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Napoleon began the war with Russia because he could not resist going to
Dresden, could not help having his head turned by the homage he received, could
not help donning a Polish uniform and yielding to the stimulating influence of a
June morning, and could not refrain from bursts of anger in the presence of
Kurakin and then of Balashev. |
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Alexander refused negotiations because he felt himself to be personally
insulted. Barclay de Tolly tried to command the army in the best way, because he
wished to fulfill his duty and earn fame as a great commander. Rostov charged
the French because he could not restrain his wish for a gallop across a level
field; and in the same way the innumerable people who took part in the war acted
in accord with their personal characteristics, habits, circumstances, and aims.
They were moved by fear or vanity, rejoiced or were indignant, reasoned,
imagining that they knew what they were doing and did it of their own free will,
but they all were involuntary tools of history, carrying on a work concealed
from them but comprehensible to us. Such is the inevitable fate of men of
action, and the higher they stand in the social hierarchy the less are they
free. |
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The actors of 1812 have long since left the stage, their personal
interests have vanished leaving no trace, and nothing remains of that time but
its historic results. |
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Providence compelled all these men, striving to attain personal aims, to
further the accomplishment of a stupendous result no one of them at all
expected- neither Napoleon, nor Alexander, nor still less any of those who did
the actual fighting. |
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The cause of the destruction of the French army in 1812 is clear to us
now. No one will deny that that cause was, on the one hand, its advance into the
heart of Russia late in the season without any preparation for a winter campaign
and, on the other, the character given to the war by the burning of Russian
towns and the hatred of the foe this aroused among the Russian people. But no
one at the time foresaw (what now seems so evident) that this was the only way
an army of eight hundred thousand men- the best in the world and led by the best
general- could be destroyed in conflict with a raw army of half its numerical
strength, and led by inexperienced commanders as the Russian army was. Not only
did no one see this, but on the Russian side every effort was made to hinder the
only thing that could save Russia, while on the French side, despite Napoleon's
experience and so-called military genius, every effort was directed to pushing
on to Moscow at the end of the summer, that is, to doing the very thing that was
bound to lead to destruction. |
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In historical works on the year 1812 French writers are very fond of
saying that Napoleon felt the danger of extending his line, that he sought a
battle and that his marshals advised him to stop at Smolensk, and of making
similar statements to show that the danger of the campaign was even then
understood. Russian authors are still fonder of telling us that from the
commencement of the campaign a Scythian war plan was adopted to lure Napoleon
into the depths of Russia, and this plan some of them attribute to Pfuel, others
to a certain Frenchman, others to Toll, and others again to Alexander himself-
pointing to notes, projects, and letters which contain hints of such a line of
action. But all these hints at what happened, both from the French side and the
Russian, are advanced only because they fit in with the event. Had that event
not occurred these hints would have been forgotten, as we have forgotten the
thousands and millions of hints and expectations to the contrary which were
current then but have now been forgotten because the event falsified them. There
are always so many conjectures as to the issue of any event that however it may
end there will always be people to say: "I said then that it would be
so," quite forgetting that amid their innumerable conjectures many were to
quite the contrary effect. |
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Conjectures as to Napoleon's awareness of the danger of extending his
line, and (on the Russian side) as to luring the enemy into the depths of
Russia, are evidently of that kind, and only by much straining can historians
attribute such conceptions to Napoleon and his marshals, or such plans to the
Russian commanders. All the facts are in flat contradiction to such conjectures.
During the whole period of the war not only was there no wish on the Russian
side to draw the French into the heart of the country, but from their first
entry into Russia everything was done to stop them. And not only was Napoleon
not afraid to extend his line, but he welcomed every step forward as a triumph
and did not seek battle as eagerly as in former campaigns, but very lazily. |
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At the very beginning of the war our armies were divided, and our sole
aim was to unite them, though uniting the armies was no advantage if we meant to
retire and lure the enemy into the depths of the country. Our Emperor joined the
army to encourage it to defend every inch of Russian soil and not to retreat.
The enormous Drissa camp was formed on Pfuel's plan, and there was no intention
of retiring farther. The Emperor reproached the commanders in chief for every
step they retired. He could not bear the idea of letting the enemy even reach
Smolensk, still less could he contemplate the burning of Moscow, and when our
armies did unite he was displeased that Smolensk was abandoned and burned
without a general engagement having been fought under its walls. |
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So thought the Emperor, and the Russian commanders and people were still
more provoked at the thought that our forces were retreating into the depths of
the country. |
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Napoleon having cut our armies apart advanced far into the country and
missed several chances of forcing an engagement. In August he was at Smolensk
and thought only of how to advance farther, though as we now see that advance
was evidently ruinous to him. |
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The facts clearly show that Napoleon did not foresee the danger of the
advance on Moscow, nor did Alexander and the Russian commanders then think of
luring Napoleon on, but quite the contrary. The luring of Napoleon into the
depths of the country was not the result of any plan, for no one believed it to
be possible; it resulted from a most complex interplay of intrigues, aims, and
wishes among those who took part in the war and had no perception whatever of
the inevitable, or of the one way of saving Russia. Everything came about
fortuitously. The armies were divided at the commencement of the campaign. We
tried to unite them, with the evident intention of giving battle and checking
the enemy's advance, and by this effort to unite them while avoiding battle with
a much stronger enemy, and necessarily withdrawing the armies at an acute angle-
we led the French on to Smolensk. But we withdrew at an acute angle not only
because the French advanced between our two armies; the angle became still more
acute and we withdrew still farther, because Barclay de Tolly was an unpopular
foreigner disliked by Bagration (who would come his command), and Bagration-
being in command of the second army- tried to postpone joining up and coming
under Barclay's command as long as he could. Bagration was slow in effecting the
junction- though that was the chief aim of all at headquarters- because, as he
alleged, he exposed his army to danger on this march, and it was best for him to
retire more to the left and more to the south, worrying the enemy from flank and
rear and securing from the Ukraine recruits for his army; and it looks as if he
planned this in order not to come under the command of the detested foreigner
Barclay, whose rank was inferior to his own. |
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The Emperor was with the army to encourage it, but his presence and
ignorance of what steps to take, and the enormous number of advisers and plans,
destroyed the first army's energy and it retired. |
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The intention was to make a stand at the Drissa camp, but Paulucci,
aiming at becoming commander in chief, unexpectedly employed his energy to
influence Alexander, and Pfuel's whole plan was abandoned and the command
entrusted to Barclay. But as Barclay did not inspire confidence his power was
limited. The armies were divided, there was no unity of command, and Barclay was
unpopular; but from this confusion, division, and the unpopularity of the
foreign commander in chief, there resulted on the one hand indecision and the
avoidance of a battle (which we could not have refrained from had the armies
been united and had someone else, instead of Barclay, been in command) and on
the other an ever-increasing indignation against the foreigners and an increase
in patriotic zeal. |
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At last the Emperor left the army, and as the most convenient and indeed
the only pretext for his departure it was decided that it was necessary for him
to inspire the people in the capitals and arouse the nation in general to a
patriotic war. And by this visit of the Emperor to Moscow the strength of the
Russian army was trebled. |
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He left in order not to obstruct the commander in chief's undivided
control of the army, and hoping that more decisive action would then be taken,
but the command of the armies became still more confused and enfeebled.
Bennigsen, the Tsarevich, and a swarm of adjutants general remained with the
army to keep the commander in chief under observation and arouse his energy, and
Barclay, feeling less free than ever under the observation of all these
"eyes of the Emperor," became still more cautious of undertaking any
decisive action and avoided giving battle. |
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Barclay stood for caution. The Tsarevich hinted at treachery and demanded
a general engagement. Lubomirski, Bronnitski, Wlocki, and the others of that
group stirred up so much trouble that Barclay, under pretext of sending papers
to the Emperor, dispatched these Polish adjutants general to Petersburg and
plunged into an open struggle with Bennigsen and the Tsarevich. |
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At Smolensk the armies at last reunited, much as Bagration disliked it. |
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Bagration drove up in a carriage to to the house occupied by Barclay.
Barclay donned his sash and came out to meet and report to his senior officer
Bagration. |
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Despite his seniority in rank Bagration, in this contest of magnanimity,
took his orders from Barclay, but, having submitted, agreed with him less than
ever. By the Emperor's orders Bagration reported direct to him. He wrote to
Arakcheev, the Emperor's confidant: "It must be as my sovereign pleases,
but I cannot work with the Minister (meaning Barclay). For God's sake send me
somewhere else if only in command of a regiment. I cannot stand it here.
Headquarters are so full of Germans that a Russian cannot exist and there is no
sense in anything. I thought I was really serving my sovereign and the
Fatherland, but it turns out that I am serving Barclay. I confess I do not want
to." |
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The swarm of Bronnitskis and Wintzingerodes and their like still further
embittered the relations between the commanders in chief, and even less unity
resulted. Preparations were made to fight the French before Smolensk. A general
was sent to survey the position. This general, hating Barclay, rode to visit a
friend of his own, a corps commander, and, having spent the day with him,
returned to Barclay and condemned, as unsuitable from every point of view, the
battleground he had not seen. |
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While disputes and intrigues were going on about the future field of
battle, and while we were looking for the French- having lost touch with them-
the French stumbled upon Neverovski's division and reached the walls of
Smolensk. |
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It was necessary to fight an unexpected battle at Smolensk to save our
lines of communication. The battle was fought and thousands were killed on both
sides. |
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Smolensk was abandoned contrary to the wishes of the Emperor and of the
whole people. But Smolensk was burned by its own inhabitants-who had been misled
by their governor. And these ruined inhabitants, setting an example to other
Russians, went to Moscow thinking only of their own losses but kindling hatred
of the foe. Napoleon advanced farther and we retired, thus arriving at the very
result which caused his destruction. |
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The day after his son had left, Prince Nicholas sent for Princess Mary to
come to his study. |
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"Well? Are you satisfied now?" said he. "You've made me
quarrel with my son! Satisfied, are you? That's all you wanted! Satisfied?... It
hurts me, it hurts. I'm old and weak and this is what you wanted. Well then,
gloat over it! Gloat over it!" |
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After that Princess Mary did not see her father for a whole week. He was
ill and did not leave his study. |
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Princess Mary noticed to her surprise that during this illness the old
prince not only excluded her from his room, but did not admit Mademoiselle
Bourienne either. Tikhon alone attended him. |
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At the end of the week the prince reappeared and resumed his former way
of life, devoting himself with special activity to building operations and the
arrangement of the gardens and completely breaking off his relations with
Mademoiselle Bourienne. His looks and cold tone to his daughter seemed to say:
"There, you see? You plotted against me, you lied to Prince Andrew about my
relations with that Frenchwoman and made me quarrel with him, but you see I need
neither her nor you!" |
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Princess Mary spent half of every day with little Nicholas, watching his
lessons, teaching him Russian and music herself, and talking to Dessalles; the
rest of the day she spent over her books, with her old nurse, or with
"God's folk" who sometimes came by the back door to see her. |
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Of the war Princess Mary thought as women do think about wars. She feared
for her brother who was in it, was horrified by and amazed at the strange
cruelty that impels men to kill one another, but she did not understand the
significance of this war, which seemed to her like all previous wars. She did
not realize the significance of this war, though Dessalles with whom she
constantly conversed was passionately interested in its progress and tried to
explain his own conception of it to her, and though the "God's folk"
who came to see her reported, in their own way, the rumors current among the
people of an invasion by Antichrist, and though Julie (now Princess
Drubetskaya), who had resumed correspondence with her, wrote patriotic letters
from Moscow. |
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"I write you in Russian, my good friend," wrote Julie in her
Frenchified Russian, "because I have a detestation for all the French, and
the same for their language which I cannot support to hear spoken.... We in
Moscow are elated by enthusiasm for our adored Emperor. |
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"My poor husband is enduring pains and hunger in Jewish taverns, but
the news which I have inspires me yet more. |
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"You heard probably of the heroic exploit of Raevski, embracing his
two sons and saying: 'I will perish with them but we will not be shaken!' And
truly though the enemy was twice stronger than we, we were unshakable. We pass
the time as we can, but in war as in war! The princesses Aline and Sophie sit
whole days with me, and we, unhappy widows of live men, make beautiful
conversations over our charpie, only you, my friend, are missing..." and so
on. |
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The chief reason Princess Mary did not realize the full significance of
this war was that the old prince never spoke of it, did not recognize it, and
laughed at Dessalles when he mentioned it at dinner. The prince's tone was so
calm and confident that Princess Mary unhesitatingly believed him. |
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All that July the old prince was exceedingly active and even animated. He
planned another garden and began a new building for the domestic serfs. The only
thing that made Princess Mary anxious about him was that he slept very little
and, instead of sleeping in his study as usual, changed his sleeping place every
day. One day he would order his camp bed to be set up in the glass gallery,
another day he remained on the couch or on the lounge chair in the drawing room
and dozed there without undressing, while- instead of Mademoiselle Bourienne- a
serf boy read to him. Then again he would spend a night in the dining room. |
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On August 1, a second letter was received from Prince Andrew. In his
first letter which came soon after he had left home, Prince Andrew had dutifully
asked his father's forgiveness for what he had allowed himself to say and begged
to be restored to his favor. To this letter the old prince had replied
affectionately, and from that time had kept the Frenchwoman at at Prince
Andrew's second letter, written near Vitebsk after the French had occupied that
town, gave a brief account of the whole campaign, enclosed for them a plan he
had drawn and forecasts as to the further progress of the war. In this letter
Prince Andrew pointed out to his father the danger of staying at Bald Hills, so
near the theater of war and on the army's direct line of march, and advised him
to move to Moscow. |
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At dinner that day, on Dessalles' mentioning that the French were said to
have already entered Vitebsk, the old prince remembered his son's letter. |
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"There was a letter from Prince Andrew today," he said to
Princess Mary- "Haven't you read it?" |
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"No, Father," she replied in a frightened voice. |
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She could not have read the letter as she did not even know it had
arrived. |
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"He writes about this war," said the prince, with the ironic
smile that had become habitual to him in speaking of the present war. |
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"That must be very interesting," said Dessalles. "Prince
Andrew is in a position to know..." |
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"Oh, very interesting!" said Mademoiselle Bourienne. |
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"Go and get it for me," said the old prince to Mademoiselle
Bourienne. "You know- under the paperweight on the little table." |
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Mademoiselle Bourienne jumped up eagerly. |
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"No, don't!" he exclaimed with a frown. "You go, Michael
Ivanovich." |
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Michael Ivanovich rose and went to the study. But as soon as he had left
the room the old prince, looking uneasily round, threw down his napkin and went
himself. |
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"They can't do anything... always make some muddle," he
muttered. |
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While he was away Princess Mary, Dessalles, Mademoiselle Bourienne, and
even little Nicholas exchanged looks in silence. The old prince returned with
quick steps, accompanied by Michael Ivanovich, bringing the letter and a plan.
