fingers he uncon- 
sciously broke the sealing wax and quill pens 
his hands came upon on his uncle's table. 

"It is not at all what you suppose; but that 
is what the German Tugendbund was, and what 
I am proposing." 

"No, my fwiendl The Tugendbund is all 
vewy well for the sausage eaters, but I don't 
understand it and can't even pwonounce it," 
interposed Denisov in a loud and resolute 
voice. "I agwee that evewything here is wotten 
and howwible, but the Tugendbund I don't 
understand. If we're not satisfied, let us have a 
bunt of our own. 1 That's all wight. Je suis vot'e 
homme!" * 

Pierre smiled, Natdsha began to laugh, but 
Nicholas knitted his brows still more and be- 
gan proving to Pierre that there was no pros- 
pect of any great change and that all the dan- 
ger he spoke of existed only in his imagina- 
tion. Pierre maintained the contrary, and as 
his mental faculties were greater and more re- 
sourceful, Nicholas felt himself cornered. This 
made him still angrier, for he was fully con- 
vinced, not by reasoning but by something 
within him stronger than reason, of the justice 
of his opinion. 

"I will tell you this," he said, rising and try- 

1 Denisov makes play with the similarity of the 
German word Bund, a union, and the Russian 
word bunt, a riot. TR. 

1 "I'm your man." 



ing with nervously twitching fingers to prop 
up his pipe in a corner, but finally abandon- 
ing the attempt. "I can't prove it to you. You 
say that everything here is rotten and that an 
overthrow is coming: I don't see it. But you 
also say that our oath of allegiance is a condi- 
tional matter, and to that I reply: 'You are 
my best friend, as you know, but if you formed 
a secret society and began working against the 
government be it what it may I know it is 
my duty to obey the government. And if Arak- 
chdev ordered me to lead a squadron against 
you and cut you down, I should not hesitate 
an instant, but should do it.' And you may ar- 
gue about that as you like!" 

An awkward silence followed these words. 
Natdsha was the first to speak, defending her 
husband and attacking her brother. Her de- 
fense was weak and inapt but she attained her 
object. The conversation was resumed, and no 
longer in the unpleasantly hostile tone of 
Nicholas* last remark. 

When they all got up to go in to supper, lit- 
tle Nicholas Bolkonski went up to Pierre, pale 
and with shining, radiant eyes. 

"Uncle Pierre, you ... no ... If Papa were 
alive . . . would he agree with you?" he asked. 

And Pierre suddenly realized what a special, 
independent, complex, and powerful process 
of thought and feeling must have been going 
on in this boy during that conversation, and 
remembering all he had said he regretted that 
the lad should have heard him. He had, how- 
ever, to give him an answer. 

"Yes, I think so," he said reluctantly, and 
left the study. 

The lad looked down and seemed now for 
the first time to notice what he had done to the 
things on the table. He flushed and went up 
to Nicholas. 

"Uncle, forgive me, I did that . . . uninten- 
tionally," he said, pointing to the broken seal- 
ing wax and pens. 

Nicholas started angrily. 

"All right, all right," he said, throwing the 
bits under the table. 

And evidently suppressing his vexation with 
difficulty, he turned away from the boy. 

"You ought not to have been here at all," he 
said. 

CHAPTER XV 

THE CONVERSATION at supper was not about 
politics or societies, but turned on the subject 
Nicholas liked best recollections of 1819. 
Denfsov started these and Pierre was particu- 



670 

larly agreeable and amusing about them. The 
family separated on the most friendly terms. 

After supper Nicholas, having undressed in 
his study and given instructions to the steward 
who had been waiting for him, went to the 
bedroom in his dressing gown, where he found 
his wife still at her table, writing. 

"What are you writing, Mary?" Nicholas 
asked. 

Countess Mary blushed. She was afraid that 
what she was writing would not be understood 
or approved by her husband. 

She had wanted to conceal what she was 
writing from him, but at the same time was 
glad he had surprised her at it and that she 
would now have to tell him. 

"A diary, Nicholas," she replied, handing 
him a blue exercise book filled with her firm, 
bold writing. 

"A diary?" Nicholas repeated with a shade 
of irony, and he took up the book. 

It was in French. 

December 4. Today when AndnVsha (her eldest 
lx>y) woke up he did not wish to dress and Ma- 
demoiselle Louise sent for me. He was naughty 
and obstinate. I tried threats, but he only grew 
angrier. Then I took the matter in hand: I left 
him alone and began with nurse's help to get the 
other children up, telling him that I did not love 
him. For a longtime he was silent. as if astonished, 
then he jumped out of bed, ran to me in his shirt, 
and sobbed so that I could not calm him for a long 
time. It was plain that what troubled him most 
was that he had grieved me. Afterwards in the 
evening when I gave him his ticket, he again began 
crying piteously and kissing me. One can do any- 
thing with him by tenderness. 

"What is a 'ticket'?" Nicholas inquired. 

"I have begun giving the elder ones marks 
every evening, showing how they have be- 
haved." 

Nicholas looked into the radiant eyes that 
were gazing at him, and continued to turn over 
the pages and read. In the diary was set down 
everything in the children's lives that seemed 
noteworthy to their mother as showing their 
characters or suggesting general reflections on 
educational methods. They were for the most 
part quite insignificant trifles, but did not seem 
so to the mother or to the father either, now 
that he read this diary about his children for 
the first time. 

Under the date "5" was entered: 

Mitya was naughty at table. Papa said he was to 
have no pudding. He had none, but looked so un- 
happily and greedily at the others while they were 



WAR AND PEACE 



eating! I think that punishment by depriving chil- 
dren o sweets only develops their greediness. Must 
tell Nicholas this. 

Nicholas put down the book and looked at 
his wife. The radiant eyes gazed at him ques- 
tioningly: would he approve or disapprove of 
her diary? There could be no doubt not only 
of his approval but also of his admiration for 
his wife. 

Perhaps it need not be done so pedantically, 
thought Nicholas, or even done at all, but this 
untiring, continual spiritual effort of which 
the sole aim was the children's moral welfare 
delighted him. Had Nicholas been able to ana- 
lyze his feelings he would have found that his 
steady, tender, and proud love of his wife rested 
on his feeling of wonder at her spirituality and 
at the lofty moral world, almost beyond his 
reach, in which she had her being. 

He was proud of her intelligence and good- 
ness, recognized his own insignificance beside 
her in the spiritual world, and rejoiced all the 
more that she with such a soul not only be- 
longed to him but was part of himself. 

"I quite, quite approve, my dearest!" said 
he with a significant look, and after a short 
pause he added: "And I behaved badly today. 
You weren't in the study. We began disputing 
Pierre and I and I lost my temper. But he is 
impossible: such a child! I don't know what 
would become of him if Natasha didn't keep 
him in hand. . . . Have you any idea why he 
went to Petersburg? They have formed . . ." 

"Yes, I know," said Countess Mary. "Nat- 
sha told me." 

"Well, then, you know," Nicholas went on, 
growing hot at the mere recollection of their 
discussion, "he wanted to convince me that it 
is every honest man's duty to go against the 
government, and that the oath of allegiance 
and duty ... I am sorry you weren't there. 
They all fell on me Denfsov and Natasha . . . 
Natasha is absurd. How she rules over him! 
And yet there need only be a discussion and 
she has no words of her own but only repeats 
his sayings . . ." added Nicholas, yielding to 
that irresistible inclination which tempts us to 
judge those nearest and dearest to us. He forgot 
that what he was saying about Natdsha could 
have been applied word for word to himself in 
relation to his wife. 

"Yes, I have noticed that," said Countess 
Mary. 

"When I told him that duty and the oath 
were above everything, he started proving 
goodness knows what! A pity you were not 



FIRST EPILOGUE 



671 



there what would you have said?" 

"As I see it you were quite right, and I told 
Natasha so. Pierre says everybody is suffering, 
tortured, and being corrupted, and that it is 
our duty to help our neighbor. Of course he is 
right there," said Countess Mary, "but he for- 
gets that we have other duties nearer to us, 
duties indicated to us by God Himself, and 
that though we might expose ourselves to risks 
we must not risk our children." 

"Yes, that's itl That's just what I said to 
him," put in Nicholas, who fancied he really 
had said it. "But they insisted on their own 
view: love of one's neighbor and Christianity 
and all this in the presence of young Nich- 
olas, who had gone into my study and broke 
all my things." 

"Ah, Nicholas, do you know I am often 
troubled about little Nicholas," said Countess 
Mary. "He is such an exceptional boy. I am 
afraid I neglect him in favor of my own: we 
all have children and relations while he has no 
one. He is constantly alone with his thoughts." 

"Well, I don't think you need reproach 
yourself on his account. All that the fondest 
mother could do for her son you have done 
and are doing for him, and of course I am glad 
of it. He is a fine lad, a fine ladl This evening 
he listened to Pierre in a sort of trance, and 
fancy as we were going in to supper I looked 
and he had broken everything on my table to 
bits, and he told me of it himself at once! I 
never knew him to tell an untruth. A fine lad, 
a fine ladl" repeated Nicholas, who at heart 
was not fond of Nicholas Bolk6nski but was 
always anxious to recognize that he was a fine 
lad. 

"Still, I am not the same as his own mother," 
said Countess Mary. "I feel I am not the same 
and it troubles me. A wonderful boy, but I am 
dreadfully afraid for him. It would be good for 
him to have companions." 

"Well it won't be for long. Next summer I'll 
take him to Petersburg," said Nicholas. "Yes, 
Pierre always was a dreamer and always will 
be," he continued, returning to the talk in the 
study which had evidently disturbed him. 
"Well, what business is it of mine what goes on 
therewhether Arakche'ev is bad, and all that? 
What business was it of mine when I married 
and was so deep in debt that I was threatened 
with prison, and had a mother who could not 
see or understand it? And then there are you 
and the children and our affairs. Is it for my 
own pleasure that I am at the farm or in the 
office from morning to night? No, but I know 



I must work to comfort my mother, to repay 
you, and not to leave the children such beggars 
as I was." 

Countess Mary wanted to tell him that man 
does not live by bread alone and that he at- 
tached too much importance to these matters. 
But she knew she must not say this and that it 
would be useless to do so. She only took his 
hand and kissed it. He took this as a sign of ap- 
proval and a confirmation of his thoughts, and 
after a few minutes' reflection continued to 
think aloud. 

"You know, Mary, today Elias Mitrofinych" 
(this was his overseer) "came back from the 
Tamb6v estate and told me they are already 
offering eighty thousand rubles for the forest." 

And with an eager face Nicholas began to 
speak of the possibility of repurchasing Otrad- 
noe before long, and added: "Another ten 
years of life and I shall leave the children . . . 
in an excellent position." 

Countess Mary listened to her husband and 
understood all that he told her. She knew that 
when he thought aloud in this way he would 
sometimes ask her what he had been saying, 
and be vexed if he noticed that she had been 
thinking about something else. But she had to 
force herself to attend, for what he was saying 
did not interest her at all. She looked at him 
and did not think, but felt, about something 
different. She felt a submissive tender love for 
this man who would never understand all that 
she understood, and this seemed to make her 
love for him still stronger and added a touch 
of passionate tenderness. Besides this feeling 
which absorbed her altogether and hindered 
her from following the details of her husband's 
plans, thoughts that had no connection with 
what he was saying flitted through her mind. 
She thought of her nephew. Her husband's ac- 
count of the boy's agitation while Pierre was 
speaking struck her forcibly, and various traits 
of his gentle, sensitive character recurred to 
her mind; and while thinking of her nephew 
she thought also of her own Children. She did 
not compare them with him, but compared 
her feeling for them with her feeling for him, 
and felt with regret that there was something 
lacking in her feeling for young Nicholas. 

Sometimes it seemed to her that this differ- 
ence arose from the difference in their ages, 
but she felt herself to blame toward him and 
promised in her heart to do better and to ac- 
complish the impossible in this life to love 
her husband, her children, little Nicholas, and 
all her neighbors, as Christ loved mankind. 



67* 

Countess Mary's soul always strove toward the 
infinite, the eternal, and the absolute, and 
could therefore never be at peace. A stern ex- 
pression of the lofty, secret suffering of a soul 
burdened by the, body appeared on her face. 
Nicholas gazed a* her. "O God! What will be- 
come of us if she dies, as I always fear when 
her face is like that?" thought he, and placing 
himself before the icon he began to say his 
evening prayers. 

CHAPTER XVI 

NATASHA AND PIERRE, left alone, also began to 
talk as only a husband and wife can talk, that 
is, with extraordinary clearness and rapidity, 
understanding and expressing each other's 
thoughts in ways contrary to all rules of logic, 
without premises, deductions, or conclusions, 
and in a quite peculiar way. Natasha was so 
used to this kind of talk with her husband that 
for her it was the surest sign of something be- 
ing wrong between them if Pierre followed a 
line of logical reasoning. When he began prov- 
ing anything, or talking argumentatively and 
calmly and she, led on by his example, began 
to do the same, she knew that they were on the 
verge of a quarrel. 

From the moment they were alone and Na- 
tdsha came up to him with wide-open happy 
eyes, and quickly seizing his head pressed it to 
her bosom, saying: "Now you are all mine, 
mine! You won't escape! "from that moment 
this conversation began, contrary to all the 
laws of logic and contrary to them because 
quite different subjects were talked about at 
one and the same time. This simultaneous dis- 
cussion of many topics did not prevent a clear 
understanding but on the contrary was the 
surest sign that they fully understood one an- 
other. 

Just as in a dream when all is uncertain, un- 
reasoning, and contradictory, except the feel- 
ing that guides the dream, so in this inter- 
course contrary to all laws of reason, the words 
themselves were not consecutive and clear but 
only the feeling that prompted them. 

