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Lou Ferrigno Says New "Hulk" Movie Coming After "Avengers: Age of Ultron"

Posted: May 3rd, 2014 by WorstPreviews.com Staff
Lou Ferrigno Says New "Hulk" Movie Coming After "Avengers: Age of Ultron"Submit Comment
We've been hearing about a new Hulk movie ever since "The Avengers." Unfortunately, Marvel has yet to confirm any plans to develop a solo Hulk movie. In fact, the studio has been hinting the exact opposite, that the character will continue playing a supporting role in "The Avengers" installments.

But now that "Avengers: Age of Ultron" is shooting and Lou Ferrigno is returning to voice the Hulk, the actor revealed on a radio show that a solo Hulk movie is going to happen sooner than expected.

"Now because he saved the day [in 'The Avengers,'] they're making another solo Hulk movie after the second 'Avengers' comes out."

It's not clear how credible Ferrigno is, especially when Marvel heads have explained the difficulty of making a Hulk movie. The studio is having trouble of approaching the character in a new way, but believe that making a werewolf-type story would be the way to go.

Source: /Film

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Displaying 225 comment(s) Profanity: Turn On
Tanman32123 writes:
on May 3rd, 2014 at 3:27:39 AM

I find hulk to be one of the most uninterested characters. Am I alone on this? Lol Incredible Hulk was alright.. Better then the first by a landslide.

Ah, Torso murders. I was close lol.

DrugDealingMonkey writes:
on May 3rd, 2014 at 5:05:51 AM

Just this time make sure there's a villian in it that's actually interesting.
Attos writes:
on May 3rd, 2014 at 6:05:47 AM

First off, in my opinion the Hulk was pretty good in The Avengers, but that's not a fact anyone should be proud of. It's kind of sad when the only time they do a decent job on the character is when he has to share screen time with fifty other "main" characters. Hopefully if and when another standalone Hulk movie comes along, they won't run out of plot in the first 20 minutes after realizing they've barely put any effort into his character up to this point.

Secondly, I think we've reached the point where someone needs to tell Lou Ferrigno to give up the Hulk thing. He had his time, and it was good enough. It was a nice nod the first time they brought him back to "voice" the Hulk, but it should have stopped there. Pass the torch already, my friend.
PORN-FLY writes:
on May 3rd, 2014 at 7:01:23 AM

Hulk HAS to have better writing if it is going be successful as its own francise

You dont open a Hulk comic and flip straight to the Hulk pages then toss the book

ya got the effects down
even the 'Marcel Marceau of motion capture' to mentor Ruffalo

now get rid of those same blowhard writers and hire some fanboys on the cheap
boogiel writes:
on May 3rd, 2014 at 7:20:15 AM

Keep dreaming, Lou. It might happen someday.
DarthMaul writes:
on May 3rd, 2014 at 7:39:45 AM

M. Bullitt writes:
on May 3rd, 2014 at 8:01:19 AM

Alex is a cat molester!
cress writes:
on May 3rd, 2014 at 8:05:40 AM

Off-topic--anyone watched the doc*mentary SIDE BY SIDE, about the digital revolution that is putting the deep-six on the use of film? Great doc*mentary, with interviews with many, many industry big-wigs.
PORN-FLY writes:
on May 3rd, 2014 at 8:07:18 AM

Sara Haines

looks like
Alexis Texas
cress writes:
on May 3rd, 2014 at 8:08:03 AM

Pornfly had a hilarious post in a Lou Ferrigno thread about a year ago...I wish I could remember it. Do you remember it, Porn?
PORN-FLY writes:
on May 3rd, 2014 at 8:09:30 AM

PORN-FLY writes:
on May 3rd, 2014 at 8:09:58 AM

PORN-FLY writes:
on May 3rd, 2014 at 8:10:51 AM

PORN-FLY writes:
on May 3rd, 2014 at 8:12:01 AM

yall niggaz know who da f*ck Alexis Texas is!
cress writes:
on May 3rd, 2014 at 8:13:31 AM

I prefer Hillary Scott, Danica Dillon, or Dana Vespoli
PORN-FLY writes:
on May 3rd, 2014 at 8:13:58 AM

cant say that i do,CRESS-toothpaste

it was probably something with the word 'negro' in it
cress writes:
on May 3rd, 2014 at 8:16:10 AM

@Porn. It was about Ferrigno's hearing loss, and his response to a question, in his "impaired" speech
PORN-FLY writes:
on May 3rd, 2014 at 8:19:55 AM

sounds hilarious
so it was probably somebody else

I can talk about porn preferences for hours
I was just merely pointing out a resemblance
PORN-FLY writes:
on May 3rd, 2014 at 8:21:36 AM

"Now because he saved the day [in 'The Avengers,'] they're making another solo Hulk movie after the second 'Avengers' comes out."

-i just asked you what time it was
cress writes:
on May 3rd, 2014 at 8:21:54 AM

No, it was you. I'm sure your memory is shot, though.
PORN-FLY writes:
on May 3rd, 2014 at 8:23:30 AM

"Now because he saved the day [in 'The Avengers,'] they're making another solo Hulk movie after the second 'Avengers' comes out."

-sir,do you want fries or not?
PORN-FLY writes:
on May 3rd, 2014 at 8:27:07 AM

"Now because he saved the day [in 'The Avengers,'] they're making another solo Hulk movie after the second 'Avengers' comes out."

-yes,i love you too,son
Attos writes:
on May 3rd, 2014 at 8:27:35 AM

Hey mink, apparently you're a child molester.
Were you aware?

I can't quite place where I heard it from though...
PORN-FLY writes:
on May 3rd, 2014 at 8:49:42 AM

same here,RAMBO
(nuthn like a good compilation vid)

Just chose a pic that accentuated her face more to illustrate my point
cress writes:
on May 3rd, 2014 at 8:51:21 AM

I don't know, Rambo, that looks like a lot of ass above. Any bigger and it would be Gabourey Sidibe-esque.
cress writes:
on May 3rd, 2014 at 8:53:06 AM

By the way, who the f*ck is Sara Haines?
PORN-FLY writes:
on May 3rd, 2014 at 8:56:41 AM

Man,did i waste twenty minutes tryin to find the right pic with Good Morning America in the back or foreground
cress writes:
on May 3rd, 2014 at 9:08:58 AM

@Rambo. That does look good, but I prefer mine a little smaller. This is my anthem:

PORN-FLY writes:
on May 3rd, 2014 at 9:09:13 AM

my memory's not the only thing thats shot,now
cress writes:
on May 3rd, 2014 at 9:12:22 AM

Deaft0ne writes:
on May 3rd, 2014 at 9:44:03 AM

Alexis Texas and Olivia O'Lovely have 2 of the best cabooses ever.
BadChadB33 writes:
on May 3rd, 2014 at 9:46:44 AM

The Hulk is best done in small doses.
BadChadB33 writes:
on May 3rd, 2014 at 9:47:50 AM

God damn it Porn! I gotta go to the hut now after those pics.
Dark8 writes:
on May 3rd, 2014 at 9:59:18 AM

all hail king darksider
BlackDynamite writes:
on May 3rd, 2014 at 10:19:52 AM

Yeah, but what does this have to do with Amazing Spiderman 2
Attos writes:
on May 3rd, 2014 at 11:20:58 AM


Depends on who you ask. I bet Lou Ferrigno would tell you that the Hulk will be in Amazing Spiderman 2 as well. Or at the very least that he's the uncredited voice of Rhino.
Tanman32123 writes:
on May 3rd, 2014 at 11:28:04 AM

Attos is a mink molester!
Attos writes:
on May 3rd, 2014 at 11:35:07 AM


I don't even want to begin to imagine how awful of a scenario that would be for both of us.
Attos writes:
on May 3rd, 2014 at 12:03:49 PM

Not sure if anyone has brought this up yet, but apparently Ben Affleck thinks he's Rainman.

He was just banned from Hard Rock Casino after they caught him counting cards.

I'm still curious as to how they're allowed to ban someone for that. I get that it's a system that helps you take money from them, but all you can really be guilty of is being observant and having decent math skills. It's their own fault for continuing to run a game that has such well-known ways of manipulating the odds in your favor. It's not cheating. It's called being good at the game. It's kind of like kicking someone off of Jeopardy because they keep answering correctly.
Tanman32123 writes:
on May 3rd, 2014 at 12:42:48 PM

Actually, a girl I know named Kayla is coming to stay the night. We're getting pretty naughty in the texts so Tuesdays looking like a damn good night lol

But other then that, I will be drinking lol. Birthdays coming up to, what're yeah getting me!
cress writes:
on May 3rd, 2014 at 12:44:21 PM

Tanman is your birthday May 12?
Tanman32123 writes:
on May 3rd, 2014 at 12:44:27 PM


A casino can ban anyone for any reason. (from what I've heard) They're actually aloud to kick you out if you're winning to much. Counting Hards isn't illegal, more frowned upon
M. Bullitt writes:
on May 3rd, 2014 at 1:03:13 PM

Pornfly is a porn star molester!
Deaft0ne writes:
on May 3rd, 2014 at 1:16:49 PM

Bullit counts hard-ons!
Attos writes:
on May 3rd, 2014 at 1:24:47 PM

I get that they have the right to ban anyone for any reason. I guess "allowed to ban" wasn't really the proper choice of phrase there. I just find it strange that a place can lure you in with promises that you can win, but if you actually DO win, it's a problem. That's quite a uniquely shady way of doing business.

And you're right, counting cards isn't illegal. But there's still no denying that there's something f*cked up about being lured into playing a game, only to be discouraged from being any good at it. They don't even try to be subtle about their greed. And the way they conduct business is shockingly close to straight up theft. Their entire business plan revolves around little more than "give us the money you came with, and don't take any of ours when you leave". And the world answers back with a resounding "sounds like a plan to me!"
I honestly don't see how anyone in their right mind can walk into a casino thinking it's a good idea.

Don't get me wrong, I understand that that's the way they have to do things in order for a casino to be a viable business. That doesn't make it any less wrong, though.
M. Bullitt writes:
on May 3rd, 2014 at 1:38:22 PM


He wish!


Only female ones.

And Yay, Tannyman is getting laid after he's getting drunk! Good plan Tan.

Just saw Hannibal's last episode and it's really good but I don't think Will killed Freddie. Hope there will be a season 3.
Tanman32123 writes:
on May 3rd, 2014 at 1:59:55 PM

Yep, how'd you know lol Same day as Tony Hawk!

Thanks mate!

Lol :P

I'm more of a roulette guy myself. I've walked out f the casino up money four out of the last six times I've went. Which isn't bad at all. Some times it's only up $30-50 or like two weeks ago up $200. It's all statistics, people will tell you Roulette is all chance, which it technically is, but there are undoubtably systems that work in your favor.

I won $1,500 in Montreal the first time I went to the casino playing a streaks system in roulette. I don't do it anymore, since then (years ago) I've been playin inside numbers recently.
Attos writes:
on May 3rd, 2014 at 2:10:38 PM

I'm honestly surprised every week by how decent Hannibal is, especially to be on NBC. I'm also pretty impressed by what they get away with while being on one of the main still-overly-censored channels. When the show was first announced, I was a little unsure about Mads Mikkelsen in the titular role. Not that I thought he would necessarily be bad in it, only that I couldn't make a sound judgement based on having only really seen his capability as a villain in one thing- Casino Royale. Admittedly, I quite enjoyed his portrayal of Le Chiffre, but I've made the mistake of assuming an actor was good based on a single role, only to be sorely disappointed by their following ones.

Also, while I do genuinely enjoy the show, I have to say, I f*cking hate Hugh Dancy as Will Graham. He seems to be completely incapable of doing anything but overacting or otherwise exaggerating every single word he speaks and every expression he makes. At this point it's easier to deal with, because I'm kind of just used to it now that I've put up with it for two seasons. Still, it's a shame to think what could have been with a different actor in his place. The double-edge part of that being that it was Hugh Dancy that suggested Mads Mikkelsen for the part in the first place. Though I was incredibly interested to see David Tennant play Hannibal, which was very nearly the case. (Though Bryan Fuller did say he was so impressed with Tennant that he'd like to write him a guest role in the future as a "deranged serial killer". So at least there's that.) Anyway, glad to see that the final choice was in no way a bad one.

As for Laurence Fishburne, he's alright. I'm kind of tired of the guy to be honest, but I rest a little easier knowing there were far far worse choices they could have gone with.

And as far as a season 3 goes, barring any spontaneous and incredibly stupid decisions the network may (and has been known to) make, I can't imagine there won't be one. If anything, hopefully they'll take this show as an example of how to make better shows in the future.

Plus, if Grimm can have three seasons and Hannibal somehow doesn't, I'll take that as my cue to officially retire from watching television for a while. I still can't believe Almost Human only made it through a single season while that catastrophe continues on. Not that it was all that great of a show, but there's not a single chance of convincing me that it had less of a right to be on the air than Grimm does. My (clear) hatred for that show rivals my hatred for Bill Paxton, and my hatred for Bill Paxton is beyond any Earthly measure.
PORN-FLY writes:
on May 3rd, 2014 at 2:16:21 PM

more posts like that, ATTOS
good lil read
Attos writes:
on May 3rd, 2014 at 2:24:14 PM

I get that. And I'm certainly not saying that no one ever walks away with more than they came in with. But the percentage of people who manage to do that is quite low, and even then you only tend to be a little better off than before. Only a handful of people ever make enough for it to have a significant effect on their lives, and those people are usually the ones who pretty much gamble for a living.

I don't know, it just seems that with all of the other vastly smarter ways to use and invest your money, there would be no good excuse to take such a larger risk for typically small gains. (Plus, like we discussed already, if you win too much, they tend to put a stop to it one way or the other.)

I'm also fully aware that part of the appeal IS the thrill of the risk. And that some people have enormous amounts of fun, sometimes even when losing. Personally though, if I'm looking for an adrenaline rush or some kind of excitement, I'd rather do something where one of the possible outcomes isn't me losing a ton of money. I'll stick to more traditional ways of getting that rush. Like skydiving. Or crossing several lanes of traffic without looking.

Or... you know... drugs.
Attos writes:
on May 3rd, 2014 at 2:34:35 PM

Lmao, good to know someone is getting something out of this. I've clearly had a lot of extra time on my hands for the last few days, and I never really intended to do anything productive with it. Sometimes I need a vacation from the real world. Apparently I do that by talking long-windedly about completely random sh*t on this site every month or two. It's kind of nice to let my brain go unfiltered for a few days. It's strangely therapeutic to let the useless information I've gathered spill out with no particular structure or cohesion to it whatsoever. Somehow in just this one article's comment section I've managed to jump from Hulk, to reminding mink of his molestation habits, to Spiderman, to Ben Affleck, to my apparent hatred for casinos, to Hannibal, to blindly merging lanes, and now to the topic of the randomness of it all in itself.
bandolero999 writes:
on May 3rd, 2014 at 2:37:44 PM

alexis texas has an inbreded redneck face and she must queef a lot.her ass does the working.
Deaft0ne writes:
on May 3rd, 2014 at 2:38:56 PM

I think Graham and Crawford are planning with Lounds to trick Hannibal, although they did show the flamin' wheelchair on the teaser for next week.

I think it will get a 3rd season and Fuller does too.
PORN-FLY writes:
on May 3rd, 2014 at 2:42:03 PM


dont forget the Fishburne murder tease at the beginning of the season
M. Bullitt writes:
on May 3rd, 2014 at 2:45:47 PM


About Hugh Dancy, I think he does it on purpose since his character is living constantly on the edge and it obviously affects his emotions as he's struggling not to slip for good into the mind of a serial killer and that could make him play with such intensity.

As for NBC, you're right about their overly-censored attitude and I really don't know how they made such exception for Hannibal. I read on Collider if NBC doesn't approve for a season 3, the writer has a plan B another Network.

I don't know if we can call the Golden Age of TV shows but there are some really good ones such as:

Game Of Thrones, Fargo, The Americans, Da Vinci's Demons, Penny Dreadful.

2nd season of Bates Motel is so-so and so is Crisi. I'm looking forward for the next Black Sails in 2015.

It goes without saying that Breaking Bad was one of the best tv show ever made and True Detective was just a masterpiece.
minkowski writes:
on May 3rd, 2014 at 2:49:55 PM

Not really sure I believe anything Ferrigno says. He has an invested reason to claim another movie, so he can help with the work, which is weird because he did the show thirty-something years ago and it's not like they couldn't hire anyone else do the roar. Maybe it's a nostalgia thing. Someone within Marvel likes him because he was "that guy" alongside Bill Bixby way back when. Dunno. Don't care.
PORN-FLY writes:
on May 3rd, 2014 at 3:02:00 PM

Game Of Thrones, Fargo, The Americans, Da Vinci's Demons, Penny Dreadful..etcetera

I consider these tv series and not under the same restrictions as an abc,nbc,cbs,fox,cw,or even bounce show
MadHatter writes:
on May 3rd, 2014 at 3:23:44 PM

M. Bullitt writes:
on May 3rd, 2014 at 3:30:34 PM


Well, I'm not an expert with your channels but I know those above would never show a nipple but brains splattered all over the walls is no problem.

I've known HBO for years to be the best premium channel.
Dark8 writes:
on May 3rd, 2014 at 3:37:11 PM

all hail the king of wp darksider
Attos writes:
on May 3rd, 2014 at 3:44:16 PM

(Here comes another completely unnecessarily long post. They don't seem to be slowing down.)

How was Penny Dreadful? I think I probably mentioned it already, but I got worried about that show the closer it got. Originally I was very optimistic. It has an interesting cast, and a mostly interesting story idea, but then the trailer came out... I was very unimpressed. The leftover remnants of the once-optimistic version of myself still hopes that it was just a poorly made trailer and nothing more. I even downloaded the first episode, but haven't been able to bring myself to watch it yet.

Glad we agree on Fargo though. That was one of the more pleasant surprises I've experienced in a long time as far as television shows go. I already expected it to be pretty good, and then it turned out to be far better than I had even hoped for. It definitely took me a minute to settle into Martin Freeman's northern American accent though. For the first 20 minutes or so I had almost convinced myself that he was doing a really poor accent, until I realized he's actually doing a pretty impressive job with it. It's just that that particular accent naturally sounds stupid. When the scene finally came around (*SPOILERS* on the off chance someone hasn't seen it) where he was panicking and stuttering to the Chief "I didn't do nothin!", all of my previous doubt washed away. That to me was actually one of the better scenes in the show so far, because that reaction was spot-on, and I even felt a little bit of genuine concern for him at that moment, and just about felt the same kind of panic just hearing it from him.
And damn, Billy Bob Thornton. I've been kind of mixed about him up until now. He's been entertaining in some things, and just plain annoying in others. But I'm happy to say he's got my vote now. We're only three episodes in, and I already can't imagine anyone else playing his part. Kudos to the casting department on that one, because he brings the perfect mix of strange, creepy, wicked, and somehow endearing qualities to the role. Even that stupid haircut is great. I'm a sucker for a good villain, especially one who you can't help but root for. I'm constantly looking forward to what his next random act of chaos will be. I like that he (so far) is incredibly unpredictable. And I love his habit of stirring up trouble, seemingly just for the hell of it.

And jumping randomly back to Hannibal for a minute. I'm sure that Hugh Dancy's intent is similar to how you mentioned his character's mindset is, and that he's probably doing his best to portray it, but it just feels way too forced. I could also go without ever hearing him say "this is my design" in that heavily dramatic way one more time. It would be better if he didn't say it it just about every episode too. I get that it's his "thing", and that it's part of his process, but come on, real people don't say stupid sh*t like that. If you said something like that at an actual crime scene, they'd probably tell you to either leave or shut up. After they stopped laughing at you, of course.

As for the other shows you mentioned, I never even bothered to give da Vinci's Demon's a chance. After seeing pictures and such from the set, it just seemed a little too, eh, "pretty", for lack of a better word. The guy playing da Vinci looks like another one of those C-grade ex-model douchebag kind of guys that got the part for his face, not his talent. I certainly can't look at that guy and think of da Vinci. Seems kind of insulting to the real man, actually. That along with the fact that half of the people in the show seem to be sporting constantly-perfect VERY modern haircuts, and the costume design looks like what would happen if the people who work on Once Upon a Time tried to make an ABC version of Game of Thrones. In other words: cheaply made and completely inaccurate.

Haven't watched The Americans either. But putting the word "America" in anything tends to make me immediately shy away from it without any further reasons. Plus, not much of a fan of anyone listed in the cast. Though I can't actually judge the show, because I know literally nothing about it. I don't even know what it's about, and the name sure doesn't give any hints.

Black Sails is alright, but I haven't gotten very far into yet, so no real note there. Same goes for Bates, but I'm a little more "ehh" about that one. I never thought the idea of turning that story into a episodic prequel sounded very interesting to begin with. And as for True Detective, I must say I was pleasantly surprised by how good it turned out. Never been much of a fan of McConaughey up to this point, but he did a damn fine job on this one. His cheesiness tried to bleed through once or twice, but he kept it mostly in check. I was even impressed with how they filmed parts of that show. They did a great job on that one particular scene that went uncut as one continuous shot for quite some time. I can't imagine what a pain the ass something like that must be to plan out, much less get it right.

I wouldn't say we're quite in the golden age of television, but it's definitely worth noting how much things are shifting from film to television. It used to be that A-list actors would only show up on television shows once in a while as a cameo. Now more and more of them are lining up to take permanent starring roles now that television has evolved to the point that there are places, people, and networks with the freedom to do a lot more than they could before. Something like Game of Thrones would have never ever made it to air twenty years ago, and even if it did, there weren't nearly as many people actually watching television as regularly as they do now.

I guess I'll shut up now for this particular post. Though at this rate, it'll probably be just in time to start another equally long and similarly pointless one.
Dark8‪ writes:
on May 3rd, 2014 at 3:47:42 PM

shut the f*ck up attos no one wants to read your every stupid thought
Attos writes:
on May 3rd, 2014 at 3:52:00 PM

Dammit... Jumping back to Hannibal yet again for a second. You know what's a shame now that I think about it? I wonder what David Tennant would have been like as Will Graham rather than Hannibal. After seeing him in things like Broadchurch and The Escape Artist, he definitely would have the ability to walk that line of trying to think like a killer without becoming one. I was impressed by his ability to play characters with roughness to them. (I guess that's a decent way to describe it.) After seeing his as the Doctor for so long, I had almost forgotten that he's actually a fantastic actor. There's not much I wouldn't bet he could do. I mean, he's not suited for things like Batman or anything, but he's definitely got a wide range when it comes to the different types of characters he could portray incredibly well. My opinion, anyway. Anyway, I bet it would have been incredibly interesting to see him pitted against Mads Mikkelsen in place of Hugh Dancy.
cress writes:
on May 3rd, 2014 at 3:56:17 PM

I love HANNIBAL, and find it to be hands-down the best show on television at the moment. I was a huge BREAING BAD fan, and I'm glad HANNIBAL is here to fill my need for spectacular television. Hate to disagree, Attos, but i find Hugh Dancy to be great as Will, and Fishburne is great as well. I hated Fishburne on his short stint on CSI, from what little I saw, but I think his character was poorly written to begin with. He's much more relaxed and comfortable in HANNIBAL as Jack Crawford. Also, as DeaftOne mebtioned, Fuller is confident Season 3 is happening. Oh, and thanks you bastards for spoiling last night's episode, as i've yet to watch it!!

@Tanman. My birthday is May 12th as well. I thought I remembered that about you from a post last year.
Deaft0ne‪ writes:
on May 3rd, 2014 at 3:56:29 PM

hi, i'm queer just thought all should know!
Attos writes:
on May 3rd, 2014 at 3:57:56 PM

Dark, you're fighting an impossible uphill battle if you expect to stop anyone from saying stupid pointless sh*t on the internet. I honestly couldn't give a sh*t if nobody read a single word. See that bar on the right side of your screen? Click that bottom arrow and scroll past it. Beyond that, lighten up man. You're complaining about me using otherwise empty space on a website that honestly barely counts as functional anymore.
Dark8‪ writes:
on May 3rd, 2014 at 3:59:03 PM

shut the f*ck up faggos or ill use your skull for my toilet
M. Bullitt writes:
on May 3rd, 2014 at 4:03:59 PM


It's nice to read you man, we need more like you here.

Well, The Americans is an excellent spy genre and it's pretty well executed and played. You will root for them as it is that good. You'll notice the Welsh actor, Matthew Rhys, is pretty good in picking perfectly the American accent. The plot is well written and quite consistent too.

And I'd urge you to watch The Americans before any other shows.

And yeah, McConaughey blew my mind in True Detective and I'm sure he'll get a Golden Globe award for that.
minkowski  writes:
on May 3rd, 2014 at 4:07:06 PM

Shut the f*ck up Dark before I smash your face with my d*ck!
Attos writes:
on May 3rd, 2014 at 4:07:28 PM

By all means, disagree with me. I don't consider my opinion to be the only one, and clearly enough people like Hugh Dancy in the role for him to have it. I'm still a little shocked to find out how low the ratings are for the show though. Like I said, I'm impressed with what they've managed to build on such a unreliable network. Honestly, I'm starting to wonder if it might be best for all involed if Fuller went ahead and moved the show to another network. It would mean potentially even more freedom for them to work with, and could very well be better suited on a cable network. When you think about it, the kind of people who watch the usual NBC-type shows aren't the kind of people I would typically expect to go for a show like this. They're just waiting for the next Grey's Anatomy and whatever thirtieth ripoff of American Idol they have planned. This would be the same middle-aged group of people and suburban church-going families who probably find 30 Rock to be a little too vulgar for their taste. (If you can imagine such boring standards.)
M. Bullitt‎‎‎‎‎‎ writes:
on May 3rd, 2014 at 4:09:23 PM

@Attos: wanna rub c*cks?
cress writes:
on May 3rd, 2014 at 4:16:10 PM

@Attos. I agree, move it to AMC, HBO, Netflix, or Amazon. NBC has buried it on Friday's at 10, when nobody is home watching tv, and what they are watching is crap like BLUE BLOODS. Ugh.
Attos writes:
on May 3rd, 2014 at 4:17:53 PM

I'm certainly willing to give The Americans a shot. It's a good thing you suggested it, because I highly doubt I would have ever bothered to find out. Plus, I'm always looking for decent new shows. Especially if I can jump on board after at least a whole season is available. I've never been a big fan of the waiting week to week bullsh*t. I purposely ignored everything I had heard about Breaking Bad until there were four entire seasons readily available. I knew if it was as good as everyone said, that I'd just get pissed off having to play the waiting game with it. Fargo is currently in the top spot of shows I wish I already had all the episodes of.

I'm definitely glad to see the new trend starting in places like Hulu and Netflix where new shows just give you the entire season all at once. Seems to be the way to go. Film it all in one brutal run like a film, and release it as television.

Plus, holy sh*t am I so sick of every episode of every weekly-aired show ending with "Here's all the important parts of next week's episode." Not only does it remind me that I have to wait another week to see it, but then it ruins half of the plot and makes the wait seem even less worth it. If you're going to show me scenes from the next episode, just give me the damn episode, since it's clearly edited and ready to go.
Attos writes:
on May 3rd, 2014 at 4:20:00 PM

I have to decline, but in all honesty, it's probably 99% plain laziness. Lol.
M. Bullitt writes:
on May 3rd, 2014 at 4:22:51 PM


The f*cking hypocritical c*nt who's aping me for weeks now is trying to confuse people with his gay comments on my so-called behalf so here is the proof:

I'm originally the Only "Bullit" account until Alex banned me for posting articles from the DM. Then I created the "M. Bullitt" account on the 8th Febr. 2013 and the f*cking wanker who's trying to be me by posting his confusing gay comments was created on the 5th April 2014.

I have to say this since the God Damn f*cking Monkey has succeed it to copy my nick perfectly.

God curse on his f*cking d*ck and his f*cking retarded f*cking family the fruit of an immense incestual f*ck Fest!
Attos writes:
on May 3rd, 2014 at 4:26:04 PM

Oh, and it's funny you say that about the Golden Globe, because only a few episodes into True Detective, I made a random and somewhat bold statement to several friends of mine that I was 100% sure he would win the Oscar he was up for, even though it had nothing to do with him being on the show, and I had not even seen Dallas Buyers Club. I just assumed that if he was this good on the show, then he had finally stopped f*cking around and starting being a great actor, and that it was bound to be evident in whatever else he had done most recently. And I'll be damned if he didn't win that Oscar.

Still haven't seen the movie though, lol.
Attos writes:
on May 3rd, 2014 at 4:31:10 PM

I actually did know that already, and I even hesitated before answering. But I was under the impression that one of you had a space after the M. and the other didn't. Guess that means I can't change my mind though, since it wasn't actually you that asked. I'm an easy going guy, and hey, I have no excuse not to try just about anything at least once. Lmao.
Except maybe meth. But only because I'd probably love it, and that would quickly be the end of me.
Attos writes:
on May 3rd, 2014 at 4:36:21 PM

And hey, imitation is the sincerest form of flattery. I wish somebody thought my identity was worth stealing. At least you've got a fan. Apparently one willing to go to a lot of trouble to be you. I can't even imagine a scenario where I would spend my time on such a thing. So at least he's not half-assing it. Not to mention I now know it's as simple as clicking the name and it'll lead me to which replies each one of you has posted in the past. Pretty easy to tell them apart.
M. Bullitt writes:
on May 3rd, 2014 at 4:36:44 PM

"Still haven't seen the movie though, lol."

I don't think you do attos because besides McConaughey's weigh loss, the story isn't that compelling but he surely deserves his Oscar.

I hate hard drugs but the way Mr White made his meth, I'm tempted to try it as the show was that good, Lol.
M. Bullitt‎‎‎‎‎‎ writes:
on May 3rd, 2014 at 4:40:50 PM

Bullitt and his gay lover

M. Bullitt‎‎‎‎‎‎ writes:
on May 3rd, 2014 at 4:41:16 PM

Bullitt and his gay lover

M. Bullitt‎‎‎‎‎‎ writes:
on May 3rd, 2014 at 4:42:08 PM

M. Bullitt‎‎‎‎‎‎ writes:
on May 3rd, 2014 at 4:42:36 PM

M. Bullitt writes:
on May 3rd, 2014 at 4:43:55 PM


"And hey, imitation is the sincerest form of flattery."

Perhaps to some extend but in my case I've been stalked by some well-known gay fan for more than a year now and it's quite annoying, believe you me.

You see, I've been with the most beautiful woman from Liverpool since 1994 and these gay comments about me are really irritating. I've never been shy with my honesty and this gay stalker is just bloody annoying as it confuses everyone.

Anyway, I want to make sure nobody is getting any funny ideas.
M. Bullitt‎‎‎‎‎‎ writes:
on May 3rd, 2014 at 4:44:14 PM

M. Bullitt‎‎‎‎‎‎ writes:
on May 3rd, 2014 at 4:45:38 PM

M. Bullitt writes:
on May 3rd, 2014 at 4:46:25 PM

My stalker is JB AND He's Definitely f*cking GAY!

f*ck off to your favourite gay sites you homo f*ck!
M. Bullitt‎‎‎‎‎‎ writes:
on May 3rd, 2014 at 4:47:09 PM

M. Bullitt‎‎‎‎‎‎ writes:
on May 3rd, 2014 at 4:47:41 PM

M. Bullitt‎‎‎‎‎‎ writes:
on May 3rd, 2014 at 4:48:24 PM

M. Bullitt‎‎‎‎‎‎ writes:
on May 3rd, 2014 at 4:49:18 PM

M. Bullitt‎‎‎‎‎‎ writes:
on May 3rd, 2014 at 4:49:52 PM

M. Bullitt‎‎‎‎‎‎ writes:
on May 3rd, 2014 at 4:50:43 PM

M. Bullitt‎‎‎‎‎‎ writes:
on May 3rd, 2014 at 4:51:17 PM

Attos writes:
on May 3rd, 2014 at 4:51:48 PM

It's strange what sort of information you can get from a show sometimes. Breaking Bad gave me plenty of decent examples of what to do and what not to do if I snap one day and start making meth. It's funny to think that I'd be at least slightly better at it having seen the show than I would without. Not that it's some sort of start-your-own-cartel handbook, but I'd be a lot more cautious about everything after seeing the kinds of things involved in that world. (And yeah, it's obviously a fictional story, but the lessons are still there.)

I still can't believe that there are fifty-something different shows about police and crime, and people still get caught doing anything. Those types of shows sparked what is probably an unhealthy level of caution in me as far as crimes are concerned. If anything, I feel more sure now that I could commit a crime and get away with it. Especially considering that said fear is inspired by the unrealistic level of scrutiny and detail presented by police and investigators on those shows, and that the real world falls pathetically short of those standards. I'm prepared for an "enemy" that isn't even half as good as any I'm likely to ever face. I hope I never sink into a life of crime. Things would get out of control if I turned out to be even a fraction as capable as I've convinced myself I am. Lol, there would be no coming back from it.
M. Bullitt‎‎‎‎‎‎ writes:
on May 3rd, 2014 at 4:51:52 PM

M. Bullitt‎‎‎‎‎‎ writes:
on May 3rd, 2014 at 4:54:06 PM

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Full text of "War And Peace"


Tight Binding Book


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OUP 2273 19-1 1-79 10,000 Copies.


Call No ^^L Accession No ^95 gg

Author -j- 4.STt> y^

Title W*' ( *~'

This book should bc^rcturned on or before the date last marked below.

War and Peace


Translated b LOUISE and AYLMER MAUDE







LEO TOLSTOY, 18281910

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

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

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

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

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

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



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

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

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

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

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



The Principal Characters in War and Peace

Arranged in Family Groups xv

Dates of Principal Historical Events xvi


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

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

9. Pierre at Anatole Kurdgin's. D61ok-

hov's bet 15

10. A name day at the Rost6vs' 18

11-1*4. Natasha and Boris 20

15. Anna Mikhdylovna and Bon's go to the

dying Count Beziikhov's 26

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

Boris 27

17. Countess Rost6va and Anna Mikhay-

lovna 30

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

cvna 31

20. S6nyaand Natasha. Nicholassings.The

Daniel Cooper 35

21. At Count Bczukhov's. Prince Vasfli and

Catiche 37

22-23. Anna Mikhdylovna and Pierre at Count

Bczukhov's 41

24. Anna Mikhdylovna and Catiche strug-

gle for the inlaid portfolio 45

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

Princess Mary's correspondence with

Julie Kardgina 47

26-27. Prince Andrew at Bald Hills 51

28. Prince Andrew leaves to join the army.

Princess Mary gives him an icon 55


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

3. Kutuzov and an Austrian general. ^Le

malheureux Mack. Zherk6v's fool-
ery 65

4. Nicholas and Denisov. Telydnin and

the missing purse 68

5. Nicholas in trouble with his fellow of-

ficers 72

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

Rost6v's baptism of fire 74

9. Prince Andrew sent with dispatches to

the Austrian court. The Minister of

War 81

10. Prince ( Andrew and Billbin 83

1 1. Hippolyte Kuragin and les ndtres 86

12. Prince Andrew received by the Emper-

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

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

15. Prince Andrew reports to Bagrati6n.

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

16. Prince Andrew surveys the position.

The first shot 96

17. Bagration in action. Tiishin's battery.

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

20. Panic. Timokhirfs counterattack. D6-

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

2 1 . Withdrawal of the forces. Nicholas rides

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



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

3. Prince Vasili and Anatole visit Prince

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

4. Lise, Mademoiselle Bourienne, Mary,

Anatole, and old Bolkonski 122

5. Her father's opposition to Mary's

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

6. A letter from Nicholas. S6nya and Na-

tasha 128

7. Nicholas visits Boris and Berg in camp.

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

8. The Emperor reviews the army. En-

thusiasm of Nicholas 135

9. Boris visits Prince Andrew; at Olimitz.

Prince Dolgoriikov 137




10. Nicholas not in the action at Wischau.

The Emperor. Nicholas' devotion to
him 140

11. Preparations for action. Dolgorukov's

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

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

Kutiizov sleeps. Prince Andrew's re-
flections 144

13. Rost6v at the front. Visit of Bagrati6n

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


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


1. Nicholas home on leave 165

2. Preparations for Club dinner 168

3. The dinner. Bagration as guest of

honor 1 7 1

4. Pierre challenges D61okhov 173

5. The duel 176

6. Pierre's separation from Hlene 177

7. Andrew considered dead 1 79

8. Lise's confinement. Andrew arrives 180

9. Death of Lise 182

10. Denfsov and D61okhov at the Rost6vs'


11. S6nya declines D61okhov's proposal

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

hov 188

15. Nicholas at home. Natdsha sings 190

16. Nicholas tells his father of his losses.

Denfsov proposes to Natdsha 192


1-2. Pierre meets Bazde"ev 194

3-4. Pierre becomes a Freemason 198

5. Pierre repulses Prince Vasfli 203

6. A soiree at Anna Pdvlovna's. Hlene

takes up Borfs 204

7. Hippolyte at Anna Pdvlovna's 206

8. Old Bolk6nski as commander in chief

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

9. Bilfbin's letter about the campaign.

The baby convalescent 208

10. Pierre goes to Kiev and visits his estates.

Obstacles to the emancipation of his
serfs 211

11. Pierre visits Prince Andrew 213

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

the ferry raft 216

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

14. Old Bolk6nski and Pierre 220

15. Nicholas rejoins his regiment. Shortage

of provisions 221

16. Denfsov seizes transports of food, gets

into trouble, is wounded 223

17-18. Nicholas visits Denfsov in hospital 225

19. Borfs at Tilsit. Nicholas' inopportune

visit 228

20. Nicholas tries to present Denfsov's peti-

tion at the Emperor's residence, but
fails 230

21. Napoleon and Alexander as allies.

Perplexity of Nicholas. "Another
bottle" 232


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

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

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

10. Pierre's diary 248

11. The Rost6vs in Petersburg. Berg

engaged to Vera and demands her
dowry 250

12. Natdsha and Borfs 251

13. Natdsha's bedtime talks with her

mother 252

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

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

22. Natdsha consults her mother. Prince

Andrew confides in Pierre 265

23. Prince N. Bolk6nski insists on post-

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

24. Prince Andrew's last days with Na-

tdsha 270


25. Prince N. Bolk6nski's treatment of

Mary. Her letter to Julie Kirdgina


26. Prince N. Bolk6nski threatens to marry

Mile Bourienne 273


1. Nicholas Rost6v returns home on leave.

His doubts about Natasha's engagement


2. Nicholas settles accounts with Mftenka


3. Nicholas decides to go hunting 278

4. The wolf hunt begins 279

5. The wolf is taken 281

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

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

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

Natasha's Russian dance 287

8. His mother urges Nicholas to marry Julie

Karagina, and grumbles at S6nya 291

9. Christmas at Otradnoe. Natasha is de-

pressed and capricious 292

10. Nicholas, Natasha, and S6nya indulge in

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

11. At Melyuk6vka. Sonya goes to the barn to

try her fortune 298

12. The drive home. Natasha and S6nya try

the future with looking glasses 300

13. His mother opposes Nicholas' wish to

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


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

for?" and "Why?" 303

2. Prince N. Bolk6nski in Moscow. His harsh

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

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

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

4. Pierre and Princess Mary discuss Boris and

Natdsha 309

5. Boris and Julie. Their melancholy. Boris

proposes and is accepted 3 1 1

6. Count IlydRost6v,Natdsha,andS6nyastay

with Mdrya Dmftrievna in Moscow 313

7. Count Rost6v and Natdsha call on Prince

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


behavior. Mary and Natisha dislike one
another 314

8. The Rost6vs at the Opera. Hlne in the

next box 316

9. The Opera described. Anatole and Pierre

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

10. Hdtene presents Anatole to Natdsha. He

courts her 320

11. Anatole and D61okhov in Moscow 321

12. Sunday at Mdrya Dmftrievna's. Hlne

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

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

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

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

receives one from Anatole 325

15. S6nya finds Anatole's letter and remon-

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

16. Anatole at Dolokhov's. Balagd 329

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

counters Mdrya Dmftrievna's footman


18. Mdrya Dmitrievna reproaches Natdsha.

Count Ilyd Rost6v is kept in ignorance


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

tdsha that Anatole is married 334

20. Pierre's explanation with Anatole 336

21. Natdsha tries to poison herself. Prince An-

drew returns to Moscow and Pierre talks
to him 337

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

votion. The great comet of 1812 339


1. The year 1812. Rulers and generals are

"history's slaves" 342

2. Napoleon crosses the Niemen and sees

Polish Uhlans drowned swimming the
Vfliya 344

3. Alexander I at Vflna. The ball at Count

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

4. Balashev's mission to Napoleon, He meets

Murat, "the King of Naples" 347


5. Balashev taken to Davout, who treats him

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

6. Balashe'v's interview with Napoleon 350

7. Balashev dines with Napoleon 354

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

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

9. Prince Andrew in the army at Drissa. Eight

conflicting parties 358

10. Prince Andrew is introduced to Pfuel 361

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

matism 363

it. Nicholas writes to Sdnya. He and Ilyin in

a storm 365

13. Mary Hendrfkhovna. The officers and the

doctor 367

14. Courage. Rost6v goes into action at Ostr6-

vna 369

15. Rost6v's hussars charge the French dra-

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

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

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

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

18. Natasha attends Mass and hears the spe-

cial prayer for victory 374

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

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

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

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

22. Assembly of gentry and merchants at the

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

23. Count Rostopchfn's remarks. The offer

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



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

2. Prince N. Bolk6nski and his daughter. His

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

3. The old prince sends Alpdtych to Smolensk

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

4. Princess Mary sends a letter to the Gover-

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

5. Prince Andrew passing Bald Hills with his

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

6. Matter and form. Anna Pdvlovna's and

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

7. Napoleon orders an advance on Moscow.

Napoleon's conversation with Lavrush-
ka 405

8. Prince Nicholas Bolkonski has a paralytic

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

9. Character of the Bogucharovo peasantry

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

10. Mile Bourienne advises Princess Mary to

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

1 1 . Princess Mary addresses the peasants. They
M. Bullitt‎‎‎‎‎‎ writes:
on May 3rd, 2014 at 4:55:53 PM


distrust her and refuse to leave Bogucha-

rovo f 415

i a. Princess Mary at night recalls her last sight

of her father 4 1 6

13. Nicholas and Ilyfn ride to Bogucharovo.

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

14. Nicholas calls the peasants to account and

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


15. Prince Andrew goes to headquarters and

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

16. The priest's wife offers Kutuzov "bread

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

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

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

18. Rostopchm's broadsheets. Pierre and the

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

19. Senselessness of the battle of Borodin6,

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


20. Pierre encounters cavalry advancing and

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

21. Pierre ascends a knoll at G6rki, surveys

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


22. Boris meets Pierre. Dolokhov makes his

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

43 6

23. Pierre rides to the left flank with Bennig-

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


24. Prince Andrew's reflections on life and

death. Pierre comes to see him 439

25. Tim6khin's opinion of Kutuzov. Prince

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

26. De Beausset brings a portrait of the "King

of Rome" to Napoleon. Napoleon's
proclamation 444

27. Napoleon's dispositions for the battle of

Borodin6. They were not carried out


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

fought 447

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

The game begins 448

30. Pierre views the battlefield from the knoll

at Gorki 450

31. Pierre at the Borodin6 bridge. Under fire.

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

32. The redoubt captured by the French.

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


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

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

34. Reinforcements. Belliard appeals to Na-

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

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

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

36. Prince Andrew with the reserve under fire.

Hit by a bursting shell. Outside the
dressing station 461

37. The operating tent. Portion of Prince An-

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

38. Napoleon is depressed. His mini and con-

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



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


1. Continuity of motion. Achilles and the

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

2. Summary of campaign before Boro-

dino and explanation of Kutuzov's
subsequent movements 470

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

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

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

riage 476

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

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

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


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

coachman's coat 496

19. Napoleon surveys Moscow from Pok-

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

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

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

chfn's encounterwith Kutuzov at the
' bridge 505

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

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

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

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


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

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


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

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

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

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


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


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

ist who drops his rapier and seizes a

cudgel. Guerrilla warfare. The spirit

of the army 588

3-11. The partisans or guerrillas. Denfsov,

D61okhov, P(hya Rost6v, and Tik-

hon. A French drummer boy. A visit

to the enemy's camp. Attack on a

French convoy. The death of Ptya


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

Karatjiev. His story of the merchant.

His death. Pierre rescued 604

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

to Napoleon. Their flight beyond

Smolensk 609

19. Why the French were not cut off by

the Russians 611




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

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

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



* xiii

The Emperor Alexander. Kutiizov;
his failing health 626

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

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

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


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

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

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


I. Battle of Austerlitz 697

II. War of 1805 697

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

IV. Borodin6 698
V. Moscow 699



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

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

THE RosT6vs

Count Ilyd Rost6v, a wealthy nobleman

Countess Nataly Rost6va, his wife

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

Count Peter (Pdtya) Rostov, their younger son

Countess Ve"ra Rost6va, their elder daughter

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

female character

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


Prince Nicholas Andre*evich Bolk6nski, a retired general

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

Princess Mary Bolk6nskaya, his daughter

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

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


Prince Vasfli Kurdgin, an elderly nobleman

Prince Hippolyte Kurdgin, his weak-minded elder son

Prince Anatole Kurdgin, his profligate younger son

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


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






o. s.
Oct. 11

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

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

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

Aug. 8
Aug. 10
Aug. 17

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

C * ft 7 '
and 8

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

N. s.
Oct. 23

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

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

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

Aug. 20
Aug. 22
Aug. 29

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

Kutuzov inspects regiment near Braunau. Lc

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

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

Battle of Preussisch-Eylau

Battle of Friedland

The Emperors meet at Tilsit

Napoleon leaves Dresden

Napoleon crosses the Niemen and enters Russia

Alexander sends Balashev to Napoleon

The Pavlograd hussars in action at Ostr6vna

Alpatych at Smolensk hears distant firing

Bombardment at Smolensk

Prince Nicholas Bolk6nski leaves Bald Hills for


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

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

Kutuzov orders retreat through Moscow
Battle of Tarutino

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


and 20

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

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

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


Book One: 1805


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

She suddenly paused, smiling at her own

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

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

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

by all accounts is a poor creature."

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

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

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

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

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

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

The prince bowed to signify his respect and

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

And she smiled her ecstatic smile.

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

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

The prince answered nothing, but she


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

fathers have to put up with Is this princess

of yours rich?"

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

1 The most fascinating woman in Petersburg.


her the whole evening.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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



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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

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


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

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

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

"And Lise, your wile?"

"She will go to the country."

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

"Very lovely," said Prince Andrew.

"Very," said Pierre.

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

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

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

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

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

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



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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Prince Vasili smiled.

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

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

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

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

"Then tomorrow you will speak to the Em-

"Certainly; but about Kutiizov, I don't

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

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


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

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

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

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


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

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

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

And sighing disdainfully, he again changed
his position.

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

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

The princess listened, smiling.

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Oh! Oh!" exclaimed several voices.

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

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

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


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

But Pierre continued his speech without
heeding her.

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

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

"He could not do that. The people only
gave him power that he might rid them of the
Bourbons and because they saw that he was a
great man. The Revolution was a grand
M. Bullitt‎‎‎‎‎‎ writes:
on May 3rd, 2014 at 4:59:09 PM

at ordinary times, the more impassioned he be-
came in these moments of almost morbid irri-

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

That smile was immediately reflected on
Pierre's face.

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

Prince Andrew looked kindly at him, yet

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You give me your word of honor not to

"On my honor!"


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

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

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



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

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

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

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

"Mind, no holding on I" cried another.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"First of all you must drink!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"No, fifty," replied the latter.

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

"Quite right," said the Englishman.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"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? . . .

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

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

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



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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

behaved so improperly at Anna Pdvlovna's re-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yet the ladies themselves could not help

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



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

The visitor made a gesture with her hand.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

through tears of laughter, and again hid her

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

1 Cousin hood is a dangerous neighborhood.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

"Ah, I know what it is."

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

you can go back to her!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Boris followed her, smiling.

"What is the something?" asked he.

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

"Kiss the doll," said she.

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

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

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

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

Boris blushed.

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

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

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

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

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


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

Natasha considered.

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

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

"Settled!" replied Boris.

