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“He is here now； tell him … to for … to forgive me。” She stopped short and breathed even more quickly； but she did not weep。
“Yes … I will tell him；” said Pierre； “but …” He did not know what to say。
Natasha was evidently dismayed at the idea that might have occurred to Pierre。
“No； I know that everything is over；” she said hurriedly。 “No； that can never be。 I’m only wretched at the wrong I have done him。 Only tell him that I beg him to forgive； to forgive； forgive me for everything …” Her whole body was heaving； she sat down on a chair。
A feeling of pity he had never known before flooded Pierre’s heart。
“I will tell him； I will tell him everything once more；” said Pierre； “but … I should like to know one thing…”
“To know what？” Natasha’s eyes asked。
“I should like to know； did you love …” Pierre did not know what to call Anatole； and flushed at the thought of him—“did you love that bad man？”
“Don’t call him bad；” said Natasha。 “But I don’t … know； I don’t know …” She began crying again； and Pierre was more than ever overwhelmed with pity； tenderness； and love。 He felt the tears trickling under his spectacles； and hoped they would not be noticed。
“We won’t talk any more of it； my dear；” he said。 It seemed suddenly so strange to Natasha to hear the gentle； tender； sympathetic voice in which he spoke。 “We won’t talk of it； my dear； I’ll tell him everything。 But one thing I beg you； look on me as your friend； and if you want help； advice； or simply want to open your heart to some one—not now； but when things are clearer in your heart—think of me。” He took her hand and kissed it。 “I shall be happy； if I am able …” Pierre was confused。
“Don’t speak to me like that； I’m not worth it！” cried Natasha； and she would have left the room； but Pierre held her hand。 He knew there was something more he must say to her。 But when he said it； he was surprised at his own words。
“Hush； hush； your whole life lies before you；” he said to her。
“Before me！ No！ All is over for me；” she said； with shame and self…humiliation。
“All over？” he repeated。 “If I were not myself； but the handsomest； cleverest； best man in the world； and if I were free I would be on my knees this minute to beg for your hand and your love。”
For the first time for many days Natasha wept with tears of gratitude and softened feeling； and glancing at Pierre； she went out of the room。
Pierre followed her； almost running into the vestibule； and restraining the tears of tenderness and happiness that made a lump in his throat。 He flung on his fur coat； unable to find the armholes； and got into his sledge。
“Now where； your excellency？” asked the coachman。
“Where？” Pierre asked himself。 “Where can I go now？ Not to the club or to pay calls。” All men seemed to him so pitiful； so poor in comparison with the feeling of tenderness and love in his heart； in comparison with that softened； grateful glance she had turned upon him that last minute through her tears。
“Home；” said Pierre； throwing open the bearskin coat over his broad； joyously breathing chest in spite of ten degrees of frost。
It was clear and frosty。 Over the dirty； half…dark streets； over the black roofs was a dark； starlit sky。 It was only looking at the sky that Pierre forgot the mortifying meanness of all things earthly in comparison with the height his soul had risen to。 As he drove into Arbatsky Square； the immense expanse of dark； starlit sky lay open before Pierre’s eyes。 Almost in the centre of it above the Prechistensky Boulevard； surrounded on all sides by stars； but distinguished from all by its nearness to the earth； its white light and long； upturned tail； shone the huge； brilliant comet of 1812； the comet which betokened； it was said； all manner of horrors and the end of the world。 But in Pierre’s heart that bright comet； with its long； luminous tail； aroused no feeling of dread。 On the contrary； his eyes wet with tears； Pierre looked joyously at this bright comet； which seemed as though after flying with inconceivable swiftness through infinite space in a parabola； it had suddenly； like an arrow piercing the earth； stuck fast at one chosen spot in the black sky； and stayed there； vigorously tossing up its tail； shining and playing with its white light among the countless other twinkling stars。 It seemed to Pierre that it was in full harmony with what was in his softened and emboldened heart； that had gained vigour to blossom into a new life。
Part Nine
Chapter 1
TOWARDS THE END of the year 1811； there began to be greater activity in levying troops and in concentrating the forces of Western Europe； and in 1812 these forces—millions of men； reckoning those engaged in the transport and feeding of the army— moved from the west eastward； towards the frontiers of Russia； where； since 1811； the Russian forces were being in like manner concentrated。
On the 12th of June the forces of Western Europe crossed the frontier； and the war began； that is； an event took place opposed to human reason and all human nature。 Millions of men perpetrated against one another so great a mass of crime—fraud； swindling； robbery； forgery； issue of counterfeit money； plunder； incendiarism； and murder—that the annals of all the criminal courts of the world could not muster such a sum of wickedness in whole centuries； though the men who committed those deeds did not at that time look on them as crimes。
What led to this extraordinary event？ What were its causes？ Historians； with simple…hearted conviction； tell us that the causes of this event were the insult offered to the Duke of Oldenburg； the failure to maintain the continental system； the ambition of Napoleon； the firmness of Alexander； the mistakes of the diplomatists； and so on。
According to them； if only Metternich； Rumyantsev； or Talleyrand had； in the interval between a levée and a court ball； really taken pains and written a more judicious diplomatic note； or if only Napoleon had written to Alexander； “I consent to restore the duchy to the Duke of Oldenburg；” there would have been no war。
We can readily understand that being the conception of the war that presented itself to contemporaries。 We can understand Napoleon’s supposing the cause of the war to be the intrigues of England （as he said； indeed； in St。 Helena）； we can understand how to the members of the English House of Commons the cause of the war seemed to be Napoleon’s ambition； how to the Duke of Oldenburg the war seemed due to the outrage done him； how to the trading class the war seemed due to the continental system that was ruining Europe； to the old soldiers and generals the chief reason for it seemed their need of active service； to the regiments of the period； the necessity of re…establishing les bons principes； while the diplomatists of the time set it down to the alliance of Russia with Austria in 1809 not having been with sufficient care concealed from Napoleon； and the memorandum； No。 178； having been awkwardly worded。 We may well understand contemporaries believing in those causes； and in a countless； endless number more； the multiplicity of which is due to the infinite variety of men’s points of view。 But to u