And by chance an escape from this dangerous position presents itself in the form of an aimless and senseless expedition to Africa.


Again so-called chance accompanies him.


Impregnable Malta surrenders without a shot; his most reckless schemes are crowned with success.


The enemy’s fleet, which subsequently did not let a single boat pass, allows his entire army to elude it.


In Africa a whole series of outrages are committed against the almost unarmed inhabitants.


And the men who commit these crimes, especially their leader, assure themselves that this is admirable, this is glory—it resembles Caesar and Alexander the Great and is therefore good.


This ideal of glory and grandeur—which consists not merely in considering nothing wrong that one does but in priding oneself on every crime one commits, ascribing to it an incomprehensible supernatural significance—that ideal, destined to guide this man and his associates, had scope for its development in Africa.


Whatever he does succeeds.


The plague does not touch him.


The cruelty of murdering prisoners is not imputed to him as a fault.


His childishly rash, uncalled-for, and ignoble departure from Africa, leaving his comrades in distress, is set down to his credit, and again the enemy’s fleet twice lets him slip past.


When, intoxicated by the crimes he has committed so successfully, he reaches Paris, the dissolution of the republican government, which a year earlier might have ruined him, has reached its extreme limit, and his presence there now as a newcomer free from party entanglements can only serve to exalt him—and though he himself has no plan, he is quite ready for his new rôle.


He had no plan, he was afraid of everything, but the parties snatched at him and demanded his participation.


He alone—with his ideal of glory and grandeur developed in Italy and Egypt, his insane self-adulation, his boldness in crime and frankness in lying—he alone could justify what had to be done.


He is needed for the place that awaits him, and so almost apart from his will and despite his indecision, his lack of a plan, and all his mistakes, he is drawn into a conspiracy that aims at seizing power and the conspiracy is crowned with success.


He is pushed into a meeting of the legislature.


In alarm he wishes to flee, considering himself lost.


He pretends to fall into a swoon and says senseless things that should have ruined him.


But the once proud and shrewd rulers of France, feeling that their part is played out, are even more bewildered than he, and do not say the words they should have said to destroy him and retain their power.


Chance, millions of chances, give him power, and all men as if by agreement co-operate to confirm that power.


Chance forms the characters of the rulers of France, who submit to him; chance forms the character of Paul I of Russia who recognizes his government; chance contrives a plot against him which not only fails to harm him but confirms his power.


Chance puts the Duc d’Enghien in his hands and unexpectedly causes him to kill him—thereby convincing the mob more forcibly than in any other way that he had the right, since he had the might.


Chance contrives that though he directs all his efforts to prepare an expedition against England (which would inevitably have ruined him) he never carries out that intention, but unexpectedly falls upon Mack and the Austrians, who surrender without a battle.


Chance and genius give him the victory at Austerlitz; and by chance all men, not only the French but all Europe—except England which does not take part in the events about to happen—despite their former horror and detestation of his crimes, now recognize his authority, the title he has given himself, and his ideal of grandeur and glory, which seems excellent and reasonable to them all.


As if measuring themselves and preparing for the coming movement, the western forces push toward the east several times in 1805, 1806, 1807, and 1809, gaining strength and growing.


In 1811 the group of people that had formed in France unites into one group with the peoples of Central Europe.


The strength of the justification of the man who stands at the head of the movement grows with the increased size of the group.


During the ten-year preparatory period this man had formed relations with all the crowned heads of Europe.


The discredited rulers of the world can oppose no reasonable ideal to the insensate Napoleonic ideal of glory and grandeur.


One after another they hasten to display their insignificance before him.


The King of Prussia sends his wife to seek the great man’s mercy; the Emperor of Austria considers it a favor that this man receives a daughter of the Caesars into his bed; the Pope, the guardian of all that the nations hold sacred, utilizes religion for the aggrandizement of the great man.


It is not Napoleon who prepares himself for the accomplishment of his role, so much as all those round him who prepare him to take on himself the whole responsibility for what is happening and has to happen.


There is no step, no crime or petty fraud he commits, which in the mouths of those around him is not at once represented as a great deed.


The most suitable fête the Germans can devise for him is a celebration of Jena and Auerstädt.


