 War and Peace, Book 6, Chapter 14, read for LibriVox.org by Robbie Rogers. On the 31st of December, New Year's Eve, 1809, 1810, an old grande of Catherine's Day was giving a ball in midnight supper. The diplomatic corps and the emperor himself were to be present. The grande's well-known mansion on the English Caye glittered with innumerable lights. These were stationed at the brightly lit entrance, which was carpeted with red bays, and not only gendarmes but dozens of police officers, and even the police master himself, stood at the porch. Carriages kept driving away and fresh ones arriving, with red livery footmen and footmen in plumed hats. From the carriages emerged men wearing uniforms, stars and ribbons, while ladies in satin and ermine cautiously descended the carriage steps, which were let down for them with a clatter, and then walked hurriedly and noiselessly over the bays at the entrance. Almost every time a new carriage drove up, a whisper ran through the crowd, and caps were doffed. The emperor? No, a minister, prince, ambassador. Don't you see the plumes? Was whispered among the crowd. One person, better dressed than the rest, seemed to know everyone and mentioned by name the greatest dignitaries of the day. A third of the visitors had already arrived, but the Rostovs, who were to be present, were still hurrying to get dressed. There had been many discussions and preparations for this ball in the Rostov family, many fears that the invitation would not arrive, that the dresses would not be ready, or that something would not be arranged as it should be. Maria Ignativa Perenskaya, a thin and salo made of honor at the court of the Dowager Empress, who was a friend in relation of the Countess, and piloted the provincial Rostovs in Petersburg High Society, was to accompany them to the ball. They were to call for her at her home in the Tarita Gardens at ten o'clock, but it was already five minutes to ten and the girls were not yet dressed. Natasha was going to her first grand ball. She had got up at eight that morning and had been in a fever of excitement and activity all day. While her power since morning had been concentrated on assuring that they all, she herself, Mama and Sonia, should be as well dressed as possible. Sonia and her mother put themselves entirely in her hands. The Countess was to wear a clare covered velvet dress, and the two girls, white gauze over pink silk slips, with roses on their bodices, and their hair dressed a la greck. Everything essential had already been done. Feet, hands, necks and ears washed, perfumed and powdered, as befits a ball. The open silk stockings and white satin shoes with ribbons were already on. The hairdressing was almost done. Sonia was finishing dressing and so was the Countess, but Natasha, who had bustled about helping them all, was behind hand. She was still sitting before looking glass with a dressing jacket thrown over her slender shoulders. Sonia stood ready dressed in the middle of the room, and, pressing the head of a pin till it hurt her dainty finger, was fixing on a last ribbon that squeaked as the pin went through it. That's not the way, that's not the way, Sonia, cried Natasha, turning her head and clutching both hands at her hair, which the maid who was dressing it had not had time to release. That bow is not right, come here. Sonia sat down and Natasha pinned the ribbon on differently. Allow me, miss. I can't do it like that, said the maid who was holding Natasha's hair. Oh dear, well then, wait. That's right, Sonia. Aren't you ready? It is nearly 10, came the Countess's voice. Directly, directly. And you, Mama, I have only my cap to pin on. Don't do it without me, called Natasha. You won't do it right. But it's already 10. They had decided to be at the ball by half past 10, and Natasha had still to get dressed, and they had to call a Torita Gardens. When her hair was done, Natasha, in her short petticoat from under which her dancing shoes showed, and in her mother's dressing jacket, ran up to Sonia, scrutinized her, then ran to her mother. Turning her mother's head this way and that, she fastened on the cap, and hurriedly kissing her gray hair, ran back to the maids who were turning up the hem of her skirt. The cause of the delay was Natasha's skirt, which was too long. Two maids were turning up the hem and hurriedly biting off the ends of thread. A third, with pins in her mouth, was running between the Countess and Sonia, and a fourth held the whole of the gosmer garment up high on one uplifted hand. Marva, quicker, darling. Give me my thimble, miss, from there. Whenever will you be ready, as the Count, coming up to the door? Here is some scent. Per and Skia must be tired of waiting. It's ready, miss, said the maid, holding up the shortened gos dress with two fingers, and blowing and shaking something off it, as if, by this, to express a consciousness of the airiness and purity of what she held. Natasha began putting on the dress. In a minute, in a minute, don't come in, papa, she called to her father as he opened the door, speaking from under the filmy skirt, which still covered her whole face. Sonia slammed the door, too. A minute later, they let the Count in. He was wearing a blue swallowtail coat, shoes, and stockings, and was perfumed, and his hair pomaded. Oh, papa, how nice you look. Charming, cried Natasha, as she stood in the middle of the room, smoothing out the folds of the gos. If you please, miss, allow me, said the maid, who, on her knees, was pulling the skirt straight and shifting the pins from one side of her mouth to the other with her tongue. Say what you like, exclaimed Sonia in a despairing voice as she looked at Natasha. Say what you like, it's still too long. Natasha stepped back to look at herself in the pure glass. The dress was too long. Really, mama? Really, madame, it is not at all too long, said Marva, crawling on her knees after her young lady. Well, if it's too long, we'll take it up. We'll tack it up in one minute, said the Resolute Dunyasha, taking a pin that was stuck in the front of her little shawl and still kneeling on the floor, set to work once more. At that moment, with soft steps, the countess came in shyly in her cap and velvet gown. Oh, my beauty, exclaimed the count. She looks better than any of you. He would have embraced her, but, blushing, she stepped aside, fearing to be rumpled. Mama, your cap, more to the side, said Natasha. I'll arrange it, and she rushed forward so that the maids, who were tacking up her skirt, could not move fast enough, and a piece of gauze was torn off. Oh, goodness, what has happened? Really, it was not my fault. Never mind, I'll turn it up. It won't show, said Dunyasha. What a beauty, a very queen, said the nurse as she came to the door, and Sonia. They are lovely. At a quarter past 10, they at last got into the carriages and started. But they still had to call a Torita Gardens. Parentskaya was quite ready. In spite of her age and plainness, she had gone through the same process as the Rostovs, but with less flurry, for to her, it was a matter of routine. Her ugly old body was washed, perfumed, and powdered in just the same way. She had washed behind her ears just as carefully, and when she entered her drawing room in her yellow dress, wearing her badge of maid of honor, her old lady's maid was as full of rapturous admiration as the Rostov's servants had been. She praised the Rostov's toilets. They praised her taste in toilet, and at 11 o'clock, careful of their quaffures and dresses, they settled themselves into their carriages and drove off. End of Chapter 14. War and Peace. Book 6, Chapter 15. Read for LibriVox.org by Robbie Rogers. Natasha had not had a moment free since early morning, and had not once had time to think of what lay before her. In the damp chill air and crowded closeness of the swaying carriage, she for the first time vividly imagined what was in store for her there at the ball, in those brightly lighted rooms, with music, flowers, dances, the emperor, and all the brilliant young people of Petersburg. The prospect was so splendid that she hardly believed it would come true, so out of keeping was it with the chilled darkness and closeness of the carriage. She understood all that awaited her only when, after stepping over the red bays at the entrance, she entered the hall, took off her fur cloak, and, beside Sonia and in front of her mother, mounted the brilliantly illuminated stairs between the flowers. Only then did she remember how she must behave at a ball, and tried to assume the majestic air she considered indispensable for a girl on such an occasion. But fortunately for her, she felt her eyes growing misty. She saw nothing clearly, her pulse beat a hundred to the minute, and the blood throbbed at her heart. She could not assume that pose, which would have made her ridiculous, and she moved on almost fainting from excitement, and trying with all her might to conceal it. And this was the very attitude that became her best, before and behind them other visitors were entering, also talking in low tones and wearing ball-dresses. The mirrors on the landing reflected ladies in white, pale blue and pink dresses, with diamonds and pearls on their bare necks and arms. Natasha looked in the mirrors and could not distinguish her reflection from the others, all was blended into one brilliant procession. On entering the ballroom, the regular hum of voices, footsteps and greetings deafened Natasha, and the light and glitter dazzled her still more. The host and hostess, who had already been standing at the door for half an hour, repeating the same words to the various arrivals, Chame de Vauvoir greeted the Rostovs and parents' guy in the same manner, delighted to see you. The two girls in their white dresses, each with a rose and her black hair, both curtsied in the same way, but the hostess's eye involuntarily rested longer on the slim Natasha. She looked at her and gave her alone a special smile, in addition to her usual smile as hostess. Looking at her she may have recalled the golden, irrecoverable days of her own girlhood and her own first ball. The host also followed Natasha with his eyes and asked the Count, which was his daughter. Charming said he, kissing the tips of his fingers. In the ballroom guest stood crowding at the entrance doors, awaiting the Emperor. The Countess took up a position in one of the front rows of that crowd. Natasha heard and felt that several people were asking about her and looking at her. She realized that those noticing her liked her and this observation helped to calm her. There are some like