Prince Andrey in this windless. Prince Andrey's Regiment

Bennigsen stopped at the flushes and began to look ahead at the Shevardinsky redoubt (which was ours only yesterday), on which several horsemen could be seen. The officers said that Napoleon or Murat was there. And everyone looked greedily at this bunch of horsemen. Pierre also looked there, trying to guess which of these barely visible people was Napoleon. Finally, the riders rode off the mound and disappeared.

Bennigsen turned to the general who approached him and began to explain the entire position of our troops. Pierre listened to Bennigsen's words, straining all his mental strength to understand the essence of the upcoming battle, but he felt with disappointment that his mental abilities were insufficient for this. He didn't understand anything. Bennigsen stopped talking and, noticing the figure of Pierre who was listening, suddenly said, turning to him:

– I think you’re not interested?

“Oh, on the contrary, it’s very interesting,” Pierre repeated, not entirely truthfully.

From the flush they drove even further to the left along a road winding through a dense, low birch forest. In the middle of this forest, a brown hare with white legs jumped out onto the road in front of them and, frightened by the tramp of large quantity horses, was so confused that he jumped for a long time along the road in front of them, arousing everyone’s attention and laughter, and only when several voices shouted at him, he rushed to the side and disappeared into the thicket. After driving about two miles through the forest, they came to a clearing where the troops of Tuchkov’s corps, which was supposed to protect the left flank, were stationed.

Here, on the extreme left flank, Bennigsen spoke a lot and passionately and made, as it seemed to Pierre, an important military order. There was a hill in front of Tuchkov’s troops. This hill was not occupied by troops. Bennigsen loudly criticized this mistake, saying that it was crazy to leave the height commanding the area unoccupied and place troops under it. Some generals expressed the same opinion. One in particular spoke with military fervor about the fact that they were put here for slaughter. Bennigsen ordered in his name to move the troops to the heights.

This order on the left flank made Pierre even more doubtful of his ability to understand military affairs. Listening to Bennigsen and the generals condemning the position of the troops under the mountain, Pierre fully understood them and shared their opinion; but precisely because of this, he could not understand how the one who placed them here under the mountain could make such an obvious and gross mistake.

Pierre did not know that these troops were not placed to defend the position, as Bennigsen thought, but were placed in a hidden place for an ambush, that is, in order to be unnoticed and suddenly attack the advancing enemy. Bennigsen did not know this and moved the troops forward for special reasons without telling the commander-in-chief about it.

On this clear August evening on the 25th, Prince Andrei lay leaning on his arm in a broken barn in the village of Knyazkova, on the edge of his regiment’s location. Through the hole in the broken wall, he looked at a strip of thirty-year-old birch trees with their lower branches cut off running along the fence, at an arable land with stacks of oats broken on it, and at bushes through which the smoke of fires—soldiers’ kitchens—could be seen.

No matter how cramped and unnecessary and difficult his life now seemed to Prince Andrei, he, just like seven years ago at Austerlitz on the eve of the battle, felt agitated and irritated.

Orders for tomorrow's battle were given and received by him. There was nothing else he could do. But the simplest, clearest thoughts and therefore terrible thoughts did not leave him alone. He knew that tomorrow's battle was going to be the most terrible of all those in which he participated, and the possibility of death for the first time in his life, without any regard to everyday life, without consideration of how it would affect others, but only according to in relation to himself, to his soul, with vividness, almost with certainty, simply and horribly, it presented itself to him. And from the height of this idea, everything that had previously tormented and occupied him was suddenly illuminated by a cold white light, without shadows, without perspective, without distinction of outlines. His whole life seemed to him magic lantern, into which he looked for a long time through glass and under artificial lighting. Now he suddenly saw, without glass, in bright daylight, these poorly painted pictures. “Yes, yes, these are the false images that worried and delighted and tormented me,” he said to himself, turning over in his imagination the main pictures of his magic lantern of life, now looking at them in this cold white light of day - a clear thought of death. “Here they are, these crudely painted figures that seemed like something beautiful and mysterious. Glory, the public good, love for a woman, the fatherland itself - how great these pictures seemed to me, what deep meaning they seemed fulfilled! And all this is so simple, pale and rough in the cold white light of that morning, which I feel is rising for me. Three major sorrows of his life in particular occupied his attention. His love for a woman, the death of his father and the French invasion that captured half of Russia. “Love!.. This girl, who seemed to me full of mysterious powers. How I loved her! I made poetic plans about love, about happiness with it. Oh dear boy! – he said out loud angrily. - Of course! I believed in some perfect love, who had to keep her faithful to me for whole year my absence! Like the tender dove of a fable, she was to wither away in separation from me. And all this is much simpler... All this is terribly simple, disgusting!

My father also built in Bald Mountains and thought that this was his place, his land, his air, his men; but Napoleon came and, not knowing about his existence, pushed him off the road like a piece of wood, and his Bald Mountains and his whole life fell apart. And Princess Marya says that this is a test sent from above. What is the purpose of the test when it no longer exists and will not exist? will never happen again! He's gone! So who is this test for? Fatherland, death of Moscow! And tomorrow he will kill me - and not even a Frenchman, but one of his own, as yesterday a soldier emptied a gun near my ear, and the French will come, take me by the legs and head and throw me into a hole so that I don’t stink under their noses, and new conditions will arise lives that will also be familiar to others, and I will not know about them, and I will not exist.”

He looked at the strip of birch trees with their motionless yellow, green and white bark, glistening in the sun. “To die, so that they would kill me tomorrow, so that I wouldn’t exist... so that all this would happen, but I wouldn’t exist.” He vividly imagined the absence of himself in this life. And these birches with their light and shadow, and these curly clouds, and this smoke from the fires - everything around was transformed for him and seemed something terrible and threatening. A chill ran down his spine. Quickly getting up, he left the barn and began to walk.

- Who's there? – Prince Andrei called out.

The red-nosed captain Timokhin, the former company commander of Dolokhov, now, due to the decline of officers, a battalion commander, timidly entered the barn. He was followed by the adjutant and the regimental treasurer.

Prince Andrei hastily stood up, listened to what the officers had to convey to him, gave them some more orders and was about to let them go, when a familiar, whispering voice was heard from behind the barn.

Prince Andrei, looking out of the barn, saw Pierre approaching him, who tripped on a lying pole and almost fell. It was generally unpleasant for Prince Andrei to see people from his world, especially Pierre, who reminded him of all those difficult moments that he experienced on his last visit to Moscow.

- That's how! - he said. - What destinies? I didn't wait.

While he was saying this, in his eyes and the expression of his whole face there was more than dryness - there was hostility, which Pierre immediately noticed. He approached the barn in the most animated state of mind, but when he saw the expression on Prince Andrei’s face, he felt constrained and awkward.

