Many such appeals were taken, notably in the case of Leon, bishop of Rostov (Mouravieff, op. cit.
Novorossiysk is connected by rail, at the west end of the Caucasus, with the Rostov-Vladikavkaz line, and a mountain road leads from Velyaminovsk (or Tuapse) to Maikop in the province of Kuban.
The following table shows the urban population in the various divisions of the empire in 1897: - There were in European Russia and Poland only twelve cities with more than too,000 inhabitants in 1884; in 1900 there were sixteen, namely, St Petersburg, Moscow, Warsaw, Odessa, Lodz, Riga, Kiev, Kharkov, Vilna, Saratov, Kazan, Ekaterinoslav, Rostov-on-the Don, Astrakhan, Tula and Kishinev.
The larger cities (St Petersburg, Moscow, Odessa, Sevastopol, KertchYenikala, Nikolayev, Rostov) have an administrative system of their own, independent of the governments; in these the.
M., and navigable for 880 m., rises in the government of Tula and enters the Sea of Azov at Rostov, after describing a great curve to the E.
Caucasia, having been connected with the Rostov-Vladikavkaz line, has consequently also been brought into touch with the Russian railways.
The principal approach to Caucasia from Russia by rail is the line that runs from Rostov-on-Don to Vladikavkaz at the foot of the central Caucasus range.
A railway line to connect the North Caucasian line (Rostov to Petrovsk) with the Transcaucasian line (Batum to Baku) has been built along the Caspian shore from Petrovsk, through the "gate" or pass of Derbent, to Baku.
Dmitri of Rostov, was welcomed with enthusiasm by the monks of the monasteries of St.
Philaret was kept in the strictest confinement in the Antoniev monastery, where he was exposed to every conceivable indignity; but when the pseudo-Demetrius overthrew the Godunovs he released Philaret and made him metropolitan of Rostov (1605).
The government is under the administration of the ministry of war, and is divided into nine districts - Donets (chief town, Kamenskaya with 23,576 inhabitants in 1897), First Don district (Konstantinovskaya, 8800), Second Don district (NizhneChirskaya, 15,196), Rostov (Rostov-on-Don, 119,889), Salsky (Velikoknyazheskaya), Taganrog (Taganrog, 58,928 in 1900), Ust-medvyeditsa (Ust-medvyeditsa, 16,000), Khoper (Uryupina, 9600), Cherkasky (Novo-cherkassk, 52,005).
Of Novo-rossiysk on the railway to Rostov-on-Don, and in 45° 3' N.
ROSTOV VELIKIY, a town of Russia, in the government of Yaroslavl, 35 m.
Of the town of Yaroslavl, near Lake Rostov or Nero.
Rostov was founded by Sla y s in or before 862, and played so prominent a role in the history of that part of Russia that it used to be known as Rostov the Great.
He annexed the principality of Suzdal to Moscovy, together with Murom, Kozelsk Peremyshl, and other places; reduced the grand-duchy of Rostov to a state of vassalage; and acquired territory from the republic of Great Novgorod by treaty.
ROSTOV-ON-THE-DON, a seaport of Russia, in the territory of the Don Cossacks, well situated on the high right bank of the Don, 13 m.
Thirty years later the fortifications were transferred to the site now occupied by Rostov, 5 m.
Owing to its situation on the navigable river Don and at the junction of three railways, radiating to north-western Russia, Caucasia and the Volga respectively, Rostov has become the chief seaport of south-eastern Russia, being second in importance on the Black Sea to Odessa only.
Rostov is the chief centre of steam flour-mills for south-eastern Russia and Caucasia.
Rostov has excellent fisheries.
Rostov Velikiy >>
Personally Prince Lobanov was a grand seigneur of the Russian type, proud of being descended from the independent princes of Rostov, and at the same time an amiable man of wide culture, deeply versed in Russian history and genealogy, and perhaps the first authority of his time in all that related to the reign of the emperor Paul.
A short distance below the town of Rostov it breaks up into several channels, of which the largest and most southern retains the name of the river.
"That is, with Ilya Rostov who married Nataly Shinshina," said Anna Mikhaylovna.
"Count Rostov asks you to come to dinner today," said he, after a considerable pause which made Pierre feel uncomfortable.
"Ah, Count Rostov!" exclaimed Pierre joyfully.
Rostov, the father, is Ilya, and his son is Nicholas.
The chest in the passage was the place of mourning for the younger female generation in the Rostov household.
The squadron in which Nicholas Rostov served as a cadet was quartered in the German village of Salzeneck.
Cadet Rostov, ever since he had overtaken the regiment in Poland, had lived with the squadron commander.
Rostov patted the horse's neck and then his flank, and lingered for a moment.
Rostov waved his cap above his head like the German and cried laughing, "Und vivat die ganze Welt!"
Rostov looked out of the window and saw Denisov coming home.
Rostov took the money and, mechanically arranging the old and new coins in separate piles, began counting them.
Rostov thrust the purse under the pillow and shook the damp little hand which was offered him.
"Oh, he's all right, a good horse," answered Rostov, though the horse for which he had paid seven hundred rubbles was not worth half that sum.
"Then I'll have it brought round," said Rostov wishing to avoid Telyanin, and he went out to give the order.
On seeing Rostov, Denisov screwed up his face and pointing over his shoulder with his thumb to the room where Telyanin was sitting, he frowned and gave a shudder of disgust.
Rostov shrugged his shoulders as much as to say: "Nor do I, but what's one to do?" and, having given his order, he returned to Telyanin.
Telyanin was sitting in the same indolent pose in which Rostov had left him, rubbing his small white hands.
"Well there certainly are disgusting people," thought Rostov as he entered.
When Rostov went back there was a bottle of vodka and a sausage on the table.
He leaned his elbows on the table with his pen in his hand and, evidently glad of a chance to say quicker in words what he wanted to write, told Rostov the contents of his letter.
"Please, Denisov, let me lend you some: I have some, you know," said Rostov, blushing.
Really I have some, Rostov repeated.
"Wait, haven't you dropped it?" said Rostov, picking up the pillows one at a time and shaking them.
"No, if I hadn't thought of it being a treasure," said Rostov, "but I remember putting it there."
Rostov felt Denisov's gaze fixed on him, raised his eyes, and instantly dropped them again.
Rostov, his eyes avoiding Denisov, began buttoning his coat, buckled on his saber, and put on his cap.
"Denisov, let him alone, I know who has taken it," said Rostov, going toward the door without raising his eyes.
Denisov paused, thought a moment, and, evidently understanding what Rostov hinted at, seized his arm.