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

In the drawing room the conversation was
still going on.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The son, lowering his eyes, followed her

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

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

"Then it is certain?" said the prince.

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

"Very well, very well . . ."

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

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

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

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

Boris bowed again politely. *

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

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

1 To err is human.


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

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

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

"Are you living with your mother?"

"I am living at Countess Rost6va's," replied
Boris, again adding, "your excellency.
Attos writes:
on May 3rd, 2014 at 5:02:23 PM

I'm assuming these pictures were posted in attempt to be off-putting. But I've unfortunately been alive long enough to have been around for the birth of the internet, and have been with it ever since. In that amount of time, I can't even begin to describe the things I've seen online. If I ever had any sensitivity to "shocking" images, it died a long long time ago, with a portion of my soul.

On top of that, not only do I not give even the slightest sh*t about gender preference (because seriously, who has time to fret about something as trivial what other people do in private), but I've seen more gay sex on Game of Thrones than this weak sh*t.

And regardless of the fact that I'm straight, if you're going to go through the trouble of making it so that everyone has to see some guys going at it, I'd rather you at find some better looking ones. Take some pride in your work at least. I was just talking all that good sh*t about your commitment to this trolling quest you're on, don't make me look like a jackass now. Step it up.
M. Bullitt‎‎‎‎‎‎ writes:
on May 3rd, 2014 at 5:02:42 PM

The sick man was so surrounded by doctors,
princesses, and servants that Pierre could no
longer see the reddish-yellow face with its gray
mane which, though he saw other faces as well,
he had not lost sight of for a single moment
during the whole service. He judged by the
cautious movements of those who crowded
round the invalid chair that they had lifted the
dying man and were moving him.

"Catch hold of my arm or you'll drop him!"
he heard one of the servants say in a frightened
whisper. "Catch hold from underneath. Here!"
exclaimed different voices; and the heavy
breathing of the bearers and the shuffling of
their feet grew more hurried, as if the weight
they were carrying were too much for them.

As the bearers, among whom was Anna Mik-
haylovna, passed the young man he caught a


momentary glimpse between their heads and
backs of the dying man's high, stout, uncovered
chest and powerful shoulders, raised by those
who were holding him under the armpits, and
of his gray, curly, leonine head. This head, with
its remarkably broad brow and cheekbones, its
handsome, sensual mouth, and its cold, majes-
tic expression, was not disfigured by the ap-
proach of death. It was the same as Pierre re-
membered it three months before, when the
count had sent him to Petersburg. But now this
head was swaying helplessly with the uneven
movements of the bearers, and the cold listless
gaze fixed itself upon nothing.

After a few minutes' bustle beside the high
bedstead, those who had carried the sick man
dispersed. Anna Mikhaylovna touched Pierre's
hand and said, "Come." Pierre went with her
to the bed on which the sick man had been laid
in a stately pose in keeping with the ceremony
just completed. He lay with his head propped
high on the pillows. His hands were symmetri-
cally placed on the green silk quilt, the palms
downward. When Pierre came up the count
was gazing straight at him, but with a look the
significance of which could not be understood
by mortal man. Either this look meant nothing
but that as long as one has eyes they must look
somewhere, or it meant too much. Pierre hesi-
tated, not knowing what to do, and glanced in-
quiringly at his guide. Anna Mikhdylovna
made a hurried sign with her eyes, glancing at
the sick man's hand and moving her lips as if
to send it a kiss. Pierre, carefully stretching his
neck so as not to touch the quilt, followed
her suggestion and pressed his lips to the large-
boned, fleshy hand. Neither the hand nor a
single muscle of the count's face stirred. Once
more Pierre looked questioningly at Anna
Mikhaylovna to see what he was to do next.
Anna Mikhaylovna with her eyes indicated a
chair that stood beside the bed. Pierre obedi-
ently sat down, his eyes asking if he were doing
right. Anna Mikhaylovna nodded approving-
ly. Again Pierre fell into the naively symmetri-
cal pose of an Egyptian statue, evidently dis-
tressed that his stout and clumsy body took up
so much room and doing his utmost to look as
small as possible. He looked at the count, who
still gazed at the spot where Pierre's face had
been before he sat down. Anna Mikhaylovna
indicated by her attitude her consciousness of
the pathetic importance of these last moments
of meeting between the father and son. This
lasted about two minutes, which to Pierre
seemed an hour. Suddenly the broad muscles



and lines of the count's face began to twitch.
The twitching increased, the handsome skouth
was drawn to one side (only now did Pierre
realize how near death his father was), and
from that distorted mouth issued an indistinct,
hoarse sound. Anna Mikhaylovna looked at-
tentively at the sick man's eyes, trying to guess
what he wanted; she pointed first to Pierre, then
to some drink, then named Prince Vasfli in an
inquiring whisper, then pointed to the quilt.
The eyes and face of the sick man showed im-
patience. He made an effort to look at the serv-
ant who stood constantly at the head of the

"Wants to turn on the other side," whis-
pered the servant, and got up to turn the
count's heavy body toward the wall.

Pierre' rose to help him.

While the count was being turned over, one
of his arms fell back helplessly and he made a
fruitless effort to pull it forward. Whether he
noticed the look of terror with which Pierre re-
garded that lifeless arm, or whether some other
thought flitted across his dying brain, at any
rate he glanced at the refractory arm, at Pierre's
terror-stricken face, and again at the arm, and
on his face a feeble, piteous smile appeared,
quite out of keeping with his features, that
seemed to deride his own helplessness. At sight
of this smile Pierre felt an unexpected quiver-
ing in his breast and a tickling in his nose, and
tears dimmed his eyes. The sick man was turned
onto his side with his face to the wall. He sighed.

"He is dozing," said Anna Mikhaylovna, ob-
serving that one of the princesses was coming
to take her turn at watching. "Let us go."

Pierre went out.


THERE WAS now no one in the reception
room except Prince Vasfli and the eldest prin-
cess, who were sitting under the portrait of
Catherine the Great and talking eagerly. As
soon as they saw Pierre and his companion they
became silent, and Pierre thought he saw the
princess hide something as she whispered:

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

"Catiche has had tea served in the small draw-
ing room," said Prince Vasili to Anna Mikhay-
lovna. "Go and take something, my poor Anna
Mikhdylovna, or you will not hold out."

To Pierre he said nothing, merely giving his
arm a sympathetic squeeze below the shoulder.
Pierre went with Anna Mikhdylovna into the
small drawing room.

"There is nothing so refreshing after a sleep-

less night as a cup of this delicious Russian tea,"
Lorrain was say ing with an air of restrained an-
imation as he stood sipping tea from a delicate
Chinese handleless cup before a table on which
tea and a cold supper were laid in the small
circular room. Around the table all who were
at Count Bezukhov's house that night had gath-
ered to fortify themselves. Pierre well remem-
bered this small circular drawing room with its
mirrors and little tables. During balls given at
the house, Pierre, who did not know how to
dance, had liked sitting in this room to watch
the ladies who, as they passed through in their
ball dresses with diamonds and pearls on their
bare shoulders, looked at themselves in the
brilliantly lighted mirrors which repeated their
reflections several times. Now this same room
was dimly lighted by two candles. On one small
table tea things and supper dishes stood in dis-
order, and in the middle of the night a motley
throng of people sat there, not merrymaking,
but somberly whispering, and betraying by ev-
ery word and movement that they none of
them forgot what was happening and what was
about to happen in the bedroom. Pierre did not
eat anything though he would very much have
liked to. He looked inquiringly at his moni-
tressand saw that she was again going on tiptoe
to the reception room where they had left
Prince Vasfli and the eldest princess. Pierre
concluded that this also was essential, and after
a short interval followed her. Anna Mikhdylov-
na was standing beside the princess, and they
were both speaking in excited whispers.

"Permit me, Princess, to know what is neces-
sary and what is not necessary, "said the young-
er of the two speakers, evidently in the same
state of excitement as when she had slammed
the door of her room.

"But, my dear princess," answered Anna
Mikhaylovna blandly but impressively, block-
ing the way to the bedroom and preventing the
other from passing, "won't this be too much
for poor Uncle at a moment when he needs re-
pose? Worldly conversation at a moment when
his soul is already prepared . . ."

Prince Vasfli was seated in an easy chair in
his familiar attitude, with one leg crossed high
above the other. His cheeks, which were so flab-
by that they looked heavier below, were twitch-
ing violently; but he wore the air of a man lit-
tle concerned in what the two ladies were say-

"Come, my dear Anna Mikhdylovna, let Ca-
tiche do as she pleases. You know how fond
the count is of her."


"I don't even know what is in this paper,"
said the younger of the two ladies, addressing
Prince Vasili and pointing to an inlaid port-
folio she held in her hand. "All I know is that
his real will is in his writing table, and this is a
paper he has forgotten. . . ."

She tried to pass Anna Mikhdylovna, but the
latter sprang so as to bar her path.

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

The princess did not reply. Their efforts in
the struggle for the portfolio were the only
sounds Audible, but it was evident that if the
princess did speak, her words would not be
flattering to Anna Mikhdylovna. Though the
latter held on tenaciously, her voice lost none
of its honeyed firmness and softness.

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

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

But Anna Mikhdylovna went forward a step
or two to keep her hold on the portfolio, and
changed her grip.

Prince Vasili rose. "Oh!" said he with re-
proach and surprise, "this is absurd! Come, let
go I tell you."

The princess let go.

"And you too!"

But Anna Mikhdylovna did not obey him.

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

"But, Prince," said Anna Mikhdylovna, "aft-
er such a solemn sacrament, allow him a mo-
ment's peace! Here, Pierre, tell them your
opinion," said she, turning to the young man
who, having come quite close, was gazing with
astonishment at the angry face of the princess
which had lost all dignity, and at the twitch-
ing cheeks of Prince Vasili.

"Remember that you will answer for the con-
sequences," said Prince Vasili severely. "You
don't know what you are doing."

"Vile woman!" shouted the princess, dart-
ing unexpectedly at Anna Mikhdylovna and

snatching the portfolio from her.

Priice Vasili bent his head and spread out
his hands.

At this moment that terrible door, which
Pierre had watched so long and which had al-
ways opened so quietly, burst noisily open and
banged against the wall, and the second of the
three sisters rushed out wringing her hands.

"What are you doing!" she cried vehemently.
"He isdyingand you leave me alone with him!"

Her sister dropped the portfolio. Anna Mik-
hdylovna, stooping, quickly caught up the ob-
ject of contention and ran into the bedroom.
The eldest princess and Prince Vasfli, recover-
ing themselves, followed her, A few minutes lat-
er the eldest sister came out with a pale hard
face, again biting her underlip. At sight of
Pierre her expression showed an irrepressible

"Yes, now you may be glad!" said she; "this
is what you have been waiting for." And burst-
ing into tears she hid her face in her handker-
chief and rushed from the room.

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

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

Anna Mikhdylovna came out last. She ap-
proached Pierre with slow, quiet steps.

"Pierre!" she said.

Pierre gave her an inquiring look. She kissed
the young man on his forehead, wetting him
with her tears. Then after a pause she said:

"He is no more "

Pierre looked at her over his spectacles.

"Come, I will go with you. Try to weep, noth-
ing gives such relief as tears."

She led him into the dark drawing room
and Pierre was glad no one could see his face.
Anna Mikhdylovna left him, and when she re-
turned he was fast asleep with his head on his

In the morning Anna Mikhdylovna said to

"Yes, my dear, this is a great loss for us all,
not to speak of you. But God will support you:
you are young, and are now, I hope, in com-
mand of an immense fortune. The will has not



yet been opened. I knowyouwell enough to be
sure that this will not turn your head, out it
imposes duties on you, and you must be a man."

Pierre was silent.

"Perhaps later on I may tell you, my dear
boy, that if I had not been there, God only
knows what would have happened 1 You know,
Uncle promised me only the day before yes-
terday not to forget Boris. But he had no time.
I hope, my dear friend, you will carry out your
father's wish?"

Pierre understood nothing of all this and
coloring shyly looked in silence at Princess An-
na Mikhaylovna. After her talk with Pierre,
Anna Mikhaylovna returned to the Rost6vs'
and went to bed. On waking in the morning she
told the Rostovs and all her acquaintances the
details of Count Bezukhov's death. She said the
count had died as she would herself wish to die,
that his end was not only touching but edify-
ing. As to the last meeting between father and
son, it was so touching that she could not think
of it without tears, and did not know which
had behaved better during those awful mo-
mentsthe father who so remembered every-
thing and everybody at the last and had spoken
such pathetic words to the son, or Pierre, whom
it had been pitiful to see, so stricken was he
with grief, though he tried hard to hide it in or-
der not to sadden his dying father. "It is pain-
ful, but it does one good. It uplifts the soul to
see such men as the old count and his worthy
son," said she. Of the behavior of the eldest
princess and Prince Vasili she spoke disapprov-
ingly, but in whispers and as a great secret.


AT BALD HILLS, Prince Nicholas Andrevich
Bolk6nski's estate, the arrival of young Prince
Andrew and his wife was daily expected, but
this expectation did not upset the regular rou-
tine of life in the old prince's household. Gen-
eral in Chief Prince Nicholas Andre*evich
(nicknamed in society, "the King of Prussia")
ever since the Emperor Paul had exiled him to
his country estate had lived there continuously
with his daughter, Princess Mary, and her com-
panion, Mademoiselle Bourienne. Though in
the new reign he was free to return to the capi-
tals, he still continued to live in the country,
remarking that anyone who wanted to see him
could come the hundred miles from Moscow to
Bald Hills, while he himself needed no one and
nothing. He used to say that there are only two
sources of human vice idleness and supersti-
tion, and only two virtues activity and intel-

ligence. He himself undertook his daughter's
education, and to develop these two cardinal
virtues in her gave her lessons in algebra and
geometry till she was twenty, and arranged her
life so that her whole time was occupied. He
was himself always occupied: writing his mem-
oirs, solving problems in higher mathematics,
turning snuffboxes on a lathe, working in the
garden, or superintending the building that
was always going on at his estate. As regular-
ity is a prime condition facilitating activity,
regularity in his household was carried to the
highest point of exactitude. He always came to
table under precisely the same conditions, and
not only at the same hour but at the same min-
ute. With those about him, from his daughter
to his serfs, the prince was sharp and invariably
exacting, so that without being a hardhearted
man he inspired such fear and respect as few
hardhearted men would have aroused. Al-
though he was in retirement and had now no
influence in political affairs, every high official
appointed to the province in which the prince's
estate lay considered it his duty to visit him and
waited in the lofty antechamber just as the ar-
chitect, gardener, or Princess Mary did, till the
prince appeared punctually to the appointed
hour. Everyone sitting in this antechamber ex-
perienced the same feeling of respect and even
fear when the enormously high study door
opened and showed the figure of a rather small
old man, with powdered wig, small withered
hands, and bushy gray eyebrows which, when
he frowned, sometimes hid the gleam of his
shrewd, youthfully glittering eyes.

On the morning of the day that the young
couple were to arrive, Princess Mary entered
the antechamber as usual at the time appoint-
ed for the morning greeting, crossing herself
with trepidation and repeating a silent prayer.
Every morning she came in like that, and ev-
ery morning she prayed that the daily interview
might pass off well.

An old powdered manservant who was sit-
ting in the antechamber rose quietly and said
in a whisper: "Please walk in."

Through the door came the regular hum of
a lathe. The princess timidly opened the door
which moved noiselessly and easily. She paused
at the entrance. The prince was working at the
lathe and after glancing round continued his

The enormous study was full of things evi-
dently in constant use. The large table covered
with books and plans, the tall glass-fronted
bookcases with keys in the locks, the high desk

4 8


for writing while standing up, on which lay an
open exercise book, and the lathe with tools
laid ready to hand and shavings scattered
aroundall indicated continuous, varied, and
orderly activity. The motion of the small foot
shod in a Tartar boot embroidered with silver,
and the firm pressure of the lean sinewy hand,
showed that the prince still possessed the tena-
cious endurance and vigor of hardy old age.
After a few more turns of the lathe he removed
his foot from the pedal, wiped his chisel,
dropped it into a leather pouch attached to the
lathe, and, approaching the table, summoned
his daughter. He never gave his children a bless-
ing, so he simply held out his bristly cheek (as
yet unshaven) and, regarding her tenderly and
attentively, said severely:

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

"For tomorrow!" said he, quickly finding
the page and making a scratch from one para-
graph to another with his hard nail.

The princess bent over the exercise book on
the table.

"Wait a bit, here's a letter for you," said the
old man suddenly, taking a letter addressed in
a woman's hand from a bag hanging above the
table, onto which he threw it.

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

"From H^loi'se?" asked the prince with a
cold smile that showed hisstill sound, yellowish
teeth. 1

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

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

"Read this if you like, Father," said the prin-
cess, blushing still more and holding out the

"The third,! said the third 1" cried theprince
abruptly, pushing the letter away, and leaning
his elbows on the table he drew toward him
the exercise book containing geometrical fig-

"Well, madam," he began, stooping over the
book close to his daughter and placing an arm
on the back of the chair on which she sat, so

1 The prince is ironical. He knows the letter is
from Julie, but alludes to Rousseau's novel, Julie,
ou la nouvelle Htloise, which he, an admirer of
Voltaire and of cold reason, heartily despised. TR.

that she felt herself surrounded on all sides by
the skrid scent of old age and tobacco, which
she had known so long. "Now, madam, these
triangles are equal; please note that the angle
ABC . . ."

The princess looked in a scared way at her
father's eyes glittering close to her; the red
patches on her face came and went, and it was
plain that she understood nothing and was so
frightened that her fear would prevent her un-
derstanding any of her father's further explana-
tions, however clear they might be. Whether it
was the teacher's fault or the pupil's, this same
thing happened every day: the princess' eyes
grew dim, she could not see and could not hear
anything, but was only conscious of her stern
father's withered face close to her, of his breath
and the smell of him, and could think only of
how to get away quickly to her own room to
make out the problem in peace. The old man
was beside himself: moved the chair on which
he was sitting noisily backward and forward,
made efforts to control himself and not become
vehement, but almost always did become ve-
hement, scolded, and sometimes flung the ex-
ercise book away.

The princess gave a wrong answer.

"Well now, isn't she a fool!" shouted the
prince, pushing the book aside and turning
sharply away; but rising immediately, he paced
up and down, lightly touched his daughter's
hair and sat down again.

He drew up his chair and continued to ex-

"This won't do, Princess; it won't do," said
he, when Princess Mary, having taken and
closed the exercise book with the next day's
lesson, was about to leave: "Mathematics are
most important, madam! I don't want to have
you like our silly ladies. Get used to it and
you'll like it," and he patted her cheek. "It will
drive all the nonsense out of your head."

She turned to go, but he stopped her with a
gesture and took an uncut book from the high

"Here is some sort of Key to the Mysteries
that your Hdoi'se has sent you. Religious! I
don't interfere with anyone's belief ... I have
looked at it. Take it. Well, now go. Go."

He patted her on the shoulder and himself
closed the door after her.

Princess Mary went back to her room with
the sad, scared expression that rarely left her
and which made her plain, sickly face yet plain-
er. She sat down at her writing table, on which
stood miniature portraits and which was lit-


tered with books and papers. The princdfcs was
as untidy as her father was tidy. She put down
the geometry book and eagerly broke the seal
of her letter. It was from her most intimate
friend from childhood; that same Julie Kara-
gina who had been at the Rost6vs' name-day
Julie wrote in French:

Dear and precious Friend, How terrible and
frightful a thing is separation! Though I tell my-
self that half my life and half my happiness are
wrapped up in you, and that in spite of the distance
separating us our hearts are united by indissoluble
bonds, my heart rebels against fate and in spite of
the pleasures and distractions around me I cannot
overcome a certain secret sorrow that has been in
my heart ever since we parted. Why are we not
together as we were last summer, in your big study,
on the blue sofa, the confidential sofa? Why can-
not I now, as three months ago, draw fresh moral
strength from your look, so gen tie, calm, and pene-
trating, a look I loved so well and seem to see be-
fore me as I write?

Having read thus far, Princess Mary sighed
and glanced into the mirror which stood on her
right. It reflected a weak, ungraceful figure and
thin face. Her eyes, always sad, now looked with
particular hopelessness at her reflection in the
glass. "She flatters me," thought the princess,
turning away and continuing to read. But Julie
did not flatter her friend, the princess' eyes-
large, deep and luminous (it seemed as if at
times there radiated from them shafts of warm
light) were so beautiful that very of ten in spite
of the plainness of her face they gave her an at-
traction more powerful than that of beauty.
But the princess never saw the beautiful ex-
pression of her own eyes the look they had
when she was not thinking of herself. As with
everyone, her face assumed a forced unnatural
expression as soon as she looked in a glass. She
went on reading:

All Moscow talks of nothing but war. One of my
two brothers is already abroad, the other is with
the Guards, who are starting on their march to the
frontier. Our dear Emperor has left Petersburg
and it is thought intends to expose his precious
person to the chances of war. God grant that the
Corsican monster who is destroying the peace of
Europe may be overthrown by the angel whom it
has pleased the Almighty, in His goodness, to give
us as sovereignl To say nothing of my brothers, this
war has deprived me of one of the associations
nearest my heart. I mean young Nicholas Rostov,
who with his enthusiasm could not bear to remain
inactive and has left the university to join the
army. I will confess to you, dear Mary, that in spite
of his extreme youth his departure for the army



was a great grief to me. This young man, of whom
I spoke to you last summer, is so noble-minded
and full of that real youthfulness which one sel-
dom finds nowadays among our old men of twenty
and, particularly, he is so frank and has so much
heart. He is so pure and poetic that my relations
with him, transient as they were, have been one
of the sweetest comforts to my poor heart, which
has already suffered so much. Someday I will tell
you about our parting and all that was said then.
That is still too fresh. Ah, dear friend, you are
happy not to know these poignant joys and sor-
rows. You are fortunate, for the latter are gen-
erally the stronger! I know very well that Count
Nicholas is too young ever to be more to me than
a friend, but this sweet friendship, this poetic and
pure intimacy, were what my heart needed. But
enough of this! The chief news, about which all
Moscow gossips, is the death of old Count Bezuk-
hov, and his inheritance. Fancy! The three prin-
cesses have received very little, Prince Vasili noth-
ing, and it is Monsieur Pierre who has inherited
all the property and has besides been recognized
as legitimate; so that he is now Count Bezukhov
and possessor of the finest fortune in Russia. It is
rumored that Prince Vasili played a very despi-
cable part in this affair and that he returned to
Petersburg quite crestfallen.

I confess I understand very little about all these
matters of wills and inheritance; but I do know
that since this young man, whom we all used to
know as plain Monsieur Pierre, has become Count
Bezukhov and the owner of one of the largest
fortunes in Russia, I am much amused to watch
the change in the tone and manners of the mam-
mas burdened by marriageable daughters, and of
the young ladies themselves, toward him, though,
between you and me, he always seemed to me a
poor sort of fellow. As for the past two years people
have amused themselves by finding husbands for
me (most of whom I don't even know), the match-
making chronicles of Moscow now speak of me as
the f u ture Countess Bezukhova. But you will under-
stand that I have no desire for the post. A propos
of marriages: do you know that a while ago that
universal auntie Anna Mikhaylovna told me, un-
der the seal of strict secrecy, of a plan of marriage
for you. It is neither more nor less than with
Prince Vasfli's son Anatole, whom they wish to re-
form by marrying him to someone rich and dis~
tinguee, and it is on you that his relations' choice
has fallen. I don't know what you will think of it,
but I consider it my duty to let you know of it. He
is said to be very handsome and a terrible scape-
grace. That is all I have been able to find out
about him.

But enough of gossip. I am at the end of my
second sheet of paper, and Mamma has sent for me
to go and dine at the Apraksins'. Read the mystical
book I am sending you; it has an enormous success
here. Though there are things in it difficult for the
feeble human mind to grasp, it is an admirable



book which calms and elevates the soul. Adieu!
Give my respects to monsieur your father and my
compliments to Mademoiselle Bourienne. 1 em-
brace you as I love you. JULIE

P.S. Let me have news of your brother and his
charming little wife.

The princess pondered awhile with a
thoughtful smile and her luminous eyes lit up
so that her face was entirely transformed. Then
she suddenly rose and with her heavy tread
went up to the table. She took a sheet of paper
and her hand moved rapidly over it. This is the
reply she wrote, also in French:

Dear and precious Friend, Your letter of the
i$th has given me great delight. So you still love
me, my romantic Julie? Separation, of which you
say so much that is bad, does not seem to have had
its usual effect on you. You complain of our sepa-
ration. What then should I say, if I dared com-
plain, I who am deprived of all who are dear to
me? Ah, if we had not religion to console us life
would be very sad. Why do you suppose that I
should look severely on your affection for that
young man? On such matters I am only severe with
myself. I understand such feelings in others, and
if never having felt them I cannot approve of
them, neither do I condemn them. Only it seems
to me that Christian love, love of one's neighbor,
love of one's enemy, is worthier, sweeter, and bet-
ter than the feelings which the beautiful eyes of a
young man can inspire in a romantic and loving
young girl like yourself.

The news of Count Beziikhov's death reached
us before your letter and my father was much
affected by it. He says the count was the last rep-
resentative but one of the great century, and that
it is his own turn now, but that he will do all he
can to let his turn come as late as possible. God
preserve us from that terrible misfortune!

I cannot agree with you about Pierre, whom I
knew as a child. He always seemed to me to have
an excellent heart, and that is the quality I value
most in people. As to his inheritance and the part
played by Prince Vasili, it is very sad for both.
Ah, my dear friend, our divine Saviour's words,
that it is easier for a camel to go through the eye
of a needle than for a rich man to enter the King-
dom of God, are terribly true. I pity Prince Vasili
but am still more sorry for Pierre. So young, and
burdened with such riches to what temptations
he will be exposedl If I were asked what I desire
most on earth, it would be to be poorer than the
poorest beggar. A thousand thanks, dear friend,
for the volume you have sent me and which has
such success in Moscow. Yet since you tell me that
among some good things it contains others which
our weak human understanding cannot grasp, it
seems to me rather useless to spend time in reading
what is unintelligible and can therefore bear no
fruit. I never could understand the fondness some
people have for confusing their minds by dwelling

on my^ical books that merely awaken their doubts
and excite their imagination, giving them a bent
for exaggeration quite contrary to Christian sim-
plicity. Let us rather read the Epistles and Gospels.
Let us not seek to penetrate what mysteries they
contain; for how can we, miserable sinners that we
are, know the terrible and holy secrets of Provi-
dence while we remain in this flesh which forms
an impenetrable veil between us and the Eternal?
Let us rather confine ourselves to studying those
sublime rules which our divine Saviour has left
for our guidance here below. Let us try to conform
to them and follow them, and let us be persuaded
that the less we let our feeble human minds roam,
the better we shall please God, who rejects all
knowledge that does not come from Him; and the
less we seek to fathom what He has been pleased
to conceal from us, the sooner will He vouchsafe
its revelation to us through His divine Spirit.

My father has not spoken to me of a suitor, but
has only told me that he has received a letter and
is expecting a visit from Prince Vasili. In regard
to this project of marriage for me, I will tell you,
dear sweet friend, that I look on marriage as a
divine institution to which we must conform.
However painful it may be to me, should the Al-
mighty ever lay the duties of wife and mother upon
me I shall try to perform them as faithfully as
I can, without disquieting myself by examining my
feelings toward him whom He may give me for

I have had a letter from my brother, who an-
nounces his speedy arrival at Bald Hills with his
wife. This pleasure will be but a brief one, how-
ever, for he will leave us again to take part in this
unhappy war into which we have been drawn,
God knows how or why. Not only where you are
at the heart of affairs and of the world is the
talk all of war, even here amid fieldwork and the
calm of nature which townsfolk consider char-
acteristic of the country rumors of war are heard
and painfully felt. My father talks of nothing but
marches and countermarches, things of which 1
understand nothing; and the day before yesterday
during my daily walk through the village I wit-
nessed a heartrending scene. ... It was a convoy
of conscripts enrolled from our people and start-
ing to join the army. You should have seen the
state of the mothers, wives, and children of the
men who were going and should have heard the
sobs. It seems as though mankind has forgotten
the laws of its divine Saviour, Who preached love
and forgiveness of injuries and that men attribute
the greatest merit to skill in killing one another.

Adieu, dear and kind friend; may our divine
Saviour and His most Holy Mother keep you in
their holy and all-powerful carel MARY

"Ah, you are sending off a letter, Princess? I
have already dispatched mine. I have written
to my poor mother, "said the smiling Mademoi-
selle Bourienne rapidly, in her pleasant mellow


tones and with guttural r's. She brought into
Princess Mary's strenuous, mournful, and
gloomy world a quite different atmosphere,
careless, lighthearted, and self -satisfied.

"Princess, I must warn you," she added, low-
ering her voice and evidently listening to her-
self with pleasure, and speaking with exagger-
ated grasseyement? "the prince has been scold-
ing Michael Ivanovich. He is in a very bad hu-
mor, very morose. Be prepared."

"Ah, dear friend," replied Princess Mary, "I
have asked you never to warn me of the
humor my father is in. I do not allow my-
self to judge him and would not have others
do so."

The princess glanced at her watch and, see-
ing that she was five minutes late in starting
her practice on the clavichord, went into the
sitting room with a look of alarm. Between
twelve and two o'clock, as the day was mapped
out, the prince rested and the princess played
the clavichord.


THE CRAY-HAIRED valet was sitting drowsily lis-
tening to the snoring of the prince, who was in
his large study. From the far side of the house
through the closed doors came the sound of
difficult passages twenty times repeated of a
sonata by Dussek.

Just then a closed carriage and another with
a hood drove up to the porch. Prince Andrew
got out of the carriage, helped his little wife to
alight, and let her pass into the house before
him. Old Tfkhon, wearing a wig, put his head
out of the door of the antechamber, reported
in a whisper that the prince was sleeping, and
hastily closed the door. Tfkhon knew that nei-
ther the son's arrival nor any other unusual
event must be allowed to disturb the appointed
order of the day. Prince Andrew apparently
knew this as well as Tfkhon; he looked at his
watch as if to ascertain whether his father's hab-
its had changed since he was at home last, and,
having assured himself that they had not, he
turned to his wife.

"He will get up in twenty minutes. Let us go
across to Mary's room," he said.

The little princess had grown stouter during
this time, but her eyes and her short, downy,
smiling lip lifted when she began to speak
just as merrily and prettily as ever.

"Why, this is a palace!" she said to her hus-
band, looking around with the expression with

1 The guttural pronunciation of the letter r,
chiefly affected by Parisians.-TR.

which people compliment their host at a ball.
"Let's come, quick, quick!'* And with a glance
round, she smiled at Tfkhon, at her husband,
and at the footman who accompanied them.

"Is that Mary practicing? Let's goquietlyand
take her by surprise."

Prince Andrew followed her with a courteous
but sad expression.

"You've grown older, Tfkhon," he said in
passing to the old man, who kissed his hand.

Before they reached the room from which the
sounds of the clavichord came, the pretty, fair-
haired Frenchwoman, Mademoiselle Bouri-
enne, rushed out apparently beside herself with

"Ah! what joy for the princess!" exclaimed
she: "At last! I must let her know."

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

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

The little princess entered the room. The
passage broke off in the middle, a cry was
heard, then Princess Mary's heavy tread and the
sound of kissing. When Prince Andrew went
in the two princesses, who had only met once
before for a short time at his wedding, were
in each other's arms warmly pressing their lips
to whatever place they happened to touch.
Mademoiselle Bourienne stood near them press-
ing her hand to her heart, with a beatific smile
and obviously equally ready to cry or to laugh.
Prince Andrew shrugged his shoulders and
frowned, as lovers of music do when they hear
a false note. The two women let go of one an-
other, and then, as if afraid of being too late,
seized each other's hands, kissing them and
pulling them away, and again began kissing
each other on the face, and then to Prince An-
drew's surprise both began to cry and kissed
again. Mademoiselle Bourienne also began to
cry. Prince Andrew evidently felt ill at ease,
but to the two women it seemed quite natural
that they should cry, and apparently it never
entered their heads that it could have been
otherwise at this meeting.

"Ah! my dear! . . . Ah! Mary! . . ." they sud-
denly exclaimed, and then laughed. "I dreamed
last night . . .""You were not expecting us?
. . .""Ah! Mary, you have got thinner! . . ,"
"And you have grown stouter! ..."


"I knew the princess at once," put in Made-
moiselle Bourienne.

"And I had no idea! . . ." exclaimed Prin-
cess Mary. "Ah, Andrew, I did not see you."

Prince Andrew and his sister, hand in
hand, kissed one another, and he told her she
was still the same crybaby as ever. Princess
Mary had turned toward her brother, and
through her tears the loving, warm, gentle
look of her large luminous eyes, very beautiful
at that moment, rested on Prince Andrew's

The little princess talked incessantly, her
short, downy upper lip continually and rapid-
ly touching her rosy nether lip when necessary
and drawing up again next moment when her
face broke into a smile of glittering teeth and
sparkling eyes. She told of an accident they had
had on the Spisski Hill which might have been
serious for her in her condition, and immedi-
ately after that informed them that she had left
all her clothes in Petersburg and that heaven
knew what she would have to dress in here;
and that Andrew had quite changed, and that
Kitty Odyntsova had married an old man, and
that there was a suitor for Mary, a real one,
but that they would talk of that later. Princess
Mary was still looking silently at her brother
and her beautiful eyes were full of love and
sadness. It was plain that she was following a
train of thought independent of her sister-in-
law's words. In the midst of a description of
the last Petersburg fete she addressed her broth-

"So you are really going to the war, Andrew?"
she said sighing.

Lise sighed too.

"Yes, and even tomorrow," replied her broth-

"He is leaving me here; God knows why,
when he might have had promotion . . ."

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

"Is it certain?" she said.

The face of the little princess changed. She
sighed and said: "Yes, quite certain. Ahl it is
very dreadful . . ."

Her lip descended. She brought her face
close to her sister-in-law's and unexpectedly
again began to cry.

"She needs rest," said Prince Andrew with
a frown. "Don't you, Lise? Take her to your
room and I'll go to Father. How is he? Just the

"Yes, just the same. Though I don't know

what fyour opinion will be," answered the prin-
cess joyfully.

"And are the hours the same? And the walks
in the avenues? And the lathe?" asked Prince
Andrew with a scarcely perceptible smile which
showed that, in spite of all his love and respect
for his father, he was aware of his weaknesses.

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

When the twenty minutes had elapsed and
the time had come for the old prince to get up,
Tikhon came to call the young prince to his
father. The old man made a departure from his
usual routine in honor of his son's arrival: he
gave orders to admit him to his apartments
while he dressed for dinner. The old prince al-
ways dressed in old-fashioned style, wearing an
antique coat and powdered hair; and when
Prince Andrew entered his father's dressing
room (not with the contemptuous look and
manner he wore in drawing rooms, but with
the animated face with which he talked to
Pierre), the old man was sitting on a large
leather-covered chair, wrapped in a powder-
ing mantle, entrusting his head to Tikhon.

"Ah! here's the warrior! Wants to vanquish
Buonaparte?" said the old man, shaking his
powdered head as much as the tail, which Tik-
hon was holding fast to plait, would allow.

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

The old man was in a good temper after his
nap before dinner. (He used to say that a nap
"after dinner was silver before dinner, gold-
en.") He cast happy, sidelong glances at his son
from under his thick, bushy eyebrows. Prince
Andrew went up and kissed his father on the
spot indicated to him. He made no reply on
his father's favorite topic making fun of the
military men of the day, and more particular-
ly of Bonaparte.

"Yes, Father, I have come to you and brought
my wife who is pregnant," said Prince Andrew,
following every movement of his father's face
with an eager and respectful look. "How is your

"Only fools and rakes fall ill, my boy. You
know me: I am busy from morning till night
and abstemious, so of course I am well."

"Thank God," said his son smiling.

"God has nothing to do with it! Well, go on,"



he continued, returning to his hobby; "till me
how the Germans have taught you to fight Bo-
naparte by this new science you call 'strategy.' "

Prince Andrew smiled.

"Give me time to collect my wits, Father,"
said he, with a smile that showed that his fa-
ther's foibles did not prevent his son from lov-
ing and honoring him. "Why, I have not yet
had time to settle downl"

"Nonsense, nonsense!" cried the old man,
shaking his pigtail to see whether it was firmly
plaited, and grasping hisson by the hand. "The
house for your wife is ready. Princess Mary will
take her there and show her over, and they'll
talk nineteen to the dozen. That's their wom-
an's way! I am glad to have her. Sit down and
talk. About Mikhelson's army I understand
Tolst6y's too ... a simultaneous expedition. . . .
But what's the southern army to do? Prussia is
neutral ... I know that. What about Austria?"
said he, rising from his chair and pacing up
and down the room followed by Tikhon, who
ran after him, handing him different articles
of clothing. "What of Sweden? How will they
cross Pomerania?"

Prince Andrew, seeing that his father in-
sisted, began at first reluctantly, but gradual-
ly with more and more animation, and from
habit changing unconsciously from Russian to
French as he went on to explain the plan of
operation for the coming campaign. He ex-
plained how an army, ninety thousand strong,
was to threaten Prussia so as to bring her out
of her neutrality and draw her into the war;
how part of that army was to join some Swedish
forces at Stralsund; how two hundred and
twenty thousand Austrians, with a hundred
thousand Russians, were to operate in Italy and
on the Rhine; how fifty thousand Russians and
as many English were to land at Naples, and
how a total force of five hundred thousand
men was to attack the French from different
sides. The old prince did not evince the least
interest during this explanation, but as if he
were not listening to it continued to dress while
walking about, and three times unexpectedly
interrupted. Once he stopped it by shouting:
"The white one, the white one!"

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

"And will she soon be confined?" and shak-
ing his head reproachfully said: "That's bad!
Go on, go on."

The third interruption came when Prince
Andrew was finishing his description. The old

man began to sing, in the cracked voice of old
age: "Malbrook s'en va-t-en guerre. Dieu salt
quand reviendra." *

His son only smiled.

"I don't say it's a plan I approve of," said
the son; "I am only telling you what it is. Na-
poleon has also formed his plan by now, not
worse than this one."

"Well, you've told me nothing new," and the
old man repeated, meditatively and rapidly:

"Dieu salt quand reviendra. Go to the din-
ing room."


AT THE appointed hour the prince, powdered
and shaven, entered the dining room where his
daughter-in-law, Princess Mary, and Mademoi-
selle Bourienne were already awaiting him to-
gether with his architect, who by a strange ca-
price of his employer's was admitted to table
though the position of that insignificant indi-
vidual was such as could certainly not have
caused him to expect that honor. The prince,
who generally kept very strictly to social dis-
tinctions and rarely admitted even important
government officials to his table, had unex-
pectedly selected Michael Iviinovich (who al-
ways went into a corner to blow his nose on his
checked handkerchief) to illustrate the theory
that all men are equals, and had more than
once impressed on his daughter that Michael
Ivanovich was "not a whit worse than you or
I." At dinner the prince usually spoke to the
taciturn Michael Ivanovich more often than to
anyone else.

In the dining room, which like all the rooms
in the house was exceedingly lofty, the mem-
bers of the household and the footmen one
behind each chair stood waiting for the prince
to enter. The head butler, napkin on arm,
was scanning the setting of the table, making
signs to the footmen, and anxiously glancing
from the clock to the door by which the prince
was to enter. Prince Andrew was looking at
a large gilt frame, new to him, containing
the genealogical tree of the Princes Bolk6n-
ski, opposite which hung another such frame
with a badly painted portrait (evidently by
the hand of the artist belonging to the estate)
of a ruling prince, in a crown an alleged de-
scendant of Rurik and ancestor of the Bolkdn-
skis. Prince Andrew, looking again at that gene-
alogical tree, shook his head, laughing as a man
laughs who looks at a portrait so characteristic

1 "Marlborough is going to the wars; God knows
when he'll return."


of the original as to be amusing.

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

Princess Mary looked at her brother in sur-
prise. She did not understand what he was
laughing at. Everything her father did inspired
her with reverence and was beyond question.

"Everyone has his Achilles' heel," continued
Prince Andrew. "Fancy, with his powerful
mind, indulging in such nonsense!"

Princess Mary could not understand the bold-
ness of her brother's criticism and was about to
reply, when the expected footsteps were heard
coming from the study. The prince walked in
quickly and jauntily as was his wont, as if in-
tentionally contrasting the briskness of his
manners with the strict formality of his house.
At that moment the great clock struck two and
another with a shrill tone joined in from the
drawing room. The prince stood still; his lively
glittering eyes from under their thick, bushy
eyebrows sternly scanned all present and rested
on the little princess. She felt, as courtiers do
when the Tsar enters, the sensation of fear and
respect which the old man inspired in all
around him. He stroked her hair and then pat-
ted her awkwardly on the back of her neck.

"I'm glad, glad, to see you," he said, looking
attentively into her eyes, and then quickly went
to his place and sat down. "Sit down, sit down!
Sit down, Michael Iva"novichl"

He indicated a place beside him to his daugh-
ter-in-law. A footman moved the chair for her.

"Ho, ho!" said the old man, casting his eyes
on her rounded figure. "You've been in a hur-
ry. That's bad I"

He laughed in his usual dry, cold, unpleas-
ant way, with his lips only and not with his

"You must walk, walk as much as possible, as
much as possible," he said.

The little princess did not, or did not wish
to, hear his words. She was silent and seemed
confused. The prince asked her about her fa-
ther, and she began to smile and talk. He asked
about mutual acquaintances, and she became
still more animated and chattered away giving
him greetings from various people and retail-
ing the town gossip.

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

As she became animated the prince looked
at her more and more sternly, and suddenly,
as if he had studied her sufficiently and had
formed a definite idea of her, he turned away


and Addressed Michael Iv^novich.

"Well, Michael Ivdnovich, our Bonaparte
will be having a bad time of it. Prince Andrew"
(he always spoke thus of his son) "has been
telling me what forces are being collected
against him! While you and I never thought
much of him."

Michael Ivdnovich did not at all know when
"you and I" had said such things about Bon-
aparte, but understanding that he was wanted
as a peg on which to hang the prince's favorite
topic, he looked inquiringly at the young
prince, wondering what would follow.

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

And the conversation again turned on the
war, on Bonaparte, and the generals and states-
men of the day. The old prince seemed con-
vinced not only that all the men of the day
were mere babies who did not know the ABC
of war or of politics, and that Bonaparte was
an insignificant little Frenchy, successful only
because there were no longer any Potemkins
or Suvrirovs left to oppose him; but he was al-
so convinced that there were no political diffi-
culties in Europe and no real war, but only a
sort of puppet show at which the men of the
day were playing, pretending to do something
real. Prince Andrew gaily bore with his father's
ridicule of the new men, and drew him on and
listened to him with evident pleasure.

"The past always seems good," said he, "but
did not Suv6rov himself fall into a trap Mo-
reau set him, and from which he did not know
how to escape?"

"Who told you that? Who?" cried the prince.
"Suv6rov!" And he jerked away his plate, which
Tikhon briskly caught. "Suvorov! . . . Consider,
Prince Andrew. Two . . . Frederick and Suvo-
rov; Moreau! . . . Moreau would have been a
prisoner if Suv6rov had had a free hand; but
he had the Hofs-kriegs-wurst-schnapps-Rath l
on his hands. It would have puzzled the devil
himself! When you get there you'll find out
what those Hofs-kriegs-wurst-Raths are! Suv6-
rov couldn't manage them so what chance has
Michael Kutiizov? No, my dear boy," he con-
tinued, "you and your generals won't get on
against Buonaparte; you'll have to call in the
French, so that birds of a feather may fight to-
gether. The German, Pahlen, has been sent to
New York in America, to fetch the Frenchman,
Moreau," he said, alluding to the invitation
made that year to Moreau to enter the Russian

1 "Court- war-sausage-schnapps-Council," the
Austrian Council of War. TR.



service. . . . "Wonderful I . . . Were the Potem-
kins, Suv6rovs, and Orl6vs Germans? No, lad,
either you fellows have all lost your wits, or I
have outlived mine. May God help you, but
we'll see what will happen. Buonaparte has
become a great commander among them!
Hm! . . ."

"I don't at all say that all the plans are good,"
said Prince Andrew, "I am only surprised at
your opinion of Bonaparte. You may laugh as
much as you like, but all the same Bonaparte is
a great general 1"

"Michael Ivdnovich!" cried the old prince
to the architect who, busy with his roast meat,
hoped he had been forgotten: "Didn't I tell
you Buonaparte was a great tactician? Here, he
says the same thing."

"To be sure, your excellency," replied the

The prince again laughed his frigid laugh.

"Buonaparte was born with a silver spoon
in his mouth. He has got splendid soldiers. Be-
sides he began by attacking Germans. And on-
ly idlers have failed to beat the Germans. Since
the world began everybody has beaten the Ger-
mans. They beat no one except one another.
He made his reputation fighting them."

And the prince began explaining all the
blunders which, according to him, Bonaparte
had made in his campaigns and even in poli-
tics. His son made no rejoinder, but it was evi-
dent that whatever arguments were presented
he was as little able as his father to change his
opinion. He listened, refraining from a reply,
and involuntarily wondered how this old man,
living alone in the country for so many years,
could know and discuss so minutely and acute-
ly all the recent European military and politi-
cal events.

"You think I'm an old man and don't un-
derstand the present state of affairs?" con-
cluded his father. "But it troubles me. I don't
sleep at night. Come now, where has this great
commander of yours shown his skill?" he con-

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

"Well, then gooff to your Buonaparte 1 Made-
moiselle Bourienne, here's another admirer of
that powder-monkey emperor of yours," he ex-
claimed in excellent French.

"You know, Prince, I am not a Bonapartist!"

"Dieu salt quand reviendra" . . . hummed
the prince out of tune and, with a laugh still
more so, he quitted the table.

The little princess during the whole discus-

sion and the rest of the dinner sat silent, glanc-
ing with a frightened look now at her father-
in-law and now at Princess Mary. When they
left the table she took her sister-in-law's arm
and drew her into another room.

"What a clever man your father is," said
she; "perhaps that is why I am afraid of him."

"Oh, he is so kind I "answered Princess Mary.


PRINCE ANDREW was to leave next evening. The
old prince, not altering his routine, retired as
usual after dinner. The little princess was in
her sister-in-law's room. Prince Andrew in a
traveling coat without epaulettes had been
packing with his valet in the rooms assigned to
him. After inspecting the carriage himself and
seeing the trunks put in, he ordered the horses
to be harnessed. Only those things he always
kept with him remained in his room; a small
box, a large canteen fitted with silver plate, two
Turkish pistols and a saber a present from his
father who had brought it from the siege of
Ochdkov. All these traveling effects of Prince
Andrew's were in very good order: new, clean,
and in cloth covers carefully tied with tapes.

When starting on a journey or changing
their mode of life, men capable of reflection
are generally in a serious frame of mind. At
such moments one reviews the past and plans
for the future. Prince Andrew's face looked
very thoughtful and tender. With his hands
behind him he paced briskly from corner to
corner of the room, looking straight before him
and thoughtfully shaking his head. Did he fear
going to the war, or was he sad at leaving his
wife? perhaps both, but evidently he did not
wish to be seen in that mood, for hearing foot-
steps in the passage he hurriedly unclasped his
hands, stopped at a table as if tying the cover
of the small box, and assumed his usual tran-
quil and impenetrable expression. It was the
heavy tread of Princess Mary that he heard.

"I hear you have given orders to harness,"
she cried, panting (she had apparently been
running), "and I did so wish to have another
talk with you alone 1 God knows how long we
may again be parted. You are not angry with
me for coming? You have changed so, Andrii-
sha," she added, as if to explain such a ques-

She smiled as she uttered his pet name, "An-
drusha." It was obviously strange
M. Bullitt‎‎‎‎‎‎ writes:
on May 3rd, 2014 at 5:07:16 PM

"If he" (he meant the enemy) "begins pop-
ping at the bridge now," said the old soldier
dismally to a comrade, "you'll forget to scratch

That soldier passed on, and after him came
another sitting on a cart.

"Where the devil have the leg bands been
shoved to?" said an orderly, running behind
the cart and fumbling in the back of it.

