"One person cannot be called 'people,'" said the Sorcerer.
One brow shot up.
No, this one is ours.
Let's go do the chores one last time before we leave.
First of all, I wasn't the only one involved.
The houses of the city were all made of glass, so clear and transparent that one could look through the walls as easily as through a window.
Lifting the skirt slightly with one hand so she wouldn't trip on it, she let the other hand slide lightly down the banister for added balance.
"That is the one evil of our country," answered the invisible man.
It isn't one of those things you can talk through, I guess.
So he placed Dorothy upon one side of him and the boy upon the other and set a lantern upon each of their heads.
"If the Wizard was here," said one of the piglets, sobbing bitterly, "he would not see us suffer so."
That is the one thing I have faith in!
"Can one be calm in times like these if one has any feeling?" said Anna Pavlovna.
Not that one had anything to do with the other, but the technology of surrogacy would have been inconceivable back then.
A balloon meant to her some other arrival from the surface of the earth, and she hoped it would be some one able to assist her and Zeb out of their difficulties.
The Wizard reached out, caught the wee creature in his hand, and holding its head between one thumb and finger and its tail between the other thumb and finger he pulled it apart, each of the two parts becoming a whole and separate piglet in an instant.
No one could deny that Alex was a devoted husband and father.
Zeb struck a match and lighted one of the lanterns.
One little boy chose "The Horse."
No one spoke for a long time.
We've got a meeting at two and it's almost one-thirty now.
He placed one upon the floor, so that it could run around, and pulled apart the other, making three piglets in all; and then one of these was pulled apart, making four piglets.
"Then the bears will get him," said one of the children's voices.
"It seems we were mistaken," declared a third, looking at the kitten timorously, "no one with such murderous desires should belong to our party, I'm sure."
In 2010, people were uploading one hundred million photos on Facebook every single day.
When no one said anything she sighed, her attention on Carmen.
"Not a very pretty one," he answered, as if a little ashamed.
Suddenly a man appeared through a hole in the roof next to the one they were on and stepped into plain view.
Soon he reached the street and disappeared through a glass doorway into one of the glass buildings.
And so, one by one, the nine tiny piglets were pushed together until but a single one of the creatures remained.
Instead, he drew a leathern case from his pocket and took from it several sharp knives, which he joined together, one after another, until they made a long sword.
In front of each place was a plate bearing one of the delicious dama-fruit, and the perfume that rose from these was so enticing and sweet that they were sorely tempted to eat of them and become invisible.
"Why, we can see each other again!" cried one, joyfully.
One friend suggests she advertise on dating sites.
One can almost picture him, sandwich in hand, slack-jawed in surprise.
One, chiefly masculine, had formed round the abbe.
"We will all arise, every one of us will go, for our father the Tsar!" he shouted, rolling his bloodshot eyes.
She will be our expiation! shouted one man.
He was head of the house - the one who made final decisions.
Slowly carrying the full cups into the living room, she handed one to Alex.
Alex had been the one who helped her see them as true family, and yet he was having issues accepting his own father.
The radio had shifted into Christmas mode with one song after another.
One thing he didn't need to know was that she was having dreams about Josh - even if they were actually nightmares.
He reached out with one arm and drew her toward him.
Alex met her at the door, a steaming cup of coffee in one hand.
For one terrifying moment the enormity of what they had done brought her close to panic.
He was simply one of their children.
It was one of those break-through moments.
All the same, he was the one who broke the embrace.
He rose up on one elbow and frowned.
Alex had asked one of the men go into town and rent a car for them.
One does not dress or act like a lady.
No one wanted to feel forced into anything.
One of the men is staying up with her.
To me, a beautiful horse is one that looks friendly.
Carmen couldn't make out more than a few words, but one of them was mare.
If so, maybe they should put one on the payroll.
Jonathan found a stick larger on one end than the other to use for a bat.
Nina wasn't the only one awaiting her arrival.
He grinned, the dimple playing below one of his twinkling eyes.
She rested one hand on his upper arm and surrendered her other to a hand that engulfed hers.
For a moment her heart beat overtime and it looked as though she might fall, but Alex smoothly caught her and stepped around, covering her fumbling so well that no one appeared to notice.
He just turned twenty-one and he thinks he is a man now.
One glance at the picture and his neck turned red.
Dorothy thought he just wiggled one of his drooping ears, but that was all.
The central and largest one was white, and reminded her of the sun.
Around it were arranged, like the five points of a star, the other five brilliant balls; one being rose colored, one violet, one yellow, one blue and one orange.
Dorothy was too dazed to say much, but she watched one of Jim's big ears turn to violet and the other to rose, and wondered that his tail should be yellow and his body striped with blue and orange like the stripes of a zebra.
These spires were like great spear-points, and if they tumbled upon one of them they were likely to suffer serious injury.
One Wizard is worth three Sorcerers.
If two should come out of the sky you might with justice say I was wrong; but unless more than this one appears I will hold that I was right.
"You ought to join one," declared the little man seriously.
I belong to Bailum & Barney's Great Consolidated Shows--three rings in one tent and a menagerie on the side.
"That does not sound especially pleasant," said the little man, looking at the one with the star uneasily.
It was one of the things Gwig usually did to prove he was a sorcerer.
No one did, because the Mangaboos did not wear hats, and Zeb had lost his, somehow, in his flight through the air.
"Oh, what cunning things!" cried Dorothy, catching up one and petting it.
Then the boy returned to one of the upper rooms, and in spite of the hardness of the glass bench was soon deep in slumberland.
The advisors of the Princess did not like this test; but she commanded them to step into the flame and one by one they did so, and were scorched so badly that the air was soon filled with an odor like that of baked potatoes.
"Don't be rough!" he would call out, if Eureka knocked over one of the round, fat piglets with her paw; but the pigs never minded, and enjoyed the sport very greatly.
Noticing that the light was growing dim he picked up his nine piglets, patted each one lovingly on its fat little head, and placed them carefully in his inside pocket.
"It was fine, Dorothy," called one of the piglets.
"But if you remain visible the bears will see you and devour you," said a girlish young voice, that belonged to one of the children.
We who live here much prefer to be invisible; for we can still hug and kiss one another, and are quite safe from the bears.
They followed the course of a broad stream and passed several more pretty cottages; but of course they saw no one, nor did any one speak to them.
Here one side of the mountain had a great hole in it, like the mouth of a cavern, and the stairs stopped at the near edge of the floor and commenced ascending again at the opposite edge.
If I should squeeze one, there wouldn't be anything left of it.
Please, Mr. Wizard, may I eat just one of the fat little piglets?
You'd never miss ONE of them, I'm sure!
"What a horrid, savage beast!" exclaimed a piglet; "and after we've been such good friends, too, and played with one another!"
Let us all be a happy family and love one another.
"No one can love a person he's afraid of," asserted Dorothy.
No one replied to this, because they found they needed all their breath for the climb.
The stairs had become narrower and Zeb and the Wizard often had to help Jim pull the buggy from one step to another, or keep it from jamming against the rocky walls.
The others picked themselves up from the ground one by one and quickly rejoined their fellows, so for a moment the horse thought he had won the fight with ease.
The Wizard raised one of his revolvers and fired into the throng of his enemies, and the shot resounded like a clap of thunder in that silent place.
Zeb ran and picked up one of the Gargoyles that lay nearest to him.
We will get near Jim, so that he can help us, and each one must take some weapon and do the best he can.
To one of these houses which had neither doors nor windows, but only one broad opening far up underneath the roof, the prisoners were brought by their captors.
"Come here," said the little man, and took her to one of the corners of the building.
He had fastened one end of the strap to a wheel of the buggy, and now he let the line dangle over the side of the house.
"Anyhow," said Dorothy, "we've 'scaped those awful Gurgles, and that's ONE comfort!"
Hearing these words our friends turned in the direction of the sound, and the Wizard held his lanterns so that their light would flood one of the little pockets in the rock.
"Don't hurry," called one of the dragonettes; "mother will be glad to meet you, I'm sure."
No one knows what the mother might do.
The lanterns were beginning to grow dim, and the Wizard poured the remaining oil from one into the other, so that the one light would last longer.
So he sat down upon the floor of the cave, brought the piglets out one by one, and allowed them to run around as much as they pleased.
"Then you can do a few wizzes and get us out of this hole," declared the tiny one, with much confidence.
"Take us, too!" cried the nine tiny piglets, all in one breath.
The little man looked at his watch--a big silver one that he carried in his vest pocket.
"Only one," replied Dorothy, "and he's a sawhorse."
One moment Dorothy sat beside them with the kitten in her lap, and a moment later the horse, the piglets, the Wizard and the boy were all that remained in the underground prison.
"Did you not wear green whiskers at one time?" he asked.
In the closets he discovered many fancy costumes of rich velvets and brocades, and one of the attendants told him to dress himself in any of the clothes that pleased him and to be prepared to dine with the Princess and Dorothy in an hour's time.
Taken altogether, it was a dreadfully long name to weigh down a poor innocent child, and one of the hardest lessons I ever learned was to remember my own name.
One day my balloon ran away with me and brought me across the deserts to this beautiful country.
"That is quite a history," said Ozma; "but there is a little more history about the Land of Oz that you do not seem to understand--perhaps for the reason that no one ever told it you.
Many years before you came here this Land was united under one Ruler, as it is now, and the Ruler's name was always 'Oz,' which means in our language 'Great and Good'; or, if the Ruler happened to be a woman, her name was always 'Ozma.'
One wicked witch named Mombi stole him and carried him away, keeping him as a prisoner.
"Seems to me the same way," said Billina, scornfully, "if that beastly cat is one of them."
Oh, not a real one, of course.
One was an enormous Lion with clear, intelligent eyes, a tawney mane bushy and well kept, and a body like yellow plush.
The Tiger seemed to smile, and winked one eye slowly.
When he had made them all disappear again Ozma declared she was sorry they were gone, for she wanted one of them to pet and play with.
The first one that passes the place where the Princess sits shall be named the winner.
"No one," answered Ozma.
And the Woggle-Bug shall be the Public Accuser, because he is so learned that no one can deceive him.
He drew from his inside pocket one of the eight tiny piglets that were remaining and continued:
All the piglets are exactly alike, so no one can dispute your word.
"It's a trial of one kitten," replied the Scarecrow; "but your manner is a trial to us all."
This cannot be the one the Wizard gave me.
One of his brothers asked to see the whistle.
They counted them and were surprised to find that not one lamb of the great flock of seven hundred was missing.
One day a poet whose name was Thalibi [Footnote: Thal i'bi.] came to the caliph and recited a long poem.
He tried first one plan and then another; but none of them proved anything at all.
Some time later, the shepherd went to the city and told the king that the children had learned to speak one word, but how or from whom, he did not know.
Then the king called one of the wisest scholars in Egypt and asked him what the word meant.
This was an odd way of proving something, for, as every one can readily see, it proved nothing.
One day the caliph, Haroun-al-Raschid, [Footnote: Haroun-al-Raschid (_pro._ ha roon' al rash'id).] made a great feast.
Then one of the officers, who was sitting near the poet, cried out: Stop!
These soldiers guarded the streets of the town; they would not let any one go out or come in without their leave.
One day a friend of his who lived in Boston came to see him.
One day word came that a savage wolf had been seen in the forest.
One carried a gun, one had a pitchfork, and the third had an ax.
One carried a gun, one had a pitchfork, and the third had an ax.
"She killed three of my lambs last night," said the one whose name was David Brown.
Soon, with the gun in one hand, he crept back into the cave.
When the Revolutionary War began he was one of the first to hurry to Boston to help the people defend themselves against the British soldiers.
He became famous as one of the bravest and best of the generals who fought to make our country free.
He was hardly halfway across the stony field when one of the horse's shoes flew off.
Richard the Third was one of England's worst kings.
If a man was obliged to go from one city to another, he often rode on horseback.
One day some men were sitting by the door of a hotel in Baltimore.
"There comes old Farmer Mossback," said one of the men, laughing.
He's one of those country fellows who can sleep in the haymow and eat with the horses.
One morning there was a loud knock at Dean Swift's door.
He would not listen to anyone who tried to persuade him to stay at home.
One day a traveler was walking through a part of Italy where a great many sheep were pasturing.
One day Cimabue was painting the picture of a man's face.
At one time he painted the picture of some fruit which was so real that the birds flew down and pecked at it.
One day King Solomon was sitting on his throne, and his great men were standing around him.
"One of these wreaths." said the queen, "is made of flowers plucked from your garden.
Not one of the bees so much as looked at those in her left hand.
One day Benjamin's mother had to go to a neighbor's on some errand.
One day as he was riding through the woods, some British soldiers saw him.
One was Mr. Webster's horse; the other was an old gray nag with a lady's sidesaddle on its back.
Whenever his back was turned, they were sure to begin whispering to one another.
The next one that whispers must come out and stand in the middle of the floor.
He must stand there until he sees some one else whisper.
Then he will tell me, and the one whom he names must come and take his place.
He, in turn, will watch and report the first one that he sees whisper.
Then all became very good and very careful, for no one wished to be standing at the time of dismissal.
He stood on one leg and then on the other, and watched very closely; but nobody whispered.
It lacked only one minute till the bell would strike the time for dismissal.
There was one such king who had four sons, Ethelbald, Ethelbert, Ethelred, and Alfred. The three older boys were sturdy, half-grown lads; the youngest, Alfred, was a slender, fair-haired child.
One day when they were with their mother, she showed them a wonderful book that some rich friend had given her.
Now I have a mind to give this book to one of you
"I will give it to the one who first learns to read in it" she answered.
Then, one morning, Alfred went into his mother's room with a smiling, joyous face.
Then he began with the first word on the first page and read the first story aloud without making one mistake.
He became one of the most famous scholars in the world.
One day King Astyages planned to make a great feast for the lad.
The feast is ready, but no one has come to partake of it.
So he gave one portion to the king's officer who had taught him to ride.
But you neglected one important thing.
One day, after lesson hours, Al Farra rose to go out of the house.
This was one of their first lessons at home and at school.
"Well, boy, what have you got?" asked one of the robbers, as he pulled Otanes from his horse.
You can't make me believe that, said the robber; and he hurried away to rob one of the rich merchants.
No one would have thought that a child like you had gold about him.
Otanes, in time, became one of the famous men of his country.
The Spartans said to one another, Let us throw this fellow into the rocky chasm.
No one knows how he escaped being dashed to pieces.
One day he was in the midst of a great battle.
He called to one of his officers and bade him sit down and write a short order for him.
One day, to the great joy of all, some ships arrived from another country.
But one of the rulers was not willing to do this.
One summer he went over the sea to Italy; for his name was well known there, and many people wished to hear him sing.
Then there will be no one to tell tales.
One day as he was walking among the trees the birds saw him and flew down to greet him.
There is one for each of you.
As the slaves stood before him he asked each one to tell what kind of work he could do.
So each one boasted of his skill in doing some sort of labor.
One was a fine gardener; another could take care of horses; a third was a good cook; a fourth could manage a household.
One day the Mice met to talk about the great harm that she was doing them.
Each one told of some plan by which to keep out of her way.
"Good! good!" said all the other Mice; and one ran to get the bell.
What is going to happen? each one asked of another.
John Randolph, of Roanoke, lived in Virginia one hundred years ago.
He began to see how foolish he had been; he thought how terrible it would be to live there without one friend, without one person to whom he could speak.
Robinson Crusoe sailed first on one ship and then on another.
One day there was a great storm.
It was a small island, and there was no one living on it.
One night the king sat up very late, writing letters and sending messages; and the little page was kept busy running on errands until past midnight.
Some one is trying to ruin me.
Late one evening he came to a little farmhouse in a lonely valley.
The woman answered, "All travelers are welcome for the sake of one; and you are welcome"
"Who is that one?" asked the king.
"My men have been scattered," said the king, "and therefore, no one is with me."
Then some one outside called loudly, "Have you seen King Robert the Bruce pass this way?"
"I saw two hundred of them in the village below us," said one of his officers.
One day he was lying under a tree, thinking of his misfortunes.
Slowly, one little step at a time, it crept up across the rough place where it had slipped and fallen so often.
In Richmond, Virginia, one Saturday morning, an old man went into the market to buy something.
"I will take one of those turkeys," he said.
My errand boy is sick to- day, and there is no one else to send.
He is one of the greatest men in our country, was the answer.
When they wanted to move the boat from one place to another they had to pole it; that is, they pushed against a long pole, the lower end of which reached the bottom of the stream.
He took something like an oarlock from his pocket and fastened it to the stern of the boat; then with a paddle which worked in this oarlock one of the boys could guide the boat while the other turned the paddle wheels.
One day a strange merchant came to him with some diamonds and pearls which he had brought from beyond the sea.
No one was near.
Find all the old men that live on the mountains or in the flat country around, and command them to appear before me one week from to-day.
A few said that there was one man in their neighborhood who seemed to have had some sort of good luck.
One cold night in winter the serving men of the abbey were gathered in the great kitchen.
After him the other men were called, one by one; and each in turn sang his favorite song.
But in the corner, almost hidden from his fellows, one poor man was sitting who did not enjoy the singing.
And one ran quickly and told the good abbess, or mistress of the abbey, what strange thing had happened.
But one day after he had become a man, he said: Tell me about the great world which, you say, lies outside of these palace walls.
The next morning, Gautama sat in his carriage and rode out from the palace into one of the streets of the city.
By the door of one of these a sick man was lying upon a couch, helpless and pale.
One night he left the beautiful palace which his father had given to him and went out into the world to do good and to help his fellow men.
At one end of the room there was a big fireplace, where the mother did the cooking.
One evening he was very late coming home.
Before Mrs. Jacquot could open it, some one called out, "Is this the house of Jacquot, the charcoal man?"
One day King Henry the Fourth of France was hunting in a large forest.
Do you mean that the one with his hat on will be the king?
One morning, long ago, a merchant of Miletus [Footnote: Mile'tus.] was walking along the seashore.
The fishermen talked in low tones with one another for a little while, and then one said, It's a bargain.
Then one of the fishermen said, "Let us ask the governor about it and do as he shall bid us."
Give not the merchant nor the fishermen the prize; But give it to that one who is wisest of the wise.
He taught, also, that a friend is the greatest blessing that any one can have.
One of his mottoes was this: "Whatever you do, do it well."
Give not the merchant nor the fishermen the prize; But give it to that one who is wisest of the wise.
"I have heard all about that tripod," he said, "and I know why you are carrying it from one place to another.
"We have offered the prize to each one of them," said the messengers, "and each one has refused it."
"Then there is only one other thing to be done," said Solon.
They lived more than two thousand years ago, and each one helped to make his country famous.
Almost everyone creates, in one form or another.
War, poverty, misery, and nearly one hundred million people dead came from what essentially was a single wrong turn.
It was like the Olympic torch in antiquity: All it took was one guy carrying the torch to slip in the mud and the entire chain was broken.
Let me illustrate this one from my own life.
When I go to far-flung places, I often know little of local customs and, through ignorance, I have committed more than one faux pas.
Remember the notion that the Internet wouldn't turn out to be only for one purpose—that while my car is clearly for taking me places, the Internet won't be for doing one single task, but many?
That said, if I had to pick one function I think the Internet will turn out to "be," it is this: The Internet will become a repository and a set of applications for storing the sum total of all life experiences of all people on earth.
But as I watch how we are building and using the Internet, the one-on-one encounters impress me most.
People who take time out of their schedule to do something that helps just one person.
It is an answer engine, but one that attempts to answer questions that have never before been asked.
It is a safe bet that no one has ever asked that question before, and yet this system is designed to answer it.
Or to continue with fictional cases: Why does gasoline made from oil refined at one refinery burn more efficiently?
Why are there fewer traffic jams in one certain city than in any other of its size?
When you look at a product on one of its web pages, Amazon suggests other products you might like as well.
They show complementary products to the one you are considering.
You have picked out a suit, a sharp grey one with barely detectable pinstripes.
So the salesperson says, "If you like that suit, then come over here and try this one from Ralph Lauren."
This scene, in one form or another, should seem familiar.
By 1973 it was calculated to more than a million digits, in 1983 more than ten million digits, in 1987 more than one hundred million digits, in 1989 more than one billion digits, and in 1997 more than fifty billion digits.
A person could dedicate his life to understanding just one suggestion and never even get close.
When the salesperson rings up your purchase, no one tells him he had better forget what shoes he sold you with that suit and not to use that information to advise any future clients.
And no one is concerned or even notices much, because your association with that data is so removed from you.
Obviously, knowing the wise course is one thing, and following it is another.
Consider Jedediah Buxton of Derbyshire, England, who in the 1700s was asked to compute the number one would get by doubling a farthing 139 times.
All genetic conditions that one would reasonably wish to alter would also be altered.
One Gallup poll at the time said more people knew about the trial than knew the full name of the president.
At present, there are about one hundred new cases reported per month around the world, infecting about the same number of people as die from lightning strikes.
One hundred thousand fans fill the stadium.
Next, imagine that happening every week for one hundred years.
Aside from two laboratory samples, one in the United States and one in Russia, it does not exist on the planet.
At the same time in Germany, Robert Koch identified the bacteria that caused tuberculosis and the one that caused cholera.
We will do much more in the next twenty years than in the preceding one hundred.
Then more in one year than those five.
But no one had any idea of the mechanism by which this could be achieved.
TP53 makes a protein called p53 that is one of these quality control mechanisms.
Some of it is known, but the function of each of the thirty thousand genes has to be figured out one at a time.
For instance, have you ever seen one of those people on TV who is turning one hundred and says he ate bacon every day of his life?
Opinions vary widely; no one really knows.
Some suspect we can be made to be healthy and energetic to the age of one hundred thirty and that's it.
He predicts that within twenty years, the first person to live to one thousand will be born.
One can imagine two children each with a bag of jelly beans.
You might remember the story of Kyle MacDonald who famously traded up from one red paperclip to a house, one small exchange at a time between July 2005 and July 2006.
That means that as you get more of them, you value each new one less.
Going from zero to one puppy might increase your utility a great amount.
From one to two, a bit less.
It is safe to say that the man with seventeen puppies is creating more happiness by giving one each to sixteen friends than he is forgoing by his loss of puppies.
Governments (and thieves, for that matter) reallocate wealth—but they do it by increasing the wealth of one party at the expense of another party.
One wins and one loses.
One wins and one loses.
One form of trade is to exchange your labor for money.
One failure of the marketplace is the misattribution of the amount of utility an item will bring a person.
Not in one hundred lifetimes could I make a car.
I could not in one hundred lifetimes make a working electric lamp, even knowing what I know now.
In 1958, an American economist named Leonard Read wrote an essay called "I, Pencil," written from the pencil's point of view, about how no one on the planet knows how to make a pencil.
From mining the clay to make the lead, to the lacquer applied to the pencil, to the rubber eraser, to the metal band holding the eraser to the yellow paint, no one person knows how to make a complete pencil.
When a person learns to do one job and specializes in that one job, she gets really good at it.
Smith says that if one man tried to make pins by himself, he might make one per day.
But if each of ten people specialized on just one-tenth of the task, they could together make 48,000, an increase in per-person productivity from one pin a day to 4,800 pins per day.
Once someone knows how to make a factory that can produce 48,000 pins a day with ten people, someone else can figure out how to make one that makes 100,000 a day with five people.
It is as if each person has one hundred assistants working for him.
Everyone knows water evaporates, rises, then falls to the earth as rain—but no one can even guess how much energy could be captured from this if we only knew how.
One breakthrough is all it will take to change the world.
He had died by the time I read that passage in one of his books, so I couldn't write him, as is my normal practice when an author's words puzzle me.
He explained to me that with a lawnmower, one person would be able to do the job and eleven men would be unemployed.
No one threw his shoe into the air conditioner, I assure you.)
One person with a horse and a cotton gin could process as much as fifty people without the gin.
We are sympathetic to the laid-off workers, but no one would suggest the cotton gin not be installed.
He used to pay $10; now he pays one dollar.
The employer gained $9 an hour, Chang got a job, and no one is worse off.
This is one of the few areas in which government taxation actually leads to a more efficient outcome.
Who do you think makes more money: the one person who operates the cotton gin we discussed in the last chapter or one of the fifty people he replaced?
Frankly, no one wants to do them, so the only way to get people to do them is to pay them.
No one will play the game if the rules only apply to one team. 2.
Once someone has something, no one should be able to take it from him or her.
"Robot" is a term almost one hundred years old, created in fiction before becoming a reality.
But I know of no one who would want to have a conversation with a computer program pretending to be his dog.
Beverly made one hundred nails a day.
The Nailmaker 2000 makes one hundred thousand an hour.
Fifteen years later, I got a computer with 4,000K (or 4MB) of memory, one thousand times the memory of my trusty VIC-20.
So I saw, in real dollars, the cost of computer memory fall to one one-millionth of what it was thirty years ago.
Now, less than twenty years later, a drive one thousand times larger is $70.
So a thousandfold increase in capacity at one-fortieth the cost is like the $50,000 Mercedes dropping to a buck and a quarter.
One would argue that energy costs will remain high.
Technical breakthroughs in the future will come very rapidly, each one used to increase quality and lower costs in order to compete in an ever more competitive marketplace.
Yes, I know this sounds like one of those bad infomercials.
No one will ever get lost again.
In Beverly Hills, your poor neighbor might be one who had to buy the 14K-gold back scratcher instead of the diamond-encrusted platinum one everyone else is buying.
My relative definition of poverty is "the state of being unable to reliably purchase a bundle of goods that allow one to participate in the economic norms of one's society."
In one understanding of economic history, the rich get ahead, and the gap between them and the poor widens.
One is to hyperinflate currency, which is a massive transfer of wealth from creditors to debtors.
A third radical method of redistribution is called land reform, which is actually a polite term for taking land from one person and giving it to another.
Sometimes countries simply nationalize industries, so that an enterprise once owned by a private company, often a foreign-based one, is taken over by the government or "the people."
One way that society keeps a lid on the powder keg of tension between the rich and poor is through the welfare state.
Didn't Thomas Jefferson, author of the Declaration of Independence, believe the Constitution should be rewritten every twenty years so that no one was governed by a document they had no say in creating?
No one should decide what someone else should value or spend his money on.
Historically, and one can certainly make the case in the present time, this ultimately bankrupts societies.
The very well documented corn dole of ancient Rome is one of many cases.
But the big question is whether these same economics would apply in a world one hundred times richer than we are right now.
Well, on the one hand, you would be kind of cheesed-off.
In a world where only one tool is invented, a hoe, there will be no billionaires.
It will be regarded as interest payments on the accumulated riches of one thousand years of technical and material progress.
It will be regarded as a dividend of the work of the one hundred prior generations that got the world to this point.
In a world without abundance, socialism removes the one reliable creator of abundance—the individual profit motive—and that results in a lower standard of living for everyone.
As I've already said, I believe we will be experiencing so much prosperity in the not-too-distant future that no one will have to work.
In the prosperous future, one group of people will rise to this challenge.
When those are the paths people choose between in the future—a Star Trek path or a WALL·E path—some will choose one and some will choose the other.
One day, a tornado comes, lifts up your trailer with everyone in it, flies it around the world to the poorest nation on earth, and drops it in the middle of the village.
And in that world, no one is left behind.
As we transition from one set of economic realities to another, there will be severe disruptions along the way.
One bad plague or invading horde would leave pretty much everyone starving.
I personally think the establishment of charitable organizations was driven by the same spirit that drove the creation of new businesses.
Ultimately, workhouses would provide shelter to more than one hundred thousand paupers.
And one person's solution may be another person's problem.
This is less than one-half of 1 percent of world GNP.
At one point, Tiger Woods got a dime for every box of Wheaties cereal with his photo on it, while the farmer was paid only a nickel for the wheat in that same box—and the farmer still made a profit.
The 2000s saw the rise of commercially viable seeds created by transgenesis, that is, the insertion of DNA from one species into another species.
Borlaug also promoted the process (which proved wildly successful) of having two wheat-growing seasons in Mexico, one in the highlands, then another in the valley regions.
But if ever there was a textbook case of one guy making a difference, this is it.
By the time Norman Borlaug passed away in 2009 at the age of ninety-five, he had become one of only six people to have won the Nobel Peace Prize, the Presidential Medal of Freedom, and the Congressional Gold Medal.
Additionally, of the energy the plant absorbs, it only stores one tenth of it in the potato or bean or whatever part we eat.
What if the farmer could give every stalk of corn individual attention and water and fertilize each one exactly when it was needed?
He noticed that when he bred a tall one with a short one, sometimes he got tall offspring and sometimes a short offspring.
One guy from Iowa came along with some garbage bags and saved a billion lives.
Remember the Warren Bennis quote I used earlier about the factory of the future having only one man and one dog?
By one estimate in 1820, 70 percent of Americans farmed.
A century ago, cars were made one at a time by a half dozen people working together.
No one today would want a car built the old way.
Both of these are hugely important parts of life, and I know of no one who would trade them away for a pill they swallow in the morning that gives them all their nutrition for the day.
Since one cannot have everything, seed makers invariably will make trade-offs that might be different than what I would make.
A neighboring farmer and cat-lover, William Ross, perhaps hearing a distinct "ka-ching" in his head, got one of the kittens and teamed up with a geneticist and began a careful breeding program.
Finally, we get to the fourth order of GMO: being able to splice genes from one species into another species, a process known as transgenesis.
It affects more than one hundred million people in a hundred countries, kills more than a million people a year, and blinds another half million for good measure.
By one count, rice is the principle source of calories for about half the planet.
Farming will be done on such a scale that thousands of experiments can be happening at any one time, putting a tiny fraction of the produce at risk.
The United Nations World Food Programme was so inspired by this success that pilot programs for an exchange were launched in twenty-one countries.
If politicians are demonstrably good at one thing, it is getting elected, and people who are starving don't normally re-elect their representatives.
One of these is micro-lending, which directly connects the lender with the borrower and which the Internet has made appealingly easy and personal.
During this three-year period, conveniently named by the Chinese "The Three Years of Natural Disasters," no one really knows how many people died; estimates range from fifteen million to a high of more than forty-five million.
But the cost is so negligible that no one thinks much of it.
If you knew someone who was a good business partner, was fun to hang out with, but let one of his children starve to death so that he could enjoy a higher standard of living, what would be your opinion of this person?
All this will happen eventually, I believe, even if global hunger policy were not to change one iota.
They were tied into one hundred fifty lines of one hundred men each.
At a farmers' market I recently visited, one vendor boasted that all his chickens "retained their dignity throughout their life."
In terms of murders per one hundred thousand inhabitants, England fell from roughly twenty-three in the 1300s to about one today.
The Netherlands and Belgium fell from forty-seven in 1300s to about one today.
Scandinavia was at forty-six in the 1400s and has fallen to one today.
Germany and Switzerland fell from thirty-seven in the 1300s to about one today.
Of course, the people making that judgment call and the people doing the actual dying usually are not one and the same, and therein lies the problem.
These laws provide recourse in the event that one citizen infringes on the rights of another.
No one I knew of had ever seriously considered the possibility that without any conflict, treaty, war, or even a coin toss, the Soviet Union would simply vote itself into nonexistence in 1991.