"I know who has taken it," repeated Rostov in an unsteady voice, and went to the door.
But Rostov pulled away his arm and, with as much anger as though Denisov were his worst enemy, firmly fixed his eyes directly on his face.
"Ah, may the devil take you and evewybody," were the last words Rostov heard.
Rostov went to Telyanin's quarters.
The headquarters were situated two miles away from Salzeneck, and Rostov, without returning home, took a horse and rode there.
Rostov rode up to it and saw Telyanin's horse at the porch.
"Yes," said Rostov as if it cost him a great deal to utter the word; and he sat down at the nearest table.
Rostov rose and went up to Telyanin.
Rostov took the purse in his hand, examined it and the money in it, and looked at Telyanin.
Rostov did not speak.
Rostov let go of it.
"Come here," said Rostov, catching hold of Telyanin's arm and almost dragging him to the window.
As soon as Rostov heard them, an enormous load of doubt fell from him.
Rostov took the money, avoiding Telyanin's eyes, and went out of the room without a word.
"Don't touch me," said Rostov, drawing back.
"And I tell you, Rostov, that you must apologize to the colonel!" said a tall, grizzly-haired staff captain, with enormous mustaches and many wrinkles on his large features, to Rostov who was crimson with excitement.
Rostov, growing red and pale alternately, looked first at one officer and then at the other.
"Come, that's right, Count!" cried the staff captain, turning round and clapping Rostov on the shoulder with his big hand.
"That's better, Count," said the staff captain, beginning to address Rostov by his title, as if in recognition of his confession.
No one shall hear a word from me," said Rostov in an imploring voice, "but I can't apologize, by God I can't, do what you will!
Rostov felt perfectly happy.
It seemed to Rostov that Bogdanich was only pretending not to notice him, and that his whole aim now was to test the cadet's courage, so he drew himself up and looked around him merrily; then it seemed to him that Bogdanich rode so near in order to show him his courage.
"There, it's just as I thought," said Rostov to himself.
Rostov no longer looked at the colonel, he had no time.
Rostov saw nothing but the hussars running all around him, their spurs catching and their sabers clattering.
Rostov did not think what this call for stretchers meant; he ran on, trying only to be ahead of the others; but just at the bridge, not looking at the ground, he came on some sticky, trodden mud, stumbled, and fell on his hands.
Rostov wiping his muddy hands on his breeches looked at his enemy and was about to run on, thinking that the farther he went to the front the better.
But Bogdanich, without looking at or recognizing Rostov, shouted to him:
Rostov, absorbed by his relations with Bogdanich, had paused on the bridge not knowing what to do.
Rostov ran up to him with the others.
Nicholas Rostov turned away and, as if searching for something, gazed into the distance, at the waters of the Danube, at the sky, and at the sun.
And Denisov rode up to a group that had stopped near Rostov, composed of the colonel, Nesvitski, Zherkov, and the officer from the suite.
The squadron in which Rostov was serving had scarcely time to mount before it was halted facing the enemy.
"If only they would be quick!" thought Rostov, feeling that at last the time had come to experience the joy of an attack of which he had so often heard from his fellow hussars.
Before him, on the right, Rostov saw the front lines of his hussars and still farther ahead a dark line which he could not see distinctly but took to be the enemy.
"Faster!" came the word of command, and Rostov felt Rook's flanks drooping as he broke into a gallop.
Rostov anticipated his horse's movements and became more and more elated.
"Oh, how I will slash at him!" thought Rostov, gripping the hilt of his saber.
"Let anyone come my way now," thought Rostov driving his spurs into Rook and letting him go at a full gallop so that he outstripped the others.
Rostov asked and answered at the same instant.
Rostov also tried to rise but fell back, his sabretache having become entangled in the saddle.
Who are these men? thought Rostov, scarcely believing his eyes.
Rostov closed his eyes and stooped down.
"What, are you wounded, my lad?" said Tushin, approaching the gun on which Rostov sat.
Rostov, too, dragged himself to the fire.
Tushin's large, kind, intelligent eyes were fixed with sympathy and commiseration on Rostov, who saw that Tushin with his whole heart wished to help him but could not.
Rostov looked at and listened listlessly to what passed before and around him.
Tushin asked Rostov in a whisper.
And when will all this end? thought Rostov, looking at the changing shadows before him.
Rostov did not listen to the soldier.
That day Nicholas Rostov received a letter from Boris, telling him that the Ismaylov regiment was quartered for the night ten miles from Olmutz and that he wanted to see him as he had a letter and money for him.
Rostov was particularly in need of money now that the troops, after their active service, were stationed near Olmutz and the camp swarmed with well-provisioned sutlers and Austrian Jews offering all sorts of tempting wares.
Rostov had not yet had time to get his uniform.
Boris rose to meet Rostov, but in doing so did not omit to steady and replace some chessmen that were falling.
Without answering, Rostov shook the soldier's Cross of St. George fastened to the cording of his uniform and, indicating a bandaged arm, glanced at Berg with a smile.
Rostov took the letter and, throwing the money on the sofa, put both arms on the table and began to read.
"Oh dear, what a beast I am!" muttered Rostov, as he read the letter.
Much I need it! said Rostov, throwing the letter under the table.
"Oh, that's it!" said Rostov, evidently thinking of something else.
Again Rostov looked intently into Boris' eyes and sighed.
"Yes, that was fine," said Rostov, smiling.
This pleased Rostov and he began talking about it, and as he went on became more and more animated.
Rostov was a truthful young man and would on no account have told a deliberate lie.
Rostov flushed up on noticing this, but he did not care, this was a mere stranger.
In spite of Prince Andrew's disagreeable, ironical tone, in spite of the contempt with which Rostov, from his fighting army point of view, regarded all these little adjutants on the staff of whom the newcomer was evidently one, Rostov felt confused, blushed, and became silent.
"Yes, stories!" repeated Rostov loudly, looking with eyes suddenly grown furious, now at Boris, now at Bolkonski.
Only when Prince Andrew was gone did Rostov think of what he ought to have said.
Seeing that smile, Rostov involuntarily smiled himself and felt a still stronger flow of love for his sovereign.
To Rostov every word sounded like a voice from heaven.
The Tsar said something more which Rostov did not hear, and the soldiers, straining their lungs, shouted "Hurrah!"
Rostov too, bending over his saddle, shouted "Hurrah!" with all his might, feeling that he would like to injure himself by that shout, if only to express his rapture fully.
"How can the Emperor be undecided?" thought Rostov, but then even this indecision appeared to him majestic and enchanting, like everything else the Tsar did.
