War and Peace, Book 10, Chapter 8, Recording for LibriVox.org by Ava Harnik Princess Mary was not in Moscow and out of danger as Prince Andrew supposed. After the return of Alpetish from Smolensk, the old prince suddenly seemed awake as from a dream. He ordered the militiamen to be called up from the villages and armed, and wrote a letter to the commander-in-chief informing him that he had resolved to remain at Bald Hills to the last extremity and to defend it, leaving to the commander-in-chief's discretion to take measures or not for the defense of Bald Hills, where one of Russia's oldest generals would be captured or killed, and he announced to his household that he would remain at Bald Hills. But, while himself remaining, he gave instructions for the departure of the princess and the sals with the little prince to Bogucharovo and thence to Moscow. Princess Mary, alarmed by her father's feverish and sleepless activity, after his previous apathy, could not bring herself to leave him alone, and for the first time in her life ventured to disobey him. She refused to go away, and her father's fury broke over her in a terrible storm. He repeated every injustice he had ever inflicted on her.  He declared that he did not wish to remember her existence, and warned her not to dare to let him see her. The fact that he did not, as she had feared, order her to be carried away by force, but only told her not to let him see her, cheered Princess Mary. She knew it was a proof that in the depths of his soul he was glad she was remaining at home and had not gone away. The morning after little Nicholas had left, the old prince donned his full uniform and prepared to visit the commander-in-chief. His calash was already at the door. Princess Mary saw him walk out of the house in his uniform, wearing all his orders, and go down the garden to review his art presence and domestic serves. She sat by the window, listening to his voice, which reached her from the garden. Suddenly several men came running up the avenue with frightened faces. Princess Mary ran out to the porch down the flower-boarded pass and into the avenue. A large crowd of militiamen and domestics were moving toward her, and in their midst several men were supporting by the armpits and dragging along a little old man in a uniform and decorations. She ran up to him and in the play of the sunlight that fell in small round spots through the shade of the Lime Tree Avenue could not be sure what change there was in his face. All she could see was that his former stern and determined expression had altered to one of timidity and submission. On seeing his daughter he moved his helpless lips and made a hoarse sound. It was impossible to make out what he wanted. He was lifted up, carried to his study, and laid on the very couch he had so feared of late. The doctor, who was fetched that same night, bled him and said that the Prince had had a seizure paralyzing his right side. It was becoming more and more dangerous to remain at bald hills, and next day they moved the Prince to Bogucharovo, the doctor accompanying him. By the time they reached Bogucharovo, the cells and the little Prince had already left for Moscow. For three weeks the old Prince lay stricken by paralysis in the new house Prince Andrew had built at Bogucharovo, ever in the same state, getting neither better nor worse. He was unconscious and lay like a distorted corpse. He muttered unceasingly, his eyebrows and lips twitching, and it was impossible to tell whether he understood what was going on around him or not. One thing was certain that he was suffering and wished to say something, but what it was no one could tell. It might be some caprice of a sick and half-crazy man, or it might relate to public affairs or possibly to family concerns. The doctor said this restlessness did not mean anything and was due to physical causes, but Princess Mary sawed he wished to tell her something, and the fact that her presence always increased his restlessness confirmed her opinion. He was evidently suffering both physically and mentally. There was no hope of recovery. It was impossible for him to travel, it would not do to let him die on the road. Would it not be better if the end did come, the very end? Princess Mary sometimes thought. Night and day, hardly sleeping at all, she watched him and, terrible to say, often watched him not with hope of finding signs of improvement, but wishing to find symptoms of the approach of the end. Strange as it was to her to acknowledge this feeling in herself, yet there it was. And what seemed still more terrible to her was that since her father's illness began, perhaps even sooner when she stayed with him expecting something to happen, all the personal desires and hopes that had been forgotten or sleeping within her had awakened. Thoughts that had not entered her mind for years, thoughts of a life free from the fear of her father, and even the possibility of love and of family happiness floated continually in her imagination like temptations of the devil. Thrust them aside as she would, questions continually recurred to her as to how she would order her life now after that. These were temptations of the devil and Princess Mary knew it. She knew that the sole weapon against him was prayer and she tried to pray. She assumed an attitude of prayer, looked at the icons, repeated the words of a prayer, but she could not pray. She felt that a different world had now taken possession of her. The life of a world of strenuous and free activity, quite opposed to the spiritual world in which till now she had been confined and in which her greatest comfort had been prayer. She could not pray, could not weep and worldly cares took possession of her. It was becoming dangerous to remain in Bogucharovo. News of the approach of the French came from all sides and in one village, 10 miles from Bogucharovo, a homestead had been looted by French marauders. The doctor insisted on the necessity of moving the prince. The provincial marshal of the nobility sent an official to Princess Mary to persuade her to get away as quickly as possible and the head of the rural police, having come to Bogucharovo, urged the same thing, saying that the French were only some 25 miles away, that French proclamations were circulating in the villages, and that if the princess did not take her father away before the 15th, he could not answer for the consequences. The princess decided to leave on the 15th. The cares of preparation and giving orders for which everyone came to her occupied her all day. She spent the night of the 14th, as usual, without undressing in the room next to the one where the prince lay. Several times waking up she heard his groans and muttering, the creak of his bed and the steps of Tikhon and the doctor when they turned him over. Several times she listened at the door, and it seemed to her that his mutterings were louder than usual and that they turned him over oftener. She could not sleep and several times went to the door and listened, wishing to enter but not deciding to do so. Though he did not speak, Princess Mary saw and knew how unpleasant every sign of anxiety on his account was to him. She had noticed with what dissatisfaction he turned from the look she sometimes involuntarily fixed on him. She knew that her going in during the night at an unusual hour would irritate him. But never had she felt so grieved for him or so much afraid of losing him. She recalled all her life with him and in every word and act of his found an expression of his love of her. Occasionally amid these memories temptations of the devil would search into her imagination, thoughts of how things would be after his death and how her new liberated life would be ordered. But she drove these thoughts away with disgust. Third morning he became quiet and she fell asleep. She woke late. That sincerity which often comes with waking showed her clearly what chiefly concerned her about her father's illness. On waking she listened to what was going on behind the door and hearing him groan said to herself with a sigh that things were still the same. But what could have happened? What did I want? I want his death. She cried with a feeling of loosing for herself. She washed, dressed, set her prayers and went out to the porch. In front of it stood carriages without horses and things were being packed into the vehicles. It was a warm gray morning. Princess Mary stopped at the porch still horrified by her spiritual baseness and trying to arrange her thoughts before going to her father. The doctor came downstairs and went out to her. He's a little better today said he. I was looking for you. One can make out something or what he's saying. His head is clearer. Come in he's asking for you. Princess Mary's heart beat so violently at this news that she grew pale and leaned against the wall to keep from falling. To see him, talk to him, feel his eyes on her now that her whole soul was overflowing with those dreadful wicked temptations was a torment of joy and terror. Come said the doctor. Princess Mary entered her father's room and went up to his bed.  His left eye gazed straight before him. His right eye was awry and his brows and lips motionless.  His face seemed to have shriveled or melted. His features had grown smaller. Princess Mary went up and kissed his hand. His left hand pressed her so that she understood that he had long been waiting for her to come. He twitched her hand and his brows and lips quivered angrily. She looked at him in dismay trying to guess what he wanted of her. When she changed her position so that his left eye could see her face, he calmed down, not taking his eyes off her for some seconds. Then his lips and tongue moved, sounds came, and he began to speak gazing timidly and imploringly at her, evidently afraid that she might not understand. Straining all her faculties, Princess Mary looked at him. The comic efforts with which he moved his tongue made her drop her eyes and with difficulty depressed the sobs that rose to her throat. He said something, repeating the same word several times. She could not understand them, but tried to guess what he was saying and inquiringly repeated the words he uttered. He repeated several times. It was quite impossible to understand these sounds. The doctor thought he had guessed them and inquiringly repeated, Mary, are you afraid? The prince shook his head, again repeated the same sounds. My mind, my mind aches, questioned Princess Mary. He made a mumbling sound in confirmation of this, took her hand and began pressing it to different parts of his breast as if trying to find the right place for it. Always thoughts about you, thoughts. He then uttered much more clearly than he had done before, now that he was sure of being understood.  