Natasha spoke to Pierre about her brother's 
life and doings, of how she had suffered and 
lacked life during his own absence, and of how 
she was fonder than ever of Mary, and how 
Mary was in every way better than herself. In 
saying this Natdsha was sincere in acknowl- 
edging Mary's superiority, but at the same time 
by saying it she made a demand on Pierre that 
he should, all the same, prefer her to Mary and 
to all other women, and that now, especially 



WAR AND PEACE 

after having seen many women in Petersburg, 
he should tell her so afresh. 

Pierre, answering Natasha's words, told her 
how intolerable it had been for him to meet 
ladies at dinners and balls in Petersburg. 

"I have quite lost the knack of talking to 
ladies," he said. "It was simply dull. Besides, I 
was very busy." 

Natdsha looked intently at him and went 
on: 

"Mary is so splendid," she said. "How she 
understands children! It is as if she saw straight 
into their souls. Yesterday, for instance, Mitya 
was naughty ..." 

"How like his father he is," Pierre inter- 
jected. 

Natasha knew why he mentioned Mitya's 
likeness to Nicholas: the recollection of his dis- 
pute with his brother-in-law was unpleasant 
and he wanted to know what Natdsha thought 
of it. 

"Nicholas has the weakness of never agree- 
ing with anything not generally accepted. But 
I understand that you value what opens up a 
fresh line," said she, repeating words Pierre 
had once uttered. 

"No, the chief point is that to Nicholas 
ideas and discussions are an amusemental- 
most a pastime," said Pierre. "For instance, he 
is collecting a library and has made it a rule 
not to buy a new book till he has read what he 
had already bought Sismondi and Rousseau 
and Montesquieu," he added with a smile. 
"You know how much I ..." he began to soften 
down what he had said; but Natdsha inter- 
rupted him to show that this was unnecessary. 

"So you say ideas are an amusement to 
him. . . ." 

"Yes, and for me nothing else is serious. AH 
the time in Petersburg I saw everyone as in a 
dream. When I am taken up by a thought, all 
else is mere amusement." 

"Ah, I'm so sorry I wasn't there when you 
met the children," said Natdsha. "Which was 
most delighted? Lisa, I'm sure." 

"Yes," Pierre replied, and went on with 
what was in his mind. "Nicholas says we ought 
not to think. But I can't help it. Besides, when 
I was in Petersburg I felt (I can say this to you) 
that the whole affair would go to pieces with- 
out meeveryone was pulling his own way. 
But I succeeded in uniting them all; and then 
my idea is so clear and simple. You see, I don't 
say that we ought to oppose this and that. We 
may be mistaken. What I say is: 'Join hands, 
you who love the right, and let there be but 



FIRST EPILOGUE 



673 



one banner that of active virtue/ Prince Ser- 
gy is a fine fellow and clever." 

Natasha would have had no doubt as to the 
greatness of Pierre's idea, but one thing dis- 
concerted her. "Can a man so important and 
necessary to society be also my husband? How 
did this happen?" She wished to express this 
doubt to him. "Now who could decide whether 
he is really cleverer than all the others?" she 
asked herself, and passed in review all those 
whom Pierre most respected. Judging by what 
he had said there was no one he had respected 
so highly as Plat6n Karataev. 

"Do you know what I am thinking about?" 
she asked. "About Plat6n Karataev. Would he 
have approved of you now, do you think?" 

Pierre was not at all surprised at this ques- 
tion. He understood his wife's line of thought. 

"Plat6n Karatdev?" he repeated, and pon- 
dered, evidently sincerely trying to imagine 
Karatiev's opinion on the subject. "He would 
not have understood . . .yet perhaps he would." 

"I love you awfully!" Natdsha suddenly said. 
"Awfully, awfully!" 

"No, he would not have approved," said 
Pierre, after reflection. "What he would have 
approved of is our family life. He was always 
so anxious to find seemliness, happiness, and 
peace in everything, and I should have been 
proud to let him see us. There nowyou talk 
of my absence, but you wouldn't believe what 
a special feeling I have for you after a separa- 
tion. . . ." 

"Yes, I should think . . ." Natasha began. 

"No, it's not that. I never leave off loving 
you. And one couldn't love more, but this is 
something special. . . . Yes, of course" he did 
not finish because their eyes meeting said the 
rest. 

"What nonsense it is," Natdsha suddenly ex- 
claimed, "about honeymoons, and that the 
greatest happiness is at first! On the contrary, 
now is the best of all. If only you did not go 
away! Do you remember how we quarreled? 
And it was always my fault. Always mine. And 
what we quarreled about I don't even remem- 
ber!" 

"Always about the same thing," said Pierre 
with a smile. "Jealo . . ." 

"Don't say it! I can't bear it!" Natdsha cried, 
and her eyes glittered coldly and vindictively. 
"Did you see her?" she added, after a pause. 

"No, and if I had I shouldn't have recog- 
nized her." 

They were silent for a while. 

"Oh, do you know? While you were talking 



in the study I was looking at you," Natdsha 
began, evidently anxious to disperse the cloud 
that had come over them. "You are as like him 
as two peas like the boy." (She meant her lit- 
tle son.) "Oh, it's time to go to him. . . . The 
milk's come. . . . But I'm sorry to leave you." 

They were silent for a few seconds. Then 
suddenly turning to one another at the same 
time they both began to speak. Pierre began 
with self-satisfaction and enthusiasm, Natasha 
with a quiet, happy smile. Having interrupted 
one another they both stopped to let the other 
continue. 

"No. What did you say? Go on, go on." 

"No, you go on, I was talking nonsense," 
said Natasha. 

Pierre finished what he had begun. It was 
the sequel to his complacent reflections on his 
success in Petersburg. At that moment it seemed 
to him that he was chosen to give a new direc- 
tion to the whole of Russian society and to the 
whole world. 

"I only wished to say that ideas that have 
great results are always simple ones. My whole 
idea is that if vicious people are united and 
constitute a power, then honest folk must do 
the same. Now that's simple enough." 

"Yes." 

"And what were you going to say?" 

"I? Only nonsense." 

"But all the same?" 

"Oh nothing, only a trifle," said Natdsha, 
smiling still more brightly. "I only wanted to 
tell you about Ptya: today nurse was coming 
to take him from me, and he laughed, shut his 
eyes, and clung to me. I'm sure he thought he 
was hiding. Awfully sweet! There, now he's 
crying. Well, good-by!" and she left the room. 

Meanwhile downstairs in young Nicholas 
Bolk6nski's bedroom a little lamp was burn- 
ing as usual. (The boy was afraid of the dark 
and they could not cure him of it.) Dessalles 
slept propped up on four pillows and his 
Roman nose emitted sounds of rhythmic snor- 
ing. Little Nicholas, who had just waked up in 
a cold perspiration, sat up in bed and gazed be- 
fore him with wide-open eyes. He had awaked 
from a terrible dream. He had dreamed that 
he and Uncle Pierre, wearing helmets such as 
were depicted in his Plutarch, were leading a 
huge army. The army was made up of white 
slanting lines that filled the air like the cob- 
webs that float about in autumn and which 
Dessalles called Ics fils dc la Vitrgc. In front 
was Glory, which was similar to those threads 



674 



WAR AND PEACE 



but rather thicker. He and Pierre were borne 
along lightly and joyously, nearer and nearer 
to their goal. Suddenly the threads that moved 
them began to slacken and become entangled 
and it grew difficult to move. And Uncle Nich- 
olas stood before them in a stern and threaten- 
ing attitude. 

"Have you done this?" he said, pointing to 
some broken sealing wax and pens. "I loved 
you, but I have orders from Arakche*ev and 
will kill the first of you who moves forward." 
Little Nicholas turned to look at Pierre but 
Pierre was no longer there. In his place was 
his father Prince Andrew and his father had 
neither shape nor form, but he existed, and 
when little Nicholas perceived him he grew 
faint with love: he felt himself powerless, limp, 
and formless. His father caressed and pitied 
him. But Uncle Nicholas came nearer and 
nearer to them. Terror seized young Nicholas 
and he awoke. 

"My father!" he thought. (Though there 
were two good portraits of Prince Andrew in 
the house, Nicholas never imagined him in hu- 



man form.) "My father has been with me and 
caressed me. He approved of me and of Uncle 
Pierre. Whatever he may tell me, I will do it. 
Mucius Scaevola burned his hand. Why should 
not the same sort of thing happen to me? I 
know they want me to learn. And I will learn, 
But someday I shall have finished learning, 
and then I will do something. I only pray God 
that something may happen to me such as hap- 
pened to Plutarch's men, and I will act as they 
did. I will do better. Everyone shall know me, 
love me, and be delighted with me!" And sud- 
denly his bosom heaved with sobs and he be- 
gan to cry. 

"Are you ill?" he heard Dessalles' voice ask- 
ing. 

"No," answered Nicholas, and lay back on 
his pillow. 

"He is good and kind and I am fond of 
him!" he thought of Dessalles. "But Uncle 
Pierre! Oh, what a wonderful man he is! And 
my father? Oh, Father, Father! Yes, 1 will do 
something with which even he would be satis- 
fied. . . ." 



Second Epilogue 



CHAPTER I 

HISTORY is the life of nations and of humanity. 
To seize and put into words, to describe di- 
rectly the life of humanity or even of a single 
nation, appears impossible. 

The ancient historians all employed one 
and the same method to describe and seize 
the apparently elusivethe life of a people. 
They described the activity of individuals who 
ruled the people, and regarded the activity 
of those men as representing the activity of the 
whole nation. 

The question: how did individuals make na- 
tions act as they wished and by what was the 
will of these individuals themselves guided? the 
ancients met by recognizing a divinity which 
subjected the nations to the will of a chosen 
man, and guided the will of that chosen man so 
as to accomplish ends that were predestined. 

For the ancients these questions were solved 
by a belief in the direct participation of the 
Deity in human affairs. 

Modern history, in theory, rejects both these 
principles. 

It would seem that having rejected the be- 
lief of the ancients in man's subjection to the 
Deity and in a predetermined aim toward 
which nations are led, modern history should 
study not the manifestations of power but the 
causes that produce it. But modern history 
has not done this. Having in theory rejected 
the view held by the ancients, it still follows 
them in practice. 

Instead of men endowed with divine author- 
ity and directly guided by the will of God, 
modern history has given us either heroes en- 
dowed with extraordinary, superhuman capac- 
ities, or simply men of very various kinds, from 
monarchs to journalists, who lead the masses. 
Instead of the former divinely appointed aims 
of the Jewish, Greek, or Roman nations, which 
ancient historians regarded as representing the 
progress of humanity, modern history has 
postulated its own aims the welfare of the 
French, German, or English people, or, in its 



highest abstraction, the welfare and civiliza- 
tion of humanity in general, by which is usu- 
ally meant that of the peoples occupying a 
small northwesterly portion of a large con- 
tinent. 

Modern history has rejected the beliefs of 
the ancients without replacing them by a new 
conception, and the logic of the situation has 
obliged the historians, after they had appar- 
ently rejected the divine authority of the kings 
and the "fate" of the ancients, to reach the 
same conclusion by another road, that is, to 
recognize (i) nations guided by individual 
men, and (2) the existence of a known aim 
to which these nations and humanity at large 
are tending. 

At the basis of the works of all the modern 
historians from Gibbon to Buckle, despite 
their seeming disagreements and the appar- 
ent novelty of their outlooks, lie those two old, 
unavoidable assumptions. 

In the first place the historian describes the 
activity of individuals who in his opinion have 
directed humanity (one historian considers 
only monarchs, generals, and ministers as be- 
ing such men, while another includes also 
orators, learned men, reformers, philosophers, 
and poets). Secondly, it is assumed that the 
goal toward which humanity is being led is 
known to the historians: to one of them this 
goal is the greatness of the Roman, Spanish, 
or French realm; to another it is liberty, equal- 
ity, and a certain kind of civilization of a small 
corner of the world called Europe. 

In 1789 a ferment arises in Paris; it grows, 
spreads, and is expressed by a movement of 
peoples from west to east. Several times it 
moves eastward and collides with a counter- 
movement from the east westward. In 18 is it 
reaches its extreme limit, Moscow, and then, 
with remarkable symmetry, a countermove- 
ment occurs from east to west, attracting to it, 
as the first movement had done, the nations of 
middle Europe. The countermovement reaches 
the starting point of the first movement in the 



675 



676 

west Paris and subsides. 

During that twenty-year period an immense 
number of fields were left untilled, houses 
were burned, trade changed its direction, mil- 
lions of men migrated, were impoverished, or 
were enriched, and millions of Christian men 
professing the law of love of their fellows slew 
one another. 

What does all this mean? Why did it hap- 
pen? What made those people burn houses 
and slay their fellow men? What were the 
causes of these events? What force made men 
act so? These are the instinctive, plain, and 
most legitimate questions humanity asks it- 
self when it encounters the monuments and 
tradition of that period. 

For a reply to these questions the common 
sense of mankind turns to the science of his- 
tory, whose aim is to enable nations and hu- 
manity to know themselves. 

If history had retained the conception of 
the ancients it would have said that God, to 
reward or punish his people, gave Napoleon 
power and directed his will to the fulfillment 
of the divine ends, and that reply would have 
been clear and complete. One might believe 
or disbelieve in the divine significance of Na- 
poleon, but for anyone believing in it there 
would have been nothing unintelligible in the 
history of that period, nor would there have 
been any contradictions. 

But modern history cannot give that reply. 
Science does not admit the conception of the 
ancients as to the direct participation of the 
Deity in human affairs, and therefore history 
ought to give other answers. 