And he also passed on with the wagon. Then
came some merry soldiers who had evidently
been drinking.

"And then, old fellow, he gives him one in
the teeth with the butt end of his gun ..." a
soldier whose greatcoat was well tucked up said
gaily, with a wide swing of his arm.

"Yes, the ham was just delicious . . ." an-
swered another with a loud laugh. And they,

7 6


too, passed on, so that Nesvftski did not learn
who had been struck on the teeth, or what the
ham had to do with it.

"Bah! How they scurry. He just sends a ball
and they think they'll all be killed," a sergeant
was saying angrfly and reproachfully.

"As it flies past me, Daddy, the ball I mean,"
said a young soldier with an enormous mouth,
hardly refraining from laughing, "I felt like
dying of fright. I did, 'pon my word, I got that
frightened I" said he, as if bragging of having
been frightened.

That one also passed. Then followed a cart
unlike any that had gone before. It was a Ger-
man cart with a pair of horses led by a German,
and seemed loaded with a whole houseful of
effects. A fine brindled cow with a large udder
was attached to the cart behind. A woman with
an unweaned baby, an old woman, and a
healthy German girl with bright red cheeks
were sitting on some feather beds. Evidently
these fugitives were allowed to pass by special
permission. The eyes of all the soldiers turned
toward the women, and while the vehicle was
passing at foot pace all the soldiers' remarks re-
lated to the two young ones. Every face bore
almost the same smile, expressing unseemly
thoughts about the women.

"Just see, the German sausage is making
tracks, tool"

"Sell me the missis," said another soldier, ad-
dressing the German, who, angry and fright-
ened, strode energetically along with downcast

"See how smart she's made herself! Oh, the

"There, Fed6tov,-you should be quartered
on them!"

"I have seen as much before now, mate!"

"Where are you going?" asked an infantry
officer who was eating an apple, also half smil-
ing as he looked at the handsome girl.

The German closed his eyes, signifying that
he did not understand.

"Take it if you like," said the officer, giving
the girl an apple.

The girl smiled and took it. Nesvftski like
the rest of the men on the bridge did not take
his eyes off the women till they had passed.
When they had gone by, the same stream of
soldiers followed, with the same kind of talk,
and at last all stopped. As often happens, the
horses of a convoy wagon became restive at the
end of the bridge, and the whole crowd had to

"And why are they stopping? There's no

proper order!" said the soldiers. "Where are
you shoving to? Devil take you! Can't you wait?
It'll be worse if he fires the bridge. See, here's
an officer jammed in too" different voices
were saying in the crowd, as the men looked at
one another, and all pressed toward the exit
from the bridge.

Looking down at the waters of the Enns
under the bridge, Nesvftski suddenly heard a
sound new to him, of something swiftly ap-
proaching . . . something big, that splashed in-
to the water.

"Just see where it carries to!" a soldier near
by said sternly, looking round at the sound.

"Encouraging us to get along quicker," said
another uneasily.

The crowd moved on again. Nesvftski re-
alized that it was a cannon ball.

"Hey, Cossack, my horse!" he said. "Now,
then, you there! get out of theway! Makeway!"

With great difficulty he managed to get to
his horse, and shouting continually he moved
on. The soldiers squeezed themselves to make
way for him, but again pressed on him so that
they jammed his leg, and those nearest him
were not to blame for they were themselves
pressed still harder from behind.

"Nesvftski, Nesvftski! you numskull!" came
a hoarse voice from behind him.

Nesvftski looked round and saw, some fif-
teen paces away but separated by the living
mass of moving infantry, Vaska Denfsov, red
and shaggy, with his cap on the back of his
black head and a cloak hanging jauntily over
his shoulder.

"Tell these devils, these fiends, to let me
pass!" shouted Denfsov evidently in a fit of
rage, his coal-black eyes with their bloodshot
whites glittering and rolling as he waved his
sheathed saber in a small bare hand as red as
his face.

"Ah, Vaska!" joyfully replied Nesvftski.
"What's up with you?"

"The squadwon can't pass," shouted Vska
Denfsov, showing his white teeth fiercely and
spurring his black thoroughbred Arab, which
twitched its ears as the bayonets touched it,
and snorted, spurting white foam from his bit,
tramping the planks of the bridge with his
hoofs, and apparently ready to jump over the
railings had his rider let him. "What is this?
They're like sheep! Just like sheep! Out of the
way! . . . Let us pass! . . . Stop there, you devil
with the cart! I'll hack you with my saber!" he
shouted, actually drawing his saber from its
scabbard and flourishing it.



The soldiers crowded against one another
with terrified faces, and Denfsov joined Nesvit-

"How's it you're not drunk today?" said Nes-
vitski when the other had ridden up to him.

"They don't even give one time to dwink!"
answered Vdska Denisov. "They keep dwag-
ging the wegiment to and fwo all day. If they
mean to fight, let's fight. But the devil knows
what this is."

"What a dandy you are today!" said Nesvft-
ski, looking at Denfsov's new cloak and saddle-

Denisov smiled, took out of his sabretache a
handkerchief that diffused a smell of perfume,
and put it to Nesvftski's nose.

"Of course. I'm going into action! I've
shaved, bwushed my teeth, and scented my-

The imposing figure of Nesvitski followed
by his Cossack, and the determination of Deni-
sov who flourished his sword and shouted fran-
tically, had such an effect that they managed to
squeeze through to the farther side of the
bridge and stopped the infantry. Beside the
bridge Nesvftski found the colonel to whom
he had to deliver the order, and having done
this he rode back.

Having cleared the way Denisov stopped at
the end of the bridge. Carelessly holding in his
stallion that was neighing and pawing the
ground, eager to rejoin its fellows, he watched
his squadron draw nearer. Then the clang of
hoofs, as of several horses galloping, resounded
on the planks of the bridge, and the squadron,
officers in front and men four abreast, spread
across the bridge and began to emerge on his
side of it.

The infantry who had been stopped crowd-
ed near the bridge in the trampled mud and
gazed with that particular feeling of ill-will,
estrangement, and ridicule with which troops
of different arms usually encounter one anoth-
er at the clean, smart hussars who moved past
them in regular order.

"Smart lads! Only fit for a fair!" said one.

"What good are they? They're led about
just for show!" remarked another.

"Don't kick up the dust, you infantry 1" jested
an hussar whose prancing horse had splashed
mud over some foot soldiers.

"I'd like to put you on a two days' march
with a knapsack! Your fine cords would soon
get a bit rubbed," said an infantryman, wiping
the mud off his face with his sleeve. "Perched
up there, you're more like a bird than a man."

"There now, Zikin, they ought to put you
on a horse. You'd look fine," said a corporal,
chaffing a thin little soldier who bent under
the weight of his knapsack.

"Take a stick between your legs, that'll suit
you for a horse!" the hussar shouted back.


THE LAST of the infantry hurriedly crossed the
bridge, squeezing together as they approached
it as if passing through a funnel. At last the
baggage wagons had all crossed, the crush was
less, and the last battalion came on to the bridge.
Only Denisov's squadron of hussars remained
on the farther side of the bridge facing the en-
emy, who could be seen from the hill on the
opposite bank but was not yet visible from the
bridge, for the horizon as seen from the valley
through which the river flowed was formed by
the rising ground only half a mile away. At the
foot of the hill lay wasteland over which a few
groups of our Cossack scouts were moving. Sud-
denly on the road at the top of the high ground,
artillery and troops in blue uniform were seen.
These were the French. A group of Cossack
scouts retired down the hill at a trot. All the
officers and men of Denisov's squadron, though
they tried to talk of other things and to look in
other directions, thought only of what was
there on the hilltop, and kept constantly look-
ing at the patches appearing on the skyline,
which they knew to be the enemy's troops. The
weather had cleared again since noon and the
sun was descending brightly upon the Danube
and the dark hills around it. It was calm, and
at intervals the bugle calls and the shouts of
the enemy could be heard from the hill. There
was no one now between* the squadron and the
enemy except a few scattered skirmishers. An
empty space of some seven hundred yards was
all that separated them. The enemy ceased fir-
ing, and that stern, threatening, inaccessible,
and intangible line which separates two hostile
armies was all the more clearly felt.

"One step beyond that boundary line which
resembles the line dividing the living from the
dead lies uncertainty, suffering, and death. And
what is there? Who is there? there beyond that
field, that tree, that roof lit up by the sun? No
one knows, but one wants to know. You fear
and yet long to cross that line, and know that
sooner or later it must be crossed and you will
have to find out what is there, just as you will
inevitably have to learn what lies the other side
of death. But you are strong, healthy, cheerful,
and excited, and are surrounded by other such

7 8


excitedly animated and healthy men." So
thinks, or at any rate feels, anyone who comes
in sight of the enemy, and that feeling gives a
particular glamour and glad keenness of im-
pression to everything that takes place at such

On the high ground where the enemy was,
the smoke of a cannon rose, and a ball flew
whistling over the heads of the hussar squad-
ron. The officers who had been standing to-
gether rode off to their places. The hussars be-
gan carefully aligning their horses. Silence fell
on the whole squadron. All were looking at the
enemy in front and at the squadron command-
er, awaiting the word of command. A second
and a third cannon ball flew past. Evidently
they were firing at the hussars, but the balls
with rapid rhythmic whistle flew over the heads
of the horsemen and fell somewhere beyond
them. The hussars did not look round, but at
the sound of each shot, as at the word of com-
mand, the whole squadron with its rows of
faces so alike yet so different, holding its breath
while the ball flew past, rose in the stirrups and
sank back again. The soldiers without turning
their heads glanced at one another, curious to
see their comrades' impression. Every face, from
Denisov's to that of the bugler, showed one
common expression of conflict, irritation, and
excitement, around chin and mouth. The
quartermaster frowned, looking at the soldiers
as if threatening to punish them. Cadet Mir6-
nov ducked every time a ball flew past. Rost6v
on the left flank, mounted on his Rook a hand-
some horse despite its game leg had the happy
air of a schoolboy called up before a large audi-
ence for an examination in which he feels sure
he will distinguish himself. He was glancing at
everyone with a clear, bright expression, as if
asking them to notice how calmly he sat under
fire. But despite himself, on his face too that
same indication of something new and stern
showed round the mouth.

"Who's that curtseying there? Cadet Miw6-
nov! That's not wight! Look at me," cried
Denfsov who, unable to keep still on one
spot, kept turning his horse in front of the

The black, hairy, snub-nosed face of Vdska
Denhov,and his whole short sturdy figure with
the sinewy hairy hand and stumpy fingers in
which he held the hilt of his naked saber,
looked just as it usually did, especially toward
evening when he had emptied his second bot-
tle; he was only redder than usual. With his
shaggy head thrown back like birds when they

drink, pressing his spurs mercilessly into the
sides of his good horse, Bedouin, and sitting as
though falling backwards in the saddle, he gal-
loped to the other flank of the squadron and
shouted in a hoarse voice to the men to look to
their pistols. He rode up to Kirsten. The staff
captain on his broad-backed, steady mare came
at a walk to meet him. His face with its long
mustache was serious as always, only his eyes
were brighter than usual.

"Well, what about it?" said he to Denfsov.
"It won't come to a fight. You'll see we shall

"The devil only knows what they're about!"
muttered Denisov. "Ah, Wost6v," he cried no-
ticing the cadet's bright face, "you've got it at

And he smiled approvingly, evidently pleased
with the cadet. Rost6v felt perfectly happy.
Just then the commander appeared on the
bridge. Denisov galloped up to him.

"Your excellency! Let us attack them! I'll
dwive them off."

"Attack indeed!" said the colonel in a bored
voice, puckering up his face as if driving off a
troublesome fly. "And why are you stopping
here? Don't you see the skirmishers are retreat-
ing? Lead the squadron back."

The squadron crossed the bridge and drew
out of range of fire without having lost a single
man. The second squadron that had been in
the front line followed them across and the last
Cossacks quitted the farther side of the river.

The two Pavlograd squadrons, having crossed
the bridge, retired up the hill one after the oth-
er. Their colonel, Karl Bogddnich Schubert,
came up to Denisov's squadron and rode at a
footpace not far from Rost6v, without taking
any notice of him although they were now
meeting for the first time since their encounter
concerning Telydnin. Rost6v, feeling that he
was at the front and in the power of a man to-
ward whom he now admitted that he had been
to blame, did not lift his eyes from the colonel's
athletic back, his nape covered with light hair,
and his red neck. It seemed to Rost6v that Bog-
ddnich was only pretending not to notice him,
and that his whole aim now was to test the
cadet's courage, so he drew himself up and
looked around him merrily; then it seemed to
him that Bogddnich rode so near in order to
show him his courage. Next he thought that
his enemy would send the squadron on a des-
perate attack just to punish him Rost6v. Then
he imagined how, after the attack, Bogdanich
would come up to him as he lay wounded and



would magnanimously extend the hand of

The high-shouldered figure of Zherk6v, fa-
miliar to the Pavlograds as he had but recently
left their regiment, rode up to the colonel. Aft-
er his dismissal from headquartersZherk6vhad
not remained in the regiment, saying he was
not such a fool as to slave at the front when he
could get more rewards by doing nothing on
the staff, and had succeeded in attaching him-
self as an orderly officer to Prince Bagrati6n.
He now came to his former chief with an order
from the commander of the rearguard.

"Colonel," he said, addressing Rost6v's en-
emy with an air of gloomy gravity and glanc-
ing round at his comrades, "there is an order
to stop and fire the bridge."

"An order to who?" asked the colonel mo-

"I don't myself know 'to who,' " replied the
cornet in a serious tone, "but the prince told
me to 'go and tell the colonel that the hussars
must return quickly and fire the bridge.' "

Zherkov was followed by an officer of the
suite who rode up to the colonel of hussars
with the same order. After him the stout Nesvft-
ski came galloping up on a Cossack horse that
could scarcely carry his weight.

"How's this, Colonel?" he shouted as he ap-
proached. "I told you to fire the bridge, and
now someone has gone and blundered; they
are all beside themselves over there and one
can't make anything out."

The colonel deliberately stopped the regi-
ment and turned to Nesvftski.

"You spoke to me of inflammable material,"
said he, "but you said nothing about firing it."

"But, my dear sir," said Nesvftski as he drew
up, taking off his cap and smoothing his hair
wet with perspiration with his plump hand,
"wasn't I tellingyou to fire the bridge, when in-
flammable material had been put in position?"

"I am not your 'dear sir,' Mr. Staff Officer,
and you did not tell me to burn the bridge 1 I
know the service, and it is my habit orders
strictly to obey. You said the bridge would be
burned, but who would it burn, I could not
know by the holy spirit!"

"Ah, that's always the wayl" said Nesvitski
with a wave of the hand. "How did you get
here?" said he, turning to 'Zherk6v.

"On the same business. But you are damp!
Let me wring you out!"

"You were saying, Mr. Staff Officer . . ." con-
tinued the colonel in an offended tone.

"Colonel," interrupted the officer of the

suite, "you must be quick or the enemy will
bring up his guns to use grapeshot."

The colonel looked silently at the officer of
the suite, at the stout staff officer, and at Zher-
k6v, and he frowned.

"I will the bridge fire," he said in a solemn
tone as if to announce that in spite of all the
unpleasantness he had to endure he would still
do the right thing.

Striking his horse with his long muscular
legs as if it were to blame for everything, the
colonel moved forward and ordered the second
squadron, that in which Rostov was serving un-
der Denfsov, to return to the bridge.

"There, it's just as I thought," said Rost6v
to himself. "He wishes to test me!" His heart
contracted and the blood rushed to his face.
"Let him see whether I am a coward!" he

Again on all the bright faces of the squadron
the serious expression appeared that they had
worn when under fire. Rost6v watched his en-
emy, the colonel, closely to find in his face
confirmation of his own conjecture, but the
colonel did not once glance at Rost6v, and
looked as he always did when at the front, sol-
emn and stern. Then came the word of com-

"Look sharp! Look sharp!" several voices re-
peated around him.

Their sabers catching in the bridles and their
spurs jingling, the hussars hastily dismounted,
not knowing what they were to do. The men
were crossing themselves. Rostov no longer
looked at the colonel, he had no time. He was
afraid of falling behind the hussars, so much
afraid that his heart stood still. His hand trem-
bled as he gave his horse into an orderly's
charge, and he felt the blood rush to his heart
with a thud. Denfsov rode past him, leaning
back and shouting something. Rostov saw noth-
ing but the hussars running all around him,
their spurs catching and their sabers clattering.

"Stretchers!" shouted someone behind him.

Rost6v did not think what this call for
stretchers meant; he ran on, trying only to be
ahead of the others; but just at the bridge, not
looking at the ground, he came on some sticky,
trodden mud, stumbled, and fell on his hands.
The others outstripped him.

"At boss zides, Captain," he heard the voice
of the colonel, who, having ridden ahead, had
pulled up his horse near the bridge, with a tri-
umphant, cheerful face.

Rost6v wiping his muddy hands on his
breeches looked at his enemy and was about to



run on, thinking that the farther he went to the
front the better. But Bogdanich, without look-
ing at or recognizing Rost6v, shouted to him:

"Who's that running on the middle of the
bridge? To the right! Come back, Cadetl" he
cried angrily; and turning to Denisov, who,
showing off his courage, had ridden on to the
planks of the bridge:

"Why run risks, Captain? You should dis-
mount," he said.

"Oh, every bullet has its billet," answered
Vdska Denfsov, turning in his saddle.

Meanwhile Nesvitski, Zherk6v, and the of-
ficer of the suite were standing together out of
range of the shots, watching, now the small
group of men with yellow shakos, dark-green
jackets braided with cord, and blue riding
breeches, who were swarming near the bridge,
and then at what was approaching in the dis-
tance from the opposite side the blue uni-
forms and groups with horses, easily recogniz-
able as artillery.

"Will they burn the bridge or not? Who'll
get there first? Will they get there and fire the
bridge or will the French get within grapeshot
range and wipe them out?" These were the
questions each man of the troops on the high
ground above the bridge involuntarily asked
himself with a sinking heart watching the
bridge and the hussars in the bright evening
light and the blue tunics advancing from the
other side with their bayonets and guns.

"Ugh. The hussars will get it hotl" said Nes-
vftski; "they are within grapeshot range now."

"He shouldn't have taken so many men,"
said the officer of the suite.

"True enough," answered Nesvitski; "two
smart fellows could have done the job just as

"Ah, your excellency," put in Zherk6v, his
eyes fixed on the hussars, but still with that
naive air that made i t impossible to know wheth-
er he was speaking in jest or in earnest. "Ah,
your excellency 1 How you look at things! Send
two men? And who then would give us the
Vladimir medal and ribbon? But now, even if
they do get peppered, the squadron may be
recommended for honors and he may get a rib-
bon. Our Bogddnich knows how things are

"There now!" said the officer of the suite,
"that's grapeshot."

He pointed to the French guns, the limbers
of which were being detached and hurriedly

On the French side, amid the groups with
cannon, a cloud of smoke appeared, then a sec-
ond and a third almost simultaneously, and at
the moment when the first report was heard a
fourth was seen. Then two reports one after
another, and a third.

"Oh! Ohl" groaned Nesvitski as if in fierce
pain, seizing the officer of the suite by the arm.
"Look! A man has fallen! Fallen, fallen!"

"Two, I think."

"If I were Tsar I would never go to war,"
said Nesvitski, turning away.

The French guns were hastily reloaded. The
infantry in their blue uniforms advanced to-
ward the bridge at a run. Smoke appeared
again but at irregular intervals, and grapeshot
cracked and rattled onto the bridge. But this
time Nesvitski could not see what was happen-
ing there, as a dense cloud of smoke arose from
it. The hussars had succeeded in setting it on
fire and the French batteries were now firing at
them, no longer to hinder them but because
the guns were trained and there was someone
to fire at.

The French had time to fire three rounds of
grapeshot before the hussars got back to their
horses. Two were misdirected and the shot
went too high, but the last round fell in the
midst of a group of hussars and knocked three
of them over.

Rost6v, absorbed by his relations with Bog-
ddnich, had paused on the bridge not knowing
what to do. There was no one to hew down (as
he had always imagined battles to himself), nor
could he help to fire the bridge because he had
not brought any burning straw with him like
the other soldiers. He stood looking about him,
when suddenly he heard a rattle on the bridge
as if nuts were being spilt, and the hussar near-
est to him fell against the rails with a groan.
Rost6v ran up to him with the others. Again
someone shouted, "Stretchers!" Four men
seized the hussar and began lifting him.

"Oooh! For Christ's sake let me alone! "cried
the wounded man, but still he was lifted and
laid on the stretcher.

Nicholas Rost6v turned away and, as if
searching for something, gazed into the dis-
tance, at the waters of the Danube, at the sky,
and at the sun. How beautiful the sky looked;
how blue, how call , and how deep! How
bright and glorious was the setting sun! With
what soft glitter the waters of the distant Dan-
ube shone. And fairer stijl were the faraway
. blue mountains beyond the/iver, the nunnery,
the mysterious gorges, and the pine forests



veiled in mist to their summits . . . There was
peace and happiness ... "I should wish for
nothing else, nothing, if only I were there,"
thought Rost6v. "In myself alone and in that
sunshine there is so much happiness; but here
. . . groans, suffering, fear, and this uncertainty
and hurry . . . There they are shouting again,
and again are all running back somewhere, and
I shall run with them, and it, death, is here
above me and around . . . Another instant and
I shall never again see the sun, this water, that
gorgel ..."

At that instant the sun began to hide behind
the clouds, and other stretchers came into view
before Rost6v. And the fear of death and of
the stretchers, and love of the sun and of life,
all merged into one feeling of sickening agita-

"O Lord God! Thou who art in that heaven,
save, forgive, and protect me!" Rost6v whis-

The hussars ran back to the men who held
their horses; their voices sounded louder and
calmer, the stretchers disappeared from sight.

"Well, fwiend? So you've smelt powdah!"
shouted Vdska Denfsov just above his ear.

"It's all over; but I am a cowardyes, a cow-
ard!" thought Rost6v, and sighing deeply he
took Rook, his horse, which stood resting one
foot, from the orderly and began to mount.

"Was that grapeshot?" he asked Denisov.

"Yes and no mistake!" cried Denisov. "You
worked likewegular bwicks and it's nasty work!
An attack's pleasant work! Hacking away at
the dogs! But this sort of thing is the very devil,
with them shooting at you like a target."

And Denfsov rode up to a group that had
stopped near Rost6v, composed of the colonel,
Nesvftski, Zherk6v, and the officer from the

"Well, it seems that no one has noticed,"
thought Rost6v. And this was true. No one had
taken any notice, for everyone knew the sensa-
tion which the cadet under fire for the first
time had experienced.

"Here's something for you to report," said
Zherk6v. "See if I don't get promoted to a sub-

"Inform the prince that I the bridge fired!"
said the colonel triumphantly and gaily.

"And if he asks about the losses?"

"A trifle/' said the colonel in his bass voice:
"two hussars wounded, and one knocked out,"
he added, unable to restrain a happy smile,
and pronouncing the phrase "knocked out"
with ringing distinctness.


PURSUED by the French army of a hundred
thousand men under the command of Bona-
parte, encountering a population that was un-
friendly to it, losing confidence in its allies, suf-
fering from shortness of supplies, and compell-
ed to act under conditions of war unlike any-
thing that had been foreseen, the Russian army
of thirty-five thousand men commanded by Ku-
tuzov was hurriedly retreating along the Dan-
ube, stopping where overtaken by the enemy
and fighting rearguard actions only as far as
necessary to enable it to retreat without losing
its heavy equipment. There had been actions
at Lambach, Amstetten, and Melk; but despite
the courage and endurance acknowledged
even by the enemy with which the Russians
fought, the only consequence of these actions
was a yet more rapid retreat. Austrian troops
that had escaped capture at Ulm and had joined
Kutuzov at Braunau now separated from the
Russian army, and Kutuzov was left with only
his own weak and exhausted forces. The de-
fense of Vienna was no longer to be thought
of. Instead of an offensive, the plan of which,
carefully prepared in accord with the modern
science of strategics, had been handed to Ku-
tuzov when he was in Vienna by the Austrian
Hofkriegsrath, the sole and almost unattain-
able aim remaining for him was to effect a
junction with the forces that were advancing
from Russia, without losing his army as Mack
had done at Ulm.

On the twenty-eighth of October Kutuzov
with his army crossed to the left bank of the
Danube and took up a position for the first
time with the river between himself and the
main body of the French. On the thirtieth he
attacked Mortier's division, which was on the
left bank, and broke it up. In this action for
the first time trophies were taken: banners,
cannon, and two enemy generals. For the first
time, after a fortnight's retreat, the Russian
troops had halted and after a fight had not on-
ly held the field but had repulsed the French.
Though the troops were ill-clad, exhausted,
and had lost a third of their number in killed,
wounded, sick, and stragglers; though a num-
ber of sick and wounded had been abandoned
on the other side of the Danube with a letter
in which Kutuzov entrusted them to the hu-
manity of the enemy; and though the big hos-
pitals and the houses in Krems converted into
military hospitals could no longer accommo-
date all the sick and wounded, yet the stand
made at Krems and the victory over Mortier



raised the spirits of the army considerably.
Throughout the whole army and at headquar-
ters most joyful though erroneous rumors were
rife of the imaginary approach of columns from
Russia, of some victory gained by the Austri-
ans, and of the retreat of the frightened Bona-

Prince Andrew during the battle had been
in attendance on the Austrian General Schmidt,
who was killed in the action. His horse had
been wounded under him and his own arm
slightly grazed by a bullet. As a mark of the
commander in chief's special favor he was sent
with the news of this victory to the Austrian
court, now no longer at Vienna (which was
threatened by the French) but at Brunn. De-
spite his apparently delicate build Prince An-
drew could endure physical fatigue far better
than many very muscular men, and on the
night of the battle, having arrived at Krems ex-
cited but not weary, with dispatches from Dokh-
turov to Kutiizov, he was sent immediately
with a special dispatch to Brunn. To be so sent
meant not only a reward but an important
step toward promotion.

The night was dark but starry, the road
showed black in the snow that had fallen the
previous day the day of the battle. Reviewing
his impressions of the recent battle, picturing
pleasantly to himself the impression his news
of a victory would create, or recalling the send-
off given him by the commander in chief and
his fellow officers, Prince Andrew was gallop-
ing along in a post chaise enjoying the feel-
ings of a man who has at length begun to at-
tain a long-desired happiness. As soon as he
closed his eyes his ears seemed filled with the
rattle of the wheels and the sensation of vic-
tory. Then he began to imagine that the Rus-
sians were running away and that he himself
was killed, but he quickly roused himself with
a feeling of joy, as if learning afresh that this
was not so but that on the contrary the French
had run away. He again recalled all the details
of the victory and his own calm courage dur-
ing the battle, and feeling reassured he dozed
off. . . . The dark starry night was followed by
a bright cheerful morning. The snow was thaw-
ing in the sunshine, the horses galloped quick-
ly, and on bqth sides of the road were forests
of different kinds, fields, and villages.

At one of the post stations he overtook a
convoy of Russian wounded. The Russian of-
ficer in charge of the transport lolled back in
the front cart, shouting and scolding a soldier
with coarse abuse. In each of the long German

carts six or more pale, dirty, bandaged men
were being jolted over the stony road. Some of
them were talking (he heard Russian words),
others were eating bread; the more severely
wounded looked silently, with the languid in-
terest of sick children, at the envoy hurrying
past them.

Prince Andrew told his driver to stop, and
asked a soldier in what action they had been
wounded. "Day before yesterday, on the Dan-
ube," answered the soldier. Prince Andrew took
out his purse and gave the soldier three gold

"That's for them all," he said to the officer
who came up.

"Get well soon, lads!" he continued, turn-
ing to the soldiers. "There's plenty to do still."

"What news, sir?" asked the officer, evidently
anxious to start a conversation.

"Good newsl ... Go on!" he shouted to the
driver, and they galloped on.

It was already quite dark when Prince An-
drew rattled over the paved streets of Briinn
and found himself surrounded by high build-
ings, the lights of shops, houses, and street
lamps, fine carriages, and all that atmosphere
of a large and active town which is always so
attractive to a soldier after camp life. Despite
his rapid journey and sleepless night, Prince
Andrew when he drove up to the palace felt
even more vigorous and alert than he had done
the day before. Only his eyes gleamed feverish-
ly and his thoughts followed one another with
extraordinary clearness and rapidity. He again
vividly recalled the details of the battle, no
longer dim, but definite and in the concise form
in which he imagined himself stating them to
the Emperor Francis. He vividly imagined the
casual questions that might be put to him and
the answers he would give. He expected to be
at once presented to the Emperor. At the chief
entrance to the palace, however, an official came
running out to meet him, and learning that he
was a special messenger led him to another en-

"To the right from the corridor, Euer Hoch-
geboren! There you*will find the adjutant on
duty," said the official. "He will conduct you to
the Minister of War."

The adjutant on duty, meeting Prince An-
drew, asked him to wait, and went in to the
Minister of War. Five minutes later he returned
and bowing with particular courtesy ushered
Prince Andrew before him along a corridor to
the cabinet where the Minister of War was at
work. The adjutant by his elaborate courtesy


appeared to wish to ward off any attempt at
familiarity on the part o! the Russian messen-

Prince Andrew's joyous feeling was consid-
erably weakened as he approached the door of
the minister's room. He felt offended, and with-
out his noticing it the feeling of offense im-
mediately turned into one of disdain which
was quite uncalled for. His fertile mind in-
stantly suggested to him a point of view which
gave him a right to despise the adjutant and
the minister. "Away from the smell of powder,
they probably think it easy to gain victories!"
he thought. His eyes narrowed disdainfully, he
entered the room of the Minister of War with
peculiarly deliberate steps. This feeling of dis-
dain was heightened when he saw the minister
seated at a large table reading some papers and
making pencil notes on them, and for the first
two or three minutes taking no notice of his
arrival. A wax candle stood at each side of the
minister's bent bald head with its gray temples.
He went on reading to the end, without rais-
ing his eyes at the opening of the door and the
sound of footsteps.

"Take this and deliver it," said he to his ad-
jutant, handing him the papers and still tak-
ing no notice of the special messenger.

Prince Andrew felt that either the actions of
Kutuzov's army interested the Minister of War
less than any of the other matters he was con-
cerned with, or he wanted to give the Russian
special messenger that impression. "But that is
a matter of perfect indifference to me," he
thought. The minister drew the remaining
papers together, arranged them evenly, and
then raised his head. He had an intellectual
and distinctive head, but the instant he turned
to Prince Andrew the firm, intelligent expres-
sion on his face changed in a way evidently de-
liberate and habitual to him. His face took on
the stupid artificial smile (which does not even
attempt to hide its artificiality) of a man who is
continually receiving many petitioners one aft-
er another.

"From General Field Marshal Kutiizov?" he
asked. "I hope it is good ftews? There has been
an encounter with Mortier? A victory? It was
high timel"

He took the dispatch which was addressed to
him and began to read it with a mournful ex-

"Oh, my God! My God! Schmidt!" he ex-
claimed in German. "What a calamity! What
a calamity!"

Having glanced through the dispatch he laid

TWO 83

it on the table and looked at Prince Andrew,
evidently considering something.

"Ah, what a calamity! You say the affair was
decisive? But Mortier is not captured." Again
he pondered. "I am very glad you have brought
good news, though Schmidt's death is a heavy
price to pay for the victory. His Majesty will
no doubt wish to see you, but not today. I thank
you! You must have a rest. Be at the levee to-
morrow after the parade. However, I will let
you know."

The stupid smile, which had left his face
while he was speaking, reappeared.

"Au revoir! Thank you very much. His Maj-
esty will probably desire to see you," he added,
bowing his head.

When Prince Andrew left the palace-he felt
that all the interest and happiness the victory
had afforded him had been now left in the in-
different hands of the Minister of War and the
polite adjutant. The whole tenor of his thoughts
instantaneously changed; the battle seemed the
memory of a remote event long past.


PRINCE ANDREW stayed at Briinn with Bilibin,
a Russian acquaintance of his in the diplomat-
ic service.

"Ah, my dear prince! I could not haveamore
welcome visitor," said Bilibin as he came out
to meet Prince Andrew. "Franz, put the prince's
things in my bedroom," said he to the servant
who was ushering Bolk6nski in. "So you're a
messenger of victory, eh? Splendid! And I am
sitting here ill, as you see."

After washing and dressing, Prince Andrew
came into the diplomat's luxurious study and
sat down to the dinner prepared for him. Bili-
bin settled down comfortably beside the fire.

After his journey and the campaign during
which he had been deprived of all the comforts
of cleanliness and all the refinements of life,
Prince Andrew felt a pleasant sense of repose
among luxurious surroundings such as he had
been accustomed to from childhood. Besides
it was pleasant, after his reception by the Aus-
trians, to speak if not in Russian (for they
were speaking French) at least with a Russian
who would, he supposed, share the general Rus-
sian antipathy to the Austrians which was then
particularly strong.

Bilibin was a man of thirty-five, a bachelor,
and of the same circle as Prince Andrew. They
had known each other previously in Peters-
burg, but had become more intimate when
Prince Andrew was in Vienna with Kutuzov.


Just as Prince Andrew was a young man who
gave promise of rising high in the military pro-
fession, so to an even greater extent Bilibin
gave promise of rising in his diplomatic career.
He was still a young man but no longer a young
diplomat, as he had entered the service at the
age of sixteen, had been in Paris and Copen-
hagen, and now held a rather important post
in Vienna. Both the foreign minister and our
ambassador in Vienna knew him and valued
him. He was not one of those many diplomats
who are esteemed because they have certain
negative qualities, avoid doing certain things,
and speafc|*French. He was one of those, who,
liking work, knew how to do it, and despite his
indolence would sometimes spend a whole
qight at his writing table. He worked equally
well whatever the import of his work. It was
not the question "What for?" but the question
"How?" that interested him. What the diplo-
matic matter might be he did not care, but it
gave him great pleasure to prepare a circular,
memorandum, or report, skillfully, pointedly,
and elegantly. Bilfbin's services were valued
not only for what he wrote, but also for his
skill in dealing and conversing with those in
the highest spheres.

Bilfbin liked conversation as he liked work,
only when it could be made elegantly witty. In
society he always awaited an opportunity to
say something striking and took part in a con-
versation only when that was possible. His con-
versation was always sprinkled with wittily orig-
inal, finished phrases of general interest. These
sayings were prepared in the inner laboratory
of his mind in a portable form as if intention-
ally, so that insignificant society people might
carry them from drawing room to drawing
room. And, in fact, Bilfbin's witticisms were
hawked about in the Viennese drawing rooms
and often had an influence on matters consid-
ered important.

His thin, worn, sallow face was covered with
deep wrinkles, which always looked as clean and
well washed as the tips of one's fingers after a
Russian bath. The movement of these wrinkles
formed the principal play of expression on his
face. Now his forehead would pucker into deep
folds and his eyebrows were lifted, then his eye-
brows would descend and deep wrinkles would
crease his cheeks. His small, deep-set eyes al-
ways twinkled and looked out straight.

"Well, now tell me about your 'exploits,"
said he.

Bolk6nski, very modestly without once men-
tioning himself, described the engagement and


his reception by the Minister of War.

"They received me and my news as one re-
ceives a dog in a game of skittles," said he in

Bilibin smiled and the wrinkles on his face

"Cependant, mon cher" he remarked, exam-
ining his nails from a distance and puckering
the skin above his left eye, "malgre 1 la haute es-
thne que je professe pour the Orthodox Rus-
sian army, j'avoue que votre victoire n'est pas
des plus victorieuses." a

He went on talking in this way in French,
uttering only those words in Russian on which
he wished to put a contemptuous emphasis.

"Come now! You with all your forces fall on
the unfortunate Mortier and his one division,
and even then Mortier slips through your fin-
gers 1 Where's the victory?"

"But seriously," said Prince Andrew, "we
can at any rate say without boasting that it was
a little better than at Ulm . . ."

"Why didn't you capture one, just one, mar-
shal for us?"

"Because not everything happens as one ex-
pects or with the smoothness of a parade. We
had expected, as I told you, to get at their rear
by seven in the morning but had not reached
it by five in the afternoon."

"And why didn't you do it at seven in the
morning? You ought to have been there at sev-
en in the morning," returned Bilfbin with a
smile. "You ought to have been there at seven
in the morning."

"Why did you not succeed in impressing on
Bonaparte by diplomatic methods that he had
better leave Genoa alone?" retorted Prince
Andrew in the same tone.

"I know, "interrupted Bilfbin, "you're think-
ing it's very easy to take marshals, sitting on a
sofa by the fire! That is true, but still why
didn't you capture him? So don't be surprised
if not only the Minister of War but also his
Most August Majesty the Emperor and King
Francis is not much delighted by your victory.
Even I, a poor secretary of the Russian Em-
bassy, do not feel any need in token of my
joy to give my Franz a thaler, or let him go
with his Liebchen to the Prater. . . . True,
we have no Prater here . . ."

He looked straight at Prince Andrew and
suddenly unwrinkled his forehead.

"It is now my turn to ask you 'why?' mon

1 "But, my dear fellow, with all my respect for
the Orthodox Russian army, I must say that your
victory was not particularly victorious."


cher" said Bolk6nski. "I confess I do not un-
derstand: perhaps there are diplomatic subtle-
ties here beyond my feeble intelligence, but I
can't make it out. Mack loses a whole army,
the Archduke Ferdinand and the Archduke
Karl give no signs of life and make blunder after
blunder. Kutuzov alone at last gains a real vic-
tory, destroying the spell of the invincibility of
the French, and the Minister of War does not
even care to hear the details."

"That's just it, my dear fellow. You see it's
hurrah for the Tsar, for Russia, for the Ortho-
dox Greek faith! All that is beautiful, but what
do we, I mean the Austrian court, care for your
victories? Bring us nice news of a victory by the
Archduke Karl or Ferdinand (one archduke's
as good as another, as you know) and even if it
is only over a fire brigade of Bonaparte's, that
will be another story and we'll fire off some
cannon! But this sort of thing seems done on
purpose to vex us. The Archduke Karl does
nothing, the Archduke Ferdinand disgraces
himself. You abandon Vienna, give up its de-
fenseas much as to say: 'Heaven is with us,
but heaven help you and your capital!' The
one general whom we all loved, Schmidt, you
expose to a bullet, and then you congratulate
us on the victory! Admit that more irritating
news than yours could not have been conceived.
It's as if it had been done on purpose, on pur-
pose. Besides, suppose you did gain a brilliant
victory, if even the Archduke Karl gained a
victory, what effect would that have on the
general course of events? It's too late now when
Vienna is occupied by the French army!"

"What? Occupied? Vienna occupied?"

"Not only occupied, but Bonaparte is at
Schonbrunn, and the count, our dear Count
Vrbna, goes to him for orders."

After the fatigues and impressions of the
journey, his reception, and especially after hav-
ing dined, Bolk6nski felt that he could not take
in the full significance of the words he heard.

"Count Lichtenfels was here this morning,"
Bilibin continued, "and showed me a letter in
which the parade of the French in Vienna was
fully described: Prince Murat et tout le trem-
blement . . . You see that your victory is not a
matter for great rejoicing and that you can't
be received as a savior."

"Really I don't care about that, I don't care
at all," said Prince Andrew, beginning to un-
derstand that his news of the battle before
Krems was really of small importance in view
of such events as the fall of Austria's capital.
"How is it Vienna was taken? What of the

TWO 85

bridge and its celebrated bridgehead and Prince
Auersperg? We heard reports that Prince Au-
ersperg was defending Vienna?" he said.

"Prince Auersperg is on this, on our side of
the river, and is defending us doing it very
badly, I think, but still he is defending us. But
Vienna is on the other side. No, the bridge has
not yet been taken and I hope it will not be,
for it is mined and orders have been given to
blow it up. Otherwise we should long ago have
been in the mountains of Bohemia, and you
and your army would have spent a bad quarter
of an hour between two fires."

"But still this does not mean that the cam-
paign is over," said Prince Andrew.

"Well, I think it is. The bigwigs here think
so too, but they daren't say so. It will be as I
said at the beginning of the campaign, it won't
be your skirmishing at Durrenstein, or gun-
powder at all, that will decide the matter, but
those who devised it," said Bilfbin quoting one
of his own mots, releasing the wrinkles on his
forehead, and pausing. "The only question is
what will come of the meeting between the Em-
peror Alexander and the King of Prussia in
Berlin? If Prussia joins the Allies, Austria's
hand will be forced and there will be war. If
not it is merely a question of settling where the
preliminaries of the new Campo Formio are to
be drawn up."

"What an extraordinary genius!" Prince An-
drew suddenly exclaimed, clenching his small
hand and striking the table with it, "and what
luck the man has!"

"Buonaparte?" said Bilfbin inquiringly,
puckering up his forehead to indicate that he
was about to say something witty. "Buona-
parte?" he repeated, accentuating the u: "I
think, however, now that he lays down laws for
Austria at Schonbrunn, il faut lui faire grace
de I'u! * I shall certainly adopt an innovation
and call him simply Bonapartel"

"But joking apart," said Prince Andrew, "do
you really think the campaign is over?"

"This is what I think. Austria has been made
a fool of, and she is not used to it. She will retal-
iate. And she has been fooled in the first place
because her provinces have been pillaged
they say the Holy Russian army loots terribly
her army is destroyed, her capital taken, and
all this for the beaux yeux * of His Sardinian
Majesty. And therefore this is between our-
selves I instinctively feel that we are being de-
ceived, my instinct tells me of negotiations with

1 "We must let him off the u/"
8 Fine eyes.



France and projects for peace, a secret peace
concluded separately."

"Impossible!" cried Prince Andrew. "That
would be too base."

"If we live we shall see," replied Bilibin, his
face again becoming smooth as a sign that the
conversation was at an end.

When Prince Andrew reached the room pre-
pared for him and lay down in a clean shirt on
the feather bed with its warmed and fragrant
pillows, he felt that the battle of which he had
brought tidings was far, far away from him.
The alliance with Prussia, Austria's treachery,
Bonaparte's new triumph, tomorrow's levee
and parade, and the audience with the Emper-
or Francis occupied his thoughts.

He closed his eyes, and immediately a sound
of cannonading, of musketry and the rattling
of carriage wheels seemed to fill his ears, and
now again drawn out in a thin line the mus-
keteers were descending the hill, the French
were firing, and he felt his heart palpitating as
he rode forward beside Schmidt with the bul-
lets merrily whistling all around, and he ex-
perienced tenfold the joy of living, as he had
not done since childhood.

He woke up ...

"Yes, that all happened!" he said, and, smil-
ing happily to himself like a child, he fell into
a deep, youthful slumber.


NEXT DAY he woke late. Recalling his recent
impressions, the first thought that came into
his mind was that today he had to be presented
to the Emperor Francis; he remembered the
Minister of War, the polite Austrian adjutant,
Bilibin, and last night's conversation. Having
dressed for his attendance at court in full pa-
rade uniform, which he had not worn for a
long time, he went into Bilibin's study fresh,
animated, and handsome, with his hand band-
aged. In the study were four gentlemen of the
diplomatic corps. With Prince Hippolyte Ku-
ragin, who was a secretary to the embassy, Bol-
k6nski was already acquainted. Bilibin intro-
duced him to the others.

The gentlemen assembled at Bilfbin's were
young, wealthy, gay society men, who here, as
in Vienna, formed a special set which Bilibin,
their leader, called les ndtres* This set, consist-
ing almost exclusively of diplomats, evidently
had its own interests which had nothing to do
with war or politics but related to high society,
to certain women, and to the official side of the

1 Ours.

service. These gentlemen received Prince An-
drew as one of themselves, an honor they did
not extend to many. From politeness and to
start conversation, they asked him a few ques-
tions about the army and the battle, and then
the talk went off into merry jests and gossip.

"But the best of it was," said one, telling of
the misfortune of a fellow diplomat, "that the
Chancellor told him flatly that his appoint-
ment to London was a promotion and that he
was so to regard it. Can you fancy the figure he
cut? . . ."

"But the worst of it, gentlemen I am giving
Kunigin away to you is that that man suffers,
and this Don Juan, wicked fellow, is taking ad-
vantage of it!"

Prince Hippolyte was lolling in a lounge
chair with his legs over its arm. He began to

"Tell me about that!" he said.

"Oh, you Don Juan! You serpent!" cried sev-
eral voices.

"You, Bolk6nski, don't know," said Bilibin
turning to Prince Andrew, "that all the atroci-
ties of the French army (I nearly said of the
Russian army) are nothing compared to what
this man has been doing among the women!"

"La femme est la compagne de I'homme" 2
announced Prince Hippolyte, and began look-
ing through a lorgnette at his elevated legs.

Bilibin and the rest of "ours" burst out laugh-
ing in Hippolyte's face, and Prince Andrew
saw that Hippolyte, of whomhe had to admit
he had almost been jealous on his wife's ac-
count, was the butt of this set.

"Oh, I must give you a treat," Bilfbin whis-
pered to Bolk6nski. "Kuragin is exquisite when
he discusses politics you should see his grav-

He sat down beside Hippolyte and wrink-
ling his forehead began talking to him about
politics. Prince Andrew and the others gath-
ered round these two.

"The Berlin cabinet cannot express a feel-
ing of alliance," began Hippolyte gazing round
with importance at the others, "without ex-
pressing ... as in its last note . . . you under-
stand . . . Besides, unless His Majesty the Em-
peror derogates from the principle of our
alliance . . .

"Wait, I have not finished . . ." he said to
Prince Andrew, seizing him by the arm, "I be-
lieve that intervention will be stronger than
nonintervention. And . . ."he paused. "Final-
ly one cannot impute the nonreceipt of ourdis-

2 "Woman is man's companion."



patch of November 18. That is how it will
end." And he released Bolk6nski's arm to in-
dicate that he had now quite finished.

"Demosthenes, I know thee by the pebble
thou secretest in thy golden mouth 1" said Bilf-
bin, and the mop of hair on his head moved
with satisfaction.

Everybody laughed, and Hippolyte louder
than anyone. He was evidently distressed, and
breathed painfully, but could not restrain the
wild laughter that convulsed his usually impas-
sive features.

"Well now, gentlemen," said Bilibin, "Bol-
k6nski is my guest in this house and in Briinn
itself. I want to entertain him as far as I can,
with all the pleasures of life here. If we were in
Vienna it would be easy, but here, in this
wretched Moravian hole, it is more difficult,
and I beg you all to help me. Briinn's attrac-
tions must be shown him. You can undertake
the theater, I society, and you, Hippolyte, of
course the women."

"We must let him see Amelie, she's exqui-
sitel" said one of "ours," kissing his finger tips.

"In general we must turn this bloodthirsty
soldier to more humane interests," said Bilibin.

"I shall scarcely be able to avail myself of
your hospitality, gentlemen, it is already time
for me to go," replied Prince Andrew looking
at his watch.

"Where to?"

"To the Emperor."

"Oh! Ohl Oh!"

"Well, au revoir, Bolk6nskil Au revoir,
Prince! Come back early to dinner," cried sev-
eral voices. "We'll take you in hand."

"When speaking to the Emperor, try as far
as you can to praise the way that provisions are
supplied and the routes indicated," said Bilibin,
accompanying him to the hall.

"I should like to speak well of them, but as
far as I know the facts, I can't," replied Bolk6n-
ski, smiling.

"Well, talk as much as you can, anyway. He
has a passion for giving audiences, but he does
not like talking himself and can't do it, as you
will see/'


AT THE LEVEE Prince Andrew stood among the
Austrian officers as he had been told to, and the
Emperor Francis merely looked fixedly into his
face and just nodded to him with his long head.
But after it was over, the adjutant he had seen
the previous day ceremoniously informed Bol-
k6nski that the Emperor desired to give him

an audience. The Emperor Francis received
him standing in the middle of the room. Be-
fore the conversation began Prince Andrew
was struck by the fact that the Emperor seemed
confused and blushed as if not knowing what
to say.

"Tell me, when did the battle begin?" he
asked hurriedly.

Prince Andrew replied. Then followed oth-
er questions just as simple: "Was Kutuzov well?
When had he left Krems?" and so on. The Em-
peror spoke as if his sole aim were to put a giv-
en number of questions the answers to these
questions, as was only too evident, did not in-
terest him.

