 We're in peace by Leo Tolstoy translated by Alma and Louise Moe book 15. This is a LibriVox recording All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org Recording by Rene We're in peace by Leo Tolstoy book 15 chapter 1 When seeing a dying animal a man feels a sense of horror Substance similar to his own is perishing before his eyes But when it is a beloved and intimate human being that is dying besides this horror at the extinction of life There is a severance a spiritual wound which like a physical wound is sometimes fatal and sometimes heals But always aches and shrinks at any external irritating touch After Prince Andrew's death Natasha and Princess Mary alike felt this Drooping in spirit and closing their eyes before the menacing cloud of death that overhung them They dare not look like in the face. They carefully guarded their open wounds from any rough and painful contact Every a carriage passing rapidly in the street a summons to dimmer The maids inquiry what dressed to prepare or were still any word of insinceral feeble sympathy Seemed an insult painfully irritated the wound Interrupting that necessary quiet in which they both tried to listen to the stern and dreadful choir That's still resounded in their imagination and hindered their gazing into those mysterious limitless Roosters that for an instant had opened up before them Only when alone together were they freed from such outrage and pain they spoke little even to one another and when they did it Was very unimportant matters Both avoided any allusion to the future to admit the possibility of a future seemed to them to insult his memory Still more carefully that they avoid anything relating to him who was dead It seemed to them that what they had lived through and experience could not be expressed in words and that any reference to the details of this Like in frames of the majesty and sacredness of the mystery that have been accomplished before their eyes Continued abstention from speech and constant avoidance of everything that might lead up to the subject This halting on all sides of the boundary of what they might not mention brought before their minds with Still greater purity and clearness what they were both feeling But pure and complete sorrow is as impossible as pure and complete joy Princess Mary in her position as absolute and independent Arbiter of her own fate and guardian and instructor of her nephew was the first to be called back to life in that realm of sorrow Which she had dwelt for the first fortnight She received letters from her relations to which she had to reply Roman which little Nicholas had been put was damp and began to cough Abotage came to Yoroslav with reports on the state of affairs and with advice and suggestions that they should return to Moscow It's the house on the Ruds-Ven Pest Street, which would remain unintered and needed only slight repairs Life did not stand still until it was necessary to live Hard as it was for Princess Mary to emerge from this realm of secluded Contemplation in which she had lived till then and sorry and almost ashamed and she felt to leave Natasha alone Yet the cares of life demanded her attention and she involuntarily yielded to them She went through the account with Alp Hattish Conferred with the selves about her nephew and gave orders and me preparations for the journey to Moscow Natasha remained alone and from the time Princess Mary began making preparations for departure held a leaf from her too Princess Mary asked the Countess to let Natasha go with her to Moscow and both parents gladly accepted this offer For they saw their daughter losing strength every day and thought that a change of scene and the advice of Moscow doctors would be good for her I'm not going anywhere in Natasha if I when this was proposed to her Do please just leave me alone and she ran out of the room with difficulty refraining from tears but vexation and irritation rather than style After she left herself deserted by Princess Mary and alone in her grief Natasha spent most of the time in her room by herself sitting huddled up feet in all in the corner of the sofa Tearing and twisting something with her slender nervous fingers and gazing intently and fixably at whatever her eyes chance to fall on This solitude exhausted and tormenting her but she was in absolutely need of it as soon as anyone entered She got up quickly changed her position of expression and picked up a book or some sewing evidently waiting infusely for the intruder to go She felt all the time as if she might at any moment penetrate that on which with a terrible questioning too great for her strength Her spiritual gaze was fixed One day toward the end of December Natasha a pale and thin dressed in a black wool gown her play of hair Negligently twisted into a knot was crouched feet in all in the corner for so far Nervously crumpling and smoothing out an end of her sash while she looked at the corner of the door She was gazing in the direction in which he had gone to the other side of life and That other side of life of which she had never before thought and which had formerly seen to her so far away and improbable was now near and more akin and more Comprehensible than this side of life where everything was either emptiness and desolation or suffering and indignity She was gazing where she knew him to be but she could not imagine him otherwise than as she had been here She now saw him again as he had been Admit she at Troitsa at Yaroslav She saw his face hurt his voice repeated his words and her own and sometimes devised her words. They might have spoken There he is lying in an armchair in his velvet cloak leaving his head on his thin pale hand His chest is dreadfully hollow and his shoulders raise his lips are firmly closed his eyes glitter and a wrinkle Comes and goes on his pale forehead One of his legs twitches just perceptibly but rapidly Natasha knows that he is struggling with terrible pain. What is it pain like? Why does he have that pain? What does he feel? How does it hurt him thought Natasha you notice for watching him raised his eyes and began to speak seriously One thing would be terrible So he to bind oneself forever to a suffering man It would be continual torture and he looked searching at her Natasha as usual answered before she had time to think what she would say. She said this can't go on It won't you will get well quite well She now saw him from the commencement of that scene and relieved what she had then felt She recalled his long sad and severe look at those words and understood the meaning of it would be to despair in that protracted grace. I Agreed Natasha now said to herself that it would be dreadful if he always continued to suffer I said it then only because it would have been dreadful for him But he understood it differently He thought it would have been dreadful for me We then still wish to live and fear death and I said it so awkwardly and stupidly I didn't say what I meant. I thought quite differently Had I said what I thought I should have said Even if you had to go on dying to die continually before my eyes I should have been happy compared with what I am now now. There is nothing nobody Did he know that no he didn't know and never will know it and now it will never never be possible to put it right And now he again seemed to be saying the same words to her only her imagination Natasha this time gave him a different answer She stopped him and said terrible for you, but not for me You know that for me there is nothing in life but you and to suffer with you is the greatest happiness for me And he took her hand and pressed it as he had pressed it in that terrible evening four days before his death And in her imagination, she said other tender and loving words which she might have said then but only spoke now I love me leave. I love love She said convulsively pressing her hands and setting her teeth with a desperate effort She was overcome by sweet sorrow and tears We're already rising in her eyes Then she suddenly asked herself to whom she was saying this again everything was shrouded in hard Dry perplexity and again with a strange frown She appeared towards the world where he was and now now it seemed to her she was penetrating the mystery But at the instill when it seemed that the incomprehensible was revealing itself to her in a loud rattle of the door handle Struck painfully on her ears Yansha her maid enters the room quickly and abruptly with a frightened look on her face and showing no concern for her mistress Come here pop at once, please She said with a strange excited look on this fortune about Peter Ilnich a letter She finished with a sob and a chapter one War and peace Book 15 chapter 2 read for LibriVox.org Besides a feeling of aloofness from everybody Natasha was feeling a special Estrangement from the members of her own family all of them her father mother Sonia were so near to her so familiar So commonplace that all their words and feelings seemed an insult to the world in which she had been living of late And she felt not merely indifferent to them but regarded them with hostility She heard Junyasha's words about Peter Ilnich and misfortune, but did not grasp them. What misfortune? What misfortune can happen to them? They just live their own old quiet and commonplace life that Natasha as she entered the ballroom Her father was hurriedly coming out of her mother's room His face was puckered up and wet with tears He had evidently run out of that room to give vent to the sobs that were choking him when he saw Natasha He waved his arms despairingly and burst into convulsively painful sobs that distorted his soft round face Petia go she's calling and weeping like a child and quickly shuffling on his feeble legs to a chair He almost fell into it covering his face with his hands Suddenly an electric shock seemed to run through Natasha's whole being Terrible anguish struck her heart and she felt a dreadful ache as if something was being torn inside of her And she were dying But the pain was immediately followed by a feeling of release from the oppressive constraint that had prevented her taking part in life The sight of her father the terribly wild cries of her mother that she heard through the door made her immediately forget herself in her own grief She ran to her father, but he feebly waved his arm pointing to her mother's door Princess Mary pale and with quivering chin came out from that room and Taking Natasha by the arm said something to her Natasha neither son or hurt her She went in with rapid steps pausing at the door for an instant as if struggling with herself and then ran to her mother The countess was lying on an armchair in a strange and awkward position Stretching out and beating her head against the wall Sonya and the maids were holding her arms Natasha Natasha cried the countess. It's not true. It's not true He's lying Natasha. She shrieked pushing those around her way go away all of you. It's not true killed It's not true Natasha put one knee on the armchair stooped over her mother embraced her and with unexpected strength raised her Turned her face toward herself and clung to her mommy darling. I'm here. My dearest mommy She kept on whispering not pausing an instant She did not let go of her mother, but struggled tenderly with her demanded a pillow and hot water and Unfastened and tore open her mother's dress my dearest darling mommy my precious She whispered incessantly kissing her head her hands her face and feeling her own Erepressible and streaming tears tickling her nose and cheeks The countess pressed her daughter's hand closed her eyes and became quiet for a moment Suddenly she set up with unaccustomed swiftness glanced vacantly around her and seeing Natasha began to press her daughter's head with all her strength Then she turned toward her daughter's face, which was a wincing with pain and gazed along at it Natasha you love me. She said in a soft, trustful whisper Natasha you would not deceive me. You'll tell me the whole truth Natasha looked at her with eyes full of tears and in her look there was nothing but love and an entreaty for forgiveness My darling mommy she repeated Strading all the power of her love to find some way of taking on herself the excess of grief that crushed her mother And again in a feudal struggle with reality her mother Refusing to believe that she could live when her beloved boy was killed in the bloom of life escaped from reality into a world of delirium Natasha did not remember how that day passed nor that night nor the next day and night She did not sleep and did not leave her mother Her persevering and patient love seemed completely to surround the countess at every moment Not explaining or consoling But recalling her to life During the third night the countess kept very quiet for a few minutes and Natasha rested her head on the arm of her chair and Closed her eyes but opened them again on hearing the bedstead Creek The countess was sitting up in bed and speaking softly How glad I am you have come you're tired Won't you have some tea? Natasha went up to her You have improved in looks and grown more manly continued the countess taking her daughter's hand Mama What are you saying? Natasha He is no more no more And embracing her daughter the countess began to weep for the first time End of book 15 chapter 2. This recording is in the public domain War and peace book 15 chapter 3 read for LibriVox.org Princess Mary postponed her departure Sonya and the count tried to replace