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WAR AND PEACE  By Leo TolstoyTolstoi  BOOK ONE 1805  CHAPTER I   "Well, Prince, s
o 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 infamie
s and horrors perpetrated by that AntichristI really believe he is AntichristI wi
ll 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 frighten
ed yousit down and tell me all the news."  It was in July, 1805, and the speaker 
was the wellknown Anna Pavlovna Scherer, maid of honor and favorite of the Empres
s Marya Fedorovna. With these words she greeted Prince Vasili Kuragin, a man of h
igh rank and importance, who was the first to arrive at her reception. Anna Pavlo
vna had had a cough for some days. She was, as she said, suffering from la grippe
 grippe being then a new word in St. Petersburg, used only by the elite.  All her
 invitations without exception, written in French, and delivered by a scarletlive
ried footman that morning, ran as follows  "If you have nothing better to do, Cou
nt or Prince, and if the prospect of spending an evening with a poor invalid is n
ot too terrible, I shall be very charmed to see you tonight between 7 and 10Annet
te Scherer."  "Heavens! what a virulent attack!" replied the prince, not in the l
east disconcerted by this reception. He had just entered, wearing an embroidered 
court uniform, knee breeches, and shoes, and had stars on his breast and a serene
 expression on his flat face. He spoke in that refined French in which our grandf
athers not only spoke but thought, and with the gentle, patronizing intonation na
tural to a man of importance who had grown old in society and at court. He went u
p to Anna Pavlovna, kissed her hand, presenting to her his bald, scented, and shi
ning head, and complacently seated himself on the sofa.  "First of all, dear frie
nd, tell me how you are. Set your friend's mind at rest," said he without alterin
g his tone, beneath the politeness and affected sympathy of which indifference an
d even irony could be discerned.  "Can one be well while suffering morally? Can o
ne be calm in times like these if one has any feeling?" said Anna Pavlovna. "You 
are staying the whole evening, I hope?"  "And the fete at the English ambassador'
s? Today is Wednesday. I must put in an appearance there," said the prince. "My d
aughter is coming for me to take me there."  "I thought today's fete had been can
celed. I confess all these festivities and fireworks are becoming wearisome."  "I
f they had known that you wished it, the entertainment would have been put off," 
said the prince, who, like a woundup clock, by force of habit said things he did 
not even wish to be believed.  "Don't tease! Well, and what has been decided abou
t Novosiltsev's dispatch? You know everything."  "What can one say about it?" rep
lied the prince in a cold, listless tone. "What has been decided? They have decid
ed that Buonaparte has burnt his boats, and I believe that we are ready to burn o
urs."  Prince Vasili always spoke languidly, like an actor repeating a stale part
. Anna Pavlovna Scherer on the contrary, despite her forty years, overflowed with
 animation and impulsiveness. To be an enthusiast had become her social vocation 
and, sometimes even when she did not feel like it, she became enthusiastic in ord
er not to disappoint the expectations of those who knew her. The subdued smile wh
ich, though it did not suit her faded features, always played round her lips expr
essed, as in a spoiled child, a continual consciousness of her charming defect, w
hich she neither wished, nor could, nor considered it necessary, to correct.  In 
the midst of a conversation on political matters Anna Pavlovna burst out  "Oh, do
n't speak to me of Austria. Perhaps I don't understand things, but Austria never 
has wished, and does not wish, for war. She is betraying us! Russia alone must sa
ve Europe. Our gracious sovereign recognizes his high vocation and will be true t
o it. That is the one thing I have faith in! Our good and wonderful sovereign has
 to perform the noblest role on earth, and he is so virtuous and noble that God w
ill not forsake him. He will fulfill his vocation and crush the hydra of revoluti
on, which has become more terrible than ever in the person of this murderer and v
illain! We alone must avenge the blood of the just one.... Whom, I ask you, can w
e rely on?... England with her commercial spirit will not and cannot understand t
he Emperor Alexander's loftiness of soul. She has refused to evacuate Malta. She 
wanted to find, and still seeks, some secret motive in our actions. What answer d
id Novosiltsev get? None. The English have not understood and cannot understand t
he selfabnegation of our Emperor who wants nothing for himself, but only desires 
the good of mankind. And what have they promised? Nothing! And what little they h
ave promised they will not perform! Prussia has always declared that Buonaparte i
s invincible, and that all Europe is powerless before him.... And I don't believe
 a word that Hardenburg says, or Haugwitz either. This famous Prussian neutrality
 is just a trap. I have faith only in God and the lofty destiny of our adored mon
arch. 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 a
ssault. You are so eloquent. Will you give me a cup of tea?"  "In a moment. A pro
pos," she added, becoming calm again, "I am expecting two very interesting men to
night, le Vicomte de Mortemart, who is connected with the Montmorencys through th
e Rohans, one of the best French families. He is one of the genuine emigres, the 
good ones. And also the Abbe Morio. Do you know that profound thinker? He has bee
n received by the Emperor. Had you heard?"  "I shall be delighted to meet them," 
said the prince. "But tell me," he added with studied carelessness as if it had o
nly just occurred to him, though the question he was about to ask was the chief m
otive 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 Vasili wished to obtain this post for his son, but others were trying 
through the Dowager Empress Marya Fedorovna to secure it for the baron.  Anna Pav
lovna almost closed her eyes to indicate that neither she nor anyone else had a r
ight 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 d
ry and mournful tone.  As she named the Empress, Anna Pavlovna's face suddenly as
sumed an expression of profound and sincere devotion and respect mingled with sad
ness, and this occurred every time she mentioned her illustrious patroness. She a
dded that Her Majesty had deigned to show Baron Funke beaucoup d'estime, and agai
n her face clouded over with sadness.  The prince was silent and looked indiffere
nt. But, with the womanly and courtierlike quickness and tact habitual to her, An
na Pavlovna wished both to rebuke him for daring to speak he had done of a man re
commended to the Empress and at the same time to console him, so she said  "Now a
bout your family. Do you know that since your daughter came out everyone has been
 enraptured by her? They say she is amazingly beautiful."  The prince bowed to si
gnify his respect and gratitude.  "I often think," she continued after a short pa
use, drawing nearer to the prince and smiling amiably at him as if to show that p
olitical and social topics were ended and the time had come for intimate conversa
tion"I often think how unfairly sometimes the joys of life are distributed. Why h
as fate given you two such splendid children? I don't speak of Anatole, your youn
gest. I don't like him," she added in a tone admitting of no rejoinder and raisin
g her eyebrows. "Two such charming children. And really you appreciate them less 
than anyone, and so you don't deserve to have them."  And she smiled her ecstatic
 smile.  "I can't help it," said the prince. "Lavater would have said I lack the 
bump of paternity."  "Don't joke I mean to have a serious talk with you. Do you k
now I am dissatisfied with your younger son? Between ourselves" and her face assu
med its melancholy expression, "he was mentioned at Her Majesty's and you were pi
tied...."  The prince answered nothing, but she looked at him significantly, awai
ting a reply. He frowned.  "What would you have me do?" he said at last. "You kno
w I did all a father could for their education, and they have both turned out foo
ls. Hippolyte is at least a quiet fool, but Anatole is an active one. That is the
 only difference between them." He said this smiling in a way more natural and an
imated than usual, so that the wrinkles round his mouth very clearly revealed som
ething unexpectedly coarse and unpleasant.  "And why are children born to such me
n as you? If you were not a father there would be nothing I could reproach you wi
th," said Anna Pavlovna, 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 sai
d no more, but expressed his resignation to cruel fate by a gesture. Anna Pavlovn
a 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 Bolkonskaya."  Prince Vasil
i did not reply, though, with the quickness of memory and perception befitting a 
man of the world, he indicated by a movement of the head that he was considering 
this information.  "Do you know," he said at last, evidently unable to check the 
sad current of his thoughts, "that Anatole is costing me forty thousand rubles a 
year? And," he went on after a pause, "what will it be in five years, if he goes 
on like this?" Presently he added "That's what we fathers have to put up with....
 Is this princess of yours rich?"  "Her father is very rich and stingy. He lives 
in the country. He is the wellknown Prince Bolkonski who had to retire from the a
rmy under the late Emperor, and was nicknamed 'the King of Prussia.' He is very c
lever but eccentric, and a bore. The poor girl is very unhappy. She has a brother
 I think you know him, he married Lise Meinen lately. He is an aidedecamp of Kutu
zov's and will be here tonight."  "Listen, dear Annette," said the prince, sudden
ly taking Anna Pavlovna's hand and for some reason drawing it downwards. "Arrange
 that affair for me and I shall always be your most devoted slaveslafe with an f,
 as a village elder of mine writes in his reports. She is rich and of good family
 and that's all I want."  And with the familiarity and easy grace peculiar to him
, he raised the maid of honor's hand to his lips, kissed it, and swung it to and 
fro as he lay back in his armchair, looking in another direction.  "Attendez," sa
id Anna Pavlovna, reflecting, "I'll speak to Lise, young Bolkonski's wife, this v
ery 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 Pav
lovna'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 socia
l circle to which they belonged. Prince Vasili's daughter, the beautiful Helene, 
came to take her father to the ambassador's entertainment she wore a ball dress a
nd her badge as maid of honor. The youthful little Princess Bolkonskaya, known as
 la femme la plus seduisante de Petersbourg, * was also there. She had been marri
ed during the previous winter, and being pregnant did not go to any large gatheri
ngs, but only to small receptions. Prince Vasili's son, Hippolyte, had come with 
Mortemart, whom he introduced. The Abbe Morio and many others had also come.     
   * The most fascinating woman in Petersburg.   To each new arrival Anna Pavlovn
a said, "You have not yet seen my aunt," or "You do not know my aunt?" and very g
ravely conducted him or her to a little old lady, wearing large bows of ribbon in
 her cap, who had come sailing in from another room as soon as the guests began t
o arrive and slowly turning her eyes from the visitor to her aunt, Anna Pavlovna 
mentioned each one's name and then left them.  Each visitor performed the ceremon
y 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 Pavlovna observed these greetings with
 mournful and solemn interest and silent approval. The aunt spoke to each of them
 in the same words, about their health and her own, and the health of Her Majesty
, "who, thank God, was better today." And each visitor, though politeness prevent
ed his showing impatience, left the old woman with a sense of relief at having pe
rformed a vexatious duty and did not return to her the whole evening.  The young 
Princess Bolkonskaya had brought some work in a goldembroidered velvet bag. Her p
retty little upper lip, on which a delicate dark down was just perceptible, was t
oo short for her teeth, but it lifted all the more sweetly, and was especially ch
arming when she occasionally drew it down to meet the lower lip. As is always the
 case with a thoroughly attractive woman, her defectthe shortness of her upper li
p and her halfopen mouthseemed to be her own special and peculiar form of beauty.
 Everyone brightened at the sight of this pretty young woman, so soon to become a
 mother, so full of life and health, and carrying her burden so lightly. Old men 
and dull dispirited young ones who looked at her, after being in her company and 
talking to her a little while, felt as if they too were becoming, like her, full 
of life and health. All who talked to her, and at each word saw her bright smile 
and the constant gleam of her white teeth, thought that they were in a specially 
amiable mood that day.  The little princess went round the table with quick, shor
t, swaying steps, her workbag on her arm, and gaily spreading out her dress sat d
own 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, disp
laying her bag and addressing all present. "Mind, Annette, I hope you have not pl
ayed 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 shortwaisted, lacetrimmed, dainty gray dress, gi
rdled with a broad ribbon just below the breast.  "Soyez tranquille, Lise, you wi
ll always be prettier than anyone else," replied Anna Pavlovna.  "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 th
is wretched war is for?" she added, addressing Prince Vasili, and without waiting
 for an answer she turned to speak to his daughter, the beautiful Helene.  "What 
a delightful woman this little princess is!" said Prince Vasili to Anna Pavlovna.
  One of the next arrivals was a stout, heavily built young man with closecropped
 hair, spectacles, the lightcolored breeches fashionable at that time, a very hig
h ruffle, and a brown dress coat. This stout young man was an illegitimate son of
 Count Bezukhov, a wellknown grandee of Catherine's time who now lay dying in Mos
cow. The young man had not yet entered either the military or civil service, as h
e had only just returned from abroad where he had been educated, and this was his
 first appearance in society. Anna Pavlovna greeted him with the nod she accorded
 to the lowest hierarchy in her drawing room. But in spite of this lowestgrade gr
eeting, a look of anxiety and fear, as at the sight of something too large and un
suited to the place, came over her face when she saw Pierre enter. Though he was 
certainly rather bigger than the other men in the room, her anxiety could only ha
ve reference to the clever though shy, but observant and natural, expression whic
h 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 Pavlovna, exc
hanging an alarmed glance with her aunt as she conducted him to her.  Pierre murm
ured something unintelligible, and continued to look round as if in search of som
ething. On his way to the aunt he bowed to the little princess with a pleased smi
le, as to an intimate acquaintance.  Anna Pavlovna's alarm was justified, for Pie
rre turned away from the aunt without waiting to hear her speech about Her Majest
y's health. Anna Pavlovna 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 
perpetual peace, and it is very interesting but hardly feasible."  "You think so?
" rejoined Anna Pavlovna in order to say something and get away to attend to her 
duties as hostess. But Pierre now committed a reverse act of impoliteness. First 
he had left a lady before she had finished speaking to him, and now he continued 
to speak to another who wished to get away. With his head bent, and his big feet 
spread apart, he began explaining his reasons for thinking the abbe's plan chimer
ical.  "We will talk of it later," said Anna Pavlovna with a smile.  And having g
ot rid of this young man who did not know how to behave, she resumed her duties a
s hostess and continued to listen and watch, ready to help at any point where the
 conversation might happen to flag. As the foreman of a spinning mill, when he ha
s set the hands to work, goes round and notices here a spindle that has stopped o
r 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 toonoisy group, and by a word or slight rea
rrangement kept the conversational machine in steady, proper, and regular motion.
 But amid these cares her anxiety about Pierre was evident. She kept an anxious w
atch on him when he approached the group round Mortemart to listen to what was be
ing said there, and again when he passed to another group whose center was the ab
be.  Pierre had been educated abroad, and this reception at Anna Pavlovna's was t
he first he had attended in Russia. He knew that all the intellectual lights of P
etersburg 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. Seei
ng the selfconfident and refined expression on the faces of those present he was 
always expecting to hear something very profound. At last he came up to Morio. He
re the conversation seemed interesting and he stood waiting for an opportunity to
 express his own views, as young people are fond of doing.      CHAPTER III   Ann
a Pavlovna's reception was in full swing. The spindles hummed steadily and ceasel
essly on all sides. With the exception of the aunt, beside whom sat only one elde
rly lady, who with her thin careworn face was rather out of place in this brillia
nt society, the whole company had settled into three groups. One, chiefly masculi
ne, had formed round the abbe. Another, of young people, was grouped round the be
autiful Princess Helene, Prince Vasili's daughter, and the little Princess Bolkon
skaya, 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 nicelooking y
oung man with soft features and polished manners, who evidently considered himsel
f a celebrity but out of politeness modestly placed himself at the disposal of th
e circle in which he found himself. Anna Pavlovna was obviously serving him up as
 a treat to her guests. As a clever maitre d'hotel serves up as a specially choic
e 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 the
n the abbe, as peculiarly choice morsels. The group about Mortemart immediately b
egan discussing the murder of the Duc d'Enghien. The vicomte said that the Duc d'
Enghien had perished by his own magnanimity, and that there were particular reaso
ns for Buonaparte's hatred of him.  "Ah, yes! Do tell us all about it, Vicomte," 
said Anna Pavlovna, with a pleasant feeling that there was something a la Louis X
V in the sound of that sentence "Contez nous cela, Vicomte."  The vicomte bowed a
nd smiled courteously in token of his willingness to comply. Anna Pavlovna arrang
ed a group round him, inviting everyone to listen to his tale.  "The vicomte knew
 the duc personally," whispered Anna Pavlovna to 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 th
e choicest and most advantageous style, like a wellgarnished joint of roast beef 
on a hot dish.  The vicomte wished to begin his story and gave a subtle smile.  "
Come over here, Helene, dear," said Anna Pavlovna to the beautiful young princess
 who was sitting some way off, the center of another group.  The princess smiled.
 She rose with the same unchanging smile with which she had first entered the roo
mthe smile of a perfectly beautiful woman. With a slight rustle of her white dres
s trimmed with moss and ivy, with a gleam of white shoulders, glossy hair, and sp
arkling diamonds, she passed between the men who made way for her, not looking at
 any of them but smiling on all, as if graciously allowing each the privilege of 
admiring her beautiful figure and shapely shoulders, back, and bosomwhich in the 
fashion of those days were very much exposedand she seemed to bring the glamour o
f a ballroom with her as she moved toward Anna Pavlovna. Helene was so lovely tha
t not only did she not show any trace of coquetry, but on the contrary she even a
ppeared shy of her unquestionable and all too victorious beauty. She seemed to wi
sh, but to be unable, to diminish its effect.  "How lovely!" said everyone who sa
w her and the vicomte lifted his shoulders and dropped his eyes as if startled by
 something extraordinary when she took her seat opposite and beamed upon him also
 with her unchanging smile.  "Madame, I doubt my ability before such an audience,
" said he, smilingly inclining his head.  The princess rested her bare round arm 
on a little table and considered a reply unnecessary. She smilingly waited. All t
he time the story was being told she sat upright, glancing now at her beautiful r
ound arm, altered in shape by its pressure on the table, now at her still more be
autiful bosom, on which she readjusted a diamond necklace. From time to time she 
smoothed the folds of her dress, and whenever the story produced an effect she gl
anced at Anna Pavlovna, at once adopted just the expression she saw on the maid o
f honor's face, and again relapsed into her radiant smile.  The little princess h
ad also left the tea table and followed Helene.  "Wait a moment, I'll get my work
.... Now then, what are you thinking of?" she went on, turning to Prince Hippolyt
e. "Fetch me my workbag."  There was a general movement as the princess, smiling 
and talking merrily to everyone at once, sat down and gaily arranged herself in h
er seat.  "Now I am all right," she said, and asking the vicomte to begin, she to
ok up her work.  Prince Hippolyte, having brought the workbag, joined the circle 
and moving a chair close to hers seated himself beside her.  Le charmant Hippolyt
e was surprising by his extraordinary resemblance to his beautiful sister, but ye
t 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, selfsatisfied, youthful, and constant smile of animation, and by the wo
nderful classic beauty of her figure, his face on the contrary was dulled by imbe
cility and a constant expression of sullen selfconfidence, while his body was thi
n and weak. His eyes, nose, and mouth all seemed puckered into a vacant, wearied 
grimace, and his arms and legs always fell into unnatural positions.  "It's not g
oing to be a ghost story?" said he, sitting down beside the princess and hastily 
adjusting his lorgnette, as if without this instrument he could not begin to spea
k.  "Why no, my dear fellow," said the astonished narrator, shrugging his shoulde
rs.  "Because I hate ghost stories," said Prince Hippolyte in a tone which showed
 that he only understood the meaning of his words after he had uttered them.  He 
spoke with such selfconfidence that his hearers could not be sure whether what he
 said was very witty or very stupid. He was dressed in a darkgreen dress coat, kn
ee breeches of the color of cuisse de nymphe effrayee, as he called it, shoes, an
d silk stockings.  The vicomte told his tale very neatly. It was an anecdote, the
n current, to the effect that the Duc d'Enghien had gone secretly to Paris to vis
it Mademoiselle George that at her house he came upon Bonaparte, who also enjoyed
 the famous actress' favors, and that in his presence Napoleon happened to fall i
nto one of the fainting fits to which he was subject, and was thus at the duc's m
ercy. The latter spared him, and this magnanimity Bonaparte subsequently repaid b
y death.  The story was very pretty and interesting, especially at the point wher
e the rivals suddenly recognized one another and the ladies looked agitated.  "Ch
arming!" said Anna Pavlovna with an inquiring glance at the little princess.  "Ch
arming!" whispered the little princess, sticking the needle into her work as if t
o 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 p
repared 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 vehe
mently with the abbe, so she hurried to the rescue. Pierre had managed to start a
 conversation with the abbe about the balance of power, and the latter, evidently
 interested by the young man's simpleminded eagerness, was explaining his pet the
ory. Both were talking and listening too eagerly and too naturally, which was why
 Anna Pavlovna disapproved.  "The means are... the balance of power in Europe and
 the rights of the people," the abbe was saying. "It is only necessary for one po
werful nation like Russiabarbaric as she is said to beto place herself disinteres
tedly at the head of an alliance having for its object the maintenance of the bal
ance of power of Europe, and it would save the world!"  "But how are you to get t
hat balance?" Pierre was beginning.  At that moment Anna Pavlovna came up and, lo
oking severely at Pierre, asked the Italian how he stood Russian climate. The Ita
lian's face instantly changed and assumed an offensively affected, sugary express
ion, evidently habitual to him when conversing with women.  "I am so enchanted by
 the brilliancy of the wit and culture of the society, more especially of the fem
inine society, in which I have had the honor of being received, that I have not y
et had time to think of the climate," said he.  Not letting the abbe and Pierre e
scape, Anna Pavlovna, the more conveniently to keep them under observation, broug
ht them into the larger circle.      CHAPTER IV   Just then another visitor enter
ed the drawing room Prince Andrew Bolkonski, the little princess' husband. He was
 a very handsome young man, of medium height, with firm, clearcut features. Every
thing about him, from his weary, bored expression to his quiet, measured step, of
fered a most striking contrast to his quiet, little wife. It was evident that he 
not only knew everyone in the drawing room, but had found them to be so tiresome 
that it wearied him to look at or listen to them. And among all these faces that 
he found so tedious, none seemed to bore him so much as that of his pretty wife. 
He turned away from her with a grimace that distorted his handsome face, kissed A
nna Pavlovna's hand, and screwing up his eyes scanned the whole company.  "You ar
e off to the war, Prince?" said Anna Pavlovna.  "General Kutuzov," said Bolkonski
, speaking French and stressing the last syllable of the general's name like a Fr
enchman, "has been pleased to take me as an aidedecamp...."  "And Lise, your wife
?"  "She will go to the country."  "Are you not ashamed to deprive us of your cha
rming wife?"  "Andre," said his wife, addressing her husband in the same coquetti
sh 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 e
yes and turned away. Pierre, who from the moment Prince Andrew entered the room h
ad 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 whoev
er was touching his arm, but when he saw Pierre's beaming face he gave him an une
xpectedly 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 c
ome to supper with you. May I?" he added in a low voice so as not to disturb the 
vicomte who was continuing his story.  "No, impossible!" said Prince Andrew, laug
hing and pressing Pierre's hand to show that there was no need to ask the questio
n. He wished to say something more, but at that moment Prince Vasili and his daug
hter 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 s
leeve in a friendly way to prevent his rising. "This unfortunate fete at the amba
ssador's deprives me of a pleasure, and obliges me to interrupt you. I am very so
rry to leave your enchanting party," said he, turning to Anna Pavlovna.  His daug
hter, Princess Helene, passed between the chairs, lightly holding up the folds of
 her dress, and the smile shone still more radiantly on her beautiful face. Pierr
e gazed at her with rapturous, almost frightened, eyes as she passed him.  "Very 
lovely," said Prince Andrew.  "Very," said Pierre.  In passing Prince Vasili seiz
ed Pierre's hand and said to Anna Pavlovna "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 soci
ety. Nothing is so necessary for a young man as the society of clever women."  An
na 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 Vasili in the anteroom. All the affec
tation of interest she had assumed had left her kindly and tearworn face and it n
ow expressed only anxiety and fear.  "How about my son Boris, Prince?" said she, 
hurrying after him into the anteroom. "I can't remain any longer in Petersburg. T
ell me what news I may take back to my poor boy."  Although Prince Vasili listene
d reluctantly and not very politely to the elderly lady, even betraying some impa
tience, 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, Prin
cess, I am ready to do all I can," answered Prince Vasili, "but it is difficult f
or me to ask the Emperor. I should advise you to appeal to Rumyantsev through Pri
nce Golitsyn. That would be the best way."  The elderly lady was a Princess Drube
tskaya, belonging to one of the best families in Russia, but she was poor, and ha
ving long been out of society had lost her former influential connections. She ha
d now come to Petersburg to procure an appointment in the Guards for her only son
. It was, in fact, solely to meet Prince Vasili that she had obtained an invitati
on to Anna Pavlovna's reception and had sat listening to the vicomte's story. Pri
nce Vasili's words frightened her, an embittered look clouded her once handsome f
ace, 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 fri
endship for you but now I entreat you for God's sake to do this for my sonand I s
hall always regard you as a benefactor," she added hurriedly. "No, don't be angry
, but promise! I have asked Golitsyn and he has refused. Be the kindhearted man y
ou always were," she said, trying to smile though tears were in her eyes.  "Papa,
 we shall be late," said Princess Helene, turning her beautiful head and looking 
over her classically molded shoulder as she stood waiting by the door.  Influence
 in society, however, is a capital which has to be economized if it is to last. P
rince Vasili knew this, and having once realized that if he asked on behalf of al
l who begged of him, he would soon be unable to ask for himself, he became chary 
of using his influence. But in Princess Drubetskaya's case he felt, after her sec
ond appeal, something like qualms of conscience. She had reminded him of what was
 quite true he had been indebted to her father for the first steps in his career.
 Moreover, he could see by her manners that she was one of those womenmostly moth
erswho, having once made up their minds, will not rest until they have gained the
ir end, and are prepared if necessary to go on insisting day after day and hour a
fter hour, and even to make scenes. This last consideration moved him.  "My dear 
Anna Mikhaylovna," 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 an
d how I respect your father's memory, I will do the impossibleyour son shall be t
ransferred to the Guards. Here is my hand on it. Are you satisfied?"  "My dear be
nefactor! This is what I expected from youI knew your kindness!" He turned to go.
  "Waitjust a word! When he has been transferred to the Guards..." she faltered. 
"You are on good terms with Michael Ilarionovich Kutuzov... recommend Boris to hi
m as adjutant! Then I shall be at rest, and then..."  Prince Vasili smiled.  "No,
 I won't promise that. You don't know how Kutuzov is pestered since his appointme
nt as Commander in Chief. He told me himself that all the Moscow ladies have cons
pired 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! Goodby! You hear her?"  "T
hen tomorrow you will speak to the Emperor?"  "Certainly but about Kutuzov, I don
't promise."  "Do promise, do promise, Vasili!" cried Anna Mikhaylovna as he went
, with the smile of a coquettish girl, which at one time probably came naturally 
to her, but was now very illsuited to her careworn face.  Apparently she had forg
otten her age and by force of habit employed all the old feminine arts. But as so
on as the prince had gone her face resumed its former cold, artificial expression
. She returned to the group where the vicomte was still talking, and again preten
ded to listen, while waiting till it would be time to leave. Her task was accompl
ished.      CHAPTER V   "And what do you think of this latest comedy, the coronat
ion 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 e
nough to make one's head whirl! It is as if the whole world had gone crazy."  Pri
nce Andrew looked Anna Pavlovna straight in the face with a sarcastic smile.  "'D
ieu me la donne, gare a qui la touche!' * They say he was very fine when he said 
that," he remarked, repeating the words in Italian "'Dio mi l'ha dato. Guai a chi
 la tocchi!'"        * God has given it to me, let him who touches it beware!   "
I hope this will prove the last drop that will make the glass run over," Anna Pav
lovna continued. "The sovereigns will not be able to endure this man who is a men
ace to everything."  "The sovereigns? I do not speak of Russia," said the vicomte
, polite but hopeless "The sovereigns, madame... What have they done for Louis XV
II, for the Queen, or for Madame Elizabeth? Nothing!" and he became more animated
. "And believe me, they are reaping the reward of their betrayal of the Bourbon c
ause. The sovereigns! Why, they are sending ambassadors to compliment the usurper
."  And sighing disdainfully, he again changed his position.  Prince Hippolyte, w
ho had been gazing at the vicomte for some time through his lorgnette, suddenly t
urned completely round toward 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 Conde," said he.  The princess listened, smiling.  "If Buona
parte remains on the throne of France a year longer," the vicomte continued, with
 the air of a man who, in a matter with which he is better acquainted than anyone
 else, does not listen to others but follows the current of his own thoughts, "th
ings will have gone too far. By intrigues, violence, exile, and executions, Frenc
h societyI mean good French societywill have been forever destroyed, and then..."
  He shrugged his shoulders and spread out his hands. Pierre wished to make a rem
ark, for the conversation interested him, but Anna Pavlovna, who had him under ob
servation, interrupted  "The Emperor Alexander," said she, with the melancholy wh
ich always accompanied any reference of hers to the Imperial family, "has declare
d 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 wil
l certainly throw itself into the arms of its rightful king," she concluded, tryi
ng to be amiable to the royalist emigrant.  "That is doubtful," said Prince Andre
w. "Monsieur le Vicomte quite rightly supposes that matters have already gone too
 far. I think it will be difficult to return to the old regime."  "From what I ha
ve heard," said Pierre, blushing and breaking into the conversation, "almost all 
the aristocracy has already gone over to Bonaparte's side."  "It is the Buonapart
ists who say that," replied the vicomte without looking at Pierre. "At the presen
t time it is difficult to know the real state of French public opinion."  "Bonapa
rte has said so," remarked Prince Andrew with a sarcastic smile.  It was evident 
that he did not like the vicomte and was aiming his remarks at him, though withou
t 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 ju
stified in saying so."  "Not in the least," replied the vicomte. "After the murde
r of the duc even the most partial ceased to regard him as a hero. If to some peo
ple," he went on, turning to Anna Pavlovna, "he ever was a hero, after the murder
 of the duc there was one martyr more in heaven and one hero less on earth."  Bef
ore Anna Pavlovna and the others had time to smile their appreciation of the vico
mte's epigram, Pierre again broke into the conversation, and though Anna Pavlovna
 felt sure he would say something inappropriate, she was unable to stop him.  "Th
e execution of the Duc d'Enghien," declared Monsieur Pierre, "was a political nec
essity, and it seems to me that Napoleon showed greatness of soul by not fearing 
to take on himself the whole responsibility of that deed."  "Dieu! Mon Dieu!" mut
tered Anna Pavlovna in a terrified whisper.  "What, Monsieur Pierre... Do you con
sider that assassination shows greatness of soul?" said the little princess, smil
ing and drawing her work nearer to her.  "Oh! Oh!" exclaimed several voices.  "Ca
pital!" said Prince Hippolyte in English, and began slapping his knee with the pa
lm of his hand.  The vicomte merely shrugged his shoulders. Pierre looked solemnl
y at his audience over his spectacles and continued.  "I say so," he continued de
sperately, "because the Bourbons fled from the Revolution leaving the people to a
narchy, and Napoleon alone understood the Revolution and quelled it, and so for t
he general good, he could not stop short for the sake of one man's life."  "Won't
 you come over to the other table?" suggested Anna Pavlovna.  But Pierre continue
d his speech without heeding her.  "No," cried he, becoming more and more eager, 
"Napoleon is great because he rose superior to the Revolution, suppressed its abu
ses, preserved all that was good in itequality of citizenship and freedom of spee
ch and of the pressand only for that reason did he obtain power."  "Yes, if havin
g obtained power, without availing himself of it to commit murder he had restored
 it to the rightful king, I should have called him a great man," remarked the vic
omte.  "He could not do that. The people only gave him power that he might rid th
em of the Bourbons and because they saw that he was a great man. The Revolution w
as a grand thing!" continued Monsieur Pierre, betraying by this desperate and pro
vocative proposition his extreme youth and his wish to express all that was in hi
s mind.  "What? Revolution and regicide a grand thing?... Well, after that... But
 won't you come to this other table?" repeated Anna Pavlovna.  "Rousseau's Contra
t social," said the vicomte with a tolerant smile.  "I am not speaking of regicid
e, I am speaking about ideas."  "Yes ideas of robbery, murder, and regicide," aga
in interjected an ironical voice.  "Those were extremes, no doubt, but they are n
ot what is most important. What is important are the rights of man, emancipation 
from prejudices, and equality of citizenship, and all these ideas Napoleon has re
tained 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 wer
e, "highsounding words which have long been discredited. Who does not love libert
y and equality? Even our Saviour preached liberty and equality. Have people since
 the Revolution become happier? On the contrary. We wanted liberty, but Buonapart
e has destroyed it."  Prince Andrew kept looking with an amused smile from Pierre
 to the vicomte and from the vicomte to their hostess. In the first moment of Pie
rre's outburst Anna Pavlovna, despite her social experience, was horrorstruck. Bu
t when she saw that Pierre's sacrilegious words had not exasperated the vicomte, 
and had convinced herself that it was impossible to stop him, she rallied her for
ces and joined the vicomte in a vigorous attack on the orator.  "But, my dear Mon
sieur Pierre," said she, "how do you explain the fact of a great man executing a 
ducor even an ordinary man whois innocent and untried?"  "I should like," said th
e vicomte, "to ask how monsieur explains the 18th Brumaire was not that an impost
ure? 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, shr
ugging her shoulders.  "He's a low fellow, say what you will," remarked Prince Hi
ppolyte.  Pierre, not knowing whom to answer, looked at them all and smiled. His 
smile was unlike the halfsmile of other people. When he smiled, his grave, even r
ather gloomy, look was instantaneously replaced by anothera childlike, kindly, ev
en rather silly look, which seemed to ask forgiveness.  The vicomte who was meeti
ng 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 a
ll at once?" said Prince Andrew. "Besides, in the actions of a statesman one has 
to distinguish between his acts as a private person, as a general, and as an empe
ror. So it seems to me."  "Yes, yes, of course!" Pierre chimed in, pleased at the
 arrival of this reinforcement.  "One must admit," continued Prince Andrew, "that
 Napoleon as a man was great on the bridge of Arcola, and in the hospital at Jaff
a where he gave his hand to the plaguestricken but... but there are other acts wh
ich it is difficult to justify."  Prince Andrew, who had evidently wished to tone
 down the awkwardness of Pierre's remarks, rose and made a sign to his wife that 
it was time to go.  Suddenly Prince Hippolyte started up making signs to everyone
 to attend, and asking them all to be seated began  "I was told a charming Moscow
 story today and must treat you to it. Excuse me, VicomteI must tell it in Russia
n or the point will be lost...." And Prince Hippolyte began to tell his story in 
such Russian as a Frenchman would speak after spending about a year in Russia. Ev
eryone waited, so emphatically and eagerly did he demand their attention to his s
tory.  "There is in Moscow a lady, une dame, and she is very stingy. She must hav
e 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, evident
ly collecting his ideas with difficulty.  "She said... Oh yes! She said, 'Girl,' 
to the maid, 'put on a livery, get up behind the carriage, and come with me while
 I make some calls.'"  Here Prince Hippolyte spluttered and burst out laughing lo
ng before his audience, which produced an effect unfavorable to the narrator. Sev
eral 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 ha
ir came down...." Here he could contain himself no longer and went on, between ga
sps of laughter "And the whole world knew...."  And so the anecdote ended. Though
 it was unintelligible why he had told it, or why it had to be told in Russian, s
till Anna Pavlovna and the others appreciated Prince Hippolyte's social tact in s
o agreeably ending Pierre's unpleasant and unamiable outburst. After the anecdote
 the conversation broke up into insignificant small talk about the last and next 
balls, about theatricals, and who would meet whom, and when and where.      CHAPT
ER VI   Having thanked Anna Pavlovna for her charming soiree, the guests began to
 take their leave.  Pierre was ungainly. Stout, about the average height, broad, 
with huge red hands he did not know, as the saying is, how to enter a drawing roo
m and still less how to leave one that is, how to say something particularly agre
eable before going away. Besides this he was absentminded. When he rose to go, he
 took up instead of his own, the general's threecornered hat, and held it, pullin
g at the plume, till the general asked him to restore it. All his absentmindednes
s and inability to enter a room and converse in it was, however, redeemed by his 
kindly, simple, and modest expression. Anna Pavlovna turned toward him and, with 
a Christian mildness that expressed forgiveness of his indiscretion, nodded and s
aid "I hope to see you again, but I also hope you will change your opinions, my d
ear Monsieur Pierre."  When she said this, he did not reply and only bowed, but a
gain everybody saw his smile, which said nothing, unless perhaps, "Opinions are o
pinions, but you see what a capital, goodnatured fellow I am." And everyone, incl
uding Anna Pavlovna, felt this.  Prince Andrew had gone out into the hall, and, t
urning his shoulders to the footman who was helping him on with his cloak, listen
ed indifferently to his wife's chatter with Prince Hippolyte who had also come in
to the hall. Prince Hippolyte stood close to the pretty, pregnant princess, and s
tared fixedly at her through his eyeglass.  "Go in, Annette, or you will catch co
ld," said the little princess, taking leave of Anna Pavlovna. "It is settled," sh
e added in a low voice.  Anna Pavlovna had already managed to speak to Lise about
 the match she contemplated between Anatole and the little princess' sisterinlaw.
  "I rely on you, my dear," said Anna Pavlovna, also in a low tone. "Write to her
 and let me know how her father looks at the matter. Au revoir!"and she left the 
hall.  Prince Hippolyte approached the little princess and, bending his face clos
e to her, began to whisper something.  Two footmen, the princess' and his own, st
ood holding a shawl and a cloak, waiting for the conversation to finish. They lis
tened to the French sentences which to them were meaningless, with an air of unde
rstanding but not wishing to appear to do so. The princess as usual spoke smiling
ly and listened with a laugh.  "I am very glad I did not go to the ambassador's,"
 said Prince Hippolyte "so dull. It has been a delightful evening, has it not? De
lightful!"  "They say the ball will be very good," replied the princess, drawing 
up her downy little lip. "All the pretty women in society will be there."  "Not a
ll, for you will not be there not all," said Prince Hippolyte smiling joyfully an
d snatching the shawl from the footman, whom he even pushed aside, he began wrapp
ing it round the princess. Either from awkwardness or intentionally no one could 
have said which after the shawl had been adjusted he kept his arm around her for 
a long time, as though embracing her.  Still smiling, she gracefully moved away, 
turning and glancing at her husband. Prince Andrew's eyes were closed, so weary a
nd sleepy did he seem.  "Are you ready?" he asked his wife, looking past her.  Pr
ince 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 princ
ess, 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 u
p her dress, was taking her seat in the dark carriage, her husband was adjusting 
his saber Prince Hippolyte, under pretense of helping, was in everyone's way.  "A
llow me, sir," said Prince Andrew in Russian in a cold, disagreeable tone to Prin
ce Hippolyte who was blocking his path.  "I am expecting you, Pierre," said the s
ame voice, but gently and affectionately.  The postilion started, the carriage wh
eels rattled. Prince Hippolyte laughed spasmodically as he stood in the porch wai
ting for the vicomte whom he had promised to take home.  "Well, mon cher," said t
he vicomte, having seated himself beside Hippolyte in the carriage, "your little 
princess is very nice, very nice indeed, quite French," and he kissed the tips of
 his fingers. Hippolyte burst out laughing.  "Do you know, you are a terrible cha
p for all your innocent airs," continued the vicomte. "I pity the poor husband, t
hat little officer who gives himself the airs of a monarch."  Hippolyte spluttere
d 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 re
aching the house first went into Prince Andrew's study like one quite at home, an
d from habit immediately lay down on the sofa, took from the shelf the first book
 that came to his hand it was Caesar's Commentaries, and resting on his elbow, be
gan reading it in the middle.  "What have you done to Mlle Scherer? She will be q
uite ill now," said Prince Andrew, as he entered the study, rubbing his small whi
te hands.  Pierre turned his whole body, making the sofa creak. He lifted his eag
er face to Prince Andrew, smiled, and waved his hand.  "That abbe is very interes
ting but he does not see the thing in the right light.... In my opinion perpetual
 peace is possible butI do not know how to express it... not by a balance of poli
tical power...."  It was evident that Prince Andrew was not interested in such ab
stract conversation.  "One can't everywhere say all one thinks, mon cher. Well, h
ave you at last decided on anything? Are you going to be a guardsman or a diploma
tist?" asked Prince Andrew after a momentary silence.  Pierre sat up on the sofa,
 with his legs tucked under him.  "Really, I don't yet know. I don't like either 
the one or the other."  "But you must decide on something! Your father expects it
."  Pierre at the age of ten had been sent abroad with an abbe 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 choos
e your profession. I will agree to anything. Here is a letter to Prince Vasili, a
nd here is money. Write to me all about it, and I will help you in everything." P
ierre had already been choosing a career for three months, and had not decided on
 anything. It was about this choice that Prince Andrew was speaking. Pierre rubbe
d his forehead.  "But he must be a Freemason," said he, referring to the abbe who
m he had met that evening.  "That is all nonsense." Prince Andrew again interrupt
ed him, "let us talk business. Have you been to the Horse Guards?"  "No, I have n
ot but this is what I have been thinking and wanted to tell you. There is a war n
ow against Napoleon. If it were a war for freedom I could understand it and shoul
d be the first to enter the army but to help England and Austria against the grea
test man in the world is not right."  Prince Andrew only shrugged his shoulders a
t Pierre's childish words. He put on the air of one who finds it impossible to re
ply 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 conviction, there would be no wars," he said.  "And that would
 be splendid," said Pierre.  Prince Andrew smiled ironically.  "Very likely it wo
uld be splendid, but it will never come about..."  "Well, why are you going to th
e war?" asked Pierre.  "What for? I don't know. I must. Besides that I am going..
." He paused. "I am going because the life I am leading here does not suit me!"  
    CHAPTER VII   The rustle of a woman's dress was heard in the next room. Princ
e Andrew shook himself as if waking up, and his face assumed the look it had had 
in Anna Pavlovna's drawing room. Pierre removed his feet from the sofa. The princ
ess came in. She had changed her gown for a house dress as fresh and elegant as t
he other. Prince Andrew rose and politely placed a chair for her.  "How is it," s
he 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 ma
rried her! Excuse me for saying so, but you have no sense about women. What an ar
gumentative 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, addre
ssing the princess with none of the embarrassment so commonly shown by young men 
in their intercourse with young women.  The princess started. Evidently Pierre's 
words touched her to the quick.  "Ah, that is just what I tell him!" said she. "I
 don't understand it I don't in the least understand why men can't live without w
ars. 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 aidedecamp, a mo
st brilliant position. He is so well known, so much appreciated by everyone. The 
other day at the Apraksins' I heard a lady asking, 'Is that the famous Prince And
rew?' I did indeed." She laughed. "He is so well received everywhere. He might ea
sily become aidedecamp 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?"  P
ierre looked at his friend and, noticing that he did not like the conversation, g
ave 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 play
ful tone in which she had spoken to Hippolyte in the drawing room and which was s
o plainly illsuited to the family circle of which Pierre was almost a member. "To
day when I remembered that all these delightful associations must be broken off..
. and then you know, Andre..." she looked significantly at her husband "I'm afrai
d, I'm afraid!" she whispered, and a shudder ran down her back.  Her husband look
ed at her as if surprised to notice that someone besides Pierre and himself was i
n the room, and addressed her in a tone of frigid politeness.  "What is it you ar
e afraid of, Lise? I don't understand," said he.  "There, what egotists men all a
re all, all egotists! Just for a whim of his own, goodness only knows why, he lea
ves me and locks me up alone in the country."  "With my father and sister, rememb
er," said Prince Andrew gently.  "Alone all the same, without my friends.... And 
he expects me not to be afraid."  Her tone was now querulous and her lip drawn up
, giving her not a joyful, but an animal, squirrellike expression. She paused as 
if she felt it indecorous to speak of her pregnancy before Pierre, though the gis
t 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 blushe
d, and raised her arms with a gesture of despair.  "No, Andrew, I must say you ha
ve changed. Oh, how you have..."  "Your doctor tells you to go to bed earlier," s
aid Prince Andrew. "You had better go."  The princess said nothing, but suddenly 
her short downy lip quivered. Prince Andrew rose, shrugged his shoulders, and wal
ked about the room.  Pierre looked over his spectacles with naive surprise, now a
t him and now at her, moved as if about to rise too, but changed his mind.  "Why 
should I mind Monsieur Pierre being here?" exclaimed the little princess suddenly
, her pretty face all at once distorted by a tearful grimace. "I have long wanted
 to ask you, Andrew, why you have changed so to me? What have I done to you? You 
are going to the war and have no pity for me. Why is it?"  "Lise!" was all Prince
 Andrew said. But that one word expressed an entreaty, a threat, and above all co
nviction that she would herself regret her words. But she went on hurriedly  "You
 treat me like an invalid or a child. I see it all! Did you behave like that six 
months ago?"  "Lise, I beg you to desist," said Prince Andrew still more emphatic
ally.  Pierre, who had been growing more and more agitated as he listened to all 
this, rose and approached the princess. He seemed unable to bear the sight of tea
rs and was ready to cry himself.  "Calm yourself, Princess! It seems so to you be
cause... I assure you I myself have experienced... and so... because... No, excus
e me! An outsider is out of place here... No, don't distress yourself... Goodby!"
  Prince Andrew caught him by the hand.  "No, wait, Pierre! The princess is too k
ind to wish to deprive me of the pleasure of spending the evening with you."  "No
, he thinks only of himself," muttered the princess without restraining her angry
 tears.  "Lise!" said Prince Andrew dryly, raising his voice to the pitch which i
ndicates that patience is exhausted.  Suddenly the angry, squirrellike expression
 of the princess' pretty face changed into a winning and piteous look of fear. He
r beautiful eyes glanced askance at her husband's face, and her own assumed the t
imid, deprecating expression of a dog when it rapidly but feebly wags its droopin
g tail.  "Mon Dieu, mon Dieu!" she muttered, and lifting her dress with one hand 
she went up to her husband and kissed him on the forehead.  "Good night, Lise," s
aid he, rising and courteously kissing her hand as he would have done to a strang
er.      CHAPTER VIII   The friends were silent. Neither cared to begin talking. 
Pierre continually glanced at Prince Andrew Prince Andrew rubbed his forehead wit
h 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. Eve
rything 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 P
rince Andrew leaned his elbows on the table and, with a look of nervous agitation
 such as Pierre had never before seen on his face, began to talkas one who has lo
ng had something on his mind and suddenly determines to speak out.  "Never, never
 marry, my dear fellow! That's my advice never marry till you can say to yourself
 that you have done all you are capable of, and until you have ceased to love the
 woman of your choice and have seen her plainly as she is, or else you will make 
a cruel and irrevocable mistake. Marry when you are old and good for nothingor al
l that is good and noble in you will be lost. It will all be wasted on trifles. Y
es! Yes! Yes! Don't look at me with such surprise. If you marry expecting anythin
g from yourself in the future, you will feel at every step that for you all is en
ded, 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 a
rm.  Pierre took off his spectacles, which made his face seem different and the g
oodnatured expression still more apparent, and gazed at his friend in amazement. 
 "My wife," continued Prince Andrew, "is an excellent woman, one of those rare wo
men with whom a man's honor is safe but, O God, what would I not give now to be u
nmarried! You are the first and only one to whom I mention this, because I like y
ou."  As he said this Prince Andrew was less than ever like that Bolkonski who ha
d lolled in Anna Pavlovna's easy chairs and with halfclosed eyes had uttered Fren
ch phrases between his teeth. Every muscle of his thin face was now quivering wit
h 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 seeme
d at ordinary times, the more impassioned he became in these moments of almost mo
rbid irritation.  "You don't understand why I say this," he continued, "but it is
 the whole story of life. You talk of Bonaparte and his career," said he though P
ierre had not mentioned Bonaparte, "but Bonaparte when he worked went step by ste
p toward his goal. He was free, he had nothing but his aim to consider, and he re
ached it. But tie yourself up with a woman and, like a chained convict, you lose 
all freedom! And all you have of hope and strength merely weighs you down and tor
ments you with regret. Drawing rooms, gossip, balls, vanity, and trivialitythese 
are the enchanted circle I cannot escape from. I am now going to the war, the gre
atest war there ever was, and I know nothing and am fit for nothing. I am very am
iable and have a caustic wit," continued Prince Andrew, "and at Anna Pavlovna's t
hey listen to me. And that stupid set without whom my wife cannot exist, and thos
e women... If you only knew what those society women are, and women in general! M
y father is right. Selfish, vain, stupid, trivial in everythingthat's what women 
are when you see them in their true colors! When you meet them in society it seem
s as if there were something in them, but there's nothing, nothing, nothing! No, 
don't marry, my dear fellow don't marry!" concluded Prince Andrew.  "It seems fun
ny to me," said Pierre, "that you, you should consider yourself incapable and you
r life a spoiled life. You have everything before you, everything. And you..."  H
e did not finish his sentence, but his tone showed how highly he thought of his f
riend and how much he expected of him in the future.  "How can he talk like that?