"At what o'clock did the battle begin?" asked
the Emperor.

"I cannot inform Your Majesty at what
o'clock the battle began at the front, but at
Durrenstein, where I was, our attack began aft-
er five in the afternoon," replied Bolk6nski
growing more animated and expecting that he
would have a chance to give a reliable account,
which he had ready in his mind, of all he knew
and had seen. But the Emperor smiled and in-
terrupted him.

"How many miles?"

"From where to where, Your Majesty?"

"From Durrenstein to Krems."

"Three and a half miles, Your Majesty."

"The French have abandoned the left bank?"

"According to the scouts the last of them
crossed on rafts during the night."

"Is there sufficient forage in Krems?"

"Forage has not been supplied to the ex-
tent . . ."

The Emperor interrupted him.

"At what o'clock was General Schmidt

"At seven o'clock, I believe."

"At seven o'clock? It's very sad, very sad!"

The Emperor thanked Prince Andrew and
bowed. Prince Andrew withdrew and was im-
mediately surrounded by courtiers on all sides.
Everywhere he saw friendly looks and heard
friendly words. Yesterday's adjutant re-
proached him for not having stayed at the pal-
ace, and offered him his own house. The Min-
ister of War came up and congratulated him
on the Maria Theresa Orderof the third grade,
which the Emperor was con
Attos writes:
on May 3rd, 2014 at 5:07:54 PM

And come on, I already read War and Peace. (Incredibly overrated, by the way.) Got anything better? That doesn't mean some hack like Stephen King, either. We're not in first grade anymore. I guess I could go for some H.P. Lovecraft though. Got anything in the way Colour Out of Space? Not my favorite of his, but I'm a fan of unknowable horrors.
M. Bullitt‎‎‎‎‎‎ writes:
on May 3rd, 2014 at 5:12:26 PM

Mademoiselle Bourienne, with her ribbon and
pretty face, and her unusually animated look
which was fixed on him, but him she could not
see, she only saw something large, brilliant,
and handsome moving toward her as she en-
tered the room. Prince Vasf li approached first,
and she kissed the bold forehead that bent
over her hand and answered his question by
saying that, on the contrary, she remembered
him quite well. Then Anatole came up to her.
She still could not see him. She only felt a soft
hand taking hers firmly, and she touched with
her lips a white forehead, over which was beau-
tiful light-brown hair smelling of pomade.
When she looked up at him she was struck by
his beauty. Anatole stood with his right thumb
under a button of his uniform, his chest ex-
panded and his back drawn in, slightly swing-


ing one foot, and, with his head a little bent,
looked with beaming face at the princess with-
out speaking and evidently not thinking about
her at all. Anatole was not quick-witted, nor
ready or eloquent in conversation, but he had
the faculty, so invaluable in society, of compo-
sure and imperturbable self-possession. If a
man lacking in self-confidence remains dumb
on a first introduction and betrays a conscious-
ness of the impropriety of such silence and an
anxiety to find something to say, the effect is
bad. But Anatole was dumb, swung his foot, and
smilingly examined the princess' hair. It was
evident that he could be silent in this way for
a very long time. "If anyone finds this silence
inconvenient, let him talk, but I don't want
to," he seemed to say. Besides this, in his be-
havior to women Anatole had a manner which
particularly inspires in them curiosity, awe,
and even lovea supercilious consciousness of
his own superiority. It was as if he said to them:
"I know you, I know you, but why should I
bother about you? You'd be only too glad, of
course." Perhaps he did not really think this
when he met women even probably he did
not, for in general he thought very little but
his looks and manner gave that impression.
The princess felt this, and as if wishing to show
him that she did not even dare expect to in-
terest him, she turned to his father. The con-
versation was general and animated, thanks to
Princess Lise's voice and little downy lip that
lifted over her white teeth. She met Prince Va-
sfli with that playful manner often employed
by lively chatty people, and consisting in the
assumption that between the person they so
address and themselves there are some semi-
private, long-established jokes and amusing
reminiscences, though no such reminiscences
really existjust as none existed in this case.
Prince Vasfli readily adopted her tone and the
little princess also drew Anatole, whom she
hardly knew, into these amusing recollections
of things that had never occurred. Mademoi-
selle Bourienne also shared them and even
Princess Mary felt herself pleasantly made to
share in these merry reminiscences.

"Here at least we shall have the benefit of
your company all to ourselves, dear prince,"
said the little princess (of course, in French)
to Prince Vasili. "It's not as at Annette's l re-
ceptions where you always ran away; you re-
member cette chere Annette!"

"Ah, but you won't talk politics to me like

1 Anna Pavlovna.



"And our little tea table?"

"Oh, yes!"

"Why is it you were never at Annette's?" the
little princess asked Anatole. "Ah, I know, I
know," she said with a sly glance, "your broth-
er Hippolyte told me about your goings on.
Oh!" and she shook her finger at him, "I have
even heard of your doings in Paris!"

"And didn't Hippolyte tell you?" asked
Prince Vasili, turning to his son and seizing
the little princess' arm as if she would have run
away and he had just managed to catch her,
"didn't he tell you how he himself was pining
for the dear princess, and how she showed him
the door? Oh, she is a pearl among women,
Princess," he added, turning to Princess Mary.

When Paris was mentioned, Mademoiselle
Bourienne for her part seized the opportunity
of joining in the general current of recollec-

She took the liberty of inquiring whether it
was long since Anatole had left Paris and how
he had liked that city. Anatole answered the
Frenchwoman very readily and, looking at her
with a smile, talked to her about her native
land. When he saw the pretty little Bourienne,
Anatole came to the conclusion that he would
not find Bald Hills dull either. "Notatall bad!"
he thought, examining her, "not at all bad,
that little companion! I hope she will bring
her along with her when we're married, la
petite est gentille" *

The old prince dressed leisurely in his study,
frowning and considering what he was to do.
The coming of these visitors annoyed him.
"What are Prince Vasili and that son of his to
me? Prince Vasili is a shallow braggart and his
son, no doubt, is a fine specimen, "he grumbled
to himself. What angered him was that the
coming of these visitors revived in his mind an
unsettled question he always tried to stifle, one
about which he always deceived himself. The
question was whether he could ever bring him-
self to part from his daughter and give her to
a husband. The prince never directly asked
himself that question, knowing beforehand
that he would have to answer it justly, and jus-
tice clashed not only with his feelings but with
the very possibility of life. Life without Prin-
cess Mary, little as he seemed to value her, was
unthinkable to him. "And why should she
marry?" he thought. "To be unhappy for cer-
tain. There's Lise, married to Andrew a bet-
ter husband one would think could hardly be
found nowadays but is she contented with

The little one is charming.



her lot? And who would marry Marie for love?
Plain and awkward! They'll take her for her
connections and wealth. Are there no women
living unmarried, and even the happier for it?"
So thought Prince Bolk6nski while dressing,
and yet the question he was always putting off
demanded an immediate answer. Prince Vasfli
had brought his son with the evident inten-
tion of proposing, and today or tomorrow he
would probably ask for an answer. His birth
and position in society were not bad. "Well,
I've nothing against it," the prince said to him-
self, "but he must be worthy of her. And that
is what we shall see."

"That is what we shall see! That is what we
shall see!" he added aloud.

He entered the drawing room with his usual
alert step, glancing rapidly round the com-
pany. He noticed the change in the little prin-
cess' dress, Mademoiselle Bourienne's ribbon,
Princess Mary's unbecoming coiffure, Made-
moiselle Bourienne's and Anatole's smiles, and
the loneliness of his daughter amid the general
conversation. "Got herself up like a fool!" he
thought, looking irritably at her. "She is shame-
less, and he ignores her!"

He went straight up to Prince Vasili.
"Well! How d'ye do? How d'ye do? Glad to
see you!"

"Friendship laughs at distance," began Prince
Vasfli in his usual rapid, self-confident, familiar
tone. "Here is my second son; please love and
befriend him."

Prince Bolk6nski surveyed Anatole.
"Fine young fellow! Fine young fellow!" he
said. "Well, come and kiss me," and he offered
his cheek.

Anatole kissed the old man, and looked at
him with curiosity and perfect composure,
waiting for a display of the eccentricities his
father had told him to expect.

Prince Bolk6nski sat down in his usual place
in the corner of the sofa and, drawing up an
armchair for Prince Vasili, pointed to it and
began questioning him about political affairs
and news. He seemed to listen attentively to
what Prince Vasfli said, but kept glancing at
Princess Mary.

"And so they are writing from Potsdam al-
ready?" he said, repeating Prince Vasfli's last
words. Then rising, he suddenly went up to
his daughter.

"Is it for visitors you've got yourself up like
that, eh?" said he. "Fine, very fine! You have
done up your hair in this new way for the visi-
tors, and before the visitors I tell you that in

future you are never to dare to change your
way of dress without my consent."

"It was my fault, mon pkre" interceded the
little princess, with a blush.

"You must do as you please," said Prince
Bolk6nski, bowing to his daughter-in-law, "but
she need not make a fool of herself, she's plain
enough as it is."

And he sat down again, paying no more at-
tention to his daughter, who was reduced to

"On the contrary, that coiffure suits the
princess very well," said Prince Vasfli.

"Now you, young prince, what's your name?"
said Prince Bolk6nski, turning to Anatole,
"come here, let us talk and get acquainted."

"Now the fun begins," thought Anatole, sit-
ting down with a smile beside the old prince.

"Well, my dear boy, I hear you've been edu-
cated abroad, not taught to read and write by
the deacon, like your father and me. Now tell
me, my dear boy, are you serving in the Horse
Guards?" asked the old man, scrutinizing Ana-
tole closely and intently.

"No, I have been transferred to the line,"
said Anatole, hardly able to restrain his laugh-

"Ah! That's a good thing. So, my dear boy,
you wish to serve the Tsar and the country? It
is wartime. Such a fine fellow must serve. Well,
are you off to the front?"

"No, Prince, our regiment has gone to the
front, but I am attached . . . what is it I am at-
tached to, Papa?" said Anatole, turning to his
father with a laugh.

"A splendid soldier, splendid! 'What am I
attached to!' Ha, ha, ha!" laughed Prince Bol-
k6nski, and Anatole laughed still louder. Sud-
denly Prince Bolk6nski frowned.

"You may go," he said to Anatole.

Anatole returned smiling to the ladies.

"And so you've had him educated abroad,
Prince Vasfli, haven't you?" said the old prince
to Prince Vasfli.

"I have done my best for him, and I can as-
sure you the education there is much better
than ours."

"Yes, everything is different nowadays, every-
thing is changed. The lad's a fine fellow, a fine
fellow! Well, come with me now." He took
Prince Vasfli's arm and led him to his study.
As soon as they were alone together, Prince
Vasfli announced his hopes and wishes to the
old prince.

"Well, do you think I shall prevent her, that
I can't part from her?" said the old prince an-



grily. "What an ideal I'm ready for it tomor-
row! Only let me tell you, I want to know my
son-in-law better. You know my principles
everything aboveboardl I will ask her tomor-
row in your presence; if she is willing, then he
can stay on. He can stay and I'll see." The old
prince snorted. "Let her marry, it's all the same
to me!" he screamed in the same piercing tone
as when parting from his son.

"I will tell you frankly," said Prince Vasili
in the tone of a crafty man convinced of the
futility of being cunning with so keen-sighted
a companion. "You know, you see right through
people. Anatole is no genius, but he is an hon-
est, goodhearted lad; an excellent son or kins-

"All right, all right, we'll seel"

As always happens when women lead lonely
lives for any length of time without male soci-
ety, on Anatole's appearance all the three wom-
en of Prince Bolk6nski's household felt that
their life had not been real till then. Their
powers of reasoning, feeling, and observing
immediately increased tenfold, and their life,
which seemed to have been passed in darkness,
was suddenly lit up by a new brightness, full of

Princess Mary grew quite unconscious of her
face and coiffure. The handsome open face of
the man who might perhaps be her husband
absorbed all her attention. He seemed to her
kind, brave, determined, manly, and magnani-
mous. She felt convinced of that. Thousands
of dreams of a future family life continually
rose in her imagination. She drove them away
and tried to conceal them.

"But am I not too cold with him?" thought
the princess. "I try to be reserved because in
the depth of my soul I feel too near to him al-
ready, but then he cannot know what I think of
him and may imagine that I do not like him."

And Princess Mary tried, but could not man-
age, to be cordial to her new guest. "Poor girl,
she's devilish ugly!" thought Anatole.

Mademoiselle Bourienne, also roused to
great excitement by Anatole's arrival, thought
in another way. Of course, she, a handsome
young woman without any definite position,
without relations or even a country, did not in-
tend to devote her life to serving Prince Bol-
k6nski, to reading aloud to him and being
friends with Princess Mary. Mademoiselle
Bourienne had long been waiting for a Rus-
sian prince who, able to appreciate at a glance
her superiority to the plain, badly dressed, un-
gainly Russian princesses, would fall in love

with her and carry her off; and here at last
was a Russian prince. Mademoiselle Bourienne
knew a story, heard from her aunt but finished
in her own way, which she liked to repeat to
herself. It was the story of a girl who had been
seduced, and to whom her poor mother (sa
pauvre mtre) appeared, and reproached her
for yielding to a man without being married.
Mademoiselle Bourienne was often touched to
tears as in imagination she told this story to
him, her seducer. And now he, a real Russian
prince, had appeared. He would carry her
away and then sa pauvre mtre would appear
and he would marry her. So her future shaped
itself in Mademoiselle Bourienne's head at the
very time she was talking to Anatole about
Paris. It was not calculation that guided her
(she did not even for a moment consider what
she should do), but all this had long been famil-
iar to her, and now that Anatole had appeared
it just grouped itself around him and she
wished and tried to please him as much as pos-

The little princess, like an old war horse
that hears the trumpet, unconsciously and quite
forgetting her condition, prepared for the fa-
miliar gallop of coquetry, without any ulterior
motive or any struggle, but with naive and
lighthearted gaiety.

Although in female society Anatole usually
assumed the role of a man tired of being run
after by women, his vanity was flattered by the
spectacle of his power over these three women.
Besides that, he was beginning to feel for the
pretty and provocative Mademoiselle Bouri-
enne that passionate animal feeling which was
apt to master him with great suddenness and
prompt him to the coarsest and most reckless

After tea, the company went into the sitting
room and Princess Mary was asked to play on
the clavichord. Anatole, laughing and in high
spirits, came and leaned on his elbows, facing
her and beside Mademoiselle Bourienne. Prin-
cess Mary felt his look with a painfully joy-
ous emotion. Her favorite sonata bore her in-
to a most intimately poetic world and the look
she felt upon her made that world still more
poetic. But Anatole's expression, though
his eyes were fixed on her, referred not to
her but to the movements of Mademoiselle
Bourienne's little foot, which he was. then
touching with his own under the clavichord.
Mademoiselle Bourienne was also look-
ing at Princess Mary, and in her lovely eyes
there was a look of fearful joy and hope



that was also new to the princess.

"How she loves me I" thought Princess Mary.
"How happy I am now, and how happy I may
be with such a friend and such a husband!
Husband? Can it be possible?" she thought,
not daring to look at his face, but still feeling
his eyes gazing at her.

In the evening, after supper, when all were
about to retire, Anatole kissed Princess Mary's
hand. She did not know how she found the
courage, but she looked straight into his hand-
some face as it came near to her shortsighted
-eyes. Turning from Princess Mary he went up
and kissed Mademoiselle Bourienne's hand.
(This was not etiquette, but then he did every-
thing so simply and with such assurancel)
Mademoiselle Bourienne flushed, and gave the
princess a frightened look.

"What delicacy!" thought the princess. "Is it
possible that Amdlie" (Mademoiselle Bouri-
enne) "thinks I could be jealous of her, and
not value her pure affection and devotion to
me?" She went up to her and kissed her warm-
ly. Anatole went up to kiss the little princess'

"No! No! No! When your father writfes to
tell me that you are behaving well I will give
you my hand to kiss. Not till then!" she said.
And smilingly raising a finger at him, she left
the room.


THEY ALL SEPARATED, but, except Anatole who
fell asleep as soon as he got into bed, all kept
awake a long time that night.

"Is he really to be my husband, this stranger
who is so kind yes, kind, that is the chief
thing," thought Princess Mary; and fear, which
she had seldom experienced, came upon her.
She feared to look round, it seemed to her that
someone was there standing behind the screen
in the dark corner. And this someone was he
the devil and he was also this man with the
white forehead, black eyebrows, and red lips.

She rang for her maid and asked her to sleep
in her room.

Mademoiselle Bourienne walked up and
down the conservatory for a long time that eve-
ning, vainly expecting someone, now smiling
at someone, now working herself up to tears
with the imaginary words of her pauvre mere
rebuking her for her fall.

The ij^tle princess grumbled to her maid
that her bed was badly made. She could not lie
either on her face or on her side. Every posi-
tion was awkward and uncomfortable, and her

burden oppressed her now more than ever be-
cause Anatole's presence had vividly recalled
to her the time when she was not like that and
when everything was light and gay. She sat in
an armchair in her dressing jacket and night-
cap and Katie, sleepy and disheveled, beat and
turned the heavy feather bed for the third
time, muttering to herself.

"I told you it was all lumps and holes!"
the little princess repeated. "I should be glad
enough to fall asleep, so it's not my fault!" and
her voice quivered like that of a child about to

The old prince did not sleep either. Tikhon,
half asleep, heard him pacing angrily about
and snorting. The old prince felt as though he
had been insulted through his daughter. The
insult was the more pointed because it con-
cerned not himself but another, his daughter,
whom he loved more than himself. He kept
telling himself that he would consider the
whole matter and decide what was right and
how he should act, but instead of that he only
excited himself more and more.

"The first man that turns up she forgets
her father and everything else, runs upstairs
and does up her hair and wags her tail and is
unlike herself! Glad to throw her father over!
And she knew I should notice it. Fr . . . fr . . .
fr . . . ! And don't I see that that idiot had eyes
only for Bourienne I shall have to get rid of
her. And how is it she has not pride enough
to see it? If she has no pride for herself she
might at least have some for my sake! She must
be shown that the blockhead thinks nothing of
her and looks only at Bourienne. No, she has
no pride . . . but I'll let her see. . . ."

The old prince knew that if he told his
daughter she was making a mistake and that
Ana tole meant to flirt with Mademoiselle Bouri-
enne, Princess Mary's self-esteem would be
wounded and his point (not to be parted from
her) would be gained, so pacifying himself
with this thought, he called Tikhon and began
to undress.

"What devil brought them here?" thought
he, while Tikhon was putting the nightshirt
over his dried-up old body and gray-haired
chest. "I never invited them. They came to dis-
turb my life and there is not much of it left."

"Devil take'em!" he muttered, while his head
was still covered by the shirt.

Tikhon knew his master's habit of some-
times thinking aloud, and therefore met with
unaltered looks the angrily inquisitive expres-
sion of the face that emerged from the shirt.



"Gone to bed?" asked the prince.

Tikhon, like all good valets, instinctively
knew the direction of his master's thoughts. He
guessed that the question referred to Prince
Vasfli and his son.

"They have gone to bed and put out their
lights, your excellency."

"No good ... no good . . ." said the prince
rapidly, and thrusting his feet into his slippers
and his arms into the sleeves of his dressing
gown, he went to the couch on which he slept.

Though no words had passed between Ana-
tole and Mademoiselle Bourienne, they quite
understood one another as to the first part of
their romance, up to the appearance of the
pauvre mere; they understood that they had
much to say to one another in private and so
they had been seeking an opportunity since
morning to meet one another alone. When
Princess Mary went to her father's room at the
usual hour, Mademoiselle Bourienne and Ana-
tole met in the conservatory.

Princess Mary went to the door of the study
with special trepidation. It seemed to her that
not only did everybody know that her fate
would be decided that day, but that they also
knew what she thought about it. She read this
in Tikhon's face and in that of Prince Vasili's
valet, who made her a low bow when she met
him in the corridor carrying hot water.

The old prince was very affectionate and
careful in his treatment of his daughter that
morning. Princess Mary well knew this pains-
taking expression of her father's. His face wore
that expression when his dry hands clenched
with vexation at her not understanding a sum
in arithmetic, when rising from his chair he
would walk away from her, repeating in a low
voice the same words several times over.

He came to the point at once, treating her

"I have had a proposition made me concern-
ing you," he said with an unnatural smile. "I
expect you have guessed that Prince Vasili has
not come and brought his pupil with him"
(for some reason Prince Bolktinski referred to
Anatole as a "pupil") "for the sake of my beau-
tiful eyes. Last night a proposition was made
me on your account and, as you know my prin-
ciples, I refer it to you."

"How am I to understand you, man perel"
said the princess, growing pale and then blush-

"How understand me!" cried her father an-
grily. "Prince Vasfli finds you to his taste as a
daughter-in-law and makes a proposal to you

on his pupil's behalf. That's how it's to be un-
derstood 1 'How understand it'! ... And I ask

"I do not know what you think, Father,"
whispered the princess.

"I? I? What of me? Leave me out of the
question. I'm not going to get married. What
about you? That's what I want to know."

The princess saw that her father regarded
the matter with disapproval, but at that mo-
ment the thought occurred to her that her fate
would be decided now or never. She lowered
her eyes so as not to see the gaze under which
she felt that she could not think, but would
only be able to submit from habit, and she
said: "I wish only to do your will, but if I had
to express my own desire . . ." She had no time
to finish. The old prince interrupted her.

"That's admirable!" he shouted. "He will
take you with your dowry and take Mademoi-
selle Bourienne into the bargain. She'll be the
wife, while you . . ."

The prince stopped. He saw the effect these
words had produced on his daughter. She low-
ered her head and was ready to burst into tears.

"Now then, now then, I'm only joking!" he
said. "Remember this, Princess, I hold to the
principle that a maiden has a full right to
choose. I give you freedom. Only remember
that your life's happiness depends on your de-
cision. Never mind me!"

"But I do not know. Father!"

"There's no need to talk! He receives his
orders and will marry you or anybody; but you
are free to choose. ... Go to your room, think
it over, and come back in an hour and tell me
in his presence: yes or no. I know you will pray
over it. Well, pray if you like, but you had bet-
ter think it over. Go! Yes or no, yes or no, yes
or no!" he still shouted when the princess, as
if lost in a fog, had already staggered out of the

Her fate was decided and happily decided.
But what her father had said about Mademoi-
selle Bourienne was dreadful. It was untrue to
be sure, but still it was terrible, and she could
not help thinking of it. She was going straight
on through the conservatory, neither seeing
nor hearing anything, when suddenly the well-
known whisperingof Mademoiselle Bourienne
aroused her. She raised her eyes, and two steps
away saw Anatole embracing the Frenchwom-
an and whispering something to her. With a
horrified expression on his handsome face, An-
atole looked at Princess Mary, but did not at
once take his arm from the waist of Mademoi-



selle Bourienne who had not yet seen her.

"Who's that? Why? Wait a moment!" Ana-
tole's face seemed to say. Princess Mary looked
at them in silence. She could not understand
it. At last Mademoiselle Bourienne gave a
scream and ran away. Anatole bowed to Prin-
cess Mary with a gay smile, as if inviting her to
join in a laugh at this strange incident, and
then shrugging his shoulders went to the door
that led to his own apartments.

An hour later, Ti'khon came to call Princess
Mary to the old prince; he added that Prince
Vasiii was also there. When Tikhon came to
her Princess Mary was sitting on the sofa in
her room, holding the weeping Mademoiselle
Bourienne in her arms and gently stroking her
hair. The princess* beautiful eyes with all their
former calm radiance were looking with tend-
er affection and pity at Mademoiselle Bouri-
enne's pretty face.

"No, Princess, I have lost your affection for-
ever 1" said Mademoiselle Bourienne.

"Why? I love you more than ever/'said Prin-
cess Mary, "and I will try to do all I can for
your happiness."

"But you despise me. You who are so pure
can never understand being so carried away by
passion. Oh, only my poor mother . . ."

"I quite understand," answered Princess
Mary, with a sad smile. "Calm yourself, my
dear. I will go to my father," she said, and went

Prince Vasiii, with one leg thrown high over
the other and a snuffbox in his hand, was sit-
ting there with a smile of deep emotion on his
face, as if stirred to his heart's core and himself
regretting and laughing at his own sensibility,
when Princess Mary entered. He hurriedly took
a pinch of snuff.

"Ah, my dear, my dear!" he began, rising
and taking her by both hands. Then, sighing,
he added: "My son's fate is in your hands. De-
cide, my dear, good, gentle Marie, whom I have
always loved as a daughter!"

He drew back and a real tear appeared in
his eye.

"Fr ... fr ..." snorted Prince Bolkdnski.
"The prince is making a proposition to you in
his pupil's I mean, his son'sname. Do you
wish or not to be Prince Anatole Kurdgin's
wife? Reply: yes or no," he shouted, "and then
I shall reserve the right to state my opinion al-
so. Yes, my opinion, and only my opinion,"
added Prince Bolk6nski, turning to Prince Va-
siii and answering his imploring look. "Yes, or

"My desire is never to leave you, Father, nev-
er to separate my life from yours. I don't wish
to marry," she answered positively, glancing at
Prince Vasiii and at her father with her beauti-
ful eyes.

"Humbug! Nonsense! Humbug, humbug,
humbug!" cried Prince Bolk6nski, frowning
and taking his daughter's hand; he did not kiss
her, but only bending his forehead to hers just
touched it, and pressed her hand so that she
winced and uttered a cry.

Prince Vasfli rose.

"My dear, I must tell you that this is a
moment I shall never, never forget. But,
my dear, will you not give us a little hope of
touching this heart, so kind and generous?
Say 'perhaps' . . . The future is so long. Say
'perhaps.' "

"Prince, what I have said is all there is in my
heart. I thank you for the honor, but I shall
never be your son's wife."

"Well, so that's finished, my dear fellow! I
am very glad to have seen you. Very glad! Go
back to your rooms, Princess. Go!" said the old
prince. "Very, very glad to have seen you," re*
peated he, embracing Prince Vasfli.

"My vocation is a different one," thought
Princess Mary. "My vocation is to be happy
with another kind of happiness, the happiness
of love and self-sacrifice. And cost what it may,
I will arrange poor Am^lie's happiness, she
loves him so passionately, and so passionately
repents. I will do all I can to arrange tjje match
between them. If he is not rich I will^give her
the means; I will ask my father and Andrew. I
shall be so happy when she is his wife. She is
so unfortunate, a stranger, alone, helpless! And,
oh God, how passionately she must love him if
she could so far forget herself! Perhaps I might
have done the same! . . ." thought Princess


IT WAS long since the Rost6vs had news of
Nicholas. Not till midwinter was the count at
last handed a letter addressed in his son's hand-
writing. On receiving it, he ran on tiptoe to his
study in alarm and haste, trying to escape no-
tice, closed the door, and began to read the

Anna Mikhdylovna, who always knew every-
thing that passed in the house, on hearing of
the arrival of the letter went softly into the
room and found the count with it in his hand,
sobbing and laughing at the same time.

Anna MikMylovna, though her circ*m-


stances had improved, was still living with the

"My dear friend?" said she, in a tone of pa-
thetic inquiry, prepared to sympathize in any

The count sobbed yet more.

"Nik61enka ... a letter ... wa ... a ... s
. . . wounded . . . my darling boy . . . the count-
ess ... promoted to be an officer . . . thank God
. . . How tell the little countessl"

Anna Mikhaylovna sat down beside him, with
her own handkerchief wiped the tears from his
eyes and from the letter, then having dried her
own eyes she comforted the count, and decided
that at dinner and till teatime she would pre-
pare the countess, and after tea, with God's
help, would inform her.

At dinner Anna Mikhaylovna talked the
whole time about the war news and about Ni-
k61enka, twice asked when the last letter had
been received from him, though she knew that
already, and remarked that they might very
likely be getting a letter from him that day.
Each time that these hints began to make the
countess anxious and she glanced uneasily at
the count and at Anna Mikhaylovna, the lat-
ter very adroitly turned the conversation to in-
significant matters. Natasha, who, of the whole
family, was the most gifted with a capacity to
feel any shades of intonation, look, and ex-
pression, pricked up her ears from the begin-
ning of the meal and was certain that there
was some secret between her father and Anna
Mikhay'-vna, that it had something to do with
her brotuer, and that Anna Mikh;iylovna was
preparing them for it. Bold as she was, Nata-
sha, who knew how sensitive her mother was
to anything relating to Nik61enka,did not ven-
ture to ask any questions at dinner, but she
was too excited to eat anything and kept wrig-
gling about on her chair regardless of her gov-
erness' remarks. After dinner, she rushed head-
long after Anna Mikhdylovna and, dashing at
her, flung herself on her neck as soon as she
overtook her in the sitting room.

"Auntie, darling, do tell me what it is!"

"Nothing, my dear."

"No, dearest, sweet one, honey, I won't give
up I know you know something."

Anna Mikhaylovna shook her head.

"You are a little slyboots," she said.

"A letter from Nik61enka! I'm sure of it!"
exclaimed Natasha, reading confirmation in
Anna Mikhaylovna's face.

"But for God's sake, be careful, you know
how it may affect your mamma."


"I will, I will, only tell mel You won't? Then
I will go and tell at once."

Anna Mikhaylovna, in a few words, told her
the contents of the letter, on condition that
she should tell no one.

"No, on my true word of honor," said Nata-
sha, crossing herself, "I won't tell anyone!" and
she ran off at once to S6nya.

"Nik61enka . . . wounded ... a letter," she
announced in gleeful triumph.

"Nicholas!" was all Sonya said, instantly
turning white.

Natasha, seeing the impression the news of
her brother's wound produced on S6nya, felt for*'
the first time the sorrowful side of the news.

She rushed to S6nya, hugged her, and began
to cry.

"A little wound, but he has been made an
officer; he is well now, he wrote himself," said
she through her tears.

"There now! It's true that all you women
are crybabies," remarked Pe*tya, pacing the
room with large, resolute strides. "Now I'm
very glad, very glad indeed, that my brother
has distinguished himself so. You are all blub-
berers and understand nothing."

Natasha smiled through her tears.

"You haven't read the letter?" asked Sonya.

"No, but she said that it was all over and
that he's now an officer."

"Thank God!" said S6nya, crossing herself.
"But perhaps she deceived you. Let us go to

Pdtya paced the room in silence for a time.

"If I'd been in Nik61enka's place I would
have killed even more of those Frenchmen,"
he said. "What nasty brutes they are! I'd have
killed so many that there'd have been a heap
of them."

"Hold your tongue, P(hya, what a goose you

"I'm not a goose, but they are who cry about
trifles," said Pdtya.

"Do you remember him?" Natdsha suddenly
asked, after a moment's silence.

S6nya smiled.

"Do I remember Nicholas?"

"No, S6nya, but do you remember so that
you remember him perfectly, remember every-
thing?" said Natdsha, with an expressive ges-
ture, evidently wishing to give her words a very
definite meaning. "I remember Nik61enka too,
I remember him well," she said. "But I don't
remember Borfs. I don't remember him a bit."

"What! You don't remember Boris?" asked
S6nya in surprise.



"It's not that I don't rememberI know what
he is like, but not as I remember Nik61enka.
HimI just shut my eyes and remember, but
Boris . . . No!" (She shut her eyes.) "No! there's
nothing at all."

"Oh, Natdsha!" said S6nya, looking ecstati-
cally and earnestly at her friend as if she did
-ot consider her worthy to hear what she meant
> say and as if she were saying it to someone
Ise, with whom joking was out of the ques-
[on, "I am in love with your brother once for
11 and, whatever may happen to him or to me,
hall never cease to love him as long as I live."

Natdsha looked at S6nya with wondering

nd inquisitive eyes, and said nothing. She felt

lat Sonya was speaking the truth, that there

ras such love as S6nya was speaking of. But

_ Jatdsha had not yet felt anything like it. She

believed it could be, but did not understand it.

"Shall you write to him?" she asked.

S6nya became thoughtful. The question of
how to write to Nicholas, and whether she
ought to write, tormented her. Now that he
was already an officer and a wounded hero,
would it be right to remind him of herself and,
as it might seem, of the obligations to her he
had taken on himself?

"I don't know. I think if he writes, I will
write too," she said, blushing.

"And you won't feel ashamed to write to

S6nya smiled.


"And I should be ashamed to write to Boris.
I'm not going to."

"Why should you be ashamed?"

"Well, I don't know. It's awkward and
would make me ashamed."

"And I know why she'd be ashamed," said
Pe'tya, offended by Natasha's previous remark.
"It's because she was in love with that fat one
in spectacles" (that was how Ptya described
his namesake, the new Count Bezukhov) "and
now she's in love with that singer" (he meant
Natdsha's Italian singing master), "that's why
she's ashamed!"

"Ptya, you're a stupid!" said Natdsha.

"Not more stupid than you, madam," said
the nine-year-old Ptya, with the air of an old

The countess had been prepared by Anna
Mikhdylovna's hints at dinner. On retiring to
her own room, she sat in an armchair, her eyes
fixed on a miniature portrait of her son on the
lid of a snuffbox, while the tears kept coming
into her eyes. Anna Mikhdylovna, with the let-

ter, came on tiptoe to the countess' door and

"Don't come in," she said to the old count
who was following her, "Come later." And she
went in, closing the door behind her.

The count put his ear to the keyhole and lis-

At first he heard the sound of indifferent
voices, then Anna Mikhdylovna's voice alone
in a long speech, then a cry, then silence, then
both voices together with glad intonations,
and then footsteps. Anna Mikhdylovna opened
the door. Her face wore the proud expression
of a surgeon who has just performed a difficult
operation and admits the public to appreciate
his skill.

"It is donel" she said to the count, pointing
triumphantly to the countess, who sat holding
in one hand the snuffbox with its portrait and
in the other the letter, and pressing them al-
ternately to her lips.

When she saw the count, she stretched out
her arms to him, embraced his bald head, over
which she again looked at the letter and the
portrait, and in order to press them again to
her lips, she slightly pushed away the bald
head. Ve>a, Natasha, S6nya, and Ptya now en-
tered the room, and the reading of the letter
began. After a brief description of the cam-
paign and the two battles in which he had tak-
en part, and his promotion, Nicholas said that
he kissed his father's and mother's hands ask-
ing for their blessing, and that he kissed Vra,
Natdsha, and PiHya. Besides that, he sent greet-
ings to Monsieur Schelling, Madame Schoss,
and his old nurse, and asked them to kiss for
him "dear S6nya, whom he loved and thought
of just the same as ever." When she heard this
S6nya blushed so that tears came into her eyes
and, unable to bear the looks turned upon her,
ran away into the dancing hall, whirled round
it at full speed with her dress puffed out like a
balloon, and, flushed and smiling, plumped
down on the floor. The countess was crying.

"Why are you crying, Mamma?" asked Vdra.
"From all he says one should be glad and not

This was quite true, but the count, the count-
ess, and Natasha looked at her reproachfully.
"And who is it she takes after?" thought the

Nicholas' letter was read over hundreds of
times, and those who were considered worthy
to hear it had to come to the countess, for she
did not let it out of her hands. The tutors came,
and the nurses, and Dmitri, and several ac


quaintances, and the countess reread the letter
each time with fresh pleasure and each time
discovered in it fresh proofs of Nik61enka's vir-
tues. How strange, how extraordinary, how joy-
ful it seemed, that her son, the scarcely per-
ceptible motion of whose tiny limbs she had
felt twenty years ago within her, that son about
whom she used to have quarrels with the too-
indulgent count, that son who had first learned
to say "pear" and then "granny," that this son
should now be away in a foreign land amid
strange surroundings, a manly warrior doing
some kind of man's work of his own, without
help or guidance. The universal experience of
ages, showing that children do grow impercep-
tibly from the cradle to manhood, did not exist
for the countess. Her son's growth toward man-
hood, at each of its stages, had seemed as extra-
ordinary to her as if there had never existed
the millions of human beings who grew up in
the same way. As twenty years before, it seemed
impossible that the little creature who lived
somewhere under her heart would ever cry,
suck her breast, and begin to speak, so now she
could not believe that that little creature could
be this strong, brave man, this model son and
officer that, judging by this letter, he now was.

"What a style! How charmingly he describes!"
said she, reading the descriptive part of the let-
ter. "And what a soul! Not a word about him-
self. . . . Not a word! About some Denisov or
other, though he himself, I dare say, is braver
than any of them. He says nothing about his
sufferings. What a heart! How like him it is!
And how he has remembered everybody! Not
forgetting anyone. I always said when he was
only so high I always said . . ."

For more than a week preparations were be-
ing made, rough drafts of letters to Nicholas
from all the household were written and copied
out, while under the supervision of the count-
ess and the solicitude of the count, money and
all things necessary for the uniform and equip-
ment of the newly commissioned officer were
collected. Anna Mikhaylovna, practical wom-
an that she was, had even managed by favor
with army authorities to secure advantageous
means of communication for herself and her
son . She had opportunities of sending her letters
to the Grand Duke Constan tine Pdvlovich, who
commanded the Guards. The Rost6vs supposed
that The Russian Guards, A broad, was quite a
definite address, and that if a letter reached
the Grand Duke in command of the Guards
there was no reason why it should not reach
the Pavlograd regiment, which was presuma-

bly somewhere in the same neighborhood. And
so it was decided to send the letters and money
by the Grand Duke's courier to Boris and Boris
was to forward them to Nicholas. The letters
were from the old count, the countess, Ptya,
Ve*ra, Natasha, and S6nya, and finally there
were six thousand rubles for his outfit and vari-
ous other things the old count sent to his son.


ON THE twelfth of November, Kutiizov's active
army, in camp before Olmiitz, was preparing
to be reviewed next day by the two Emperors
the Russian and the Austrian. The Guards,
just arrived from Russia, spent the night ten
miles from Olmiitz and next morning were to
come straight to the review, reaching the field
at Olmiitz by ten o'clock.

That day Nicholas Rost6v received a letter
from Borfs, telling him that the Ismaylov regi-
ment was quartered for the night ten miles
from Olmiitz and that he wanted to see him as
he had a letter and money for him. Rostov was
particularly in need of money now that the
troops, after their active service, were stationed
near Olmiitz and the camp swarmed with well-
provisioned sutlers and Austrian Jews offering
all sorts of tempting wares. The Pavlograds
held feast after feast, celebrating awards they
had received for the campaign, and made ex-
peditions to Olmiitz to visit a certain Caroline
the Hungarian, who had recently opened ares-
taurant there with girls as waitresses. Rost6v,
who had just celebrated his promotion to a
cornetcy and bought Denfsov's horse, Bedouin,
was in debt all round, to his comrades and the
sutlers. On receiving Boris' letter he rode with
a fellow officer to Olmiitz, dined there, drank
a bottle of wine, and then set off alone to the
Guards' camp to find his old playmate. Rost6v
had not yet had time to get his uniform. He
had on a shabby cadet jacket, decorated with
a soldier's cross, equally shabby cadet's riding
breeches lined with worn leather, and an of-
ficer's saber with a sword knot. The Don horse
he was riding was one he had bought from a
Cossack during the campaign, and he wore a
crumpled hussar cap stuck jauntily back on
one side of his head. As he rode up to the camp
he thought how he would impress Borfs and all
his comrades of the Guards by his appearance
that of a fighting hussar who had been under

The Guards had made their whole march as
if on a pleasure trip, parading their cleanli-
ness and discipline. They had come by easy


stages, their knapsacks conveyed on carts, and
the Austrian authorities had provided excel-
lent dinners for the officers at every halting
place. The regiments had entered and left the
town with their bands playing, and by the
Grand Duke's orders the men had marched all
the way instep (a practice on which the Guards
prided themselves), the officers on foot and at
their proper posts. Boris had been quartered,
and had marched all the way, with Berg who
was already in command of a company. Berg,
who had obtained his captaincy during the
campaign, had gained the confidence of his
superiors by his promptitude and accuracy and
had arranged his money matters very satisfac-
torily. Boris, during the campaign, had made
the acquaintance of many persons who might
prove useful to him, and by a letter of recom-
mendation he had brought from Pierre had be-
come acquainted with Prince Andrew Bolk6n-
ski, through whom he hoped to obtain a post
on the commander in chief's staff. Berg and
Boris, having rested after yesterday's march,
were sitting, clean and neatly dressed, at a
round table in the clean quarters allotted to
them, playing chess. Berg held a smoking pipe
between his knees. Boris, in the accurate way
characteristic of him, was building a little pyra-
mid of chessmen with his delicate white fingers
while awaiting Berg's move, and watched his
opponent's face, evidently thinking about the
game as he always thought only of whatever he
was engaged on.

"Well, how are you going to get out of that?"
he remarked.

"We'll try to," replied Berg, touching a
pawn and then removing his hand.

At that moment the door opened.

"Here he is at last!" shouted Rost6v. "And
Berg too! Oh, you petisenfans, allay cushay
dormir!" * he exclaimed, imitating his Russian
nurse's French, at which he and Boris used to
laugh long ago.

"Dear me, how you have changed!"

Boris rose to meet Rost6v, but in doing so
did not omit to steady and replace some chess-
men that were falling. He was about to em-
brace his friend, but Nicholas avoided him.
With that peculiar feeling of youth, that dread
of beaten tracks, and wish to express itself in a
manner different from that of its elders which
is often insincere, Nicholas wished to do some-
thing special on meeting his friend. He wanted
to pinch him, push him, do anything but kiss
hima thing everybody did. But notwithstand-

1 "Little children, go to bed and sleep."-TR.

ing this, Boris embraced him in a quiet, friend-
ly way and kissed him three times.

They had not met for nearly half a year and,
being at the age when young men take their
first steps on life's road, each saw immense
changes in the other, quite a new reflection of
the society in which they had taken those first
steps. Both had changed greatly since they last
met and both were in a hurry to show the
changes that had taken place in them.

"Oh, you damned dandies! Clean and fresh
as if you'd been to a fete, not like us sinners of
the line," cried Rost6v, with martial swagger
and with baritone notes in his voice, new to
Boris, pointing to his own mud-bespattered
breeches. The German landlady, hearing Ros-
tov's loud voice, popped her head in at the

"Eh, is she pretty?" he asked with a wink.

"Why do you shout so? You'll frighten them ! "
said Boris. "I did not expect you today," he
added. "I only sent you the note yesterday by
Bolk6nski an adjutant of Kutuzov's, who's a
friend of mine. I did not think he would get it

to you so quickly Well, how are you? Been

under fire already?" asked Boris.

Without answering, Rostov shook the sol-
dier's Cross of St. George fastened to the cord-
ing of his uniform and, indicating a bandaged
arm, glanced at Berg with a smile.

"As you see," he said.

"Indeed? Yes, yes!" said Boris, with a smile.
"And we too have had a splendid march. You
know, of course, that His Imperial Highness
rode with our regiment all the time, so that we
had every comfort and every advantage. What
receptions we had in Poland! What dinners
and balls! I can't tell you. And the Tsarvich
was very gracious to all our officers."

And the two friends told each other of their
doings, the one of his hussar revels and life in
the fighting line, the other of the pleasures
and advantages of service under members of
the Imperial family.

"Oh, you Guards!" said Rost6v. "I say, send
for some wine."

Boris made a grimace.

"If you really want it," said he.

He went to his bed, drew a purse from un-
der the clean pillow, and sent for wine.

"Yes, and I have some money and a letter to
give you," he added.

Rost6v took the letter and, throwing the
money on the sofa, put both arms on the table
and began to read. After reading a few lines,
he glanced angrily at Berg, then, meeting his



eyes, hid his face behind the letter.

"Well, they've sent you a tidy sum," said
Berg, eying the heavy purse that sank into the
sofa. "As for us, Count, -we get along on our
pay. I can tell you for myself . . ."

"I say, Berg, my dear fellow," said Rost6v,
"when you get a letter from home and meet
one of your own people whom you want to
talk everything over with, and I happen to be
there, I'll go at once, to be out of your way!
Do go somewhere, anywhere ... to the devil 1"
he exclaimed, and immediately seizing him by
the shoulder and looking amiably into his face,
evidently wishing to soften the rudeness of his
words, he added, "Don't be hurt, my dear fel-
low; you know I speak from my heart as to an
old acquaintance."

"Oh, don't mention it, Count! I quite un-
derstand," said Berg, getting up and speaking
in a muffled and guttural voice.

"Go across to our hosts: they invited you,"
added Boris.

Berg put on the cleanest of coats, without a
spot or speck of dust, stood before a looking
glass and brushed the hair on his temples up-
wards, in the way affected by the Emperor
Alexander, and, having assured himself from
the way Rostov looked at it that his coat had
been noticed, left the room with a pleasant

"Oh dear, what a beast I am!" muttered Ros-
tov, as he read the letter.


"Oh, what a pig I am, not to have written
and to have given them such a fright! Oh, what
a pig I am!" he repeated, flushing suddenly.
"Well, have you sent Gabriel for some wine?
All right let's have some!"

In the letter from his parents was enclosed a
letter of recommendation to Bagrati6n which
the old countess at Anna Mikhdylovna's advice
had obtained through an acquaintance and
sent to her son, asking him to take it to its des-
tination and make use of it.

"What nonsense! Much I need it!" said Ros-
t6v, throwing the letter under the table.

"Why have you thrown that away?" asked

"It is some letter of recommendation . . .
what the devil do I want it for!"

"Why 'What the devil'?" said Boris, picking
it up and reading the address. "This letter
would be of great use to you."

"I want nothing, and I won't be anyone's

"Why not?" inquired Boris.

"It's a lackey's job!"

"You are still the same dreamer, I see," re-
marked Boris, shaking his head.

"And you're still the same diplomatist! But
that's not the point. . . . Come, how are you?"
asked Rost6v.

"Well, as you see. So far everything's all
right, but I confess I should much like to be an
adjutant and not remain at the front."


"Because when once a man starts on military
service, he should try to make as successful a
career of it as possible."

"Oh, that's it!" said Rost6v, evidently think-
ing of something else.

He looked intently and inquiringly into his
friend's eyes, evidently trying in vain to find
the answer to some question.

Old Gabriel brought in the wine.

"Shouldn't we now send for Berg?" asked
Boris. "He would drink with you. I can't."

"Well, send for him . . . and how do you get
on with that German?" asked Rost6v, with a
contemptuous smile.

"He is a very, very nice, honest, and pleasant
fellow," answered Boris.

Again Rost6v looked intently into Boris*
eyes and sighed. Berg returned, and over the
bottle of wine conversation between the three
officers became animated. The Guardsmen told
Rost6v of their march and how they had been
made much of in Russia, Poland, and abroad.
They spoke of the sayings and doings of their
commander, the Grand Duke, and told stories
of his kindness and irascibility. Berg, as usual,
kept silent when the subject did not relate to
himself, but in connection with the stories of
the Grand Duke's quick temper he related with
gusto how in Galicia he had managed to deal
with the Grand Duke when the latter made a
tour of the regiments and was annoyed at the
irregularity of a movement. With a pleasant
smile Berg related how the Grand Duke had
ridden up to him in a violent passion, shout-
ing: "Arnautsl" 1 ("Arnauts" was the Tsare"-
vich's favorite expression when he was in a
rage) and called for the company commander,

"Would you believe it, Count, I was not at
all alarmed, because I knew I was right. With-
out boasting, you know, I may say that I know
the Army Orders by heart and know the Regu-
lations as well as I do the Lord's Prayer. So,
Count, there never is any negligence in my

1 Arnauts is a Turkish name for the Albanians,
who supplied the Turks with irregular cavalry.




company, and so my conscience was at ease. I

came forward " (Berg stood up and showed

how he presented himself, with his hand to his
cap, and really it would have been difficult for
a face to express greater respect and self-
complacency than his did.) "Well, he stormed
at me, as the saying is, stormed andstormedand
stormed! It was not a matter of life but rather
of death, as the saying is. 'Albanians!' and 'dev-
ils!' and 'To Siberia!' " said Berg with a saga-
cious smile. "I knew I was in the right so I kept
silent; was not that best, Count? . . . 'Hey, are
you dumb?' he shouted. Still I remained silent.
And what do you think, Count? The next day
it was not even mentioned in the Orders of the
Day. That's what keeping one's head means.
That's the way, Count," said Berg, lighting his
pipe and emitting rings of smoke.

"Yes, that was fine," said Rostov, smiling.