Natasha, but could not they saw that she alone was able to restrain her mother from unreasoning despair For three weeks Natasha remained constantly at her mother's side Sleeping on a lounge chair in her room making her eat and drink and talking to her incessantly because the mere sound of her tender Caressing tones soothed her mother The mother's wounded spirit could not heal Petia's death had torn from her half her life When the news of Petia's death had come she had been a fresh and vigorous woman of 50 But a month later she left her room a listless old woman taking no interest in life But the same blow that almost killed the countess the second blow restored Natasha to life a spiritual wound produced by a rending of the spiritual body is like a physical wound and Stranges it may seem just as a deep wound may heal and its edges join Physical and spiritual wounds alike can yet heal completely only as the result of a vital force from within Natasha's wound healed in that way She thought her life was ended but her love for her mother unexpectedly showed her that the essence of life Love was still active within her love awoke and so did life Prince Andrew's last days had bound Princess Mary and Natasha together This new sorrow brought them still closer to one another Princess Mary put off her departure and for three weeks looked after Natasha as if she had been a sick child The last weeks passed in her mother's bedroom had strained Natasha's physical strength One afternoon noticing Natasha shivering with fever Princess Mary took her to her own room and made her lie down on the bed Natasha lay down, but when Princess Mary had drawn the blinds and was going away. She called her back. I Don't want to sleep Mary sit by me a little you are tired to try to sleep No, no, why did you bring me away? She will be asking for me She is much better. She spoke so well today said Princess Mary Natasha lay on the bed and in the semi-darkness of the room scanned Princess Mary's face Is she like him thought Natasha? Yes like and yet not like but She is quite original strange new and unknown and she loves me What is it in her heart all that is good, but how what is her mind like? What does she think about me? Yes, she is splendid Mary she said timidly drawing princess Mary's hand to herself Mary you mustn't think me wicked. No Mary darling how I love you. Let us be quite quite friends And Natasha embracing her began kissing her face and hands making Princess Mary feel shy, but happy by this demonstration of her feelings From that day a tender and passionate friendship such as exists only between women was established between Princess Mary and Natasha. They were continually kissing and saying tender things to one another and spent most of their time together When one went out the other became restless and hastened to rejoin her Together they felt more in harmony with one another than either of them felt with herself when alone a feeling stronger than friendship sprang up between them an Exclusive feeling of life being possible only in each other's presence Sometimes they were silent for hours Sometimes after they were already in bed. They would begin talking and go on till morning They spoke most of what was long past Princess Mary spoke of her childhood of her mother her father and her daydreams and Natasha who with the passive lack of understanding had formerly turned away from that life of devotion Submission and the poetry of Christian self-sacrifice now feeling herself bound to Princess Mary by affection Learned to love her past too and to understand a side of life previously incomprehensible to her She did not think of applying submission and self-abnegation to her own life For she was accustomed to seek other joys, but she understood and loved in another those previously incomprehensible virtues For Princess Mary listening to Natasha's tales of childhood and early youth They're also opened out a new and hitherto uncomprehended side of life belief in life and its enjoyment Just as before they never mentioned him so as not to lower as they thought their exalted feelings by word But the silence about him had the effect of making them gradually begin to forget him without being conscious of it Natasha had grown thin and pale and physically so weak that they all talked about her health and this pleased her But sometimes she was suddenly overcome by a fear not only of death But of sickness weakness and loss of good looks and involuntarily she examined her bare arm carefully Surprised at its thinness and in the morning noticed her drawn and as it seemed to her a piteous face in her glass It seemed to her that things must be so and yet it was dreadfully sad One day she went quickly upstairs and found herself out of breath Unconsciously she immediately invented a reason for going down and then testing her strength ran upstairs again observing the result Another time when she called Junyasha Her voice trembled so she called her again though she could hear Junyasha coming Called her in the deep chest tones in which she had been want to sing sing and listened attentively to herself She did not know and would not have believed it but beneath the layer of slime that covered her soul and seemed to her impenetrable Delicate young shoots of grass were already sprouting Which taking root would so cover with their living veerger the grief that weighed her down That it would soon no longer be seen or noticed the wound had begun to heal from within At the end of January Princess Mary left for Moscow and the Count insisted on Natasha's going with her to consult the doctors End of section three this recording is in the public domain War and peace book 15 chapter 4 read for LibriVox.org After the encounter at Vyazma where Kutuzov had been unable to hold back his troops and their anxiety to overwhelm and cut off The enemy and so on the farther movement of the fleeing French and of the Russians who pursued them continued as far as Krasnaya without a battle The flight was so rapid that the Russian army pursuing the French could not keep up with them Cavalry and artillery horses broke down and the information received of the movements of the French was never reliable The men in the Russian army were so worn out by this continuous marching at the rate of 27 miles a day that they could not go any faster To realize the degree of exhaustion of the Russian army it is only necessary to grasp clearly the meaning of the fact that While not losing more than 5 000 killed and wounded after Tarotino and less than a hundred prisoners The Russian army which left that place a hundred thousand strong reached Krasnaya with only 50 000 The rapidity of the Russian pursuit was just as destructive to our army as the flight of the French was to theirs The only difference was that the Russian army moved voluntarily with no such threat of destruction as hung over the French And that the sick Frenchmen were left behind in enemy hands while the sick Russians left behind were among their own people The chief cause of the wastage of Napoleon's army was the rapidity of its movement And a convincing proof of this is the corresponding decrease of the Russian army Kutizov as far as was in his power instead of trying to check the movement of the French as was desired in Petersburg and by the Russian army generals Directed his whole activity here as he had done at Tarotino and Bayazma To hastening it on while easing the movement of our army But besides this since the exhaustion and enormous diminution of the army caused by the rapidity of the advance had become evident Another reason for slackening the pace and delaying presented itself to Kutizov The aim of the Russian army was to pursue the French The road the French would take was unknown and so the closer our troops trod on their heels the greater distance they had to cover Only by following it some distance could one cut across the zigzag path of the French All the artful maneuvers suggested by our generals meant fresh movements of the army and a lengthening of its marches Whereas the only reasonable aim was to shorten those marches To that end Kutizov's activity was directed during the whole campaign from Moscow to Vilna Not casually or intermittently but so consistently that he never once deviated from it So Kutizov felt and knew not by reasoning or science but with the whole of his Russian being Whatever Russian soldier felt that the French were beaten that the enemy was flying and must be driven out But at the same time he like the soldiers realized all the hardship of this march The rapidity of which was unparalleled for such a time of year But to the generals especially the foreign ones in the Russian army who wished to distinguish themselves to astonish somebody And for some reason to capture a king or a duke It seemed that now when any battle must be horrible and senseless was the very time to fight one and conquer somebody Kutizov merely shrugged his shoulders when one after another they presented projects of maneuvers to be made with those soldiers Ilshad Insufficiently clad and half starved who within a month and without fighting a battle had dwindled to half their number And who at the best if the flight continued would have to go a greater distance than they had already traversed Before they reached the frontier This longing to distinguish themselves to maneuver to overthrow and to cut off Showed itself particularly whenever the russians stumbled on the french army So it was at Krasnoye where they expected to find one of three french columns and stumbled instead on napoleon himself With 16 000 men Despite all Kutizov's efforts to avoid that ruinous encounter and to preserve his troops The massacre of the broken mob of french soldiers by worn out russians continued at Krasnoye for three days Tol wrote a disposition The first column will march to so and so etc And as usual nothing happened in accord with the disposition Prince Eugene of virginburg fired from a hill over the french crowds that were running past and demanded reinforcements Which did not arrive the french avoiding the russians dispersed and hit themselves in the forest by night Making their way round as best they could and continued their flight Milorodovich who said he did not want to know anything about the commissariat affairs of his detachment and could never be found when he was wanted That chevalier sans peur et sans reproche night without fear and without reproach as he styled himself Who was fond of parlets with the french sent envoys demanding their surrender wasting time and did not do what he was ordered to do I give you that column lads he said writing up to the troops and pointing out the french to the cavalry And the cavalry with spurs and sabers urging on horses that could scarcely move Trotted with much effort to the column presented to them That is to say to a crowd of frenchmen stark with cold frost bitten and starving And the column that had been presented to them threw down its arms and surrendered as it had long been anxious to do At Krasnoye, they took 26 000 prisoners several hundred cannon and a stick called a marshall staff And disputed as to who had distinguished himself and were pleased with their achievement Though they much regretted not having taken napoleon or at least a marshall or a hero of some sort And reproached one another and especially kutasov for having failed to do so These men carried away by their passions were but blind tools of the most melancholy law of necessity But considered themselves heroes and imagined that they were accomplishing a most noble and honorable deed They blamed kutasov and said that from the very beginning of the campaign He had prevented their vanquishing napoleon that he thought nothing but satisfying his passions And would not advance from the linen factories because he was comfortable there That at Krasnoye he checked the advance because on learning that napoleon was there He had quite lost his head and that it was probable that he had an understanding with napoleon and had been bribed by him And so on and so on Not only did his contemporaries carried away by their passions talk this way But posterity and history have acclaimed napoleon as grand while kutasov is described by foreigners as a crafty Dissolute weak old courtier and by russians is something indefinite a sort of puppet useful only because he had a russian name End of section four this recording is in the public domain War and peace book 15 chapter 5 read for liberfox.org by anus simon In 1812 and 1813 kutasov was openly accused of blundering The emperor was dissatisfied with him And in history recently written by order of the highest authorities It is said that kutasov was a cunning court liar Frightened of the name of napoleon and that by his blunders at krasnoye and the berazina He deprived the russian army of the glory of complete victory over the french Note history of the year 1812 the character of kutasov and reflections on the Unsatisfactory results of the battles at krasnoye by bok danovich end note Such is the fate not of great man grand home whom the russian mind does not acknowledge But of those rare and always solitary individuals who discerning the will of providence Submit their personal will to it The hatred and contempt of the crowd punish such men for discerning the higher laws For russian historians strange and terrible to say Napoleon that most insignificant tool of history who never anywhere even in exile showed human dignity Napoleon