“I arrived... so... you know... I arrived... I’m interested,” said Pierre, who had already senselessly repeated this word “interesting” so many times that day. “I wanted to see the battle.”

- Yes, yes, what do the Masonic brothers say about the war? How to prevent it? - said Prince Andrei mockingly. - Well, what about Moscow? What are mine? Have you finally arrived in Moscow? – he asked seriously.

- We've arrived. Julie Drubetskaya told me. I went to see them and didn’t find them. They left for the Moscow region.

The officers wanted to take their leave, but Prince Andrei, as if not wanting to remain face to face with his friend, invited them to sit and drink tea. Benches and tea were served. The officers, not without surprise, looked at the thick, huge figure of Pierre and listened to his stories about Moscow and the disposition of our troops, which he managed to travel around. Prince Andrei was silent, and his face was so unpleasant that Pierre addressed himself more to the good-natured battalion commander Timokhin than to Bolkonsky.

- So, did you understand the entire disposition of the troops? - Prince Andrei interrupted him.

- Yes, that is, how? - said Pierre. “As a non-military person, I can’t say that I completely, but I still understood the general arrangement.”

– Eh bien, vous ?tes plus avanc? “Que qui cela soit,” said Prince Andrei.

- A! - Pierre said in bewilderment, looking through his glasses at Prince Andrei. - Well, what do you say about the appointment of Kutuzov? - he said.

“I was very happy about this appointment, that’s all I know,” said Prince Andrei.

- Well, tell me, what is your opinion about Barclay de Tolly? In Moscow, God knows what they said about him. How do you judge him?

“Ask them,” said Prince Andrei, pointing to the officers.

Pierre looked at him with a condescendingly questioning smile, with which everyone involuntarily turned to Timokhin.

“They saw the light, your Excellency, as your Serene Highness did,” Timokhin said, timidly and constantly looking back at his regimental commander.

- Why is this so? asked Pierre.

- Yes, at least about firewood or feed, I’ll report to you. After all, we were retreating from the Sventsyans, don’t you dare touch a twig, or some hay, or anything. 'Cause we're leaving to him gets it, doesn't it, your Excellency? - he turned to his prince, - don’t you dare. In our regiment, two officers were put on trial for such matters. Well, as His Serene Highness did, it just became so about this. We saw the light...

- So why did he forbid it?

Timokhin looked around in confusion, not understanding how or what to answer such a question. Pierre turned to Prince Andrei with the same question.

“And so as not to ruin the region that we left to the enemy,” said Prince Andrei with an angry, mocking tone. “This is very fundamental: the region should not be allowed to be plundered and the troops should not be accustomed to looting. Well, in Smolensk he also correctly judged that the French could get around us and that they had more strength. But he could not understand,” Prince Andrei suddenly shouted in a thin voice, as if escaping, “but he could not understand that we fought there for the first time for Russian land, that there was such a spirit in the troops that I had never seen, that We fought off the French for two days in a row and that this success increased our strength tenfold. He ordered a retreat, and all efforts and losses were in vain. He didn’t think about betrayal, he tried to do everything as best as possible, he thought it over; but that’s why it’s no good. He is no good now precisely because he thinks everything over very thoroughly and carefully, as every German should. How can I tell you... Well, your father has a German footman, and he is an excellent footman and will satisfy all his needs better than you, and let him serve; but if your father is sick at the point of death, you will drive away the footman and with your unusual, clumsy hands you will begin to follow your father and calm him down better than a skilled but stranger. That's what they did with Barclay. While Russia was healthy, a stranger could serve her, and she had an excellent minister, but as soon as she is in danger, she needs her own, dear person. And in your club they made up the idea that he was a traitor! The only thing they will do by slandering him as a traitor is that later, ashamed of their false accusation, they will suddenly make a hero or a genius out of the traitors, which will be even more unfair. He is an honest and very neat German...

“However, they say he is a skilled commander,” said Pierre.

“I don’t understand what a skilled commander means,” said Prince Andrey with mockery.

“A skillful commander,” said Pierre, “well, the one who foresaw all the contingencies... well, guessed the thoughts of the enemy.”

“Yes, this is impossible,” said Prince Andrei, as if about a long-decided matter.

Pierre looked at him in surprise.

“However,” he said, “they say that war is like a chess game.”

“Yes,” said Prince Andrei, “only with this small difference that in chess you can think about every step as much as you like, that you are there outside the conditions of time, and with this difference that a knight is always stronger than a pawn and two pawns are always stronger.” one, and in war one battalion is sometimes stronger than a division, and sometimes weaker than a company. The relative strength of the troops cannot be known to anyone. Believe me,” he said, “if anything depended on the orders of the headquarters, then I would be there and give orders, but instead I have the honor of serving here, in the regiment, with these gentlemen, and I believe that from us tomorrow will indeed depend, and not on them... Success has never depended and will not depend either on position, or on weapons, or even on numbers; and least of all from the position.

- And from what?

“From the feeling that is in me, in him,” he pointed to Timokhin, “in every soldier.”

Prince Andrei looked at Timokhin, who looked at his commander in fear and bewilderment. In contrast to his previous restrained silence, Prince Andrei now seemed agitated. He apparently could not resist expressing those thoughts that unexpectedly came to him.

– The battle will be won by the one who is determined to win it. Why did we lose the battle at Austerlitz? Our loss was almost equal to that of the French, but we told ourselves very early that we had lost the battle - and we lost. And we said this because we had no need to fight there: we wanted to leave the battlefield as quickly as possible. “If you lose, then run away!” - we ran. If we hadn’t said this until the evening, God knows what would have happened. And tomorrow we won’t say this. You say: our position, the left flank is weak, the right flank is stretched,” he continued, “all this is nonsense, there is none of this.” What do we have in store for tomorrow? A hundred million of the most varied contingencies that will be decided instantly by the fact that they or ours ran or will run, that they will kill this one, they will kill the other; and what is being done now is all fun. The fact is that those with whom you traveled in position not only do not contribute to the general course of affairs, but interfere with it. They are busy only with their own small interests.

- At such a moment? - Pierre said reproachfully.

- IN such a moment - repeated Prince Andrey, “for them this is just a moment in which they can dig under the enemy and get an extra cross or ribbon.” For me, for tomorrow this is this: a hundred thousand Russian and a hundred thousand French troops came together to fight, and the fact is that these two hundred thousand are fighting, and whoever fights angrier and feels less sorry for himself will win. And if you want, I’ll tell you that, no matter what it is, no matter what is confused up there, we will win the battle tomorrow. Tomorrow, no matter what, we will win the battle!

“Here, your Excellency, the truth, the true truth,” said Timokhin. - Why feel sorry for yourself now! The soldiers in my battalion, believe me, didn’t drink vodka: it’s not that kind of day, they say. - Everyone was silent.

