Infantry regiments, caught unawares in the forest, ran out of the forest, and companies, mingling with other companies, left in disorderly crowds. One soldier, in fright, uttered a terrible and meaningless word in the war: “Cut off!”, And the word, along with a feeling of fear, was communicated to the whole mass. - Bypassed! Cut off! Gone! shouted the voices of the fugitives. The regimental commander, at the very moment he heard the shooting and the cry from behind, realized that something terrible had happened to his regiment, and the thought that he, an exemplary, who had served for many years, an innocent officer, could be guilty in front of the authorities in an oversight or indiscipline, so struck him that at the same moment, forgetting both the recalcitrant cavalry colonel, and his general importance, and most importantly, completely forgetting about danger and a sense of self-preservation, he, grabbing the pommel of the saddle and spurring the horse, galloped to the regiment under a hail of bullets that rained down, but happily passed him. He wanted one thing: to find out what was the matter, and to help and correct at all costs the mistake, if it was on his part, and not to be guilty of him, having served for twenty-two years, an exemplary officer who was not noticed in anything. Having happily galloped between the French, he galloped to the field behind the forest, through which ours ran and, disobeying the command, went downhill. That moment of moral hesitation has come, which decides the fate of the battles: these upset crowds of soldiers will listen to the voice of their commander or, looking back at him, will run further. Despite the desperate cry of the regimental commander’s voice, which was so formidable for the soldiers, despite the furious, crimson, dissimilar face of the regimental commander and brandishing his sword, the soldiers all ran, talked, fired into the air and did not listen to commands. The moral hesitation that decides the fate of the battles, obviously, was resolved in favor of fear. The general coughed from the scream and gunpowder smoke and stopped in despair. Everything seemed lost, but at that moment the French, who were advancing on ours, suddenly, for no apparent reason, ran back, disappeared from the edge of the forest, and Russian riflemen appeared in the forest. It was Timokhin's company, which, alone in the forest, kept itself in order and, having sat down in a ditch near the forest, unexpectedly attacked the French. Timokhin, with such a desperate cry, rushed at the French and with such insane and drunken determination, with one skewer, ran into the enemy that the French, not having time to come to their senses, threw down their weapons and ran. Dolokhov, who fled next to Timokhin, killed one Frenchman point-blank and was the first to take the surrendered officer by the collar. The fugitives returned, the battalions gathered, and the French, who had divided the troops of the left flank into two parts, were momentarily pushed back. The reserve units managed to connect, and the fugitives stopped. The regimental commander was standing with Major Ekonomov at the bridge, letting the retreating companies pass by, when a soldier approached him, took him by the stirrup and almost leaned against him. The soldier was wearing a bluish, factory-made overcoat, there was no knapsack and shako, his head was tied, and a French charging bag was put on over his shoulder. He held an officer's sword in his hands. The soldier was pale, his blue eyes looked insolently into the face of the regimental commander, and his mouth was smiling. Despite the fact that the regimental commander was busy issuing orders to Major Ekonomov, he could not help paying attention to this soldier. “Your Excellency, here are two trophies,” said Dolokhov, pointing to the French sword and bag. “I have captured an officer. I stopped the company. Dolokhov was breathing heavily from fatigue; he spoke with stops. “The whole company can testify. Please remember, Your Excellency! "Good, good," said the regimental commander, and turned to Major Ekonomov. But Dolokhov did not leave; he untied the handkerchief, tugged it, and showed the blood clotted in his hair. - A wound with a bayonet, I remained in the front. Remember, Your Excellency. The Tushin battery was forgotten, and only at the very end of the case, continuing to hear the cannonade in the center, Prince Bagration sent the staff officer on duty there and then Prince Andrei to order the battery to retreat as soon as possible. The cover stationed near Tushin's guns left on someone's orders in the middle of the case; but the battery continued to fire and was not taken by the French only because the enemy could not imagine the audacity of firing four unprotected cannons. On the contrary, according to the energetic action of this battery, he assumed that the main forces of the Russians were concentrated here, in the center, and twice tried to attack this point, and both times he was chased away by four cannons standing alone on this hill with grape shots. Soon after the departure of Prince Bagration, Tushin managed to set fire to the Shengraben. - Look, they got confused! Burning! Look, there's smoke! Deftly! Important! Smoke something, smoke something! said the servant, brightening up. All guns fired in the direction of the fire without orders. As if urging, the soldiers shouted to each shot. “Smart! That's it, that's it! Look at you ... Important! The wind-blown fire spread rapidly. The French columns, which had come out of the village, went back, but, as if in punishment for this failure, the enemy put up ten guns to the right of the village and began to fire at Tushin with them. Because of the childish joy aroused by the fire, and the excitement of successful shooting at the French, our gunners noticed this battery only when two shots and after them four more hit between the guns and one knocked down two horses, and the other tore off the leg of the box leader. The revival, once established, however, did not weaken, but only changed the mood. The horses were replaced by others from the reserve carriage, the wounded were removed, and four guns turned against the ten-gun battery. The officer, Comrade Tushin, was killed at the beginning of the case, and in the course of an hour, out of forty servants, seventeen left, but the gunners were still cheerful and lively. Twice they noticed that below, close to them, the French showed up, and then they hit them with grapeshot. A small man, with weak, awkward movements, constantly demanded from the batman another pipe for this, as he spoke, and, scattering fire from it, ran forward and looked at the French from under a small hand. — Crash, guys! - he said, and he himself picked up the guns by the wheels and unscrewed the screws. In the smoke, stunned by incessant shots that made him shudder every time, Tushin, without letting go of his nose warmer, ran from one gun to another, now aiming, now counting the charges, now ordering the change and harnessing of dead and wounded horses, and shouting to his weak, thin , in a hesitant voice. His face brightened up more and more. Only when people were killed or wounded did he frown and, turning away from the dead, angrily shouted at the people, who, as always, hesitated to pick up the wounded or the body. The soldiers, for the most part handsome fellows (as always in a battery company, two heads taller than their officer and twice as wide as him), all, like children in a difficult situation, looked at their commander, and the expression that was on his face was invariably reflected on their faces. As a result of this terrible rumble, noise, the need for attention and activity, Tushin did not experience the slightest unpleasant feeling of fear, and the thought that they might kill him or hurt him painfully did not occur to him. On the contrary, he became more and more cheerful. It seemed to him that a very long time ago, almost yesterday, there was that moment when he saw the enemy and fired the first shot, and that the patch of field on which he stood was a familiar, kindred place to him for a long time. Despite the fact that he remembered everything, thought everything, did everything that the best officer in his position could do, he was in a state similar to feverish delirium or the state of a drunk person. Because of the deafening sounds of their guns from all sides, because of the whistle and blows of enemy shells, because of the appearance of servants sweating, flushed, hurrying near the guns, because of the blood of people and horses, because of the enemy’s smoke on that side (after which each time a cannonball flew in and hit the ground, a person, a tool or a horse), - because of the sight of these objects, his own fantastic world was established in his head, which constituted his pleasure at that moment. The enemy cannons in his imagination were not cannons, but pipes from which an invisible smoker emitted smoke in rare puffs. - Look, the fire puffed, - Tushin said in a whisper to himself, while a cloud of smoke jumped out of the mountain and was blown to the left by the wind, - now wait for the ball - send it back. "What do you want, your honor?" asked the fireworker, who stood close beside him and heard him mutter something. “Nothing, a grenade ...” he answered. “Come on, our Matvevna,” he said to himself. Matvevna imagined in his imagination a large extreme old-cast cannon. The French appeared to him near their guns as ants. A handsome man and a drunkard, the first number of the second weapon in his world was uncle; Tushin looked at him more often than others and rejoiced at his every move. The sound of the fading, then again intensifying gunfire under the mountain seemed to him someone's breathing. He listened to the fading and rising of these sounds. “Look, she breathed again, she breathed,” he said to himself. He himself imagined himself of enormous stature, a powerful man who threw cannonballs at the French with both hands. - Well, Matvevna, mother, don't give it away! - he said, moving away from the gun, as an alien, unfamiliar voice was heard over his head: — Captain Tushin! Captain! Tushin looked around frightened. It was the staff officer who kicked him out of Grunt. He shouted to him in a breathless voice: - What are you, crazy? You've been ordered to retreat twice, and you... “Well, why are they me? ..” Tushin thought to himself, looking at the boss with fear. "I... nothing," he said, putting two fingers to his visor. - I... But the colonel did not finish everything he wanted. A close-flying cannonball made him dive and bend over on his horse. He stopped talking and just wanted to say something else, when another core stopped him. He turned his horse and galloped away. — Retreat! Everyone retreat! he shouted from afar. The soldiers laughed. A minute later the adjutant arrived with the same order. It was Prince Andrew. The first thing he saw, riding out into the space occupied by Tushin's guns, was an unharnessed horse, with a broken leg, which was neighing near the harnessed horses. From her leg, as from a key, blood flowed. Between the limbers lay several dead. One shot after another flew over him as he rode up, and he felt a nervous tremor run down his spine. But the very thought that he was afraid lifted him up again. "I can't be afraid," he thought, and slowly dismounted from his horse between the guns. He gave the order and did not leave the battery. He decided that he would remove the guns from the position with him and withdraw them. Together with Tushin, walking over the bodies and under the terrible fire of the French, he took up cleaning the guns. “Because the authorities were coming just now, it was so much faster,” the fireworker said to Prince Andrei, “not like your honor.” Prince Andrei did not say anything to Tushin. They were both so busy that they didn't seem to see each other. When, having put on the limbers of the two guns that had survived, they moved downhill (one broken gun and a unicorn were left), Prince Andrei drove up to Tushin. “Well, goodbye,” said Prince Andrei, holding out his hand to Tushin. - Goodbye, my dear, - said Tushin, - dear soul! Farewell, my dear, - Tushin said with tears that, for some unknown reason, suddenly came into his eyes.

