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EVERYMAN'S LIBRARY 
EDITED BY ERNEST RHYS 



FICTION 



WAR AND PEACE 

WITH AN INTRODUCTION BY 

VICOMTE DE VOGtJt 

IN THREE VOLS. VOL. II 



PRESERVATION 

COPV ADDED 
ORIGINAL TO BE 

RETAINED 



JUN.28 1994 



THIS IS NO. 526 OF eFe'Rjr3i^3<is 

LIB%4^. THE PUBLISHERS WILL 
BE PLEASED TO SEND FREELY TO ALL 
APPLICANTS A LIST OF THE PUBLISHED 
AND PROJECTED VOLUMES ARRANGED 
UNDER THE FOLLOWING SECTIONS: 



TRAVEL ^ SCIENCE ♦ FICTION 

THEOLOGY & PHILOSOPHY 

HISTORY ^ CLASSICAL 

FOR YOUNG PEOPLE 

ESSAYS * ORATORY 

POETRY & DRAMA 

BIOGRAPHY 

REFERENCE 

ROMANCE 




IN FOUR STYLES OF BINDING! CLOTH, 
FLAT BACK, COLOURED TOP; LEATHER, 
ROUND CORNERS, GILT TOP; LIBRARY 
BINDING IN CLOTH, & QUARTER PIGSKIN 



London : J. M. DENT & SONS, Ltd. , 

New York: E. P. DUTTON & CO. 









• - - _ • « " 

• • •• a >• 



. - >. V ; ; •• . 



First Issue of this Edition . 1911 \ 

Reprinted .... 1915 ^ 






P6 Vhuo 

,/.. : ::• • ::.• :•..: : '-^Z. 

WAR AND PEACE *A*«\v4 

THE INVASION 

1807-1812 

CHAPTER I 

In 1808 the Czar Alexander repaired to Erfurth, to hold another 
^oiterview with Napoleon; the magnificence of this imperial 
f ceremony was for a long time the chief subject of conversation 
i ki the aristocratic circles of St. Petersburg. 
r In 1809 the "arbitrators of the world's fate," as the two 
i livereigns were then called, were so closely allied that, when 
; Mapoleon declared war with Austria, the Emperor Alexander 
- Commanded a division of the Russian army to march across the 
frontier to support his former foe against his former ally the 
Bmperor of Austria, and a report got about that a marriage 
was on the tapis between Napoleon and one of the Russian 
monarch's sisters. 

Besides the agitations and speculations resulting from her 
•fereign policy, Russia was deeply interested at this period in 
'fhe reforms decreed to be carried out in every department of 
^^e administration. Still, notwithstanding all these important 
subjects of discussion, everyday life — ^the practical life of each 
individual, with its home questions of health and sickness, of 
toil and rest, with its intellectual aspirations and tastes for 
science, poetry, music, what not, with its passions, loves and 
friendships — ^ran its regular course, without troubling itself to 
any serious extent about an alliance or breach with Napoleon, 
or about the great reforms in progress. 

Peter's philanthropic schemes, which in his hands had for 

the most part come to nothing for lack of perseverance, had, 

on the contrary, all been carried into execution by Prince 

\ Andrew, who had not quitted his country home, and who 

j brought them to bear without any great display, or any serious 

impediment. Gifted as he was with the quality his friend most 

f lacked, practical tenacity of purpose, he knew exactly how to 

'II A 



2 War and Peace 

give imp^tixs to. ia^ ^Qte^^se without effort or shock; the 
three hundred,serfs^w}io were attached to the soil on one of his 
estates* wc?efj)?feik«tii lis /free labourers — one of the earliest 



instances of 'sdcii eniancipation in Russia; on his other lands^ 
the corvee, or tale of gratuitous labour, was commuted; and at 
Bogoutcharovo he had settled a midvofe and nurse at his own 
cost, and paid the priest an additional stipend to teach the 
children of the peasants and servants to read. He divided his 
time between Lissy-Grory, where his little boy was still under 
petticoat rule, and what his father called his hermitage at 
Bogoutcharovo. 

In spite of the indifference which Prince Andrew had chosen 
to assume before Peter, he watched the course of events from 
day to day with keen interest, and read a great quantity of 
books; and he noted, with surprise, that his father's visitors . 
fresh from St. Petersburg, from the very headquarters of action, 
who might therefore be supposed to know what was doing in 
domestic and foreign poUtics, were often far less well informed 
than he was, living secluded in the country. 

Although the management of his estates, and his various 
reading, took up a great deal of his time. Prince Andrew found 
time to write a critical history of the two last campaigns and 
their disasters, and to work out a scheme of reform in the codes 
and rules of the military establishment. 

At the end of the winter of 1808-9, he made a tour of inspec- 
tion to some property in Riazan, belonging to his little son, of 
which he was the administrator. Sitting at his ease in his 
travelling-chariot, under the glorious spring sunshine, he gave 
himself up to vague dreaming, gazing to right and left, and^ 
feeling his whole being expand under the charm of the first 
verdure budding on the birches, and of the light clouds that 
fled across the deep blue sky. After passing the ferry, where, 
the year before, he had crossed the river with Peter, then a 
poverty-stricken village with its granaries and cattle-pens, 
down a slope where some snow still lay thawing slowly, and 
along a clay dyke that crossed the cornfields, he got into a 
little wood which fringed the road closely on each side. There 1 
was no wind, so that it was almost warm; not a breath stirred ! 
the birch-trees covered with sprouting leaves of tender green, I 
ail glutinous with sap. In many places, between the trees, the 
first blades of grass and tufts of tiny purple flowers were pushing 1 
their way through the carpet of dead leaves that strewed the j 
ground; while a dark pine-tree here and there was still arv:,' 






The Invasion 3 

unpleasant reminder of winter^ in its moumfu] and monotonous 
hues. The horses tossed their heads and snorted; the air was 
so mild that they were streaming with sweat. Peter^ the man- 
servant^ made some remark to the coachman, who assented; 
but his S3anpathy did not satisfy the man, who looked back at 
his master and said: *' How good its smells, excellency! " 

" What? — ^what did you say? 

" How sweet everything is.' 

" Yes, indeed! " said Prince Andrew, and he went on to him- 
self: " The spring-time, he means no doubt. Very true. How 
green it is abready, and so early! The birch, the wild-cherry, 
the elm — all are quite green; but the oaks — ^I do not see any. . . 
Yes, there is one." 

Just at hand, by the side of the road, ten times as tall and 
as stalwart as its brothers the birches, stood a ^;^ntic oak, 
spreading its gnarled branches over a wide space, its limbs and 
trank deeply scarred where the bark had been ripped away. 
Its lean, knotted, straggling arms made it look like some savage 
and haughty monster; scorning, in his hoary age, the youth 
that clustered round him, and that could smile at the spring and 
the sunshine which he, as yet, had failed to feel. 

" Spring — ^love — ^happiness! Can you still cherish such vain 
illusions? " the old oak seemed to say. " Is it alwa3rs to be the 
same false tale? There is no such thing as spring-tide — as love 
and joy! . . . Look at the storm-beaten pines; they are 
always the same. Look at the haggard limbs that I throw out 
from my scraggy body. I am what they have made me, and I 
have no faith in your hopes and delusions." 

Prince Andrew turned to look at it more than once as he 
drove past, as if he expected it to confess some mysterious 
secret; but the oak stood sullen and gloomy in the midst of the 
flowers and turf that were springing at its feet. " Aye, the old 
oak is right — quite right. We must leave youth in the enjoy- 
ment of its illusions. But we — we know what life is worth; it 
has nothing more in store for us. . . ." And a whole swarm 
of sad and sweet thoughts rose up in his soul. He glanced back 
at his past life and came to the disheartening, but yet soothing, 
conclusion that henceforth there was nothing for him but to 
vegetate aimless and hopeless, to avoid doing evil and keep 
himself from worry. 

Prince Andrew was obliged by his duties as his boy's guardian, 
to pay a visit to the " Marechcd de Noblesse " of the district, 
Count Ilia Andreievitch Rostow; and he set out early in May. 






4 War and Peace 

By this time the woods were in full leaf, and the heat and dust 
were so intolerable that the sight of the merest thread of water 
made the traveller long to bathe in it. His mind was occupied 
with the business on which he was visiting the count, and 
before he was aware of it, he was driving up the avenue that 
led to the house at Otradnoe. Presently he heard gay young 
voices in one of the clumps of trees, and saw a party of girls 
running forward to look at the travelling-chariot. The fore- 
most, a very slight young creature, with black eyes, in a nankeen 
frock with a pocket-handkerchief thrown over her tossed and 
tumbled hair, came eagerly towards him, saying something as 
she ran; but at the sight of a stranger she turned, and without 
stopping to look at him, fled with shouts of laughter. 

Prince Andrew was painfully impressed. The day was so 
fine, the sun so bright, the air seemed full of happiness; and 
everything, including this frail-looking girl, was so full of joy 
— and the girl herself, m her giddy, happy heedlessness, troubled 
her head so little about him — ^that he asked himself, sadly 
enough: — " What on earth has she to be so glad about? What 
does she think about? Not the militray code, nor the organisa- 
tion of peasants' dues, that is very certain." 

Count Ilia lived at Otradnoe just as he always had done, 
keeping open house and arranging hunting-parties, entertain- 
ments, and dinners with music to amuse his guests. Every 
visitor was hailed and welcomed; thus Prince Andrew was 
forced to yield to his pressing invitation to sleep there. 

He found the day intolerably dull; his host and hostess and 
the more important guests took possession of him entirely. 
However, he often found himself looking at Natacha, who was 
amusing herself with the young people of the party, and every 
time he asked himself again: " What does she find to think 
about? " 

At night it was long before he could get to sleep; he read 
for some time, then he put his light out, then he lighted it 
again. The heat in his room was suffocating, for the shutters 
were closed, and he fumed at " the old idiot " — ^Rostow — for 
having detained him by assuring him that he had not the 
required papers; he was even more annoyed with himself for 
having accepted the invitation. 

He got up to open the window; as he pushed out the shutters, 
the moon, which seemed to have been on the watch, flooded the 
room with light. The night was clear and calm, the air trans- 
parent; in front of the window was a tall clipped hedge on one 









The Invasion 5 

side blacky on the other silvered^ at the bottom a rank growth 
of grass and leaves glittered with diamond drops. Further oR, 
beyond the hedge^ a roof shone with dew; to the right spread 
the boughs of a large tree with satiny white bark that reflected 
the full moon riding high in the clear and almost starless spring 
sky. Prince Andrew leaned his elbows on the window-sill and 
gazed out at the scene. Then he heard from a window over- 
head the chatter of women's voices. So they were not asleep 
either. 

" Once more — do, please," said one voice, which Prince 
Andrew at once recognised. 

But when will you go to sleep? " remonstrated another. 
It is not my fault if I cannot sleep. Just once more. . . ." 
And the two voices softly himmied a tune. 

Heavens! how lovely it isl Well, now let us go to sleep." 
You may go to sleep if you like. > I cannot — it is impossible." 

He could hear the light rustle of the speaker's dress, and even 
her breathing; she must be leaning out of the window. Then all 
was still, motionless; the lights and shadows cast by the moon 
might have been petrified. Prince Andrew was afraid of making 
some movement that might betray his involuntary presence. 

" Sonia, Sonia," said the first voice again, " how can you 
sleep .^ Do come and see how lovely it is. Good heavens! 
how lovely! — wake up." And she went on with eager feeling: 
"There never was such a lovely night, never, never! . . ." 
Sonia murmured some reply. 

" Do come — look at that moon, my darling, my little soul; 
do come — stand on tiptoe, so — with your knees close together, 
and there is room for both of us by squeezing a httle. So. . . ." 

" Take care, you will fall out." 

There was a little scuffle; then Sonia said rather crossly: 
" Do you know it is nearly two o'clock? " 

" Oh, you spoil all my enjoyment! There, go away." 

Then all was silent once more; but Prince Andrew could 
hear, by her sighs and little stir, that she still was there. 

"Oh, dear! oh, dear!" she said suddenly. "Well, to bed 
then, since I must ! " and she shut the window with a slam. 

"Now what does my existence even matter to her? " said 
Prince Andrew to himself. Without knowing why, he had 
half hoped, half feared, to hear her speak his name. " But it 
is she again; it is as if it were on purpose. . . ." And a con- 
fused medley of sensations and hopes surged up in his heart — 
thoughts so youthful, so far removed from his usual habits of 



6 War and Peace 

mind^ that he forbore to analyse them. He threw himself on 
his bed and fell asleep at once. 

Next morning, having taken leave of the old count, he left 
without seeing any of the ladies. In the month of June, as he 
was returning to his " hermitage," Prince Andrew again found 
himself in the birch-wood. The bells on the harness echoed 
through it less crisply now; evprythmg was leafy, thick, and 
shady. The scattered pine did not mar the beauty of the scene; 
nay, the yellow tips of their dark boughs showed plainly that 
even they had yielded to the bland influences of the spring. 

The day was hot and thunderous. A light shower had laid 
the dust and refreshed the weeds in the ditches; the forest on 
his left lay in shadow; on his right, the trees, softly swayed 
by the breeze, sparkled with moisture in the sunshine; every- 
^ thing was green or blooming, and far and near the nightingales 
gurgled their song. 

" I fancy there was an old oak here that understood me well," 
thought Prince Andrew, looking to his left, and unconsciously 
attracted by the beauty of the very tree he was seeking. The 
oak was transfigured. It spread a dense and luxuriant dome 
of verdure, its boughs rocking gently in the full light of the 
setting sun. Its knotted and scarred limbs were no longer 
visible; its aspect had ceased to be bitterly defiant or morosely 
sad; nothing was to be seen but the vigorous young leaves that 
had forced fiieir way through the time-hardened bark, and it 
was difficult to believe that they derived their life from the 
gnarled patriarch. 

" To be sure, that is the tree ! " exclaimed Prince Andrew, 
with a sudden rush to his heart of the ecstasy of the spring 
revealed in this resurrection. The dearest and most solemn 
memories of his life rose before him: the blue sky — ^the sky of 
Austerlitz; the mute reproach on his wife's face; his conver- 
sation with Peter by the ferry; the young girl enraptured 
with the loveliness of the night; that night — that moon — all 
distinctly imagined. 

" No, my life cannot be closed and sealed at one-and-thirty ! 
It is not enough for me to be conscious of what is in me; others 
must know it, too! Peter must learn to know me, and that 
child who was ready to fly away skywards ! My life must find 
a reflection in theirs; theirs must mingle with mine I ** 

On his return from this tour, he made up his mind that in 
the autumn he would go to St. Petersburg, and he racked his 



The Invasion 7 

brain to find some legitimate excuse for the journey. A whole 
series of reasons^ each more cogent than the last^ proved it to 
be absolutely necessary. Nay, he was within an ace of rejoin- 
ing his regiment. He could not understand how he had ever 
doubted tbat there must still be work for him in the future. 
And whereas, not more than a month ago, he had believed it 
impossible that he could quit the country, he now told himself 
that his past experience would all be wasted, and his life a pure 
nan seguitur, if he turned it to no practical account. He could 
not understand how, on the strength of such poor and illogical 
reasoning, he could ever have believed that it would be beneath 
him, after all he had seen and learnt, to look forward to the 
possibility of being useful, of being happy, and of loving once 
more. His reason now told him just the contrary. He was 
weary and bored; his ordinary occupations had lost their 
interest, and often, when alone, he would go up to the mirror 
and look at himself steadily; then he would gaze at Lisa's 
portrait, with her hair turned ofi her face, and little curls falling 
over her forehead; he could almost fancy that she leaned out of 
the gilt frame, and forgetting her last words, watched him with 
afiEectionate curiosity and a bright smile. Sometimes he would 
pace up and down the room, his hands crossed behind his back 
and his brows knit; or else smiling at his fantastic and inco- 
herent visions — Peter, the young face at the window, the oak- 
tree, the beauty of womanhood, the soldier's glory, the love 
which had never come into his life. When any one interrupted 
him in these moods, he answered shortly, dryly and sternly, but 
with logical accuracy, as if to excuse himself in his own eyes for 
the vagueness of his private thoughts; and this made Princess 
Maria say that " intellectual occupations dried up the hearts 
of men," 



CHAPTER II 

Prince Andrew arrived at St. Petersburg in the month of 
August 1809. At this time, young Speransky was at the 
zenith of his glory and of his energetic zeal for reform. Just 
at this time, too, the czar had sprained his foot by falling out 
of his carriage; and being obliged, in consequence, to spend 
three weeks on the sofa, he had Sp6ransky every day to work 
with him. Then and ^ere were elaborated the two famous 



8 War and Peace 

ukases which were intended to revolutionise society. One 
decreed the abolition of court rank^ and the other regulated 
certain examinations which were henceforth to be passed before 
taking office as assesseur de coUige ^ and councillor of state; it 
also gave rise to a complete scheme of government offices by 
which the administration of finance, law, etc., was radically 
altered, from the imperial cabinet down to the least town 
council board. The dreams of liberal reform which the 
Emperor Alexander had cherished ever since his accession were 
gradually taking shape and reality with the aid of his councillors, 
Czartorisky, Novosiltzow, Kotchoubey, and Strogonow, whom 
he called in jest the Committee of Public Safety. 

At this immediate juncture, Sp^ransky represented them all 
for civil questions, and Araktch^iew for military affairs. Prince 
Andrew, in virtue of his appointment as one of his majesty's 
chamberlains, went to make his bow at court; but, though he 
twice placed himself in the emperor's way, Alexander did not 
speak a word to him. He had alwa3rs fancied that his majesty 
had some dislike to him or to his appearance, and this suspicion 
was confirmed by the cold eye that met his; indeed, he soon 
ascertained that the czar had been annoyed by his retirement 
from active service in 1805. . 

" Well, we cannot control our liking," said Prince Andrew 
to himself. " I shall do better not to present my report on 
the military code in person, but to have it laid before him to 
take its chance on its own merits ! " He placed it in the hands 
of an old marshal, a friend of his father, who took charge of it 
very kindly, and promised to mention it to the sovereign. 

In the course of the week, Prince Andrew was bidden to 
attend on the minister of war, Count Araktch6iew. At nine 
in the morning on the appointed day, Prince Andrew made 
his appearance in the count's ante-room; he did not know him 
personally, and what he had heard of him did not command 
either respect or esteem. 

" But he is minister of war, and he is in the emperor's con- 
fidence; what can his personal qualities matter to me? It is 
part of his business to examine my report, and he is the only 
person who can forward my interests," said Prince Andrew to 
hims^f. At the time when he had held an appointment as 
aide-de-camp, he had been present at the audiences granted by 
various dignitaries, and had noted that each man had his own 

^ An officer in the civil service of a grade corresponding to that of 
major in the army. 



The Invasion 9 

peculiarities. This reception^ however, struck him as excep- 
tional. The faces of all those who were waiting for admission 
bore a half-disguised stamp of anxious embarrassment, with a 
look of affected submissiveness. The highest in military rank 
tried to dissemble their ill-concealed uneasiness imder a free- 
and-easy demeanour, jesting about themselves and the 
minister; others sat in gloomy silence, while some giggled and 
whispered, speaking of the great man as Sila^ Anckii^itch. 
One general, evidently much offended at having to wait so 
long, crossed his legs, and looked about him. with a smile of 
contempt. 

But no sooner was the door opened, than every face fell to the 
same expression of fear. Prince Andrew had asked the officer 
in waiting to be good enough to announce him, and had been 
told ironically that his turn would come. A military man, 
whose scared and miserable face had particularly struck Prince 
Andrew, was admitted to the minister's sanctum when some 
who had had a previous audience had been shown out by the 
officer in attendance. This interview was a long one; an un- 
pleasant voice was heard in violent outbursts, and presently 
the officer came out and hurried through the ante-room, pale, 
with quivering lips, and his hands clasped to his head. 

It was now Prince Andrew's turn. 

" To the right, next the window," some one muttered in his 
ear. 

He was admitted to a private office, neatly but not luxuriously 
furnished, and saw before him a man of about forty, with a 
singularly long body, and a no less oddly long head. His hair 
was closely cropped, his face deeply wrinkled, and his thick 
brows met over dull greenish eyes and a drooping red nose^ 
This dignitary tu]:ned his head towards the new-comer, and said, 
without looking at him: 

" What do you want? " 

" I want nothing, your excellency," said Prince Andrew, 
quietly. 

Araktch^iew looked up. " Take a seat," he said. " You are 
Prince Bolkonsky? " 

" I want nothing excepting to know whether his majesty 
the emperor has condescended to send my memaire to your 
excellency. ..." 

" Allow me to tell you, my dear fellow, that I have read your 

^ Sila means strength: in the original Russian a play on the words is 
♦ conveyed* 



lo War and Peace 

memmrey^ interrupted Araktch^iew^beginning with some suavity^ 
but, after ^a word or two, returning to his tone of angry con- 
tempt. "You propose some new regulations for the army? 
There are plenty of old ones and no one enforces them. . . . 
People only write them nowadays; it is the easier thing to do." 

" It was his majesty's wish that I should wait upon your 
excellency, to ask you what you propose to do with my paper." 

" I sent it to the committee, endorsed with my opinion. I 
do not approve of it," he added, rising. He took a document 
off the tai>le aijd handed it to Bolkonsky. " There I " 

Across the back was written in pencil, ill-spelt, and without 
any stops: "No logical basis; copied from the French code; 
differs from ours on no reasonable grounds." 

" What committee is to inquire into it? " 

"The committee of revision of the military code; and I 
.have placed your highness's name on the list — without hono- 
rarium." 

Prince Andrew smiled. " I should not have joined it other- 
wise." 

"Honorary member; you quite understand. Good morn- 
ing. — Well, what next out there? " he shouted, as he showed 
Bolkonsky out. 

In anticipation of an official intimation of his appointment 
as a member of the committee, Prince Andrew called on such 
of his acquaintances as were in power and might prove useful. 
A restless and. irresistible wonderment, something like what he 
had felt on the eve of a battle, attracted him to those higher 
spheres where measures were being concerted that must influence 
the lives of millions of human beings. He could make a guess 
by observing the irritability of the seniors — ^by the eager in- 
quisitiveness of those who were d3dng to know, and the reserve 
of those who did know — ^by the anxious excitement of all — ^by 
the endless committee meetings and sittings, that a tremendous 
civil battle was brewing at St. Petersburg in this year 1809, 
of which Sp6ransky was to be the general in coqunand; and 
Sp6ransky had for Bolkonsky all the attraction of an unknown 
genius. In short, the great reform and the reformer so wholly 
occupied his thoughts that the fate of his own report became a 
secondary consideration. 

His own rank and position gave him access to the opposing 
parties among the aristocratic circles. The party of reform 
hailed him sympathetically; in the first place by reason of his 
remarkable inteUigence and knowledge; and in the second, on 



The Invasion 1 1 

account of the reputation as a liberal which he had won by the 
emancipation of his serfs. At the same time the conservative 
party, who set their fa<?e against the new movement, hoped to 
find an ally in him, as sharing his father's opinions. The women 
regarded him as a wealthy and brilliant marriageable man — 
nay, as moving in a halo of romance derived from his own 
supposed death in battle and his wife's melancholy end. Those 
who had known him in former days thought him singularly 
altered for the better: Time had softened him, he had lost a 
great deal of his pride and his airs; he had gained the self- 
possession that years alone can give. 

The day after his visit to Araktch^iew he went to an evening 
party at Count Kotchoubey's, and told him of his interview 
with " Sila Andr^6vitch," of whom Kotchoubey spoke in the 
same tone of doubtful irony that had struck Bolkonsky among 
those who were in waiting the great man's ante-room: 

" My dear fellow," added Kotchoubey, " even when you are 
one of the committee you will not get on without Michael 
Mikailovitch Sp6rans;ky; he is the great factotum. I will 
speak to him this evening — he promised to look in . . ." 

" But what can Speransky care about the military code? " 
asked Prince Andrew. Kotchoubey smiled and shook his head 
in astonishment at his simplicity. 

We have spoken of you — of your free labourers. . . ." 
Oh! It is you, then, prince, who have liberated your 
serfs? " exclaimed rather sharply an elderly man who remem- 
bered the good old days of Catherine. 

" It was a very small estate which brought in very little>" 
said Bolkonsky, trying to palliate the truth so as not to annoy 
the old man. 

" You were in a devil of a hurry! " the older man went on, 
and, looking at Kotchoubey, he added: " What I want to 
know is who is to till the ground if the peasants are emanci- 
pated? — ^Take my word for it, it is easier to make laws than 
to govern by them; and allow me to ask you, count, who is 
to be appointed judge when all are to go through examina- 
tions?" 

Well, those who can pjass them, I suppose," said Kotchoubey. 
For instance, there is Prianichnikow — a capital man, but 
he is sixty. Now is he to pass an examination? " 

" Of course that is a difficulty — ^all the more so as very few 
people know anything; but . . ." Kotchoubey did not finish 
his sentence; he put his hand through Prince Andrew's arm 






« 



1 2 War and Peace 

and led him forward to meet a tall man who had just come 
into the room. The new-comer did not look more than forty, 
though his vast bald forehead had only a few remaining hairs; 
his long face and plump hands were remarkable for ^e dull 
whiteness of the skin, which was like the sickly pallor of a 
soldier who has been a long time in hospital. He had on a 
blue coat. Andrew at once knew who it was and was some- 
what startled at the sight. Was his feeling respect, envy, or 
merely curiosity? He could not decide. Sp^ransky was 
beyond a doubt strikingly original. Andrew had never seen 
any man so perfectly calm and self-assured, or, at the same 
time, so clumsy and so impassible — a. glance at once so soft 
and so keen as that in those half-closed, half-sleepy eyes — or 
so much determination betrayed by a smile of general affability. 
This was Sp^ransky, the secretary of state— Sp6ransky, the 
czar's right hand, his companion at Erfurth where he has 
several times had the honour of speech with the emperor of 
the French. 

The great man looked round at the company without hunying 
himself to speak. Being quite sure of being listened to, he never 
raised his voice above a certain pitch; its calm and measured 
cadence struck Prince Andrew very agreeably. He never 
looked at any one but the person he was talking to. Bolkonsky 
watched his every gesture, and listened to every word. Know- 
ing him well by reputation, he was prepared to find him a 
sum of human perfections — a delusion to which those in the 
habit of forming foregone conclusions are very liable. 

Sp6ransky apologised to Kotchoubey for not having come 
earlier; he had been detained at the palace. He avoided 
sa3dng, " detained by the emperor," and Prince Andrew noted 
this affectation of modesty. When Kotchoubey introduced 
him, Sp6ransky slowly turned his eyes upon him, and looked 
at him with a fixed smile for a minute or two in silence, then 
he said: 

'^ I am happy to make your acquaintance; I have heard 
much about you." 

Kotchoubey, in a few words, sketched Araktch6iew's re- 
ception of BoJkonsky. Sp6ransky smiled a little more definitely, 
and replied: 

'' Mr. Magnitsky, the president of the commission, is a friend 
of mine, and if you like I can promise you a personal interview 
with him." He articulated very distinctly every word, every 
syllable, and after a full stop at the end of this sentence, he 



The Invasion 13 

added : *^ I hope you will find him cordial^ and anxious to 
promote everything that can be useful." 

A little circle had now gathered round them. Prince Andrew 
was surprised at the calmness, not unmixed with contempt, 
with which this man — not long since an obscure priestling — 
answered the old man who had bewailed the new reforms, seem- 
ing to condescend in explaining them; but when his antagonist 
raised his voice he said no more, but merely smiled, observing 
that he did not think himself competent to judge of the utility 
or the uselessness of any decision of the czar. 

After a few minutes of this general conversation he rose and 
led Prince Andrew aside to the other end of the room : it suited 
his views to converse with him. 

" I was so overridden by that worthy old gentleman's excite- 
ment that I have not had time to exchange two words with 
you, prince," he said, with that slightly scornful smile, as if 
he wished to convey that he was well aware of the futility of 
the society he had been mixing with. Prince Andrew felt 
flattered. 

" I have known you a long time by reputation," Sp^ransky 
went on. " First by the liberation of your peasantry — an 
example I could wish to see followed; and next as being the 
only one of the court chamberlains who has not taken offence 
at the recent ukase as to order of rank at court, which has 
given rise to so much dissatisfaction and recrimination." 

" Very true; my father did not wish me to take advantage 
of my privileges and I began service at the bottom." 

" Your father, though a man of a past generation, is very 
superior to those of our own contemporaries who criticise the 
measure; it only aims, after all, at re-establishing justice on a 
sound basis." 

" Nevertheless, I am inclined to think that there is some 
ground for criticism," said Prince Andrew, making an effort 
to shake himself free of this man's influence; it vexed him 
to give in on every point — nay, he longed to contradict him; 
but his mind was so much engaged in observing him that he 
could not express himself with his usual readiness. 

"That is to say criticism based on personal vanity," said 
Sp^ransky, quietly. 

" Partly, no doubt; but in my opinion on the interests of 
the government itself." 

"How is that?" 

" I am a disciple of Montesquieu," said Prince Andrew; 



14 War and Peace 

''his maxim: 'that a monarchy is based on honour/ seems 
to me incontrovertible; and there are certain prerogatives 
and privileges of nobility which I believe to be the best safe- 
guards of this feeling." 

The smile faded from Sp6ransky's face^ which gained 
enormously by the change. Prince Andrew's remark had 
interested him: 

"Oh! if you look at the matter from that point of view! " 
he said as quietly as ever, but speaking French with some 
little difficulty, and so even more slowly than when he ex- 
pressed himself in Russian, " Montesquieu tells us that honour 
cannot be sustained by privileges when they are injurious to 
the service; hence honour must consist eitiier in abstention 
from blameworthy actions or in the feeling which stimulates 
us to win the approbation and rewards that bear witness to 
it. Consequently," he went on to clinch the argument, 
" any institution which gives rise to such emulation of honour 
is precisely, and in every respect, such an institution as the 
great French Emperor's Legion of Honour. It would be im- 
possible, as it seems to me, to say that that is mischievous, 
since it promotes the good of the service and is not a court or 
caste distinction." 

" That I willingly admit; but I also think that court dis- 
tinctions tend to the same end, since those who hold them feel 
it incumbent on them to fulfil their functions worthily." 

" And yet you have not chosen to avail yourself of them, 
prince," said Sp^ransky, thus giving an amiable turn to a dis- 
cussion which must inevitably have ended in the discomfiture 
of the yoimger man. — " Well, if you will do me the honour to 
caU on me on Wednesday evening, as I shall by that time have 
seen Ma^tsky, I may be able to give you some interesting 
information; and at any rate I shall have the pleasure of talking 
with you at greater length. . . ." Then, waving his hand in 
farewell, he slipped away — in the French fashion — without 
taking leave or being observed. 

During the early part of his residence in St. Petersburg 
Prince Andrew could not fail to feel that the ideas which had 
grown up within him during his solitude had been thrown into 
the background by the trivial cares which now crowded upon 
him. Every evening, on his return home, he wrote down in his 
note-book four or five visits that must be paid and as many 
appointments to be kept the next day. The arrangement of 
his day, so as to enable him to be perfectly punctual to everj' 



The Invasion 1 5 

engagement^ took up all his endeavour; he could do nothing, 
think of nothing; and the opinions he occasionally expressed, 
with great success, were nothing more than the outcome of his 
meditations in the country. At first he was annoyed with him- 
self for repeating the same things, in the course of the same 
day, in different houses; but he was soon swept into the eddy, 
and had not time to detect that he had forgotten how to think. 

He went to Sp^ransky on the following Wednesday, and a 
long and intimate conversation left him deeply impressed. 

In bis anxiety to find in another the ideal at which he him- 
self was aiming, he easily believed that Sp^ransky was in fact 
the type of virtue and intelligence that he had fancied him. If 
the minister had been a man of the same social " set " as him- 
self, if their education, their habits of life and their ways of 
judging had been the same, he would no doubt have been 
quick to perceive the weak and prosaically human side of his 
character; as it was, that well-balanced and amaziii|^ logical 
intellect commanded his respect — ^all the more because he did 
not altogether understand it. The great man, on the other 
hand, made the best of himself to Prince Andrew: was this 
because he really appreciated his fine capacity, or because he 
was desirous of gaining his adhesion? Be this as it may, he 
never missed an opportunity of flattering him with delicate skill, 
of giving him to understand that his superior intelligence made 
him worthy to be the peer of the highest, and that he alone 
could really enter into the depth erf his schemes, and under- 
stand the absurdity of other people. More than once he had 
said such things as these to his new ally: 

'' To us ever3rthing which is outside routine, which is above 
the common level. . . ." or: " We, you know, want to protect 
and feed the wolves as well as the sheep . . •" or: " they do 
not understand us. . . .'' with a tone and a look that implied: 
" You and I know what they are worth, and what we are." 

This second, and more familiar, interview only confirmed 
the first impression produced on him by Sp6ransky, in whom 
he saw a man of superior intellect and a deep thinker, who had 
risen to power by the strength of an irresistible will, and who 
made use of it for the good of his country. He was, in fact, 
the philosopher whom Bolkonsky was seeking — ^the philosopher 
he himself would fain have been — accounting by logic for the 
mystAies of existence, admitting nothing as true that was 
opposed to commonsense, and examining everything by the 
light of reason. His ideas took form with such admirable 



1 6 War and Peace 

lucidity that Prince Andrew, in spite of himself, yielded to his 
opinion on all points, and only raised a feeble objection now and 
then as a protest of independence. Everything in Speransky 
was perfect and right excepting his cold gaze — icy, keen, and 
inscrutable — ^and his delicate white hands. Those hands riveted 
Prince Andrew's attention, he could not look away from them ; 
the hands of a man in power sometimes have that attraction — 
and they roused him to a dumb irritation which he could not 
account for. The scorn and contempt which he affected for 
the world at large was also unpleasing to Bolkonsky; and the 
constant shifting of his methods of argument. He was familiar 
with every figure of logic and rhetoric, and especially fond of 
comparisons; but Prince Andrew objected to his abrupt transi- 
tions from one form to another. He would set up for a practical 
reformer and fling at visionary dreamers; now heaping bitter 
irony on his opponents, and now working out a close line of 
argument, and rising to metaphysical abstractions — of this, 
indeed, he was particularly fond. Taking his stand on ineffable 
heights he would wander into definitions of space, time^ and 
mind; would twist them into ingenious refutations, and then 
return to the subject under discussion. 

One characteristic feature of his powerful intellect was an 
immutable belief in the force and rights of intellect. It was 
at once evident that doubt, which was a habit of mind with 
Bolkonsky, was unknown to Speransky; and that the fear of 
failing to express his thoughts, or a suspicion of the infallibility 
of his own beliefs had never for an instant troubled him. 

In short. Prince Andrew conceived for the minister the same 
enthusiastic admiration as he had felt for Napoleon. Speransky 
was the son of a priest, and this to vulgar minds was a reason 
for despising him; hence Prince Andrew, by the unconscious 
reaction against his own enthusiasm, only added to its in* 
tensity. 

In speaking of the commission charged to revise and co-ordi- 
nate the laws Sp^ranksy told him, laughing at it, that it had 
been sitting for the last hundred and fifty years; that it had 
cost millions of roubles, and had resulted in nothing; that 
Rosenkampf had stuck labels on all the articles of comparative 
legislation, and that this was all that had come of the millions 
that had been spent: " And now we want to give new judicial 
powers to the senate, and we have no laws ! So you see, prince, 
it is a positive crime in men like yourself, to withdraw into 
private life." 



rt 



The Invasion 17 

Prince Andrew remarked that this class of functions required 
men who had had a special education. 

"Show me such men! It is a vicious circle; there is no 
way out but by breaking it." 

A week later Prince Andrew was appointed member of the 
committee in charge of the revision of the military code^ and 
moreover — ^when he least expected it — president of one of the 
sections of the legislative commission. He accepted this post 
by Sp^ransk/s particular desire, and undertook to study civil 
law; to this end he had recourse to the codes of Justinian and 
Napoleon, and set to work on the section entitled: " Of the 
rights of individuals." 



CHAPTER III 

About two years before this, in 1808, Peter, on his return 
from his tour in the provinces, found himself quite unexpectedly 
the leader of the freemasons of St. Petersburg. He organised 
irregular lodges and established regular or " tiled " lodges, for 
which he obtained charters and title-deeds; he undertook a 
propaganda, gave money for the building of the temple, and 
made up, out of his own pocket, the alms procured by collection 
— ^for the members were apt to be niggardly and unpunctuat 
in their payments. He also defrayed the expenses of ^e alms- 
house founded by the brethren; but as fqr himself, he suc- 
cumbed to the same temptations and led the same life as of old. 
He liked good living and good drinking, and could never resist 
the pleasures of a bachelor life, while acknowledging that they 
were immoral and degrading. In spite of the enthusiasm with 
which he had started on his various enterprises, he knew, at the 
end of a year, that the promised land of freemasonry was 
unstable under his feet. He felt like a man who steps out 
boldly on level ground, and is aware that he is sinking in a 
quaking bog; then, trying with the other foot to steady himself, 
he sank in up to the knees and must now struggle onward as 
best he might. 

Bazd^iew, who had nothing to do with the St. Petersburg 
lodges, now never left Moscow. Peter's brethren were men 
whom he met every day of his life; and he found it almost 
impossible to recognise as his brothers men such as Prince B. 
or Mr. D., whom he knew to be utterly weak and commonplace. 



1 8 War and Peace 

Under their aprons and insignia he could not help seeing their 
uniforms and orders — ^the true end and object of their existence. 
Often when he was collecting alms, and put down twoity or 
thirty roubles in gold, or even only in promises, against the 
names of half a score of members, all richer than himself, Peter 
could not help remembering their vow to give their goods to 
their neighbour; and doubts, which he vainly tried to silence, 
would rise up in his mind. 

He divided the brethren into four classes: the first consisted 
of those who took no active part in the concerns either of their 
lodge or of mankind, who devoted themselves exclusively to 
meditating on the mysteries of the order, and on the meaning 
of the Trinity; to studying the three elements of sulphur, mer- 
cury, and salt, or the significance of the square and the other 
symbols of Solomon's Temple. These Peter could look up to; 
they were the elders, including Bazd6iew himself; still, he 
could not understand what pleasure they found in their studies, 
and did not feel in the least drawn towards the mystical side 
of freemasonry. 

The second category, in which he ranked himself, was con- 
posed of adepts who, though waverers like himself, sought the 
right path; and who, though they had not yet found it, did 
not despair of discovering it some day. 

The third class were those who saw nothing in the order 
beyond its external forms and ceremonies, and were satisfied 
with a strict observance of them without troubling themselves 
about their hidden meaning. Among these were Villarsky and 
the Worshipful Master himself. 

The fourth and last were the men, at that time very numerous, 
who, believing in nothing, and hoping for nothing, clung to the 
brotherhood simply for the sake of being intimate with rich 
people and getting some benefit out of the intimacy. 

Peter's various forms of activity failed to satisfy him: he 
blamed the order, as it then existed at St. Petersburg, for its 
unqualified formalism, and without attacking its foundations 
he told himself that the freemasons of Russia were on a wrong 
track in departing so widely from the principles on which it 
was based. He therefore decided on travelling abroad to gain 
initiation into the highest mysteries. 

He came home again in the course of the sunmier of 1809. 
The masons of Russia had been apprised by their correspondents 
that £6soukhow, having gained the confidence of the grand 



The Invasion 19 

dignitaries of the order^ had been initiated into the highest 
mysteries, and subsequently exalted to the highest grade; also 
that he was returning with various schemes in prospect; and 
when they visited him immediately after his return, they sus- 
p>ected that he had some surprise in store. It was resolved that 
a general meeting should be held down to the lowest apprentices, 
in order that Peter might deliver to all the message with which 
he had been charged. The lodge being complete and all the 
formalities accomplished, Peter spoke as follows: 

" My dear brethren," he said with much hesitation, and 
holding his speech, ready written out, awkwardly in his hand. 
'^ My dear brothers, it is not enough that we should accomplish 
the mysteries of our order in the privacy of the lodge; we must 
do, we must act. We are torpid and we must set to work . . ." 
but after these few introductory words he resigned himself to 
reading his address. 

" In order to diffuse tmth, and bring about the triumph of 
virtue, we must uproot prejudice, establish rules consonant to 
the spirit of the time, devote ourselves to the task of educating 
youth, and bind ourselves by the closest bonds to all enlightened 
men, so as to fight boldly and conquer superstition, faithless- 
ness, and human foUy by our union; we must form a band of 
labourers among those who are devoted to the cause, united by 
community of purpose, and with strength and power in their 
hands. To achieve this the scale must be weighted on the side 
of virtue, and men must be rewarded, even in this world, for 
their good actions. But, it will be objected, our existing 
political institutions are antagonistic to the accomplishment of 
these noble aims. What then is to be done ? Are we to foment 
revolt? To overturn society, and by force, resist force? No. 
We are far from advocating violent and arbitrary reforms; 
they are indeed mischievous, for they can never remedy evil so 
long as man remains unchanged. Truth must gain ground 
without violence. 

"When our brotherhood shall have succeeded in drawing 
the virtuous out of the obscurity in which they dwell, and not 
till then, will it have any right to agitate, and work gradually up 
to the end we have in view — in a word, to the establishment of 
a universal scheme of government, without seeking to break 
social bonds or to disturb those conditions of administration by 
which, at the present time, we are enabled to carry out our 
object; that is to say, the triumph of virtue over vice. Chris- 
tianity tended to the same end when it preached that men should 



20 War and Peace 

be good and wise, and foUow the example of virtuous souls^ to 
the attainment of goodness. 

" When the world was still sunk in darkness^ preaching was 
sufficient; the novelty of the truths taught gave them a force 
which is now much diminished; we must have recourse to more 
decisive means. What is indispensable is that man, guided by 
his senses, should find in virtue an actual and captivating 
charm. The passions cannot be uprooted; they must there- 
fore be directed and trained; they must find satisfaction within 
the limits of virtue, and we must supply the means. 

" When a knot of men of mark shall have banded themselves 
together in each country, each member will, in his turn, form 
the nucleus of another group; thus closely allied they will 
meet with no obstacles, and an order which has already done 
humanity so much secret good will find nothing impossible." 

This address produced a deep impression and revolutionised 
the lodge. The majority, regarding it as dangerous and tend- 
ing to mystical illuminism, received it with a coldness that 
surprised Peter. The Worshipful Master took him to task, and 
led him to enlarge with growing enthusiasm on the opinions he 
had just stated. The meeting was a stormy one, and divided 
into parties; some accused Peter of illuminism; others upheld 
him; and, for the first time, he was struck by the infinite and 
inherent variety in human beings, which results in no two 
regarding any truth from quite the same point of view. Even 
among those of the brethren who seemed to agree with him, each 
one suggested some alteration or limitation which he could not 
accept from a conviction that his scheme ought to be adopted 
as a whole. 

The Worshipful Master observed, somewhat ironically, that 
in the excitement of the discussion Peter seemed to have been 
carried away by anger rather than by charity. Peter made no 
reply; he briefly inquired whether his proposition would be 
accepted, and when the president plainly answered: "No," 
Peter left without going through the customary formalities, 
and went home. 

Peter spent the three next days on the sofa; he did not stir 
out; he was a victim to disappointment and chagrin. 

He received a letter from his wife, who besought him to 
grant her a meeting, described her grief at their separation, 
expressed her wish to devote her life to him, and announced her 
intention of returning in a short time &om abroad to St. 
Petersburg. 



The Invasion 21 

Not long after this^ one of the freemasons who was not 
particularly respected^ insisted on being shown up to him, and 
leading the conversation to the subject of conjugal happiness, 
he reproached him bitterly for his injustice and severity to his 
wife — a. severity adverse to the masonic rule of life, which 
enjoins forgiveness to the penitent. 

Then his mother-in-law asked to be admitted, if only for a 
few minutes, on pressing and serious business. Peter now 
suspected a conspiracy; but in his present state of moral feeling, 
and a victim to his immediate annoyance, he felt perfectly 
indifferent about the reconciliation which he saw was impend- 
ing; nothing in life seemed of much importance, and he no 
longer cared particularly to retain his own liberty or to inflict 
any further punishment on his wife. 

" No one is right, and no one is wrong; so she, too, is inno- 
cent ! " thought he. Was it not a matter of complete indifference 
to him, with interests so remote to occupy him, whether she 
lived with him or no? However, shaking off his apathy, which 
was all that prevented his consenting, he determined, neverthe- 
less, to go to Moscow and consult Bazd6iew before giving his 
answer. 

PASSAGES FROM PETER'S DIARY 

" Moscow, Nov. 17. — I have just hurried home from seeing 
the Benefactor, and must make a hasty note of all I have gone 
through. He lives penuriously, and for three years has been 
suffering from a painful malady — ^never a complaint, never a 
murmur. From morning till late at night, excepting the few 
minutes he gives up to his very frugal meals, he devotes himself 
exclusively to scientific studies. He welcomed me affectionately, 
and made me sit down on his bed. I greeted him with masonic 
signs of the East and of Jerusalem, to which he responded, and 
asked me, with a sweet smile, what I had learnt in the Scotch 
and Prussian lodges. I told him; and at the same time reported 
the proposals I had made to the brethren at St. Petersburg, the 
bad reception I had met with, and my differences with them. 
He lay silent for a long time, and then gave me his opinion, 
which at once threw a light on my past and my future life; I 
was struck by his asking me, * Do you remember the three 
objects of the order: ist, The preservation and study of the 
mysteries; 2nd, Self -purification and discipline, in order to 
partake of those mysteries; 3rd, The perfecting of humanity 
by a craving after purity? Which is the most important of 



22 War and Peace 

these three? Self-improvement beyond a doubt^ for this we 
can always promote, under any and all circumstances; at the 
same time it is what needs the greatest efforts, and we run the 
risk of sinning by pride, by directing our introspection to the 
mysteries whOe our impurities make us imworthy to compre- 
hend them, or by undertaking to reform the human race while 
we ourselves remain perverse and unworthy. Illiuninism has 
lost much of its purity; it is marred by pride, having allowed 
itself to be turned aside into the channel of public beneficence.' 
From this point of view I could but blame my own discoures 
and all I had done. I admitted that he was right. In speaking 
of my domestic affairs, he went on to say that, as the first duty 
of a true mason was self-discipline, we are tempted to think we 
shall attain perfection quicker by ridding ourselves of all impedi- 
ments at one stroke; whereas the contrary is the truth: we 
can only progress by fighting the battles of life, and by knowing 
ourselves, to which we can only attain by comparison. Nor 
must we forget the crowning grace, the love of death. Vicissi- 
tude alone can teach us the vanity of hfe, and nourish that love 
in us; that is to say, the belief in another life. His words 
struck me all the more forcibly because, notwithstanding his 
terrible state of illness, Bazdeiew is not weary of life. Still, he 
loves death, though with all his purity and elevation of mind, 
he does not think himself fitly prepared for it. In explaining 
to me the grand square of creation, he told me that the sums 
of 3 and 7 lie at the root of everything. He advised me to 
avoid a rupture with the St. Petersburg brethren, to be content 
with the second grade, and to use my influence to wean them 
from the sin of pride, and forward them in the path of truth 
and progress. He warned me to keep a strict watch over myself, 
and gave me this book to keep a record of all my actions. 

" St. Petersburg, November 23rd. — I am living again with 
my wife. My mother-in-law came to me in tears to assure 
me that Helen entreated me to hear her, that she was innocent, 
and miserable at my desertion, etc., etc. I knew that if I 
allowed her to come I should not have the courage to resist her 
entreaties; I did not know what to do, or to whom to turn for 
advice. If Bazdeiew had been here he would have helped me. 
I read over his letters, I recalled his conversation, and I came to 
the conclusion that I ought not to refuse any who sue, but must 
hold out a hand to aU~-and much more to her who is one with 
me; in short, that I must bear my cross. Still, since my only 
motive for forgiveness is right-doing, at any rate our reunion 



The Invasion 23 

could be in spirit only. So I told my wife that I could only beg 
her to forget the past, and to forgive me wherein I had wronged 
her; that, for my part, I had nothing to forgive. I was happy 
to say this. I only hope she may never know how painful it 
was to see her again I I have established myself in the top storey 
of the house, and I am happy in the sense of a regenerate spirit." 

The " upper ten thousand " of St. Petersburg society, which 
met at court or at fashionable balls, was divided — ^as it alwa3rs 
is — into sets, each stamped with its own peculiarities. The 
most numerous of these circles was the so-called French set — a 
Franco-Russian mixture — ^that of Roumiantzow and Caulain- 
court. Immediately on her reconciliation with her husband, 
Helen took a leading position in this circle. The French 
embassy and several persons well known for wit and amiability 
frequented her drawing-room. 

She had been at Erfurth at the time of the memorable meet- 
ing of the emperors, and had there made acquaintance with 
all the most remarkable people in Europe, and with Napoleon's 
immediate suite. Her success had b^n splendid. Napoleon 
himself, struck by her beauty at the theatre, had wanted to 
know who she was. Her triumph as a young and lovely woman 
had not surprised her husband, for she was more beautiful than 
ever; but he was surprised at the reputation she had won during 
the last two years as a charming woman, as clever as she was 
handsome. The celebrated Prince de Ligny corresponded with 
her, writing her eight pages at a time. Bilibine treasured up his 
best witticisms to fire diem off in the Countess B^oukhow's 
presence; admission to her drawing-room was equivalent to a 
certificate of wit and talent. Young men would read up a sub- 
ject before going to her parties, to have something to say; 
ambassadors and secretaries trusted her with their secrets; in 
short, Helen had become a real power in her degree. Peter, who 
knew how ignorant she really was, was sometimes present at her 
dinners and parties, where politics, philosophy, and poetry were 
discussed, and he listened with a mixture or amazement and 
anxiety. He felt as a juggler must feel expecting to have his 
tricks detected every time he plays them; but no one ever found 
her out. Was such a salon as this a fool's paradise for human 
obtuseness, or did the dupes take pleasure in being duped? 
The truth was that Countess B6soukhow, having established a 
reputation as a clever woman, was licensed to talk the greatest 
nonsense; her every word was listened to with admiration, a^^ 



24 War and Peace 

discovered to have some profound meaning which she herself had 
never suspected. 

This eccentric and absent-mannered man — ^this lordly, mute 
husband, who was in nobody's way and did not detract from 
the very select tone which reigned of course in such a circle — 
Peter, in short, was the very husband for this brilliant beauty 
bom to shine, and an admirable foil for his wife's elegance and 
perfect demeanour. The abstract ideas that had occupied his 
time and thoughts for the last two years had inspired him with 
a certain contempt for everything outside their circle and given 
him an absent demeanour, tinged with a kind of benevolent 
indifference, which by its evident sincerity, commanded in- 
voluntary deference. He walked into his wife's drawing-room as 
he would have entered a theatre. He knew every one and was 
equally polite — and equally distant — ^to all. If the conversa- 
tion happened to interest him he would join in it, frankly ex- 
pressing his views, which were not always those in vogue at the 
moment, with perfect indifference to the presence of the gentle- 
men of the embassy. But every one had a cut-and-dried 
opinion of this " oddity," married to the most elegant woman 
in St. Petersburg, and no one ever thought of taking his sallies 
seriously. 

Among the younger men who frequented the house most con- 
stantly was Boris Droubetzkoi, whose career was a very brilliant 
one. Helen affected to call him her " page," treated him as a 
boy, and smiled on him as on every one else; and yet this smile 
hurt Peter. Boris, on his part, treated the master of the house 
with a sort of dignified and compassionate respect that irritated 
Peter still more. Having gone through so much three years 
since, he made an effort to avoid another equally humiliating 
experience, first by tacitly resigning his own claims on his wife, 
and next by resolving that he would not allow himself to be 
suspicious. 

" Now that she has set up for a blue-stocking, she has no 
doubt got over her more youthful impulses. No one ever heard 
of a blue-stocking who carried on a love-intrigue," so he told 
himself, repeating this axiom, though Heaven knows where he 
had found it, as though it were a mathematical certainty. And 
yet, strangely enough, the mere presence of Boris had a physical 
effect upon him; he seemed to lose his arms and legs, to be too 
paralysed to move freely. " Antipathy! " he said to himself. 

So Peter, in the eyes of the world, was a fine gentleman, the 
blind and rather ridiculous husband of a very charming wife; 



t 



The Invasion 25 

eccentric but intelligent, doing nothing, interfering with nobody; 
a thorough good boy, in every sense of the word — ^while in the 
depths of his soul the arduous and difficult travail of moral 
development was going on; a process that brought him many 
discoveries, and some great joys, but weighted with some terrible 
doubts* 



PASSAGES FROM PETER's DIARY 



" November 24th. — Rose at eight. Read the gospel, went 
to the meeting (Peter, by Bazd^iew's advice, had consented to 
be a member of a committee); came home and dined alone. 
The coimtess has company I do not like. Ate and drank 
moderately; after dinner copied some papers required by the 
brethren. — In the evening joined the countess; told a story 
about B., and only discovered too late, by the shouts of laughter 
that greeted it, that I should not have repeated it. — ^To bed 
early and well content. Almighty Lord, help me to walk in 
Thy way! 

" November 27th. — ^Rose late and lay idly on my bed for a 
long time — ^Lord help and preserve me ! — ^Read the gospel, but 
not with due concentration. Brother Ouroussow came to talk 
over the vanities of this world, and the emperor's schemes 
of reform. I was on the point of criticising them, but I 
remembered our rules and the Benefactor's exhortations: a 
true mason, as an active unit in the state, when he is called 
upon to lend his support must be a passive spectator of all 
that does not immediately concern him. My tongue is my 
enemy. — Brothers V., G., and came to speak with me as 
to the initiation of a new apprentice. Then he went on to 
discuss the meanings of the seven pillars and the seven steps 
of the Temple, the seven sciences, the seven virtues, and the 
seven gifts of the Holy Ghost. Brother 0. is very eloquent. The 
apprentice was received this evening and the new arrangement 
of the lodge added greatly to the impressiveness of the 
ceremony. Boris Droubetzkoi was admitted; I was his 
sponsor. A strange feeling disturbed me during our solitary 
interview, and evil thoughts besieged me: I accused him of 
having no other object in joining the order than that of 
cunying favour with such of the brethren as are powerful in 
the eyes of the world. He asked me several times whether N. 
and S. were attached to our lodge, which I could not tell him, 
I watched him, and do not think him capable of genuine respect 
for our holy order; he is too full of business, too well satisfied 



26 War and Peace 

with the superficial man to desire moral perfection. I believe 
him to be deficient in sincerity^ and noticed that he smiled 
disdainfully at what I said to him. As we stood alone in the 
darkness of the temple I could gladly have thrust him through 
the heart with the sword I held to his breast. But I was not 
eloquent^ and I could not make the Worshipful Master share 
my doubts. — May the Great Architect of the Universe guide 
me in the way of truth and lead me far from the labyrinth of 
falsehood ! 

" December 3rd. — ^Woke late; read the gospel but coldly. 
Left my room and walked up and down the study; could not 
fix my thoughts. Boris Droubetzkoi called and told me a heap 
of stories; his presence worried me and I contradicted him. 
He retorted^ and I grew angry and answered him disagreeably 
and rudely. Then he said no more^ and^ too late^ I realised 
what my conduct had been. I can never control myself with 
him; the fault lies in my self-esteem; I fancy myself his 
superior and that is not right; he makes every allowance for 
my weaknesses^ while I look down on him. O Lord! enable 
me^ when in his presence^ to feel my own shortcomings and 
may he, too, benefit by them. 

" December 7th. — ^The Benefactor appeared to me in a 
dream; he looked young again and his ^ce was radiant with 
a wonderful light. This very day I have a letter from him 
on the duties of the married state. — Come, Saviour^ and succour 
me! I shall perish in corruption if Thou dost not rescue me.'' 



CHAPTER IV 

In spite of two years spent entirely in the country, Count 
Rostow's affairs had not recovered their balance. 

Nicholas, faithful to his promise, was stiU serving without 
demur in the same regiment, though this was not likely to offer 
him any brilliant opening. He spent but little; but the style 
of living at Otradnoe, and above all Mitenka's mismanagement 
of the estates and income, made debt grow like a snowball. 
The old count saw but one way out of the difficulty, namely: 
to seek some government appointment. The whole family 
accordingly moved to St. Petersburg; he to look for employ- 
ment, and^ as he said, to give the girls a last season's^ 



The Invasion 27 

amusement. Soon after their arrival there^ Berg proposed to 
Vera and was accepted. 

At Moscow the Rostows were as a matter of course received 
in the highest society; but at St. Petersburg their acquaintance 
were rattier mixed^ and they were treated as provincials by 
many whO; after taking full advantage of their hospitality at 
Moscow^ hardly condescended to know them at St. Petersburg. 
However, they kept open house and the strangest mixture of 
guests assembled at their suppers: a few old neighbours, not 
rich ones, from Moscow, their daughters, a maid of honour 
named P^ronnsky, Peter B^soukhow, and a son of a district 
postmaster who had a place at St. Petersburg. The intimates 
in the house were Boris Droubetzkoi, Peter, whom the old 
count had met in the street and brought home with him, and 
Berg, who spent whole days in pa)dng to Countess Vera the 
attentions expected of a young man on the eve of a proposal. 
He proudly displayed the hand that had been hurt at 
Austerlitz, and elaborately held his sword in his left. His 
persevering repetition of the story and the importance he lent 
it had at last won credence in its authenticity, and he had 
been rewarded twice. 

When the war was carried into Finland he distinguished 
himself no less: he picked up a fragment of shell, which had 
just killed an aide-de-camp by the general's side, and carried 
it to his colonel. This achievement, which he related till 
every one was sick of hearing it, also gained acceptance, and 
he was again rewarded. Thus in 1809 he was captain in the 
guard, and wore a medal, and from the point of view of pay 
held a very enviable position. Some envious tongues, to 
be sure, would still run down his merits; yet there could be 
no denying that he was a brave soldier, punctual on duty, in 
favour with his superiors, irreproachable as to moral conduct, 
on the high-road to a brilliant future, and secure already in a 
very good position. 

Four years previously, one evening at the theatre at Moscow, 
Berg had seen Vera Rostow for the first time, and pointing 
her out to a fellow-officer, a German like himself, he said: 
"There is the girl I will marry.'* Now, after having fairly 
weighed his chances and compared his own position with that 
of the Rostows, he had made up his mind to the decisive step. 

At first his proposal was received with a degree of astonish- 
ment which was an3rthing rather than flattering: " How could 
the son of a nobody, a gentleman of no rank, from Livonia, 



28 War and Peace 

dare to aspire to the hand of a Countess Rostow? '^ But his 
most characteristic trait was a naif egotism that smoothed 
every difficulty; he was so convinced of his own merits that^ 
by degrees, the conviction infected the family, and at last the 
union was all that could be wished. The Rostows' fortune was 
sadly dilapidated: the aspirant must be well aware of that. 
Vera had seen four-and-twenty springs, and in spite of her 
good looks and extreme propriety no husband had yet presented 
himself. The parents therefore consented. 

"You see," said Berg to his comrade, whom he called his 
friend because it was " the thing " to have a friend, " I have 
arranged and settled everything, and I would not marry if any 
hitch interfered with my plans. My papa and manmia want 
for nothing since I have succeeded in getting them a pension, 
and I can manage to live very well at St. Petersburg on my 
pay with my knowledge of the world and my fiancee's little 
fortune. I am not marrying her for money — ^that would be 
shabby; but after all, the wife as well as the husband must 
contribute her share to the housekeeping. My rank in the 
service counts for something on my side, and on hers I reckon 
her birth and connections, and her little settlement, small as 
it may be; and with all this to back us I shall get on very 
well. Then she is handsome and a woman of character; she 
loves me, and," he added with a blush, " I love her, for she has 
plenty of good sense — she is the very opposite of her sister, 
whose temper is odious, and whose mind is shallow — she really 
seems hardly to belong to the family; — ^but my Vera is a pearl! 
You will see her, I hope you will often come . . . ." he was 
about to say " to dinner," but thought better of it, and said, 
" to take tea with us," as he blew off a neatly curled ring of 
smoke from his cigar — the emblem of the happiness of which he 
dreamed. 

As soon as they had got over the first spasm of indecision the 
family put on the festive air which is proper on such occasions; 
but it was perceptibly factitious and mingled with some embar- 
rassment caused by the satisfaction they felt at getting Vera 
off their hands, and which they feared was but ill-concealed. 
The old count, greatly straitened as he was for money, was 
indeed too much in debt to fix the amount of his daughter*s 
settlement; they were now within a week of the wedding, and 
he had said nothing about it to Berg, though the young people 
had been engaged a month. Each of his daughters at her birth 
had inherited property to the extent of three hundred souls; but 



The Invasion 29 

they had been mortgaged and sold since then : he had no capital, 
and he saw no way out of his difficulties. Should he give Vera 
the Riazan estate? Should he sell a forest, or borrow money 
on a bill? He was trying to make up his mind when Berg came 
into his room one morning, and wit^ a polite smile on his lips, 
asked him in so many words to tell him what he proposed to 
settle on Countess Vera. The count, greatly disturbed by the 
question which he had known must come, and had dreaded 
painfully, answered by generahties: 

" My dear fellow, you will be quite satisfied with my arrange- 
ments — ^however, I am glad to see you careful of your interests 
— that is right, very right — *' and patting his future son-in-law 
on the shoulder he rose as if to put an end to the matter. Berg, 
however, still smiling, explained with perfect coolness that 
> unless he knew exactly what to count upon as his wife's fortune^ 
and unless indeed part of it came into his hands on the day of 
his marriage, he should feel under the necessity of withdrawing 
his pretensions. 

" You will agree with me, count, that it would be too atrocious 
to marry without knowing on what I had to depend for my 
wife's maintenance.'' 

The count, carried away by a liberal impulse^ and anxious to 
avoid future discussion, closed the conversation by formally 
undertaking to sign a bill for 80,000 roubles. Berg kissed his 
future father-in-law on the shoulder in token of gratitude, 
sa3dng that he should require 30,000, or at least 20,000 down, 
to furnish his house, and that in that case the bill would of 
course be only for 60,000. 
* "To be sure, to be sure — ^very right," said the old man, 

eagerly. " But you will allow me, my dear fellow, to give you 
the 20,000 in addition to the 80,000 . . . Rely on me, I will 
have it so — say no more about it." 

Natacha was now sixteen. This year of grace, 1809, was 
the date she had fixed in her own mind as the limit of her 
waiting for Boris after that kiss given four years since; from 
that time to this she had never seen him. When his name was 
mentioned Natacha felt no embarrassment, to her that love- 
making had been a childish flirtation, and nothing more; never- 
theless, at the bottom of her soul, she would secretly wonder 
whether her promise as a child were not a real pledge that 
bound her to him. 

Boris had never come to see the Rostows since his first 
^ departure for the army, though he had several times been at 



30 War and Peace 

Moscow^ and even within a short distance of Otradnoe. 
Natacha concluded that he wished to avoid her^ and her parents' 
reflections confirmed her in this idea: 

" Nowadays/' the countess would say, " it is the fashion to 
forget old friends." 

His 'mother, too, was more rarely their visitor; she had 
assumed a certain air of dignity, tempered by exuberant enthu- 
siasm for her son's merits and brilliant success. Now, when 
the Rostows came to St. Petersburg, Boris went to call in the 
most matter-of-course fashion. His romance with Natacha sur- 
vived in his mind only as a poetical reminiscence, and he wished 
to make them clearly understand that their juvenile intimacy 
entailed no responsibility either on himself or on her. His 
rapid promotion, which he owed to the protection and confi- 
dential regard of a man in a highly influential position, required 
him to crown his fortune by manying some rich heiress — ^a 
dream that might easily be realised. 

Natacha was not in the drawing-room when he arrived, but 
as soon as she was informed that he had called she ran in with 
a bright blush, and a smile of frank affection lighted up her 
face. Boris, who remembered her as a little girl in short skirts, 
with bright black eyes, tumbled curls, and a gay pealing laugh, 
was astounded at seeing a young lady, and could not conceal 
the impulse of admiration that came over him. Natacha 
perceived it, and was glad. 

"Would you have recognised your heedless little play- 
fellow? " said the countess. Boris kissed Natacha's hand, 
exclaiming involuntarily: 

" How handsome you have grown! " 

" Of course I have! " answered those saucy black eyes. 

Natacha did not join in the conversation; she sat studying 
the betrothed of her childhood, down to the minutest details; 
Boris was fully conscious of this friendly but scrutinising gaze, 
and stole a glance now and then at her, in return. She noticed 
at once that his uniform, from his spurs to his stock, and the 
way his hair was cut, were all in the latest and most approved 
fashion. He sat upright in his easy-chair and employed his 
right hand in smoothing the well-fitting white doeskin glove 
that he wore on his left. He gave a sketch of the pleasures of 
the capital in a tone of airy contempt, and glanced with a spice 
of irony at the society they had known at Moscow, and their 
acquaintances there. Natacha was not to be taken in, how- 
ever, by the incidental way in which he mentioned a ball at one 



The Invasion 3 i 

of the ^nbassies, and his invitations to two other grand parties. 
At length her silence and her quiet observation of him quite 
disconcerted him; he kept turning to her^ and interrupting 
himself in the middle of his sentences. Alter staying about 
ten minutes he took leave^ Natacha's keen and mocking eyes 
watching his every movement. Boris was forced to confess to 
himself that she was quite as bewitching as ever — ^perhaps even 
more so; but he must not dream of marrying her^ for her lack 
of fortune would be a serious obstacle in his future career. It 
was impossible and altogether indelicate to think of renewing 
their old intimacy^ so he determined to avoid her for the future; 
— nevertheless, a very few days after forming this wise resolu- 
tion^ he reappeared at the Rostows, and took to spending the 
chief part of his time there. 

He told himself more than once that he must come to an 
explanation; that he must make her understand that they 
must both of them forget the past, and that in spite of every- 
thing — well, that he could not marry her; but he never suc- 
ceeded in attacking this difficult subject, and allowed himself 
to float down the stream without pausing to think. Natacha, 
on her part, seemed to think constantly of Boris, or so Sonia 
and her mother thought. She sang his favourite songs, showed 
him her albums, and made him write verses in them; never 
allowed him to refer to the past, but made him understand how 
blissful the present was; so that he left her every evening in a 
state of indecision, not having said a word to her of what he 
wanted to say, and not foreseeing how it could all end. He 
even neglected the fair Helen, who wrote him daily notes full of 
reproaches — ^but they did not prevent his returning to Natacha 
on the morrow. 

One night, when the countess-mother, divested of her addi- 
tional curls, wrapped in her dressing-gown, and her head tied 
into a night-cap which only half covered her white hair, was 
sighing and bewailing herself with much signing of the cross and 
murmuring of mea atlpa before the Holy Images, the door was 
suddenly opened and Natacha, barefoot, also in dressing-gown 
and curl-papers, rushed in like a whirlwind. Her mother, who 
was muttering her last prayer: " And if this bed to-night 
should be my tomb, etc.," frowned as she turned round and 
paused in her devotions. Natacha, eager and blushing, seeing 
her at her prayers, stopped short and put out her tongue, like a 
boy caught in the act, and then stood waiting. Seeing that her 
mother's exercises did not come to an end, she danced up to the 



32 War and Peace 

bed and slid in between the sheets of the couch which^ as it 
would seem^ had such terrors for the countess. It was a very 
high bed^ piled up with eiderdown quilts and five storeys of 
pillows of difiEerent sizes. Natacha was completely swallowed 
up in it; she pulled up the feather counterpane^ crept under it^ 
rolled it round her and covered her head with the sheets peeping 
out from time to time to see what her mother was about. The 
countess^ having performed the final genuflexions^ came towards 
the bed with an air of severity which at once gave way to a 
loving smile. 

" WelL . . ." she said: " Have you hidden yourself? " 

" Mamma^ can we have a good talk — can we ? " said Natacha. 
" One kiss — a little one just there, under the chin." She threw 
her arms round her mother with her usual vehemence, but she 
was tender and careful, too, and never hurt her. 

" Well, what have you got to say to me to-night? " said her 
mother, burying herself on her side in her pillows, while Natacha, 
rolling over and over like a ball, came close up to her and 
stretched herself out with an air of business. These nightly 
visits, before the count came home from his dub, were one of 
her mother's sweetest pleasures. 

" Come, what is it? I want to speak to you, too, about. ..." 
Natacha laid her hand on her mother's lips: 

" About Boris? " she said. " I know. That is what I came 
about. I say, mamma — ^he is very nice — ^very nice, is not he? " 

" Natacha, you are sixteen: at your age I was married ! He 
is nice you ask ? Certainly he is, and I love him as a son. But 
what do you want? What are you thinking about? I can 
see but one thing: you have turned his head, and what is to 
come of it? " The countess glanced at her daughter, who lay 
perfectly still, her eyes fixed on one pf the mahogany sphinxes 
which guarded the four comers of the huge bed; the child's 
grave and thoughtful expression struck the countess: Natacha 
was listening and considering. " What is to come of it? " 
repeated the countess. " Why have you set to work to turn 
his head? What do you want of him? You cannot marry 
him, you know that." 

" Why not? " asked Natacha without moving. 

" Because he is very young, because he is nearly related to 
you, and because you do not love him." 

"Who told you so?" 

" I know it — ^and that is not right my darling." 

" But if I choose to do it? " 



The Invasion 33 

" Listen to me — ^I am quite serious . . ." 

But without giving her time to finish her sentence Natacha 
seized her mother's fat hand and kissed first the back and then 
the pahn^ and then each finger as she folded it down^ saying: 
" January, February, March, April, May. — ^Well, mamma, what 
have you to say? " 

Her mother had remained silent, feasting her eyes on her 
favourite child. "You are wrong," she said. "No one 
remembers an3rthing about your familiarity as children, and 
his intimacy with you now might do you mischief in the eyes 
of other young men. — Besides, what is the use of tormenting 
him? He might have found a rich wife, which is what he 
wants, and as it is he has quite lost his head." 

" Has he lost it? " asked Natacha. 

" I will tell, you of a similar instance: a case which concerned 
myself. I had a cousin ..." 

" Yes, I know, Cyril Matv^^itch. — ^But he is an old fellow! " 

" He was not always old . . . Well, I will speak to Boris; 
he must not come here so often." 

" Why not, if he likes it? " 

" Because it can come to no good." 

" How can you be sure of that? — ^Do not say anything to 
him, mamma — I beg you not," cried Natacha, in the tone of a 
person who is wrongfully deprived of a possession; " I will 
not marry him if you do not like it, but why prevent his coming 
here since he likes it, and I like it, too? Why not go on as 
we are? " 

" How, as we are, my pet? " 

" Why, as we are, of course. It is quite understood that I am 
not to marry him . . . very well, then we go on as we are ! " 

Her mother went into a fit of laughter: " As we are, as we 
are I " she repeated. 

"Come, mamma, do not laugh so; the bed shakes! You 
are just like me; you laugh as easily as I do. Wait a minute," 
and taking her mother's hand again she went on with her 
fortune-telling: " June, July and August — ^mamma, he is 
desperately in love; do not you think so? — ^Was any one ever 
so much in love with you? And he is nice — ^very nice! Only 
not quite to my taste; straight and narrow like the tall clock 
in the dining-room. Do not you understand? quite narrow 
and pale grey . . ." 

" What nonsense! " 

" Why do not you understand? Nicholas would understand 
11 B 



34 War and Peace 

exactly. Now B^soukhow is blue^ dark blue and red; and he 
makes me think of a ^uare thing . . ." 

" I believe you are flirting with him too . . ." and again 
the countess could not help laughing. 

** No^ indeed ! Besides^ he is a freemason. I found that 
out. He is as good as gold^ thoroughly good; but I see him 
blue and red — ^how can I make you understand? *' 

*' Little countess^ are you not asleep? " said the count at 
this moment, outside the door. Natacha bounded out of bed^ 
seized her slippers, and vanished into her own room through 
the opposite door. 

It was long before she went to sleep; she was thinking of a 
hundred things at once, and always came to the conclusion 
that no one knew how much she understood, nor half her value. 
''Sonia even! does she understand me? And she looked at 
her cousin who lay sleeping, curled up in a pretty little ball, 
with her thick long plaits of hair bound round her head. 

" Not in the least! She is so virtuous! She loves Nicholas 
and cares for nothing else in the world. — ^Nor yet mamma ! It 
is really very strange — ^I am very intelligent . . . How pretty 
she is ! " she added, mentally ascribing this last remark to a 
third person, a creature of her imagination, a phoenix among 
men — ^a superior being. " She has everjrthing, everything in 
her favour," said this delightful unknown paragon. '* She is 
pretty, fascinating, as neat-handed as a fairy; she swims, she 
rides to perfection, and what a voice ! a marvellous voice ! ..." 
And Natacha hummed a few bars of her favourite air in Cheni- 
bini's mass; then flinging herself on her bed with a happy 
smile, she called her maid Douniacha and bid her put the light 
out. Before Douniacha had fairly left the room Natacha was 
in the land of dreams, where everything was as lovely and as 
smooth as in real life, put even more charming, for it was 
altogether different. 

The next day the countess had a long talk with Boris^ who 
henceforth ceased to frequent the house. 



The Invasion 35 



CHAPTER V 

On the 31st of December, 1809, a grand ball was to be given 
by a dignitary, who, in the time of Catherine, had been a per- 
sonage of the highest importance. The corps dtplotnatique 
were all invited, and the czar himself had promised to be present. 
The house, which was situated on the English quay, was blazing 
with lamps; the entrance was hung with red cloth; and all the 
town functionaries, from the constables to the sergeants and 
chief of the police, were collected on the pavement. Carriages 
drew up and drove away, and the line of running footmen and 
chasseurs, in full livery and plumed hats, seemed endless. The 
carriage doors were flung open, the heavy steps turned down 
with a clatter; civil and military officials in splendid uniforms, 
glittering with gold lace and orders, dashed out, or ladies, in 
satin dresses wrapped in ermine cloaks, swiftly and noiselessly 
passed up the red cloth corridor. 

As eadi carriage drove up, the crowd snatched off their hats 
asking: " Is it the czar? . . . No, only a minister — a foreign 
prince — ^an ambassador — you see his feather? " said one to 
another; while one man, rather better dressed than the 
others, could name every one, and seemed to know all the 
fresh arrivals. 

A third of the guests had already arrived, while at the 
Rostows' they were still in the bustle of dressing and putting 
the finishing touches to their toilets. What preparations and 
what heart-burnings had there not been in view of this ball! 
Would they be invited ? Would their dresses be ready in time ? 
Would everything turn out as they hoped and wished? " 

An old maid of honour, Maria Ignatievna Peronnsky, a lean 
and sallow personage, but, as an old friend and relation of 
Countess Rostow, the chaperon by right of her country cousins, 
was to accompany them; and it was agreed that they Were to 
call for her at ten o'clock at the Tauride Palace — but ten 
o'clock had struck and the young ladies were not yet ready. 

It was Natacha's first grand ball, and she had been up ever 
since eight in the morning in a state of feverish bustle all day; 
she had but one present aim in life: that her mother, Sonia, 
and herself should be dressed to perfection — a serious matter 
which had been left to her sole responsibility. The countess 



36 



War and Peace 



had a velvet dress, while the two young girls, with their hair 
dressed alike a la Grecque, were to wear light skirts of tulle, 
with moss roses, over pink silk. 

All the most important part of their toilet was accomplished; 
they had perfumed and powdered their faces, throats, and 
hands, not omitting the ears; silk-lace stockings were tightly 
drawn over their little feet and covered wi& white satin 
slippers; the maid was putting the finishing touch to their 
heads. Sonia, indeed, had her dress on, and was standing in 
the middle of the room, fastening the last bow to her bodice, 
and hurting her fingers by trjring to push in a perverse pin 
that creaked as it pierced the ribbon. Natacha, keeping an 
eye on everything, was seated in front of the long glass, a 
dressing cape thrown over her slim shoulders, very much 
behindhand. 

"Not so, Sonia, not like that! " she exclaimed, turning her 
head suddenly, and putting her hand up to her hair which the 
maid had not had time to release. " Come here ! " 

Sonia did as she was bid, and knelt down in front of Natacha, 
who put the bow on to her fancy. 

" But, miss, it is impossible. . . ." the maid began. 

" There, that is right so . . . look, Sonia, like that! " 

" Are you nearly ready? " cried the countess from her room. 
" It is just ten o'clock." 

" In a minute, mamma, directly! Are you ready? " 

" I have only my turban to put on." 

" Not without me; you wiU not do it right! " 

" But it is ten o'clock ! " 

At half-past ten they were to be at the ball, and they were 
to fetch the old maid of honour — ^and Natacha was not yet 
ready. Natacha's hair being finished, she jumped up, her little 
feet, in their satin slippers, showing below her short petticoat, 
and fiew to examine Sonia; then she rushed into the next 
room, seized her mother's toqtie, fastened it on to her head, and 
hastily kissed her grey hair. This done, she danced back to 
hurry the two maids, who, biting their threads off, were hastily 
shortening her silk slip which had been made too long; a 
third, with her mouth full of pins, was going backwards and 
forwards between the countess and Sonia, and a fourth held up 
Natacha's airy tulle skirts. 

Quick, Mavroucha, please make haste." 

Give me the thimble, then, miss." 

Have you nearly done? " asked the count, looking in at 






The Invasion 37 

the door; ''old Peroimsky will be in quite a stew. Here is 
some scent for you." 

'* It is done/' said the maid^ tossing up the tulle dress which 
she held high above Natacha's head^ and giving it a shake and 
a puff as if to testify to its lightness and immaculate freshness. 

" Papa, don't come in I " cried Natacha, eclipsing her head 
under the cloud of tulle. " Sonia, shut the door! " 

But a minute after the count was admitted; he, too, had 
beautified himself; he was scented and oiled like a young 
dandy, in his dark-blue coat, knee-breeches, and buckled 
shoes. 

"Papa, you are lovely to behold!" exclaimed Natacha, 
inspecting him on all sides. 

" One moment, miss, allow me," said the maid, who was 
kneeling at her feet and devoting all her attention to making 
the skirts hang of equal lengths, while, by a wonderful 
manoeuvre of her tongue, she passed a whole packet of pins, 
one by one, from one comer of her mouth to the other. 

" It is heart-breaking! " cried Sonia, who was watching all 
her proceedings. " The slip is too long — ^much too long! " 

Natacha, stepping away from the glass to see better, agreed 
that it was too long. 

" No, I assure you, miss," said Mavroucha, crawling after 
her on hands and knees, " I assure you it is not too long." 

" Yes," said Douniacha, decidedly, " it is too long. But we 
will tack a hem," and, taking a needle out of the handkerchief 
she wore crossed over her bosom, she set to work again. 

At this instant the countess came shyly into the room. 

" Oh ! how nicely she looks ! — She beats you all to nothing ! " 
exclaimed the coimt, gallantly advancing to kiss her; but, for 
fear of being tumbled, she gently put hun aside, colouring like 
a girl. 

" Mamma, your toque must go more on one side — I wiU pin 
it for you. . . ." And Natacha sprang towards her mother so 
suddenly as to tear the frail tissue of her dress, to the despair 
of the two maids who could not follow her quick movements. 

" Oh dear! " cried Mavroucha. " But it really was not my 
fault." 

" It does not matter," replied Douniacha. " It will not be 
seen!" 

" Oh! my beauties — ^my queens! " exclaimed the old nurse, 
who had stolen in to admire them. " Sonia, too— what 
beauties 1 " 



38 War and Peace 

At last, by a quarter past ten, they were off and driving 
towards the Tauride Palace. 

In spite of being old and ugly, Miss P^ronnsky had gone 
through the same elaborate processes, but less hurriedly, as 
she was more used to them; and her ancient person, laced up, 
scented, and invested with a yellow satin gown decorated with 
the monogram of a maid of honour, had excited no less enthu- 
siasm in her lady's-maid. She was, of course, waiting, but 
lavished her praises on the mother and daughters. Finally, 
after many compliments on all sides, the ladies carefully 
bestowed their dresses and themselves in tiieir respective 
carriages. 

Natacha had not had a moment's rest the whole day, not a 
second, even, to think of what she was going to see; but she 
had ample leisure during the long drive through the cold and 
damp, in the gloom of the ponderous vehicle in which she was 
packed, and jolted or rocked as it might happen. Her fancy 
painted the scene in vivid colours; the room bright with 
candles, the orchestra, the flowers, the dancing, the czar and 
all the brilliant youth of St. Petersburg. The bright vision 
seemed so remote from the cold and darkness she was experi- 
encing, that she could not believe in its imminent realisation; 
and she hardly knew where she was, when, after hurrying along 
the strip of red carpet at the entrance, and taking off her 
wraps in the hall, she found herself walking arm and arm with 
Sonia, and in front of her mother, up a brilliantly lighted stair- 
case. Then, for the first time, it occurred to her to think how 
she was to behave, and to try to put on that calm and demure 
demeanour which she thought indispensable in a young lady at 
a ball; but, at the same time, she was aware, happily for her, 
that her eyes were not doing her bidding, that they were 
wandering in every direction, that excitement was making her 
heart beat at a hundred a minute, and prevented her seeing 
clearly what was going on round her. Hence she found it 
impossible to preserve the dignity she wished, which would 
have been awkward and ridiculous; it was all she could do to 
control her excitement and hide her agitation, and this, in fact, 
was the behaviour which best became her. The Rostows went 
upstairs in the midst of a crowd of guests, splendidly dressed 
and chatting together. Immense mirrors lined the walls and 
reflected the figures of the ladies in white, rose-colour, or blue; 
their shoulders and arms blazing with diamonds or the softer 
gleam of pearls. 



The Invasion 39 

Natacha glanced into the mirrors with some curiosity^ but 
could not succeed in distinguishing herself^ everything was so 
mixed and confused in this dazzling procession. On entering 
the first room she felt quite dazed and bewildered by the hum 
of voices^ the bustle of the crowds and the brisk fire of greetings 
and compliments^ besides being blinded by the blaze of light. 
The host and hostess stood by the door^ where they had been 
for the last hour^ welcoming their guests with the eternal 
repetition of: "So happy to see you!" which the Rostows 
heard in their tum^ like every one else. 

The two girls^ dressed aUSkt, with roses in their black hair^ 
courtesied aUke and at the same moment; but the mistress of 
the house involuntarily gazed at Natacha's easy grace; she 
smiled at her with a difiEerent smile from the stereotyped 
^imace with which she welcomed the rest of her company. 
Perhaps some distant memory of her own first ball and early 
girlhood flashed into her mind; she looked after Natacha as 
they moved on^ and asked the count which of the two was his 
daughter, " She is charming! " she said, kissing her finger-tips. 

There was a crowd round this door, for the czar was now 
expected, and the countess's party stopped too, quite in front 
of a group. Natacha felt that she was attracting attention; 
she guessed that her appearance had pleased thdbe who inquired 
who she was, and this soothed her excitement to some extent. 
"There are some as nice as we are, and some not so nice! " 
she thought to herself. 

Old Miss P6rohnsky told them the names of some of the 
more interesting people. 

"That grey-headed man — do you see? — with curly hair. 
That is the Dutch minister," she said, pointing to an old man 
surrounded by ladies, whom he was sending into fits of laughter. 
"Ah! and here is the queen of St. Petersburg, Countess 
B^soukhow," she added, as Helen made her appearance. " How 
handsome she is! She really holds her own by the side of 
Maria Antonoyna. Look how old and young men rush to 
pay their court to her. She is handsome and clever; the 
prince, they say, is madly in love with her . . . and those 
two women — ^they are plam enough, as you see, but they are 
more courted, if possible, than the fair Helen; they are the 
wife and daughter of a great millionaire ! Over there b Anatole 
Koiuaguine," she went on, pointing out a tall and very hand- 
some horse guardsman who had just passed them, holding his head 
very high, and without seeing them. " Is not he handsome? 



40 War and Peace 

He is going to be married to the millionaire heiress. Your 
cousin^ Droubetzkoi^ is paying her attentions^ too. To be 
sure, that is the French ambassador, Caulaincourt himself/' 
she went on, in answer to a question from the countess. " He 
might be a king! But all these Frenchmen are most agreeable; 
no one can be more charming in society. Ah! here she is at 
last; the fairest of the fair, our lovely Maria Antonovna; — 
and how simply she is dressed; quite exquisite! That big 
man, in spectacles, is the magnanimous freemason B^soukhow. 
Mercy, what a guy by the side of his wife I " 

Peter was making his way through the crowd rolling his big 
person, bowing and nodding right and left with his usual easy 
good-humour, and as much at his ease as if he were crossing 
a market-place; he seemed to be looking for some one. Natacha 
was glad to see a face she knew — ^this " guy " as Miss P^ronnsky 
called him — ^for he had promised her he would come to the 
ball and find her partners. He was close to her, when he 
paused to speak to an officer in a white uniform, a man of 
middle height with a pleasant face who was talking to a very 
tall personage covered with stars: the smaller man was 
Bolkonsky, and Natacha recognised him at once. She thought 
he looked brighter, younger, and handsomer. 

" Mamma, tlyre is some one else we know," she said. " He 
slept one night at our house at Otradnoe. Do you see him? " 

"Oh! do you know him? " said old Miss P6ronnsky. " I 
cannot endure him. He is quite in the ascendant just now, 
and as full of pride as his father was before him. He and 
Sp6ransky are great allies, and he is concocting all sorts of 
schemes for reforming the laws. Just look at his way of 
behaving to those ladies. One of them is speaking to him and 
he turns his back upon her. I would give him my mind if he 
treated me so ! " 

Suddenly a thrill ran, through every group; there was push- 
ing forward, shrinking back, parting to make room — the 
orchestra struck up a triumphant flourish, and the emperor 
made his appearance, followed by the host and hostess. He 
passed quickly between the two living hedges which formed to 
make way for him, bowing to the right and left, and evidently 
anxious to get through these inevitable demonstrations as soon 
as possible. He went on into the next drawing-room; the 
crowd closed up and followed him, till those in front threw 
them back again, and the doorway was left free; within, the 
czar was talking to the mistress of the house, while the music 



The Invasion 41 

played a fashionable polonaise tune adapted to the words: 
" Alexander and Elizabeth stir us to enthusiasm." An agitated 
gentleman begged the ladies to stand back; but several of 
them^ ignoring all polite manners^ and even forgetting the risk 
to their clothes, elbowed and struggled into front places, for 
the couples were beginning to stand up to dance. 

Space was cleared. The emperor, with a smile, gave his 
hand to the lady of the house, and stepping all out of time, led 
the polonaise. The host came next, leading the beautiful 
Maria Antonovna Naryschkine; then came ambassadors^ 
ministers, and generals. Most of the ladies had partners and 
were in the line of dancers; Natacha, with her mother and 
Sonia, sat out with the minority. Her arms hung idly by her 
side; her bosom, with its childlike swell, rose and fell gently 
as she looked about her with bright, anxious eyes; the expres- 
sion of her face varied as if undecided between great delight 
and keen disappointment. Neither the czar nor the big-wigs 
interested her at all now; she had but one thought: "Will 
no one come and ask me to dance? " she said to herself. " Am 
I to have no dancing all the evening? All these men do not 
seem to see me, or, if they see me, they think no doubt that it 
would be waste of time to trouble themselves abput me. To be 
sure, they cannot know that I am dying to dan?e, that I dance 
beautifully, and that I would amuse Siem too if they would 
dance with me." The music, which went on playing, added 
to her melancholy, and she was ready to cry. 

Miss P^ronnsky had left them to their fate, and the count 
was at the other end of the room; isolated and lost among 
this rabble of strangers, no one cared a straw about them or 
took the smallest trouble to please them. Bolkonsky, leading 
a lady, passed quite close witiiout recognising them. Anatole, 
smiling and talking to his partner, glanced at Natacha as he 
went by with as much indifference as though she had been 
actually part and parcel of the wall. Boris passed them twice, 
and each time looked another way. Berg and his wife, who 
were not dancing, joined the forlorn trio. 

Natacha's pride was deeply piqued by this family party in- 
the midst of a splendid ball-room. Had they not time and to 
spare at home for discussing private affairs? So she paid 
no attention to what Vera was saying, nor to her staring greea 
dress. 

At last the czar had finished his third round — he had taken 
a fresh partner for each — ^and the music stopped. An over- 



42 War and Peace 

zealous aide-de-camp rushed up to the Rostows and besought 
them to stand further back, though they were ahready leanmg 
against the wall^ and the first bars of a smooth and inviting 
waltz struck up. The emperor, still smiling, glanced round 
at the ladies; no one had yet ventured into the middle of the 
room. The aide-de-camp who acted as master of ceremonies^ 
went up to Countess B^oukhow and invited her to dance; she 
responded by lightly laying her hand on his shoulder; the officer 
putting his arm round her waist led her out into the vacant 
space; they glided across to the further end of the room, and 
tjien taking his lady's right hand, he set off spinning her round 
and round, and flying faster and faster as the music accelerated 
the time to the clatter of spurs, while the fair Helen's velvet 
skirt floated out like a sail in rh3i:hm to the flowing waltz tune. 
Natacha watched them with envious eyes, and could have 
cried with disappointment at not being asked for this first waltz. 

Prince Andrew, in his white cavalry uniform and colonel's 
epaulettes, with silk stockings and buckled shoes, in the best 
possible spirits, was standing a few yards off talking to Baron 
Firhow about the first sitting of the Imperial council, which 
had just been fixed for the morrow. The baron, who knew of 
Bolkonsky's intimacy with Sp^ransky and of his legislative 
labours, was gsAning from him some accurate information on a 
subject which had given rise to much commentary and dis- 
cussion. The prince, however, was not listening very atten- 
tively to his remarks; he looked first at the czar, and then at 
the groups of gentlemen making their engagements for dancing 
without being able to decide on following their example; and 
he watched, with amazed curiosity, the men who were bashful 
in the presence of the sovereign, and the women who were 
d3ring to be asked to dance. 

At this moment Peter came up to him: " You who still 
<lance — will you ask my little friend, Coimtess Natacha 
Rostow? " 

" Where is she? . . . Excuse me, baron, we will return to 
the subject and finish our conversation another time; here our 
duty is to dance," he added, and he followed B^ukhow. 
Natacha's melancholy little face struck him at once; he recog- 
nised her and easily guessed what her feelings were; remember- 
ing her tones that moonlight night he went, willingly enough, 
up to the countess. 

Allow me to introduce my daughter," she said, colouring. 
I have the honour of knowing her already, but I do not 



« 

<c 



The Invasion 43 

know whether she remembers me/' replied Prince Andrew, 
bowing with a deferential politeness which contradicted Miss 
Peronnsky's severe opinion of him. He asked Natacha to 
dance this waltz^ and put his arm round her waist; her face 
suddenly lighted up^ and a radiant smile full of gratitude and 
delight parted her lips and illuminated her face, sparkling ii?. 
her eyes, and chasing the tears that had been almost ready to 
flow. " I have been waiting; an eternity for you," they seemed 
to say. In her happy excitement she leaned a little over her 
partner's shoulder; he was justly regarded as one of the best 
dancers of his day; she, too, danced beautifully, and her little 
feet flew over the polished floor with no thought of sh3niess. 
Her lean shoulders, thin, angular arms and childish figure could 
not of course compare with Helen's shoulders and arms, that 
shone, as it were, with the polish left upon them by a thousand 
admiring eyes. Natacha was no more than a little girl, wear- 
ing a low frock for the first time in her life, and who would 
certainly have felt ashamed of being seen in it if she had not 
been told that it was a matter of course. 

Prince Andrew was fond of dancing; he had, to be sure, 
chosen Natacha simply to oblige his friend, to put an end to a 
tiresome political discussion which bored him, and because 
hers was the first pretty face his eyes happened to light on. 
But he had no sooner put his hand round her slender flexible 
figure, and felt her leaning and floating in his embrace, had no 
sooner smiled a response to that smile on Ups so near hb own, 
than the fascination of her innocent beauty mounted to his 
brain like new and generous wine. When they had made the 
round of the room, and they paused for breath, he released her 
as they stood for a few minutes' rest, looking on at the other 
dancers; and he was gladly conscious of his return to youth 
and life. 

Boris, the aide-de-camp who had started the dancing, and 
several other partners, soon engaged Natacha, who was indeed 
unable to accept them all, and handed them on to Sonia. She 
danced the whole evening, her colour rose, she gave herself 
up heart and soul to enjoyment, and noticed nothing of what 
was going on aroimd her: not the emperor's long conversation 

with the French ambassador, nor his attentions to Miss C , 

nor the presence of a foreign prince of the blood, nor Helen's 
wonderful success, nor even his majesty's withdrawal. This 
she only guessed by the increased energy of the dancers. Prince 
Andrew danced with her again, the cotillon before suppe*- 



44 War and Peace 

reminded her of their first meeting at Otradnoe^ of her wakeful 
night under the moon, and told her how he had heard all she 
had said. Natacha blushed at these reminiscences and tried 
to excuse herself, as if she was somewhat ashamed of having 
been thus overheard. 

Prince Andrew, like all men who have lived much in society, 
was delighted to come across a being distkict from the herd, 
and not stamped with the universal monotony. Such a one was 
Natacha with her childlike astonishments, her unbounded en- 
joyment, her shyness, and even her mistakes in French. Seated 
by his side she talked of this and that, the simplest and most 
unimportant things; he spoke to her with gentle and affec- 
tionate delicacy, and was charmed by the radiance of her eyes 
and smile, which had nothing whatever to do with what she 
was saying but was the expression of her overflowing content- 
ment. He admired her ingenuous grace while she danced the 
figure for which a partner came to lead her out; as soon as she 
came back breathless to sit down another dancer wanted her 
to start again — tired and panting she was on the point of 
refusing, but she could not resist; she flew off, with a smile 
for Prince Andrew on her lips: " I would ratiier stay with 
you," that smile said, " for I am quite tired, but I cannot help 
it — I am carried off, and I am so glad, so glad! — Oh! I love 
every one this evening — ^and you understand me, don't you? " 

How much that smile said ! 

Natacha crossed the room to ask two ladies to join in the 
figure with her. 

