point and wins the victory alone. “And death and agony!” said another voice. But Prince Andrey did not answer that voice, and went on with his triumphs. The disposition of the battle that ensues is all his work alone. Nominally, he is an adjutant on the staff of Kutuzov, but he does everything alone. The battle is gained by him alone. Kutuzov is replaced, he is appointed.… “Well, and then?” said the other voice again, “what then, if you do a dozen times over escape being wounded, killed, or deceived before that; well, what then?” “Why, then…” Prince Andrey answered himself, “I don’t know what will come then, I can’t know, and don’t want to; but if I want that, if I want glory, want to be known to men, want to be loved by them, it’s not my fault that I want it, that it’s the only thing I care for, the only thing I live for. Yes, the only thing! I shall never say to any one, but, my God! what am I to do, if I care for nothing but glory, but men’s love? Death, wounds, the loss of my family—nothing has terrors for me. And dear and precious as many people are to me: father, sister, wife—the people dearest to me; yet dreadful and unnatural as it seems, I would give them all up for a moment of glory, of triumph over men, of love from men whom I don’t know, and shall never know, for the love of those people there,” he thought, listening to the talk in the courtyard of Kutuzov’s house. He could hear the voices of the officers’ servants packing up; one of them, probably a coachman, was teasing Kutuzov’s old cook, a man called Tit, whom Prince Andrey knew. He kept calling him and making a joke on his name.

“Tit, hey, Tit?” he said.

“Well?” answered the old man.

Tit, stupay molotit” (“Tit, go a-thrashing”), said the jester.

“Pooh, go to the devil, do,” he heard the cook’s voice, smothered in the laughter of the servants.

“And yet, the only thing I love and prize is triumph over all of them, that mysterious power and glory which seems hovering over me in this mist!”


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