Infantry regiments, caught unawares in the forest, ran out of the forest, and companies, mingling with other companies, left in disorderly crowds. One soldier, in fright, uttered a terrible and meaningless word in the war: “Cut off!”, And the word, along with a feeling of fear, was communicated to the whole mass.

The regimental commander, at the very moment he heard the shooting and the cry from behind, realized that something terrible had happened to his regiment, and the thought that he, an exemplary, who had served for many years, an innocent officer, could be guilty in front of the authorities in an oversight or indiscipline, so struck him that at the same moment, forgetting both the recalcitrant cavalry colonel, and his general importance, and most importantly, completely forgetting about the danger and sense of self-preservation, he, grabbing the pommel of the saddle and spurring the horse, galloped to the regiment under a hail of bullets that sprinkled, but happily passed him. He wanted one thing: to find out what was the matter, and to help and correct at all costs the mistake, if it was on his part, and not to be guilty of him, having served for twenty-two years, an exemplary officer who was not noticed in anything.

Having happily galloped between the French, he galloped to the field behind the forest, through which ours ran and, disobeying the command, went downhill. That moment of moral hesitation has come, which decides the fate of the battles: these upset crowds of soldiers will listen to the voice of their commander or, looking back at him, will run further. Despite the desperate cry of the regimental commander’s voice, which used to be so formidable for the soldiers, despite the furious, crimson, dissimilar face of the regimental commander and brandishing his sword, the soldiers kept running, talking, shooting into the air and not listening to commands. The moral hesitation that decides the fate of the battles, obviously, was resolved in favor of fear.

The general coughed from the scream and gunpowder smoke and stopped in despair. Everything seemed lost, but at that moment the French, who were advancing on ours, suddenly, for no apparent reason, ran back, disappeared from the edge of the forest, and Russian riflemen appeared in the forest. It was Timokhin's company, which, alone in the forest, kept itself in order and, having sat down in a ditch near the forest, unexpectedly attacked the French. Timokhin, with such a desperate cry, rushed at the French and with such insane and drunken determination, with one skewer, ran into the enemy that the French, not having time to come to their senses, threw down their weapons and ran. Dolokhov, who fled next to Timokhin, killed one Frenchman point-blank and was the first to take the surrendered officer by the collar. The fugitives returned, the battalions gathered, and the French, who had divided the troops of the left flank into two parts, were momentarily pushed back. The reserve units managed to connect, and the fugitives stopped. The regimental commander was standing with Major Ekonomov at the bridge, letting the retreating companies pass by, when a soldier approached him, took him by the stirrup and almost leaned against him. The soldier was wearing a bluish, factory-made overcoat, there was no knapsack and shako, his head was tied, and a French charging bag was put on over his shoulder. He held an officer's sword in his hands. The soldier was pale, his blue eyes looked insolently into the face of the regimental commander, and his mouth was smiling. Despite the fact that the regimental commander was busy issuing orders to Major Ekonomov, he could not help paying attention to this soldier.

“Your Excellency, here are two trophies,” said Dolokhov, pointing to the French sword and bag. “I have captured an officer. I stopped the company. - Dolokhov was breathing heavily from fatigue; he spoke with stops. “The whole company can testify. Please remember, Your Excellency!

“Good, good,” said the regimental commander, and turned to Major Ekonomov.

But Dolokhov did not leave; he untied the handkerchief, tugged it, and showed the blood clotted in his hair.

- A wound with a bayonet, I remained in the front. Remember, Your Excellency.

The Tushin battery was forgotten, and only at the very end of the case, continuing to hear the cannonade in the center, Prince Bagration sent the staff officer on duty there and then Prince Andrei to order the battery to retreat as soon as possible. The cover stationed near Tushin's guns left on someone's orders in the middle of the case; but the battery continued to fire and was not taken by the French only because the enemy could not imagine the audacity of firing four unprotected cannons. On the contrary, according to the energetic action of this battery, he assumed that the main forces of the Russians were concentrated here, in the center, and twice tried to attack this point, and both times he was chased away by four cannons standing alone on this hill with grape shots.

Soon after the departure of Prince Bagration, Tushin managed to set fire to the Shengraben.

- Look, they got confused! Burning! Look, there's smoke! Deftly! Important! Smoke something, smoke something! the servant spoke, brightening up.

All guns fired in the direction of the fire without orders. As if urging them on, the soldiers shouted to each shot: “Smart! That's it, that's it! Look you ... Important! The wind-blown fire spread rapidly. The French columns, which had come out of the village, went back, but, as if in punishment for this failure, the enemy put up ten guns to the right of the village and began to fire at Tushin with them.

Because of the childish joy aroused by the fire, and the excitement of successful shooting at the French, our gunners noticed this battery only when two shots and after them four more hit between the guns and one knocked down two horses, and the other tore off the leg of the box leader. The revival, once established, however, did not weaken, but only changed the mood. The horses were replaced by others from the reserve carriage, the wounded were removed, and four guns turned against the ten-gun battery. The officer, Comrade Tushin, was killed at the beginning of the case, and in the course of an hour, out of forty servants, seventeen left, but the gunners were still cheerful and lively. Twice they noticed that below, close to them, the French showed up, and then they hit them with grapeshot.

His pale, kind, young face, and a chill of horror ran down his back. "No, it's better not to look," he thought, but, running up to the bushes, looked back again. The French lagged behind, and even at the moment he looked back, the one in front had just changed his trot to a walk and, turning around, was shouting something loudly to his comrade behind. Rostov stopped. "Something's wrong," he thought, "it can't be that they want to kill me." Meanwhile, his left hand was so heavy, as if a two-pound weight was hung from it. He couldn't run any further. The Frenchman also stopped and took aim. Rostov closed his eyes and bent down. One, another bullet flew, buzzing, past him. He gathered the last of his strength, took his left hand into his right and ran to the bushes. There were Russian arrows in the bushes.

Infantry regiments, caught unawares in the forest, ran out of the forest, and companies, mingling with other companies, left in disorderly crowds. One soldier, in fright, uttered a terrible and meaningless word in the war: "cut off!", And the word, along with a feeling of fear, was communicated to the whole mass. - Bypassed! Cut off! Gone! shouted the voices of the fugitives. The regimental commander, at the very moment he heard the shooting and the cry from behind, realized that something terrible had happened to his regiment, and the thought that he, an exemplary, who had served for many years, an innocent officer, could be guilty before by his superiors in an oversight or indiscipline, so struck him that at the same moment, forgetting both the recalcitrant cavalry colonel and his general importance, and most importantly, completely forgetting about the danger and sense of self-preservation, he, grabbing the pommel of the saddle and spurring his horse, galloped to a regiment under a hail of bullets that sprinkled, but happily passed him. He wanted one thing: to find out what was the matter, and to help and correct the mistake at all costs, if it was on his part, and not be guilty of him, having served for twenty-two years, an exemplary officer who was not noticed in anything. Having happily galloped between the French, he galloped to the field behind the forest, through which ours ran and, disobeying the command, went downhill. That moment of moral hesitation has come, which decides the fate of the battles: these upset crowds of soldiers will listen to the voice of their commander or, looking back at him, will run further. Despite the desperate cry of the regimental commander’s voice, which was so formidable for a soldier, despite the furious, crimson, dissimilar face of the regimental commander and brandishing his sword, the soldiers kept running, talking, shooting into the air and not listening to commands. The moral hesitation that decides the fate of the battles, obviously, was resolved in favor of fear. The general coughed from the scream and gunpowder smoke and stopped in despair. Everything seemed lost, but at that moment the French, who were advancing on ours, suddenly, for no apparent reason, ran back, disappeared from the edge of the forest, and Russian arrows appeared in the forest. It was Timokhin's company, which, alone in the forest, kept itself in order and, having sat down in a ditch near the forest, unexpectedly attacked the French. Timokhin, with such a desperate cry, rushed at the French and with such insane and drunken determination, with one skewer, ran into the enemy that the French, not having time to come to their senses, threw down their weapons and ran. Dolokhov, who fled next to Timokhin, killed one Frenchman point-blank and was the first to take the surrendered officer by the collar. The fugitives returned, the battalions gathered, and the French, who had divided the troops of the left flank into two parts, were momentarily pushed back. The reserve units managed to connect, and the fugitives stopped. The regimental commander stood with Major Ekonomov at the bridge, letting

"Something's wrong," he thought, "it can't be that they want to kill me." Meanwhile, his left hand was so heavy, as if a two-pound weight was hung from it. He couldn't run any further. The Frenchman also stopped and took aim. Rostov closed his eyes and bent down. One, another bullet flew, buzzing, past him. He gathered the last of his strength, took his left hand into his right and ran to the bushes. There were Russian arrows in the bushes.