" If she speaks to her cousin first she will be my wife," said 
Prince Andrew to himself, almost against his will. — ^She stopped 
in front of Sonia. ... " What follies come into my head 
sometimes I " he went on. " But one thing is quite certain, 
and that is that so sweet and original as she is she will be 
married within a month. There is nothing here to compare 
with her! " and he looked round at Natacha, who, as she took 
her seat beside him, pinched out the rose in her bodice which 
had got a little crushed. 

When the cotillon was ended, the old count came towards 
them and invited Prince Andrew to call on them; he asked his 
daughter if she was enjoying herself. She answered with a 
brilliant smile. How could he ask? •* 

" I am so happy! I never was so happy in my life! " she 
said, and Prince Andrew saw her slender arms rise with an in- 
voluntary impulse to hug her father, but she dropped them again 



The Invasion 45 

at once. In point of fact her happiness was complete; it had 
reached that climax when happiness alone is enough to make 
us kind and perfect; when we cease to believe in evil, or in 
sorrow^ or in misfortune. 

Peter, on the contrary, was suffering for the first time acute 
humiliation; his wife's position in these higher circles stung 
him to the quick. He stood, gloomy and absent-minded, his 
brow deeply knit, in a window bay: his fixed gaze saw nothing. 
Natacha, as she went to supper, passed close by him; his sad 
and heart-broken expression strudc her; she longed to comfort 
him — ^to give some of her superfluous gladness: " How delight- 
ful it is, count, — do not you think so? " 

"Yes? I am so glad," said Peter at random, with a 
mechanical smile. 

" Can any one be sad this evening? " thought Natacha. 
" Above all such a good fellow as B6soukhow ! " For it seemed 
to her that every one there must be kind and good, and love 
each other like brothers, and consequently must be happy. 



CHAPTER VI 

Next morning a recollection of the ball for a moment flashed 
across Prince Andrew's mind. 

" It was a very handsome affair," said he to himself, " and 
that little Rostow girl, what a sweet creature ! There is some- 
thing so fresh about her; she is so different from the St. Peters- 
burg girls. . . ." And that was all; his tea drunk, he went 
back to his work again. But somehow, whether it was fatigue 
or late hours, he did no good; he found endless fault with his 
work, and could not get on with it; he was quite glad at last 
of the interruption of a visit from a man named Bitsky. This 
Bitsky, who was engaged on many conmiittees, received in all 
the " sets " of St. Petersburg society, and a fervent admirer 
of Sp6ransky, was the recognised hawker of all the gossip and 
rumours of the day — one of those men who always follow the 
fashion in their opinions as in the cut of their clothes, and 
who, in consequence, come to be regarded as earnest supporters 
of every new social doctrine. He snatched off his hat as he 
rushed into Prince Andrew's room, and gave him at once the 
fullest details of the sitting of the impeniEil council which had 
met that very morning, and which he had just heard all about. 



/ 



46 War and Peace 

He dilated with enthusiasm on the address spoken on the 
occasion by the emperor — an address in every way worthy of 
a constitutional monarch: ^' His majesty said openly that the 
council and the senate formed the body of the state; that a 
government must be based on solid principles^ and not on 
arbitrary rules; that finance was to be reorganised and the 
budgets laid before the public. " Yes/' he added emphatically, 
rolling his eyes, ^^ it is an event that marks a new era, a 
magn^cent era, in our history! " 

Prince Andrew, who had looked forward to the opening of 
the coimcil with eager impatience, and had regarded it as a 
step of the highest importance, was surprised to find that he 
felt perfectly indifferent to the accomplished fact. He answered 
Bitsky's rhapsody with a coldly ironical smile, wondering what 
it could matter to Bitsky or to him, how the emperor had 
expressed himself to the meeting, and what the better or the 
happier they could either of them be for what he had said. 

This reflection suddenly chilled the interest he had, till this 
moment, felt in the new reforms. Sp^ransky was expecting 
him to dinner that day — ^a confidential party, '* en petit comiti,^* 
as he himself described it; and this intimate assembly of the 
closest friends of the man he so greatly admired ought to have 
had a special attraction for him, as he had never yet seen 
Sp^ransky at home and surroimded by his family. But he felt 
only that it was a bore to have to go at the appointed hour to 
Sp^ransky's unpretending residence, not far horn, the Tauride 
Gardens. Prince Andrew was a little late; when he arrived at 
five o'clock, he found all the guests assembled in the dining- 
room; the house struck him at once by its extreme neatness 
and somewhat monastic aspect. Sp^ransky's daughter, still a 
child, and her governess, composed his family. The guests were 
Gervais, Magnitsky, and Stolipine, whose voices and loud 
laughter fell on his ear as soon as he entered the ante-room. 
One voice in particular, no doubt that of the great reformer 
himself, shouted, ''ha, ha, ha!" in a sharp, piercing laugh, 
which Prince Andrew now heard for the first time. 

The gentlemen were grouped in front of a window round a 
table spread with zakouska} Sp^ransky had on a grey coat 
with the star of some order, white waistcoat, and a high stock; 
the very dress in which he had lately sat at the famous imperial 
council. He seemed in the best spirits, and was listening with 

lA preUminary "snack" served in Russia before the company sit 
down to dinner. 



The Invasion 47 

an anticipatory laugh to a story Magnitsky was telling; but 
tht speaker's words, as Bolkonsky came in, were drowned by a 
roai of merriment from the rest. Stolipine laughed heartily 
with his big bass tones, munching a piece of cheese the while; 
Gervais bubbled up gently, like frothing wine; the master of 
the louse seemed to eject his mirth in his slurill, sharp, thin 
voice. 

" So glad to see you, my dear prince," he said holding out a fine 
white hand — " one moment. . . ." and he turned to Magnitsky 
— " remember our agreement. Dinner is a truce — ^not a word 
on business. . . ." And he laughed again. Prince Andrew 
was cheated of his expectations; this mirth jarred on his 
nerves. Could this be the true Sp^ransky? The mysterious 
charm that had won him had vanished; seeing him now his 
real self, he was no longer to be fascinated. 

The conversation went on as before, one long string of 
anecdotes. Hardly had Magnitsky finished a story when 
another guest capped it; and these narratives referred to 
oflScials of every rank and grade, and their intrinsic triviality 
was so self-evident to such listeners that the ridiculous light 
they threw on these personages seemed to them the only point 
of the stories. Spi^ransky himself related how, at that 
morning's council, one of ttit members who was deaf, being 
invited to express his opinion, replied to his interrogator that 
he " entirely agreed with him." Gervais told a long story of 
an inspection which had been remarkable for the stupidity 
displayed on the occasion. Stolipine, who stammered, fell 
hammer and tongs on the past administration and its abuses; 
but Magnitsky, fearing lest this should give a too serious turn 
to the conversation, hastened to laugh at him for his vehemence, 
and Gervais having perpetrated a joke, they all followed his lead 
back to a lighter vem. 

It was quite evident that Sp6ransky enjoyed such relaxation 
after work, and that his friends, lending themselves to his bent, 
amused themselves while they thoroughly amused him. But 
this kind of gaiety disgusted Prince Andrew; he felt it heavy 
and factitious. Sp^ransky's harsh, sharp tones displeased him, 
and his perpetual lau^h had a false ring that hurt his ear. He 
did feel mclined to jom heartily in the amusement, but he was 
afraid of betraying his feelings, and tried again and again to 
take part in the conversation; but it was in vain. He soon 
felt that in spite pf every efiFort he could not hit the right note; 
every word he spoke seemed to rebound, as a cork is flung back 



48 War and Peace 

by water. It was not that an3rthing that was said was wrong 
or in bad taste; but the wit and pleasantry had not the 
faintest flavour of the subtlety and finish which are the true 
salt of such gaiety. 

When dinner was ended Sp^ransky's little daughter and her 
governess rose; the father drew the child to him and caressed 
her fondly^ but even these caresses seemed affected in Bolkonsky's 
prejudiced eyes. 

The gentlemen remained at table in the English fashion^ 
drinking port^ and discussing the war in Spain; they all 
approved of Napoleon's conduct in the matter. Prince Andrew 
could not resist the impulse to deliver himself of a diametrically 
opposite opinion. Sp^ransky smiled and inunediately told 
a story which had no connection with the matter, with the 
obvious intention of changing the subject; then, for a few 
seconds, every one was silent. 

The master of the house took advantage of this pause to 
recork a bottle of wine, which he handed to the servant, observ- 
ing: " Good wine is not to be got every day. . . ." And then 
the whole party, beginning again where they had left off, 
followed their host into the drawing-room. As soon as he got 
there two huge letters, brought by a special messenger from 
the minister, were put into his hands, and he withdrew to his 
own study. He had hardly disappeared before the spirits of 
the party fell utterly flat, and they began talking seriously in 
subdued tones; but Speransky presently returned: 

" Recite something for us," he said, addressing Magnitsky. 
" He has quite a talent for it," he added, turning to Prince 
Andrew. Magnitsky acceded, stood up in an attitude, and 
recited some verses of his own in French, full of allusions to 
persons of distinction in St. Petersburg; he was eagerly and 
vehemently applauded at various passages. As soon as he 
had finished Prince Andrew rose to take leave of his host. 
Already! Where can you be going so early? " 
I have an engagement for this evening," replied Bolkonsky. 
Then they were both silent, and Prince Andrew had the oppor- 
tunity of studying these glassy and impenetrable eyes. 

" How could he have looked for such great things from this 
man and his labours, or have held him in such high estima- 
tion? It was simply ridiculous!" This was his thought; 
and all the evening Speransky's affected laugh seemed to be 
ringing in his ears. 

When he got home he fell into a meditative mood, and 



« 



The Invasion 49 

gkncing back at the last four months was startled to see his 
stay at St. Petersburg in a new light. He recalled his anxieties 
and efforts^ and all the long-drawn red-tapism which had 
attended his scheme of military reform — ^admitted for reading 
by the committee and then set aside because another project 
of the same kind, very inferior to his own, had been already 
laid before the emperor! He thought of the meetings of that 
conmuttee — Berg was one of the members; their discussion 
had never gone lower than the surface or touched on the root 
of the matter; he remembered, too, his report on the law, 
and his laborious translation of the code — ^and he felt quite 
ashamed of it all. Then, allowing himself to return in thought 
to Bogoutcharovo, and all his interests there, picturing himself 
as appl3ang " the rights of individuals " to their amelioration 
instead of classifying it elaborately under heads, he was horrified 
at having devoted so many months of labour to such a barren 
task. 

In the course of the next day Prince Andrew paid some 
visits; among others one to the Rostows, with whom he had 
renewed his acquaintance at the ball; but this act of simple 
civility covered a desire to see the bright and charming girl 
who had impressed him so agreeably in her own home. 

She happened to be the first to receive him, and he thought 
her dark-blue morning dress set off her beauty even better 
than her ball-dress. She and all the family treated him as an 
old friend; they welcomed him with simple cordiality, and the 
whole party, whom he had formerly criticised severely, now 
struck him as consisting exclusively of worthy good souls full 
of kindliness and warmth. The count^s pressing hospitality, 
even more conspicuous here than at Moscow, gave him no 
chance of refusing his invitation to dinner. " Yes," thought 
he, " they are excellent people, but it is easy to see that they are 
incapable of appreciating the treasure they possess in Natacha 
— a, young creature overflowing with life, and whose brilliant 
originality shines forth so poetically against the dull back- 
groimd of her family." 

He felt ready to discover unknown delights in a hitherto 
imrevealed world — a world whose joys had dawned on him for 
the first time in the road leading to Otradnoe, and afterwards, 
that night at the open window under the silvery moonlight. 
He was angry with himself for having kept so long aloof from 
it, and now that he had come near it — had entered in — ^he 
recognised it and found it full of fresh joys. 



50 War and Peace 

After dinner Natacha^ at his request^ went to the piano and 
sang. He sat by a window and listened while talking to some 
ladies; suddenly he was silent — ^the sentence he was uttering 
remained unfinished; something rose in his throat; he felt 
his eyes fill with tears — ^honest and tender tears such as he 
had never believed he could live to shed again. He looked at 
Natacha^ and a sudden flash of joy and happiness seemed to 
burst into being within him. Sad and happy^ both at once^ 
he wondered what could have made him weep; was it the 
past^ his wife's deaths his faded illusions^ his hopes for the 
future^ or was it the sudden revelation of a sentiment which 
formed so strange a contrast to the craving for the infinite of 
which his heart was overfull, and to the narrow, material world 
where their two natures had met and mingled in a common 
emotion? This crushing contrast oppressed him while it 
made him happy. 

As soon as her song was over, Natacha came to ask him if 
he had liked it; but even as she spoke she became uneasy lest 
her question should be inopportune; he smiled, and told her 
that her singing had charmed him, like everi^thing she did. 

Prince Andrew did not leave the house till very late. He 
went to bed as a matter of routine; but failing to go to sleep, 
he got up again, lighted a candle, and walked up and down 
his room for a time; then he went back to bed. Still, his 
want of sleep did not wear him out. Nay, to see him you 
might have supposed that he had lately been released from an 
atmosphere loaded with heavy vapours, and that he now found 
himself once more free and relieved of a burden, on God's fair 
«arth, breathing the fresh air in eager draughts! He was not 
thinking of Natacha; he never dreamed that he was in love 
ivith her; but her image was constantly before his eyes, and 
it lent new zest and energy to life. " What am I doing here? 
Of what use are all my attempts? Why should I bruise myself 
in this narrow sphere when all existence lies before me with its 
many joys? '' he asked himself; and for the first time for years, 
he began making plans of life, and came to the conclusion that 
he must attend to his son's education; find him a tutor; quit 
the service and travel in England, Switzerland, Italy. " I 
must take advantage of my liberty and my youth. Peter was 
right: *To be happy,' said he, * we must believe in happiness,' 
and I believe in it now! Let the dead bury their dead; while 
we are alive, let us live and be happy." 



The Invasion 51 



CHAPTER VII 

Colonel Adolphe de Berg, with whom Peter was acquainted, 
as he was with every one in Moscow and in St. Petersburg, 
elaborately got up in a spotless uniform, and with his whiskers 
closely trimmed like the czar's, called on B^soukhow one 
morning. 

" I have just left your wife, the countess," he said with a 
smile. " She would not condescend to grant my petition; I 
hope to have better luck with you, count." 

" What is it, colonel ? I am quite at your service." 

" We are quite settled now in our new rooms," Berg went 
on, as if he were fully convinced of the pleasure this interesting 
communication must afford every hearer; " I should like 
to give a little party and invite our friends — ^my wife's and 
mine. I came to request the countess and you to do us the 
honour of taking a cup of tea — and supper . . ." And he 
closed the sentence with an effusive smile. 

Countess Helen, considering the de Bergs quite beneath her, 
had, however, unluckily, refused point-bkmk to conform to this 
attractive programme. But Berg made it so clear to Peter 
why he particularly wished to collect a select circle round him, 
why it wotdd oblige him, and why he, who never gambled and 
never wasted his money, was quite ready to be prodigal when 
a reception of grand company was in hand, that Peter had no 
loophole for escape. 

'' And not too late, count, I beg; at ten minutes to eight, 
if I might ask it. Our general will be with us ... he is very 
good to me; there will be cards, count, and supper — ^so I rely 
on you." 

And Peter, who was always too late, was five minutes earlier 
than the appointed hour. 

Berg and his wife, having completed all their preparations, 
were awaiting their guests in the drawing-room, brilliantly 
lighted up and decorated with pictures and statuettes. He 
was sitting by Vera, buttoned tightly into a uniform as new 
as the furniture, and explaining to her how indispensable it 
was to have acquaintances among people of a higher rank 
than themselves; how, indeed, none others could be of the 
smallest use and advantage: " In that way we can alwp 



52 War and Peace 

find something to imitate or to ask for; it is the plan I have 
pursued ever since I was first promoted." (Berg never counted 
by years, but by promotions.) " Look at my contemporaries 
— ^mere nobodies; while I am within a little of commanding 
a regiment, and have the honour of calling you my wife." He 
rose and kissed Vera's hand, and then replaced the comer of 
the carpet, which had been turned up. "And how did I 
achieve it? Above all by my tact in choosing my acquaint- 
ance ... of course by behaving myself and doing my duty 
asweU!" 

Berg smiled, proudly conscious of his superiority over a poor 
weak woman, for his wife, charming as she was, no doubt, was 
after all as weak as the rest of her sex, and as incapable of 
understanding the true worth of a man — ^the whole meaning of 
being a man. She, too, smiled, and from precisely the same 
impulse; for she was profoundly conscious of her undoubted 
superiority over this worthy and estimable husband, who, like 
all men, took an utterly wrong-headed view of life, and calmly 
believed himself a person of exceptional intelligence, while 
they were all, in fact, nothing but simpletons and conceited 
egotists. Berg, putting his arm round his wife, but very care- 
fully, for fear of tearing a certain lace kerchief for which he 
had paid a large sum, pressed a kiss exactly in the middle of 
her hps. 

" ^d we do not at all want a tribe of children, do we? " he 
said, leading up, as his way was, to a practical conclusion. 

"Oh, dear no!" said Vera. "Above all things, we must 
live for society! " 

" Princess Youssoupow had just such another," said Berg, 
touching his wife's kerchief with a satisfied air. 

Count B6soukhow was now announced; the husband and 
wife exchanged glances of intense delight, each taking the 
credit of having attracted their visitor. 

" Now, I do beg of you," said Vera, " do not come and inter- 
rupt me every minute when I am talking. I know very well 
what is likely to interest people and what is best to say to the 
person to whom I may happen to be speaking." 

" But," said Berg, " men sometimes like to talk to each other 
about graver matters, and . . ." 

Peter came in, and looking round the little drawing-room, 
saw no place where he cotdd sit without destroying the perfect 
S3anmetry of its arrangement. Berg was, in fact, obliged to 
disturb it; but after magnanimously pushing an arm-chair 



The Invasion 53 

fo^ard and a sofa back to accommodate his honoured guest^ it 
grieved him so deeply that he himself took an ordinary high 
chair, leaving Peter a choice of the easier seats. Berg and his 
wife, enchanted at this promising beginning of their party, vied 
with each other in trying to entertain him, each constantly in- 
terrupting the other. Vera, in her supreme wisdom, had made 
up her mind that the French embassy was a proper subject of 
conversation, and started it forthwith; Berg, convinced that a 
graver theme was more suitable, cut in with some remarks on 
the war with Austria, and after speaking of war in its more 
general aspects, judiciously diverged into his own views of 
tactics, spoke of the offer that had been made to him to take a 
conmiand in this campaign, and explained his reasons for refus- 
ing. In spite of the disjointed effect of their antagonistic 
efforts at conversation, and Vera's indignation at being inter- 
rupted, the host and hostess beamed with joy at seeing their 
soir6e so well launched, and as like every other tea-party of the 
same kind as one drop of water to another — ^with wax-candles, 
tea-table laid out, and fragmentary talk. 

Boris was the next arrival; his manner to the Bergs betrayed 
a shade of loftiness and patronage. Soon after came a colonel 
and his wife, a general, and the Rostows; the tea-party was 
really quite a soirie t The little bustle occasioned by the 
entrance of so many guests, by greetings, broken phrases, and 
the rustle of dresses, filled the master and mistress with ecstasy. 
Everything was exactly as it was everywhere else ! The general, 
who was exactly like all other generals, admired the rooms im- 
mensely, patted Berg familiarly on the shoulder, and then pro- 
ceeded with quite paternal intimacy to organise a party to play 
boston, seating himself by Count Rostow, the most distinguished 
member of the company. The old people gathered into a group ; 
the young men and girls formed another. Vera took her place 
at the tea-table, which was covered with silver baskets full of 
cakes identically similar to those that had been served a few 
nights since at the Panines; in short, to the Bergs' infinite 
satisfaction, their party was in every detail like any other party. 

Peter was so lucky as to be called upon to play boston with 
the old count, the colonel, and the general. He sat, by chance, 
just opposite Natacha, and was struck by the change in her 
appearance since the night of the ball ; she did not speak a word, 
and would almost have looked ugly but for her expression of 
sweet and calm indifference. " What is the matter with her? " 
he asked himself. She sat by her sister and answered Boris^ 



54 War and Peace 

who was talking to her, with absent inattention, not even look- 
ing at him. Peter had just turned five tricks when he heard 
steps and an exchange of civilities, and his eyes involuntarily 
resting on Natacha he gazed in astonishment: '* What is the 
meaning of this? " thought he. Her face was raised and blush- 
ing, and she could scarcely control her breathing as she spoke 
to Prince Andrew, who was standing in front of her, looking 
down on her with gentle tenderness. The flame she cherished 
in her heart had again transfigured her; she had recovered all 
the beauty which, a minute since, she seemed to have lost. . . . 
This was the Natacha of the ball! 

Bolkonsky went up to Peter who, noticing a look of gladness 
and youth in his face that was new to it, spent the rest of the 
time during which he had to sit at the card-table, in watching 
them both. " Something serious is going on between those 
two," thought he, and a mixed feeling of joy and regret moved 
him to forgetfulness of his own griefs. The six rubbers ended, 
he was set at liberty, the general declaring that such bad play 
as his was beyond endurance! Natacha was now talking to 
Sonia and Boris, and Vera to Prince Andrew. She had noticed 
his attentions to Natacha, and thought proper to take the first 
opportunity of throwing out hints for his benefit on the subject 
of love affairs in genezul and her sister in particular. Know- 
ing him to be very swift of apprehension she tried her subtlest 
diplomacy on him, and she was quite delighted with herself and 
dilating into eloquence when Peter asked permission to join in 
their conversation — ^unless indeed some great secret were under 
discussion — and then he noticed with some surprise that his 
friend seemed uncomfortable. 

" What is your opinion? " Vera was saying. " You, whose 
keen insight detects shades of character at a glance; what do 
you think of Natacha? Do you think that, like some other 
women," — and she thought of herself — " she is likely to remain 
eternally faithful to a man she had once loved? — for that is the 
only true love. What do you think,. prince? " 

" I know her too little," said Prince Andrew, hiding his co- 
fusion under an ironical smile, '' to form an opinion on so delicate 
a matter; though indeed I may frankly confess that the less 
attractive a woman is the more likely she is to be constant." 

" Very true; but in our time. . . ." Vera liked to talk of 
** her time " as people do whose scope is so limited as to lead 
them to believe that natures change with years, and to fancy 
that they see more clearly than any one else into the peculiarities 



The Invasion ^^ 

of the times. " Nowadays^ yotuig girls have so much freedom 
that a love of attentions smothers the truer feeling. And, I 
must say, Natacha is very open to such excitements.** This re- 
introduction of Natacha's name annoyed Prince Andrew, and 
he was about to rise, but Vera detained him with a more gracious 
smile than ever. " She has been more courted than most girls, 
but till quite lately no one ever succeeded in winning her good 
graces. You, count," she added, turning to Peter, " know 
that; and between ourselves, Boris — ^handsome cousin Boris — 
was very much in love with her. . . . You know him very 
well, prince, I think? " 

" Yes, we are acquainted." 

''He has told you, no doubt, of his devotion as a boy to 
Natacha? " 

** As a boy — oh yes," said Prince Andrew, who had coloured 
scarlet. 

"And you know between cousins such an intimacy often 
leads to love; cousins are dangerous friends." 

" Oh, certainly! " said Prince Andrew; and he went on to 
warn Peter with forced merriment against running any risks in 
his intimacy with his cousins of fifty, at Moscow; then he rose 
and led him aside. 

" What is it? " asked Peter, startled by his excitement and 
the look he threw at Natacha. 

" I want to speak to you. — Our gloves, you know,*' he meant 
the gloves which a freemason was to present to the lady he 
deemed worthy of his love. — " I . . . no . . . by-and-by." 
There was a strange light in his eyes, he turned away^ and with 
an agitation that at once betrayed him, crossed over to sit by 
Natacha. 

Berg, perfectly happy, never lost his smile; his party, exactly 
repeating every other party, was quite a success; the ladies 
talked the same trivial nothings, the general raised his voice 
over his game, the samovar and the cakes were for all the world 
like other people's. One thing only was wanting for absolute 
similarity with other gatherings of the same kind; this was 
an3rthing like an animated discussion among the men on a 
serious and interesting topic. But the general crowned his 
happiness by starting one, and he appealed to Peter to support 
him in a debate that had been begun between his chief and the 
colonel on the state of affairs in the Peninsula. 

Next day, by Count Rostow's invitation, Prince Andrew went 
to the Rostows; he dined and spent the evening with them 



S6 



War and Peace 



No one had the smallest doubt as to why or for whom he stayed^ 
for he made no attempt to disguise it. Natacha^ in the seventh 
heaven of happiness^ understood that a solenm crisis was im- 
pending; and the impression spread to the rest of the family. 
The countess gazed at Bolkonsky with grave, and melancholy 
meaning as he sat talking to her daughter^ and whenever their 
eyes met began to expatiate on some indifferent subject. Sonia 
was equally afraid of leaving Natacha to her fate and of being 
in the way if she sat by; while Natacha turned pale with agita- 
tion when she was left for a second alone with him. His embar- 
rassment puzzled her^ she guessed that he had something to 
say to her^ and could not make up his mind to speak. 

When Bolkonsky had said good-night her mother went up to 
her: " Well? " she said, in a low voice. 

" Mamma, for pity's sake — ^not now; ask me nothing. I 
have nothing to tell you ! . . ." But that night, in bed, excited 
and tremulous, her eyes fixed on vacancy, she told her mother 
everything — ^aU he had said that was kind and flattering, his 
plans for travelling, his questions concerning Boris, and as to 
where she and the family meant to spend the sunmier. " Never, 
never have I felt like this before . . . only, with him I am 
afraid! What does it all mean? This time, perhaps — perhaps 
it really is — ^really and truly I Manmia, you are asleep? '* 

" No, my darlmg. Only I am afraid, too, . . . But go to 
bed and to sleep." 

"To sleep? — How absurd! Mamma, I never felt like 
this. . . ." she went on; the unknown feeling shocked and 
frightened her. " Could we possibly have foreseen this? " 

Natacha, though she was fully convinced that she had fallen 
in love with Prince Andrew at first sight when he had come 
to Otradnoe, could not help trembling at the advent of this 
wonderful and quite undreamed-of happiness. 

" It was fated — ^he was to come to St. Petersburg and to find 
us here, and to meet us at that ball where he admired and liked 
me. — ^Yes, it was Fate! It was to be, that is quite clear. — 
Even when I had scarcely seen him I felt quite strange, quite 
different." 

" What did he say to you ? What were those lines ? Repeat 
them to me," said her mother, trying to recall a verse of poetry 
that Prince Andrew had written in her daughter's album. 

" Mamma, is it not wrong to marry a widower? " 

"What nonsense! Oh, Natacha, pray to God — ^marriages 
are made in Heaven/' 



The Invasion 57 

" Mamma, darling little mother, how much I love you ! How 
happy I am! " cried the girl, hugging her mother, and ciying 
with joy and excitement. 

That same evening Prince Andrew confided to Peter his love 
for Natacha, and his determination to marry her. 

There had been a large party in Countess Helen's rooms, 
the French ambassador was there; and the foreign prince, who 
had lately been an unfailing attendant on the mistress of the 
house, had shed his radiance amid a large assembly of men 
and women of distinction. Peter had gone round the rooms, 
but every one had noticed his absent and gloomy looks. Since 
the ball, and yet more since he had been appointed one of the 
emperor's chamberlains — ^in return, no doubt, for the long visits 
the foreign prince paid to the countess — he was liable to pro- 
longed fits of depression. From that date he never felt free 
from an incubus of distress and humiliation, his old reflections 
as to the misery of human life had retiuned, more black than 
ever, and were now revived by the sight of the growing love 
between his favourite Natacha and his friend Bolkonsky, and 
the cruel contrast between their situation and his own. He 
strove not to think of them, or of his wife; and constantly, in 
spite of himself, worked back to the doubts that had tortured 
him of old. As of old, everything appeared trivial as measured 
by eternity, and again and again he asked himself: ^' What 
does it all lead to ? " Night and day he toiled at his freemason's 
craft, hoping to exorcise the demon that possessed him. 

That evening, after withdrawing from his wife's reception 
between eleven and twelve, he had just retired to his own room, 
which reeked of tobacco; he sat wrapped in a dirty, shabby 
dressing-gown, and was writing out the regulations of the Scotch 
lodges, when Prince Andrew unexpectedly walked in. 

" Ah ! it is you ! " said Peter vaguely. " I am at work, you 
see . . ." he added, in the tone of a miserable man, who tries 
to find some remedy for the woes of life in any kind of occupation. 

Prince Andrew, radiant and transfigured with happiness, did 
not observe his friend's gloom; he stood in front of him with 
a bright smile. 

" Listen to me, my dear fellow; I was on the point of speak- 
ing to you yesterday. To-day I have made up my mind, and 
that is why I am here. I am in love, my good friend ! " 

Peter sighed deeply and dropped, with aU the weight of his 
ponderous person, on the sofa where Prince Andrew had seated 
himself. 



S8 



War and Peace 



" With Natacha Rostow ? Is that it ? " 

"Certainly; who else should it be? I could never have 
believed it^ but this passion is too much for me. Yesterday I 
was miserable^ I was in torment^ and yet I found pleasure in 
it. Till now I have never lived — ^I live now, but I want her; 
and can she ever love me? I am too old! . . . Speak to me; 
you say nothing!" 

" I . . . what would you have me say? " exclaimed Peter, 
starting up, and walking up and down llie room. " That girl 
is a perfect treasure — a treasure! A pearl. My dear friend, 
I entreat you, do not stop to consider; marry her as soon as 
you can, and there will be no happier man on earth, of that I 
am certain." 

"But she?" 

" She loves you." 

"No jesting," said Prince Andrew, smiUng as he looked 
straight into his eyes. 

" She does; I know it," said Peter, in a tone of annoyance. 

" Listen — you must listen to me 1 " cried his friend, holding 
him by the arm. " You cannot imagine what my feelings are. 
I must pour out my heart to you; it is too full ! " 

" Talk away. Really and truly I am heartily glad." Peter's 
expression had indeed wholly changed; his gloomy manner 
gave way to frank satisfaction at seeing Prince Andrew another 
man than his old self. Where were his depression, his con- 
tempt of life, his spoilt illusions? Peter was the only man to 
whom he could utter all his mind, and his confidence was com- 
plete; he told him everything: his plans for the future to 
which he could now look forward without a qualm, the im- 
possibility of sacrificing his whole existence to his father's 
caprice, his hope of persuading him to approve of his marriage 
and be fond of Natacha, and, in case of his father's refusal, his 
firm determination to marry without his consent. He could 
not stop talking of this irresistible storm of feeling, to him so 
new and strange, which had rushed down upon him, and which 
he could not resist. 

" I should have laughed at any man who told me a few dajrs 
ago that I could love as I do. It is not like anything I ever 
felt before. The world to me consists of two halves: one is 
entirely filled by her — there are happiness, light, and hope; 
the other is where she is not — there desolation and darkness 



>> 



reign. . 
" Darkness and night! Yes, I understand that," said Peter. 



The Invasion 59 

"I cannot help loving the light, it is beyond my control; 
and I am happy. Do you understand? Yes, I believe you 
are glad." 

" Yes, indeed, indeed I am ! " and Peter looked into his face 
with his sad kind eyes. As his friend's future grew brighter, 
his own rose before him darker and more desolate than ever. 



CHAPTER VIII 

As Prince Andrew could not marry without his father's sanction, 
he started for the country the very next day. The old prince 
listened with apparent calmness to his son's communication, 
but it was only a cloak for violent wrath. He could not bring 
himself to understand how his son could want to make any 
change in his life by introducing a fresh element, when his own 
was so near its close. " He might have left me to live it out 
in my own way. When I am gone they can do as they please," 
was his thought. But he nevertheless used all the tact he 
usually displayed on important occasions, in discussing the 
matter with his son; he examined it from all sides, and tried to 
prove to him, first, that his choice was by no means a brilliant 
one as to birth or fortune; secondly, that being past his first 
youth his health required care — ^and on this he particularly 
insisted — hence this girl was too young; thirdly, that he had 
a son, and what would become of him in the hands of the new 
wife; and fourthly, " I entreat you," he added, looking at 
him with an edged smile, " put it of! for a year. Go abroad, 
recover your health, find a German tutor for Prince Nicholas; 
and when a year is past, if your love, your passion, your 
obstinacy survive, well, marry her. This is my last word — you 
understand, my last word." And he spoke in a peremptory 
tone to convey his inflexible determination. He hoped that 
the test might prove too severe, and that neither his son's love 
nor the young girl's would outlive a year's waiting. Prince 
Andrew quite understood, and made up his mind to submit. 

About three weeks after that evening at the Rostows he 
returned to St. Petersburg, bent on making his offer. Natacha, 
after her conversation with her mother, had spent the whole of 
the next day in expecting Prince Andrew, but he did not come; 
and many days passed without his giving any sign. Not 



6o War and Peace 

knowing that he had left St. Petersburg^ she did not know 
what to think of it. Peter^ too^ had ceased to call. 

As the days dragged their weary length along^ she refused 
to go an3nvhere^ but wandered &om room to room like a languid 
and forsaken ghost. She had nothing more to say to her 
mother or Sonia^ she coloured up and turned fractious at a 
word; it seemed to her that every one must know what her 
disappointment was^ and that she was an object of general 
ridicule or pity. Ere long genuine grief was added to her sense 
of outraged feelings and increased the misery of her mortification. 

One day, when she was about to say something, she suddenly 
burst into tears, and cried like a child who is beaten and does 
not know for what. The countess tried to soothe her, but 
Natacha fired up: "Do not say another word, mamma! I 
have ceased to think of him — ^I will never think of him again ! 
He came because he found it amusing, and now he is tired of 
it and he comes no more . . . that is the whole story! I will 
never marry," she went on, trying to control her voice. " I 
was frightened at it before, and now I have quite got over it 
and am easy in my mind again." 

Next day Natacha came down in an old gown she was par- 
ticularly fond of, as she said it brought her good luck whenever 
she wore it, and she at once resumed her usual occupations, 
which had been quite neglected since the night of the ball. 
After taking her morning tea she went into the great drawing- 
room, which was particularly good for music, and set to work 
to sing her scales and exercises. Presently she stood up in the 
middle of the room and went through all her favourite songs, 
listening to herself, and finding keen pleasure in her own rich 
tones and pearly runs which seemed to fill the room, and 
harmonise with the echo that sent them back to die on her lips. 

" Why do I think so much about all that? " she said gaily to 
herself. " Life is so good, even as it is! " and she walked all 
round the room, settmg her heels down first and then her little 
toes, with a tap on the polished floor. This noise and the 
creaking of her shoes seemed to delight her as much as her 
singing. As she went by a mirror she looked at her own image. 
" Yes, that is just myself," thought she. " And it is well; I 
want nobody! " A servant came in to dust the room, but she 
sent him away and resumed her walk, indulging her admiration 
for her little self, a not uncommon frame of mind with her, and 
which she found a very pleasant one. " Natacha is a delightful 
creature," said she to herself, giving the words to the purely 



The Invasion 6i 

fictitious hero of her dreams. " Her voice is lovely, she is young 
and pretty, and does no one any harm — cannot you leave her 
in peace?" But she confessed in a lower depth of her soul 
that even if she were left in peace, the peace she craved would 
never again be hers; and she presently proved it by experience. 

The outer door opened and a voice said: "Are they at 
home? " This voice snatched her from the contemplation of 
her person; she was all ears, and though she stood still, gazing 
at the mirror, she saw nothing there. It was he! She was 
sure of it, though the doors were aU shut, and she^ieard steps 
approaching. 

Pale and scared she rushed into the sitting-room. " Mamma, 
Bolkonsky is come; oh, mamma, I cannot bear it! I will not 
be so cruelly hurt ! What am I to do ? " 

Her mother had not time to reply before Prince Andrew was 
shown in; he was grave but visibly excited. He kissed the 
countess's hand and her daughter's, then he sat down. 

" We have not had the pleasure of seeing you for a long 
time," the countess began, but she was interrupted by Prince 
Andrew with eager apologies and explanations. 

" I have been to see my father; I wanted to speak to him on a 
very serious matter, and I only returned last night. I should 
be glad," he added, after a short pause and glancing at Natacha, 
" if I might have a few words with you, countess." 

She looked down and sighed. " I am quite at your service," 
she said. 

Natacha understood that she was expected to leave them, 
but she had not strength enough to move; something was 
choking her, and her wide-open eyes were fixed on Prince 
Andrew. "What! Now — ^at once? Impossible!" she was 
thinking. He looked round at her again, she understood that 
so it was, that her fate was about to be decided. 

" Go, Natacha, I will send for you," said her mother, in a 
low voice. 

Natacha cast an imploring glance, first at her and then at 
Bolkonsky — and left the room. 

" I have come," said Prince Andrew, " to ask your daughter's 
hand." 

The countess coloured and did not immediately answer. 

" Your proposal," she began, with grave embarrassment. . . . 
" Your proposal ... is very flattering, and for my part I 
accept it. I am most happy — and my husband will be too, I 
hope; but she, she alone, must decide," 



62 War and Peace 

** I will speak to her when I have your definite answer — I 
may rely on you, then? " 

" Yes — /' and the countess held out her hand. He bent to 
kiss it, and she pressed her lips to his brow with a mixed feeling 
of anxiety and affection; though she was quite ready to love 
him as a son, this stranger on her hearth gave her a certain 
sense of alarm. 

" My husband will say as I do," she said, " but your father? " 

" My father, to whom I have communicated my intentions, 
has made his sanction conditional on our waiting a twelve- 
month: this was what I wanted particularly to teU you." 

" Natacha is very young, to be sure; but a year — ^that is a 
long time to wait." 

" There is no alternative," said Prince Andrew, with a sigh. 

" I will send her to you," and the countess left the room. 
'' Lord, have mercy upon us I " she murmured, again and again, 
as she went to find her daughter. Sonia told her that Natacha 
had gone to her room. She was sitting on her bed with a white 
face and dry eyes fixed on the Holy Images, crossing herself 
and muttering a prayer. As her mother came in she threw her 
arms round her neck. 

" Well, mamma, what is it? " 

" Go — ^he is waiting for you; he asks you to marry him," 
replied the countess, in a tone her daughter thought stem. 
" Go." And her eyes, fuD of melancholy and mute reproach, 
followed the girl, who flew off. She was only too happy! 

Natacha never could remember how she got into the room; 
she stopped short in Prince Andrew's presence. " Can this 
stranger have come here only for me? " she asked herself; and 
the answer was in her heart: 

" Yes, only for me. And he is dearer to me, he alone, than 
all the rest of the world put together." 

Prince Andrew came forward to meet her, but he did not 
look up as he spoke: 

*^ I have loved you from the first day I saw you. Is there 
any hope. . . . ? " 

Then he raised his eyes, and the intense gravity and passion 
of her expression startled him. " Why," her look seemed to 
say, " why doubt what no one can help knowing? Why use 
words when they can never utter half of what we feel? " 

She took a step forward and stopped again; he took her hand 
and kissed it. 

" Can you love me? " he asked. 



The Invasion 63 

"Yes, yes," she said, almost violently; and gasping for 
breath, as if she were suffocating, she melted into tears. 

" Oh! what is the matter? Why are you crying? " 

** For happiness ! " she said, smiling through her tears. 

She leaned forward, hesitated a second, wondering if she 
might kiss him — and she kissed him. 

Prince Andrew held her two hands in his, and looked straight 
into her eyes: but in this instant the character of his love was 
changed : the poetical and mysterious longing to call her his own 
had given way in his heart to tender pity for her weakness as a 
woman and a child; to dread lest he should fail to respond to 
her sweet self-abandonment; to a sense, at once glad and dis- 
tressful, of the obligations that bound him to her under the 
conditions of this new form of love, which, though perhaps less 
effulgent and less rapturous than his previous passion, was 
stronger and deeper. 

" Did your mother tell you that we cannot be married for a 
year? " he asked her, still gazing into her face. 

** Am I the same Natacha, who was but a little girl such a short 
time since? " thought she. " I, who have suddenly grown up 
to the equal and the wife of this stranger — so clever, so good, a 
man whom even my father looks up to? Can it be true? Ckn 
it be that henceforth I must take life seriously; that I am 
grown up now; that I must now be responsible for every word 
and every action? . . . What was it he asked me? " 

" No," she replied, not half understanding his question. 

" You are so young," Prince Andrew went on, " and I have 
gone through so much. I am afraid for you; you do not know 
yourself." 

Natacha listened attentively, but she did not take in his 
meaning. 

" This year of patience will be hard to bear," he went on. 
" But it will give you time to study your own heart. In a year 
I shall come and entreat you to make me happy; till then you 
are free, our arrangement will be kept secret. Perhaps you 
may come to see that you do not love me — that you love some- 
one else. . . ." and he tried to smile. 

Natacha broke in: "Why do you say such things? You 
know very well that I have loved you ever since that day when 
I first saw you at Otradnoe. I love you," she repeated, with 
the truth of conviction. 

" A year's delay . . . ." he began again. 

"A ycarl a whole year!" cried Natacha, who had just 



64 War and Peace 

understood the postponement of her marriage. "Why, oh 
why? " 

He explained the reasons, but she scarcely heeded them. 
" And nothing can be done? " she cried. He did not answer, 
but his face plainly showed how impossible it was to fulfil their 
desires. 

*' It is dreadful, dreadful I " exclaimed Natacha, bursting 
into tears. " I shall die of it ! A whole year I It is impossible,, 
it is frightful! " She looked up in his face and saw his expres-^^ 
sion of pity and surprise. " No, no; I agree to everything! " 
she said, and checked her sobs: " I am so happy! " 

Her father and mother now came into the room, and gave 
them their blessing. 

There was no ceremonial of betrothal, and their engagement 
was not made public by the special desire of Prince Andrew, 
who went every day to see Natacha. As he alone was respon- 
sible for the delay, he ought, he said, to bear all the burden of 
it; and he constantly insisted that Natacha was perfectly free, 
but that he considered himself irrevocably boimd by his word ; 
that if, six months hence, she should have changed her mind, 
she had an entire right to do so. He repeated this at frequent 
intervals; but neither Natacha nor her parents would admit 
that such a thing was possible. Prince Andrew, however, 
assumed none of the rights of a fiance ; he addressed Natacha 
with a certain formality, and never did more than kiss her 
hand. Their simple, natural, trustful manner made it seem as 
though they had only really known each other since the day 
when Prince Andrew had made his proposal; and they often 
recalled what they thought of each other at a time when they 
were still hardly more than strangers. " We were a little on 
our guard then," they confessed, " but now me are sincere and 
frank." 

The constant presence of the future son-in-law was at first a 
little check on the freedom of the family, who were all disposed 
to think of him as a man in another sphere of society, and 
Natacha had much to do to reconcile them to his frequent 
visits. She would declare proudly that she was not in the least 
shy of him, and that they ought not to be afraid of him either; 
that he was just like other people, and that it was only his 
appearance that made him seem different. They presently got 
accustomed to him; at the end of a few da^s their life fell into 
the old quiet groove, and he found his place m it quite naturally, 
talking of agriculture with the old count, of dress with Natacha 



V 



The Invasion 65 

and her mother^ and of worsted work and albums with Sonia. 
Many times^ in his absence^ or^ indeed^ in his presence^ they would 
expatiate and marvel over the various incidents which had 
brought them together, and the forecasts that had warned them 
of the event: Prince Andrew's visit to Otradnoe, that of the 
Rostows to the capital, the singular likeness between Natacha 
and her lover — ^which the old nurse had remarked the first time 
he had called — ^the difference between Nicholas and Bolkonsky 
so long ago as 1805, and various other phenomena not less 
interesting and significant. 

The sort of poetical and silent dullness that always seems to 
hang round an engaged couple had fallen upon this home; 
sometimes for long hours not a word would be spoken, even 
when they were left to themselves. They said very Httle about 
the future; Prince Andrew dreaded the topic, and was scrupu- 
lous, too, about mentioning it to Natacha; and she shared his 
feeling, instinctively guessing all that passed through his mind. 
One day she asked him about his Httle son; he coloured — as 
he often did, and Natacha thought it a bewitching weakness — 
and said his boy would not live with them. 

" Why not? " she asked, in alarm. 

'' I could not take him away from his grandfather; and 
besides . . . ." 

'* I should have been so fond of him," she said. " But I 
understand. Your first point is to avoid anything that can 
entail blame." 

The old count would constantly go up to his future son-in- 
law, embrace him, and ask his advice about Nicholas or P^tia; 
the countess was apt to sigh as she looked at the lovers. Sonia 
was alwa3rs afraid of being in the way, and puzzled herself to find 
excuses for leaving them to themselves, though they showed no 
particular desire for it. When Prince Andrew related some 
incident — and he talked well — ^Natacha listened with pride, and 
noticed in her turn, with a mixed feeling of joy and anxiety, 
how he foUowed all she said with marked attention, and watched 
her with a scrutinising eye. " What does he hope to find in 
me? " she asked herself, uneasily. " What does he expect to 
discover? Suppose he were to fail in finding what he seeks? " 
Sometimes he would give way to a fit of careless mirth, and she 
loved to hear him laugh, because he gave himself up to his 
merriment all the more freely since these outbursts of light- 
heartedness were rare, and they brought him down for the time 
to her own level. Her happiness would have been perfect if 
II c 



66 War and Peace 

the prospect of their parting had not filled her soul with 
terrors. 

The day before he left, Prince Andrew brought Peter to call 
on the Rostows ; it was some time since he had been to see them. 
He looked scared and bewildered. While he sat talking to the 
countess^ Natacha was playing chess with Sonia. 

" Have you known Bdsoukhow long? " Prince Andrew 
suddenly asked her. " Do you like him? " 

" Yes; he is a dear good fellow — ^but so queer! " said Natacha^ 
going on to prove her criticism by a number of instances of 
Peter's extraordinary absence of mind. 

" I have told him our secret, for he is one of my oldest friends. 
He has a heart of gold! — ^I entreat you, Natacha," Prince 
Andrew went on, very earnestly — " you must promise me — ^I 
am leaving you, and God knows what may happen. You may 
cease to love me. ... I ought not to say so, I know. Still, 
promise me, that whatever may happen in my absence. . . ." 

" What can happen? " 

*' In case of any disaster, go to him and to no one else, I 
beseech you, for help or ad^dce. He is absent, I know, and odd, 
but such a good soul! " 

No one, not Prince Andrew himself, could have foreseen the 
result that this parting had on Natacha. With flushed cheeks 
and dry sparkling eyes she wandered about the house that day in 
painful excitement, attending to all sorts of trifling matters, and 
not seeming to understand what was happening. When he 
kissed her hand in farewell, she did not shed a tear. Only she 
murmured: " Do not go — " in a tone of such anguish, that for 
an instant he hesitated ; and he recalled the sound of her voice at 
that moment, long, long after. When he was gone, still she did 
not weep; but she sat day after day in her own room, taking no 
interest in anything, only saying now and then: " Why did he 
leave me? " 

At the end of a fortnight, however, she came out of this 
torpid state as abruptly as she had fallen into it, to the great 
surprise of her family. She took up her usual occupations, 
and was as bright as ever; but she was changed, as a child's 
face changes in a long illness: the terrible shock had altered 
her moral physiognomy. 



The Invasion 67 



CHAPTER IX 

Old Prince Bolkonsky's temper and health grew worse and 
worse in his son's absence; he became daily more irritable, and 
his explosions of rage, without rhyme or reason, commonly 
spent themselves on his hapless daughter. It really seemed as 
though he took pleasure in discovering the tenderest spots in 
her nature to inflict the utmost torture. Two passions, and 
thus two forms of happiness, filled up Princess Maria's whole 
existence — ^religion and her little nephew. These, in conse- 
quence, were the two favourite subjects of mockery for her 
father, who was alwa3rs sneering at old maids and their super- 
stitions, or at spoiling children by over-indulgence: " If you go 
on like this you wiD make him" — little Nicholas — "an old 
maid like yourself. A pretty piece of work, on my word! 
Prince Andrew wants a son, not a girl ! " And he would appeal 
to Mademoiselle Bourrienne, and ask her what she thought of 
" our priests," " our inures," etc., with a fresh outbreak of 
bitter irony. 

He took every opportunity of wounding poor Princess Maria 
in the most cruel way, while she never even dreamed of owing 
any grudge in return. How was it possible that he should be 
to blame? How could he be unjust to her — ^for, in spite of 
everything, he certainly loved her? Besides, what was in- 
justice, after all? She had never known what it was to have 
a spark of pride. All human law and duty was summed up 
for her in one simple and compendious formula: Charity and 
self-sacrifice, as they were taught by Him who, being God, 
suffered for love of man. Outside of this, what could the 
justice and injustice of others matter to her? She recognised 
no duty but that of loving and enduring; and she fulfijled it 
without a murmur. 

In the course of the winter Prince Andrew spent a few days 
at Lissy-Gory; his good spirits and gentle tenderness led his 
sister to suspect some cause for such a transformation; but, 
excepting thiat she knew that the father and son had a long 
ieU'Ortete just before Prince Andrew left, she gained no further 
information; but they both seemed dissatisfied. 

A short time after she wrote a long letter to her Mend Julia 
Karaguine, just now in mourning for her brother, who had been 
killed in Turkey. Like all young girls, Maria had cherished a 



68 War and Peace 

daydream; it was that Julia should marry Prince Andrew. 
The letter was as follows: 

'' Dearest and kindest friend^ grief is the lot of all in this 
world. Your loss is so terrible that I can only regard it as a 
special mercy sent to you by a loving Saviour to purify you 
and your dear mother. Ah! my dear friend^ religion alone can 
avails not indeed to comfort us^ but to save us from despair; 
that alone can account for a mystery which, without it, is in- 
scrutable to man: Why God should recall to himself just those 
who are good, noble, and happy, while those who are vicious 
and mischievous are left to be a burden to us. The first death 
I ever knew was that of my dear little sister-in-law; it made a 
deep impression on me, and I shall never forget it. I asked 
Providence why Lisa, that poor little angel whose soul was 
purity itself, should be snatched away, as you now wonder why 
your charming brother is taken from you. And shall I tell you^ 
my dear? Five years have passed since then, and my dull 
mind is only just beginning to guess at the secret of death: I 
regard it as a visible manifestation of God's infinite mercy — 
whose acts are too often misunderstood, though they are, in fact, 
constant proofs of His unfailing love to His creatures. I 
cannot but think that, with all her angelic purity, she would 
have lacked the needful strength to fulfil her duties as a mother, 
while as a wife she was irreproachable. In Heaven no doubt she 
has won a place which I dare not hope for, and has left in our 
hearts — especially in my brother's — ^a deep and lasting regret. 
Not to speak of her gain, her early and terrible death, in spite of 
the bitterness of grief, has had a most softening influence on 
Prince Andrew and on me. These thoughts, which at that fatal 
time would have shocked and horrified me, have only grown up 
slowly in my mind, but their light has now dispelled all doubt 
in my soul. I write all this to you, dearest friend, to the end 
that you, too, may open your eyes and your soul to the gospel- 
truth which I have made the rule of my life. Not a h^ falls 
from our head without the will of God, and His will is governed 
by infinite love, which desires nothing but our good in all the 
chances and changes of life. 

" You ask me whether we spend next winter at Moscow. I 
think not; and notwithstanding the joy I should feel in seeing 
you, I cannot wish it; and Napoleon is the cause! You are 
astonished — but the explanation is this: my father's health is 
perceptibly failing; he cannot bear the slightest contradiction. 



The Invasion 69 

and his natural irritability is always especially provoked by 
political discussion. He cannot bring himself to allow that 
Bonaparte has risen to be the equal of all the sovereigns of 
Europe, much less of the grandson of the great Catherine. I 
am as indifferent as ever to all that goes on in the world; but 
my father's conversations with Michael Ivanovitch keep me 
informed as to political matters, and the honours paid to 
Napoleon, whose title and position as a great man and the 
Emperor of the French are, it seems to me, denied nowhere but 
at Lissy-Gory. Thus my father foresees that his opinions, and 
bis frankness, which spares no one, and the vehement discus- 
sions which must necessarily be the result, would give rise to 
unpleasantness, and make it difhcult for him to live at Moscow. 
Indeed, the good efifect of the medical regime he follows would, 
I believe, be counteracted by his hatred of Bonaparte. How- 
ever, all this must be settled before long. 

" Here nothing is changed, excepting that we miss my 
brother terribly. I told you in my last letter how much he 
has altered. He has only lately come to life again, so to speak, 
since his wife's death: he is kind, gentle, affectionate, as good 
as gold — I know no one to compare with him. He has learnt 
to see that his life could not be at an end; but, on the other 
hand, his health has deteriorated as his mind has mended; he 
is thin and nervous, and I am not easy about him. So I strongly 
approved of his travelling, and hope he may get quite well again. 
You tell me that he was a great success at St. Petersburg, and 
is quoted as one of your most distinguished young men, intelh- 
gent and hard-working; I never had a doubt about it; and you 
will excuse my sisterly pride, which is justified by the good he 
has done on all sides among the peasantry and llie nobility of 
our district. Such praise was only his due. 

" I confess I am surprised at the wonderful stories which are 
current among you, and which have travelled from St. Peters- 
burg to Moscow, as to his marriage, and to that little Rostow 
girl of all others 1 

'' I do not think Andrew will ever be able to make up his 
mind to marry again; at any rate little Natacha Rostow would 
not be his choice. Though he never speaks of it, I know that 
the memory of his wife is deeply rooted in his heart, and he 
will never let her place be filled, or give our little darling a step- 
mother; and that young thing is certainly not suited to please 
him as a wife — in fact, to tell you the truth, I have no wish for 
such a thing. 



JO War and Peace 

" But I am ashamed of all this gossip— I have filled two 
sheets already. Farewell, my dearest friend: God have you 
in His holy and Almighty keeping. My amiable companion, 
Mademoisdle Bourrienne, sends affectionate remembrance. 

" Maria." 

In the course of the summer Princess Maria received a letter 
from her brother, dated from Switzerland; in this Andrew gave 
her the wonderful and unexpected news of his engagement to 
Countess Natacha Rostow. His letter was full of the most 
rapturous love, and affectionate and tender confidence in 
Natacha. He confessed to Maria that he had never loved as 
he loved now; that, till now, he had never understood the 
whole meaning of Hfe; and he ended by craving her forgiveness 
for having kept his intentions a secret from her when he was at 
Lissy-Gory, though he had discussed them with his father; he 
had been afraid, he said, of her exerting her influence over the 
old prince to win his consent at too early a date; since, if she 
had failed, the irritation her attempts would have produced 
would have fallen on her devoted head. 

" At that time," he wrote, " matters were not so ripe or so 
certain as they now are, for my father had fixed a year for 
probation; six months have gone by, and my determination is 
unchanged. If the doctors and their treatment did not detain 
me at tibe baths I should have been at home by this time; but 
my return must be postponed for three months. You know 
the terms on which my father and I live. I have and ask 
nothing from him; I always have been, and always mean to 
be, independent; but half my happiness would be lost to me if 
I snatched it in opposition to his will, and incurred his anger 
when he has perhaps so short a time to live. But I am writing 
to him once more; try and find a propitious moment for giving 
him my letter and let me know how he receives it, what he thinks 
of it, and whether there is any hope of his abridging the time 
by three months." 

After much hesitation and many prayers. Princess Maria 
obeyed his request. 

" Write to your brother," replied her father, after reading 
the letter without any display of wrath, '^ that he has only to 
wait for my death — ^it will not be long, and that will set him 
free." 

Princess Maria timidly tried to argue the point, but her 
father interrupted her, raising his voice: " Oh, yes I get married. 



The Invasion 71 

by all means^ get married^ my dear boy. ... A pretty family 
to marry into, on my word! Are they clever — eh? — or rich, 
eh? — ^A pretty stepmother indeed you are giving Nicolouchkal 
Tell him to marry her to-morrow if he likes, and I will marry 
Bourrienne ... ha, ha I Then he will have a stepmother, 
too. — Only, as there are women enough in the house, he will 
have the kindness to live somewhere else, and you will turn out 
and go with him — ^through the frost and snow — ^the frost and 
snow! . . ." 

After this violent scene the subject was never again mentioned 
between them, but his simmering wrath at his son's weakness 
constantly betrayed itself in his treatment of his daughter; 
and a fresh and inexhaustible theme for cruel jesting was added 
to the old ones: that of a possible stepmother and his admira- 
tion for the young French woman. 

" Why should not I marry her? " he would say. " She 
would make a charming princess ! " 

In fact, Maria observed with dismay that her father's atten- 
tions to Mademoiselle Bourrienne had altered in character, and 
that he liked to spend hours together in her society. She wrote 
her brother a full account of the disastrous results of his letter, 
though she still led him to hope that she might succeed in gain- 
ing her father's consent. 

Little Nicholas, Andrew, and her religion were her only joyB 
and comfort; but as, like every human soul, she could not live 
without some personal aspirations, she cherished at the bottom 
of her heart a dream, a mysterious hope which kept her spirit 
alive, and which the pilgrims she continued to receive without 
her father's knowledge helped to encourage. The longer she 
lived and the more she studied life, the more she wondered at 
the blindness of those who seek satisfaction for their desires 
here on earth, who suffer, and struggle, and toil, and injure 
each other, in their pursuit of an unattainable and intangible 
mirage — the source of endless temptations to sin — ^which they 
call happiness. Had she not seen her brother, who had loved 
his wife, aim at achieving happiness by loving another woman, 
while her father had yielded to wrath in opposing him because 
he thought the choice beneath him? . . . They were all 
suffering for each other's wrong-doing, and risking their im- 
mortal souls to win joys that were as transient as a flash of 
lightning. " Not only do we know it by our own experience, 
but Jesus Christ, the Son of God, came down from Heaven and 
taught us that Hfe is but a passage, a time of probation — and 



72 War and Peace 

yet we will not cease to seek for happiness 1 No one has really 
grasped this truth," said Princess Maria to herself, " except 
those poor pilgrims who come to me, with their wallets over 
their shoulders, up the back stairs for fear of meeting my father 
— ^not to escape iU usage, but to spare him a temptation to evil. 
To give up home and family, to renounce all worldly possessions, 
to wander from place to place under an assumed name in 
pilgrim's sack-clotii, never to do any harm, but to pray — to 
pray — ^for those who despitefully use you as for those who feed 
and shelter you — ^that is the true Ufe; life in the highest sense 
of the word ! " 

Among the women who had devoted themselves to this 
wandering existence, one had won Princess Maria's most parti- 
cular interest. This was a little, frail body of about fifty, by 
name F^dociouchka, who for the last thirty years had walked the 
world barefoot, and worn a hair shirt. One evening, when she 
was listening, by the dim religious light of the lamp burning 
before the images, to the history of her pilgrim friend's pere- 
grinations, the feeling that this poor creature had found the only 
true way took such possession of Princess Maria that she re- 
solved, sooner or later, to follow her example. For a long time 
after Fedociouchka had departed, she sat lost in meditation, 
and quite made up her mind that, however strange it might 
seem, she, too, ought to lead the same life. She confessed her 
desire to her spiritual director Father Hyacinthe, a monk; 
having his approbation, she pretended that she wanted to make 
a present to one of the pilgrim women, and purchased for her- 
self a complete outfit: hair shirt, hemp sandals, a gown and 
kerchief of coarse black wool. Standing in front of the ward- 
robe which contained these treasures, she asked herself many a 
time, with some trepidation, whether the hour were not come 
when she should carry her scheme into effect. 

How often had she been tempted to flee from everything and 
set off with these women, whose childish tales, repeated, too, 
with mechanical monotony till she knew them by heart, had 
some strange power of exciting her enthusiasm by suggesting a 
mystical and hidden meaning. She could picture herself 
tramping by F^dociouchka's side along a dusty road, staff in 
hand, dressed, like her, in shabby rags, with her bag on her 
shoulder, and dragging out a wandering life from place to place, 
with no earthly tie, free from envy, human love, and vain desires. 

" I shall stop at a place," thought she, " and pray there; and 
then, without allowing m3rself to grow attached to it, or to love 



The Invasion 73 

any one^ I shall go on — on and on, till my feet will carry me no 
further; then I will lie down and die, no matter where, and 
find at last that haven of peace where there is neither sorrow 
nor regret, where joy and beatitude eternally dwell ! " 

But when she next saw her father and the child, her resolve 
died out, though she wept bitter tears in secret, accusing herself 
of being a miserable sinner, and of loving them bettfiT than God. 



CHAPTER X 

The Bible tells us that man's happiness before the Fall, con- 
sisted in the absence of toil. Fallen man however has a taste 
for the same beatitude; but he cannot indulge in it, not merely 
by reason of the curse that lies upon him and compels him to 
earn his bread in the sweat of his brow, but by the very essence 
of his moral nature. A secret voice warns him that idleness is 
sin — ^and yet, if only he could be of use and fulfil his duty by 
remaining quiescent he would no doubt enjoy one of the privi- 
leges of primeval bliss. As a matter of fact, a whole class of 
society — that of the military — lives in comparative idleness 
which is not only permitted to them but a condition of their 
life, and which has no doubt always proved one of the great 
attractions of the service. 

Nicholas Rostow had enjoyed all its advantages, since 1807, 
in the same regiment, and was now in command of the squadron 
formerly led by Denissow. 

He was now very steady — a thorough good boy, rather rough 
in his manners, which his Moscow acquaintances might have 
thought not quite the thing; but he was looked up to and 
loved by his comrades, his inferiors and his chiefs, and perfectly 
content with his lot. Nothing disturbed his habitual peace of 
mind but his mother's letters, which had lately been frequent 
and full of lamentations over the precarious condition of the 
family finances, and in which she implored him to come home 
and be the comfort of his aged parents. 

He thought with horror of their wishing to tear him from 
his profession which gave him the means of living calmly and 
happily, and free from all anxiety; he foresaw that, sooner or 
later, he would be obliged to plunge into that lab3ninth of 
mismanagement, of accounts to rectify, of squabbles, intrigues 
and social intercourse — ^and, added to all else. Soma's devotion 



74 War and Peace 

to him and his own promise to her. The prospect scared him; 
it was all a confused tangle of difficulties^ and his answers to 
his mother^ beginning and ending with the regulation formula: 
" My dear mamma/' — " Your dutiful son " — ^were cold, and 
threw no light on his intentions. 

In 1810, he was duly informed of Natacha's engagement to 
Bolkonsky, and that the marriage, not being approved of by 
the old prince, was postponed for a year. The news distressed 
Nicholas; he could not bear to think of Natacha as leaving the 
home nest; she was his favourite companion. On the other 
hand, with his hussar's truculence, he regretted not having had 
the opportunity of explaining to Bolkonsky that the connection 
was not such a very distinguished honour, and that if he were 
really so much in love he might dispense with his lunatic father's 
consent. Now, should he ask leave of absence to go to see 
Natacha? He hesitated: it was the season for manoeuvring 
the troops, and besides this the prospect of possible complica- 
tions at home turned the scale at the time; however, in the 
course of the spring, another letter from his mother, written 
without her husband's knowledge, implored him to return. 
The state of their afiEairs absolutely required his presence; 
otherwise everything would be sold by auction and they would 
be left destitute. The count in his weak good nature had 
perfect confidence in Mitenka who, like every one else, took 
him in, and everything was going to rack and ruin: " In 
Heaven's name come to the rescue without a moment's delay 
if you hope to extricate us from our miserable predicament 1 " 

This letter had the desired effect. Nicholas, who had the 
sound sense of mediocre minds, saw that there was no alterna- 
tive and that he must go. 

After his mid-day nap he ordered out his old charger. Mars 
— ^he had not ridden him for some time — amounted, and when 
he brought him back lathered with sweat, some hours later, he 
announced to Lavrouchka — ^who was now his servant — ^and to 
a party of his comrades, that he was about to ask leave of 
absence to go to see his family. It seemed strange to be forced 
to go before he knew whether he had got his promotion, or the 
Cross of St. Anne, for the manceuvres that were just over; 
strange to set out without having sold to Count Goloukhovsky 
the three roans which he had been bargaining over for weeks, 
and which Rostow had bet he could sell for two thousand 
roubles. And he would not be present at the ball to be given 
by the hussars to Pani Pchasdetzka, and to turn the tables on 



The Invasion 75 

the Uhlans who had just entertained Pani Borjozovska. And 
what a dismal bore to have to leave this peaceful existence^ to 
plunge into confusion and difficulties of all kinds ! — ^Leave was 
granted. His fellow-officers gave him a dinner at fifteen 
roubles a head^ with music and a chorus; Rostow danced the 
trSpak with Major Bassow; the officers^ one more tipsy than 
another^ made fun of him^ hugged him, and let him fall; the 
men of his squadron did the same and cheered him; then they 
carried him to his sledge and escorted him as far as the first 
stage. 

Throughout the first half of his journey^ from Krementchoug 
to Kiew^ Rostow's heart was with his regiment, but as he went 
on the images of the three roans and of the quartermaster 
faded from his mind, and gave way to anxious curiosity. What 
should he find at Otradnoe, which he pictured more vividly as 
he drew nearer to the end of his journey? It was as though 
this feeling, like a physical gravitation, increased in compound 
proportion: when he reached the last post-house he tossed 
three roubles to the postillion, and as he at last drew up at the 
front steps, he sprang out of the sledge in the greatest excite- 
ment. 

When the first agitation of his return home was over, he was 
conscious of the uneasy chill of bare reality which always falls 
a little below our anticipations; he even repented of the fevered 
zeal which had brought him home so rapidly, since he found no 
increase of gladness there. By degrees, however, he got 
accustomed to the home life, which had not undergone any 
marked change. His father and mother were older, and an 
indefinite misunderstanding, a certain remoteness, which had 
never before existed and which had its rise in their money 
difficulties, was now very perceptible in their manner to each 
other. 

Sonia was now twenty, in the full bloom of her beauty; she 
could not be expected to improve any more; but, as she was, 
she charmed all who saw her. Since Nicholas's return she was 
radiant with happiness and love, and that faithful and devoted 
love was a real joy to the young hussar. He was astonished at 
the improvement in P6tia and Natacha; the little boy, now 
thirteen, was a handsome lad, tall, intelligent and bright, and 
his voice was beginning to break already. The transformation 
in Natacha struck him still more; he watched her with amaze- 
ment, and could not help exclaiming with a laugh: 

" But do you know, you are not yourself one bit? " 



76 



War and Peace 



" Am I altered for the worse? " 

"Quite the contrary — and what dignity, princess!" he 
added, in a low voice. 

"Oh, yesl" she exclaimed joyfully — and she told him the 
whole history of her little romance, from Prince Andrew's visit 
to Otradnoe. As she showed Nicholas his last letter she said: 
. " Are you not glad? I am so happy and so calm/' 

" Nothing can be better," said Nicholas. " He is a delightful 
man — but are you really in love with him? " 

" What can I say? I was in love with Boris, with my singing 
master, with Denissow — ^but this is not in the least the same 
thing. I am calmly happy; I stand on solid ground. I see 
that he is as good as man can be, and I am happy. ... It is 
not in the least like anything else." 

Nicholas spoke of his annoyance at the delay in the marriage; 
but Natacha said it was unavoidable, that she herself had 
insisted on it, as her first wish was not to enter her husband's 
family against his father's wish. " You know nothing about 
it," she added, and Nicholas gave way and said no more. 

Afterwards, watching her when she did not suspect it, he 
could not detect the smallest trace of the devoted fiancee who 
mourns her lover's absence. Her temper was even and bright, 
she had altered in no essential point of character; in fact, he 
doubted at last whether her betrothal were so certain a thing 
as she said it was — all the more since he had never seen her 
and Prince Andrew together; and he began to fancy that there 
must be some hitch in the scheme. Why this delay; why had 
there been no formal betrothal? One day, when he was open- 
ing his heart in the matter to his mother, he was surprised, but, 
in a way, glad to find that, at the bottom of her soul, she felt as 
he did, and that she had no confidence in the future. 

" Just fancy," she said, in the aggrieved tone which most 
mothers involuntarily assume when they speak of their daughter's 
future happiness: " Just fancy, he says he cannot return before 
December. What can detain him so long? He must be ill, for 
his health is far from good. But say nothing about it to 
Natacha; if she can be happy so much the better; these are 
the last days of her happy girlhood, and when she gets letters 
from him I can see what is going on in her mind. However, 
who knows? He is a noble and gallant gentleman, and by 
God's help she may be happy . . . ." And this was alwa3rs 
the end of the countess's jeremiads. 
But Nicholas was anxious and absent-minded for several days 



The Invasion 77 

alter this conversation. The imperative necessity for acceding 
to his mother's wishes^ and going into every tiresome detail of 
the management of their i^airs^ worried him quite beyond 
words; the very day but one after his arrival he made up his 
mind to get through it as quickly as possible and swallow the 
bitter dose at one gulp. With brows knit and a set face he 
went straight o&, without answering any preliminary questions^ 
to the wing of the house in which Mitenka had his rooms^ and 
desired him to show him *' the whole of his accounts." What 
the whole of the accounts might be, Nicholas had no notion; 
and Mitenka, startled and confused, knew no better; conse- 
quently his explanations were to the last degree muddled. The 
starosta, the cleiic of the village mayor, and the starosta of the 
district, who were waiting in the ante-room, to their horror — 
but also somewhat to their satisfaction — ^heard the young 
count's voice pitched in a high key, and storming forth a volley 
of abuse that fell sharp and hard as hail. 

" Wretch, rascal, dog, I will be the death of you. » • ." Till 
at length, to the growing delight and alarm of the audience, 
they saw Nicholas come out, his eyes bloodshot and his face 
purple with rage, dragg^g Mitenka by the collar and pushing 
him on with powerful kicks and shoves from the knee, while he 
yelled at him all the time: '' Get out, wretch! Get out! 
Never let me see you again 1 " 

Mitenka, thus shot forward, slipped down the six steps out- 
side the house and rolled into a large clump of shrubs — a 
frequent shelter and sanctuary for the Otradnoe folks when 
they were guilty of any misdemeanour; the steward himself, 
when he came home drunk from the town, had sometimes 
availed himself of its protecting shade, and others, like him, 
had found it an invaluable refuge. Mitenka's wife and her 
sister peeped, with terrified faces, out of their half-opened door, 
whence issued the fumes of a samovar, and through which a bed 
was visible covered with a quilt of many-coloured patchwork. 
Rostow passed them as he came out breathless, and made his 
way back to his. own quarters with an air of determination. 

The countess was soon informed by the maids of what had 
taken place, and came to the comforting conclusion that now 
everything would be settled without diflSculty; still, being 
uneasy as to the effect this scene might have produced on her 
son, she went again and again to listen and peep at his study 
door; she foimd him quietly smoking his pipe. 

" Do you know, my dear fellow," said his father, next mom- 



78 



War and Peace 



ing, " you got into a rage with Mitenka on on ground at all; 
he has told me all about it." 

** Oh^ of course! " thought Nicholas. ** I knew I should not 
be able to pull things straight in this mad world." 

** You were angry with him for having failed to put down 
seven hundred roubles; but they are included in the sum 
total . . . You did not turn over-leaf." 

" I tell you^ father^ he is a thief ^ and a rascal; I know it 
and only did what was right. . . Stilly if you wish it^ I will say 
no more about it." 

" No, my dear boy, no, I beg of you look into the thing; I am 
an old man and. . . ." The count broke off; he knew better 
than any one what a bad manager he was, and how far respon- 
sible to his children for the mistakes he had made and could 
not rectify. 

'' I know even less about it than you do, father; so forgive 
me if I have vexed you. Devil take all the serfs and the money 
and the sum total over-leaf! I used to know pretty well what 
was meant by doubling on six tricks, but as to sums brought 
over! I am quite at sea." And he vowed to himself that he 
would let things alone for the future. 

One day his mother wanted his advice about a ^^ promise to 
pay " that she held irom Anna MikhaOovna, for two thousand 
roubles that she had lent her some tiipe since. What would 
he do under the circumstances? 

" Nothing can be plainer," said Nicholas, " since you allow 
me to give you my advice. I do not like either Anna MikhaHovna 
or Boris, but we have treated them as friends and they are poor. 
This is the only thing to do. . . ." And he tore the bill across 
while his mother cried with joy. Henceforth Nicholas, to fill 
up his leisure, addicted himself to himting on horseback, a sport 
for which they had a splendid establishment. 



CHAPTER XI 

The first white frosts had laid their thin film of ice over the 
earth which was soaked with autumn rains. Where the grass 
had been trodden, or grew thickly, it stood out in patches of 
bright green, in the fields where the cattle had be€»i feedings 
and the withered haulms of the summer's wheat streaked the 
pale tints of the spring crops chequered by russet plots of buck- 



The Invasion 79 

wheat. The woods, still densely clothed with verdure till the 
end of August^ like islands surrounded by stubbly fields and 
black earth ploughed for sowings were now crimson and gold^ 
and showed in vivid contrast against the tender green of sprout- 
ing com. The hare was changing his fur, young foxes were 
quitting the nest, and the wolf-cubs were by this time as big as 
a large dog. It was the height of the hunting season. 

Our young Nimrod's pack of hoimds, though well trained, had 
already been rather hard worked, so by common consent it was 
agreed that they should have three days' rest and that on the 
i6th of September they would have a day out, beginning at 
Doubrava, where they were certain to find a litter of wolf-cubs. 

In the course of the 14th the cold rapidly increased, and 
during the day there was a sharp frost, but towards evening the 
air grew softer and a thaw set in, so that on the morning of the 
15th, when Nicholas, wrapped in his dressing-gown, looked out 
at a very early hour, the weather was all he could wish, perfect 
hunting weather: the grey sky seemed to melt, to flow, to be 
softly falling; there was not a breath of air; the beads of drop- 
ping mist, so fine as to be almost invisible, rested for an instant 
on the leafless twigs with a transient sparkle and then trickled 
down till they were caught on the leaves that slowly fluttered 
off one by one. The garden soil was as black and shining as jet 
in the foreground, and at a short distance disappeared under the 
grey, damp shroud of mist. Nicholas stepped on to the balcony, 
where everything was dripping with moisture; on the air came 
the smell of the kennel, and tiie peculiar fragrance of forests in 
autumn when everything is fading and d3ang. Milka, the great 
black and tan house-dog, with heavy hind-quarters and large 
prominent eyes, got up when she saw her master, stretched her- 
self and crouched; then, with one leap she boimded up and 
licked his face, while a greyhound, with his tail in the air, came 
gallopping up from the garden at a top-pace to rub against 
Nicholas. 

At the same moment a loud " Ohoi! " rang through the air 
— ^the peculiar halloo of the hunter, a mixture of bass notes and 
a shrill crow, and round the comer of the house came Danilo 
the huntsman, a man of wrinkled aspect, with hair cropped 
dose after the fashion of Little Russia. He carried a long 
whip; his expression was that of thorough contempt for things 
in general — a. look rarely seen in any but huntsmen. He took 
off his cap in his master's presence, but his expression did not 
alter — ^indeed, it had no trace of insolence. Nicholas knew very 



8o War and Peace 

well that this stalwart fellow with his scornful mien was his man, 
a hunter after his own heart. 

*' Heh there^ Danilol " he shouted, at once earned away by 
the irresistible passion for the chase, the day made on purpose, 
the sight of the dogs and the huntsman, and forgetting all his 
good resolutions as a lover forgets everything in his mistress's 
presence. 

"What are your orders, excellency?" replied a deep bass 
voice, hoarse with shouting to the dogs; and two bright black 
eyes were fixed on the face of the young count who remained 
silent: " Will he resist the temptation? " those eyes seemed 
to say. 

" Well, — a good day for a himt? " said Nicholas, pulling 
Milka's ears. 

" Ouvarka was out at daybreak," said the bass voice, after a 
moment's pause. " He says she went ofE into the plantation at 
Otradnoe. He heard them howling." 

This meant that a she-wolf he had tracked had gone into 
the wood with her cubs; the plantation was detad^ed irom 
the rest of the property, and lay about two versts off. 

"We must go after her. What do you think? — Bring up 
Ouvarka." 

" Very good." 

" Stop — give them nothing to eat," 

•'AU right." 

Five minutes later Danilo and Ouvarka came into the sitting- 
room. Danilo 4vas not remarkably tall, and yet, strange to say, 
he looked in a room very much as a horse or a bear might look in 
the midst of domestic furniture. He himself was conscious of 
it; he kept as dose as possible to the door, spoke as low as he 
could, tried to keep stUl for fear of breaking something, and 
made haste to say all he had to say that he might get into the 
open air again and under the wide sky, instead of standing imder 
the ceiling which seemed to crush him. 

Nicholas having questioned the men, and being told again 
and again that tic pack would be better for a run — ^Danilo 
himself was dying to be off — ordered the horses to be brought 
round. Just as fiie huntsman was quitting the room Natacha 
rushed in. She was not brushed nor dressed; she had thrown 
her old nurse's great shawl roimd her. 

" You are starting! I said so. Sonia said no. I was sure 
you would be off to take advantage of such a perfect day! " 

"Yes," said Nicholas reluctantly; for he meant work and 



it 



The Invasion 8i 

did not want to take either P6tia or Natacba. ** We are going 
after a woK — ^it will not amuse you." 

" On the contrary — ^you know it will. It is very mean of 
you to have the horses saddled and never say a word 
to us." 

" The Russian ignores all obstacles — ^hurrah! On we go! " 
shouted Petia, who had followed his sister. 

But you know mamma will not let you go." 
I shall go — ^I will go, whatever she says," replied Natacha, 
resolutely. *^ Danilo, order out my horse, and tell MikaOo to 
bring round my leash of greyhounds." 

Danilo, very uncomfortable at finding himself imder a roof, 
was completely abashed at receiving an order from the young 
lady: he cast down his eyes and tried to make his escape with- 
out seeming to hear, taking great care, however, not to run 
against her or hit her by some clumsy movement. 

The old coimt, though he had always kept up a hunting 
establishment on a grand footing, had ceased to hunt since he 
had placed it in his son's hands; however, on this 15th of 
September, feeling well and in good spirits, he decided on 
joining the party. 

The hunters and horses were soon assembled in front of the 
house. Nicholas as he passed Natacha and P^tia was too 
much absorbed in his arrangements to heed what they said to 
him — how could a man be expected to think of trifles at such 
a serious moment. He saw to everything himself, sent forward 
the huntsmen with the hounds, mounted his 'chestnut horse 
Donetz, and whistling to his own dogs, he leapt the hedge and 
rode off across country towards the plantation. A groom 
followed leading a dark bay mare which the old count was to 
ride, after driving to a certain rendezvous in his drosky. 

Fifty-four hounds with forty greyhounds and several dogs in 
leash, six huntsmen and a whole troop of keepers — in all a 
hundred and thirty dogs and twenty horsemen, set forth at 
once. Each dog knew whom he was to obey, and answered to 
his name; each man knew what he was to do and where he 
was to stand. When they had quitted the park they silently 
turned down the high road, but soon left it for the fields, where 
the horses' hoofs sank noiselessly into the deep turf or splashed 
up the water ia the puddles in the lanes. The dull mist was 
still softly falling; the whistle of a huntsman rang now and then 
through the still air — a horse whinnied, a long whip cracked 
sharply and the truant dog thus recalled to duty whined 



82 War and Peace 

plaintively. The cavalcade had gone about half way when 
suddenly a party of five more horsemen emerged from the fog, 
followed by their dogs, and joined the Rostows; at their head 
rode a handsome old man of dignified mien, with a long, thick 
grey moustache. 

'' Good morning, little uncle I " said Nicholas. 

" A sure find 1 . . . Forward, quick march 1 " said the new- 
comer, a small proprietor of the neighbourhood and distantly 
related to the Rostows. " I was quite certain — ^I said you would 
be sure to come out; and you were in the right. It is a sure 
find . . . Forward, quick march ! " he repeated — ^his favourite 
watchword. ** Close round the wood as soon as possible, for 
my man tells me that the Uaguines are out near Korniki and 
they might carry off the whole litter under your nose . . . But it 
is a sure find. Forward, quick march! " 

'' I am going straight there. Shall we get our packs to- 
gether? " The order was given, and the two horsemen rode 
on, side by side. 

Natacha, with a shawl wrapped round her so that nothing 
was to be seen of her eager face but the sparkling eyes, soon 
came up with them, followed by P6tia, MikaOo the huntsman, 
and a stable lad, who served her as body-guard. P^tia laughed 
without rhyme or reason and teased his pony with his whip. 
Natacha, graceful and firm in her saddle, checked her steed's 
ardour with a practised hand; a handsome Arab, with a lustrous 
black coat. 

The "little uncle'* cast a disapproving side-glance at the 
youngsters, for wolf himting is a serious business and allows of 
no frivolities. 

" Good-moming, little uncle; we are of the party you see! " 
cried P6tia. 

** Good-moming, good-moming. — ^Don't ride the dogs down," 
said the old man sternly. 

"Nicholas, what a dear beast Trounila is! He knew me 
at once," said Natacha, whistling to her favourite dog. 

" In the first place, Trounila is not a beast, but a wolf-hound." 
said Nicholas, with a glance which was intended to convey to 
his sister a due sense of his own superiority, and the gulf between 
him and her. She understood. 

" We shall not be in your way, little uncle," she went on. 
** We will get in no one's way; we will stay where we are posted 
without stirring." 

" Nothing can be wiser, little countess. Only mind you do 



The Invasion 83 

not fall off your horse^ for if you do it will be a sure find — 
no picking you up again 1 Forward^ quick march! " 

By this time ihey were within a hundred fathoms^ of the 
plantation. Rostow and the little imde having decided from 
which side the pack should be started^ Nicholas pointed out a 
place where Natacha might stand — and whence^ in all proba* 
bility^ she would see nothing — and pushed on beyond a little 
ravine. 

'' Steady^ little nephew; the old one is the mother! Do not 
let her slip!" 

"You will see," replied Rostow — "Hi, Karae!" he called 
to a dog, hideous from old age but safe to fly at a she-wolf, even 
when alone. 

The old count knew by experience what an eager hunter his 
son was, and he made haste to join the party; hardly had each 
man taken his place when the drosky came rolling easily across 
the level ground, and set down Coimt Ilia Andr^i6vitch on the 
spot he had chosen for himself beforehand. His face was 
ruddy and his spirits high; he tucked up his fur cloak, took 
his gun and ammunition from the keeper, and heavily mounted 
his steady old mare, desiring the coachman to take the carriage 
home again. He was not a very keen sportsman, but he adhered 
to all the rules of the himt; he took up his position on the skirts 
of the wood, gathered up the reins in his left hand, settled him- 
self in the saddle, and, his arrangements being complete, looked 
about him with a smile .... He was ready. 

By his side was his body-servant S6mione Tchekmar, a good 
horseman but heavy with years, holding in leash three long-* 
haired, grey Russian wolf-hounds — a peculiar breed — ^keen dogs, 
though like their master, aged, and lying at his feet. About 
a hundred paces ofE was the count's groom, Mitka, a bold rider 
and a reckless sportsman. The count, faithful to an old habit, 
swallowed a dram of capital hunter's brandy, ate a little slice 
of meat, and washed it down with half a bottle of his favourite 
Bordeaux. The liquor and the fresh air gave him a colour, his 
eyes brightened, and as he sat, wrapped up in his warm hand- 
some furs, he looked like a child brought out for a treat. 

Tchekmar, a lean, hollow-cheeked fellow, having likewise 
made himself comfortable, looked at his master — ^for the last 
thirty yearns they had been inseparable companions — and seeing 
him in such a pleasant temper, proceeded to open a conversation 
as pleasant as his mood. A third person, also on horseback^ 
^ Or rather more: the sajene is about 6 feet lo in. 



84 



War and Peace 



an old white-bearded man in a woman's pelisse and wearing a 
preposterously high cap^ now came noiselessly to the spot^ and 
drew up a litde way behind the count. 

" Well, Nastacia Ivanovna," — ^Nastacia was the buffoon of 
the neighbourhood — " mind what you are about. If you 
frighten the brute you know what Danilo will have to say to 
you." The count spoke in a whisper and winked at the fellow. 

" Oh, I have teeth and nails, too," replied Nastacia Ivanovna. 

"Hush — ^hush!" whispered the count, then turning to 
S^mione he asked: "Have you seen Natacha Ilinischna. 
Where is she? " 

"With her brother, near the thicket by Yarow: what a 
treat for her, and she is quite a young lady, too I " 

" But is it not wonderful to see her on horseback^ S6mione? 
How she rides ! She might be a man ! " 

" It is really wonderful ! She is afraid of nothing, and so 
firm in her saddle ! " 

" And where is Nicholas? " 

" Out by Liadow .... Never fear, he knows the best 
places — ^and what a rider I Danilo and I wonder to see him 
sometimes ! " said Semione, who was very ready to flatter his 
master. 

" Aye, aye, sits a horse well, doesn't he? " 

" Quite a picture! The other day, for instance, in the plain 
by Zavarzine, when he was riding down the fox on that horse 
of his. It cost a thousand roubles — but the rider is beyond 
price ! And such a handsome fellow ! You would have to look 
a long time to find a match for him ! " 

" Aye, aye," said the count again. " Yes, indeed . . . ." 
And he picked up the skirt of his fur cloak and felt in his pocket 
for his snuff-box. 

" Then the other day," Semione went on, seeing how much 
pleasure he was giving his master, " coming out of church, 
when Michael Sidorovitch met him . . . ." but Semione broke 
off short; the rush of the pack in hot pursuit, and the barking 
of some of the dogs struck his ear through the still air; he put 
down his head and made a sign to the count to keep silence: 
" They have found the scent," he whispered, " they are going 
off towards Liadow." 

The count, still smiling over S^mione's last speech, sat gazing 
into the distance with his snuff-box open in his hand, without 
thinking of taking a pinch. Danilo's horn warned them that 
they had caught sight of the wolf; the packs followed close to 



The Invasion 85 

the three blood-hounds^ and all gave tongue in the way peculiar 
to a wolf-hunt. The dog-keepers now only shouted encourage- 
ment. Above all other voices and cries Danilo's was distinctly 
heard^ passing from the deepest bass to the shrillest yell, and 
loud enough by itself to ring through the wood and far across 
the country with its cheering call. 

The count and his squire soon perceived that the pack had 
been divided; one half^ barking vociferously, was becoming 
more distant and the others, driven by Danilo, were breaking 
through the wood at a few paces from where they were posted; 
presently the direction of the noise told them that the hunt 
was moving further afield. S6mione sighed and slipped one of 
the dogs; the coimt, too, sighed, and his attention reverting to 
bis snuff-box, he opened it and took a pinch. 

** Back ! " cried Sdmione at this instant to one of the dogs 
that was struggling to make for the open. The count was 
startled and let his snuff-box fall. Nastacia dismounted and 
picked it up. 

Suddenly — ^as will happen occasionally — ^the hunt was coming 
their way; all those yelping, baying throats seemed to be close 
in front of them — upon them I 

The count looked to the right and caught sight of Mitka, 
who, with his eyes starting out of his head, was signalling to 
him with his cap to look at something in the opposite direction. 
" Your game I " he shouted in a voice that was all the louder 
for long suppression; and slipping the dogs, he rode up at full 
gallop. 

The count and S6mione rushed out of the wood, and, on their 
left, saw the wolf coming towards them at a swinging trot, with 
easy boimds and no appearance of hurry. The excited dogs 
tore themselves free, and flung themselves on his track. 

The brute paused, turned his heavy head to look at them, 
with tbe deliberate awkwardness of a man suffering from 
angina, then, cocking his tail, went on his way and in two 
leaps vanished in the thicket. At the same moment, from the 
opposite skirt of the plantation, out came a dog, then another; 
then the whole pack, astray and puzzled, crossed the clearing 
in pursuit of the game, and Danilo's chestnut, covered with 
foam, came pushing his way between the nut-trees. The rider, 
bending as low as he could, and bareheaded, his grey hair all 
on end, his face red and streaming, was shouting till his voice 
cracked to rally the dogs. But when he saw the count his eyes 
flashed fire. He threatened him with his whip roaring out a 



86 War and Peace 

Plundering oath: "Devil take such hunters « • « • To have 
let the ^ame slip! . . . ." 

Judging, -no doubt^ that his master^ who looked quite scared, 
was unworthy of further comment, he let the blow that had 
been meant for the count iiall on the quivering and steaming 
flank of his innocent steed, and disappeared among the trees 
after the hounds. The count, taken aback by this audacious 
scolding, tried to smile and turned to S^mione with a look of 
pathetic appeal — ^but S6mione was gone, too. Riding in and 
out of the brushwood he was trying to start the wolf again, 
and the greyhounds, too, were working right and left; but the 
beast sneaked off through the cover and was soon lost to their 
ken. 

Nicholas, expecting every minute to see the wolf pass, had 
not left his post; and as he heard the cry — sometimes near 
and sometimes far — and the different bark of the hoimds under 
various circumstances, when the shouts and yelping were at 
their height, he could form a good idea of what was happening. 
He understood that there must be two old wolves in the planta- 
tion with their cubs; that the pack had divided after finding 
the two tracks; and he instinctively felt that some bad luck 
had come in the way. Then he invented a thousand theories, 
and tried to calculate which side the game would come from, 
and how he would finish it — ^but nothing came. His hopes 
turned to despair; he even found himself praying — entreating 
Providence — as we do under the stress of some feeling, even 
while owning to ourselves the triviality of the object prayed for. 

" Why not grant me this? " he muttered. " Thou, Lord, 
art great, and perhaps it is a sin to long for it, but I implore 
Thee, O God 1 Let one of the two old wolves come my way, so 
that Karae may fly at the beast's throat and bring him down — 
here, where little imde can see him I . . . ." And during this 
half'-hour his restless, eager eye had examined again and again 
every furrow of the clearing tiat lay before him — every indb of 
the plantation close by, where two gnarled oaks stretched their 
boughs over a clump of young aspens, and the ravine with its 
water-worn banks; while the " uncle's " cap towered above the 
scrub on his left. 

" No; it is just my luck — everywhere the same," he said to 
himself. '' In war, at play — ^always the same thing; atAuster- 
litz, and that evening at Dologhow's ! " 

He strained his eyes to mark the slightest movanent, and 
his ear to catch the faintest change of tone in the dogs' cry. 



r 

The Invasion 87 

Presently, as he glanced again to the right, he saw something 
come leaping towards him, across the open ground. " Is it 
possible ! " — ^he could scarcely breathe in the agitation of seeing 
his hopes on the eve of fulfilment; and this piece of good 
fortune, so hoped for and despaired of, was coming straight 
down upon him, noiselessly, with no preliminary fuss or warn- 
ing. He could hardly believe his eyes, but soon it was beyond 
a doubt. It was the wolf, and no mistake — an old wolf, with a 
grey coat and russet belly, trotting at his ease, safe from pursuit, 
striding heavily across ridge and furrow. 

Rostow, holding his breath, looked at his dogs: some were 
lying down, others standing by, but none had seen the game — 
not even old Karae, who, with his head thrown back and his 
muzzle half-open, showing his yellow teeth, clattered his jaws 
while he hunted the fleas on his hind leg. " Up, dogs ! Wolf! " 
said Rostow in a low voice. The dogs pricked up their ears, 
and ICarae, ceasing his search, started up as if he moved 
by a spring, wagging his tail, and shedding a few tufts of 
hair. 

" Shall I slip the leash? " said Nicholas to himself. 

The wolf, quitting the cover, was coming on in a direct line, 
suspecting nothing. Suddenly he checked himself: he had 
just seen a man's eyes fixed on him, no doubt — z. sight hitherto 
unknown to his experience. He stood hesitating and seeming to 
reflect: Should he turn back, or go on? " Beware," he seemed 
to think. He started again with apparent indifference, but at 
a round pace, and went of! with long leaps, and without looking 
behind him. 

" At him! Wolf! " shouted Nicholas. His clever bay went 
oflE like an arrow, over hedge and rut, to reach the open after 
the wolf. The hounds, swift as lightning, soon outstripped 
him. Nicholas, perfectly unconscious of £dl minor details — of 
his own shout, of the terrific pace at which he was riding, and 
of the ground he was riding over — ^saw nothing but the wolf. 
The brute, without turning to the right or left, went faster and 
faster, straight for the hollow. Milka, the large brindled 
hound, was the first to overtake him; nearer and nearer — she 
was on the point of gripping him when he just cast a side glance 
at the foe, and Milka, instead of setting her teeth in hun, as 
usual, cocked her tail and stood pointing. 

"At him! Wolf!" yelled Nicholas. Liubime, a large red- 
haired dog, close on Milka's heels, flew at the brute and gripped 
his haunch, but shrunk off again in alarm. The wolf crouched 



88 War and Peace 

for an instant, and showed his teeth, then he galloped on again, 
followed, within a couple of feet/ by the dogs who dared not 
attack him. 

" He will escape to a certainty! " thought Nicholas, and he 
tried to incite the dogs, but his voice was husky; he looked 
round for his staunch old hound, his only hope, and shouted to 
him with a vigorous call: " Karae — ^Wolf 1 At him! " 

Karae, with every muscle strained to the utmost his age 
allowed, was keeping pace side by side with the terrible brute, 
evidently intendmg to outrun him, and attack him in front; 
but Nicholas could see from the swift wiry action of the wild 
beast, and the heavier pace of the dog, that this manoeuvre 
would be frustrated. He saw with horror that the space 
between the animals and the copse, which would be the salva- 
tion of the wolf, was diminishing rapidly; but in a moment his 
hopes revived, for, beyond the wolf and coming towards him, 
a himtsman and several dogs were now approaching. One, a 
dark-coloured hoimd, unknown to Nicholas, and belonging, no 
doubt, to a strange pack, flew at the brute, and nearly over- 
threw him; but he recovered his balance, and attacked the dog 
with amazing nimbleness, setting his teeth in his flesh; and the 
hapless aggressor, with a gash in his loins, beat his head on the 
earth with howls of anguish. 

" Karae! oh, merciful Heaven! " cried Nicholas, in despair. 

The wolf, scenting fresh danger from old ELarai — ^who, now 
that his foe was checked, barred his way — ^tucked his tail 
between his legs, and went ofE with a bound at a tremendous 
pace; but, wonder of wonders! Nicholas saw Karae suddenly 
leap on the brute's back and set his teeth in his throat, and then 
wolf and dog rolled over together, and down into the deU 
beyond. 

