Chapter 16 Chapter Sixteen

Anatole had lately moved into the Dolokhovs' house.The plan to secretly take Rostova away had been carefully considered by Dolokhov and had been in preparation for several days.That day, when Sonia eavesdropped on Natasha's door and decided to protect Natasha from danger, the plan to escape seemed to be realized.Natasha promised to meet Kuragin on the back steps at ten o'clock in the evening, and Kuragin was going to help her into the troika prepared beforehand and drive her to Kamen, sixty versts from Moscow. Kamenka village, where they invited a pastor who had returned to secular life, and the priest held a wedding ceremony for them. The horses that Kamenka village had already prepared to take were sent to Warsaw Avenue, and then they changed to the stagecoach road and galloped at high speed. go abroad.

Anatole had with him his passport and a post-horse certificate, the ten thousand rubles he had received from his sister, and the ten thousand rubles he had borrowed through Dolokhov. Two testimonials were sitting in the first room drinking tea, one of them was called Khvostikov, a former petty civil servant who played Dolokhov's game; the other was a gentle and weak retired hussar. Makarin, he is a man who loves Kuragin infinitely. A spacious study in Dolokhov.Covered from wall to ceiling with Persian tapestries, bearskins, and weapons, Dolokhov, in a traveling doublet and leather boots, sat before an open desk with an abacus and several stack of banknotes.Anatoly, wearing an unbuttoned uniform, had a materialistic bent as if he had come out of a room where two witnesses sat.The main works are the "Great Books", "Small Books", through the study, into the back room, where a French servant and several other servants put away the last few things that were not put away.Dolokhov counted the bills and kept accounts.

"Well," he said, "two thousand rubles for Khvostikov." "Well, give it to him," said Anatole. "Makarka (that's what they call Makarin) is a man who will go through fire and water for you without any selfishness. Well, that's how the bill is settled," said Dolokhov, showing him the bill. "Is that right? " "Yes, it goes without saying, by the way," said Anatole, apparently not listening to Dolokhov, who kept looking forward with a smile on his face. Dolokhov slammed the lid of the desk and turned to Anatole with a mocking smile.

"Listen to me, there is still time to abandon all this, and there is still time!" he said. "Stupid!" said Anatole, "stop talking stupid things. If you knew, that would be all right. . . The devil doesn't know what it is!" "Seriously, throw all that away," Dolokhov said. "I'm telling you business. Is it a joke? What the hell have you thought of?" "Ah, here again, again to tease people? To hell with you, will you?" Anatole frowned, and said, "Really, I don't have time to listen to your stupid jokes." So he went out of the room.

When Anatole went out, Dolokhov smiled generously and contemptuously. "Wait a minute," he said behind Anatole, "I'm not kidding, I'm serious, come on, come here." Anatole came into the room again, looked at Dolokhov as intently as possible, and seemed to be involuntarily at his mercy. "Listen to me, I'll tell you for the last time. What am I kidding you? Did I disobey you? Who arranged all this for you? Who sent the priest? Who got the passport for you? Who Get the money for you? I did it for you." "Thank you then. Do you think I will be ungrateful?" Anatole sighed and embraced Dolokhov.

"I've done you a favor, but I'm still going to tell you the truth, which, when analyzed, is a dangerous, stupid thing to do. It would be good if you took her away in secret. Will they let it go? They'll all know that you're married. Why don't you go to criminal court..." "Oh! What nonsense, what nonsense!" said Anatole, frowning again. "Didn't I explain it to you?" Anatoly, harboring the special preference of dull people for the conclusions they can draw with their own intellect, repeated what he had repeated to Dolokhov about a hundred times. inference. "Didn't I tell you, I conclude that if this marriage is invalid," he said, bending his fingers, "it means that I am not responsible; Things, well, isn’t it like this? Don’t say it, don’t say it, don’t say it!”

"Really, give up! You will only bind yourself..." "To hell with you," said Anatole, clutching his hair tightly, went into another room, but immediately came back and sat cross-legged near Dolokhov. easy chair. "The devil doesn't know what's going on? Look, my heart is beating so hard!" He took Dolojo's hand and pressed his heart, "Ah, quelpied, moncher, quelregard! Unedeesse! Yes or no?" -------- ①French: Her lovely little feet, my dear friend, her charming eyes!What a goddess! Dolokhov had a cold smile on his face, and his beautiful, impudent eyes gleamed at him, and it was evident that he wanted to make fun of him again.

"Hey, the money is running out, what should I do then?" "What then? Eh?" repeated Anatole, who was really perplexed at the thought of the future. "What should I do then? I don't know what to do in the future... Ah, why are you talking so stupid!" He looked at his watch, "It's time!" Anatoly went to the back room. "Hey, are you almost done? Hang around here!" he called to the servants. Dolokhov put away the money, called to the servants, ordered the cook to bring the wine, vegetables and pasta for the journey, and then went into the room where Khvostikov and Makarin were sitting and resting.