Infantry regiments, caught unawares in the forest, ran out of the forest, and companies, mingling with other companies, left in disorderly crowds. One soldier, in fright, uttered a terrible and meaningless word in the war: “Cut off!”, And the word, along with a feeling of fear, was communicated to the whole mass.

The regimental commander, at the very moment he heard the shooting and the cry from behind, realized that something terrible had happened to his regiment, and the thought that he, an exemplary, who had served for many years, an innocent officer, could be guilty in front of the authorities in an oversight or indiscipline, so struck him that at the same moment, forgetting both the recalcitrant cavalry colonel, and his general importance, and most importantly, completely forgetting about the danger and sense of self-preservation, he, grabbing the pommel of the saddle and spurring the horse, galloped to the regiment under a hail of bullets that sprinkled, but happily passed him. He wanted one thing: to find out what was the matter, and to help and correct at all costs the mistake, if it was on his part, and not to be guilty of him, having served for twenty-two years, an exemplary officer who was not noticed in anything.

Having happily galloped between the French, he galloped to the field behind the forest, through which ours ran and, disobeying the command, went downhill. That moment of moral hesitation has come, which decides the fate of the battles: these upset crowds of soldiers will listen to the voice of their commander or, looking back at him, will run further. Despite the desperate cry of the regimental commander’s voice, which used to be so formidable for the soldiers, despite the furious, crimson, dissimilar face of the regimental commander and brandishing his sword, the soldiers kept running, talking, shooting into the air and not listening to commands. The moral hesitation that decides the fate of the battles, obviously, was resolved in favor of fear.

The general coughed from the scream and gunpowder smoke and stopped in despair. Everything seemed lost, but at that moment the French, who were advancing on ours, suddenly, for no apparent reason, ran back, disappeared from the edge of the forest, and Russian riflemen appeared in the forest. It was Timokhin's company, which, alone in the forest, kept itself in order and, having sat down in a ditch near the forest, unexpectedly attacked the French. Timokhin, with such a desperate cry, rushed at the French and with such insane and drunken determination, with one skewer, ran into the enemy that the French, not having time to come to their senses, threw down their weapons and ran. Dolokhov, who fled next to Timokhin, killed one Frenchman point-blank and was the first to take the surrendered officer by the collar. The fugitives returned, the battalions gathered, and the French, who had divided the troops of the left flank into two parts, were momentarily pushed back. The reserve units managed to connect, and the fugitives stopped. The regimental commander was standing with Major Ekonomov at the bridge, letting the retreating companies pass by, when a soldier approached him, took him by the stirrup and almost leaned against him. The soldier was wearing a bluish, factory-made overcoat, there was no knapsack and shako, his head was tied, and a French charging bag was put on over his shoulder. He held an officer's sword in his hands. The soldier was pale, his blue eyes looked insolently into the face of the regimental commander, and his mouth was smiling. Despite the fact that the regimental commander was busy issuing orders to Major Ekonomov, he could not help paying attention to this soldier.

“Your Excellency, here are two trophies,” said Dolokhov, pointing to the French sword and bag. “I have captured an officer. I stopped the company. - Dolokhov was breathing heavily from fatigue; he spoke with stops. “The whole company can testify. Please remember, Your Excellency!

“Good, good,” said the regimental commander, and turned to Major Ekonomov.

But Dolokhov did not leave; he untied the handkerchief, tugged it, and showed the blood clotted in his hair.

- A wound with a bayonet, I remained in the front. Remember, Your Excellency.

The Tushin battery was forgotten, and only at the very end of the case, continuing to hear the cannonade in the center, Prince Bagration sent the staff officer on duty there and then Prince Andrei to order the battery to retreat as soon as possible. The cover stationed near Tushin's guns left on someone's orders in the middle of the case; but the battery continued to fire and was not taken by the French only because the enemy could not imagine the audacity of firing four unprotected cannons. On the contrary, according to the energetic action of this battery, he assumed that the main forces of the Russians were concentrated here, in the center, and twice tried to attack this point, and both times he was chased away by four cannons standing alone on this hill with grape shots.

Soon after the departure of Prince Bagration, Tushin managed to set fire to the Shengraben.

- Look, they got confused! Burning! Look, there's smoke! Deftly! Important! Smoke something, smoke something! the servant spoke, brightening up.

All guns fired in the direction of the fire without orders. As if urging them on, the soldiers shouted to each shot: “Smart! That's it, that's it! Look at you ... Important! The wind-blown fire spread rapidly. The French columns, which had come out of the village, went back, but, as if in punishment for this failure, the enemy put up ten guns to the right of the village and began to fire at Tushin with them.

Because of the childish joy aroused by the fire, and the excitement of successful shooting at the French, our gunners noticed this battery only when two shots and after them four more hit between the guns and one knocked down two horses, and the other tore off the leg of the box leader. The revival, once established, however, did not weaken, but only changed the mood. The horses were replaced by others from the reserve carriage, the wounded were removed, and four guns turned against the ten-gun battery. The officer, Comrade Tushin, was killed at the beginning of the case, and in the course of an hour, out of forty servants, seventeen left, but the gunners were still cheerful and lively. Twice they noticed that below, close to them, the French showed up, and then they hit them with grapeshot.

The little man, with weak, awkward movements, constantly demanded another pipe from the orderly for this, as he said, and, scattering fire from it, ran forward and looked at the French from under his small hand.

- Crush, guys! - he said, and he himself picked up the guns by the wheels and unscrewed the screws.

In the smoke, stunned by incessant shots that made him shudder every time, Tushin, without letting go of his nose warmer, ran from one gun to another, now aiming, now counting the charges, now ordering the change and harnessing of dead and wounded horses, and shouting to his weak, thin , in a hesitant voice. His face brightened up more and more. Only when people were killed or wounded did he frown and, turning away from the dead, angrily shouted at the people, who, as always, hesitated to pick up the wounded or the body. The soldiers, for the most part handsome fellows (as always in a battery company, two heads taller than their officer and twice as wide as him), all, like children in a difficult situation, looked at their commander, and the expression that was on his face was invariably reflected on their faces.

As a result of this terrible rumble, noise, the need for attention and activity, Tushin did not experience the slightest unpleasant feeling of fear, and the thought that they might kill him or hurt him painfully did not occur to him. On the contrary, he became more and more cheerful. It seemed to him that a very long time ago, almost yesterday, there was that moment when he saw the enemy and fired the first shot, and that the patch of field on which he stood was a familiar, kindred place to him for a long time. Despite the fact that he remembered everything, thought everything, did everything that the best officer in his position could do, he was in a state similar to feverish delirium or the state of a drunk person.

Because of the deafening sounds of their guns from all sides, because of the whistle and blows of enemy shells, because of the appearance of servants sweating, flushed, hurrying near the guns, because of the blood of people and horses, because of the enemy’s smoke on that side (after which every time a cannonball flew up and hit the ground, a person, a tool or a horse), - because of the sight of these objects, his own fantastic world was established in his head, which constituted his pleasure at that moment. The enemy cannons in his imagination were not cannons, but pipes from which an invisible smoker emitted smoke in rare puffs.

“Look, he puffed again,” Tushin said in a whisper to himself, while a cloud of smoke jumped out of the mountain and was blown to the left by the wind, “now wait for the ball - send it back.”

“What do you order, your honor?” asked the fireworker, who stood close beside him and heard him mutter something.

“Nothing, a grenade ...” he answered.

“Come on, our Matvevna,” he said to himself. Matvevna imagined in his imagination a large extreme old-cast cannon. The French appeared to him near their guns as ants. A handsome man and a drunkard, the first number of the second weapon in his world was his uncle; Tushin looked at him more often than others and rejoiced at his every movement. The sound of the fading, then again intensifying gunfire under the mountain seemed to him someone's breathing. He listened to the fading and rising of these sounds.

“Look, she breathed again, she breathed,” he said to himself.

He himself imagined himself of enormous stature, a powerful man who threw cannonballs at the French with both hands.

- Well, Matvevna, mother, do not betray! - he said, moving away from the gun, as an alien, unfamiliar voice was heard above his head:

- Captain Tushin! Captain!

Tushin looked around frightened. It was the staff officer who kicked him out of Grunt. He shouted to him in a breathless voice:

- Are you out of your mind? You've been ordered to retreat twice, and you...

“Well, why are they me? ..” Tushin thought to himself, looking at the boss with fear.

“I ... nothing,” he said, putting two fingers to his visor. - I...

But the colonel did not finish everything he wanted. A close-flying cannonball made him dive and bend over on his horse. He stopped talking and just wanted to say something else, when another core stopped him. He turned his horse and galloped away.

- Retreat! Everyone retreat! he shouted from afar.

The soldiers laughed. A minute later the adjutant arrived with the same order.