The whole pack rushed after them. The sight of the 
struggling wolf down in the hollow, in the midst of that chaos 
of heads, where all that appeared of the prey was now and then 
his dull fur or a kicking hind leg, or his panting muzzle with 
ears laid back — ^for Karae still gripped him by the throat — ^was 
one of the keenest delights Rostow had ever known. He laid 
his hand on his saddle, and was about to dismount and go down 
to dispatch the foe, when the brute, shaking his great head free 
above the dogs, sat upon his haunches; then, showing his teeth, 
with a whisk of his tail, he leaped up and was out of reach in an 
instant. Karae, either wounded or bruised, and with his hair on 

^ An archine, about 28 inches. 



The Invasion 89 

end, dra^^d himself with difficulty out of the ravine into which 
he had fallen with the wolf. 

" Oh! what a grievous pity! " cried Nicholas, in despair. 

Fortunately the little uncle's huntsman, followed by his dogs, 
was ready to fly ofl at a gallop after the fugitive and intercept 
him in time. He was again surrounded; Nicholas, his groom, 
and the little uncle with his huntsman, all pranced round him, 
shouting: " At him ! Wolf ! " prepared, whenever he crouched, 
to jump oQ their horses, and riding forward to circumvent him 
each time he pulled himself toge&er to make a rush for the 
thicket, which was his last and only chance for life. 

At the very beginning Danilo had come tearing out of the 
plantation, and, looking on at the struggle, had taken the 
victory for granted; but seeing the brute make good his escape, 
he rode ofl in a straight line to the copse to cut off his 
retreat, and, thanks to this manoeuvre, came up with him just 
as the little uncle's pack once more held him at bay. Danilo 
rode up without a word, his bare knife in his left hand, while 
he flogged his bay with his huntsman's whip as if it had been a 
flail, till the foam lay in streaks on his reeking flanks. He flew 
past Nicholas, and tiie next instant Rostow heard a heavy fall; 
it was Danilo, who had thrown himself on the wolf's haunches 
and seized him by the cars. They all — even the wolf — ^knew 
that this was the finish. The foe made a final effort to free 
himself, but the dogs held him fast. Danilo rose and then 
again dropped with sSl his weight on the brute, still gripping him 
by the ears. Nicholas went forward to stab the panting beast. 

"No need for that," said Danilo. "We will put a bit 
between his teeth ! " He set foot on the wolf's throat, and 
forced a short thick stake between his tightly-set jaws; then 
the men tied his legs, and Danilo took the brute on his broad 
shoulders. 

Tired, but triumphant, all helped to tie the wolf on the back 
of Danilo's horse which stood quivering with alarm, and he was 
carried off to the rendezvous of the hunt, followed by all the 
dogs in full cry. Every one came up to examine the victim, 
whose great, square head hung down from the weight of the 
stake in his jaws, while his glassy eyes glared at the crowd of 
dogs and men. His limbs trembled at every touch. Count 
Ilia Andr6i^vitch came up with the rest: "Ah! an old one! 
It is an old one, is not it? " he said to Danilo. 

"Certainly, an old one/' said Danilo, taking his cap off 
respectfully. 



90 War and Peace 

" Do you know you were in a terrible rage just now? " 
Danilo did not reply^ but he smiled with the embarrassed 
shy look of a spoilt child. 



CHAPTER XII 

Th£ old count rode home; Natacha and P6tia promising to 
follow him soon. The day was still young, and they took 
advantage of it to ride a little further. Two dogs were sent 
into a thick cover at the bottom of the dell, and Nicholas took 
up a position whence he could see all the men. His beater, 
placed just opposite to him, stood hidden in a ditch and screened 
by a clump of nut-trees. The dogs were hardly out of sight 
when they gave tongue, and in a few minutes the view haUoo 
rang out; tibe pack rushed off towards the open, and Nicholas, 
waiting to catch sight of the fox on the level, saw the huntsmen 
in their red caps ride on to the front. His man had only just 
time to slip the dogs, when he spied a red fox of peculiar colour 
and shape scurrying across country; the pack had sur- 
rounded it in a moment. Sweeping the groimd with his brush, 
the fox ran round and round in decreasing circles, till one dog — 
a white one — ^gripped him; then a black one; the melee was 
general; the dogs' heads, all turned on the prey, formed an 
irregular circle, but he could scarcely distinguish their move- 
ments. Two huntsmen, one in a red cap and one wearing a 
green overcoat, went up together. 

" What is the meaning of that? Where does that strange 
huntsman come from? It is not the little imcle's man!" 
thought Nicholas. 

The huntsmen despatched the fox, but it seemed to him, 
from a distance, that they still stood in a knot, close to their 
horses, without tying the beast up; some of the dogs had lain 
down, while the men were gesticulating fiercely and pointing 
to the carcass ; presently a bugle call was sounded, announcing 
that a dispute had arisen. 

*' It is one of Ilaguine's men quarrelling with Ivan," said the 
groom. Nicholas sent the man back to fetch Natacha and 
P6tia, and slowly rode forward to the spot where the keepers 
were collecting the pack; there he dismounted and waited for 
the issue of the squabble. The huntsman who had been taken 
to task by the other came towards his young master, with the 



The Invasion 91 

fox hung up to his saddle. He took of! his hat, and made 
evident eflEorts to be respectful though he was choking with 
rage; he had a black eye, too, but of this he did not seem to 
be aware. 

" What is going on here? " said Nicholas. 

" Are they to be allowed to hunt with our dogs? And it 
was my mouse-coloured dog, too, that nipped him. ... He 
would not listen to reason, and had got hold of the fox when 
I came up — and I rolled them over together. Here is the fox, 
properly tied up. . . . Perhaps you would like a taste of 
this! " he went on fiercely, and he drew his knife — ^he fancied, 
no doubt, that he was still haranguing his adversary. 

Nicholas turned to P6tia and Natacha, who had just joined 
him, and begged them to wait while he went to try to settle 
the matter. The victorious huntsman was telling all the 
details of his achievement to his comrades, who were full of 
sjmipathetic curiosity. 

It happened that Ilaguine, who was on bad terms with the 
Rostows, and, indeed, carrying on a law-suit against the count, 
was himting that very day over ground which, by custom and 
tradition, had long been regarded as theirs; and, as if he had 
done it on purpose, he had chosen to go to the wood where they 
were stationed, and had even allowed his man to follow the fox 
that the Rostows had put up. 

Nicholas, who knew no moderation in his feelings and opinions, 
was not personally acquainted with Ilaguine; but he accepted 
for truth certain reports of arbitrary and violent behaviour on 
his part and hated him cordially; so he went straight up to 
him, clenching his fist on his whip, and quite prepared to come 
to blows without a moment's reflection. As soon as he got out 
of the wood his eyes fell on a big horseman, wearing a cap 
bordered with beaver, riding a fine black horse, and followed 
by two grooms; this was Ila^ine himself. 

But instead of a foe to be summarily dealt with, Nicholas 
found himself face to face with an amiable gentleman, well- 
bred, and anxious to make his acquaintance; who lifted his 
cap, expressed the greatest regret at the quarrel between their 
followers; assured him that his huntsman should be severely 
punished for hunting with any pack but his own, and finally 
invited Rostow to himt on his, Ilaguine's, land. 

Natacha, who had felt very uneasy lest the interview should 
take a serious tum^ had followed her brother at a distance; 
now^ seeing the adversary bowing and amiable, .she joined the 



92 War and Peace 

group, naguine immediately took oft his hat and expressed 
his admiration of the young himtress^ declaring that she was 
like Diana^ no less by her love of sport than by her beauty. To 
win forgiveness for his man's misdemeanour^ he entreated 
Rostow to come with him at once and start a hare at a spot 
about a verst further on^ which^ as he said^ swarmed with hares. 
Nicholas was quite willing^ and the army of hunters^ thus con- 
siderably increased^ was once more put in motion. 

They had to ride across country; Uie gentlemen rode together, 
each of them furtively examining his neighbour's pack, and 
quaking at the possibility of finding him possessed of a dog 
superior to any of his own in form or scent. 

Rostow was particularly struck by the beauty of one purely- 
bred hound, long in the body with muscles IDce cast steel, a 
fine sharp nose, prominent black eyes, and spotted with tan; 
it belonged to Ilaguine. He had heard much of the swiftness 
of some of Ilaguine's coursing dogs, and saw that this perfect 
little dog was a match for his own Milka. In the midst of a 
dull conversation on the crops, he suddenly said, turning to 
Ilaguine: "You have a nice dog there, it strikes me. Full 
of go?" 

" That one? Yes, she is a good dog, does her work well," 
said Ilaguine, affecting indifference, though, in fact, Erza had 
cost him three famihes of house-servants. 

" Then you, too, had a bad harvest this summer," he went 
on, taking up the thread of the conversation. Then, feeling 
that he ought to return the compliment, he added: " But you, 
count, have a splendid dog, too — ^that one with black spots." 

" Milka? Yes, she is not a bad dog — a good one to go. . . . 
You will soon see," added Nicholas to himself, " what sort of 
a dog Milka is, if only we can put up an old hare," and he 
turned to his groom and told the man he would give any one 
a rouble who would find a hare on her form. 

" I cannot understand," Ilaguine went on, " how sportsmen 
can be so jealous about each other's packs, and the game they 
kill. For my part I enjoy the whole thing — ^the ride, and 
pleasant company — such as I have lighted on to-day, for 
mstance" — and he lifted his hat to Natacha. "But as to 
coimting skins or heads, that is not in my line; indeed, to tell 
you the truth, I really do not care about it." 

" And you are quite right." 

" What do I care if my dog is out of luck; I can watch the 
run with just as much interest. Besides. . . ." 



The Invasion 93 

A shrill halloo from one of the beaters intemipted him; the 
man was standing on a hillock holding up his whip^ and now 
repeated his call; this was the signal that a hare was squatting 
a few feet in front of him. 

*' I believe he has found her/' said Ilaguine with affected 
indiflference. " Well, let us give her a run." 

" Come on — ^let us all go," said Nicholas, with a glance of 
defiance at Erza and Rougai, his Milka's two rivals, though 
they had never been pitted against each other before: "*And 
if she were to be ignominiously beaten? " thought he, as he 
went forward. 

''Is it an old hare? " asked Ilaguine, and he whistled to 
Erza, not without anxiety. "And you, Michael Niknoro- 
vitch? " he added, turning to the little uncle, who looked 
extremely sullen. 

" I will have nothing to do with it. Your dogs I — a sure 
find; forward, quick march! — ^Why, they cost a village each 
and are worth thousands of roubles! — ^I will look on while your 
dogs settle it between them! — ^Rougsu, good dog," he added, 
with all the affection and confidence he felt as he called his 
favourite. 

Natacha understood and shared her brother's excitement, 
and the anxiety that the two elder men vainly tried to conceal. 

The pack, and the rest of the himting party followed more 
slowly; the beater who had found the hsu^ still stood on his 
little knoll without moving, waiting for the gentlemen. 

" Which way is her head? " a^ed Nicholas; but the hare 
did not give time for the answer. With one bound she was off; 
the dogs rushed down the slope after her, and the horsemen 
started at a gallop; some to help the dogs to turn her, and 
some to keep their heads in the right direction. Ilaguine, 
Natacha, and the little uncle flew on, without heeding where 
they were going — ^now following the dogs, and now pursuing 
the game, dying with terror lest they should lose their match. 
The hare was old and strong; laying back her ears to listen to 
the shouts and the tramp of horses and dogs that had so suddenly 
closed her in on all sides, she took a few long leaps, and then, as 
the dogs came nearer, understanding her danger, she chose her 
course, cocked first one ear and then the other, put forth her 
utmost speed and suddenly couched among the stubble. A few 
yards ahead lay a marshy meadow. The two dogs belonging to 
the beater who had put her up were the first to recover the 
scent, but they had not come up with her when Erza, Ilaguine's 



94 ^ar and Peace 

dog^ outstripped them. Within a short distance of the game 
she made a leap to stop it; but she missed her springs fell^ and 
rolled over^ which gave the hare a start. Then Milka tore down 
upon her and gained upon her. 

'' Miloucha^ good dog! My little Milouchal " cried Nicholas^ 
his triumphant shout ringing through the air. Milka seemed 
to be on the point of seizing the hare^ but her impetus carried 
her too fax, the hare having stopped i^ort. Erza now came to 
the front again; she leaped forward: to see her fly through the 
air it might have been thought that she had measured^ this 
time with careful accuracy^ the distance she must take to fall 
exactly on her prey. 

'' £rza^ well done^ Erza I '^ cried Ilt^ine^ with a pathetic 
intonation that Erza did not stay to listen to^ for at the moment 
when she was about to nip the game it was ofiE again^ along the 
ridge between the field and the meadow beyond. Erza and 
Milka^ running side by side like a well-matched pair^ gained once 
more on the hare, but the bog stopped their progress. 

" Rougid. Have her, Roug^! — ^a sure find, forward, quick 
march! " shouted a third voice, and Rougai, the httle uncle's 
round-shouldered dog, bending his back and stretching his legs 
as if he worked by a spring, came up with the other, passed 
them, and by a supernatural e£fort seized the hare which with 
one nip he flung back into the field; he caught it with another 
spring, and then rolled over with it into the mud, which stuck 
to his skin in large patches. 

The men and dogs gathered round them. The little unde, 
triumphantly happy, dismounted, picked up the game and 
shook its foot in the air for the blood to drop off. His excite- 
ment sparkled in his eyes which wandered in every direction 
with a scared look; he moved with rough jerks and his words 
were incoherent; " A sure find . . . forward! — ^There is a dog 
for you! He is worth all the others put together, dear or 
cheap! ... A sure find — forward, quick march!" He was 
hoarse and breathless, and to see the furious glances he cast on 
the others it might have been supposed that he thought them 
all his enemies, and that after being insulted and ill-used, he had 
just achieved some brilliant reprisals: 

''Look at your thousand-rouble dogs! Here, Rougai, old 
boy, you may have that; you have earned it well! " and he 
threw him the hare's muddy foot which he had cut off. 

" She is quite done up-Hshe ran the game down three times 



The Invasion 95 

by herself/' said Nicholas^ not addressing any one in particular, 
and paying no heed to what was going on around him. 

" He took her sideways; a pretty way of doing it! " said 
Ilaguine's groom. 

" Of course when Erza had run her out^ any dog could grip 
her — ^a farmyard cur even ! ** added Ilaguine^ whose face was 
crimson and his breath short after his mad ride. 

Natacha^ no less excited^ was shouting too^ with wild cries of 
delight of which perhaps she would have been ashamed any- 
wh^e else^ but which were only the utterance of her own excite- 
ment and of that of the others. The little uncle tied the hare's 
feet and hitched it across his horse's crupper^ and still preserving 
his sullen, domineering expression, he went ofE without another 
word. Nicholas and Ilaguine were too much piqued in their 
pride as sportsmen to recover their assumed indifEerence, and 
they watched Rougai for a long time yet. The old round- 
shouldered hound, muddy up to his ears, trotted at his master's 
heels with the lordly philosophy of success. " As you see, I 
am just like any other dog! " he seemed to be sa3dng, '' but 
when it comes to work, that is quite another thing. — ^Mark me 
well!" 

When, after this incident, the little unde addressed Nicholas, 
the yoimg man felt such a mark of condescension an honour, 
in spite of all that had passed. 

It was getting late when Ilaguine took leave of Rostow; and 
it was only then that Nicholas suddenly became aware of the 
immense distance they had come from home. He gladly 
accepted the little uncle's invitation, when Michael Niknoro- 
vitch proposed that the himting party from Otradnoe should 
spend the night at his house. ** And suppose you were to come 
on there, too? What do you say to that? A sure find — 
quick march! — ^It is a damp evening, you will get a rest, and 
the young countess shall be driven home by-and-by." 

The suggestion was gladly acceded to; one of the keepers 
was sent to Otradnoe to fetch a carriage, while the whole party 
were conducted by the little uncle to his domain and house. 
They were met at the front hoor by four or five men-servants 
who attended on their master, and a dozen or so of women, old 
and young, appeared at a door in the background, their curiosity 
much excited by the advent of the cavalcade. When Natacha 
rode up, a woman on horseback, this was the climax; excite- 
ment was too much for them; they pressed forward to examine 
her, and the boldest even stared her in the face, all making 



96 



War and Peace 



their remarks, with perfect frankness^ as though she were some 
supernatural being ai^ would neither hear nor imderstand 
them. *" 

** Only look^ Arina^ she sits on one side, and her skirt hangs 
down — ^and look, she has got a horn I " 

" Merciful Heaven ! and a knife ! " 

" How do you keep on? " asked one more forward than her 
companions and addressing Natacha. 

The little unde dismounted on the steps of his timber-built 
house, which was buried in the depths of an imcultured garden. 
With a glance at his people he bid them stand back; and each 
of them having received the necessary orders for iht entertain- 
ment and comfort of the guests, they all instantly vanished. 
Then returning to Natacha, he helped her to dismoimt, and 
gave her his hand up the worm-eaten steps. 

Inside the house, which was far from being dazzlingly clean, 
the beams were not even whitewashed, and it was easy to per- 
ceive that the last thing that ever would occur to the inhabitants 
was to remove the stains and dirt that were everjnvhere con- 
spicuous. A sickly smell of fresh gathered apples pervaded 
the narrow hall, which was hung wi3i the skins of wolves and 
foxes. They were led through a small dining-room containing 
a folding-table of red pine and a few chairs, into the drawing- 
room, where the principal object again was a round, birch-wood 
table in front of a sofa. Beyond this was the master's private 
room which reeked of tobacco and dogs. The stuff that covered 
the furniture and the carpet was ragged and squalid; on the 
walls, which were covered with stains like everything else, 
hung a portrait of Souvorow with those of the little uncle's 
father and mother, and his own, in military uniform. 

He begged his guests to be seated, and then left them for a 
few minutes; Rougai meanwhile, washed and brushed down, 
came into the room, took his usual place on a settee, and pro- 
ceeded to finish his toilet by hcking and nibbling himself. 
The room opened by another door on a passage, part of which 
was divided off by a ragged screen, and they could hear laughter 
and women's voices beyond. Natacha, Nicholas, and P6tia 
threw off their furs and stretched themselves on the deep sofa. 
P^tia indeed, supporting his head on his arms, was, in a few 
minutes, sound asleep. Though their faces were scorched and 
tingling from the cold air, Nicholas and Natacha were in high 
spirits, and above all desperately hungry. Nicholas, being no 
longer on his dignity as a man and a sportsman, answered his 



mm^ 



The Invasion 97 

sister's twinkle of amusement with a hearty laugh^ in which she 
joined without caring why. 

The little uncle soon re-appeared in a short jacket^ blue 
trousers^ and evening boots; tiiis costume^ which once before 
at Otradnoe had been the subject of much amusement and 
mockery to Natacha^ did not strike her here as being more 
absurd than other folks' frock coats. The little uncle^ in a 
radiant mood^ laughed in chorus: 

" That is all rights little countess I Ah ha I Youth is a good 
find — ^forward I . . . . I never saw her like before," he added, 
as he handed a long Turkish pipe to Nicholas, he himself filling 
a short one that he handled lovingly with three fingers. " In 
the saddle aU day like a man^ just as if it were nothing at all ! " 

At this instant a girl — who was, no doubt, barefoot, to judge 
from the noiselessness of her tread — opened a door to admit a 
woman of about forty, rather stout and fresh-coloured, with a 
double chin and coral lips; she was carrying a huge tray. Her 
kindly look and cordial smile as she came in with a respectful 
courtesy to her master's guests^ bespoke genial hospitality. 
Though the bulkiness of her figure obliged her to hold her head 
thrown back, she was not the less extremely nimble in all her 
movements. When she had set down the tray, with plump 
white hands she quickly set out the bottles, glasses and little 
dishes of zakouska (savoury snacks) with which it was loaded. 
Then retiring to the door, she paused a moment, still smiling. 
Look at me," she seemed to say before she vanished. 

Now do you understand the little uncle? " It was impossible 
not to understand. It was so self-evident that not only Nicholas 
but even Natacha could guess the full significance of Anicia 
Fedorovna's anxious and proud expression each time she came 
into the room. 

And what had she not piled on to that tray? A bottle of 
herb-liqueur and one of fruit S3Tup, pickled mushrooms, wheat 
and buckwheat cakes, butter; fresh honey, prepared honey, 
mead, apples, fresh nuts, baked nuts, nuts preserved in honey, 
fruit jams of sugar and of molasses, and above all a fine bam 
and a fowl roasted to a turn. And aU cooked and arranged 
by herself, and exhaling a savoury fragrance, with the 
exquisite and appetising cleanliness that characterised her own 
person. 

" Taste this— take a little of that, countess," she kept saying, 
offering her one thing and another, and Natacha ate with a 
famous appetite. She thought she had never eaten, never seen 
11 D 



tt 



/ 



98 



War and Peace 



such light pastry^ such delicious preserves^ such capital nuts, 
nay, even so tempting a fowl. Nicholas and the little uncle, 
washing down their supper with fruit liqueur, discussed sport 
past and to come, Rougai's merits and Ilaguine's pack. Natacha, 
perched on the settee, listened to all they said with sparkling 
eyes, trying now and again to rouse P6tia to take his share of 
all the good things; but his vague replies showed that he was 
too sound asleep. She was beside herself with delight in this 
domestic scene, so new to her; and her only fear was lest the 
drosky should come which must carry her home sigain. 

It was after a brief silence, such as must sometimes occur 
when the master of a house is entertaining strangers for the 
first time, that the little uncle, talking to himself in response to 
some undercurrent of thought, exclaimed: 

" Yes, this is the way I would end my life! When once I 
am dead — a sure find ! forward ! . . . There is no one to come 
after me." 

He looked almost handsome as he spoke, and Nicholas re- 
membered how highly his father always spoke of him. He was 
known through all the country-side to be as disinterested and 
noble as he was eccentric, and he was constantly chosen to be 
arbitrator in family differences, executor and confidant. He 
was almost always unanimously re-elected judge, and he had 
filled a great variet}'^ of offices by election; but nothing could 
overcome his objection to active service. His time was regularly 
divided; in autumn he rode all over the country on his old 
stallion, in winter he stopped at home in his squalid mansion, 
and he spent the summer lying in the shade of the copse he 
called his garden. 

" Why don't you make up your mind to go on active service 
again, httle uncle ? " 

" I have served and had enough of it ... no good ... It 
is all very well for you, but for my part, I never could see the 
good of it. But hunting — ^ah 1 that is quite another thing . . . 
A sure find — forward ! — ^I say, open the door there ; who shut it ?" 

The door at the further end of the corridor led intp a room 
where the beaters and huntsmen generally took their meals. 
The girl's bare feet were heard outside, an invisible hand opened 
the door, and the sounds of a balalaika — a kind of guitar — 
struck by the fingers of a skilled musician, fell on their ear. 

*' It is Mitka, my coachman, who is playing; I bought him a 
first-rate instrument, I am fond of this kind of music." In fact 
it had become a custom that when they came in from hunting 



The Invasion 99 

Mitka should indulge his musical inventiyeness^ while his master 
listened with keen enjo3rment. 

" It is really very pretty," said Nicholas with affected indif- 
ference, as if he was ashamed to confess that he admired the 
music. 

" Very pretty! " exclaimed Natacha indignantly. " Why it 
is charming, beautiful! " Indeed the song to which she was 
listening struck as an ideal melody, just as the mushrooms, 
the honey, and Anicia's preserves seemed to her the best she 
had ever eaten. 

" Again — more, please," said Natacha when the music ceased. 
Mitka tuned the instrument and began the Banna, with varia- 
tions, in a different key. The master of the house, with his 
head on one side and a smile on his lips, hstened devoutly. 
The air was returned again and again to the musician's ready 
fingers, and the strings rang again and again to the same tune, 
but the audience were not tired of it. .^cia F6dorovna stood 
leaning agamst the door-post. 

"Listen to him countess," she said, with a smile like her 
master's. " He plays very well." 

" That was not right! " the little unde suddenly exclaimed 
with an eneigetic gesture. "Those notes should go faster, 
shorter. — ^Take them off! — Quick march! " 

" Do you play the balalaika ? " asked Natacha, in some 
surprise. 

" Aniciouchka ! " and the good man smiled knowingly, " just 
see whether my guitar has no strings broken; it is a long time 
since I last touched it." 

Anicia obeyed him with evident satisfaction, and brought the 
instrument. He took it with care, blew away a little dust that 
had settled upon it, and screwed up the strings with his lean 
fingers; then, settling himself comfortably, he curved his left 
elbow with a somewhat theatrical air, gripped the frets, and with 
a side glance at Anicia, struck a full ringing chord and began 
to improvise variations on a well-known popular tune. The 
rhythm was slow, but the burthen of it was softly and tenderly 
cheerful — ^with the cheerfulness of Anicia — it went to the heart 
of Nicholas and Natacha, and their spirits sang in unison. 
Anicia blushed and looked radiant, still smiling she hid her face 
m her handkerchief and left the room. The little uncle went 
on with the utmost steadiness and precision, and his gaze was 
fixed with vague inspiration on the spot where she had been 
standing. A subtle smile played under his grey moustache, 



JI 



loo War and Peace 

and grew broader whenever he emphasised the tune or ac- 
celerated the measure to mark the rhythm^ or when a string 
creaked on a difficult passage. 

''Delightful^ delightful! . . ." Natacha sprang up^ threw 
her arms round the little uncle and kissed him^ exclaiming^ 
'' Nicholas^ Nicholas i " appealing to her brother to share her 
surprise. 

The little uncle had begun again. Anicia and several others 
of the house-servants stood looking in at the door while he 
struck up the tune of, " There — out there, where the fountain 
flows, the maiden bids me wait/' finishing off with a chord and 
a slight shrug of the shoulders. 

" Well — ^well — ^and what next? " said Natacha, in a tone of 
such entreaty that her life might have depended on what should 
follow. The little uncle rose; it was as though there were in 
him two different men, and that one responded by a grave smile 
to the other, the musician who was earnestly pressing him to 
dance. 

"Forward then, little niece!" he suddenly exclaimed, and 
Natacha, flinging off her shawl, sprang into the middle of the 
room, put her hands on her hips and waited, slightly swinging 
from her waist. 

How, and by what mysterious intuition had this little countess, 
taught by a French emigrant, so completely absorbed with her 
native air all the inimitable and indescribable action of the 
children of the soil, motions so genuine, so typical — ^in short so 
Russian — ^and which loghel's famous shawl dance might long 
ago have effaced from her nature? As she stood waiting for 
the signal to b^[in, her eyes sparkling with fun and a confident 
smile on her lips, Nicholas and Hie rest of the bystanders ceased 
to feel a doubt as to her performance. It was like magic — of 
course she could do it: they had only to gaze and admire. 

Her every movement was so absolutely perfect that Anicia, 
after giving her the little handkerchief which was indispensable 
to Hie performance, stood laughing and crying both at once with 
all her hearty as she watched the steps and attitudes of this 
slender and gracious creature. In fact Natacha — a being very 
superior to t£e young countess brought up in velvets and silks 
— ^knew exactly how to feel and express, not only all that Anicia 
could feel and understand, but every sentiment that throbbed 
in the heart of her father, her mother — in every Russian 
heart. 

" Bravo, little coimtessi A sure find! forward! " cried the 



it 
it 



The Invasion * i o i 

little unde^ as she ended. -^^ Naw all ^e. w^t j^ to find a hand- 
some young husband for yoa! ".- f : :• -, • :.5 :\ : : .„: 
Not at all, he is found already^"" said Nicholas. ' -" - 
Oh I bless me ! *' said Hie old man, taken aback. Natacha 
nodded with a glad smile, '* And he is so handsome I " she added. 

But hardly had she uttered the words when a new set of ideas 
flashed through her mind. " Nicholas seems to think," thought 
she, " that my Andrew would not share or even approve of our 
jollity this evening, but I am sure he is wrong. — ^Where is he 
now, I wonder? " and for an instant her sweet face was clouded. 
" But what is the use of thinking of that! " and flashing into 
gaiety again she sat down by the little unde and entreated him 
to sing another song. He readily agreed. 

He sang as the peasant sings who thinks only of the words 
of the song, and to whom the tune is merely an accessory which 
comes as a matter of course and is of no use but to emphasise 
the rhythm. This way of singing, as the birds sing, was singu- 
larly charming and attractive in the worthy little uncle. Natacha 
in her enthusiasm declared she would never touch the harp again, 
but would learn to play the guitar; and she succeeded in stnldng 
a few chords. 

At near ten o'clock a lineika ^ arrived, with a drosky and three 
men on horseback, all sent in search of the yoimg people. The 
count and countess had been very much alarmed, the servant 
said, not knowing what could have happened to them P^tia 
was lifted without waking hiid into the lineika. Nicholas and 
Natacha got into the drosky, the little uncle covered and packed 
them wamly with paternal care, and he escorted them as far as 
the bridge, which they had to leave behind them, and to ford 
the river lower down where he had sent his men to wait with 
lanterns. 

*^ Good night, dear little niece! " was the last thing Natacha 
heard through the darkness, in the voice whose singing still 
rang in her ears. 

Ruddy fires gleamed in the huts of the village as they drove 
through it, and the wind blew the smoke about in sport. 

" The little uncle is a perfect jewdl " said Natacha, as they 
were rolling along the high road. 

" Yes," said Nicholas. " Are you cold? " 

" No, I am very comfortable, — ^so comfortable I" she repeated, 
puzzled hersdf at her own gladness^ 

^ A low, roomy cairia^ 



•■ v 



I02 WarrandiPcacc 

- « > 

Then for a long ^time they w<u:e silent. The nig^t was very 
dark and j^ f^g d^e/tbey could-sgaicely see the horses, though 
they heard them 'splashing through the mud. 

What was going on in this child's impressionable soul — 
always open to the most dissimilar influences and transient 
emotions? How was it that she could feel them all at once^ 
and harmonise them to a whole! She was glad^ as she had 
said> and within a short distance of home she suddenly lifted 
up her voice in jubilant tones, and sang the burden of the song 
she had been vainly trying to remember and had only just hit 
upon. 

" That is right, sure enough/' said her brother. 

" Nicholas, what were you thinking of just now? " she said; 
it was a question they often asked each oUier. 

'' I — ^I was thinking of Rougai — ^he is rather like the Uttle 
irnde, I think. If he had only been a man I fancy he would 
alwa3rs have kept the uncle with him to hunt with him and 
make music. And you, what were you thinking of? " 

" I — ^wait a minute — I was thinking of our ride; I was 
fancying that instead of finding ourselves at OtradnoC in a few 
minutes we might have to spend this dark night in some fairy 
castle, and then — ^no, that was all." 

" But I can guess — ^you thought of him? " 

" No," said Natacha. — ^But she had thought of " him," and 
of what he would have thought of the little unde; " Do you 
know/' she said, '' I do not think I shall ever be as happy and 
as glad again as I am at this moment." 

"What nonsense! That is sheer extravagance/' said 
Nicholas, but he was thinking to himself: '* Natacha is a perfect 
jewel, she is the dearest friend I ever had. . . . Oh, why need 
she marry when we might have spent all our lives together, 
running about the world." 

" What a dear fellow Nicholas is! " said Natacha, on her part. 
"Look, there are lights in the drawing-room stOl!" she ex- 
claimed, pointing to the windows which shone out through the 
velvety gloom of the mist and darkness. 



The Invasion 103 



CHAPTER xni 

Count Rostow had given up his appointment as Marickal de 
la Noblesse of the district because it entailed too many expenses^ 
and yet there was no improvement in the state of his affairs. 
Nicholas and Natacha often found their father and mother in 
anxious consultation^ talking in low tones of the sale of their 
Moscow house or of their property in the neighbourhood. Having 
thus retired into private life^ the count now gave neither f gtes 
nor entertainments. Life at OtradnoS was much less gay than 
in past years; stilly the house and domain were as full of servants 
as ever^ and twenty persons or more sat down to dinner daily. 
These were dependents^ friends and intimates^ who were regarded 
almost as part of the family^ or at any rate seemed unable to 
tear themselves away from it; amon? them a musician named 
Dimmler and his wif e^ loghel tilie dancmg master and his family, 
an old Miss B6I0W, P^tia's tutor, and the girls' former governess; 
besides others who found it simpler to live at the count's expense 
than at their own. Thus, though there were no more festivities, 
life was carried on almost as expensively as of old, and neither 
the master nor the mistress ever imagined any change possible. 
Nicholas, stgain, had added to the hunting establishment; 
there were still fifty horses in the stable, stifl fifteen drivers; 
handsome presents were given on all birthdays and fete-days, 
which invariably wound up as of old with a grand dinner to all 
the neighbourhood; the count still played whist or boston, 
invariably letting his cards be seen by his friends, who were 
always ready to make up his table and relieve him without 
hesitation of the few hundred roubles which constituted their 
principal income. The old man marched on blindfold through 
the tangle of his pecuniary difficulties, tryimg to conceal them, 
and only succeeded in augmenting them^ having neither the 
courage nor the patience to untie the knots one by one. 

The loving heart by his side foresaw their children's ruin, but 
she could not accuse her husband, who was, alas! too old for 
amendment, she could only seek some remedy for the disaster. 
From her woman's point of view there was but one, Nicholas' 
marriage with some rich heiress. She dung desperately to this 
last chance of salvation, but if her son should refuse the wife 
she should propose to him, every hope of reinstating their 



I04 War and Peace 

fortune would vanish. The young lady she had in view was the 
daughter of people of the highest respectability^ whom the 
Rostows had known from her infancy^ Julia Karaguine^ who 
by the death of her second brother had suddenly come into 
great wealth. 

The countess herself wrote to Mrs. Karaguine to ask her 
whether she could regard the match with favour^ and received 
a most flattering answer; indeed^ Mrs. Karaguine invited 
Nicholas to her house at Moscow^ to give her daughter an 
opportunity of deciding for herself. 

Nicholas had often heard his mother say^ with tears in her 
eyes^ that her dearest wish was to see him married; her 
daughters being now provided for^ the fulfilment of this wish 
would sweeten her remaining days^ she would say^ adding 
covert hints as to a charming girl who would exactly suit him. 
One day she took the opportunity of speaking plainly to him 
of Julia's charms and merits^ and urged him to spend a short 
time in Moscow before Christmas. Nicholas^ who had no diffi- 
culty in guessing what she was aiming at^ persuaded her to be 
expUcit on the matter^ and she owned frankly that her hope 
was to see their sinking fortunes restored by his marriage with 
her dear Julia! 

" Then, mother, if I loved a penniless girl, you would desire 
me to sacrifice my feelings and my honour to marry solely for 
money? " 

"Nay, nay, you have misunderstood me," she said, not 
knowing how to excuse her mercenary hopes. " I wish only 
for your happiness 1 " And then, conscious that this was not 
her sole aim, and that she was not perfectly honest, she burst 
into tears. 

" Do not cry, mamma; you have only to say that you really 
and truly desire it, and you know I would give my life to see 
you happy — that I would sacrifice everjrthing, even my feelings." 

But this was not his mother's notion; she asked no sacrifice, 
she would have none; she would sooner have sacrificed herself 
if it had been possible. 

" Say no more about it, you do not understand," she said, 
drying away her tears. 

"How could she think of such a marriage?" thought 
Nicholas. "Does she think that because Sonia is poor I do 
not love her? And yet I should be a thousand times happier 
with her than with a doll like Julia." 

He stayed in the country, and his mother did not revert to 



The Invasion 105 

the subject. Stilly as she saw the growing intimacy between 
Nicholas and Sonia^ she could not help worrying Sonia about 
every httle things and speaking to her with colder formality. 
Sometimes she reproached hersdf for these continual pin-pricks 
of anno3rance^ and was quite vexed with the poor girl for sub- 
mitting to them with such wonderful humility and sweetness, 
for taking every opportunity of showing her devoted gratitude, 
and for loving Nicholas with a faithful and disinterested affection 
which commanded her admiration. 

Just about this time a letter came from Prince Andrew, 
dated from Rome; it was the fourth he had written since his 
departure. He ought long since to have been on his way home, 
he said, but the heat of &e summer had caused his wound to 
re-open, and this compelled him to postpone his return till early 
in January. 

Natacha, though she was so much in love that her very passion 
for Prince Andrew had made her day dreams happy, had 
hitherto been open to all the bright influences of her young 
life; but now, after nearly four months of parting, she fell into 
a state of extreme melancholy, and gave way to it completely. 
She bewailed her hard fate, she bewailed the time that was 
slipping away and lost to her, while her heart ached with the 
dull craving to love and be loved. Nicholas, too, had nearly 
spent his leave, and the anticipation of his departure added 
gloom to the saddened household. 

Christmas came, but, excepting the pompous high mass and 
the other religious ceremonies, the endless strings of neighbours 
and servants with the regular compliments of the season, and 
the new gowns which made their first appearance on the occa- 
sion, nothing more than usual happened on that day, or more 
extraordinary than twenty degrees of frost with brilliant sun- 
shine, a still atmosphere, and, at night, a glorious starry sky. 

After dinner on the third day of Christmastide, when every 
one had settled into his own comer once more, ennui reigned 
supreme throughout the house. Nicholas, who had been paying 
a round of visits in the neighbourhood, was fast asleep in the 
drawing-room. The old count had followed his example in 
his own room. Sonia, seated at a table in the sitting-room, 
was cop3ang a drawing. The coimtess was playing out a 
" patience," and Nastacia Ivanovna, the old bufEoon, with his 
peevish face, sitting in a window with two old women, did not 
say a word. 

Natacha came into the room, and after leaning over Sonia 



I o6 War and Peace 

for a minute or two to examine her woik^ went over to her 
mother and stood still in front of her. 

The countess looked up. ** Why are you wandering about 
like a soul in torment? What do you want? *' she said. 

'^Wantl—I want himT' rephed Natacha shortly^ and her 
eyes glowed. " Now, here — ^at once! " 

Her mother gazed at her anxiously. 

" Do not look at me like that, you will make me cry." 

" Sit down here." 

''Mamma, I wa^t him, I want him! Why must I die of 
weariness? . . ." Her voice broke and tears started from her 
eyes. She hastily quitted the drawing-room and went to the 
housekeeper's room, where an old servant was scolding one of 
the girls who had just come in breathless from out of doors. 

"There is a time for all things," growled the old woman. 
" You have had time enough for play ..." 

''Oh I leave her in peace, Kondratievna," said Natacha. 
" Run away, Mavroucha — go." 

Pursuing her wandering, Natacha went into the hall; an old 
man-servant was playing cards with two of the boys. Her 
entrance stopped their game and they rose. " And what am I 
to say to these? "thought she. 

" Nikita, would you please go. . . . What on earth can I 
ask for? . . . Go and find me a cock, and you, Micha, a handful 
of com." k 

" A handful of com? " said Micha laughing. 

" Go, go at once," said the old man. 

" And you, F6dor, can you give me a piece of chalk? " 

Then she went on to the servants' hall and ordered the 
samovar to be got ready, though it was not yet tea-time; she 
wanted to try her power over Foka, the old butler, the most 
morose and disobliging of all the servants. He could not 
believe his ears, and a^ed her if she really meant it. " What 
next will our young lady want? " muttered Foka, affecting to 
be very cross, r' ' 

No one gave so many orders as Natacha, no one sent them 
on so many errands at once. As soon as a servant came in 
sight, she seemed to invent some want or message; she could 
not help it. It seemed as though she wanted to try her power 
over them, to see whether, some fine day, one or another would 
not rebel against her tyranny; but on the contrary, they always 
flew to obey her more readily than any one else. 

" And now what shall I do, where can I go? " thought she. 



The Invasion 107 

as she slowly went along the corridor^ where she presently met 
the buffoon. 

" Nastada Ivanovna/' said she^ " if I ever have children what 
will they be? " 

" You 1 fleas and grasshoppers^ you may depend upon it." 

Natacha went on. ** Good God 1 Have mercy^ have mercy ! '' 
she said to herself. " Wherever I go it is always^ always the 
same. I am so weary^ what shall I do? " 

Skipping lightly from step to step^ she went to the upper 
story and dropped in on the lagheb. Two governesses were 
sitting chatting with Mr. and Mrs. loghd^ dessert — consisting 
of dried fruit — ^was on the table, and they were eagerly discuss- 
ing the cost of living at Moscow and Odessa. Natacha took 
a seat for a moment^ listened with pensive attention^ and then 
jumped up again. ''The island of Madagascar!" she mur- 
mured^ "Ma-da-gas-car!" and she separated the syllables. 
Then she left the room without answering Mrs. Schoss^ who 
was utterly mystified by her strange exclamation. 

She next met P6tia and a companion^ both very full of some 
fireworks which were to be let off that evening. ** P6tia! " she 
exclaimed^ '* carry me down stairs! " And she sprang on to 
his back^ throwing her arms round his neck^ and laughing and 
galloping they thus scrambled along to the head of the stairs. 

"Thimkyou — ^thatwiUdo! . . . Madagascar! "she repeated, 
and jumping down she ran down the flight. 

After thus inspecting her dominions, testing her power, and 
convincing herself that her subjects were docile, and that there 
was no novelty to be got out of them, Natacha settled herself 
in the darkest comer of the music-room with her guitar, striking 
the bass strings, and trying to make an accompaniment to an 
air from an opera that she and Prince Andrew had once heard 
together at St. Petersburg. The uncertain chords which her 
unpractised fingers sketched out would have struck the least 
experienced ear as wanting in harmony and musical accuracy, 
while to her excited imagination they broug^ a whole train of 
memories. Leaning against the wall and half hidden by a 
cabinet, with her eyes fixed on a thread of light that came 
under the door from the rooms beyond, she listened in ecstasy 
and dreamed of the past. 

Sonia crossed the room with a glass in her hand. Natacha 
glanced round at her, and again fixed her eyes on the streak of 
light; she had the strange feeling of having once before gone 
through the same experience, sat in the same place, surrounded 



io8 War and Peace 

by the same details^ and watching Sonia pass carrying a tumbler. 
" Yes, it was exactly the same/* she thought. 

** Sonia, what is this tune? " she said, playing a few notes. 

" What, are you there? " said Sonia, startled. " I do not 
know," she said, coming closer to listen, ** unless it is from lui 
Tempete ? " but she spoke doubtfully. 

** It was exactly so," thought Natacha. ** She started as she 
came forward, smiling so gently; and I thought then, as I 
think now, that there is something in her which is quite lacking 
in me. . , . No," she said aloud, '^ you are quite out; it is 
the chorus from the Parteur d^eau ^ — ^Usten," and she hummed 
the air. " Where are you going? " 

'' For some fresh water to finish my drawing." 

"You are always busy, and I never . . . Where is 
Nicholas? " 

" Asleep, I think." 

" Go and wake him, Sonia. Tell him to come and sing." 

Sonia went; and Natacha relapsed into dreaming and 
wondering how it had all happened. Not being able to solve 
the puzzle, she drifted into reminiscence once more. She could 
see him — htm, and fed his impassioned eyes fixed on her face: 
" Oh ! make haste back ! — I am so afraid he will not come 
yet! . . . Besides, it is all very well, but I am growing old; 
I shall be quite different from what I am now! — ^Who knows? 
Perhaps he will come to-day? Perhaps he is here already! 
Here, in the drawing-room. Perhaps he came yesterday, and 
I have forgotten. . . ." 

She rose, laid down the guitar, and went into the next room. 
All the household party were seated round the tea-table — ^the 
professors, the governesses, the guests; the servants were 
waiting on one and another — ^but there was no Prince Andrew. 

" Ah ! here she is," said her father — " come and sit down 
here." But Natacha stopped by her mother, without heeding 
his bidding. 

" Oh 1 mamma — ^bring him to me, give him to me soon — 
very soon," she murmured, swallowing down a sob. Then she 
sat down and listened to the others. " Good God ! always the 
same people! always the same thing! . . . Papa holds his 
cup as he always does, and blows his tea to cool it as he did 
yesterday, and as he will to-morrow. . . ." 

She felt a sort of dull rebellion against them all; she hated 
them for always being the same. 

^ More commonly known as Les deux Joumies by Cherubini. 



The Invasion 109 

After tea Sonia, Natacha^ and Nicholas sat huddled together 
in their favourite snug comer of the drawing-room; that was 
where they talked freely to each other. 

" Do you ever feel," Natacha asked her brother, " as if there 
was nothing left to look forward to — ^as if you had had all your 
share of happiness, and were not so much weary as utterly 
duU?" 

" Of course I have. Very often I have seen my friends and 
fellow-officers in the highest spirits, and been just as jolly 
myself, and suddenly have been struck so dull and dismal, 
have so hated life that I have wondered whether we were not 
all about to die at once. I remember one day, for instance, 
when I was with the regiment; the band was playing, and I 
had such a fit of melancholy, that I never even thought of 
going to the promenade." 

" How well I understand that! I recollect once," Natacha 
went on, " once when I was a little girl I was punished, for 
having eaten some plums, I think. I had not done it, and 
you were all dancing, and I was left alone in the schoolroom. 
. . . How I cried — cried because I was so sorry for myself, 
and so vexed with you all for making me so unhappy." 

" I remember; and I went to comfort you, and did not 
know how ... we were funny children then; I had a toy with 
bells that jingled, and I made you a present of it." 

" Do you remember," said Natacha, " long before that, when 
we were no bigger than my hand, my uncle called us into his 
room, where it was quite dark, and suddenly we saw . . ." 

" A negro ! " interrupted Nicholas, smiling at the recollec- 
tion. "To be sure, I can see him now; and to this day I 
wonder whether it was a dream or a reality, or mere fancy, 
invented afterwards." 

" He had white teeth, and stared at us with his black eyes." 

" Do you remember him, Sonia? " 

" Yes, yes — ^but very dimly." 

" But papa and mamma have always declared that no negro 
ever came to the house. — ^And the eggs; do you remember the 
eggs we used to roll up at Easter, and one day how two little 
grinning old women came up through the floor, and began to 
spin round the table? " 

" Of course. — ^And how papa used to put on his fur coat, and 
fire oflE^his gun from the balcony. — ^And don't you remember 
. . . ? " And so they went on, recalling one after the other, not 
the bitter memories of old age, but the bright pictures of early 



no War and Peace 

childhood^ which float and fade on a distant horizon of poetic 
vagueness, midway between reality and dreams. Sonia remem- 
bered being frightened once at the sight of Nicholas in his 
braided jadcet, and her nurse promising her that she should 
some day have a frock trimmed from top to bottom. 

" And they told me you had been foimd in the garden undei 
a cabbage/' said Natacha. " I dared not say it was not true^ 
but it puzzled me tremendously." 

A door opened, and a woman put in her head, exclaiming: 
" Miss, miss, they have fetched the cock ! " 

" I do not want it now; send it away again, Polia," said 
Natacha. 

Dimmler, who had meanwhile come into the room, went up 
to the harp, which stood in a comer, and, in taking off the 
cover, made the strings ring discordantly. 

" Edward Karlovitch, play my favourite nocturne, — ^Field's," 
cried the countess, from the adjoining room. 

Dimmler struck a chord: ** How quiet you young people 
are ! " he said addressing them. 

" Yes, we are studying philosophy," said Natacha, and they 
went on talking of their dreams. 

Dimmler had no sooner begun his nocturne than Natacha, 
crossing the room on tiptoe, seized the waxlight that was 
burning on the table and carried it into the next room; then 
she stole back to her seat. It was now quite dark in the larger 
room, especially in their comer, but the silvery moonbeams 
came in at the wide windows and lay in broad sheets on the 
floor. 

" Do you know," whispered Natacha, while Dimmler, after 
playing the nocturne, let his fingers wander over the strings, 
uncertain what to play next, " when I go on remembering one 
thing beyond another I go back so far, so far, that at last I 
remember things that happened before I was bom, and . . ." 

" That is metempsychosis," interrupted Sonia, with a reminis- 
cence of her early lessons. " The Egyptians believed that our 
souls had once inhabited the bodies of animals, and would 
return to animals again after our death." 

" I do not beheve that! " said Natacha, still in a low voice, 
though the music had ceased. " But I am quite sure that we 
were angels once, somewhere there beyond, or perhaps even 
here; and that is the reason we remember a previous existence." 

" iday I join the party? " asked Dimmler coming towards 
them. 



The Invasion 1 1 1 



u 



If we were once angds^ how is it that we have fallen lower? " 

** Lower! Who says that it is lower? Who knows what I 
was?" Natacha retorted with full conviction. ''Since the 
soul is immortal^ and I am to live for ever in the future^ I must 
have existed in the past^ so I have eternity behind me^ too." 

" Yes, but it is very difficult to conceive of that eternity," 
said Dimmler whose ironical smile had died away. 

" Why? " asked Natacha. " After to-day comes to-morrow, 
and then the day after, and so on for ever; yesterday has been, 
to-morrow will be. . . ." 

" Natacha, now it is your turn; sing me something," said 
her mother. ^* What are you doing m that comer hke a party 
of conspirators? " 

'' I am not at all in the humour, mamma," said she; never- 
theless she rose. Nicholas sat down to the piano, and standing, 
as usual, in the middle of the room where the voice sounded 
best, she sang her mother's favourite ballad. 

Though she had said she was not in the humour, it was long 
since Natacha had sung so well as she did that evening, and 
long before she sang so well again. Her father, who was talking 
over business with Mitenka in his room, hurriedly gave him 
some final instructions as soon as he heard the first note, as a 
schoolboy scrambles through his tasks to get to his play; but 
as the steward did not go, he sat in silence listening, while 
Mitenka, too, standing in his presence, listened with evident 
satisfaction. Nicholas did not take his eyes off his sister's face 
and only breathed when she took breath. Sonia was under 
the speU of that exquisite voice and thinking of the gulf of 
difference that lay between her and her friend, full conscious 
that she should never exercise such fascination. The old 
countess had paused in her ''patience" — a sad, fond smile 
played on her Ups, her eyes were full of tears, and she shook her 
head, remembering her own youth, looking forward to her 
daughter's future and reflectix^ on her strange prospect of 
marriage. 

Dimmler, sitting by her side, listened with rapture, his eyes 
half closed: 

'' She really has a marvellous gift! " he exclaimed. ** She 
has nothing to learn — such power, such sweetness, such round- 
ness! . . . ." 

*' And how much I fear for her happiness ! " replied the 
countess, who in her mother's heart could feel the flame that 
must some day be fatal to her child's peace. 



112 War and Peace 

Natacha was still singing when P^tia dashed noisily into the 
room to announce in triumphant tones that a party of mununers 
had come. 

*' Idiot! " exclaimed Natacha stopping short; and dropping 
into a chair she began to sob so violently that it was some time 
before she could recover herself. ** It is nothin^^ mamma, 
really nothing at all/' she declared, trying to smde. "Only 
P6tia frightened me; nothing more." And her tears flowed 
afresh. 

All the servants had dressed up, some as bears, Turks, 
tavern-keepers, or fine ladies; others as mongrel monsters. 
Bringing with them the chill of the night outside, they did not 
at ^ist venture any further than the hall; by degrees, however, 
they took coiurage; pushing each other forward for self-protec- 
tion, they aU soon came into the music-room. Once there, 
their shyness thawed; they became expansively merry, and 
singing, dancing, and sports were soon the order of the day. 
The countess, after looking at them and identifying them all, 
went back into the sitting-room, leaving her husband whose 
jovial face encouraged them to enjoy themselves. 

The young people had all vanished; but half an hour later 
an old marchioness with patches appeared on the scene: none 
other than Nicholas; P6tia as a Turk; a clown — Dimmler; an 
hussar — ^Natacha; and a Circassian — Sonia. Both the girls 
had blackened their eyebrows and given themselves moustaches 
with burnt cork. 

After being received with well-feigned surprise, and recog- 
nised more or less quickly, the children, who were very proud of 
their costumes, imanimously declared that they must go and 
display them elsewhere. Nicholas, who was d3mig to take them 
all for a long drive en trdika ^ proposed that, as ^e roads were 
in splendid order, they should go, a party of ten, to the Uttle 
uncle's. 

'' You will disturb the old man, and that will be all," said the 
countess. " Why, he has not even room for you all to get into 
the house! If you must go out, you had better go to the 
Mdlukows'." 

Mrs. M61ukow was a widow Uving in the neighbourhood; 
her house, full of children of all ages, with tutors and governesses, 
was distant only four versts from Otradnoe. 

" A capital idea, my dear," cried the count, enchanted. " I 

* A team of three hbrses harnessed abreast 



The Invasion 113 

will dress up in costume and go, too. I will wake them up, I 
warrant you ! " 

But this did not at all meet his wife's views: Perfect madness ! 
For him to go out with his gouty feet in such cold weather was 
sheer folly ! — The count gave way, and Mrs. Schoss volunteered 
to chaperon the girls. Sonia's was by far the most successful 
disguise; her fierce eyebrows and moustache were wonderfully 
becoming, her pretty features gained expression, and she wore 
the dress of a man with unexpected swagger and smartness. 
Something in her inmost soul told her that this evening would 
seal her fate. 

In a few minutes four sleighs with three horses abreast to eacn, 
their harness jingling with bells, drew up in a line before the 
steps, the runners creaking and crunching over the frozen snow. 
Natacha was the foremost, and the first to tune her spirits to the 
pitch of this carnival freak. This mirth, in fact, proved highly 
infectious, and reached its height of tumult and excitement when 
the party went down the steps and packed themselves in the 
sleighs, laughing and shouting to each other at the top of their 
voices. Two of the sleighs were drawn by light cart horses, to 
the third the count's carriage horses were harnessed, and one of 
these was reputed a famous trotter from Orlow's stable; the 
fourth sleigh, with its rough-coated black shaft-horse, was 
Nicholas' private property. In his marquise costume, over 
which he had thrown his hussar's cloak, fastened with a belt 
round the waist, he stood gathering up the reins. The moon 
was shining brightly, reflected in the plating of the harness and 
in the horses' anxious eyes as they turned their heads in uneasy 
amazement at the noisy group that clustered under the dark 
porch. Natacha, Sonia, and Mrs. Schoss, with two women 
servants, got into Nicholas' sleigh; Dimmler and his wife, with 
Petia, into the count's; the rest of the mummers packed into 
the other sleighs. 

" Lead the way, Zakhare ! " cried Nicholas to his father's 
coachman promising himself the pleasure of outstripping him 
presently: the count's sleigh swayed and strained, the runners, 
which the frost had already glued to the ground, creaked, the 
bells rang out, the horses closed up for a pull, and off they went 
over the glittering hard snow, flinging it up right and left like 
spray of powdered sugar. Nicholas started next and the others 
followed along the narrow way, with no less jingling and creaking. 
While they drove under the wall of the park the shadows of the 
tall skeleton trees lay on the road, chequering the broad moor- 



« 



114 War and Peace 

light; but as soon as they had left it behind them, the wide and 
spotless plain spread on all sides^ its whiteness broken by myriads 
of flashing sparks and spangles of reflected light. Suddenly a 
rut caused ^e foremost sleigh to jolt violently, and then the 
others in succession; they fell away a little, their intrusive 
clatter breaking the supreme and solemn silence of the 
night. 

" A hare's tracks ! " exclaimed Natacha, and her voice pierced 
the frozen air like an arrow. 

"How light it is, NicBolas," said Sonia. Nicholas turned 
round to look at the pretty face with its black moustache under 
the sable hood, looking at once so far away and so close in the 
moonshine: " It is not Sonia at all," he said, smiling. 
Why, what is the matter? " 
Nothing," said he, returning to his former position. 

When they got out on the high road, beaten and ploughed 
by horses' hoofs, and polished with the tracks of sleighs, his 
steeds began to pull and go at a great pace. The near horse, 
turning away his head, was galloping rather wildly, while the 
horse in the shafts pricked his ears, and seemed to doubt whether 
the moment for a dash had come. Zakhare's sleigh, lost in the 
distance, was no more than a black spot on the white snow, and 
as he drew further away the ringing of the beUs was fainter 
and fainter; only the shouts and songs of the maskers rang 
through the cabn clear night. 

" On you go, my beauties ! " cried Nicholas, shaking the 
reins and raismg his whip. The sleigh seemed to leap forward, 
but the sharp air that cut their faces, and the ^ying pace of the 
two outer horses, alone gave them any idea of the speed they 
were making. Nicholas glanced back at the other two drivers ; 
they were shouting and urging their shaft-horses with cries and 
cracking of whips, so as not to be left quite behind; Nicholas' 
middle horse, swinging steadily along under the shaft-bow, 
kept up his regular pace, quite ready to go twice as fast the 
moment he should be called upon. 

They soon overtook the first troika, and after going down a 
slope they came upon a wide cross-road running by the side of 
a meadow. 

" Where are we, I wonder," thought Nicholas; " this must 
be the field and slope by the river. No ... I do not know 
where we are! This is all new and unfamiliar to me! God 
only knows where we are! But no matter," and smacking his 
whip with a will, he went straight ahead. Zakhare held in his 



The Invasion 1 1 5 

beasts for an instant and turned his face^ all fringed with frosty 
to look at Nicholas^ who came flying onward. 

" Steady there, sir," cried the coachman, and leaning forward, 
with a click of his tongue he urged his horses in their turn to 
their utmost speed. For a few minutes the sleighs ran equal, but 
before long, in spite of all Zakhare could do, Nicholas gained on 
him, and at last flew past him like a lightning flash. A cloud of 
fine snow, kicked up by the horses, came showering down on the 
rival sleigh; the women squeaked, and the two teams had a 
struggle for the precedence, their shadows crossing and mingling 
on the snow. 

Then Nicholas, moderating his speed, looked about him; 
before, behind, and on each side of him, stretched the fairy 
scene: a plain strewn with stars and flooded with light. 

" To the left, Zakhare says. . . . Why to the left? " thought 
he. ** We are going to the Mdukows . . . But we are going 
where fate directs, or as Heaven may guide us. It is all very 
strange and most delightful, is it not? " he said, turning to the 
others. 

" Oh 1 look at his eyelashes and beard — ^they are quite white !" 
exclaimed one of the sweet young men with pencilled moustaches 
and arched eyebrows. 

"That, I believe, is Natacha," said Nicholas. "And that 
little Circassian — ^who is he? I do not know him, but I like 
his looks uncommonly! Are you not frozen? " Their answer 
was a shout of laughter. 

Dimmler was talking himself hoarse, and he must be saying 
very funny things, for the party in his sleigh were in fits of 
laughing. 

" Better and better," said Nicholas to himself, " now we are 
in an enchanted forest — ^the black shadows lie across a flooring of 
diamonds, and mix with the sparkling of gems. That might 
be a fairy palace, out there, built of laige blocks of marble and 
jewelled tiles? Did I not hear the howl of wild beasts in the 
distance? . . . Supposing it were only M61ukovka that I am 
coming to after all ! On my word, it would be no less miraculous 
to have reached port after steering so completely at random ! " 

It was, in fact, M^lukovka, for he could see the house servants 
coming out on the balcony with lights, and then down to meet 
them, only too glad of this unexpected diversion. 

" Who is there? " a voice asked within. 

" The mummers from Count Rostow's — they are his teams," 
replied the servants. 



1 1 6 War and Peace 



CHAPTER XIV 

PelagueYa Danilovna M£lukow^ a stout and commanding 
personality in spectacles and a flowing dressmg-gown^ was sitting 
in her drawing-room surrounded by her children, whom she 
was doing her best to amuse by modelling heads in wax and 
tracing tibie shadows they cast on the wall, when steps and 
voices were heard in the ante-room. Hussars, witches, clowns, 
and bears were rubbing their faces, which were scorched by the 
cold and covered with rime, or shaking the snow off their clothes. 
As soon as they had cast off their fiirs they rushed into the 
large drawing-room, which was hastily lighted up. Dinunler, 
the clown, and Nicholas, the marchioness, performed a dance, 
while the others stood close along the wall, the children shouting 
and jiunping about them with glee. 

" It is impossible to know who is who — can that really be 
Natacha? Look at her; does not she remind you of some 
one? . . . Edward Elarlovitch, how fine you are! and how 
beautifully you dance! Oh! and that splendid Circassian — 
why, it is Sonia! What a kind and delightful surprise; we 
were so desperately dull. Ha, ha! what a beautiful hussar! 
A real hussar, or a real monkey of a boy — ^which is he, I wonder? 
I cannot look at you without laughing . . ." They all shouted 
and laughed and talked at once, at the top of their voices. 

Natacha, to whom the M61ukows were devoted, soon vanished 
with them to their own room, where corks and various articles 
of men's clothing were brought to them, and clutched by bare 
arms through a half-open door. Ten minutes later all the 
young people of the house rejoined the company, equally im- 
recognisable. P61agu6ia Danilovna, going and coming among 
them all, with her spectacles on her nose and a quiet smile, 
had seats arranged, and a supper laid out for the visitors, 
masters and servants alike. She looked straight in the face of 
each in turn, recognising no one of the motley crew — ^neither 
the Rostows, nor Dimmler, nor even her own children, nor any 
of the clothes they figured in. 

" That one — ^who is she? " she asked the governess, stopping 
a Kazan Tartar, who was, in fact, her own daughter. *' One of 
the Rostows, is it not? And you, gallant hussar — ^what regi- 
ment do you belong to? " she went on, addressing Natacha. 



The Invasion 1 1 7 

" Give some pasHla to this Turkish lady/' she cried to the 
butler; " it is not forbidden by her religion^ I believe." 

At the sight of some of the reckless dancing which the 
mummers performed under the shelter of their disguise^ P^la- 
gu6ia Danilovna could not help hiding her isLce in her handker- 
chief^ while her huge person shook with uncontrollable laughter 
— ^the laugh of a kindly matron^ frankly jovial and gay. 

When fiiey had danced all the national dances^ ending with 
the Horovody, she placed every one^ both masters and servants^ 
in a laige circle^ holding a cord with a ring and a rouble^ and 
for a while they played games. An hour after^ when the finery 
was the worse for wear and heat, and laughter had removed 
much of the charcoal, P^lagu^i^ Danilovna could recognise 
them, compliment the girls on the success of their disguise, and 
thank the whole party for the amusement they had given her. 
Supper was served for the company in the drawing-room, and 
for the servants in the large dining-room. 

" You should try your fortune in the bath-room over there; 
that is enough to fr%hten you ! ** said an old maid, who lived 
with the M^lukows. 

" Why? " asked the eldest girl. 

" Oh ! you would never diare to do it — ^you must be very 
brave." 

" WeU, I wiU go," said Sonia. 

" Tell us what happened to that girl — ^you know," said the 
youngest M^lukow. 

'^ Once a young girl went to the bath, taking with her a cock 
and two plates, wiSi knives and forks, which is what you must 
do; and she waited. Suddenly she heard horses' bells — some- 
one was coming; he stopped, came upstairs, and she saw an 
officer walk into the room; a real live officer — ^at least, so he 
seemed — ^who sat down opposite to her where the second cover 
was laid. . . ." 

" Oh, how horrible I " exclaimed Natacha, wide-eyed. " And 
he spoke to her — really spoke? " 

*' Yes, just as if he had really been a man. He begged and 
prayed her to listen to him, and all she had to do was to refuse 
him, and hold out till the cock crowed — ^but she was too much 
frightened. She covered her face with her hands, and he 
clasped her in his arms . . . luckily some girls who were on 
the watch rushed in when she screamed. 

" Why do you terrify them with such nonsense? " said P61a- 
gu^ Danilovna. 



1 1 8 War and Peace 

But, mamma, you know you wanted to try your fortune, 



It 
too." 



€€ 
U 



And if you try your fortune in a bam, what do you do? " 
asked Sonia. 

" That is quite simple. You must go to the bam — ^now, for 
instance — and listen. If you hear thrashing, it is for ill-luck; 
if you hear grain dropping, that is good." 

" Tell us, mother, what happend to you in the bam." 

" It is so long ago," said the mother, with a smile, " that I 
have quite forgotten; besides, not one of you is brave enough 
to try it." 

Yes, I will go," repeated Sonia. " Let me go." 
Go by all means, if you are not afraid." 

" May I, Mrs. Schoss? " said Sonia to the governess. 

Now, whether plajdng games m sitting quietly and chatting, 
Nicholas had not left Sonia's iAdn the whole evening; he felt as 
if he had seen her for the first time, and only just now appreciated 
all her merits. Bright, bewitchingly pretty in her quaint 
costume, and excited as she very rarely was, she had completely 
fascinated him. 

" What a simpleton I must have been! " thought he, respond- 
ing in thought to those sparkling eyes and that triumphant 
smile, which had revealed to him a little dimple at the tip of 
her moustache that he had never observed before. 

" I am afraid of nothing! " she declared. She rose, asked 
her way precisely to the bam, and every detail as to what she 
was to expect waiting there in total silence; then she threw a 
fur cloak over her shoulders, glanced at Nicholas, and went out. 

She went along the corridor and down the back stairs; while 
Nicholas, sa3dng that the heat of the room was too much for 
him, slipped out by the front entrance. It was as cold as ever, 
and the moon seemed to be shilling even more brightly than 
before. The snow at her feet was strewn with stars, while their 
sisters overhead twinkled in the deep gloom of the sky, and she 
soon looked away from them back to the gleaming earth in its 
radiant mantle of ermine. 

Nicholas hurried across the hall, turned the comer of the 
house, and went past the side door where Sonia was to come 
out. Half-way to the bam, stacks of wood in the full moon- 
light threw their shadows on the path, and beyond an alley of 
lime-trees traced a tangled pattern on the snow with the fine- 
crossed lines of their leafless twigs. The beams of the house 
and its snow-laden roof looked as if they had been hewn out of 



The Invasion 119 

a block of opal^ with iridescent lights where the facets caught 
the silvery moonlight. Suddenly a bough fell crashing off a 
tree in the garden; then all was still again. Soma's heart beat 
high with gladness^ as if she were drinking in, not common air, 
but some life-giving elixir of eternal youth and joy. 

''Straight on if you please, miss, and on no account look 
behind you." 

" I am not afraid," said Sonia, her little shoes tapping the 
stone steps and then crunching the carpet of snow as she ran 
to meet Nicholas who was within a couple of' yards of her. 
And yet, not the Nicholas of every-day life! What had trans- 
figured him 80 completely? Was it his woman's costume 
with frizzed out hair, or was it that radiant smile which he 
so rarely wore, and which at this moment illuminated his 
face? 

" But Sonia is quite unlike herself, and yet she is herself," 
thought Nicholas on his side, looking down at the sweet httie 
face in the moonlight. He sHpped his arms under the fur 
cloak, that wrapped her, and drew her to him, and he kissed 
her lips, which still tasted of the burnt cork that had blackened 
her moustache. 

"Nicholas — Sonia," they whispered; and Sonia put her 
little hands round his face. Then hand in hand they ran to 
the bam and back, and each went in by the different doors 
they had come out of. 

Natacha, who had noted everything, managed so that she, 
Mrs. Schoss and Dimmler should return in one sleigh, while the 
maids went with Nicholas and Sonia in another. Nicholas was 
in no hurry to get home; he could not help looking at Sonia 
and trying to find und» her disguise the true Sonia — his Sonia, 
from whom nothing now could ever part him. The magical 
efiEects of moonlight, the remembrance of that kiss on her sweet 
lips, the dizzy fl^ht of the snow-clad ground under the horses' 
hoofs, the black sky, studded with diamonds, that bent over 
their heads, the icy air that seemed to give vigour to his lungs 
— all was enough to make him fancy that they were transported 
to a land of magic. 

" Sonia, arc you not cold? " 

"No — and you? " 

Nicholas pulled up, and giving the reins to a man to drive, 
he ran back to the sleigh m which Natacha was sitting. 

" Listen^" he said in a whisper and in French. " I have 
made up my mind to teU Sonia." 



1 20 War and Peace 

" And you have spoken to her? " exclaimed Natacha radiant 
with joy. 

" Oh! Natacha^ how queer that moustache makes you look I 
Are you glad? " 

" Glad! I am delighted. I did not say anything, you know, 
but I have been so vexed with you. She is a jewel, a heart of 
gold. I ... I am often naughty, and I have no right to have 
all the happiness to myself now. Go, go back to her." 

"No. Wait one minute! Mercy, how funny you look!" 
he repeated, examining her closely and discovering in her face, 
too, an unwonted tenderness and emotion that struck him 
deeply: 

" Natacha, is there not some magic at the bottom of it all, eh ! " 

" You have acted very wisely — go." 

" If I had ever seen Natacha look as she does at this moment 
I should have asked her advice and have obeyed her, whatever 
she had bid me do . . . and all would have gone well . . . ' So 
you are glad? ' " he said aloud, " I have done right? " 

"Yes, yes, of course you have! I was quite angry with 
mamma the other day about you two. Mamma would have it 
that Sonia was running after you .... I will not allow any 
one to say — ^no, nor even to think any evil of her, for she is 
sweetness and truth itself." 

" So much the better! " Nicholas jumped down and in a few 
long strides overtook his own sleigh, where the little Circassian 
received him with a smile from under the fur hood .... and 
the Circassian was Sonia, and Sonia beyond a doubt would be 
his beloved little wife! 

When they got home the two girls went into the countess's 
room and gave her an account of their expedition; then they 
went to bed. Without stopping to wipe off their moustaches 
they stood chattering as they undressed; they had so much to 
say of their happiness, their future prospects, the friendship 
between their husbands: 

" But oh! when will it all be? I am so afraid it will never 
come to pass," said Natacha, as she went towards a table on 
which two looking-glasses stood. 

"Sit down," said Sonia, "and look in the glass; perhaps 
you will see something about it." Natacha lighted two pairs 
of candles and seated herself. "I certainly see a pair of 
moustaches," she said, laughing. 

" You should not laugh," said the maid, very gravely. 

Natacha settled herself to gaze without blinking into the 



The Invasion * 121 

mirror; she pat on a solemn face and sat in silence for some 
time, wondering what she should see. Would a coffin rise 
before her, or would Prince Andrew presently stand revealed 
against the confused background in the shining glass? — ^her 
eyes were weary and could hardly distinguish even the flickering 
light of the candles. But with the best will in the world she 
could see nothing; not a spot to suggest the image either of a 
coffin or of a human form. She rose. 

" Why do other people see things and I never see anything 
at all? Take my place, Sonia; you must look for yourseS 
and for me, too ... I am so fr^htened; if you could but 
know! . . ." 

Sonia sat down and fixed her eyes on the mirror. 

*' Sonia Alexandrovna will be sure to see something," 
whispered Douniacha, " but you alwa3rs are laughing at such 
things." Sonia heard the remark and Natacha's whispered 
reply: " Yes, she is sure to see something; she did last year." 

Three minutes they waited in total silence. 

" She is sure to see something," Natacha repeated, trembling. 

Sonia started back, covered her face with one hand and 
cried out: 

"Natacha!" 

" You saw something? What did you see? " And Natacha 
rushed forward to hold up the glass. 

But Sonia had seen nothing; her eyes were getting dim and 
she was on the point of giving it up when Natacha's exclama- 
tion had stopped her; she did not want to disappoint them; 
but there is nothing so tiring as sitting motionless. She did 
not know why she had called out and hidden her face. 

" Did you see him? " asked Natacha. 

''Yes; stop a minute — I saw him," said Sonia, not quite 
sure whether " him " was to mean Nicholas or Prince Andrew. 
" Why not make them believe that I saw something? " she 
thought. " A great many people have done so before, and no 
one can prove the contrary. Yes, I saw him," she repeated. 

" How? standing up or lying down? " 

" I saw him — at first there was nothing; then suddenly I 
saw him lying down." 

"Andrew lying down? Then he is ill?" And Natacha 
gazed horror-stridcen at her companion. 

" Not at all; he seemed quite cheerful, on the contrary, 
said she, beginning to believe in her own inventions. 

" And then, Sonia, what then? " 



y> 



1 2 2 • War and Peace 



" Then I saw only confusion — ^red and bine . . . ." 
"And when will he come back^ Sonia? When shall I see 
him again? Oh God! I am afraid for him — ^afraid of every- 
thing . . . ." 

And without listening to Sonia's attempts at comfort^ Natacha 
slipped into bed^ and long after the lights were out she lay 
motionless but awake^ her eyes fixed on the moonshine that 
came dimly through the frost-embroidered windows. 

It was not till some days after this that Nicholas confessed 
to his mother his love for Sonia^ and his determination to 
marry her. The coimtess, who had long had an eye on them, 
expected this avowal. She listened in silence, and then, on 
her part, declared that, though of course he was free to marry 
whom he pleased, neither she nor his father would ever give 
their consent to this imion. Nicholas, utterly astounded, felt 
for the first time that his mother, notwithstanding the affection 
she had always shown him, was now seriously angry with him 
and would never change her decision. She sent for her husband 
and tried to speak c^mly as she told him what her son pro- 
posed; but anger had the upper hand, and she left the room 
sobbing with vexation. The old count, with some hesitation, 
urged Nicholas to give up his intention; but Nicholas told him 
that his word was pledged, and his father, much disconcerted 
by this formal declaration, only sighed deeply, changed the 
subject, and presently went after his wife. He felt that he alone 
was answerable for liie dilapidated state of his son's fortune, so 
how could he blame him for declining to make a wealthy 
marriage and preferring Sonia, though penniless — Sonia, who 
would have been the ideal wife for him if Mitenka and his own 
lavish habits had not dissipated a splendid estate. 

After this storm came a few days of calm; till one morning 
the countess sent for Sonia, rated her for ingratitude and 
accused her with a sternness she had never before shown, of 
trying to entrap her son's affections. Sonia stood with down- 
cast eyes, answering not a word to this unjust attack; she did 
not know what was expected of her — ^she was ready to make 
any sacrifice for those whom she regarded as her benefactors; 
nothing was more obvious than that she should devote herself 
for them — only in the present instance she did not see what 
she was to do. She loved them all, she could not do otherwise; 
she loved Nicholas, who could not be happy without her. What, 
then, was to be done? 



The Invasion 123 

After this painful scene; Nicholas tried to frighten his mother 
by threatening to marry Sonia privately, and he ended by 
entreatii^ her once more to sanction his happiness. She 
replied with icy indiflEerence^ strangely unlike her usual self, 
that he was of age, and that as Prince Andrew was about to 
marry without his lather's consent, he, of course, could do the 
same; but that she could never re^Eird that scheming and 
ungrateful girl as her daughter-in-law. 

Nicholas, roused to anger by his mother's language, changed 
his tone. She wanted hun, he said, to sell his affections; and 
he declared that unless ^e considered her decision, this was 
the last time he ever . . . but before he could speak the fatal 
word, which his mother could anticipate only too surely, and 
which might perhaps have raised an insuperable barrier between 
them, the door opened, and Natacha came in, pale and very 
earnest: she had overheard the discussion. 

"Nidiolas, you do not know what you are saying. Be 
silent — say no more! " she exclaimed vehemently, to prevent 
his finishing his sentence. '' And you, mamma, poor dear 
mamma — ^he does not mean that — ^you do not understand." 

The countess, on the point of a final rupture with her darling 
son, looked at him in terror; but still she could not and would 
not give in; she was piqued and urged on by the very obstinacy 
of his resistance. 

" Nicholas, I w31 explain presently-^-and you, little mother, 
listen to me. . . ." Her words were quite incoherent, but 
they achieved their purpose. The countess melted into tears, 
and hid her face on her daughter's shoulder, while Nicholas, 
desperately clasping his head in both hands ran out of the room. 

Natacha persisted in her efforts at reconciliation, and per- 
suaded her mother to promise that she would no longer torment 
Sonia. Nicholas, on his side, pledged himself to take no steps 
without his parents' knowledge; and a few days later, depressed 
and unhappy at finding hmiself in opposition to them, he 
started to join his regiment, quite resolved to quit the service 
and soon return to marry Sonia, with whom he believed himself 
to be desperately in love. 

Then tixe Rostows' home was melancholy indeed. The 
countess fell ill; Sonia, miserable in her lover's absence, could 
hardly endure the persecutions of her benefactress, who betrayed 
her hostile feeling in every word she spoke. The count, more 
taken up thaoi ever with. the precarious state of his affairs, 
found hmiself driven to extreme measures: to sell one of his 



1 24 War and Peace 

properties and his house at Moscow; he ought to have gone 
himself to attend to these transactions^ but &e feeble state of 
his wife's health delayed their departure from day to day. 

Natacha^ who had borne the first months of separation from 
her lover with patience and almost cheerfully^ grew sadder and 
more nervous every hour as she reflected that these long weeks^ 
which she might have spent so happily in loving him, were 
being lost to her longing heart. She was quite vexed to think 
of Prince Andrew as living a commonplace life, visiting foreign 
lands, and making new acquaintances, while she could only 
think of him and dream. The more kmd his letters were the 
more they provoked her, for she found no consolation in writing 
to him. Her letters, whidi her mother always looked through 
to correct the spelling, were dry and formal compositions; for 
she found it impossible to express on a sheet of paper lying before 
her what she could have said in one word — ^in a look or a smile. 
Hence she wrote simply as a matter of wearisome duty, and 
attached no importance to the letters. 

Their journey to Moscow was becoming a matter of necessity; 
irrespective of the sales to be effected, there was the trousseau 
to be ordered, and they expected to meet Prince Andrew who 
might arrive any day. The old prince was to pass the winter 
there, and Natacha persisted in telling any one who would 
listen to her that she was quite sure her lover had by this time 
come from abroad. So, as the countess meanwlule got no 
better, it was settled that the count and the two girls should go 
without her at the end of January. 



CHAPTER XV 

Peter, in spite of his entire faith in the truths that the Bene- 
factor had declared to him, and of the deep gladness he had 
experienced during the early months of apprenticeship when he 
gave himself up with genuine enthusiasm to the task of self- 
regeneration, found that his new course of life, notwithstanding 
his efiEorts to persevere in it, had suddenly lost its charm when 
Prince Andrew was betrothed to Natacha, and within a short 
time after Bazd^iew died. Nothing remained to him but the 
dry bones of life: his house, his wife — ^who stood in higher 
favour than ever with her illustrious friend, his numerous but 
uninteresting acquaintance, and his duties at court with all 



The Invasion 125 

their tiresome formalities. He felt an overwhelming weariness 
and disgust when he contemplated his life; he ceased to keep his 
journal^ avoided the society of the brethren^ haunted the club^ 
and took once more to drinking and bachelor habits; indeed 
he was so much talked about tihat Countess Helen thought it 
incumbent on her to take him severely to task. Peter sub- 
mitted on every pointy and withdrew to Moscow in order that 
she might not be compromised by his reputation. 

When he found himself there once more^ in his immense 
house, with his cousins, the princesses, who were withering on 
the stem and turning to mummies, and the innumerable de- 
pendents who swarmed in every comer of it; when he had 
been to the chapel of the Virgin of Iversktdfa, blazing with the 
light of a thousand tapers burning devoutly in front of the holy 
images in their gold and silver frames; when he had crossed 
the great square of the Kremlin lying under its mantle of spot- 
less snow; when he had once more seen the drivers and the 
shops of Kit£ugorod, and the old men and women of Moscow 
quietly vegetating in their old nooks without a wish beyond; 
when he had again taken part in the dinners and balls at the 
English Club — tiien he felt he had reached a haven. At Moscow, 
where he was at home in his own house, he had the comfortable 
sensation of a man who, after an exhausting day, gets into a 
warm old dressing-gown, shabby but easy, even ^ it is a little 
worn and greasy. 

All the society he had left welcomed him back with open 
arms; his place had not been filled and was ready for him, and 
he had only to resume it, for all these good people thought of 
Peter as one of the best fellows Hving, eccentric, but genial and 
shrewd, a t3rpical fine gentleman of the old Moscow stamp, 
absent-minded but generous, with a purse that was always 
empty because every one dipped his fingers in it without scruple. 

Performances got up for the benefit of incompetent artists, 
daubs and sculpture of the most wretched description, gipsy 
choruses, subscriptions for dinners, freemasons' charities, gifts 
for church purposes, the publication of expensive books — he 
was ready to help each and all. He could never say no, and 
would have completely ruined himself if two friends, to whom, 
indeed, he had lent a large sum of money, had not fortunately 
taken him in hand. At the club not a dinner or a soiree could 
be given without him. No sooner had he stretched his huge 
person on one of the divans, after emptjdng a couple of bottles 
of Chateau Margaux, than he was surrounded by an obsequious 



1 26 War and Peace 

circle^ talking and laughing aud flattering him. If a dispute 
arose, his genial smile and some appropriate jest restored peace; 
and if he were absent even a masonic meeting seemed to fall 
dull and flat. At a ball, when partners were few, the ladies 
would invite him and he would dance. Married or girls, they 
all liked him, for without paying special attentions to one more 
than anotha:, he was good-humoured to all: " He is charm- 
ing," they would say; " he is of no sex." 

How deeply he would have bewailed his fate if, seven years 
before, when he first returned from abroad, any one had told 
him that he need not seek a path or invent a career: that his 
life lay before him clearly marked out, and that in spite of 
every effort he would never be any better than a dozen other 
men would have been in his place? — ^To be sure, he would not 
have believed it. 

Was it not he who had so passionately longed to see Russia 
a republic; who had aimed at becoming a philosophical tacti- 
cian; whose one regret had been that he was neither Bonaparte 
nor the man who should conquer him? Was it not he who had 
believed in the regeneration of mankind, and who had laboured 
to reach the highest pitch of personal moral perfection? Was 
it not he who had founded sdiools and hospitals, and emanci- 
pated his serfs? 

And what was he after all? The owner of a vast fortune, 
the husband of a faithless wife, a retired courtier, a member of 
the English Club, and the spoilt child of Moscow society; a 
man who loved eating and drinking above all things; and who 
now and then, very much at his ease, after a good dinner, 
exerted himself to find fault with the government. 

It was a long time before it struck him that he was neither 
more nor less than a perfect specimen of the retired court- 
functionary, living without aims or responsibilities— of the 
type which, seven years ago, he had held in such contempt, and 
of which Moscow could furnish so many examples. Then he 
sometimes tried to comfort himself, assuring hmiself that his 
life would not go on long in this groove; but at once his memory 
would remind him of ail the men of his acquaintance who had 
drifted into this club existence with all their hair and teeth, and 
had only come out of it minus both; and he thought of them 
with alarm. 

Sometimes, again, his pride would try to persuade him that he 
was unlike the courtiers he contemned, these vapid, colourless, 
self-satisfied beings: '^ What proves it, is that I am dissatisfied, 



The Invasion 127 

always dissatisfied with myself^ always craving to find something 
that I can do for the good of mankind. But who knows ! " he 
would add^ with sincere humility, " but that they^ too^ like me, 
have sought to clear an independent path through life, and that 
the force of circumstances and of the conditions of existence — 
elements against which man is impotent — ^may not have brought 
them just where they have brought me? " And by dint of such 
arguments, by the time he had spent a few months in Moscow, 
he had ceased to despise — ^nay, had leamt to like, to respect^ and 
to pity his companions in misfortune just as he pitied himself. 

Then he ceased to have fits of despair and disgust at life; 
but the evil that tormented him, and that he vainly strove tx> 
thrust into the background was always present to his mind: 
" What is the end and aim of life? Why are we bom? What 
have we to do in this world? " he would ask himself a hundred 
times a day. But knowing by experience that his questions 
must remain unanswered, he put them aside, as quickly as 
possible^ taking up a book, or going ofiE to the ^b^ or to see a 
friend to pick up the day's gossip. >^ 

" My wife," he reflected, " who never in her life cared for 
anything but her own handsome person, and who is one of the 
most stupid persons I know, passes for a wit, and every one 
bows down to her. — Bonaparte, who was snubbed and laughed 
at when he really was a great man^ is implored by the Emperor 
Francis to accept his daughter's hand^ now that he is a con- 
temptible parvenu and snob. — The Spaniards get their priests 
to return thanks to Heaven for their victory over the French on 
the 14th of Jime, while the French, through priests of the same 
creed, return thanks for their victory of the same date over the 
Spaniards. — ^My brethren, the freemasons, promise and vow that 
they will give upevery worldly advantagefor the good of humanity 
and grudge a rouble at the offertory. They quarrel among 
themselves, and fret and toil to get the code of the Scotch order, 
which no one really cares about or understands — ^not even the 
man who wrote it out — ^We all profess to obey the Gospel, we 
preach forgiveness of injuries and love of our neighbour, and 
to illustrate our precepts we build forty times forty churches in 
Moscow, while yesterday a deserter was knouted, and the repre- 
sentative of the sacred law of love and forgiveness gp/es the 
victim a crucifix to kiss before his execution ! " 

Such were Peter's reflections ; and this all-pervading hypocrisy, 
hypocrisy accepted and sanctioned by every one, enraged him 
each time as a fresh discovery. " I feel it, I see it," he would 



128 War and Peace 

say to himself^ ** but how can I convince others? I have tried, 
but in vain; I am sure they all know it as well as I do and are 
wilfully blind. Then so it must be, I suppose. But what ought 
I to do? What is to become of me? " 

Like many men, and particularly many Russians, it was his 
misfortune to believe in goodness and right, and at the same 
time to see so clearly the force of evil that he had not the neces- 
sary vigour to take an active part in the struggle. This omni- 
present lie, which tainted every task he undertook, paralysed 
his energies; and yet he must live and find work whether or no. 
It was such misery to him to feel the burden of these vital 
questions without finding any answer to them that, in order to 
forget them, he threw himself into the wildest dissipations. 

He devoured books by the dozen, reading everything that 
came to hand, even while his man was helping him to undress 
at night; and after spending a day thus he would pass the next 
in idle gossip at the club or in drawing-rooms, and the evening 
between women and wine. Drink was daily growing upon him, 
and becoming alike a physical and a moral necessity; he gave 
himself up to it more and more, in spite of the warning of the 
doctors, who, in view of his corpulence, considered it dangerous 
to his health. He never felt really at his ease or cheerful till 
he had swallowed several glasses of spirits, and then he felt a 
genial warmth and benevolence towards his fellow-men which 
helped him to face his thoughts without too closely examining 
them. Then only did the Gordian knot cease to be an appalling 
mystery, nay, sometimes even seem easy to untie; then only 
could he say to himself: " I will put it aside, and think it out 
by and by." — But that " by and by " never came; when the 
matter recurred to his mind the enigma rose before him more 
terrible and more insoluble than ever, and he flew to reading to 
drive away intolerable thought. 

He remembered having heard that soldiers in the trenches 
under fire would contrive some diversion to make them forget 
the danger; and he reflected that this is what we all do : that 
all of us, in our dread of life, try, like the soldiers, to forget it — 
some by ambition, politics, and state-craft — others with 
women, wine, horses, and sport. " Thus," he concluded, 
" nothing is possible or, on the other hand, important! . . . . 
£ver3rthing comes to the same in the end; all we have to do is 
to evade implacable reality^ and never look it fairly in the face 1 " 



The Invasion 129 



CHAPTER XVI 

Prince Nicholas Bolkonsky had settled at Moscow early in 
the winter; his past life, his wit, and his eccentricity, combined 
with his anti-French and supra-patriotic opinions — ^which, in 
consequence perhaps of a collapse of the enthusiasm roused by 
the earlier acts of the young czar, were quite in the fashion at 
Moscow — ^to give him a position as an object of respect, and the 
leader of the opposition party. 

But the prince was very much aged; a fact that betrayed 
itself in sudden naps, in a forgetfulness of recent events and 
keen remembrance of a long-past time, and in the childish 
vanity which made him accept with glee the role of a party- 
leader. Nevertheless, when he made his appearance at the 
hour of evening tea, in a long coat lined with fur and his hair 
powdered, when he fell into the vein of telling anecdotes of his 
youth in his usual dry, pithy manner, or of passing keen and 
bitter judgment on the events and men of the day, all who 
heard him listened with awe. 

His enormous house, filled with furniture that dated from 
the middle of the last century, the servants — ^always in full 
livery dress, he himself — ^sharp, haughty, and keen-witted, the 
representative of a departed epoch, his gentle and timid daughter 
and the pretty Frenchwoman, who both regarded him with alarm 
and reverence .... all these elements composed an impressive 
whole, a strange but captivating picture. Visitors were apt to 
forget that each day as it passed did not consist merely of the 
two hours which they spent in the interesting society of the 
master of the house, but of two and twenty more, which dragged 
their weary length along over the family in private, and fell with 
all their weight on poor Princess Maria. She, deprived of her 
dearest joys — her talk with " the people of God," and the soli- 
tude which served as a balm to all her woes, and with no one she 
cared to associate with, gained nothing by their change of abode. 
She soon had not even any invitations, as her father refused to 
let her go anywhere without him, and he, on the ground of his 
health, would not stir out. Every hope of marriage had faded 
from her horizon, for his perversity and irritability towards all 
who might have become suitors for his daughter were only too 
marked. She had no friends; since her arrival at Moscow she 
had even leamt to think more coldly of the two women who had 
11 £ 



130 War and Peace 

shared her afiection: Mademoiselle Bourrienne, whom, for 
various reasons^ she thought it well to keep at a distance; and 
Julia Karaguine^ with whom she had kept up a correspondence 
for five years, only to find, as soon as they again met, that they 
had in fact nothing in common. Julia, the heiress to a large 
fortune in consequence of the death of both her brothers, threw 
herself into worldly pleasures, and was looking out for a husband. 
Time pressed; she would soon be a decidedly mature maiden; 
now or never she must play her cards well; and she felt that her 
fate must be sealed as soon as possible. As each Thursday came 
round Princess Maria smiled sadly to think that, not only there 
was no letter to write, but that her friend's weekly visit had 
become so completely a matter of indifEerence to her. She 
involuntarily thought of the old Frenchman who refused to 
marry the woman he admired, saying: " If she were my wife, 
where should I spend my evenings? " She could only regret 
that Julia's presence had put an end to their mutual eflFusive- 
ness, and that now there was no one to whom she could pour 
out the griefs that every day made heavier to bear. 

Prince Andrew was now daily expected; the time fixed for 
his marriage was drawing nearer, but his father was no better 
inclined to it: on the contrary, the subject was so sore that the 
mere mention of the Rostows vexed him beyond measure, and 
his always fractious temper became almost unbearable. The 
lessons Princess Maria taught her little nephew, now six years 
old, were an additional distress, for, to her horror and distress, 
she found herself liable to fits of temper painfully resembling her 
father's. How often had she had to repent of her violence! 
And her most earnest endeavours to make his baby tasks easy, 
and her anxiety to teach him all she knew herself, were nullified 
by the certainty that the child, scared by her vehemence, would 
answer all wrong. Then she would get confused in her explana- 
tions, raise her voice and grow angry, and dragging him roughly 
by the hand, would put him in a comer. Having inflicted the 
punishment, she would melt into tears and accuse herself of 
cruelty; and the little boy, trotting out of his comer without 
waiting for leave, would cry too, and kiss her hands, and hug 
her to comfort her. 

Still, worst of all was her father's temper, which daily grew 
worse so far as she was concerned. If he had forced her to 
spend her nights in prayer, if he had beaten her, or made her 
hew wood and draw water, she would have submitted without 
a murmur; but this terrible tyrant was all the more cmel 



The Invasion 131 

because he loved her; nay^ by means of his affection he could 
wound and humiliate her in every possible way; and he de- 
lighted in proving her wrong on every point and on every occa- 
sion. The attentions he lavished on Mademoiselle Bourrienne 
had^ during the last few months^ been more marked than ever; 
and the preposterous notion that he might marry this foreigner^ 
which had in the first instance occurred to him merely to annoy 
his daughter when Prince Andrew had asked his consent^ 
evidently began to smile on his fancy; stilly his daughter fondly 
persisted in believing it was only a new device to grieve and 
bully her. 

One day, when she was present, the old prince, after kissing 
Mademoiselle Bourrienne's hand, drew her to him and embraced 
her. The princess coloured and left the room, persuaded that 
her father had done it to insult and vex her. A few minutes 
later, when Mademoiselle Bourrienne joined her, smiling and 
gay, she hastily dried her tears, and unable to contain herself, 
she loaded her with reproaches. 

'' It is vile, base, monstrous to take such cm advantage of weak- 
ness! " she exclaimed, half choked by tears and sobs. 

The next day her father made no comment on the scene, but 
she observed that the Frenchwoman was served first at dinner; 
and when the old butler unfortunately forgot this last whim of 
his master's, and handed the coffee first to the princess, the old 
man flew into a terrific rage. He flung his cane at the peccant 
butler, and declared he should be sent off to serve as a soldier 
that same hour. 

" You forgot! you forgot my orders, when I told you myself? 
She is the first person in the house, now do you hear? She is 
my best friend. And if you ever allow yourself . . . ."he added, 
turning to his daughter. " You ... to forget yourself in her 
presence as you did last evening, I will teach you who is master 
here. . . . Go, leave the room, or ask her pardon ! " 

And Princess Maria apologised, and then, with great difficulty, 
extracted forgiveness for the hapless servant. 

After such scenes as these, the poor girl went through agonising 
struggles between outraged pride as a victim, and the secret 
remorse of a Christian conscience. Her father, whom she dared 
to blame, was he not old and helpless? Feeling about for his 
spectacles, losing his memory, walking feebly, distressed to think 
that his senility should be observed, dozing off at meals, and 
nodding his old head over his plate when tihere was no one to 
amuse him. " God knows I have no right to condemn him ! " 



132 War and Peace 

she would say to herself, blaming herself for her first impulse to 
rebel. 

There was at Moscow, at that time, a French doctor, a tall, 
handsome man, and very amiable, as his countrymen know how 
to be when it suits them, who had achieved a great reputation 
in the most aristocratic circles, where he was treated as an equal 
and a friend. 

The old prince, though very sceptical of medical treatment, 
had consulted him by Mademoisefle Bourrienne's advice, and 
became so accustomed to Monsieur M6tivier, that at last he saw 
him regularly twice a week. 

On St. Nicholas' day all Moscow called at the prince's door 
to offer congratulations, but he was at home to no one but a 
small party of intimate friends whom he had asked to dinner, 
and of whom he had given a list to the Princess Maria. 