Anatole was lying on the sofa in the study, leaning on one elbow, smiling thoughtfully, and talking to himself softly and in a low voice. "Come and have something to eat and drink!" Dolokhov called to him from another room. "I don't want to eat!" Anatole replied, still smiling. "Come on, Balaga is here." Anatoly got up and went into the dining room.Balaga was a well-known troika driver, who had known Dolokhov and Anatole and had served them in his own troika for almost six years.More than once, while Anatole's regiment was stationed at Tver, he sent him out of Tver at night, took him to Moscow before dawn, and brought him back late the next night.More than once he drove Dolokhov away from his pursuers in a cart, and more than once he drove them and the gipsy women and young women (as Balaga called them) all over the city in a cart.More than once, while driving them, he wounded pedestrians and other coachmen in the city of Moscow, and he was often rescued by his gentlemen (as he called them).While driving them, he exhausted more than one horse.More than once they beat him, more than once they got him drunk with champagne and his favorite Madeira wine, he knew every one of their escapades, and if ordinary people did such things, they would have been exiled to Siberia up.They used to force Balaga to go with them, get him drunk, make him dance with gipsy girls, and they spent more than a thousand rubles on his hands.He served them, and twenty times in a year he risked his life and suffered the pain of physical punishment. To drive them, he exhausted many horses. Even if they paid more, they could not repay him. Loss.But he loved them, loved the frantic drive at eighteen versts, he loved to run over other coachmen, crush Moscow passers-by, gallop at full speed through the streets of Moscow, where the carriage could not go any further. When it was fast he liked to hear the drunk yell wildly behind him, "Come on! Come on!" went aside. "They are the real lords!" thought he.

They—Anatole and Dolokhov—loved him, too, because Balaga was an expert driver, and because he shared their tastes.When Balaga drove other people's cars, he always negotiated the price, and asked for twenty-five rubles for a two-hour drive. He usually sent his young companions to drive, and he himself did this kind of work for others only occasionally.But he worked for the gentlemen (he called them grandpas), always doing the work himself, and never asking for a penny.It was only when he found out from the master's attendants that the master's family was rich that he came to see the master one morning within a few months. At this time, he had not drunk, was sober, bowed deeply in front of the master, and begged them to help him.The gentlemen asked him to sit down.

"Master Fyodor Ivanitch, my lord, you must help me," said he, "I don't have any horses to go to the fair, and you can borrow as much as you can." Anatole and Dolokhov gave him a thousand or two thousand rubles when they had money. Baraga was a hazel-haired peasant, about twenty-seven years old, with a ruddy complexion, a particularly red thick neck, a stocky body, an upturned nose, small sparkling eyes, and a short beard.He was wearing a short leather jacket over an elegant blue tunic with a silk lining. He made the sign of the sign of the cross towards his superior, went up to Dolokhov, and stretched out a small black hand. "Fyodor Ivanovitch!" he said, bowing. "Hello, man, here he is." "Good day, my lord," he said to Anatole, who had entered, and held out his hand to him too. "Baraga, let me tell you," said Anatole, putting his hands on his shoulders, "do you like me? Eh? Now do me a favor...   What horse did you use to pull the cart here?ah? " "As your envoy ordered, the chariot was brought here with your horses," said Baraga. "Hey, Baraga, you hear me! I've exhausted all three of your horses, and they'll be there in three hours. Huh?" "The horse is exhausted, so what can I use to pull the cart?" Baraga said with a wink. "Ah, I'll smash your mouth, don't be joking!" Anatole suddenly opened his eyes and shouted. "Why are you joking," said the coachman with a smile. "For the sake of my master, would I feel pity for anything? As long as the horse runs desperately, we will drive along." "Ah!" said Anatole, "here, please sit down." "Why, please sit down!" said Dolokhov. "Fyodor Ivanovich, I will stand for a moment." "You're lying, sit down and drink," said Anatole, pouring him a large glass of Madeira.When the coachman saw the wine, there was a look of joy in his eyes.He was too polite to drink, but he drank it anyway and wiped his mouth with the red silk handkerchief which he kept in his hat. "Well, my lord, when shall we leave?" "Look . . . (Anatole looks at his watch) Get going now. Be careful, Baraga. Huh? Can you make it?" "Like going out as a guest, you have to try your luck, otherwise, why can't you make it?" Baraga said. "It takes seven hours to drive to Tver. Your Excellency, you probably remember." "You remember, once I left for Christmas from Tver," said Anatole, smiling reminiscingly, turning his face to Makarin, who was looking meekly and attentively at the library. Larkin, "You don't believe it, Makarka, we're flying like we're out of breath. Hit the convoy and we go straight through two cars. Don't you?" "These are fine horses!" Baraga went on. "I harnessed two young horses and a sorrel horse." He turned to Dolojo. Said the husband, "Fyodor Ivanitch, can you believe it? The cattle ran sixty versts; it was almost unstoppable, it was so cold that my hands were numb from the cold. I threw away the reins. , and said, My lord, rein in, and suddenly I fell in the sleigh. Not that I had to drive the animals, but I couldn't be reined up to the end of the field. Within three hours, the ghost arrived. Only the horse that pulled the left harness fell dead."