He moved his hand over her head. I have been calling you all night, he brought out. If only I had known, she said through her tears. I was afraid to come in. He pressed her hand. Weren't you asleep? No, I did not sleep, said Princess Mary shaking her head. Unconsciously imitating her father, she now tried to express herself as he did, as much as possible by signs and her tongue too seemed to move with difficulty. Dear one, dearest, Princess Mary could not quite make out what he had said, but from his look it was clear that he had uttered a tender caressing word such as he had never used to have before. Why didn't you come in? And I was wishing for his death, sought Princess Mary. He was silent a while. Thank you, daughter dear, for all, for all, forgive, thank you, forgive, thank you. And tears began to flow from his eyes. Call Andrew, he said suddenly, and the childish timid expression of doubt showed itself on his face as he spoke. He himself seemed aware that his demand was meaningless. So at least it seemed to Princess Mary. I have a letter from him, she replied. He glanced at her with timid surprise. Where is he? He is with the army father at Smolensk. He closed his eyes and remained silent a long time. Then, as if in answer to his doubts and to confirm the fact that now he understood and remembered everything, he nodded his head and reopened his eyes. Yes, he said softly and distinctly, Russia has perished. They have destroyed her. And he began to sob and again tears flowed from his eyes. Princess Mary could no longer restrain herself and wept while she gazed at his face. Again he closed his eyes. His sobs seized, he pointed to his eyes, and Ticorn, understanding him, wiped away the tears. Then he again opened his eyes and said something none of them could understand for a long time, till at last Ticorn understood and repeated it. Princess Mary had sought the meaning of his words in the mood in which he had just been speaking. She thought he was speaking of Russia, or Prince Andrew, of herself, of his grandson, or of his own death, and so she could not guess his words. Put on your white dress, I like it, was what he said. Having understood this, Princess Mary sobbed, still louder, and the doctor taking her arm led her out to the veranda, suzing her and trying to persuade her to prepare for her journey. When she had left the room, the prince again began speaking about his son, about the war, and about Emperor angrily twitching his brows and raising his horse's voice, and then he had a second and final stroke. Princess Mary stayed on the veranda. The day had cleared, it was hot and sunny. She could understand nothing, stink of nothing, and feel nothing, except passionate love for her father, love such as she sought she had never felt till that moment. She ran out sobbing into the garden and as far as the pond, along the avenue of young lime trees Prince Andrew had planted. Yes, I wished for his death. Yes, I wanted it to end quicker. I wished to be at peace. And what will become of me? What use will peace be when he's no longer here? Princess Mary murmured, pacing the garden with hurried steps and pressing her hands to her bosom, which he with convulsive sobs. When she had completed the tour of the garden, which brought her again to the house, she saw Mademoiselle Burienne, who had remained at Bogucharovo and did not wish to leave it, coming toward her with a stranger. This was the marshal of the nobility of the district, who had come personally to point out to the princess the necessity for her prompt departure. Princess Mary listened without understanding him. She let him to the house, offered him lunch and sat down with him. Then, excusing herself, she went to the door of the old princess room. The doctor came out with an agitated face and said she could not enter. Go away, princess. Go away. Go away. She returned to the garden and sat down on the grass at the foot of the slope by the pond, where no one could see her. She did not know how long she had been there, when she was aroused by the sound of a woman's footsteps running along the path. She rose and saw Dunyasha, her maid, who was evidently looking for her, and who stopped suddenly as if in alarm on seeing her mistress. Please come, princess. The prince said Dunyasha in a breaking voice. Immediately, I am coming. I'm coming, replied the princess hurriedly, not giving Dunyasha time to finish what she was saying and trying to avoid seeing the girl. She ran toward the house. Princess, it is God's will. You must be prepared for everything, said the marshal, meeting her at the house door. Let me alone. It is not true. She cried angrily to him. The doctor tried to stop her. She pushed him aside and ran to her father's door. Why are these people with frightened faces stopping me? I don't want any of them. And what are they doing here, she thought. She opened the door and the bright daylight in that previously darkened room startled her. In the room were her nurse and other women. They all drew back from the bed, making way for her. He was still lying on the bed as before, but the stern expression of his quiet face made princess Mary stop short on the threshold. No, he's not dead. It is impossible. She taught herself and approached him and repressing the terror that seized her. She pressed her lips to his cheek. But she stepped back immediately. All the force of the tenderness she had been feeling for him vanished instantly and was replaced by a feeling of horror at what lay there before her. No, he is no more. He is not. But here where he was is something unfamiliar and hostile, some dreadful, terrifying and repellent mystery.  In the presence of Tycon and the doctor, the women washed what had been the prince, tied his head up with a handkerchief that the mouth should not stiffen while open, and with another handkerchief tied together the legs that were already spreading apart. Then they dressed him in uniform with his decorations and placed his shriveled little body on a table. Heaven only knows who arranged all this and when, but it all got done as if of its own accord. Third night candles were burning round his coffin, a pole was spread over it, the floor was strewn with sprays of juniper, a printed band was tucked in under his shriveled head, and in a corner of the room sat a chanter reading the psalms. Just as horses shy and snort and gutter about the dead horse, saw the inmates of the house and strangers crowded into the drawing room round the coffin, the marsh, the village elder, peasant women, and all with fixed and frightened eyes crossing themselves bowed and kissed the old princess cold and stiffened hand. End of Chapter 8, Recording by Eva Hanik, Pontevedra, Florida The old prince used to approve of them for their endurance at work when they came to Bald Hills to help with the harvest or to dig ponds and ditches, but he disliked them for their borishness. Prince Andrew's last day at Bogotrovo when he introduced hospitals and schools and reduced the quit rent the peasants had to pay had not softened their disposition, but had on the contrary strengthened in them the traits of character the old prince called borishness. Various obscure rumors were always current among them, at one time a rumor that they would all be enrolled as Cossacks, at another of a new religion to which they were all to be converted, then of some proclamation of the Czar's and of an oath to the Czar Paul in 1797, in connection with which it was rumored that freedom had been granted them, but the landowners had stopped it, then of Peter Fedorovich's return to the throne in seven years' time when everything would be made free and so simple that there would be no restrictions. Rumors of the war with Bonaparte and his invasion were connected in their minds with the same sort of vague notions of Antichrist, the end of the world, and pure freedom. In the vicinity of Bogotrovo were large villages belonging to the crown or to owners whose serfs paid quit rent and could work where they pleased. There were very few resident landlords in the neighborhood and also very few domestic or literate serfs, and in the lives of the peasantry of those parts the mysterious undercurrents in the life of the Russian people, the causes and meaning of which are so baffling to contemporaries, were more clearly and strongly noticeable than among others. One instance, which had occurred some twenty years before, was a movement among the peasants to emigrate to some unknown warm rivers. Hundreds of peasants, among them the Bogotrovo folk, suddenly began selling their cattle and moving in whole families toward the southeast, as birds migrate to somewhere beyond the sea so these men with their wives and children streamed to the southeast to parts where none of them had ever been. They set off in caravans, bought their freedom one by one or ran away and drove or walked toward the warm rivers. Many of them were punished, some sent to Siberia, many died of cold and hunger on the road, many returned of their own accord, and the movement died down of itself just as it had sprung up without apparent reason. But such undercurrents still existed among the people and gathered new forces ready to manifest themselves just as strangely, unexpectedly, and at the same time simply, naturally, and forcibly. Now, in 1812, to anyone living in close touch with these people, it was apparent that these undercurrents were acting strongly and nearing an eruption. Alpetich, who had reached Bogotrovo shortly before the old princess death, noticed an agitation among the peasants, and that contrary to what was happening in the Bald Hills District, where over a radius of forty miles all the peasants were moving away and leaving their villages to be devastated by the Cossacks, the peasants in the steppe region round Bogotrovo were, it was rumored, in touch with the French, received leaflets from them that passed from hand to hand, and did not migrate. He learned from domestic serfs loyal to him that the peasant carp, who possessed great influence in the village commune, and had recently been away driving a government transport, had returned with news that the Cossacks were destroying deserted villages, but that the French did not harm them. Alpetich also knew that on the previous day another peasant had even brought from the village of Vislakovo, which was occupied by the French, a proclamation by a French general that no harm would be done to the inhabitants, and if they remained they would be paid for anything taken from them. As proof of this, the peasant had brought from Vislakovo a hundred rubles in notes, he did not know that they were false, paid to him in advance for hay. More important still, Alpetich learned that on the morning of the very