These he put down beside him- not letting anyone read them at dinner. |
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On moving to the drawing room he handed the letter to Princess Mary and,
spreading out before him the plan of the new building and fixing his eyes upon
it, told her to read the letter aloud. When she had done so Princess Mary looked
inquiringly at her father. He was examining the plan, evidently engrossed in his
own ideas. |
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"What do you think of it, Prince?" Dessalles ventured to ask. |
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"I? I?..." said the prince as if unpleasantly awakened, and not
taking his eyes from the plan of the building. |
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"Very possibly the theater of war will move so near to us
that..." |
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"Ha ha ha! The theater of war!" said the prince. "I have
said and still say that the theater of war is Poland and the enemy will never
get beyond the Niemen." |
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Dessalles looked in amazement at the prince, who was talking of the
Niemen when the enemy was already at the Dnieper, but Princess Mary, forgetting
the geographical position of the Niemen, thought that what her father was saying
was correct. |
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"When the snow melts they'll sink in the Polish swamps. Only they
could fail to see it," the prince continued, evidently thinking of the
campaign of 1807 which seemed to him so recent. "Bennigsen should have
advanced into Prussia sooner, then things would have taken a different
turn..." |
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"But, Prince," Dessalles began timidly, "the letter
mentions Vitebsk...." |
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"Ah, the letter? Yes..." replied the prince peevishly.
"Yes... yes..." His face suddenly took on a morose expression. He
paused. "Yes, he writes that the French were beaten at... at... what river
is it?" |
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Dessalles dropped his eyes. |
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"The prince says nothing about that," he remarked gently. |
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"Doesn't he? But I didn't invent it myself." |
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No one spoke for a long time. |
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"Yes... yes... Well, Michael Ivanovich," he suddenly went on,
raising his head and pointing to the plan of the building, "tell me how you
mean to alter it...." |
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Michael Ivanovich went up to the plan, and the prince after speaking to
him about the building looked angrily at Princess Mary and Dessalles and went to
his own room. |
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Princess Mary saw Dessalles' embarrassed and astonished look fixed on her
father, noticed his silence, and was struck by the fact that her father had
forgotten his son's letter on the drawing-room table; but she was not only
afraid to speak of it and ask Dessalles the reason of his confusion and silence,
but was afraid even to think about it. |
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In the evening Michael Ivanovich, sent by the prince, came to Princess
Mary for Prince Andrew's letter which had been forgotten in the drawing room.
She gave it to him and, unpleasant as it was to her to do so, ventured to ask
him what her father was doing. |
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"Always busy," replied Michael Ivanovich with a respectfully
ironic smile which caused Princess Mary to turn pale. "He's worrying very
much about the new building. He has been reading a little, but now"-
Michael Ivanovich went on, lowering his voice- "now he's at his desk, busy
with his will, I expect." (One of the prince's favorite occupations of late
had been the preparation of some papers he meant to leave at his death and which
he called his "will.") |
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"And Alpatych is being sent to Smolensk?" asked Princess Mary. |
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"Oh, yes, he has been waiting to start for some time." |
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When Michael Ivanovich returned to the study with the letter, the old
prince, with spectacles on and a shade over his eyes, was sitting at his open
bureau with screened candles, holding a paper in his outstretched hand, and in a
somewhat dramatic attitude was reading his manuscript- his "Remarks"
as he termed it- which was to be transmitted to the Emperor after his death. |
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When Michael Ivanovich went in there were tears in the prince's eyes
evoked by the memory of the time when the paper he was now reading had been
written. He took the letter from Michael Ivanovich's hand, put it in his pocket,
folded up his papers, and called in Alpatych who had long been waiting. |
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The prince had a list of things to be bought in Smolensk and, walking up
and down the room past Alpatych who stood by the door, he gave his instructions. |
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"First, notepaper- do you hear? Eight quires, like this sample,
gilt-edged... it must be exactly like the sample. Varnish, sealing wax, as in
Michael Ivanovich's list." |
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He paced up and down for a while and glanced at his notes. |
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"Then hand to the governor in person a letter about the deed." |
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Next, bolts for the doors of the new building were wanted and had to be
of a special shape the prince had himself designed, and a leather case had to be
ordered to keep the "will" in. |
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The instructions to Alpatych took over two hours and still the prince did
not let him go. He sat down, sank into thought, closed his eyes, and dozed off.
Alpatych made a slight movement. |
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"Well, go, go! If anything more is wanted I'll send after you." |
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Alpatych went out. The prince again went to his bureau, glanced into it,
fingered his papers, closed the bureau again, and sat down at the table to write
to the governor. |
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It was already late when he rose after sealing the letter. He wished to
sleep, but he knew he would not be able to and that most depressing thoughts
came to him in bed. So he called Tikhon and went through the rooms with him to
show him where to set up the bed for that night. |
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He went about looking at every corner. Every place seemed unsatisfactory,
but worst of all was his customary couch in the study. That couch was dreadful
to him, probably because of the oppressive thoughts he had had when lying there.
It was unsatisfactory everywhere, but the corner behind the piano in the sitting
room was better than other places: he had never slept there yet. |
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With the help of a footman Tikhon brought in the bedstead and began
putting it up. |
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"That's not right! That's not right!" cried the prince, and
himself pushed it a few inches from the corner and then closer in again. |
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"Well, at last I've finished, now I'll rest," thought the
prince, and let Tikhon undress him. |
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Frowning with vexation at the effort necessary to divest himself of his
coat and trousers, the prince undressed, sat down heavily on the bed, and
appeared to be meditating as he looked contemptuously at his withered yellow
legs. He was not meditating, but only deferring the moment of making the effort
to lift those legs up and turn over on the bed. "Ugh, how hard it is! Oh,
that this toil might end and you would release me!" thought he. Pressing
his lips together he made that effort for the twenty-thousandth time and lay
down. But hardly had he done so before he felt the bed rocking backwards and
forwards beneath him as if it were breathing heavily and jolting. This happened
to him almost every night. He opened his eyes as they were closing. |
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"No peace, damn them!" he muttered, angry he knew not with
whom. "Ah yes, there was something else important, very important, that I
was keeping till I should be in bed. The bolts? No, I told him about them. No,
it was something, something in the drawing room. Princess Mary talked some
nonsense. Dessalles, that fool, said something. Something in my pocket- can't
remember..." |
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"Tikhon, what did we talk about at dinner?" |
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"About Prince Michael..." |
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"Be quiet, quiet!" The prince slapped his hand on the table.
"Yes, I know, Prince Andrew's letter! Princess Mary read it. Dessalles said
something about Vitebsk. Now I'll read it." |
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He had the letter taken from his pocket and the table- on which stood a
glass of lemonade and a spiral wax candle- moved close to the bed, and putting
on his spectacles he began reading. Only now in the stillness of the night,
reading it by the faint light under the green shade, did he grasp its meaning
for a moment. |
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"The French at Vitebsk, in four days' march they may be at Smolensk;
perhaps are already there! Tikhon!" Tikhon jumped up. "No, no, I don't
want anything!" he shouted. |
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He put the letter under the candlestick and closed his eyes. And there
rose before him the Danube at bright noonday: reeds, the Russian camp, and
himself a young general without a wrinkle on his ruddy face, vigorous and alert,
entering Potemkin's gaily colored tent, and a burning sense of jealousy of
"the favorite" agitated him now as strongly as it had done then. He
recalled all the words spoken at that first meeting with Potemkin. And he saw
before him a plump, rather sallow-faced, short, stout woman, the Empress Mother,
with her smile and her words at her first gracious reception of him, and then
that same face on the catafalque, and the encounter he had with Zubov over her
coffin about his right to kiss her hand. |
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"Oh, quicker, quicker! To get back to that time and have done with
all the present! Quicker, quicker- and that they should leave me in peace!" |
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Bald Hills, Prince Nicholas Bolkonski's estate, lay forty miles east from
Smolensk and two miles from the main road to Moscow. |
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The same evening that the prince gave his instructions to Alpatych,
Dessalles, having asked to see Princess Mary, told her that, as the prince was
not very well and was taking no steps to secure his safety, though from Prince
Andrew's letter it was evident that to remain at Bald Hills might be dangerous,
he respectfully advised her to send a letter by Alpatych to the Provincial
Governor at Smolensk, asking him to let her know the state of affairs and the
extent of the danger to which Bald Hills was exposed. Dessalles wrote this
letter to the Governor for Princess Mary, she signed it, and it was given to
Alpatych with instructions to hand it to the Governor and to come back as
quickly as possible if there was danger. |
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Having received all his orders Alpatych, wearing a white beaver hat- a
present from the prince- and carrying a stick as the prince did, went out
accompanied by his family. Three well-fed roans stood ready harnessed to a small
conveyance with a leather hood. |
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The larger bell was muffled and the little bells on the harness stuffed
with paper. The prince allowed no one at Bald Hills to drive with ringing bells;
but on a long journey Alpatych liked to have them. His satellites- the senior
clerk, a countinghouse clerk, a scullery maid, a cook, two old women, a little
pageboy, the coachman, and various domestic serfs- were seeing him off. |
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His daughter placed chintz-covered down cushions for him to sit on and
behind his back. His old sister-in-law popped in a small bundle, and one of the
coachmen helped him into the vehicle. |
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"There! There! Women's fuss! Women, women!" said Alpatych,
puffing and speaking rapidly just as the prince did, and he climbed into the
trap. |
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After giving the clerk orders about the work to be done, Alpatych, not
trying to imitate the prince now, lifted the hat from his bald head and crossed
himself three times. |
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"If there is anything... come back, Yakov Alpatych! For Christ's
sake think of us!" cried his wife, referring to the rumors of war and the
enemy. |
|
|
"Women, women! Women's fuss!" muttered Alpatych to himself and
started on his journey, looking round at the fields of yellow rye and the
still-green, thickly growing oats, and at other quite black fields just being
plowed a second time. |
|
|
As he went along he looked with pleasure at the year's splendid crop of
corn, scrutinized the strips of ryefield which here and there were already being
reaped, made his calculations as to the sowing and the harvest, and asked
himself whether he had not forgotten any of the prince's orders. |
|
|
Having baited the horses twice on the way, he arrived at the town toward
evening on the fourth of August. |
|
|
Alpatych kept meeting and overtaking baggage trains and troops on the
road. As he approached Smolensk he heard the sounds of distant firing, but these
did not impress him. What struck him most was the sight of a splendid field of
oats in which a camp had been pitched and which was being mown down by the
soldiers, evidently for fodder. This fact impressed Alpatych, but in thinking
about his own business he soon forgot it. |
|
|
All the interests of his life for more than thirty years had been bounded
by the will of the prince, and he never went beyond that limit. Everything not
connected with the execution of the prince's orders did not interest and did not
even exist for Alpatych. |
|
|
On reaching Smolensk on the evening of the fourth of August he put up in
the Gachina suburb across the Dnieper, at the inn kept by Ferapontov, where he
had been in the habit of putting up for the last thirty years. Some thirty years
ago Ferapontov, by Alpatych's advice, had bought a wood from the prince, had
begun to trade, and now had a house, an inn, and a corn dealer's shop in that
province. He was a stout, dark, red-faced peasant in the forties, with thick
lips, a broad knob of a nose, similar knobs over his black frowning brows, and a
round belly. |
|
|
Wearing a waistcoat over his cotton shirt, Ferapontov was standing before
his shop which opened onto the street. On seeing Alpatych he went up to him. |
|
|
"You're welcome, Yakov Alpatych. Folks are leaving the town, but you
have come to it," said he. |
|
|
"Why are they leaving the town?" asked Alpatych. |
|
|
"That's what I say. Folks are foolish! Always afraid of the
French." |
|
|
"Women's fuss, women's fuss!" said Alpatych. |
|
|
"Just what I think, Yakov Alpatych. What I say is: orders have been
given not to let them in, so that must be right. And the peasants are asking
three rubles for carting- it isn't Christian!" |
|
|
Yakov Alpatych heard without heeding. He asked for a samovar and for hay
for his horses, and when he had had his tea he went to bed. |
|
|
All night long troops were moving past the inn. Next morning Alpatych
donned a jacket he wore only in town and went out on business. It was a sunny
morning and by eight o'clock it was already hot. "A good day for
harvesting," thought Alpatych. |
|
|
From beyond the town firing had been heard since early morning. At eight
o'clock the booming of cannon was added to the sound of musketry. Many people
were hurrying through the streets and there were many soldiers, but cabs were
still driving about, tradesmen stood at their shops, and service was being held
in the churches as usual. Alpatych went to the shops, to government offices, to
the post office, and to the Governor's. In the offices and shops and at the post
office everyone was talking about the army and about the enemy who was already
attacking the town, everybody was asking what should be done, and all were
trying to calm one another. |
|
|
In front of the Governor's house Alpatych found a large number of people,
Cossacks, and a traveling carriage of the Governor's. At the porch he met two of
the landed gentry, one of whom he knew. This man, an ex-captain of police, was
saying angrily: |
|
|
"It's no joke, you know! It's all very well if you're single. 'One
man though undone is but one,' as the proverb says, but with thirteen in your
family and all the property... They've brought us to utter ruin! What sort of
governors are they to do that? They ought to be hanged- the brigands!..." |
|
|
"Oh come, that's enough!" said the other. |
|
|
"What do I care? Let him hear! We're not dogs," said the
ex-captain of police, and looking round he noticed Alpatych. |
|
|
"Oh, Yakov Alpatych! What have you come for?" |
|
|
"To see the Governor by his excellency's order," answered
Alpatych, lifting his head and proudly thrusting his hand into the bosom of his
coat as he always did when he mentioned the prince.... He has ordered me to
inquire into the position of affairs," he added. |
|
|
"Yes, go and find out!" shouted the angry gentleman.