Not only is he great, but so are his ancestors, his brothers, his stepsons, and his brothers-in-law.


Everything is done to deprive him of the remains of his reason and to prepare him for his terrible part.


And when he is ready so too are the forces.


The invasion pushes eastward and reaches its final goal—Moscow.


That city is taken; the Russian army suffers heavier losses than the opposing armies had suffered in the former war from Austerlitz to Wagram.


But suddenly instead of those chances and that genius which hitherto had so consistently led him by an uninterrupted series of successes to the predestined goal, an innumerable sequence of inverse chances occur—from the cold in his head at Borodinó to the sparks which set Moscow on fire, and the frosts—and instead of genius, stupidity and immeasurable baseness become evident.


The invaders flee, turn back, flee again, and all the chances are now not for Napoleon but always against him.


A countermovement is then accomplished from east to west with a remarkable resemblance to the preceding movement from west to east.


Attempted drives from east to west—similar to the contrary movements of 1805, 1807, and 1809—precede the great westward movement; there is the same coalescence into a group of enormous dimensions; the same adhesion of the people of Central Europe to the movement; the same hesitation midway, and the same increasing rapidity as the goal is approached.


Paris, the ultimate goal, is reached.


The Napoleonic government and army are destroyed.


Napoleon himself is no longer of any account; all his actions are evidently pitiful and mean, but again an inexplicable chance occurs.


The allies detest Napoleon whom they regard as the cause of their sufferings.


Deprived of power and authority, his crimes and his craft exposed, he should have appeared to them what he appeared ten years previously and one year later—an outlawed brigand.


But by some strange chance no one perceives this.


His part is not yet ended.


The man who ten years before and a year later was considered an outlawed brigand is sent to an island two days’ sail from France, which for some reason is presented to him as his dominion, and guards are given to him and millions of money are paid him.


The flood of nations begins to subside into its normal channels.


The waves of the great movement abate, and on the calm surface eddies are formed in which float the diplomatists, who imagine that they have caused the floods to abate.


See what you believed in! This is he! Do you now see that it was not he but I who moved you?


Not unto us, not unto us, but unto Thy Name!... I too am a man like the rest of you. Let me live like a man and think of my soul and of God.


Well, whatever he may have been he was a most worthy man. You don’t meet such men nowadays.... And which of us has not weaknesses of his own?


I never expected anything else of him,


Why does she come prowling here? What does she want? I can’t bear these ladies and all these civilities!


Oh, Nicholas, how can you talk like that? She is so kind and Mamma is so fond of her!


She is a very admirable and excellent young woman, and you must go and call on her. You would at least be seeing somebody, and I think it must be dull for you only seeing us.


But I don’t in the least want to, Mamma.


You used to want to, and now you don’t. Really I don’t understand you, my dear. One day you are dull, and the next you refuse to see anyone.


But I never said I was dull.


Why, you said yourself you don’t want even to see her. She is a very admirable young woman and you always liked her, but now suddenly you have got some notion or other in your head. You hide everything from me.


Not at all, Mamma.


If I were asking you to do something disagreeable now—but I only ask you to return a call. One would think mere politeness required it.... Well, I have asked you, and now I won’t interfere any more since you have secrets from your mother.


Well, then, I’ll go if you wish it.


It doesn’t matter to me. I only wish it for your sake.


I expected nothing else. I have nothing to do with him and I only wanted to see the old lady, who was always kind to me and to whom I am under many obligations.


Good-by, Princess!


Oh, I beg your pardon. Are you going already, Count? Well then, good-by! Oh, but the cushion for the countess!


Wait a moment, I’ll fetch it,


Yes, Princess, it doesn’t seem long ago since we first met at Boguchárovo, but how much water has flowed since then! In what distress we all seemed to be then, yet I would give much to bring back that time... but there’s no bringing it back.


Yes, yes, but you have no reason to regret the past, Count. As I understand your present life, I think you will always recall it with satisfaction, because the self-sacrifice that fills it now...


I cannot accept your praise. On the contrary I continually reproach myself.... But this is not at all an interesting or cheerful subject.


I thought you would allow me to tell you this. I had come so near to you... and to all your family that I thought you would not consider my sympathy misplaced, but I was mistaken. I don’t know why, but you used to be different, and...