ourselves and some worse, she thought. Parents' guy was pointing out to the Countess the most important people at the ball. That is the Dutch ambassador. Do you see? That grey-haired man, she said, indicating an old man with a profusion of silver-grey curly hair who was surrounded by ladies laughing at something he said. Ah, here she is. The Queen of Petersburg, Countess Buzakova, said Piranskaya, indicating Helene who had just entered. How lovely! She is quite equal to Maria Antonova. See how the men, young and old, pay court to her. Beautiful and clever. They say Prince is quite mad about her, but see those two, even though not good-looking, they're even more run after. She pointed to a lady who was crossing the room followed by a very plain daughter. She is a splendid match, a millionaire, said Piranskaya. And look, here come her suitors. That is Buzakova's brother. Anatoly Kuragin, she said, indicating a handsome officer of the horse guards, passed by them with head erect, looking at something over the heads of the ladies. He's handsome, isn't he? I hear they will marry him to that rich girl. But your cousin, Drubenskaya, is also very attractive to her. They say she has millions. Oh, yes, that's the French ambassador himself. She replied to the countesses in Korea about Kolein court. Looks as if he were a king. All the same, the French are charming, very charming. No one more charming in society. Ah, here she is. Yes, she is still the most beautiful of them all. I'm Maria Antonova. And how simply she is dressed. Lovely. And that stout one in spectacles is the universal freemason she went on, indicating Pierre. Put him beside his wife, and he looks like a regular buffoon. Pierre, swaying his stout body, advanced, making way through the crowd and nodding to his right and left, as casually and as good-naturedly as if he were passing through a crowd at the fair. He pushed through evidently looking for someone. Natasha looked joyfully at the familiar face of Pierre, the buffoon, as Perenskaya just called him, and knew he was looking for them, and for her in particular. He had promised to be at the ball and introduced partners to her. But before he reached them Pierre stopped beside a very handsome dark young man of middle height and in a white uniform who stood by a window talking to a tall man wearing stars and a ribbon. Natasha at once recognized the shorter and younger man in the white uniform. It was Wolkonsky, who seemed to her to have grown much younger, happier, and better looking. There's someone else we know, Wolkonsky, do you see Mama, said Natasha, pointing out Prince Andrew. You remember? He stayed with us a night at Entredneau. Oh, do you know him, said Perenskaya? I can't bear him. Il fait pas sans la pluie et le beau temps. He's too proud for anything. He takes after his father, and he's hand in glove with Perensky, writing some project or other. Just look at how he treats the ladies. There's one talking to him, and he has turned away, she said, pointing at him. I'd give it to him if he treated me as he does those ladies. He is all the rage just now. End of Chapter 15. War and Peace. Book 6, Chapter 16. Read for LibriVox.org by Eva Harnick. Suddenly everybody stirred, began talking, and pressed forward and then back, and between the two rows which separated, the emperor entered to the sounds of music that had immediately struck up. Behind him walked his host and hostess. He walked in rapidly, bowing to right and left, as if anxious to get the first moments of the reception over. The band played the polonaise in vogue at that time on account of the words that had been said to it, beginning Alexander Elisaveta, all our hearts you ravish quite. The emperor passed on to the drawing room. The crowd made a rush for the doors, and several persons with excited faces hurried there and back again. Then the crowd hastily retired from the drawing room door, at which the emperor reappeared, talking to the hostess. A young man, looking distraught, pounced down on the ladies, asking them to move aside. Some ladies, these faces betraying complete forgetfulness of all the rules of decorum, pushed forward to the detriment of their toilets. The man began to choose partners and take their places for the polonaise. Everyone moved back, and the emperor came smiling out of the drawing room, leading his hostess by the hand, but not keeping time to the music. The host was followed with Maria Antonovna Narzynskina. Then came ambassadors, ministers, and various generals, whom Peronskaya diligently named. More than half the ladies already had partners and were taking up or preparing to take up their positions for the polonaise. Natasha felt that she would be left with her mother and Sonja among a minority of women who crowded near the wall, not having been invited to dance. She stood with her slender arms hanging down, her scarcely-defined bosom rising and falling regularly, and with baited breasts and glittering, frightened eyes, gaze straight before her, evidently prepared for the height of joy or misery. She was not concerned about the emperor or any of those great people whom Peronskaya was pointing out. She had but one thought, is it possible no one will ask me that I shall not be among the first to dance? Is it possible that not one of all these men will notice me? They do not even seem to see me, or if they do, they look as if they were saying, ah, she's not the one I am after, so it is not worse looking at her. No, it is impossible, she thought. They must know how I long to dance, how splendidly I dance, and how they would enjoy dancing with me. The strains of the Polonaise, which had continued for a considerable time, had began to sound like a sad reminiscence to Natasha's ears. She wanted to cry. Peronskaya had left them. The count was at the other end of the room. She and the Countess and Sonya were standing by themselves, as in the depths of a forest, amid that crowd of strangers, with no one interested in them and not wanted by anyone. Prince Andrew, with a lady passed by, evidently not recognizing them. The handsome Anatole was smilingly talking to a partner on his arm, and looked at Natasha as one looks at a wall. Boris passed them twice and each time turned away. Berg and his wife, who were not dancing, came up to them. This family gathering seemed humiliating to Natasha, as if there were nowhere else for the family to talk but here at the wall. She did not listen to or look at Vera, who was telling her something about her own green dress. At last, the emperor stopped beside his last partner. He had danced with three and the music ceased. A worried Adelkamp ran up to the Rostovs, requesting them to stand farther back, though as it was they were already close to the wall, and from the gallery resounded the distinct, precise, and tisingly rhythmical strains of her waltz. The emperor looked smilingly down the room. A minute passed, but no one had yet began dancing. An Adelkamp, the master of ceremonies, went up to Countess Bezukova and asked her to dance. She smilingly raised her hand and laid it on his shoulder without looking at him. The Adelkamp, an adept in his art, grasping his partner firmly around her waist, with confident deliberation, started smoothly, gliding first round edge of the circle. Then at the corner of the room, he caught Helen's left hand and turned her, the only sound audible, apart from the ever quickening music being the rhythmic click of the spurs on his rapid agile feet, while at every third beat, his partner's velvet dress spread out and seemed to flash as she whirled round. Natasha gazed at them and was ready to cry because it was not she who was dancing that first turn of the waltz. Prince Andrew, in the white uniform of a cavalry colonel, wearing stockings and dancing shoes, stood looking animated and bright in the front row of the circle, not far from the Rostovs. Baron Firhoff was talking to him about the first sitting of the Council of State to be held next day. Prince Andrew, as one closely connected with Sparansky and participating in the work of the Legislative Commission, could give reliable information about that sitting concerning which various rumors were current. But not listening to what Firhoff was saying, he was gazing now at the sovereign and now at the man intending to dance who had not yet gathered courage to enter the circle. Prince Andrew was watching these men abashed by the Emperor's presence and the women who were breathlessly longing to be asked to dance. Pierre came up to him and caught him by the arm. You always dance. I have a protege, the young Rostova. Here, ask her, he said. Where is she? asked Borkonsky. Excuse me, he added, turning to the Baron. We will finish this conversation elsewhere. At the ball, one must dance. He stepped forward in the direction Pierre indicated. The despairing, dejected expression of Natasha's face caught his eye. He recognized her, guessed her feelings, saw that it was her debut, remembered her conversation at the window and with an expression of pleasure on his face approached Countess Rostova. Allow me to introduce you to my daughter, said the Countess with heightened color. I have the pleasure of being already acquainted if the Countess remembers me, said Prince Andrew with a low and courteous bow. Quite belying, Borkonsky asked remarks about his rudeness and approaching Natasha, he held out his arm to grasp her waist before he had completed his invitation. He asked her to waltz. That tremulous expression on Natasha's face prepared either for despair or rapture, suddenly brightened into happy, grateful childlike smile. I have long been waiting for you that frightened, happy little girl seemed to say by the smile that replaced the threatened tears as she raised her hand to Prince Andrew's shoulder. They were the second couple to enter the circle. Prince Andrew was one of the best dancers of his day and Natasha danced exquisitely. Her little feet in their white satin dancing shoes did their work swiftly, lightly and independently of herself while her face beamed with ecstatic happiness. Her slender bare arms and neck were not beautiful compared to Helen's, her shoulders looked thin and her bosom undeveloped. But Helen seemed as it were hardened by a varnish left by the thousands of looks that had scant her person while Natasha was like a girl exposed for the first time who would have felt very much ashamed had she not been assured that this was absolutely necessary. Prince Andrew liked dancing and wishing to escape as quickly as possible from the political and clever talk which everyone addressed