Modern history replying to these questions 
says: you want to know what this movement 
means, what caused it, and what force pro- 
duced these events? Then listen: 

"Louis XIV was a very proud and self- 
confident man; he had such and such mistresses 
and such and such ministers and he ruled 
France badly. His descendants were weak 
men and they too ruled France badly. And 
they had such and such favorites and such 
and such mistresses. Moreover, certain men 
wrote some books at that time. At the end of 
the eighteenth century there were a couple of 
dozen men in Paris who began to talk about 
all men being free and equal. This caused 
people all over France to begin to slash at and 
drown one another. They killed the king and 
many other people. At that time there was in 
France a man of genius Napoleon. He con- 
quered everybody everywhere that is, he 



WAR AND PEACE 



killed many people because he was a great 
genius. And for some reason he went to kill 
Africans, and killed them so well and was so 
cunning and wise that when he returned to 
France he ordered everybody to obey him, and 
they all obeyed him. Having become an Em- 
peror he again went out to kill people in Italy, 
Austria, and Prussia. And there too he killed a 
great many. In Russia there was an Emperor, 
Alexander, who decided to restore order in 
Europe and therefore fought against Napoleon. 
In 1807 he suddenly made friends with him, 
but in 1811 they again quarreled and again 
began killing many people. Napoleon led six 
hundred thousand men into Russia and cap- 
tured Moscow; then he suddenly ran away 
from Moscow, and the Emperor Alexander, 
helped by the advice of Stein and others, 
united Europe to arm against the disturber 
of its peace. All Napoleon's allies suddenly 
became his enemies and their forces advanced 
against the fresh forces he raised. The Allies 
defeated Napoleon, entered Paris, forced Na- 
poleon to abdicate, and sent him to the island 
of Elba, not depriving him of the title of Em- 
peror and showing him every respect, though 
five years before and one year later they all 
regarded him as an outlaw and a brigand. 
Then Louis XVIII, who till then had been the 
laughingstock both of the French and the 
Allies, began to reign. And Napoleon, shed- 
ding tears before his Old Guards, renounced 
the throne and went into exile. Then the skill- 
ful statesmen and diplomatists (especially 
Talleyrand, who managed to sit down in a 
particular chair before anyone else and there- 
by extended the frontiers of France) talked 
in Vienna and by these conversations made 
the nations happy or unhappy. Suddenly the 
diplomatists and monarchs nearly quarreled 
and were on the point of again ordering their 
armies to kill one another, but just then Na- 
poleon arrived in France with a battalion, and 
the French, who had been hating him, immedi- 
ately all submitted to him. But the Allied 
monarchs were angry at this and went to fight 
the French once more. And they defeated the 
genius Napoleon and, suddenly recognizing 
him as a brigand, sent him to the island of St. 
Helena. And the exile, separated from the be- 
loved France so dear to his heart, died a lin- 
gering death on that rock and bequeathed his 
great deeds to posterity. But in Europe a reac- 
tion occurred and the sovereigns once again 
all began to oppress their subjects." 
It would be a mistake to think that this is 



SECOND EPILOGUE 

ironic a caricature of the historical accounts. 
On the contrary it is a very mild expression of 
the contradictory replies, not meeting the 
questions, which all the historians give, from 
the compilers of memoirs and the histories of 
separate states to the writers of general his- 
tories and the new histories of the culture of 
that period. 

The strangeness and absurdity of these re- 
plies arise from the fact that modern history, 
like a deaf man, answers questions no one has 
asked. 

If the purpose of history be to give a descrip- 
tion of the movement of humanity and of the 
peoples, the first questionin the absence of 
a reply to which all the rest will be incom- 
prehensible is: what is the power that moves 
peoples? To this, modern history laboriously 
replies either that Napoleon was a great 
genius, or that Louis XIV was very proud, or 
that certain writers wrote certain books. 

All that may be so and mankind is ready to 
agree with it, but it is not what was asked. 
All that would be interesting if we recognized 
a divine power based on itself and always con- 
sistently directing its nations through Napo- 
leons, Louis-es, and writers; but we do not 
acknowledge such a power, and therefore be- 
fore speaking about Napoleons, Louis-es, and 
authors, we ought to be shown the connection 
existing between these men and the movement 
of the nations. 

If instead of a divine power some other 
force has appeared, it should be explained in 
what this new force consists, for the whole in- 
terest of history lies precisely in that force. 

History seems to assume that this force is 
self-evident and known to everyone. But in 
spite of every desire to regard it as known, 
anyone reading many historical works cannot 
help doubting whether this new force, so vari- 
ously understood by the historians themselves, 
is really quite well known to everybody. 



677 



CHAPTER II 
WHAT FORCE moves the nations? 

Biographical historians and historians of 
separate nations understand this force as a 
power inherent in heroes and rulers. In their 
narration events occur solely by the will of a 
Napoleon, and Alexander, or in general of 
the persons they describe. The answers given 
by this kind of historian to the question of 
what force causes events to happen are satis- 
factory only as long as there is but one his- 
torian to each event. As soon as historians of 



different nationalities and tendencies begin to 
describe the same event, the replies they give 
immediately lose all meaning, for this force 
is understood by them all not only differently 
but often in quite contradictory ways. One 
historian says that an event was produced by 
Napoleon's power, another that it was pro- 
duced by Alexander's, a third that it was due 
to the power of some other person. Besides 
this, historians of that kind contradict each 
other even in their statement as to the force 
on which the authority of some particular per- 
son was based. Thiers, a Bonapartist, says that 
Napoleon's power was based on his virtue and 
genius. Lanfrey, a Republican, says it was 
based on his trickery and deception of the 
people. So the historians of this class, by mutu- 
ally destroying one another's positions, destroy 
the understanding of the force which produces 
events, and furnish no reply to history's essen- 
tial question. 

Writers of universal history who deal with 
all the nations seem to recognize how erro- 
neous is the specialist historians' view of the 
force which produces events. They do not 
recognize it as a power inherent in heroes and 
rulers, but as the resultant of a multiplicity of 
variously directed forces. In describing a war 
or the subjugation of a people, a general his- 
torian looks for the cause of the event not in 
the power of one man, but in the interaction 
of many persons connected with the event. 

According to this view the power of histori- 
cal personages, represented as the product of 
many forces, can no longer, it would seem, be 
regarded as a force that itself produces events. 
Yet in most cases universal historians still em- 
ploy the conception of power as a force that 
itself produces events, and treat it as their 
cause. In their exposition, an historic char- 
acter is first the product of his time, and his 
power only the resultant of various forces, and 
then his power is itself a force producing 
events. Gervinus, Schlosser, and others, for in- 
stance, at one time prove Napoleon to be a 
product of the Revolution, of the ideas of 
1789 and so forth, and at another plainly say 
that the campaign of 1812 and other things 
they do not like were simply the product of 
Napoleon's misdirected will, and that the very 
ideas of 1789 were arrested in their develop- 
ment by Napoleon's capricej The ideas of the 
Revolution and the general temper of the age 
produced Napoleon's power. But Napoleon's 
power suppressed the ideas of the Revolution 
and the general temper of the age. 



678 



WAR AND PEACE 



This curious contradiction is not accidental. 
Not only does it occur at every step, but the 
universal historians' accounts are all made up 
of a chain of such contradictions. This contra- 
diction occurs because after entering the field 
of analysis the universal historians stop half- 
way. 

To find component forces equal to the com- 
posite or resultant force, the sum of the com- 
ponents must equal the resultant. This condi- 
tion is never observed by the universal his- 
torians, and so to explain the resultant forces 
they are obliged to admit, in addition to the 
insufficient components, another unexplained 
force affecting the resultant action. 

Specialist historians describing the cam- 
paign of 1813 or the restoration of the Bour- 
bons plainly assert that these events were pro- 
duced by the will of Alexander. But the uni- 
versal historian Gervinus, refuting this opinion 
of the specialist historian, tries to prove that 
the campaign of 1813 and the restoration of 
the Bourbons were due to other things beside 
Alexander's willsuch as the activity of Stein, 
Metternich, Madame de Stael, Talleyrand, 
Fichte, Chateaubriand, and others. The his- 
torian evidently decomposes Alexander's pow- 
er into the components: Talleyrand, Chateau- 
briand, and the rest but the sum of the com- 
ponents, that is, the interactions of Chateau- 
briand, Talleyrand, Madame de Stael, and 
the others, evidently does not equal the result- 
ant, namely the phenomenon of millions of 
Frenchmen submitting to the Bourbons. That 
Chateaubriand, Madame de Stael, and others 
spoke certain words to one another only affect- 
ed their mutual relations but does not account 
for the submission of millions. And therefore 
to explain how from these relations of theirs 
the submission of millions of people resulted 
that is, how component forces equal to one 
A gave a resultant equal to a thousand times A 
the historian is again obliged to fall back on 
power the force he had denied and to rec- 
ognize it as the resultant of the forces, that is, 
he has to admit an unexplained force acting 
on the resultant. And that is just what the 
universal historians do, and consequently they 
not only contradict the specialist historians 
but contradict themselves. 

Peasants having no clear idea of the cause 
of rain, say, according to whether they want 
rain or fine weather: "The wind has blown 
the clouds away," or, "The wind has brought 
up the clouds/' And in the same way the 
universal historians sometimes, when it pleases 



them and fits in with their theory, say that 
power is the result of events, and sometimes, 
when they want to prove something else, say 
that power produces events. 

A third class of historians the so-called his- 
torians of culturefollowing the path laid 
down by the universal historians who some- 
times accept writers and ladies as forces pro- 
ducing events again take that force to be 
something quite different. They see it in what 
is called culture in mental activity. 

The historians of culture are quite consist- 
ent in regard to their progenitors, the writers 
of universal histories, for if historical events 
may be explained by the fact that certain per- 
sons treated one another in such and such 
ways, why not explain them by the fact that 
such and such people wrote such and such 
books? Of the immense number of indications 
accompanying every vital phenomenon, these 
historians select the indication of intellectual 
activity and say that this indication is the cause. 
But despite their endeavors to prove that the 
cause of events lies in intellectual activity, 
only by a great stretch can one admit that 
there is any connection between intellectual 
activity and the movement of peoples, and in 
no case can one admit that intellectual activ- 
ity controls people's actions, for that view is 
not confirmed by such facts as the very cruel 
murders of the French Revolution resulting 
from the doctrine of the equality of man, or 
the very cruel wars and executions resulting 
from the preaching of love. 

But even admitting as correct all the cun- 
ningly devised arguments with which these 
histories are filled admitting that nations 
are governed by some undefined force called 
an idea history's essential question still re- 
mains unanswered, and to the former power of 
monarchs and to the influence of advisers and 
other people introduced by the universal his- 
torians, another, newer force the idea is 
added, the connection of which with the masses 
needs explanation. It is possible to understand 
that Napoleon had power and so events oc- 
curred; with some effort one may even con- 
ceive that Napoleon together with other in- 
fluences was the cause of an event; but how a 
book, Le Contrat social, had the effect of mak- 
ing Frenchmen begin to drown one another 
cannot be understood without an explana- 
tion of the causal nexus of this new force with 
the event. 

Undoubtedly some relation exists between 
all who live contemporaneously, and so it is 



SECOND EPILOGUE 



possible to find some connection between the 
intellectual activity of men and their histori- 
cal movements, just as such a connection may 
be found between the movements of human- 
ity and commerce, handicraft, gardening, or 
anything else you please. But why intellectual 
activity is considered by the historians of cul- 
ture to be the cause or expression of the whole 
historical movement is hard to understand. 
Only the following considerations can have 
led the historians to such a conclusion: (i) 
that history is written by learned men, and so 
it is natural and agreeable for them to think 
that the activity of their class supplies the 
basis of the movement of all humanity, just 
as a similar belief is natural and agreeable to 
traders, agriculturists, and soldiers (if they do 
not express it, that is merely because traders 
and soldiers do not write history), and (2) that 
spiritual activity, enlightenment, civilization, 
culture, ideas, are all indistinct, indefinite con- 
ceptions under whose banner it is very easy to 
use words having a still less definite meaning, 
and which can therefore be readily introduced 
into any theory. 

But not to speak of the intrinsic quality of 
histories of this kind (which may possibly even 
be of use to someone for something) the his- 
tories of culture, to which all general histories 
tend more and more to approximate, are sig- 
nificant from the fact that after seriously and 
minutely examining various religious, philo- 
sophic, and political doctrines as causes of 
events, as soon as they have to describe an ac- 
tual historic event such as the campaign of 1812 
for instance, they involuntarily describe it as 
resulting from an exercise of powerand say 
plainly that that campaign was the result of 
Napoleon's will. Speaking so, the historians of 
culture involuntarily contradict themselves, 
and show that the new force they have devised 
does not account for what happens in history, 
and that history can only be explained by in- 
troducing a power which they apparently do 
not recognize. 

CHAPTER III 

A LOCOMOTIVE is moving. Someone asks: "What 
moves it?" A peasant says the devil moves it. 
Another man says the locomotive moves be- 
cause its wheels go round. A third asserts that 
the cause of its movement lies in the smoke 
which the wind carries away. 

The peasant is irrefutable. He has devised 
a complete explanation. To refute him some- 
one would have to prove to him that there is 



no devil, or another peasant would have to 
explain to him that it is not the devil but a 
German, who moves the locomotive. Only 
then, as a result of the contradiction, will they 
see that they are both wrong. But the man who 
says that the movement of the wheels is the 
cause refutes himself, for having once begun 
to analyze he ought to go on and explain 
further why the wheels go round; and till he 
has reached the ultimate cause of the move- 
ment of the locomotive in the pressure of 
steam in the boiler, he has no right to stop in 
his search for the cause. The man who explains 
the movement of the locomotive by the smoke 
that is carried back has noticed that the wheels 
do not supply an explanation and has taken 
the first sign that occurs to him and in his turn 
has offered that as an explanation. 