Metivier, however, thought proper to run the blockade, and 
go in to see his patient, who was certainly in a diabolical temper. 
He wandered from room to room, took up every word and pre- 
tended not to understand anything that was said to him, as 
though on purpose to find excuses for being angry. Princess 
Maria was only too familiar with this lowering storminess, ready 
at any moment to burst into fury, and as inevitable as the explo- 
sion of loaded fire-arms; she spent the morning in agonies of 
anticipation, but the tempest did not break out till the doctor 
came. Having yielded to his going into her father's room, she sat 
down with a book in her hand in the drawing-room, where she 
could hear, or at any rate guess what was going on in the study. 

First she heard M^tivier's voice, then the prince's, then both 
talked loudly together, and the door was flung open, revealing 
the doctor, evidently terrified, and behind him the old man in 
his dressing-gown, his face distorted by rage. 

" You do not know what he would be at," he screamed, 
"but I know! — ^French spy! Bonaparte's creature! . . ." 
And he slammed the door in a fury. 

M6tivier shrugged his shoulders, and going towards Made- 
moiselle Bourrienne, who had rushed in from another room on 
hearing the noise, he said: "The prince is not quite himself 
to-day — a, little bilious; but do not be uneasy. I will look in 
again to-morrow." Then he went away, advising perfect quiet, 
while through the. door they could hear the prince in his slippers 
shuffling over the polished floor and his repeated exclamations: 
"Traitors! Spies! Treason on all sides! Never a moment's 
peace!" 



The Invasion 133 

A few minutes later he sent for Princess Maria to receive all 
the brunt of the explosion. Was it not her fault, and no one's 
else^ he said^ that this spy had been admitted ? • Where was the 
list he had given her^ what had she done with it? It was all her 
fault that he could neither live nor die in peace! " We must 
part^ part at once; distinctly understand me^ we part; I can 
bear it no longer!" 

He was leaving the room^ but fearing perhaps that she would 
not take his words seriously^ he came back again with a great 
effort to seem calm. " Do not fancy," he said, " that I am 
speaking in a passion. I have weighed my words, and we must 
part. Find a home elsewhere, I do not care where." Then, 
forgetting the calnmess he had put on for a moment, he shook 
his fist in her face, exclaiming: " To think that there should 
not be an idiot to be found to marry her ! " And he rushed back 
into his own room, slammed the door, and sent for Mademoiselle 
Bourrienne. Then silence reigned for a while. 

The six guests invited to dine arrived all together at about 
two o'clock. There were Count Rostopchine, Prince Lapoukhine 
and his nephew. General Tchatrow — an old comrade in arms 
of Prince Bolkonsk/s — Peter, and Boris Droubetzkoi. They 
assembled in the drawing-room. Boris, who was at Moscow on 
leave, had begged to be introduced to the prince, and had so far 
won his good graces that the old man made an exception in 
his favour, and received him in spite of his being a man of 
matrimonial age. 

The Bolkonskys' house was not one of those which figured 
in what Moscow regarded as society; but the mere fact of 
being admitted to this exclusive circle was esteemed a most 
flattering distinction. Boris had fully appreciated this a few 
days previously, when the governor of the city had invited 
Count Rostopclune to dine with him on St. Nicholas's day — 
Boris happening to be present — and Rostopchine had declined 
the honour, sa)dng: " I must go, you know, and worship the 
relics of Prince Nicholas Andr6i6vitch." 

" To be sure," the great man had replied. " How is he? " 

The little party assembled to wait for dinner in the spacious, 
old-fashioned drawing-room might have been a council of six 
deliberating on some important question, for they were some- 
times silent, and only spoke in subdued tones. Prince Bolkonsky 
at length joined them, very taciturn and gloomy; his daughter 
more nervous than ever, only replied quite shortly to his guests' 
remarks, and they saw at once that she was not attending to 



I' 






134 War and Peace 

what was going on around her. The talk was left entirely to 
Count Rostopchine^ who alternately gave them some item of 
Moscow gossip and of political news. Lapoukhine and old 
General Tchatrow said but little. 

Prince Nicholas sat listening with the solemnity of a judge^ 
and from time to time, by his silence, by a motion of his head, 
or by a word, gave them to understand that he took note of 
what was said. Foreign politics was the principal topic, and it 
was easy to gather from the tone of the conversation generally 
that the conduct of the Russian government was unreservedly 
blamed on that point, and that they all thought matters going 
wrong, and from bad to worse. The only limit the speaker set 
himself, or found set to his judgments, was when his unfavour- 
able opinions involved him in personal reflections on the czar. 
They spoke of Napoleon's occupation of Oldenburg, and of the 
last Russian note, which was decidedly hostile to him in tone, 
and which had been sent to all the European powers. 

'* Bonaparte is treating Europe as a corsair treats a ship he 
has captured," said Rostopchine, quoting a phrase of his own 
that he had repeated several times during the last few da3rs. 
" The long-su£Eering, or the blindness, of the great powers is 
really incomprehensible I Now it is the Pope's turn; Napoleon 
is doing all he can to upset the Catholic religion, and not a voice 
is raised! The czar is the only monarch who has protested 
against the occupation of the Grand Duchy of Oldenburg, and 
even he . . ." The count broke off; he had gone as far as any 
one might dare. 

" He offered him another territory in exchange for Olden- 
burg," added Bolkonsky. ** He takes grand dukes lightly, and 
dispossesses them as I should transfer my peasants from Lissy- 
Gory to Begoutcharovo ! " 

" The grand duke bears his reverses with admirable fortitude 
and resignation," said Boris, putting his word in. He had 
been presented to the grand dtdce at St. Petersburg, and liked 
to let it be understood that he knew him. The prince flashed 
a glance at him, and was on the point of uttering some satirical 
remark, but it came to nothing. He probably thought him too 
young, and did not trouble himself about him. 

'' I read our protest, and was astonished to find it so badly 
written," said Q)unt Rostopchine, with the cool assurance of a 
man who knows what he is talking about. 

" What does the style matter if the language is emphatic? " 
said Peter, looking at him in frank surprise. 



The Invasion 135 

" My dear fellow^ with an army of five hundred thousand 
men we might so well have afforded a little style l" replied 
Rostopchine^ and Peter understood the force of his criticism. 

" Every one can blacken paper nowadays," said their host. 
" At St. Petersburg they do nothing else. My boy Andrioucha 
has written a whole volume for the good of the country. . . . 
No one can do anjrthing but scribble." 

Then the conversation flagged, but General Tchatrow, after 
many vigorous ahems, started it afresh. 

" Did you hear what happened the other day at the review 
at St. Petersburg, and what the new French ambassador did? " 

" Yes, I fancy I heard his reply to his majesty a good deal 
criticised." 

"Well, judge for yourself. The czar condescended to call 
his attention to the regiment of grenadiers, and the splendid 
appearance as they marched past; the ambassador seemed 
perfectly indifferent, though it is said he was so bold as to 
remark that in France they did not trouble themselves about 
such trifles. His majesty took no notice at the time, but at the 
next review he simply ignored his presence." 

All were silent. The emperor being implicated no comment 
was possible. 

"Insolent brutes!" said the old prince. "You know 
M6tivier? Well, I turned him out of my house this morning. 
He had been let in, in spite of my express orders, for I did not 
wish to see any one. . . ." And he looked wrathfuUy at his 
daughter as he proceeded to give the history of his interview 
with the doctor who, as he declared, was nothing else than a 
spy; and he gave his reasons for thinking so — ^not very cogent 
ones to be sure, but no one ventured to dispute them. 

When the champagne was poured out, at the same time as the 
roast was handed round, the company all rose to congratulate 
the master of the feast, and his daughter came round to kiss 
him. He looked at her from head to foot with a hard, spiteful 
stare, and put out his clean-shaved cheek; it was very evident 
that he had not forgotten the scene in the morning, that his 
determination was still the same, and that only the presence of 
his guests kept him from repeating his fiat. 

At last, when coffee was served in the drawing-room, he 
unbent a little, and with quite youthful vehemence gave his 
opinion on the war that was threatening. 

"Our struggles with Napoleon," he said, "will alwajrs be 
ineffectual as long as we insist on allying ourselves with 



136 



War and Peace 



Germany^ and^ as a fatal consequence of the treaty of Tilsit^ 
have the affairs of all Europe on our hands. We ought never 
to have taken part either with or against Austria; we ought 
to confine our attention exclusively to the East. And as for 
Bonaparte^ a firm demeanour and a well-guarded frontier are 
quite enough to keep him from setting foot in Russia^ as he 
did in 1807." 

** But how can we possibly make war against France^ 
prince? ** asked Rostopchine. " How can we rebel against our 
masters — our demi-gods? Look at our yoimg men, look at 
our ladies I The French are their idols, and Paris is their 
Paradise ! " He raised his voice to command attention. " Every 
thing is French — ^fashions, ideas, sentiment. You, you say, 
have turned out M^tivier; but our ladies are on their knees 
to him. Yesterday, at an evening party, I saw five Catholics 
doing worsted-work on a Sunday, in virtue of a dispensation 
from his Holiness the Pope, but they hardly had any clothes 
on for all that, and might have been painted for a sign for a 
bath-house. How much I should have enjoyed, prince, taking 
Peter the Great's thick stick out of the Museum and breaking 
some of our young dandies' ribs with it, in the good old Russian 
fashion! . . . Their imbecile priggishness would soon have 
disappeared, I promise you ! " 

There was a pause, but the old prince nodded approbation, 
and smiled at his friend's outburst. 

" And now good-night, excellency; take care of yourself," 
said Rostopchine, rising with his usual abruptness and holding 
out his hand. 

" Good-night, my friend, your words are real music; I quite 
forget myself as I listen to you," and, gently detaining him, 
the prince offered him his parchment cheek. The rest, follow- 
ing Rostopchine's example, also rose. 

Princess Maria had not taken in a word of the conversation; 
she was possessed by one anxiety — ^the fear lest the constraint 
between her father and herself should be evident to their 
guests. She had not even paid any attention to Droubetzkoi's 
civilities, though it was his third appearance at the house. The 
prince accompanied his friends out of the room, and Peter came 
to her, hat in hand, and asked whether he might stay a few 
minutes longer. 

'* Certainly," she replied; and her anxious glance seemed to 
ask whether he had noticed anything. Peter, who was always 
sweetly amiable after dinner, smiled vaguely, and said: 



« 
« 



The Invasion 137 

*' Have you known that young man long, princess? '' 

" What young man? " 

" DroubetzkoL" 
No; only lately . . ." 
Do you like him? " 

Yes; he seems pleasant. But why do you ask me? " she 
said^ still thinkings in spite of herself, of the scene of the morning. 

" Because I have observed that he never comes to Moscow 
excepting in search of a rich wife." 

" You have observed it? " 

"Yes; he is always to be found within easy reach of an 
heiress. I can read him like a book. At the present moment 
he is in a state of doubt: he cannot make up his mind whether 
to give you or Miss Karaguine the preference; he is extremely 
attentive to her." 

" He goes there a great deal, then? " 

" Oh, yes 1 a great deal ... In fact, he has invented a new 
way of paying court to a lady," Peter went on, with a good- 
humoured love of mischief, which he had often recorded against 
himself in his journal. " A man must be melancholy to please 
the young ladies of Moscow, and he is very melancholy with 
Miss Julia." 

" Indeed 1 " said Princess Maria, who, looking into his kind 
face, thought to herself, " L should, I believe, be less miserable 
if I could confide in some one — ^for instance, in Peter. He has 
a noble nature, and I am sure could give me some good advice." 

," Would you marry him? " Peter continued. 

" Indeed, there are times when I would marry any one — ^the 
first that offered," replied the poor girl, almost in tears, and in 
spite of herself. " It is so hard, so very hard, to love any one 
and feel yourself a burthen on those you love — ^to be a trouble 
to them, and not to be able to help it; there is only one alter- 
native, and that is to go away . . . But where can I go? " 

" What do you mean, princess; what are you saying? " 

"Oh I I do not know what has come over me to-day," she 
said, unable to restrain her tears . • . " But pay no heed to 
what I have said . . ." 

Peter's gay humour was gone; he pressed her kindly for 
some further explanation, and entreated her to tell him of her 
secret trouble; but she persisted in saying that it was nothing, 
that she had forgotten what was the matter; that her only 
trouble was her brother's approaching marriage, which she 
feared would lead to a quarrel between father and son. 



138 War and Peace 

" What do you know of the Rostows? " she went on, to 
change the subject. " I am told that they are coming to town; 
and I expect Andrew, too, from day to day. I should have 
liked them to meet here." 

" What view does he take of the matter now? " asked Peter, 
meaning the old prince. 

Princess Maria shook her head sadly. *^ Just the same as 
ever; and there are only a few months now to the end of the 
year they were to wait. I wish I could have seen more of 
her . . . You have known them a long time? Tell me honestly, 
and without reserve, what you think of her — quite frankly, 
would you? For Andrew is risking so much by going against 
my father in this matter that I should like to know . . ." 

Peter fancied that this pressing desire to know the truth, 
and nothing but the truth, betrayed some covert ill-feeling 
towards his friend's betrothed. Evidently Princess Maria 
counted on hearing some word of blame. 

" I hardly know how to answer your question," he said, 
colouring very gratuitously in his anxiety to give her a true 
impression of his own feeling. " I have not analysed her 
character, sp I cannot tell how far it is worthy; but I know 
that she is fascination itself. It is vain to ask me how, for I 
could not explain it." 

Princess Maria sighed: this only confirmed her fears. 

" Is she intelligent? " 

Peter reflected. " Perhaps she is, perhaps not. But she 
does not care to make any display of it, for she is fascination 
itself, neither more nor less." 

" I should like to love her with all my heart," said Princess 
Maria. " If you see her, pray tell her so." 

" They will be here in a few days," said Peter. 

She told him that she was fully determined to see Natacha 
as soon as possible after their arrival, and to do all she could 
to persuade her father to receive his future daughter-in-law 
with a good grace. 



The Invasion 139 



CHAPTER XVII 

BoRis^ who had failed in finding a rich heiress at St. Petersburg, 
was following up the same game at Moscow^ and he hesitated 
between the two best matches then open to him — Julia Kara- 
guine and Princess Maria. In spite of her plain face the princess 
was the more attractive to him, but after the dinner, on St. 
Nicholas' day, it was in vain that he tried to approach the 
delicate subject; all his attentions were completely wasted, for 
Princess Maria hardly listened to him, and answered quite at 
random. 

Julia, on the other hand, accepted his civilities with pleasure, 
though in a way of he^ own. She was seven-and-twenty; she 
was now very rich, but her beauty was not what it had been, 
though she herself was persuaded that, in spite of her mature 
years, she had never been handsomer or more bewitching; and 
her recently-acquired wealth encouraged her illusions. As her 
age made her less dangerous to men, they took full advantage 
of her dinners and suppers, and of the pleasant circle she 
gathered round her without fear of compromising themselves 
or being ensnared by her. Men who, ten years ago, would 
have avoided her carefully, went there constantly now, regarding 
her no longer as a young lady on her promotion, but simply as 
a pleasant acquaintance, without any consideration of sex. 
Indeed, the Karaguines' receptions this year were the most 
brilliant and liberal of the season. Besides dinners and evening 
entertainments by special invitation, every evening a large 
party collected there, chiefly men; there was a capital supper 
at midnight, and they seldom broke up before three in the 
morning. 

Julia never missed a ball, a performance, or a picnic; her 
dresses came from the first makers; at the same time she gave 
herself all the airs of a blasee woman of the world, a£Fecting to 
have ceased to believe in friendship, love, or earthly happiness 
in any form, and to sigh only for peace " beyond the grave! *' 
It might have been thought that she had suffered some cruel 
and terrible disappointment in love, or had lost some adored 
friend; but nothing of the kind had ever happened to her. 
She had, however, succeeded in persuading herself that her life 
had been a series of sorrows, and, by degrees, had made others 
believe it too. While she enjoyed herself thoroughly, and 



140 War and Peace 

provided enjoyment for her acquaintance^ she gave herself up 
to constant pathetic melancholy; but each one, after sym- 
pathising with her deeply^ flung himself, heart and soul, into 
the spint of the thing: — gossip, dancing, games of wit, and, 
above all, capping verses, which was a favourite amusement. 

Some few of the younger men, and among them Boris, affected 
a more enduring interest in Julia's woes, and would talk with her 
by the hour of the vanity of this world, as they turned over the 
leaves of her albums of drawings, mottoes, and verses, on serious 
and sentimental subjects. She treated Boris with particular 
favour, compassionating his early disenchantment, and offering 
him the consolation of her valuable friendship — ^for she, too, 
had suffered so much! Her album had no secrets from him, 
and Boris drew in it on a blank page two trees side by side 
with this motto; " Ye rustic trees — your branches cast darkness 
and melancholy around me." On another he sketched a cofhn^ 
with these lines: 

" Death is our friend, our only hope of peace, 
For in the grave sdone can sorrow cease.*' 

Julia was delighted, and thought the lines exquisite; she 
responded by a passage from a novel she happened to re- 
member: 

^* How enchanting is the smile of melancholy! It is like a 
gleam of light in the darkness, a half tint between sadness and 
despair, heralding the dawn of consolation." 

Boris, acknowledging the grateful appropriateness of the 
quotation, answered again in a stanza: 

** Sweet nutriment of every sorrowing soul. 
The only joy my grieving spirit knows, 
Bland Mdancholy, hail! Thou can'st console; 
Bring respite from my solitary woes. 
Exert thy secret soothing charm. 
And turn my flowing tears to balm! '* 

Julia frequently played the harp, and would choose, for her 
friend's special delectation, her most doleful nocturnes ; he, on 
his part, read aloud to her the story of * Lisa," ^ and emotion 
would often interrupt him in his reading. When they met in 
the gay world their eyes would say that they were alone to 
understand and appreciate each other. 

Anna Mikhailovna was a constant visitor; she became Mrs. 
Karaguine's unfailing partner, and drew from the fountain-head 

^ A novel by Karamzine. 



The Invasion 141 

all the information she could desire as to Julia's fortune. She 
soon found out that it consisted in two estates in the government 
of Penza^ and some magnificent forest-land in that of Nijni 
Novgorod. As a humble and resigned waiter on Providence, 
she perceived in the ethereal sentimentality which served as a 
bond of spiritual union between her son and the wealtiby heiress, 
an undoubted manifestation of the will of the Almighty. 

" Boris always says that here alone can he find peace. — ^He 
has outlived so many illusions, and he has such a tender soul,'' 
she would say to the mother. 

" Always sweet, but always sad, dearest Julia! " she added, 
to the daughter. 

" My dear boy, I am devoted to Julia," she would say to her 
son. " I cannot tell you how much I love her — indeed, it is 
impossible to help loving her; she is a heavenly creature! 
And her mother, too; I am so sorry for her! I found her the 
other day worried to death over her accounts and letters from 
Penza. They have plenty of money, but, as she has no one 
to help her in managing it, she is robbed and plundered on all 
sides. — You have no notion what it is! " 

Boris smiled faintly as he listened to these transparent 
hints, but he was greatly interested, all the same, in all that 
concerned Mrs. Karaguine's stewardship. 

Julia calmly awaited her gloomy adorer's declaration, and 
had quite made up her mind to receive it with favour; but 
her entire lack of natural impulse, and too broadly betrayed 
desire to get married, added perhaps to the necessity it would 
entail on him of giving up a truer feeling, repelled Boris, and 
kept him from taking the decisive step. His leave was nearly 
at an end. Every ev«iing, as he came away from the Kara- 
guines, he had postponed his proposal till the morrow; but on 
the morrow, as he looked at Julia's reddened complexion, veiled 
under a sprinkling of powder, her languishing eyes and affected 
expression, ready at a moment's notice to cast off melancholy, 
and assume the rapture which his offer would certainly inspire, 
he felt his courage sink — ^nay, to so low an ebb, that the attrac- 
tions of her fine estates and income, of which he already saw 
himself the master, were not enough to raise it. Julia saw his 
hesitancy; sometimes she even fancied that he had conceived 
an insurmountable antipathy towards her; but her feminine 
vanity soon rejected that hypothesis, and she then ascribed his 
sh3aiess to the passion he felt for her. At the same time her 
sentimentality became touchy, and she had just made up her 



142 War and Peace 

mind to take some decisive measure, when the unexpected 
arrival on the scene of Anatole Kouraguine cleared the way. 
Her melancholy vanished as if by magic; she was bewitchingly 
gay, and laid herself out to please him in every way she could 
think of. 

'' My dear boy/' said Anna Mikhailovna to Boris, '^ I have it 
on the best authority that Prince Basil has sent his son here 
on purpose to make a match with Julia. I cannot tell you how 
deeply it grieves me, I am so fond of her. — ^What do you think 
of the matter? " 

The idea of having wasted so much time and energy, of losing 
the fruits of these months of servitude, and of seeing a fortune 
of which he could make such good use fall into the hands of 
an idiot like Anatole, exasperated Boris. He firmly resolved to 
propose to Julia no later than the morrow. She received him 
with a careless smile, told him how much she had enjoyed some 
party the night before, and asked him when he was leaving. 
Though he had come fully intending to be tender and senti- 
mental and to declare his passion, Boris could not help taking 
a tone of complaint, accusing all women of frivolity, incon- 
stancy and caprice, according to the humour they were in and 
their fancy for accepting the homage of the latest favourite. 
Julia, much offended, said he was quite right, for that nothing 
was more intolerable than sameness; and Boris was about to 
retort rather sharply when the prospect of quitting Moscow 
without having gained his point — sl sort of defeat he was not 
accustomed to — checked the words on his lips. He looked 
down to veil the angry indecision of his eyes, and said in a low 
tone: " I did not come to quarrel with you, on the contrary. 
. . ." He glanced at her to see if he might proceed, and met 
her feverish, anxious gaze fixed on him with eager expectation. 
" I can easily manage to see very little of her," he said to him- 
self. " I am in for it, and must go on with it." He coloured a 
deeper crimson as he added : " You have of course guessed my 
feelings towards you. ..." 

Surely this ought to have been enough, for Julia was radiant 
with triumph, but she would not spare him a single word, and 
he was forced to say all that is usually said under the circum- 
stances; that he loved her — that he had never loved any other 
woman with such passion — etc., etc. Knowing very well what 
she had a right to expect in return for tibe lands of Penza and 
the forests of Nijni, she extracted the price she desired. 

"The trees whose branches shed shade and melancholy," 



The Invasion 143 

Tere soon foigotten, and the happy couple, thinking only of 
tkeir plans for the future and the arrangement of their luxurious 
home, paid innumerable visits and made ready for a splendid 
weddu^ at an early date. 



CHAPTER XVin 

Count Rostow left his wife, still ailii^, at Otradnoe, and came 
to Moscow with Natacha and Sonia at the end of January. 
Prince Andrew was to arrive soon; they must prepare the 
trousseau, the property must be sold, the old prince must be 
called on, and his future daughter-in-law introduced to him. 
The Rostows' house was neither fitted up nor warmed for their 
reception, so the count accepted Maria Dmitrievna Afrossimow's 
pressing hospitality and went to her house, all the more willingly 
as he did not intend to make a long stay. So rather late one 
evening the four vehicles that conveyed the Rostows and their 
belongmgs turned into the court-yard of a house in the Old 
Stables Street. This house belonged to Maria Dmitrievna, who 
lived there alone, her daughter being married and her four sons 
with their regiments. 

Age had not bent her: her loud voice and firm distinct utter- 
ance expressed her opinion frankly to all in turn, and her whole 
person was a standing protest against the weaknesses, passions,^ 
and impulses of human nature, to which she for one would not 
jaeld. She was up early every morning, slipped on a loose 
jacket and looked into every detail of household management; 
then, if it was a fete-day, she went out in the carriage, first to 
mass, and then to visit the prisons; but of this she never said 
a word. On other days, after finishing her toilet, she received 
every one without distinction of rank who came to appeal to 
her charity. This reception being over she dined; three or 
four pleasant intimates shared her plentiful and well-cooked 
meal, which was invariably followed by a game of boston. 
Later in the evening she sat knitting while some one read aloud 
to her — ^the newspaper or some new book. She never accepted 
invitations, with a few very rare exceptions in favour of some 
of the higher town functionaries. 

She was still up when the Rostows arrival made the great 
front door creak heavily on its hinges, and brought a rush of 
cold and snow into the hall. Standing at the threshold of the 



144 Wzr and Peace 

drawing-room^ her spectacles low on her nose and her head held 
very high, Maria Dmitrievna examined her guests with .her 
usual critical severity. She might almost have been supposed 
to be very much vexed with them, but her orders to the servants 
for the disposal of the new-comers and their luggage at once 
contradicted the idea. 

" Is that the count's? — Here, then, this way," she shouted, 
without even stopping to bid them welcome, so anxious was she 
to see their trunks properly disposed of. " The young ladies' 
boxes — ^to the left. — ^Well, what are you doing with your 
mouths wide open ? " she went on to the women-servants. " Get 
the samovar ready. — So here you are, and fatter and prettier 
than ever," she exclaimed, drawing Natacha forward, for she was 
quite red with cold under her fur hood. 

" Mercy, what an icicle ! Take off your wraps,*' — ^then turn- 
ing to the count, who kissed her hand, " and you, too, perfectly 
frozen 1 — Bring some rum with the tea, and make haste. — ^Well, 
Soniouchka, and how are you ? " she continued with the slightly 
supercilious affection she always displayed to Sonia. 

When they had all taken off their furs and had gathered 
round the tea-table their hostess kissed each in turn. 

" I am so glad to have you with me ! . . . and it is high time, 
too," she added, looking at Natacha, " the old man is here, and 
his son is expected. We must become acquainted, we really 
must, but we can talk of that later . . ." She stopped short, 
with a glance at Sonia to convey that she did not choose to 
discuss the subject before her. " And who will you send for to 
call on you to-morrow? " she went on, and she counted on her 
fingers: " First of all, Schinchine, I suppose? Then Anna 
Mikhailovna, — a, whimpering goose! Her son is here, and is 
going to be married. . . . And who next? B^soukhow, he is 
here, too, with his wife ... he ran away from her, but she has 
run after him; he dined with me last Wednesday. As to those 
children," and she indicated the two girls, " I will take them 
in the morning to say their prayers to the Iverskaia Virgin, and 
then to stop at Chalm^'s, for they have not clothes to their 
backs I am quite sure, and I cannot set them the fashions. 
There is something new every day; it is enough to make an old 
woman shudder. The other day I had good proof of it; a 
young lady had sleeves as big as barrels. — ^Well, and what 
business have you to do? " she added, looking stem again. 

"Oh! a little of everything; the girls' clothes, to sell my 
house and land — in the suburbs, you know; so I shall ask your 



The Invasion 145 

permission to make a short excursion so far — ^I will leave the 
children with you and spend a day there." 

" Very well, they will be quite safe with me, I will answer 
for that; as safe as if they were wards of the empire. I will 
chaperon them, and scold them and spoil them/' said Maria 
Dmitrievna, stroking Natacha's cheek, who was her favourite 
and her god-daughter. 

The programme laid down for the next day was duly carried 
out; they first went to worship at the shrine of the Virgin, then 
they paid a visit to Madame Aubert Chalm^, the famous dress- 
maker, who stood in such awe of Maria Dmitrievna that, only 
to get rid of her, she sold her the prettiest thing in her show- 
room at a loss; however, on this occasion the chief part of 
Natacha's trousseau was ordered of her. When they got home 
again Maria Dmitrievna dismissed Sonia and took Natacha aside. 

" Now we can talk," she said. " I congratulate you; you 
have secured a charming man, and I am heartily glad for your 
sake; I have known him from childhood." Natacha coloured 
with pleasure. " I love him and all his people. Now, listen to 
me. The old prince is excessively unmanageable and he dis- 
approves of this marriage, but Prince Andrew is not a child and 
can very well dispense with his consent. Only it is always pain- 
ful to become one of a family that receives you grudgingly. — 
Conciliation is far preferable; set to work with hearty good- 
will, and, as you are no fool, I feel sure that, with tact and 
gentleness, you can win them over and all will be well." 

Natacha said nothing, not out of timidity, as her friend 
perhaps imagined, but because it wounded her deeply when any 
third person touched on her love affairs. Her passion for Prince 
Andrew was a thing so completely outside and above all every- 
day associations tlmt she did not believe any one could enter 
into her feeling about it. She loved him, he was all the world 
to her; and he loved her, and he was coming. — ^What did she 
care about the others? 

" Maria, his sister, is a good soul, in spite of the saying about 
sisters-in-law having ugly quarrels; she would not hurt a fly. 
She asked me to let her see you; you might go there to-morrow 
with your father. Try to^ please her, you are the younger, you 
know, and at any rate you will have made acquaintance before 
he arrives — his father and his sister will have had time to 
become attached to you. Is it not so ? Will not that be best ? " 

" Yes, I dare say," said Natacha, but not heartily. 

This advice, however, was taken; they were to call on th^ 



146 



War and Peace 



old prince. But Count Rostow went much agamst his will; he 
was very much alarmed at the idea of an interview, remember- 
ing only too vividly how the prince had taken him to task, on 
the occasion of calling out the militia, for not having furnished 
the regulation contingent of men; and this rating had come as 
the answer to an invitation to dinner 1 Natacha, on the con- 
trary, dressed in her best, was in a radiant frame of mind: " It 
is impossible that they should refuse to be fond of me; such a 
thing never happened to me in my life; besides, I am ready to 
do anything and everything they can wish — to love the old man 
because he is his father, and to love her because she is his 
sister — in short to love them all ! " 

They had scarcely got into the hall of the vast and gloomy 
Bolkonsky mansion, when the count could not help sighing 
deeply and murmuring: 

" Merciful God protect us ! " 

His agitation was extreme, and it was in quite a subdued and 
humble voice that he asked to see the prince and Princess 
Maria. A footman hastened forward to announce them, but 
some strange confusion at once arose; the man who was taking 
the message was stopped by another at the door of the big 
drawing-room, and they stood whispering together; then the 
princess's maid came forward with a scared look and said some- 
thing to them; and finally the old major-domo, with his 
puckered, cross face, came back to tell the count that the prince 
could not have the honour of receiving them, but that Princess 
Maria begged they would go to her sitting-room. Mademoiselle 
Bourrienne came out to meet them, and led the way with 
efEusive politeness to the princess's rooms. She, crimson with 
shyness and emotion, advanced awkwardly to receive them, 
trying in vain to control her feelings. Natacha did not please 
her at the first glance; she thought her dress too fashionable, 
and herself too frivolous and vain; an obscure jealousy of the 
girl's beauty and youth, and of her brother's love for her, had 
from the first prejudiced her against Natacha, and the feeling 
had been brought to a head by the brief storm which the 
announcement of this visit had roused. The old prince had 
declared with many oaths that he did not want to see the 
Rostows, and that he would not see them; she might do as she 
pleased. It was in great fear, and trembling with agitation — 
dreading lest her father should commit some gross act of in- 
civility — ^that she decided finally to ask them to pay their visit 
to her. 



The Invasion 147 



** 



I have brought my little singer to pay her respects to you^ 
princess/' said the county bowing and looking round him in 
evident alarm lest the old prince should unexpectedly put in an 
appearance. " I am most happy^ most flattered by your kind- 
ness in allowing her to make your acquaintance . . . The 
prince is still so ill? That is very sad^ really very sad. — ^WiU 
you allow me/' he said> after a few commonplace remarks^ ^* to 
leave my daughter with you for about ten minutes. — I have 
some business in the immediate neighbourhood and will come 
back for her." 

The count invented this errand on the spur of the moment, 
as he subsequently confessed, in order to give the future sisters- 
in-law an opportunity of talking to each other freely and 
frankly, and to avoid any risk on his own part of meeting the 
master of the house. His daughter guessed this; it piqued 
her pride and she coloured up; then, vexed with herself for 
blushing, she turned to the princess with a slightly defiant air. 
Princess Maria willingly agreed to the count's suggestion, 
hoping in fact to be alone with Natacha; but Mademoiselle 
Bourrienne was determined not to understand her meaning 
glances, and went on talking with bland volubility of the 
amusements of the Moscow season. Natacha, annoyed to begin 
with by the parley in the ante-room, and humiliated by her 
father's unconcealed alarm, was quivering and recalcitrant in 
every nerve; she involuntarily adopted an indifEerent and 
reckless tone which jarred on Princess Maria, while to her the 
princess seemed stifE and cold. 

A laborious conversation was kept up for about five minutes, 
and then a sound was heard of quick^ short steps, and of slippers 
tapping and shuffiing on the floor. Princess Maria turned white 
with terror; the door opened and the old prince came in, 
wrapped in a white dressing-gown, with a cotton night-cap on 
his head. 

" Oh ! Miss G>untess — Countess Rostow if I am not mistaken, 
pray excuse me — I was not aware, God knows, that you had 
done us the honour of calling! — I came to speak to my daughter 
. . . that accounts for this costume. — Pray excuse it, countess f 
God knows, I had no idea you were here," he repeated with 
sharp, rude emphasis. 

Princess Maria had risen and stood witib downcast eyes, not 
daring to look at him or at Natacha, who had also risen from 
her seat, scarlet to the roots of her hair. Only Mademoiselle 
Bourrienne continued to smile. 



148 



War and Peace 



" Pray^ excuse me; God knows I had no idea/' the old man 
growled once more, and after staring at Natacha from head to 
foot he withdrew. Princess Maria and Natacha looked at each 
other in consternation, without saying a word or attempting 
any explanation; and this awkward silence confirmed and em- 
bittered their preconceived antipathy. 

The count now returned, and Natacha made haste to take 
leave with an eagerness that was almost ill-mannered. She 
had taken a great dislike to this *' old maid/' as she called her 
to herself; she was very much annoyed with her for having led 
her into such a false position, and above all for never having 
mentioned Prince Andrew: " It was not for me to speak of 
him first — ^and before that French woman 1 " thought Natacha; 
while the same difficulty was tormenting Princess Maria. The 
princess, indeed, felt that she ought to say something about 
the marriage; but while, on one hand, she, too, felt uncomfort- 
able in Mademoiselle Bourrienne's presence, on the other the 
subject itself was such a painful one that she did not know how 
to begin. At last, just as the count left the room, she went up 
to Natacha determined to speak, took both her hands and 
murmured: " One minute, dear Natacha — I must say — I must 
tell you how glad I am that my brother — ^has found happi- 
ness. . . ." She paused as though she were conscious of 
speaking falsely, and Natacha, who was looking at her with 
a rather satirical smile, at once understood this. 

" It seems to me, princess, that you have chosen the wrong 
moment for speaking of the matter," she said, turning away 
with some dignity though tears started to her eyes. " What 
have I done? What have I said.? " she thought. 

When dinAer-time came they waited a long time for Natacha; 
she was sitting in her room and sobbing like a child. Sonia 
stood by her side, kissing her hair. 

Natacha, what is there to cry for? What can it matter? 
It will all be forgotten ! " 

" But only think what a humiliation! " 

" Forget it, my pet — it was no fault of yours — come, kiss 
me." Natacha put up her face and their lips met; then she 
leaned her tearful cheek against her friend's. 

"I do not know — it is no one's fault — or perhaps it 
was mine; but it was frightful I . - . Ob, why is he not 
here? " 

At last she went down; but she could not hide the fact that 
her eyes were red with crying. Maria Dmitrievna, knowing 



The Invasion 149 

how to account for the recq>tion Natacha and her Either had 
met with, pretended not to notice how upset she was, and went 
on talking and laughing with her guests, in a loud voice as 
usuaL 



CHAPTER XIX 

That evening the Rostows went to the opera, where their 
hostess had secured a box. Natacha did not care to go, but as 
the kindness was meant especially for her she could not possibly 
refuse. She dressed and went into the drawing-room to wait 
for her father; there she caught sight of her own figure in a 
long mirror; she could not help stopping to look at the image, 
and it struck her as pretty — ^so pretty that she felt quite in 
love with it as she gazed. 

" Oh God! if only he were here! ... I should not be satis- 
fied only to kiss him shyly, as I did when I was frightened at 
such a new sensation ! . . . No, no, I should have thrown my 
arms round him and have clung close to his heart — I would 
have made him look straight, deep into my eyes with that keen 
gaze — I can see it now. — ^What do his father or his sister matter 
to me? It is he that I love, and no one else: his face, his eyes, 
his smile — a man's smile and a child's smile, too — ^I must not 
think of it — I had better forget it for a little while, for other- 
wise I can never bear to wait. . . ." And as she turned away 
from the glass she could hardly keep from sobbing, " How can 
Sonia love Nicholas in that calm placid way I wonder? How 
can she go on waiting with such patient constancy? I am not 
like her; — ^no, quite different. . . ." And she fixed her eyes 
on her fnend, who was coming towards her pla3dng with her fan. 

In her mood of suppressed emotion and tenderness it was 
not enough to love and know that she was loved; she felt an 
aching impulse to throw her arms round her lover's neck and 
hear his lips utter the passionate words that were surging up 
in her own heart. During their drive, sitting by her father, she 
watched the street lamps that sparkled trough the frozen 
p>anes, forgetting all that surrounded her, and giving herself up 
to a melancholy luxury of love and daydreams. Their carriage 
fell into the line, and gently drew up, with a dull sound of 
crunching snow, in front of the portico of the theatre; picking 
up their skirts Natacha and Sonia sprang out, while the old 



150 War and Peace 

count slowly followed^ supported by the servants. They all 
three made their way through the crowd that was pouring in, 
paying no heed to the shouts of the libretto-sellers, or the 
sounds of the orchestra which were vaguely audible through 
the closed doors. 

"Natacha, mind your hair!" exclaimed Sonia, while the 
capeldiener ^ hastened to show them to their box. The music 
burst on their ears; the boxes filled with women in full-dress, 
and the stalls crowded with dazzling uniforms blazed before 
their eyes. A lady in the next box turned round and shot a 
look of feminine envy at Natacha. The curtain was still down ; 
the overture was being played; Natacha and Sonia shook out 
their dresses, which had been crushed in their drive, sat down 
in front, and looked at the boxes opposite. All these eyes 
directed on them — on their arms and shoulders, gave Natacha 
a mixed sensation of pleasure and discomfort which she had 
not felt for a long time, and which brought back to her memory 
a whole world of excitements, hopes, and remembrances asso- 
ciated witib that feeling. 

The two girls, boUi unconunonly pretty, and old Count 
Rostow, who had not been seen at Moscow for many months, 
soon became the centre of general attention. It was vaguely 
known that his daughter was to marry Prince Andrew, and 
that the Rostows had remained in the country ever since their 
engagement; so the chosen bride of one of the best partis in 
Russia was an object of the greatest curiosity. 

Natacha, who had improved very much of late, was looking 
particularly well that evening, owing no doubt to the excite- 
ment she was going through, and which betrayed itself in the 
startling contrast between her exuberant life and youthfulness 
and her entire indifference to all that surrounded her. Her 
black eyes looked round at the crowd without resting on any 
one, and her slender, small hand, lymg on the velvet cushion 
in front of her, played mechanically witih a programme. 

" Look, I think that is Mrs. Alenine with her daughter," said 
Sonia. 

" Mercy! Michael Kirilovitch is fatter than ever! " exclaimed 
the count. 

** And do look at Anna Mikhailovna! what a thing she has 
on her head ! " 

" She is with Boris and the Karaguines — an engaged couple, 
that is very evident! " 

^ A court servant employed in the imperial theatres. 



The Invasion 151 

'' What^ did you not know? Droubetzkoi was accepted this 
morning/' said Schinchine coming into the box. 

Natacha, following the direction of her father's eyes^ saw 
Julia^ radiantly happy^ sitting by her mother; a pearl necklace 
was displayed on her powdered throat. Boris's handsome head 
and shining hair were visible in the background; he leaned over 
his Julia and was murmuring something in her ear — evidently 
speaking of the Rostows. 

" They are talking of us, of me • . ." said Natacha to herself. 
'' He is bidding her not to be jealous of me — quite unnecessary, 
I am sure. If they could but know how Httle I care about 
them all." 

Behind them was the green velvet structure that formed a 
setting for Mrs. Droubet^oi's face, expressive of triumph no 
doubt, but of triumph tempered by resignation to the will of 
Providence. Natacha understood by experience that high 
pressure atmosphere of joy and love which hangs about an 
engaged couple; her own sadness increased tenfold as she 
watched them, and the impression of the treatment she had 
endured that morning recurred to her mind with added bitter- 
ness. She turned her head away as if she were stung. 

" What right has that old man to refuse to receive me? — 
But why do I let mjrself think of it? I will forget all these 
odious things till he comes." And she resolutely began to 
inspect the faces, known and imknown, that crowded the stalls. 
Exactly in the middle of the front row, with his back to the 
stage, reviewing the house, stood Dologhow in a Persian dress; 
his hair curled and frizzed out made a huge and strange-looking 
coiffure. Filling a most conspicuous place, and well aware that 
he was attracting the attention of everybody there, surrounded 
by the gilded youth of Moscow to whom he gave himself patron- 
ising airs, he seemed as much at his ease as in his own smoking- 
room. 

Count Rostow touched Soma's elbow to point out her former 
admirer. 

"Would you have recognised him? — ^Where has he sprung 
from?" he asked Schinchine. "He had disappeared com- 
pletely." 

" Yes, completely. He went to the Caucasus, then he bolted; 
after that they say he was prime minister to some sovereign 
prince in Persia, and that he killed the Shah's brother — ^and 
now all the women have had their heads turned by Dologhow^ 
the handsome Persian. £ver3rthing is Dologhow; he is the 



152 War and Peace 

only thing to sWear by; you are invited to meet him just as if 
he were some rare and dainty dish to be eaten ! Dologhow and 
Anatole Kouraguihe have made fools of them all ! " 

At this moment a tall and splendid woman came into the 
adjoining box. A thick plait of light hair lay like a diadem on 
her head; round her throat was a double row of large pearls, 
and her shoulders, displayed by a very low gown, were remark- 
able for their perfect form and whiteness. She was a long time 
settling herself, and shook out her rustling dress with a great 
deal of fuss. Natacha was admiring this magnificent person as 
a whole and in detail, when the magnificent person's eyes met 
that of Count Rostow and she bowed with a friendly and 
intimate smile. It was Peter's wife, Countess B6soukhow. The 
count, who knew every one, leaned over to speak to her : " Have 
you been long here? allow me the pleasure of kissing your 
hand in a few minutes. I am in Moscow on business and have 
the girls with me . . » I hear that S6m6nova is perfect in this 
opera. — And the count, is he here? " 

" Yes, he meant to come," replied Helen, her eyes fixed on 
Natacha. 

Count Rostow sat down again. 

" Is not she beautiful? " he whispered to his daughter. 

" Wonderfully beautiful," replied Natacha. " I can under- 
stand having a passion for her." 

The overture being ended the conductor rapped out three 
strokes. Every one settled into place, the curtain rose, and 
there was silence. Young and old, civilians and soldiers, and 
the women with bare arms and shoulders, covered with jewels 
— ^all alike turned their eyes on the stage, and Natacha followed 
their example. 

Side scenes representing trees framed the boarded stage; in 
the middle stood groups of girls in short petticoats and red 
bodices; one of them, who was remarkably stout and dressed 
in white, sat apart on a low stool leaning against a slope of 
green canvas; they were singing in chorus. When this was 
over the large girl in white came nearer to the prompter's box; 
a man in silk tights stretched over a huge pair of legs, a cap 
and feather on his head, and at his waist a dagger, went up to 
her and began singing a solo with much gesticulation. Then 
the lady in white had her turn; then both were silent, and 
presently, as the orchestra recommenced da capo, the man with 
the plume seized the damsel's hand as if he were about to count 
her fingers, and resignedly waited for the bar when they were 



The Invasion 153 

to begin singing together! The audience clappckl' ahd stamped 
with delight^ and the two singers representing^ as it would 
seem^ a pair of lovers^ responded to the applause by bowing 
right and left by way of thanks. 

To Natacha^ hresh from the country and predisposed to 
be particularly thoughtful that evening, this performance was 
bewildering and purposeless. She could not follow the thread 
of the story or appreciate the subtleties x»f the music; all she 
saw was coarsely-painted canvas^ men and women in extra- 
ordinary garments movii^, speaking, and singing in a broad 
patch of blazing light. She knew what was aimed at, of course, 
but the absurdity and unnaturalness of the whole thing affected 
her with a feeling of shame and embarrassment for the actors 
even. She looked round for some trace of the. same efiEect on 
the faces of her neighbours; but every one, with eyes fixed on 
the stage, was watching the action of the play with growing 
interest, and expressing such extravagant enthusiasm that it 
struck her as artificial and affected. '^ I suppose it must be so I " 
she thought as she still looked down on the curled and oiled 
head of the men below, at the low-dressed women in the boxes, 
and above all at her fair neighbour, Helen, who might almost 
have been supposed to have nothing on, and who sat placidly 
gazing at the scene, smiling with 01)mipian serenity, pleased 
with the full light that showed her off, and inhaling the steamy 
heat of the crowded house with evident enjoyment. Natacha 
gradually felt a sort of intoxication stealing over her to which 
she had long been a stranger; she forgot where she was, and 
the playing going on under her eyes; she looked without seeing, 
while liie absurdest and most fantastic ideas danced through 
her brain: — Should she, now, jump on to the stage and sing the 
air that the prima-donna had just finished; or give a tap of 
her ^in to the little old man in the front row; or lean over 
Helen and tickle her back? 

During one of the pauses which preceded each fresh number, 
the door of the stalls, close by the Rostows' box, opened softly 
to admit a late arrival whose steps could be heard in the passage. 
** Here comes Kouraguine ! " whispered Schinchine. 

Countess B6soukhow turned round and Natacha saw her 
smile to a grand-looking officer in aide-de-camp's uniform who 
came towards their box with an air of ease and good breeding; 
she remembered having seen him at the ball at St. Petersburg. 
There was a conquering manner in his gait that might have 
been ridiculous if he had not been so superbly handsome, and 



1 54 War and Peace 

if his regular features had not worn such a prepossessing ex- 
pression of thorough cordial good-humour. 

Though the curtain was up he walked quite leisurely along 
the carpeted way^ his sword jingling slightly as it tapped his 
spurs, and his poiumed head hem high but gracefully. He 
glanced at Natacha as he went up to lus sister, and laying his 
hand on the shelf of the box nodded to her, leaned forward and 
asked her a question, with an evident reference to her pretty 
neighbour: 

" Charming! " he said, clearly alluding to Natacha; and she 
felt it, though she did not hear it. Then he went on to his 
place in the front row, and as he sat down he gave a friendly 
nudge of the elbow to Dologhow, whom the others treated with 
envious deference. 

" How much alike the brother and sister are! " said the old 
count. " And both how handsome 1 " 

Schinchine began to tell him in a low voice of some recent 
intrigue of Kouraguine's, and Natacha did not lose a word of 
it — ^just because he had thought her charming. 

The first act was over and the public began to go out and 
come in again incessantly. 

Boris came round to the Rostows' box, accepted their con- 
gratulations with the utmost simplicity, and begged them in 
Julia's name to be present at their marriage. Natacha chatted 
with him quite gaily; and yet — this was that very Boris with 
whom she had once thought herself in love. But in the excited 
state she was in nothing seemed unnatural or extraordinary. 
The fair Helen smiled on every one alike, and Natacha, as she 
talked to Boris, smiled like her. 

Countess B6soukhow's box was soon crowded with men of 
mark and talent who had evidently met there with a view to 
showing the world at large that they enjoyed the distii^ished 
honour of her acquaintance. Kouraguine with his back to the 
stage, leaning, like Dologhow, against the barrier that divided 
off the orchestra, never took his eyes off the Rostows' box 
throughout the interval. Natacha felt sure that they were 
talking of her, and was flattered; she even turned a little so 
as to display her profile, which, in her private opinion, was the 
best view of her pretty face. Shortly before the second act 
Peter came in; the Rostows had not yet seen him — ^he looked 
sad and was stouter than ever. Seeing Natacha he hastened 
forward and came to speak to her. They exchanged a few 
words, and happening to turn round, her eyes met those of 



The Invasion 155 

handsome Kouraguine. Indeed he did not take them of! her^ 
and they expressed such enthusiastic and even tender admira- 
tion that she was conscious and embarrassed at seeing him so 
near her and feeling that she attracted him without their being 
acquainted. 

The scene of the second act was a cemetery full of graves 
and monuments^ and in the middle of the background there 
was a hole to represent the moon. Night fell — by means of 
shades over the foot-lights — ^homs and double basses were 
muffled^ and a crowd of supernumeraries in trailing black 
cloaks came forward from the side scenes. They proceeded to 
wave their arms like madmen^ and they were brandishing an 
object which^ in the dim lights looked like a dagger^ when some 
others rushed on dragging with them the lady of the white robe 
— only now she was in blue. Happily for her they began to 
sing in chorus before they had gone far. They had no sooner 
done than three smart blows on the drum were heard behind 
the scenes; the men in black fell on their knees and intoned a 
hymn, accomp)anied by the vociferous plaudits of the spectators, 
who even interrupted their pious exercises more than once. 

Every time Natacha looked down at the stalls she could not 
help seeing Anatole, who sat with his arm over the back of 
Dologhow's seat, and his eyes fixed on her; and without attach^ 
ing any importance to the fact, she felt a thrill of pleasure at 
the idea that she could so bewitch him. 

Countess Helen took advantage of the next interval to move; 
she turned her handsome shoulders on the count and beckoned 
him with her finger; then she began a confidential talk, totally 
ignoring the visitors to her box who had come to pay their 
respects to her. 

" Pray introduce me to your charming girls," she said. " All 
Moscow is talking of them, and I have not yet made their 
acquaintance." 

Natacha rose and curtsied to the superb countess; she was 
so much touched by the compliment that she could not help 
colouring. 

'* I mean to become quite a Moscovite," Helen went on. 
'* What a shame to keep two such pearls hidden in the depths 
of the country I " The countess might well be called a fascinat- 
ing woman: she had the gift of being always able to say the 
very coqtrary of what she thought, and above all the whole art 
of flattering with a perfectly natural grace. " You must allow 
me, dear count, the pleasure of seeing something of these young 



156 



War and Peace 



ladies; my stay here^ like yours^ will^ it is true^ be but a short 
one^ so we must make the most of tlie time. I have heard a 
great deal about you," she added to Natacha with her stereo- 
typed, engaging smile, " at St. Petersburg, from my humble 
servant Droubetzkoi, and from my husband's very good friend. 
Prince Bolkonsky." She emphasised the fact to convey that 
she knew of Natacha's engagement; and to promote their 
further acquaintance she invited her to come into her box. 

The third act took place in a brilliantly-lighted palace, 
decorated with full-length portraits of bearded knights. In the 
middle were two personages representing apparently a king and 
a queen. The king, after some gesticulation, timidly began a 
grand scena which he got through, it must be said, with small 
credit to himself, after which he took his seat on a purple throne. 
The young lady who had first appeared in white and then in 
blue now seemed to have little more on than her shift; her hair 
hung loose, and she gave utterance to her despair in a song 
addressed to the queen; but the king having raised a prohibitive 
hand, a crowd of men and women with bare legs appeared from 
\ arious comers and began to dance. The fiddles played a light 
quick tune; one of the dancers, who had large feet and lean 
arms, came forward from among her companions, and after 
retiring for a moment to arrange her bodice, took her stand in the 
middle and began to jump, clapping her feet together. The 
spectators applauded with all their might. A man, also bare- 
legged, struck an attitude in the right-hand comer, bells and 
trumpets played faster than ever, and he, in his tum, sprang 
forward, leaping and kicking in the air; this was Dup)ort, who 
was making 60,000 francs a year by cutting capers. The 
enthusiasm of the house, boxes, stalls and "gods," knew no 
bounds; there was a perfect storm of clapping, shouting and 
stamping, and the dancer paused to bow and smile. Then the 
ballet went on till the king made some observation in recitative 
and all the chorus replied; but suddenly a tempest came on to 
an accompaniment of minor scales and chords in the orchestra, 
the stage crowd dispersed on all sides, carrying off the damsel 
in the shift, and the curtain fell. Then the spectators shouted 
louder than before, calling Duport with indescribable vehemence. 
And by this time Natacha had not only ceased to think it strange, 
she was actually smiling at all she saw. 

" Is not Duport quite admirable? " Helen asked her. 

" Oh yes \ " replied Natacha. 

During the jiext interval the countess's door was again 



The Invasion 157 

opened/ and the cold draught was followed by Anatole^ who 
bowed his way in, careful not to disturb an5rthing. 

" Allow me to introduce my brother," said Helen, turning 
her eyes with vague significance from Natacha to Anatole. 
Natacha looked round at the handsome young man whom she 
thought no less splendid near than he had seemed at a distance, 
and she smiled at him over her shoulder. He sat down behind 
her, and assured her that he had longed to have the pleasure of 
her acquaintance ever since he had seen her at the Naryschkines* 
ball. Kouraguine could talk very difEerently to men and to 
women ; with the latter he was always natural and unpretentious ; 
and Natacha was agreeably surprised by his simplicity and 
frank kindliness of manner, so that in spite of all she had heard 
against him, she did not feel at all uneasy with him. 

Anatole asked her what she thought of the opera, and told 
her of the fall that S^m^ovahad had at the last performance. 
" Lo you know, countess,^' he said suddenly in the tone of an 
old acquaintance, " that a fancy-dress procession is being 
arranged; you really must join in it. It wiD be very good 
fun. We are all to meet at the Karaguines. Do come, too, — 
you will, will you not? " and his eyes smiled back at Natacha's 
smiling eyes and then glanced, still with a smile, at her shoulders 
and arms. She felt their gaze even when she was looking else- 
where, with a mixed emotion of gratified vanity and natural 
sh3niess. However, she turned her head quickly, trying to 
divert this impertinent curiosity to her face again, and then 
she could not help asking herself with some anxiety what had 
become of that instinctive coyness which had always stood as 
a barrier between her and other men, and which he apparently 
ignored. How had this stranger, in so short a time, put himself 
on such a footing with her? How was it that after these few 
minutes' conversation on indifEerent matters she was conscious 
of discomfort at seeing him so close to her, and of a fear lest he 
should secretly seize her hand, or even bend forward and kiss 
her shoulder? Never before had any man given her this sense 
of audacious intimacy. She looked up with questioning eyes 
at her father and Helen, as though they could explain it; but 
Helen was thinking only of her squire then in attendance; and 
her father's genial smile and accustomed good-humour seemed 
to say: " You are enjoying yourself? So much the better; I 
am very glad of it." 

After a short pause, which Anatole took advantage of to fix 
his fine eyes on her face, Natacha, not knowing how to shake 



158 War and Peace 

of! this incubus^ asked him whether he liked Moscow; but no 
sooner had she spoken than she coloured^ blaming herself for 
having reopened the conversation. 

*' I did not like it much when I first arrived/' he said with a 
smile. "What makes the place pleasant is the presence of 
pretty women — don't you thmk so? And there were none here 
then. Come to the procession^ countess; you will be the 
queen of beauty there — ^and, to pledge yourself irrevocably^ 
give me that flower." 

Natacha^ though she did not take in all the significance of 
this speech^ felt its outrageous audacity. Not knowing what 
reply to make she turned away, pretending not to have heard 
it. But the feeling that he was there — close to her, behind her 
— oppressed and worried her: " What is he doing? " she 
wondered. " Is he ashamed? or vexed with me? Is it my 
place to try to mend matters . . . but I have done nothing. ..." 
Finally she could not help looking round, and was conquered 
at once by his winning smile, his perfect self-confidence and 
cordial warmth of manner. This irresistible attractiveness 
filled her with alarm by showing her, more clearly than ever, 
the absence of any barrier between herself and him. 

The curtain rose again; Anatole went back to his stall with 
a complacent smile, and Natacha returned to her father's box, 
taking with her the impression of having had a glimpse into 
another world. Her lover, her visit that morning, her country 
life — ^all was obliterated from her memory. 

In the fourth act a tall devil sang and played antics till he 
vanished through a trap. This was all she saw. She was 
agitated and upset; and it must be confessed that Kouraguine, 
on whom she involuntarily kept an eye, was the cause of her 
discomfiture. As they were going out he reappeared, called 
up their carriage, and helped them in, taking advantage of the 
opportunity to press Natacha's arm just above the elbow. 
Startled and blushing she looked round, and met a glance of 
tender passion from eyes that glowed and smiled at hen 

When they reached home they found tea waiting for them, 
and not till then did Natacha shake o£E her bewilderment and 
begin to understand what had happened. The memory of 
Prince Andrew came upon her like a thunderbolt; her face 
tingled with shame, and she hastily fied to her own room: 
'' &)od God! How could I let him do such a thing! I am 
ruined, lost. . . ." she thought, in her horror. Covering her 
burning cheeks with her hands she sat thinking for a long time. 



The Invasion 159 

but without succeeding in bringing order into the chaos of her 
impressions. Just now^ in that great lighted theatre^ where 
Duport in his short spangled jacket was jumping on the watered 
boards^ while old men and young men, and even the placid 
Helen, with her preposterously low bodice and her imperious 
smile, shouted bravo till they were hoarse. Just now, under 
the influence of that intoxicating atmosphere, all had seemed 
obvious and natural; but here and now, alone with her con- 
science, ever3rthing was dark and confused. 

" What ails me? " she asked herself. " What just now made 
me so uncomfortably conscious, and what is this remorse that 
torments me now? " Her mother, to whom alone she could 
have confessed and confided all she felt, was far away. Sonia 
would not have understood, and her straightforward and strict 
judgment would have been horrified. So Natacha was reduced 
to seeking the cause of her torments in her own heart. 

"Am I really unworthy of Prince Andrew's love," she 
wondered; and then she laughed at her own foUy. " How 
absurd! I really am an idiot to ask myself such a question! 
It is nothing after all — it was not my fault; I did nothing to 
put such an idea into his head. No one will ever know any- 
thing about it, and we shall never meet again. I have nothing 
whatever to blame myself for, that is quite certain, and Prince 
Andrew may still love me just as I am — ^just as I am! But 
what am I? Oh, merciful God! why is he not here? " She 
tried to comfort herself, but a deeper instinct revived her 
doubts; in spite of all the reasons she could give herself, she 
felt that the first purity of her passion for her lover had vanished 
for ever; and imagination insisted on recalling to her memory 
every detail of her conversation with Kouraguine, every feature 
of his face, every movement of his person, and the lumdsome 
officer's impudent smile as he squeezed her arm. 

Anatole Kouraguine had been sent away from St. Petersburg 
by his father because he was there spending 20,000 roubles a 
year, not to speak of an equal sum outstanding in debts, for 
which his creditors were incessantly dunning him. Prince 
Basil explained that he would pay them once more for the last 
time, on condition that he should ^0 to live at Moscow, where 
he had procured a place for him as aide-de-camp to the governor, 
and that he should make up his mind to marry some rich heiress 
— Princess Maria, for instance, or Julia Karaguine. Anatole 
agreed^ went to Moscow, and made himself at home in Peter's 



1 60 War and Peace 

house. Feter^ to be sure^ did not make him particularly 
welcome; but he soon got accustomed to his ];M:esence^ some- 
times joined in his orgies^ and often gave him money without 
even asking for his I.O.U. 

Schinchine spoke truly when he said that Anatole turned all 
the women's heads; mainly by his lordly indifference to ladies 
and avowed preference for gypsy girls and actresses — parti- 
cularly for Mademoiselle Georges, with whom he was said to be 
on terms of the greatest intimacy. He was to be met at every 
supper-party^ at Danilow's as well as at every other fast man's 
in Moscow; drank hard, and left all his companions under the 
table. He never missed a soir6e or a ball, where he ostensibly 
paid court to several ladies of fashion, with whom he carried on 
a more or less pronounced flirtation. As to choosing a wife, he 
never thought of that; for an excellent reason known only to 
a few intimate friends — ^he was married already. A Polish 
fanner, on whom he had been billeted two years since, had 
forced him to marry his daughter. 

He deserted his wife not long after, and persuaded his father- 
in-law, in return for a sum of money, to be paid periodically, to 
connive at his continuing to pass for a bachelor. He was per- 
fectly content, unfailin^y satisfied with himself and the rest 
of the world, unable to conceive of any other mode of existence, 
and convinced that he had only the merest peccadillos on his 
conscience. His view of things was that Providence, who had 
made the duck to swim, had bestowed on him, Anatole Koura- 
guine, 30,000 roubles a year, and the right to be ever)rwhere, 
and at all times, first and supreme. This belief was so firmly 
rooted in his mind that it even spread to those who came into 
contact with him; every one gave way to him, every one lent 
him money, which he borrowed as a matter of course, and, no 
less as a matter of course, never repaid. 

He was no gambler, he had no sordid love of winning; he 
lacked the vanity which gives self-respect, and was indifferent 
to the opinion of others; he had no tinge of ambition, and 
drove his father to despair by his crazy freaks, which injured 
his prospects, and by his perpetual mockery of all dignities and 
honours. On the other hand, he was not avaricious, and 
always ready to help a friend. He was simply devoted to 
pleasure and to women; he could not see what there was 
wrong or base in his tastes, and was incapable of calculating 
the consequences of his deeds or passions, to himself or to 
others. In short, he considered himself a blameless character, 



The Invasion i6i 

had a genuine contempt for a rogue^ and held his head high 
with a quiet conscience. 

Most magdalens, whether men or women, have a secret and 
childish beUef in their own innocence, based on their hope of 
forgiveness. " She shall be forgiven much, for she hath loved 
much." "He shall be forgiven much, for he hath enjoyed 
much!" 

Dologhow, having returned to Moscow from his foreign exile, 
was living in the most splendid style on the strength of his 
adventures in Persia, p]a3dng high, and indulging in every form 
of dissipation. This was of itself enough to bring him and his 
old companion in folly together once more, and to enable him 
to take advantage of the intimacy for his own benefit. Anatole, 
who thought highly of his courage and intelligence was sincerely 
attached to him, while Dologhow simply made use of Koura- 
guine as a bait to catch young men of wealth, though he took 
good care not to let him suspect this. Besides these interested 
motives, moreover, it was a pleasure to him — ^a habit, and almost 
a necessity, to have some pliant will under the control of his own. 

Natacha had made a sudden and deep impression on Anatole. 
As he sat at supper after the opera, he enlarged with the unction 
of a connoisseur on the beauty of her arms, her shoulders, her 
feet, her hair, and announced his intention of devoting himself 
to her forthwith, without stopping to think what the result 
might be for both of them. Such vulgar considerations were 
not part of his programme. 

" She is very pretty, my boy, but she is not for us," said 
Dologhow. 

" I shall tell my sister to invite her to dinner," said Anatole. 
" What do you think? " 

" Wait till she is married." 

" You know I adore little girls; you can turn their brain in 
a moment." 

" Take care; you have been caught by one little girl," said 
Dologhow, alluding to his marriage. 

" For that very reason I cannot be caught a second time," 
said Anatole^ with a hearty laugh. 



n F 



1 62 War and Peace 



CHAPTER XX 

The Rostows remained at home next day, and no one came 
to call. Maria Dmitrievna and the count had a long private 
conference; they were laying a plot to attack the old prince. 
Natacha guessed their scheme, and it piqued and troubled her. 
She expected every hour to hear that Prince Andrew had 
arrived, and sent twice in the course of the day to inquire. Vain 
hope! Suspense added to her dejection, and the painful im- 
pression left by her interview with Princess Maria and the 
prince lent a vague hue of alarm to her fevered impatience. 
She fancied sometimes that Prince Andrew would never come 
back, or else that something fatal would happen to herself. 
She could not drift into daydreams as she was wont, for all the 
experiences of the last few days would intrude themselves. 
For the hundredth time she asked herself if she had indeed been 
guiltless, if she were as constant as ever; and she recapitulated, 
in spite of herself, every detail of that evening at the opera — 
every shade of expression in the face of the man who had pro- 
duced an impression on her that was as terrible to her conscience 
as it was incomprehensible. On the surface she seemed brighter 
and livelier than ever, while in her heart she had utterly lost all 
happiness and peace. 

On the Sunday morning Maria Dmitrievna proposed that 
the young people should go to service at the parish church. 
" I do not like fashionable church-going," she said. " God is 
everywhere the same. Our priest is a very excellent man, and 
the deacon, too, and the service is well performed; and I 
cannot see that a choir, or the concerted music that is given in 
some churches, beseems the sanctity of the place! I do not 
approve of it — it is making things too pleasant." 

Maria Dmitrievna kept Sunday as a high festival; her house 
was cleaned from top to bottom every Saturday; neither she 
nor her servants did any such work on the Lord's day, and every- 
one went to mass. She had some extra dish for dinner, and 
would give the servants a treat of brandy, with a goose or a 
sucking-pig. And nowhere was the influence of the day more 
distinctly legible than on the broad, full face, always serious 
though it was, of the mistress of the house. 

After returning from mass they had coffee in the drawing- 



The Invasion. 163 

room^ where the chairs had their work-a-day covers removed, 
and presently the carriage drove up to the door. Wrapped in 
her very best shawl, Maria Dmitrievna rose and announced that 
she was going to call on Prince Bolkonsky, to come to some 
explanation with regard to Natacha. 

A few minutes later, Madame Aubert Chalm6 came to try 
on Natacha's dresses, and she, only too glad of anything to 
divert her thoughts, withdrew with the dressmaker to her own 
room. At the very moment when she was standing before the 
long glass, her head turned over her shoulder to contemplate 
the back of the bodice — which was only tacked together, and 
had no sleeves — she heard her father's voice, and that of a lady, 
which, with strange excitement, she at once recognised as Helen's. 
She had not time to put her dress on again before the door 
opened and Countess B6soukhow came in, more smiling than 
ever, in a violet velvet dress richly trimmed. 

" Ah ! my beauty, my charmer," she began, ** I have come 
on purpose to tell your father that it is really monstrous to keep 
you here without seeing a living soul ! I insist on your coming 
to me this evening. I shall have a small party — ^Mademoiselle 
(Georges will recite for us ... If you do not bring your sweet 
girls," she went on to Count Rostow, who had just strutted in, 
" I shall positively have to quarrel with you. My husband is 
gone to Tver, otherwise I should send him to fetch you . . . 
You will be sure to come, will you not? Without fail — ^at about 
nine.?" 

Then, with a civil nod to the dressmaker who knew her well, 
and made her a very low courtesy, she seated herself in an easy- 
chair near the mirror, and while she gave her skirts a graceful 
turn, she went on chatting in the most friendly way, going into 
ecstasies over Natacha's beauty and her pretty new dresses, 
shaking out and patting down her own, and finally recom- 
mending the girl to have one made exactly like one of hers that 
had just come from Paris: " It is lovely, my dear; gauze with 
metallic lights . . . But what does it matter after aU, for 
everjrthing you wear looks well." 

Natacha beamed with delight; it was new life to her to 
listen to the flattery of this amiable countess, who had struck 
her at first as so imposing, so loftily inaccessible, and who now 
treated her with infinite cordiality. It quite turned her head. 
Helen was in fact perfectly sincere, but her sincerity did not 
exclude the covert purpose of attracting Natacha to her own 
house; her brother had begged her to get her there; and while 



164 



War and Peace 



she was eager to serve his interests she never suspected her own 
want of good faith. She had once upon a time been jealous of 
Natacha's attraction for Boris ; but she had quite forgotten that, 
and honestly wished her new friend to have all she had herself. 
As she was leaving she drew Natacha aside. 

" My brother dined with us yesterday/* said she, " and we 
nearly died of laughing. He eats nothing and can only sit and 
sigh .... He is madly, quite desperately in love with you, 
my dear." 

Natacha blushed crimson. 

" How she colours up — dear child! — ^Wcll, be sure you come. 
Though you are in love, it is not a reason for shutting yourself 
up; and even though you are engaged, I am sure your future 
husband would be charmed to thmk that you went out a little 
in his absence, rather than perish of dullness." 

" Then she knows I am engaged," said Natacha to herself, 
" and yet she has talked and laughed about it all with Peter, 
who is right-mindedness itself! — Then there can be no harm 
m It. 

Under Helen's influence, in fact, all that till now had terrified 
her, seemed quite a matter of course. " She is a really perfect 
lady and most charming, and evidently has taken a great fancy 
to me. Why should I not have a little amusement? " And 
she looked up at her wide-eyed, with some surprise. 

Maria Dmitrievna returned to dinner: it was evident from 
her silence and absent manner that she had been defeated. 
She was too much agitated to speak calmly of her interview 
with the old prince, and would only say that all would be well, 
and that the count should hear more about it to-morrow. But 
when she heard of Countess B6soukhow's call and invitation 
she said very plainly that she did not wish to have her in her 
house, and she strongly urged that there should be no intimacy 
with Helen. " However," she added to Natacha, " go, as you 
have promised. It will be a little amusement for you." 

The count accordingly escorted the two girls to the B6sou- 
khows' that evening. Though the party was a very large one, 
the company was for the most part unknown to the Rostows, 
and the count was much annoyed to perceive that it consisted 
almost exclusively of men and women whose manners were 
stamped by conspicuous free-and-easiness. The young men, 
among whom many were French — ^including M6tivier, who had 
become intimate in the house since Helen's return to Moscow, 
crowded round Mademoiselle Georges; the count, therefore. 



The Invasion 165 

quite made up his mind not to play cards or leave the girls to 
themselves^ and to take them away as soon as the French 
actress had done her recitation. 

Anatole^ who had placed himself near the door so as not to 
miss their entrance^ went forward^ bowed and followed Natacha^ 
who at once felt that heady pleasure of gratified vanity mixed 
with vague alarm that she had experienced at the theatre. 

Helen received her with effusive warmth, and complimented 
her loudly on her looks and her pretty dress. While Made- 
moiselle Georges withdrew to change her costume, the chairs 
were placed in rows, and every one found a seat; Anatole was 
about to take a place by the side of Natacha when the count, 
who kept his eye on his daughter, took the chair, so he was 
obliged to find one close behind them. 

Mademoiselle Georges soon reappeared, draped in a crimson 
shawl fastened on the shoulders so as to display her fine, though 
large dimpled arms; she stood in the middle of the space left 
for her facing her audience, struck an affected attitude which 
was hailed by a murmur of enthusiasm, and after gazing round 
her with theatrical gloom, began to declaim a long soliloquy in 
French (from Ph^dre) describing her guilty passion for her 
step-son. Raising and dropping her voice by turns, she lifted 
her head in defiant pride or, rolling her eyes, she gave utterance 
to deep hoarse chest-notes, her mighty bosom heaved, and she 
seemed about to choke. 

^'Exquisite I divine! delicious!" was shouted on all sides. 
— Natadia, with her eyes fixed on the stalwart tragedienne, 
neither saw nor understood. She was only conscious of having 
been suddenly plunged once more into this strange mad world, 
immeasurably remote from reality; a world where good and 
evil, foUy and reason, were all mingled in confusion. Startled 
and painfully excited, her nerves were quivering with ex- 
pectancy. The monologue being ended, every one rose and 
applauded the actress till ever3rthmg shook. 

" How beautiful she is! " Natacha exclaimed to her father, 
who, like the rest, was trying to get through the crowd. 

*^ I cease to think so when I look at you," Anatole mur- 
mured in her ear so that she alone could hear. " You are too 
bewitching; from the first moment I saw you . . ." 

*' Come, Natacha," said the count, turning round. 

She foUowed her father with a dazed look in her eyes. 

Mademoiselle Georges recited several more pieces, and then 
bid the countess good-night. The rest of the company were 



1 66 War and Peace 

begged to adjourn to the ball-room. The count now wished to 
leave^ but Helen besought him so earnestly not to spoil her 
little improvised dance by taking away the two girls that he 
yielded and stayed. Anatole at once engaged Natacha for a 
waltz^ and all through it^ as he clasped her waist and hand, he 
kept telling her how charming she was, and how much he loved 
her. During the " Caledonians/' which they danced together, 
he at first stood silent, and she wondered whether she had not 
dreamed that he had been making love to her aU through the 
waltz; but at the end of the first figure she felt the pressure 
of his hand once more, and she was about to remonstrate when 
the tender and confident expression of his eyes stopped the 
words on her lips: '' Do not say such things to me, I am engaged 
— I love another," she said, looking down. 

" Why do you tell me that? "replied Anatole, who did not 
seem in the least disturbed by the statement. " What does it 
matter to me? I only know that I love you — ^that I love you 
to distraction. — Is it my fault if you are irresistible? ... It 
is our turn to lead the figure." 

Natacha looked about her, half scared, and was less calm 
than usual in her demeanour. After the " Caledonians " there 
was a country-dance, the " Grossvater/* and again her father 
wished to leave; she begged him to let her dance this, and yet, 
turn which way she would, she felt herself under the fire of 
Anatole's eyes. She went into a room where the ladies had left 
their wraps to pin up a flounce on her dress which had come 
unsewn, and was followed by Helen, who laughed at her as she 
spoke of her brother's sudden passion; they went together into 
an adjoining room where Anatole was standing; dien Helen 
vanished and Natacha was alone with him. 

" You know," he began, in pathetic accents, " that I cannot 
see you at home. Must I be condemned, then, never to see 
you? I love you — ^you cannot think how madly; and must I 
never . . ." he detained her as she was about to go on, and 
bent down with his face quite close to hers. His glowing and 
sparkling eyes looked straight into hers, and she tried in vain 
to escape their fascination: " Natacha," he whispered, clenching 
her hands in his — " Natacha 1 " 

" I do not understand. I can tell you nothing," was what 
her bewildered gaze seemed to answer. His burning lips were 
close to hers, but suddenly he paused. — ^To Natacha it was 
.deliverance! The rustle of a dress and a footstep were audible 
at the door; it was Helen. Natacha saw her coming. Speech- 



The Invasion 167 

less and shuddering^ she turned as if to ask some explanation^ 
and went to meet ti^e countess. 

" One word, only one word," said Anatole. 

She waited, for in truth she wanted him to say the word 
which would define the situation and give her something to 
^iswer. And again he repeated : " Natacha, one single word I " 
But he had no idea what that word was to be. 

His sister joined them, and they all three returned to the 
b&ll-room. The Rostows declined to remain to supper, and took 
their leave. 

Natacha lay awake all night, tormented by the problem she 
could not solve. Which of the two men did she love? — She 
certainly loved Prince Andrew; she had not forgotten her 
strong affection for him . . . but she loved Anatole too, beyond 
a doubt: " Otherwise, how could all this have happened? 
Could I have smiled the other evening in answer to his smile? 
When I did that it must have been because I loved him at once, 
at first sight. . . . That must mean that he is so good and 
generous and handsome that I could not help loving him. Oh ! 
what am I to do? I love him and I love ^e other," and she 
said it again and again a hundred times, without finding any 
issue from the overwhelming dilemma. 

Morning brought back more commonplace cares and the usual 
bustle; the household got itself up and dressed, there was talk 
and stir, dressmakers and milliners played their accustomed 
parts, Maria Dmitrievna came out of her room, and they all 
met for breakfast. Natacha, with eyes that looked large after 
her sleepless night, tried to read the glances of her companions, 
and did her utmost to seem her usual self. 

After the meal Maria Dmitrievna settled herself in her arm- 
chair and called the count and Natacha to a conference. 

" Well, my friends, after weighing the matter well, this is 
what I have to say: yesterday, as you know, I saw old Prince, 
Bolkonsky. I spoke to him; he raised his voice and stormed, 
would you believe it? . . . But it is not easy to shut my 
mouth, and I had it all out with him from beginning to end." 

" And what did he say? " asked the count. 

"He — ^he is an old fool, and will not listen to anything; 
what is the use of talking to him? This poor child has been 
worried enough about him already, My advice is that you 
should finish your business here as soon as you can, and return 
to Otradnoe and wait ..." 

" No, no ! " cried Natacha. 



i68 War and Peace 

" Yes, yes! ** replied the old lady. " You must go, and you 
must wait. If you and Prince Andrew are here together a 
quarrel is inevitable; but if he is alone with the old man he 
will turn liim inside out like a glove, and then he will go to 
fetch you." 

The coimt saw that the plaa was wise, and expressed approval. 
If the old man became more manageable the Rostows could 
always come back to Moscow, or even go to Lissy-Gory ; in the 
opposite case, if he persisted in refusing his consent, the marriage 
could only take place at Otradnoe. 

" What you say is quite true," he said. " And my only 
regret now is that I ever took Natacha to the house." 

" There is no cause for regret. You could not have avoided 
pa3dng him that mark of respect. ... If he will not g^ve in, 
that is his a£Fair. The trousseau is all ready; why wait any 
longer? I will undertake to forward every thmg that has not 
yet been sent. I am very sorry to part with you, but it is far 
better so. Go, and God be with you all." Then she took a 
note from Princess Maria out of her bag, and handed it to 
Natacha: 

" It is for you," she said. " The poor soul is afraid you may 
doubt her affection." 

" Very true," said Natacha; " she does not love me." 

" What nonsense ! hold your tongue," said Maria Dmitrievna, 
very angrily. 

" I ask no one's opinion. I know it; she does not love me," 
Natacha retorted, as she took the letter with an air of irritation 
and perversity that struck Maria Dmitrievna as strange; she 
looked narrowly at the girl and frowned. 

" You will have the goodness not to contradict me, my dear; 
what I have said is true. — Go and answer the letter." And 
Natacha went without another word. 

Princess Maria in a few kind lines expressed her regret at 
the misunderstanding that had come between them, and en- 
treated Natacha to believe in her affection for the wife chosen 
by a brother for whom she would sacrifice anything and every- 
thing. Whatever her father's views might be Natacha was not 
to tlunk that he was ill-disposed towards her. '' He is old and 
ailing," she wrote, "and you must excuse him; but he is 
thoroughly kind hearted, and will not fail at last to love the 
woman who can make his son happy." She ended by begging 
Natacha to fix a time when they might meet. 

Natacha sat down and mechanically wrote the two words: 



The Invasion 169 

" Dear princess," . . . then she laid down her pen. How was 
she to go on? What could she say to her after last evening? 

" Yes, it is all over; everything is different now; I must 
refuse. . . . But ought I? — This is dreadful!" And to 
escape for a while from these maddening thoughts she joined 
Sonia, who was busy choosing some patterns for worsted work. 

After dinner she read the letter once more. " Is it really at 
an end — ^really and truly? Is the past quite and for ever 
effaced from my heart? " She was fully aware how strong her 
feeling had been for Prince Andrew; but now she was in love 
with Kouraguine; fancy painted in turns the happiness she 
had so often dreamed of as hers when she should be married to 
Bolkonsky, and the smallest incidents of the previous night, of 
which the mere remembrance fired her whole being: " Why 
may I not love them both? " she thought wildly. " That is my 
only hope of happiness. It is impossible to choose? How can 
I tell it — or, rather, how can I hide it from Prince Andrew? 
Must I say good-bye for ever to his love which so long has been 
my only joy? " 

" Miss," said the maid, coming in m)rsteriously, " a man gave 
me this for you," — and she held out a letter: " Only, for pity's 
saKe ■ • • 

Natacha mechanically took the note, opened it and read it. 
She understood but one thing: that the letter was from him — 
from the man she loved. 

" Yes, I love him. If I did not, could I hold this letter of 
burning passion in my hands? " 

Tremulous with agitation, she devoured the contents; every 
line was the utterance of her own feelings. The letter, it must 
be said, had been composed by Dologhow, and ran as follows: 

" Last evening decided my fate. You must love me or I die 
— ^there is no third alternative." Then Anatole went on to say 
that her parents would certainly refuse their consent for various 
secret reasons which he could tell her only; but that, if she 
loved him, it would be enough that she should say so, and no 
human power could interfere to prevent their happiness. Love 
conquers all I He would carry her off to the ends of the earth ! 

" Oh yes! I love him! " Natacha said to herself again and 
again, as she read these glowing words for the twentieth time 
warming her own soul at the fire that burned in them. 

Maria Dmitrievna had been invited to spend the evening with 
the Argharows, and she asked the girls to accompany her; but. 
r Natacha said she had a headache and retired to her room. 



170 War and Peace 

It was late when Sonia came in. She went into Natacha's 
room and was surprised to see her lying asleep^ still dressed^ on 
the sofa. An open letter was on the table by her side. It 
caught Soma's eye^ and in her surprise she glanced through it^ 
looking every now and then at the sleeping girl, and vainly 
trying to read some explanation in her face. It was calm and 
happy; while Sonia, white and trembling with terror, held her 
hand to her heart to save her pulses from choking her,, and 
sank into an arm-chair in a flood of tears. 

" How is it that I have seen nothing of this? " she wondered. 
" How can it have gone so far? Has she ceased to love Prince 
Andrew? And this Kouraguine ! He is a villain; he is cheating 
her, that is quite clear. Oh, what will Nicholas say — good, 
honourable Nicholas, when he hears of this? That is what her 
agitated manner has meant to-day, and yesterday and the day 
before! . . . But she cannot love him; that is impossible. 
She has opened the letter without suspecting from whom it 
came, and she must have been deeply offended by it, I am 



sure. . . ." 



She dried her eyes and went up to Natacha, examining her 
closely; then she called her gently. Natacha awoke with a 
start. 

"Ah! here you are back again!" she said, throwing her 
arms round her; then noticing her companion's troubled face, 
she herself put on an expression of embarrassment and defiance: 
" Sonia, you have read the letter! " 

" Yes," murmured Sonia. 
Oh, Sonia ! " she said, with a bright smile of happiness, 

I cannot keep it from you any longer. Sonia, Sonia, dear 
little soul — we love each other; you see, he has written to 



« 



me. 






Sonia could not believe her ears. 
And Bolkonsky? " she said. 

Sonia, if only you could understand how happy I am! 
But you do not Imow what love is." 

" Oh, Natacha! — ^and he, the other, have you foigotten 
him? " Natacha did not seem to hear. "Are you going to 
break with Prince Andrew? " 

" I knew you would not understand ! Listen to me," said 
Natacha vehemently. 

" I will never believe it," Sonia went on, " and I tell you 
frankly I cannot understand it! What! For a whole year 
you love an honest gentleman, and then, all of a sudden. . . . 



The Invasion 171 

Why, you have only seen him three times ! . . . It is impos- 
sible; you are trying to take me in. What! In three days? 
Everything forgotten? " 

" Three days ! Why, I feel as if I had loved him for a hundred 
years. Sit down there and hsten." She drew her close to her 
and kissed her warmly. " I had often heard — ^and you, too, of 
course, that there was such a thing as love like this, but I had 
never felt it. . . . He is quite unlike the other! I had hardly 
seen him when I felt he was my master — that I was his slave. 
I was compelled to love him! Yes, I am his slave; whatever 
he commands I shall do. You cannot understand? Well, that 
is not my fault." 

** But only think ! I cannot let things go on like this. This 
letter sent in secretly; how could you take it or open it? " 
Sonia went on, quite unable to conceal her alarm or her disgust. 

" I no longer have a will of my own, I tell you; I love him, 
and that is all ! " cried Natacha with growing excitement, not 
unmingled, however, with tears. 

" If that is the case I will prevent it, I swear it; I will tell 
the whole story," said Sonia, and tears started from her eyes. 

" For God's sake, do not do that! If you do I will never 
speak to you again. Do you want me to be miserable? do you 
want us to be parted? " 

Sonia was ashamed of her terrors, though she pitied them. 
" What tie is there between you? What has he said to you? 
Why does he not come here, to the house? " 

" Sonia, I entreat you do not torment me," said Natacha, 
without answering her question. "And for Heaven's sake 
remember that it is no concern of anybody's; I have trusted 
implicitly in you." 

" But why all this mystery? Why does he not simply and 
honestly propose for you? Prince Andrew left you perfectly 
free. Have you reflected, have you tried to discern what these 
* secret reasons ' for his conduct can be? " 

Natacha was startled, and fixed a blank look on Sonia's face; 
the question had never occurred to her, and she did not know 
what to say. 

" His secret reasons? " she repeated. " He has reasons, and 
that is enough." 

Sonia sighed and shook her head. 

" If they were good ones . . ."she began; Natacha, guessing 
what she would say, interrupted her eagerly. 

* Sonia, I ought not to doubt him, and you must not." 



vjz War and Peace 

" Does he love you? " 

" Does he love me? " said Natacha, with a smile of contempt 
at her friend's blindness. "You have read this letter — ^and 
you can ask ! " 

" But if he is a false man^ devoid of honour? " 

" He devoid of honour! You do not know him." 

" If he is honourable," Sonia went on resolutely, " he ought 
to declare his intentions or cease to see you; and if you will 
not tell him so I will: I will write to him, and tell papa every- 
thing." 

" But I cannot live without him ! " cried Natacha. 

" I cannot understand either your actions or your words. 
Think of your father, think of Nicholas." 

" I want no one, I love no one but him! How dare you 
speak of him as a man devoid of honour? Do you not hear 
that I love him? Go, go away; I do not want to quarrel with 
you. Yes, pray go; you see wluit a state you put me in ! . . ." 

And Sonia hastily left the room, fairly choking with 
distress. 

Natacha sat down and wrote without further hesitation that 
answer to Princess Maria which she could not accomplish in the 
morning. She simply and briefly said that, as Prince Andrew 
had left her perfecdy free, she was availing herself of his 
generosity; that after mature reflection she could but beg her 
to forget ^e past, and to forgive her if she had offended her; 
and she said that she could never be her brother's wife. At 
this moment all looked simple, clear, and easy. 

The following Friday was the day fixed for the Rostows' 
departure for the country, and on the Wednesday Count Rostow 
went to inspect his estate in the neighbourhood of Moscow, 
accompanied by an intending purchaser. 

On this same day Natacha and Sonia had been invited to a 
grand dinner at Julia Karaguine's, whither they were chaperoned 
by Maria Dmitrievna. Anatole, too, was there, and Sonia 
noticed that Natacha had some mysterious conversation with 
him, and that her agitation increased during dinner. 

On their return home Natacha anticipated Sonia's question- 
ing by saying in a coaxing tone, like a child that hopes to be 
praised: 

" Well, Sonia, you will be glad to hear that we have come to 
an understanding — ^in spite of all the nonsense you talked 
about him." 



The Invasion 173 



" And what is the upshot of it? I am glad to see that yop 
are not vexed with me; but tell me the whole truth." 

Natacha paused to reflect. 

" Ah! if you could only know him as well as I do. He said 
— he asked what were the terms of my engagement to Bolkonsky^ 
and was so glad to learn that it only lay with me to break it off." 

Sonia sighed: " But you have not broken it off yet." 

*' Suppose I have? Suppose everything were sJready at an 
end between Bolkonsky and me? Why do you think so badly 
of me? " 

" I have not a bad opinion of you; I simply cannot under- 
stand. . . ." 

** Wait^ and you will understand; you will see what sort of 
man he is; you will see! " 

But Natacha's blind amiability could not mislead Sonia; on 
the contrary^ she grew sterner and more stringent as her fnend 
became more insinuating. 

" Natacha^ you begged me to say no more about the matter^ 
and you yourself have reopened it. Therefore I have a right to 
tell you that I do not believe in him ! Why so much mystifica- 
tion? " 

^* As suspicious as ever ! " replied Natacha. 

" I am afraid for you." 

" What are you afraid of? " 

" Afraid lest you are rushing to your ruin," said Sonia bravely, 
though she was frightened at her own words. Natacha's face 
took an evil expression. 

" Very well; I will rush to my ruin, and the faster the better. 
It is no concern of yours. I shall be the sufferer, not you I 
suppose? — ^Leave me — go — I hate you, we can never be friends 
agam ! " She marched out of the room, and all the next day 
she would neither speak to Sonia nor look at her. 

She walked up and down her room and made spasmodic 
efforts to fix her attention on any kind of occupation; the fever 
that was consuming her was visible in her face, mingling with 
a consciousness of guilt that she would not confess to herself. 
In spite of the painfulness of her position, Sonia never ceased 
watching her as she stood for a' long time at one of the draw- 
ing-ropm windows; she seemed to be expecting something or 
some one, and she waved a signal to an officer who drove past 
in a sleigh, and Sonia concluded that it must be Anatole. Then 
she was more on the alert than ever, and observed that Natacha 
was unusually excited during dinner and all the evening. She 



1 74 War and Peace 

was absent-minded and Replied incoheriEintly to all tluit ' was 
said to her^ leaving her sentences unfinishdd^ and laughing for 
nothing or out of season. 

After tea Sonia saw a maid-servant go into Natacha's room 
with a look of mystery; she crept up to the door and put her 
ear to the key-hole^ guessing that she had received a second 
letter. It suddenly flashed upon her that Natacha was planning 
some dreadful scheme to be carried out perhaps within a few 
hours^ and she knocked loudly at the door: — no answer. 

" She means to fly with hmi! She is quite capable of it! '* 
thought she in despair. ** She was sad but determined to-day; 
and the other day, when her father went into the country, she 
cried at parting . . . Yes, that is what it is: She means to fly 
with him — what ought I to do? The count is away! . . . 
Write to Kouraguine and ask for an explanation? But why 
should he answer me? — ^Write to Peter as Prince Andrew said 
in case of anything going wrong? but then she has broken 
with Bolkonsky, for she sent her reply to Princess Maria last 
evening! — Great Heavens! — ^What can I do? — Speak to Maria 
Dmitrievna? — But she has such perfect confidence in Natacha; 
it would be treachery! — ^And yet, come what may I must do 
something," she reflected as she stood in the dark passage. 
"It is my part now to show my gratitude for all the benefits 
they have heaped on me and my love for Nicholas. If I have 
to sit up three nights running I will not sleep a wink; I will 
not allow her to stir out, even if I keep her in by force; I will 
not let shame and dishonour come upon the family ! " 



CHAPTER XXI 

Anatole had for some little time been Hving with Dologhow. 
The idea of carrying off Natacha had been hatched by Dologhow; 
and was to be put into execution on the very day when Sonia 
had registered her vow not to let Natacha out of her sight. 

Natacha, on her part, had promised to be at the outer door of 
the servants' staircase at ten o'clock at night, to meet Kouraguine 
who was to be waiting for her and take her en troika to Kamenka, 
a village about sixty verets from Moscow. There an excom- 
municated priest was to marry them, and after this mockery of 
a ceremony they were to go on with fresh horses on the road to 
Warsaw, take the mail coach at the next stage, and get beyond 



The Invasion 175 

the frontier. Anatole had provided himself with a passport^ a 
permit for the mail and 20^000 roubles^ which he had obtained 
from Dologhow and his sister. 

The two witnesses to the marriage, Gvostikow, formerly a 
law clerk, and Makarine, a retired hussar, both creatures of 
Kouraguine's, were at Dologhow's lodging, taking tea in the 
ante-room; while the master, wrapped in an oriental travelling- 
cloak, with, high, fur-lined boots, sat in the adjoining room, a 
large apartment hung with Persian rugs, bear skins, and trophies 
of arms. He was at his desk, looking through bills, counting 
rouble notes packed in piles, and writing down sums on a sheet 
of paper: " You will have to give Gvostikow two thousand 
roubles." 

" Well, let him have them," said Anatole, coming in from a 
room beyond where a man-servant was packing their port- 
manteaus. 

'' As to Makarka (a pet name he gave to Makarine) he is 
quite disinterested; he would throw himself into the fire for 
you. — ^That is all; our accounts are made up — ^look, is that 
right? " And Dologhow held out the sheet of paper. 

'' No doubt, it is sJl right," said Anatole, who had not listened 
to him, and whose smiling eyes gazed into vacancy and saw 
nothing. 

Dologhow closed the desk: "Look here," he said with a 
mocking glance, " throw it up; there is still time." 

"Idiot!" retorted Anatole. "Do not talk nonsense. If 
you knew — ^but the devil alone can know." 

" I am quite in earnest — give it up. It is really no light 
matter that you are going in for! " 

" What, are you going to worry me again? Go to the 
devil ! " and Anatole scowled. " I have no time to listen to 
your twaddle." 

Dologhow looked loftily indignant: " Come^ I am not jest- 
ing . . . Listen to me." 

Anatole came towards him with a visible effort to attend 
to his friend, whose influence was strong, in spite of himself. 
" Listen for the last time, I beg of you. Why should I jest 
about it? Have I tried to put a spoke in your wheel? On 
the contrary, have I not arranged and settled everything; 
found you a priest, got the passport, and lent you the money? " 

" Well, and I am very much obliged to you; do you think I 
am not grateful? " and he embraced Dologhow. 

" I have done what I could to help you, but I am bound to 



176 



War and Peace 



tell you the truth; it is a dangerous game; and if you only 
think of it, it is an absurd one. You mil carry her off? Very- 
good. And what next? The secret will come out; it will 
transpire that you are already married, and you will be prose- 
cuted as a criminal ! " 

''Rubbish, rubbish; that is all rubbish! I thought I had 
made it clear to you," said Anatole, and with the dull persis- 
tency of a limited intellect he repeated, for the hundredth time, 
all the reasons he had already given, " I told you in the first 
place, if the marriage is illegal I shall not have to answer for it; 
and in the second, if it is legal it does not matter, for no one out 
of Russia will ever hear of it. Is that clear? So now, no more 
about it." 

"Be advised; give it up. You will get into a mess and 
then. . . ." 

" Go to the devil ! " cried Anatole, clapping his hands to his 
head. " Feel how it beats," he added, seizing his friend's hand 
and placing it over his heart. — " Oh ! such a foot, my dear 
fellow ! Such eyes ! — ^A perfect goddess 1 " 

Dologhow's hard glittering eyes were fixed on him with 
scorn: 

" And when the, money is gone — ^what then? " asked he. 

" Then," repeated Anatole, slightly dashed by the prospect 
suggested to him, " well, then — I don't know. — But we have 
talked long enough; it is time! " and taking out his watch he 
went into the inner room. " Have you nearly done? " he 
added angrily addressing the servants. 

Dologhow locked away his money, called a man-servant and 
desired him to bring in some supper, no matter what; then he 
joined Makarine and Gvostikow, leaving Anatole, who had 
thrown himself languidly on the divan and who was smiling 
vaguely and murmuring incoherent words to himself. 

" Come and eat something ! " he called to him. 

" I do not want it," replied Anatole. 

" Come, Balaga is here." 