The officers stood up. Prince Andrei went out with them outside the barn, giving the last orders to the adjutant. When the officers left, Pierre approached Prince Andrei and was just about to start a conversation when the hooves of three horses clattered along the road not far from the barn, and, looking in this direction, Prince Andrei recognized Wolzogen and Clausewitz, accompanied by a Cossack. They drove close, continuing to talk, and Pierre and Andrey involuntarily heard the following phrases:

– Der Krieg mu? im Raum verlegt werden. “Der Ansicht kann ich nicht genug Preis geben,” said one.

“Yes, im Raum verlegen,” Prince Andrei repeated, snorting angrily through his nose, when they passed. – Im Raum – I still have a father, a son, and a sister in Bald Mountains. He doesn't care. This is what I told you - these German gentlemen will not win the battle tomorrow, but will only spoil how much their strength will be, because in his German head there are only reasonings that are not worth a damn, and in his heart there is nothing that is only and what is needed for tomorrow is what is in Timokhin. They gave up all of Europe to him and they came to teach us - glorious teachers! – his voice squealed again.

– So you think that tomorrow’s battle will be won? - said Pierre.

“Yes, yes,” said Prince Andrei absently. “One thing I would do if I had power,” he began again, “I would not take prisoners.” What are prisoners? This is chivalry. The French have ruined my house and are going to ruin Moscow, and they have insulted and insulted me every second. They are my enemies, they are all criminals, according to my standards. And Timokhin and the entire army think the same. We must execute them. If they are my enemies, then they cannot be friends, no matter how they talk in Tilsit.

“Yes, yes,” said Pierre, looking at Prince Andrei with sparkling eyes, “I completely, completely agree with you!”

The question that had been troubling Pierre since Mozhaisk Mountain all that day now seemed to him completely clear and completely resolved. He now understood the whole meaning and significance of this war and the upcoming battle. Everything he saw that day, all the significant, stern expressions on faces that he glimpsed, were illuminated for him with a new light. He understood that hidden (latente), as they say in physics, warmth of patriotism, which was in all those people whom he saw, and which explained to him why all these people were calmly and seemingly frivolously preparing for death.

“Take no prisoners,” continued Prince Andrei. “This alone would change the whole war and make it less cruel.” Otherwise we were playing at war - that’s what’s bad, we’re being generous and the like. This is generosity and sensitivity - like the generosity and sensitivity of a lady who becomes sick when she sees a calf being killed; she is so kind that she cannot see the blood, but she eats this calf with gravy with appetite. They talk to us about the rights of war, about chivalry, about parliamentarianism, to spare the unfortunate, and so on. It's all nonsense. I saw chivalry and parliamentarianism in 1805: we were deceived, we were deceived. They rob other people's houses, pass around counterfeit banknotes, and worst of all, they kill my children, my father, and talk about the rules of war and generosity towards enemies. Don't take prisoners, but kill and go to your death! Who got to this point the way I did, through the same suffering...

Prince Andrei, who thought that he did not care whether they took Moscow or not, the way they took Smolensk, suddenly stopped in his speech from an unexpected spasm that grabbed him by the throat. He walked several times in silence, but his eyes shone feverishly, and his lip trembled when he began to speak again:

“If there were no generosity in war, then we would go only when it’s worth it to go to certain death, as now.” Then there would be no war because Pavel Ivanovich offended Mikhail Ivanovich. And if there is a war like now, then there is a war. And then the intensity of the troops would not be the same as it is now. Then all these Westphalians and Hessians, led by Napoleon, would not have followed him to Russia, and we would not have gone to fight in Austria and Prussia, without knowing why. War is not a courtesy, but the most disgusting thing in life, and we must understand this and not play at war. We must take this terrible necessity strictly and seriously. That's all there is to it: throw away the lies, and war is war, not a toy. Otherwise, war is the favorite pastime of idle and frivolous people... The military class is the most honorable. What is war, what is needed for success in military affairs, what are the morals of military society? The purpose of war is murder, the weapons of war are espionage, treason and its encouragement, the ruin of the inhabitants, their robbery or theft to feed the army; deception and lies, called stratagems; the morals of the military class - lack of freedom, that is, discipline, idleness, ignorance, cruelty, debauchery, drunkenness. And despite this, this is the highest class, respected by everyone. All kings, except the Chinese, wear a military uniform, and the one who killed the most people is given a large reward... They will come together, like tomorrow, to kill each other, kill, maim tens of thousands of people, and then they will serve thanksgiving services for having beaten many people (whose number is still being added), and proclaim victory, believing that the more people are beaten, the greater the merit. How God looks and listens to them from there! – Prince Andrei shouted in a thin, squeaky voice. - Oh, my soul, Lately It became difficult for me to live. I see that I have begun to understand too much. But it is not good for a person to eat from the tree of the knowledge of good and evil... Well, not for long! - he added. “However, you are sleeping, and it’s time for me, go to Gorki,” Prince Andrei suddenly said.

- Oh no! - Pierre answered, looking at Prince Andrei with frightened and compassionate eyes.

“Go, go: you need to get some sleep before the battle,” repeated Prince Andrei. He quickly approached Pierre, hugged him and kissed him. “Goodbye, go,” he shouted. “See you, no...” And he quickly turned around and went into the barn.

It was already dark, and Pierre could not make out the expression that was on Prince Andrei’s face, whether it was angry or tender.

Pierre stood silently for some time, wondering whether to follow him or go home. “No, he doesn’t need it! - Pierre decided to himself, - and I know that this is ours last date" He sighed heavily and drove back to Gorki.

Prince Andrey, returning to the barn, lay down on the carpet, but could not sleep.

He closed his eyes. Some images were replaced by others. He stopped at one for a long time, joyfully. He vividly remembered one evening in St. Petersburg. Natasha, with a lively, excited face, told him how last summer, while out for mushrooms, she got lost in big forest. She incoherently described to him the wilderness of the forest, and her feelings, and conversations with the beekeeper whom she had met, and, interrupting every minute in her story, she said: “No, I can’t, I’m not telling it like that; no, you don’t understand,” despite the fact that Prince Andrei reassured her, saying that he understood, and really understood everything she wanted to say. Natasha was dissatisfied with her words - she felt that the passionate and poetic feeling that she experienced that day and which she wanted to turn out did not come out. “This old man was such a charm, and it was so dark in the forest... and he was so kind... no, I don’t know how to tell,” she said, blushing and worried. Prince Andrey smiled now with the same joyful smile that he smiled then, looking into her eyes. “I understood her,” thought Prince Andrei. - Not only did I understand, but this mental strength, this sincerity, this spiritual openness, this soul of hers, which seemed to be connected by her body, this is the soul I loved in her... I loved her so much, so happily...” And suddenly he remembered how his love ended. "To him none of this was needed. He I didn’t see or understand any of this. He saw her as pretty and fresh a girl with whom he did not deign to connect his fate. And I? And he is still alive and cheerful.”

