 War and Peace by Leo Tolstoy, translated by Elmer and Louise Maud, Book 4. 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 Roger Maline. War and Peace by Leo Tolstoy. Chapter 1. Early in the year 1806, Nikolas Rostov returned home on leave. Denisov was going home to Voronezh, and Rostov persuaded him to travel with him as far as Moscow and stay with him there. Meeting a comrade at the last post station but one before Moscow, Denisov had drunk three bottles of wine with him, and, despite the jolting ruts across the snow-covered road, did not once wake up in the way to Moscow, but lay at the bottom of the slay beside Rostov, who grew more and more impatient than nearer they got to Moscow. How much longer? How much longer? Oh, these insufferable streets, shops, bakers, signboards, street lamps, and slays, thought Rostov when their leave permits had been passed at the town gate and they had entered Moscow. Denisov, we're here. He's asleep, he added, leaning forward with his whole body as if in that position he hoped to hasten the speed of the slay. Denisov gave no answer. There's the corner at the crossroads where the cab man Zakhar has his stand, and there's Zakhar himself and still the same horse. And here's the little shop where we used to buy gingerbread. Can't you hurry up now, then? Which house is it? asked the driver. Why, that one, right at the end, the big one. Don't you see? That's our house, said Rostov. Of course, it's our house. Denisov, Denisov, we're almost there. Denisov raised his head, coughed, and made no answer. Dmitry, said Rostov to his valet in the box, those lights are in our house, aren't they? Yes, sir, and there's a light in your father's study. Then they've gone not to bed yet. What do you think? Mind now, don't forget to put out my new coat, added Rostov, fingering his new mustache. Now then, get on, he shouted to the driver. Do wake up, Vaska, he went on, turning to Denisov, whose head was again nodding. Come, get on. You shall have three rubles for vodka. Get on, Rostov shouted, when the sleigh was only three houses from his door. It seemed to him the horses were not moving at all. At last the sleigh bored of the right drew up at an entrance, and Rostov saw overhead the old familiar cornice with a bit of plaster broken off. The porch and the post by the side of the pavement, he sprang out before the sleigh stopped and ran into the hall. The house stood cold and silent, as if quite regardless of who had come to it. There was no one in the hall. Oh God, is everyone all right? He thought, stopping for a moment with a sinking heart, and then immediately starting to run along the hall and up the warped steps of the familiar staircase. The well-known old door handle, which always angered the Countess when it was not properly cleaned, turned as loosely as ever. A solitary tallow candle burned in the anti-room. Old Michael was asleep on the chest. Prokofy, the footman, who was so strong that he could lift the back of the carriage from behind, sat, plating slippers out of clothed selvages. He looked up at the opening door, and his expression of sleepy indifference suddenly changed to one of delighted amazement. Gracious heavens, the young Count! he cried, recognizing his young master. Can it be? My treasure! And Prokofy, trembling with excitement, rushed toward the drawing-room door, probably in order to announce him, but changing his mind, came back and stooped to kiss the young man's shoulder. All well? asked Rostov, drawing away his arm. Yes, God be thanked, yes, they've just finished supper. Let me have a look at you, Your Excellency. Is everything quite all right? The Lord be thanked, yes. Rostov, who had completely forgotten Denizov, not wishing anyone to forestall him, threw off his fur coat and ran on tiptoe through the large dark ballroom. All was the same. There were the same old card tables and the same chandelier with a cover over it, but someone had already seen the young master, and before he had reached the drawing-room, something flew out from a side door like a tornado and began hugging and kissing him. Another, and yet another creature of the same kind sprang from a second door and a third, more hugging, more kissing, more outcries, and tears of joy. He could not distinguish which was Papa, which Natasha, and which Petia. Everyone shouted, talked, and kissed him at the same time. Only his mother was not there. He noticed that. And I did not know. Nicholas, my darling, here he is, our own Kolya. Nicholas, dear fellow, how he has changed. Where are the candles? Tee. And me, kiss me. Dearest, and me. Sonya, Natasha, Petia, Anna Mikhailovna, Vera, and the old count were all hugging him, and the serfs, men and maids, flocked into the room, exclaiming and owing and eyeing. Petia, clinging to his legs, kept shouting, and me, too. Natasha, after she had pulled him down toward her and covered his face with kisses, holding him tight by the skirt of his coat, sprang away and pranced up and down in one place like a goat, and shrieked piercingly. All around were loving eyes glistening with tears of joy, and all around were lips seeking a kiss. Sonya, too, all rosy red, clung to his arm, and radiant with bliss looked eagerly toward his eyes, waiting for the look for which he longed. Sonya now was sixteen, and she was very pretty, especially at this moment of happy, rapturous excitement. She gazed at him, not taking her eyes off him, and smiling and holding her breath. He gave her a grateful look, but was still expectant and looking for someone. The old countess had not yet come. But now steps were heard at the door, steps so rapid that they could hardly be his mother's. Yet it was she, dressed in a new gown which he did not know, made since he had left. All the others let him go, and he ran to her. When they met she fell on his breast, sobbing. She could not lift her face, but only pressed it into the cold braiding of his hizar's jacket. Denisov, who had come into the room unnoticed by anyone, stood there and wiped his eyes at the sight. Vasily Denisov, your son's friend, he said, introducing himself to the count who was looking inquiringly at him. You are most welcome, I know, I know, said the count, kissing and embracing Denisov. Nicholas wrote us, Natasha, Vera, look, here is Denisov. The same happy, rapturous face is turned to the shaggy figure of Denisov. Darling Denisov screamed Natasha beside her with rapture, springing to him, putting her arms around him and kissing him. This escapade made everybody feel confused. Denisov blushed too, but smiled, and taking Natasha's hand, kissed it. Denisov was shown to the room prepared for him, and the Rostovs all gathered around Nicholas in the sitting room. The old countess, not letting go of his hand and kissing it every moment, sat beside him. The rest, crowding round him, watched every movement, word, or look of his, never taking their blissfully adoring eyes off him. His brother and sister struggled for the places nearest to him, and disputed with one another who should bring him his tea, handkerchief, and pipe. Rostov was very happy in the love they showed him, but the first moment of meeting had been so beautific that his present joy seemed insufficient, and he kept expecting something more, more, and yet more. Next morning, after the fatigues of their journey, the travelers slept till ten o'clock. In the room next to their bedroom was a confusion of sabers, satchels, sabertashes, open portmanteaus, and dirty boots. Two freshly cleaned pairs with spurs had just been placed by the wall. The servants were bringing in jugs and basins, hot water for shaving, and their well-brushed clothes. There was a masculine odor and a smell of tobacco. A logriska, my pipe, came Vasily Denisov's husky voice. Rostov, get up! Rostov, rubbing his eyes that seemed glued together, raised his disheveled head from the hot pillow. Why, is it late? Late, it's nearly ten o'clock, answered Natasha's voice. A rustle of starched petticoats and the whispering and laughter of girls' voices came from the adjoining room. The door was open to crack, and there was a glimpse of something blue, of ribbons, black hair, and merry faces. It was Natasha, Sonya, and Petya who had come to see whether they were getting up. Nicholas, get up! Natasha's voice was again heard at the door. Directly. Meanwhile, Petya, having found and seized the sabers in the outer room, with the delight boys feel at the sight of a military elder brother, and forgetting that it was unbecoming for the girls to see men undressed, opened the bedroom door. Is this your sabre? he shouted. The girls sprang aside. Denisov hid his hairy legs under the blanket, looking with a scared face at his comrade for help. The door, having let Petya in, closed again. A sound of laughter came from behind it. Nicholas, come out in your dressing gown, said Natasha's voice. Is this your sabre? asked Petya. Or is it yours, he said, addressing the black moustached Denisov with servile deference. Rostov hardly put something on his feet, drew on his dressing gown, and went out. Natasha had put on one spurred boot, and was just getting her foot into the other. Sonia, when he came in, was twirling round and was about to expand her dresses into a balloon and sit down. They were dressed alike, in new pale blue frocks, and were both fresh, rosy, and bright. Sonia ran away, but Natasha, taking her brother's arm, led him into the sitting-room, where they began talking. They hardly gave one another time to ask questions, and give replies concerning a thousand little matters which could not interest anyone but themselves. Natasha laughed at every word he said, or that she said herself. Not because what they were saying was amusing, but because she felt happy, and was unable to control her joy, which expressed itself by laughter. Oh, how nice, how splendid, she said to everything. Rostov felt that, under the influence of the warm rays of love, that childlike smile which had not once appeared on his face since he left home, now for the first time, after eighteen months, again brightened his soul and his face. No, but listen, she said. Now you are quite a man, aren't you? I'm awfully glad you're my brother, she touched his mustache. I want to know what you men are like. Are you the same as we? No? Why did Sonia run away, asked Rostov? Ah, yes, that's a whole long story. How are you going to speak to her? Thou or you? As may happen, said Rostov. No, call her