The only conception that can explain the 
movement of the locomotive is that of a force 
commensurate with the movement observed. 

The only conception that can explain the 
movement of the peoples is that of some force 
commensurate with the whole movement of 
the peoples. 

Yet to supply this conception various his- 
torians take forces of different kinds, all of 
which are incommensurate with the movement 
observed. Some see it as a force directly inher- 
ent in heroes, as the peasant sees the devil in 
the locomotive; others as a force resulting 
from several other forces, like the movement 
of the wheels; others again as an intellectual 
influence, like the smoke that is blown away. 

So long as histories are written of separate 
individuals, whether Caesars, Alexanders, 
Luthers, or Voltaires, and not the histories of 
all, absolutely all those who take part in an 
event, it is quite impossible to describe the 
movement of humanity without the concep- 
tion of a force compelling men to direct their 
activity toward a certain end. And the only 
such conception known to historians is that 
of power. 

This conception is the one handle by means 
of which the material of history, as at present 
expounded, can be dealt with, and anyone 
who breaks that handle off, as Buckle did, 
without finding some other method of treat- 
ing historical material, merely deprives him- 
self of the one possible way of dealing with it. 
The necessity of the conception of power as 
an explanation of historical events is best dem- 
onstrated by the universal historians and his- 
torians of culture themselves, for they pro- 
fessedly reject that conception but inevitably 



68o 



WAR AND PEACE 



have recourse to it at every step. 

In dealing with humanity's inquiry, the 
science of history up to now is like money in 
circulation paper money and coin. The bi- 
ographies and special national histories are 
like paper money. They can be used and can 
circulate and fulfill their purpose without 
harm to anyone and even advantageously, as 
long as no one asks what is the security behind 
them. You need only forget to ask how the 
will of heroes produces events, and such his- 
tories as Thiers' will be interesting and in- 
structive and may perhaps even possess a tinge 
of poetry. But just as doubts of the real value 
of paper money arise either because, being 
easy to make, too much of it gets made or be- 
cause people try to exchange it for gold, so 
also doubts concerning the real value of such 
histories arise either because too many of 
them are written or because in his simplicity 
of heart someone inquires: by what force did 
Napoleon do this?that is, wants to exchange 
the current paper money for the real gold of 
actual comprehension. 

The writers of universal histories and of the 
history of culture are like people who, recog- 
nizing the defects of paper money, decide to 
substitute for it money made of metal that 
has not the specific gravity of gold. It may in- 
deed make jingling coin, but will do no more 
than that. Paper money may deceive the ignor- 
ant, but nobody is deceived by tokens of base 
metal that have no value but merely jingle. 
As gold is gold only if it is serviceable not 
merely for exchange but also for use, so uni- 
versal historians will be valuable only when 
they can reply to history's essential question: 
what is power? The universal historians give 
contradictory replies to that question, while 
the historians of culture evade it and answer 
something quite different. And as counters of 
imitation gold can be used only among a 
group of people who agree to accept them as 
gold, or among those who do not know the 
nature of gold, so universal historians and 
historians of culture, not answering human- 
ity's essential question, serve as currency for 
some purposes of their own, only in univer- 
sities and among the mass of readers who have 
a taste for what they call "serious reading." 

CHAPTER IV 

HAVING ABANDONED the conception of the an- 
cients as to the divine subjection of the will of 
a nation to some chosen man and the subjec- 
tion of that man's will to the Deity, history 



cannot without contradictions take a single 
step till it has chosen one of two things: either 
a return to the former belief in the direct in- 
tervention of the Deity in human affairs or a 
definite explanation of the meaning of the 
force producing historical events and termed 
"power." 

A return to the first is impossible, the belief 
has been destroyed; and so it is essential to 
explain what is meant by power. 

Napoleon ordered an army to be raised and 
go to war. We are so accustomed to that idea 
and have become so used to it that the ques- 
tion: why did six hundred thousand men go 
to fight when Napoleon uttered certain words, 
seems to us senseless. He had the power and 
so what he ordered was done. 

This reply is quite satisfactory if we believe 
that the power was given him by God. But as 
soon as we do not admit that, it becomes es- 
sential to determine what is this power of one 
man over others. 

It cannot be the direct physical power o a 
strong man over a weak one a domination 
based on the application or threat of physical 
force, like the power of Hercules; nor can it 
be based on the effect of moral force, as in 
their simplicity some historians think who say 
that the leading figures in history are heroes, 
that is, men gifted with a special strength of 
soul and mind called genius. This power can- 
not be based on the predominance of moral 
strength, for, not to mention heroes such as 
Napoleon about whose moral qualities opin- 
ions differ widely, history shows us that neither 
a Louis XI nor a Metternich, who ruled over 
millions of people, had any particular moral 
qualities, but on the contrary were generally 
morally weaker than any of the millions they 
ruled over. 

If the source of power lies neither in the 
physical nor in the moral qualities of him who 
possesses it, it must evidently be looked for 
elsewhere in the relation to the people of 
the man who wields the power. 

And that is how power is understood by the 
science of jurisprudence, that exchange bank 
of history which offers to exchange history's 
understanding of power for true gold, 
j Power is the collective will of the people 
transferred, by expressed or tacit consent, to 
their chosen rulers. 

' In the domain of jurisprudence, which con- 
sists of discussions of how a state and power 
might be arranged were it possible for all that 
to be arranged, it is all very clear; but when 



SECOND EPILOGUE 



681 



applied to history that definition of power 
needs explanation. 

The science of jurisprudence regards the 
state and power as the ancients regarded fire- 
namely, as something existing absolutely. But 
for history, the state and power are merely 
phenomena, just as for modern physics fire is 
not an element but a phenomenon. 

From this fundamental difference between 
the view held by history and that held by ju- 
risprudence, it follows that jurisprudence can 
tell minutely how in its opinion power should 
be constituted and what power existing im- 
mutably outside time is, but to history's ques- 
tions about the meaning of the mutations of 
power in time it can answer nothing. 

If power be the collective will of the people 
transferred to their ruler, was Pugachev a rep- 
resentative of the will of the people? If not, 
then why was Napoleon I? Why was Napoleon 
III a criminal when he was taken prisoner at 
Boulogne, and why, later on, were those crim- 
inals whom he arrested? 

Do palace revolutions in which sometimes 
only two or three people take part transfer 
the will of the people to a new ruler? In inter- 
national relations, is the will of the people also 
transferred to their conqueror? Was the will 
of the Confederation of the Rhine transferred 
to Napoleon in 1806? Was the will of the Rus- 
sian people transferred to Napoleon in 1809, 
when our army in alliance with the French 
went to fight the Austrians? 

To these questions three answers are pos- 
sible: 

Either to assume (i) that the will of the 
people is always unconditionally transferred 
to the ruler or rulers they have chosen, and 
that therefore every emergence of a new pow- 
er, every struggle against the power once ap- 
pointed, should be absolutely regarded as an 
infringement of the real power; or (2) that 
the will of the people is transferred to the 
rulers conditionally, under definiteand known 
conditions, and to show that all limitations, 
conflicts, and even destructions of power re- 
sult from a nonobservance by the rulers of the 
conditions under which their power was en- 
trusted to them; or (3) that the will of the 
people is delegated to the rulers conditionally, 
but that the conditions are unknown and in- 
definite, and that the appearance of several 
authorities, their struggles and their falls, re- 
sult solely from the greater or lesser fulfill- 
ment by the rulers of these unknown condi- 
tions on which the will of the people is trans- 



ferred from some people to others. 

And these are the three ways in which the 
historians do explain the relation of the peo- 
ple to their rulers. 

Some historians those biographical and 
specialist historians already referred to in 
their simplicity failing to understand the ques- 
tion of the meaning of power, seem to consider 
that the collective will of the people is uncon- 
ditionally transferred to historical persons, and 
therefore when describing some single state 
they assume that particular power to be the 
one absolute and real power, and that any 
other force opposing this is not a power but 
a violation of power mere violence. 

Their theory, suitable for primitive and 
peaceful periods of history, has the inconven- 
iencein application to complex and stormy 
periods in the life of nations during which 
various powers arise simultaneously and strug- 
gle with one another that a Legitimist his- 
torian will prove that the National Conven- 
tion, the Directory, and Bonaparte were mere 
infringers of the true power, while a Republi- 
can and a Bonapartist will prove: the one that 
the Convention and the other that the Empire 
was the real power, and that all the others 
were violations of power. Evidently the ex- 
planations furnished by these historians being 
mutually contradictory can only satisfy young 
children. 

Recognizing the falsity of this view of his- 
tory, another set of historians say that power 
rests on a conditional delegation of the will 
of the people to their rulers, and that histori- 
cal leaders have power only conditionally on 
carrying out the program that the will of the 
people has by tacit agreement prescribed to 
them. But what this program consists in these 
historians do not say, or if they do they con- 
tinually contradict one another. 

Each historian, according to his view of 
what constitutes a nation's progress, looks for 
these conditions in the greatness, wealth, free- 
dom, or enlightenment of the citizens of France 
or some other country. But not to mention 
the historians' contradictions as to the nature 
of this program or even admitting that some 
one general program of these conditions exists 
the facts of history almost always contradict 
that theory. If the conditions under which 
power is entrusted consist in the wealth, free- 
dom, and enlightenment of the people, how 
is it that Louis XIV and Ivan the Terrible end 
their reigns tranquilly, while Louis XVI and 
Charles I are executed by their people? To 



682 



WAR AND PEACE 



this question historians reply that Louis XIV's 
activity, contrary to the program, reacted on 
Louis XVI. But why did it not react on Louis 
XIV or on Louis XV why should it react just 
on Louis XVI? And what is the time limit for 
such reactions? To these questions there are 
and can be no answers. Equally little does this 
view explain why for several centuries the 
collective will is not withdrawn from certain 
rulers and their heirs, and then suddenly dur- 
ing a period of fifty years is transferred to the 
Convention, to the Directory, to Napoleon, to 
Alexander, to Louis XVIII, to Napoleon again, 
to Charles X, to Louis Philippe, to a Republi- 
can government, and to Napoleon III. When 
explaining these rapid transfers of the people's 
will from one individual to another, especially 
in view of international relations, conquests, 
and alliances, the historians are obliged to 
admit that some of these transfers are not 
normal delegations of the people's will but are 
accidents dependent on cunning, on mistakes, 
on craft, or on the weakness of a diplomatist, 
a ruler, or a party leader. So that the greater 
part of the events of history civil wars, revolu- 
tions, and conquests are presented by these 
historians not as the results of free transfer- 
ences of the people's will, but as results of the 
ill-directed will of one or more individuals, 
that is, once again, as usurpations of power. 
And so these historians also see and admit his- 
torical events which are exceptions to the 
theory. 

These historians resemble a botanist who, 
having noticed that some plants grow from 
seeds producing two cotyledons, should insist 
that all that grows does so by sprouting into 
two leaves, and that the palm, the mushroom, 
and even the oak, which blossom into full 
growth and no longer resemble two leaves, are 
deviations from the theory. 

Historians of the third class assume that the 
will of the people is transferred to historic per- 
sonages conditionally, but that the conditions 
are unknown to us. They say that historical 
personages have power only because they ful- 
fill the will of the people which has been dele- 
gated to them. 

But in that case, if the force that moves na- 
tions lies not in the historic leaders but in the 
nations themselves, what significance have those 
leaders? 

The leaders, these historians tell us, express 
the will of the people: the activity of the lead- 
ers represents the activity of the people. 

But in that case the question arises whether 



all the activity of the leaders serves as an ex- 
pression of the people's will or only some part 
of it. If the whole activity of the leaders serves 
as the expression of the people's will, as some 
historians suppose, then all the details of the 
court scandals contained in the biographies 
of a Napoleon or a Catherine serve to express 
the life of the nation, which is evident non- 
sense; but if it is only some particular side of 
the activity of an historical leader which serves 
to express the people's life, as other so-called 
"philosophical" historians believe, then to de- 
termine which side of the activity of a leader 
expresses the nation's life, we have first of all 
to know in what the nation's life consists. 

Met by this difficulty historians of that class 
devise some most obscure, impalpable, and 
general abstraction which can cover all con- 
ceivable occurrences, and declare this abstrac- 
tion to be the aim of humanity's movement. 
The most usual generalizations adopted by al- 
most all the historians are: freedom, equality, 
enlightenment, progress, civilization, and cul- 
ture. Postulating some generalization as the 
goal of the movement of humanity, the his- 
torians study the men of whom the greatest 
number of monuments have remained: kings, 
ministers, generals, authors, reformers, popes, 
and journalists, to the extent to which in their 
opinion these persons have promoted or hin- 
dered that abstraction. But as it is in no way 
proved that the aim of humanity does consist 
in freedom, equality, enlightenment, or civil- 
ization, and as the connection of the people 
with the rulers and enlighteners of humanity 
is only based on the arbitrary assumption that 
the collective will of the people is always trans- 
ferred to the men whom we have noticed, it 
happens that the activity of the millions who 
migrate, burn houses, abandon agriculture, 
and destroy one another never is expressed in 
the account of the activity of some dozen peo- 
ple who did not burn houses, practice agricul- 
ture, or slay their fellow creatures. 

History proves this at every turn. Is the fer- 
ment of the peoples of the west at the end of 
the eighteenth century and their drive east- 
ward explained by the activity of Louis XIV, 
XV, and XVI, their mistresses and ministers, 
and by the lives of Napoleon, Rousseau, Did- 
erot, Beaumarchais, and others? 

Is the movement of the Russian people east- 
ward to Kazan and Siberia expressed by details 
of the morbid character of Ivdn the Terrible 
and by his correspondence with Kurbski? 