Prince Andrei, as if someone had burned him, jumped up and began to walk in front of the barn again.

On August 25, on the eve of the Battle of Borodino, Prefect of the Emperor's Palace French m-r de Beausset and Colonel Fabvier arrived, the first from Paris, the second from Madrid, to Emperor Napoleon in his camp at Valuev.

Having changed into a court uniform, Mr. de Beausset ordered the parcel he had brought to the emperor to be carried in front of him and entered the first compartment of Napoleon’s tent, where, talking with Napoleon’s adjutants who surrounded him, he began to uncork the box.

Fabvier, without entering the tent, stopped, talking with familiar generals, at the entrance to it.

Emperor Napoleon had not yet left his bedroom and was finishing his toilet. He, snorting and grunting, turned first with his thick back, then with his overgrown fat chest under the brush with which the valet rubbed his body. Another valet, holding the bottle with his finger, sprinkled cologne on the emperor’s well-groomed body with an expression that said that he alone could know how much and where to spray the cologne. Short hair Napoleon's forehead was wet and matted. But his face, although swollen and yellow, expressed physical pleasure: “Allez ferme, allez toujours...” he said, shrugging and grunting, to the valet who was rubbing him. The adjutant, who entered the bedroom in order to report to the emperor about how many prisoners were taken in yesterday's case, having handed over what was needed, stood at the door, waiting for permission to leave. Napoleon, wincing, glanced from under his brows at the adjutant.

“Point de prisonniers,” he repeated the adjutant’s words. - Il se font d'molir. “Tant pis pour l’arm?e russe,” he said. “Allez toujours, allez ferme,” he said, hunching his back and exposing his fat shoulders.

- C'est bien! Faites entrer monsieur de Beausset, ainsi que Fabvier,” he said to the adjutant, nodding his head.

“Oui, Sire,” and the adjutant disappeared through the door of the tent.

Two valets quickly dressed His Majesty, and he, in a blue guards uniform, walked out into the reception room with firm, quick steps.

At this time, Bosse was hurrying with his hands, placing the gift he had brought from the Empress on two chairs, right in front of the Emperor’s entrance. But the emperor got dressed and went out so unexpectedly quickly that he did not have time to fully prepare the surprise.

Napoleon immediately noticed what they were doing and guessed that they were not yet ready. He didn't want to deprive them of the pleasure of surprising him. He pretended not to see Monsieur Bosset and called Fabvier over to him. Napoleon listened, with a stern frown and in silence, to what Fabvier told him about the courage and devotion of his troops, who fought at Salamanca on the other side of Europe and had only one thought - to be worthy of their emperor, and one fear - not to please him. The result of the battle was sad. Napoleon made ironic remarks during Fabvier's story, as if he did not imagine that things could go differently in his absence.

“I must correct this in Moscow,” said Napoleon. “A tant?t,” he added and called de Bosset, who at that time had already managed to prepare a surprise by placing something on the chairs and covering something with a blanket.

De Bosset bowed low with that French court bow, which only the old servants of the Bourbons knew how to bow, and approached, handing over an envelope.

Napoleon turned to him cheerfully and pulled him by the ear.

– You were in a hurry, I’m very glad. Well, what does Paris say? - he said, suddenly changing his previously stern expression to the most affectionate.

“Sire, tout Paris regrette votre absence,” replied de Bosset, as it should. But although Napoleon knew that Bosset had to say this or the like, although he knew in his clear moments that it was not true, he was pleased to hear it from de Bosset. He again deigned to touch him behind the ear.

– Je suis f?ch? de vous avoir fait taire tant de chemin,” he said.

- Sire! Je ne m'attendais pas? “moins qu’a vous trouver aux portes de Moscou,” said Bosset.

Napoleon smiled and, absentmindedly raising his head, looked around to the right. The adjutant approached with a floating step with a golden snuff-box and offered it to her. Napoleon took it.

“Yes, it happened well for you,” he said, putting the open snuffbox to his nose, “you love to travel, in three days you will see Moscow.” You probably didn’t expect to see the Asian capital. You will make a pleasant trip.

Bosse bowed with gratitude for this attentiveness to his (until now unknown to him) inclination to travel.

- A! what's this? - said Napoleon, noticing that all the courtiers were looking at something covered with a veil. Bosse, with courtly dexterity, without showing his back, took a half-turn two steps back and at the same time pulled off the coverlet and said:

- A gift to Your Majesty from the Empress.

It was bright colors a portrait painted by Gerard of a boy born from Napoleon and the daughter of the Austrian emperor, whom for some reason everyone called the King of Rome.

A very handsome curly-haired boy, with a look similar to the look of Christ in Sistine Madonna, was depicted playing a billbok. The ball represented the globe, and the wand in the other hand represented the scepter.

Although it was not entirely clear what exactly the painter wanted to express by representing the so-called King of Rome piercing the globe with a stick, this allegory, like everyone who saw the picture in Paris, and Napoleon, obviously seemed clear and liked it very much.

“Roi de Rome,” he said, pointing to the portrait with a graceful gesture of his hand. – Admirable! – With the ability, characteristic of Italians, to change facial expression at will, he approached the portrait and pretended to be thoughtfully tender. He felt that what he would say and do now was history. And it seemed to him that the best thing he could do now was that he, with his greatness, as a result of which his son played in the billbok the globe so that he shows, in contrast to this greatness, the simplest fatherly tenderness. His eyes became misty, he moved, looked back at the chair (the chair jumped under him) and sat down on it opposite the portrait. One gesture from him - and everyone tiptoed out, leaving the great man to himself and his feelings.

Sky of Austerlitz
What is this? I'm falling! My legs are giving way,” he thought and fell on his back. He opened his eyes, hoping to see how the fight between the French and the artillerymen ended, and wanting to know whether the red-haired artilleryman was killed or not, whether the guns were taken or saved. But he didn't see anything. There was nothing above him anymore except the sky—a high sky, not clear, but still immeasurably high, with gray clouds quietly creeping across it. “How quiet, calm and solemn, not at all like how I ran,” thought Prince Andrei, “not like how we ran, shouted and fought; It’s not at all like how the Frenchman and the artilleryman pulled each other’s banners with embittered and frightened faces - not at all like how the clouds crawl across this high endless sky. How come I haven’t seen this high sky before? And how happy I am that I finally recognized him. Yes! everything is empty, everything is deception, except this endless sky. There is nothing, nothing, except him. But even that is not there, there is nothing but silence, calm. And thank God!.. "

Description of oak
There was an oak tree on the edge of the road. Probably ten times older than the birches that made up the forest, it was ten times thicker and twice as tall as each birch. It was a huge oak tree, two girths wide, with branches that had been broken off for a long time and with broken bark overgrown with old sores. With his huge clumsy, asymmetrically splayed, gnarled hands and fingers, he stood like an old, angry and contemptuous freak between the smiling birch trees. Only he alone did not want to submit to the charm of spring and did not want to see either spring or the sun.