Farther and farther he rode away, stopping at other regiments, till at last only his white plumes were visible to Rostov from amid the suites that surrounded the Emperors.
Among the gentlemen of the suite, Rostov noticed Bolkonski, sitting his horse indolently and carelessly.
When the Emperor had passed nearly all the regiments, the troops began a ceremonial march past him, and Rostov on Bedouin, recently purchased from Denisov, rode past too, at the rear of his squadron--that is, alone and in full view of the Emperor.
Rostov himself, his legs well back and his stomach drawn in and feeling himself one with his horse, rode past the Emperor with a frowning but blissful face "like a vewy devil," as Denisov expressed it.
Commanded by the Emperor himself they could not fail to vanquish anyone, be it whom it might: so thought Rostov and most of the officers after the review.
At dawn on the sixteenth of November, Denisov's squadron, in which Nicholas Rostov served and which was in Prince Bagration's detachment, moved from the place where it had spent the night, advancing into action as arranged, and after going behind other columns for about two thirds of a mile was stopped on the highroad.
Rostov saw the Cossacks and then the first and second squadrons of hussars and infantry battalions and artillery pass by and go forward and then Generals Bagration and Dolgorukov ride past with their adjutants.
Their squadron remained in reserve and Nicholas Rostov spent that day in a dull and wretched mood.
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.
The Cossacks sold the horse for two gold pieces, and Rostov, being the richest of the officers now that he had received his money, bought it.
"But don't hurt my little horse!" said the Alsatian good-naturedly to Rostov when the animal was handed over to the hussar.
Rostov smilingly reassured the dragoon and gave him money.
All began to run and bustle, and Rostov saw coming up the road behind him several riders with white plumes in their hats.
Rostov did not know or remember how he ran to his place and mounted.
The Emperor drew level with Rostov and halted.
In Wischau itself, a petty German town, Rostov saw the Emperor again.
Rostov saw how the Emperor's rather round shoulders shuddered as if a cold shiver had run down them, how his left foot began convulsively tapping the horse's side with the spur, and how the well-trained horse looked round unconcerned and did not stir.
Rostov saw tears filling the Emperor's eyes and heard him, as he was riding away, say to Czartoryski: What a terrible thing war is: what a terrible thing!
Late that night, when all had separated, Denisov with his short hand patted his favorite, Rostov, on the shoulder.
And Rostov got up and went wandering among the campfires, dreaming of what happiness it would be to die--not in saving the Emperor's life (he did not even dare to dream of that), but simply to die before his eyes.
That same night, Rostov was with a platoon on skirmishing duty in front of Bagration's detachment.
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?
What?... said Rostov, waking up.
Rostov could hear the sound of French words but could not distinguish them.
What do you make of it? said Rostov to the hussar beside him.
Rostov asked again, after waiting for a reply.
Rostov no longer wanted to sleep.
Rostov, still looking round toward the fires and the shouts, rode with the sergeant to meet some mounted men who were riding along the line.
Rostov rode up to Bagration, reported to him, and then joined the adjutants listening to what the generals were saying.
Officer!" said Bagration to Rostov, "are the enemy's skirmishers still there?"
Rostov spurred his horse, called to Sergeant Fedchenko and two other hussars, told them to follow him, and trotted downhill in the direction from which the shouting came.
Bagration called to him from the hill not to go beyond the stream, but Rostov pretended not to hear him and did not stop but rode on and on, continually mistaking bushes for trees and gullies for men and continually discovering his mistakes.
Rostov turned his horse and galloped back.
Rostov reined in his horse, whose spirits had risen, like his own, at the firing, and went back at a footpace.
Only when approaching Bagration did Rostov let his horse gallop again, and with his hand at the salute rode up to the general.
"What does that prove?" he was saying as Rostov rode up.
"Your excellency," said Rostov, "may I ask a favor?"
But Rostov did not reply.
"And if I should meet His Majesty before I meet the commander-in-chief, your excellency?" said Rostov, with his hand to his cap.
On being relieved from picket duty Rostov had managed to get a few hours' sleep before morning and felt cheerful, bold, and resolute, with elasticity of movement, faith in his good fortune, and generally in that state of mind which makes everything seem possible, pleasant, and easy.
Rostov got out of their way, involuntarily noticed that one of them was bleeding, and galloped on.
Rostov heard the thud of their hoofs and the jingle of their weapons and saw their horses, their figures, and even their faces, more and more distinctly.
Rostov could already see their faces and heard the command: "Charge!" shouted by an officer who was urging his thoroughbred to full speed.
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.
Hardly had the Horse Guards passed Rostov before he heard them shout, "Hurrah!" and looking back saw that their foremost ranks were mixed up with some foreign cavalry with red epaulets, probably French.
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.
Rostov was horrified to hear later that of all that mass of huge and handsome men, of all those brilliant, rich youths, officers and cadets, who had galloped past him on their thousand-ruble horses, only eighteen were left after the charge.
Rostov without hearing Boris to the end spurred his horse.
"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.
He said something more, but Rostov did not wait to hear it and rode away.
Having passed the Guards and traversed an empty space, Rostov, to avoid again getting in front of the first line as he had done when the Horse Guards charged, followed the line of reserves, going far round the place where the hottest musket fire and cannonade were heard.
The foreboding of evil that had suddenly come over Rostov was more and more confirmed the farther he rode into the region behind the village of Pratzen, which was full of troops of all kinds.
Rostov kept asking as he came up to Russian and Austrian soldiers running in confused crowds across his path.
Rostov kept asking everyone he could stop, but got no answer from anyone.
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 let go of the horse and was about to ride on, when a wounded officer passing by addressed him:
Rostov rode on at a footpace not knowing why or to whom he was now going.
Rostov rode in the direction pointed out to him, in which he saw turrets and a church.
Rostov considered, and then went in the direction where they said he would be killed.
No one whom Rostov asked could tell him where the Emperor or Kutuzov was.
One officer told Rostov that he had seen someone from headquarters behind the village to the left, and thither Rostov rode, not hoping to find anyone but merely to ease his conscience.
One with a white plume in his hat seemed familiar to Rostov; the other on a beautiful chestnut horse (which Rostov fancied he had seen before) rode up to the ditch, struck his horse with his spurs, and giving it the rein leaped lightly over.
The rider, whose figure seemed familiar to Rostov and involuntarily riveted his attention, made a gesture of refusal with his head and hand and by that gesture Rostov instantly recognized his lamented and adored monarch.
