iedly washing； and in all humility putting on her shabbiest dress and old mantle； Natasha； shuddering at the chill air； went out into the deserted streets； in the limpid light of the early dawn。 By the advice of Agrafena Ivanovna； Natasha did not attend the services of her own parish church； but went to a church where the priest was esteemed by the devout Madame Byelov as being of a particularly severe and exemplary life。 There were few people in the church。 Natasha and Madame Byelov always took the same seat before an image of the Mother of God； carved at the back of the left choir； and a new feeling of humility before the great mystery came over Natasha； as at that unusual hour in the morning she gazed at the black outline of the Mother of God； with the light of the candles burning in front of it； and the morning light falling on it from the window。 She listened to the words of the service； and tried to follow and understand them。 When she did understand them； all the shades of her personal feeling blended with her prayer； when she did not understand； it was still sweeter for her to think that the desire to understand all was pride； that she could not comprehend all； that she had but to believe and give herself up to God； Who was； she felt； at those moments guiding her soul。 She crossed herself； bowed to the ground； and when she did not follow； simply prayed to God to forgive her everything； everything； and to have mercy on her； in horror at her own vileness。 The prayer into which she threw herself heart and soul was the prayer of repentance。 On the way home in the early morning； when they met no one but masons going to their work； or porters cleaning the streets； and every one was asleep in the houses； Natasha had a new sense of the possibility of correcting herself of her sins and leading a new life of purity and happiness。
During the week she spent in this way； that feeling grew stronger with every day。 And the joy of “communication；” as Agrafena Ivanovna liked to call taking the Communion； seemed to her so great that she fancied she could not live till that blissful Sunday。
But the happy day did come。 And when on that memorable Sunday Natasha returned from the Sacrament wearing a white muslin dress； for the first time for many months she felt at peace； and not oppressed by the life that lay before her。
The doctor came that day to see Natasha； and gave directions for the powders to be continued that he had begun prescribing a fortnight ago。 “She must certainly go on taking them morning and evening；” he said； with visible and simple…hearted satisfaction at the success of his treatment。 “Please； don’t forget them。 You may set your mind at rest； countess；” the doctor said playfully； as he deftly received the gold in the hollow of his palm。 “She will soon be singing and dancing again。 The last medicine has done her great； great good。 She is very much better。”
The countess looked at her finger…nails and spat； to avert the ill…omen of such words； as with a cheerful face she went back to the drawing…room。
Chapter 18
AT THE BEGINNING of July the rumours as to the progress of the war current in Moscow became more and more alarming； and there was talk of the Tsar’s appeal to the people； and the Tsar himself was said to be coming from the army to Moscow。 And as up to the 11th of July the manifesto and appeal to the people had not been received； the most exaggerated reports about them and the position of Russia were common。 It was said that the Tsar was coming away because the army was in danger； it was said that Smolensk had surrendered； that Napoleon had millions of troops； and that nothing short of a miracle could save Russia。
On Saturday； the 11th of July； the manifesto was received； but was not yet in print； and Pierre； who happened to be at the Rostovs’； promised to come next day； Sunday； to dinner； and to bring the manifesto； which he could obtain from Count Rastoptchin。
That Sunday the Rostovs attended service as usual in the private chapel of the Razumovskys。 It was a hot July day。 Even by ten o’clock； when the Rostovs got out of their carriage before the chapel； the sultry air； the shouts of the street hawkers； the gay； light summer dresses of the crowd； the dusty leaves of the trees on the boulevard； the martial music and white trousers of the battalion marching by to parade； the rattle of the pavements； and the brilliant； hot sunshine； were all full of that summer languor； that content and discontent with the present； which is felt particularly vividly on a bright； hot day in town。 All the fashionable world of Moscow； all the Rostovs’ acquaintances were in the chapel。 A great number of wealthy families； who usually spent the summer in the country； were staying on in Moscow that year； as though in vague anticipation of something。
As Natasha walked beside her mother； behind a footman in livery； who made way for them through the crowd； she heard the voice of some young man speaking in too loud a whisper about her：
“That’s the young Countess Rostov； the very girl！”
