Book Ten: 1812 - Chapter XVIII

by Leo Tolstoy

　　When Pierre returned home he was handed two of Rostopchin'sbroadsheets that had been brought that day.

　　The first declared that the report that Count Rostopchin hadforbidden people to leave Moscow was false; on the contrary he wasglad that ladies and tradesmen's wives were leaving the city. "Therewill be less panic and less gossip," ran the broadsheet "but I willstake my life on it that that will not enter Moscow." These wordsshowed Pierre clearly for the first time that the French would enterMoscow. The second broadsheet stated that our headquarters were atVyazma, that Count Wittgenstein had defeated the French, but that asmany of the inhabitants of Moscow wished to be armed, weapons wereready for them at the arsenal: sabers, pistols, and muskets whichcould be had at a low price. The tone of the proclamation was not asjocose as in the former Chigirin talks. Pierre pondered over thesebroadsheets. Evidently the terrible stormcloud he had desired with thewhole strength of his soul but which yet aroused involuntary horror inhim was drawing near.

　　"Shall I join the army and enter the service, or wait?" he askedhimself for the hundredth time. He took a pack of cards that lay onthe table and began to lay them out for a game of patience.

　　"If this patience comes out," he said to himself after shuffling thecards, holding them in his hand, and lifting his head, "if it comesout, it means... what does it mean?"

　　He had not decided what it should mean when he heard the voice ofthe eldest princess at the door asking whether she might come in.

　　"Then it will mean that I must go to the army," said Pierre tohimself. "Come in, come in!" he added to the princess.

　　Only the eldest princess, the one with the stony face and longwaist, was still living in Pierre's house. The two younger ones hadboth married.

　　"Excuse my coming to you, cousin," she said in a reproachful andagitated voice. "You know some decision must be come to. What is goingto happen? Everyone has left Moscow and the people are rioting. How isit that we are staying on?"

　　"On the contrary, things seem satisfactory, ma cousine," said Pierrein the bantering tone he habitually adopted toward her, always feelinguncomfortable in the role of her benefactor.

　　"Satisfactory, indeed! Very satisfactory! Barbara Ivanovna told metoday how our troops are distinguishing themselves. It certainlydoes them credit! And the people too are quite mutinous- they nolonger obey, even my maid has taken to being rude. At this rate theywill soon begin beating us. One can't walk in the streets. But,above all, the French will be here any day now, so what are we waitingfor? I ask just one thing of you, cousin," she went on, "arrange forme to be taken to Petersburg. Whatever I may be, I can't live underBonaparte's rule."

　　"Oh, come, ma cousine! Where do you get your information from? Onthe contrary..."

　　"I won't submit to your Napoleon! Others may if they please.... Ifyou don't want to do this..."

　　"But I will, I'll give the order at once."

　　The princess was apparently vexed at not having anyone to be angrywith. Muttering to herself, she sat down on a chair.

　　"But you have been misinformed," said Pierre. "Everything is quietin the city and there is not the slightest danger. See! I've just beenreading..." He showed her the broadsheet. "Count Rostopchin writesthat he will stake his life on it that the enemy will not enterMoscow."

　　"Oh, that count of yours!" said the princess malevolently. "He isa hypocrite, a rascal who has himself roused the people to riot.Didn't he write in those idiotic broadsheets that anyone, 'whoeverit might be, should be dragged to the lockup by his hair'? (Howsilly!) 'And honor and glory to whoever captures him,' he says. Thisis what his cajolery has brought us to! Barbara Ivanovna told me themob near killed her because she said something in French."

　　"Oh, but it's so... You take everything so to heart," said Pierre,and began laying out his cards for patience.

　　Although that patience did come out, Pierre did not join the army,but remained in deserted Moscow ever in the same state of agitation,irresolution, and alarm, yet at the same time joyfully expectingsomething terrible.

　　Next day toward evening the princess set off, and Pierre's headsteward came to inform him that the money needed for the equipmentof his regiment could not be found without selling one of the estates.In general the head steward made out to Pierre that his project ofraising a regiment would ruin him. Pierre listened to him, scarcelyable to repress a smile.

　　"Well then, sell it," said he. "What's to be done? I can't draw backnow!"

　　The worse everything became, especially his own affairs, thebetter was Pierre pleased and the more evident was it that thecatastrophe he expected was approaching. Hardly anyone he knew wasleft in town. Julie had gone, and so had Princess Mary. Of hisintimate friends only the Rostovs remained, but he did not go to seethem.