At that moment Alexander turned his head and Rostov saw the beloved features that were so deeply engraved on his memory.
Rostov was happy in the assurance that the rumors about the Emperor being wounded were false.
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.
Early in the year 1806 Nicholas Rostov returned home on leave.
Denisov was going home to Voronezh and Rostov persuaded him to travel with him as far as Moscow and to stay with him there.
Meeting a comrade at the last post station but one before Moscow, Denisov had drunk three bottles of wine with him and, despite the jolting ruts across the snow-covered road, did not once wake up on the way to Moscow, but lay at the bottom of the sleigh beside Rostov, who grew more and more impatient the nearer they got to Moscow.
"Dmitri," said Rostov to his valet on the box, "those lights are in our house, aren't they?"
Mind now, don't forget to put out my new coat, added Rostov, fingering his new mustache.
At last the sleigh bore to the right, drew up at an entrance, and Rostov saw overhead the old familiar cornice with a bit of plaster broken off, the porch, and the post by the side of the pavement.
"All well?" asked Rostov, drawing away his arm.
Rostov, who had completely forgotten Denisov, not wishing anyone to forestall him, threw off his fur coat and ran on tiptoe through the large dark ballroom.
Rostov, rubbing his eyes that seemed glued together, raised his disheveled head from the hot pillow.
Rostov hurriedly put something on his feet, drew on his dressing gown, and went out.
Sitting on the sofa with the little cushions on its arms, in what used to be his old schoolroom, and looking into Natasha's wildly bright eyes, Rostov re-entered that world of home and childhood which had no meaning for anyone else, but gave him some of the best joys of his life; and the burning of an arm with a ruler as a proof of love did not seem to him senseless, he understood and was not surprised at it.
Rostov saw that it had been well considered by them.
Why should he not love her now, and even marry her, Rostov thought, but just now there were so many other pleasures and interests before him!
When Rostov met Sonya in the drawing room, he reddened.
On his return to Moscow from the army, Nicholas Rostov was welcomed by his home circle as the best of sons, a hero, and their darling Nikolenka; by his relations as a charming, attractive, and polite young man; by his acquaintances as a handsome lieutenant of hussars, a good dancer, and one of the best matches in the city.
At the beginning of March, old Count Ilya Rostov was very busy arranging a dinner in honor of Prince Bagration at the English Club.
The men who set the tone in conversation--Count Rostopchin, Prince Yuri Dolgorukov, Valuev, Count Markov, and Prince Vyazemski--did not show themselves at the club, but met in private houses in intimate circles, and the Moscovites who took their opinions from others--Ilya Rostov among them--remained for a while without any definite opinion on the subject of the war and without leaders.
A minority of those present were casual guests--chiefly young men, among whom were Denisov, Rostov, and Dolokhov--who was now again an officer in the Semenov regiment.
Young Rostov stood at a window with Dolokhov, whose acquaintance he had lately made and highly valued.
He had no lambskin cap on his head, nor had he a loaded whip over his shoulder, as when Rostov had seen him on the eve of the battle of Austerlitz, but wore a tight new uniform with Russian and foreign Orders, and the Star of St. George on his left breast.
Count Ilya Rostov, laughing and repeating the words, Make way, dear boy!
And Count Rostov, glancing angrily at the author who went on reading his verses, bowed to Bagration.
Nicholas Rostov, with Denisov and his new acquaintance, Dolokhov, sat almost at the middle of the table.
As soon as the singing was over, another and another toast was proposed and Count Ilya Rostov became more and more moved, more glass was smashed, and the shouting grew louder.
Dolokhov, Denisov, and Rostov were now sitting opposite Pierre and seemed very gay.
Rostov was talking merrily to his two friends, one of whom was a dashing hussar and the other a notorious duelist and rake, and every now and then he glanced ironically at Pierre, whose preoccupied, absent-minded, and massive figure was a very noticeable one at the dinner.
Rostov looked inimically at Pierre, first because Pierre appeared to his hussar eyes as a rich civilian, the husband of a beauty, and in a word--an old woman; and secondly because Pierre in his preoccupation and absent-mindedness had not recognized Rostov and had not responded to his greeting.
"What are you about?" shouted Rostov, looking at him in an ecstasy of exasperation.
But Rostov was otherwise engaged; he was shouting "Hurrah!"
Despite Denisov's request that he would take no part in the matter, Rostov agreed to be Dolokhov's second, and after dinner he discussed the arrangements for the duel with Nesvitski, Bezukhov's second.
Pierre went home, but Rostov with Dolokhov and Denisov stayed on at the club till late, listening to the gypsies and other singers.
"Well then, till tomorrow at Sokolniki," said Dolokhov, as he took leave of Rostov in the club porch.
Next day, at eight in the morning, Pierre and Nesvitski drove to the Sokolniki forest and found Dolokhov, Denisov, and Rostov already there.
Rostov ran toward him and said something.
Denisov, Rostov, and Nesvitski closed their eyes.
Rostov and Denisov drove away with the wounded Dolokhov.
But on entering Moscow he suddenly came to and, lifting his head with an effort, took Rostov, who was sitting beside him, by the hand.
Rostov was struck by the totally altered and unexpectedly rapturous and tender expression on Dolokhov's face.
When he had become a little quieter, he explained to Rostov that he was living with his mother, who, if she saw him dying, would not survive it.
He implored Rostov to go on and prepare her.
Rostov went on ahead to do what was asked, and to his great surprise learned that Dolokhov the brawler, Dolokhov the bully, lived in Moscow with an old mother and a hunchback sister, and was the most affectionate of sons and brothers.
Dolokhov recovered, and Rostov became very friendly with him during his convalescence.
"Oh, yes, I quite understand," answered Rostov, who was under his new friend's influence.
The first half of the winter of 1806, which Nicholas Rostov spent in Moscow, was one of the happiest, merriest times for him and the whole family.
Rostov noticed something new in Dolokhov's relations with Sonya, but he did not explain to himself what these new relations were.
For the Rostov family the whole interest of these preparations for war lay in the fact that Nicholas would not hear of remaining in Moscow, and only awaited the termination of Denisov's furlough after Christmas to return with him to their regiment.
There were many pretty girls and the Rostov girls were among the prettiest.
In the middle of a figure he beckoned to Rostov who was passing:
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:
Rostov had not seen him since his proposal and Sonya's refusal and felt uncomfortable at the thought of how they would meet.
Dolokhov's clear, cold glance met Rostov as soon as he entered the door, as though he had long expected him.
"I called once or twice at your house," said Rostov, reddening.