you, please. I'll tell you all about it some other time. No, I'll tell you now. You know Sonia's my dearest friend, such a friend that I burned my arm for her sake. Look here. She pulled up her muslin sleeve and showed him a red scar on her long slender, delicate arm, high above the elbow at that part that is covered even by a bald dress. I burned this to prove my love for her. I just heated a ruler in the fire and pressed it there. Sitting on the sofa with the little cushions on its arms in what used to be his old schoolroom and into Natasha's wildly bright eyes, Rostov re-entered that world of home and childhood which had no meaning for anyone else but gave him some of the best joys of his life and the burning of an arm with a ruler as a proof of love did not seem to him senseless. He understood and was not surprised at all. Well, and is that all? he asked. Such friends, such friends. All that ruler business was just nonsense, but we are friends forever. She, if she loves anyone, does it for life, but I don't understand that. I forget quickly. Well, what then? Well, she loves me and you like that. Natasha suddenly flushed. Why, you remember before you went away? Well, she says you are to forget all that. She says, I shall love him always, but let him be free. Isn't that lovely and noble? Yes, very noble, isn't it? asked Natasha so seriously and excitedly that it was evident that what she was now saying she had talked of before with tears. Rostov became thoughtful. I'd never go back on my word, he said. Besides, Sonya is so charming that only a fool would renounce such happiness. No, no, cried Natasha. She and I have already talked it over. We knew you'd say so, but it won't do because, you see, if you say that, if you consider yourself bound by your promise, it will seem as if she had not meant it seriously. It makes it as if you were marrying her because you must, and that wouldn't do at all. Rostov saw that it had been well considered by them. Sonya had already struck him by her beauty on the preceding day. Today, when he had caught a glimpse of her, she seemed still more lovely. She was a charming girl of sixteen, evidently passionately in love with him. He did not doubt that for an instant. Why should he not love her now, and even marry her, Rostov thought? But just now there were so many other pleasures and interests before him. Yes, they have taken a wise decision, he thought. I must remain free. Well, then, that's excellent, said he. We'll talk it over later on. Oh, how glad I am to have you. Well, and are you still true to Boris, he continued. Oh, what nonsense, cried Natasha, laughing. I don't think about him or anyone else, and I don't want anything of the kind. Dear me, then what are you up to now? Now, repeated Natasha, and a happy smile lit up her face. Have you seen Dupour? No. Not seen Dupour, the famous dancer? Well, then, you won't understand. That's what I'm up to. Curving her arms, Natasha held out her skirts as dancers do, ran back a few steps, turned, cut a caper, brought her little feet sharply together, and made some steps on the very tips of her toes. See, I'm standing, see, she said, but could not maintain herself on her toes any longer. So that's what I'm up to. I'll never marry anyone but will be a dancer. Only don't tell anyone. Rostov laughed so loud and merrily that Denisov, in his bedroom, felt envious, and Natasha could not help joining in. No, but don't you think it's nice? She kept repeating. Nice, and so you no longer wish to marry Boris? Natasha flared up. I don't want to marry anyone, and I'll tell him so when I see him. Dear me, said Rostov. But that's all rubbish, Natasha chattered on. And is Denisov nice? She asked. Yes, indeed. Oh, well then, goodbye, go and dress. Is he very terrible, Denisov? Why terrible, asked Nicholas. No, Vasca is a splendid fellow. You call him Vasca. That's funny. And is he very nice? Very. Well then, be quick, we'll all have breakfast together. And Natasha rose and went out of the room on tiptoe, like a ballet dancer, but smiling as only happy girls of fifteen can smile. When Rostov met Sonya in the drawing room, he reddened. He did not know how to behave with her. The evening before, in the first happy moment of meeting, they had kissed each other. But today they felt it could not be done. He felt that everybody, including his mother and sisters, was looking inquiringly at him and watching to see how he would behave with her. He kissed her hand and addressed her not as thou, but as you, Sonya. But their eyes met and said thou, and exchanged tender kisses. Their looks asked him to forgive her for having dared, by Natasha's intermediacy, to remind him of his promise, and then thanked him for his love. His looks thanked her for offering him his freedom, and told her that one way or another he would never cease to love her, for that would be impossible. How strange it is, said Vera, selecting a moment when all were silent, that Sonya and Nicholas now say you to one another and meet like strangers. Vera's remark was correct, as her remarks always were. But, like most of her observations, it made everyone feel uncomfortable. Not only Sonya, Nicholas, and Natasha, but even the old Countess, who, dreading this love affair which might hinder Nicholas from making a brilliant match, blushed like a girl. Denisov, to Rostov's surprise, appeared in the drawing-room with pomaded hair, perfumed, and in a new uniform, looking just as smart as he made himself when going into battle. And he was more amiable to the ladies and gentlemen than Rostov had ever expected to see him. On his return to Moscow from the army, Nicholas Rostov was welcomed by his home circles as the best of sons, a hero, and their darling Nikolanka. By his relations as a charming, attractive, and polite young man. By his acquaintances as a handsome lieutenant of Hazars, a good dancer, and one of the best matches in the city. The Rostovs knew everybody in Moscow. The old Count had money enough that year, and all his estates had been remortgaged, and so Nicholas, acquiring a trotter of his own, very stylish riding-bridges of the latest cut, such as no one else yet had in Moscow, and boots of the latest fashion, with extremely pointed toes and small silver spurs, passed his time very gaily. After a short period of adapting himself to the old conditions of life, Nicholas found it very pleasant to be at home again. He felt that he had grown up and matured very much. His despair at failing in a scripture examination, his borrowing money from Gavriel to pay a sleigh-driver, his kissing Sonya on the sly, he now recalled all this as childishness he had left immeasurably behind. Now he was a lieutenant of Hazars, in a jacket laced with silver and wearing the Cross of St. George, awarded soldiers for bravery in action, and, in the company of well-known, elderly, and respected racing men, was training a trotter of his own for a race. He knew a lady on one of the boulevards whom he visited of an evening. He led the Mazurka at the Arkharovs ball, talked about the war with Field Marshal Khmensky, visited the English club, and was on intimate terms with a colonel of forty, to whom Denisov had introduced him. His passion for the emperor had cooled somewhat in Moscow. But still, as he did not see him and had no opportunity of seeing him, he often spoke about him and about his love for him, letting it be understood that he had not told all and that there was something in his feelings for the emperor not everyone could understand, and with his whole soul he shared the adoration then common in Moscow for the emperor, who was spoken of as the angel incarnate. During Rostov's short stay in Moscow, before rejoining the army, he did not draw closer to Sonya, but rather drifted away from her. She was very pretty and sweet, and evidently deeply in love with him. But he was at a period of youth when there seemed so much to do that there is no time for that sort of thing, and a young man fears to bind himself and prizes his freedom which he needs for so many other things. When he thought of Sonya during this stay in Moscow, he said to himself, Ah, there will be and there are many more such girls somewhere whom I do not yet know. There will be time enough to think about love when I want to, but now I have no time. Besides, it seemed to him that the society of women was rather derogatory to his manhood. He went to balls and into lady society with an affectation of doing so against his will. The races, the English club, sprees with Denysov and visits to a certain house, that was another matter and quite the thing for a dashing young hizar. At the beginning of March, old Count Ilyarostov was very busy arranging a dinner in honor of Prince Bargaretsian at the English club. The Count walked up and down the hall in his dressing gown, giving orders to the club's steward and to the famous vioctist, the club's head cook, about asparagus, fresh cucumbers, strawberries, veal, and fish for this dinner. The Count had been a member and on the committee of the club from the day it was founded. To him, the club entrusted the arrangement of the festival in honor of Bargaretsian, for few men knew so well how to arrange a feast on an open-handed hospitable scale, and still fewer men would be so well able and willing to make up out of their own resources what might be needed for the success of the feat. The club cook and the steward listened to the Count's orders with pleased faces, for they knew that under no management could they so easily extract a good profit for themselves from a dinner costing several thousand rubles. Well then, mind and have cocks comb in the turtle soup, you know. Shall we have three cold dishes then? asked the cook. The Count considered. We can't have less, yes, three. The mayonnaise, that's one, said he, bending down a finger. Then, am I to order those large stirlets? asked the steward. Yes, it can't be helped if they won't take less. Ah, dear me, I was forgetting. We must have another entree. Ah, goodness gracious. He clutched at his head. Who is going to get me the flowers? Dimitri, eh? Dimitri, gel up off to our Moscow estate, he said to the fact totem who appeared at his call. Hurry off and tell Maxim the gardener to set the stirfs to work. Say that everything out of the hothouses must be brought here well-wrapped up and felt. I must have two hundred pots here on Friday. Having given several more orders, he was about to go to his little countess