But Boris noticed that he was preparing to
make fun of Berg, and skillfully changed the
subject. He asked him to tell them how and
where he got his wound. This pleased Rost6v
and he began talking about it, and as he went
on became more and more animated. He told
them of his Schon Grabern affair, just as those
who have taken part in a battle generally do
describe it, that is, as they would like it to have
been, as they have heard it described by others,
and as sounds well, but not at all as it really
was. Rost6v was a truthful young man and
would on no account have told a deliberate lie.
He began his story meaning to tell everything
just as it happened, but imperceptibly, invol-
untarily, and inevitably he lapsed into false-
hood. If he had told the truth to his hearers
who like himself had often heard stories of at-
tacks and had formed a definite idea of what
an attack was and were expecting to hear just
such a story they would either not have be-
lieved him or, still worse, would have thought
that Rostov was himself to blame since what
generally happens to the narrators of cavalry
attacks had not happened to him. He could
not tell them simply that everyone went at a
trot and that he fell off his horse and sprained
his arm and then ran as hard as he could from
a Frenchman into the wood. Besides, to tell
everything as it really happened, it would have
been necessary to make an effort of will to tell
only what happened. It is very difficult to tell
the truth, and young people are rarely capable
of it. His hearers expected a story of how be-
side himself and all aflame with excitement, he
had flown like a storm at the square, cut his
way in, slashed right and left, how his saber

had tasted flesh and he had fallen exhausted,
and so on. And so he told them all that.

In the middle of his story, just as he was
saying: "You cannot imagine what a strange
frenzy one experiences duringanattack/'Prince
Andrew, whom Boris was expecting, entered
the room. Prince Andrew, who liked to help
young men, was flattered by being asked for
his assistance and being well disposed toward
Boris, who had managed to please him the day
before, he wished to do what the young man
wanted. Having been sent with papers from
Kutii/ov to the Tsardvich, he looked in on
Boris, hoping to find him alone. When he came
in and saw an hussar of the line recounting his
military exploits (Prince Andrew could not
endure that sort of man), he gave Boris a pleas-
ant smile, frowned as with half-closed eyes
he looked at Rost6v, bowed slightly and wea-
rily, and sat down languidly on the sofa: he
felt it unpleasant to have dropped in on bad
company. Rostov flushed up on noticing this,
but he did not care, this was a mere stran-
ger. Glancing, however, at Boris, he saw that
he too seemed ashamed of the hussar of the

In spite of Prince Andrew's disagreeable,
ironical tone, in spite of the contempt with
which Rostov, from his fighting army point of
view, regarded all these little adjutants on the
staff, of whom the newcomer was evidently one,
Rost6v felt confused, blushed, and became si-
lent. Boris inquired what news there might be
on the staff, and what, without indiscretion,
one might ask about our plans.

"We shall probably advance," replied Bol-
k6nski, evidently reluctant to say more in the
presence of a stranger.

Berg took the opportunity to ask, with great
politeness, whether, as was rumored, the allow-
ance of forage money to captains of companies
would be doubled. To this Prince Andrew an-
swered with a smile that he could give no
opinion on such an important government or-
der, and Berg laughed gaily.

"As to your business," Prince Andrew con-
tinued, addressing Boris, "we will talk of it
later" (and he looked round at Ros
Attos writes:
on May 3rd, 2014 at 5:13:25 PM

I built up an unbreakable tolerance to trolling. Like I said, been here since the beginning. I was trolling before the cool kids even gave it a name. Back then it was just called "being an *sshole". While I appreciate the directness of the old style, it doesn't have quite the same rings as "trolling" does it? I wonder who was the first guy to use that word in this context? You think he immediately though "Nah, that sounds stupid" right after?

Also, where's Dark to complain about wasting space now?

(This conversation started out as being only Hulk related. Crazy what time does to things...)
M. Bullitt‎‎‎‎‎‎ writes:
on May 3rd, 2014 at 5:13:57 PM

Mdrya Dmitrievna came back to dinner taci-
turn and serious, having evidently suffered a
defeat at the old prince's. She was still too agi-
tated by the encounter to be able to talk of the
affair calmly. In answer to the count's inquiries
she replied that things were all right and that
she would tell about it next day. On hearing of
Countess Bezukhova's visit and the invitation
for that evening, Mdrya Dmftrievna remarked:

"I don't care to have anything to do with
Bezukhova and don't advise you to; however,
if you've promised go. It will divert your
thoughts," she added, addressing Natdsha.


COUNT ROSTOV took the girls to Countess Be-
zukhova's. There were a good many people
there, but nearly all strangers to Natdsha.
Count Rost6v was displeased to see that the
company consisted almost entirely of men and
women known for the freedom of their con-
duct. Mademoiselle George was standing in a
corner of the drawing room surrounded by
young men. There were several Frenchmen
present, among them Mdtivier who from the
time He*lene reached Moscow had been an inti-
mate in her house. The count decided not to

sit down to cards or let his girls out of his sight
and to get away as soon as Mademoiselle
George's performance was over.

Anatole was at the door, evidently on the
lookout for the Rost6vs. Immediately after
greeting the count he went up to Natdsha and
followed her. As soon as she saw him she was
seized by the same feeling she had had at the
opera gratified vanity at his admiration of her
and fear at the absence of a moral barrier be-
tween them.

He"lene welcomed Natdsha delightedly and
was loud in admiration of her beauty and her
dress. Soon after their arrival Mademoiselle
George went out of the room to change her
costume. In the drawing room people began
arranging the chairs and taking their seats.
Anatole moved a chair for Natdsha and was
about to sit down beside her, but the count,
who never lost sight of her, took the seat him-
self. Anatole sat down behind her.

Mademoiselle George, with her bare, fat,
dimpled arms, and a red shawl draped over
one shoulder, came into the space left vacant
for her, and assumed an unnatural pose. En-
thusiastic whispering was audible.

Mademoiselle George looked sternly and
gloomily at the audience and began reciting
some French verses describing her guilty love
for her son. In some places she raised her voice,
in others she whispered, lifting her head tri-
umphantly; sometimes she paused and uttered
hoarse sounds, rolling her eyes.

"Adorable! divine! delicious!" was heard
from every side.

Natasha looked at the fat actress, but neither
saw nor heard nor understood anything of
what went on before her. She only felt herself
again completely borne away into this strange
senseless world so remote from her old world
a world in which it was impossible to know
what was good or bad, reasonable or senseless.
Behind her sat Anatole, and conscious of his
proximity she experienced a frightened sense
of expectancy.

After the first monologue the whole com-
pany rose and surrounded Mademoiselle
George, expressing their enthusiasm.

"How beautiful she is!" Natdsha remarked
to her father who had also risen and was mov-
ing through the crowd toward the actress.

"I don't think so when I look at youl" said
Anatole, following Natdsha. He said this at a
moment when she alone could hear him. "You
are enchanting . . . from the moment I saw you
I have never ceased . . ."



"Come, come, Natdsha!" said the count, as
he turned back for his daughter. "How beau-
tiful she isl" Natasha without saying anything
stepped up to her father and looked at him
with surprised inquiring eyes.

After giving several recitations, Mademoi-
selle George left, and Countess Beziikhova
asked her visitors into the ballroom.

The count wished to go home, but He*lene
entreated him not to spoil her improvised ball,
and the Rostovs stayed on. Anatole asked Na-
tasha for a valse and as they danced he pressed
her waist and hand and told her she was be-
witching and that he loved her. During the
ccossaise, which she also danced with him, An-
atole said nothing when they happened to be
by themselves, but merely gazed at her. Nata-
sha lifted her frightened eyes to him, but there
was such confident tenderness in his affection-
ate look and smile that she could not, whilst
looking at him, say what she had to say. She
lowered her eyes.

"Don't say such things to me. I am betrothed
and love another," she said rapidly. . . . She
glanced at him.

Anatole was not upset or pained by what
she had said.

"Don't speak to me of that! What can I do?"
said he. "I tell you I am madly, madly, in love
with you! Is it my fault that you are enchant-
ing? . . . It's our turn to begin."

Natdsha, animated and excited, looked
about her with wide-open frightened eyes and
seemed merrier than usual. She understood
hardly anything that went on that evening.
They danced the ecossaise and the Grossvater
Her father asked her to come home, but she
begged to remain. Wherever she went and
whomever she was speaking to, she felt his eyes
upon her. Later on she recalled how she had
asked her father to let her go to the dressing
room to rearrange her dress, that Hlene had
followed her and spoken laughingly of her
brother's love, and that she again met Anatole
in the little sitting room. Hlene had disap-
peared leaving them alone, and Anatole had
taken her hand and said in a tender voice:

"I cannot come to visit you but is it possible
that I shall never see you? I love you madly.
Can I never . . . ?" and, blocking her path, he
brought his face close to hers.

His large, glittering, masculine eyes were so
close to hers that she saw nothing but them.

"Natalie?" he whispered inquiringly while
she felt her hands being painfully pressed.

"I don't understand. I have nothing to say,"
her eyes replied.

Burning lips were pressed to hers, and at the
same instant she felt herself released, and
Hlne's footsteps and the rustle of her dress
were heard in the room. Natasha looked round
at her, and then, red and trembling, threw a
frightened look of inquiry at Anatole and
moved toward the door.

"One word, just one, for God's sake!" cried

She paused. She so wanted a word from him
that would explain to her what had happened
and to which she could find no answer.

"Natalie, just a word, only one!" he kept re-
peating, evidently not knowing what to say
and he repeated it till Hlene came up to

He*lenc returned with Natdsha to the draw-
ing room. The Rostovs went away without
staying for supper.

After reaching home Natasha did not sleep
all night. She was tormented by the insoluble
question whether she loved Anatole or Prince
Andrew. She loved Prince Andrew she re-
membered distinctly how deeply she loved him.
But she also loved Anatole, of that there was
no doubt. "Else how could all this have hap-
pened?" thought she. "If, after that, I could re-
turn his smile when saying good-by, if I was
able to let it come to that, it means that I loved
him from the first. It means that he is kind,
noble, and splendid, and I could not help lov-
ing him. What am I to do if I love him and the
other one too?" she asked herself, unable to
find an answer to these terrible questions.


MORNING CAME with its cares and bustle. Every-
one got up and began to move about and talk,
dressmakers came again. Mdrya Dmitrievna
appeared, and they were called to breakfast.
Natasha kept looking uneasily at everybody
with wide-open eyes, as if wishing to intercept
every glance directed toward her, and tried to
appear the same as usual.

After breakfast, which was her best time,
Mdrya Dmitrievna sat down in her armchair
and called Natdsha and the count to her.

"Well, friends, I have now thought the whole
matter over and this is my advice," she began.
"Yesterday, as you know, I went to see Prince

Bolk6nski. Well, I had a talk with him He

took it into his head to begin shouting, but I
am not one to be shouted down. I said what I
had to say!"



"Well, and he?" asked the count.

"He? He's crazy ... he did not want to listen.
But what's the use of talking? As it is we have
worn the poor girl out," said M^rya Dmf triev-
na. "My advice to you is finish your business
and go back home to Otrddnoe . . . and wait

"Oh, no!" exclaimed Natasha.

"Yes, go back," said Mrya Dmftrievna,"and
wait there. If your betrothed comes here now
there will be no avoiding a quarrel; but alone
with the old man he will talk things over and
then come on to you."

Count Rost6v approved of this suggestion,
appreciating its reasonableness. If the old man
came round it would be all the better to visit
him in Moscow or at Bald Hills later on; and
if not, the wedding, against his wishes, could
only be arranged at Otrddnoe.

"That is perfectly true. And I am sorry I
went to see him and took her," said the old

"No, why be sorry? Being here, you had to
pay your respects. But if he won't that's his
affair," said M^rya Dmhrievna, looking for
something in her reticule. "Besides, the trous-
seau is ready, so there is nothing to wait for;
and what is not ready I'll send after you.
Though I don't like letting you go, it is the
best way. So go, with God's blessing!"

Having found what she was looking for in
the reticule she handed it to Natasha. It was a
letter from Princess Mary.

"She has written to you. How she torments
herself, poor thing! She's afraid you might
think that she does not like you."

"But she doesn't like me," said Natasha.

"Don't talk nonsense!" cried Mrya Dmftri-

"I shan't believe anyone, I know she doesn't
like me," replied Natisha boldly as she took
the letter, and her face expressed a cold and
angry resolution that caused Mdrya Dmftri-
evna to look at her more intently and to frown.

"Don't answer like that, my good girl!" she
said. "What I say is true! Write an answer!"

Natasha did not reply and went to her own
room to read Princess Mary's letter.

Princess Mary wrote that she was in despair
at the misunderstanding that had occurred be-
tween them. Whatever her father's feelings
might be, she begged Natasha to believe that
she could not help loving her as the one cho-
sen by her brother, for whose happiness she
was ready to sacrifice everything.

"Do not think, however," she wrote, "that

my father is ill-disposed toward you. He is an
invalid and an old man who must be forgiven;
but he is good and magnanimous and will love
her who makes his son happy." Princess Mary
went on to ask Natasha to fix a time when she
could see her again.

After reading the letter Natdsha sat down at
the writing table to answer it. "Dear Princess,"
she wrote in French quickly and mechanically,
and then paused. What more could she write
after all that had happened the evening be-
fore? "Yes, yes! All that has happened, and
now all is changed," she thought as she sat with
the letter she had begun before her. "Must I
break off with him? Must I really? That's aw-
ful . . ." arid to escape from these dreadful
thoughts she went to S6nya and began sorting
patterns with her.

After dinner Nat'tsha went to her room and
again took up Princess Mary's letter. "Can it
be that it is all over?" she thought. "Can it be
that all this has happened so quickly and has
destroyed all that went before?" She recalled
her love for Prince Andrew in all its former
strength, and at the same time felt that she
loved Kur^gin. She vividly pictured herself as
Prince Andrew's wife, and the scenes of happi-
ness with him she had so often repeated in her
imagination, and at the same time, aglow with
excitement, recalled every detail of yesterday's
interview with Anatole.

"Why could that not be as well?" she some-
times asked herself in complete bewilderment.
"Only so could I be completely happy; but
now I have to choose, and I can't be happy
without either of them. Only," she thought,
"to tell Prince Andrew what has happened or
to hide it from him are both equally impos-
sible. But with that one nothing is spoiled.
But am I really to abandon forever the joy of
Prince Andrew's love, in which I have lived so

"Please, Miss!" whispered a maid entering
the room with a mysterious air. "A man told
me to give you this" and she handed Natrisha
a letter.

"Only, for Christ's sake . . ." the girl went
on, as Natasha, without thinking, mechanical-
ly broke the seal and read a love letter from
Anatole, of which, without taking in a word,
she understood only that it was a letter from
him from the man she loved. Yes, she loved
him, or else how could that have happened
which had happened? And how could she have
a love letter from him in her hand?

With trembling hands Natasha held that


passionate love letter which D61okhov had
composed for Anatole, and as she read it she
found in it an echo of all that she herself im-
agined she was feeling.

"Since yesterday evening my fate has been
sealed; to be loved by you or to die. There is
no other way for me," the letter began. Then
he went on to say that he knew her parents
would not give her to him for this there were
secret reasons he could reveal only to her but
that if she loved him she need only say the
word yes, and no human power could hinder
their bliss. Love would conquer all. He would
steal her away and carry her off to the ends of
the earth.

"Yes, yesl I love him!" thought Natasha,
reading the letter for the twentieth time and
finding some peculiarly deep meaning in each
word of it.

That evening Mdrya Dmftrievna was going
to the Akhdrovs' and proposed to take the
girls with her. Natasha, pleading a headache,
remained at home.


ON RETURNING late in the evening Sonya went
to Natasha's room, and to her surprise found
her still dressed and asleep on the sofa. Open
on the table beside her lay Anatole's letter.
Sonya picked it up and read it.

As she read she glanced at the sleeping Na-
tdsha, trying to find in her face an explanation
of what she was reading, but did not find it.
Her face was calm, gentle, and happy. Clutch-
ing her breast to keep herself from choking,
Sonya, pale and trembling with fear and agi-
tation, sat down in an armchair and burst into

"How was it I noticed nothing? How could
it go so far? Can she have left off loving Prince
Andrew? And how could she let Kuragin go to
such lengths? He is a deceiver and a villain,
that's plain! What will Nicholas, dear noble
Nicholas, do when he hears of it? So this is the
meaning of her excited, resolute, unnatural
look the day before yesterday, yesterday, and
today," thought S6nya. "But it can't be that
she loves him! She probably opened the letter
without knowing who it was from. Probably
she is offended by it. She could not do such a

S6nya wiped away her tears and went up to
Natasha, again scanning her face.

"Natdsha 1" she said, just audibly.

Natdsha awoke and saw S6nya.

"Ah, you're back?"


And with the decision and tenderness that
often come at the moment of awakening, she
embraced her friend, but noticing S6nya's
look of embarrassment, her own face expressed
confusion and suspicion.

ilS6nya, you've read that letter?" she de-

"Yes," answered Sonya softly.

Natasha smiled rapturously.

"No, S6nya, I can't any longer!" she said. "I
can't hide it from you any longer. You know,
we love one another! S6nya, darling, he writes
. . . S6nya . . ."

S6nya stared open-eyed at Natdsha, unable
to believe her ears.

"And Bolk6nski?" she asked.

"Ah, Sonya, if you only knew how happy I
am!" cried Natdsha. "You don't know what
love is "

"But, Natasha, can that be all over?"

Natasha looked at Sonya with wide-open
eyes as if she could not grasp the question.

"Well, then, are you refusing Prince An-
drew?" said Sonya.

"Oh, you don't understand anything! Don't
talk nonsense, just listen!" said Natdsha, with
momentary vexation.

"But I can't believe it," insisted Sonya. "I
don't understand. How is it you have loved a
man for a whole year and suddenly . . . Why,
you have only seen him three times! Natdsha,
I don't believe you, you're joking! In three
days to forget everything and so . . ."

"Three days?" said Natdsha. "It seems to me
I've loved him a hundred years. It seems to me
that I have never loved anyone before. You
can't understand it. ... S6nya, wait a bit, sit
here," and Natdsha embraced and kissed her.

"I had heard that it happens like this, and
you must have heard it too, but it's only now
that I feel such love. It's not the same as be-
fore. As soon as I saw him I felt he was my mas-
ter and I his slave, and that I could not help
loving him. Yes, his slave! Whatever he orders
I shall do. You don't understand that. What
can I do? What can I do, Sonya?" cried Natd-
sha with a happy yet frightened expression.

"But think what you are doing," cried Son-
ya. "I can't leave it like this. This secret cor-
respondence . . . How could you let him go so
far?" she went on, with a horror and disgust
she could hardly conceal.

"I told you that I have no will," Natdsha re-
plied. "Why can't you understand? I love him I"

"Then I won't let it come to that ... I shall
telll" cried S6nya, bursting into tears.


"What do you mean? For God's sake ... If
you tell, you are my enemy!" declared Nat-
sha. "You want me to be miserable, you want
us to be separated "

When she saw Natasha's fright, S6nya shed
tears of shame and pity for her friend.

"But what has happened between you?" she
asked. "What has he said to you? Why doesn't
he come to the house?"

Natdsha did not answer her questions.

"For God's sake, S6nya, don't tell anyone,
don't torture me," Natdsha entreated. "Re-
member no one ought to interfere in such mat-
ters! I have confided in you. . . ."

"But why this secrecy? Why doesn't he come
to the house?" asked S6nya. "Why doesn't he
openly ask for your hand? You know Prince
Andrew gave you complete freedom if it is
really so; but I don't believe it! Natasha, have
you considered what these secret reasons can

Natasha looked at S6nya with astonishment.
Evidently this question presented itself to her
mind for the first time and she did not know
how to answer it.

"I don't know what the reasons are. But
there must be reasons!"

S6nya sighed and shook her head incredu-

"If there were reasons ..." she began.

But Natasha, guessing her doubts, inter-
rupted her in alarm.

"S6nya, one can't doubt him! One can't, one
can't! Don't you understand?" she cried.

"Does he love you?"

"Does he love me?" Natasha repeated with a
smile of pity at her friend's lack of comprehen-
sion. "Why, you have read his letter and you
have seen him."

"But if he is dishonorable?"

"He! dishonorable? If you only knew!" ex-
claimed Natasha.

"If he is an honorable man he should either
declare his intentions or cease seeing you; and
if you won't do this, I will. I will write to him,
and I will tell Papal" said Sonya resolutely.

"But I can't live without him!" cried Nata-

"Natdsha, I don't understand you. And what
are you saying! Think of your father and of

"I don't want anyone, I don't love anyone
but him. How dare you say he is dishonorable?
Don't you know that I love him?" screamed
Natisha. "Go away, S6nya! I don't want to
quarrel with you, but go, for God's sake got


You see how I am suffering!" Natasha cried
angrily, in a voice of despair and repressed ir-
ritation. S6nya burst into sobs and ran from
the room.

Natasha went to the table and without a
moment's reflection wrote that answer to Prin-
cess Mary which she had been unable to write
all the morning. In this letter she said briefly
that all their misunderstandings were at an
end; that availing herself of the magnanimity
of Prince Andrew who when he went abroad
had given her her freedom, she begged Prin-
cess Mary to forget everything and forgive her
if she had been to blame toward her, but that
she could not be his wife. At that moment this
all seemed quite easy, simple, and clear to Na-

On Friday the Rostovs were to return to the
country, but on Wednesday the count went
with the prospective purchaser to his estate
near Moscow.

On the day the count left, S6nya and Natl-
sha were invited to a big dinner party at the
Kardgins', and Mrya Dmftrievna took them
there. At that party Natasha again met Ana-
tole, and S6nya noticed that she spoke to him,
trying not to be overheard, and that all through
dinner she was more agitated than ever. When
they got home Natasha was the first to begin
the explanation Sonya expected.

"There, S6nya, you were talking all sorts of
nonsense about him," Natasha began in a mild
voice such as children use when they wish to be
praised. "We have had an explanation today."

"Well, what happened? What did he say?
Natdsha, how glad I am you're not angry with
me! Tell me everything the whole truth. What
did he say?"

Natdsha became thoughtful.

"Oh,S6nya, if you knew him as I do! He said
. . . He asked me what I had promised Bolk6n-
ski. He was glad I was free to refuse him."

S6nya sighed sorrowfully.

"But you haven't refused Bolk6nski?" said

"Perhaps I have. Perhaps all is over between
me and Bolk6nski. Why do you think so badly
of me?"

"I don't think anything, only I don't under-
stand this . . ."

"Wait a bit, S6nya, you'll understand every-
thing. You'll see what a man he is! Now don't
think badly ot me or of him. I don't think bad-
ly of anyone: I love and pity everybody. But
what am I to do?"


S6nya did not succ*mb to the tender tone
Natdsha used toward her. The more emotional
and ingratiating the expression of Natasha's
face became, the more serious and stern grew

"Natasha," said she, "you asked me not to
speak to you, and I haven't spoken, but now
you yourself have begun. I don't trust him, Na-
tdsha. Why this secrecy?"

"Again, again!" interrupted Natasha.

"Natdsha, I am afraid for you!"

"Afraid of what?"

"I am afraid you're going to your ruin," said
S6nya resolutely, and was herself horrified at
what she had said.

Anger again showed in Natasha's face.

"And I'll go to my ruin, I will, as soon as pos-
sible! It's not your business! It won't be you,
but I, who'll suffer. Leave rne alone, leave me
alone! I hate you!"

"Natasha!" moaned Sonya, aghast.

"I hate you, I hate you! You're myenemy for-
ever!" And Natasha ran out of the room.

Natdsha did not speak to Sonya again and
avoided her. With the same expression of agi-
tated surprise and guilt she went about the
house, taking up now one occupation, now an-
other, and at once abandoning them.

Hard as it was for Sonya, she watched her
friend and did not let her out of her sight.

The day before the count was to return, Son-
ya noticed that Natdsha sat by the drawing-
room window all the morning as if expecting
something and that she made a sign to an offi-
cer who drove past, whom Sonya took to be

Sonya began watching her friend still more
attentively and noticed that at dinner and all
that evening Natdsha was in a strange and un-
natural state. She answered questions at ran-
dom, began sentences she did not finish, and
laughed at everything.

After tea Sonya noticed a housemaid at Na-
tdsha's door timidly waiting to let her pass. She
let the girl go in, and then listening at the door
learned that another letter had beendelivered.

Then suddenly it became clear to Sonya that
Natdsha had some dreadful plan for that eve-
ning. Sonya knocked at her door. Natdsha did
not let her in.

"She will run away with him!" thought S6n-
ya. "She is capable of anything. There was
something particularly pathetic and resolute
in her face today. She cried as she said good-by
to Uncle," Sonya remembered. "Yes, that's it,
she means to elope with him, but what am I to


do?" thought she, recalling all the signs that
clearly indicated that Natdsha had some ter-
rible intention. "The count is away. What am
I to do? Write to Kurdgin demanding an ex-
planation? But what is there to oblige him to
reply? Write to Pierre, as Prince Andrew asked
me to in case of some misfortune? . . . But per-
haps she really has already refused Bolk6nski
she sent a letter to Princess Mary yesterday.

And Uncle is away " To tell Mdrya Dmftri-

evna who had such faith in Natdsha seemed to
S6nya terrible. "Well, anyway," thought Son-
ya as she stood in the dark passage, "now or
never I must prove that I remember the fam-
ily's goodness to me and that I love Nicholas.
Yes! If I don't sleep for three nights I'll not
leave this passage and will hold her back by
force and not let the family be disgraced,"
thought she.


ANATOLE had lately moved to D61okhov's. The
plan for Natalie Rostova's abduction had been
arranged and the preparations made by D61o-
khov a few days before, and on the day that
Sonya, after listening at Natdsha's door, re-
solved to safeguard her, it was to have been put
into execution. Natdsha had promised to come
out to Kurdgin at the back porch at ten that
evening. Kurdgin was to put her into a troyka
he would have ready and to drive her forty
miles to the village of Kdmenka, where an un-
frocked priest was in readiness to perform a
marriage ceremony over them. At Kdmenka a
relay of horses was to wait which would take
them to the Warsaw highroad, and from there
they would hasten abroad with post horses.

Anatole had a passport, an order for post
horses, ten thousand rubles he had taken from
his sister and another ten thousand borrowed
with Dolokhov's help.

Two witnesses for the mock marriage Khvos-
tikov, a retired petty official whom Dolokhov
made use of in his gambling transactions, and
Makdrin, a retired hussar, a kindly, weak fel-
low who had an unbounded affection for Kura-
gin were sitting at tea in Dolokhov's front

In his large study, the walls of which were
hung to the ceiling with Persian rugs, bear-
skins, and weapons, sat D61okhov in a travel-
ing cloak and high boots, at an open desk on
which lay an abacus and some bundles of paper
money. Anatole, with uniform unbuttoned,
walked to and fro from the room where the
witnesses were sitting, through the study to the



room behind, where his French valet and oth-
ers were packing the last of his things. D61o-
khovwas counting themoneyand noting some-
thing down.

"Well," he said, "Khv6stikov must have two

"Give it to him, then," said Anatole.

"Makdrka" (their name for Makdrin) "will
go through fire and water for you for nothing.
So here are our accounts all settled," said
Ddlokhov, showing him the memorandum. "Is
that right?"

"Yes, of course," returned Anatole, evident-
ly not listening to D61okhov and looking
straight before him with a smile that did not
leave his face.

D61okhov banged down the lid of his desk
and turned to Anatole with an ironic smile:

"Do you know? You'd really better drop it
all. There's still time!"

"Fool," retorted Anatole. "Don't talk non-
sense I If you only knew . . . it's the devil knows

"No, really, give it up! "said D61okhov."I am
speaking seriously. It's no joke, this plot you've

"What, teasing agaia? Go to the devil! Eh?"
said Anatole, making a grimace. "Really it's no
time for your stupid jokes," and he left the

D61okhov smiled contemptuously and con-
descendingly when Anatole had gone out.

"You wait a bit," he called after him. "I'm
not joking, I'm talking sense. Come here, come

Anatole returned and looked at D61okhov,
trying to give him his attention and evidently
submitting to him involuntarily.

"Now listen to me. I'm telling you this for the
last time. Why should I joke about it? Did I
hinder you? Who arranged everything for you?
Who found the priest and got the passport?
Who raised the money? I did it all."

"Well, thank you for it. Do you think I am
not grateful?" And Anatole sighed and em-
braced D61okhov.

"I helped you, but all the same I must tell
you the truth; it is a dangerous business, and if
you think about it a stupid business. Well,
you'll carry her off all right! Will they let it
stop at that? It will come out that you're al-
ready married. Why, they'll have you in the
criminal court. . . ."

"Oh, nonsense, nonsense!" Anatole ejaculat-
ed and again made a grimace. "Didn't I ex-
plain to you? What?" And Anatole, with the

partiality dull-witted people have for any con-
clusion they have reached by their own reason-
ing, repeated the argument he had already put
to D61okhov a hundred times. "Didn't I ex-
plain to you that I have come to this conclu-
sion: if this marriage is invalid," he went on,
crooking one finger, "then I have nothing to
answer for; but if it is valid, no matter! Abroad
no one will know anything about it. Isn't that
so? And don't talk to me, don't, don't."

"Seriously, you'd better drop it! You'll only
get yourself into a mess!"

"Go to the devil!" cried Anatole and, clutch-
ing his hair, left the room, but returned at
once and dropped into an armchair in front of
D61okhov with his feet tucked under him. "It's
the very devil! What? Feel how it beats!" He
took D61okhov's hand and put it on his heart.
"What a foot, my dear fellow! What a glance!
A goddess!" he added in French. "What?"

D61okhov with a cold smile and a gleam in
his handsome insolent eyes looked at him evi-
dently wishing to get some more amusement
out of him.

"Well and when the .money's gone, what

"What then? Eh?" repeated Anatole, sincere-
ly perplexed by a thought of the future. "What

then? . . . Then, I don't know But why talk

nonsense!" He glanced at his watch. "It'stime!"

Anatole went into the back room.

"Now then I Nearly ready? You're dawdling! "
he shouted to the servants.

D61okhov put away the money, called a foot-
man whom he ordered to bring something for
them to eat and drink before the journey, and
went into the room where Khv6stikov and
Makrin were sitting.

Anatole lay on the sofa in the study leaning
on his elbow and smiling pensively, while his
handsome lips muttered tenderly to himself.

"Come and eat something. Have a drink!"
D61okhov shouted to him from the other room.

"I don't want to," answered Anatole contin-
uing to smile.

"Come! Balagd is here."

Anatole rose and went into the dining room.
Balagd was a famous troyka driver who had
known D61okhov and Anatole some six years
and had given them good service with his troy-
kas. More than once when Anatole's regiment
was stationed at Tver he had taken him from
Tver in the evening, brought him to Moscow
by daybreak, and driven him back again the
next night. More than once he had enabled
Dblokhov to escape when pursued. More than



once he had driven them through the town with
gypsies and "ladykins"as he called thecocottes.
More than once in their service he had run
over pedestrians and upset vehicles in the
streets of Moscow and had always been pro-
tected from the consequences by "my gentle-
men" as he called them. He had ruined more
than one horse in theirservice. More than once
they had beaten him, and more than once they
had made him drunk on champagne and Ma-
deira, which he loved; and he knew more than
one thing about each of them which would
long ago have sent an ordinary man to Siberia.
They often called Balagd into their orgies and
made him drink and dance at the gypsies', and
more than one thousand rubles of their money
had passed through his hands. In their service
he risked his skin and his life twenty times a
year, and in their service had lost more horses
than the money he had from them would buy.
But he liked them; liked that mad driving at
twelve miles an hour, liked upsetting a driver
or running down a pedestrian, and flying at
full gallop through the Moscow streets. He
liked to hear those wild, tipsy shouts behind
him: "Get on! Get on!" when it was impossible
to go any faster. He liked giving a painful lash
on the neck to some peasant who, more dead
than alive, was already hurrying out of his
way. "Real gentlemen!" he considered them.

Anatole and D61okhov liked Balagd too for
his masterly driving and because he liked the
things they liked. With others Balagd bargained,
charging twenty-five rubles for a two hours'
drive, and rarely drove himself, generally let-
ting his young men do so. But with "his gentle-
men" he always drove himself and never de-
manded anything for his work. Only a couple
of times a year when he knew from their val-
ets that they had money in hand he would turn
up of a morning quite sober and with a deep
bow would ask them to help him. The gentle-
men always made him sit down.

"Do help me out, Theodore Ivdnych, sir," or
"your excellency," he would say. "I am quite
out of horses. Let me have what you can to go
to the fair."

And Anatole and D61okhov, when they had
money, would give him a thousand or a couple
of thousand rubles.

Balagd was a fair-haired, short, and snub-
nosed peasantof about twenty-seven; red-faced,
with a particularly red thick neck, glittering
little eyes, and a small beard. He wore a fine,
dark-blue, silk-lined cloth coat over a sheep-

On entering the room now he crossed him-
self, turning toward the front corner of the
room, and went up to D61okhov, holding out a
small, black hand.

"Theodore Ivdnych I" he said, bowing.
** "How d'you do, friend? Well, here he is!"

"Good day, your excellency!" he said, again
holding out his hand to Anatole who had just
come in.

"I say, Balagd," said Anatole, putting his
hands on the man's shoulders, "do you care for
me or not? Eh? Now, do me a service. . . . What
horses have you come with? Eh?"

"As your messenger ordered, your special
beasts," replied Balagd.

"Well, listen, Balaga! Drive all three to
death but get me there in three hours. Eh?"

"When they are dead, what shall I drive?"
said Balagd with a wink.

"Mind, I'll smash your face in! Don't make
jokes! "cried Anatole, suddenly rolling his eyes.

"Why joke?" said the driver, laughing. "As if
I'd grudge my gentlemen anything! As fast as
ever the horses can gallop, so fast we'll go!"

"Ah!" said Anatole. "Well, sit down."

"Yes, sit down!" said D61okhov.

"I'll stand, Theodore Ivdnych."

"Sit down; nonsense! Have a drink!" said
Anatole, and filled a large glass of Madeira for

The driver's eyes sparkled at the sight of the
wine. After refusing it for manners' sake, he
drank it and wiped his mouth with a red silk
handkerchief he took out of his cap.

"And when are we to start, your excellency?"

"Well . . ." Anatole looked at his watch.
"We'll start at once. Mind, Balagd! You'll get
there in time? Eh?"

"That depends on our luck in starting, else
why shouldn't we be there in time?" replied
Balagd. "Didn't we get you to Tver in seven
hours? I think you remember that, your ex-

"Do you know, one Christmas I drove from
Tver," said Anatole, smiling at the recollection
and turning to Makdrin who gazed rapturous-
ly at him with wide-open eyes. "Will you be-
lieve it, Makdrka, it took one's breath away,
the rate we flew. We came across a train of
loaded sleighs and drove right over two of them.

"Those were horses!" Balagd continued the
tale. "That time I'd harnessed two young side
horses with the bay in the shafts," he went on,
turning to Ddlokhov. "Will you believe it,
Theodore Ivdnych, those animals flew forty


miles? I couldn't hold them in, my hands grew
numb in the sharp frost so that I threw down
the reins 'Catch hold yourself, your excellen-
cy!' says I, and I just tumbled on the bottom of
the sleigh and sprawled there. It wasn't a case
of urging them on, there was no holding them
in till we reached the place. The devils took
us there in three hours! Only the neurone died
of it."


ANATOLE went out of the room and returned
a few minutes later wearing a fur coat girt with
a silver belt, and a sable cap jauntily set on one
side and very becoming to his handsome face.
Having looked in a mirror, and standing before
D61okhov in the same pose he had assumed be-
fore it, he lifted a glass of wine.

''Well, good-by, Theodore. Thank you for
everything and farewell!" said Anatole. "Well,
comrades and friends . . ." he considered for a
moment ". . . of my youth, farewell!" he said,
turning to Makdrin and the others.

Though they were all going with him, An-
atole evidently wished to make something
touching and solemn out of this address to his
comrades. He spoke slowly in a loud voice and
throwing out his chest slightly swayed one leg.

"All take glasses; you too, Balagd. Well, com-
rades and friends of my youth, we've had our
fling and lived and reveled. Eh? And now,
when shall we meet again? I am going abroad.
We have had a good time now farewell, ladsl
To our health! Hurra 'i! . . ." he cried, and emp-
tying his glass flung it on the floor.

"Tp your health!" said Balagd who also emp-
tied kis glass, and wiped his mouth with his

Makdrin embraced Anatole with tears in his

"Ah, Prince, how sorry I am to part from

"Let's go. Let's go!" cried Anatole.

Balagd was about to leave the room.

"No, stop!" said Anatole. "Shut the door; we
have first to sit down. That's the way."

They shut the door and all sat down. 1

"Now, quick march, lads!" said Anatole, ris-
Joseph, his valet, handed him his sabretache
and saber, and they all went out into the vesti-

"And where's the fur cloak?" asked Dolo-

1 This is in accord with a Russian superstition
as to what should be done when starting on a
journey. TR.

khov. "Hey, Igndtkal Go to Matrena Matr^vna
and ask her for the sable cloak. I have heard
what elopements are like," continued D61okhov
with a wink. "Why, she'll rush out more dead
than alive just in the things she is wearing; if
you delay at all there'll be tears and 'Papa' and
'Mamma,' and she's frozen in a minute and
must go back but you wrap the fur cloak
round her first thing and carry her to the sleigh."

The valet brought a woman's fox-lined cloak.

"Fool, I told you the sable one! Hey, Matrena,
the sable!" he shouted so that his voice rang
far through the rooms.

A handsome, slim, and pale-faced gypsy girl
with glittering black eyes and curly blue-black
hair, wearing a red shawl, ran out with a sable
mantle on her arm.

"Here, I don't grudge it take it!" she said,
evidently afraid of her master and yet regret-
ful of her cloak.

Dolokhov, without answering, took the cloak,
threw it over Matrena, and wrapped her up in

"That's the way," said D61okhov, "and then
so!" arid he turned the collar up round her
head, leavingonlya littleof the face uncovered.
"And then so, do you see?" and he pushed An-
atole's head forward to meet the gap left by
the collar, through which Matrena's brilliant
smile was seen.

"Well, good-by, Matrena," said Anatole,
kissing her. "Ah, my revels here are over. Re-
member me to Stcshka. There, good-by! Good-
by, Matrena, wish me luck!"

"Well, Prince, may God give you great luck!"
said Matrena in her gypsy accent.

Two troykas were standing before the porch
and two young drivers were holding the horses.
Balagd took his seat in the front one and hold-
ing his elbows high arranged the reins deliber-
ately. Anatole and Dolokhov got in with him.
Makdrin, Khvostikov, and a valet seated them-
selves in the other sleigh.

"Well, are you ready?" asked Balagd.

"Go!" he cried, twisting the reins round his
hands, and the troyka tore down the Nikftski

"Tproo! Get out of the way! Hi! . . . Tproo!
. . ." The shouting of Balagd and of the sturdy
young fellow seated on the box was all that
could be heard. On the Arbdt Square the troy-
ka caught against a carnage; something cracked,
shouts were heard, and the troyka flew along
the Arbdt Street.

After taking a turn along the Podnovinski
Boulevard, Balagd began to rein in, and turn-

ing back drew up at the crossing of the old
Konyusheny Street.

The young fellow on the box jumped down
to hold the horses and Anatole and D61okhov
went along the pavement. When they reached
the gate D61okhov whistled. The whistle was
answered, and a maidservant ran out.

"Come into the courtyard or you'll be seen;
she'll come out directly," said she.

D61okhov stayed by the gate. Anatole fol-
lowed the maid into the courtyard, turned the
corner, and ran up into the porch.

He was met by Gabriel, Mdrya Dmitrievna's
gigantic footman.

"Come to the mistress, please," said the foot-
man in his deep bass, intercepting any retreat.

"To what mistress? Who are you?" asked An-
atole in a breathless whisper.

"Kindly step in, my orders are to bring you

"Kurginl Come backl" shouted D61okhov.
"Betrayed! Back!"

Dolokhov, after Anatole entered, had re-
mained at the wicket gate and was struggling
with the yard porter who was trying to lock it.
With a last desperate effort Dolokhov pushed
the porter aside, and when Anatole ran back
seized him by the arm, pulled him through the
wicket, and ran back with him to the troyka.


MARYA DMITRIEVN A, having found S6nya weep-
ing in the corridor, made her confess every-
thing, and intercepting the note to Natasha she
read it and went into Natasha's room with it
in her hand.

"You shameless good-for-nothing!" said she.
"I won't hear a word."

Pushing back Natasha who looked at her
with astonished but tearless eyes, she locked
her in; and having given orders to the yard
porter to admit the persons who would be com-
ing that evening, but not to let them out again,
and having told the footman to bring them up
to her, she seated herself in the drawing room to
await the abductors.

When Gabriel came to inform her that the
men who had come had run away again, she
rose frowning, and clasping her hands behind
her paced through the rooms a long time con-
sidering what she should do. Toward midnight
she went to Natasha's room fingering the key
in her pocket. S6nya was sitting sobbing in the
corridor. "MArya Dmitrievna, for God's sake
let me in to herl" she pleaded, but Mdrya
Dmitrievna unlocked the door and went in


without giving her an answer. . . . "Disgusting,

abominable ... In my house . . . horrid girl,
hussy! I'm only sorry for her father!" thought
she, trying to restrain her wrath. "Hard as it
may be, I'll tell them all to hold their tongues
a^nd will hide it from the count." She entered
the room with resolute steps. Natasha was lying
on the sofa, her head hidden in her hands, and
she did not stir. She was in just the same posi-
tion in which Marya Dmitrievna had left her.

"A nice girl! Very nice!" said Marya Dmi-
trievna. "Arranging meetings with lovers in my
house! It's no use pretending: you listen when
I speak to you!" And Marya Dmitrievna
touched her arm. "Listen when I speak! You've
disgraced yourself like the lowest of hussies.
I'd treat you differently, but I'm sorry for your
father, so I will conceal it."

Natasha did not change her position, but her
whole body heaved with noiseless, convulsive
sobs which choked her. Marya Dmitrievna
glanced round at Sonya and seated herself on
the sofa beside Natasha.

"It's lucky for him that he escaped me; but
I'll find him!" she said in her rough voice. "Do
you hear what I am saying or not?" she added.

She put her large hand under Natasha's
face and turned it toward her. Both Marya
Dmitrievna and Sonya were amazed when they
saw how Natasha looked. Her eyes were dry
and glistening, her lips compressed, her cheeks

"Let me be! ... What is- it to me? ... I shall
die!" she muttered, wrenching herself from
Mdrya Dmitrievna's hands with a vicious ef-
fort and sinking down again into her former

"Natalie!" said Mrya Dmitrievna. "I wish
for your good. Lie still, stay like that then, I
won't touch you. But listen. I won't tell you
how guilty you are. You know that yourself.
But when your father comes back tomorrow-
what am I to tell him? Eh?"

Again Natasha's body shook with sobs.

"Suppose he finds out, and your brother,
and your betrothed?"

"I have no betrothed: I have refused him!"
cried Natasha.

"That's all the same," continued Mdrya Dmi-
trievna. "If they hear of this, will they let it pass?
He, your father, I know him ... if he chal-
lenges him to a duel will that be all right? Eh?"

"Oh, let me be! Why have you interfered at
all? Why? Why? Who asked you to?" shouted
Natisha, raising herself on the sofa and look-
ing malignantly at M&rya Dmitrievna.



"But what did you want?" cried Mdrya Dmf-
trievna, growing angry again. "Were you kept
under lock and key? Who hindered his coming
to the house? Why carry you off as if you were
some gypsy singing girl? . . . Well, if he had car-
ried you off ... do you think they wouldn't
have found him? Your father, or brother, or
your betrothed? And he's a scoundrel, a wretch
that's a fact!"

"He is better than any of you!" exclaimed
Natdsha getting up. "If you hadn't interfered
. . . Oh, my God! What is it all? What is it?
Sonya, why? ... Go away!"

And she burst into sobs with the despairing
vehemence with which people bewail disasters
they feel they have themselves occasioned.
Mdrya Dmftrievna was about to speak again,
but Natdsha cried out:

"Go away! Go away! You all hate and despise
me!" and she threw herself back on the sofa.

Mdrya Dmitrievnawent on admonishing her
for some time, en joining on her that it must all
be kept from her father and assuring her that
nobody would know anything about it if only
Natdsha herself would undertake to forget it
all and not let anyone see that something had
happened. Natdsha did not reply, nor did she
sob any longer, but she grew cold and had a
shivering fit. Mdrya Dmitrievna put a pillow
under her head, covered her with two quilts,
and herself brought her some lime-flower wa-
ter, but Natdsha did not respond to her.

"Well, let her sleep," said Mdrya Dmitriev-
na as she went out of the room supposing Na-
tdsha to be asleep.

But Natdsha was not asleep; with pale face
and fixed wide-open eyes she looked straight
before her. All that night she did not sleep or
weep and did not speak to S6nya who got up
and went to her several times.

Next day Count Rostov returned from his
estate near Moscow in time for lunch as he had
promised. He was in very good spirits; the af-
fair with the purchaser was going on satisfac-
torily, and there was nothing to keep him any
longer in Moscow, away from the countess
whom he missed. Mdrya Dmftrievna met him
and told him that Natdsha had been very un-
well the day before and that they had sent for
the doctor, but that she was better now. Na-
tdsha had not left her room that morning. With
compressed and parched lips and dry fixed
eyes, she sat at the window, uneasily watching
the people who drove past and hurriedly glanc-
ing round at anyone who entered the room.
She was evidently expecting news of him and

that he would come or would write to her.

When the count came to see her she turned
anxiously round at the sound of a man's foot-
step, and then her face resumed its cold and
malevolent expression. She did not even get up
to greet him.

"What is the matter with you, my angel? Are
you ill?" asked the count.

After a moment's silence Natdsha answered:
"Yes, ill."

In reply to the count's anxious inquiries as
to why she was so dejected and whether any-
thing had happened to her betrothed, she as-
sured him that nothinghad happened and asked
him not to worry. Mdrya Dmftrievna confirmed
Natdsha's assurances that nothing had hap-
pened. From the pretense of illness, from his
daughter's distress, and by the embarrassed
faces of Sonya and Mdrya Dmftrievna, the
count saw clearly that something had gone
wrong during his absence, but it was so terrible
for him to think that anything disgraceful had
happened to his beloved daughter, and he so
prized his own cheerful tranquillity, that he
avoided inquiries and tried to assure himself
that nothing particularly had happened; and
he was only dissatisfied that her indisposition
delayed their return to the country.


FROM THE DAY his wife arrived in Moscow
Pierre had been intending to go away some-
where, so as not to be near her. Soon after the
Rostovs came to Moscow the effect Natdsha
had on him made him hasten to carry out his
intention. He went to Tver to see Joseph
Alexe*evich's widow, who had long since prom-
ised to hand over to him some papers of her
deceased husband's.

When he returned to Moscow Pierre was
handed a letter from Mdrya Dmftrievna ask-
ing him to come and see her on a matter of
great importance relating to Andrew Bolkon-
ski and his betrothed. Pierre had been avoid-
ing Natdsha because it seemed to him that his
feeling for her was stronger than a married
man's should be for his friend's fiancde. Yet
some fate constantly threw them together.

"What can have happened? And what can
they want with me?" thought he ashedressedto
go to Mdrya Dmftrievna's. "If only Prince An-
drew would hurry up and come and marry her I"
thought he on his way to the house.

On the Tversk6y Boulevard a familiar voice
called to him.

"Pierre! Been back long?" someone shouted.



Pierre raised his head. In a sleigh drawn by two
gray trotting-horses that were bespattering the
dashboard with snow, Anatole and his constant
companion Makdrin dashed past. Anatole was
sitting upright in the classic pose of military
dandies, the lower part of his face hidden by
his beaver collar and his head slightly bent. His
face was fresh and rosy, his white-plumed hat,
tilted to one side, disclosed his curled and po-
maded hair besprinkled with powdery snow.

"Yes, indeed, that's a true sage," thought
Pierre. "He sees nothing beyond the pleasure
of the moment, nothing troubles him and so
he is always cheerful, satisfied, and serene.
What wouldn't I give to be like himl" he
thought enviously.