to him, wishing also to break up the circle of restraint he disliked, caused by the emperor's presence. He danced and had chosen Natasha because Pierre pointed her out to him and because she was the first pretty girl who caught his eye. But scarcely had he embraced that slender supple figure and felt her steering so close to him and smiling so near him. Then the vine of her charm rose to his head and he felt himself revived and rejuvenated when after leaving her he stood breezing deeply and watching the other dancers. End of chapter 16, recording by Eva Harnick, Pontevedra, Florida. War and Peace, book six, chapter 17. Read for LibriVox.org by Eva Harnick. After Prince Andrew, Boris came up to ask Natasha for dance and then the AdaCamp who had opened the ball and several other young men so that flushed and happy and passing on her superfluous partners to Sonja, she did not cease dancing all the evening. She noticed and saw nothing of what occupied everyone else. Not only did she fail to notice that Emperor talked a long time with the French ambassador and how particularly gracious he was to a certain lady or that Prince So-and-So and So-and-So didn't said this and that and that Helen had great success and was honored by the special attention of So-and-So. But she did not even see the Emperor and only noticed that he had gone because the ball became livelier after his departure. For one of the merry Cotilians before supper, Prince Andrew was again her partner. He reminded her of their first encounter in the Otradno Avenue and how she had been unable to sleep that moonlight night and taught her how he had involuntarily overheard her. Natasha blushed at that recollection and tried to excuse herself as if there had been something to be ashamed of in what Prince Andrew had overheard. Like all men who have grown up in society, Prince Andrew liked meeting someone there, not of the conventional society stamp. And such was Natasha with her surprise, her delight, her shyness and even her mistakes in speaking French. With her, he behaved with special care and tenderness sitting beside her and talking of the simplest and most unimportant matters. He admired her shy grace. In the middle of the Cotillion, having completed one of the figures, Natasha still out of breath was returning to her seat when another dancer chose her. She was tired and panting and evidently sort of declining, but immediately put her hand gaily on the man's shoulder smiling at Prince Andrew. I would be glad to sit beside you and rest. I am tired, but you see how they keep asking me and I'm glad of it. I am happy and I love everybody and you and I understand it all. And much, much more was said in her smile. When her partner left her, Natasha ran across the room to choose two ladies for the figure. If she goes to her cousin France and then to another lady, she will be my wife, said Prince Andrew to himself, quite to his own surprise as he watched her. She did go first to her cousin. What rubbish sometimes enters one's head, sought Prince Andrew. But what is certain is that that girl is so charming, so original that she won't be dancing here a month before she will be married. Such as she are rare here. He sought as Natasha, readjusting a rose that was slipping on her bodies, settled herself beside him. When the cotillion was over, the old count in his blue coat came up to the dancers. He invited Prince Andrew to come and see them and asked his daughter whether she was enjoying herself. Natasha didn't answer at once, but only looked up with a smile that said reproachfully, how can you ask such a question? I have never enjoyed myself so much before, she said. And Prince Andrew noticed how her thin arms rose quickly as if to embrace her father and instantly dropped again. Natasha was happier than she had ever been in her life. She was at that height of bliss when one becomes completely kind and good and does not believe in the possibility of evil, unhappiness, or sorrow. At that ball Pierre for the first time felt humiliated by the position his wife occupied in court circles. He was gloomy and absent-minded. A deep furrow ran across his forehead and standing by a window, he stared over his spectacles, seeing no one. On her way to supper, Natasha passed him. Pierre's gloomy, unhappy look struck her. She stopped in front of him. She wished to help him, to bestow on him the superabundance of her own happiness. How delightful it is, Count, said she, isn't it? Pierre smiled absent-mindedly, evidently not grasping what she said. Yes, I'm very glad, he said. How can people be dissatisfied with anything, sought Natasha, especially such a capital fellow as Bezukov? In Natasha's eyes, all the people at the ball alike were good, kind, and splendid people, loving one another. None of them capable of injuring another, and so they ought all to be happy. End of chapter 17, recording by Eva Harnick, Pontevedra, Florida. War and Peace, book six. Chapter 18, read for rimbybox.org by Eva Harnick. Next day, Prince Andrew sought of the ball, but his mind did not dwell on it long. Yes, it was a very brilliant ball. And then, yes, that little Rostova is very charming. There is something fresh, original, un-Petersburg-like about her that distinguishes her. That was all he sought about yesterday's ball, and after his morning tea, he set to work. But either from fatigue or want of sleep, he was ill-disposed for work and could get nothing done. He kept criticizing his own work, as he often did, and was glad when he heard someone coming. The visitor was Bitski, who served on various committees, frequented all the societies in Petersburg, and a passionate devotee of the new ideas, and of Speranski, and the diligent Petersburg News Manga, one of those men who choose their opinions like their clothes according to the fashion, but who, for that very reason, appeared to be the warmest partisans. Hardly had he got rid of his hat before he ran into Prince Andrew's room with a preoccupied air and at once began talking. He had just had particulars of that morning sitting of the Council of State, opened by the Emperor, and he spoke of it enthusiastically. The Emperor's speech had been extraordinary. It had been a speech such as only constitutional monarch deliver. The sovereign plainly said that the Council and Senate are estates of the Rhian. He said that the government must rest not on authority, but on secure basis. The Emperor said that the fiscal system must be reorganized and the accounts published. Recounted Bitski emphasizing certain words and opening his eyes significantly. Ah, yes, today's events mark an epoch, the greatest epoch in our history. He concluded. Prince Andrew listened to the account of the opening of the Council of State, which he had so impatiently awaited and to which he had attached such importance and was surprised that this event, now that it had taken place, did not affect him and even seemed quite insignificant. He listened with quiet irony to Bitski's enthusiastic account of it. A very simple thought occurred to him. What does it matter to me or to Bitski, what the Emperor was pleased to say at the Council? Can all that make me any happier or better? And this simple reflection suddenly destroyed all the interest Prince Andrew had felt in the impending reforms. He was going to dine that evening at Sparanskis with only a few friends, as the host had said when inviting him. The prospect of the dinner in the intimate home circle of the man he so admired had greatly interested Prince Andrew, especially as he had not yet seen Sparanskis in his domestic surroundings. But now he felt disinclined to go to it. At the appointed hour, however, he entered the modest house Sparanskis owned in the Taurida Gardens. In the pocketed dining room, this small house, remarkable for its extreme cleanliness, suggesting that of a monastery, Prince Andrew, who was rather late, found the friendly gathering of Sparanskis intimate acquaintances already assembled at five o'clock. There were no ladies present, except Sparanskis' little daughter, long-faced like her father, and her governess. The other guests were Gervais, Magnitsky, and Stolgipin. While still in the enter room, Prince Andrew heard loud voices and the ringing staccato laugh, a laugh such as one hears on the stage. Someone, it sounded like Sparanskis, was distinctly ejaculating, ha, ha, ha. Prince Andrew had never before heard Sparanskis' famous laugh, and this ringing high-pitched laughter from a statesman made a strange impression on him. He entered the dining room. The whole company was standing between two windows at a small table laid with all-divers. Sparanskis wearing a gray swallowtail coat with a star on the breast and evidently still the same waistcoat and high white stock he had worn at the meeting of the Council of State stood at the table with a beaming countenance. His guests surrounding him, Magnitsky, addressing himself to Sparanskis, was relating an anecdote, and Sparanskis was laughing in advance at what Magnitsky was going to say. When Prince Andrew entered the room, Magnitsky's words were again crowned by laughter. Stoljepin gave a deep bass guvah as he munched a piece of bread and cheese. Gerber's laughed softly with a hissing chuckle and Sparanskis in a high-pitched staccato manner. Still laughing, Sparanskis held out his soft white hand to Prince Andrew. Very pleased to see you, Prince, he said. One moment he went on turning to Magnitsky and interrupting his story. We have agreed that this is a dinner for recreation with not a word about business. And turning again to the narrator, he began to laugh afresh. Prince Andrew looked at the laughing Sparanskis as astonishment, regret, and disillusionment. It seemed to him that this was not Sparanskis, but someone else. Everything that had formally appeared mysterious and fascinating in Sparanskis suddenly became plain and unattractive. At dinner, the conversation did not cease for a moment and seemed to consist of the contents of a book of funny anecdotes. Before Magnitsky had finished his story, someone else was anxious to relate something still funnier. Most of the anecdotes, if not relating to the state service, related to people in the service. It seemed that in this company, the insignificance of those people was so definitely accepted that the only possible attitude toward them was one of good-humored ridicule. Sparanskis related how at the council that morning, a deaf dignitary, when asked his opinion, replied that he thought so too. Gervais gave a long account of an official revision remarkable for the stupidity of everybody