 War and Peace, Book 8, Chapter 11, Recording for LibriVox.org by Ava Harnik. Anatoly Kuragin was staying in Moscow because his father had sent him away from Petersburg, where he had been spending 20,000 rubles a year in cash, besides running up debts for as much more, which his creditors demanded from his father. His father announced to him that he would now pay half his debts for the last time, but only on condition that he went to Moscow as adjutant to the commander-in-chief, a post his father had procured for him, and would at last try to make a good match there. He indicated to him Princess Mary and Julie Kuragina. Anatoly consented and went to Moscow where he put up at Pierre's house. Pierre received him unwillingly at first, but got used to him after a while, sometimes even accompanied him on his carousels and gave him money under the guise of loans. As Shinshin had remarked from the time of his arrival, Anatoly had turned the heads of the Moscow ladies, especially by the fact that he slighted them, and plainly preferred the gypsy girls and French actresses, with the chief of whom, Mademoiselle Georges, he was said to be on intimate relations. He had never missed a carousel at Danilov's or other Moscow revelers, drank whole nights through, outweighing everyone else, and was at all the bars and parties of the best society. There was talk of his intrigues with some of the ladies, and he flirted with a few of them at the bars. But he did not run after the unmarried girls, especially the rich heiresses who were most of them plain. There was a special reason for this, as he had got married two years before, a fact known only to his most intimate friends. At that time, while with his regiment in Poland, a Polish landowner of small means had forced him to marry his daughter. Anatoly had very soon abandoned his wife, and for a payment which he agreed to send to his father-in-law had arranged to be free to pass himself off as a bachelor. Anatoly was always content with his position, with himself, and with others. He was instinctively and subtly convinced that it was impossible for him to live otherwise than as he did, and that he had never in his life done anything base. He was incapable of considering how his actions might affect others, or what the consequences of this or that action of his might be. He was convinced that as a duck is so made that it must live in water, so God had made him such that he must spend 30,000 rubles a year and always occupy a prominent position in society. He believed this so firmly that others looking at him were persuaded of it too, and did not refuse him either a leading place in society or money which he borrowed from anyone and everyone and evidently would not repay. He was not a gambler at any rate he did not care about winning. He was not vain. He did not mind what people thought of him. Nevertheless, could he be accused of ambition? More than once, he had vexed his father by spoiling his own career, and he laughed at distinctions of all kinds. He was not mean and did not refuse anyone who asked of him. All he cared about was gait and women, and as according to his ideas, there was nothing dishonorable in these tastes, and he was incapable of considering what the gratification of his tastes and tailed for others, he honestly considered himself irreproachable, sincerely despised rose and bad people, and with a tranquil conscience, carried his head high. Rakes, those male Magdalans, have a secret feeling of innocence similar to that which female Magdalans have, based on the same hope of forgiveness. All will be forgiven, ha, for she loved much, and all will be forgiven him, for he enjoyed much. Dolokov, who had reappeared that year in Moscow after his exile and his Persian adventures, and was leading a life of luxury, gambling and dissipation, associated with his old Petersburg comrade Kuragin, and made use of him for his own ends. Anatol was sincerely fond of Dolokov for his cleverness and audacity. Dolokov, who needed Anatol Kuragin's name, position and connections as a bait to draw rich young man into his gambling set, made use of him and amused himself at his expense without letting the other feel it. Apart from the advantage he derived from Anatol, the very process of dominating another's will was in itself a pleasure, a habit, and a necessity to Dolokov. Natasha had made a strong impression on Kuragin. At supper, after the opera, he described to Dolokov with the air of a connoisseur the attractions of her arms, shoulders, feet, and hair, and expressed his intention of making love to her. Anatol had no notion and was incapable of considering what might come of such lovemaking as he never had any notion of the outcome of any of his actions. She is first rate, my dear fellow, but not for us, replied Dolokov. I will tell my sister to ask her to dinner, said Anatol, eh? You should better wait till she is married. You know I adore little girls. They lose their heads at once, pursued Anatol. You have been caught once already by a little girl, said Dolokov, who knew of Kuragin's marriage. Take care. Well, that can't happen twice, eh? Said Anatol with a good, humid laugh. End of Chapter 11, Recording by Eva Harnick, Pontevedra, Florida. War and Peace, Book 8, Chapter 12, read for LibriVox.org by Juli van Wallachem. The day after the opera, the Rossoffs went nowhere, and nobody came to see them. Maria Dmitrievna talked to the Count about something which they concealed from Natasha. Natasha gasped as they were talking about the old prince and planning something. This disquieted and offended her. She was expecting Prince Andrew any moment, and twice to that day sent a man-servant to the Vodzvigenka to a certain wherece he had come. He had not arrived. She suffered more now than during her first days in Moscow. Due to her impatience and pining for him, we now edit the unpleasant recollection of her interview with Princess Mary and the old prince, and the fear and anxiety of which she did not understand the cause. She continually fancied that either he would never come or that something would happen to her before he came. She got no longer think of him by herself calmly and continuously as she had done before. As soon as she began to think of him, the recollection of the old prince of Princess Mary, the diseater, and of Couragine mingled with his thoughts. The question again presented itself wherece she was not guilty, wherece she had not already broken faith with Prince Andrew, and again she found herself recalling to the minuteous detail every word, every gesture, and every shade, and the play of expression on the face of the man who had been able to arouse in her such an incrompable and terrifying feeling. To the family, Natasha seemed lively-earth-unusual, but she was far less tranquil and happier than before. On Sunday morning, Maria D. Mariavna invited her visitors to Mars at her parish church. The church of the Assumption, built over the grave of victims of the plague. I don't like those fashionable churches," she said, evidently priding herself on her independence of thought. God is the same everywhere. We have an excellent priest. He conducts his service decently and with dignity, and the deacon is the same. What holiness is there in giving concerts in the choir? I don't like it. It's just self-indulgence. Maria D. Mariavna liked Sundays and knew how to keep them. Her whole house was scrapped and cleaned on Saturdays. Neither she nor the servants worked, and they all wore holiday-dress and went to church. At her table there were extra dishes at dinner, and the servants had vodka and rose-gues or suckling-pig. But a nothing in the house was a holiday so noticeable, as in Maria D. Mariavna's road stern face, which on that day were an invariable look of solemn festivity. After Mars, when they had finished their coffee in the dining-room, where the loose covers had been removed from the furniture, a servant announced that carriage was ready, and Maria D. Mariavna rose with the stern air. She wore her holiday shawl, in which she paid calls, and announced that she was going to see Prince Nicholas Valkonsky to have an explanation with him about Natasha. After she had gone, a dressmaker from Madame Superrogue, waited on the rustles, and Natasha, very glad of this down version, having shut herself into a room adjoining the drawing-room, occupied herself trying on the new dresses. Just as she had put on her bodies without sleeves and only tacked together, and was turning her head to see him the glass half the back fitted, she heard in the drawing-room the animated sounds of her father's voice and another's, a woman's that made her flush. It was Helen. Natasha had not time to take off the bodies, before the door opened, and Countess Bezucova, dressed in a purple velvet gown with a high collar, came into the room, beaming with good-humoured, amiable smiles. Oh, my enchantress!" she cried to the blushing Natasha. Charming! No, this is really beyond anything, my dear Count. It's actually two Count Rostov who had followed her in. How can you live in Moscow and go nowhere? No, I won't let you off. Mlle. Georges will reside at my house tonight. There'll be some people, and if you don't bring your lovely girls, who are prettier than Mlle. Georges, I won't know you. My husband is away and fair, or I would send him to fetch you. You must come, you positively must, between eight and nine." She nodded to the dressmaker, whom she knew, and who had courtesy to respectfully to her, and seated herself in an armchair beside the looking-glass, draping the falls of her velvet dress picturesquely. She did not cease chattering good-naturedly and gaily, continually praising Natasha's beauty. She looked at Natasha's dresses, and praised them, as well as a new dress of her own, made of metallic gauze, which she had to receive from Paris, and advised Natasha to have one like it. But anything said to my charmer, she remarked. A smile of pleasure never left Natasha's face. She felt happy, and as