t to work against so and so。 We may be mistaken。 But I say let those join hands who care for the good cause； and let our one standard be energy and honesty。 Prince Sergey is a capital fellow； and clever。’’
Natasha would have had no doubt that Pierre’s idea was a grand idea； but that one thing troubled her。 It was his being her husband。 ‘‘Is it possible that a man of such value； of such importance to society； is at the same time my husband？ How can it have happened？’’ She wanted to express this doubt to him。 ‘‘Who are the persons who could decide positively whether he is so much cleverer than all of them？’’ she wondered； and she went over in imagination the people who were very much respected by Pierre。 There was nobody whom； to judge by his own account； he had respected so much as Platon Karataev。
‘‘Do you know what I am thinking about？’’ she said。 ‘‘About Platon Karataev。 What would he have said？ Would he have approved of you now？’’
Pierre was not in the least surprised at this question。 He understood the connection of his wife’s ideas。
‘‘Platon Karataev？’’ he said； and he pondered； evidently trying sincerely to picture what Karataev’s judgment would have been on the subject。 ‘‘He would not have understood； and yet； perhaps； he would。’’
‘‘I like you awfully！’’ said Natasha all at once。 ‘‘Awfully！ awfully！’’
‘‘No； he wouldn’t have approved；’’ said Pierre； musing。 ‘‘What he would have approved of is our home life。 He did so like to see seemliness； happiness； peace in everything； and I could have shown him all of us with pride。 You talk about separation。 But you would not believe what a special feeling I have for you after separation …’’
‘‘And； besides； …’’ Natasha was beginning。
‘‘No； not so。 I never leave off loving you。 And one couldn’t love more； but it’s something special。…’’ He did not finish； because their eyes meeting said the rest。
‘‘What nonsense；’’ said Natasha suddenly； ‘‘it all is about the honeymoon and that the greatest happiness is at first。 On the contrary； now is much the best。 If only you wouldn’t go away。 Do you remember how we used to quarrel？ And I was always in the wrong。 It was always my doing。 And what we quarrelled about—I don’t remember even。’’
‘‘Always the same thing；’’ said Pierre smiling。 ‘‘Jea …’’
‘‘Don’t say it； I can’t bear it；’’ cried Natasha； and a cold； vindictive light gleamed in her eyes。 ‘‘Did you see her？’’ she added after a pause。
‘‘No； and if I had； I shouldn’t have known her。’’
They were silent。
‘‘Oh！ do you know； when you were talking in the study； I was looking at you；’’ said Natasha； obviously trying to drive away the cloud that had come between them。 ‘‘And do you know you are like him as two drops of water； like the boy。’’ That was what she called her baby son。 ‘‘Ah； it’s time I went to him。 … But I am sorry to go away。’’
They were both silent for some seconds。 Then all at once； at the same moment； they turned to each other and began talking。 Pierre was beginning with self…satisfaction and enthusiasm； Natasha with a soft； happy smile。 Interrupting each other； both stopped； waiting for the other to go on。
‘‘No； what is it？ Tell me； tell me。’’
‘‘No； you tell me； it wasn’t anything； only nonsense；’’ said Natasha。
Pierre said what he had been going to say。 It was the sequel to his complacent reflections on his success in Petersburg。 It seemed to him at that moment that he was destined to give a new direction to the progress of the whole of Russian society and of the whole world。
‘‘I only meant to say that all ideas that have immense results are always simple。 All my idea really is that if vicious people are united and form a power； honest men must do the same。 It’s so simple； you see。’’
‘‘Yes。’’
‘‘But what were you going to say？’’
‘‘Oh； nothing； nonsense。’’
‘‘No； say it though。’’
‘‘Oh； nothing； only silly nonsense；’’ said Natasha； breaking into a more beaming smile than ever。 ‘‘I was only going to tell you about Petya。 Nurse came up to take him from me to…day； he laughed and puckered up his face and squeezed up to me—I suppose he thought he was hiding。 He’s awfully sweet。 … There he is crying。 Well； good…bye！’’ and she ran out of the room。