Anatole went into the dining-room. Balaga was a coach- 
man, very famous as a driver of a troika, who had frequently 
supplied them with horses. During the six years that he had 
known the two young men, how many times had he brought 
them from Tver at daybreak, and taken them back from 
Moscow by nightfall again, where Anatole was in garrison. 
How often had he driven them with parties of gypsies and 
ladies of no repute! How many good horses had he knocked 



The Invasion 177 

up in their service^ how many foot-passengers and hackney- 
coachmen had he run down! His masters^ as he called them, 
always rescued him from the clutches of the police; they 
thrashed him now and then to be sure, and forgot him for hours, 
standing at the door during their orgies; but in return they 
would often give him as much champagne as he could carry, or 
better still, madeira, his favourite hquor. He was in all their 
secrets, and knew of deeds of theirs for which any one else 
would have paid a visit to Siberia — and so some thousands of 
roubles had found their way through his hands. He really 
loved them after his fashion, and he passionately loved driving 
at a mad pace of eighteen versts ^ an hour. He loved to upset 
a hackney-driver, to scare the foot-passengers into the ditch, to 
lay his long whip, as he passed, across the shoulders of a wretched 
peasant, who shrank back more dead than alive; to gallop 
tearing through the labyrinthine streets of Moscow, and to hear 
his masters urging him on with their wild cries and thick, 
drunken voices: "Yes, they are real gentlemen!" he would 
say to himself with pride. 

Anatole and Dologhow, on their side, thought a great deal of 
his skill as a Jehu, and liked him from sympatiiy. Balaga drove 
a hard bargain with every one else, asking twenty-five roubles 
for a two hours* excursion, and very rarely condescending to 
drive, but generally sending one of his men. For " his masters " 
he himself would drive, and make no bargain beforehand. But 
when he happened to know through the house-servants that 
cash was plentiful in the house he would drop in early several 
times a month: bow to the ground before them, and implore 
them to help him out of some pressing difficulty by lending him 
a thousand roubles or so, till one fine day they yielded to his 
importunity. 

He was seven-and-twenty; short, red-haired, blowzy, thick- 
necked, snub-nosed, with glittering eyes and a httle square 
beard; he wore a blue cloth caftan lined with silk, and over it a 
fur coat. 

He crossed himself as he came in, with his face turned to the 
right; then, holding out his tanned hand: " Hail to F^dor 
Ivanovitch 1 " he said. 

" Good-day, my good fellow." 

"Hail to your excellency!" he added to Anatole, holding 
out his hand to him, too. 

^ About twelve miles. The veist is o.66z or rather less than two-thirds 
of a mile. 



178 War and Peace 

'* Listen to me^ Balaga: you love me? I ask you? ** said 
Auatole^ patting him on the shoulder. '' Well then^ prove it 
to-night. What horses have you brought? " 

" I have done as you told me — ^the mad ones — ^yours." 

'^ Very good; and you will not mind killing them so long as 
we cover the distance in three hours? " 

" But if I kill them how are we to get there? " said Balaga, 
smiling at his own wit. 

" I will break your jaw for you, do you hear? No joking! " 
said Anatole with a ferocious glare. 

'' Why no joking? You might think I was a man to grudge 
trouble for my masters . . . They will be made to go as fast 
as they can, and there's an end of it ! " 

" Good," said Anatole, " then sit down." 

" Sit down," repeated Dologhow. 

" I can stand, F6dor Ivanovitch." 

^' Sit down, no nonsense," said Anatole, pouring him out a 
large glass of madeira. Balaga's eyes twinkled at the sight of 
his favourite wine. After refusing at first, out of good manners, 
he ended by swallowing it at a gulp, and wiped his mouth with 
the tumbled red silk handkerchief which he always carried in 
the crown of his fur cap. 

" And when do we start, excellency? " 

" Well . . ." Anatole looked at his watch. — " Pretty soon. 
Don't be late, Balaga, whatever happens." 

^* It must depend on the start, little father; if we get ofE well 
then . . . Did I not bring you from Tver to Moscow once in 
seven hours? You have not forgotten, excellency? " 

'' Only think," said Anatole, smiling as he remembered the 
incident, and turning to Makarine, who gazed at him with 
affectionate veneration; '^ only think, he brought me from 
Tver one Christmas day at such a pace that we were quite out 
of breath. It was not running, I swear, it was fljong — and if 
we did not come on a whole row of carts and positively jump 
the two end ones 1 " 

" But what horses they were I I had put in two young ones, 
both shaft-horses, with the light chestnut; and on my word, 
F^dor Ivanovitch," Balaga went on, "the mad creatures flew 
through the air for sixty versts. I could not hold them in; my 
fingers were quite stiff with cold. ... I had to drop the reins. 
' Look out for yourself, excellency,' says I, and I rolled over 
backwards into the sleigh. There was nothing for it but to let 
them go and hold on as best we c6uld — and so we rushed on for 



The Invasion 179 

three mortal hours. Hie hear horse was the only one that was 
doiie for." 

Anatole went for his wraps^ and presently returned dressed 
in a short pelisse> with a leather belt and silver fastenings^ and 
a cap trimmed with sable^ knowingly stuck on one side so as to 
be most becoming to his handsome face. He looked in the 
mirror^ came to the table and took up a glass full of wine: 

'* Well, my dear Dologhow, good-bye, and thanks for all you 
have done for me — good-bye, you others, the faithful com- 
painions of my youth— farewell ! " 

Anatole knew, of course, that they were all coming with him, 
but he wanted to have a touching and solemn scene. He spoke 
slowly in a loud voice, with his chest thrown forward and stand- 
ing on one leg. 

" Take your glasses — ^you, too, Balaga. Yes, friends of my 
youth, we have lived, we have enjoyed ourselves, we have 
committed many follies together; and now, when shall we 
meet again? I am going abroad. Farewell, my children . . . 
To your good health, hurrah ! " And swallowing the contents 
of his glass at one gulp, he flung it on the ground, where it flew 
into a thousand fragments. 

"To your good health!" said Balaga, emptying his, and 
wiping his beard with his handkerchief. Makarine, with tears 
in his eyes, embraced Anatole: " Oh, prince! how sad that we 
must part! " he murmured. 

" Now, let us be off ! " cried Anatole. " One minute," he 
added as Balaga moved towards the door. "Shut the door 
and sit down." ^ 

It was done. " Now, that is over, and off we go, my 
children." And he rose. 

Joseph, his servant, handed him his money-bag and his 
sword, and they went out into the hall. 

" Where is the pelisse? " asked Dologhow. " Here, Ignatka^ 
go and ask Matrena Matf^ievna for the sable pelisse; between 
ourselves, I am afraid of her walking off with it," he added in 
a lower tone ... " You will see, she will come running out 
more dead than alive, with nothing over her shoulders, and if 
you delay there will be tears: papa and mamma will put in an 
appearance ... in short, take the pelisse and have it put into 
the sleigh at once." 

The servant came back with a pelisse lined with ordinary* 
fox. 

^ A superstitious custom supposed in Russia to prosper a journey. 



1 8 o War and Peace 

"Idiot! I told you the sable 1 Here, Matrechka/' he 
shouted with such force that his voice ran^ through the rooms. 

A pretty gypsy, very pale and thin, with jet-black eyes, and 
hair in blue-blade curls, came out hurriedly, wrapped in a red 
shawl and carrying the sable fur. 

" Well, here it is, then; take it. — I do not care! " she said, 
in an ill-used tone that contradicted her words: she was afraid 
of her master. Dologhow threw the fox-lined doak over her 
shoulders and pulled it round her: 

'' So," he said, turning up the collar, " and then so," and he 
drew it over her head so as to leave only a small portion of her 
face visible — " and last of all, so." And he pushed her towards 
Anatole, who kissed her lips. 

" Good-bye, Matrechka; my follies here are ended. Good- 
bye, little dove; wish me good luck! " 

" God bless you, I give you every happiness! " said the girl 
with her gypsy accent. 

Two troikas held by stable helps were standing at the door; 
Balaga mounted the first sleigh, lifted his arms very high and 
proceeded deliberately to sort the reins; Anatole and Dologhow 
got in behind him. Makarine^ Gvostikow and a servant filled 
the second. 

" Are you ready? " asked Balaga. " Leave go! " he cried, 
twisting the reins round his hand, and the sleighs were ofE, 
carrying them at a desperate pace along the Nikitski Boulevard. 

" Hi, hi ! Look out," yelled the drivers as loud as they could. 
On the Arbatskaia Square one of the sleighs got entangled with 
a carriage; there was a crash and a shriek, but it rushed on 
at the same mad rate till Balaga, with a powerful wrench, drew 
up short at the comer of the Old Stables Street. 

Anatole and Dologhow got out and went up to the court- 
yard gate. Dologhow whistled and was answered, and a girl 
ran out to meet him. 

'' Come this way, into the yard, or you will be seen; she is 
coming," said the maid. Dologhow stood in the gateway while 
Anatole, following the girl, went round the comer of the house; 
as he passed the front steps a tall man-servant suddenly stood 
before him. 

My mistress is waiting to see you ! " he said in a bass voice. 
Who? Your mistress? . . . What do you want? " 
muttered Anatole in breathless amazement 

Come. She desired me to show you in to her." 
Kouraguine, mn for it! Treason!" shouted Dologhow, 



ti 



4t 



The Invasion i8i 

struggling with the door-keeper who was trying with all his 
might to shut him in. He succeeded at last in shaking the 
man ofE^ seized Anatole by the aim as he came ruiming across 
the yard^ dragged him out into the street^ and they both ran 
as fast as their legs would carry them to the corner where the 
sleighs were waiting. 

I 

Maria Dmitrievna had found poor Sonia in the corridor 
drowned in tears; had made her confess and had gone straight 
to Natacha with her note to Anatole^ which she had at once 
intercepted. 

" Wretched girl ! Shameless creature ! " she exclaimed. 
"Not a word; I will not listen to you . . ." She pushed 
away Natacha who stood dry-eyed^ watchmg her; and^ seizing 
the key^ double-locked the door of the room. Then she sent 
for the gate-keeper and desired him to admit any one who 
might call at the house in the course of the evenings to lock 
the doors behind them and show them into the drawing-room. 
When Gavrilo told her that they had escaped she started up 
in great wrath and began walking up and down the room with 
her hands clasped behind her^ considering what she ought to do 
next. It was near midnight when she took the key out of her 
pocket and went back to Natacha; Sonia was still sobbing 
outside the door. 

" Maria Dmitrievna, pray, pray let me go in to her." Maria 
Dmitrievna opened the door without replying and walked in 
with a determined air; Sonia crept in after her. 

" It is horrible, disgraceful to have behaved so under my 
roof; but I will have some mercy on your father and tell him 
nothing ! " she said, going towards Natacha, who was lying on 
the sofa as she had left her. Natacha did not look round; her 
stifled sobs alone betrayed the emotion that shook her soul. 
" A pretty thing, indeed," continued the old lady, " to be making 
assignations with your lover in my house! You have dragged 
yourself in the mud like any common hussy, and if I followed 
my own impulses — ^but I wish to spare your father, and I will 
tell him nothing. Happily for that man he got away; but I 
shall be able to find him! Do you hear me? " she added, and 
sitting down by the girl, she put her large hand under Natacha's 
chin and made her turn her face. She and Sonia were both 
startled at the sight; her eyes were dry and glittering, her lips 
set, her cheeks looked hollow. 

"Leave me alone. I don't care! I shall die!" She 



iSi War and Peace 

wrenched herself away with fierce violence and again hid her 
face. 

*' Natacha/' said Maria Dmitrievna^ '' I wish you no ill. Lie 
there by all means if you prefer it; I will not touch you. But 
listen to me. I will not repeat what I think of your conduct; 
you know it. But what am I to say to your father^ who will be 
here to-morrow? " Natacha's only reply was a gasp. " He 
is sure to hear of it^ as well as your brother and your fiance,*^ 

" I have no fiance. I have refused him ! " cried Natacha^ in 
a passion. 

"That makes no difference. What will they say, do you 
think? I know your father — ^he is quite capable of fighting 
him; and then what will happen? " 

" Leave me alone, go away. Why have you upset every- 
thing? Who asked you to interfere? " And Natacha, raising 
her voice, sat up and glared at Maria Dmitrievna. 

" But what on earth were you aiming at? " said the old lady, 
provoked beyond endurance. " Were you kept under lock and 
key? What was there to prevent his coming here and seeing 
you in my drawing-room? Why should he elope with you as 
if you were a gypsy hussy? Do you really think we should nbt 
have caught you and brought you back? — ^As to him I He is 
a rascal, a villain ! " 

" He is worth all of you put together ! If you had not inter- 
fered .... Good God! why has it come to this? Go away; 
get away, leave me." And she burst into tears, cr3ang with 
the desperation of those who feel that they are the instruments 
of their own misery. 

Maria Dmitrievna tried to soothe her, but Natacha, suddenly 
writhing round on the sofa, shrieked at her: " Go, go, I tell you. 
You despise me and hate me ! " 

The old lady did not stir, however; she went on with her 
lecture, repeating how necessary it was to conceal this horrible 
scandal from her father, and impressing on her that no one 
need know if only she did not betray herself. Natacha said 
not a word; presently her tears ceased to flow and she took a 
feverish shivering fit. Maria Dmitrievna slipped a pillow under 
her head, covered her warmly with blankets, and left her, quite 
convinced that she would presently go to sleep. But sleep 
never came near her; her eyes remained wide open, her face 
was deadly white and she shed no more tears; Sonia, who came 
to look at her several times in the course of that long night, 
could not get her to speak a word. 



The Invasion 183 

The count returned early next day. He was in capital 
spirits; his sale had come to a happy conclusion; there was 
nothing to keep him in Moscow, and he was only anxious to 
get back to the countess whom he sorely missed. Maria 
Dmitrievna told him that his daughter had been very unwell 
the day before, and that she had sent for a doctor; but that she 
was now better. 

Natacha remained in her room. Seated at the window, 
with pinched lips and fevered eyes, she watched the passers-by 
—carriages and foot-passengers — ^with eager anxiety, and turned 
round with hasty expectancy every time her door opened. 
She evidently hoped to hear something of Anatole, and thought 
he would come or write to her. 

Her father's footstep startled her; but, seeing that it was he, 
her expression, which for a moment had brightened, relapsed 
into fractious coldness: she did not even rise. 

" What is the matter, my darling? Are you ill? " he asked. 

" Yes," she said, after a pause. He questioned her anxiously, 
and asked her whether her depression were not the result of 
some painful difference between her and Prince Andrew; she 
reassured him on this point, and begged him not to worry 
himself. In this, indeed, Maria Dmitrievna confirmed her. 
Nevertheless, the count was not to be deceived, either as to the 
state of his daughter's health or the change that had come over 
her, or the agitation which was only too legible in the faces of 
Sonia and his old friend. He suspected that some serious crisis 
had passed during his absence; but his fear of hearing anything 
to his daughter's discredit, or to depress his own exuberant good 
spirits, kept him from asking questions. He persuaded himself 
that it could be nothing of any importance, and only regretted 
that Natacha's indisposition should delay their return home for 
a few days. 



CHAPTER XXII 

Since his wife's arrival in Moscow, Peter had made up his mind 
to go away, partly in order to be as short a time as possible under 
the same roof with her; but the deep impression made on him by 
Natacha during the last few months also contributed to hasten 
his departure. He went to Tver, to see Bazd6iew's widow, who 
had promised him some papers and memoirs left by her husband. 



1 84 



War and Peace 



On his return^ he found a note from Maria Dmitrievna begging 
him to go to see her as soon as possible to talk over a serious 
matter relating to Bolkonsky and Natacha. For some time past^ 
Peter had avoided being left alone with Natacha, for whom he 
felt a growing passion equally reprehensible in a married man 
and in her lover's best friend; but, in spite of his resolutions. 
Fate, it would seem, was bent on bringing them together. 
" What has happened? What have I to do with it? " thought 
he, as he dressed. " If only Andrew would come and get the 
marriage over!" 

As he was crossing the boulevard some one called him. 

"Peter! how long have you been back?" Peter looked 
round. A pair of fine greys, harnessed to a handsome private 
sleigh, were fiying on and away from him, carrying off Anatole 
and his inseparable Makarine in a cloud of snow-dust. Anatole, 
whose fresh, florid face was half hidden in his beaver collar, was 
sitting in an attitude of classic elegance, and his cocked hat, with 
its w&te plume, set a little on one side and forward, displayed 
his curled and oiled hair, silvered with the finely-powdered snow. 

" God help me, but that is true wisdom ! " said Peter to him- 
self. " That boy never thinks of anything beyond the pleasure 
of the passing hour. Nothing troubles him; he is always in 
good spirits and in good humour. What would I not give to 
think and feel as he does ! " 

On reaching the house, the servant told him that Maria 
Dmitrievna would see him in her own room. As he passed 
through the drawing-room, he saw Natacha sitting at a window; 
her pale, worn features had an unwonted expression of set 
hardness. When he entered, she rose and frowned, and left 
the room with a brief greeting. 

" What has happened? " asked Peter, as his hostess received 
him. 

"Oh! pretty things have happened!" said she. "Fifty- 
eight years have I lived in this world, and I never knew any- 
thing so shameful ! " Then, after binding over Peter- to keep 
the secret, she told him that Natacha had broken with Prince 
Andrew without consulting her parents; that this was the 
consequence of an insane passion for Kouraguine; that her 
maid had aided and abetted them, and had amused herself by 
carrying between them; that finally Natacha had altogether 
lost her head, and, during her father's absence, had agreed to 
elope with Anatole, and to be married to him privately. 

Peter listened in open-mouthed astonishment, and could not 



The Invasion 185 

believe his ears. How was it credible that Natacha — ^that 
sweet child to whom Bolkonsky was so passionately devoted — 
could have fallen in love with such an idiot as Aiiatole — ^who^ 
as Peter knew^ was already married — ^and be led so far as to 
break off with Prince Andrew^ and to consent to an elopement. 
He could not understand it^ and hardly could believe it. 

Natacha's bright, sweet face had no connection in his mind 
with such baseness, such cruelty and folly. 

" They are all alike," and he thought of his wife. " I am 
not the only man who has become the victim of a depraved 
woman ! " and his heart bled for his friend. What a blow this 
would be to his pride ? And the more he felt for him, the deeper 
was his contempt and horror of Natacha, who, only a few 
minutes since, had walked past him wrapped in icy dignity. . . . 
How could he know, alas ! that under this mask of rigid pride, 
the wretched girl's soul was steeped in despair, shame, and 
humiliation. 

" Marry him? " he exclaimed. " But it is impossible; he 
is married already." 

'* Married!" echoed Maria Dmitrievna. ''Oh! better and 
better! The villain! the scoundrel! And she sits waiting — 
hoping. . . . Well, she will wait no longer, for I will under- 
take to let her know this." 

Peter gave her all the details of this recondite business, and 
Maria Dmitrievna, after having relieved her mind by a broad- 
side of abuse, begged Peter to persuade his brother-in-law to 
quit Moscow. She dreaded lest the count and Prince Andrew, 
who must soon arrive now, should challenge Kouraguine on 
hearing of his conduct, and her first aim was to conceal the 
whole business from those two. Peter, who had hardly had 
time to calculate all the consequences of the disgraceful plot, 
promised to do all she wished. 

** So not a word to the count, you imderstand; if you see 
him, be on your guard, and I will talk to her. Will you stay 
and dine? " 

The count came into the room not long after with a grieved 
and anxious face; his daughter had just told him of her rupture 
with Bolkonsky. 

" It is a great misfortune, my dear fellow, when girls are left 
to themselves, and away from their mother. I am extremely 
sorry, I may confess, that I ever brought her here. Do you 
know, my dear fellow, what she has done? I may tell you. 
She has broken off her engagement to Andrew, without asking 



I §6 War and Peace 

any advice. I never particularly liked the marriage to be sure, 
though the prince himself is delightful; but it did not promise 
well for their happiness that they should not have his father's 
Unction; and Natacha will be sure to have offers^ and to spare. 
What really annoys me is that this engagement has lasted now 
for some months, and that such a step ought not to be taken 
without a word to father or mother. . . . And so, of course, 
she is quite ill; God knows what ails her! Yes, my dear count, 
everything goes wrong in the mother's absence ! " 

Peter, seeing that he was quite overwhelmed, tried to change 
the subject, but the count always came back to it. 

" Natacha is not very well," said Sonia, coming in; and she 
added with evident agitation, addressing Peter, " She would like 
to see you in her room. Maria Dmitrievna is there, too, and 
begs you will go to them." 

" Ah ! you see, she knows you are intimate with Bolkonsky," 
said the count, " and she has some message to give you for him. 
Good God! if only everything had gone straight. Why must 
we . . . ? " and he hurried out of the room, clasping his hands 
over the thin grey locks that waved on his temples. 

Maria Dmitrievna had told Natacha that Anatole was married. 
Natacha refused to believe it, and insisted on hearing the fact 
from Peter himself. She was white, and seemed quite petrified ; 
her inquiring glance was fixed on his face with feverish anxiety 
as soon as he came into the room. She neither bowed nor even 
nodded, but looked into his eyes as if to read there whether he 
were a friend or a foe the more to Anatole; his personality as 
Peter B6soukhow did not exist for her at that moment. 

" He knows all about it," said Maria Dmitrievna. " Let 
him tell you, and you will see I have spoken the truth." 

Natacha looked from one to the other, like a wild creature at 
bay between the hunters and the dogs. 

" Natacha Ilinischna," said Peter, looking down; for a pas- 
sionate pity filled his soul with horror of the task laid upon him. 
" Whether true or false, it cannot matter, for . . . " 

" Then it is false! He is not married? " 

" No, it is true; he is inarried." 

"And married some time since? Give me your word of 
honour." 

" On my word of honour." 

" Is he still here? " she asked in a husky voice. 

" Yes; I have just seen him in the street." 

She could say no more. With a wave of her hand, she im- 



The Invasion 187 

plored them to leave her to herself. Her resolution was iailing 
her. 

Peter did not stay to dinner. When he left Natacha^ he 
went in search of Kouraguine^ whose very name made his 
blood boil and his heart beat tiU he could hardly breathe. He 
sought him everywhere— ^t the ice-hills^and in the gypsy quarter, 
and, finally, he went to the dub where everything was going on as 
usual. The members were assembling for dinner, and discussing 
the news of the day. A servant who knew his habits came to tell 
him that a table was ready for him in the little dining-room; 
that Prince Michael Zakharovitch was in the reading-room, and 
that Paul Timof6itch had not yet come. Then an acquaintance, 
who was talking gossip with his neighbour, interrupted himself 
to ask Peter whether it was true, as every one was sajang, 
that Anatole Kouraguine had carried off Miss Rostow. Peter 
laughed, and said it was a pure invention, for that he had that 
moment come from the Rostows. Then he asked after Anatole : 
no one had seen him, but he was expected. He looked round 
with an odd sensation on this calmly indifferent crowd, so little 
suspecting what a turmoil there was in his soul; and he walked 
about the rooms till dinner was actually served; then, as 
Anatole had not come in, he went home. 

Anatole was dining with Dologhow, discussing ways and 
means of renewing the enterprise that had failed, and of seeing 
Natacha. After dinner, he went to his sister to ask her to 
arrange another meeting; and when Peter came in after his 
fruitless search, his servant told him that Prince Anatole was 
with the countess, who had a great many visitors. Peter went 
to the drawing-room, but he did not go near his wife, whom 
he had not yet seen since his return, for at that moment he felt 
an intense aversion for her: he went straight up to Anatole. 

" Oh! Peter! " said Helen. " Do you know what has hap- 
pened to poor Anatole? . . ." But she stopped short. In 
her husband's face, his flashing eyes and resolute step, she saw 
the fire of that fury of which she had had experience the day 
after his duel with Dologhow. 

" Sin and depravity are always to be found at your side ! " 
he muttered as he passed her. "Anatole, come with me: I 
want to speak to you." 

The brother and sister exchanged glances. Anatole rose 
without a word; his brother-in-law took his arm, and hurried 
him out of the room. 

" If you dare in my drawing-room, . . " Helen began in a 



^\ 



1 8 8 War and Peace 

low tone^ but Peter paid no heed. Anatole^ though he followed 
him with his usual coldness^ looked a little uneasy. 

When they were in Peter's room he shut the door^ and turn- 
ing on Anatole looked him in the face: "You promised to 
marry Countess Natacha Rostow. . . , Did you mean to elope 
with her? " 

" My good fellow," said Anatole, " it does not suit me to 
answer questions put to me in that toiie." He spoke in French. 

Peter's face, already colourless, was quivering with rage. He 
gripped his brother-in-law's collar with his powerful hand, and 
shook him till Anatole's terror was written in every feature. 
" But I tell you I must speak to you 1 " said Peter. 

" Come, come, this is really monstrous I " said Anatole, now 
that he was released, as he pulled up his coat collar, which had 
lost a button in the struggle. 

" You are a villain and a scoundrel I — I do not know what 
should keep me from cracking your skull with this I" cried 
Peter, in a frenzy, and hfting a large paper-weight which, how- 
ever, he at once laid down again on his writing-table. " Did 
you say you would marry her? Answer." 

'' I ... I ... I do nol^hink so ... In fact, I could not 
have promised such a thing. ..." 

" Have you any letters from her — any at all? " Peter went 
on, interrupting him and going very dose to him. Anatole 
looked at him and hastily put his hand into his pocket, out of 
which he took a note-book. Peter seized the letter he handed 
him and pushing him aside with some force, he dropped on to 
a sofa. 

'* I will not touch you, do not be alarmed," he went on, in 
reply to a really terrified gesture of Anatole's. "First, the 
letters. — ^Next, you leave Moscow to-morrow." 

" But how can I . . . ? " 

" Thirdly, you are never to breathe a word, not a syllable as 
to what has passed between you and the countess. I cannot 
compel you to silence it is true, but if you have a spark of 
decency left, you . . ." 

He rose and walked up and down for a minute or two ; Anatole 
sat at the table, scowling and biting his lips, 

" You must surely understand that outside and beyond your 
pleasure there are the happiness and peace of others to be con- 
sidered, and that you ruin a life to serve the ends of your 
amusement. Amuse yourself with women like my wife, if you 
choose; they, at any rate, know what you look for, and with 






The Invasion 189 

them you are on even terms; they can defend themsehres with 
the same anns that you use: the experience that comes of 
depravity. But to promise marriage to a young girl^ to cheat 
her and rob her of her honour! Do not you see that it is like 
striking an old man or a child? " — ^Peter ceased and looked 
calmly at Anatole as if he expected a reply. 

'' Bless me! I am sure I do not know/' said Anatole^ who 
recovered his presence of mind in proportion as Peter cooled 
down* ** I know nothing about it^ and I do not want to know; 
but you have said things to me which^ as a man of honour^ I 
cannot allow to pass." 

Peter looked at him in blank amazement^ wondering what he 
was aiming at. 

'' Although there are no witnesses to your insults I cannot 
overlook . . ." 

You want satisfaction! " cried Peter, ironically. 
At any rate that you should withdraw your words — if you 
want me to follow your advice that is to say — Hey? " 

"I withdraw them, oh, yes! and beg your forgiveness," 
murmured Peter, involuntarily looking at the hole left by the 
button he had torn away. *' I can even lend you money for 
your journey if you want it? " 

Anatole smiled; and that mean, stereotyped smile, which he 
had so constantly seen on Helen's face, exasperated Peter: 
'' Oh! they are a sordid and heartless race! " he exdaimed, as 
he quitted the room. 

The next day Anatole left for St. Petersburg. 

Peter took an early opportunity of calling on Maria Dmit- 
rievna and telling her that her wishes had been exactly carried 
out, and that Kouraguine had left Moscow. 

He found the whole house in a commotion: Natacha was 
seriously iU, and Maria Dmitrievna confided to him, under seal 
of utter secrecy, that during the night, after she had heard that 
Anatole was married, she had poisoned herself with arsenic 
which she had privately procured. But after taking a moderate 
dose she had been frightened, awakened Sonia, and told her what 
she had done. The most energetic remedies had at once been 
applied, and she was now quite out of danger; but, as she was- 
too weak to travel, the countess had been sent for and was- 
expected every minute. Peter met the count on the stairs 
utterly scared and crushed; and Sonia, too, crying bitterly. 
Natacha herself was invisible. 

He dined that day at the chib; every one was talking of the 



1 90 War and Peace 

elopement that had ^led of execution^ but he persistently 
denied it. He felt convinced that his first duty was to smother 
up the whole disastrous business and save Natacha's reputa- 
tion; he told all who would listen to him that she had simply 
refused his brother-in-law. 

Prince Andrew's return filled him with alarms. 

The various reports in the town had at last come to the old 
prince's ears^ thanks to Mademoiselle Bourrienne^ and he in- 
sisted on seeing Natacha's note to his daughter; this had put 
him in the best possible temper^ and he now awaited his son 
with }oyhil impatience. 

A few days after Anatole's departure^ Peter^ in fact^ received 
a few lines from Prince Andrew^ begging him to call upon him. 
He had arrived the evening before^ and his father had at once 
given him Natacha's letter^ which Mademoiselle Bourrienne 
had filched from Princess Maria^ and had told him the whole 
history of the elopement^ embellished with various details of 
his own invention. Peter^ who expected to find him in a state 
of despair^ like Natacha^ was amazed to hear him talking loudly^ 
and even eagerly^ in the adjoining room of a court intrigue of 
which Sp^ransky had been the victim. Princess Maria came 
out to receive him^ and she sighed as she pointed to the door 
of her brother's private room. She seemed anxious to make 
some display of sjrmpathy with Peter's distress, but he could 
read in her face her secret satisfaction at the breach, and the 
effect produced on her mind by Natacha's faithlessness. 

" He declares that he expected it," she said. " No doubt his 
pride prevents his saying all he feels; but, be that as it may, 
he bears it with more philosophy than I could have expected." 

" And is the breach final? " asked Peter. Princess Maria 
looked at him in amazement; she could not imderstand that 
there should be a doubt on the subject. 

Peter.went into the adjoining room; his friend, not in uniform, 
was standing in front of his father and Prince Mestchersky, and 
haranguing and gesticulating vehemently. His health was 
evidently quite restored, but there was a fresh line between his 
brows. He was talking of Sp6ransky and his unexpected exile^ 
and of the treason ascribed to him, of which the news had but 
just reached Moscow: 

" And the very men who a month ago extolled him to the 
clouds," said Prince Andrew, " even though they were incapable 
of appreciating his schemes, to-day impeach and condemn him. 
It is the easiest thing in the world to blame a man in disgrace^ 



The Invasion 191 

and make him responsible for the sins of others; for my part^ I 
maintain that if any good has been done during the present 
reign it is due to him alone." 

He paused a moment as Peter came in^ a nervous thrill 
betrayed itself in his face^ a sort of spasm of extreme irritation; 
but he added: " Posterity will do him justice ! " 

" Ah, here you are! " he went on, turning to Peter. " And 
you are well? You have grown still stouter, I fancy." — ^And 
he returned to the subject of Sp6ransky, though the furrow on 
his brow deepened while he spoke. 

" Yes, I am very well! " he said, in reply to Peter's inquiry, 
but in a careless tone, as much as to say: *^ What does it matter; 
who cares? " And after a few words with him on the bad state 
of the roads on the Russian side of the frontier, the people he 
had met who had asked after Peter, and Monsieur Dessalles, 
the Swiss tutor he had engaged for his boy, he once more joined 
with wanner interest in the discussion kept up by the two elder 
men. 

*' If there had been any treason there would be some proofs 
of a secret understanding with Napoleon, and those proofs 
would have been laid before the pubHc. For my part, I never 
liked Sp^ransky, but I love justice ! " Peter fully understood 
that his friend was feeling an irresistible impulse and need — 
such as he himself had often known — to heat himself and vent 
his heat on some indifferent matter, so as to forget, if possible, 
for a time the crushing burthen of his own thoughts. 

Presently Prince Mestchersky took leave, and Prince Andrew 
took Peter by the arm and led him into his own room. A 
camp-bed had just been unpacked, and open trunks and cases 
were strewed about the room. Out of one of these he took a 
small packet carefully sealed. He said nothing and moved with 
short rough jerks; then looking up from the trunk he paused 
for a moment, looking gloomily at Peter. 

" I was sorry to trouble you," he said, hardly opening his lips. 
Peter, foreseeing that he was about to speak of Natacha, could 
not keep his broad, kind face from betraying his pity and 
sympathy, and this only added to his friend's smouldering 
irritation. Andrew tried to speak firmly and frankly, but 
there was a forced ring in his voice, " I have received my 
dismissal from the Countess Natacha Rostow. — ^I heard vaguely 
something about a proposal, or to that effect made to her by 
your brother-in-law. Is it true? *' 

" It is true, and it is not true. ..." 



192 War and Peace 

'' Here ate her letters^ and a portrait of her/' Prince Andrew 
'went on^ interrupting him. *' Restore them to her — if you see 
her." 

" She is very ill." 

'* She is still here^ then? t ■.■ And Prince Kouraguine? " 
he asked eagerly. 

''He has been gone some days. She has been in great 
danger.'* 

'' I am sorry to hear of her illness. . . ." And a spiteful 
smile like his father's curled his pinched lips: '' Then Prince 
Kouraguine did not after all condescend to give her his hand? " 

*' He could not — ^he is already married." 

'* And may I be informed where your noble brother-in-law is 
at the present moment? " 

" He went to St. Peter's ... I do not precisely know." 

'' Ah^ well^ it matters not. Pray tell Countess Rostow that 
she has always been^ is stilly perfectly free; and that I wish 
her all possible happiness." 

Peter took the letters. Prince Andrew, who seemed to be 
considering whether he had said everything he wanted to say, 
or to be waiting for some further communication from Peter, 
looked into his face. 

" Do you remember," said Peter, '' a discussion we once had 
at St. Petersburg? . . ." 

" Perfectly. We agreed that a woman, even though fallen, 
ought to be forgiven; but I never went so far as to say that I 
should forgive her if it touched me. — ^I cannot." 

" But the case is quite different," said Peter. 

Prince Andrew interrupted him vehemently: 

" Oh, yes ! Repeat my offer, show myself generous, and so 
forth, and so forth I Very noble, no doubt, but I do not feel 
that I can stoop to pick up Mr. Anatole's leavings! — ^If you 
wish to keep my friendship never mention her or ijiis business 
to me again. — ^Now, good-bye. You will give her these letters, 
won't you ? " 

Peter withdrew and went in search of Princess Maria; she 
was with her father, who seemed in a better temper than usual. 
The mere sight of these two made him feel how bitterly and 
contemptuously hostile they were to the Rostows; he could not 
bring himself even to mention the name of the poor child, who^ 
-after all, would easily find other suitors besides Prince Andrew. 

At dinner the war, then imminent, was the subject of con- 
versation. Prince Andrew talked incessantly^ contradicting 



« 



The Invasion 193 

ficst his father and then Dessalles with feverish fractiousness of 
which Peter knew the cause only too well. 

In the course of the evening Peter went to fulfil his mission 
to Natacha; she was in bed^ and her father was at the club. 
He gave the letters to Sonia and went to see Maria Dmitrievna^ 
who was very eager to know how Prince Andrew had taken his 
disappointment. Sonia presently followed him. 

Natacha is bent on seeing Count B^soukhow/^ she said. 
But how can he go to her room where everything is in 
disorder? " 

" She is up and in the drawing-room/^ said Sonia. 

Maria Dmitrievna shrugged her shoulders. 

" Oh dear! when will her mother be here? I am at my wits' 
end. — ^Be careful what you say to her, do not tell her everything. 
She is such a pitiable object that I cannot bear that she should 
be crushed." 

Natacha^ thin and white, but not looking at all broken as 
Peter had expected, was standing in the middle of the room. 
She hesitated as he came in, not knowing whether to go for- 
ward or to stand still. He hastened towards her, supposing 
that she would ofEer him her hand as usual, but she checked 
her impulse to do so, aijid with a choked sob, let her arms fall 
by her side. It was her usual attitude when she stood up to 
sing in the middle of the drawing-room, but she did not think 
of that; and how different now was the expression of her face ! 

" Peter Kirilovitch," she began abruptly. " Prince Andrew 
was your friend — ^is your friend," she corrected herself, for in 
this chaos of trouble she felt as though nothing still was as it 
once had been. " He told me to apply to you in case . . ." 

Peter looked at her without spealang. Until this moment he 
had, in his own mind, loaded her with bitter reproach, he had 
even done his best to scorn and detest her; but now, as his 
pity for her grew, he blamed her less and less. 

" He is here," she went on; " tell him that I b^ — ^I beg him 
to forgive me I " Her voice broke under stress of feeling, but 
she shed no tears. 

" Yes, I will tell him," Peter murmured, not knowing what 
else to say. Natacha, horrified to think of the meaning he 
might ascribe to her words, eagerly added: " Of course, every- 
thing is at an end, and I know it can never be mended, but I 
am miserable at the thought of how I have hurt him. Tell him 
to forgive me, — ohl let him foigive me!" and trembling 
violentiy, she dropped into a chair. 

II G 



194 War and Peace 

" Yes, I will tell him everything/' said Peter, deeply moved, 
" but one thing I should like to Imow . . J* 

"What is that?" 

"Did you love that . . ." he hesitated and coloured, not know- 
ing what name to give to Anatole. — ^* Did you love that wretch ? " 

"Oh! do not call him sol — I do not know ... I know 
nothing now." 

Pity such as he had never felt in his life, a passionately tender 
emotion, surged up in Peter's soul so suddenly that his eyes 
filled with tears and overflowed; he felt them fall under his 
spectacles and hoped she might not observe them. 

" Say no more about it, my child," he said, when he could 
control his voice; Natacha was struck by its pathos, and sin- 
cerity. " Say no more ! — I will tell him everything. But above 
all grant me one thing: Regard me as your friend; if at any 
time you want advice or help, or even feel that it would be a 
comfort to you to confide in a ^ithful heart — ^not now, of course, 
but when your own mind is calm and dear — ^remember me ! " 
He took her hand and kissed it. " I shall be happy to be of 
any use to you." 

" Do not speak to me so — ^I do not deserve it ! " cried Natacha, 
rising to leave him, but Peter detained her, he had something 
more to say; though, when he had said it, he was amazed at 
his own boldness. 

" I must say to you, * do not speak so,' for you have all your 
life before you still." 

" No, no," she cried, " I have nothing; — ^all is over for me ! " 

" No. All is not over," Peter went on eagerly. " If I were 
any one but myself; if I were the handsomest, the cleverest, 
and the best man living — if I were free — I would ask you on 
my knees, at this very moment, to bestow on me your hand and 
yoMT love." 

Natacha, who till now had not shed a tear, broke down com- 
pletely; she looked in his face with grateful melancholy and 
hurried out of the room. 

Peter, hardly able to check his own tears, also hastened away; 
he got into his wraps anyhow, and threw himself into his sleigh. 

" Where to? " asked the coachman. 

"Where?" thought Peter.— " Where can I go now? Not 
to the club certainly, to meet a crowd of heartless gossips ! " 
Ever3rthing seemed mean and common in comparison with the 
impulse of love and compassion that had come over him, and 
the slow sweet gaze of her eyes through her tears. 



The Invasion 195 

** Home! '* he said, throwing back his heavy bearskin coat, 
in spite of ten degrees of frost, to air his broad chest that was 
throbbing with exultation. 

The night was exquisitely clear; above the dark and dirty 
streets and the tangled perspective of roofs, spread the deep 
vault of the sky bejewelled with stars. As he contemplated 
those remote and mysterious spheres, which seemed to have 
something in common with his state of mind, he forgot the 
abject squalor of the world.' When they came out on the 
Arbatskaia square a wide horizon lay before him. Just in the 
middle blazed a pure luminary with a glorious train, surrounded 
by sparkling stars, that lay majestically displayed from the very 
margin of the earth; this was the famous comet of 181 1 — the 
comet which every one believed to be a warning of endless woes 
and of the end of the world. It caused Peter no such super- 
stitious terrors; his still moist eyes admired it with rapture. 
It looked to him like a bolt of flame that had rushed with giddy 
swiftness through measureless space to fall on that distant spot 
of earth and now remained quivering and blazing into infini- 
tude. That heavenly glory dispersed the gloom of his soul, 
and gave him a foresight of the diviner splendours of another 
life. 



CHAPTER XXIII 

Towards the end of the year 181 1 the sovereigns of Western 
Europe reinforced their armies and concentrated their strength. 
In 1812 these united forces, consisting of some millions of men, 
including the officers and commissariat, marched on the Russian 
frontier, while the Russians, on their part, marched to meet 
them. On the 12th of June the Western hordes entered Russia 
and war broke out. — ^That is to say, an event took place in 
diametrical opposition to all laws human and divine. 

These milUons of human beings rushed into the perpetration 
of every hideous crime: Murder, pillage, theft, fraud, forgery, 
treachery, incendiarism — every evil deed was simply part of 
the da3r's work; the judicial annals of the whole world could 
not furnish so long or so blapk a list in the course of many 
centuries. — ^And yet those who committed them did not think 
of themselves as criminals I 

What gave rise to this strange and monstrous state of things? 
Historians tell us, in all good faith, that the cause is to be 



ig6 



War and Peace 



trac^ in the insult offered to the Duke of Oldenburg, in the 
defiance of Hie continental blodtade, in Napoleon's insane 
ambition and the Emperor Alexander's resistance^ in blunder- 
ing diplomacy, ahd what not. If we are to belieVe them, a 
skilfully concocted note, written by Metternich, RouiAiantzow 
or Talleyrand, between a court drawing-room and a rout, or a 
line fi^om Napoleon to Alexander: " Monsieur monfrere, I am 
prepared to make restitution of the Duchy of Oldenburg, etc.,'^ 
would have been enough to avert the wart 

As may easily be supposed, this was not the view taken 
by contemporary lookers-on. Subsequently, at St. Helena, 
Napoleon himself ascribed the conflict to the intrigues of 
England, while the English set it down to his insatiable ambi-> 
tion; the Duke of Oldenburg found the cause in the indignity 
to which he had been subjected; the merchant class, in the 
blockade which was ruining European trade; the old soldiers 
and commanders, in the need for finding them some employ- 
ment; the legitimists, in the sacred duty of upholding constitu- 
tional principles; the diplomatic body, in the Austro-Russian 
alliance of 1809 — which wais no secret at the Tuileries — or the 
special difficulties in drawing up some memorandum — say 
Number 178. All these reasons and a hundred others of a 
more trivial kind, and suggested by every variety of personal 
prejudice, may perhaps have satisfied the witnesses at the 
time; but to us, who are Posterity, who contemplate the event 
in all its magnitude, and who seek the true cause in its terrible 
reality, they are wholly insufficient. We cannot believe tibat 
several millions of Christian men should have been ready to 
kill each other because Napoleon was ambitious, because Alex- 
ander was vacillating, because England was astute, or because 
the Duke of Oldenburg had been insulted. Where are we to 
find the connecting lirS: between these facts and the very act 
and deed of battle and murder? Why were the natives of 
Smolensk and Moscow slaughtered and ruined in consequence 
of these events, by a swarm of ihvadars from the opposite side 
of Europe? 

We are not writing history, and we cannot set to work to 
seek out the recondite first catiises; we aire satisfi^ to judge of 
events by a simple standard of common sense; and Uie more 
closely we examine them the more obvious do their true motives 
become. But whatever view we may take of those causes they 
still appear no less true or false if we compare their intrinsic 
triviality with the vastness of the events to which they osten- 



i 



The Invasion 197 

sibly gave rise; we are driven to conclude that it was their 
cumulative force alone which can account for the issue. Taken 
alone^ Napoleon's refusal to withdraw his troops within the 
Vistula^ or to reinstate the Duke of Oldenburg^ seems to us no 
more suflScient than if we were told on the other hand: " If a 
French corporal had refused to fight, and a great many men 
had followed his example, the army would have been so much 
reduced as to render the war an impossibility." 

No doubt if Napoleon had not taken ofEence at the conces- 
sions required of him, if England had not intrigued with the 
dispossessed duke, if the czar had not been deeply aggrieved, if 
the government of Russia had not been a despotic monarchy, 
^ if the various causes which led up to the French Revolution, the 
consulate and the empire had never existed — ^there would have 
been no war. But at the same time, if only one of this chain ^of 
circumstances had been missing, the sequel would not have 
followed. 

Thus it was the sum total of them all and no one event 
by itself which entailed the fatal consequences. It happened 
because it was bound to happen; and so it came to pass that 
some millions of men, ignoring all common sense and human 
feeling, started to march eastwards to slaughter their fellow- 
creatures, just as, some centuries before, unnumbered swarms 
had rushed down on the west, killing all on their way. 

So far as their own free-will was concerned, Napoleon and 
Alexander contributed no more by their actions to the accom- 
' plishment of such or such an event than the private soldier who 
was compelled to fight for them as a recruit or a conscript. 
Indeed, how could it be otherwise? For the fulfilment of their 
wiU, which dpparently ruled the course of the world, the con- 
currence was needed of an infinite number of factors: all the 
thousands of individuals who were the active instruments of 
their purpose — all these soldiers, ready to fight or to transport 
cannon and victuals — ^had severally to consent to obey the 
orders of two feeble human units, and their obedience was the 
result of endlessly varied and complicated motives. 

Fatalism is the only clue to history when we endeavour to 
understand its iHogical phenomena; or, shall we say, those 
phenomena of which we see the causation but darkly, and 
which only seem the more illogical, the more earnestly we strive 
to account for them. 

Each man lives for himself and has such {>lay of free-will as 
enables him to attain the end he may have in view. He has, 



198 War and Peace 

and feels that he has, the power of doing or of not doing this 
thing or that; but as soon as it is done it is no longer in his 
hands: it has become a part of history, in which it finds its 
due place out of reach of chance and change. 

The life of man is twofold — one side of it is his own personal 
experience, which is free and independent in proportion as his 
interests are lofty and transcendental; the other is his social 
life as an atom in the human swarm which binds him down 
with its laws and forces him to submit to them. For although a 
' man has a conscious individual existence, do what he will he is 
but the inconscient tool of history and humanity. The higher 
he stands on the social ladder, the more numerous the fellow- 
beings whom he can influence, the more absolute^ his power, the 
more clearly do we perceive the predestined and irresistible 
necessity of his every action. 

The heart of kings is in the hand of God. Kings are the 
slaves of history. 

History — that is to say the collective life of the aggregate of 
human beings — ^tums each moment of a monarch's Hfe to 
account, and bends kings to its own ends. 

Although, in the year of grace 1812, Napoleon was entirely 
convinced liiat it depended on his fiat alone whether the blood 
of nations should or should not be shed, he was, in fact, more 
subservient than ever to the mysterious promptings of history, 
which were driving him fatally onward while he still cherished 
the illusion of Freewill. And so, while they unconsciously 
obeyed the law of the co-operation of forces, these men, march- 
ing eastwards in dense multitudes to slaughter their fellow-men, 
were moved by the combination of those numerous puerile 
reasons by which the common herd sought to account for this 
mighty migration. These, as we have seen, were the violation 
of the continental blockade, the squabble with the Duke of 
Oldenburg, the entrance of the troops into Russia with a view 
to enforcing — ^Napoleon believed — an armed neutrality, his 
own reckless passion for war, and the habit of fighting which 
had grown upon him — ^added to the natural temper of the 
French and the general excitement caused by the magnitude of 
his preparations, their enormous cost and the consequent need 
for some indemnity; again, the intoxicating honours that had 
been paid him at Dresden, the diplomatic negotiations — ^which, 
though they were said to be conducted with a sincere desire to 
achieve a peace, only resulted in irritation — ^and fifty other 



The Invasion 199 

^prete^ts more or less valid which^ when combined^ had finally 
jao resiilt whatever but that which was fatefully inevitable. 
y^ Why does an apple faU when it is ripe? Is it that its weight 
'brings it down? Is it that its stalk withers? Is it that the 
sun has parched it and the wind torn it away? Or is it that the 
boy who eyes it as it hangs has an irresistible longing to eat it? 
Neither reason is enough by itself. The fall of the apple is the 
necessary consequence of all the causes brought about by the 
minute processes of organic nature. Hence the botanist who 
pronounces it to be the result of the decomposition of cellular 
tissue is just as much in the right as the boy who ascribes it to 
the potency and fulfilment of his desire. 

In the same way, those were equally right and equally wrong 
who said that Napoleon went to Moscow because he had deter- 
mined to do so^ and that it became his ruin because Alexander 
had determined that it should — or those who should assert that 
a hill weighing several millions of hundredweights and under- 
mined at the base, only fell in consequence of the last blow of 
the pick-axe given by the last labourer. 

Those who are known as great men are merely name-labels 
in history: they give their names to events, often without 
having so much connection with the facts as a label has. None 
of the acts of their so-called free-will is a spontaneous act. It 
is bound up a priori with the march of history and human life, 
and its place has been appointed to it from aU eternity. 



CHAPTER XXIV 

Napoleon started from Dresden on the 4th of June. He had 
been there three weeks, surrounded by a court consisting of 
princes, grand-dukes, kings and even an emperor. While he 
was gracious to those princes and kings who had earned his 
favour, he had given a lesson to those with whom he fancied 
he had cause for displeasure; he presented to the Empress of 
Austria gifts of pearls and diamonds of which he had robbed 
other sovereigns, and bestowed his tenderness on Maria Louisa, 
who considered herself his lawful wife though Josephine was 
at Paris, and inconsolable, it would seem, for his desertion of 
her. Notwithstanding the faith in the preservation of peace 
still entertained by the diplomatists, and their efforts to attain 
it; notwithstanding Napoleon's holograph letter to the czar. 



200 War and Peace 

beginning: ** Monsieur mon frireP and containing his assur* 
ance that he had no wish for war^ with many concluding pro- 
testations of eternal regard and esteem^ he was now on his way 
to join the anny^ and at every stage reiterated his orders to 
hurry on the march of the troops coming from the West to 
invade the East. He travelled in a dose carriage with six 
horses^ accompanied by his pages and aides-de-camp and a 
strong escort. His road lay through Posen^ Thom^ Danzig 
and Konigsberg; and in each of these towns thousands of 
inhabitants rushed to greet him with an enthusiasm that was 
not unmixed with terror. 

Going on in the same direction as the army^ he slept^ on the 
loth of June^ at Wilkowiszky^ vn the house of a Polish county to 
whom his advent had been announced; he then rejoined and 
outstripped the army^ and arrived next day on the banks of 
the Niemen. There^ putting on a Polish uniform^ he went 
forward on foot to examine the spot where the troops were to 
cross the river. 

When he saw the Cossacks posted on the opposite bank^ and 
his eye looked out over the steppes which spread as far as the 
horizon between him and Moscow — ^the Holy City, the capital 
of an empire which reminded him of that of Alexander the 
Great — ^he gave orders that the army was to advance, the very 
next day — contrary to all the calculations of cabinets, and all 
the rules of strategy — and his troops crossed the Niemen on 
the day he had fixed. 

Very early in the morning of the 24th he came out of his 
tent on the left shore of the river and stood, watching through 
his field-glass, from the top of an escarpment, the progress of 
his armament which came forward, a living stream, out of the 
woods, and marched across the three floating bridges thrown 
aver the Niemen. The army knew that the emperor was there, 
and tried to see him; and they no sooner caught sight of him 
on the top of the slope, in his greatcoat and codced hat, a little 
apart from his stafE and suite, than they threw their hats in the 
air with cries of: " Vive VEmpereur ! " Thus, still pouring out 
of the forest where they had been encamped, they crossed the 
bridges in dose ranks. 

" We shall do something this time! When he takes things 
in hand he means business, by . . . ! . . . There he is. Vive 
VEmpereur I — ^And are those the famous steppes of Asia? — 
A beastly country all the same, I say I — To our next meeting, 
Beauchet; I will keep the best palace in Moscow warm for 



The Invasion 201 

you! Till we meet again; luck go witii you! — ^Have you 
seen the emperor? — ^Brr! — li they make me Governor of India, 
G6rard, I will appoint you minister at Cashmere, tiiat's a 
settled thing! — Vive VEmpereur, hurrah! — ^By . . . ! Look 
at the rascally Cossacks, how they run! — Vive VEmpereur/ — 
Do you see him? — I have seen him twice as I see him now, 
* the little corporal ' — ^I saw him give a cross to one of our old 
'uns ! " 

These and a thousand such remarks were buzzing about the 
ranks of old and young alike; and every tanned and weather- 
beaten face was radiant with satisfaction at the opening of the 
campaign they had so anxiously looked for, and with enthusiastic 
devotion to the little man in a grey greatcoat who stood up 
there on the hill. 

On the 25th of June, Napoleon, mounted on a thoroughbred 
arab, galloped down to one of the three bridges, hailed on all 
sides with deafening acclamations. In fact he only endured 
these noisy demonstrations of aJSection because it was impossible 
to prohibit them; but it was very evident that they fatigued 
him and distracted his attention from the military question 
which at the moment was paramount in his thoughts. He 
crossed the pontoons, which trembled under his horse's hoofs, 
and turned towards Kovno, preceded by his mounted guard, 
who made way for him through the troops. When he reached 
the banks of the larger Niemen he stopped in front of a regiment 
of Polish Uhlans. 

" Vive VEmpereur I " they shouted, as vehemently as the 
French soldiers, and breaking their ranks to get a better view 
of him. 

He reconnoitred the river, dismounted and took his seat on 
a log that was l3dng on the ground; at a wave of his hand a 
page, beaming with pride, stepped forward and handed him a 
telescope,. which he rested on the lad's shoulder while he in- 
spected the furthei: shore at his leisure. Then, after stud3dng 
the map of the country which had been laid out before him, 
weighted with bits of wood, he murmured a few words without 
looking up, and two aides-de-camp rushed forward towa^rds the 
Uhlans. 

" What is it? What (Kd he say? " they were all asking each 
other in the ranks of the regiment: The colonel had just received 
the command to find a foi^ and cross the river. 

This colonel, an elderly and pleasant-looking man, begged 
the aide-de-camp to authorise his swimming across witii all his 



202 War and Peace 

regiment instead of waiting to seek a ford^ and he fairly blushed 
and stammered with excitement a$ he preferred his request. 
A refusal would evidently have disappointed him bitterly; and 
the aide-de-camp hastened to assure him that the emperor 
could not fail to be pleased with such a display of zeal. The 
old officer, beaming with enthusiasm, waved his sword in the 
air with a shout of Vive VEmpereur, called on his men to follow, 
and dashed forward, spurring his horse; the beast refused, but 
he flogged it on; it took the leap and horse and rider plunged 
in, carried downwards by the strength of the current. All the 
men followed: those who were thrown clung to each other; 
several horses were drowned and not a few men; the rest swam 
on, holding on to their saddles or the horses' manes. They 
kept as straight a line as they could — and only half a verst 
further down there was a ford— but they were proud to spend 
,• themselves, and to die if need be under the eye of the little man 
sitting on ^helog, who did not evei;i condescend to look at them ! 

When the. aide-de-camp returned and presently took the 
liberty of directing the emperor's attention to the self-devotion 
of the' Poles, the man in the grey coat rose, called Berthier, and 
walked along the shore with him, giving him his orders and 
casting an indignant glance now and then. at the men who, 
by drowning under his eyes, distracted his attention. It was 
nothing new in his experience to find that, from the deserts of 
Africa to the steppes of Muscovy, his presence was enough to 
turn men's heads and lead them to lay down even life for him. 
He remounted and rode back to his tents. 

Forty Uhlans went to the bottom, though boats put out to 
the rescue. The greater part of the recent were thrown 
back on the bank they had left; only the colonel and a small 
following got safely across and scrambled up the opposite shore 
streaming wet. They had no sooner reached land than they 
cheered once more, and looked back at the spot where they had 
left Napoleon. Though he had disappeared, at that moment 
they were supremely happy. 

That evening, after having sent an order to hurry on the 
delivery of the forged banknotes intended for use in Russia, he 
first condemned a Saxon to be shot for having been found 
possessed of papers betraying the situation of the French army, 
and then bestowed the cross of the Legion of Honour, of which 
he was the head, on the colonel of the Uhlans who had quite 
needlessly rushed into the most dangerous part of the river. — 
Quos vtdt perdere Jupiter, demerUat prius^ 



The Invasion 203 



CHAPTER XXV 

Thb Czar Alexander had already been some months at Vilna^ 
where he gave all his time to reviews and manoeuvres. Nothing 
was ready for war though it had long been foreseen^ and it was 
to make preparations that the czar had come from St. Peters- 
burg. There was no general scheme^ and any decision as to 
which to choose of those that were proposed was further ofiE 
than ever^ though his majesty had already been a month at 
headquarters. Each of the three divisions of the army had its 
general in command; but there was no commander-in-chief^ 
and the czar did not choose to assume the functions. The 
longer he stayed at Vilna^ the more slowly the preparations 
dragged on^ and it even seemed as though the sole aim of thq^e 
who surrounded him was to help him to forget the impending 
crisis^ and make his stay as pleasant as possible. 

After a series of balls and fetes given by the Polish notables, 
by the magnates in office, and by the czar himself, one of the 
Polish aides-de-camp conceived the idea of a banquet and a 
ball in his majesty's honour, to be given by the whole staflF. 
This plan was haUed with joy and accepted by the imperial 
guest; subscriptions flowed in, and a lady known to be in the 
czar's good graces agreed to do the honours. The 25th of 
June was fixed for the dinner, to be followed by a ball, a regatta, 
and fireworks; all to take place at Zakrety, a place in the 
neighbourhood belonging to Count Benningsen, who placed it 
at 9ie disposal of the committee. 

Thus, on the day when Napoleon had sent his army across the 
Niemen, and his advance guard had driven back the Cossacks 
and invaded the frontier, &e Emperor Alexander was dancing 
at a ball given by his sts^-officers I 

The magnificent entertainment had brought together, it was 
said, all the handsomest women that had ever been seen. 
Countess B6soukhow, who had come from St. Petersburg, 
eclipsed the more refined and elegant Polish ladies by the 
lavLsh splendour of her Russian beauty. The czar noticed her, 
and did her the honour of dancing with her once. Boris 
Droubetzkoi had left his wife at Moscow and was living at 
Vilna ** en garfon** as he said; though he was not on the 
emperor's staff he was present at the entertainment in right of 
a round sum on the subscription list; he had gained con- 



204 War and Peace 

siderable wealthy and promotion to various dignities^ and no 
longer sought a patron^ but held himself the perfect equal of 
his contemporaries of higher rank. 

At midnight they were still dancing. Helen^ finding no other 
partner to her taste^ had asked Boris to dance the mazurka 
with her; they were the third couple. Boris glanced with cool 
indifference at Helen's dazzling shoulders^ risii^ above a gauze 
bodice of a dark shade spangled with gold^ and was talking of 
their former acquaintance^ while he still kept an eye on his 
majesty^ who stood near the door^ speaking to one and another 
with the gracious benevolence of which he alone had the art. 

Boris presently observed that Balachow^ with whom the czar 
was on terms of intimacy^ was waiting close to him^ while he 
was speaking to a Polish lady; Alexander looked round in- 
quiringly^ and understanding that only some very serious motive 
could have prompted him to take so great a liberty^ he dis- 
missed the lady with a bow and turned to Balachow. As he 
listened^ his face expressed the greatest surprise; he took his 
friend's arm and 1^ him into the garden^ not heeding the 
curiosity of the by-standers who respectfully made way for him. 
Boris had looked round at Araktch6iew^ and noted how much 
he was disturbed by Balachow's proceedings^ stepping forward 
a little way^ as if he expected that the czar would mvite him to 
join the conference. This httle gesture made Boris understand 
that the minister of war was jealous of Balachow^ and grudged 
him the good fortune of being able to communicate to his 
majesty some news apparently of the greatest importance. 
Finding that he was overlooked^ he followed them at about 
twenty steps behind^ into the illuminated garden^ glancing 
furiously about him. 

Boris^ suddenly bitten with a desire to be one of the first to 
know this great news^ told Helen that he would go to ask 
Countess Potocka to be their vis-d-ifis ; the countess was on 
the balcony^ but just as he reached the spot he pulled up to make 
way for the emperor^ who was coming in again with Balachow. 
Pretending not to have time to stand back^ Boris squeezed 
himself against the doorpost and bowed low; and as he did so 
he heard Alexander say^ in the indignant tone of a man who 
has been personally insulted: 

''Across the frontier^ and without having declared war! I 
will never sign a peace so long as a single foe remains on Russian 
ground." Boris fancied that the czar had felt some satisfaction 
in saying this and giving his feelings such explicit utterance. 



The Invasion io^ 

but at the same time he was evidently vexed at being overheard. 
*' But do not say a word to any one! " he added^ knitting his 
brows. 

Boris^ understanding this as a hint to himself^ looked down 
and again bowed. The czar went back into the ball-room^ where 
lie remained about half an hour longer. 

Droubetzkoi having thus^ by the merest chance, heard of the 
passing of the Niemen by the French army, took advantage of 
his good luck to make some important personages believe that 
be was often better informed than they were^ which raised him 
considerably in their estimation. 

The news fell like a thunderbolt, and coming in the middle 
of a ball, after a month of expectancy, it seemed absolutely 
incredible. The czar in the first impulse of rage and indigna- 
tion had exactly expressed his feeling in the exclamation over- 
heard by Boris, which he frequently repeated, and which, later, 
became famous. 

At two in the morning he sent for Schischkow, his secretary, 
dictated an order of the day to the anny, and a rescript to 
Marshal Prince Soltykow, in which he dedared his solemn 
determination — ^in the very words he had used in speaking to 
Balachow — ^never to make peace so long as a foe remained on 
Russian ground. 

Then he wrote a holograph letter to the Emperor Napoleon: 

"Monsieur monfrere, I learnt last evening that, in spite of 
the loyalty with which I have always adhered to my engage- 
ments with your majesty, your troops have crossed the Russian 
frontier. I have this moment received from St. Petersburg a 
note in which Count Lauriston announces that your majesty 
considered that war was declared between us from the moment 
when Prince Rourakine demanded his passport, and assigns that 
as a motive for this aggression. The grounds on which the 
Duke of Bassano refused the passport gave me no reason to 
suppose that his demand could serve as a pretext for this aggres- 
sion. In point of fact, my ambassador was never authorised 
to take such a step, as he himself explicitly stated; and as soon 
as I heard of it, I informed him how highly I disapproved, and 
ordered him to remain at his post. If your majesty is not bent 
on shedding the blood of our subjects for a misunderstanding,^ 
and will consent to withdraw your troops from the Russian 

^ His majesty wrote in French, and here made the mistake of writing 
pUserUendu lot maleniendu. 



2o6 War and Peace 

territory^ I am ready to regard the past as nullified^ and we 
may arrive at some compromise. In the opposite case^ your 
majesty^ I shall be compelled to repulse an attack so wholly 
unprovoked by me. It still rests with your majesty to avert 
the calamity of a fresh war. 

" I remain^ etc., etc., 

" Alexander.** 

The czar then sent for Balachow, read him this letter, and 
desired him to deliver it in person into the hands of the French 
emperor; he repeated the words he had used at the ball, and 
charged him to repeat them exactly to Napoleon. He had not 
written them in the note, feeling with his invariable tact, that 
they were out of place at the moment when he was making a 
last effort to maintain peace; but he insisted on Balachow's 
repeating them accurately to Napoleon himself. 

Balachow set out at once with a trumpeter and two Cossacks, 
and by daybreak had reached Rykonty, a village on the Russian 
side of the Niemen, occupied by the outposts of French cavalry. 
A subaltern of hussars, in a purple uniform and fur cap, shouted 
to him to stop; Balachow only went a little slower; the 
subaltern muttering an angry oath met him, and drawing his 
sword, he asked hun rudely whether he was deaf. Balachow 
gave liis name, and the Frenchman, after sending one of his men 
to summon the ofl&cer in charge of the outpost, rejoined his 
comrades and paid no further attention to the Russian envoy. 
It was a strange experience for Balachow to be subjected in his 
own person and on his native soil to this insolent display of 
brutal force, so new to a man accustomed, as he was, to be 
respected, and in constant intercourse with despotic power, 
having just come from an interview of three hours' duration with 
the czar. 

The sun was beginning to pierce the clouds, the air was fresh 
and dewy. The village cattle were being driven afield. Larks 
soared and sang, one after another, like the bubbles that rise 
spontaneously to the surface of the water. Balachow watched 
their flight as he waited for the French ofl&cer, and the men of his 
escort winked furtive hints at each other. 

The French colonel, who was evidently only just out of bed, 
appeared at last, followed by two hussars, and riding a fine 
grey charger, sleek and well-fed; his men, too, and their horses 
were smart and clean, and looked well-to-do. 

As yet the war was in its first stage, the stage of accurate 



The Invasion 207 

feill-dress and order as good as in time of peace^ enhanced by a 
certain warlike smartness^ and the spirit and excitement which 
usually accompany the opening of a campaign. 

The colonel could hardly swallow his yawns^ but he was polite 
to Balachow^ and fully understood his dignity. He led him 
past the outposts, and assured him that, as the emperor's head- 
quarters were close at hand, there need be no delay in his being 
admitted to an audience. They rode through the village among 
groups of hussars, soldiers and officers, who saluted their colonel 
and stared at the Russian uniforms; beyond it, at a distance 
of about two versts, the general of division was encamped who 
was to conduct the czar's envoy to his destination. 

The sun was now well up, and shone brightly on the fields 
and meadows. They had just passed a tavern, standing on a 
little hill, when they saw a party of officers riding towards them, 
led by a tall man on a black horse, with harness that glittered 
in the light. He wore a red cloak over his shoulders, and rode 
with his legs stiffened forward in the French fashion. From 
beneath an enormous hat flowed a bush of black curls, and a 
many-coloured plume waved in the air, while the gold braid of 
his uniform flashed and sparkled in the fierce glare of the mid- 
summer sun. 

Balachow was within a few yards of this theatrical-looking 
horseman, blazing with splendour and covered with jewels of 
all kinds, when Colonel Julner whispered in his ear: "The 
King of Naples I " 

It was in fact Murat, who was still known by that name, 
though no one knew why, at this time, he was Kmg of Naples. 
He himself, however, took the whole thing very seriously; so 
much so that the day before he withdrew from Naples, when 
he was out walking with his wife, on hearing some Italians 
shout " Viva il Re / he said sadly : " Poor souls ! they little think 
that I am leaving them to-morrow! " 

But notwithstanding his firm conviction that he was still 
'^mg of Naples, and that his subjects were bewailing his de- 
parture at ^e first beck of his august brother-in-law, he had 
gladly resumed his usual duties. " I made you king in order 
that you should govern in my way and not in your own ! " 
Napoleon had said to him at Danzig, and like a fine young 
stallion that must frisk even in harness, he went galloping along 
the Polish high-roads, decked out in the most gorgeous colours 
and splendid jewels, without caring, in his rampant high spirits, 
whither he was going. 



2o8 War and Peace 

When he saw the Russian general he tossed his curly head 
with a majestic air of royalty, and looked inquiringly at the 
French colonel, who expla^e^ to his majesty what Balachow*s 
errand was, but could not succeed in pronouncing his name. 

*"De Behnacheve?" said the king, making a plunge with 
his unfedling presence of mind, where the colonel had hesitated 
an4 blundered. " Charmed to make your acquaintance, general," 
he added with a gracious bow; but as his majesty raised his 
voice it lost its dignity, and he at once fell into the tone of jovial 
good-nature which was natural to him. He laid his hand on 
Balachow's saddlefi»bow and went on: " Well, general, it is war, 
I suppose. ..." as if he regretted the fact, and had no pre- 
tension to pass judgment on it. 

" Sire, my master the czar has no wish for war, and, as your 
majesty sees . . ." And Balachow dwelt with particular 
emphasis on the royal title, which he took every opportunity of 
repeating, perceiving from the comical delight on Murat's face 
thiat it was an agreeable novelty to him. " RoyauU oblige: " a 
king must condescend; and Murat thought himself called upon 
to discuss affairs of state with Monsieur de Balachow, the 
Emperor of Russia's envoy-extraordinary. He dismounted. 
Then, taking Balachoyv's arm, he walked up and down with 
him, talking with an air of extreme importance. He told him, 
among other things, that Napoteoh was much offended by the 
requisition addressed to him to withdraw his forces from Frusi^, 
and more especially by the publicity given to the demand, which 
was an insult to the dignity of France. Balachow replied tiiat 
there was no offence in that, for that . . . But Murat did not 
give him time to finish his sentence : 

" Then by your account it is not the Emperor Alexander who 
has provoked the war? " he said abruptly, with an awkward 
smile. 

Balachow explained the reasons which forced him to regard 
Napoleon as the aggressor. 

" \^ell, my dear general, I only hope with all my heart that 
the emperors may settle matters between th^n, and that this 
war, which has begun by no connivance of mine, may come to 
a speedy conclusion." Murat ended after the fa^on of a man 
who wishes to remain on good terms, even if his master must 
pick a quarrel. 

He then inquired after the health of the grand-duke, spoke 
of the time they had passed so gaily together at Naples; till, 
suddenly, remembering his majesty, he solonnly drew hunself 



The Invasion 209 

up^ struck an attitude as he had done on tiie occasion of his 
:oronation^ and with a dignified wave of the hand said: 

" But I will not detain you any longer; I wish you all suc- 
cess!" He fell back to join his suite, who were standing 
respectfully a little way oil, and in a few minutes the scarlet 
cbak, with its gold embroidery, the waving plume, and the 
sparkling jewels that reflected the sun's rays, were lost in the 
distance. 

Balachow expected to And Napoleon within a short distance, 
and went on; but on his arrival at the next village he was again 
stopped by the sentinels of Davoust's corps of infantry, and 
the general's aide-de-camp conducted him to the marshal's 
lodgings. 

Davoust, who was to the Emperor Napoleon what Arakt- 
ch6iew was to the czar, was the very counterpart of the Russian, 
minus his cowardice; no less severe, and punctual in his official 
capacity, and, like him, knowing no way of displa3dng his 
devotion to his master but by acts of cruelty. Men of this 
stamp are as necessary in the machinery of administration as 
wolves are in the economy of nature; they always must exist, 
and manifest and justify their existence by the mere fact, 
trivial as it may seem, of their immediate intercourse with the 
sovereign. How, indeed, unless by some inherent necessity, 
can we account for the presence and influence of a man like 
Araktch6iew— cruel, coarse, and ill-bred — ^who would, for in- 
stance, pull a private's moustache dose to the throne of 
Alexander, whose soul was tender and whose spirit nobly 
chivalrous? 

Balachow found Marshal Davoust, with his aide-de-camp, 
housed in a bam and seated on a barrel, busied in checking 
and settling accounts. He might, no doubt, have found more 
comfortable lodgings, but he was one of those people who like 
to find life difficult, that they may have the better right to be 
morose and taciturn, and who on all occasions affect extreme 
haste and overwhelming cares. 

'' How is a man to see the cheerful side of life, I ask you, 
when he is harassed as I am with worries, and perched on a 
tub in a wretched bam? " was what the marshal's face ex- 
pressed. The greatest pleasure to a man of this kidney is, 
when they happen to meet any one whose position in life is 
unlike their own, to make a great parade of perpetual and 
savage activity; and this was now Davoust's instinct as he 
saw BaliEichow, fresh and eager from his morning's ride, the 



2 1 o War and Peace 

lovely day^ and his talk with Murat. He glanced at him over 
his spectacles, smiled contemptuously, without even a bow, and 
returned to his sums with a vicious contraction of his brows. 
The unpleasant impression his strange behaviour produced did 
not, however, escape the marshal's notice; he presently looked 
up, and coldly asked Balachow what he wanted. 

The Russian, attributing this reception to Davoust's ignorance 
of his rank as aide-de-camp on the imperial staff, and his office 
as the czar's representative, hastened to explain his mission; 
but, to his great amazement, Davoust was stifFer and ruder than 
before. 

" Where is your despatch? Give it to me, and I will send 
it to the emperor." 

Balachow replied that he had been enjoined to put it into 
his majesty's own hands. 

" Your emperor's orders are carried out in your army, but 
here you must submit to our regulations." And to make the 
Russian general understand more clearly how completely he 
was at the mercy of brute force, the marshal sent fpr the officer 
on guard. 

Balachow laid the packet containing the czar's letter on the 
table, which was simply a door, with the hinges still hanging 
to it, balanced on a barrel. Davoust read the address. 

" You are quite at hberty to treat me politely or not, as you 
please; but I may venture to remind you that as I am one of 
his majesty's generals aides-de-camp . , ." Davoust stared 
at him, but did not speak; the annoyance, which was plainly 
legible on the envoy's face, evidently gave him the keenest 
satisfaction. 

" You will have all due respect paid to you,'" he said at 
length, and, putting the despatch m his pocket, he left the 
bam. A minute after Monsieur de Castries, Davoust's aide- 
de-camp, came to fetch Balachow, and showed him to a lodging 
where he was to put up. The Russian general subsequently 
dined with Davoust, in the bam. The marshal told him that 
he was going away the next day, but that he, Balachow, was 
to remain behind with the baggage-train. If he subsequently 
received an order to advance, he was to be brought after the 
marshal, but to have no communication with any one excepting 
Monsieur de Castries. 

At the end of four days of solitude and irritation^ during 
which he learnt only too surely his own insignificance and 
helplessness, feeling them all the more acutely by contrast with 



The Invasion 2 1 x 

his an but sovereign power only a day or two since; after 
travelling a few stages in the rear with Marshal Davoust's 
personal luggage^ and in the midst of French troops — ^who 
pervaded the whole country — Balachow was conducted back to 
Vilna^ and re-entered the town by the same gate as he had left 
it four days before. 

Next morning Monsieur de Turenne^ one of Napoleon's 
chamberlains^ came to announce to him that his majesty would 
grant him an audience. 

A day or two previously sentinels of the Pr6obrajensky 
regiment had mounted guard at the door of the house to which 
BsJachow was taken; now there were two French grenadiers, 
in dark blue uniforms and fur hats; a detachment of hussars 
and lancers^ and a splendid suite of staff-officers were in waiting, 
expecting Napoleon to come out. They were standing at the 
foot of the balcony steps, near his horse, which was held by his 
mameluke Roustan. 

So Napoleon was receiving him in the same house where 
Alexander had given him his message. 



CHAPTER XXVI 

Though Balachow was well used to court splendour, he was 
amazed at the magnificence displayed in every detail by the 
French emperor. Count de Turenne led him into a large 
room crowded with generals, chamberlains, Polish magnates, 
most of whom he had ere now seen paying their court to the 
Emperor of Russia. Then Duroc came forward and told him 
that his majesty would see him before going out riding. 

In a few minutes the gentleman in waiting begged him, 
with a courtly bow, to follow him into a little drawing-room, 
adjoining the very room in which he had received Alexander's 
parting injunctions; there he waited a short time. A quick, 
firm step was audible outside the door, which was thrown 
open, and Napoleon stood before him. He was dressed for 
nding in a dsurk blue uniform, over a long white waistcoat, 
which emphasised the rotundity of his shape, high boots, and 
doeskin breeches, tightly fitting his stout, short legs; his hair 
was cut short all but one long lock, whidi fell over his broad 
forehead. His thick white neck rose in strong contrast of 
colour from the collar of his uniform, and he was strongly 



2 1 2 War and Peace 

scented widi eaurde-Cologn^. His face^ stiU fresh and youthful, 
wore an expression of dignified and benevolent politeness. 
He walked rapidly^ his head held high^ and at each turn gave 
a little narotts jerk. His whole thick-set figure^ with sqi;Mi^e 
shoulders^ large stomach, deep chest and disable chin, had the 
look of mature and settled dignity, which is often to be seen in 
men of forty who have lived a life of ease: he seemed to be in 
an excellent humour. 

Balachow bowed low and respectfully; the emperor nodded 
his head quickly in retum, smd at onoe began to talk as a 
man knowing the value of time, aiui who does not take the 
trouble to elaborate his speech from a foregone conviction that 
what he says must be to the point and well said. 

"' Good day, general. I received the letter entrusted to you 
by the Emperor Alexander, and I am happy to see you." For 
a moment he took his fine eyes ofE Baladipw's face; for the 
Russian in himself did not interest him in the least. His 
whole attention was concentrated, as usual, on the thoughts 
working in his brain, and he considered the outside world as of 
very small consequence generally, believing it to be whoUy at 
the mercy of his will. 

" I never wished for war — ^I do not wish it now," he went 
on, " but it has been forced on me. I am quite ready, even 
now," — ^and he emphasised the words — " to accept any explana- 
tions you can offer." And he proceeded to state in a few 
concise words his dissatisfaction with the conduct of the Russian 
government. 

His friendly and moderate tone deluded Balachow into a 
belief in his desire to maintain peace and to open negotiations. 

" Sire, my master the czar ..." he began with some hesi- 
tation, and much disconcerted by Napoleon's fixed inquiring 
gaze. " You are uncomfortahle---be easy," was what those 
eyes seemed to say as they examined his uniform and sword, 
with the faintest possible smile. However, Balachow proceeded 
to explain that Alexander did not regard Kourakine's demand 
for his passport as a casus belli; that the ambassador had 
acted without orders; that the czar hoped to avoid war, and 
had no understanding whatever with England . . . 

"Not yet," interrupted Napolectf^; and then, as if fearing 
to betray himself, he nodded to the Russian envoy to proceed. 

Balachow, when he had said all he had been desired to say, 
repeated that the czar would only open negotiations on certain 
conditions. Suddenly he stopped short: he had just remem- 



The Invasion 213 

bered the words of the despatch to Soltykow which he had 
been desired to repeat exactly to the French Emperor; they 
▼ere quite dear to his memory, but a feeling he could not 
account for made him hesitate to utter them^ and it was 
with some embarrassment that he added: ** On condition that 
your majesty shall withdraw the invading army beyond the 
Niemen." 

Napoleon observed his hesitancy; the muscles of his face 
twitched and the calf of his left leg trembled nervously. He 
did not move, but he spoke louder and faster. Balachow's eye 
was irresistibly caught by the strange trembling in the calf of 
the leg, and he observed with surprise that it increased visibly 
as his majesty raised his voice. 

" I desire peace as sincerely as the Emperor Alexander. Did 
I not do ever3rthing in my power to preserve it eighteen months 
ago? And for these eighteen months have I awaited explana- 
tions. Well, and what is it I am required to do before negotia- 
tions can commence? " and he emphasised the question by an 
energetic gesture of his small, plump, white hand. 

" To withdraw your army beyond the Niemen, sire," replied 
Balachow. 

" Beyond the Niemen! — Is that all? " said Napoleon, looking 
him straight in the face. 

Balachow bowed respectfully. 

** You say," the emperor repeated, walking up and down the 
room, '' that before negotiations can be opened I have merely 
to recross the Niemen! Do you know that, only two months 
since, I was required, in the same way, to recross the Oder and 
the Vistula? — ^And you can still talk of peace! " 

After a short silence, still pacing the room, he stopped in front 
of Balachow; his face seemed turned to stone, its expression 
was so stem and rigid, and his lieft leg still quivered spasmodi- 
cally. — ^He himself, at a later date, said: " The twitching of my 
left calf is an ominous sign." 

'' Suggestions to abandon the Oder or the Vistula, may be 
made to the Prince of Baden, but not to me ! " he suddenly 
broke out. '* Not if you were to give me St. Petersburg and 
Moscow would I accept your conditions! You accuse me of 
having begun the war — but which of us was the first to join 
his army? The Emperor Alexander. And you come to talk 
to me about negotiations, when I have spent millions, when 
you have aUied yourself with England, and when your position 
is every day more critical ! What is the object of your alliance 



214 Wb,t and Peace 

with England? What advantage has it been to you? " he went 
on, evidently bent on proving his own justification and power, 
and the czar's blundering, instead of discussing the possibility 
or the conditions of peace. At first he pointed out the advan- 
tageous position in which he stood, hinting at the same time 
that, in spite of his superiority, he would still vouchsafe to 
re-establish amicable relations with Russia; but as he warmed 
to his subject he was less guarded in his speech, and at length 
it was evident that his sole aim and end was to magnify himself 
and cast obloquy on the czar, while at the beginning of the 
interview he had seemed to wish the very reverse. 
" You have made peace with Turkey, I hear? " 
Balachow bowed assent: " Yes, the peace is . . ." 
But Napoleon cut him short. No one was to talk but himself. 
" Yes, I know it," he broke in, with th^t vehemence of speech 
and impatience of tone which are common among the spoilt 
children of Fortune. " Yes — I know: you have come to terms 
with the Turks without getting Moldavia and Wallachia. I 
would have given those provinces to your emperor, just as I 
gave him Finland ! Yes, I would have made hiim a present of 
them, for I had promised them to him; and now he shall not 
have them. But he would have been glad to add them to his 
empire, and to extend Russia from the Gulf of Bothnia to the 
mouths of the Danube. Catherine the Great could have done 
no more ! " he exclaimed, with growing excitement, and he 
repeated to Balachow, with but slight variations, what he had 
said at the meeting at Tilsit. — " And all that he would have 
derived from my fnendship. — ^What a glorious dominion, what 
a glorious dominion ! " He took a small gold snuff-box out of 
his pocket and eagerly sniffed the contents. "Ah! what a 
splendid empire the Czar Alexander might have had to govern ! " 
He looked quite compassionately at Balachow, but as soon 
as the general tried to speak a few words he began to talk again. 
" What could he want more or better than my friendship ? " 
and he shrugged his shoulders. — "No: he has preferred to 
surround himself with my enemies, such as Stein, Armfeldt, 
Benningsen, Wintzingerode ! — Stein, a traitor banished from 
his own country; Armfeldt, a venal traitor; Wintzingerode, a 
French deserter; Benningsen, a better soldier than the others, 
but quite incompetent — Benningsen, who was useless and 
helpless in 1807, and whose presence alone might have revived 
horrible memories in his mind ! — ^Even supposing they were men 
of some capacity," he went on^ carried away by the arguments 



The Invasion 215 

which crowded on his mind in support of his might and his 
right — ^in his eyes one and the same thing. — " But no; they 
are good for nothing, either in war or in peace. Barclay is the 
best of them, they say, but I can hardly think so judging from 
his first marches* . . . What do all these courtiers do? Pfuhl 
makes schemes, Armfeldt talks, Benningsen criticises, and 
Barclay, when called upon to act, does not know which side to 
take! Bagration is the only thorough soldier of them all: he 
is stupid, but he has experience, a keen eye, and prompt decisive- 
ness. . . . And then what part, let me ask you, does your 
young emperor play in the midst of all this incompetency; he 
is compromised at every turn, and held responsible for accom- 
plished facts. A sovereign ought never to be with the army 
unless he is a general! " — ^And he jerked out the words like a 
challenge to the czar, knowing full well that Alexander's chief 
ambition was to pass for a good military leader. — " Why the 
campaign was opened a week ago, and you could not even hold 
Vilna ! You are cut in two, driven out of the Polish provinces, 
and 5'our army is grumbling already! " 

" Pardon me, sire," Balachow at last exclaimed, having 
followed this volley of words with some difficulty, "on the 
contrary, the troops are fired with the desire ..." 

" I know all about it," said Napoleon, again interrupting him. 
" All about it; do you understand. — I know the strength of 
your battalions as well as I know that of my own. You have 
not 200,000 men of all arms, and I have three times as many. 
I give you my word of honour " — ^he forgot perhaps that his 
word did not command implicit confidence — " that I have 
530,000 men on this side of the Vistula. The Turks will be of 
no use to you; they are good for nothing. Indeed, they have 
amply proved it by making peace with you ! As to the Swedes 
— they are predestined to be ruled by madmen: as soon as 
their king went out of his mind they chose another just as 
crazy — Bemadotte ! For certainly it is sheer madness for a 
Swede to enter into an alliance with Russia ! " — ^And Napoleon, 
with a spiteful sneer, sniffed again at his snuff-box. 

Balachow, who had answers ready for everything, was im- 
consciously gesticulating with impatience, without being able 
to check this deluge of words. With reference to the madness 
attributed to the Swedes, he might have pointed out that an 
alliance with Russia placed Sweden in the position of an island; 
but Napoleon was in that state of general irritation in which 
a man must talk and shout^ simply to prove himself right to 



2 1 6 War and Peace 

himself. The situation was becoming a painful one to the 
Russian: he feared that he was compromising his dignity as 
the czar's envoy by making no reply^ while, as a man, he could 
not help shrinking into himself before this unreasonable fury. 
He knew quite well that all this rhodomontade was mere talk, 
and that Napoleon himself would be the first to be ashamed of 
it in a calmer mood; so he stood with downcast eyes, to avoid 
meeting those of the little man, of whose person he could only 
see the sturdy legs with their nervous restlessness. 

'' And when all is said, what do I care for your allies? I 
have allies, too; the Poles — 80,000 men who fight like lions, 
and they will be 200,000 before long.*' 

Thus lashing himself up by his own lies, and infuriated by 
Balachow's imperturbable cahnness and silence, he went quite 
close up to him, stood exactly in front of him, pale with rage, and 
with much gesticulation he shrieked out in a harsh voice: 

" I tell you, if you incite Prussia to join you against me I 
wiU blot it out of the map of Europe — and as for you, I will 
drive you beyond the Dwina and the Dnieper; I will restore 
the baurier between you and Europe that it has allowed to be 
feUed in its folly and blindness! Yes, that is what you have 
to look forward to, and what you wiU have gained by alienating 
me!" 

Then he again paced up and down the room, took out the 
snuff-box after having just put it in his pocket, and raised it 
several times to his nose, tUl stopping once more in front of 
the Russian general he looked at him with a satirical twinkle 
and murmured: ** And yet^ what a splendid realm your master 
might have ruled over! " 

Balachow replied that the Russians did not take so gloomy 
a view of affairs, but counted on a sure triumph. Napoleon 
vouchsafed a condescending nod, as much as to say: ** To be 
sure, it is your duty to say so; but you do not believe a word 
of it; I have convinced you to the contrary." 

Allowing him this time to finish his sentence. Napoleon took 
a pinch of snuff and stamped on the floor: it was a signal, for 
at that moment the doors were thrown open and a gentleman 
in waiting offered the emperor his hat and gloves, bending 
respectfully as he did so, while another held out his pocket- 
handkerchief. He did not seem to see them. 

** Give your emperor my fullest assurance," he said, " that I 
esteem him as entirely as I have always done. I know him, 
and highly appreciate his great qualities. I will detain you no 



The Invasion 217 

longer^ general; my answer tx> the czar will be placed in your 
hands." He snatched at his hat and went quickly to the front 
door; all the suite rushed downstairs to be ready to receive 
him at the foot of the steps. 

After this explosion of wrath and his last formal words^ 
Balachow felt sure that Napoleon would not ask to see him 
again^ but would rather avoid doing so, after allowing him^ a 
humiliated envoy^ to witness his ill-timed fury. But^ to his 
great surprise, Duroc came to invite him to dine at the emperor's 
table that very day. Bessidtes^ Caulaincourt and Berthier were 
also of the party. 

Napoleon received Balachow very courteously, and no sign 
of awkward consciousness was visible in his good-humoured 
manner; on the contrary, he seemed to be anxious to put his 
guest at his ease. He was so convinced of his own infallibility 
that everything he did, whether conformable or no to the laws 
of right and wrong, could not fail to be good from the fact that 
he did it. 

He was in the very best temper after his ride through Vilna, 
where the whole populace had come to meet him with acclama- 
tions, and where every window had been hung with flags and 
tapestry and filled with Polish ladies, bowing and waving their 
handkerchiefs. He talked to Balachow as cordially as though 
he were one of his own suite, of those who approved of his 
schemes and rejoiced in his successes. The conversation 
happening to turn on Moscow, he questioned him about the 
great capital, as a traveller might have done who was desirous 
of being informed as to a strange place he was about to visit, 
and with evident conviction that, as a Russian, his guest must 
be flattered at his interest in the place. 

" How many inhabitants are there in Moscow — ^how many 
houses — churches? Is it really called Holy Moscow?" he 
asked; and when Balachow told him that there were more 
than two hundred churches: 

" What is the good of so many? " he asked. 

'* The Russians are a very pious people," said the general. 

" At the same time it is a fact that a great number of churches 
is commonly a sign of a backward stage of civilisation in a 
nation," Napoleon remarked, turning to Caulaincourt 

Balachow respectfully begged leave to differ: 

" Every nation has its own customs," said he. 

" Possibly; but there is nothing of the kind to be seen else- 
where in Europe, nowadays/' Napoleon observed 



2 1 8 War and Peace 

*' I ask your majesty's pardon^ but besides Russia there is 
Spain^ where there are churches and convents innumerable." 

This reply, which bore a covert reference to the recent defeat 
of the French in the Peninsula, made quite a sensation when it 
was repeated at the court of St. Petersburg, as Balachow was 
subsequently informed; but it fell flat at Napoleon's table, and 
excited no remark. The dull faces of the marshals showed 
that they had not seen the point of the allusion: '' If that had 
been witty," they seemed to say, " we should have discovered 
it; so of course it was not! " Napoleon himself so little under- 
stood it that he asked Balachow, with much simplicity, to tell 
him through what towns the most direct road lay from Vilna 
to Moscow. 

The envoy, who said nothing without deliberate intention, 
told him that, as all roads lead to Rome, so all roads lead to 
Moscow: that there were several routes, among others that 
through Pultawa, which Charles XII. had selected. But he had 
not time to congratulate himself on this happy repartee before 
Caulaincourt changed the subject to an enumeration of the 
difficulties of the journey from St. Petersburg to Moscow. 

Coffee was served in the emperor's private room; he seated 
himself, and, as he raised his Sevres cup to his lips, he pointed 
out a chair to Balachow. There is a certain frame of mind 
which usually, and involuntarily, comes over a man after 
dinner; a pleasant mood in which he is happily satisfied with 
himself, and prepared to think all men his friends. Napoleon 
was in this comfortable humour; like any other mortal; he 
felt as though all around him were alike and equally his adorers, 
not excepting Balachow. 

"This room it seems," he began, addressing the Russian 
with an amiable though ironical smile, " is that which the 
Emperor Alexander also used. You must own, general, that 
the coincidence is a strange one to say the least." And he 
appeared to have no doubt that this consideration, as proving 
his evident superiority over the czar, must necessarily be 
pleasing to his guest. 

Balachow made no reply but a bow. 

" Yes, in this very room, four days since. Stein and Wintzin- 
gerode were holding councU," Napoleon went on, still with that 
satirical smile. " I really cannot understand why the czar 
should have taken up my personal enemies — I cannot imder- 
stand it! . . . Did it never occur to him that I might do as 
much by him? " And his own speech revived the hardly 



The Invasion 219 

smothered furies of the morning. " Aye, and I will, too; let 
him know that I " he exclaimed pushing aside his cup and rising. 
" I will drive all his kith and kin out of Germany — out of 
Wurtemberg, Baden, Weimar . . . Yes, I will turn them out! 
He had better make a refuge ready for them in Russia." 

Balachow made a movement intended to express both his 
anxiety to withdraw and the painful position in which he was 
placed by being obliged to listen and make no reply; but 
Napoleon did not notice it, and continued to treat him not as 
his enemy's ambassador, but as a man who could not but be 
devoted to him, and who must therefore rejoice in the humilia- 
tion of the sovereign whom he had formerly served. 

" Why did the Emperor Alexander take the command of his 
armies? Why indeed? — ^War is my business — ^his business is 
to govern. Why did he take such responsibility on himself? " 

Napoleon opened his snufi-box, took a turn in the room and 
then abruptly went up to Balachow. "Well, and you say 
nothing, you, the czar's admirer and courtier? " he asked in a 
sarcastic tone, intended to mark his conviction that, in his 
presence, it was out of the question that admiration could exist 
for any one but himself. — "Are the horses ready for the 
general? " he added, nodding in answer to Balachow's bow. . . . 
" Let him have mine, he has far to go." 

Balachow, canying a letter from Napoleon to the czar — ^the 
last he ever wrote to him — ^gave a full report of the reception 
he had met with; — and war broke out 



CHAPTER XXVn 

Not long after his interview with Peter, Prince Andrew left 
Moscow for St. Petersburg. He said he was there on business, 
but, in fact, it was with a view to finding Kouraguine, whom 
he was bent on fighting. Kouraguine, being warned by his 
brother-in-law, made haste to depart, and got the minister of 
war to give him emplo3anent with the anny in Moldavia. 
Kdutouzow was delighted to see Prince Andrew, to whom he 
had always been much attached, and offered him an appointment 
on his own staff; he had just been nominated commander-in- 
chief of the forces in Moldavia, and was about to proceed 
thither. Prince Andrew accepted, and they set out together. 
His purpose was to challenge Kouraguine to a duel; but 



220 War and Peace 

for this some pretext must be founds otherwise G)untess Natacha 
would be compromised. He tried to meet him somewhere, but 
in vain, for Kouraguine returned to Russia as soon as he got 
wind of Prince Andrew's arrival in Turkey. 

However, life seemed more endurable in a new country, and 
under different conditions. Natacha's faithlessness had been 
a blow, all the more painful because he did his utmost to con- 
ceal how heavily it had fallen on him, and the scenes where he 
had been happy were now unendurable. Even more trying 
were the liberty and independence which in the past he had 
thought so precious. He no longer meditated over the ideas 
which the calm sky of Austeiiitz had first brought to his soul, 
over the thoughts which he had once loved to talk out with 
Peter, and winch had been the companions of his solitude at 
Bogoutcharovo, in Switzerland, and at Rome; he did not dare 
now to glance at the distant horizons of which he had had a 
glimpse, and which had looked so bright in their infinitude. 
The commonplace interests of daily life now absorbed him 
entirely, all the more since they were apart from those of the 
past. It seemed as though the limitless heaven that had then 
bent over his head had been transmuted to a dark and pon- 
derous vault, narrowly circumscribed, and henceforth bereft, 
to him, of mystery and eternity. 

Of the various occupations ih&t lay under his hand, military 
duty was the simplest and most familiar. As general on staff 
service under Koutouzow, he surprised his chief by the punc- 
tuality and zeal he put into his work. Having failed to come 
across Anatole in Turkey, he did not think it necessary to follow 
him back to Russia; neither the course of time, nor the contempt 
he felt for Kouraguine, nor the reasons which told him that it 
was impossible for him to stoop to fight him, would keep him 
from provoking the quarrel the first time they should meet; 
nothing can keep a starving man from rushing at food. The 
sense of the wrong he had not avenged, and the wrath he had 
not vented, but which lay congealed at the bottom of his soul, 
poisoned the factitious calmness with which he fulfilled his 
many and various duties. 