if she were blossoming on the depraite of this dear Countess Besicova, who had formerly seemed to her so unapproachable and important, and was now so kind to her, Natasha brightened up, and felt almost in love with this woman, who was so beautiful and so kind. Holland, for her part, was sincerely delighted with Natasha, and wished to give her a good time. Anatole had asked her to bring him and Natasha together, and she was calling on the Rossos for that purpose. The idea of throwing her brother and Natasha together amused her. Though, at one time, in Petersburg, she had been annoyed with Natasha for drawing bories away. She did not think of that now, and in her own way, heartily wished Natasha well. As she was leaving the Rossos, she called to protégé aside. My brother died with me yesterday. We nearly died of laughter. He ate nothing, and kept sighing for you, my charmer. He is madly, quite madly in love with you, my dear. Natasha blushes scarlet, when she heard this. How she blushes, how she blushes, my pretty, said Helen, you must certainly come. If you love somebody, my charmer, that is not a reason to shut yourself up. Even if you are engaged, I am sure your fiancée would wish you to go into society rather than be bought to death. So she knew I am engaged, and she had her husband Pierre, said good Pierre, have talked and laughed about this. So it's all right. And again under Helen's influence, what had seemed terrible, now seemed simple and natural. And she is such a grand damn, so kind, and evidently likes me so much. And why not enjoy myself, thought Natasha, gazing at Helen with wide open, wandering eyes? Maria Dmitriyevna came back to dinner, taciturn and serious, having evidently suffered a defeat at the old princes. She was still too agitated by the encounter, to be able to talk with the affair calmly. In answer to the count's inquiries, she replied to things were all right, that she would tell about it next day. On hearing of Countess Bitykova's visit, and the invitation for that evening, Maria Dmitriyevna remarked, I don't care to have anything to do with Bitykova, and don't advise you to. However, if you are promised, go. It will divert your thoughts, she added, addressing Natasha. CHAPTER XIII. Count Rostov took the girls to Countess Bitykova's. There were a good many people there, but nearly all strangers to Natasha. Count Rostov was displeased to see that a company consisted almost entirely of men and women, known for the freedom of their conduct. Moiselle Georges was standing in a corner of the drawing-room, surrounded by a young man. There were several Frenchmen present, among them Mativier, whom from the time Helen reached Moscow, had been an intimate in her house. The Count decided not to sit down to cards, or let his girls out of his side, and to get away as soon as mademoiselle Georges' performance was over. Anatole was at her door, evidently on the lookout for the Rostovs. Immediately after greeting the Count, he went up to Natasha and followed her. As soon as she saw him, she was seized by the same feeling she had had at the opera. She had died of vanity at his admiration of her, and fear at the absence of a moral barrier between them. Helen welcomed Natasha, delightedly, and was loud in admiration of her beauty and address. Soon after their arrival, Manoiselle Georges went out of the room to change her costume. In the drawing-room, people began arranging the chairs and taking their seats, and Anatole moved to chair for Natasha, and was about to sit down beside her, but the Count, who never lost sight of her, took the seat himself, and at all sat down behind her. Manoiselle Georges, with her bare, fat dimpled arms and a red shawl draped over one's shoulder, came into the space left vacant for her, and assumed an unnatural pose. Enthusiastic whispering was audible. Manoiselle Georges looked sternly and gloomly at the audience, and began reciting some French verses describing her guilty love for her son. In some places she raised a voice, in others she whispered, lifting her hair triumphantly. Sometimes she paused, and uttered hoarse sounds, rolling her eyes. Adorable, divine, delicious, was heard from every side. Natasha looked at the fat actress, but neither saw nor heard nor understood anything of what went on before her. She only felt herself again completely borne away into this strange, senseless world so remote from her old world, a world in which it was impossible to know what was good or bad, reasonable or senseless. Behind her, said Anatole, and conscious of his proximity, she experienced a frightened sense of expectancy. After the first monologue, the whole company rose, and surrounded Manoiselle Georges, expressing their enthusiasm. How beautiful she is, Natasha remarked to her father, who had also risen and was moving through the crowd towards the actress. I don't think so when I look at you, said Anatole, following Natasha. He sent these at a moment when she alone could hear him. You are enchanting. From the moment I saw you, I have never seized. Come, come, Natasha, said the count as he turned back for his daughter. How beautiful she is! Natasha, without saying anything, stepped up to her father, and looked at him with surprised, inquiring eyes. After giving several recitations, Manoiselle Georges left, and Countesbezkova asked the visitors into the ballroom. The count wished to go home, but Helen entreated him not to spoil her improvised ball, and the Rossof stayed on. Anatole asked Natasha for her vows, and as if they danced, he pressed her waist in hand, and told her she was bewitching, and that he loved her. During the Écosez, which also downed with him, Anatole said nothing when they happened to be by themselves, but merely gazed at her. Natasha lifted her frightened eyes to him. There was such comfort and tenderness in his affectionate look and smile, that she could not, whilst looking at him, say what she had to say. She lowered her eyes. Don't say such a thing to me, I'm betrothed to love another, she said rapidly. She glanced at him. Anatole was not upset or pained by what she had said. Don't speak to me of that, what can I do, said he. I tell you, I am madly, madly in love with you. Is it my fault that you are enchanting? It's our turn to begin. Natasha, animated and excited, looked about her with wide open frightened eyes, and seemed merry and unusual. She understood hardly anything that went on this evening. They danced the Ecosias, and the Grosvedre. Her father asked her to come home, but she begged to remain. Wherever she went, and whomever she was speaking to, she felt his eyes upon her. Later on, she recalled how she had asked her father to let her go to the dressing-room to rearrange her dress, that Hallon had followed her, and spoken laughingly of her brother's laugh, that she gained Matt Anatole in the little sitting-room. Anne had disappeared, leaving them alone, and Anatole had taken a hand and said in a tender voice, I cannot come to visit you, but is it possible that I shall never see you? I love you madly. Can I never, and blocking her path, you brought his face close to hers? His large, glittering, masculine eyes were so close to hers, that she saw nothing but them. Natalie! He whispered inquiringly, while she felt her hands being painfully pressed. Natalie! I don't understand! I have nothing to say! Her eyes replied. Burning lips were pressed to hers, and at the same instant she felt herself released in Hallon's footsteps, and the rustle of her dress were heard in the room. Natasha looked round at her, then red and trembling through a frightened look of inquiry at Anatole, and moved towards the door. One word, just wonderful, God's sake, cried Anatole. She paused. She so wanted a word from him that would explain to her what had happened, and to which she could find no answer. That's only just a word, only one, he kept repeating, evidently not knowing what to say, and he repeated it till Hallon came up to them. Then returned with Natasha to the drawing-room. The rustles went away without staying for supper. After reaching home, Natasha did not sleep all night. She was tormented by the unsolvable question, whether she loved Anatole or Prince Andrew. She loved Prince Andrew. She remembered distinctly how deeply she loved him. But she also loved Anatole. Of that, there was no doubt. As how could all this have happened, thought she? If, after that, I could return his smile when saying good-bye. If I was able to let it come to that, it means that I loved him from the first. It means that he is kind, noble, and splendid, and I could not help loving him. What am I to do, if I love him and the other one too?" She asked herself, unable to find an answer to these terrible questions. End of Chapter 13. War and Peace. Book 8, Chapter 14, Recording for LibriVox.org by Eva Harnick. Morning came with its cares and bustle. Everyone got up and began to move about, and talk, Dressmakers came again. Maria Dimitrievna appeared, and they were called to breakfast. Natasha kept looking uneasily at everybody with wide, open eyes, as if wishing to intercept every glance directed toward her, and tried to appear the same as usual. After breakfast, which was her best time, Maria Dimitrievna sat down in her armchair and called Natasha and the count to her. Well, friends, I have now solved the whole matter over, and this is my advice, she began. Yesterday, as you know, I went to see Prince Borkonsky. Well, I had a talk with him. He took it into his head to begin shouting, but I am not one to be shouted down. I said what I had to say. Well, and he asked the count, he, he's crazy. He did not want to listen. But what is the use of talking? As it is, we have worn the poor girl out, said Maria Dimitrievna. My advice to you is, finish your business, and go back home to Otrudno and wait there. Oh, no, exclaimed Natasha. Yes, go back, said Maria Dimitrievna, and wait there. If you'll be throttled, comes here now, there will be no avoiding a quarrel. But alone with the