There are a thousand reasons why. Thank you, Princess. Sometimes it is hard.


So that’s why! That’s why! No, it was not only that gay, kind, and frank look, not only that handsome exterior, that I loved in him. I divined his noble, resolute, self-sacrificing spirit too. Yes, he is poor now and I am rich.... Yes, that’s the only reason.... Yes, were it not for that... But why, Count, why? Why? Tell me. You must tell me! I don’t understand your why, Count, but it’s hard for me... I confess it. For some reason you wish to deprive me of our former friendship. And that hurts me. I have had so little happiness in life that every loss is hard for me to bear.... Excuse me, good-by!


Princess, for God’s sake! Princess!


What can one do with our Russian peasants?


Well, one more day and my grain and the peasants’ will all be under cover.


Not in the least; it never entered my head and I wouldn’t do that for their good! That’s all poetry and old wives’ talk—all that doing good to one’s neighbor! What I want is that our children should not have to go begging. I must put our affairs in order while I am alive, that’s all. And to do that, order and strictness are essential.... That’s all about it! And fairness, of course, for if the peasant is naked and hungry and has only one miserable horse, he can do no good either for himself or for me.


He was a master... the peasants’ affairs first and then his own. Of course he was not to be trifled with either—in a word, he was a real master!


Such an insolent scoundrel! If he had told me he was drunk and did not see... But what is the matter with you, Mary? Why, whatever is the matter, my dearest?


Nicholas, I saw it... he was to blame, but why do you... Nicholas!


Mary, it will never happen again; I give you my word. Never,


Nicholas, when did you break your cameo?


Today—it was the same affair. Oh, Mary, don’t remind me of it! I give you my word of honor it shan’t occur again, and let this always be a reminder to me. Mary, you must despise me! I deserve it.


You should go, go away at once, if you don’t feel strong enough to control yourself,


You know, you have read the Gospels a great deal—there is a passage in them that just fits Sónya.


What?


'To him that hath shall be given, and from him that hath not shall be taken away.’ You remember? She is one that hath not; why, I don’t know. Perhaps she lacks egotism, I don’t know, but from her is taken away, and everything has been taken away. Sometimes I am dreadfully sorry for her. Formerly I very much wanted Nicholas to marry her, but I always had a sort of presentiment that it would not come off. She is a sterile flower, you know—like some strawberry blossoms. Sometimes I am sorry for her, and sometimes I think she doesn’t feel it as you or I would.


Then I’m not mistaken. Why is he cross with me?


You always have such strange fancies! I didn’t even think of being angry,


Well, messieurs et mesdames. I have been on my feet since six this morning. Tomorrow I shall have to suffer, so today I’ll go and rest.


That’s always the way. He talks to everyone except me. I see... I see that I am repulsive to him, especially when I am in this condition.


Perhaps he is not asleep; I’ll have an explanation with him,


Mary, dear, I think he is asleep—he was so tired. Andrew may wake him.


I can’t get a moment’s peace.... Mary, is that you? Why did you bring him here?


I only came in to look and did not notice... forgive me....


Natásha, Natásha! Papa wants to sleep.


No, Mamma, he doesn’t want to sleep. He’s laughing.


Come in, Mary,


I did not notice him following me. I just looked in.


May I kiss Mamma?


Again!


I don’t know why you think I am cross,


You have no idea how unhappy, how lonely, I feel when you are like that. It always seems to me...


Mary, don’t talk nonsense. You ought to be ashamed of yourself!


It seems to be that you can’t love me, that I am so plain... always... and now... in this cond...


Oh, how absurd you are! It is not beauty that endears, it’s love that makes us see beauty. It is only Malvínas and women of that kind who are loved for their beauty. But do I love my wife? I don’t love her, but... I don’t know how to put it. Without you, or when something comes between us like this, I seem lost and can’t do anything. Now do I love my finger? I don’t love it, but just try to cut it off!


I’m not like that myself, but I understand. So you’re not angry with me?


Awfully angry! Do you know, Mary, what I’ve been thinking?


You can see the woman in her already. You reproach us women with being illogical. Here is our logic. I say: ‘Papa wants to sleep!’ but she says, ‘No, he’s laughing.’ And she was right,


Yes, yes.