to have a rest. But remembering something else of importance, he returned again, called back the cook and the club steward, and again began giving orders. A light footstep and the clinking of spurs were heard at the door, and the young Count, handsome, rosy with a little dark mustache, evidently rested and made sleeker by his easy life in Moscow, entered the room. Ah, my boy, my head's in a whirl, said the old man with a smile, as if he felt a little confused before his son. Now if you would only help a bit, I must have singers too. I shall have my own orchestra, but shouldn't we get the gypsy singers as well? You military men like that sort of thing. Really, Papa, I believe Prince Pogracian worried himself less before the battle of Shon Guraberin than you do now, said his son with a smile. The old Count pretended to be angry. Yes, you talk, but try it yourself. And the Count turned to the cook, who, with a shrewd and respectful expression, looked observantly and sympathetically at the father and son. What have the young people come to nowadays, Amphiocdist, said he, laughing at us old fellows. That's all your excellency. All they have to do is eat a good dinner, but providing it and serving it all up, that's not their business. That's it, that's it, exclaimed the Count, and gaily seizing his son by both hands, he cried, Now I've got you, so take the sleigh and pair at once, and go to Bezekoff's and tell him Count Ilyushka has sent you to ask for strawberries and fresh pineapples. We can't get them from anyone else. He's not there himself, so you'll have to go in and ask the princesses. And from there, go on to the rascal Ilyushka, the coachman Ipatkin knows, and look up the gypsy Ilyushka, the one who danced the Count Orlovs, you remember, in a White Cossack coat, and bring him along to me. And am I to bring the gypsy girls along with him, asked Nicholas, laughing, dear, dear. At that moment, with noiseless footsteps and with the business-like preoccupied yet meekly Christian look which never left her face, Anna Mikhailovna entered the hall. Though she came upon the Count in his dressing gown every day, he invariably became confused and begged her to excuse his costume. No matter at all, my dear Count, she said meekly, closing her eyes, but I'll go to Bezelkov's myself. Pierre has arrived, and now we shall get anything we want from his hothouses. I have to see him in any case. He has forwarded me a letter from Boris. Thank God Boris is now on the staff. The Count was delighted at Anna Mikhailovna's taking upon herself the permissions and ordered the small closed carriage for her. Tell Bezelkov to come. I'll put his name down. Is his wife with him? he asked. Anna Mikhailovna turned up her eyes, and profound sadness was depicted on her face. Ah, my dear friend, he is very unfortunate, she said. If what we hear is true, it is dreadful. How little we dreamed of such a thing when we were rejoicing at his happiness. And such a lofty, angelic soul as young Bezelkov. Yes, I pity him from my heart, and shall try to give him what consolation I can. What is the matter? asked both the young and old Rostov. Anna Mikhailovna sighed deeply. Dolokov, Mary of Ivanovna's son, she said in a mysterious whisper, has compromised her completely, they say. Pierre took him up, invited him to his house in Petersburg, and now she has come here and that daredevil after her, said Anna Mikhailovna, wishing to show her sympathy for Pierre, but by involuntarily intonations and a half-smile betraying her sympathy for the daredevil, as she called Dolokov. They say Pierre is quite broken by his misfortune. Dear, dear, but still tell him to come to the club. It will all blow over. It will be a tremendous banquet. Next day, the third of March, soon after one o'clock, 250 members of the English club and 50 guests were awaiting the guest of honor and hero of the Austrian campaign, Prince Baracian, to dinner. On the first arrival of the news of the Battle of Austerlitz, Moscow had been bewildered. At that time the Russians were so used to victories that, on receiving news of the defeat, some would simply not believe it, while others sought some extraordinary explanation of so strange an event. In the English club, where all who were distinguished, important, and well-informed foregathered when the news began to arrive in December, nothing was said about the war and the last battle, as though all were in a conspiracy of silence. The men who set the tone in conversation, Prince Yuri Dolgorukov, Valuev, Count Markov, and Prince Vyazemsky, did not show themselves at the club, but met in private houses in intimate circles. And the Muscovites, who took their opinions from others, Ilja Rostov among them, remained for a while without any definite opinion on the subject of the war and without leaders. The Muscovites felt that something was wrong and that to discuss the bad news was difficult and so it was best to be silent. But after a while, just as a jury comes out of its room, the big wigs who guided the club's opinion reappeared and everybody began speaking clearly and definitely. Reasons were found for the incredible, unheard of, and impossible event of a Russian defeat. Everything became clear and in all corners of Moscow the same things began to be said. These reasons were the treachery of the Austrians, a defective commissariat, the treachery of the Polprazemsky and of the Frenchman Légerand, Kuzatov's incapacity, and, it was whispered, the youth and inexperience of the sovereign who had trusted worthless and insignificant people. But the army, the Russian army, that everyone declared was extraordinary and had achieved miracles of valor. The soldiers, officers, and generals were heroes. But the hero of heroes was Prince Bagracian, distinguished by his Shon-Greberin affair and by the retreat from Austerlitz, where he alone had withdrawn his column unbroken and had all day beaten back an enemy force twice as numerous as his own. What also conduced to Bagracian's being selected as Moscow's hero was the fact that he had no connections in the city and was a stranger there. In his person, honor was shown to a simple fighting Russian soldier without connections and intrigues and to one who was associated by memories of the Italian campaign with the name of Suvorov. Moreover, paying such honor to Bagracian was the best way of expressing disapproval and dislike of Kutuzov. Had there been no Bagracian, it would have been necessary to invent him, said the wit shinshin, parodying the words of Voltaire. Kutuzov no one spoke of, except some who abused him in whispers, calling him a court weathercock and an old satyr. All Moscow repeated Prince Dolgorokov saying, if you go on modeling and modeling, you must get smeared with clay, suggesting consolation for our defeat by the memory of former victories and the words of Rastpochn, that French soldiers have to be incited to battle by highfalutin words and Germans by logical arguments to show them that it is more dangerous to run away than to advance, but that Russian soldiers only need to be restrained and held back. On all sides, new and fresh anecdotes were heard of individual examples of heroism shown by our officers and men at Austrelitz. One had saved a standard, another had killed five Frenchmen, a third had loaded five cannons single-handed. Berg was mentioned by those who did not know him, as having, when wounded in the right hand, taken his sword in the left and gone forward. Of Volkonsky, nothing was said, and only those who knew him intimately regretted that he had died so young, leaving a pregnant wife with his eccentric father. End of Chapter 2 Recording by Roger Maline Warned Peace Book 4, Chapter 3 A Red for Lipperbox by Kehinde On that third of March all the rooms in the English club were filled with a home of conversation, like the home of bees swarming in springtime. The members and guests of the club wandered hither and thither, sat, stood, met and separated, some in uniform and some in evening dress, and a few here and there with powdered hair and in Russian caftans. Powdered footmen in livery with buckled shoes and smart stockings stood at every door anxiously noting visitors every movement in order to offer their services. Most of those present were elderly, respected men, with broad, self-confident faces, fat fingers and resolute gestures and voices. This class of guests and members sat in certain habitual places and met in certain habitual groups. A minority of those present were casual guests, chiefly young men, among whom were Denizov, Rostov, Volkov, who was now again an officer in the Seminov Regiment. The faces of these young people, especially those who were military men, bore that expression of condescending respect for their elders which seems to say to the older generation, we are prepared to respect and honour you, but all the same remember that the future belongs to us. Nivecki was there as an old member of the club. Nier, who at his wife's command had let his hair grow and abandoned his spectacles, went about the rooms fashionably dressed but looking sad and dull. Here as elsewhere he was surrounded by an atmosphere of subservience to his wealth and being in the habit of lording it over these people, he treated them with absent-minded contempt. By his age he should have belonged to the younger men, but by his wealth and connections he belonged to the group's old and honoured guests and so he went from one group to another. Some of the most important old men were the centre of groups which even strangers approached respectfully to hear the voices of well-known men. The largest circles formed around Count Rostovkin, Valuev and Naryshkin. Rostovkin was describing how the Russians had been overwhelmed by flying Austrians and had had to force their way through them with bayonets. Valuev was confidentially telling that Yuvarov had been sent from Petersburg to ascertain what Moscow was thinking about Austerlitz. In the third circle Naryshkin was speaking of the meeting of the Austrian Council of War, at which Suvorov crowed like a cock and replied to the nonsense talked by the Austrian generals. Shinshin, standing close by, tried to make a joke saying that Kutuzov had evidently failed to learn from Suvorov even so simple a thing as the art of crowing like a cock, but the elder members glanced severely at the wit making him feel that in that place and on that day it was improper to speak so of Kutuzov. Count Ilya