War and Peace - Leo Tolstoy [432]
A seemly, gentle little old man was serving with that meek solemnity which has such an exalting and soothing effect on the souls of the praying people. The royal doors closed, the curtain was slowly drawn; a mysterious, gentle voice pronounced something from inside. Tears, incomprehensible to herself, rose in Natasha’s breast, and a joyful and agonizing feeling stirred her.
“Teach me what I’m to do, how I’m to set myself right forever, forever, how I’m to live my life!…” she thought.
The deacon came out to the ambo, released his long hair from under his dalmatic with a wide-spread thumb, and, making a cross on his breast, began loudly and solemnly to read the words of the prayer:
“In peace let us pray to the Lord.”
“As one world26—all together, without distinction of rank, without enmity, but united in brotherly love—let us pray,” thought Natasha.
“For the peace from above and for the salvation of our souls!”
“For the world of the angels and the souls of all the bodiless beings who dwell above us,” Natasha prayed.
When they prayed for the military forces, she remembered her brother and Denisov. When they prayed for those who travel by land and sea, she remembered Prince Andrei and prayed for him, and also prayed that God forgive her the wrong she had done him. When they prayed for those who love us, she prayed for everyone at home, for her father, mother, Sonya, now understanding for the first time all her guilt before them and feeling all the strength of her love for them. When they prayed for those who hate us, she invented enemies and those who hated her in order to pray for them. She counted as enemies the creditors and all those who had dealings with her father, and each time, at the thought of enemies and those who hate us, she remembered Anatole, who had done her so much wrong, and though he did not hate her, she joyfully prayed for him as an enemy. Only while praying did she feel herself able to recall clearly and calmly both Prince Andrei and Anatole as people for whom her feelings were as nothing compared to her feeling of fear and reverence for God. When they prayed for the tsar’s family and the synod,27 she made especially low bows and crossed herself, thinking that even if she did not understand, she could not doubt, and all the same loved the ruling synod and prayed for it.
Having finished the prayers of petition, the deacon crossed his stole over his breast and said:
“Let us commend ourselves and all our life unto Christ our God.”
“Let us commend ourselves unto God,” Natasha repeated in her soul. “My God, I commend myself to Your will,” she thought. “I want, I wish for nothing; teach me what to do, where to make use of my will! Yes, take me, take me!” Natasha said with tender impatience in her soul, not crossing herself, but lowering her thin arms, and as if waiting for some unknown power to take her and deliver her from herself, from her regrets, desires, reproaches, hopes, and vices.
Several times during the service, the countess turned to look at her daughter’s face, touched by emotion, with shining eyes, and prayed to God that He help her.
Unexpectedly, in the middle and outside the order of the service, which Natasha knew well, a beadle brought out a little footstool, the same as was used for the kneeling prayers on the feast of the Trinity,28 and placed it in front of the royal doors. The priest came out in his purple velvet cap, smoothed his hair, and knelt with effort. Everybody did the same and looked at each other with perplexity. This was a prayer just received from the synod, a prayer for the salvation of Russia from foreign invasion.
“Lord God of hosts, God of our salvation,” the priest began in that clear, unostentatious, and meek voice in which only clergy reading in Slavonic read and which affects the Russian heart so irresistibly.
“Lord God of hosts, God of our salvation! Look down now in mercy and compassion