But you know you may be unfair. You are too fond of this one,


Yes, but what am I to do?... I try not to show...


Somebody has come. I am sure it is Pierre. I will go and see. It is he, it is he, Nicholas! Now our Natásha has come to life. You should have seen her ecstasy, and how he caught it for having stayed away so long. Well, come along now, quick, quick! It’s time you two were parted. I should never, never have believed that one could be so happy,


Only she lets her love of her husband and children overflow all bounds, so that it even becomes absurd.


It’s all nonsense, all rubbish—those discussions which lead to nothing and all those idiotic societies!


Has he come?


He’s come, ma’am,


Go, ma’am! Don’t worry, go!


He’s come!


Yes, it’s all very well for you. You are pleased, you’ve had a good time.... But what about me? You might at least have shown consideration for the children. I am nursing and my milk was spoiled.... Pétya was at death’s door. But you were enjoying yourself. Yes, enjoying...


I could not, on my honor. But how is Pétya?


All right now. Come along! I wonder you’re not ashamed! If only you could see what I was like without you, how I suffered!


You are well?


Come, come! And have you talked everything well over with Prince Theodore?


Yes, capitally.


You see, he holds it up. But how he did frighten me... You’ve seen the princess? Is it true she’s in love with that...


Yes, just fancy...


How sweet! Now, Nicholas. I can’t understand how it is you don’t see the charm of these delicious marvels.


I don’t and can’t. A lump of flesh. Come along, Pierre!


And yet he’s such an affectionate father, but only after they are a year old or so...


Now, Pierre nurses them splendidly. He says his hand is just made for a baby’s seat. Just look!


Only not for this...


What do you think of this?


That’s for Belóva? Excellent! It was a ruble an arshin, I suppose? Too dear! How pleased the children will be and Mamma too! Only you need not have bought me this,


Adèle tempted me: she kept on telling me to buy it,


When am I to wear it? When I take little Másha into society? Perhaps they will be fashionable again by then. Well, let’s go now.


It seems a little warmer today, my dear,


Oh yes, they’ve come,


O Lord! How stupid and deaf she is!


Memento mori,


High time, my dear, high time! We were all weary of waiting for you. Well, thank God! It’s not the gift that’s precious, my dear, but that you give it to me, an old woman...


Thank you, my dear, you have cheered me up. But best of all you have brought yourself back—for I never saw anything like it, you ought to give your wife a scolding! What are we to do with her? She is like a mad woman when you are away. Doesn’t see anything, doesn’t remember anything. Look, Anna Timoféevna, see what a box for cards my son has brought us!


Well, and all this idiocy—Gossner and Tatáwinova? Is that weally still going on?


Going on? Why more than ever! The Bible Society is the whole government now!


What is that, mon cher ami? What are you saying about the government? I don’t understand.


Well, you know, Maman. Prince Alexander Golítsyn has founded a society and in consequence has great influence, they say.


Arakchéev and Golítsyn, are now the whole government! And what a government! They see treason everywhere and are afraid of everything.


Well, and how is Prince Alexander to blame? He is a most estimable man. I used to meet him at Mary Antónovna’s. Nowadays everyone finds fault. A Gospel Society! Well, and what harm is there in that?


Finished, finished!


That’s delightful music!


It means that Anna Makárovna has finished her stocking,


Oh, I’ll go and see. You know, why I’m especially fond of that music? It is always the first thing that tells me all is well. When I was driving here today, the nearer I got to the house the more anxious I grew. As I entered the anteroom I heard Andrúsha’s peals of laughter and that meant that all was well.


I know! I know that feeling. But I mustn’t go there—those stockings are to be a surprise for me.


Come, Anna Makárovna, come here into the middle of the room and at the word of command, ‘One, two,’ and when I say ‘three’... You stand here, and you in my arms—well now! One, two!... three!


Two, two!


No, Monsieur Dessalles, I will ask my aunt to let me stay. Ma tante, please let me stay,


When you are here he can’t tear himself away,


I will bring him to you directly, Monsieur Dessalles. Good night! You and I haven’t seen anything of one another yet.... How like he is growing, Mary!


Like my father?


