Do you want a boy or a girl, Dad?
Why, they're better than piglets--or even milk!
Are you guilty, or not guilty?
"You're supposed to eat with a spoon or a fork," she instructed calmly as she finished wiping the little hand.
The idea of making love in a strange bedroom was disturbing enough, but with only a door between them and the children, locked or not, it didn't feel right.
"Look out!" cried Dorothy, who noticed that the beautiful man did not look where he was going; "be careful, or you'll fall off!"
You're going to have a little brother or sister.
I don't like either the one or the other.
The top of the buggy caught the air like a parachute or an umbrella filled with wind, and held them back so that they floated downward with a gentle motion that was not so very disagreeable to bear.
Two or three times we stopped to rest under a tree by the wayside.
Alfonso looked to be a year or so older than Jonathan.
I always knew when she wished me to bring her something, and I would run upstairs or anywhere else she indicated.
They've brought things to such a pass that there are no carts or anything!...
I don't know if he is actually trying to hide things, or simply doesn't know how to initiate the subject.
"But WE mus'n't eat them," the Wizard warned the children, "or we too may become invisible, and lose each other.
Or was it the other way around?
About ten or fifteen minutes ago.
Sometimes he would take care of the whole flock while the shepherd was resting or eating his dinner.
These soldiers guarded the streets of the town; they would not let any one go out or come in without their leave.
Whether things in the future stay the same as they are today or change from what they are today, both are understood in terms of the current reality.
What have they done for Louis XVII, for the Queen, or for Madame Elizabeth?
And I don't believe a word that Hardenburg says, or Haugwitz either.
Though it was unintelligible why he had told it, or why it had to be told in Russian, still Anna Pavlovna and the others appreciated Prince Hippolyte's social tact in so agreeably ending Pierre's unpleasant and unamiable outburst.
But then, she hadn't approved of his drinking or the way he treated Lori either.
After you have written three or four words, you can put them together, can you not?
And because human nature changes either not at all or very slowly, people make the same choices over and over again.
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.'
"Which would you rather have" asked the caliph, "three hundred pieces of gold, or three wise sayings from my lips?"
All people need rest, even if they are made of wood, and as there is no night here they select a certain time of the day in which to sleep or doze.
Zeb was also escorted to a room--so grand and beautiful that he almost feared to sit in the chairs or lie upon the bed, lest he might dim their splendor.
The town seemed very still; but now and then he could hear the beating of a drum or the shouting of some soldier.
"Go in, Annette, or you will catch cold," said the little princess, taking leave of Anna Pavlovna.
The retired naval man was speaking very boldly, as was evident from the expression on the faces of the listeners and from the fact that some people Pierre knew as the meekest and quietest of men walked away disapprovingly or expressed disagreement with him.
He pushed forward, feeling stirred, but not yet sure what stirred him or what he would say.
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.
Are you down here taking inventory or doing a lot of thinking?
Does that mean I'm supposed to change, or that what I'm wearing is considered casual?
He didn't need any preconceived ideas about his little brother or sister.
I don't want to spoil them - or anyone else to spoil them.
One does not dress or act like a lady.
The man, or boy, couldn't have been more than twenty, yet his steps were as sure as the hands that whirled her around the room.
Yet he too was an excellent dancer - or maybe everyone's dancing skills were so much better than hers that it only appeared so to her.
Everything Miss Sullivan taught me she illustrated by a beautiful story or a poem.
Adraksin was in uniform, and whether as a result of the uniform or from some other cause Pierre saw before him quite a different man.
The crowd drew up to the large table, at which sat gray-haired or bald seventy-year-old magnates, uniformed and besashed almost all of whom Pierre had seen in their own homes with their buffoons, or playing boston at the clubs.
Through the streets soldiers in various uniforms walked or ran confusedly in different directions like ants from a ruined ant-hill.
But on the road, the highroad along which the troops marched, there was no such freshness even at night or when the road passed through the forest; the dew was imperceptible on the sandy dust churned up more than six inches deep.
As soon as he came across a former acquaintance or anyone from the staff, he bristled up immediately and grew spiteful, ironical, and contemptuous.
His face seemed to have shriveled or melted; his features had grown smaller.
The old prince used to approve of them for their endurance at work when they came to Bald Hills to help with the harvest or to dig ponds, and ditches, but he disliked them for their boorishness.
Had anyone actually told her that or had she merely assumed it?
Maybe he felt excluded - or maybe he simply needed a little encouragement.
Carmen refrained from looking at Alex or displaying the shock she felt at the introduction of two more siblings he had never mentioned - an entire family.
Her figure was not as well developed as Alondra or Dulce, but she looked nice in the style and color.
The kitchen was open all the time, but Alex didn't drink - or never had to her knowledge.
Carmen rushed to him, but found that he was either asleep or passed out.
It isn't your doing... or your responsibility to change it.
It no longer mattered how they were conceived, carried or delivered.
It's not a decision or a wish any more.
No matter how sorry Alex was for what happened, or how many times he apologized or tried to make up for it, he couldn't remove the hurt.
Mom used to say that people suspected in others what they had experienced or what they would do in the other person's shoes.
Maybe he was thinking about what his father would say or do when he came in.
Carmen glanced at Alex, but he either didn't notice her attention, or he was avoiding her eyes.
The man had taken a step or two across the glass roof before he noticed the presence of the strangers; but then he stopped abruptly.
"Yes; but it's lots of fun, if it IS strange," remarked the small voice of the kitten, and Dorothy turned to find her pet walking in the air a foot or so away from the edge of the roof.
There are no cows here to give milk; or any mice, or even grasshoppers.
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.
"It's good, anyway," said Zeb, "or those little rascals wouldn't have gobbled it up so greedily."
Yes; for they eat of the dama-fruit, as we all do, and that keeps them from being seen by any eye, whether human or animal.
"And mama can't tell whether my face is dirty or not!" added the other childish voice, gleefully.
"But I make you wash it, every time I think of it," said the mother; "for it stands to reason your face is dirty, Ianu, whether I can see it or not."
The tops of their heads had no hair, but were carved into a variety of fantastic shapes, some having a row of points or balls around the top, others designs resembling flowers or vegetables, and still others having squares that looked like waffles cut criss-cross on their heads.
They made no sounds at all, either in flying or trying to speak, and they conversed mainly by means of quick signals made with their wooden fingers or lips.
"Well, this was a figure of a cat," said Jim, "and she WENT down, anyhow, whether she climbed or crept."
Then, after a moment's thought, she asked: Are we friends or enemies?
It wouldn't be possible for even me to get up to that crack--or through it if I got there.
Please tell me, Mr. Wizard, whether you called yourself Oz after this great country, or whether you believe my country is called Oz after you.
After many adventures I reached Omaha, only to find that all my old friends were dead or had moved away.
"Oz can do some good tricks, humbug or no humbug," announced Zeb, who was now feeling more at ease.
And I never feel a break or a splinter in the least.
The object of a race is to see who can win it--or at least that is what my excellent brains think.
"Your Royal Highness and Fellow Citizens," he began; "the small cat you see a prisoner before you is accused of the crime of first murdering and then eating our esteemed Ruler's fat piglet--or else first eating and then murdering it.
When I get my thoughts arranged in good order I do not like to have anything upset them or throw them into confusion.
"Is this a trial of thoughts, or of kittens?" demanded the Woggle-Bug.
"Your Highness," cried the Woggle-Bug, appealing to Ozma, "have I a mind's eye, or haven't I?"
"Don't be foolish," advised the Tin Woodman, "or you may be sorry for it."
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.
They thought that pictures might take one's mind away from things that were better or more useful.
The schoolhouse was two or three miles from home, but he did not mind the long walk through the woods and over the hills.
Each book was written with a pen or a brush.
"If I were a priest or a monk" said Ethelbald, "I would learn to read.
No book is worth reading that does not make you better or wiser.
King Astyages did not know whether to be pleased or displeased.
The shah, or ruler of these people, went out to meet Alexander and welcome him to their country.
On a mountain near their city, there was a narrow chasm or hole in the rocks.
Do this, or I will burn Rome and destroy all its people.
Give us a few days to learn what sort of laws you will make for us, and then we will say whether we can submit to them or not.
You must either jump overboard into the sea or be slain with your own sword.
He did not know whether he should take the right-hand fork or the left-hand.
What boy or girl has not heard the story of King Robert Brace and the spider?
Many of his best friends had been killed or captured.
Sometimes two or three faithful friends were with him.
And Robert the Bruce was never again obliged to hide in the woods or to run from savage hounds.
"Oh, I have a plan for making a boat move without poling it or rowing it," he answered.
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.
And one ran quickly and told the good abbess, or mistress of the abbey, what strange thing had happened.
He had never seen nor heard of sorrow or sickness or poverty.
Everything that was evil or disagreeable had been carefully kept out of his sight.
At first he did not see anything that disturbed him; for word had gone before him to remove from sight everything that might be displeasing or painful.
Sometimes he carried three or four bags to the palace where the little king of France lived with his mother.
Be they many or few, you may have all for three pieces of silver.
After reading my arguments, you may or may not believe the future I describe is inevitable, as I say it is.
Whether you are rich or poor, live in the developed world or the developing world, life today is better and easier than it was a century ago by virtually any measure.
I make the predictions in this book not to be sensational or controversial.
Or astounding technological breakthroughs that have no precedent in reality.
It took a decade or two for the new medium to be seen in light of itself, not just in terms of what it displaced.
But my car is not a CD player, GPS navigation system, or air conditioner.
That is because they seem so far out of the daily experience of most people that they cannot conceive of how or why they would use them.
And what seems clear is that, sooner or later, we will get there.
In the Italian Renaissance, only a thin veneer of society's elites participated in the creation or ownership of the frescos, music, statues, and paintings; most were only passive observers.
Almost everyone creates, in one form or another.
It turns out we all have a desire to be artists or philosophers or singers or photographers or commentators or reviewers.
Has there ever before been a time when business opportunity was more blind to color, gender, or creed?
This is not to the sixteenth-century Europeans' discredit or even to our credit.
A very, very few people, however, were freed from this sustenance lifestyle, either by their fortuitous birth or outstanding ability.
Now a billion or more can achieve that dream, and I foresee a time not far off when everyone on the planet can.
Where everyone can live up to his or her maximum potential.
It would not be the first time, or the last, that ignorance in the world exacted a high price.
Or what if Knower #2 died without teaching another?
Or at least they will know the wise choice to make; whether they will choose it is another matter.
Whether you love it or hate it, do you doubt it will happen?
Or early climatologists who made their own daily observations of precipitation and barometric pressure, interpreting as well as collecting readings.
Or that a certain group of people who do a seemingly unrelated set of a dozen activities report levels of happiness higher than average?
Or to continue with fictional cases: Why does gasoline made from oil refined at one refinery burn more efficiently?
In the past, a scientist began with a surmise or hunch and began gathering data to prove or disprove it.
Or, through serendipity, scientists stumbled into things—with those "your chocolate is in my peanut butter" moments.
This scene, in one form or another, should seem familiar.
Any task a computer can do better than a person is, by definition, a task requiring no human creativity or ingenuity.
For each dinner, sixty or more people show up.
Or perhaps the system won't ask you.
And no one is concerned or even notices much, because your association with that data is so removed from you.
All the things they tried and failed, or achieved, we have to redo.
In the future, every single person will have at his or her disposal the sum total of the life experience of everyone alive.
As we move out from that defined center, we come to disorders and disabilities—impairments of bodily systems that are brought about by injury, disease, or genetics.
Regarding disorders and disabilities: We should be able to repair, heal, or replace any part of the body not functioning at the level the person with the disability reasonably wishes it to.
The disease struck people in childhood or in the prime of life.
It often left them partially paralyzed, in wheelchairs or iron lungs (a term that's now all but forgotten and will likely send younger readers to Wikipedia).
In the last thirty years there has not been a single smallpox death or even a single infection.
If the conditions weren't sterile—a word that was not even comprehended at the time—the inoculation didn't work, or worse, introduced a new disease.
And today's primary method for treating cancer is, in a way, very tenth century: Essentially, chemotherapy is a medical way of saying, Let's fill you so full of poison either you or the cancer dies.
Many of the treatments of the ancient world had high degrees of efficacy, all obtained without access to any modern knowledge or equipment.
Second, will the pace of advance increase or decrease in the future?
Now, you don't know if the radishes make the people get better or if something that makes people crave radishes also beats back skin cancer.
Or are their bones more brittle?
Or is it something about them that predates their Oscar triumph and helped them win?
I can, of course, see everything in it, or if I prefer, set the system to "minimum supplements" or "maximum supplements" and let the system decide.
What is it about them and their lives that made them live so long or so well?
Or maybe smart old people just direct that energy to crosswords and it is not the crosswords doing the job at all ...
Metallurgy gives us steel with which we can fashion either swords or plowshares.
We hear of treatments that work some percent of the time or we hear phrases like, "They are not responding to treatment."
Or how about cows producing human milk?
You still worked almost exclusively with people in your lab or at least in your city.
Highly specialized experts are a few keystrokes away and can be hired for just a few minutes or hours at a time.
If you take low-worth items or raw materials and apply labor to them to make something that has value, you have created wealth.
By taking a block of marble and carving a statue, or taking a handful of seed and growing a cornfield, you have combined your labor and know-how with something of little value and have created something of more value.
It means I can trade you a good or service for an intermediate store of value known as money, and then trade that money to the person who actually has the goods I want.
Imagine if everyone frequently disputed charges: "I never got my order!" or "It wasn't what they promised it would be!" or "Yeah, I got a box in the mail, but it was full of rocks."
Additionally, online stores powered by Yahoo and Google and Amazon exist where small vendors can set up storefronts and sell to the world, as a hobby or a livelihood.
The pay per click (PPC) business is a way to advertise online to people who did a specific search in a search engine like Google or who are viewing content on a certain topic.
For instance, I could hand carve bird calls and then advertise them only to people who are looking at online content about hand-carved bird calls or who search the Internet for information about hand-carved bird calls.
Or five million a day with no people.
An ongoing debate is whether a high amount of energy raises a nation or region's gross national product (GNP) or whether rising GNP increases the consumption of energy.
Is it finite, or is it for all practical purposes infinite?
(An exajoule is roughly equivalent to a quadrillion BTUs or 174 million barrels of oil.)
A few such trees in the backyard behind your condo, cabin, or yurt would be enough to satisfy your power requirements.
And say the net cost to society of having a gallon of polluted water dumped into the river—the cleanup cost, or the economic impact of the gallon of dirty water—is $10.
If jump ropes or board games or ice cream turn out to have positive externalities—that is, if they help society—a subsidy could lower the prices of these items.
But outsourcing to pollute, oppress workers, or have unsafe working conditions hurts the world's standard of living.
Outsourcing a job to get it done more cheaply or building a machine to do it more cheaply is really the same.
What determines how much money you or Chad or anyone gets paid?
The minimum is either set by a minimum wage law or determined by the demand and supply of that labor.
It is capped at the value your labor adds to the goods or services you create.
It doesn't matter what the law or the union or their mothers think about it: They can't get a thousand dollars per flip.
Who do you think makes more money: the person who hauls bricks on his back or the person who operates the forklift that moves the bricks?
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?
If you like having sore muscles at the end of a day or working a job that requires little of your mental capacity so you can contemplate Nietzsche, hey, more power to you.
Perhaps it requires musical ability or style or sassiness.
Once someone has something, no one should be able to take it from him or her.
If this is not the case, people will not trade their labor for things that can easily or capriciously be taken away. 3.
Similarly, they require little power, so they either can be powered cheaply or can power themselves from their environment, with a little heat or sunlight.
Nanotechnology will give us metals that don't bend, or bend and yet remember their original shape.
Or how about nanites that process each piece of trash in our garbage and turn it into something useful?
Or nanites that clean up any toxic chemicals they find and turn them into harmless agents?
Not toothpaste or roads or libraries or light bulbs or aspirin or mirrors; not even Legos.
Fifteen years later, I got a computer with 4,000K (or 4MB) of memory, one thousand times the memory of my trusty VIC-20.
This 4,000MB (or 4GB) of memory cost a bit more than $200.
But surely a pan that warns you if your house is burning down or your food will kill you has to be worth $200 to you.
And the people whose houses or lives it saves?
So whether you are rich or poor in the future, you will own this pan and get this benefit.
It will passively recognize you by recognizing your face or your voice or your breathing pattern or the pattern of your footsteps or, most likely, your scent.
The house will know where everything in it is; you will never again lose your keys or your child's favorite stuffed animal.
It will alert you when you have mice or termites.
Your house will not be "smart" insofar as it will not seem alive to you any more than your garage door opener or your web browser does.
Anything that requires the unamplified direct labor of a person won't either, such as a personal trainer, a babysitter, or a masseuse.
By the government's calculation, about 40 percent of India's population, or half a billion people, are below that level.
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."
Where I come from the term is "thievery," but believe it or not, they don't call it that.
No one should decide what someone else should value or spend his money on.
Instead, forget which is "right" for the moment and simply consider the flow of history, for better or worse.
Whether you look at a single country over a span of time, or a group of countries at a specific point in history, the result is the same.
It averages 40 percent, or $13,000 per person per year.
No student of history would argue this point, regardless of his or her politics.
Or, at least you have that purchasing power.
I enjoy those freedoms much like an interest payment or dividend, and I call it "my right" to free speech.
Is there a logical end to that—a physical or economic law of some kind that says only 10 percent or 20 percent or 30 percent of people can ever be this wealthy?
In a world without scarcity, or that has scarcity at such a trivial level it is hardly noticeable, all the conventional theories and dogmas lose their meaning.
It will not be welfare (or, at least depending on how you define the term, it will not be perceived as welfare).
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.
They don't really worry about whether playing polo or building orphanages or any other chosen pursuit can pay the bills, because they don't need it to pay the bills.
Won't all people (or at least most people) waste their lives on narcissistic, hedonistic pleasure?
And we got them all, more or less, by trade and the wealth generated by our work doing some function for which we are trained.
Or these jobs can be divorced from economic realities, as the struggling painter or actor decides simply to do what he loves and live off the minimum income afforded by this planet-wide prosperity.
Or these jobs can be divorced from economic realities, as the struggling painter or actor decides simply to do what he loves and live off the minimum income afforded by this planet-wide prosperity.
One bad plague or invading horde would leave pretty much everyone starving.
Weaponized famine occurs when hunger itself is used to gain a political or military end.
This would be the case in a besieged city or a nation using the food supply to keep its citizenry in check.
Structural famine exists when enough food is technically on hand or able to be imported, but some portion of the population is economically separated from it.
An important point to make here is this: Historically, the welfare state only emerges to solve problems that private charities either cannot or will not solve.
If someone notices that she gets a headache when she eats MSG—or artichokes, or grasshoppers—that first-person, anecdotal experience will shape her nutritional philosophy.
Or, we gravitate toward anecdotes like, "I take my vitamin C every day and haven't had a cold in year."
Whether you are for the organic food movement or against it, for genetically modified crops or against them, for corporate farms or seed banks or raw food or anything else, is influenced significantly by your larger view of politics.
For instance, if you think large corporation are greedy and evil, then when you read about how large corporations produce low-nutrition food or are putting family farms out of business, you will believe it.
If you love "Western medicine" and think all acupuncturists are "quacks," then you are not likely to heed (or even appreciate) your friend's well-meaning efforts to get you to drink your own urine for its health benefits.
These foodstuffs alone contain sixty thousand calories, or two thousand calories a day for a month, for a total of $30.
Even at the retail price, we could feed all the world's hungry for a billion dollars a day or $365 billion a year.
In societies where a large percentage of income is necessary just to buy food, having volatile food prices will mean hunger sooner or later, no matter how good the factory jobs are.