Rostov, hurried and preoccupied, went about in his soft boots between the dining and drawing rooms, hastily greeting the important and unimportant, all of whom he knew as if they were all equals, while his eyes occasionally sought out his fine, well-set-up young son resting on him and winking joyfully at him. Young Rostov stood at a window with Dolokov, whose acquaintance he had lately made and highly valued. The old Count came up to them and pressed Dolokov's hand. Please, come and visit us, you know my brave boy. Been together out there, both playing the hero. Ah, Vasily Ignatovich, how did you, old fellow? He said, turning to an old man who was passing, but before he had finished his greeting there was a general stir and a footman who had run in and announced with a frightened face. He's arrived! Bells rang, the stewards rushed forward and, like a rye shaken together in a shovel, the guests who had been scattered about in different rooms came together and crowded in the large drawing room by the door of the ballroom. Bagration appeared in the doorway of the enter room without hat or sword, which in accord with the club custom he had given up to the hall porter. He had no lamp-skin cap on his head nor had he a loaded whip over his shoulder as when Rostov had seen him on the eve of the Battle of Austerlitz but wore a tight new uniform with Russian and foreign orders and the Star of St. George on his left breast. Evidently just before coming to the dinner he had had his hair and whiskers trimmed which changed his appearance for the worse. There was something naively festive in his air which, in conjunction with his firm and feral features gave him a rather comical expression. Thekleshev and Theodor Yuvarov who had arrived with him paused at the doorway to allow him as the guest of honour to enter first. Bagration was embarrassed, not wishing to avail himself of their curiosity and this caused some delay the doors but after all he did at last enter first. He walked shyly and awkwardly over the paracet floor of the reception room not knowing what to do with his hands. He was more accustomed to walk over a plowed field under fire as he had done at the head of the Kursk Regiment at Shonkravrin and he would have found that easier. The committee men met him at the first door and expressing their delighted seeing such a highly honoured guest took possession of him as it were without waiting for his reply, surrounded him and led him to the drawing room. It was at first impossible to enter the drawing room for the crowd of members and guests jostling one another and trying to get a good look at Bagration over each other's shoulders as if he were some rare animal. Count Ilya Rostov laughing and repeating the words Make way, dear boy, make way, make way! Pushed through the crowd more energetically than anyone led the guests into the drawing room and seated them on the centre sofa. The big wigs, the most respected members of the club, beset the new arrivals. Count Ilya, again thrusting his way through the crowd went out of the drawing room and reappeared a minute later with another committee man carrying a large silver salver which he presented to Prince Bagration. On the salver lay some verses composed and printed in the hero's honour. Bagration on seeing the salver glanced around in dismay as though seeking help, but all eyes demanded that he should submit. Feeling himself in their power he resolutely took the salver with both hands and looked sternly and reproachfully at the count who had presented it to him. Someone obligingly took the dish from Bagration or he would, it seemed, have held it till evening and have gone into dinner with it and drew his attention to verses. Well, I will read them, then. Bagration seemed to say and fixing his weary eyes on the paper began to read them with a fixed and serious expression. But the author himself took the verses and began reading them aloud. Bagration bowed his head and listened. Bring glory then to Alexander's reign and on the throne our Titus shield a dreaded foe be thou kind-hearted as a man, a riftious at home, a Caesar in the field. Unfortunate Napoleon knows by experience now Bagration and dare not herculean Russians trouble. But before he had finished reading a stentorian major-demo announced that dinner was ready. The door opened and from the dining-room came the resounding strains of the polonaise. Conquests joyful thunder-waken, triumph valiant Russians now and a count of Rostov glancing angrily at the author who went on reading his verses bowed to Bagration. Everyone rose feeling that dinner was more important than verses and Bagration again preceding all the rest went into dinner. He was seated in the place of honour between two Alexanders, Beklachev and Naryshkin which was a significant allusion to the name of the sovereign. Three hundred persons took their seats in the dining-room according to their rank and importance, the more important nearer to the honoured guest as naturally as water flows deepest where the land lies lowest. Just before dinner Count Ilya Rostov presented his son to Bagration who recognised him and said a few words to him disjointed and awkward as were all the words he spoke that day and Count Ilya looked joyfully and proudly around while Bagration spoke to his son. Nikolas Rostov with Denisov and his new acquaintance Dolokov sat almost at the middle of the table. Facing them sat Pierre beside Prince Nisvetsky. Count Ilya Rostov with the other members of the committee sat facing Bagration and as the very personification of Moscow hospitality did the honours to the Prince. His efforts had not been in vain. The dinner both the Lenten and the other fair was splendid yet he could not feel quite at ease till the end of the meal. He winked at the butler whispered directions to the footmen and awaited each expected dish with some anxiety. Everything was excellent with the second course a gigantic stirlet at side of which Ilya Rostov blushed with self-conscious pleasure. The footmen began popping corks and filling the champagne glasses. After the fish which made a certain sensation the Count exchanged glasses with the other committeemen. There will be many toasts. It's time to begin he whispered and taking up his glass hear Rose all silent waiting for what he would say. To the health of our sovereign the Emperor he cried and at the same moment his kindly eyes grew moist with tears of joy and enthusiasm. The band immediately struck up Conquest's joyful thunder waken. All of Rose and cried Hurrah! Bagration also Rose and shouted Hurrah exactly the same voice in which he had shouted it on the field at Sean Gravern. Young Rostov's ecstatic voice could be heard above the 300 others. He nearly wept. To the health of our sovereign the Emperor he roared Hurrah! and emptying his glass at one gulp he dashed to the floor. Many followed his example and the loud shouting continued for a long time. When the voices subsided the footmen in the broken glass and everybody sat down again smiling at the noise they had made and exchanging remarks. The old Count Rose once more glanced at a note lying beside his plate and proposed a toast To the health of the hero of our last campaign Prince Peter Ivanovich Bagration and again his blue eyes grew moist. Hurrah! cried the 300 voices again but instead of the band he sang a cantada composed by Paul Ivanovich Kutusov Russians over all barriers on courage, conquest, guarantees have we not Bagration he brings foemen to their knees etc. As soon as the singing was over another and another toast was proposed and Count Ilya Rostov became more and more moved more glass was smashed and the shouting grew louder they drank to Baklishev Arishkin Yuvarov Dolgorokov Apreskin Valuev to the committee, to all the club members and to all the club guests and finally to Count Ilya Rostov separately as the organiser of the banquet at that toast the Count took out his handkerchief and covering his face wept outright and chapter 3 and peace read for Liprovaks by Kehinde Pierre sat opposite Dolokov and Nicholas Rostov as usual he ate and drank much and eagerly but those who knew him intimately noticed that some great change had come over him that day he was silent all through dinner and looked about blinking and scowling or with fixed eyes and took a look of complete absent mindedness kept rubbing the bridge of his nose his face was depressed and gloomy he seemed to see and hear nothing of what was going on around him and to be absorbed by some depressing and unsolved problem the unsolved problem that tormented him was caused by hits given by the princess his cousin at Moscow concerning Dolokov's intimacy with his wife and by an anonymous letter he had received that morning which in the main jocular way common to anonymous letters said that he saw badly through his spectacles but that his wife's connection with Dolokov was a secret to no one but himself Pierre absolutely disbelieved both the princesses hints and the letter but he feared now to look at Dolokov who was sitting opposite him every time he chanced to meet Dolokov's handsome, insolent eyes Pierre felt something terrible and monstrous rising in his soul and quickly away involuntarily recalling his wife's past and her relations with Dolokov Pierre saw clearly that what was said in the letter might be true or might at least seem to be true had it not referred to his wife he involuntarily remembered how Dolokov who had fully recovered his former position after the campaign had returned to Petersburg and come to him availing himself of his friendly relations with Pierre as a boon companion Dolokov had come straight to his house and Pierre had put him up and lent him money Pierre recalled how Helen had smilingly expressed disapproval of Dolokov's living at their house and how cynically Dolokov had praised his wife's beauty to him and from that time till they came to Moscow had not left them for a day Yes, he is very handsome thought Pierre and I know him it would be particularly pleasant to him to dishonor my name and ridicule me just because I have exerted myself on his behalf, befriended him and helped him I know and understand what a spice that would add to the pleasure of deceiving me if it really were true Yes, if it were true, but I do not believe it I have no right to and can't believe it he remembered the expression Dolokov's face assumed in his moments of cruelty as when tying the policemen to the bear and dropping them