War And Peace: Book 11 - CHAPTER XVI

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THE ROSTOVS' SON-IN-LAW, Berg, was by now a colonel, with the orders of

Vladimir and Anne on his neck, and was still filling the same comfortable and

agreeable post of assistant to the head of the staff of the assistant of the

chief officer of the staff of the commander of the left flank of the infantry of

the first army.

On the 1st of September he had come into Moscow from the army.

He had absolutely nothing to do in Moscow; but he noticed that every one in

the army was asking leave to go into Moscow, and was busy doing something there.

He, too, thought fit to ask leave of absence on account of urgent domestic and

family affairs.

Berg drove up to his father-in-law's house in his spruce chaise, with his

pair of sleek roans, precisely similar to those of a certain prince. He looked

carefully at the luggage in the yard, and as he ran up the steps, he took out a

clean pocket-handkerchief, and tied a knot in it.

Berg ran with a swimming, impatient step from the entry into the

drawing-room, embraced the count, kissed Natasha's hand and Sonya's, and then

hastened to inquire after mamma's health.

“Health, at a time like this! Come, tell us what news of the army!” said the

count. “Are they retreating, or will there be a battle?”

“Only Almighty God can tell what will be the fate of our Fatherland, papa,”

said Berg. “The army is animated by the most ardent spirit of heroism, and now

its chiefs, so to speak, are sitting in council. No one knows what is coming.

But I can tell you, papa, that our heroic spirit, the truly antique valour of

the Russian army, which they—it, I mean,” he corrected himself—“showed in the

fight of the 26th … well, there are no words that can do justice to it.” (He

smote himself on the chest just as he had seen a general do, who had used much

the same phrases before him—but he was a little too late, for the blow on the

chest should properly have been at the words, “the Russian army.”) “I can assure

you, papa, that we officers, so far from having to urge the soldiers on, or

anything of the sort, had much ado to keep in check this … yes, these exploits

recalling the valour of antiquity,” he rattled off. “General Barclay de Tolly

risked his life everywhere in front of his troops, I can assure you. Our corps

was posted on the slope of a hill. Only fancy!” And Berg proceeded to recount

all the stories he had heard repeated about the battle. Natasha stared at Berg,

as though seeking the solution of some problem in his face, and her eyes

disconcerted him.

“Altogether, the heroism shown by the Russian soldiers is beyond praise, and

beyond description!” said Berg, looking at Natasha; and as though wishing to

soften her, he smiled in response to her persistent stare … “ ‘Russia is not in

Moscow, she lives in the hearts of her sons!' Eh, papa?” said Berg.

At that moment the countess came in from the divan-room with a look of

weariness and annoyance on her face. Berg skipped up, kissed the countess's

hand, asked after her health, and stood beside her, with a sympathetic shake of

his head.

“Yes, mamma, to tell the truth, these are hard and sorrowful times for every

Russian. But why should you be so anxious? You have still time to get away

…”

“I can't make out what the servants are about,” said the countess, addressing

her husband. “They told me just now nothing was ready. Some one really must go

and look after them. It's at such times one misses Mitenka. There will be no end

to it.”

The count was about to make some reply; but with a visible effort to restrain

himself, got up and went to the door without a word.

Berg, meanwhile, had taken out his handkerchief as though about to blow his

nose, and, seeing the knot in it, he pondered a moment, shaking his head with

mournful significance.

“And, do you know, papa, I have a great favour to ask …” he began.

“H'm?” said the count, pausing.

“I was passing by Yusupov's house just now,” said Berg, laughing. “The

steward, a man I know, ran out and asked me whether I wouldn't care to buy any

of their things. I went in, you know, out of curiosity, and there is a little

chiffonier and dressing-table. You know, just like what Verushka wanted, and we

quarrelled about.” (Berg unconsciously passed into a tone expressive of his

pleasure in his own excellent domestic arrangements.) “And such a charming

thing!—it moves forward, you know, with a secret English lock. And it's just

what Verushka wanted. So I want to make it a surprise for her. I see what a

number of peasants you have in the yard. Please, spare me one of them. I'll pay

him well, and …”

The count frowned and sniffed.

“Ask the countess; I don't give the orders.”

“If it's troublesome, pray don't,” said Berg. “Only I should have liked it on

Vera's account.”

“Ah, go to damnation all of you, damnation! damnation! damnation!” cried the

old count. “My head's going round.” And he went out of the room.

The countess began to cry.

“Yes, indeed, these are terrible times, mamma!” said Berg.

Natasha went out with her father, and as though unable to make up her mind on

some difficult question, she followed him at first, then turned and ran

downstairs.

Petya was standing at the entrance, engaged in giving out weapons to the

servants, who were leaving Moscow. The loaded waggons were still standing in the

yards. Two of them had been uncorded, and on to one of these the wounded officer

was clambering with the assistance of his orderly.

“Do you know what it was about?” Petya asked Natasha. (Natasha knew that he

meant, what their father and mother had been quarrelling about.) She did not

answer.