Stakman had determined that immunity to these diseases, or at least resistance, could be bred into crops.
He didn't have computers or even a calculator.
He couldn't develop new irrigation techniques, invent new machinery, or create new fertilizers.
Additionally, of the energy the plant absorbs, it only stores one tenth of it in the potato or bean or whatever part we eat.
I say we can improve things not by 20 or so percent, but by twenty times or more.
I foresee a day when, on a Sunday afternoon, a family might drive (or actually be driven by their car) out to a farm to see where food comes from.
Do you really know what is in a hotdog, or are you sure you want to?
We don't fault, at the first order, Native Americans or Norman Borlaug for cross-breeding better corn or wheat.
This couldn't happen in nature (or, more precisely, could in theory, but is extremely unlikely).
They should be advocating that genetically modified crops be created not because it would result in better looking strawberries, but because GM crops don't require fertilizer or pesticides.
Wouldn't that be something: Plants that would convert nitrogen from the atmosphere directly into ammonia they could use or plants that gave off the odor of other plants that pests avoid?
Or are packed with vitamins.
Or that taste like meat, taking pastureland off the grid.
For environmentalist organizations like Greenpeace to be against GMO in all its forms under all conditions does nothing at all to serve them or the constituencies they purport to represent.
The possibilities of GMO go far beyond prettier corn or cheaper strawberries.
Bacteria can process toxic wastes and oil spills into harmless biodegradable materials.
He can sell the certificate, use it as collateral, or hold it for the future.
If you decide to participate in the loan, you can kick in $25 or more.
The word "unalienable" (or "inalienable"—they are interchangeable) means, "unable to be taken away from or given away by the possessor."
You cannot sell to someone the right to kill you or hold you prisoner.
I am not saying governments are supposed to feed the world or that food should be free.
Rights do not mean much, he reasoned, to those with an "empty stomach, shirtless back, roofless dwellings ... unemployment and poverty, no education or medical attention."
It would be a colossal mistake to assume some sort of collectivist or communistic solution to hunger in the world.
The individual had no liberties, or at least very few, but in exchange was, in theory, entitled to certain economic rights.
In the United States, de Tocqueville's voluntary associations still do the job and anyone willing to make her way to a church or food pantry and say she is hungry will not leave empty handed.
Is our nation so poor or so weak that we must resort to the ultimate in pragmatism and befriend nations in the name of commerce or prosperity or military security while turning a blind eye to the suffering of their people?
All right then, not the cavalry, but a marshaling of arguments and observations that will show how the end of war is inevitable, or nearly so.
In the past, when the power of the state was absolute in many parts of the world, it was harder to argue that every person on the planet had rights no monarch or state could violate.
The idea that a person can be a political prisoner, jailed for his beliefs about government, politics, or politicians, is ancient but happily fading.
As Scottish historian Thomas Carlyle once observed, "Man seldom, or rather never for a length of time and deliberately, rebels against anything that does not deserve rebelling against."
So realistically, we know that we either must end war, or face the prospect that war will end us.
This is not a section about hope, ideals, wishes, or the brotherhood of all mankind.
I will not advise getting in touch with our feelings or even group hugs.
I define war as armed conflict occurring between nation-states or, in the case of civil wars, between factions within nation-states.
The way to end war is not to set up some big world government or eliminate nation-states, which will always retain the right to take unilateral military action to defend themselves.
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.
They are elected or appointed to protect the rights of the citizens, yet they become the agents of their death.
Even in civilized corporate offices, professionals in business attire say their work tasks place them "down in the trenches" or that a certain "campaign" requires "guerrilla" marketing.
The reasoning behind MAD was that if we can annihilate the Soviets or the Chinese and they in turn can annihilate us, then none of us will start a war.
But at the time the doctrine was in force, MAD was effective (or at least, not proven ineffective).
I propose that peace will be maintained in the future by something I will call Mutually Assured Poverty, or MAP.
This is not to say that if another Pearl Harbor or another 9/11 occurred, people in any country wouldn't rise to the occasion and make great sacrifices if needed.
Making swords actually paid better or at least as well as making plowshares.
The military doesn't buy their haircuts, website design, or piano lessons.
Electronic transfers mean the money of a government, business, or individual might be anywhere at any time.
Weakness in neighbors is regarded as an opportunity for conquest or, at least, coercion.
Or, they were the scourge of the earth.
It has one of the highest per-capita incomes in the world, almost no crime, and no public or foreign debt.
The tricky part is the bit about the highlands, or mountains.
They expected the king to choose one border or another, not create his own compromise border.
Tensions mounted all through the 1830s as militias were raised on both sides in what later came to be known as the Aroostook War, even though there was never actually a war or casualties.
Ever more accurate sensors can track the contents of ocean water or assess food safety.
The weak group could fight and lose, or comply with whatever the strong group demanded.
Under Hollywood's production code at the time, movies could not include nudity, criminal activity, or offensive language, or depict illegal drug use, venereal disease, or childbirth.
While the right thing to do is never to drive drunk, be a smoker, or be a racist, occasionally war is the right thing to do.
Twitter.com is unquestionably the most efficient way in the history of humanity to send a single idea, invitation, complaint, or observation to the world.
Publishing was expensive, and by the time news of the lie came out, days or weeks had passed.
News and information that undermine their credibility or authority aren't so welcome either.
We have seen it most recently and most profoundly in the Arab Spring, where the motto we see again and again is Ash-sha'b yurid isqat an-nizam, or "The people want to bring down the regime."
Sure, it isn't as big a force as Democratic Peace Theory or Mutually Assured Poverty.
All of this means examples of atrocities by the government or by the mob are increasingly likely to be documented and publicized.
Keeping that one comes at a large financial price: Learn proficiency at two languages or remain separate from the world economy.
With money, you can buy machinery or hire workers to do your work.
In the past, political alliances were sealed by marriages among monarchs or nobles.
It is the same spirit that makes people fanatical about a certain sports team, regardless of the players or the score.
The nationalists are the ones who say, "My country, right or wrong."
They view the opposition by others to the actions of their country as treason, or at least, inexplicably self-destructive.
Can you imagine the public reaction to that today: A quarter of a million people killed or wounded in a single day?
In World War I, in the Battle of the Somme, were over a million casualties, and the action advanced the Allied line just seven miles, or about two deaths for every inch of ground.
I hope that along the way you thought of a few I missed, a few trends or developments that lead toward peace.
Whether it is the notion of manufacturing meat or having the computer tell you what you should order at the restaurant, you may have cringed and thought, "Man, that's kind of creepy."
Anything that looks too much like The Matrix movies or The Terminator movies is just, well, kind of creepy.
That's what interests me about this story (which may or may not be purely true): What Simonides did—recalling the names and locations of everyone at a large banquet—is described as entirely possible and an enviable, practical skill.
After staring for two or three minutes, Ambrose turned a page and continued staring.
Augustine records that this idea blew his mind (or words to that effect).
In both those cases, a technology or technique came along that actually changed the way people think.
So in the present and future, when a technology comes along that represents such a change—that saves details of our activities with which to advise us later, or has us speaking to machines as if they were creatures—it will simply be more of the same.
Scarcity, or what we term scarcity, is a technological problem as well. 4.
Yes, a comet slamming into the planet or some galactic cataclysm could wipe us all out.
Love it or hate it, this seems to be where we are going.
Having said all of that, government should certainly be watched with a suspicious eye, for it could conceivably delay or derail our ascent to the next golden age.
Other than cataclysm, asymmetrical attack, or government gone wild, we have little to worry about.
Or how AT&T got broken up.
Or how IBM got flattened in the PC wars.
Or how Google displaced Alta Vista.
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.
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.
Without love you would not be happy or want to play.
Whenever anything delighted or interested me she talked it over with me just as if she were a little girl herself.
Few know what joy it is to feel the roses pressing softly into the hand, or the beautiful motion of the lilies as they sway in the morning breeze.
I never had patience to arrange more than five or six groups at a time.
All the best of me belongs to her--there is not a talent, or an aspiration or a joy in me that has not been awakened by her loving touch.
Nobody knew where he had gone, or how he had escaped.
I also liked to keep my hand on a singer's throat, or on a piano when it was being played.
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.
In such cases I was forced to repeat the words or sentences, sometimes for hours, until I felt the proper ring in my own voice.
One who reads or talks to me spells with his hand, using the single-hand manual alphabet generally employed by the deaf.
He believed, or at least suspected, that Miss Sullivan and I had deliberately stolen the bright thoughts of another and imposed them on him to win his admiration.
Miss Sullivan had never heard of "The Frost Fairies" or of the book in which it was published.
Everything I found in books that pleased me I retained in my memory, consciously or unconsciously, and adapted it.
Indeed, I could scarcely think what I was saying, or what was being said to me.
They are always asking: What does this beauty or that music mean to you?
You cannot see the waves rolling up the beach or hear their roar.
I cannot fathom or define their meaning any more than I can fathom or define love or religion or goodness.
From these relics I learned more about the progress of man than I have heard or read since.
Before October, 1893, I had studied various subjects by myself in a more or less desultory manner.
When I was not guessing, I was jumping at conclusions, and this fault, in addition to my dullness, aggravated my difficulties more than was right or necessary.
I could not make notes in class or write exercises; but I wrote all my compositions and translations at home on my typewriter.
I rejoiced over all his successes, I shut my eyes to his faults, and wondered, not that he had them, but that they had not crushed or dwarfed his soul.
I had always done my work in braille or in my head.
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.
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.
It comes over me that in the last two or three pages of this chapter I have used figures which will turn the laugh against me.
And read I did, whether I understood one word in ten or two words on a page.
I did not study nor analyze them--I did not know whether they were well written or not; I never thought about style or authorship.
I did not care especially for "The Pilgrim's Progress," which I think I did not finish, or for the "Fables."
Great poetry, whether written in Greek or in English, needs no other interpreter than a responsive heart.
I read it as much as possible without the help of notes or dictionary, and I always like to translate the episodes that please me especially.
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.
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.
They talk to me without embarrassment or awkwardness.
Whether it comes from the trees which have been heated by the sun, or from the water, I can never discover.
Whenever it is possible, my dog accompanies me on a walk or ride or sail.
I often tell them stories or teach them a game, and the winged hours depart and leave us good and happy.
I shall never forget the ripple of alternating joy and woe that ran through that beautiful little play, or the wonderful child who acted it.
A hearty handshake or a friendly letter gives me genuine pleasure.
Bishop Brooks taught me no special creed or dogma; but he impressed upon my mind two great ideas--the fatherhood of God and the brotherhood of man, and made me feel that these truths underlie all creeds and forms of worship.
Since Bishop Brooks died I have read the Bible through; also some philosophical works on religion, among them Swedenborg's "Heaven and Hell" and Drummond's "Ascent of Man," and I have found no creed or system more soul-satisfying than Bishop Brooks's creed of love.
Here in Dr. Bell's laboratory, or in the fields on the shore of the great Bras d'Or, I have spent many delightful hours listening to what he had to tell me about his experiments, and helping him fly kites by means of which he expects to discover the laws that shall govern the future air-ship.
I could not keep pace with all these literary folk as they glanced from subject to subject and entered into deep dispute, or made conversation sparkle with epigrams and happy witticisms.
I read from Mark Twain's lips one or two of his good stories.
Except for two or three important letters of 1901, these selections cease with the year 1900.
Even when she did not fully understand words or ideas, she liked to set them down as though she did.
And if anybody asks you, or if you ask yourself what God is, answer, "God is Love."
I had two or three hundred others and thine was one of the most welcome of all.
It is undated, but must have been written two or three months before it was published.
For a whole week it has been "cold and dark and dreary" in Tuscumbia, and I must confess the continuous rain and dismalness of the weather fills me with gloomy thoughts and makes the writing of letters, or any pleasant employment, seem quite impossible.
His beautiful word-pictures made us feel as if we were sitting in the shadow of San Marco, dreaming, or sailing upon the moonlit canal....
I saw the one through which Emperor Dom Pedro listened to the words, "To be, or not to be," at the Centennial.
Every morning, before lesson-time, we all go out to the steep hill on the northern shore of the lake near the house, and coast for an hour or so.
The knowledge doesn't make life any sweeter or happier, does it?
I rode on a rough road, and fell off three or four times, and am now awfully lame!
TO MRS. LAURENCE HUTTON 12 Newbury Street, Boston, January 17, 1899. ...Have you seen Kipling's "Dreaming True," or "Kitchener's School?"
In it there would be no suggestion of hatred or revenge, nor a trace of the old-time belief that might makes right.
I really believe he knows more Latin and Greek Grammar than Cicero or Homer ever dreamed of!
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....
This little boy could speak two or three languages before he lost his hearing through sickness, and he is now only about five years old.
TO MR. WILLIAM WADE Cambridge, February 2, 1901. ...By the way, have you any specimens of English braille especially printed for those who have lost their sight late in life or have fingers hardened by long toil, so that their touch is less sensitive than that of other blind people?
Words are powerless to describe the desolation of that prison-house, or the joy of the soul that is delivered out of its captivity.
In this way she is able to get the meaning of those half sentences which we complete unconsciously from the tone of the voice or the twinkle of the eye.
As she explains, she is not conscious of the single letters or of separate words.
Miss Keller reads by means of embossed print or the various kinds of braille.
When a passage interests her, or she needs to remember it for some future use, she flutters it off swiftly on the fingers of her right hand.
When she is walking up or down the hall or along the veranda, her hands go flying along beside her like a confusion of birds' wings.
Like every deaf or blind person, Miss Keller depends on her sense of smell to an unusual degree.
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.
She does not, it would seem, prove the existence of spirit without matter, or of innate ideas, or of immortality, or anything else that any other human being does not prove.
It should be said that any double-case watch with the crystal removed serves well enough for a blind person whose touch is sufficiently delicate to feel the position of the hands and not disturb or injure them.
No attempt is made by those around her either to preserve or to break her illusions.
In the diary that she kept at the Wright-Humason School in New York she wrote on October 18, 1894, "I find that I have four things to learn in my school life here, and indeed, in life--to think clearly without hurry or confusion, to love everybody sincerely, to act in everything with the highest motives, and to trust in dear God unhesitatingly."
At the age of twenty-six months scarlet fever left her without sight or hearing.
After the first year or two Dr. Howe did not teach Laura Bridgman himself, but gave her over to other teachers, who under his direction carried on the work of teaching her language.
Helen Keller became so rapidly a distinctive personality that she kept her teacher in a breathless race to meet the needs of her pupil, with no time or strength to make a scientific study.
But neither temperament nor training allowed her to make her pupil the object of any experiment or observation which did not help in the child's development.
Why, one might just as well say that a two-year-old child converses fluently when he says 'apple give,' or 'baby walk go.'
Nearly every mail brings some absurd statement, printed or written.
It must be remembered that Miss Sullivan had to solve her problems unaided by previous experience or the assistance of any other teacher.
But whether Helen stays at home or makes visits in other parts of the country, her education is always under the immediate direction and exclusive control of her teacher.
No one interferes with Miss Sullivan's plans, or shares in her tasks.
But there's nothing pale or delicate about Helen.
It is intelligent, but lacks mobility, or soul, or something.
She rarely smiles; indeed, I have seen her smile only once or twice since I came.
She started forward, then hesitated a moment, evidently debating within herself whether she would go or not.
I couldn't coax her or compromise with her.
To get her to do the simplest thing, such as combing her hair or washing her hands or buttoning her boots, it was necessary to use force, and, of course, a distressing scene followed.
I saw clearly that it was useless to try to teach her language or anything else until she learned to obey me.
She accepted everything I did for her as a matter of course, and refused to be caressed, and there was no way of appealing to her affection or sympathy or childish love of approbation.
She would or she wouldn't, and there was an end of it.
Helen knows several words now, but has no idea how to use them, or that everything has a name.
She lets me kiss her now, and when she is in a particularly gentle mood, she will sit in my lap for a minute or two; but she does not return my caresses.
Her father looks in at us morning and evening as he goes to and from his office, and sees her contentedly stringing her beads or making horizontal lines on her sewing-card, and exclaims, "How quiet she is!"
When she spells "milk," she points to the mug, and when she spells "mug," she makes the sign for pouring or drinking, which shows that she has confused the words.
I think "no" and "yes," conveyed by a shake or a nod of my head, have become facts as apparent to her as hot and cold or as the difference between pain and pleasure.
I think she understood perfectly well; for she slapped her hand two or three times and shook her head.
Then I let her decide whether she will sew or knit or crochet.
Often, when the weather is fine, we drive from four to six, or go to see her aunt at Ivy Green or her cousins in the town.
But when I spell into her hand, "Give me some bread," she hands me the bread, or if I say, "Get your hat and we will go to walk," she obeys instantly.
I hide something, a ball or a spool, and we hunt for it.
When we first played this game two or three days ago, she showed no ingenuity at all in finding the object.
Let him go and come freely, let him touch real things and combine his impressions for himself, instead of sitting indoors at a little round table, while a sweet-voiced teacher suggests that he build a stone wall with his wooden blocks, or make a rainbow out of strips of coloured paper, or plant straw trees in bead flower-pots.
I can now tell her to bring me a large book or a small plate, to go upstairs slowly, to run fast and to walk quickly.
Then we sit down under a tree, or in the shade of a bush, and talk about it.
I supply a word here and there, sometimes a sentence, and suggest something which she has omitted or forgotten.
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.
WE MAKE A SORT OF GAME OF IT and try to see who can find the words most quickly, Helen with her fingers, or I with my eyes, and she learns as many new words as I can explain with the help of those she knows.
I can now tell her to go upstairs or down, out of doors or into the house, lock or unlock a door, take or bring objects, sit, stand, walk, run, lie, creep, roll, or climb.
If she finds anything in her way, she flings it on the floor, no matter what it is: a glass, a pitcher, or even a lamp.
I cannot explain it; but when difficulties arise, I am not perplexed or doubtful.
It's queer how ready people always are with advice in any real or imaginary emergency, and no matter how many times experience has shown them to be wrong, they continue to set forth their opinions, as if they had received them from the Almighty!
She was (or imagined she was) putting on paper the things which had interested her.
Helen resisted, and Viney tried to force it out of her hand, and I suspect that she slapped the child, or did something which caused this unusual outburst of temper.
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 isn't a living soul in this part of the world to whom I can go for advice in this, or indeed, in any other educational difficulty.
She rarely misuses or omits one in conversation.
I then said to her with the finger alphabet, "wind fast," or "wind slow," holding her hands and showing her how to do as I wished.
Day after day she moved her pencil in the same tracks along the grooved paper, never for a moment expressing the least impatience or sense of fatigue.
When walking or riding she often gives the names of the people we meet almost as soon as we recognize them.
I don't know who had the best time, the monkeys, Helen or the spectators.
I do not think anyone can read, or talk for that matter, until he forgets words and sentences in the technical sense.
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.
It is irksome because the process is so slow, and they cannot read what they have written or correct their mistakes.
It is always: "Oh, Miss Sullivan, please come and tell us what Helen means," or "Miss Sullivan, won't you please explain this to Helen?
Dr. Bell writes that Helen's progress is without a parallel in the education of the deaf, or something like that and he says many nice things about her teacher.
She kissed them all, boys and girls, willing or unwilling.
It frequently happens that the perfume of a flower or the flavour of a fruit recalls to her mind some happy event in home life, or a delightful birthday party.
She is able not only to distinguish with great accuracy the different undulations of the air and the vibrations of the floor made by various sounds and motions, and to recognize her friends and acquaintances the instant she touches their hands or clothing, but she also perceives the state of mind of those around her.
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.
Several experiments were tried, to determine positively whether or not she had any perception of sound.
Even before I knew her, she had handled a dead chicken, or bird, or some other small animal.