It was Prince Andrew. The first thing he saw, riding out into the space occupied by Tushin's guns, was an unharnessed horse, with a broken leg, which was neighing near the harnessed horses. From her leg, as from a key, blood flowed. Between the limbers lay several dead. One shot after another flew over him as he rode up, and he felt a nervous tremor run down his spine. But the very thought that he was afraid lifted him up again. "I can't be afraid," he thought, and slowly dismounted from his horse between the guns. He gave the order and did not leave the battery. He decided that he would remove the guns from the position with him and withdraw them. Together with Tushin, walking over the bodies and under the terrible fire of the French, he took up cleaning the guns.

“And then the authorities were coming now, so it was more likely to fight,” the fireworker said to Prince Andrei, “not like your honor.”

Prince Andrei did not say anything to Tushin. They were both so busy that they didn't seem to see each other. When, having put on the limbers of the two guns that had survived, they moved downhill (one broken gun and a unicorn were left), Prince Andrei drove up to Tushin.

“Well, goodbye,” said Prince Andrei, holding out his hand to Tushin.

- Goodbye, my dear, - said Tushin, - dear soul! Farewell, my dear, - Tushin said with tears that, for some unknown reason, suddenly came into his eyes.

The wind died down, black clouds hung low over the battlefield, merging on the horizon with gunpowder smoke. It was getting dark, and the more clearly the glow of fires was indicated in two places. The cannonade became weaker, but the rattle of guns behind and to the right was heard even more often and closer. As soon as Tushin with his guns, going around and running over the wounded, got out of the fire and went down into the ravine, he was met by his superiors and adjutants, including the staff officer and Zherkov, who was sent twice and never reached the battery Tushin. All of them, interrupting one another, gave and transmitted orders, how and where to go, and made reproaches and remarks to him. Tushin did not order anything and silently, afraid to speak, because at every word he was ready, without knowing why, to cry, he rode behind on his artillery nag. Although the wounded were ordered to be abandoned, many of them dragged along behind the troops and asked for guns. The same valiant infantry officer who, before the battle, jumped out of Tushin's hut, was, with a bullet in his stomach, placed on Matvevna's gun carriage. Under the mountain, a pale hussar cadet, supporting the other with one hand, approached Tushin and asked him to sit down.

"Captain, for God's sake, I'm shell-shocked in the arm," he said timidly. For God's sake, I can't go. For God's sake!

It was clear that this cadet had asked more than once to sit down somewhere and had been refused everywhere. He asked in an indecisive and pathetic voice:

- Order to plant, for God's sake.

“Plant, plant,” said Tushin. “Put down your overcoat, uncle,” he turned to his beloved soldier. Where is the wounded officer?

- They put it down, it's over, - someone answered.

- Plant it. Sit down, honey, sit down. Put on your overcoat, Antonov.

Juncker was Rostov. He held the other with one hand, was pale, and his lower jaw was trembling with feverish trembling. They put him on Matvevna, on the very gun from which the dead officer was laid down. There was blood on the lined overcoat, in which Rostov's trousers and hands were soiled.

- What, are you injured, my dear? - said Tushin, approaching the gun on which Rostov was sitting.

- No, shell-shocked.

Why is there blood on the bed? Tushin asked.

“This officer, your honor, bled,” answered the artillery soldier, wiping the blood with the sleeve of his overcoat and as if apologizing for the impurity in which the gun was located.

By force, with the help of the infantry, the guns were taken up the mountain and, having reached the village of Guntersdorf, they stopped. It was already so dark that at ten paces it was impossible to distinguish the uniforms of the soldiers, and the skirmish began to subside. Suddenly, close to the right side, shouts and firing were heard again. From the shots already shone in the dark. This was the last attack of the French, which was answered by the soldiers who settled in the houses of the village. Again everything rushed out of the village, but Tushin's guns could not move, and the artillerymen, Tushin and the cadet looked at each other silently, waiting for their fate. The firefight began to subside, and animated soldiers poured out of a side street.

- Tsel, Petrov? one asked.

- Asked, brother, the heat. Now they won’t turn up, said another.

- Nothing to see. How did they fry them in theirs? Not to be seen, darkness, brothers. Is there a drink?

The French were repulsed for the last time. And again, in complete darkness, Tushin's guns, as if surrounded by a frame of roaring infantry, moved somewhere forward.

In the darkness, it was as if an invisible gloomy river was flowing, all in one direction, humming with whispers, voices and the sounds of hooves and wheels. In the general rumble, because of all the other sounds, the groans and voices of the wounded in the darkness of the night were clearest of all. Their groans seemed to fill all this darkness that surrounded the troops. Their groans and the darkness of that night were one and the same. After a while, there was a commotion in the moving crowd. Someone rode with a retinue on a white horse and said something as they passed.

- What did you say? Where to now? Stay, what? Thanks, right? - Greedy questions were heard from all sides, and the whole moving mass began to press on itself (it is clear that the front ones stopped), and a rumor spread that it was ordered to stop. Everyone stopped as they walked, in the middle of a muddy road.

The lights lit up and the voice became louder. Captain Tushin, having given orders to the company, sent one of the soldiers to look for a dressing station or a doctor for the cadet, and sat down by the fire laid out on the road by the soldiers. Rostov also dragged himself to the fire. Feverish shivering from pain, cold and dampness shook his whole body. Sleep irresistibly drove him, but he could not sleep because of the excruciating pain in his aching and out of position arm. He first closed his eyes, then glanced at the fire, which seemed to him hot red, then at the stooping, weak figure of Tushin, who was sitting beside him in Turkish style. Tushin's large, kind and intelligent eyes fixed him with sympathy and compassion. He saw that Tushin wanted with all his heart and could not help him in any way.

From all sides were heard the steps and the conversation of those passing by, passing by and around the infantry stationed. The sounds of voices, footsteps and horse hooves rearranged in the mud, near and far crackling of firewood merged into one oscillating rumble.

Now the invisible river no longer flowed, as before, in the darkness, but as if after a storm the gloomy sea was laying down and trembling. Rostov senselessly looked and listened to what was happening in front of him and around him. An infantry soldier walked up to the fire, squatted down, put his hands into the fire and turned away his face.

“Nothing, your honor?” he said, addressing Tushin inquiringly. - Here he strayed from the company, your honor; I don't know where. Trouble!

Together with the soldier, an infantry officer with a bandaged cheek came up to the fire and, turning to Tushin, asked to be ordered to move a tiny piece of guns in order to transport the wagon. After the company commander, two soldiers ran into the fire. They swore desperately and fought, pulling out some kind of boot from each other.

- How did you raise it! Look smart! shouted one in a hoarse voice.

Then a thin, pale soldier with a bloody collar tied around his neck came up and demanded water from the gunners in an angry voice.

- Well, to die, or something, like a dog? he said.

Tushin ordered to give him water. Then a cheerful soldier ran up, asking for a light in the infantry.

- A hot fire in the infantry! Happy staying, countrywomen, thank you for the light, we'll give it back with a percentage, ”he said, taking a reddening firebrand somewhere into the darkness.

Behind this soldier, four soldiers, carrying something heavy on their greatcoats, walked past the fire. One of them stumbled.

“Gosh, they put firewood on the road,” he grumbled.

- It's over, why wear it? one of them said.

- Well, you!

And they disappeared into the darkness with their burden.

- What? hurts? Tushin asked Rostov in a whisper.

- Your honor, to the general. Here they are standing in a hut, - said the fireworks, approaching Tushin.

- Now, dove.

Tushin got up and, buttoning his overcoat and recovering, walked away from the fire ...

Not far from the fire of the artillerymen, in the hut prepared for him, Prince Bagration was sitting at dinner, talking with some of the commanders of the units who had gathered at his place. There was an old man with half-closed eyes, greedily nibbling at a mutton bone, and a twenty-two-year-old impeccable general, flushed from a glass of vodka and dinner, and a staff officer with a name ring, and Zherkov, uneasily looking around at everyone, and Prince Andrei, pale, with pursed lips and feverishly shining eyes.

In the hut stood a taken French banner leaning in a corner, and the auditor, with a naive face, felt the fabric of the banner and, perplexed, shook his head, perhaps because he was really interested in the appearance of the banner, or maybe because it was hard for him. it was hungry to look at dinner, for which he lacked a device. In a neighboring hut there was a French colonel taken prisoner by the dragoons. Our officers crowded around him, examining him. Prince Bagration thanked individual commanders and asked about the details of the case and about the losses. The regimental commander, who introduced himself near Braunau, reported to the prince that as soon as the case began, he retreated from the forest, gathered woodcutters and, letting them pass him, with two battalions hit with bayonets and overturned the French.

- As I saw, Your Excellency, that the first battalion was upset, I stood on the road and thought: “I will let these ones pass and meet with battle fire”; did so.

The regimental commander so wanted to do this, he was so sorry that he did not have time to do this, that it seemed to him that all this had definitely happened. Yes, maybe it really was? Was it possible to make out in this confusion what was and what was not?

“Moreover, I must say, Your Excellency,” he continued, recalling Dolokhov’s conversation with Kutuzov and his last meeting with the demoted one, “that the private, demoted Dolokhov, captured a French officer in front of my eyes and especially distinguished himself.

“Here, Your Excellency, I saw the attack of the Pavlogradites,” Zherkov, looking around uneasily, intervened, who did not see the hussars at all that day, but only heard about them from an infantry officer. - They crushed two squares, your excellency.