Rostov recalled at that moment a strange conversation he had once had with Dolokhov.
Rostov felt ill at ease.
Rostov sat down by his side and at first did not play.
Rostov staked five rubles on a card and lost, staked again, and again lost.
"Leave it," said Dolokhov, though he did not seem to be even looking at Rostov, "you'll win it back all the sooner.
Rostov almost screamed lifting both hands to his head.
"Still, don't ruin yourself!" said Dolokhov with a side glance at Rostov as he continued to deal.
Rostov, leaning his head on both hands, sat at the table which was scrawled over with figures, wet with spilled wine, and littered with cards.
Rostov submissively unbent the corner of his card and, instead of the six thousand he had intended, carefully wrote twenty-one.
Oh, how Rostov detested at that moment those hands with their short reddish fingers and hairy wrists, which held him in their power....
Rostov, flushing, drew Dolokhov into the next room.
"I say, Rostov," said Dolokhov clearly, smiling and looking Nicholas straight in the eyes, "you know the saying, 'Lucky in love, unlucky at cards.'
"Tomorrow," replied Rostov and left the room.
It was long since Rostov had felt such enjoyment from music as he did that day.
Next day Rostov saw Denisov off.
After Denisov's departure, Rostov spent another fortnight in Moscow, without going out of the house, waiting for the money his father could not at once raise, and he spent most of his time in the girls' room.
The marshal, a Count Rostov, hasn't sent half his contingent.
When returning from his leave, Rostov felt, for the first time, how close was the bond that united him to Denisov and the whole regiment.
On approaching it, Rostov felt as he had done when approaching his home in Moscow.
Having once more entered into the definite conditions of this regimental life, Rostov felt the joy and relief a tired man feels on lying down to rest.
Rostov lived, as before, with Denisov, and since their furlough they had become more friendly than ever.
Denisov evidently tried to expose Rostov to danger as seldom as possible, and after an action greeted his safe return with evident joy.
On one of his foraging expeditions, in a deserted and ruined village to which he had come in search of provisions, Rostov found a family consisting of an old Pole and his daughter with an infant in arms.
Rostov brought them to his quarters, placed them in his own lodging, and kept them for some weeks while the old man was recovering.
Rostov took the joke as an insult, flared up, and said such unpleasant things to the officer that it was all Denisov could do to prevent a duel.
Denisov patted him on the shoulder and began rapidly pacing the room without looking at Rostov, as was his way at moments of deep feeling.
"Ah, what a mad bweed you Wostovs are!" he muttered, and Rostov noticed tears in his eyes.
In April the troops were enlivened by news of the Emperor's arrival, but Rostov had no chance of being present at the review he held at Bartenstein, as the Pavlograds were at the outposts far beyond that place.
Denisov and Rostov were living in an earth hut, dug out for them by the soldiers and roofed with branches and turf.
In April, Rostov was on orderly duty.
Rostov moved to the window to see whom he was speaking to, and saw the quartermaster, Topcheenko.
Rostov lay down again on his bed and thought complacently: "Let him fuss and bustle now, my job's done and I'm lying down--capitally!"
"Let God and our gweat monarch judge me afterwards!" said Denisov going out, and Rostov heard the hoofs of several horses splashing through the mud.
Rostov went to meet them.
A weal dog astwide a fence! shouted Denisov after him (the most insulting expression a cavalryman can address to a mounted infantryman) and riding up to Rostov, he burst out laughing.
When Rostov asked what was the matter, he only uttered some incoherent oaths and threats in a hoarse, feeble voice.
Alarmed at Denisov's condition, Rostov suggested that he should undress, drink some water, and send for the doctor.
Rostov, who felt his friend's absence very much, having no news of him since he left and feeling very anxious about his wound and the progress of his affairs, took advantage of the armistice to get leave to visit Denisov in hospital.
Directly Rostov entered the door he was enveloped by a smell of putrefaction and hospital air.
The doctor noticed Rostov coming upstairs.
Rostov explained that he wanted to see Major Denisov of the hussars, who was wounded.
"Major Denisov," Rostov said again.
Rostov described Denisov's appearance.
But Rostov bowed himself away from the doctor and asked the assistant to show him the way.
Rostov and the assistant went into the dark corridor.
The smell was so strong there that Rostov held his nose and had to pause and collect his strength before he could go on.
Glancing in at the door, Rostov saw that the sick and wounded were lying on the floor on straw and overcoats.
But, just because the assistant evidently did not want him to go in, Rostov entered the soldiers' ward.
Rostov went to the middle of the room and looking through the open doors into the two adjoining rooms saw the same thing there.
Rostov listened and made out the word.
Rostov glanced round, looking for someone who would put this man back in his place and bring him water.
"Good day, your honor!" he shouted, rolling his eyes at Rostov and evidently mistaking him for one of the hospital authorities.
"Get him to his place and give him some water," said Rostov, pointing to the Cossack.
The man's neighbor on one side whispered something to him, pointing at Rostov, who noticed that the old man wanted to speak to him.
Rostov looked at the young soldier and a cold chill ran down his back.
Going along the corridor, the assistant led Rostov to the officers' wards, consisting of three rooms, the doors of which stood open.
The first person Rostov met in the officers' ward was a thin little man with one arm, who was walking about the first room in a nightcap and hospital dressing gown, with a pipe between his teeth.
Rostov looked at him, trying to remember where he had seen him before.
My neighbor, he added, when he heard who Rostov wanted.
How are you, how are you? he called out, still in the same voice as in the regiment, but Rostov noticed sadly that under this habitual ease and animation some new, sinister, hidden feeling showed itself in the expression of Denisov's face and the intonations of his voice.
He did not ask about the regiment, nor about the general state of affairs, and when Rostov spoke of these matters did not listen.
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.
His hospital companions, who had gathered round Rostov--a fresh arrival from the world outside--gradually began to disperse as soon as Denisov began reading his answer.
Rostov noticed by their faces that all those gentlemen had already heard that story more than once and were tired of it.
No doubt he" (indicating Rostov) "has connections on the staff.
Late in the evening, when Rostov was about to leave, he asked Denisov whether he had no commission for him.
"It seems it's no use knocking one's head against a wall!" he said, coming from the window and giving Rostov a large envelope.
Having returned to the regiment and told the commander the state of Denisov's affairs, Rostov rode to Tilsit with the letter to the Emperor.
That same day, Rostov, profiting by the darkness to avoid being recognized in civilian dress, came to Tilsit and went to the lodging occupied by Boris and Zhilinski.