When, in 1812, the news reached Bucharest of the war with 
Napoleon, Prince Andrew asked permission to exchange into 
the army on the eastern frontier. Koutouzow, to whom his 
zeal was a constant irritation, and who felt it a standing re- 
proach to his own indolence, willingly acceded, and entrusted 
Bolkonsky with a mission to Barclay de Tolly. 



The Invasion 221 

On his way to join the army^ which in the month of May 
was in the field at Drii$sa, he stopped at Lissy-Gory^ which lay 
on his road. During the last liiree years^ he had thought and 
felt so much^ had gone through so many trials^ and seen so 
many things in his travels, that it struck him stmngely to find 
at Lissy-Gory the same kind of Hfe as he had left there, un- 
changed in the smallest detail. He had hardly crossed the 
threshold of the great stone gateway of the avenue leading to 
the house, when he felt as though he were entering on enchanted 
ground, where slumber tieigned supreme; in the house he found 
the same quietude, the same exquisite neatness, the same 
furniture and wall^, the same perhimes, and the same faces, 
only a little older: Princess Matia, crushed, timid, and plain 
as ever, seeing her best years vanishing into the past wifliout 
one ray of love or joy to mingle with her terrors and anxieties: 
Mademoiselle Bourrienne, on the contrary, enjoying every 
minute of her existence, and, as of old, spinning visions of hope 
for the future; she was still the same pert little person, with 
an additional modicum of insolence. The tutor Prince Andrew 
had brought from Switzerland, Monsieut Dessalles, wore a long 
coat of native cloth, and talked Russian after a fashion to the 
servants; but, otherwise, he had Hot altered since his arrival: 
a thorough good soul, pedantic, and somewhat narrow-minded. 
The old prince had lost a tooth; only one, but it left a con- 
spicuous gap. In temper, he had not changed; hi$ irritability 
and scepticism as to tiie genuineness of things in general had 
increased with advancing yeariS. Only Nicolouchka, with his 
rosy cheeks and curly chestnut hair, had grown> and was as 
gleeful as the day was long; when he laughed, the upper lip 
of his pretty mouth curled up just as hid mother's had done. 
He alone rebelled against the yoke of the inevitable in this 
spellbound castle. 

Nevertheless, though all on the surface was unchanged, the 
relations to eadi other of the inhabitants of Lissy-Gory had 
perceptibly altered. There were two parties, two hostile camps, 
which never could agree, but which consented to a tacit truce 
in honour of Prince Andrew's presence. One consisted of the 
old man. Mademoiselle Bourrienne, and the Architect; the 
other of Princess Maria, Uttle Nicholas, his tutor, the old nurse, 
and all the women of the hbusehold. 

During Andrew's stay at home they all dined together; but 
he soon perceived, from the general awkwardness of all the 
party, that he was being treated as a visitor in whose presence 



222 War and Peace 

an exception is made. He was so fully aware of this that it 
made him, too, quite awkward, and he took refuge in utter 
silence. This tension of the atmosphere, too marked to be 
ignored, made his father sullen and taciturn; as soon as dinner 
was over, he withdrew to his own room. When Prince Andrew 
joined him there in the course of the evening, and tried to win 
his interest in the campaign carried through by young Count 
Kamensky, his father, instead of listening, broke out in abuse 
of Princess Maria's conduct, of her religious superstitions, 
and her hostility towards Mademoiselle Bourrienne — ^the only 
creature, he declared, who really cared for him. " His daughter 
made life a burden to him, and that was why he was never well, 
and she was ruining the child with her over-indulgence and 
absurd ideas ! " 

In his heart he knew full well that she did not deserve such 
a wretched life, and that he was her tormentor, but he knew, 
too, that he could never be otherwise, or cease to torture her. 

" I wonder why Andrew, who sees everj^thing, has not spoken 
to me of his sister," said he to himself. " Does he think I am 
a monster, an idiot, and have quarrelled about nothing with 
my daughter, simply to win the good graces of the French- 
woman? He does not understand; I must explain to him — 
he must know me better." 

" I should never have alluded to the subject if you had not 
mentioned it," said Prince Andrew, in reply to this unexpected 
confidential communication, and he could not look his father 
in the face, feeling that he was condemning him for the first 
time in his life. " But since you ask me, I will be frank with 
you. If any misunderstanding has arisen between you and 
Maria, I cannot accuse her of any fault in the matter, for I 
know how much she reveres and loves you; if there is such a 
misunderstanding," he repeated, his temper gradually rising, 
as jof late it had been apt to do, " I can only ascribe it to the 
presence of a woman who is utterly unworthy to be my sister's 
companion." 

The old prince, sitting with his eyes fixed on his son, had 
so far not said a word, but a forced smile showed the gap left 
by the missing tooth, to which Prince Andrew could not get 
accustomed. 

" What companion, my dear fellow? Ah I have you already 
heard? Ah! . . ." 

" Father, I have no wish to pass judgment on your actions," 
replied Prince Andrew, coldly; " you yourself have driven me 



The Invasion 223 

to it. I have always said^ and shall always say^ that Maria 
is not to blame. It is the fault of those ... in short it is 
that Frenchwoman's." 

" What, you criticise me — ^you condenm me! " said the old 
man in a quiet tone, which even betrayed some embarrassment 
to his son's ear; then, suddenly springing to his feet, he cried 
out furiously: 

** Get out of my sight — gol Never let me see you again! Go!" 

Prince Andrew at once meant to leave the house without 
delay; but his sister implored him to give her one more day. 
The old prince remained invisible; no one was admitted to his 
room but Mademoiselle Bourrienne and Tikhone, and he asked 
repeatedly whether his son were gone. 

Before setting out Prince Andrew went to see his Ixjy. 
Nicholas jumped on to his knee and begged to be told the story 
of Blue-beard. He listened with absorbed attention; but 
suddenly his father stopped without finishing the story, and fell 
into a brown study, entirely forgetting Nicolouchka. He was 
thinking of himself, feeling with horror that he was conscious of 
no remorse for his quarrel with his father, though they were 
about to part on bad terms for the first time. What shocked 
and distressed him still more was that, even for his child; he 
felt none of his usual tender affection. 

'*And what next? Tell me the rest of it," said the little 
boy; but his father, without answering, set him down from his 
knee and left the room. In fact. Prince Andrew, finding himself 
once more in the midst of the scenes where he had once been 
happy, felt so disgusted with life that he thought only of getting 
away from these associations, and of making some fresh occupa- 
tion for himself; this was the secret of his superficial indifference^ 

" Then you are really going, Andrew? " said his sister. 

" Yes, I am free to go, thank God ! I am only grieved that 
you cannot do as much." 

" Why do you say that, when you are going to the war — this 
dreadful war? " said Maria. " And he is so old — ^Mademoiselle 
Bourrienne told me that he had asked about you . . ." And 
her lips quivered, while large tears rolled down her cheeks. 

Andrew turned away, and did not answer. 

" Good God I " he suddenly exclaimed, walking about the 
room, "to think that things and creatures so utterly con- 
temptible, can bring such misery on others!" His violence 
alanned his sister, who understood that his remark applied not 



224 War and Peace 

alone to Mademoiselle Bounienne, but also to the man who had 
wrecked his happmess. 

" Andrew, I entreat you," she said, lightly laying her hand 
on his arm and looking up with beamii^g eyes through her tears — 
" Do not fancy that sorrow is the work of man — ^he is but an 
instrument in the hand of God I " Her gaze, over and beyond 
her brother's head was fixed on space, as if she were accustomed 
to see some familiar and beloved image there: " Sorrow is sent 
by Him; men are not responsible for it. If you think that any 
man has sinned against you, forget it and forgive. We have no 
right to punish; and you, too, will some day understand the joy 
of forgiving!" 

" Yes, Maria, if I had been a woman I should no doubt have 
thought so too. Forgiveness is a woman's grace; for a man 
it is different; he caimot, and he ought not to forget, nor to 
forgive." 

" When my sister can speak to me so," he said to himself, " it 
is sufficient proof that I ought long since to have had my 
revenge." He listened no more to her little sennon; he was 
picturing to himself, with envenomed satisfaction, the moment 
when he should meet Kouraguine, who, as he knew, was with 
the army. 

Princess Maria tried to persuade her brother to remain only 
twenty-four hours longer; she was sure that her father would be 
grieved at his departing without their being reconciled. But 
he was of the contrary opinion; he assured her that their 
quarrel would only be embittered by delay, that his absence 
would be short, and that he would write to his father. 

" Good-bye, then; remember that suffering is sent by God, 
and that men are not accountable for it." These were Princess 
Maria's last words. 

" I suppose it must be right I " said Prince Andrew to himself, 
as he turned out of the avenue. " An innocent mart3rr, it is 
her fate to be victimised by a half-crazy old man, who is con- 
scious of his cruelty, but who cannot now alter his nature 1 My 
boy is growing up, smiling at life; and he, like others, will 
dupe and be duped! And I am joining the army — ^what for? 
I have no idea, unless it is to fight with a man I despise, and so 
give him an opportunity of killing me first and laughing at me 
afterwards I " 

Though the various elements of life were the same to him 
now as they had eyer been, they had lost their unity and left 
only isolated and incoherent impressions. 



The Invasion 225 



CHAPTER XXVIII 

By the time Prince Andrew reached headquarters it was the 
end of June. The first division^ commanded by the czar in 
person^ held an entrenched camp on the Drissa. The second, 
which had been cut off, it was said, by a strong hostile force, 
had retired to take a fresh line of march and join it. Much 
dissatisfaction prevailed in both, in consequence of the general 
conduct of military matters; but it never occurred to any one 
to apprehend a foreign invasion into the Russian provinces, or 
to conceive of war as extending beyond the western Polish 
territory. 

Prince Andrew found Barclay de Tolly holding a position oh 
the banks of the Drissa, at a distance of about four versts from 
where the emperor was established. As there was no village 
or town within reach of the camp, the numerous generals and 
court functionaries had taken possession of the best houses on 
both sides of the river, scattered along a line of about ten 
versts. 

Barclay de Tolly received him with rigid coldness; he told 
Bolkonsky that he must refer him to his majesty for employ- 
ment, but proposed to him meanwhile to remain on his staff. 
Kouraguine had left, and was at St. Petersburg; and Prince 
Andrew was really glad; he was thankful to have a short 
respite from the thoughts that his name always roused in his 
mind, and to be able to give himself up wholly to the absorbing 
interest of the war just beginning. Having no immediate 
duties he spent the first four days in riding about the camp, 
and acquired a very complete apprehension of the position by 
the aid of his own inteUigence and by questioning those who 
could give him any useful information. What its advantages 
were remained to him an unsolved problem. His experience 
had taught him that the most learned and skilful tactics are 
often of very little value in practical warfare. He had seen 
this at Austerlitz, and since that day he had understood better 
than before that victory depends mainly on the power of 
anticipating and preventing imexpected movements on the 
part of the enemy, and on the clear-sightedness and intelligence 
of the men who had to direct the operations of the army. To 
get the clearest possible light on this last factor he took every 
opportunity of studying the details of administration, and 
n H 



226 War and Peace 

of watching the play of the generals who had a hand in the 
game. 

During the emperor's stay at Vilna^ the army had been broken 
up into three divisions: the first under the command of Barclay 
de ToUy^ the second under Bagration^ the third imder Tor- 
massow. The emperor had joined the first without assuming 
the functions of commander-in-chief^ and his presence was 
merely annoimced in the order of the day without any further 
statement or remark. Nor had he with him any special stafF^ 
but only the ordinary staff at imperial headquarters. The 
chief officer was Quartermaster-General Prince Volkhonsky, 
and it consisted of a crowd of generals^ and aides-de-camp^ of 
civil functionaries for diplomatic work^ and a considerable 
number of foreigners; so^ in point of fact^ there was no general 
army staff. The emperor's personal circle included Araktch^iew, 
the ex-minister of war; Coimt Benningsen^ the senior general; 
the Czarevitch Grand Duke Constantine ; Count Roumiantzow, 
the chancellor; Stein, who had been the Prussian minister; 
Armfeldt, a Swedish general; Pfuhl, who was chiefly responsible 
for the scheme of the campaign; Paulucci, a Sardinian refugee 
and general aide-de-camp; Woltajogen, and others. Though 
they were all attached to his majesty with no particular func- 
tion, they had so much influence tlmt the general of division 
himself did not always know from whom a piece of advice, or an 
order under the guise of a hint, had emanated when given by 
Benningsen, the grand duke, or any one else; whether they 
were speaking on their own authority or merely expressing the 
czar's wishes; and whether, on the whole, they were to be 
obeyed or no. They were i»rt of the stage accessories; their 
presence, and the czar's was perfectly intelligible from their 
point of view, as courtiers — and every man becomes a courtier 
in the presence of his sovereign — ^and implied that, notwith- 
standing Alexander's refusal to accept the title of conunander- 
in-chief, the control of the three divisions was in his hands; 
consequently, his immediate circle were, practically, his privy 
council. 

Araktch6iew, the guardian of his person, was at the same 
time the mouthpiece of his orders; Benningsen, who owned 
large estates in the government of Vilna, and whose one idea 
seemed to be to do the honours to his sovereign, had a high 
reputation as a soldier, and was held in reserve to replace 
Barclay de Tolly in case of need; the grand duke was there 
for his own pleasure; Stein as a councillor in virtue of the 



The Invasion . 227 

high esteem in which he was held; Armfeldt, Napoleon's most 
detested foe, was much listened to by Alexander — ^thanks to 
his calm assurance and intense conviction of his own merits; 
Paulucci was one of the phalanx because he was bold and 
decided; the generals aides-de-camp because they attended 
the czar eveiywhere; and Pfuhl, because after having con- 
ceived and elaborated the plan of the campaign, he had suc- 
ceeded in getting it accepted as a perfect whole. He it was, 
in fact, who was conducting the war. Woltzogen, who was his 
devoted follower, a man full of conceit and self-confidence, with 
an utter contempt for things in general, was only a closet 
theorist, whose business it was to give shape and grace to 
Pfuhl's ideas. 

Besides all these high dignitaries, there were numerous 
subordinates, Russians and foreigners, adherents of their 
respective chiefs; the foreigners making themselves especially 
conspicuous by the audacity and variety of their military 
schemes: a natural consequence of serving in a country not 
their own. 

In the eddy of opposite opinions which agitated this brilliant 
and haughty circle, Prince Andrew was soon able to discern 
the existence of several parties which evidently drifted 
asunder. 

The first consisted of Pfuhl and his followers, the theoretical 
students of the science of war, who believed in immutable 
laws, in oblique attacks, and flank movements: their desire 
was that, in compliance with this hjqxjthesis, the army should 
be withdrawn to the interior of the country; and they regarded 
every infringement of these imaginary rules as a proof of 
barbarism and ignorance — ^not to say of malicious intentions* 
This faction included the German princes, and indeed all the 
Germans : Woltzogen, Wintzingerode, and several more. 

The second party, diametrically opposed to these, fell, as so 
often happens, into the other extreme; they clamoured to 
advance into Poland, and to start on no preconceived plan; it 
was bold and enterprising, and represented the national party, 
and consequently was all the more exclusive in discussion. 
Among the Russians who were beginning to make their mark 
was Bagration and Ermolow, who, it was said, had one day 
requested the emperor to promote him to the rank of " German." 
This party were never tired of repeating Souvorow's saying 
that it was useless to argue and stick pins into maps, that the 
point was to fight, to put the enemy to rout and prevent their 



228 War and Peace 

getting into the country^ and not give the anny time to become 
demoralised. 

The third party, in whom the czar felt most confidence, 
were courtiers, mediators between the other two; not very 
military for the most part, and who thought and said what 
most men think and say who have no fixed ideas and are 
anxious not to betjuy the fact. Thus they were ready to admit 
that in a war against such a genius as Bonaparte — he was 
Bonaparte again to them — learned tactics and a thorough 
knowledge of the art of war was certainly indispensable; that 
pfuhl no doubt was admittedly a master of it, but that the 
limitations of his judgment — the common fault of theorists — 
must prevent their having implicit confidence in him; that, in 
consequence, the opinions of his adversaries must also be taken 
into consideration — men of the craft, men of action, whose 
experience was practical — that they must comp^e the counsels 
of the wise heads and choose the happy middle course. They 
insisted that it was necessary to hold the camp at Drissa as 
Pfuhl had planned it, but to change the relative positions of 
the other two divisions. By this procedure, to be sure, neither 
of the ends aimed at was secured; nevertheless, the adherents 
of this party, including Araktch6iew, believed it to be the best 
combination. 

The fourth current of opinion was led by the grand duke, 
who could never forget his disaj^intment of Austerlitz when, 
having made ready in parade uniform to rush on the French at 
the head of his regiment of guards, and to crush them, he 
unexpectedly found himself close under the enemy's fire, and 
only got out of the mel^e with the very greatest difficulty. 
The frank dismay of this prince and his adherents was at once 
a good and a bad thing; they dreaded Napoleon and his 
strength; they saw only impotence and weakness on their side, 
and declared it loudly: '* Nothing but defeat will come of it 
all!" they exclaimed: "Nothing but disgrace and reverses! 
We abandoned Vilna and then Vitebsk, and now we shall 
abandon the Drissa. There is only one rational course open 
to us: to make peace as soon as possible before we are driven 
out of St. Petersburg! " 

This opinion found acceptance among the higher ranks of 
the army, in the capital, and by Count Roumiantzow, the 
chancellor, who, for oUier reasons of state, voted unhesitatingly 
for peace. 

A fifth faction, again, were supporters of Barclay de Tolly, 



The Invasion 229 

simply because he was minister of war and geneial-in-chief: 
" In spite of all that can be said/' was their verdict^ '* he is an 
honest and capable man; we have not a better ... As war^ 
under divided authority, is out of the question, give him real 
power and be will show what he can do, as he did in Finland. 
We owe it to him that we still possess a well-drilled azmy, an 
army that could fall back on the Drissa without bss; all 
would have been lost if Benmngsen had been in his place; he 
displayed his incapacity in 1807." 

The sixth set, on the other hand, cried up Benningsen; no 
one, said they, was more prcHsiipt and weH^informed than 
Benningsen, and he would have to be employed after all. 
'^ The best proof is that the retreat on the Drissa was a series 
of Uimders and failures, — and the more the better; it will be 
evident then that we cannot go on so. What we want is not a 
Barclay but a Benningsen! — Benmngsen, who made his mark 
in 1807, to whom Napoleon himself did justice, and to whose 
orders ail will be ready to submit." 

A seventh group included a considerable number of men 
such as aw always to be seen round a young sovereign: 
generate and aides-de-camp devotedly attached to the man 
rather than to the ruler, honestly and disinterestedly worship- 
ping him, as Rostow had worshipped him in 1805, and seeing 
nothing in him but graces and virtues. These lauded him to 
the skies for his modesty in refusing to undertake the chief com- 
mand, while they blamed him for his exaggerated diffidence: 
" He ought," they said, " to put himself pubhdy at the head of 
the anny, to select a formally-constituted commander-iiw^hief 's 
staff, to take counsel with theorists and practical veterans alike, 
and himself lead the soldiers, who were always excited to 
delirious enthusiasm by his mere presence." 

The e^th party, finally, and the most numerous, counting 
as ninety-nine to one of all the others, did not particularly 
care whether tibe upshot were war or peace; whether the 
Russians acted on the ofiEensive or remained entrenched by the 
Drissa or elsewhere; whether they were commanded by the 
czar in person, by Barclay de ToDy, Pfuhl, or Benningsen; 
their one sole aim was to catch pleasure on the wing, and get 
as much amusement as possible. It was easier, too, here, tlum 
elsewhere and in time of peace, to put themselves forward and 
give themselves importance in the vortex of daik and tangled 
intrigues whidv were carried on at the imperial headquarters. 
One, to keep his place, upheld Pfohl one day-^and oiq)osed 



230 War and Peace 

him the next; and on the third, to escape responsibility and 
gratify the emperor, declared he had no opinions at all in 
favour of one plan more than another. A second, eager to 
find a footing, would take up some passing remark of the 
czar's and elaborate it at the next council, shouting, gesticu- 
lating, quarrelling, calling out on occasion those who contra- 
dicted him, merely to attract the sovereign's attention and 
display his devotion to the public cause. A third would quietly 
seize a favourable opportunity between two meetings of the 
council, to request and to obtain a gift in money as the reward 
for his lo3ral services, knowing full well that, under existing 
circumstances, it would be quicker to grant it than to refuse it. 
A fourth would constantly, and by the merest chance, come in 
the way of the czar, who found him alwajrs over-burdened with 
business; while a fifth was ready to attack or defend every new 
opinion with equal vehemence and with more or less plausible 
arguments, only to get invited to dine at the emperor's table. 
This party's single aim was to gain medals and orders, rank and 
money; they devoted themselves to watching the fluctuations 
of imperial favour; no sooner had it taken a definite direction 
than this swarm of waiters on Providence threw themselves 
into the scale, and so effectually, that the czar sometimes 
found it difficult to act on the opposite side. In fact the 
gravity of the danger in the immediate future, which gave a 
vague and feverish intensity to the general excitement — ^the 
whirl of intrigue, self-interest and conceit — and the perpetual 
collision of opinions and feelings — all lent weight to this, the 
most numerous party, so that it contributed largely to compH- 
cate and divert the march of events. This buzzing swarm, 
rising up as soon as any new question came under discussion 
without having settled the previous one, so deafened and 
bewildered every one as to smother the voices of those who were 
prepared to examine it fully and honestly. 

At the time when Prince Andrew joined the army a ninth 
party had just come into being and was beginning to make 
itself heard: a party of veteran statesmen of wisdom and expe- 
rience, who agreed with none of those here described, but were 
competent to judge impartially of what was going on under 
their eyes in the staff at imperial headquarters, and who sought 
some way out of the general indecision and confusion. These 
thought and said that the chief mischief lay in the presence of 
the czar and his military court, which had imported this multi- 
plicity of conventional and fluctuating ranks, convenient perhaps 



The Invasion 231 

at courts but in the anny absolutely fataL The emperor's 
place was to govern the country and not to command the troops; 
the only solution of the difficulty lay in his departure with his 
suite; his mere presence was an impediment to the movements 
of 50,000 men who were responsible for his safety; and in their 
opinion the worst general of division, if he were but free to 
act, was worth more than the greatest commander-in-chief who 
ever lived, under the paralysing influence and presence of the 
sovereign. 

Schichkow, the secretary of state, one of the most influential 
leaders of this faction, aided by Balachow and Araktch6iew, 
concocted a letter to the czar in which, presuming on the liberty 
they were allowed of discussing the war operations as a whole, 
they respectfully b^;ged him to return to the capital, and to 
excite the enthusiasm of his subjects, stirring them up by his 
speeches to rise in defence of the country, and fanning the 
flame of that spirit which, in fact, became a main cause of the 
triumph of Russia, and which his majesty's presence at Moscow 
undoubtedly encouraged. The advice thus offered was taken, 
and Alexander decided on quitting the army. 

It was before this letter had been laid before the czar that 
Barclay informed Prince Andrew at dinner, that he was to call 
on Benningsen at six that afternoon, as his majesty had ex- 
pressed a wish to question him himself with regard to affairs in 
Turkey. T*hat morning a report — subsequentify proved to be 
erroneous — ^had reached headquarters of an offensive movement 
on the part of Napoleon, and that same day Colonel Michaud^ 
in a tour of inspection with the czar of the defences of Drissa, 
proved to him that this camp, which had been planned by 
Pfuhl, was not merely useless, but might be the ruin of the 
Russian army. 

Prince Andrew went at the appointed hour to Benningsen's 
quarters: a house on a small private estate on the banks of the 
Drissa. He there found only Czemichew, one of the imperial 
aides-de-camp, who told him that the czar had gone out for the 
second time with General Benningsen and Marquis Paulucci, 
to reconnoitre the entrenchments, for that serious doubts had 
arisen as to their value. 

Czemichew was reading a novel in the window-bay of a room 
which had formerly, no doubt, been a ball-room; there was an 
organ in it, piled with rolls of carpet; in one comer Benningsen's 
aide-de-camp, exhausted by fatigue or by the supper he had 
just eaten, was asleep on a bed. There were two doors from 



232 War and Peace 

the room; one led into a small study^ and the other into a 
drawing-room, where many voices were audible, talking German 
chiefly but occasionally French. There, by the emperor's orders 
a meeting had been oonvened — ^not a council of war, for Alex- 
ander disliked such definite designations — but a committee of 
those whom he wished to consult at this critical moment. These 
were Armfeldt, the Swede, Woltzogen, Wintzingerode — ^whom 
Napoleon always called the French deserter — Michaud, Toll^ 
Baron Stein — ^who, indeed, was no soldier — and finally Pfuhl, 
the mainspring of it all, whom Prince Andrew had ample 
opportunity of studying, for he arrived after Prince Andrew, 
and stood some minutes talking to Czemichew. 

Though he had never seen Pfuhl before, he felt at once as 
though he knew him quite well; he wore the Russian uniform, 
but with a singularly bad grace, and his appearance was of a 
common stamp with that of Weirother, Mack, Schmidt, and 
fifty other theorising generals whom Bolkonsky had seen at 
work in 1805; but Pfuhl seemed to have united in himself all 
that characterised the class, and, to Prince Andrew, was a 
perfect and complete specimen of the thorough, unqualified 
German. He was short and thin, but square-shouldered and 
strongly built, with broad, bony shoulder-blades; his face was 
deeply wrinkled, and his eyes deep-set. His hair, combed 
smoothly and carefully over his temples, hung over the nape of 
his neck in little ragged tufts. His expression was anxious and 
sour, as if everjrthing he met caused him alarm. He held his 
sword clumsily and asked Czemichew where the emperor was. 
It was evident that he was in a hurry to get through all cere- 
mony, and be seated in front of the maps on the table, where 
he would be in his element. He listened with a sarcastic smile 
to the history of the emperor's inspection of the entrenchments 
which he had devised, and could not help growling between 
his teeth: " Idiots! ever3rthing will be lost . . . and a pretty 
state of thin^ that will be! " Czemichew introduced Prince 
Andrew, addmg that Bolkonsky had just come from Turkey 
where the war had ended so successfully. Pfuhl scarcely con- 
descended to look at him: " You have seen a good specimen 
of tactics then! " was all he said, with crushing scorn, and he 
moved towards the next room. 

Pfuhl, at all times cross-grained, was more so that day than 
ever, in consequence of the criticism to which his defences had 
been subjected. This brief interview, with his reminiscences 
of Austerlitz, was enough to enable Prince Andrew to form a 



The Invasion 233 

fairly just estimate of the man. Pfuhl was evidently one of 
those men of one idea^ who would go to the stake on the assur- 
ance they derive from their faith in the infallibility of some 
principle. Such natures are found among the Germans^ who 
alone are capable of such entire confidence in an abstract idea; 
as for instance in science^ that is to say in their assumed know- 
ledge of an absolute truth. 

Pfuhl waS; in fact, a believer in the theory of oblique attack 
as deduced from the wars of Frederick the Great, and every- 
thing in modem campaigns which did not accord with this 
thecHTy was, in his eyes, so monstrous a blunder and so pre- 
posterous a mistake that such barbaric combinations did not, 
in his opinion, deserve serious consideration as warfare. 

In 1806 he had been the principal organiser of the campaign 
which cuhninated at Jena and Auerst||sdt,V|tnd even that failure 
had not convinced him of the evils of 1i£8 system. On the con- 
trary, he still insisted that it was entirely due to the neglect of 
certain rules, and was fond of repeating with gratified irony: 
"I knew the whole thing would go to the devil P* PfuhFs 
passion for theory led him so far as to lose sight altogether of 
its practical ends; he had an intense aversion to its application, 
and never would pay any attention to that. 

The few words he spoke to Czemichew and Bolkonsky 
a propos to the present war were in the tone of a man who fore- 
sees catastrophe and can only deplore it. The melancholy little 
curls that hung over his coat collar, and the neatly-combed locks 
on his temples seemed to harmonise with the tone of his words. 
He went into the further room and his loud scolding voice was 
soon audible above the others. 

Prince Andrew had hardly turned his head when Coimt Ben- 
ningsen rushed through the room, nodding to him as he passed 
into his study, and giving the arac-de-camp some orders. He 
had come on in front of the czar to make some arrangements 
and receive him on his arrival. Czemichew and Bolkonsky 
went out on the steps: the emperor was dismounting. He 
looked tired, and waUced with his head bent; it was evident 
that he was bored to death by Paulucd, who was haranguing 
him with extreme veh^nence; he went forward hoping to cut 
him short, but Xbt Italian, red with excitement and oblivious 
of etiquette, followed him closely without ceasing: 

"As for the man who advbed the entrendhment of that 
camp, of the camp at Drissa — ** he went on, while the czar 
went up the steps, gazing at Prince Andrew whom he could not 



234 War and Peace 

recognise . . 4 "As for him, sire/* Paulucd went on, unable 
to check himself, " I see no aJtemative but an idiot asylum or 
the gallows." 

Alexander, without paying the smallest heed to his words, 
bowed graciously to Bolkonsky, whom he had at length identified. 

" I am deUghted to see you," he said. " Go in there where 
they are all assembled and await my conmiands." 

Baron Stein and Prince Peter Mikhailovitch Volkhonsky 
followed the czar into the little room, and the door closed upon 
them. Prince Andrew, authorised by the sovereign, went into 
the larger room where the council was assembled. Then Prince 
Peter Volkhonsky, who was at the time the head of his majesty's 
immediate stafiE, brought in some maps and plans, and laying 
them on the table stated, in order, the various questions on 
which the emperor desired to take the advice of the council; 
news — ^afterwards proved false — ^had just been received that the 
French were preparing to surrpund the camp at Drissa. 

Count Armfeldt was the first to speak; he proposed to ward 
off the difficulty by drawing up the whole army at some point, 
to be determined on, between the high-roads to Moscow and to 
St. Petersburg, and there to await the foe. This proposal, which 
was altogether beside the question laid before the council, was 
made obviously with the sole object of showing that he, too, had 
a preconceived plan of action, and that he took the first oppor- 
tunity of detailing it. The scheme, upheld by some and talked 
down by others, was one of those vague projects which seem to 
be made without any reference to the influence of events on the 
course of the war. Young Colonel Toll criticised it hotly, and 
pulling a manuscript out of his pocket he asked leave to read it. 
It was a minutely elaborated plan, in every respect precisely 
the reverse of Armfeldt's and Pfuhl's. This, Paulucci attacked, 
arguing in favour of acting on the offensive, which would put 
an end to suspense, and at any rate get the army out of " this 
trap," as he designated the camp at Drissa. Pfuhl and his 
interpreter, Woltzogen, had kept silence all though this stormy 
debate; the former confined himself to jerking out inarticulate 
interjections, and sometimes even turned away with a con- 
temptuous look, as if to emphasise the fact that he would never 
stoop to refute such a pack of nonsense. Prince Volkhonsky, 
as president, appealed to him in his turn and begged him to 
give his opinion, but all he would say was that it would be 
useless, as the others obviously knew better than he did what 
remained to be done 



The Invasion 235 

" You have your choice," he said, " between the position so 
wisely chosen by General Armfeldt with the enemy in your 
rear, and the attack suggested by the Italian gentleman; or, 
again — which would perhaps be best — ^an honest retreat ! " 

Volkhonsky, frowning at this outburst, reminded him that 
he, Volkhonsky, represented the emperor. Pfuhl rose, and with 
increasing warmth, went on: 

" Everything has been spoilt and muddled; you thought 
you could improve on my scheme, and now you appeal to me! 
W^here is the remedy, you ask me? I do not know. I can 
only tell you to carry out to the letter what I have suggested, 
on the plans I have laid down," and he rapped his bony fingers 
on the table. — "Where is the difficulty? There is none! 
Stuff and nonsense! Child's play!" And going up to the 
map he rapidly went over various points, proving as he pro- 
ceeded that no chance of war could cause his plan to fail, or 
nullify the advantages of the camp; that he had foreseen and 
provided for everything; and if the enemy should, in fact, 
surround it, they would rush on their own destruction. 

Paulucci, who could not speak German, asked him a few 
questions in French; and, as Pfuhl spoke that language very 
badly, Woltzogen came to the rescue, and translated with 
great volubility Pfuhl's explanations — all intended to show that 
the difficulties they were at this moment endeavouring to meet 
were solely due to the inexact execution of his plan. At last, 
like a mathematician who will waste no more time on proving a 
problem he has solved, and of which the solution to him seems 
obvious, he ceased speaking and left his ideas to be explained 
in French by Woltzogen, who turned to his chief from time 
to time, sa)dng — " Do not you think so, excellency? " And 
Pfuhl, heated by the contest, invariably replied with increasing 
annoyance: 

" Of course. It is beyond dispute." 

Paulucci and Michaud meanwhile were attacking Woltzogen 
in French and Armfeldt in German, while Toll explained it all 
in Russian to Prince Volkhonsky. 

Prince Andrew looked on and said nothing. 

Of all these various personages Pfuhl was the one who most 
attracted his sympathy: this man, with his preposterous self- 
confidence and irascible but determined temper, was the only 
one of them all who asked nothing for himself, who had no 
hatreds, and who merely wished to see the execution of a 
scheme based on long years of study. He was ridiculous, r*-^ 



236 War and Peace 

doubt^ and his irony intolerably disagreed[)le, but in spite of it 
ali^ it was impossible not to respect his single-minded devotion 
to an idea. Nor did his speech betray the sort of panic which 
his adversaries could not^ with all their efforts, eoaccal. This 
very general feeling — of which there had been no symptom in 
the councils of 1805 — ^was now the result of the proved genius 
of Napoleon, and was perceptible in their most trivial argu- 
ments. To him all things were thought possible; he might 
even be able to attadc them on all sides at once, aad his name 
alone was enou^ to demolish the soundest reasoning. Pfuhl 
alone spoke of mm as a barbarian, and only to be ranked with 
the rest of those who opposed his favourite dieory. Besides 
his respect for Pfuhl, Prince Andrew felt a vague kmd of pity; 
for, to judge from the tone of the others, from Paulucd's 
speech to the czar, and above all from some expressions the 
learned theorist himself let drop, it was clear that they aU 
anticipated his impending oveithrow. It was evident that 
under this bitter and scornful sarcasm lay angry despair at 
losing this sole opportunity of applying and verifying his 
system on a grand scale, and of proving its merits to tiie world 
at large. 

The discussion was a long one and waxed hotter and noisier; 
degenerating at last into personalities, and coming to no practical 
issue. Prince Andrew, as he stood in the midst of this con- 
fusion of languages, sdiemes, suggestions, and counter-sugges- 
tions, could not help being amazed at all he heard. During his 
own career of active service he had often thought over what 
was called the science of warfare — a science which, in his 
opinion, did not and could not exist; and he had come to the 
conclusion that military genius was a mere convaitional phrase. 
These ideas, hitherto but vaguely formed in his mind, had, 
during this day's debate, found ample confirmation, and had 
assumed in his mind the aspect of irrefutable truth: 

'' How," thought he, '* can a theory and a science be sup- 
posed to exist under unknown conditions and circumstances, 
and when the forces brought into play can never be accurately 
determined? Can any one guess what the relative position of 
our army and the enemy will be twenty-four hours hence? 
Have we not seen again and again that, thanks to some resolute 
madman, 5,000 men have held their ground against 3o>ooo~*^as 
they did at Schongraben — or a force of 50,000 have given way 
and fled before 8,000— as they did at Austerlitz, merely because 
one single coward started the cry of: * We are cut off I ' — 



The Invasion 237 

Where is the science^ when everything is vague and depends 
OQ an endless variety of circumstances^ whose resultant force 
cannot be calculated even for a single minute^ since that minute 
itself can never be foreseen? Armfeldt declares that our com- 
munications are cut ofiE; Paulucci says that we have got the foe 
between two fires; Michaud says that the weak point of the 
Drbsa camp is having the river behind it; Pfuhl proves that 
that constitutes its strength! — ^Toll has one plan^ Armfeldt 
another: they are equally good and equaUy bad^ for the merits 
of each one can only be discovered in the moment of execution 
and the evolution of events. — ^They all talk of military genius. 
Is the man a genius who contrives to keep his army supplied^ 
with biscuit^ and sends one regiment to the right and one to the 
left ? No. They only call a man a genius when he is successful 
and powerful^ and because a crowd of toadies^ on their knees^ 
as they always are^ before Power^ attribute to him certain 
qualities which^ after all^ are not those of true genius. The 
contrary is the fact. All the best generals I have known 
are dull and absent-mannered: for example^ Bagration — and 
Napoleon thinks him the best of them all 1 Look at Napoleon 
himself. Did I not see his conceited and arrogant expression 
at Austerlitz? — ^A good leader need not be a genius, or have any 
superior characteristics; on the contrary, the loftiest and noblest 
quahties of man — ^love, poetry, tenderness, an inquiring and 
philosophical scepticism — must lie out of his ken. He must be 
narrow-minded, absolutely convinced of the importance of the 
task before him — ^this is indispensable, for otherwise he will lack 
patience; he must keep aloof from all aJSections, and know no 
ruth; never pause to reflect, never ask himself what is just or 
unjust ... on these oonditions only can he be a perfect 
general. Success, even, does not depend on him, but on the 
private who shrieks: * We are lost! ' or the man who shouts: 
' Hurrah ! ' — only the soldier who serves in the ranks can be 
convinced of his own efficiency." 

Prince Andrew was quite lost in these meditations when 
Paulucci's voice suddenly recalled him to himself: the council 
was breaking up. 

The next day, on parade, the czar asked him where he wished 
to be appointed; and Prince Andrew sank past redemption in 
the estimation of the court circle, by begging to be sent on 
active service instead of requesting a place near his majesty's 
person. 



238 



War and Peace 



CHAPTER XXIX 

Not long before the commencement of hostilities Nicholas 
Rostow received a letter from his parents^ informing him of 
Natacha's illness and her rupture with Prince Andrew: "she 
broke oflF the engagement herself/* it said, " without consulting 
us." They implored him to retire from the service and return 
home. In his answer he expressed his deep regret at his sister's 
illness and the breach with her fiance^ and assured them he 
would do what he could to fall in with their wishes; but he 
never dreamed of asking leave. 

"Adored friend of my soul/' he wrote privately to Sonia, 
" honour alone forbids my returning to be with you all. Now, 
on the very eve of war, I should feel disgraced^ not only in the 
eyes of my comrades, but also in my own, if I were to prefer 
happiness to duty and devotion to my country. But this, I 
believe, will be our last separation. As soon as the campaign 
is over, if I am still alive and you still love me, I will give up 
everything here and fly to you and clasp you for once and all 
to my loving devoted heart." 

This was the exact truth; the war alone had prevented his 
marriage. The autumn at Otradnoe with its hunting, the 
winter with its carnival festivities, and his love for Sonia, had 
raised visions of peaceful happiness and quiet scenes which 
till then he had not known, and which smiled upon him more 
and more: "A perfect wife, sweet children, a capital pack of 
hounds, ten or a dozen leash of swift greyhounds, the estate to 
manage, neighbours to entertain, and an active share in the 
functions of the nobility: that is what I call a good life! " 
thought he. But it was of no use to think of it; the war 
required his presence with his regiment, and it was in his 
nature to submit to such a necessity without recalcitrancy, 
fully content with the life he led and that he made pleasant to 
himself. 

He had been hailed with joy by his fellow-oflicers on his return 
from his furlough; he had next been entrusted to buy horses 
for the regiment, and brought back some well-selected beasts 
from Little Russia. Every one was satisfied, and he was 
warmly commended by his chiefs. During this short absence 
he had been promoted to the rank of captain, and when his 



The Invasion 239 

ngiment was called upon to serve he found himself in command 
of his old squadron. 

'Var had begun, pay was doubled; the regiment was sent 
into Poland and there joined by fresh officers, soldiers and 
hones, and it was gay with the enthusiasm and bustle always 
to be seen at the beginning of a campaign. Rostow, fuUy 
appreciating the advantages of his position, gave himself up 
entirely to the pleasures and duties of the service, though he 
knew full well that the time would come when he must leave it. 

For many reasons of state and of policy, not to mention 
others, the troops were moved from Vilna, and every yard of their 
retreat gave rise to fresh complications in the staff — ^interests^ 
passions, and intrigues of every kind. So far as the Pavlograd 
hussars were concerned the retreat was effected in beautiful 
weather, with abundant supplies, and all the ease and comfort 
of a pleasure-trip. If there were despair, discouragement and 
above all intrigues at headquarters, that was their affair; in 
the ranks no one cared where they were going or why they 
went. The only regrets the retreat gave rise to were for the 
quarters where life had been so pleasant, and the pretty Polish 
" girls they left behind them." If it ever qccurred to an 
officer to think that the future did not promise much good he 
made haste, as a soldier should, to cast away dull care and be 
jolly, and to concentrate his attention on the work in hand so 
as to forget the general situation. The camp was at first 
pitched at a short distance from Vilna; there was plenty of 
fun to be had among the Polish landowners with whom the 
officers made acquaintance, and in constant preparations for 
being reviewed by the czar or some one high in command. 

Then the order came to fall back on Sventziany and to destroy 
all victuals that could not be carried away. The hussars had a 
vivid recollection of Sventziany, which, when they had last been 
in quarters there, had gone by the name of '' the drunkards' 
camp.'' The conduct of the troops, who in foraging victuals 
and necessaries had taken possession of horses, vehicles, carpets, 
and everything that had come in their way, had given rise to 
serious complaints. Rostow, too, remembered the place only 
too well, having had to dismiss his quarter-master the very day 
of his arrival and been at a loss what to do with his men, who 
were as drunk as owls, and who had, without his knowledge, 
brought away five tuns of strong old beer I 

From Sventziany the retreat was continued as far as Drissa; 
and from Drissa further still, towaxds the Russian frontier. 



240 War and Peace 

On the Z3th (asth) July the Pavlograd regiment had a shaip 
encounter with the foe; on the previous evening it had sufEered 
under a furious gale of wind with heavy rain and hail, the 
{Hrecursor of the violent storms and tempests whidi were so 
unusually frequent in the course of the year 1812. Two 
squadrons had bivouacked in a field of rye which the hojcses 
and cattle had trampled till there was not a grain of com left 
in the ear; it was raining in torrents. Rostow and a young 
officer he had taken under his protection, named Iline, had 
sought shelter under a hurdle hut run up in great haste. Another 
officer, whose face was literally hidden behind a gigantic pair of 
moustaches, rushed in, overtaken by the squall. 

" I have come from headquarters,'' he said. *^ Have you 
heard, count, of Raievsky's exploit? . . ." And he told 
him the details of the battle of Saltanovka. The mouatached 
officer, whose name was Zdrginsky, made his story graphic; to 
hear him you might have thought that the dyke at Saltanovka 
was at least as imi>ortant as the pass of Thennopybs, and that 
General Raievsky's conduct in going forward on to the dyke 
with his two sons was comparable to that of the heroes of 
antiquity. Rostow paid no particular attention to the narra- 
tive; he smoked his pipe, wriggled a little as the water every 
now and then trickled coldly down his neck^ and looked at 
nine out of the comer of his eye. There was the same relation 
between the lad of sixteen and himself now, as, seven years 
ago, had bound him] to Denissow. Iline had a quite feminine 
adoration for Rostow, who was his idol and pattern. Zdrginsky 
could not impart the fire of his enthusiasm to Nicholas; he sat 
in gloomy silence, and it was easy to see by his face that the 
whole story was particularly displeasing to him. Did he not 
know, only too well, by his experience of Austerlitz and the 
war of 1807, that men always lied in their reports of military 
deeds — ^nay , that he himself Ued in speaking of his own prowess ? 
Did he not know, too, that in battle nothing really happens 
exactly as we fancy, and as we describe it afterwards? So the 
story annoyed him, and yet more the narrator; for be had an 
unpleasant habit of leaning over the person he was addressing 
and putting his face so dose as almost to touch him; besides 
which be took up too much room in the tiny hut. " In the first 
place/' said Rostow to himself, as he fixed his eyes on the 
speaker, '* the cmsh and confusion on the dyke must lave been 
so great that even if Raievsky rushed forward with his sons it 
could have had effect only on the ten or twelve men who were 



The Invasion 241 

nearest to him. — As to the rest^ they certainly would not have 
noticed who he was; or^ if they did^ it would have affected them 
but little^ since at the moment their first care was the preserva- 
tion of their own skin, and consequently the parental heroism 
cannot have mattered to them. . . . And after all, the fate of 
the country did not hang on that dyke ! It came to much the 
same thing whether we took it or let the enemy have it; and it 
was not Thermopylae, whatever Zdrginsky may think, so what 
was the point of the sacrifice? Why put his sons in the front? 
I should not expose P^tia so; no, nor even Iline, though he does 
not belong to me and is a good little fellow; — on the contrary, I 
should have taken care to keep them out of harm's way." But 
he took good care not to give utterance to these reflections; 
experience had taught him that such frankness was useless, 
since, as iins rhodomontade was all to the honour and glory of 
the Russian army, of course he must pretend to believe it 
implicitly, and he did not hesitate to do so. 

" This is unbearable ! " Iline presently exclaimed, guessing 
that Rostow was but ill-pleased. " I am wet to the skin; the 
rain is diminishing. I shall look for shelter elsewhere." And 
he and Zdrginsky went out together. 

Not five minutes after, Iline came back again, splashing 
through the mire. ** Hurrah ! Rostow, come along. I have 
found a place. There is a tavern two hundred yards away, and 
some of our men are there already. We can get dry there, and 
Maria Henrikovna is there too." 

Maria Henrikovna was a pretty little German whom the 
suigeon of the regiment had married in Poland, and now took 
with him wherever he went Whether this was because he 
could not afford to set up housekeeping, or because he did not 
like to part with her during the early months of their married 
life, no one knew. Be it as it may, the surgeon's jealousy had 
become an inexhaustible joke to the hussar officers. Rostow 
threw his doak round him, called Lavrouchka and ordered him 
to follow with his baggage; then he and Iline set out, slipping 
in the mud and splaslung into puddles; but the rain was 
lighter, the storm was passing over, and the lurid flashes of 
lightning lant the darkness at longer intervals. 
Rostow, where are you? " shouted Iline. 
Here, all right," said Rostow. " What a flash ! " 

The suigecm's kibiika^ was standing at the door of the 
tavern, where five officers had taken shelter. Maria Henri- 

^ A trftveUing<H»triage or cart with a tilt. 






242 War and Peace 

kovna^ a pretty, fair creature, but rather stout, was sitting on 
the bench in the place of honour in her dressing-jacket and 
night-cap, and partly screened her husband, who lay stretched 
behind her, fast asleep. They were all laughing and talking as 
the new-comers went in. 

" You seem very jolly here I " said Nicholas. 

" Well, you are in a nice mess, you two ! " was the reply. 
"Perfect waterspouts! Do not swamp our drawing-room. 
Take care, don't spoil Maria Henrikovna's dress ! " 

Rostow and Iline looked about for a comer where, without 
insulting that lady's modesty, they might get into dry clothing. 
This they found, a part of the room divided oflE by a wainscot; 
but it was already occupied by three officers who entirely filled 
it. They were playing cards by the light of a tallow candle 
stuck into a bottle, and declined to m^e way. Maria Henri- 
kovna, however, took pity on them; she lent them a petticoat, 
which they hung up as a curtain, and with Lavrouchka's help, 
behind its folds, they at length got out of their soaked garments. 

With some difiiculty, they lighted a fire in a broken-down 
stove; a board was found somewhere, and propped up on two 
saddles, and covered with a saddle-cloth. A samovar was un- 
packed, a basket was opened in which there was half a bottle of 
rum, and Maria Henrikovna was requested to preside. They 
all gathered round her; one offered his white pocket-handker- 
chief to wipe her pretty hands; another laid his pelisse tmder 
her feet to preserve them from damp; a third hung his doak 
across the window to keep off the cold; and a fourth waved 
off the flies that might have disturbed her husband. 

" Let him be," said his wife, with a timid smile; " let him 
be; he always sleeps hard after a night ride." 

" Impossible I " said the officer. " We must take good care 
of the doctor; one never knows what may happen, and he will 
do as much for me when he cuts off a leg or an arm for me." 

There were but three glasses, and the water was so dingy 
and yellow that it was impossible to tell whether the tea were 
too strong or too weak. The samovar only held enough for 
six glasses, but no one complained; nay, they thought it very 
good fun to be served in turn, in order of seniority, and to 
accept the scalding liquid from Maria Henrikovna's plump 
hands, though her nails, it must be owned, left much to be 
desired on the score of cleanness. They all seemed — ^and, 
indeed, were — in love with her that evening; even the card- 
players came out of their nook and left their game, to be atten- 



The Invasion 243 

live and amiable to her. Thus suirounded by handsome yomig 
men^ Maria Henrikovna was radiantly content^ in spite of her 
alarm at the slightest movement on the part of her sleeping 
faiisband. 

There was but one spoon^ but to make up for that^ there was 
plenty of sugar; only^ as it would not melt^ it was agreed that 
Maria should stir each glass of tea in turn. When she handed 
Rostow his glass^ he put in some rum and held it out to her. 

" But you have put no sugar in ! " she said, laughing. To 
see the good humour of the whole party, it might have been 
thought that everything that was said was exquisitely witty 
and funny* 

" I do not want any sugar; I only want you to dip your 
spoon in my tea with your pretty fingers." 

Maria Henrikovna was nothing loth, and looked round for the 
spoon of which some one else had meanwhile taken possession. 

" Never mind, dip your little finger in; I shall like that even 
better," said Rostow. 

'' But it will bum me! " said Maria, colouring with pleasure. 

nine took up a pail of water, threw in one or two drops of 
rum, and brought it to her. 

" Stir that with your finger," said he, " and I will drink 
every drop of it 1" 

When the samovar had been drained to the bottom, Rostow 
took a pack of cards out of his pocket, and proposed that Maria 
should play ecarte with one of them. They drew lots for the 
honour, and it was agreed that the winner, drawing the king, 
should kiss the lady's hand, and that the loser should devote 
himself to heating tiie samovar again for the surgeon's tea. 

'' But supposing Maria Henrikovna herself should draw the 
king? " said Iline. 

'' Well, as she is our queen, her orders shall be obeyed in the 
matter." 

They had scarcely begun when the doctor's tumbled head 
made its appearance over his wife's shoulder; he had been 
awake a minute or two, and had heard all the fun going on 
around him; but it was evident, from his forlorn and sulky 
expression, that he did not find it amusing. Without taking 
any notice of the officers, he dolefully scratched his head, and 
asked to be let out of his comer; they let him pass, and he 
went out, followed by a Homeric roar of laughter. Maria 
Henrikovna could not help reddening till the tears came into 
her eyes; but she was not the less bewitching in the opinion 



244 War and Peace 

of her admirers. When ihe doctor came in again^ he told his 
wife^ who had ceased smiling, and sat anxiously awaiting her 
doom^ that the rain was over, and that they must get into the 
kibitka again for fear their effects should be stolen. 

" What an idea ! " exclaimed Rostow. '' I will put an orderly 
in charge — ^two, if you like," 

'' I will mount guard myselil " cried Dine. 

" Thank you very much, gentlemen/' said the doctor, grimly. 
*' You all have had pl^ty of sleq), perhaps. I have spent two 
nights without rest." And he sat down sulkily by his wife's 
side to see the end of the game. The surgecm's expression, as 
he fiercely watched her every movement, only added to the 
amusement of the other men, who could not keep from laugh- 
ing, and racked their brains to invent more or less plausible 
excuses for their merriment. When he at last carried off his 
pretty better-half, they lay down, wrapped in their damp cloaks ; 
but tiiey could not sleep, and kept up their jests for a long 
time after at the doctor's fright and the lady's enjoyment; 
some even went out on the steps to overhear, if they could, 
what was going on in the kibitka. Rostow tried several times 
to get to sleep, but each time he was roused by some fresh 
sally, and they all began talking again, with hearty shouts of 
laughter — Slaughter wifiiout either rhyme or reason, like a parcel 
of diildren. 

No one had yet been to sleep, when, at about three in the 
morning, the quartermaster came in with orders that the 
regiment was to start at once for Ostrovna, a town a little 
further on. 

The officers got ready in a hurry, but did not stop talkii^; 
the same samovar was once more heated to boil the same yellow 
water; but Rostow went off to see his squadron, without waiting 
for tea. It was not raining. Day was breaking; the clouds 
were slowly dispersing. It was very damp and cold, and this 
was the more chilling because his uniform had not had time to 
get dry. As they passed the kibitka, Iline and Rostow glanced 
into it. The surgeon's legs came out from under the wet apron; 
in a comer, resting on a pillow, was his wife's little nightcapped 
head, and they could hear her heavy breathing. 

" She really is a nice little thingl " said Rostow to his com- 
panion. 

" Charming 1" exclaimed Iline, with all the conviction of 
sixteen. 

Within half an hour, the squadron were standing in their 



The Invasion 245 

ranks alon^ the road. The order was given to mounts and the 
men^ crossing themselves^ leaped into their saddles. Rostow 
put himself at their head. 

" Forward! " he cried, and the hussars started, four abreast, 
to the noise of their horses' hoofs trampling in the mud and 
the clatter of their sabres; they followed in the wake of the 
infantry and artillery, along the high-road, between lines of 
birch-trees. 

Violet-grey clouds, still crimson in the east, floated swiftly 
across the sky; day grew apace. The grass in the ditches was 
now visible, all wet with the night's rain, and sparkling drops 
hung from the drooping branches of the birch-trees. The 
soldiers' faces were more plainly distinguishable. Rostow and 
Iline were riding along the little avenue formed by two rows 
of trees on one side of the road. Nicholas was fond of changing 
his horse in the course of a day's ride, mounting a cossack 
horse instead of the regimental charger. He was a lover and 
connoisseur of beasts, and had lately purchased a fine sorrel 
nag, with a white mane, from the steppes of the Don, which 
nothing could outstrip, and which he rode with intense enjoy- 
ment; so he now trotted on, thinking of his horse, of the sur- 
geon's wife, of the dawning day, without once reflecting on the 
enemy that might be down on them at any moment. 

Formerly, he would have felt afraid of marching on to battle; 
now, he had no fears. Had custom inured him? No; but he 
had learnt to control himself, and to think of anything rather 
than of that which might have seemed the most pressing at 
such a moment: the danger, namely, that lay before him. All 
his efforts, all the reproaches he had heaped upon himself for 
his cowardice, had not, during the early years of his service, 
conquered the terror which instinctively came over him; but 
time had insensibly worked the change. So he took his way 
with calm indifference under the trees, pulled a leaf as he 
[>assed, stroked his horse's shoulder with his toe, and held out 
his pipe when it was empty to the hussar behind him, without 
turning round; he mi^ht have been riding out for a morning 
airing. He felt real pity for Iline's anxious and excited face, 
whi(£ expressed so many conflicting emotions; he knew by 
experience that state of feverish apprehension, that anguish of 
anticipating terror and death, and he knew that time was the 
only remedy. 

The sun had no sooner struggled up above the bank of clouds 
than the wind fell; it seemed hushed in respect at the glorious 



246 War and Peace 

day that dawned after so wild a night. There was a light pass- 
ing shower^ and then all was calm. The fiery orb as it rose 
higher was hidden for a minute behind a strip of cloudy and 
rent the upper edge to blaze forth once more in full splendour; 
the landscape shone in beauty, the verdure glistened brightly 
— ^and then, like an ironical comment on this glory of life and 
light, they heard in the distance the first growl of cannon. 

At what distance Rostow had not time to guess, when an 
aide-de-camp from Count Ostermann Tolstoi rode up from 
Vitebsk at a gallop, and commimicated an order to advance as 
rapidly as possible. 

The squadron soon outrode the infantry and artillery — ^who 
also went at double-quick pace — down a lull, through an aban- 
doned village, and up the opposite slope, men and horses bathed 
in sweat. 

" Haiti " cried the colonel of division: the squadron formed 
in line. 

"Single file! Left! forward!" The hussars made their 
way along the front to the left flank of the position, behind 
the Uhlans who were to lead the attack. On the right the 
infantry reserve were placed in dense columns; over their 
heads, on the heights, the cannon gleamed against the sky in 
the slanting rays of the morning sun. Below, in the hollow, 
the enemy's columns and artillery were briskly exchanging shots 
with the Russian outposts. 

The muttered rattle of musketry, which Rostow had not 
heard for many a day, exhilarated him like martial music; he 
listened with pleasure to the rap, tap, ta-ta, tap that incessantly 
fell on his ear, singly or in louder unison with irregular rests 
and outbursts of renewed vigour; like a child trampling on 
crackers. 

The hussars waited motionless for about half an hour; then 
the heavy fire began. After speaking a few words to the 
colonel of the regiment, Count Ostermann and his suite rode 
to the rear of the squadron, and away towards a battery posted 
a few yards off. A few minutes later the order was given to 
the Uhlans to form for the attack, and the infantry in front 
parted to let them pass. Down the slope, and away at a round 
trot, their pennons fiymg from their lances, they rode towards 
the French cavalry which had just turned the left shoulder of 
the hill. 

As soon as they had started the hussars were brought forward 
to take their place and cover the battery. A few spent bullets 



The Invasion 247 

passed over their heads^ whistling and sighing through the air. 
This noise^ as it came closer^ increased Rostow's eager^ high 
spirits. Perched as high as he could sit on his saddle^ he could 
look down on the whole field of action^ and anxiously followed 
every movement of the Uhlans. As they came into collision 
with the French horse there was a moment of confusion^ under 
a cloud of smoke; then he saw that they were driven back on 
the left^ and mixed up with them and their sorrel chargers were 
the compact blue masses of French dragoons on dappled grey 
horses^ evidently having the best of it. 

Rostow's practised eye at once understood what was happen- 
ing: the UUans^ broken up by the enemy, were scattered and 
flyings and coming nearer and nearer. He could already dis- 
tinguish the movements of the men, though they looked small 
in the distance — ^he could see them clash, struggle and seize 
each other, flourishing their sabres. 

Rostow watched the scene as he might have watched a hunt; 
his instinct told him that if the hussars were to attack the 
dragoons now at once the French would give way; but it was 
now or never: a second later would be too late. He looked 
round; his subaltern was by his side — ^his eyes, too, fixed on 
the struggle. 

" Andrew S6vastianovitch," said Rostow, " we could knock 
them over? What do you say? " 

" No doubt of it, for . . ." 

But Rostow did not wait for the end of the sentence; spur- 
ring his horse, he set o£E at the head of his men who, as if stirred 
by the same impulse, did not wait for orders to follow him. 
Nicholas had no conscious reasoning for doing as he did, and 
hardly knew how he did it: the action was unpremeditated 
and instinctive, as it might have been out hunting. He saw 
the enemy galloping in some disorder at a short distance o£E; 
he felt that they would make no stand, and that, come what 
might, the moment must be seized, for that once past it would 
be gone for ever. The singing of the bullets was so exciting, 
his horse was so difficult to hold in, that he was carried away 
by impulse, and he heard the tramp of his squadron close 
behind him as they pelted down the hill. On the level below 
they broke into a gallop, faster and faster as they got nearer 
to the Uhlans, whom the French were pursuing, goading the 
horses' hind quarters with th^ir swords. On seeing the hussars 
the front ranks of the dragoons hesitated and paused, stopping 
the way to those behind them. Rostow giving his cossack 



248 War and Peace 

steed his head rushed on to the attack like a huntsman at a 
wolf. One Uhlan checked himself in his flight; a man on foot 
threw himself on the ground to escape being crushed; a rider- 
less horse plunged into the middle of the hussars^ and then the 
larger number of the French dragoons turned and were off at 
top speed. 

Just as Rostow spurred his horse in pui^it a bush stood in 
his path^ but his good beast took it at a bounds and Nicholas 
had hardly settled himself in his seat again when he was close ^ 
on the enemy's heels. A French officer, to judge from his 
uniform^ was galloping a few feet ahead of him^ bent over hisi' 
horse's neck and beating him with the flat of his sword. Half 
a second later Rostow's charger rushed down with all his force, 
his breast-bone on the Frenchman's crupper, nearly upsetting 
him; Rostow mechanically raised his sabre and let it fall on 
the foe. But, in the very act, the fire that had carried him so 
far was extinct as if by magic. The officer had gone down, 
more from the collision and lus own alarm than from the blow 
dealt him by his assailant, which had only wounded him vesry 
slightly above the elbow. 

Rostow pulled up to look for the man he had hit; the luck- 
less dragoon was hopping along on one foot, unable to disengage 
the other from his stirrup. He blinked his eyes and frowsted, 
as if apprehending a second blow, and glanced up and down 
in undisguised alsmn at the Russian hussar. His bo3ash face, 
pale and mud-stained, with light blue eyes, fair hair and dimpled 
chin, was far indeed from the type of countenance one would 
expect to meet on a battle-field; it was not the face of a foe, 
but the simplest, sweetest, most innocent face to grace a peace- 
ful home. Rostow was still wondering whether he was really 
going to finish him, when the lad said: " I surrender 1 " Still 
hopping and unable to free himself he allowed himsdl to be 
rescued by some Russian hussars who helped him into his 
saddle again. Many of his comrades, like himself, had been 
taken prisoners; one of them, streaming with blood, was stiU 
fighting to recover his horse; another, supported by a Russian, 
was clambering on the victor's chaiger to sit on the cru]^)er 
behind him; the French infantry were still firing as they 
retreated. 

The hussars now promptly returned to their position, and 
Rostow as he followed them had a painful impression of a 
weight on Im soul; it was but vague and ill-defined, a sort of 
compunction that he could not account for, whidi he had 



1 

I 



The Invasion 249 

felt in taking the young officer prisoner^ and still more in 
hitting him. 

Count Ostennann Tolsto! came to meet the conquerors^ sent 
for Rostow^ thanked him^ told him that he should report his 
heroic exploit to his majesty^ and recommend him for the cross 
of St. George. Rostow, who had expected on the contrary to 
be blamed and reprimanded^ since he had acted without orders, 
was greatly surprised; but that background of distressed feel- 
t^ing, which was really acutely painful, prevented his entire 
sutis&ction. 

" What is it that is worrying me? " thought he, as he turned 
away. ^ Not Iline? No, he is safe and sound I Have I done 
an3rtiiing wrong? No, nothing of that kind! ... It is the 
little Frenchman with his dimpled chin. I hesitated a moment 
before striking him. — ^I f^member it still! . . ." 

The prisoners, under guard, were just setting off; he went up 
to them to look once more at the young dragoon, and saw him 
mounted on a hussar's horse, witii a very scared expression. 
His wound was trifling; he sioiled shyly at Rdstow and waved 
his hand, and Rostow felt a discomfort that was almost shame. 

All that day and the next his fellow-officers observed that, 
without being fractious or sullen, he was silent, pensive, and 
absent-minded; that he drank without enjoyment and pre- 
ferred to be alone, as if some fixed idea weighed upon his mmd. 

He was thinking of the " heroic exploit " which had earned 
him the cross of St. George, and by which he had gained a 
reputation for valour. There was to him an impenetrable 
m3n5tery in the affair. *' Then they are more afraid than we 
are?" thought he. "And this — and nothing more than this 
— can pass for heroism? But it does not seem to me that love 
of one's country has an3rthing to do with it. — ^And my blue- 
eyed prisoner, what share has he in the responsibility? — ^How 
tenrified he was! He thought I was going to kill him! Why 
should I Idll him? And although my hand trembled, I am to 
have the cross of St. George all &e same! I can make nothing 
of it, absolutely nothing! " 

But while Nicholas Rostow was lost in such reflections, 
puzzling himself with questions to which there was no solution. 
Fortune had suddenly turned her wheel in his favour. He was 
promoted after the fight at Ostrovna to the command of two 
squadrons of hussars; and henceforth, when a brave officer was 
in request, he always had the preference. 



250 War and Peace 



CHAPTER XXX 

On hearing of Natacha's illness Countess Rostow^ though still 
ailing^ had set out for Moscow with F^tia and all her servants; 
she settled into their town house^ whither the rest of the party 
had already moved. 

Natacha's illness took so serious a form that happily for her 
and for her parents, all the causes that had led to it — ^her miscon- 
duct and the breach with Bolkonsky — ^were cast into the back- 
groimd. She was in too critical a state to allow of her estimat- 
ing her own fault in the matter: she ate nothing, did not sleep, 
grew thinner every day, and coughed incessantiy; the doctors 
told her parents that her life hung on a thread. After this their 
one idea was to alleviate her suffering. All the leaders of science 
were called in to see her, singly or in consultation; laid their 
heads together, criticised each other, talked French, German, 
and Latin, and prescribed the most antagonistic remedies, 
adapted to cure every complaint that they ever had heard of. 

It never struck them that the disease from which Natacha 
was suffering was not within the power of their science; that 
not one of the ills that crush hiunanity, in fact, ever can. be; 
since every living being has a constitution of his (or her) own 
and bears within himself his own peculiar malady, unknown to 
medicine and often highly intricate. It is not to be traced 
exclusively to the lungs, the liver, the heart, or the spleen; it 
is not specified in any treatise; it is simply ihe outcome of one 
or another of the numberless complicktions which arise from a 
disorder of one of these organs. Physicians who spend their 
lives in prescribing for the sufferers, and are paid for doing it, 
will not admit this; how can they? — ^And even if they did, 
how could the magician cease to work his spells? How should 
they think themselves other than indispensable when they are 
so in fact, only in a different way from what they f^cy. At 
the Rostows', for instance, if they were of any use it was not 
because they made their patient swallow a variety of mixtures, 
for the most part noxious, though their effect in small doses 
was almost inappreciable, but because their presence was a 
satisfaction to the aching hearts that loved and watched over 
Natacha. This is where the strength of the physician Hes, be 
he a quack, a homoeopath, or an allopath. He supplies the 
perennial demand for comfort, the craving for sympathy that 



The Invasion 251 

every human sufferer feels, and of which the germs exist in the 
child. See a baby that has given itself a blow; it runs to its 
mother or its nurse to be kissed and have " the place " rubbed; 
and it actually suffers less for the pity and caress. — ^Why? 
Because it feels that they are bigger and wiser than itself, and 
have it in their power to help it. 

So the doctors were of a certain use to Natacha when they 
assured her that she would be better after taking the pills and 
the powders from the shops in the Arbatskaia, which were put 
up in a neat little box, costing one rouble and seventy kopeks, 
and were to be dissolved in boiling water, and taken every two 
hours. 

And what would have become of Sonia and the count and 
countess if they had had nothing to do but to fold their hands, 
instead of carrying out every order to the letter: of giving the 
mixture at regular intervals, insisting on a morsel of chicken 
being eaten, and attending to all the thousand little things 
which give occupation and comfort to those who have the care 
of the sick? How could the count have borne this anxiety 
about his darling child if he had not been able to look forward 
to sacrificing several thousand roubles, and taking her abroad 
at any cost for change of air and the opinion of foreign celebrities ? 
What would he have done if he could not have had the pleasure 
of telling his friends how that M6tivier and Feller had made a 
mistake, how that Frise had hit the nail on the head, and 
Moudrow had exactly understood Natacha's case? And what 
would the countess have found to occupy her if she might not 
have scolded her daughter when the child rebelled against the 
rules laid down for her? 

" You will never get well if you do not do as you are told 
and take the pills regularly," she would say with a kind of im- 
patience which made her forget her anxiety. " You must not 
play any tricks with an illness which, as you very well know, may 
lapse into pneumonia." And she really found comfort in speak- 
ing this learned word, which she did not understand, — and, God 
knows, there are many like her. 

Sonia again, what would she have done if she had not been 
iable to say that she had never had her clothes off for three 
nights, to be always at hand to carry out the doctor's orders, 
and that even now she slept with one eye open, so as to be ready 
to administer the pills out of the gilt paper box. And even 
Natacha herself, though she was convinced she should never get 
well, and did not wish to live, found much satisfaction in all iht 



252 War and Peace 

sacrifices that were made for her> and in taking her medicine 
with due punctuality. 

The doctor came every day, felt her pulse and looked at her 
tongue, and laughed and talked a little, taking no notioe of Iter 
forlorn looks. When he left the room the countess would hurry 
after him; he put on a grave face, shook his head, and tried to 
persuade her that he hoped for wond^s from the last remedy; 
that they could but wait and see; that the mdady was as ranch 
mental as . . . But then the countess, who refused to allow 
herself to recognise this, would slip his fee into hb hand and go 
back with a lighter heart, to sit with the invalid. 

The serious symptoms were a total loss of appetite and deep, 
and an almost constant cough, with an apathy from which 
. nothing could rouse her. The doctors, saying that she could not 
get on without incessant treatment, kept her in the unwhole- 
some air of the city, and the Rostows were consequently obliged 
to remain in Moscow Hiroughout the summer of 1812. However, 
in spite of this, and of the infinite number of bottiies and boxes 
of pills, drops, and powders — of which Mrs. Schoss, who was a 
fervent believer, made a comf^ete collection — ^youth at length got 
the upper hand: the small incidents of daily life gradufdly 
healed over Natacha's griefs; the acute suffering vi^ch had 
wrung her heart glided into the past, and by degrees her strength 
came slowly back. 

Natacha became calmer, but she did not recover her spirits. 
Indeed, she avoided everythii^ that might have amused and 
cheered her — ^balls, parties, theatres, concerts; even when she 
smiled there seemed to be tears luricing in the background. 
She could not sing. At the first sound of her own voice she 
broke down; tears choked her; tears of repentance, tears for 
the memory of that happy time, now for ever past. Song aixi 
laughter seemed sacrilege to her sorrow I As to flirtation, she 
never thought of such a thing; as she truly said, she cazed no 
more for any man than she did for Nastacia, the ok! buf&don. 
A secret scruple prohibited all pleasure in her ^e; she could 
feel no interest in the thousand small occupations of a giri's 
round of happy heedlessness and trivial hopes. What would 
she not have given to reodl one day of tliat past autumn at 
Otradnoe, with Nicholas, for whom her heart yearned with 
terrible anxiety ? But aks ! All that was gone, and for ever. — 
Her presentiments had not deceived her. Her freedom of tbxt 
time and her aspirations after unknown joys were over and 
done; — and yet ^e had to live. 



The Invasion 253 

Instead of thinkings as she had then been apt to do^ that 
she was better than others^ she now took a pleasure in humbling 
herself^ and wondering what the gloomy future could have in 
store for her. She tried to give no one any trouble^ and as to her 
personal comfort^ she never even thought of it. She commonly 
kept aloof even from the family circle^ and only seemed quite 
at her ease with P^tia^ who could sometimes make her laugh. 
She rai^ly went out^ and of those who now and then came to 
see her^ the only person she cared for was Peter. It would have 
been impossible for any one to show more discretion^ tender- 
ness^ and tact than Count B^ukhow; she felt it without think- 
ing about it^ and it naturally made his society pleasant to her. 
But she did not appreciate it at its full worth; she was so con- 
vinced that in his common place good-nature Peter found it no 
€&ort to be kind to her. Nevertheless she noticed from time 
to time that he seemed ill at ease^ particularly when he feared 
lest the conversation should revive painful associations; but she 
ascribed this to his kind-heartedness^ and his native bashfulness. 
He had never again alluded to the confession of feelings that had 
escaped him that day in the stress of intense emotion^ and she 
thought no more of it than of the soothing words with which we 
try to comfort an unhappy child. Never supposing that it was 
meant but as a form of consolation^ it never came into her head 
to imagine that love^ or even a pure and sublimated friendships 
such as she knew could sometimes exist between a man and 
a woman^ could come of their intimacy — ^not^ indeed^ because 
Peter was a married man^ but because the moral barrier which 
had so completely given way between her and Kouraguine, 
stood firm and rigid between her and Peter. 

It was towards the close of the midsummer fast^ before 
St. Peter's day^ that a neighbour from Otradnoe, Agrippina 
Ivanovna B^w^ arrived at Moscow to worship at the shrines of 
the martyrs. She asked Natacha to join in her devotions, and 
Natacha gladly consented^ in spite of the doctor, who prohibited 
early exercise; and, to make more serious preparation than was 
customary in that household, she said that she could not be 
satisfied with the three shorter services, but should accompany 
Agrippina to all the services — ^vespers, matins, and high mass, 
tiiroughout the week. The countess encouraged her religious 
fervour. She hoped in her heart that prayer might prove a 
more efficient remedy than the efforts of science, and, without 
confiding in the doctor, she gave way to her daughter's wish, 
and put her in charge of the nurse in the next room^ who^ when 



254 War and Peace 

she went to call Natacha at three in the mornings found her 
already up for fear of being late. 

Having hastily dressed in her shabbiest gown, she slipped on 
her oldest cloak, and, shivering with the chiU of night, they made 
their way through the empty streets in the cold pale fight of 
dawn. In obedience to the advice of her zealous friend, she 
attended the services not in her own parish, but at another 
church, where the priest was esteemed for a particularly pure 
and austere life. The worshippers were few. Natacha and 
Agrippina followed the service with deep devotion, kneeling in 
front of the image of the Virgin which stood between the choir 
and the congregation, and fixing their eyes on the blackened 
figure, lighted at this mystic hour by quavering tapers, and the 
first streaks of day peeping through the windows. And a feeling 
of humility was bom in her soul which she had never before 
known, of abasement in the presence of Something supreme and 
incomprehensible. When she could follow the words pronounced 
by the choir or the officiating priest, her aspirations found utter- 
ance in the common prayer; when she failed to catch the sense, 
she told herself submissively that the desire to know was an out- 
come of pride; that she ought to be content to believe and trust 
in the Lord, whom she felt at this moment to be the Sovereign of 
her soul. She prayed and crossed herself, imploring God with 
fervour, enhanced by her sense of iniquity, to forgive her her 
sins. She rejoiced to find in herself a sincere will to amend, 
and a power of foreshadowing the possibility of a pure and 
happy life in the future. And leaving the church at a still early 
hour, she would meet no one on her way home but the masons 
going to their work, and the gate-porters sweeping the streets 
in front of the still sleeping houses. 

This sense of regeneration possessed her throughout the 
week, and the happiness of receiving communion and tasting 
the Lord seemed so exquisite, that she only dreaded lest she 
should die before that thrice-happy Sunday. 

But the longed-for day dawned in due turn; and when 
Natacha came back from the commtmion-service, in her white 
muslin gown, she felt, for the first time after many weeks, at 
peace with herself and the life before her. 

The doctor, when he paid his usual visit, bid her continue 
the powders he had prescribed a fortnight since: 

" Go on taking them very regularly," he said, with a smile; 
he was honestly convinced of their efficacy. " Be quite easy," 
he added to the countess, skilfully hiding in his pahn the gold 



The Invasion 255 

piece she had slipped into it; " she will soon be singing and 
dancing again. This last prescription has done wonders; she 
is very much better." 

The countess spit for luck^ looking at her nails/ and went 
into the drawing-room^ greatly cheered. 

By the beginning of July the most alarming reports of the 
progress of the war had reached Moscow; the czar had issued 
a manifesto, and was on his way to the capital; it was said 
that he had left the army because it was in danger; that 
Smolensk had capitulated; that Napoleon had not less than a 
million of men with him; and that nothing but a miracle could 
save Russia. 

The manifesto was received on the 23rd of July, but, as it 
had not yet been printed, Peter promised to dine with the 
Rostows on the following day, and bring a copy of it from 
Count Rostopchine, with the proclamation appended to it. 

The next day was a Sunday, a perfect summer day, oppres- 
sively hot even by ten in the morning, the hour at which the 
Rostow family were in the habit of attending mass in the chapel 
of the hotel Rasoumovsky. Every one was suffering from 
lassitude and that general nervous sensitiveness and uneasiness 
which is so commonly the result of a very hot day in a great 
city. This state of tension gave acuteness to every impression: 
the light colours of the people's dresses, the cries of the street 
vendors, the dusty leaves of the trees along the boulevard, the 
clatter on the pavement, the noisy music and dazzling white 
trousers of a regiment marching to parade, and yet more the 
scorching heat of the July sun. All the rank and fashion of 
Moscow had met at a private chapel, for most of the nobility, 
anticipating serious events, had remained in town instead of 
spending the summer on their estates. 

Countess Rostow stepped out of her carriage, and a footman 
in livery marched before her to make way for her through the 
crowd. Natacha, who was following her, presently heard a 
young man whom she did not know, say to his neighbour 
rather loud: 

'' Yes, it must be Countess Natacha; she is much thinner, 
but she is even handsomer than she was ! " 

Then she fancied — but that she often did — ^that she heard 
the names of Bolkonsky and Kouraguine, for she felt as though 
every one who saw her must discuss what had happened. Stung 
to the quick and painfully agitated, she nevertheless walked on, 

* A ceremony vulgarly supposed in Russia to ward off the evil eye 



256 



War and Peace 



in her lilac dress^ with the dignity and ease of a woman who 
does her utmost to be easy and dignified because in her heart 
she is dying of shame and grief. She knew she was handsome, 
but her beauty no longer gave her the satisfaction she had 
formerly felt; and this bright^ sultry day seemed, on the con- 
trary, to turn it to bitterness and vexation: " One more week 
gone," she said to herself, '' and so it will always be. The same 
dreary and melancholy life, — ^I am young and handsome — ^I know 
it. . . . I was very naughty, but now I am good — ^I know 
that, too. . . . And the best years of my life must be wasted 
without profit to any one." 

She took her place by her mother's side and looked round 
at the people and the dresses near her, criticising, from sheer 
force of habit, the appearance of her neighbours and their way 
of crossing themselves. — " And they are criticising me no 
doubt ! " she said to herself as an excuse. But at the first 
chant of the service she shuddered with horror, as she compared 
these idle thoughts with those she ought to have had after that 
day of her communion. Had she not sullied the bright purity 
of that impression for ever? 

A venerable old priest performed the service, with the gentle 
impressiveness that brings peace and rest to all who pray. The 
holy gates were closed, £rom behind the curtain that was slowly 
withdrawn a mysterious voice murmured a few words. Natacha's 
eyes involuntarily filled with tears, and her whole being thrilled 
with soft and languid emotion. 

" Teach me what I ought to do I " she murmured. " Teach 
me to school myself, and above all to correct myself of my 
faults!" 

The deacon, coming forth from the iconostasion ^ and taking 
his place in front of the holy gates, pulled his long hair out of 
the neck of his dalmatica, and malong the sign of the cross, 
said solemnly: 

'' Let us pray to the Lord in peace! " Natacha mentally 
responded: "Let us pray without d^erence of rank, and 
wi&out hatred, all united in brotherly love ! " 

'' Let us pray that He may grant us heavenly peace and the 
salvation of our souls," said iht priest, and Nataeha replied 
from the bottom of her heart: " Let us pray to obtain the 
peace of the angels and of all the spiritual beings who dwell 
above us." 

^ The iconostasioa i» the screen on which the holy images are placed, 
in the Greek Church. 



The Invasion 257 

At the prayer for the army she besought the Lord for her 
brother and for Denissow; at the prayer for all who travel by 
land or by water she thought of Prince Andrew, and implored 
forgiveness for the wrong she had done him; at the prayer for 
those who love us she interceded for those near and dear to her, 
understanding for the first time how cruelly she had wounded 
them; at the prayer for our enemies she wondered who her 
enemies could be, and could think of none but her father's 
creditors. Nevertheless, one name always rose to her tongue 
at this petition — that of Anatole; and liough he, to be sure, 
had not hated her, she prayed for him with double fervour as 
for an enemy. She never could think of him and of Prince 
Andrew with any calmness except in these moments of devotion, 
for then only did the fear of God get the better of her impulses 
towards them both. At the prayer for the Imperial family and 
the sacred S)niod she crossed herself devoutly, telling herself 
that, since she was forbidden to doubt, she ought to pray 
fervently for the governing synod without knowing what it 
meant. 

*^ Let us each and all commend ourselves and each other, at 
each moment of our lives, to the holy keeping of our God and 
Saviour Jesus Christ," the priest went on; and Natacha, carried 
away by her impetus of religious fervour, responded ardently: 
" Take me, O Lord ! take me to Thee ! " 

To see her it might have been thought that she was on the 
point of being lifted heavenwards by an invisible power, and 
delivered once for all from her regrets, her faults, her hopes, and 
her remorse. The countess, who had been watching her rapt 
expression and glistening eyes, was praying on her part that 
God would vouchsafe to help and comfort her darling child. 

In the middle of the service, contrary to the usual custom, 
the sacristan brought in the wooden stool on which the book 
was commonly laid from which the priest recited the prayers, 
kneeling on Whit-Sunday, and placed it in front of the holy 
gates. The officiating priest, with liis violet velvet cap on his 
head, came down the altar steps and knelt down, stiffly; his 
example was imitated by the astonished congregation. He 
was about to read the prayer, composed and distributed by the 
holy synod, beseeching God to deliver Russia from the foreign 
invasion. 

" O Lord Almighty, O Lord Deliverer! " he began in clear 
unemphatic tones, the voice of the Greek priesthood, which 
appeals so powerfully to Russian hearts — " We huoiibly implore 
II I 



258 War and Peace 

Thy infinite mercy, trusting in Thy love. Hearken to our 
prayer and come and succour us! The enemy brings conster- 
nation on Thy children and would fain make the world a waste; 
rise Thou up against him! The wicked have contrived to 
destroy Thy land, and to bring Thy faithful Jerusalem, Thy 
beloved Russia, to nought, to defile Thy temples, upset Thy 
altars, and profane Thy sanctuaries. How long, Lord, shall 
the sinners triumph? How long shall they defy Thy laws? 
Lord hearken unto them that call upon Thee. Let Thine arm 
maintain our very pious autocrat Czar Alexander Paulovitch, 
and may his faithfukiess and meekness find grace in Thine eyes. 
Reward his virtues, which are the bulwarks of Thy well-beloved 
Israel. Inspire and bless his resolutions, his undertakings and 
his deeds; strengthen his rule by Thy omnipotent hand, and 
give him the victory over his enemies, as Thou didst to Moses 
over Amalek, to Gideon over Madian, to David over Goliath ! 
Protect his armies, uphold the bow of the Medes under the 
arms of those who have gone forth in Thy name, and gird them 
with Thy strength in the fight. Arm Thyself with the shield 
and lance and rise up and help us! Send down confusion on 
those who wish us evil so that they may be scattered by the 
armies of the faithful even as the dust is scattered by the wind, 
and give Thy angels strength to disperse them and pursue them. 
Let their secret plots be turned against themselves in open day; 
let them fall into the net that they have laid; let them go down 
before Thy slaves that we may tread the foe underfoot. Lord 1 
Thou canst save great and small, for Thou art God, and man 
can do nothing against Thee. 

" Lord God of our fathers ! Thy grace and mercy are ever- 
lasting; turn not Thy face from us by reason of our iniquities, 
but vouchsafe to forgive our sins in the plenitude of Thy 
goodness. Create in us pure hearts and a righteous spirit; 
strengthen our faith and hope; inspire us with mutual love, 
and unite us in defending the inheritance that Thou hast given 
us and our fathers, to the end that the sceptre of the wicked 
may not rule in the land of the people which Thou hast blessed. 

" Lord God, we trust in Thee; let us not be confounded, 
nor our hope in Thy mercy be deceived. Give a sign that our 
enemies and the enemies of our holy religion may see, and be 
put to confusion and perish. Let the nations of the earth see 
and believe that Thy name is THE LORD and we are Thy 
children. Show Thy mercy upon us and deliver us. Send joy 
to the hearts of Thy slaves, strike our enemies and overthrow 



The Invasion 259 

them under the feet of the faithful. For Thou art the help and 
the strength and the victory of those that trust in Thee. 

" Glory be to the Father, and to the Son, and to the Holy 
Spirit, now and for ever and ever. Amen." 

Natacha, highly strung and agitated as she was already, 
was deeply moved by this prayer. She listened eagerly to the 
passages alluding to the victories of Moses, Gidecm and David^ 
and to the destruction of Jerusalem, and prayed with a fervent 
emotion, though hardly understanding what it was that she 
was asking of God. When it came to entreating for a pure 
spirit for herself, for confirmation of faith, for plenitude of 
hope and brotherly love, she put her soul into tJie petition; 
but how could she ask Grod to let her trample her enemies 
under foot, when, but a few minutes £^0, she had only wished 
she had any, that she might love them and pray for them all.^ 
How, on the other hand, could she question the rightness of 
the prayer that the priest had just read on his knees ? Devout 
terror came over her as she thought of the punishments that 
come upon sinners; she prayed fervently for pardon, for them, 
and for herself; and it seemed to her that God had heard her 
prayer, and that He would grant her peace and happiness in 
this world. 



CHAPTER XXXI 

Since that night when Peter had carried away the remembrance 
of Natacha's grateful eyes — ^since that night when he had gazed 
at the comet blazing in space — & new horizon lay before him: 
the contemplation of human nothingness and folly ceased to 
fill his mind. The terrible and sinister, problems which con- 
st£tntly rose up before him vanished as if by magic at ker image. 
Whether he were talking, or listening to the most trivial matters, 
or hearing an account of some base action or monstrous absur- 
dity, he did not feel terrified as he used; he had ceased to ask 
himself why men toiled and tormented themselves, when life, 
in itself so short, led only to the unknown. He pictured her as 
he had then seen her, and his doubts were dissipated; the 
thought of her lifted him up to an ideal and pure sphere where 
sinners and righteous were not, but only beauty and love, the 
sole final causes of existence. Whatever sordid and base deeds 
he might happen to see, he said to himself: " What does it 



26 o War and Peace 

matter to me if a man who has robbed the state and czar is 
heaped with honours, since yesterday she smiled on me, she 
begged me to go there again to-day, since I love her — and not 
a soul will ever know it! " 

Peter still lived in the gay world, drank as hard as ever, and 
led a perfectly idle life. But when the news from the frontier 
became daily more alarming, when Natacha's health was much 
improved, and ceased to give him the pressing anxiety which 
was the excuse for his constant visits, a dull irritability that 
had no visible cause took possession of him — ^a presentiment 
that some great change was coming into his life, that a catas- 
trophe was imminent — ^and he sought with eager curiosity for 
some prophetic indications of it. 

One of the brethren of his craft had pointed out to him a 
prophecy in the Apocalypse that had been applied to Napoleon. 
In chapter xiii., verse i8, it is written: " Here is wisdom. 
Let him that hath understanding count the number of the 
beast: for it is the number of a man; and his number is six 
hundred three score and six." And at verse 5 we find: " And 
there was given unto him a mouth speaking great things and 
blasphemies; and power was given unto him to continue forty 
and two months." 

By collating these sums with the alphabet, regarding the 
first nine letters as units, and the rest as tens, tiius: — 

abcde fgh iklmnopq r 
I 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 20 30 40 50 60 70 80 

st uv wxyz 

90 100 no 120 130 140 150 160. 

If the words " Le Empereur Napol6on " were constructed by 
the cipher, the sum total of the figures added together would 
be 666.^ Hence Napoleon was the beast spoken of in the 
Apocalypse. Moreover, by adding the figures corresponding 
in the same cipher to the French words quarante-deux^ (42), 
the period of years set for his power, the sum of 666 is again 
brought out, which indicated that the year 1812, as being the 
forty-second year of his age, would be tJie last of his rule. 

This manner of divination captivated Peter's fancy; he was 
constantly tr3ring to guess what would put an end to the power 
of the Beast, otherwise called Napoleon; and he endeavoured 

^20, 5, 5, 30, 60, 5, 80, 5, no, 80,-40, I, 60, 50, 20, 5, 50, 40. 
■ 70, no, I, 80, I, 40, 100, 5,-4, 5, 1 10, 140. 



The Invasion 261 

to calculate the answer to this mysterious question by this 
process. He worked at it with the words " UEmpereur Alex- 
andre '* and " La Nation Russe,*^ but the added numbers did 
not give the fatal total. One day when he was puzzling, still 
without success, over his own name^ changing the spelling and 
dropping the title, it struck him that in a prophecy of this kind 
his nationality ought to find mention; still he only made it 
671, 5 too many. This 5 represented tiie letter e; he dropped 
the e in the article and brought out L'Russe Besuhof^ the 
figures amounting to 666. 

How and why should he be so directly connected with the 
great event foretold in the Revelation? Though he could not 
comprehend it, he never for a moment doubted the fact. His 
love for Natacha, the appearance of Antichrist, the advent of 
the comet, the invasion of Russia by Napoleon, the dbcovery 
of the sum 666 in his name and his own — all this concurrence 
of singular fapts gave rise to a painful ferment in his soul, which, 
when it should have reached its height, could not fail to snatch 
him forcibly from the futile life which weighed upon him, and 
lead him to accomplish some heroic action and attain some 
great happiness 1 

He had promised to carry the manifesto to the Rostows, so 
on that Sunday morning he went to call on Coimt Rostopchine 
to ask him for a copy; there he met a courier who had that 
instant come from headquarters; he was an old acquaintance, 
and one of the most indefatigable dancers at the Moscow balls. 

" Do me a service," said his friend. " Help to deliver some 
of these letters." 

Peter was willing; among them was one from Nicholas 
Rostow to his parents. Count Rostopchine gave him a copy 
of the emperor's proclamation, and of the order of the day as 
forwarded from the army, with the last " bill of the play " ^ he 
himself had issued. As he glanced through the orders of the 
day, and the lists of those killed, wounded, or promoted, Peter 
observed the name of " Nicholas Rostow decorated with the 
order of St. George of the 4th class for his conduct at the affair 
of Ostrovna," and, a few lines lower down, Bolkonsky's appoint- 
ment as colonel of the regiment of light horse. Anxious to let 
his friends have the good news of their son's splendid achieve- 

^ The letter of the Russian alphabet commonly written kh or cb— in 
B^soukhof, for instance — ^is more often pronomiced like the German ch, 
a very sharp h. 

* Affiche (placard) the name by which Count Rostopchine's procla- 
mations were popularly known. 



262 War and Peace 

ment as soon as possible^ he at once sent off the letter and the 
order of the day^ although Prince Andrew's name figured on 
the same page; he would take the proclamations himself later. 

His conversation with Rostopchine^ whose look of absorbed 
concentration betrayed deep anxiety — ^his friend the courier's 
thoughtless report of bad news from the army; a rumour that 
spies had been discovered in Moscow itself; an anonymous 
broadsheet that was passing from hand to hand^ announcing 
that Napoleon intended to occupy both capitals before the 
autumn; and the expectation of tiie czar, who was to arrive 
on the morrow, all contributed to keep Peter's excitement at 
fever-heat; and it had been steadily increasing ever since the 
night of the comet, when war had been proclaimed. But that 
he was a member of a society which preached perpetual peace, 
he would have taken active service without hesitation; even 
the sight of those Moscovites, who had set the example, and 
who were chauvins to the last degree, though they made him 
feel half ashamed, would not have kept lum from following 
their example. At the same time, his passivity arose, in the 
first place, from a conviction that VRusse Besuhof, whose 
number was the same as that of the Beast, and who had been 
predestined from all eternity to the grand task of destruction, 
ought to be content to wait and watch for his coming. 

The Rostows were accustomed to gather a few friends together 
to dine with them on Sunday, so Peter went somewhat early to 
be sure of finding them alone. 

He had grown inunensely stout during the last few months, 
and if he had not had a Herculean frame, and consequently 
carried the weight of his bulky person with some ease, he would 
have looked positively monstrous. Puffing like a seal and 
murmuring something to himself, he mounted the stairs without 
being asked by his coachman whether he should wait, for the 
latter knew that his master never left the Rostows before mid- 
night. The servants hastened to help him to lay aside his cloak, 
hat and stick, which, by a habit he had acquired at the club, 
he always left in the ante-room. 

The first person he saw was Natacha; or rather he heard her 
before he saw her, for she was practising solfeggio in the big 
drawing-room. Knowing that she had not been singing since 
her illness, he was both surprised and glad. He opened the 
door softly, and found her walking up and down the room as 
she sang; she still wore the lilac silk dress she had put on to 
go to mass in; when she got to the end of the room she turned^ 



The Invasion 263 

and finding herself suddenly face to face with Peter's broad 
countenance, she blushed and came to meet him. 

" I am trying to sing, you see. It is something to do," she 
hastened to add, as if to excuse herself. 

" And you are quite right to take it up again," replied Peter. 

" I am so glad to see you; I am so happy to-day," she went 
on as eagerly as before. "Nicholas has had the cross of St. 
George given him, and I am so proud of him." 

" I know it. It was I who sent you the order of the day. 
But I am interrupting you; I will leave you and go to the 
sitting-room." 

" Count," said Natacha detaining him, " am I wrong to 
sing? " And she coloured deeply as she looked in his face. 

" No, why should it be wrong? On the contrary . . . But 
why should you ask me of all people? " 

" I don't know," said Natacha speaking quickly. " But it 
would grieve me deeply to do anything you should not approve. 
I have absolute confidence in you. You cannot imagine how 
highly I value your opinion, or how much you have been to 
me I I have seen," she went on, not noticing that Peter was 
much embarrassed and reddening in his turn, " I saw his name 
in the order of the day: Bolkonsky "-^but she spoke the name 
in a low voice as if she feared to lack strength for her whole 
confession — " Bolkonsky is in Russia again — in active service. 
... Do you think he will ever forgive me? Do you think he 
will always, always think hardly of me? Tell me — do you 
think so? " 

" I," said Peter, " I think he has nothing to forgive. If I 
were in his place. . . ." 

The same words of love and compassion that he had before 
spoken were rising to his tongue, but Natacha did not allow 
him to finish his sentence. 

" You," she cried. " Oh, that is different I I do not know 
a better or a more generous man than you — ^such a man does 
not exist! If you had not helped and comforted me then, and 
now, still — I do not know what would have become of me! " 
Her eyes filled with tears, which she hid behind her music, and 
turning away abruptly she began her scales and her walk once 
more. 