She is never fretful or irritable, and I have never seen her impatient with her playmates because they failed to understand her.
She has a very sociable disposition, and delights in the companionship of those who can follow the rapid motions of her fingers; but if left alone she will amuse herself for hours at a time with her knitting or sewing.
In two or three months after I began to teach her she would say: "Helen wants to go to bed," or, "Helen is sleepy, and Helen will go to bed."
Indeed, I am often obliged to coax her to leave an example or a composition.
The quail lays fifteen or twenty eggs and they are white.
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 often reads for two or three hours in succession, and then lays aside her book reluctantly.
Children ask profound questions, but they often receive shallow answers, or, to speak more correctly, they are quieted by such answers.
I explained to her that the soul, too, is invisible, or in other words, that it is without apparent form.
I always tried to find out what interested her most, and made that the starting-point for the new lesson, whether it had any bearing on the lesson I had planned to teach or not.
Miss Sullivan never needlessly belittled her ideas or expressions to suit the supposed state of the child's intelligence.
She urged every one to speak to Helen naturally, to give her full sentences and intelligent ideas, never minding whether Helen understood or not.
Books are the storehouse of language, and any child, whether deaf or not, if he has his attention attracted in any way to printed pages, must learn.
It was not a special subject, like geography or arithmetic, but her way to outward things.
Any deaf child or deaf and blind child in good health can be taught.
And the one to do it is the parent or the special teacher, not the school.
Her speech lacks variety and modulation; it runs in a sing-song when she is reading aloud; and when she speaks with fair degree of loudness, it hovers about two or three middle tones.
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.
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.
It is hard to say whether or not Miss Keller's speech is easy to understand.
I am hardly prepared to decide that question, or even give an opinion regarding it.
In reading the lips she is not so quick or so accurate as some reports declare.
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.
Any teacher of composition knows that he can bring his pupils to the point of writing without errors in syntax or in the choice of words.
At the same time the inborn gift of style can be starved or stimulated.
After the first year or so of elementary work she met her pupil on equal terms, and they read and enjoyed good books together.
As we had never seen or heard of any such story as this before, we inquired of her where she read it; she replied, "I did not read it; it is my story for Mr. Anagnos's birthday."
As I had never read this story, or even heard of the book, I inquired of Helen if she knew anything about the matter, and found she did not.
She was utterly unable to recall either the name of the story or the book.
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.
Every year Santa Claus takes a journey over the world in a sleigh drawn by a strong and rapid steed called "Rudolph."
At length every jar and vase was cracked or broken, and the precious stones they contained were melting, too, and running in little streams over the trees and bushes of the forest.
Soon after its appearance in print I was pained to learn, through the Goodson Gazette, that a portion of the story (eight or nine passages) is either a reproduction or adaptation of Miss Margaret Canby's "Frost Fairies."
I hasten to assure you that Helen could not have received any idea of the story from any of her relations or friends here, none of whom can communicate with her readily enough to impress her with the details of a story of that character.
Thus it is that any child may be taught to use correct English by not being allowed to read or hear any other kind.
The deaf child who has only the sign language of De l'Epee is an intellectual Philip Nolan, an alien from all races, and his thoughts are not the thoughts of an Englishman, or a Frenchman, or a Spaniard.
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.
I do not know whether the difference or the similarity in phrasing between the child's version and the woman's is the more remarkable.
At times Miss Keller seemed to lack flexibility, her thoughts ran in set phrases which she seemed to have no power to revise or turn over in new ways.
Then came the work in college--original theme writing with new ideals of composition or at least new methods of suggesting those ideals.
They are regarded generally as far more appropriate in books and in public discourses than in the parlor or at the table.
To be sure, I take the keenest interest in everything that concerns those who surround me; it is this very interest which makes it so difficult for me to carry on a conversation with some people who will not talk or say what they think, but I should not be sorry to find more friends ready to talk with me now and then about the wonderful things I read.
I am too grateful for all these blessings to wish for more from princes, or from the gods.
I wake terror-stricken with the words ringing in my ears, "An answer or your life!"
I would wake with a start or struggle frantically to escape from my tormentor.
Look at the teamster on the highway, wending to market by day or night; does any divinity stir within him?
No way of thinking or doing, however ancient, can be trusted without proof.
No doubt, many of my townsmen have met me returning from this enterprise, farmers starting for Boston in the twilight, or woodchoppers going to their work.
Let him who has work to do recollect that the object of clothing is, first, to retain the vital heat, and secondly, in this state of society, to cover nakedness, and he may judge how much of any necessary or important work may be accomplished without adding to his wardrobe.
Kings and queens who wear a suit but once, though made by some tailor or dressmaker to their majesties, cannot know the comfort of wearing a suit that fits.
I sometimes try my acquaintances by such tests as this--Who could wear a patch, or two extra seams only, over the knee?
All men want, not something to do with, but something to do, or rather something to be.
On the whole, I think that it cannot be maintained that dressing has in this or any country risen to the dignity of an art.
We are amused at beholding the costume of Henry VIII, or Queen Elizabeth, as much as if it was that of the King and Queen of the Cannibal Islands.
All costume off a man is pitiful or grotesque.
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.
The condition of the operatives is becoming every day more like that of the English; and it cannot be wondered at, since, as far as I have heard or observed, the principal object is, not that mankind may be well and honestly clad, but, unquestionably, that corporations may be enriched.
Man wanted a home, a place of warmth, or comfort, first of warmth, then the warmth of the affections.
Who does not remember the interest with which, when young, he looked at shelving rocks, or any approach to a cave?
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.
You could sit up as late as you pleased, and, whenever you got up, go abroad without any landlord or house-lord dogging you for rent.
Some I have seen, sixty or a hundred feet long and thirty feet broad....
What mean ye by saying that the poor ye have always with you, or that the fathers have eaten sour grapes, and the children's teeth are set on edge?
Granted that the majority are able at last either to own or hire the modern house with all its improvements.
Such too, to a greater or less extent, is the condition of the operatives of every denomination in England, which is the great workhouse of the world.
Or I could refer you to Ireland, which is marked as one of the white or enlightened spots on the map.
Or I could refer you to Ireland, which is marked as one of the white or enlightened spots on the map.
Why should not our furniture be as simple as the Arab's or the Indian's?
Or what if I were to allow--would it not be a singular allowance?--that our furniture should be more complex than the Arab's, in proportion as we are morally and intellectually his superiors!
He dwelt, as it were, in a tent in this world, and was either threading the valleys, or crossing the plains, or climbing the mountain-tops.
There is not a nail to hang a picture on, nor a shelf to receive the bust of a hero or a saint.
Are you one of the ninety-seven who fail, or the three who succeed?
In the course of three or four years, when the country became adapted to agriculture, they built themselves handsome houses, spending on them several thousands.
In such a neighborhood as this, boards and shingles, lime and bricks, are cheaper and more easily obtained than suitable caves, or whole logs, or bark in sufficient quantities, or even well-tempered clay or flat stones.
On the 1st of April it rained and melted the ice, and in the early part of the day, which was very foggy, I heard a stray goose groping about over the pond and cackling as if lost, or like the spirit of the fog.
Each stick was carefully mortised or tenoned by its stump, for I had borrowed other tools by this time.
One early thrush gave me a note or two as I drove along the woodland path.
What reasonable man ever supposed that ornaments were something outward and in the skin merely--that the tortoise got his spotted shell, or the shell-fish its mother-o'-pearl tints, by such a contract as the inhabitants of Broadway their Trinity Church?
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.
Better paint your house your own complexion; let it turn pale or blush for you.
Those conveniences which the student requires at Cambridge or elsewhere cost him or somebody else ten times as great a sacrifice of life as they would with proper management on both sides.
I think that it would be better than this, for the students, or those who desire to be benefited by it, even to lay the foundation themselves.
I do not mean that exactly, but I mean something which he might think a good deal like that; I mean that they should not play life, or study it merely, while the community supports them at this expensive game, but earnestly live it from beginning to end.
They are but improved means to an unimproved end, an end which it was already but too easy to arrive at; as railroads lead to Boston or New York.
You will in the meanwhile have earned your fare, and arrive there some time tomorrow, or possibly this evening, if you are lucky enough to get a job in season.
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?
This town is said to have the largest houses for oxen, cows, and horses hereabouts, and it is not behindhand in its public buildings; but there are very few halls for free worship or free speech in this county.
Genius is not a retainer to any emperor, nor is its material silver, or gold, or marble, except to a trifling extent.
As for the religion and love of art of the builders, it is much the same all the world over, whether the building be an Egyptian temple or the United States Bank.
Bread I at first made of pure Indian meal and salt, genuine hoe-cakes, which I baked before my fire out of doors on a shingle or the end of a stick of timber sawed off in building my house; but it was wont to get smoked and to have a piny flavor.
Finally, as for salt, that grossest of groceries, to obtain this might be a fit occasion for a visit to the seashore, or, if I did without it altogether, I should probably drink the less water.
The human race is interested in these experiments, though a few old women who are incapacitated for them, or who own their thirds in mills, may be alarmed.
I think that the man is at a dead set who has got through a knot-hole or gateway where his sledge load of furniture cannot follow him.
The moon will not sour milk nor taint meat of mine, nor will the sun injure my furniture or fade my carpet; and if he is sometimes too warm a friend, I find it still better economy to retreat behind some curtain which nature has provided, than to add a single item to the details of housekeeping.
I also dreamed that I might gather the wild herbs, or carry evergreens to such villagers as loved to be reminded of the woods, even to the city, by hay-cart loads.
The youth may build or plant or sail, only let him not be hindered from doing that which he tells me he would like to do.
It is by a mathematical point only that we are wise, as the sailor or the fugitive slave keeps the polestar in his eye; but that is sufficient guidance for all our life.
It was easy to see that they could not long be companions or co-operate, since one would not operate at all.
All health and success does me good, however far off and withdrawn it may appear; all disease and failure helps to make me sad and does me evil, however much sympathy it may have with me or I with it.
If, then, we would indeed restore mankind by truly Indian, botanic, magnetic, or natural means, let us first be as simple and well as Nature ourselves, dispel the clouds which hang over our own brows, and take up a little life into our pores.
The nearest that I came to actual possession was when I bought the Hollowell place, and had begun to sort my seeds, and collected materials with which to make a wheelbarrow to carry it on or off with; but before the owner gave me a deed of it, his wife--every man has such a wife--changed her mind and wished to keep it, and he offered me ten dollars to release him.
Now, to speak the truth, I had but ten cents in the world, and it surpassed my arithmetic to tell, if I was that man who had ten cents, or who had a farm, or ten dollars, or all together.
I was in haste to buy it, before the proprietor finished getting out some rocks, cutting down the hollow apple trees, and grubbing up some young birches which had sprung up in the pasture, or, in short, had made any more of his improvements.
It makes but little difference whether you are committed to a farm or the county jail.
To my imagination it retained throughout the day more or less of this auroral character, reminding me of a certain house on a mountain which I had visited a year before.
But in other directions, even from this point, I could not see over or beyond the woods which surrounded me.
Though the view from my door was still more contracted, I did not feel crowded or confined in the least.
It matters not what the clocks say or the attitudes and labors of men.
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.
It is something to be able to paint a particular picture, or to carve a statue, and so to make a few objects beautiful; but it is far more glorious to carve and paint the very atmosphere and medium through which we look, which morally we can do.
An honest man has hardly need to count more than his ten fingers, or in extreme cases he may add his ten toes, and lump the rest.
I say, let your affairs be as two or three, and not a hundred or a thousand; instead of a million count half a dozen, and keep your accounts on your thumb-nail.
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.
The universe constantly and obediently answers to our conceptions; whether we travel fast or slow, the track is laid for us.
Be it life or death, we crave only reality.
In accumulating property for ourselves or our posterity, in founding a family or a state, or acquiring fame even, we are mortal; but in dealing with truth we are immortal, and need fear no change nor accident.
The oldest Egyptian or Hindoo philosopher raised a corner of the veil from the statue of the divinity; and still the trembling robe remains raised, and I gaze upon as fresh a glory as he did, since it was I in him that was then so bold, and it is he in me that now reviews the vision.
That time which we really improve, or which is improvable, is neither past, present, nor future.
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.
The student may read Homer or Ã†schylus in the Greek without danger of dissipation or luxuriousness, for it implies that he in some measure emulate their heroes, and consecrate morning hours to their pages.
The crowds of men who merely spoke the Greek and Latin tongues in the Middle Ages were not entitled by the accident of birth to read the works of genius written in those languages; for these were not written in that Greek or Latin which they knew, but in the select language of literature.
However much we may admire the orator's occasional bursts of eloquence, the noblest written words are commonly as far behind or above the fleeting spoken language as the firmament with its stars is behind the clouds.
It may be translated into every language, and not only be read but actually breathed from all human lips;--not be represented on canvas or in marble only, but be carved out of the breath of life itself.
Their authors are a natural and irresistible aristocracy in every society, and, more than kings or emperors, exert an influence on mankind.
This sort of gingerbread is baked daily and more sedulously than pure wheat or rye-and-Indian in almost every oven, and finds a surer market.
There is in this town, with a very few exceptions, no taste for the best or for very good books even in English literature, whose words all can read and spell.
This is about as much as the college-bred generally do or aspire to do, and they take an English paper for the purpose.
Or suppose he comes from reading a Greek or Latin classic in the original, whose praises are familiar even to the so-called illiterate; he will find nobody at all to speak to, but must keep silence about it.
Or suppose he comes from reading a Greek or Latin classic in the original, whose praises are familiar even to the so-called illiterate; he will find nobody at all to speak to, but must keep silence about it.
Or shall I hear the name of Plato and never read his book?
As if Plato were my townsman and I never saw him--my next neighbor and I never heard him speak or attended to the wisdom of his words.
We spend more on almost any article of bodily aliment or ailment than on our mental aliment.
Shall the world be confined to one Paris or one Oxford forever?
Will you be a reader, a student merely, or a seer?
There were times when I could not afford to sacrifice the bloom of the present moment to any work, whether of the head or hands.
As the sparrow had its trill, sitting on the hickory before my door, so had I my chuckle or suppressed warble which he might hear out of my nest.
The sumach (Rhus glabra) grew luxuriantly about the house, pushing up through the embankment which I had made, and growing five or six feet the first season.
The whistle of the locomotive penetrates my woods summer and winter, sounding like the scream of a hawk sailing over some farmer's yard, informing me that many restless city merchants are arriving within the circle of the town, or adventurous country traders from the other side.
Or perchance, at evening, I hear him in his stable blowing off the superfluous energy of the day, that he may calm his nerves and cool his liver and brain for a few hours of iron slumber.
I see these men every day go about their business with more or less courage and content, doing more even than they suspect, and perchance better employed than they could have consciously devised.
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.
I confess, that practically speaking, when I have learned a man's real disposition, I have no hopes of changing it for the better or worse in this state of existence.
Here is a hogshead of molasses or of brandy directed to John Smith, Cuttingsville, Vermont, some trader among the Green Mountains, who imports for the farmers near his clearing, and now perchance stands over his bulkhead and thinks of the last arrivals on the coast, how they may affect the price for him, telling his customers this moment, as he has told them twenty times before this morning, that he expects some by the next train of prime quality.
Methinks I hear them barking behind the Peterboro' Hills, or panting up the western slope of the Green Mountains.
For the rest of the long afternoon, perhaps, my meditations are interrupted only by the faint rattle of a carriage or team along the distant highway.
Sometimes, on Sundays, I heard the bells, the Lincoln, Acton, Bedford, or Concord bell, when the wind was favorable, a faint, sweet, and, as it were, natural melody, worth importing into the wilderness.
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.
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.
An old-fashioned man would have lost his senses or died of ennui before this.
They who come rarely to the woods take some little piece of the forest into their hands to play with by the way, which they leave, either intentionally or accidentally.
I could always tell if visitors had called in my absence, either by the bended twigs or grass, or the print of their shoes, and generally of what sex or age or quality they were by some slight trace left, as a flower dropped, or a bunch of grass plucked and thrown away, even as far off as the railroad, half a mile distant, or by the lingering odor of a cigar or pipe.
It is as much Asia or Africa as New England.
I have never felt lonesome, or in the least oppressed by a sense of solitude, but once, and that was a few weeks after I came to the woods, when, for an hour, I doubted if the near neighborhood of man was not essential to a serene and healthy life.
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.
And so I went home to my bed, and left him to pick his way through the darkness and the mud to Brighton--or Bright-town--which place he would reach some time in the morning.
Any prospect of awakening or coming to life to a dead man makes indifferent all times and places.
I may be either the driftwood in the stream, or Indra in the sky looking down on it.
A man thinking or working is always alone, let him be where he will.
I am no more lonely than the loon in the pond that laughs so loud, or than Walden Pond itself.
Not my or thy great-grandfather's, but our great-grandmother Nature's universal, vegetable, botanic medicines, by which she has kept herself young always, outlived so many old Parrs in her day, and fed her health with their decaying fatness.
You want room for your thoughts to get into sailing trim and run a course or two before they make their port.
He came along early, crossing my bean-field, though without anxiety or haste to get to his work, such as Yankees exhibit.
He cut his trees level and close to the ground, that the sprouts which came up afterward might be more vigorous and a sled might slide over the stumps; and instead of leaving a whole tree to support his corded wood, he would pare it away to a slender stake or splinter which you could break off with your hand at last.
Men of business, even farmers, thought only of solitude and employment, and of the great distance at which I dwelt from something or other; and though they said that they loved a ramble in the woods occasionally, it was obvious that they did not.
What shall I learn of beans or beans of me?
Mine was, as it were, the connecting link between wild and cultivated fields; as some states are civilized, and others half-civilized, and others savage or barbarous, so my field was, though not in a bad sense, a half-cultivated field.
Near at hand, upon the topmost spray of a birch, sings the brown thrasher--or red mavis, as some love to call him--all the morning, glad of your society, that would find out another farmer's field if yours were not here.
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.
But sometimes it was a really noble and inspiring strain that reached these woods, and the trumpet that sings of fame, and I felt as if I could spit a Mexican with a good relish--for why should we always stand for trifles?--and looked round for a woodchuck or a skunk to exercise my chivalry upon.
"The earth," he adds elsewhere, "especially if fresh, has a certain magnetism in it, by which it attracts the salt, power, or virtue (call it either) which gives it life, and is the logic of all the labor and stir we keep about it, to sustain us; all dungings and other sordid temperings being but the vicars succedaneous to this improvement."
Commonly men will only be brave as their fathers were brave, or timid.
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 hardly ever failed, when I rambled through the village, to see a row of such worthies, either sitting on a ladder sunning themselves, with their bodies inclined forward and their eyes glancing along the line this way and that, from time to time, with a voluptuous expression, or else leaning against a barn with their hands in their pockets, like caryatides, as if to prop it up.
These are the coarsest mills, in which all gossip is first rudely digested or cracked up before it is emptied into finer and more delicate hoppers within doors.
Signs were hung out on all sides to allure him; some to catch him by the appetite, as the tavern and victualling cellar; some by the fancy, as the dry goods store and the jeweller's; and others by the hair or the feet or the skirts, as the barber, the shoemaker, or the tailor.
For the most part I escaped wonderfully from these dangers, either by proceeding at once boldly and without deliberation to the goal, as is recommended to those who run the gauntlet, or by keeping my thoughts on high things, like Orpheus, who, "loudly singing the praises of the gods to his lyre, drowned the voices of the Sirens, and kept out of danger."
It was very pleasant, when I stayed late in town, to launch myself into the night, especially if it was dark and tempestuous, and set sail from some bright village parlor or lecture room, with a bag of rye or Indian meal upon my shoulder, for my snug harbor in the woods, having made all tight without and withdrawn under hatches with a merry crew of thoughts, leaving only my outer man at the helm, or even tying up the helm when it was plain sailing.