One used to have to be a German—now one must dance with Tatáwinova and Madame Kwüdener, and wead Ecka’tshausen and the bwethwen. Oh, they should let that fine fellow Bonaparte loose—he’d knock all this nonsense out of them! Fancy giving the command of the Semënov wegiment to a fellow like that Schwa’tz!


What was it about?


Always the same thing. Everybody sees that things are going so badly that they cannot be allowed to go on so and that it is the duty of all decent men to counteract it as far as they can.


What can decent men do? What can be done?


Why, this...


Come into my study,


Well, what would you do?


Always some fantastic schemes,


Why this, the position in Petersburg is this: the Emperor does not look into anything. He has abandoned himself altogether to this mysticism He seeks only for peace, and only these people sans foi ni loi * can give it him—people who recklessly hack at and strangle everything—Magnítski, Arakchéev, and tutti quanti.... You will agree that if you did not look after your estates yourself but only wanted a quiet life, the harsher your steward was the more readily your object might be attained,


Well, what does that lead up to?


Well, everything is going to ruin! Robbery in the law courts, in the army nothing but flogging, drilling, and Military Settlements; the people are tortured, enlightenment is suppressed. All that is young and honest is crushed! Everyone sees that this cannot go on. Everything is strained to such a degree that it will certainly break. I told them just one thing in Petersburg. Told whom? Well, you know whom. Prince Theodore and all those. To encourage culture and philanthropy is all very well of course. The aim is excellent but in the present circumstances something else is needed.


Why are you here?


Why? Let him be. That is not enough, I told them. Something else is needed. When you stand expecting the overstrained string to snap at any moment, when everyone is expecting the inevitable catastrophe, as many as possible must join hands as closely as they can to withstand the general calamity. Everything that is young and strong is being enticed away and depraved. One is lured by women, another by honors, a third by ambition or money, and they go over to that camp. No independent men, such as you or I, are left. What I say is widen the scope of our society, let the mot d’ordre be not virtue alone but independence and action as well!


But action with what aim? And what position will you adopt toward the government?


Why, the position of assistants. The society need not be secret if the government allows it. Not merely is it not hostile to government, but it is a society of true conservatives—a society of gentlemen in the full meaning of that word. It is only to prevent some Pugachëv or other from killing my children and yours, and Arakchéev from sending me off to some Military Settlement. We join hands only for the public welfare and the general safety.


Yes, but it’s a secret society and therefore a hostile and harmful one which can only cause harm.


Why? Did the Tugendbund which saved Europe do any harm? The Tugendbund is an alliance of virtue: it is love, mutual help... it is what Christ preached on the Cross.


It is not at all what you suppose; but that is what the German Tugendbund was, and what I am proposing.


No, my fwiend! The Tugendbund is all vewy well for the sausage eaters, but I don’t understand it and can’t even pwonounce it. I agwee that evewything here is wotten and howwible, but the Tugendbund I don’t understand. If we’re not satisfied, let us have a bunt of our own. That’s all wight. Je suis vot’e homme!


I will tell you this. I can’t prove it to you. You say that everything here is rotten and that an overthrow is coming: I don’t see it. But you also say that our oath of allegiance is a conditional matter, and to that I reply: ‘You are my best friend, as you know, but if you formed a secret society and began working against the government—be it what it may—I know it is my duty to obey the government. And if Arakchéev ordered me to lead a squadron against you and cut you down, I should not hesitate an instant, but should do it.’ And you may argue about that as you like!


Uncle Pierre, you... no... If Papa were alive... would he agree with you?


Yes, I think so,


Uncle, forgive me, I did that... unintentionally,


All right, all right. You ought not to have been here at all,


What are you writing, Mary?


A diary, Nicholas,


A diary?


What is a ‘ticket’?


I have begun giving the elder ones marks every evening, showing how they have behaved.


I quite, quite approve, my dearest! And I behaved badly today. You weren’t in the study. We began disputing—Pierre and I—and I lost my temper. But he is impossible: such a child! I don’t know what would become of him if Natásha didn’t keep him in hand.... Have you any idea why he went to Petersburg? They have formed...


Yes, I know. Natásha told me.