Some smiled at Zherkov's words, as they always expected a joke from him; but, noticing that what he said was also leaning towards the glory of our weapons and of the present day, they took on a serious expression, although many knew very well that what Zherkov said was a lie, based on nothing. Prince Bagration turned to the old colonel.

- Thank you all, gentlemen, all units acted heroically: infantry, cavalry and artillery. How are two guns left in the center? he asked, looking for someone with his eyes. (Prince Bagration did not ask about the guns of the left flank; he already knew that all the guns were thrown there at the very beginning of the case.) “I think I asked you,” he turned to the duty staff officer.

- One was hit, - answered the duty staff officer, - and the other, I cannot understand; I myself was there all the time and took orders, and I had just left... It was hot, really,' he added modestly.

Someone said that Captain Tushin was standing here near the village itself, and that he had already been sent for.

“Yes, here you were,” said Prince Bagration, turning to Prince Andrei.

“Well, we didn’t get together a bit,” said the duty staff officer, smiling pleasantly at Bolkonsky.

“I didn’t have the pleasure of seeing you,” Prince Andrei said coldly and curtly.

Everyone was silent. Tushin appeared on the threshold, timidly making his way from behind the backs of the generals. Bypassing the generals in a cramped hut, embarrassed, as always, at the sight of his superiors, Tushin did not see the flagpole and stumbled on it. Several voices laughed.

How was the weapon left? Bagration asked, frowning not so much at the captain as at those laughing, among whom Zherkov's voice was the loudest.

Tushin now only, at the sight of the formidable authorities, in all horror imagined his guilt and shame in the fact that he, having remained alive, had lost two guns. He was so excited that until now he had no time to think about it. The laughter of the officers confused him even more. He stood in front of Bagration with a trembling lower jaw and barely said:

“I don’t know… Your Excellency… There were no people, Your Excellency.”

- You could take it from cover!

That there was no cover, Tushin did not say this, although it was the absolute truth. He was afraid to let the other boss down by this and silently, with fixed eyes, looked straight into Bagration's face, just as a student who has gone astray looks into the examiner's eyes.

The silence was quite long. Prince Bagration, apparently not wanting to be strict, did not have anything to say; the rest did not dare to intervene in the conversation. Prince Andrei looked at Tushin from under his brows, and his fingers moved nervously.

“Your Excellency,” Prince Andrei interrupted the silence with his harsh voice, “you deigned to send me to Captain Tushin’s battery. I was there and found two-thirds of the men and horses killed, two guns mangled and no cover.

Prince Bagration and Tushin were now equally stubbornly looking at Bolkonsky, who spoke with restraint and excitement.

“And if, Your Excellency, let me express my opinion,” he continued, “the success of the day we owe most of all to the action of this battery and the heroic stamina of Captain Tushin with his company,” said Prince Andrei and, without waiting for an answer, immediately got up and walked away from the table.

Prince Bagration looked at Tushin and, apparently not wanting to show distrust of Bolkonsky's harsh judgment and at the same time feeling unable to fully believe him, bowed his head and told Tushin that he could go. Prince Andrew followed him.

“Thank you, you helped me out, my dear,” Tushin told him.

Prince Andrei glanced at Tushin and, without saying anything, walked away from him. Prince Andrei was sad and hard. It was all so strange, so unlike what he had hoped.

"Who are they? Why are they? What do they need? And when will it all end?" thought Rostov, looking at the shadows changing in front of him. The pain in my arm was getting worse. Sleep became irresistible, red circles jumped in my eyes, and the impression of these voices and these faces and the feeling of loneliness merged with the feeling of pain. It was they, these soldiers, both wounded and unwounded - it was they who crushed, and weighed, and twisted the veins, and burned the meat in his broken arm and shoulder. To get rid of them, he closed his eyes.

He forgot himself for one minute, but during this short interval of oblivion he saw countless objects in a dream: he saw his mother and her big white hand, saw Sonya's thin shoulders, Natasha's eyes and laughter, and Denisov with his voice and mustache, and Telyanin , and all his history with Telyanin and Bogdanych. This whole story was one and the same, that this soldier with a sharp voice, and this whole story and this one soldier so painfully, relentlessly held, crushed, and everyone pulled his hand in one direction. He tried to get away from them, but they would not let go of his hair, not even for a second on his shoulder. It wouldn't hurt, it would be great if they didn't pull it; but it was impossible to get rid of them.

He opened his eyes and looked up. The black canopy of night hung a yard above the light of the coals. Powders of falling snow flew in this light. Tushin did not return, the doctor did not come. He was alone, only some soldier was now sitting naked on the other side of the fire and warming his thin yellow body.

"No one wants me! thought Rostov. - No one to help or pity. And I was once at home, strong, cheerful, beloved. He sighed and groaned involuntarily.

- What hurts? - asked the soldier, shaking his shirt over the fire, and without waiting for an answer, grunting, added: - You never know they spoiled the people in a day - passion!

Rostov did not listen to the soldier. He looked at the snowflakes fluttering over the fire and recalled the Russian winter with a warm, bright house, a fluffy fur coat, a fast sleigh, a healthy body, and with all the love and care of the family. "And why did I come here!" he thought.

The next day, the French did not resume their attacks, and the remnant of the Bagration detachment joined Kutuzov's army.

PART THREE

Prince Vasily did not think over his plans, he even less thought to do evil to people in order to gain profit. He was only a man of the world who had succeeded in the world and made a habit out of this success. He constantly, depending on the circumstances, on rapprochements with people, drew up various plans and considerations, in which he himself did not fully realize, but which constituted the whole interest of his life. Not one or two such plans and considerations happened to him in use, but dozens, of which some were just beginning to appear to him, others were achieved, and still others were destroyed. He did not say to himself, for example: “This man is now in power, I must gain his trust and friendship and through him arrange for a lump-sum allowance,” or he did not say to himself: “Here, Pierre is rich, I must lure him to marry his daughter and borrow the forty thousand I need”; but a man in strength met him, and at that very moment instinct told him that this man could be useful, and Prince Vasily approached him and at the first opportunity, without preparation, instinctively, flattered, became familiar, talked about that, about what was needed.

Pierre was at hand in Moscow, and Prince Vasily arranged for him to be appointed to the chamber junkers, which then equaled the rank of state councilor, and insisted that the young man go with him to Petersburg and stay at his house. As if absent-mindedly and at the same time with undoubted certainty that it should be so, Prince Vasily did everything that was necessary in order to marry Pierre to his daughter. If Prince Vasily had thought ahead of his plans, he could not have had such naturalness in his manners and such simplicity and familiarity in relations with all people placed above and below himself. Something constantly attracted him to people stronger or richer than him, and he was gifted with the rare art of seizing precisely that moment when it was necessary and possible to use people.

Pierre, having suddenly become rich and Count Bezukhov, after his recent loneliness and carelessness, felt surrounded and busy to such an extent that he only managed to remain alone in bed with himself. He had to sign papers, deal with government offices, the significance of which he had no clear idea of, ask the chief manager about something, go to an estate near Moscow and receive many people who had not previously wanted to know about its existence, but now were would be offended and upset if he did not want to see them. All these diverse faces - businessmen, relatives, acquaintances - were all equally well, affectionately disposed towards the young heir; all of them, obviously and undoubtedly, were convinced of the high merits of Pierre. Incessantly he heard the words: “With your extraordinary kindness”, or: “With your beautiful heart”, or: “You yourself are so pure, count ...”, or: “If only he were as smart as you”, etc. so that he sincerely began to believe in his extraordinary kindness and his extraordinary mind, all the more so as always, in the depths of his soul, it seemed to him that he was really very kind and very clever. Even people who were previously angry and obviously hostile became tender and loving with him. Such an angry eldest of the princesses, with a long waist, with her hair smoothed like a doll's, came to Pierre's room after the funeral. Lowering her eyes and constantly flashing, she told him that she was very sorry for the misunderstandings that had been between them and that now she did not feel entitled to ask anything, except for permission, after the stroke that had befallen her, to stay for several weeks in the house that she loved so much and where made so many sacrifices. She could not help but cry at these words. Touched by the fact that this statue-like princess could have changed so much, Pierre took her by the hand and asked for forgiveness, without knowing why. From that day on, the princess began to knit a striped scarf for Pierre and completely changed towards him.

“Do it for her, mon cher; after all, she suffered a lot from the deceased, ”Prince Vasily told him, letting him sign some kind of paper in favor of the princess.

Prince Vasily decided that this bone, a bill of thirty thousand, should have been thrown to the poor princess after all, so that it would not occur to her to talk about Prince Vasily's participation in the business of the mosaic portfolio. Pierre signed the bill, and since then the princess has become even kinder. The younger sisters also became affectionate towards him, especially the youngest, pretty, with a mole, often embarrassed Pierre with her smiles and embarrassment at the sight of him.

It seemed so natural to Pierre that everyone loved him, it would seem so unnatural if someone did not love him, that he could not help but believe in the sincerity of the people around him. Moreover, he did not have time to ask himself about the sincerity or insincerity of these people. He constantly had no time, he constantly felt himself in a state of meek and cheerful intoxication. He felt himself to be the center of some important general movement; felt that something was constantly expected of him; that, if he did not do this, he would upset many and deprive them of what they expected, but if he did this and that, everything would be fine - and he did what was demanded of him, but this something good remained ahead.