" thought Pierre. He considered his friend a model of perfection because Prince A
ndrew 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 a
t Prince Andrew's calm manner of treating everybody, his extraordinary memory, hi
s extensive reading he had read everything, knew everything, and had an opinion a
bout everything, but above all at his capacity for work and study. And if Pierre 
was often struck by Andrew's lack of capacity for philosophical meditation to whi
ch he himself was particularly addicted, he regarded even this not as a defect bu
t as a sign of strength.  Even in the best, most friendly and simplest relations 
of life, praise and commendation are essential, just as grease is necessary to wh
eels that they may run smoothly.  "My part is played out," said Prince Andrew. "W
hat's the use of talking about me? Let us talk about you," he added after a silen
ce, 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 relaxi
ng into a careless, merry smile. "What am I? An illegitimate son!" He suddenly bl
ushed crimson, and it was plain that he had made a great effort to say this. "Wit
hout a name and without means... And it really..." But he did not say what "it re
ally" 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 ki
ndly at him, yet his glancefriendly and affectionate as it wasexpressed a sense o
f 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 sa
me. You'll be all right anywhere. But look here give up visiting those Kuragins a
nd leading that sort of life. It suits you so badlyall this debauchery, dissipati
on, and the rest of it!"  "What would you have, my dear fellow?" answered Pierre,
 shrugging his shoulders. "Women, my dear fellow women!"  "I don't understand it,
" replied Prince Andrew. "Women who are comme il faut, that's a different matter 
but the Kuragins' set of women, 'women and wine' I don't understand!"  Pierre was
 staying at Prince Vasili Kuragin's and sharing the dissipated life of his son An
atole, the son whom they were planning to reform by marrying him to Prince Andrew
's sister.  "Do you know?" said Pierre, as if suddenly struck by a happy thought,
 "seriously, I have long been thinking of it.... Leading such a life I can't deci
de or think properly about anything. One's head aches, and one spends all one's m
oney. He asked me for tonight, but I won't go."  "You give me your word of honor 
not to go?"  "On my honor!"      CHAPTER IX   It was past one o'clock when Pierre
 left his friend. It was a cloudless, northern, summer night. Pierre took an open
 cab intending to drive straight home. But the nearer he drew to the house the mo
re he felt the impossibility of going to sleep on such a night. It was light enou
gh to see a long way in the deserted street and it seemed more like morning or ev
ening 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 t
o go to Kuragin's," thought he.  But he immediately recalled his promise to Princ
e Andrew not to go there. Then, as happens to people of weak character, he desire
d so passionately once more to enjoy that dissipation he was so accustomed to tha
t he decided to go. The thought immediately occurred to him that his promise to P
rince 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 con
siders that by tomorrow one may be dead, or something so extraordinary may happen
 to one that honor and dishonor will be all the same!" Pierre often indulged in r
eflections of this sort, nullifying all his decisions and intentions. He went to 
Kuragin's.  Reaching the large house near the Horse Guards' barracks, in which An
atole lived, Pierre entered the lighted porch, ascended the stairs, and went in a
t the open door. There was no one in the anteroom empty bottles, cloaks, and over
shoes were lying about there was a smell of alcohol, and sounds of voices and sho
uting 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 t
he 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 s
houting of familiar voices, the growling of a bear, and general commotion. Some e
ight or nine young men were crowding anxiously round an open window. Three others
 were romping with a young bear, one pulling him by the chain and trying to set h
im at the others.  "I bet a hundred on Stevens!" shouted one.  "Mind, no holding 
on!" cried another.  "I bet on Dolokhov!" cried a third. "Kuragin, you part our h
ands."  "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 li
nen shirt unfastened in front. "Wait a bit, you fellows.... Here is Petya! Good m
an!" cried he, addressing Pierre.  Another voice, from a man of medium height wit
h clear blue eyes, particularly striking among all these drunken voices by its so
ber ring, cried from the window "Come here part the bets!" This was Dolokhov, 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. Wha
t's it all about?"  "Wait a bit, he is not drunk yet! A bottle here," said Anatol
e, taking a glass from the table he went up to Pierre.  "First of all you must dr
ink!"  Pierre drank one glass after another, looking from under his brows at the 
tipsy guests who were again crowding round the window, and listening to their cha
tter. Anatole kept on refilling Pierre's glass while explaining that Dolokhov was
 betting with Stevens, an English naval officer, that he would drink a bottle of 
rum sitting on the outer ledge of the third floor window with his legs hanging ou
t.  "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 h
e went up to the window.  Dolokhov was holding the Englishman's hand and clearly 
and distinctly repeating the terms of the bet, addressing himself particularly to
 Anatole and Pierre.  Dolokhov was of medium height, with curly hair and lightblu
e eyes. He was about twentyfive. Like all infantry officers he wore no mustache, 
so that his mouth, the most striking feature of his face, was clearly seen. The l
ines of that mouth were remarkably finely curved. The middle of the upper lip for
med 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, toge
ther with the resolute, insolent intelligence of his eyes, produced an effect whi
ch made it impossible not to notice his face. Dolokhov was a man of small means a
nd no connections. Yet, though Anatole spent tens of thousands of rubles, Dolokho
v lived with him and had placed himself on such a footing that all who knew them,
 including Anatole himself, respected him more than they did Anatole. Dolokhov co
uld play all games and nearly always won. However much he drank, he never lost hi
s clearheadedness. Both Kuragin and Dolokhov were at that time notorious among th
e rakes and scapegraces of Petersburg.  The bottle of rum was brought. The window
 frame which prevented anyone from sitting on the outer sill was being forced out
 by two footmen, who were evidently flurried and intimidated by the directions an
d shouts of the gentlemen around.  Anatole with his swaggering air strode up to t
he window. He wanted to smash something. Pushing away the footmen he tugged at th
e frame, but could not move it. He smashed a pane.  "You have a try, Hercules," s
aid he, turning to Pierre.  Pierre seized the crossbeam, tugged, and wrenched the
 oak frame out with a crash.  "Take it right out, or they'll think I'm holding on
," said Dolokhov.  "Is the Englishman bragging?... Eh? Is it all right?" said Ana
tole.  "Firstrate," said Pierre, looking at Dolokhov, who with a bottle of rum in
 his hand was approaching the window, from which the light of the sky, the dawn m
erging with the afterglow of sunset, was visible.  Dolokhov, the bottle of rum st
ill 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 spo
ke French that the Englishman might understand him, but he did, not speak it very
 well"I bet fifty imperials... or do you wish to make it a hundred?" added he, ad
dressing the Englishman.  "No, fifty," replied the latter.  "All right. Fifty imp
erials... that I will drink a whole bottle of rum without taking it from my mouth
, sitting outside the window on this spot" he stooped and pointed to the sloping 
ledge outside the window "and without holding on to anything. Is that right?"  "Q
uite right," said the Englishman.  Anatole turned to the Englishman and taking hi
m by one of the buttons of his coat and looking down at himthe Englishman was sho
rtbegan repeating the terms of the wager to him in English.  "Wait!" cried Dolokh
ov, hammering with the bottle on the window sill to attract attention. "Wait a bi
t, Kuragin. Listen! If anyone else does the same, I will pay him a hundred imperi
als. Do you understand?"  The Englishman nodded, but gave no indication whether h
e intended to accept this challenge or not. Anatole did not release him, and thou
gh he kept nodding to show that he understood, Anatole went on translating Dolokh
ov'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 dow
n.  "Oh! Oh! Oh!" he muttered, looking down from the window at the stones of the 
pavement.  "Shut up!" cried Dolokhov, pushing him away from the window. The lad j
umped awkwardly back into the room, tripping over his spurs.  Placing the bottle 
on the window sill where he could reach it easily, Dolokhov climbed carefully and
 slowly through the window and lowered his legs. Pressing against both sides of t
he 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 candl
es and placed them on the window sill, though it was already quite light. Dolokho
v's back in his white shirt, and his curly head, were lit up from both sides. Eve
ryone crowded to the window, the Englishman in front. Pierre stood smiling but si
lent. One man, older than the others present, suddenly pushed forward with a scar
ed 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?... E
h?"  Dolokhov turned round and, again holding on with both hands, arranged himsel
f on his seat.  "If anyone comes meddling again," said he, emitting the words sep
arately through his thin compressed lips, "I will throw him down there. Now then!
"  Saying this he again turned round, dropped his hands, took the bottle and lift
ed it to his lips, threw back his head, and raised his free hand to balance himse
lf. One of the footmen who had stooped to pick up some broken glass remained in t
hat position without taking his eyes from the window and from Dolokhov's back. An
atole stood erect with staring eyes. The Englishman looked on sideways, pursing u
p 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 touc
hed his shirt collar, and the hand holding the bottle was lifted higher and highe
r and trembled with the effort. The bottle was emptying perceptibly and rising st
ill higher and his head tilting yet further back. "Why is it so long?" thought Pi
erre. It seemed to him that more than half an hour had elapsed. Suddenly Dolokhov
 made a backward movement with his spine, and his arm trembled nervously this was
 sufficient to cause his whole body to slip as he sat on the sloping ledge. As he
 began slipping down, his head and arm wavered still more with the strain. One ha
nd moved as if to clutch the window sill, but refrained from touching it. Pierre 
again covered his eyes and thought he would never open them again. Suddenly he wa
s aware of a stir all around. He looked up Dolokhov was standing on the window si
ll, with a pale but radiant face.  "It's empty."  He threw the bottle to the Engl
ishman, who caught it neatly. Dolokhov jumped down. He smelt strongly of rum.  "W
ell done!... Fine fellow!... There's a bet for you!... Devil take you!" came from
 different sides.  The Englishman took out his purse and began counting out the m
oney. Dolokhov stood frowning and did not speak. Pierre jumped upon the window si
ll.  "Gentlemen, who wishes to bet with me? I'll do the same thing!" he suddenly 
cried. "Even without a bet, there! Tell them to bring me a bottle. I'll do it....
 Bring a bottle!"  "Let him do it, let him do it," said Dolokhov, smiling.  "What
 next? Have you gone mad?... No one would let you!... Why, you go giddy even on a
 staircase," exclaimed several voices.  "I'll drink it! Let's have a bottle of ru
m!" shouted Pierre, banging the table with a determined and drunken gesture and p
reparing to climb out of the window.  They seized him by his arms but he was so s
trong that everyone who touched him was sent flying.  "No, you'll never manage hi
m that way," said Anatole. "Wait a bit and I'll get round him.... Listen! I'll ta
ke your bet tomorrow, but now we are all going to 's."  "Come on then," cried Pie
rre. "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 Vasili kept the promise he had given to Princess Drubet
skaya who had spoken to him on behalf of her only son Boris on the evening of Ann
a Pavlovna's soiree. The matter was mentioned to the Emperor, an exception made, 
and Boris transferred into the regiment of Semenov Guards with the rank of cornet
. He received, however, no appointment to Kutuzov's staff despite all Anna Mikhay
lovna's endeavors and entreaties. Soon after Anna Pavlovna's reception Anna Mikha
ylovna returned to Moscow and went straight to her rich relations, the Rostovs, w
ith whom she stayed when in the town and where her darling Bory, who had only jus
t 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 r
emained 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 Rostovsthe mother and t
he youngest daughterboth named Nataly. Ever since the morning, carriages with six
 horses had been coming and going continually, bringing visitors to the Countess 
Rostova's big house on the Povarskaya, so well known to all Moscow. The countess 
herself and her handsome eldest daughter were in the drawingroom with the visitor
s who came to congratulate, and who constantly succeeded one another in relays.  
The countess was a woman of about fortyfive, with a thin Oriental type of face, e
vidently worn out with childbearingshe had had twelve. A languor of motion and sp
eech, resulting from weakness, gave her a distinguished air which inspired respec
t. Princess Anna Mikhaylovna Drubetskaya, who as a member of the household was al
so seated in the drawing room, helped to receive and entertain the visitors. The 
young people were in one of the inner rooms, not considering it necessary to take
 part in receiving the visitors. The count met the guests and saw them off, invit
ing them all to dinner.  "I am very, very grateful to you, mon cher," or "ma cher
e"he called everyone without exception and without the slightest variation in his
 tone, "my dear," whether they were above or below him in rank"I thank you for my
self and for our two dear ones whose name day we are keeping. But mind you come t
o dinner or I shall be offended, ma chere! On behalf of the whole family I beg yo
u to come, mon cher!" These words he repeated to everyone without exception or va
riation, and with the same expression on his full, cheerful, cleanshaven face, th
e same firm pressure of the hand and the same quick, repeated bows. As soon as he
 had seen a visitor off he returned to one of those who were still in the drawing
 room, drew a chair toward him or her, and jauntily spreading out his legs and pu
tting his hands on his knees with the air of a man who enjoys life and knows how 
to live, he swayed to and fro with dignity, offered surmises about the weather, o
r touched on questions of health, sometimes in Russian and sometimes in very bad 
but selfconfident French then again, like a man weary but unflinching in the fulf
illment of duty, he rose to see some visitors off and, stroking his scanty gray h
airs over his bald patch, also asked them to dinner. Sometimes on his way back fr
om 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 unfold
ing damask table linen, he would call Dmitri Vasilevich, 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 s
igh he would return to the drawing room.  "Marya Lvovna Karagina and her daughter
!" announced the countess' gigantic footman in his bass voice, entering the drawi
ng room. The countess reflected a moment and took a pinch from a gold snuffbox wi
th her husband's portrait on it.  "I'm quite worn out by these callers. However, 
I'll see her and no more. She is so affected. Ask her in," she said to the footma
n in a sad voice, as if saying "Very well, finish me off."  A tall, stout, and pr
oudlooking woman, with a roundfaced smiling daughter, entered the drawing room, t
heir dresses rustling.  "Dear Countess, what an age... She has been laid up, poor
 child... at the Razumovski's ball... and Countess Apraksina... I was so delighte
d..." came the sounds of animated feminine voices, interrupting one another and m
ingling with the rustling of dresses and the scraping of chairs. Then one of thos
e conversations began which last out until, at the first pause, the guests rise w
ith a rustle of dresses and say, "I am so delighted... Mamma's health... and Coun
tess Apraksina..." and then, again rustling, pass into the anteroom, put on cloak
s 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 Pavlovna's reception.  "I am so sorry for the poor count," said the visitor
. "He is in such bad health, and now this vexation about his son is enough to kil
l him!"  "What is that?" asked the countess as if she did not know what the visit
or alluded to, though she had already heard about the cause of Count Bezukhov's d
istress some fifteen times.  "That's what comes of a modern education," exclaimed
 the visitor. "It seems that while he was abroad this young man was allowed to do
 as he liked, now in Petersburg I hear he has been doing such terrible things tha
t 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. Dolokhov has been degraded to the ranks and 
Bezukhov's son sent back to Moscow. Anatole Kuragin's father managed somehow to g
et 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, espe
cially Dolokhov," replied the visitor. "He is a son of Marya Ivanovna Dolokhova, 
such a worthy woman, but there, just fancy! Those three got hold of a bear somewh
ere, put it in a carriage, and set off with it to visit some actresses! The polic
e tried to interfere, and what did the young men do? They tied a policeman and th
e bear back to back and put the bear into the Moyka Canal. And there was the bear
 swimming about with the policeman on his back!"  "What a nice figure the policem
an must have cut, my dear!" shouted the count, dying with laughter.  "Oh, how dre
adful! 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 visi
tor. "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 o
ne will receive him, in spite of his money. They wanted to introduce him to me, b
ut I quite declined I have my daughters to consider."  "Why do you say this young
 man is so rich?" asked the countess, turning away from the girls, who at once as
sumed an air of inattention. "His children are all illegitimate. I think Pierre a
lso is illegitimate."  The visitor made a gesture with her hand.  "I should think
 he has a score of them."  Princess Anna Mikhaylovna intervened in the conversati
on, evidently wishing to show her connections and knowledge of what went on in so
ciety.  "The fact of the matter is," said she significantly, and also in a half w
hisper, "everyone knows Count Cyril's reputation.... He has lost count of his chi
ldren, but this Pierre was his favorite."  "How handsome the old man still was on
ly 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, l
ooked after his education, and wrote to the Emperor about him so that in the case
 of his deathand he is so ill that he may die at any moment, and Dr. Lorrain has 
come from Petersburgno one knows who will inherit his immense fortune, Pierre or 
Prince Vasili. Forty thousand serfs and millions of rubles! I know it all very we
ll for Prince Vasili told me himself. Besides, Cyril Vladimirovich is my mother's
 second cousin. He's also my Bory's godfather," she added, as if she attached no 
importance at all to the fact.  "Prince Vasili arrived in Moscow yesterday. I hea
r he has come on some inspection business," remarked the visitor.  "Yes, but betw
een ourselves," said the princess, "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 dea
r, that was a capital joke," said the count and seeing that the elder visitor was
 not listening, he turned to the young ladies. "I can just imagine what a funny f
igure 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 alw
ays eats well and, in particular, drinks well. "So do come and dine with us!" he 
said.      CHAPTER XI   Silence ensued. The countess looked at her callers, smili
ng affably, but not concealing the fact that she would not be distressed if they 
now rose and took their leave. The visitor's daughter was already smoothing down 
her dress with an inquiring look at her mother, when suddenly from the next room 
were heard the footsteps of boys and girls running to the door and the noise of a
 chair falling over, and a girl of thirteen, hiding something in the folds of her
 short muslin frock, darted in and stopped short in the middle of the room. It wa
s evident that she had not intended her flight to bring her so far. Behind her in
 the doorway appeared a student with a crimson coat collar, an officer of the Gua
rds, a girl of fifteen, and a plump rosyfaced boy in a short jacket.  The count j
umped up and, swaying from side to side, spread his arms wide and threw them roun
d 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 chere, there is a time for everythi
ng," said the countess with feigned severity. "You spoil her, Ilya," she added, t
urning to her husband.  "How do you do, my dear? I wish you many happy returns of
 your name day," said the visitor. "What a charming child," she added, addressing
 the mother.  This blackeyed, widemouthed girl, not pretty but full of lifewith c
hildish bare shoulders which after her run heaved and shook her bodice, with blac
k curls tossed backward, thin bare arms, little legs in lacefrilled drawers, and 
feet in low slipperswas just at that charming age when a girl is no longer a chil
d, 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 mantillanot paying the least a
ttention to her severe remarkand began to laugh. She laughed, and in fragmentary 
sentences tried to explain about a doll which she produced from the folds of her 
frock.  "Do you see?... My doll... Mimi... You see..." was all Natasha managed to
 utter to her everything seemed funny. She leaned against her mother and burst in
to such a loud, ringing fit of laughter that even the prim visitor could not help
 joining in.  "Now then, go away and take your monstrosity with you," said the mo
ther, pushing away her daughter with pretended sternness, and turning to the visi
tor she added "She is my youngest girl."  Natasha, raising her face for a moment 
from her mother's mantilla, glanced up at her through tears of laughter, and agai
n 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?"  Natasha did not like the vi
sitor's tone of condescension to childish things. She did not reply, but looked a
t her seriously.  Meanwhile the younger generation Boris, the officer, Anna Mikha
ylovna's son Nicholas, the undergraduate, the count's eldest son Sonya, the count
's fifteenyearold niece, and little Petya, his youngest boy, had all settled down
 in the drawing room and were obviously trying to restrain within the bounds of d
ecorum the excitement and mirth that shone in all their faces. Evidently in the b
ack rooms, from which they had dashed out so impetuously, the conversation had be
en more amusing than the drawingroom talk of society scandals, the weather, and C
ountess Apraksina. Now and then they glanced at one another, hardly able to suppr
ess 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. Bor
is was tall and fair, and his calm and handsome face had regular, delicate featur
es. Nicholas was short with curly hair and an open expression. Dark hairs were al
ready showing on his upper lip, and his whole face expressed impetuosity and enth
usiasm. Nicholas blushed when he entered the drawing room. He evidently tried to 
find something to say, but failed. Boris on the contrary at once found his footin
g, and related quietly and humorously how he had known that doll Mimi when she wa
s still quite a young lady, before her nose was broken how she had aged during th
e five years he had known her, and how her head had cracked right across the skul
l. Having said this he glanced at Natasha. She turned away from him and glanced a
t her younger brother, who was screwing up his eyes and shaking with suppressed l
aughter, and unable to control herself any longer, she jumped up and rushed from 
the room as fast as her nimble little feet would carry her. Boris did not laugh. 
 "You were meaning to go out, weren't you, Mamma? Do you want the carriage?" he a
sked his mother with a smile.  "Yes, yes, go and tell them to get it ready," she 
answered, returning his smile.  Boris quietly left the room and went in search of
 Natasha. The plump boy ran after them angrily, as if vexed that their program ha
d been disturbed.      CHAPTER XII   The only young people remaining in the drawi
ng room, not counting the young lady visitor and the countess' eldest daughter wh
o was four years older than her sister and behaved already like a grownup person,
 were Nicholas and Sonya, the niece. Sonya was a slender little brunette with a t
ender look in her eyes which were veiled by long lashes, thick black plaits coili
ng twice round her head, and a tawny tint in her complexion and especially in the
 color of her slender but graceful and muscular arms and neck. By the grace of he
r 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, halfgrown kitten wh
ich 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 hers
elf her eyes under their thick long lashes watched her cousin who was going to jo
in 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 a
s they too could, like Natasha and Boris, escape from the drawing room.  "Ah yes,
 my dear," said the count, addressing the visitor and pointing to Nicholas, "his 
friend Boris has become an officer, and so for friendship's sake he is leaving th
e university and me, his old father, and entering the military service, my dear. 
And there was a place and everything waiting for him in the Archives Department! 
Isn't that friendship?" remarked the count in an inquiring tone.  "But they say t
hat war has been declared," replied the visitor.  "They've been saying so a long 
while," said the count, "and they'll say so again and again, and that will be the
 end of it. My dear, there's friendship for you," he repeated. "He's joining the 
hussars."  The visitor, not knowing what to say, shook her head.  "It's not at al
l from friendship," declared Nicholas, flaring up and turning away as if from a s
hameful aspersion. "It is not from friendship at all I simply feel that the army 
is my vocation."  He glanced at his cousin and the young lady visitor and they we
re both regarding him with a smile of approbation.  "Schubert, the colonel of the
 Pavlograd Hussars, is dining with us today. He has been here on leave and is tak
ing Nicholas back with him. It can't be helped!" said the count, shrugging his sh
oulders and speaking playfully of a matter that evidently distressed him.  "I hav
e 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 o
r a government clerk.I don't know how to hide what I feel." As he spoke he kept g
lancing with the flirtatiousness of a handsome youth at Sonya and the young lady 
visitor.  The little kitten, feasting her eyes on him, seemed ready at any moment
 to start her gambols again and display her kittenish nature.  "All right, all ri
ght!" said the old count. "He always flares up! This Buonaparte has turned all th
eir 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 e
lders began talking about Bonaparte. Julie Karagina turned to young Rostov.  "Wha
t 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 t
o her with a coquettish smile, and engaged the smiling Julie in a confidential co
nversation without at all noticing that his involuntary smile had stabbed the hea
rt of Sonya, who blushed and smiled unnaturally. In the midst of his talk he glan
ced round at her. She gave him a passionately angry glance, and hardly able to re
strain her tears and maintain the artificial smile on her lips, she got up and le
ft the room. All Nicholas' animation vanished. He waited for the first pause in t
he conversation, and then with a distressed face left the room to find Sonya.  "H
ow plainly all these young people wear their hearts on their sleeves!" said Anna 
Mikhaylovna, pointing to Nicholas as he went out. "Cousinagedangereux voisinage" 
* she added.        * Cousinhood is a dangerous neighborhood.   "Yes," said the c
ountess when the brightness these young people had brought into the room had vani
shed and as if answering a question no one had put but which was always in her mi
nd, "and how much suffering, how much anxiety one has had to go through that we m
ight 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 fo
r girls and boys."  "It all depends on the bringing up," remarked the visitor.  "
Yes, you're quite right," continued the countess. "Till now I have always, thank 
God, been my children's friend and had their full confidence," said she, repeatin
g the mistake of so many parents who imagine that their children have no secrets 
from them. "I know I shall always be my daughters' first confidante, and that if 
Nicholas, with his impulsive nature, does get into mischief a boy can't help it, 
he will all the same never be like those Petersburg young men."  "Yes, they are s
plendid, splendid youngsters," chimed in the count, who always solved questions t
hat seemed to him perplexing by deciding that everything was splendid. "Just fanc
y wants to be an hussar. What's one to do, my dear?"  "What a charming creature y
our younger girl is," said the visitor "a little volcano!"  "Yes, a regular volca
no," said the count. "Takes after me! And what a voice she has though she's my da
ughter, I tell the truth when I say she'll be a singer, a second Salomoni! We hav
e engaged an Italian to give her lessons."  "Isn't she too young? I have heard th
at it harms the voice to train it at that age."  "Oh no, not at all too young!" r
eplied 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 gentl
e smile, looking at Boris' and went on, evidently concerned with a thought that a
lways 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."  "Ye
s, I was brought up quite differently," remarked the handsome elder daughter, Cou
ntess Vera, with a smile.  But the smile did not enhance Vera's beauty as smiles 
generally do on the contrary it gave her an unnatural, and therefore unpleasant, 
expression. Vera was goodlooking, not at all stupid, quick at learning, was well 
brought up, and had a pleasant voice what she said was true and appropriate, yet,
 strange to say, everyonethe visitors and countess aliketurned to look at her as 
if wondering why she had said it, and they all felt awkward.  "People are always 
too clever with their eldest children and try to make something exceptional of th
em," said the visitor.  "What's the good of denying it, my dear? Our dear countes
s was too clever with Vera," said the count. "Well, what of that? She's turned ou
t splendidly all the same," he added, winking at Vera.  The guests got up and too
k their leave, promising to return to dinner.  "What manners! I thought they woul
d never go," said the countess, when she had seen her guests out.      CHAPTER XI
II   When Natasha ran out of the drawing room she only went as far as the conserv
atory. There she paused and stood listening to the conversation in the drawing ro
om, waiting for Boris to come out. She was already growing impatient, and stamped
 her foot, ready to cry at his not coming at once, when she heard the young man's
 discreet steps approaching neither quickly nor slowly. At this Natasha dashed sw
iftly among the flower tubs and hid there.  Boris paused in the middle of the roo
m, looked round, brushed a little dust from the sleeve of his uniform, and going 
up to a mirror examined his handsome face. Natasha, very still, peered out from h
er ambush, waiting to see what he would do. He stood a little while before the gl
ass, 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 
Sonya, flushed, in tears, and muttering angrily, came in at the other door. Natas
ha checked her first impulse to run out to her, and remained in her hiding place,
 watchingas under an invisible capto see what went on in the world. She was exper
iencing a new and peculiar pleasure. Sonya, muttering to herself, kept looking ro
und toward the drawingroom door. It opened and Nicholas came in.  "Sonya, what is
 the matter with you? How can you?" said he, running up to her.  "It's nothing, n
othing leave me alone!" sobbed Sonya.  "Ah, I know what it is."  "Well, if you do
, so much the better, and you can go back to her!"  "Sooonya! Look here! How can 
you torture me and yourself like that, for a mere fancy?" said Nicholas taking he
r hand.  Sonya did not pull it away, and left off crying. Natasha, not stirring a
nd scarcely breathing, watched from her ambush with sparkling eyes. "What will ha
ppen 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, Sonya!" He drew her to hi
m and kissed her.  "Oh, how nice," thought Natasha and when Sonya and Nicholas ha
d gone out of the conservatory she followed and called Boris to her.  "Boris, com
e here," said she with a sly and significant look. "I have something to tell you.
 Here, here!" and she led him into the conservatory to the place among the tubs w
here she had been hiding.  Boris followed her, smiling.  "What is the something?"
 asked he.  She grew confused, glanced round, and, seeing the doll she had thrown
 down on one of the tubs, picked it up.  "Kiss the doll," said she.  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 thre
w down the doll. "Closer, closer!" she whispered.  She caught the young officer b
y 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 h
im from under her brows, smiling, and almost crying from excitement.  Boris blush
ed.  "How funny you are!" he said, bending down to her and blushing still more, b
ut he waited and did nothing.  Suddenly she jumped up onto a tub to be higher tha
n he, embraced him so that both her slender bare arms clasped him above his neck,
 and, tossing back her hair, kissed him full on the lips.  Then she slipped down 
among the flowerpots on the other side of the tubs and stood, hanging her head.  
"Natasha," he said, "you know that I love you, but..."  "You are in love with me?
" Natasha broke in.  "Yes, I am, but please don't let us do like that.... In anot
her four years... then I will ask for your hand."  Natasha considered.  "Thirteen
, fourteen, fifteen, sixteen," she counted on her slender little fingers. "All ri
ght! 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 inv
ite to dinner all who came "to congratulate." The countess wished to have a tetea
tete talk with the friend of her childhood, Princess Anna Mikhaylovna, whom she h
ad not seen properly since she returned from Petersburg. Anna Mikhaylovna, with h
er tearworn but pleasant face, drew her chair nearer to that of the countess.  "W
ith you I will be quite frank," said Anna Mikhaylovna. "There are not many left o
f us old friends! That's why I so value your friendship."  Anna Mikhaylovna looke
d at Vera and paused. The countess pressed her friend's hand.  "Vera," she said t
o her eldest daughter who was evidently not a favorite, "how is it you have so li
ttle tact? Don't you see you are not wanted here? Go to the other girls, or..."  
The handsome Vera smiled contemptuously but did not seem at all hurt.  "If you ha
d told me sooner, Mamma, I would have gone," she replied as she rose to go to her
 own room.  But as she passed the sitting room she noticed two couples sitting, o
ne pair at each window. She stopped and smiled scornfully. Sonya was sitting clos
e to Nicholas who was copying out some verses for her, the first he had ever writ
ten. Boris and Natasha were at the other window and ceased talking when Vera ente
red. Sonya and Natasha looked at Vera with guilty, happy faces.  It was pleasant 
and touching to see these little girls in love but apparently the sight of them r
oused no pleasant feeling in Vera.  "How often have I asked you not to take my th
ings?" she said. "You have a room of your own," and she took the inkstand from Ni
cholas.  "In a minute, in a minute," he said, dipping his pen.  "You always manag
e to do things at the wrong time," continued Vera. "You came rushing into the dra
wing room so that everyone felt ashamed of you."  Though what she said was quite 
just, perhaps for that very reason no one replied, and the four simply looked at 
one another. She lingered in the room with the inkstand in her hand.  "And at you
r age what secrets can there be between Natasha and Boris, or between you two? It
's all nonsense!"  "Now, Vera, what does it matter to you?" said Natasha in defen
se, speaking very gently.  She seemed that day to be more than ever kind and affe
ctionate to everyone.  "Very silly," said Vera. "I am ashamed of you. Secrets ind
eed!"  "All have secrets of their own," answered Natasha, getting warmer. "We don
't interfere with you and Berg."  "I should think not," said Vera, "because there
 can never be anything wrong in my behavior. But I'll just tell Mamma how you are
 behaving with Boris."  "Natalya Ilynichna behaves very well to me," remarked Bor
is. "I have nothing to complain of."  "Don't, Boris! You are such a diplomat that
 it is really tiresome," said Natasha in a mortified voice that trembled slightly
. She used the word "diplomat," which was just then much in vogue among the child
ren, in the special sense they attached to it. "Why does she bother me?" And she 
added, turning to Vera, "You'll never understand it, because you've never loved a
nyone. You have no heart! You are a Madame de Genlis and nothing more" this nickn
ame, bestowed on Vera by Nicholas, was considered very stinging, "and your greate
st 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 be
fore visitors..."  "Well, now you've done what you wanted," put in Nicholas"said 
unpleasant things to everyone and upset them. Let's go to the nursery."  All four
, like a flock of scared birds, got up and left the room.  "The unpleasant things
 were said to me," remarked Vera, "I said none to anyone."  "Madame de Genlis! Ma
dame de Genlis!" shouted laughing voices through the door.  The handsome Vera, wh
o produced such an irritating and unpleasant effect on everyone, smiled and, evid
ently unmoved by what had been said to her, went to the looking glass and arrange
d 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 t
hat at the rate we are living our means won't last long? It's all the Club and hi
s 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 man
aged everything. I often wonder at you, Annettehow at your age you can rush off a
lone in a carriage to Moscow, to Petersburg, to those ministers and great people,
 and know how to deal with them all! It's quite astonishing. How did you get thin
gs 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 cer
tain pride. "That lawsuit taught me much. When I want to see one of those big peo
ple I write a note 'Princess SoandSo desires an interview with So andSo,' and the
n I take a cab and go myself two, three, or four timestill I get what I want. I d
on'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 Prince Vasili. He was so kind. He at once agreed to everyth
ing, and put the matter before the Emperor," said Princess Anna Mikhaylovna enthu
siastically, quite forgetting all the humiliation she had endured to gain her end
.  "Has Prince Vasili aged much?" asked the countess. "I have not seen him since 
we acted together at the Rumyantsovs' theatricals. I expect he has forgotten me. 
He paid me attentions in those days," said the countess, with a smile.  "He is ju
st the same as ever," replied Anna Mikhaylovna, "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 an
d a very kind relation. But, Nataly, you know my love for my son I would do anyth
ing for his happiness! And my affairs are in such a bad way that my position is n
ow a terrible one," continued Anna Mikhaylovna, sadly, dropping her voice. "My wr
etched lawsuit takes all I have and makes no progress. Would you believe it, I ha
ve literally not a penny and don't know how to equip Boris." She took out her han
dkerchief and began to cry. "I need five hundred rubles, and have only one twenty
fiveruble note. I am in such a state.... My only hope now is in Count Cyril Vladi
mirovich Bezukhov. If he will not assist his godsonyou know he is Bory's godfathe
rand allow him something for his maintenance, all my trouble will have been throw
n away.... I shall not be able to equip him."  The countess' eyes filled with tea
rs and she pondered in silence.  "I often think, though, perhaps it's a sin," sai
d the princess, "that here lives Count Cyril Vladimirovich Bezukhov so rich, all 
alone... that tremendous fortune... and what is his life worth? It's a burden to 
him, and Bory's life is only just beginning...."  "Surely he will leave something
 to Boris," said the countess.  "Heaven only knows, my dear! These rich grandees 
are so selfish. Still, I will take Boris and go to see him at once, and I shall s
peak 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 Pet
ersburg lady who knows how to make the most of time, Anna Mikhaylovna sent someon
e to call her son, and went into the anteroom with him.  "Goodby, my dear," said 
she to the countess who saw her to the door, and added in a whisper so that her s
on should not hear, "Wish me good luck."  "Are you going to Count Cyril Vladimiro
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 ho
use, you know, and danced with the children. Be sure to invite him, my dear. We w
ill see how Taras distinguishes himself today. He says Count Orlov never gave suc
h a dinner as ours will be!"      CHAPTER XV   "My dear Boris," said Princess Ann
a Mikhaylovna to her son as Countess Rostova's carriage in which they were seated
 drove over the straw covered street and turned into the wide courtyard of Count 
Cyril Vladimirovich Bezukhov's house. "My dear Boris," said the mother, drawing h
er hand from beneath her old mantle and laying it timidly and tenderly on her son
's arm, "be affectionate and attentive to him. Count Cyril Vladimirovich is your 
godfather after all, your future depends on him. Remember that, my dear, and be n
ice to him, as you so well know how to be."  "If only I knew that anything beside
s humiliation would come of it..." answered her son coldly. "But I have promised 
and will do it for your sake."  Although the hall porter saw someone's carriage s
tanding at the entrance, after scrutinizing the mother and son who without asking
 to be announced had passed straight through the glass porch between the rows of 
statues in niches and looking significantly at the lady's old cloak, he asked whe
ther they wanted the count or the princesses, and, hearing that they wished to se
e the count, said his excellency was worse today, and that his excellency was not
 receiving anyone.  "We may as well go back," said the son in French.  "My dear!"
 exclaimed his mother imploringly, again laying her hand on his arm as if that to
uch might soothe or rouse him.  Boris said no more, but looked inquiringly at his
 mother without taking off his cloak.  "My friend," said Anna Mikhaylovna in gent
le tones, addressing the hall porter, "I know Count Cyril Vladimirovich is very i
ll... that's why I have come... I am a relation. I shall not disturb him, my frie
nd... I only need see Prince Vasili Sergeevich he is staying here, is he not? Ple
ase announce me."  The hall porter sullenly pulled a bell that rang upstairs, and
 turned away.  "Princess Drubetskaya to see Prince Vasili Sergeevich," he called 
to a footman dressed in knee breeches, shoes, and a swallowtail coat, who ran dow
nstairs and looked over from the halfway landing.  The mother smoothed the folds 
of her dyed silk dress before a large Venetian mirror in the wall, and in her tro
ddendown shoes briskly ascended the carpeted stairs.  "My dear," she said to her 
son, once more stimulating him by a touch, "you promised me!"  The son, lowering 
his eyes, followed her quietly.  They entered the large hall, from which one of t
he 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 el
derly footman who had sprung up as they entered, the bronze handle of one of the 
doors turned and Prince Vasili came outwearing a velvet coat with a single star o
n his breast, as was his custom when at hometaking leave of a goodlooking, darkha
ired man. This was the celebrated Petersburg doctor, Lorrain.  "Then it is certai
n?" said the prince.  "Prince, humanum est errare, * but..." replied the doctor, 
swallowing his r's, and pronouncing the Latin words with a French accent.        
* To err is human.   "Very well, very well..."  Seeing Anna Mikhaylovna and her s
on, Prince Vasili dismissed the doctor with a bow and approached them silently an
d with a look of inquiry. The son noticed that an expression of profound sorrow s
uddenly 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 thoug
h unaware of the cold offensive look fixed on her.  Prince Vasili stared at her a
nd at Boris questioningly and perplexed. Boris bowed politely. Prince Vasili with
out acknowledging the bow turned to Anna Mikhaylovna, answering her query by a mo
vement of the head and lips indicating very little hope for the patient.  "Is it 
possible?" exclaimed Anna Mikhaylovna. "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 f
orget what you have done for us."  "I am glad I was able to do you a service, my 
dear Anna Mikhaylovna," said Prince Vasili, arranging his lace frill, and in tone
 and manner, here in Moscow to Anna Mikhaylovna whom he had placed under an oblig
ation, assuming an air of much greater importance than he had done in Petersburg 
at Anna Scherer's reception.  "Try to serve well and show yourself worthy," added
 he, addressing Boris with severity. "I am glad.... Are you here on leave?" he we
nt on in his usual tone of indifference.  "I am awaiting orders to join my new re
giment, your excellency," replied Boris, betraying neither annoyance at the princ
e's brusque manner nor a desire to enter into conversation, but speaking so quiet
ly and respectfully that the prince gave him a searching glance.  "Are you living
 with your mother?"  "I am living at Countess Rostova's," replied Boris, again ad
ding, "your excellency."  "That is, with Ilya Rostov who married Nataly Shinshina
," said Anna Mikhaylovna.  "I know, I know," answered Prince Vasili in his monoto
nous voice. "I never could understand how Nataly made up her mind to marry that u
nlicked 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 Rostov deserved this censure, but asked him not t
o 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 hop
e," replied the prince.  "And I should so like to thank Uncle once for all his ki
ndness to me and Boris. He is his godson," she added, her tone suggesting that th
is fact ought to give Prince Vasili much satisfaction.  Prince Vasili became thou
ghtful and frowned. Anna Mikhaylovna saw that he was afraid of finding in her a r
ival for Count Bezukhov's fortune, and hastened to reassure him.  "If it were not
 for my sincere affection and devotion to Uncle," said she, uttering the word wit
h peculiar assurance and unconcern, "I know his character noble, upright... but y
ou see he has no one with him except the young princesses.... They are still youn
g...." She bent her head and continued in a whisper "Has he performed his final d
uty, Prince? How priceless are those last moments! It can make things no worse, a
nd 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 th
e prince understood her, and also understood, as he had done at Anna Pavlovna's, 
that it would be difficult to get rid of Anna Mikhaylovna.  "Would not such a mee
ting be too trying for him, dear Anna Mikhaylovna?" said he. "Let us wait until e
vening. The doctors are expecting a crisis."  "But one cannot delay, Prince, at s
uch a moment! Consider that the welfare of his soul is at stake. Ah, it is awful 
the duties of a Christian..."  A door of one of the inner rooms opened and one of
 the princesses, the count's niece, entered with a cold, stern face. The length o
f her body was strikingly out of proportion to her short legs. Prince Vasili turn
ed to her.  "Well, how is he?"  "Still the same but what can you expect, this noi
se..." said the princess, looking at Anna Mikhaylovna as at a stranger.  "Ah, my 
dear, I hardly knew you," said Anna Mikhaylovna with a happy smile, ambling light
ly up to the count's niece. "I have come, and am at your service to help you nurs
e 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 ro
om as Anna Mikhaylovna took off her gloves and, occupying the position she had co
nquered, settled down in an armchair, inviting Prince Vasili to take a seat besid
e her.  "Boris," she said to her son with a smile, "I shall go in to see the coun
t, my uncle but you, my dear, had better go to Pierre meanwhile and don't forget 
to give him the Rostovs' invitation. They ask him to dinner. I suppose he won't g
o?" 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 sh
rugged his shoulders. A footman conducted 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 f
or riotous conduct and sent to Moscow. The story told about him at Count Rostov's
 was true. Pierre had taken part in tying a policeman to a bear. He had now been 
for some days in Moscow and was staying as usual at his father's house. Though he
 expected that the story of his escapade would be already known in Moscow and tha
t the ladies about his fatherwho were never favorably disposed toward himwould ha
ve used it to turn the count against him, he nevertheless on the day of his arriv
al went to his father's part of the house. Entering the drawing room, where the p
rincesses spent most of their time, he greeted the ladies, two of whom were sitti
ng at embroidery frames while a third read aloud. It was the eldest who was readi
ngthe one who had met Anna Mikhaylovna. The two younger ones were embroidering bo
th were rosy and pretty and they differed only in that one had a little mole on h
er lip which made her much prettier. Pierre was received as if he were a corpse o
r a leper. The eldest princess paused in her reading and silently stared at him w
ith frightened eyes the second assumed precisely the same expression while the yo
ungest, 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 lau
ghing, stooped as if trying to make out the pattern.  "How do you do, cousin?" sa
id 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 unabash
ed.  "The count is suffering physically and mentally, and apparently you have don
e your best to increase his mental sufferings."  "Can I see the count?" Pierre ag
ain asked.  "Hm.... If you wish to kill him, to kill him outright, you can see hi
m... Olga, go and see whether Uncle's beef tea is readyit is almost time," she ad
ded, giving Pierre to understand that they were busy, and busy making his father 
comfortable, while evidently he, Pierre, was only busy causing him annoyance.  Ol
ga went out. Pierre stood looking at the sisters then he bowed and said "Then I w
ill go to my rooms. You will let me know when I can see him."  And he left the ro
om, followed by the low but ringing laughter of the sister with the mole.  Next d
ay Prince Vasili had arrived and settled in the count's house. He sent for Pierre
 and said to him "My dear fellow, if you are going to behave here as you did in P
etersburg, 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 bee
n disturbed and had spent the whole time in his rooms upstairs.  When Boris appea
red at his door Pierre was pacing up and down his room, stopping occasionally at 
a corner to make menacing gestures at the wall, as if running a sword through an 
invisible foe, and glaring savagely over his spectacles, and then again resuming 
his walk, muttering indistinct words, shrugging his shoulders and gesticulating. 
 "England is done for," said he, scowling and pointing his finger at someone unse
en. "Mr. Pitt, as a traitor to the nation and to the rights of man, is sentenced 
to..." But before Pierrewho at that moment imagined himself to be Napoleon in per
son and to have just effected the dangerous crossing of the Straits of Dover and 
captured Londoncould pronounce Pitt's sentence, he saw a wellbuilt and handsome y
oung officer entering his room. Pierre paused. He had left Moscow when Boris was 
a boy of fourteen, and had quite forgotten him, but in his usual impulsive and he
arty 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 alway
s disturbing him," answered Pierre, trying to remember who this young man was.  B
oris felt that Pierre did not recognize him but did not consider it necessary to 
introduce himself, and without experiencing the least embarrassment looked Pierre
 straight in the face.  "Count Rostov asks you to come to dinner today," said he,
 after a considerable pause which made Pierre feel uncomfortable.  "Ah, Count Ros
tov!" exclaimed Pierre joyfully. "Then you are his son, Ilya? Only fancy, I didn'
t know you at first. Do you remember how we went to the Sparrow Hills with Madame
 Jacquot?... It's such an age..."  "You are mistaken," said Boris deliberately, w
ith a bold and slightly sarcastic smile. "I am Boris, son of Princess Anna Mikhay
lovna Drubetskaya. Rostov, the father, is Ilya, and his son is Nicholas. I never 
knew any Madame Jacquot."  Pierre shook his head and arms as if attacked by mosqu
itoes or bees.  "Oh dear, what am I thinking about? I've mixed everything up. One
 has so many relatives in Moscow! So you are Boris? Of course. Well, now we know 
where we are. And what do you think of the Boulogne expedition? The English will 
come off badly, you know, if Napoleon gets across the Channel. I think the expedi
tion is quite feasible. If only Villeneuve doesn't make a mess of things!"  Boris
 knew nothing about the Boulogne expedition he did not read the papers and it was
 the first time he had heard Villeneuve's name.  "We here in Moscow are more occu
pied with dinner parties and scandal than with politics," said he in his quiet ir
onical tone. "I know nothing about it and have not thought about it. Moscow is ch
iefly busy with gossip," he continued. "Just now they are talking about you and y
our father."  Pierre smiled in his goodnatured way as if afraid for his companion
's sake that the latter might say something he would afterwards regret. But Boris
 spoke distinctly, clearly, and dryly, looking straight into Pierre's eyes.  "Mos
cow 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 flushi
ng slightly, but not changing his tone or attitude, "it must seem to you that eve
ryone is trying to get something out of the rich man?"  "So it does," thought Pie
rre.  "But I just wish to say, to avoid misunderstandings, that you are quite mis
taken 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 re
gard myself as a relation of his, and neither I nor my mother would ever ask or t
ake 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 elbow in his quick, clum
sy way, and, blushing far more than Boris, began to speak with a feeling of mingl
ed shame and vexation.  "Well, this is strange! Do you suppose I... who could thi
nk?... 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, putt
ing Pierre at ease instead of being put at ease by him, "but I hope I have not of
fended you. I always make it a rule to speak out... Well, what answer am I to tak
e? Will you come to dinner at the Rostovs'?"  And Boris, having apparently reliev
ed himself of an onerous duty and extricated himself from an awkward situation an
d placed another in it, became quite pleasant again.  "No, but I say," said Pierr
e, calming down, "you are a wonderful fellow! What you have just said is good, ve
ry 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 sp
lendid. I am very glad to have made your acquaintance. It's queer," he added afte
r 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 kno
w, I have not once been in to see the count. He has not sent for me.... I am sorr
y 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 advanta
ges and disadvantages of the Boulogne expedition.  A footman came in to summon Bo
risthe princess was going. Pierre, in order to make Boris' better acquaintance, p
romised to come to dinner, and warmly pressing his hand looked affectionately ove
r his spectacles into Boris' eyes. After he had gone Pierre continued pacing up a
nd 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 
resolute young man.  As often happens in early youth, especially to one who leads
 a lonely life, he felt an unaccountable tenderness for this young man and made u
p his mind that they would be friends.  Prince Vasili saw the princess off. She h
eld a handkerchief to her eyes and her face was tearful.  "It is dreadful, dreadf
ul!" 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 prep
are him!... Adieu, Prince! May God support you..."  "Adieu, ma bonne," answered P
rince Vasili turning away from her.  "Oh, he is in a dreadful state," said the mo
ther to her son when they were in the carriage. "He hardly recognizes anybody."  