"They've brought things to such a pass that there are no carts or
anything!... There it is again, do you hear?" said he, pointing in the
direction whence came the sounds of firing. |
|
|
"They've brought us all to ruin... the brigands!" he repeated,
and descended the porch steps. |
|
|
Alpatych swayed his head and went upstairs. In the waiting room were
tradesmen, women, and officials, looking silently at one another. The door of
the Governor's room opened and they all rose and moved forward. An official ran
out, said some words to a merchant, called a stout official with a cross hanging
on his neck to follow him, and vanished again, evidently wishing to avoid the
inquiring looks and questions addressed to him. Alpatych moved forward and next
time the official came out addressed him, one hand placed in the breast of his
buttoned coat, and handed him two letters. |
|
|
"To his Honor Baron Asch, from General-in-Chief Prince
Bolkonski," he announced with such solemnity and significance that the
official turned to him and took the letters. |
|
|
A few minutes later the Governor received Alpatych and hurriedly said to
him: |
|
|
"Inform the prince and princess that I knew nothing: I acted on the
highest instructions- here..." and he handed a paper to Alpatych.
"Still, as the prince is unwell my advice is that they should go to Moscow.
I am just starting myself. Inform them..." |
|
|
But the Governor did not finish: a dusty perspiring officer ran into the
room and began to say something in French. The Governor's face expressed terror. |
|
|
"Go," he said, nodding his head to Alpatych, and began
questioning the officer. |
|
|
Eager, frightened, helpless glances were turned on Alpatych when he came
out of the Governor's room. Involuntarily listening now to the firing, which had
drawn nearer and was increasing in strength, Alpatych hurried to his inn. The
paper handed to him by the Governor said this: |
|
|
"I assure you that the town of Smolensk is not in the slightest
danger as yet and it is unlikely that it will be threatened with any. I from the
one side and Prince Bagration from the other are marching to unite our forces
before Smolensk, which junction will be effected on the 22nd instant, and both
armies with their united forces will defend our compatriots of the province
entrusted to your care till our efforts shall have beaten back the enemies of
our Fatherland, or till the last warrior in our valiant ranks has perished. From
this you will see that you have a perfect right to reassure the inhabitants of
Smolensk, for those defended by two such brave armies may feel assured of
victory." (Instructions from Barclay de Tolly to Baron Asch, the civil
governor of Smolensk, 1812.) |
|
|
People were anxiously roaming about the streets. |
|
|
Carts piled high with household utensils, chairs, and cupboards kept
emerging from the gates of the yards and moving along the streets. Loaded carts
stood at the house next to Ferapontov's and women were wailing and lamenting as
they said good-by. A small watchdog ran round barking in front of the harnessed
horses. |
|
|
Alpatych entered the innyard at a quicker pace than usual and went
straight to the shed where his horses and trap were. The coachman was asleep. He
woke him up, told him to harness, and went into the passage. From the host's
room came the sounds of a child crying, the despairing sobs of a woman, and the
hoarse angry shouting of Ferapontov. The cook began running hither and thither
in the passage like a frightened hen, just as Alpatych entered. |
|
|
"He's done her to death. Killed the mistress!... Beat her... dragged
her about so!..." |
|
|
"What for?" asked Alpatych. |
|
|
"She kept begging to go away. She's a woman! 'Take me away,' says
she, 'don't let me perish with my little children! Folks,' she says, 'are all
gone, so why,' she says, 'don't we go?' And he began beating and pulling her
about so!" |
|
|
At these words Alpatych nodded as if in approval, and not wishing to hear
more went to the door of the room opposite the innkeeper's, where he had left
his purchases. |
|
|
"You brute, you murderer!" screamed a thin, pale woman who,
with a baby in her arms and her kerchief torn from her head, burst through the
door at that moment and down the steps into the yard. |
|
|
Ferapontov came out after her, but on seeing Alpatych adjusted his
waistcoat, smoothed his hair, yawned, and followed Alpatych into the opposite
room. |
|
|
"Going already?" said he. |
|
|
Alpatych, without answering or looking at his host, sorted his packages
and asked how much he owed. |
|
|
"We'll reckon up! Well, have you been to the Governor's?" asked
Ferapontov. "What has been decided?" |
|
|
Alpatych replied that the Governor had not told him anything definite. |
|
|
"With our business, how can we get away?" said Ferapontov.
"We'd have to pay seven rubles a cartload to Dorogobuzh and I tell them
they're not Christians to ask it! Selivanov, now, did a good stroke last
Thursday- sold flour to the army at nine rubles a sack. Will you have some
tea?" he added. |
|
|
While the horses were being harnessed Alpatych and Ferapontov over their
tea talked of the price of corn, the crops, and the good weather for harvesting. |
|
|
"Well, it seems to be getting quieter," remarked Ferapontov,
finishing his third cup of tea and getting up. "Ours must have got the best
of it. The orders were not to let them in. So we're in force, it seems.... They
say the other day Matthew Ivanych Platov drove them into the river Marina and
drowned some eighteen thousand in one day." |
|
|
Alpatych collected his parcels, handed them to the coachman who had come
in, and settled up with the innkeeper. The noise of wheels, hoofs, and bells was
heard from the gateway as a little trap passed out. |
|
|
It was by now late in the afternoon. Half the street was in shadow, the
other half brightly lit by the sun. Alpatych looked out of the window and went
to the door. Suddenly the strange sound of a far-off whistling and thud was
heard, followed by a boom of cannon blending into a dull roar that set the
windows rattling. |
|
|
He went out into the street: two men were running past toward the bridge.
From different sides came whistling sounds and the thud of cannon balls and
bursting shells falling on the town. But these sounds were hardly heard in
comparison with the noise of the firing outside the town and attracted little
attention from the inhabitants. The town was being bombarded by a hundred and
thirty guns which Napoleon had ordered up after four o'clock. The people did not
at once realize the meaning of this bombardment. |
|
|
At first the noise of the falling bombs and shells only aroused
curiosity. Ferapontov's wife, who till then had not ceased wailing under the
shed, became quiet and with the baby in her arms went to the gate, listening to
the sounds and looking in silence at the people. |
|
|
The cook and a shop assistant came to the gate. With lively curiosity
everyone tried to get a glimpse of the projectiles as they flew over their
heads. Several people came round the corner talking eagerly. |
|
|
"What force!" remarked one. "Knocked the roof and ceiling
all to splinters!" |
|
|
"Routed up the earth like a pig," said another. |
|
|
"That's grand, it bucks one up!" laughed the first. "Lucky
you jumped aside, or it would have wiped you out!" |
|
|
Others joined those men and stopped and told how cannon balls had fallen
on a house close to them. Meanwhile still more projectiles, now with the swift
sinister whistle of a cannon ball, now with the agreeable intermittent whistle
of a shell, flew over people's heads incessantly, but not one fell close by,
they all flew over. Alpatych was getting into his trap. The innkeeper stood at
the gate. |
|
|
"What are you staring at?" he shouted to the cook, who in her
red skirt, with sleeves rolled up, swinging her bare elbows, had stepped to the
corner to listen to what was being said. |
|
|
"What marvels!" she exclaimed, but hearing her master's voice
she turned back. pulling down her tucked-up skirt. |
|
|
Once more something whistled, but this time quite close, swooping
downwards like a little bird; a flame flashed in the middle of the street,
something exploded, and the street was shrouded in smoke. |
|
|
"Scoundrel, what are you doing?" shouted the innkeeper, rushing
to the cook. |
|
|
At that moment the pitiful wailing of women was heard from different
sides, the frightened baby began to cry, and people crowded silently with pale
faces round the cook. The loudest sound in that crowd was her wailing. |
|
|
"Oh-h-h! Dear souls, dear kind souls! Don't let me die! My good
souls!..." |
|
|
Five minutes later no one remained in the street. The cook, with her
thigh broken by a shell splinter, had been carried into the kitchen. Alpatych,
his coachman, Ferapontov's wife and children and the house porter were all
sitting in the cellar, listening. The roar of guns, the whistling of
projectiles, and the piteous moaning of the cook, which rose above the other
sounds, did not cease for a moment. The mistress rocked and hushed her baby and
when anyone came into the cellar asked in a pathetic whisper what had become of
her husband who had remained in the street. A shopman who entered told her that
her husband had gone with others to the cathedral, whence they were fetching the
wonder-working icon of Smolensk. |
|
|
Toward dusk the cannonade began to subside. Alpatych left the cellar and
stopped in the doorway. The evening sky that had been so clear was clouded with
smoke, through which, high up, the sickle of the new moon shone strangely. Now
that the terrible din of the guns had ceased a hush seemed to reign over the
town, broken only by the rustle of footsteps, the moaning, the distant cries,
and the crackle of fires which seemed widespread everywhere. The cook's moans
had now subsided. On two sides black curling clouds of smoke rose and spread
from the fires. Through the streets soldiers in various uniforms walked or ran
confusedly in different directions like ants from a ruined ant-hill. Several of
them ran into Ferapontov's yard before Alpatych's eyes. Alpatych went out to the
gate. A retreating regiment, thronging and hurrying, blocked the street. |
|
|
Noticing him, an officer said: "The town is being abandoned. Get
away, get away!" and then, turning to the soldiers, shouted: |
|
|
"I'll teach you to run into the yards!" |
|
|
Alpatych went back to the house, called the coachman, and told him to set
off. Ferapontov's whole household came out too, following Alpatych and the
coachman. The women, who had been silent till then, suddenly began to wail as
they looked at the fires- the smoke and even the flames of which could be seen
in the failing twilight- and as if in reply the same kind of lamentation was
heard from other parts of the street. Inside the shed Alpatych and the coachman
arranged the tangled reins and traces of their horses with trembling hands. |
|
|
As Alpatych was driving out of the gate he saw some ten soldiers in
Ferapontov's open shop, talking loudly and filling their bags and knapsacks with
flour and sunflower seeds. Just then Ferapontov returned and entered his shop.