day he gave the village elder orders to collect carts to move the princess's luggage from Bogotrovo. There had been a village meeting at which had been decided not to move but to wait. Yet there was no time to waste. On the fifteenth, the day of the old princess's death, the marshal had insisted on Princess Mary's leaving at once as it was becoming dangerous. He had told her that after the sixteenth he could not be responsible for what might happen. On the evening of the day the old prince died the marshal went away, promising to return next day for the funeral, but this he was unable to do, for he received tidings that the French had unexpectedly advanced and had barely time to remove his own family and valuables from his estate. For some thirty years Bogotrovo had been managed by the village elder, Dron, whom the old prince called by the diminutive Dronushka. Dron was one of those physically and mentally vigorous peasants who grow big beards as soon as they are of age and go on unchanged till they are sixty or seventy, without a gray hair or the loss of a tooth, as straight and strong at sixty as at thirty. Soon after the migration to the warm rivers in which he had taken part like the rest, Dron was made village elder an overseer of Bogotrovo, and had since filled that post irreprochably for twenty-three years. The peasants feared him more than they did their master. The masters, both the old prince and the young and the steward, respected him, ingestingly called him the minister. During the whole time of his service Dron had never been drunk or ill, never after sleepless nights or the hardest tasks had he shown the least fatigue, and though he could not read, he had never forgotten a single money account or the number of quarters of flour in any of the endless cartloads he sold for the prince, nor a single shock of the whole corn crop on any single acre of the Bogotrovo fields. Alpetich, arriving from the devastated Bald Hill's estate, sent for his Dron on the day of the prince's funeral, and told him to have twelve horses got ready for the princess's carriages and eighteen carts for the things to be removed from Bogotrovo. Though the peasants paid quit rent, Alpetich thought no difficulty would be made about complying with his order, for there were two hundred and thirty households at work in Bogotrovo, and the peasants were well to do. But, on hearing the order, Dron lowered his eyes and remained silent. Alpetich named certain peasants he knew from whom he told him to take the carts. Dron replied that the horses of these peasants were away carting. Alpetich named others, but they too, according to Dron, had no horses available. Some horses were carting for the government, others were too weak, and others had died for want of fodder. It seemed that no horses could be had, even for the carriages, much less for the carting. Alpetich looked intently at Dron, and frowned. Just as Dron was a model village elder, so Alpetich had not managed the princess's estates for twenty years in vain. He, a model steward, possessing in the highest degree the faculty of divining the needs and instincts of those he dealt with. Having glanced at Dron, he had once understood that his answers did not express his personal views, but the general mood of the Bogotrovo commune by which the elder had already been carried away. But he also knew that Dron, who had acquired property and was hated by the commune, must be hesitating between the two camps, the masters and the serfs. He noticed this hesitation in Dron's look, and therefore frowned, and moved closer up to him. Now just listen, Lronushka, said he. Don't talk nonsense to me. His Excellency Prince Andrew himself gave me orders to move all the people away and not leave them with the enemy, and there is an order from the Tsar about it too. Anyone who stays is a traitor to the Tsar. Do you hear? I hear. Dron answered, without lifting his eyes. Alpetish was not satisfied with this reply. Eh, Dron, it will turn out badly, he said, shaking his head. The power is in your hands. Dron rejoined sadly. Eh, Dron, drop it! Alpetish repeated, withdrawing his hand from his bosom and solemnly pointing to the floor at Dron's feet. I couldn't see through you and three yards into the ground under you. He continued, gazing at the floor in front of Dron. Dron was disconcerted, glanced furtively at Alpetish and then, again, lowered his eyes.  And don't go to any meeting yourself, do you hear? Dron suddenly fell on his knees. You have, Alpetish, discharge me, take the keys from me and discharge me for Christ's sake. Stop that, cried Alpetish sternly. I see through you and three yards under you, he repeated, knowing that his skill in beekeeping, his knowledge of the right time to sow the oats and the fact that he had been able to retain the old prince's favor for twenty years, had long since gained him the reputation of being a wizard, and that the power of seeing three yards under a man is considered an attribute of wizards. Dron got up and was about to say something, but Alpetish interrupted him.  What are you thinking of, eh? What am I to do with the people, said Dron? They're quite beside themselves, I have already told them, told them, I daresay, said Alpetish. Are they drinking? He asked abruptly. Quite beside themselves, Yaakov Alpetish, they fetched another barrel. Well then, listen, I'll go to the police officer and you tell them so, and that they must stop this, and the carts must be got ready. I understand. Alpetish did not insist further. He had managed people for a long time and knew that the chief way to make them obey is to show no suspicion that they can possibly disobey. Having rung a submissive, I understand, from Dron, Alpetish contented himself with that, though he not only doubted, but felt almost certain that without the help of the troops the carts would not be forthcoming. And so it was, for when evening came no carts had been provided. In the village outside the drink-shop another meeting was being held which decided that the horses should be driven out into the woods and the carts should not be provided. Without saying anything of this to the princess, Alpetish had his own belongings taken out of the carts which had arrived from Bald Hills and had those horses got ready for the princess's carriages. Meanwhile he went himself to the police authorities.  A maid came to the door to say that Alpetish was asking for orders about their departure. This was before his talk was drawn. Princess Mary raised herself on the sofa on which she had been lying and replied through the closed door that she did not mean to go away and beg to be left in peace. The windows of the room in which she was lying looked westward. She lay on the sofa with her face to the wall, fingering the buttons of the leather cushion and seeing nothing but that cushion and her confused thoughts were centered on one subject, the irrevocability of death and her own spiritual baseness which she had not suspected but which had shown itself during her father's illness. She wished to pray but did not dare to. But not in her present state of mind address herself to God. She lay for a long time in that position. The sun had reached the other side of the house and its slanting rays shown into the open window lighting up the room and part of the Morocco cushion at which Princess Mary was looking. The flow of her sword suddenly stopped. Unconsciously she set up, smoothed her hair, got up and went to the window involuntarily inhaling the freshness of the clear between the evening. Yes, you can well enjoy the evening now. He is gone and no one will hinder you. She said to herself and sinking into a chair she let her head fall on the window sill. Someone spoke her name in a soft and tender voice from the garden and kissed her head. She looked up. It was Mademoiselle Burienne in a black dress and weepers.  The princess looked up at her. All their former disharmony and her own jealousy required to her mind. But she remembered too how he had changed of late that Mademoiselle Burienne and could not bear to see her thereby showing how unjust were the reproaches Princess Mary had mentally addressed to her. Besides, is it for me, for me who desired his death to condemn anyone, she sought. Princess Mary vividly pictured to herself the position of Mademoiselle Burienne, whom she had of late kept at a distance, but who yet was dependent on her and living in her house. She felt sorry for her and held out her hand with a glance of gentle inquiry. Mademoiselle Burienne at once began crying again and kissed that hand speaking of the princess's sorrow and making herself a partner in it. She said her only consolation was the fact that the princess allowed her to share her sorrow, that all the old misunderstandings should sink into nothing but this great grief, that she felt herself blameless in regard to everyone and that he from above saw her affection and gratitude. The princess heard her, not heeding her words, but occasionally looking up at her and listening to the sound of her voice. Your position is doubly terrible, dear princess, said Mademoiselle Burienne after a pause. I understand that you could not and cannot think of yourself, but with my love for you I must do so. Has Alpatish been to you? Has he spoken to you of going away? She asked. Princess Mary did not answer. She did not understand who was to go or where to. Is it possible to plan or think of anything now? Is it not all the same? She sought and did not reply. You know, Cher Marie, said Mademoiselle Burienne, that we are in danger, are surrounded by the French. It would be dangerous to move now. If we go, we are almost sure to be taken prisoners, and God knows. Princess Mary looked at her companion without understanding what she was talking about.  