is the object of adulation and enthusiasm He is grand But kutasov the man who from the beginning to the end of his activity in 1812 Never once serving by word or deed from bordino to villner Presented an example exceptional in history of self-sacrifice And the present consciousness of the future importance of what was happening Kutasov seems to them something indefinite and pitiful And when speaking of him and of the year 1812 they always seem a little ashamed And yet it is difficult to imagine a historical character whose activity was so unswervingly Directed to a single aim And it would be difficult to imagine any aim more worthy or more consonant with the will of the whole people Still more difficult would it be to find an instance in history of the aim of a historical personage Being so completely accomplished as that to which all kutasov's efforts were directed in 1812 Kutasov never talked of 40 centuries looking down from the pyramids Of the sacrifices he offered for the fatherland or of what he had intended to accomplish or had accomplished In general he said nothing about himself Adopted no prose always appeared to be the simplest and most ordinary of man and said the simplest and most ordinary things He wrote letters to his daughters and to madame the star Red novels like the society of pretty women Jessered with generals officers and soldiers and never contradicted those who tried to prove anything to him When koundro stopchin at the yorza bridge galloped up to kutasov with personal reproaches for having caused a destruction of moscow And said how was it you promised not to abandon moscow without a battle? kutasov replied and i shall not abandon moscow without a battle Though moscow was then already abandoned When our akchev coming to him from the emperor said that ermolov ought to be appointed chief of the artillery Kutasov replied Yes, i was just saying so myself Though a moment before he had said quite the contrary What did it matter to him who then alone admitted senseless crowd understood the whole tremendous significance of what was happening What did it matter to him whether stopchin attributed the calamities of moscow to him or to himself Still less could it matter to him who was appointed chief of the artillery Not merely in these cases, but continually did that old man Who by experience of life had reached the conviction that thoughts and the words Serving as their expression are not what move people Use quite meaningless words that happened to enter his head But that man so heedless of his words did not once during the whole time of his activity But a one word inconsistent with a single aim to which he moved throughout the whole war Obviously in spite of himself in very diverse circumstances He repeatedly expressed his real thoughts with the bitter conviction that he would not be understood Beginning with the battle of borodino from which time his disagreement with those about him began He alone said that the battle of borodino was a victory and repeated this both verbally and in his dispatches And reports up to the time of his death He alone said that the loss of moscow is not the loss of russia And to reply to loriston's proposal of peace. He said there can be no peace for such as the people's will He alone during the retreat of the french said that all our maneuvers are useless Everything is being accomplished of itself better than we could desire that the enemy must be offered a golden bridge That neither the tarotino the viasma nor the casnoy battles were necessary That we must keep some force to reach the frontier with and that he would not sacrifice a single russian for ten frenchmen And this koche as he is described to us who lies to akchive to please the emperor He alone incurring thereby the emperor's displeasure Said in wilna that to carry the war beyond the frontier is useless and harmful Nor do words alone prove that only he understood the meaning of the events His actions without the smallest deviation were all directed to one and the same threefold end One to brace all his strength for conflict with the french Two to defeat them and three to drive them out of russia Minimizing as far as possible the sufferings of our people and of our army This procrastinator kudosov whose motto was patience and time This enemy of the size of action gave battle at bordina investing the preparations for it with unparalleled solemnity This kudosov who before the battle of ausalitz began said that it would be lost He alone in contradiction to everyone else Declared till his death that bordino was a victory Despite the assurance of generals that the battle was lost And despite the fact that for an army to have to retire after winning a battle was unprecedented He alone during the whole retreat insisted that battles which were useless then should not be fought And that a new war should not be begun nor the frontiers of russia crossed It is easy now to understand the significance of these events If only we abstain from attributing to the activity of the mass aims that existed only in the heads of a dozen individuals For the events and results now lie before us But how did that old man alone in opposition to the general opinion So truly discern the importance of the people's view of the events that in all his activity he was never once untrue to it The source of that extraordinary power of penetrating the meaning of the events then occurring Lay in a national feeling which he possessed in full purity and strength Only the recognition of the fact that he possessed this feeling Caused the people in so strange a manner contrary to the tsar's wish to select him An old man in disfavor to be their representative in the national war And only that feeling placed him on that highest human pedestal from which he the commander-in-chief Devoted all his powers not to slaying and destroying men But to saving and showing pity on them That simple modest and therefore truly great figure could not be cast in the false mold of a european hero The supposed ruler of men that history has invented To a lackey no man can be great for a lackey has his own conception of greatness End of chapter five this recording is in the public domain War and Peace book 15 chapter 6 read for lipfox.org by Anna Simon The fifth of november was the first day of what is called the battle of krasnay To it evening after much disputing and many mistakes made by generals who did not go to their proper places And after accidents had been sent about with counter-orders When it had become plain that the enemy was everywhere in flight and that there could and would be no battle Kutuzov left Krasnay and went to Dobroi whether his headquarters had that day been transferred The day was clear and frosty Kutuzov rode to Dobroi on his plump little white horse followed by an enormous suite of discontented generals Who whispered among themselves behind his back All along the road groups of french prisoners captured that day There were seven thousand of them were crowding to warm themselves at campfires Near Dobroi an immense crowd of tattered prisoners buzzing with torque and wrapped and bandaged in anything they had been able to get hold of Were standing in the road beside a long row of unharnessed french guns At the approach of the commander-in-chief the buzz of torque seized and all eyes were fixed on Kutuzov Who wearing a white cap with a red band and a padded overcoat that bulged on his round shoulders Moved slowly along the road on his white horse One of the generals was reporting to him where the guns and prisoners had been captured Kutuzov seemed preoccupied and did not listen to what the general was saying He screwed up his eyes with a dissatisfied look as he gazed attentively and fixedly at these prisoners Who presented especially wretched appearance Most of them were disfigured by frost-bitten noses and cheeks And nearly all had red swollen and festering eyes One group of the French stood close to the road and two of them, one of whom had his face covered with sores Were tearing a piece of raw flesh with their hands There was something horrible and bestial in the fleeting glance they threw at the riders In the malevolent expression with which after a glance at Kutuzov The soldier with the sores immediately turned away and went on with what he was doing Kutuzov looked long and intently at these two soldiers He puckered his face, screwed up his eyes, and pensively swayed his head At another spot he noticed a Russian soldier laughingly patting a Frenchman on the shoulder Saying something to him in a friendly manner And Kutuzov with the same expression on his face again swayed his head What were you saying? he asked the general Hugh, continuing his report, directed the commander in chief's attention to some standards Captured from the French and standing in front of the Priobragensk regiment Ah, the standards, said Kutuzov, evidently detaching himself with difficulty From the thoughts that preoccupied him He looked about him absently Thousands of eyes were looking at him from all sides, awaiting a word from him He stopped in front of the Priobragensk regiment, sighed deeply, and closed his eyes One of his suite beckoned to the soldiers carrying the standards to advance And surround the commander in chief with them Kutuzov was silent for a few seconds, and then, submitting with evident reluctance To the duty imposed by his position, raised his head and began to speak A throng of officers surrounded him He looked attentively around at a circle of officers, recognising several of them I thank you all, he said, addressing the soldiers, and then again the officers In the stillness around him, his slowly uttered words were distinctly heard I thank you all for your hard and faithful service The victory is complete, and Russia will not forget you Honour to you forever He paused and looked around Lowered's head, lowered, he said to a soldier, who had accidentally lowered the French eagle he was holding before the Priobragensk standards Lower, lower, that's it, hurrah, lads, he added, addressing the men with a rapid movement of his chin Hurrah! roared thousands of voices While the soldiers were shouting, Kutuzov leaned forward in his saddle and bowed his head, and his eye lit up with a mild and apparently ironic gleam You see, brothers, said he, when the shouts had seized, and all at once his voice and the expression of his face changed, it was no longer the commander in chief speaking, but an ordinary old man who wanted to tell his comrades something very important There was a stir among the throng of officers, and in the ranks of the soldiers, who moved that they might hear better what he was going to say You see, brothers, I know it's hard for you, but it can't be helped Bear up, it won't be for long now, we'll see our visitors off, and then we'll rest That's ah, won't forget your service, it is hard for you, but still you are at home while they, you see what they have come to, said he, pointing to the prisoners Worse off than our poorest beggars, while they were strong we didn't spare ourselves, but now we may even pity them, they are human beings too, isn't it so lads? He looked around, and in the direct, respectful, wandering gaze fixed upon him, he read sympathy with what he had said. His face grew brighter and brighter with an old man's mild smile, which drew the corners of his lips and eyes into a cluster of wrinkles He ceased speaking and bowed his head as if in perplexity But after all, who asked them here, says them right, the bloody bastards, he cried, suddenly lifting his head, and flourishing his whip, he rode off at a gallop for the first time during the whole campaign, and left the broken ranks of the soldiers, laughing joyfully, and shouting, Hurrah! Kudasov's words were hardly understood by the troops, no one could have repeated the Field Marshall's address, begun solemnly, and then changing into an old man's simple-hearted talk, but the hearty sincerity of that speech, the feeling of majestic triumph, combined with pity for the foe, and consciousness of the justice of our cause, exactly expressed by that old man's good-natured expletives, was not merely understood, but lay in the soul of every soldier, and found expression in their joyous and long-sustained shouts. After it, when one of the generals addressed Kudasov, asking whether he wished his Kalesh to be sent for, Kudasov in answering, unexpectedly gave a sob, being evidently greatly moved. End of Chapter 6 This recording is in the public domain. War and Peace Book 15, Chapter 7, read for Libfox.org by Anna Simon. When the troops reached their night's holding-place on the 8th of November, the last day of the Krosnoe battles, it was already growing dusk. All day it had been calm and frosty, with occasional lightly falling snow, and toward evening it began to clear. Through the falling snow a purple-black and starry sky showed itself, and the frost grew keener. An infantry regiment, which had left Tautino three thousand strong, but now numbered only nine hundred, was one of the first to arrive that night at its holding-place, a village on the high road. The quarter-masters who met the regiment announced that all the huts were full of sick and dead Frenchmen, cavalrymen, and members of the staff. There was only one hut available for the regimental commander. The commander rode up to his hut. The regiment passed through the village and stacked its arms in front of the last hut. Like some huge, many-limbed animal, the