In our most trivial walks, we are constantly, though unconsciously, steering like pilots by certain well-known beacons and headlands, and if we go beyond our usual course we still carry in our minds the bearing of some neighboring cape; and not till we are completely lost, or turned round--for a man needs only to be turned round once with his eyes shut in this world to be lost--do we appreciate the vastness and strangeness of nature.
I never fastened my door night or day, though I was to be absent several days; not even when the next fall I spent a fortnight in the woods of Maine.
If you would know the flavor of huckleberries, ask the cowboy or the partridge.
Some consider blue "to be the color of pure water, whether liquid or solid."
The water is so transparent that the bottom can easily be discerned at the depth of twenty-five or thirty feet.
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.
The pond rises and falls, but whether regularly or not, and within what period, nobody knows, though, as usual, many pretend to know.
I can remember when it was a foot or two lower, and also when it was at least five feet higher, than when I lived by it.
The temperature of the Boiling Spring the same day was 45º, or the warmest of any water tried, though it is the coldest that I know of in summer, when, beside, shallow and stagnant surface water is not mingled with it.
You may see from a boat, in calm weather, near the sandy eastern shore, where the water is eight or ten feet deep, and also in some other parts of the pond, some circular heaps half a dozen feet in diameter by a foot in height, consisting of small stones less than a hen's egg in size, where all around is bare sand.
There is no rawness nor imperfection in its edge there, as where the axe has cleared a part, or a cultivated field abuts on it.
From a hilltop you can see a fish leap in almost any part; for not a pickerel or shiner picks an insect from this smooth surface but it manifestly disturbs the equilibrium of the whole lake.
In such a day, in September or October, Walden is a perfect forest mirror, set round with stones as precious to my eye as if fewer or rarer.
I see where the breeze dashes across it by the streaks or flakes of light.
In such transparent and seemingly bottomless water, reflecting the clouds, I seemed to be floating through the air as in a balloon, and their swimming impressed me as a kind of flight or hovering, as if they were a compact flock of birds passing just beneath my level on the right or left, their fins, like sails, set all around them.
The engineer does not forget at night, or his nature does not, that he has beheld this vision of serenity and purity once at least during the day.
Flint's, or Sandy Pond, in Lincoln, our greatest lake and inland sea, lies about a mile east of Walden.
Since the wood-cutters, and the railroad, and I myself have profaned Walden, perhaps the most attractive, if not the most beautiful, of all our lakes, the gem of the woods, is White Pond;--a poor name from its commonness, whether derived from the remarkable purity of its waters or the color of its sands.
In the spring of '49 I talked with the man who lives nearest the pond in Sudbury, who told me that it was he who got out this tree ten or fifteen years before.
As near as he could remember, it stood twelve or fifteen rods from the shore, where the water was thirty or forty feet deep.
Instead of the white lily, which requires mud, or the common sweet flag, the blue flag (Iris versicolor) grows thinly in the pure water, rising from the stony bottom all around the shore, where it is visited by hummingbirds in June; and the color both of its bluish blades and its flowers and especially their reflections, is in singular harmony with the glaucous water.
The birds with their plumage and their notes are in harmony with the flowers, but what youth or maiden conspires with the wild luxuriant beauty of Nature?
They stood and looked in my eye or pecked at my shoe significantly.
But the only true America is that country where you are at liberty to pursue such a mode of life as may enable you to do without these, and where the state does not endeavor to compel you to sustain the slavery and war and other superfluous expenses which directly or indirectly result from the use of such things.
For I purposely talked to him as if he were a philosopher, or desired to be one.
Men come tamely home at night only from the next field or street, where their household echoes haunt, and their life pines because it breathes its own breath over again; their shadows, morning and evening, reach farther than their daily steps.
We are most interested when science reports what those men already know practically or instinctively, for that alone is a true humanity, or account of human experience.
Commonly they did not think that they were lucky, or well paid for their time, unless they got a long string of fish, though they had the opportunity of seeing the pond all the while.
A little bread or a few potatoes would have done as well, with less trouble and filth.
Most men would feel shame if caught preparing with their own hands precisely such a dinner, whether of animal or vegetable food, as is every day prepared for them by others.
The true harvest of my daily life is somewhat as intangible and indescribable as the tints of morning or evening.
I believe that water is the only drink for a wise man; wine is not so noble a liquor; and think of dashing the hopes of a morning with a cup of warm coffee, or of an evening with a dish of tea!
It is the same whether a man eat, or drink, or cohabit, or sleep sensually.
Any nobleness begins at once to refine a man's features, any meanness or sensuality to imbrute them.
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.
Is it some ill-fed village hound yielding to the instinct of the chase? or the lost pig which is said to be in these woods, whose tracks I saw after the rain?
Or, if you choose to go farther, it will not be unwise, for I have found the increase of fair bait to be very nearly as the squares of the distances.
Shall I go to heaven or a-fishing?
I know not whether it was the dumps or a budding ecstasy.
You may even tread on them, or have your eyes on them for a minute, without discovering them.
Or I heard the peep of the young when I could not see the parent bird.
I watched a couple that were fast locked in each other's embraces, in a little sunny valley amid the chips, now at noonday prepared to fight till the sun went down, or life went out.
It was evident that their battle-cry was "Conquer or die."
Or perchance he was some Achilles, who had nourished his wrath apart, and had now come to avenge or rescue his Patroclus.
Or perchance he was some Achilles, who had nourished his wrath apart, and had now come to avenge or rescue his Patroclus.
For numbers and for carnage it was an Austerlitz or Dresden.
But now the kind October wind rises, rustling the leaves and rippling the surface of the water, so that no loon can be heard or seen, though his foes sweep the pond with spy-glasses, and make the woods resound with their discharges.
Already, by the first of September, I had seen two or three small maples turned scarlet across the pond, beneath where the white stems of three aspens diverged, at the point of a promontory, next the water.
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.
These forms are more agreeable to the fancy and imagination than fresco paintings or other the most expensive furniture.
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.
I might have got good limestone within a mile or two and burned it myself, if I had cared to do so.
The pond had in the meanwhile skimmed over in the shadiest and shallowest coves, some days or even weeks before the general freezing.
There may be thirty or forty of them to a square inch.
My employment out of doors now was to collect the dead wood in the forest, bringing it in my hands or on my shoulders, or sometimes trailing a dead pine tree under each arm to my shed.
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.
Stumps thirty or forty years old, at least, will still be sound at the core, though the sapwood has all become vegetable mould, as appears by the scales of the thick bark forming a ring level with the earth four or five inches distant from the heart.
I sometimes left a good fire when I went to take a walk in a winter afternoon; and when I returned, three or four hours afterward, it would be still alive and glowing.
Though mainly but a humble route to neighboring villages, or for the woodman's team, it once amused the traveller more than now by its variety, and lingered longer in his memory.
We thought it was far south over the woods--we who had run to fires before--barn, shop, or dwelling-house, or all together.
I had read of the potter's clay and wheel in Scripture, but it had never occurred to me that the pots we use were not such as had come down unbroken from those days, or grown on trees like gourds somewhere, and I was pleased to hear that so fictile an art was ever practiced in my neighborhood.
The skin of a woodchuck was freshly stretched upon the back of the house, a trophy of his last Waterloo; but no warm cap or mittens would he want more.
Sometimes the well dent is visible, where once a spring oozed; now dry and tearless grass; or it was covered deep--not to be discovered till some late day--with a flat stone under the sod, when the last of the race departed.
We waded so gently and reverently, or we pulled together so smoothly, that the fishes of thought were not scared from the stream, nor feared any angler on the bank, but came and went grandly, like the clouds which float through the western sky, and the mother-o'-pearl flocks which sometimes form and dissolve there.
The Vishnu Purana says, "The house-holder is to remain at eventide in his courtyard as long as it takes to milk a cow, or longer if he pleases, to await the arrival of a guest."
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.
A little flock of these titmice came daily to pick a dinner out of my woodpile, or the crumbs at my door, with faint flitting lisping notes, like the tinkling of icicles in the grass, or else with sprightly day day day, or more rarely, in spring-like days, a wiry summery phe-be from the woodside.
It is frequently covered up by drifts, and, it is said, "sometimes plunges from on wing into the soft snow, where it remains concealed for a day or two."
In dark winter mornings, or in short winter afternoons, I sometimes heard a pack of hounds threading all the woods with hounding cry and yelp, unable to resist the instinct of the chase, and the note of the hunting-horn at intervals, proving that man was in the rear.
They tell me that if the fox would remain in the bosom of the frozen earth he would be safe, or if he would run in a straight line away no foxhound could overtake him; but, having left his pursuers far behind, he stops to rest and listen till they come up, and when he runs he circles round to his old haunts, where the hunters await him.
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.
He would perhaps have placed alder branches over the narrow holes in the ice, which were four or five rods apart and an equal distance from the shore, and having fastened the end of the line to a stick to prevent its being pulled through, have passed the slack line over a twig of the alder, a foot or more above the ice, and tied a dry oak leaf to it, which, being pulled down, would show when he had a bite.
William Gilpin, who is so admirable in all that relates to landscapes, and usually so correct, standing at the head of Loch Fyne, in Scotland, which he describes as "a bay of salt water, sixty or seventy fathoms deep, four miles in breadth," and about fifty miles long, surrounded by mountains, observes, "If we could have seen it immediately after the diluvian crash, or whatever convulsion of nature occasioned it, before the waters gushed in, what a horrid chasm must it have appeared!
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.
Of course, a stream running through, or an island in the pond, would make the problem much more complicated.
Even when cleft or bored through it is not comprehended in its entireness.
Such a rule of the two diameters not only guides us toward the sun in the system and the heart in man, but draws lines through the length and breadth of the aggregate of a man's particular daily behaviors and waves of life into his coves and inlets, and where they intersect will be the height or depth of his character.
Also there is a bar across the entrance of our every cove, or particular inclination; each is our harbor for a season, in which we are detained and partially land-locked.
It is true, we are such poor navigators that our thoughts, for the most part, stand off and on upon a harborless coast, are conversant only with the bights of the bays of poesy, or steer for the public ports of entry, and go into the dry docks of science, where they merely refit for this world, and no natural currents concur to individualize them.
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.
When two legs of my level were on the shore and the third on the ice, and the sights were directed over the latter, a rise or fall of the ice of an almost infinitesimal amount made a difference of several feet on a tree across the pond.
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.
I did not know whether they had come to sow a crop of winter rye, or some other kind of grain recently introduced from Iceland.
Like the water, the Walden ice, seen near at hand, has a green tint, but at a distance is beautifully blue, and you can easily tell it from the white ice of the river, or the merely greenish ice of some ponds, a quarter of a mile off.
Perhaps I shall hear a solitary loon laugh as he dives and plumes himself, or shall see a lonely fisher in his boat, like a floating leaf, beholding his form reflected in the waves, where lately a hundred men securely labored.
This pond has no stream passing through it to melt or wear away the ice.
It commonly opens about the first of April, a week or ten days later than Flint's Pond and Fair Haven, beginning to melt on the north side and in the shallower parts where it began to freeze.
A thermometer thrust into the middle of Walden on the 6th of March, 1847, stood at 32º, or freezing point; near the shore at 33º; in the middle of Flint's Pond, the same day, at 32º; at a dozen rods from the shore, in shallow water, under ice a foot thick, at 36º.
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.
Ice has its grain as well as wood, and when a cake begins to rot or "comb," that is, assume the appearance of honeycomb, whatever may be its position, the air cells are at right angles with what was the water surface.
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.
Not seeing any ducks, he hid his boat on the north or back side of an island in the pond, and then concealed himself in the bushes on the south side, to await them.
As it flows it takes the forms of sappy leaves or vines, making heaps of pulpy sprays a foot or more in depth, and resembling, as you look down on them, the laciniated, lobed, and imbricated thalluses of some lichens; or you are reminded of coral, of leopard's paws or birds' feet, of brains or lungs or bowels, and excrements of all kinds.
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.
In the silicious matter which the water deposits is perhaps the bony system, and in the still finer soil and organic matter the fleshy fibre or cellular tissue.
The ear may be regarded, fancifully, as a lichen, Umbilicaria, on the side of the head, with its lobe or drop.
The lip--labium, from labor (?)--laps or lapses from the sides of the cavernous mouth.
It is an antique style, older than Greek or Egyptian.
They were wholly deaf to my arguments, or failed to perceive their force, and fell into a strain of invective that was irresistible.
It is unusually hard, owing to the recent severe but transient cold, and all watered or waved like a palace floor.
You may tell by looking at any twig of the forest, ay, at your very wood-pile, whether its winter is past or not.
The tenant of the air, it seemed related to the earth but by an egg hatched some time in the crevice of a crag;--or was its native nest made in the angle of a cloud, woven of the rainbow's trimmings and the sunset sky, and lined with some soft midsummer haze caught up from earth?
On the third or fourth of May I saw a loon in the pond, and during the first week of the month I heard the whip-poor-will, the brown thrasher, the veery, the wood pewee, the chewink, and other birds.
Is it the source of the Nile, or the Niger, or the Mississippi, or a Northwest Passage around this continent, that we would find?
I had not lived there a week before my feet wore a path from my door to the pond-side; and though it is five or six years since I trod it, it is still quite distinct.
Some are dinning in our ears that we Americans, and moderns generally, are intellectual dwarfs compared with the ancients, or even the Elizabethan men.
Let him step to the music which he hears, however measured or far away.
It is not important that he should mature as soon as an apple tree or an oak.
Do not trouble yourself much to get new things, whether clothes or friends.
But it is not the less necessary for this; for the people must have some complicated machinery or other, and hear its din, to satisfy that idea of government which they have.
Such command no more respect than men of straw or a lump of dirt.
We are accustomed to say, that the mass of men are unprepared; but improvement is slow, because the few are not materially wiser or better than the many.
All voting is a sort of gaming, like checkers or backgammon, with a slight moral tinge to it, a playing with right and wrong, with moral questions; and betting naturally accompanies it.
When the majority shall at length vote for the abolition of slavery, it will be because they are indifferent to slavery, or because there is but little slavery left to be abolished by their vote.
I came into this world, not chiefly to make this a good place to live in, but to live in it, be it good or bad.
You must hire or squat somewhere, and raise but a small crop, and eat that soon.
"Pay," it said, "or be locked up in the jail."
I do not hear of men being forced to have this way or that by masses of men.
When I meet a government which says to me, "Your money or your life," why should I be in haste to give it my money?
When they called for the vessels again, I was green enough to return what bread I had left; but my comrade seized it, and said that I should lay that up for lunch or dinner.
If they pay the tax from a mistaken interest in the individual taxed, to save his property, or prevent his going to jail, it is because they have not considered wisely how far they let their private feelings interfere with the public good.
But I think, again, This is no reason why I should do as they do, or permit others to suffer much greater pain of a different kind.
I do not wish to split hairs, to make fine distinctions, or set myself up as better than my neighbors.
If a man is thought-free, fancy-free, imagination-free, that which is not never for a long time appearing to be to him, unwise rulers or reformers cannot fatally interrupt him.
Associations formed elsewhere, springing from a feeling of humanity, or any other cause, have nothing whatever to do with it.
We love eloquence for its own sake, and not for any truth which it may utter, or any heroism it may inspire.
They have no genius or talent for comparatively humble questions of taxation and finance, commerce and manufacturers and agriculture.
You treat me like an invalid or a child.
Marry when you are old and good for nothing--or all that is good and noble in you will be lost.
Leading such a life I can't decide or think properly about anything.
It was light enough to see a long way in the deserted street and it seemed more like morning or evening than night.
Some eight or nine young men were crowding anxiously round an open window.
"At one draught, or he loses!" shouted a fourth.
"Go on, you must drink it all," said Anatole, giving Pierre the last glass, "or I won't let you go!"
"Take it right out, or they'll think I'm holding on," said Dolokhov.
The Englishman nodded, but gave no indication whether he intended to accept this challenge or not.
But mind you come to dinner or I shall be offended, ma chere!
Why, our mothers used to be married at twelve or thirteen.
And at your age what secrets can there be between Natasha and Boris, or between you two?
"My dear!" exclaimed his mother imploringly, again laying her hand on his arm as if that touch might soothe or rouse him.
Pierre was received as if he were a corpse or a leper.
Pierre shook his head and arms as if attacked by mosquitoes or bees.
"And it must seem to you," said Boris flushing slightly, but not changing his tone or attitude, "it must seem to you that everyone is trying to get something out of the rich man?"
But I just wish to say, to avoid misunderstandings, that you are quite mistaken if you reckon me or my mother among such people.
"Well, my boy, you'll get along wherever you go--foot or horse--that I'll warrant," said Shinshin, patting him on the shoulder and taking his feet off the sofa.
You must look for husbands for them whether you like it or not....
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.
"Hungarian"... or "Rhine wine" as the case might be.
You may die in your bed or God may spare you in a battle, replied Marya Dmitrievna's deep voice, which easily carried the whole length of the table.
A day or two, then bliss unspoilt, But oh! till then I cannot live!...
Natasha kept pulling everyone by sleeve or dress, urging them to "look at Papa!" though as it was they never took their eyes off the couple.
This might have been taken as an expression of sorrow and devotion, or of weariness and hope of resting before long.
I know, I know how hard it is for you to talk or think of such matters.
Prince Vasili looked questioningly at the princess, but could not make out whether she was considering what he had just said or whether she was simply looking at him.
The only question is, has it been destroyed or not?
"Do you or do you not know where that will is?" insisted Prince Vasili, his cheeks twitching more than ever.
"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.
Go and take something, my poor Anna Mikhaylovna, or you will not hold out.
But Anna Mikhaylovna went forward a step or two to keep her hold on the portfolio, and changed her grip.
He was himself always occupied: writing his memoirs, solving problems in higher mathematics, turning snuffboxes on a lathe, working in the garden, or superintending the building that was always going on at his estate.
You at least must tackle him properly, or else if he goes on like this he'll soon have us, too, for his subjects!
The prince, who generally kept very strictly to social distinctions and rarely admitted even important government officials to his table, had unexpectedly selected Michael Ivanovich (who always went into a corner to blow his nose on his checked handkerchief) to illustrate the theory that all men are equals, and had more than once impressed on his daughter that Michael Ivanovich was "not a whit worse than you or I."
The little princess did not, or did not wish to, hear his words.
No, lad, either you fellows have all lost your wits, or I have outlived mine.
When starting on a journey or changing their mode of life, men capable of reflection are generally in a serious frame of mind.
"He always was rather harsh; and now I should think he's getting very trying," said Prince Andrew, apparently speaking lightly of their father in order to puzzle or test his sister.
I do not think I have complained of my wife to you, Masha, or blamed her.
Or--go and wake and I'll come in a moment.
Though the words of the order were not clear to the regimental commander, and the question arose whether the troops were to be in marching order or not, it was decided at a consultation between the battalion commanders to present the regiment in parade order, on the principle that it is always better to "bow too low than not bow low enough."
Has he been degraded into a field marshal, or into a soldier?
They might call a halt here or we'll have to do another four miles without eating.
And Kutuzov smiled in a way that seemed to say, You are quite at liberty not to believe me and I don't even care whether you do or not, but you have no grounds for telling me so.
Don't you understand that either we are officers serving our Tsar and our country, rejoicing in the successes and grieving at the misfortunes of our common cause, or we are merely lackeys who care nothing for their master's business.
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...
You may take offense or not but I always stick to mother truth.
Illness or not, he'd better not cwoss my path.