“She’s ever so much thinner； but still pretty！” she caught； and fancied that the names of Kuragin and Bolkonsky were mentioned。 But that was always happening。 She was always fancying that any one who looked at her could be thinking of nothing but what happened to her。 With a sinking heart； wretched as she always was now in a crowd； Natasha； in her lilac silk dress； trimmed with black lace； walked on； as only women know how to do； with an air of ease and dignity all the greater for the pain and shame in her heart。 She knew for a fact that she was pretty； but that did not give her pleasure now； as once it had。 On the contrary； it had been a source of more misery than anything of late； and especially so on this bright； hot summer day in town。 “Another Sunday； another week；” she said to herself； recalling how she had been here on that memorable Sunday； “and still the same life that is no life； and still the same circumstances in which life used to seem so easy once。 Young and pretty； and I know that now I am good； and before I was wicked！ But now I am good；” she mused； “but yet the best years； the best of my life； are all being wasted； and no good to any one。” She stood by her mother’s side； and nodded to the acquaintances who were standing near。 From force of habit Natasha scrutinised the dresses of the ladies； and criticised the tenue of a lady standing near her； and the awkward and cramped way in which she was crossing herself。 Then she thought with vexation that she was herself being criticised again； and was criticising others； and at the first sounds of the service she was horrified at her sinfulness； horrified that her purity of heart should be lost again。
A handsome； clean…looking old priest read the service with the mild solemnity that has such an elevating and soothing effect on the souls of those who pray。 The sanctuary doors were closed； the curtain was slowly drawn； and a voice； mysteriously subdued； uttered some word from it。 Tears； that she could not herself have explained； rose to Natasha’s eyes； and a feeling of joyful agitation came upon her。
“Teach me what to do； how to live my life； how to conquer my sins for ever； for ever！”…she prayed。 The deacon came out to the steps before the altar screen； with his thumb held out apart from the rest； he pulled his long hair out from under his surplice； and laying the cross on his breast； he began in a loud voice solemnly reading the prayer：
“As one community let us pray to the Lord。”
“As one community； all together without distinction of class； free from enmity； all united in brotherly love； let us pray；” thought Natasha。
“For the world above and the salvation of our souls！”
“For the world of angels and the souls of all spiritual beings who live above us；” prayed Natasha。
When they prayed for the army； she thought of her brother and Denisov。 When they prayed for all travelling by sea and by land； she thought of Prince Andrey； and prayed for him； and prayed that God would forgive her the wrong she had done him。 When they prayed for all who love us； she prayed for all her family； her father and mother； and Sonya—for the first time feeling all the shortcomings in her behaviour to them； and all the strength of her own love for them。 When they prayed for those who hate us； she tried to think of enemies； to pray for them。 She reckoned as enemies all her father’s creditors； and every one who had business relations with him； and always at the thought of enemies who hated her she thought of Anatole； who had done her so cruel an injury； and though he had not hated her； she prayed gladly for him； as an enemy。 It was only at her prayers that she felt able to think calmly and clearly either of Prince Andrey or of Anatole； with a sense that her feelings for them were as nothing compared with her feeling of worship and awe of God。 When they prayed for the Imperial family and the Synod； she bowed and crossed herself more devoutly than ever； telling herself that if she did not comprehend； she could not doubt； and anyway loved the Holy Synod and prayed for it。
When the litany was over； the deacon crossed his stole over his breast and pronounced：
“Ourselves and our life we offer up to Christ the Lord！”
“Ourselves we offer up to God；” Natasha repeated in her heart。 “My God； I give myself unto Thy keeping！” she thought。 “I ask for nothing； I desire nothing； teach me how to act； how to do Thy will！ Yes； take me； take me to Thee！” Natasha said； with devout impatience in her heart。 She did not cross herself； but stood with her thin arms hanging down； as though in expectation every moment that an unseen force would come and carry her off and rescue her from herself； from her regrets and desires and remorse and hopes and sins。
Several times during the service the countess looked round at her daughter’s devout face and shining eyes； and prayed to God to help her。
To the general surprise； in the middle of the service； which Natasha knew so well； the deacon brought forward the little bench； from which they repeated the prayers； kneeling； on Trinity Day； and set it before the sanctuary doors。 The priest advanced in his lilac velvet calotte； threw back his hair； and； with an effort；