“It was because papa wanted to give up all the waggons to the wounded,” said

Petya. “Vassilitch told me. And what I think …”

“What I think,” Natasha suddenly almost screamed, turning a furious face on

Petya, “what I think is, that it's so vile, so loathsome … I don't know. Are we

a lot of low Germans? …” Her throat was quivering with sobs, but afraid of being

weak, or wasting the force of her anger, she turned and flew headlong up the

stairs.

Berg was sitting beside the countess, trying with filial respectfulness to

reassure her. The count was walking about the room with a pipe in his hand,

when, with a face distorted by passion, Natasha burst like a tempest into the

room, and ran with rapid steps up to her mother.

“It's vile! It's loathsome!” she screamed. “It can't be true that it's your

order.”

Berg and the countess gazed at her in alarm and bewilderment. The count stood

still in the window listening.

“Mamma, it's impossible; look what's being done in the yard!” she cried;

“they are being left …”

“What's the matter? Who are they? What do you want?”

“The wounded! It's impossible, mamma, it's outrageous.… No, mamma, darling,

it's all wrong; forgive me, please, darling … Mamma, what is it to us what we

take away; you only look out into the yard.… Mamma! … It can't be done.…”

The count stood in the window, and listened to Natasha without turning his

head. All at once he gave a sort of gulp, and put his face closer to the

window.

The countess glanced at her daughter, saw her face full of shame for her

mother, saw her emotion, felt why her husband would not look at her now, and

looked about her with a distracted air.

“Oh, do as you please. Am I doing anything to hinder any one?” she said, not

giving way all at once.

“Mamma, darling, forgive me.”

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

“My dear, you order what is right.… I don't understand about it, you know,”

she said, dropping her eyes with a guilty air.

“The eggs, … the eggs teaching the hen, …” the count murmured through tears

of gladness, and he embraced his wife, who was glad to hide her ashamed face on

his breast.

“Papa, mamma! may I give the order? May I? …” asked Natasha. “We'll take all

that's quite necessary all the same,” she added.

The count nodded; and Natasha, with the same swiftness with which she used to

run at “catch-catch,” flew across the hall into the vestibule, and down the

steps into the yard.

The servants gathered round Natasha, and could hardly believe the strange

order she gave them, till the count himself in his wife's name confirmed the

order that all the waggons were to be placed at the disposal of the wounded, and

the boxes were to be taken down to the store-rooms. When they understood, the

servants gleefully and busily set to this new task. It no longer seemed strange

to the servants, it seemed to them, indeed, that no other course was possible;

just as a quarter of an hour before they had not thought it strange to leave the

wounded behind and take the furniture; had accepted that too, in fact, as the

only course possible.

All the household set to work getting the wounded men into the waggons with

the greatest zeal, as though to make up for not having espoused their cause

earlier. The wounded soldiers came creeping out of their rooms, and crowded

round the waggons, with pale, delighted faces. The news spread to the

neighbouring houses, and wounded men began to come into the yard from other

houses too. Many of the wounded soldiers begged them not to take out the boxes,

but only to let them sit on the top of them. But when once the work of unloading

had begun there was no stopping it; it seemed of little consequence whether all

were left or half. The cases of china, of bronzes, of pictures and

looking-glasses, which had been so carefully packed during the previous night

lay in the yard, and still they sought and found possibilities of taking out

more and more, and leaving more and more, for the wounded.

“We can take four more,” said the steward. “I'll leave my luggage, or else

what is to become of them?”

“Oh, let them have our wardrobe cart,” said the countess; “Dunyasha will go

with me in the carriage.”

The waggon packed with the ladies' wardrobe was unloaded, and sent to fetch

wounded men from two doors off. All the family and the servants too were eager

and merry. Natasha was in a state of ecstatic happiness, such as she had not

known for a very long while.

“Where are we to fasten this on?” said the servant, trying to lay a trunk on

the narrow footboard behind in the carriage. “We must keep just one cart for

it.”

“What is it?” asked Natasha.

“The count's books.”

“Leave it. Vassilitch will put it away. That's not necessary.”

The covered gig was full of people; they were only in doubt where Pyotr

Ilyitch was to sit.

“He'll go on the box. You'll go on the box, won't you, Petya?” cried

Natasha.

Sonya, too, worked with unflagging zeal; but the aim of her exertions was the

opposite of Natasha's. She saw to the storing away of all that was left behind,

made a list of them at the countess's desire, and tried to get as much as

possible taken with them.

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1. Ebooks list page : 84
2. War And Peace: Book 4 - CHAPTER V
3. War And Peace: Book 2 - CHAPTER III
4. War And Peace: Book 2 - CHAPTER II
5. War And Peace: Book 2 - CHAPTER I
6. War And Peace: Book 2 - CHAPTER IV
7. War And Peace: Book 3 - CHAPTER XIX
8. War And Peace: Book 3 - CHAPTER XVI
9. War And Peace: Book 3 - CHAPTER XV
10. War And Peace: Book 3 - CHAPTER XIV
11. War And Peace: Book 2 - CHAPTER V
12. War And Peace: Book 2 - CHAPTER VI
13. War And Peace: Book 2 - CHAPTER XIX
14. War And Peace: Book 2 - CHAPTER XVI
15. War And Peace: Book 2 - CHAPTER XIV
16. War And Peace: Book 2 - CHAPTER XV