Chapter 92 Chapter Sixteen

Anatole had recently stayed with the Dolokhovs.The plan to abduct Natasha had been considered by Dolokhov a few days earlier.The day Sonia decided to protect Natasha after eavesdropping outside the door was the day when this plan was realized.Natasha promised to meet Anatole by the back door at ten o'clock in the evening.Anatole would put her in a troika prepared in advance and take her to the village of Kaminga, sixty versts from Moscow, where they would be married by a deposed priest.The horses, which were still ready for transfer in the village of Kaminga, sent them up the Warsaw Highway, and then fled abroad in a stagecoach.

Anatole had a passport, a post-horse certificate, ten thousand rubles from his sister, and another ten thousand rubles borrowed through Dolokhov. The two witnesses sat in the antechamber drinking tea.One of them is Hevstikov, a retired petty official who often helps Dolokhov arrange gambling games; the other is Makarin, a retired hussar who is kind, weak, and loyal to Anatole. Dolokhov's large study room is covered with Persian tapestries, bear skins and weapons from the ceiling to the walls.Dolokhov, in a traveling suit and high boots, was sitting at an open desk with ledgers and banknotes on it.Anatole unfurled his uniform, came out of the room where the witnesses were sitting, walked through the study to the back room where his French valet and other servants were packing.Dolokhov counted the banknotes and kept accounts.

"I say two thousand for Hvstikov," said Dolokhov. "Well, then give it," said Anatole. "As for Makarin, he will go through fire and water for you and ask for nothing. Well, the account is settled," said Dolokhov, showing him the bill, "isn't it?" "Yes, of course!" said Anatole, obviously not listening to Dolokhov, with a smile on his face and his eyes staring straight ahead. Dolokhov slammed the lid of the desk and turned to Anatole with a mocking smile. "I think you'd better give up on this matter, there's still time!" Dolokhov said.

"Fool!" said Anatole, "stop talking nonsense. You don't know . . . God knows how it's done!" "Really, give up!" said Dolokhov. "I'm telling you seriously. Is your idea a joke?" "Hmph, you're making me angry again? Fuck you! What? . . . " Anatole frowned. "I don't have time for such silly jokes with you now," he said, and went out of the room. Dolokhov smiled contemptuously and generously when he saw Anatole go out. "Wait a minute," he said behind Anatole, "I'm not kidding, I mean serious, come back, come back quickly."

Anatole went back into the room, watched Dolokhov as attentively as possible, and obeyed him involuntarily. "Listen, I'll say it to you for the last time. What am I kidding you? Did I have a fight with you? Who set it up for you? Who got you a pastor? Who got you Passport? Who raised the money for you? It's not all me." "Thank you then. Do you think I will be ungrateful?" Anatole sighed, and embraced Dolokhov. "I did you a favor, but I warn you: it's a dangerous thing to do, and it's a stupid thing to do when you think about it calmly. Well, it's all very well that you take her away. But will they let it go? As soon as they find out you've been married, you'll have to sue..."

"Hmph! Nonsense, nonsense!" Anatole frowned again. "I didn't explain it to you. Huh?" Anatole was also very stubborn like ordinary simple-minded people.Repeat to Dolokhov what he has said a hundred times, "Didn't I already tell you that I have made up my mind: if this marriage is invalid," he curled a finger, "then I will not be responsible ; if it works, that's all right: no one will know about it abroad, don't you think? Stop talking, stop talking, stop talking!" "Really, forget it! Why do you bother to trouble yourself..."

"Fuck you!" said Anatole, grabbing his hair with both hands, and went out of the room, but returned immediately and sat cross-legged in the easy chair in front of Dolokhov. "God knows what! Eh? Touch it, what a jump!" He took Dolokhov's hand and placed it on his chest. "Ah! What legs, man, and eyes! Goddesses! Eh?" Dolokhov smiled grimly, his savage and pretty eyes were shining brightly, and he obviously wanted to make fun of him again. "So, what do you do when you run out of money?" "What to do? Uh?" Anatole repeated his friend's words, feeling a little at a loss thinking about the future, "What to do? I don't know...Hmph, why are you talking nonsense!" He looked at his watch. "it's time!"

