Book Eleven: 1812 - Chapter XXII

by Leo Tolstoy

　　Meanwhile, the city itself was deserted. There was hardly anyonein the streets. The gates and shops were all closed, only here andthere round the taverns solitary shouts or drunken songs could beheard. Nobody drove through the streets and footsteps were rarelyheard. The Povarskaya was quite still and deserted. The huge courtyardof the Rostovs' house was littered with wisps of hay and with dungfrom the horses, and not a soul was to be seen there. In the greatdrawing room of the house, which had been left with all itcontained, were two people. They were the yard porter Ignat, and thepage boy Mishka, Vasilich's grandson who had stayed in Moscow with hisgrandfather. Mishka had opened the clavichord and was strumming onit with one finger. The yard porter, his arms akimbo, stood smilingwith satisfaction before the large mirror.

　　"Isn't it fine, eh, Uncle Ignat?" said the boy, suddenly beginningto strike the keyboard with both hands.

　　"Only fancy!" answered Ignat, surprised at the broadening grin onhis face in the mirror.

　　"Impudence! Impudence!" they heard behind them the voice of MavraKuzminichna who had entered silently. "How he's grinning, the fat mug!Is that what you're here for? Nothing's cleared away down there andVasilich is worn out. Just you wait a bit!"

　　Ignat left off smiling, adjusted his belt, and went out of theroom with meekly downcast eyes.

　　"Aunt, I did it gently," said the boy.

　　"I'll give you something gently, you monkey you!" cried MavraKuzminichna, raising her arm threateningly. "Go and get the samovar toboil for your grandfather."

　　Mavra Kuzminichna flicked the dust off the clavichord and closed it,and with a deep sigh left the drawing room and locked its main door.

　　Going out into the yard she paused to consider where she should gonext- to drink tea in the servants' wing with Vasilich, or into thestoreroom to put away what still lay about.

　　She heard the sound of quick footsteps in the quiet street.Someone stopped at the gate, and the latch rattled as someone tried toopen it. Mavra Kuzminichna went to the gate.

　　"Who do you want?"

　　"The count- Count Ilya Andreevich Rostov."

　　"And who are you?"

　　"An officer, I have to see him," came the reply in a pleasant,well-bred Russian voice.

　　Mavra Kuzminichna opened the gate and an officer of eighteen, withthe round face of a Rostov, entered the yard.

　　"They have gone away, sir. Went away yesterday at vespertime,"said Mavra Kuzminichna cordially.

　　The young officer standing in the gateway, as if hesitatingwhether to enter or not, clicked his tongue.

　　"Ah, how annoying!" he muttered. "I should have come yesterday....Ah, what a pity."

　　Meanwhile, Mavra Kuzminichna was attentively and sympatheticallyexamining the familiar Rostov features of the young man's face, histattered coat and trodden-down boots.

　　"What did you want to see the count for?" she asked.

　　"Oh well... it can't be helped!" said he in a tone of vexation andplaced his hand on the gate as if to leave.

　　He again paused in indecision.

　　"You see," he suddenly said, "I am a kinsman of the count's and hehas been very kind to me. As you see" (he glanced with an amused airand good-natured smile at his coat and boots) "my things are wornout and I have no money, so I was going to ask the count..."

　　Mavra Kuzminichna did not let him finish.

　　"Just wait a minute, sir. One little moment," said she.

　　And as soon as the officer let go of the gate handle she turned and,hurrying away on her old legs, went through the back yard to theservants' quarters.

　　While Mavra Kuzminichna was running to her room the officer walkedabout the yard gazing at his worn-out boots with lowered head and afaint smile on his lips. "What a pity I've missed Uncle! What a niceold woman! Where has she run off to? And how am I to find thenearest way to overtake my regiment, which must by now be getting nearthe Rogozhski gate?" thought he. Just then Mavra Kuzminichnaappeared from behind the corner of the house with a frightened yetresolute look, carrying a rolled-up check kerchief in her hand.While still a few steps from the officer she unfolded the kerchief andtook out of it a white twenty-five-ruble assignat and hastily handedit to him.

　　"If his excellency had been at home, as a kinsman he would ofcourse... but as it is..."

　　Mavra Kuzminichna grew abashed and confused. The officer did notdecline, but took the note quietly and thanked her.

　　"If the count had been at home..." Mavra Kuzminichna went onapologetically. "Christ be with you, sir! May God preserve you!"said she, bowing as she saw him out.

　　Swaying his head and smiling as if amused at himself, the officerran almost at a trot through the deserted streets toward the Yauzabridge to overtake his regiment.

　　But Mavra Kuzminichna stood at the closed gate for some time withmoist eyes, pensively swaying her head and feeling an unexpectedflow of motherly tenderness and pity for the unknown young officer.