regiment began to prepare its lair and its food. One part of it dispersed and waded knee-deep through the snow into a birch forest to the right of the village, and immediately the sound of axes and swords, the crashing of branches, and merry voices could be heard from there. Another section amid the regimental wagons and horses which were standing in a group was busy getting out cauldrons and rye-biscuit and feeding the horses. A third section scattered through the village, arranging quarters for the staff officers, carrying out the French corpses or in the huts, and dragging away boards, dry wood, and thatched from the roofs for the campfires, or rattle fences to serve for shelter. Some fifteen men with merry shouts were shaking down the high-wattle wall of a shed, the roof of which had already been removed. Now then, all together, shove! cried the voices, and the huge surface of the wall sprinkled with snow and creaking with frost was seen swaying in the gloom of the night. The lower stakes cracked more and more, and at last the wall fell, and with it the men who had been pushing it. Loud calls laughed her, and joyous shouts ensued. Now then, catch hold in twos, hand up the lever, that's it. Where are you shoving to? Now, all together. But wait a moment, boys, with a song! All stood silent, and a soft, pleasant, velvety voice began to sing. At the end of the third verse, as the last note died away, twenty voices roared out at once. Oh, that's it! All together! Heave away, boys! But despite their united efforts, the wattle hardly moved, and in the silence that followed the heavy breathing of the men was audible. Here, you of the sixth company, devils that you are, lend a hand, will you? You may want this one of these days. Some twenty men of the sixth company, who were on their way into the village, joined the haulers, and the wattle wall, which was about thirty-five feet long and seven feet high, moved forward along the village street, swaying, pressing upon, and cutting the shoulders of the gasping men. Get along! Falling! What are you stopping for? There now! Mary's senseless words of abuse flowed freely. What are you up to? Suddenly came the authoritative voice of a sergeant major, who came upon the men who were hauling their burden. They're a gentry here. The general himself is in that hut, and you foul-mouthed devils! You brutes! I'll give it to you! shouted he, hitting the first man who came in his way, a swinging blow on the back. Can't you make less noise? The man became silent. The soldier who'd been struck, groaned, and wiped his face, which had been scratched till a bled by his falling against the wattle. There! How the devil hits out! He's made my face all bloody! said he, in a frightened whisper, when the sergeant major had passed on. Don't you like it? said a laughing voice, and moderating their tones, the man moved forward. When they were out of the village, they began talking again as loud as before, interlarding their talk with the same aimless expletives. In the hut which the man had passed, the chief officers had gathered, and were in animated talk over their tea, about the events of the day, and the maneuvers suggested for tomorrow. It was proposed to make a flank march to the left, cut off the vice king, Myra, and capture him. By the time the soldiers had dragged the wattle fence to its place, the campfires were blazing on all sides, ready for cooking, the wood crackled, the snow was melting, and black shadows of soldiers flitted to and fro all over the occupied space where the snow had been trodden down. Axes and choppers were plied all around, everything was done without any orders being given. Stools of wood were brought for the night, shelters were rigged up for the officers, cauldrons were being boiled, and muskets and accoutrements put in order. The wattle wall the man had brought was set up in a semicircle by the Eighth Company as a shelter from the North, propped up by musket rests, and a campfire was built before it. They beat them to two, cauld the roll, had supper, and settled down round the fires for the night. Some repairing their footgear, some smoking pipes, and some stripping themselves naked to steam the lice out of their shirts. One would have thought that under the almost incredibly wretched conditions the Russian soldiers were in at that time, lacking warm boots and cheap skin coats, without a roof over their heads, in the snow with eighteen degrees of frost, and without even full rations, the commissariat did not always keep up with the troops. They would have presented a very sad and depressing spectacle. On the contrary, the army had never, under the best material conditions, presented a more cheerful and animated aspect. This was because all who had begun to grow depressed, or who lost strength, were sifted out of the army day by day. All the physically or morally weak had long since been left behind, and only the flower of the army, physically and mentally, remained. More men collected behind the wattle fence of the Eighth Company than anywhere else. Two sergeants major were sitting with them, and their campfire blazed brighter than others. For, leave to sit by their wattle, they demanded contributions of fuel. Hey, Maquiv, what has become of you, you son of a bitch? Are you lost or have the wolves eaten you? Fetch some more wood, shouted a red-haired and red-faced man, screwing up his eyes and blinking because of the smoke, but not moving back from the fire. And you, Jakda, go and fetch some wood, said he to another soldier. This red-haired man was neither a sergeant nor a corporal, but being robust, he ordered about those weaker than himself. The soldier they called Jakda, a thin little fellow with a sharp nose, rose obediently, and was about to go, but at that instant there came into the light of the fire the slender, handsome figure of a young soldier carrying a load of wood. Bring it here, that's fine. They split up the wood, pressed it down on the fire, blew at it with their mouths, and fanned it with the skirts of their great coats, making the flames hiss and crackle. The men drew nearer and lit their pipes. The handsome young soldier who had brought the wood, setting his arms akimbo, began stamping his cold feet rapidly and deftly on the spot where he stood. Mother, the dew is cold but clear. It's well that I'm a musketeer, he sang, pretending to hiccup after each syllable. Look out, your souls will fly off, shouted the red-haired man, noticing that the soul of the dancer's boot was hanging loose. What a fellow you are for dancing! The dancer stopped, pulled off the loose piece of leather, and threw it on the fire. Right enough friend, said he, and having sat down, took out of his knapsack a scrap of blue French cloth, and wrapped it round his foot. It's the steam that spoils them, he added, stretching out his feet toward the fire. They'll soon be issuing us new ones. They say that when we've finished hammering them we're to receive double kits. And that son of a bitch Petrov is lagged behind after all, it seems, said one Sergeant Major. I've had an eye on him this long while, said another. Well, he's a poor sort of soldier. But in the third company they say nine men were missing yesterday. Yes, it's all very well, but when a man's feet are frozen how can he walk? Hey, don't talk nonsense, said a Sergeant Major. Do you want to be doing the same? Said an old soldier, turning reproachfully to the man who had spoken of frozen feet. Well, you know, said the sharp-nosed man they called Jack D'ah in a squeaky and unsteady voice, raising himself at the other side of the fire. A plump man gets thin, but for a thin one it's death. Take me now. I've got no strength left, he added, with a sudden resolution turning to the Sergeant Major. Tell them to send me up to hospital. I'm making all over. Anyway, I shan't be able to keep up. That'll do, that'll do, replied the Sergeant Major quietly. The soldier said no more and the talk went on. What a lot of those Frenchies were taken today, and the fact is that not one of them had what you might call real boots on, said a soldier, starting a new theme. They were no more than make-believes. The Cossacks have taken their boots. They were clearing the hut for the Colonel and carried them out. It was pitiful to see them boys, put in the dancer. As they turned them over, one seemed still alive, and would you believe it, he jabbered something in their lingo. But they're a clean folk, lads, the first man went on. He was white, as white as Birchbark, and some of them are such fine fellows you might think they were nobles. Well, what do you think? They make soldiers of all classes there. But they don't understand our talk at all, said the dancer, with a puzzled smile. I asked him who subject he was, and he jabbered in his own way. A queer lot. But its strange friends continued the man who had wondered at their whiteness. The peasants at Mosaic were saying that when they began burying the dead, where the battle was, you know, well those dead had been lying there for nearly a month, and says the peasant, they lie as white as paper, clean, and not much smell as a puff of powder smoke. Was it from the cold, asked someone? You're a clever fellow, from the cold indeed, why it was hot. If it had been from the cold, ours would not have rotted either. But, he says, go up to ours, and they're all rotten maggoty. So he says, we tie our faces up with kerchiefs, and turn our heads away as we drag them off. We can hardly do it. But theirs, he says, are white as paper, and not so much smell as a whiff of gunpowder. All were silent. It must be from their food, said the sergeant major. They used to gobble the same food as the gentry. No one contradicted him. That peasant, near Mosaic, where the battle was, said the men were all called up from ten villages around, and they carted for twenty days, and still didn't finish carting the dead away. And as for the wolves, he says. That was a real battle, said an old soldier. It's the only one worth remembering. But since that, it's only been tormenting folk. And do you know, daddy, the day before yesterday we ran at them, and my word, they didn't let us get near before they just threw down their muskets, and went on their knees. Pardon, they say. That's only one case. They say Plata took Polian himself twice, but he didn't know the right charm. He catches them, and catches them. No good. He turns into a bird in his hands, and flies away. And there's no way of killing him, either. You're a first-class liar, Kesslev, when I come to look at you. Liar, indeed! It's the real truth. If he fell into my hands, when I caught him, I'd bury him in the ground with an aspen stake to fix him down. What a lot of men he's ruined. Well, anyhow, we're going to end it. He won't come here again, remarked the old soldier, yawning. The conversation flagged, and the soldiers began settling down to sleep. Look at the stars. It's wonderful how they shine. You'd think the women had spread out their linen, said one of the men, gazing with admiration at the Milky Way. That's a sign of good harvest next year. We shall want some more wood. You warm your back, and the belly gets frozen. That's queer. Oh, Lord! What are you pushing for? Is the fire only for you? Look how he's sprawling. In the silence that ensued, the snoring of those who had fallen asleep could be heard. Others turned over and warmed themselves, now and again exchanging a few words. From a campfire a hundred paces off came a sound of General Mary laughter. Hark at them, roaring there in the Fifth Company, said one of the soldiers, and what a lot of them there are. One of the men got up and went over to the Fifth Company. They're having such fun, said he, coming back. Two Frenchies have turned up. One's quite frozen and the other's an awful swagger. He's seeing songs. Oh, I'll go across and have a look. And several of the men went over to the Fifth Company. End of Book 15, Chapter 8 The Fifth Company was bewacking at the very edge of the forest. A huge campfire was blazing brightly in the midst of the snow, lighting up the branches of trees heavy with whorefrost. About midnight they heard the sound of steps in the snow of the forest, and the crackling of dried branches, said one of the men. They all raised their heads to listen, and out of the forest into the bright fire light stepped two strangely clad human figures clinging to one another. These were two Frenchmen who had been hiding in the forest. They came up to the fire, hoarsely uttering something in a language our soldiers did not understand. One was taller than the other. He wore an officer's hat and seemed quite exhausted. On approaching the fire he had been going to sit down but fell. The other, a short, sturdy soldier with a shawl tied round his head, was stronger. He raised his companion and said something, pointing to his mouth. The soldiers surrounded the Frenchmen, spread a great coat on the ground for the sick man, and brought some buckwheat porridge and vodka for both of them. The exhausted French officer was Rambal, and the man with his head wrapped in the shawl was Morel, his orderly. When Morel had drunk some vodka and finished his bowl of porridge he suddenly became unnaturally merry and chattered incessantly to the soldiers who could not understand him. Rambal refused food, and resting his head on his elbow lay silent beside the campfire, looking at the Russian soldiers with red and vacant eyes. Occasionally he emitted a