On seeing the soldiers he was about to shout at them, but suddenly stopped and,
clutching at his hair, burst into sobs and laughter: |
|
|
"Loot everything, lads! Don't let those devils get it!" he
cried, taking some bags of flour himself and throwing them into the street. |
|
|
Some of the soldiers were frightened and ran away, others went on filling
their bags. On seeing Alpatych, Ferapontov turned to him: |
|
|
"Russia is done for!" he cried. "Alpatych, I'll set the
place on fire myself. We're done for!..." and Ferapontov ran into the yard. |
|
|
Soldiers were passing in a constant stream along the street blocking it
completely, so that Alpatych could not pass out and had to wait. Ferapontov's
wife and children were also sitting in a cart waiting till it was it was
possible to drive out. |
|
|
Night
had come. There were stars in the sky and the new moon shone out amid the smoke
that screened it. On the sloping descent to the Dnieper Alpatych's cart and that
of the innkeeper's wife, which were slowly moving amid the rows of soldiers and
of other vehicles, had to stop. In a side street near the crossroads where the
vehicles had stopped, a house and some shops were on fire. This fire was already
burning itself out. The flames now died down and were lost in the black smoke,
now suddenly flared up again brightly, lighting up with strange distinctness the
faces of the people crowding at the crossroads. Black figures flitted about
before the fire, and through the incessant crackling of the flames talking and
shouting could be heard. Seeing that his trap would not be able to move on for
some time, Alpatych got down and turned into the side street to look at the
fire. Soldiers were continually rushing backwards and forwards near it, and he
saw two of them and a man in a frieze coat dragging burning beams into another
yard across the street, while others carried bundles of hay. |
|
|
Alpatych went up to a large crowd standing before a high barn which was
blazing briskly. The walls were all on fire and the back wall had fallen in, the
wooden roof was collapsing, and the rafters were alight. The crowd was evidently
watching for the roof to fall in, and Alpatych watched for it too. |
|
|
"Alpatych!" a familiar voice suddenly hailed the old man. |
|
|
"Mercy on us! Your excellency!" answered Alpatych, immediately
recognizing the voice of his young prince. |
|
|
Prince Andrew in his riding cloak, mounted on a black horse, was looking
at Alpatych from the back of the crowd. |
|
|
"Why are you here?" he asked. |
|
|
"Your... your excellency," stammered Alpatych and broke into
sobs. "Are we really lost? Master!..." |
|
|
"Why are you here?" Prince Andrew repeated. |
|
|
At that moment the flames flared up and showed his young master's pale
worn face. Alpatych told how he had been sent there and how difficult it was to
get away. |
|
|
"Are we really quite lost, your excellency?" he asked again. |
|
|
Prince Andrew without replying took out a notebook and raising his knee
began writing in pencil on a page he tore out. He wrote to his sister: |
|
|
"Smolensk is being abandoned. Bald Hills will be occupied by the
enemy within a week. Set off immediately for Moscow. Let me know at once when
you will start. Send by special messenger to Usvyazh." |
|
|
Having written this and given the paper to Alpatych, he told him how to
arrange for departure of the prince, the princess, his son, and the boy's tutor,
and how and where to let him know immediately. Before he had had time to finish
giving these instructions, a chief of staff followed by a suite galloped up to
him. |
|
|
"You are a colonel?" shouted the chief of staff with a German
accent, in a voice familiar to Prince Andrew. "Houses are set on fire in
your presence and you stand by! What does this mean? You will answer for
it!" shouted Berg, who was now assistant to the chief of staff of the
commander of the left flank of the infantry of the first army, a place, as Berg
said, "very agreeable and well en evidence." |
|
|
Prince Andrew looked at him and without replying went on speaking to
Alpatych. |
|
|
"So tell them that I shall await a reply till the tenth, and if by
the tenth I don't receive news that they have all got away I shall have to throw
up everything and come myself to Bald Hills." |
|
|
"Prince," said Berg, recognizing Prince Andrew, "I only
spoke because I have to obey orders, because I always do obey exactly.... You
must please excuse me," he went on apologetically. |
|
|
Something cracked in the flames. The fire died down for a moment and
wreaths of black smoke rolled from under the roof. There was another terrible
crash and something huge collapsed. |
|
|
"Ou-rou-rou!" yelled the crowd, echoing the crash of the
collapsing roof of the barn, the burning grain in which diffused a cakelike
aroma all around. The flames flared up again, lighting the animated, delighted,
exhausted faces of the spectators. |
|
|
The man in the frieze coat raised his arms and shouted: |
|
|
"It's fine, lads! Now it's raging... It's fine!" |
|
|
"That's the owner himself," cried several voices. |
|
|
"Well then," continued Prince Andrew to Alpatych, "report
to them as I have told you"; and not replying a word to Berg who was now
mute beside him, he touched his horse and rode down the side street. |
|
|
From Smolensk the troops continued to retreat, followed by the enemy. On
the tenth of August the regiment Prince Andrew commanded was marching along the
highroad past the avenue leading to Bald Hills. Heat and drought had continued
for more than three weeks. Each day fleecy clouds floated across the sky and
occasionally veiled the sun, but toward evening the sky cleared again and the
sun set in reddish-brown mist. Heavy night dews alone refreshed the earth. The
unreaped corn was scorched and shed its grain. The marshes dried up. The cattle
lowed from hunger, finding no food on the sun-parched meadows. Only at night and
in the forests while the dew lasted was there any freshness. But on the road,
the highroad along which the troops marched, there was no such freshness even at
night or when the road passed through the forest; the dew was imperceptible on
the sandy dust churned up more than six inches deep. As soon as day dawned the
march began. The artillery and baggage wagons moved noiselessly through the deep
dust that rose to the very hubs of the wheels, and the infantry sank ankle-deep
in that soft, choking, hot dust that never cooled even at night. Some of this
dust was kneaded by the feet and wheels, while the rest rose and hung like a
cloud over the troops, settling in eyes, ears, hair, and nostrils, and worst of
all in the lungs of the men and beasts as they moved along that road. The higher
the sun rose the higher rose that cloud of dust, and through the screen of its
hot fine particles one could look with naked eye at the sun, which showed like a
huge crimson ball in the unclouded sky. There was no wind, and the men choked in
that motionless atmosphere. They marched with handkerchiefs tied over their
noses and mouths. When they passed through a village they all rushed to the
wells and fought for the water and drank it down to the mud. |
|
|
Prince Andrew was in command of a regiment, and the management of that
regiment, the welfare of the men and the necessity of receiving and giving
orders, engrossed him. The burning of Smolensk and its abandonment made an epoch
in his life. A novel feeling of anger against the foe made him forget his own
sorrow. He was entirely devoted to the affairs of his regiment and was
considerate and kind to his men and officers. In the regiment they called him
"our prince," were proud of him and loved him. But he was kind and
gentle only to those of his regiment, to Timokhin and the like- people quite new
to him, belonging to a different world and who could not know and understand his
past. As soon as he came across a former acquaintance or anyone from the staff,
he bristled up immediately and grew spiteful, ironical, and contemptuous.
Everything that reminded him of his past was repugnant to him, and so in his
relations with that former circle he confined himself to trying to do his duty
and not to be unfair. |
|
|
In truth everything presented itself in a dark and gloomy light to Prince
Andrew, especially after the abandonment of Smolensk on the sixth of August (he
considered that it could and should have been defended) and after his sick
father had had to flee to Moscow, abandoning to pillage his dearly beloved Bald
Hills which he had built and peopled. But despite this, thanks to his regiment,
Prince Andrew had something to think about entirely apart from general
questions. Two days previously he had received news that his father, son, and
sister had left for Moscow; and though there was nothing for him to do at Bald
Hills, Prince Andrew with a characteristic desire to foment his own grief
decided that he must ride there. |
|
|
He ordered his horse to be saddled and, leaving his regiment on the
march, rode to his father's estate where he had been born and spent his
childhood. Riding past the pond where there used always to be dozens of women
chattering as they rinsed their linen or beat it with wooden beetles, Prince
Andrew noticed that there was not a soul about and that the little washing
wharf, torn from its place and half submerged, was floating on its side in the
middle of the pond. He rode to the keeper's lodge. No one at the stone entrance
gates of the drive and the door stood open. Grass had already begun to grow on
the garden paths, and horses and calves were straying in the English park.
Prince Andrew rode up to the hothouse; some of the glass panes were broken, and
of the trees in tubs some were overturned and others dried up. He called for
Taras the gardener, but no one replied. Having gone round the corner of the
hothouse to the ornamental garden, he saw that the carved garden fence was
broken and branches of the plum trees had been torn off with the fruit. An old
peasant whom Prince Andrew in his childhood had often seen at the gate was
sitting on a green garden seat, plaiting a bast shoe. |
|
|
He was deaf and did not hear Prince Andrew ride up. He was sitting on the
seat the old prince used to like to sit on, and beside him strips of bast were
hanging on the broken and withered branch of a magnolia. |
|
|
Prince Andrew rode up to the house. Several limes in the old garden had
been cut down and a piebald mare and her foal were wandering in front of the
house among the rosebushes. The shutters were all closed, except at one window
which was open. A little serf boy, seeing Prince Andrew, ran into the house.
Alpatych, having sent his family away, was alone at Bald Hills and was sitting
indoors reading the Lives of the Saints. On hearing that Prince Andrew had come,
he went out with his spectacles on his nose, buttoning his coat, and, hastily
stepping up, without a word began weeping and kissing Prince Andrew's knee. |
|
|
Then, vexed at his own weakness, he turned away and began to report on
the position of affairs. Everything precious and valuable had been removed to
Bogucharovo. Seventy quarters of grain had also been carted away. The hay and
the spring corn, of which Alpatych said there had been a remarkable crop that
year, had been commandeered by the troops and mown down while still green. The
peasants were ruined; some of them too had gone to Bogucharovo, only a few
remained. |
|
|
Without waiting to hear him out, Prince Andrew asked: |
|
|
"When did my father and sister leave?" meaning when did they
leave for Moscow. |
|
|
Alpatych, understanding the question to refer to their departure for
Bogucharovo, replied that they had left on the seventh and again went into
details concerning the estate management, asking for instructions. |
|
|
"Am I to let the troops have the oats, and to take a receipt for
them? We have still six hundred quarters left," he inquired. |
|
|
"What am I to say to him?" thought Prince Andrew, looking down
on the old man's bald head shining in the sun and seeing by the expression on
his face that the old man himself understood how untimely such questions were
and only asked them to allay his grief. |
|
|
"Yes, let them have it," replied Prince Andrew. |
|
|
"If you noticed some disorder in the garden," said Alpatych,
"it was impossible to prevent it. Three regiments have been here and spent
the night, dragoons mostly. I took down the name and rank of their commanding
officer, to hand in a complaint about it." |
|
|
"Well, and what are you going to do? Will you stay here if the enemy
occupies the place?" asked Prince Andrew. |
|
|
Alpatych turned his face to Prince Andrew, looked at him, and suddenly
with a solemn gesture raised his arm. |
|
|
"He is my refuge! His will be done!" he exclaimed. |
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|
A group of bareheaded peasants was approaching across the meadow toward
the prince. |
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|
"Well, good-by!" said Prince Andrew, bending over to Alpatych.
"You must go away too, take away what you can and tell the serfs to go to
the Ryazan estate or to the one near Moscow." |
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|
Alpatych clung to Prince Andrew's leg and burst into sobs. Gently
disengaging himself, the prince spurred his horse and rode down the avenue at a
gallop. |
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|
The old man was still sitting in the ornamental garden, like a fly
impassive on the face of a loved one who is dead, tapping the last on which he
was making the bast shoe, and two little girls, running out from the hot house
carrying in their skirts plums they had plucked from the trees there, came upon
Prince Andrew. On seeing the young master, the elder one frightened look
clutched her younger companion by the hand and hid with her behind a birch tree,
not stopping to pick up some green plums they had dropped. |
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|
Prince Andrew turned away with startled haste, unwilling to let them see
that they had been observed. He was sorry for the pretty frightened little girl,
was afraid of looking at her, and yet felt an irresistible desire to do so. A
new sensation of comfort and relief came over him when, seeing these girls, he
realized the existence of other human interests entirely aloof from his own and
just as legitimate as those that occupied him. Evidently these girls
passionately desired one thing- to carry away and eat those green plums without
being caught- and Prince Andrew shared their wish for the success of their
enterprise. He could not resist looking at them once more. Believing their
danger past, they sprang from their ambush and, chirruping something in their
shrill little voices and holding up their skirts, their bare little sunburned
feet scampered merrily and quickly across the meadow grass. |
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|
Prince Andrew was somewhat refreshed by having ridden off the dusty
highroad along which the troops were moving. But not far from Bald Hills he
again came out on the road and overtook his regiment at its halting place by the
dam of a small pond. It was past one o'clock. The sun, a red ball through the
dust, burned and scorched his back intolerably through his black coat. The dust
always hung motionless above the buzz of talk that came from the resting troops.
