The Complete Works of Leo Tolstoy (25+ Works with active table of contents)

by Leo Tolstoy

  "Well, never mind, some of the things can be unloaded," he added in a soft, confidential voice, as though afraid of being overheard.

  At nine o'clock the countess woke up, and Matrena Timofeevna, who had been her lady's maid before her marriage and now performed a sort of chief gendarme's duty for her, came to say that Madame Schoss was much offended and the young ladies' summer dresses could not be left behind. On inquiry, the countess learned that Madame Schoss was offended because her trunk had been taken down from its cart, and all the loads were being uncorded and the luggage taken out of the carts to make room for wounded men whom the count in the simplicity of his heart had ordered that they should take with them. The countess sent for her husband.

  "What is this, my dear? I hear that the luggage is being unloaded."

  "You know, love, I wanted to tell you... Countess dear... an officer came to me to ask for a few carts for the wounded. After all, ours are things that can be bought but think what being left behind means to them!... Really now, in our own yard--we asked them in ourselves and there are officers among them.... You know, I think, my dear... let them be taken... where's the hurry?"

  The count spoke timidly, as he always did when talking of money matters. The countess was accustomed to this tone as a precursor of news of something detrimental to the children's interests, such as the building of a new gallery or conservatory, the inauguration of a private theater or an orchestra. She was accustomed always to oppose anything announced in that timid tone and considered it her duty to do so.

  She assumed her dolefully submissive manner and said to her husband: "Listen to me, Count, you have managed matters so that we are getting nothing for the house, and now you wish to throw away all our- all the children's property! You said yourself that we have a hundred thousand rubles' worth of things in the house. I don't consent, my dear, I don't! Do as you please! It's the government's business to look after the wounded; they know that. Look at the Lopukhins opposite, they cleared out everything two days ago. That's what other people do. It's only we who are such fools. If you have no pity on me, have some for the children."

  Flourishing his arms in despair the count left the room without replying.

  "Papa, what are you doing that for?" asked Natasha, who had followed him into her mother's room.

  "Nothing! What business is it of yours?" muttered the count angrily.

  "But I heard," said Natasha. "Why does Mamma object?"

  "What business is it of yours?" cried the count.

  Natasha stepped up to the window and pondered.

  "Papa! Here's Berg coming to see us," said she, looking out of the window.

  CHAPTER XVI

  Berg, the Rostovs' son-in-law, was already a colonel wearing the orders of Vladimir and Anna, and he still filled the quiet and agreeable post of assistant to the head of the staff of the assistant commander of the first division of the Second Army.

  On the first of September he had come to Moscow from the army.

  He had nothing to do in Moscow, but he had noticed that everyone in the army was asking for leave to visit Moscow and had something to do there. So he considered it necessary to ask for leave of absence for family and domestic reasons.

  Berg drove up to his father-in-law's house in his spruce little trap with a pair of sleek roans, exactly like those of a certain prince. He looked attentively at the carts in the yard and while going up to the porch took out a clean pocket handkerchief and tied a knot in it.

  From the anteroom Berg ran with smooth though impatient steps into the drawing room, where he embraced the count, kissed the hands of Natasha and Sonya, and hastened to inquire after "Mamma's" health.

  "Health, at a time like this?" said the count. "Come, tell us the news! Is the army retreating or will there be another battle?"

  "God Almighty alone can decide the fate of our fatherland, Papa," said Berg. "The army is burning with a spirit of heroism and the leaders, so to say, have now assembled in council. No one knows what is coming. But in general I can tell you, Papa, that such a heroic spirit, the truly antique valor of the Russian army, which they--which it" (he corrected himself) "has shown or displayed in the battle of the twenty-sixth--there are no words worthy to do it justice! I tell you, Papa" (he smote himself on the breast as a general he had heard speaking had done, but Berg did it a trifle late for he should have struck his breast at the words "Russian army"), "I tell you frankly that we, the commanders, far from having to urge the men on or anything of that kind, could hardly restrain those... those... yes, those exploits of antique valor," he went on rapidly. "General Barclay de Tolly risked his life everywhere at the head of the troops, I can assure you. Our corps was stationed on a hillside. You can imagine!"