Of course I would or know I can't wish to go away from him. Alpatish did say something about going. Speak to him. I can do nothing, nothing, and don't want to. I have spoken to him. He hopes we should be in time to get away tomorrow, but I think it would now be better to stay here, said Mademoiselle Burienne. Because you will agree, Cher Marie, to fall into the hands of soldiers or of rafters, peasants would be terrible. Mademoiselle Burienne took from her reticule a proclamation, not printed on ordinary Russian paper, of General Ramos telling people not to leave their homes and that the French authorities would afford them proper protection. She handed this to the princess. I think it would be best to appeal to that general, she continued, and I'm sure that all your respect would be shown you. Princess Mary read the paper, and her face began to quiver with stifled sobs. From whom did you get this, she asked. They probably recognized that I'm French by my name, replied Mademoiselle Burienne, blushing. Princess Mary with the paper in her hand rose from the window, and with a pale face went out of the room and into what had been Prince Andrew's study. Dunyasha sent Alpatesh or Dronushka or somebody to me, she said, and tell Mademoiselle Burienne not to come to me. She added, hearing Mademoiselle Burienne's voice, we must go at once, at once, she said, appalled at the thought of being left in the hands of the French. If Prince Andrew heard that I was in the power of the French, that I, the daughter of Prince Nicholas Borkonsky, asked General Ramos for protection and accepted his favor. This idea horrified her, made her shudder, blush, and feel such a rush of anger and pride as she had never experienced before. All that was distressing, and especially all that was humiliating, in her position rose vividly to her mind. They the French would settle in this house. This year the General Ramos would occupy Prince Andrew's study and amuse himself by looking through and reading his letters and papers. Mademoiselle Burienne would do the honors of Bogucharov for him. I should be given a small room as a favor. The soldiers would violate my father's newly dark grave to steal his crosses and stars. They would tell me of their victories over the Russians and would pretend to sympathize with my sorrow. So at Princess Mary, not thinking her own thoughts but feeling bound to think like her father and her brother. For herself she did not care where she remained or what happened to her. But she felt herself the representative of her dead father and the Prince Andrew. Involuntarily she sought their thoughts and felt their feelings, what they would have said and what they would have done, she felt bound to say and do. She went into Prince Andrew's study trying to enter completely into his ideas and considered her position. The demands of life which had seemed to her annihilated by her father's death all at once rose before her with a new, previously unknown force and took possession of her. Agitated and flushed she paced the room, sending now for Michael Ivanovich and now for Tichon or Drone. Junyasha the nurse and the other maids could not say in how far Mademoiselle Buryan's statement was correct. Apatich was not at home, he had gone to the police. Neither could the architect Mikhail Ivanovich, who on being sent for, came in with sleepy eyes tell Princess Mary anything, with just the same smile of agreement, with which for fifteen years he had been accustomed to answer the old prince without expressing views of his own. He now replied to Princess Mary so that nothing definite could be got from his answers. The old valet Tichon, with sunken, emaciated face, that bought a stamp of inconsolable grief replied, Yes, Princess. To all Princess Mary's questions and hardly refrain from sobbing as he looked at her. At length, Drone, the village elder, entered the room and with a deep bow to Princess Mary came to heart by the doorpost.  Droneuszka, she said, regarding as a sure friend this Droneuszka, who always used to bring a special kind of gingerbread, from his visit to the fair at Vyazma every year and smilingly offered it to her. Droneuszka, now since our misfortune, she began but could not go on. They are all in God's hands, said he with a sigh. They were silent for a while.  Is it true, as they tell me, that I can't even go away?  You can go, said Drone. I was told it would be dangerous because of the enemy. Dear friend, I can do nothing. I understand nothing. I have nobody. I want to go away tonight or early tomorrow morning. Drone paused. He looked askance at Princess Mary and said, there are no horses. I told Jakov Alpatec so. Why had their nun asked the princess? It is all God's courage, said Drone. What horses we had have been taking for the army or have died. This is such a year. It is not a case of feeding horses. We may die of hunger ourselves. As it is, some go three days without eating. We have nothing. We have been ruined. Princess Mary listened attentively to what he told her. The peasants are ruined. They have no bread, she asked. They are dying of hunger, said Drone. It is not a case of carting. But why didn't you tell me Droneuszka? Isn't it possible to help them? I will do all I can. To Princess Mary it was strange that now at a moment when such sorrow was filling her soul there could be rich people and poor and the rich could refrain from helping the poor. She had heard vaguely that there was such a thing as landlord's corn which was sometimes given to the peasants. She also knew that neither her father nor her brother would refuse to help peasants in need. She only feared to make some mistake in speaking about the distribution of the grain she wished to give. She was glad such cares presented themselves, enabling her, without scruple, to forget her own grief. She began asking Drone about the peasants' needs and what there was in Bogucharowo that belonged to the landlord. But we have grain belonging to my brother, she said. The landlord's grain is all safe, replied Drone proudly. Our prince did not order it to be sold. Give it to the peasants. Let them have all they need. I give you leave in my brother's name, said she. Drone made no answer but sighed deeply. Give them that corn if there's enough of it. Distribute it all. I give this order in my brother's name and tell them that what is ours is theirs. We do not grudge them anything. Tell them so. Drone looked intently at the princess while she was speaking. Discharge me, little mother, for God's sake. Order the keys to be taken from me, said he. I have served twenty-three years and have done no wrong. Discharge me for God's sake. Princess Mary did not understand what he wanted of her or why he was asking to be discharged. She replied that she had never doubted his devotion and that she was ready to do anything for him and for the peasants. End of chapter 10, Recording by Ava Harnick, Pontevedra, Florida. War and Peace. Book 10, Chapter 11, Read for LibraVox.org by David Riem. One hour later, Dunyasha came to tell the princess that Drone had come and all the peasants had assembled at the barn by the princess's order and wished to have a word with their mistress. But I never told them to come, said Princess Mary. I only told Drone to let them have the grain. Only for God's sake, Princess Deir, have them sent away and don't go out to them. It's all a trick, said Dunyasha. And when Yaakov Alpatich returns, let us get away and please don't—what is a trick, said Princess Mary in surprise. I know it is—only listen to me for God's sake. Ask nurse, too. They say they don't agree to leave Bogocharvo as you ordered. You're making some mistake. I never ordered them to go away, said Princess Mary, called Renushka. Drone came and confirmed Dunyasha's words. The peasants had come by the princess's order. But I never sent for them, declared the princess. You must have given my message wrong. I only said that you were to give them the grain. Drone only sighed and replied. If you order it, they will go away, said he. No, no. I'll go out to them, said Princess Mary. And in spite of the nurses and Dunyasha's protest, she went out into the porch. Drone, Dunyasha, the nurse, and Mikhail Ivanovich following her. They probably think I'm offering them the grain to bribe them to remain here while I and myself go away leaving them to the mercy of the French, thought Princess Mary. I will offer them monthly rations and housing at our Moscow estate. I am sure Andrew would do even more in my place, she thought as she went out into the twilight, toward the crowd standing on the pasture by the barn. The men crowded closer together, stirred, and rapidly took off their hats. Princess Mary lowered her eyes and, tripping over her skirt, came close up to them. So many different eyes, old and young, were fixed on her, and there were so many different faces that she could not distinguish any of them, and feeling that she must speak to them all at once, did not know how to do it. But again the sense that she represented her father and her brother gave her courage, and she boldly began her speech. I am very glad you have come, she said, without raising her eyes, and feeling her heart beating quickly and violently. Dronushka tells me that the war has ruined you. That is our common misfortune, and I shall grudge nothing to help you. I am myself going away because it is dangerous here, the enemy is near, because I am giving you everything, my friends, and I beg you to take everything, all our grain, so that you may not suffer want. And if you have been told that I am giving you the grain to keep you here, that is not true, on the contrary. I ask you to go with all your belongings to our estate near Moscow, and I promise you I will see to it that there you shall want for nothing, you shall be given food and lodging. The princess stopped. Sighs were the only sound heard in the crowd.  I do it in the name of my dead father, who was a good master to you, and of my brother and his son. Again she paused. No one broke the silence. Ours is a common misfortune, and we will share it together. All that is mine is yours, she concluded, scanning the faces before her. All eyes were gazing at her with one and the same expression. She could not fathom, whether it was curiosity, devotion, gratitude, or apprehension and distrust. But the expression on all the faces was identical. We are all very thankful for your bounty, but it won't do for us to take the landlord's grains at a voice at the back of the crowd. But why not ask the princess? No one replied, and Princess Mary, looking round at the crowd, found that every eye she met now was immediately dropped. But why don't you want to take it, she asked again. No one answered. The silence began to oppress the princess as she tried to catch someone's eye. Why don't you speak?  If you think something more is wanted, tell me. I will do anything, said she, catching his eye. But as if this angered him, he bent his head quite low and muttered. Why should we agree? We don't want the grain. Why should we give up everything? We don't agree. Don't agree. We are sorry for you, but we're not willing. Go away yourself, alone, came from various sides of the crowd. And again all the faces in the crowd borne identical expression, though now it was certainly not an expression of curiosity or gratitude, but of angry resolve. But you can't have understood me, said Princess Mary with a sad smile. Why don't you want to go?  But her voice was drowned by the voices of the crowd. We're not willing. Let them ruin us. We won't take your grain. We don't agree. Again, Princess Mary tried to catch someone's eye, but not a single eye in the crowd was turned to her. Evidently, they were all trying to avoid her look. She felt strange and awkward. Oh yes, an artful tale. Follow her into slavery. Pull down your houses and go into bondage. I dare say, I'll give you grain indeed, she says. Voices in the crowd were heard saying.  