There was no wind. As he crossed the dam Prince Andrew smelled the ooze and
freshness of the pond. He longed to get into that water, however dirty it might
be, and he glanced round at the pool from whence came sounds of shrieks and
laughter. The small, muddy, green pond had risen visibly more than a foot,
flooding the dam, because it was full of the naked white bodies of soldiers with
brick-red hands, necks, and faces, who were splashing about in it. All this
naked white human flesh, laughing and shrieking, floundered about in that dirty
pool like carp stuffed into a watering can, and the suggestion of merriment in
that floundering mass rendered it specially pathetic. |
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|
One fair-haired young soldier of the third company, whom Prince Andrew
knew and who had a strap round the calf of one leg, crossed himself, stepped
back to get a good run, and plunged into the water; another, a dark
noncommissioned officer who was always shaggy, stood up to his waist in the
water joyfully wriggling his muscular figure and snorted with satisfaction as he
poured the water over his head with hands blackened to the wrists. There were
sounds of men slapping one another, yelling, and puffing. |
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|
Everywhere on the bank, on the dam, and in the pond, there was healthy,
white, muscular flesh. The officer, Timokhin, with his red little nose, standing
on the dam wiping himself with a towel, felt confused at seeing the prince, but
made up his mind to address him nevertheless. |
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"It's very nice, your excellency! Wouldn't you like to?" said
he. |
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|
"It's dirty," replied Prince Andrew, making a grimace. |
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|
"We'll clear it out for you in a minute," said Timokhin, and,
still undressed, ran off to clear the men out of the pond. |
|
|
"The prince wants to bathe." |
|
|
"What prince? Ours?" said many voices, and the men were in such
haste to clear out that the prince could hardly stop them. He decided that he
would rather himself with water in the barn. |
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|
"Flesh, bodies, cannon fodder!" he thought, and he looked at
his own naked body and shuddered, not from cold but from a sense of disgust and
horror he did not himself understand, aroused by the sight of that immense
number of bodies splashing about in the dirty pond. |
|
|
On the seventh of August Prince Bagration wrote as follows from his
quarters at Mikhaylovna on the Smolensk road: |
|
|
Dear Count Alexis Andreevich- (He was writing to Arakcheev but knew that
his letter would be read by the Emperor, and therefore weighed every word in it
to the best of his ability.) |
|
|
I expect the Minister [Barclay de Tolly] has already reported the
abandonment of Smolensk to the enemy. It is pitiable and sad, and the whole army
is in despair that this most important place has been wantonly abandoned. I, for
my part, begged him personally most urgently and finally wrote him, but nothing
would induce him to consent. I swear to you on my honor that Napoleon was in
such a fix as never before and might have lost half his army but could not have
taken Smolensk. Our troops fought, and are fighting, as never before. With
fifteen thousand men I held the enemy at bay for thirty-five hours and beat him;
but he would not hold out even for fourteen hours. It is disgraceful, a stain on
our army, and as for him, he ought, it seems to me, not to live. If he reports
that our losses were great, it is not true; perhaps about four thousand, not
more, and not even that; but even were they ten thousand, that's war! But the
enemy has lost masses... |
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|
What would it have cost him to hold out for another two days? They would
have had to retire of their own accord, for they had no water for men or horses.
He gave me his word he would not retreat, but suddenly sent instructions that he
was retiring that night. We cannot fight in this way, or we may soon bring the
enemy to Moscow... |
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|
There is a rumor that you are thinking of peace. God forbid that you
should make peace after all our sacrifices and such insane retreats! You would
set all Russia against you and every one of us would feel ashamed to wear the
uniform. If it has come to this- we must fight as long as Russia can and as long
as there are men able to stand... |
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|
One man ought to be in command, and not two. Your Minister may perhaps be
good as a Minister, but as a general he is not merely bad but execrable, yet to
him is entrusted the fate of our whole country.... I am really frantic with
vexation; forgive my writing boldly. It is clear that the man who advocates the
conclusion of a peace, and that the Minister should command the army, does not
love our sovereign and desires the ruin of us all. So I write you frankly: call
out the militia. For the Minister is leading these visitors after him to Moscow
in a most masterly way. The whole army feels great suspicion of the Imperial
aide-de-camp Wolzogen. He is said to be more Napoleon's man than ours, and he is
always advising the Minister. I am not merely civil to him but obey him like a
corporal, though I am his senior. This is painful, but, loving my benefactor and
sovereign, I submit. Only I am sorry for the Emperor that he entrusts our fine
army to such as he. Consider that on our retreat we have lost by fatigue and
left in the hospital more than fifteen thousand men, and had we attacked this
would not have happened. Tell me, for God's sake, what will Russia, our mother
Russia, say to our being so frightened, and why are we abandoning our good and
gallant Fatherland to such rabble and implanting feelings of hatred and shame in
all our subjects? What are we scared at and of whom are we afraid? I am not to
blame that the Minister is vacillating, a coward, dense, dilatory, and has all
bad qualities. The whole army bewails it and calls down curses upon him... |
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|
Among the innumerable categories applicable to the phenomena of human
life one may discriminate between those in which substance prevails and those in
which form prevails. To the latter- as distinguished from village, country,
provincial, or even Moscow life- we may allot Petersburg life, and especially
the life of its salons. That life of the salons is unchanging. Since the year
1805 we had made peace and had again quarreled with Bonaparte and had made
constitutions and unmade them again, but the salons of Anna Pavlovna Helene
remained just as they had been- the one seven and the other five years before.
At Anna Pavlovna's they talked with perplexity of Bonaparte's successes just as
before and saw in them and in the subservience shown to him by the European
sovereigns a malicious conspiracy, the sole object of which was to cause
unpleasantness and anxiety to the court circle of which Anna Pavlovna was the
representative. And in Helene's salon, which Rumyantsev himself honored with his
visits, regarding Helene as a remarkably intelligent woman, they talked with the
same ecstasy in 1812 as in 1808 of the "great nation" and the
"great man," and regretted our rupture with France, a rupture which,
according to them, ought to be promptly terminated by peace. |
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|
Of late, since the Emperor's return from the army, there had been some
excitement in these conflicting salon circles and some demonstrations of
hostility to one another, but each camp retained its own tendency. In Anna
Pavlovna's circle only those Frenchmen were admitted who were deep-rooted
legitimists, and patriotic views were expressed to the effect that one ought not
to go to the French theater and that to maintain the French troupe was costing
the government as much as a whole army corps. The progress of the war was
eagerly followed, and only the reports most flattering to our army were
circulated. In the French circle of Helene and Rumyantsev the reports of the
cruelty of the enemy and of the war were contradicted and all Napoleon's
attempts at conciliation were discussed. In that circle they discountenanced
those who advised hurried preparations for a removal to Kazan of the court and
the girls' educational establishments under the patronage of the Dowager
Empress. In Helene's circle the war in general was regarded as a series of
formal demonstrations which would very soon end in peace, and the view prevailed
expressed by Bilibin- who now in Petersburg was quite at home in Helene's house,
which every clever man was obliged to visit- that not by gunpowder but by those
who invented it would matters be settled. In that circle the Moscow enthusiasm-
news of which had reached Petersburg simultaneously with the Emperor's return-
was ridiculed sarcastically and very cleverly, though with much caution. |
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|
Anna Pavlovna's circle on the contrary was enraptured by this enthusiasm
and spoke of it as Plutarch speaks of the deeds of the ancients. Prince Vasili,
who still occupied his former important posts, formed a connecting link between
these two circles. He visited his "good friend Anna Pavlovna" as well
as his daughter's "diplomatic salon," and often in his constant
comings and goings between the two camps became confused and said at Helene's
what he should have said at Anna Pavlovna's and vice versa. |
|
|
Soon after the Emperor's return Prince Vasili in a conversation about the
war at Anna Pavlovna's severely condemned Barclay de Tolly, but was undecided as
to who ought to be appointed commander in chief. One of the visitors, usually
spoken of as "a man of great merit," having described how he had that
day seen Kutuzov, the newly chosen chief of the Petersburg militia, presiding
over the enrollment of recruits at the Treasury, cautiously ventured to suggest
that Kutuzov would be the man to satisfy all requirements. |
|
|
Anna Pavlovna remarked with a melancholy smile that Kutuzov had done
nothing but cause the Emperor annoyance. |
|
|
"I have talked and talked at the Assembly of the Nobility,"
Prince Vasili interrupted, "but they did not listen to me. I told them his
election as chief of the militia would not please the Emperor. They did not
listen to me. |
|
|
"It's all this mania for opposition," he went on. "And who
for? It is all because we want to ape the foolish enthusiasm of those
Muscovites," Prince Vasili continued, forgetting for a moment that though
at Helene's one had to ridicule the Moscow enthusiasm, at Anna Pavlovna's one
had to be ecstatic about it. But he retrieved his mistake at once. "Now, is
it suitable that Count Kutuzov, the oldest general in Russia, should preside at
that tribunal? He will get nothing for his pains! How could they make a man
commander in chief who cannot mount a horse, who drops asleep at a council, and
has the very worst morals! A good reputation he made for himself at Bucharest! I
don't speak of his capacity as a general, but at a time like this how they
appoint they appoint a decrepit, blind old man, positively blind? A fine idea to
have a blind general! He can't see anything. To play blindman's bluff? He can't
see at all!" |
|
|
No one replied to his remarks. |
|
|
This was quite correct on the twenty-fourth of July. But on the
twenty-ninth of July Kutuzov received the title of Prince. This might indicate a
wish to get rid of him, and therefore Prince Vasili's opinion continued to be
correct though he was not now in any hurry to express it. But on the eighth of
August a committee, consisting of Field Marshal Saltykov, Arakcheev,
Vyazmitinov, Lopukhin, and Kochubey met to consider the progress of the war.
This committee came to the conclusion that our failures were due to a want of
unity in the command and though the members of the committee were aware of the
Emperor's dislike of Kutuzov, after a short deliberation they agreed to advise
his appointment as commander in chief. That same day Kutuzov was appointed
commander in chief with full powers over the armies and over the whole region
occupied by them. |
|
|
On the ninth of August Prince Vasili at Anna Pavlovna's again met the
"man of great merit." The latter was very attentive to Anna Pavlovna
because he wanted to be appointed director of one of the educational
establishments for young ladies. Prince Vasili entered the room with the air of
a happy conqueror who has attained the object of his desires. |
|
|
"Well, have you heard the great news? Prince Kutuzov is field
marshal! All dissensions are at an end! I am so glad, so delighted! At last we
have a man!" said he, glancing sternly and significantly round at everyone
in the drawing room. |
|
|
The "man of great merit," despite his desire to obtain the post
of director, could not refrain from reminding Prince Vasili of his former
opinion. Though this was impolite to Prince Vasili in Anna Pavlovna's drawing
room, and also to Anna Pavlovna herself who had received the news with delight,
he could not resist the temptation. |
|
|
"But, Prince, they say he is blind!" said he, reminding Prince
Vasili of his own words. |
|
|
"Eh? Nonsense! He sees well enough," said Prince Vasili
rapidly, in a deep voice and with a slight cough- the voice and cough with which
he was wont to dispose of all difficulties. |
|
|
"He sees well enough," he added. "And what I am so pleased
about," he went on, "is that our sovereign has given him full powers
over all the armies and the whole region- powers no commander in chief ever had
before. He is a second autocrat," he concluded with a victorious smile. |
|
|
"God grant it! God grant it!" said Anna Pavlovna. |
|
|
The "man of great merit," who was still a novice in court
circles, wishing to flatter Anna Pavlovna by defending her former position on
this question, observed: |
|
|
"It is said that the Emperor was reluctant to give Kutuzov those
powers. They say he blushed like a girl to whom Joconde is read, when he said to
Kutuzov: 'Your Emperor and the Fatherland award you this honor.' |
|
|
"Perhaps the heart took no part in that speech," said Anna
Pavlovna. |
|
|
"Oh, no, no!" warmly rejoined Prince Vasili, who would not now
yield Kutuzov to anyone; in his opinion Kutuzov was not only admirable himself,
but was adored by everybody. "No, that's impossible," said he,
"for our sovereign appreciated him so highly before." |
|
|
"God grant only that Prince Kutuzov assumes real power and does not
allow anyone to put a spoke in his wheel," observed Anna Pavlovna. |
|
|
Understanding at once to whom she alluded, Prince Vasili said in a
whisper: |
|
|
"I know for a fact that Kutuzov made it an absolute condition that
the Tsarevich should not be with the army. Do you know what he said to the
Emperor?" |
|
|
And Prince Vasili repeated the words supposed to have been spoken by
Kutuzov to the Emperor. "I can neither punish him if he does wrong nor
reward him if he does right." |
|
|
"Oh, a very wise man is Prince Kutuzov! I have known him a long
time!" |
|
|
"They even say," remarked the "man of great merit"
who did not yet possess courtly tact, "that his excellency made it an
express condition that the sovereign himself should not be with the army." |
|
|
As soon as he said this both Prince Vasili and Anna Pavlovna turned away
from him and glanced sadly at one another with a sigh at his naivete. |
|
|
While this was taking place in Petersburg the French had already passed
Smolensk and were drawing nearer and nearer to Moscow. Napoleon's historian
Thiers, like other of his historians, trying to justify his hero says that he
was drawn to the walls of Moscow against his will. He is as right as other
historians who look for the explanation of historic events in the will of one
man; he is as right as the Russian historians who maintain that Napoleon was
drawn to Moscow by the skill of the Russian commanders. Here besides the law of
retrospection, which regards all the past as a preparation for events that
subsequently occur, the law of reciprocity comes in, confusing the whole matter.
A good chessplayer having lost a game is sincerely convinced that his loss
resulted from a mistake he made and looks for that mistake in the opening, but
forgets that at each stage of the game there were similar mistakes and that none
of his moves were perfect. He only notices the mistake to which he pays
attention, because his opponent took advantage of it. How much more complex than
this is the game of war, which occurs under certain limits of time, and where it
is not one will that manipulates lifeless objects, but everything results from
innumerable conflicts of various wills! |
|
|
After Smolensk Napoleon sought a battle beyond Dorogobuzh at Vyazma, and
then at Tsarevo-Zaymishche, but it happened that owing to a conjunction of
innumerable circumstances the Russians could not give battle till they reached
Borodino, seventy miles from Moscow. From Vyazma Napoleon ordered a direct
advance on Moscow. |
|
|
Moscou, la capitale asiatique de ce grand empire, la ville sacree des
peuples d'Alexandre, Moscou avec ses innombrables eglises en forme de pagodes
chinoises,* this Moscow gave Napoleon's imagination no rest. On the march from
Vyazma to Tsarevo-Zaymishche he rode his light bay bobtailed ambler accompanied
by his Guards, his bodyguard, his pages, and aides-de-camp. Berthier, his chief
of staff, dropped behind to question a Russian prisoner captured by the cavalry.