concerned. Soljipin, stuttering broke into the conversation and began excitedly talking of the abusers that existed under the former order of things, threatening to give a serious turn to the conversation. Magnitsky starting quizzing Soljipin about his vehemence. Gervais intervened with a joke and the talk reverted to its former lively tone. Evidently, Sparanskis liked to rest after his labours and find amusement in a circle of friends and his guests, understanding his wish, trying to enliven him and amuse themselves. But their gaites seemed to Prince Andrew merciless and tarsome. Sparanskis' high-pitched voice struck him unpleasantly and the incessant laughter grated on him like a false note. Prince Andrew did not laugh and feared that he would be a damper on the spirits of the company, but no one took any notice of his being out of harmony with the general mood. They all seemed very gay. He tried several times to join in the conversation, but his remarks were tossed aside each time like a cork thrown out of the water and he could not just with them. There was nothing wrong or unseemly in what they said. It was witty and might have been funny, but it lacked just that something which is the salt of mirth and they were not even aware that such a thing existed. After dinner, Sparanskis' daughter and her governess rose. He patted the little girl with his white hand and kissed her and that gesture too seemed unnatural to Prince Andrew. The man remained at table over their port English fashion. In the midst of a conversation that was started about Napoleon's Spanish affairs, which they all agreed in approving, Prince Andrew began to express a contrary opinion. Sparanskis smiled and with an evident wish to prevent the conversation from taking an unpleasant course, told a story that had no connection with the previous conversation. For a few moments, all were silent. Having sat sometime at table, Sparanskis caught a bottle of wine and remarking nowadays good wine rides in a carriage and pair passed it to the servant and got up. All rose and continuing to talk loudly went into the drawing room. Two letters brought by a courier were handed to Sparanskis and he took them to his study. As soon as he had left the room, the general merriment stopped and the guests began to converse sensibly and quietly with one another. Now for the recitation, said Sparanskis on returning from his study. A wonderful talent, he said to Prince Andrew and Magnitsky immediately assumed a pause and began reciting some humorous verses in French which he had composed about various well-known Petersburg people. He was interrupted several times by applause. When the verses were finished, Prince Andrew went up to Sparanskis and took his leave. Where are you off to so early, asked Sparanskis. I promised to go to a reception. They said no more. Prince Andrew looked closely into those mirror-like impenetrable eyes and felt that it had been ridiculous of him to have expected anything from Sparanskis and from any of his own activities connected with him or ever to have attributed importance to what Sparanskis was doing. That precise, merciless laughter rang in Prince Andrew's ears long after he had left the house. When he reached home, Prince Andrew began thinking of his life in Petersburg during those last four months as if it were something new. He recalled his exertions and solicitations and the history of his project of army reform which had been accepted for consideration and which they were trying to pass over in silence simply because another, a very poor one, had already been prepared and submitted to the emperor. He sought of the meetings of a committee of which Berg was a member. He remembered how carefully and at what lengths everything relating to form and procedure was discussed at those meetings and how sedulously and promptly all that related to the gist of the business was evaded. He recalled his labors on the legal code and how painstakingly he had translated the articles of the Roman and French codes into Russian and he felt ashamed of himself. Then he vividly pictured to himself Bogucharova, his occupations in the country, his journey to Ryazan. He remembered the peasants and drawn the village elder and mentally applying to them the personal rights he had divided into paragraphs. He felt astonished that he could have spent so much time on such useless work. End of chapter 19, Recording by Eva Harnick, Pontevedra, Florida. Natasha was one of the first to meet him. She was wearing a dark blue house dress in which Prince Andrew thought her even prettier than in her bald dress. She and all the Rostov family welcomed him as an old friend simply and cordially. The whole family, whom he had formally judged severely, now seemed to him to consist of excellent, simple and kindly people. The old count's hospitality and good nature which struck one especially in Petersburg as a pleasant surprise were such that Prince Andrew could not refuse to stay to dinner. Yes, he thought, they are capital people who of course have not the slightest idea what a treasure they possess in Natasha, but they are kindly folk and form the best possible setting for the strikingly poetic charming girl overflowing with life. In Natasha, Prince Andrew was conscious of a strange world completely alien to him and brimful of joys unknown to him, a different world that in the Audrenau Avenue and at the window that moonlight night had already begun to disconcert him. Now this world disconcerted him no longer and was no longer alien to him, but he himself having entered it found in it a new enjoyment. As soon as Natasha had finished, she went up to him and asked how he liked her voice. She asked this and then became confused, feeling that she ought not to have asked it. He smiled looking at her and said he liked her singing as he liked everything she did. Prince Andrew left the Rostovs late in the evening. He went to bed from habit but soon realized that he could not sleep. Having lit his candle, he sat up in bed and got up and lay down again, not at all troubled by his sleeplessness. His soul was as fresh and joyful as if he had stepped out of a stuffy room into God's own fresh air. It did not enter his head that he was in love with Natasha. He was not thinking about her but only picturing her to himself and in consequence, all life appeared in a new light. Why do I strive? Why do I toil in this narrow confined frame when life, all life with all its joys open to me, said he to himself. And for the first time for a very long while, he began making happy plans for the future. He decided that he must attend to his son's education by finding a tutor and putting the boy in his charge. Then he ought to retire from the service and go abroad and see England, Switzerland and Italy. I must use my freedom while I feel so much strength and youth in me, he said to himself. Pierre was right when he said one must believe in the possibility of happiness in order to be happy. And now I do believe in it. Let the dead bury their dead but while one has life, one must live and be happy, thought he. End of chapter 19, recording by Wet Coast, Vancouver, Canada. War and Peace, book six, chapter 20. Recorded for LibriVox.org by Ava Harnick. One morning Colonel Berg, whom Pierre knew as he knew everybody in Moscow and Petersburg, came to see him. Berg arrived in an immaculate brand new uniform with his hair pomaded and brushed forward over his temples as the Emperor Alexander wore his hair. I have just been to see the Countess, your wife. Unfortunately, she could not grant my request but I hope Count I shall be more fortunate with you, he said with a smile. What is it you wish Colonel? I am at your service. I have not quite settled in my new rooms count. Berg said this with perfect conviction that this information could not but be agreeable. And so I wish to arrange just a small party for my own and my wife's friends. He's smart, still more pleasantly. I wish to ask the Countess and you to do me the honor of coming to tea and to supper. Only Countess Helen, considering the society of such people as the Berg's beneath her could be cruel enough to refuse such an invitation. Berg explained so clearly why he wanted to collect at his house a small but select company and why this would give him pleasure and why though he grudge spending money on cards or anything harmful, he was prepared to run into some expense for the sake of good society that Pierre could not refuse and promised to come. But don't be late Count if I may venture to ask about 10 minutes to eight please. We shall make up a rubber, our general is coming. He is very good to me. We shall have supper count, so you will do me the favor. Contrary to his habit of being late, Pierre on that day arrived at the Berg's house, not at 10 but at 15 minutes to eight. Having prepared everything necessary for the party, the Berg's were ready for their guests arrival. In their new clean and light study with its small busts and pictures and new furniture, set Berg and his wife. Berg closely buttoned up in his new uniform, set beside his wife explaining to her that one always could and should be acquainted with people above one because only then does one get satisfaction from acquaintances. You can get to know something, you can ask for something. See how I managed from my first promotion? Berg measured his life not by years but by promotions. My comrades are still nobodies while I am only waiting for a vacancy to command the regiment and have the happiness to be your husband. He rose and kissed Vera's hand and on the way to her straightened out and turned a corner of the carpet. And how have I obtained all this? Chiefly by knowing how to choose my acquaintances. It goes without saying, then one must be conscientious and methodical. Berg smiled with a sense of his superiority over a weak woman and paused, reflecting that this dear wife of his was after all but a weak woman who could not understand all that constitutes a man's dignity, what it was a month's design to be a man. Vera at the same time smiling with a sense of superiority over her good, conscientious husband who all the same understood life wrongly as according to Vera, all men did. Berg, judging by his wife, sought all women weak and foolish. Vera, judging only by her husband and generalizing from that observation, suppose that all men though they understand nothing and are conceited and selfish, ascribe common sense to themselves alone. Berg rose and embraced his wife carefully so as not to crush her lace fishu for which he had paid a good price, kissing her straight