Meanwhile； below in Nikolinka Bolkonsky’s bedroom a lamp was burning as usual （the boy was afraid of the dark and could not be cured of this weakness）。 Dessalle was asleep with his head high on his four pillows； and his Roman nose gave forth rhythmic sounds of snoring。 Nikolinka had just waked up in a cold sweat； and was sitting up in bed； gazing with wide…open eyes straight before him。 He had been waked by a fearful dream。 In his dream his Uncle Pierre and he in helmets； such as appeared in the illustrations in his Plutarch； were marching at the head of an immense army。 This army was made up of slanting； white threads that filled the air like those spider…webs that float in autumn and that Dessalle used to call le fil de la Vierge。 Ahead of them was glory； which was something like those threads too； only somewhat more opaque。 They—he and Pierre—were flying lightly and happily nearer and nearer to their goal。 All at once the threads that moved them seemed to grow weak and tangled； and it was all difficult。 And Uncle Nikolay stood before them in a stern and menacing attitude。
‘‘Have you done this？’’ he said； pointing to broken pens and sticks of sealing…wax。 ‘‘I did love you； but Araktcheev has bidden me； and I will kill the first that moves forward。’’
Nikolinka looked round for Pierre； but Pierre was not there。 Instead of Pierre； there was his father—Prince Andrey—and his father had no shape or form； but he was there； and seeing him； Nikolinka felt the weakness of love； he felt powerless； limp； and relaxed。 His father caressed him and pitied him； but his Uncle Nikolay was moving down upon them； coming closer and closer。 A great horror came over Nikolinka； and he waked up。
‘‘My father！’’ he thought。 （Although there were two very good portraits of Prince Andrey in the house； Nikolinka never thought of his father in human form。） ‘‘My father has been with me； and has caressed me。 He approved of me； he approved of Uncle Pierre。 Whatever he might tell me； I would do it。 Mucius Scaevola burnt his hand。 But why should not the same sort of thing happen in my life？ I know they want me to study。 And I am going to study。 But some day I shall have finished； and then I will act。 One thing only I pray God for； that the same sort of thing may happen with me as with Plutarch’s men； and I will act in the same way。 I will do more。 Every one shall know of me； shall love me； and admire me。’’ And all at once Nikolinka felt his breast heaving with sobs； and he burst into tears。
‘‘Are you ill？’’ he heard Dessalle’s voice。
‘‘No；’’ answered Nikolinka； and he lay back on his pillow。 ‘‘How good and kind he is； I love him！’’ He thought of Dessalle。 ‘‘But Uncle Pierre！ Oh； what a wonderful man！ And my father？ Father！ Father！ Yes； I will do something that even he would be content with …’’
Epilogue II
Chapter 1
THE SUBJECT of history is the life of peoples and of humanity。 To catch and pin down in words—that is； to describe directly the life； not only of humanity； but even of a single people； appears to be impossible。
All the ancient historians employed the same method for describing and catching what is seemingly elusive—that is； the life of a people。 They described the career of individual persons ruling peoples； and their activity was to them an expression of the activity of the whole people。
The questions； In what way individual persons made nations act in accordance with their will； and by what the will of those individuals themselves was controlled； the ancients answered； By the will of God； which in the first case made the nation subject to the will of one chosen person； and； in the second； guided the will of that chosen monarch to the ordained end。
For the ancients these questions were solved by faith in the immediate participation of the Deity in the affairs of mankind。
Modern history has theoretically rejected both those positions。 One would have thought that rejecting the convictions of the ancients of men’s subjection to the Deity； and of a defined goal to which nations are led； modern history should have studied； not the manifestations of power； but the causes that go to its formation。 But modern history has not done that。 While in theory rejecting the views of the ancients； it follows them in practice。
Instead of men endowed with divine authority and directly led by the will of the Deity； modern history has set up either heroes； endowed with extraordinary； superhuman powers； or simply men of the most varied characteristics； from monarchs to journalists； who lead the masses。 Instead of the old aim； the will of the Deity； that to the old historians seemed the end of the movements of peoples； such as the Gauls； the Greeks； and the Romans； modern history has advanced aims of its own—the welfare of the French； the German； or the English people； or its highest pitch of generalisation； the civilisation of all humanity； by which is usually meant the peoples