Chapter 27 Chapter Twenty Seven

The French, who had spread out over Moscow like stars, did not reach the area where Pierre now lives until the evening of September 2. After spending the first two days of yesterday in his own isolation, Pierre had fallen into a state bordering on insanity.His whole being was dominated by an inextricable thought.He himself does not know when this thought began and how it possessed him, but it haunts him so strongly that he has no memory of the past, no understanding of the present; and what he sees and hears is like a dream. Pierre had left his home only to escape the demands of life, which entangled him and which, in his circumstances, he was powerless to untie.He went to Joseph Alexievich's house under the pretext of clearing out the dead man's books and papers, simply seeking solace from the troubles of life, and, remembering Joseph Alexievich, would be the same He connected with a world of timeless, serene, sublime thoughts, very different from the disturbing tangle in which he felt himself entwined.He sought a quiet refuge, and he did find it in Joseph Alexievich's study.As he sat leaning on his elbows against the dusty desk of the dead in the deathly silence of his study, scene after scene of recent memories, especially Borodino's, flashed through his mind calmly and meaningfully. The memory of the battle, especially the kind of people he had engraved in his heart called them, compared with their truth, simplicity and strength, he felt helplessly small and false.When Gerasim roused him from his contemplation, he remembered that he was going to take part in the scheduled - as he knew it - battle for the defense of Moscow by the people.For this purpose, he asked Gerasim to get him a peasant's coat and a pistol, and revealed to him his intention to remain anonymously at Joseph Alexievich's house.Then, during his first days of solitude and idleness (Pierre tried several times, but failed, to focus on the Masonic manuscripts), what he had thought earlier about him More than once the mysterious meaning attached to Bonaparte's name came back to him vaguely.But the idea that he, l'Russe Besuhof, was destined to abolish the power of the beast, was only one of his fascinated fantasies, which came and went without a trace.

-------- ① Russian Bezukhov. After Pierre bought the coat worn by the peasants (the purpose was only to participate in the people's defense of Moscow), he passed by the Rostov family, and Natasha said to him: "Would you like to stay? Ah, that would be great." !” At that time, a thought flashed through his mind: Even if Moscow is occupied, it would be great if he could stay and complete what he was destined to do! The next day, he had one thought in mind, that is, to walk out of Sanshan Pass without hesitation of sacrificing himself and never lagging behind them.But when he returned home, convinced that Moscow would not be defended, he suddenly felt that what he had previously thought only possible was now inevitable.He should remain in Moscow incognito, meet Napoleon, kill him, and thus put an end to this catastrophe in Europe which, in his opinion, was caused by Napoleon alone, all or nothing.

Pierre knew the details of the assassination of Napoleon by a German student in Vienna in 1809, and he also knew that the student had been shot.But the risk of his life which he was risking in carrying out his plan only heightened his spirits. Two equally strong feelings impelled Pierre irresistibly to carry out his plan.The first is the sense of the necessity of sacrifice and suffering after realizing the calamity of the whole people. Out of this feeling, he went to Mozhaisk on the 25th and devoted himself to the place where the fighting was fiercest, and now he Leaving his own home again, abandoning the luxurious and comfortable life to which he was accustomed, lying naked on a hard sofa, and eating the same food as Gerasim; Sentiment: contempt for all that is false, artificial, and all that is considered by the majority to be the highest good in the world.It was in the Sloboda Palace that Pierre first experienced this strange and charming feeling, when he suddenly felt that wealth, power, and life-all things that people have worked so hard to acquire and cherish, All this, if it's worth anything, is just a pleasure to enjoy and then throw it away.

It is the feeling that makes a volunteer drink his last kopecks, and a drunken man smash mirrors and glass without reason, not knowing that it will cost him all his money; (in a bad sense) when doing crazy things, as if experimenting with his personal power and strength.At the same time, it claims that there is a sense of being the supreme ruler of life beyond the world, which is that kind of emotion. From the day Pierre first experienced this feeling in the Sloboda Palace, he had been constantly affected by it, but only now was he fully satisfied.Moreover, at this moment Pierre is bound to carry out his intentions, and to make it impossible to abandon them, is what he has already done in this way.His desertion, his driver's coat, his pistol, his declaration to the Rostovs that he wanted to stay in Moscow—after all this, if he still leaves Moscow like everyone else, then what will happen? Not only would everything lose its meaning, but it would be scorned and ridiculous (he was sensitive about it).

As is often the case, Pierre's physical condition coincided with his mental state.Unaccustomed rough food, the vodka he drank these days, no wine and cigars, dirty unwashed underwear, two semi-sleepless nights spent on a short sofa without a bed, all of this All of which made Pierre in a state of excitement and almost madness. It was past one o'clock in the afternoon.French troops have entered Moscow.Pierre knew it too, he did not take action, but only thought about what he was about to do and thought of the details of future actions.When Pierre was meditating, he didn't have a vivid idea of ​​the assassination process and Napoleon's death, but he imagined his own generosity to death, his heroic spirit very vividly, and was full of melancholy self-appreciation.

"Yes, one person is for everyone, I should be successful or benevolent!" He thought. "Yes, I'll go ... and then suddenly ... pistol or dagger?" thought Pierre. "Actually, it's all the same. It's not me, it's the hand of the Emperor who is going to execute you... I'm going to say (Pierre was thinking about what he was going to say when he killed Napoleon). Well, catch me and kill me." Pierre continued talking to himself, with a sad but determined expression on his face and his head bowed. While Pierre was standing in the middle of the room, thinking so, the door was pushed open, and on the threshold Makar Alexievich, who had changed his usual shyness, appeared.His coat was open.His face was red and dull.He was clearly drunk.Seeing Pierre, he felt a little uncomfortable for a moment, but when he saw the confusion on Pierre's face, he immediately took courage and walked to the middle of the house on his thin legs shaking.

"They're timid," he said hoarsely and trustingly, "I said: I don't surrender, I say... Is that so, sir?" Grab it quickly and run down the corridor. Gerasim and the porter, who followed Makar Alexievich, stopped him in the hall and took his gun.Pierre also came into the corridor and looked at the half-conscious old man with pity and disgust.Makar Alexievich clung to the gun, frowned, and shouted in a hoarse voice, as if imagining something solemn. "Take up your weapon! Go! Nonsense, you can't take it away!" he shouted. "That's enough, do me a favor, that's enough. Do us a favor and put it down, please, sir..." said Gerasim, carefully seizing Makar Alekseevich's arm, and slamming his arms toward the door. push him.

"Who are you? Bonaparte! . . . " cried Makar Alexievich. "This is not good, master. Please go to your room, please rest, and give me the pistol." "Go away, you disgusting slave! Don't touch it! See?" Makar Alexievich shouted, shaking his pistol. "Come on!" "Catch him," whispered Gerasim to the porter. They seized Makar Alexievich by the hand and dragged him to the door. The hall was filled with a chaotic uproar and the hoarse panting of drunken men. Suddenly, another piercing woman's cry came from the porch, and the cook ran into the drawing room.

"They! My God! . . . Yes, it's them. Four, on horses!" she yelled. Gerasim and the porter let Makar Alekseevich go, and in the silent corridor the knocking of hands on the door was distinctly heard.