old man, he will talk things over and then come on to you. Count Rostov approved of this suggestion, appreciating its reasonableness. If the old man came round, it would be all the better to visit him in Moscow or at Bald Hill's later on. And if not, the wedding against his wishes could only be arranged at Otrudno. That is perfectly true, and I am sorry I went to see him and took her, said the old count. No, why be sorry? Being here, you had to pay your respects. But if he won't, that is his affair, said Maria Dimitrievna, looking for something in her reticule. Besides, the trousseau is ready, so there is nothing to wait for. And what is not ready, I will send after you. Though I don't like letting you go, it is the best way. So go with God's blessing. Having found what she was looking for in the reticule, she handed it to Natasha. It was a letter from Princess Mary. She has written to you. How she torments herself, poor thing. She's afraid you might think that she does not like you. But she does not like me, said Natasha. Don't talk nonsense, cried Maria Dimitrievna. I shan't believe anyone. I know she does not like me, replied Natasha boldly, as she took the letter and her face expressed a cold and angry resolution that caused Maria Dimitrievna to look at her more intently and to frown. Don't answer like that, my good girl, she said. What I say is true. Write an answer. Natasha did not reply and went to her own room to read Princess Mary's letter. Princess Mary wrote that she was in despair at the misunderstanding that had occurred between them. Whatever her father's feelings might be, she begged Natasha to believe that she could not help loving her as the one chosen by her brother for whose happiness she was ready to sacrifice everything. Do not think, however, she wrote that my father is ill-disposed toward you. He is an invalid and an old man who must be forgiven. But he is good and magnanimous and will love her who makes his son happy. Princess Mary went on to ask Natasha to fix a time when she could see her again. After reading the letter, Natasha sat down at the writing table to answer it. Dear Princess, she wrote in French quickly and mechanically, and then paused. What more could she write after all that had happened the evening before? Yes, yes, all that has happened, and now all is changed. She sought as she said with the letter she had begun before her. Must I break off with him? Must I really? That is awful. And to escape from these dreadful thoughts, she went to Sonja and began sorting patterns with her. After dinner, Natasha went to her room and again took up Princess Mary's letter. Can it be that it is all over, she sought? Can it be that all this has happened so quickly and has destroyed all that went before? She recalled her love for Prince Andrew in all its former strengths, and at the same time felt that she loved Kuragin. She vividly pictured herself as Prince Andrew's wife, and the scenes of happiness with him she had so often repeated in her imagination, and at the same time, aglow with excitement, recalled every detail of yesterday's interview with Anatol. Why could that not be as well? She sometimes asked herself in complete bewilderment. Only so could I be completely happy. But now I have to choose, and I can't be happy without either of them. Only she sought to tell Prince Andrew what has happened, or to hide it from him, are both equally impossible. But with that one, nothing is spoiled. But am I really to abandon forever the joy of Prince Andrew's love, in which I have lived so long? Please, Miss, we spared the maid entering the room with a mysterious air. A man told me to give you this, and she handed Natasha a letter. Only for Christ's sake, the girl went on. As Natasha, without thinking, mechanically broke the seal, and read a love letter from Anatol, of which, without taking in a word, she understood only that it was a letter from him, from the man she loved. Yes, she loved him, or else how could that have happened, which had happened? And how could she have a love letter from him in her hand? With trembling hands, Natasha held that passionate love letter, which Dolokov had composed for Anatol, and as she read it, she found in it an echo of all that she herself imagined she was feeling. Since yesterday evening, my faith has been sealed, to be loved by you or to die. There is no other way for me, the letter began. Then he went on to say that he knew her parents would not give her to him. For this, there were secret reasons he could reveal only to her, but that if she loved him, she need only say the word yes. And no human power could hinder their bliss. Love would conquer all. He would steal her away and carry her off to the ends of the earth. Yes, yes, I love him, sought Natasha, reading the letter for the twentieth time and finding some peculiarly deep meaning in each word of it. That evening, Maria Dimitrievna was going to the Arkharovs and proposed to take the girls with her. Natasha pleading a headache remained at home. End of Chapter 14, Recording by Eva Harnick, Pontevedra, Florida. War and Peace, Book 8, Chapter 15, Recording for LibriVox.org by Eva Harnick. On returning late in the evening, Sonja went to Natasha's room and to her surprise found her still dressed and asleep on the sofa. Open on the table beside her lay Anatol's letter, Sonja picked it up and read it. As she read, she glanced at the sleeping Natasha, trying to find in her face an explanation of what she was reading, but did not find it. Her face was calm, gentle and happy. Clutching her breast to keep herself from choking, Sonja pale and trembling with fear and agitation sat down in an armchair and burst into tears. How was it I noticed nothing? How could it go so far? Can she have left of loving Prince Andrew? And how could she let Kuragin go to such lengths? He is a deceiver and a villain, that is plain. What will Nicholas, dear noble Nicholas, do when he hears of it? So this is the meaning of her excited, resolute, unnatural look the day before yesterday, yesterday and today. So, Sonja. But it can't be that she loves him. She probably opened the letter without knowing who it was from. Probably she's offended by it. She could not do such a thing. Sonja wiped away her tears and went up to Natasha, again scanning her face. Natasha, she said just audibly. Natasha awoke and saw Sonja. Oh, you are back. And with the decision and tenderness that often come at the moment of awakening, she embraced her friend. But noticing Sonja's look of embarrassment, her own face expressed confusion and suspicion. Sonja, you have read that letter, she demanded. Yes, answered Sonja softly. Natasha smiled rapturously. No, Sonja, I can't any longer, she said. I can't hide it from you any longer. You know, we love one another. Sonja darling, he writes, Sonja. Sonja stared open-eyed at Natasha, unable to believe her ears. And Balkanski, she asked, oh, Sonja, if you only knew how happy I am, cried Natasha. You don't know what love is. But Natasha, can that be all over? Natasha looked at Sonja with wide open eyes as if she could not grasp the question. Well, then, are you defusing Prince Andrew, said Sonja? Oh, you don't understand anything. Don't talk nonsense. Just listen, said Natasha with momentary vexation. But I can't believe it, insisted Sonja. I don't understand. How is it you have loved a man for a whole year and suddenly? Why, you have only seen him three times. Natasha, I don't believe you. You are joking. In three days to forget everything and so. Three days, said Natasha. It seems to me I have loved him a hundred years. It seems to me that I have never loved anyone before. You can't understand it. Sonja, wait a bit. Sit here, and Natasha embraced and kissed him. I had heard that it happens like this. And you must have heard it too. But it is only now that I feel such love. It is not the same as before. As soon as I saw him, I felt he was my master and I his slave that I could not help loving him. Yes, his slave. Whatever he orders, I shall do. You don't understand that. What can I do? What can I do, Sonja? Cried Natasha with a happy yet frightened expression. But think what you are doing, cried Sonja. I can't leave it like this. This secret correspondence. How could you let him go so far? She went on with a horror and disgust. She could hardly conceal. I told you that I have no will, Natasha replied. Why can't you understand? I love him. Then I won't let it come to that. I shall tell, cried Sonja, bursting into tears. What do you mean, for God's sake? If you tell you are my enemy, declared Natasha. You want me to be miserable? You want us to be separated? When she saw Natasha's fright, Sonja shed tears of shame and pity for her friend. But what has happened between you, she asked. What has he said to you? Why doesn't he come to the house? Natasha did not answer her questions. For God's sake, Sonja, don't tell anyone. Don't torture me, Natasha, and treated. Remember, no one ought to interfere in such matters. I have confided in you. But why this secrecy? Why doesn't he come to the house, asked Sonja? Why doesn't he openly ask for your hand? You know, Prince Andrew gave you complete freedom. If it is really so, but I don't believe it. Natasha, have you considered what these secret reasons can be? Natasha looked at Sonja with astonishment. Evidently, this question presented itself to her mind for the first time, and she did not know how to answer it. I don't know what the reasons are, but there must be reasons. Sonja sighed and shook her head incredulously. If there were reasons, she began. But Natasha, guessing her doubts, interrupted her in alarm. Sonja, one can't doubt him. One can't, one can't. Don't you understand, she cried. Does he love you? Does he love me? Natasha repeated with a smile of pity at her friend's lack of comprehension. Why? You have read his letter, and you have seen him. But if he's dishonorable, he dishonorable. If you only knew, exclaimed Natasha. If he's an honorable man, he should