Having repeated her order to drone, to have horses ready for her departure next morning, she went to her room and remained alone with her own thoughts. End of Chapter 11 For a long time that night, Princess Mary sat by the open window of her room, hearing the sounds of the peasant's voices that reached her from the village, but it was not of them she was thinking. She felt that she could not understand them, however much she might think about them. She thought only of one thing, her sorrow, which, after the break caused by cares for the present, seemed already to belong to the past. Now she could remember it and weep or pray. After sunset the wind had dropped. The night was calm and fresh.  The full moon began to show from behind the lime trees. A fresh white dewy mist began to rise and stillness reigned over the village and the house. Pictures of the near past, her father's illness and last moments rose, one after another to her memory. With mournful pleasure she now lingered over these images, repelling with horror only the last one, the picture of his death, which she felt she could not contemplate, even in the imagination, at this still and mystic hour of night. And these pictures presented themselves to her so clearly and in such detail that they seemed now present, now past, and now future. She vividly recalled the moment when he had his first stroke and was being dragged along by his armpits through the garden at Bald Hills, muttering something with his helpless tongue, twitching his gray eyebrows and looking uneasily and timidly at her. Even then he wanted to tell me what he told me the day he died, she thought. He had always thought what he said then, and she recalled in all its detail the night at Bald Hills before he had the last stroke, when, with a foreboding of disaster, she had remained at home against his will. She had not slept and had stolen downstairs on tiptoe, going to the door of the conservatory where he slept that night, had listened to the door. In a suffering and weary voice he was saying something to Tikon, speaking of the Crimea and its warm nights and of the Empress. Evidently he had wanted to talk. And why didn't he call me? Why didn't he let me be there instead of Tikon? Princess Mary had thought and thought again now. Now he will never tell anyone what he had in his soul. Never will that moment return for him or for me when he might have said all he longed to say, and not Tikon, but I, might have heard and understood him. Why didn't I enter the room, she thought? Perhaps he would then have said to me what he said the day he died. While talking to Tikon he asked about me twice. He wanted to see me, and I was standing close by outside the door. It was sad and painful for him to talk to Tikon who did not understand him. I remember how he began speaking to him about Liza as if she were alive. He had forgotten she was dead and Tikon reminded him that she was no more. And he shouted, FOOL! He was greatly depressed. From behind the door I heard how he lay down on his bed groaning and loudly exclaimed, My God! Why didn't that go in then? What could he have done to me? What could I have lost? And perhaps he would then have been comforted and would have said that word to me. And Princess Mary uttered aloud the caressing word he had said to her on the day of his death. Dearest, she repeated, and began sobbing with tears that relieved her soul. She now saw his face before her, and not the face she had known ever since. She could remember and had always seen at a distance. But the timid, feeble face she had seen for the first time, quite closely with all its wrinkles and details, when she stooped nearer to his mouth to catch what he said. Dearest, she repeated again. What was he thinking when he uttered that word? What is he thinking now? This question suddenly presented itself to her, and in answer she saw him before her with the expression that was on his face as he lay in his coffin with his chin bound up with a white handkerchief. And the horror that had seized her when she touched him, and convinced herself that that was not he, but something mysterious and horrible seized her again. She tried to think of something else and to pray, but could do neither. With wide open eyes she gazed at the moonlight and the shadows, expecting every moment to see his dead face. And she felt that silence brooding over the house, and within it held her fast. Toon Yasha, she whispered. Toon Yasha, she screamed wildly, and tearing herself out of this silence, she ran to the servants' quarters to meet her old nurse and the maid servants who came running toward her. End of Chapter 12, Recording by David Reim, Sacramento, California F-O-U-R-T-E-A-T-O-O dot blogspot dot com War and Peace, Book 10, Chapter 13 Red for LibriVox dot org by David Reim On the 17th of August, Rostov and Ilian, accompanied by Lavrushka, who had just returned from captivity, and by Anhusar orderly, left their quarters at Yancovo, 10 miles from Bogucharovo, and went for a ride. To try a new horse Ilian had bought, and to find out whether there was any hay to be had in the villages. For the last three days, Bogucharovo had lain between the two hostile armies, so that it was as easy for the Russian rearguard to get to as it was for the French vanguard. So Rostov, as a careful squadron commander, wished to take such provisions as remained at Bogucharovo before the French could get them. Rostov and Ilian were in the merriest of moods. On the way to Bogucharovo, a princely estate with a dwelling house and farm, where they hoped to find many domestic serfs and pretty girls, they questioned Lavrushka about Napoleon and laughed at his stories, and raced one another to try Ilian's horse. Rostov had no idea that the village he was entering was the property of that very Bulkonsky who had been engaged to his sister. Rostov and Ilian gave reign to their horses for a last race along the incline before reaching Bogucharovo, and Rostov, outstripping Ilian, was the first to gallop into the village street. Your first, cried Ilian, fleshed. Yes, always first both on the grassland in here, answered Rostov, stroking his heated doughnuts' horse. And I'd have one on my Frenchie, your Excellency, said Lavrushka from behind, alluding to his shabby cart horse, only I didn't wish to mortify you. They rode at a foot pace to the barn, where a large crowd of peasants was standing. Some of the men bared their heads, others stared at the new arrivals without doffing their caps. Two tall, old peasants with wrinkled faces and scanty beards emerged from the tavern, smiling, staggering, and singing some incoherent song and approached the officers. Fine fellows, said Rostov, laughing. Is there any hay here? And how, like one another, said Ilian. He boosed, Mary, come! sang one of the peasants with a blissful smile. One of the men came out of the crowd and went up to Rostov. Who do you belong to? he asked. The French replied Ilian jestingly, and here is Napoleon himself, as he pointed to Lavrushka. Then you are Russians, the peasant asked again.  Very large, answered Rostov. But why have you collected here? he added. Is it a holiday? The old men have met to talk over the business of the Commune, replied the peasant, moving away. At that moment, on the road, leading from the big house, two women and a man in a white hat were seen coming towards the officers. The one in pink is mine, so keep off, said Ilian, on seeing Dunyasha, running resolutely towards him. She'll be yours, said Lavrushka, to Ilian, winking. And what do you want, my pretty, said Ilian, with a smile? The princess ordered me to ask your regiment and your name. This is Count Rostov, squadron commander, and I am your humble servant. Company! roared the tipsy peasant, with a beatific smile, as he looked at Ilian, talking to the girl. Following Dunyasha, Alpatec advanced to Rostov, having buried his head, while still at a distance. May I make bold to trouble your honour? said he respectfully, but with a shade of contempt for the youthfulness of this officer, and with a hand thrust into his bosom. My mistress, daughter of General-in-Chief Prince Nicholas Balkonsky, who died in the fifteenth of this month, finding herself in difficulties, owing to the borishness of these people, he pointed to the peasants, asks you to come up to the house. Won't you please ride on a little farther, said Alpatec, with a melancholy smile, as it is not convenient in the presence of, he pointed to the two peasants, who kept as close to him as horse flies to a horse. Ah, Alpatec, ah, Yaakov Alpatec, grand, forgive us for crisis, said the peasants, smiling joyfully at him. Rostov looked at the tipsy peasants and smiled. Or perhaps they amuse your honour, remarked Alpatec, with a staid air, as he pointed at the old men with his free hand. No, there's not much to be amused at here, said Rostov, and rode on a little way. What's the matter, he asked? I make bold to inform your honour that these rough peasants here don't wish to let the mistress leave the estate, and threaten to unharness her horses, so that though everything has been packed since morning, her excellency cannot get away. Impossible, exclaimed Rostov. I have the honour to report to you the actual truth, said Alpatec. Rostov dismounted, gave his horse to the orderly, and followed Alpatec to the house, questioning him as to the state of affairs. It appeared that the princess's offer of corn to the peasants the previous day, and her talk with Drone, and at the meeting, had actually had so bad an effect that Drone had finally given up the keys, and joined the peasants, and had not appeared when Alpatec sent for him. And that in the morning, when the princess gave orders to harness for her journey, the peasants had come in a large crowd to the barn, and sent word that they would not let her leave the village, that there was an order not to move, and that they would unharness the horses. Alpatec had gone out to admonish them, but was told it was chiefly carp, who did the talking, Drone not showing himself in the crowd, that they could not let the princess go, that there was an order to the contrary, but that if she stayed, they would serve her as before, and obey her in everything. At the moment when Rostov and Ilyan were galloping along the road, Princess Mary, despite the dissuasions of Alpatec, her nurse, and the maids, had given orders to harness and intended to start, but when the cavalrymen were aspired, they were taken for Frenchmen, the coachmen ran away, and the women in the house began to wail. Father, benefactor, God has sent you, exclaimed deeply moved voices as Rostov passed through the ante-room. Princess Mary was sitting, helpless and bewildered, in the large sitting-room, when Rostov was shown in. She could not grasp who he was and why he had come, or what was happening to her. When she saw his Russian face, and by his walk and the first words he uttered, recognized him as a man of her own class, she glanced at him with her deep, radiant look, and began speaking in a voice that faltered and trembled with emotion. This meeting immediately struck Rostov as a romantic event. A helpless girl, overwhelmed with grief, left to the mercy of coarse rioting peasants, and what a strange fate sent me here. What gentleness and nobility there is in her features and expression, thought he as he looked at her and listened to her timid story. When she began to tell him that all this had happened the day after her father's funeral, her voice trembled, she turned away, and then, as if fearing he might take her words, as meant to move him to pity, looked at him with an apprehensive glance of inquiry. There were tears in Rostov's eyes. Princess Mary noticed this, and glanced gratefully at him with that radiant look which caused the plainness of her face to be forgotten. I cannot express, Princess, how glad I am that I happened to ride here and able to show you my readiness to serve you, said Rostov, rising.  