Is the movement of the peoples at the time 



SECOND EPILOGUE 

of the Crusades explained by the life and 
activity of the Godfreys and the Louis-es and 
their ladies? For us that movement of the 
peoples from west to east, without leaders, 
with a crowd of vagrants, and with Peter the 
Hermit, remains incomprehensible. And yet 
more incomprehensible is the cessation of that 
movement when a rational and sacred aim for 
the Crusadethe deliverance of Jerusalem- 
had been clearly defined by historic leaders. 
Popes, kings, and knights incited the peoples 
to free the Holy Land; but the people did not 
go, for the unknown cause which had previ- 
ously impelled them to go no longer existed. 
The history of the Godfreys and the Minne- 
singers can evidently not cover the life of the 
peoples. And the history of the Godfreys and 
the Minnesingers has remained the history of 
Godfreys and Minnesingers, but the history of 
the life of the peoples and their impulses has 
remained unknown. 

Still less does the history of authors and re- 
formers explain to us the life of the peoples. 

The history of culture explains to us the 
impulses and conditions of life and thought 
of a writer or a reformer. We learn that Luther 
had a hot temper and said such and such 
things; we learn that Rousseau was suspicious 
and wrote such and such books; but we do 
not learn why after the Reformation the peo- 
ples massacred one another, nor why during 
the French Revolution they guillotined one 
another. 

If we unite both these kinds of history, as 
is done by the newest historians, we shall have 
the history of monarchs and writers, but not 
the history of the life of the peoples. 



683 



CHAPTER V 

THE LIFE of the nations is not contained in the 
lives of a few men, for the connection between 
those men and the nations has not been found. 
The theory that this connection is based on 
the transference of the collective will of a peo- 
ple to certain historical personages is an hy- 
pothesis unconfirmed by the experience of his- 
tory. 

The theory of the transference of the collec- 
tive will of the people to historic persons may 
perhaps explain much in the domain of juris- 
prudence and be essential for its purposes, but 
in its application to history, as soon as revolu- 
tions, conquests, or civil wars occur that is, 
as soon as history begins that theory explains 
nothing. 

The theory seems irrefutable just because 



the act of transference of the people's will can- 
not be verified, for it never occurred. 

Whatever happens and whoever may stand 
at the head of affairs, the theory can always 
say that such and such a person took the lead 
because the collective will was transferred to 
him. 

The replies this theory gives to historical 
questions are like the replies of a man who, 
watching the movements of a herd of cattle 
and paying no attention to the varying quality 
of the pasturage in different parts of the field, 
or to the driving of the herdsman, should at- 
tribute the direction the herd takes to what 
animal happens to be at its head. 

"The herd goes in that direction because 
the animal in front leads it and the collective 
will of all the other animals is vested in that 
leader." This is what historians of the first 
class say those who assume the unconditional 
transference of the people's will. 

"If the animals leading the herd change, this 
happens because the collective will of all the 
animals is transferred from one leader to an- 
other, according to whether the animal is or 
is not leading them in the direction selected 
by the whole herd." Such is the reply of his- 
torians who assume that the collective will of 
the people is delegated to rulers under condi- 
tions which they regard as known. (With this 
method of observation it often happens that 
the observer, influenced by the direction he 
himself prefers, regards those as leaders who, 
owing to the people's change of direction, are 
no longer in front, but on one side, or even 
in the rear.) 

"If the animals in front are continually 
changing and the direction of the whole herd 
is constantly altered, this is because in order 
to follow a given direction the animals trans- 
fer their will to the animals that have attracted 
our attention, and to study the movements of 
the herd we must watch the movements of all 
the prominent animals moving on all sides of 
the herd." So say the third class of historians 
who regard all historical persons, from mon- 
archs to journalists, as the expression of their 
age. 

The theory of the transference of the will 
of the people to historic persons is merely a 
paraphrase a restatement of the question in 
other words. 

What causes historical events? Power. What 
is power? Power is the collective will of the 
people transferred to one person. Under what 
condition is the will of the people delegated 



684 WAR AND PEACE 

to one person? On condition that that person 
expresses the will of the whole people. That is, 
power is power: in other words, power is a 
word the meaning of which we do not under- 
stand. 



If the realm of human knowledge were con- 
fined to abstract reasoning, then having sub- 
jected to criticism the explanation of "power" 
that juridical science gives us, humanity would 
conclude that power is merely a word and has 
no real existence. But to understand phenom- 
ena man has, besides abstract reasoning, ex- 
perience by which he verifies his reflections. 
And experience tells us that power is not mere- 
ly a word but an actually existing phenomenon. 

Not to speak of the fact that no description 
of the collective activity of men can do with- 
out the conception of power, the existence of 
power is proved both by history and by ob- 
serving contemporary events. 

Whenever an event occurs a man appears or 
men appear, by whose will the event seems to 
have taken place. Napoleon III issues a decree 
and the French go to Mexico. The King of 
Prussia and Bismarck issue decrees and an 
army enters Bohemia. Napoleon I issues a 
decree and an army enters Russia. Alexander 
I gives a command and the French submit to 
the Bourbons. Experience shows us that what- 
ever event occurs it is always related to the 
will of one or of several men who have de- 
creed it. 

The historians, in accord with the old habit 
of acknowledging divine intervention in hu- 
man affairs, want to see the cause of events in 
the expression of the will of someone endowed 
with power, but that supposition is not con- 
firmed either by reason or by experience. 

On the one side reflection shows that the 
expression of a man's willhis words are only 
part of the general activity expressed in an 
event, as for instance in a war or a revolution, 
and so without assuming an incomprehensible, 
supernatural force a miracle one cannot ad- 
mit that words can be the immediate cause of 
the movements of millions of men. On the 
other hand, even if we admitted that words 
could be the cause of events, history shows 
that the expression of the will of historical 
personages does not in most cases produce any 
effect, that is to say, their commands are often 
not executed, and sometimes the very opposite 
of what they order occurs. 

Without admitting divine intervention in 
the affairs of humanity we cannot regard 



"power" as the cause of events. 

Power, from the standpoint of experience, 
is merely the relation that exists between the 
expression of someone's will and the execu- 
tion of that will by others. 

To explain the conditions of that relation- 
ship we must first establish a conception of 
the expression of will, referring it to man and 
not to the Deity. 

If the Deity issues a command, expresses 
His will, as ancient history tells us, the ex- 
pression of that will is independent of time 
and is not caused by anything, for the Divinity 
is not controlled by an event. But speaking of 
commands that are the expression of the will 
of men acting in time and in relation to one 
another, to explain the connection of com- 
mands with events we must restore: (i) the 
condition of all that takes place: the conti- 
nuity of movement in time both of the events 
and of the person who commands, and (2) the 
inevitability of the connection between the 
person commanding and those who execute 
his command. 

CHAPTER VI 

ONLY THE EXPRESSION of the will of the Deity, 
not dependent on time, can relate to a whole 
series of events occurringover a period of years 
or centuries, and only the Deity, independent 
of everything, can by His sole will determine 
the direction of humanity's movement; but 
man acts in time and himself takes part in 
what occurs. 

Reinstating the first condition omitted, that 
of time, we see that no command can be ex- 
ecuted without some preceding order having 
been given rendering the execution of the 
last command possible. 

No command ever appears spontaneously, 
or itself covers a whole series of occurrences; 
but each command follows from another, and 
never refers to a whole series of events but 
always to one moment only of an event. 

When, for instance, we say that Napoleon 
ordered armies to go to war, we combine in 
one simultaneous expression a whole series of 
consecutive commands dependent one on an- 
other. Napoleon could not have commanded 
an invasion of Russia and never did so. Today 
he ordered such and such papers to be written 
to Vienna, to Berlin, and to Petersburg; to- 
morrow such and such decrees and orders to 
the army, the fleet, the commissariat, and so 
on and so on millions of commands, which 
formed a whole series corresponding to a series 



of events which brought the French armies in- 
to Russia. 

If throughout his reign Napoleon gave com- 
mands concerning an invasion of England and 
expended on no other undertaking so much 
time and effort, and yet during his whole reign 
never once attempted to execute that design 
but undertook an expedition into Russia, with 
which country he considered it desirable to be 
in alliance (a conviction he repeatedly ex- 
pressed) this came about because his com- 
mands did not correspond to the course of 
events in the first case, but did so correspond 
in the latter. 

For an order to be certainly executed, it is 
necessary that a man should order what can 
be executed. But to know what can and what 
cannot be executed is impossible, not only in 
the case of Napoleon's invasion of Russia in 
which millions participated, but even in the 
simplest event, for in either case millions of 
obstacles may arise to prevent its execution. 
Every order executed is always one of an im- 
mense number unexecuted. All the impossible 
orders inconsistent with the course of events 
remain unexecuted. Only the possible ones 
get linked up with a consecutive series of com- 
mands corresponding to a series of events, and 
are executed. 

Our false conception that an event is caused 
by a command which precedes it is due to the 
fact that when the event has taken place and 
out of thousands of others those few com- 
mands which were consistent with that event 
have been executed, we forget about the others 
that were not executed because they could 
not be. Apart from that, the chief source of 
our error in this matter is due to the fact that 
in the historical accounts a whole series of 
innumerable, diverse, and petty events, such 
for instance as all those which led the French 
armies to Russia, is generalized into one event 
in accord with the result produced by that 
series of events, and corresponding with this 
generalization the whole series of commands 
is also generalized into a single expression of 
will. 

We say that Napoleon wished to invade 
Russia and invaded it. In reality in all Na- 
poleon's activity we never find anything re- 
sembling an expression of that wish, but find 
a series of orders, or expressions of his will, 
very variously and indefinitely directed. Amid 
a long series of unexecuted orders of Napo- 
leon's one series, for the campaign of 1812, was 
carried out not because those orders differed 



SECOND EPILOGUE 685 

in any way from the other, unexecuted orders 
but because they coincided with the course of 
events that led the French army into Russia; 
just as in stencil work this or that figure comes 
out not because the color was laid on from this 
side or in that way, but because it was laid on 
from all sides over the figure cut in the stencil. 

So that examining the relation in time of 
the commands to the events, we find that a 
command can never be the cause of the event, 
but that a certain definite dependence exists 
between the two. 

To understand in what this dependence 
consists it is necessary to reinstate another 
omitted condition of every command proceed- 
ing not from the Deity but from a man, which 
is, that the man who gives the command him- 
self takes part in the event. 

This relation of the commander to those 
he commands is just what is called power. 
This relation consists in the following: 

For common action people always unite in 
certain combinations, in which regardless of 
the difference of the aims set for the common 
action, the relation between those taking part 
in it is always the same. 

Men uniting in these combinations always 
assume such relations toward one another that 
the larger number take a more direct share, 
and the smaller number a less direct share, in 
the collective action for which they have com- 
bined. 

Of all the combinations in which men unite 
for collective action one of the most striking 
and definite examples is an army. 

Every army is composed of lower grades of 
the servicethe rank and file of whom there 
are always the greatest number; of the nexi 
higher military rank corporals and noncom 
missioned officers of whom there are fewer, 
and of still-higher officers of whom there are 
still fewer, and so on to the highest military 
command which is concentrated in one per- 
son. 

A military organization may be quite cor- 
rectly compared to a cone, of which the base 
with the largest diameter consists of the rank 
and file; the next higher and smaller section 
of the cone consists of the next higher grades 
of the army, and so on to the apex, the point 
of which will represent the commander in 
chief. 

The soldiers, of whom there are the most, 
form the lower section of the cone and its 
base. The soldier himself does the stabbing, 
hacking, burning, and pillaging, and always 



686 



WAR AND PEACE 



receives orders for these actions from men 
above him; he himself never gives an order. 
The noncommissioned officers (of whom there 
are fewer) perform the action itself less fre- 
quently than the soldiers, but they already 
give commands. An officer still less often acts 
directly himself, but commands still more fre- 
quently, ^general does nothing but command 
^hejroops, in^icafes~the objective, and harcfly 
ever uses a weapon himself. The commander 
in chief never takes direct part in the action 
itself, but only gives general orders concerning 
the' movement of the mass of the troops. A 
similar relation of people to one another is 
seen in every combination of men for common 
activityin agriculture, trade, and every ad- 
ministration. 

And so without particularly analyzing all 
the contiguous sections of a cone and of the 
ranks of an army, or the ranks and positions 
in any administrative or public business what- 
ever from the lowest to the highest, we see a 
law by which men, to take associated action, 
combine in such relations that the more di- 
rectly they participate in performing the ac- 
tion the less they can command and the more 
numerous they are, while the less their direct 
participation in the action itself, the more they 
command and the fewer of them there are; 
rising in this way from the lowest ranks to the 
man at the top, who takes the least direct 
share in the action and directs his activity 
chiefly to commanding. 

This relation of the men who command to 
those they command is what constitutes the 
essence of the conception called power. 

Having restored the concTitiorToT time under 
which all events occur, we find that a command 
is executed only when it is related to a corre- 
sponding series of events. Restoring the essen- 
tial condition of relation between those who 
command and those who execute, we find that 
by the very nature of the case those who com- 
mand take the smallest part in the action it- 
self and that their activity is exclusively di- 
rected to commanding. 

CHAPTER VII 

WHEN AN EVENT is taking place people express 
their opinions and wishes about it, and as the 
event results from the collective activity of 
many people, some one of the opinions or 
wishes expressed is sure to be fulfilled if but 
approximately. When one of the opinions ex- 
pressed is fulfilled, that opinion gets connected 
with the event as a command preceding it. 