either declare his intentions or cease seeing you. And if you won't do this, I will. I will write to him and I will tell Papa, said Sonja resolutely. But I can't live without him, cried Natasha. Natasha, I don't understand you. And what are you saying? Think of your father and of Nicholas. I don't want anyone. I don't love anyone but him. How dare you say he's dishonorable. Don't you know that I love him, screamed Natasha. Go away, Sonja. I don't want to quarrel with you. But go, for God's sake, go. You see how I am suffering. Natasha cried angrily in a voice of despair and repressed irritation. Sonja burst into psalms and ran from the room. Natasha went to the table and without a moment's reflection wrote that answer to Princess Mary which she had been unable to write all the morning. In this letter she said briefly that all their misunderstandings were at an end, that availing herself of the magnanimity of Prince Andrew, who, when he went abroad, had given her her freedom. She begged Princess Mary to forget everything and forgive her if she had been to blame thought her. But that she could not be his wife. At that moment this all seemed quite easy, simple and clear to Natasha. On Friday the Rostovs were to return to the country but on Wednesday the Count went with the prospective purchaser to his estate near Moscow. On the day the Count left, Sonja and Natasha were invited to a big dinner party at the Karagins and Maria Dimitrievna took them there. At that party Natasha again met Anatol and Sonja noticed that she spoke to him trying not to be overhead and that all through dinner she was more agitated than ever. When they got home Natasha was the first to begin the explanation Sonja expected. There Sonja, you were talking all sorts of nonsense about him Natasha began in a mild voice such as children use when they wish to be praised. We have had an explanation today. Well, what happened? What did he say? Natasha how glad I am you are not angry with me. Tell me everything the whole truth. What did he say? Natasha became thoughtful. Oh Sonja, if you knew him as I do. He said, he asked me what I had promised Balkansky. He was glad I was free to refuse him. Sonja sighed sorrowfully. But you haven't refused Balkansky. Said she, perhaps I have. Perhaps all is over between me and Balkansky. Why do you think so badly of me? I don't think anything. Only I don't understand this. Wait a bit Sonja. You will understand everything. You will see what a man he is. Now don't think badly of me or of him. I don't think badly of anyone. I love and pity everybody. But what am I to do? Sonja did not succumb to the tender tone Natasha used toward her. The more emotional and ingratiating the expression of Natasha's face became the more serious and stern grew Sonja's. Natasha said she, you asked me not to speak to you. And I haven't spoken. But now you yourself have begun. I don't trust him Natasha. Why this secrecy? Again, again interrupted Natasha. Natasha, I am afraid for you. Afraid of what? I am afraid you are going to your ruin. Said Sonja resolutely and was herself horrified at what she had said. Anger again showed in Natasha's face. And I will go to my ruin. I will as soon as possible. It is not your business. It won't be you, but I who will suffer. Leave me alone. Leave me alone. I hate you. Natasha, Monsonja Agast. I hate you, I hate you. You are my enemy forever. And Natasha ran out of the room. Natasha did not speak to Sonja again and avoided her. With the same expression of agitated surprise and guilt, she went about the house taking up now one occupation, now another and at once abandoning them. Hard as it was for Sonja, she watched her friend and did not let her out of her sight. The day before the count was to return, Sonja noticed that Natasha sat by the drawing room window all the morning as if expecting something and that she made a sign to an officer who drove past whom Sonja took to be Anatol. Sonja began watching her friend still more attentively and noticed that at dinner and all that evening, Natasha was in a strange and unnatural state. She answered questions at random, began sentences she did not finish and laughed at everything. After tea, Sonja noticed a housemaid at Natasha's door, timidly waiting to let her pass. She let the girl go in and then listening at the door learned that another letter had been delivered. Then suddenly it became clear to Sonja that Natasha had some dreadful plan for that evening. Sonja knocked at her door, Natasha did not let her in. She will run away with him, said Sonja. She is capable of anything. There was something particularly pathetic and resolute in her face today. She cried as she said goodbye to uncle, Sonja remembered. Yes, that is it. She means to elope with him, but what am I to do? So she, recalling all the signs that clearly indicated that Natasha had some terrible intention. The count is away. What am I to do? Right to kurag in demanding an explanation, but what is that to oblige him to reply? Right to Pierre, as Prince Andrew asked me to in case of some misfortune. But perhaps she really has already refused Borkonsky. She sent a letter to Princess Mary yesterday. And uncle is away. To tell Maria Dimitrievna, who had such face in Natasha, seemed to Sonja terrible. Well, anyway, said Sonja, as she stood in the dark passage, now or never I must prove that I remember the family's goodness to me and that I love Nicholas. Yes, if I don't sleep for three nights, I will not leave this passage and will hold her back by force and will and not let the family be disgraced. So she, end of chapter 15, recording by Eva Harnick, Pontevedra, Florida. War and Peace, book eight, chapter 16, recording for LibriVox.org by Eva Harnick. Anatol had lately moved to Dolokovs. The plan for Natalie Rostov's abduction had been arranged and the preparation made by Dolokov, a few days before. And on the day that Sonja, after listening at Natasha's door, resolved to safeguard her, it was to have been put into execution. Natasha had promised to come out to Kuragin at the back porch at 10 that evening. Kuragin was to put her into Troika. He would have ready and to drive her 40 miles to the village of Kamenka, where an unfrocked priest was in readiness to perform a marriage ceremony over them. At Kamenka, a relay of horses was to wait, which would take them to the Warsaw High Road and from there, they would hasten abroad with post horses. Anatol had a passport and order for post horses. 10,000 rubles he had taken from his sister and another 10,000 borrowed with Dolokov's help. Two witnesses for the mock marriage, Kostikov, a retired petty official whom Dolokov made use of in his gambling transactions and Makarin, a retired hussar, a kindly weak fellow who had an unbounded affection for Kuragin was sitting at tea in Dolokov's front room. In his large study, the walls of which were hung to the ceiling with Persian rugs, beer skins, and weapons set Dolokov in a traveling cloak and high boots at an open desk on which lay abacus and some bundles of paper money. Anatol, with uniform unbuttoned, walked to and fro from the room where the witnesses were sitting through the study to the room behind where his French valet and others were packing the last of his things. Dolokov was counting the money and noting something down. Well, he said, Kostikov must have 2,000. Give it to him then, said Anatol. Makarka, their name for Makarin, will go through fire and water for you for nothing. So here are our accounts all settled, said Dolokov, showing him the memorandum. Is that right? Yes, of course, returned Anatol evidently not listening to Dolokov and looking straight before him with a smile that did not leave his face. Dolokov banged down the lid of his desk and turned to Anatol with an ironic smile. Do you know, you had really better drop it all. There is still time. Fool, retorted Anatol, don't talk nonsense. If you only knew, it is the devil knows what. No, really give it up, said Dolokov. I'm speaking seriously. It is no joke, this plot you have hatched. What, teasing again? Go to the devil, eh? Said Anatol, making a grimace. Really, it is no time for you stupid jokes. And he left the room. Dolokov smiled contemptuously and condescendingly when Anatol had gone out. You wait a bit, he called after him. I am not joking. I am talking sense. Come here, come here. Anatol returned and looked at Dolokov trying to give him his attention and evidently submitting to him involuntarily. Now listen to me. I am telling you this for the last time. Why should I joke about it? Did I hinder you? Who arranged everything for you? Who found the priest and got the passport? Who raised the money? I did it all. Well, thank you for it. Do you think I'm not grateful and Anatol signed and embraced Dolokov? I helped you, but all the same, I must tell you the truth. It is a dangerous business, and if you think about it, a stupid business. Well, you will carry her off, all right. Will they let it stop at that? It will come out that you are already married. Why? They will have you in the criminal court. Oh, nonsense, nonsense. Anatol ejaculated and again made a grimace. Didn't I explain to you? What? And Anatol, with the partially dilapidated people, have, for any conclusion, they have reached by their own reasoning, repeated the argument he had already put to Dolokov a hundred times. Didn't I explain to you that I have come to this conclusion? If this marriage is invalid, he went on croaking one finger, then I have nothing to answer for. But if it is valid, no matter. Abroad, no one will know anything about it. Isn't that so? And don't talk to me. Don't, don't. Seriously? You had better drop it. You will only get yourself into a mess. Go to the devil, cried Anatol, and clutching his head left the room, but returned at once and dropped into an armchair in front of Dolokov, with his feet turned under him. It is the very devil. What? Feel how it beats. He took Dolokov's hand and put it on his heart. What a foot, my dear