And bowing respectfully, as if to a lady of royal blood, he moved towards the door. Rostov's differential tone seemed to indicate that though he would consider himself happy to be acquainted with her, he did not wish to take advantage of her misfortunes to intrude upon her. Princess Mary understood this, and appreciated his delicacy. I am very, very grateful to you, she said in French, but I hope it was all a misunderstanding, and that no one is to blame for it. She suddenly began to cry. Excuse me, she said. Rostov, kneading his brows, left the room with another low bow. End of Chapter 13. Recording by David Rehm, Sacramento, California. F-O-U-R-T-E-A-T-O-O dot vlogspot dot com, October 30th, 2008. War and Peace, Book 10, Chapter 14, Red for LibraVox dot org, by David Rehm. Well, is she pretty? Ah, friend, my pink one is delicious, her name is Dunyasha. But on glancing at Rostov's face, Ilyan stopped short. He saw that his hero and commander was following quite a different train of thought. Rostov glanced angrily at Ilyan and without replying strode off with rapid steps to the village. I'll show them. I'll give it to them, the brigands, said he to himself. Apatich, at a gliding trot, only just managing not to run, kept up with him with difficulty. What decision have you been pleased to come to, said he. Rostov stopped, and, clenching his fists, suddenly and sternly turned on Apatich. Decision? What decision? Old daughter'd, cried he. What have you been about, huh? The peasants are rioting, and you can't manage them?  I know you. I'll flay you all alive. And as if afraid of wasting his store of anger, he left Apatich and went rapidly forward. Apatich, mastering his offended feelings, kept paced with Rostov at a gliding gate, and continued to impart his views. He said the peasants were obdurate, and that, at the present moment, it would be imprudent to over-resist them without an armed force. And would it not be better first to send for the military? I'll give them armed force. I'll over-resist them, uttered Rostov meaninglessly, breathless with irrational animal fury and the need to vent it. Without considering what he would do, he moved unconsciously with quick, resolute steps towards the crowd. And the nearer he drew to it, the moral Apatich, felt that this unreasonable action might produce a good result. The peasants in the crowd were similarly impressed when they saw Rostov's rapid, firm steps and resolute frowning face. After the Hussars had come to the village, and the Rostov had gone to see the princess, a certain confusion and dissension had arisen among the crowd. Some of the peasants said that these new arrivals were Russians, and might take it amiss that the mistress was being detained. Drone was of this opinion, but as soon as he expressed it, Karp and others attacked their ex-elder. How many years have you been fattening on the commune, Karp shouted at him? That's all one to you.   We've been told to keep order, and that no one is to leave their homes or take away a single grain, and that's all about it, cried another. It was your son's turn to be conscripted, but no fear. You begrudged your lump of a sin.  But we all have to die. To be sure, we all have to die. I'm not against the commune, said Drone. That's it, not against it. You've filled your belly. The two tall peasants had their say. As soon as Rostov, followed by Ilyan, Lavrushka, and Elpatich came up to the crowd, Karp, thrusting his fingers into his belt and smiling a little, walked to the front. Drone on the contrary, retired, to the rear, and the crowd drew closer together.  The elder? What do you want with him? asked Karp.  Caps off, traitors, shouted Rostov in a wrathful voice. Where's the elder, he cried furiously. The elder? He wants the elder. Dron Zakariyech, you! Meek and flustered voices here and there were heard calling, and the caps began to come off their heads. We don't riot. We're following the orders, declared Karp, and at that moment several voices began speaking together. It's as the old men have decided. There's too many of you giving orders. Arguing, mutiny, brigands, traitors, cried Rostov, unmeaningly in a voice not his own, gripping Karp by the collar. Bind him, bind him, he shouted, though there was no one to bind him, but Lavrushka and Elpatyech. Lavrushka, however, ran up to Karp and seized him by the arms from behind. Shall I call up our men from behind the hill, he called out? Elpatyech turned to the peasants and ordered two of them, by name to come and bind Karp. The men obediently came out of the crowd and began taking off their belts. Where's the elder demanded the Rostov in a loud voice? With a pale and frowning face, Dron stepped out of the crowd. Are you the elder? Bind him, Lavrushka, shouted Rostov, as if that order too could not possibly meet with any opposition. And in fact, two more peasants began binding Dron, who took off his own belt and handed it to them, as if to aid them. And you all listened to me, said the Rostov to the peasants. Be off to your houses at once, and don't let one of your voices be heard. Why, we've not done any harm. We did it just out of foolishness. It's all nonsense. I said then that it was not in order voices were heard bickering with one another. There, what did I say, said Elpatyech, coming into his own again. It's wrong, lads. All our stupidity, Yakov Elpatyech, came the answers, and the crowd began at once to disperse through the village. The two bound men were led off to the master's house. The two drunken peasants followed them. I, when I look at you, said one of them to Karp. How can one talk to the masters like that? What were you thinking of, you fool, out of the other?  Two hours later the carts were standing in the courtyard of the Bogocharvo house. The peasants were briskly carrying out the proprietor's goods and packing them on the carts. And Dron liberated at Princess Murray's wish from the cupboard where he had been confined with standing in the yard directing the men. Don't put it in so carelessly, said one of the peasants. A man with a round smiling face taking a casket from a housemaid. You know it has cost money. How could you chuck it in like that or shove it under the cord where it'll get rubbed? I don't like that way of doing things. Let it all be done properly, according to rule. Look here. Put it under the best matting and cover it with hay. That's the way. Hey, books, books, said another peasant, bringing out Prince Andrew's library of cupboards. Don't catch up against it. It's heavy, lads. Solid books. Yes, they worked all day and didn't play, remarked the tall, round-faced peasant gravely, pointing with a significant wink at the dictionaries that were on the top. Unwilling to obtrude himself on the princess, Rostov did not go back to the house but remained in the village, awaiting her departure. When her carriage drove out of the house, he mounted and accompanied her eight miles from Bogocharvo to where the road was occupied by her troops. At the inn at Yancovo, he respectfully took leave of her, for the first time permitting himself to kiss her hand. How can you speak so, he blushingly replied to Princess Murray's expressions of gratitude for her deliverance, as she termed what had occurred. Any police officer would have done as much. If we had only peasants to fight, we should not have let the enemy come so far, said he with a sense of shame and wishing to change the subject. I am only happy to have had the opportunity of making your acquaintance. Goodbye, Princess. I wish you happiness and consolation, and hope to meet you again in happier circumstances. If you don't want to make me blush, please don't thank me. But the princess, if she did not again thank him in words, thanked him with the whole expression of her face, radiant with gratitude and tenderness. She could not believe that there was nothing to thank him for. On the contrary, it seemed to her certain that had he not been there, she would have perished at the hands of the mutineers and of the French, and that he had exposed himself to terrible and obvious danger to save her, and even more certain was it that he was a man of lofty and noble soul, able to understand her position and her sorrow. His kind, honest eyes, with the tears rising in them when she herself had begun to cry, as she spoke of her loss to not leave her memory. When she had taken leave of him and remained alone, she suddenly felt her eyes filling with tears, and then not for the first time the strange question presented itself to her. Did she love him? On the rest of the way to Moscow, though the princess's position was not a cheerful one, Dunyasha, who went with her in the carriage, more than once noticed that her mistress leaned out of the window and smiled at something with an expression of amingled joy and sorrow. Well, supposing I do love him, thought Princess Mary. Ashamed as she was of acknowledging to herself that she had fallen in love with a man who would perhaps never love her, she comforted herself for the thought that no one would ever know it, and that she would not be to blame if, without ever speaking of it to anyone, she continued to the end of her life to love the man with whom she had fallen in love for the first and last time in her life. Sometimes, when she recalled his looks, his sympathy, and his words, happiness