Chapter 5 chapter Five

"Hey, let's get started!" said Dolokhov. "Very well," said Pierre, still smiling. The scene became increasingly frightening.Obviously, what was done so easily can no longer be stopped. It does not depend on people's will, and it is going on naturally, and it is good to do it to the end.Denisov, who was the first to step up to the boundary line, announced: "Because the opponents refused to mediate, so it started, okay, pick up the pistol, and when you hear the shout 'three', you are all subject to its regularity. He tried to reveal the regularity of social development, but, started to the duel site go ahead."

"One! Two! Three! . . . " cried Denisov angrily, and he walked away.Both of them walked closer and closer along the path they stepped on, and gradually recognized their opponents in the mist.When two adversaries come to the front line of the duel, one of them has the right to shoot if he wishes.Dolokhov did not raise his pistol, but walked slowly, fixing his adversary's face with his shining blue eyes.The corner of his mouth was as usual with a smiley expression. When Pierre heard the shout of "three," he stepped forward and walked quickly, leaving the trodden path and striding along the untrodden snow.Pierre held the pistol, and stretched forward his right hand, evidently afraid that he would kill himself with the pistol.He pushed his left hand back as far as he could, because he wanted to use it to support his right hand, and he knew it couldn't be done.After walking about six paces, Pierre left the path and walked into the snow.Pierre looked down at his feet, cast a quick glance at Dolokhov, put his finger on the trigger as he had been taught, and fired.Pierre, who had never expected such a loud shot, shuddered when he heard his own shot, then smiled at the impression to himself, and stopped.The smoke was so thick in the mist that it prevented him from seeing for an instant at first, but the other blow he had been waiting for did not follow.Only the sound of Dolokhov's hurried footsteps was heard, and his figure emerged from the smoke.He pressed one hand to his left rib, and with the other he held tightly the lowered pistol.He was pale.Rostov ran up to him and said a word to him.

"No..." Dolokhov said through his teeth, "No, it's not over yet," he stumbled, and took a few steps with a limp that fit a conception of truth.Thinking that truth is the coincidence of cognition with the object, walking in front of a saber, he fell on the snow next to the saber.His left hand was covered with blood, and he wiped it on his frock coat and propped himself up on that hand.His face was pale, his forehead was furrowed, and he couldn't stop trembling. "Please..." Dolokhov began, but could not get the words out at once... "Please," he finished the sentence with difficulty.With difficulty Pierre restrained himself from crying, and ran towards Dolokhov, and when he was about to cross the space between the lines, Dolokhov called out: "Go back to the duel and set the two sides Go to the limit of the distance!" Pierre realized what was going on, and stopped beside his saber...the distance between them was only ten paces.Dolokhov lowered his head, leaned on the snow, greedily ate a few mouthfuls of snow, raised his head again, pulled himself together, curled his legs, and sat up in search of a stable center of gravity.He gulps down the cold snow and sucks the snow water. His lips tremble uncontrollably, but he still smiles. He gathers his last strength, and his eyes shine with hard work and fierceness.He raised his pistol and began to aim.

"Stand on your side, shield your body with your pistol," Nesvitski said. "Hold it," even Denisov, unable to bear it anymore, called to his adversary. Pierre, with a regretful, repentant, meek smile, stretched his legs helplessly, spread his arms, and thrust out his broad chest, stood upright before Dolokhov, looking at him sadly.Denisov, Rostov, and Nesvitsky narrowed their eyes.At the same time they heard shots and Dolokhov's menacing shouts. "Missed!" cried Dolokhov, lying limp and prone on the snow.Pierre hugged his head suddenly, turned back, stepped on the deep snow into the forest, and said something incomprehensible loudly.

"Confused... confused...! Death,... and lies..." he repeated, frowning.Nesvitsky told him to stop and sent him home. Rostov and Denisov sent the wounded Dolokhov away. Dolokhov closed his eyes, lay silent in the sleigh, and did not answer any questions that were put to him; but on entering Moscow, he suddenly came to himself, raised his head a little with difficulty, He grabbed the hand of Rostov, who was sitting beside him.Rostov was taken aback by Dolokhov's completely changed, suddenly excited and gentle expression. "Hey, what's the matter? How do you feel about yourself?" asked Rostov.

"Very bad! But that's not the problem. My friend," said Dolokhov in a broken voice. "Where are we? We're in Moscow, I know. I'm nothing, but I've killed her, killed her... She can't stand that. She can't stand..." "Who is it?" asked Rostov. "My mother. My mother, my angel, the angel I adore, mother." Dolokhov clasped Rostov's hand tightly and began to cry.When he was a little quieter, he explained to Rostov that he lived with his mother, and that she would not bear to see him dying.He begged Rostov to come to her and prepare her mind.

Rostov went ahead to fulfill the commission he had received, and to his great surprise he learned that Dolokhov, a troublemaker, and that Dolokhov, a duelist, was in Moscow with his old mother and the stooped Living with his sister, he is a very docile son and younger brother.