"Spring, and love, and happiness!" - it was as if this oak tree was speaking. - And how can you not get tired of the same stupid and senseless deception? Everything is the same, and everything is a lie! There is no spring, no sun, no happiness. Look there, the crushed dead spruce trees are sitting, always alone, and there I am, spreading out my broken, skinned fingers, wherever they grew - from the back, from the sides; As we grew up, I still stand, and I don’t believe your hopes and deceptions.”

Prince Andrei looked back at this oak tree several times while driving through the forest, as if he was expecting something from it. There were flowers and grass under the oak tree, but he still stood in the midst of them, frowning, motionless, ugly and stubborn.

“Yes, he is right, this oak tree is right a thousand times,” thought Prince Andrei, let others, young people, again succumb to this deception, but we know life, “our life is over!” Whole new row Hopeless, but sadly pleasant thoughts in connection with this oak tree arose in the soul of Prince Andrei. During this journey, he seemed to think about his whole life again, and came to the same old reassuring and hopeless conclusion that he did not need to start anything, that he should live out his life without doing evil, without worrying and without wanting anything.

an old oak (Volume II, Part III, Chapter 3)

“Yes, here, in this forest, there was this oak tree, with which we agreed,” thought Prince Andrei. “But where is it,” thought Prince Andrei again, looking at the left side of the road and, without knowing it, without recognizing him , admired the oak tree he was looking for. The old oak tree, completely transformed, spread out like a tent of lush, dark greenery, swayed slightly, swaying slightly in the rays of the evening sun. No gnarled fingers, no sores, no old mistrust and grief - nothing was visible. Juicy, young leaves broke through the tough, hundred-year-old bark without knots, so it was impossible to believe that this old man had produced them. “Yes, this is the same oak tree,” thought Prince Andrei, and suddenly an unreasonable spring feeling of joy and renewal came over him. All best moments his lives suddenly came back to him at the same time. And Austerlitz with the high sky, and the dead, reproachful face of his wife, and Pierre on the ferry, and the girl excited by the beauty of the night, and this night, and the moon - and all this suddenly came to his mind.

“No, life is not over at the age of 31,” Prince Andrei suddenly finally, unchangeably decided. Not only do I know everything that is in me, it is necessary for everyone to know it: both Pierre and this girl who wanted to fly into the sky, it is necessary for everyone to know me, so that my life does not go on for me alone, so that they do not live so independently of my life, so that it is reflected on everyone and so that they all live with me!”

Natasha's dance

Natasha threw off the scarf that was draped over her, ran ahead of her uncle and, putting her hands on her hips, made a movement with her shoulders and stood.

Where, how, when did this Countess, raised by a French emigrant, suck into herself from that Russian air that she breathed, this spirit, where did she get these techniques that dancing with a shawl should have long ago supplanted? But the spirit and techniques were the same, inimitable, unstudied, Russian, which her uncle expected from her. As soon as she stood up, smiled solemnly, proudly and slyly and cheerfully, the first fear that gripped Nikolai and everyone present, the fear that she would do the wrong thing, passed, and they were already admiring her.

She did the same thing and did it so precisely, so completely accurately that Anisia Fedorovna, who immediately handed her the scarf necessary for her business, burst into tears through laughter, looking at this thin, graceful, so alien to her, well-bred countess in silk and velvet. , who knew how to understand everything that was in Anisya, and in Anisya’s father, and in her aunt, and in her mother, and in every Russian person.

PART ONE

XXIV - XXVI

XXXVI - XXXVII

In the face of death
“thoughts are the simplest, clearest and therefore terrible thoughts”

On this clear August evening on the 25th, Prince Andrei lay leaning on his arm in a broken barn in the village of Knyazkova, on the edge of his regiment’s location. Through the hole in the broken wall, he looked at a strip of thirty-year-old birch trees with their lower branches cut off running along the fence, at an arable land with stacks of oats broken on it, and at bushes through which the smoke of fires could be seen - soldiers' kitchens.

Regiment of Prince Andrei. Non-resistance.

Prince Andrei's regiment was in reserves, which until the second hour stood behind Semenovsky inactive, under heavy artillery fire. In the second hour, the regiment, which had already lost more than two hundred people, was moved forward to a trampled oat field, to that gap between Semenovsky and the Kurgan battery, where thousands of people were killed that day and to which intensely concentrated fire was directed in the second hour of the day from several hundred enemy guns.

Without leaving this place and without firing a single charge, the regiment lost another third of its people here . In front, and especially on the right side, in the lingering smoke, guns boomed and from a mysterious area of ​​smoke that covered the entire area ahead, cannonballs and slowly whistling grenades flew out, incessantly, with a hissing rapid whistle. Sometimes, as if giving rest, a quarter of an hour passed, during which all the cannonballs and grenades flew over, but sometimes within a minute several people were torn out of the regiment, and the dead were constantly dragged away and the wounded were carried away.

With each new blow, fewer and fewer chances of life remained for those who had not yet been killed . The regiment stood in battalion columns at a distance of three hundred paces, but despite this, all the people of the regiment were under the influence of the same mood. All the people of the regiment were equally silent and gloomy. Rarely was a conversation heard between the rows, but this conversation fell silent every time a blow was heard and a cry: “Stretcher!” Most of the time, the people of the regiment, by order of their superiors, sat on the ground. Some, having taken off their shako, carefully unraveled and reassembled the assemblies; who used dry clay, spreading it in his palms, and polished his bayonet; who kneaded the belt and tightened the buckle of the sling; who diligently straightened and folded the hems in a new way and changed his shoes. Some built houses from Kalmyk arable land or wove wickerwork from stubble straw. Everyone seemed quite immersed in these activities. When people were wounded and killed, when stretchers were being pulled, when ours were returning, when large masses of enemies were visible through the smoke, no one paid any attention to these circumstances. When the artillery and cavalry passed forward, the movements of our infantry were visible, approving remarks were heard from all sides. But the events that deserved the most attention were completely extraneous events that had nothing to do with the battle. It was as if the attention of these morally tormented people rested on these ordinary, everyday events. An artillery battery passed in front of the regiment's front. In one of the artillery boxes, the tie-down line came into place. “Hey, the harness!.. Straighten it up! It will fall... Eh, they can’t see it!..” - they shouted from the ranks in the same way throughout the entire regiment. Another time, everyone’s attention was drawn to a small brown dog with a firmly raised tail, which, God knows where it came from, ran out in front of the ranks at an anxious trot and suddenly squealed from a cannonball striking close and, with its tail between its legs, rushed to the side. Cackling and squeals were heard throughout the regiment. But this kind of entertainment lasted for minutes, and people had been standing for more than eight hours without food and without anything to do under the persistent horror of death, and their pale and frowning faces became increasingly pale and frowning.