Well, then, you know, he wanted to convince me that it is every honest man’s duty to go against the government, and that the oath of allegiance and duty... I am sorry you weren’t there. They all fell on me—Denísov and Natásha... Natásha is absurd. How she rules over him! And yet there need only be a discussion and she has no words of her own but only repeats his sayings...


Yes, I have noticed that,


When I told him that duty and the oath were above everything, he started proving goodness knows what! A pity you were not there—what would you have said?


As I see it you were quite right, and I told Natásha so. Pierre says everybody is suffering, tortured, and being corrupted, and that it is our duty to help our neighbor. Of course he is right there, but he forgets that we have other duties nearer to us, duties indicated to us by God Himself, and that though we might expose ourselves to risks we must not risk our children.


Yes, that’s it! That’s just what I said to him. But they insisted on their own view: love of one’s neighbor and Christianity—and all this in the presence of young Nicholas, who had gone into my study and broke all my things.


Ah, Nicholas, do you know I am often troubled about little Nicholas. He is such an exceptional boy. I am afraid I neglect him in favor of my own: we all have children and relations while he has no one. He is constantly alone with his thoughts.


Well, I don’t think you need reproach yourself on his account. All that the fondest mother could do for her son you have done and are doing for him, and of course I am glad of it. He is a fine lad, a fine lad! This evening he listened to Pierre in a sort of trance, and fancy—as we were going in to supper I looked and he had broken everything on my table to bits, and he told me of it himself at once! I never knew him to tell an untruth. A fine lad, a fine lad!


Still, I am not the same as his own mother. I feel I am not the same and it troubles me. A wonderful boy, but I am dreadfully afraid for him. It would be good for him to have companions.


Well it won’t be for long. Next summer I’ll take him to Petersburg. Yes, Pierre always was a dreamer and always will be. Well, what business is it of mine what goes on there—whether Arakchéev is bad, and all that? What business was it of mine when I married and was so deep in debt that I was threatened with prison, and had a mother who could not see or understand it? And then there are you and the children and our affairs. Is it for my own pleasure that I am at the farm or in the office from morning to night? No, but I know I must work to comfort my mother, to repay you, and not to leave the children such beggars as I was. You know, Mary, today Elias Mitrofánych came back from the Tambóv estate and told me they are already offering eighty thousand rubles for the forest. Another ten years of life and I shall leave the children... in an excellent position.


O God! What will become of us if she dies, as I always fear when her face is like that?


Now you are all mine, mine! You won’t escape!


I have quite lost the knack of talking to ladies. It was simply dull. Besides, I was very busy.


Mary is so splendid. How she understands children! It is as if she saw straight into their souls. Yesterday, for instance, Mítya was naughty...


How like his father he is,


Nicholas has the weakness of never agreeing with anything not generally accepted. But I understand that you value what opens up a fresh line,


No, the chief point is that to Nicholas ideas and discussions are an amusement—almost a pastime. For instance, he is collecting a library and has made it a rule not to buy a new book till he has read what he had already bought—Sismondi and Rousseau and Montesquieu. You know how much I...


So you say ideas are an amusement to him....


Yes, and for me nothing else is serious. All the time in Petersburg I saw everyone as in a dream. When I am taken up by a thought, all else is mere amusement.


Ah, I’m so sorry I wasn’t there when you met the children. Which was most delighted? Lisa, I’m sure.


Yes. Nicholas says we ought not to think. But I can’t help it. Besides, when I was in Petersburg I felt (I can say this to you) that the whole affair would go to pieces without me—everyone was pulling his own way. But I succeeded in uniting them all; and then my idea is so clear and simple. You see, I don’t say that we ought to oppose this and that. We may be mistaken. What I say is: ‘Join hands, you who love the right, and let there be but one banner—that of active virtue.’ Prince Sergéy is a fine fellow and clever.


Can a man so important and necessary to society be also my husband? How did this happen? Now who could decide whether he is really cleverer than all the others? Do you know what I am thinking about? About Platón Karatáev. Would he have approved of you now, do you think?


Platón Karatáev? He would not have understood... yet perhaps he would.


I love you awfully! Awfully, awfully!


No, he would not have approved. What he would have approved of is our family life. He was always so anxious to find seemliness, happiness, and peace in everything, and I should have been proud to let him see us. There now—you talk of my absence, but you wouldn’t believe what a special feeling I have for you after a separation....