"I don't understand, Mammawhat is his attitude to Pierre?" asked the son.  "The w
ill 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 poo
r!"  "Well, that is hardly a sufficient reason, Mamma..."  "Oh, Heaven! How ill h
e is!" exclaimed the mother.      CHAPTER XVII   After Anna Mikhaylovna had drive
n off with her son to visit Count Cyril Vladimirovich Bezukhov, Countess Rostova 
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 k
ept her waiting some minutes. "Don't you wish to serve me? Then I'll find you ano
ther place."  The countess was upset by her friend's sorrow and humiliating pover
ty, and was therefore out of sorts, a state of mind which with her always found e
xpression in calling her maid "my dear" and speaking to her with exaggerated poli
teness.  "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 usu
al.  "Well, little countess? What a saute of game au madere we are to have, my de
ar! I tasted it. The thousand rubles I paid for Taras were not illspent. He is wo
rth 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 li
kely," she added with a smile. "Well, you see, Count, I want some money."  Her fa
ce became sad.  "Oh, little countess!"... and the count began bustling to get out
 his pocketbook.  "I want a great deal, Count! I want five hundred rubles," and t
aking out her cambric handkerchief she began wiping her husband's waistcoat.  "Ye
s, immediately, immediately! Hey, who's there?" he called out in a tone only used
 by persons who are certain that those they call will rush to obey the summons. "
Send Dmitri to me!"  Dmitri, a man of good family who had been brought up in the 
count's house and now managed all his affairs, stepped softly into the room.  "Th
is is what I want, my dear fellow," said the count to the deferential young man w
ho had entered. "Bring me..." he reflected a moment, "yes, bring me seven hundred
 rubles, yes! But mind, don't bring me such tattered and dirty notes as last time
, but nice clean ones for the countess."  "Yes, Dmitri, clean ones, please," said
 the countess, sighing deeply.  "When would you like them, your excellency?" aske
d Dmitri. "Allow me to inform you... But, don't be uneasy," he added, noticing th
at the count was beginning to breathe heavily and quickly which was always a sign
 of approaching anger. "I was forgetting... Do you wish it brought at once?"  "Ye
s, yes just so! Bring it. Give it to the countess."  "What a treasure that Dmitri
 is," added the count with a smile when the young man had departed. "There is nev
er any 'impossible' with him. That's a thing I hate! Everything is possible."  "A
h, money, Count, money! How much sorrow it causes in the world," said the countes
s. "But I am in great need of this sum."  "You, my little countess, are a notorio
us spendthrift," said the count, and having kissed his wife's hand he went back t
o 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 tab
le, and Anna Mikhaylovna noticed that something was agitating her.  "Well, my dea
r?" 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..."  "An
nette, for heaven's sake don't refuse me," the countess began, with a blush that 
looked very strange on her thin, dignified, elderly face, and she took the money 
from under the handkerchief.  Anna Mikhaylovna instantly guessed her intention an
d stooped to be ready to embrace the countess at the appropriate moment.  "This i
s for Boris from me, for his outfit."  Anna Mikhaylovna was already embracing her
 and weeping. The countess wept too. They wept because they were friends, and bec
ause they were kindhearted, and because theyfriends from childhoodhad to think ab
out such a base thing as money, and because their youth was over.... But those te
ars were pleasant to them both.      CHAPTER XVIII   Countess Rostova, with her d
aughters and a large number of guests, was already seated in the drawing room. Th
e count took the gentlemen into his study and showed them his choice collection o
f Turkish pipes. From time to time he went out to ask "Hasn't she come yet?" They
 were expecting Marya Dmitrievna Akhrosimova, known in society as le terrible dra
gon, a lady distinguished not for wealth or rank, but for common sense and frank 
plainness of speech. Marya 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 with
out exception respected and feared her.  In the count's room, which was full of t
obacco smoke, they talked of war that had been announced in a manifesto, and abou
t the recruiting. None of them had yet seen the manifesto, but they all knew it h
ad appeared. The count sat on the sofa between two guests who were smoking and ta
lking. He neither smoked nor talked, but bending his head first to one side and t
hen to the other watched the smokers with evident pleasure and listened to the co
nversation of his two neighbors, whom he egged on against each other.  One of the
m was a sallow, cleanshaven civilian with a thin and wrinkled face, already growi
ng 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. T
his was an old bachelor, Shinshin, a cousin of the countess', a man with "a sharp
 tongue" as they said in Moscow society. He seemed to be condescending to his com
panion. The latter, a fresh, rosy officer of the Guards, irreproachably washed, b
rushed, 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. Thi
s was Lieutenant Berg, an officer in the Semenov regiment with whom Boris was to 
travel to join the army, and about whom Natasha had, teased her elder sister Vera
, speaking of Berg as her "intended." The count sat between them and listened att
entively. His favorite occupation when not playing boston, a card game he was ver
y fond of, was that of listener, especially when he succeeded in setting two loqu
acious talkers at one another.  "Well, then, old chap, mon tres honorable Alphons
e Karlovich," said Shinshin, laughing ironically and mixing the most ordinary Rus
sian expressions with the choicest French phraseswhich was a peculiarity of his s
peech. "Vous comptez vous faire des rentes sur l'etat * you want to make somethin
g out of your company?"        * You expect to make an income out of the governme
nt.   "No, Peter Nikolaevich I only want to show that in the cavalry the advantag
es are far less than in the infantry. Just consider my own position now, Peter Ni
kolaevich..."  Berg always spoke quietly, politely, and with great precision. His
 conversation always related entirely to himself he would remain calm and silent 
when the talk related to any topic that had no direct bearing on himself. He coul
d remain silent for hours without being at all put out of countenance himself or 
making others uncomfortable, but as soon as the conversation concerned himself he
 would begin to talk circumstantially and with evident satisfaction.  "Consider m
y position, Peter Nikolaevich. Were I in the cavalry I should get not more than t
wo hundred rubles every four months, even with the rank of lieutenant but as it i
s I receive two hundred and thirty," said he, looking at Shinshin and the count w
ith 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 Nikolaevich, b
y exchanging into the Guards I shall be in a more prominent position," continued 
Berg, "and vacancies occur much more frequently in the Foot Guards. Then just thi
nk what can be done with two hundred and thirty rubles! I even manage to put a li
ttle aside and to send something to my father," he went on, emitting a smoke ring
.  "La balance y est... * A German knows how to skin a flint, as the proverb says
," remarked Shinshin, moving his pipe to the other side of his mouth and winking 
at the count.         * So that squares matters.   The count burst out laughing. 
The other guests seeing that Shinshin was talking came up to listen. Berg, oblivi
ous of irony or indifference, continued to explain how by exchanging into the Gua
rds he had already gained a step on his old comrades of the Cadet Corps how in wa
rtime the company commander might get killed and he, as senior in the company, mi
ght easily succeed to the post how popular he was with everyone in the regiment, 
and how satisfied his father was with him. Berg evidently enjoyed narrating all t
his, and did not seem to suspect that others, too, might have their own interests
. But all he said was so prettily sedate, and the naivete of his youthful egotism
 was so obvious, that he disarmed his hearers.  "Well, my boy, you'll get along w
herever you gofoot or horsethat I'll warrant," said Shinshin, patting him on the 
shoulder and taking his feet off the sofa.  Berg smiled joyously. The count, by h
is guests, went into the drawing room.  It was just the moment before a big dinne
r when the assembled guests, expecting the summons to zakuska, * avoid engaging i
n any long conversation but think it necessary to move about and talk, in order t
o show that they are not at all impatient for their food. The host and hostess lo
ok toward the door, and now and then glance at one another, and the visitors try 
to guess from these glances who, or what, they are waiting forsome important rela
tion who has not yet arrived, or a dish that is not yet ready.        * Hors d'oe
uvres.   Pierre had come just at dinnertime and was sitting awkwardly in the midd
le of the drawing room on the first chair he had come across, blocking the way fo
r everyone. The countess tried to make him talk, but he went on naively looking a
round through his spectacles as if in search of somebody and answered all her que
stions in monosyllables. He was in the way and was the only one who did not notic
e the fact. Most of the guests, knowing of the affair with the bear, looked with 
curiosity at this big, stout, quiet man, wondering how such a clumsy, modest fell
ow could have played such a prank on a policeman.  "You have only lately arrived?
" the countess asked him.  "Oui, madame," replied he, looking around him.  "You h
ave not yet seen my husband?"  "Non, madame." He smiled quite inappropriately.  "
You have been in Paris recently, I believe? I suppose it's very interesting."  "V
ery interesting."  The countess exchanged glances with Anna Mikhaylovna. The latt
er understood that she was being asked to entertain this young man, and sitting d
own 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 o
ne another. "The Razumovskis... It was charming... You are very kind... Countess 
Apraksina..." was heard on all sides. The countess rose and went into the ballroo
m.  "Marya Dmitrievna?" came her voice from there.  "Herself," came the answer in
 a rough voice, and Marya Dmitrievna entered the room.  All the unmarried ladies 
and even the married ones except the very oldest rose. Marya Dmitrievna paused at
 the door. Tall and stout, holding high her fiftyyearold head with its gray curls
, she stood surveying the guests, and leisurely arranged her wide sleeves as if r
olling them up. Marya 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,
 fulltoned voice which drowned all others. "Well, you old sinner," she went on, t
urning to the count who was kissing her hand, "you're feeling dull in Moscow, I d
aresay? 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 loo
k for husbands for them whether you like it or not...."  "Well," said she, "how's
 my Cossack?" Marya Dmitrievna always called Natasha a Cossack and she stroked th
e child's arm as she came up fearless and gay to kiss her hand. "I know she's a s
camp of a girl, but I like her."  She took a pair of pearshaped ruby earrings fro
m her huge reticule and, having given them to the rosy Natasha, who beamed with t
he pleasure of her saint'sday fete, turned away at once and addressed herself to 
Pierre.  "Eh, eh, friend! Come here a bit," said she, assuming a soft high tone o
f voice. "Come here, my friend..." and she ominously tucked up her sleeves still 
higher. Pierre approached, looking at her in a childlike way through his spectacl
es.  "Come nearer, come nearer, friend! I used to be the only one to tell your fa
ther the truth when he was in favor, and in your case it's my evident duty." She 
paused. All were silent, expectant of what was to follow, for this was clearly on
ly a prelude.  "A fine lad! My word! A fine lad!... His father lies on his deathb
ed and he amuses himself setting a policeman astride a bear! For shame, sir, for 
shame! It would be better if you went to the war."  She turned away and gave her 
hand to the count, who could hardly keep from laughing.  "Well, I suppose it is t
ime we were at table?" said Marya Dmitrievna.  The count went in first with Marya
 Dmitrievna, the countess followed on the arm of a colonel of hussars, a man of i
mportance to them because Nicholas was to go with him to the regiment then came A
nna Mikhaylovna with Shinshin. Berg gave his arm to Vera. The smiling Julie Karag
ina went in with Nicholas. After them other couples followed, filling the whole d
ining 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 galle
ry, 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 vi
sitors, and the soft steps of the footmen. At one end of the table sat the counte
ss with Marya Dmitrievna on her right and Anna Mikhaylovna on her left, the other
 lady visitors were farther down. At the other end sat the count, with the hussar
 colonel on his left and Shinshin and the other male visitors on his right. Midwa
y down the long table on one side sat the grownup young people Vera beside Berg, 
and Pierre beside Boris and on the other side, the children, tutors, and governes
ses. From behind the crystal decanters and fruit vases the count kept glancing at
 his wife and her tall cap with its lightblue ribbons, and busily filled his neig
hbors' glasses, not neglecting his own. The countess in turn, without omitting he
r duties as hostess, threw significant glances from behind the pineapples at her 
husband whose face and bald head seemed by their redness to contrast more than us
ual with his gray hair. At the ladies' end an even chatter of voices was heard al
l the time, at the men's end the voices sounded louder and louder, especially tha
t 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 tende
r smiles was saying to Vera that love is not an earthly but a heavenly feeling. B
oris was telling his new friend Pierre who the guests were and exchanging glances
 with Natasha, who was sitting opposite. Pierre spoke little but examined the new
 faces, and ate a great deal. Of the two soups he chose turtle with savory pattie
s and went on to the game without omitting a single dish or one of the wines. The
se latter the butler thrust mysteriously forward, wrapped in a napkin, from behin
d the next man's shoulders and whispered "Dry Madeira"... "Hungarian"... or "Rhin
e wine" as the case might be. Of the four crystal glasses engraved with the count
's monogram that stood before his plate, Pierre held out one at random and drank 
with enjoyment, gazing with everincreasing amiability at the other guests. Natash
a, who sat opposite, was looking at Boris as girls of thirteen look at the boy th
ey are in love with and have just kissed for the first time. Sometimes that same 
look fell on Pierre, and that funny lively little girl's look made him inclined t
o laugh without knowing why.  Nicholas sat at some distance from Sonya, beside Ju
lie Karagina, to whom he was again talking with the same involuntary smile. Sonya
 wore a company smile but was evidently tormented by jealousy now she turned pale
, now blushed and strained every nerve to overhear what Nicholas and Julie were s
aying to one another. The governess kept looking round uneasily as if preparing t
o resent any slight that might be put upon the children. The German tutor was try
ing to remember all the dishes, wines, and kinds of dessert, in order to send a f
ull description of the dinner to his people in Germany and he felt greatly offend
ed when the butler with a bottle wrapped in a napkin passed him by. He frowned, t
rying 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.      CHA
PTER XIX   At the men's end of the table the talk grew more and more animated. Th
e colonel told them that the declaration of war had already appeared in Petersbur
g and that a copy, which he had himself seen, had that day been forwarded by cour
ier to the commander in chief.  "And why the deuce are we going to fight Bonapart
e?" remarked Shinshin. "He has stopped Austria's cackle and I fear it will be our
 turn next."  The colonel was a stout, tall, plethoric German, evidently devoted 
to the service and patriotically Russian. He resented Shinshin's remark.  "It is 
for the reasson, my goot sir," said he, speaking with a German accent, "for the r
easson zat ze Emperor knows zat. He declares in ze manifessto zat he cannot fiew 
wiz indifference ze danger vreatening Russia and zat ze safety and dignity of ze 
Empire as vell as ze sanctity of its alliances..." he spoke this last word with p
articular emphasis as if in it lay the gist of the matter.  Then with the unerrin
g official memory that characterized him he repeated from the opening words of th
e manifesto  ... and the wish, which constitutes the Emperor's sole and absolute 
aimto establish peace in Europe on firm foundationshas now decided him to despatc
h part of the army abroad and to create a new condition for the attainment of tha
t purpose.  "Zat, my dear sir, is vy..." he concluded, drinking a tumbler of wine
 with dignity and looking to the count for approval.  "Connaissezvous le Proverbe
 * 'Jerome, Jerome, do not roam, but turn spindles at home!'?" said Shinshin, puc
kering his brows and smiling. "Cela nous convient a merveille.*2 Suvorov nowhe kn
ew what he was about yet they beat him a plate couture,*3 and where are we to fin
d Suvorovs now? Je vous demande un peu,"*4 said he, continually changing from Fre
nch to Russian.        *Do you know the proverb?       *2 That suits us down to t
he ground.       *3 Hollow.       *4 I just ask you that.   "Ve must vight to the
 last trrop of our plood!" said the colonel, thumping the table "and ve must tie 
for our Emperor, and zen all vill pe vell. And ve must discuss it as little as po
oossible"... he dwelt particularly on the word possible... "as pooossible," he en
ded, 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 d
iscussed had turned from his partner with eyes and ears intent on the colonel.  "
I am quite of your opinion," replied Nicholas, flaming up, turning his plate roun
d and moving his wineglasses about with as much decision and desperation as thoug
h he were at that moment facing some great danger. "I am convinced that we Russia
ns must die or conquer," he concluded, consciousas were othersafter the words wer
e uttered that his remarks were too enthusiastic and emphatic for the occasion an
d were therefore awkward.  "What you said just now was splendid!" said his partne
r Julie.  Sonya trembled all over and blushed to her ears and behind them and dow
n 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?" Marya Dmitrievna's deep voice suddenly inq
uired 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 Fre
nch 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, 
Marya Dmitrievna? My son is going."  "I have four sons in the army but still I do
n't fret. It is all in God's hands. You may die in your bed or God may spare you 
in a battle," replied Marya Dmitrievna's deep voice, which easily carried the who
le 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," Natash
a's little brother was saying "I know you won't ask!"  "I will," replied Natasha.
  Her face suddenly flushed with reckless and joyous resolution. She half rose, b
y a glance inviting Pierre, who sat opposite, to listen to what was coming, and t
urning to her mother  "Mamma!" rang out the clear contralto notes of her childish
 voice, audible the whole length of the table.  "What is it?" asked the countess,
 startled but seeing by her daughter's face that it was only mischief, she shook 
a finger at her sternly with a threatening and forbidding movement of her head.  
The conversation was hushed.  "Mamma! What sweets are we going to have?" and Nata
sha's voice sounded still more firm and resolute.  The countess tried to frown, b
ut could not. Marya Dmitrievna shook her fat finger.  "Cossack!" she said threate
ningly.  Most of the guests, uncertain how to regard this sally, looked at the el
ders.  "You had better take care!" said the countess.  "Mamma! What sweets are we
 going to have?" Natasha again cried boldly, with saucy gaiety, confident that he
r prank would be taken in good part.  Sonya and fat little Petya doubled up with 
laughter.  "You see! I have asked," whispered Natasha to her little brother and t
o Pierre, glancing at him again.  "Ice pudding, but you won't get any," said Mary
a Dmitrievna.  Natasha saw there was nothing to be afraid of and so she braved ev
en Marya Dmitrievna.  "Marya Dmitrievna! What kind of ice pudding? I don't like i
ce cream."  "Carrot ices."  "No! What kind, Marya Dmitrievna? What kind?" she alm
ost screamed "I want to know!"  Marya Dmitrievna and the countess burst out laugh
ing, and all the guests joined in. Everyone laughed, not at Marya Dmitrievna's an
swer but at the incredible boldness and smartness of this little girl who had dar
ed to treat Marya Dmitrievna in this fashion.  Natasha only desisted when she had
 been told that there would be pineapple ice. Before the ices, champagne was serv
ed 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 anoth
er. Again the footmen rushed about, chairs scraped, and in the same order in whic
h 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, holdin
g his cards fanwise, kept himself with difficulty from dropping into his usual af
terdinner nap, and laughed at everything. The young people, at the countess' inst
igation, gathered round the clavichord and harp. Julie by general request played 
first. After she had played a little air with variations on the harp, she joined 
the other young ladies in begging Natasha and Nicholas, who were noted for their 
musical talent, to sing something. Natasha, who was treated as though she were gr
own up, was evidently very proud of this but at the same time felt shy.  "What sh
all we sing?" she said.  "'The Brook,'" suggested Nicholas.  "Well, then, let's b
e quick. Boris, come here," said Natasha. "But where is Sonya?"  She looked round
 and seeing that her friend was not in the room ran to look for her.  Running int
o Sonya's room and not finding her there, Natasha ran to the nursery, but Sonya w
as not there either. Natasha concluded that she must be on the chest in the passa
ge. The chest in the passage was the place of mourning for the younger female gen
eration in the Rostov household. And there in fact was Sonya lying face downward 
on Nurse's dirty feather bed on the top of the chest, crumpling her gauzy pink dr
ess under her, hiding her face with her slender fingers, and sobbing so convulsiv
ely that her bare little shoulders shook. Natasha's face, which had been so radia
ntly happy all that saint's day, suddenly changed her eyes became fixed, and then
 a shiver passed down her broad neck and the corners of her mouth drooped.  "Sony
a! What is it? What is the matter?... Oo... Oo... Oo...!" And Natasha's large mou
th widened, making her look quite ugly, and she began to wail like a baby without
 knowing why, except that Sonya was crying. Sonya tried to lift her head to answe
r but could not, and hid her face still deeper in the bed. Natasha wept, sitting 
on the bluestriped feather bed and hugging her friend. With an effort Sonya sat u
p and began wiping her eyes and explaining.  "Nicholas is going away in a week's 
time, his... papers... have come... he told me himself... but still I should not 
cry," and she showed a paper she held in her handwith the verses Nicholas had wri
tten, "still, I should not cry, but you can't... no one can understand... what a 
soul he has!"  And she began to cry again because he had such a noble soul.  "It'
s all very well for you... I am not envious... I love you and Boris also," she we
nt on, gaining a little strength "he is nice... there are no difficulties in your
 way.... But Nicholas is my cousin... one would have to... the Metropolitan himse
lf... and even then it can't be done. And besides, if she tells Mamma" Sonya look
ed upon the countess as her mother and called her so "that I am spoiling Nicholas
' career and am heartless and ungrateful, while truly... God is my witness," and 
she made the sign of the cross, "I love her so much, and all of you, only Vera...
 And what for? What have I done to her? I am so grateful to you that I would will
ingly sacrifice everything, only I have nothing...."  Sonya could not continue, a
nd again hid her face in her hands and in the feather bed. Natasha began consolin
g her, but her face showed that she understood all the gravity of her friend's tr
ouble.  "Sonya," she suddenly exclaimed, as if she had guessed the true reason of
 her friend's sorrow, "I'm sure Vera 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 ung
rateful, and that Mamma would never allow him to marry me, but that he'll marry J
ulie. You see how he's been with her all day... Natasha, what have I done to dese
rve it?..."  And again she began to sob, more bitterly than before. Natasha lifte
d her up, hugged her, and, smiling through her tears, began comforting her.  "Son
ya, don't believe her, darling! Don't believe her! Do you remember how we and Nic
holas, all three of us, talked in the sitting room after supper? Why, we settled 
how everything was to be. I don't quite remember how, but don't you remember that
 it could all be arranged and how nice it all was? There's Uncle Shinshin's broth
er has married his first cousin. And we are only second cousins, you know. And Bo
ris says it is quite possible. You know I have told him all about it. And he is s
o clever and so good!" said Natasha. "Don't you cry, Sonya, dear love, darling So
nya!" and she kissed her and laughed. "Vera's spiteful never mind her! And all wi
ll 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 smoo
thing her frock and hair.  "Really, truly!" answered Natasha, pushing in a crisp 
lock that had strayed from under her friend's plaits.  Both laughed.  "Well, let'
s go and sing 'The Brook.'"  "Come along!"  "Do you know, that fat Pierre who sat
 opposite me is so funny!" said Natasha, stopping suddenly. "I feel so happy!"  A
nd she set off at a run along the passage.  Sonya, shaking off some down which cl
ung to her and tucking away the verses in the bosom of her dress close to her bon
y little chest, ran after Natasha down the passage into the sitting room with flu
shed face and light, joyous steps. At the visitors' request the young people sang
 the quartette, "The Brook," with which everyone was delighted. Then Nicholas san
g a song he had just learned      At nighttime in the moon's fair glow      How s
weet, as fancies wander free,    To feel that in this world there's one      Who 
still is thinking but of thee!     That while her fingers touch the harp      Waf
ting sweet music o'er the lea,    It is for thee thus swells her heart,      Sigh
ing 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 you
ng people began to get ready to dance in the large hall, and the sound of the fee
t and the coughing of the musicians were heard from the gallery.   Pierre was sit
ting in the drawingroom where Shinshin had engaged him, as a man recently returne
d from abroad, in a political conversation in which several others joined but whi
ch 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 te
acher..." And lowering his big arm he offered it to the slender little girl.  Whi
le 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 
grownup man, who had been abroad. She was sitting in a conspicuous place and talk
ing to him like a grownup 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 wh
en 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.  Natasha blushed and laughed.  "We
ll, really, Mamma! Why should you? What is there to be surprised at?"   In the mi
dst of the third ecossaise there was a clatter of chairs being pushed back in the
 sitting room where the count and Marya Dmitrievna had been playing cards with th
e majority of the more distinguished and older visitors. They now, stretching the
mselves after sitting so long, and replacing their purses and pocketbooks, entere
d the ballroom. First came Marya Dmitrievna and the count, both with merry counte
nances. The count, with playful ceremony somewhat in ballet style, offered his be
nt 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 ecossaise was ended, he clappe
d his hands to the musicians and shouted up to their gallery, addressing the firs
t violin  "Semen! Do you know the Daniel Cooper?"  This was the count's favorite 
dance, which he had danced in his youth. Strictly speaking, Daniel Cooper was one
 figure of the anglaise.  "Look at Papa!" shouted Natasha to the whole company, a
nd quite forgetting that she was dancing with a grownup partner she bent her curl
y head to her knees and made the whole room ring with her laughter.  And indeed e
verybody in the room looked with a smile of pleasure at the jovial old gentleman,
 who standing beside his tall and stout partner, Marya Dmitrievna, curved his arm
s, beat time, straightened his shoulders, turned out his toes, tapped gently with
 his foot, and, by a smile that broadened his round face more and more, prepared 
the onlookers for what was to follow. As soon as the provocatively gay strains of
 Daniel Cooper somewhat resembling those of a merry peasant dance began to sound,
 all the doorways of the ballroom were suddenly filled by the domestic serfsthe m
en on one side and the women on the otherwho with beaming faces had come to see t
heir master making merry.  "Just look at the master! A regular eagle he is!" loud
ly remarked the nurse, as she stood in one of the doorways.  The count danced wel
l and knew it. But his partner could not and did not want to dance well. Her enor
mous figure stood erect, her powerful arms hanging down she had handed her reticu
le to the countess, and only her stern but handsome face really joined in the dan
ce. What was expressed by the whole of the count's plump figure, in Marya Dmitrie
vna found expression only in her more and more beaming face and quivering nose. B
ut if the count, getting more and more into the swing of it, charmed the spectato
rs by the unexpectedness of his adroit maneuvers and the agility with which he ca
pered about on his light feet, Marya Dmitrievna produced no less impression by sl
ight exertionsthe least effort to move her shoulders or bend her arms when turnin
g, or stamp her footwhich everyone appreciated in view of her size and habitual s
everity. The dance grew livelier and livelier. The other couples could not attrac
t a moment's attention to their own evolutions and did not even try to do so. All
 were watching the count and Marya Dmitrievna. Natasha kept pulling everyone by s
leeve or dress, urging them to "look at Papa!" though as it was they never took t
heir eyes off the couple. In the intervals of the dance the count, breathing deep
ly, waved and shouted to the musicians to play faster. Faster, faster, and faster
 lightly, more lightly, and yet more lightly whirled the count, flying round Mary
a Dmitrievna, now on his toes, now on his heels until, turning his partner round 
to her seat, he executed the final pas, raising his soft foot backwards, bowing h
is perspiring head, smiling and making a wide sweep with his arm, amid a thunder 
of applause and laughter led by Natasha. Both partners stood still, breathing hea
vily and wiping their faces with their cambric handkerchiefs.  "That's how we use
d to dance in our time, ma chere," said the count.  "That was a Daniel Cooper!" e
xclaimed Marya Dmitrievna, tucking up her sleeves and puffing heavily.      CHAPT
ER XXI   While in the Rostovs' ballroom the sixth anglaise was being danced, to a
 tune in which the weary musicians blundered, and while tired footmen and cooks w
ere getting the supper, Count Bezukhov had a sixth stroke. The doctors pronounced
 recovery impossible. After a mute confession, communion was administered to the 
dying man, preparations made for the sacrament of unction, and in his house there
 was the bustle and thrill of suspense usual at such moments. Outside the house, 
beyond the gates, a group of undertakers, who hid whenever a carriage drove up, w
aited in expectation of an important order for an expensive funeral. The Military
 Governor of Moscow, who had been assiduous in sending aidesdecamp to inquire aft
er the count's health, came himself that evening to bid a last farewell to the ce
lebrated grandee of Catherine's court, Count Bezukhov.  The magnificent reception
 room was crowded. Everyone stood up respectfully when the Military Governor, hav
ing stayed about half an hour alone with the dying man, passed out, slightly ackn
owledging their bows and trying to escape as quickly as possible from the glances
 fixed on him by the doctors, clergy, and relatives of the family. Prince Vasili,
 who had grown thinner and paler during the last few days, escorted him to the do
or, repeating something to him several times in low tones.  When the Military Gov
ernor had gone, Prince Vasili sat down all alone on a chair in the ballroom, cros
sing one leg high over the other, leaning his elbow on his knee and covering his 
face with his hand. After sitting so for a while he rose, and, looking about him 
with frightened eyes, went with unusually hurried steps down the long corridor le
ading to the back of the house, to the room of the eldest princess.  Those who we
re in the dimly lit reception room spoke in nervous whispers, and, whenever anyon
e went into or came from the dying man's room, grew silent and gazed with eyes fu
ll 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 pri
est to a lady who had taken a seat beside him and was listening naively to his wo
rds.  "I wonder, is it not too late to administer unction?" asked the lady, addin
g 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 ove
r the thin grizzled strands of hair combed back across his bald head.  "Who was t
hat? The Military Governor himself?" was being asked at the other side of the roo
m. "How younglooking he is!"  "Yes, and he is over sixty. I hear the count no lon
ger recognizes anyone. They wished to administer the sacrament of unction."  "I k
new someone who received that sacrament seven times."  The second princess had ju
st come from the sickroom with her eyes red from weeping and sat down beside Dr. 
Lorrain, who was sitting in a graceful pose under a portrait of Catherine, leanin
g 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 feel
s as if one were in the country."  "Yes, indeed," replied the princess with a sig
h. "So he may have something to drink?"  Lorrain considered.  "Has he taken his m
edicine?"  "Yes."  The doctor glanced at his watch.  "Take a glass of boiled wate
r and put a pinch of cream of tartar," and he indicated with his delicate fingers
 what he meant by a pinch.  "Dere has neffer been a gase," a German doctor was sa
ying to an aidedecamp, "dat one liffs after de sird stroke."  "And what a wellpre
served man he was!" remarked the aidedecamp. "And who will inherit his wealth?" h
e added in a whisper.  "It von't go begging," replied the German with a smile.  E
veryone again looked toward the door, which creaked as the second princess went i
n 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 G
erman, addressing Lorrain in French which he pronounced badly.  Lorrain, pursing 
up his lips, waved a severely negative finger before his nose.  "Tonight, not lat
er," said he in a low voice, and he moved away with a decorous smile of selfsatis
faction at being able clearly to understand and state the patient's condition.   
Meanwhile Prince Vasili had opened the door into the princess' room.  In this roo
m 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 sm
all pieces of furniture, whatnots, cupboards, and little tables. The quilt of a h
igh, white feather bed was just visible behind a screen. A small dog began to bar
k.  "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 cove
red with varnish.  "Has anything happened?" she asked. "I am so terrified."  "No,
 there is no change. I only came to have a talk about business, Catiche," * mutte
red the prince, seating himself wearily on the chair she had just vacated. "You h
ave made the place warm, I must say," he remarked. "Well, sit down let's have a t
alk."        *Catherine.   "I thought perhaps something had happened," she said w
ith her unchanging stonily severe expression and, sitting down opposite the princ
e, she prepared to listen.  "I wished to get a nap, mon cousin, but I can't."  "W
ell, my dear?" said Prince Vasili, taking her hand and bending it downwards as wa
s his habit.  It was plain that this "well?" referred to much that they both unde
rstood without naming.  The princess, who had a straight, rigid body, abnormally 
long for her legs, looked directly at Prince Vasili with no sign of emotion in he
r prominent gray eyes. Then she shook her head and glanced up at the icons with a
 sigh. This might have been taken as an expression of sorrow and devotion, or of 
weariness and hope of resting before long. Prince Vasili understood it as an expr
ession 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 Vasili said no more and his cheeks began to twitch nervou
sly, now on one side, now on the other, giving his face an unpleasant expression 
which was never to be seen on it in a drawing room. His eyes too seemed strange a
t one moment they looked impudently sly and at the next glanced round in alarm.  
The princess, holding her little dog on her lap with her thin bony hands, looked 
attentively into Prince Vasili's eyes evidently resolved not to be the first to b
reak silence, if she had to wait till morning.  "Well, you see, my dear princess 
and cousin, Catherine Semenovna," continued Prince Vasili, returning to his theme
, apparently not without an inner struggle "at such a moment as this one must thi
nk 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 wit
hout moving, and with the same dull expression.  "And then of course my family ha
s also to be considered," Prince Vasili went on, testily pushing away a little ta
ble without looking at her. "You know, Catiche, that weyou three sisters, Mamonto
v, and my wifeare the count's only direct heirs. I know, I know how hard it is fo
r 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 sh
ould be called."  Prince Vasili looked questioningly at the princess, but could n
ot make out whether she was considering what he had just said or whether she was 
simply looking at him.  "There is one thing I constantly pray God to grant, mon c
ousin," 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 P
rince Vasili impatiently, rubbing his bald head and angrily pulling back toward h
im the little table that he had pushed away. "But... in short, the fact is... you
 know yourself that last winter the count made a will by which he left all his pr
operty, not to us his direct heirs, but to Pierre."  "He has made wills enough!" 
quietly remarked the princess. "But he cannot leave the estate to Pierre. Pierre 
is illegitimate."  "But, my dear," said Prince Vasili suddenly, clutching the lit
tle table and becoming more animated and talking more rapidly "what if a letter h
as 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 wou
ld be granted?..."  The princess smiled as people do who think they know more abo
ut the subject under discussion than those they are talking with.  "I can tell yo
u more," continued Prince Vasili, seizing her hand, "that letter was written, tho
ugh it was not sent, and the Emperor knew of it. The only question is, has it bee
n destroyed or not? If not, then as soon as all is over," and Prince Vasili sighe
d 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 w
ill certainly be granted. Pierre will get everything as the legitimate son."  "An
d our share?" asked the princess smiling ironically, as if anything might happen,
 only not that.  "But, my poor Catiche, it is as clear as daylight! He will then 
be the legal heir to everything and you won't get anything. You must know, my dea
r, whether the will and letter were written, and whether they have been destroyed
 or not. And if they have somehow been overlooked, you ought to know where they a
re, and must find them, because..."  "What next?" the princess interrupted, smili
ng sardonically and not changing the expression of her eyes. "I am a woman, and y
ou think we are all stupid but I know this an illegitimate son cannot inherit... 
un batard!" * she added, as if supposing that this translation of the word would 
effectively prove to Prince Vasili the invalidity of his contention.        * A b
astard.   "Well, really, Catiche! Can't you understand! You are so intelligent, h
ow is it you don't see that if the count has written a letter to the Emperor begg
ing him to recognize Pierre as legitimate, it follows that Pierre will not be Pie
rre but will become Count Bezukhov, and will then inherit everything under the wi
ll? And if the will and letter are not destroyed, then you will have nothing but 
the consolation of having been dutiful et tout ce qui s'ensuit! * That's certain.
"        * And all that follows therefrom.   "I know the will was made, but I als
o 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," beg
an Prince Vasili impatiently, "I came here not to wrangle with you, but to talk a
bout your interests as with a kinswoman, a good, kind, true relation. And I tell 
you for the tenth time that if the letter to the Emperor and the will in Pierre's
 favor are among the count's papers, then, my dear girl, you and your sisters are
 not heiresses! If you don't believe me, then believe an expert. I have just been
 talking to Dmitri Onufrich" the family solicitor "and he says the same."  At thi
s 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 pass
ed through such transitions as she herself evidently did not expect.  "That would
 be a fine thing!" said she. "I never wanted anything and I don't now."  She push
ed the little dog off her lap and smoothed her dress.  "And this is gratitudethis
 is recognition for those who have sacrificed everything for his sake!" she cried
. "It's splendid! Fine! I don't want anything, Prince."  "Yes, but you are not th
e only one. There are your sisters..." replied Prince Vasili.  But the princess d
id not listen to him.  "Yes, I knew it long ago but had forgotten. I knew that I 
could expect nothing but meanness, deceit, envy, intrigue, and ingratitudethe bla
ckest ingratitudein this house..."  "Do you or do you not know where that will is
?" insisted Prince Vasili, his cheeks twitching more than ever.  "Yes, I was a fo
ol! I still believed in people, loved them, and sacrificed myself. But only the b
ase, the vile succeed! I know who has been intriguing!"  The princess wished to r
ise, but the prince held her by the hand. She had the air of one who has suddenly
 lost faith in the whole human race. She gave her companion an angry glance.  "Th
ere is still time, my dear. You must remember, Catiche, that it was all done casu
ally in a moment of anger, of illness, and was afterwards forgotten. Our duty, my
 dear, is to rectify his mistake, to ease his last moments by not letting him com
mit this injustice, and not to let him die feeling that he is rendering unhappy t
hose who..."  "Who sacrificed everything for him," chimed in the princess, who wo
uld again have risen had not the prince still held her fast, "though he never cou
ld appreciate it. No, mon cousin," she added with a sigh, "I shall always remembe
r that in this world one must expect no reward, that in this world there is neith
er honor nor justice. In this world one has to be cunning and cruel."  "Now come,
 come! Be reasonable. I know your excellent heart."  "No, I have a wicked heart."
  "I know your heart," repeated the prince. "I value your friendship and wish you
 to have as good an opinion of me. Don't upset yourself, and let us talk sensibly
 while there is still time, be it a day or be it but an hour.... Tell me all you 
know about the will, and above all where it is. You must know. We will take it at
 once and show it to the count. He has, no doubt, forgotten it and will wish to d
estroy it. You understand that my sole desire is conscientiously to carry out his
 wishes that is my only reason for being here. I came simply to help him and you.
"  "Now I see it all! I know who has been intriguingI know!" cried the princess. 
 "That's not the point, my dear."  "It's that protege of yours, that sweet Prince
ss Drubetskaya, that Anna Mikhaylovna whom I would not take for a housemaid... th
e infamous, vile woman!"  "Do not let us lose any time..."  "Ah, don't talk to me
! Last winter she wheedled herself in here and told the count such vile, disgrace
ful things about us, especially about SophieI can't repeat themthat it made the c
ount 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 lastwhy did you not tell me about it sooner?"  "It's in the inlaid 
portfolio that he keeps under his pillow," said the princess, ignoring his questi
on. "Now I know! Yes if I have a sin, a great sin, it is hatred of that vile woma
n!" almost shrieked the princess, now quite changed. "And what does she come worm
ing herself in here for? But I will give her a piece of my mind. The time will co
me!"      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 necessary to accompany him was driving into the
 court of Count Bezukhov's house. As the wheels rolled softly over the straw bene
ath the windows, Anna Mikhaylovna, having turned with words of comfort to her com
panion, realized that he was asleep in his corner and woke him up. Rousing himsel
f, Pierre followed Anna Mikhaylovna out of the carriage, and only then began to t
hink of the interview with his dying father which awaited him. He noticed that th
ey had not come to the front entrance but to the back door. While he was getting 
down from the carriage steps two men, who looked like tradespeople, ran hurriedly
 from the entrance and hid in the shadow of the wall. Pausing for a moment, Pierr
e noticed several other men of the same kind hiding in the shadow of the house on
 both sides. But neither Anna Mikhaylovna nor the footman nor the coachman, who c
ould not help seeing these people, took any notice of them. "It seems to be all r
ight," Pierre concluded, and followed Anna Mikhaylovna. She hurriedly ascended th
e narrow dimly lit stone staircase, calling to Pierre, who was lagging behind, to
 follow. Though he did not see why it was necessary for him to go to the count at
 all, still less why he had to go by the back stairs, yet judging by Anna Mikhayl
ovna's air of assurance and haste, Pierre concluded that it was all absolutely ne
cessary. Halfway up the stairs they were almost knocked over by some men who, car
rying pails, came running downstairs, their boots clattering. These men pressed c
lose to the wall to let Pierre and Anna Mikhaylovna pass and did not evince the l
east surprise at seeing them there.  "Is this the way to the princesses' apartmen
ts?" asked Anna Mikhaylovna of one of them.  "Yes," replied a footman in a bold l
oud voice, as if anything were now permissible "the door to the left, ma'am."  "P
erhaps the count did not ask for me," said Pierre when he reached the landing. "I
'd better go to my own room."  Anna Mikhaylovna paused and waited for him to come
 up.  "Ah, my friend!" she said, touching his arm as she had done 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 o
ver his spectacles.  "Ah, my dear friend! Forget the wrongs that may have been do
ne you. Think that he is your father... perhaps in the agony of death." She sighe
d. "I have loved you like a son from the first. Trust yourself to me, Pierre. I s
hall not forget your interests."  Pierre did not understand a word, but the convi
ction that all this had to be grew stronger, and he meekly followed Anna Mikhaylo
vna who was already opening a door.  This door led into a back anteroom. An old m
an, 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 th
ese rooms. Anna Mikhaylovna, addressing a maid who was hurrying past with a decan
ter on a tray as "my dear" and "my sweet," asked about the princess' health and t
hen led Pierre along a stone passage. The first door on the left led into the pri
ncesses' apartments. The maid with the decanter in her haste had not closed the d
oor everything in the house was done in haste at that time, and Pierre and Anna M
ikhaylovna in passing instinctively glanced into the room, where Prince Vasili an
d the eldest princess were sitting close together talking. Seeing them pass, Prin
ce Vasili drew back with obvious impatience, while the princess jumped up and wit
h a gesture of desperation slammed the door with all her might.  This action was 
so unlike her usual composure and the fear depicted on Prince Vasili's face so ou
t of keeping with his dignity that Pierre stopped and glanced inquiringly over hi
s spectacles at his guide. Anna Mikhaylovna evinced no surprise, she only smiled 
faintly and sighed, as if to say that this was no more than she had expected.  "B
e a man, my friend. I will look after your interests," said she in reply to his l
ook, 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 de
cided that all these things had to be. From the passage they went into a large, d
imly 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 th
is room there now stood an empty bath, and water had been spilled on the carpet. 