Sometimes through the monotonous waves of men, like a fleck of white foam on the waves of the Enns, an officer, in a cloak and with a type of face different from that of the men, squeezed his way along; sometimes like a chip of wood whirling in the river, an hussar on foot, an orderly, or a townsman was carried through the waves of infantry; and sometimes like a log floating down the river, an officers' or company's baggage wagon, piled high, leather covered, and hemmed in on all sides, moved across the bridge.
"Colonel," interrupted the officer of the suite, "You must be quick or the enemy will bring up his guns to use grapeshot."
But Bogdanich, without looking at or recognizing Rostov, shouted to him:
Will they burn the bridge or not?
Will they get there and fire the bridge or will the French get within grapeshot range and wipe them out?
Reviewing his impressions of the recent battle, picturing pleasantly to himself the impression his news of a victory would create, or recalling the send-off given him by the commander-in-chief and his fellow officers, Prince Andrew was galloping along in a post chaise enjoying the feelings of a man who has at length begun to attain a long-desired happiness.
In each of the long German carts six or more pale, dirty, bandaged men were being jolted over the stony road.
What the diplomatic matter might be he did not care, but it gave him great pleasure to prepare a circular, memorandum, or report, skillfully, pointedly, and elegantly.
Because not everything happens as one expects or with the smoothness of a parade.
Even I, a poor secretary of the Russian Embassy, do not feel any need in token of my joy to give my Franz a thaler, or let him go with his Liebchen to the Prater...
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!
Why, the French have crossed the bridge that Auersperg was defending, and the bridge was not blown up: so Murat is now rushing along the road to Brunn and will be here in a day or two.
Nothing is truer or sadder.
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."
All along the sides of the road fallen horses were to be seen, some flayed, some not, and broken-down carts beside which solitary soldiers sat waiting for something, and again soldiers straggling from their companies, crowds of whom set off to the neighboring villages, or returned from them dragging sheep, fowls, hay, and bulging sacks.
At each ascent or descent of the road the crowds were yet denser and the din of shouting more incessant.
Go back or I'll flatten you into a pancake, repeated he.
You won't be able to find either your baggage or anything else now, Prince.
Bagration replied that he was not authorized either to accept or refuse a truce and sent his adjutant to Kutuzov to report the offer he had received.
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.
Soldiers scattered over the whole place were dragging logs and brushwood and were building shelters with merry chatter and laughter; around the fires sat others, dressed and undressed, drying their shirts and leg bands or mending boots or overcoats and crowding round the boilers and porridge cookers.
Another, a younger voice, interrupted him: "Afraid or not, you can't escape it anyhow."
Prince Andrew listened attentively to Bagration's colloquies with the commanding officers and the orders he gave them and, to his surprise, found that no orders were really given, but that Prince Bagration tried to make it appear that everything done by necessity, by accident, or by the will of subordinate commanders was done, if not by his direct command, at least in accord with his intentions.
A bullet had evidently hit him in the throat or mouth.
All were conscious of this unseen line, and the question whether they would cross it or not, and how they would cross it, agitated them all.
For more than ten seconds he stood not moving from the spot or realizing the situation.
Would this disorderly crowd of soldiers attend to the voice of their commander, or would they, disregarding him, continue their flight?
The man was wearing a bluish coat of broadcloth, he had no knapsack or cap, his head was bandaged, and over his shoulder a French munition pouch was slung.
Amid the smoke, deafened by the incessant reports which always made him jump, Tushin not taking his pipe from his mouth ran from gun to gun, now aiming, now counting the charges, now giving orders about replacing dead or wounded horses and harnessing fresh ones, and shouting in his feeble voice, so high pitched and irresolute.
Only when a man was killed or wounded did he frown and turn away from the sight, shouting angrily at the men who, as is always the case, hesitated about lifting the injured or dead.
Owing to the terrible uproar and the necessity for concentration and activity, Tushin did not experience the slightest unpleasant sense of fear, and the thought that he might be killed or badly wounded never occurred to him.
Though he thought of everything, considered everything, and did everything the best of officers could do in his position, he was in a state akin to feverish delirium or drunkenness.
Captain Tushin, having given orders to his company, sent a soldier to find a dressing station or a doctor for the cadet, and sat down by a bonfire the soldiers had kindled on the road.
Could one possibly make out amid all that confusion what did or did not happen?
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.
He was always hearing such words as: "With your remarkable kindness," or, "With your excellent heart," "You are yourself so honorable Count," or, "Were he as clever as you," and so on, till he began sincerely to believe in his own exceptional kindness and extraordinary intelligence, the more so as in the depth of his heart it had always seemed to him that he really was very kind and intelligent.
Besides, he had no time to ask himself whether these people were sincere or not.
I will invite two or three people, and if he does not understand what he ought to do then it will be my affair--yes, my affair.
Was I mistaken before, or am I mistaken now?
Pierre knew that everyone was waiting for him to say a word and cross a certain line, and he knew that sooner or later he would step across it, but an incomprehensible terror seized him at the thought of that dreadful step.
He did not see, hear, or understand anything clearly.
Or he would suddenly feel ashamed of he knew not what.
"How can one talk or think of such trifles?" thought Pierre.
Whether he was in a bad temper because Prince Vasili was coming, or whether his being in a bad temper made him specially annoyed at Prince Vasili's visit, he was in a bad temper, and in the morning Tikhon had already advised the architect not to go to the prince with his report.
"Fool... or dummy!" he muttered.
Desire nothing for thyself, seek nothing, be not anxious or envious.
Anatole was not quick-witted, nor ready or eloquent in conversation, but he had the faculty, so invaluable in society, of composure and imperturbable self-possession.
Prince Vasili had brought his son with the evident intention of proposing, and today or tomorrow he would probably ask for an answer.
Anatole is no genius, but he is an honest, goodhearted lad; an excellent son or kinsman.
Of course, she, a handsome young woman without any definite position, without relations or even a country, did not intend to devote her life to serving Prince Bolkonski, to reading aloud to him and being friends with Princess Mary.
The little princess, like an old war horse that hears the trumpet, unconsciously and quite forgetting her condition, prepared for the familiar gallop of coquetry, without any ulterior motive or any struggle, but with naive and lighthearted gaiety.
She could not lie either on her face or on her side.
He receives his orders and will marry you or anybody; but you are free to choose....
Go to your room, think it over, and come back in an hour and tell me in his presence: yes or no.
Yes or no, yes or no, yes or no! he still shouted when the princess, as if lost in a fog, had already staggered out of the study.
Do you wish or not to be Prince Anatole Kuragin's wife?
Reply: yes or no," he shouted, "and then I shall reserve the right to state my opinion also.
How strange, how extraordinary, how joyful it seemed, that her son, the scarcely perceptible motion of whose tiny limbs she had felt twenty years ago within her, that son about whom she used to have quarrels with the too indulgent count, that son who had first learned to say "pear" and then "granny," that this son should now be away in a foreign land amid strange surroundings, a manly warrior doing some kind of man's work of his own, without help or guidance.
About some Denisov or other, though he himself, I dare say, is braver than any of them.
Should he go to headquarters next day and challenge that affected adjutant, or really let the matter drop, was the question that worried him all the way.
Is it worth thinking or speaking of it at such a moment?
In spite of this, or rather because of it, next day, November 15, after dinner he again went to Olmutz and, entering the house occupied by Kutuzov, asked for Bolkonski.
But it was the first time he had heard Weyrother's name, or even the term "dispositions."
We shall see whether he cannot attach you to himself or find a place for you somewhere nearer the sun.
My brother knows him, he's dined with him--the present Emperor--more than once in Paris, and tells me he never met a more cunning or subtle diplomatist--you know, a combination of French adroitness and Italian play-acting!
This short man nodded to Dolgorukov as to an intimate friend and stared at Prince Andrew with cool intensity, walking straight toward him and evidently expecting him to bow or to step out of his way.
Next day, the army began its campaign, and up to the very battle of Austerlitz, Boris was unable to see either Prince Andrew or Dolgorukov again and remained for a while with the Ismaylov regiment.
The day was bright and sunny after a sharp night frost, and the cheerful glitter of that autumn day was in keeping with the news of victory which was conveyed, not only by the tales of those who had taken part in it, but also by the joyful expression on the faces of soldiers, officers, generals, and adjutants, as they passed Rostov going or coming.
Rostov did not know or remember how he ran to his place and mounted.
"Despite my great respect for old Kutuzov," he continued, "we should be a nice set of fellows if we were to wait about and so give him a chance to escape, or to trick us, now that we certainly have him in our hands!
Whether tomorrow brings victory or defeat, the glory of our Russian arms is secure.
Whether he was pulling it or being pushed by it he did not know, but rushed along at headlong speed with no time to consider what this movement might lead to.
If at first the members of the council thought that Kutuzov was pretending to sleep, the sounds his nose emitted during the reading that followed proved that the commander-in-chief at that moment was absorbed by a far more serious matter than a desire to show his contempt for the dispositions or anything else--he was engaged in satisfying the irresistible human need for sleep.
When the reading which lasted more than an hour was over, Langeron again brought his snuffbox to rest and, without looking at Weyrother or at anyone in particular, began to say how difficult it was to carry out such a plan in which the enemy's position was assumed to be known, whereas it was perhaps not known, since the enemy was in movement.
Either he is retreating, which is the only thing we need fear, or he is changing his position.
"Gentlemen, the dispositions for tomorrow--or rather for today, for it is past midnight--cannot now be altered," said he.
Whether Dolgorukov and Weyrother, or Kutuzov, Langeron, and the others who did not approve of the plan of attack, were right--he did not know.
If before that you are not ten times wounded, killed, or betrayed, well... what then?...
On this knoll there was a white patch that Rostov could not at all make out: was it a glade in the wood lit up by the moon, or some unmelted snow, or some white houses?
"It may be he or it may be nothing," muttered the hussar.
Having descended the hill at a trot, he no longer saw either our own or the enemy's fires, but heard the shouting of the French more loudly and distinctly.
Having come out onto the road he reined in his horse, hesitating whether to ride along it or cross it and ride over the black field up the hillside.
The officers were hurriedly drinking tea and breakfasting, the soldiers, munching biscuit and beating a tattoo with their feet to warm themselves, gathering round the fires throwing into the flames the remains of sheds, chairs, tables, wheels, tubs, and everything that they did not want or could not carry away with them.
The column moved forward without knowing where and unable, from the masses around them, the smoke and the increasing fog, to see either the place they were leaving or that to which they were going.
Or have we already come up against the French?
They were in a hurry enough to start us, and now here we stand in the middle of a field without rhyme or reason.
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.
He was firmly convinced that this was the day of his Toulon, or his bridge of Arcola.
These sights and sounds had no depressing or intimidating effect on him; on the contrary, they stimulated his energy and determination.
Rostov, fearing to be crushed or swept into the attack on the French, galloped along the front as hard as his horse could go, but still was not in time to avoid them.
At that moment, as the Horse Guards, having passed him, disappeared in the smoke, Rostov hesitated whether to gallop after them or to go where he was sent.
"But that's the Grand Duke, and I want the commander-in-chief or the Emperor," said Rostov, and was about to spur his horse.
Having left that soldier who was evidently drunk, Rostov stopped the horse of a batman or groom of some important personage and began to question him.
Rostov rode on at a footpace not knowing why or to whom he was now going.
What was he now to say to the Tsar or to Kutuzov, even if they were alive and unwounded?
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.
No one whom Rostov asked could tell him where the Emperor or Kutuzov was.
Better die a thousand times than risk receiving an unkind look or bad opinion from him, Rostov decided; and sorrowfully and with a heart full despair he rode away, continually looking back at the Tsar, who still remained in the same attitude of indecision.
The ice bore him but it swayed and creaked, and it was plain that it would give way not only under a cannon or a crowd, but very soon even under his weight alone.
Nobody gave him a look or thought of raising him.
Go on! innumerable voices suddenly shouted after the ball had struck the general, the men themselves not knowing what, or why, they were shouting.
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 old countess, not letting go of his hand and kissing it every moment, sat beside him: the rest, crowding round him, watched every movement, word, or look of his, never taking their blissfully adoring eyes off him.
"Or is it yours?" he said, addressing the black-mustached Denisov with servile deference.
I don't think about him or anyone else, and I don't want anything of the kind.
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.
Bagration appeared in the doorway of the anteroom without hat or sword, which, in accord with the club custom, he had given up to the hall porter.
Someone obligingly took the dish from Bagration (or he would, it seemed, have held it till evening and have gone in to dinner with it) and drew his attention to the verses.
Involuntarily recalling his wife's past and her relations with Dolokhov, Pierre saw clearly that what was said in the letter might be true, or might at least seem to be true had it not referred to his wife.
He remembered the expression Dolokhov's face assumed in his moments of cruelty, as when tying the policeman to the bear and dropping them into the water, or when he challenged a man to a duel without any reason, or shot a post-boy's horse with a pistol.
When the Emperor's health was drunk, Pierre, lost in thought, did not rise or lift his glass.
Pierre, with downcast eyes, drank out of his glass without looking at Dolokhov or answering him.
Either I shall kill him, or he will hit me in the head, or elbow, or knee.
To the great regret of myself and of the whole army it is still uncertain whether he is alive or not.
The princess did not fall down or faint.
Only when footsteps or voices were heard did they look at one another, the princess anxious and inquiring, the nurse encouraging.
After a while he re-entered it as if to snuff the candles, and, seeing the prince was lying on the sofa, looked at him, noticed his perturbed face, shook his head, and going up to him silently kissed him on the shoulder and left the room without snuffing the candles or saying why he had entered.
Nurse Savishna, knitting in hand, was telling in low tones, scarcely hearing or understanding her own words, what she had told hundreds of times before: how the late princess had given birth to Princess Mary in Kishenev with only a Moldavian peasant woman to help instead of a midwife.
His coming had nothing to do with her sufferings or with their relief.
Or is the baby born?
Have these people no feeling, or honor?
I have an adored, a priceless mother, and two or three friends--you among them--and as for the rest I only care about them in so far as they are harmful or useful.
With scarcely any exceptions they all were, or seemed to be, pretty--so rapturous were their smiles and so sparkling their eyes.
For two days after that Rostov did not see Dolokhov at his own or at Dolokhov's home: on the third day he received a note from him:
"I called once or twice at your house," said Rostov, reddening.
Or are you afraid to play with me?
To try his luck or the certainty?
Please place your money on the cards or I may get muddled in the reckoning.
Or are you afraid of me? he asked again.
Much depended on Rostov's winning or losing on that seven of hearts.
Dolokhov was no longer listening to stories or telling them, but followed every movement of Rostov's hands and occasionally ran his eyes over the score against him.
The knave, double or quits... it can't be!...
Have I killed anyone, or insulted or wished harm to anyone?
I only want to see whether you will let me win this ten, or beat it.
But, though she noticed it, she was herself in such high spirits at that moment, so far from sorrow, sadness, or self-reproach, that she purposely deceived herself as young people often do.
At the Torzhok post station, either there were no horses or the postmaster would not supply them.
Without changing his careless attitude, Pierre looked at them over his spectacles unable to understand what they wanted or how they could go on living without having solved the problems that so absorbed him.
It was as if the thread of the chief screw which held his life together were stripped, so that the screw could not get in or out, but went on turning uselessly in the same place.
Is this good or bad?
As if that money could add a hair's breadth to happiness or peace of mind.
The stranger sat without stirring, either resting or, as it seemed to Pierre, sunk in profound and calm meditation.
His servant was also a yellow, wrinkled old man, without beard or mustache, evidently not because he was shaven but because they had never grown.
Pierre listened with swelling heart, gazing into the Mason's face with shining eyes, not interrupting or questioning him, but believing with his whole soul what the stranger said.
Once or twice he shrugged his shoulders and raised his hand to the kerchief, as if wishing to take it off, but let it drop again.
But since this mystery is of such a nature that nobody can know or use it unless he be prepared by long and diligent self-purification, not everyone can hope to attain it quickly.
Let us write her a letter at once, and she'll come here and all will be explained, or else, my dear boy, let me tell you it's quite likely you'll have to suffer for it.
He was not rich, but would spend his last groat to be better dressed than others, and would rather deprive himself of many pleasures than allow himself to be seen in a shabby equipage or appear in the streets of Petersburg in an old uniform.
Boris smiled circumspectly, so that it might be taken as ironical or appreciative according to the way the joke was received.
We civilians, as you know, have a very bad way of deciding whether a battle was won or lost.
Our aim is no longer, as it should be, to avoid or attack the enemy, but solely to avoid General Buxhowden who by right of seniority should be our chief.
So the first task Pierre had to face was one for which he had very little aptitude or inclination--practical business.
He felt that these consultations were detached from real affairs and did not link up with them or make them move.
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.
The latter began to feel that it was in bad taste to speak of his enthusiasms, dreams, and hopes of happiness or goodness, in Prince Andrew's presence.
What error or evil can there be in my wishing to do good, and even doing a little--though I did very little and did it very badly?
But as I see it, physical labor is as essential to him, as much a condition of his existence, as mental activity is to you or me.
I go to bed after two in the morning, thoughts come and I can't sleep but toss about till dawn, because I think and can't help thinking, just as he can't help plowing and mowing; if he didn't, he would go to the drink shop or fall ill.
If they are beaten, flogged, or sent to Siberia, I don't suppose they are any the worse off.
In the hospitals, death was so certain that soldiers suffering from fever, or the swelling that came from bad food, preferred to remain on duty, and hardly able to drag their legs went to the front rather than to the hospitals.
As usual, in their spare time, they lit bonfires, steamed themselves before them naked; smoked, picked out and baked sprouting rotten potatoes, told and listened to stories of Potemkin's and Suvorov's campaigns, or to legends of Alesha the Sly, or the priest's laborer Mikolka.
Several bandaged soldiers, with pale swollen faces, were sitting or walking about in the sunshine in the yard.
It's well that the charitable Prussian ladies send us two pounds of coffee and some lint each month or we should be lost! he laughed.
There were beds in these rooms and the sick and wounded officers were lying or sitting on them.
Rostov even noticed that Denisov did not like to be reminded of the regiment, or in general of that other free life which was going on outside the hospital.
On approaching Alexander he raised his hat, and as he did so, Rostov, with his cavalryman's eye, could not help noticing that Napoleon did not sit well or firmly in the saddle.
We cannot comprehend either the Emperor's aims or his actions!
He had in the highest degree a practical tenacity which Pierre lacked, and without fuss or strain on his part this set things going.
Only the dead-looking evergreen firs dotted about in the forest, and this oak, refused to yield to the charm of spring or notice either the spring or the sunshine.
Look at those cramped dead firs, ever the same, and at me too, sticking out my broken and barked fingers just where they have grown, whether from my back or my sides: as they have grown so I stand, and I do not believe in your hopes and your lies.
During this journey he, as it were, considered his life afresh and arrived at his old conclusion, restful in its hopelessness: that it was not for him to begin anything anew--but that he must live out his life, content to do no harm, and not disturbing himself or desiring anything.
Not of the military regulations or of the arrangement of the Ryazan serfs' quitrents.
He did not even remember how formerly, on the strength of similar wretched logical arguments, it had seemed obvious that he would be degrading himself if he now, after the lessons he had had in life, allowed himself to believe in the possibility of being useful and in the possibility of happiness or love.
Speranski went on to say that honor, l'honneur, cannot be upheld by privileges harmful to the service; that honor, l'honneur, is either a negative concept of not doing what is blameworthy or it is a source of emulation in pursuit of commendation and rewards, which recognize it.
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.
On returning home in the evening he would jot down in his notebook four or five necessary calls or appointments for certain hours.
He did nothing, did not even think or find time to think, but only talked, and talked successfully, of what he had thought while in the country.
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.
Only the vicissitudes of life can show us its vanity and develop our innate love of death or of rebirth to a new life.