　　To distract his thoughts he drove that day to the village ofVorontsovo to see the great balloon Leppich was constructing todestroy the foe, and a trial balloon that was to go up next day. Theballoon was not yet ready, but Pierre learned that it was beingconstructed by the Emperor's desire. The Emperor had written toCount Rostopchin as follows:

　　As soon as Leppich is ready, get together a crew of reliable andintelligent men for his car and send a courier to General Kutuzov tolet him know. I have informed him of the matter.

　　Please impress upon Leppich to be very careful where he descends forthe first time, that he may not make a mistake and fall into theenemy's hands. It is essential for him to combine his movements withthose of the commander in chief.

　　On his way home from Vorontsovo, as he was passing the BolotnoePlace Pierre, seeing a large crowd round the Lobnoe Place, stopped andgot out of his trap. A French cook accused of being a spy was beingflogged. The flogging was only just over, and the executioner wasreleasing from the flogging bench a stout man with red whiskers, inblue stockings and a green jacket, who was moaning piteously.Another criminal, thin and pale, stood near. Judging by their facesthey were both Frenchmen. With a frightened and suffering lookresembling that on the thin Frenchman's face, Pierre pushed his way inthrough the crowd.

　　"What is it? Who is it? What is it for?" he kept asking.

　　But the attention of the crowd- officials, burghers, shopkeepers,peasants, and women in cloaks and in pelisses- was so eagerly centeredon what was passing in Lobnoe Place that no one answered him. Thestout man rose, frowned, shrugged his shoulders, and evidentlytrying to appear firm began to pull on his jacket without lookingabout him, but suddenly his lips trembled and he began to cry, inthe way full-blooded grown-up men cry, though angry with himself fordoing so. In the crowd people began talking loudly, to stifle theirfeelings of pity as it seemed to Pierre.

　　"He's cook to some prince."

　　"Eh, mounseer, Russian sauce seems to be sour to a Frenchman... setshis teeth on edge!" said a wrinkled clerk who was standing behindPierre, when the Frenchman began to cry.

　　The clerk glanced round, evidently hoping that his joke would beappreciated. Some people began to laugh, others continued to watchin dismay the executioner who was undressing the other man.

　　Pierre choked, his face puckered, and he turned hastily away, wentback to his trap muttering something to himself as he went, and tookhis seat. As they drove along he shuddered and exclaimed several timesso audibly that the coachman asked him:

　　"What is your pleasure?"

　　"Where are you going?" shouted Pierre to the man, who was driving toLubyanka Street.

　　"To the Governor's, as you ordered," answered the coachman.

　　"Fool! Idiot!" shouted Pierre, abusing his coachman- a thing herarely did. "Home, I told you! And drive faster, blockhead!" "I mustget away this very day," he murmured to himself.

　　At the sight of the tortured Frenchman and the crowd surrounding theLobnoe Place, Pierre had so definitely made up his mind that hecould no longer remain in Moscow and would leave for the army thatvery day that it seemed to him that either he had told the coachmanthis or that the man ought to have known it for himself.

　　On reaching home Pierre gave orders to Evstafey- his head coachmanwho knew everything, could do anything, and was known to all Moscow-that he would leave that night for the army at Mozhaysk, and thathis saddle horses should be sent there. This could not all be arrangedthat day, so on Evstafey's representation Pierre had to put off hisdeparture till next day to allow time for the relay horses to besent on in advance.

　　On the twenty-fourth the weather cleared up after a spell of rain,and after dinner Pierre left Moscow. When changing horses that nightin Perkhushkovo, he learned that there had been a great battle thatevening. (This was the battle of Shevardino.) He was told that therein Perkhushkovo the earth trembled from the firing, but nobody couldanswer his questions as to who had won. At dawn next day Pierre wasapproaching Mozhaysk.

　　Every house in Mozhaysk had soldiers quartered in it, and at thehostel where Pierre was met by his groom and coachman there was noroom to be had. It was full of officers.

　　Everywhere in Mozhaysk and beyond it, troops were stationed or onthe march. Cossacks, foot and horse soldiers, wagons, caissons, andcannon were everywhere. Pierre pushed forward as fast as he could, andthe farther he left Moscow behind and the deeper he plunged intothat sea of troops the more was he overcome by restless agitationand a new and joyful feeling he had not experienced before. It was afeeling akin to what he had felt at the Sloboda Palace during theEmperor's visit- a sense of the necessity of undertaking something andsacrificing something. He now experienced a glad consciousness thateverything that constitutes men's happiness- the comforts of life,wealth, even life itself- is rubbish it is pleasant to throw away,compared with something... With what? Pierre could not say, and he didnot try to determine for whom and for what he felt such particulardelight in sacrificing everything. He was not occupied with thequestion of what to sacrifice for; the fact of sacrificing in itselfafforded him a new and joyous sensation.