Book Eleven: 1812 - Chapter XIII

by Leo Tolstoy

　　On Saturday, the thirty-first of August, everything in theRostovs' house seemed topsy-turvy. All the doors were open, all thefurniture was being carried out or moved about, and the mirrors andpictures had been taken down. There were trunks in the rooms, and hay,wrapping paper, and ropes were scattered about. The peasants and houseserfs carrying out the things were treading heavily on the parquetfloors. The yard was crowded with peasant carts, some loaded highand already corded up, others still empty.

　　The voices and footsteps of the many servants and of the peasantswho had come with the carts resounded as they shouted to one anotherin the yard and in the house. The count bad been out since morning.The countess had a headache brought on by all the noise and turmoiland was lying down in the new sitting room with a vinegar compresson her head. Petya was not at home, he had gone to visit a friend withwhom he meant to obtain a transfer from the militia to the activearmy. Sonya was in the ballroom looking after the packing of the glassand china. Natasha was sitting on the floor of her dismantled roomwith dresses, ribbons, and scarves strewn all about her, gazingfixedly at the floor and holding in her hands the old ball dress(already out of fashion) which she had worn at her first Petersburgball.

　　Natasha was ashamed of doing nothing when everyone else was so busy,and several times that morning had tried to set to work, but her heartwas not in it, and she could not and did not know how to do anythingexcept with all her heart and all her might. For a while she had stoodbeside Sonya while the china was being packed and tried to help, butsoon gave it up and went to her room to pack her own things. Atfirst she found it amusing to give away dresses and ribbons to themaids, but when that was done and what was left had still to bepacked, she found it dull.

　　"Dunyasha, you pack! You will, won't you, dear?" And when Dunyashawillingly promised to do it all for her, Natasha sat down on thefloor, took her old ball dress, and fell into a reverie quiteunrelated to what ought to have occupied her thoughts now. She wasroused from her reverie by the talk of the maids in the next room(which was theirs) and by the sound of their hurried footsteps goingto the back porch. Natasha got up and looked out of the window. Anenormously long row of carts full of wounded men had stopped in thestreet.

　　The housekeeper, the old nurse, the cooks, coachmen, maids, footmen,postilions, and scullions stood at the gate, staring at the wounded.

　　Natasha, throwing a clean pocket handkerchief over her hair andholding an end of it in each hand, went out into the street.

　　The former housekeeper, old Mavra Kuzminichna, had stepped out ofthe crowd by the gate, gone up to a cart with a hood constructed ofbast mats, and was speaking to a pale young officer who lay inside.Natasha moved a few steps forward and stopped shyly, still holding herhandkerchief, and listened to what the housekeeper was saying.

　　"Then you have nobody in Moscow?" she was saying. "You would be morecomfortable somewhere in a house... in ours, for instance... thefamily are leaving."

　　"I don't know if it would be allowed," replied the officer in a weakvoice. "Here is our commanding officer... ask him," and he pointedto a stout major who was walking back along the street past the row ofcarts.

　　Natasha glanced with frightened eyes at the face of the woundedofficer and at once went to meet the major.

　　"May the wounded men stay in our house?" she asked.

　　The major raised his hand to his cap with a smile.

　　"Which one do you want, Ma'am'selle?" said he, screwing up hiseyes and smiling.

　　Natasha quietly repeated her question, and her face and whole mannerwere so serious, though she was still holding the ends of herhandkerchief, that the major ceased smiling and after some reflection-as if considering in how far the thing was possible- replied in theaffirmative.

　　"Oh yes, why not? They may," he said.

　　With a slight inclination of her head, Natasha stepped backquickly to Mavra Kuzminichna, who stood talking compassionately to theofficer.

　　"They may. He says they may!" whispered Natasha.

　　The cart in which the officer lay was turned into the Rostovs' yard,and dozens of carts with wounded men began at the invitation of thetownsfolk to turn into the yards and to draw up at the entrances ofthe houses in Povarskaya Street. Natasha was evidently pleased to bedealing with new people outside the ordinary routine of her life.She and Mavra Kuzminichna tried to get as many of the wounded aspossible into their yard.

　　"Your Papa must be told, though," said Mavra Kuzminichna.

　　"Never mind, never mind, what does it matter? For one day we canmove into the drawing room. They can have all our half of the house."

　　"There now, young lady, you do take things into your head! Even ifwe put them into the wing, the men's room, or the nurse's room, wemust ask permission."

　　"Well, I'll ask."

　　Natasha ran into the house and went on tiptoe through thehalf-open door into the sitting room, where there was a smell ofvinegar and Hoffman's drops.

　　"Are you asleep, Mamma?"

　　"Oh, what sleep-?" said the countess, waking up just as she wasdropping into a doze.

　　"Mamma darling!" said Natasha, kneeling by her mother and bringingher face close to her mother's, "I am sorry, forgive me, I'll never doit again; I woke you up! Mavra Kuzminichna has sent me: they havebrought some wounded here- officers. Will you let them come? They havenowhere to go. I knew you'd let them come!" she said quickly all inone breath.

　　"What officers? Whom have they brought? I don't understandanything about it," said the countess.

　　Natasha laughed, and the countess too smiled slightly.

　　"I knew you'd give permission... so I'll tell them," and, havingkissed her mother, Natasha got up and went to the door.

　　In the hall she met her father, who had returned with bad news.

　　"We've stayed too long!" said the count with involuntary vexation."The Club is closed and the police are leaving."

　　"Papa, is it all right- I've invited some of the wounded into thehouse?" said Natasha.

　　"Of course it is," he answered absently. "That's not the point. Ibeg you not to indulge in trifles now, but to help to pack, andtomorrow we must go, go, go!...."

　　And the count gave a similar order to the major-domo and theservants.

　　At dinner Petya having returned home told them the news he hadheard. He said the people had been getting arms in the Kremlin, andthat though Rostopchin's broadsheet had said that he would sound acall two or three days in advance, the order had certainly alreadybeen given for everyone to go armed to the Three Hills tomorrow, andthat there would be a big battle there.

　　The countess looked with timid horror at her son's eager, excitedface as he said this. She realized that if she said a word about hisnot going to the battle (she knew he enjoyed the thought of theimpending engagement) he would say something about men, honor, and thefatherland- something senseless, masculine, and obstinate whichthere would be no contradicting, and her plans would be spoiled; andso, hoping to arrange to leave before then and take Petya with heras their protector and defender, she did not answer him, but afterdinner called the count aside and implored him with tears to takeher away quickly, that very night if possible. With a woman'sinvoluntary loving cunning she, who till then had not shown any alarm,said that she would die of fright if they did not leave that verynight. Without any pretense she was now afraid of everything.