on the lips. The only thing is, we mustn't have children too soon. He continued following an unconscious sequence of ideas. Yes, son said Vera, I don't at all want that. We must live for society. Princess Yusupova wore one exactly like this, said Berg pointing to the fishu with a happy and kindly smile. Just then, Count Bezukov was announced. Husband and wife glanced at one another, co-smiling with self-satisfaction and each mentally claiming the honor of this visit. This is what comes of knowing how to make acquaintances, sought Berg. This is what comes of knowing how to conduct oneself. But please don't interrupt me when I'm entertaining the guests, said Vera, because I know what interests each of them and what to say to different people. Berg smiled again. It can't be helped. Man must sometimes have masculine conversation, said he. They received Pierre in their small new drawing room where it was impossible to sit down anywhere without disturbing its symmetry, neatness and order. So it was quite comprehensible and not strange that Berg having generously offered to disturb the symmetry of an armchair or of the sofa for his dear guest, but being apparently painfully undecided on the matter himself, eventually left the visitor to settle the question of selection. Pierre disturbed the symmetry by moving a chair for himself and Berg and Vera immediately began their evening party interrupting each other in their efforts to entertain their guest. Vera, having decided in her own mind that Pierre ought to be entertained with conversation about the French Embassy at once began accordingly. Berg, having decided that masculine conversation was required, interrupted his wife's remarks and touched on the question of the war with Austria and unconsciously jumped from the general subject to personal consideration as to the proposal made him to take part in the Austrian campaign and the reasons why he had declined them. Though the conversation was very incoherent and Vera was angry at the intrusion of the masculine element, both husband and wife felt with satisfaction that even if only one guest was present, their evening had begun very well and was as like a stoopies to every other evening party with its dark tea and lighted candles. Before long, Boris Berg's old camera arrived. There was a shade of condescension and patronage in his treatment of Berg and Vera. After Boris came a lady with the Colonel, then the general himself, then the Rostovs and the party became unquestionably exactly like all other evening parties. Berg and Vera could not repress their smiles of satisfaction at the sight of all this movement in their drawing room, at the sound of the disconnected talk, the rustling of dresses and the bowing and scraping. Everything was just as everybody always has it, especially so the general who admired the apartment, patted Berg on the shoulder and with parental authority, superintended the setting out of the table for Boston. The general sat down by Count Ilya Rostov, who was next to himself the most important guest. The old people sat with the old, the young with the young and the hostess at the tea table on which stood exactly the same kind of cakes in a silver cake basket as the panins had at their party. Everything was just as it was everywhere else. End of chapter 20, recording by Eva Harnick, Pontevedra, Florida. Pierre, as one of the principal guests, had to sit down to Boston with Count Rostov, the general and the colonel. At the card table he happened to be directly facing Natasha and was struck by a curious change that had come over her since the ball. She was silent and not only less pretty than at the ball, but only redeemed from plainness by her look of gentle indifference to everything around. What's the matter with her? thought Pierre, glancing at her. She was sitting by her sister at the tea table and reluctantly, without looking at him, made some reply to Boris who sat down beside her. After playing out a whole suit and to his partner's delight taking five tricks, Pierre, hearing greetings and the steps of someone who had entered the room while he was picking up his tricks, glanced again at Natasha. What has happened to her? He asked himself with still greater surprise. Prince Andrew was standing before her, saying something to her with a look of tender solicitude. She, having raised her head, was looking up at him, flushed and evidently trying to master her rapid breathing, and the bright glow of some inner fire that had been suppressed was again a light in her. She was completely transformed and from a plain girl had again become what she had been at the ball. Prince Andrew went up to Pierre and the latter noticed a new and youthful expression in his friend's face. Pierre changed places several times during the game, sitting now with his back to Natasha and now facing her, but during the whole of the six rubbers he watched her and his friend. Something very important is happening between them, thought Pierre, and a feeling that was both joyful and painful agitated him and made him neglect the game. After six rubbers, the general got up, saying that it was no use playing like that, and Pierre was released. Natasha on one side was talking with Sonya and Boris, and Vera with a subtle smile was saying something to Prince Andrew. Pierre went up to his friend and asking whether they were talking secrets sat down beside them. Vera, having noticed Prince Andrew's attentions to Natasha, decided that at a party, a real evening party, subtle allusions to the tender passion were absolutely necessary and seizing a moment when Prince Andrew was alone began a conversation with him about feelings in general and about her sister. With so intellectual a guest as she considered Prince Andrew to be, she felt that she had to employ her diplomatic tact. When Pierre went up to them, he noticed that Vera was being carried away by her self-satisfied talk, but that Prince Andrew seemed embarrassed, a thing that rarely happened with him. What do you think, Vera was saying with an arched smile? You are so discerning, Prince, and understand people's characters so well at a glance. What do you think of Natalie? Could she be constant in her attachments? Could she, like other women, vehement herself, love a man once for all and remain true to him forever? That is what I consider true love. What do you think, Prince? I know your sister too little, replied Prince Andrew with a sarcastic smile under which he wished to hide his embarrassment to be able to solve so delicate a question. And then I have noticed that the less attractive a woman is, the more constant she is likely to be, he added, and looked up at Pierre, who was just approaching them. Yes, that is true, Prince. In our days, continued Vera, mentioning our days as people of limited intelligence or fond of doing, imagining that they have discovered and appraised the peculiarities of our days and that human characteristics changed with the times. In our days a girl has so much freedom that the pleasure of being courted often stifles real feeling in her, and it must be confessed that Natalie is very susceptible. This return to the subject of Natalie caused Prince Andrew to knit his brows with discomfort. He was about to rise, but Vera continued with a still more subtle smile. I think no one has been more courted than she, she went on. But till quite lately she never cared seriously for anyone. Now you know, Count, she said to Pierre, even our dear cousin Boris, who between ourselves was very far gone in the land of tenderness, alluding to a map of love much in vogue at that time. Prince Andrew frowned and remained silent. You are friendly with Boris, aren't you? Asked Vera. Yes, I know him. I expect he has told you of his childish love for Natasha. Oh, there was childish love? Suddenly asked Prince Andrew, blushing unexpectedly. Yes, you know between cousins, intimacy often leads to love. Le Cousinage, et en d'unjour au voisinage, don't you think so? Oh, undoubtedly, said Prince Andrew, and with a sudden and unnatural liveliness, he began shafing Pierre about the need to be very careful with his 50-year-old Moscow cousins, and in the midst of these gesting remarks, he rose, taking Pierre by the arm, and drew him aside. Well, asked Pierre, seeing his friends' strange animation with surprise and noticing the glance he turned on Natasha as he rose. I must, I must have a talk with you, said Prince Andrew. You know that pair of woman's gloves? He referred to the Masonic gloves, given to a newly initiated brother to present to the woman he loved. I, but no, I will talk to you later on. And with a strange light in his eyes and restlessness in his movements, Prince Andrew approached Natasha and sat down beside her. Pierre saw how Prince Andrew asked her something and how she flushed as she replied. But at that moment, Berge came into Pierre and began insisting that he should take part in an argument between the general and the colonel on the affairs in Spain. Berge was satisfied and happy. The smile of pleasure never left his face. The party was very successful and quite like other parties he had seen. Everything was similar. The ladies' subtle talk, the cards, the general raising his voice at the card table, and the samovar and the teacakes. Only one thing was lacking that he had always seen at the evening parties he wished to imitate. They had not yet had a loud conversation among the men and a dispute about something important and clever. Now the general had begun such a discussion and so Berge drew Pierre to it. End of chapter 21, recording by Roger Maline. War and Peace, book six, chapter 22, read for LibriVox.org by Roger Maline. Next day, having been invited by the count, Prince Andrew dined with the Rostovs and spent the rest of the day there. Everyone in the house realized for whose sake Prince Andrew came and without concealing it, he tried to be with Natasha all day. Not only in the soul of the frightened, yet happy and enraptured Natasha, but in the whole house there was a feeling of awe at something important that was bound to happen. The Countess looked with sad and sternly serious eyes at Prince Andrew when he talked to Natasha and timidly started some artificial conversation about trifles as soon as he looked her way. Sonia was afraid to leave Natasha and afraid of being in the way when she was with them. Natasha grew pale in a panic of expectation when she remained alone with him for a moment. Prince Andrew surprised her by his timidity. She felt that he wanted to say something to her but could not bring himself to do so. In the evening