Anatole went into the back room. "Hey, are you ready soon? What are you dawdling about!" He yelled at the servant. Dolokhov collected the money, ordered the servants to bring the food and drink before the journey, and went to the house of Makarin and Hevstikoff himself. Anatole was lying on the sofa with his elbows propped up in the study, smiling thoughtfully and muttering something. "Come and eat. Come and drink!" Dolokhov called from another room. "I don't want it!" Anatole answered, still smiling. "Come on, here comes Baraga." Anatole got up and went to the dining room.Balaga was a well-known troika driver and had served Dolokhov and Anatole for six years.When Anatole's regiment was stationed in Tver, he more than once took Anatole from Tver in the evening, arrived in Moscow at dawn, and brought him back the next evening.More than once he drove Dolokhov to escape capture, more than once he drove them, gypsies and sluts (as Balaga called them) around the city, he repeatedly knocked down pedestrians and The other coachmen, the gentlemen (as he called them) each time saved him.He killed more than one horse for them.He was beaten by them more than once, drunk by them with his favorite champagne and Madeira wine more than once, and he knew all kinds of pranks of each of them. For this prank, ordinary people would have been exiled to Siberia. up.They used to invite Balaga to gypsy feasts and dances, and they spent more than a thousand rubles through his hands.He waited on them, putting his life to death a dozen times a year, and he waited on them, driving broken horses worth more than they paid him.But he liked them, this gallop of eighteen versts an hour, overturning carriages, overturning pedestrians, speeding through Moscow streets.He liked to hear the drunken shout of the old man behind him, "Faster! Quicker!" though it couldn't be faster;He often thought: "This is the real master!"

Anatole and Dolokhov also liked Balaga, because he was a good driver and had the same hobbies as them.Baraga haggled with others, haggling over every detail, and charged twenty-five rubles for a two-hour drive; when others took a drive, he always sent his men to drive, and seldom went out himself.But when "my master" takes a car, he always drives it himself, and he doesn't talk about the price.Every few months, he learned from his servants that the old men had money, so he would not drink a drop, went up to them early in the morning, bowed deeply, and begged them for relief.The two gentlemen always let him sit down.

"Deliver me just once, sir, my lord," said Baraga, "I have not even a horse, and I am going to the fair, and you can lend me as much as you can." Anatole and Dolokhov often gave him a thousand or two thousand rubles when they had money. Baraga was a twenty-seven-year-old peasant, short, fair-haired, red-cheeked, with a snub nose, a thick red neck, small piercing eyes, and a small goatee.He was wearing a sheepskin jacket and a thin blue gown with a silk lining. Balaga crossed himself on the icon opposite the door, went up to Dolokhov, and held out a small black hand. "Master Dolokhov!" he cried, bowing.

"Hello, buddy. He's here." "Hello, my lord!" Baraga said to Anatole, who had entered, and held out his hand also to him. "Listen, Baraga," said Anatole, putting his hands on his shoulders, "do you like me or not? Eh? Now you run for me... What horse have you harnessed? Eh ?” "Use your Maxima, as your men told you," Baraga said. "Well, listen to me, Balaga! Even if all three horses are killed, we will be here in three hours. Understand?" "If the horses are all driven to death, how can we go!" Baraga said, winking. "Be careful that I smash your face, you dare to joke!" Anatole suddenly opened his eyes wide and shouted. "Are you kidding me?" the coachman said with a smile, "When did I feel sorry for the horse for my master? Let the horse run as fast as it can run." "Good!" said Anatole, "sit down." "By the way, sit down!" Dolokhov said. "I'll stand for a while, Mr. Dolokhov." "Sit down, don't talk nonsense, drink!" said Anatole, pouring him a large glass of Madeira.When the coachman saw the wine, his eyes lit up.He withdrew politely, drank it down, and wiped his mouth with the red silk handkerchief he kept in his hat. "When are you leaving, sir?" "This..." Anatole looked at his watch, "Let's go now. Pay attention, Balaga. Tell me, is it too late?" "As long as you are going out auspiciously, how can you be too late?" Baraga said. "It took you only seven hours to get you to Tver last time. You must remember, sir." "You know, I set off from Tver one Christmas." Anatoli said to Makarin with a smile as he recalled the past.Makarin looked at Anatole with wide eyes flatteringly. "You won't believe it, Makarin, we're flying like flying, it's almost breathless. We passed a convoy and overtook two wagons. Did you?" "Those horses are amazing!" Baraga went on. "I harnessed two ponies and a sorrel shaft horse," he said to Dolokhov. "You may not believe it. Sir, those horses ran sixty versts at a stretch. I couldn't rein in them, and my hands were numb with cold. I threw away the reins. I said, sir, drive yourself, and I will Down in the sled. There's no need to drive it, and you can't hold it until you get there. Those damn things got there in three hours. Only the horse on the left died."