into the water or when he challenged a man to a duel without any reason or shot a post-boys horse with a pistol that expression was often on Dolokov's face when looking at him Yes, he is a bully thought Pierre to kill a man means nothing to him it must seem to him that everyone is afraid of him and that must please him he must think that I too am afraid of him and in fact I am afraid of him I thought and again he felt something terrible and monstrous rising in his soul Dolokov Denisov and Rostov were now sitting opposite Pierre and seemed very gay Rostov was talking merrily to his two friends one of whom was a dashing Hossard and the other a notorious duelist and Drake and every now and then he glanced ironically at Pierre whose preoccupied absent-minded and massive figure was a very noticeable one at the dinner Rostov looked inimically at Pierre first because Pierre appeared his Hossard's eyes as a rich civilian the husband of a beauty and in a word an old woman and secondly because Pierre in his preoccupation and absent-mindedness had not recognized Rostov and had not responded to his greeting when the Emperor's health was drunk Pierre lost in thought did not rise to his glass what are you about shouted Rostov looking at him in an ecstasy of exasperation don't you hear it's his Majesty the Emperor's health Pierre sighed rose submissively emptied his glass and waiting till all were seated again turned with his kindly smile to Rostov why I didn't recognize you he said but Rostov was otherwise engaged he was shouting why don't you renew the acquaintance said Dolokov to Rostov confound him he's a fool said Rostov one should make up to the husbands of pretty women said Denisov Pierre did not catch what they were saying but knew they were talking about him he reddened and turned away well now to the health of handsome women said Dolokov and with a serious expression but with a smile lurking at the corners of his mouth he turned with his glass to Pierre here's to the health of lovely women Peterkin and their lovers he added Pierre with downcast eyes drank out of his glass without looking at Dolokov or answering him the footmen who was distributing leaflets with Kutuzov's cantata laid one before Pierre as one of the principal guests he was just going to take it when Dolokov leaning across from his hand and began reading it Pierre looked at Dolokov and his eyes dropped there's something terrible and monstrous that had tormented him all dinner time rose and took possession of him he leaned his whole massive body across the table how dare you take it he shouted hearing that cry and seeing to whom it was addressed Levetsky and the neighbor on his right to Busakov don't, don't, what are you about whispered their frightened voices Dolokov looked at Pierre through clear mirthful cruel eyes and that smile of his which seemed to say ah, this is what I like you shan't have it he said distinctly pale with quivering lips Pierre snatched the copy you, you scoundrel I challenge you he ejaculated and pushing back his chair he rose from the table at the very instant he did this and uttered those words Pierre felt that the question of his wife's guilt which had been tormenting him the whole day was finally and indubitably answered in the affirmative he hated her and was forever sundered from her despite Denisov's request that he would take no part in the matter Rostov agreed to be Dolokov second and after dinner he discussed for the duo with Nevetsky Busakov second Pierre went home but Rostov with Dolokov and Denisov stayed on at the club till late listening to the gypsies and their singers well then till tomorrow at Sokolniki said Dolokov as he took leave of Rostov in the club porch and do you feel quite calm? Rostov asked Dolokov paused I'll tell you the whole secret of dueling in two words if you are going to fight a duel and you make a will and write affectionate letters to your parents and if you think you may be killed you are a fool and are lost for certain but go with a firm intention of killing your men as quickly and surely as possible and then all will be right as our bear huntsman at Kostroma used to tell me everyone fears a bear he says but when you see one your fear is all gone and your only thought is not to let him get away but how it is with me? Ediman Moncher next day at eight in the morning Pierre and Ivetsky drove to the Sokolniki, forest and found Dolokov, Denisov and Rostov already there Pierre had the air of a man preoccupied with considerations which had no connection with a matter in hand his haggard face was yellow he had evidently not slept that night he looked about distractedly and screwed up his eyes as if dazzled by the sun he was entirely absorbed by two considerations his wife's guilt of which after a sleepless night he had not the slightest doubt and the guiltlessness of Dolokov who had no reason to preserve the honour of a man who was nothing to him I should perhaps have done the same thing in his place thought Pierre, it's even certain that I should have done the same then why this duel, this murder either I shall kill him or he will hit me with no or knee can't I go away from here, run away bury myself somewhere passed through his mind but just at moments when such thoughts occurred to him he would ask in a particularly calm and absent-minded way which inspired the respect of the onlookers will it belong, are things ready? when all was ready the sabers stuck in the snow to mark the barriers and the pistols loaded up to Pierre I should not be doing my duty count he said in timid tones and should not justify your confidence in the honour you have done me in choosing me for your second if at this grave this very grave moment I did not tell you the whole truth I think there is no sufficient ground for this affair or for blood to be shed over it you were not right not quite in the right you were impetuous oh yes it is horribly stupid said Pierre then allow me to express your regrets and I am sure your opponent will accept them said Mesvetsky who like the others concerned in the affair and like everyone in similar cases did not yet believe that the affair had come to an actual duel you know Count it is much more honourable to admit one's mistake than to let matters become irreparable there was no insult on either side allow me to convey no what is there to talk about said Pierre it's all the same is everything ready he added only tell me where to go and where to shoot he said with an unnaturally gentle smile he took the pistol in his hand and began asking about the working of the trigger as he had not before held a pistol in his hand a fact that he did not wish to confess oh yes like that I know I only forgot said he no apologies not whatever said Dolokov to Denisov who on his side had been attempting a reconciliation and he also went up to the pointed place the spot chosen for the duel was some eighty paces from the road where the slays had been left in a small clearing in the pine forest covered with melting snow the frost having begun to break up during the last few days the antagonists stood forty paces apart at the farther edge of the clearing the seconds measuring the paces left tracks in the deep wet snow between the place where they had been standing and Nesvetsky's and Dolokov's sabers which were struck into the ground ten paces apart to mark the barrier it was thawing and misty at forty paces distance nothing could be seen for three minutes all had been ready but they still delayed and all were silent end of chapter four war and peace book four chapter five recording for LibriVox.org by Eva Hane well begin said Dolokov all right said Pierre still smiling in the same way a feeling of dread was in the air it was evident that the affair so lightly begun could no longer be averted but was taking its course independently of the war its course independently of men's will Denysov first went to the barrier and denounced as the adversaries have refused reconciliation please proceed take your pistols and at the word three begin to advance one two three he shouted angrily and stepped aside the combatants advanced along the trodden track nearer and nearer to one another beginning to see one another through the mist they had the right to fire when they liked as they approached the barrier Dolokov walked slowly without raising his pistol looking intently with his bright sparkling blue eyes into his antagonists face his mouse wore its usual semblance of a smile so I can far when I like said Pierre and at the word three he went quickly forward missing the trodden pass and stepping into the deep snow he held the pistol in his right hand at arm's length apparently afraid of shooting himself with it at hand he held carefully back because he wished to support his right hand with it and knew he must not do so having advanced six spaces and stayed off the track into the snow Pierre looked down at his feet then quickly glanced at Dolokov and bending his finger as he had been shown fired not at all expecting so loud a report Pierre shuddered at the sound and then smiling at his own sensation stood still the smoke rendered denser by the mist prevented him from seeing anything for an instant but there was no second report as he had expected he only heard Dolokov's hurried steps and his figure came in view through the smoke he was pressing one hand to his left side while the other clutched his drooping pistol his face was pale Rostov ran taught him and said something nooo no it is not over and after stumbling a few staggering steps right up to the saber he sank on the snow beside it his left hand was bloody he wiped it on his coat and supported himself with it his frowning face was pallid and quivered plea began Dolokov but could not at first pronounce the word please he uttered with an effort Pierre hardly resisting his sobs began running to Dolokov and was about to cross the space between the barriers when Dolokov cried to your barrier and Pierre grasping what was meant stopped by his saber only ten paces divided them Dolokov lowered his head to the snow greedily bit at it again raised his head adjusted himself in his legs and set up seeking a firm center of gravity he sucked and swallowed the cold snow his lips quivered but his eyes still smiling glittered with effort and exasperation as he mustered his remaining strength he raised his pistol and aimed sideways covered yourself with your pistol ejaculated Nesviski covered yourself even Denisov cried