By far, the world's bloodiest century was the twentieth century, which saw one hundred million people die from war.
As Frederick the Great observed almost two centuries earlier, "If my soldiers were to begin to think, not one of them would remain in the army."
When I first made this list, it had well over one hundred entries.
Because military accomplishments were one way to do that, the military attracted the most ambitious young men eager to prove themselves—and "proving themselves" meant battle.
In the 1960 version of the film, he was played by a thirty-one-year-old Laurence Harvey.
In the 2004 incarnation of the film, he was played by thirty-one-year-old Patrick Wilson.
One can only assume it would be substantially more if it were to be leveled with a nuclear device.
I, for one, would vote for peace.
If the weak nation will not willingly do the bidding of the strong one, then it is made to.
In one sense, it's a peaceful world: The bully insists on the lunch money of the small kid, who has no recourse but to capitulate.
One country angry at another one.
It took one week for a localized event to escalate to world war.
It all happened because of military pacts in which an attack on one party was viewed as an attack on all.
If NATO didn't exist today, no one would propose creating it.
Unless one can somehow imagine NATO countries going to war with each other, such as Belgium invading the United Kingdom, it is hard to see how "world wars" could escalate outside of NATO member countries.
It has one of the highest per-capita incomes in the world, almost no crime, and no public or foreign debt.
It has no border guards, only a sign identifying when one has entered Liechtenstein.
They expected the king to choose one border or another, not create his own compromise border.
If someone writes a book in one country, does another country enforce the copyright within its borders?
What about extradition, if a citizen of one country visits another and breaks the local law?
Seldom will one decide that war with a friend's nation is the only recourse.
Organizations have encouraged "pen pals for peace" exchanges—but such efforts tend to be limited in scale, and if there is one thing Facebook has, it is scale.
No one has the monopoly on truth.
You still can buy it from the government's bookstore; a recent one ran about two thousand pages and cost about $200.
I know this is a controversial forecast, and to many people a very depressing one, but I think it is both inevitable and good.
Imagine if today everyone spoke one language and I said that in the future we will speak hundreds of different languages and not be able to understand each other.
Keeping that one comes at a large financial price: Learn proficiency at two languages or remain separate from the world economy.
In Montana, where 10 percent of residents spoke German and another 10 percent were of German descent, ministers weren't allowed to preach in German to congregants who understood no English, and one town publicly burned German textbooks, the Bozeman Daily Chronicle reported.
Today, there are more than one hundred million.
A record 15 percent—about one out of every seven—of new marriages in 2008 landed in the 'Marrying Out' category.
This is a force for peace, as more and more people have family members in more than one culture and share the interests of more than one nationality.
In 2011, more than one hundred million Americans had passports.
In addition, more than one billion of the world's seven billion people visited a country other than their own in 2011.
One might have expected to find YouTube making its cameo in the earlier "communication" section, but I deliberately moved it here.
In an era when cameras were cumbersome and the number of channels on TV could be counted on one hand with enough fingers left over to snap, very little video of any kind was seen.
The world is happiest when this process is one of persuasion, goodwill, reason, logic, and negotiation.
The libraries that existed, such as the one at Alexandria, contained reading rooms because when you read a book, you read it aloud.
In one case, the technology, writing, probably resulted in our memories getting worse, but we gained much more than we lost.
As we approached the end of the flawless narrative, one of us would invariably ask sardonically (but never sarcastically), "What could possibly go wrong?"
I think the technological leap beyond the next one will take us to the stars.
At six months I could pipe out "How d'ye," and one day I attracted every one's attention by saying "Tea, tea, tea" quite plainly.
One brief spring, musical with the song of robin and mocking-bird, one summer rich in fruit and roses, one autumn of gold and crimson sped by and left their gifts at the feet of an eager, delighted child.
Early one morning, however, the fever left me as suddenly and mysteriously as it had come.
There was great rejoicing in the family that morning, but no one, not even the doctor, knew that I should never see or hear again.
One day some gentlemen called on my mother, and I felt the shutting of the front door and other sounds that indicated their arrival.
On a sudden thought I ran upstairs before any one could stop me, to put on my idea of a company dress.
One big gobbler snatched a tomato from me one day and ran away with it.
The guinea-fowl likes to hide her nest in out-of-the-way places, and it was one of my greatest delights to hunt for the eggs in the long grass.
One was black as ebony, with little bunches of fuzzy hair tied with shoestrings sticking out all over her head like corkscrews.
One child was six years old, the other two or three years older.
Thinking that turn and turn about is fair play, she seized the scissors and cut off one of my curls, and would have cut them all off but for my mother's timely interference.
This vexed me and the lesson always ended in a one-sided boxing match.
One day I happened to spill water on my apron, and I spread it out to dry before the fire which was flickering on the sitting-room hearth.
One morning I locked my mother up in the pantry, where she was obliged to remain three hours, as the servants were in a detached part of the house.
Then I learned what those papers were, and that my father edited one of them.
One day something happened which seemed to me to be adding insult to injury.
We lived a long way from any school for the blind or the deaf, and it seemed unlikely that any one would come to such an out-of-the-way place as Tuscumbia to teach a child who was both deaf and blind.
One lady gave me a box of shells.
I pointed this out to everybody with provoking persistency, but no one seemed equal to the task of providing the doll with eyes.
During the whole trip I did not have one fit of temper, there were so many things to keep my mind and fingers busy.
The most important day I remember in all my life is the one on which my teacher, Anne Mansfield Sullivan, came to me.
I felt my teacher sweep the fragments to one side of the hearth, and I had a sense of satisfaction that the cause of my discomfort was removed.
Some one was drawing water and my teacher placed my hand under the spout.
As the cool stream gushed over one hand she spelled into the other the word water, first slowly, then rapidly.
One day my teacher and I were returning from a long ramble.
One day, Miss Sullivan tells me, I pinned the word girl on my pinafore and stood in the wardrobe.
What many children think of with dread, as a painful plodding through grammar, hard sums and harder definitions, is to-day one of my most precious memories.
The illustrative strings and the orange stick representing the poles seemed so real that even to this day the mere mention of temperate zone suggests a series of twine circles; and I believe that if any one should set about it he could convince me that white bears actually climb the North Pole.
Every one in the family prepared surprises for me, but what pleased me most, Miss Sullivan and I prepared surprises for everybody else.
One morning I left the cage on the window-seat while I went to fetch water for his bath.
How different this journey was from the one I had made to Baltimore two years before!
One day spent with the blind children made me feel thoroughly at home in my new environment, and I looked eagerly from one pleasant experience to another as the days flew swiftly by.
One day spent with the blind children made me feel thoroughly at home in my new environment, and I looked eagerly from one pleasant experience to another as the days flew swiftly by.
One day we visited their beautiful home at Beverly Farms.
The waves seemed to be playing a game with me, and tossed me from one to another in their wild frolic.
One day Miss Sullivan attracted my attention to a strange object which she had captured basking in the shallow water.
It was a great horseshoe crab--the first one I had ever seen.
I was never still a moment; my life was as full of motion as those little insects that crowd a whole existence into one brief day.
It was very difficult to walk over, the ties were wide apart and so narrow that one felt as if one were walking on knives.
I had never crossed it until one day Mildred, Miss Sullivan and I were lost in the woods, and wandered for hours without finding a path.
A snowy night closed upon the world, and in the morning one could scarcely recognize a feature of the landscape.
For one wild, glad moment we snapped the chain that binds us to earth, and joining hands with the winds we felt ourselves divine!
I used to make noises, keeping one hand on my throat while the other hand felt the movements of my lips.
One who is entirely dependent upon the manual alphabet has always a sense of restraint, of narrowness.
Only such a one can appreciate the eagerness with which I talked to my toys, to stones, trees, birds and dumb animals, or the delight I felt when at my call Mildred ran to me or my dogs obeyed my commands.
Miss Fuller and Miss Sullivan could understand me, but most people would not have understood one word in a hundred.
One who reads or talks to me spells with his hand, using the single-hand manual alphabet generally employed by the deaf.
The winter of 1892 was darkened by the one cloud in my childhood's bright sky.
Some one asked me if I had read it in a book.
Mr. Anagnos was delighted with "The Frost King," and published it in one of the Perkins Institution reports.
One thing is certain, the language was ineffaceably stamped upon my brain, though for a long time no one knew it, least of all myself.
One thing is certain, the language was ineffaceably stamped upon my brain, though for a long time no one knew it, least of all myself.
All the friends I loved best, except one, have remained my own to the present time.
I find in one of them, a letter to Mr. Anagnos, dated September 29, 1891, words and sentiments exactly like those of the book.
My only regret is that it resulted in the loss of one of my dearest friends, Mr. Anagnos.
No one knew of these fears except my teacher.
At other times, in the midst of a paragraph I was writing, I said to myself, "Suppose it should be found that all this was written by some one long ago!"
He, who made every one happy in a beautiful, unobtrusive way, was most kind and tender to Miss Sullivan and me.
No one realized more fully than dear Frau Grote how slow and inadequate her spelling was.
But, though everybody was kind and ready to help us, there was only one hand that could turn drudgery into pleasure.
I lived with several others in one of the pleasant houses connected with the school, the house where Mr. Howells used to live, and we all had the advantage of home life.
At Radcliffe no one reads the papers to me after they are written, and I have no opportunity to correct errors unless I finish before the time is up.
In the finals, no one read my work over to me, and in the preliminaries I offered subjects with some of which I was in a measure familiar before my work in the Cambridge school; for at the beginning of the year I had passed examinations in English, History, French and German, which Mr. Gilman gave me from previous Harvard papers.
The geometrical diagrams were particularly vexing because I could not see the relation of the different parts to one another, even on the cushion.
The college authorities did not allow Miss Sullivan to read the examination papers to me; so Mr. Eugene C. Vining, one of the instructors at the Perkins Institution for the Blind, was employed to copy the papers for me in American braille.
Two days before the examinations, Mr. Vining sent me a braille copy of one of the old Harvard papers in algebra.
The one I felt and still feel most is lack of time.
One goes to college to learn, it seems, not to think.
When one enters the portals of learning, one leaves the dearest pleasures--solitude, books and imagination--outside with the whispering pines.
With this machine movable type shuttles can be used, and one can have several shuttles, each with a different set of characters--Greek, French, or mathematical, according to the kind of writing one wishes to do on the typewriter.
One more effort and I reach the luminous cloud, the blue depths of the sky, the uplands of my desire.
There one does not meet the great and the wise face to face; one does not even feel their living touch.
It is impossible, I think, to read in one day four or five different books in different languages and treating of widely different subjects, and not lose sight of the very ends for which one reads.
One of them is the precious science of patience, which teaches us that we should take our education as we would take a walk in the country, leisurely, our minds hospitably open to impressions of every sort.
And read I did, whether I understood one word in ten or two words on a page.
One day my teacher found me in a corner of the library poring over the pages of "The Scarlet Letter."
One sympathizes with their loves and hatreds, laughs over their comedies, and weeps over their tragedies.
It is not necessary that one should be able to define every word and give it its principal parts and its grammatical position in the sentence in order to understand and appreciate a fine poem.
One could have traveled round the word many times while I trudged my weary way through the labyrinthine mazes of grammars and dictionaries, or fell into those dreadful pitfalls called examinations, set by schools and colleges for the confusion of those who seek after knowledge.
She knows her life is in his hands; there is no one to protect her from his wrath.
One reading was sufficient to stamp every detail of the story upon my memory forever.
Anger seized me, my fingers refused to move, I sat rigid for one long moment, the blood throbbing in my temples, and all the hatred that a child can feel concentrated in my heart.
I felt vaguely that they could not be good even if they wished to, because no one seemed willing to help them or to give them a fair chance.
Though I believe it is no longer considered valid, yet I have kept it ever since as one of my treasures.
I admire Victor Hugo – I appreciate his genius, his brilliancy, his romanticism; though he is not one of my literary passions.
One day we had a thrilling experience.
Last summer I spent in one of the loveliest nooks of one of the most charming villages in New England.
One of them, a splendid oak, is the special pride of my heart.
As soon as my examinations were over, Miss Sullivan and I hastened to this green nook, where we have a little cottage on one of the three lakes for which Wrentham is famous.
In the country one sees only Nature's fair works, and one's soul is not saddened by the cruel struggle for mere existence that goes on in the crowded city.
At present the lord of my affections is one of these bull terriers.
The jar made by shifting the men from one hole to another tells me when it is my turn.
I count it one of the sweetest privileges of my life to have known and conversed with many men of genius.
As a child I loved to sit on his knee and clasp his great hand with one of mine, while Miss Sullivan spelled into the other his beautiful words about God and the spiritual world.
He had invited Miss Sullivan and me to call on him one Sunday afternoon.
One beautiful summer day, not long after my meeting with Dr. Holmes, Miss Sullivan and I visited Whittier in his quiet home on the Merrimac.
Dr. Edward Everett Hale is one of my very oldest friends.
One does not need to read "A Boy I Knew" to understand him--the most generous, sweet-natured boy I ever knew, a good friend in all sorts of weather, who traces the footprints of love in the life of dogs as well as in that of his fellowmen.
When I find my work particularly difficult and discouraging, she writes me letters that make me feel glad and brave; for she is one of those from whom we learn that one painful duty fulfilled makes the next plainer and easier.
I read from Mark Twain's lips one or two of his good stories.
One is Mrs. William Thaw, of Pittsburgh, whom I have often visited in her home, Lyndhurst.
She is always doing something to make some one happy, and her generosity and wise counsel have never failed my teacher and me in all the years we have known her.
Kind to every one, he goes about doing good, silent and unseen.
Those are passages of which one would ask for more.
One cause for the excellence of her letters is the great number of them.
From the letters after the year 1892 I have culled in the spirit of one making an anthology, choosing the passages best in style and most important from the point of view of biography.
While at Memphis she went over one of the large Mississippi steamers.
One day a dear little baby-boy was born.
One day there was a great shout on the ship for the people saw the land and they were full of joy because they had reached a new country safely.
One sits on the twig of a tree, just beneath our window, and he fills the air with his glad songs.
EXCEEDINGLY is one that I learned yesterday.
Mr. Wilson came to call on us one Thursday.
One carried me in his arms so that my feet would not touch the water.
If I were with you to-day I would give you eighty-three kisses, one for each year you have lived.
I hope your Christmas Day will be a very happy one and that the New Year will be full of brightness and joy for you and every one.
I had two or three hundred others and thine was one of the most welcome of all.
And I have another beautiful Mastiff--the largest one I ever saw--and he will go along to protect us.
I had one gift which especially pleased me.
Teacher's eyes have been hurting her so that she could not write to any one, and I have been trying to fulfil a promise which I made last summer.
In reading this letter about Niagara one should remember that Miss Keller knows distance and shape, and that the size of Niagara is within her experience after she has explored it, crossed the bridge and gone down in the elevator.
Mr. Westervelt gave us a reception one afternoon.
...Every one at the Fair was very kind to me...
I saw the one through which Emperor Dom Pedro listened to the words, "To be, or not to be," at the Centennial.
We are all discoverers in one sense, being born quite ignorant of all things; but I hardly think that is what she meant.
They permitted themselves startling liberties when any one caressed them, crowding themselves almost into one's arms and helping themselves without ceremony to kisses, apparently unconscious of the impropriety of their conduct.
But they are so good natured and friendly, one cannot help liking them.
After we had had our breakfast, Teacher asked one of the train-men in the station if the New York train was made up.
Every one said I spoke very well and intelligibly.
This year is going to be a very busy one for Teacher and myself.
Some one balances the toboggan on the very crest of the hill, while we get on, and when we are ready, off we dash down the side of the hill in a headlong rush, and, leaping a projection, plunge into a snow-drift and go swimming far across the pond at a tremendous rate!...
You will think I'm pining away for my beloved Wrentham, which is true in one sense and not in another.
Next to my own dear teacher, he has done more than any one else to enrich and broaden my mind.
General Loring kindly showed me a copy of one of the wonderful bronze doors of the Baptistry of Florence, and I felt of the graceful pillars, resting on the backs of fierce lions.
I already have the seventh and eighth books of the "Aeneid" and one book of the "Iliad," all of which is most fortunate, as I have come almost to the end of my embossed text-books.
There is but one cloud in my sky at present; but that is one which casts a dark shadow over my life, and makes me very anxious at times.
I have just had some pictures taken, and if they are good, I would like to send one to Mr. Rogers, if you think he would like to have it.
Every one here is talking about the Sargent pictures.
The "Iliad" tells of almost nothing but war, and one sometimes wearies of the clash of spears and the din of battle; but the "Odyssey" tells of nobler courage--the courage of a soul sore tried, but steadfast to the end.
Then the world has advanced one step in its heavenward march.
We shall all live together in a small cottage on one of the lakes at Wrentham, while my dear teacher takes a much needed rest.
The college authorities would not permit Miss Sullivan to read the examination papers to me; so Mr. Eugene C. Vining, one of the instructors at the Perkins Institution for the Blind, was employed to copy the papers for me in braille.
Now there is one more fact, which I wish to state very plainly, in regard to what Mr. Gilman wrote to you.
We are enjoying every moment of our visit, every one is so good to us.
In college she, or possibly in some subjects some one else, would of necessity be with me in the lecture-room and at recitations.
My friends thought we might have one or two pupils in our own home, thereby securing to me the advantage of being helpful to others without any of the disadvantages of a large school.
Many of my friends would be well pleased if I would take two or even one course a year, but I rather object to spending the rest of my life in college....
It is evident that the blind should have a good magazine, not a special magazine for the blind, but one of our best monthlies, printed in embossed letters.
To be able to read for one's self what is being willed, thought and done in the world--the world in whose joys and sorrows, failures and successes one feels the keenest interest--that would indeed be a happiness too deep for words.
He had just constructed a boat that could be propelled by a kite with the wind in its favor, and one day he tried experiments to see if he could steer the kite against the wind.
On one of them I noticed that the strings were of wire, and having had some experience in bead work, I said I thought they would break.
Miss Keller does not suppose her views to be of great importance, and when she utters her opinions on important matters she takes it for granted that her reader will receive them as the opinions of a junior in college, not of one who writes with the wisdom of maturity.
I ought to apologize to the reader and to Miss Keller for presuming to say what her subject matter is worth, but one more explanation is necessary.
When Miss Keller puts her work in typewritten form, she cannot refer to it again unless some one reads it to her by means of the manual alphabet.
Indeed, at one time it was believed that the best way for them to communicate was through systematized gestures, the sign language invented by the Abbe de l'Epee.
Some one asked her if she liked to study.
If any one whom she is touching laughs at a joke, she laughs, too, just as if she had heard it.
No one knows, however, just what her sensations are.
It is amusing to read in one of the magazines of 1895 that Miss Keller "has a just and intelligent appreciation of different composers from having literally felt their music, Schumann being her favourite."
If she knows the difference between Schumann and Beethoven, it is because she has read it, and if she has read it, she remembers it and can tell any one who asks her.
But every one who has met her has given his best ideas to her and she has taken them.
When she returns from a walk and tells some one about it, her descriptions are accurate and vivid.
A friend tried Miss Keller one day with several coins.
When she found them she said, "One is silent."
It is, however, in her daily life that one can best measure the delicacy of her senses and her manual skill.
Miss Keller puts her fingers lightly over the hand of one who is talking to her and gets the words as rapidly as they can be spelled.
The time that one of Miss Keller's friends realizes most strongly that she is blind is when he comes on her suddenly in the dark and hears the rustle of her fingers across the page.
Miss Keller does not as a rule read very fast, but she reads deliberately, not so much because she feels the words less quickly than we see then, as because it is one of her habits of mind to do things thoroughly and well.
This much is certain, she cannot have any sense that other people may not have, and the existence of a special sense is not evident to her or to any one who knows her.
The finer traits of Miss Keller's character are so well known that one needs not say much about them.
Once when some one asked her to define "love," she replied, "Why, bless you, that is easy; it is what everybody feels for everybody else."
The names of Laura Bridgman and Helen Keller will always be linked together, and it is necessary to understand what Dr. Howe did for his pupil before one comes to an account of Miss Sullivan's work.
After Laura's education had progressed for two months with the use only of raised letters, Dr. Howe sent one of his teachers to learn the manual alphabet from a deaf-mute.
He never forgot to keep his records of Laura Bridgman in the fashion of one who works in a laboratory.
Miss Sullivan knew at the beginning that Helen Keller would be more interesting and successful than Laura Bridgman, and she expresses in one of her letters the need of keeping notes.
Why, one might just as well say that a two-year-old child converses fluently when he says 'apple give,' or 'baby walk go.'
One paper has Helen demonstrating problems in geometry by means of her playing blocks.
Although Miss Sullivan is still rather amused than distressed when some one, even one of her friends, makes mistakes in published articles about her and Miss Keller, still she sees that Miss Keller's book should include all the information that the teacher could at present furnish.
No one interferes with Miss Sullivan's plans, or shares in her tasks.
The drive from the station to the house, a distance of one mile, was very lovely and restful.
One eye is larger than the other, and protrudes noticeably.
She is unresponsive and even impatient of caresses from any one except her mother.
One thing that impresses everybody is Helen's tireless activity.
I shook my head and took them all off and made her feel of the two wooden beads and the one glass bead.
Then she went all round the table to see who was there, and finding no one but me, she seemed bewildered.
She kept going to the door, as if she expected some one, and every now and then she would touch her cheek, which is her sign for her mother, and shake her head sadly.
This lasted for several minutes; then this mood passed, and Nancy was thrown ruthlessly on the floor and pushed to one side, while a large, pink-cheeked, fuzzy-haired member of the family received the little mother's undivided attention.
When I came, her movements were so insistent that one always felt there was something unnatural and almost weird about her.
One day this week Captain Keller brought Belle, a setter of which he is very proud, to see us.
She usually feels the softest step and throws out her arms to ascertain if any one is near her.
The hour from twelve to one is devoted to the learning of new words.
She dropped the mug and stood as one transfixed.
She is anxious for her friends to spell, and eager to teach the letters to every one she meets.
I SHALL USE COMPLETE SENTENCES IN TALKING TO HER, and fill out the meaning with gestures and her descriptive signs when necessity requires it; but I shall not try to keep her mind fixed on any one thing.
If she wanted a small object and was given a large one, she would shake her head and take up a tiny bit of the skin of one hand between the thumb and finger of the other.
She kept spelling "dog--baby" and pointing to her five fingers one after another, and sucking them.
My first thought was, one of the dogs has hurt Mildred; but Helen's beaming face set my fears at rest.
She led the way to the pump-house, and there in the corner was one of the setters with five dear little pups!
She pointed to each puppy, one after another, and to her five fingers, and I taught her the word FIVE.
Then she held up one finger and said "baby."
I knew she was thinking of Mildred, and I spelled, "One baby and five puppies."
She noticed that one of the puppies was much smaller than the others, and she spelled "small," making the sign at the same time, and I said "very small."
One stone was "small," another was "very small."
The solitude of the place sets one dreaming.
Oh, if only there were some one to help me!
I have made up my mind about one thing: Helen must learn to use books--indeed, we must both learn to use them, and that reminds me--will you please ask Mr. Anagnos to get me Perez's and Sully's Psychologies?
Usually we take one of the little "Readers" up in a big tree near the house and spend an hour or two finding the words Helen already knows.
One of Helen's old habits, that is strongest and hardest to correct, is a tendency to break things.
No one can see her without being impressed.
I shall write freely to you and tell you everything, on one condition: It is this: you must promise never to show my letters to any one.
One day, when I wanted her to bring me some water, she said: Legs very tired.
Helen's head measures twenty and one-half inches, and mine measures twenty-one and one-half inches.
You see, I'm only one inch ahead!
Above this line the head rises one and one-fourth inches.
In one lesson I taught her these words: BEDSTEAD, MATTRESS, SHEET, BLANKET, COMFORTER, SPREAD, PILLOW.
The same day she had learned, at different times, the words: hOUSE, WEED, DUST, SWING, MOLASSES, FAST, SLOW, MAPLE-SUGAR and COUNTER, and she had not forgotten one of these last.
She enjoys punching holes in paper with the stiletto, and I supposed it was because she could examine the result of her work; but we watched her one day, and I was much surprised to find that she imagined she was writing a letter.
One can easily see her meaning.
The next morning we were astonished to find that she remembered all of them, and recognized every one she had met the night before.
One of the girls taught her to dance the polka, and a little boy showed her his rabbits and spelled their names for her.
But it hardly seems possible that any mere words should convey to one who has never seen a mountain the faintest idea of its grandeur; and I don't see how any one is ever to know what impression she did receive, or the cause of her pleasure in what was told her about it.
There are several near Tuscumbia; one very large one from which the town got its name.
"What colour is think?" was one of the restful questions she asked, as we swung to and fro in the hammock.
I have two copies, and will send you one; but you mustn't show it to anybody.
She rarely misuses or omits one in conversation.
One day I took her to the cistern.
This lesson was followed by one on words indicative of place-relations.
For the first lesson I had two balls, one made of worsted, large and soft, the other a bullet.
Taking the bullet she made her habitual sign for SMALL--that is, by pinching a little bit of the skin of one hand.
Then her attention was called to the hardness of the one ball and the softness of the other, and she learned SOFT and HARD.
She helped me wind some worsted one day, first rapidly and afterward slowly.
She moved her finger from one printed character to another as I formed each letter on my fingers.
When she touched one with which she was familiar, a peculiarly sweet expression lighted her face, and we saw her countenance growing sweeter and more earnest every day.
She can add and subtract with great rapidity up to the sum of one hundred; and she knows the multiplication tables as far as the FIVES.
On being told that she was white and that one of the servants was black, she concluded that all who occupied a similar menial position were of the same hue; and whenever I asked her the colour of a servant she would say "black."
When asked the colour of some one whose occupation she did not know she seemed bewildered, and finally said "blue."
The keeper of the bears made one big black fellow stand on his hind legs and hold out his great paw to us, which Helen shook politely.
One cute little fellow stole her hair-ribbon, and another tried to snatch the flowers out of her hat.
One of the leopards licked her hands, and the man in charge of the giraffes lifted her up in his arms so that she could feel their ears and see how tall they were.
Christmas week was a very busy one here, too.
One little chap, about seven, was persuaded to learn the letters, and he spelled his name for Helen.
One little girl had fewer presents than the rest, and Helen insisted on sharing her gifts with her.
The exercises began at nine, and it was one o'clock before we could leave.
What would happen, do you think, if some one should try to measure our intelligence by our ability to define the commonest words we use?
Of course, she hung her stocking--two of them lest Santa Claus should forget one, and she lay awake for a long time and got up two or three times to see if anything had happened.
One day Helen said, "I must buy Nancy a very pretty hat."
One of the ministers wished me to ask Helen, "What do ministers do?"
When the communion service began, she smelt the wine, and sniffed so loud that every one in the church could hear.
Almost every one on the train was a physician, and Dr. Keller seemed to know them all.
She was delighted with the orchestra at the hotel, and whenever the music began she danced round the room, hugging and kissing every one she happened to touch.
He took us to drive one afternoon, and wanted to give Helen a doll; but she said: I do not like too many children.
This extract from one of Miss Sullivan's letters is added because it contains interesting casual opinions stimulated by observing the methods of others.
In one room some little tots were standing before the blackboard, painfully constructing "simple sentences."
One of them pulled me by the sleeve and said, "Girl is blind."
It is impossible for any one with whom Helen is conversing to be particularly happy or sad, and withhold the knowledge of this fact from her.
One day, while she was out walking with her mother and Mr. Anagnos, a boy threw a torpedo, which startled Mrs. Keller.
On one occasion, while walking on the Common with her, I saw a police officer taking a man to the station-house.
At my suggestion, one of the gentlemen took her hand, and the tests were repeated.
While making a visit at Brewster, Massachusetts, she one day accompanied my friend and me through the graveyard.
She examined one stone after another, and seemed pleased when she could decipher a name.
She does not realize that one can be anything but kind-hearted and tender.
One morning she was greatly distressed by finding that one of the dogs had a block fastened to her collar.
One morning she was greatly distressed by finding that one of the dogs had a block fastened to her collar.
He had a bag in one hand.
One day, while her pony and her donkey were standing side by side, Helen went from one to the other, examining them closely.
One day, while her pony and her donkey were standing side by side, Helen went from one to the other, examining them closely.
She has one advantage over ordinary children, that nothing from without distracts her attention from her studies.
Whenever any one asks me if she will understand this or that word I always reply: Never mind whether she understands each separate word of a sentence or not.
She had learned the printed letters, and for some time had amused herself by making simple sentences, using slips on which the words were printed in raised letters; but these sentences had no special relation to one another.
One day as we left the library I noticed that she appeared more serious than usual, and I asked the cause.
Whenever she meets any one who is familiar with this system, she is delighted to use it in conversation.
It was hoped that one so peculiarly endowed by nature as Helen, would, if left entirely to her own resources, throw some light upon such psychological questions as were not exhaustively investigated by Dr. Howe; but their hopes were not to be realized.
Finally she one day demanded a name for the power, the existence of which she had already conceived in her own mind.
A. says God made me and every one out of sand; but it must be a joke.
Can any one doubt after reading these questions that the child who was capable of asking them was also capable of understanding at least their elementary answers?
But after a great deal of thought and study, I told her, men came to believe that all forces were manifestations of one power, and to that power they gave the name GOD.
One day she said, sadly: I am blind and deaf.
"No one knows what the soul is like," I replied; "but we know that it is not the body, and it is that part of us which thinks and loves and hopes, and which Christian people believe will live on after the body is dead."
I was obliged to confess that I did not know, but suggested that it might be on one of the stars.
When her friend added that some of the pupils he had seen in Budapest had more than one hundred tunes in their heads, she said, laughing, "I think their heads must be very noisy."
One day she asked, "Does God take care of us all the time?"
She does not think of one wrong act as harmless, of another as of no consequence, and of another as not intended.
In order to write one must have something to write about, and having something to write about requires some mental preparation.
All day long in their play-time and work-time Miss Sullivan kept spelling into her pupil's hand, and by that Helen Keller absorbed words, just as the child in the cradle absorbs words by hearing thousands of them before he uses one and by associating the words with the occasion of their utterance.
She urged every one to speak to Helen naturally, to give her full sentences and intelligent ideas, never minding whether Helen understood or not.
She got the language from the language itself, and this is, next to hearing the language spoken, the way for any one to get a foreign tongue, more vital and, in the end, easier than our schoolroom method of beginning with the grammar.
It was not a lesson, but only one of her recreations.
Her method might not succeed so completely in the hands of any one else.
There is, then, a good deal that Miss Sullivan has done for Miss Keller which no other teacher can do in just the same way for any one else.
And the one to do it is the parent or the special teacher, not the school.
When Miss Sullivan went out in the barnyard and picked up a little chicken and talked to Helen about it, she was giving a kind of instruction impossible inside four walls, and impossible with more than one pupil at a time.
Miss Sullivan's methods were so good that even without the practical result, any one would recognize the truth of the teacher's ideas.
When she is telling a child's story, or one with pathos in it, her voice runs into pretty slurs from one tone to another.
This is like the effect of the slow dwelling on long words, not quite well managed, that one notices in a child who is telling a solemn story.