Men are hauling a log. Each of them ex- 
presses his opinion as to how and where to 
haul it. They haul the log away, and it hap- 
pens that this is done as one of them said. He 
ordered it. There we have command and pow- 
er in their primary form. The man who worked 
most with his hands could not think so much 
about what he was doing, or reflect on or com- 
mand what would result from the common 
activity; while the man who commanded more 
would evidently work less with his hands on 
account of his greater verbal activity. 

When some larger concourse of men direct 
their activity to a common aim there is a yet 
sharper division of those who, because their 
activity is given to directing and commanding, 
take less part in the direct work. 

When a man works alone he always has a 
certain set of reflections which as it seems to 
him directed his past activity, justify his pres- 
ent activity, and guide him in planning his 
future actions. Just the same is done by a con- 
course of people, allowing those who do not 
take a direct part in the activity to devise 
considerations, justifications, and surmises con- 
cerning their collective activity. 

For reasons known or unknown to us the 
French began to drown and kill one another. 
And corresponding to the event its justifica- 
tion appears in people's belief that this was 
necessary for the welfare of France, for liberty, 
and for equality. People ceased to kill one 
another, and this event was accompanied by 
its justification in the necessity for a central- 
ization of power, resistance to Europe, and so 
on. Men went from the west to the east killing 
their fellow men, and the event was accom- 
panied by phrases about the glory of France, 
the baseness of England, and so on. History 
shows us that these justifications of the events 
have no common sense and are all contradic- 
tory, as in the case of killing a man as the re- 
sult of recognizing his rights, and the killing 
of millions in Russia for the humiliation of 
England. But these justifications have a very 
necessary significance in their own day. 

These justifications release those who pro- 
duce the events from moral responsibility. 
These temporary aims are like the broom fixed 
in front of a locomotive to clear the snow from 
the rails in front: they clear men's moral re- 
sponsibilities from their path. 

Without such justification there would be 
no reply to the simplest question that presents 
itself when examining each historical event. 
How is it that millions of men commit collec- 



SECOND EPILOGUE 

tive crimesmake war, commit murder, and 
so on? 

With the present complex forms of political 
and social life in Europe can any event that is 
not prescribed, decreed, or ordered by mon- 
archs, ministers, parliaments, or newspapers be 
imagined? Is there any collective action which 
cannot find its justification in political unity, 
in patriotism, in the balance of power, or in 
civilization? So that every event that occurs 
inevitably coincides with some expressed wish 
and, receiving a justification, presents itself 
as the result of the will of one man or of 
several men. 

In whatever direction a ship moves, the flow 
of the waves it cuts will always be noticeable 
ahead of it. To those on board the ship the 
movement of those waves will be the only per- 
ceptible motion. 

Only by watching closely moment by mo- 
ment the movement of that flow and compar- 
ing it with the movement of the ship do we 
convince ourselves that every bit of it is oc- 
casioned by the forward movement of the 
ship, and that we were led into error by the 
fact that we ourselves were imperceptibly mov- 
ing. 

We see the same if we watch moment by 
moment the movement of historical characters 
(that is, re-establish the inevitable condition 
of all that occurs the continuity of move- 
ment in time) and do not lose sight of the 
essential connection of historical persons with 
the masses. 

When the ship moves in one direction there 
is one and the same wave ahead of it, when 
it turns frequently the wave ahead of it also 
turns frequently. But wherever it may turn 
there always will be the wave anticipating its 
movement. 

Whatever happens it always appears that 
just that event was foreseen and decreed. 
Wherever the ship may go, the rush of water 
which neither directs nor increases its move- 
ment foams ahead of it, and at a distance 
seems to us not merely to move of itself but 
to govern the ship's movement also. 



687 



Examining only those expressions of the 
will of historical persons which, as commands, 
were related to events, historians have assumed 
that the events depended on those com- 
mands. But examining the events themselves 
and the connection in which the historical 
persons stood to the people, we have found 
that they and their orders were dependent on 



events. The incontestable proof of this deduc- 
tion is that, however many commands were 
issued, the event does not take place unless 
there are other causes for it, but as soon as an 
event occurs be it what it may then out of 
all the continually expressed wishes of dif- 
ferent people some will always be found which 
by their meaning and their time of utterance 
are related as commands to the events. 

Arriving at this conclusion we can reply di- 
rectly and positively to these two essential 
questions of history: 

(1) What is power? 

(2) What force produces the movement of 
the nations? 

(1) Power is the relation of a given person 
to other individuals, in which the more this 
person expresses opinions, predictions, and 
justifications of the collective action that is 
performed, the less is his participation in that 
action. 

(2) The movement of nations is caused not 
by power, nor by intellectual activity, nor 
even by a combination of the two as historians 
have supposed, but by the activity of all the 
people who participate in the events, and who 
always combine in such a way that those tak- 
ing the largest direct share in the event take 
on themselves the least responsibility and vice 
versa. 

Morally the wi elder of power appears to 
cause the event; physically it is those who sub- 
mit to the power. But as the moral activity is 
inconceivable without the physical, the cause 
of the event is neither in the one nor in the 
other but in the union of the two. 

Or in other words, the conception of a cause 
is inapplicable to the phenomena we are ex- 
amining. 

In the last analysis we reach the circle of 
infinity that final limit to which in every do- 
main of thought man's reason arrives if it is 
not playing with the subject. Electricity pro- 
duces heat, heat produces electricity. Atoms 
attract each other and atoms repel one an- 
other. 

Speaking of the interaction of heat and elec- 
tricity and of atoms, we cannot say why this 
occurs, and we say that it is so because it is 
inconceivable otherwise, because it must be 
so and that it is a law. The same applies to 
historical events. Why war and revolution oc- 
cur we do not know. We only know that to 
produce the one or the other action, people 
combine in a certain formation in which they 
all take part, and we say that this is so because 



688 



WAR AND PEACE 



it is unthinkable otherwise, or in other words 
that it is a law. 

CHAPTER VIII 

IF HISTORY DEALT only with external phenom- 
ena, the establishment of this simple and ob- 
vious law would suffice and we should have 
finished our argument. But the law of history 
relates to man. A particle of matter cannot tell 
us that it does not feel the law of attraction or 
repulsion and that that law is untrue, but 
man, who is thesubject of history, says plainly: 
I am free and am therefore not subject to 
the law. 

The presence of the problem of man's free 
will, though unexpressed, is felt at every step 
of history. 

All seriously thinking historians have in- 
voluntarily encountered this question. All the 
contradictions and obscurities of history and 
the false path historical science has followed 
are due solely to the lack of a solution of 
that question. 

If the will of every man were free, that is, 
if each man could act as he pleased, all history 
would be a series of disconnected incidents. 

If in a thousand years even one man in a 
million could act freely, that is, as he chose, 
it is evident that one single free act of that 
man's in violation of the laws governing hu- 
man action would destroy the possibility of 
the existence of any laws for die whole of 
humanity. 

If there be a single law governing the ac- 
tions of men, free will cannot exist, for then 
man's will is subject to that law. 

In this contradiction lies the problem of 
free will, which from most ancient times has 
occupied the best human minds and from most 
ancient times has been presented in its whole 
tremendous significance. 

The problem is that regarding man as a sub- 
ject of observation from whatever point of 
view theological, historical, ethical, or phil- 
osophicwe find a general law of necessity to 
which he (like all that exists) is subject. But 
regarding him from within ourselves as what 
we are conscious of, we feel ourselves to be 
free. 

This consciousness is a source of self-cogni- 
tion quite apart from and independent of 
reason. Through his reason man observes him- 
self, but only through consciousness does he 
know himself. 

Apart from consciousness of self no observa- 
tion or application of reason is conceivable. 



To understand, observe, and draw conclu- 
sions, man must first of all be conscious of him- 
self as living. A man is only conscious of him- 
self as a living being by the fact that he wills, 
that is, is conscious of his volition. But his will 
which forms the essence of his life man 
recognizes (and can but recognize) as free. 

If, observing himself, man sees that his will 
is always directed by one and the same law 
(whether he observes the necessity of taking 
food, using his brain, or anything else) he can- 
not recognize this never-varying direction of 
his will otherwise than as a limitation of it. 
Were it not free it could not be limited. A 
man's will seems to him to be limited just be- 
cause he is not conscious of it except as free. 

You say: I am not free. But I have lifted my 
hand and let it fall. Everyone understands 
that this illogical reply is an irrefutable dem- 
onstration of freedom. 

That reply is the expression of a conscious- 
ness that is not subject to reason. 

If the consciousness of freedom were not a 
separate and independent source of self-con- 
sciousness it would be subject to reasoning 
and to experience, but in fact such subjection 
does not exist and is inconceivable. 

A series of experiments and arguments 
proves to every man that he, as an object of 
observation, is subject to certain laws, and man 
submits to them and never resists the laws of 
gravity or impermeability once he has become 
acquainted with them. But the same series of 
experiments and arguments proves to him that 
the complete freedom of which he is conscious 
in himself is impossible, and that his every 
action depends on his organization, his char- 
acter, and the motives acting upon him; yet 
man never submits to the deductions of these 
experiments and arguments. Having learned 
from experiment and argument that a stone 
falls downwards, a man indubitably believes 
this and always expects the law that he has 
learned to be fulfilled. 

But learning just as certainly that his will 
is subject to laws, he does not and cannot be- 
lieve this. 

However often experiment and reasoning 
may show a man that under the same condi- 
tions and with the same character he will do 
the same thing as before, yet when under the 
same conditions an<} with the same character 
he approaches for the thousandth time the ac- 
tion that always ends in the same way, he feels 
as certainly convinced as before the experi- 
ment that he can act as he pleases. Every man, 



SECOND EPILOGUE 

savage or sage, however incontestably reason 
and experiment may prove to him that it is 
impossible to imagine two different courses 
of action in precisely the same conditions, 
feels that without this irrational conception 
(which constitutes the essence of freedom) he 
cannot imagine life. He feels that however im- 
possible it may be, it is so, for without this 
conception of freedom not only would he be 
unable to understand life, but he would be 
unable to live for a single moment. 

He could not live, because all man's efforts, 
all his impulses to life, are only efforts to in- 
crease freedom. Wealth and poverty, fame 
and obscurity, power and subordination, 
strength and weakness, health and disease, cul- 
ture and ignorance, work and leisure, reple- 
tion and hunger, virtue and vice, are only 
greater or lesser degrees of freedom. 

A man having no freedom cannot be con- 
ceived of except as deprived of life. 

If the conception of freedom appears to 
reason to be a senseless contradiction like the 
possibility of performing two actions at one 
and the same instant of time, or of an effect 
without a cause, that only proves that con- 
sciousness is not subject to reason. 

This unshakable, irrefutable consciousness 
of freedom, uncontrolled by experiment or 
argument, recognized by all thinkers and felt 
by everyone without exception, this conscious- 
ness without which no conception of man is 
possible constitutes the other side of the ques- 
tion. 

Man is the creation of an all-powerful, all- 
good, and all-seeing God. What is sin, the 
conception of which arises from the conscious- 
ness of man's freedom? That is a question for 
theology. 

The actions of men are subject to general 
immutable laws expressed in statistics. What 
is man's responsibility to society, the concep- 
tion of which results from the conception of 
freedom? That is a question for jurisprudence. 

Man's actions proceed from his innate char- 
acter and the motives acting upon him. What 
is conscience and the perception of right and 
wrong in actions that follows from the con- 
sciousness of freedom? That is a question for 
ethics. 

Man in connection with the general life of 
humanity appears subject to laws which de- 
termine that life. But the same man apart from 
that connection appears to be free. How should 
the past life of nations and of humanity be 
regarded as the result of the free, or as the 



689 

result of the constrained, activity of man? That 
is a question for history. 

Only in our self-confident day of the popu- 
larization of knowledge thanks to that most 
powerful engine of ignorance, the diffusion of 
printed matter has the question of the free- 
dom of will been put on a level on which the 
question itself cannot exist. In our time the 
majority of so-called advanced people that is, 
the crowd of ignoramuses have taken the work 
of the naturalists who deal with one side of the 
question for a solution of the whole problem. 

They say and write and print that the soul 
and freedom do not exist, for the life of man 
is expressed by muscular movements and mus- 
cular movements are conditioned by the ac- 
tivity of the nerves; the soul and free will do 
not exist because at an unknown period of time 
we sprang from the apes. They say this, not at 
all suspecting that thousands of years ago that 
same law of necessity which with such ardor 
they are now trying to prove by physiology and 
comparative zoology was not merely acknowl- 
edged by all the religions and all the thinkers, 
but has never been denied. They do not see 
that the role of the natural sciences in this 
matter is merely to serve as an instrument for 
the illumination of one side of it. For the fact 
that, from the point of view of observation, 
reason and the will are merely secretions of the 
brain, and that man following the general law 
may have developed from lower animals at 
some unknown period of time, only explains 
from a fresh side the truth admitted thousands 
of years ago by all the religious and philosophic 
theories that from the point of view of rea- 
son man is subject to the law of necessity; but 
it does not advance by a hair's breadth the solu- 
tion of the question, which has another, oppo- 
site, side, based on the consciousness of free- 
dom. 

If men descended from the apes at an un- 
known period of time, that is as comprehen- 
sible as that they were made from a handful of 
earth at a certain period of time (in the first 
case the unknown quantity is the time, in the 
second case it is the origin); and the question 
of how man's consciousness of freedom is to 
be reconciled with the law of necessity to 
which he is subject cannot be solved by com- 
parative physiology and zoology, for in a frog, 
a rabbit, or an ape, we can observe only the 
muscular nervous activity, but in man we ob- 
serve consciousness as well as the muscular and 
nervous activity. 