long, drawn groan, and then again became silent. Morel, pointing to his shoulders, tried to impress on the soldiers the fact that Rambal was an officer, and ought to be warmed. A Russian officer who had come up to the fire, sent to ask his colonel whether he would not take a French officer into his hut to warm him, and when the messenger returned and said that the colonel wished the officer to be brought to him, Rambal was told to go. He rose and tried to walk, but staggered, and what had fallen had not a soldier standing by held him up. You won't do it again, eh? said one of the soldiers, winking and turning mockingly to Rambal. Oh, you fool, why talk rubbish, loud that you are? A real peasant came rebuked from all sides addressed to the jesting soldier. They surrounded Rambal, lifted him on the crossed arms of two soldiers, and carried him to the hut. Rambal put his arms around their necks while they carried him, and began wailing plaintively. Oh, you fine fellows, my kind, kind friends! These are men! Oh, my brave, kind friends! And he leaned his head against the shoulder of one of them, like a child. Meanwhile Morel was sitting in the best place by the fire, surrounded by the soldiers. Morel, a short, sturdy Frenchman, with inflamed and streaming eyes, was wearing a woman's cloak, and had a shawl tied woman fashion round his head over his cap. He was evidently tipsy, and was singing a French song in a horse-broken voice, with an arm thrown round the nearest soldier. The soldiers simply held their sides as they watched him. Now, then, now, then, teaches how it goes, all student pick it up. How is it? said the man, a singer and a wag, who Morel was embracing. Vive Henri IV, vive ce roi vaillant, sang Morel winking, ce diable à quatre. Long live Henry IV, that valiant king, that rowdy devil. Vive Enrica, vive Supervarue, c'est bien d'apoclaya, repeated the soldier, flourishing his arm and really catching the tune. Bravo! rose their rough, joyous laughter from all sides. Morel, wrinkling up his face, laughed too. Well, go on, go on! Qui le triple-talent, de boire, de battre, est d'être un verganon. Who had a triple-talent for drinking, for fighting, and for being a gallant old boy. It goes smoothly, too. Well, now, Zalatayev. K. Zalatayev brought out with effort. K. Eh, eh, eh, he drawled laboriously, prissing his lips. Les trips-tala-doubis dabbadah et d'attravaglala, he sang. Fine, just like the Frenchie. Do you want some more to eat? Give him some porridge. It takes a long time to get filled up after starving. They gave him some more porridge, and Morel with a laugh set to work on his third bowl. All the young soldiers smiled gaily as they watched him. The older men, who thought it undignified to amuse themselves with such nonsense, continued to lie at the opposite side of the fire. But one would occasionally raise himself on an elbow and glance at Morel with a smile. They are men, too, said one of them, as he wrapped himself in his coat. Even wormwood grows on its own root. Oh, Lord, Lord, how starry it is! Tremendous! That means a hard frost. They all grew silent. The stars, as if knowing that no one was looking at them, began to distort themselves in the dark sky, now flaring up, now vanishing, now trembling. They were busy whispering something gladsome, and mysterious to one another. End of Book 15, Chapter 10. Read for LibriVox.org by Ernst Patinama. The French army melted away at the uniform rate of a mathematical progression. And that crossing of Tiberizina, about which so much has been written, was only one intermediate stage in its destruction in order to all the decisive episode of the campaign. If so much has been, and still is, written about Tiberizina, on the French side this is only because of the broken bridge across that river. The calamities their army had been previously enduring were suddenly concentrated at one moment into a tragic spectacle that remained in every memory, and on the Russian side merely because in Petersburg, far from the seat of war, a plan, again one of the fuels, had been devised to catch Napoleon in his strategic trap at Tiberizina River. Everyone assured himself that all would happen according to plan, and therefore insisted that it was just the crossing of Tiberizina that destroyed the French army. In reality, the results of the crossing were much less disastrous to the French, in guns and men lost than Krasnoye had been, as the figures show. The sole importance of the crossing of Tiberizina lies in the fact that it, plainly and indubitably, proved the fallacy of all the plans for catching off the enemy's retreat, and the soundness of the only possible line of action, the one Kutuzov and the general mass of the army demanded, namely, simply to follow the enemy up. The French crowd fled at continually increasing speed, and all its energy was directed to reaching its goal. It fled like a wounded animal, and it was impossible to block its path. This was shown not so much by the arrangements it made for crossing, as by what took place at the bridges. When the bridges broke down, unarmed soldiers, people from Moscow and women with children, who were with the French transport, all, carried on by Viz in Ertzii, pressed forward into boats and into the ice-covered water, and it not surrender. That impulse was reasonable. The condition of fugitives and of pursuers was equally bad. As long as they remained with their own people, each might hope for help from his fellows, and the definite place he held among them. But those who surrendered, while remaining in the same pitiful plight, would be on a lower level to claim a share in the necessities of life. The French did not need to be informed of the fact that half the prisoners, with whom the Russians did not know what to do, perished of cold and hunger, despite the captor's desire to save them. They felt that it could not be otherwise. The most compassionate Russian commanders, those favorable to the French, and even the Frenchmen in the Russian service, could do nothing for the prisoners. The French perished from the conditions to which the Russian army was itself exposed. It was impossible to take bread and clothes from our hungry and indispensable soldiers to give to the French, who, though not harmful or hated or guilty, were simply unnecessary. Some Russians even did that, but they were exceptions. Certain destruction lay behind the French, but in front there was hope. The ships had been burned. There was no salvation saving collective flight, and on that, the whole strength of the French was concentrated. The farther they fled, the more wretched became the plight of the remnant, especially after the Berezina, on which, in consequence of the Petersburg plan, special hopes had been placed by the Russians, and the keener grew the passions of the Russian commanders, blamed on another, and Kutuzov most of all. Anticipation that the failure of the Petersburg Berezina plan would be attributed to Kutuzov led to dissatisfaction, contempt, and ridicule, more and more strongly expressed. The ridicule and contempt were of course expressed in a respectful form, making it impossible for him to ask wherein he was to blame. They did not talk seriously to him. When reporting to him or asking for his sanction, they appeared to be fulfilling a regrettable formality, but they winged behind his back and tried to mislead him at every turn. Because they could not understand him, all these people assumed that it was useless to talk to the old man, that he would never grasp the profundity of their plans, that he would answer with his phrases, which they thought were mere phrases, about a golden bridge, about the impossibility of crossing the frontier with the crowd of tattered emalians, and so forth. They had heard all that before, and always said that it was necessary to await provisions, or that the men had no boots, was so simple, while what they proposed was so complicated and clever, that it was evident that he was old and stupid, and that they, though not in power, were commanders or genius. After the junction with the army of the brilliant admiral and Petersburg hero Wittgenstein, this mood and the gossip of the staff reached their maximum. Kutuzov saw this and merely sighed and shrugged his shoulders. Only once, after the affair of the Birizina, did he get angry and write to Benikson, who reported separately to the emperor, the following letter. On account of your spells of ill health, will your excellency please be so good as to set off for Kaluga on receipt of this, and there await further commands and appointments from his imperial majesty. But after Benikson's departure, to Grand Duke Tsarevich Konstantin Pavlovich joined the army. He had taken part in the beginning of the campaign, but had subsequently been removed from the army by Kutuzov. Now, having come to the army, he informed Kutuzov of the emperor's displeasure at the poor success of our forces and the slowness of their advance. Gempro intended to join the army personally in a few days' time. The old man, experienced in court as well as in military affairs, the same Kutuzov, who in August had been chosen commander-in-chief against the sovereign's wishes, and who had removed the Grand Duke and heir apparent from the army, who on his own authority and contrary to the emperor's will had decided on the abandonment of Moscow, now realized at once that his day was over, that his part was played, and that the power he was supposed to hold was no longer his, and he understood this not merely from the attitude of the court. He saw on the one hand that the military business in which he had played his part was ended, and felt that this mission was accomplished, and at the same time he began to be conscious of the physical weariness of his aged body, and of the necessity of physical rest. On the 29th of November, Kutuzov entered Vilna, his dear Vilna, as he quoted. Twice during his career, Kutuzov had been governor of Vilna. In that wealthy town, which had not been injured, he found old friends and associations, besides the comforts of life of which he had so long been deprived, and he suddenly turned from the cares of army and state, and as far as the passions that seeped around him allowed, immersed himself in the quiet life to which he had formerly been accustomed, as if all that was taking place, and all that had still to be done in the realm of history, did not concern him at all. Tito Gov, one of the most zealous Kutuzov and breakers up, who had first wanted to affect a diversion in Greece, and then in Warsaw, but never wished to go where he was sent. Tito Gov noted for the boldness with which he spoke to the emperor, and who considered Kutuzov to be under an obligation to him, because when he was sent to make peace with Turkey in 1811, independently of Kutuzov, and found that peace had already been concluded, he admitted to the emperor the demerit of securing that peace was really Kutuzov's. This Tito Gov was the first to meet Kutuzov for the castle, where the latter was to stay. In Andres' naval uniform, with a dirk and holding his cup under his arm, he handed Kutuzov a garrison report in the keys of the town. The contemptuously respectful attitude of the younger men to the old man in his dotage was expressed in the highest degree by the behaviour of Tito Gov, who knew of the accusations that were being directed against Kutuzov. When speaking to Tito Gov, Kutuzov incidentally mentioned that the vehicles packed with China, that had been captured from him at Borisov, had been recovered and would be restored to him. You mean to imply that I have nothing to eat out of? On the contrary, I can supply you with everything, even if you want to give dinner parties. Warmly replied Tito Gov, who tried by every word he spoke to prove his own rectitude, and therefore imagined Kutuzov to be animated by the same desire. Kutuzov, shrugging his shoulders, replied with a subtle penetrating smile. I meant merely to say what I said. Contrary to the Emperor's wish, Kutuzov detained the greater part of the army at Vilna, those about him said that he became extraordinarily slack and physically feeble during his stay in that town. He attended to army affairs reluctantly, left everything to his generals, and while awaiting the Emperor's arrival led a dissipated life. Having levered Petersburg on the 7th of December with his suite, Count Taltstoy, Prince Valkonsky, Hrekchev and others, the Emperor reached Vilna on the 11th, and in his travelling slay drove straight to the castle. In spite of the severe frost, some hundred generals and staff officers in full parade uniform stood in front of the castle, as well as a guard of honour of the Simeon of Regiment. A courier, who galloped to the castle in advance in a troika with three foam-flecked horses, shouted, Coming! and Kulovnitsyn rushed into the vestibule to inform Kutuzov, who was waiting in the whole porter's little lodge. A minute later, the old man's large stout figure in full dress uniform, his chest covered with orders and a scarf drawn round his stomach, waddled out into the porch. He put on his hat with its peaks to the sides, and holding his gloves in his hand, and walking with an effort sideways down his steps to the level of the street, took in his hand the report he had prepared for the Emperor. There was running to and fro and whispering. Another troika flew furiously up, and then all eyes were turned on an approaching slay, in which the figures of the Emperor and Valkonsky