Followed by Lelorgne d'Ideville, an interpreter, he overtook Napoleon at a
gallop and reined in his horse with an amused expression. |
|
|
*"Moscow, the Asiatic capital of this great empire, the sacred city
of Alexander's people, Moscow with its innumerable churches shaped like Chinese
pagodas." |
|
|
"Well?" asked Napoleon. |
|
|
"One of Platov's Cossacks says that Platov's corps is joining up
with the main army and that Kutuzov has been appointed commander in chief. He is
a very shrewd and garrulous fellow." |
|
|
Napoleon smiled and told them to give the Cossack a horse and bring the
man to him. He wished to talk to him himself. Several adjutants galloped off,
and an hour later, Lavrushka, the serf Denisov had handed over to Rostov, rode
up to Napoleon in an orderly's jacket and on a French cavalry saddle, with a
merry, and tipsy face. Napoleon told him to ride by his side and began
questioning him. |
|
|
"You are a Cossack?" |
|
|
"Yes, a Cossack, your Honor." |
|
|
"The Cossack, not knowing in what company he was, for Napoleon's
plain appearance had nothing about it that would reveal to an Oriental mind the
presence of a monarch, talked with extreme familiarity of the incidents of the
war," says Thiers, narrating this episode. In reality Lavrushka, having got
drunk the day before and left his master dinnerless, had been whipped and sent
to the village in quest of chickens, where he engaged in looting till the French
took him prisoner. Lavrushka was one of those coarse, bare-faced lackeys who
have seen all sorts of things, consider it necessary to do everything in a mean
and cunning way, are ready to render any sort of service to their master, and
are keen at guessing their master's baser impulses, especially those prompted by
vanity and pettiness. |
|
|
Finding himself in the company of Napoleon, whose identity he had easily
and surely recognized, Lavrushka was not in the least abashed but merely did his
utmost to gain his new master's favor. |
|
|
He knew very well that this was Napoleon, but Napoleon's presence could
no more intimidate him than Rostov's, or a sergeant major's with the rods, would
have done, for he had nothing that either the sergeant major or Napoleon could
deprive him of. |
|
|
So he rattled on, telling all the gossip he had heard among the
orderlies. Much of it true. But when Napoleon asked him whether the Russians
thought they would beat Bonaparte or not, Lavrushka screwed up his eyes and
considered. |
|
|
In this question he saw subtle cunning, as men of his type see cunning in
everything, so he frowned and did not answer immediately. |
|
|
"It's like this," he said thoughtfully, "if there's a
battle soon, yours will win. That's right. But if three days pass, then after
that, well, then that same battle will not soon be over." |
|
|
Lelorgne d'Ideville smilingly interpreted this speech to Napoleon thus:
"If a battle takes place within the next three days the French will win,
but if later, God knows what will happen." Napoleon did not smile, though
he was evidently in high good humor, and he ordered these words to be repeated. |
|
|
Lavrushka noticed this and to entertain him further, pretending not to
know who Napoleon was, added: |
|
|
"We know that you have Bonaparte and that he has beaten everybody in
the world, but we are a different matter..."- without knowing why or how
this bit of boastful patriotism slipped out at the end. |
|
|
The interpreter translated these words without the last phrase, and
Bonaparte smiled. "The young Cossack made his mighty interlocutor
smile," says Thiers. After riding a few paces in silence, Napoleon turned
to Berthier and said he wished to see how the news that he was talking to the
Emperor himself, to that very Emperor who had written his immortally victorious
name on the Pyramids, would affect this enfant du Don.* |
|
|
*"Child of the Don." |
|
|
The fact was accordingly conveyed to Lavrushka. |
|
|
Lavrushka, understanding that this was done to perplex him and that
Napoleon expected him to be frightened, to gratify his new masters promptly
pretended to be astonished and awe-struck, opened his eyes wide, and assumed the
expression he usually put on when taken to be whipped. "As soon as
Napoleon's interpreter had spoken," says Thiers, "the Cossack, seized
by amazement, did not utter another word, but rode on, his eyes fixed on the
conqueror whose fame had reached him across the steppes of the East. All his
loquacity was suddenly arrested and replaced by a naive and silent feeling of
admiration. Napoleon, after making the Cossack a present, had him set free like
a bird restored to its native fields." |
|
|
Napoleon rode on, dreaming of the Moscow that so appealed to his
imagination, and "the bird restored to its native fields" galloped to
our outposts, inventing on the way all that had not taken place but that he
meant to relate to his comrades. What had really taken place he did not wish to
relate because it seemed to him not worth telling. He found the Cossacks,
inquired for the regiment operating with Platov's detachment and by evening
found his master, Nicholas Rostov, quartered at Yankovo. Rostov was just
mounting to go for a ride round the neighboring villages with Ilyin; he let
Lavrushka have another horse and took him along with him. |
|
|
Princess Mary was not in Moscow and out of danger as Prince Andrew
supposed. |
|
|
After the return of Alpatych from Smolensk the old prince suddenly seemed
to awake as from a dream. He ordered the militiamen to be called up from the
villages and armed, and wrote a letter to the commander in chief informing him
that he had resolved to remain at Bald Hills to the last extremity and to defend
it, leaving to the commander in chief's discretion to take measures or not for
the defense of Bald Hills, where one of Russia's oldest generals would be
captured or killed, and he announced to his household that he would remain at
Bald Hills. |
|
|
But while himself remaining, he gave instructions for the departure of
the princess and Dessalles with the little prince to Bogucharovo and thence to
Moscow. Princess Mary, alarmed by her father's feverish and sleepless activity
after his previous apathy, could not bring herself to leave him alone and for
the first time in her life ventured to disobey him. She refused to go away and
her father's fury broke over her in a terrible storm. He repeated every
injustice he had ever inflicted on her. Trying to convict her, he told her she
had worn him out, had caused his quarrel with his son, had harbored nasty
suspicions of him, making it the object of her life to poison his existence, and
he drove her from his study telling her that if she did not go away it was all
the same to him. He declared that he did not wish to remember her existence and
warned her not to dare to let him see her. The fact that he did not, as she had
feared, order her to be carried away by force but only told her not to let him
see her cheered Princess Mary. She knew it was a proof that in the depth of his
soul he was glad she was remaining at home and had not gone away. |
|
|
The morning after little Nicholas had left, the old prince donned his
full uniform and prepared to visit the commander in chief. His caleche was
already at the door. Princess Mary saw him walk out of the house in his uniform
wearing all his orders and go down the garden to review his armed peasants and
domestic serfs. She sat by the window listening to his voice which reached her
from the garden. Suddenly several men came running up the avenue with frightened
faces. |
|
|
Princess Mary ran out to the porch, down the flower-bordered path, and
into the avenue. A large crowd of militiamen and domestics were moving toward
her, and in their midst several men were supporting by the armpits and dragging
along a little old man in a uniform and decorations. She ran up to him and, in
the play of the sunlight that fell in small round spots through the shade of the
lime-tree avenue, could not be sure what change there was in his face. All she
could see was that his former stern and determined expression had altered to one
of timidity and submission. On seeing his daughter he moved his helpless lips
and made a hoarse sound. It was impossible to make out what he wanted. He was
lifted up, carried to his study, and laid on the very couch he had so feared of
late. |
|
|
The doctor, who was fetched that same night, bled him and said that the
prince had had seizure a paralyzing his right side. |
|
|
It was becoming more and more dangerous to remain at Bald Hills, and next
day they moved the prince to Bogucharovo, the doctor accompanying him. |
|
|
By the time they reached Bogucharovo, Dessalles and the little prince had
already left for Moscow. |
|
|
For three weeks the old prince lay stricken by paralysis in the new house
Prince Andrew had built at Bogucharovo, ever in the same state, getting neither
better nor worse. He was unconscious and lay like a distorted corpse. He
muttered unceasingly, his eyebrows and lips twitching, and it was impossible to
tell whether he understood what was going on around him or not. One thing was
certain- that he was suffering and wished to say something. But what it was, no
one could tell: it might be some caprice of a sick and half-crazy man, or it
might relate to public affairs, or possibly to family concerns. |
|
|
The doctor said this restlessness did not mean anything and was due to
physical causes; but Princess Mary thought he wished to tell her something, and
the fact that her presence always increased his restlessness confirmed her
opinion. |
|
|
He was evidently suffering both physically and mentally. There was no
hope of recovery. It was impossible for him to travel, it would not do to let
him die on the road. "Would it not be better if the end did come, the very
end?" Princess Mary sometimes thought. Night and day, hardly sleeping at
all, she watched him and, terrible to say, often watched him not with hope of
finding signs of improvement but wishing to find symptoms of the approach of the
end. |
|
|
Strange as it was to her to acknowledge this feeling in herself, yet
there it was. And what seemed still more terrible to her was that since her
father's illness began (perhaps even sooner, when she stayed with him expecting
something to happen), all the personal desires and hopes that had been forgotten
or sleeping within her had awakened. Thoughts that had not entered her mind for
years- thoughts of a life free from the fear of her father, and even the
possibility of love and of family happiness- floated continually in her
imagination like temptations of the devil. Thrust them aside as she would,
questions continually recurred to her as to how she would order her life now,
after that. These were temptations of the devil and Princess Mary knew it. She
knew that the sole weapon against him was prayer, and she tried to pray. She
assumed an attitude of prayer, looked at the icons, repeated the words of a
prayer, but she could not pray. She felt that a different world had now taken
possession of her- the life of a world of strenuous and free activity, quite
opposed to the spiritual world in which till now she had been confined and in
which her greatest comfort had been prayer. She could not pray, could not weep,
and worldly cares took possession of her. |
|
|
It was becoming dangerous to remain in Bogucharovo. News of the approach
of the French came from all sides, and in one village, ten miles from
Bogucharovo, a homestead had been looted by French marauders. |
|
|
The doctor insisted on the necessity of moving the prince; the provincial
Marshal of the Nobility sent an official to Princess Mary to persuade her to get
away as quickly as possible, and the head of the rural police having come to
Bogucharovo urged the same thing, saying that the French were only some
twenty-five miles away, that French proclamations were circulating in the
villages, and that if the princess did not take her father away before the
fifteenth, he could not answer for the consequences. |
|
|
The princess decided to leave on the fifteenth. The cares of preparation
and giving orders, for which everyone came to her, occupied her all day. She
spent the night of the fourteenth as usual, without undressing, in the room next
to the one where the prince lay. Several times, waking up, she heard his groans
and muttering, the creak of his bed, and the steps of Tikhon and the doctor when
they turned him over. Several times she listened at the door, and it seemed to
her that his mutterings were louder than usual and that they turned him over
oftener. She could not sleep and several times went to the door and listened,
wishing to enter but not deciding to do so. Though he did not speak, Princess
Mary saw and knew how unpleasant every sign of anxiety on his account was to
him. She had noticed with what dissatisfaction he turned from the look she
sometimes involuntarily fixed on him. She knew that her going in during the
night at an unusual hour would irritate him. |
|
|
But never had she felt so grieved for him or so much afraid of losing
him. She recalled all her life with him and in every word and act of his found
an expression of his love of her. Occasionally amid these memories temptations
of the devil would surge into her imagination: thoughts of how things would be
after his death, and how her new, liberated life would be ordered. But she drove
these thoughts away with disgust. Toward morning he became quiet and she fell
asleep. |
|
|
She woke late. That sincerity which often comes with waking showed her
clearly what chiefly concerned her about her father's illness. On waking she
listened to what was going on behind the door and, hearing him groan, said to
herself with a sigh that things were still the same. |
|
|
"But what could have happened? What did I want? I want his
death!" she cried with a feeling of loathing for herself. |
|
|
She washed, dressed, said her prayers, and went out to the porch. In
front of it stood carriages without horses and things were being packed into the
vehicles. |
|
|
It was a warm, gray morning. Princess Mary stopped at the porch, still
horrified by her spiritual baseness and trying to arrange her thoughts before
going to her father. The doctor came downstairs and went out to her. |
|
|
"He is a little better today," said he. "I was looking for
you. One can make out something of what he is saying. His head is clearer. Come
in, he is asking for you..." |
|
|
Princess Mary's heart beat so violently at this news that she grew pale
and leaned against the wall to keep from falling. To see him, talk to him, feel
his eyes on her now that her whole soul was overflowing with those dreadful,
wicked temptations, was a torment of joy and terror. |
|
|
"Come," said the doctor. |
|
|
Princess Mary entered her father's room and went up to his bed. He was
lying on his back propped up high, and his small bony hands with their knotted
purple veins were lying on the quilt; his left eye gazed straight before him,
his right eye was awry, and his brows and lips motionless. He seemed altogether
so thin, small, and pathetic. His face seemed to have shriveled or melted; his
features had grown smaller. Princess Mary went up and kissed his hand. His left
hand pressed hers so that she understood that he had long been waiting for her
to come. He twitched her hand, and his brows and lips quivered angrily. |
|
|
She looked at him in dismay trying to guess what he wanted of her. When
she changed her position so that his left eye could see her face he calmed down,
not taking his eyes off her for some seconds. Then his lips and tongue moved,
sounds came, and he began to speak, gazing timidly and imploringly at her,
evidently afraid that she might not understand. |
|
|
Straining all her faculties Princess Mary looked at him. The comic
efforts with which he moved his tongue made her drop her eyes and with
difficulty repress the sobs that rose to her throat. He said something,
repeating the same words several times. She could not understand them, but tried
to guess what he was saying and inquiringly repeated the words he uttered. |
|
|
"Mmm...ar...ate...ate..." he repeated several times. |
|
|
It was quite impossible to understand these sounds. The doctor thought he
had guessed them, and inquiringly repeated: "Mary, are you afraid?"