  And Berg related all that he remembered of the various tales he had heard those days. Natasha watched him with an intent gaze that confused him, as if she were trying to find in his face the answer to some question.

  "Altogether such heroism as was displayed by the Russian warriors cannot be imagined or adequately praised!" said Berg, glancing round at Natasha, and as if anxious to conciliate her, replying to her intent look with a smile. "'Russia is not in Moscow, she lives in the hearts of her sons!' Isn't it so, Papa?" said he.

  Just then the countess came in from the sitting room with a weary and dissatisfied expression. Berg hurriedly jumped up, kissed her hand, asked about her health, and, swaying his head from side to side to express sympathy, remained standing beside her.

  "Yes, Mamma, I tell you sincerely that these are hard and sad times for every Russian. But why are you so anxious? You have still time to get away...."

  "I can't think what the servants are about," said the countess, turning to her husband. "I have just been told that nothing is ready yet. Somebody after all must see to things. One misses Mitenka at such times. There won't be any end to it."

  The count was about to say something, but evidently restrained himself. He got up from his chair and went to the door.

  At that moment Berg drew out his handkerchief as if to blow his nose and, seeing the knot in it, pondered, shaking his head sadly and significantly.

  "And I have a great favor to ask of you, Papa," said he.

  "Hm..." said the count, and stopped.

  "I was driving past Yusupov's house just now," said Berg with a laugh, "when the steward, a man I know, ran out and asked me whether I wouldn't buy something. I went in out of curiosity, you know, and there is a small chiffonier and a dressing table. You know how dear Vera wanted a chiffonier like that and how we had a dispute about it." (At the mention of the chiffonier and dressing table Berg involuntarily changed his tone to one of pleasure at his admirable domestic arrangements.) "And it's such a beauty! It pulls out and has a secret English drawer, you know! And dear Vera has long wanted one. I wish to give her a surprise, you see. I saw so many of those peasant carts in your yard. Please let me have one, I will pay the man well, and..."

  The count frowned and coughed.

  "Ask the countess, I don't give orders."

  "If it's inconvenient, please don't," said Berg. "Only I so wanted it, for dear Vera's sake."

  "Oh, go to the devil, all of you! To the devil, the devil, the devil..." cried the old count. "My head's in a whirl!"

  And he left the room. The countess began to cry.

  "Yes, Mamma! Yes, these are very hard times!" said Berg.

  Natasha left the room with her father and, as if finding it difficult to reach some decision, first followed him and then ran downstairs.

  Petya was in the porch, engaged in giving out weapons to the servants who were to leave Moscow. The loaded carts were still standing in the yard. Two of them had been uncorded and a wounded officer was climbing into one of them helped by an orderly.

  "Do you know what it's about?" Petya asked Natasha.

  She understood that he meant what were their parents quarreling about. She did not answer.

  "It's because Papa wanted to give up all the carts to the wounded
," said Petya. "Vasilich told me. I consider..."

  "I consider," Natasha suddenly almost shouted, turning her angry face to Petya, "I consider it so horrid, so abominable, so... I don't know what. Are we despicable Germans?"

  Her throat quivered with convulsive sobs and, afraid of weakening and letting the force of her anger run to waste, she turned and rushed headlong up the stairs.

  Berg was sitting beside the countess consoling her with the respectful attention of a relative. The count, pipe in hand, was pacing up and down the room, when Natasha, her face distorted by anger, burst in like a tempest and approached her mother with rapid steps.

  "It's horrid! It's abominable!" she screamed. "You can't possibly have ordered it!"

  Berg and the countess looked at her, perplexed and frightened. The count stood still at the window and listened.

  "Mamma, it's impossible: see what is going on in the yard!" she cried. "They will be left!..."

  "What's the matter with you? Who are 'they'? What do you want?"

  "Why, the wounded! It's impossible, Mamma. It's monstrous!... No, Mamma darling, it's not the thing. Please forgive me, darling.... Mamma, what does it matter what we take away? Only look what is going on in the yard... Mamma!... It's impossible!"