It would, I think, be hard to make her feel just how to pronounce DICTIONARY without her erring either toward DICTIONAYRY or DICTION'RY, and, of course the word is neither one nor the other.
For no system of marks in a lexicon can tell one how to pronounce a word.
Her friends grow accustomed to her speech and forget that it is different from that of any one else.
Children seldom have any difficulty in understanding her; which suggests that her deliberate measured speech is like theirs, before they come to the adult trick of running all the words of a phrase into one movement of the breath.
Occasionally she broke out into a merry laugh, and then she would reach out and touch the mouth of any one who happened to be near her, to see if he were laughing also.
She always liked to stand by the piano when some one was playing and singing.
She kept one hand on the singer's mouth, while the other rested on the piano, and she stood in this position as long as any one would sing to her, and afterward she would make a continuous sound which she called singing.
Hard consonants were, and indeed still are, very difficult for her to pronounce in connection with one another in the same word; she often suppresses the one and changes the other, and sometimes she replaces both by an analogous sound with soft aspiration.
She would repeatedly use one for the other.
It is a clumsy and unsatisfactory way of receiving communication, useless when Miss Sullivan or some one else who knows the manual alphabet is present to give Miss Keller the spoken words of others.
But she knows better than any one else what value speech has had for her.
It seems very strange to me that there should be this difference of opinion; I cannot understand how any one interested in our education can fail to appreciate the satisfaction we feel in being able to express our thoughts in living words.
One can never consent to creep when one feels an impulse to soar.
One can never consent to creep when one feels an impulse to soar.
No one can have read Miss Keller's autobiography without feeling that she writes unusually fine English.
Any one who has tried to write knows what Miss Keller owes to the endless practice which Miss Sullivan demanded of her.
As I had never heard it, I inquired of several of my friends if they recalled the words; no one seemed to remember it.
The teachers at the Institution expressed the opinion that the description did not appear in any book in raised print in that library; but one lady, Miss Marrett, took upon herself the task of examining books of poems in ordinary type, and was rewarded by finding the following lines in one of Longfellow's minor poems, entitled 'Snowflakes':
One warm, sunny day in early spring, when we were at the North, the balmy atmosphere appears to have brought to her mind the sentiment expressed by Longfellow in "Hiawatha," and she almost sings with the poet: "The ground was all aquiver with the stir of new life.
About the same time, in a letter to a friend, in which she makes mention of her Southern home, she gives so close a reproduction from a poem by one of her favourite authors that I will give extracts from Helen's letter and from the poem itself:
In a letter to a friend at the Perkins Institution, dated May 17, 1889, she gives a reproduction from one of Hans Christian Andersen's stories, which I had read to her not long before.
In one of his letters, speaking of how God in every way tells us of His love, he says, "I think he writes it even upon the walls of the great house of nature which we live in, that he is our Father."
No one shall be allowed to think it was anything wrong; and some day she will write a great, beautiful story or poem that will make many people happy.
One pleasant morning in the beautiful springtime, I thought I was sitting on the soft grass under my dear mother's window, looking very earnestly at the rose-bushes which were growing all around me.
He has two neighbours, who live still farther north; one is King Winter, a cross and churlish old monarch, who is hard and cruel, and delights in making the poor suffer and weep; but the other neighbour is Santa Claus, a fine, good-natured, jolly old soul, who loves to do good, and who brings presents to the poor, and to nice little children at Christmas.
Well, one day King Frost was trying to think of some good that he could do with his treasure; and suddenly he concluded to send some of it to his kind neighbour, Santa Claus, to buy presents of food and clothing for the poor, that they might not suffer so much when King Winter went near their homes.
Still, for awhile, the frost fairies did not notice this strange occurrence, for they were down on the grass, so far below the tree-tops that the wonderful shower of treasure was a long time in reaching them; but at last one of them said, Hark!
At my request, one of the teachers in the girls' department examined Helen in regard to the construction of the story.
I first tried to ascertain what had suggested to Helen's mind the particular fancies which made her story seem like a reproduction of one written by Miss Margaret Canby.
Such rich treasures must be kept in a safe place, and so she had imagined them stored in jars and vases in one part of the royal palace.
In answer to my question she recited a part of the poem called 'Freaks of the Frost,' and she referred to a little piece about winter, in one of the school readers.
She could not remember that any one had ever read to her any stories about King Frost, but said she had talked with her teacher about Jack Frost and the wonderful things he did.
All use of language is imitative, and one's style is made up of all other styles that one has met.
The substance of thought is language, and language is the one thing to teach the deaf child and every other child.
The language must be one used by a nation, not an artificial thing.
In the early years of her education she had only good things to read; some were, indeed, trivial and not excellent in style, but not one was positively bad in manner or substance.
But early one morning the fever left me as mysteriously and unexpectedly as it had come, and I fell into a quiet sleep.
For the first time since my entrance into Radcliffe I had the opportunity to make friends with all my classmates...
It surprises me to find that such an idea has crossed the mind of any one, especially of a highly gifted critic.
I am not one of those on whom fortune deigns to smile.
I rarely have dreams that are not in keeping with what I really think and feel, but one night my very nature seemed to change, and I stood in the eye of the world a mighty man and a terrible.
I was very fond of bananas, and one night I dreamed that I found a long string of them in the dining-room, near the cupboard, all peeled and deliciously ripe, and all I had to do was to stand under the string and eat as long as I could eat.
One cold winter night I was alone in my room.
It is hard to have a Southern overseer; it is worse to have a Northern one; but worst of all when you are the slave-driver of yourself.
Samuel Laing says that "the Laplander in his skin dress, and in a skin bag which he puts over his head and shoulders, will sleep night after night on the snow... in a degree of cold which would extinguish the life of one exposed to it in any woollen clothing."
However, if one designs to construct a dwelling-house, it behooves him to exercise a little Yankee shrewdness, lest after all he find himself in a workhouse, a labyrinth without a clue, a museum, an almshouse, a prison, or a splendid mausoleum instead.
In the savage state every family owns a shelter as good as the best, and sufficient for its coarser and simpler wants; but I think that I speak within bounds when I say that, though the birds of the air have their nests, and the foxes their holes, and the savages their wigwams, in modern civilized society not more than one half the families own a shelter.
But, answers one, by merely paying this tax, the poor civilized man secures an abode which is a palace compared with the savage's.
The luxury of one class is counterbalanced by the indigence of another.
On the one side is the palace, on the other are the almshouse and "silent poor."
Or I could refer you to Ireland, which is marked as one of the white or enlightened spots on the map.
Are you one of the ninety-seven who fail, or the three who succeed?
One large bundle held their all--bed, coffee-mill, looking-glass, hens--all but the cat; she took to the woods and became a wild cat, and, as I learned afterward, trod in a trap set for woodchucks, and so became a dead cat at last.
One early thrush gave me a note or two as I drove along the woodland path.
He was there to represent spectatordom, and help make this seemingly insignificant event one with the removal of the gods of Troy.
No man was ever more honored in the character of his raisers than I. They are destined, I trust, to assist at the raising of loftier structures one day.
One man says, in his despair or indifference to life, take up a handful of the earth at your feet, and paint your house that color.
I have thus a tight shingled and plastered house, ten feet wide by fifteen long, and eight-feet posts, with a garret and a closet, a large window on each side, two trap doors, one door at the end, and a brick fireplace opposite.
"But," says one, "you do not mean that the students should go to work with their hands instead of their heads?"
To my astonishment I was informed on leaving college that I had studied navigation!--why, if I had taken one turn down the harbor I should have known more about it.
One farmer said that it was "good for nothing but to raise cheeping squirrels on."
I desire to speak impartially on this point, and as one not interested in the success or failure of the present economical and social arrangements.
I was more independent than any farmer in Concord, for I was not anchored to a house or farm, but could follow the bent of my genius, which is a very crooked one, every moment.
However, I should never have broken a horse or bull and taken him to board for any work he might do for me, for fear I should become a horseman or a herdsman merely; and if society seems to be the gainer by so doing, are we certain that what is one man's gain is not another's loss, and that the stable-boy has equal cause with his master to be satisfied?
One piece of good sense would be more memorable than a monument as high as the moon.
As for a habitat, if I were not permitted still to squat, I might purchase one acre at the same price for which the land I cultivated was sold--namely, eight dollars and eight cents.
My furniture, part of which I made myself--and the rest cost me nothing of which I have not rendered an account--consisted of a bed, a table, a desk, three chairs, a looking-glass three inches in diameter, a pair of tongs and andirons, a kettle, a skillet, and a frying-pan, a dipper, a wash-bowl, two knives and forks, three plates, one cup, one spoon, a jug for oil, a jug for molasses, and a japanned lamp.
Each load looks as if it contained the contents of a dozen shanties; and if one shanty is poor, this is a dozen times as poor.
The laborer's day ends with the going down of the sun, and he is then free to devote himself to his chosen pursuit, independent of his labor; but his employer, who speculates from month to month, has no respite from one end of the year to the other.
One young man of my acquaintance, who has inherited some acres, told me that he thought he should live as I did, if he had the means.
Undoubtedly, in this case, what is true for one is truer still for a thousand, as a large house is not proportionally more expensive than a small one, since one roof may cover, one cellar underlie, and one wall separate several apartments.
I heard it proposed lately that two young men should travel together over the world, the one without money, earning his means as he went, before the mast and behind the plow, the other carrying a bill of exchange in his pocket.
It was easy to see that they could not long be companions or co-operate, since one would not operate at all.
However, when I have thought to indulge myself in this respect, and lay their Heaven under an obligation by maintaining certain poor persons in all respects as comfortably as I maintain myself, and have even ventured so far as to make them the offer, they have one and all unhesitatingly preferred to remain poor.
While my townsmen and women are devoted in so many ways to the good of their fellows, I trust that one at least may be spared to other and less humane pursuits.
As for Doing-good, that is one of the professions which are full.
A robust poor man, one sunny day here in Concord, praised a fellow-townsman to me, because, as he said, he was kind to the poor; meaning himself.
Do not stay to be an overseer of the poor, but endeavor to become one of the worthies of the world.
Such was not my abode, for I found myself suddenly neighbor to the birds; not by having imprisoned one, but having caged myself near them.
One value even of the smallest well is, that when you look into it you see that earth is not continent but insular.
I got up early and bathed in the pond; that was a religious exercise, and one of the best things which I did.
The millions are awake enough for physical labor; but only one in a million is awake enough for effective intellectual exertion, only one in a hundred millions to a poetic or divine life.
Instead of three meals a day, if it be necessary eat but one; instead of a hundred dishes, five; and reduce other things in proportion.
Each one is a man, an Irishman, or a Yankee man.
To speak critically, I never received more than one or two letters in my life--I wrote this some years ago--that were worth the postage.
If we read of one man robbed, or murdered, or killed by accident, or one house burned, or one vessel wrecked, or one steamboat blown up, or one cow run over on the Western Railroad, or one mad dog killed, or one lot of grasshoppers in the winter--we never need read of another.
One of his father's ministers having discovered him, revealed to him what he was, and the misconception of his character was removed, and he knew himself to be a prince.
Let us spend one day as deliberately as Nature, and not be thrown off the track by every nutshell and mosquito's wing that falls on the rails.
I read one or two shallow books of travel in the intervals of my work, till that employment made me ashamed of myself, and I asked where it was then that I lived.
To read well, that is, to read true books in a true spirit, is a noble exercise, and one that will task the reader more than any exercise which the customs of the day esteem.
The one is commonly transitory, a sound, a tongue, a dialect merely, almost brutish, and we learn it unconsciously, like the brutes, of our mothers.
One who has just come from reading perhaps one of the best English books will find how many with whom he can converse about it?
One who has just come from reading perhaps one of the best English books will find how many with whom he can converse about it?
Shall the world be confined to one Paris or one Oxford forever?
The one hundred and twenty-five dollars annually subscribed for a Lyceum in the winter is better spent than any other equal sum raised in the town.
If it is necessary, omit one bridge over the river, go round a little there, and throw one arch at least over the darker gulf of ignorance which surrounds us.
My days were not days of the week, bearing the stamp of any heathen deity, nor were they minced into hours and fretted by the ticking of a clock; for I lived like the Puri Indians, of whom it is said that "for yesterday, today, and tomorrow they have only one word, and they express the variety of meaning by pointing backward for yesterday forward for tomorrow, and overhead for the passing day."
When my floor was dirty, I rose early, and, setting all my furniture out of doors on the grass, bed and bedstead making but one budget, dashed water on the floor, and sprinkled white sand from the pond on it, and then with a broom scrubbed it clean and white; and by the time the villagers had broken their fast the morning sun had dried my house sufficiently to allow me to move in again, and my meditations were almost uninterupted.
As they come under one horizon, they shout their warning to get off the track to the other, heard sometimes through the circles of two towns.
Here goes lumber from the Maine woods, which did not go out to sea in the last freshet, risen four dollars on the thousand because of what did go out or was split up; pine, spruce, cedar--first, second, third, and fourth qualities, so lately all of one quality, to wave over the bear, and moose, and caribou.
Regularly at half-past seven, in one part of the summer, after the evening train had gone by, the whip-poor-wills chanted their vespers for half an hour, sitting on a stump by my door, or upon the ridge-pole of the house.
Sometimes one would circle round and round me in the woods a few feet distant as if tethered by a string, when probably I was near its eggs.
But now one answers from far woods in a strain made really melodious by distance--Hoo hoo hoo, hoorer hoo; and indeed for the most part it suggested only pleasing associations, whether heard by day or night, summer or winter.
This is a delicious evening, when the whole body is one sense, and imbibes delight through every pore.
I have my horizon bounded by woods all to myself; a distant view of the railroad where it touches the pond on the one hand, and of the fence which skirts the woodland road on the other.
In one heavy thunder-shower the lightning struck a large pitch pine across the pond, making a very conspicuous and perfectly regular spiral groove from top to bottom, an inch or more deep, and four or five inches wide, as you would groove a walking-stick.
I have found that no exertion of the legs can bring two minds much nearer to one another.
I one evening overtook one of my townsmen, who has accumulated what is called "a handsome property"--though I never got a fair view of it--on the Walden road, driving a pair of cattle to market, who inquired of me how I could bring my mind to give up so many of the comforts of life.
The really diligent student in one of the crowded hives of Cambridge College is as solitary as a dervish in the desert.
It would be better if there were but one inhabitant to a square mile, as where I live.
Let me suggest a few comparisons, that some one may convey an idea of my situation.
The sun is alone, except in thick weather, when there sometimes appear to be two, but one is a mock sun.
An elderly dame, too, dwells in my neighborhood, invisible to most persons, in whose odorous herb garden I love to stroll sometimes, gathering simples and listening to her fables; for she has a genius of unequalled fertility, and her memory runs back farther than mythology, and she can tell me the original of every fable, and on what fact every one is founded, for the incidents occurred when she was young.
One inconvenience I sometimes experienced in so small a house, the difficulty of getting to a sufficient distance from my guest when we began to utter the big thoughts in big words.
When the night arrived, to quote their own words--He laid us on the bed with himself and his wife, they at the one end and we at the other, it being only planks laid a foot from the ground and a thin mat upon them.
At one o'clock the next day Massasoit "brought two fishes that he had shot," about thrice as big as a bream.
This meal only we had in two nights and a day; and had not one of us bought a partridge, we had taken our journey fasting.
As for men, they will hardly fail one anywhere.
He, too, has heard of Homer, and, "if it were not for books," would "not know what to do rainy days," though perhaps he has not read one wholly through for many rainy seasons.
I could get all I should want for a week in one day.
If you told him that such a one was coming, he did as if he thought that anything so grand would expect nothing of himself, but take all the responsibility on itself, and let him be forgotten still.
One man, perhaps, if he has got enough, will be satisfied to sit all day with his back to the fire and his belly to the table, by George!
One real runaway slave, among the rest, whom I helped to forward toward the north star.
One man proposed a book in which visitors should write their names, as at the White Mountains; but, alas!
It is one of the oldest scenes stamped on my memory.
This was one field not in Mr. Coleman's report.
Or sometimes I watched a pair of hen-hawks circling high in the sky, alternately soaring and descending, approaching, and leaving one another, as if they were the embodiment of my own thoughts.
This was one of the great days; though the sky had from my clearing only the same everlastingly great look that it wears daily, and I saw no difference in it.
After hoeing, or perhaps reading and writing, in the forenoon, I usually bathed again in the pond, swimming across one of its coves for a stint, and washed the dust of labor from my person, or smoothed out the last wrinkle which study had made, and for the afternoon was absolutely free.
The village appeared to me a great news room; and on one side, to support it, as once at Redding & Company's on State Street, they kept nuts and raisins, or salt and meal and other groceries.
I observed that the vitals of the village were the grocery, the bar-room, the post-office, and the bank; and, as a necessary part of the machinery, they kept a bell, a big gun, and a fire-engine, at convenient places; and the houses were so arranged as to make the most of mankind, in lanes and fronting one another, so that every traveller had to run the gauntlet, and every man, woman, and child might get a lick at him.
Besides, there was a still more terrible standing invitation to call at every one of these houses, and company expected about these times.
Often in a snow-storm, even by day, one will come out upon a well-known road and yet find it impossible to tell which way leads to the village.
There is but one way to obtain it, yet few take that way.
Once in a while we sat together on the pond, he at one end of the boat, and I at the other; but not many words passed between us, for he had grown deaf in his later years, but he occasionally hummed a psalm, which harmonized well enough with my philosophy.
Thus I caught two fishes as it were with one hook.
The surrounding hills rise abruptly from the water to the height of forty to eighty feet, though on the southeast and east they attain to about one hundred and one hundred and fifty feet respectively, within a quarter and a third of a mile.
All our Concord waters have two colors at least; one when viewed at a distance, and another, more proper, close at hand.
The sea, however, is said to be blue one day and green another without any perceptible change in the atmosphere.
Walden is blue at one time and green at another, even from the same point of view.
The shore is composed of a belt of smooth rounded white stones like paving-stones, excepting one or two short sand beaches, and is so steep that in many places a single leap will carry you into water over your head; and were it not for its remarkable transparency, that would be the last to be seen of its bottom till it rose on the opposite side.
This is particularly distinct to one standing on the middle of the pond in winter, just after a light snow has fallen, appearing as a clear undulating white line, unobscured by weeds and twigs, and very obvious a quarter of a mile off in many places where in summer it is hardly distinguishable close at hand.
The ornamented grounds of villas which will one day be built here may still preserve some trace of this.
If the name was not derived from that of some English locality--Saffron Walden, for instance--one might suppose that it was called originally Walled-in Pond.
At most, it tolerates one annual loon.
When I approached carelessly and alarmed them, they made a sudden splash and rippling with their tails, as if one had struck the water with a brushy bough, and instantly took refuge in the depths.
It has not acquired one permanent wrinkle after all its ripples.
One proposes that it be called "God's Drop."
I have said that Walden has no visible inlet nor outlet, but it is on the one hand distantly and indirectly related to Flint's Pond, which is more elevated, by a chain of small ponds coming from that quarter, and on the other directly and manifestly to Concord River, which is lower, by a similar chain of ponds through which in some other geological period it may have flowed, and by a little digging, which God forbid, it can be made to flow thither again.
It is much larger, being said to contain one hundred and ninety-seven acres, and is more fertile in fish; but it is comparatively shallow, and not remarkably pure.
One who frequents it proposes to call it Virid Lake.
It was even supposed by some that the pond had sunk, and this was one of the primitive forest that formerly stood there.
One who visited me declared that the shadows of some Irishmen before him had no halo about them, that it was only natives that were so distinguished.
It was one of those afternoons which seem indefinitely long before one, in which many events may happen, a large portion of our natural life, though it was already half spent when I started.
Such a one might make a good shepherd's dog, but is far from being the Good Shepherd.
The faintest assured objection which one healthy man feels will at length prevail over the arguments and customs of mankind.
All sensuality is one, though it takes many forms; all purity is one.
They are but one appetite, and we only need to see a person do any one of these things to know how great a sensualist he is.
An unclean person is universally a slothful one, one who sits by a stove, whom the sun shines on prostrate, who reposes without being fatigued.
We discourse freely without shame of one form of sensuality, and are silent about another.
John Farmer sat at his door one September evening, after a hard day's work, his mind still running on his labor more or less.
He had not attended to the train of his thoughts long when he heard some one playing on a flute, and that sound harmonized with his mood.
I think that I may warrant you one worm to every three sods you turn up, if you look well in among the roots of the grass, as if you were weeding.
Those village worms are quite too large; a shiner may make a meal off one without finding the skewer.
When I was building, one of these had its nest underneath the house, and before I had laid the second floor, and swept out the shavings, would come out regularly at lunch time and pick up the crumbs at my feet.
At length, as I leaned with my elbow on the bench one day, it ran up my clothes, and along my sleeve, and round and round the paper which held my dinner, while I kept the latter close, and dodged and played at bopeep with it; and when at last I held still a piece of cheese between my thumb and finger, it came and nibbled it, sitting in my hand, and afterward cleaned its face and paws, like a fly, and walked away.
So perfect is this instinct, that once, when I had laid them on the leaves again, and one accidentally fell on its side, it was found with the rest in exactly the same position ten minutes afterward.
It was the only battle which I have ever witnessed, the only battle-field I ever trod while the battle was raging; internecine war; the red republicans on the one hand, and the black imperialists on the other.
There was not one hireling there.
They come rustling through the woods like autumn leaves, at least ten men to one loon.
While he was thinking one thing in his brain, I was endeavoring to divine his thought in mine.
I found that it was as well for me to rest on my oars and wait his reappearing as to endeavor to calculate where he would rise; for again and again, when I was straining my eyes over the surface one way, I would suddenly be startled by his unearthly laugh behind me.
They grew also behind my house, and one large tree, which almost overshadowed it, was, when in flower, a bouquet which scented the whole neighborhood, but the squirrels and the jays got most of its fruit; the last coming in flocks early in the morning and picking the nuts out of the burs before they fell, I relinquished these trees to them and visited the more distant woods composed wholly of chestnut.
The mortar on them was fifty years old, and was said to be still growing harder; but this is one of those sayings which men love to repeat whether they are true or not.
All the attractions of a house were concentrated in one room; it was kitchen, chamber, parlor, and keeping-room; and whatever satisfaction parent or child, master or servant, derive from living in a house, I enjoyed it all.
Nowadays the host does not admit you to his hearth, but has got the mason to build one for yourself somewhere in his alley, and hospitality is the art of keeping you at the greatest distance.
One day when I came to the same place forty-eight hours afterward, I found that those large bubbles were still perfect, though an inch more of ice had formed, as I could see distinctly by the seam in the edge of a cake.
Being curious to know what position my great bubbles occupied with regard to the new ice, I broke out a cake containing a middling sized one, and turned it bottom upward.
I amused myself one winter day with sliding this piecemeal across the pond, nearly half a mile, skating behind with one end of a log fifteen feet long on my shoulder, and the other on the ice; or I tied several logs together with a birch withe, and then, with a longer birch or alder which had a hook at the end, dragged them across.
For many weeks I met no one in my walks but those who came occasionally to cut wood and sled it to the village.
It is now filled with the smooth sumach (Rhus glabra), and one of the earliest species of goldenrod (Solidago stricta) grows there luxuriantly.
One old frequenter of these woods remembers, that as he passed her house one noon he heard her muttering to herself over her gurgling pot--"Ye are all bones, bones!"
One old frequenter of these woods remembers, that as he passed her house one noon he heard her muttering to herself over her gurgling pot--"Ye are all bones, bones!"
Not long since I read his epitaph in the old Lincoln burying-ground, a little on one side, near the unmarked graves of some British grenadiers who fell in the retreat from Concord--where he is styled "Sippio Brister"--Scipio Africanus he had some title to be called--"a man of color," as if he were discolored.
Here then men saluted one another, and heard and told the news, and went their ways again.
It was set on fire by mischievous boys, one Election night, if I do not mistake.
One day in midsummer, when I was hoeing, a man who was carrying a load of pottery to market stopped his horse against my field and inquired concerning Wyman the younger.
He was a man of manners, like one who had seen the world, and was capable of more civil speech than you could well attend to.
One black chicken which the administrator could not catch, black as night and as silent, not even croaking, awaiting Reynard, still went to roost in the next apartment.
One afternoon I amused myself by watching a barred owl (Strix nebulosa) sitting on one of the lower dead limbs of a white pine, close to the trunk, in broad daylight, I standing within a rod of him.
One afternoon I amused myself by watching a barred owl (Strix nebulosa) sitting on one of the lower dead limbs of a white pine, close to the trunk, in broad daylight, I standing within a rod of him.
One of the last of the philosophers--Connecticut gave him to the world--he peddled first her wares, afterwards, as he declares, his brains.
There was one other with whom I had "solid seasons," long to be remembered, at his house in the village, and who looked in upon me from time to time; but I had no more for society there.
One night in the beginning of winter, before the pond froze over, about nine o'clock, I was startled by the loud honking of a goose, and, stepping to the door, heard the sound of their wings like a tempest in the woods as they flew low over my house.
It was one of the most thrilling discords I ever heard.
I also heard the whooping of the ice in the pond, my great bed-fellow in that part of Concord, as if it were restless in its bed and would fain turn over, were troubled with flatulency and had dreams; or I was waked by the cracking of the ground by the frost, as if some one had driven a team against my door, and in the morning would find a crack in the earth a quarter of a mile long and a third of an inch wide.
Sometimes one came near to my window, attracted by my light, barked a vulpine curse at me, and then retreated.
They were so familiar that at length one alighted on an armful of wood which I was carrying in, and pecked at the sticks without fear.
Sometimes, however, he will run upon a wall many rods, and then leap off far to one side, and he appears to know that water will not retain his scent.
At length the old hound burst into view with muzzle to the ground, and snapping the air as if possessed, and ran directly to the rock; but, spying the dead fox, she suddenly ceased her hounding as if struck dumb with amazement, and walked round and round him in silence; and one by one her pups arrived, and, like their mother, were sobered into silence by the mystery.
The hunter who told me this could remember one Sam Nutting, who used to hunt bears on Fair Haven Ledges, and exchange their skins for rum in Concord village; who told him, even, that he had seen a moose there.
One man still preserves the horns of the last deer that was killed in this vicinity, and another has told me the particulars of the hunt in which his uncle was engaged.
I remember well one gaunt Nimrod who would catch up a leaf by the roadside and play a strain on it wilder and more melodious, if my memory serves me, than any hunting-horn.
One had her form under my house all winter, separated from me only by the flooring, and she startled me each morning by her hasty departure when I began to stir--thump, thump, thump, striking her head against the floor timbers in her hurry.
Sometimes in the twilight I alternately lost and recovered sight of one sitting motionless under my window.
It is hardly as if you had seen a wild creature when a rabbit or a partridge bursts away, only a natural one, as much to be expected as rustling leaves.
I have visited two such Bottomless Ponds in one walk in this neighborhood.
The greatest depth was exactly one hundred and two feet; to which may be added the five feet which it has risen since, making one hundred and seven.
They are not like cups between the hills; for this one, which is so unusually deep for its area, appears in a vertical section through its centre not deeper than a shallow plate.
In order to see how nearly I could guess, with this experience, at the deepest point in a pond, by observing the outlines of a surface and the character of its shores alone, I made a plan of White Pond, which contains about forty-one acres, and, like this, has no island in it, nor any visible inlet or outlet; and as the line of greatest breadth fell very near the line of least breadth, where two opposite capes approached each other and two opposite bays receded, I ventured to mark a point a short distance from the latter line, but still on the line of greatest length, as the deepest.
The deepest part was found to be within one hundred feet of this, still farther in the direction to which I had inclined, and was only one foot deeper, namely, sixty feet.
The particular laws are as our points of view, as, to the traveller, a mountain outline varies with every step, and it has an infinite number of profiles, though absolutely but one form.
One has suggested, that if such a "leach-hole" should be found, its connection with the meadow, if any existed, might be proved by conveying some colored powder or sawdust to the mouth of the hole, and then putting a strainer over the spring in the meadow, which would catch some of the particles carried through by the current.
At one rod from the shore its greatest fluctuation, when observed by means of a level on land directed toward a graduated staff on the ice, was three quarters of an inch, though the ice appeared firmly attached to the shore.
Sometimes, also, when the ice was covered with shallow puddles, I saw a double shadow of myself, one standing on the head of the other, one on the ice, the other on the trees or hillside.
They said that a gentleman farmer, who was behind the scenes, wanted to double his money, which, as I understood, amounted to half a million already; but in order to cover each one of his dollars with another, he took off the only coat, ay, the skin itself, of Walden Pond in the midst of a hard winter.
They told me that in a good day they could get out a thousand tons, which was the yield of about one acre.
Sometimes one of those great cakes slips from the ice-man's sled into the village street, and lies there for a week like a great emerald, an object of interest to all passers.
So, also, every one who has waded about the shores of the pond in summer must have perceived how much warmer the water is close to the shore, where only three or four inches deep, than a little distance out, and on the surface where it is deep, than near the bottom.
One pleasant morning after a cold night, February 24th, 1850, having gone to Flint's Pond to spend the day, I noticed with surprise, that when I struck the ice with the head of my axe, it resounded like a gong for many rods around, or as if I had struck on a tight drum-head.
One year I went across the middle only five days before it disappeared entirely.
Innumerable little streams overlap and interlace one with another, exhibiting a sort of hybrid product, which obeys half way the law of currents, and half way that of vegetation.
The whole bank, which is from twenty to forty feet high, is sometimes overlaid with a mass of this kind of foliage, or sandy rupture, for a quarter of a mile on one or both sides, the produce of one spring day.
The whole tree itself is but one leaf, and rivers are still vaster leaves whose pulp is intervening earth, and towns and cities are the ova of insects in their axils.
Thus it seemed that this one hillside illustrated the principle of all the operations of Nature.
The one melts, the other but breaks in pieces.
It is glorious to behold this ribbon of water sparkling in the sun, the bare face of the pond full of glee and youth, as if it spoke the joy of the fishes within it, and of the sands on its shore--a silvery sheen as from the scales of a leuciscus, as it were all one active fish.
In like manner the evil which one does in the interval of a day prevents the germs of virtues which began to spring up again from developing themselves and destroys them.
I love to see that Nature is so rife with life that myriads can be afforded to be sacrificed and suffered to prey on one another; that tender organizations can be so serenely squashed out of existence like pulp--tadpoles which herons gobble up, and tortoises and toads run over in the road; and that sometimes it has rained flesh and blood!
And so the seasons went rolling on into summer, as one rambles into higher and higher grass.
One hastens to southern Africa to chase the giraffe; but surely that is not the game he would be after.
I learned this, at least, by my experiment: that if one advances confidently in the direction of his dreams, and endeavors to live the life which he has imagined, he will meet with a success unexpected in common hours.
As if Nature could support but one order of understandings, could not sustain birds as well as quadrupeds, flying as well as creeping things, and hush and whoa, which Bright can understand, were the best English.
"They pretend," as I hear, "that the verses of Kabir have four different senses; illusion, spirit, intellect, and the exoteric doctrine of the Vedas"; but in this part of the world it is considered a ground for complaint if a man's writings admit of more than one interpretation.