They were met by a deacon with a censer and by a servant who passed out on tiptoe
 without heeding them. They went into the reception room familiar to Pierre, with
 two Italian windows opening into the conservatory, with its large bust and full 
length portrait of Catherine the Great. The same people were still sitting here i
n almost the same positions as before, whispering to one another. All became sile
nt and turned to look at the pale tearworn Anna Mikhaylovna as she entered, and a
t the big stout figure of Pierre who, hanging his head, meekly followed her.  Ann
a Mikhaylovna's face expressed a consciousness that the decisive moment had arriv
ed. With the air of a practical Petersburg lady she now, keeping Pierre close bes
ide 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 wa
s assured. Casting a rapid glance at all those in the room and noticing the count
's confessor there, she glided up to him with a sort of amble, not exactly bowing
 yet seeming to grow suddenly smaller, and respectfully received the blessing fir
st of one and then of another priest.  "God be thanked that you are in time," sai
d she to one of the priests "all we relatives have been in such anxiety. This you
ng man is the count's son," she added more softly. "What a terrible moment!"  Hav
ing said this she went up to the doctor.  "Dear doctor," said she, "this young ma
n is the count's son. Is there any hope?"  The doctor cast a rapid glance upwards
 and silently shrugged his shoulders. Anna Mikhaylovna with just the same movemen
t raised her shoulders and eyes, almost closing the latter, sighed, and moved awa
y from the doctor to Pierre. To him, in a particularly respectful and tenderly sa
d 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 watchi
ng and it creaked very slightly as she disappeared behind it.  Pierre, having mad
e up his mind to obey his monitress implicitly, moved toward the sofa she had ind
icated. As soon as Anna Mikhaylovna had disappeared he noticed that the eyes of a
ll in the room turned to him with something more than curiosity and sympathy. He 
noticed that they whispered to one another, casting significant looks at him with
 a kind of awe and even servility. A deference such as he had never before receiv
ed was shown him. A strange lady, the one who had been talking to the priests, ro
se and offered him her seat an aidedecamp picked up and returned a glove Pierre h
ad dropped the doctors became respectfully silent as he passed by, and moved to m
ake 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 wh
o were not even in his way but all at once he felt that this would not do, and th
at tonight he was a person obliged to perform some sort of awful rite which every
one expected of him, and that he was therefore bound to accept their services. He
 took the glove in silence from the aidedecamp, and sat down in the lady's chair,
 placing his huge hands symmetrically on his knees in the naive attitude of an Eg
yptian statue, and decided in his own mind that all was as it should be, and that
 in order not to lose his head and do foolish things he must not act on his own i
deas tonight, but must yield himself up entirely to the will of those who were gu
iding him.  Not two minutes had passed before Prince Vasili with head erect majes
tically entered the room. He was wearing his long coat with three stars on his br
east. He seemed to have grown thinner since the morning his eyes seemed larger th
an usual when he glanced round and noticed Pierre. He went up to him, took his ha
nd a thing he never used to do, and drew it downwards as if wishing to ascertain 
whether it was firmly fixed on.  "Courage, courage, my friend! He has asked to se
e you. That is well!" and he turned to go.  But Pierre thought it necessary to as
k "How is..." and hesitated, not knowing whether it would be proper to call the d
ying man "the count," yet ashamed to call him "father."  "He had another stroke a
bout half an hour ago. Courage, my friend..."  Pierre's mind was in such a confus
ed state that the word "stroke" suggested to him a blow from something. He looked
 at Prince Vasili in perplexity, and only later grasped that a stroke was an atta
ck of illness. Prince Vasili said something to Lorrain in passing and went throug
h 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 s
ome servants also went in at the door. Through that door was heard a noise of thi
ngs being moved about, and at last Anna Mikhaylovna, still with the same expressi
on, pale but resolute in the discharge of duty, ran out and touching Pierre light
ly on the arm said  "The divine mercy is inexhaustible! Unction is about to be ad
ministered. Come."  Pierre went in at the door, stepping on the soft carpet, and 
noticed that the strange lady, the aidedecamp, and some of the servants, all foll
owed him in, as if there were now no further need for permission to enter that ro
om.      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 t
he columns, with a high silkcurtained mahogany bedstead on one side and on the ot
her an immense case containing icons, was brightly illuminated with red light lik
e a Russian church during evening service. Under the gleaming icons stood a long 
invalid chair, and in that chair on snowywhite smooth pillows, evidently freshly 
changed, Pierre sawcovered to the waist by a bright green quiltthe familiar, maje
stic figure of his father, Count Bezukhov, with that gray mane of hair above his 
broad forehead which reminded one of a lion, and the deep characteristically nobl
e wrinkles of his handsome, ruddy face. He lay just under the icons his large thi
ck hands outside the quilt. Into the right hand, which was lying palm downwards, 
a wax taper had been thrust between forefinger and thumb, and an old servant, ben
ding over from behind the chair, held it in position. By the chair stood the prie
sts, their long hair falling over their magnificent glittering vestments, with li
ghted tapers in their hands, slowly and solemnly conducting the service. A little
 behind them stood the two younger princesses holding handkerchiefs to their eyes
, and just in front of them their eldest sister, Catiche, with a vicious and dete
rmined look steadily fixed on the icons, as though declaring to all that she coul
d not answer for herself should she glance round. Anna Mikhaylovna, with a meek, 
sorrowful, and allforgiving expression on her face, stood by the door near the st
range lady. Prince Vasili in front of the door, near the invalid chair, a wax tap
er in his left hand, was leaning his left arm on the carved back of a velvet chai
r he had turned round for the purpose, and was crossing himself with his right ha
nd, turning his eyes upward each time he touched his forehead. His face wore a ca
lm look of piety and resignation to the will of God. "If you do not understand th
ese sentiments," he seemed to be saying, "so much the worse for you!"  Behind him
 stood the aidedecamp, the doctors, and the menservants the men and women had sep
arated as in church. All were silently crossing themselves, and the reading of th
e 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 Mi
khaylovna, with an air of importance that showed that she felt she quite knew wha
t 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 h
imself with the hand that held the taper.  Sophie, the rosy, laughterloving, youn
gest princess with the mole, watched him. She smiled, hid her face in her handker
chief, and remained with it hidden for awhile then looking up and seeing Pierre s
he again began to laugh. She evidently felt unable to look at him without laughin
g, but could not resist looking at him so to be out of temptation she slipped qui
etly behind one of the columns. In the midst of the service the voices of the pri
ests 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 Mikhaylovn
a stepped forward and, stooping over the dying man, beckoned to Lorrain from behi
nd her back. The French doctor held no taper he was leaning against one of the co
lumns in a respectful attitude implying that he, a foreigner, in spite of all dif
ferences of faith, understood the full importance of the rite now being performed
 and even approved of it. He now approached the sick man with the noiseless step 
of one in full vigor of life, with his delicate white fingers raised from the gre
en quilt the hand that was free, and turning sideways felt the pulse and reflecte
d a moment. The sick man was given something to drink, there was a stir around hi
m, then the people resumed their places and the service continued. During this in
terval Pierre noticed that Prince Vasili left the chair on which he had been lean
ing, andwith an air which intimated that he knew what he was about and if others 
did not understand him it was so much the worse for themdid not go up to the dyin
g man, but passed by him, joined the eldest princess, and moved with her to the s
ide of the room where stood the high bedstead with its silken hangings. On leavin
g the bed both Prince Vasili and the princess passed out by a back door, but retu
rned to their places one after the other before the service was concluded. Pierre
 paid no more attention to this occurrence than to the rest of what went on, havi
ng made up his mind once for all that what he saw happening around him that eveni
ng was in some way essential.  The chanting of the service ceased, and the voice 
of the priest was heard respectfully congratulating the dying man on having recei
ved the sacrament. The dying man lay as lifeless and immovable as before. Around 
him everyone began to stir steps were audible and whispers, among which Anna Mikh
aylovna's was the most distinct.  Pierre heard her say  "Certainly he must be mov
ed 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 reddishyel
low face with its gray manewhich, though he saw other faces as well, he had not l
ost sight of for a single moment during the whole service. He judged by the cauti
ous movements of those who crowded round the invalid chair that they had lifted t
he 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 underneat
h. Here!" exclaimed different voices and the heavy breathing of the bearers and t
he 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 Mikhaylovna, passed
 the young man he caught a momentary glimpse between their heads and backs of the
 dying man's high, stout, uncovered chest and powerful shoulders, raised by those
 who were holding him under the armpits, and of his gray, curly, leonine head. Th
is head, with its remarkably broad brow and cheekbones, its handsome, sensual mou
th, and its cold, majestic expression, was not disfigured by the approach of deat
h. It was the same as Pierre remembered it three months before, when the count ha
d sent him to Petersburg. But now this head was swaying helplessly with the uneve
n 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." Pie
rre went with her to the bed on which the sick man had been laid in a stately pos
e in keeping with the ceremony just completed. He lay with his head propped high 
on the pillows. His hands were symmetrically placed on the green silk quilt, the 
palms downward. When Pierre came up the count was gazing straight at him, but wit
h a look the significance of which could not be understood by mortal man. Either 
this look meant nothing but that as long as one has eyes they must look somewhere
, or it meant too much. Pierre hesitated, not knowing what to do, and glanced inq
uiringly at his guide. Anna Mikhaylovna made a hurried sign with her eyes, glanci
ng at the sick man's hand and moving her lips as if to send it a kiss. Pierre, ca
refully 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 sin
gle 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 in
dicated a chair that stood beside the bed. Pierre obediently sat down, his eyes a
sking if he were doing right. Anna Mikhaylovna nodded approvingly. Again Pierre f
ell into the naively symmetrical pose of an Egyptian statue, evidently distressed
 that his stout and clumsy body took up so much room and doing his utmost to look
 as small as possible. He looked at the count, who still gazed at the spot where 
Pierre's face had been before he sat down. Anna Mikhaylovna indicated by her atti
tude her consciousness of the pathetic importance of these last moments of meetin
g between the father and son. This lasted about two minutes, which to Pierre seem
ed an hour. Suddenly the broad muscles and lines of the count's face began to twi
tch. The twitching increased, the handsome mouth was drawn to one side only now d
id Pierre realize how near death his father was, and from that distorted mouth is
sued an indistinct, hoarse sound. Anna Mikhaylovna looked attentively at the sick
 man's eyes, trying to guess what he wanted she pointed first to Pierre, then to 
some drink, then named Prince Vasili in an inquiring whisper, then pointed to the
 quilt. The eyes and face of the sick man showed impatience. He made an effort to
 look at the servant who stood constantly at the head of the bed.  "Wants to turn
 on the other side," whispered the servant, and got up to turn the count's heavy 
body toward the wall.  Pierre rose to help him.  While the count was being turned
 over, one of his arms fell back helplessly and he made a fruitless effort to pul
l it forward. Whether he noticed the look of terror with which Pierre regarded th
at lifeless arm, or whether some other thought flitted across his dying brain, at
 any rate he glanced at the refractory arm, at Pierre's terrorstricken 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 o
f this smile Pierre felt an unexpected quivering in his breast and a tickling in 
his nose, and tears dimmed his eyes. The sick man was turned on to his side with 
his face to the wall. He sighed.  "He is dozing," said Anna Mikhaylovna, observin
g 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 roo
m except Prince Vasili and the eldest princess, who were sitting under the portra
it 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 someth
ing as she whispered  "I can't bear the sight of that woman."  "Catiche has had t
ea served in the small drawing room," said Prince Vasili to Anna Mikhaylovna. "Go
 and take something, my poor Anna Mikhaylovna, or you will not hold out."  To Pie
rre he said nothing, merely giving his arm a sympathetic squeeze below the should
er. Pierre went with Anna Mikhaylovna into the small drawing room.  "There is not
hing so refreshing after a sleepless night as a cup of this delicious Russian tea
," Lorrain was saying with an air of restrained animation as he stood sipping tea
 from a delicate Chinese handleless cup before a table on which tea and a cold su
pper were laid in the small circular room. Around the table all who were at Count
 Bezukhov's house that night had gathered to fortify themselves. Pierre well reme
mbered this small circular drawing room with its mirrors and little tables. Durin
g balls given at the house Pierre, who did not know how to dance, had liked sitti
ng in this room to watch the ladies who, as they passed through in their ball dre
sses with diamonds and pearls on their bare shoulders, looked at themselves in th
e 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 a
nd supper dishes stood in disorder, and in the middle of the night a motley thron
g of people sat there, not merrymaking, but somberly whispering, and betraying by
 every word and movement that they none of them forgot what was happening and wha
t was about to happen in the bedroom. Pierre did not eat anything though he would
 very much have liked to. He looked inquiringly at his monitress and saw that she
 was again going on tiptoe to the reception room where they had left Prince Vasil
i and the eldest princess. Pierre concluded that this also was essential, and aft
er a short interval followed her. Anna Mikhaylovna was standing beside the prince
ss, and they were both speaking in excited whispers.  "Permit me, Princess, to kn
ow what is necessary and what is not necessary," said the younger of the two spea
kers, 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 impr
essively, blocking the way to the bedroom and preventing the other from passing, 
"won't this be too much for poor Uncle at a moment when he needs repose? Worldly 
conversation at a moment when his soul is already prepared..."  Prince Vasili was
 seated in an easy chair in his familiar attitude, with one leg crossed high abov
e the other. His cheeks, which were so flabby that they looked heavier below, wer
e twitching violently but he wore the air of a man little concerned in what the t
wo ladies were saying.  "Come, my dear Anna Mikhaylovna, let Catiche do as she pl
eases. You know how fond the count is of her."  "I don't even know what is in thi
s paper," said the younger of the two ladies, addressing Prince Vasili and pointi
ng to an inlaid portfolio she held in her hand. "All I know is that his real will
 is in his writing table, and this is a paper he has forgotten...."  She tried to
 pass Anna Mikhaylovna, but the latter sprang so as to bar her path.  "I know, my
 dear, kind princess," said Anna Mikhaylovna, seizing the portfolio so firmly tha
t it was plain she would not let go easily. "Dear princess, I beg and implore you
, have some pity on him! Je vous en conjure..."  The princess did not reply. Thei
r 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 Mikhaylovna. Though the latter held on tenaciously, her voice lost none of i
ts honeyed firmness and softness.  "Pierre, my dear, come here. I think he will n
ot be out of place in a family consultation is it not so, Prince?"  "Why don't yo
u speak, cousin?" suddenly shrieked the princess so loud that those in the drawin
g room heard her and were startled. "Why do you remain silent when heaven knows w
ho permits herself to interfere, making a scene on the very threshold of a dying 
man's room? Intriguer!" she hissed viciously, and tugged with all her might at th
e portfolio.  But Anna Mikhaylovna went forward a step or two to keep her hold on
 the portfolio, and changed her grip.  Prince Vasili rose. "Oh!" said he with rep
roach and surprise, "this is absurd! Come, let go I tell you."  The princess let 
go.  "And you too!"  But Anna Mikhaylovna did not obey him.  "Let go, I tell you!
 I will take the responsibility. I myself will go and ask him, I!... does that sa
tisfy you?"  "But, Prince," said Anna Mikhaylovna, "after such a solemn sacrament
, allow him a moment's peace! Here, Pierre, tell them your opinion," said she, tu
rning 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 twitchi
ng cheeks of Prince Vasili.  "Remember that you will answer for the consequences,
" said Prince Vasili severely. "You don't know what you are doing."  "Vile woman!
" shouted the princess, darting unexpectedly at Anna Mikhaylovna and snatching th
e portfolio from her.  Prince 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 s
econd of the three sisters rushed out wringing her hands.  "What are you doing!" 
she cried vehemently. "He is dying and you leave me alone with him!"  Her sister 
dropped the portfolio. Anna Mikhaylovna, stooping, quickly caught up the object o
f contention and ran into the bedroom. The eldest princess and Prince Vasili, rec
overing themselves, followed her. A few minutes later the eldest sister came out 
with a pale hard face, again biting her underlip. At sight of Pierre her expressi
on showed an irrepressible hatred.  "Yes, now you may be glad!" said she "this is
 what you have been waiting for." And bursting into tears she hid her face in her
 handkerchief and rushed from the room.  Prince 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 quivered and shook as
 if in an ague.  "Ah, my friend!" said he, taking Pierre by the elbow and there w
as in his voice a sincerity and weakness Pierre had never observed in it before. 
"How often we sin, how much we deceive, and all for what? I am near sixty, dear f
riend... I too... All will end in death, all! Death is awful..." and he burst int
o tears.  Anna Mikhaylovna came out last. She approached Pierre with slow, quiet 
steps.  "Pierre!" she said.  Pierre gave her an inquiring look. She kissed the yo
ung man on his forehead, wetting him with her tears. Then after a pause she said 
 "He is no more...."  Pierre looked at her over his spectacles.  "Come, I will go
 with you. Try to weep, nothing gives such relief as tears."  She led him into th
e dark drawing room and Pierre was glad no one could see his face. Anna Mikhaylov
na left him, and when she returned he was fast asleep with his head on his arm.  
In the morning Anna Mikhaylovna said to Pierre  "Yes, my dear, this is a great lo
ss for us all, not to speak of you. But God will support you you are young, and a
re now, I hope, in command of an immense fortune. The will has not yet been opene
d. I know you well enough to be sure that this will not turn your head, but it im
poses duties on you, and you must be a man."  Pierre was silent.  "Perhaps later 
on I may tell you, my dear boy, that if I had not been there, God only knows what
 would have happened! You know, Uncle promised me only the day before yesterday n
ot to forget Boris. But he had no time. I hope, my dear friend, you will carry ou
t your father's wish?"  Pierre understood nothing of all this and coloring shyly 
looked in silence at Princess Anna Mikhaylovna. After her talk with Pierre, Anna 
Mikhaylovna returned to the Rostovs' and went to bed. On waking in the morning sh
e told the Rostovs and all her acquaintances the details of Count Bezukhov's deat
h. She said the count had died as she would herself wish to die, that his end was
 not only touching but edifying. As to the last meeting between father and son, i
t was so touching that she could not think of it without tears, and did not know 
which had behaved better during those awful momentsthe father who so remembered e
verything and everybody at last and had spoken such pathetic words to the son, or
 Pierre, whom it had been pitiful to see, so stricken was he with grief, though h
e tried hard to hide it in order not to sadden his dying father. "It is painful, 
but it does one good. It uplifts the soul to see such men as the old count and hi
s worthy son," said she. Of the behavior of the eldest princess and Prince Vasili
 she spoke disapprovingly, but in whispers and as a great secret.      CHAPTER XX
V   At Bald Hills, Prince Nicholas Andreevich Bolkonski's estate, the arrival of 
young Prince Andrew and his wife was daily expected, but this expectation did not
 upset the regular routine of life in the old prince's household. General in Chie
f Prince Nicholas Andreevich nicknamed in society, "the King of Prussia" ever sin
ce the Emperor Paul had exiled him to his country estate had lived there continuo
usly with his daughter, Princess Mary, and her companion, Mademoiselle Bourienne.
 Though in the new reign he was free to return to the capitals, he still continue
d 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 n
othing. He used to say that there are only two sources of human viceidleness and 
superstition, and only two virtuesactivity and intelligence. He himself undertook
 his 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, work
ing in the garden, or superintending the building that was always going on at his
 estate. As regularity is a prime condition facilitating activity, regularity in 
his household was carried to the highest point of exactitude. He always came to t
able under precisely the same conditions, and not only at the same hour but at th
e same minute. With those about him, from his daughter to his serfs, the prince w
as sharp and invariably exacting, so that without being a hardhearted man he insp
ired such fear and respect as few hardhearted men would have aroused. Although he
 was in retirement and had now no influence in political affairs, every high offi
cial appointed to the province in which the prince's estate lay considered it his
 duty to visit him and waited in the lofty antechamber just as the architect, gar
dener, or Princess Mary did, till the prince appeared punctually to the appointed
 hour. Everyone sitting in this antechamber experienced the same feeling of respe
ct 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 gr
ay eyebrows which, when he frowned, sometimes hid the gleam of his shrewd, youthf
ully glittering eyes.  On the morning of the day that the young couple were to ar
rive, Princess Mary entered the antechamber as usual at the time appointed for th
e morning greeting, crossing herself with trepidation and repeating a silent pray
er. Every morning she came in like that, and every morning prayed that the daily 
interview might pass off well.  An old powdered manservant who was sitting in the
 antechamber rose quietly and said in a whisper "Please walk in."  Through the do
or came the regular hum of a lathe. The princess timidly opened the door which mo
ved 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 f
ull of things evidently in constant use. The large table covered with books and p
lans, the tall glassfronted bookcases with keys in the locks, the high desk for w
riting 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, v
aried, and orderly activity. The motion of the small foot shod in a Tartar boot e
mbroidered with silver, and the firm pressure of the lean sinewy hand, showed tha
t the prince still possessed the tenacious endurance and vigor of hardy old age. 
After a few more turns of the lathe he removed his foot from the pedal, wiped his
 chisel, dropped it into a leather pouch attached to the lathe, and, approaching 
the table, summoned his daughter. He never gave his children a blessing, so he si
mply held out his bristly cheek as yet unshaven and, regarding her tenderly and a
ttentively, said severely  "Quite well? All right then, sit down." He took the ex
ercise 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 s
cratch from one paragraph to another with his hard nail.  The princess bent over 
the exercise book on the table.  "Wait a bit, here's a letter for you," said the 
old man suddenly, taking a letter addressed in a woman's hand from a bag hanging 
above the table, onto which he threw it.  At the sight of the letter red patches 
showed themselves on the princess' face. She took it quickly and bent her head ov
er it.  "From Heloise?" asked the prince with a cold smile that showed his still 
sound, yellowish teeth.  "Yes, it's from Julie," replied the princess with a timi
d glance and a timid smile.  "I'll let two more letters pass, but the third I'll 
read," said the prince sternly "I'm afraid you write much nonsense. I'll read the
 third!"  "Read this if you like, Father," said the princess, blushing still more
 and holding out the letter.  "The third, I said the third!" cried the prince abr
uptly, pushing the letter away, and leaning his elbows on the table he drew towar
d him the exercise book containing geometrical figures.  "Well, madam," he began,
 stooping over the book close to his daughter and placing an arm on the back of t
he chair on which she sat, so that she felt herself surrounded on all sides by th
e acrid scent of old age and tobacco, which she had known so long. "Now, madam, t
hese 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 h
er face came and went, and it was plain that she understood nothing and was so fr
ightened that her fear would prevent her understanding any of her father's furthe
r explanations, however clear they might be. Whether it was the teacher's fault o
r the pupil's, this same thing happened every day the princess' eyes grew dim, sh
e 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 coul
d think only of how to get away quickly to her own room to make out the problem i
n peace. The old man was beside himself moved the chair on which he was sitting n
oisily backward and forward, made efforts to control himself and not become vehem
ent, but almost always did become vehement, scolded, and sometimes flung the exer
cise 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 i
mmediately, he paced up and down, lightly touched his daughter's hair and sat dow
n again.  He drew up his chair, and continued to explain.  "This won't do, Prince
ss it won't do," said he, when Princess Mary, having taken and closed the exercis
e book with the next day's lesson, was about to leave "Mathematics are most impor
tant, madam! I don't want to have you like our silly ladies. Get used to it and y
ou'll like it," and he patted her cheek. "It will drive all the nonsense out of y
our 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 H
eloise 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 hims
elf closed the door after her.  Princess Mary went back to her room with the sad,
 scared expression that rarely left her and which made her plain, sickly face yet
 plainer. She sat down at her writing table, on which stood miniature portraits a
nd which was littered with books and papers. The princess was as untidy as her fa
ther was tidy. She put down the geometry book and eagerly broke the seal of her l
etter. It was from her most intimate friend from childhood that same Julie Karagi
na who had been at the Rostovs' nameday party.  Julie wrote in French   Dear and 
precious Friend, How terrible and frightful a thing is separation! Though I tell 
myself that half my life and half my happiness are wrapped up in you, and that in
 spite of the distance separating us our hearts are united by indissoluble bonds,
 my heart rebels against fate and in spite of the pleasures and distractions arou
nd me I cannot overcome a certain secret sorrow that has been in my heart ever si
nce we parted. Why are we not together as we were last summer, in your big study,
 on the blue sofa, the confidential sofa? Why cannot I now, as three months ago, 
draw fresh moral strength from your look, so gentle, calm, and penetrating, a loo
k I loved so well and seem to see before me as I write?   Having read thus far, P
rincess Mary sighed and glanced into the mirror which stood on her right. It refl
ected a weak, ungraceful figure and thin face. Her eyes, always sad, now looked w
ith particular hopelessness at her reflection in the glass. "She flatters me," th
ought the princess, turning away and continuing to read. But Julie did not flatte
r her friend, the princess' eyeslarge, deep and luminous it seemed as if at times
 there radiated from them shafts of warm lightwere so beautiful that very often i
n spite of the plainness of her face they gave her an attraction more powerful th
an that of beauty. But the princess never saw the beautiful expression of her own
 eyesthe look they had when she was not thinking of herself. As with everyone, he
r face assumed a forced unnatural expression as soon as she looked in a glass. Sh
e went on reading   All Moscow talks of nothing but war. One of my two brothers i
s already abroad, the other is with the Guards, who are starting on their march t
o 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 mo
nster who is destroying the peace of Europe may be overthrown by the angel whom i
t has pleased the Almighty, in His goodness, to give us as sovereign! To say noth
ing of my brothers, this war has deprived me of one of the associations nearest m
y 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 y
ou, dear Mary, that in spite of his extreme youth his departure for the army was 
a great grief to me. This young man, of whom I spoke to you last summer, is so no
bleminded and full of that real youthfulness which one seldom finds nowadays amon
g 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 s
o much. Someday I will tell you about our parting and all that was said then. Tha
t is still too fresh. Ah, dear friend, you are happy not to know these poignant j
oys and sorrows. You are fortunate, for the latter are generally the stronger! I 
know very well that Count Nicholas is too young ever to be more to me than a frie
nd, 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 th
e death of old Count Bezukhov, and his inheritance. Fancy! The three princesses h
ave received very little, Prince Vasili nothing, and it is Monsieur Pierre who ha
s inherited all the property and has besides been recognized as legitimate so tha
t he is now Count Bezukhov and possessor of the finest fortune in Russia. It is r
umored that Prince Vasili played a very despicable part in this affair and that h
e returned to Petersburg quite crestfallen.  I confess I understand very little a
bout all these matters of wills and inheritance but I do know that since this you
ng man, whom we all used to know as plain Monsieur Pierre, has become Count Bezuk
hov and the owner of one of the largest fortunes in Russia, I am much amused to w
atch the change in the tone and manners of the mammas burdened by marriageable da
ughters, 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 peopl
e have amused themselves by finding husbands for me most of whom I don't even kno
w, the matchmaking chronicles of Moscow now speak of me as the future Countess Be
zukhova. But you will understand that I have no desire for the post. A propos of 
marriages do you know that a while ago that universal auntie Anna Mikhaylovna tol
d me, under the seal of strict secrecy, of a plan of marriage for you. It is neit
her more nor less than with Prince Vasili's son Anatole, whom they wish to reform
 by marrying him to someone rich and distinguee, and it is on you that his relati
ons' 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 sca
pegrace. That is all I have been able to find out about him.  But enough of gossi
p. I am at the end of my second sheet of paper, and Mamma has sent for me to go a
nd dine at the Apraksins'. Read the mystical book I am sending you it has an enor
mous success here. Though there are things in it difficult for the feeble human m
ind to grasp, it is an admirable book which calms and elevates the soul. Adieu! G
ive my respects to monsieur your father and my compliments to Mademoiselle Bourie
nne. I embrace you as I love you.  JULIE  P.S. Let me have news of your brother a
nd his charming little wife.   The princess pondered awhile with a thoughtful smi
le and her luminous eyes lit up so that her face was entirely transformed. Then s
he suddenly rose and with her heavy tread went up to the table. She took a sheet 
of paper and her hand moved rapidly over it. This is the reply she wrote, also in
 French   Dear and precious Friend, Your letter of the 13th has given me great de
light. So you still love me, my romantic Julie? Separation, of which you say so m
uch that is bad, does not seem to have had its usual effect on you. You complain 
of our separation. What then should I say, if I dared complain, I who am deprived
 of all who are dear to me? Ah, if we had not religion to console us life would b
e 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 f
eelings in others, and if never having felt them I cannot approve of them, neithe
r do I condemn them. Only it seems to me that Christian love, love of one's neigh
bor, love of one's enemy, is worthier, sweeter, and better than the feelings whic
h the beautiful eyes of a young man can inspire in a romantic and loving young gi
rl like yourself.  The news of Count Bezukhov's death reached us before your lett
er and my father was much affected by it. He says the count was the last represen
tative 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 fro
m 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 qual
ity I value most in people. As to his inheritance and the part played by Prince V
asili, it is very sad for both. Ah, my dear friend, our divine Saviour's words, t
hat it is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for a rich ma
n to enter the Kingdom of God, are terribly true. I pity Prince Vasili but am sti
ll more sorry for Pierre. So young, and burdened with such richesto what temptati
ons he will be exposed! If I were asked what I desire most on earth, it would be 
to be poorer than the poorest beggar. A thousand thanks, dear friend, for the vol
ume 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 uni
ntelligible and can therefore bear no fruit. I never could understand the fondnes
s some people have for confusing their minds by dwelling on mystical books that m
erely awaken their doubts and excite their imagination, giving them a bent for ex
aggeration quite contrary to Christian simplicity. Let us rather read the Epistle
s and Gospels. Let us not seek to penetrate what mysteries they contain for how c
an 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 a
nd the Eternal? Let us rather confine ourselves to studying those sublime rules w
hich our divine Saviour has left for our guidance here below. Let us try to confo
rm to them and follow them, and let us be persuaded that the less we let our feeb
le human minds roam, the better we shall please God, who rejects all knowledge th
at 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 Hi
s divine Spirit.  My father has not spoken to me of a suitor, but has only told m
e that he has received a letter and is expecting a visit from Prince Vasili. In r
egard to this project of marriage for me, I will tell you, dear sweet friend, tha
t I look on marriage as a divine institution to which we must conform. However pa
inful it may be to me, should the Almighty lay the duties of wife and mother upon
 me I shall try to perform them as faithfully as I can, without disquieting mysel
f by examining my feelings toward him whom He may give me for husband.  I have ha
d a letter from my brother, who announces his speedy arrival at Bald Hills with h
is wife. This pleasure will be but a brief one, however, for he will leave, us ag
ain to take part in this unhappy war into which we have been drawn, God knows how
 or why. Not only where you areat the heart of affairs and of the worldis the tal
k all of war, even here amid fieldwork and the calm of naturewhich townsfolk cons
ider characteristic of the countryrumors of war are heard and painfully felt. My 
father talks of nothing but marches and countermarches, things of which I underst
and nothing and the day before yesterday during my daily walk through the village
 I witnessed a heartrending scene.... It was a convoy of conscripts enrolled from
 our people and starting to join the army. You should have seen the state of the 
mothers, wives, and children of the men who were going and should have heard the 
sobs. It seems as though mankind has forgotten the laws of its divine Saviour, Wh
o preached love and forgiveness of injuriesand that men attribute the greatest me
rit 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 allpowerful care!  MA
RY   "Ah, you are sending off a letter, Princess? I have already dispatched mine.
 I have written to my poor mother," said the smiling Mademoiselle Bourienne rapid
ly, in her pleasant mellow tones and with guttural r's. She brought into Princess
 Mary's strenuous, mournful, and gloomy world a quite different atmosphere, carel
ess, lighthearted, and selfsatisfied.  "Princess, I must warn you," she added, lo
wering her voice and evidently listening to herself with pleasure, and speaking w
ith exaggerated grasseyement, "the prince has been scolding Michael Ivanovich. He
 is in a very bad humor, very morose. Be prepared."  "Ah, dear friend," replied P
rincess Mary, "I have asked you never to warn me of the humor my father is in. I 
do not allow myself to judge him and would not have others do so."  The princess 
glanced at her watch and, seeing that she was five minutes late in starting her p
ractice on the clavichord, went into the sitting room with a look of alarm. Betwe
en twelve and two o'clock, as the day was mapped out, the prince rested and the p
rincess played the clavichord.      CHAPTER XXVI   The grayhaired valet was sitti
ng drowsily listening to the snoring of the prince, who was in his large study. F
rom the far side of the house through the closed doors came the sound of difficul
t passagestwenty times repeatedof a sonata by Dussek.  Just then a closed carriag
e and another with a hood drove up to the porch. Prince Andrew got out of the car
riage, helped his little wife to alight, and let her pass into the house before h
im. Old Tikhon, wearing a wig, put his head out of the door of the antechamber, r
eported in a whisper that the prince was sleeping, and hastily closed the door. T
ikhon knew that neither the son's arrival nor any other unusual event must be all
owed to disturb the appointed order of the day. Prince Andrew apparently knew thi
s as well as Tikhon he looked at his watch as if to ascertain whether his father'
s habits had changed since he was at home last, and, having assured himself that 
they had not, he turned to his wife.  "He will get up in twenty minutes. Let us g
o 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 t
o speak just as merrily and prettily as ever.  "Why, this is a palace!" she said 
to her husband, looking around with the expression with which people compliment t
heir host at a ball. "Let's come, quick, quick!" And with a glance round, she smi
led at Tikhon, at her husband, and at the footman who accompanied them.  "Is that
 Mary practicing? Let's go quietly and take her by surprise."  Prince Andrew foll
owed her with a courteous but sad expression.  "You've grown older, Tikhon," he s
aid 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 Frenchwoma
n, Mademoiselle Bourienne, rushed out apparently beside herself with delight.  "A
h! 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, ki
ssing her. "I know you already through my sisterinlaw's friendship for you. She w
as not expecting us?"  They went up to the door of the sitting room from which ca
me the sound of the oftrepeated passage of the sonata. Prince Andrew stopped and 
made a grimace, as if expecting something unpleasant.  The little princess entere
d the room. The passage broke off in the middle, a cry was heard, then Princess M
ary's heavy tread and the sound of kissing. When Prince Andrew went in the two pr
incesses, who had only met once before for a short time at his wedding, were in e
ach other's arms warmly pressing their lips to whatever place they happened to to
uch. Mademoiselle Bourienne stood near them pressing her hand to her heart, with 
a beatific smile and obviously equally ready to cry or to laugh. Prince Andrew sh
rugged his shoulders and frowned, as lovers of music do when they hear a false no
te. The two women let go of one another, and then, as if afraid of being too late
, seized each other's hands, kissing them and pulling them away, and again began 
kissing each other on the face, and then to Prince Andrew's surprise both began t
o cry and kissed again. Mademoiselle Bourienne also began to cry. Prince Andrew e
vidently felt ill at ease, but to the two women it seemed quite natural that they
 should cry, and apparently it never entered their heads that it could have been 
otherwise at this meeting.  "Ah! my dear!... Ah! Mary!" they suddenly exclaimed, 
and then laughed. "I dreamed last night...""You were not expecting us?..." "Ah! M
ary, you have got thinner?..." "And you have grown stouter!..."  "I knew the prin
cess at once," put in Mademoiselle Bourienne.  "And I had no idea!..." exclaimed 
Princess Mary. "Ah, Andrew, I did not see you."  Prince Andrew and his sister, ha
nd 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 lov
ing, 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 sho
rt, downy upper lip continually and rapidly touching her rosy nether lip when nec
essary and drawing up again next moment when her face broke into a smile of glitt
ering teeth and sparkling eyes. She told of an accident they had had on the Spass
ki Hill which might have been serious for her in her condition, and immediately a
fter 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 change
d, and that Kitty Odyntsova had married an old man, and that there was a suitor f
or Mary, a real one, but that they would talk of that later. Princess Mary was st
ill 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 he
r sisterinlaw's words. In the midst of a description of the last Petersburg fete 
she addressed her brother  "So you are really going to the war, Andrew?" she said
 sighing.  Lise sighed too.  "Yes, and even tomorrow," replied her brother.  "He 
is leaving me here, God knows why, when he might have had promotion..."  Princess
 Mary did not listen to the end, but continuing her train of thought turned to he
r sisterinlaw with a tender glance at her figure.  "Is it certain?" she said.  Th
e face of the little princess changed. She sighed and said "Yes, quite certain. A
h! it is very dreadful..."  Her lip descended. She brought her face close to her 
sisterinlaw'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 Fath
er. How is he? Just the same?"  "Yes, just the same. Though I don't know what you
r opinion will be," answered the princess joyfully.  "And are the hours the same?
 And the walks in the avenues? And the lathe?" asked Prince Andrew with a scarcel
y perceptible smile which showed that, in spite of all his love and respect for h
is father, he was aware of his weaknesses.  "The hours are the same, and the lath
e, and also the mathematics and my geometry lessons," said Princess Mary gleefull
y, as if her lessons in geometry were among the greatest delights of her life.  W
hen the twenty minutes had elapsed and the time had come for the old prince to ge
t up, Tikhon came to call the young prince to his father. The old man made a depa
rture from his usual routine in honor of his son's arrival he gave orders to admi
t him to his apartments while he dressed for dinner. The old prince always dresse
d in oldfashioned style, wearing an antique coat and powdered hair and when Princ
e Andrew entered his father's dressing room not with the contemptuous look and ma
nner he wore in drawing rooms, but with the animated face with which he talked to
 Pierre, the old man was sitting on a large leathercovered chair, wrapped in a po
wdering 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 Tikhon was holding fast to plait, would allow.  "You at least must t
ackle 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 
silverbefore dinner, golden." He cast happy, sidelong glances at his son from und
er 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 topicmaking fun 
of the military men of the day, and more particularly of Bonaparte.  "Yes, Father
, I have come to you and brought my wife who is pregnant," said Prince Andrew, fo
llowing every movement of his father's face with an eager and respectful look. "H
ow is your health?"  "Only fools and rakes fall ill, my boy. You know me I am bus
y from morning till night and abstemious, so of course I am well."  "Thank God," 
said his son smiling.  "God has nothing to do with it! Well, go on," he continued
, returning to his hobby "tell me how the Germans have taught you to fight Bonapa
rte by this new science you call 'strategy.'"  Prince Andrew smiled.  "Give me ti
me to collect my wits, Father," said he, with a smile that showed that his father
's foibles did not prevent his son from loving and honoring him. "Why, I have not
 yet had time to settle down!"  "Nonsense, nonsense!" cried the old man, shaking 
his pigtail to see whether it was firmly plaited, and grasping his by the hand. "
The house for your wife is ready. Princess Mary will take her there and show her 
over, and they'll talk nineteen to the dozen. That's their woman's way! I am glad
 to have her. Sit down and talk. About Mikhelson's army I understandTolstoy'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 p
acing up and down the room followed by Tikhon, who ran after him, handing him dif
ferent articles of clothing. "What of Sweden? How will they cross Pomerania?"  Pr
ince Andrew, seeing that his father insisted, beganat first reluctantly, but grad
ually with more and more animation, and from habit changing unconsciously from Ru
ssian to French as he went onto explain the plan of operation for the coming camp
aign. He explained how an army, ninety thousand strong, was to threaten Prussia s
o as to bring her out of her neutrality and draw her into the war how part of tha
t army was to join some Swedish forces at Stralsund how two hundred and twenty th
ousand 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 Napl
es, and how a total force of five hundred thousand men was to attack the French f
rom 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 walk
ing about, and three times unexpectedly interrupted. Once he stopped it by shouti
ng "The white one, the white one!"  This meant that Tikhon was not handing him th
e waistcoat he wanted. Another time he interrupted, saying  "And will she soon be
 confined?" and shaking his head reproachfully said "That's bad! Go on, go on."  
The third interruption came when Prince Andrew was finishing his description. The
 old man began to sing, in the cracked voice of old age "Malbrook s'en vaten guer
re. Dieu sait quand reviendra." *        * "Marlborough is going to the wars God 
knows when he'll      return."   His son only smiled.  "I don't say it's a plan I
 approve of," said the son "I am only telling you what it is. Napoleon has also f
ormed his plan by now, not worse than this one."  "Well, you've told me nothing n
ew," and the old man repeated, meditatively and rapidly  "Dieu sait quand reviend
ra. Go to the dining room."      CHAPTER XXVII   At the appointed hour the prince
, powdered and shaven, entered the dining room where his daughterinlaw, Princess 
Mary, and Mademoiselle Bourienne were already awaiting him together with his arch
itect, who by a strange caprice of his employer's was admitted to table though th
e position of that insignificant individual was such as could certainly not have 
caused him to expect that honor. The prince, who generally kept very strictly to 
social distinctions and rarely admitted even important government officials to hi
s table, had unexpectedly selected Michael Ivanovich who always went into a corne
r 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 Iva
novich was "not a whit worse than you or I." At dinner the prince usually spoke t
o the taciturn Michael Ivanovich more often than to anyone else.  In the dining r
oom, which like all the rooms in the house was exceedingly lofty, the members of 
the household and the footmenone behind each chairstood waiting for the prince to
 enter. The head butler, napkin on arm, was scanning the setting of the table, ma
king signs to the footmen, and anxiously glancing from the clock to the door by w
hich the prince was to enter. Prince Andrew was looking at a large gilt frame, ne
w to him, containing the genealogical tree of the Princes Bolkonski, opposite whi
ch hung another such frame with a badly painted portrait evidently by the hand of
 the artist belonging to the estate of a ruling prince, in a crownan alleged desc
endant of Rurik and ancestor of the Bolkonskis. Prince Andrew, looking again at t
hat genealogical tree, shook his head, laughing as a man laughs who looks at a po
rtrait so characteristic of the original as to be amusing.  "How thoroughly like 
him that is!" he said to Princess Mary, who had come up to him.  Princess Mary lo
oked at her brother in surprise. She did not understand what he was laughing at. 
Everything her father did inspired her with reverence and was beyond question.  "
Everyone has his Achilles' heel," continued Prince Andrew. "Fancy, with his power
ful mind, indulging in such nonsense!"  Princess Mary could not understand the bo
ldness of her brother's criticism and was about to reply, when the expected foots
teps were heard coming from the study. The prince walked in quickly and jauntily 
as was his wont, as if intentionally contrasting the briskness of his manners wit
h the strict formality of his house. At that moment the great clock struck two an
d another with a shrill tone joined in from the drawing room. The prince stood st
ill his lively glittering eyes from under their thick, bushy eyebrows sternly sca
nned all present and rested on the little princess. She felt, as courtiers do whe
n the Tsar enters, the sensation of fear and respect which the old man inspired i
n all around him. He stroked her hair and then patted her awkwardly on the back o
f 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 d
own, Michael Ianovich!"  He indicated a place beside him to his daughterinlaw. A 
footman moved the chair for her.  "Ho, ho!" said the old man, casting his eyes on
 her rounded figure. "You've been in a hurry. That's bad!"  He laughed in his usu
al dry, cold, unpleasant way, with his lips only and not with his eyes.  "You mus
t walk, walk as much as possible, as much as possible," he said.  The little prin
cess did not, or did not wish to, hear his words. She was silent and seemed confu
sed. The prince asked her about her father, and she began to smile and talk. He a
sked about mutual acquaintances, and she became still more animated and chattered
 away giving him greetings from various people and retailing the town gossip.  "C
ountess Apraksina, poor thing, has lost her husband and she has cried her eyes ou
t," she said, growing more and more lively.  As she became animated the prince lo
oked at her more and more sternly, and suddenly, as if he had studied her suffici
ently and had formed a definite idea of her, he turned away and addressed Michael
 Ivanovich.  "Well, Michael Ivanovich, our Bonaparte will be having a bad time of
 it. Prince Andrew" he always spoke thus of his son "has been telling me what for
ces are being collected against him! While you and I never thought much of him." 
 Michael Ivanovich did not at all know when "you and I" had said such things abou
t Bonaparte, but understanding that he was wanted as a peg on which to hang the p
rince'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 t
o the architect.  And the conversation again turned on the war, on Bonaparte, and
 the generals and statesmen of the day. The old prince seemed convinced not only 
that all the men of the day were mere babies who did not know the A B C of war or
 of politics, and that Bonaparte was an insignificant little Frenchy, successful 
only because there were no longer any Potemkins or Suvorovs left to oppose him bu
t he was also convinced that there were no political difficulties in Europe and n
o real war, but only a sort of puppet show at which the men of the day were playi
ng, pretending to do something real. Prince Andrew gaily bore with his father's r
idicule 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 Suvorov himself fall into 
a trap Moreau set him, and from which he did not know how to escape?"  "Who told 
you that? Who?" cried the prince. "Suvorov!" And he jerked away his plate, which 
Tikhon briskly caught. "Suvorov!... Consider, Prince Andrew. Two... Frederick and
 Suvorov Moreau!... Moreau would have been a prisoner if Suvorov had had a free h
and but he had the HofskriegswurstschnappsRath on his hands. It would have puzzle
d the devil himself! When you get there you'll find out what those Hofskriegswurs
tRaths are! Suvorov couldn't manage them so what chance has Michael Kutuzov? No, 
my dear boy," he continued, "you and your generals won't get on against Buonapart
e you'll have to call in the French, so that birds of a feather may fight togethe
r. The German, Pahlen, has been sent to New York in America, to fetch the Frenchm
an, Moreau," he said, alluding to the invitation made that year to Moreau to ente
r the Russian service.... "Wonderful!... Were the Potemkins, Suvorovs, and Orlovs
 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 g
ood," said Prince Andrew, "I am only surprised at your opinion of Bonaparte. You 
may laugh as much as you like, but all the same Bonaparte is a great general!"  "
Michael Ivanovich!" cried the old prince to the architect who, busy with his roas
t meat, hoped he had been forgotten "Didn't I tell you Buonaparte was a great tac
tician? Here, he says the same thing."  "To be sure, your excellency," replied th
e architect.  The prince again laughed his frigid laugh.  "Buonaparte was born wi
th a silver spoon in his mouth. He has got splendid soldiers. Besides he began by
 attacking Germans. And only idlers have failed to beat the Germans. Since the wo
rld began everybody has beaten the Germans. They beat no oneexcept one another. H
e made his reputation fighting them."  And the prince began explaining all the bl
unders which, according to him, Bonaparte had made in his campaigns and even in p
olitics. His son made no rejoinder, but it was evident that whatever arguments we
re presented he was as little able as his father to change his opinion. He listen
ed, 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 ac
utely all the recent European military and political events.  "You think I'm an o
ld man and don't understand the present state of affairs?" concluded his father. 
"But it troubles me. I don't sleep at night. Come now, where has this great comma
nder of yours shown his skill?" he concluded.  "That would take too long to tell,
" answered the son.  "Well, then go to your Buonaparte! Mademoiselle Bourienne, h
ere's another admirer of that powdermonkey emperor of yours," he exclaimed in exc
ellent French.  "You know, Prince, I am not a Bonapartist!"  "Dieu sait quand rev
iendra..." hummed the prince out of tune and, with a laugh still more so, he quit
ted the table.  The little princess during the whole discussion and the rest of t
he dinner sat silent, glancing with a frightened look now at her fatherinlaw and 
now at Princess Mary. When they left the table she took her sisterinlaw's arm and
 drew her into another room.  "What a clever man your father is," said she "perha
ps that is why I am afraid of him."  "Oh, he is so kind!" answered Princess Mary.
      CHAPTER XXVIII   Prince Andrew was to leave next evening. The old prince, n
ot altering his routine, retired as usual after dinner. The little princess was i
n her sisterinlaw's room. Prince Andrew in a traveling coat without epaulettes ha
d 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 harnes
sed. Only those things he always kept with him remained in his room a small box, 
a large canteen fitted with silver plate, two Turkish pistols and a sabera presen
t from his father who had brought it from the siege of Ochakov. All these traveli
ng effects of Prince Andrew's were in very good order new, clean, and in cloth co
vers carefully tied with tapes.  When starting on a journey or changing their mod
e 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 fr
om corner to corner of the room, looking straight before him and thoughtfully sha
king his head. Did he fear going to the war, or was he sad at leaving his wife?pe
rhaps both, but evidently he did not wish to be seen in that mood, for hearing fo
otsteps in the passage he hurriedly unclasped his hands, stopped at a table as if
 tying the cover of the small box, and assumed his usual tranquil and impenetrabl
e 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 runnin
g, "and I did so wish to have another talk with you alone! God knows how long we 
may again be parted. You are not angry with me for coming? You have changed so, A
ndrusha," she added, as if to explain such a question.  She smiled as she uttered
 his pet name, "Andrusha." It was obviously strange to her to think that this ste
rn handsome man should be Andrushathe slender mischievous boy who had been her pl
ayfellow in childhood.  "And where is Lise?" he asked, answering her question onl
y by a smile.  "She was so tired that she has fallen asleep on the sofa in my roo
m. Oh, Andrew! What a treasure of a wife you have," said she, sitting down on the
 sofa, facing her brother. "She is quite a child such a dear, merry child. I have
 grown so fond of her."  Prince Andrew was silent, but the princess noticed the i
ronical and contemptuous look that showed itself on his face.  "One must be indul
gent to little weaknesses who is free from them, Andrew? Don't forget that she ha
s grown up and been educated in society, and so her position now is not a rosy on
e. We should enter into everyone's situation. Tout comprendre, c'est tout pardonn
er. * Think what it must be for her, poor thing, after what she has been used to,
 to be parted from her husband and be left alone in the country, in her condition
! It's very hard."        * To understand all is to forgive all.   Prince Andrew 
smiled as he looked at his sister, as we smile at those we think we thoroughly un
derstand.  "You live in the country and don't think the life terrible," he replie
d.  "I... that's different. Why speak of me? I don't want any other life, and can
't, for I know no other. But think, Andrew for a young society woman to be buried
 in the country during the best years of her life, all alonefor Papa is always bu
sy, and I... well, you know what poor resources I have for entertaining a woman u
sed to the best society. There is only Mademoiselle Bourienne...."  "I don't like
 your Mademoiselle Bourienne at all," said Prince Andrew.  "No? She is very nice 
and kind and, above all, she's much to be pitied. She has no one, no one. To tell
 the truth, I don't need her, and she's even in my way. You know I always was a s
avage, and now am even more so. I like being alone.... Father likes her very much
. She and Michael Ivanovich are the two people to whom he is always gentle and ki
nd, 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 
goodnatured, and my father likes her way of reading. She reads to him in the even
ings and reads splendidly."  "To be quite frank, Mary, I expect Father's characte
r sometimes makes things trying for you, doesn't it?" Prince Andrew asked suddenl
y.  Princess Mary was first surprised and then aghast at this question.  "For me?
 For me?... Trying for me!..." said she.  "He always was rather harsh and now I s
hould think he's getting very trying," said Prince Andrew, apparently speaking li
ghtly of their father in order to puzzle or test his sister.  "You are good in ev
ery way, Andrew, but you have a kind of intellectual pride," said the princess, f
ollowing 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 fee
ling 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 sho
ok his head incredulously.  "The only thing that is hard for me... I will tell yo
u 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 d
ay, and can go so far astray. That is the only thing that makes me unhappy. But e
ven in this I can see lately a shade of improvement. His satire has been less bit
ter 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 hea
r me. Andrew..." she said timidly after a moment's silence, "I have a great favor
 to ask of you."  "What is it, dear?"  "Nopromise that you will not refuse! It wi
ll give you no trouble and is nothing unworthy of you, but it will comfort me. Pr
omise, Andrusha!..." said she, putting her hand in her reticule but not yet takin
g 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 timidl
y at her brother.  "Even if it were a great deal of trouble..." answered Prince A
ndrew, as if guessing what it was about.  "Think what you please! I know you are 
just like Father. Think as you please, but do this for my sake! Please do! Father
's father, our grandfather, wore it in all his wars." She still did not take out 
what she was holding in her reticule. "So you promise?"  "Of course. What is it?"