  The count stood by the window and listened without turning round. Suddenly he sniffed and put his face closer to the window.

  The countess glanced at her daughter, saw her face full of shame for her mother, saw her agitation, and understood why her husband did not turn to look at her now, and she glanced round quite disconcerted.

  "Oh, do as you like! Am I hindering anyone?" she said, not surrendering at once.

  "Mamma, darling, forgive me!"

  But the countess pushed her daughter away and went up to her husband.

  "My dear, you order what is right.... You know I don't understand about it," said she, dropping her eyes shamefacedly.

  "The eggs... the eggs are teaching the hen," muttered the count through tears of joy, and he embraced his wife who was glad to hide her look of shame on his breast.

  "Papa! Mamma! May I see to it? May I?..." asked Natasha. "We will still take all the most necessary things."

  The count nodded affirmatively, and Natasha, at the rapid pace at which she used to run when playing at tag, ran through the ballroom to the anteroom and downstairs into the yard.

  The servants gathered round Natasha, but could not believe the strange order she brought them until the count himself, in his wife's name, confirmed the order to give up all the carts to the wounded and take the trunks to the storerooms. When they understood that order the servants set to work at this new task with pleasure and zeal. It no longer seemed strange to them but on the contrary it seemed the only thing that could be done, just as a quarter of an hour before it had not seemed strange to anyone that the wounded should be left behind and the goods carted away but that had seemed the only thing to do.

  The whole household, as if to atone for not having done it sooner, set eagerly to work at the new task of placing the wounded in the carts. The wounded dragged themselves out of their rooms and stood with pale but happy faces round the carts. The news that carts were to be had spread to the neighboring houses, from which wounded men began to come into the Rostovs' yard. Many of the wounded asked them not to unload the carts but only to let them sit on the top of the things. But the work of unloading, once started, could not be arrested. It seemed not to matter whether all or only half the things were left behind. Cases full of china, bronzes, pictures, and mirrors that had been so carefully packed the night before now lay about the yard, and still they went on searching for and finding possibilities of unloading this or that and letting the wounded have another and yet another cart.

  "We can take four more men," said the steward. "They can have my trap, or else what is to become of them?"

  "Let them have my wardrobe cart," said the countess. "Dunyasha can go with me in the carriage."

  They unloaded the wardrobe cart and sent it to take wounded men from a house two doors off. The whole household, servants included, was bright and animated. Natasha was in a state of rapturous excitement such as she had not known for a long time.

  "What could we fasten this onto?" asked the servants, trying to fix a trunk on the narrow footboard behind a carriage. "We must keep at least one cart."

  "What's in it?" asked Natasha.

  "The count's books."

  "Leave it, Vasilich will put it away. It's not wanted."

  The phaeton was full of people and there was a doubt as to where Count Peter could sit.

  "On the box. You'll sit on the box, won't you, Petya?" cried Natasha.

  Sonya too was busy all this time, but the aim of her efforts was quite different from Natasha's. She was putting away the things that had to be left behind and making a list of them as the countess wished, and she tried to get as much taken away with them as possible.

  CHAPTER XVII

  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's attention as it passed the front porch. With the help of a maid she was arranging a seat for the countess in the huge high coach that stood at the entrance.

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

  "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 he is 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, was pacing up and down the drawing room, waiting for the household to assemble for the usual silent prayer with closed doors before starting. Natasha was not in the room.

  "Mamma," said Sonya, "Prince Andrew is here, mortally wounded. He is going 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 she heard 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 that the Almighty Hand, hitherto unseen, was becoming manifest in all that was now taking place.

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

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

  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 Natasha with her quick intuition.

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

  The count was the first to rise, and with a loud sigh crossed himself before the icon. All the others did the same. Then the count embraced Mavra Kuzminichna and Vasilich, who were to remain in Moscow, and while they caught at his hand and kissed his shoulder he patted their backs lightly with some vaguely affectionate and comforting words. The countess went into the oratory and there Sonya found her on her knees before the icons that had been le
ft here and there hanging on the wall. (The most precious ones, with which some family tradition was connected, were being taken with them.)

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

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