Let every one mind his own business, and endeavor to be what he was made.
One day it came into his mind to make a staff.
Before he had found a stock in all respects suitable the city of Kouroo was a hoary ruin, and he sat on one of its mounds to peel the stick.
Money is not required to buy one necessary of the soul.
I would not be one of those who will foolishly drive a nail into mere lath and plastering; such a deed would keep me awake nights.
There is not one of my readers who has yet lived a whole human life.
Every one has heard the story which has gone the rounds of New England, of a strong and beautiful bug which came out of the dry leaf of an old table of apple-tree wood, which had stood in a farmer's kitchen for sixty years, first in Connecticut, and afterward in Massachusetts--from an egg deposited in the living tree many years earlier still, as appeared by counting the annual layers beyond it; which was heard gnawing out for several weeks, hatched perchance by the heat of an urn.
Let every man make known what kind of government would command his respect, and that will be one step toward obtaining it.
The soldier is applauded who refuses to serve in an unjust war by those who do not refuse to sustain the unjust government which makes the war; is applauded by those whose own act and authority he disregards and sets at naught; as if the state were penitent to that degree that it hired one to scourge it while it sinned, but not to that degree that it left off sinning for a moment.
One would think, that a deliberate and practical denial of its authority was the only offence never contemplated by government; else, why has it not assigned its definite, its suitable and proportionate, penalty?
I do not hesitate to say, that those who call themselves Abolitionists should at once effectually withdraw their support, both in person and property, from the government of Massachusetts, and not wait till they constitute a majority of one, before they suffer the right to prevail through them.
If there were one who lived wholly without the use of money, the State itself would hesitate to demand it of him.
It puts to rest many questions which he would otherwise be taxed to answer; while the only new question which it puts is the hard but superfluous one, how to spend it.
The rooms were whitewashed once a month; and this one, at least, was the whitest, most simply furnished, and probably the neatest apartment in the town.
It was like travelling into a far country, such as I had never expected to behold, to lie there for one night.
My neighbors did not thus salute me, but first looked at me, and then at one another, as if I had returned from a long journey.
"The vicomte knew the duc personally," whispered Anna Pavlovna to one of the guests.
The story was very pretty and interesting, especially at the point where the rivals suddenly recognized one another; and the ladies looked agitated.
It is only necessary for one powerful nation like Russia--barbaric as she is said to be--to place herself disinterestedly at the head of an alliance having for its object the maintenance of the balance of power of Europe, and it would save the world!
Besides, in the actions of a statesman one has to distinguish between his acts as a private person, as a general, and as an emperor.
Stout, about the average height, broad, with huge red hands; he did not know, as the saying is, how to enter a drawing room and still less how to leave one; that is, how to say something particularly agreeable before going away.
One has to know how to deal with them.
Pierre reaching the house first went into Prince Andrew's study like one quite at home, and from habit immediately lay down on the sofa, took from the shelf the first book that came to his hand (it was Caesar's Commentaries), and resting on his elbow, began reading it in the middle.
One can't everywhere say all one thinks, mon cher.
One can't everywhere say all one thinks, mon cher.
I don't like either the one or the other.
"If no one fought except on his own conviction, there would be no wars," he said.
But that one word expressed an entreaty, a threat, and above all conviction that she would herself regret her words.
"Mon Dieu, mon Dieu!" she muttered, and lifting her dress with one hand she went up to her husband and kissed him on the forehead.
You are the first and only one to whom I mention this, because I like you.
I am fond of you, especially as you are the one live man among our whole set.
One's head aches, and one spends all one's money.
It was past one o'clock when Pierre left his friend.
A footman, thinking no one saw him, was drinking on the sly what was left in the glasses.
Three others were romping with a young bear, one pulling him by the chain and trying to set him at the others.
"At one draught, or he loses!" shouted a fourth.
Pierre drank one glass after another, looking from under his brows at the tipsy guests who were again crowding round the window, and listening to their chatter.
Anatole turned to the Englishman and taking him by one of the buttons of his coat and looking down at him--the Englishman was short--began repeating the terms of the wager to him in English.
One man, older than the others present, suddenly pushed forward with a scared and angry look and wanted to seize hold of Dolokhov's shirt.
One of the footmen who had stooped to pick up some broken glass remained in that position without taking his eyes from the window and from Dolokhov's back.
One hand moved as if to clutch the window sill, but refrained from touching it.
No one would let you!...
The countess herself and her handsome eldest daughter were in the drawing-room with the visitors who came to congratulate, and who constantly succeeded one another in relays.
The young people were in one of the inner rooms, not considering it necessary to take part in receiving the visitors.
The conversation was on the chief topic of the day: the illness of the wealthy and celebrated beau of Catherine's day, Count Bezukhov, and about his illegitimate son Pierre, the one who had behaved so improperly at Anna Pavlovna's reception.
I hope that here in Moscow no one will receive him, in spite of his money.
And as he waved his arms to impersonate the policeman, his portly form again shook with a deep ringing laugh, the laugh of one who always eats well and, in particular, drinks well.
Now and then they glanced at one another, hardly able to suppress their laughter.
By the grace of her movements, by the softness and flexibility of her small limbs, and by a certain coyness and reserve of manner, she reminded one of a pretty, half-grown kitten which promises to become a beautiful little cat.
One is always, always anxious!
What's one to do, my dear?
She grew confused, glanced round, and, seeing the doll she had thrown down on one of the tubs, picked it up.
But as she passed the sitting room she noticed two couples sitting, one pair at each window.
Though what she said was quite just, perhaps for that very reason no one replied, and the four simply looked at one another.
One learns many things then, she added with a certain pride.
There's no one to interest himself for him.
And my affairs are in such a bad way that my position is now a terrible one, continued Anna Mikhaylovna, sadly, dropping her voice.
I need five hundred rubles, and have only one twenty-five-ruble note.
They entered the large hall, from which one of the doors led to the apartments assigned to Prince Vasili.
But one cannot delay, Prince, at such a moment!
A door of one of the inner rooms opened and one of the princesses, the count's niece, entered with a cold, stern face.
A footman conducted Boris down one flight of stairs and up another, to Pierre's rooms.
It was the eldest who was reading--the one who had met Anna Mikhaylovna.
The two younger ones were embroidering: both were rosy and pretty and they differed only in that one had a little mole on her lip which made her much prettier.
The eldest princess paused in her reading and silently stared at him with frightened eyes; the second assumed precisely the same expression; while the youngest, the one with the mole, who was of a cheerful and lively disposition, bent over her frame to hide a smile probably evoked by the amusing scene she foresaw.
One has so many relatives in Moscow!
I am sorry for him as a man, but what can one do?
As often happens in early youth, especially to one who leads a lonely life, he felt an unaccountable tenderness for this young man and made up his mind that they would be friends.
One would not know him, he is so ill!
One of them was a sallow, clean-shaven civilian with a thin and wrinkled face, already growing old, though he was dressed like a most fashionable young man.
His favorite occupation when not playing boston, a card game he was very fond of, was that of listener, especially when he succeeded in setting two loquacious talkers at one another.
He was in the way and was the only one who did not notice the fact.
The other guests were all conversing with one another.
At one end of the table sat the countess with Marya Dmitrievna on her right and Anna Mikhaylovna on her left, the other lady visitors were farther down.
Midway down the long table on one side sat the grownup young people: Vera beside Berg, and Pierre beside Boris; and on the other side, the children, tutors, and governesses.
Of the two soups he chose turtle with savory patties and went on to the game without omitting a single dish or one of the wines.
Of the four crystal glasses engraved with the count's monogram that stood before his plate, Pierre held out one at random and drank with enjoyment, gazing with ever- increasing amiability at the other guests.
Sonya wore a company smile but was evidently tormented by jealousy; now she turned pale, now blushed and strained every nerve to overhear what Nicholas and Julie were saying to one another.
Once more the conversations concentrated, the ladies' at the one end and the men's at the other.
The band again struck up, the count and countess kissed, and the guests, leaving their seats, went up to "congratulate" the countess, and reached across the table to clink glasses with the count, with the children, and with one another.
"Nicholas is going away in a week's time, his... papers... have come... he told me himself... but still I should not cry," and she showed a paper she held in her hand--with the verses Nicholas had written, "still, I should not cry, but you can't... no one can understand... what a soul he has!"
But Nicholas is my cousin... one would have to... the Metropolitan himself... and even then it can't be done.
At nighttime in the moon's fair glow How sweet, as fancies wander free, To feel that in this world there's one Who still is thinking but of thee!
She had a fan in her hand that one of the ladies had given her to hold.
(Strictly speaking, Daniel Cooper was one figure of the anglaise.)
As soon as the provocatively gay strains of Daniel Cooper (somewhat resembling those of a merry peasant dance) began to sound, all the doorways of the ballroom were suddenly filled by the domestic serfs--the men on one side and the women on the other--who with beaming faces had come to see their master making merry.
A regular eagle he is! loudly remarked the nurse, as she stood in one of the doorways.
When the Military Governor had gone, Prince Vasili sat down all alone on a chair in the ballroom, crossing one leg high over the other, leaning his elbow on his knee and covering his face with his hand.
The weather is beautiful, Princess; and besides, in Moscow one feels as if one were in the country.
She rose and smoothed her hair, which was as usual so extremely smooth that it seemed to be made of one piece with her head and covered with varnish.
Prince Vasili said no more and his cheeks began to twitch nervously, now on one side, now on the other, giving his face an unpleasant expression which was never to be seen on it in a drawing room.
His eyes too seemed strange; at one moment they looked impudently sly and at the next glanced round in alarm.
One must think of the future, of all of you...
She had the air of one who has suddenly lost faith in the whole human race.
In this world one has to be cunning and cruel.
"Is this the way to the princesses' apartments?" asked Anna Mikhaylovna of one of them.
The same people were still sitting here in almost the same positions as before, whispering to one another.
He noticed that they whispered to one another, casting significant looks at him with a kind of awe and even servility.
The part of the room behind the columns, with a high silk-curtained mahogany bedstead on one side and on the other an immense case containing icons, was brightly illuminated with red light like a Russian church during evening service.
She evidently felt unable to look at him without laughing, but could not resist looking at him: so to be out of temptation she slipped quietly behind one of the columns.
In the midst of the service the voices of the priests suddenly ceased, they whispered to one another, and the old servant who was holding the count's hand got up and said something to the ladies.
The French doctor held no taper; he was leaning against one of the columns in a respectful attitude implying that he, a foreigner, in spite of all differences of faith, understood the full importance of the rite now being performed and even approved of it.
On leaving the bed both Prince Vasili and the princess passed out by a back door, but returned to their places one after the other before the service was concluded.
"Catch hold of my arm or you'll drop him!" he heard one of the servants say in a frightened whisper.
Either this look meant nothing but that as long as one has eyes they must look somewhere, or it meant too much.
While the count was being turned over, one of his arms fell back helplessly and he made a fruitless effort to pull it forward.
"He is dozing," said Anna Mikhaylovna, observing that one of the princesses was coming to take her turn at watching.
There was now no one in the reception room except Prince Vasili and the eldest princess, who were sitting under the portrait of Catherine the Great and talking eagerly.
She led him into the dark drawing room and Pierre was glad no one could see his face.
It is painful, but it does one good.
Though in the new reign he was free to return to the capitals, he still continued to live in the country, remarking that anyone who wanted to see him could come the hundred miles from Moscow to Bald Hills, while he himself needed no one and nothing.
"For tomorrow!" said he, quickly finding the page and making a scratch from one paragraph to another with his hard nail.
One of my two brothers is already abroad, the other is with the Guards, who are starting on their march to the frontier.
To say nothing of my brothers, this war has deprived me of one of the associations nearest my heart.
This young man, of whom I spoke to you last summer, is so noble-minded and full of that real youthfulness which one seldom finds nowadays among our old men of twenty and, particularly, he is so frank and has so much heart.
He says the count was the last representative but one of the great century, and that it is his own turn now, but that he will do all he can to let his turn come as late as possible.
The two women let go of one another, and then, as if afraid of being too late, seized each other's hands, kissing them and pulling them away, and again began kissing each other on the face, and then to Prince Andrew's surprise both began to cry and kissed again.
Prince Andrew and his sister, hand in hand, kissed one another, and he told her she was still the same crybaby as ever.
Once he stopped it by shouting: "The white one, the white one!"
In the dining room, which like all the rooms in the house was exceedingly lofty, the members of the household and the footmen--one behind each chair--stood waiting for the prince to enter.
They beat no one--except one another.
At such moments one reviews the past and plans for the future.
How can one judge Father?
But even if one might, what feeling except veneration could such a man as my father evoke?
On the way to his sister's room, in the passage which connected one wing with the other, Prince Andrew met Mademoiselle Bourienne smiling sweetly.
When he reached his sister's room his wife was already awake and her merry voice, hurrying one word after another, came through the open door.
When Prince Andrew entered the study the old man in his old-age spectacles and white dressing gown, in which he received no one but his son, sat at the table writing.
"I know that no one can help if nature does not do her work," said Prince Andrew, evidently confused.
I know that out of a million cases only one goes wrong, but it is her fancy and mine.
They're all like that; one can't unmarry.
They stood silent, facing one another.
On October 11, 1805, one of the infantry regiments that had just reached Braunau had halted half a mile from the town, waiting to be inspected by the commander-in-chief.
He had the air of a man happily performing one of the most solemn duties of his life.
However, I think the regiment is not a bad one, eh?
One says a word to you and you...
"One thing I ask of your excellency," Dolokhov said in his firm, ringing, deliberate voice.
It's in the Emperor's service... it can't be helped... one is sometimes a bit hasty on parade...
One day he is sensible, well educated, and good-natured, and the next he's a wild beast....
Still, one must have pity on a young man in misfortune.
"Well, he's really a good fellow, one can serve under him," said Timokhin to the subaltern beside him.
"In a word, a hearty one..." said the subaltern, laughing (the regimental commander was nicknamed King of Hearts).
And they said Kutuzov was blind of one eye?
And that other one with him, the Austrian, looked as if he were smeared with chalk--as white as flour!
Hussar cornet Zherkov had at one time, in Petersburg, belonged to the wild set led by Dolokhov.
One can at least be of use on the staff...
"All I can say, General," said he with a pleasant elegance of expression and intonation that obliged one to listen to each deliberately spoken word.
"But you know the wise maxim your excellency, advising one to expect the worst," said the Austrian general, evidently wishing to have done with jests and to come to business.
Here are two letters from Count Nostitz and here is one from His Highness the Archduke Ferdinand and here are these," he said, handing him several papers, "make a neat memorandum in French out of all this, showing all the news we have had of the movements of the Austrian army, and then give it to his excellency."
Prince Andrew was one of those rare staff officers whose chief interest lay in the general progress of the war.
He bowed his head and scraped first with one foot and then with the other, awkwardly, like a child at a dancing lesson.
He lets one win the singles and collahs it as soon as one doubles it; gives the singles and snatches the doubles!
If at least we had some women here; but there's nothing foh one to do but dwink.
The lieutenant never looked the man he was speaking to straight in the face; his eyes continually wandered from one object to another.
Rostov shrugged his shoulders as much as to say: "Nor do I, but what's one to do?" and, having given his order, he returned to Telyanin.
We are childwen of the dust... but one falls in love and one is a God, one is pua' as on the first day of cweation...
"Wait, haven't you dropped it?" said Rostov, picking up the pillows one at a time and shaking them.
There was no one else in the room except myself.
No one spoke and the only sounds heard were the clatter of knives and the munching of the lieutenant.
"I will allow no one to call me a liar!" cried Rostov.
He may keep me on duty every day, or may place me under arrest, but no one can make me apologize, because if he, as commander of this regiment, thinks it beneath his dignity to give me satisfaction, then...
No one thinks you a coward, but that's not the point.
Disgrace the whole regiment because of one scoundrel?
And now, when one wants to smooth the thing over, some conceit prevents your apologizing, and you wish to make the whole affair public.
Rostov, growing red and pale alternately, looked first at one officer and then at the other.
No one shall hear a word from me," said Rostov in an imploring voice, "but I can't apologize, by God I can't, do what you will!
"Thank you very much, Prince," answered one of the officers, pleased to be talking to a staff officer of such importance.
"They must be feeling dull, too," said one of the bolder officers, laughing.
"One!" came the command.
Number one jumped briskly aside.
"A million all but one!" replied a waggish soldier in a torn coat, with a wink, and passed on followed by another, an old man.
"And then, old fellow, he gives him one in the teeth with the butt end of his gun..." a soldier whose greatcoat was well tucked up said gaily, with a wide swing of his arm.
That one also passed.
See, here's an officer jammed in too-- different voices were saying in the crowd, as the men looked at one another, and all pressed toward the exit from the bridge.
The soldiers crowded against one another with terrified faces, and Denisov joined Nesvitski.
"They don't even give one time to dwink!" answered Vaska Denisov.
There was no one now between the squadron and the enemy except a few scattered skirmishers.
No one knows, but one wants to know.
The soldiers without turning their heads glanced at one another, curious to see their comrades' impression.
Every face, from Denisov's to that of the bugler, showed one common expression of conflict, irritation, and excitement, around chin and mouth.
Look at me, cried Denisov who, unable to keep still on one spot, kept turning his horse in front of the squadron.
The two Pavlograd squadrons, having crossed the bridge, retired up the hill one after the other.
Then two reports one after another, and a third.
And the fear of death and of the stretchers, and love of the sun and of life, all merged into one feeling of sickening agitation.
"Well, it seems that no one has noticed," thought Rostov.
No one had taken any notice, for everyone knew the sensation which the cadet under fire for the first time had experienced.
At one of the post stations he overtook a convoy of Russian wounded.
Only his eyes gleamed feverishly and his thoughts followed one another with extraordinary clearness and rapidity.
His face took on the stupid artificial smile (which does not even attempt to hide its artificiality) of a man who is continually receiving many petitioners one after another.
He was not one of those many diplomats who are esteemed because they have certain negative qualities, avoid doing certain things, and speak French.
He was one of those, who, liking work, knew how to do it, and despite his indolence would sometimes spend a whole night at his writing table.
"They received me and my news as one receives a dog in a game of skittles," said he in conclusion.
You with all your forces fall on the unfortunate Mortier and his one division, and even then Mortier slips through your fingers!
Why didn't you capture one, just one, marshal for us?
Because not everything happens as one expects or with the smoothness of a parade.
Bring us nice news of a victory by the Archduke Karl or Ferdinand (one archduke's as good as another, as you know) and even if it is only over a fire brigade of Bonaparte's, that will be another story and we'll fire off some cannon!
The one general whom we all loved, Schmidt, you expose to a bullet, and then you congratulate us on the victory!
It will be as I said at the beginning of the campaign, it won't be your skirmishing at Durrenstein, or gunpowder at all, that will decide the matter, but those who devised it, said Bilibin quoting one of his own mots, releasing the wrinkles on his forehead, and pausing.
These gentlemen received Prince Andrew as one of themselves, an honor they did not extend to many.
"But the best of it was," said one, telling of the misfortune of a fellow diplomat, "that the Chancellor told him flatly that his appointment to London was a promotion and that he was so to regard it.
Finally one cannot impute the nonreceipt of our dispatch of November 18.
"We must let him see Amelie, she's exquisite!" said one of "ours," kissing his finger tips.
No one, not even Bonaparte, knows why.
Listening to Bilibin he was already imagining how on reaching the army he would give an opinion at the war council which would be the only one that could save the army, and how he alone would be entrusted with the executing of the plan.
Flower of the Austrian army, hero of the Turkish wars Hostilities are ended, we can shake one another's hand....
We are Macked), he concluded, feeling that he had produced a good epigram, a fresh one that would be repeated.
But as you are a philosopher, be a consistent one, look at the other side of the question and you will see that your duty, on the contrary, is to take care of yourself.
You are faced by one of two things," and the skin over his left temple puckered, "either you will not reach your regiment before peace is concluded, or you will share defeat and disgrace with Kutuzov's whole army."
Directly opposite to him came a strange one-horse vehicle, evidently rigged up by soldiers out of any available materials and looking like something between a cart, a cabriolet, and a caleche.
"One can't write so fast, your honor," said the clerk, glancing angrily and disrespectfully at Kozlovski.
Prince Andrew stood right in front of Kutuzov but the expression of the commander in chief's one sound eye showed him to be so preoccupied with thoughts and anxieties as to be oblivious of his presence.
One moment, your excellency.
If Kutuzov decided to remain at Krems, Napoleon's army of one hundred and fifty thousand men would cut him off completely and surround his exhausted army of forty thousand, and he would find himself in the position of Mack at Ulm.
A truce was Kutuzov's sole chance of gaining time, giving Bagration's exhausted troops some rest, and letting the transport and heavy convoys (whose movements were concealed from the French) advance if but one stage nearer Znaim.
Inform him that the general who signed that capitulation had no right to do so, and that no one but the Emperor of Russia has that right.
Officers are nothing when they have no powers; this one had none....
Bonaparte himself, not trusting to his generals, moved with all the Guards to the field of battle, afraid of letting a ready victim escape, and Bagration's four thousand men merrily lighted campfires, dried and warmed themselves, cooked their porridge for the first time for three days, and not one of them knew or imagined what was in store for him.
In Bagration's detachment no one knew anything of the general position of affairs.
"If he is one of the ordinary little staff dandies sent to earn a medal he can get his reward just as well in the rearguard, but if he wishes to stay with me, let him... he'll be of use here if he's a brave officer," thought Bagration.
The prince gave orders that no one should leave his post.
One would think that as an artillery officer you would set a good example, yet here you are without your boots!
Prince Andrew smiled involuntarily as he looked at the artillery officer Tushin, who silent and smiling, shifting from one stockinged foot to the other, glanced inquiringly with his large, intelligent, kindly eyes from Prince Andrew to the staff officer.
* "This is a pleasure one gets in camp, Prince."
Another company, a lucky one for not all the companies had vodka, crowded round a pockmarked, broad-shouldered sergeant major who, tilting a keg, filled one after another the canteen lids held out to him.
Our front line and that of the enemy were far apart on the right and left flanks, but in the center where the men with a flag of truce had passed that morning, the lines were so near together that the men could see one another's faces and speak to one another.
But the guns remained loaded, the loopholes in blockhouses and entrenchments looked out just as menacingly, and the unlimbered cannon confronted one another as before.
All the same, one is afraid!
"Yes, one is afraid," continued the first speaker, he of the familiar voice.
One is afraid of the unknown, that's what it is.
A huge, broad-shouldered gunner, Number One, holding a mop, his legs far apart, sprang to the wheel; while Number Two with a trembling hand placed a charge in the cannon's mouth.
No one had given Tushin orders where and at what to fire, but after consulting his sergeant major, Zakharchenko, for whom he had great respect, he had decided that it would be a good thing to set fire to the village.
One with a bleeding head and no cap was being dragged along by two soldiers who supported him under the arms.
One could already see the soldiers' shaggy caps, distinguish the officers from the men, and see the standard flapping against its staff.
Suddenly one shot after another rang out from the French, smoke appeared all along their uneven ranks, and musket shots sounded.
The two commanders were much exasperated with one another and, long after the action had begun on the right flank and the French were already advancing, were engaged in discussion with the sole object of offending one another.
The general and colonel looked sternly and significantly at one another like two fighting cocks preparing for battle, each vainly trying to detect signs of cowardice in the other.
No one said anything definite, but the rumor of an attack spread through the squadron.
Still no one moved.
There was no one near.
One of them said something strange, not in Russian.
It must be one of ours, a prisoner.
The foremost Frenchman, the one with the hooked nose, was already so close that the expression of his face could be seen.
One sentiment, fear for his life, possessed his whole being.
One bullet and then another whistled past him.
One soldier, in his fear, uttered the senseless cry, "Cut off!" that is so terrible in battle, and that word infected the whole crowd with a feeling of panic.
Little Tushin, moving feebly and awkwardly, kept telling his orderly to "refill my pipe for that one!" and then, scattering sparks from it, ran forward shading his eyes with his small hand to look at the French.
In that world, the handsome drunkard Number One of the second gun's crew was "uncle"; Tushin looked at him more often than at anyone else and took delight in his every movement.
They were both so busy as to seem not to notice one another.
When having limbered up the only two cannon that remained uninjured out of the four, they began moving down the hill (one shattered gun and one unicorn were left behind), Prince Andrew rode up to Tushin.
Interrupting one another, they all gave, and transmitted, orders as to how to proceed, reprimanding and reproaching him.
At the foot of the hill, a pale hussar cadet, supporting one hand with the other, came up to Tushin and asked for a seat.
With one hand he supported the other; he was pale and his jaw trembled, shivering feverishly.
It had grown so dark that one could not distinguish the uniforms ten paces off, and the firing had begun to subside.
In the darkness, it seemed as though a gloomy unseen river was flowing always in one direction, humming with whispers and talk and the sound of hoofs and wheels.
The gloom that enveloped the army was filled with their groans, which seemed to melt into one with the darkness of the night.
The sound of voices, the tramping feet, the horses' hoofs moving in mud, the crackling of wood fires near and afar, merged into one tremulous rumble.
You're very smart! one of them shouted hoarsely.
"Must one die like a dog?" said he.
One of them stumbled.
Could one possibly make out amid all that confusion what did or did not happen?
Several of those present smiled at Zherkov's words, expecting one of his usual jokes, but noticing that what he was saying redounded to the glory of our arms and of the day's work, they assumed a serious expression, though many of them knew that what he was saying was a lie devoid of any foundation.
"One was damaged," answered the staff officer, "and the other I can't understand.
"Of course, we only just missed one another," said the staff officer, with a smile to Bolkonski.
That affair was the same thing as this soldier with the harsh voice, and it was that affair and this soldier that were so agonizingly, incessantly pulling and pressing his arm and always dragging it in one direction.
There is no one to help me or pity me.
Of these plans he had not merely one or two in his head but dozens, some only beginning to form themselves, some approaching achievement, and some in course of disintegration.
The younger sisters also became affectionate to him, especially the youngest, the pretty one with the mole, who often made him feel confused by her smiles and her own confusion when meeting him.
No one has ever complained yet of being too much loved; and besides, you are free, you could throw it up tomorrow.
In the beginning of the winter of 1805-6 Pierre received one of Anna Pavlovna's usual pink notes with an invitation to which was added: "You will find the beautiful Helene here, whom it is always delightful to see."
"If you marry it will be a different thing," she continued, uniting them both in one glance.
"This is all very fine, but things must be settled," said Prince Vasili to himself, with a sorrowful sigh, one morning, feeling that Pierre who was under such obligations to him ("But never mind that") was not behaving very well in this matter.
Every day he said to himself one and the same thing: It is time I understood her and made up my mind what she really is.
Pierre was one of those who are only strong when they feel themselves quite innocent, and since that day when he was overpowered by a feeling of desire while stooping over the snuffbox at Anna Pavlovna's, an unacknowledged sense of the guilt of that desire paralyzed his will.
Prince Vasili was not having any supper: he went round the table in a merry mood, sitting down now by one, now by another, of the guests.
At one end of the table, the old chamberlain was heard assuring an old baroness that he loved her passionately, at which she laughed; at the other could be heard the story of the misfortunes of some Mary Viktorovna or other.
"Well, and so he never got farther than: 'Sergey Kuzmich'?" asked one of the ladies.
But much as all the rest laughed, talked, and joked, much as they enjoyed their Rhine wine, saute, and ices, and however they avoided looking at the young couple, and heedless and unobservant as they seemed of them, one could feel by the occasional glances they gave that the story about Sergey Kuzmich, the laughter, and the food were all a pretense, and that the whole attention of that company was directed to-- Pierre and Helene.
Into the insignificant, trifling, and artificial interests uniting that society had entered the simple feeling of the attraction of a healthy and handsome young man and woman for one another.
"How can one talk or think of such trifles?" thought Pierre.
Prince Vasili gave him a look of stern inquiry, as though what Pierre had just said was so strange that one could not take it in.
It is good because it's definite and one is rid of the old tormenting doubt.
A fortnight after the letter Prince Vasili's servants came one evening in advance of him, and he and his son arrived next day.
And the other one is not here.
He was met in the avenue by coachmen and footmen, who, with loud shouts, dragged his sleighs up to one of the lodges over the road purposely laden with snow.
She was no longer in the loose gown she generally wore in the morning, but had on one of her best dresses.
But this one is too light, it's not becoming!
"Come, dear princess," said Mademoiselle Bourienne, "just one more little effort."
Anatole stood with his right thumb under a button of his uniform, his chest expanded and his back drawn in, slightly swinging one foot, and, with his head a little bent, looked with beaming face at the princess without speaking and evidently not thinking about her at all.
* The little one is charming.
What angered him was that the coming of these visitors revived in his mind an unsettled question he always tried to stifle, one about which he always deceived himself.
"My vocation is a different one," thought Princess Mary.
No, dearest, sweet one, honey, I won't give up--I know you know something.
"It's because she was in love with that fat one in spectacles" (that was how Petya described his namesake, the new Count Bezukhov) "and now she's in love with that singer" (he meant Natasha's Italian singing master), "that's why she's ashamed!"
"It is done!" she said to the count, pointing triumphantly to the countess, who sat holding in one hand the snuffbox with its portrait and in the other the letter, and pressing them alternately to her lips.
From all he says one should be glad and not cry.
And the two friends told each other of their doings, the one of his hussar revels and life in the fighting line, the other of the pleasures and advantages of service under members of the Imperial family.
In the middle of his story, just as he was saying: "You cannot imagine what a strange frenzy one experiences during an attack," Prince Andrew, whom Boris was expecting, entered the room.
In spite of Prince Andrew's disagreeable, ironical tone, in spite of the contempt with which Rostov, from his fighting army point of view, regarded all these little adjutants on the staff of whom the newcomer was evidently one, Rostov felt confused, blushed, and became silent.
Boris inquired what news there might be on the staff, and what, without indiscretion, one might ask about our plans.
"Of whom you imagine me to be one?" said Prince Andrew, with a quiet and particularly amiable smile.
But they all stood in the same lines, under one command, and in a like order.
One voice was heard shouting: "Eyes front!"
Hurrah!" thundered from all sides, one regiment after another greeting the Tsar with the strains of the march, and then "Hurrah!"... Then the general march, and again "Hurrah!
Rostov himself, his legs well back and his stomach drawn in and feeling himself one with his horse, rode past the Emperor with a frowning but blissful face "like a vewy devil," as Denisov expressed it.
They all had but one wish: to advance as soon as possible against the enemy under the Emperor's command.
One adjutant, nearest the door, was sitting at the table in a Persian dressing gown, writing.
The one who was writing and whom Boris addressed turned round crossly and told him Bolkonski was on duty and that he should go through the door on the left into the reception room if he wished to see him.
Our enormous forces, undoubtedly superior to Napoleon's, were concentrated in one place, the troops inspired by the Emperors' presence were eager for action.
God grant that the one that will result from it will be as victorious!
He is one of the most remarkable, but to me most unpleasant of men--the Minister of Foreign Affairs, Prince Adam Czartoryski....
One of them was leading by the bridle a fine large French horse he had taken from the prisoner.
He was breathless with agitation, his face was red, and when he heard some French spoken he at once began speaking to the officers, addressing first one, then another.