when Prince Andrew had left, the Countess went up to Natasha and whispered, Well, what? Mama, for heaven's sake, don't ask me anything now. One can't talk about that, said Natasha. But all the same, that night Natasha, now agitated and now frightened, lay a long time in her mother's bed, gazing straight before her. She told her how he had complimented her, how he told her he was going abroad, asked her where they were going to spend the summer and how he had asked her about Boris. But such a, such a, never happened to me before, she said. Only I feel afraid in his presence. I am always afraid when I'm with him. What does that mean? Does it mean that it's the real thing? Yes? Mama, are you asleep? No, my love, I am frightened myself, answered her mother. Now go. All the same, I shan't sleep. What silliness to sleep? Mommy, mommy, such a thing has never happened to me before, she said, surprised and alarmed at the feeling she was aware of in herself. And could we ever have thought? It seemed to Natasha that even at the time she first saw Prince Andrew at Otradno, she had fallen in love with him. It was as if she feared this strange, unexpected happiness of meeting again the very man she had then chosen, she was firmly convinced she had done so, and of finding him as it seemed not indifferent to her. And it had to happen that he should come specially to Petersburg while we are here. And it had to happen that we should meet at that ball. It is fate. Clearly it is fate that everything led up to this. Already then, directly I saw him, I felt something peculiar. What else did he say to you? What are those verses? Read them, said her mother thoughtfully, referring to some verses Prince Andrew had written in Natasha's album. Mama, one need not be ashamed of his being a widower. Don't Natasha, pray to God, marriages are made in heaven, said her mother. Darling mummy, how I love you, how happy I am, cried Natasha, shedding tears of joy and excitement and embracing her mother. At that very time Prince Andrew was sitting with Pierre and telling him of his love for Natasha and his firm resolve to make her his wife. That day Countess Helen had a reception at her house. The French ambassador was there and a foreign prince of the blood who had of late become a frequent visitor of hers and many brilliant ladies and gentlemen. Pierre, who had come downstairs, walked through the rooms and struck everyone by his preoccupied, absent-minded and morose air. Since the ball, he had felt the approach of a fit of nervous depression and had made desperate efforts to combat it. Since the intimacy of his wife with the royal prince, Pierre had unexpectedly been made a gentleman of the bed chamber and from that time he had begun to feel oppressed and ashamed in court society and dark thoughts of the vanity of all things human came to him oftener than before. At the same time, the feeling he had noticed between his protege Natasha and Prince Andrew accentuated his gloom by the contrast between his own position and his friends. He tried equally to avoid thinking about his wife and about Natasha and Prince Andrew. And again, everything seemed to him insignificant in comparison with eternity. Again, the question, for what, presented itself and he forced himself to work day and night at Masonic laborers, hoping to drive away the evil spirit that threatened him. Toward midnight, after he had left the Countess's apartments, he was sitting upstairs in a shabby dressing-down, copying out the original transaction of the Scottish Lodge of Freemasons at a table in his low room, cloudy with tobacco smoke, when someone came in. It was Prince Andrew. Ah, it's you, said Pierre, with a preoccupied, dissatisfied air. And I, you see, am hard at it. He pointed to his manuscript book with that air of escaping from the ills of life with which unhappy people look at their work. Prince Andrew, with a beaming, ecstatic expression of renewed life on his face, paused in front of Pierre, and, not noticing his sad look, smiled at him with the egotism of joy. Well, dear heart, said he, I wanted to tell you about it yesterday and I have come to do so today. I never experienced anything like it before. I am in love, my friend. Suddenly Pierre heaved a deep sigh and dumped his heavy person down on the sofa beside Prince Andrew. With Natasha Rostova, yes, said he. Yes, yes, who else should it be? I should never have believed it, but the feeling is stronger than I. Yesterday I tormented myself and suffered, but I would not exchange even that torment for anything in the world. I have not lived till now. At last I live, but I can't live without her. But can she love me? I am too old for her. Why don't you speak? I? I, what did I tell you? Said Pierre, suddenly rising and beginning to pace up and down the room. I always thought that girl is such a treasure. She is a rare girl. My dear friend, I entreat you. Don't philosophize, don't doubt. Mary, Mary, Mary. And I am sure there will not be a happier man than you. But what of her? She loves you. Don't talk rubbish, said Prince Andrew, smiling and looking into Pierre's eyes. She does, I know, Pierre cried fiercely. But do listen, returned Prince Andrew, holding him by the arm. Do you know the condition I am in? I must talk about it to someone. Well, go on, go on. I am very glad, said Pierre, and his face really changed. His brow became smooth and he listened gladly to Prince Andrew. Prince Andrew seemed, and really was, quite a different, quite a new man. Where was his spleen? His contempt for life, his disillusionment. Pierre was the only person to whom he made up his mind to speak openly. And to him he told all that was in his soul. Now he boldly and lightly made plans for an extended future, said he could not sacrifice his own happiness to his father's caprice and spoke of how he would either make his father consent to this marriage and lover or would do without his consent. Then he marveled at the feeling that had mastered him as at something strange, apart from an independent of himself. I should not have believed anyone who told me that I was capable of such love, said Prince Andrew. It is not at all the same feeling that I knew in the past. This whole world is now for me divided into two halves. One half is she and there all is joy, hope, light. The other half is everything where she is not and there is all gloom and darkness. Darkness and gloom, reiterated Pierre. Yes, yes, I understand that. I cannot help loving the light. It is not my fault and I am very happy. You understand me? I know you are glad for my sake. Yes, yes, Pierre assented looking at his friend with a touched and sad expression in his eyes. The brighter Prince Andrew's lot appeared to him, the gloomier seemed his own. End of Chapter 22, Recording by Roger Maline. War and Peace. Book 6, Chapter 23. Read for LibriVox.org by Ava Harnick. Prince Andrew needed his father's consent to his marriage and to obtain this he started for the country next day. His father received his son's communication with external composure but inward wrongs. He could not comprehend how anyone could wish to alter his life or introduce anything new into it when his own life was already ending. If only they would let me end my days as I want to, sought the old man, then they might do as they please. With his son however, he employed the diplomacy he reserved for important occasions and adopting a quiet tone discussed the whole matter. In the first place, the marriage was not a brilliant one as regards birth, wealth, or rank. Secondly, Prince Andrew was no longer as young as he had been and his health was poor. The old man laid special stress on this while she was very young. Thirdly, he had a son whom it would be a pity to entrust the cheat of a girl. Forcibly, and finally, the father said, looking ironically at his son, I beg you to put it off for a year. Go abroad, take a cure. Look out as you wanted to for a German tutor for Prince Nicholas then if your love or passion or obstinacy as you please is still as great marry. And that is my last word on it. Mind, the last concluded the Prince in a tone which showed that nothing would make him alter his decision. Prince Andrew saw clearly that the old man hoped that his feelings or his fiancés would not stand a year's test or that he, the old Prince himself, would die before then and he decided to conform to his father's wish to propose and postpone the wedding for a year. Three weeks after the last evening he had spent with the Rostovs, Prince Andrew returned to Petersburg. Next day after her talk with her mother, Natasha expected Borkonsky all day, but he did not come. On the second and third day it was the same. Pierre did not come either and Natasha, not knowing that Prince Andrew had gone to see his father, could not explain his absence to herself. Three weeks passed in this way. Natasha had no desire to go out anywhere and wandered from room to room like a shadow, idle and listless. She wept secretly at night and did not go to her mother in the evenings. She blushed continually and was irritable. It seemed to her that everybody knew about her disappointment and was laughing at her and pitting her. Strong as was her inward grief, this wound to her vanity intensified her misery. Once she came to her mother, tried to say something and suddenly began to cry. Her tears were those of an offended child who does not know why it is being punished. The countess began to soothe Natasha, who after first listening to her mother's words, suddenly interrupted her. Leave off, Mama. I don't think. I don't want to think about it. He just came and then left off. Left off. Her voice trembled and she again nearly cried. But recovered and went on quietly. And I don't at all want to get married. And I am afraid of him. I have now become quite calm, quite calm. The day after this conversation, Natasha put on the old dress which she knew had the peculiar property of conducing to cheerfulness in the mornings and that day she returned to the old way of life which she had abandoned since the ball. Having finished her morning tea, she went to the ballroom which she particularly liked for its loud resonance and began singing her solfeggio. When she had finished her first exercise, she stood still in the middle of the room and sang a musical phrase that particularly pleased her. She listened joyfully as though she had not expected it to the charm of the notes reverberating, filling the whole empty ballroom and slowly dying away. And all at once she felt cheerful. What is the good of making so much of it? Inks are nice as it is, she said