fellow. What a glance, a goddess, he added. In French, what? Dolokov, with a cold smile and a gleam in his handsome, insolent eyes, looked at him, evidently wishing to get some more amusement out of him. Well, and when the money is gone, what then? What then, eh? repeated Anatol, sincerely perplexed by a thought of the future. What then? Then? I don't know. But why talk nonsense? He glanced at his watch. It is time. Anatol went into the back room. Now then, nearly ready, you are dawdling. He shouted to the servants. Dolokov put away the money, called a footman, whom he ordered to bring something for them to eat and drink before the journey, and went into the room where Kostikov and Makarin were sitting. Anatol lay on the sofa in the study, leaning on his elbow and smiling pensively, while his handsome lips muttered tenderly to himself. Come and eat something. Have a drink. Dolokov shouted to him from the other room. I don't want to, answered Anatol, continuing to smile. Come, Balaga is here. Anatol rose and went into the dining room. Balaga was a famous troika driver who had known Dolokov and Anatol some six years and had given them good service with his troikas. More than once, when Anatol's regiment was stationed at Tver, he had taken him from Tver in the evening, brought him to Moscow by daybreak and driven him back again the next night. More than once, he had enabled Dolokov to escape and pursuit. More than once, he had driven them through the town with gypsies and ladykins, as he called the cocots. More than once in their service, he had run over pedestrians and abstract vehicles in the streets of Moscow and had always been protected from the consequences by my gentleman, as he called them. He had ruined more than one horse in their service. More than once, they had beaten him and more than once, they had made him drunk on champagne and Madeira, which he loved. And he knew more than one thing about each of them, which would long ago have sent an ordinary man to Siberia. They often called Belarga into their orgies and made him drink and dance at the gypsies and more than 1,000 rubles of their money had passed through his hands. In their service, he risked his skin and his life 20 times a year. And in their service, had lost more horses than the money he had from them would buy. But he liked them. Liked at mad driving at 12 miles an hour. Liked upsetting a driver or running down a pedestrian. And flying at full gallop through the Moscow streets. He liked to hear those wild, deep sea shouts behind him. Get on! Get on! When it was impossible to go any faster. He liked giving a painful lash on the neck of some peasant who more dead than alive was already hurrying out of his way. Real gentleman, he considered them. Anatoly Andolokov liked Belarga too for his masterly driving and because he liked the things they liked. With others, Belarga bargained, charging 25 rubles for a two hours drive and rarely drove himself, generally letting his young men do so. But with his gentleman, he always drove himself and never demanded anything for his work. Only a couple of times a year, when he knew from their wallets that they had money in hand, he would turn up a morning quite sober and with a deep bow would ask them to help him. The gentleman always made him sit down. Do help me out, Theodor Ivanovich, sir, or your excellency, he would say. I am quite out of horses. Let me have what you can to go to the fair. Anatoly Andolokov, when they had money, would give him a thousand or a couple of thousand rubles. Belarga was a fair-haired, short and snub-nosed peasant of about 27, red-faced with a particularly red-sick neck, glittering little eyes and a small beard. He wore a fine dark blue-circline cloth coat over a sheepskin. On entering the room now, he crossed himself turning toward the front corner of the room and went up to Dolokov holding out a small black hand. Theodor Ivanovich, he said, bowing. How do you do, friend? Well, here he is. Good day, your excellency, he said again holding out his hand to Anatoly who had just come in. I say Belarga, said Anatoly, putting his hands on the man's shoulders. Do you care for me or not? Now, do me a service. What horses have you come with, eh? As your messengers ordered, your special beasts, replied Belarga. Well, listen Belarga, drive all three to death, but get me there in three hours, eh? When they are dead, what shall I drive? Said Belarga with a wink. Mind I smash your face in. Don't make jokes. Cried Anatoly, suddenly rolling his eyes. Why jokes, said the driver, laughing, as if I would grudge my gentlemen anything. As fast as ever, the horses can gallop. So fast we will go. Ah, said Anatoly. Well, sit down. Yes, sit down, said Dolokov. I'll stand, Theodor Ivanovich. Sit down, nonsense. Have a drink, said Anatoly, and filled a large glass of Medera for him. The driver's eyes sparkled at the sight of the wine. After refusing it, for men's sake, he drank it and wiped his mouth with a red silk handkerchief he took out of his cap. And when are we to start your excellency? Well, Anatoly looked at his watch. We will start at once. Mind Balaga, you'll get there in time, eh? That depends on our luck in starting, as why shouldn't we be there in time? replied Balaga. Didn't we get you to Tver in seven hours? I think you remember that, your excellency. Do you know one Christmas I drove from Tver, said Anatoly, smilingly at the recollection and turning to Makarin, who gazed rapturously at him with wide open eyes. Will you believe it, Makarca? It took once breath away the rate we flew. We came across a train of loaded slays and drove right over two of them, eh? Those were horses. Balaga continued the tale. That time I had harnessed two young sighthorses with the bay in the shafts. He went on, turning to the lock-off. Will you believe it, Theodor Ivanovich, those animals flew forty miles? I couldn't hold them in. My hands grew numb in the sharp frost so that I threw down the reins. Catch hold yourself, your excellency, says I, and I just tumbled on the bottom of the sleigh and sprawled there. It wasn't the case of urging them on. There was no holding them in till we reached the place. The devils took us there in three hours. Only the near one died of it. End of Chapter 16, Recording by Eva Harnick, Pontavedra, Florida. War and Peace. Book 8, Chapter 17. Recording for LibriVox.org by Eva Harnick. Anatol went out of the room and returned a few minutes later, wearing a fur coat, girt with a silver belt, and a sable cap, jointly set on one side and very becoming to his handsome face. Having looked in a mirror and standing before Dolokov in the same pose he had assumed before it, he lifted a glass of wine. Well, goodbye, Theodor. Thank you for everything, and farewell, said Anatol. Well, comrades and friends, he considered for a moment of my use. Farewell, he said, turning to Makarin and the others. Though they were all going with him, Anatol evidently wished to make something touching and so on out of this address to his comrades. He spoke slowly in a loud voice and, throwing out his chest, slightly swayed one leg. All take losses, you two Balaga. Well, comrades and friends of my use, we have had our fling and lived and reveled, eh? And now when shall we meet again? I am going abroad. We have had a good time. Now farewell, lads. To our house who rey he cried and, emptying his glass, flung it on the floor. To your house, said Balaga, who also emptied his glass and wiped his mouse with his handkerchief. Makarin embraced Anatol with tears in his eyes. Ah, Prince, how sorry I am to part from you. Let's go, let's go, cried Anatol. Balaga was about to leave the room. No, stop, said Anatol. Shut the door. We have first to sit down. That is the way. They shut the door and all sat down. Now, quick march, lads, said Anatol, rising. Joseph, his valet, handed him his saber-tush and saber, and they all went out into the vestibule. And where is the fur cloak, asked Dolokov? Hey, Ignatica, go to Matrina Matrevna and ask her for the saber cloak. I have heard what allopments are like. Continue, Dolokov, with a wink. Why? She will rush out more dead than alive just in the sinks she is wearing. If you delay at all, there will be tears and papa and mama, and she's frozen in a minute and must go back. But you wrap the fur cloak around her first thing and carry her to the sleigh. The valet brought a woman's fox-lined cloak. Fool, I told you the saber one. Hey, Matrina, the saber, he shouted so that his voice rang far through the rooms. A handsome, slim and pale-faced gypsy girl with glittering black eyes and curly blue-black hair wearing a red shawl, ran out with a saber-mental on her arm. Here, I don't grudge it. Take it. She said evidently afraid of her master and yet regretful of her cloak. Dolokov, without answering, looked the cloak through it over Matrina and wrapped her up in it. That is the way, said Dolokov, and then so. And he turned the color up around her head, leaving only a little of the face uncovered. And then so do you see. And he pushed Anatol's head forward to meet the gap left by the color through which Matrina's brilliant smile was seen. Well, goodbye, Matrina, said Anatol, kissing her. Ah, my reveres here are over. Remember me to Steshka. There, goodbye, goodbye, Matrina. Wish me luck. Well, Prince, may God give you great luck, said Matrina, in her gypsy accent. Two troikas were standing before the porch and two young drivers were holding the horses. Balaga took his seat in the front one and holding his elbows high arranged the reins deliberately. Anatol and Dolokov got in with him. Makarin, Kostikov and the vali seated themselves in the other sleigh. Well, are you ready? Asked Balaga. Go, he cried, twisting the reins around his hands and the troika tore down the Nikitski bulwar. True, get out of the way. High, true, the shouting of Balaga and of the sturdy young fellow seated on the box was all that could be heard. On the arbor square the troika caught against the carriage, something cracked, shouts were heard and the troika flew along the arbor street. After taking a turn along the Podnovinsky bulwar, Balaga began to rein in and turning back drew up at the crossing of the old Konyusheni street. The young fellow on the box jumped down to hold the horses and Anatol and Dolokov went along the pavement. When they reached the gate Dolokov whistled. The whistle was answered and the maidservant ran out. Come into the courtyard or you will be seen. She will come out directly, said she. Dolokov stayed by the gate. Anatol followed the maid into the courtyard, turned the corner and ran up into the porch. She was met by Gabriel Maria Dimitrievna's gigantic footman. Come to the mistress please, said the footman in his deep pants, intercepting any retreat. To what mistress, who are you? Ask Anatol in a breathless whisper. Kindly step in. My orders are to bring you in. Kuragin, come back, shouted Dolokov. Betrayed, back. Dolokov, after Anatol entered, had remained at the wicket gate and was struggling with the yard porter who was trying to lock it. With a last desperate effort, Dolokov pushed the porter aside and when Anatol ran back, seized him by the arm, pulled him through the wicket and ran back with him to the troika. End of chapter 17, recording by Ava Harnik, Ponte Vedra, Florida. War and Peace. Book 8. Chapter 18. