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orn； down hill by a drift of snow still lying near the bridge； up hill along a clay road hollowed out by the rain； by strips of stubble…field； with copse turning green here and there； and drove at last into a birch forest that lay on both sides of the road。 In the forest it was almost hot； the wind could not be felt。 The birches； all studded with sticky； green leaves； did not stir； and lilac…coloured flowers and the first grass lifted the last year’s leaves and peeped out green from under them。 Tiny fir…trees； dotted here and there among the birches； brought a jarring reminder of winter with their coarse； unchanging green。 The horses neighed as they entered the forest and were visibly heated。
Pyotr the footman said something to the coachman； the coachman assented。 But apparently the coachman’s sympathy was not enough for Pyotr。 He turned round on the box to his master。
“Your excellency； how soft it is！” he said； smiling respectfully。
“Eh？”
“It is soft； your excellency。”
“What does he mean？” wondered Prince Andrey。 “Oh； the weather； most likely；” he thought； looking from side to side。 “And； indeed； everything’s green already…how soon！ And the birch and the wild cherry and the alder beginning to come out。…But I haven’t noticed the oak。 Yes； here he is； the oak！”
At the edge of the wood stood an oak。 Probably ten times the age of the birch…trees that formed the bulk of the forest； it was ten times the thickness and twice the height of any birch…tree。 It was a huge oak； double a man’s span； with branches broken off； long ago it seemed； and with bark torn off； and seared with old scars。 With its huge； uncouth； gnarled arms and fingers sprawling unsymmetrically； it stood an aged； angry； and scornful monster among the smiling birches。 Only the few dead…looking； evergreen firs dotted about the forest； and this oak； refused to yield to the spell of spring； and would see neither spring nor sunshine。
“Spring and love and happiness！” that oak seemed to say。 “Are you not sick of that ever…same； stupid； and meaningless cheat？ Always the same； and always a cheat！ There is no spring； nor sunshine； nor happiness。 See yonder stand the cramped； dead fir…trees； ever the same； and here I have flung my torn and broken fingers wherever they have grown out of my back or my sides。 As they have grown； so I stand； and I put no faith in your hopes and deceptions。”
Prince Andrey looked round several times at that oak as though he expected something from it。 There were flowers and grass under the oak too； but still it stood； scowling； rigid； weird and grim； among them。
“Yes； he’s right； a thousand times right； the old oak；” thought Prince Andrey。 “Others； young creatures； may be caught anew by that deception； but we know life—our life is over！” A whole fresh train of ideas； hopeless； but mournfully sweet； stirred up in Prince Andrey’s soul in connection with that oak。 During this journey he thought over his whole life as it were anew； and came to the same hopeless but calming conclusion； that it was not for him to begin anything fresh； that he must live his life； content to do no harm； dreading nothing and desiring nothing。
Chapter 2
PRINCE ANDREY’S DUTIES as trustee of his son’s Ryazan estates necessitated an interview with the marshal of the district。 This marshal was Count Ilya Andreivitch Rostov； and in the middle of May Prince Andrey went to see him。
It was by now the hot period of spring。 The forest was already in full leaf。 It was dusty； and so hot that at the sight of water one longed to bathe。
Prince Andrey drove along the avenue leading to the Rostovs’ house at Otradnoe； depressed and absorbed in considering what questions he must ask the marshal about his business。 Behind some trees on the right he heard merry girlish cries； and caught sight of a party of girls running across the avenue along which his coach was driving。 In front of all the rest there ran towards the coach a black…haired； very slender； strangely slender； black…eyed girl in a yellow cotton gown。 On her head was a white pocket…handkerchief； from under which strayed locks of her loose hair。 The girl was shouting something； but perceiving a stranger； she ran back laughing； without glancing at him。
Prince Andrey for some reason felt a sudden pang。 The day was so lovely； the sun so bright； everything around him so gay； and that slim and pretty girl knew nothing of his existence； and cared to know nothing； and was content and happy in her own life—foolish doubtless—but gay and happy and remote from him。 What was she so glad about？ What was she thinking of？ Not of army regulations； not of the organisation of the Ryazan rent…paying peasants。 “What is she thinking about； and why is she so happy？” Prince Andrey could not help wondering with interest。
Count Ilya Andreivitch was living in the year 1809 at Otradnoe； exactly as he had always done in previous years； that is to say； entertaining almost the whole province with hunts； theatricals； dinner parties and concerts。 He was delighted to see Prince Andrey； as he always was to see any new guest； and quite forced him to stay the night。
Prince Andrey spent a tedious day； entertained by his elderly host and hostess and the more honoured among the guests； of whom the count’s house was full in honour of an approaching name…day。 Several times in the course of it； Bolkonsky glanced at Natasha； continually laughing and full of gaiety among the younger members of the company； and asked himself each time； “What is she thinking of？ What is she so glad about？”
In the evening； alone in a new place； he was for a long while unable to sleep。 He read for a time； then put out his candle； and afterwards lighted it again。 It was hot in the bedroom with the shutters closed on the inside。 He felt irritated with this foolish old gentleman （so he mentally called Count Rostov） who had detained him； declaring that the necessary deeds had not yet come from the town； and he was vexed with himself for staying。
Prince Andrey got up and went to the window to open it。 As soon as he opened the shutter； the moonlight broke into the room as though it had been waiting a long while outside on the watch for this chance。 He opened the window。 The night was fresh and bright and still。 Just in front of the window stood a row of pollard…trees； black on one side； silvery bright on the other。 Under the trees were rank； moist； bushy； growing plants of some kind； with leaves and stems touched here and there with silver。 Further away； beyond the black trees； was the roof of something glistening with dew； to the right was a great； leafy tree； with its trunk and branches brilliantly white； and above it the moon； almost full； in a clear； almost starless； spring sky。 Prince Andrey leaned his elbow on the window； and his eyes rested on that sky。
His room was on the second story； there were people in the room over his head； and awake too。 He heard girls’ chatter overhead。
“Only this once more；” said a girlish voice； which Prince Andrey recognised at once。
“But when are you coming to bed？” answered another voice。
“I’m not coming！ I can’t sleep； what’s the use？ Come； for the last time。…”
Two feminine voices sang a musical