Book Eleven: 1812 - Chapter XVII

by Leo Tolstoy

　　Before two o'clock in the afternoon the Rostovs' four carriages,packed full and with the horses harnessed, stood at the front door.One by one the carts with the wounded had moved out of the yard.

　　The caleche in which Prince Andrew was being taken attracted Sonya'sattention as it passed the front porch. With the help of a maid shewas arranging a seat for the countess in the huge high coach thatstood at the entrance.

　　"Whose caleche is that?" she inquired, leaning out of the carriagewindow.

　　"Why, didn't you know, Miss?" replied the maid. "The wounded prince:he spent the night in our house and is going with us."

　　"But who is it? What's his name?"

　　"It's our intended that was- Prince Bolkonski himself! They say heis dying," replied the maid with a sigh.

　　Sonya jumped out of the coach and ran to the countess. The countess,tired out and already dressed in shawl and bonnet for her journey, waspacing up and down the drawing room, waiting for the household toassemble for the usual silent prayer with closed doors beforestarting. Natasha was not in the room.

　　"Mamma," said Sonya, "Prince Andrew is here, mortally wounded. He isgoing with us."

　　The countess opened her eyes in dismay and, seizing Sonya's arm,glanced around.

　　"Natasha?" she murmured.

　　At that moment this news had only one significance for both of them.They knew their Natasha, and alarm as to what would happen if sheheard this news stifled all sympathy for the man they both liked.

　　"Natasha does not know yet, but he is going with us," said Sonya.

　　"You say he is dying?"

　　Sonya nodded.

　　The countess put her arms around Sonya and began to cry.

　　"The ways of God are past finding out!" she thought, feeling thatthe Almighty Hand, hitherto unseen, was becoming manifest in allthat was now taking place.

　　"Well, Mamma? Everything is ready. What's the matter?" askedNatasha, as with animated face she ran into the room.

　　"Nothing," answered the countess. "If everything is ready let usstart."

　　And the countess bent over her reticule to hide her agitated face.Sonya embraced Natasha and kissed her.

　　Natasha looked at her inquiringly.

　　"What is it? What has happened?"

　　"Nothing... No..."

　　"Is it something very bad for me? What is it?" persisted Natashawith her quick intuition.

　　Sonya sighed and made no reply. The count, Petya, Madame Schoss,Mavra Kuzminichna, and Vasilich came into the drawing room and, havingclosed the doors, they all sat down and remained for some momentssilently seated without looking at one another.

　　The count was the first to rise, and with a loud sigh crossedhimself before the icon. All the others did the same. Then the countembraced Mavra Kuzminichna and Vasilich, who were to remain in Moscow,and while they caught at his hand and kissed his shoulder he pattedtheir backs lightly with some vaguely affectionate and comfortingwords. The countess went into the oratory and there Sonya found her onher knees before the icons that had been left here and there hangingon the wall. (The most precious ones, with which some family traditionwas connected, were being taken with them.)

　　In the porch and in the yard the men whom Petya had armed withswords and daggers, with trousers tucked inside their high boots andwith belts and girdles tightened, were taking leave of those remainingbehind.

　　As is always the case at a departure, much had been forgotten or putin the wrong place, and for a long time two menservants stood one oneach side of the open door and the carriage steps waiting to helpthe countess in, while maids rushed with cushions and bundles from thehouse to the carriages, the caleche, the phaeton, and back again.

　　"They always will forget everything!" said the countess. "Don'tyou know I can't sit like that?"

　　And Dunyasha, with clenched teeth, without replying but with anaggrieved look on her face, hastily got into the coach to rearrangethe seat.

　　"Oh, those servants!" said the count, swaying his head.

　　Efim, the old coachman, who was the only one the countess trusted todrive her, sat perched up high on the box and did not so much asglance round at what was going on behind him. From thirty years'experience he knew it would be some time yet before the order, "Beoff, in God's name!" would be given him: and he knew that even when itwas said he would be stopped once or twice more while they sent backto fetch something that had been forgotten, and even after that hewould again be stopped and the countess herself would lean out ofthe window and beg him for the love of heaven to drive carefullydown the hill. He knew all this and therefore waited calmly for whatwould happen, with more patience than the horses, especially thenear one, the chestnut Falcon, who was pawing the ground andchamping his bit. At last all were seated, the carriage steps werefolded and pulled up, the door was shut, somebody was sent for atraveling case, and the countess leaned out and said what she had tosay. Then Efim deliberately doffed his hat and began crossing himself.The postilion and all the other servants did the same. "Off, inGod's name!" said Efim, putting on his hat. "Start!" The postilionstarted the horses, the off pole horse tugged at his collar, thehigh springs creaked, and the body of the coach swayed. The footmansprang onto the box of the moving coach which jolted as it passedout of the yard onto the uneven roadway; the other vehicles joltedin their turn, and the procession of carriages moved up the street. Inthe carriages, the caleche, and the phaeton, all crossed themselves asthey passed the church opposite the house. Those who were to remain inMoscow walked on either side of the vehicles seeing the travelers off.