to herself, and she began walking up and down the room, not stepping simply on the resounding parquet, but treading with each step from the heel to the toe. She had on a new and favorite pair of shoes and listening to the regular tap of the heel and the creek of the toe as gladly as she had to the sounds of her own voice. Passing a mirror, she glanced into it. There, that is me, the expression of her face seemed to say as she caught sight of herself. Well, and very nice too, I need nobody. A footman wanted to come in to clear away something in the room, but she would not let him and having closed the door behind him continued her walk. That morning she had returned to her favorite mood, love of and delight in herself. How charming that Natasha is, she said again, speaking as some sad collective male person, pretty, a good voice, young, and in nobody's way if only they leave her in peace. But however much they left her in peace she could not now be at peace and immediately felt this. In the hall the porch door opened and someone asked, at home and then footsteps were heard. Natasha was looking at the mirror but did not see herself. She listened to the sounds in the hall. When she saw herself her face was pale. It was he, she knew this for certain, though she hardly heard his voice through the closed doors. Pale and agitated, Natasha run into the drawing room. Mama, Borkonsky has come, she said. Mama, it is awful, it is unbearable. I don't want to be tormented. What am I to do? Before the Countess could answer Prince Andrew entered the room with an agitated and serious face. As soon as he saw Natasha his face brightened. He kissed the Countess's hand and Natasha's and sat down beside the sofa. It is long since we had the pleasure began the Countess but Prince Andrew interrupted her by answering her intended question obviously in haste to say what he had to. I have not been to see all this time because I have been at my father's. I had to talk over a very important matter with him. I only got back last night. He said glancing at Natasha. I want to have a talk with you Countess. He added after a moment's pause. The Countess lowered her eyes, sighing deeply. I am at your disposal, she murmured. Natasha knew that she ought to go away but was unable to do so. Something gripped her throat and regardless of manners she stared straight at Prince Andrew with wide open eyes. At once this instant no it can't be, she thought. Again he glanced at her and that glance convinced her that she was not mistaken. Yes, at once that very instant her fate would be decided. Go Natasha, I will call you said the Countess in a whisper. Natasha glanced with frightened imploring eyes at Prince Andrew and at her mother and went out. I have come Countess to ask for your daughter's hand said Prince Andrew. The Countess's face flushed hotly but she said nothing. Your offer, she began at last sedately. He remained silent looking into her eyes. Your offer, she grew confused. Is agreeable to us and I accept your offer. I am glad and my husband. I hope, but it will depend on her. I will speak to her when I have your consent. Do you give it to me? said Prince Andrew. Yes, replied the Countess. She held out her hand to him and with a mixed feeling of estrangement and tenderness pressed her lips to his forehead as he stooped to kiss her hand. She wished to love him as a son but felt that to her he was a stranger and a terrifying man. I am sure my husband will consent said the Countess, but your father my father to whom I have told my plans has made it an express condition of his consent that the wedding is not to take place for a year and I wish to tell you of that said Prince Andrew. It is true that Natasha is still young but so long as that it is unavoidable said Prince Andrew with a sigh. I will send her to you said the Countess and left the room. Lord have mercy upon us. She repeated while seeking her daughter. Sonia said that Natasha was in her bedroom. Natasha was sitting on the bed pale and dry-eyed and was gazing at the icons and whispering something as she rapidly crossed herself. Seeing her mother, she jumped up and flew to her. Well mama, well go, go to him. He's asking for your hand said the Countess coldly seemed to Natasha. Go, go. Said the mother sadly and reproachfully with a deep sigh as her daughter ran away. Natasha never remembered how she entered the drawing room. When she came in and saw him she paused. Is it possible that this stranger has now become everything to me? She asked herself and immediately answered. Yes, everything. He alone is now dearer to me than everything in the world. Prince Andrew came up to her with downcast eyes. I have loved you from the very first moment I saw you. May I hope. He looked at her and was stuck by the serious, impassioned expression of her face. Her face said, why ask? Why doubt? What you cannot but know? Why speak when words cannot express what one feels? She drew near to him and stopped. He took her hand and kissed it. Do you love me? Yes, yes, Natasha murmured as if in vexation. Then she sighed loudly and catching her breath more and more quickly began to sob. What is it? What is the matter? Oh, I am so happy. She replied, smiles through her tears, bent over closer to him, posed for an instant as if asking herself whether she might and then kissed him. Prince Andrew held her hands, looked into her eyes and did not find in his heart his former love for her. Something in him had suddenly changed. There was no longer the former poetic and mystic charm of desire, but there was pity for her feminine and childish weakness, fear at her devotion and trustfulness and an oppressive yet joyful sense of the duty that now bound him to her forever. The present feeling, though not so bright and poetic as the former, was stronger and more serious. Did your mother tell you that it cannot be for a year as Prince Andrew still looking into her eyes? Is it possible that I, the chit of a girl as everybody called me, sought Natasha? Is it possible that I am now to be the wife and the equal of this strange, dear, clever man whom even my father looks up to? Can it be true? Can it be true that there can be no more playing with life, that now I am grown up, that on me now lies a responsibility for my every word and deed? Yes, but what did he ask me? No, she replied, but she had not understood his question. Forgive me, he said, but you are so young and I have already been through so much in life. I am afraid for you. You do not yet know yourself. Natasha listened with concentrated attention, trying but failing to take in the meaning of his words. Heart at this year which delays my happiness will be, continued Prince Andrew, it will give you time to be sure of yourself. I ask you to make me happy in a year, but you are free. Our engagement shall remain a secret and should you find that you do not love me, or should you come to love? Said Prince Andrew with an unnatural smile. Why do you say that? Natasha interrupted him. You know that from the very day you first came to Othredno, I have loved you. She cried quite convinced that she spoke the truth. In a year you will learn to know yourself. A whole year Natasha repeated suddenly, only now realizing that the marriage was to be postponed for a year. But why a year? Why a year? Prince Andrew began to explain to her the reasons for this delay. Natasha did not hear him. And can't it be helped, she asked. Prince Andrew did not reply, but his face expressed the impossibility of altering that decision. It is awful, oh it is awful, awful. Natasha suddenly cried and again burst into sobs. I shall die waiting a year. It is impossible, it is awful. She looked into her lover's face and saw in it a look of commiseration and perplexity. No, no, I will do anything she said suddenly checking her tears. I am so happy. The father and mother came into the room and gave the betrothed couple their blessing. From that day Prince Andrew began to frequent the Rostovs as Natasha's affianced lover. End of Chapter 23 Recording by Eva Harnick, Pontavedra, Florida She wished to bind Natasha and gave her perfect freedom. If after six months she felt that she did not love him she would have full right to reject him. Naturally neither Natasha nor her parents wished to hear of this, but Prince Andrew was firm. He came every day to the Rostovs but did not behave to Natasha as an affianced lover. He did not use the familiar thou but said you to her and kissed only her hand. After their engagement quite different, intimate and natural relations sprang up between them. It was if they had not known each other till now. Both liked to recall how they had regarded each other when as yet they were nothing to one another. They felt themselves now quite different beings. Then they were artificial, now natural and sincere. At first the family felt some constraint in intercourse with Prince Andrew. He seemed a man from another world and for a long time Natasha trained the family to get used to him, probably assuring them all that only appeared to be different but was really just like all of them and that she was not afraid of him and no one else ought to be. He could talk about rural economy with the Count, fashions with the Countess and Natasha and about albums and fancy work with Sonia. Sometimes a household both among themselves and in his presence expressed their wonder at how it had all happened and at the evident almonds there had been of it. Prince Andrew's coming to Autredno and their coming to Petersburg and the presence between Natasha and Prince Andrew which her nurse had noticed on his first visit and Andrew's encounter with Nicholas in 1805 and many other incidents betokening that it had to be. In the house that poetic dullness and quiet reigned which always accompanies the presence of a betrothed couple often when all sitting together everyone kept silent. Sometimes the others would get up and go away and the couple left alone still remain silent. They rarely spoke of their future life. In a shame to speak of it Natasha shared this as she did all his feelings which she constantly devined. Once she began questioning him about his son Prince Andrew blushed as he often did now Natasha particularly liked it in him and said that his son would not live with him. Why not? asked Natasha in a frightened tone. I cannot take him away from his grandfather and besides how I should have loved him said Natasha immediately guessing his thought how you wished to avoid any pretext for finding fault with us. Sometimes the old count would come up, kiss Prince Andrew and ask his advice about