  "Andrew, I bless you with this icon and you must promise me you will never take
 it off. Do you promise?"  "If it does not weigh a hundredweight and won't break 
my neck... To please you..." said Prince Andrew. But immediately, noticing the pa
ined 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 ha
ve mercy on you and bring you to Himself, for in Him alone is truth and peace," s
aid she in a voice trembling with emotion, solemnly holding up in both hands befo
re her brother a small, oval, antique, darkfaced icon of the Saviour in a gold se
tting, on a finely wrought silver chain.  She crossed herself, kissed the icon, a
nd 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 stopp
ed him. Andrew understood, crossed himself and kissed the icon. There was a look 
of tenderness, for he was touched, but also a gleam of irony on his face.  "Thank
 you, my dear." She kissed him on the forehead and sat down again on the sofa. Th
ey were silent for a while.  "As I was saying to you, Andrew, be kind and generou
s as you always used to be. Don't judge Lise harshly," she began. "She is so swee
t, so goodnatured, and her position now is a very hard one."  "I do not think I h
ave complained of my wife to you, Masha, or blamed her. Why do you say all this t
o 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, n
eck, and cheeks. She tried to say something but could not. Her brother had guesse
d right the little princess had been crying after dinner and had spoken of her fo
rebodings about her confinement, and how she dreaded it, and had complained of he
r fate, her fatherinlaw, and her husband. After crying she had fallen asleep. Pri
nce Andrew felt sorry for his sister.  "Know this, Masha I can't reproach, have n
ot reproached, and never shall reproach my wife with anything, and I cannot repro
ach myself with anything in regard to her and that always will be so in whatever 
circumstances I may be placed. But if you want to know the truth... if you want t
o 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 foreh
ead. His fine eyes lit up with a thoughtful, kindly, and unaccustomed brightness,
 but he was looking not at his sister but over her head toward the darkness of th
e open doorway.  "Let us go to her, I must say goodby. Orgo and wake and I'll com
e in a moment. Petrushka!" he called to his valet "Come here, take these away. Pu
t this on the seat and this to the right."  Princess Mary rose and moved to the d
oor, 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 b
een answered."  "Well, may be!" said Prince Andrew. "Go, Masha I'll come immediat
ely."  On the way to his sister's room, in the passage which connected one wing w
ith the other, Prince Andrew met Mademoiselle Bourienne smiling sweetly. It was t
he 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 a
n expression of anger suddenly came over his face. He said nothing to her but loo
ked at her forehead and hair, without looking at her eyes, with such contempt tha
t the Frenchwoman blushed and went away without a word. When he reached his siste
r's room his wife was already awake and her merry voice, hurrying one word after 
another, came through the open door. She was speaking as usual in French, and as 
if after long selfrestraint she wished to make up for lost time.  "No, but imagin
e the old Countess Zubova, 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 a
bout Countess Zubova and this same laugh Prince Andrew had already heard from his
 wife in the presence of others some five times. He entered the room softly. The 
little princess, plump and rosy, was sitting in an easy chair with her work in he
r hands, talking incessantly, repeating Petersburg reminiscences and even phrases
. Prince Andrew came up, stroked her hair, and asked if she felt rested after the
ir journey. She answered him and continued her chatter.  The coach with six horse
s was waiting at the porch. It was an autumn night, so dark that the coachman cou
ld not see the carriage pole. Servants with lanterns were bustling about in the p
orch. The immense house was brilliant with lights shining through its lofty windo
ws. The domestic serfs were crowding in the hall, waiting to bid goodby to the yo
ung prince. The members of the household were all gathered in the reception hall 
Michael Ivanovich, Mademoiselle Bourienne, Princess Mary, and the little princess
. Prince Andrew had been called to his father's study as the latter wished to say
 goodby to him alone. All were waiting for them to come out.  When Prince Andrew 
entered the study the old man in his oldage spectacles and white dressing gown, i
n which he received no one but his son, sat at the table writing. He glanced roun
d.  "Going?" And he went on writing.  "I've come to say goodby."  "Kiss me here,"
 and he touched his cheek "Thanks, thanks!"  "What do you thank me for?"  "For no
t dillydallying and not hanging to a woman's apron strings. The Service before ev
erything. Thanks, thanks!" And he went on writing, so that his quill spluttered a
nd squeaked. "If you have anything to say, say it. These two things can be done t
ogether," 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 stopp
ed writing and, as if not understanding, fixed his stern eyes on his son.  "I kno
w that no one can help if nature does not do her work," said Prince Andrew, evide
ntly 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 i
s frightened."  "Hm... Hm..." muttered the old prince to himself, finishing what 
he was writing. "I'll do it."  He signed with a flourish and suddenly turning to 
his son began to laugh.  "It's a bad business, eh?"  "What is bad, Father?"  "The
 wife!" said the old prince, briefly and significantly.  "I don't understand!" sa
id Prince Andrew.  "No, it can't be helped, lad," said the prince. "They're all l
ike 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, look
ed straight into his son's face with keen eyes which seemed to see through him, a
nd again laughed his frigid laugh.  The son sighed, thus admitting that his fathe
r had understood him. The old man continued to fold and seal his letter, snatchin
g up and throwing down the wax, the seal, and the paper, with his accustomed rapi
dity.  "What's to be done? She's pretty! I will do everything. Make your mind eas
y," said he in abrupt sentences while sealing his letter.  Andrew did not speak h
e 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 wi
fe what can be done shall be. Now listen! Give this letter to Michael Ilarionovic
h. * I have written that he should make use of you in proper places and not keep 
you long as an adjutant a bad position! Tell him I remember and like him. Write a
nd tell me how he receives you. If he is all rightserve him. Nicholas Bolkonski's
 son need not serve under anyone if he is in disfavor. Now come here."        *Ku
tuzov.   He spoke so rapidly that he did not finish half his words, but his son w
as accustomed to understand him. He led him to the desk, raised the lid, drew out
 a drawer, and took out an exercise book filled with his bold, tall, close handwr
iting.  "I shall probably die before you. So remember, these are my memoirs hand 
them to the Emperor after my death. Now here is a Lombard bond and a letter it is
 a premium for the man who writes a history of Suvorov's wars. Send it to the Aca
demy. Here are some jottings for you to read when I am gone. You will find them u
seful."  Andrew did not tell his father that he would no doubt live a long time y
et. He felt that he must not say it.  "I will do it all, Father," he said.  "Well
, now, goodby!" He gave his son his hand to kiss, and embraced him. "Remember thi
s, Prince Andrew, if they kill you it will hurt me, your old father..." he paused
 unexpectedly, and then in a querulous voice suddenly shrieked "but if I hear tha
t you have not behaved like a son of Nicholas Bolkonski, I shall be ashamed!"  "Y
ou need not have said that to me, Father," said the son with a smile.  The old ma
n was silent.  "I also wanted to ask you," continued Prince Andrew, "if I'm kille
d and if I have a son, do not let him be taken away from youas I said yesterday..
. let him grow up with you.... Please."  "Not let the wife have him?" said the ol
d man, and laughed.  They stood silent, facing one another. The old man's sharp e
yes were fixed straight on his son's. Something twitched in the lower part of the
 old prince's face.  "We've said goodby. Go!" he suddenly shouted in a loud, angr
y voice, opening his door.  "What is it? What?" asked both princesses when they s
aw for a moment at the door Prince Andrew and the figure of the old man in a whit
e dressing gown, spectacled and wigless, shouting in an angry voice.  Prince Andr
ew sighed and made no reply.  "Well!" he said, turning to his wife.  And this "We
ll!" sounded coldly ironic, as if he were saying, "Now go through your performanc
e."  "Andrew, already!" said the little princess, turning pale and looking with d
ismay at her husband.  He embraced her. She screamed and fell unconscious on his 
shoulder.  He cautiously released the shoulder she leaned on, looked into her fac
e, and carefully placed her in an easy chair.  "Adieu, Mary," said he gently to h
is sister, taking her by the hand and kissing her, and then he left the room with
 rapid steps.  The little princess lay in the armchair, Mademoiselle Bourienne ch
afing her temples. Princess Mary, supporting her sisterinlaw, still looked with h
er beautiful eyes full of tears at the door through which Prince Andrew had gone 
and made the sign of the cross in his direction. From the study, like pistol shot
s, came the frequent sound of the old man angrily blowing his nose. Hardly had Pr
ince Andrew gone when the study door opened quickly and the stern figure of the o
ld man in the white dressing gown looked out.  "Gone? That's all right!" said he 
and looking angrily at the unconscious little princess, he shook his head reprovi
ngly and slammed the door.      BOOK TWO 1805      CHAPTER I   In October, 1805, 
a Russian army was occupying the villages and towns of the Archduchy of Austria, 
and yet other regiments freshly arriving from Russia were settling near the fortr
ess of Braunau and burdening the inhabitants on whom they were quartered. Braunau
 was the headquarters of the commanderinchief, Kutuzov.  On October 11, 1805, one
 of the infantry regiments that had just reached Braunau had halted half a mile f
rom the town, waiting to be inspected by the commander in chief. Despite the unRu
ssian appearance of the locality and surroundingsfruit gardens, stone fences, til
ed roofs, and hills in the distanceand despite the fact that the inhabitants who 
gazed with curiosity at the soldiers were not Russians, the regiment had just the
 appearance of any Russian regiment preparing for an inspection anywhere in the h
eart of Russia.  On the evening of the last day's march an order had been receive
d that the commander in chief would inspect the regiment on the march. Though the
 words of the order were not clear to the regimental commander, and the question 
arose whether the troops were to be in marching order or not, it was decided at a
 consultation between the battalion commanders to present the regiment in parade 
order, on the principle that it is always better to "bow too low than not bow low
 enough." So the soldiers, after a twentymile march, were kept mending and cleani
ng all night long without closing their eyes, while the adjutants and company com
manders calculated and reckoned, and by morning the regimentinstead of the stragg
ling, disorderly crowd it had been on its last march the day beforepresented a we
llordered array of two thousand men each of whom knew his place and his duty, had
 every button and every strap in place, and shone with cleanliness. And not only 
externally was all in order, but had it pleased the commander in chief to look un
der the uniforms he would have found on every man a clean shirt, and in every kna
psack 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 wa
s 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 spi
te of repeated demands boots had not been issued by the Austrian commissariat, an
d the regiment had marched some seven hundred miles.  The commander of the regime
nt was an elderly, choleric, stout, and thickset general with grizzled eyebrows a
nd whiskers, and wider from chest to back than across the shoulders. He had on a 
brandnew 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 ha
d the air of a man happily performing one of the most solemn duties of his life. 
He walked about in front of the line and at every step pulled himself up, slightl
y arching his back. It was plain that the commander admired his regiment, rejoice
d in it, and that his whole mind was engrossed by it, yet his strut seemed to ind
icate that, besides military matters, social interests and the fair sex occupied 
no small part of his thoughts.  "Well, Michael Mitrich, sir?" he said, addressing
 one of the battalion commanders who smilingly pressed forward it was plain that 
they both felt happy. "We had our hands full last night. However, I think the reg
iment is not a bad one, eh?"  The battalion commander perceived the jovial irony 
and laughed.  "It would not be turned off the field even on the Tsaritsin Meadow.
"  "What?" asked the commander.  At that moment, on the road from the town on whi
ch signalers had been posted, two men appeared on horse back. They were an aidede
camp followed by a Cossack.  The aidedecamp was sent to confirm the order which h
ad not been clearly worded the day before, namely, that the commander in chief wi
shed to see the regiment just in the state in which it had been on the march in t
heir greatcoats, and packs, and without any preparation whatever.  A member of th
e Hofkriegsrath from Vienna had come to Kutuzov the day before with proposals and
 demands for him to join up with the army of the Archduke Ferdinand and Mack, and
 Kutuzov, not considering this junction advisable, meant, among other arguments i
n support of his view, to show the Austrian general the wretched state in which t
he troops arrived from Russia. With this object he intended to meet the regiment 
so the worse the condition it was in, the better pleased the commander in chief w
ould be. Though the aidedecamp did not know these circumstances, he nevertheless 
delivered the definite order that the men should be in their greatcoats and in ma
rching order, and that the commander in chief would otherwise be dissatisfied. On
 hearing this the regimental commander hung his head, silently shrugged his shoul
ders, and spread out his arms with a choleric gesture.  "A fine mess we've made o
f it!" he remarked.  "There now! Didn't I tell you, Michael Mitrich, that if it w
as said 'on the march' it meant in greatcoats?" said he reproachfully to the batt
alion commander. "Oh, my God!" he added, stepping resolutely forward. "Company co
mmanders!" he shouted in a voice accustomed to command. "Sergeants major!... How 
soon will he be here?" he asked the aidedecamp with a respectful politeness evide
ntly 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 chan
ge into their greatcoats. The company commanders ran off to their companies, the 
sergeants major began bustling the greatcoats were not in very good condition, an
d instantly the squares that had up to then been in regular order and silent bega
n 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 t
he straps over their heads, unstrapping their overcoats and drawing the sleeves o
n with upraised arms.  In half an hour all was again in order, only the squares h
ad become gray instead of black. The regimental commander walked with his jerky s
teps to the front of the regiment and examined it from a distance.  "Whatever is 
this? This!" he shouted and stood still. "Commander of the third company!"  "Comm
ander of the third company wanted by the general!... commander to the general... 
third company to the commander." The words passed along the lines and an adjutant
 ran to look for the missing officer.  When the eager but misrepeated words had r
eached their destination in a cry of "The general to the third company," the miss
ing officer appeared from behind his company and, though he was a middleaged man 
and not in the habit of running, trotted awkwardly stumbling on his toes toward t
he general. The captain's face showed the uneasiness of a schoolboy who is told t
o repeat a lesson he has not learned. Spots appeared on his nose, the redness of 
which was evidently due to intemperance, and his mouth twitched nervously. The ge
neral looked the captain up and down as he came up panting, slackening his pace a
s he approached.  "You will soon be dressing your men in petticoats! What is this
?" shouted the regimental commander, thrusting forward his jaw and pointing at a 
soldier in the ranks of the third company in a greatcoat of bluish cloth, which c
ontrasted with the others. "What have you been after? The commander in chief is e
xpected and you leave your place? Eh? I'll teach you to dress the men in fancy co
ats for a parade.... Eh...?"  The commander of the company, with his eyes fixed o
n his superior, pressed two fingers more and more rigidly to his cap, as if in th
is pressure lay his only hope of salvation.  "Well, why don't you speak? Whom hav
e you got there dressed up as a Hungarian?" said the commander with an austere gi
be.  "Your excellency..."  "Well, your excellency, what? Your excellency! But wha
t about your excellency?... nobody knows."  "Your excellency, it's the officer Do
lokhov, who has been reduced to the ranks," said the captain softly.  "Well? Has 
he been degraded into a field marshal, or into a soldier? If a soldier, he should
 be dressed in regulation uniform like the others."  "Your excellency, you gave h
im leave yourself, on the march."  "Gave him leave? Leave? That's just like you y
oung 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 be
g you to dress your men decently."  And the commander, turning to look at the adj
utant, directed his jerky steps down the line. He was evidently pleased at his ow
n display of anger and walking up to the regiment wished to find a further excuse
 for wrath. Having snapped at an officer for an unpolished badge, at another beca
use his line was not straight, he reached the third company.  "Hoow are you stand
ing? Where's your leg? Your leg?" shouted the commander with a tone of suffering 
in his voice, while there were still five men between him and Dolokhov with his b
luishgray uniform.  Dolokhov slowly straightened his bent knee, looking straight 
with his clear, insolent eyes in the general's face.  "Why a blue coat? Off with 
it... Sergeant major! Change his coat... the ras..." he did not finish.  "General
, I must obey orders, but I am not bound to endure..." Dolokhov hurriedly interru
pted.  "No talking in the ranks!... No talking, no talking!"  "Not bound to endur
e insults," Dolokhov concluded in loud, ringing tones.  The eyes of the general a
nd the soldier met. The general became silent, angrily pulling down his tight sca
rf.  "I request you to have the goodness to change your coat," he said as he turn
ed away.      CHAPTER II   "He's coming!" shouted the signaler at that moment.  T
he regimental commander, flushing, ran to his horse, seized the stirrup with trem
bling hands, threw his body across the saddle, righted himself, drew his saber, a
nd with a happy and resolute countenance, opening his mouth awry, prepared to sho
ut. The regiment fluttered like a bird preening its plumage and became motionless
.  "Attention!" shouted the regimental commander in a soulshaking voice which exp
ressed joy for himself, severity for the regiment, and welcome for the approachin
g chief.  Along the broad country road, edged on both sides by trees, came a high
, light blue Viennese caleche, slightly creaking on its springs and drawn by six 
horses at a smart trot. Behind the caleche galloped the suite and a convoy of Cro
ats. Beside Kutuzov sat an Austrian general, in a white uniform that looked stran
ge among the Russian black ones. The caleche stopped in front of the regiment. Ku
tuzov and the Austrian general were talking in low voices and Kutuzov smiled slig
htly as treading heavily he stepped down from the carriage just as if those two t
housand 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 jingl
ing sound it presented arms. Then amidst a dead silence the feeble voice of the c
ommander in chief was heard. The regiment roared, "Health to your ex... len... le
n... lency!" and again all became silent. At first Kutuzov stood still while the 
regiment moved then he and the general in white, accompanied by the suite, walked
 between the ranks.  From the way the regimental commander saluted the commander 
in chief and devoured him with his eyes, drawing himself up obsequiously, and fro
m the way he walked through the ranks behind the generals, bending forward and ha
rdly 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. T
hanks to the strictness and assiduity of its commander the regiment, in compariso
n with others that had reached Braunau at the same time, was in splendid conditio
n. There were only 217 sick and stragglers. Everything was in good order except t
he boots.  Kutuzov walked through the ranks, sometimes stopping to say a few frie
ndly words to officers he had known in the Turkish war, sometimes also to the sol
diers. Looking at their boots he several times shook his head sadly, pointing the
m out to the Austrian general with an expression which seemed to say that he was 
not blaming anyone, but could not help noticing what a bad state of things it was
. The regimental commander ran forward on each such occasion, fearing to miss a s
ingle word of the commander in chief's regarding the regiment. Behind Kutuzov, at
 a distance that allowed every softly spoken word to be heard, followed some twen
ty men of his suite. These gentlemen talked among themselves and sometimes laughe
d. Nearest of all to the commander in chief walked a handsome adjutant. This was 
Prince Bolkonski. Beside him was his comrade Nesvitski, a tall staff officer, ext
remely stout, with a kindly, smiling, handsome face and moist eyes. Nesvitski cou
ld hardly keep from laughter provoked by a swarthy hussar officer who walked besi
de him. This hussar, with a grave face and without a smile or a change in the exp
ression of his fixed eyes, watched the regimental commander's back and mimicked h
is every movement. Each time the commander started and bent forward, the hussar s
tarted 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 pas
t 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, Timokhin!" said he, recognizing th
e rednosed captain who had been reprimanded on account of the blue greatcoat.  On
e would have thought it impossible for a man to stretch himself more than Timokhi
n had done when he was reprimanded by the regimental commander, but now that the 
commander in chief addressed him he drew himself up to such an extent that it see
med he could not have sustained it had the commander in chief continued to look a
t him, and so Kutuzov, who evidently understood his case and wished him nothing b
ut good, quickly turned away, a scarcely perceptible smile flitting over his scar
red and puffy face.  "Another Ismail comrade," said he. "A brave officer! Are you
 satisfied with him?" he asked the regimental commander.  And the latterunconscio
us that he was being reflected in the hussar officer as in a looking glassstarted
, moved forward, and answered "Highly satisfied, your excellency!"  "We all have 
our weaknesses," said Kutuzov smiling and walking away from him. "He used to have
 a predilection for Bacchus."  The regimental commander was afraid he might be bl
amed for this and did not answer. The hussar at that moment noticed the face of t
he rednosed captain and his drawnin stomach, and mimicked his expression and pose
 with such exactitude that Nesvitski could not help laughing. Kutuzov turned roun
d. The officer evidently had complete control of his face, and while Kutuzov was 
turning managed to make a grimace and then assume a most serious, deferential, an
d innocent expression.  The third company was the last, and Kutuzov pondered, app
arently trying to recollect something. Prince Andrew stepped forward from among t
he suite and said in French  "You told me to remind you of the officer Dolokhov, 
reduced to the ranks in this regiment."  "Where is Dolokhov?" asked Kutuzov.  Dol
okhov, who had already changed into a soldier's gray greatcoat, did not wait to b
e called. The shapely figure of the fairhaired soldier, with his clear blue eyes,
 stepped forward from the ranks, went up to the commander in chief, and presented
 arms.  "Have you a complaint to make?" Kutuzov asked with a slight frown.  "This
 is Dolokhov," said Prince Andrew.  "Ah!" said Kutuzov. "I hope this will be a le
sson to you. Do your duty. The Emperor is gracious, and I shan't forget you if yo
u deserve well."  The clear blue eyes looked at the commander in chief just as bo
ldly as they had looked at the regimental commander, seeming by their expression 
to tear open the veil of convention that separates a commander in chief so widely
 from a private.  "One thing I ask of your excellency," Dolokhov said in his firm
, ringing, deliberate voice. "I ask an opportunity to atone for my fault and prov
e my devotion to His Majesty the Emperor and to Russia!"  Kutuzov turned away. Th
e same smile of the eyes with which he had turned from Captain Timokhin again fli
tted over his face. He turned away with a grimace as if to say that everything Do
lokhov had said to him and everything he could say had long been known to him, th
at he was weary of it and it was not at all what he wanted. He turned away and we
nt to the carriage.  The regiment broke up into companies, which went to their ap
pointed 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, Prokhor Ignatych?
" said the regimental commander, overtaking the third company on its way to its q
uarters and riding up to Captain Timokhin who was walking in front. The regimenta
l commander's face now that the inspection was happily over beamed with irrepress
ible delight. "It's in the Emperor's service... it can't be helped... one is some
times a bit hasty on parade... I am the first to apologize, you know me!... He wa
s very pleased!" And he held out his hand to the captain.  "Don't mention it, Gen
eral, as if I'd be so bold!" replied the captain, his nose growing redder as he g
ave a smile which showed where two front teeth were missing that had been knocked
 out by the butt end of a gun at Ismail.  "And tell Mr. Dolokhov that I won't for
get himhe may be quite easy. And tell me, pleaseI've been meaning to askhow is he
 behaving himself, and in general..."  "As far as the service goes he is quite pu
nctilious, your excellency but his character..." said Timokhin.  "And what about 
his character?" asked the regimental commander.  "It's different on different day
s," answered the captain. "One day he is sensible, well educated, and goodnatured
, and the next he's a wild beast.... In Poland, if you please, he nearly killed a
 Jew."  "Oh, well, well!" remarked the regimental commander. "Still, one must hav
e pity on a young man in misfortune. You know he has important connections... Wel
l, then, you just..."  "I will, your excellency," said Timokhin, showing by his s
mile that he understood his commander's wish.  "Well, of course, of course!"  The
 regimental commander sought out Dolokhov in the ranks and, reining in his horse,
 said to him  "After the next affair... epaulettes."  Dolokhov looked round but d
id not say anything, nor did the mocking smile on his lips change.  "Well, that's
 all right," continued the regimental commander. "A cup of vodka for the men from
 me," he added so that the soldiers could hear. "I thank you all! God be praised!
" and he rode past that company and overtook the next one.  "Well, he's really a 
good fellow, one can serve under him," said Timokhin to the subaltern beside him.
  "In a word, a hearty one..." said the subaltern, laughing the regimental comman
der was nicknamed King of Hearts.  The cheerful mood of their officers after the 
inspection infected the soldiers. The company marched on gaily. The soldiers' voi
ces could be heard on every side.  "And they said Kutuzov was blind of one eye?" 
 "And so he is! Quite blind!"  "No, friend, he is sharpereyed than you are. Boots
 and leg bands... he noticed everything..."  "When he looked at my feet, friend..
. well, thinks I..."  "And that other one with him, the Austrian, looked as if he
 were smeared with chalkas white as flour! I suppose they polish him up as they d
o the guns."  "I say, Fedeshon!... Did he say when the battles are to begin? You 
were near him. Everybody said that Buonaparte himself was at Braunau."  "Buonapar
te himself!... Just listen to the fool, what he doesn't know! The Prussians are u
p in arms now. The Austrians, you see, are putting them down. When they've been p
ut down, the war with Buonaparte will begin. And he says Buonaparte is in Braunau
! Shows you're a fool. You'd better listen more carefully!"  "What devils these q
uartermasters 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, fri
end! 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 German
s gave us lifts! You just sit still and are drawn along."  "And here, friend, the
 people are quite beggarly. There they all seemed to be Polesall under the Russia
n crownbut here they're all regular Germans."  "Singers to the front" came the ca
ptain's order.  And from the different ranks some twenty men ran to the front. A 
drummer, their leader, turned round facing the singers, and flourishing his arm, 
began a longdrawnout soldiers' song, commencing with the words "Morning dawned, t
he sun was rising," and concluding "On then, brothers, on to glory, led by Father
 Kamenski." This song had been composed in the Turkish campaign and now being sun
g in Austria, the only change being that the words "Father Kamenski" were replace
d by "Father Kutuzov."  Having jerked out these last words as soldiers do and wav
ed his arms as if flinging something to the ground, the drummera lean, handsome s
oldier of fortylooked sternly at the singers and screwed up his eyes. Then having
 satisfied himself that all eyes were fixed on him, he raised both arms as if car
efully lifting some invisible but precious object above his head and, holding it 
there for some seconds, suddenly flung it down and began  "Oh, my bower, oh, my b
ower...!"  "Oh, my bower new...!" chimed in twenty voices, and the castanet playe
r, in spite of the burden of his equipment, rushed out to the front and, walking 
backwards before the company, jerked his shoulders and flourished his castanets a
s if threatening someone. The soldiers, swinging their arms and keeping time spon
taneously, marched with long steps. Behind the company the sound of wheels, the c
reaking of springs, and the tramp of horses' hoofs were heard. Kutuzov and his su
ite were returning to the town. The commander in chief made a sign that the men s
hould 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 blueeyed soldier involuntarily attracted notice. It was Do
lokhov marching with particular grace and boldness in time to the song and lookin
g at those driving past as if he pitied all who were not at that moment marching 
with the company. The hussar cornet of Kutuzov's suite who had mimicked the regim
ental commander, fell back from the carriage and rode up to Dolokhov.  Hussar cor
net Zherkov had at one time, in Petersburg, belonged to the wild set led by Dolok
hov. Zherkov had met Dolokhov abroad as a private and had not seen fit to recogni
ze 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 th
rough the singing, making his horse keep pace with the company.  "How am I?" Dolo
khov answered coldly. "I am as you see."  The lively song gave a special flavor t
o the tone of free and easy gaiety with which Zherkov spoke, and to the intention
al coldness of Dolokhov's reply.  "And how do you get on with the officers?" inqu
ired Zherkov.  "All right. They are good fellows. And how have you wriggled onto 
the staff?"  "I was attached I'm on duty."  Both were silent.  "She let the hawk 
fly upward from her wide right sleeve," went the song, arousing an involuntary se
nsation 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 Dolokhov.  "The devil only knows! They say so."  "I'm glad," answe
red Dolokhov briefly and clearly, as the song demanded.  "I say, come round some 
evening and we'll have a game of faro!" said Zherkov.  "Why, have you too much mo
ney?"  "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 se
e."  They were again silent.  "Come if you need anything. One can at least be of 
use on the staff..."  Dolokhov smiled. "Don't trouble. If I want anything, I won'
t begI'll take it!"  "Well, never mind I only..."  "And I only..."  "Goodby."  "G
ood health..."          "It's a long, long way.         To my native land..."   Z
herkov touched his horse with the spurs it pranced excitedly from foot to foot un
certain with which to start, then settled down, galloped past the company, and ov
ertook the carriage, still keeping time to the song.      CHAPTER III   On return
ing from the review, Kutuzov took the Austrian general into his private room and,
 calling his adjutant, asked for some papers relating to the condition of the tro
ops on their arrival, and the letters that had come from the Archduke Ferdinand, 
who was in command of the advanced army. Prince Andrew Bolkonski came into the ro
om with the required papers. Kutuzov and the Austrian member of the Hofkriegsrath
 were sitting at the table on which a plan was spread out.  "Ah!..." said Kutuzov
 glancing at Bolkonski as if by this exclamation he was asking the adjutant to wa
it, and he went on with the conversation in French.  "All I can say, General," sa
id he with a pleasant elegance of expression and intonation that obliged one to l
isten to each deliberately spoken word. It was evident that Kutuzov himself liste
ned with pleasure to his own voice. "All I can say, General, is that if the matte
r depended on my personal wishes, the will of His Majesty the Emperor Francis wou
ld have been fulfilled long ago. I should long ago have joined the archduke. And 
believe me on my honour that to me personally it would be a pleasure to hand over
 the supreme command of the army into the hands of a better informed and more ski
llful generalof whom Austria has so manyand to lay down all this heavy responsibi
lity. But circumstances are sometimes too strong for us, General."  And Kutuzov s
miled in a way that seemed to say, "You are quite at liberty not to believe me an
d 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 q
uerulous and angry tone that contrasted with his flattering words, "on the contra
ry, your excellency's participation in the common action is highly valued by His 
Majesty but we think the present delay is depriving the splendid Russian troops a
nd their commander of the laurels they have been accustomed to win in their battl
es," he concluded his evidently prearranged sentence.  Kutuzov bowed with the sam
e smile.  "But that is my conviction, and judging by the last letter with which H
is Highness the Archduke Ferdinand has honored me, I imagine that the Austrian tr
oops, under the direction of so skillful a leader as General Mack, have by now al
ready gained a decisive victory and no longer need our aid," said Kutuzov.  The g
eneral frowned. Though there was no definite news of an Austrian defeat, there we
re many circumstances confirming the unfavorable rumors that were afloat, and so 
Kutuzov's suggestion of an Austrian victory sounded much like irony. But Kutuzov 
went on blandly smiling with the same expression, which seemed to say that he had
 a right to suppose so. And, in fact, the last letter he had received from Mack's
 army informed him of a victory and stated strategically the position of the army
 was very favorable.  "Give me that letter," said Kutuzov turning to Prince Andre
w. "Please have a look at it"and Kutuzov with an ironical smile about the corners
 of his mouth read to the Austrian general the following passage, in German, from
 the Archduke Ferdinand's letter   We have fully concentrated forces of nearly se
venty thousand men with which to attack and defeat the enemy should he cross the 
Lech. Also, as we are masters of Ulm, we cannot be deprived of the advantage of c
ommanding 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 t
he river lower down, and frustrate his intention should he try to direct his whol
e force against our faithful ally. We shall therefore confidently await the momen
t when the Imperial Russian army will be fully equipped, and shall then, in conju
nction with it, easily find a way to prepare for the enemy the fate he deserves. 
  Kutuzov sighed deeply on finishing this paragraph and looked at the member of t
he Hofkriegsrath mildly and attentively.  "But you know the wise maxim your excel
lency, advising one to expect the worst," said the Austrian general, evidently wi
shing to have done with jests and to come to business. He involuntarily looked ro
und at the aidedecamp.  "Excuse me, General," interrupted Kutuzov, also turning t
o Prince Andrew. "Look here, my dear fellow, get from Kozlovski all the reports f
rom our scouts. Here are two letters from Count Nostitz and here is one from His 
Highness the Archduke Ferdinand and here are these," he said, handing him several
 papers, "make a neat memorandum in French out of all this, showing all the news 
we have had of the movements of the Austrian army, and then give it to his excell
ency."  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 papers and with a bow to both, stepped softly over the carpet 
and went out into the waiting room.  Though not much time had passed since Prince
 Andrew had left Russia, he had changed greatly during that period. In the expres
sion of his face, in his movements, in his walk, scarcely a trace was left of his
 former affected languor and indolence. He now looked like a man who has time to 
think of the impression he makes on others, but is occupied with agreeable and in
teresting work. His face expressed more satisfaction with himself and those aroun
d him, his smile and glance were brighter and more attractive.  Kutuzov, whom he 
had overtaken in Poland, had received him very kindly, promised not to forget him
, distinguished him above the other adjutants, and had taken him to Vienna and gi
ven him the more serious commissions. From Vienna Kutuzov wrote to his old comrad
e, Prince Andrew's father.   Your son bids fair to become an officer distinguishe
d by his industry, firmness, and expedition. I consider myself fortunate to have 
such a subordinate by me.   On Kutuzov's staff, among his fellow officers and in 
the army generally, Prince Andrew had, as he had had in Petersburg society, two q
uite opposite reputations. Some, a minority, acknowledged him to be different fro
m themselves and from everyone else, expected great things of him, listened to hi
m, admired, and imitated him, and with them Prince Andrew was natural and pleasan
t. Others, the majority, disliked him and considered him conceited, cold, and dis
agreeable. But among these people Prince Andrew knew how to take his stand so tha
t they respected and even feared him.  Coming out of Kutuzov's room into the wait
ing room with the papers in his hand Prince Andrew came up to his comrade, the ai
dedecamp on duty, Kozlovski, who was sitting at the window with a book.  "Well, P
rince?" asked Kozlovski.  "I am ordered to write a memorandum explaining why we a
re 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 ha
ve come."  "Probably," said Prince Andrew moving toward the outer door.  But at t
hat instant a tall Austrian general in a greatcoat, with the order of Maria There
sa on his neck and a black bandage round his head, who had evidently just arrived
, entered quickly, slamming the door. Prince Andrew stopped short.  "Commander in
 Chief Kutuzov?" said the newly arrived general speaking quickly with a harsh Ger
man accent, looking to both sides and advancing straight toward the inner door.  
"The commander in chief is engaged," said Kozlovski, going hurriedly up to the un
known general and blocking his way to the door. "Whom shall I announce?"  The unk
nown general looked disdainfully down at Kozlovski, who was rather short, as if s
urprised that anyone should not know him.  "The commander in chief is engaged," r
epeated Kozlovski calmly.  The general's face clouded, his lips quivered and trem
bled. He took out a notebook, hurriedly scribbled something in pencil, tore out t
he leaf, gave it to Kozlovski, stepped quickly to the window, and threw himself i
nto a chair, gazing at those in the room as if asking, "Why do they look at me?" 
Then he lifted his head, stretched his neck as if he intended to say something, b
ut immediately, with affected indifference, began to hum to himself, producing a 
queer sound which immediately broke off. The door of the private room opened and 
Kutuzov appeared in the doorway. The general with the bandaged head bent forward 
as though running away from some danger, and, making long, quick strides with his
 thin legs, went up to Kutuzov.  "Vous voyez le malheureux Mack," he uttered in a
 broken voice.  Kutuzov's face as he stood in the open doorway remained perfectly
 immobile for a few moments. Then wrinkles ran over his face like a wave and his 
forehead became smooth again, he bowed his head respectfully, closed his eyes, si
lently 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 th
at the whole army had surrendered at Ulm proved to be correct. Within half an hou
r 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 d
ifficulties 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 t
he thought of the humiliation of arrogant Austria and that in a week's time he mi
ght, perhaps, see and take part in the first Russian encounter with the French si
nce Suvorov met them. He feared that Bonaparte's genius might outweigh all the co
urage of the Russian troops, and at the same time could not admit the idea of his
 hero being disgraced.  Excited and irritated by these thoughts Prince Andrew wen
t toward his room to write to his father, to whom he wrote every day. In the corr
idor he met Nesvitski, with whom he shared a room, and the wag Zherkov they were 
as usual laughing.  "Why are you so glum?" asked Nesvitski noticing Prince Andrew
's pale face and glittering eyes.  "There's nothing to be gay about," answered Bo
lkonski.  Just as Prince Andrew met Nesvitski and Zherkov, there came toward them
 from the other end of the corridor, Strauch, an Austrian general who on Kutuzov'
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 Zherk
ov, pushing Nesvitski aside with his arm, said in a breathless voice,  "They're c
oming!... they're coming!... Stand aside, make way, please make way!"  The genera
ls were passing by, looking as if they wished to avoid embarrassing attentions. O
n the face of the wag Zherkov there suddenly appeared a stupid smile of glee whic
h he seemed unable to suppress.  "Your excellency," said he in German, stepping f
orward 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, aw
kwardly, like a child at a dancing lesson.  The member of the Hofkriegsrath looke
d 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 listeni
ng.  "I have the honor to congratulate you. General Mack has arrived, quite well,
 only a little bruised just here," he added, pointing with a beaming smile to his
 head.  The general frowned, turned away, and went on.  "Gott, wie naiv!" * said 
he angrily, after he had gone a few steps.        * "Good God, what simplicity!" 
  Nesvitski with a laugh threw his arms round Prince Andrew, but Bolkonski, turni
ng still paler, pushed him away with an angry look and turned to Zherkov. The ner
vous irritation aroused by the appearance of Mack, the news of his defeat, and th
e thought of what lay before the Russian army found vent in anger at Zherkov's un
timely jest.  "If you, sir, choose to make a buffoon of yourself," he said sharpl
y, with a slight trembling of the lower jaw, "I can't prevent your doing so but I
 warn you that if you dare to play the fool in my presence, I will teach you to b
ehave yourself."  Nesvitski and Zherkov were so surprised by this outburst that t
hey gazed at Bolkonski silently with wideopen eyes.  "What's the matter? I only c
ongratulated them," said Zherkov.  "I am not jesting with you please be silent!" 
cried Bolkonski, and taking Nesvitski's arm he left Zherkov, who did not know wha
t to say.  "Come, what's the matter, old fellow?" said Nesvitski trying to soothe
 him.  "What's the matter?" exclaimed Prince Andrew standing still in his excitem
ent. "Don't you understand that either we are officers serving our Tsar and our c
ountry, 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 hommes massacres et l'armee de nos allies detruite, et vous trouvez l
a le mot pour rire," * he said, as if strengthening his views by this French sent
ence. "C'est bien pour un garcon de rien comme cet individu dont vous avez fait u
n ami, mais pas pour vous, pas pour vous. *2 Only a hobbledehoy could amuse himse
lf in this way," he added in Russianbut pronouncing the word with a French accent
having noticed that Zherkov could still hear him.        * "Forty thousand men ma
ssacred and the army of our allies      destroyed, and you find that a cause for 
jesting!"       * 2 "It is all very well for that goodfornothing fellow      of w
hom you have made a friend, but not for you, not for      you."   He waited a mom
ent to see whether the cornet would answer, but he turned and went out of the cor
ridor.      CHAPTER IV   The Pavlograd Hussars were stationed two miles from Brau
nau. 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 c
avalrycaptain Denisov, the squadron commander, known throughout the whole cavalry
 division as Vaska Denisov. Cadet Rostov, ever since he had overtaken the regimen
t in Poland, had lived with the squadron commander.  On October 11, the day when 
all was astir at headquarters over the news of Mack's defeat, the camp life of th
e officers of this squadron was proceeding as usual. Denisov, who had been losing
 at cards all night, had not yet come home when Rostov rode back early in the mor
ning from a foraging expedition. Rostov in his cadet uniform, with a jerk to his 
horse, rode up to the porch, swung his leg over the saddle with a supple youthful
 movement, stood for a moment in the stirrup as if loathe to part from his horse,
 and at last sprang down and called to his orderly.  "Ah, Bondarenko, dear friend
!" said he to the hussar who rushed up headlong to the horse. "Walk him up and do
wn, my dear fellow," he continued, with that gay brotherly cordiality which goodh
earted young people show to everyone when they are happy.  "Yes, your excellency,
" answered the Ukrainian gaily, tossing his head.  "Mind, walk him up and down we
ll!"  Another hussar also rushed toward the horse, but Bondarenko had already thr
own the reins of the snaffle bridle over the horse's head. It was evident that th
e cadet was liberal with his tips and that it paid to serve him. Rostov patted th
e horse's neck and then his flank, and lingered for a moment.  "Splendid! What a 
horse he will be!" he thought with a smile, and holding up his saber, his spurs j
ingling, 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 ou
t, and his face immediately brightened on seeing Rostov. "Schon gut Morgen! Schon
 gut Morgen!" * he said winking with a merry smile, evidently pleased to greet th
e young man.       * "A very good morning! A very good morning!"   "Schon fleissi
g?" * said Rostov with the same gay brotherly smile which did not leave his eager
 face. "Hoch Oestreicher! Hoch Russen! Kaiser Alexander hoch!" *2 said he, quotin
g words often repeated by the German landlord.       * "Busy already?"      * 2 "
Hurrah for the Austrians! Hurrah for the Russians!      Hurrah for Emperor Alexan
der!"   The German laughed, came out of the cowshed, pulled off his cap, and wavi
ng it above his head cried  "Und die ganze Welt hoch!" *       * "And hurrah for 
the whole world!"   Rostov waved his cap above his head like the German and cried
 laughing, "Und vivat die ganze Welt!" Though neither the German cleaning his cow
shed nor Rostov back with his platoon from foraging for hay had any reason for re
joicing, they looked at each other with joyful delight and brotherly love, wagged
 their heads in token of their mutual affection, and parted smiling, the German r
eturning to his cowshed and Rostov going to the cottage he occupied with Denisov.
  "What about your master?" he asked Lavrushka, Denisov's orderly, whom all the r
egiment knew for a rogue.  "Hasn't been in since the evening. Must have been losi
ng," answered Lavrushka. "I know by now, if he wins he comes back early to brag a
bout it, but if he stays out till morning it means he's lost and will come back i
n a rage. Will you have coffee?"  "Yes, bring some."  Ten minutes later Lavrushka
 brought the coffee. "He's coming!" said he. "Now for trouble!" Rostov looked out
 of the window and saw Denisov coming home. Denisov was a small man with a red fa
ce, sparkling black eyes, and black tousled mustache and hair. He wore an unfaste
ned cloak, wide breeches hanging down in creases, and a crumpled shako on the bac
k of his head. He came up to the porch gloomily, hanging his head.  "Lavwuska!" h
e shouted loudly and angrily, "take it off, blockhead!"  "Well, I am taking it of
f," replied Lavrushka's voice.  "Ah, you're up already," said Denisov, entering t
he room.  "Long ago," answered Rostov, "I have already been for the hay, and have
 seen Fraulein Mathilde."  "Weally! And I've been losing, bwother. I lost yesterd
ay like a damned fool!" cried Denisov, not pronouncing his r's. "Such ill luck! S
uch ill luck. As soon as you left, it began and went on. Hullo there! Tea!"  Puck
ering up his face though smiling, and showing his short strong teeth, he began wi
th 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, rubbi
ng his forehead and whole face with both hands. "Just fancy, he didn't let me win
 a single cahd, not one cahd."  He took the lighted pipe that was offered to him,
 gripped it in his fist, and tapped it on the floor, making the sparks fly, while
 he continued to shout.  "He lets one win the singles and collahs it as soon as o
ne doubles it gives the singles and snatches the doubles!"  He scattered the burn
ing tobacco, smashed the pipe, and threw it away. Then he remained silent for a w
hile, and all at once looked cheerfully with his glittering, black eyes at Rostov
.  "If at least we had some women here but there's nothing foh one to do but dwin
k. If we could only get to fighting soon. Hullo, who's there?" he said, turning t
o the door as he heard a tread of heavy boots and the clinking of spurs that came
 to a stop, and a respectful cough.  "The squadron quartermaster!" said Lavrushka
.  Denisov's face puckered still more.  "Wetched!" he muttered, throwing down a p
urse with some gold in it. "Wostov, deah fellow, just see how much there is left 
and shove the purse undah the pillow," he said, and went out to the quartermaster
.  Rostov took the money and, mechanically arranging the old and new coins in sep
arate piles, began counting them.  "Ah! Telyanin! How d'ye do? They plucked me la
st night," came Denisov's voice from the next room.  "Where? At Bykov's, at the r
at's... I knew it," replied a piping voice, and Lieutenant Telyanin, a small offi
cer of the same squadron, entered the room.  Rostov thrust the purse under the pi
llow and shook the damp little hand which was offered him. Telyanin for some reas
on had been transferred from the Guards just before this campaign. He behaved ver
y well in the regiment but was not liked Rostov especially detested him and was u
nable to overcome or conceal his groundless antipathy to the man.  "Well, young c
avalryman, how is my Rook behaving?" he asked. Rook was a young horse Telyanin ha
d sold to Rostov.  The lieutenant never looked the man he was speaking to straigh
t in the face his eyes continually wandered from one object to another.  "I saw y
ou riding this morning..." he added.  "Oh, he's all right, a good horse," answere
d Rostov, though the horse for which he had paid seven hundred rubbles was not wo
rth 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 wh
at kind of rivet to use."  "Yes, please do," said Rostov.  "I'll show you, I'll s
how you! It's not a secret. And it's a horse you'll thank me for."  "Then I'll ha
ve it brought round," said Rostov wishing to avoid Telyanin, and he went out to g
ive the order.  In the passage Denisov, with a pipe, was squatting on the thresho
ld facing the quartermaster who was reporting to him. On seeing Rostov, Denisov s
crewed up his face and pointing over his shoulder with his thumb to the room wher
e Telyanin was sitting, he frowned and gave a shudder of disgust.  "Ugh! I don't 
like that fellow," he said, regardless of the quartermaster's presence.  Rostov s
hrugged his shoulders as much as to say "Nor do I, but what's one to do?" and, ha
ving given his order, he returned to Telyanin.  Telyanin 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 Rostov as he entered.  "Have you
 told them to bring the horse?" asked Telyanin, getting up and looking carelessly
 about him.  "I have."  "Let us go ourselves. I only came round to ask Denisov ab
out yesterday's order. Have you got it, Denisov?"  "Not yet. But where are you of
f to?"  "I want to teach this young man how to shoe a horse," said Telyanin.  The
y went through the porch and into the stable. The lieutenant explained how to riv
et 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. Denisov was sitting there scratching
 with his pen on a sheet of paper. He looked gloomily in Rostov'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 Rostov 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 first day of cweation... Who's that now? Send hi
m 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 quart
ermaster for the money."  Denisov frowned and was about to shout some reply but s
topped.  "Wetched business," he muttered to himself. "How much is left in the puh
se?" he asked, turning to Rostov.  "Seven new and three old imperials."  "Oh, it'
s wetched! Well, what are you standing there for, you sca'cwow? Call the quahtehm
asteh," he shouted to Lavrushka.  "Please, Denisov, let me lend you some I have s
ome, you know," said Rostov, blushing.  "Don't like bowwowing from my own fellows
, I don't," growled Denisov.  "But if you won't accept money from me like a comra
de, you will offend me. Really I have some," Rostov repeated.  "No, I tell you." 
 And Denisov went to the bed to get the purse from under the pillow.  "Where have
 you put it, Wostov?"  "Under the lower pillow."  "It's not there."  Denisov thre
w both pillows on the floor. The purse was not there.  "That's a miwacle."  "Wait
, haven't you dropped it?" said Rostov, picking up the pillows one at a time and 
shaking them.  He pulled off the quilt and shook it. The purse was not there.  "D
ear me, can I have forgotten? No, I remember thinking that you kept it under your
 head like a treasure," said Rostov. "I put it just here. Where is it?" he asked,
 turning to Lavrushka.  "I haven't been in the room. It must be where you put it.
"  "But it isn't?..."  "You're always like that you thwow a thing down anywhere a
nd forget it. Feel in your pockets."  "No, if I hadn't thought of it being a trea
sure," said Rostov, "but I remember putting it there."  Lavrushka turned all the 
bedding over, looked under the bed and under the table, searched everywhere, and 
stood still in the middle of the room. Denisov silently watched Lavrushka's movem
ents, and when the latter threw up his arms in surprise saying it was nowhere to 
be found Denisov glanced at Rostov.  "Wostov, you've not been playing schoolboy t
wicks..."  Rostov felt Denisov's gaze fixed on him, raised his eyes, and instantl
y dropped them again. All the blood which had seemed congested somewhere below hi
s 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 s
omewhere," said Lavrushka.  "Now then, you devil's puppet, look alive and hunt fo
r it!" shouted Denisov, suddenly, turning purple and rushing at the man with a th
reatening gesture. "If the purse isn't found I'll flog you, I'll flog you all."  
Rostov, his eyes avoiding Denisov, began buttoning his coat, buckled on his saber
, and put on his cap.  "I must have that purse, I tell you," shouted Denisov, sha
king his orderly by the shoulders and knocking him against the wall.  "Denisov, l
et him alone, I know who has taken it," said Rostov, going toward the door withou
t raising his eyes. Denisov paused, thought a moment, and, evidently understandin
g what Rostov 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 all
ow it. The purse is here! I'll flay this scoundwel alive, and it will be found." 
 "I know who has taken it," repeated Rostov in an unsteady voice, and went to the
 door.  "And I tell you, don't you dahe to do it!" shouted Denisov, rushing at th
e cadet to restrain him.  But Rostov pulled away his arm and, with as much anger 
as though Denisov were his worst enemy, firmly fixed his eyes directly on his fac
e.  "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 evewy
body," were the last words Rostov heard.  Rostov went to Telyanin's quarters.  "T
he master is not in, he's gone to headquarters," said Telyanin's orderly. "Has so
mething happened?" he added, surprised at the cadet's troubled face.  "No, nothin
g."  "You've only just missed him," said the orderly.  The headquarters were situ
ated two miles away from Salzeneck, and Rostov, without returning home, took a ho
rse and rode there. There was an inn in the village which the officers frequented
. Rostov rode up to it and saw Telyanin's horse at the porch.  In the second room
 of the inn the lieutenant was sitting over a dish of sausages and a bottle of wi
ne.  "Ah, you've come here too, young man!" he said, smiling and raising his eyeb
rows.  "Yes," said Rostov as if it cost him a great deal to utter the word and he
 sat down at the nearest table.  Both were silent. There were two Germans and a R
ussian officer in the room. No one spoke and the only sounds heard were the clatt
er of knives and the munching of the lieutenant.  When Telyanin had finished his 
lunch he took out of his pocket a double purse and, drawing its rings aside with 
his small, white, turnedup fingers, drew out a gold imperial, and lifting his eye
brows gave it to the waiter.  "Please be quick," he said.  The coin was a new one
. Rostov rose and went up to Telyanin.  "Allow me to look at your purse," he said
 in a low, almost inaudible, voice.  With shifting eyes but eyebrows still raised
, Telyanin handed him the purse.  "Yes, it's a nice purse. Yes, yes," he said, gr
owing suddenly pale, and added, "Look at it, young man."  Rostov took the purse i
n his hand, examined it and the money in it, and looked at Telyanin. The lieutena
nt was looking about in his usual way and suddenly seemed to grow very merry.  "I
f we get to Vienna I'll get rid of it there but in these wretched little towns th
ere's nowhere to spend it," said he. "Well, let me have it, young man, I'm going.