We were sitting or lying on the floor.
"You see," said Berg to his comrade, whom he called "friend" only because he knew that everyone has friends, "you see, I have considered it all, and should not marry if I had not thought it all out or if it were in any way unsuitable.
He did not know at all how much he had, what his debts amounted to, or what dowry he could give Vera.
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.
"Or at least twenty thousand, Count," he added, "and then a note of hand for only sixty thousand."
But in the secret depths of her soul the question whether her engagement to Boris was a jest or an important, binding promise tormented her.
But he went with the firm intention of letting her and her parents feel that the childish relations between himself and Natasha could not be binding either on her or on him.
In her behavior to her mother Natasha seemed rough, but she was so sensitive and tactful that however she clasped her mother she always managed to do it without hurting her or making her feel uncomfortable or displeased.
And he's hand in glove with Speranski, writing some project or other.
More than half the ladies already had partners and were taking up, or preparing to take up, their positions for the polonaise.
She stood with her slender arms hanging down, her scarcely defined bosom rising and falling regularly, and with bated breath and glittering, frightened eyes gazed straight before her, evidently prepared for the height of joy or misery.
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?
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 did not listen to or look at Vera, who was telling her something about her own green dress.
That tremulous expression on Natasha's face, prepared either for despair or rapture, suddenly brightened into a happy, grateful, childlike smile.
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.
But either from fatigue or want of sleep he was ill-disposed for work and could get nothing done.
A very simple thought occurred to him: What does it matter to me or to Bitski what the Emperor was pleased to say at the Council?
Can all that make me any happier or better?
Berg explained so clearly why he wanted to collect at his house a small but select company, and why this would give him pleasure, and why though he grudged spending money on cards or anything harmful, he was prepared to run into some expense for the sake of good society--that Pierre could not refuse, and promised to come.
He could not comprehend how anyone could wish to alter his life or introduce anything new into it, when his own life was already ending.
In the first place the marriage was not a brilliant one as regards birth, wealth, or rank.
Sometimes the old count would come up, kiss Prince Andrew, and ask his advice about Petya's education or Nicholas' service.
Whatever was spoken of he would bring round to the superstitiousness of old maids, or the petting and spoiling of children.
Or, turning to Mademoiselle Bourienne, he would ask her in Princess Mary's presence how she liked our village priests and icons and would joke about them.
Could he be to blame toward her, or could her father, whom she knew loved her in spite of it all, be unjust?
What had she to do with the justice or injustice of other people?
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.
I shall come to a place and pray there, and before having time to get used to it or getting to love it, I shall go farther.
He felt that sooner or later he would have to re-enter that whirlpool of life, with its embarrassments and affairs to be straightened out, its accounts with stewards, quarrels, and intrigues, its ties, society, and with Sonya's love and his promise to her.
Though Daniel was not a big man, to see him in a room was like seeing a horse or a bear on the floor among the furniture and surroundings of human life.
But just as Daniel was about to go Natasha came in with rapid steps, not having done up her hair or finished dressing and with her old nurse's big shawl wrapped round her.
As soon as they had passed the fence they all spread out evenly and quietly, without noise or talk, along the road and field leading to the Otradnoe covert.
The whine of a straggling hound could be heard.
"I know a thing or two myself!" said Nastasya Ivanovna.
Simon did not finish, for on the still air he had distinctly caught the music of the hunt with only two or three hounds giving tongue.
The height of happiness was reached--and so simply, without warning, or noise, or display, that Rostov could not believe his eyes and remained in doubt for over a second.
They stood or lay not seeing the wolf or understanding the situation.
Shall I loose them or not?
Karay, his hair bristling, and probably bruised or wounded, climbed with difficulty out of the gully.
Or being upset because someone else's borzoi and not mine catches something.
He spoke without himself knowing whom to or what about.
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.
Natasha ate of everything and thought she had never seen or eaten such buttermilk cakes, such aromatic jam, such honey-and-nut sweets, or such a chicken anywhere.
I can't make head or tail of it.
Is he glad of it or not?
It is as if he thought my Bolkonski would not approve of or understand our gaiety.
These were all their own people who had settled down in the house almost as members of the family, or persons who were, it seemed, obliged to live in the count's house.
The count moved in his affairs as in a huge net, trying not to believe that he was entangled but becoming more and more so at every step, and feeling too feeble to break the meshes or to set to work carefully and patiently to disentangle them.
No one in the house sent people about or gave them as much trouble as Natasha did.
She seemed to be trying whether any of them would get angry or sulky with her; but the serfs fulfilled no one's orders so readily as they did hers.
The governesses were discussing whether it was cheaper to live in Moscow or Odessa.
She sat awhile, wondering what the meaning of it all having happened before could be, and without solving this problem, or at all regretting not having done so, she again passed in fancy to the time when she was with him and he was looking at her with a lover's eyes.
Was that real or not?
Dimmler had finished the piece but still sat softly running his fingers over the strings, evidently uncertain whether to stop or to play something else.
Whether they were playing the ring and string game or the ruble game or talking as now, Nicholas did not leave Sonya's side, and gazed at her with quite new eyes.
She sat a long time looking at the receding line of candles reflected in the glasses and expecting (from tales she had heard) to see a coffin, or him, Prince Andrew, in that last dim, indistinctly outlined square.
But ready as she was to take the smallest speck for the image of a man or of a coffin, she saw nothing.
She did not wish to disappoint either Dunyasha or Natasha, but it was hard to sit still.
Besides who can tell whether I saw anything or not? flashed through Sonya's mind.
Self- sacrifice was her most cherished idea but in this case she could not see what she ought to sacrifice, or for whom.
There was never a dinner or soiree at the club without him.
Sometimes he consoled himself with the thought that he was only living this life temporarily; but then he was shocked by the thought of how many, like himself, had entered that life and that club temporarily, with all their teeth and hair, and had only left it when not a single tooth or hair remained.
Only after emptying a bottle or two did he feel dimly that the terribly tangled skein of life which previously had terrified him was not as dreadful as he had thought.
All were silent or talked in low tones.
Prince Bolkonski listened as a presiding judge receives a report, only now and then, silently or by a brief word, showing that he took heed of what was being reported to him.
Incidents were related evidently confirming the opinion that everything was going from bad to worse, but whether telling a story or giving an opinion the speaker always stopped, or was stopped, at the point beyond which his criticism might touch the sovereign himself.
He shifts the Dukes about as I might move my serfs from Bald Hills to Bogucharovo or my Ryazan estates.
We ought not to fight either for or against Austria.
At present he is hesitating whom to lay siege to-- you or Mademoiselle Julie Karagina.
Julie never missed a ball, a promenade, or a play.
She held herself as erect, told everyone her opinion as candidly, loudly, and bluntly as ever, and her whole bearing seemed a reproach to others for any weakness, passion, or temptation--the possibility of which she did not admit.
Am I right or not?
God is my witness, I didn't know-" he repeated, stressing the word "God" so unnaturally and so unpleasantly that Princess Mary stood with downcast eyes not daring to look either at her father or at Natasha.
All that was going on before her now seemed quite natural, but on the other hand all her previous thoughts of her betrothed, of Princess Mary, or of life in the country did not once recur to her mind and were as if belonging to a remote past.
He had never missed a carousal at Danilov's or other Moscow revelers', drank whole nights through, outvying everyone else, and was at all the balls and parties of the best society.
He believed this so firmly that others, looking at him, were persuaded of it too and did not refuse him either a leading place in society or money, which he borrowed from anyone and everyone and evidently would not repay.
She continually fancied that either he would never come or that something would happen to her before he came.
At her table there were extra dishes at dinner, and the servants had vodka and roast goose or suckling pig.
My husband is away in Tver or I would send him to fetch you.
The count decided not to sit down to cards or let his girls out of his sight and to get away as soon as Mademoiselle George's performance was over.
She only felt herself again completely borne away into this strange senseless world--so remote from her old world--a world in which it was impossible to know what was good or bad, reasonable or senseless.
Anatole was not upset or pained by what she had said.
She was tormented by the insoluble question whether she loved Anatole or Prince Andrew.
If the old man came round it would be all the better to visit him in Moscow or at Bald Hills later on; and if not, the wedding, against his wishes, could only be arranged at Otradnoe.
Only," she thought, "to tell Prince Andrew what has happened or to hide it from him are both equally impossible.
Yes, she loved him, or else how could that have happened which had happened?
If he is an honorable man he should either declare his intentions or cease seeing you; and if you won't do this, I will.
Now don't think badly of me or of him.
"Well, anyway," thought Sonya as she stood in the dark passage, "now or never I must prove that I remember the family's goodness to me and that I love Nicholas.
But he liked them; liked that mad driving at twelve miles an hour, liked upsetting a driver or running down a pedestrian, and flying at full gallop through the Moscow streets.
And Anatole and Dolokhov, when they had money, would give him a thousand or a couple of thousand rubles.
"I say, Balaga," said Anatole, putting his hands on the man's shoulders, "do you care for me or not?
"Come into the courtyard or you'll be seen; she'll come out directly," said she.
"Do you hear what I am saying or not?" she added.
Your father, or brother, or your betrothed?
All that night she did not sleep or weep and did not speak to Sonya who got up and went to her several times.
She was evidently expecting news of him and that he would come or would write to her.
"Natalya Ilynichna," Pierre began, dropping his eyes with a feeling of pity for her and loathing for the thing he had to do, "whether it is true or not should make no difference to you, because..."
Don't you understand that it is as mean as beating an old man or a child?...
I have received a refusal from Countess Rostova and have heard reports of your brother-in-law having sought her hand, or something of that kind.
Prince Andrew, as if trying to remember whether he had something more to say, or waiting to see if Pierre would say anything, looked fixedly at him.
When he appeared at the door she grew flurried, evidently undecided whether to go to meet him or to wait till he came up.
Surely not to the club or to pay calls?
The actions of Napoleon and Alexander, on whose words the event seemed to hang, were as little voluntary as the actions of any soldier who was drawn into the campaign by lot or by conscription.
* "To shed (or not to shed) the blood of his peoples."
He became still more absorbed in his task when the Russian general entered, and after glancing over his spectacles at Balashev's face, which was animated by the beauty of the morning and by his talk with Murat, he did not rise or even stir, but scowled still more and sneered malevolently.
"You are perfectly at liberty to treat me with respect or not," protested Balashev, "but permit me to observe that I have the honor to be adjutant general to His Majesty...."
He stood a minute or two, waiting.
He not only showed no sign of constraint or self-reproach on account of his outburst that morning, but, on the contrary, tried to reassure Balashev.
"If there is a point we don't see it, or it is not at all witty," their expressions seemed to say.
Does he think me a scoundrel, or an old fool who, without any reason, keeps his own daughter at a distance and attaches this Frenchwoman to himself?
He sought in himself either remorse for having angered his father or regret at leaving home for the first time in his life on bad terms with him, and was horrified to find neither.
My boy is growing up and rejoices in life, in which like everybody else he will deceive or be deceived.
As there was not a single town or large village in the vicinity of the camp, the immense number of generals and courtiers accompanying the army were living in the best houses of the villages on both sides of the river, over a radius of six miles.
But the question whether the camp was advantageous or disadvantageous remained for him undecided.
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.
A man who simply wished to retain his lucrative post would today agree with Pfuel, tomorrow with his opponent, and the day after, merely to avoid responsibility or to please the Emperor, would declare that he had no opinion at all on the matter.
This adjutant was also there and sat dozing on the rolled-up bedding, evidently exhausted by work or by feasting.
General Armfeldt has proposed a splendid position with an exposed rear, or why not this Italian gentleman's attack--very fine, or a retreat, also good!
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.
The best generals I have known were, on the contrary, stupid or absent-minded men.
God forbid that he should be humane, should love, or pity, or think of what is just and unjust.
The success of a military action depends not on them, but on the man in the ranks who shouts, 'We are lost!' or who shouts, 'Hurrah!'
On receiving this letter, Nicholas did not even make any attempt to get leave of absence or to retire from the army, but wrote to his parents that he was sorry Natasha was ill and her engagement broken off, and that he would do all he could to meet their wishes.
If they regretted having to retreat, it was only because they had to leave billets they had grown accustomed to, or some pretty young Polish lady.
Since the campaigns of Austerlitz and of 1807 Rostov knew by experience that men always lie when describing military exploits, as he himself had done when recounting them; besides that, he had experience enough to know that nothing happens in war at all as we can imagine or relate it.
The doctor, whether from lack of means or because he did not like to part from his young wife in the early days of their marriage, took her about with him wherever the hussar regiment went and his jealousy had become a standing joke among the hussar officers.
Perhaps he'll take pity on me someday, when it comes to cutting off a leg or an arm for me.
Now he rode beside Ilyin under the birch trees, occasionally plucking leaves from a branch that met his hand, sometimes touching his horse's side with his foot, or, without turning round, handing a pipe he had finished to an hussar riding behind him, with as calm and careless an air as though he were merely out for a ride.
He felt instinctively that if the hussars struck at the French dragoons now, the latter could not withstand them, but if a charge was to be made it must be done now, at that very moment, or it would be too late.
Rostov himself did not know how or why he did it.
He acted as he did when hunting, without reflecting or considering.
All that day and the next his friends and comrades noticed that Rostov, without being dull or angry, was silent, thoughtful, and preoccupied.
She could not eat or sleep, grew visibly thinner, coughed, and, as the doctors made them feel, was in danger.
A child knocks itself and runs at once to the arms of its mother or nurse to have the aching spot rubbed or kissed, and it feels better when this is done.
Sometimes Natasha noticed embarrassment and awkwardness on his part in her presence, especially when he wanted to do something to please her, or feared that something they spoke of would awaken memories distressing to her.
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.
She heard, or thought she heard, the names of Kuragin and Bolkonski.
"Wherefore?" which had come to him amid every occupation, was now replaced, not by another question or by a reply to the former question, but by her image.
He wrote the words L'Empereur Alexandre, La nation russe and added up their numbers, but the sums were either more or less than 666.
How, or by what means, he was connected with the great event foretold in the Apocalypse he did not know, but he did not doubt that connection for a moment.
But it was impossible to smarten oneself up or move to another place, because of the crowd.
The old men, dim-eyed, toothless, bald, sallow, and bloated, or gaunt and wrinkled, were especially striking.
For the most part they sat quietly in their places and were silent, or, if they walked about and talked, attached themselves to someone younger.
But to judge what is best--conscription or the militia--we can leave to the supreme authority....
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.
Alpatych, without answering or looking at his host, sorted his packages and asked how much he owed.
Lucky you jumped aside, or it would have wiped you out!
They would have had to retire of their own accord, for they had no water for men or horses.
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.
She thought he was speaking of Russia, or Prince Andrew, of herself, of his grandson, or of his own death, and so she could not guess his words.
In the vicinity of Bogucharovo were large villages belonging to the crown or to owners whose serfs paid quitrent and could work where they pleased.
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 did not understand who was to go or where to.
Is it possible to plan or think of anything now?
Because, you will agree, chere Marie, to fall into the hands of the soldiers or of riotous peasants would be terrible.
"Dunyasha, send Alpatych, or Dronushka, or somebody to me!" she said, "and tell Mademoiselle Bourienne not to come to me," she added, hearing Mademoiselle Bourienne's voice.
For herself she did not care where she remained or what happened to her, but she felt herself the representative of her dead father and of Prince Andrew.
Agitated and flushed she paced the room, sending now for Michael Ivanovich and now for Tikhon or Dron.
I want to go away tonight or early tomorrow morning.
Princess Mary did not understand what he wanted of her or why he was asking to be discharged.
She could not fathom whether it was curiosity, devotion, gratitude, or apprehension and distrust--but the expression on all the faces was identical.
And again all the faces in that crowd bore an identical expression, though now it was certainly not an expression of curiosity or gratitude, but of angry resolve.
Now she could remember it and weep or pray.
Never will that moment return for him or for me when he might have said all he longed to say, and not Tikhon but I might have heard and understood him.
She could not grasp who he was and why he had come, or what was happening to her.
What does it matter to you whether our homes are ruined or not?
How can you chuck it in like that or shove it under the cord where it'll get rubbed?
I don't order it or allow it, but I don't exact compensation either.
I am going because... well, because everyone is going: and besides--I am not Joan of Arc or an Amazon.
She is going to their estate near Moscow either today or tomorrow morning, with her nephew.
"Shall I join the army and enter the service, or wait?" he asked himself for the hundredth time.
Everywhere in Mozhaysk and beyond it, troops were stationed or on the march.
There was not the least sense in it for either the French or the Russians.
We should have attacked Napoleon in the center or on the right, and the engagement would have taken place on the twenty-fifth, in the position we intended and had fortified.
Will they set us down here or take us on to Moscow? he asked.
Out of an army of a hundred thousand we must expect at least twenty thousand wounded, and we haven't stretchers, or bunks, or dressers, or doctors enough for six thousand.
Boris shrugged his shoulders, his Serene Highness would not have it, or someone persuaded him.
Now the decisive moment of battle had come when Kutuzov would be destroyed and the power pass to Bennigsen, or even if Kutuzov won the battle it would be felt that everything was done by Bennigsen.
After Kaysarov, others whom Pierre knew came up to him, and he had not time to reply to all the questions about Moscow that were showered upon him, or to listen to all that was told him.
I concluded that if I reported to your Serene Highness you might send me away or say that you knew what I was reporting, but then I shouldn't lose anything...
And as often happens with old people, Kutuzov began looking about absent-mindedly as if forgetting all he wanted to say or do.
The officers said that either Napoleon or Murat was there, and they all gazed eagerly at this little group of horsemen.
Why, when we were retreating from Sventsyani we dare not touch a stick or a wisp of hay or anything.
Timokhin looked about in confusion, not knowing what or how to answer such a question.
They slander him as a traitor, and the only result will be that afterwards, ashamed of their false accusations, they will make him out a hero or a genius instead of a traitor, and that will be still more unjust.
Success never depends, and never will depend, on position, or equipment, or even on numbers, and least of all on position.
"Whether we meet again or not..." and turning away hurriedly he entered the shed.
It was already dark, and Pierre could not make out whether the expression of Prince Andrew's face was angry or tender.
For some time he stood in silence considering whether he should follow him or go away.
It was evident to anyone, military or not, that it was here the French should attack.
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.
And all this moved, or seemed to move, as the smoke and mist spread out over the whole space.
He tried to pass either in front of them or to the right or left, but there were soldiers everywhere, all with the same preoccupied expression and busy with some unseen but evidently important task.
He did not notice the sound of the bullets whistling from every side, or the projectiles that flew over him, did not see the enemy on the other side of the river, and for a long time did not notice the killed and wounded, though many fell near him.
It was only now that he noticed wounded men staggering along or being carried on stretchers.
Once or twice he was shouted at for being in the way.
One cannon ball after another whistled by and struck the earthwork, a soldier, or a gun.
He halted irresolutely, not knowing whether to return or go on.
"Am I taken prisoner or have I taken him prisoner?" each was thinking.
But not only was it impossible to make out what was happening from where he was standing down below, or from the knoll above on which some of his generals had taken their stand, but even from the fleches themselves--in which by this time there were now Russian and now French soldiers, alternately or together, dead, wounded, alive, frightened, or maddened-- even at those fleches themselves it was impossible to make out what was taking place.
In reality, however, all these movements forward and backward did not improve or alter the position of the troops.
Amid the powder smoke, slowly dispersing over the whole space through which Napoleon rode, horses and men were lying in pools of blood, singly or in heaps.
Neither Napoleon nor any of his generals had ever before seen such horrors or so many slain in such a small area.
It was no longer a battle: it was a continuous slaughter which could be of no avail either to the French or the Russians.