"The reserves, sire!" replied a voice, a very human one compared to that which had said: "The Pavlograd hussars?"
The Emperor, surrounded by his suite of officers and courtiers, was riding a bobtailed chestnut mare, a different one from that which he had ridden at the review, and bending to one side he gracefully held a gold lorgnette to his eyes and looked at a soldier who lay prone, with blood on his uncovered head.
"As there's no one to fall in love with on campaign, he's fallen in love with the Tsar," he said.
By evening, the adjutants had spread it to all ends and parts of the army, and in the night from the nineteenth to the twentieth, the whole eighty thousand allied troops rose from their bivouacs to the hum of voices, and the army swayed and started in one enormous mass six miles long.
Wheels creak on their axles as the cogs engage one another and the revolving pulleys whirr with the rapidity of their movement, but a neighboring wheel is as quiet and motionless as though it were prepared to remain so for a hundred years; but the moment comes when the lever catches it and obeying the impulse that wheel begins to creak and joins in the common motion the result and aim of which are beyond its ken.
At the sound of Weyrother's voice, he opened his one eye with an effort.
In the middle of one of the longest sentences, he stopped the rotary motion of the snuffbox, raised his head, and with inimical politeness lurking in the corners of his thin lips interrupted Weyrother, wishing to say something.
And his fancy pictured the battle, its loss, the concentration of fighting at one point, and the hesitation of all the commanders.
All are struck by the justness of his views, but no one undertakes to carry them out, so he takes a regiment, a division-stipulates that no one is to interfere with his arrangements--leads his division to the decisive point, and gains the victory alone.
The voices were those of the orderlies who were packing up; one voice, probably a coachman's, was teasing Kutuzov's old cook whom Prince Andrew knew, and who was called Tit.
One was on a white horse.
"Your honor, there he is!" cried one of the hussars behind him.
The position we occupy is a strong one, and while they are marching to go round me on the right they will expose a flank to me.
No, one can't hear them.
But what he's jabbering no one can make out, said a soldier, mimicking the general who had ridden away.
Whether all the enemy forces were, as we supposed, six miles away, or whether they were near by in that sea of mist, no one knew till after eight o'clock.
The whole French army, and even Napoleon himself with his staff, were not on the far side of the streams and hollows of Sokolnitz and Schlappanitz beyond which we intended to take up our position and begin the action, but were on this side, so close to our own forces that Napoleon with the naked eye could distinguish a mounted man from one on foot.
His gleaming eyes were fixed intently on one spot.
He saw over the mist that in a hollow between two hills near the village of Pratzen, the Russian columns, their bayonets glittering, were moving continuously in one direction toward the valley and disappearing one after another into the mist.
At eight o'clock Kutuzov rode to Pratzen at the head of the fourth column, Miloradovich's, the one that was to take the place of Przebyszewski's and Langeron's columns which had already gone down into the valley.
When the soldiers of the regiment in front of which Kutuzov was standing began to shout, he rode a little to one side and looked round with a frown.
One in a black uniform with white plumes in his hat rode a bobtailed chestnut horse, the other who was in a white uniform rode a black one.
He beckoned to one of his white adjutants and asked some question--"Most likely he is asking at what o'clock they started," thought Prince Andrew, watching his old acquaintance with a smile he could not repress as he recalled his reception at Brunn.
The troops again began to move, and two battalions of the Novgorod and one of the Apsheron regiment went forward past the Emperor.
The Emperor turned with a smile to one of his followers and made a remark to him, pointing to the gallant Apsherons.
The two generals and the adjutant took hold of the field glass, trying to snatch it from one another.
The expression on all their faces suddenly changed to one of horror.
One was shouting, Get on!
One soldier moved and then another and soon the whole battalion ran forward shouting "Hurrah!" and overtook him.
He now saw clearly the figure of a red-haired gunner with his shako knocked awry, pulling one end of a mop while a French soldier tugged at the other.
It seemed to him as though one of the soldiers near him hit him on the head with the full swing of a bludgeon.
He could see puffs of musketry smoke that seemed to chase one another down the hillsides, and clouds of cannon smoke rolling, spreading, and mingling with one another.
Rostov got out of their way, involuntarily noticed that one of them was bleeding, and galloped on.
Passing behind one of the lines of a regiment of Foot Guards he heard a voice calling him by name.
The wounded crept together in twos and threes and one could hear their distressing screams and groans, sometimes feigned--or so it seemed to Rostov.
The French, who had ceased firing at this field strewn with dead and wounded where there was no one left to fire at, on seeing an adjutant riding over it trained a gun on him and fired several shots.
No one whom Rostov asked could tell him where the Emperor or Kutuzov was.
One officer told Rostov that he had seen someone from headquarters behind the village to the left, and thither Rostov rode, not hoping to find anyone but merely to ease his conscience.
One with a white plume in his hat seemed familiar to Rostov; the other on a beautiful chestnut horse (which Rostov fancied he had seen before) rode up to the ditch, struck his horse with his spurs, and giving it the rein leaped lightly over.
Not one of the innumerable speeches addressed to the Emperor that he had composed in his imagination could he now recall.
And he turned round and galloped back to the place where he had seen the Emperor, but there was no one beyond the ditch now.
From one of the drivers he learned that Kutuzov's staff were not far off, in the village the vehicles were going to.
One of the hindmost guns that was going onto the dam turned off onto the ice.
The ice gave way under one of the foremost soldiers, and one leg slipped into the water.
The ice, that had held under those on foot, collapsed in a great mass, and some forty men who were on it dashed, some forward and some back, drowning one another.
They say this one is the commander of all the Emperor Alexander's Guards, said the first one, indicating a Russian officer in the white uniform of the Horse Guards.
Looking into Napoleon's eyes Prince Andrew thought of the insignificance of greatness, the unimportance of life which no one could understand, and the still greater unimportance of death, the meaning of which no one alive could understand or explain.
The Emperor without waiting for an answer turned away and said to one of the officers as he went: Have these gentlemen attended to and taken to my bivouac; let my doctor, Larrey, examine their wounds.
Meeting a comrade at the last post station but one before Moscow, Denisov had drunk three bottles of wine with him and, despite the jolting ruts across the snow-covered road, did not once wake up on the way to Moscow, but lay at the bottom of the sleigh beside Rostov, who grew more and more impatient the nearer they got to Moscow.
Why, that one, right at the end, the big one.
There was no one in the hall.
He looked up at the opening door and his expression of sleepy indifference suddenly changed to one of delighted amazement.
Natasha, after she had pulled him down toward her and covered his face with kisses, holding him tight by the skirt of his coat, sprang away and pranced up and down in one place like a goat and shrieked piercingly.
His brother and sisters struggled for the places nearest to him and disputed with one another who should bring him his tea, handkerchief, and pipe.
Natasha had put on one spurred boot and was just getting her foot into the other.
They hardly gave one another time to ask questions and give replies concerning a thousand little matters which could not interest anyone but themselves.
His looks thanked her for offering him his freedom and told her that one way or another he would never cease to love her, for that would be impossible.
"How strange it is," said Vera, selecting a moment when all were silent, "that Sonya and Nicholas now say you to one another and meet like strangers."
On his return to Moscow from the army, Nicholas Rostov was welcomed by his home circle as the best of sons, a hero, and their darling Nikolenka; by his relations as a charming, attractive, and polite young man; by his acquaintances as a handsome lieutenant of hussars, a good dancer, and one of the best matches in the city.
He knew a lady on one of the boulevards whom he visited of an evening.
The count was delighted at Anna Mikhaylovna's taking upon herself one of his commissions and ordered the small closed carriage for her.
Next day, the third of March, soon after one o'clock, two hundred and fifty members of the English Club and fifty guests were awaiting the guest of honor and hero of the Austrian campaign, Prince Bagration, to dinner.
In his person, honor was shown to a simple fighting Russian soldier without connections and intrigues, and to one who was associated by memories of the Italian campaign with the name of Suvorov.
One had saved a standard, another had killed five Frenchmen, a third had loaded five cannon singlehanded.
By his age he should have belonged to the younger men, but by his wealth and connections he belonged to the groups of old and honored guests, and so he went from one group to another.
It was at first impossible to enter the drawing-room door for the crowd of members and guests jostling one another and trying to get a good look at Bagration over each other's shoulders, as if he were some rare animal.
"To the health of our Sovereign, the Emperor!" he roared, "Hurrah!" and emptying his glass at one gulp he dashed it to the floor.
Rostov was talking merrily to his two friends, one of whom was a dashing hussar and the other a notorious duelist and rake, and every now and then he glanced ironically at Pierre, whose preoccupied, absent-minded, and massive figure was a very noticeable one at the dinner.
"One should make up to the husbands of pretty women," said Denisov.
The footman, who was distributing leaflets with Kutuzov's cantata, laid one before Pierre as one of the principal guests.
'Everyone fears a bear,' he says, 'but when you see one your fear's all gone, and your only thought is not to let him get away!'
The combatants advanced along the trodden tracks, nearer and nearer to one another, beginning to see one another through the mist.
He was pressing one hand to his left side, while the other clutched his drooping pistol.
Such a storm of feelings, thoughts, and memories suddenly arose within him that he could not fall asleep, nor even remain in one place, but had to jump up and pace the room with rapid steps.
One day I asked her if she felt any symptoms of pregnancy.
Pierre was one of those people who, in spite of an appearance of what is called weak character, do not seek a confidant in their troubles.
And is it worth tormenting oneself, when one has only a moment of life in comparison with eternity?
"Your excellency, should not Mary Bogdanovna be sent for?" said one of the maids who was present.
Only when footsteps or voices were heard did they look at one another, the princess anxious and inquiring, the nurse encouraging.
In the outlying serfs' quarters torches and candles were burning and no one slept.
Still lower, beyond the turn of the staircase, one could hear the footstep of someone in thick felt boots, and a voice that seemed familiar to Princess Mary was saying something.
The old man too came up and kissed the waxen little hands that lay quietly crossed one on the other on her breast, and to him, too, her face seemed to say: "Ah, what have you done to me, and why?"
No one now loves virtue; it seems like a reproach to everyone.
If I found such a one I'd give my life for her!
The first half of the winter of 1806, which Nicholas Rostov spent in Moscow, was one of the happiest, merriest times for him and the whole family.
I don't know how to put it... with this one everything is calculated, and I don't like that.
Dolokhov, who did not usually care for the society of ladies, began to come often to the house, and the question for whose sake he came (though no one spoke of it) was soon settled.
It is the one thing we are interested in here, said the spirit of the place.
"My dear count, you were one of my best pupils--you must dance," said little Iogel coming up to Nicholas.
He glided silently on one foot half across the room, and seeming not to notice the chairs was dashing straight at them, when suddenly, clinking his spurs and spreading out his legs, he stopped short on his heels, stood so a second, stamped on the spot clanking his spurs, whirled rapidly round, and, striking his left heel against his right, flew round again in a circle.
First he spun her round, holding her now with his left, now with his right hand, then falling on one knee he twirled her round him, and again jumping up, dashed so impetuously forward that it seemed as if he would rush through the whole suite of rooms without drawing breath, and then he suddenly stopped and performed some new and unexpected steps.
'He's a fool who trusts to luck, one should make certain,' and I want to try.
One of the players said he hoped he might be trusted.
One tormenting impression did not leave him: that those broad- boned reddish hands with hairy wrists visible from under the shirt sleeves, those hands which he loved and hated, held him in their power.
Come now, just this one more little card!
Twenty-one rubles, he said, pointing to the figure twenty-one by which the total exceeded the round sum of forty-three thousand; and taking up a pack he prepared to deal.
"One does get tired sitting so long," he added.
It's one--let them sing!
One, two, three... one, two, three...
While father and son were having their explanation, the mother and daughter were having one not less important.
He had begun to think of the last station and was still pondering on the same question--one so important that he took no notice of what went on around him.
What should one love and what hate?
What does one live for?
There was no answer to any of these questions, except one, and that not a logical answer and not at all a reply to them.
His shriveled old hands were folded and on the finger of one of them Pierre noticed a large cast iron ring with a seal representing a death's head.
When everything was ready, the stranger opened his eyes, moved to the table, filled a tumbler with tea for himself and one for the beardless old man to whom he passed it.
"I know your outlook," said the Mason, "and the view of life you mention, and which you think is the result of your own mental efforts, is the one held by the majority of people, and is the invariable fruit of pride, indolence, and ignorance.
No one can attain to truth by himself.
The highest wisdom has but one science--the science of the whole--the science explaining the whole creation and man's place in it.
He firmly believed in the possibility of the brotherhood of men united in the aim of supporting one another in the path of virtue, and that is how Freemasonry presented itself to him.
One thing he continually realized as he read that book: the joy, hitherto unknown to him, of believing in the possibility of attaining perfection, and in the possibility of active brotherly love among men, which Joseph Alexeevich had revealed to him.
"One more question, Count," he said, "which I beg you to answer in all sincerity--not as a future Mason but as an honest man: have you renounced your former convictions--do you believe in God?"
Hoping to enter on an entirely new life quite unlike the old one, he expected everything to be unusual, even more unusual than what he was seeing.
To fresh questions as to the firmness of his resolution Pierre replied: "Yes, yes, I agree," and with a beaming, childlike smile, his fat chest uncovered, stepping unevenly and timidly in one slippered and one booted foot, he advanced, while Willarski held a sword to his bare chest.
He heard those around him disputing in whispers and one of them insisting that he should be led along a certain carpet.
"He must first receive the trowel," whispered one of the brothers.
This silence was broken by one of the brethren, who led Pierre up to the rug and began reading to him from a manuscript book an explanation of all the figures on it: the sun, the moon, a hammer, a plumb line, a trowel, a rough stone and a squared stone, a pillar, three windows, and so on.
All the Masons sat down in their places, and one of them read an exhortation on the necessity of humility.
Pierre tried several times to speak, but, on one hand, Prince Vasili did not let him and, on the other, Pierre himself feared to begin to speak in the tone of decided refusal and disagreement in which he had firmly resolved to answer his father-in-law.
I said so even at the time when everybody was in raptures about him, when he had just returned from abroad, and when, if you remember, he posed as a sort of Marat at one of my soirees.
Everywhere one heard curses on Bonaparte, "the enemy of mankind."
In 1806 the old prince was made one of the eight commanders in chief then appointed to supervise the enrollment decreed throughout Russia.
The angel's upper lip was slightly raised as though about to smile, and once on coming out of the chapel Prince Andrew and Princess Mary admitted to one another that the angel's face reminded them strangely of the little princess.
On February 26, 1807, the old prince set off on one of his circuits.
"If you please, your excellency, Petrusha has brought some papers," said one of the nursemaids to Prince Andrew who was sitting on a child's little chair while, frowning and with trembling hands, he poured drops from a medicine bottle into a wineglass half full of water.
Worn out by sleeplessness and anxiety they threw their burden of sorrow on one another and reproached and disputed with each other.
Then he bursts into one of his wild furies and rages at everyone and everything, seizes the letters, opens them, and reads those from the Emperor addressed to others.
General Buxhowden was all but attacked and captured by a superior enemy force as a result of one of these maneuvers that enabled us to escape him.
During one of these attacks they carried off my empty portmanteau and my dressing gown.
The Emperor proposes to give all commanders of divisions the right to shoot marauders, but I much fear this will oblige one half the army to shoot the other.
"Yes, this is the one thing left me now," he said with a sigh.
So the first task Pierre had to face was one for which he had very little aptitude or inclination--practical business.
Temptations to Pierre's greatest weakness-- the one to which he had confessed when admitted to the Lodge--were so strong that he could not resist them.
On all his estates Pierre saw with his own eyes brick buildings erected or in course of erection, all on one plan, for hospitals, schools, and almshouses, which were soon to be opened.
"One thing I thank God for is that I did not kill that man," said Pierre.
The one and the other may serve as a pastime.
But what's right and what's good must be judged by one who knows all, but not by us.
I don't understand how one can live with such ideas.
That is not cleanly," said Prince Andrew; "on the contrary one must try to make one's life as pleasant as possible.
One would sit without moving, undertaking nothing....
Life as it is leaves one no peace.
I should be thankful to do nothing, but here on the one hand the local nobility have done me the honor to choose me to be their marshal; it was all I could do to get out of it.
My father is one of the most remarkable men of his time.
But as soon as he thought of what he should say, he felt that Prince Andrew with one word, one argument, would upset all his teaching, and he shrank from beginning, afraid of exposing to possible ridicule what to him was precious and sacred.
Nor could I, and it cannot be seen if one looks on our life here as the end of everything.
This is the one matter in which she disobeys him.
He is kind, he is one of God's chosen, he's a benefactor, he once gave me ten rubles, I remember.
When I was in Kiev, Crazy Cyril says to me (he's one of God's own and goes barefoot summer and winter), he says, 'Why are you not going to the right place?
I'd sleep a bit and then again go and kiss the relics, and there was such peace all around, such blessedness, that one don't want to come out, even into the light of heaven again.
Another says clever things and one doesn't care to listen, but this one talks rubbish yet stirs an old fellow up.
When Pierre had gone and the members of the household met together, they began to express their opinions of him as people always do after a new acquaintance has left, but as seldom happens, no one said anything but what was good of him.
The whole world was divided into two unequal parts: one, our Pavlograd regiment; the other, all the rest.
In the regiment, everything was definite: who was lieutenant, who captain, who was a good fellow, who a bad one, and most of all, who was a comrade.
On one of his foraging expeditions, in a deserted and ruined village to which he had come in search of provisions, Rostov found a family consisting of an old Pole and his daughter with an infant in arms.
At one end of the trench, steps were cut out and these formed the entrance and vestibule.
The roof was so constructed that one could stand up in the middle of the trench and could even sit up on the beds if one drew close to the table.
One morning, between seven and eight, returning after a sleepless night, he sent for embers, changed his rain-soaked underclothes, said his prayers, drank tea, got warm, then tidied up the things on the table and in his own corner, and, his face glowing from exposure to the wind and with nothing on but his shirt, lay down on his back, putting his arms under his head.
"I warn you, Captain," one of the officers, a short thin man, evidently very angry, was saying.
The case, as represented by the offended parties, was that, after seizing the transports, Major Denisov, being drunk, went to the chief quartermaster and without any provocation called him a thief, threatened to strike him, and on being led out had rushed into the office and given two officials a thrashing, and dislocated the arm of one of them.
When a new one comes he is done for in a week, said the doctor with evident satisfaction.
"There was one like that," said the doctor, as if pleased.
That one is dead, I fancy.
It was a little different, more pungent, and one felt that this was where it originated.
"Good day, your honor!" he shouted, rolling his eyes at Rostov and evidently mistaking him for one of the hospital authorities.
The man's neighbor on one side whispered something to him, pointing at Rostov, who noticed that the old man wanted to speak to him.
"Why, this one seems..." he began, turning to the assistant.
The first person Rostov met in the officers' ward was a thin little man with one arm, who was walking about the first room in a nightcap and hospital dressing gown, with a pipe between his teeth.
Only the man who had the next bed, a stout Uhlan, continued to sit on his bed, gloomily frowning and smoking a pipe, and little one-armed Tushin still listened, shaking his head disapprovingly.
One has to submit, and Vasili Dmitrich doesn't want to.
Only recently, talking with one of Platov's Cossack officers, Rostov had argued that if Napoleon were taken prisoner he would be treated not as a sovereign, but as a criminal.
Boris, with one leg crossed over the other and stroking his left hand with the slender fingers of his right, listened to Rostov as a general listens to the report of a subordinate, now looking aside and now gazing straight into Rostov's eyes with the same veiled look.
The Emperor rode to the square where, facing one another, a battalion of the Preobrazhensk regiment stood on the right and a battalion of the French Guards in their bearskin caps on the left.
As the Tsar rode up to one flank of the battalions, which presented arms, another group of horsemen galloped up to the opposite flank, and at the head of them Rostov recognized Napoleon.
It could be no one else.
The members of his suite, guessing at once what he wanted, moved about and whispered as they passed something from one to another, and a page--the same one Rostov had seen the previous evening at Boris'--ran forward and, bowing respectfully over the outstretched hand and not keeping it waiting a moment, laid in it an Order on a red ribbon.
All on silver plate, one of them was saying.
"Have you heard the password?" asked one Guards' officer of another.
One day our Emperor gives it and next day Napoleon.
"And to drink," said one of the officers, not wishing to quarrel.
All the plans Pierre had attempted on his estates--and constantly changing from one thing to another had never accomplished--were carried out by Prince Andrew without display and without perceptible difficulty.
On one of his estates the three hundred serfs were liberated and became free agricultural laborers--this being one of the first examples of the kind in Russia.
Ah, here is one oak!
It was dusty and so hot that on passing near water one longed to bathe.
Just before the window was a row of pollard trees, looking black on one side and with a silvery light on the other.
He heard the sound of a scuffle and Sonya's disapproving voice: "It's past one o'clock."
Next morning, having taken leave of no one but the count, and not waiting for the ladies to appear, Prince Andrew set off for home.
That same August the Emperor was thrown from his caleche, injured his leg, and remained three weeks at Peterhof, receiving Speranski every day and no one else.
One general (an important personage), evidently feeling offended at having to wait so long, sat crossing and uncrossing his legs and smiling contemptuously to himself.
But the moment the door opened one feeling alone appeared on all faces-- that of fear.
There are many laws but no one to carry out the old ones.
"There's one thing I don't understand," he continued.
Speranski did not shift his eyes from one face to another as people involuntarily do on entering a large company and was in no hurry to speak.
An institution upholding honor, the source of emulation, is one similar to the Legion d'honneur of the great Emperor Napoleon, not harmful but helpful to the success of the service, but not a class or court privilege.
In Prince Andrew's eyes Speranski was the man he would himself have wished to be--one who explained all the facts of life reasonably, considered important only what was rational, and was capable of applying the standard of reason to everything.
Everything was right and everything was as it should be: only one thing disconcerted Prince Andrew.
This was Speranski's cold, mirrorlike look, which did not allow one to penetrate to his soul, and his delicate white hands, which Prince Andrew involuntarily watched as one does watch the hands of those who possess power.
(This last resource was one he very frequently employed.)
It was evident that the thought could never occur to him which to Prince Andrew seemed so natural, namely, that it is after all impossible to express all one thinks; and that he had never felt the doubt, "Is not all I think and believe nonsense?"
When he had joined the Freemasons he had experienced the feeling of one who confidently steps onto the smooth surface of a bog.
For three days after the delivery of his speech at the lodge he lay on a sofa at home receiving no one and going nowhere.
"No one is right and no one is to blame; so she too is not to blame," he thought.
Without replying either to his wife or his mother-in-law, Pierre late one night prepared for a journey and started for Moscow to see Joseph Alexeevich.
No one has ever heard him utter a groan or a word of complaint.
He entered his wife's drawing room as one enters a theater, was acquainted with everybody, equally pleased to see everyone, and equally indifferent to them all.
In the holy science of our order all is one, all is known in its entirety and life.
Scarcely had I torn it off before another, a bigger one, began biting me.
After much effort I dragged myself up, so that my leg hung down on one side and my body on the other.
To this he replied that one should not deprive a wife of one's embraces and gave me to understand that that was my duty.
At one time the count thought of giving her the Ryazan estate or of selling a forest, at another time of borrowing money on a note of hand.
A few days before the wedding Berg entered the count's study early one morning and, with a pleasant smile, respectfully asked his future father-in-law to let him know what Vera's dowry would be.
He had a brilliant position in society thanks to his intimacy with Countess Bezukhova, a brilliant position in the service thanks to the patronage of an important personage whose complete confidence he enjoyed, and he was beginning to make plans for marrying one of the richest heiresses in Petersburg, plans which might very easily be realized.
One night when the old countess, in nightcap and dressing jacket, without her false curls, and with her poor little knob of hair showing under her white cotton cap, knelt sighing and groaning on a rug and bowing to the ground in prayer, her door creaked and Natasha, also in a dressing jacket with slippers on her bare feet and her hair in curlpapers, ran in.
Seeing that her mother was still praying she ran on tiptoe to the bed and, rapidly slipping one little foot against the other, pushed off her slippers and jumped onto the bed the countess had feared might become her grave.
This couch was high, with a feather bed and five pillows each smaller than the one below.
Now, just one on your throat and another... that'll do!
These visits of Natasha's at night before the count returned from his club were one of the greatest pleasures of both mother, and daughter.
Natasha was lying looking steadily straight before her at one of the mahogany sphinxes carved on the corners of the bedstead, so that the countess only saw her daughter's face in profile.
What nonsense! said Natasha in the tone of one being deprived of her property.
She kept thinking that no one could understand all that she understood and all there was in her.
One can really say it's a wonderful voice!
One person, better dressed than the rest, seemed to know everyone and mentioned by name the greatest dignitaries of the day.
A third with pins in her mouth was running about between the countess and Sonya, and a fourth held the whole of the gossamer garment up high on one uplifted hand.
"If you please, Miss! allow me," said the maid, who on her knees was pulling the skirt straight and shifting the pins from one side of her mouth to the other with her tongue.
All was blended into one brilliant procession.
The countess took up a position in one of the front rows of that crowd.
No one more charming in society.
And that stout one in spectacles is the universal Freemason, she went on, indicating Pierre.
There's one talking to him and he has turned away, she said, pointing at him.
She was not concerned about the Emperor or any of those great people whom Peronskaya was pointing out--she had but one thought: Is it possible no one will ask me, that I shall not be among the first to dance?
Is it possible that not one of all these men will notice me?
They do not even seem to see me, or if they do they look as if they were saying, 'Ah, she's not the one I'm after, so it's not worth looking at her!'
She and the countess and Sonya were standing by themselves as in the depths of a forest amid that crowd of strangers, with no one interested in them and not wanted by anyone.
The handsome Anatole was smilingly talking to a partner on his arm and looked at Natasha as one looks at a wall.
Prince Andrew, as one closely connected with Speranski and participating in the work of the legislative commission, could give reliable information about that sitting, concerning which various rumors were current.
"Excuse me!" he added, turning to the baron, "we will finish this conversation elsewhere--at a ball one must dance."
Prince Andrew was one of the best dancers of his day and Natasha danced exquisitely.
For one of the merry cotillions before supper Prince Andrew was again her partner.
In the middle of the cotillion, having completed one of the figures, Natasha, still out of breath, was returning to her seat when another dancer chose her.
She was at that height of bliss when one becomes completely kind and good and does not believe in the possibility of evil, unhappiness, or sorrow.
The visitor was Bitski, who served on various committees, frequented all the societies in Petersburg, and a passionate devotee of the new ideas and of Speranski, and a diligent Petersburg newsmonger--one of those men who choose their opinions like their clothes according to the fashion, but who for that very reason appear to be the warmest partisans.
While still in the anteroom Prince Andrew heard loud voices and a ringing staccato laugh--a laugh such as one hears on the stage.
"One moment..." he went on, turning to Magnitski and interrupting his story.
It seemed that in this company the insignificance of those people was so definitely accepted that the only possible attitude toward them was one of good humored ridicule.
Prince Andrew did not laugh and feared that he would be a damper on the spirits of the company, but no one took any notice of his being out of harmony with the general mood.
Natasha was one of the first to meet him.
The old count's hospitality and good nature, which struck one especially in Petersburg as a pleasant surprise, were such that Prince Andrew could not refuse to stay to dinner.
Pierre was right when he said one must believe in the possibility of happiness in order to be happy, and now I do believe in it.
Let the dead bury their dead, but while one has life one must live and be happy! thought he.
One morning Colonel Berg, whom Pierre knew as he knew everybody in Moscow and Petersburg, came to see him.
Berg, closely buttoned up in his new uniform, sat beside his wife explaining to her that one always could and should be acquainted with people above one, because only then does one get satisfaction from acquaintances.
It goes without saying that one must be conscientious and methodical.
Husband and wife glanced at one another, both smiling with self-satisfaction, and each mentally claiming the honor of this visit.
Pierre, as one of the principal guests, had to sit down to boston with Count Rostov, the general, and the colonel.
Natasha on one side was talking with Sonya and Boris, and Vera with a subtle smile was saying something to Prince Andrew.
Everything was similar: the ladies' subtle talk, the cards, the general raising his voice at the card table, and the samovar and the tea cakes; only one thing was lacking that he had always seen at the evening parties he wished to imitate.
One can't talk about that, said Natasha.
Mamma, one need not be ashamed of his being a widower?
In the first place the marriage was not a brilliant one as regards birth, wealth, or rank.
Why speak, when words cannot express what one feels?
At first the family felt some constraint in intercourse with Prince Andrew; he seemed a man from another world, and for a long time Natasha trained the family to get used to him, proudly assuring them all that he only appeared to be different, but was really just like all of them, and that she was not afraid of him and no one else ought to be.
All the complex laws of man centered for her in one clear and simple law--the law of love and self-sacrifice taught us by Him who lovingly suffered for mankind though He Himself was God.
Before he left he had a long talk with his father about something, and Princess Mary noticed that before his departure they were dissatisfied with one another.
Religion alone can explain to us what without its help man cannot comprehend: why, for what cause, kind and noble beings able to find happiness in life--not merely harming no one but necessary to the happiness of others--are called away to God, while cruel, useless, harmful persons, or such as are a burden to themselves and to others, are left living.
The first death I saw, and one I shall never forget--that of my dear sister-in-law--left that impression on me.
You write that in Petersburg he is spoken of as one of the most active, cultivated, and capable of the young men.
Only one thing, no more women are wanted in my house--let him marry and live by himself.
And they all struggled and suffered and tormented one another and injured their souls, their eternal souls, for the attainment of benefits which endure but for an instant.
"How is it that no one realizes this?" thought Princess Mary.
There was one pilgrim, a quiet pockmarked little woman of fifty called Theodosia, who for over thirty years had gone about barefoot and worn heavy chains.
She disclosed this thought to no one but to her confessor, Father Akinfi, the monk, and he approved of her intention.
The village elder, a peasant delegate, and the village clerk, who were waiting in the passage, heard with fear and delight first the young count's voice roaring and snapping and rising louder and louder, and then words of abuse, dreadful words, ejaculated one after the other.
She went several times to his door on tiptoe and listened, as he lighted one pipe after another.
The hounds were joined into one pack, and "Uncle" and Nicholas rode on side by side.
Yes, one would have to search far to find another as smart.
At the same instant, with a cry like a wail, first one hound, then another, and then another, sprang helter-skelter from the wood opposite and the whole pack rushed across the field toward the very spot where the wolf had disappeared.
She ran without hurry, evidently feeling sure that no one saw her.
A long, yellowish young borzoi, one Nicholas did not know, from another leash, rushed impetuously at the wolf from in front and almost knocked her over.
Now they drew close to the fox which began to dodge between the field in sharper and sharper curves, trailing its brush, when suddenly a strange white borzoi dashed in followed by a black one, and everything was in confusion; the borzois formed a star-shaped figure, scarcely swaying their bodies and with tails turned away from the center of the group.
Two huntsmen galloped up to the dogs; one in a red cap, the other, a stranger, in a green coat.
One of his eyes was black, but he probably was not even aware of it.
I gave him one with the fox.