At this moment P6tia came running in; he was now a pretty 
lad of fifteen, rosy-cheeked, with rather thick, ruddy lips; he 
was like Natacha. He was being prepared to enter liie univer- 
sity; but lately, and in secret, he had made up his mind among 



264 



War and Peace 



his comrades to be a hussar. He put his arms through that of 
his namesake to get him to discuss this great scheme^ and 
begged him to tell him whether it were in any way possible. 
But the bigger Peter listened so little that the boy was obliged 
to pull him by the sleeve to attract his attention. 

** I say, Peter Kirilovitch, how is my business getting on? " 

"Ah! to be sure, you want to go into the hussars? Yes, I 
will mention it this very day." 

" How d'you do, my dear fellow? " piped the count's thin 
voice. " Have you brought us the manifesto? My little 
countess heard a new prayer this morning, at mass at the 
Rasoumovskys', and says it is very fine." 

" Here is Uie manifesto; and the latest news is that the czar 
will be here to-morrow. A meeting extraordinary of the 
nobility has been convened, and they talk of fresh levies of ten 
in every thousand. And now, allow me to congratulate you." 

" Yes, indeed I God be thanked ! And what news from 
headquarters? " 

"The army is still retiring, they have reached Smolensk 
already," replied Peter. 

" Dear me, dear me! And the manifesto? " 

" I forgot. . . ." And Peter felt in all his pockets, but in 
vain, while he kissed the countess's hand as she came in, and 
still kept his eye on the door, hoping to see Natacha reappear. 
" I really do not know where I have hidden it; I must have 
left it at home. I will run and see." 

" But you will be late for dinner! " 

" So I shall; all the more because my carriage has gone 
home." 

Natacha now came in; her face wore a pathetic and softened 
look, and Peter, still hunting for the manifesto, brightened at 
the sight of her; Sonia meanwhile had carried her search into 
the ante-room, and returned in triumph with the papers, which 
she had at last found carefully stuck into the lining of B^sou- 
khow's hat. 

"We will read all that after dinner," said the count, who 
looked forward to it as to a great treat. 

They had some champagne to drink to the health of the new 
Knight of St. George, and Schinchuie brought all the gossip of 
the town: the old Princess of Georgia was ill, M6tivier had 
made himself scarce, a hapless German had been taken by the 
populace for a French spy and seized, but Count Rostopchine 
had released him. 



The Invasion 265 



t« 



Yes, yes, they are all being taktfn up," said the count. " I 
have been advising the countess not to talk French. Tliis is 
not the time for it." 

" And do you know? " said Schinchine, " that Prince Galit- 
zin's French tutor is learning Russian? It seems to be quite 
dangerous, by his account, to be heard speaking French in the 
streets." 

" What about the militia, Count Peter Kirilovitch; of course 
you will have to mount a horse? " said the count to Peter, who 
was silent and thoughtful, and did not immediately understand 
what he was talking about. 

" Ah ! Tlie war. To be sure. But I am no soldier you 
see. . . . And the whole business is so strange — so extra- 
ordinary^ that I am quite at sea. My tastes indeed are any- 
thing rather than military; however, under the circumstances, 
there is no knowing ! " 

When dinner was over and the count settled comfortably in 
his arm-chair, he gravely requested Sonia, who was supposed 
to read aloud remarkably well, to read out the manifesto: 

" To our chief capital, Moscow: 

** The enemy has crossed the frontiers of Russia with an 
innumerable host, and is about to devastate our beloved country 

Sonia read on in her clear treble, and the old coimt listened 
with his eyes shut, groaning at certain passages. Natacha 
glanced inquiringly at her father and Peter by turns; Peter, 
feeling her eyes on him, avoided looking her way; the countess 
jerked her head to express disapprobation at the more solemn 
passages in the proclamation, for to her they meant only one 
thing: that her son would be in danger, and that the danger 
would not be over for a long time to come. Schinchine, listening 
with a covert smile, was evidently preparing some epigram by 
the time Sonia should have done reading, on the old count's 
reflections, or on the manifesto itself, if nothing more obvious 
should come within range of his satire. 

After reading the phrases relating to the danger that threatened 
Russia, to the hopes that the czar founded on Moscow, and 
esp)ecially on its chivalrous nobility, Sonia, whose voice trembled 
a little from the consciousness of having an audience, came to 
the concluding sentence: 

^' We shall hasten to place our person in the midst of our 
people at Moscow our capital, or wherever else in our empire it 
may seem necessary to lead the deliberations and place ourself 



266 War and Peace 

at the head of our forces — ^both of those which are now checking 
the advance of the enemy and of those which are about to be 
formed to strike at him wherever he shall intrude. May the 
woes with which he hopes to crush us be visited on him alone^ 
and may Europe, freed from the yoke, glorify Russia ! " 

" Well said ! That is well said ! Speak the word, sire, and 
we will sacrifice all without a regret! " exclaimed the count, 
opening his eyes which twinkled through tears; and he sniffed, 
as if he were smelling at a bottle of salts. 

Natacha sprang up and threw her arms round her father's 
neck with such a flash of spirit that Schinchine dared not laugh 
at this patriotic outburst. 

'* Papa, you are splendid ! ** she exclaimed as she kissed him, 
and she glanced at Peter with involuntary self-H^onsciousness. 

" Bravo ! That is what I call a female patriot ! " said Schin- 
chine. 

"Not at all," retorted Natacha, indignant and offended. 
" You must always laugh at everybody and ever3rthing; but 
this is too serious to be made game of." 

" Made game of! " cried the count. " He has only to speak 
the word, one single word, and we shall rise in a mass. We 
are not Germans ! " 

" Did you observe," said Peter, " that he said, * to lead the 
deliberations . . .' " 

P6tia^ of whom no one was thinking, went up to his i&thtr. 

"Now is the time," he began bashfully, and speaking in a 
voice that varied between roughness and shrillness^ "to tell 
you, papa and mamma — ^it is as you choose, of course, but . . . 
you reaily and positively must let me be a soldier, because I 
cannot ... I cannot . . . and there's an end of it! " 

The countess raised her eyes to heaven and clasped her 
hands; then turning to her husband with an ill-used air, she 
said: " Well, he has made a clean breast of it." 

The count's excitement h^d suddenly calmed down. 

" What next? " he said. " What nonsense! a pretty soldier 
on my word! . . . And first and foremost you must have 
learnt your lessons." 

"It is not nonsense," persisted P^tia. "F6dia Abolensky 
is younger than I am and he is to be a soldier; and as to learn- 
ing lessons, I could never do it now, when . . ."he hesitated 
and blushed up to the roots of his hair: " when the country is 
in danger." 

" Come, come. Enough of this folly! " 



The Invasion 267 

" But, papa, you yourself said you were ready to make any 
sacrifice? " 

** P^tia, be silent! " cried the count, glancing uneasily at his 
wife, who sat pale and trembling, and looking at her yoimgest 
bom. 

" But, papa, I assure you — and Peter Kirilovitcfa can tell 
you . . ." 

" And I tell you it is folly! Why, your nurse's milk is not 
dry on your lips, and you want to be a soldier! — ^Folly, non- 
sense, I tell you . . ." And the count rose to go to his own 
room, taking the manifesto with him so as to get it well into 
his head before taking his afternoon nap. " Peter Kirilovitch,'' 
he added, ** come, and we will smoke/' 

Peter, embarrassed and vacillating, was under the spell of 
Natacha's eyes, in which he had never seen so bright a light as 
at this moment. 

" Thank you very much — but I think I must go home." 

"What! Home? Why, did you not mean to spend the 
evening with us? We so seldom see you now! — ^And that 
child " — added the count with perfect simplicity, " she never is 
so bright as when you are here." 

" Yes — but the fact is^ I forgot ... I have something that 
must be attended to, at home . . ." Peter murmured. 

'' If that is the case, au revoir" said the count, and he left 
the room. 

"Why are you leaving? What is troubling you?" asked 
Natacha, looking Peter straight in the face. 

" Because I love you! " was what he could have said; but 
he stood in awkward silence, staring at the floor. 

"Why? — tell me, I entreat you? " said Natacha, resolutely 
— ^but she broke off suddenly. Their eyes met with startled 
and conscious meaning. 

Peter vainly tried to smile: it was a painful and tremulous 
attempt; he kissed her hand and went away without speaking 
another word: he had made up his mind that he would never 
set foot in the house again. 



268 War and Peace 



CHAPTER XXXII 

P^TiA^ after this repulse^ shut himself into his room and shed 
many burning tears; however, none of the party noticed his 
red eyes when he reappeared at tea-time. 

The czar arrived next day. Some of the servants asked 
leave to go and see his progress through the city. P6tia took 
a long time dressing that morning, doing all he could to settle 
his collar and brush his hair like a grown-up man. Standing 
in front of his glass, he wriggled and grimaced, squaring his 
shoulders and knitting his brows; at length, satisfied with his 
own appearance, he slipped out of the house by the back-stairs, 
without breathing a word of his plans to any one. 

He had quite made up his mind : he would somehow, and at 
any cost, get at the czar. He would apply to one of the gentle- 
men-in-waiting — ^he supposed the emperor to be always sur- 
rounded by dozens — ^would explain that he was Count Peter 
Rostow; that, young as he was, he was fired with a desire to 
serve his country, and fifty other fine things which, in his 
opinion, ought to produce an irresistible effect on the gentle- 
man in question. Although he rehed to some extent for success 
on his baby face and the surprise it would certainly excite, he 
tried, nevertheless, by the arrangement of his collar and his 
hair, to give himself the importance of a grown man. 

As he went through the streets, however, he got more and 
more interested in the sight of the crowd that was gathered 
round the walls of the Kremlin, and thought less of keeping up 
appearances as a man of mature age. He was obliged, too, to 
keep his elbows at work to save himself from being too much 
hustled. When he at last reached the Trinity gate the crowd, 
not aware of his patriotic intention, drove him so effectually 
against the wall that he was forced to stand there, while the 
carriages, one after another, rolled through the vaulted archway. 
Close to P^tia, and, like him, penned fast by the crowd, were a 
fat woman of the lower class, a footman, and an old soldier. 
He was beginning to be impatient, and made up his mind to 
struggle forward, without waiting for the end of the hne of 
vehicles, so he tried to release himself by giving his stout neigh- 
bour a vigorous elbow-thrust. 

" Now there^ young gentleman I " exclaimed the woman. 



The Invasion 269 

furiously. " Can't you see that no one is stirring? Where on 
earth do you want to poke your nose in? " 

"Oh! if it comes to fighting for room^ I'm your man! " 
added the footman^ giving P6tia such a box on the ear that he 
sent him staggering into the comer, where the smells were worse 
than doubtful. The unlucky boy wiped his face, which was 
streaming with perspiration^ and tried to set up his collar, but 
the heat had taken out all its stiffness, and he wondered, with 
dismay in his heart, whether any chamberlain, seeing him in 
such a plight, would allow him to come within speech of the 
emperor. He could not get out of that cursed alley and put 
himself to rights a little. He could, no doubt, have appealed 
for rescue to a general who was a friend of his parents, and who 
had just passed him in his carriage; but that, he thought, would 
have been undignified in a man, and whether or no, there wa5 
nothing for it now but resignation to his sad fate. 

At last the crowd surged forward, carrying Petia with it as far 
as the great square, which also was full of starers. They thronged 
every spot, even the roofs of the houses. Having got there he 
could hear the frenzied pealing of bells, and the confused roar of 
the human tide that flooded every nook and comer of the vast 
space. 

Suddenly every hat was in the air and the mass of people 
swayed forward. P6tia, squeezed almost flat, and deafened by 
the thunder of cheers, vainly tried by standing on tiptoe, to see 
the cause of the excitement. 

He saw all round him beaming or agitated faces; close to 
him stood a market-woman, her cheeks bathed in tears; " My 
little father! My angel! " she cried, wiping her eyes with her 
hand. 

The crowd, checked for an instant, now moved on again. 
Petia caught the infection and entirely lost his head. Pushing 
and fighting right and left, he shouted hurrah! with the rest, 
and was ready to be the death of his neighbours who, on their 
part, retumed his blows with interest, cheering and yelling at 
the top of their voices. 

" This is the czar then," thought he. " How could I ever 
have dreamed of speaking to him myself. — It would be too 
audacious ! " Nevertheless he went on fighting his way, and 
at last he could see, just ahead, an open space spread with red 
cloth. The mob, checked in front by the police, at this point 
ebbed again. The czar was coming out of the palace to go to 
the church of the Assumption. At this instant some one dealt 



270 War and Peace 

Petia such a blow in the ribs that he fell back fainting. When 
he came to his senses^ he found himself supported by a priest^ 
apparently a sacristan^ whose head was bald all but a lock of 
grey hair that hung down the back of his neck; this unknown 
friend held him up on one arm^ and with the other was tr3nng to 
protect him against the pushing of the throng. 

''Herel a young nobleman has been crushed/' he kept 
saying: "Take care — look out — ^he is crushed to death, I 
believe! " 

When the emperor was lost to view within the church- 
porch, the crowd loosened, and the sacristan managed to get 
Petia as far as the great cannon known as the czar; there he 
was again almost st&ed by the dense press of people who took 
pity on him, some unbuttoning his coat, while some hoisted 
him up to the block of stone on which the gun stood, and 
showered abuse on those who had handled him so roughly. 
Petia soon recovered; his colour came back, and the brief dis- 
comfort had procured him a post of vantage on the plinth of 
the cannon. From thence he hoped that he might see the czar; 
but he had forgotten his petition; he had but one wish: to see 
him. — Then, and not until then, could he be happy. 

During high mass, with a Te Deum in honour of his majesty's 
return and the peace with Turkey, the crowd perceptibly 
thinned; the sellers of kvass, gingerbread, and poppy-seed — 
which P6tia liked best of all — began to wander about, and 
groups collected here and there in the open square. A woman 
stood lamenting a rent in her shawl and expatiating on its cost, 
while another was declaring that silks ere long would be at 
ruinous prices. P6tia's deliverer, the sacristan, was disputing 
with a civil functionary as to who was assisting his eminence in 
performing the services. Two young fellows, munching filberts, 
were laughing with a couple of girls. But to all these various 
conversations, which at any other time would have been ex- 
tremely interesting to P6tia — especially that of the four young 
people — ^he now turned a deaf ear. Perched on the stone block, 
all his thoughts were merged in devotion to his sovereign; the 
impube of passionate loyalty which had supervened on the panic 
and physical pain he had gone through, lent solemn emotion to 
this hour of his life. 

Suddenly the roar of cannon was heard from the quay. 
The crowd rushed oif to see where and how they were being 
fired, and P^tia would have followed, but the sacristan who had 
taken him in hand would not allow it. The cannon were still 



The Invasion 27 1 

thundering when a party of officers, generals, and gentlemen-in- 
waiting, hurried out of the church: every one took off their hats, 
and the gapers who had been running to the quay, ran back 
again. Then four officers in splendid uniforms, blazing with 
stars, made their appearance. 

" Hurrah! Hurrah! " the crowd yelled and bellowed. 

" Where is he? Which is he.^ " asked Petia breathlessly, but 
he got no answer. No one could attend. So he fixed his e5'es — 
— so full of tears that he could scarcely see — ^on one of the 
magnificent four, and with all the vehemence of his young 
enthusiasm shouted a tremendous hurrah, vowing to himself 
that in spite of every obstacle he would be a soldier. 

The crowd closed up behind the emperor, and when he dis- 
appeared into the palace, slowly broke up. By this time it was 
late. Though P6tia had had no food, and the perspiration 
streamed down his face, he never thought of going home; he 
took up a position among a small group of idlers in front of the 
palace; he would wait for what might happen, though he had 
no clear idea of what it could be, and he gazed with envy not only 
at the dignitaries who arrived in carriages to take their place at 
the imperial table, but even at the men in uniform whom he 
could see passing to and fro behind the windows, to wait upon 
them. 

During the banquet Valouiew, looking out on the square, 
observed to his majesty that the people of the city were waiting 
outside, and seemed to be anxious that he should show himself 
once more. When dinner was over the czar, who was still 
eating a biscuit, came out on the balcony. The crowd hailed 
him at once, shouting as loud as they could: " Our Father! 
Our angel! Hurrah! *' And the women, and even the men, 
and P6tia too, shed tears of devotion. A piece of the biscuit 
the czar held in his hand broke off and fell between the iron 
work of the balcony on to the ground at a coachman's feet; the 
man picked it up, and those standing near him fell upon the 
happy possessor to snatch a share. The emperor, seeing this, 
had a large dish of biscuits brought out and threw them down 
one by one. P^tia's eyes were ahnost starting out of his head, 
and in spite of his fear of again being crushed he, too, rushed 
forward to catch one of the cakes that the czar*s fingers had 
touched. Why? — He did not know, but he felt that he must. 
He ran, upset an old woman who was on the point of seizing 
one, and though she screamed desperately, got it before her; 
then he set up a wild hurrah, but alas ! in a very hoarse voice. 



2/2 War and Peace 

The czar withdrew and the people dispersed. 

" You see it was worth waiting for," said one and another^ 
fully content, as they went away. 

Happy as he was, P6tia did not like to go home and fed 
that the day's enjoyment was over. So he went off to his 
friend Obolensky, who was of his own age, and about to join 
the army. Finally, however, he was obliged to go home, and 
he no sooner got in than he solemnly told his parents that if 
they did not consent to his wishes he should run away. The 
old count had to give way; but before giving his formal sanction 
he went next day to inquire from competent authorities how 
and where he could send him on service without exposing him 
to unnecessary danger. 



CHAPTER XXXIII 

On the morning of the 15th of July, three days after the 
emperor's arrivaJ, a crowd of carriages were drawn up in front 
of the Hotel Slobodski. The reception-rooms within were 
thronged: in one the nobility were assembled; in another the 
merchants who had been decorated with orders. The former 
was full of excitement: the most notable of the Moscow aristo- 
cracy were seated on high-backed chairs, round a table, over 
which himg a full-length portrait of the Czar Alexander; others 
were walking up and down the room in eager conversation. 
Though their uniforms resembled each other in type, many of 
them dated from the reign of Peter the Great, others from those 
of Catherine and Paul, while others were of recent make; and 
this gave a motley appearance to the party, most of whom 
Peter kn6w more or less well, having met them at the club or 
at their own houses. The elders especially were strange to look 
tipon: toothless, or blind, and bald, clumsily fat, or as lean and 
parched as mummies, they sat silent and motionless, or if they 
rose to move, always ran up against some one. Their faces 
wore the most various expressions; some looked anxiously 
expectant of some great and solemn event; some beatifically 
smiling at the remembrance of the last game they won at boston, 
or of the good dinner P^troucha the cook had sent up, or of some 
other no less important detail of daily life. 

Peter, who had got into his court uniform with no small 
difficulty, as it was too tight for him, was pacing the room in 



The Invasion 273 

the greatest agitation. The convocation simultaneously of 
the nobles and the merchant class — ^real states-general — ^had 
revived in his mind his old opinions as to the contrat social and 
the French Revolution; for, though he had for a long time 
ceased to think of them, they were not the less deeply imr 
planted in his soul. The words of the manifesto^ in which the 
czar had said that he was coming to deliberate with his people, 
confirmed him in his views, and it was with a firm conviction 
that the reform he had so long hoped for was about to come 
to pass, that he Kstened to what was being said by others; 
though he could trace no echo there of his own ideas. 

The manifesto had been read and hailed with enthusiasm, 
and the meeting separated to talk matters over. Besides the 
usual subjects of conversation Peter heard a discussion as to 
the places reserved for the marshals of the nobility on the occa- 
sion of his majesty's arrival, a ball to be given in his honour, 
the advantages of division into governments or into districts, 
and so forth; but as soon as the war was mentioned — the real 
object of the meeting — every one seemed vague or bewildered, 
or for the most part lapsed into prudent silence. 

A middle-aged man in the uniform of a retired navy captain 
was talking in a loud voice to a group, including Peter, that 
had gathered round him to hear what he had to say. Count 
Ilia Andrei^vitch, in his caftan of the time of the Empress 
Catherine, moved about smiling and recognising many of his 
friends. He, too, paused to listen to the orator with much 
satisfaction, signifying his approval by nodding his head. It 
was easy to see from the faces of his audience that the speaker 
was bold in his utterances; the more peaceful or timid presently 
dropped away, slightly shrugging their shoulders. Peter, on 
the contrary, found a flavour of liberalism in his speech, differ- 
ing no doubt from that which he himself professed, but which 
nevertheless pleased his ear. The navy man spoke with a burr, 
and the ring of his voice, though it was rich and melodious, 
betrayed familiarity with the pleasures of the table and a habit 
of command. 

" What can it matter to us," he said, " that the inhabitants 
of Smolensk have offered to levy a force of militia for the czar? 
Does their vote make a law for us? If the nobility of Moscow 
thinks it necessary, it has other means of displaying its devotion. 
We have not yet forgotten the calling out of the militia in 1807. 
— ^Thieves and swindlers were the only persons who benefited by 
it." Count Rostow stood smiling bland assent* 



274 War and Peace 

'' Have the militia ever done the country any service^ I ask 
you? None. — ^They destroy our fields and that is all they do. 
Recruiting is far preferable; in any other way what you get is 
neither a peasant nor a soldier^ it is unmitigatedly corrupt! 
. . . The nobility does not bargain over life; we will all go 
out if we are required and take recruits with us^ the czar has 
only to speak the word and we will all die for him t " the speaker 
ended with an energetic flourish. 

Count Rostow, h^hly excited^ nudged Peter with his elbow, 
and Peter, burning to speak, stepped forward, though not 
knowing precisely what he had to say. He had not time to 
begin, before an old senator, with a look of keen intelligence, 
took up the parable with the irascible determination of a man 
inured to debate and to presiding over discussions: he spoke 
quietly but very distinctly. 

" I believe, sir," he began, " that we have met not to decide 
whether it will be most in the interest of the empire to levy 
recruits or to add to the militia. . . . What we have to do is 
to respond to the proclamation our sovereign has done us the 
honour of addressing to us, and to leave it to his supreme 
authority to decide between recruiting and . . ." 

But Peter interrupted him. He found an outlet for his excite- 
ment in the indignation he felt at the speaker's narrow and too 
legal views of the functions of the nobility; without stopping to 
consider the full import of his own words, he began talking with 
feverish vehemence, larding his discourse with French phrases 
and Uterary language. 

" Pray excuse me, excellency," he said, addressing the 
senator; he knew him intimatdy, but thought it proper to 
assume an official tone. *^ Though I cannot share the views of 
the gentleman" — ^he hesitated: he was longing to call him 
" the honourable gentleman opposite " but he went on, " whom 
I have not the advantage of knowing, I imagine that the nobility 
are invited not merely to express their sympathy and patriotism, 
but also to deliberate on such measures as may prove beneficial 
to the country. I believe, too, that the czar himself would be 
ill-pleased to find that we regarded ourselves merely as owners 
of peasants whom we could bring in our train as ' chair a canon ' ^ 
when he has appealed to us for support and advice," 

Several of the bystanders, startled at such daring, and 
frightened by the senator's contemptuous smile, droppai out 
of the circle, and Rostow alone approved of Peter's speech, it 
^ Meat for the cannon, A famous saying of the first Napoleon's. 



The Invasion 275 

being his way to be always ready to agree with the last speaker^ 

"Before discussing such questions," Peter went on, "we 
should do well to ask the czar, with all respect, to inform us of 
the exact number of our troops and the state of our armies; 
then. ..." 

But he got no further. He was loudly interrupted on three 
sides at once, and had to break off at this point. The most 
determined of his opponents was a certain Stephen St^panovitch 
Adrakdne often his partner at boston, and very much his 
friend when a game of cards was in hand; but not like himself 
at all to-day, whether by reason of his uniform, or perhaps 
because he seemed furiously angry. 

" Allow me to point out to you," he began with some violence, 
" that we have no right to make any such request. And even 
if the Russian nobility had the right, the czar could not answer 
the question, since the movements of our army must depend 
on those of the enemy, and the number of our soldiers on the 
exigencies of tactics. ..." 

" It is not a time for discussion, we must act," another man 
threw in — a. man known to Peter as having met him among 
the gypsies; this gentleman's reputation indeed was anything 
rather than fair, but he, too, was completely metamorphosed 
by his uniform. " The war is actually in Russia; the foe is 
marching down to devastate our country, to desecrate the 
tombs of our fathers, to carry away our women and children " 
— ^here the orator struck his breast. — " We will rise as one man 
to defend the czar our father. We Russians are not the men 
to grudge our blood in the defence of our faith, of the throne, 
and of the country! If we are the true children of our beloved 
native land, let us have no more of dreaming. We will show 
Europe how Russia can rise and fight as one man ! " 

This orator was warmly applauded, and Count Ilia And6i6- 
vitch again was one of those whose demonstrations of approval 
were loudest. 

Peter was anxious to be allowed to say that he, too, was 
prepared to make any sacrifice, but that above all it was most 
important to know how things really stood before the remedy 
could be applied. But they would not give him a hearing; 
they shouted and interrupted him again and again; some even 
turned their backs as if he were the common foe; they formed 
into knots that broke up and reformed, all talking at once; 
the excitement was indescribable. It did not arise, as might 
have been supposed, from the irritation produced by Pet*^^'- 



276 



War and Peace 



words, which were by this time forgotten, but from that instinc- 
tive craving which incites a crowd to find a visible and tangible 
object on which to vent its hatred or admiration. Consequently, 
the hapless Peter now became the object of general aversion. 
Several speeches, some full of point and very well expressed, 
were made after that of the retired seaman^ and were heartily 
applauded. 

Glinka, the editor of a newspaper — Le Messager Rttsse — 
declared that "hell alone could fight against hell. — ^We must 
not be content," said he, " to stand like children, smiling at the 
lightning and the pealing of the thunder." 

" Hear, hear! That is the way to put it. We must not sit 
smiling at the thunder and lightning! " was echoed through 
the whole audience to the remotest comer, with noisy acclama- 
tion; while the old nobles seated round the table looked at 
each other and at their neighbours, their vacant faces betraying 
nothing but that they found the room dreadfully hot. Peter, 
painfully agitated, felt that he had gone on the wrong tack, but 
he did not therefore give up his convictions. His anxiety to 
set himself right, and still more to show that at this tremendous 
juncture he, too, was prepared to do all that was required of 
him, prompted him to make a last effort to be heard: " I said," 
he began again as loud as he could, " that it would be easier to 
make sacrifices when we knew what was needed. . . ." But 
no one would listen, and his voice was drowned in the general 
tumult. One httle old man only leaned forward to attend to 
what he was saying, but he turned away again, attracted at 
what was being said on the opposite side. 

"Yes, Moscow must be saved! Moscow will be our bul- 
wark! . . ." 

" He is the foe of the human race. . . ." 

" I insist on being heard. ..." 

" Pray take care, gentlemen, you are crushing me com- 
pletely ..." was to be heard on all sides. 

At this moment Count Rostopchine came into the room, in 
his general's uniform, with a ribbon across his shoulder, and 
the crowd at once made way. Keen eyes and a strongly- 
moulded chin were the characteristic features of his face. 

" His majesty is now coming," he said. " I think that under 
the circumstances there is no time to waste in debating; the 
emperor has condescended to invite U5 to meet him — ^us and 
the great merchants of the city. Millions of roubles are waiting 
for him there . . ." and he nodded in the direction of the room 



The Invasion 277 

where the merchants were sitting. " And on our part we ought 
to propose to call out the militia and not spare ourselves. It 
is the least we can do." 

The old lords, sitting round their table, held consultation in 
an undertone; groups again formed and discussed it^ and then 
each gave his vote. 

" I agree," said one. 

" I am of the same opinion/' said another, not to repeat his 
neighbour's words; and the thin voices of the old men, dis- 
tinctly audible one by one in the silence that had succeeded the 
tumult, had a strange, almost a melancholy effect. Then the 
secretary was desired to write out the following resolution : 
" The nobility of Moscow, following the example of those of 
Smolensk, offer a contingent of one man in every thousand, 
fully equipped." 

The elders rose as if they were thankful to have got rid of a 
heavy anxiety, pushing back their chairs with a good deal of 
noise and stretching their stiff old legs; each seized on the first 
acquaintance he happened to meet, and taking his arm, pro- 
ceeded to walk about the room, talking of indifferent matters. 

"The Czar! The Czar!" was presently the cry, and they 
rushed to the entrance. His majesty walked down the large 
room between two closely-packed ranks of men, all bowing low 
with a mixed expression of veneration, curiosity, and anxiety. 
Peter heard the emperor's description of the danger that 
threatened the state, and his expressions of confidence in his 
faithful nobles. Then the resolution just passed by the nobles 
was conununicated to his majesty. 

" Gentlemen," said Alexander, in a broken voice, " I never 
doubted the devotion of the Russian nobility, but this day it 
has surpassed my expectations. I thank you in the name of 
our beloved country. Gentlemen, let us act in concert — time 
is precious ! " He broke off, and the assembly gathered round 
him with enthusiastic cheers. 

" Yes, yes. Tliat is the point. — ^There is nothing so precious 
as the word of the sovereign ! " repeated old Count Rostow 
through his tears; but he had hardly heard and put his own 
interpretation on everything. 

The czar then proceeded to the next room, where the mer- 
chants were expecting him; he stayed there about ten minutes. 
Peter saw him come out with tears of emotion in his eyes; he 
heard afterwards that he had actually wept and ended his 
address in a choked voice. Two of the merchants came in with 



278 



War and Peace 



him; one of them Peter knew; he was a great contractor for 
brandy; the other was the mayor^ a lean^ yellow-faced man 
with a peaked beard. Both were in tears; the burly contractor 
especially fairly sobbed as he said: " Our lives, our fortunes, — 
command them all, sire ! " 

Peter himself was possessed by one idea; his wish to prove 
that he was ready and glad to make any sacrifice; he reproached 
himself bitterly for his constitutional speech, and was only- 
anxious to efface the impression it had left. Hearing that 
Count Mamonow was prepared to levy a regiment, he then and 
there announced to Count Rostopchine that he would furnish 
a thousand men and provide for their maintenance. 

Count Rostow went home and wept as he told the countess 
all that had passed; then, finally giving his consent to P6tia's 
desire, he went to put his name down on the list of the hussar 
regiment. 

The czar left Moscow the next day. The Moscow nobles 
packed away their court imiforms, and settled back into their 
ordinary habits and places at home or at the dub, giving orders 
to their various stewards to take the necessary measures for 
supplying men to the militia, — ^not without some groaning, and 
wondering themselves at the UberaUty of their promises. 



CHAPTER XXXIV 

Why did Napoleon make war on Russia? Because the Fates 
had decreed that he should go to Dresden; that he should 
have his head turned by flattery; that he should put on a 
Polish uniform; that he should feel the subtle intoxication of 
a fine June morning; and finally, that he should allow himself 
to fly into a passion, first before Kourakine, and next before 
Balachow. 

Alexander, feeling that he had been personally insulted, 
refused to negotiate; Barclay de Tolly devoted all his care to 
the conduct of the army, intending to do his duty and to win 
a reputation as a great commander; Rostow, as we know, had 
rushed down upon the French because he had found the tempta- 
tion to a mad canter across an open plain irresistible — and thus 
it was that each in his degree, and in accordance with his 
natural disposition, habits, and ambitions, played his part in 
this memorable war. Their alarms, their vanities, their joys. 



The Invasion 279 

their criticisms — all the impulses that arose from what they 
believed to be their free will, were the unconscious instruments 
of history, and contributed, though they knew it not, to a 
result of which the magnitude is only now appreciable. And 
this is always the lot of the active agents of history, who are 
less free in fact, in proportion as their social rank is higher. 

The men of 1812 have vanished from the scene; their per- 
sonal interests have left no mark; only the historical effects of 
that time are now visible, and we can see how Providence led 
each individual, acting from his own point of view, to co-operate 
to a colossal end, of which certainly neither Alexander nor 
Napoleon had the faintest preconception. 

It would be idle at this day to speculate on the immediate 
causes of the disasters of the French: on one hand there were, 
obviously, their invasion of Russia too late in the year and the 
total lack of any preparation for a winter campaign; on the 
other, the aspect given to the war by the virulent hatred of the 
foe to which the Russians were worked up, and the destruction 
by fire of their own towns. An army of 800,000 men, one of 
the finest the world has ever seen, commanded by the most 
brilliant leader, and led against an enemy of not half the strength 
under inexperienced generals, evidently could not have suc- 
cumbed to any but these two causes. But what we now see so 
clearly was not understood by contemporaries, and the struggles 
of the Russians and of the French themselves all tended to 
nullify their chances of escape. 

The writers of certain French histories of the year 181 2 
have taken elaborate pains to prove that Napoleon was fully 
aware of the risk he was running in undertaking this expedition, 
and in dispersing his troops over the plains of Russia; that he 
was anxious to fight a pitched battle; that his marshals besought 
him not to go beyond Smolensk, etc., etc. Russian authors, 
on the other hand, dwell with no less emphasis on the scheme 
which, as they say, was laid down from the first for decoying 
Napoleon — after the manner of the Scythians — ^into the very 
heart of the empire; and to support the statement they bring 
forward a goodly array of hypotiieses and inferences from the 
facts and events themselves. But these theories obviously 
belong to the category of untrustworthy hearsay which the 
historian cannot rely upon without neglecting the truth; and 
indeed the facts, as they stand, contradict them. 

For what is the first state of things as we see them? The 
Russian armies cannot communicate; they are striving to 



28o War and Peace 

combine^ though that combination can secure them no benefit 
— especially if the object is to tempt the foe into the interior; 
the camp on the Drissa is fortified in obedience to Pfuhl's 
views^ with the evident intention of holding it; the czar is 
with the army^ certainly not to lead a retreat^ but to encourage 
the soldiers by his presence^ and to defend evefy inch of ground 
against foreign encroachment — ^nay, he vehemently reproaches 
the general, who steadily continues to retire. How then is it 
to be supposed that he ever for a moment imagined that Moscow 
would be set on fire, or that the enemy had already entered 
Smolensk? — ^Then his indignation breaks out when he learns 
that no pitched battle has been fought, though the armies have 
succeeded in effecting a junction, and that Smolensk has been 
taken and burnt. The troops and the people are no less 
infuriated by this unswerving retreat; — and all this time events 
take their course, not hap-hazard nor yet by virtue of a deep- 
laid plan, which no one believes in, but as the outcome of 
intrigues, ambitions, and efforts of the most opposite kind, in 
the hands of men who act only for their own ends or without 
any ends at all. — ^What, in fact, is actually being done? In 
the hope of uniting the armies before being forced to fight, the 
Russians try to concentrate themselves on Smolensk, closely 
followed by the French. The manoeuvre fails, because Barclay 
is a German and unpopular, because Bagration, who commands 
the second division, hates him and refuses to put himself under 
the command of a man who is his junior in the service, and so 
delays the junction of the forces as long as possible. Then the 
czar's presence, instead of rousing enthusiasm foments discord, 
and nullifies all imity of action; Paulucci, whose ambition is 
to be made general, gains influence over him; Pfuhl's scheme 
is abandoned and the chief command is given to Barclay de 
Tolly, though, at the same time, his authority is limited, as he 
does not inspire implicit confidence. As a result of these 
squabbles at headquarters and of the commander-in-chief's 
unpopularity, it is impossible to fight a decisive engagement, 
and while tius gives rise to much general annoyance, with a 
hatred of all Germans, it rouses patriotism to frenzy. 

Matters were in this state when the czar withdrew from the 
army on the pretext — ^the best that could be put forward — of 
fanning the enthusiasm of the two great capitals to a white 
heat, and his unexpected visit to Moscow certainly contributed 
very greatly to the organisation of national resistance. 
Although the czar was gone, the commander-in-chief's position 



The Invasion 281 

became daily more critical; Benningsen^ the grand-duke^ and 
a whole swarm of generals hung on his heels to watch his 
proceedings^ and^ at need^ to keep him up to the mark; but 
Barclay de Tolly, feeling himself more and more under the 
constant surveillance of " the czar's eyes," waxed all the more 
cautious and avoided giving battle. This prudence was severely 
blamed by the czarevitch, who even went so far as to hint at 
treason, and presently insisted on a pitched battle. Lubo- 
mirsky, Bronnitzky, Vlotzky, and others made so much noise 
about the matter that Barclay, under the pretence of important 
despatches to be delivered to the czar, sent away the Polish 
generals one by one and then boldly defied the grand-duke 
and Benningsen. 

Finally, in spite of Bagration's opposition, the armies com- 
bined at Smolensk. Bagration arrived in his carriage at the 
house occupied by Barclay de Tolly, who put on his scarf to 
receive him and to report progress to his senior officer. 
Bagration, in a fit of patriotic abnegation, expressed his entire 
submission to Barclay, which did not, however, prevent him 
entertaining opinions diametrically opposed to those of the 
commander-in-chief. He put himself into direct correspondence 
with the czar, by his majesty's desire, and wrote as follows to 
Araktch6iew: 

^* In spite of my sovereign's command I cannot remain any 
longer with the minister" — ^as he chose to designate Barclay: 
" for God's sake, send me away, no matter where; give me 
only a regiment to command, but get me out of this; head- 
quarters swarm with Germans who make life imendurable to 
^e Russians; the whole thing is an utter mess. I fancied I 
was to serve the emperor and the country, but as it is I serve 
no one but Barclay, and that, I frankly confess, I refuse to 
do." Bronnitzky, Wintzingerode and the rest still sowed dis- 
sension between the commanders-in-chief and thus prevented 
all unity df action. Preparations were made, nevertheless, to 
attack the French before Smolensk; a general was sent to 
reconnoitre the position, but he, being inimical to Barclay, 
spent the day with a regimental colonel, and when he returned 
criticised the field of battle which he had not even seen. 

While all this intriguing and discussion was going on over 
the position where the battle was to be fought, and while the 
Russians were trying to find out where the French were, the 
enemy had fallen upon N6v^rovsky's division and fought their 
way to the very wsdls of Smolensk. This left the Russians no 



282 War and Peace 

choice; to save their communications they had to fight, whether 
they liked it or no. The battle was fought; thousands were 
slain on both sides, and Smolensk was evacuated, in spite of the 
czar's commands and the will of the nation ! The town was set 
(HI fire by the inhabitants, who had been cheated and deceived 
by the governor. Ruined and desperate, they made their way 
to Moscow, there to set an example to their brethren and stir 
up their hatred of the enemy. AU this while the Russian army 
was retreating, and Napoleon advancing in triumph, never 
suspecting the danger which hung over him; — and thus, against 
all expectation, was his ruin brought about, and the salvation 
of Russia. 



CHAPTER XXXV 

The day after Prince Andrew's departure. Prince Bolkonsky 
sent for his daughter: 

" Now I hope you are satisfied : you have made me quarrel 
with Andrew, which was what you wanted. As for me, I am 
saddened and grieved; I am old, weak and lonely . . • But 
that is what you wished ... Go away ! " 

He sent her out of his room, and it was more than a week 
before she saw him again, for he fell ill and did not leave his 
study. Princess Maria observed to her great surprise that 
Mademoiselle Bourrienne was no longer in and out as of old; 
her father would be attended by no one but old Tikhone. 

At the end of a week he was convalescent, and fell into his 
regular routine once more, looking after his building and his 
gardens; but his intimacy with Mademoiselle Bourrienne had 
ceased entirely. Though he was, as usual, cold and distant to 
his daughter, he seemed to express by his conduct: " You 
vilified me to Andrew, you made me quarrel with him about 
this French woman; now you may see that I want nobody — 
not her any more than you." 

Princess Maria spent a part of each day with her little nephew, 
listening to his lessons, giving him some herself, and talking 
with Dessalles; the rest of her time she devoted to reading, 
chatting with the old nurse and with her pilgrims, who still 
came to see her up the back-stairs. 

She thought of the war as women think of such things : that 
is to say, she was anxious for her brother, and deplored the 



The Invasion 283 

cruelty of men who slaughter each other; but she attached no 
more importance to this war than to those that had preceded it. 
Dessalles^ who watched its progress with keen interest, now and 
then expressed his views of it, and kept her up to the latest 
intelligence. The pilgrims, too, confided to her all their terrors, 
telling her their version of the myth of Napoleon's being Anti- 
christ; and the fair Julia, now Princess Droubetzkoi, wrote her 
letters full of eflfusive patriotism. 

*' I must write to you in Russian, my dear friend, for I hate 
the French and their language, which I cannot even bear to 
hear spoken. We are now at Moscow, and everybody is in a 
state of indescribable enthusiasm for our beloved emperor. 
My poor husband has to endure hunger and privations, in filthy 
holes full of nothing but Jews, and my letters from him add to 
my excitement. 

" You have heard, no doubt, of Rtuevsky's heroism — em- 
bracing his two sons, and saying, * I will die with you, but we 
will not give way! . . .' And tibough the enemy were twice as 
strong, we did not give way! We pass our time here as best 
we may, and make the best of a bad business. Princesses Aline 
and Sophie come to see me every day, and we three poor * grass 
widows ' talk of edif3ang subjects as we ravel out lint. You, 
alone, my dear Maria, are wanting," and so forth. 

If Princess Maria had no adequate idea of the vital import- 
ance of the events that were going forward, the fault was her 
father's; he never spoke of them, but afiFected to know nothing 
about them, and would laugh at Dessalles and his sensational 
news, when they met at dixmer. His cool and indifferent tone 
gave his daughter blind confidence, and, without thought, she 
accepted everjrthing he told her. 

The old man was full of energy and activity. During the 
month of July, he planned a garden and laid the first stone of 
a new house for his numerous retainers. Still, one sjrmptom 
distressed Princess Maria: he hardly slept at all, and changed 
his room night after night: he would have his camp-bed placed 
in the gallery, or even in the dining-room, or sometimes he 
would sleep in an arm-chair in the drawing-room, lulled by the 
voice of P6troucha, the young servant who now filled Made- 
moiselle Bourrienne's place as his reader. 

On tihe first of August, he received a letter from Andrew, who 
had already written once to beg his forgiveness, asking him to 
forget all he had dared to say to him, and the old prince had 
sent him a few affectionate lines in reply. In this second 



284 



War and Peace 



letter^ Prince Andrew gave him a detailed account of the occu- 
pation of Vitebsk by the French, and of the events of the cam- 
paign, of which he sketched the plan with all the issues it 
might ultimately entail; and he ended by urgently entreating 
him to retire from the scene of the impending struggle — ^which 
was getting nearer every day to Lissy-Gory — and to move at 
once to Moscow. 

Dessalles, who had just heard that the French were at Vitebsk, 
announced it at dinner to the old prince, thus reminding him 
of his son's letter. 

" I had a letter from Prince Andrew this morning," he said 
to his daughter. " Have you read it? " 

"No, father," she said, timidly. How, indeed, could she 
have read the letter when she did not even know of its existence ? 

" He writes about this war," her father went on, with the 
scornful smile he always put on when he alluded to the subject. 

" It must be extremely interesting," said Dessalles. " The 
prince, of course, is fully informed . . ." 

" Of course! " cried Mademoiselle Bourrienne. 

" Go and fetch it," said the prince; " it is on my little table 
under the paper-weight." 

Mademoiselle Bourrienne rose with eager haste. 

" No, no," he said, frowning. " Do you go, Michael Ivano- 
vitch. . . ." 

Michael Ivanovitch obeyed, but he had scarcely left the 
room when the prince got up impatiently, and, throwii^ his 
napkin on the table, he muttered, " He never can find any- 
thing; he will turn idl my papers topsy-turvy! " and he hurried 
after him. 

Princess Maria, Mademoiselle Bourrienne, and little Nicholas 
looked at each other, but said nothing, and presently the old 
man returned, followed by Michael Ivanovitch. He had in 
his hand the letter and the plan of the new buildings; he laid 
them by his plate, and finished his dinner without reading the 
letter. 

When they had gone into the drawing-room, he gave it to his 
daughter, who, after reading it aloud, looked at her father; 
but he affected to be absorbed in his plans, and to have heard 
nothing. 

" What do you think of it all, prince? " asked Dessalles. 

" I — I? " said the prince sharply, without looking up. 

" The scene of war may come quite dose to us," Dessalles 
went on. 



The Invasion 285 

"Ha! ha I ha! The scene of war? I have said already, 
and I say it again, the scene of war is in Poland, and the enemy 
will never come beyond the Niemen." 

Dessalles looked at him blankly; the Niemen! When the 
enemy had already reached the Dnieper. No one but the 
princess, who had forgotten her geography, could accept her 
father's statement. 

" When the snows melt they will all be swallowed up in the 
Polish swamps. Benningsen ought to have marched into 
Prussia long ago; matters would have turned out very dif- 
ferently," he went on; his mind evidently was running on the 
campaign of 1807. 

" But, sir," said Dessalles, more timidly than before, " in this 
letter — ^we hear that Vitebsk is in the hands of the French . . ." 

" In the letter? — ^Ah! yes, to be sure . . ." and his face 
clouded. "To be sure, he writes • . . The French were 
beaten, somewhere — I forget where . . . near some river." 

Dessalles looked down: 

" Prince Andrew does not mention that," he said gently. 

"Does not mention it? — ^I did not invent it, tlmt is quite 
certain." 

After this there was a spell of silence. 

" Well, well, Michael Ivanovitch," said the old man suddenly, 
" explain to me how you propose to remedy this error in our 
plan." 

Michael Ivanovitch needed no second bidding, and the prince, 
after listening for a few minutes, left the room with an angry^ 
glare at Dessalles and his daughter. Princess Maria caught a 
look of pained astonishment on the tutor's face, but she dared 
not ask him the cause of it, or even guess at it. The much 
discussed letter was left on the drawing-room table; Michael 
Ivanovitch came to ask for it in the course of the evening.. 
Princess Maria gave it to him; and though the question was,, 
she felt, an awkward one, she asked what her father was doing. 

" Oh! he is very busy," replied the architect, with a polite 
but sardonic smile that chilled her blood. " He is very full of 
the house-building ... he read a little, and now he is rum- 
maging in his desk. . . . Very likely he is making his will." 
For some time past the prince had found a favourite occupation 
in arranging the papers which were to see light after his 
death. 

" And he is sending Alpatitch to Smolensk, did you say? " 
asked she. 



286 War and Peace 

" Yes. Alpatitch is ready to start, and is only waiting for 
orders." 

The architect found his patron seated ih front of his bureau 
in a rather theatrical attitude, with his spectacles on, and a 
shade over his eyes. He held in his hand a large paper book, 
in which he was reading over his " Notes " — as he called the 
document which was to be sent to the czar after his death; liie 
remembrance of the time when he had written them had brought 
tears into his eyes. He took his son's letter and slipped it 
into his pocket; then he sent for Alpatitch and gave him his 
instructions: 

" First of all/' he said, looking through the list of things 
that he wanted from Smolensk, '' you are to buy me eight reams 
of letter-paper, do you hear, eight reams, gilt-edged like this 
pattern; some sealing-wax, and some varnish; — tien give my 
letter to the governor in person," and while he talked he never 
ceased walking up and down. Then he told him not to forget 
the locks for the new house, to be made on a pattern of his own 
invention, and a large paper-case to contain his will and his 
" Notes." He had been talking for about two hours when he 
suddenly sat down, closed his eyes and fell asleep for a minute; 
but he was aroused by Alpatitch, who moved to leave the room: 
" Very well," he said. " Go now; if I want anything more I 
will send for you." 

Then he went back to his desk, arranged his papers neatly^ 
and sat down to write the letter to the governor. By the time 
he had written and sealed it, it was growing late; he was 
succumbing to fatigue and sleep; but he felt that he should 
not be able to rest, but that melancholy thoughts would keep 
him awake as soon as he was in bed. He called Tikhone and 
went round the rooms with him to make up his mind where he 
would have his bed placed for the night. Every comer was 
looked at and measured, but no spot could be found to suit 
him; his usual place, particularly, he could not endure to think 
of; he seemed afraid of it, perhaps by reason of the nightmares 
he had suffered from there. At length, after much delibera- 
tion, he decided on having it made up in the drawing-room, 
in a space between the wall and the piano where he had 
never yet slept. Tikhone was ordered to put the little camp- 
bed there, and did so at once with the help of one of the 
men-servants. 

" Not like that — ^not so! " cried the old man, pulling it to 
him, and pushing it about. 



The Invasion 287 

" Well, perhaps I shall get a little rest/' and he allowed his 
faithful attendant to undress him. 

Having got out of his coat and trousers with some difficulty, 
he sat down on the bed and seemed lost in the contemplation of 
his withered, yellow shanks. He paused and hesitated before 
making the final effort to raise them and stretch them out. 
" Good God ! what a weight/' he muttered. " Why do you not 
make a quicker end of me, ' vtms autres/ — of me and my 
miseries? Why can't you let me go? . . ." At last, with 
a deep sigh, he got his legs up in front of him. But he had 
no sooner lain down than the bed began to shake and rock 
under him; it almost seemed as though th6 thing were alive 
and moving itself; this was the case almost every night. The 
prince opened his eyes which he had just closed. 

" No rest, no rest, curee them all! " he exclaimed in a rage, 
as if he were anathematising some one. — " But was not there 
something of importance that I put aside to think of at my 
leisure in bed? — ^The locks? No, I have ordered them. It was 
not that. What was it that I forgot just now when Princess 
Maria and that idiot Dessalles were talking such nonsense? — 
Something — and then I think I put something in my pocket. 
After that? — ^I cannot remember. — ^Tikhone, here; what were 
we talking about at dinner? " 

" Of Prince Andrew . . .?" 

" That will do, hold your tongue. ... I know, my son's 
letter. Yes, Princess Maria read it, and Dessalles was speaking 
of Vitebsk — ^I will read it now." 

He had it brought to him and made Tikhone place the little 
table on which his lemonade and his candle stood, close to the 
bed, then he put on his spectacles and read his son's letter with 
great attention. Then only, in the silence of the night, by the 
dim light of the candle under its green shade did he at last, 
for a moment, understand the importance of the news it con- 
tained: "The French are at Vitebsk? In four marches they 
can reach Smolensk — ^they are there perhaps by this time! . . . 
Here, Tichkal ..." 

Tikhone started up. "No, never mind — it is nothing!'* 
said his ma3ter; he slipped the letter under the candlestick 
and closed his eyes. . . . 

He sees the rushing Danube, the shores overgrown with 
gigantic reeds, the Russian camp under a brilliant sky; himself 
— ^a young general, gay and vigorous, going into Potemkin's 
tent; and the mere reminiscence revives his passionate jealousy 



288 War and Peace 

of the favourite in all its virulence ... he hears once more 
every word that had been spoken at that first interview! — He 
sees by his side a sallow woman of middle height and stout 
figure — our mother the empress I — She smiles at him — speaks 
to him — and at the same instant behold the face is changed; 
she lies on her state bier^ surrounded by burning tapers. 

'' Oh ! if I could only go back to that time, if the present 
might vanish, and if ' they ' would but leave me in peace! " the 
old man muttered in his dreams. 

During the conference between the prince and his steward, 
Dessalles had gone to the princess, and had respectfully repre- 
sented to her, on the strength of her brother's letter, that it 
was certainly unsafe to remain at Lissy-Gory, only sixty versts 
distant from Smolensk and but three versts o£F the high road 
to Moscow. Therefore, as the state of her father's health 
prevented his taking the necessary steps to secure their safety, 
she would do well to send a letter by Alpatitch to the governor 
of the province, begging him to let her know the real state of 
affairs, and to tell her whether there were any danger in remain- 
ing in the country. Dessalles, indeed, wrote the letter. Princess 
Maria signed it, and gave it to Alpatitch with orders to return 
without losing a moment. 

Alpatitch, thus amply instructed, was at last ready to be ofif; 
.and after saying good-bye to every one in the house, he got 
into a large kibitka with a leather hood and three stout roans 
harnessed abreast. 

The bells of the harness were stuffed with paper to muffle 
them, for the old prince never allowed one to be heard on his 
domain; but Alpatitch, who liked the tinkle, fully intended to 
set them going as soon as he was far enough away from the 
house. 

His own people, including a clerk, a cook, two old women, 
and a child in Cossack costume, all crowded round him. His 
daughter packed in his eiderdown pillows in chintz covers, 
■and one of the old women stealthily shoved in a laige parcel, 
as the steward, respectfully assisted by one of the stablemen, 
was getting up in front. 

^' Hallo, hallo! What is all that? Women's fussiness! 
Oh ! women, women I " he exclaimed as he seated himself, in a 
voice as harsh and breathless as his old master's. After giving 
his parting instructions as to work and the building, he took 
off his hat and crossed himself three times — in this, it must be 
•said, strangely imlike his master. 



The Invasion 289 

" If there is anything wrongs the very least danger, you will 
come back at once, won't you, Jakow Alpatitch? " said his wife, 
who was frightened out of her wits at the rumours of war. 
** For Heaven's sake have pity on us here! " 

"Oh! women, women!" he growled once more, while the 
kibitka made its way by the side of the fields, which he inspected 
with the eye of a connoisseur. The rye was just turning yellow; 
the oats, still green, stood thick and strong; the summer wheat, 
unusually fine this season, rejoiced the steward's heart, and he 
looked at it with pride. The harvest was being reaped on all 
sides; and as he went on he rehearsed in his mind all his schemes 
for sowing and cropping, wondering every now and then whether 
he had forgotten any of the prince's commissions. 

He stopped twice to bait his horses, and reached the town in 
the evening of the i6th of August. On the road he had over- 
taken several baggage-trains, and even some detachments of 
marching soldiers; and as he got nearer to Smolensk, he fancied 
he heard cannon at a considerable distance, but that did not 
trouble him. What surprised him far more seriously was to see 
a camp pitched in a fine field of oats which the men were mowing 
down, no doubt to feed their horses; but he was absorbed in 
business and calculations, and ere long had forgotten the inci- 
dent. For more than thirty years his sole interest in life had 
lain in carrying out his master's wishes; thus anything which 
had no direct bearing on that did not appeal to his mind; in 
fact, scarcely existed so far as he was concerned. 

When he reached the suburbs he pulled up at an inn kept 
by one F6rapontow, with whom he commonly lodged. This 
Ferapontow had once upon a time bought, through Alpatitch, 
on easy terms, a wood belonging to Prince Bolkonsky, and the 
sale by retail had proved so profitable that by degrees he had 
built a house, and an inn, and now did a large business in flour. 
He was a peasant of about forty, black-haired, pleasant-looking, 
with a portly stomach, thick lips, a flat nose and prominent 
biunps over his thick brows, which he commonly knit. He was 
standing with his back against his shop door, in a coloured shirt 
and a waistcoat. 

" Good evening, Jakow Alpatitch; you are a welcome sight. 
So you are coming into town when others are getting out 
of it? " 

" How is that? " 

" They are afraid of the French — the idiots) " 

" Old wives* gossip ! " said Alpatitch. 

11 K 



290 War and Peace 

'' That is what I tell them. I tell them that orders have been 
given that he is not to be let in; so of course he will not get 
in! — ^And those rascally peasants take advantage of the panic 
to charge three roubles for a goods van ! " 

Jakow Alpatitch, who listened without marking, interrupted 
him to order a feed of hay for his horses; then, after a good 
cup of hot tea, he went to bed. 

All night through regiments were marching past the house; 
but Alpatitch he^utl them not, and next morning he went as 
usual to transact his business in the town. The sun shone 
brightly, and at eight in the morning it was quite hot. " What 
lovely weather for the harvest ! " thought the steward. The 
growl of cannon and rattle of musketry were audible at day- 
break outside the town. The streets were full of soldiers and 
of coach drivers going and coming as usual, while the shop- 
keepers stood idle at their open doors. Mass was going on in 
the churches. Alpatitch made hb usual round, went into 
the different law courts, called at the post-office and at the 
governor's; wherever he went war was the word; the enemy 
was down on the town they said; every one was questioning 
every one else and trying to reassure his neighbour. 

Outside the governor's residence Alpatitch found a large 
gathering; there was a detachment of Cossacks on guard, and 
the grand functionary's travelling-carriage, evidently waiting 
for his highness. On the steps he met two gentlemen, one of 
whom he knew as having been the head of a district. 

"It is past a joke! " he was saying vehemently. " For a 
bachelor, it is all very well; only one to look after, a mere 
trifle! — ^but with thirteen children, and all their fortune at 
stake! . . . What are the authorities about, to let things 
come to such a pass that there is nothing before us but ruin? 
Such villains deserve hanging ! " 

" Come, come! Take it calmly! 

" What do I care if they hear me? Let them hear me ! We 
are not dogs to be treated so." 

" What you, Jakow Alpatitch? What brings you here? " 

" I have come, by his excellency's orders, to see the gover- 
nor," said the steward, drawing himself up with pride, and 
putting his hand into his waistcoat — ^a gesture he always used 
when speaking of his master. "I am to ascertain the true 
state of affairs." 

" Go and ascertain it by all means. You will find that 
there is not a carriage or a cart to be had. — You hear that 



>> 



The Invasion 291 

noise? — ^WeU^ then. . . . The scoundrels have led us into 
ruin!" 

Alpatitch shook his head sadly^ and went on; the waiting- 
room was full of women^ merchants^ and clerks. The door of 
the inner room was opened; every one rose^ and pressed forward. 
An official came out^ looking very scared; he spoke a few words 
to one of the merchants^ called a burly clerk with an order 
round his neck^ and carried him ofE with him in a hurry^ without 
paying any heed to the questions and looks that followed him. 
Alpatitch took a front place^ and when^ presently, the same 
official reappeared, he held out the two letters, put his left 
hand, in due form, inside his waistcoat, and spoke: 

" For Baron Asch, from General Prince Bolkonsky," he said, 
with such solemn significance that the man turned round and 
took the letters he held out to him. A few minutes later the 
governor sent for Alpatitch. 

" Tell the prince and princess," he said, hurriedly, " that I 
know nothing, and that my orders — ^here ..." he added, 
giving him a printed paper. ''The prince, I see, is ill. I 
advise him to go to Moscow; I am going there m3rself. Tell 
him that I have taken no steps . . ." but he did not finish the 
sentence: an officer, covered with dust and sweat, rushed into 
the room, and said a few words in French; the governor's face 
expressed extreme dismay. 

" Go — go," he said, nodding to Alpatitch, who immediately 
left die room. All the waiting crowd, eager for news, looked 
at him with anxious inquiry. 

As he hurried back to his quarters he listened more atten- 
tively to the firing, which was certainly nearer. The printed 
document ran as follows: 

'' I can assure you that at present no danger threatens the 
town of Smolensk, and it is not likely that it will. I, on one 
side, and Prince Bagration on the other, are advancing to unite 
there on the 22nd of this month, and the combined armies 
will then co-operate to protect their fellow-countrymen and the 
government under your jurisdiction; until by their efforts 
they shall have repulsed the foe, or until not a soldier is left to 
fight. So you see that you may with perfect confidence re- 
assure the inhabitants of Smolensk, for when two armies as 
brave as ours are prepared to fight, victory is certain. (Order 
of tlie day, from Barclay de ToUy to Baron Asch, Governor of 
Smolensk. — 1812)," 

The streets, however, were fuU of anxious faces. At every 



292 War and Peace 

turn carts were to be met coming out of the court-jrards of the 
houses, loaded with movables, furniture and household goods 
of every description, and all making their way to the gates of 
the town. Some, ready to be oflE, were standing in front of 
the shop next to F6rapontow's, the women were wailing and 
crying, and exchanging last words, while a cur barked and 
leaped round the horses' heads. 

Alpatitch turned into the inn-yard and went up to his con- 
veyance with unwonted briskness; the coachman was asleep. 
He roused him, desired him to put the horses to, and then went 
into the house to fetch his baggage. In the owner's room he 
could hear children squabbling, women shrieking, and above 
them all F6rapontow's harsh, angry tones. The cook was 
rushing about the hall like a frightened hen. 

" He has been beating her, beating the missis to death," she 
screamed. 

" Why? " 

*^ Because she begged and prayed him to let her go. ' Take 
me away,* says she — ' do not leave me to die, me and the chil- 
dren. — ^Every one is going; why do we stop.? ' — and he gave 
her such a thrashing! Oh dear, oh dear! " 

Alpatitch, not caring to hear any more, merely nodded his 
head, and went on to the room where his purchases had been 
stowed. 

" Wretch, monster! *' yelled a pale woman, with torn clothes, 
holding a child in her arms, who rushed out on to the landing 
and flew down stairs. F6rapontow was following her, but, 
seeing Alpatitch, he pulled up short, settled his waistcoat, 
yawned, stretched his arms, and went into his room with him. 

" What, are you off ? " 

The steward examined his parcels, and made no reply, merely 
asking for his bill. 

" Presently — ^time enough. Tell me, what is the governor 
doing? Is anything settled? " 

Alpatitch told him that the baron had spoken in very vague 
terms. 

" It will be good for our trade, do you know that? " said 
the man. " S61ivanow sold some flour to the army the other 
day at nine roubles a sack. — ^Will you have some tea? " 

While the horses were being put to, Alpatitch and his host 
drank a few cups, talking amicably of the price of com, of the 
approaching harvest, and the fine promise of the crops. 

" It seems to me," said F6rapontow, " that there is less 



The Invasion 293 

noise out there now. Our men have got the best of it^ no 
doubt. They declared that they would not let him in: so 
we are strong enough, of course. Matvei Ivanovitch Platow 
pitched eighteen thousand of them into the river the other 
day." 

The steward settled his score; the tinkling of the bells of 
his kibitka, which had been taken out of the inn-yard, and 
was now standing in front of the house, attracted him to the 
window; he looked up and down the streets on which the sun 
was shining hotly, and there was scarcely any shade; it was 
but a little past noon. 

Suddenly a strange, shrill, far-oflE whistle rushed through the 
air, followed by a sharp thud, and a long low rumble made all 
the windows rattle. Alpatitch went down into the street just 
as two men fled past the house towards the bridge. Now the 
hissing flight of bullets was to be heard on all sides with the 
patter of their falling, and the bursting of shell which were 
pouring on the town; but the inhabitants did not heed them 
much; the firing outside the walls disturbed them far more. 
The town was being bombarded by Napoleon; indeed, a 
hundred and thirty guns had been firing incessantly since five 
in the morning. 

F6rapontow*s wife, who was still sobbing in a comer of the 
coach-house, suddenly became quite calm; she went out into 
the gateway to get a better view of what was going on, and to 
stare at the passers-by, whose curiosity was roused by the ball 
and shell. The cook and the shop-clerk from next door joined 
her, and all three stood watching the projectiles with eager 
interest as they flew above their heads. Then some men came 
round the comer of the stre«t, talking excitedly. 

"What tremendous force!" said one. "The roof, ceiling, 
everything was smashed to powder." 

" And it ploughed up the ground like a boar with his snout," 
said another. 

" I had just time to jump out of the way, or I should have 
been made mincemeat of," added a third. 

The crowd stopped them, and they gave a full account of 
how some of the shot had fallen close to them; and all the time 
the shrill ring of bullets and the duller hum of bombs and 
shell grew louder and faster; but nearly all flew over the roofs. 

At last Alpatitch got into his carriage; his host was attend- 
ing to his last arrangements when the cook, with her sleeves 
turned up and arms akimbo, came out and went down to the 



2 94 War and Peace 

street comer to listen to what was being said^ and stare^ too, at 
the exciting scene. 

" What Sie devil are you gaping at there? '' cried Alpatitch 
roughly. At the sound of tiiis despotic call^ she turned and 
came hurrying back again, dropping her red petticoat which 
she had been holding up. At this instant the ominous whistle 
sounded so near that it might have been a bird flying dose to 
the ground and trailing its wing; there was a flash in the very 
street, a tremendous explosion, and then a dense cloud of 
smoke. The cook fell groaning in the midst of a circle of pale 
and terrified faces. F6rapontow ran forward; the women all 
shrieked and fled, the children cried, but the woman's screams 
sounded above them all. 

In less than five minutes the street was deserted; the poor 
girl, whose ribs had been broken by a piece of the shell, had 
been carried into the inn-kitchen. Alpatitch and his coadunan, 
witli F6rapontow's wife and children and the gate-keeper, had 
all in their terror taken refuge in the cellar. The hollow roar 
of cannon and rush of grenades did not cease, and mingled 
with the cook's moans. F6rapontow's wife tried in vain to 
quiet her baby and get it to sleep, while she questioned every 
one who came in to know what had become of her husband; 
she heard that he had gone to the cathedral, where the inhabi- 
tants had flocked in crowds to demand that a procession should 
go roimd the town with the miraculous image of the Virgin. 

As dusk fell the cannonade died away; the evening sky was 
shrouded by a dense cloud of smoke, though here and there, 
through the rents, the silver crescent of a new moon was seen. 
The incessant thunder was followed by a brief lull; but in a 
very few minutes a noise was heard of trampling crowds, with 
groans and shrieks, and the sinister crackling of fire. The 
poor cook had ceased her wailing. Soldiers came hurrying 
down the street, no longer in well-ordered file, but like a swarm 
of ants escaping pell-mell from an upturned ant-hill. Some 
rushed into the inn-yard, to get out of the way of a regiment 
that barred the road by having suddenly turned in its flight. 
Alpatitch came out of the cellar and stood in the gateway. 

'^ The town has surrendered! — Get away as fast as you can," 
cried an ofiicer; adding, as he saw his men coming out of the 
yard: *' I forbid you to go into the houses." 

Alpatitch called his driver and told him to mount the box. 
All F^rapontow's family came out one by one into the yard, 
but when the women saw the lurid glare of the conflagration, 



The Invasion 295 

■ 

very visible in the twilight, they broke out into lamentations, 
which found an echo in cries of anguish in the street. Alpatitch 
and the coachman, under the shed, disentangled the reins 
and straps with trembling hands; at last all was ready, and 
the vehicle moved ofiE with a will. As the steward passed 
F^rapontow's open shop he saw a dozen or more soldiers still 
filling large sacks with flour, wheat, and sunflower seeds. The 
owner came rushing in, and on the point of flying at them in 
fury, but he stopped short, tearing his hair, and his rage vented 
itself in a sort of sobbing laugh. 

" Take it, take it, children 1 " he said. " Anything rather 
than that it should fall into the hands of those fiends ! " and 
he himself seized the sacks and flung them out into the street. 
A few of the soldiers were frightened and fled; the rest quietly 
continued their work of plunder. 

''Russia is lost, Alpatitch, ruined and lost!" exclaimed 
F^rapontow. " I shall go, too, and help make the fire. . . ." 
And he rushed out into his yard, half-crazy. 

The road was so crowded that Alpatitch could not move; 
Ferapontow's wife and children had got into a cart, and, like 
him, were waiting for an opportunity to make a start. 

It was a dark but starlight night by the time they had 
reached the slope down to the Dnieper, advancing inch by inch. 
There again they had to pause, the way was stopped by soldiers 
and vehicles. Close to the cross-roads where they pulled up, 
the last remains of a house and some shops were still burning; 
the flame fitfully dying out in dense black smoke and then 
blazing up again brighter than before, and lighting up minutely 
with a malignant glare the figures of the speechless and terrified 
bystanders. Shapes passed to and fro in front of the fire, and 
cries and wailing mingled with the crackle of burning timber; 
soldiers were coming and going in the fiery glow; two of them, 
helped by a man in a cloak, were dragging a blazing beam into the 
yard of the next house, and others were bringing in armfuls of hay. 

Alpatitch got out of his kibitka and joined a group who were 
staring at the destruction of a granary, where the flames were 
licking the walls; one side presently gave way, the roof fell in 
and the burning joists crashed down. 

At this instant a voice called him by his name. 

" Good God! excellency 1 " he exclaimed, recognising Prince 
Andrew, who, mounted on a black horse, kept just behind the 
crowd. 

" What are you doing here? " 



296 



War and Peace 



" Excellcnqr/* said the stewar^^ melting into tears. " I — I 
—Is all lost? " 

" What arc you doing here? " repeated the prince. 

A shaft of flame suddenly shot up to heaven and revealed his 
pale^ worn face. Alpatitch briefly told him what he had come 
for, and the difficulty he had in getting out of the town. 

" Tell me, excellency/' he said once more. " Is there no 
chance for us? " 

Prince Andrew did not reply, but he took out his note-book, 
tore out a leaf and wrote in pencil, on his knee, these few words 
to his sister: 

" Smolensk is abandoned. The enemy will be in Lissy-Gory 
in a week at latest. Go at once to Moscow . . . Let me have 
a line by express messenger to Ousviage to tell me that you are 
off." He had just given the note to Alpatitch and was adding 
a few verbal instructions, when a staff-oflScer, followed by his 
orderlies, addressed him in a strong German accent: 

" You, a colonel ! " he said, " and you can look on while the 
houses are being set on fire under your very eyes! — ^What is 
the meaning of it? You will have to answer for this! " It 
was Berg, who had found a berth as adjutant on the staff of the 
general in command of the infantry of the first army's left fiank, 
and found it, as he often said, a pleasant and advantageous 
position. 

Prince Andrew looked at him, but answered never a word; he 
went on speaking to Alpatitch: 

'' Tell them that I shall wait for an answer till the loth. If 
I do not hear that they are gone by that time, I shall be obliged 
to leave everything and go to Lissy-Gory." 

'*A thousand apologies!" Berg now put in, having just 
recognised the prince. " But I have strict orders, otherwise I 
should not have ventured — ^you know I am punctually obedient ! 
A thousand apologies ! " 

There was an appalling crash; the fire suddenly seemed 
extinct; only whirling clouds of smoke rolled up — ^then another 
crash; the huge building reeled and fell in, with a noise like the 
crack of doom. The crowd yelled with wild excitement; the 
fire fiew up again in a burst of flame, lighting up the ghastly 
faces of those who had planned it. The man in the cloak waved 
his arm, shouting: 

" Hurrah! — It is done, my boys! It is blazing well now! " 

'' That is the owner of the store ! " said one and another in a 
low voice. 



The Invasion 297 

" So you understand, Alpatitch/' said Prince Andrew, taking 
no notice of Berg, who stood petrified by the scene. ** Tell 
them just what I say — good-bye; " and spurring his horse he 
rode off. 



CHAPTER XXXVI 

From Smolensk the Russians continued to retire, closely 
followed up by the enemy. The regiment under Prince 
Andrew's command marched along the high road and past the 
turning which led to Lissy-Gory, on the loth (22nd) of August. 
For three weeks past the heat and drought had been terrific. 
Heavy clouds occasionally veiled the sun, but they soon passed 
over, and he set evening after evening, behind a thick mist of 
dusky crimson. The uncut crops shed their seed and withered 
standing in the fields, while the cattle, bellowing with hunger, 
vainly sought a blade of grass in the scorched meadows and 
dried-up marshes. There was no respite save at night, and 
then only in the woods; the refreshing balm of dew had no 
effect on the parched land. On the high road huge pillars of 
dust blinded the soldiers from the moment they started at 
daybreak. The baggage-trains and artillery took the middle of 
the road while the infantry tramped along the side paths, 
through the hot, choking dust which the night dews had no 
power to lay. It clung to the soldiers' feet and caked on the 
wheels of the waggons, and hung round and over them like a 
cloud, getting into the eyes, the nostrils, and above all the lungs 
of man and beast alike. As the day went on, the scorching 
sandy curtain grew more and more dense, till the sun was seen 
through it as a globe of blood-red fire. Not a breath of air 
came to stir the suffocating atmosphere, and the men stopped 
their noses and covered their mouths to be able to breathe at 
all. As soon as they reached a village every one rushed to the 
well, and the poor creatures fought for a drop of muddy water, 
which was swallowed with avidity. 

Prince Andrew devoted himself to his regiment and the 
health and comfort of his men. The burning and evacuation 
of Smolensk, by fanning his hatred of the invaders, marked an 
epoch in his life, and the virulence of his hatred enabled him 
to forget his own griefs. His kindness and affability made him 
dear to his subordinates, who always spoke of him as " our 



298 War and Peace 

prince." With his subalterns and men he was invariably gentle 
and friendly; they knew nothing of his past life; but when 
chance threw him in the way of an old acquaintance his whole 
nature rebelled; like the hedgehogs he was all spines^ and cold 
and haughty in his demeanour, and in his daily life, even, he 
restricted himself to the strict fulfilment of his duty within the 
limits of absolute justice. 

Ever3rthing, indeed, looked dark before him. On one hand 
Smolensk, which he was convinced might have been held, bad 
been abandoned on the 6th (i8th); on the other his father, 
decrepit and ailing, had been forced to leave Lissy-Gory, the 
home that the old man had built and arranged to his own taste, 
and that he loved above everything in the world. It was well 
for Prince Andrew that his regimental duties diverted his mind 
from these gloomy thoughts, by constantly claiming his most 
minute attention. 

His detachment reached Lissy-Gory on the 22nd; he had 
heard, two days previously, that his father and sister had left 
for Moscow. There was nothing to tempt him to visit the 
place; but an impulse to snatch a bitter joy by reviving 
his sorrowful memories made him decide to ride round that 
way. 

Leaving his men to march on, he turned off towards the 
village where he was bom and had grown up. As he passed 
the tank where the washer-women were usually to be seen 
singing and chattering over their work, he was surprised to find 
it deserted; the little raft lay half under water, half hauled up 
on the bank; there was not a soul in the gatekeeper's lodge, 
and weeds were sprouting in the garden; calves and colts were 
disporting themselves in the pleasure-grounds; the windows of 
the orangery were broken; some of the tubs were upset and 
several of the trees dead. He called Tarass, the gardener, but 
no one answered. Turning the comer of the greenhouse he 
perceived that the paling of the orchard was broken down and 
that the branches of the plum-trees were stripped of their fruit, 
quantities of which lay strewn on the ground. An old peasant, 
whom he could remember for years as sitting outside the gate, 
was now sunning himself on the old prince's favourite b^ch. 
He was plaiting bass-shoes, and a skein of the bark hung, ready 
to his hand, on the tmnk of a fine magnolia half dead of drought. 
As he was perfectly deaf he did not hear Prince Andrew's ap- 
pro^h. The prince rode up to the house; some old lime-trees 
that had stood in front of it had been felled; a piebald mare 



The Invasion 299 

and her foal were capering about the flower-beds at the bottom 
of the steps and among ^e clumps of roses. All the shutters 
were closed excepting one on the ground floor; a small boy, who 
seemed to be on the watch, catching sight of the horseman 
vanished indoors. 

Alpatitch had remained alone at Lissy-Gory after seeing off 
all the family; he was studying the Lives of the Saints when the 
child rushed in to announce the arrival of the young master. 
He hastily buttoned up his coat and ran out, his spectacles still 
on his nose; and without saying a word he flew down to meet 
Prince Andrew and burst into tears. But he at once turned 
away, ashamed of his weakness; and controlling his voice, gave 
him a full account of the state of things. All that the house 
had contained of any value had been sent to Bogoutcharovo, 
with a hundred tchetverts of wheat out of the reserve stores; 
but the simmier's crops of hay and com, which were wonderfully 
fine that year, had all been cut by the troops before they were 
ripe. The peasants were all ruined, and some of them had also 
moved to Bogoutcharovo. 

" When did my father and sister leave? " asked Prince Andrew 
who had listened absently to his lamentations, and who con- 
cluded that his family were at Moscow. 

" They set out on the 7th (19th)," said Alpatitch, never 
doubting that he knew that they were at Bogoutcharovo; and 
then, going back to business again, he asked him for further 
orders. " There is still some com left; am I to give it up on 
having a signed receipt for it? " 

" What ought I to say? " thought Prince Andrew, looking 
down at the old man, whose bald head shone in the sun; he 
read in his face that he himself knew how useless it was to ask 
— that he only did so to cheat his own sorrow. 
Yes " he said. ** You can let them have it." 
You see the state the garden is in. I could not help it; 
three regiments marched in to find quarters. The dragoons 
especially behaved ... I took down the name of the officer in 
command to lodge a complaint. . . ." 

" And what are you going to do now? " said his master. 
" Do you niean to stay here? " 

Alpatitch looked up at him, and raising his hands to heaven 
he said devoutly: 

" He is my protector . . . His will be done! " 

** Well, good-bye," said Prince Andrew, bending down to the 
faithful old man. *' But go away; take what you can carry. 






300 War and Peace 

and tell all the peasants to make their way to our place in 
Riazan^ or even to the estate near Moscow." 

Alpatitch, weeping bitterly, clung to him for a moment; 
but Prince Andrew gently released himself and went off at a 
gallop down the avenue. 

He passed the old man again, sitting in the same place and 
still absorbed in his industry — it reminded him of a fly on a 
dead man's face. Two little girls, who had no doubt come out 
of the orchard house, stopped short as they saw him: they held 
up their skirts, which were quite full of the plums they had 
gathered. They were so much alarmed that the elder, seizing 
lier companion's hand, dragged her hastily away, and they hid 
behind a birch-tree without stopping to pick up the still green 
fruit that dropped from their laps. Prince Andrew looked 
another way and pretended not to see them, for fear of frighten- 
ing them more — he could not bear to see the pretty things so 
terrified. 

The sight of these two children had suddenly roused a new 
phase of feeling in his spirit — a. soothing and, so to speak, restful 
sense of the existence of other interests in life, outside and 
apart from his own, but equally human and equally natural. 
These little persons evidently cared for nothing at this moment 
but the safe possession and enjoyment of the half-ripe plums, 
and their chief point was to escape detection; — ^Why should he 
interfere with the success of their enterprise? He could not 
resist the temptation to look back at them, and he saw them 
run out of their hiding-place now that the danger was over, 
and scamper barefoot over the grass, with their frocks held 
high, laughing and chattering in tieir shrill childish voices. 

Prince Andrew, much refreshed by his ride away from the 
dust of the high road, soon came up with his men, who had 
stopped to rest near a pool of water. It was two in the after- 
noon; a broiling sun scorched the soldiers' backs through their 
black cloth uniforms, and the dust, hanging over them like a 
cloud of smoke, muffled the ring of their voices. There was no 
wind. As he rode along the dyke, a faint puff of damp marsh 
air fanned his cheek and made him long to plunge into the water, 
all muddy as it was. The little pond, whence shouts of laughter 
fell upon his ear, was overgrown with weeds and slime, and at 
this moment was so crowded with soldiers bathing that the water 
washed up to the footpath; their white bodies, with hands, 
faces, and necks burnt to a brick-red, were wriggling and leaping 
in the green miry pool like fishes in a watering-pot. This frisky 



The Invasion 30 1 

enjoyment, and the peals of thoughtless laughter, gave him an 
obscure feeling of pity and regret. 

A fair youngster, a man of the third division, with a strap 
fastened below the calf of his leg, crossed himself, stood back a 
pace to get a better leap, and plunged in head foremost; a 
subaltern with his hair on end was stretching his weary limbs 
in the water, snorting like a horse, and pouring it over his body 
with hands blackened up to the elbow. There was a noise of 
gurgling and splashing water mingled with shouts of merriment; 
and in the pool and on the bank nothing was to be seen but a 
medley of human limbs — ^human flesh, white, firm, and healthy, 
with muscles as hard as steel. Timokhine, whose nose was 
redder than ever, was sitting on the grass wiping himself with 
care; he was half ashamed of being caught so by his colonel, but 
thought he had better sing the praises of his bath. 

" It is really very nice, excellency, you should take a dip 
yourself." 

" The water is dirty," said Prince Andrew, making a face. 
" They will make way for you; they will clear it out," cried 
Timokhine; and running all naked to the pond, he cried out 
to the men: 

The prince wants to bathe, children ! " 
What prince? ' 

Why, our prince of course; who the deuce else? " 
Our prince," shouted several. And they all began to make 
such a stir that Prince Andrew had the greatest difficulty in 
persuading them that he would far rather have a douche in a 
bam. 

" Flesh and blood — chair a canon t " said he to himself, as he 
looked down his own body from head to foot; and he shuddered 
as he remembered that mass of human creatures splashing in 
the dingy pool, though he hardly let himself think of the im- 
pression of terror and horror that the sight had made on him. 

Bagration had written the following letter to Araktcheiew, 
dated from his camp on the Smolensk road and written on the 
7tli (19th) of August. Knowing full well that it would be read 
by the czar he had weighed every word — as thoroughly, that is 
to say, as his intelligence allowed. 

" To G>imt Alexis Andrei6vitch: The minister will, no doubt, 
by this time have reported to you the surrender of Smolensk 
to the enemy; every one is distressed beyond words, and the 
whole army is in despair at the evacuation, without any useful 






302 War and Peace 

result, of 80 important a place. I, for my part, entreated him 
most urgently! indeed, I wrote to him about it. I give you 
my word of honour Napoleon was as completely surrounded as 
if he had walked into a sack, and if my advice had been taken, 
instead of capturing Smolensk he would have lost half of his 
army. Our troops fought and are fighting as they always do. 
I held out more than five-and-thirty hours with 15,000 men 
and I repulsed the enemy; but he would not hold out fourteen 
hours. It is a blot and a disgrace to our armies, and after this 
he is not worthy to live. If he has reported that our losses are 
heavy it is false — four thousand killed and wounded at most . . . 
that is all. The enemy, on the other hand, has suffered most 
severely. 

" Why could he not hold out two days longer? The French 
would certainly have been the first to give way, for they had 
not a drop of water. He had solemnly promised me that he 
would not retire, and then suddenly he sends me a message to 
say he is withdrawing that very night. 

" This is not war. At this rate we shaU lead the enemy on 
to the gates of Moscow. 

'* I am told that you are thinking of making peace. God 
forbid! After such immense sacrifices and such inscrutable 
retreats it is not to be thought of. You will have all Russia 
down upon you, and we shall be ashamed to be seen wearing 
her uniform. Since things have come to such a pass we must 
fight as long as Russia can stand; as long as she hsiS a man! 

'^ One man ought to command and not two. Your minister 
may be a very good minister, but as a general it is not enough 
to say he is bad — ^he is atrocious ! And the fate of the country 
is in his hands! My brain is frenzied with rage — ^pardon my 
plain speaking. It is perfectly certain that any man who can 
counsel peace at such a moment and take the minister's part is 
no friend to the czar, and only hopes for our ruin. I am writing 
you the strict truth. Bring out the militia in all haste. 

" Mr. Woltzogen, the aide-de-camp, does not command the 
confidence of the army: far from it — ^he is suspected of favour- 
ing Napoleon, and he is the minister's prime counsellor. So 
far as I am concerned, I obey as implicitly as any corporal, 
though I am his senior in rank. It is a constant grievance to 
me; but being, as I am, devoted to my sovereign and bene- 
factor, I submit — though I lament that he should have placed 
his armies in such hands. Would you believe that in the course 
of this retreat we have lost by fatigue, and scattered in various 



The Invasion 303 

hospitals^ no less than 15,000 men; if we had advanced this 
would never have happened. Tell all who will listen to you 
that our Mother/ Russia, will accuse us of cowardice, for we are 
handing over the country to the rabble and so fomenting hatred 
and revenge in the hearts of her children. What are we afraid 
of? It is no fault of mine if the minister is timid, undecided, 
crotchety, and dilatory — a combination of every defect. The 
army is depressed, and loads him with abuse." 



CHAPTER XXXVII 

There are, we opine, two categories under which we may 
classify all the various and widely different ways in which men 
live their lives: the first, including those in which form is more 
important than fact; the second, those in which fact rules 
supreme over form. For instance, we may compare country 
life, or provincial life, or life even in a city like Moscow, with 
life in St. Petersburg; and more especially with the life of 
fashionable drawing-rooms which is everywhere and always the 
same. 

From 1805 to 181 2 Russia was fully occupied with quarrel- 
ling and maicing it up again with Napoleon, and making and 
unmaking constitutions; while in the drawing-rooms of Anna 
Paulovna and Countess Helen no perceptible change had taken 
place, and all wore the same aspect and complexion as of old. 
At Anna Paulovna's every one was as much astonished as ever 
at Napoleon's successes, and the general submission of the 
sovereigns of Europe was still regarded as a wicked conspiracy 
intended solely to disturb and annoy the Russian court circle, 
of which Anna Sch^rer considered herself the uncontested 
representative. In Helen's house, where Roumiantzow was a 
constant visitor — speaking of her as a remarkably clever 
woman — the same enthusiasm for " the Great Man " was still 
as fashionable in 1812 as it had been in 1808, and the rupture 
with France was spoken of as a matter of regret, though, of 
course, it must soon end in a peace. 

When the czar came to St. Petersburg after quitting the 
army, an unwonted excitement was perceptible in these rival 
centres; indeed, hostile demonstrations were attempted, but the 
two houses kept true to their colours. Anna Paulovna would 
receive no Frenchmen but a few blue-blooded legitimists, and 



304 War and Peace 

her patriotic zeal proscribed the French theatre^ which — said 
she — cost the country as much to keep up as a regiment. At 
her house the movements of the army were eagerly watched^ 
and the most favourable reports of the Russian troops were 
repeated there. 

In Helen's^ on the contrary^ where the French were nimierous^ 
every hint at peace on Napoleon's part was noted^ the rumours 
as to the enemy's barbarities were discredited, and the advice 
of those who spoke of removing the court and the seat of govern- 
ment to Kazan was denounced as premature. In their opinion 
the war was simply a demonstration; hence peace must soon 
be concluded; and they were fond of repeating a saying of 
Bilibine's — ^a diligent hanger-on now at the house where every 
man of mark had to be, or to have been, seen — ^to the efifect 
that " critical questions could not be settled by gunpowder, 
but only by those who had invented it." There was much 
wit and laughter there, though of course with due discretion, 
at the patriotic excitement in Moscow which had culminated 
during the czar's visit to the elder capital. 

At Anna Sch6rer's, on the other hand, this enthusiasm roused 
such admiration as Plutarch felt for his heroes. Prince Basil, 
who still held various important places, was the link that united 
the rival factions. He was at home alike with *^ my good friend 
Anna Paulovna," and in " my daughter's diplomatic circle; " 
and it occasionally happened that in oscillating between the 
two, he got entangled in his talk, expressing in one house the 
opinions which he ought to have kept for the other. 

At Anna Sch^rer's one day, not long after the czar's return. 
Prince Basil who had been censuring Barclay de Tolly very 
severely, ended by confessing that, as matters then stood, he 
should find it extremely difficult to name the man who could 
fill the post of commander-in-chief. Another familiar visitor, 
who was commonly known as " the man of distinguished merit," 
said that he had that day seen the commandant of the St. 
Petersburg militia inspecting volunteers at the office of the 
ministry of finance, and ventured to suggest that he possibly 
was the man whose fate it might be to satisfy the requirements 
of all parties. Anna Paulovna smiled sadly; " Koutouzow," 
she said, " did nothing but involve the czar in worries." 

" Yes, I told them so in the chamber of nobles," said Prince 
Basil. " I told them that his election as general of militia 
would give his majesty no satisfaction; but they would not 
listen to me. They have a mania for petty squabbling. And 



The Invasion 305 

why? Simply because they want to ape the ridiculous enthu- 
siasm of Moscow/' he went on^ forgetting that this speech^ 
vhich would have found approval in his daughter's drawing- 
rx>m^ would certainly be frowned at in Anna Sch6rer's. He 
was immediately conscious of it^ and tried to set himself right. 

^' Is it fitting, I ask you, that Count Koutouzow, the oldest 
general in the Russian army, should preside there in person? 
He will get nothing by that move. — ^And then, honestly, how 
can a man be appointed conunander-in-chief who has absolutely 
no manners, who cannot sit a horse, and who goes to sleep at a 
council? Can any one say that he covered hunself with glory 
at Bucharest? I will not allude to his miHtary qualities; that 
would take us too far. But in such critical circumstances how 
can we put our trust in a helpless old man who can hardly see? 
What sort of commander-in-chief can he be? He is good for 
nothing but to play blind-man's buflF, for he really cannot 
see." 

No one replied to this vehement attack, which was delivered 
on the 2ist of July, when Prince Basil was still on the safe 
side; but a few days later, on the 29th, Koutouzow received 
the title of prince. This mark of favour, which it may be said 
only indicated a desire in high quarters to be rid of him, did 
not at all disturb Prince BasU; but it had the effect of making 
him more cautious in his utterances. On the 8th of August 
(20th), a council was held consisting of Soltykow, Araktcheiew, 
Viasmitinow, Lopoukhine and Kotchoubey, to discusss the 
prc^ess of the campaign. They came to the conclusion that 
its failure so far was due to the division of power, and after 
brief deliberation it was decided, in spite of the czar's small 
liking for Koutouzow, to place him in command as general 
of the army and commandant of all the district occupied by 
the troops. He accepted the responsibility, and the appoint- 
ment was confirmed the same evening. 

On the following day Prince Basil was at Anna Paulovna's 
with the " man of distinguished merit," who was very anxious 
to be civil to him as he wanted his interest to procure him a 
place as curator of an institution for young girls. Prince Basil 
marched into the room with an air of triumph, and said, as if 
his fondest hopes had been crowned with fruition: 

"Well! You have heard the great news? Prince Koutou- 
zow is marshal in command, all differences are settled, — ^I am 
heartily glad. At last there is something Uke a man ! " he 
went on, with a challenging glance at the audience. 



3o(> War and Peace 

The *' man of distinguished merit/' though he was a candidate 
for a place^ could not forbear reminding the orator of the 
opinions he had expressed only a short while since. It was a 
double breach of good manners^ for Anna Paulovna, too^ had 
received the news with eager satisfaction. 

** But, prince/' he said, unable to check himself, and using 
Prince Basil's own words, " they say he is blind." 

"What next! He can see well enough," said the prince, 
talking quickly in his hoarsest bass and clearing his throat 
energetically — ^this was his favourite resource when he was at 
all embarrassed. — " He can see well enough, take my word for 
it; and I am glad that the czar has given him an amount of 
power over the troops and over the country, too, which no 
commander-in-chief has yet had. He is a second autocrat." 

*' God grant he may prove so ! " sighed Anna Paulovna. 

The " man of distinguished merit," little skilled as yet in 
the wa3rs of courts, fancied he could flatter the old maid by 
upholding her former opinion. He hastened to add: 

" But they say that the czar signed the appointment much 
against his feelings; and that he coloured like a girl when he 
told Koutouzow that the honour was awarded him by his 
sovereign and his country." 

" Perhaps his feelings had nothing to do with the case," 
observed Anna Paulovna. 

" Not at all, not at all," cried Prince Basil, who now would 
not hear a word against Koutouzow. "That is impossible; 
the czar has always appreciated his splendid qualities." 

" Then God grant that Koutouzow may really wield the 
power, and allow no one to put a spoke in the wheel," said 
Anna Paulovna. 

Prince Basil, understanding her allusion, added in a low voice : 

" I know for certain that Koutouzow insisted, as a situ qua 
fton, that the czarevitch should be recalled. I can tell you 
what he said : * I could not punish him if he did wrong, nor 
reward him if he did right.' Oh I he is a man of keen foresight. 
I have known Koutouzow this many a lon^ day." 

" But it is even said," the " man of distinguished merit " 
persisted, " that his highness exacted a promise £om his majesty 
not to join the army on any account." 

He had scarcely spoken when Prince Basil and his hostess 
exchanged a pitying glance at such inconceivable want of tact, 
and turned their backs as if they were moved by one spring, 
both sighing deeply. 



The Invasion 307 

While aU this was happening at St. Petersburg^ the French, 
having left Smolensk behind them^ were steadily approaching 
Moscow. Thiers, in writing his narrative, endeavours, like other 
historians of Napoleon, to palliate the errors of his hero by 
asserting that he was led on to Moscow against his will. This 
might be true if it were possible to assign the will of a single 
man as the cause of events affecting the whole world; and in 
that case historians would be right in stating that Napoleon 
was decoyed onwards by the skill of the Russian generals. In 
studying previous events as a process of incubation of the facts 
which were their ultimate outcome we may often detect a 
certain connection between them which only makes them seem 
more complicated. When a good chess-player has lost a game 
and is fully persuaded that the fault was his own, he sets aside 
the blimders he may have committed during the progress of 
the game to examine what mistake he made at the beginning, 
of which his adversary has taken advantage to compass the 
defeat. The game of war — a much more elaborate matter — is 
influenced by the conditions under which it is carried on; and 
far from being within the power of one single will, it is the 
outcome of the friction and shock of aU the thousand wills and 
passions which are brought into play. 

Napoleon, after quitting Smolensk, tried, but vainly, to force 
a pitched battle on the Russians, first at Dorogobouge on the 
Viazma, and then at Czarevo-Saimichetch6; various circum- 
stances prevented the Russians from confronting him till he 
reached Borodino, within 112 versts of Moscow. At Viazma 
Napoleon gave the order to march on the ancient Asiatic capital 
of the empire, the Holy City of Alexander's subjects; Moscow, 
withits numberless pagoda-l^e churches, excited his imagination. 
He set out from Viazma on his little cream-coloured horse, 
followed by his body-guard, his aides-de-camp and his pages; 
Berthier, the major-general, lingered behind to question a 
Russian prisoner with the help of Lelorgne d'Ideville, but he 
soon overtook his master and pulled up close in front of him 
with a radiant look of satisfaction. 

" What is it.^ " asked Napoleon. 

" A Cossack, sire, who has just been taken prisoner, says 
that Platow's division is joining the main body of the army, 
and that Koutouzow is appointed commander-in-chief. The 
rascal has a long tongue and seems intelligent." 

Napoleon smiled, ordered that the Cossack should be mounted, 
and iiad him brought to Ixim that he might have the pleasure of 



3o8 



War and Peace 



questioning him himself. Some aides-de-camp galloped ofF to 
carry out his instructions and in a minute Denissow^s seri, 
whom he had handed over to Rostow^ our old friend Lavrouchka^ 
with his shrewd face somewhat flushed by liquor^ in his uniform 
as an officer's servant, and riding a French cavalry charger, 
trotted up to Napoleon, who bid him ride by his side that he 
might cross-question him at his leisure. 

" You are a Cossack? " he asked. 

" Yes, highness." 

" The Cossack," says Thiers, in telling the story, " not 
knowing to whom he was speaking — for there was nothing in 
Napoleon's appearance to suggest the dignity of the sovereign 
to an oriental mind — ^talked with the utmost readiness of the 
state of affairs then existing." 