did not appear impossible to her. It was at those moments that Dunyasha noticed her smiling as she looked out of the carriage window. Was it not fate that brought him to Bogocharovo, and at that very moment, thought Princess Mary, and that caused his sister to refuse my brother? And in all this, Princess Mary saw the hand of Providence. The impression the princess made on Rostov was a very agreeable one. To remember her gave him pleasure, and when his comrades, hearing of his adventure in Bogocharovo, rallied him on having gone to look for hay, and having picked up one of the wealthiest heiresses in Russia, he grew angry. It made him angry just because the idea of marrying the gentle Princess Mary, who was attractive to him, and had an enormous fortune, had against his will more than once entered his head. For himself personally, Nicholas could not wish for a better wife. By marrying her, he would make the Countess his mother happy, would be able to put his father's affairs in order, and would even, he felt it, ensure Princess Mary's happiness. But Sonia, and his plighted word, that was why Rostov grew angry when he was rallied about Princess Bulkonskaya. End of Chapter 14, Recorded by David Reim, Sacramento, California, November 5th, 2008 For more information or to volunteer, please visit liberalwalks.org Recording by Andy Yu War and Peace by Leo Tolstoy, Book 10, Chapter 15 On receiving command of the armies, Kyrtosov remembered Prince Andrew, and sent an order for him to report at headquarters. Prince Andrew arrived at Charevo Shemishchi on the very day, and at the very hour that Kyrtosov was reviewing the troops for the first time. He stopped in the village at the priest's house, in front of which stood the commander-in-chief's carriage, and he sat down on the bench at the gate, awaiting his serene highness, as everyone now called Kyrtosov. From the field beyond the village came now sounds of regimental music, and now the roar of many voices shouting, Hurrah to the new commander-in-chief! Two orderlies, a courier and a major domo, stood nearby. Some ten paces from Prince Andrew are wailing themselves, or Kyrtosov's absence, and of the weather. A short swarthy lieutenant colonel of Hussars with thick mustache and whiskers rolled up to the gate, and, granting at Prince Andrew, inquired whether his serene highness was putting up there, and whether he would soon be back. Prince Andrew replied that he was not on his serene highness staff, but was himself a new arrival. The lieutenant colonel turned to a smart orderly, who with the peculiar contempt with which a commander-in-chief's orderly speaks to others, replied, What? His serene highness? I expect he'll be here soon. What do you want? The lieutenant colonel of Hussars smiled beneath his mustache at the orderly's tone, dismounted and gave his horse to a dispatch runner, and approached Bukonsky with a slight bow. Bukonsky made room for him on the bench, and the lieutenant colonel sat down beside him. You are also waiting for the commander-in-chiefs, said he. They say he receives everyone, thank God, is awful with those sausage eaters. Ermenov had reason to ask to be a German. Now perhaps Russians will get a look in, and it was. Devil only knows what was happening. We kept wet-witting and wet-witting. Did you take part in the campaign, he asked. I had the pressure, replied Prince Andrew, not only of taking part in the retreat, but of losing in that retreat all I held dear. Not to mention this estate and the home of my birth. My father, who died of grief, I belong to the province of Smolensk. Ah, your prince Bukonsky, very glad to meet your acquaintance. I am lieutenant colonel Denisov, better known as Vaska, said Denisov, pressing Prince Andrew's hand and looking into his face, with a particularly kindly attention. Yes, I heard, said he sympathetically, and after a short pause added. Yes, it is Scythian warfare. Is all very well, only not for those who get in the name. So, you are Prince Andrew Bukonsky. He swayed his head, very pleased Prince, to make your acquaintance. He repeated again, smiling sadly, and he again pressed Prince Andrew's hand. Prince Andrew knew Denisov from what Natasha had told him of her first suitor. This memory carried him sadly and sweetly back to those painful feelings, of which he had not thought lately, but was still found place in his soul. Of late, he had received so many new and very serious impressions, such as the retreat from Smolensk, his visit to Bout Hills, and the recent news of his father's death. And had experienced so many emotions that for a long time past those memories had not entered his mind. And now that they did, they did not act on him with nearly their former strength. For Denisov too, the memories awakened by the name of Bukonsky belonged to a distant romantic past. When, after supper and after Natasha's singing, he had proposed to a little girl of 15 without realizing what he was doing. He smiled at the recollection of that time and of his love for Natasha and passed at once to what now interests him passionately and exclusively. This was a plan of campaign he had devised while serving at the outpost during the retreat. He had proposed that plan to Barclay de Toli and now wished to propose it to Kutsov. The plan was based on the fact that the French line of operation was too extended, and it proposed that instead of concurrently with action on the front to bar the advance of the French, we should attack their line of communication. He began explaining his plan to Prince Andrew. They can't hold all that line. It's impossible. I will undertake to break through. Give me 500 men and I will break the line. That's certain. There's only one way. Glubula warfare. Denisov rose and began gesticulating as he explained his plan to Bokonsky. In the midst of his explanation, shells were heard from the arm growing more incoherent and more diffused, ringing with music and songs and coming from the field where the review was held. Sons of hooves and shells were nearing the village. His coming shouted Akosa standing at the gate. Bokonsky and Denisov moved to the gate at which a nought of soldiers in breakfast, a guard of honor, was standing. And they saw Gershysov coming down the street, mounted on a rather small, surreal horse. A huge suite of generals rode behind him. Barclay was riding almost beside him, and a cloud of officers ran after and around them shouting, Hurrah! His adjuncts galloped into the yard before him. Kershysov was impatiently urging on his horse, which ambled smoothly under his weight, and he raised his hand to his white horseguard's cap with a red band and no peek, nodding his head continually. When he came up to the guard of honors, a fine set of grenadiers, mostly wearing decorations, who were giving him the salute. He looked at them silently and attentively for nearly a minute with the steady gaze of a commander and then turned to the cloud of generals and officers surrounding him. Suddenly, his face assumed a subtle expression. He shrugged his shoulders with an air of propacity. And with such fine fellas to retreat and retreat, Well, goodbye, general, he added and rode into the yard past Prince Andrew and Denysov. Hurrah! Hurrah! Hurrah! shouted those behind him. Since Prince Andrew had last seen him, Kershysov had grown still more copulent, flaccid and fat, but the breached eyeball, the scar and the familiar weariness of his expression were still the same. He was wearing the white horseguard's cap and a military overcoat with a whip hanging over his shoulder by a thin strap. He sat heavily and swayed limply on his brisk little horse. View! View! View! He whistled just loudly as he rode into the yard. His face expressed the relief of relaxed strain felt by a man who means to rest after a ceremony. He drew his left foot out of the stirrup and lurching with his whole body and puckering his face with the effort, raised it with difficulty onto the saddle, leaned on his knee, grown and slipped down into the arms of the Kershysov and Adjunks, who stood ready to assist him. He pulled himself together, looked around, screwing up his eyes, granced at Prince Andrew and evidently not recognizing him, moved with his wetting gate to the porch. View! View! View! He whistled and again he granced at Prince Andrew.  Ah, how do you do, my dear Prince? How do you do, my dear boy? Come along, said he, grancing veery round, and he stepped onto the porch, which clicked with his weight. He unbuttoned his coat and sat down on a bench in the porch. And how's the father? I received news of his death. Yesterday, replied Prince Andrew abruptly. Kershysov looked at him with eyes wide open with dismay and then took off his cap and clothed himself. May the kingdom of heaven be his. God's will be done to us all, he sighed deeply. His whole chest heaving and was silent for a while. I loved him and respected him and sympathized with you with all my heart.  When he released him, Prince Andrew saw that Kershysov's frappy lips were trembling and that tears were in his eyes. He sighed and pressed on the bench with both hands to raise himself. Come, come with me. We'll have a talk, said he. But at that moment, Danyasov no more intimidated by his superiors than by the enemy came with jingling spurs up the steps of the porch. Despite the angry whispers of the adjuncts who tried to stop him, Kershysov, his hands still pressed on the seat, glanced at him glumly. Danyasov, having given his name, announced that he had to communicate to his Serene Highness matter of great importance for their country's welfare. Kershysov looked weary at him and, lifting his hands with a gesture of annoyance, folded them across his stomach, repeating the words, For our country's welfare? Well, what is it? Speak. Danyasov brushed like a girl. In brackets, it was strange to see the color rise in that shaggy, bibulous, time-worn face, and boldly began to expand his plan of cutting the enemy's lines of communication between Smolens and Vassma. Danyasov came from those parts and knew the country well. His plan seemed decidedly a good one, especially from the strength of conviction with which he spoke. Kershysov looked down at his own legs, occasionally granting at the door of the adjourning hut, as if expecting something unprecedented to emerge from it. And from that hut, while Danyasov was speaking, a general with a portfolio under his arm really did appear. What, said Kershysov, in the midst of Danyasov's explanation, are you ready so soon? Ready, your Serene Highness, replies the general. Kershysov swayed his head as much as to say, how is the man to deal with it all? And again, listened to Danyasov. I give my word of honor as a Russian officer, said Danyasov, that I can break Napoleon's line