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. War and Peace by Leo Tolstoy. Book 8. Chapter 18. Maria Dimitrievna, having found Sonia weeping in the corridor, made her confess everything and intercepting the note to Natasha, she read it and went into Natasha's room with it in her hand. You shameless good for nothing, she said. I won't hear a word. Pushing back Natasha, who looked at her with astonished but tearless eyes, she locked her in and having given orders to the yard porter to admit the persons who would be coming that evening but not to let them out again and having told the footmen to bring them up to her, she seated herself in the drawing room to await the abductors. When Gabriel came to inform her that the men who had come had run away again, she rose frowning and clasping her hands behind her paced through the rooms a long time, considering what she should do. Toward midnight she went to Natasha's room fingering the key in her pocket. Sonia was sitting, sobbing in the corridor. Maria Dmitrievna, for God's sakes, let me enter her, she pleaded. But Maria Dmitrievna unlocked the door and went in without giving her an answer. Disgusting, abominable, in my house, horrid girl, hussy. I'm only sorry for her father, thought she, trying to restrain her wrath. Hard as it may be, I'll tell them all to hold their tongues and we'll hide it from the count. She entered the room with resolute steps, Natasha, lying on the sofa, her head hidden in her hands, and she did not stir. She was in just the same position in which Maria Dmitrievna had left her. A nice girl, very nice, said Maria Dmitrievna, arranging meetings with lovers in my house. It's no use pretending. You listen when I speak to you and Maria Dmitrievna touched her arm. Listen when I speak. You've disgraced yourself like the lowest of huzzies. I'd treat you differently, but I'm sorry for your father, so I will conceal it. Natasha did not change her position, but her whole body heaved with noiseless, convulsive sobs which choked her. Maria Dmitrievna glanced round at Sonia and seated herself on the sofa beside Natasha. It's lucky for him that he escaped me, but I'll find him, she said, in a rough voice. Do you hear what I am saying or not, she added. She put her large hand under Natasha's face and turned it toward her. Both Maria Dmitrievna and Sonia were amazed when they saw how Natasha looked. Her eyes were dry and glistening, her lips compressed, her cheeks sunken. Let me be, what is it to me? I shall die, she muttered, wrenching herself from Maria Dmitrievna's hands with a vicious effort and sinking down again into her former position. Natalie, said Maria Dmitrievna, I wish for your good, lie still, stay like that then, I won't touch you. But listen, I won't tell you how guilty you are, you know that yourself. But when your father comes back tomorrow, what am I to tell him, eh? Again Natasha's body shook with sobs. Suppose he finds out, and your brother, and you're betrothed. I have no betrothed, I have refused him, cried Natasha. That's all the same, continued Maria Dmitrievna. If they hear of this, will they let it pass? He, your father, I know him. If he challenges him to a duel, will that be all right, eh? Oh, let me be, why have you interfered at all? Why, why? Who asked you to, shouted Natasha, raising herself on the sofa and looking malignantly at Maria Dmitrievna. But what did you want, cried Maria Dmitrievna, growing angry again. Were you kept under lock and key? Who hindered his coming to this house? Why carry you off as if you were some gypsy singing girl? Well, if he had carried you off, do you think they wouldn't have found him, your father or brother, or you're betrothed? And he's a scoundrel, a wretch, and that's a fact. He's better than any of you, exclaimed Natasha, getting up. I hadn't interfered. Oh, my God, what is it all? What is it? Sonia, why? Go away. And she burst into sobs with the despairing vehemence with which people bewail disasters they feel they themselves have occasioned. Maria Dmitrievna was to speak again, but Natasha cried out, Go away, go away. You all hate and despise me. And she threw herself back on the sofa. Maria Dmitrievna went on admonishing her for some time, enjoining on her that it must all be kept from her father and assuring her that nobody would know anything about it if only Natasha herself would undertake to forget it all and not let anyone see that something had happened. Natasha did not reply, nor did she sob any longer, but she grew cold and had a shivering fit. Maria Dmitrievna put a pillow under her head and covered her with two quilts, and herself brought her some lime-flower water, but Natasha did not respond to her. Well, let her sleep, said Maria Dmitrievna as she went out of the room, supposing Natasha to be asleep. But Natasha was not asleep. With pale face and fixed wide-open eyes she looked straight before her. All that night she did not sleep or weep and did not speak to Sonia who got up and went to her several times. Next day Count Rostov returned from his estate near Moscow in time for lunch as he had promised. He was in very good spirits. The affair with the purchaser was going unsatisfactorily and there was nothing to keep him any longer in Moscow, away from the Countess whom he missed. Maria Dmitrievna meant him and told him that Natasha had been very unwell the day before and that they had sent for the doctor but that she was better now. Natasha had not left her room that morning and compressed and parched lips and dry fixed eyes she sat at the window uneasily watching the people who drove past and hurriedly glancing around at anyone who entered the room. She was evidently expecting news of him and that he would come or would write to her. When the Count came to see her she turned anxiously around at the sound of a man's footstep and then her face resumed its cold and malevolent expression. She did not even get up to greet him. What's the matter with you, my angel? Are you ill, asked the Count? After a moment's silence Natasha answered, Yes, ill. In reply to the Count's anxious inquiries as to why she was so dejected and whether anything had happened to her betrothed she assured him that nothing had happened and asked him not to worry. Maria Dmitrievna confirmed Natasha's assurances that nothing had happened. From the pretense of illness, from his daughter's distress and the embarrassed faces of Sonia and Maria Dmitrievna, the Count saw clearly that something had gone wrong during his absence. But it was so terrible for him to think that anything disgraceful had happened to his beloved daughter and he so prized his own cheerful tranquility that he avoided inquiries and tried to assure himself that nothing particularly had happened and he was only dissatisfied that her indisposition delayed their return to the country. CHAPTER XIX From the day his wife arrived in Moscow Pierre had been intending to go away somewhere so as not to be near her. Soon after the Rostovs came to Moscow the effect Natasha had had on him made him hasten to carry out his intention. He went to Ver to see Joseph Alexeyevich's widow who had long since promised to hand over to him some papers of her deceased husbands. When he returned to Moscow Pierre was handed a letter from Maria Dmitrievna asking him to come and see her on a matter of great importance relating to Andrew Balkonsky and his betrothed. Pierre had been avoiding Natasha because it seemed to him that his feeling for her was stronger than a married man should be for his friend's fiance yet some fate constantly threw them together. What can have happened and what can they want with me thought he as he dressed to go to Maria Dmitrievna's if only Prince Andrew would hurry up and come and marry her thought he on his way to the house on the Versgoy Boulevard a familiar voice called to him. Pierre! Been back long? Someone shouted. Pierre raised his head in a sleigh drawn by two grey trotting horses that were bespattering the dashboard with snow, Anatole and his constant companion Macurine dashed past. Anatole was sitting upright in the classic pose of military dandies the lower part of his face hidden by his beaver collar and his head slightly bent. His face was fresh and rosy his white-plumed hat tilted to one side disclosed his curl and pomaded hair besprinkled with powdery snow. Yes indeed, that's a true sage thought Pierre. He sees nothing beyond the pleasure of the moment. Nothing troubles him and so he is always cheerful, satisfied and serene. What wouldn't I give to be like him? he thought enviously. In Maria Dmitrievna's anti-room the footman who helped him off with his fur coat said that the