The prince shook his head, again repeated the same sounds. |
|
|
"My mind, my mind aches?" questioned Princess Mary. |
|
|
He made a mumbling sound in confirmation of this, took her hand, and
began pressing it to different parts of his breast as if trying to find the
right place for it. |
|
|
"Always thoughts... about you... thoughts..." he then uttered
much more clearly than he had done before, now that he was sure of being
understood. |
|
|
Princess Mary pressed her head against his hand, trying to hide her sobs
and tears. |
|
|
He moved his hand over her hair. |
|
|
"I have been calling you all night..." he brought out. |
|
|
"If only I had known..." she said through her tears. "I
was afraid to come in." |
|
|
He pressed her hand. |
|
|
"Weren't you asleep?" |
|
|
"No, I did not sleep," said Princess Mary, shaking her head. |
|
|
Unconsciously imitating her father, she now tried to express herself as
he did, as much as possible by signs, and her tongue too seemed to move with
difficulty. |
|
|
"Dear one... Dearest..." Princess Mary could not quite make out
what he had said, but from his look it was clear that he had uttered a tender
caressing word such as he had never used to her before. "Why didn't you
come in?" |
|
|
"And I was wishing for his death!" thought Princess Mary. |
|
|
He was silent awhile. |
|
|
"Thank you... daughter dear!... for all, for all... forgive!...
thank you!... forgive!... thank you!..." and tears began to flow from his
eyes. "Call Andrew!" he said suddenly, and a childish, timid
expression of doubt showed itself on his face as he spoke. |
|
|
He himself seemed aware that his demand was meaningless. So at least it
seemed to Princess Mary. |
|
|
"I have a letter from him," she replied. |
|
|
He glanced at her with timid surprise. |
|
|
"Where is he?" |
|
|
"He's with the army, Father, at Smolensk." |
|
|
He closed his eyes and remained silent a long time. Then as if in answer
to his doubts and to confirm the fact that now he understood and remembered
everything, he nodded his head and reopened his eyes. |
|
|
"Yes," he said, softly and distinctly. "Russia has
perished. They've destroyed her." |
|
|
And he began to sob, and again tears flowed from his eyes. Princess Mary
could no longer restrain herself and wept while she gazed at his face. |
|
|
Again he closed his eyes. His sobs ceased, he pointed to his eyes, and
Tikhon, understanding him, wiped away the tears. |
|
|
Then he again opened his eyes and said something none of them could
understand for a long time, till at last Tikhon understood and repeated it.
Princess Mary had sought the meaning of his words in the mood in which he had
just been speaking. She thought he was speaking of Russia, or Prince Andrew, of
herself, of his grandson, or of his own death, and so she could not guess his
words. |
|
|
"Put on your white dress. I like it," was what he said. |
|
|
Having understood this Princess Mary sobbed still louder, and the doctor
taking her arm led her out to the veranda, soothing her and trying to persuade
her to prepare for her journey. When she had left the room the prince again
began speaking about his son, about the war, and about the Emperor, angrily
twitching his brows and raising his hoarse voice, and then he had a second and
final stroke. |
|
|
Princess Mary stayed on the veranda. The day had cleared, it was hot and
sunny. She could understand nothing, think of nothing and feel nothing, except
passionate love for her father, love such as she thought she had never felt till
that moment. She ran out sobbing into the garden and as far as the pond, along
the avenues of young lime trees Prince Andrew had planted. |
|
|
"Yes... I... I... I wished for his death! Yes, I wanted it to end
quicker.... I wished to be at peace.... And what will become of me? What use
will peace be when he is no longer here?" Princess Mary murmured, pacing
the garden with hurried steps and pressing her hands to her bosom which heaved
with convulsive sobs. |
|
|
When she had completed the tour of the garden, which brought her again to
the house, she saw Mademoiselle Bourienne- who had remained at Bogucharovo and
did not wish to leave it- coming toward her with a stranger. This was the
Marshal of the Nobility of the district, who had come personally to point out to
the princess the necessity for her prompt departure. Princess Mary listened
without understanding him; she led him to the house, offered him lunch, and sat
down with him. Then, excusing herself, she went to the door of the old prince's
room. The doctor came out with an agitated face and said she could not enter. |
|
|
"Go away, Princess! Go away... go away!" |
|
|
She returned to the garden and sat down on the grass at the foot of the
slope by the pond, where no one could see her. She did not know how long she had
been there when she was aroused by the sound of a woman's footsteps running
along the path. She rose and saw Dunyasha her maid, who was evidently looking
for her, and who stopped suddenly as if in alarm on seeing her mistress. |
|
|
"Please come, Princess... The Prince," said Dunyasha in a
breaking voice. |
|
|
"Immediately, I'm coming, I'm coming!" replied the princess
hurriedly, not giving Dunyasha time to finish what she was saying, and trying to
avoid seeing the girl she ran toward the house. |
|
|
"Princess, it's God's will! You must be prepared for
everything," said the Marshal, meeting her at the house door. |
|
|
"Let me alone; it's not true!" she cried angrily to him. |
|
|
The doctor tried to stop her. She pushed him aside and ran to her
father's door. "Why are these people with frightened faces stopping me? I
don't want any of them! And what are they doing here?" she thought. She
opened the door and the bright daylight in that previously darkened room
startled her. In the room were her nurse and other women. They all drew back
from the bed, making way for her. He was still lying on the bed as before, but
the stern expression of his quiet face made Princess Mary stop short on the
threshold. |
|
|
"No, he's not dead- it's impossible!" she told herself and
approached him, and repressing the terror that seized her, she pressed her lips
to his cheek. But she stepped back immediately. All the force of the tenderness
she had been feeling for him vanished instantly and was replaced by a feeling of
horror at what lay there before her. "No, he is no more! He is not, but
here where he was is something unfamiliar and hostile, some dreadful,
terrifying, and repellent mystery!" And hiding her face in her hands,
Princess Mary sank into the arms of the doctor, who held her up. |
|
|
In the presence of Tikhon and the doctor the women washed what had been
the prince, tied his head up with a handkerchief that the mouth should not
stiffen while open, and with another handkerchief tied together the legs that
were already spreading apart. Then they dressed him in uniform with his
decorations and placed his shriveled little body on a table. Heaven only knows
who arranged all this and when, but it all got done as if of its own accord.
Toward night candles were burning round his coffin, a pall was spread over it,
the floor was strewn with sprays of juniper, a printed band was tucked in under
his shriveled head, and in a corner of the room sat a chanter reading the
psalms. |
|
|
Just as horses shy and snort and gather about a dead horse, so the
inmates of the house and strangers crowded into the drawing room round the
coffin- the Marshal, the village Elder, peasant women- and all with fixed and
frightened eyes, crossing themselves, bowed and kissed the old prince's cold and
stiffened hand. |
|
|
Until Prince Andrew settled in Bogucharovo its owners had always been
absentees, and its peasants were of quite a different character from those of
Bald Hills. They differed from them in speech, dress, and disposition. They were
called steppe peasants. The old prince used to approve of them for their
endurance at work when they came to Bald Hills to help with the harvest or to
dig ponds, and ditches, but he disliked them for their boorishness. |
|
|
Prince Andrew's last stay at Bogucharovo, when he introduced hospitals
and schools and reduced the quitrent the peasants had to pay, had not softened
their disposition but had on the contrary strengthened in them the traits of
character the old prince called boorishness. Various obscure rumors were always
current among them: at one time a rumor that they would all be enrolled as
Cossacks; at another of a new religion to which they were all to be converted;
then of some proclamation of the Tsar's and of an oath to the Tsar Paul in 1797
(in connection with which it was rumored that freedom had been granted them but
the landowners had stopped it), then of Peter Fedorovich's return to the throne
in seven years' time, when everything would be made free and so
"simple" that there would be no restrictions. Rumors of the war with
Bonaparte and his invasion were connected in their minds with the same sort of
vague notions of Antichrist, the end of the world, and "pure freedom." |
|
|
In the vicinity of Bogucharovo were large villages belonging to the crown
or to owners whose serfs paid quitrent and could work where they pleased. There
were very few resident landlords in the neighborhood and also very few domestic
or literate serfs, and in the lives of the peasantry of those parts the
mysterious undercurrents in the life of the Russian people, the causes and
meaning of which are so baffling to contemporaries, were more clearly and
strongly noticeable than among others. One instance, which had occurred some
twenty years before, was a movement among the peasants to emigrate to some
unknown "warm rivers." Hundreds of peasants, among them the
Bogucharovo folk, suddenly began selling their cattle and moving in whole
families toward the southeast. As birds migrate to somewhere beyond the sea, so
these men with their wives and children streamed to the southeast, to parts
where none of them had ever been. They set off in caravans, bought their freedom
one by one or ran away, and drove or walked toward the "warm rivers."
Many of them were punished, some sent to Siberia, many died of cold and hunger
on the road, many returned of their own accord, and the movement died down of
itself just as it had sprung up, without apparent reason. But such undercurrents
still existed among the people and gathered new forces ready to manifest
themselves just as strangely, unexpectedly, and at the same time simply,
naturally, and forcibly. Now in 1812, to anyone living in close touch with these
people it was apparent that these undercurrents were acting strongly and nearing
an eruption. |
|
|
Alpatych, who had reached Bogucharovo shortly before the old prince's
death, noticed an agitation among the peasants, and that contrary to what was
happening in the Bald Hills district, where over a radius of forty miles all the
peasants were moving away and leaving their villages to be devastated by the
Cossacks, the peasants in the steppe region round Bogucharovo were, it was
rumored, in touch with the French, received leaflets from them that passed from
hand to hand, and did not migrate. He learned from domestic serfs loyal to him
that the peasant Karp, who possessed great influence in the village commune and
had recently been away driving a government transport, had returned with news
that the Cossacks were destroying deserted villages, but that the French did not
harm them. Alpatych also knew that on the previous day another peasant had even
brought from the village of Visloukhovo, which was occupied by the French, a
proclamation by a French general that no harm would be done to the inhabitants,
and if they remained they would be paid for anything taken from them. As proof
of this the peasant had brought from Visloukhovo a hundred rubles in notes (he
did not know that they were false) paid to him in advance for hay. |
|
|
More important still, Alpatych learned that on the morning of the very
day he gave the village Elder orders to collect carts to move the princess'
luggage from Bogucharovo, there had been a village meeting at which it had been
decided not to move but to wait. Yet there was no time to waste. On the
fifteenth, the day of the old prince's death, the Marshal had insisted on
Princess Mary's leaving at once, as it was becoming dangerous. He had told her
that after the sixteenth he could not be responsible for what might happen. On
the evening of the day the old prince died the Marshal went away, promising to
return next day for the funeral. But this he was unable to do, for he received
tidings that the French had unexpectedly advanced, and had barely time to remove
his own family and valuables from his estate. |
|
|
For some thirty years Bogucharovo had been managed by the village Elder,
Dron, whom the old prince called by the diminutive "Dronushka." |
|
|
Dron was one of those physically and mentally vigorous peasants who grow
big beards as soon as they are of age and go on unchanged till they are sixty or
seventy, without a gray hair or the loss of a tooth, as straight and strong at
sixty as at thirty. |
|
|
Soon after the migration to the "warm rivers," in which he had
taken part like the rest, Dron was made village Elder and overseer of
Bogucharovo, and had since filled that post irreproachably for twenty-three
years. The peasants feared him more than they did their master. The masters,
both the old prince and the young, and the steward respected him and jestingly
called him "the Minister." During the whole time of his service Dron
had never been drunk or ill, never after sleepless nights or the hardest tasks
had he shown the least fatigue, and though he could not read he had never
forgotten a single money account or the number of quarters of flour in any of
the endless cartloads he sold for the prince, nor a single shock of the whole
corn crop on any single acre of the Bogucharovo fields. |
|
|
Alpatych, arriving from the devastated Bald Hills estate, sent for his
Dron on the day of the prince's funeral and told him to have twelve horses got
ready for the princess' carriages and eighteen carts for the things to be
removed from Bogucharovo. Though the peasants paid quitrent, Alpatych thought no
difficulty would be made about complying with this order, for there were two
hundred and thirty households at work in Bogucharovo and the peasants were well
to do. But on hearing the order Dron lowered his eyes and remained silent.
Alpatych named certain peasants he knew, from whom he told him to take the
carts. |
|
|
Dron replied that the horses of these peasants were away carting.