could already be described. From the habit of fifty years, all this had a physically agitating effect on the old general. He carefully and hastily felt himself all over, readjusted his hat, and pulling himself together, drew himself up, and at a very moment, when the Emperor, having alighted from the slay, lifted his eyes to him, handed him the report, and began speaking in his smooth, ingratiating voice. The Emperor, with the rapid glance, scanned Kutuzov from head to foot, frowned for an instant, but immediately, mastering himself, went up to the old man, extended his arms, and embraced him. And this embraced too, owing to a long-standing impression related to his innermost feelings, had its usual effect on Kutuzov, and he gave a sob. The Emperor greeted the officers and the Semyon of God, and again, pressing the old man's hand, went with him into the castle. When alone, with a field-martial, the Emperor expressed his dissatisfaction at the slowness of the pursuit, and at the mistakes made at Krasnoye and in Birizina, and informed him of his intentions for a future campaign abroad. Kutuzov made no rejoinder, or remark, the same submissive, expressionless look with which he had listened to the Emperor's commands on the field of Astrolitz seven years before, settled on his face now. When Kutuzov came out of the study, and with lowered head was crossing the bore room with his heavy wardling-gate, he was arrested by someone's voice, saying, Your Serene Highness. Kutuzov raised his head, and looked for a long while into the eyes of Kantal Stoy, who stood before him, holding a silver salver on which lay a small object. Kutuzov seemed not to understand what was expected of him. Suddenly he seemed to remember. A scarcely perceptible smile flashed across his puffy face, and, bowing low and respectfully, he took the object that lay on the salver. It was the order of St. George of the First Class. End of Chapter 10. Recording by Ernst Patinama. This recording is in the public domain. War and Peace. Book 15, Chapter 11, read from Librebox.org. Next day the Field Marshal gave a dinner and ball which the Emperor honored by his presence. Kutuzov had received the order of St. George of the First Class, and the Emperor showed him the highest honors, but everyone knew of the Imperial dissatisfaction with him. The proprieties were observed, and the Emperor was the first to set that example, but everybody understood that the old man was blameworthy and good for nothing. When Kutuzov, conforming to a custom of Catherine's day, ordered the standards that had been captured to be lowered at the Emperor's feet on his entering the ballroom, the Emperor made a rye face and muttered something in which some people caught the words, the old comedian. The Emperor's displeasure with Kutuzov was specially increased and veiled not by the fact that Kutuzov evidently could not or would not understand the importance of the coming campaign. When on the following morning the Emperor said to the officers assembled about him, you have not only saved Russia, you have saved Europe, they all understood that the war was not ended. Kutuzov alone would not see this and openly expressed his opinion that no fresh war could improve the position or add to the glory of Russia, but could only spoil and lower the glorious position that Russia had gained. He tried to prove to the Emperor the impossibility of levying fresh troops, spoke of the hardships already endured by the people, of the possibility of failure and so forth. This being the Field Marshal's frame of mind, he was naturally regarded as merely a hindrance and obstacle to the impending war. To avoid unpleasant encounters with the old man, the natural method was to do what had been done with him at Osterlitz and with a barclay at the beginning of the Russian campaign, to transfer the authority to the Emperor himself, thus cutting the ground from under the commander in chief's feet without upsetting the old man by informing him of a change. With this object his staff was gradually reconstructed and its real strength removed and transferred to the Emperor. Tol, Konivistan and Emerilov received fresh appointments, everyone spoke loudly of the Field Marshal's great weakness and failing health. His health had to be bad for his place to be taken away and given to another, and in fact, his health was poor. So naturally, simply and gradually, just as he had come from Turkey to the Treasury in Petersburg to recruit the militia and entered the army when he was needed there, now when his part was played out, Khruzov's place was taken by a new and necessary performer. The War of 1812, besides its national significance dear to every Russian heart, was now to assume another a European significance. The movement of peoples from west to east was to be succeeded by a movement of peoples from east to west, and for this fresh war another later was necessary, having qualities and views differing from Khruzov's and animated by different motives. Alexander I was as necessary for the movement of people from east to west and for the refixing of national frontiers as Khruzov had been for the salvation and glory of Russia. Khruzov did not understand what Europe, the balance of power, or Napoleon meant. He could not understand it, for the representative of the Russian people, after the enemy had been destroyed and Russia had been liberated and raised to the summit of her glory, there was nothing left to do as a Russian. Nothing remained for the representative of the national war but to die, and Khruzov died. CHAPTER XII. As generally happens, Pierre did not feel the full effects of the physical privation and strain he had suffered as prisoner until after they were over. After his liberation he reached Orel and on the third day there, when preparing to go to Kiev, he felt ill and was laid up for three months. He had what the doctors termed bilious fever. But despite the fact that the doctors treated him, bled him, and gave him medicines to drink, he recovered. Scarcely any impression was left on Pierre's mind by all that happened to him from the time of his rescue till his illness. He remembered only the dull grey weather, now rainy and now snowy, internal physical distress, and pains in his feet and side. He remembered a general impression of the misfortunes and sufferings of people, and of being worried by the curiosity of officers and generals who questioned him. He also remembered his difficulty in procuring a conveyance in horses, and above all, he remembered his inadequacy to think and feel all that time. On the day of his rescue he had seen the body of Petia Restov. That same day he had learned that Prince Andrew, after surviving the battle of Borodino for more than a month, had recently died in the Rostov's house at Yaroslavl, and Denisov, who told him this news, also mentioned Helene Steff, supposing that Pierre had heard of it long before. All this at the time seemed merely strange to Pierre. He felt he could not grasp its significance. Just then he was only anxious to get away as quickly as possible from places where people were killing one another to some peaceful refuge where he could recover himself, rest, and think over all the strange new facts he had learned. But on reaching Arel, he immediately fell ill. When he came to himself after his illness, he saw in attendance on him two of his servants, Tarenty and Vaska, who had come from Moscow, and also his cousin, the eldest princess, who had been living on his estate at Ellits, and hearing of his rescue and illness had come to look after him. It was only gradually during his convalescence that Pierre lost the impression he had become accustomed to during the last few months, and got used to the idea that no one would oblige him to go anywhere tomorrow, that no one would deprive him of his warm bed, and that he would be sure to get his dinner, tea, and supper. But for a long time in his dreams, he still saw himself in the conditions of captivity. In the same way, little by little, he came to understand the news he had been told after his rescue about the death of Prince Andrew, the death of his wife, and the destruction of the French. A joyous feeling of freedom, that complete inalienable freedom natural to man, which he had first experienced at the first halt outside Moscow, filled Pierre's soul during his convalescence, he was surprised to find that this inner freedom, which was independent of external conditions, now had as it were an additional setting of external liberty. He was alone in a strange town, without acquaintances. No one demanded anything of him, or sent him anywhere. He had all he wanted. The thought of his wife, which had been a continual torment to him, was no longer there, since she was no more. Oh! how good! how splendid! said he to himself, when a cleanly laid table was moved up to him with savory beef tea, or when he lay down for a night on a soft clean bed, or when he remembered that the French had gone, and that his wife was no more. Oh! how good! how splendid! And by old habit he asked himself the question, well, and what then? What am I going to do? And he immediately gave himself the answer. Well, I shall live! Ah! how splendid! The very question that had formerly tormented him, the thing he had continually sought to find, the aim of life, no longer existed for him now. That search for the aim of life had not merely disappeared temporarily. He felt that it no longer existed for him, and could not present itself again. And this very absence of an aim gave him the complete, joyous sense of freedom, which constituted his happiness at this time. He could not see an aim, for he now had faith. Not faith in any kind of rule, or words, or ideas, but faith in an ever-living, ever-manifest God. Formerly he had sought him in aims he set himself. That search for an aim had been simply a search for God, and suddenly in his captivity he had learned not by words or reasoning, but by direct feeling what his nurse had told him long ago, that God is here and everywhere. In his captivity he had learned that, in Karachev, God was greater, more infinite and unfathomable than in the architect of the universe recognized by the Freemasons. He felt like a man who, after straining his eyes to see into the far distance, finds what he sought at his very feet. All his life he had looked over the heads of the men around him, when he should have merely looked in front of him, without straining his eyes. In the past he had never been able to find that great inscrutable infinite something. He had only felt that it must exist somewhere and had looked for it. In everything near and comprehensible he had only what was limited, petty, commonplace, and senseless. He had equipped himself with a mental telescope and looked into remote space, where petty worldliness hiding itself in misty distance had seemed to him great and infinite merely because it was not clearly seen. And such had European life, politics, Freemasonry, philosophy, and philanthropy seemed to him. But even then, at moments of weakness, as he had accounted them, his mind had penetrated to those distances, and he had there seen the same pettiness, worldliness, and senselessness. Now, however, he had learned to see the great, eternal, and infinite in everything. And therefore, to see it and enjoy its contemplation, he naturally threw away the telescope through which he had till now gazed over men's heads, and gladly regarded the ever-changing, eternally great, unfathomable, and infinite life around him. And the closer he looked, the more tranquil and happy he became. That dreadful question—what for?—which had formerly destroyed all his mental edifices, no longer existed for him. To that question—what for?