In Mdrya Dmitrievna's anteroom the foot-
man who helped him off with his fur coat said
that the mistress asked him to come to her bed-

When he opened the ballroom door Pierre
saw Natdsha sitting at the window, with a thin,
pale, and spiteful face. She glanced round at
him, frowned, and left the room with an ex-
pression of cold dignity.

"What has happened?" asked Pierre, enter-
ing Marya Dmftrievna's room.

"Fine doings {"answered Mdrya Drnitrievna.
"For fifty-eight years have I lived in this world
and never known anything so disgraceful!"

And having put him on his honor not to
repeat anything she told him, Mdrya Drnitri-
evna informed him that Natasha had refused
Prince Andrew without her parents' knowl-
edge and that the cause of this was Anatole
Kurdgin into whose society Pierre's wife had
thrown her and with whom Natdsha had tried
to elope during her father's absence, in order
to be married secretly.

Pierre raised his shoulders and listened open-
mouthed to what was told him, scarcely able to
believe his own ears. That Prince Andrew's
deeply loved affianced wife the same Natdsha
Rost6va who used to be so charming should
give up Bolk6nski for that fool Anatole who
was already secretly married (as Pierre knew),
and should be so in love with him as to agree
to run away with him, was something Pierre
could not conceive and could not imagine.

He could not reconcile the charming impres-
sion he had of Natdsha, whom he had known
from a child, with this new conception of her
baseness, folly, and cruelty. He thought of his
wife. "They are all alikel" he said to himself,
reflecting that he was not the only man unfor-
tunate enough to be tied to a bad woman. But

still he pitied Prince Andrew to the point of
tears and sympathized with his wounded pride,
and the more he pitied his friend the more did
he think with contempt and even with disgust
of that Natdsha who had just passed him in
the ballroom with such a look of cold dignity.
He did not know that Natdsha's soul was over-
flowing with despair, shame, and humiliation,
and that it was not her fault that her face hap-
pened to assume an expression of calm dignity
and severity.

"But how get married?" said Pierre, in an-
swer to Mdrya Dmftrievna. "He could not
marry he is married!"

"Things get worse from hour to hour!" ejac-
ulated Mdrya Dmftrievna. "A niceyouth! What
a scoundrel! And she's expecting him expect-
ing him since yesterday. She must be told! Then
at least she won't go on expecting him."

After hearing the details of Anatole's mar-
riage from Pierre, and giving vent to her anger
against Anatole in words of abuse, Mdrya
Drnitrievna told Pierre why she had sent for
him. She was afraid that the count or Bolk6n-
ski, who might arrive at any moment, if they
knew of this affair (which she hoped to hide
from them) might challenge Anatole to a duel,
and she therefore asked Pierre to tell his broth-
er-in-law in her name to leave Moscow and not
dare to let her set eyes on him again. Pierre-
only now realizing the danger to the old count,
Nicholas, and Prince Andrew promised to do
as she wished. Having briefly and exactly ex-
plained her wishes to him, she let him go to
the drawing room.

"Mind, the count knows nothing. Behave as
if you know nothing either," she said. "And I
will go and tell her it is no use expecting him!
And stay to dinner if you care to!" she called
after Pierre.

Pierre met the old count, who seemed nerv-
ous and upset. That morning Natdsha had told
him that she had rejected Bolk6nski.

"Troubles, troubles, my dear fellow!" he
said to Pierre. "What troubles one has with
these girls without their mother! I do so regret

having come here I will be frank with you.

Have you heard she has broken off her engage-
ment without consulting anybody? It's true
this engagement never was much to my liking.
Of course he is an excellent man, but still, with
his father's disapproval they wouldn't have
been happy, and Natdsha won't lack suitors.
Still, it has been going on so long, and to take
such a step without father's or mother's con-
sent! And now she's ill, and God knows what!



It's hard, Count, hard to manage daughters in
their mother's absence. . . ."

Pierre saw that the count was much upset
and tried to change the subject, but the count
returned to his troubles.

S6nya entered the room with an agitated

"Natdsha is not quite well; she's in her room
and would like to see you. Mdrya Dmftrievna
is with her and she too asks you to come."

"Yes, you are a great friend of Bolk6nski's,
no doubt she wants to send him a message,"
said the count. "Oh dearl Oh dearl How happy
it all was!"

And clutching the spare gray locks on his
temples the count left the room.

When Mdrya Dmftrievna told Natdsha that
Anatole was married, Natdsha did not wish to
believe it and insisted on having it confirmed
by Pierre himself. S6nya told Pierre this as she
led him along the corridor to Natasha's room.

Natdsha, pale and stern, was sitting beside
Mdrya Dmftrievna, and her eyes, glittering fe-
verishly, met Pierre with a questioning look
the moment he entered. She did not smile or
nod, butonlygazed fixedly at him, and her look
asked only one thing: was he a friend, or like
the others an enemy in regard to Anatole? As
for Pierre, he evidently did not exist for her.

"He knows all about it," said Mdrya Dmitri-
evna pointing to Pierre and addressing Natd-
sha. "Let him tell you whether I have told the

//Natdsha looked from one to the other as a
hunted and wounded animal looks at the ap-
proaching dogs and sportsmen.

"Natdlya Ilynfchna," Pierre began, drop-
ping his eyes with a feeling of pity for her and
loathing for the thing he had to do, "whether
it is true or not should make no difference to
you, because ..."

"Then it is not true that he's married 1"

"Yes, it is true."

"Has he been married long?" she asked. "On
your honor? . . ."

Pierre gave his word of honor.

"Is he still here?" she asked, quickly.

"Yes, I have just seen him."

She was evidently unable to speak and made a
sign with her hands that they should leave her


PIERRE did not stay for dinner, but left the
room and went away at once. He drove through
the town seeking Anatole Kuragin, at the

thought of whom now the blood rushed to his
heart and he felt a difficulty in breathing. He
was not at the ice hills, nor at the gypsies', nor
at Komoneno's. Pierre drove to the Club. In
the Club all was going on as usual. The mem-
bers who were assembling for dinner were sit-
ting about in groups; they greeted Pierre and
spoke of the town news. The footman having
greeted him, knowing his habits and his ac-
quaintances, told him there was a place left
for him in the small dining room and that
Prince Michael Zakhdrych was in the library,
but Paul Timofe*evich had not yet arrived.
One of Pierre's acquaintances, while they were
talking about the weather, asked if he had
heard of Kuragin
M. Bullitt‎‎‎‎‎‎ writes:
on May 3rd, 2014 at 5:14:38 PM

brothers, that the law courts are closed; things
have to be put in order, and we will deal with vil-
lains in our own way! When the time comes I shall
want both town and peasant lads and will raise
the cry a day or two beforehand, but they are not
wanted yet so I hold my peace. An ax will be use-
ful, a hunting spear not bad, but a three-pronged
fork will be best of all: a Frenchman is no heavier
than a sheaf of rye. Tomorrow after dinner I shall
take the Iberian icon of the Mother of God to the
wounded in the Catherine Hospital where we will
have some water blessed. That will help them to
get well quicker. I, too, am well now: one of my
eyes was sore but now I am on the lookout with

"But military men have told me that it is
impossible to fight in the town/' said Pierre,
"and that the position . . ."

"Well, of course! That's what we were say-
ing," replied the first speaker.

"And what does he mean by 'One of my
eyes was sore but now I am on the lookout with
both'?" asked Pierre.

"The count had a sty," replied the adjutant
smiling, "and was very much upset when I told
him people had come to ask what was the mat-
ter with him. By the by, Count," he added
suddenly, addressing Pierre with a smile, "we
heard that you have family troubles and that
the countess, your wife . . ."

"I have heard nothing," Pierre replied un-
concernedly. "But what have you heard?"

"Oh, well, you know people often invent
things. I only say what I heard."

"But what did you hear?"

"Well, they say," continued the adjutant
with the same smile, "that the countess, your
wife, is preparing to go abroad. I expect it's
nonsense. . . ."

"Possibly," remarked Pierre, looking about
him absent-mindedly. "And who is that?" he
asked, indicating a short old man in a clean
blue peasant overcoat, with a big snow-white
beard and eyebrows and a ruddy face.

"He? That's a tradesman, that is to say, he's
the restaurant keeper, Vereshchdgin. Perhaps
you have heard of that affair with the procla-

"Oh, so that is Vereshchgin!" said Pierre,
looking at the firm, calm face of the old man
and seeking any indication of his being a

"That's not he himself, that's the father of
the fellow who wrote the proclamation," said
the adjutant. "The young man is in prison
and I expect it will go hard with him."

An old gentleman wearing a star and anoth-


er official, a German wearing a cross round his

neck, approached the speaker.

"It's a complicated story, you know," said
the adjutant. "That proclamation appeared
about two months ago. The count was in-
formed of it. He gave orders to investigate the
matter. Gabriel Ivdnovich here made the in-
quiries. The proclamation had passed through
exactly sixty-three hands. He asked one, 'From
whom did you get it?' 'From so-and-so.' He went
to the next one. 'From whom did you get it?'
and so on till he reached Vereshch^gin, a half-
educated tradesman, you know, 4 a pet of a
trader,' " said the adjutant smiling. "They
asked him, 'Who gave it you?' And the point is
that we knew whom he had it from. He could
only have had it from the Postmaster. But evi-
dently they had come to some understanding.
He replied: 'From no one; I made it up my-
self.' They threatened and questioned him,
but he stuck to that: 'I made it up myself.' And
so it was reported to the count, who sent for
the man. 'From whom did you get the procla-
mation?' 'I wrote it myself.' Well, you know
the count," said the adjutant cheerfully, with a
smile of pride, "he flared up dreadfullyand
just think of the fellow's audacity, lying, and

"And the count wanted him to say it was
from Klyucharev? I understand!" said Pierre.

"Not at all," rejoined the adjutant in dis-
may. "Klyucharev had his own sins to answer
for without that and that is why he has been
banished. But the point is that the count was
much annoyed. 'How could you have written
it yourself?' said he, arid he took up the Ham-
burg Gazette that was lying on the table.
'Here it is! You did not write it yourself but
translated it, and translated it abominably, be-
cause you don't even know French, you fool.'
And what do you think? 'No,' said he, 'I have
not read any papers, I made it up myself.' 'If
that's so, you're a traitor and I'll have you
tried, and you'll be hanged! Say from whom
you had it.' 'I have seen no papers, I made it
up myself.' And that was the end of it. The
count had the father fetched, but the fellow
stuck to it. He was sent for trial and con-
demned to hard labor, I believe. Now the fa-
ther has come to intercede for him. But he's a
good-for-nothing lad! You know that sort of
tradesman's son, a dandy and lady-killer. He
attended some lectures somewhere and imag-
ines that the devil is no match for him. That's
the sort of fellow he is. His father keeps a cook-
shop here by the Stone Bridge, and you know


there was a large icon of God Almighty painted
with a scepter in one hand and an orb in the
other. Well, he took that icon home with him
for a few days and what did he do? He found
some scoundrel of a painter . . ."


IN THE MIDDLE of this fresh talc Pierre was
summoned to the commander in chief.

When he entered the private room Count
Rostopchin, puckering his face, was rubbing
his forehead and eyes with his hand. A short
man was saying something, but when Pierre
entered he stopped speaking and went out.

"Ah, how do you do, great warrior?" said
Rostopchin as soon as the short man had left
the room. "We have heard of your prowess.
But that's not the point. Between ourselves,
mon cher, do you belong to the Masons?" he
went on severely, as though there were some-
thing wrong about it which he nevertheless
intended to pardon. Pierre remained silent. "I
am well informed, my friend, but I am aware
that there are Masons and Masons and I hope
that you are not one of those who on pretense
of saving mankind wish to ruin Russia."

"Yes, I am a Mason," Pierre replied.

"There, you see, mon cher! I expect you
know that Messrs. Spcranski and Magnitski
have been deported to their proper place. Mr.
Klyucharev has been treated in the same way,
and so have others who on the plea of building
up the temple of Solomon have tried to de-
stroy the temple of their fatherland. You can
understand that there are reasons for this and
that I could not have exiled the Postmaster
had he not been a harmful person. It has now
come to my knowledge that you lent him your
carriage for his removal from town, and that
you have even accepted papers from him for
safe custody. I like you and don't wish you any
harm and as you are only half my age I ad-
vise you, as a father would, to cease all com-
munication with men of that stamp and to
leave here as soon as possible."

"But what did Klyucharevdo wrong, Count?"
asked Pierre.

"That is for me to know, but not for you to
ask," shouted Rostopchfn.

"If he is accused of circulating Napoleon's
proclamation it is not proved that he did so,"
said Pierre without looking at Rostopchfn, "and
Vereshchdgin ..."

"There we are!" Rostopchin shouted at
Pierre louder than before, frowning suddenly.
"Vereshch^gin is a renegade and a traitor who

will be punished as he deserves," said he with
the vindictive heat with which people speak
when recalling an insult. "But I did not sum-
mon you to discuss my actions, but to give you
advice or an order if you prefer it. I beg you
to leave the town and break off all communica-
tion with such men as Klyucharev. And I will
knock the nonsense outof anybody" but prob-
ably rcali/ing that he was shouting at Beziik-
hov who so far was not guilty of anything, he
added, taking Pierre's hand in a friendly man-
ner, "We arc on the eve of a public disaster
and I haven't time to be polite to everybody
who has business with me. My head is some-
times in a whirl. Well, mon cher, what are you
doing personally?"

"Why, nothing," answered Pierre without
raising his eyes or changing the thoughtful ex-
pression of his face.

The count frowned.

"A word of friendly advice, mon cher. Be off
as soon as you can, that's all I have to tell you.
Happy he who has ears to hear. Good-by, my
dear fellow. Oh, by the by! "he shouted through
the doorway after Pierre, "is it true that the
countess has fallen into the clutches of the
holy fathers of the Society of Jesus?"

Pierre did not answer and left Rostopchfn's
room more sullen and angry than he had ever
before shown himself.

When he reached home it was already get-
ting dark. Some eight people had come to see
him that evening: thesecretary of a committee,
the colonel of his battalion, his steward, his
major-domo, and various petitioners. They all
had business with Pierre and wanted decisions
from him. Pierre did not understand and was
not interested in any of these questions and
only answered them in order to get rid of these
people. When left alone at last he opened and
read his wife's letter.

"They, the soldiers at the battery, Prince
Andrew killed . . . that old man . . . Simplicity
is submission to God. Suffering is necessary . . .
the meaning of all ... one must harness . . .
my wife is getting married . . . One must for-
get and understand . . ." And going to his bed
he threw himself on it without undressing and
immediately fell asleep.

When he awoke next morning the major-
domo came to inform him that a special mes-
senger, a police officer, had come from Count
Rostopchin to know whether Count Beziikhov
had left or was leaving the town.

A dozen persons who had business with
Pierre were awaiting him in the drawing room.



Pierre dressed hurriedly and, instead of going
to see them, went to the back porch and out
through the gate.

From that time till the end of the destruc-
tion of Moscow no one of Beziikhov's house-
hold, despite all the search they made, saw
Pierre again or knew where he was.


THE Ros'i6vs remained in Moscow till the first
of September, that is, till the eve of the en-
emy's entry into the city.

After P(kya had joined Oboldnski's regi-
ment of Cossacks and left for Belaya Tserkov
where that regiment was forming, the countess
was seized with terror. The thought that both
her sons were at the war, had both gone from
under her wing, that today or tomorrow either
or both of them might be killed like the three
sons of one of her acquaintances, struck her
that summer for the first time with cruel clear-
ness. She tried to get Nicholas back and wished
to go herself to join P(kya, or to get him an ap-
pointment somewhere in Petersburg, but nei-
ther of these proved possible. Ptya could not
return unless his regiment did so or unless he
was transferred to another regiment on active
service. Nicholas was somewhere with the army
and had not sent a word since his last letter, in
which he had given a detailed account of his
meeting with Princess Mary. The countess did
not sleep at night, or when she did fall asleep
dreamed that she saw her sons lying dead. Aft-
er many consultations and conversations, the
count at last devised means to tranquillize her.
He got Ptya transferred from Obolenski's regi-
ment to Beziikhov's, which was in training
near Moscow. Though Pd-tya would remain in
the service, this transfer would give the coun-
tess the consolation of seeing at least one of
her sons under her wing, and she hoped to ar-
range matters for her P(hya so as not to let him
go again, but always get him appointed to
places where he could not possibly take part
in a battle. As long as Nicholas alone was in
danger the countess imagined that she loved
her first-born more than all her other children
and even reproached herself for it; but when
her youngest: the scapegrace who had been
bad at lessons, was always breaking things in
the house and making himself a nuisance to
everybody, that snub-nosed Ptya with his
merry black eyes and fresh rosy cheeks where
soft down was just beginning to show when
he was thrown amid those big, dreadful, cruel
men who were fighting somewhere about some-

thing and apparently finding pleasure in it-
then his mother thought she loved him more,
much more, than all her other children. The
nearer the time came for Ptya to return, the
more uneasy grew the countess. She began to
think she would never live to see such happi-
ness. The presence of Sonya, of her beloved
Natasha, or even of her husband irritated her.
"What do I want with them? I want no one
but P6tya," she thought.

At the end of August the Rost6vs received
another letter from Nicholas. He wrote from
the province ot Vor6nezh where he had been
sent to procure remounts, but that letter did
riot set the countess at ease. Knowing that one
son was out of danger she became the more
anxious about Ptya.

Though by the twentieth of August nearly
all the Rostovs' acquaintances had left Mos-
cow, and though everybody tried to persuade
the countess to get away as quickly as possible,
.she would not hear of leaving before her treas-
ure, her adored Pe*tya, returned. On the twenty-
eighth of August he arrived. The passionate
tenderness with which his mother received
him did not please the sixteen-year-old officer.
Though she concealed from him her intention
of keeping him under her wing, Petya guessed
her designs, and instinctively fearing that he
might give way to emotion when with her
might "become womanish" as he termed it to
himselfhe treated her coldly, avoided her,
and during his stay in Moscow attached him-
self exclusively to Natasha for whom he had al-
ways had a particularly brotherly tenderness,
almost lover-like.

Owing to the count's customary carelessness
nothing was ready for their departure by the
twenty-eighth of August and the carts that
were to come from their Ryazdn and Moscow
estates to remove their household belongings
did not arrive till the thirtieth.

From the twenty-eighth till the thirty- first
all Moscow was in a bustle and commotion.
Every day thousands of men wounded at Boro-
din6 were brought in by the Dorogomilov gate
and taken to various parts of Moscow, and
thousands of carts conveyed the inhabitants
and their possessions out by the other gates.
In spite of Rostopchfn's broadsheets, or be-
cause of them or independently of them, the
strangest and most contradictory rumors were
current in the town. Some said that no one was
to be allowed to leave the city, others on the
contrary said that all the icons had been taken
out of the churches and everybody was to be


ordered to leave. Some said there had been an-
other battle after Borodino at which the French
had been routed, while others on the contrary
reported that the Russian army had been de-
stroyed. Some talked about the Moscow militia
which, preceded by the clergy, would go to the
Three Hills; others whispered that Augustin *
had been forbidden to leave, that traitors had
been seized, that the peasants were rioting and
robbing people on their way from Moscow,
and so on. But all this was only talk; in reality
(though the Council of Filf, at which it was
decided to abandon Moscow, had not yet been
held) both those who went away and those who
remained behind felt, though they did not
show it, that Moscow would certainly be aban-
doned, and that they ought to get away as
quickly as possible and save their belongings.
It was felt that everything would suddenly
break up and change, but up to the first of
September nothing had done so. As a criminal
who is being led to execution knows that he
must die immediately, but yet looks about him
and straightens the cap that is awry on his
head, so Moscow involuntarily continued its
wonted life, though it knew that the time of its
destruction was near when the conditions of
life to which its people were accustomed to
submit would be completely upset.

During the three days preceding the occupa-
tion of Moscow the whole Rostov family was
absorbed in various activities. The head of the
family, Count Ilyd Rost6v, continually drove
about the city collecting the current rumors
from all sides and gave superficial and hasty
orders at home about the preparations for their

The countess watched the things being
packed, was dissatisfied with everything, was
constantly in pursuit of Ptya who was always
running away from her, and was jealous of
Natisha with whom he spent all his time. S6n-
ya alone directed the practical side of matters
by getting things packed. But of late S6nya
had been particularly sad and silent. Nicholas'
letter in which he mentioned Princess Mary
had elicited, in her presence, joyous comments
from the countess, who saw an intervention of
Providence in this meeting of the princess and

"I was never pleased at Bolk6nski's engage-
ment to Natdsha," said the countess, "but I al-
ways wanted Nicholas to marry the princess,
and had a presentiment that it would happen.
What a good thing it would bel"

1 Archbishop of Moscow. TR.


S6nya felt that this was true: that the only
possibility of retrieving the Rostovs' affairs was
by Nicholas marrying a rich woman, and that
the princess was a good match. It was very bit-
ter for her. But despite her grief, or perhaps
just because of it, she took on herself all the
difficult work of directing the storingand pack-
ing of their things and was busy for whole days.
The count and countess turned to her when
they had any orders to give. Ptya and Nata-
sha on the contrary, far from helping their
parents, were generally a nuisance and a hin-
drance to everyone. Almost all day long the
house resounded with their running feet, their
cries, and their spontaneous laughter. They
laughed and were gay not because there was
any reason to laugh, but because gaiety and
mirth were in their hearts and so everything
that happened was a cause for gaiety and
laughter to them. P cause having left home a boy he had returned
(as everybody told him) a fine young man, be-
cause he was at home, because he had left Be*-
laya Tscrkov where there was no hope of soon
taking part in a battle and had come to Mos-
cow where there was to be fighting in a few
days, and chiefly because Natdsha, whose lead
he always followed, was in high spirits. Nata-
sha was gay because she had been sad too long
and now nothing reminded her of the cause of
her sadness, and because she was feeling well.
She was also happy because she had someone
to adore her: the adoration of others was a
lubricant the wheels of her machine needed to
make them run freely and Pchya adored her.
Above all, they were gay because there was a
war near Moscow, there would be fighting at
the town gates, arms were being given out,
everybody was escaping going away some-
where, and in general something extraordinary
was happening, and that is always exciting,
especially to the young.


ON SATURDAY, the thirty-first of August, every-
thing in the Rost6vs' house seemed topsy-turvy.
All the doors were open, all the furniture was
being carried out or moved about, and the
mirrors and pictures had been taken down.
There were trunks in the rooms, and hay,
wrapping paper, and ropes were scattered
about. The peasants and house serfs carrying
out the things were treading heavily on the
parquet floors. The yard was crowded with
peasant carts, some loaded high and already
corded up, others still empty.



The voices and footsteps of the many serv-
ants and of the peasants -who had come with
the carts resounded as they shouted to one an-
other in the yard and in the house. The count
had been out since morning. The countess had
a headache brought on by all the noise and
turmoil and was lying down in the new sitting
room with a vinegar compress on her head.
Pdtya was not at home, he had gone to visit a
friend with whom he meant to obtain a trans-
fer from the militia to the active army. S6nya
was in the ballroom looking after the packing
of the glass and china. Natdsha was sitting on
the floor of her dismantled room with dresses,
ribbons, and scarves strewn all about her, gaz-
ing fixedly at the floor and holding in her
hands the old ball dress (already out of fash-
ion) which she had worn at her first Petersburg

Natasha was ashamed of doing nothing when
everyone else was so busy, and several times
that morning had tried to set to work, but her
heart was not in it, and she could not and did
not know how to do anything except with all
her heart and all her might. For a while she
had stood beside S6nya while the china was
being packed and tried to help, but soon gave
it up and went to her room to pack her own
things. At first she found it amusing to give
away dresses and ribbons to the maids, but
when that was done and what was left had still
to be packed, she found it dull.

"Dunydsha, you packl You will, won't you,
dear?" And when Dunydsha willingly prom-
ised to do it all for her, Natasha sat down on
the floor, took her old ball dress, and fell into
a reverie quite unrelated to what ought to
have occupied her thoughts now. She was
roused from her reverie by the talk of the maids
in the next room (which was theirs) and by
the sound of their hurried footsteps going to
the back porch. Natdsha got up and looked
out of the window. An enormously long row
of carts full of wounded men had stopped in
the street.

The housekeeper, the old nurse, the cooks,
coachmen, maids, footmen, postilions, and
scullions stood at the gate, staring at the

Natdsha, throwing a clean pocket handker-
chief over her hair and holding an end of it in
each hand, went out into the street.

The former housekeeper, old Mdvra Kuz-
minichna, had stepped out of the crowd by
the gate, gone up to a cart with a hood con-
structed of bast mats, and was speaking to a

pale young officer who lay inside. Natdsha
moved a few steps forward and stopped shyly,
still holding her handkerchief, and listened to
what the housekeeper was saying.

"Then you have nobody in Moscow?" she
was saying. "You would be more comfortable
somewhere in a house ... in ours, for instance
. . . the family are leaving."

"I don't know if it would be allowed," re-
plied the officer in a weak voice. "Here is our
commanding officer . . . ask him," and he
pointed to a stout major who was walking back
along the street past the row of carts.

Natdsha glanced with frightened eyes at the
face of the wounded officer and at once went
to meet the major.

"May the wounded men stay in our house?"
she asked.

The major raised his hand to his cap with a

"Which one do you want, Ma'am'selle?"said
he, screwing up his eyes and smiling.

Natdsha quietly repeated her question, and
her face and whole manner were so serious,
though she was still holding the ends of her
handkerchief, that the major ceased smiling
and after some reflection as if considering in
how far the thing was possiblereplied in the

"Oh yes, why not? They may," he said.
With a slight inclination of her head, Natd-
sha stepped back quickly to Mdvra Kuzminich-
na, who stood talking compassionately to the

"They may. He says they mayl" whispered

The cart in which the officer lay was turned
into the Rostovs* yard, and dozens of carts
with wounded men t>egan at the invitation of
the townsfolk ttf turn into the yards and to
draw up at the entrances of the houses in Po-
varskdya Street. Natdsha was evidently pleased
to be dealing with new people outside the ordi-
nary routine of her life. She and Mdvra Kuz-
minichna tried to get as many of the wounded
as possible into their yard.

"Your Papa must be told, though," said Md-
vra Kuzminichna.

"Never mind, never mind, what does it mat-
ter? For one day we can move into the draw-
ing room. They can have all our half of the

"There now, young lady, you do take things
into your head! Even if we put them into the
wing, the men's room, or the nurse's room, we
must ask permission."


"Well, I'll ask."

Natdsha ran into the house and went on tip-
toe through the half-open door into the sitting
room, where there was a smell of vinegar and
Hoffman's drops. 1

"Are you asleep, Mamma?"

"Oh, what sleep?" said the countess,
waking up just as she was dropping into a

"Mamma darlingl" said Natdsha, kneeling
by her mother and bringing her face close to
her mother's, "I am sorry, forgive me, I'll nev-
er do it again; I woke you up! Mavra Kuzmfn-
ichna has sent me: they have brought some
wounded here officers. Will you let them
come? They have nowhere to go. I knew you'd
let them come . . ." she said quickly all in one

"What officers? Whom have they brought? I
don't understand anything about it," said the

Natdsha laughed, and the countess too smiled

"I knew you'd give permission ... so I'll tell
them," and, having kissed her mother, Nata-
sha got up and went to the door.

In the hall she met her father, who had re-
turned with bad news.

"We've stayed too long! "said the count with
involuntary vexation. "The Club is closed and
the police are leaving."

"Papa, is it all right I've invited some of
the wounded into the house?" said Natdsha.

"Of course it is," he answered absently.
"That's not the point. I beg you not to indulge
in trifles now, but to help to pack, and tomor-
row we must go, go, go! . . ."

And the count gave a similar order to the
major-domo and the servants.

At dinner Ptya having returned home told
them the news he had heard. He said the peo-
ple had been getting arms in the Kremlin, and
that though Rostopchin's broadsheet had said
that he would sound a call two or three days
in advance, the order had certainly already
been given for everyone to go armed to the
Three Hills tomorrow, and that there would
be a big battle there.

The countess looked with timid horror at
her son's eager, excited face as he said this. She
realized that if she said a word about his not
going to the battle (she knew he enjoyed the
thought of the impending engagement) he
would say something about men, honor, and
the fatherland something senseless, masculine,

1 A medicine much used in Russia. TR.


and obstinate which there would be no con-
tradicting, and her plans would be spoiled;
and so, hoping to arrange to leave before then
and take Pe* tya with her as their protector and
defender, she did not answer him, but after
dinner called the count aside and implored
him with tears to take her away quickly, that
very night if possible. With a woman's invol-
untary loving cunning she, who till then had
not shown any alarm, said that she would die
of fright if they did not leave that very night.
Without any pretense she was now afraid of


MADAME SCHOSS, who had been out to visit her
daughter, increased the countess' fears still
more by telling what she had seen at a spirit
dealer's in Myasnftski Street. When returning
by that street she had been unable to pass be-
cause of a drunken crowd rioting in front of
the shop. She had taken a cab and driven home
by a side street and the cabman had told her
that the people were breaking open the bar-
rels at the drink store, having received orders
to do so.

After dinner the whole Rost6v household
set to work with enthusiastic haste packing
their belongings and preparing for their de-
parture. The old count, suddenly setting to
work, kept passing from the yard to the house
and back again, shouting confused instructions
to the hurrying people, and flurrying themstill
more. Pctya directed things in the yard. S6nya,
owing to the count's contradictory orders, lost
her head and did not know what to do. The
servants ran noisily about the house and yard,
shouting and disputing. Natdsha, with the ar-
dor characteristic of all she did, suddenly set
to work too. At first her intervention in the
business of packing was received skeptically.
Everybody expected some prank from her and
did not wish to obey her; but she resolutely
and passionately demanded obedience, grew
angry and nearly cried because they did not
heed her, and at last succeeded in making them
believe her. Her first exploit, which cost her
immense effort and established her authority,
was the packing of the carpets. The count had
valuable Gobelin tapestries and Persian carpets
in the house. When Natdsha set to work two
cases were standing open in the ballroom, one
almost full up with crockery, the other with
carpets. There was also much china standing
on the tables, and still more was being brought


in from the storeroom. A third case was needed
and servants had gone to fetch it.

"S6nya, wait a bit we'll pack everything in-
to these," said Natdsha.

"You can't, Miss, we have tried to," said the
butler's assistant.

"No, wait a minute, please."

And Natdsha began rapidly taking out of
the case dishes and plates wrapped in paper.

"The dishes must go in here among the car-
pets," said she.

"Why, it's a mercy if we can get the carpets
alone into three cases," said the butler's assist-

"Oh, wait, please!" And Natdsha began
rapidly and deftly sorting out the things.
"These aren't needed," said she, putting aside
some plates of Kiev ware. "These yes, these
must go among the carpets," she said, referring
to the Saxony china dishes.

"Don't, Natdsha! Leave it alone! We'll get
it all packed," urged S6nya reproachfully.

"What a young lady she is!" remarked the

But Natdsha would not give in. She turned
everything out and began quickly repacking,
deciding that the inferior Russian carpets and
unnecessary crockery should not be taken at
all. When everything had been taken out of
the cases, they recommenced packing, and it
turned out that when the cheaper things not
worth taking had nearly all been rejected, the
valuable ones really did all go into the two
cases. Only the lid of the case containing the
carpets would not shut down. A few more
things might have been taken out, but Natd-
sha insisted on having her own way. She
packed, repacked, pressed, made the butler's
assistant and P^tya whom she had drawn in-
to the business of packing press on the lid,
and made desperate efforts herself.

"That's enough, Natdsha," said S6nya. "I
see you were right, but just take out the top

"I won't!" cried Natdsha, with one hand
holding back the hair that hung over her per-
spiring face, while with the other she pressed
down the carpets. "Now press, Pe'tya! Press,
Vasflich, press hard!" she cried.

The carpets yielded and the lid closed; Na-
tdsha, clapping her hands, screamed with de-
light and tears fell from her eyes. But this only
lasted a moment. She at once set to work afresh
and they now trusted her completely. The
count was not angry even when they told him
that Natdsha had countermanded an order of


his, and the servants now came to her to ask
whether a cart was sufficiently loaded, and
whether it might be corded up. Thanks to Na-
tasha's directions the work now Tvent on ex-
peditiously, unnecessary things were left, and
the most valuable packed as compactly as pos-

But hard as they all worked till quite late
that night, they could not get everything
packed. The countess had fallen asleep and
the count, having put off their departure till
next morning, went to bed.

S6nya and Natasha slept in the sitting room
without undressing.

That night another wounded man was
driven down the Povarskdya, and Mdvra Kuz-
mfnichna, who was standing at the gate, had
him brought into the Rost6vs' yard. Mdvra
Kuzminichna concluded that he w;is a very im-
portant man. He was being conveyed in a ca-
Idchevfitli a raised hood, and was quite covered
by an apron. On the box beside the driver sat
a venerable old attendant. A doctor and two
soldiers followed the carriage in a cart.

"Please come in here. The masters are going
away and the whole house will be empty," said
the old woman to the old attendant.

"Well, perhaps," said he with a sigh. "We
don't expect to get him home alive! We have
a house of our own in Moscow, but it's a long
way from here, and there's nobody living in

"Do us the honor to come in, there's plenty
of everything in the master's house. Come in,"
said Mdvra Kuzmfnichna. "Is he very ill?" she

The attendant made a hopeless gesture.

"We don't expect to get him home! We must
ask the doctor."

And the old servant got down from the box
and went up to the cart.

"All right!" said the doctor.

The old servant returned to the cal&che,
looked into it, shook his head disconsolately,
told the driver to turn into the yard, and
stopped beside Mdvra Kuzminichna.

"O, Lord Jesus Christ!" she murmured.

She invited them to take the wounded man
into the house.

"The masters won't object . . ." she said.

But they had to avoid carrying the man up-
stairs, and so they took him into the wing and
put him in the room that had been Madame

This wounded man was Prince Andrew Bol-




Moscow's LAST DAY had come. It was a clear
bright autumn day, a Sunday. The church bells
everywhere were ringing for service, just as
usual on Sundays. Nobody seemed yet to re-
alize what awaited the city.

Only two things indicated the social condi-
tion of Moscow the rabble, that is the poor
people, and the price of commodities. An
enormous crowd of factory hands, house serfs,
and peasants, with whom some officials, semi-
narists, and gentry were mingled, had gone
early that morning to the Three Hills. Having
waited there for Rostopchfn who did not turn
up, they became convinced that Moscow would
be surrendered, and then dispersed all about
the town to the public houses and cookshops.
Prices too that day indicated the state of af-
fairs. The price of weapons, of gold, of carts
and horses, kept rising, but the value of paper
money and city articles kept falling, so that
by midday there were instances of carters re-
moving valuable goods, such as cloth, and re-
ceiving in payment a half of what they carted,
while peasant horses were fetching five hun-
dred rubles each, and furniture, mirrors, and
bronzes were being given away for nothing.

In the Rostovs' staid old-fashioned house the
dissolution of former conditions of life was but
little noticeable. As to the serfs the only indi-
cation was that three out of their huge retinue
disappeared during the night, but nothing was
stolen; and as to the value of their possessions,
the thirty peasant carts that had come in from
their estates and which many people envied
proved to be extremely valuable and they were
offered enormous sums of money for them.
Not only were huge sums offered for the horses
and carts, but on the previous evening and
early in the morning of the first of September,
orderlies and servants sent by wounded officers
came to the Rost6vs' yard, and wounded men
dragged themselves there from the Rost6vs'
and from neighboring houses where they were
accommodated, entreating the servants to try
to get them a lift out of Moscow. The major-
domo to whom these en treaties were addressed,
though he was sorry for the wounded, resolute-
ly refused, saying that he dare not even men-
tion the matter to the count. Pity these wound-
ed men as one might, it was evident that if
they were given one cart there would be no
reason to refuse another, or all the carts and
one's own carriages as well. Thirty carts could
not save all the wounded and in the general
catastrophe one could not disregard oneself and

one's own family. So thought the major-domo
on his master's behalf.

On waking up that morning Count Ilyd Ros-
t6v left his bedroom softly, so as not to wake
the countess who had fallen asleep only toward
morning, and came out to the porch in his
lilac silk dressing gown. In the yard stood the
carts ready corded. The carriages were at the
front porch. The major-domo stood at the porch
talking to an elderly orderly and to a pale
young officer with a bandaged arm. On seeing
the count the major-domo made a significant
and stern gesture to them both to go away.

"Well, Vasflich, is everything ready?" asked
the count, and stroking his bald head he looked
good-naturedly at the officer and the orderly
and nodded to them. (He liked to see new

"We can harness at once, your excellency."

"Well, that's right. As soon as the countess
wakes we'll be off, God willing! What is it,
gentlemen?" he added, turning to the officer.
"Are you staying in my house?"

The officer came nearer and suddenly his face
flushed crimson.

"Count, be so good as to allow me . . . for
God's sake, to get into some corner of one of
your carts I I have nothing here with me. ... I
shall be all right on a loaded cart "

Before the officer had finished speaking the
orderly made the same request on behalf of
his master.

"Oh, yes, yes, yes!" said the count hastily. "I
shall be very pleased, very pleased. Vasilich,
you'll see to it. Just unload one or two carts.
Well, what of it ... do what's necessary . . ."
said the count, muttering some indefinite or-

But at the same moment an expression of
warm gratitude on the officer's face had al-
ready sealed the order. The count looked
around him. In the yard, at the gates, at the
window of the wings, wounded officers and
their orderlies were to be seen. They were all
looking at the count and moving toward the

"Please step into the gallery, your excel-
lency," said the major-domo. "What are your
orders about the pictures?"

The count went into the house with him,
repeating his order not to refuse the wounded
who asked for a lift.

"Well, never mind, some of the things can
be unloaded," he added in a soft, confidential
voice, as though afraid of being overheard.

At nine o'clock the countess woke up, and


Matrena Timoteevna, who had been her lady's
maid before her marriage and now performed
a sort of chief gendarme's duty for her, came
to say that Madame Schoss was much offended
and the young ladies' summer dresses could
not be left behind. On inquiry, the countess
learned that Madame Schoss was offended be-
cause her trunk had been taken down from
its cart, and all the loads were being uncorded
and the luggage taken out of the carts to make
room for wounded men whom the count in the
simplicity of his heart had ordered that they
should take with them. The countess sent for
her husband.

"What is this, my dear? I hear that the lug-
gage is being unloaded/'

"You know, love, I wanted to tell you . . .
Countess dear ... an officer came to me to ask
for a few carts for the wounded. After all, ours
are things that can be bought but think what
being left behind means to them! . . . Really
now, in our own yardwe asked them in our-
selves and there are officers among them. . . .
You know, I think, my dear ... let them be
taken . . . where's the hurry?"

The count spoke timidly, as he always did
when talking of money matters. The countess
was accustomed to this tone as a precursor of
news of something detrimental to the chil-
dren's interests, such as the building of a new
gallery or conservatory, the inauguration of a
private theater or an orchestra. She was accus-
tomed always to oppose anything announced
in that timid tone and considered it her duty
to do so.

She assumed her dolefully submissive man-
ner and said to her husband: ''Listen to me,
Count, you have managed matters so that we
are getting nothing for the house, and now you
wish to throw away all our all the children's
property 1 You said yourself that we have a
hundred thousand rubles' worth of things in
the house. I don't consent, my dear, I don't! Do
as you please! It's the government's business to
look after the wounded; they know that. Look
at the Lopukhfns opposite, they cleared out
everything two days ago. That's what other peo-
ple do. It's only we who are such fools. If you
have no pity on me, have some for the chil-

Flourishing his arms in despair the count
left the room without replying.

"Papa, what are you doing that for?" asked
Natasha, who had followed him into her
mother's room.

"Nothing! What business is it of yours?"


muttered the count angrily.

"But I heard," said Natdsha. "Why does
Mamma object?"

"What business is it of yours?" cried the

Natdsha stepped up to the window and pon-

"Papa! Here's Berg coming to see us," said
she, looking out of the window.


BERG, the Rost6vs' son-in-law, was already a
colonel wearing the orders of Vladimir and
Anna, and he still filled the quiet and agree-
able post of assistant to the head of the staff of
the assistant commander of the first division
of the Second Army.

On the first of September he had come to
Moscow from the army.

He had nothing to do in Moscow, but he had
noticed that everyone in the army was asking
for leave to visit Moscow and had something
to do there. So he considered it necessary to
ask for leave of absence for family and domes-
tic reasons.

Berg drove up to his father-in-law's house
in his spruce little trap with a pair of sleek
roans, exactly like those of a certain prince. He
looked attentively at the carts in the yard and
while going up to the porch took out a clean
pocket handkerchief and tied a knot in it.

From the anteroom Berg ran with smooth
though impatient steps into the drawing room,
where he embraced the count, kissed the hands
of Natdsha and S6nya, and hastened to inquire
after "Mamma's" health.

"Health, at a time like this?" said the count.
"Come, tell us the news! Is the army retreating
or will there be another battle?"

"God Almighty alone can decide the fate of
our fatherland, Papa," said Berg. "The army
is burning with a spirit of heroism and the
leaders, so to say, have now assembled in coun-
cil. No one knows what is coming. But in gen-
eral I can tell you, Papa, that such a heroic
spirit, the truly antique valor of the Russian
army, which they which it" (he corrected
himself) "has shown or displayed in the battle
of the twenty-sixththere are no words worthy
to do it justice! I tell you, Papa" (he smote
himself on the breast as a general he had heard
speaking had done, but Berg did it a trifle late
for he should have struck his breast at the words
"Russian army"), "I tell you frankly that we,
the commanders, far from having to urge the
men on or anything of that kind, could hardly


restrain those . . . those . . . yes, those exploits
of antique valor," he went on rapidly. "Gen-
eral Barclay de Tollyrisked his life everywhere
at the head of the troops, I can assure you. Our
corps was stationed on a hillside. You can im-

And Berg related all that he remembered of
the various talcs he had heard those days. Na-
tdsha watched him with an intent gaze that
confused him, as if she were trying to find in
his face the answer to some question.

"Altogether such heroism as was displayed
by the Russian warriors cannot be imagined or
adequately praised! "said Berg, glancing round
at Natasha, and as if anxious to conciliate her,
replying to her intent look with a smile. " 'Rus-
sia is not in Moscow, she lives in the hearts of
her sons!' Isn't it so, Papa?" said he.

Just then the countess came in from the sit-
ting room with a weary and dissatisfied expres-
sion. Berg hurriedly jumped up, kissed her
hand, asked about her health, and, swaying his
head from side to side to express sympathy, re-
mained standing beside her.

"Yes, Mamma, I tell you sincerely that these
are hard and sad times for every Russian. But
why are you so anxious? You have still time to
get away. . . ."

"I can't think what the servants are about,"
said the countess, turning to her husband. "I
have just been told that nothing is ready yet.
Somebody after all must see to things. One
misses Mitenka at such times. There won't be
any end to it."

The count was about to say something, but
evidently restrained himself. He got up from
his chair and went to the door.

At that moment Berg drew out his handker-
chief as if to blow his nose and, seeing the knot
in it, pondered, shaking his head sadly and sig-

"And I have a great favor to ask of you, Pa-
pa," said he.

"Hm . . ." said the count, and stopped.

"I was driving past Yusupov's house just
now," said Berg with a laugh, "when the stew-
ard, a man I know, ran out and asked me
whether I wouldn't buy something. I went in
out of curiosity, you know, and there is a small
chiffonier and a dressing table. You know how
dear Ve"ra wanted a chiffonier like that and
how we had a dispute about it." (At the men-
tion of the chiffonier and dressing table Berg
involuntarily changed his tone to one of pleas-
ure at his admirable domestic arrangements.)
"And it's such a beautyl It pulls out and has


a secret English drawer, you know! And dear
Vera has long wanted one. I wish to give her a
surprise, you see. I saw so many of those peas-
ant carts in your yard. Please let me have one,
I will pay the man well, and . , ."

The count frowned and coughed.

"Ask the countess, I don't give orders."

"If it's inconvenient, please don't," said
Berg. "Only I so wanted it, for dear Wra's

"Oh, go to the devil, all of you! To the devil,
the devil, the devil . . . !" cried the old count.
"My head's in a whirl!"

And he left the room. The countess began to

"Yes, Mammal Yes, these are very hard
times!" said Berg.

Natdsha left the room with her father and,
as if finding it difficult to reach some decision,
first followed him and then ran downstairs.

Petya was in the porch, engaged in giving
out weapons to the servants who were to leave
Moscow. The loaded carts were still standing
in the yard. Two of them had been uncorded
and a wounded officer was climbing into one
of them helped by an orderly.

"Do you know what it's about?" Pdtya asked

She understood that he meant what were
their parents quarreling about. She did not

"It's because Papa wanted to give up all the
carts to the wounded," said Pdtya. "Vasilich
told me. I consider . . ."

"I consider," Natdsha suddenly almost shout-
ed, turning her angry face to Petya,"! consider
it so horrid, so abominable, so ... I don't know
what. Are we despicable Germans?"

Her throat quivered with convulsive sobs
and, afraid of weakening and letting the force
of her anger run to waste, she turned and
rushed headlong up the stairs.

Berg was sitting beside the countess consol-
ing her with the respectful attention of a rela-
tive. The count, pipe in hand, was pacing up
and down the room, when Natasha, her face
distorted by anger, burst in like a tempest and
approached her mother with rapid steps.

"It's horrid! It's abominable!" she screamed.
"You can't possibly have ordered it!"

Berg and the countess looked at her, per-
plexed and frightened. The count stood still
at the window and listened.

"Mamma, it's impossible: see what is going
on in the yard I" she cried. "They will be
left! . . ."

you? Who are


"What's the matter with
'they'? What do you want?"

"Why, the wounded! It's impossible, Mam-
ma. It's monstrous! . . . No, Mamma darling,
it's not the thing. Please forgive me, darling.
. . . Mamma, what does it matter what we take
away? Only look what is going on in the yard
. . . Mamma! . . . It's impossible!"

The count stood by the window and listened
without turning round. Suddenly he sniffed
and put his face closer to the window.

The countess glanced at her daughter, saw
her face full of shame for her mother, saw her
agitation, and understood why her husband
did not turn to look at her now, and she glanced
round quite disconcerted.

"Oh, do as you like! Am I hindering any-
one?" she said, not surrendering at once.

"Mamma, darling, forgive me!"

But the countess pushed her daughter away
and went up to her husband.

"My dear, you order what is right. . . . You
know I don't understand about it," said she,
dropping her eyes shamefacedly.

"The eggs . . . the eggs are teaching the hen
. . ." muttered the count through tears of joy,
and he embraced his wife who was glad to hide
her look of shame on his breast.

"Papa! Mamma! May I see to it? May I?
. . ." asked Natdsha. "We will still take all the
most necessary things."

The count nodded affirmatively, and Na-
tdsha, at the rapid pace at which she used to
run when playing at tag, ran through the ball-
room to the anteroom and downstairs into the

The servants gathered round Natdsha, but
could not believe the strange order she brought
them until the count himself, in his wile's
name, confirmed the order to give up all the
carts to the wounded and take the trunks to the
storerooms. When they understood that order
the servants set to work at this new task with
pleasure and zeal. It no longer seemed strange
to them but on the contrary it seemed the only
thing that could be done, just as a quarter of
an hour before it had not seemed strange to
anyone that the wounded should be left be-
hind and the goods carted away but that had
seemed the only thing to do.

The whole household, as if to atone for not
having done it sooner, set eagerly to work at
the new task of placing the wounded in the
carts. The wounded dragged themselves out of
their rooms and stood with pale but happy
faces round the carts. The news that carts were

to be had spread to the neighboring houses,
from which wounded men began to come into
the Rost6vs' yard. Many of the wounded
asked them not to unload the carts but only to
let them sit on the top of the things. But the
work of unloading, once started, could not be
arrested. It seemed not to matter whether all
or only half the things were left behind. Cases
full of china, bronzes, pictures, and mirrors
that had been so carefully packed the night
before now lay about the yard, and still they
went on searching for and finding possibili-
ties of unloading this or that and letting the
wounded have another and yet another cart.

"We can take four more men," said the
steward. "They can have my trap, or else what
is to become of them?"