"  Rostov did not speak.  "And you? Are you going to have lunch too? They feed yo
u quite decently here," continued Telyanin. "Now then, let me have it."  He stret
ched out his hand to take hold of the purse. Rostov let go of it. Telyanin took t
he 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 bu
siness."  "Well, young man?" he said with a sigh, and from under his lifted brows
 he glanced into Rostov's eyes.  Some flash as of an electric spark shot from Tel
yanin's eyes to Rostov's and back, and back again and again in an instant.  "Come
 here," said Rostov, catching hold of Telyanin's arm and almost dragging him to t
he window. "That money is Denisov's you took it..." he whispered just above Telya
nin's ear.  "What? What? How dare you? What?" said Telyanin.  But these words cam
e like a piteous, despairing cry and an entreaty for pardon. As soon as Rostov he
ard them, an enormous load of doubt fell from him. He was glad, and at the same i
nstant 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 Telyanin, taking up his cap and moving toward a small empty room. "We m
ust have an explanation..."  "I know it and shall prove it," said Rostov.  "I..."
  Every muscle of Telyanin's pale, terrified face began to quiver, his eyes still
 shifted from side to side but with a downward look not rising to Rostov's face, 
and his sobs were audible.  "Count!... Don't ruin a young fellow... here is this 
wretched money, take it..." He threw it on the table. "I have an old father and m
other!..."  Rostov took the money, avoiding Telyanin's eyes, and went out of the 
room without a word. But at the door he stopped and then retraced his steps. "O G
od," he said with tears in his eyes, "how could you do it?"  "Count..." said Tely
anin drawing nearer to him.  "Don't touch me," said Rostov, drawing back. "If you
 need it, take the money," and he threw the purse to him and ran out of the inn. 
     CHAPTER V   That same evening there was an animated discussion among the squ
adron's officers in Denisov's quarters.  "And I tell you, Rostov, that you must a
pologize to the colonel!" said a tall, grizzlyhaired staff captain, with enormous
 mustaches and many wrinkles on his large features, to Rostov who was crimson wit
h excitement.  The staff captain, Kirsten, had twice been reduced to the ranks fo
r affairs of honor and had twice regained his commission.  "I will allow no one t
o call me a liar!" cried Rostov. "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, b
ut no one can make me apologize, because if he, as commander of this regiment, th
inks it beneath his dignity to give me satisfaction, then..."  "You just wait a m
oment, my dear fellow, and listen," interrupted the staff captain in his deep bas
s, calmly stroking his long mustache. "You tell the colonel in the presence of ot
her officers that an officer has stolen..."  "I'm not to blame that the conversat
ion began in the presence of other officers. Perhaps I ought not to have spoken b
efore 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 lyingso let him g
ive me satisfaction..."  "That's all right. No one thinks you a coward, but that'
s not the point. Ask Denisov whether it is not out of the question for a cadet to
 demand satisfaction of his regimental commander?"  Denisov sat gloomily biting h
is mustache and listening to the conversation, evidently with no wish to take par
t 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 Bogdanich" the colonel was called Bogdanich "
shuts you up."  "He did not shut me up, he said I was telling an untruth."  "Well
, have it so, and you talked a lot of nonsense to him and must apologize."  "Not 
on any account!" exclaimed Rostov.  "I did not expect this of you," said the staf
f captain seriously and severely. "You don't wish to apologize, but, man, it's no
t only to him but to the whole regimentall of usyou're to blame all round. The ca
se is this you ought to have thought the matter over and taken advice but no, you
 go and blurt it all straight out before the officers. Now what was the colonel t
o 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 li
ke 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
 apologizing, and you wish to make the whole affair public. You are offended at b
eing put on duty a bit, but why not apologize to an old and honorable officer? Wh
atever Bogdanich may be, anyway he is an honorable and brave old colonel! You're 
quick at taking offense, but you don't mind disgracing the whole regiment!" The s
taff 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 somewhe
re and can snap your fingers when it is said 'There are thieves among the Pavlogr
ad officers!' But it's not all the same to us! Am I not right, Denisov? It's not 
the same!"  Denisov remained silent and did not move, but occasionally looked wit
h his glittering black eyes at Rostov.  "You value your own pride and don't wish 
to apologize," continued the staff captain, "but we old fellows, who have grown u
p in and, God willing, are going to die in the regiment, we prize the honor of th
e regiment, and Bogdanich knows it. Oh, we do prize it, old fellow! And all this 
is not right, it's not right! You may take offense or not but I always stick to m
other truth. It's not right!"  And the staff captain rose and turned away from Ro
stov.  "That's twue, devil take it!" shouted Denisov, jumping up. "Now then, Wost
ov, now then!"   Rostov, growing red and pale alternately, looked first at one of
ficer 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 t
he 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, tur
ning round and clapping Rostov on the shoulder with his big hand.  "I tell you," 
shouted Denisov, "he's a fine fellow."  "That's better, Count," said the staff ca
ptain, beginning to address Rostov by his title, as if in recognition of his conf
ession. "Go and apologize, your excellency. Yes, go!"  "Gentlemen, I'll do anythi
ng. No one shall hear a word from me," said Rostov in an imploring voice, "but I 
can't apologize, by God I can't, do what you will! How can I go and apologize lik
e a little boy asking forgiveness?"  Denisov began to laugh.  "It'll be worse for
 you. Bogdanich is vindictive and you'll pay for your obstinacy," said Kirsten.  
"No, on my word it's not obstinacy! I can't describe the feeling. I can't..."  "W
ell, it's as you like," said the staff captain. "And what has become of that scou
ndrel?" he asked Denisov.  "He has weported himself sick, he's to be stwuck off t
he list tomowwow," muttered Denisov.  "It is an illness, there's no other way of 
explaining it," said the staff captain.  "Illness or not, he'd better not cwoss m
y path. I'd kill him!" shouted Denisov in a bloodthirsty tone.  Just then Zherkov
 entered the room.  "What brings you here?" cried the officers turning to the new
comer.  "We're to go into action, gentlemen! Mack has surrendered with his whole 
army."  "It's not true!"  "I've seen him myself!"  "What? Saw the real Mack? With
 hands and feet?"  "Into action! Into action! Bring him a bottle for such news! B
ut how did you come here?"  "I've been sent back to the regiment all on account o
f that devil, Mack. An Austrian general complained of me. I congratulated him on 
Mack's arrival... What's the matter, Rostov? You look as if you'd just come out o
f a hot bath."  "Oh, my dear fellow, we're in such a stew here these last two day
s."  The regimental adjutant came in and confirmed the news brought by Zherkov. T
hey 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   Kutuzov 
fell back toward Vienna, destroying behind him the bridges over the rivers Inn at
 Braunau and Traun near Linz. On October 23 the Russian troops were crossing the 
river Enns. At midday the Russian baggage train, the artillery, and columns of tr
oops were defiling through the town of Enns on both sides of the bridge.  It was 
a warm, rainy, autumnal day. The wide expanse that opened out before the heights 
on which the Russian batteries stood guarding the bridge was at times veiled by a
 diaphanous curtain of slanting rain, and then, suddenly spread out in the sunlig
ht, fardistant objects could be clearly seen glittering as though freshly varnish
ed. Down below, the little town could be seen with its white, redroofed houses, i
ts 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 beca
me visible, and the rocky left bank of the Danube covered with pine forests, with
 a mystic background of green treetops and bluish gorges. The turrets of a conven
t stood out beyond a wild virgin pine forest, and far away on the other side of t
he Enns the enemy's horse patrols could be discerned.  Among the field guns on th
e brow of the hill the general in command of the rearguard stood with a staff off
icer, scanning the country through his fieldglass. A little behind them Nesvitski
, who had been sent to the rearguard by the commander in chief, was sitting on th
e trail of a gun carriage. A Cossack who accompanied him had handed him a knapsac
k and a flask, and Nesvitski was treating some officers to pies and real doppelku
mmel. The officers gladly gathered round him, some on their knees, some squatting
 Turkish fashion on the wet grass.  "Yes, the Austrian prince who built that cast
le was no fool. It's a fine place! Why are you not eating anything, gentlemen?" N
esvitski 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 pla
ce! 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 infan
trymen have already got there. Look there in the meadow behind the village, three
 of them are dragging something. They'll ransack that castle," he remarked with e
vident approval.  "So they will," said Nesvitski. "No, but what I should like," a
dded he, munching a pie in his moistlipped handsome mouth, "would be to slip in o
ver there."  He pointed with a smile to a turreted nunnery, and his eyes narrowed
 and gleamed.  "That would be fine, gentlemen!"  The officers laughed.  "Just to 
flutter the nuns a bit. They say there are Italian girls among them. On my word I
'd give five years of my life for it!"  "They must be feeling dull, too," said on
e of the bolder officers, laughing.  Meanwhile the staff officer standing in fron
t pointed out something to the general, who looked through his field glass.  "Yes
, so it is, so it is," said the general angrily, lowering the field glass and shr
ugging 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 milkwhite cloud arose. Then came the distant repor
t of a shot, and our troops could be seen hurrying to the crossing.  Nesvitski ro
se, puffing, and went up to the general, smiling.  "Would not your excellency lik
e a little refreshment?" he said.  "It's a bad business," said the general withou
t answering him, "our men have been wasting time."  "Hadn't I better ride over, y
our 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 huss
ars that they are to cross last and to fire the bridge as I ordered and the infla
mmable material on the bridge must be reinspected."  "Very good," answered Nesvit
ski.  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, C
aptain. Just try!" said the general, turning to an artillery officer. "Have a lit
tle fun to pass the time."  "Crew, to your guns!" commanded the officer.  In a mo
ment the men came running gaily from their campfires and began loading.  "One!" c
ame the command.  Number one jumped briskly aside. The gun rang out with a deafen
ing metallic roar, and a whistling grenade flew above the heads of our troops bel
ow the hill and fell far short of the enemy, a little smoke showing the spot wher
e it burst.  The faces of officers and men brightened up at the sound. Everyone g
ot up and began watching the movements of our troops below, as plainly visible as
 if but a stone's throw away, and the movements of the approaching enemy farther 
off. At the same instant the sun came fully out from behind the clouds, and the c
lear sound of the solitary shot and the brilliance of the bright sunshine merged 
in a single joyous and spirited impression.      CHAPTER VII   Two of the enemy's
 shots had already flown across the bridge, where there was a crush. Halfway acro
ss 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 Nesvit
ski tried to move on, soldiers and carts pushed him back again and pressed him ag
ainst the railings, and all he could do was to smile.  "What a fine fellow you ar
e, friend!" said the Cossack to a convoy soldier with a wagon, who was pressing o
nto the infantrymen who were crowded together close to his wheels and his horses.
 "What a fellow! You can't wait a moment! Don't you see the general wants to pass
?"  But the convoyman took no notice of the word "general" and shouted at the sol
diers 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 interlock
ing, moved over the bridge in a dense mass. Looking down over the rails Prince Ne
svitski 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, kn
apsacks, bayonets, long muskets, and, under the shakos, faces with broad cheekbon
es, sunken cheeks, and listless tired expressions, and feet that moved through th
e sticky mud that covered the planks of the bridge. Sometimes through the monoton
ous 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 sometim
es like a log floating down the river, an officers' or company's baggage wagon, p
iled 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 co
at, with a wink, and passed on followed by another, an old man.  "If he" he meant
 the enemy "begins popping at the bridge now," said the old soldier dismally to a
 comrade, "you'll forget to scratch yourself."  That soldier passed on, and after
 him came another sitting on a cart.  "Where the devil have the leg bands been sh
oved 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 ev
idently 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 ga
ily, with a wide swing of his arm.  "Yes, the ham was just delicious..." answered
 another with a loud laugh. And they, too, passed on, so that Nesvitski did not l
earn 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 se
rgeant was saying angrily and reproachfully.  "As it flies past me, Daddy, the ba
ll I mean," said a young soldier with an enormous mouth, hardly refraining from l
aughing, "I felt like dying of fright. I did, 'pon my word, I got that frightened
!" said he, as if bragging of having been frightened.  That one also passed. Then
 followed a cart unlike any that had gone before. It was a German cart with a pai
r 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 w
ith an unweaned baby, an old woman, and a healthy German girl with bright red che
eks were sitting on some feather beds. Evidently these fugitives were allowed to 
pass by special permission. The eyes of all the soldiers turned toward the women,
 and while the vehicle was passing at foot pace all the soldiers' remarks related
 to the two young ones. Every face bore almost the same smile, expressing unseeml
y thoughts about the women.  "Just see, the German sausage is making tracks, too!
"  "Sell me the missis," said another soldier, addressing the German, who, angry 
and frightened, strode energetically along with downcast eyes.  "See how smart sh
e's made herself! Oh, the devils!"  "There, Fedotov, you should be quartered on t
hem!"  "I have seen as much before now, mate!"  "Where are you going?" asked an i
nfantry officer who was eating an apple, also half smiling as he looked at the ha
ndsome 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 smi
led and took it. Nesvitski like the rest of the men on the bridge did not take hi
s 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 of
ten 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, Nesvitski suddenly heard a sound new to him, of something 
swiftly approaching... something big, that splashed into the water.  "Just see wh
ere it carries to!" a soldier near by said sternly, looking round at the sound.  
"Encouraging us to get along quicker," said another uneasily.  The crowd moved on
 again. Nesvitski realized that it was a cannon ball.  "Hey, Cossack, my horse!" 
he said. "Now, then, you there! get out of the way! Make way!"  With great diffic
ulty he managed to get to his horse, and shouting continually he moved on. The so
ldiers 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 themse
lves pressed still harder from behind.  "Nesvitski, Nesvitski! you numskull!" cam
e a hoarse voice from behind him.  Nesvitski looked round and saw, some fifteen p
aces away but separated by the living mass of moving infantry, Vaska Denisov, red
 and shaggy, with his cap on the back of his black head and a cloak hanging jaunt
ily over his shoulder.  "Tell these devils, these fiends, to let me pass!" shoute
d Denisov evidently in a fit of rage, his coalblack eyes with their bloodshot whi
tes glittering and rolling as he waved his sheathed saber in a small bare hand as
 red as his face.  "Ah, Vaska!" joyfully replied Nesvitski. "What's up with you?"
  "The squadwon can't pass," shouted Vaska Denisov, showing his white teeth fierc
ely and spurring his black thoroughbred Arab, which twitched its ears as the bayo
nets touched it, and snorted, spurting white foam from his bit, tramping the plan
ks of the bridge with his hoofs, and apparently ready to jump over the railings h
ad 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 wi
th my saber!" he shouted, actually drawing his saber from its scabbard and flouri
shing it.  The soldiers crowded against one another with terrified faces, and Den
isov joined Nesvitski.  "How's it you're not drunk today?" said Nesvitski when th
e other had ridden up to him.  "They don't even give one time to dwink!" answered
 Vaska Denisov. "They keep dwagging the wegiment to and fwo all day. If they mean
 to fight, let's fight. But the devil knows what this is."  "What a dandy you are
 today!" said Nesvitski, looking at Denisov's new cloak and saddlecloth.  Denisov
 smiled, took out of his sabretache a handkerchief that diffused a smell of perfu
me, and put it to Nesvitski's nose.  "Of course. I'm going into action! I've shav
ed, bwushed my teeth, and scented myself."  The imposing figure of Nesvitski foll
owed by his Cossack, and the determination of Denisov who flourished his sword an
d shouted frantically, had such an effect that they managed to squeeze through to
 the farther side of the bridge and stopped the infantry. Beside the bridge Nesvi
tski 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. C
arelessly 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 hoo
fs, as of several horses galloping, resounded on the planks of the bridge, and th
e squadron, officers in front and men four abreast, spread across the bridge and 
began to emerge on his side of it.  The infantry who had been stopped crowded nea
r the bridge in the trampled mud and gazed with that particular feeling of illwil
l, estrangement, and ridicule with which troops of different arms usually encount
er one another at the clean, smart hussars who moved past them in regular order. 
 "Smart lads! Only fit for a fair!" said one.  "What good are they? They're led a
bout just for show!" remarked another.  "Don't kick up the dust, you infantry!" j
ested 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 s
oon 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, Ziki
n, 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 b
etween your legs, that'll suit you for a horse!" the hussar shouted back.      CH
APTER VIII   The last of the infantry hurriedly crossed the bridge, squeezing tog
ether as they approached it as if passing through a funnel. At last the baggage w
agons had all crossed, the crush was less, and the last battalion came onto the b
ridge. Only Denisov's squadron of hussars remained on the farther side of the bri
dge facing the enemy, who could be seen from the hill on the opposite bank but wa
s not yet visible from the bridge, for the horizon as seen from the valley throug
h which the river flowed was formed by the rising ground only half a mile away. A
t the foot of the hill lay wasteland over which a few groups of our Cossack scout
s were moving. Suddenly on the road at the top of the high ground, artillery and 
troops in blue uniform were seen. These were the French. A group of Cossack scout
s 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, thou
ght only of what was there on the hilltop, and kept constantly looking at the pat
ches appearing on the skyline, which they knew to be the enemy's troops. The weat
her had cleared again since noon and the sun was descending brightly upon the Dan
ube and the dark hills around it. It was calm, and at intervals the bugle calls a
nd the shouts of the enemy could be heard from the hill. There was no one now bet
ween the squadron and the enemy except a few scattered skirmishers. An empty spac
e of some seven hundred yards was all that separated them. The enemy ceased firin
g, and that stern, threatening, inaccessible, and intangible line which separates
 two hostile armies was all the more clearly felt.  "One step beyond that boundar
y line which resembles the line dividing the living from the dead lies uncertaint
y, 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 c
rossed and you will have to find out what is there, just as you will inevitably h
ave to learn what lies the other side of death. But you are strong, healthy, chee
rful, and excited, and are surrounded by other such excitedly animated and health
y men." So thinks, or at any rate feels, anyone who comes in sight of the enemy, 
and that feeling gives a particular glamour and glad keenness of impression to ev
erything that takes place at such moments.  On the high ground where the enemy wa
s, the smoke of a cannon rose, and a ball flew whistling over the heads of the hu
ssar squadron. The officers who had been standing together rode off to their plac
es. The hussars began carefully aligning their horses. Silence fell on the whole 
squadron. All were looking at the enemy in front and at the squadron commander, a
waiting the word of command. A second and a third cannon ball flew past. Evidentl
y 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 n
ot look round, but at the sound of each shot, as at the word of command, the whol
e squadron with its rows of faces so alike yet so different, holding its breath w
hile the ball flew past, rose in the stirrups and sank back again. The soldiers w
ithout 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 qu
artermaster frowned, looking at the soldiers as if threatening to punish them. Ca
det Mironov ducked every time a ball flew past. Rostov on the left flank, mounted
 on his Rooka handsome horse despite its game leghad the happy air of a schoolboy
 called up before a large audience for an examination in which he feels sure he w
ill distinguish himself. He was glancing at everyone with a clear, bright express
ion, as if asking them to notice how calmly he sat under fire. But despite himsel
f, on his face too that same indication of something new and stern showed round t
he mouth.  "Who's that curtseying there? Cadet Miwonov! That's not wight! Look at
 me," cried Denisov who, unable to keep still on one spot, kept turning his horse
 in front of the squadron.  The black, hairy, snubnosed face of Vaska Denisov, an
d 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, especia
lly toward evening when he had emptied his second bottle he was only redder than 
usual. With his shaggy head thrown back like birds when they drink, pressing his 
spurs mercilessly into the sides of his good horse, Bedouin, and sitting as thoug
h falling backwards in the saddle, he galloped to the other flank of the squadron
 and shouted in a hoarse voice to the men to look to their pistols. He rode up to
 Kirsten. The staff captain on his broadbacked, steady mare came at a walk to mee
t 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 Denisov. "It won't come t
o a fight. You'll seewe shall retire."  "The devil only knows what they're about!
" muttered Denisov. "Ah, Wostov," he cried noticing the cadet's bright face, "you
've got it at last."  And he smiled approvingly, evidently pleased with the cadet
. Rostov felt perfectly happy. Just then the commander appeared on the bridge. De
nisov 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 se
e the skirmishers are retreating? Lead the squadron back."  The squadron crossed 
the bridge and drew out of range of fire without having lost a single man. The se
cond squadron that had been in the front line followed them across and the last C
ossacks quitted the farther side of the river.  The two Pavlograd squadrons, havi
ng crossed the bridge, retired up the hill one after the other. Their colonel, Ka
rl Bogdanich Schubert, came up to Denisov's squadron and rode at a footpace not f
ar from Rostov, without taking any notice of him although they were now meeting f
or the first time since their encounter concerning Telyanin. Rostov, feeling that
 he was at the front and in the power of a man toward whom he now admitted that h
e 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 Rostov that Bogdanic
h was only pretending not to notice him, and that his whole aim now was to test t
he cadet's courage, so he drew himself up and looked around him merrily then it s
eemed to him that Bogdanich rode so near in order to show him his courage. Next h
e thought that his enemy would send the squadron on a desperate attack just to pu
nish himRostov. Then he imagined how, after the attack, Bogdanich would come up t
o him as he lay wounded and would magnanimously extend the hand of reconciliation
.  The highshouldered figure of Zherkov, familiar to the Pavlograds as he had but
 recently left their regiment, rode up to the colonel. After his dismissal from h
eadquarters Zherkov had not remained in the regiment, saying he was not such a fo
ol as to slave at the front when he could get more rewards by doing nothing on th
e staff, and had succeeded in attaching himself as an orderly officer to Prince B
agration. He now came to his former chief with an order from the commander of the
 rear guard.  "Colonel," he said, addressing Rostov's enemy with an air of gloomy
 gravity and glancing round at his comrades, "there is an order to stop and fire 
the bridge."  "An order to who?" asked the colonel morosely.  "I don't myself kno
w '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 h
ussars with the same order. After him the stout Nesvitski came galloping up on a 
Cossack horse that could scarcely carry his weight.  "How's this, Colonel?" he sh
outed as he approached. "I told you to fire the bridge, and now someone has gone 
and blundered they are all beside themselves over there and one can't make anythi
ng out."  The colonel deliberately stopped the regiment and turned to Nesvitski. 
 "You spoke to me of inflammable material," said he, "but you said nothing about 
firing it."  "But, my dear sir," said Nesvitski as he drew up, taking off his cap
 and smoothing his hair wet with perspiration with his plump hand, "wasn't I tell
ing you to fire the bridge, when inflammable material had been put in position?" 
 "I am not your 'dear sir,' Mr. Staff Officer, and you did not tell me to burn th
e bridge! I know the service, and it is my habit orders strictly to obey. You sai
d the bridge would be burned, but who would it burn, I could not know by the holy
 spirit!"  "Ah, that's always the way!" said Nesvitski with a wave of the hand. "
How did you get here?" said he, turning to Zherkov.  "On the same business. But y
ou are damp! Let me wring you out!"  "You were saying, Mr. Staff Officer..." cont
inued 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 off
icer, and at Zherkov, and he frowned.  "I will the bridge fire," he said in a sol
emn tone as if to announce that in spite of all the unpleasantness he had to endu
re 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 under Denisov, to return t
o the bridge.  "There, it's just as I thought," said Rostov to himself. "He wishe
s to test me!" His heart contracted and the blood rushed to his face. "Let him se
e whether I am a coward!" he thought.  Again on all the bright faces of the squad
ron the serious expression appeared that they had worn when under fire. Rostov wa
tched his enemy, the colonel, closelyto find in his face confirmation of his own 
conjecture, but the colonel did not once glance at Rostov, and looked as he alway
s did when at the front, solemn and stern. Then came the word of command.  "Look 
sharp! Look sharp!" several voices repeated around him.  Their sabers catching in
 the bridles and their spurs jingling, the hussars hastily dismounted, not knowin
g 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 trembled as he gave his horse in
to an orderly's charge, and he felt the blood rush to his heart with a thud. Deni
sov rode past him, leaning back and shouting something. Rostov saw nothing but th
e hussars running all around him, their spurs catching and their sabers clatterin
g.  "Stretchers!" shouted someone behind him.  Rostov did not think what this cal
l 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, st
umbled, and fell on his hands. The others outstripped him.  "At boss zides, Capta
in," he heard the voice of the colonel, who, having ridden ahead, had pulled up h
is horse near the bridge, with a triumphant, cheerful face.  Rostov wiping his mu
ddy hands on his breeches looked at his enemy and was about to run on, thinking t
hat the farther he went to the front the better. But Bogdanich, without looking a
t or recognizing Rostov, shouted to him  "Who's that running on the middle of the
 bridge? To the right! Come back, Cadet!" he cried angrily and turning to Denisov
, who, showing off his courage, had ridden on to the planks of the bridge  "Why r
un risks, Captain? You should dismount," he said.  "Oh, every bullet has its bill
et," answered Vaska Denisov, turning in his saddle.   Meanwhile Nesvitski, Zherko
v, and the officer of the suite were standing together out of range of the shots,
 watching, now the small group of men with yellow shakos, darkgreen jackets braid
ed with cord, and blue riding breeches, who were swarming near the bridge, and th
en at what was approaching in the distance from the opposite sidethe blue uniform
s and groups with horses, easily recognizable as artillery.  "Will they burn the 
bridge or not? Who'll get there first? Will they get there and fire the bridge or
 will the French get within grapeshot range and wipe them out?" These were the qu
estions each man of the troops on the high ground above the bridge involuntarily 
asked himself with a sinking heartwatching the bridge and the hussars in the brig
ht evening light and the blue tunics advancing from the other side with their bay
onets and guns.  "Ugh. The hussars will get it hot!" said Nesvitski "they are wit
hin grapeshot range now."  "He shouldn't have taken so many men," said the office
r of the suite.  "True enough," answered Nesvitski "two smart fellows could have 
done the job just as well."  "Ah, your excellency," put in Zherkov, his eyes fixe
d on the hussars, but still with that naive air that made it impossible to know w
hether he was speaking in jest or in earnest. "Ah, your excellency! How you look 
at things! Send two men? And who then would give us the Vladimir medal and ribbon
? But now, even if they do get peppered, the squadron may be recommended for hono
rs and he may get a ribbon. Our Bogdanich knows how things are done."  "There now
!" said the officer of the suite, "that's grapeshot."  He pointed to the French g
uns, the limbers of which were being detached and hurriedly removed.  On the Fren
ch side, amid the groups with cannon, a cloud of smoke appeared, then a second an
d a third almost simultaneously, and at the moment when the first report was hear
d a fourth was seen. Then two reports one after another, and a third.  "Oh! Oh!" 
groaned Nesvitski as if in fierce pain, seizing the officer of the suite by the a
rm. "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 hast
ily reloaded. The infantry in their blue uniforms advanced toward the bridge at a
 run. Smoke appeared again but at irregular intervals, and grapeshot cracked and 
rattled onto the bridge. But this time Nesvitski could not see what was happening
 there, as a dense cloud of smoke arose from it. The hussars had succeeded in set
ting it on fire and the French batteries were now firing at them, no longer to hi
nder them but because the guns were trained and there was someone to fire at.  Th
e French had time to fire three rounds of grapeshot before the hussars got back t
o their horses. Two were misdirected and the shot went too high, but the last rou
nd fell in the midst of a group of hussars and knocked three of them over.  Rosto
v, absorbed by his relations with Bogdanich, had paused on the bridge not knowing
 what to do. There was no one to hew down as he had always imagined battles to hi
mself, nor could he help to fire the bridge because he had not brought any burnin
g straw with him like the other soldiers. He stood looking about him, when sudden
ly he heard a rattle on the bridge as if nuts were being spilt, and the hussar ne
arest to him fell against the rails with a groan. Rostov ran up to him with the o
thers. 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 Rostov turned away and, 
as if searching for something, gazed into the distance, at the waters of the Danu
be, at the sky, and at the sun. How beautiful the sky looked how blue, how calm, 
and how deep! How bright and glorious was the setting sun! With what soft glitter
 the waters of the distant Danube shone. And fairer still were the faraway blue m
ountains beyond the river, the nunnery, the mysterious gorges, and the pine fores
ts veiled in the mist of their summits... There was peace and happiness... "I sho
uld wish for nothing else, nothing, if only I were there," thought Rostov. "In my
self alone and in that sunshine there is so much happiness but here... groans, su
ffering, fear, and this uncertainty and hurry... Therethey are shouting again, an
d 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 s
un, this water, that gorge!..."  At that instant the sun began to hide behind the
 clouds, and other stretchers came into view before Rostov. And the fear of death
 and of the stretchers, and love of the sun and of life, all merged into one feel
ing of sickening agitation.  "O Lord God! Thou who art in that heaven, save, forg
ive, and protect me!" Rostov whispered.  The hussars ran back to the men who held
 their horses their voices sounded louder and calmer, the stretchers disappeared 
from sight.  "Well, fwiend? So you've smelt powdah!" shouted Vaska Denisov just a
bove his ear.  "It's all over but I am a cowardyes, a coward!" thought Rostov, an
d 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 like wegular bwicks and it's nasty work! An
 attack's pleasant work! Hacking away at the dogs! But this sort of thing is the 
very devil, with them shooting at you like a target."  And Denisov rode up to a g
roup that had stopped near Rostov, composed of the colonel, Nesvitski, Zherkov, a
nd the officer from the suite.  "Well, it seems that no one has noticed," thought
 Rostov. And this was true. No one had taken any notice, for everyone knew the se
nsation which the cadet under fire for the first time had experienced.  "Here's s
omething for you to report," said Zherkov. "See if I don't get promoted to a subl
ieutenancy."  "Inform the prince that I the bridge fired!" said the colonel trium
phantly and gaily.  "And if he asks about the losses?"  "A trifle," said the colo
nel in his bass voice "two hussars wounded, and one knocked out," he added, unabl
e to restrain a happy smile, and pronouncing the phrase "knocked out" with ringin
g distinctness.      CHAPTER IX   Pursued by the French army of a hundred thousan
d men under the command of Bonaparte, encountering a population that was unfriend
ly to it, losing confidence in its allies, suffering from shortness of supplies, 
and compelled to act under conditions of war unlike anything that had been forese
en, the Russian army of thirtyfive thousand men commanded by Kutuzov was hurriedl
y retreating along the Danube, stopping where overtaken by the enemy and fighting
 rearguard actions only as far as necessary to enable it to retreat without losin
g its heavy equipment. There had been actions at Lambach, Amstetten, and Melk but
 despite the courage and enduranceacknowledged even by the enemywith which the Ru
ssians 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 Braun
au now separated from the Russian army, and Kutuzov was left with only his own we
ak and exhausted forces. The defense of Vienna was no longer to be thought of. In
stead of an offensive, the plan of which, carefully prepared in accord with the m
odern science of strategics, had been handed to Kutuzov when he was in Vienna by 
the Austrian Hofkriegsrath, the sole and almost unattainable aim remaining for hi
m was to effect a junction with the forces that were advancing from Russia, witho
ut losing his army as Mack had done at Ulm.  On the twentyeighth of October Kutuz
ov with his army crossed to the left bank of the Danube and took up a position fo
r 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, canno
n, and two enemy generals. For the first time, after a fortnight's retreat, the R
ussian troops had halted and after a fight had not only held the field but had re
pulsed the French. Though the troops were illclad, exhausted, and had lost a thir
d of their number in killed, wounded, sick, and stragglers though a number of sic
k and wounded had been abandoned on the other side of the Danube with a letter in
 which Kutuzov entrusted them to the humanity of the enemy and though the big hos
pitals and the houses in Krems converted into military hospitals could no longer 
accommodate all the sick and wounded, yet the stand made at Krems and the victory
 over Mortier raised the spirits of the army considerably. Throughout the whole a
rmy and at headquarters most joyful though erroneous rumors were rife of the imag
inary approach of columns from Russia, of some victory gained by the Austrians, a
nd of the retreat of the frightened Bonaparte.  Prince Andrew during the battle h
ad been in attendance on the Austrian General Schmidt, who was killed in the acti
on. His horse had been wounded under him and his own arm slightly grazed by a bul
let. As a mark of the commander in chief's special favor he was sent with the new
s of this victory to the Austrian court, now no longer at Vienna which was threat
ened by the French but at Brunn. Despite his apparently delicate build Prince And
rew could endure physical fatigue far better than many very muscular men, and on 
the night of the battle, having arrived at Krems excited but not weary, with disp
atches from Dokhturov to Kutuzov, he was sent immediately with a special dispatch
 to Brunn. To be so sent meant not only a reward but an important step toward pro
motion.  The night was dark but starry, the road showed black in the snow that ha
d fallen the previous daythe day of the battle. Reviewing his impressions of the 
recent battle, picturing pleasantly to himself the impression his news of a victo
ry would create, or recalling the sendoff given him by the commander in chief and
 his fellow officers, Prince Andrew was galloping along in a post chaise enjoying
 the feelings of a man who has at length begun to attain a longdesired happiness.
 As soon as he closed his eyes his ears seemed filled with the rattle of the whee
ls and the sensation of victory. Then he began to imagine that the Russians were 
running away and that he himself was killed, but he quickly roused himself with a
 feeling of joy, as if learning afresh that this was not so but that on the contr
ary the French had run away. He again recalled all the details of the victory and
 his own calm courage during the battle, and feeling reassured he dozed off.... T
he dark starry night was followed by a bright cheerful morning. The snow was thaw
ing in the sunshine, the horses galloped quickly, and on both sides of the road w
ere forests of different kinds, fields, and villages.  At one of the post station
s he overtook a convoy of Russian wounded. The Russian officer in charge of the t
ransport lolled back in the front cart, shouting and scolding a soldier with coar
se abuse. In each of the long German carts six or more pale, dirty, bandaged men 
were being jolted over the stony road. Some of them were talking he heard Russian
 words, others were eating bread the more severely wounded looked silently, with 
the languid interest of sick children, at the envoy hurrying past them.  Prince A
ndrew told his driver to stop, and asked a soldier in what action they had been w
ounded. "Day before yesterday, on the Danube," answered the soldier. Prince Andre
w took out his purse and gave the soldier three gold pieces.  "That's for them al
l," he said to the officer who came up.  "Get well soon, lads!" he continued, tur
ning to the soldiers. "There's plenty to do still."  "What news, sir?" asked the 
officer, evidently anxious to start a conversation.  "Good news!... Go on!" he sh
outed to the driver, and they galloped on.  It was already quite dark when Prince
 Andrew rattled over the paved streets of Brunn and found himself surrounded by h
igh buildings, the lights of shops, houses, and street lamps, fine carriages, and
 all that atmosphere of a large and active town which is always so attractive to 
a soldier after camp life. Despite his rapid journey and sleepless night, Prince 
Andrew when he drove up to the palace felt even more vigorous and alert than he h
ad done the day before. Only his eyes gleamed feverishly and his thoughts followe
d one another with extraordinary clearness and rapidity. He again vividly recalle
d 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 imag
ined the casual questions that might be put to him and the answers he would give.
 He expected to be at once presented to the Emperor. At the chief entrance to the
 palace, however, an official came running out to meet him, and learning that he 
was a special messenger led him to another entrance.  "To the right from the corr
idor, Euer Hochgeboren! There you will find the adjutant on duty," said the offic
ial. "He will conduct you to the Minister of War."  The adjutant on duty, meeting
 Prince Andrew, asked him to wait, and went in to the Minister of War. Five minut
es later he returned and bowing with particular courtesy ushered Prince Andrew be
fore him along a corridor to the cabinet where the Minister of War was at work. T
he adjutant by his elaborate courtesy appeared to wish to ward off any attempt at
 familiarity on the part of the Russian messenger.  Prince Andrew's joyous feelin
g was considerably weakened as he approached the door of the minister's room. He 
felt offended, and without his noticing it the feeling of offense immediately tur
ned into one of disdain which was quite uncalled for. His fertile mind instantly 
suggested to him a point of view which gave him a right to despise the adjutant a
nd the minister. "Away from the smell of powder, they probably think it easy to g
ain victories!" he thought. His eyes narrowed disdainfully, he entered the room o
f the Minister of War with peculiarly deliberate steps. This feeling of disdain w
as heightened when he saw the minister seated at a large table reading some paper
s and making pencil notes on them, and for the first two or three minutes taking 
no notice of his arrival. A wax candle stood at each side of the minister's bent 
bald head with its gray temples. He went on reading to the end, without raising h
is eyes at the opening of the door and the sound of footsteps.  "Take this and de
liver it," said he to his adjutant, handing him the papers and still taking no no
tice of the special messenger.  Prince Andrew felt that either the actions of Kut
uzov's army interested the Minister of War less than any of the other matters he 
was concerned with, or he wanted to give the Russian special messenger that impre
ssion. "But that is a matter of perfect indifference to me," he thought. The mini
ster drew the remaining papers together, arranged them evenly, and then raised hi
s head. He had an intellectual and distinctive head, but the instant he turned to
 Prince Andrew the firm, intelligent expression on his face changed in a way evid
ently deliberate and habitual to him. His face took on the stupid artificial smil
e which does not even attempt to hide its artificiality of a man who is continual
ly receiving many petitioners one after another.  "From General Field Marshal Kut
uzov?" he asked. "I hope it is good news? There has been an encounter with Mortie
r? A victory? It was high time!"  He took the dispatch which was addressed to him
 and began to read it with a mournful expression.  "Oh, my God! My God! Schmidt!"
 he exclaimed in German. "What a calamity! What a calamity!"  Having glanced thro
ugh the dispatch he laid it on the table and looked at Prince Andrew, evidently c
onsidering 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 goo
d news, though Schmidt's death is a heavy price to pay for the victory. His Majes
ty will no doubt wish to see you, but not today. I thank you! You must have a res
t. Be at the levee tomorrow after the parade. However, I will let you know."  The
 stupid smile, which had left his face while he was speaking, reappeared.  "Au re
voir! Thank you very much. His Majesty will probably desire to see you," he added
, bowing his head.  When Prince Andrew left the palace he felt that all the inter
est and happiness the victory had afforded him had been now left in the indiffere
nt hands of the Minister of War and the polite adjutant. The whole tenor of his t
houghts instantaneously changed the battle seemed the memory of a remote event lo
ng past.      CHAPTER X   Prince Andrew stayed at Brunn with Bilibin, a Russian a
cquaintance of his in the diplomatic service.  "Ah, my dear prince! I could not h
ave a more 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 ush
ering Bolkonski in. "So you're a messenger of victory, eh? Splendid! And I am sit
ting 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. Bilib
in 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 luxuriou
s surroundings such as he had been accustomed to from childhood. Besides it was p
leasant, after his reception by the Austrians, to speak if not in Russian for the
y were speaking French at least with a Russian who would, he supposed, share the 
general Russian antipathy to the Austrians which was then particularly strong.  B
ilibin was a man of thirtyfive, a bachelor, and of the same circle as Prince Andr
ew. They had known each other previously in Petersburg, but had become more intim
ate when Prince Andrew was in Vienna with Kutuzov. Just as Prince Andrew was a yo
ung man who gave promise of rising high in the military profession, so to an even
 greater extent Bilibin gave promise of rising in his diplomatic career. He still
 a young man but no longer a young diplomat, as he had entered the service at the
 age of sixteen, had been in Paris and Copenhagen, and now held a rather importan
t post in Vienna. Both the foreign minister and our ambassador in Vienna knew him
 and valued him. He was not one of those many diplomats who are esteemed because 
they have certain negative qualities, avoid doing certain things, and speak Frenc
h. He was one of those, who, liking work, knew how to do it, and despite his indo
lence would sometimes spend a whole night at his writing table. He worked well wh
atever the import of his work. It was not the question "What for?" but the questi
on "How?" that interested him. What the diplomatic matter might be he did not car
e, but it gave him great pleasure to prepare a circular, memorandum, or report, s
killfully, pointedly, and elegantly. Bilibin'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.  Bilibin liked conversation as he liked work, only when it coul
d be made elegantly witty. In society he always awaited an opportunity to say som
ething striking and took part in a conversation only when that was possible. His 
conversation was always sprinkled with wittily original, finished phrases of gene
ral interest. These sayings were prepared in the inner laboratory of his mind in 
a portable form as if intentionally, so that insignificant society people might c
arry them from drawing room to drawing room. And, in fact, Bilibin's witticisms w
ere hawked about in the Viennese drawing rooms and often had an influence on matt
ers considered important.  His thin, worn, sallow face was covered with deep wrin
kles, which always looked as clean and well washed as the tips of one's fingers a
fter 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 eye
brows were lifted, then his eyebrows would descend and deep wrinkles would crease
 his cheeks. His small, deepset eyes always twinkled and looked out straight.  "W
ell, now tell me about your exploits," said he.  Bolkonski, very modestly without
 once mentioning himself, described the engagement and his reception by the Minis
ter of War.  "They received me and my news as one receives a dog in a game of ski
ttles," said he in conclusion.  Bilibin smiled and the wrinkles on his face disap
peared.  "Cependant, mon cher," he remarked, examining his nails from a distance 
and puckering the skin above his left eye, "malgre la haute estime que je profess
e pour the Orthodox Russian army, j'avoue que votre victoire n'est pas des plus v
ictorieuses." *        * "But my dear fellow, with all my respect for the Orthodo
x      Russian army, I must say that your victory was not      particularly victo
rious."   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 a
ll your forces fall on the unfortunate Mortier and his one division, and even the
n Mortier slips through your fingers! Where's the victory?"  "But seriously," sai
d Prince Andrew, "we can at any rate say without boasting that it was a little be
tter than at Ulm..."  "Why didn't you capture one, just one, marshal for us?"  "B
ecause not everything happens as one expects or with the smoothness of a parade. 
We had expected, as I told you, to get at their rear by seven in the morning but 
had not reached it by five in the afternoon."  "And why didn't you do it at seven
 in the morning? You ought to have been there at seven in the morning," returned 
Bilibin with a smile. "You ought to have been there at seven in the morning."  "W
hy did you not succeed in impressing on Bonaparte by diplomatic methods that he h
ad better leave Genoa alone?" retorted Prince Andrew in the same tone.  "I know,"
 interrupted Bilibin, "you're thinking it's very easy to take marshals, sitting o
n 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 t
he Emperor and King Francis is not much delighted by your victory. Even I, a poor
 secretary of the Russian Embassy, do not feel any need in token of my joy to giv
e my Franz a thaler, or let him go with his Liebchen to the Prater... True, we ha
ve no Prater here..."  He looked straight at Prince Andrew and suddenly unwrinkle
d his forehead.  "It is now my turn to ask you 'why?' mon cher," said Bolkonski. 
"I confess I do not understand perhaps there are diplomatic subtleties here beyon
d my feeble intelligence, but I can't make it out. Mack loses a whole army, the A
rchduke Ferdinand and the Archduke Karl give no signs of life and make blunder af
ter blunder. Kutuzov alone at last gains a real victory, destroying the spell of 
the invincibility of the French, and the Minister of War does not even care to he
ar the details."  "That's just it, my dear fellow. You see it's hurrah for the Ts
ar, for Russia, for the Orthodox Greek faith! All that is beautiful, but what do 
we, I mean the Austrian court, care for your victories? Bring us nice news of a v
ictory by the Archduke Karl or Ferdinand one archduke's as good as another, as yo
u know and even if it is only over a fire brigade of Bonaparte's, that will be an
other 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 disgrac
es himself. You abandon Vienna, give up its defenseas much as to say 'Heaven is w
ith 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! Ad
mit that more irritating news than yours could not have been conceived. It's as i
f it had been done on purpose, on purpose. Besides, suppose you did gain a brilli
ant victory, if even the Archduke Karl gained a victory, what effect would that h
ave 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 B
onaparte is at Schonbrunn, and the count, our dear Count Vrbna, goes to him for o
rders."  After the fatigues and impressions of the journey, his reception, and es
pecially after having dined, Bolkonski felt that he could not take in the full si
gnificance of the words he heard.  "Count Lichtenfels was here this morning," Bil
ibin continued, "and showed me a letter in which the parade of the French in Vien
na was fully described Prince Murat et tout le tremblement... You see that your v
ictory is not a matter for great rejoicing and that you can't be received as a sa
vior."  "Really I don't care about that, I don't care at all," said Prince Andrew
, beginning to understand that his news of the battle before Krems was really of 
small importance in view of such events as the fall of Austria's capital. "How is
 it Vienna was taken? What of the bridge and its celebrated bridgehead and Prince
 Auersperg? We heard reports that Prince Auersperg was defending Vienna?" he said
.  "Prince Auersperg is on this, on our side of the river, and is defending usdoi
ng it very badly, I think, but still he is defending us. But Vienna is on the oth
er 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 h
ave been in the mountains of Bohemia, and you and your army would have spent a ba
d quarter of an hour between two fires."  "But still this does not mean that the 
campaign is over," said Prince Andrew.  "Well, I think it is. The bigwigs here th
ink 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 gunpowder at all, that
 will decide the matter, but those who devised it," said Bilibin quoting one of h
is own mots, releasing the wrinkles on his forehead, and pausing. "The only quest
ion is what will come of the meeting between the Emperor Alexander and the King o
f Prussia in Berlin? If Prussia joins the Allies, Austria's hand will be forced a
nd there will be war. If not it is merely a question of settling where the prelim
inaries of the new Campo Formio are to be drawn up."  "What an extraordinary geni
us!" Prince Andrew suddenly exclaimed, clenching his small hand and striking the 
table with it, "and what luck the man has!"  "Buonaparte?" said Bilibin inquiring
ly, puckering up his forehead to indicate that he was about to say something witt
y. "Buonaparte?" he repeated, accentuating the u "I think, however, now that he l
ays down laws for Austria at Schonbrunn, il faut lui faire grace de l'u! * I shal
l certainly adopt an innovation and call him simply Bonaparte!"       * "We must 
let him off the u!"   "But joking apart," said Prince Andrew, "do you really thin
k the campaign is over?"  "This is what I think. Austria has been made a fool of,
 and she is not used to it. She will retaliate. And she has been fooled in the fi
rst place because her provinces have been pillagedthey say the Holy Russian army 
loots terriblyher army is destroyed, her capital taken, and all this for the beau
x yeux * of His Sardinian Majesty. And thereforethis is between ourselvesI instin
ctively feel that we are being deceived, my instinct tells me of negotiations wit
h France and projects for peace, a secret peace concluded separately."       * Fi
ne eyes.   "Impossible!" cried Prince Andrew. "That would be too base."  "If we l
ive 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 prepared fo
r him and lay down in a clean shirt on the feather bed with its warmed and fragra
nt 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 tr
iumph, tomorrow's levee and parade, and the audience with the Emperor Francis occ
upied his thoughts.  He closed his eyes, and immediately a sound of cannonading, 
of musketry and the rattling of carriage wheels seemed to fill his ears, and now 
again drawn out in a thin line the musketeers were descending the hill, the Frenc
h were firing, and he felt his heart palpitating as he rode forward beside Schmid
t with the bullets merrily whistling all around, and he experienced tenfold the j
oy of living, as he had not done since childhood.  He woke up...  "Yes, that all 
happened!" he said, and, smiling happily to himself like a child, he fell into a 
deep, youthful slumber.      CHAPTER XI   Next day he woke late. Recalling his re
cent 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 po
lite Austrian adjutant, Bilibin, and last night's conversation. Having dressed fo
r his attendance at court in full parade uniform, which he had not worn for a lon
g time, he went into Bilibin's study fresh, animated, and handsome, with his hand
 bandaged. In the study were four gentlemen of the diplomatic corps. With Prince 
Hippolyte Kuragin, who was a secretary to the embassy, Bolkonski was already acqu
ainted. Bilibin introduced him to the others.  The gentlemen assembled at Bilibin
's were young, wealthy, gay society men, who here, as in Vienna, formed a special
 set which Bilibin, their leader, called les notres. * This set, consisting almos
t exclusively of diplomats, evidently had its own interests which had nothing to 
do with war or politics but related to high society, to certain women, and to the
 official side of the service. These gentlemen received Prince Andrew as one of t
hemselves, an honor they did not extend to many. From politeness and to start con
versation, they asked him a few questions about the army and the battle, and then
 the talk went off into merry jests and gossip.       * Ours.   "But the best of 
it was," said one, telling of the misfortune of a fellow diplomat, "that the Chan
cellor told him flatly that his appointment to London was a promotion and that he
 was so to regard it. Can you fancy the figure he cut?..."  "But the worst of it,
 gentlemenI am giving Kuragin away to youis that that man suffers, and this Don J
uan, wicked fellow, is taking advantage of it!"  Prince Hippolyte was lolling in 
a lounge chair with his legs over its arm. He began to laugh.  "Tell me about tha
t!" he said.  "Oh, you Don Juan! You serpent!" cried several voices.  "You, Bolko
nski, don't know," said Bilibin turning to Prince Andrew, "that all the atrocitie
s of the French army I nearly said of the Russian army are nothing compared to wh
at this man has been doing among the women!"  "La femme est la compagne de l'homm
e," * announced Prince Hippolyte, and began looking through a lorgnette at his el
evated legs.       * "Woman is man's companion."   Bilibin and the rest of "ours"
 burst out laughing in Hippolyte's face, and Prince Andrew saw that Hippolyte, of
 whomhe had to admithe had almost been jealous on his wife's account, was the but
t of this set.  "Oh, I must give you a treat," Bilibin whispered to Bolkonski. "K
uragin is exquisite when he discusses politicsyou should see his gravity!"  He sa
t down beside Hippolyte and wrinkling his forehead began talking to him about pol
itics. Prince Andrew and the others gathered round these two.  "The Berlin cabine
t cannot express a feeling of alliance," began Hippolyte gazing round with import
ance at the others, "without expressing... as in its last note... you understand.