Yes, I should think...


No, it’s not that. I never leave off loving you. And one couldn’t love more, but this is something special.... Yes, of course—


What nonsense it is, about honeymoons, and that the greatest happiness is at first! On the contrary, now is the best of all. If only you did not go away! Do you remember how we quarreled? And it was always my fault. Always mine. And what we quarreled about—I don’t even remember!


Always about the same thing. Jealo...


Don’t say it! I can’t bear it! Did you see her?


No, and if I had I shouldn’t have recognized her.


Oh, do you know? While you were talking in the study I was looking at you. You are as like him as two peas—like the boy. Oh, it’s time to go to him.... The milk’s come.... But I’m sorry to leave you.


No. What did you say? Go on, go on.


No, you go on, I was talking nonsense,


I only wished to say that ideas that have great results are always simple ones. My whole idea is that if vicious people are united and constitute a power, then honest folk must do the same. Now that’s simple enough.


Yes.


And what were you going to say?


I? Only nonsense.


But all the same?


Oh nothing, only a trifle. I only wanted to tell you about Pétya: today nurse was coming to take him from me, and he laughed, shut his eyes, and clung to me. I’m sure he thought he was hiding. Awfully sweet! There, now he’s crying. Well, good-by!


Have you done this? I loved you, but I have orders from Arakchéev and will kill the first of you who moves forward.


Are you ill?


No,


Writers of universal history who deal with all the nations seem to recognize how erroneous is the specialist historians’ view of the force which produces events.


They do not recognize it as a power inherent in heroes and rulers, but as the resultant of a multiplicity of variously directed forces.


In describing a war or the subjugation of a people, a general historian looks for the cause of the event not in the power of one man, but in the interaction of many persons connected with the event.


The ideas of the Revolution and the general temper of the age produced Napoleon’s power.


But Napoleon’s power suppressed the ideas of the Revolution and the general temper of the age.


The wind has blown the clouds away. The wind has brought up the clouds.


What moves it?


The devil moves it.


The locomotive moves because its wheels go round.


The cause of its movement lies in the smoke which the wind carries away.


serious reading.


What is this power of one man over others?


Power is the collective will of the people transferred, by expressed or tacit consent, to their chosen rulers.


If power be the collective will of the people transferred to their ruler, was Pugachëv a representative of the will of the people?


If not, then why was Napoleon I?


Why was Napoleon III a criminal when he was taken prisoner at Boulogne, and why, later on, were those criminals whom he arrested?


The herd goes in that direction because the animal in front leads it and the collective will of all the other animals is vested in that leader.


If the animals leading the herd change, this happens because the collective will of all the animals is transferred from one leader to another, according to whether the animal is or is not leading them in the direction selected by the whole herd.


If the animals in front are continually changing and the direction of the whole herd is constantly altered, this is because in order to follow a given direction the animals transfer their will to the animals that have attracted our attention, and to study the movements of the herd we must watch the movements of all the prominent animals moving on all sides of the herd.


To understand in what this dependence consists it is necessary to reinstate another omitted condition of every command proceeding not from the Deity but from a man, which is, that the man who gives the command himself takes part in the event.


I am free and am therefore not subject to the law.


I am not free. But I have lifted my hand and let it fall.


They say and write and print that the soul and freedom do not exist, for the life of man is expressed by muscular movements and muscular movements are conditioned by the activity of the nerves; the soul and free will do not exist because at an unknown period of time we sprang from the apes.


(1) However we may increase our knowledge of the conditions of space


(2) However we may prolong the period of time between the action we are examining and the judgment upon it,


(3) However accessible may be the chain of causation of any action,


Reason says: (1) space with all the forms of matter that give it visibility is infinite, and cannot be imagined otherwise. (2) Time is infinite motion without a moment of rest and is unthinkable otherwise. (3) The connection between cause and effect has no beginning and can have no end.


Consciousness says: (1) I alone am, and all that exists is but me, consequently I include space. (2) I measure flowing time by the fixed moment of the present in which alone I am conscious of myself as living, consequently I am outside time. (3) I am beyond cause, for I feel myself to be the cause of every manifestation of my life.