Wound

Prince Andrei, just like all the people of the regiment, frowning and pale, walked back and forth across the meadow near the oat field from one boundary to another, with his hands behind him and his head down. There was nothing for him to do or order. Everything happened by itself. The dead were dragged behind the front, the wounded were carried, the ranks closed. If the soldiers ran away, they immediately returned hastily. At first, Prince Andrei, considering it his duty to arouse the courage of the soldiers and show them an example, walked along the ranks; but then he became convinced that he had nothing and nothing to teach them. All the strength of his soul, just like that of every soldier, was unconsciously directed towards refraining only from contemplating the horror of the situation in which they were. He walked through the meadow, dragging his feet, roughening the grass and watching the dust that covered his boots; either he walked with long strides, trying to fall into the tracks left by the mowers across the meadow, then he, counting his steps, made calculations how many times he must walk from boundary to boundary to make a mile,then he cheated wormwood flowers growing on the boundary, and I rubbed these flowers in my palms and sniffed the fragrant, bitter, strong smell. From all yesterday's work of thought there was nothing left. He didn't think about anything. He listened with tired ears to the same sounds, distinguishing the whistling of flights from the roar of shots, looked at the closer faces of the people of the 1st battalion and waited. “Here she is... this one is coming to us again!” he thought, listening to the approaching whistle of something from the closed area of ​​smoke. “One, another! More! Damn...” He stopped and looked at the rows. “No, it was transferred. But this was hit.” And he began to walk again, trying to take long steps in order to reach the boundary in sixteen steps.

Whistle and blow! Five steps away from him, the dry ground exploded and the cannonball disappeared. An involuntary chill ran down his spine. He looked again at the rows. A lot of people probably vomited; a large crowd gathered at the 2nd Battalion.

Mr. Adjutant,” he shouted, “order that there is no crowd.” - The adjutant, having carried out the order, approached Prince Andrei. From the other side, the battalion commander rode up on horseback.

Beware! - a frightened cry of a soldier was heard, and, like a bird whistling in fast flight, crouching on the ground, two steps from Prince Andrei, next to the battalion commander’s horse, a grenade quietly plopped down . The horse was the first, without asking whether it was good or bad to express fear, snorted, reared up, almost toppling the major, and galloped away to the side. The horror of the horse was communicated to people.

Get down! - shouted the voice of the adjutant, who lay down on the ground. Prince Andrei stood indecisive. The grenade, like a top, smoking, spun between him and the lying adjutant, on the edge of the arable land and meadow, near a wormwood bush.

"Is this really death? - thought Prince Andrey, looking with a completely new, envious gaze at the grass, at the wormwood and at the stream of smoke curling from the spinning black ball. “I can’t, I don’t want to die, I love life, I love this grass, earth, air...” He thought this and at the same time remembered that they were looking at him .

Shame on you, Mr. Officer! - he said to the adjutant. - What... - he didn’t finish. At the same time, an explosion was heard, the whistling of fragments as if of a broken frame, the stuffy smell of gunpowder - and Prince Andrei rushed to the side and, raising his hand up, fell on his chest.

Several officers ran up to the nome. On the right side of the abdomen there was a large stain of blood spreading across the grass.

The militia brought Prince Andrei to the forest where the trucks were parked and where there was a dressing station. The dressing station consisted of three tents spread out with folded floors on the edge of a birch forest. In the birch forest there were wagons and horses. Horses in the ridges ate oats , and sparrows; they flew to them and picked up the spilled grains. The crows, sensing blood, cawing impatiently, flew over the birch trees. Around the tents, with more than two acres of space, lay, sat, and stood bloodied people in various clothes. Around the wounded, with sad and attentive faces, stood crowds of soldier-bearers, who were vainly driven away from this place by the officers in charge of order. Without listening to the officers, the soldiers stood leaning on the stretcher and looked intently, as if trying to understand the difficult meaning of the spectacle, at what was happening in front of them. Loud, angry screams and pitiful groans were heard from the tents. Occasionally a paramedic would run out to fetch water and point out those who needed to be brought in. The wounded, waiting for their turn at the tent, wheezed, moaned, cried, screamed, cursed, and asked for vodka. Some were delirious. Prince Andrei, as a regimental commander, walking through the unbandaged wounded, was carried closer to one of the tents and stopped, awaiting orders. Prince Andrei opened his eyes and for a long time could not understand what was happening around him. The meadow, wormwood, arable land, the black spinning ball and his passionate outburst of love for life came back to him. Two steps away from him, speaking loudly and drawing everyone's attention to himself, stood, leaning on a branch and with his head tied, a tall, handsome, black-haired non-commissioned officer. He was wounded in the head and leg by bullets. A crowd of wounded and bearers gathered around him, eagerly listening to his speech.

We just fucked him up, he abandoned everything, they took the king himself! - the soldier shouted, his black, hot eyes shining and looking around him. - If only the Lezers had come that very time, there would be no title left, my brother, so I’m telling you the truth...

Prince Andrei, like everyone around the narrator, looked at him with a brilliant gaze and felt a comforting feeling. “But doesn’t it matter now,” he thought. “What will happen there and what was here? Why was I so sorry to part with my life? There was something in this life that I did not understand and do not understand."

XXXVII

One of the doctors, in a bloody apron and with bloody small hands, in one of which he held a cigar between his little finger and thumb (so as not to stain it), came out of the tent. This doctor raised his head and began to look around, but above the wounded. He obviously wanted to rest a little. After moving his head to the right and left for a while, he sighed and lowered his eyes.

Well, now,” he said in response to the words of the paramedic, who pointed him to Prince Andrei, and ordered him to be carried into the tent.

There was a murmur in the crowd of waiting wounded.

Apparently, the gentlemen will live alone in the next world,” said one.

Prince Andrei was carried in and placed on a newly cleaned table, from which the paramedic was rinsing something. Prince Andrei could not make out exactly what was in the tent. Piteous moans from different sides, excruciating pain in the thigh, stomach and back entertained him. Everything that he saw around him merged for him into one general impression of a naked, bloody human body, which seemed to fill the entire low tent, just as a few weeks ago on this hot August day the same body filled the dirty pond along the Smolensk road . Yes, it was that same body, that same chair à canon1, the sight of which even then, as if predicting what would happen now, aroused horror in him.