to his adversary with a gentle smile of pity and remorse his arms and legs helplessly spread out stood with his broad chest directly facing Dolokov looked sorrowfully at him Denisov, Rostov and Nesviski closed their eyes at the same instant they heard a report and Dolokov's angry cry missed shouted Dolokov and he lay helplessly faced downwards on the snow Pierre clutched his temples and turning round went into the forest trampling through the deep snow and muttering incoherent words folly folly, death, lies he repeated puckering his face Nesviski stopped him and took him home Rostov and Denisov drove away with the wounded Dolokov the latter lay silent in the slave his closed eyes and did not answer a word to the questions addressed to him but when entering Moscow he suddenly came to and lifting his head with an effort took Rostov who was sitting beside him by the hand Rostov was struck by the totally altered and unexpectedly rapturous and tender expression on Dolokov's face well how do you feel he asked bad but it is not that my friend said Dolokov is a gasping voice where are we in Moscow I know I don't matter but I have killed her killed she won't get over it she won't survive who asked Rostov my mother my angel my adored angel mother and Dolokov pressed Rostov's hand and burst into tears when he had become a little quieter he explained to Rostov that he was living with his mother who if she saw him dying would not survive it he implored Rostov to go on and prepare her Rostov went on ahead to do what was asked and to his great surprise learned that Dolokov the brawler Dolokov the bully lived in Moscow with an old mother and the hunchback sister and was the most affectionate of sons and brothers end of chapter 5 recording by Eva Harnick war and peace book 4 chapter 6 read for LibriVox.org by Eva Harnick Pierre had of late rarely seen his wife alone both in Petersburg and in Moscow their house was always full of visitors the night after the duel he did not go to his bedroom but as he often did in his father's room that huge room in which Count Bazukov had died he lay down on the sofa meaning to fall asleep and forgot all that had happened to him but could not do so such a storm of feelings thoughts and memories suddenly arose within him that he could not fall asleep nor even remain in one place but had to jump up and pace the room with rapid steps now he seemed to see her in the early days of their marriage with bare shoulders and the language passionate look on her face and then immediately he saw beside her Dolokov's handsome, insolent, hard and mocking face as he had seen it at the banquet and then that same face pale, quivering and suffering as it had been when he reeled and sank on the snow what has happened he asked himself I have killed her lover yes killed my wife's lover yes that was it and why how did I come to do it because you married her answered an inner voice but in what was I to blame he asked in marrying her without loving her in deceiving yourself and her and he vividly recalled that moment after supper at Prince Vasilis when he spoke those words he had found so difficult to utter I love you it all comes from that even then I felt it his thought I felt then that it was not so that I had no right to do it and so it turns out he remembered his honeymoon and blushed at the recollection particularly vivid humiliating and shameful was the recollection of how one day soon after his marriage he came out of the bedroom into his study before noon in his silk dressing gown and found his head steward there who bowing respectfully looked into his face and at his dressing gown and smiled slightly as if expressing respectful understanding of his employer's happiness but how often I have felt proud of her proud of her majestic beauty and social tact being proud of my house in which she's received all Petersburg proud of her unapproachability and beauty so this is what I was proud of I then thought that I did not understand her how often when considering her character I have told myself that I was to blame for not understanding her for not understanding that constant composure and complacency and lack of all interests or desires and the whole secret lies in the terrible truth that she is a depraved woman now I have spoken that terrible word to myself all has become clear Anatole used to come to borrow money from her and used to kiss her naked shoulders she did not give him the money but let herself be kissed her father in jest tried to rouse her jealousy and she replied with a calm smile that she was not so stupid as to be jealous let him do what he pleases she used to say of me I asked her if she felt any symptoms of pregnancy she laughed contentiously and said she was not a fool to want to have children and that she wasn't going to have any children by me then he recalled the coarseness and bluntness of her thoughts and the vulgarity of the expressions that were natural to her though she had been brought up in the most aristocratic circles I am not such a fool just to try it on she used to say translation mark by asterisk you clear out of this often seeing the success she had with young and old men and women Pierre could not understand why he did not love her yes he loved her said he to himself I knew she was a depraved woman he repeated but dare not admit it to myself and now there is Dolokov sitting in the snow with a force smile and perhaps dying while meeting my remorse with some forced bravado Pierre was one of those people who in spite of an appearance and character do not seek a confident in their troubles he digested his sufferings alone it is all all her fault he said to himself but what of that why did I bind myself to her why did I say je vous aime to her which was a lie and worse than a lie asterisk marks I love you I am guilty and must endure what a slur on my name a misfortune for life oh that is nonsense he thought the slur on my name and honour that is all apart from myself Louis 16 was executed because they said he was dishonourable and the criminal came into Pierre's head from their point of view they were right as were those two who canonized him and died a martyr's death for his sake then Robb's Pierre was beheaded for being a despot who is right and who is wrong no one but if you are alive tomorrow you will die as I might have died an hour ago and is it worse tormenting oneself and one has only a moment of life in comparison with eternity but at the moment when he imagined himself calm by such reflections she suddenly came into his mind as she was at the moments when he had most strongly expressed his insincere love for her and he felt the blood rush to his heart and had again to get up and move about and break and tear whatever came to his hand why did I tell her that je vous aime he kept repeating to himself and when he had said it for the tenth time Mollibre's words me could y able a lot it felt dans cette galère occurred to him and he began to laugh at himself in the night he called his valet and told him to pack up to go to Petersburg he could not imagine how he could speak to her now he resolved to go away next day and leave a letter informing her of his intention to part from her forever next morning when the valet came into the room with his coffee Pierre was lying asleep on the ottoman with an open book in his hand he woke up and looked around for a while with a startled expression unable to realize where he was the countess told me to inquire whether your excellence he was at home said the valet but before Pierre could decide what answer he would send the countess herself in a white satin dressing gown embroidered with silver and with simply dressed hair two immense plates twice round her lovely head like a coronet entered the room calm and majestic accepted that there was a rostful wrinkle on her rather prominent marble brow with her imperturbable calm she did not begin to speak in front of the valet she knew of the duel and had come to speak about it she waited till the valet had sat down the coffee sinks and left the room Pierre looked at her timidly over his spectacles and like a hair surrounded by hounds who lays back her ears and continues to crouch motionless before her enemies he tried to continue reading but feeling this to be senseless and impossible he again glanced timidly at her she did not sit down but looked at him with a contentious smile waiting for the valet to go well what is this now what have you been up to now I should like to know she's asked Stanley I, what have I stammered Pierre so it seems you are a hero eh come now what was this duel about what is it meant to prove what I ask you Pierre turned over heavily on the ottoman and opened his mouth but could not reply if you won't answer I will tell you Helena went on you believe everything you are told you were told Helena laughed that Dolokov was my lover she said in French with her coarse plainness speech uttering the word Amon as casually as any other word and you believed it well what have you proved what does this duel prove that you are a fool to was that and so but everybody knew that what will be the result that I shall be the laughing stock of all Moscow that everyone will say that you drunk and not knowing what you were about challenged a man you are jealous of without cause Helena raised her voice and became more and more excited a man who is a better man than you in every way hmm Groud Pierre frowning without looking at her and not moving a muscle and how could you believe he was my lover why because I like his company if you were clever and more agreeable I should prefer yours don't speak to me I beg you Matat Pierre Horsley why shouldn't I speak I can speak as I like and I tell you plainly that there are not many wives with husband such as you who would not have taken lovers this amount but I have not done so Pierre wished to say something looked at her with eyes who strange expression she did not understand and laid down again he was suffering physically at that moment there was a weight on his chest and he could not breathe he knew that he must do something to put an end to this suffering but what he wanted to do was too terrible we had better separate he muttered in a broken voice separate very well but only if you give me a fortune said Helena separate that's a thing to frighten me with Pierre leaped up from the sofa and rush staggering toward her I'll kill you he shouted and seizing the marble top of a table with