Lavrouchka was drunk, or not far from it; having failed to 
provide his master's dinner the day before, he had been well 
thrashed and sent off to lay hands on the poultry in the next 
hamlet; there, having been led into rashness by the pleasures 
of pillage, he had been caught by the French. Lavrouchka's 
life had been one of varied experience; he was one of those 
perfectly cool hands who are up to every conceivable trick, who 
can always make a good guess at their superior's worst impulses, 
and can measure at a glance the length and breadth of their 
trumpery vanity. Now, face to face with Napoleon, whom he 
at once recognised, he set to work to win his good graces; he 
was no more shy in his presence than in that of Rostow, or of 
the quarter-master with the cat in his hand; for, as he had 
nothing to lose, what could they take.'^ 

So he reported as fully as might be what was said in the 
Russian ranks; but, when Napoleon asked him whether they 
thought they could beat Bonaparte, he smelt a rat, frowned, 
and considered. 

" If the battle is fought soon," said he, with a suspicious 
glance, " it is possible; but if there is no fighting for the next 
three days it is likely to be a long job." 

This oracular reply was translated to the emperor by Lelorgne 
d'Ideville as follows: " If the battle were fought within three 
days the French would win, but if it were postponed till later, 
God knows what might come of it." Napoleon, who was in a 
particularly good temper for the moment, listened with a smile 
and had the words repeated to him. Lavrouchka, observing 
this, still made believe not to know who he was. 

" We know very well that the French have their Napoleon 



The Invasion 309 

who has beaten everybody; but he won't find us so easy to 
deal with ! " he went on, with an involuntary burst of patriotic 
boastfulness which the interpreter passed over in silence, only 
translating the first half of the sentence for his majesty's benefit. 

" The young Cossack's speech made his puissant companion 
smile," says Thiers. 

Napoleon rode forward a few paces and spoke to Berthier. 
He wished, he said, to see the effect produced on this son of 
the steppes of the Don by being told that he was addressing 
the emperor — that very emperor who had written his victorious 
name on the Pyramids of Egjrpt. Lavrouchka, quite under- 
standing that Napoleon expected to see him awed by the infor- 
mation, affected terrified astonishment: opened his eyes, put 
on a bewildered face, and assumed the expression he was wont 
to wear when he was led off for a fiogging in punishment of 
some delinquency. " Hardly had the interpreter revealed the 
fact," says Thiers, " than the Cossack, speechless with amaze- 
ment, said not another word, but rode on with this eyes fixed 
on the conqueror whose name had reached even his ears across 
the steppes of the East. All his loquacity was staunched, and 
gave way to silent and awestruck admiration. Napoleon, after 
making him a present, gave him his liberty, * like a bird restored 
to the fields that are its home.' " 

His majesty went on his way, his head full of Moscow, which 
reigned supreme in his imagination, while " the bird restored 
to the fields that are its home " rode back to the Russian out- 
posts. His thoughts ran on the wonderful romance he was 
prepared to tell his comrades; for he was not the man to relate 
facts as they had happened, and speak the unvarnished truth. 
He asked the Cossacks he met on his way where his regiment 
now was. It formed part of Platow's detachment, and late in 
the day he arrived at Jankow, where his squadron were 
bivouacked, just as Rostow and Iline were mounting to recon- 
noitre the neighbourhood. Lavrouchka was then and there 
ordered to accompany them. 



3 1 o War and Peace 



CHAPTER XXXVIII 

Princess Makia was not at Moscow^ and out of all danger, as 
her brother supposed. 

When the steward had returned from Smolensk the old 
prince roused himself from a kind of lethargy. He assembled 
all the militia and wrote to the general in command that he had 
quite made up his mind to remain at Lissy-Gory and to defend 
it to the last extremity^ leaving it to him to take measures or not 
as he chose^ for the protection of a spot where " one of the 
oldest Russian generals was preparing to die or be taken 
prisoner." He ti[ien solemnly announced to his household his 
firm determination not to quit Lissy-Gory ! As to his daughter, 
she, he said, was to take the little prince to Bogoutcharovo, and 
he set to work to arrange for their immediate departure with 
Dessalles. Princess Maria, excessively alarmed by this feverish 
energy supervening on several weeks of apathy, could not bear 
to leave him alone, and for the first time in her life refused to 
obey him. She said she would not go, and so exposed herself to 
a violent storm; her father in his rage accused her of endless 
imaginary crimes, loaded her with the bitterest reproaches, 
accused her of having poisoned his existence, of having made 
him quarrel with his son, of having suspected him of the 
most abominable misdeeds — and finally dismissed her from his 
presence, saying she might do whatever she pleased, that he 
would have nothing more to say to her, and that he never would 
set eyes on her again. Princess Maria, however, was only too 
thankful not to have been placed in the carriage by force and 
in this slender concession read proof positive of her father*s 
covert satisfaction at her having made up her mind to stay 
under the same roof with him. 

The day after his grandson's departure the old man got 
himself into full dress, and announced his intention of waiting 
on the general in command. His carriage was at the door, and 
his daughter could see him, blazing with orders, making his 
way to an alley in the grounds where he was about to review 
the peasants and servants whom he had put under arms. 
Sitting at her window she was listening to catch his various 
orders, when suddenly she saw some men running with faces of 
horror from the garden towards the house; she flew out, and 



The Invasion 3 1 1 

was just turning into the alley when she saw, coining towards 
ber^ a party of the militiamen, and in their midst her father, 
whom they were carrying along, while his helpless feet dragged 
in the gravel. She went forward; the dancing lights through 
the foliage of the lime-trees at first prevented her seeing clearly 
the change in his features. As she got closer it was a fearful 
shock: his hard, set expression had turned to one of weakness 
and humility. On seeing his daughter, his lips moved helplessly, 
but only gave out a hoarse, inarticulate sound. They carried 
him into his room, and laid him on the divan, which only lately 
had been to him the object of such frenzied horror. 

A doctor was fetched from the village, and sat with him all 
night. The whole right side, he said, was paralysed. As a 
residence at Lissy-Gory was every day more unsafe. Princess 
Maria had the invalid carried to Bogoutcharovo, and sent her 
little nephew to Moscow in the care of his tutor. 

The old man lived for three weeks in his son's house, still in 
the same state. His mind was gone; he lay motionless, almost 
lifeless, constantly murmuring inarticulate soimds; and it was 
impossible to tell whether or no he was aware of what was 
going on around him. He was evidently in pain, and seemed 
to wish to express some desire which no one could guess at. 
Was it some sick man's whim, or the fancy of a weak brain? 
Did he want to speak of business; his own or the country's? 
No one could discover. 

The doctor maintained that this irritation meant notliing, 
and was due solely to physical causes; but Princess Maria was 
sure that it was not so: and the old man's increased agitation 
when she was present confirmed her in this belief. There was 
no hope of his recovery, and to move him was impossible, for 
there would have been a risk of his dying on the road, " Oh ! 
and would not death be preferable to life in this state ? " thought 
Princess Maria. She never left him day or night, and, must it 
be confessed, she watched his slightest movements, not for a 
sign of improvement, but often, on the contrary, to read a warn- 
ing of the end. And what was still worse — ^nor could she conceal 
it from herself — since her father's illness all her secret aspirations 
and hopes, now so long set aside, had suddenly revived in her 
soul: dreams of an independent life, full of new joys, and freed 
from the yoke of her father's tyranny; of loving and being loved, 
and knowing the happiness of married life haunted her fancy 
like snares of the devil. In spite of every effort to drive them 
out she came back to them again and again, and often caught 



312 War and Peace 

herself picturing and planning an altogether difEerent existence 
when he should be gone. To resist temptation she had recourse 
to prayer^ kneeling and fixing her eyes on the images of the 
saints; but her devotions lacked fervour and faith. Her feel- 
ings were drawn away by another current — ^the tide of active 
life, harder^ but free, and in utter contrast to the moral atmo- 
sphere which had surrounded and imprisoned her till now. 
Prayer had hitherto been her one and sole consolation, now she 
was under the charm of a more practical life. 

There was some danger, too, in remaining even at Bogou- 
tcharovo; the French were coming nearer, and a neighbouring 
estate had just been laid waste by pillage. 

The doctor insisted that the sick man should be moved; the 
MarechdL de Noblesse even sent a special messenger begging 
Princess Maria to leave as soon as possible; the governor of the 
district came in person to tell her that there were French troops 
only forty versts away; " the enemy's proclamations had been 
sent out to all the neighbouring villages, and if she did not go 
immediately he could not answer for the consequences." 

She finally made up her mind to go on the 15th of August; 
the whole of the 14th was spent in giving orders and making 
preparations, and she passed the night, as usual, without un- 
dressing, in a little room next to her father's. She could not 
sleep, and frequently went to the door to listen; she heard him 
moaning and faintly groaning while Tikhone and the doctor 
lifted him and changed his position. She would have liked to 
go in, but fear held her back; she knew by experience how 
much any appearance of alarm annoyed her father, who always 
looked away when he saw her anxious eyes involuntarily fixed 
on him; and she knew that her intrusion in the middle of the 
night, at an unusual hour, would occasion extreme irritation. 
And yet she had never felt so pitifully towards him as at this 
minute. A complete revulsion had taken place in her feelings; 
she really dreaded losing him, and as she let her memory dwell 
on the long years they had spent together, his every act seemed 
to her fancy a proof of his affection. If a vision of her future 
liberty intruded on the pathetic retrospect she shut it out at 
once with horror as a suggestion of the evil one; at last, wearied 
out, and hearing no more stir, she fell asleep towards morning, 
and did not wake till late. 

The sharpening of apprehension, which often accompanies 
our awakening, at once brought home to her consciousness, the 
predominant tiiought of our life; she listened, and hearing 



The Invasion 313 

nothing but the usual constant munnur in the next room^ she 
said to herself, with a weary sigh: 

" Still the same thing — ^always the same! But what is it I 
want then, what else should it be? Do you wish him to die? " 
and she was disgusted with herself for involuntarily formulating 
the feeling. She hastily rose, made her toilet, said her prayers, 
and went out on the steps. The horses were being harnessed, 
and the last small baggage was being packed into &e carriage. 
It was a soft, dull morning; the doctor came up to her. 

" He seems a httle better this morning," he said. " I was 
looking for you; he speaks more intelligibly, and his head is 
clearer. Come, he has been asking for you." 

She turned pale, and leaned against the door-post. Her 
heart beat painfully; the mere idea of seeing hun and speaking 
to him, when she had just been indulging in such guilty thoughts, 
was a painful mixture of pleasure and misery and shame. 
" Come," said the doctor again. 

She followed him, and went close to her father's bed. He 
was lying on his back, propped up on pillows; his lean bony 
hands, with their network of knotted blue veins, were laid 
before him on the sheet; his left eye was glassy and fixed, the 
right drawn and haggard, his Hps and brow were set; his face 
was extraordinarily wrinkled, and his feeble, shrunken look 
was pitiably pathetic. His daughter kissed his hand; and his 
left hand pressed hers; he was evidently needing her. He did 
this once or twice, and his brow and lips quivered with im- 
patience. 

She looked at him in alarm. . . . What did he want? She 
placed herself where he could see her with his left eye, and he 
was calmer at once. Then he made a desperate effort to speak, 
and at last his tongue moved; at first in inarticulate sounds, 
but soon he pronounced a few words anxiously and painfully, 
and looking at his daughter with timid entreaty — he was so 
afraid of not being understood. The almost ludicrous difficulty 
he had in speaking made Princess Maria look down to hide the 
convulsive sobs she could scarcely control. He repeated the 
same syllables several times, but she vainly tried to gather 
their sense. The doctor at last thought he made out that he 
was asking her if she were afraid; but the prince shook his head. 
" He means that his mind is not easy," said Princess Maria, 
and her father with an affirmative nod drew her hand towards 
him, and pressed it to his breast, now here^ now there, as if 
trying to find the best place for it. 



314 W^^r and Peace 

'* I am always thinking of you/' he said^ ahnost distinctly, 
and glad to have been understood; then^ as she bowed her 
head to hide her tears^ he stroked her hair^ and said: 

" I called you all night." 

" If I had but known ... I was afraid to come in." 

He pressed her hand. " Then you were not asleep? " 

" No," she said, shaking her head. In spite of herself his 
weakness influenced her, she seemed to be tr3ang to speak as 
he did, and to have the same difficulty in expressing herself. 

"My little daughter," — or "my little darling "—he murmured. 
Princess Ufaria could not be quite sure which; but his look 
assured her that it was something tender and kind, a things she 
had never known before. " Why did you not come in ? " 

" And I was wishing him dead I " thought the poor girl. 

" Thank you, my child ! my dear child, thanks— for every- 
thing — forgive — ^thanks I " and two tears rolled from his eyes. 
" Call Andrioucha," he said, with a sudden puzzled look. 

" I have had a letter from him," replied Maria. He looked 
at her in surprise. 

"Why, where is he?" 

" With the army, father, at Smolensk." 

Then there was a long silence; he lay with his eyes shut, 
but presently he reopened them and nodded, as much as to say 
that he knew now and remembered everything. 

" Yes," he said, slowly and distinctly. " Russia is lost — 
they have lost her I " and he sobbed. 

He grew calmer, however, and closed his eyes, making a 
slight motion of Ins hand, which Tikhone understood, for he 
wiped the old man's tears away, while he murmured again some 
confused words. Was he speaJcing of Russia, of his son, his 
grandson, his daughter? No one could make out. A happy 
inspiration helped Tikhone: " Go and put on your white gown; 
I like it ..." 

" That is it," said the prince, turning to Princess Maria. 

At these words she broke into such a violent fit of weeping 
that the doctor led her out of the room to recover herself, and 
to finish the arrangements for their departure. The old prince 
went on talking — of his son, the war, the czar, frowning angrily, 
and raising his hoarse, feeble voice, till suddenly a second and 
final stroke of paralysis silenced him. 

The day had cleared, the sun was brilliant; but Princess 
Maria, standing on the balcony, was not thinking of it; she was 



The Invasion 315 

conscious of nothing but a sudden gush of tenderness for he^ 
father^ whom she had never in her life loved as she did at this 
xnoment. She went down the steps- and towards the pond? 
across the avenue of lime-trees that her brother had lately 
planted. 

"' Yes^ I wished him dead!" she exclaimed aloud in her 
agitation. " I wanted it to end quickly that I might rest. — 
But what good will rest be to me when he is gone? . . . ." 

She walked round the garden and back to the house^ and as 
she went up to the door she saw coming towards her a stranger 
walking with Mademoiselle Bourrienne^ who had refused to 
leave Bogoutcharovo. The gentleman was the Marechal de 
Noblesse, who had come in person to impress on Princess Maria 
the need for departing. She listened^ but she did not heed^ 
asked him into the dining-room^ offered him breakfast, and 
gave him a seat by her side. But a minute after she got up 
again and went to her father's room. The doctor stood in the 
doorway. 

*' You cannot come in princess — go — go away," he said, 
authoritatively. She went back into the garden and sat down 
on the very edge of the pond, where she could not be seen from 
the house. How long she remained there she never knew. 
Suddenly a sound of hasty footsteps on the gravel roused her 
from her reverie; it was Douniacha, her maid, who had been 
sent to look for her, and who stopped short, startled at seeing 
her there. 

" Come, princess, — ^the prince . . ." 

" Coming, — 1 am coming," cried Princess Maria, who set off 
running towards the house without waiting for the maid to 
finish her sentence. 

" Princess," said the doctor, who was waiting for her at 
the entrance, " God's will be done ! — ^You must bear it and 
submit 1 " 

" It is not true — cleave me, leave me I " she cried, desperately. 

The doctor tried to hold her back, but she pushed lum aside 
and passed on. 

" Why do they all try to stop me, why do they all look so 
frightened? " thought she. " I do not want them; what are 
they all doing here? " 

She threw open the door of her father's room; it was flooded 
with light now, whereas it had always been kept darkened; a 
feeling of intense terror came over her. The old nurse and some 
other women were standing round the bed; they stood aside a^ 



3 1 6 War and Peace 

she came in, and as they separated she could see the stem^ calm 
face of the dead. She stood rooted on the threshold. 

" He is not dead — ^it is*impossible ! " said she to herself. 

Controlling her terrors with a great effort she went to the bed 
and pressed her lips to her father's cheek; but the contact made 
her shudder and start back; all the tender feeling that had 
surged up in her soul vanished before the horror and dread of 
that which lay before her. 

^^ He is gone, he is gone, — and this horrible thing is in his 
place ! — ^A dreadful mystery that freezes and horrifies me ! " 
murmured the poor woman. . . . She covered her face with 
her hands and fell senseless into the arms of the doctor, who 
had followed her. 

The doctor and Tikhone superintended while the old women 
laid out the body. They tied up the jaw that it might not 
stiffen with the mouth open, and fastened the legs together to 
keep them straight. They dressed the prince in his uniform 
with all his decorations and laid him on a table. Everything 
went on as usual in such cases. The coffin was ready by night- 
fall, as if by magic; the pall was laid over it, wax-tapers were 
lighted all round; the floor was strewn with juniper, and the 
reader began intoning the Psalms. The neighbours, and even 
many strangers came in numbers and crowded round the cofEn 
— for all the world like horses that shy and tremble at the sight 
of a dead horse, for they, too, were afraid — the Marechal de 
Noblesse, the village overseer, the women of the household and 
farms, gazed with round eyes and panic-stricken faces, and 
crossed themselves before kissing their patron's cold stiff hand. 



CHAPTER XXXIX 

The old prince had never had any liking for Bogoutcharovo; 
the peasants were quite imlike those of Lissy-Gory in language, 
costume and manners; they always said that they were origin- 
ally natives of the steppes. The prince did full justice to their 
laborious habilS, and would have thetti over to Lissy-Gory for 
the harvest, or to dig a pond or a ditch; but he did not like 
them on accoimt of their rough manners. Prince Andrew's 
residence among them, his reforms, his schools, his mitigation 
of the taxes, instead of civilising them had only fostered the 
native rusticity, which their old master alwa3rs said was their 



The Invasion 317 

most characteristic trait. The most extraordinary fables found 
credence among them: at one time they believed that they 
were all to be enlisted as Cossacks on service^ and were to be 
made to accept a new religion; then^ remembering the oath 
made to Paul I., in 1797, they would discuss the freedom he 
would have secured to them and which the owners of the fiefs 
had denied them; while some expected the return of Peter III., 
who was to rise again to govern in seven years' time. Then all 
would be free; everything would be legitimate^ and reduced to 
such simple elements that there would be no laws at all ! Mean- 
while the war with Napoleon and the French invasion were 
bound up in their minds with their confused notions of Anti- 
Christ, the end of the world, and full and perfect liberty. 

There were in the neighbourhood of Bogoutcharovo some 
large viDages belonging to private owners or to the crown, but 
the proprietors rarely lived on their estates; consequently there 
were but few house-serfs, or men knowing how to read and 
write, so that among this peasantry the myths of national 
popular romance, whose origin is so often a mystery to the 
contemporary writer, had a particularly deep and contagious 
effect. For instance, about twenty years previously, the pea- 
sants of Bogoutcharovo, led away by those of the adjoining 
country, had migrated as one man, like a flock of birds of 
passage, to the south-east, to find certain fabulous streajns 
whose waters were said to be alwa}rs hot. Hundreds of families 
sold eveigrthing they possessed and set out in caravans; some 
bought their freedom, others simply ran away. Numbers of 
•these poor wretches were severely punished and sent to Siberia, 
others perished on the way from frost and want of food; the 
rest came back, and the movement calmed down and died out, 
as it had begun, without any apparent cause. 

At the present moment, in the same way, certain similar no- 
tions were abroad among the peasants; and those who had any 
intimate dealings with the populace knew full well that in 1812 
it was pondering over various mysterious influences, which only 
needed a favourable opportunity to act with direct and increased 
violence. 

Alpatitch, who had moved to Bogoutcharovo #nly a few days 
before the old prince's death, noticed an obscure ferment among 
the serfs there, whose manners and ways were curiously unlike 
those of their brethren at Lissy-Gory, though they were only 
sixty versts apart. While, at Lissy-Gory, the peasants were 
ready to desert their homes and leave them to the tender 



5x8 



War and Peace 



mercies of plundering Cossacks^ here they dung to the soil and 
kept up a correspondence with the French; nay^ some of 
Napoleon's proclamations were to be seen in their hands. The 
old steward had learned^ through some faithfully devoted ser- 
vants^ that a man named Karp^ who was very influential among 
his equals^ and who had just come back from driving a train 
of crown cattle^ was tellii^ his friends that the Cossacks were 
destroying all the villages that had been deserted^ while the 
French^ on the contrary, respected them. He was told, too, 
that another peasant had brought from the nearest town a 
proclamation hx)m a French general, which stated that no harm 
would be done to those who remained in their houses, that 
ready money would be paid for everything that was taken; and 
to prove his statement he displayed the loo-rouble notes he had 
received for his hay. — ^How could he know that the notes were 
forgeries? 

Finally — and this was the most important point of all — 
Alpatitch found out that, on the very day when he had ordered 
the overseer of the village to levy a due supply of carts and 
horses to move Princess Maria's luggage, the peasants had met 
in council and announced their determination to disregard the 
order, and not to stir out of the village. But there was no 
time to be lost; the Marechal de Noblesse, who had come on 
purpose to Bogoutcharovo, had insisted that the princess must 
leave at once, sa3dng that he would not answer for her safety 
beyond the next day — ^the 17th (29th) of August; in fact, in 
spite of his promise to attend the prince's funeral, he was pre- 
vented doing so by a sudden march on the part of the French, 
which only gave him time to carry off his family and a few of 
his more precious possessions. 

Drone, the overseer or starosia, whom his deceased master 
had always called Dronouchka, had now for nearly thirty years 
been at the head of the hamlet of Bogoutcharovo. He was one 
of those men — ^Hercules in mind as much as in body — ^who, 
having once come to man's estate, live to be seventy without a 
grey hair or a lost tooth, as strong and vigorous as they were 
at thirty. 

Drone had been invested with his functions as headman of 
the village soon after the famous exodus of the " hot waters," 
in which he had started with the rest; he had now filled the 
post with blameless integrity for twenty-three years. The serfs 
. feared him even more than they did their master, who treated 
him with respect and called him in jest '' the prime minister.'* 



The Invasion 3 1 9 

Drone had never been known to be ailing xyf dnink ; never did he 
seem to be tired in spite of the most exhausting labour and 
nights witiiout sleep; and^ though he could neither read nor 
write^ he never made a mistake in his accounts^ nor in the 
number of poods of flour which he carried in huge waggon-loads 
to sell in the neighbouring town, nor the quantity of wheat 
yielded by the fields round Bogoutcharovo. It was to this man 
that Alpatitch gave the order to supply twelve horses for 
Princess Maria's carriages, and eighteen carts with beasts to 
convey the furniture and luggage. Although the serfs* dues 
were paid in money, Alpatitch did not suppose that there could 
be any difficulty in executing this demand, since the village 
contained two hundred and thirty households, most of them in 
easy circumstances. But Drone simply looked down and said 
nothing as he listened to these instructions, which Alpatitch 
supplemented by telling him to which of the serfs he had best 
apply for the necessary horses and vehicles. The starosta 
replied that the horses belonging to the men he named were 
out. The steward mentioned some others. 

*' They have no horses now; they have hired them out to 
the government," replied Drone; " as for the rest, they are 
worn out with work, and bad food has killed a great many; so 
it is impossible to collect even enough for the carriages, much 
less for the baggage-carts." 

Alpatitch, greatly surprised, looked fixedly at Drone. If 
Drone were a pattern overseer, he on his part was a first-rate 
steward; he understood at once that these replies were not 
the expression of Drone's own feeling, but of that of the com- 
mune, which was evidently carried away by a tide of new 
notions. He knew, too, that the peasants hated Drone, as a^ 
serf richer than themselves, and that at heart the overseer was 
lialting between two camps — the owners and the serfs: of this 
he saw the symptoms in his undecided looks. He went up to 
his subaltern with despotic impatience: 

" Listen to me," he said. " No more nonsense of this kind ! 
His excellency Prince Andrew gave me orders to see you all 
off the place that there may be no collusion with the enemy. 
Indeed, the czar has issued orders to that effect. Those who 
stop to bargain with the enemy are traitors — do you under- 
stand?" 

' ' I understand," said Drone, without looking up. 

But Alpatitch was not satisfied. 

" Drone, Drone," he said, " this will bring you to no good," 



3 20 War and Peace 

and he shook his head. " Be advised by me; Do not be 
obstinate. — ^I can see straight through you^ I can even see 
three archines under your feet, and you know it ! " He took 
his hand out of his waistcoat and flourished it theatrically 
towards the ceiling. Drone looked at him askance, not without 
uneasiness, but at once fixed his eyes on the floor again. '' Throw 
over all this folly; tell them all to pack up their chattels and 
start at once for Moscow. . . . And mind the carts are here 
to-morrow morning for Princess Maria. — ^As for you, do not go 
to the meeting again. Do you hear? " 

Drone fell on his knees. 

" Takow Alpatitch, in Grod's name take the keys yourself." 

" I simply tell you," Alpatitch repeated, sternly, " to give 
up your scheme. You know I can see into the earth under 
your feet." 

For his skill in the management of bees, and in knowing the 
precise moment for sowing oats, with his twenty years of service 
under the old prince, had, as he knew, gained him a reputation 
as a sorcerer. Drone got up again and was about to speak, 
but Alpatitch stopped him. 

" Come, tell me what you have got into your head? Heh? 
What did you really hope to do? " 

"But what am I to do with the villagers?" said Drone; 
" they will not listen to reason, I have told them . . . ." 

" Are they drinking? " 

" They are quite unmanageable, Jakow Alpatitch; they have 
staved in a second barrel." 

" Well, then, listen to .me. I will go and fetch the head of 
the police, and you meanwhile go and tell them to have done 
with all this nonsense and And carts." 

" Very good," replied Drone. 

Jakow Alpatitch said no more; he had ruled over the peasantn' 
too long not to be well aware that the best way to win was not 
to admit the possibility of resistance. So he feigned to be 
satisfied with Drone's submissipn ; but he nevertheless took steps 
to secure the support of the authorities. 

The evening came, but no carts. A noisy crowd had met 
outside the village tavern, and decided unanimously on refusing 
to supply them and on turning all the horses loose in the forest. 
Alpatitch therefore at once gave orders that the vehicles which 
had brought his goods from Lissy-Gory should be unloaded, 
and his horses kept ready for Princess Maria, while he hurried 
ofl to apprise the district authorities of the state of affairs. 



The Invasion 3^1 

Prisicoi Maria had kept her room since her father's fmieral^ 
and had not admitted a soul to see her^ when her maid came^ 
and speaking through the closed door told her that Alpatitch 
wished to have her ordera as to her departure. This was before 
his interview with Drone. The princess was lying on the sofa, 
quite broken-hearted, and she answered thatf she was not going 
to leave Bogoutcharovo at all — ^not to-day — ^never; and only 
bagged to be left in peace. Stretched at full length, with her 
face to the wall, her fingers wandered idly over the leather 
cushion on which her head rested, mechanically counting the 
buttons, while her unccmtrolled thoughts came back again and 
again to the same set of ideas: Death, the irrevocableness of 
God's decrees, the sinfulness of her own soul — ^the sinfulness of 
which she had been conscious during her lather's illness, and 
which kept her from praying. . • . Thus die.remained a limg 
time. 

Her room faced the south, and the rays of the setting sun 
fell aslant through the windows; they laiddenly lighted up the 
cushion on which her eyes were fixed, and diverted the current 
of her thoughts; she rose, smoothed har hair, and instinctively 
breathed more freely in the f redi evening breeze. 

" So you may enjoy the beauty of the ^sky in peace now? " 
she said to herself. " He is dead — no one will interfere with 
you ior the future! " She sank into a chair and laid her head 
on the windbw-silL 

She presently heard her name spoken again in an afiFectionate 
tone; turning round she saw Ifodemoiselle Bourrienne, in a 
li^ack dress with deep white cufig, who came up to her, kissed 
her, and melted into tears. Prmcess Maria remembered all 
her past disUke, all her jeahousy of the French woman, and the 
chai^ that had taken place in her father during tiiese last 
weel^ when he would not have Mademoisdle Bourrienne come 
near him. ** Was not that sufiicient proof of the injustice of 
my suspicions? What right have I — ^I who wished him dead — 
to judge my neighbour? " An{^ vivid picture rose up in her 
mind of her companion's paonfiil position, treated by her with 
marked coldness, d^>endent n^rerthdess on her kindness, and 
obliged to live under a stranger's zuof in a foreign land. Pity 
gained the day; she looked up timidly and held out her hand. 
Mademoiselle BourrieKme grasped it eagerly and kissed it, 
weeping; then she dilated on the terrible loss they both had 
suffered: " The {»inoess's permission that she should share her 
sorrow, their reconciliation under this common loss would be 
n r 



322 War and Peace 

her only consolation. Her conscience was clear— and he^ pow 
above, would surely do justice to her affection and gratitude ! " 
Princess Maria heard the sound of her voice with vague satis^ 
faction, and looked up at her now and then, but paid no parti- 
cular heed to what she was sa3ang. 

" Dear princess," Mademoiselle Bourrienne went on, " I 
understand that you have not thought — ^that you cannot yet 
think of yourself; my feelings compel me to think for you. — 
Has Alpatitch spoken to you of leaving? " 

Princess Maria did not answer; her mind was too bewildered 
to take in what was said, or who it was that was to leave. 

"Leaving? Why? What do I care now? "she was thinking 
to herself. 

" Perhaps you do not know, dear Maria, that we are not safe 
here; we are surrounded by the French. — ^If we were to set out 
we should undoubtedly be stopped, and God alone knows. . . ." 
Princess Maria looked at her blankly. 

" Oh! if only you could know how utterly I do not care. I 
am not going away from him. . . . Talk to Alpatitch about it 
if you like. I will have nothing to say to it." 

" I have talked to him about it. He hopes to get us off 
to-morrow; but in my opinion we had better stay where we 
are; it would be too dreadful to fail into the. hands of the troops 
or of the insurgent peasantry! " And she drew out of her 
pocket a proclamation issued by General Rameau, advising the 
inhabitants not to desert their homes, and promising them, if 
they remained, the protection of the French authorities. ^^ It 
seems to me that we cannot do better than apply to this general, 
for he win certainly treat us with all possible consideration." 

Princess Maria read the paper and her face changed spas- 
modically. 

" Where did you get this? " she asked. 

" They probably heard that I was French ! " said Mademoiselle 
Bourrienne, reddening. 

Princess Maria, without another word, left the room, went 
into her brother's study and called Douniacha. 

" Send Alpatitch or Drone to speak to me," she said, " I do 
not care which; and tell. Amalia Karlovna (Mademoiselle 
Bourrienne) that I wish to be alonc^-rWe must go^^-^ as soon 
as possible ! " she exclaimed, horror-stricken at the idea of any 
dealings with the French. 

'' What would Prince Andrew say if such a thing were to 
happen? The mere thought that she, the daughter of Prince 



The Invasion 323 

Nicholas BoHconsky^ should ask prdtectipn of General Rameau 
and lay herself under obligations to him^ made her shudder and 
tiim pale and red with outraged pride and anger. Her imagina- 
tion conjured up every detail of the humihation she must 
endure:. "The French would make themselves at home here, 
in this house, in this room — ^and turn over his letters and papers 
to amuse themselves; Mademoiselle Bourrienne would do the 
honours, and in their charity they would give me a comer to 
shelter inl . . . The soldiers would tear open my father's 
newly-made grave to steal his crosseis and orders ! . . . I should 
hear them boasting of their victories over the Russians, and 
expressing their false sympathy with my sorrows ! " She in- 
stinctively adopted the feelings and views of her father and 
brother; ior was she not their representative, and must she not 
behave as they would have behaved in similar circumstances? 
And as she sat tr3ring to form a clear idea of the situation, the 
exigencies of Hfe — ^the need, nay the desire to live> which she 
had believed that her father's death had crushed out of her for 
ever, suddenly rushed back upon her with renewed force. 

Greatly disturbed and excited, she catechised old Tikhone 
and the architect, but neither of them could tell her whether 
Mademoiselle Bourrienne had spoken the truth as to the vicinity 
of the French. The architect was half asleep, and would only 
smile and answer vaguely without committing himself to an 
opinion—^ habit he had acquired during fifteen years of sub- 
serviency to the old prince. Tikhone's sad and weary face wore 
a stricken look of grief, but he answered all the princess's 
questions with dull submission; the sight of her seemed to in- 
crease his sorrow. At last Drone came into the room, bowed 
to the ground and stood in the doorway. 

" Dronouchka," she said, addressing him as an old and faith- 
ful friend — for was he not the good Dronouchka who, when she 
was a child, had never failed to bring her home gingerbread 
whenever he came from the fair at Viazma, and to give it her 
with a smile. — ** Dronouchka, to-day, after the misfortune . . ." 
tears choked her utterance. 

" We are all under the right arm of God! " said Drone, with 
a sigh. 

" Dronouchka,'^ she begun again with an effort, " Alpatitch is 
away; I have no one to turn to— -tell me, is it true, as I hear, 
that we cannot get away." 

" Why not, princess — you can always get away." 

'' I am assured that it would be dangerous to attempt it, on 






324 War and Peace 

iccount of ttkt enemy; and I^ my good friand^ kacMr aotdung; 
I do not understand — ^I am quite alone . . . Bat I feel I 
mast go as soon as possible; to-nigbt, or by daybreak 
to-morrow.'^ 

Drone did not at once reply^ but stole a gfamce mt her. Then 
he said: 

** There are no horses ; I toid Jakow Alpatitdi so just now/' 
Why not?" 

It is the hand of God^ to punish us. Some have been taken 
by the troops^ some are dead — it has been a bad year. And the 
horses would not so mud) matter if we da not die of hunger 
oursdves. — ^For tiffee days sometimes there is nothing to eat. — 
We are ruined, all- rained." 

^' The peasants aie ruined? Have tiiey no more com?" 
asked Princess Maana, in astonishment. 

'^ Theace is nothing for it but to die of hunger/' Drone 
repeated. '^ As to carts, there a]« ncme." 

*^ Why was I not txAd, Dronouchka? Can we not he^ them? 
I will do all I can. . . .'* 

It seemed so strange to her that at a time when her heart was 
tender and overflowing with grief, the rich and the poor shookl 
be dwelling side by side and the rich doing nodiing to succour 
the poor. She had a general idea that there was always a 
reserve of com, and that this reserve was distributed on occasion 
to the serfs; she knew, too, that neither her father nor her 
brother would have refused to give it to their serfs in need^ and 
she was ready to take the responsibility on herself : 

*'We have com bdonging to the master, to ray brazier, 
have we not?^ she went on, tmxious to know how matters 
really stood. 

''The master's com has not been toudiedl'^ said Drone, 
proudly. " The prince said it was not to be sold." 

** Then give the serfs what they need. I autiiorise you to do 
so in my brother's name." Drone only sighed. " Give it all 
away if necessary; and tell them^ in my brother's name, that 
all we have is theirs too." 

Drone gazed at her in silence. 

" For God's sake, little mother," he cried at last, " de{»ive 
me of my place. Tell me to give up the keys; I have done my 
dtrty honesdy for twenty-t£ree y^sa^t ^ • • Take' bade tfaie 
keys I entreat you I " 

Princess Maria, startled, and not understanding tlie cause of 
his request, assured him tibat ^e had never doubted his fidelity. 



The Invasion 325 

and would do everything in her power for him/ and for the 
peasants^ and then she dismissed hun. 

An hour later Doimiacha came to tell her mistress that Drone 
had returned to say that he had assembled the serfs by the 
princess's orders^ and that they were waiting tiU she came. 

'* But I never sent for them I" said Princeas Maria quite 
amazed. *' I merely desired Drone to distribute some com«" 

" Then^ princess^ our mother^ send them away without going 
out to them," said Douniacha. " They are deceiving you, and 
that is the whole matter. When Jakow Alpatitch comes back 
we shall get away quite quietly; but for God's sake do not go 
out and show yourself." 

" They are deceiving me, do you say? " 

'^ I am sure of it. Ask old nurse, she will tell you the same 
thing: they do not want to leave Bogoutcharovo; that is their 
notion." 

" No, no, you are mistaken, you have misunderstood. — ^Fetdi 
in Drone." 

Drone said, as Douniad^ had said, that he had assembled 
the peasants by the princess's orders. 

" But, Drone, I never gave such an order; I desired you to 
distribute com and nothing more." 

Drone sighed: "They will go away again if you wish it," 
he said, hesitatingly. 

** No, no. I will go out and explain matters myself." — ^And 
Princess Maria went down the steps, in spite of the entreaties of 
Douniacha and the old nurse, who followed a little way behind 
her with the architect: 

" They fancy, I daresay, that I am giving them the com to 
bribe them to remain here, while I go odi and leave them to the 
tender mercies of the French," said she to herself, as she walked 
on. '* But I will tell them, on the contrary, that they will find 
houses and provisions, too, on the Moscow estate . . » Andrew, 
I am sure, would have done even more in my place." 

There was a stir in the assembled crowd as/ she appeared on 
the scene, and they instinctively took oflE their hats. It was 
quite dusk; Princess Maria walked on, looking at the ground; 
the heavy folds of her black dress encumbered her steps; she 
stopped in front of the mixed mass of faces old and yoong; 
their number intimidated her; and prevented her recognising 
them. She did not know what she had meant to say. Finally, 
controlling her hesitancy with an effort, her sense of dnty gave 
her presence of mind. 



326 



War and Peace 



" I am glad to see you all here/' she began^ without looking 
up^ and her heart beat painfully. '^ Dronouchka tells me that 
the war has ruined you; we have all fared alike. You may 
rely on my doing all that lies in my power to help and relieve 
you. I must go, for the enemy is coming nearer . . . and 
besides — ^but in short, my friends, I give you everything. Take 
our com. I only care that you should not want! If any one 
tells you that I gave it you as a briSe to stay here, it is false. 
On the contrary, I implore you to leave, carry oflE all that you 
have, and go to our estate near Moscow. There, I promise you, 
you shall want for nothing — ^you shall find food and lodging." 

She paused and sighs rose here and there from the crowd. 

" I am acting on behalf of my dear father. He was a good 
master, you know," she added, " and of his son — my brother." 

She paused again; no one spoke. 

" The same misfortune has fallen on us all, so let us share all 
that is left to us. What is mine is yours," she ended, and she 
looked in their faces. Their eyes were fixed on her and every 
face wore the same expression — ^an expression which she could 
not read. Was it curiosity, devotion, gratitude, fear? Im- 
possible to discover. 

" We are grateful to you for your kindness," said a voice at 
last. " But we will not have his highness's com." 

" Why not? " said Princess Maria. No reply. She noticed 
that their eyes fell before hers, and repeated: " Why do you 
refuse it? " Still silence. She felt that she was getting 
agitated; but turning to an old man resting on his staJS, she 
addressed herself directly to him: "Why didn't you answer? 
Is there anything else I can do for you? " The old man looked 
away and bendmg as low as he could he muttered: "Why 
should we take it? We do not want com? You want us to 
sacrifice and leave everything, and we do not choose to do so." 

" Go— go by yourself!" said several voices, and the same 
expression sat on their faces: it was neither curiosity nor 
gratitude, that was quite clear, but an angry and obstinate 
determination. 

"You have not understood my meaning," said Princess 
Maria with a melancholy smile. " Why do you object to go 
when I promise you that you shall be lodged and fed? — ^If you 
stay here the enemy will min you." 

But the cries and murmurs of the crowd drowned her voice. 

" We will not stir. — ^Let them ruin us. — ^We do not want your 
com, we refuse to take it I '* 



The Invasion 327 

Princess Maria tried vainly to make herself heard; this in- 
conceivable obstinacy surprised and frightened her; ^e bowed 
her head and slowly bent her steps towards the house. 

" She thought she could take us in, did she? — She is a sly 
one, she is! — Why should she want us to abandon the village? 
— ^Let her keisp her com, we don't want it !" cried one and 
another, while Drone, who had followed his mistress, was taking 
her orders. She was more than ever determined to quit the 
place, and repeated her commands that horses should be found; 
then she withdrew to her own room again, where she lost 
herself once more in painful reflections. 

She sat for a long time that night with her elbows on the 
window-sill. A confusion of voices came up from the insur- 
gent village; but she had ceased to think about the serfs, and 
did not care to guess at the meaning of their strange conduct. 
The anxieties of the present drove out the bitter regrets that 
had been haunting her; and the overwhelming sense of her 
sorrow and of the loneliness which forced her to act for herself 
almost kept her from remembering, weeping, or praying. The 
breeze had died away after sunset, and night spread still and 
restful over the face of nature. The hubbub of voices gradually 
died away; then the cock crew as the full moon slowly rose 
above the lime-trees in the garden. Mists of dew shrouded the 
more distant objects and peace reigned' in the village and in the 
house. 

Princess Maria sat there dreaming: of the past — so lately 
past, of her father's illness and last moments — still keeping far 
from her the scene of his death which she felt she had not the 
courage to face in all its details at this silent and mysterious 
hour. She remembered the night just before his attack; that 
night some presentiment of evS had kept her late by the sick 
man's bed in spite of his wish. She had not slept, and had 
gone on tiptoe to listen at the door opening into the greenhouse 
whither her father's bed had been moved that night. Then 
she had heard him talking in a feeble voice to Tikhone. She 
was sure he had wanted some one to talk to: " Why did he not 
send for me? Why would he never allow me to take Tikhone's 
place and sit with him? — I ought to have gone in boldly, for I 
am sure I heard him speak my name twice; he was weary and 
out of spirits, and Tikhone could not know! . . ." And the 
poor soul repeated aloud the last few tender words her father 
had spoken to her on the day of his death, and burst into sobsi 
This relieved her aching heart. She could see every feature 



328 War and Peace 

of his faoe — ^not as she had seen it ever since her iafancy^ the 
lace which terrified her^ however iar off; but that thin face 
with its piteous, submissive look over which she had bent to 
hear what he was marmurioig, close Anough, for the first time, 
to count the deep lines in it. 

'* What could he mean wh&x he called me ' his little darling? ' 
What is he thinking of laow? " she wandered. A sudden craze 
of terror came over her as when her lips had touched his cheek, 
cold in death. She fancied she saw iiim as she had seen him 
last, lyii^ in his coffin with his Uuct bound up; and the terror 
and invincible horror that the picture inspired, made her 
tremble from head to foot. She tned in vain to shake it off by 
prayer; with widely starmg eyes fixed on the moon-hghted 
landscape and the black shadows, she expected to see the hideous 
vision rise before her. Still she was riveted to the spot by the 
solemn silence and magic charm of the night; she felt petrified. 

^' Douniacha,'' she murmured. ''Douniachal" she cried 
hoarsely with a desperate effort. — ^Then, tearing herself free 
from the spell, she ran out of the room, meeting the women- 
servants who came huixyuig up at her cry. 



CHAPTER XL 

Ok the 17th (29th) of August, Rostow and Dine, accompanied 
by Lavrouchka, — ^who, as we have seen, had been dismissed by 
Napoleon — amounted to ride out firom their bivouac at Jankovo, 
about fifteen versts from Bogoutcharovo, to try some horses 
Iline had just purchased and find fodder in the neighbouring 
villages. For ^e last three diys the hostile annies had lain 
about equally dbtant from Bogoutcharovo; the French and 
Russian advanced guard might at any moment come into 
collision there; so Rostow, as a captain careful of his men's 
wants, was anxious to be the first to lay hands on the victuals 
that rnight probably be found there. Rostow and Iline, both 
in capital spirits, also looked forward to having some fun with 
the pretty servant-girls, who would very likely have remained 
behind at the prince's chateau. 

As they went they catechised Lavrouchka concerning 
Napoleon, laughing heartily at his story, or they ran races to 
test the quality of their newly-acquired steeds. Rostow had no 
suspicion that the vilkige through whidi they were riding 



« 



The Invasion ^29 

belonged to the tnan who had been so near manying Natacha. 
He had outridden Iline^ who, on overtaking Rostow^ reproached 
him for leaving him so far behind. 

"Why," cned Lavroucyca, "if I had not been afraid of 
putting you to shame I could have distanced you both^ for this 
Frenchy" — ^as he called the beast he was riding — "is a real 
wonder! " They now drew in, and rode at an easy pace up to 
a bam round which a crowd of peasants had assembled. 

Some of the men took their hats off when they saw the 
officers; others merely stared. Two tall old serfs witii wrinkled 
faces and shabby beards caitie hiccuping out of the tavern, and 
staggered towards them, singing at the top of their voices. 
These are nice folks ! " said Rostow. " Have you any hay ? " 
And as like as they can stare? " added Iline. 

" A joU-ly, jolly fell-1-low," sang one of the old men with a 
bland smile. 

" And who are you? " asked a peasant in the crowd, address- 
ing Rostow. 

"We are French!" said Iline with a laugh. "This is 
Napoleon himself — " and he pointed to Lavrouchka. 

" Get along! You are Russians," said the man. 

" Are there many of you behind? " asked another. 

" Yes — ^a strong force," said Rostow. " But what are you 
all doing out here ? Is it a holiday ? " 

" The elders have met to discuss the affairs of the commune," 
said the serf, and he moved away. 

At this instant two women and a man with a white hat came 
towards them, along the high road. 

"The rose is mine! Beware of touching it!" cried Iline, 
seeing one of the girls come boldly towards him: it was Dou- 
niadia. " What do you want, pretty one? " he added, smiling. 

" The princess wishes to know your name and that of your 
regiment." 

" This is Count Rostow^ captain of hussars; as for me, I am 
your obedient humble servant." 

" A jolly fel-1-low," the tipsy serf repeated, gazing at them 
with stolid curiosity. Douniacha was followed by Alpatitch, 
who was standing hat in hand. 

" May I trouble your highness for a moment," he began, 
putting his hand inside his waistcoat with a polite flourish not 
immixed with contempt, perhaps for the officer's extreme youth. 
" My mistress, the daughter of General Prince Nicholas Bolkon- 
sky, lately deceased^ is in a very critical position — and it is all 



330 War and Peace 

owing to the brutality of these rpffians/' he added^ referring to 
the mob that had gathered round them. '^ She begs you will 
go to speak with her — it is only a few steps further on^ and will 
be pleasanter, I think. . . ." And he pointed to the two 
drunkards who were spinning round like gadflies about the 
horses. 

''Ah! Jakow Alpatitchl It is you yourself. You must 
excuse us^ you must excuse us/' they said^ still smiling idioti- 
cally. Rostow could not help looking at them and smiling as 
they did. 

' " Unless, to be sure, they amuse your excellency! " observed 
Alpatitch loftily. 

** No, there is nothing amusing in such a sight," said Rostow, 
moving on. " What is the matter here? " 

" I have the honour of 'explaining to your excellency that 
these low creatures will not allow fiieir mistress to quit the 
property, and are threatening to take her horses out of the 
shafts. Everything has been packed since the morning, and 
the princess cannot start." 

" Impossible! " exclaimed Rostow. 

" It is the exact truth, excellency." 

Rostow dismounted and gave his horse in charge to his 
orderly; then, questioning the steward as he went, he made his 
way to the house. Princess Maria's oflEer of com on the previous 
evening, and her discussion with Drone, had made matters so 
much worse that Drone had definitely gone over to the serfs, 
had given up his keys to the steward, and refused to obey his 
summons. When the princess had given orders that the horses 
should be put to, the peasants came up in a mob and declared 
that they would take them out again and keep her there, " for 
every one," they said, " was forbidden to desert his home." 
Alpatitch had tried in vain to make them hear reason. Drone 
had kept out of sight, but Karp had repeated that they would 
oppose Princess Maria's departure since it was contrary to 
orders: but that if she remained they would serve and obey her 
as they had always done. 

Princess Maria, however, had made up her mind to go, in 
spite of the arguments of Alpatitch, of the nurse and the other 
women; the horses were actually being harnessed when the 
sight of Rostow and Iline, cantering along the high road, turned 
all their heads; the stable-men, taking them for the French, 
fled as fast as their legs would carry them, and the house rang 
with lamentations. So Rostow was hailed as a deliverer. 



The Invasion 331 

He wtot into the drawing-room where Princess Maria^ scared 
and terrified^ was awaiting her doom. She had lost the powet 
to think even^ and at first could scarcely understand who he 
was, and why he had come. But his appearance and manner^ 
and the first words he spoke, suflGiced to reassure her and show 
her that he was her fellow-countryman, and a man of her own 
rank* in life. She ^azed at him with her large pathetic eyes^ 
and addressed him m a husky and trembling voice. 

"What strange freak of fate/' thought Rostow to himself, 
" has thrown me in the way of this poor soul, crushed with 
grief and left unprotected, at the mercy of a mob of coarse 
insurgent serfs? " He could not help colouring the picture 
with a hue of romance, and he looked at her with much interest 
while she told her story. *^ What sweetness and dignity in her 
expression and features ! " 

When she told him of the scene that had taken place on the 
day after her father's funeral her feelings were too much for 
her; she turned away as if she feared he might think she was 
trying to excite his pity beyond reason. But when she saw 
tears sparkling in his eyes, too, she thanked him with a grateful 
look — one of tiiose full, deep looks which redeemed her ugliness. 

" I cannot* tell you, princess, how sincerely glad I am of the 
chance that has brought me here and which allows me to put 
myself entirely at your service. You can start at once — ^I give 
you my word of honour no one shall dare hinder you. I only 
ask your permission to serve as your escort. . . ." He bowed 
as low as if she had been a princess of the blood, and led the 
way to the door. 

His respectful politeness seemed to imply that he would gladly 
have made further acquaintance with her, but that delicacy 
forbade his taking advantage of her difficult position and her 
sorrow to prolong the interview. Princess Maria herself under- 
stood it so. 

" I am most grateful to you," she said in French. " I still 
hope that I have been the victim of no more than a nusunder- 
standing; and above all I hope you will find no one actually 
guilty." She broke down into tears. " Pray forgive me," she 
added quickly. 

Rostow himself had to hide his emotion, and after bowing 
once more he went out. 

"Well, is she pretty? Mine, the Rose, is delicious! Her 
name is Douniacha," cried Iline, as Rostow returned. But the 
expression of his face silenced him; his captain and hero was 






332 War and Peace 

evidently in no mood for jesting^ for he f^aaoed crosstf at iht 
young fellow and hurried oit towards the viUage. 

** I will teach theni — ^the ruffians! " mutteMd Rostow. Alpa^- 
titch^ striding after him^ had j^freat difficulty in overtaking him. 

''What steps has your fa^^bness condescencfed to take?" 
a^ed the steward humbly. 

What steps^ idiotl " said the hussar shaking his fist at him. 

What have you done^ I should like to know? The serfs are 
in revolt and you stand looking at tiiem; you cannot even 
make ^em obejr you. You are a rascal! I know all the sort 
of you^ and I will have you all flayed alive! " 

And then he went on again at top speedy as if he were afraid 
of venting all the rage tibat seethed in fais heart. Alpatitch^ 
swallowing down his sense of undeserved obloquy^ kept up with 
him as best he could^ and as they went delivered himsdf of 
sundry reflections as to the insurgent serfs. He tried to make 
Rostow understand that^ owing to their stiff-necked obi^anacy^ 
it would be both dangerous and useless to try to coerce than 
without the support of an armed force^ and therefore it would 
be better to get that first. 

" I will show them what an axmed force mecms. They shall 
see^ they shall see! " Nicholas repeaited^ not thjirking of what 
he was saying. Full of his violent and impetuous indignation 
he marched resolutely up to the crowd still stan(fing roimd the 
bam. Though Rostow had no fixed plan of action, Alpatitch 
foresaw a happy result from this daring proceeding. His firm, 
cold manner, added to the set wradi of his face, showed the 
peasants that their hour of reckoning had come. Even during 
Rostow's absence and interview wil£ Princess Maria a certain 
lack of cohesion had become perceptible; several who were 
beginning to feel uneasy had remarked that the officers were 
really and truly Russians, and would certainly be angry at tSieh: 
having delayed the young mistress. Drone, who was oi this 
opinion, did not hesitate to express it loudly, but Karp and his 
party took him to task. 

" And how many years have you been feathering your nest 
out of the village pickings? " cried Karp. " You are a good 
one to talk. — ^You have buried a pot of money somewhere, and 
you will just dig it up and be off. What do you care if our 
houses are pillaged? " 

" We know that liie order was given," said another. " We 
were not to desert the villages, or carry an3i;hing away, not 
even a grain of wheat; and she wants to be off ! " 



« 



The Invasion 333 

" Your booby of a boy ought to have b«en taken for a soldier^ 
but you did not like it^ and it was my Vania that they caught 
and shaved/' said a little old man furiously. 

There is nothing left for us but to die. — ^Yes, to die ! . . ." 
I have not yet been discharged from my duties/' said 
Drone. 

" £xactly so, of course not; you are not turned ofi yet— but 
liien you have fiUed your podcets! " 

When Karp saw Rostow comings followed by lUoe^ Lav- 
rottchka^ and Alpatitch^ he went to meet him with his fingers 
stock into his belt and a smile on his lifM. Drone^ on the 
contrary, sneaked behind the others^ and the crowd closed up 
again. 

'*Hi! you fellows, which of you is the starasta?^* asked 
Rostow, walking straight up to them. 

** The starosia ? What do you want with him? " asked Karp. 
He had not time to finish his sentence when his cap fiew 
into the air and he was half stunned by tiie blow that had 
hit it off. 

*' Hats off — rebels! " cried Rostxiw, in a voice of thunder. 

Where is the stafosta f" he repeated. 
The starosia — he wants the starosia, — Dvone Zakharovitcb, 
you are wanted/' said one and another in subdued tones, while 
one by one the caps were removed. 

" We are not rebels; we are only obe3dng orders," Kaip 
went on, feeling himself still supported by a few of the men. 

" We have to obey the council of elders . . ." 

" How dare you answer me, villains ! " cried Rostow, taking 
Karp, who was a big man, by the collar. '' Here, hold him 
fasti" 

Lavrouchka rushed forward and gripped his hands. ''We 
must have up our men from the bottom of the hill, to help us," 
said he. 

" Quite unnecessary," said Alpatitch. He turned to the serfs 
and desired two of them, by name, to give their waistbands to 
tie Karp's hands; the men obeyed in silence. 

''Where is the starosia?** repeated. Rostow. Drone, pale 
ajtd scowling, at last made up his mind to come forward. 

" It is you, is it? — ^Here Lavrouchka, this one too," said 
Rostow decidedly, as if there could be no demur to his order. 
And in point of isuct two other men at once came forward, as 
Drone himself untied his belt to tie his own hands. 

" As to the rest of you," Rostow w^t on: '' Listen to me. 



« 



334 W*^ ^^^ Peace 

all of you. Go home this instant^ and do not let me hear 
another word." 

'* We have done no haim^ we have only made fools of our- 
selves^ that is all." 

" Well, I told you so, — ^it was against orders," murmured 
several of the serfs at once, reproaching each other. 

^* I gave you due warning," said Alpatitch, who felt himself 
master of the situation once more. " It was very wrong, very- 
wrong of you, my children I " 

"Yes, Jakow Alpatitch, we have made fools of ourselves," 
they said, and the crowd quietly dispersed. They all went 
home, while the prisoners were taken up to the court-3^ard of 
the house; the two drunkards followed them. 

" That is the style for you I " said one of them to Karp. " Now 
I can have a good look at you. — ^Did you ever hear any one speak 
so to his betters? What on earth were you thinking of? " 

" You are a fool, that is the long and short of it, a downright 
fool ! " said the second with a sneer. 

In the course of a couple of hours horses were found for the 
baggage-waggons and the serfs were canying and packing the 
various goods, superintended by Drone, who had been released 
by his mistress's request. 

" Take care of that! " said a peasant-lad, tall and pleasant- 
looking, to a companion, who had just taken a dressing-case 
from one of the maids. " It cost a lot of money — don't go 
pitching it into a comer, or t3ring it anyhow; it might be 
scratched. Everything must be done thoroughly and well . . . 
there, like that! Covered with hay and matting it wiU be 
quite safe." 

" Oh! the books, the books! what a load of books! " said 
another, bending under the weight of the cases out of the 
library .... "Don't push! — ^Mercy, what a weight! What 
beautiful books, to be sure, and what big ones ! " 

" The man who wrote those did not stop to play! " added the 
boy, pointing to some dictionaries l3ring one upon another. 

Rostow, not wishing to intrude on Princess Maria, did not 
go into the house again, but waited to see her as she passed 
through the village. When the carriages started he mounted^ 
and rode the fifteen versts as far as Jankovo where the troops 
were encamped. When they stopped to change horses, he 
respectfully took leave of her and kissed her hand. 

"You overwhelm me," he said in reply to her eSusive 



Jhe Invasion 335 

gratitude. "Any inspector of police would have done as 
much. If we had only peasants to deal with^ the enemy 
would not have got so £ar into Russia/' he added awkwardly; 
and then^ to change the subject^ he went on: "I am only too 
happy to have had an opportunity of making your acquaintance. 
Adieu^ princess. Allow me to wish you all possible happiness 
and to hope that we may meet again under more favourable 
circumstances." 

Princess Maria's face brightened; she was deeply touched^ 
and she felt that he deserved her best thanks, for, without him, 
what would have become of her? Must she not inevitably 
have been a victim to the insurgent mob, or have fallen into 
the hands of the French? Had he not exposed himself to the 
greatest dangers to protect her, and had not his kind and noble 
soul felt for her sorrow and her painful situation? — ^His honest, 
friendly .e3res had filled with tears when she had spoken to him, 
and that memory was stamped on her heart. As she bid him 
good-bye she was so strangely moved that she asked herself 
whether she were not in love with him already. No doubt she 
felt some shame in confessing to herself that she had been 
suddenly captivated by a man who probably would never love 
her; but she comforted herself with the reflection that no one 
would ever know it, and that there could be no sin in cherishing 
secretly, and all her life through, this first and last love. " It 
was decreed that he should come to Bogoutcharovo to help me, 
and that his sister should refuse to marry my brother," said she 
to herself; and she saw the hand of God in this concatenation 
of events, and nursed a silent hope that the happiness of which 
she had l^us caught a glimpse, might some day be a reality. 

She, on her part, had made a pleasing impression on Nicholas, 
and when his comrades, who had heard of his adventure, laughed 
at him and teased him by congratulating him on having gone to 
look for hay and found one of the richest heiresses in Russia, he 
got seriously angry; at the bottom of his heart he confessed to 
himself that no better luck could befall him than to marry this 
gentle princess. . Would not such a match be a joy to his parents, 
and make the clinging creature who regarded him as her deliverer 
perfectly happy? — ^For of that he felt instinctively certain. — 
On the other hand, would not her splendid fortune enable him 
to repair his father's? . . . But then what of Sonia, and the 
pledge he had given her? — ^This it was that worried him and made 
him irritable, when he was laughed at about his excursion to 
Bogoutcharovo. 



33^ 



War and Peace 



CHAPTER XLI 



KouTOUZOW^ havk^; ficoepted the post of caiwmander-ui- 
chiefs remembeied Ftince Andrew Bolkooskf . and sent for faioi 
to appear at headquarters. He arriired at GEarevo-Saunk:hetch6 
on tlie day when Koutouzow was holding his first general leview. 
He dismounted in the village and sat down, on a bench outsUe 
the priest's house to wait for '' his highitwwy' as die geneml^i^vas^ 
now commonly called From the open country outside the 
village military bugle*ealls rang out^ almost drowned in the 
cheers aqad acdamations that hailed the new ccnnnumder. 
About ten yards away from Prince Andrew two of Koudxnixow^s 
servants — one his courier and tlie other his house-steward — 
were taking advant^e of the fine day and theiv master's 
absence to enjoy an airing. 

At this moment a heutoiant-coloiiel of faussavs sode up: a 
little dark-complexioned man, with an enofmous moustache 
and thick whiskers; seeing Prince Andrew he stopped and asked 
him if this were his highness's headquarters and whether he 
would pass soon. 

Andrew said that he was> not on the commander-in*-chiefs 
staE, and that he himsdf had but just arrived The hussar 
then turned to one of the servants^ who answuied with the lofty 
contempt which the retainers of the oommander-iB^cfaief 
commonly affect in addressing an officer of Iowa: rank. 

"Who? — His highness? He will be here by and by. What 
is your business? " 

The lieutenant-colonel smiled under his moustache at the 
man's impertinent tone; then^ throwing his bridle to his orderly, 
he dismounted, went up to Andrew and saluted him. Bolkonsky 
returned the salute and made room for him on the bench. 
You are waiting for him^ too, then? " said, the new-comer. 

They say he is very accessible, which is a good thing! " he 
went on, and he spoke with a strong burr. " If we had' those 
sausage-eaters to rule over us there would be no end to the 
muddle; it was not for nothing that Yermolow asked to be 
ranked as a German. Let us hope that the Russians will have 
a word in the matter now. The devil alone knows what they 
were at with all this retreating. . . • Have, you^ gone through 
the campaign? " 

" Not only have I gone through it," replied Prince Andrew 






The Invasion 337 

'' but it has cost me all I held dear: my father, who is just 
dead^ broken-hearted, not to mention my bouse and property.--^ 
I belong to the govemm^tit ol Smolensk. . . .'' 

" You are Prince BoBccmsky, perhaps?— I am deHj^ted to 
make your aoiuaintance. I am Lieutenant^lonel Disnissow, 
better known as Vaid^ Desbsow/* said the hussar, shaking 
Bolkonsky -msnsdy by the hand and looking at him with sym- 
pathetic interest* '' Yes, I heard aH about it/' he added after 
a short pause. '^ It may be adl right, but it id hard <m those who 
pay the' piper. — So you are Prince Bolkonsky? I am so very 
glad to msJce your acquaintance," and he shook his head with 
a hs^-meiancholy smite and again pressed hishand. 

Prince Andrew knew of Denissow through Natacha. This 
remizEiseei»ce, reviving in his mind the painful thoughts which 
during the last few months had begun to fade away, was at 
once painful and p^easumble. He Imd gone through so much 
since^the evacuation of Smotensk, his short visit to Lissy- 
Gory, and the news of his father's <teftth— that those past griefs 
did not so oitiok recur to his memory, and had lost their keenest 
edge of pain. To Denissow, too, the name of Bolkonsky brought 
bade a remote and romantic past, — ^the evening when, after 
supper, Natacha had sung, and he had declared his passion, he 
hardly knew how, to the girl of fifteen. He smited as he re- 
membered that romance and his love; but at once reverted to 
the one subject which at the present time interested and ab- 
sorbed all his tiK>ughts: a scheme for the campaign, which he 
had elaborated during the retreat, being on service in the out- 
posts. He had laid it before Barclay de Tolly, and now hoped 
to introduce it to Koutouzow's attention. His plan was based 
on an opinion that, as the French lines covered a wide extent 
of ground, the first object must be to attack them in front so as 
to check their advance, and at the same time break through them 
so as to intercept their communications. ** They cannot keep 
up such a wide range of operations," he said. " It is out of the 
question. Gvve me 500 men and I will cut my way through 
them — on my word of honour. There is but one way of settling 
them and that is by guerilla warfare." 

Denissow had risen to give emphasis to his discourse in his 
usual excitable manner when he was intennpted by the shouts 
and cheevs that came, louder than ever, from the parade-ground, 
mingling with martial nmsic and singing, and coming nearer 
and nearer. At the same moment the trampling of horses was 
heard at the end of the village street 



338 



War and Peace 



" Here he comes! " cried a Cossack^ on guard at the dow i 
the house. 

Bolkonsky and Denissow rose and went towards a compaz] 
of soldiers which formed Eoutouzow's guard of honour, a^ 
they saw^ at the further end of the street, the ccMnmander-i) 
chief riding a small bay horse and followed by a numenx 
staff of general officers. Barclay de Tolly^ also on horsebad 
rode by his side, and a crowd of officers were prancing ai 
shouting round them. Then Eoutouzow's aides-de-can 
hurried forward to precede him into the court-yard of the hoiu 
The oommander-in-chief was impatiently driving his heels ni 
the flanks of his weary steed, which had fallen into an amj 
under the weight he carried; and his rider saluted right a^ 
left, raising his hand to his white military cap, which was bouj 
with red and without any peak. 

He drew rein in front of the guard of honour, a company 
picked grenadiers, most of them wearing stripes and medi 
who presented arms; for a. moment he said nothing but looU 
at them keenly. Then a sardonic smile curled his lips, 
shrugged his shoulders and turned to the officers who stc 
near him. 

" To think," he murmured with a gesture of surprise; " 
think that with men like those we have retired before I 
enemy! — Good morning, gentlemen! " and he went in throii 
the gateway, passing close to Prince Andrew and Denissow. 

" Hurrah! hurrah! " shouted those left outside. 

Eoutouzow had grown very much stouter and heavier ^ 
Prince Andrew had last seen him; but his blank eye, his d< 
scar, and his bored expression had not altered. A whip hi: 
from a narrow strap across one shoulder over his military cloi 
He gave a deep sigh of relief as he rode into the court-3rard, 1 
a man glad to rest after having made an exhibition of hims 
He took his left foot out of the stirrup, leaning back heav 
frowned as with difficulty he got it up on to the saddle, bent 
knee and let himself slip with a low groan into the arms of 1 
Cossacks and aides-de-camp who waited to support him. 

When he had landed on his feet he glanced about him w 
his half-shut eye, and perceived Prince Andrew, whom he < 
not at once reo^nise; then he walked forward, a little i 
steadily. As he reached the bottom of the steps he agi 
looked hard at Prince Andrew and, as often happens with < 
men, took a few seconds to put a name to the face which 1: 
at once struck him. 



THE INVASION 339 



enisaJ*i 



r CEAPTERXCay 

Sk» sat for a long time that nig^t with her dbom 
silL ' A OQniiisioii of vdoes'came up from die tnsaigent village; 
but she had ceased to think about the serfs, and did not care 
to guess at the meaning of their strange omduct. She could 
tU& of nothing but her grief, which, after this interval of 
anxiety for the present, had become "the past/' .9te could now 
raa^ber, weep, and pray. The breeze had died away aftei 
sunset, and night spread still and restful over the face of nature 
The hubbub of voices gradually died aWay ; then the cock crew a 
the full moon slowly rose above the lime-trees in the gardes 
Mists of dew shrouded the more distant objects and peac 
I reigsed in the village and in the house. 

Princess Maria sat there dreaming: of the past — so latel 
past, of her father's illness and last moments — still keeping h 
from her the scene of his death which she felt she had not tl 
. ooumge to face in all its details at this silent and mysterio 
d bei<J - hc-ur* She vividly pictured to herself the moment when 
It in tb! lifli^ ^^ gf3t stroke, and was held up under the arms and dragg 
along the garden of Lissy-Gory, mumbling something with 1 
powerless tongue, twitching his grey eyebrows and gazi 
anxiously and timidly at her. . "Even then he was wanting to s 
KMnething to me. He was always thinking of having someth 
to say to me." She remembered that night just before 
attack; that night some presentiment of evil had kept her h 
leaving him at Lissy-Gory in spite of his wish. She had 
slept, and had gone on tiptoe to listen at the door opening i 
the ^eenhouse whither her father's bed had been moved 1 
night. He talked of the Crimea, of warm nights, of the empi 
^hen she had heard him talking in a feeble voice to Tikh 
She was sure he had wanted someone to talk to: "Why 
he not send for me? Why would he never allow me to 
Tikhone's place? — I ought to have gone in boldly. I am si 
heaid him speak my name twice; he was weary and out of sp 
au*^/! Tikhone could not know! I remember he spoke of 
tlien as if she were still alive, and Tikhone reminded him 
she was no longer there, and he cried out *01d fool!' He 
have been in terribly low spirits. I heard from behind the 
as he grunted ^^^ «■•«— «-*-rHK^/i Kimcplf out on the bed and 



1 



they 
^^ WAR AND PEACE tfinafty 

aoddif 



upp ffli^ to me? And pedums he would have fdt easer then; 
lave itid dioee wocds to me then.'' And die poor foul xepeated 
ilood tlM kst lew tender woids her father had spoken to her^^ e^ 
m iIm ^y of his death, and biust into sobs. This relieved her , . «^ 
uiiaf heut. She ooold see every featoie of his iaoe---not as ^^ 
{he had seen it ever since her infancy, the face ndiidi terxified ^g^?^ 
Mr, ho w ev er far off; bat that thin face with its piteous, sob- ^ ^^ 
nissive look over which she had bent to hear what he was ^ ^^ 
imrmiiring, dose enou|^ for the first time, to count the deep |^ f ^ 
lines m it* 

''What could he mean when he called me 'his Httle darling'? ^^'^^ 
WhMt is he thinking of now?" she wondered. A sudden craze l^J^ 
jt terror came over her as when her lips had touched his cheek, ^^^ 
ooU in death. She fancied she saw him as she had seen him fy^^: 
last, lying in his coffin with his face bound up; and the terror /J^^^ 
and invincible horror that the picture inspired, made her ^'^ 



Isachi 
trembk from head to foot. She tried in vain to shake it off by r^^^ 



prayer; with widely staring eyes fixed on the moonlit land- \^^ ^ 

scape and the black shadows, she expected to see the hideous , ^J 

vision rise before her. Still she was riveted to the spot by the ll^ 

solemn silence and magic charm of the night; she feh petnfied. ^^^ 

"Doimiacha," she murmured. "Douniacha!" she cried ', ^^^ 

hoandy with a desperate effort. — ^Then, tearing herself free j?^^ ' 

from the spell, she ran out of the room, meeting the women- ^^ ^ 

ervants who came hurrying up at her cry. . tnt to 

tss, snj 

tEout 

.aiKlc] 

CHAPTER XCV ^ very 

je 17th of August, Rostow and Iline, accompanied by ^y^^' 

juMvioochka, — ^who, as we have seen, had been dismissed by *^^ 

Napoleon — mounted to ride out from their bivouac at Jankovo, ^ ^^ 

about fifteen versts from Bogoutcharovo, to try some horses ^^^ 

nine had just purchased and find fodder in the neighbouring ^^} 

villages. For the last three days the hostile armies had lain ^* 



about equaUy distant from Bogoutcharovo; the French van- ^ . 

guard and Russian rear-guard might at any moment come into » ^ 

collision there; so Rostow, as a captain careful of his men's r^.^ 

wants, was anxious to be the first to lay hands on the victuals ,^^ 

that might probably be foimd there. Rostow and Iline, both r^^'^ 

in capital spirits, also looked forward to having some fun vrith ^ ^ 
the pretty servant-girls who would very Ukely have remained 
k«Kfln/i of fhft nrince's chateau. 



The Invasion 341 

om: they a>uld not in bis opinkm soiinethe diffioil^ 
oold finafiy cut the laiot was^ he belieKreii, something 

and d^erent from these two qualities. 
^ Andrew watched his face with interest^ as it expressed 
ter boredom^ then curiosity as he heard the rustlmg of a 
ity aad finally a submissive readiness to do what was 
d of him. It was very obvious that though he seemed 
emn Demssow's intelligent loyidty to his comitry, it was 
icause he was old and had seen too much of life. 
Fould only pronounce himself on one single point: when 
oeral on duty presaited to his signatoie «n order desiring 
lonels of re^ments to indemnify the inhabitants lor the 
committed by tibe soldiers — an order that had been 
! up in consequence ot the ccmiplaints of a farmer whose 
oats had been cut— Koutouzow pinched his lips and 
his head. 

lit it in the fire/' he said. ** Once for all^ my dear fellow^ 
all such rhodomontade into the fire. l^Ee com must be 
id the wood must be burnt just as it is wanted. I do not 
it, nor even authorise it, >bnt it is out of my power to 
at it or to pay for it. . . • If you chop wood the chips 
fly. They must take life as it comes 1 " 
glanced through the report once more, 
►h ! " he sighed, " tiiat German predseness! " 
5 that all? " he said, when he had signed the last paper, 
ising with difficulty, drawing up his thick, wrinkled neck, 
ent to the house door. The priest^s wife, crimscm with 
iss, snatched up tihe tray with the bread and salt, and went 
) Koutouzow with a low curtsey. Eoutouzow winked his 
and chucked her chin. 

V very pretty woman ! " said he. " Thank you, my dear, 
k you." 

t took out a few gold pieces, and laid them on the tray, 
e you comfortable here? " 1^ asked her, as he went into 
room that had been made ready for him, and the mistress 
le house followed him smiling. 

he aide-de-camp invited Prince Andrew to breakfast with 
; half an hour later Koutouzow sent for him. Bolkonsky 
id him lounging in an easy chair with his coat unbuttoned, 
ling a French novel, Les Chevaliers du Cygne, by Madame 
Genlis. 

' Sit down," said Koutouzow, marking his place with a paper- 
ife and laying his book aside, " It is very sad, very sad 



342 War and Peace 

indeed; bat remember^ my boy, I am a second ^ther to you.'' 
Prince Andrew told him what little he knew of his father's 
last hours, and described the state in which he had found lissy- 
Gory. 

"What a pass they have brought us to!" exclaimed 
Koutouzow suddenly, with much agitation, as he thought of 
the situation of the country. " But the time is coming! " he 
added, vehemently. Then, not wishing to dwell on so exciting 
a subject, he added: " I sent for you to keep you here with 



me. 



" I am sincerely grateful to your highness," said Prince 
Andrew. " But I am not fit now for staff-service." Koutou- 
zow, seeing that he smiled as he spoke, looked at him with 
anxiety. " Besides," continued Bolkonsky, " I am fond of my 
r^^iment. The officers are attached to me, and I beheve my 
men have a real affection for me, so I should be sorry to part 
from them. If I decline the honour of remaining near your 
person, pray believe that. . . .'* 

A kindly, though slightly sarcastic twinkle, brightened the 
old man's big face; he interrupted Andrew: 

" I am sorry for it, for jrou would have been of service to 
me. But you are right; it is not here that men are wanted; 
if all our advisers, or would-be advisers, would do as you do and 
serve with their regiments, it would be an immense gain. I 
remember your conduct at Austerhtz, — ^I can see you now with 
the flag in your arms ! " 

A fsunt flush of pleasure rose to Prince Andrew's face; Kou- 
touzow drew him down to him and embraced him, and again 
Andrew saw that his eyes were full of tears. He knew that the 
old man's tears lay near the surface, and that his father's death 
naturally prompted him to be particularly friendly and affec- 
tionate; at the same time the allusion flattered and gratified 
him excessively. 

" Go your own way, and God be with you ! — I know it is the 
path of honour! — You would have been a valuable aid to me at 
Bucharest," he presently resumed. " I had no one to send . . . 
Yes, they abus^ me handsomely down there, for the war first 
and then for the peace. And yet each came about in due season, 
for all things come to those who have patience. — ^And there, as 
here, advisers swarmed. Oh! those counsellors! — ^Why, if we 
had listened to them we should not have made peace with 
Turkey, and the war would not be at an end now! Kamensky 
would have been ruined, if he were not dead. — ^Kamensky^ who I 



The Invasion 343 

must go storming fortresses with 30,000 men in the field ! To 
tstke a fortress is a small matter, but to carry a ounpaign 
tlirough successfully is quite another thing. That is not to be 
done by assaults and attacks only; patience and time are 
needed. Kamensky sent his soldiers to take Roustchouk while 
X^ with nothing but time and patience, took more strongholds 
-tlian he did and made the Turks eat horse-flesh 1 . . . Take 
iny word for it/' he added, slapping his breast and shaking his 
liead, *^ the French shall have a taste of it, my word for that! " 
" But we must give them battle, though? ** said Prince 
Andrew. 

" Of course we must if .every one insists upon it; but, mark 

my words, the two best men are Time and Patience. They will 

'win in the long run; only our advisers do not see that side of 

tlie question, that is the worst of it! Some are for one thing 

and some for another; and what is to be done? What is to 

be done, I say? " he repeated, as if he expected a reply, and 

his eyes shone with a shrewd deep look. " I will tell you, my 

dear boy, what is to be done, — and what I am doing: When 

in doubt, do nothing." And he spoke the words with slow 

emphasis. " Well, good-bye, my friend; remember that I feel 

for you in your sorrow with all my heart; to you I am not 

prince, nor the commander-in-chief, but your father! If you 

ever want anything come to me. Good-bye," and once more 

he embraced him. 

Prince Andrew had not left the room before Koutouzow, 
worn out with fatigue, sank back in his arm-chair with a sigh, 
and went quietly on reading Les Chevaliers du Cygne. 

It was a strange and unaccountable fact that this interview 
greatly soothed Prince Andrew; he returned to his regiment 
much easier as to the course of events generally, and entirely 
trustful in the man who had taken them in hand. There was 
something inspiriting in the old general's complete freedom 
from self-interest, in his having outUved his passions and gained 
experience as their outcome; in his intelligence — in the sense 
of apprehension of facts and co-ordination of inferences — shaving 
given way to a philosophical contemplation of events. Bolkonsky 
left him with a conviction that he would be equal to the charge 
imposed on him : he would invent nothing and make no schemes, 
but he would Hsten and remember all he heard; he would know 
how to make use of it at the right moment; he would hinder 
nothing that might be of use, and permit nothing that might do 
harm. *' He sees that there is something stronger than his will : 



344 Wzr and Peace ^ 

tiie inevitable pr ogreg s of evmts; he watcbes them^ appreciatec 
them at their true value, and can view them from outside, 
irrespective of his own share in them. He inspires confidence 
because^ in spite of his Fxeodi novel and his French proverbs, 
a Russian heart beats under his uniform; his voice trembled, 
as he exclaimed: * What have the^i brought us to? ' and when 
he threatened that the French diould eat horseflesh." 

It was in fact tins patriotic feeling, which every Russian 
felt in a greater or les degree, whidi had mainly contributed 
to Koutouzow's appointmeat as commandcr-in^hief, in spite of 
a strong cabal against him; the unanimous voice of the nation 
had clamorously applauded the dioice. 



CHAPTER XLII 

Aftex the czar's departure Moscow fell back into its old routine; 
old habits again ruled life, and the excitement of those few days 
seemed no more than a dream. In the collapse which succeeded 
the tumult of that time no one seemed to believe in the reality 
of the danger that threatened Russia, or to understand that, 
ai all her children, the members of the English Gub at Moscow 
had been the first to declare themselves prepared for any sacri- 
fice. However, one evidence of the general excitement produced 
by the emperor's visit very soon became conspicuous : tbe actual 
levying of the men and demand for money, which, coming as 
they did in a l^;alised and official form, had to be complied with. 

The approach of the enemy did not make the citizens at all 
more serious; on iht contrary, their levity seemed to increase 
as their position became more critical, as often happens on the 
eve of a catastrophe. In fact, at such a juncture, two voices 
are to be heard: one wisely preaches the necessity for estimat- 
ing fairly the impending dimger, and the means at hand for 
resisting it; the other, even more wisely, argues that the 
thought is too painful, since it is not given to man to escape 
the inevitable, and that it is better, therefore, to foi^get the 
danger and live merrily till it comes. Solitary men listen to 
the first, while the masses obey the second; and the citizens of 
Moscow were an instance in point, for Moscow had never been 
SO' gay as it was that year. 

Rostopchine's proclamations were read and discussed just 
as Pouschkine's couplets were. The heading of thsse broad- 



The Invasion 345 

sheets represe n ted a tavein kept by a certain barber, by name 
!Karpouschka Tchiguirine, an old ^soldier and a citizen of ibe 
town, who, it was said, when he heard that Napoleon was 
marching on Moscow, had planted himself wrathfuUy in the 
doorway of his shop, and made a speech to the crowd, full of 
abuse of the French. In tlus harangue, which was admired by 
some and criticised by otiiers at the English Gub, he declared, 
among other things, that the cabbages on which the French 
iRTOuld have to live would blow them out like balloons, that tiiey 
would burst on porridge and choke on broth; that they were 
all dwarfe, and that a woman with a pitchfork could toss three f 

of them in the air at once. 

At the club it was reported, too, that Rostopchine had driven 
all foreigners out of Moscow on the pretext that there were 
among -diem spies and agents of Napoleon; a witticism of the 
governor's, addressed to tibe outcasts, was in everybody's mouth: 
" Meditate well, get into the boat (or row with the tide), and 
do not let it be a boat-load for Charon." It was also said that 
all the courts of justice had been removed outside the city; 
and this news* was capped by Schindmie's last sally, dedarii^ 
that for this, if for nothing else, the inhabitants owed a debt 
of gratitude to Count Rostopchine. 

Finally it was rumoured that the regiment which Mamonow 
had undertaken to ndse would cost hun 800,000 roubles, and 
that B^soukhow would spmd even more on tus, and that what 
was most of all to his credit in the matter was dmt he himself 
was about to don the uniform and lead his men in person, to be 
admired gratis by all who chose to stare. 

" You spare no one I " cried Julia Droobetzko! to Sdiinchine, 
as she gathered up a little heap of lint she had just picked, and 
squeez^ it in her slender fingers blazing with rings. She was 
giving a farewell soiree, for iSie was to quit Moscow tibe next 
day. " B^ukhow is too laughable/' she added in French, 
'' but he is such a good soul, so good-natured! What pleasure 
can 3^ou find in being so caustic? " 

''Fined, fined!" exdaimed a young man m the militia 
uniform, whom Julia styled her kn%ht, and who was to escort 
her on the morrow to Nijni — ^for in her set, as in many others, 
it had been agreed that French should never be spoken, and 
every one who broke the pledge was nade to pay a fine wtndi 
was added to the voluntary contributions towards the defences. 

** Indeed you must pay douUe," said a Russian <writer^ '* ifor 
you have perpetrated a Gallicism." 



346 



War and Peace 



" I sinned and I will pay/' said Julia^ '^ for using the French 
words. As to a Gallicism in speaking Russian^ I refuse to be 
answerable. I have neither time nor money to take lessons in 
my own language^ like Prince Galitzine. Ah! here he comes. 

Speak of the " she was just going to quote the proverb in 

French but checked herself with a laugh^ and put it into Russian. 
'^ You will not catch me again I We were speaking of you^ we 
were saying that your regiment would be more splendid than 
Mamonow's/' she added to Peter who had just come in, fibbing 
with the singular facility of a woman of the world. 

"For pity's sake do not mention it in my hearing/' said 
Peter. " If you knew how sick I am of it! " 

" You will lead it in person, of course/' Julia went on, with 
a malicious glance at the young militiaman. But her " knight " 
did not respond; Peter's presence and his simple kindliness 
were always enough to check the impertinence of which he was 
the butt. 

" Dear me, no! " he exclaimed with a hearty laugh, patting 
his broad chest. '' I should be too good a mark for &e French; 
besides, I doubt whether I could hoist myself on to a horse." 

Presently their gossip, flying from one subject to another, 
turned on the Rostow family. 

" Do you know," said Julia, " that their afiEairs are in terrible 
disorder? The coimt is an old idiot; the Razoumovskys offered 
to buy his house and estate near Moscow, and the thing is slipping 
through his fingers because he asks too much." 

" I fancy that the sale will come off though," said some one, 
" though in these days it is perfect madness to buy houses." 

" Why? " asked Julia. " Do you really think that Moscow 
is in danger? " 

" But, if not, why are you going? " 

" I? — ^what a strange question. Well, I am going because 
every one else is; and I am neither a Joan of Arc nor an 

" If Count Rostow knows how to economise," the militiaman 
put in, ** he may dear himself yet. He is a thorough good 
fellow, but a poor manager. What keeps them here so long? 
I thought they were gone into the country." 

" Natacha is quite well again, is she not? " asked Julia, with 
a si»teful smile, of Peter. 

" They are waiting for their youngest boy, who entered the 
service as a Cossack and was sent to Bidlaia-Tserkow. He is 
to join my regiment now. The count would have gone not- 



The Invasion 347 

pnthstanding^ but the countess would not stir till slie had seen 
kier son again." 

^^ I met them three days ago^ at the Aighsioms. Natacha is 
handsomer than ever and in capital spirits. She sang a song. 
How soon some people can forget! " 

" Forget what? " said Peter, much annoyed. Julia smiled. 
** But do you know, count, that such knights as you are only 
to be met with in the novels of Madame de Souza? " 

" What knights ? I do not understand," said Peter colouring. 
" Oh, fie! count, do not say that. Why, all Moscow knows 
the story; I honestly admire you! " she added again in French. 
. ** Fined, fined! " cried the militiaman. 

" What next ! " cried Julia out of patience. " It is impossible 
to talk at all nowadays. But you know, count, you know. . . ." 
** I know nothing," said Peter more and more provoked. 
'* Well, I know that you are Natacha's sworn ally, while I 
have always Hked Vera best. Dear Vera ! " 

" No, madam," said Peter in the same tone, " I have not 
assumed the part of champion of Countess Natacha; I have not 
seen the Rostows for a month past." 

" Qui s' excuse s* accuse/' retorted Julia, with a meaning smile, 
as she turned the lint in her fingers; but then she changed the 
subject so as to have the last word: "Whom do you think 
I met yesterday evening? Poor Maria Bolkonsky. She has 
lost her father, did you know? " 

"No, indeed. Where is she living? I should like to see 
her." 

" All I know is that she is to start to-morrow for their place 
beyond Moscow, and is taking her nephew with her." 
"And how is she? " 

" Very sad and broken. But to whom do you think she owes 
her rescue? It is quite a romance! Nicholas Rostow. She 
was surrounded and would have been killed, for her servants 
were already wounded, when he rushed into the fray and got 
her out of the scrape I " 

"Quite a romance, indeed," said the militiaman. "One 
might almost fancy that this general stampede had been got up 
expressly to marry off our old maids! First Catiche, and then 
Princess Maria." 

" Of one thing I am convinced," said Julia, " and that is 
tiiat she really is a little in love with the young man." 

" A fine, a fine! Pay at once! " cried the militiaman once 
more. 



34^ War and Peace 

'' Bot how on offtiL was I to say tittt tt Rnwan? TcU mi 

Qq going hoinc that evemiig Pein found on his tab^ 
chine's two kst dicobr notices. In one he denied ever having 
forbidden the inhabitants to leave the town, as he was reported 
to have done; it is trae he advised the ladies of rank and the 
meichants' wives to lemain, for, he said, '' the panic is caused 
by false intelligence^ and I stake my life on it that tibe wretch 
wiU never enter MoscowT' This proclamation was tb& first 
thing that had brought Petec to the conviction that tbtt French 
would certainly enter Moscow. 

The second stated that the Russian headquaitecs were fixed 
at Yiazma, that Count Wittgenstein had beaten the enemy^ 
and that those who were willing to bear arms would find a laige 
selection of muskets and swoids at the arsenal for sale at low 
prices. This piodamation was quite free from the tone of 
braggart irony which stamped the speeches attributed to Tcfai- 
guirine^ the iMurber-orator. Peter told himself plainly that the 
storm^ which he lor his part fervently hoped for, was coming on 
with giant strides: — '-^ What ought I to do? " he asked himself 
for the hundredth time. " Enter the service and join the army, 
or wait and watch where I am? " He took up^a pack of cards 
that was lying en the table. '' I will play a game of patience; 
if k works outright that will mean. . . . What shall it mean?" 
he shufiled the cards^ looldng at the ceiling for a reply. 

He had not had time to make up his mind whm he heard 
the eldest of the three princesses — i^e two others had married 
and left — ^just outside the door. 

" Come in^ cousin^ oome in/' he caHed out to her. " If the 
patience comes right I will join the army/' he said to himself. 

^^ A thousand apologies for disturbing you at this hour/' said 
the lady; ** but we must make up our minds to do something. 
Everybody is leaving Moscow^ the mob is risings and something 
fearful is in the wind. . . . Why do we stay here?" 

" But^ on the contrary^ everything seems to me to be going 
on swimmingly/' said Peter in the li^t tone he always adopted 
with her^ to escape the uncomfortable sense of being her bene- 
factor. 

" Swimmingly? What makes you think that^ pny? Only 
this morning Barbara Ivanovna was telling me how oar troops 
had distinguished themselves^ it does them the greatest honour; 
but here, on tiie other hand, the people are refractory and will 
listen to no one — my waiting-maid was most insolent! We shiUl 



The Invasion 349 

have to fight bsfore hmg,, wad if that once begins we shall not 
be aids to. get away, and thea-^'and what is more serious still — 
is that the French are certainly coxnuog. . . . Why should we 
wait for them? I entceat you^ cousin, give orders that I may 
be taken at once to St. Petersbuig; for I could not bear to stay 
here and submit to Bimapaate.'' 

'' But my dear cousin, what: nonsenael Where did you get 
your information? — On the contrary . . .*' 

'^ I tell you I win not bow to your Bonaparte; othecs may 
do ais they please, and if you do not choose to take any tcoubk 
about me . . ." 

'' Not at all, not at alll I wiU make every arrangement Ux 
your departure*" 

The princess, provoked at having no one to quarrel with, sat 
on the very edge of her chair and muttered something to herself. 
*' Your intelligence b untrustworthy," Peter went on, '' the 
city is quiet, and there is no danger. — Read this/' and he 
handed her the circular. "The count says that the French 
will not enter Moscow; he stakes his life on it." 

Oh, I daresay, your count I" cried the lady in a rage. 
He is a hypocrite, a wretchi It is he who is driving the people 
to rebellion. Was it not he wfa0, in his senseless proclamations, 
promised honour and glory to every man who should catch 
any one, without exception, and put him into prison? Sheer 
idiocy I Andnow we see the result of all this talking: Barbara 
I vanovna was within an ace of being killed for spealuiig French 
in the street 1" 

'' But isf there not some eicaggeration in all this? You take 
things too much to heart, I think," said Peter, laying out his 
cards. 

The patience came out right; but Peter did not join the 
army. He stayed at Moscow, whidi was iaat being depopu- 
lated, awaiting with indecision and a mixed feeling of satis- 
faction and dread, the tremendous catastrophe that he foresaw. 
The princess went off on the very next day. His head steward 
came to explain to him that the money for the equipment of his 
regiment could only be raised by the sale of one of his estates, 
and represented that this fancy would lead him on to ruin. 

'' Sell it," said Peter with a smile. " I caxsnot take back my 
word." 

The city was practically deserted. Julia was gone, so was 
Princess MiEtria; of all Peter's intimate acquaintances only the 






350 War and Peace 

Rostows remained; but he never saw them now. H« thought 
that he would amuse himself by making an excursion into the 
environs to the village of Vorontzovo^ to inspect an enormous 
balloon constructed imder Leppich's supervision by his majesty's 
command^ and intended to contribute to the discomfiture of 
the enemy. Peter knew that the czar had particularly recom- 
mended the inventor and the invention to Count Rostopehine^ 
in these terms: ''As soon as Leppich is ready send him a 
company of picked and intelligent men to equip his car^ and 
despatch a special messenger to inform Koutouzow. I have 
akeady prepiu^ him. Enjoin Leppich to take particular care 
as to the spot he descends on the first time^ that he may not 
run into the hands of the enemy. It is indispensable that he 
should co-operate with the conmiander-in-chief." 

As he was returning from Vorontzovo, Peter saw a great 
crowd in the public square where executions took place; he 
stopped his drosky and got out. A French cook^ suspected of 
being a spy, had just been flogged. The executioner untied 
the man, a big fellow with red whiskers, in blue stockings and 
a green coat, who was groaning pitiably. His companion in 
grief, a pale, lean little man, was awaiting his turn; to judge 
from their physiognomy they were no doubt Frenchmen. Peter, 
horrified, and as pale as they were, forced his way through the 
throng of market people, shop-keepers, peasants, women, and 
officials of every gntde — ^all eagerly watching the entertainment 
thus offered them^ His anxious and repeated questions elicited 
no answers. 

The big man straightened himself with a painful effort, 
raised his shoulders and tried, but in vain, to be stoical as he . 
pmlled his coat on; his lips trembled convulsively, and he broke 
out into sobs, crying with rage at his own want of pluck, as 
men of sanguine temperament do cry. The crowd, till now 
silent, began to hoot, as if to smother its own instinct of com- 
passion. ' 

'' Cook to a prince ! " said one and another. 

** I say, * Moussiou,' Russian sauce is too strong for the French 
taste, — ^sets your teeth on edge — ^heh? " said a chancery clerk, 
old and wrinkled; and he looked round to see the effect of his 
pleasantry. Some laughed; some, with their eyes fixed on the 
executioner, watdied him with terror as he stripped the second 
victim. 

Peter almost bellowed with fury, and knitting his brows he 
suddenly turned away, muttering unintelligible words. He got 



The Invasion 351 

into his carriage again, and as he went along could not keep 
himself from writhing and starting spasmodically, and giving 
vent to smothered ejaculations. 

'' Where are you going? " he suddenly exclaimed to his 
coachman* 

" You said to the governor's? " 

" Idiot, gaby I '* shouted Peter, " I told you to go home. — I 
must go, I must be o£E at once, this very day," he added between 
his teeth. 

This castigation, administered in the presence of a gaping 
crowd, had made such an impression on him that he made up 
his mind to quit Moscow immediately. As soon as he got home 
he desired his coachman to send his saddle-horses at once to 
Moj^k, where the army then was; and to give them a start, 
he postponed his own journey till the morrow. 

On the evening of August 24th (September 5th), he set out 
from Moscow. When, a few hours later, he stopped to change 
horses at Perkhoukow, he was informed that a great battle had 
been fought; it was even said that the cannon had made the 
earth tremble there, at Perkhoukow; but no one could tell 
him which side had been victorious: it was the battle of 
Schevardino. 

He reached Mojaisk at daybreak. Every house was filled 
with troops; in the inn-yard he found his groom and his coach- 
man waiting for him, but no rooms were to be had. They were 
all taken by officers, and troops were still pouring in. On all 
sides nothing was to be seen but infantry, Cossacks, horsemen, 
baggage- waggons, caissons, and cannon. Peter hurried forward ; 
the further he went from Moscow, the more he was lost in this 
ocean of soldiery, and the more he was conscious of that mixed 
excitement and self-approval which he had first felt during the 
czar's visit to Moscow, when the point under consideration was 
the sacrifice required. He felt at this moment that all which 
constitutes habitual happiness: the comforts of life, wealth — 
nay and life itself — ^were of small account in comparison with 
the vision he had a glimpse of — so vaguely, it is tme, that he did 
not attempt to analyse it. Without asking himself for whom 
or for what, the mere sense and consciousness of sacrifice filled 
him with unutterable joy. 

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