Rostov, in common with the whole army from which he came, was far from having experienced the change of feeling toward Napoleon and the French- -who from being foes had suddenly become friends--that had taken place at headquarters and in Boris.
Only recently, talking with one of Platov's Cossack officers, Rostov had argued that if Napoleon were taken prisoner he would be treated not as a sovereign, but as a criminal.
But Rostov had noticed his first impulse.
"I see I'm intruding," Rostov repeated.
His eyes, looking serenely and steadily at Rostov, seemed to be veiled by something, as if screened by blue spectacles of conventionality.
Rostov looked frowningly at the Frenchmen, bowed reluctantly, and remained silent.
"No, I came on business," replied Rostov, briefly.
When he and Boris were alone, Rostov felt for the first time that he could not look Boris in the face without a sense of awkwardness.
Boris, with one leg crossed over the other and stroking his left hand with the slender fingers of his right, listened to Rostov as a general listens to the report of a subordinate, now looking aside and now gazing straight into Rostov's eyes with the same veiled look.
Each time this happened Rostov felt uncomfortable and cast down his eyes.
Rostov almost shouted, not looking Boris in the face.
"Well then, go, go, go..." said Rostov, and refusing supper and remaining alone in the little room, he walked up and down for a long time, hearing the lighthearted French conversation from the next room.
Rostov had come to Tilsit the day least suitable for a petition on Denisov's behalf.
Rostov felt so ill at ease and uncomfortable with Boris that, when the latter looked in after supper, he pretended to be asleep, and early next morning went away, avoiding Boris.
He is here! thought Rostov, who had unconsciously returned to the house where Alexander lodged.
And suddenly with a determination he himself did not expect, Rostov felt for the letter in his pocket and went straight to the house.
On hearing this indifferent voice, Rostov grew frightened at what he was doing; the thought of meeting the Emperor at any moment was so fascinating and consequently so alarming that he was ready to run away, but the official who had questioned him opened the door, and Rostov entered.
"A good figure and in her first bloom," he was saying, but on seeing Rostov, he stopped short and frowned.
Rostov turned and was about to go, but the man in the braces stopped him.
Rostov went back into the hall and noticed that in the porch there were many officers and generals in full parade uniform, whom he had to pass.
It was a cavalry general who had obtained the Emperor's special favor during this campaign, and who had formerly commanded the division in which Rostov was serving.
Rostov, in dismay, began justifying himself, but seeing the kindly, jocular face of the general, he took him aside and in an excited voice told him the whole affair, asking him to intercede for Denisov, whom the general knew.
Having heard Rostov to the end, the general shook his head gravely.
Hardly had Rostov handed him the letter and finished explaining Denisov's case, when hasty steps and the jingling of spurs were heard on the stairs, and the general, leaving him, went to the porch.
Forgetting the danger of being recognized, Rostov went close to the porch, together with some inquisitive civilians, and again, after two years, saw those features he adored: that same face and same look and step, and the same union of majesty and mildness....
In the uniform of the Preobrazhensk regiment--white chamois-leather breeches and high boots-- and wearing a star Rostov did not know (it was that of the Legion d'honneur), the monarch came out into the porch, putting on his gloves and carrying his hat under his arm.
All the suite drew back and Rostov saw the general talking for some time to the Emperor.
Again the crowd of members of the suite and street gazers (among whom was Rostov) moved nearer to the Emperor.
Beside himself with enthusiasm, Rostov ran after him with the crowd.
As the Tsar rode up to one flank of the battalions, which presented arms, another group of horsemen galloped up to the opposite flank, and at the head of them Rostov recognized Napoleon.
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.
In spite of the trampling of the French gendarmes' horses, which were pushing back the crowd, Rostov kept his eyes on every movement of Alexander and Bonaparte.
The crowd unexpectedly found itself so close to the Emperors that Rostov, standing in the front row, was afraid he might be recognized.
Kozlovski scanned the ranks resolutely and included Rostov in his scrutiny.
The members of his suite, guessing at once what he wanted, moved about and whispered as they passed something from one to another, and a page--the same one Rostov had seen the previous evening at Boris'--ran forward and, bowing respectfully over the outstretched hand and not keeping it waiting a moment, laid in it an Order on a red ribbon.
On his way back, he noticed Rostov standing by the corner of a house.
Rostov stood at that corner for a long time, watching the feast from a distance.
But Rostov did not listen to him.
This Marshal was Count Ilya Rostov, and in the middle of May Prince Andrew went to visit him.
In 1809 Count Ilya Rostov was living at Otradnoe just as he had done in former years, that is, entertaining almost the whole province with hunts, theatricals, dinners, and music.
She and all the Rostov family welcomed him as an old friend, simply and cordially.
The general sat down by Count Ilya Rostov, who was next to himself the most important guest.
Pierre, as one of the principal guests, had to sit down to boston with Count Rostov, the general, and the colonel.
Nicholas Rostov experienced this blissful condition to the full when, after 1807, he continued to serve in the Pavlograd regiment, in which he already commanded the squadron he had taken over from Denisov.
Rostov had become a bluff, good-natured fellow, whom his Moscow acquaintances would have considered rather bad form, but who was liked and respected by his comrades, subordinates, and superiors, and was well contented with his life.
His hussar comrades--not only those of his own regiment, but the whole brigade--gave Rostov a dinner to which the subscription was fifteen rubles a head, and at which there were two bands and two choirs of singers.
On the fifteenth, when young Rostov, in his dressing gown, looked out of the window, he saw it was an unsurpassable morning for hunting: it was as if the sky were melting and sinking to the earth without any wind.
Rostov, having finally settled with "Uncle" where they should set on the hounds, and having shown Natasha where she was to stand--a spot where nothing could possibly run out--went round above the ravine.
Nicholas Rostov meanwhile remained at his post, waiting for the wolf.
A thousand times during that half-hour Rostov cast eager and restless glances over the edge of the wood, with the two scraggy oaks rising above the aspen undergrowth and the gully with its water-worn side and "Uncle's" cap just visible above the bush on his right.
"No, it can't be!" thought Rostov, taking a deep breath, as a man does at the coming of something long hoped for.
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.
Rostov, holding his breath, looked round at the borzois.
"Ulyulyulyu!" whispered Rostov, pouting his lips.
Suddenly the wolf's whole physiognomy changed: she shuddered, seeing what she had probably never seen before--human eyes fixed upon her--and turning her head a little toward Rostov, she paused.
Old Count Rostov also rode up and touched the wolf.
"Uncle," Rostov, and Ilagin kept stealthily glancing at one another's dogs, trying not to be observed by their companions and searching uneasily for rivals to their own borzois.