.. Besides, unless His Majesty the Emperor derogates from the principle of our al
liance...  "Wait, I have not finished..." he said to Prince Andrew, seizing him b
y the arm, "I believe that intervention will be stronger than nonintervention. An
d..." he paused. "Finally one cannot impute the nonreceipt of our dispatch of Nov
ember 18. That is how it will end." And he released Bolkonski's arm to indicate t
hat he had now quite finished.  "Demosthenes, I know thee by the pebble thou secr
etest in thy golden mouth!" said Bilibin, and the mop of hair on his head moved w
ith satisfaction.  Everybody laughed, and Hippolyte louder than anyone. He was ev
idently distressed, and breathed painfully, but could not restrain the wild laugh
ter that convulsed his usually impassive features.  "Well now, gentlemen," said B
ilibin, "Bolkonski is my guest in this house and in Brunn itself. I want to enter
tain him as far as I can, with all the pleasures of life here. If we were in Vien
na it would be easy, but here, in this wretched Moravian hole, it is more difficu
lt, and I beg you all to help me. Brunn's attractions must be shown him. You can 
undertake the theater, I society, and you, Hippolyte, of course the women."  "We 
must let him see Amelie, she's exquisite!" said one of "ours," kissing his finger
 tips.  "In general we must turn this bloodthirsty soldier to more humane interes
ts," 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 h
is watch.  "Where to?"  "To the Emperor."  "Oh! Oh! Oh! Well, au revoir, Bolkonsk
i! Au revoir, Prince! Come back early to dinner," cried several voices. "We'll ta
ke 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, acc
ompanying him to the hall.  "I should like to speak well of them, but as far as I
 know the facts, I can't," replied Bolkonski, smiling.  "Well, talk as much as yo
u can, anyway. He has a passion for giving audiences, but he does not like talkin
g himself and can't do it, as you will see."      CHAPTER XII   At the levee Prin
ce Andrew stood among the Austrian officers as he had been told to, and the Emper
or Francis merely looked fixedly into his face and just nodded to him with his lo
ng head. But after it was over, the adjutant he had seen the previous day ceremon
iously informed Bolkonski that the Emperor desired to give him an audience. The E
mperor Francis received him standing in the middle of the room. Before the conver
sation began Prince Andrew was struck by the fact that the Emperor seemed confuse
d and blushed as if not knowing what to say.  "Tell me, when did the battle begin
?" he asked hurriedly.  Prince Andrew replied. Then followed other questions just
 as simple "Was Kutuzov well? When had he left Krems?" and so on. The Emperor spo
ke as if his sole aim were to put a given number of questionsthe answers to these
 questions, as was only too evident, did not interest him.  "At what o'clock did 
the battle begin?" asked the Emperor.  "I cannot inform Your Majesty at what o'cl
ock the battle began at the front, but at Durrenstein, where I was, our attack be
gan after five in the afternoon," replied Bolkonski growing more animated and exp
ecting that he would have a chance to give a reliable account, which he had ready
 in his mind, of all he knew and had seen. But the Emperor smiled and interrupted
 him.  "How many miles?"  "From where to where, Your Majesty?"  "From 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 durin
g the night."  "Is there sufficient forage in Krems?"  "Forage has not been suppl
ied to the extent..."  The Emperor interrupted him.  "At what o'clock was General
 Schmidt killed?"  "At seven o'clock, I believe."  "At seven o'clock? It's very s
ad, very sad!"  The Emperor thanked Prince Andrew and bowed. Prince Andrew withdr
ew and was immediately surrounded by courtiers on all sides. Everywhere he saw fr
iendly looks and heard friendly words. Yesterday's adjutant reproached him for no
t having stayed at the palace, and offered him his own house. The Minister of War
 came up and congratulated him on the Maria Theresa Order of the third grade, whi
ch 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 ans
wer, and for a few seconds collected his thoughts. Then the Russian ambassador to
ok him by the shoulder, led him to the window, and began to talk to him.  Contrar
y to Bilibin's forecast the news he had brought was joyfully received. A thanksgi
ving service was arranged, Kutuzov was awarded the Grand Cross of Maria Theresa, 
and the whole army received rewards. Bolkonski was invited everywhere, and had to
 spend the whole morning calling on the principal Austrian dignitaries. Between f
our and five in the afternoon, having made all his calls, he was returning to Bil
ibin's house thinking out a letter to his father about the battle and his visit t
o Brunn. At the door he found a vehicle half full of luggage. Franz, Bilibin's ma
n, was dragging 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 w
ith some books for the campaign, and had spent some time in the shop.  "What is i
t?" he asked.  "Oh, your excellency!" said Franz, with difficulty rolling the por
tmanteau into the vehicle, "we are to move on still farther. The scoundrel is aga
in 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 deli
ghtful," said he. "This affair of the Thabor Bridge, at Vienna.... They have cros
sed without striking a blow!"  Prince Andrew could not understand.  "But where do
 you come from not to know what every coachman in the town knows?"  "I come from 
the archduchess'. I heard nothing there."  "And you didn't see that everybody is 
packing up?"  "I did not... What is it all about?" inquired Prince Andrew impatie
ntly.  "What's it all about? Why, the French have crossed the bridge that Auerspe
rg was defending, and the bridge was not blown up so Murat is now rushing along t
he road to Brunn and will be here in a day or two."  "What? Here? But why did the
y not blow up the bridge, if it was mined?"  "That is what I ask you. No one, not
 even Bonaparte, knows why."  Bolkonski shrugged his shoulders.  "But if the brid
ge 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 gentlemen, messieurs les mar
echaux, * Murat, Lannes, and Belliard, mount and ride to the bridge. Observe that
 all three are Gascons. 'Gentlemen,' says one of them, 'you know the Thabor Bridg
e is mined and doubly mined and that there are menacing fortifications at its hea
d and an army of fifteen thousand men has been ordered to blow up the bridge and 
not let us cross? But it will please our sovereign the Emperor Napoleon if we tak
e this bridge, so let us three go and take it!' 'Yes, let's!' say the others. And
 off they go and take the bridge, cross it, and now with their whole army are on 
this side of the Danube, marching on us, you, and your lines of communication."  
     * The marshalls.   "Stop jesting," said Prince Andrew sadly and seriously. T
his news grieved him and yet he was pleased.  As soon as he learned that the Russ
ian army was in such a hopeless situation it occurred to him that it was he who w
as destined to lead it out of this position that here was the Toulon that would l
ift him from the ranks of obscure officers and offer him the first step to fame! 
Listening to Bilibin he was already imagining how on reaching the army he would g
ive an opinion at the war council which would be the only one that could save the
 army, and how he alone would be entrusted with the executing of the plan.  "Stop
 this jesting," he said  "I am not jesting," Bilibin went on. "Nothing is truer o
r sadder. These gentlemen ride onto the bridge alone and wave white handkerchiefs
 they assure the officer on duty that they, the marshals, are on their way to neg
otiate with Prince Auersperg. He lets them enter the tetedepont. * They spin him 
a thousand gasconades, saying that the war is over, that the Emperor Francis is a
rranging a meeting with Bonaparte, that they desire to see Prince Auersperg, and 
so on. The officer sends for Auersperg these gentlemen embrace the officers, crac
k jokes, sit on the cannon, and meanwhile a French battalion gets to the bridge u
nobserved, flings the bags of incendiary material into the water, and approaches 
the tetedepont. At length appears the lieutenant general, our dear Prince Auerspe
rg von Mautern himself. 'Dearest foe! Flower of the Austrian army, hero of the Tu
rkish wars Hostilities are ended, we can shake one another's hand.... The Emperor
 Napoleon burns with impatience to make Prince Auersperg's acquaintance.' In a wo
rd, those gentlemen, Gascons indeed, so bewildered him with fine words, and he is
 so flattered by his rapidly established intimacy with the French marshals, and s
o dazzled by the sight of Murat's mantle and ostrich plumes, qu'il n'y voit que d
u feu, et oublie celui qu'il devait faire faire sur l'ennemi!" *2 In spite of the
 animation of his speech, Bilibin did not forget to pause after this mot to give 
time for its due appreciation. "The French battalion rushes to the bridgehead, sp
ikes the guns, and the bridge is taken! But what is best of all," he went on, his
 excitement subsiding under the delightful interest of his own story, "is that th
e sergeant in charge of the cannon which was to give the signal to fire the mines
 and blow up the bridge, this sergeant, seeing that the French troops were runnin
g onto the bridge, was about to fire, but Lannes stayed his hand. The sergeant, w
ho was evidently wiser than his general, goes up to Auersperg and says 'Prince, y
ou are being deceived, here are the French!' Murat, seeing that all is lost if th
e sergeant is allowed to speak, turns to Auersperg with feigned astonishment he i
s a true Gascon and says 'I don't recognize the worldfamous Austrian discipline, 
if you allow a subordinate to address you like that!' It was a stroke of genius. 
Prince Auersperg feels his dignity at stake and orders the sergeant to be arreste
d. Come, you must own that this affair of the Thabor Bridge is delightful! It is 
not exactly stupidity, nor rascality...."        * Bridgehead.       * 2 That the
ir fire gets into his eyes and he forgets that      he ought to be firing at the 
enemy.   "It may be treachery," said Prince Andrew, vividly imagining the gray ov
ercoats, 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 mackes It is... it is a bit of Mack. We are Macked," he conclu
ded, feeling that he had produced a good epigram, a fresh one that would be repea
ted. His hitherto puckered brow became smooth as a sign of pleasure, and with a s
light smile he began to examine his nails.  "Where are you off to?" he said sudde
nly to Prince Andrew who had risen and was going toward his room.  "I am going aw
ay."  "Where to?"  "To the army."  "But you meant to stay another two days?"  "Bu
t now I am off at once."  And Prince Andrew after giving directions about his dep
arture went to his room.  "Do you know, mon cher," said Bilibin following him, "I
 have been thinking about you. Why are you going?"  And in proof of the conclusiv
eness of his opinion all the wrinkles vanished from his face.  Prince Andrew look
ed inquiringly at him and gave no reply.  "Why are you going? I know you think it
 your duty to gallop back to the army now that it is in danger. I understand that
. Mon cher, it is heroism!"  "Not at all," said Prince Andrew.  "But as you are a
 philosopher, be a consistent one, look at the other side of the question and you
 will see that your duty, on the contrary, is to take care of yourself. Leave it 
to those who are no longer fit for anything else.... You have not been ordered to
 return and have not been dismissed from here therefore, you can stay and go with
 us wherever our ill luck takes us. They say we are going to Olmutz, and Olmutz i
s a very decent town. You and I will travel comfortably in my caleche."  "Do stop
 joking, Bilibin," cried Bolkonski.  "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 regiment before peace is concluded, or you will share defeat and disg
race with Kutuzov's whole army."  And Bilibin unwrinkled his temple, feeling that
 the dilemma was insoluble.  "I cannot argue about it," replied Prince Andrew col
dly, but he thought "I am going to save the army."  "My dear fellow, you are a he
ro!" said Bilibin.      CHAPTER XIII   That same night, having taken leave of the
 Minister of War, Bolkonski set off to rejoin the army, not knowing where he woul
d find it and fearing to be captured by the French on the way to Krems.  In Brunn
 everybody attached to the court was packing up, and the heavy baggage was alread
y being dispatched to Olmutz. Near Hetzelsdorf Prince Andrew struck the high road
 along which the Russian army was moving with great haste and in the greatest dis
order. The road was so obstructed with carts that it was impossible to get by in 
a carriage. Prince Andrew took a horse and a Cossack from a Cossack commander, an
d hungry and weary, making his way past the baggage wagons, rode in search of the
 commander in chief and of his own luggage. Very sinister reports of the position
 of the army reached him as he went along, and the appearance of the troops in th
eir disorderly flight confirmed these rumors.  "Cette armee russe que l'or de l'A
ngleterre a transportee des extremites de l'univers, nous allons lui faire eprouv
er le meme sortle sort de l'armee d'Ulm." * He remembered these words in Bonapart
e's address to his army at the beginning of the campaign, and they awoke in him a
stonishment at the genius of his hero, a feeling of wounded pride, and a hope of 
glory. "And should there be nothing left but to die?" he thought. "Well, if need 
be, I shall do it no worse than others."        * "That Russian army which has be
en brought from the ends of      the earth by English gold, we shall cause to sha
re the same      fatethe fate of the army at Ulm."   He looked with disdain at th
e endless confused mass of detachments, carts, guns, artillery, and again baggage
 wagons and vehicles of all kinds overtaking one another and blocking the muddy r
oad, 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 gu
n carriages, the tramp of horses, the crack of whips, shouts, the urging of horse
s, and the swearing of soldiers, orderlies, and officers. All along the sides of 
the road fallen horses were to be seen, some flayed, some not, and brokendown car
ts beside which solitary soldiers sat waiting for something, and again soldiers s
traggling from their companies, crowds of whom set off to the neighboring village
s, or returned from them dragging sheep, fowls, hay, and bulging sacks. At each a
scent or descent of the road the crowds were yet denser and the din of shouting m
ore incessant. Soldiers floundering kneedeep in mud pushed the guns and wagons th
emselves. Whips cracked, hoofs slipped, traces broke, and lungs were strained wit
h shouting. The officers directing the march rode backward and forward between th
e carts. Their voices were but feebly heard amid the uproar and one saw by their 
faces that they despaired of the possibility of checking this disorder.  "Here is
 our dear Orthodox Russian army," thought Bolkonski, recalling Bilibin's words.  
Wishing to find out where the commander in chief was, he rode up to a convoy. Dir
ectly opposite to him came a strange onehorse vehicle, evidently rigged up by sol
diers out of any available materials and looking like something between a cart, a
 cabriolet, and a caleche. A soldier was driving, and a woman enveloped in shawls
 sat behind the apron under the leather hood of the vehicle. Prince Andrew rode u
p and was just putting his question to a soldier when his attention was diverted 
by the desperate shrieks of the woman in the vehicle. An officer in charge of tra
nsport 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 equipag
e. The woman screamed piercingly. Seeing Prince Andrew she leaned out from behind
 the apron and, waving her thin arms from under the woolen shawl, cried  "Mr. Aid
edecamp! Mr. Aidedecamp!... For heaven's sake... Protect me! What will become of 
us? I am the wife of the doctor of the Seventh Chasseurs.... They won't let us pa
ss, we are left behind and have lost our people..."  "I'll flatten you into a pan
cake!" shouted the angry officer to the soldier. "Turn back with your slut!"  "Mr
. Aidedecamp! Help me!... What does it all mean?" screamed the doctor's wife.  "K
indly let this cart pass. Don't you see it's a woman?" said Prince Andrew riding 
up to the officer.  The officer glanced at him, and without replying turned again
 to the soldier. "I'll teach you to push on!... Back!"  "Let them pass, I tell yo
u!" repeated Prince Andrew, compressing his lips.  "And who are you?" cried the o
fficer, turning on him with tipsy rage, "who are you? Are you in command here? Eh
? I am commander here, not you! Go back or I'll flatten you into a pancake," repe
ated he. This expression evidently pleased him.  "That was a nice snub for the li
ttle aidedecamp," came a voice from behind.  Prince Andrew saw that the officer w
as in that state of senseless, tipsy rage when a man does not know what he is say
ing. He saw that his championship of the doctor's wife in her queer trap might ex
pose him to what he dreaded more than anything in the worldto ridicule but his in
stinct urged him on. Before the officer finished his sentence Prince Andrew, his 
face distorted with fury, rode up to him and raised his riding whip.  "Kind...ly 
letthempass!"  The officer flourished his arm and hastily rode away.  "It's all t
he fault of these fellows on the staff that there's this disorder," he muttered. 
"Do as you like."  Prince Andrew without lifting his eyes rode hastily away from 
the doctor's wife, who was calling him her deliverer, and recalling with a sense 
of disgust the minutest details of this humiliating scene he galloped on to the v
illage where he was told that the commander in chief was.  On reaching the villag
e he dismounted and went to the nearest house, intending to rest if but for a mom
ent, 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 thinkin
g as he went up to the window of the first house, when a familiar voice called hi
m by name.  He turned round. Nesvitski's handsome face looked out of the little w
indow. Nesvitski, moving his moist lips as he chewed something, and flourishing h
is arm, called him to enter.  "Bolkonski! Bolkonski!... Don't you hear? Eh? Come 
quick..." he shouted.  Entering the house, Prince Andrew saw Nesvitski and anothe
r adjutant having something to eat. They hastily turned round to him asking if he
 had any news. On their familiar faces he read agitation and alarm. This was part
icularly noticeable on Nesvitski's usually laughing countenance.  "Where is the c
ommander in chief?" asked Bolkonski.  "Here, in that house," answered the adjutan
t.  "Well, is it true that it's peace and capitulation?" asked Nesvitski.  "I was
 going to ask you. I know nothing except that it was all I could do to get here."
  "And we, my dear boy! It's terrible! I was wrong to laugh at Mack, we're gettin
g it still worse," said Nesvitski. "But sit down and have something to eat."  "Yo
u won't be able to find either your baggage or anything else now, Prince. And God
 only knows where your man Peter is," said the other adjutant.  "Where are headqu
arters?"  "We are to spend the night in Znaim."  "Well, I have got all I need int
o packs for two horses," said Nesvitski. "They've made up splendid packs for mefi
t to cross the Bohemian mountains with. It's a bad lookout, old fellow! But what'
s the matter with you? You must be ill to shiver like that," he added, noticing t
hat Prince Andrew winced as at an electric shock.  "It's nothing," replied Prince
 Andrew.  He had just remembered his recent encounter with the doctor's wife and 
the convoy officer.  "What is the commander in chief doing here?" he asked.  "I c
an't make out at all," said Nesvitski.  "Well, all I can make out is that everyth
ing is abominable, abominable, quite abominable!" said Prince Andrew, and he went
 off to the house where the commander in chief was.  Passing by Kutuzov's carriag
e and the exhausted saddle horses of his suite, with their Cossacks who were talk
ing loudly together, Prince Andrew entered the passage. Kutuzov himself, he was t
old, was in the house with Prince Bagration and Weyrother. Weyrother was the Aust
rian general who had succeeded Schmidt. In the passage little Kozlovski was squat
ting on his heels in front of a clerk. The clerk, with cuffs turned up, was hasti
ly writing at a tub turned bottom upwards. Kozlovski's face looked wornhe too had
 evidently not slept all night. He glanced at Prince Andrew and did not even nod 
to him.  "Second line... have you written it?" he continued dictating to the cler
k. "The Kiev Grenadiers, Podolian..."  "One can't write so fast, your honor," sai
d the clerk, glancing angrily and disrespectfully at Kozlovski.  Through the door
 came the sounds of Kutuzov's voice, excited and dissatisfied, interrupted by ano
ther, an unfamiliar voice. From the sound of these voices, the inattentive way Ko
zlovski looked at him, the disrespectful manner of the exhausted clerk, the fact 
that the clerk and Kozlovski 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 horse
s near the window, Prince Andrew felt that something important and disastrous was
 about to happen.  He turned to Kozlovski with urgent questions.  "Immediately, P
rince," said Kozlovski. "Dispositions for Bagration."  "What about capitulation?"
  "Nothing of the sort. Orders are issued for a battle."  Prince Andrew moved tow
ard the door from whence voices were heard. Just as he was going to open it the s
ounds ceased, the door opened, and Kutuzov with his eagle nose and puffy face app
eared in the doorway. Prince Andrew stood right in front of Kutuzov but the expre
ssion of the commander in chief's one sound eye showed him to be so preoccupied w
ith thoughts and anxieties as to be oblivious of his presence. He looked straight
 at his adjutant's face without recognizing him.  "Well, have you finished?" said
 he to Kozlovski.  "One moment, your excellency."  Bagration, a gaunt middleaged 
man of medium height with a firm, impassive face of Oriental type, came out after
 the commander in chief.  "I have the honor to present myself," repeated Prince A
ndrew rather loudly, handing Kutuzov an envelope.  "Ah, from Vienna? Very good. L
ater, later!"  Kutuzov went out into the porch with Bagration.  "Well, goodby, Pr
ince," said he to Bagration. "My blessing, and may Christ be with you in your gre
at endeavor!"  His face suddenly softened and tears came into his eyes. With his 
left hand he drew Bagration toward him, and with his right, on which he wore a ri
ng, he made the sign of the cross over him with a gesture evidently habitual, off
ering his puffy cheek, but Bagration kissed him on the neck instead.  "Christ be 
with you!" Kutuzov repeated and went toward his carriage. "Get in with me," said 
he to Bolkonski.  "Your excellency, I should like to be of use here. Allow me to 
remain with Prince Bagration's detachment."  "Get in," said Kutuzov, and noticing
 that Bolkonski still delayed, he added "I need good officers myself, need them m
yself!"  They got into the carriage and drove for a few minutes in silence.  "The
re is still much, much before us," he said, as if with an old man's penetration h
e understood all that was passing in Bolkonski's mind. "If a tenth part of his de
tachment returns I shall thank God," he added as if speaking to himself.  Prince 
Andrew glanced at Kutuzov's face only a foot distant from him and involuntarily n
oticed the carefully washed seams of the scar near his temple, where an Ismail bu
llet had pierced his skull, and the empty eye socket. "Yes, he has a right to spe
ak so calmly of those men's death," thought Bolkonski.  "That is why I beg to be 
sent to that detachment," he said.  Kutuzov did not reply. He seemed to have forg
otten what he had been saying, and sat plunged in thought. Five minutes later, ge
ntly swaying on the soft springs of the carriage, he turned to Prince Andrew. The
re was not a trace of agitation on his face. With delicate irony he questioned Pr
ince Andrew about the details of his interview with the Emperor, about the remark
s he had heard at court concerning the Krems affair, and about some ladies they b
oth knew.      CHAPTER XIV   On November 1 Kutuzov had received, through a spy, n
ews that the army he commanded was in an almost hopeless position. The spy report
ed that the French, after crossing the bridge at Vienna, were advancing in immens
e force upon Kutuzov's line of communication with the troops that were arriving f
rom Russia. If Kutuzov decided to remain at Krems, Napoleon's army of one hundred
 and fifty thousand men would cut him off completely and surround his exhausted a
rmy 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 fr
om Russia, he would have to march with no road into unknown parts of the Bohemian
 mountains, defending himself against superior forces of the enemy and abandoning
 all hope of a junction with Buxhowden. If Kutuzov decided to retreat along the r
oad from Krems to Olmutz, to unite with the troops arriving from Russia, he riske
d being forestalled on that road by the French who had crossed the Vienna bridge,
 and encumbered by his baggage and transport, having to accept battle on the marc
h against an enemy three times as strong, who would hem him in from two sides.  K
utuzov chose this latter course.  The French, the spy reported, having crossed th
e Vienna bridge, were advancing by forced marches toward Znaim, which lay sixtysi
x miles off on the line of Kutuzov's retreat. If he reached Znaim before the Fren
ch, there would be great hope of saving the army to let the French forestall him 
at Znaim meant the exposure of his whole army to a disgrace such as that of Ulm, 
or to utter destruction. But to forestall the French with his whole army was impo
ssible. The road for the French from Vienna to Znaim was shorter and better than 
the road for the Russians from Krems to Znaim.  The night he received the news, K
utuzov sent Bagration's vanguard, four thousand strong, to the right across the h
ills from the KremsZnaim to the ViennaZnaim road. Bagration was to make this marc
h without resting, and to halt facing Vienna with Znaim to his rear, and if he su
cceeded in forestalling the French he was to delay them as long as possible. Kutu
zov himself with all his transport took the road to Znaim.  Marching thirty miles
 that stormy night across roadless hills, with his hungry, illshod soldiers, and 
losing a third of his men as stragglers by the way, Bagration came out on the Vie
nnaZnaim road at Hollabrunn a few hours ahead of the French who were approaching 
Hollabrunn from Vienna. Kutuzov with his transport had still to march for some da
ys before he could reach Znaim. Hence Bagration with his four thousand hungry, ex
hausted men would have to detain for days the whole enemy army that came upon him
 at Hollabrunn, which was clearly impossible. But a freak of fate made the imposs
ible 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 Kutuzov in a simi
lar way. Meeting Bagration's weak detachment on the Znaim road he supposed it to 
be Kutuzov'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 objec
t offered a three days' truce on condition that both armies should remain in posi
tion without moving. Murat declared that negotiations for peace were already proc
eeding, and that he therefore offered this truce to avoid unnecessary bloodshed. 
Count Nostitz, the Austrian general occupying the advanced posts, believed Murat'
s emissary and retired, leaving Bagration's division exposed. Another emissary ro
de to the Russian line to announce the peace negotiations and to offer the Russia
n army the three days' truce. Bagration replied that he was not authorized either
 to accept or refuse a truce and sent his adjutant to Kutuzov to report the offer
 he had received.  A truce was Kutuzov's sole chance of gaining time, giving Bagr
ation's exhausted troops some rest, and letting the transport and heavy convoys w
hose movements were concealed from the French advance if but one stage nearer Zna
im. The offer of a truce gave the only, and a quite unexpected, chance of saving 
the army. On receiving the news he immediately dispatched Adjutant General Wintzi
ngerode, who was in attendance on him, to the enemy camp. Wintzingerode was not m
erely to agree to the truce but also to offer terms of capitulation, and meanwhil
e Kutuzov sent his adjutants back to hasten to the utmost the movements of the ba
ggage trains of the entire army along the KremsZnaim road. Bagration's exhausted 
and hungry detachment, which alone covered this movement of the transport and of 
the whole army, had to remain stationary in face of an enemy eight times as stron
g as itself.  Kutuzov's expectations that the proposals of capitulation which wer
e in no way binding might give time for part of the transport to pass, and also t
hat Murat's mistake would very soon be discovered, proved correct. As soon as Bon
aparte who was at Schonbrunn, sixteen miles from Hollabrunn received Murat's disp
atch with the proposal of a truce and a capitulation, he detected a ruse and wrot
e the following letter to Murat   Schonbrunn, 25th Brumaire, 1805,  at eight o'cl
ock in the morning  To PRINCE MURAT,  I cannot find words to express to you my di
spleasure. You command only my advance guard, and have no right to arrange an arm
istice without my order. You are causing me to lose the fruits of a campaign. Bre
ak 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 Emper
or of Russia has that right.  If, however, the Emperor of Russia ratifies that co
nvention, 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 E
mperor's aidedecamp is an impostor. Officers are nothing when they have no powers
 this one had none.... The Austrians let themselves be tricked at the crossing of
 the Vienna bridge, you are letting yourself be tricked by an aidedecamp of the E
mperor.  NAPOLEON   Bonaparte's adjutant rode full gallop with this menacing lett
er to Murat. Bonaparte himself, not trusting to his generals, moved with all the 
Guards to the field of battle, afraid of letting a ready victim escape, and Bagra
tion's four thousand men merrily lighted campfires, dried and warmed themselves, 
cooked their porridge for the first time for three days, and not one of them knew
 or imagined what was in store for him.      CHAPTER XV   Between three and four 
o'clock in the afternoon Prince Andrew, who had persisted in his request to Kutuz
ov, arrived at Grunth and reported himself to Bagration. Bonaparte's adjutant had
 not yet reached Murat's detachment and the battle had not yet begun. In Bagratio
n's detachment no one knew anything of the general position of affairs. They talk
ed of peace but did not believe in its possibility others talked of a battle but 
also disbelieved in the nearness of an engagement. Bagration, knowing Bolkonski t
o be a favorite and trusted adjutant, received him with distinction and special m
arks of favor, explaining to him that there would probably be an engagement that 
day or the next, and giving him full liberty to remain with him during the battle
 or to join the rearguard and have an eye on the order of retreat, "which is also
 very important."  "However, there will hardly be an engagement today," said Bagr
ation as if to reassure Prince Andrew.  "If he is one of the ordinary little staf
f dandies sent to earn a medal he can get his reward just as well in the rearguar
d, but if he wishes to stay with me, let him... he'll be of use here if he's a br
ave officer," thought Bagration. Prince Andrew, without replying, asked the princ
e's permission to ride round the position to see the disposition of the forces, s
o as to know his bearings should he be sent to execute an order. The officer on d
uty, a handsome, elegantly dressed man with a diamond ring on his forefinger, who
 was fond of speaking French though he spoke it badly, offered to conduct Prince 
Andrew.  On all sides they saw rainsoaked officers with dejected faces who seemed
 to be seeking something, and soldiers dragging doors, benches, and fencing from 
the village.  "There now, Prince! We can't stop those fellows," said the staff of
ficer pointing to the soldiers. "The officers don't keep them in hand. And there,
" he pointed to a sutler's tent, "they crowd in and sit. This morning I turned th
em 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 dis
mounted and entered the tent. Several officers, with flushed and weary faces, wer
e 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 s
ame thing more than once. "You know it won't do to leave your posts like this. Th
e prince gave orders that no one should leave his post. Now you, Captain," and he
 turned to a thin, dirty little artillery officer who without his boots he had gi
ven them to the canteen keeper to dry, in only his stockings, rose when they ente
red, smiling not altogether comfortably.  "Well, aren't you ashamed of yourself, 
Captain Tushin?" 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 artille
ry officer Tushin, who silent and smiling, shifting from one stockinged foot to t
he other, glanced inquiringly with his large, intelligent, kindly eyes from Princ
e Andrew to the staff officer.  "The soldiers say it feels easier without boots,"
 said Captain Tushin smiling shyly in his uncomfortable position, evidently wishi
ng to adopt a jocular tone. But before he had finished he felt that his jest was 
unacceptable and had not come off. He grew confused.  "Kindly return to your post
s," said the staff officer trying to preserve his gravity.  Prince Andrew glanced
 again at the artillery officer's small figure. There was something peculiar abou
t it, quite unsoldierly, rather comic, but extremely attractive.  The staff offic
er and Prince Andrew mounted their horses and rode on.  Having ridden beyond the 
village, continually meeting and overtaking soldiers and officers of various regi
ments, they saw on their left some entrenchments being thrown up, the freshly dug
 clay of which showed up red. Several battalions of soldiers, in their shirt slee
ves despite the cold wind, swarmed in these earthworks like a host of white ants 
spadefuls of red clay were continually being thrown up from behind the bank by un
seen hands. Prince Andrew and the officer rode up, looked at the entrenchment, an
d went on again. Just behind it they came upon some dozens of soldiers, continual
ly replaced by others, who ran from the entrenchment. They had to hold their nose
s and put their horses to a trot to escape from the poisoned atmosphere of these 
latrines.  "Voila l'agrement des camps, monsieur le Prince," * said the staff off
icer.       * "This is a pleasure one gets in camp, Prince."   They rode up the o
pposite hill. From there the French could already be seen. Prince Andrew stopped 
and began examining the position.  "That's our battery," said the staff officer i
ndicating the highest point. "It's in charge of the queer fellow we saw without h
is 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 thi
s staff officer's company, "please don't trouble yourself further."  The staff of
ficer remained behind and Prince Andrew rode on alone.  The farther forward and n
earer the enemy he went, the more orderly and cheerful were the troops. The great
est disorder and depression had been in the baggage train he had passed that morn
ing on the Znaim road seven miles away from the French. At Grunth also some appre
hension and alarm could be felt, but the nearer Prince Andrew came to the French 
lines the more confident was the appearance of our troops. The soldiers in their 
greatcoats were ranged in lines, the sergeants major and company officers were co
unting the men, poking the last man in each section in the ribs and telling him t
o hold his hand up. Soldiers scattered over the whole place were dragging logs an
d 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 me
nding boots or overcoats and crowding round the boilers and porridge cookers. In 
one company dinner was ready, and the soldiers were gazing eagerly at the steamin
g boiler, waiting till the sample, which a quartermaster sergeant was carrying in
 a wooden bowl to an officer who sat on a log before his shelter, had been tasted
.  Another company, a lucky one for not all the companies had vodka, crowded roun
d a pockmarked, broadshouldered sergeant major who, tilting a keg, filled one aft
er another the canteen lids held out to him. The soldiers lifted the canteen lids
 to their lips with reverential faces, emptied them, rolling the vodka in their m
ouths, and walked away from the sergeant major with brightened expressions, licki
ng their lips and wiping them on the sleeves of their greatcoats. All their faces
 were as serene as if all this were happening at home awaiting peaceful encampmen
t, and not within sight of the enemy before an action in which at least half of t
hem would be left on the field. After passing a chasseur regiment and in the line
s of the Kiev grenadiersfine fellows busy with similar peaceful affairsnear the s
helter of the regimental commander, higher than and different from the others, Pr
ince 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 s
triking him regularly on his bare back. The man shrieked unnaturally. A stout maj
or 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 br
ave, 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 bewi
ldered and pained expression on his face stepped away from the man and looked rou
nd inquiringly at the adjutant as he rode by.  Prince Andrew, having reached the 
front line, rode along it. Our front line and that of the enemy were far apart on
 the right and left flanks, but in the center where the men with a flag of truce 
had passed that morning, the lines were so near together that the men could see o
ne another's faces and speak to one another. Besides the soldiers who formed the 
picket line on either side, there were many curious onlookers who, jesting and la
ughing, stared at their strange foreign enemies.  Since early morningdespite an i
njunction not to approach the picket linethe officers had been unable to keep sig
htseers away. The soldiers forming the picket line, like showmen exhibiting a cur
iosity, no longer looked at the French but paid attention to the sightseers and g
rew weary waiting to be relieved. Prince Andrew halted to have a look at the Fren
ch.  "Look! Look there!" one soldier was saying to another, pointing to a Russian
 musketeer who had gone up to the picket line with an officer and was rapidly and
 excitedly talking to a French grenadier. "Hark to him jabbering! Fine, isn't it?
 It's all the Frenchy can do to keep up with him. There now, Sidorov!"  "Wait a b
it and listen. It's fine!" answered Sidorov, who was considered an adept at Frenc
h.  The soldier to whom the laughers referred was Dolokhov. Prince Andrew recogni
zed him and stopped to listen to what he was saying. Dolokhov had come from the l
eft 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 t
he speech which was incomprehensible to him. "More, please more! What's he saying
?"  Dolokhov 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 French
man, confusing the Austrians with the Russians, was trying to prove that the Russ
ians had surrendered and had fled all the way from Ulm, while Dolokhov maintained
 that the Russians had not surrendered but had beaten the French.  "We have order
s to drive you off here, and we shall drive you off," said Dolokhov.  "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 S
uvorov...," * said Dolokhov.       * "On vous fera danser."   "Qu' estce qu'il ch
ante?" * asked a Frenchman.       * "What's he singing about?"   "It's ancient hi
story," said another, guessing that it referred to a former war. "The Emperor wil
l teach your Suvara as he has taught the others..."  "Bonaparte..." began Dolokho
v, but the Frenchman interrupted him.  "Not Bonaparte. He is the Emperor! Sacre n
om...!" cried he angrily.  "The devil skin your Emperor."  And Dolokhov swore at 
him in coarse soldier's Russian and shouldering his musket walked away.  "Let us 
go, Ivan Lukich," he said to the captain.  "Ah, that's the way to talk French," s
aid the picket soldiers. "Now, Sidorov, you have a try!"  Sidorov, turning to the
 French, winked, and began to jabber meaningless sounds very fast "Kari, mala, ta
fa, safi, muter, Kaska," he said, trying to give an expressive intonation to his 
voice.  "Ho! ho! ho! Ha! ha! ha! ha! Ouh! ouh!" came peals of such healthy and go
odhumored laughter from the soldiers that it infected the French involuntarily, s
o much so that the only thing left to do seemed to be to unload the muskets, expl
ode the ammunition, and all return home as quickly as possible.  But the guns rem
ained loaded, the loopholes in blockhouses and entrenchments looked out just as m
enacingly, and the unlimbered cannon confronted one another as before.      CHAPT
ER XVI   Having ridden round the whole line from right flank to left, Prince Andr
ew made his way up to the battery from which the staff officer had told him the w
hole field could be seen. Here he dismounted, and stopped beside the farthest of 
the four unlimbered cannon. Before the guns an artillery sentry was pacing up and
 down he stood at attention when the officer arrived, but at a sign resumed his m
easured, monotonous pacing. Behind the guns were their limbers and still farther 
back picket ropes and artillerymen's bonfires. To the left, not far from the fart
hest cannon, was a small, newly constructed wattle shed from which came the sound
 of officers' voices in eager conversation.  It was true that a view over nearly 
the whole Russian position and the greater part of the enemy's opened out from th
is battery. Just facing it, on the crest of the opposite hill, the village of Sch
on 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 th
e village itself and behind the hill. To the left from that village, amid the smo
ke, was something resembling a battery, but it was impossible to see it clearly w
ith the naked eye. Our right flank was posted on a rather steep incline which dom
inated the French position. Our infantry were stationed there, and at the farthes
t point the dragoons. In the center, where Tushin's battery stood and from which 
Prince Andrew was surveying the position, was the easiest and most direct descent
 and ascent to the brook separating us from Schon Grabern. On the left our troops
 were close to a copse, in which smoked the bonfires of our infantry who were fel
ling 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, m
aking it difficult for artillery and cavalry to retire. Prince Andrew took out hi
s notebook and, leaning on the cannon, sketched a plan of the position. He made s
ome notes on two points, intending to mention them to Bagration. His idea was, fi
rst, to concentrate all the artillery in the center, and secondly, to withdraw th
e cavalry to the other side of the dip. Prince Andrew, being always near the comm
ander in chief, closely following the mass movements and general orders, and cons
tantly studying historical accounts of battles, involuntarily pictured to himself
 the course of events in the forthcoming action in broad outline. He imagined onl
y important possibilities "If the enemy attacks the right flank," he said to hims
elf, "the Kiev grenadiers and the Podolsk chasseurs must hold their position till
 reserves from the center come up. In that case the dragoons could successfully m
ake a flank counterattack. If they attack our center we, having the center batter
y on this high ground, shall withdraw the left flank under its cover, and retreat
 to the dip by echelons." So he reasoned.... All the time he had been beside the 
gun, he had heard the voices of the officers distinctly, but as often happens had
 not understood a word of what they were saying. Suddenly, however, he was struck
 by a voice coming from the shed, and its tone was so sincere that he could not b
ut listen.  "No, friend," said a pleasant and, as it seemed to Prince Andrew, a f
amiliar voice, "what I say is that if it were possible to know what is beyond dea
th, none of us would be afraid of it. That's so, friend."  Another, a younger voi
ce, interrupted him "Afraid or not, you can't escape it anyhow."  "All the same, 
one is afraid! Oh, you clever people," said a third manly voice interrupting them
 both. "Of course you artillery men are very wise, because you can take everythin
g along with youvodka and snacks."  And the owner of the manly voice, evidently a
n infantry officer, laughed.  "Yes, one is afraid," continued the first speaker, 
he of the familiar voice. "One is afraid of the unknown, that's what it is. Whate
ver we may say about the soul going to the sky... we know there is no sky but onl
y an atmosphere."  The manly voice again interrupted the artillery officer.  "Wel
l, stand us some of your herb vodka, Tushin," it said.  "Why," thought Prince And
rew, "that's the captain who stood up in the sutler's hut without his boots." He 
recognized the agreeable, philosophizing voice with pleasure.  "Some herb vodka? 
Certainly!" said Tushin. "But still, to conceive a future life..."  He did not fi
nish. Just then there was a whistle in the air nearer and nearer, faster and loud
er, louder and faster, a cannon ball, as if it had not finished saying what was n
ecessary, thudded into the ground near the shed with super human force, throwing 
up a mass of earth. The ground seemed to groan at the terrible impact.  And immed
iately Tushin, with a short pipe in the corner of his mouth and his kind, intelli
gent 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 hi
s coat as he ran.      CHAPTER XVII   Mounting his horse again Prince Andrew ling
ered with the battery, looking at the puff from the gun that had sent the ball. H
is eyes ran rapidly over the wide space, but he only saw that the hitherto motion
less 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 colum
n was moving down the hill, probably to strengthen the front line. The smoke of t
he first shot had not yet dispersed before another puff appeared, followed by a r
eport. The battle had begun! Prince Andrew turned his horse and galloped back to 
Grunth to find Prince Bagration. 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.  Lemarroi
s had just arrived at a gallop with Bonaparte's stern letter, and Murat, humiliat
ed and anxious to expiate his fault, had at once moved his forces to attack the c
enter and outflank both the Russian wings, hoping before evening and before the a
rrival of the Emperor to crush the contemptible detachment that stood before him.
  "It has begun. Here it is!" thought Prince Andrew, feeling the blood rush to hi
s 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 b
efore, he saw everywhere the same rapid movement of soldiers forming ranks and ge
tting their muskets ready, and on all their faces he recognized the same eagernes
s that filled his heart. "It has begun! Here it is, dreadful but enjoyable!" was 
what the face of each soldier and each officer seemed to say.  Before he had reac
hed the embankments that were being thrown up, he saw, in the light of the dull a
utumn evening, mounted men coming toward him. The foremost, wearing a Cossack clo
ak and lambskin cap and riding a white horse, was Prince Bagration. Prince Andrew
 stopped, waiting for him to come up Prince Bagration reined in his horse and rec
ognizing Prince Andrew nodded to him. He still looked ahead while Prince Andrew t
old him what he had seen.  The feeling, "It has begun! Here it is!" was seen even
 on Prince Bagration's hard brown face with its halfclosed, dull, sleepy eyes. Pr
ince Andrew gazed with anxious curiosity at that impassive face and wished he cou
ld tell what, if anything, this man was thinking and feeling at that moment. "Is 
there anything at all behind that impassive face?" Prince Andrew asked himself as
 he looked. Prince Bagration 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 every
thing that took place and was reported to him was exactly what he had foreseen. P
rince Andrew, out of breath with his rapid ride, spoke quickly. Prince Bagration,
 uttering his words with an Oriental accent, spoke particularly slowly, as if to 
impress the fact that there was no need to hurry. However, he put his horse to a 
trot in the direction of Tushin's battery. Prince Andrew followed with the suite.
 Behind Prince Bagration rode an officer of the suite, the prince's personal adju
tant, Zherkov, an orderly officer, the staff officer on duty, riding a fine bobta
iled horse, and a civilianan accountant who had asked permission to be present at
 the battle out of curiosity. The accountant, a stout, fullfaced man, looked arou
nd him with a naive smile of satisfaction and presented a strange appearance amon
g the hussars, Cossacks, and adjutants, in his camlet coat, as he jolted on his h
orse with a convoy officer's saddle.  "He wants to see a battle," said Zherkov to
 Bolkonski, pointing to the accountant, "but he feels a pain in the pit of his st
omach already."  "Oh, leave off!" said the accountant with a beaming but rather c
unning smile, as if flattered at being made the subject of Zherkov's joke, and pu
rposely trying to appear stupider than he really was.  "It is very strange, mon M
onsieur Prince," said the staff officer. He remembered that in French there is so
me peculiar way of addressing a prince, but could not get it quite right.  By thi
s time they were all approaching Tushin's battery, and a ball struck the ground i
n front of them.  "What's that that has fallen?" asked the accountant with a naiv
e smile.  "A French pancake," answered Zherkov.  "So that's what they hit with?" 
asked the accountant. "How awful!"  He seemed to swell with satisfaction. He had 
hardly finished speaking when they again heard an unexpectedly violent whistling 
which suddenly ended with a thud into something soft... ffflop! and a Cossack, ri
ding 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 ho
rses away. The accountant stopped, facing the Cossack, and examined him with atte
ntive curiosity. The Cossack was dead, but the horse still struggled.  Prince Bag
ration 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 case of a skillful rider and, slightly bending
 over, disengaged his saber which had caught in his cloak. It was an oldfashioned
 saber of a kind no longer in general use. Prince Andrew remembered the story of 
Suvorov giving his saber to Bagration in Italy, and the recollection was particul
arly pleasant at that moment. They had reached the battery at which Prince Andrew
 had been when he examined the battlefield.  "Whose company?" asked Prince Bagrat
ion of an artilleryman standing by the ammunition wagon.  He asked, "Whose compan
y?" but he really meant, "Are you frightened here?" and the artilleryman understo
od him.  "Captain Tushin's, your excellency!" shouted the redhaired, freckled gun
ner in a merry voice, standing to attention.  "Yes, yes," muttered Bagration as i
f considering something, and he rode past the limbers to the farthest cannon.  As
 he approached, a ringing shot issued from it deafening him and his suite, and in
 the smoke that suddenly surrounded the gun they could see the gunners who had se
ized it straining to roll it quickly back to its former position. A huge, broadsh
ouldered gunner, Number One, holding a mop, his legs far apart, sprang to the whe
el while Number Two with a trembling hand placed a charge in the cannon's mouth. 