He gave no orders, but only assented to or dissented from what others suggested.
"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!"
Without moving from that spot or firing a single shot the regiment here lost another third of its men.
Some built little houses of the tufts in the plowed ground, or plaited baskets from the straw in the cornfield.
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.
But when our artillery or cavalry advanced or some of our infantry were seen to move forward, words of approval were heard on all sides.
The horse first, regardless of whether it was right or wrong to show fear, snorted, reared almost throwing the major, and galloped aside.
Around the tents, over more than five acres, bloodstained men in various garbs stood, sat, or lay.
Occasionally dressers ran out to fetch water, or to point out those who were to be brought in next.
The wounded men awaiting their turn outside the tents groaned, sighed, wept, screamed, swore, or asked for vodka.
At that moment he did not desire Moscow, or victory, or glory (what need had he for any more glory?).
Never to the end of his life could he understand goodness, beauty, or truth, or the significance of his actions which were too contrary to goodness and truth, too remote from everything human, for him ever to be able to grasp their meaning.
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.
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.
It is merely necessary to select some larger or smaller unit as the subject of observation--as criticism has every right to do, seeing that whatever unit history observes must always be arbitrarily selected.
I see only a coincidence of occurrences such as happens with all the phenomena of life, and I see that however much and however carefully I observe the hands of the watch, and the valves and wheels of the engine, and the oak, I shall not discover the cause of the bells ringing, the engine moving, or of the winds of spring.
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?
People accustomed to think in that way forget, or do not know, the inevitable conditions which always limit the activities of any commander in chief.
For instance, on the twenty-eighth it is suggested to him to cross to the Kaluga road, but just then an adjutant gallops up from Miloradovich asking whether he is to engage the French or retire.
If anyone gave or asked for personal news, it was done in a whisper and they immediately reverted to general matters.
No jokes, or laughter, or smiles even, were seen among all these men.
The commander in chief listened to what was being said and sometimes asked them to repeat their remarks, but did not himself take part in the conversations or express any opinion.
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.
Or was it earlier still?...
"My head, be it good or bad, must depend on itself," said he, rising from the bench, and he rode to Fili where his carriages were waiting.
Is it better to give up Moscow without a battle, or by accepting battle to risk losing the army as well as Moscow?
They went away because for Russians there could be no question as to whether things would go well or ill under French rule in Moscow.
What would have seemed difficult or even impossible to another woman did not cause the least embarrassment to Countess Bezukhova, who evidently deserved her reputation of being a very clever woman.
Had she attempted concealment, or tried to extricate herself from her awkward position by cunning, she would have spoiled her case by acknowledging herself guilty.
A venial, or a mortal, sin?
For a moment as he was rearranging his cloak Pierre opened his eyes and saw the same penthouse roofs, posts, and yard, but now they were all bluish, lit up, and glittering with frost or dew.
There were only thoughts clearly expressed in words, thoughts that someone was uttering or that he himself was formulating.
The hardest thing (Pierre went on thinking, or hearing, in his dream) is to be able in your soul to unite the meaning of all.
But I did not summon you to discuss my actions, but to give you advice--or an order if you prefer it.
"Why, nothing," answered Pierre without raising his eyes or changing the thoughtful expression of his face.
When he awoke next morning the major-domo came to inform him that a special messenger, a police officer, had come from Count Rostopchin to know whether Count Bezukhov had left or was leaving the town.
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.
She tried to get Nicholas back and wished to go herself to join Petya, or to get him an appointment somewhere in Petersburg, but neither of these proved possible.
Petya could not return unless his regiment did so or unless he was transferred to another regiment on active service.
The countess did not sleep at night, or when she did fall asleep dreamed that she saw her sons lying dead.
The presence of Sonya, of her beloved Natasha, or even of her husband irritated her.
In spite of Rostopchin's broadsheets, or because of them or independently of them, the strangest and most contradictory rumors were current in the town.
But despite her grief, or perhaps just because of it, she took on herself all the difficult work of directing the storing and packing of their things and was busy for whole days.
Even if we put them into the wing, the men's room, or the nurse's room, we must ask permission.
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.
Just unload one or two carts.
The countess was accustomed to this tone as a precursor of news of something detrimental to the children's interests, such as the building of a new gallery or conservatory, the inauguration of a private theater or an orchestra.
Is the army retreating or will there be another battle?
But in general I can tell you, Papa, that such a heroic spirit, the truly antique valor of the Russian army, which they--which it" (he corrected himself) "has shown or displayed in the battle of the twenty-sixth-- there are no words worthy to do it justice!
I tell you, Papa" (he smote himself on the breast as a general he had heard speaking had done, but Berg did it a trifle late for he should have struck his breast at the words "Russian army"), "I tell you frankly that we, the commanders, far from having to urge the men on or anything of that kind, could hardly restrain those... those... yes, those exploits of antique valor," he went on rapidly.
"Altogether such heroism as was displayed by the Russian warriors cannot be imagined or adequately praised!" said Berg, glancing round at Natasha, and as if anxious to conciliate her, replying to her intent look with a smile.
It seemed not to matter whether all or only half the things were left behind.
They can have my trap, or else what is to become of them?
In fact, however, though now much farther off than before, the Rostovs all saw Pierre--or someone extraordinarily like him--in a coachman's coat, going down the street with head bent and a serious face beside a small, beardless old man who looked like a footman.
He felt that everything was now at an end, all was in confusion and crumbling to pieces, that nobody was right or wrong, the future held nothing, and there was no escape from this position.
Oh, yes, in a minute; wait... or no!
The main army was on the other side of Moscow or beyond it.
Or no, it should be simply: Maison de ma Mere, *(2) he concluded.
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.
Here and there a couple of bees, by force of habit and custom cleaning out the brood cells, with efforts beyond their strength laboriously drag away a dead bee or bumblebee without knowing why they do 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.
I'll fetch a piece of cloth at once for such an honorable gentleman, or even two pieces with pleasure.
The gates and shops were all closed, only here and there round the taverns solitary shouts or drunken songs could be heard.
The young officer standing in the gateway, as if hesitating whether to enter or not, clicked his tongue.
Tipsy and perspiring, with dim eyes and wide-open mouths, they were all laboriously singing some song or other.
Or else there would be plenty who'd rob us.
At the count's first words he raised it slowly and looked up at him as if wishing to say something or at least to meet his eye.
To all of them from the marshal to the least soldier, that place was not the Vozdvizhenka, Mokhavaya, or Kutafyev Street, nor the Troitsa Gate (places familiar in Moscow), but a new battlefield which would probably prove sanguinary.
They were a mob of marauders, each carrying a quantity of articles which seemed to him valuable or useful.
Ten minutes after each regiment had entered a Moscow district, not a soldier or officer was left.
In cellars and storerooms similar men were busy among the provisions, and in the yards unlocking or breaking open coach house and stable doors, lighting fires in kitchens and kneading and baking bread with rolled-up sleeves, and cooking; or frightening, amusing, or caressing women and children.
Order after order was issued by the French commanders that day forbidding the men to disperse about the town, sternly forbidding any violence to the inhabitants or any looting, and announcing a roll call for that very evening.
In reality, however, it was not, and could not be, possible to explain the burning of Moscow by making any individual, or any group of people, responsible for it.
He did not know how or when this thought had taken such possession of him, but he remembered nothing of the past, understood nothing of the present, and all he saw and heard appeared to him like a dream.
"Yes, alone, for the sake of all, I must do it or perish!" he 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.
"A Frenchman or a Russian prince incognito," said the officer, looking at Pierre's fine though dirty linen and at the ring on his finger.
A Frenchman never forgets either an insult or a service.
Oh yes, mon cher, he is the greatest man of the ages past or future.
Whether it was the wine he had drunk, or an impulse of frankness, or the thought that this man did not, and never would, know any of those who played a part in his story, or whether it was all these things together, something loosened Pierre's tongue.
That's a fire in Moscow: either in the Sushchevski or the Rogozhski quarter.
She was planning something and either deciding or had already decided something in her mind.
And suddenly the sequence of these thoughts broke off, and Prince Andrew heard (without knowing whether it was a delusion or reality) a soft whispering voice incessantly and rhythmically repeating "piti-piti- piti," and then "titi," and then again "piti-piti-piti," and "ti-ti" once more.
At the same time he felt that above his face, above the very middle of it, some strange airy structure was being erected out of slender needles or splinters, to the sound of this whispered music.
He could not carry it unnoticed in his belt or under his arm.
Having tied a girdle over his coat and pulled his cap low on his head, Pierre went down the corridor, trying to avoid making a noise or meeting the captain, and passed out into the street.
"Sister must have taken her, or else where can she be?" he added.
And a minute or two later the Frenchman, a black-eyed fellow with a spot on his cheek, in shirt sleeves, really did jump out of a window on the ground floor, and clapping Pierre on the shoulder ran with him into the garden.
He did not find the civil servant or his wife where he had left them.
Involuntarily he noticed a Georgian or Armenian family consisting of a very handsome old man of Oriental type, wearing a new, cloth- covered, sheepskin coat and new boots, an old woman of similar type, and a young woman.
That must be either Mary Nikolievna's or the Ivanovs'!
The beautiful Armenian still sat motionless and in the same attitude, with her long lashes drooping as if she did not see or feel what the soldier was doing to her.
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.
Napoleon or I, said the Emperor, touching his breast.
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.
Nicholas suddenly felt a desire and need to tell his most intimate thoughts (which he would not have told to his mother, his sister, or his friend) to this woman who was almost a stranger.
Either black is particularly becoming to her or she really has greatly improved without my having noticed it.
But he also knew (or rather felt at the bottom of his heart) that by resigning himself now to the force of circumstances and to those who were guiding him, he was not only doing nothing wrong, but was doing something very important--more important than anything he had ever done in his life.
As had occurred before when she was present, Nicholas went up to her without waiting to be prompted by the governor's wife and not asking himself whether or not it was right and proper to address her here in church, and told her he had heard of her trouble and sympathized with his whole soul.
"And I have known so many cases of a splinter wound" (the Gazette said it was a shell) "either proving fatal at once or being very slight," continued Nicholas.
The countess let no occasion slip of making humiliating or cruel allusions to Sonya.
And for the first time Sonya felt that out of her pure, quiet love for Nicholas a passionate feeling was beginning to grow up which was stronger than principle, virtue, or religion.
He had a feeling that it was only out of condescension or a kind of civility that this device of placing a channel was employed.
But where they were to take him Pierre did not know: back to the coach house or to the place of execution his companions had pointed out to him as they crossed the Virgin's Field.
Pierre could not afterwards remember how he went, whether it was far, or in which direction.
Not the men on the commission that had first examined him--not one of them wished to or, evidently, could have done it.
He lost the power of thinking or understanding.
Pierre heard the French consulting whether to shoot them separately or two at a time.
With ever-growing horror, and no sense of joy or relief, he gazed at what was taking place.
He looked at them without understanding who they were, why they were there, or what they wanted of him.
He heard what they said, but did not understand the meaning of the words and made no kind of deduction from or application of them.
"Ah, my dear fellow!" rejoined Karataev, "never decline a prison or a beggar's sack!"
But his brilliantly white, strong teeth which showed in two unbroken semicircles when he laughed--as he often did--were all sound and good, there was not a gray hair in his beard or on his head, and his whole body gave an impression of suppleness and especially of firmness and endurance.
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.
Karataev had no attachments, friendships, or love, as Pierre understood them, but loved and lived affectionately with everything life brought him in contact with, particularly with man--not any particular man, but those with whom he happened to be.
They called him "little falcon" or "Platosha," chaffed him good-naturedly, and sent him on errands.
He could not understand the value or significance of any word or deed taken separately.
Whether it were difficult or easy, possible or impossible, she did not ask and did not want to know: it was her duty, not only to herself, to be near her brother who was perhaps dying, but to do everything possible to take his son to him, and so she prepared to set off.
That she had not heard from Prince Andrew himself, Princess Mary attributed to his being too weak to write or to his considering the long journey too hard and too dangerous for her and his son.
Her love for Rostov no longer tormented or agitated her.
It was plain that at that moment there was in Natasha's heart no thought of herself or of her own relations with Prince Andrew.
She felt that it was impossible to ask, or to answer, in words.
Natasha was gazing at her, but seemed afraid and in doubt whether to say all she knew or not; she seemed to feel that before those luminous eyes which penetrated into the very depths of her heart, it was impossible not to tell the whole truth which she saw.
Yet sooner or later it had to be, and she went in.
After that he avoided Dessalles and the countess who caressed him and either sat alone or came timidly to Princess Mary, or to Natasha of whom he seemed even fonder than of his aunt, and clung to them quietly and shyly.
Without haste or agitation he awaited what was coming.
"Can it or can it not be?" he now thought as he looked at her and listened to the light click of the steel needles.
Everything depended on whether he was, or was not, in time to lock it.
There was nothing terrible or violent in this comparatively slow awakening.
Just as it is impossible to say when it was decided to abandon Moscow, so it is impossible to say precisely when, or by whom, it was decided to move to Tarutino.
On the contrary, he is probably pursuing you with detachments, or at most with an army corps much weaker than the army entrusted to you.
The men were forbidden to talk out loud, to smoke their pipes, or to strike a light, and they tried to prevent their horses neighing.
Should we let them go on or not?
We shall get somewhere or other!
Coming out onto a field under the enemy's fire, this brave general went straight ahead, leading his men under fire, without considering in his agitation whether going into action now, with a single division, would be of any use or no.
"We couldn't take Murat prisoner this morning or get to the place in time, and nothing can be done now!" he replied to someone else.
But people who talk like that either do not know what they are talking about or deliberately deceive themselves.
No battle--Tarutino, Borodino, or Austerlitz--takes place as those who planned it anticipated.
Of all that Napoleon might have done: wintering in Moscow, advancing on Petersburg or on Nizhni-Novgorod, or retiring by a more northerly or more southerly route (say by the road Kutuzov afterwards took), nothing more stupid or disastrous can be imagined than what he actually did.
But to say that he destroyed his army because he wished to, or because he was very stupid, would be as unjust as to say that he had brought his troops to Moscow because he wished to and because he was very clever and a genius.
He did not lose sight either of the welfare of his army or of the doings of the enemy, or of the welfare of the people of Russia, or of the direction of affairs in Paris, or of diplomatic considerations concerning the terms of the anticipated peace.
A paternal administration, chosen from among yourselves, will form your municipality or city government.
Any violence to them or to their property is promptly punished.
The French called it Azor; the soldier who told stories called it Femgalka; Karataev and others called it Gray, or sometimes Flabby.
Its lack of a master, a name, or even of a breed or any definite color did not seem to trouble the blue-gray dog in the least.
Now it would roll on its back, yelping with delight, now bask in the sun with a thoughtful air of importance, and now frolic about playing with a chip of wood or a straw.
What concern was it of his that somewhere or other that woman was leading the life she preferred?
What did it matter to anybody, and especially to him, whether or not they found out that their prisoner's name was Count Bezukhov?
But even as he spoke he began to doubt whether this was the corporal he knew or a stranger, so unlike himself did the corporal seem at that moment.
To fear or to try to escape that force, to address entreaties or exhortations to those who served as its tools, was useless.
What does it matter whether it is St. Nicholas or St. Blasius?
From the moment Pierre had recognized the appearance of the mysterious force nothing had seemed to him strange or dreadful: neither the corpse smeared with soot for fun nor these women hurrying away nor the burned ruins of Moscow.
He did not consider or ask himself whether the news was good or bad.
He regarded the whole business of the war not with his intelligence or his reason but by something else.
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.
Like an experienced sportsman he knew that the beast was wounded, and wounded as only the whole strength of Russia could have wounded it, but whether it was mortally wounded or not was still an undecided question.
It seems to them that when they have thought of two or three contingencies" (he remembered the general plan sent him from Petersburg) "they have foreseen everything.
The undecided question as to whether the wound inflicted at Borodino was mortal or not had hung over Kutuzov's head for a whole month.
He imagined all sorts of possible contingencies, just like the younger men, but with this difference, that he saw thousands of contingencies instead of two or three and based nothing on them.
He imagined all sorts of movements of the Napoleonic army as a whole or in sections--against Petersburg, or against him, or to outflank him.
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.
To strain the facts to fit the rules of history: to say that the field of battle at Borodino remained in the hands of the Russians, or that after Moscow there were other battles that destroyed Napoleon's army, is impossible.
That unknown quantity is the spirit of the army, that is to say, the greater or lesser readiness to fight and face danger felt by all the men composing an army, quite independently of whether they are, or are not, fighting under the command of a genius, in two--or three-line formation, with cudgels or with rifles that repeat thirty times a minute.
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.
To the left of the road between Mikulino and Shamshevo there were large forests, extending in some places up to the road itself though in others a mile or more back from it.
The horses, being drenched by the rain, all looked black whether chestnut or bay.
"Will there be any orders, your honor?" he asked Denisov, holding his hand at the salute and resuming the game of adjutant and general for which he had prepared himself, "or shall I remain with your honor?"
"Whether Dolokhov comes or not, we must seize it, eh?" said Denisov with a merry sparkle in his eyes.
We killed a score or so of 'more-orderers,' but we did no harm else...
He was armed with a musketoon (which he carried rather as a joke), a pike and an ax, which latter he used as a wolf uses its teeth, with equal ease picking fleas out of its fur or crunching thick bones.
Tikhon with equal accuracy would split logs with blows at arm's length, or holding the head of the ax would cut thin little pegs or carve spoons.
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.
Or perhaps your flints are giving out, or are worn out--that happens sometimes, you know.
Or perhaps your flints are giving out, or are worn out--that happens sometimes, you know.
Please take as many as you want, or all if you like....
The rest either starve or get killed.
"Will they bring our horses or not?" thought Petya, instinctively drawing nearer to Dolokhov.
Petya rode beside him, longing to look round to see whether or not the French were running after them, but not daring to.
The big dark blotch might really be the watchman's hut or it might be a cavern leading to the very depths of the earth.
Perhaps the red spot was a fire, or it might be the eye of an enormous monster.
Perhaps he was really sitting on a wagon, but it might very well be that he was not sitting on a wagon but on a terribly high tower from which, if he fell, he would have to fall for a whole day or a whole month, or go on falling and never reach the bottom.
Petya was as musical as Natasha and more so than Nicholas, but had never learned music or thought about it, and so the melody that unexpectedly came to his mind seemed to him particularly fresh and attractive.
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.
The prisoners were more burdensome to the escort than even the cavalry saddles or Junot's baggage.
"And so, brother" (it was at this point that Pierre came up), "ten years or more passed by.
But I have not killed anyone or taken anything that was not mine, but have only helped my poorer brothers.
And without linking up the events of the day or drawing a conclusion from them, Pierre closed his eyes, seeing a vision of the country in summertime mingled with memories of bathing and of the liquid, vibrating globe, and he sank into water so that it closed over his head.
I deem it my duty to report to Your Majesty the condition of the various corps I have had occasion to observe during different stages of the last two or three days' march.
Many have died these last days on the road or at the bivouacs.
They all went without knowing whither or why they were going.
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.
But after a four days' halt the mob, with no maneuvers or plans, again began running along the beaten track, neither to the right nor to the left but along the old--the worst--road, through Krasnoe and Orsha.
The others who could do so drove away too, leaving those who could not to surrender or die.
"C'est grand!" * say the historians, and there no longer exists either good or evil but only "grand" and "not grand."
Who has not asked himself how it is that the French were not all captured or destroyed when our three armies surrounded them in superior numbers, when the disordered French, hungry and freezing, surrendered in crowds, and when (as the historians relate) the aim of the Russians was to stop the French, to cut them off, and capture them all?
History (or what is called by that name) replying to these questions says that this occurred because Kutuzov and Tormasov and Chichagov, and this man and that man, did not execute such and such maneuvers...