Petya's education or Nicholas's service. The old count aside as she looked at them Sonya was always getting frightened lest she should be in the way and tried to find excuses for leaving them alone even when they did not wish it. When Prince Andrew spoke he could tell a story very well Natasha listened to him with pride. When she spoke she noticed with fear and joy that he gazed attentively and scrutinizingly at her. She asked herself in perplexity what does he look for in me? He is trying to discover something by looking at me. What if what he seeks in me is not there? Sometimes she fell into one of the Mad Mary moods characteristic of her and then she particularly loved to hear and see how Prince Andrew laughed. He seldom laughed but when he did he abandoned himself entirely to his laughter and after such a laugh she always felt nearer to him. Natasha would have been completely happy if the thought of the separation awaiting her and drawing near had not terrified her just as the mere thought of it made him turn pale and cold. On the eve of his departure from Petersburg Prince Andrew brought with him Pierre who had not been to the Rostovs once since the ball. Pierre seemed disconcerted and embarrassed. He was talking to the Countess and Natasha sat down beside a little chess table with Sonya thereby inviting Prince Andrew to come to. He did so. You have known Bezukoff a long time, he asked. Do you like him? Yes, he's a dear but very absurd. And as usual when speaking of Pierre she began to tell anecdotes of his absent-mindedness some of which had even been invented about him. Do you know I have entrusted him with our secret? I have known him from childhood. He has a heart of gold. I beg you, Natalia, Prince Andrew said with sudden seriousness. I am going away and heaven knows what may happen. You may cease to. All right, I know I am not to say that. Only this then. Whatever may happen to you when I am not here. What can happen? Whatever trouble may come, Prince Andrew continued. I beg you, Madame Waselle Sophie, whatever may happen to turn to him alone for advice and help. He is a most absent-minded and absurd fellow but he has a heart of gold. Neither her father nor her mother nor Sonya nor Prince Andrew himself could have foreseen how the separation from her lover would act on Natasha. Flushed and agitated, she went about the house all that day. Dry-eyed, occupied with most trivial matters as if not understanding what awaited her. She did not even cry when, on taking leave, he kissed her hand for the last time. Don't go, she said in a tone that made him wonder whether he really ought not to stay in which he remembered long afterwards. Nor did she cry when he was gone, but for several days she sat in her room dry-eyed taking no interest in anything and only saying now and then, oh, why did he go away? But a fortnight after his departure to the surprise of those around her she recovered from her mental sickness just as suddenly and became her old self again, but with a change in her moral physiognomy as a child gets up after a long illness with a changed expression of face. End of Chapter 24 Recording by Wettkost Vancouver War and Peace, Book 6, Chapter 25 Read for LibriVox.org by Wettkost During that year after his son's departure Prince Nicholas Balkansky's health and temper became much worse. He grew still more irritable and it was Princess Mary who generally bore the brunt of his frequent fits of unprovoked anger. He seemed carefully to seek out her tender spots so as to torture her mentally as harshly as possible. Princess Mary had two passions and consequently two joys her nephew, little Nicholas, and religion and these were the favourite subjects of the princess' attacks and ridicule. Whatever was spoken of he would bring round to the superstitiousness of old maids or the petting and spoiling of children. You want to make him, little Nicholas, into an old maid like yourself, a pity. Prince Andrew wants a son and not an old maid, he would say. Or turning to Madame O'Burien he would ask her in Princess Mary's presence how she liked her village priests and icons and would joke about them. He continually hurt Princess Mary's feelings and tormented her but it cost her no effort to forgive him. Could he be to blame toward her or could her father whom she knew loved her in spite of it all be unjust? And what is justice? The princess never thought of that proud word justice. All the complex laws of man centred for her in one clear and simple law. The law of love and self-sacrifice taught us by him who lovingly suffered for mankind though he himself was God. What had she to do with the justice or injustice of other people? She had to endure and love and that she did. During the winter Prince Andrew had come to Bald Hills and had been gay, gentle and more affectionate than Princess Mary had known him for a long time past. She felt that something had happened to him but he said nothing to her about his love. Before he left he had a long talk with his father about something and Princess Mary noticed that before his departure they were dissatisfied with one another. Soon after Prince Andrew had gone Princess Mary wrote to her friend Julie Karagina in Petersburg whom she had dreamed as all girls dream of marrying to her brother and who was at that time in mourning for her own brother killed in Turkey. Sorrow it seems is her common lot my dear tender friend Julie. Your loss is so terrible that I can only explain it to myself as a special providence of God who loving you wishes to try you and your excellent mother. Oh my friend, religion and religion alone can, I will not say comfort us but save us from despair. Religion alone can explain to us what without its help man cannot comprehend. Why for what cause kind and noble beings able to find happiness in life not merely harming no one but necessary to the happiness of others all the way to God while cruel, useless, harmful persons or such as are a burden to themselves and to others are left living. The first death I saw and one I shall never forget that of my dear sister-in-law left that impression on me. Just as you asked Destiny why your splendid brother had to die so I asked why that angel leaves who not only never wronged anyone but in whose soul there were never any unkind thoughts had to die. What do you think dear friend? Five years have passed since then and already I, with my petty understanding begin to see clearly why she had to die and in what way that death was but an expression of the infinite goodness of the Creator whose every action though generally incomprehensible to us is but a manifestation of his infinite love for his creatures perhaps I often think she was too angelically innocent to have the strength to perform all a mother's duties. As a young wife she was irreproachable perhaps she could not have been so as a mother as it is not only has she left us and particularly Prince Andrew with the purest regrets and memories but probably she will there receive a place I dare not hope for myself but not to speak of her alone that early and terrible death has had the most beneficent influence on me and on my brother in spite of all our grief. Then at the moment of our loss could not occur to me I should then have dismissed them with horror but now they are very clear and certain I write all this to you dear friend only to convince you of the gospel truth which has become for me a principle of life not a single hair of our heads will fall without his will and his will is governed only by infinite love for us and so whatever befalls us is for our good. You ask whether we shall spend next winter in Moscow in spite of my wish to see you I do not think so and do not want to do so you will be surprised to hear that the reason for this is Bonaparte the case is this my father's health is growing noticeably worse he cannot stand any contradiction and is becoming irritable this irritability is as you know chiefly directed to political questions he cannot endure the notion that Bonaparte is negotiating on equal terms with all the sovereigns of Europe with her own, the grandson of the great Catherine as you know I am quite indifferent to politics but from my father's remarks and his talks with Michael Ivanovich I know all that goes on in the world and especially about the honors conferred on Bonaparte who only at Bald Hills in the whole world it seems is not accepted as a great man still less as emperor of France and my father cannot stand this it seems to me that it is chiefly because of his political views my father is reluctant to speak of going to Moscow for he first sees the encounters that would result from his way of expressing his views regardless of anybody all the benefit he might derive from a course of treatment he would lose as a result of the disputes about Bonaparte which would be inevitable in any case it will be decided very shortly our family life goes on in the old way except for my brother Andrew's absence he as I wrote you before has changed very much of late in his sorrow he only this year quite recovered his spirits he has again become as I used to know him when a child kind affectionate with that heart of gold to which I know no equal he has realized it seems to me that life is not over for him but together with this mental change he has gone physically much weaker he has become thinner and more nervous I am anxious about him and glad he is taking this trip abroad which the doctors recommended long ago I hope it will cure him you write that in Petersburg he has spoken of as one of the most active, cultivated and capable of the young men forgive my vanity as a relation but I never doubted it the good he has done to everybody here from his peasants up to the gentry is incalculable on his arrival in Petersburg he received only his due I always wonder at the way rumors fly from Petersburg to Moscow especially such false ones as that you write about I mean the report of my brother's betrothal I do not think my brother will ever marry again and certainly not her and this is why first I know that though he rarely speaks about the wife he has lost the grief of that loss has gone too deep in his heart for him ever to decide to give her a successor and our little angel is stepmother secondly because as far as I know that girl is not the kind of girl who could please Prince Andrew I do not think he would choose her for a wife and frankly I do not wish it gone too long and at the end of my second cheat goodbye my dear friend may god keep you in his holy and mighty care my dear friend Mademoiselle Burien sends you kisses marry