mistress asked him to come to her in her bedroom. When he opened the ballroom door Pierre saw Natasha sitting at the window with a thin, pale and spiteful face. She glanced round at him, frowned and left the room with an expression of cold dignity. What has happened, asked Pierre entering Maria Dmitrievna's room? Fine doings answered Dmitrievna for fifty-eight years I've lived in this world and never known anything so disgraceful. And having put him on his honor not to repeat anything she told him Maria Dmitrievna informed him that Natasha had refused Prince Andrew without her parents' knowledge and that the cause of this was Anatole Couragan into whose society Pierre's wife had thrown her and with whom Natasha had tried to elope during her father's absence in order to be married secretly. Pierre raised his shoulders and listened open-mouth to what was told him scarcely able to believe his own ears. That Prince Andrews deeply loved a fianced wife the same Natasha Rostova who used to be so charming should give up Alconsky for that fool Anatole who was already secretly married as Pierre knew and should be so in love with him as to agree to run away with him with something Pierre could not conceive and could not imagine. He could not reconcile the charming impression he had of Natasha whom he had known from a child with this new conception of her baseness, folly and cruelty. He thought of his wife like he said to himself reflecting that he was not the only man unfortunate enough to be tied to a bad woman. But still he pityed Prince Andrew to the point of tears and sympathized with his wounded pride and the more he pitied his friend the more did he think with contempt and even with disgust of that Natasha who had just passed him in the ballroom with such a look of cold dignity. He did not know that Natasha's soul was overflowing with despair, shame and humiliation and that it was not her fault that her face happened to assume an expression of calm dignity and severity. But how get married said Pierre in answer to Maria Dmitrievna he could not marry, he is married. Things get worse from hour to hour ejaculated Maria Dmitrievna a nice youth, what a scoundrel and she's expecting him expecting him since yesterday. She must be told then at least she won't go on expecting him. After hearing the details of Anatole's marriage from Pierre and giving vent to her anger against Anatole in words of abuse Maria Dmitrievna told Pierre why she had sent for him she was afraid that the Count or Volkonsky who might arrive at any moment if they knew of this affair which she hoped to hide from them might challenge Anatole to a duel and she therefore asked Pierre to tell his brother-in-law in her name to leave Moscow and not dare to let her set eyes on him again. Pierre only now realizing the danger to the old Count Nicholas and Prince Andrew promised to do as she wished having briefly and exactly explained her wishes to him she let him go to the drawing-room Mind the Count knows nothing behave as if you know nothing either she said I will go and tell her it is no use expecting him and stay to dinner if you care to she called after Pierre and sent the old Count who seemed nervous and upset that morning Natasha had told him that she had rejected Volkonsky troubles, troubles, my dear fellow he said to Pierre what troubles one has with these girls without their mother I do so regret having come here I will be frank with you have you heard she has broken off her engagement without consulting anybody it's true this engagement was never much to my liking of course he's an excellent man with his father's disapproval they wouldn't have been happy and Natasha won't lack suitors still it has been going on so long and to take such a step without father's or mother's consent and now she's ill and God knows what it's hard Count hard to manage daughters in their mother's absence Pierre saw that the Count was much upset and tried to change the subject but the Count returned to his troubles Sonia entered the room with an agitated face Natasha is not quite well she's in her room and would like to see you Maria Dimitrievna is with her and she too asks you to come yes you are a great friend of Volkonsky's no doubt she wants to send him a message said the Count oh dear oh dear how happy it all was and clutching the spare grey locks on his temples the Count left the room when Maria Dimitrievna told Natasha that Anatole was married Natasha did not wish to believe it and insisted on having it confirmed by Pierre himself Sonia told Pierre this as she led him along the corridor to Natasha's room Natasha pale and stern was sitting beside Maria Dimitrievna and her eyes glittering feverishly meant Pierre with a questioning look the moment he entered she did not smile or nod but only gazed fixedly at him and her look asked only one thing was he a friend or like the others an enemy in regard to Anatole as for Pierre he evidently did not exist for her he knows all about it said Maria Dimitrievna pointing to Pierre and addressing Natasha let him tell you whether I have told the truth Natasha looked from one to the other as a hunted and wounded animal looks at the approaching dogs and sportsmen Natalia Illenechia Pierre began dropping his eyes with a feeling of pity for her and loathing for the thing he had to do whether it is true or not should make no difference to you then it is not true that he's married yes it is true has he been married long? she asked on your honor? Pierre gave his word of honor is he still here? she asked quickly yes I have just seen him she was evidently unable to speak and made a sign with her hands that they should leave her alone end of chapter 19 chapter 20 book 8 of war and peace this is a LibriVox recording all LibriVox recordings are in the public domain for more information or to volunteer please visit LibriVox.org war and peace by Leo Tolstoy book 8 chapter 20 Pierre did not stay for dinner but left the room and went away at once he drove through the town seeking Anatole Currigan at the thought of whom now the blood rushed to his heart and he felt a difficulty in breathing he was not at the ice hills nor at gypsies nor at kimonios Pierre drove to the club in the club all was going on as usual the members who were assembling for dinner were sitting about in groups they greeted Pierre and spoke of the town news the footmen having greeted him knowing his habits and his acquaintances told him that there was a place left for him in the small dining room and that Prince Michael Zacherich was in the library but Paul Tomofovich had not yet arrived one of Pierre's acquaintances while they were talking about the weather asked if he had heard of Currigan's abduction of Rostova which was talked of in the town and was it true Pierre laughed and said it was nonsense for he had just come from the Rostovs he asked everyone about Anatole one man told him he had not come yet and another that he was coming to dinner Pierre felt it was strange to see this calm and different crowd of people unaware of what was going on in his soul he paced through the ballroom waited till everyone had come and as Anatole had not turned up did not stay for dinner but drove home Anatole for whom Pierre was looking dined that day with Dolokov consulting him as to how to remedy this unfortunate affair it seemed to him essential to see Natasha in the evening he drove to his sisters to discuss with her how to arrange a meeting when Pierre returned home after vainly hunting all over Moscow his valet informed him that Prince Anatole was with the Countess the drawing room was full of guests Pierre without greeting his wife whom he had not seen since his return at that moment she was more repulsive to him than ever entered the drawing room and seeing Anatole went up to him Ah Pierre said the Countess going up to her husband you don't know what applied our Anatole she stopped seeing in the forward thrust of her husband's head in his glowing eyes and his resolute gait the terrible indications of that rage and strength which she knew Anatole himself experienced after his duel with Dolokov where you are there is vice and evil said Pierre to his wife Anatole come with me I must speak to you he added in French Anatole glanced round at his sister and rose submissively ready to follow Pierre Pierre taking him by the arm pulled him towards himself and was leading him from the room if you allow yourself in my drawing room whispered Helene but Pierre did not reply his usual jaunty step but his face betrayed anxiety having entered his study Pierre closed the door and addressed Anatole without looking at him you promised Count Restauva to marry her and were about to elope with her is that so Montchère answered Anatole their whole conversation was in French I don't consider myself bound to answer questions put to me in that tone Pierre's face, already pale became distorted by fury with the collar of his uniform with his big hand and shook him from side to side till Anatole's face showed a sufficient degree of terror when I tell you that I must talk to you repeated Pierre come now this is stupid what said Anatole fingering a button of his collar that had been wrenched loose with a bit of the cloth you're a scoundrel and a black guard and I don't know what to prize me from the pleasure of smashing your head with this said Pierre expressing himself so artificially talking French he took a heavy paperweight and lifted it threateningly but at once put it back in its place did you promise to marry her I didn't think of it I never promised because Pierre interrupted him have you any letters of hers any letters he said moving towards Anatole Anatole glanced at him and immediately thrust his hand into his pocket and drew out his pocket block Pierre took the letter Anatole handed him and pushing aside a table that stood in his way threw himself on the sofa I shan't be violent so don't be afraid said Pierre in answer to a frightened gesture of Anatole's first the letters said he as if