There never was or could have been such an aim, for it would have been senseless and its attainment quite impossible.
But the French troops quite rightly did not consider that this suited them, since death by hunger and cold awaited them in flight or captivity alike.
To them the words of Miloradovich seem very interesting, and so do their surmises and the rewards this or that general received; but the question of those fifty thousand men who were left in hospitals and in graves does not even interest them, for it does not come within the range of their investigation.
As soon as anyone entered she got up quickly, changed her position and expression, and picked up a book or some sewing, evidently waiting impatiently for the intruder to go.
And that other side of life, of which she had never before thought and which had formerly seemed to her so far away and improbable, was now nearer and more akin and more comprehensible than this side of life, where everything was either emptiness and desolation or suffering and indignity.
Her persevering and patient love seemed completely to surround the countess every moment, not explaining or consoling, but recalling her to life.
She did not know and would not have believed it, but beneath the layer of slime that covered her soul and seemed to her impenetrable, delicate young shoots of grass were already sprouting, which taking root would so cover with their living verdure the grief that weighed her down that it would soon no longer be seen or noticed.
To that end Kutuzov's activity was directed during the whole campaign from Moscow to Vilna--not casually or intermittently but so consistently that he never once deviated from it.
But to the generals, especially the foreign ones in the Russian army, who wished to distinguish themselves, to astonish somebody, and for some reason to capture a king or a duke--it seemed that now--when any battle must be horrible and senseless--was the very time to fight and conquer somebody.
Kutuzov never talked of "forty centuries looking down from the Pyramids," of the sacrifices he offered for the fatherland, or of what he intended to accomplish or had accomplished; in general he said nothing about himself, adopted no pose, always appeared to be the simplest and most ordinary of men, and said the simplest and most ordinary things.
What did it matter to him--who then alone amid a senseless crowd understood the whole tremendous significance of what was happening--what did it matter to him whether Rostopchin attributed the calamities of Moscow to him or to himself?
A third section scattered through the village arranging quarters for the staff officers, carrying out the French corpses that were in the huts, and dragging away boards, dry wood, and thatch from the roofs, for the campfires, or wattle fences to serve for shelter.
This was because all who began to grow depressed or who lost strength were sifted out of the army day by day.
Are you lost or have the wolves eaten you?
It was impossible to take bread and clothes from our hungry and indispensable soldiers to give to the French who, though not harmful, or hated, or guilty, were simply unnecessary.
And all he said--that it was necessary to await provisions, or that the men had no boots--was so simple, while what they proposed was so complicated and clever, that it was evident that he was old and stupid and that they, though not in power, were commanders of genius.
Kutuzov made no rejoinder or remark.
The Emperor's displeasure with Kutuzov was specially increased at Vilna by the fact that Kutuzov evidently could not or would not understand the importance of the coming campaign.
Kutuzov alone would not see this and openly expressed his opinion that no fresh war could improve the position or add to the glory of Russia, but could only spoil and lower the glorious position that Russia had gained.
Kutuzov did not understand what Europe, the balance of power, or Napoleon meant.
No one demanded anything of him or sent him anywhere.
How splendid! said he to himself when a cleanly laid table was moved up to him with savory beef tea, or when he lay down for the night on a soft clean bed, or when he remembered that the French had gone and that his wife was no more.
He could not see an aim, for he now had faith--not faith in any kind of rule, or words, or ideas, but faith in an ever-living, ever-manifest God.
The difference between his former and present self was that formerly when he did not grasp what lay before him or was said to him, he had puckered his forehead painfully as if vainly seeking to distinguish something at a distance.
"To give or not to give?" he had asked himself.
Now to his surprise he found that he no longer felt either doubt or perplexity about these questions.
There was now within him a judge who by some rule unknown to him decided what should or should not be done.
When was he going to Petersburg and would he mind taking a parcel for someone?--he replied: "Yes, perhaps," or, "I think so," and so on.
"What can one say or think of as a consolation?" said Pierre.
She hesitated for an instant whether to speak or not.
She got up quickly just as Nicholas entered, almost ran to the door which was hidden by curtains, struck her head against it, and rushed from the room with a moan either of pain or sorrow.
Mary Abramovna invited me to her house and kept telling me what had happened, or ought to have happened, to me.
"People speak of misfortunes and sufferings," remarked Pierre, "but if at this moment I were asked: 'Would you rather be what you were before you were taken prisoner, or go through all this again?' then for heaven's sake let me again have captivity and horseflesh!
Evidently it has to be so, said he to himself, and hastily undressing he got into bed, happy and agitated but free from hesitation or indecision.
Too soon or too late... it is terrible!
"No, she either doesn't understand or is pretending," thought Pierre.
He did not repeat to himself with a sickening feeling of shame the words he had spoken, or say: "Oh, why did I not say that?" and, "Whatever made me say 'Je vous aime'?"
There was now not a shadow of doubt in his mind as to whether what he had undertaken was right or wrong.
Whether the preservation of my father's house in Moscow, or the glory of the Russian arms, or the prosperity of the Petersburg and other universities, or the freedom of Poland or the greatness of Russia, or the balance of power in Europe, or a certain kind of European culture called "progress" appear to me to be good or bad, I must admit that besides these things the action of every historic character has other more general purposes inaccessible to me.
Even if they do not know for what purpose they are fattened, they will at least know that all that happened to the ram did not happen accidentally, and will no longer need the conceptions of chance or genius.
There is no step, no crime or petty fraud he commits, which in the mouths of those around him is not at once represented as a great deed.
But the ultimate purpose of the bee is not exhausted by the first, the second, or any of the processes the human mind can discern.
She is a very admirable young woman and you always liked her, but now suddenly you have got some notion or other in your head.
But this is not at all an interesting or cheerful subject.
He was as careful of the sowing and reaping of the peasants' hay and corn as of his own, and few landowners had their crops sown and harvested so early and so well, or got so good a return, as did Nicholas.
He did not allow himself either to be hard on or punish a man, or to make things easy for or reward anyone, merely because he felt inclined to do so.
He could not have said by what standard he judged what he should or should not do, but the standard was quite firm and definite in his own mind.
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.
She did not understand why he spoke with such admiration and delight of the farming of the thrifty and well- to-do peasant Matthew Ermishin, who with his family had carted corn all night; or of the fact that his (Nicholas') sheaves were already stacked before anyone else had his harvest in.
"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."
She never cried from pain or vexation, but always from sorrow or pity, and when she wept her radiant eyes acquired an irresistible charm.
"Is it just sentimentality, old wives' tales, or is she right?" he asked himself.
But he did forget himself once or twice within a twelvemonth, and then he would go and confess to his wife, and would again promise that this should really be the very last time.
In autumn he gave himself up to hunting with the same business-like seriousness--leaving home for a month, or even two, with his hunt.
In winter he visited his other villages or spent his time reading.
Besides that, four times a year, on the name days and birthdays of the hosts, as many as a hundred visitors would gather there for a day or two.
Without you, or when something comes between us like this, I seem lost and can't do anything.
That happened only when, as was the case that day, her husband returned home, or a sick child was convalescent, or when she and Countess Mary spoke of Prince Andrew (she never mentioned him to her husband, who she imagined was jealous of Prince Andrew's memory), or on the rare occasions when something happened to induce her to sing, a practice she had quite abandoned since her marriage.
Since their marriage Natasha and her husband had lived in Moscow, in Petersburg, on their estate near Moscow, or with her mother, that is to say, in Nicholas' house.
She took no pains with her manners or with delicacy of speech, or with her toilet, or to show herself to her husband in her most becoming attitudes, or to avoid inconveniencing him by being too exacting.
The chief reason for devoting no time either to singing, to dress, or to choosing her words was that she really had no time to spare for these things.
If the purpose of marriage is the family, the person who wishes to have many wives or husbands may perhaps obtain much pleasure, but in that case will not have a 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.
And she not only saw no need of any other or better husband, but as all the powers of her soul were intent on serving that husband and family, she could not imagine and saw no interest in imagining how it would be if things were different.
At home Natasha placed herself in the position of a slave to her husband, and the whole household went on tiptoe when he was occupied--that is, was reading or writing in his study.
Natasha was sad and irritable all that time, especially when her mother, her brother, Sonya, or Countess Mary in their efforts to console her tried to excuse Pierre and suggested reasons for his delay in returning.
He did not want to be an hussar or a Knight of St. George like his uncle Nicholas; he wanted to be learned, wise, and kind like Pierre.
He did not miss a single word he uttered, and would afterwards, with Dessalles or by himself, recall and reconsider the meaning of everything Pierre had said.
After the deaths of her son and husband in such rapid succession, she felt herself a being accidentally forgotten in this world and left without aim or object for her existence.
She ate, drank, slept, or kept awake, but did not live.
Another pretext would be her snuff, which would seem too dry or too damp or not rubbed fine enough.
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!
Once or twice Pierre was carried away and began to speak of these things, but Nicholas and Natasha always brought him back to the health of Prince Ivan and Countess Mary Alexeevna.
* Without faith or law.
One is lured by women, another by honors, a third by ambition or money, and they go over to that camp.
No independent men, such as you or I, are left.
It is only to prevent some Pugachev or other from killing my children and yours, and Arakcheev from sending me off to some Military Settlement.
The conversation at supper was not about politics or societies, but turned on the subject Nicholas liked best--recollections of 1812.
She was afraid that what she was writing would not be understood or approved by her husband.
In the diary was set down everything in the children's lives that seemed noteworthy to their mother as showing their characters or suggesting general reflections on educational methods.
They were for the most part quite insignificant trifles, but did not seem so to the mother or to the father either, now that he read this diary about his children for the first time.
Perhaps it need not be done so pedantically, thought Nicholas, or even done at all, but this untiring, continual spiritual effort of which the sole aim was the children's moral welfare delighted him.
What business was it of mine when I married and was so deep in debt that I was threatened with prison, and had a mother who could not see or understand it?
Is it for my own pleasure that I am at the farm or in the office from morning to night?
Natasha and Pierre, left alone, also began to talk as only a husband and wife can talk, that is, with extraordinary clearness and rapidity, understanding and expressing each other's thoughts in ways contrary to all rules of logic, without premises, deductions, or conclusions, and in a quite peculiar way.
To seize and put into words, to describe directly the life of humanity or even of a single nation, appears impossible.
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.
To this, modern history laboriously replies either that Napoleon was a great genius, or that Louis XIV was very proud, or that certain writers wrote certain books.
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.
To find component forces equal to the composite or resultant force, the sum of the components must equal the resultant.
Specialist historians describing the campaign of 1813 or the restoration of the Bourbons plainly assert that these events were produced by the will of Alexander.
Peasants having no clear idea of the cause of rain, say, according to whether they want rain or fine weather: "The wind has blown the clouds away," or, "The wind has brought up the clouds."
Undoubtedly some relation exists between all who live contemporaneously, and so it is possible to find some connection between the intellectual activity of men and their historical movements, just as such a connection may be found between the movements of humanity and commerce, handicraft, gardening, or anything else you please.
But why intellectual activity is considered by the historians of culture to be the cause or expression of the whole historical movement is hard to understand.
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."
Power is the collective will of the people transferred, by expressed or tacit consent, to their chosen rulers.
Do palace revolutions--in which sometimes only two or three people take part--transfer the will of the people to a new ruler?
But what this program consists in these historians do not say, or if they do they continually contradict one another.
But why did it not react on Louis XIV or on Louis XV--why should it react just on Louis XVI?
But in that case the question arises whether all the activity of the leaders serves as an expression of the people's will or only some part of it.
If the whole activity of the leaders serves as the expression of the people's will, as some historians suppose, then all the details of the court scandals contained in the biographies of a Napoleon or a Catherine serve to express the life of the nation, which is evident nonsense; but if it is only some particular side of the activity of an historical leader which serves to express the people's life, as other so-called "philosophical" historians believe, then to determine which side of the activity of a leader expresses the nation's life, we have first of all to know in what the nation's life consists.
The theory of the transference of the collective will of the people to historic persons may perhaps explain much in the domain of jurisprudence and be essential for its purposes, but in its application to history, as soon as revolutions, conquests, or civil wars occur--that is, as soon as history begins--that theory explains nothing.
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.)
Whenever an event occurs a man appears or men appear, by whose will the event seems to have taken place.
Experience shows us that whatever event occurs it is always related to the will of one or of several men who have decreed it.
The historians, in accord with the old habit of acknowledging divine intervention in human affairs, want to see the cause of events in the expression of the will of someone endowed with power, but that supposition is not confirmed either by reason or by experience.
Only the expression of the will of the Deity, not dependent on time, can relate to a whole series of events occurring over a period of years or centuries, and only the Deity, independent of everything, can by His sole will determine the direction of humanity's movement; but man acts in time and himself takes part in what occurs.
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.
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.
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.
The man who worked most with his hands could not think so much about what he was doing, or reflect on or command what would result from the common activity; while the man who commanded more would evidently work less with his hands on account of his greater verbal activity.
For reasons known or unknown to us the French began to drown and kill one another.
With the present complex forms of political and social life in Europe can any event that is not prescribed, decreed, or ordered by monarchs, ministers, parliaments, or newspapers be imagined?
Is there any collective action which cannot find its justification in political unity, in patriotism, in the balance of power, or in civilization?
Or in other words, the conception of a cause is inapplicable to the phenomena we are examining.
How should the past life of nations and of humanity be regarded--as the result of the free, or as the result of the constrained, activity of man?
Whatever presentation of the activity of many men or of an individual we may consider, we always regard it as the result partly of man's free will and partly of the law of inevitability.
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.
In all these cases the conception of freedom is increased or diminished and the conception of compulsion is correspondingly decreased or increased, according to the point of view from which the action is regarded.
The degree of our conception of freedom or inevitability depends in this respect on the greater or lesser lapse of time between the performance of the action and our judgment of it.
The farther I go back in memory, or what is the same thing the farther I go forward in my judgment, the more doubtful becomes my belief in the freedom of my action.
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 founder of a sect or party, or an inventor, impresses us less when we know how or by what the way was prepared for his activity.
Thus our conception of free will and inevitability gradually diminishes or increases according to the greater or lesser connection with the external world, the greater or lesser remoteness of time, and the greater or lesser dependence on the causes in relation to which we contemplate a man's life.
My action seems to me free; but asking myself whether I could raise my arm in every direction, I see that I raised it in the direction in which there was least obstruction to that action either from things around me or from the construction of my own body.
However inaccessible to us may be the cause of the expression of will in any action, our own or another's, the first demand of reason is the assumption of and search for a cause, for without a cause no phenomenon is conceivable.
But besides this, even if, admitting the remaining minimum of freedom to equal zero, we assumed in some given case--as for instance in that of a dying man, an unborn babe, or an idiot--complete absence of freedom, by so doing we should destroy the very conception of man in the case we are examining, for as soon as there is no freedom there is also no man.
In the second case, if freedom were possible without inevitability we should have arrived at unconditioned freedom beyond space, time, and cause, which by the fact of its being unconditioned and unlimited would be nothing, or mere content without form.
All that we know of the external world of nature is only a certain relation of the forces of nature to inevitability, or of the essence of life to the laws of reason.
And as the undefinable essence of the force moving the heavenly bodies, the undefinable essence of the forces of heat and electricity, or of chemical affinity, or of the vital force, forms the content of astronomy, physics, chemistry, botany, zoology, and so on, just in the same way does the force of free will form the content of history.
As in the question of astronomy then, so in the question of history now, the whole difference of opinion is based on the recognition or nonrecognition of something absolute, serving as the measure of visible phenomena.
Right or wrong, the decision had been made.
He said it would work for a girl or a boy.
Or not at all.
But right or wrong, she isn't his daughter.
How much had he told Señor Medena - or how little?
Or maybe he was thinking about their conversation last night.
But I don't know anything about dressing or acting like a lady.
He was so tall there was a vast difference in their height.
You weren't going to introduce him to me... or Tessa?
She was no longer tired - no longer concerned about the children or the strange room.
Obviously your father has a brother or a sister.
Carmen glanced at Señor Medena, who was beaming as if they were his children... or as if they were his biological grandchildren.
They did not smile nor did they frown, or show either fear or surprise or curiosity or friendliness.
None of them were in clusters, such as villages or towns, but each had ample grounds of its own, with orchards and gardens surrounding it.
The horse was plunging madly about, and two or three deep gashes appeared upon its flanks, from which the blood flowed freely.
The kitten looked at the horse thoughtfully, as if trying to decide whether he meant it or not.
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.
But they've been very scarce for a few years and we usually have to be content with elephants or buffaloes, answered the creature, in a regretful tone.
I'm not afraid of Ozma--or anyone else.
Two or three other shepherds joined him in the search.
They had walked a mile or two towards home, when they came to the edge of a narrow and deep ravine.
Why the boys should drive away, Little maidens from their play, Or love to banter and fight so well, That's the thing I never could tell.
It did not try to bite or scratch.
One child was six years old, the other two or three years older.
It was the most comical shapeless thing, this improvised doll, with no nose, mouth, ears or eyes--nothing that even the imagination of a child could convert into a face.
I was like that ship before my education began, only I was without compass or sounding-line, and had no way of knowing how near the harbour was.
In the still, dark world in which I lived there was no strong sentiment or tenderness.
I quickly learned that each printed word stood for an object, an act, or a quality.
To the bison of the prairie it is a few inches of palatable grass, with water to drink; unless he seeks the Shelter of the forest or the mountain's shadow.
It was evident that he not only knew everyone in the drawing room, but had found them to be so tiresome that it wearied him to look at or listen to them.
Are you going to be a guardsman or a diplomatist? asked Prince Andrew after a momentary silence.
Riding past the pond where there used always to be dozens of women chattering as they rinsed their linen or beat it with wooden beetles, Prince Andrew noticed that there was not a soul about and that the little washing wharf, torn from its place and half submerged, was floating on its side in the middle of the pond.
He muttered unceasingly, his eyebrows and lips twitching, and it was impossible to tell whether he understood what was going on around him or not.
He was realizing the impact the lie had on their relationship.
Everywhere you turned, people were speculating about, or building models of, the "House of Tomorrow," the "Car of Tomorrow," or the "Workplace of Tomorrow."
I did not know that I was spelling a word or even that words existed; I was simply making my fingers go in monkey-like imitation.
In most books, the I, or first person, is omitted; in this it will be retained; that, in respect to egotism, is the main difference.
"But, my dear Monsieur Pierre," said she, "how do you explain the fact of a great man executing a duc--or even an ordinary man who--is innocent and untried?"
Princess Mary spent half of every day with little Nicholas, watching his lessons, teaching him Russian and music herself, and talking to Dessalles; the rest of the day she spent over her books, with her old nurse, or with "God's folk" who sometimes came by the back door to see her.
But when Napoleon asked him whether the Russians thought they would beat Bonaparte or not, Lavrushka screwed up his eyes and considered.
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.
But never had she felt so grieved for him or so much afraid of losing him.
Everything's dead, up there--no flesh or blood or growing thing anywhere.
She had a cradle, and I often spent an hour or more rocking her.
Let us consider for a moment what most of the trouble and anxiety which I have referred to is about, and how much it is necessary that we be troubled, or at least careful.
To- day will decide whether Richard or Henry shall be king of England.
I only know that I sat in my mother's lap or clung to her dress as she went about her household duties.
Long before I learned to do a sum in arithmetic or describe the shape of the earth, Miss Sullivan had taught me to find beauty in the fragrant woods, in every blade of grass, and in the curves and dimples of my baby sister's hand.
A day or two afterward I was stringing beads of different sizes in symmetrical groups--two large beads, three small ones, and so on.
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.
It's winter - or was at home.