Rostov was particularly struck by the beauty of a small, pure-bred, red- spotted bitch on Ilagin's leash, slender but with muscles like steel, a delicate muzzle, and prominent black eyes.
After supper, over their cherry brandy, Rostov and "Uncle" talked of past and future hunts, of Rugay and Ilagin's dogs, while Natasha sat upright on the sofa and listened with sparkling eyes.
Involuntarily Rostov recalled all the good he had heard about him from his father and the neighbors.
Count Ilya Rostov had resigned the position of Marshal of the Nobility because it involved him in too much expense, but still his affairs did not improve.
Natasha and Nicholas often noticed their parents conferring together anxiously and privately and heard suggestions of selling the fine ancestral Rostov house and estate near Moscow.
There was still the hunting establishment which Nicholas had enlarged.
She could not help loving the countess and the whole Rostov family, but neither could she help loving Nicholas and knowing that his happiness depended on that love.
After Nicholas had gone things in the Rostov household were more depressing than ever, and the countess fell ill from mental agitation.
At the end of January old Count Rostov went to Moscow with Natasha and Sonya.
Count Rostov resumed his seat.
No, this is really beyond anything, my dear count, said she to Count Rostov who had followed her in.
Count Rostov took the girls to Countess Bezukhova's.
Count Rostov was displeased to see that the company consisted almost entirely of men and women known for the freedom of their conduct.
Count Rostov approved of this suggestion, appreciating its reasonableness.
Next day Count Rostov returned from his estate near Moscow in time for lunch as he had promised.
Before the beginning of the campaign, Rostov had received a letter from his parents in which they told him briefly of Natasha's illness and the breaking off of her engagement to Prince Andrew (which they explained by Natasha's having rejected him) and again asked Nicholas to retire from the army and return home.
It was, in fact, only the commencement of the campaign that prevented Rostov from returning home as he had promised and marrying Sonya.
And since it had to be so, Nicholas Rostov, as was natural to him, felt contented with the life he led in the regiment and was able to find pleasure in that life.
Rostov remembered Sventsyani, because on the first day of their arrival at that small town he changed his sergeant major and was unable to manage all the drunken men of his squadron who, unknown to him, had appropriated five barrels of old beer.
Rostov, smoking his pipe and turning his head about as the water trickled down his neck, listened inattentively, with an occasional glance at Ilyin, who was pressing close to him.
Ilyin tried to imitate Rostov in everything and adored him as a girl might have done.
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.
And so he did not like Zdrzhinski's tale, nor did he like Zdrzhinski himself who, with his mustaches extending over his cheeks, bent low over the face of his hearer, as was his habit, and crowded Rostov in the narrow shanty.
Rostov looked at him in silence.
"I can't stand this any more," said Ilyin, noticing that Rostov did not relish Zdrzhinski's conversation.
Rostov threw his cloak over his shoulders, shouted to Lavrushka to follow with the things, and--now slipping in the mud, now splashing right through it--set off with Ilyin in the lessening rain and the darkness that was occasionally rent by distant lightning.
Rostov, where are you?
Rostov and Ilyin, on entering the room, were welcomed with merry shouts and laughter.
"Dear me, how jolly we are!" said Rostov laughing.
Rostov and Ilyin hastened to find a corner where they could change into dry clothes without offending Mary Hendrikhovna's modesty.
Mary Hendrikhovna obliged them with the loan of a petticoat to be used as a curtain, and behind that screen Rostov and Ilyin, helped by Lavrushka who had brought their kits, changed their wet things for dry ones.
Rostov received his tumbler, and adding some rum to it asked Mary Hendrikhovna to stir it.
When they had emptied the samovar, Rostov took a pack of cards and proposed that they should play "Kings" with Mary Hendrikhovna.
But Rostov went off to his squadron without waiting for tea.
As they left the tavern in the twilight of the dawn, Rostov and Ilyin both glanced under the wet and glistening leather hood of the doctor's cart, from under the apron of which his feet were sticking out, and in the middle of which his wife's nightcap was visible and her sleepy breathing audible.
"She really is a dear little thing," said Rostov to Ilyin, who was following him.
Rostov riding in front gave the order "Forward!" and the hussars, with clanking sabers and subdued talk, their horses' hoofs splashing in the mud, defiled in fours and moved along the broad road planted with birch trees on each side, following the infantry and a battery that had gone on in front.
Rostov, always closely followed by Ilyin, rode along the side of the road between two rows of birch trees.
When campaigning, Rostov allowed himself the indulgence of riding not a regimental but a Cossack horse.
Formerly, when going into action, Rostov had felt afraid; now he had not the least feeling of fear.
Before Rostov had had time to consider and determine the distance of that firing, Count Ostermann-Tolstoy's adjutant came galloping from Vitebsk with orders to advance at a trot along the road.
The sounds, which he had not heard for so long, had an even more pleasurable and exhilarating effect on Rostov than the previous sounds of firing.
Rostov gazed at what was happening before him as at a hunt.
Rostov, without waiting to hear him out, touched his horse, galloped to the front of his squadron, and before he had time to finish giving the word of command, the whole squadron, sharing his feeling, was following him.
Rostov himself did not know how or why he did it.
With the same feeling with which he had galloped across the path of a wolf, Rostov gave rein to his Donets horse and galloped to intersect the path of the dragoons' disordered lines.
Rostov, picking out one on a gray horse, dashed after him.
In another moment Rostov's horse dashed its breast against the hindquarters of the officer's horse, almost knocking it over, and at the same instant Rostov, without knowing why, raised his saber and struck the Frenchman with it.
Rostov reined in his horse, and his eyes sought his foe to see whom he had vanquished.
His eyes, screwed up with fear as if he every moment expected another blow, gazed up at Rostov with shrinking terror.
Before Rostov had decided what to do with him, the officer cried, "I surrender!"
When sent for by Count Ostermann, Rostov, remembering that he had charged without orders, felt sure his commander was sending for him to punish him for breach of discipline.
Rostov saw the prisoners being led away and galloped after them to have a look at his Frenchman with the dimple on his chin.
Rostov still had the same indefinite feeling, as of shame.
All that day and the next his friends and comrades noticed that Rostov, without being dull or angry, was silent, thoughtful, and preoccupied.
But, above all, that thought was kept out of their minds by the fact that they saw they were really useful, as in fact they were to the whole Rostov family.
Among these letters was one from Nicholas Rostov to his father.