of communication. What relation are you to Lieutenant General Carol Andrei with Danyasov, as Kershysov interrupting him? He is my uncle, your Serene Highness. Ah, we were friends, said Kershysov cheerfully. All right, all right, friend, stay here at the staff, and tomorrow we'll have a talk. With a nod to Danyasov, he turned away and put out his hand to the papers Konovisyn had brought him. Would not your Serene Highness like to come inside, said the general and duty in a discontented voice? The plans must be examined, and several papers have to be signed. An adjun came out and announced that everything was in readiness within. But Kershysov evidently did not wish to enter the room till he was disengaged. He made a grimace. No, tell them to bring a small table out here. My dear boy, I'll look at them here, said he. Don't go away, he added, turning to Prince Andrew who remained in the porch and listened to the general's report. While this was being given, Prince Andrew heard the whispers of a woman's voice and the rustle of a silk dress behind the door. Several times on glancing that way, he noticed behind the door a plum, rosy, handsome woman in a pink dress with a lilac silk kerchief on her head, holding a dish and evidently awaiting the entrance of the commander-in-chief. Kershysov's adjunct whispered to Prince Andrew that this was the wife of the priest whose home it was, and that she intended to offer his Serene Highness bread and salt. Her husband has welcomed his Serene Highness with the cross at the church and she intends to welcome him in the house. She's very pretty, added the adjunct with a smile. At those words, Kershysov looked around. He was listening to the general's report which consisted chiefly of a criticism of the position at Travivivu Shemishche as he had listened to Denisov and seven years previously had listened to the discussion at the Austerite Council of War. He evidently listened only because he had ears which though there was a piece of toll in one of them could not help hearing but it was evident that nothing the general could say would surprise or even interest him that he knew all that would be said beforehand and heard it all only because he had to as one has to listen to the chanting of a service of play. All that Denisov had said was clever and to the point. What the general was saying was even more clever and to the point but it was evident that Kershysov despised knowledge and cleverness and knew of something else that would decide the matter. Something independent of cleverness and knowledge. Prince Andrew watched the commander in chief's face attentively and the only expression he could see there was one of boredom curiosity as to the meaning of the feminine whispering behind the door and a desire to observe propriety. It was evident that Kershysov despised cleverness and learning and even the patriotic feeling shown by Denisov but despised them not because of his own internet feelings or knowledge. He did not try to display any of these but because of something else. He despised them because of his old age and experience of life. The only instruction Kershysov gave of his own accord during that report referred to looting by the Russian troops. At the end of the report the general put before him for signature a paper relating to the recovery of payment from army commanders for green oats mown down by the soldiers when landowners lodged petitions for compensation. After hearing the matter Kershysov smacked his lips together and shook his head.  I don't order or allow it but I don't exact compensation either. One can't get on without it. When wood is chopped the chips will fly he looked at the paper again. Oh this German precision he must shaking his head. End of chapter 15 War and Peace Book 10 chapter 15 read for lippewalks.org by Andy Yu Mrs. Sager Canada War and Peace Book 10 chapter 16 read for lippewalks.org by David Reem Well that's all said Kershysov as he signed the last of the documents and rising heavily and smoothing out the folds in his fat white neck he moved towards the door with a more cheerful expression. The priest's wife fleshing rosy red caught up the dish she had not managed to present at the right moment after all though his she had so long been preparing for it and with a low bow offered it to Kershysov.  He took some gold pieces from his trouser pocket and put them on the dish for her. Well my dear and how are we getting on he asked moving to the door of the room assigned to him. The priest's wife smiled and with dimples and her rosy cheeks followed him into the room. The agitant came out to the porch and asked Prince Andrew to lunch with him. Half an hour later Prince Andrew was again called to Kershysov. He found him reclining in an armchair still in the same unbuttoned overcoat. He had in his hand a French foot which he closed as Prince Andrew entered marking the place with a knife. Prince Andrew saw by the cover that it was Les Chavalliers du Signeur by Badam du Jean-Lis. Well sit down sit here let's have a talk said Kershysov. It's sad very sad but remember my dear fellow that I'm a father to you the second father. Prince Andrew told Kershysov all he knew of his father's death and what he had seen at Bald Hills when he passed through it. What? What they have brought us to Kershysov suddenly cried in an agitated voice evidently picturing vividly to himself from Prince Andrew's story the condition Russia was in. But give me time give me time. He said with a grim look evidently not wishing to continue this agitating conversation and added I sent for you to keep you with me. I thank your serene highness but fear I am no longer fit for the staff replied Prince Andrew with a smile which Kershysov noticed. Kershysov glanced inquiringly at him. But above all added Prince Andrew I've grown used to my regiment am fond of the officers and I fancy the men also like me I should be sorry to leave the regiment if I decline the honor of being with you believe me eschewed kindly yet subtly derisive expression lit up Kershysov's poggy face he cut Balkansky short I am sorry for I need you but you're right you're right it's not here that men are needed advisors are always plentiful but men are not the regiments would not be what they are if the would-be advisors served there as you do I remember you at Austerlitz I remember yes I remember you with the standard said Katoozov and a flesh of pleasure suffused Prince Andrew's face at this recollection taking his hand and drawing him downwards Katoozov offered his cheek to be kissed and again Prince Andrew noticed tears in the old man's eyes though Prince Andrew knew that Katoozov's tears came easily and that he was particularly tender to and considerate of him from a wish to show sympathy with his loss yet this reminder of Austerlitz was both pleasant and flattering to him go your way and God be with you I know your path is the path of honor he paused I missed you at Bucharest but I needed someone to send and changing the subject Katoozov began to speak of the Turkish war and the peace that had been concluded yes I have been much blamed he said both for that war and the peace but everything came at the right time to me via un poise celui qui s'est attendee and there were a few and there were as many advisors there as here he went on returning to the subject of advisors which evidently occupied him ah those advisors said he if we had listened to them all we should not have made peace with Turkey and should not have been through with that war everything in haste but more haste less speed Kamensky would have been lost if he had not died he stormed fortresses with 30,000 men it is not difficult to capture a fortress but it is difficult to win a campaign for that not storming and attacking but patience and time are wanted Kamensky sent soldiers to Ruschik but I only employed these two things and took more fortresses than Kamensky and made the Turks eat horse flesh he swayed his head and the French shall too believe me he went on growing warmer and beating his chest I'll make them eat horse flesh and tears again dimmed his eyes but shan't we have to accept battle remarked Prince Andrew we shall if everybody wants it it can't be helped but believe me my dear boy there is nothing stronger than those two patience and time they will do it all but the advisors some want a thing others don't what's one to do he asked evidently expecting an answer well what do you want us to do he repeated and his eyes shown with a deep shrewed look I'll tell you what to do he continued as Prince Andrew still did not reply I will tell you what to do and what I do don le tout mon cher he paused abstain toi he articulated the French proverb deliberately well goodbye my dear fellow remember that with all my heart I share your sorrow and that for you I am not a serene highness nor a prince not a commander-in-chief but a father if you want anything come straight to me goodbye my dear boy again he embraced and kissed Prince Andrew but before the latter had left the room Catooseuf gave a sigh of relief and went on with his unfinished novel Les Chavalliers de Saint by Madame Jolie Prince Andrew could not have explained how or why it was but after that interview with Catooseuf he went back to his regiment reassured as to the general course of affairs and as to the man to whom it had been entrusted the more he realized the absence of all personal motive in that old man in whom there seemed to remain only the habit of passions and in place of an intellect grouping events and drawing conclusions only the capacity calmly to contemplate the course of events the more reassured he was that everything would be as it should he will not bring in any plan of his own he will not devise or undertake anything thought Prince Andrew but he will hear everything remember everything and put everything in its place he will not hinder anything useful nor allow anything harmful he understands that there is something stronger and more important than his own will the inevitable course of events and he can see them and grasp their significance and seeing that significance can refrain from meddling and renounce his personal wish directed to something else and above all thought Prince Andrew one believes in him because he's Russian despite the novel by Jean-Ly and the French Proverbs and because his voice shook when he said what they have brought us to and had a sob in it when he said he would make them eat horse flesh on such feelings more or less dimly shared by all the unanimity and general approval were founded with which despite court influences the popular choice of Katoozov as commander-in-chief was received End of Chapter 16 Recording by David Rehm Sacramento California F-O-U-R-T-E-A-T-O-O dot blogspot.com