Alpatych named others, but they too, according to Dron, had no horses available:
some horses were carting for the government, others were too weak, and others
had died for want of fodder. It seemed that no horses could be had even for the
carriages, much less for the carting. |
|
|
Alpatych looked intently at Dron and frowned. Just as Dron was a model
village Elder, so Alpatych had not managed the prince's estates for twenty years
in vain. He a model steward, possessing in the highest degree the faculty of
divining the needs and instincts of those he dealt with. Having glanced at Dron
he at once understood that his answers did not express his personal views but
the general mood of the Bogucharovo commune, by which the Elder had already been
carried away. But he also knew that Dron, who had acquired property and was
hated by the commune, must be hesitating between the two camps: the masters' and
the serfs'. He noticed this hesitation in Dron's look and therefore frowned and
moved closer up to him. |
|
|
"Now just listen, Dronushka," said he. "Don't talk
nonsense to me. His excellency Prince Andrew himself gave me orders to move all
the people away and not leave them with the enemy, and there is an order from
the Tsar about it too. Anyone who stays is a traitor to the Tsar. Do you
hear?" |
|
|
"I hear," Dron answered without lifting his eyes. |
|
|
Alpatych was not satisfied with this reply. |
|
|
"Eh, Dron, it will turn out badly!" he said, shaking his head. |
|
|
"The power is in your hands," Dron rejoined sadly. |
|
|
"Eh, Dron, drop it!" Alpatych repeated, withdrawing his hand
from his bosom and solemnly pointing to the floor at Dron's feet. "I can
see through you and three yards into the ground under you," he continued,
gazing at the floor in front of Dron. |
|
|
Dron was disconcerted, glanced furtively at Alpatych and again lowered
his eyes. |
|
|
"You drop this nonsense and tell the people to get ready to leave
their homes and go to Moscow and to get carts ready for tomorrow morning for the
princess' things. And don't go to any meeting yourself, do you hear?" |
|
|
Dron suddenly fell on his knees. |
|
|
"Yakov Alpatych, discharge me! Take the keys from me and discharge
me, for Christ's sake!" |
|
|
"Stop that!" cried Alpatych sternly. "I see through you
and three yards under you," he repeated, knowing that his skill in
beekeeping, his knowledge of the right time to sow the oats, and the fact that
he had been able to retain the old prince's favor for twenty years had long
since gained him the reputation of being a wizard, and that the power of seeing
three yards under a man is considered an attribute of wizards. |
|
|
Dron got up and was about to say something, but Alpatych interrupted him. |
|
|
"What is it you have got into your heads, eh?... What are you
thinking of, eh?" |
|
|
"What am I to do with the people?" said Dron. "They're
quite beside themselves; I have already told them..." |
|
|
"'Told them,' I dare say!" said Alpatych. "Are they
drinking?" he asked abruptly. |
|
|
"Quite beside themselves, Yakov Alpatych; they've fetched another
barrel." |
|
|
"Well, then, listen! I'll go to the police officer, and you tell
them so, and that they must stop this and the carts must be got ready." |
|
|
"I understand." |
|
|
Alpatych did not insist further. He had managed people for a long time
and knew that the chief way to make them obey is to show no suspicion that they
can possibly disobey. Having wrung a submissive "I understand" from
Dron, Alpatych contented himself with that, though he not only doubted but felt
almost certain that without the help of troops the carts would not be
forthcoming. |
|
|
And so it was, for when evening came no carts had been provided. In the
village, outside the drink shop, another meeting was being held, which decided
that the horses should be driven out into the woods and the carts should not be
provided. Without saying anything of this to the princess, Alpatych had his own
belongings taken out of the carts which had arrived from Bald Hills and had
those horses got ready for the princess' carriages. Meanwhile he went himself to
the police authorities. |
|
|
After her father's funeral Princess Mary shut herself up in her room and
did not admit anyone. A maid came to the door to say that Alpatych was asking
for orders about their departure. (This was before his talk with Dron.) Princess
Mary raised herself on the sofa on which she had been lying and replied through
the closed door that she did not mean to go away and begged to be left in peace. |
|
|
The windows of the room in which she was lying looked westward. She lay
on the sofa with her face to the wall, fingering the buttons of the leather
cushion and seeing nothing but that cushion, and her confused thoughts were
centered on one subject- the irrevocability of death and her own spiritual
baseness, which she had not suspected, but which had shown itself during her
father's illness. She wished to pray but did not dare to, dared not in her
present state of mind address herself to God. She lay for a long time in that
position. |
|
|
The sun had reached the other side of the house, and its slanting rays
shone into the open window, lighting up the room and part of the morocco cushion
at which Princess Mary was looking. The flow of her thoughts suddenly stopped.
Unconsciously she sat up, smoothed her hair, got up, and went to the window,
involuntarily inhaling the freshness of the clear but windy evening. |
|
|
"Yes, you can well enjoy the evening now! He is gone and no one will
hinder you," she said to herself, and sinking into a chair she let her head
fall on the window sill. |
|
|
Someone spoke her name in a soft and tender voice from the garden and
kissed her head. She looked up. It was Mademoiselle Bourienne in a black dress
and weepers. She softly approached Princess Mary, sighed, kissed her, and
immediately began to cry. The princess looked up at her. All their former
disharmony and her own jealousy recurred to her mind. But she remembered too how
he had changed of late toward Mademoiselle Bourienne and could not bear to see
her, thereby showing how unjust were the reproaches Princess Mary had mentally
addressed to her. "Besides, is it for me, for me who desired his death, to
condemn anyone?" she thought. |
|
|
Princess Mary vividly pictured to herself the position of Mademoiselle
Bourienne, whom she had of late kept at a distance, but who yet was dependent on
her and living in her house. She felt sorry for her and held out her hand with a
glance of gentle inquiry. Mademoiselle Bourienne at once began crying again and
kissed that hand, speaking of the princess' sorrow and making herself a partner
in it. She said her only consolation was the fact that the princess allowed her
to share her sorrow, that all the old misunderstandings should sink into nothing
but this great grief; that she felt herself blameless in regard to everyone, and
that he, from above, saw her affection and gratitude. The princess heard her,
not heeding her words but occasionally looking up at her and listening to the
sound of her voice. |
|
|
"Your position is doubly terrible, dear princess," said
Mademoiselle Bourienne after a pause. "I understand that you could not, and
cannot, think of yourself, but with my love for you I must do so.... Has
Alpatych been to you? Has he spoken to you of going away?" she asked. |
|
|
Princess Mary did not answer. She did not understand who was to go or
where to. "Is it possible to plan or think of anything now? Is it not all
the same?" she thought, and did not reply. |
|
|
"You know, chere Marie," said Mademoiselle Bourienne,
"that we are in danger- are surrounded by the French. It would be dangerous
to move now. If we go we are almost sure to be taken prisoners, and God
knows..." |
|
|
Princess Mary looked at her companion without understanding what she was
talking about. |
|
|
"Oh, if anyone knew how little anything matters to me now," she
said. "Of course I would on no account wish to go away from him....
Alpatych did say something about going.... Speak to him; I can do nothing,
nothing, and don't want to...." |
|
|
"I've spoken to him. He hopes we should be in time to get away
tomorrow, but I think it would now be better to stay here," said
Mademoiselle Bourienne. "Because, you will agree, chere Marie, to fall into
the hands of the soldiers or of riotous peasants would be terrible." |
|
|
Mademoiselle Bourienne took from her reticule a proclamation (not printed
on ordinary Russian paper) of General Rameau's, telling people not to leave
their homes and that the French authorities would afford them proper protection.
She handed this to the princess. |
|
|
"I think it would be best to appeal to that general," she
continued, "and and am sure that all due respect would be shown you." |
|
|
Princess Mary read the paper, and her face began to quiver with stifled
sobs. |
|
|
"From whom did you get this?" she asked. |
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"They probably recognized that I am French, by my name,"
replied Mademoiselle Bourienne blushing. |
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Princess Mary, with the paper in her hand, rose from the window and with
a pale face went out of the room and into what had been Prince Andrew's study. |
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"Dunyasha, send Alpatych, or Dronushka, or somebody to me!" she
said, "and tell Mademoiselle Bourienne not to come to me," she added,
hearing Mademoiselle Bourienne's voice. "We must go at once, at once!"
she said, appalled at the thought of being left in the hands of the French. |
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"If Prince Andrew heard that I was in the power of the French! That
I, the daughter of Prince Nicholas Bolkonski, asked General Rameau for
protection and accepted his favor!" This idea horrified her, made her
shudder, blush, and feel such a rush of anger and pride as she had never
experienced before. All that was distressing, and especially all that was
humiliating, in her position rose vividly to her mind. "They, the French,
would settle in this house: M. le General Rameau would occupy Prince Andrew's
study and amuse himself by looking through and reading his letters and papers.
Mademoiselle Bourienne would do the honors of Bogucharovo for him. I should be
given a small room as a favor, the soldiers would violate my father's newly dug
grave to steal his crosses and stars, they would tell me of their victories over
the Russians, and would pretend to sympathize with my sorrow..." thought
Princess Mary, not thinking her own thoughts but feeling bound to think like her
father and her brother. For herself she did not care where she remained or what
happened to her, but she felt herself the representative of her dead father and
of Prince Andrew. Involuntarily she thought their thoughts and felt their
feelings. What they would have said and what they would have done she felt bound
to say and do. She went into Prince Andrew's study, trying to enter completely
into his ideas, and considered her position. |
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The demands of life, which had seemed to her annihilated by her father's
death, all at once rose before her with a new, previously unknown force and took
possession of her. |
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Agitated and flushed she paced the room, sending now for Michael
Ivanovich and now for Tikhon or Dron. Dunyasha, the nurse, and the other maids
could not say in how far Mademoiselle Bourienne's statement was correct.
Alpatych was not at home, he had gone to the police. Neither could the architect
Michael Ivanovich, who on being sent for came in with sleepy eyes, tell Princess
Mary anything. With just the same smile of agreement with which for fifteen
years he had been accustomed to answer the old prince without expressing views
of his own, he now replied to Princess Mary, so that nothing definite could be
got from his answers. The old valet Tikhon, with sunken, emaciated face that
bore the stamp of inconsolable grief, replied: "Yes, Princess" to all
Princess Mary's questions and hardly refrained from sobbing as he looked at her. |
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At length Dron, the village Elder, entered the room and with a deep bow
to Princess Mary came to a halt by the doorpost. |
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Princess Mary walked up and down the room and stopped in front of him. |
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"Dronushka," she said, regarding as a sure friend this
Dronushka who always used to bring a special kind of gingerbread from his visit
to the fair at Vyazma every year and smilingly offer it to her, "Dronushka,
now since our misfortune..." she began, but could not go on. |
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"We are all in God's hands," said he, with a sigh. |
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They were silent for a while. |
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"Dronushka, Alpatych has gone off somewhere and I have no one to
turn to. Is true, as they tell me, that I can't even go away?" |
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"Why shouldn't you go away, your excellency? You can go," said
Dron. |
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"I was told it would be dangerous because of the enemy. Dear friend,
I can do nothing. I understand nothing. I have nobody! I want to go away tonight
or early tomorrow morning." |
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Dron paused. He looked askance at Princess Mary and said: "There are
no horses; I told Yakov Alpatych so." |
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"Why are there none?" asked the princess. |
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"It's all God's scourge," said Dron. "What horses we had
have been taken for the army or have died- this is such a year! It's not a case
of feeding horses- we may die of hunger ourselves! As it is, some go three days
without eating. We've nothing, we've been ruined." |
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Princess Mary listened attentively to what he told her. |
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"The peasants are ruined? They have no bread?" she asked. |
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"They're dying of hunger," said Dron. "It's not a case of
carting." |
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"But why didn't you tell me, Dronushka? Isn't it possible to help
them? I'll do all I can...." |
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To Princess Mary it was strange that now, at a moment when such sorrow
was filling her soul, there could be rich people and poor, and the rich could
refrain from helping the poor. She had heard vaguely that there was such a thing
as "landlord's corn" which was sometimes given to the peasants. She
also knew that neither her father nor her brother would refuse to help the
peasants in need, she only feared to make some mistake in speaking about the
distribution of the grain she wished to give. She was glad such cares presented
themselves, enabling her without scruple to forget her own grief. She began
asking Dron about the peasants' needs and what there was in Bogucharovo that
belonged to the landlord. |
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"But we have grain belonging to my brother?" she said. |
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"The landlord's grain is all safe," replied Dron proudly.
"Our prince did not order it to be sold." |
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"Give it to the peasants, let them have all they need; I give you
leave in my brother's name," said she. |
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Dron made no answer but sighed deeply. |
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"Give them that corn if there is enough of it. Distribute it all. I
give this order in my brother's name; and tell them that what is ours is theirs.
We do not grudge them anything. Tell them so." |
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" Dron looked intently at the princess while she was speaking. |
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"Discharge me, little mother, for God's sake! Order the keys to be
taken from me," said he. "I have served twenty-three years and have
done no wrong. Discharge me, for God's sake!" |
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Princess Mary did not understand what he wanted of her or why he was
asking to be discharged. She replied that she had never doubted his devotion and
that she was ready to do anything for him and for the peasants. |
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