More than anyone else in this first time, both Pierre's affairs and himself were mastered by Prince Vasily. Since the death of Count Bezukhov, he did not let go of Pierre. Prince Vasily looked like a man weighed down by deeds, tired, exhausted, but out of compassion he could not finally leave this helpless young man, the son of his friend, après tout, and with such a huge fortune, to the mercy of fate and rogues. In those few days that he spent in Moscow after the death of Count Bezukhov, he called Pierre to him or came to him himself and ordered him what needed to be done, in such a tone of fatigue and confidence, as if he always said:

– Vous savez que je suis accabl? d'affaires et que ce n'est que par pure charit? que je m'occupe de vous, et puis vous savez bien que ce que je vous propose est la seule chose faisable.

“Well, my friend, tomorrow we are finally leaving,” he once said to him, closing his eyes, fingering his elbow and in such a tone as if what he was saying had been decided a long time ago between them and could not have been decided otherwise.

- Tomorrow we are going, I give you a place in my carriage. I am very happy. Here we have everything important finished. And I should have for a long time. Here's what I got from the Chancellor. I asked him about you, and you are enrolled in the diplomatic corps and made a chamber junker. Now the diplomatic road is open to you.

Despite all the strength of the tone of fatigue and the confidence with which these words were uttered, Pierre, who had been thinking about his career for so long, wanted to object. But Prince Vasily interrupted him in that cooing, bass tone, which ruled out the possibility of interrupting his speech and which he used in case of need for extreme persuasion.

- Mais, mon cher, I did it for myself, for my conscience, and I have nothing to thank. No one ever complained that he was too loved; and then, you are free, even if you quit tomorrow. Here you will see everything yourself in St. Petersburg. And it's time for you to move away from these terrible memories. Prince Vasily sighed. Yes, yes, my soul. And let my valet ride in your carriage. Oh, yes, I had forgotten, ”Prince Vasily added,“ you know, mon cher, we had accounts with the deceased, so I received from Ryazan and will leave it: you don’t need it. We agree with you.

What Prince Vasily called "from Ryazan" was several thousand quitrents, which Prince Vasily left for himself.

In St. Petersburg, as well as in Moscow, an atmosphere of tender, loving people surrounded Pierre. He could not refuse the place or, rather, the title (because he did nothing) that Prince Vasily brought him, and there were so many acquaintances, calls and social activities that Pierre, even more than in Moscow, experienced a feeling of haziness, haste and all the coming, but not done some good.

From his former bachelor society, many were not in St. Petersburg. The guards went on a campaign, Dolokhov was demoted, Anatole was in the army, in the provinces, Prince Andrei was abroad, and therefore Pierre could neither spend the nights, as he liked to spend them before, nor occasionally take his soul in a friendly conversation with an older, respected friend. All the time it was held at dinners, balls, and mainly with Prince Vasily - in the company of the old fat princess, his wife, and the beautiful Helen.

Anna Pavlovna Scherer, like others, showed Pierre the change that had taken place in the public view of him.

Previously, in the presence of Anna Pavlovna, Pierre constantly felt that what he was saying was indecent, tactless, not what was needed; that his speeches, which seem clever to him, while he is preparing them in his imagination, become stupid as soon as he utters them aloud, and that, on the contrary, the most stupid speeches of Hippolytus come out smart and sweet. Now everything he said came out charmant. Even if Anna Pavlovna did not say this, he saw that she wanted to say it, and she only, in respect of his modesty, refrained from doing so.

At the beginning of the winter from 1805 to 1806, Pierre received from Anna Pavlovna the usual pink note with an invitation, in which was added: "Vous trouverez chez moi la belle H? l? ne qu'on ne se lasse jamais voir."

Reading this place, Pierre for the first time felt that some kind of connection had formed between him and Helen, recognized by other people, and this thought at the same time frightened him, as if an obligation was imposed on him that he could not keep. , and together he liked it, as an amusing assumption.

Anna Pavlovna's evening was the same as the first, only the novelty that Anna Pavlovna treated her guests to was now not Mortemar, but a diplomat who had arrived from Berlin and brought the latest details about the stay of Emperor Alexander in Potsdam and how the two highest friend swore there in an inseparable alliance to defend a just cause against the enemy of the human race. Pierre was received by Anna Pavlovna with a touch of sadness, obviously related to the fresh loss that befell the young man, to the death of Count Bezukhov (everyone constantly considered it a duty to assure Pierre that he was very upset by the death of his father, whom he hardly knew) - and sadness exactly the same as the highest sadness that was expressed at the mention of the august Empress Maria Feodorovna. Pierre felt flattered by this. Anna Pavlovna, with her usual art, arranged circles in her drawing room. A large circle, where Prince Vasily and the generals were, used a diplomat. The other circle was at the tea table. Pierre wanted to join the first, but Anna Pavlovna, who was in an irritated state of a commander on the battlefield, when thousands of new brilliant thoughts come that you barely have time to put into practice, Anna Pavlovna, seeing Pierre, touched him on the sleeve:

- Attendez, j'ai des vues sur vous pour ce soir. She looked at Helen and smiled at her.

– Ma bonne H?l?ne, il faut que vous soyez charitable pour ma pauvre tante qui a une adoration pour vous. Allez lui tenir compagnie pour 10 minutes. And so that you are not very bored, here is a dear count who will not refuse to follow you.

The beauty went to her aunt, but Pierre Anna Pavlovna still kept her beside her, showing a look as if she still had to make the last necessary order.

- Isn't she amazing? - she said to Pierre, pointing to the departing majestic beauty. - Et quelle tenue! For such a young girl and such tact, such masterful manners! It comes from the heart! Happy will be the one whose it will be! With her, the most non-secular husband will involuntarily and without difficulty occupy a brilliant place in the world! Is not it? I just wanted to know your opinion. - And Anna Pavlovna let Pierre go.

Pierre sincerely answered Anna Pavlovna in the affirmative to her question about Helen's art of keeping herself. If he ever thought of Helen, he thought precisely of her beauty and of her extraordinary calm ability to be silently worthy in the world.

Auntie received two young people into her corner, but she seemed to want to hide her adoration for Helen and wanted to express her fear of Anna Pavlovna more. She looked at her niece, as if asking what she should do with these people. Moving away from them, Anna Pavlovna again touched Pierre's sleeve with her finger and said:

- J'esp?re que vous ne direz plus qu'on s'ennuie chez moi, - and looked at Helen.

Helen smiled with a look that said that she did not allow the possibility that anyone could see her and not be admired. The aunt cleared her throat, swallowed her saliva, and said in French that she was very glad to see Helen; then she turned to Pierre with the same greeting and with the same mine. In the middle of a boring and stumbling conversation, Helen looked back at Pierre and smiled at him with that smile, clear, beautiful, with which she smiled at everyone. Pierre was so accustomed to this smile, it expressed so little for him that he paid no attention to it. Auntie was talking at that time about the collection of snuff boxes that Pierre's late father, Count Bezukhov, had, and showed her snuff box. Princess Helen asked to see the portrait of her aunt's husband, which was made on this snuffbox.

“That’s right, it was done by Vines,” said Pierre, naming a well-known miniaturist, bending down to the table to pick up a snuffbox, and listening to the conversation at another table.

He got up, wanting to go around, but the aunt brought the snuffbox right over Helen, behind her. Helen leaned forward to make room and looked around smiling. She was, as always at the evenings, in a dress that was very open, in the fashion of the time, in front and behind. Her bust, which always seemed marble to Pierre, was at such a close distance from his eyes that with his short-sighted eyes he involuntarily discerned the lively beauty of her shoulders and neck, and so close to his lips that he had to bend down a little to touch her. He could hear the warmth of her body, the scent of perfume, and the creaking of her corset as she breathed. He did not see her marble beauty, which was one with her dress, he saw and felt all the charm of her body, which was covered only by clothes. And, having once seen this, he could not see otherwise, how we cannot return to the deceit once explained.

She looked round, looked straight at him, her black eyes shining, and smiled.

“So you still haven’t noticed how beautiful I am? – as if said Ellen. Have you noticed that I am a woman? Yes, I am a woman who can belong to anyone, even to you, ”said her look. And at that very moment Pierre felt that Helen not only could, but should be his wife, that it could not be otherwise.

He knew this at that moment as surely as he would have known it, standing under the crown with her. How it would be and when, he did not know; he did not even know whether it would be good (he even felt that it was not good for some reason), but he knew that it would be.

Pierre lowered his eyes, raised them again, and again wanted to see her with such a distant, alien beauty to himself, as he had seen her every day before; but he couldn't do it anymore. It could not, just as a person who had previously looked in the fog at a blade of weeds and saw a tree in it, seeing a blade of grass, again see a tree in it, could not. She was terribly close to him. She already had power over him. And between him and her there were no longer any barriers, except for the barriers of his own will.

Bon, je vous laisse dans votre petit coin. Je vois que vous y?tes tr?s bien, said the voice of Anna Pavlovna.

And Pierre, recalling with fear whether he had done something reprehensible, blushing, looked around him. It seemed to him that everyone knew, as well as he, about what had happened to him.