"Uncle," Rostov, and Ilagin kept stealthily glancing at one another's dogs, trying not to be observed by their companions and searching uneasily for rivals to their own borzois.
"That black-spotted one of yours is fine--well shaped!" said he.
(he again raised his cap to Natasha) "but as for counting skins and what one takes, I don't care about that."
"A-tu!" came the long-drawn cry of one of the borzoi whippers-in, who had halted.
"Ah, he has found one, I think," said Ilagin carelessly.
"A full-grown one?" asked Ilagin as he approached the whip who had sighted the hare--and not without agitation he looked round and whistled to Erza.
Try yours against one another, you two, and I'll look on!
There, it has beaten them all, the thousand-ruble as well as the one-ruble borzois.
They looked at one another (now that the hunt was over and they were in the house, Nicholas no longer considered it necessary to show his manly superiority over his sister), Natasha gave him a wink, and neither refrained long from bursting into a peal of ringing laughter even before they had a pretext ready to account for it.
And Natasha felt that this costume, the very one she had regarded with surprise and amusement at Otradnoe, was just the right thing and not at all worse than a swallow-tail or frock coat.
How could one help understanding?
"Take this, little Lady-Countess!" she kept saying, as she offered Natasha first one thing and then another.
"Uncle" sat listening, slightly smiling, with his head on one side.
Where, how, and when had this young countess, educated by an emigree French governess, imbibed from the Russian air she breathed that spirit and obtained that manner which the pas de chale * would, one would have supposed, long ago have effaced?
"And such a one!" she said.
The count and countess did not know where they were and were very anxious, said one of the men.
"Good-bye, dear niece," his voice called out of the darkness--not the voice Natasha had known previously, but the one that had sung As 'twas growing dark last night.
They were fond of asking one another that question.
From her feminine point of view she could see only one solution, namely, for Nicholas to marry a rich heiress.
Nicholas guessed what his mother's remarks were leading to and during one of these conversations induced her to speak quite frankly.
No one in the house sent people about or gave them as much trouble as Natasha did.
"Do you know," said Natasha in a whisper, moving closer to Nicholas and Sonya, "that when one goes on and on recalling memories, one at last begins to remember what happened before one was in the world..."
The mummers (some of the house serfs) dressed up as bears, Turks, innkeepers, and ladies--frightening and funny--bringing in with them the cold from outside and a feeling of gaiety, crowded, at first timidly, into the anteroom, then hiding behind one another they pushed into the ballroom where, shyly at first and then more and more merrily and heartily, they started singing, dancing, and playing Christmas games.
Natasha was foremost in setting a merry holiday tone, which, passing from one to another, grew stronger and reached its climax when they all came out into the frost and got into the sleighs, talking, calling to one another, laughing, and shouting.
From that sleigh one could hear the shouts, laughter, and voices of the mummers.
"Gee up, my darlings!" shouted Nicholas, pulling the reins to one side and flourishing the whip.
It was only by the keener wind that met them and the jerks given by the side horses who pulled harder--ever increasing their gallop--that one noticed how fast the troyka was flying.
Zakhar, while still keeping his arms extended, raised one hand with the reins.
"Look, his mustache and eyelashes are all white!" said one of the strange, pretty, unfamiliar people--the one with fine eyebrows and mustache.
I suppose it is one of the Rostovs!
Sometimes, as she looked at the strange but amusing capers cut by the dancers, who--having decided once for all that being disguised, no one would recognize them--were not at all shy, Pelageya Danilovna hid her face in her handkerchief, and her whole stout body shook with irrepressible, kindly, elderly laughter.
"And how does one do it in a barn?" inquired Sonya.
It depends on what you hear; hammering and knocking--that's bad; but a sound of shifting grain is good and one sometimes hears that, too.
The light was so strong and the snow sparkled with so many stars that one did not wish to look up at the sky and the real stars were unnoticed.
Natasha lit the candles, one on each side of one of the looking glasses, and sat down.
Pierre was one of those retired gentlemen-in-waiting of whom there were hundreds good-humoredly ending their days in Moscow.
Had he not at one time longed with all his heart to establish a republic in Russia; then himself to be a Napoleon; then to be a philosopher; and then a strategist and the conqueror of Napoleon?
For a long time he could not reconcile himself to the idea that he was one of those same retired Moscow gentlemen-in-waiting he had so despised seven years before.
"Helene, who has never cared for anything but her own body and is one of the stupidest women in the world," thought Pierre, "is regarded by people as the acme of intelligence and refinement, and they pay homage to her.
"Nothing is trivial, and nothing is important, it's all the same--only to save oneself from it as best one can," thought Pierre.
On Thursdays Princess Mary remembered with a mournful smile that she now had no one to write to, since Julie--whose presence gave her no pleasure was here and they met every week.
Like the old emigre who declined to marry the lady with whom he had spent his evenings for years, she regretted Julie's presence and having no one to write to.
In Moscow Princess Mary had no one to talk to, no one to whom to confide her sorrow, and much sorrow fell to her lot just then.
Nicholas' Day and the prince's name day--all Moscow came to the prince's front door but he gave orders to admit no one and to invite to dinner only a small number, a list of whom he gave to Princess Mary.
It happened that on that morning of his name day the prince was in one of his worst moods.
But he could not restrain himself and with the virulence of which only one who loves is capable, evidently suffering himself, he shook his fists at her and screamed:
The prince's house did not belong to what is known as fashionable society, but his little circle--though not much talked about in town-- was one it was more flattering to be received in than any other.
The tone of the conversation was such as indicated that no one approved of what was being done in the political world.
One only wonders at the long-suffering or blindness of the crowned heads.
"One would have thought quill drivers enough had sprung up," remarked the old prince.
He was here; they admitted him in spite of my request that they should let no one in, he went on, glancing angrily at his daughter.
Though these reasons were very insufficient and obscure, no one made any rejoinder.
To please Moscow girls nowadays one has to be melancholy.
Then there is only one thing left--to go away, but where could I go?
That is all one can say about her.
Meeting at large gatherings Julie and Boris looked on one another as the only souls who understood one another in a world of indifferent people.
"And how I pity her mother," she went on; "today she showed me her accounts and letters from Penza (they have enormous estates there), and she, poor thing, has no one to help her, and they do cheat her so!"
Late one evening the Rostovs' four sleighs drove into Marya Dmitrievna's courtyard in the old Konyusheny street.
Shinshin? she crooked one of her fingers.
One thing has come on top of another: her rags to buy, and now a purchaser has turned up for the Moscow estate and for the house.
One wants to do it peacefully and lovingly.
Natasha remained silent, from shyness Marya Dmitrievna supposed, but really because she disliked anyone interfering in what touched her love of Prince Andrew, which seemed to her so apart from all human affairs that no one could understand it.
She loved and knew Prince Andrew, he loved her only, and was to come one of these days and take her.
'Husbands' sisters bring up blisters,' but this one wouldn't hurt a fly.
The count had devised this diplomatic ruse (as he afterwards told his daughter) to give the future sisters-in-law an opportunity to talk to one another freely, but another motive was to avoid the danger of encountering the old prince, of whom he was afraid.
Natasha and Princess Mary looked at one another in silence, and the longer they did so without saying what they wanted to say, the greater grew their antipathy to one another.
One can see at once that they're engaged....
She's a woman one could easily fall in love with.
He was now in an adjutant's uniform with one epaulet and a shoulder knot.
To get better acquainted she asked that one of the young ladies should come into her box for the rest of the performance, and Natasha moved over to it.
Then the violins played very shrilly and merrily and one of the women with thick bare legs and thin arms, separating from the others, went behind the wings, adjusted her bodice, returned to the middle of the stage, and began jumping and striking one foot rapidly against the other.
Then one of the men went into a corner of the stage.
But suddenly a storm came on, chromatic scales and diminished sevenths were heard in the orchestra, everyone ran off, again dragging one of their number away, and the curtain dropped.
During one of these moments of awkward silence when Anatole's prominent eyes were gazing calmly and fixedly at her, Natasha, to break the silence, asked him how he liked Moscow.
She looked at Natasha's dresses and praised them, as well as a new dress of her own made of "metallic gauze," which she had received from Paris, and advised Natasha to have one like it.
Mademoiselle George, with her bare, fat, dimpled arms, and a red shawl draped over one shoulder, came into the space left vacant for her, and assumed an unnatural pose.
"One word, just one, for God's sake!" cried Anatole.
"One word, just one, for God's sake!" cried Anatole.
"Natalie, just a word, only one!" he kept repeating, evidently not knowing what to say and he repeated it till Helene came up to them.
He took it into his head to begin shouting, but I am not one to be shouted down.
Whatever her father's feelings might be, she begged Natasha to believe that she could not help loving her as the one chosen by her brother, for whose happiness she was ready to sacrifice everything.
But with that one nothing is spoiled.
You know, we love one another!
Remember no one ought to interfere in such matters!
Sonya, one can't doubt him!
With the same expression of agitated surprise and guilt she went about the house, taking up now one occupation, now another, and at once abandoning them.
"Didn't I explain to you that I have come to this conclusion: if this marriage is invalid," he went on, crooking one finger, "then I have nothing to answer for; but if it is valid, no matter!
Abroad no one will know anything about it.
He had ruined more than one horse in their service.
More than once they had beaten him, and more than once they had made him drunk on champagne and Madeira, which he loved; and he knew more than one thing about each of them which would long ago have sent an ordinary man to Siberia.
"Do you know, one Christmas I drove from Tver," said Anatole, smilingly at the recollection and turning to Makarin who gazed rapturously at him with wide-open eyes.
Only the near one died of it.
Anatole went out of the room and returned a few minutes later wearing a fur coat girt with a silver belt, and a sable cap jauntily set on one side and very becoming to his handsome face.
He spoke slowly in a loud voice and throwing out his chest slightly swayed one leg.
Balaga took his seat in the front one and holding his elbows high arranged the reins deliberately.
His face was fresh and rosy, his white-plumed hat, tilted to one side, disclosed his curled and pomaded hair besprinkled with powdery snow.
What troubles one has with these girls without their mother!
She did not smile or nod, but only gazed fixedly at him, and her look asked only one thing: was he a friend, or like the others an enemy in regard to Anatole?
Natasha looked from one to the other as a hunted and wounded animal looks at the approaching dogs and sportsmen.
One of Pierre's acquaintances, while they were talking about the weather, asked if he had heard of Kuragin's abduction of Rostova which was talked of in the town, and was it true?
One man told him he had not come yet, and another that he was coming to dinner.
Prince Andrew went to one and took out a small casket, from which he drew a packet wrapped in paper.
Prince Andrew laughed disagreeably, again reminding one of his father.
One hasn't the heart to scold her, she is so much to be pitied.
But... I should like to know one thing....
We won't speak of it, my dear--I'll tell him everything; but one thing I beg of you, consider me your friend and if you want help, advice, or simply to open your heart to someone--not now, but when your mind is clearer think of me!
Millions of men perpetrated against one another such innumerable crimes, frauds, treacheries, thefts, forgeries, issues of false money, burglaries, incendiarisms, and murders as in whole centuries are not recorded in the annals of all the law courts of the world, but which those who committed them did not at the time regard as being crimes.
I saw him give the cross to one of the veterans....
On the faces of all was one common expression of joy at the commencement of the long-expected campaign and of rapture and devotion to the man in the gray coat who was standing on the hill.
He mounted it and rode at a gallop to one of the bridges over the Niemen, deafened continually by incessant and rapturous acclamations which he evidently endured only because it was impossible to forbid the soldiers to express their love of him by such shouting, but the shouting which accompanied him everywhere disturbed him and distracted him from the military cares that had occupied him from the time he joined the army.
He rode across one of the swaying pontoon bridges to the farther side, turned sharply to the left, and galloped in the direction of Kovno, preceded by enraptured, mounted chasseurs of the Guard who, breathless with delight, galloped ahead to clear a path for him through the troops.
"Vivat!" shouted the Poles, ecstatically, breaking their ranks and pressing against one another to see him.
What did he say? was heard in the ranks of the Polish uhlans when one of the aides-de-camp rode up to them.
They tried to make their way forward to the opposite bank and, though there was a ford one third of a mile away, were proud that they were swimming and drowning in this river under the eyes of the man who sat on the log and was not even looking at what they were doing.
The Emperor was not dancing, he stood in the doorway, stopping now one pair and now another with gracious words which he alone knew how to utter.
As the mazurka began, Boris saw that Adjutant General Balashev, one of those in closest attendance on the Emperor, went up to him and contrary to court etiquette stood near him while he was talking to a Polish lady.
"Let no one know of it!" the Emperor added with a frown.
A herd of cattle was being driven along the road from the village, and over the fields the larks rose trilling, one after another, like bubbles rising in water.
The Russian Cossacks and bugler and the French hussars looked silently at one another from time to time.
"Your Majesty," replied Balashev, "my master, the Emperor, does not desire war and as Your Majesty sees..." said Balashev, using the words Your Majesty at every opportunity, with the affectation unavoidable in frequently addressing one to whom the title was still a novelty.
Balashev went into a small reception room, one door of which led into a study, the very one from which the Russian Emperor had dispatched him on his mission.
His short hair had evidently just been brushed, but one lock hung down in the middle of his broad forehead.
His whole short corpulent figure with broad thick shoulders, and chest and stomach involuntarily protruding, had that imposing and stately appearance one sees in men of forty who live in comfort.
He went in silence from one corner of the room to the other and again stopped in front of Balashev.
"Know that if you stir up Prussia against me, I'll wipe it off the map of Europe!" he declared, his face pale and distorted by anger, and he struck one of his small hands energetically with the other.
To the one camp belonged the old prince, Mademoiselle Bourienne, and the architect; to the other Princess Mary, Dessalles, little Nicholas, and all the old nurses and maids.
That day he did not see his father, who did not leave his room and admitted no one but Mademoiselle Bourienne and Tikhon, but asked several times whether his son had gone.
When one thinks who and what--what trash--can cause people misery! he said with a malignity that alarmed Princess Mary.
She looked a little above Prince Andrew's head with the confident, accustomed look with which one looks at the place where a familiar portrait hangs.
Only senseless things, lacking coherence, presented themselves one after another to Prince Andrew's mind.
The first army, with which was the Emperor, occupied the fortified camp at Drissa; the second army was retreating, trying to effect a junction with the first one from which it was said to be cut off by large French forces.
Everyone was dissatisfied with the general course of affairs in the Russian army, but no one anticipated any danger of invasion of the Russian provinces, and no one thought the war would extend farther than the western, the Polish, provinces.
First, the army under Barclay de Tolly, secondly, the army under Bagration, and thirdly, the one commanded by Tormasov.
The second party was directly opposed to the first; one extreme, as always happens, was met by representatives of the other.
The men of that party, remembering Suvorov, said that what one had to do was not to reason, or stick pins into maps, but to fight, beat the enemy, keep him out of Russia, and not let the army get discouraged.
The eighth and largest group, which in its enormous numbers was to the others as ninety-nine to one, consisted of men who desired neither peace nor war, neither an advance nor a defensive camp at the Drissa or anywhere else, neither Barclay nor the Emperor, neither Pfuel nor Bennigsen, but only the one most essential thing--as much advantage and pleasure for themselves as possible.
Whatever question arose, a swarm of these drones, without having finished their buzzing on a previous theme, flew over to the new one and by their hum drowned and obscured the voices of those who were disputing honestly.
Just at the time Prince Andrew was living unoccupied at Drissa, Shishkov, the Secretary of State and one of the chief representatives of this party, wrote a letter to the Emperor which Arakcheev and Balashev agreed to sign.
One could see that he wished to pass through the rooms as quickly as possible, finish with the bows and greetings, and sit down to business in front of a map, where he would feel at home.
It was one of the millions of proposals, one as good as another, that could be made as long as it was quite unknown what character the war would take.
No one was or is able to foresee in what condition our or the enemy's armies will be in a day's time, and no one can gauge the force of this or that detachment.
Armfeldt says our army is cut in half, and Paulucci says we have got the French army between two fires; Michaud says that the worthlessness of the Drissa camp lies in having the river behind it, and Pfuel says that is what constitutes its strength; Toll proposes one plan, Armfeldt another, and they are all good and all bad, and the advantages of any suggestions can be seen only at the moment of trial.
And only in the ranks can one serve with assurance of being useful.
He knew that this tale redounded to the glory of our arms and so one had to pretend not to doubt it.
"Here. What lightning!" they called to one another.
"Oh, no, Mary Hendrikhovna," replied the officer, "one must look after the doctor.
That curly grass which always grows by country roadsides became clearly visible, still wet with the night's rain; the drooping branches of the birches, also wet, swayed in the wind and flung down bright drops of water to one side.
A judge of horses and a sportsman, he had lately procured himself a large, fine, mettlesome, Donets horse, dun-colored, with light mane and tail, and when he rode it no one could outgallop him.
Trap-ta-ta-tap! cracked the shots, now together, now several quickly one after another.
He could already see how these men, who looked so small at the foot of the hill, jostled and overtook one another, waving their arms and their sabers in the air.
One Uhlan stopped, another who was on foot flung himself to the ground to avoid being knocked over, and a riderless horse fell in among the hussars.
Rostov, picking out one on a gray horse, dashed after him.
The French dragoon officer was hopping with one foot on the ground, the other being caught in the stirrup.
On all sides, the hussars were busy with the dragoons; one was wounded, but though his face was bleeding, he would not give up his horse; another was perched up behind an hussar with his arms round him; a third was being helped by an hussar to mount his horse.
Doctors came to see her singly and in consultation, talked much in French, German, and Latin, blamed one another, and prescribed a great variety of medicines for all the diseases known to them, but the simple idea never occurred to any of them that they could not know the disease Natasha was suffering from, as no disease suffered by a live man can be known, for every living person has his own peculiarities and always has his own peculiar, personal, novel, complicated disease, unknown to medicine--not a disease of the lungs, liver, skin, heart, nerves, and so on mentioned in medical books, but a disease consisting of one of the innumerable combinations of the maladies of those organs.
But when he had gone into another room, to which the countess hurriedly followed him, he assumed a grave air and thoughtfully shaking his head said that though there was danger, he had hopes of the effect of this last medicine and one must wait and see, that the malady was chiefly mental, but...
She hardly ever left the house and of those who came to see them was glad to see only one person, Pierre.
On her way home at an early hour when she met no one but bricklayers going to work or men sweeping the street, and everybody within the houses was still asleep, Natasha experienced a feeling new to her, a sense of the possibility of correcting her faults, the possibility of a new, clean life, and of happiness.
That's Rostova, the one who...
Unexpectedly, in the middle of the service, and not in the usual order Natasha knew so well, the deacon brought out a small stool, the one he knelt on when praying on Trinity Sunday, and placed it before the doors of the sanctuary screen.
Everybody followed his example and they looked at one another in surprise.
She smiled at me yesterday and asked me to come again, and I love her, and no one will ever know it.
Among these letters was one from Nicholas Rostov to his father.
I don't know, I am very far from having military tastes, but in these times no one can answer for himself.
One of the generals who drove past was an acquaintance of the Rostovs', and Petya thought of asking his help, but came to the conclusion that that would not be a manly thing to do.
For a while the crowd was less dense, but suddenly all heads were bared, and everyone rushed forward in one direction.
Dear one! she kept repeating, wiping away her tears with her fingers.
When he came to himself, a man of clerical appearance with a tuft of gray hair at the back of his head and wearing a shabby blue cassock--probably a church clerk and chanter--was holding him under the arm with one hand while warding off the pressure of the crowd with the other.
One might easily get killed that way!
A middle-aged man, handsome and virile, in the uniform of a retired naval officer, was speaking in one of the rooms, and a small crowd was pressing round him.
Pierre wished to say that he was ready to sacrifice his money, his serfs, or himself, only one ought to know the state of affairs in order to be able to improve it, but he was unable to speak.
Pressed by the throng against the high backs of the chairs, the orators spoke one after another and sometimes two together.
One of the old men nearest to him looked round, but his attention was immediately diverted by an exclamation at the other side of the table.
When Pierre saw the Emperor he was coming out accompanied by two merchants, one of whom Pierre knew, a fat otkupshchik.
Pierre's one feeling at the moment was a desire to show that he was ready to go all lengths and was prepared to sacrifice everything.
She feared for her brother who was in it, was horrified by and amazed at the strange cruelty that impels men to kill one another, but she did not understand the significance of this war, which seemed to her like all previous wars.
One day he would order his camp bed to be set up in the glass gallery, another day he remained on the couch or on the lounge chair in the drawing room and dozed there without undressing, while--instead of Mademoiselle Bourienne--a serf boy read to him.
The prince allowed no one at Bald Hills to drive with ringing bells; but on a long journey Alpatych liked to have them.
His old sister-in-law popped in a small bundle, and one of the coachmen helped him into the vehicle.
In the offices and shops and at the post office everyone was talking about the army and about the enemy who was already attacking the town, everybody was asking what should be done, and all were trying to calm one another.
At the porch he met two of the landed gentry, one of whom he knew.
'One man though undone is but one,' as the proverb says, but with thirteen in your family and all the property...
In the waiting room were tradesmen, women, and officials, looking silently at one another.
Alpatych moved forward and next time the official came out addressed him, one hand placed in the breast of his buttoned coat, and handed him two letters.
"That's grand, it bucks one up!" laughed the first.
Five minutes later no one remained in the street.
No one at the stone entrance gates of the drive and the door stood open.
He called for Taras the gardener, but no one replied.
The shutters were all closed, except at one window which was open.
You must go away too, take away what you can and tell the serfs to go to the Ryazan estate or to the one near Moscow.
The old man was still sitting in the ornamental garden, like a fly impassive on the face of a loved one who is dead, tapping the last on which he was making the bast shoe, and two little girls, running out from the hot house carrying in their skirts plums they had plucked from the trees there, came upon Prince Andrew.
On seeing the young master, the elder one with frightened look clutched her younger companion by the hand and hid with her behind a birch tree, not stopping to pick up some green plums they had dropped.
It was past one o'clock.
One fair-haired young soldier of the third company, whom Prince Andrew knew and who had a strap round the calf of one leg, crossed himself, stepped back to get a good run, and plunged into the water; another, a dark noncommissioned officer who was always shaggy, stood up to his waist in the water joyfully wriggling his muscular figure and snorted with satisfaction as he poured the water over his head with hands blackened to the wrists.
One fair-haired young soldier of the third company, whom Prince Andrew knew and who had a strap round the calf of one leg, crossed himself, stepped back to get a good run, and plunged into the water; another, a dark noncommissioned officer who was always shaggy, stood up to his waist in the water joyfully wriggling his muscular figure and snorted with satisfaction as he poured the water over his head with hands blackened to the wrists.
There were sounds of men slapping one another, yelling, and puffing.
You would set all Russia against you and every one of us would feel ashamed to wear the uniform.
One man ought to be in command, and not two.
Among the innumerable categories applicable to the phenomena of human life one may discriminate between those in which substance prevails and those in which form prevails.
One of the visitors, usually spoken of as "a man of great merit," having described how he had that day seen Kutuzov, the newly chosen chief of the Petersburg militia, presiding over the enrollment of recruits at the Treasury, cautiously ventured to suggest that Kutuzov would be the man to satisfy all requirements.
No one replied to his remarks.
The latter was very attentive to Anna Pavlovna because he wanted to be appointed director of one of the educational establishments for young ladies.
As soon as he said this both Prince Vasili and Anna Pavlovna turned away from him and glanced sadly at one another with a sigh at his naivete.
He is as right as other historians who look for the explanation of historic events in the will of one man; he is as right as the Russian historians who maintain that Napoleon was drawn to Moscow by the skill of the Russian commanders.
How much more complex than this is the game of war, which occurs under certain limits of time, and where it is not one will that manipulates lifeless objects, but everything results from innumerable conflicts of various wills!
He ordered the militiamen to be called up from the villages and armed, and wrote a letter to the commander-in- chief informing him that he had resolved to remain at Bald Hills to the last extremity and to defend it, leaving to the commander-in-chief's discretion to take measures or not for the defense of Bald Hills, where one of Russia's oldest generals would be captured or killed, and he announced to his household that he would remain at Bald Hills.
All she could see was that his former stern and determined expression had altered to one of timidity and submission.
One thing was certain--that he was suffering and wished to say something.
But what it was, no one could tell: it might be some caprice of a sick and half-crazy man, or it might relate to public affairs, or possibly to family concerns.
She spent the night of the fourteenth as usual, without undressing, in the room next to the one where the prince lay.
One can make out something of what he is saying.
She returned to the garden and sat down on the grass at the foot of the slope by the pond, where no one could see her.
One instance, which had occurred some twenty years before, was a movement among the peasants to emigrate to some unknown "warm rivers."
They set off in caravans, bought their freedom one by one or ran away, and drove or walked toward the "warm rivers."
Dron was one of those physically and mentally vigorous peasants who grow big beards as soon as they are of age and go on unchanged till they are sixty or seventy, without a gray hair or the loss of a tooth, as straight and strong at sixty as at thirty.
She lay on the sofa with her face to the wall, fingering the buttons of the leather cushion and seeing nothing but that cushion, and her confused thoughts were centered on one subject--the irrevocability of death and her own spiritual baseness, which she had not suspected, but which had shown itself during her father's illness.
He is gone and no one will hinder you, she said to herself, and sinking into a chair she let her head fall on the window sill.
Dronushka, Alpatych has gone off somewhere and I have no one to turn to.
No one broke the silence.
All eyes were gazing at her with one and the same expression.
No one replied and Princess Mary, looking round at the crowd, found that every eye she met now was immediately dropped.
She thought only of one thing, her sorrow, which, after the break caused by cares for the present, seemed already to belong to the past.
Pictures of the near past--her father's illness and last moments--rose one after another to her memory.
With mournful pleasure she now lingered over these images, repelling with horror only the last one, the picture of his death, which she felt she could not contemplate even in imagination at this still and mystic hour of night.
On the way to Bogucharovo, a princely estate with a dwelling house and farm where they hoped to find many domestic serfs and pretty girls, they questioned Lavrushka about Napoleon and laughed at his stories, and raced one another to try Ilyin's horse.
"And how like one another," said Ilyin.
One of the men came out of the crowd and went up to Rostov.
"The one in pink is mine, so keep off!" said Ilyin on seeing Dunyasha running resolutely toward him.
Go when you please, and I give you my word of honor that no one shall dare to cause you annoyance if only you will allow me to act as your escort.
Ah, friend--my pink one is delicious; her name is Dunyasha....
It's all one to you!
But before the words were well out of his mouth, his cap flew off and a fierce blow jerked his head to one side.
Be off to your houses at once, and don't let one of your voices be heard!
I said then that it was not in order, voices were heard bickering with one another.
"Aye, when I look at you!..." said one of them to Karp.
How can one talk to the masters like that?
On the rest of the way to Moscow, though the princess' position was not a cheerful one, Dunyasha, who went with her in the carriage, more than once noticed that her mistress leaned out of the window and smiled at something with an expression of mingled joy and sorrow.
To remember her gave him pleasure, and when his comrades, hearing of his adventure at Bogucharovo, rallied him on having gone to look for hay and having picked up one of the wealthiest heiresses in Russia, he grew angry.
There's only one way--guewilla warfare!
His plan seemed decidedly a good one, especially from the strength of conviction with which he spoke.
Kutuzov swayed his head, as much as to say: "How is one man to deal with it all?" and again listened to Denisov.
One can't get on without it.
What's one to do? he asked, evidently expecting an answer.
And above all," thought Prince Andrew, "one believes in him because he's Russian, despite the novel by Genlis and the French proverbs, and because his voice shook when he said: 'What they have brought us to!' and had a sob in it when he said he would 'make them eat horseflesh!'"
They are all dwarfs and one peasant woman will toss three of them with a hayfork.
"You spare no one," continued Julie to the young man without heeding the author's remark.
All right, one can't talk--how tiresome!
Catiche is one and Princess Bolkonskaya another.
But how could one say that in Russian?
Only the eldest princess, the one with the stony face and long waist, was still living in Pierre's house.
One can't walk in the streets.
I ask just one thing of you, cousin," she went on, "arrange for me to be taken to Petersburg.
But the attention of the crowd--officials, burghers, shopkeepers, peasants, and women in cloaks and in pelisses--was so eagerly centered on what was passing in Lobnoe Place that no one answered him.
Before the battle of Borodino our strength in proportion to the French was about as five to six, but after that battle it was little more than one to two: previously we had a hundred thousand against a hundred and twenty thousand; afterwards little more than fifty thousand against a hundred thousand.
Had Napoleon not ridden out on the evening of the twenty-fourth to the Kolocha, and had he not then ordered an immediate attack on the redoubt but had begun the attack next morning, no one would have doubted that the Shevardino Redoubt was the left flank of our position, and the battle would have taken place where we expected it.
The wounded, bandaged with rags, with pale cheeks, compressed lips, and knitted brows, held on to the sides of the carts as they were jolted against one another.
Pierre's coachman shouted angrily at the convoy of wounded to keep to one side of the road.
One of the carts with wounded stopped by the side of the road close to Pierre.
The driver in his bast shoes ran panting up to it, placed a stone under one of its tireless hind wheels, and began arranging the breech-band on his little horse.
One of the wounded, an old soldier with a bandaged arm who was following the cart on foot, caught hold of it with his sound hand and turned to look at Pierre.
He was looking now at the cavalry regiment that had met the convoy of wounded, now at the cart by which he was standing, in which two wounded men were sitting and one was lying.
His whole head was wrapped in rags and one cheek was swollen to the size of a baby's head.
His nose and mouth were twisted to one side.
This was one of the head army doctors.
Can one see from there?...
One can see them with the naked eye...
That's where one crosses the Kolocha.
The officer appeared abashed, as though he understood that one might think of how many men would be missing tomorrow but ought not to speak of it.
And you, are you one of the doctors?
Following the battalion that marched along the dusty road came priests in their vestments--one little old man in a hood with attendants and singers.
Boris belonged to the latter and no one else, while showing servile respect to Kutuzov, could so create an impression that the old fellow was not much good and that Bennigsen managed everything.
I have the honor to be one of your wife's adorers.
In the middle of the wood a brown hare with white feet sprang out and, scared by the tramp of the many horses, grew so confused that it leaped along the road in front of them for some time, arousing general attention and laughter, and only when several voices shouted at it did it dart to one side and disappear in the thicket.
It is very sound: one can't permit the land to be pillaged and accustom the troops to marauding.
While Russia was well, a foreigner could serve her and be a splendid minister; but as soon as she is in danger she needs one of her own kin.
Why, one who foresees all contingencies... and foresees the adversary's intentions.
* "Oh, yes, the only aim is to weaken the enemy, so of course one cannot take into account the loss of private individuals."
That's what I was saying to you-- those German gentlemen won't win the battle tomorrow but will only make all the mess they can, because they have nothing in their German heads but theories not worth an empty eggshell and haven't in their hearts the one thing needed tomorrow--that which Timokhin has.
"One thing I would do if I had the power," he began again, "I would not take prisoners.
And when there was a war, like this one, it would be war!
Before a battle one must have one's sleep out, repeated Prince Andrew.
One picture succeeded another in his imagination.
On one of them he dwelt long and joyfully.