repeating a lesson to himself secondly he continued after a short pause again rising and again pacing the room tomorrow you must get out of Moscow but how can I thirdly Pierre continued without listening to him you must never breathe a word of what has passed between you and Countess Rostov I know I can't prevent you doing so but if you have a spark of conscience Pierre paced the room several times in silence Anatole sat at a table frowning and biting his lips after all you must understand that besides your pleasure there is such a thing as other people's happiness and peace and that you are ruining a whole life for the sake of amusing yourself amuse yourself with women like my wife with them you are within your rights for they know what you want of them they are armed against you by the same experience of debauchery but to promise a maid to marry her to deceive, to kidnap don't you understand that it is as mean as beating an old man or a child? Pierre paused and looked at Anatole no longer with an angry but with a questioning look I don't know about that eh said Anatole growing more confident as Pierre mastered his wrath I don't know that and don't want to he said, not looking at Pierre and with a slight tremor of his lower jaw but you have used such words to me mean and so on which is a man of honor I can't allow anyone to use Pierre gazed at him with amazement unable to understand what he wanted though it was a tete-a-tete Anatole continued, still I can't is it satisfaction you want said Pierre ironically you could at least take back your words what if you want me to do as you wish eh I take them back I take them back said Pierre and I ask you to forgive me Pierre involuntarily glanced at the loose button and if you require money for your journey Anatole smiled the expression of that base and cringing smile which Pierre knew so well and his wife revolted him oh vile and heartless brood he exclaimed and left the room next day Anatole left for Petersburg end of chapter 20 war and peace book 8 chapter 21 reading for LibriVox.org by Eva Harnick Pierre drove to Maria Dimitrievnas to tell her of the fulfillment of her wish that Kuragin should be banished from Moscow the whole house was in a state of alarm and commotion Natasha was very ill having as Maria Dimitrievnas told him in secret poisoned herself the night after she had been told that Anatole was married with some arsenic she had stealthily procured after swallowing a little she had been so frightened that she woke Sonja and told her what she had done the necessary antidotes had been administered in time and she was now out of danger though still so weak that it was out of the question to move her to the country and so the countess had been sent for Pierre saw the distracted count and Sonja who had a tear-stained face but he could not see Natasha Pierre dined at the club that day and heard on all sides gossip about the attempted abduction of Rostov he resolutely denied these rumors assuring everyone that nothing had happened except that his brother-in-law had proposed to her and been refused it seemed to Pierre that it was his duty to conceal the whole affair and re-establish Natasha's reputation he was awaiting Prince Andrew's return with dread and went every day to the old princess for news of him old Prince Polkonsky heard all the rumors current in the town from Mademoiselle Burienne and had read the note to Princess Mary in which Natasha had broken off her engagement he seemed in better spirits than usual and awaited his son with great impatience some days after Anatole's departure Pierre received a note from Prince Andrew informing him of his arrival and asking him to come to see him as soon as he reached Moscow Prince Andrew had received from his father Natasha's note to Princess Mary breaking off her engagement Mademoiselle Burienne had pearlonded from Princess Mary giving it to the old Prince and he heard from him the story of Natasha's allotment with additions Prince Andrew had arrived in the evening and Pierre came to see him next morning Pierre expected to find Prince Andrew in almost the same state as Natasha and was therefore surprised on entering the drawing room to hear him in the study in a loud animated voice about some intrigue going on in Petersburg the old Prince's voice and another now and then interrupted him Princess Mary came out to meet Pierre she sighed looking toward the door of the room where Prince Andrew was evidently intending to express her sympathy with his sorrow but Pierre saw by her face that she was glad both at what had happened and at the way her brother had taken the news of Natasha's facelessness he says he expected it she remarked I know his pride will not let him express his feelings but still he has taken it better far better than I expected evidently it had to be but is it possible that all is really ended as Pierre Princess Mary looked at him with astonishment she did not understand how he could ask such a question Pierre went into the study Prince Andrew greatly changed and plainly in better house but with a fresh horizontal wrinkle between his brows stood in civilian dress and Prince Mershchersky warmly disputing and vigorously gesticulating the conversation was about Spiransky the news of whose sudden exile and alleged treachery had just reached Moscow now he is censured and accused by all who were enthusiastic about him a month ago Prince Andrew was saying and by those who were unable to understand his aims to judge a man who is in this favor and to throw on him all the blame of other man's mistakes is very easy but I maintain that if anything good has been accomplished in this reign it was done by him by him alone he paused at the sight of Pierre his face quivered and immediately assumed a vindictive expression posterity will do him justice he concluded and at one stand to Pierre well, how are you still getting stouter he said with animation but the new wrinkle on his forehead deepened yes, I am well he said in answer to Pierre's question and smiled that smile said plainly I am well but my house is now of no use to anyone after a few words to Pierre about the awful roads from the Polish frontier about people he had met in Switzerland who knew Pierre and about Monsieur de Salle whom he had brought from abroad to be his son's tutor Prince Andrew again joined warmly in the conversation about Spiranski still going on between the two old men if there were treason or proofs of secret relations with Napoleon they would have been made public he said with warmth and haste I do not and never did like Spiranski personally but I like justice Pierre now recognized in his friend a need with which he was only too familiar to get excited and to have arguments about extraneous matters in order to stifle thoughts that were too oppressive and too intimate when Prince Messierski had left Prince Andrew took Pierre's arm and asked him into the room that had been assigned him a bed had been made up there and some open portmontos and trunks to the bout Prince Andrew went to one and took out a small casket from which he drew a packet wrapped in paper he did it all silently and very quickly he stood up and coughed his face was gloomy and his lips compressed forgive me for troubling you Pierre saw that Prince Andrew was going to speak of Natasha and his broad face expressed pity and sympathy this expression irritated Prince Andrew and in a determined, ringing and unpleasant tone he continued I have received a refusal from Countess Rostova and have heard reports of your brother in law having sought her hand or something of that kind is that true both true and untrue Pierre began but Prince Andrew interrupted him here are her letters and her portrait said he he took the packet from the table and handed it to Pierre give this to the Countess if you see her she is very ill said Pierre then she is here still said Prince Andrew and Prince Coragin hear that quickly he left long ago she has been at death's door I much regret her illness said Prince Andrew and his smile like his father coldly maliciously and unpleasantly so Monsieur Coragin has not honored Countess Rostova with his hand said Prince Andrew and he snorted several times he could not marry for he was married already said Pierre Prince Andrew laughed disagreeably again reminding one of his father and where is your brother in law now if I may ask he said he has gone to Peters but I don't know said Pierre well it doesn't matter said Prince Andrew tell Countess Rostova and is perfectly free and that I wish her all that is good Pierre took the packet Prince Andrew as if trying to remember whether he had something more to say or waiting to see if Pierre would say anything looked fixedly at him I say do you remember our discussion in Petersburg asked Pierre about yes returned Prince Andrew hastily I said that a fallen woman should be forgiven but I did not say I could forgive her I count but can this be compared said Pierre Prince Andrew interrupted him and cried sharply yes ask her hand again be magnanimous and so on yes that would be very noble but I am unable to follow in that gentleman's footsteps if you wish to be my friend never speak to me of that of all that well goodbye so you will give her the packet Pierre left the room and went to the old Prince and Princess Mary the old man seemed livelier than usual Princess Mary was the same as always but beneath her sympathy for her brother Pierre noticed her satisfaction that the engagement had been broken off looking at them Pierre realized what contempt and animosity they all felt for the Rostovs and that it was impossible in their presence even to mention the name of her who could give up Prince Andrew for anyone else at Dillard the talk turned on the war the approach of which was becoming evident Prince Andrew talked incessantly arguing now with his father now with the Swiss tutor de Sales and showing an unnatural animation the cause of which Pierre so well understood end of chapter 21 recording by Eva Harnick Pontevedi