After a while, when he approached the large mug, Anna Pavlovna said to him:

- On dit que vous embellissez votre maison de Petersbourg.

(It was true: the architect said that he needed it, and Pierre, not knowing why himself, was finishing his huge house in St. Petersburg.)

- C'est bien, mais ne d?m?nagez pas de chez le prince Basile. Il est bon d'avoir un ami comme le prince, she said, smiling at Prince Vasily. - J'en sais quelque chose. N'est-ce pas? And you are still so young. You need advice. You are not angry with me that I use the rights of old women. She paused, as women always keep silent, waiting for something after they say about their years. - If you get married, then another matter. And she put them together in one look. Pierre did not look at Helen, and she at him. But she was still terribly close to him. He mumbled something and blushed.

Returning home, Pierre could not sleep for a long time, thinking about what had happened to him. What happened to him? Nothing. He only realized that the woman he knew as a child, about whom he absentmindedly said: “Yes, good,” when he was told that Helen was beautiful, he realized that this woman could belong to him.

“But she is stupid, I myself said she was stupid,” he thought. - It's not love. On the contrary, there is something nasty in the feeling that she aroused in me, something forbidden. I was told that her brother Anatole was in love with her, and she was in love with him, that there was a whole story and that Anatole was sent away from this. Her brother is Hippolyte. Her father is Prince Vasily. This is not good, he thought; and at the same time as he was reasoning like this (these reasonings were still unfinished), he forced himself to smile and realized that another series of reasonings had surfaced because of the first ones, that at the same time he was thinking about her insignificance and dreaming about how she would be his wife, how she could love him, how she could be completely different, and how everything he thought and heard about her could be untrue. And he again saw her not as some kind of daughter of Prince Vasily, but saw her whole body, only covered with a gray dress. “But no, why didn’t this thought occur to me before?” And again he told himself that this was impossible, that something nasty, unnatural, as it seemed to him, dishonest would be in this marriage. He remembered her former words, glances and words and glances of those who had seen them together. He remembered the words and looks of Anna Pavlovna when she told him about the house, remembered hundreds of such hints from Prince Vasily and others, and he was horrified that he had not bound himself in any way in the performance of such a task, which, obviously, , is not good and which he should not do. But while he was expressing this decision to himself, from the other side of his soul her image surfaced with all its feminine beauty.

In November 1805, Prince Vasily had to go to four provinces for an audit. He arranged this appointment for himself in order to visit his ruined estates at the same time and, having taken with him (at the location of his regiment) the son of Anatole, together with him to call on Prince Nikolai Andreevich Bolkonsky in order to marry his son to the daughter of this rich old man. But before leaving and these new affairs, Prince Vasily had to settle matters with Pierre, who, it is true, had lately spent whole days at home, that is, with Prince Vasily, with whom he lived, and was ridiculous, excited and stupid (as he should be in love) in Helen's presence, but still did not propose.

“Tout ? a est bel et bon, mais il faut que ? a finisse,” Prince Vasily said to himself once in the morning with a sigh of sadness, realizing that Pierre, who owes so much to him (well, yes, Christ be with him!), Is not entirely well does in this case. “Youth ... frivolity ... well, God bless him,” thought Prince Vasily, feeling his kindness with pleasure, “mais il faut que ?a finisse. The day after tomorrow, Lelyna's name day, I will call someone, and if he does not understand what he must do, then this will be my business. Yes, my business. I am the father!”

Pierre, a month and a half after Anna Pavlovna's evening and the sleepless, agitated night that followed, in which he decided that marrying Helen would be a misfortune and that he needed to avoid her and leave, Pierre after this decision did not move from Prince Vasily and felt with horror that every day he becomes more and more connected with her in the eyes of people, that he cannot return to his former view of her, that he cannot tear himself away from her, that it will be terrible, but that he will have to connect with her your destiny. Perhaps he could have abstained, but not a day passed that Prince Vasily (who rarely had a reception) would not have an evening at which Pierre was supposed to be, if he did not want to upset the general pleasure and deceive the expectations of everyone. Prince Vasily, in those rare moments when he was at home, passing Pierre, pulled his hand down, absently offered him a shaved wrinkled cheek for a kiss and said either “see you tomorrow” or “by dinner, otherwise I won’t see you”, or “I’m staying for you,” etc. But despite the fact that when Prince Vasily stayed for Pierre (as he said it), he did not say a few words to him, Pierre did not feel able to deceive his expectations. He every day he said to himself one and the same thing: “We must finally understand her and give ourselves an account: who is she? Was I wrong before or am I wrong now? No, she is not stupid; No, she's a beautiful girl! he said to himself sometimes. “She is never wrong about anything, she has never said anything stupid. She doesn't say much, but what she says is always simple and clear. So she's not stupid. She has never been embarrassed and never is embarrassed. So she's not a bad woman!" Often it happened to her to begin to reason, to think aloud, and each time she answered him either with a short, but incidentally said remark, showing that she was not interested in it, or with a silent smile and look, which most palpably showed Pierre her superiority. She was right to dismiss all reasoning as nonsense compared to that smile.

She always turned to him with a joyful, trusting smile that applied to him alone, in which there was something more significant than what was in the general smile that always adorned her face. Pierre knew that everyone was only waiting for him to finally say one word, to step over a certain line, and he knew that sooner or later he would step over it; but some incomprehensible horror seized him at the mere thought of this terrible step. Thousands of times during this month and a half, during which he felt further and further drawn into that abyss that terrified him, Pierre said to himself: “Yes, what is it ? It takes determination! Don't I have it?"

He wanted to make up his mind, but he felt with horror that in this case he did not have that determination that he knew in himself and which really was in him.

ny. He was also known abroad. Even Napoleon, regarding the peace with Turkey concluded by Kutuzov, which was beneficial for Russia, could not refrain from a flattering though rude opinion, calling Kutuzov "an old Russian fox."

And when the news of the death of Smolensk spread, when the French army of six hundred thousand strong rushed irresistibly towards the ancient Russian capital, the eyes of all with hope turned to the great commander. And no matter how opposed the government, it still had to give in to public opinion and appoint Kutuzov commander-in-chief of the Russian army. And the people were not mistaken in their choice.

Kutuzov was a Russian patriot in the fullest, in the most sublime sense of the word. Russia, its interests, its honor and glory, its historical past and its political future, this is what has always lived in his soul, this is what aroused his thought, controlled his feelings, directed his will.

(According to E.V. Tarle)

1. Title the text.

2. Outline the first sentence of the third paragraph.

3. Find words with unpronounceable consonants.

477. Rewrite, opening brackets and putting the necessary punctuation marks; replace the dots with the missing letters.

The infantry regiments, taken by surprise, ran out of the forest, mingling with each other, the companies left (into) the breakdown in disorderly crowds. One soldier (on the move) in fright uttered the terrible and meaningless word “cut off” in the war, and after (following) that word, together with a feeling of fear, was communicated to the whole mass.

Bypassed Cut off Disappeared shouted (in) half muffled by the artillery rumbles of the voices of the fleeing.

The regimental commander at the very moment he heard the growing shooting and the cry from behind realized that something terrible had happened to his regiment and, forgetting about the danger and sense of self-preservation, he ran to the regiment under a hail of bullets.

He wanted to correct one thing for whatever (whatever) it was .. was a mistake so as not to be guilty of him n .. in what (not) noticed an exemplary officer.

Having happily galloped between the French, he galloped to the (e) cat ..th meadow behind the forest through which ours ran and, not listening to commands, descended downhill.

But at that moment the French, who were advancing on ours, suddenly, for no apparent reason, ran back, disappeared, and, closing in the forest, Russian riflemen appeared. It was Timokhin's company, which, alone in the forest, kept itself in order and, having sat down in a ditch near the forest, unexpectedly attacked the French.

(According to L. N. Tolstoy)

1. Title the text.

2. Make a syntactic analysis of the first sentence, draw up a diagram.

3. Highlight adverbial phrases.

478. Rewrite, opening brackets and putting punctuation marks; replace the dots with the missing letters where necessary.

Once, about twenty years ago, I went to Lake Kubenskoye for fish. I remember .. the (pre) spring heavenly depths, the March clarity of the air and the bluish summers of the snow fields edging .. the (dark) green spruce forests. In the eyes and still (now) a dirt road to the village of Nikolsky. The smell of the first melt water, or rather, snow ready for melting, was reminiscent of the smell of freshly caught fish. And I was sure that I would (not) return to Vologda without fish. Yes, and in fish

what's the matter? My soul craved (not) so much fresh .. soup as spring .. his communication with real and not amateur fishermen.

Expecting to drink tea from (not) chlorinated water, I stopped (at) against a village of five maybe six houses. I turned off the car and went to the first house. The porch has no (n..) trace. Went to the second castle. The third house has no lock on the gate, but the glass in the windows is broken. The village was devastated ... and abandoned ... but I (did not) want to believe it, I ran to the last last house. No, this house is empty! The gates turned out to be open in the passage (in) be .. a pitchfork, an aspen hollow, a grip and a broken basket were lying in a row. I entered the hut. There, in the left corner, everything was unfolded .. but. Tourists get icons in this way. Pech .. however, there was a whole .. ka. The closet in the hearth was wide open.. some dishes were still standing on the shelves. The floor in the gor..tse was full of .. blockage ..n with tax obligations and receipts. I picked up a photograph of some (some) military man from the floor. Started and (long) long sat warming up.