There were three tables in the tent. Two were occupied, and Prince Andrei was placed on the third. He was left alone for some time, and he involuntarily saw what was happening on the other two tables. On the nearby table sat a Tatar, probably a Cossack - judging by his uniform, thrown nearby. Four soldiers held him. The bespectacled doctor was cutting something into his brown, muscular back.

Uh, uh, uh!.. - it was as if the Tatar was grunting, and suddenly, raising his high-cheekbone, black, snub-nosed face, baring his white teeth, he began to tear, twitch and squeal with a piercing, ringing, drawn-out squeal. On another table, around which a lot of people were crowding, a large fat man with his head thrown back (curly hair, its color and shape of the head seemed strangely familiar to Prince Andrei). Several paramedics leaned on this man's chest and held him. The white, large, plump leg twitched quickly and frequently, without ceasing, with feverish tremors. This man was sobbing convulsively and choking. Two doctors silently - one was pale and trembling - were doing something on the other, red leg of this man.

Prince Andrei remembered his very first distant childhood, when the paramedic, with his hasty, rolled-up hands, unbuttoned his buttons and took off his dress. The doctor bent low over the wound, felt it and sighed heavily. Then he made a sign to someone. And the excruciating pain inside the abdomen made Prince Andrei lose consciousness. When he woke up, the broken thigh bones had been removed, chunks of flesh had been cut off, and the wound had been bandaged. They threw water in his face. As soon as Prince Andrei opened his eyes, the doctor bent over him, silently kissed him on the lips and hurriedly walked away.

After suffering

After suffering, Prince Andrei felt a bliss that he had not experienced for a long time. All the best happiest moments in his life, especially the most distant childhood, when he was undressed and put in his crib, when the nanny, rocking him to sleep, sang over him, when, burying his head in the pillows, he felt happy with the mere consciousness of life - seemed to his imagination not even like the past , but as reality.

Doctors were fussing around the wounded man, the outline of whose head seemed familiar to Prince Andrei; they lifted him up and calmed him down.

Show me... Ooooh! O! oooooh! - one could hear his groan, interrupted by sobs, frightened and resigned to suffering. Listening to these moans, Prince Andrei wanted to cry. Was it because he was dying without glory, was it because he was sorry to part with his life, was it because of these irretrievable childhood memories, was it because he suffered, that others suffered, and this man moaned so pitifully in front of him, but he wanted to cry childish, kind, almost joyful tears.

The wounded man was shown a severed leg in a boot with dried blood.

ABOUT! Ooooh! - he sobbed like a woman. The doctor, standing in front of the wounded man, blocking his face, moved away.

In the unfortunate, sobbing, exhausted man, whose leg had just been taken away, he recognized Anatoly Kuragin. They held Anatole in their arms and offered him water in a glass, the edge of which he could not catch with his trembling, swollen lips. Anatole was sobbing heavily. " Yes, that's him; “Yes, this man is somehow closely and deeply connected with me,” thought Prince Andrei, not yet clearly understanding what was in front of him. “What is this person’s connection with my childhood, with my life?” he asked himself, not finding an answer. And suddenly a new, unexpected memory from the world of childhood, pure and loving, presented itself to Prince Andrei. He remembered Natasha as he saw her for the first time at the ball in 1810, with a thin neck and slender hands, with a frightened, happy face ready for delight, and love and tenderness for her, even more vivid and stronger than ever , woke up in his soul. He now remembered the connection that existed between him and this man, who, through the tears that filled his swollen eyes, looked dully at him. Prince Andrei remembered everything, and enthusiastic pity and love for this man filled his happy heart.

Prince Andrei could no longer hold on and began to cry tender, loving tears over people, over himself and over them and his delusions.

“Compassion, love for brothers, for those who love, love for those who hate us, love for enemies - yes, that love that God preached on earth, which Princess Marya taught me and which I did not understand; that’s why I felt sorry for life,this is what was still left for me if I were alive. But now it's too late. I know it!"

Yes, very interesting,” said Pierre.

Half an hour later, Kutuzov left for Tatarinova, and Bennigsen and his retinue, including Pierre, went along the line.

Bennigsen went down from Gorki high road to the bridge, which the officer from the mound pointed out to Pierre as the center of the position and on the bank of which lay rows of mown grass that smelled of hay. They drove across the bridge to the village of Borodino, from there they turned left and past huge amount troops and cannons drove out to a high mound on which the militia was digging. It was a redoubt that did not yet have a name, but later received the name Raevsky redoubt, or barrow battery.

Pierre did not pay much attention to this redoubt. He did not know that this place would be more memorable for him than all the places in the Borodino field. Then they drove through the ravine to Semenovsky, in which the soldiers were taking away the last logs of the huts and barns. Then, downhill and uphill, they drove forward through broken rye, knocked out like hail, along a road newly laid by artillery along the ridges of arable land to the flushes [a type of fortification. (Note by L.N. Tolstoy.)], also still being dug at that time.

Bennigsen stopped at the flushes and began to look ahead at the Shevardinsky redoubt (which was ours only yesterday), on which several horsemen could be seen. The officers said that Napoleon or Murat was there. And everyone looked greedily at this bunch of horsemen. Pierre also looked there, trying to guess which of these barely visible people was Napoleon. Finally, the riders rode off the mound and disappeared.

Bennigsen turned to the general who approached him and began to explain the entire position of our troops. Pierre listened to Bennigsen's words, straining all his mental strength to understand the essence of the upcoming battle, but he felt with disappointment that his mental abilities were insufficient for this. He didn't understand anything. Bennigsen stopped talking, and noticing the figure of Pierre, who was listening, he suddenly said, turning to him:

I don't think you're interested?

“Oh, on the contrary, it’s very interesting,” Pierre repeated, not entirely truthfully.

From the flush they drove even further to the left along a road winding through a dense, low birch forest. In the middle of it

forest, a brown hare with white legs jumped out onto the road in front of them and, frightened by the clatter of a large number of horses, he was so confused that he jumped along the road in front of them for a long time, arousing everyone’s attention and laughter, and only when several voices shouted at him, he rushed to the side and disappeared into the thicket. After driving about two miles through the forest, they came to a clearing where the troops of Tuchkov’s corps, which was supposed to protect the left flank, were stationed.

Here, on the extreme left flank, Bennigsen spoke a lot and passionately and made, as it seemed to Pierre, an important military order. There was a hill in front of Tuchkov’s troops. This hill was not occupied by troops. Bennigsen loudly criticized this mistake, saying that it was crazy to leave the height commanding the area unoccupied and place troops under it. Some generals expressed the same opinion. One in particular spoke with military fervor about the fact that they were put here for slaughter. Bennigsen ordered in his name to move the troops to the heights.