The naturalists and their followers, think- 



690 WAR AND PEACE 

ing they can solve this question, are like plas- 
terers set to plaster one side of the walls of a 
church who, availing themselves of the ab- 
sence of the chief superintendent of the work, 
should in an access of zeal plaster over the 
windows, icons, woodwork, and still unbut- 
tressed walls, and should be delighted that 
from their point of view as plasterers, every- 
thing is now so smooth and regular. 



CHAPTER IX 

FOR THE SOLUTION of the question of free will 
or inevitability, history has this advantage over 
other branches of knowledge in which the 
question is dealt with, that for history this 
question does not refer to the essence of man's 
free will but to its manifestation in the past and 
under certain conditions. 

In regard to this question, history stands to 
the other sciences as experimental science 
stands to abstract science. 

The subject for history is not man's will 
itself but our presentation of it. 

And so for history, the insoluble mystery 
presented by the incompatibility of free will 
and inevitability does not exist as it does for 
theology, ethics, and philosophy. History sur- 
veys a presentation of man's life in which the 
union of these two contradictions has already 
taken place. 

In actual life each historic event, each hu- 
man action, is very clearly and definitely un- 
derstood without any sense of contradiction, 
although each event presents itself as partly 
free and partly compulsory. 

To solve the question of how freedom and 
necessity are combined and what constitutes 
the essence of these two conceptions, the phi- 
losophy of history can and should follow a 
path contrary to that taken by other sciences. 
Instead of first defining the conceptions of free- 
dom and inevitability in themselves, and then 
ranging the phenomena of life under those 
definitions, history should deduce a definition 
of the conception of freedom and inevitability 
themselves from the immense quantity of phe- 
nomena of which it is cognizant and that al- 
ways appear dependent on these two elements. 

Whatever presentation of the activity of 
many men or of an individual we may con- 
sider, we always regard it as the result partly 
of man's free will and partly of the law of in- 
evitability. 

Whether we speak of the migration of the 
peoples and the incursions of the barbarians, 
or of the decrees of Napoleon HI, or of some- 



one's action an hour ago in choosing one direc- 
tion out of several for his walk, we are uncon- 
scious of any contradiction, The degree of free- 
dom and inevitability governing the actions 
of these people is clearly defined for us. 

Our conception of the degree of freedom 
often varies according to differences in the 
point of view from which we regard the event, 
but every human action appears to us as a 
certain combination of freedom and inevita- 
bility. In every action we examine we see a 
certain measure of freedom and a certain 
measure of inevitability. And always the more 
freedom we see in any action the less inevita- 
bility do we perceive, and the more inevitabil- 
ity the less freedom. 

The proportion of freedom to inevitability 
decreases and increases according to the point 
of view from which the action is regarded, but 
their relation is always one of inverse propor- 
tion. 

A sinking man who clutches at another and 
drowns him; or a hungry mother exhausted by 
feeding her baby, who steals some food; or a 
man trained to discipline who on duty at the 
word of command kills a defenseless man- 
seem less guilty, that is, less free and more 
subject to the law of necessity, to one who 
knows the circumstances in which these peo- 
ple were placed, and more free to one who does 
not know that the man was himself drowning, 
that the mother was hungry, that the soldier 
was in the ranks, and so on. Similarly a man 
who committed a murder twenty years ago 
and has since lived peaceably and harmlessly 
in society seems less guilty and his action more 
due to the law of inevitability, to someone who 
considers his action after twenty years have 
elapsed than to one who examined it the day 
after it was committed. And in the same way 
every action of an insane, intoxicated, or high- 
ly excited man appears less free and more in- 
evitable to one who knows the mental condi- 
tion of him who committed the action, and 
seems more free and less inevitable to one who 
does not know it. In all these cases the con- 
ception of freedom is increased or diminished 
and the conception of compulsion is corre- 
spondingly decreased or increased, according 
to the point of view from which the action is 
regarded. So that the greater the conception ol 
necessity the smaller the conception of free- 
dom and vice versa. 

Religion, the common sense of mankind, 
the science of jurisprudence, and history it 
self understand alike this relation between 



SECOND EPILOGUE 

necessity and freedom. 

All cases without exception in which our 
conception of freedom and necessity is in- 
creased and diminished depend on three con- 
siderations: 

(1) The relation to the external world of 
the man who commits the deeds. 

(2) His relation to time. 

(3) His relation to the causes leading to the 
action. 

The first consideration is the clearness of 
our perception of the man's relation to the 
external world and the greater or lesser clear- 
ness of our understanding of the definite posi- 
tion occupied by the man in relation to every- 
thing coexisting with him. This is what makes 
it evident that a drowning man is less free and 
more subject to necessity than one standing on 
dry ground, and that makes the actions of a 
man closely connected with others in a thickly 
populated district, or of one bound by family, 
official, or business duties, seem certainly less 
free and more subject to necessity than those 
of a man living in solitude and seclusion. 

If we consider a man alone, apart from his 
relation to everything around him, each ac- 
tion of his seems to us free. But if we see his 
relation to anything around him, if we see his 
connection with anything whatever with a 
man who speaks to him, a book he reads, the 
work on which he is engaged, even with the 
air he breathes or the light that falls on the 
things about him we see that each of these 
circumstances has an influence on him and 
controls at least some side of his activity. And 
the more we perceive of these influences the 
more our conception of his freedom dimin- 
ishes and the more our conception of the neces- 
sity that weighs on him increases. 

The second consideration is the more or less 
evident time relation of the man to the world 
and the clearness of our perception of the 
place the man's action occupies in time. That 
is the ground which makes the fall of the first 
man, resulting in the production of the hu- 
man race, appear evidently less free than a 
man's entry into marriage today. It is the 
reason why the life and activity of people who 
lived centuries ago and are connected with 
me in time cannot seem to me as free as the life 
of a contemporary, the consequences of which 
are still unknown to me. 

The degree of our conception of freedom or 
inevitability depends in this respect on the 
greater or lesser lapse of time between the per- 
formance of the action and our judgment of it. 



691 

If I examine an act I performed a moment 
ago in approximately the same circumstances 
as those I am in now, my action appears to me 
undoubtedly free. But if I examine an act 
performed a month ago, then being in differ- 
ent circumstances, I cannot help recognizing 
that if that act had not been committed much 
that resulted from it good, agreeable, and 
even essential would not have taken place. If 
I reflect on an action still more remote, ten 
years ago or more, then the consequences of my 
action are still plainer to me and I find it hard 
to imagine what would have happened had 
that action not been performed. The farther 
I go back in memory, or what is the same thing 
the farther I go forward in my judgment, the 
more doubtful becomes my belief in the free- 
dom of my action. 

In history we find a very similar progress of 
conviction concerning the part played by free 
will in the general affairs of humanity. A con- 
temporary event seems to us to be indubitably 
the doing of all the known participants, but 
with a more remote event we already see its in- 
evitable results which prevent our considering 
anything else possible. And the farther we go 
back in examining events the less arbitrary do 
they appear. 

The Austro-Prussian war appears to us un- 
doubtedly the result of the crafty conduct of 
Bismarck, and so on. The Napoleonic wars 
still seem to us, though already questionably, 
to be the outcome of their heroes' will. But 
in the Crusades we already see an event occupy- 
ing its definite place in history and without 
which we cannot imagine the modern history 
of Europe, though to the chroniclers of the 
Crusades that event appeared as merely due to 
the will of certain people. In regard to the 
migration of the peoples it does not enter any- 
one's head today to suppose that the renova- 
tion of the European world depended on At- 
tila's caprice. The farther back in history the 
object of our observation lies, the more doubt- 
ful does the free will of those concerned in 
the event become and the more manifest the 
law of inevitability. 

The third consideration is the degree to 
which we apprehend that endless chain of cau- 
sation inevitably demanded by reason, in 
which each phenomenon comprehended, and 
therefore man's every action, must have its 
definite place as a result of what has gone be- 
fore and as a cause of what will follow. 

The better we are acquainted with the physi- 
ological, psychological) and historical laws de- 



69* 



WAR AND PEACE 



duced by observation and by which man is con- 
trolled, and the more correctly we perceive 
the physiological, psychological, and historical 
causes of the action, and the simpler the action 
we are observing and the less complex the 
character and mind of the man in question, 
the more subject to inevitability and the less 
free do our actions and those of others appear. 

When we do not at all understand the cause 
of an action, whether a crime, a good action, 
or even one that is simply nonmoral, we ascribe 
a greater amount of freedom to it. In the case 
of a crime we most urgently demand the pun- 
ishment for such an act; in the case of a virtu- 
ous act we rate its merit most highly. In an 
indifferent case we recognize in it more indi- 
viduality, originality, and independence. But 
if even one of the innumerable causes of the 
act is known to us we recognize a certain ele- 
ment of necessity and are less insistent on pun- 
ishment for the crime, or the acknowledgment 
of the merit of the virtuous act, or the freedom 
of the apparently original action. That a crimi- 
nal was reared among malefactors mitigates his 
fault in our eyes. The self-sacrifice of a father 
or mother, or self-sacrifice with the possibility 
of a reward, is more comprehensible than gra- 
tuitous self-sacrifice, and therefore seems less 
deserving of sympathy and less the result of 
free will. The founder of a sect or party, or an 
inventor, impresses us less when we know how 
or by what the way was prepared for his activ- 
ity. If we have a large range of examples, if 
our observation is constantly directed to seek- 
ing the correlation of cause and effect in peo- 
ple's actions, their actions appear to us more 
under compulsion and less free the more cor- 
rectly we connect the effects with the causes. 
If we examined simple actions and had a vast 
number of such actions under observation, our 
conception of their inevitability would be still 
greater. The dishonest conduct of the son of 
a dishonest father, the misconduct of a woman 
who had fallen into bad company, a drunkard's 
relapse into drunkenness, and so on are ac- 
tions that seem to us less free the better we 
understand their cause. If the man whose ac- 
tions we are considering is on a very low stage 
of mental development, like a child, a mad- 
man, or a simpleton then, knowing the causes 
of the act and the simplicity of the character 
and intelligence in question, we see so large 
an element of necessity and so little free will 
that as soon as we know the cause prompting 
the action we can foretell the result. 

On these three considerations alone is based 



the conception of irresponsibility for crimes 
and the extenuating circumstances admitted 
by all legislative codes. The responsibility ap- 
pears greater or less according to our greater 
or lesser knowledge of the circumstances in 
which the man was placed whose action is 
being judged, and according to the greater or 
lesser interval of time between the commission 
of the action and its investigation, and accord- 
ing to the greater or lesser understanding of 
the causes that led to the action. 

CHAPTER X 

THUS OUR CONCEPTION of free will and inevita- 
bility gradually diminishes or increases ac- 
cording to the greater or lesser connection 
with the external world, the greater or lesser 
remoteness of time, and the greater or lesser 
dependence on the causes in relation to which 
we contemplate a man's life. 

So that if we examine the case of a man 
whose connection with the external world is 
well known, where the time between the action 
and its examination is great, and where the 
causes of the action are most accessible, we get 
the conception of a maximum of inevitability 
and a minimum of free will. If we examine a 
man little dependent on external conditions, 
whose action was performed very recently, and 
the causes of whose action are beyond our 
ken, we get the conception of a minimum of 
inevitability and a maximum of freedom. 

In neither case however we may change 
our point of view, however plain we may make 
to ourselves the connection between the man 
and the external world, however inaccessible 
it may be to us, however long or short the 
period of time, however intelligible or incom- 
prehensible the causes of the action may be 
can we ever conceive either complete freedom 
or complete necessity. 

(i) To whatever degree we may imagine a 
man to be exempt from the influence of the 
external world, we never get a conception of 
freedom in space. Every human action is in- 
evitably conditioned by what surrounds him 
and by his own body. I lift my arm and let it 
fall. My action seems to me free; but asking 
myself whether I could raise my arm in every 
direction, I see that I raised it in the direction 
in which there was least obstruction to that 
action either from things around me or from 
the construction of my own body. I chose one 
out of all the possible directions because in 
it there were fewest obstacles. For my action to 
be free it was necessary that it should encoun- 



SECOND EPILOGUE 

ter no obstacles. To conceive of a man being 
free we must imagine him outside space, which 
is evidently impossible. 

(*) However much we approximate the time 
of judgment to the time of the deed, we never 
get a conception of freedom in time. For if I 
examine an action committed a second ago I 
must still recognize it as not being free, for it 
is irrevocably linked to the moment at which 
it was committed. Can I lift my arm? I lift it, 
but ask myself: could I have abstained from 
lifting my arm at the moment that has already 
passed? To convince myself of this I do not lift 
it the next moment. But I am not now abstain- 
ing from doing so at the first moment when I 
asked the question. Time has gone by which 
I could not detain, the arm I then lifted is no 
longer the same as the arm I now refrain from 
lifting, nor is the air in which I lifted it the 
same that now surrounds me. The moment in 
which the first movement was made is irrevoca- 
ble, and at that moment I could make only 
one movement, and whatever movement I 
made would be the only one. That I did not 
lift my arm a moment later does not prove that 
I could have abstained from lifting it then. 
And since I could make only one movement at 
that single moment of time, it could not have 
been any other. To imagine it as free, it is 
necessary to imagine it in the present, on the 
boundary between the past and the future 
that is, outside time, which is impossible. 

(3) However much the difficulty of under- 
standing the causes may be increased, we never 
reach a conception of complete freedom, that 
is, an absence ot cause. However inaccessible 
to us may be the cause of the expression of will 
in any action, our own or another's, the first 
demand of reason is the assumption of and 
search for a cause, for without a cause no phe- 
nomenon is conceivable. I raise my arm to 
perform an action independently of any cause, 
but my wish to perform an action without a 
cause is the cause of my action. 