—a simple answer was now always ready in his soul, because there is a God, that God without whose will not one hair falls from a man's head. In external ways Pierre had hardly changed at all. In appearance he was just what he used to be. As before he was absent-minded and seemed occupied not with what was before his eyes, but with something special of his own. The difference between his former and present self was that, formerly, when he did not grasp what lay before him or was said to him, he had puckered his forehead painfully as if vainly seeking to distinguish something at a distance. At present he still forgot what was said to him and he still did not see what was before his eyes, but now looked with a scarcely perceptible and seemingly ironic smile at what was before him and listened to what was said, though evidently seeing and hearing something quite different. Formerly he had appeared to be a kindhearted but unhappy man, and so people had been inclined to avoid him. Now a smile at the joy of life always played around his lips and sympathy for others shown in his eyes, with a questioning look as to whether they were as contented as he was, and people felt pleased by his presence. Previously he had talked a great deal, grew excited when he talked, and seldom listened. Now he was seldom carried away in conversation and knew how to listen, so that people readily told him their most intimate secrets. The princess, who had never liked Pierre, and had been particularly hostile to him since she had felt herself under obligation to him after the old count's death, now after staying a short time in Orel, where she had come intending to show Pierre that in spite of his ingratitude she considered it her duty to nurse him, felt to her surprise and vexation that she had become fond of him. Pierre did not in any way seek her approval, he merely studied her with interest. Formerly she had felt that he regarded her with indifference and irony, and so had shrunk into herself as she did with others, and had shown him only the combative side of her nature. But now he seemed to be trying to understand the most intimate places of her heart, and mistrustfully at first but afterwards, gratefully, she'd let him see the hidden, kindly sides of her character. The most cunning man could not have crept into her confidence more successfully, evoking memories of the best times of her youth and showing sympathy with them. Yet Pierre's cunning consisted simply of infining pleasure in drawing out the human qualities of the embittered, hard, and in her own way proud princess. Yes, he is a very, very kind man, when he is not under the influence of bad people, but of people such as myself, thought she. His servants, too. Taranty and Vasca, in their own way, noticed the change that had taken place in Pierre. They considered that he had become much simpler. Trenty, when he had held him undressed and wished him good night, often lingered with his master's boots in his hands and clothes over his arm, to see whether he would not start a talk, and Pierre, noticing that Trenty wanted a chat, generally kept him there. Well, tell me now, how did you get food, he would ask, and Taranty would begin talking of the destruction of Moscow and of the old Count, and would stand for a long time holding the clothes and talking, or sometimes listening to Pierre's stories, and then would go out into the hall with a pleasant sense of intimacy with his master and affection for him. The doctor who attended Pierre and visited him every day, though he considered it his duty as a doctor deposed as a man whose every moment was of value to suffering humanity, would sit for hours with Pierre telling him his favorite anecdotes and his observations on the characters of his patients in general, especially of the ladies. It's a pleasure to talk to a man like that, he is not like our provincials, he would say. There were several prisoners from the French Army in Orel, and the doctor brought one of them, a young Italian to see Pierre. The officer began visiting Pierre, and the princess used to make fun of the tenderness the Italian expressed for him. The Italian seemed happy only when he could come to see Pierre, talk with him, tell him about his past, his life at home, and his love, and pour out to him his indignation against the French and especially against Napoleon. If all Russians are in the least like you, it is a sacrilege to fight such a nation, he said to Pierre, you who have suffered so from the French, do not even feel animosity towards them. Pierre had evoked the passionate affection of the Italian merely by evoking the best side of his nature and taking a pleasure in so doing. During the last day of Pierre's stay in Orel, his old Masonic acquaintance Count Willarsky, who had introduced him to the lodge in 1807, came to see him. Willarsky was married to a Russian heiress who had a large estate in Orel province, and he occupied a temporary post in the Kemoserat department in that town. Hearing that Bazukov was in Orel, Willarsky, though they had never been intimate, came to him with the professions of friendship and intimacy that people who meet in a desert generally express for one another. Willarsky felt dull in Orel and was pleased to meet a man of his own circle and as he supposed of similar interests. But to his surprise, Willarsky soon noticed that Pierre had lagged much behind the times and it sunk as he expressed it to himself into apathy and egotism. You're letting yourself go, my dear fellow, he said. But for all that, Willarsky found it pleasanter now than it had been formerly to be with Pierre, and came to see him every day. To Pierre, as he looked at and listened to Willarsky, it seemed strange to think that he had been like that himself but a short time before. Willarsky was a married man with a family, busy with his family affairs, his wife's affairs, and his official duties. He regarded all these occupations as hinderances to life, and considered that they were all contemptible because their aim was the welfare of himself and his family. Military, administrative, political, and Masonic interests continually absorbed his attention. And Pierre, without trying to change the other's views and without condemning him, but with the quiet, joyful, and amused smile now habitual to him, was interested in this strange, though very familiar, phenomenon. There was a new feature in Pierre's relations with Willarsky, with the princess, with the doctor, and with all the people he now met which gained for him the general goodwill. This was his acknowledgement of the impossibility of changing a man's convictions by words, and his recognition of the possibility of everyone thinking, feeling, and seeing things each from his own point of view. This legitimate peculiarity of each individual which used to excite and irritate Pierre now became a basis of the sympathy he felt for and the interest he took in other people. The difference and sometimes complete contradiction between men's opinions and their lives, and between one man and another, pleased him and drew from him an amused and gentle smile. In practical matters Pierre unexpectedly felt within himself a center of gravity he had previously lacked. Formerly all pecuniary questions, especially requests from money to which, as an extremely wealthy man, he was very exposed, produced in him a state of hopeless agitation and perplexity. To give or not to give, he asked himself. I have it, and he needs it, but someone else needs it still more, who needs it most, and perhaps they are both imposters. In the old days he had been unable to find a way out of all of these surmises, and had given to all who asked, as long as he had anything to give. Formerly he had been in a similar state of perplexity with regard to every question concerning his property, when one person advised one thing and another something else. Now to his surprise he found that he no longer felt either doubt or perplexity about these questions. There was now within him a judge, who by some rule unknown to him, decided what should or should not be done. He was as indifferent as here to forward to money matters, but now he felt certain of what ought and what ought not to be done. The first time he had recourse to his new judge was when a French prisoner, a colonel, came to him and after talking a great deal about his exploits concluded by making what amounted to a demand that Pierre should give him four thousand francs to send to his wife and children. Pierre refused without the least difficulty or effort, and was afterwards surprised how simple and easy had been what used to appear so insurmountably difficult. At the same time that he refused the colonel's demand he made up his mind that he must have recourse to artifice, when leaving Orrell, to induce the Italian officer to accept some money of which he was evidently in need. A further proof to Pierre of his own more subtle outlook on practical matters was furnished by his decision with regard to his wife's debts and to the rebuilding of his houses in and near Moscow. His head steward came to him at Orrell, and Pierre reckoned up with him his diminished income. The burning of Moscow had cost him, according to the head steward's calculation, about two million roubles. To console Pierre for these losses, the head steward gave him an estimate showing that despite these losses his income would not be diminished, but would even be increased if he refused to pay his wife's debts, which he was under no obligation to meet, and did not rebuild his Moscow house and the country house on his Moscow estate, which had cost him eighty thousand roubles a year and brought in nothing. Yes, of course that's true, said Pierre with a cheerful smile. I don't need all that at all. By being ruined I've become much richer. But in January, Sevalich came from Moscow and gave him an account of the state of things there, and spoke of the estimate an architect had made of the cost of rebuilding the town and country houses, speaking of this as of a settled matter. About the same time he received letter from Prince Vasily and other Petersburg acquaintances speaking of his wife's debts, and Pierre decided that the steward's proposals which had so pleased him were wrong, and that he must go to Petersburg and settle his wife's affairs, and must rebuild in Moscow. Why this was necessary he did not know, but he knew for certain that it was necessary. His income would be reduced by three-fourths, but he felt it must be done. Wellarski was going to Moscow, and they agreed to travel together. During the whole time of the condolences on Orel, Pierre had experienced a feeling of joy, freedom in life. But when during his journey he found himself in the open world and saw hundreds of new faces that feeling was intensified. Throughout his journey he felt like a schoolboy on holiday. Everyone—the stagecoach driver, the post house overseers, the peasants on the roads and in the villages—had a new significance for him. The presence and remarks of Wellarski, who continually deplored the ignorance and poverty of Russia and its backwardness compared with Europe, only heightened Pierre's pleasure. After Wellarski saw deadness, Pierre saw an extraordinary strength in vitality. The strength which in that vast space amid the snows maintained the life of this original, peculiar, and unique people. He did not contradict Wellarski and even seemed to agree with him, in a apparent agreement being the simplest way to avoid discussions that could lead to nothing, and he smiled joyfully as he listened to him. End of CHAPTER XIII It would be difficult to explain why and whether ants whose heap has been destroyed are hurrying, some from the heap dragging bits of rubbish, lava and corpses, others back to the heap, or why they jostle, overtake one another and fight. And it would be equally difficult to explain what caused the Russians, after the departure of the French, to throng to the place that had formerly been Moscow. But when we watch the ants round their ruined heap, the tenacity, energy, and immense number of the delving insects prove that despite the destruction of the heap, something indestructible, which though intangible is the real strength of the colony still exists. And similarly, though in Moscow in the month of October there was no government, no churches, shrines, riches, or houses, it was still the Moscow it had been in August. All was destroyed, except something intangible, yet powerful and indestructible. The motives of those who thronged from all sides to Moscow after it had been cleared of the enemy were most diverse and personal, and at first for the most part savage and brutal. One motive only they all had in common, a desire to get to the place that had been called Moscow, to apply their activities there. Within a week Moscow already had 15,000 inhabitants, in a fortnight, 25,000, and so on. By the autumn of 1813 the number ever increasing and increasing exceeded what it had been in 1812. The first Russians to enter Moscow were the Cossacks of Vincingarode's detachment, peasants from the adjacent villages, and residents who had fled from Moscow and had been hiding in its vicinity. The Russians who entered Moscow finding it plundered, plundered it in their turn. They continued what the French had begun. Trains of peasant carts came to Moscow to carry off to the villages what had been abandoned in the ruined houses and the streets. The Cossacks carried off what they could to their camps, and the householders seized all they could find in other houses and moved it to their own, pretending that it was their property. But the first plunderers were followed by a second and a third contingent, and with increasing numbers plundering became more and more difficult, and assumed more definite forms. The French found Moscow abandoned, but with all the organisations of regular life, with diverse branches of commerce and craftsmanship, with luxury in governmental and religious institutions. These forms were lifeless, but still existed. There were bazaars, shops, warehouses, market stalls, granaries, for the most part still stopped with goods. And there were factories and workshops, palaces and wealthy houses filled with luxuries, hospitals, prisons, government offices, churches and cathedrals. The longer the French remained, the more these forms of town life perished, until finally all was merged into one confused, lifeless scene of plunder. The more the plundering by the French continued, the more both the wealth of Moscow and the strength of its plunderers was destroyed. But plundering by the Russians, with which the reoccupation of the city began, had an opposite effect. The longer it continued and the greater the number of people taking part in it, the more rapidly was the wealth of the city and its regular life restored. Besides the plunderers, very various people, some drawn by curiosity, some by official duties, some by self-interest, house owners, clergy, officials of all kinds, tradesmen, artisans and peasants, streamed into Moscow as blood flows to the heart. Within a week the peasants who came with empty carts to carry off plunder were stopped by the authorities and made to cart the corpses out of the town. Other