the strength he had never before felt he made a step toward her brandishing the slab Helena's face became terrible she shrieked and sprung aside his father's nature showed itself in Pierre he felt a fascination and delight of frenzy he flung down the slab broke it and swooping down on her with outstretched hands shouted get out in such a terrible voice that the whole house had it with horror God knows what he would have done at that moment had Helena not fled from the room a week later Pierre gave his wife full power to control all his estates in great Russia which formed the larger part of his property and left for Petersburg alone End of chapter 6 Recording by Eva Harnick Bontavedra, Florida War and Peace Book 4 Chapter 7 Read for dbbox.org by Eva Harnick Two months had elapsed since the news of the battle of Austerlitz and the loss of Prince Andrew had reached bald hills and in spite of the letters sent through the embassy and all the searches made his body had not been found nor was he on the list of prisoners what was worst of all for his relations was the fact that there was still a possibility of his having been picked up on the battlefield by the people of the place and that he might now be lying recovering or dying alone among strangers and unable to send news of himself the gazettes from which the old prince first heard of the defeat at Austerlitz stated as usual very briefly and vaguely that after brilliant engagements the Russians had had to retreat and had made their withdrawal in perfect order the old prince understood from this official report that our army had been defeated a week after the gazette report of the battle of Austerlitz came a letter from Kutuzov informing the prince of the fate that had befallen his son your son wrote Kutuzov fell before my eyes a standard in his hand and at the head of a regiment he fell as a hero worthy of his father and his fatherland to the great regret of myself and of the whole army it is still uncertain whether he is alive or not I comfort myself and you with the hope that your son is alive for otherwise he would have been mentioned among the officers found on the battle a list of whom has been sent me on the flag of truce after receiving this news late in the evening when he was alone in his study the old prince went for his walk as usual next morning but he was silent with his sword the gardener and the architect and though he looked very grim he said nothing to anyone when princess Mary went to him at the usual hour he was working at his lathe and as usual did not look round at her oh princess Mary he said suddenly in an unnatural voice throwing down his chisel the wheel continued to revolve by its own impetus and princess Mary long remember the dying creek of that wheel which murdered in her memory with what followed she approached him saw his face and something gave way within her her eyes grew dim by the expression of her father's face not said not crushed but angry and working unnaturally she saw that hanging over her and about to crush her was some terrible misfortune the worst in life one she had not yet experienced irreparable and incomprehensible the death of one she loved father andrew she said the ungraceful awkward princess with such an indescribable charm of sorrow and self overgetfulness that her father could not bear her look but turned away with a sob bad news he's not among the prisoners nor among the killed coutus of rites and he screamed as piercingly as if he wished to drive the princess away by that scream killed the princess did not fall down or faint she was already pale but on hearing these words changed and something brightened in her beautiful radiant eyes it was as if joy a supreme joy apart from the joys and sorrows of this world overflowed the great grief within her she forgot all fear of her father went up to him took his hand and drawing him down put her arm around his thin scraggy neck father she said do not turn away from me let us weep together scoundrels black guards shriek the old man turning his face away from her destroying the army destroying the man and why go go and tell Lisa the princess sank helplessly into an armchair beside her father and wept now her brother now as he had been at the moment when he took leave of her and of Lisa his look tender yet proud she saw him tender and amused as he was when he put on the little icon did he believe had he repented of his unbelief was he now there there in the realms of eternal peace and blessedness she sought tell me how it happened she asked through her tears go go killed in battle where the best of Russian man and Russia's glory were led to destruction go princess Mary go and tell Lisa I will follow when princess Mary returned from her father the little princess set working and looked up with that curious expression of inner calm peculiar to pregnant women it was evident that her eyes did not see princess Mary but were looking within into herself at something joyful and mysterious taking place within her Mary she said moving away from the embroidery frame and lying back give me your hand she took her sister in law's hand and held it below her waist her eyes were smiling expectantly her downy lip rose and remained lifted in childlike happiness princess Mary knelt down before her and hid her face in the folds of her sister in law's dress there there do you feel it I feel so strange and do you know Mary I am going to love him very much said Lisa looking with bright and happy eyes at her sister in law princess Mary could not lift her head she was weeping what is the matter Mary nothing only I feel sad sad about Andrew she said wiping away her tears on her sister in law's knee several times in the course of the morning princess Mary began trying to prepare her sister in law and every time began to cry unobserved as was the little princess these tears the cause of which she did not understand agitated her she said nothing but looked about uneasily as if in search of something before dinner the old prince of whom she was always afraid she came into her room with a peculiarly restless and malign expression and went out again without saying a word she looked at princess Mary then set thinking for a while with that expression of attention to something within her that is only seen in pregnant women and suddenly began to cry has anything come from Andrew she asked no, you know it is too soon for news but my father is anxious and I feel afraid so there is nothing nothing answered princess Mary looking firmly with her radiant eyes at her sister in law she had determined not to tell her and persuaded her father to hide the terrible news from her and after her confinement which was expected within a few days princess Mary and the old prince each bore and hid their grief in their own way the old prince would not cherish any hope he made up his mind that prince Andrew had been killed and though he sent an official to Austria to seek for traces of his son the monument from Moscow which he intended to erect in his own garden to his memory and he told everybody that his son had been killed he tried not to change his former way of life but his strengths failed him he walked less, ate less slept less and became weaker every day princess Mary hoped she prayed for her brother as living and was always awaiting news of his return End of Chapter 7 Recording by Eva Harnick Pontevedra, Florida War and Peace Book 4, Chapter 8 Read for LibriVox.org by Eva Harnick The Rest said the little princess after breakfast on the morning of the 19th March and her downy little lip rose from old habit but the sorrow was manifest in every smile the sound of every word and even every footstep in that house since the terrible news had come so now the smile of the little princess influenced by the general mood knowing its cause was such as to remind one still more of the general sorrow The Rest I am afraid this morning's Frusztek as Fokker the cook calls it has disagreed with me Frusztek must with asterisk Frusztek breakfast What is the matter with you my darling you look pale oh you are very pale said Princess Mary in alarm running with her soft ponderous steps up to her sister-in-law Your Excellency should not Mary Bogdanovna be sent for said one of the maids who was present Mary Bogdanovna was a midwife from the neighboring town who had been at bald hills for the last fortnight Oh yes, assented Princess Mary perhaps that is it I will go courage my angel she kissed Lisa and was about to leave the room oh no no and besides the pallor and the physical suffering on the little princess's face an expression of childish fear of inevitable pain showed itself No, it is only indigestion Say it is only indigestion Say so Mary Say and the little princess began to cry capriciously like a suffering child and to wring her little hands even with some affectation Princess Mary ran out of the room to fetch Mary Bogdanovna Mon Dieu, Mon Dieu Oh, she heard as she left the room The midwife was already on her way to meet her rubbing her small plump white hands with an air of calm importance Mary Bogdanovna, I think it is beginning said Princess Mary looking at the midwife with wide open eyes of alarm Well, the Lord be thanked Princess said Mary Bogdanovna not hastening her steps You young ladies should not know anything about it But how is it the doctor from Moscow is not here yet said the princess In accordance with leases and Prince Andrew's wishes they had sent in good time to Moscow for a doctor and were expecting him at any moment No matter princess Don't be alarmed said Mary Bogdanovna We will manage very well without the doctor Five minutes later Mary from her room heard something heavy being carried by She looked out The man's servants were carrying the large leather sofa from Prince Andrew's study into the bedroom On their faces was a quiet and solemn look Princess Mary sat alone in her room listening to the sounds in the house now and then opening her door when someone passed and watching what was going on in the passage Some women passing with quiet steps in and out of the bedroom glanced at the princess and turned away She did not venture to ask any questions and shut the door again now sitting down in her easy chair now taking her prayer brook now kneeling before the icon stand On her surprise and distress she found that her prayers did not calm her excitement Suddenly her door opened softly and her old nurse Prashkovia Savishnya who hardly ever came