The short, roundshouldered Captain Tushin, stumbling over the tail of the gun car
riage, moved forward and, not noticing the general, looked out shading his eyes w
ith his small hand.  "Lift it two lines more and it will be just right," cried he
 in a feeble voice to which he tried to impart a dashing note, ill suited to his 
weak figure. "Number Two!" he squeaked. "Fire, Medvedev!"  Bagration called to hi
m, and Tushin, raising three fingers to his cap with a bashful and awkward gestur
e not at all like a military salute but like a priest's benediction, approached t
he general. Though Tushin's guns had been intended to cannonade the valley, he wa
s firing incendiary balls at the village of Schon Grabern 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 sergeant major, Zakha
rchenko, for whom he had great respect, he had decided that it would be a good th
ing to set fire to the village. "Very good!" said Bagration in reply to the offic
er's report, and began deliberately to examine the whole battlefield extended bef
ore him. The French had advanced nearest on our right. Below the height on which 
the Kiev regiment was stationed, in the hollow where the rivulet flowed, the soul
stirring rolling and crackling of musketry was heard, and much farther to the rig
ht beyond the dragoons, the officer of the suite pointed out to Bagration a Frenc
h column that was outflanking us. To the left the horizon bounded by the adjacent
 wood. Prince Bagration ordered two battalions from the center to be sent to rein
force the right flank. The officer of the suite ventured to remark to the prince 
that if these battalions went away, the guns would remain without support. Prince
 Bagration 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 me
ssage from the commander of the regiment in the hollow and news that immense mass
es 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 assent and approval. He rode off at a walk to the right and sent an adjut
ant to the dragoons with orders to attack the French. But this adjutant returned 
half an hour later with the news that the commander of the dragoons had already r
etreated 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 int
o the wood.  "Very good!" said Bagration.  As he was leaving the battery, firing 
was heard on the left also, and as it was too far to the left flank for him to ha
ve time to go there himself, Prince Bagration sent Zherkov to tell the general in
 command the one who had paraded his regiment before Kutuzov at Braunau that he m
ust retreat as quickly as possible behind the hollow in the rear, as the right fl
ank would probably not be able to withstand the enemy's attack very long. About T
ushin and the battalion that had been in support of his battery all was forgotten
. Prince Andrew listened attentively to Bagration's colloquies with the commandin
g officers and the orders he gave them and, to his surprise, found that no orders
 were really given, but that Prince Bagration tried to make it appear that everyt
hing done by necessity, by accident, or by the will of subordinate commanders was
 done, if not by his direct command, at least in accord with his intentions. Prin
ce Andrew noticed, however, that though what happened was due to chance and was i
ndependent of the commander's will, owing to the tact Bagration showed, his prese
nce was very valuable. Officers who approached him with disturbed countenances be
came calm soldiers and officers greeted him gaily, grew more cheerful in his pres
ence, and were evidently anxious to display their courage before him.      CHAPTE
R XVIII   Prince Bagration, having reached the highest point of our right flank, 
began riding downhill to where the roll of musketry was heard but where on accoun
t of the smoke nothing could be seen. The nearer they got to the hollow the less 
they could see but the more they felt the nearness of the actual battlefield. The
y began to meet wounded men. One with a bleeding head and no cap was being dragge
d along by two soldiers who supported him under the arms. There was a gurgle in h
is throat and he was spitting blood. A bullet had evidently hit him in the throat
 or mouth. Another was walking sturdily by himself but without his musket, groani
ng aloud and swinging his arm which had just been hurt, while blood from it was s
treaming 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 ste
ep incline and saw several men lying on the ground they also met a crowd of soldi
ers some of whom were unwounded. The soldiers were ascending the hill breathing h
eavily, and despite the general's presence were talking loudly and gesticulating.
 In front of them rows of gray cloaks were already visible through the smoke, and
 an officer catching sight of Bagration rushed shouting after the crowd of retrea
ting soldiers, ordering them back. Bagration rode up to the ranks along which sho
ts crackled now here and now there, drowning the sound of voices and the shouts o
f command. The whole air reeked with smoke. The excited faces of the soldiers wer
e 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 t
o carry away. A pleasant humming and whistling of bullets were often heard. "What
 is this?" thought Prince Andrew approaching the crowd of soldiers. "It can't be 
an attack, for they are not moving it can't be a squarefor they are not drawn up 
for that."  The commander of the regiment, a thin, feeblelooking old man with a p
leasant smilehis eyelids drooping more than half over his old eyes, giving him a 
mild expression, rode up to Bagration and welcomed him as a host welcomes an hono
red 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 ha
ppened during that halfhour to the troops entrusted to him, and could not say wit
h certainty whether the attack had been repulsed or his regiment had been broken 
up. All he knew was that at the commencement of the action balls and shells began
 flying all over his regiment and hitting men and that afterwards someone had sho
uted "Cavalry!" and our men had begun firing. They were still firing, not at the 
cavalry which had disappeared, but at French infantry who had come into the hollo
w and were firing at our men. Prince Bagration bowed his head as a sign that this
 was exactly what he had desired and expected. Turning to his adjutant he ordered
 him to bring down the two battalions of the Sixth Chasseurs whom they had just p
assed. Prince Andrew was struck by the changed expression on Prince Bagration's f
ace at this moment. It expressed the concentrated and happy resolution you see on
 the face of a man who on a hot day takes a final run before plunging into the wa
ter. The dull, sleepy expression was no longer there, nor the affectation of prof
ound thought. The round, steady, hawk's eyes looked before him eagerly and rather
 disdainfully, not resting on anything although his movements were still slow and
 measured.  The commander of the regiment turned to Prince Bagration, entreating 
him to go back as it was too dangerous to remain where they were. "Please, your e
xcellency, for God's sake!" he kept saying, glancing for support at an officer of
 the suite who turned away from him. "There, you see!" and he drew attention to t
he bullets whistling, singing, and hissing continually around them. He spoke in t
he tone of entreaty and reproach that a carpenter uses to a gentleman who has pic
ked 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 halfclosed eyes gave still more 
persuasiveness to his words. The staff officer joined in the colonel's appeals, b
ut Bagration did not reply he only gave an order to cease firing and reform, so a
s to give room for the two approaching battalions. While he was speaking, the cur
tain of smoke that had concealed the hollow, driven by a rising wind, began to mo
ve from right to left as if drawn by an invisible hand, and the hill opposite, wi
th the French moving about on it, opened out before them. All eyes fastened invol
untarily on this French column advancing against them and winding down over the u
neven ground. One could already see the soldiers' shaggy caps, distinguish the of
ficers from the men, and see the standard flapping against its staff.  "They marc
h splendidly," remarked someone in Bagration's suite.  The head of the column had
 already descended into the hollow. The clash would take place on this side of it
...  The remains of our regiment which had been in action rapidly formed up and m
oved 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 weight
y tread of the mass of men marching in step could be heard. On their left flank, 
nearest to Bagration, marched a company commander, a fine roundfaced 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 selfsatisfaction of a man on parade
, he stepped lightly with his muscular legs as if sailing along, stretching himse
lf to his full height without the smallest effort, his ease contrasting with the 
heavy tread of the soldiers who were keeping step with him. He carried close to h
is leg a narrow unsheathed sword small, curved, and not like a real weapon and lo
oked now at the superior officers and now back at the men without losing step, hi
s whole powerful body turning flexibly. It was as if all the powers of his soul w
ere concentrated on passing the commander in the best possible manner, and feelin
g 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 vari
ed faces, the wall of soldiers burdened with knapsacks and muskets marched in ste
p, and each one of these hundreds of soldiers seemed to be repeating to himself a
t each alternate step, "Left... left... left..." A fat major skirted a bush, puff
ing and falling out of step a soldier who had fallen behind, his face showing ala
rm at his defection, ran at a trot, panting to catch up with his company. A canno
n ball, cleaving the air, flew over the heads of Bagration and his suite, and fel
l 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 some
thing where the ball had fallen, and an old trooper on the flank, a noncommission
ed officer who had stopped beside the dead men, ran to catch up his line and, fal
ling into step with a hop, looked back angrily, and through the ominous silence a
nd the regular tramp of feet beating the ground in unison, one seemed to hear lef
t... left... left.  "Well done, lads!" said Prince Bagration.  "Glad to do our be
st, your ex'lenlency!" came a confused shout from the ranks. A morose soldier mar
ching on the left turned his eyes on Bagration as he shouted, with an expression 
that seemed to say "We know that ourselves!" Another, without looking round, as t
hough fearing to relax, shouted with his mouth wide open and passed on.  The orde
r was given to halt and down knapsacks.  Bagration rode round the ranks that had 
marched past him and dismounted. He gave the reins to a Cossack, took off and han
ded 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.  "Fo
rward, with God!" said Bagration, in a resolute, sonorous voice, turning for a mo
ment 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 th
at an invisible power was leading him forward, and experienced great happiness.  
The French were already near. Prince Andrew, walking beside Bagration, could clea
rly distinguish their bandoliers, red epaulets, and even their faces. He distinct
ly saw an old French officer who, with gaitered legs and turnedout toes, climbed 
the hill with difficulty. Prince Bagration gave no further orders and silently co
ntinued to walk on in front of the ranks. Suddenly one shot after another rang ou
t from the French, smoke appeared all along their uneven ranks, and musket shots 
sounded. Several of our men fell, among them the roundfaced officer who had march
ed so gaily and complacently. But at the moment the first report was heard, Bagra
tion looked round and shouted, "Hurrah!"  "Hurrahah!ah!" rang a longdrawn shout f
rom our ranks, and passing Bagration and racing one another they rushed in an irr
egular but joyous and eager crowd down the hill at their disordered foe.      CHA
PTER XIX   The attack of the Sixth Chasseurs secured the retreat of our right fla
nk. In the center Tushin's forgotten battery, which had managed to set fire to th
e Schon 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 reti
rement of the center to the other side of the dip in the ground at the rear was h
urried and noisy, but the different companies did not get mixed. But our leftwhic
h consisted of the Azov and Podolsk infantry and the Pavlograd hussarswas simulta
neously attacked and outflanked by superior French forces under Lannes and was th
rown into confusion. Bagration had sent Zherkov to the general commanding that le
ft flank with orders to retreat immediately.  Zherkov, not removing his hand from
 his cap, turned his horse about and galloped off. But no sooner had he left Bagr
ation than his courage failed him. He was seized by panic and could not go where 
it was dangerous.  Having reached the left flank, instead of going to the front w
here the firing was, he began to look for the general and his staff where they co
uld not possibly be, and so did not deliver the order.  The command of the left f
lank belonged by seniority to the commander of the regiment Kutuzov had reviewed 
at Braunau and in which Dolokhov was serving as a private. But the command of the
 extreme left flank had been assigned to the commander of the Pavlograd regiment 
in which Rostov was serving, and a misunderstanding arose. The two commanders wer
e much exasperated with one another and, long after the action had begun on the r
ight flank and the French were already advancing, were engaged in discussion with
 the sole object of offending one another. But the regiments, both cavalry and in
fantry, were by no means ready for the impending action. From privates to general
 they were not expecting a battle and were engaged in peaceful occupations, the c
avalry feeding the horses and the infantry collecting wood.  "He higher iss dan I
 in rank," said the German colonel of the hussars, flushing and addressing an adj
utant who had ridden up, "so let him do what he vill, but I cannot sacrifice my h
ussars... Bugler, sount ze retreat!"  But haste was becoming imperative. Cannon a
nd musketry, mingling together, thundered on the right and in the center, while t
he capotes of Lannes' sharpshooters were already seen crossing the milldam and fo
rming up within twice the range of a musket shot. The general in command of the i
nfantry went toward his horse with jerky steps, and having mounted drew himself u
p very straight and tall and rode to the Pavlograd commander. The commanders met 
with polite bows but with secret malevolence in their hearts.  "Once again, Colon
el," said the general, "I can't leave half my men in the wood. I beg of you, I be
g of you," he repeated, "to occupy the position and prepare for an attack."  "I p
eg of you yourself not to mix in vot is not your business!" suddenly replied the 
irate colonel. "If you vere in the cavalry..."  "I am not in the cavalry, Colonel
, but I am a Russian general and if you are not aware of the fact..."  "Quite ava
re, your excellency," suddenly shouted the colonel, touching his horse and turnin
g purple in the face. "Vill you be so goot to come to ze front and see dat zis po
sition iss no goot? I don't vish to destroy my men for your pleasure!"  "You forg
et yourself, Colonel. I am not considering my own pleasure and I won't allow it t
o be said!"  Taking the colonel's outburst as a challenge to his courage, the gen
eral expanded his chest and rode, frowning, beside him to the front line, as if t
heir differences would be settled there amongst the bullets. They reached the fro
nt, several bullets sped over them, and they halted in silence. There was nothing
 fresh to be seen from the line, for from where they had been before it had been 
evident that it was impossible for cavalry to act among the bushes and broken gro
und, as well as that the French were outflanking our left. The general and colone
l looked sternly and significantly at one another like two fighting cocks prepari
ng for battle, each vainly trying to detect signs of cowardice in the other. Both
 passed the examination successfully. As there was nothing to be said, and neithe
r wished to give occasion for it to be alleged that he had been the first to leav
e the range of fire, they would have remained there for a long time testing each 
other's courage had it not been that just then they heard the rattle of musketry 
and a muffled shout almost behind them in the wood. The French had attacked the m
en collecting wood in the copse. It was no longer possible for the hussars to ret
reat 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 Rostov was serv
ing had scarcely time to mount before it was halted facing the enemy. Again, as a
t the Enns bridge, there was nothing between the squadron and the enemy, and agai
n that terrible dividing line of uncertainty and fearresembling the line separati
ng the living from the deadlay between them. All were conscious of this unseen li
ne, 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 t
o questions put to him by the officers, and, like a man desperately insisting on 
having his own way, gave an order. No one said anything definite, but the rumor o
f an attack spread through the squadron. The command to form up rang out and the 
sabers whizzed as they were drawn from their scabbards. Still no one moved. The t
roops of the left flank, infantry and hussars alike, felt that the commander did 
not himself know what to do, and this irresolution communicated itself to the men
.  "If only they would be quick!" thought Rostov, feeling that at last the time h
ad come to experience the joy of an attack of which he had so often heard from hi
s fellow hussars.  "Fo'ward, with God, lads!" rang out Denisov's voice. "At a two
t fo'ward!"  The horses' croups began to sway in the front line. Rook pulled at t
he reins and started of his own accord.  Before him, on the right, Rostov saw the
 front lines of his hussars and still farther ahead a dark line which he could no
t see distinctly but took to be the enemy. Shots could be heard, but some way off
.  "Faster!" came the word of command, and Rostov felt Rook's flanks drooping as 
he broke into a gallop.  Rostov 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 terribleand now he had crossed that
 line and not only was there nothing terrible, but everything was becoming more a
nd more happy and animated. "Oh, how I will slash at him!" thought Rostov, grippi
ng the hilt of his saber.  "Huraaaah!" came a roar of voices. "Let anyone come my
 way now," thought Rostov driving his spurs into Rook and letting him go at a ful
l gallop so that he outstripped the others. Ahead, the enemy was already visible.
 Suddenly something like a birch broom seemed to sweep over the squadron. Rostov 
raised his saber, ready to strike, but at that instant the trooper Nikitenko, who
 was galloping ahead, shot away from him, and Rostov felt as in a dream that he c
ontinued to be carried forward with unnatural speed but yet stayed on the same sp
ot. From behind him Bondarchuk, an hussar he knew, jolted against him and looked 
angrily at him. Bondarchuk's horse swerved and galloped past.  "How is it I am no
t moving? I have fallen, I am killed!" Rostov asked and answered at the same inst
ant. He was alone in the middle of a field. Instead of the moving horses and huss
ars' backs, he saw nothing before him but the motionless earth and the stubble ar
ound him. There was warm blood under his arm. "No, I am wounded and the horse is 
killed." Rook tried to rise on his forelegs but fell back, pinning his rider's le
g. Blood was flowing from his head he struggled but could not rise. Rostov also t
ried to rise but fell back, his sabretache having become entangled in the saddle.
 Where our men were, and where the French, he did not know. There was no one near
.  Having disentangled his leg, he rose. "Where, on which side, was now the line 
that had so sharply divided the two armies?" he asked himself and could not answe
r. "Can something bad have happened to me?" he wondered as he got up and at that 
moment he felt that something superfluous was hanging on his benumbed left arm. T
he wrist felt as if it were not his. He examined his hand carefully, vainly tryin
g to find blood on it. "Ah, here are people coming," he thought joyfully, seeing 
some men running toward him. "They will help me!" In front came a man wearing a s
trange shako and a blue cloak, swarthy, sunburned, and with a hooked nose. Then c
ame two more, and many more running behind. One of them said something strange, n
ot in Russian. In among the hindmost of these men wearing similar shakos was a Ru
ssian hussar. He was being held by the arms and his horse was being led behind hi
m.  "It must be one of ours, a prisoner. Yes. Can it be that they will take me to
o? Who are these men?" thought Rostov, scarcely believing his eyes. "Can they be 
French?" He looked at the approaching Frenchmen, and though but a moment before h
e 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 r
unning? Can they be coming at me? And why? To kill me? Me whom everyone is so fon
d of?" He remembered his mother's love for him, and his family's, and his friends
', and the enemy's intention to kill him seemed impossible. "But perhaps they may
 do it!" For more than ten seconds he stood not moving from the spot or realizing
 the situation. The foremost Frenchman, the one with the hooked nose, was already
 so close that the expression of his face could be seen. And the excited, alien f
ace of that man, his bayonet hanging down, holding his breath, and running so lig
htly, frightened Rostov. He seized his pistol and, instead of firing it, flung it
 at the Frenchman and ran with all his might toward the bushes. He did not now ru
n with the feeling of doubt and conflict with which he had trodden the Enns bridg
e, 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 lea
ping the furrows, he fled across the field with the impetuosity he used to show a
t catchplay, now and then turning his goodnatured, pale, young face to look back.
 A shudder of terror went through him "No, better not look," he thought, but havi
ng reached the bushes he glanced round once more. The French had fallen behind, a
nd just as he looked round the first man changed his run to a walk and, turning, 
shouted something loudly to a comrade farther back. Rostov paused. "No, there's s
ome mistake," thought he. "They can't have wanted to kill me." But at the same ti
me, his left arm felt as heavy as if a seventypound weight were tied to it. He co
uld run no more. The Frenchman also stopped and took aim. Rostov 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 t
he bushes. Behind these were some Russian sharpshooters.      CHAPTER XX   The in
fantry regiments that had been caught unawares in the outskirts of the wood ran o
ut of it, the different companies getting mixed, and retreated as a disorderly cr
owd. One soldier, in his fear, uttered the senseless cry, "Cut off!" that is so t
errible in battle, and that word infected the whole crowd with a feeling of panic
.  "Surrounded! Cut off? We're lost!" shouted the fugitives.  The moment he heard
 the firing and the cry from behind, the general realized that something dreadful
 had happened to his regiment, and the thought that he, an exemplary officer of m
any years' service who had never been to blame, might be held responsible at head
quarters for negligence or inefficiency so staggered him that, forgetting the rec
alcitrant cavalry colonel, his own dignity as a general, and above all quite forg
etting the danger and all regard for selfpreservation, he clutched the crupper of
 his saddle and, spurring his horse, galloped to the regiment under a hail of bul
lets which fell around, but fortunately missed him. His one desire was to know wh
at was happening and at any cost correct, or remedy, the mistake if he had made o
ne, so that he, an exemplary officer of twentytwo years' service, who had never b
een censured, should not be held to blame.  Having galloped safely through the Fr
ench, he reached a field behind the copse across which our men, regardless of ord
ers, were running and descending the valley. That moment of moral hesitation whic
h decides the fate of battles had arrived. Would this disorderly crowd of soldier
s attend to the voice of their commander, or would they, disregarding him, contin
ue their flight? Despite his desperate shouts that used to seem so terrible to th
e soldiers, despite his furious purple countenance distorted out of all likeness 
to his former self, and the flourishing of his saber, the soldiers all continued 
to run, talking, firing into the air, and disobeying orders. The moral hesitation
 which decided the fate of battles was evidently culminating in a panic.  The gen
eral had a fit of coughing as a result of shouting and of the powder smoke and st
opped in despair. Everything seemed lost. But at that moment the French who were 
attacking, suddenly and without any apparent reason, ran back and disappeared fro
m the outskirts, and Russian sharpshooters showed themselves in the copse. It was
 Timokhin's company, which alone had maintained its order in the wood and, having
 lain in ambush in a ditch, now attacked the French unexpectedly. Timokhin, armed
 only with a sword, had rushed at the enemy with such a desperate cry and such ma
d, drunken determination that, taken by surprise, the French had thrown down thei
r muskets and run. Dolokhov, running beside Timokhin, killed a Frenchman at close
 quarters and was the first to seize the surrendering French officer by his colla
r. Our fugitives returned, the battalions reformed, and the French who had nearly
 cut our left flank in half were for the moment repulsed. Our reserve units were 
able to join up, and the fight was at an end. The regimental commander and Major 
Ekonomov had stopped beside a bridge, letting the retreating companies pass by th
em, when a soldier came up and took hold of the commander's stirrup, almost leani
ng against him. The man was wearing a bluish coat of broadcloth, he had no knapsa
ck or cap, his head was bandaged, and over his shoulder a French munition pouch w
as slung. He had an officer's sword in his hand. The soldier was pale, his blue e
yes looked impudently into the commander's face, and his lips were smiling. Thoug
h the commander was occupied in giving instructions to Major Ekonomov, he could n
ot help taking notice of the soldier.  "Your excellency, here are two trophies," 
said Dolokhov, pointing to the French sword and pouch. "I have taken an officer p
risoner. I stopped the company." Dolokhov breathed heavily from weariness and spo
ke in abrupt sentences. "The whole company can bear witness. I beg you will remem
ber this, your excellency!"  "All right, all right," replied the commander, and t
urned to Major Ekonomov.  But Dolokhov 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 ba
ttery had been forgotten and only at the very end of the action did Prince Bagrat
ion, still hearing the cannonade in the center, send his orderly staff officer, a
nd later Prince Andrew also, to order the battery to retire as quickly as possibl
e. When the supports attached to Tushin's battery had been moved away in the midd
le of the action by someone's order, the battery had continued firing and was onl
y not captured by the French because the enemy could not surmise that anyone coul
d 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 her
ein the centerthe main Russian forces were concentrated. Twice they had attempted
 to attack this point, but on each occasion had been driven back by grapeshot fro
m the four isolated guns on the hillock.  Soon after Prince Bagration had left hi
m, Tushin had succeeded in setting fire to Schon Grabern.  "Look at them scurryin
g! It's burning! Just see the smoke! Fine! Grand! Look at the smoke, the smoke!" 
exclaimed the artillerymen, brightening up.  All the guns, without waiting for or
ders, were being fired in the direction of the conflagration. As if urging each o
ther 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 failu
re, the enemy placed ten guns to the right of the village and began firing them a
t Tushin's battery.  In their childlike glee, aroused by the fire and their luck 
in successfully cannonading the French, our artillerymen only noticed this batter
y when two balls, and then four more, fell among our guns, one knocking over two 
horses and another tearing off a munitionwagon driver's leg. Their spirits once r
oused were, however, not diminished, but only changed character. The horses were 
replaced by others from a reserve gun carriage, the wounded were carried away, an
d the four guns were turned against the tengun battery. Tushin's companion office
r 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 a
wkwardly, kept telling his orderly to "refill my pipe for that one!" and then, sc
attering 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 wh
eels and working the screws himself.  Amid the smoke, deafened by the incessant r
eports 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 re
placing dead or wounded horses and harnessing fresh ones, and shouting in his fee
ble 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 t
he injured or dead. The soldiers, for the most part handsome fellows and, as is a
lways the case in an artillery company, a head and shoulders taller and twice as 
broad as their officerall looked at their commander like children in an embarrass
ing situation, and the expression on his face was invariably reflected on theirs.
  Owing to the terrible uproar and the necessity 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 ag
o, 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 wellknown and familiar ground. Thoug
h he thought of everything, considered everything, and did everything the best of
 officers could do in his position, he was in a state akin to feverish delirium o
r drunkenness.  From the deafening sounds of his own guns around him, the whistle
 and thud of the enemy's cannon balls, from the flushed and perspiring faces of t
he crew bustling round the guns, from the sight of the blood of men and horses, f
rom the little puffs of smoke on the enemy's side always followed by a ball flyin
g 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 tha
t moment afforded him pleasure. The enemy's guns were in his fancy not guns but p
ipes 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 hil
l 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 answ
ered.  "Come along, our Matvevna!" he said to himself. "Matvevna" * was the name 
his fancy gave to the farthest gun of the battery, which was large and of an old 
pattern. The French swarming round their guns seemed to him like ants. In that wo
rld, the handsome drunkard Number One of the second gun's crew was "uncle" Tushin
 looked at him more often than at anyone else and took delight in his every movem
ent. The sound of musketry at the foot of the hill, now diminishing, now increasi
ng, seemed like someone's breathing. He listened intently to the ebb and flow of 
these sounds.       * Daughter of Matthew.   "Ah! Breathing again, breathing!" he
 muttered to himself.  He imagined himself as an enormously tall, powerful man wh
o was throwing cannon balls at the French with both hands.  "Now then, Matvevna, 
dear old lady, don't let me down!" he was saying as he moved from the gun, when a
 strange, unfamiliar voice called above his head "Captain Tushin! Captain!"  Tush
in 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 twic
e been ordered to retreat, and you..."  "Why are they down on me?" thought Tushin
, looking in alarm at his superior.  "I... don't..." he muttered, holding up two 
fingers to his cap. "I..."  But the staff officer did not finish what he wanted t
o say. A cannon ball, flying close to him, caused him to duck and bend over his h
orse. He paused, and just as he was about to say something more, another ball sto
pped him. He turned his horse and galloped off.  "Retire! All to retire!" he shou
ted from a distance.  The soldiers laughed. A moment later, an adjutant arrived w
ith 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 bro
ken leg, that lay screaming piteously beside the harnessed horses. Blood was gush
ing from its leg as from a spring. Among the limbers lay several dead men. One ba
ll after another passed over as he approached and he felt a nervous shudder run d
own his spine. But the mere thought of being afraid roused him again. "I cannot b
e afraid," thought he, and dismounted slowly among the guns. He delivered the ord
er and did not leave the battery. He decided to have the guns removed from their 
positions and withdrawn in his presence. Together with Tushin, stepping across th
e 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 art
illeryman 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 be
gan moving down the hill one shattered gun and one unicorn were left behind, Prin
ce Andrew rode up to Tushin.  "Well, till we meet again..." he said, holding out 
his hand to Tushin.  "Goodby, my dear fellow," said Tushin. "Dear soul! Goodby, m
y dear fellow!" and for some unknown reason tears suddenly filled his eyes.      
CHAPTER XXI   The wind had fallen and black clouds, merging with the powder smoke
, hung low over the field of battle on the horizon. It was growing dark and the g
low of two conflagrations was the more conspicuous. The cannonade was dying down,
 but the rattle of musketry behind and on the right sounded oftener and nearer. A
s soon as Tushin with his guns, continually driving round or coming upon wounded 
men, was out of range of fire and had descended into the dip, he was met by some 
of the staff, among them the staff officer and Zherkov, who had been twice sent t
o Tushin's battery but had never reached it. Interrupting one another, they all g
ave, and transmitted, orders as to how to proceed, reprimanding and reproaching h
im. Tushin gave no orders, and, silentlyfearing to speak because at every word he
 felt ready to weep without knowing whyrode behind on his artillery nag. Though t
he orders were to abandon the wounded, many of them dragged themselves after troo
ps and begged for seats on the gun carriages. The jaunty infantry officer who jus
t before the battle had rushed out of Tushin's wattle shed was laid, with a bulle
t in his stomach, on "Matvevna's" carriage. At the foot of the hill, a pale hussa
r cadet, supporting one hand with the other, came up to Tushin and asked for a se
at.  "Captain, for God's sake! I've hurt my arm," he said timidly. "For God's sak
e... I can't walk. For God's sake!"  It was plain that this cadet had already rep
eatedly asked for a lift and been refused. He asked in a hesitating, piteous voic
e.  "Tell them to give me a seat, for God's sake!"  "Give him a seat," said Tushi
n. "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 s
omeone.  "Help him up. Sit down, dear fellow, sit down! Spread out the cloak, Ant
onov."  The cadet was Rostov. With one hand he supported the other he was pale an
d his jaw trembled, shivering feverishly. He was placed on "Matvevna," the gun fr
om which they had removed the dead officer. The cloak they spread under him was w
et with blood which stained his breeches and arm.  "What, are you wounded, my lad
?" said Tushin, approaching the gun on which Rostov sat.  "No, it's a sprain."  "
Then what is this blood on the gun carriage?" inquired Tushin.  "It was the offic
er, your honor, stained it," answered the artilleryman, wiping away the blood wit
h his coat sleeve, as if apologizing for the state of his gun.  It was all that t
hey could do to get the guns up the rise aided by the infantry, and having reache
d the village of Gruntersdorf they halted. It had grown so dark that one could no
t distinguish the uniforms ten paces off, and the firing had begun to subside. Su
ddenly, near by on the right, shouting and firing were again heard. Flashes of sh
ot gleamed in the darkness. This was the last French attack and was met by soldie
rs who had sheltered in the village houses. They all rushed out of the village ag
ain, but Tushin's guns could not move, and the artillerymen, Tushin, and the cade
t exchanged silent glances as they awaited their fate. The firing died down and s
oldiers, talking eagerly, streamed out of a side street.  "Not hurt, Petrov?" ask
ed one.  "We've given it 'em hot, mate! They won't make another push now," said a
nother.  "You couldn't see a thing. How they shot at their own fellows! Nothing c
ould be seen. Pitchdark, brother! Isn't there something to drink?"  The French ha
d been repulsed for the last time. And again and again in the complete darkness T
ushin's guns moved forward, surrounded by the humming infantry as by a frame.  In
 the darkness, it seemed as though a gloomy unseen river was flowing always in on
e direction, humming with whispers and talk and the sound of hoofs and wheels. Am
id 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 da
rkness of the night. After a while the moving mass became agitated, someone rode 
past on a white horse followed by his suite, and said something in passing "What 
did he say? Where to, now? Halt, is it? Did he thank us?" came eager questions fr
om all sides. The whole moving mass began pressing closer together and a report s
pread that they were ordered to halt evidently those in front had halted. All rem
ained where they were in the middle of the muddy road.  Fires were lighted and th
e talk became more audible. Captain Tushin, having given orders to his company, s
ent 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. Rostov, too, dragged himself t
o the fire. From pain, cold, and damp, a feverish shivering shook his whole body.
 Drowsiness was irresistibly mastering him, but he kept awake by an excruciating 
pain in his arm, for which he could find no satisfactory position. He kept closin
g his eyes and then again looking at the fire, which seemed to him dazzlingly red
, and at the feeble, roundshouldered figure of Tushin who was sitting crosslegged
 like a Turk beside him. Tushin's large, kind, intelligent eyes were fixed with s
ympathy and commiseration on Rostov, who saw that Tushin with his whole heart wis
hed to help him but could not.  From all sides were heard the footsteps and talk 
of the infantry, who were walking, driving past, and settling down all around. Th
e sound of voices, the tramping feet, the horses' hoofs moving in mud, the crackl
ing of wood fires near and afar, merged into one tremulous rumble.  It was no lon
ger, as before, a dark, unseen river flowing through the gloom, but a dark sea sw
elling and gradually subsiding after a storm. Rostov looked at and listened listl
essly to what passed before and around him. An infantryman came to the fire, squa
tted on his heels, held his hands to the blaze, and turned away his face.  "You d
on't mind your honor?" he asked Tushin. "I've lost my company, your honor. I don'
t know where... such bad luck!"  With the soldier, an infantry officer with a ban
daged cheek came up to the bonfire, and addressing Tushin asked him to have the g
uns 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 s
natch from the other a boot they were both holding on to.  "You picked it up?... 
I dare say! You're very smart!" one of them shouted hoarsely.  Then a thin, pale 
soldier, his neck bandaged with a bloodstained leg band, came up and in angry ton
es asked the artillerymen for water.  "Must one die like a dog?" said he.  Tushin
 told them to give the man some water. Then a cheerful soldier ran up, begging a 
little fire for the infantry.  "A nice little hot torch for the infantry! Good lu
ck 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 soldier
s, carrying something heavy on a cloak, and passed by the fire. One of them stumb
led.  "Who the devil has put the logs on the road?" snarled he.  "He's deadwhy ca
rry him?" said another.  "Shut up!"  And they disappeared into the darkness with 
their load.  "Still aching?" Tushin asked Rostov in a whisper.  "Yes."  "Your hon
or, you're wanted by the general. He is in the hut here," said a gunner, coming u
p to Tushin.  "Coming, friend."  Tushin rose and, buttoning his greatcoat and pul
ling it straight, walked away from the fire.  Not far from the artillery campfire
, in a hut that had been prepared for him, Prince Bagration sat at dinner, talkin
g with some commanding officers who had gathered at his quarters. The little old 
man with the halfclosed eyes was there greedily gnawing a mutton bone, and the ge
neral who had served blamelessly for twentytwo years, flushed by a glass of vodka
 and the dinner and the staff officer with the signet ring, and Zherkov, uneasily
 glancing at them all, and Prince Andrew, pale, with compressed lips and feverish
ly glittering eyes.  In a corner of the hut stood a standard captured from the Fr
ench, and the accountant with the naive face was feeling its texture, shaking his
 head in perplexityperhaps because the banner really interested him, perhaps beca
use 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 Ba
gration was thanking the individual commanders and inquiring into details of the 
action and our losses. The general whose regiment had been inspected at Braunau w
as informing the prince that as soon as the action began he had withdrawn from th
e wood, mustered the men who were woodcutting, and, allowing the French to pass h
im, had made a bayonet charge with two battalions and had broken up the French tr
oops.  "When I saw, your excellency, that their first battalion was disorganized,
 I stopped in the road and thought 'I'll let them come on and will meet them with
 the fire of the whole battalion'and that's what I did."  The general had so wish
ed 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 pos
sibly make out amid all that confusion what did or did not happen?  "By the way, 
your excellency, I should inform you," he continuedremembering Dolokhov's convers
ation with Kutuzov and his last interview with the gentlemanranker"that Private D
olokhov, who was reduced to the ranks, took a French officer prisoner in my prese
nce and particularly distinguished himself."  "I saw the Pavlograd hussars attack
 there, your excellency," chimed in Zherkov, 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 a
t Zherkov's words, expecting one of his usual jokes, but noticing that what he wa
s 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 d
evoid of any foundation. Prince Bagration turned to the old colonel  "Gentlemen, 
I thank you all all arms have behaved heroically infantry, cavalry, and artillery
. How was it that two guns were abandoned in the center?" he inquired, searching 
with his eyes for someone. Prince Bagration did not ask about the guns on the lef
t flank he knew that all the guns there had been abandoned at the very beginning 
of the action. "I think I sent you?" he added, turning to the staff officer on du
ty.  "One was damaged," answered the staff officer, "and the other I can't unders
tand. I was there all the time giving orders and had only just left.... It is tru
e that it was hot there," he added, modestly.  Someone mentioned that Captain Tus
hin was bivouacking close to the village and had already been sent for.  "Oh, but
 you were there?" said Prince Bagration, addressing Prince Andrew.  "Of course, w
e only just missed one another," said the staff officer, with a smile to Bolkonsk
i.  "I had not the pleasure of seeing you," said Prince Andrew, coldly and abrupt
ly.  All were silent. Tushin appeared at the threshold and made his way timidly f
rom behind the backs of the generals. As he stepped past the generals in the crow
ded hut, feeling embarrassed as he always was by the sight of his superiors, he d
id not notice the staff of the banner and stumbled over it. Several of those pres
ent laughed.  "How was it a gun was abandoned?" asked Bagration, frowning, not so
 much at the captain as at those who were laughing, among whom Zherkov laughed lo
udest.  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 themselv
es to Tushin in all their horror. He had been so excited that he had not thought 
about it until that moment. The officers' laughter confused him still more. He st
ood before Bagration with his lower jaw trembling and was hardly able to mutter "
I don't know... your excellency... I had no men... your excellency."  "You might 
have taken some from the covering troops."  Tushin did not say that there were no
 covering troops, though that was perfectly true. He was afraid of getting some o
ther officer into trouble, and silently fixed his eyes on Bagration as a schoolbo
y who has blundered looks at an examiner.  The silence lasted some time. Prince B
agration, apparently not wishing to be severe, found nothing to say the others di
d not venture to intervene. Prince Andrew looked at Tushin from under his brows a
nd his fingers twitched nervously.  "Your excellency!" Prince Andrew broke the si
lence with his abrupt voice, "you were pleased to send me to Captain Tushin's bat
tery. I went there and found two thirds of the men and horses knocked out, two gu
ns smashed, and no supports at all."  Prince Bagration and Tushin looked with equ
al intentness at Bolkonski, who spoke with suppressed agitation.  "And, if your e
xcellency will allow me to express my opinion," he continued, "we owe today's suc
cess chiefly to the action of that battery and the heroic endurance of Captain Tu
shin and his company," and without awaiting a reply, Prince Andrew rose and left 
the table.  Prince Bagration looked at Tushin, evidently reluctant to show distru
st in Bolkonski's emphatic 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.  "Th
ank you you saved me, my dear fellow!" said Tushin.  Prince Andrew gave him a loo
k, but said nothing and went away. He felt sad and depressed. It was all so stran
ge, so unlike what he had hoped.   "Who are they? Why are they here? What do they
 want? And when will all this end?" thought Rostov, looking at the changing shado
ws before him. The pain in his arm became more and more intense. Irresistible dro
wsiness overpowered him, red rings danced before his eyes, and the impression of 
those voices and faces and a sense of loneliness merged with the physical pain. I
t was they, these soldierswounded and unwoundedit was they who were crushing, wei
ghing down, and twisting the sinews and scorching the flesh of his sprained arm a
nd shoulder. To rid himself of them he closed his eyes.  For a moment he dozed, b
ut in that short interval innumerable things appeared to him in a dream his mothe
r and her large white hand, Sonya's thin little shoulders, Natasha's eyes and lau
ghter, Denisov with his voice and mustache, and Telyanin and all that affair with
 Telyanin and Bogdanich. That affair was the same thing as this soldier with the 
harsh voice, and it was that affair and this soldier that were so agonizingly, in
cessantly pulling and pressing his arm and always dragging it in one direction. H
e 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 wellif only they did not pul
l it, but it was impossible to get rid of them.  He opened his eyes and looked up
. The black canopy of night hung less than a yard above the glow of the charcoal.
 Flakes of falling snow were fluttering in that light. Tushin had not returned, t
he doctor had not come. He was alone now, except for a soldier who was sitting na
ked at the other side of the fire, warming his thin yellow body.  "Nobody wants m
e!" thought Rostov. "There is no one to help me or pity me. Yet I was once at hom
e, strong, happy, and loved." He sighed and, doing so, groaned involuntarily.  "E
h, is anything hurting you?" asked the soldier, shaking his shirt out over the fi
re, and not waiting for an answer he gave a grunt and added "What a lot of men ha
ve been crippled todayfrightful!"  Rostov did not listen to the soldier. He looke
d 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 healt
hy body, and all the affection and care of his family. "And why did I come here?"
 he wondered.  Next day the French army did not renew their attack, and the remna
nt of Bagration's detachment was reunited to Kutuzov's army.      BOOK THREE 1805
      CHAPTER I   Prince Vasili was not a man who deliberately thought out his pl
ans. Still less did he think of injuring anyone for his own advantage. He was mer
ely a man of the world who had got on and to whom getting on had become a habit. 
Schemes and devices for which he never rightly accounted to himself, but which fo
rmed the whole interest of his life, were constantly shaping themselves in his mi
nd, 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 confide
nce and friendship and through him obtain a special grant." Nor did he say to him
self "Pierre is a rich man, I must entice him to marry my daughter and lend me th
e forty thousand rubles I need." But when he came across a man of position his in
stinct immediately told him that this man could be useful, and without any premed
itation Prince Vasili took the first opportunity to gain his confidence, flatter 
him, become intimate with him, and finally make his request.  He had Pierre at ha
nd in Moscow and procured for him an appointment as Gentleman of the Bedchamber, 
which at that time conferred the status of Councilor of State, and insisted on th
e young man accompanying him to Petersburg and staying at his house. With apparen
t absentmindedness, yet with unhesitating assurance that he was doing the right t
hing, Prince Vasili did everything to get Pierre to marry his daughter. Had he th
ought out his plans beforehand he could not have been so natural and shown such u
naffected familiarity in intercourse with everybody both above and below him in s
ocial standing. Something always drew him toward those richer and more powerful t
han himself and he had rare skill in seizing the most opportune moment for making
 use of people.  Pierre, on unexpectedly becoming Count Bezukhov and a rich man, 
felt himself after his recent loneliness and freedom from cares so beset and preo
ccupied that only in bed was he able to be by himself. He had to sign papers, to 
present himself at government offices, the purpose of which was not clear to him,
 to question his chief steward, to visit his estate near Moscow, and to receive m
any people who formerly did not even wish to know of his existence but would now 
have been offended and grieved had he chosen not to see them. These different peo
plebusinessmen, relations, and acquaintances alikewere all disposed to treat the 
young heir in the most friendly and flattering manner they were all evidently fir
mly convinced of Pierre's noble qualities. He was always hearing such words as "W
ith your remarkable kindness," or, "With your excellent heart," "You are yourself
 so honorable Count," or, "Were he as clever as you," and so on, till he began si
ncerely to believe in his own exceptional kindness and extraordinary intelligence
, the more so as in the depth of his heart it had always seemed to him that he re
ally was very kind and intelligent. Even people who had formerly been spiteful to
ward him and evidently unfriendly now became gentle and affectionate. The angry e
ldest princess, with the long waist and hair plastered down like a doll's, had co
me into Pierre's room after the funeral. With drooping eyes and frequent blushes 
she told him she was very sorry about their past misunderstandings and did not no
w feel she had a right to ask him for anything, except only for permission, after
 the blow she had received, to remain for a few weeks longer in the house she so 
loved and where she had sacrificed so much. She could not refrain from weeping at
 these words. Touched that this statuesque princess could so change, Pierre took 
her hand and begged her forgiveness, without knowing what for. From that day the 
eldest princess quite changed toward Pierre and began knitting a striped scarf fo
r him.  "Do this for my sake, mon cher after all, she had to put up with a great 
deal from the deceased," said Prince Vasili to him, handing him a deed to sign fo
r the princess' benefit.  Prince Vasili had come to the conclusion that it was ne
cessary to throw this bonea bill for thirty thousand rublesto the poor princess t
hat it might not occur to her to speak of his share in the affair of the inlaid p
ortfolio. Pierre signed the deed and after that the princess grew still kinder. T
he 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 sho
uld 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 n
o time to ask himself whether these people were sincere or not. He was always bus
y and always felt in a state of mild and cheerful intoxication. He felt as though
 he were the center of some important and general movement that something was con
stantly expected of him, that if he did not do it he would grieve and disappoint 
many people, but if he did this and that, all would be well and he did what was d
emanded of him, but still that happy result always remained in the future.  More 
than anyone else, Prince Vasili took possession of Pierre's affairs and of Pierre
 himself 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 suf
fering, who yet would not, for pity's sake, leave this helpless youth who, after 
all, was the son of his old friend and the possessor of such enormous wealth, to 
the caprice of fate and the designs of rogues. During the few days he spent in Mo
scow after the death of Count Bezukhov, he would call Pierre, or go to him himsel
f, 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 pur
ely out of charity that I trouble myself about you, and you also know quite well 
that what I propose is the only thing possible."  "Well, my dear fellow, tomorrow
 we are off at last," said Prince Vasili 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 se
ttled, and I ought to have been off long ago. Here is something I have received f
rom the chancellor. I asked him for you, and you have been entered in the diploma
tic corps and made a Gentleman of the Bedchamber. The diplomatic career now lies 
open before you."  Notwithstanding the tone of wearied assurance with which these
 words were pronounced, Pierre, who had so long been considering his career, wish
ed to make some suggestion. But Prince Vasili interrupted him in the special deep
 cooing tone, precluding the possibility of interrupting his speech, which he use
d in extreme cases when special persuasion was needed.  "Mais, mon cher, I did th
is for my own sake, to satisfy my conscience, and there is nothing to thank me fo
r. No one has ever complained yet of being too much loved and besides, you are fr
ee, 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 r
ecollections." Prince Vasili sighed. "Yes, yes, my boy. And my valet can go in yo
ur carriage. Ah! I was nearly forgetting," he added. "You know, mon cher, your fa
ther 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 l
ater."  By "what was due from the Ryazan estate" Prince Vasili meant several thou
sand rubles quitrent received from Pierre's peasants, which the prince had retain
ed for himself.  In Petersburg, as in Moscow, Pierre found the same atmosphere of
 gentleness and affection. He could not refuse the post, or rather the rank for h
e did nothing, that Prince Vasili had procured for him, and acquaintances, invita
tions, and social occupations were so numerous that, even more than in Moscow, he
 felt a sense of bewilderment, bustle, and continual expectation of some good, al
ways in front of him but never attained.  Of his former bachelor acquaintances ma
ny were no longer in Petersburg. The Guards had gone to the front Dolokhov had be
en reduced to the ranks Anatole was in the army somewhere in the provinces Prince
 Andrew was abroad so Pierre had not the opportunity to spend his nights as he us
ed to like to spend them, or to open his mind by intimate talks with a friend old
er than himself and whom he respected. His whole time was taken up with dinners a
nd balls and was spent chiefly at Prince Vasili's house in the company of the sto
ut princess, his wife, and his beautiful daughter Helene.  Like the others, Anna 
Pavlovna Scherer showed Pierre the change of attitude toward him that had taken p
lace in society.  Formerly in Anna Pavlovna's presence, Pierre had always felt th
at what he was saying was out of place, tactless and unsuitable, that remarks whi
ch seemed to him clever while they formed in his mind became foolish as soon as h
e 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 no
t say so, he could see that she wished to and only refrained out of regard for hi
s modesty.  In the beginning of the winter of 18056 Pierre received one of Anna P
avlovna's usual pink notes with an invitation to which was added "You will find t
he beautiful Helene here, whom it is always delightful to see."  When he read tha
t sentence, Pierre felt for the first time that some link which other people reco
gnized had grown up between himself and Helene, 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 Pavlovna's "At Home" was like 
the former one, only the novelty she offered her guests this time was not Mortema
rt, but a diplomatist fresh from Berlin with the very latest details of the Emper
or Alexander's visit to Potsdam, and of how the two august friends had pledged th
emselves in an indissoluble alliance to uphold the cause of justice against the e
nemy of the human race. Anna Pavlovna received Pierre with a shade of melancholy,
 evidently relating to the young man's recent loss by the death of Count Bezukhov
 everyone constantly considered it a duty to assure Pierre that he was greatly af
flicted by the death of the father he had hardly known, and her melancholy was ju
st like the august melancholy she showed at the mention of her most august Majest
y the Empress Marya Fedorovna. Pierre felt flattered by this. Anna Pavlovna arran
ged the different groups in her drawing room with her habitual skill. The large g
roup, in which were Prince Vasili and the generals, had the benefit of the diplom
at. Another group was at the tea table. Pierre wished to join the former, but Ann
a Pavlovnawho was in the excited condition of a commander on a battlefield to who
m thousands of new and brilliant ideas occur which there is hardly time to put in
 actionseeing Pierre, touched his sleeve with her finger, saying  "Wait a bit, I 
have something in view for you this evening." She glanced at Helene and smiled at
 her. "My dear Helene, 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 c
ount who will not refuse to accompany you."  The beauty went to the aunt, but Ann
a Pavlovna detained Pierre, looking as if she had to give some final necessary in
structions.  "Isn't she exquisite?" she said to Pierre, pointing to the stately b
eauty as she glided away. "And how she carries herself! For so young a girl, such
 tact, such masterly perfection of manner! It comes from her heart. Happy the man
 who wins her! With her the least worldly of men would occupy a most brilliant po
sition in society. Don't you think so? I only wanted to know your opinion," and A
nna Pavlovna let Pierre go.  Pierre, in reply, sincerely agreed with her as to He
lene's perfection of manner. If he ever thought of Helene, it was just of her bea
uty and her remarkable skill in appearing silently dignified in society.  The old
 aunt received the two young people in her corner, but seemed desirous of hiding 
her adoration for Helene and inclined rather to show her fear of Anna Pavlovna. S
he looked at her niece, as if inquiring what she was to do with these people. On 
leaving them, Anna Pavlovna again touched Pierre's sleeve, saying "I hope you won
't say that it is dull in my house again," and she glanced at Helene.  Helene smi
led, with a look implying that she did not admit the possibility of anyone seeing
 her without being enchanted. The aunt coughed, swallowed, and said in French tha
t she was very pleased to see Helene, then she turned to Pierre with the same wor
ds of welcome and the same look. In the middle of a dull and halting conversation
, Helene turned to Pierre with the beautiful bright smile that she gave to everyo
ne. 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 snuffbo
xes that had belonged to Pierre's father, Count Bezukhov, and showed them her own
 box. Princess Helene asked to see the portrait of the aunt's husband on the box 
lid.  "That is probably the work of Vinesse," said Pierre, mentioning a celebrate
d miniaturist, and he leaned over the table to take the snuffbox while trying to 
hear what was being said at the other table.  He half rose, me