peasants, having heard of their comrade's discomforture, came to town bringing rye, oats and hay, and beat down one another's prices to below what they had been in former days. Gangs of carpenters hoping for high pay arrived in Moscow every day, and on all sides logs were being hewn, new houses built and old, charred ones repaired. Tradesmen began trading in booths. Cook shops and taverns were opened in partially burned houses. The clergy resumed the services in many churches that had not been burned. Donors contributed church property that had been stolen. Government clerks set up their bays covered tables and their pigeon-holes of documents in small rooms. The higher authorities and the police organised the distribution of goods left behind by the French. The owners of houses in which much property had been left, brought there from other houses, complained of the injustice of taking everything to the faceted palace in the Kremlin. Others insisted that, as the French had gathered things from different houses into this or that house, it would be unfair to allow its owner to keep all that was found there. They abused the police and bribed them, made out estimates at ten times their value for government stores that had perished in the fire and demanded relief, and count Rostopchin wrote proclamations. At the end of January, Pierre went to Moscow and stayed in an annex of his house which had not been burned. He called on count Rostopchin and on some acquaintances who were back in Moscow and he intended to leave for Petersburg two days later. Everybody was celebrating the victory. Everything was bubbling with life in the ruined but reviving city. Everyone was pleased to see Pierre, everyone wished to meet him, and everyone questioned him about what he had seen. Pierre felt particularly well disposed toward them all, but was now instinctively on his guard for fear of binding himself in any way. To all questions put to him, whether important or quite trifling, such as, where would he live, was he going to rebuild, when was he going to Petersburg, and would he mind taking a parcel for someone, he replied, yes, perhaps, or, I think so, and so on. He had heard that the Rostovs were at Kostroma, but the thought of Natasha seldom occurred to him. If it did, it was only as a pleasant memory of the distant past. He felt himself not only free from social obligations, but also from that feeling which, it seemed to him, he had aroused in himself. On the third day after his arrival, he heard from the Drebretzkoys that Princess Mary was in Moscow. The death, sufferings, and last days of Prince Andrew had often occupied Pierre's thoughts, and now recurred to him with fresh vividness. Having heard at dinner that Princess Mary was in Moscow, and living in her house, which had not been burned, in Vazdevizhenka Street, he drove that same evening to see her. On his way to the house, Pierre kept thinking of Prince Andrew, of their friendship, of his various meetings with him, and especially of the last one at Borodino. Is it possible that he died in the bitter frame of mind he was then in? Is it possible that the meaning of life was not disclosed to him before he died, thought Pierre? He recalled Kuretev, and his death, and involuntarily began to compare these two men, so different, and yet so similar, in that they had both lived and both died, and in the love he felt for both of them. Pierre drove up to the house of the old prince in a most serious mood. The house had escaped the fire. It showed signs of damage, but its general aspect was unchanged. The old footman, who met Pierre with a stern face as if wishing to make the visitor feel that the absence of the old prince had not disturbed the order of things in the house, informed him that the princess had gone to her own apartments, and that she received on Sundays. Announce me. Perhaps you will see me, said Pierre. Yes, sir, said the man. Please step into the portrait gallery. A few minutes later, the footman returned, with the solace who brought a word from the princess that she would be very glad to see Pierre if he would excuse her want of ceremony and come upstairs to her apartment. In a rather low room lit by one candle sat the princess, and with her another person dressed in black. Pierre remembered that the princess always had lady companions, but who they were, and what they were like, he never knew or remembered. This must be one of her companions, he thought, glancing at the lady in the black dress. The princess rose quickly to meet him, and held out her hand. Yes, she said, looking at his altered face after he had kissed her hand. So this is how we meet again. He spoke of you even at the very last she went on, turning her eyes from Pierre to her companion with a shyness that surprised him for an instant. I was so glad to hear of your safety. It was the first piece of good news we had received for a long time. Again the princess glanced around at her companion with even more uneasiness in her manner, and was about to add something, but Pierre interrupted her. Just imagine, I knew nothing about him, he said. I thought he had been killed. All I know I heard at second hand from others. I only know that he fell in with the Rostovs. What a strange coincidence. Pierre spoke rapidly, and with animation. He glanced once at the companion's face, saw her attentive and kindly gaze fixed on him, and, as often happens when one is talking, felt somehow that this companion in the black dress was a good, kind, excellent creature who would not hinder his conversing freely with Princess Mary. But when he mentioned the Rostovs, Princess Mary's face expressed still greater embarrassment. She again glanced rapidly from Pierre's face to that of the lady in the black dress, and said, Do you really not recognize her? Pierre looked again at the companion's pale, delicate face with its black eyes and peculiar mouth, and something near to him, long forgotten and more than sweet, looked at him from those attentive eyes. But no, it can't be, he thought. This stern, thin, pale face that looks so much older, it cannot be she. It merely reminds me of her. But at that moment, Princess Mary said, Natasha, and with difficulty, effort, and stress, like the opening of a door grown rusty on its hinges, a smile appeared on the face with the attentive eyes, and from that opening door came a breath of fragrance which suffused Pierre with a happiness he had long forgotten, and of which he had not even been thinking, especially at that moment. It suffused him, seized him, and enveloped him completely. When she smiled, doubt was no longer possible. It was Natasha, and he loved her. At that moment, Pierre involuntarily betrayed to her, to Princess Mary, and above all to himself, a secret of which he himself had been unaware. He flushed joyfully, yet with painful distress. He tried to hide his agitation, but the more he tried to hide it, the more clearly, clearer than any words could have done, did he betray to himself, to her, and to Princess Mary, that he loved her. No, it's only the unexpectedness of it, thought Pierre. But as soon as he tried to continue the conversation he had begun with Princess Mary, he again glanced at Natasha, and a still deeper flush suffused his face, and a still stronger agitation of mingling joy and fear seized his soul. He became confused in his speech, and stopped in the middle of what he was saying. Pierre had failed to notice Natasha, because he did not at all expect to see her there. But he had failed to recognize her, because the change in her since he last saw her was immense. She had grown thin and pale, but that was not what made her unrecognizable. She was unrecognizable at the moment he entered, because on that face whose eyes had always shown with a suppressed smile of the joy of life, now when he first entered and glanced at her there, was not the least shadow of a smile. Only her eyes were kindly attentive, and sadly interrogative. Pierre's confusion was not reflected by any confusion on Natasha's part, but only by the pleasure that just perceptibly lit up her whole face. End of Chapter 15. This recording is in the public domain. War and Peace. Book 15. Chapter 16. Read for LibriVox.org. She has come to stay with me, said Princess Mary. The Count and Countess will be here in a few days. The Countess is in a dreadful state, but it was necessary for Natasha herself to see a doctor. They insisted on her coming with me. Yes. Is there a family free from sorrow now? said Pierre, addressing Natasha. You know it happened the very day we were rescued. I saw him. What a delightful boy he was. Natasha looked up at him, and by way of answer to his words her eyes widened and lit up. What can one say or think of as a consolation, said Pierre? Nothing. Why has such a splendid boy so full of life? To die. Yes, in these days it would be hard to live without faith, remarked Princess Mary. Yes, yes, that is really true, Pierre hastily interrupted her. Why is it true, Natasha asked, looking attentively into Pierre's eyes? How can you ask why, said Princess Mary? The thought alone of what awaits Natasha without waiting for Princess Mary to finish again looked inquiringly at Pierre. And because Pierre continued, only one who believes that there is a God ruling us can bear a loss such as hers and yours. Natasha had already opened her mouth to speak, but suddenly stopped. Pierre hurriedly turned away from her and again addressed Princess Mary, asking about his friend's last days. Pierre's confusion had now almost vanished, but at the same time he felt that his freedom had also completely gone. He felt that there was now a judge of his every word and action, whose judgment mattered more to him than of all the rest of the world. As he spoke now he was considering what impression his words would make on Natasha. He did not purposefully say things to please her, but whatever he was saying he regarded from her standpoint. Princess Mary, reluctantly, as is usual in such cases, began telling of the condition in which she had found Prince Andrew. But Pierre's face, quivering with emotion, his questions and his eager, restless expression, gradually compelled her to go into details which she feared to recall for her own sake. Yes, yes, and so Pierre kept saying as he leaned toward her with his whole body and eagerly listened to her story. Yes, yes, so he grew tranquil and softened. With all his soul he had always thought one thing, to be perfectly good so he could not be afraid of death. The faults he had, if he had any, were not of his making. So he did soften. What a happy thing that he saw you again, he added, suddenly turning to Natasha and looking at her with eyes full of tears. Natasha's face twitched. She frowned and lowered her eyes for a moment. She hesitated for an instant whether to speak or not. Yes. That was happiness. She then said in her quiet voice with its deep chest notes. For me certainly was happiness. She paused and he said he was wishing for it at the very moment I entered the room. Natasha's voice broke. She blushed, pressed her clasped hands on her knees and then controlling herself with an evident effort lifted her head and began to speak rapidly. We knew nothing of it when we started from Moscow. I did not dare even ask about him. Then suddenly Sonia told me he was traveling with us. I had no idea and could not imagine what state he was in. All I wanted was to see him and be with him. She sat trembling and breathing quickly and not letting them interrupt her. She went on to tell what she had never yet mentioned to anyone. All she had lived through during those three weeks of their journey and life at Yaroslavl. Pierre listened to her with lips parted and eyes fixed upon her full of tears. As he listened he did not think of Prince Andrew nor of death nor of what she was telling. He listened to her and felt only pity for her for what she was suffering now while she was speaking. Princess Mary frowning in her effort to hold back tears sat beside Natasha and heard for the first time the story of those last days of her brothers and Natasha's love. Evidently Natasha needed to tell that painful yet joyful tale. She spoke, mingling the most trifling details with the intimate secrets of her soul and it seemed as if she could never finish. Several times she repeated the same thing twice. D'sala's voice was heard outside the door asking whether little Nicholas might come in to say good night. Well, that's all. Everything said Natasha. She got up quickly just as Nicholas and turned almost ran into the door which was hidden by the curtains, struck her head against it and rushed from the room with a moan either of pain or sorrow. Pierre gazed at the door through which she had disappeared and did not understand why he suddenly felt all alone in the world. Princess Mary roused him from his abstraction by drawing his attention to her nephew who had entered the room. At that moment of emotional tenderness young Nicholas's face which resembled his father's affected Pierre so much that when he had kissed the boy he got up quickly, took out his handkerchief and went to the window. He wished to take leave of Princess Mary but she would not let him go. No, Natasha and I sometimes don't go to sleep till after two so please don't go. I will order supper. Go downstairs. We will come immediately. Before Pierre left the room Princess Mary told him this is the first time she has talked of him like that. End of War and Peace. Book 15