But even if imagining a man quite exempt 
from all influences, examining only his mo- 
mentary action in the present, unevoked by 
any cause we were to admit so infinitely small 
a remainder of inevitability as equaled zero, 
we should even then not have arrived at the 
conception of complete freedom in man, for a 
being uninfluenced by the external world, 
standing outside of time and independent of 
cause, is no longer a man. 

In the same way we can never imagine the 
action of a man quite devoid of freedom and 



693 

entirely subject to the law of inevitability. 

(i) However we may increase our knowl- 
edge of the conditions of space in which man 
is situated, that knowledge can never be com- 
plete, for the number of those conditions is as 
infinite as the infinity of space. And therefore 
so long as not all the conditions influencing 
men are defined, there is no complete inevita- 
bility but a certain measure of freedom re- 
mains. 

(a) However we may prolong the period' of 
time between the action we are examining and 
the judgment upon it, that period will be 
finite, while time is infinite, and so in this re- 
spect too there can never be absolute inevita- 
bility. 

(3) However accessible may be the chain of 
causation of any action, we shall never know 
the whole chain since it is endless, and so again 
we never reach absolute inevitability. 

But besides this, even if, admitting the re- 
maining minimum of freedom to equal zero, 
we assumed in some given case as for instance 
in that of a dying man, an unborn babe, or an 
idiot complete absence of freedom, by so do- 
ing we should destroy the very conception of 
man in the case we are examining, for as soon 
as there is no freedom there is also no man. 
And so the conception of the action of a man 
subject solely to the law of inevitability with- 
out any element of freedom is just as impossi- 
ble as the conception of a man's completely 
free action. 

And so to imagine the action of a man en- 
tirely subject to the law of inevitability with- 
out any freedom, we must assume the knowl- 
edge of an infinite number of space relations, 
an infinitely long period of time, and an in- 
finite series of causes. 

To imagine a man perfectly free and not 
subject to the law of inevitability, we must 
imagine him all alone, beyond space, beyond 
time, and free from dependence on cause. 

In the first case, if inevitability were possible 
without freedom we should have reached a 
definition of inevitability by the laws of in- 
evitability itself, that is, a mere form without 
content. 

In the second case, if freedom were possible 
without inevitability we should have arrived 
at unconditioned freedom beyond space, time, 
and cause, which by the fact of its being un- 
conditioned and unlimited would be nothing, 
or mere content without form. * 

We should in fact have reached those two 
fundamentals of which man's whole outlook 



694 WAR AND PEACE 

on the universe is constructedthe incompre- 
hensible essence of life, and the laws defining 
that essence. 

Reason says: (i) space with all the forms of 
matter that give it visibility is infinite, and 
cannot be imagined otherwise. (2) Time is 
infinite motion without a moment of rest and 
is unthinkable otherwise. (3) The connection 
between cause and effect has no beginning and 
can have no end. 

Consciousness says: (i) I alone am, and all 
that exists is but me, consequently I include 
space. (2) I measure flowing time by the fixed 
moment of the present in which alone I am 
conscious of myself as living, consequently I 
am outside time. (3) I am beyond cause, for I 
feel myself to be the cause of every manifesta- 
tion of my life. 

Reason gives expression to the laws of in- 
evitability. Consciousness gives expression to 
the essence of freedom. 

Freedom not limited by anything is the es- 
sence of life, in man's consciousness. Inevita- 
bility without content is man's reason in its 
three forms. 

Freedom is the thing examined. Inevitabil- 
ity is what examines. Freedom is the content. 
Inevitability is the form. 

Only by separating the two sources of cogni- 
tion, related to one another as form to con- 
tent, do we get the mutually exclusive and 
separately incomprehensible conceptions of 
freedom and inevitability. 

Only by uniting them do we get a clear con- 
ception of man's life. 

Apart from these two concepts which in 
their union mutually define one another as 
form and content, no conception of life is 
possible. 

All that we know of the life of man is merely 
a certain relation of free will to inevitability, 
that is, of consciousness to the laws of reason. 

All that we know of the external world of 
nature is only a certain relation of the forces 
of nature to inevitability, or of the essence of 
life to the laws of reason. 

The great natural forces lie outside us and 
we are not conscious of them; we call those 
forces gravitation, inertia, electricity, animal 
force, and so on, but we are conscious of the 
force of life in man and we call that freedom. 

But just as the force of gravitation, incom- 
prehensible in itself but felt by every man, is 
understood by us only to the extent to which 
we know the laws of inevitability to which it 
is subject (from the first knowledge that all 



bodies have weight, up to Newton's law), so 
too the force of free will, incomprehensible in 
itself but of which everyone is conscious, is in- 
telligible to us only in as far as we know the 
laws of inevitability to which it is subject 
(from the fact that every man dies, up to the 
knowledge of the most complex economic and 
historic laws). 

All knowledge is merely a bringing of this 
essence of life under the laws of reason. 

Man's free will differs from every other force 
in that man is directly conscious of it, but in 
the eyes of reason it in no way differs from any 
other force. The forces of gravitation, electric- 
ity, or chemical affinity are only distinguished 
from one another in that they are differently 
defined by reason. Just so the force of man's 
free will is distinguished by reason from the 
other forces of natureonly by the definition rea- 
son gives it. Freedom, apart from necessity, 
that is, apart from the laws of reason that de- 
fine it, differs in no way from gravitation, or 
heat, or the force that makes things grow; for 
reason, it is only a momentary undefinable sen- 
sation of life. 

And as the undefinable essence of the force 
moving the heavenly bodies, the undefinable 
essence of the forces of heat and electricity, or 
of chemical affinity, or of the vital force, forms 
the content of astronomy, physics, chemistry, 
botany, zoology, and so on, just in the same 
way does the force of free will form the con- 
tent of history. But just as the subject of every 
science is the manifestation of this unknown 
essence of life while that essence itself can only 
be the subject of metaphysics, even so the mani- 
festation of the force of free will in human be- 
ings in space, in time, and in dependence on 
cause forms the subject of history, while free 
will itself is the subject of metaphysics. 

In the experimental sciences what we know 
we call the laws of inevitability, what is un- 
known to us we call vital force. Vital force is 
only an expression lor the unknown remainder 
over and above what we know of the essence 
of life. 

So also in history what is known to us we 
call laws of inevitability, what is unknown we 
call free will. Free will is for history only an 
expression for the unknown remainder of what 
we know about the laws of human life. 



CHAPTER XI 

HISTORY EXAMINES the manifestations of man's 
free will in connection with the external world 
in time and in dependence on cause, that is, 



SECOND EPILOGUE 

it defines this freedom by the laws of reason, 
and so history is a science only in so far as 
this free will is defined by those laws. 

The recognition of man's free will as some- 
thing capable of influencing historical events, 
that is, as not subject to laws, is the same for 
history as the recognition of a free force mov- 
ing the heavenly bodies would be for astron- 
omy. 

1'hat assumption would destroy the possi- 
bility of the existence of la\^, that is, of any 
science whatever. If there is even a single body 
moving freely, then the laws of Kepler and 
Newton are negatived and no conception of 
the movement of the heavenly bodies any 
longer exists. If any single action is due to free 
will, then not a single historical law can exist, 
nor any conception of historical events. 
, For history, lines exist of the movement of 
human wills, one end of which is hidden in the 
unknown but at the other end of which a con- 
sciousness of man's will in the present moves 
in space, time, and dependence on cause. 

The more this field of motion spreads out 
before our eyes, the more evident are the laws 
of that movement. To discover and define those 
laws is the problem of history. 

From the standpoint from which the science 
of history now regards its subject on the path it 
now follows, seeking the causes of events in 
man's freewill, a scientific enunciation of those 
laws is impossible, for however man's free will 
may be restricted, as soon as we recognize it as 
a force not subject to law, the existence of law 
becomes impossible. 

Only by reducing this element of free will 
to the infinitesimal, that is, by regarding it as 
an infinitely small quantity, can we convince 
ourselves of the absolute inaccessibility of the 
causes, and then instead of seeking causes, his- 
tory will take the discovery of laws as its 
problem. 

The search for these laws has long been be- 
gun and the new methods of thought which 
history must adopt are being worked out si- 
multaneously with the self-destruction toward 
whichever dissecting and dissecting the causes 
of phenomenathe old method of history is 
moving. 

All human sciences have traveled along that 
path. Arriving at infinitesimals, mathematics, 
the most exact of sciences, abandons the proc- 
ess of analysis and enters on the new process 
of the integration of unknown, infinitely small, 
quantities. Abandoning the conception of 
cause, mathematics seeks law, that is, the prop- 



695 

erty common to all unknown, infinitely small, 
elements. 

In another form but along the same path of 
reflection the other sciences have proceeded. 
When Newton enunciated the law of gravity 
he did not say that the sun or the earth had a 
property of attraction; he said that all bodies 
from the largest to the smallest have the prop- 
erty of attracting one another, that is, leaving 
aside the question of the cause of the move- 
ment of the bodies, he expressed the property 
common to all bodies from the infinitely large 
to the infinitely sraall.The same is done by the 
natural sciences: leaving aside the question of 
cause, they seek for laws. History stands on the 
same path. And if history has for its object the 
study of the movement of the nations and of 
humanity and not the narration of episodes in 
the lives of individuals, it too, setting aside the 
conception of cause, should seek the laws com- 
mon to all the inseparably interconnected in- 
finitesimal elements of free will. 

CHAPTER XII 

FROM THE TIME the law of Copernicus was dis- 
covered and proved, the mere recognition of 
the fact that it was not the sun but the earth 
that moves sufficed to destroy the whole cos- 
mography of the ancients. By disproving that 
law it might have been possible to retain the 
old conception of the movements of the bodies, 
but without disproving it, it would seem im- 
possible to continue studying the Ptolemaic 
worlds. But even after the discovery of the law 
of Copernicus the Ptolemaic worlds were still 
studied for a long time. 

From the time the first person said and 
proved that the number of births or of crimes 
is subject to mathematical laws, and that this 
or that mode of government is determined by 
certain geographical and economic conditions, 
and that certain relations of population to soil 
produce migrations of peoples, the foundations 
on which history had been built were destroyed 
in their essence. 

By refuting these new laws the former view 
of history might have been retained; but with- 
out refuting them it would seem impossible to 
continue studying historic events as the results 
of man's free will. For if a certain mode of gov- 
ernment was established or certain migrations 
of peoples took place in consequence of such 
and such geographic, ethnographic, or eco- 
nomic conditions, then the free will of those 
individuals who appear to us to have estab- 
lished that mode of government or occasioned 



696 

the migrations can no longer be regarded as 
the cause. 

And yet the former history continues to be 
studied side by side with the laws of statistics, 
geography, political economy, comparative 
philology, and geology, which directly contra- 
dict its assumptions. 

The struggle between the old views and the 
new was long and stubbornly fought out in 
physical philosophy. Theology stood on guard 
for the old views and accused the new of vio- 
lating revelation. But when truth conquered, 
theology established itself just as firmly on the 
new foundation. 

Just as prolonged and stubborn is the strug- 
gle now proceeding between the old and the 
new conception of history, and theology in the 
same way stands on guard for the old view, and 
accuses the new view of subverting revelation. 

In the one case as in the other, on both sides 
the struggle provokes passion and stifles truth. 
On the one hand there is fear and regret for 
the loss of the whole edifice constructed through 
the ages, on the other is the passion for de- 
struction. 

To the men who fought against the rising 
truths of physical philosophy, it seemed that 
if they admitted that truth it would destroy 
faith in God, in the creation of the firmament, 
and in the miracle of Joshua the son of Nun. 
To the defenders of the laws of Copernicus and 
Newton, to Voltaire for example, it seemed 
that the laws of astronomy destroyed religion, 
and he utilized the law of gravitation as a 
weapon against religion. 

Just so it now seems as if we have only to 
admit the law of inevitability, to destroy the 
conception of the soul, of good and evil, and 
all the institutions of state and church that 
have been built up on those conceptions. 

So too, like Voltaire in his time, uninvited 



WAR AND PEACE 



defenders of the law of inevitability today use 
that law as a weapon against religion, though 
the law of inevitability in history, like the law 
of Copernicus in astronomy, far from de- 
stroying,- even strengthens the foundation on 
which the institutions of state and church are 
erected. 

As in the question of astronomy then, so in 
the question of history now, the whole differ- 
ence of opinion is based on the recognition or 
nonrecognition pf something absolute, serv- 
ing as the measure of visible phenomena. In 
astronomy it was the immovability of the 
earth, in history it is the independence of per- 
sonalityfree will. 

As with astronomy the difficulty of recogniz- 
ing the motion of the earth lay in abandoning 
the immediate sensation of the earth's fixity 
and of the motion of the planets, so in history 
the difficulty of recognizing the subjection of 
personality to the laws of space, time, and cause 
lies in renouncing the direct feeling of the in- 
dependence of one's own personality. But as 
in astronomy the new view said: "It is true that 
we do not feel the movement of the earth, but 
by admitting its immobility we arrive at ab- 
surdity, while by admitting its motion (which 
we do not feel) we arrive at laws," so also in 
history the new view says: "It is true that we 
are not conscious of our dependence, but by 
admitting our free will we arrive at absurdity, 
while by admitting our dependence on the 
external world, on time, and on cause, we 
arrive at laws." 

In the first case it was necessary to renounce 
the consciousness of an unreal immobility in 
space and to recognize a motion we did not 
feel; in the present case it is similarly necessary 
to renounce a freedom that does not exist, and 
to recognize a dependence of which we are 
not conscious. 



PRINTED IN THE U.S.A. 



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I. BATTLE OF AUSTERLITZ 



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II. WAR OF 1805 



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OF PRUSSIA 



D \ U C H 



III. ADVANCE AND 
RETREAT OF 
NAPOLEON, 1812 



V. MOSCOW 



IV. BORODINO 



2000 YARDS Mfchint