General Sorbier must be ready at the first order to advance with all the howitzers of the Guard's artillery against either one or other of the entrenchments.
Not one of these was, or could be, carried out.
So not one of the orders in the disposition was, or could be, executed.
But this was not and could not be done, for during the whole battle Napoleon was so far away that, as appeared later, he could not know the course of the battle and not one of his orders during the fight could be executed.
At the battle of Borodino Napoleon shot at no one and killed no one.
So the way in which these people killed one another was not decided by Napoleon's will but occurred independently of him, in accord with the will of hundreds of thousands of people who took part in the common action.
One can't cure anything.
One of the old ones!
The first shots had not yet ceased to reverberate before others rang out and yet more were heard mingling with and overtaking one another.
"Puff! puff!"--and two clouds arose pushing one another and blending together; and "boom, boom!" came the sounds confirming what the eye had seen.
"To the crossing!" said the general coldly and sternly in reply to one of the staff who asked where he was going.
"Why ride into the middle of the battalion?" one of them shouted at him.
Pierre went to the right, and unexpectedly encountered one of Raevski's adjutants whom he knew.
"One moment, one moment!" replied the adjutant, and riding up to a stout colonel who was standing in the meadow, he gave him some message and then addressed Pierre.
"One moment, one moment!" replied the adjutant, and riding up to a stout colonel who was standing in the meadow, he gave him some message and then addressed Pierre.
On the contrary, just because he happened to be there he thought it one of the least significant parts of the field.
Having reached the knoll, Pierre sat down at one end of a trench surrounding the battery and gazed at what was going on around him with an unconsciously happy smile.
The guns of that battery were being fired continually one after another with a deafening roar, enveloping the whole neighborhood in powder smoke.
One can't help being afraid, he said laughing.
"A live one!" shouted a man as a whistling shell approached.
And the sergeant, taking one of the men by the shoulders, gave him a shove with his knee.
"To the fifth gun, wheel it up!" came shouts from one side.
After this from amid the ranks of infantry to the right of the battery came the sound of a drum and shouts of command, and from the battery one saw how those ranks of infantry moved forward.
No one any longer took notice of Pierre.
The senior officer moved with big, rapid strides from one gun to another with a frowning face.
One cannon ball after another whistled by and struck the earthwork, a soldier, or a gun.
One cannon ball, another, and a third flew over him, falling in front, beside, and behind him.
He saw the senior officer lying on the earth wall with his back turned as if he were examining something down below and that one of the soldiers he had noticed before was struggling forward shouting "Brothers!" and trying to free himself from some men who were holding him by the arm.
For some seconds they gazed with frightened eyes at one another's unfamiliar faces and both were perplexed at what they had done and what they were to do next.
There for several hours amid incessant cannon and musketry fire, now Russians were seen alone, now Frenchmen alone, now infantry, and now cavalry: they appeared, fired, fell, collided, not knowing what to do with one another, screamed, and ran back again.
All their rushing and galloping at one another did little harm, the harm of disablement and death was caused by the balls and bullets that flew over the fields on which these men were floundering about.
All their faces looked dejected, and they all shunned one another's eyes--only a de Beausset could fail to grasp the meaning of what was happening.
One of the generals rode up to Napoleon and ventured to offer to lead the Old Guard into action.
"Yes, yes: go, dear boy, and have a look," he would say to one or another of those about him; or, "No, don't, we'd better wait!"
Kutuzov's general expression was one of concentrated quiet attention, and his face wore a strained look as if he found it difficult to master the fatigue of his old and feeble body.
"Ride over to Prince Peter Ivanovich and find out about it exactly," he said to one of his adjutants, and then turned to the Duke of Wurttemberg who was standing behind him.
Prince Andrew's regiment was among the reserves which till after one o'clock were stationed inactive behind Semenovsk, under heavy artillery fire.
When men were killed or wounded, when rows of stretchers went past, when some troops retreated, and when great masses of the enemy came into view through the smoke, no one paid any attention to these things.
Prince Andrew, pale and gloomy like everyone in the regiment, paced up and down from the border of one patch to another, at the edge of the meadow beside an oatfield, with head bowed and arms behind his back.
"Here it comes... this one is coming our way again!" he thought, listening to an approaching whistle in the hidden region of smoke.
But this one has hit!
At one and the same moment came the sound of an explosion, a whistle of splinters as from a breaking window frame, a suffocating smell of powder, and Prince Andrew started to one side, raising his arm, and fell on his chest.
"Now that's right!" said the one behind joyfully, when he had got into step.
One of the doctors came out of the tent in a bloodstained apron, holding a cigar between the thumb and little finger of one of his small bloodstained hands, so as not to smear it.
One of the doctors came out of the tent in a bloodstained apron, holding a cigar between the thumb and little finger of one of his small bloodstained hands, so as not to smear it.
On the nearest one sat a Tartar, probably a Cossack, judging by the uniform thrown down beside him.
One large, white, plump leg twitched rapidly all the time with a feverish tremor.
Two doctors--one of whom was pale and trembling--were silently doing something to this man's other, gory leg.
The one thing he wished for was rest, tranquillity, and freedom.
In that reunion of great sovereigns we should have discussed our interests like one family, and have rendered account to the peoples as clerk to master.
The Imperial army, strictly speaking, was one third composed of Dutch, Belgians, men from the borders of the Rhine, Piedmontese, Swiss, Genevese, Tuscans, Romans, inhabitants of the Thirty-second Military Division, of Bremen, of Hamburg, and so on: it included scarcely a hundred and forty thousand who spoke French.
Crowds of men of various arms, wounded and unwounded, with frightened faces, dragged themselves back to Mozhaysk from the one army and back to Valuevo from the other.
To the men of both sides alike, worn out by want of food and rest, it began equally to appear doubtful whether they should continue to slaughter one another; all the faces expressed hesitation, and the question arose in every soul: For what, for whom, must I kill and be killed?...
It was not Napoleon alone who had experienced that nightmare feeling of the mighty arm being stricken powerless, but all the generals and soldiers of his army whether they had taken part in the battle or not, after all their experience of previous battles--when after one tenth of such efforts the enemy had fled--experienced a similar feeling of terror before an enemy who, after losing HALF his men, stood as threateningly at the end as at the beginning of the battle.
The French invaders, like an infuriated animal that has in its onslaught received a mortal wound, felt that they were perishing, but could not stop, any more than the Russian army, weaker by one half, could help swerving.
By the time Achilles has covered the distance that separated him from the tortoise, the tortoise has covered one tenth of that distance ahead of him: when Achilles has covered that tenth, the tortoise has covered another one hundredth, and so on forever.
Only when we have admitted the conception of the infinitely small, and the resulting geometrical progression with a common ratio of one tenth, and have found the sum of this progression to infinity, do we reach a solution of the problem.
But however small the units it takes, we feel that to take any unit disconnected from others, or to assume a beginning of any phenomenon, or to say that the will of many men is expressed by the actions of any one historic personage, is in itself false.
Men leave their customary pursuits, hasten from one side of Europe to the other, plunder and slaughter one another, triumph and are plunged in despair, and for some years the whole course of life is altered and presents an intensive movement which first increases and then slackens.
But all that evening and next day reports came in one after another of unheard-of losses, of the loss of half the army, and a fresh battle proved physically impossible.
And the troops retired one more, last, day's march, and abandoned Moscow to the enemy.
For people accustomed to think that plans of campaign and battles are made by generals--as any one of us sitting over a map in his study may imagine how he would have arranged things in this or that battle--the questions present themselves: Why did Kutuzov during the retreat not do this or that?
Moment by moment the event is imperceptibly shaping itself, and at every moment of this continuous, uninterrupted shaping of events the commander-in-chief is in the midst of a most complex play of intrigues, worries, contingencies, authorities, projects, counsels, threats, and deceptions and is continually obliged to reply to innumerable questions addressed to him, which constantly conflict with one another.
But a commander in chief, especially at a difficult moment, has always before him not one proposal but dozens simultaneously.
A commander-in-chief's business, it would seem, is simply to choose one of these projects.
After hearing what was being said by one or other of these groups he generally turned away with an air of disappointment, as though they were not speaking of anything he wished to hear.
(This Frenchman and one of the German princes serving with the Russian army were discussing the siege of Saragossa and considering the possibility of defending Moscow in a similar manner.)
From all this talk he saw only one thing: that to defend Moscow was a physical impossibility in the full meaning of those words, that is to say, so utterly impossible that if any senseless commander were to give orders to fight, confusion would result but the battle would still not take place.
One terrible question absorbed him and to that question he heard no reply from anyone.
Malasha looked down from the oven with shy delight at the faces, uniforms, and decorations of the generals, who one after another came into the room and sat down on the broad benches in the corner under the icons.
Those who entered went up one by one to the field marshal; he pressed the hands of some and nodded to others.
During one of these pauses Kutuzov heaved a deep sigh as if preparing to speak.
In Petersburg she had enjoyed the special protection of a grandee who occupied one of the highest posts in the Empire.
One day he took the countess to a Roman Catholic church, where she knelt down before the altar to which she was led.
But the question is again a twofold one: firstly...
"Let us understand one another, Countess," said he with a smile, and began refuting his spiritual daughter's arguments.
Only Marya Dmitrievna Akhrosimova, who had come to Petersburg that summer to see one of her sons, allowed herself plainly to express an opinion contrary to the general one.
Though people were afraid of Marya Dmitrievna she was regarded in Petersburg as a buffoon, and so of what she had said they only noticed, and repeated in a whisper, the one coarse word she had used, supposing the whole sting of her remark to lie in that word.
Prince Vasili, who of late very often forgot what he had said and repeated one and the same thing a hundred times, remarked to his daughter whenever he chanced to see her:
Armed with these arguments, which appeared to her unanswerable, she drove to her daughter's early one morning so as to find her alone.
The one thing he now desired with his whole soul was to get away quickly from the terrible sensations amid which he had lived that day and return to ordinary conditions of life and sleep quietly in a room in his own bed.
"And who may you be?" one of them suddenly asked Pierre, evidently meaning what Pierre himself had in mind, namely: "If you want to eat we'll give you some food, only let us know whether you are an honest man."
"There now!" said one of the soldiers.
As he sat bending greedily over it, helping himself to large spoonfuls and chewing one after another, his face was lit up by the fire and the soldiers looked at him in silence.
Tell us! said one of them.
"So you've found your folk?" said one of them.
He felt ashamed, and with one arm covered his legs from which his cloak had in fact slipped.
Yes, one must harness them, must harness them! he repeated to himself with inward rapture, feeling that these words and they alone expressed what he wanted to say and solved the question that tormented him.
Yes, one must harness, it is time to harness.
One second more and I should have understood it all!
Pierre went up to a group of men, one of whom he knew.
If they're sent out and brought back again later on it will do no harm, but as things are now one can't answer for anything.
He asked one, 'From whom did you get it?' 'From so-and-so.'
He replied: 'From no one; I made it up myself.'
His father keeps a cookshop here by the Stone Bridge, and you know there was a large icon of God Almighty painted with a scepter in one hand and an orb in the other.
Suffering is necessary... the meaning of all... one must harness... my wife is getting married...
One must forget and understand...
From that time till the end of the destruction of Moscow no one of Bezukhov's household, despite all the search they made, saw Pierre again or knew where he was.
The thought that both her sons were at the war, had both gone from under her wing, that today or tomorrow either or both of them might be killed like the three sons of one of her acquaintances, struck her that summer for the first time with cruel clearness.
Though Petya would remain in the service, this transfer would give the countess the consolation of seeing at least one of her sons under her wing, and she hoped to arrange matters for her Petya so as not to let him go again, but always get him appointed to places where he could not possibly take part in a battle.
I want no one but Petya, she thought.
The voices and footsteps of the many servants and of the peasants who had come with the carts resounded as they shouted to one another in the yard and in the house.
"Which one do you want, Ma'am'selle?" said he, screwing up his eyes and smiling.
For one day we can move into the drawing room.
I knew you'd let them come! she said quickly all in one breath.
When Natasha set to work two cases were standing open in the ballroom, one almost full up with crockery, the other with carpets.
"I won't!" cried Natasha, with one hand holding back the hair that hung over her perspiring face, while with the other she pressed down the carpets.
Pity these wounded men as one might, it was evident that if they were given one cart there would be no reason to refuse another, or all the carts and one's own carriages as well.
Thirty carts could not save all the wounded and in the general catastrophe one could not disregard oneself and one's own family.
Count, be so good as to allow me... for God's sake, to get into some corner of one of your carts!
Just unload one or two carts.
No one knows what is coming.
One misses Mitenka at such times.
(At the mention of the chiffonier and dressing table Berg involuntarily changed his tone to one of pleasure at his admirable domestic arrangements.)
Please let me have one, I will pay the man well, and...
We must keep at least one cart.
One by one the carts with the wounded had moved out of the yard.
One by one the carts with the wounded had moved out of the yard.
At that moment this news had only one significance for both of them.
Efim, the old coachman, who was the only one the countess trusted to drive her, sat perched up high on the box and did not so much as glance round at what was going on behind him.
There was no one in the passage.
No one had seen him.
Gerasim opened one of the shutters and left the room on tiptoe.
All the rest of that day Pierre spent alone in his benefactor's study, and Gerasim heard him pacing restlessly from one corner to another and talking to himself.
One word from me, one movement of my hand, and that ancient capital of the Tsars would perish.
One word from me, one movement of my hand, and that ancient capital of the Tsars would perish.
He mentally appointed a governor, one who would win the hearts of the people.
Faster and faster, vying with one another, they moved at the double or at a trot, vanishing amid the clouds of dust they raised and making the air ring with a deafening roar of mingling shouts.
But one has only to observe that hive to realize that there is no longer any life in it.
In another corner two old bees are languidly fighting, or cleaning themselves, or feeding one another, without themselves knowing whether they do it with friendly or hostile intent.
In a third place a crowd of bees, crushing one another, attack some victim and fight and smother it, and the victim, enfeebled or killed, drops from above slowly and lightly as a feather, among the heap of corpses.
Two officers, one with a scarf over his uniform and mounted on a lean, dark-gray horse, the other in an overcoat and on foot, stood at the corner of Ilyinka Street, talking.
How can one push on?
"Eh, what twaddle!" said one of them, a thin, stern-looking man.
When one's head is gone one doesn't weep for one's hair!
"It's not my business!" he exclaimed, and strode on quickly down one of the passages.
From one open shop came the sound of blows and vituperation, and just as the officer came up to it a man in a gray coat with a shaven head was flung out violently.
The crowd, crushing one another, upsetting carts, and shouting and squeezing desperately, had cleared off the bridge and the troops were now moving forward.
Mishka had opened the clavichord and was strumming on it with one finger.
One little moment, said she.
One, a tall, fair- haired lad in a clean blue coat, was standing over the others.
The publican was fighting one of the smiths at the door, and when the workmen came out the smith, wrenching himself free from the tavern keeper, fell face downward on the pavement.
Come along then! the publican and the tall young fellow repeated one after the other, and they moved up the street together.
How can one do without government?
It was evident that no one had understood the last part.
If one accepts this twofold aim all Rostopchin's actions appear irreproachable.
One need only admit that public tranquillity is in danger and any action finds a justification.
He'll show you what law is! the mob were saying as if reproving one another for their lack of confidence.
The young man in his clattering chains stepped clumsily to the spot indicated, holding away with one finger the coat collar which chafed his neck, turned his long neck twice this way and that, sighed, and submissively folded before him his thin hands, unused to work.
Only among the back rows of the people, who were all pressing toward the one spot, could sighs, groans, and the shuffling of feet be heard.
The crowd remained silent and only pressed closer and closer to one another.
To keep one another back, to breathe in that stifling atmosphere, to be unable to stir, and to await something unknown, uncomprehended, and terrible, was becoming unbearable.
One God is above us both....
And one of the soldiers, his face all at once distorted with fury, struck Vereshchagin on the head with the blunt side of his saber.
One God is above us both!--Vereshchagin's words suddenly recurred to him, and a disagreeable shiver ran down his back.
Since the world began and men have killed one another no one has ever committed such a crime against his fellow man without comforting himself with this same idea.
I could not let him go unpunished and so I have killed two birds with one stone: to appease the mob I gave them a victim and at the same time punished a miscreant.
These words went from one to another in the crowd.
One of the Russians understood what was asked and several voices at once began answering the interpreter.
"Good!" said Murat and, turning to one of the gentlemen in his suite, ordered four light guns to be moved forward to fire at the gates.
One shot struck a French soldier's foot, and from behind the screens came the strange sound of a few voices shouting.
This was followed by two whistling sounds of canister shot, one after another.
He was completely obsessed by one persistent thought.
One was an officer--a tall, soldierly, handsome man--the other evidently a private or an orderly, sunburned, short, and thin, with sunken cheeks and a dull expression.
No one gave any reply.
"Well, does no one speak French in this establishment?" he asked again.
Here is one I got at Wagram" (he touched his side) "and a second at Smolensk"--he showed a scar on his cheek--"and this leg which as you see does not want to march, I got that on the seventh at the great battle of la Moskowa.
So you are one of us soldiers! he added, smiling, after a momentary pause.
Oh yes, one sees that plainly.
Paris is Talma, la Duchenois, Potier, the Sorbonne, the boulevards," and noticing that his conclusion was weaker than what had gone before, he added quickly: "There is only one Paris in the world.
The German who knew little French, answered the two first questions by giving the names of his regiment and of his commanding officer, but in reply to the third question which he did not understand said, introducing broken French into his own German, that he was the quartermaster of the regiment and his commander had ordered him to occupy all the houses one after another.
Pierre took one of the glasses and emptied it.
I must tell you, mon cher," he continued in the sad and measured tones of a man who intends to tell a long story, "that our name is one of the most ancient in France."
He said that in all his life he had loved and still loved only one woman, and that she could never be his.
There was nothing terrible in the one small, distant fire in the immense city.
"There now, how good it is, what more does one need?" thought he.
In the darkness of the night one of the servants noticed, above the high body of a coach standing before the porch, the small glow of another fire.
No one replied to this remark and for some time they all gazed silently at the spreading flames of the second fire in the distance.
Doesn't it look as if that glow were in Moscow? remarked one of the footmen.
After a short silence the countess spoke again but this time no one replied.
Stepping cautiously from one foot to the other she ran like a kitten the few steps to the door and grasped the cold door handle.
She cautiously took one step and then another, and found herself in the middle of a small room containing baggage.
"Couldn't one get a book?" he asked.
For just one moment I didn't look after you...
Though with the intimacy now established between the wounded man and Natasha the thought occurred that should he recover their former engagement would be renewed, no one--least of all Natasha and Prince Andrew--spoke of this: the unsettled question of life and death, which hung not only over Bolkonski but over all Russia, shut out all other considerations.
At the gate of one house three Frenchmen, who were explaining something to some Russians who did not understand them, stopped Pierre asking if he did not know French.
As he was going along a foot path across a wide- open space adjoining the Povarskoy on one side and the gardens of Prince Gruzinski's house on the other, Pierre suddenly heard the desperate weeping of a woman close to him.
The woman's husband, a short, round- shouldered man in the undress uniform of a civilian official, with sausage-shaped whiskers and showing under his square-set cap the hair smoothly brushed forward over his temples, with expressionless face was moving the trunks, which were placed one on another, and was dragging some garments from under them.
One of its sides had fallen in, another was on fire, and bright flames issued from the openings of the windows and from under the roof.
"What does this fellow want?" shouted one of them referring to Pierre.
Get along! said several voices, and one of the soldiers, evidently afraid that Pierre might want to take from them some of the plate and bronzes that were in the drawer, moved threateningly toward him.
After all, one must be human, you know....
One of these, a nimble little man, was wearing a blue coat tied round the waist with a rope.
The little Frenchman had secured his second boot and was slapping one boot against the other.
A little man in Russian civilian clothes rode out from the ranks, and by his clothes and manner of speaking Pierre at once knew him to be a French salesman from one of the Moscow shops.
The art of his reading was supposed to lie in rolling out the words, quite independently of their meaning, in a loud and singsong voice alternating between a despairing wail and a tender murmur, so that the wail fell quite at random on one word and the murmur on another.
She had fallen ill unexpectedly a few days previously, had missed several gatherings of which she was usually ornament, and was said to be receiving no one, and instead of the celebrated Petersburg doctors who usually attended her had entrusted herself to some Italian doctor who was treating her in some new and unusual way.
They all knew very well that the enchanting countess' illness arose from an inconvenience resulting from marrying two husbands at the same time, and that the Italian's cure consisted in removing such inconvenience; but in Anna Pavlovna's presence no one dared to think of this or even appear to know it.
And having thus demolished the young man, Anna Pavlovna turned to another group where Bilibin was talking about the Austrians: having wrinkled up his face he was evidently preparing to smooth it out again and utter one of his mots.
But no one said anything.
In Petersburg and in the provinces at a distance from Moscow, ladies, and gentlemen in militia uniforms, wept for Russia and its ancient capital and talked of self-sacrifice and so on; but in the army which retired beyond Moscow there was little talk or thought of Moscow, and when they caught sight of its burned ruins no one swore to be avenged on the French, but they thought about their next pay, their next quarters, of Matreshka the vivandiere, and like matters.
All the evening Nicholas paid attention to a blue-eyed, plump and pleasing little blonde, the wife of one of the provincial officials.
One is sorry for the husband, really....
It would kill her, that's one thing.
How can one think of it!
The day after her party the governor's wife came to see Malvintseva and, after discussing her plan with the aunt, remarked that though under present circumstances a formal betrothal was, of course, not to be thought of, all the same the young people might be brought together and could get to know one another.
But he never thought about her as he had thought of all the young ladies without exception whom he had met in society, nor as he had for a long time, and at one time rapturously, thought about Sonya.
"There is one thing I wanted to tell you, Princess," said Rostov.
His having encountered her in such exceptional circumstances, and his mother having at one time mentioned her to him as a good match, had drawn his particular attention to her.
Yes, prayer can move mountains, but one must have faith and not pray as Natasha and I used to as children, that the snow might turn into sugar-- and then run out into the yard to see whether it had done so.
Nicholas took the two letters, one of which was from his mother and the other from Sonya.
She knew that Natasha loved no one but Prince Andrew and had never ceased to love him.
She knew that being thrown together again under such terrible circumstances they would again fall in love with one another, and that Nicholas would then not be able to marry Princess Mary as they would be within the prohibited degrees of affinity.
Three large rooms were assigned to them in the monastery hostelry, one of which was occupied by Prince Andrew.
On the eighth of September an officer--a very important one judging by the respect the guards showed him--entered the coach house where the prisoners were.
No flames were seen, but columns of smoke rose on all sides, and all Moscow as far as Pierre could see was one vast charred ruin.
But there seemed to be no one to celebrate this holiday: everywhere were blackened ruins, and the few Russians to be seen were tattered and frightened people who tried to hide when they saw the French.
They were taken to the entrance and led into the house one by one.
For some seconds they looked at one another, and that look saved Pierre.
Not the men on the commission that had first examined him--not one of them wished to or, evidently, could have done it.
And he had only one wish-- that the frightful thing that had to happen should happen quickly.
One was tall and thin, the other dark, shaggy, and sinewy, with a flat nose.
One crossed himself continually, the other scratched his back and made a movement of the lips resembling a smile.
The fifth prisoner, the one next to Pierre, was led away--alone.
Like the others this fifth man seemed calm; he wrapped his loose cloak closer and rubbed one bare foot with the other.
He only saw how the workman suddenly sank down on the cords that held him, how blood showed itself in two places, how the ropes slackened under the weight of the hanging body, and how the workman sat down, his head hanging unnaturally and one leg bent under him.
No one hindered him.
Pierre glanced into the pit and saw that the factory lad was lying with his knees close up to his head and one shoulder higher than the other.
One of the soldiers, evidently suffering, shouted gruffly and angrily at Pierre to go back.
But Pierre did not understand him and remained near the post, and no one drove him away.
All but one rejoined their companies.
This one, a young soldier, his face deadly pale, his shako pushed back, and his musket resting on the ground, still stood near the pit at the spot from which he had fired.
"That will teach them to start fires," said one of the Frenchmen.
They took him to the upper end of the field, where there were some sheds built of charred planks, beams, and battens, and led him into one of them.
Having unwound the string that tied the band on one leg, he carefully coiled it up and immediately set to work on the other leg, glancing up at Pierre.
While one hand hung up the first string the other was already unwinding the band on the second leg.
The last one was hardly twenty.
How can one help it, lad?
How is one to help feeling sad?
How can one see all this and not feel sad?
We had a well-to-do homestead, plenty of land, we peasants lived well and our house was one to thank God for.
One must pity the animals too.
He did not sing like a trained singer who knows he is listened to, but like the birds, evidently giving vent to the sounds in the same way that one stretches oneself or walks about to get rid of stiffness, and the sounds were always high-pitched, mournful, delicate, and almost feminine, and his face at such times was very serious.
He liked to hear the folk tales one of the soldiers used to tell of an evening (they were always the same), but most of all he liked to hear stories of real life.
One moment, Princess, one moment, my dear!
One moment, Princess, one moment, my dear!
In spite of her one desire to see her brother as soon as possible, and her vexation that at the moment when all she wanted was to see him they should be trying to entertain her and pretending to admire her nephew, the princess noticed all that was going on around her and felt the necessity of submitting, for a time, to this new order of things which she had entered.
There was only one expression on her agitated face when she ran into the drawing room--that of love--boundless love for him, for her, and for all that was near to the man she loved; and of pity, suffering for others, and passionate desire to give herself entirely to helping them.
In one thin, translucently white hand he held a handkerchief, while with the other he stroked the delicate mustache he had grown, moving his fingers slowly.
In his words, his tone, and especially in that calm, almost antagonistic look could be felt an estrangement from everything belonging to this world, terrible in one who is alive.
When little Nicholas was brought into Prince Andrew's room he looked at his father with frightened eyes, but did not cry, because no one else was crying.
We cannot understand one another, and he remained silent.
She had learned to knit stockings since Prince Andrew had casually mentioned that no one nursed the sick so well as old nurses who knit stockings, and that there is something soothing in the knitting of stockings.
No one else gives me that sense of soft tranquillity that you do... that light.
Something was lacking in them, they were not clear, they were too one-sidedly personal and brain-spun.
Neither in his presence nor out of it did they weep, nor did they ever talk to one another about him.
And without considering the multiplicity and complexity of the conditions any one of which taken separately may seem to be the cause, he snatches at the first approximation to a cause that seems to him intelligible and says: "This is the cause!"
There is, and can be, no cause of an historical event except the one cause of all causes.
The discovery of these laws is only possible when we have quite abandoned the attempt to find the cause in the will of some one man, just as the discovery of the laws of the motion of the planets was possible only when men abandoned the conception of the fixity of the earth.
But it is hard to understand why military writers, and following them others, consider this flank march to be the profound conception of some one man who saved Russia and destroyed Napoleon.
At the council at Fili the prevailing thought in the minds of the Russian commanders was the one naturally suggesting itself, namely, a direct retreat by the Nizhni road.
On the second of October a Cossack, Shapovalov, who was out scouting, killed one hare and wounded another.
One man said he had seen Ermolov ride past with some other generals, others said he must have returned home.
Ermolov was nowhere to be found and no one knew where he was.
When I was a chit of an officer no one would have dared to mock me so... and now!
How could one capture a commander-in-chief from among such a mass of troops!
"They can still be called back," said one of his suite, who like Count Orlov felt distrustful of the adventure when he looked at the enemy's camp.
"Hurrah-ah-ah!" reverberated in the forest, and the Cossack companies, trailing their lances and advancing one after another as if poured out of a sack, dashed gaily across the brook toward the camp.
One desperate, frightened yell from the first French soldier who saw the Cossacks, and all who were in the camp, undressed and only just waking up, ran off in all directions, abandoning cannons, muskets, and horses.
One of the first bullets killed him, and other bullets killed many of his men.
They are asking to attack and making plans of all kinds, but as soon as one gets to business nothing is ready, and the enemy, forewarned, takes measures accordingly.
(2) Such supplies will be bought from them at such prices as seller and buyer may agree on, and if a seller is unable to obtain a fair price he will be free to take his goods back to his village and no one may hinder him under any pretense.
Sokolov, one of the soldiers in the shed with Pierre, was dying, and Pierre told the corporal that something should be done about him.
When one has studied, you see, one likes education and well-bred people.'
"You see, dear man, this is not a sewing shop, and I had no proper tools; and, as they say, one needs a tool even to kill a louse," said Platon with one of his round smiles, obviously pleased with his work.
One had to wait and endure.
When that door was opened and the prisoners, crowding against one another like a flock of sheep, squeezed into the exit, Pierre pushed his way forward and approached that very captain who as the corporal had assured him was ready to do anything for him.
He kept one hand, in which he clasped his tobacco pouch, inside the bosom of his dressing gown and held the stem of his pipe firmly with the other.
What have they done? the prisoners on one side and another were heard saying as they gazed on the charred ruins.
As they passed near a church in the Khamovniki (one of the few unburned quarters of Moscow) the whole mass of prisoners suddenly started to one side and exclamations of horror and disgust were heard.
See what that one has behind in the cart....
During the hour Pierre watched them they all came flowing from the different streets with one and the same desire to get on quickly; they all jostled one another, began to grow angry and to fight, white teeth gleamed, brows frowned, ever the same words of abuse flew from side to side, and all the faces bore the same swaggeringly resolute and coldly cruel expression that had struck Pierre that morning on the corporal's face when the drums were beating.
A carriage that followed the escort ran into one of the carts and knocked a hole in it with its pole.
Several soldiers ran toward the cart from different sides: some beat the carriage horses on their heads, turning them aside, others fought among themselves, and Pierre saw that one German was badly wounded on the head by a sword.
It seemed that all these men, now that they had stopped amid fields in the chill dusk of the autumn evening, experienced one and the same feeling of unpleasant awakening from the hurry and eagerness to push on that had seized them at the start.
This spite increased still more when, on calling over the roll of prisoners, it was found that in the bustle of leaving Moscow one Russian soldier, who had pretended to suffer from colic, had escaped.
And farther still, beyond those forests and fields, the bright, oscillating, limitless distance lured one to itself.
Kutuzov replied to this letter as he had done to the one formerly brought by Lauriston, saying that there could be no question of peace.
The man who does not understand the construction of the machine cannot conceive that the small connecting cogwheel which revolves quietly is one of the most essential parts of the machine, and not the shaving which merely harms and hinders the working.
Having changed horses twice and galloped twenty miles in an hour and a half over a sticky, muddy road, Bolkhovitinov reached Litashevka after one o'clock at night.
There was within him a deep unexpressed conviction that all would be well, but that one must not trust to this and still less speak about it, but must only attend to one's own work.
In battle he was always under fire, so that Kutuzov reproved him for it and feared to send him to the front, and like Dokhturov he was one of those unnoticed cogwheels that, without clatter or noise, constitute the most essential part of the machine.
So he lay now on his bed, supporting his large, heavy, scarred head on his plump hand, with his one eye open, meditating and peering into the darkness.
They are like children from whom one can't get any sensible account of what has happened because they all want to show how well they can fight.
On the one hand the French had occupied Moscow.
