Emma Watson Pussy
War And Peace
judging by what the
doctor said, it seemed might easily happen--she could not oppose
Natasha. Though with the intimacy now established between the
wounded man and Natasha the thought occurred that should he recover
their former engagement would be renewed, no one--least of all Natasha
and Prince Andrew--spoke of this: the unsettled question of life and
death, which hung not only over Bolkonski but over all Russia, shut
out all other considerations.
On the third of September Pierre awoke late. His head was aching,
the clothes in which he had slept without undressing felt
uncomfortable on his body, and his mind had a dim consciousness of
something shameful he had done the day before. That something shameful
was his yesterdays conversation with Captain Ramballe.
It was eleven by the clock, but it seemed peculiarly dark out of
doors. Pierre rose, rubbed his eyes, and seeing the pistol with an
engraved stock which Gerasim had replaced on the writing table, he
remembered where he was and what lay before him that very day.
"Am I not too late?" he thought. "No, probably he wont make his
entry into Moscow before noon."
Pierre did not allow himself to reflect on what lay before him,
but hastened to act.
After arranging his clothes, he took the pistol and was about to
go out. But it then occurred to him for the first time that he
certainly could not carry the weapon in his hand through the
streets. It was difficult to hide such a big pistol even under his
wide coat. He could not carry it unnoticed in his belt or under his
arm. Besides, it had been discharged, and he had not had time to
reload it. "No matter, dagger will do," he said to himself, though
when planning his design he had more than once come to the
conclusion that the chief mistake made by the student in 1809 had been
to try to kill Napoleon with a dagger. But as his chief aim
consisted not in carrying out his design, but in proving to himself
that he would not abandon his intention and was doing all he could
to achieve it, Pierre hastily took the blunt jagged dagger in a
green sheath which he had bought at the Sukharev market with the
pistol, and hid it under his waistcoat.
Having tied a girdle over his coat and pulled his cap low on his
head, Pierre went down the corridor, trying to avoid making a noise or
meeting the captain, and passed out into the street.
The conflagration, at which he had looked with so much
indifference the evening before, had greatly increased during the
night. Moscow was on fire in several places. The buildings in Carriage
Row, across the river, in the Bazaar and the Povarskoy, as well as the
barges on the Moskva River and the timber yards by the Dorogomilov
Bridge, were all ablaze.
Pierres way led through side streets to the Povarskoy and from there
to the church of St. Nicholas on the Arbat, where he had long before
decided that the deed should be done. The gates of most of the houses
were locked and the shutters up. The streets and lanes were deserted.
The air was full of smoke and the smell of burning. Now and then he
met Russians with anxious and timid faces, and Frenchmen with an air
not of the city but of the camp, walking in the middle of the streets.
Both the Russians and the French looked at Pierre with surprise.
Besides his height and stoutness, and the strange morose look of
suffering in his face and whole figure, the Russians stared at Pierre
because they could not make out to what class he could belong. The
French followed him with astonishment in their eyes chiefly because
Pierre, unlike all the other Russians who gazed at the French with
fear and curiosity, paid no attention to them. At the gate of one
house three Frenchmen, who were explaining something to some Russians
who did not understand them, stopped Pierre asking if he did not know
Pierre shook his head and went on. In another side street a sentinel
standing beside a green caisson shouted at him, but only when the
shout was threateningly repeated and he heard the click of the mans
musket as he raised it did Pierre understand that he had to pass on
the other side of the street. He heard nothing and saw nothing of what
went on around him. He carried his resolution within himself in terror
and haste, like something
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