to that room as the old prince had forbidden it appeared on the threshold with a shawl round her head I have come to sit with you a bit Marsha, said the nurse and here I have brought the princess wedding candles to light before he sent my angel she said with a sigh Oh nurse, I am so glad God is merciful birdie The nurse lit the gilt candles before the icons and sat down by the door with her knitting book and began reading only when footsteps or voices were heard did they look at one another the princess anxious and inquiring the nurse encouraging everyone in the house was dominated by the same feeling that princess Mary experienced as she sat in her room but owing to the superstition that the fewer the people know of it the less a woman in travail suffers everyone tried to pretend not to know no one spoke of it but apart from the ordinary state and respectful good manners habitual in the princess household a common anxiety a softening of the heart and a consciousness that something great and mysterious was being accomplished that moment made itself felt there was no laughter in the maid's large hall in the men's servants hall all set waiting silently and alert in the outlying serfs quarters torches and candles were burning and no one slept the old prince stepping on his heels paced up and down his study teacon to ask Mary Bogdanovna what news say only that the prince told me to ask and come and tell me her answer informed the prince that labor has begun said Mary Bogdanovna giving the messenger a significant look teacon went and told the prince very good said the prince closing the door behind him and teacon did not hear the slightest sound from the study after that after a while he re-entered as if to snuff the candles and seeing the prince was lying on the sofa looked at him noticed his perturbed face shook his head and going up to him silently kissed him on the shoulder and left the room without snuffing the candles or saying why the prince had entered the most sullen mystery in the world continued its course evening passed night came and the feeling of suspense and softening of heart in the presence of the unfathomable did not lessen but increased no one slept it was one of those march nights when winter seems to wish to resume its way and scatters its last snows and storms with desperate fury a relay of horses had been sent up the high road to meet the German doctor from Moscow who was expected every moment and men on horseback with lanterns were sent to the crossroads to guide him over the country road with its hollows of water Princess Mary had long since put aside her book she set silent her luminous eyes fixed on her nurses wrinkled face every line of which she knew so well on the lock of grey hair that escaped from under the kerchief and a loose skin that hung under her chin nurse Savisnya knitting in hand was telling in low tones scarcely hearing or understanding her own words what she had told hundreds of times before how the late princess had given birth to Princess Mary in Kishenev with only a Moldavian peasant woman to help instead of a midwife God is merciful doctors are never needed she said suddenly a gust of wind beat violently against the casement of the window from which the double frame had been removed by order of the prince one window frame was removed in each room as soon as the locks returned and forcing open a loosely closed latch set the damas curtain flapping and blew out the candle with its chill snowy draft Princess Mary shuddered her nurse putting down the stockings she was knitting went to the window and leaning out tried to catch the open casement the cold wind flapped the ends of her kerchief and her loose locks of grey hair Princess my dear there is someone driving up the avenue she said holding the casement and not closing it with lanterns most likely the doctor oh my god thank god said Princess Mary I must go and meet him he does not know Russian Princess Mary threw a shawl over her head and ran to meet the newcomer as she was crossing the enter room she saw through the window a carriage with lanterns standing at the entrance she went out on the stairs on a bannister post stood a tallow candle which guttered in the draft on the landing below Philip the footman stood looking scared and holding another candle still lower beyond the turn of the staircase one could hear the footsteps of someone in thick felt boots and a voice that seemed familiar to Princess Mary was saying something thank god said the voice and father come to bed replied the voice of Demian the house steward who was downstairs then the voice said something more Demian replied and the steps in the felt boots approached the unseen bend of the staircase more rapidly it is Andrew saw Princess Mary no it can't be that would be too extraordinary and at the very moment she saw this the face and figure of Prince Andrew in a fur cloak the deep color of which covered with snow appeared on the landing where the footman stood with the candle yes it was he pale sin with a change and strangely softened but agitated expression on his face he came up the stairs and embraced his sister you did not get my letter he asked and not waiting for a reply which he would not have received for the princess was unable to speak he turned back rapidly mounted the stairs again with the doctor who had entered the hall after him they had met at the last post station and again embraced his sister what a strange fate Marsha darling and having taken of his cloak and felt boots he went to the little princess's apartment End of Chapter 8 Recording by Eva Harnick Ponta Vedra, Florida War and Peace Book 4 Chapter 9 Read for LibriVox.org by Eva Harnick The little princess lay supported by pillows with a white cap on her head the pains had just left her strands of her black hair lay round her inflamed and perspiring cheeks her charming rosy mouth with its downy lip was open and she was smiling joyfully Prince Andrew entered and paused facing her at the foot of the sofa on which she was lying her glittering eyes filled with childlike fear and excitement rested on him without changing their expression I love you all and have done no harm to anyone why must I suffer so help me her look seemed to say she saw her husband but did not realize the significance of his appearance before her now Prince Andrew entered on the sofa and kissed her forehead my darling he said a word he had never used to her before God is merciful she looked at him inquiringly and with childlike reproach I expected help from you and I get none none from you either said her eyes she was not surprised at his having come she did not realize that he had come his coming had nothing to do with her sufferings or with their relief the pangs began again and Mary Bogdanovna advised Prince Andrew to leave the room the doctor entered Prince Andrew went out and meeting Princess Mary again joined her they began talking in whispers but their talk broke off at every moment they waited and listened go dear said Princess Mary Prince Andrew went again to his wife and set waiting in the room next to hers a woman came from the bedroom with a frightened face and became confused when she saw Prince Andrew covered his face with his hands and remained so for some minutes piteous helpless animal moans came through the door Prince Andrew got up went to the door and tried to open it someone was holding it shut you can't come in you can't said a terrified voice from within he began pacing the room the screaming ceased and a few more seconds went by then suddenly a terrible shriek it could not be hers she could not scream like that came from the bedroom Prince Andrew ran to the door the scream ceased and he heard the wail of an infant what have they taken a baby in therefore saw Prince Andrew in the first second a baby what baby why is there a baby there or is the baby born then suddenly he realized the joyful significance of that wail tears choked him and leaning his elbows on the windowsill he began to cry sobbing like a child the door opened the doctor with his shirt sleeve stocked up without a coat the wail and with a trembling jaw came out of the room Prince Andrew turned to him but the doctor gave him a bewildered look and passed by without a word a woman rushed out and seeing Prince Andrew stop hesitating on the threshold he went into his wife's room she was lying dead in the same position he had seen her in five minutes before and despite the fixed eyes and the pallor of the cheeks the same expression was on her charming childlike face with its upper lip covered with tiny black hair I love you all and have done no harm to anyone and what have you done to me set her charming pathetic dead face in a corner of the room Prince Andrew tiny gave a grunt and squealed in Mary Bogdanovna's trembling white hands two hours later Prince Andrew stepping softly went into his father's room the old man already knew everything he was standing close to the door and as soon as it opened his rough old arms closed like a vice around his son's neck he began to stop like a child three days later the little princess was buried and Prince Andrew went up the steps to where the coffin stood to give her the farewell kiss and there in the coffin was the same face though with closed eyes oh what have you done to me it still seemed to say and Prince Andrew felt that something gave way in his soul and that he was guilty of a sin he could neither remedy nor forget he could not weep the old man too came up and kissed the wax in little hands that lay quietly crossed one on the other on her breast and to him too her face seemed to say oh what have you done to me and why and at the sight the old man turned angrily away another five days passed and then the young Prince Nicholas Andreevich was baptized the wet nurse supported the coverlet with her while the priest with a goose feather anointed the boy's little red and wrinkled soles and palms his grandfather who was his godfather trembling and afraid of dropping him carried the infant around the battered thin font and handed him over to the godmother Princess Mary Prince Andrew sat in another room faint with fear lest the baby should be drowned in the font and awaited the termination of the ceremony he looked up joyfully at the baby when the nurse brought it to him and nodded approval when she told him that the wax with the baby's head had not sunk in the font but had floated End of chapter 9 Recording by Ava Harnick Ponte