"Let them have my wardrobe cart," said the
countess. "Dunyasha can go with me in the

They unloaded the wardrobe cart and sent
it to take wounded men from a house two
doors off. The whole household, servants in-
cluded, was bright and animated. Natdsha was
in a state of rapturous excitement such as she
had not known for a long time.

"What could we fasten this onto?" asked the
servants, trying to fix a trunk on the narrow
footboard behind a carriage. "We must keep
at least one cart."

"What's in it?" asked Natasha.

"The count's books."

"Leave it, Vasilich will put it away. It's not

The phaeton was full of people and there
was a doubt as to where Count Peter could sit.

"On the box. You'll sit on the box, won't you,
Ptya?" cried Natdsha.

S6nya too was busy all this time, but the aim
of her efforts was quite different from Natd-
sha's. She was putting away the things that had
to be left behind and making a list of them as
the countess wished, and she tried to get as
much taken away with them as possible.


BEFORE TWO O'CLOCK in the afternoon the Ros-
t6vs' four carriages, packed full and with the
horses harnessed, stood at the front door. One
by one the carts with the wounded had moved
out of the yard.

The caliche in which Prince Andrew was be-
ing taken attracted S6nya's attention as it passed
the front porch. With the help of a maid she
was arranging a seat for the countess in the
huge high coach that stood at the entrance.



"Whose caleche is that?" she inquired, lean-
ing out of the carriage window.

"Why, didn't you know, Miss?" replied the
maid. "The wounded prince: he spent the
night in our house and is going with us."

"But who is it? What's his name?"

"It's our intended that was Prince Bolk6n-
ski himself! They say he is dying," replied the
maid with a sigh.

S6nya jumped out of the coach and ran to
the countess. The countess, tired out and al-
ready dressed in shawl and bonnet for her
journey, was pacing up and down the drawing
room, waiting for the household to assemble
for the usual silent prayer with closed doors
before starting. Natdsha was not in the room.

"Mamma," said S6nya, "Prince Andrew is
here, mortally wounded. He is going with us."

The countess opened her eyes in dismay and,
seizing S6nya's arm, glanced around.

"Natasha?" she murmured.

At that moment this news had only one sig-
nificance for both of them. They knew their
Natdsha, and alarm as to what would happen
if she heard this news stifled all sympathy for
the man they both liked.

"Natdsha does not know yet, but he is go-
ing with us," said S6nya.

"You say he is dying?"

S6nya nodded.

The countess put her arms around S6nya
and began to cry.

"The ways of God are past finding out!" she
thought, feeling that the Almighty Hand,
hitherto unseen, was becoming manifest in all
that was now taking place.

"Well, Mamma? Everything is ready. What's
the matter?" asked Natdsha, as with animated
face she ran into the room.

"Nothing," answered the countess. "If ev-
erything is ready let us start."

And the countess bent over her reticule to
hide her agitated face. S6nya embraced Na-
tsha and kissed her.

Natdsha looked at her inquiringly.

"What is it? What has happened?"

"Nothing . . . No . . ."

"Is it something very bad for me? What is
it?" persisted Natdsha with her quick intuition.

Sonya sighed and made no reply. The
count, Pdtya, Madame Schoss, Mdvra Kuzmf-
nichna, and Vasflich came into the drawing
room and, having closed the doors, they all
sat down and remained for some moments
silently seated without looking at one an-

The count was the first to rise, and with a
loud sigh crossed himself before the icon. All
the others did the same. Then the count em-
braced Mdvra Kuzmfnichna and Vasflich, who
were to remain in Moscow, and while they
caught at his hand and kissed his shoulder he
patted their backs lightly with some vaguely
affectionate and comforting words. The count-
ess went into the oratory and there S6nya found
her on her knees before the icons that had been
left here and there hanging on the wall. (The
most precious ones, with which some family
tradition was connected, were being taken with

In the porch and in the yard the men whom
Ptya had armed with swords and daggers, with
trousers tucked inside their high boots and
with belts and girdles tightened, were taking
leave of those remaining behind.

As is always the case at a departure, much
had been forgotten or put in the wrong place,
and for a long time two menservants stood one
on each side of the open door and the carnage
steps waiting to help the countess in, while
maids rushed with cushions and bundles from
the house to the carriages, the caleche, the pha-
eton, and back again.

"They always will forget every thingl" said
the countess. "Don't you know I can't sit like

And Dunyasha, with clenched teeth, with-
out replying but with an aggrieved look on her
face, hastily got into the coach to rearrange the

"Oh, those servants!" said the count, sway-
ing his head.

Efim, the old coachman, who was the only
one the countess trusted to drive her, sat
perched up high on the box and did not so
much as glance round at what was going on be-
hind him. From thirty years' experience he
knew it would be some time yet before the or-
der, "Be off, in God's name!" would be given
him: and he knew that even when it was said
he would be stopped once or twice more while
they sent back to fetch something that had
been forgotten, and even after that he would
again be stopped and the countess herself
would lean out of the window and beg him
for the love of heaven to drive carefully down
the hill. He knew all this and therefore waited
calmly for what would happen, with more pa-
tience than the horses, especially the near one,
the chestnut Falcon, who was pawing the
ground and champing his bit. At last all were
seated, the carriage steps were folded and



pulled up, the door was shut, somebody was
sent for a traveling case, and the countess
leaned out and said what she had to say. Then
Efim deliberately doffed his hat and began
crossing himself. The postilion and all the oth-
er servants did the same. "Off, in God's name!"
said Efim, putting on his hat. "Start!" The
postilion started the horses, the off pole horse
tugged at his collar, the high springs creaked,
and the body of the coach swayed. The foot-
man sprang onto the box of the moving coach
which jolted as it passed out of the yard onto
the uneven roadway; the other vehicles jolted
in their turn, and the procession of carriages
moved up the street. In the carriages, the cale-
che f and the phaeton, all crossed themselves as
they passed the church opposite the house.
Those who were to remain in Moscow walked
on either side of the vehicles seeing the trav-
elers off.

Rarely had Natasha experienced so joyful a
feeling as now, sitting in the carriage beside
the countess and gazing at the slowly receding
walls of forsaken, agitated Moscow. Occasion-
ally she leaned out of the carriage window and
looked back and then forward at the long train
of wounded in front of them. Almost at the
head of the line she could see the rais
M. Bullitt‎‎‎‎‎‎ writes:
on May 3rd, 2014 at 5:14:58 PM

On the tenth of October when Dokhtiirov
had gone halfway to Forminsk and stopped at
the village of Arist6vo, preparing faithfully to
execute the orders he had received, the whole
French army having, in its convulsive move-
ment, reached Murat's position apparently in
order to give battle suddenly without any
reason turned off to the left onto the new
Kaluga road and began to enter Formfnsk,
where only Broussier had been till then. At
that time Dokhtiirov had under his command,
besides D6rokhov's detachment, the two small
guerrilla detachments of Figner and Sesldvin.

On the evening of October 1 1 Seslvin came
to the Arist6vo headquarters with a French
guardsman he had captured. The prisoner
said that the troops that had entered Formfnsk
that day were the vanguard of the whole army,
that Napoleon was there and the whole army
had left Moscow four days previously. That
same evening a house serf who had come from
Borovsk said he had seen an immense army
entering the town. Some Cossacks of Dokhtii-


rov's detachment reported having sighted the
French Guards marching along the road to
B6rovsk. From all these reports it was evident
that where they had expected to meet a single
division there was now the whole French army
marching from Moscow in an unexpected di-
rectionalong the Kaluga road. Dokhturov
was unwilling to undertake any action, as it
was not clear to him now what he ought to do.
He had been ordered to attack Formfnsk. But
only Broussier had been there at that time and
now the whole French army was there. Erm6-
lov wished to act on his own judgment, but
Dokhturov insisted that he must have Kutii-
zov's instructions. So it was decided to send a
dispatch to the staff.

For this purpose a capable officer, Bolkhovf-
tinov, was chosen, who was to explain the
whole affair by word of mouth, besides deliver-
ing a written report. Toward midnight Bolk-
hovitinov, having received the dispatch and
verbal instructions, galloped off to the General
Staff accompanied by a Cossack with spare



IT WAS a warm, dark, autumn night. It had
been raining for four days. Having changed
horses twice and galloped twenty miles in an
hour and a half over a sticky, muddy road,
Bolkhovitinov reached Litashevka after one
o'clock at night. Dismounting at a cottage on
whose wattle fence hung a signboard, GENERAL
STAFF, and throwing down his reins, he en-
tered a dark passage.

"The general on duty, quickl It's very im-
portant!" said he to someone who had risen
and was sniffing in the dark passage.

"He has been very unwell since the evening
and this is the third night he has not slept,"
said the orderly pleadingly in a whisper. "You
should wake the captain first."

"But this is very important, from General
Dokhturov," said Bolkhovitinov, entering the
open door which he had found by feeling in
the dark.

The orderly had gone in before him and
began waking somebody.

"Your honor, your honor! A courier."

"What? What's that? From whom?" came a
sleepy voice.

"From Dokhturov and from Alexdy Petr6-
vich. Napoleon is at Forminsk," said Bolkhovl-
tinov, unable to see in the dark who was speak-
ing but guessing by the voice that it was not

The man who had wakened yawned and
stretched himself.

"I don't like waking him/ 1 he said, fumbling
for something. "He is very ill. Perhaps this is
only a rumor."

"Here is the dispatch," said Bolkhovitinov.
"My orders are to give it at once to the gen-
eral on duty."

"Wait a moment, I'll light a candle. You
damned rascal, where do you always hide it?"
said the voice of the man who was stretching
himself, to the orderly. (This was Shcherbinin,
Konovnitsyn's adjutant.) "I've found it, I've
found itl" he added.

The orderly was striking a light and Shcher-
bfnin was fumbling for something on the

"Oh, the nasty beasts!" said he with disgust.

By the light of the sparks Bolkhovftinov saw
Shcherbinin's youthful face as he held the
candle, and the face of another man who was
still asleep. This was Konovnitsyn.

When the flame of the sulphur splinters
kindled by the tinder burned up, first blue and
then red, Shcherbinin lit the tallow candle,
from the candlestick of which the c*ckroaches
that had been gnawing it were running away,
and looked at the messenger. Bolkhovitinov
was bespattered all over with mud and had
smeared his face by wiping it with his sleeve.

"Who gave the report?" inquired Shchfer-
binin, taking the envelope.

"The news is reliable," said Bolkhovitinov.
"Prisoners, Cossacks, and the scouts all say the
same thing."

"There's nothing to be done, we'll have to
wake him," said Shcherbinin, rising and going
up to the man in the nightcap who lay cov-
ered by a greatcoat. "Peter PetrovichI" said he.
(Konovnftsyn did not stir.) "To the General
Staff!" he said with a smile, knowing that those
words would be sure to arouse him.

And in fact the head in the nightcap was
lifted at once. On Konovnitsyn's handsome,
resolute face with checks flushed by fever,
there still remained for an instant a faraway
dreamy expression remote from present af-
fairs, but then he suddenly started and his
face assumed its habitual calm and firm ap-

"Well, what is it? From whom?" he asked
immediately but without hurry, blinking at
the light.

While listening to theofficer's report Konov-
nftsyn broke the seal and read the dispatch.
Hardly had he done so before he lowered his


legs in their woolen stockings to the earthen
floor and began putting on his boots. Then he
took off his nightcap, combed his hair over
his temples, and donned his cap.

"Did you get here quickly? Let us go to his

Konovnftsyn had understood at once that
the news brought was of great importance and
that no time must be lost. He did not consider
or ask himself whether the news was good or
bad. That did not interest him. He regarded
the whole business of the war not with his
intelligence or his reason but by something
else. There was within him a deep unex-
pressed conviction that all would be well, but
that one must not trust to this and still less
speak about it, but must only attend to one's
own work. And he did his work, giving his
whole strength to the task.

Peter Petr6vich Konovnftsyn, like Dokhtu-
rov, seems to have been included merely for
propriety's sake in the list of the so-called
heroes of 1812 the Barclays, Ra^vskis, Erm6-
lovs, Pldtovs, and Milordoviches. Like Dokh-
turov he had the reputation of being a man
of very limited capacity and information, and
like Dokhturov he never made plans of battle
but was always found where the situation was
most difficult. Since his appointment as gen-
eral on duty he had always slept with his door
open, giving orders that every messenger
should be allowed to wake him up. In battle
he was always under fire, so that Kutuzov re-
proved him for it and feared to send him to
the front, and like Dokhturov he was one of
those unnoticed cogwheels that, without clat-
ter or noise, constitute the most essential part
of the machine.

Coming out of the hut into the damp, dark
night Konovnitsyn frowned partly from an
increased pain in his head and partly at the
unpleasant thought that occurred to him, of
how all that nest of influential men on the
staff would be stirred up by this news, espe-
cially Bennigsen, who ever since Tariitino had
been at daggers drawn with Kutuzov; and how
they would make suggestions, quarrel, issue
orders, and rescind them. And this premoni-
tion was disagreeable to him though he knew
it could not be helped.

And in fact Toll, to whom he went to com-
municate the news, immediately began to ex-
pound his plans to a general sharing his quar-
ters, until Konovnftsyn, who listened in weary
silence, reminded him that they must go to
see his Highness.


Kurtizov like all old people did not sleep
much at night. He often fell asleep unex-
pectedly in the daytime, but at night, lying
on his bed without undressing, he generally
remained awake thinking.

So he lay now on his bed, supporting his
large, heavy, scarred head on his plump hand,
with his one eye open, meditating and peer-
ing into the darkness.

Since Bennigsen, who corresponded with
the Emperor and had more influence than
anyone else on the staff, had begun to avoid
him, Kutuzov was more at ease as to the pos-
sibility of himself and his troops being obliged
to take part in useless aggressive movements.
The lesson of the Tariitino battle and of the
day before it, which Kutuzov remembered
with pain, must, he thought, have some effect
on others too.

"They must understand that we can only
lose by taking the offensive. Patience and time
are my warriors, my champions," thought
Kutuzov. He knew that an apple should not
be plucked while it is green. It will fall of it-
self when ripe, but if picked unripe the apple
is spoiled, the tree is harmed, and your teeth
are set on edge. Like an experienced sports-
man he knew that the beast was wounded, and
wounded as only the whole strength of Russia
could have wounded it, but whether it was
mortally wounded or not was still an unde-
cided question. Now by the fact of Lauriston
and BarthtHemi having been sent, and by the
reports of the guerrillas, Kutuzov was almost
sure that the wound was mortal. But he needed
further proofs and it was necessary to wait.

"They want to run to see how they have
wounded it. Wait and we shall see! Continual
maneuvers, continual advances!" thought he.
"What for? Only to distinguish themselves!
As if fighting were fun. They are like children
from whom one can't get any sensible account
of what has happened because they all want
to show how well they can fight. But that's
not what is needed now.

"And what ingenious maneuvers they all
propose to me! It seems to them that when
they have thought of two or three contin-
gencies" (he remembered the general plan
sent him from Petersburg) "they have fore-
seen everything. But the contingencies are

The undecided question as to whether the
wound inflicted at Borodin6 was mortal or not
had hung over Kutuzov's head for a whole

month. On the one hand the French had oc-
cupied Moscow. On the other Kutiizov felt
assured with all his being that the terrible
blow into which he and all the Russians had
put their whole strength must have been mor-
tal. But in any case proofs were needed; he
had waited a whole month for them and grew
more impatient the longer he waited. Lying
on his bed during those sleepless nights he did
just what he reproached those younger gen-
erals for doing. He imagined all sorts of pos-
sible contingencies, just like the younger men,
but with this difference, that he saw thousands
of contingencies instead of two or three and
based nothing on them. The longer he
thought the more contingencies presented
themselves. He imagined all sorts of move-
ments of the Napoleonic army as a whole or
in sections against Petersburg, or against
him, or to outflank him. He thought too of
the possibility (which he feared most of all)
that Napoleon might fight him with his own
weapon and remain in Moscow awaiting him.
Kutuzov even imagined that Napoleon's army
might turn back through Medyn and Yukh-
nov, but the one thing he could not foresee
was what happenedthe insane, convulsive
stampede of Napoleon's army during its first
eleven days after leaving Moscow: a stampede
which made possible what Kutuzov had not
yet even dared to think of the complete ex-
termination of the French. Dorokhov's report
about Broussier's division, the guerrillas' re-
ports of distress in Napoleon's army, rumors
of preparations for leaving Moscow, all con-
firmed the supposition that the French army
was beaten and preparing for flight. But these
were only suppositions, which seemed im-
portant to the younger men but not to Kutu-
zov. With his sixty years' experience he knew
what value to attach to rumors, knew how apt
people who desire anything are to group all
news so that it appears to confirm what they
desire, and he knew how readily in such cases
they omit all that makes for the contrary. And
the more he desired it the less he allowed him-
self to believe it. This question absorbed all
his mental powers. All else was to him only
life's customary routine. To such customary
routine belonged his conversations with the
staff, the letters he wrote from Tarutino to
Madame de Stael, the reading of novels, the
distribution of awards, his correspondence
with Petersburg, and so on. But the destruc-
tion of the French, which he alone foresaw,
was his heart's one desire.


On the night of the eleventh of October he
lay leaning on his arm and thinking of that.

There was a stir in the next room and he
heard the steps of Toll, Konovnitsyn, and

"Eh, who's there? Come in, come in I What
news?" the field marshal called out to them.

While a footman was lighting a candle, Toll
communicated the substance of the news.

"Who brought it?" asked Kutuzov with a
look which, when the candle was lit, struck
Toll by its cold severity.

"There can be no doubt about it, your High-

"Call him in, call him here."

Kutuzov sat up with one leg hanging down
from the bed and his big paunch resting
against the other which was doubled under
him. He screwed up his seeing eye to scrutinize
the messenger more carefully, as if wishing to
read in his face what preoccupied his own

"Tell me, tell me, friend," said he to Bolk-
hovitinov in his low, aged voice, as he pulled
together the shirt which gaped open on his
chest, "come nearer nearer. What news have
you brought me? Eh? That Napoleon has left
Moscow? Are you sure? Eh?"

Bolkhovitinov gave a detailed account from
the beginning of all he had been told to re-

"Speak quicker, quicker! Don't torture
me!" Kutuzov interrupted him.

Bolkhovitinov told him everything and was
then silent, awaiting instructions. Toll was be-
ginning to say something but Kutuzov check-
ed him. He tried to say something, but his face
suddenly puckered and wrinkled; he waved
his arm at Toll and turned to the opposite side
of the room, to the corner darkened by the
icons that hung there.

"O Lord, my Creator, Thou has heard our
prayer . . ." said he in a tremulous voice with
folded hands. "Russia is saved. I thank Thee,
O Lord!" and he wept.


FROM THE TIME he received this news to the
end of the campaign all Kutuzov's activity
was directed toward restraining his troops, by
authority, by guile, and by entreaty, from use-
less attacks, maneuvers, or encounters with
the perishing enemy. Dokhtiirov went to
Mlo-Yarosldvets, but Kuti'izov lingered with
the main army and gave orders for the evacua-
tion of Kaluga a retreat beyond which town


seemed to him quite possible*

Everywhere Kuttizov retreated, but the en-
emy without waiting for his retreat fled in the
opposite direction.

Napoleon's historians describe to us his
skilled maneuvers at Tarutino and Malo-
Yaroslavets, and make conjectures as to what
would have happened had Napoleon been in
time to penetrate into the rich southern prov-

But not to speak of the fact that nothing
prevented him from advancing into those
southern provinces (for the Russian army did
not bar his way), the historians forget that
nothing could have saved his army, for then
already it bore within itself the germs of in-
evitable ruin. How could that army which
had found abundant supplies in Moscow and
had trampled them underfoot instead of keep-
ing them, and on arriving at Smolensk had
looted provisions instead of storing them
how could that army recuperate in Kaluga
province, which was inhabited by Russians
such as those who lived in Moscow, and where
fire had the same property of consuming what
was set ablaze?

That army could not recover anywhere.
Since the battle of Borodin6 and the pillage of
Moscow it had borne within itself, as it were,
the chemical elements of dissolution.

The members of what had once been an
army Napoleon himself and all his soldiers-
fled without knowing whither, each concerned
only to make his escape as quickly as possible
from this position, of the hopelessness of
which they were all more or less vaguely con-

So it came about that at the council at
Malo-Yaroslavets, when the generals pretend-
ing to confer together expressed various opin-
ions, all mouths were closed by the opinion
uttered by the simple-minded soldier Mouton
who, speaking last, said what they all felt:
that the one thing needful was to get away as
quickly as possible; and no one, not even
Napoleon, could say anything against that
truth which they all recognized.

But though they all realized that it was
necessary to get away, there still remained a
feeling of shame at admitting that they must
flee. An external shock was needed to over-
come that shame, and this shock came in due
time. It was what the French called "le hourra
de I'Empereur" 1

1 Hourra was the cheer the Russian troops gave
when charging the enemy. TR.


The day after the council at Mdlo-Yarosla-
vets Napoleon rode out early in the morning
amid the lines of his army with his suite of
marshals and an escort, on the pretext of in-
specting the army and the scene of the pre-
vious and of the impending battle. Some Cos-
sacks on the prowl for booty fell in with the
Emperor and very nearly captured him. If the
Cossacks did not capture Napoleon then, what
saved him was the very thing that was destroy-
ing the French army, the booty on which the
Cossacks fell. Here as at Tanitino they went
after plunder, leaving the men. Disregarding
Napoleon they rushed after the plunder and
Napoleon managed to escape.

When les enfants du Don might so easily
have taken the Emperor himself in the midst
of his army, it was clear that there was nothing
for it but to fly as fast as possible along the
nearest, familiar road. Napoleon with his
forty-year-old stomach understood that hint,
not feeling his former agility and boldness,
and under the influence of the fright the Cos-
sacks had given him he at once agreed with
Mouton and issued orders as the historians
tell us to retreat by the Smolensk road.

That Napoleon agreed with Mouton, and
that the army retreated, does not prove that
Napoleon caused it to retreat, but that the
forces which influenced the whole army and
directed it along the Mozhdysk (that is, the
Smolensk) road acted simultaneously on him


A MAN IN MOTION always devises an aim for
that motion. To be able to go a thousand miles
he must imagine that something good awaits
him at the end of those thousand miles. One
must have the prospect of a promised land to
have the strength to move.

The promised land for the French during
their advance had been Moscow, during their
retreat it was their native land. But that native
land was too far off, and for a man going a
thousand miles it is absolutely necessary to
set aside his final goal and to say to himself:
"Today I shall get to a place twenty-five miles
off where I shall rest and spend the night,"
and during the first day's journey that resting
place eclipses his ultimate goal and attracts
all his hopes and desires. And the impulses
felt by a single person are always magnified
in a crowd.

For the French retreating along the old
Smolensk road, the final goal their native



land was too remote, and their immediate
goal was Smolensk, toward which all their
desires and hopes, enormously intensified in
the mass, urged them on. It was not that they
knew that much food and fresh troops await-
ed them in Smolensk, nor that they were told
so (on the contrary their superior officers, and
Napoleon himself, knew that provisions were
scarce there), but because this alone could give
them strength to move on and endure their
present privations. So both those who knew
and those who did not know deceived them-
selves, and pushed on to Smolensk as to a
promised land.

Coming out onto the highroad the French
fled with surprising energy and unheard-of
rapidity toward the goal they had fixed on.
Besides the common impulse which bound
the whole crowd of French into one mass and
supplied them with a certain energy, there was
another cause binding them together their
great numbers. As with the physical law of
gravity, their enormous mass drew the individ-
ual human atoms to itself. In their hundreds
of thousands they moved like a whole nation.

Each of them desired nothing more than
to give himself up as a prisoner to escape from
all this horror and misery; but on the one
hand the force of this common attraction to
Smolensk, their goal, drew each of them in
the same direction; on the other hand an
army corps could not surrender to a company,
and though the French availed themselves of
every convenient opportunity to detach them-
selves and to surrender on the slightest decent
pretext, such pretexts did not always occur.
Their very numbers and their crowded and
swift movement deprived them of that possi-
bility and rendered it not only difficult but
impossible for the Russians to stop this move-
ment, to which the French were directing all
their energies. Beyond a certain limit no me-
chanical disruption of the body could hasten
the process of decomposition.

A lump of snow cannot be melted instan-

taneously. There is a certain limit of time in
less than which no amount of heat can melt
the snow. On the contrary the greater the heat
the more solidified the remaining snow be-

Of the Russian commanders Kutuzov alone
understood this. When the flight of the French
army along the Smolensk road became well de-
fined, what Konovnitsyn had foreseen on the
night of the eleventh of October began to oc-
cur. The superior officers all wanted to dis-
tinguish themselves, to cut off, to seize, to
capture, and to overthrow the French, and all
clamored for action.

Kutuzov alone used all his power (and such
power is very limited in the case of any com-
mander in chief) to prevent an attack.

He could not tell them what we say now:
"Why fight, why block the road, losing our
own men and inhumanly slaughtering unfor-
tunate wretches? What is the use of that, when
a third of their army has melted away on the
road from Moscow to Vydzma without any
battle?" But drawing from his aged wisdom
what they could understand, he told them of
the golden bridge, and they laughed at and
slandered him, flinging themselves on, rend-
ing and exulting over the dying beast.

Erm61ov, Milorddovich, Pldtov, and others
in proximity to the French near Vydzma could
not resist their desire to cut off and break up
two French corps, and by way of reporting
their intention to Kutuzov they sent him a
blank sheet of paper in an envelope.

And try as Kutuzov might to restrain the
troops, our men attacked, trying to bar the
road. Infantry regiments, we are told, ad-
vanced to the attack with music and with
drums beating, and killed and lost thousands
of men.

But they did not cut off or overthrow any-
body and the French army, closing up more
firmly at the danger, continued, while steadily
melting away, to pursue its fatal path to Smo-

Book Fourteen: 1812


THE BATTLE OF BoRODiN6, with the occupation
of Moscow that followed it and the flight of
the French without further conflicts, is one of
the most instructive phenomena in history.

All historians agree that the external activ-
ity of states and nations in their conflicts with
one another is expressed in wars, and that as
a direct result of greater or less success in war
the political strength of states and nations in-
creases or decreases.

Strange as may be the historical account of
how some king or emperor, having quarreled
with another, collects an army, fights his
enemy's army, gains a victory by killing three,
five, or ten thousand men, and subjugates a
kingdom and an entire nation of several mil-
lions, all the facts of history (as far as we know
it) confirm the truth of the statement that the
greater or lesser success of one army against
another is the cause, or at least an essential
indication, of an increase or decrease in the
strength of the nation even though it is un-
intelligible why the defeat of an army a
hundredth part of a nation should oblige
that whole nation to submit. An army gains a
victory, and at once the rights of the conquer-
ing nation have increased to the detriment of
the defeated. An army has suffered defeat, and
at once a people loses its rights in proportion
to the severity of the reverse, and if its army
suffers a complete defeat the nation is quite

So according to history it has been found
from the most ancient times, and so it is to our
own day. All Napoleon's wars serve to confirm
this rule. In proportion to the defeat of the
Austrian army Austria loses its rights, and the
rights and the strength of France increase.
The victories of the French at Jena and Auer-
stadt destroy the independent existence of

But then, in 1812, the French gain a victory
near Moscow. Moscow is taken and after that,
with no further battles, it is not Russia that

ceases to exist, but the French army of six
hundred thousand, and then Napoleonic
France itself. To strain the facts to fit the rules
of history: to say that the field of battle at
Borodino remained in the hands of the Rus-
sians, or that after Moscow there were other
battles that destroyed Napoleon's army, is im-

After the French victory at Borodin6 there
was no general engagement nor any that were
at all serious, yet the French army ceased to
exist. What does this mean? If it were an ex-
ample taken from the history of China, we
might say that it was not an historic phenom-
enon (which is the historians' usual expedient
when anything does not fit their standards);
if the matter concerned some brief conflict in
which only a small number of troops took
part, we might treat it as an exception; but
this event occurred before our fathers' eyes,
and for them it was a question of the life or
death of their fatherland, and it happened in
the greatest of all known wars.

The period of the campaign of 1812 from
the battle of Borodino to the expulsion of the
French proved that the winning of a battle
does not produce a conquest and is not even
an invariable indication of conquest; it proved
that the force which decides the fate of peoples
lies not in the conquerors, nor even in armies
and battles, but in something else.

The French historians, describing the con-
dition of the French army before it left Mos-
cow, affirm that all was in order in the Grand
Army, except the cavalry, the artillery, and the
transport there was no forage for the horses
or the cattle. That was a misfortune no one
could remedy, for the peasants of the district
burned their hay rather than let the French
have it.

The victory gained did not bring the usual
results because the peasants Karp and Vlas
(who after the French had evacuated Moscow
drove in their carts to pillage the town, and
in general personally failed to manifest any


heroic feelings), and the whole innumerable
multitude of such peasants, did not bring
their hay to Moscow for the high price offered
them, but burned it instead.

Let us imagine two men who have come out
to fight a duel with rapiers according to all
the rules of the art of fencing. The fencing has
gone on for some time; suddenly one of the
combatants, feeling himself wounded and
understanding that the matter is no joke but
concerns his life, throws down his rapier,
and seizing the first cudgel that comes to hand
begins to brandish it. Then let us imagine that
the combatant who so sensibly employed the
best and simplest means to attain his end was
at the same time influenced by traditions of
chivalry and, desiring to conceal the facts of
the case, insisted that he had gained his vic-
tory with the rapier according to all the rules
of art. One can imagine what confusion and
obscurity would result from such an account
of the duel.

The fencer who demanded a contest accord-
ing to the rules of fencing was the French
army; his opponent who threw away the rapier
and snatched up the cudgel was the Russian
people; those who try to explain the matter
according to the rules of fencing are the his-
torians who have described the event.

After the burning of Smolensk a war began
which did not follow any previous traditions
of war. The burning of towns and villages, the
retreats after battles, the blow dealt at Boro-
din6 and the renewed retreat, the burning of
Moscow, the capture of marauders, the seizure
of transports, and the guerrilla war were all de-
partures from the rules.

Napoleon felt this, and from the time he
took up the correct fencing attitude in Moscow
and instead of his opponent's rapier saw a
cudgel raised above his head, he did not cease
to complain to Kutuzov and to the Emperor
Alexander that the war was being carried on
contrary to all the rules as if there were any
rules for killing people. In spite of the com-
plaints of the French as to the nonobservance
of the rules, in spite of the fact that to some
highly placed Russians it seemed rather dis-
graceful to fight widi a cudgel and they wanted
to assume a pose en quarie or en tierce accord-
ing to all the rules, and to make an adroit
thrust en prime, and so on the cudgel of the
people's war was lifted with all its menacing
and majestic strength, and without consulting
anyone's tastes or rules and regardless of any-
thing else, it rose and fell with stupid simplic-


ity, but consistently, and belabored the French
till the whole invasion had perished.

And it is well for a people who do not as
the French did in 1813 salute according to all
the rules of art, and, presenting the hilt of their
rapier gracefully and politely, hand it to their
magnanimous conqueror, but at the moment
of trial, without asking what rules others have
adopted in similar cases, simply and easily
pick up the first cudgel that comes to hand and
strike with it till the feeling of resentment and
revenge in their soul yields to a feeling of con-
tempt and compassion.


ONE OF THE MOST obvious and advantageous
departures from the so-called laws of war is the
action of scattered groups against men pressed
together in a mass. Such action always occurs
in wars that take on a national character. In
such actions, instead of two crowds opposing
each other, the men disperse, attack singly, run
away when attacked by stronger forces, but
again attack when opportunity offers. This was
done by the guerrillas in Spain, by the moun-
tain tribes in the Caucasus, and by the Russians
in 1812.

People have called this kind of war "guer-
rilla warfare" and assume that by so calling it
they have explained its meaning. But such a
war does not fit in under any rule and is di-
rectly opposed to a well-known rule of tactics
which is accepted as infallible. That rule says
that an attacker should concentrate his forces
in order to be stronger than his opponent at
the moment of conflict.

Guerrilla war (always successful, as history
shows) directly infringes that rule.

This contradiction arises from the fact that
military science assumes the strength of an
army to be identical with its numbers. Mili-
tary science says that the more troops the
greater the strength. Les gros bataillons ont
tou jours raison. 1

For military science to say this is like defin-
ing momentum in mechanics by reference to
the mass only: stating that momenta are equal
or unequal to each other simply because the
masses involved are equal or unequal.

Momentum (quantity of motion) is the
product of mass and velocity.

In military affairs the strength of an army is
the product of its mass and some unknown x.

Military science, seeing in history innumer-
able instances of the fact that the size of any

1 Large battalions are always victorious.


army does not coincide with its strength and
that small detachments defeat larger ones, ob-
scurely admits the existence of this unknown
factor and tries to discover itnow in a geo-
metric formation, now in the equipment em-
ployed, now, and most usually, in the genius
of the commanders. But the assignment of
these various meanings to the factor does not
yield results which accord with the historic

Yet it is only necessary to abandon the false
view (adopted to gratify the "heroes") of the
efficacy of the directions issued in wartime by
commanders, in order to find this unknown

That unknown quantity is the spirit of the
army, that is to say, the greater or lesser readi-
ness to fight and face danger felt by all the
men composing an army, quite independently
of whether they are, or are not, fighting under
the command of a genius, in two- or three-line
formation, with cudgels or with rifles that re-
peat thirty times a minute. Men who want to
fight will always put themselves in the most
advantageous conditions for fighting.

The spirit of an army is the factor which
multiplied by the mass gives the resulting
force. To define and express the significance of
this unknown factor the spirit of an army-
is a problem for science.

This problem is only solvable if we cease
arbitrarily to substitute for the unknown x
itself the conditions under which that force
becomes apparent such as the commands of
the general, the equipment employed, and so
on mistaking these for the real significance of
the factor, and if we recognize this unknown
quantity in its entirety as being the greater or
lesser desire to fight and to face danger. Only
then, expressing known historic facts by equa-
tions and comparing the relative significance
of this factor, can we hope to define the un-

Ten men, battalions, or divisions, fighting
fifteen men, battalions, or divisions, conquer-
that is, kill or take captive all the others,
while themselves losing four, so that on the
one side four and on the other fifteen were
lost. Consequently the four were equal to the
fifteen, and therefore 4x=i5)j. Consequently
x/y=i$/4. This equation does not give us the
value of the unknown factor but gives us a
ratio between two unknowns. And by bring-
ing variously selected historic units (battles,
campaigns, periods of war) into such equa-
tions, a series of numbers could be obtained in


which certain laws should exist and might be

The tactical rule that an army should act in
masses when attacking, and in smaller groups
in retreat, unconsciously confirms the truth
that the strength of an army depends on its
spirit. To lead men forward under fire more
discipline (obtainable only by movement in
masses) is needed than is needed to resist at-
tacks. But this rule which leaves out of account
the spirit of the army continually proves in-
correct and is in particularly striking contrast
to the facts when some strong rise or fall in the
spirit of the troops occurs, as in all national

The French, retreating in 1812 though ac-
cording to tactics they should have separated
into detachments to defend themselves con-
gregated into a mass because the spirit of the
army had so fallen that only the mass held the
army together. The Russians, on the contrary,
ought according to tactics to have attacked in
mass, but in fact they split up into small units,
because their spirit had so risen that separate
individuals, without orders, dealt blows at the
French without needing any compulsion to in-
duce them to expose themselves to hardships
and dangers.


entry of the French into Smolensk.

Before partisan warfare had been officially
recognized by the government, thousands of
enemy stragglers, marauders, and foragers had
been destroyed by the Cossacks and the peas-
ants, who killed them off as instinctively as dogs
worry a stray .mad dog to death. Denis Davy-
dov, with his Russian instinct, was the first to
recognize the value of this terrible cudgel
which regardless of the rules of military sci-
ence destroyed the French, and to him belongs
the credit for taking the first step toward regu-
larizing this method of warfare.

On August 24 Davydov's first partisan de-
tachment was formed and then others were
recognized. The further the campaign pro-
gressed the more numerous these detachments

The irregulars destroyed the great army
piecemeal. They gathered the fallen leaves that
dropped of themselves from that withered tree
the French army and sometimes shook that
tree itself. By October, when the French were
fleeing toward Smolensk, there were hundreds
of such companies, of various sizes and char-


icters. There were some that adopted all the
irmy methods and had infantry, artillery,
rtaffs, and the comforts of life. Others con-
sisted solely of Cossack cavalry. There were
also small scratch groups of foot and horse, and
groups of peasants and landowners that re-
mained unknown. A sacristan commanded one
party which captured several hundred prison-
ers in the course of a month; and there was
Vasilfsa, the wife of a village elder, who slew
hundreds of the French.

The partisan warfare flamed up most fiercely
In the latter daysof October. Its first period had
passed: when the partisans themselves, amazed
at their own boldness, feared every minute to
be surrounded and captured by the French,
and hid in the forests without unsaddling,
hardly daring to dismount and always expect-
ing to be pursued. By the end of October this
kind of warfare had taken definite shape: it
had become clear to all what could be ventured
against the French and what could not. Now
only the commanders of detachments with
staffs, and moving according to rules at a dis-
tance from the French, still regarded many
things as impossible. The small bands that had
started their activities long before and had al-
ready observed the French closely considered
things possible which the commanders of the
big detachments did not dare to contemplate.
The Cossacks and peasants who crept in among
the French now considered everything possible.

On October 22, Denisov (who was one of
the irregulars) was with his group at the height
of the guerrilla enthusiasm. Since early morn-
ing he and his party had been on the move.
All day long he had been watching from the
forest that skirted the highroad a large French
convoy of cavalry baggage and Russian prison-
ers separated from the rest of the army, which
as was learned from spies and prisoners was
moving under a strong escort to Smolensk. Be-
sides Denisov and D61okhov (who also led a
small party and moved in Denisov's vicinity),
the commanders of some large divisions with
staffs also knew of this convoy and, as Denfsov
expressed it, were sharpening their teeth for
it. Two of the commanders of large parties-
one a Pole and the other a German sent in-
vitations to Denisov almost simultaneously, re-
questing him to join up with their divisions
to attack the convoy.

"No, bwother, I have gwown mustaches my-
self," said Denisov on reading these docu-
ments, and he wrote to the German that, de-
spite his heartfelt desire to serve under so val-


iant and renowned a general, he had to forgo
that pleasure because he was already under the
command of the Polish general. To the Polish
general he replied to the same effect, inform-
ing him that he was already under the com-
mand of the German.

Having arranged matters thus, Denfsov and
D61okhov intended, without reporting mat-
ters to the higher command, to attack and
seize that convoy with their own small forces.
On October 22 it was moving from the village
of Mikiilino to that of Shamshevo. To the left
of the road between Mikulino and Shdmshevo
there were large forests, extending in some
places up to the road itself though in others a
mile or more back from it. Through these
forests Denfsov and his party rode all day,
sometimes keeping well back in them and
sometimes coming to the very edge, but never
losing sight of the moving French. That morn-
ing, Cossacks of Denisov's party had seized
and carried off into the forest two wagons
loaded with cavalry saddles, which had stuck
in the mud not far from Mikulino where the
forest ran close to the road. Since then, and
until evening, the party had watched the move-
ments of the French without attacking. It was
necessary to let the French reach Shdmshevo
quietly without alarming them and then, after
joining Dolokhov who was to come that eve-
ning to a consultation at a watchman's hut in
the forest less than a mile from Shamshevo, to
surprise the French at dawn, falling like an
avalanche on their heads from two sides, and
rout and capture them all at one blow.

In their rear, more than a mile from Miku-
lino where the forest came right up to the
road, six Cossacks were posted to report if any
fresh columns of French should show them-

Beyond Shdmshevo, D61okhov was to observe
the road in the same way, to find out at what
distance there were other French troops. They
reckoned that the convoy had fifteen hundred
men. Denfsov had two hundred, and D61okhov
might have as many more, but the disparity
of numbers did not deter Denisov. All that he
now wanted to know was what troops these
were and to learn that he had to capture a
"tongue" that is, a man from the enemy col-
umn. That morning's attack on the wagons
had been made so hastily that the Frenchmen
with the wagons had all been killed; only a
little drummer boy had been taken alive, and
as he was a straggler he could tell them noth-
ing definite about the troops in that column.



Denisov considered it dangerous to make a
second attack for fear of putting the whole
column on the alert, so he sent Tikhon Shcher-
baty, a peasant of his party, to Shdmshevo to
try and seize at least one of the French quarter-
masters who had been sent on in advance.


IT WAS a warm rainy autumn day. The sky and
the horizon were both the color of muddy
water. At times a sort of mist descended, and
then suddenly heavy slanting rain came down.

Denisov in a felt cloak and a sheepskin cap
from which the rain ran down was riding a
thin thoroughbred horse with sunken sides.
Like his horse, which turned its head and laid
its ears back, he shrank from the driving rain
and gazed anxiously before him. His thin face
with its short, thick black beard looked angry.

Beside Denisov rode an esaul, 1 Denfsov's
fellow worker, also in felt cloak and sheepskin
cap, and riding a large sleek Don horse.

Esaul Lovdyski the Third was a tall man as
straight as an arrow, pale-faced, fair-haired,
with narrow light eyes and with calm self-satis-
faction in his face and bearing. Though it was
impossible to say in what the peculiarity of the
horse and rider lay, yet at first glance at the
esaul and Denfsov one saw that the latter
was wet and uncomfortable and was a man
mounted on a horse, while looking at the esaul
one saw that he was as comfortable and as
much at ease as always and that he was not a
man who had mounted a horse, but a man who
was one with his horse, a being consequently
possessed of twofold strength.

A little ahead of them walked a peasant
guide, wet to the skin and wearing a gray
peasant coat and a white knitted cap.

A little behind, on a poor, small, lean Kirg-
hiz mount with an enormous tail and mane
and a bleeding mouth, rode a young officer in
a blue French overcoat.

Beside him rode an hussar, with a boy in a
tattered French uniform and blue cap behind
him on the crupper of his horse. The boy held
on to the hussar with cold, red hands, and rais-
ing his eyebrows gazed about him with sur-
prise. This was the French drummer boy cap-
tured that morning.

Behind them along the narrow, sodden, cut-
up forest road came hussars in threes and fours,
and then Cossacks: some in felt cloaks, some
in French greatcoats, and some with horse-
cloths over their heads. The horses, being

1 A captain of Cossacks.

drenched by the rain, all looked black whether
chestnut or bay. Their necks, with their wet,
close-clinging manes, looked strangely thin.
Steam rose from them. Clothes, saddles, reins,
were all wet, slippery, and sodden, like the
ground and the fallen leaves that strewed the
road. The men sat huddled up trying not to
stir, so as to warm the water that had trickled
to their bodies and not admit the fresh cold
water that was leaking in under their seats,
their knees, and at the back of their necks. In
the midst of the outspread line of Cossacks two
wagons, drawn by French horses and by saddled
Cossack horses that had been hitched on in
front, rumbled over the tree stumps and
branches and splashed through the water that
lay in the ruts.

Denisov's horse swerved aside to avoid a
pool in the track and bumped his rider's knee
against a tree.

"Oh, the devil!" exclaimed Denisov angrily,
and showing his teeth he struck his horse three
times with his whip, splashing himself and his
comrades with mud.

Denisov was out of sorts both because of the
rain and also from hunger (none of them had
eaten anything since morning), and yet more
because he still had no news from D61okhov
and the man sent to capture a "tongue" had
not returned.

"There'll hardly be another such chance to
fall on a transport as today. It's too risky to at-
tack them by oneself, and if we put it off till an-
other day one of the big guerrilla detachments
will snatch the prey from under our noses,"
thought Denisov, continually peering forward,
hoping to see a messenger from D61okhov.

On coming to a path in the forest along
which he could see far to the right, Denisov

"There's someone coming," said he.

The esaul looked in the direction Denfsov

"There are two, an officer and a Cossack. But
it is not presupposable that it is the lieutenant
colonel himself," said the esaul, who was fond
of using words the Cossacks did not know.

The approaching riders having descended
a decline were no longer visible, but they re-
appeared a few minutes later. In front, at a
weary gallop and using his leather whip, rode
an officer, disheveled and drenched, whose
trousers had worked up to above his knees. Be-
hind him, standing in the stirrups, trotted a
Cossack. The officer, a very young lad with a
broad rosy face and keen merry eyes, galloped


up to Denisov and handed him a sodden en-



"From the general," said the officer. "Please
excuse its not being quite dry."

Denfsov, frowning, took the envelope and
opened it.

"There, they kept telling us: 'It's dangerous,
it's dangerous,' " said the officer, addressing
the esaul while Denfsov was reading the dis-
patch. "But Komar6v and I" he pointed to
the Cossack "were prepared. We have each

of us two pistols But what's this?" he asked,

noticing the French drummer boy. "A pris-
oner? You've already been in action? May I
speak to him?"

"Wost6v! Ptya!" exclaimed Denisov, hav-
ing run through the dispatch. "Why didn't you
say who you were?" and turning with a smile
he held out his hand to the lad.

The officer was Pe" tya Rost6v.

All the way Ptya had been preparing him-
self to behave with Denisov as befitted a grown-
up man and an officer without hinting at
their previous acquaintance. But as soon as
Denfsov smiled at him Petya brightened up,
blushed with pleasure, forgot the official man-
ner he had been rehearsing, and began telling
him how he had already been in a battle near
Vydzma and how a certain hussar had distin-
guished himself there.

"Well, I am glad to see you," Denisov inter-
rupted him, and his face again assumed its
anxious expression.

"Michael Feoklftych," said he to the esaul,
"this is again fwom that German, you know.
He" he indicated Pdtya "is serving under

And Denisov told the esaul that the dis-
patch just delivered was a repetition of the Ger-
man general's demand that he should join
forces with him for an attack on the transport.

"If we don't take it tomowwow, he'll snatch
it fwom under our noses," he added.

While Denisov was talking to the esaul,
Pdtya abashed by Denisov's cold tone and
supposing that it was due to the condition of
his trousers furtively tried to pull them down
under his greatcoat so that no one should no-
tice it, while maintaining as martial an air as

"Will there be any orders, your honor?" he
asked Denfsov, holding his hand at the salute
and resuming the game of adjutant and gen-
eral for which he had prepared himself, "or
shall I remain with your honor?"

"Orders?" Denfsov repeated thoughtfully.

But can you stay till tomowwow?"
"Oh, please . . . May I stay with you?" cried

"But, just what did the genewal tell you?
To weturn at once?" asked Denfsov.

"He gave me no instructions. I think I
could?" he returned, inquiringly.

"Well, all wight," said Denfsov.

And turning to his men he directed a party
to go on to the halting place arranged near the
watchman's hut in the forest, and told the
officer on the Kirghiz horse (who performed
the duties of an adjutant) to go and find out
where D61okhov was and whether he would
come that evening. Denisov himself intended
going with the esaul and P(hya to the edge of
the forest where it reached out to Shamshevo,
to have a look at the part of the French biv-
ouac they were to attack next day.

"Well, old fellow," said he to the peasant
guide, "lead us to Shamshevo."

Denisov, PeHya, and the esaul, accompanied
by some Cossacks and the hussar who had the
prisoner, rode to the left across a ravine to the
edge of the forest.


THE RAIN HAD STOPPED, and only the mist was
falling and drops from the trees. Denisov, the
esaul, and Pckya rode silently, following the
peasant in the knitted cap who, stepping
lightly with outturned toes and moving noise-
lessly in his bast shoes over the roots and wet
leaves, silently led them to the edge of the

He ascended an incline, stopped, looked
about him, and advanced to where the screen
of trees was less dense. On reaching a large
oak tree that had not yet shed its leaves, he
stopped and beckoned mysteriously to them
with his hand.

Denisov and Pckya rode up to him. From the
spot where the peasant was standing they could
see the French. Immediately beyond the forest,
on a downward slope, lay a field of spring rye.
To the right, beyond a steep ravine, was a
small village and a landowner's house with a
broken roof. In the village, in the house, in the
garden, by the well, by the pond, over all the
rising ground, and all along the road uphill
from the bridge leading to the village, not
more than five hundred yards away, crowds of
men could be seen through the shimmering
mist. Their un-Russian shouting at their horses
which were straining uphill with the carts, and


their calls to one another, could be clearly


"Bwing the prisoner here," said Denfsov in
a low voice, not taking his eyes off the French.