　　Rarely had Natasha experienced so joyful a feeling as now, sittingin the carriage beside the countess and gazing at the slowlyreceding walls of forsaken, agitated Moscow. Occasionally she leanedout of the carriage window and looked back and then forward at thelong train of wounded in front of them. Almost at the head of the lineshe could see the raised hood of Prince Andrew's caleche. She didnot know who was in it, but each time she looked at the procession hereyes sought that caleche. She knew it was right in front.

　　In Kudrino, from the Nikitski, Presnya, and Podnovinsk Streetscame several other trains of vehicles similar to the Rostovs', andas they passed along the Sadovaya Street the carriages and cartsformed two rows abreast.

　　As they were going round the Sukharev water tower Natasha, who wasinquisitively and alertly scrutinizing the people driving or walkingpast, suddenly cried out in joyful surprise:

　　"Dear me! Mamma, Sonya, look, it's he!"

　　"Who? Who?"

　　"Look! Yes, on my word, it's Bezukhov!" said Natasha, putting herhead out of the carriage and staring at a tall, stout man in acoachman's long coat, who from his manner of walking and moving wasevidently a gentleman in disguise, and who was passing under thearch of the Sukharev tower accompanied by a small, sallow-faced,beardless old man in a frieze coat.

　　"Yes, it really is Bezukhov in a coachman's coat, with aqueer-looking old boy. Really," said Natasha, "look, look!"

　　"No, it's not he. How can you talk such nonsense?"

　　"Mamma," screamed Natasha, "I'll stake my head it's he! I assureyou! Stop, stop!" she cried to the coachman.

　　But the coachman could not stop, for from the Meshchanski Streetcame more carts and carriages, and the Rostovs were being shouted atto move on and not block the way.

　　In fact, however, though now much farther off than before, theRostovs all saw Pierre- or someone extraordinarily like him- in acoachman's coat, going down the street with head bent and a seriousface beside a small, beardless old man who looked like a footman. Thatold man noticed a face thrust out of the carriage window gazing atthem, and respectfully touching Pierre's elbow said something to himand pointed to the carriage. Pierre, evidently engrossed in thought,could not at first understand him. At length when he had understoodand looked in the direction the old man indicated, he recognizedNatasha, and following his first impulse stepped instantly and rapidlytoward the coach. But having taken a dozen steps he seemed to remembersomething and stopped.

　　Natasha's face, leaning out of the window, beamed with quizzicalkindliness.

　　"Peter Kirilovich, come here! We have recognized you! This iswonderful!" she cried, holding out her hand to him. "What are youdoing? Why are you like this?"

　　Pierre took her outstretched hand and kissed it awkwardly as hewalked along beside her while the coach still moved on.

　　"What is the matter, Count?" asked the countess in a surprised andcommiserating tone.

　　"What? What? Why? Don't ask me," said Pierre, and looked round atNatasha whose radiant, happy expression- of which he was consciouswithout looking at her- filled him with enchantment.

　　"Are you remaining in Moscow, then?"

　　Pierre hesitated.

　　"In Moscow?" he said in a questioning tone. "Yes, in Moscow.Goodby!"

　　"Ah, if only I were a man? I'd certainly stay with you. Howsplendid!" said Natasha. "Mamma, if you'll let me, I'll stay!"

　　Pierre glanced absently at Natasha and was about to say something,but the countess interrupted him.

　　"You were at the battle, we heard."

　　"Yes, I was," Pierre answered. "There will be another battletomorrow..." he began, but Natasha interrupted him.

　　"But what is the matter with you, Count? You are not likeyourself...."

　　"Oh, don't ask me, don't ask me! I don't know myself. Tomorrow...But no! Good-by, good-by!" he muttered. "It's an awful time!" anddropping behind the carriage he stepped onto the pavement.

　　Natasha continued to lean out of the window for a long time, beamingat him with her kindly, slightly quizzical, happy smile.