(V. I. Belov)

1. Title the text.

2. Find in the text full and short participles; highlight the suffixes in them.

3. Highlight adverbs; explain their spelling.

479. Read carefully both texts. Convey their main meaning in your own words. Explain the placement of punctuation marks.

I. A WORD ABOUT BREAD.

Bread... Our language is rich, it contains hundreds of thousands of words. But try to find in it one more thing, just as vital, used more often than others, just as

a big word! Is that the word "earth". And it is not for nothing that our grandfathers and great-grandfathers in a well-known saying put them related - side by side: mother earth and bread-ba-tushka.

For centuries and centuries bread has been, as it were, synonymous with life itself. We still say to this day: “earn our bread,” although by this we mean not only bread as such, but our entire life’s prosperity.

"Bread is the head of everything!" - says the old native wisdom. No matter how much you think, you can’t think of anything better than bread. “Bread on the table and the table is a throne, but not a piece of bread and the table is a board ...”

(S. Shurtakov)

P. Let us bow to him [the man who grew bread] and be honest and conscientious before his great feat, great and modest at the same time; before leaving the bakery with a loaf or a brick of warm bread, let us once again remember with pious heartfelt concern about the hands that sowed and grew this bread... And at the same time, we will always remember the wise saying that came to us from the depths centuries, born of folk experience: "May the hand wither, throwing at least a crumb of bread under your feet."

(M. N. Alekseev)

480. Read the text. Title it. Indicate what the combination of high artistry and publicism is expressed in it.

The biggest, most enduring contribution of the North to the treasury of national culture is the word. A living folk-poetic word, in which the soul of a northerner, his character, is most fully and brightly captured. The word that today has preserved the structure and spirit of the Russian language of ancient times, times

Lord Veliky Novgorod, and this alone makes it the edge of our origins, our spiritual beginnings, for the language of the people is its mind and wisdom, its ethics and philosophy, its history and poetry.

In the North, from ancient times, all life, both everyday and festive, was permeated with multicolored eloquence, whether it was ordinary everyday speech, or in the local “speaking”, either a song or a fairy tale, or a heroic epic and sparkling buffoon, or cocky and fierce ditty.

otherwise? How to live in this harsh land without relying on the miraculous power of the word? Let's say, a hunter's artel was brought into the pitch ice of a formidable ocean - well, and how, if not with a word, strengthen the shaky spirit, brighten up an unbearable life?

In southern and central Russia, such mammoths of the Russian national epic as the bylina and the historical song died out long ago, but here, in the North, back in the twentieth century, they lived their full-blooded lives, and the little, illiterate old woman from Pinega amazed and conquered the enlightened capital with her famous antiquities, poetic legends, as if splashed out from the depths of centuries ...

The folk poetic creativity of the North has always lived in friendship with the book culture. The peasants of the North, who were more literate than their counterparts in other provinces, were often the owners of personal libraries, and it is no coincidence that the torch of learning in Russia was lit by a peasant son from Kholmogor, Mikhailo Lomonosov.

In early spring, when the northern rivers and lakes surge in floods, innumerable flocks of birds return to their homeland from the south, from warm lands and countries. And there, the green grass will dry up a little and hatch, you look, all wandering people will stretch to the North.

What for? Why do spoiled townspeople often endure off-road for weeks, would there be various inconveniences?

Is it not in order to join the life-giving sources of national culture, in order to elevate one's soul, one's spirit with the beauty and word of the North?!

(F. A. Abramov)

1. Find difficult words, explain their spelling.

2. Highlight complex sentences; Determine the types of connection of simple sentences in a complex one.

3. Find homogeneous members of the sentence; determine their types and the nature of the relationship between them.

REPETITION OF THE DEVELOPMENT OF CONNECTED SPEECH.

§ 65. Plan. Abstracts. Abstract.

481. Read the following excerpts from the article by V. G. Belinsky "Eugene Onegin" and a possible version of their recording in the form of a plan (a list of main questions), theses (basic provisions with their motivation) and an abstract (a concise coherent presentation of the content ).

Onegin is Pushkin's most sincere work, the most beloved child of his imagination, and one can point to too few works in which the personality of the poet would be reflected with such fullness, light and clear, as Pushkin's personality was reflected in Onegin. Here is all life, all soul, all his love; here his feelings, concepts, ideals. To evaluate such a work means to evaluate the poet himself in the entire scope of his creative activity. Not to mention the aesthetic merit of Onegin, this poem is of great historical and social significance for us Russians.

First of all, in Onegin we see a poetically reproduced picture of Russian society taken at one of the most interesting moments in its development. From this point of view, "Eugene Onegin" is a historical poem in the full sense of the word, although among his

there are no historical characters. The historical merit of this poem is all the higher because it was in Russia and the first and brilliant experience of this kind. In it, Pushkin is not only a poet, but also a representative of a public self-consciousness that has awakened for the first time: an immeasurable merit! Before Pushkin, Russian poetry was nothing more than a quick-witted and perceptive student of the European muse, and therefore all works of Russian poetry before Pushkin somehow looked more like sketches and copies than like free works of original inspiration.

Pushkin's "Eugene Onegin" was the first... national artistic work. In this determination of the young poet to represent the moral physiognomy of the most Europeanized class in Russia, one cannot fail to see proof that he was, and deeply conscious of himself, a national poet. He realized that the time for epic poems had long since passed, and that a novel, not an epic poem, was needed to depict modern society, in which the prose of life had penetrated so deeply into the very poetry of life. He took this life as it is, without diverting from it only poetic moments; took it with all the coldness, with all its prose and vulgarity. And such boldness would have been less surprising if the novel had been conceived in prose; but to write such a novel in verse at a time when there was not a single decent novel in prose in the Russian language - such courage, justified by a huge success, was an undoubted evidence of the genius of the poet.

< ...> Onegin is highly original

and national Russian work. Together with Griboedov's contemporary work of genius, Woe from Wit, Pushkin's verse novel laid a solid foundation for new Russian poetry, new Russian literature.

		Abstract
	1. "Eugene	In "Eugene Onegin"
"Evgenia	Onegin	my sincere work
Onegin" in	has a special month	Denia Pushkin, with
creativity	then in creativity	more complete reflection
	Pushkin: in	the personality of the poet was
	this product	his feelings, concepts,
	nii with the most	ideals. This work
	neck fullness	has a great deal for us
	reflected lich	historical and social
	the ness of the poet.	vein meaning.
2. Reflection	2. In "Eugene	"Eugene Onegin" is
nie in "Evge	Onegin	is a work of history
Research Institute of Onega	produced	rhyme in full sense
not' life	Russian life	le words, because in it
Russian about	society into one	poetically reproduced
	of the important	on the life of the Russian community
one of the	riods of his times	stva in one of interest
riods of it	whitia what's up	the most recent periods of his times
development.	no work	orgy. pushkin ledge
	historical.	em in it not only as
		poet, but also imagine
		tel first time waking up
		current public
		self-awareness.
3. Meaning	3. Pushkin you	"Eugene Onegin" appeared
"Evgenia	stepped into "Evge	the first Russian national
Onegin"	Onegin Research Institute	national artistic
like the first	as a national	work, and Push
Russian into-	poet, from	kin - ingenious on
rationally	taking the most	national poet,
artistic	more successful	brazil life in common
military pro	form for iso	stva such as it is.
publications.	modern fermentation	For this, the poet chose
	about him	special artistic
	creatures - ro	form - a novel in verse,
	man in verse.	and at such a time
		when in Russian
		there hasn't been one yet The end of the table. Abstract 4. "Eugene 4. "Eugene "Eugene Onegin" - about Onegin" as Onegin" vme publication in the highest ste basis for ste with comedy peni original and further Griboyedov "Go national-Russian. Together development re crazy" polo those with the creation of Griboyedo lived a strong va "Woe from Wit" culture. new poetry novel by Russian letter laid down a solid foundation Russian poetry, but howling Russian literature. 482. Make a plan for the given text. Orally state its content point by point. THE PHENOMENON OF VERNADSKY. V. I. Vernadsky discovered the noosphere of spiritual culture in all its multicoloredness, in the variety of forms and national characteristics, because he himself was open to this infinite world. He was receptive to everything lofty, harmonious, reasonable, he developed - by his environment and by his own efforts - a culture of thinking, the ability to separate the wheat from the chaff. He was also open to the natural world. He was not a "paper scientist" and a philosopher. He always remained a geologist, knowing the amazing life of minerals, the transformation of rocks, the structure of the Earth, the depths of its history, the gaseous respiration of the planet, the fate of natural waters, the organic interaction of geospheres and living matter in the field of life. He was a geologist, and therefore primarily a natural historian. Making excursions, conducting expeditions, he traveled tens of thousands of kilometers on trains and in carts, crossing along and across Europe, the Caucasus, the Urals. Walked hundreds, thousands of kilometers on foot, studying the soils of Ukraine and Central Russia; mines and quarries in Poland, Germany; ancient volcanoes of France