A Cossack dismounted, lifted the boy down,
and took him to Denfsov. Pointing to the
French troops, Denisov asked him what these
and those of them were. The boy, thrusting his
cold hands into his pockets and lifting his eye-
brows, looked at Denisov in affright, but in
spite of an evident desire to say all he knew
gave confused answers, merely assenting to
everything Denfsov asked him. Denfsov turned
away from him frowning and addressed the
esaul, conveying his own conjectures to him.

P at the drummer boy, now at Denisov, now at
the esaul, and now at the French in the village
and along the road, trying not to miss any-
thing of importance.

"Whether Dolokhov comes or not, we must
seize it, eh?" said Denfsov with a merry sparkle
in his eyes.

"It is a very suitable spot," said the esaul.

"We'll send the iniantwy down by the
swamps," Denisov continued. "They'll cweep
up to the garden; you'll wide up fwom there
with the Cossacks" he pointed to a spot in the
forest beyond the village "and I with my hus-
sars fwom here. And at the signal shot . . ."

"The hollow is impassable there's a swamp
there," said the esaul. "The horses would sink.
We must ride round more to the left. . . ."

While they were talking in undertones the
crack of a shot sounded from the low ground
by the pond, a puff of white smoke appeared,
then another, and the sound of hundreds of
seemingly merry French voices shouting to-
gether came up from the slope. For a moment
Denfsov and the esaul drew back. They were
so near that they thought they were the cause
of the firing and shouting. But the firing and
shouting did not relate to them. Down below,
a man wearing something red was running
through the marsh. The French were evidently
firing and shouting at him.

"Why, that's our Tfkhon," said the esaul.

"So it is! It is!"

"The wascall" said Denfsov.

"He'll get away!" said the esaul, screwing up
his eyes.

The man whom they called Tfkhon, having
run to the stream, plunged in so that the water
splashed in the air, and, having disappeared
for an instant, scrambled out on all fours, all
black with the wet, and ran on. The French


who had been pursuing him stopped.

"Smart, that!" said the esaul.

"What a beast!" said Denfsov with his
former look of vexation. "What has he been
doing all this time?"

"Who is he?" asked P
"He's our plastun. 1 1 sent him to capture a
'tongue.' "

"Oh, yes," said P^tya, nodding at the first
words Denfsov uttered as if he understood it
all, though he really did not understand any-
thing of it.

Tfkhon Shcherbdty was one of the most in-
dispensable men in their band. He was a peas-
ant from Pokr6vsk, near theriver Gzhat. When
Denfsov had come to Pokr6vsk at the begin-
ning of his operations and had as usual sum-
moned the village elder and asked him what
he knew about the French, the elder, as though
shielding himself, had replied, as all village
elders did, that he had neither seen nor heard
anything of them. But when Denfsov explained
that his purpose was to kill the French, and
asked if no French had strayed that way, the
elder replied that some "more-orderers" had
really been at their village, but that Tfkhon
Shcherbaty was the only man who dealt with
such matters. Denfsov had Tfkhon called and,
having praised him for his activity, said a few
words in the elder's presence about loyalty to
the Tsar and the country and the hatred of
the French that all sons of the fatherland
should cherish.

"We don't do the French any harm," said
Tfkhon, evidently frightened by Denfsov's
words. "We only fooled about with the lads
for fun, you know! We killed a score or so of
'more-orderers,' but we did no harm else. . . ."

Next day when Denfsov had left Pokr6vsk,
having quite forgotten about this peasant, it
was reported to him that Tfkhon had attached
himself to their party and asked to be allowed
to remain with it. Denfsov gave orders to let
him do so.

Tfkhon, who at first did rough work, laying
campfires, fetching water, flaying dead horses,
and so on, soon showed a great liking and
aptitude for partisan warfare. At night he
would go out for booty and always brought
back French clothing and weapons, and when
told to would bring in French captives also.
Denfsov then relieved him from drudgery and
began taking him with him when he went out
on expeditions and had him enrolled among
the Cossacks.

1 An unmounted sharpshooter. TR.



Tfkhon did not like riding, and always went
on foot, never lagging behind the cavalry. He
was armed with a musketoon (which he car-
ried rather as a joke), a pike and an ax, which
latter he used as a wolf uses its teeth, with equal
ease picking fleas out of its fur or crunching
thick bones. Tikhon with equal accuracy would
split logs with blows at arm's length, or hold-
ing the head of the ax would cut thin little
pegs or carve spoons. In Denfsov's party he
held a peculiar and exceptional position. When
anything particularly difficult or nasty had to
be done to push a cart out of the mud with
one's shoulders, pull a horse out of a swamp by
its tail, skin it, slink in among the French, or
walk more than thirty miles in a day every-
body pointed laughingly at Tikhon.

"It won't hurt that devil he's as strong as a
horse!" they said of him.

Once a Frenchman Tikhon was trying to
capture fired a pistol at him and shot him in the
fleshy part of the back. That wound (which
Tfkhon treated only with internal and exter-
nal applications of vodka) was the subject of
the liveliest jokes by the whole detachment-
jokes in which Tfkhon readily joined.

"Hallo, matel Never again? Gave you a
twist?" the Cossacks would banter him. And
Tfkhon, purposely writhing and making faces,
pretended to be angry and swore at the French
with the funniest curses. The only effect of this
incident on Tfkhon was that after being
wounded he seldom brought in prisoners.

He was the bravest and most useful man in
the party. No one found more opportunities
for attacking, no one captured or killed more
Frenchmen, and consequently he was made the
buffoon of all the Cossacks and hussars and
willingly accepted that role. Now he had been
sent by Denfsov overnight to Shamshevo to
capture a "tongue." But whether because he
had not been content to take only one French-
man or because he had slept through the night,
he had crept by day i
M. Bullitt writes:
on May 3rd, 2014 at 5:15:20 PM

M. Bullitt‎‎‎‎‎‎
Member Since: Apr 5th, 2014
Last Online: May 3rd, 2014


Attos writes:
on May 3rd, 2014 at 5:16:37 PM

Lol, can you imagine what it would be like if someone actually ran this website?

Yeah... Me neither..
Attos writes:
on May 3rd, 2014 at 5:22:29 PM

Damn, I said some mildly entertaining stuff during all of that. Forever lost in the shuffle of war and peace. Story of my life. By the way, I know you didn't just stop without finishing the book, did you? Bad form. If you're going to go through with something, at least see it through to the end.
Attos writes:
on May 3rd, 2014 at 5:24:35 PM

Tell you what, Alex. Since you seem dead set on refusing me my edit button, how about you make a "ignore user" button, and we call it even?

Hell, I'll even make the damn thing for you if you let me.
Attos writes:
on May 3rd, 2014 at 5:37:44 PM

All jokes aside, I have to admit I have certain admiration for this site. Oddly, it has nothing to do with the site itself. I've checked into this place on a nearly daily basis for years now. Long before I ever bothered to make an actual account. My admiration stems from the ten or so familiar names I see every single time I come back. Every last one of is is fully aware of how dysfunctional this site actually is, and for one reason or another, we collectively (and stubbornly) refuse to leave.

Not only that, but we took it a step further. The people here no longer wait for their dismissive overlord to post the news anymore, they do it themselves. There tends to be more actual information in the comments than in any of the articles themselves. (And often with more correctly spelled words than the article.)

One could be inclined to see this as a sad fact, but I find it rather impressive.
Attos writes:
on May 3rd, 2014 at 5:39:12 PM

It's like the story of The Little Engine That Could, Even Though He Shouldn't.
Tanman32123 writes:
on May 3rd, 2014 at 6:09:38 PM


Haha That's awesome man. What're the odds :P

Fake Bullit-
Way to ruin a good thread jackass.
minkowski writes:
on May 3rd, 2014 at 6:27:16 PM

Zzzzzzz. A thread on the Hulk turns into someone spamming and this Attos guy babbling pretentiously about Hannibal for hours.

Great job, Dear Leader.

Cool though I have a deranged imitator.
minkowski writes:
on May 3rd, 2014 at 6:34:15 PM

By the way, idiots, this Attos guy is the same as that DrugDealingMonkey guy, who isn't me. Can't you tell? The attempt to mimic me, even down to the digs at Alex and the nonsense about coding features for the website?

Jesus you folks are dumb as f*ck. lol.

@the "real" Bullitt (whatever that means): why the f*ck would Alex delete the fake Bullitt when you were banned a long time ago? You're not even supposed to be here.

Max Rockatansky Junior writes:
on May 3rd, 2014 at 6:36:49 PM

It's not clear how credible Ferrigno is, especially when Marvel heads have explained the difficulty of making a Hulk movie.

Since Steroid Corey from Life Goes On is making the buzz, the Nerd Community says, "Bullsh*t!"
Max Rockatansky Junior writes:
on May 3rd, 2014 at 6:37:45 PM

Ferrigno must've been going crazy with his fingers in explaining this in sign-language.
Tanman32123 writes:
on May 3rd, 2014 at 7:06:04 PM


The difference is I really could care less who Drug dealing monkey is. Therfore I haven't exactly tried to find out who'se behind that account. I've seen way to many losers on here making everyone play the guessing game, I'm tired of that. Given i dont do a good job at it, i try to just scroll past.

minkowski writes:
on May 3rd, 2014 at 7:13:40 PM

@Tanman: You don't have to spend a lot of time on it. Just read the posts. Should seem pretty obvious to anyone with even the slightest powers of abduction.

Wonder when we'll see "theotherworld" posting. Maybe Art, or the hamburger guy or the one who constantly asked people about the weight of whatever. Yeah, that's funny. Or Mr Meh. Or...

Trolling is an art they say, except using fake nicks to mislead people isn't actually trolling.

You'd think an intelligent person would know that much.
minkowski writes:
on May 3rd, 2014 at 7:47:27 PM

^^You must have downloaded that crap because there's no way you'd pay good money to see it.

Saw Ridd*ck again. Not a bad film. Certainly not the worst film of 2013 as many have claimed. Definitely better than the second one, which is virtually unwatchable.
Attos writes:
on May 3rd, 2014 at 7:53:12 PM

Damn mink. I apologize if I've given you the impression that I'm trying to mimic you. And sorry if I felt like having an otherwise unproductive day and decided to spend my time talking about a television show in a place that supposedly is meant for such topics.

It's a little odd to me that you even bothered to bring it up in the first place. Of all the stupid sh*t said by stupid people here, why am I the *sshole for having an opinion? Especially when it was part of a conversation you weren't a part of at the time?

Who here HASN'T said something similar about the person running this site, and the numerous issues the site itself has? Am I really catching sh*t here for essentially agreeing with you on that point?

I've never really had any ill feelings towards you. You can be a d*ck sometimes, but that's true of just about anyone. But it is a rather ignorant move to assume anyone who acts any kind of similar to you is actively trying to mimic you. No need for the whole Highlander mentality. There's no reason you can't do the same thing I suggested to someone else earlier, if you don't want to hear what I have to say, don't read it. And if you do, at least have the decency to not chime in with pointless accusations and insults that aren't really called for, and don't really serve a purpose beyond making yourself feel superior.

More than that, why is dismissal and condescension the go-to actions here? Would it really be that hard to at least attempt some civility before making that leap? If you've got an issue with me, just say it. Don't stand up in front of the class and try to point out how much of a loser I am to everyone else like this is the second grade. I just don't see why you felt the need to be an *sshole about it when I've done nothing to you beyond adding a fraction of a second to the time it takes to scroll to the next comment.
minkowski writes:
on May 3rd, 2014 at 7:55:34 PM

Here's some news for Cress, since he's in love with Breaking Bad and the awesomeness of making meth while killing lots of people:


I always find it rather contradictory that people will worship a drug kingpin like Walter White, but fearfully make sure their car is locked up tight as can be when paying for gas.

Crime is awesome entertainment, but not so much when it happens to them.
Attos writes:
on May 3rd, 2014 at 7:56:51 PM

I hope that comparison of me to DrugDealingMonkey was just a poor way of saying I'm as equally annoying, and not an actual accusation. That would actually sting a bit.
minkowski writes:
on May 3rd, 2014 at 8:02:45 PM

Attos = BillyBunter. I hate when people play fake to get accepted.

@Rambo: Ridd*ck is fine. It's like you said: old-school sci-fi action, and a hard R, unlike most movies. Saw the unrated extended edition, which features Ridd*ck killing Krone on board one of the Necromonger ships. Decent film, and better now that I've seen a good copy. And I enjoyed the Homeric overtones.

I rate them thus:

Pitch Black


the cartoon movie

the video game

the cereal box comic I saw once

Chronicles of Ridd*ck.
minkowski writes:
on May 3rd, 2014 at 8:05:46 PM

@Attos: you know what the f*ck is going on, and so do I. The numerous nitwits here don't, naturally, but you and I can agree most of them couldn't find a pile of sh*t with a shovel inside an outhouse.
Attos writes:
on May 3rd, 2014 at 8:11:13 PM

How am I playing fake to get accepted? Because my response wasn't something more along the lines of "GO SUCK A d*ck A f*ckING *sshole" or any of the similarly childish responses you're used to hearing from people on here?
cress writes:
on May 3rd, 2014 at 8:14:39 PM

@Mink. Thanks for that link. You are a true friend. I would've responded twenty minutes ago, but I was just now able to scroll back to the top of the page.

Goddammit, would someone please give a f*ck about moderating this site and start pulling some weeds around thus place?
Attos writes:
on May 3rd, 2014 at 8:17:13 PM

Lol, I have to be honest, I may not deserve the credit you give me as far as knowing what you mean when you say I know what's going on here.
In any case, like I said before, I have no problems with you. In fact I've found you to be one of the most entertaining people who frequent this place. And I don't mean that in any sort of sarcastic or patronizing way.
minkowski writes:
on May 3rd, 2014 at 8:38:58 PM

@attos: Sure. If you say so.

Having said that, what NEEDS TO HAPPEN is Alex needs to start f*ckING ENFORCING THE ONE ACCOUNT PER IP ADDRESS rule and ban all these multi-account f*ckers.

And yes, I've used some accounts in the past but only for humorous parodic effect, not to mislead and f*ck with people, contrary to what Rambo *believes*.

And enforce the goddamned rule on staying on topic already! Enough of these meandering f*cking comment sections. The article is on *The Hulk*, not gay sex, Leo Tolstoy or what's hot in Mads Mikkelsens pants this week.

Stupid, lazy, greedy f*ckhead internet barbarian webmaster.

Tanman32123 writes:
on May 3rd, 2014 at 8:39:14 PM


Nice link. I'm on Breaking Bad Season Five now. Going through the show for a second time. Still a personal top 5 shows.
minkowski writes:
on May 3rd, 2014 at 9:02:52 PM

@Tanman: top shows for me, in no particular order:

Star Trek: The Next Generation (all)
The X-Files (seasons 1-6)
CSI: Las Vegas (seasons 1 - 9 episode 10)
Dexter (seasons 1 and 2)
24 (all)
Prison Break (seasons 1 and 2)
The Three Stooges (Curly and Shemp)
Sherlock (all)
Cowboy Bebop
The Simpsons (Seasons 1- 10)

Don't give a f*ck what IMDb says because that's a popularity contest.
minkowski writes:
on May 3rd, 2014 at 9:04:35 PM

@cress: you can never say I don't think of you...
minkowski writes:
on May 3rd, 2014 at 9:05:25 PM

@Rambo: there's some truth to that, but then explain why the Bill Bixby television show is far better than any of the movies?
Tanman32123 writes:
on May 3rd, 2014 at 9:20:32 PM


My top shows. Also in no order.

Breaking Bad- All seasons.
Dead honestly I find this show to be almost flawless. I admit it's a bit overrated but I' absolutely live this show.

The X-Files- seasons 1-6.
After the departure of Mulder the show got dole and boring

Prison Break- Seasons 1-3
I very much enjoy the first three seasons. However season four is sh*t. Killed the show. Season 2 is probably my favorite.

Dexter- seasons 1-5
Everything after pretty much sucked. I like the Deb found out, but I HATED that ending. Trinity season was my favorite.

Simpsons- seasons 1-10
Not to copy your answer but its true. It sure as hell hasnt gotten better after the ten season mark. However i still fin Various newer seasons are better then others. Wish Conan was still writing for the show.

LOST- All Seasons
My favorite season was season 5. By far. Season was a litt meh, but nonetheless a damn good show.

And ER- Seasons- 1-11.
The show went WAY downhill once the character John Carter left. But throughout that whole show.. So many amazing characters and situations that to this day I remember cause they were so good.

I also f*cking Love Frasier. I haven't watch that many episodes of the show, but I'm planning on buyin all the season eventually.
minkowski writes:
on May 3rd, 2014 at 9:31:22 PM

@Tan: X-Files started tanking right after David got a bone up his ass about a larger role in the show and money, and he thought he was going off to a huge career in Hollywood, which didn't happen. He wasted all that goodwill only to end up back where he started: making soft-core porn for Showtime. Pretty f*cking great in the ironic sense.

The arc with the super soldiers and Reyas was terrible. John Doggett would have made a great Assistant Director, but he was out of his depth trying to plug the hole left by Mulder riding off with aliens.

And the way they closed the door on his sister's abduction reeked of desperation and lack of imagination. I mean really, starlight? That was the best they could do?

And like Rambo and I have said, Dexter started sucking right after Doakes was killed off. Would've been awesome if he had somehow faked his death, become the ultimate Dex stalker and played that out over a few seasons, but nooooo, they had to give us Lilith the British night hag instead.
minkowski writes:
on May 3rd, 2014 at 10:09:42 PM

Jesus Christ, is there a television show on the air today that isn't gruesome, dark and bleak? I'm looking at Hannibal, and it's nothing but cannibalism and murder. Are there no happy shows on anymore? What happened to the days of Gilligan's Island and Mork and Mindy?

Man oh man, is the American psyche warped or what?
Attos writes:
on May 3rd, 2014 at 10:18:40 PM

Lol, mink, you have to admit it's a little funny that you complained about things being off-topic, and then immediately went back off topic. But anyway, I have a legitimate question. How good is 24? I mean, I know it was popular, and was on the air for quite a decent time (and technically still is, I suppose, with the new mini-series) but somehow I managed to never actually watch the damn thing. Same thing happened with Lost. I heard about it constantly, but never got around to seeing a single minute of it. Kiefer Sutherland is entertaining enough, and I've been wanting to give it a shot. Are there any weak spots I should be prepared for though? There seems to always be at least one season in any given show that doesn't live up to the rest.
minkowski writes:
on May 3rd, 2014 at 10:24:22 PM

Attos writes:
on May 3rd, 2014 at 10:28:02 PM

Actually, I hadn't really stopped to think about it, but yeah, just about every "good" show on the air seems to be rather dark. There are more light hearted shows out there, but they hardly even seem worth bringing up. And even those still aren't the same kind of classic happy shows. This era doesn't have it's versions of things like Gilligan's Island or even the Andy Griffith show. (Though you know it's just a matter of time before they try to resurrect those shows and inevitably end up completely straying away from how they ever were before.)
PutmansPussy writes:
on May 3rd, 2014 at 10:31:48 PM

Attos is a space molester
Attos writes:
on May 3rd, 2014 at 10:35:50 PM

We'll end up with some sort of completely absurd adaptation with Mark Wahlberg playing Gilligan, and they'll rework the story to somehow turn it into a detective show. That seems to be default mode now. At LEAST half of every show I watch either revolves around some sort of police/government unit, or the police are tied into it somehow. Breaking Bad, Dexter, Sherlock, Fargo, Hannibal, X-Files, etc. That might be part of the reason I waited on 24. It's just one more damn cop show.
Attos writes:
on May 3rd, 2014 at 10:37:09 PM

Somehow space molester almost sounds like a compliment. Sounds like something you'd hear Shatner say about himself- and he'd be correct.
PutmansPussy writes:
on May 3rd, 2014 at 10:38:27 PM

Attos I preferred you when when you where the smackfox it was easier to skip past your empty threats of being the wp saviour and Alex's no.1 Jewish c*cksucker than all this c*nty babble.
minkowski writes:
on May 3rd, 2014 at 10:40:36 PM

@Attos: jesus f*cking christ, of course I'm off topic. Every one of these articles is always off topic and has been for five years. What I'm asking is for Alex to step up and provide this place the leadership it needs because he and only he has the power to make this place work right again.

And 24 is great if you like some dude cutting off the heads of terrorists, mutilating Russian agents and flying nukes off into the desert. It's about as hard as you'll get on network television. But it is often redundant and has a lot of loopy subplots that'll make you cry. It's still great television. You'll either like it or you'll hate it.

Going to give Hannibal a look, but I swear television gets darker and darker every year.
minkowski writes:
on May 3rd, 2014 at 10:43:53 PM

"Attos I preferred you when when you where the smackfox it was easier to skip past your empty threats of being the wp saviour and Alex's no.1 Jewish c*cksucker than all this c*nty babble."

I have no idea if this was written by the same person behind all these damned accounts (probably) but that one made me laugh out loud. The "c*nty babble" in particular cracked me up.
PutmansPussy writes:
on May 3rd, 2014 at 10:53:49 PM

Nope I have just the 1 account. This monkey guy is a seriously weird motherf*cker. He says he's immune to trolls yet gives up his silly monkey account because he got berated and ignored so makes another and try's again...sad f*ck haha
cress writes:
on May 3rd, 2014 at 11:05:02 PM

@Mink. I'm already predicting you'll think HANNIBAL I s nihilistic crap, but I have my fingers crossed. Oh, and please get into the first 4-5 episodes before giving your holy judgment.
minkowski writes:
on May 3rd, 2014 at 11:05:16 PM

You're smarter than most if you picked up on it. Kind of sad he's working that hard to get noticed and accepted. "BillyBunter" (and others) did the exact same thing. Babbled on and on about nothing then got upset and cried when I called him on his BS. Maybe they think if they work hard enough they'll take over this dump. Pretty sad if so. Or maybe they're just f*cked in the f*cking head.

Hey weirdos: if you want people to respect you just be your self. Look at me. I'm myself and look at how many people love me. Okay, bad example, but you get the f*cking point.

Here's some relevant quotes from the Thirteenth Floor

McBain: Do me a favor, will you? When you get back to wherever it is that you come from, just leave us all the hell alone down here, okay? ...

Jason Whitney/Jerry Ashton: Why are you f*cking with our lives?
minkowski writes:
on May 3rd, 2014 at 11:09:22 PM

@Cress: I watched some clip on Youtube where Hannibal feeds this guy his legs and I wasn't impressed. The zombie guy was poorly acting, I'm afraid, and Hannibal was over-acting. The set looked nice and the lighting was well done, but the story, from what I saw, looked a little ragged around the edges and thin in the middle. Yet, people are saying that it's one of the best moments in the show so far...

As for holy, yeah. Holy like sh*t.

Attos writes:
on May 3rd, 2014 at 11:10:44 PM

Lol, I really wasn't trying to give you sh*t about the topic thing, I just thought it was kind of funny. And with Hannibal, it actually took two tries for me to like the show. I remember watching several episodes and not being swayed in either direction. It was just okay. Somehow when I gave it a second try, it seemed better than it had been before. It might just be that I managed to make it further, and the story finally started picking up a bit. But yeah, there's not a shred of happiness to be found anywhere near that show. I still say give it a shot, but you pretty much already know what you're in for- decently portrayed gore, cooking, and overly dramatic lines delivered by one of the main characters. Pretty much like you said about 24. I'm sure people either love the show or completely hate it.

With 24, that sounds about like what I expected, but I can't deny that I've been entertained by less. As long as there isn't any particularly terrible acting involved, I'm willing to overlook the rest. I made it through Fringe without too much grief, and I'm not sure the writers themselves knew what the story was by the end of that mess.

Lmao, and as for whatever that last thing was that was directed at me, I had to read it a couple of times to confirm how little sense it made. I'm still not sure what a smackfox is, but I feel like I should write that one down. The c*nty babble was a good one too, but I feel like you stole that from somewhere..
minkowski writes:
on May 3rd, 2014 at 11:17:09 PM

Attos writes:
on May 3rd, 2014 at 11:17:10 PM

Lol, glad to know I wasn't the only who thought the first few episodes weren't really doing much. Like I said, it wasn't until I came back around the second time that I managed to make it past that weird barrier in between the first few episodes and the actual plot beginning.
minkowski writes:
on May 3rd, 2014 at 11:17:50 PM

obviously a taxidermied fox...
Dark8 writes:
on May 3rd, 2014 at 11:18:15 PM

I am the original darksider the one and only true king of wp all hail me now peasents. the lest this fool imposter fopl you I am your true king and I'm here to save you all all hail the king darksider
PutmansPussy writes:
on May 3rd, 2014 at 11:19:35 PM

I can't even be bothered reading all of that matey. I'm guessing it finished like this...

...so then I reached into his trousers and pulled out the biggest Alabama black snake I'd ever chugged and proceeded to suck.

No one gives a f*ck
Tanman32123 writes:
on May 3rd, 2014 at 11:19:47 PM


f*cking hated the super soldier storyline. Very boring and ran too long. The black oil I liked! More of that would have been cool.

Also. Attos is a mink molester.
And Putman molester a is child.
minkowski writes:
on May 3rd, 2014 at 11:20:13 PM

The whole thing with Will going crazy and getting framed sounds poor to me. I prefer a cat and mouse game of detection, like Sherlock versus Moriarty, or Gil Grissom versus one of his adversaries, not one where the protagonist (?) of the show goes down so easily.
PutmansPussy writes:
on May 3rd, 2014 at 11:22:03 PM


Cracking pic haha
minkowski writes:
on May 3rd, 2014 at 11:23:29 PM

"I can't even be bothered reading all of that matey. I'm guessing it finished like this...

...so then I reached into his trousers and pulled out the biggest Alabama black snake I'd ever chugged and proceeded to suck.

No one gives a f*ck"

I just choked on my own tongue.
minkowski writes:
on May 3rd, 2014 at 11:26:29 PM

@Tanman: the black oil thing was great, too bad it was never resolved. Carter came up with some nonsense about it being an early invasion force or something, but that seemed ludicrous because he had aliens popping up all over the show and none of them seemed to work with one another. You had the bounty hunter, the goo, the greys, the things that resulted from the goo...in the end we never really saw the actual aliens, only shadows of them. Then we got the super soldiers and it was all down hill from there.
minkowski writes:
on May 3rd, 2014 at 11:27:10 PM

Ales hasn't updated the news because he's jacking off to all the images in this thread....
Attos writes:
on May 3rd, 2014 at 11:28:33 PM

Wait.. I'm guessing the crack about "someone" making a new account was directed at me? As well as your followup to it mink? So, apparently you WERE serious about the comparison of me to the other guy?
minkowski writes:
on May 3rd, 2014 at 11:32:44 PM

@Rambo: Married with Children was great, one of the best sitcoms ever, better than that Big Bang Theory sh*t for sure, and the show didn't hit it's stride until maybe the fourth season or so, up until the end of the sixth when at the beginning of the seventh they introduced that damned worthless kid to boost ratings. From there it began to decline and grow more outrageous and repetitive as the writers looked for new plots.

And the ST eps with Luwaxanna Troi, Alexander or any of the episodes where Deanna gets space-raped are just the worst. Awful, awful sh*t. To this day I skip them, even when I have nothing else to watch.
PutmansPussy writes:
on May 3rd, 2014 at 11:37:34 PM

"Putman molester is a child"

"It's not that I don't do kids...it's just I can't catch them. They seem to instantly recoil and run in terror on account of my massively deformed scrotum" ~ Dusty Putman
minkowski writes:
on May 3rd, 2014 at 11:44:35 PM

@Attos: I don't know who the f*ck you are. You've been registered since 2009 but never contributed more than a sentence or two. Now, during the height of all this sh*t with JB, Dark, that Wolf guy and the fake Bullitt accounts you're on here making really long-winded posts and talking about how trolling is an art...it's apparent to me you're not genuine, and I have little doubt you're "real" like Rambo, Cress, Pornfly, Tanman and the rest of us losers, because we (mostly...) say all we need through one account apiece, one account apiece we all know very well.

I like to know who the f*ck it is I'm talking to. I don't want to talk to one guy while he's pretending to be someone else. sh*t like this doesn't happen on most other sites, but because the douche running this dump has never cared, no one has any confidence we're not being manipulated.

Does that makes sense? Yes, no? I hope so because I'm not explaining it again.

What I'm saying is there's something rotten underfoot here at WP, and it ain't just the cat's ass.
minkowski writes:
on May 3rd, 2014 at 11:47:16 PM

@Rambo: the no maam sh*t was stupid. Al went from a lovable misfit father in season one to absolute stooge by season 9 or so, losing all his personality and transforming into a f*cking clown. And Kelly was never anything more than a punching bag. Same for Bud. By season 11 the show was done and died poorly.

They should do a Bundy television movie, if it's not too late.
minkowski writes:
on May 3rd, 2014 at 11:51:27 PM

"anyhow,i have a feeling there are 2 or 3 users in WP which keep changing their user names to make things more spicy.I believe you mink if you say it's not you but i wonder who are those 2-3 users and what were there user names before they bacame attos etc"

Dude. Did you see that first thread DrugDealingMonkey posted? The one to which he linked? Within it there was some thirty different accounts posting bullsh*t years after that article was written by Alex, so I *KNOW* there's a lot of sh*t going on that we can't see, so trust here is pretty much ZERO, except among the regulars, and JB even told me he's one of the regular posters, or so he claimed, so I have no f*cking clue who is who.
minkowski writes:
on May 3rd, 2014 at 11:52:44 PM

Yeah I sound paranoid, but it's not that bad. I just like to know who the f*ck I'm talking to before giving away my trust...
Attos writes:
on May 3rd, 2014 at 11:57:03 PM

I find it strange that you guys seemed to pick today all of days to accuse me of these things. I've been regularly coming here since August of 2009, without ever having this problem, nor have any of us had any issues before. Really, I hardly say anything most of the time. I apparently couldn't have picked a worse day to start opening my mouth.

I'm still curious what it is about me that seems to make you so certain I'm someone else all of a sudden. Doubly so considering I don't really know anything about this person I'm supposed to be other than what I've heard in the past 12 or so hours. But the fact that I apparently seem similar enough for you to believe I'm someone you already don't like is actually a little disheartening.

It's a little funny though (looking at from my side) that you're so dead set on being certain about this when I know for a fact that you're wrong. It makes me wish there was a way to prove it. Though it seems like you made up your mind without actually having any proof or decent reasoning. I wish I could explain what a jackass it makes you seem like to be so certain of your wrongful accusations. Or the irony of phrases like "you're smarter than most if you picked up on it", because apparently you're both f*cking dumbasses. It's incredibly sh*tty to not only be judged for the actions of a stranger, but that I apparently have no available options when it comes to proving the fault in said judgement.
Attos writes:
on May 4th, 2014 at 12:00:32 AM

Damn, and now even my timing is against me. Reserve judgment on some the things I just said, because it was written before I got to read the more recent stuff. Though hopefully you can understand the growing frustration with being confused for someone you're not. I think I'm less irritated with anyone accusing me than I am over the flaw of knowing that on the internet, I hardly have the ability to prove otherwise.
PutmansPussy writes:
on May 4th, 2014 at 12:01:38 AM

"Dude. Did you see that first thread DrugDealingMonkey posted? The one to which he linked? Within it there was some thirty different accounts posting bullsh*t years after that article was written by Alex"

Maybe that's because that's the page this freak has bookmarked for this site. On my phone my link takes me to that sh*t old article about hasslehoff was pissed about getting shunted for the negro and I've posted there recently by mistake

Same guy it's obvious
minkowski writes:
on May 4th, 2014 at 12:11:06 AM

Go back and read his posts. They smell to me. Talking about coding an ignore button? What does that sound like? Bragging about how trolling is an art? All the pretentious, rambling incessant rhetoric? Who the f*ck talks like that? Not even me, although I could which would only enhance my apparent douchebaggery.

Stinks. And I'm sick of it. Sick of not knowing who the f*ck it is I'm talking to. Alex needs to step up and fix this sh*t so all this easy account creating crap will stop. It was amusing at first but I now find myself totally incapable of trusting anyone on here outside the handful of regulars, and even then I'm not sure.

Really, is JB and Bullitt the same person? Who the f*ck knows? Is JB Dark, darthmaul, that wolf guy? Wolfie? sh*t just goes on and on and on.

Enough already.
minkowski writes:
on May 4th, 2014 at 12:13:35 AM

@Putman's p*ssy: you're right about that. My browser takes me to an article on GhostBusters 3 which is what I've used for HTML testing, so you're probably f*cking spot on.
minkowski writes:
on May 4th, 2014 at 12:16:24 AM

"It's incredibly sh*tty to not only be judged for the actions of a stranger, but that I apparently have no available options when it comes to proving the fault in said judgement."

What the f*ck do you expect in a community where any and all trust is blown to hell? Blame me? No, motherf*cker, blame all the people posting crap on ten different accounts. Or blame Alex for not making this site more f*cking secure.

Blame me...how easy.
Dark8 writes:
on May 4th, 2014 at 12:19:10 AM

minkoski this is the return of the great darksider remmeber him? the one that you got banned because you constantly begged and blowed alex to do so. now im back. lets just hope you can finally form a constructive arguments now. although that was never your thing. awaiting intelligent attempt at another imbecile response from minkowski
PutmansPussy writes:
on May 4th, 2014 at 12:20:25 AM

From what I've seen so far I'd say JB,dark 8, fake bullitt and maybe darksider are the same witless c*nt. Drugdealingmonkey and attos is a different boring c*nt.

Now I'm no Sherlock but I know a c*nt when I see one.
Attos writes:
on May 4th, 2014 at 12:21:11 AM

Mink, for what it's worth, I promise you this is nothing more than a case of bad timing. I can even give a reason for my long winded messages of the last 24 hours, and it's because I've gone back onto my ADD medication for a third time. Given that my tolerance for these things is unbelievably low, I've pretty much been under the effects of speed all day. What's funny is if you could go back and look over the years, this has happened at least two other times, where I would come on here and spend damn near an entire day writing long pointless messages that go off on tangents one after the other. And it was the same case each time of me going back on this medication, only to get tired of it a few months later.

And of course it would turn out that I slacked off on checking this place for the last few months. Because usually I'd be at least somewhat aware of the issues going on, because I have to sift through the comments section to find the actual news around here.

I don't blame you for not wanting to deal with that kind of stupid petty sh*t. I wouldn't want to either. I haven't even been around such childish scenarios since I was a 13 year old douchebag still going into chat rooms, back when chat rooms were even still a thing. (Exactly half of my life ago.)

On top of that, I can tell you that in the entire history of my online "life" I have used exactly two names: Attos and Saghan. So unless the words came from one of those two names, it's not me. Lol, I'm also sorry I failed to make a better impression on you before now. It's not like we haven't had plenty of conversations in the time I've been here, and it's all been under this same stupid name.

Lol, and as far as the "trolling is an art form" comments, that's just more of that bad timing mixed with my nostalgia from the days when people still went truly overboard in their efforts to f*ck with other people online. I'm not even saying I enjoy it when someone trolls, it's just the OCD part of me that wishes they'd at least be a little bit more creative. I mean really, pasting a book and some pictures of porn? That's the master plan? That's been going on in my email inbox for like 10 years now. That just spam.
Attos writes:
on May 4th, 2014 at 12:25:16 AM

And you know what? I don't mind if you think I'm a c*nt, my friend. As long as you base it on my actions rather than someone else's. I don't want credit for someone else's actions, bad OR good. I don't really give a sh*t if anyone likes me, as long as they don't think I'm someone else. I've got enough sh*t to deal with, I don't need some stranger's bullsh*t piled on top it.
Attos writes:
on May 4th, 2014 at 12:32:06 AM

By the way, what's the reference I'm missing about the coding the button thing? Because my comment about "hell I'll do it for you if you let me" was intended to be empty sarcasm more than anything. It's not like I actually have a f*cking clue how to do that sort of thing, but then again my point was that it seems like something you could learn after spending with a Google search and a spare fifteen minutes. It was a jab at the fact that the biggest problems here have such pathetically simple solutions. So much that the only possible excuse for it must be laziness.
PutmansPussy writes:
on May 4th, 2014 at 12:33:04 AM

Good for you...I'm off to masturbate. Good day sir xxx
Attos writes:
on May 4th, 2014 at 12:39:02 AM

Also, I don't blame you mink. I don't really blame anyone, even the people who cause the actual problems. And while you know I'm in agreement about Alex needed to get his sh*t together, I can't blame him for this one either. Like I said, the very thing that makes it so sh*tty is that I had no way to definitively prove my side. Hopefully you believe me, but even then both of us would have to pretty much go on blind faith.
PutmansPussy writes:
on May 4th, 2014 at 12:44:21 AM

I don't think he's gonna let you suck him off mate :(
Tanman32123 writes:
on May 4th, 2014 at 2:31:02 AM

Lmfao ^ found that funny.

Anyways. Like I've said before fellas. Who cares who'se behind these accounts. Just another low life :P

I just want them to make the damn 3rd movie already.

Has anyone caught any of the latest episodes of Californication? Haven't gotten around to watching this season yet.
PutmansPussy writes:
on May 4th, 2014 at 4:34:13 AM

So I got bored and started checking out how sh*tty WP is on Facebook. Drugdealingmonkey I believe this post belongs to you from February...

"And no matter how good it looks or doesn't, all the trolls like Stapes will hate on it. It's unfortunate that you haven't cured this problem with your site. It used to be a place to go to have meaningful discussions. Now it's just Trolls, hateful pissing contests, rampant racism, Spiderman News and full of man-boy lovers of an overly confident few who get pleasure out of being vulgar for the sake of it and have nothing to do with news presented on your site. I am a long time subscriber and appreciate a joke or 10. But, it has gotten out of hand and I will only return when measures have been taken to cure this disease that has over taken the once great WP. Sorry Alex."

Looks like your handy work...gary
M. Bullitt writes:
on May 4th, 2014 at 5:20:47 AM

"Crambo writes:
on May 3rd, 2014 at 7:08:56 PM

nice job,m.bullitt,you've made the most disgusting thread in the history of WP"

You're not very bright, are you Rambo?
FYI genius, it's JB using a FAKE account of mine apping me.

Do you understand? All you have to do is to check the creation date of that fake account. The most recent is the fake one and the oldest one is my original. Do you get it? Everybody knows that except you. Even that newcomer of Putmansp*ssy spot the difference.

Also, I still don't know how to post a gif or a simple picture. Haven't you noticed that by now?
Tanman32123 writes:
on May 4th, 2014 at 5:35:57 AM


"long time subscriber" what a fruit. This isn't a subscription, it's a FREE site where we get second hand movie news.
M. Bullitt writes:
on May 4th, 2014 at 5:41:01 AM


I can use the McQueen account but JB has cloned that one also and I can create any other and he will clone me again and again. I asked Alex many times to delete that fake account and here we are.
M. Bullitt writes:
on May 4th, 2014 at 6:06:12 AM

All right, let's try that.

Goodbye Bullitt for now...
Biz Malarkey writes:
on May 4th, 2014 at 9:53:34 AM

Biz malarkey says update your f*cking site
Attos writes:
on May 4th, 2014 at 10:31:05 AM

Lol, this place has a Facebook? I mean, I guess that's not really a surprised, considering everything and everyone are on there. Still, given the infrequent updates here, I bet the Facebook page is just sad.

I'm actually with you on the idea that Graham being framed was weak. It was one of the more dull stretches in the show. However, I 'm at least interested by how things are afterwards. At this point, Hannibal and Will both are fully aware of who the other one is. Hannibal knows that Will wants him dead, and Will knows that Hannibal has always been the bad guy. Yet they appear to everyone else as best friends, and they keep things overly civil between them. It's not very realistic, but I can't deny that it's fun to watch.
python6 writes:
on May 4th, 2014 at 11:49:23 AM

Make him a supporting character in his own movie lol I still thing if they do do another it should bridge the gap between Incredible Hulk and Avengers. It should have the leader Hulk busters and Tony Stark.Stark never meet the hulk but learn about him and if the Hulk Busters tec to fight the Hulk before Stark flies off to meet pepper bsfore going to the Stark Expo.
Dark8 writes:
on May 4th, 2014 at 11:54:17 AM

minkoski this is the return of the great darksider remmeber him? the one that you got banned because you constantly begged and blowed alex to do so. now im back. lets just hope you can finally form a constructive arguments now. although that was never your thing. awaiting intelligent attempt at another imbecile response from minkowski

Tanman32123 writes:
on May 4th, 2014 at 12:26:33 PM

You'd think Alex would update his site by now.

But you'd be wrong!
BillyBunter writes:
on May 4th, 2014 at 12:29:47 PM

Just to clarify no Mink I am not Attos. I don't have the time nor patience (no offense Attos) to write posts that long. But as I said in the past I do enjoy what some people have to say in here. And I like some of the characters here so that's why I like to stike up the odd conversation now and again with people on this site because there are some real characters.

And I think planet hulk is the way to go with a solo movie. Now we are getting in to the guardians of the galaxy style movies I feel it would be cool if they visited a slave planet which will be the future setting for a hulk movie.

Have a good Sunday gents.
SIeuth1989 writes:
on May 4th, 2014 at 12:39:25 PM

Just to clarify: my primary sexual fantasy involves Jennifer Lawrence strapping on a dildo and f*cking me up my ass.
Dark8 writes:
on May 4th, 2014 at 1:44:46 PM

alas the circle is complete mink and his imbecile little sh*ts aregone. we can finally bring back the true essence and peace to wp without those inbred retards. my work as king is finished may me and my peasants reign this newfound wp with peace and sovreighty
Tanman32123 writes:
on May 4th, 2014 at 2:26:39 PM

Really.. A fake Sleuth now! Lmao
M. Bullitt writes:
on May 4th, 2014 at 4:09:30 PM

Flattering myself? You f*cking god damned liar! I know it's you, everybody knows it's you, no one else but you, you gay f*cking c*nt!

You've got nothing else to do in your pathetic limited low life you c*cksucker than trying to blow me by apping me with your grotesque gay comments!

Try to be orginal for a change and face me with your Fake JB account with your useless Gay WANKER comments!

f*cking obsessive gay motherf*ckfer! f*ck off to your depraved Albanian f*cking monkey village of yours!
Dark8 writes:
on May 4th, 2014 at 5:10:07 PM

m.bullit and tanman did no one escort you buffoons through the front door along with ranger minky and the rest of the faggot horde. well if you havent. it would be my pleasure time for queers of wp to leave for a new age for wp. all hail the king darksider

minkowski writes:
on May 4th, 2014 at 5:15:43 PM

Looks like Spiderman 2 is rackng up big at the Box-Office:


That 92 million is slightly under the 95 million Captain America 2 made during a similar period.
minkowski writes:
on May 4th, 2014 at 5:17:02 PM

Bryan Singer hit with another sexual abuse case

minkowski writes:
on May 4th, 2014 at 5:17:52 PM

New Godzilla clip


(I have a feeling this one is going to bomb....)
minkowski writes:
on May 4th, 2014 at 5:20:07 PM

Beverly Hills reboot date announced

minkowski writes:
on May 4th, 2014 at 5:21:27 PM

Matt Smith Joins Terminator: Genesis

minkowski writes:
on May 4th, 2014 at 5:22:27 PM

'V/H/S 3' Gets an Official Title, Cast, Synopsis and Erotic First Look

minkowski writes:
on May 4th, 2014 at 5:23:30 PM

'The Butler' & 'Mockingjay' Writer Set to Direct Biopic on J.D. Salinger

Dark8 writes:
on May 4th, 2014 at 5:24:43 PM

@m.bullit and tanman did no one escort you buffoons through the front door along with ranger minky and the rest of the faggot horde. well if you havent. it would be my pleasure time for queers of wp to leave for a new age for wp. all hail the king darksider

minkowski writes:
on May 4th, 2014 at 5:29:09 PM

I like how the gay imagery is still up. Awesome. No one reported that yet? Of course not.
Dark8 writes:
on May 4th, 2014 at 5:39:57 PM

of course you would call that out minkoski here we have it guys mink c*ms out of the closet alas. now be gone minky no one wants you here anymore
Dark8‪ writes:
on May 4th, 2014 at 5:56:18 PM

i love the taste of hot c*m
Tanman32123 writes:
on May 4th, 2014 at 6:04:08 PM

Oh my god! Update your damn site
minkowski writes:
on May 4th, 2014 at 6:33:58 PM

Every time I reload this page, I have to wait ten minutes to see if there are any new posts, and then only after being forced to watch a load of gay fight-f*cking.

Attos writes:
on May 4th, 2014 at 7:26:37 PM

Jesus. It's amazing how things can seem different on a daily basis. Only now do I realize what a massive f*cking waste of time all those semi-arguments were, for everyone involved, myself included.

Moving on- Thanks for putting some actual news up mink. It's sad to think I could easily go somewhere else to find said news, but chalk it up to laziness and a psychological need for familiarity I guess. The only one of those that I had already heard about was the Matt Smith thing, and that was only through Facebook. (What a sad day when Facebook becomes a "news" source.)

Yeah, Godzilla is probably going to bomb, but I guess that's been the case for a long time with that franchise. The old ones are only entertaining because they have the nostalgia factor, and the previous reboot was a joke. I noticed how they snatched up Bryan Cranston right after his departure from Breaking Bad, and I assume they're trying to ride the coattails of that success so they don't have to work as hard.

Has anyone here (well, anyone with even a shred of good taste) seen Amazing Spiderman 2? I'm not about to make the leap to thinking it's any good just because it's making money. Titanic made a lot of money, too. I'm not really expecting much out of that movie, but I know eventually I'll be bored (or drunk) and end up watching it on Netflix or something one day, and it'd be nice to know what I'm in for ahead of time. I'm not opposed to being wrong and it turning out to be a good movie, but I'm also not about to hold my breath on that.
Attos writes:
on May 4th, 2014 at 7:27:57 PM

Do you check this site predominately on your phone? Because I'm on a computer, and this specific article has given me a brand new appreciation for the "end" key- which I may have never even used before now.
Dark8 writes:
on May 4th, 2014 at 7:53:33 PM

@minkowski and attos be gone now no one wants you here on thhis damn site now be gone you smelly pile of dog sh*t who never knows wtf your talking about
Dark8 writes:
on May 4th, 2014 at 8:41:41 PM

Dark8 writes:
on May 4th, 2014 at 8:45:52 PM

when minkowski outed out for being homosexual. we brought it out of him.
Tanman32123 writes:
on May 4th, 2014 at 9:03:25 PM

I'm on my phone, So scrolling through this is a bitch.

I think Alex died.
Attos writes:
on May 4th, 2014 at 9:18:55 PM

Damn. If your phone is anything like mine, that's probably a solid 5 minutes of scrolling. Kudos for continuing to put forth the effort though.

On a slightly related topic, I'm about to see how this add-on for adblocker works out. Supposedly you can select just about any individual thing from any website, and it will block it out. One of the examples was to block a certain user's avatar on a forum, and that it would continue to block only that person's avatar, including all future posts. If I can do that with entire posts by particular names, this might be a small victory in regards to the issues here.

Though I suppose it is limited to when being on a computer..
Dark8 writes:
on May 4th, 2014 at 10:29:38 PM

@attos get whatever adblocker you want your still a pile of stale sh*t just like trailertrash ranger and minkowski now be gone just like them you nuisance
Attos writes:
on May 4th, 2014 at 11:11:15 PM

Hmmm. Did Ranger ever make it back? I remember him disappearing, but I didn't keep up enough to know if perhaps he's around here somewhere under a different name now.
BillyBunter writes:
on May 4th, 2014 at 11:19:04 PM

Ranger was a WP Legend, i miss his banter.
minkowski writes:
on May 4th, 2014 at 11:38:48 PM

The trolls have been really hungry lately.

There's a Good Reason Why Luke Skywalker Isn't on "Star Wars: The Force Awakens" Poster

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Paul Bettany Responds to Jason Statham's "Avengers" Insult

Daniel Craig Would Rather Commit Suicide Than Return as James Bond

Marvel Has Contingency Plans In Case It Regains Rights to Superheroes

"Spectre" Breaks Box Office Records Overseas

"Transformers 5" Plot Details Revealed
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