But the destruction of the French, which he alone foresaw, was his heart's one desire.
Kutuzov sat up with one leg hanging down from the bed and his big paunch resting against the other which was doubled under him.
So it came about that at the council at Malo-Yaroslavets, when the generals pretending to confer together expressed various opinions, all mouths were closed by the opinion uttered by the simple-minded soldier Mouton who, speaking last, said what they all felt: that the one thing needful was to get away as quickly as possible; and no one, not even Napoleon, could say anything against that truth which they all recognized.
One must have the prospect of a promised land to have the strength to move.
Each of them desired nothing more than to give himself up as a prisoner to escape from all this horror and misery; but on the one hand the force of this common attraction to Smolensk, their goal, drew each of them in the same direction; on the other hand an army corps could not surrender to a company, and though the French availed themselves of every convenient opportunity to detach themselves and to surrender on the slightest decent pretext, such pretexts did not always occur.
All historians agree that the external activity of states and nations in their conflicts with one another is expressed in wars, and that as a direct result of greater or less success in war the political strength of states and nations increases or decreases.
That was a misfortune no one could remedy, for the peasants of the district burned their hay rather than let the French have it.
One can imagine what confusion and obscurity would result from such an account of the duel.
One of the most obvious and advantageous departures from the so-called laws of war is the action of scattered groups against men pressed together in a mass.
Ten men, battalions, or divisions, fighting fifteen men, battalions, or divisions, conquer--that is, kill or take captive--all the others, while themselves losing four, so that on the one side four and on the other fifteen were lost.
A sacristan commanded one party which captured several hundred prisoners in the course of a month; and there was Vasilisa, the wife of a village elder, who slew hundreds of the French.
On October 22, Denisov (who was one of the irregulars) was with his group at the height of the guerrilla enthusiasm.
Two of the commanders of large parties--one a Pole and the other a German--sent invitations to Denisov almost simultaneously, requesting him to join up with their divisions to attack the convoy.
It was necessary to let the French reach Shamshevo quietly without alarming them and then, after joining Dolokhov who was to come that evening to a consultation at a watchman's hut in the forest less than a mile from Shamshevo, to surprise the French at dawn, falling like an avalanche on their heads from two sides, and rout and capture them all at one blow.
Their un- Russian shouting at their horses which were straining uphill with the carts, and their calls to one another, could be clearly heard.
Tikhon Shcherbaty was one of the most indispensable men in their band.
No one found more opportunities for attacking, no one captured or killed more Frenchmen, and consequently he was made the buffoon of all the Cossacks and hussars and willingly accepted that role.
"Oh, I took one all right," said Tikhon.
"I went for another one," Tikhon continued, "and I crept like this through the wood and lay down."
One turned up and I grabbed him, like this.
Tikhon scratched his back with one hand and his head with the other, then suddenly his whole face expanded into a beaming, foolish grin, disclosing a gap where he had lost a tooth (that was why he was called Shcherbaty--the gap-toothed).
I bought a capital one from our sutler!
Vesenya!-- Vesenny! laughing voices were heard calling to one another in the darkness.
Here now--wouldn't one of these gentlemen like to ride over to the French camp with me?
"Oh, he's a hard nut to crack," said one of the officers who was sitting in the shadow at the other side of the fire.
There was a stir among the officers in the shadow beyond the fire, and one tall, long-necked officer, walking round the fire, came up to Dolokhov.
No one replied a word to Dolokhov's laughter, and a French officer whom they could not see (he lay wrapped in a greatcoat) rose and whispered something to a companion.
At one spot he stopped and listened.
Perhaps it was just the Cossack, Likhachev, who was sitting under the wagon, but it might be the kindest, bravest, most wonderful, most splendid man in the world, whom no one knew of.
Sometimes the sky seemed to be rising high, high overhead, and then it seemed to sink so low that one could touch it with one's hand.
The horses neighed and jostled one another.
The melody grew and passed from one instrument to another.
Each instrument--now resembling a violin and now a horn, but better and clearer than violin or horn--played its own part, and before it had finished the melody merged with another instrument that began almost the same air, and then with a third and a fourth; and they all blended into one and again became separate and again blended, now into solemn church music, now into something dazzlingly brilliant and triumphant.
With a solemn triumphal march there mingled a song, the drip from the trees, and the hissing of the saber, "Ozheg-zheg-zheg..." and again the horses jostled one another and neighed, not disturbing the choir but joining in it.
Petya did not know how long this lasted: he enjoyed himself all the time, wondered at his enjoyment and regretted that there was no one to share it.
"I ask one thing of you," he said sternly, "to obey me and not shove yourself forward anywhere."
One of them fell in the mud under his horse's feet.
Petya was galloping along the courtyard, but instead of holding the reins he waved both his arms about rapidly and strangely, slipping farther and farther to one side in his saddle.
Not one of those dismounted cavalrymen who had marched in front of the prisoners was left; they had all disappeared.
The one thing that was at first hard to bear was his feet.
The blue-gray bandy legged dog ran merrily along the side of the road, sometimes in proof of its agility and self-satisfaction lifting one hind leg and hopping along on three, and then again going on all four and rushing to bark at the crows that sat on the carrion.
At their yesterday's halting place, feeling chilly by a dying campfire, Pierre had got up and gone to the next one, which was burning better.
Well, one night the convicts were gathered just as we are, with the old man among them.
The place was a long way off, and while they were judging, what with one thing and another, filling in the papers all in due form--the authorities I mean--time passed.
It was one of the marshals.
Two French soldiers ran past Pierre, one of whom carried a lowered and smoking gun.
They both looked pale, and in the expression on their faces--one of them glanced timidly at Pierre-- there was something resembling what he had seen on the face of the young soldier at the execution.
Its whole surface consisted of drops closely pressed together, and all these drops moved and changed places, sometimes several of them merging into one, sometimes one dividing into many.
"The Cossacks!" one of them shouted, and a moment later a crowd of Russians surrounded Pierre.
The hussars and Cossacks crowded round the prisoners; one offered them clothes, another boots, and a third bread.
Beyond Vyazma the French army instead of moving in three columns huddled together into one mass, and so went on to the end.
This state of things is continually becoming worse and makes one fear that unless a prompt remedy is applied the troops will no longer be under control in case of an engagement.
Still less did that genius, Napoleon, know it, for no one issued any orders to him.
But still he and those about him retained their old habits: wrote commands, letters, reports, and orders of the day; called one another sire, mon cousin, prince d'Eckmuhl, roi de Naples, and so on.
But these orders and reports were only on paper, nothing in them was acted upon for they could not be carried out, and though they entitled one another Majesties, Highnesses, or Cousins, they all felt that they were miserable wretches who had done much evil for which they had now to pay.
One army fled and the other pursued.
Beyond Smolensk there were several different roads available for the French, and one would have thought that during their stay of four days they might have learned where the enemy was, might have arranged some more advantageous plan and undertaken something new.
They abandoned one another, abandoned all their heavy baggage, their artillery, and half their men, and fled, getting past the Russians by night by making semicircles to the right.
Ney, who had had a corps of ten thousand men, reached Napoleon at Orsha with only one thousand men left, having abandoned all the rest and all his cannon, and having crossed the Dnieper at night by stealth at a wooded spot.
So one might have thought that regarding this period of the campaign the historians, who attributed the actions of the mass to the will of one man, would have found it impossible to make the story of the retreat fit their theory.
And it occurs to no one that to admit a greatness not commensurable with the standard of right and wrong is merely to admit one's own nothingness and immeasurable meanness.
But putting national vanity entirely aside one feels that such a conclusion involves a contradiction, since the series of French victories brought the French complete destruction, while the series of Russian defeats led to the total destruction of their enemy and the liberation of their country.
One can cut off a slice of bread, but not an army.
They spoke little even to one another, and when they did it was of very unimportant matters.
One of his legs twitches just perceptibly, but rapidly.
"One thing would be terrible," said he: "to bind oneself forever to a suffering man.
One afternoon noticing Natasha shivering with fever, Princess Mary took her to her own room and made her lie down on the bed.
They were continually kissing and saying tender things to one another and spent most of their time together.
When one went out the other became restless and hastened to rejoin her.
Together they felt more in harmony with one another than either of them felt with herself when alone.
One day she went quickly upstairs and found herself out of breath.
Only by following at some distance could one cut across the zigzag path of the French.
Kutuzov merely shrugged his shoulders when one after another they presented projects of maneuvers to be made with those soldiers-- ill-shod, insufficiently clad, and half starved--who within a month and without fighting a battle had dwindled to half their number, and who at the best if the flight continued would have to go a greater distance than they had already traversed, before they reached the frontier.
So it was at Krasnoe, where they expected to find one of the three French columns and stumbled instead on Napoleon himself with sixteen thousand men.
But that man, so heedless of his words, did not once during the whole time of his activity utter one word inconsistent with the single aim toward which he moved throughout the whole war.
His actions--without the smallest deviation--were all directed to one and the same threefold end: (1) to brace all his strength for conflict with the French, (2) to defeat them, and (3) to drive them out of Russia, minimizing as far as possible the sufferings of our people and of our army.
One of the generals was reporting to him where the guns and prisoners had been captured.
One group of the French stood close to the road, and two of them, one of whom had his face covered with sores, were tearing a piece of raw flesh with their hands.
One group of the French stood close to the road, and two of them, one of whom had his face covered with sores, were tearing a piece of raw flesh with their hands.
One of his suite beckoned to the soldiers carrying the standards to advance and surround the commander-in-chief with them.
Afterwards when one of the generals addressed Kutuzov asking whether he wished his caleche to be sent for, Kutuzov in answering unexpectedly gave a sob, being evidently greatly moved.
An infantry regiment which had left Tarutino three thousand strong but now numbered only nine hundred was one of the first to arrive that night at its halting place--a village on the highroad.
There was only one hut available for the regimental commander.
One part of it dispersed and waded knee-deep through the snow into a birch forest to the right of the village, and immediately the sound of axes and swords, the crashing of branches, and merry voices could be heard from there.
You may want us one of these days.
"And that son of a bitch Petrov has lagged behind after all, it seems," said one sergeant major.
"Well, you know," said the sharp-nosed man they called Jackdaw in a squeaky and unsteady voice, raising himself at the other side of the fire, "a plump man gets thin, but for a thin one it's death.
"What a lot of those Frenchies were taken today, and the fact is that not one of them had what you might call real boots on," said a soldier, starting a new theme.
As they turned them over one seemed still alive and, would you believe it, he jabbered something in their lingo.
No one contradicted him.
It's the only one worth remembering; but since that... it's only been tormenting folk.
That's only one case.
You would think the women had spread out their linen, said one of the men, gazing with admiration at the Milky Way.
"Hark at them roaring there in the Fifth Company!" said one of the soldiers, "and what a lot of them there are!"
One of the men got up and went over to the Fifth Company.
"A bear, lads," said one of the men.
They all raised their heads to listen, and out of the forest into the bright firelight stepped two strangely clad human figures clinging to one another.
One was taller than the other; he wore an officer's hat and seemed quite exhausted.
"You won't do it again, eh?" said one of the soldiers, winking and turning mockingly to Ramballe.
Oh, my brave, kind friends, and he leaned his head against the shoulder of one of the men like a child.
The older men, who thought it undignified to amuse themselves with such nonsense, continued to lie at the opposite side of the fire, but one would occasionally raise himself on an elbow and glance at Morel with a smile.
"They are men too," said one of them as he wrapped himself up in his coat.
The stars, as if knowing that no one was looking at them, began to disport themselves in the dark sky: now flaring up, now vanishing, now trembling, they were busy whispering something gladsome and mysterious to one another.
The sole importance of the crossing of the Berezina lies in the fact that it plainly and indubitably proved the fallacy of all the plans for cutting off the enemy's retreat and the soundness of the only possible line of action--the one Kutuzov and the general mass of the army demanded--namely, simply to follow the enemy up.
Just then he was only anxious to get away as quickly as possible from places where people were killing one another, to some peaceful refuge where he could recover himself, rest, and think over all the strange new facts he had learned; but on reaching Orel he immediately fell ill.
No one demanded anything of him or sent him anywhere.
To that question, "What for?" a simple answer was now always ready in his soul: "Because there is a God, that God without whose will not one hair falls from a man's head."
There were several prisoners from the French army in Orel, and the doctor brought one of them, a young Italian, to see Pierre.
The difference, and sometimes complete contradiction, between men's opinions and their lives, and between one man and another, pleased him and drew from him an amused and gentle smile.
The longer the French remained the more these forms of town life perished, until finally all was merged into one confused, lifeless scene of plunder.
In a rather low room lit by one candle sat the princess and with her another person dressed in black.
"This must be one of her companions," he thought, glancing at the lady in the black dress.
He glanced once at the companion's face, saw her attentive and kindly gaze fixed on him, and, as often happens when one is talking, felt somehow that this companion in the black dress was a good, kind, excellent creature who would not hinder his conversing freely with Princess Mary.
"What can one say or think of as a consolation?" said Pierre.
"And because," Pierre continued, "only one who believes that there is a God ruling us can bear a loss such as hers and... yours."
With all his soul he had always sought one thing--to be perfectly good--so he could not be afraid of death.
One hears such improbable wonders about you.
One was snatched out before my eyes... and there were women who had their things snatched off and their earrings torn out... he flushed and grew confused.
The footmen came in with sad and stern faces to change the candles, but no one noticed them.
"I understand why he" (Prince Andrew) "liked no one so much as him," said Princess Mary.
He was thinking of Prince Andrew, of Natasha, and of their love, at one moment jealous of her past, then reproaching himself for that feeling.
With such masters one can live.
The picturesqueness of the chimney stacks and tumble-down walls of the burned-out quarters of the town, stretching out and concealing one another, reminded him of the Rhine and the Colosseum.
Perhaps I imagined it; perhaps I shall go in and find no one there.
Though Princess Mary and Natasha were evidently glad to see their visitor and though all Pierre's interest was now centered in that house, by the evening they had talked over everything and the conversation passed from one trivial topic to another and repeatedly broke off.
Only one terrible doubt sometimes crossed his mind: Wasn't it all a dream?
At times everybody seemed to him to be occupied with one thing only--his future happiness.
Historic figures were not borne by the waves from one shore to another as before.
They now seemed to rotate on one spot.
In 1811 the group of people that had formed in France unites into one group with the peoples of Central Europe.
One after another they hasten to display their insignificance before him.
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.
Any guard might arrest him, but by strange chance no one does so and all rapturously greet the man they cursed the day before and will curse again a month later.
The state of the count's affairs became quite obvious a month after his death, surprising everyone by the immense total of small debts the existence of which no one had suspected.
Not one of the plans Nicholas tried succeeded; the estate was sold by auction for half its value, and half the debts still remained unpaid.
He tried to avoid his old acquaintances with their commiseration and offensive offers of assistance; he avoided all distraction and recreation, and even at home did nothing but play cards with his mother, pace silently up and down the room, and smoke one pipe after another.
One day you are dull, and the next you refuse to see anyone.
One day in midwinter when sitting in the schoolroom attending to her nephew's lessons, she was informed that Rostov had called.
They both sat silent, with an occasional glance at one another.
For a few seconds they gazed silently into one another's eyes--and what had seemed impossible and remote suddenly became possible, inevitable, and very near.
When a decision had to be taken regarding a domestic serf, especially if one had to be punished, he always felt undecided and consulted everybody in the house; but when it was possible to have a domestic serf conscripted instead of a land worker he did so without the least hesitation.
Often, speaking with vexation of some failure or irregularity, he would say: "What can one do with our Russian peasants?" and imagined that he could not bear them.
"And fairness, of course," he added, "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."
One matter connected with his management sometimes worried Nicholas, and that was his quick temper together with his old hussar habit of making free use of his fists.
She is one that hath not; why, I don't know.
You are too fond of this one, his wife whispered in French.
"I should never, never have believed that one could be so happy," she whispered to herself.
Now her face and body were often all that one saw, and her soul was not visible at all.
These questions, then as now, existed only for those who see nothing in marriage but the pleasure married people get from one another, that is, only the beginnings of marriage and not its whole significance, which lies in the family.
If the purpose of food is nourishment and the purpose of marriage is the family, the whole question resolves itself into not eating more than one can digest, and not having more wives or husbands than are needed for the family--that is, one wife or one husband.
Pierre was greatly surprised by his wife's view, to him a perfectly novel one, that every moment of his life belonged to her and to the family.
Thus in a time of trouble ever memorable to him after the birth of their first child who was delicate, when they had to change the wet nurse three times and Natasha fell ill from despair, Pierre one day told her of Rousseau's view, with which he quite agreed, that to have a wet nurse is unnatural and harmful.
As in every large household, there were at Bald Hills several perfectly distinct worlds which merged into one harmonious whole, though each retained its own peculiarities and made concessions to the others.
The children and their governesses were glad of Pierre's return because no one else drew them into the social life of the household as he did.
A peculiarity one sees in very young children and very old people was particularly evident in her.
The old lady's condition was understood by the whole household though no one ever spoke of it, and they all made every possible effort to satisfy her needs.
When Pierre and his wife entered the drawing room the countess was in one of her customary states in which she needed the mental exertion of playing patience, and so--though by force of habit she greeted him with the words she always used when Pierre or her son returned after an absence: High time, my dear, high time!
Conversation of this kind, interesting to no one yet unavoidable, continued all through teatime.
One, two!..." said Pierre, and a silence followed: "three!" and a rapturously breathless cry of children's voices filled the room.
This meant two stockings, which by a secret process known only to herself Anna Makarovna used to knit at the same time on the same needles, and which, when they were ready, she always triumphantly drew, one out of the other, in the children's presence.
You and I haven't seen anything of one another yet...
One used to have to be a German--now one must dance with Tatawinova and Madame Kwudener, and wead Ecka'tshausen and the bwethwen.
One used to have to be a German--now one must dance with Tatawinova and Madame Kwudener, and wead Ecka'tshausen and the bwethwen.
I told them just one thing in Petersburg.
One is lured by women, another by honors, a third by ambition or money, and they go over to that camp.
Yes, but it's a secret society and therefore a hostile and harmful one which can only cause harm.
One can do anything with him by tenderness.
You won't escape!--from that moment this conversation began, contrary to all the laws of logic and contrary to them because quite different subjects were talked about at one and the same time.
This simultaneous discussion of many topics did not prevent a clear understanding but on the contrary was the surest sign that they fully understood one another.
What I say is: 'Join hands, you who love the right, and let there be but one banner--that of active virtue.'
Natasha would have had no doubt as to the greatness of Pierre's idea, but one thing disconcerted her.
Judging by what he had said there was no one he had respected so highly as Platon Karataev.
And one couldn't love more, but this is something special....
Then suddenly turning to one another at the same time they both began to speak.
Having interrupted one another they both stopped to let the other continue.
The ancient historians all employed one and the same method to describe and seize the apparently elusive--the life of a people.
In the first place the historian describes the activity of individuals who in his opinion have directed humanity (one historian considers only monarchs, generals, and ministers as being such men, while another includes also orators, learned men, reformers, philosophers, and poets).
During that twenty-year period an immense number of fields were left untilled, houses were burned, trade changed its direction, millions of men migrated, were impoverished, or were enriched, and millions of Christian men professing the law of love of their fellows slew one another.
This caused people all over France to begin to slash at and drown one another.
The Allies defeated Napoleon, entered Paris, forced Napoleon to abdicate, and sent him to the island of Elba, not depriving him of the title of Emperor and showing him every respect, though five years before and one year later they all regarded him as an outlaw and a brigand.
The strangeness and absurdity of these replies arise from the fact that modern history, like a deaf man, answers questions no one has asked.
The answers given by this kind of historian to the question of what force causes events to happen are satisfactory only as long as there is but one historian to each event.
One historian says that an event was produced by Napoleon's power, another that it was produced by Alexander's, a third that it was due to the power of some other person.
So the historians of this class, by mutually destroying one another's positions, destroy the understanding of the force which produces events, and furnish no reply to history's essential question.
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.
That Chateaubriand, Madame de Stael, and others spoke certain words to one another only affected their mutual relations but does not account for the submission of millions.
The historians of culture are quite consistent in regard to their progenitors, the writers of universal histories, for if historical events may be explained by the fact that certain persons treated one another in such and such ways, why not explain them by the fact that such and such people wrote such and such books?
This conception is the one handle by means of which the material of history, as at present expounded, can be dealt with, and anyone who breaks that handle off, as Buckle did, without finding some other method of treating historical material, merely deprives himself of the one possible way of dealing with it.
They can be used and can circulate and fulfill their purpose without harm to anyone and even advantageously, as long as no one asks what is the security behind them.
Having abandoned the conception of the ancients as to the divine subjection of the will of a nation to some chosen man and the subjection of that man's will to the Deity, history cannot without contradictions take a single step till it has chosen one of two things: either a return to the former belief in the direct intervention of the Deity in human affairs or a definite explanation of the meaning of the force producing historical events and termed "power."
But as soon as we do not admit that, it becomes essential to determine what is this power of one man over others.
It cannot be the direct physical power of a strong man over a weak one-- a domination based on the application or threat of physical force, like the power of Hercules; nor can it be based on the effect of moral force, as in their simplicity some historians think who say that the leading figures in history are heroes, that is, men gifted with a special strength of soul and mind called genius.
But what this program consists in these historians do not say, or if they do they continually contradict one another.
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.
(With this method of observation it often happens that the observer, influenced by the direction he himself prefers, regards those as leaders who, owing to the people's change of direction, are no longer in front, but on one side, or even in the rear.)
Power is the collective will of the people transferred to one person.
Under what condition is the will of the people delegated to one person?
Experience shows us that whatever event occurs it is always related to the will of one or of several men who have decreed it.
But speaking of commands that are the expression of the will of men acting in time and in relation to one another, to explain the connection of commands with events we must restore: (1) the condition of all that takes place: the continuity of movement in time both of the events and of the person who commands, and (2) the inevitability of the connection between the person commanding and those who execute his command.
No command ever appears spontaneously, or itself covers a whole series of occurrences; but each command follows from another, and never refers to a whole series of events but always to one moment only of an event.
When, for instance, we say that Napoleon ordered armies to go to war, we combine in one simultaneous expression a whole series of consecutive commands dependent one on another.
Every order executed is always one of an immense number unexecuted.
Apart from that, the chief source of our error in this matter is due to the fact that in the historical accounts a whole series of innumerable, diverse, and petty events, such for instance as all those which led the French armies to Russia, is generalized into one event in accord with the result produced by that series of events.
Amid a long series of unexecuted orders of Napoleon's one series, for the campaign of 1812, was carried out--not because those orders differed in any way from the other, unexecuted orders but because they coincided with the course of events that led the French army into Russia; just as in stencil work this or that figure comes out not because the color was laid on from this side or in that way, but because it was laid on from all sides over the figure cut in the stencil.
Men uniting in these combinations always assume such relations toward one another that the larger number take a more direct share, and the smaller number a less direct share, in the collective action for which they have combined.
Of all the combinations in which men unite for collective action one of the most striking and definite examples is an army.
Every army is composed of lower grades of the service--the rank and file--of whom there are always the greatest number; of the next higher military rank--corporals and noncommissioned officers of whom there are fewer, and of still-higher officers of whom there are still fewer, and so on to the highest military command which is concentrated in one person.
A similar relation of people to one another is seen in every combination of men for common activity--in agriculture, trade, and every administration.
When an event is taking place people express their opinions and wishes about it, and as the event results from the collective activity of many people, some one of the opinions or wishes expressed is sure to be fulfilled if but approximately.
When one of the opinions expressed is fulfilled, that opinion gets connected with the event as a command preceding it.
For reasons known or unknown to us the French began to drown and kill one another.
People ceased to kill one another, and this event was accompanied by its justification in the necessity for a centralization of power, resistance to Europe, and so on.
When the ship moves in one direction there is one and the same wave ahead of it, when it turns frequently the wave ahead of it also turns frequently.
Atoms attract each other and atoms repel one another.
If in a thousand years even one man in a million could act freely, that is, as he chose, it is evident that one single free act of that man's in violation of the laws governing human action would destroy the possibility of the existence of any laws for the whole of humanity.
In our time the majority of so-called advanced people--that is, the crowd of ignoramuses--have taken the work of the naturalists who deal with one side of the question for a solution of the whole problem.
They do not see that the role of the natural sciences in this matter is merely to serve as an instrument for the illumination of one side of it.
The proportion of freedom to inevitability decreases and increases according to the point of view from which the action is regarded, but their relation is always one of inverse proportion.
A sinking man who clutches at another and drowns him; or a hungry mother exhausted by feeding her baby, who steals some food; or a man trained to discipline who on duty at the word of command kills a defenseless man-- seem less guilty, that is, less free and more subject to the law of necessity, to one who knows the circumstances in which these people were placed, and more free to one who does not know that the man was himself drowning, that the mother was hungry, that the soldier was in the ranks, and so on.
Similarly a man who committed a murder twenty years ago and has since lived peaceably and harmlessly in society seems less guilty and his action more due to the law of inevitability, to someone who considers his action after twenty years have elapsed than to one who examined it the day after it was committed.
When we do not at all understand the cause of an action, whether a crime, a good action, or even one that is simply nonmoral, we ascribe a greater amount of freedom to it.
The moment in which the first movement was made is irrevocable, and at that moment I could make only one movement, and whatever movement I made would be the only one.
And since I could make only one movement at that single moment of time, it could not have been any other.
Only by separating the two sources of cognition, related to one another as form to content, do we get the mutually exclusive and separately incomprehensible conceptions of freedom and inevitability.
Apart from these two concepts which in their union mutually define one another as form and content, no conception of life is possible.
In the one case as in the other, on both sides the struggle provokes passion and stifles truth.
On the one hand there is fear and regret for the loss of the whole edifice constructed through the ages, on the other is the passion for destruction.
"Later," he said with a grin that summoned the dimple below one eye.
It was one thing to tell herself everything was resolved, but quite another to thoroughly accept something she had always considered wrong.
One day they were sitting at the table working on coloring books when Alex came home early.
She stepped forward and pulled the newspaper down with one hand.
You're always the last one to get anything new.
Maybe Katie wasn't the only one who had been overlooked by Señor Medena when it came to inheritance.
Alex retrieved her from Felipa and shifted her so that she sat on his arm, one of her arms around his neck.
After he left, she lifted one of the suitcases and placed it on the bed.
But then, maybe Alondra was one of those people who simply took a long time to warm to strangers.
I guess because the only one who should be looking at it is my husband.
Other than the one time he had lost his temper with her, she had never known him to be anything but gentle.
Hopefully, this was his one and only session with drinking too much.
Dorothy and Zeb looked at one another in wonder.
He reached the edge of the tall roof, stepped one foot out into the air, and walked into space as calmly as if he were on firm ground.
Yet one has just occurred that was even worse than the first.
This second one was a Rain of People-and-Horse-and-Buggy.
"No one built them," answered the man with the star.
But if you will come with me to one of our folk gardens I will show you the way we grow in the Land of the Mangaboos.
On some of the bushes might be seen a bud, a blossom, a baby, a half-grown person and a ripe one; but even those ready to pluck were motionless and silent, as if devoid of life.
He led them within another but smaller circle of hedge, where grew one large and beautiful bush.
All of our Princes and Rulers have grown upon this one bush from time immemorial.
No one now seemed to pay any attention to the strangers, so Dorothy and Zeb and the Wizard let the train pass on and then wandered by themselves into the vegetable gardens.
"May I eat one of them?" asked the kitten, in a pleading voice.
"Cats are dreadful creatures!" said one of them.
Then she happened to remember that in a corner of her suit-case were one or two crackers that were left over from her luncheon on the train, and she went to the buggy and brought them.
One of the chairs pushed back from the table, and this was so astonishing and mysterious that Dorothy was almost tempted to run away in fright.
The four lawyers rode along, one behind another; for the pathway was narrow, and the mud on each side of it was deep.
He put the birds softly, one by one, into their warm little home.
One ball after another came whizzing near him.
He had done one good deed.
With one hand the little boy clung to his sister's arm, and with the other he held his primer.
He grew up to become a famous man and one of our greatest orators.
The next day, every pupil except one had written a composition.
It's only a penny whistle, and a poor one at that.
One dark night James Hogg was on the hilltop with a flock of seven hundred lambs.
The caliph laughed outright, and so did every one that heard him.
In it were many great cities; and from one end of it to the other there were broad fields of grain and fine pastures for sheep and cattle.
In the end, our fundamental challenge is to become better individuals, and technology offers little help on that front; it is up to each one of us to solve that for ourselves.
And I think that helps explain why no one quite foresaw the rise of the Internet: because it doesn't have an offline corollary of its own.
My point is: While the Internet does all those things, it is not accurate to say the Internet is only any one of them.
In 2007, Google researchers estimated there were one hundred trillion words on the Internet.
I lived, up to the time of the illness that deprived me of my sight and hearing, in a tiny house consisting of a large square room and a small one, in which the servant slept.
But in the excitement of carrying me to church my father lost the name on the way, very naturally, since it was one in which he had declined to have a part.
Even after my illness I remembered one of the words I had learned in these early months.
One brief spring, musical with the song of robin and mocking-bird, one summer rich in fruit and roses, one autumn of gold and crimson sped by and left their gifts at the feet of an eager, delighted child.
They have no friend Iolaus to burn with a hot iron the root of the hydra's head, but as soon as one head is crushed, two spring up.
One may almost doubt if the wisest man has learned anything of absolute value by living.
What distant and different beings in the various mansions of the universe are contemplating the same one at the same moment!
This is the only way, we say; but there are as many ways as there can be drawn radii from one centre.
Can one be well while suffering morally?
"What can one say about it?" replied the prince in a cold, listless tone.
He is one of the genuine emigres, the good ones.
Each visitor performed the ceremony of greeting this old aunt whom not one of them knew, not one of them wanted to know, and not one of them cared about.
One of the next arrivals was a stout, heavily built young man with close-cropped hair, spectacles, the light-colored breeches fashionable at that time, a very high ruffle, and a brown dress coat.
The nobility don't gwudge theah lives--evewy one of us will go and bwing in more wecwuits, and the sov'weign" (that was the way he referred to the Emperor) "need only say the word and we'll all die fo' him!" added the orator with animation.
Was it greedy to want one of their own as well?
Give me one of those polo shirts and I'll go wash up.
But I noticed some strawberries growing in one of the gardens, and some melons in another place.
One day in spring four men were riding on horseback along a country road.
It seemed as if no one saw that coming because, frankly, no one could conceive of it happening.
To many creatures there is in this sense but one necessary of life, Food.
The life which men praise and regard as successful is but one kind.
Alondra would have been stiff and formal no matter what she wore.
One big gobbler snatched a tomato from me one day and ran away with it.
When one man has reduced a fact of the imagination to be a fact to his understanding, I foresee that all men at length establish their lives on that basis.
The little man felt carefully in his pocket and pulled out the tiny piglets, setting them upon the grass one by one, where they ran around and nibbled the tender blades.
Of two patterns which differ only by a few threads more or less of a particular color, the one will be sold readily, the other lie on the shelf, though it frequently happens that after the lapse of a season the latter becomes the most fashionable.