Petya decided to go straight to where the Emperor was and to explain frankly to some gentleman-in-waiting (he imagined the Emperor to be always surrounded by gentlemen-in-waiting) that he, Count Rostov, in spite of his youth wished to serve his country; that youth could be no hindrance to loyalty, and that he was ready to...
Count Ilya Rostov smiled blandly and nodded approval.
Count Rostov at the back of the crowd was expressing approval; several persons, briskly turning a shoulder to the orator at the end of a phrase, said:
Many voices shouted and talked at the same time, so that Count Rostov had not time to signify his approval of them all, and the group increased, dispersed, re-formed, and then moved with a hum of talk into the largest hall and to the big table.
"Yes, most precious... a royal word," said Count Rostov, with a sob.
Old Rostov could not tell his wife of what had passed without tears, and at once consented to Petya's request and went himself to enter his name.
Several adjutants galloped off, and an hour later, Lavrushka, the serf Denisov had handed over to Rostov, rode up to Napoleon in an orderly's jacket and on a French cavalry saddle, with a merry, and tipsy face.
He found the Cossacks, inquired for the regiment operating with Platov's detachment and by evening found his master, Nicholas Rostov, quartered at Yankovo.
Rostov was just mounting to go for a ride round the neighboring villages with Ilyin; he let Lavrushka have another horse and took him along with him.
For the last three days Bogucharovo had lain between the two hostile armies, so that it was as easy for the Russian rearguard to get to it as for the French vanguard; Rostov, as a careful squadron commander, wished to take such provisions as remained at Bogucharovo before the French could get them.
Rostov and Ilyin were in the merriest of moods.
Rostov and Ilyin gave rein to their horses for a last race along the incline before reaching Bogucharovo, and Rostov, outstripping Ilyin, was the first to gallop into the village street.
"Yes, always first both on the grassland and here," answered Rostov, stroking his heated Donets horse.
"Fine fellows!" said Rostov laughing.
Following Dunyasha, Alpatych advanced to Rostov, having bared his head while still at a distance.
Rostov looked at the tipsy peasants and smiled.
"No, there's not much to be amused at here," said Rostov, and rode on a little way.
Rostov dismounted, gave his horse to the orderly, and followed Alpatych to the house, questioning him as to the state of affairs.
At the moment when Rostov and Ilyin were galloping along the road, Princess Mary, despite the dissuasions of Alpatych, her nurse, and the maids, had given orders to harness and intended to start, but when the cavalrymen were espied they were taken for Frenchmen, the coachman ran away, and the women in the house began to wail.
God has sent you! exclaimed deeply moved voices as Rostov passed through the anteroom.
Princess Mary was sitting helpless and bewildered in the large sitting room, when Rostov was shown in.
This meeting immediately struck Rostov as a romantic event.
Rostov, knitting his brows, left the room with another low bow.
Rostov glanced angrily at Ilyin and without replying strode off with rapid steps to the village.
Rostov stopped and, clenching his fists, suddenly and sternly turned on Alpatych.
After the hussars had come to the village and Rostov had gone to see the princess, a certain confusion and dissension had arisen among the crowd.
As soon as Rostov, followed by Ilyin, Lavrushka, and Alpatych, came up to the crowd, Karp, thrusting his fingers into his belt and smiling a little, walked to the front.
Hey? shouted Rostov, coming up to the crowd with quick steps.
"Caps off, traitors!" shouted Rostov in a wrathful voice.
Traitors! cried Rostov unmeaningly in a voice not his own, gripping Karp by the collar.
"Where's the Elder?" demanded Rostov in a loud voice.
Bind him, Lavrushka! shouted Rostov, as if that order, too, could not possibly meet with any opposition.
"And you all listen to me!" said Rostov to the peasants.
Unwilling to obtrude himself on the princess, Rostov did not go back to the house but remained in the village awaiting her departure.
The impression the princess made on Rostov was a very agreeable one.
That was why Rostov grew angry when he was rallied about Princess Bolkonskaya.
During the three days preceding the occupation of Moscow the whole Rostov family was absorbed in various activities.
The head of the family, Count Ilya Rostov, continually drove about the city collecting the current rumors from all sides and gave superficial and hasty orders at home about the preparations for their departure.
On waking up that morning Count Ilya Rostov left his bedroom softly, so as not to wake the countess who had fallen asleep only toward morning, and came out to the porch in his lilac silk dressing gown.
Mavra Kuzminichna opened the gate and an officer of eighteen, with the round face of a Rostov, entered the yard.
Meanwhile, Mavra Kuzminichna was attentively and sympathetically examining the familiar Rostov features of the young man's face, his tattered coat and trodden-down boots.
The Rostov party spent the night at Mytishchi, fourteen miles from Moscow.
At ten o'clock that evening the Rostov family and the wounded traveling with them were all distributed in the yards and huts of that large village.
Among these was the governor's wife herself, who welcomed Rostov as a near relative and called him "Nicholas."
With the naive conviction of young men in a merry mood that other men's wives were created for them, Rostov did not leave the lady's side and treated her husband in a friendly and conspiratorial style, as if, without speaking of it, they knew how capitally Nicholas and the lady would get on together.
When Rostov approached her she was standing settling up for the game.
On reaching Moscow after her meeting with Rostov, Princess Mary had found her nephew there with his tutor, and a letter from Prince Andrew giving her instructions how to get to her Aunt Malvintseva at Voronezh.
Malvintseva expressed approval, and the governor's wife began to speak of Rostov in Mary's presence, praising him and telling how he had blushed when Princess Mary's name was mentioned.
During the two days that elapsed before Rostov called, Princess Mary continually thought of how she ought to behave to him.
But when on Sunday after church the footman announced in the drawing room that Count Rostov had called, the princess showed no confusion, only a slight blush suffused her cheeks and her eyes lit up with a new and radiant light.
When Rostov entered the room, the princess dropped her eyes for an instant, as if to give the visitor time to greet her aunt, and then just as Nicholas turned to her she raised her head and met his look with shining eyes.
From the time Rostov entered, her face became suddenly transformed.
Rostov saw all this as clearly as if he had known her whole life.
In men Rostov could not bear to see the expression of a higher spiritual life (that was why he did not like Prince Andrew) and he referred to it contemptuously as philosophy and dreaminess, but in Princess Mary that very sorrow which revealed the depth of a whole spiritual world foreign to him was an irresistible attraction.
Her love for Rostov no longer tormented or agitated her.
Count Ilya Rostov died that same year and, as always happens, after the father's death the family group broke up.
One day in midwinter when sitting in the schoolroom attending to her nephew's lessons, she was informed that Rostov had called.