This order on the left flank made Pierre even more doubtful of his ability to understand military affairs. Listening to Bennigsen and the generals condemning the position of the troops under the mountain, Pierre fully understood them and shared their opinion; but precisely because of this, he could not understand how the one who placed them here under the mountain could make such an obvious and gross mistake.

Pierre did not know that these troops were not placed to defend the position, as Bennigsen thought, but were placed in a hidden place for an ambush, that is, in order to be unnoticed and suddenly attack the advancing enemy. Bennigsen did not know this and moved the troops forward for special reasons without telling the commander-in-chief about it.

On this clear August evening on the 25th, Prince Andrei lay leaning on his arm in a broken barn in the village of Knyazkova, on the edge of his regiment’s location. Through the hole in the broken wall, he looked at a strip of thirty-year-old birch trees with their lower branches cut off running along the fence, at an arable land with stacks of oats broken on it, and at bushes through which the smoke of fires could be seen - soldiers' kitchens.

No matter how cramped and no one needed and no matter how difficult his life now seemed to Prince Andrei, he, just like seven years ago at Austerlitz on the eve of the battle, felt agitated and irritated.

Orders for tomorrow's battle were given and received by him. There was nothing else he could do. But the simplest, clearest thoughts and therefore terrible thoughts did not leave him alone. He knew that tomorrow's battle was going to be the most terrible of all those in which he participated, and the possibility of death for the first time in his life, without any regard to everyday life, without consideration of how it would affect others, but only according to in relation to himself, to his soul, with vividness, almost with certainty, simply and horribly, it presented itself to him. And from the height of this idea, everything that had previously tormented and occupied him was suddenly illuminated by a cold white light, without shadows, without perspective, without distinction of outlines. His whole life seemed to him like a magic lantern, into which he looked for a long time through glass and under artificial lighting. Now he suddenly saw, without glass, in bright daylight, these poorly painted pictures. “Yes, yes, these are the false images that worried and delighted and tormented me,” he said to himself, turning over in his imagination the main pictures of his magic lantern of life, now looking at them in this cold white light of day - a clear thought of death. “Here they are, these crudely painted figures that seemed like something beautiful and mysterious. Glory, public good, love for a woman, the fatherland itself - how great these pictures seemed to me, what deep meaning they seemed filled with! And all this is so simple, pale and rough in the cold white light of that morning, which I feel is rising for me. Three major sorrows of his life in particular occupied his attention. His love for a woman, the death of his father and the French invasion that captured half of Russia. “Love!.. This girl, who seemed to me full of mysterious powers. How I loved her! I made poetic plans about love, about happiness with it. Oh dear boy! - he said out loud angrily. - Of course! I believed in some kind of ideal love, which was supposed to keep her faithful to me during the whole year of my absence! Like the tender dove of a fable, she was to wither away in separation from me. And all this is much simpler... All this is terribly simple, disgusting!

My father also built in Bald Mountains and thought that this was his place, his land, his air, his men; but Napoleon came and, not knowing about his existence, pushed him off the road like a piece of wood, and his Bald Mountains and his whole life fell apart. And Princess Marya says that this is a test sent from above. What is the purpose of the test when it no longer exists and will not exist? will never happen again! He's gone! So who is this test for? Fatherland, death of Moscow! And tomorrow he will kill me - and not even a Frenchman, but one of his own, as yesterday a soldier emptied a gun near my ear, and the French will come, take me by the legs and head and throw me into a hole so that I don’t stink under their noses, and new conditions will arise lives that will also be familiar to others, and I will not know about them, and I will not exist.”

He looked at the strip of birch trees with their motionless yellow, green and white bark, glistening in the sun. “To die, so that they would kill me tomorrow, so that I wouldn’t exist... so that all this would happen, but I wouldn’t exist.” He vividly imagined the absence of himself in this life. And these birches with their light and shadow, and these curly clouds, and this smoke from the fires - everything around was transformed for him and seemed something terrible and threatening. A chill ran down his spine. Quickly getting up, he left the barn and began to walk.

Who's there? - Prince Andrey called out.

The red-nosed captain Timokhin, the former company commander of Dolokhov, now, due to the decline of officers, a battalion commander, timidly entered the barn. He was followed by the adjutant and the regimental treasurer.

Prince Andrei hastily stood up, listened to what the officers had to convey to him, gave them some more orders and was about to let them go, when a familiar, whispering voice was heard from behind the barn.

Prince Andrei, looking out of the barn, saw Pierre approaching him, who tripped on a lying pole and almost fell. It was generally unpleasant for Prince Andrei to see people from his world, especially Pierre, who reminded him of all those difficult moments that he experienced on his last visit to Moscow.

That's how! - he said. - What destinies? I didn't wait.

While he was saying this, in his eyes and the expression of his whole face there was more than dryness - there was hostility, which Pierre immediately noticed. He approached the barn in the most animated state of mind, but when he saw the expression on Prince Andrei’s face, he felt constrained and awkward.

“I arrived... so... you know... I arrived... I’m interested,” said Pierre, who had already senselessly repeated this word “interesting” so many times that day. - I wanted to see the battle.

Yes, yes, what do the Masonic brothers say about the war? How to prevent it? - said Prince Andrei mockingly. - Well, what about Moscow? What are mine? Have you finally arrived in Moscow? - he asked seriously.

We've arrived. Julie Drubetskaya told me. I went to see them and didn’t find them. They left for the Moscow region.

The officers wanted to take their leave, but Prince Andrei, as if not wanting to remain face to face with his friend, invited them to sit and drink tea. Benches and tea were served. The officers, not without surprise, looked at the thick, huge figure of Pierre and listened to his stories about Moscow and the disposition of our troops, which he managed to travel around. Prince Andrei was silent, and his face was so unpleasant that Pierre addressed himself more to the good-natured battalion commander Timokhin than to Bolkonsky.

So did you understand the entire disposition of the troops? - Prince Andrei interrupted him.

Yes, that is, how? - said Pierre. - As a non-military person, I cannot say that I completely, but still understood the general arrangement.

Eh bien, vous etes plus avance que qui cela soit, [Well, you know more than anyone else. ] - said Prince Andrei.

A! - Pierre said in bewilderment, looking through his glasses at Prince Andrei. - Well, what do you say about the appointment of Kutuzov? - he said.

“I was very happy about this appointment, that’s all I know,” said Prince Andrei.

Well, tell me, what is your opinion about Barclay de Tolly? In Moscow, God knows what they said about him. How do you judge him?

“Ask them,” said Prince Andrei, pointing to the officers.

Pierre looked at him with a condescendingly questioning smile, with which everyone involuntarily turned to Timokhin.

They saw the light, your Excellency, as your Serene Highness did,” Timokhin said, timidly and constantly looking back at his regimental commander.