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The Rostovs remained in Moscow till the first of September,
that is, till the eve of the enemy's entry into the city.
After Petya had joined Obolenski's regiment of Cossacks and
left for Belaya Tserkov where that regiment was forming, the countess
was seized with terror. The thought that both her sons were at
the war, had both gone from under her wing, that today or tomorrow
either or both of them might be killed like the three sons of
one of her acquaintances, struck her that summer for the first
time with cruel clearness. She tried to get Nicholas back and
wished to go herself to join Petya, or to get him an appointment
somewhere in Petersburg, but neither of these proved possible.
Petya could not return unless his regiment did so or unless he
was transferred to another regiment on active service. Nicholas
was somewhere with the army and had not sent a word since his
last letter, in which he had given a detailed account of his meeting
with Princess Mary. The countess did not sleep at night, or when
she did fall asleep dreamed that she saw her sons lying dead.
After many consultations and conversations, the count at last
devised means to tranquillize her. He got Petya transferred from
Obolenski's regiment to Bezukhov's, which was in training near
Moscow. Though Petya would remain in the service, this transfer
would give the countess the consolation of seeing at least one
of her sons under her wing, and she hoped to arrange matters for
her Petya so as not to let him go again, but always get him appointed
to places where he could not possibly take part in a battle. As
long as Nicholas alone was in danger the countess imagined that
she loved her first-born more than all her other children and
even reproached herself for it; but when her youngest: the scapegrace
who had been bad at lessons, was always breaking things in the
house and making himself a nuisance to everybody, that snub-nosed
Petya with his merry black eyes and fresh rosy cheeks where soft
down was just beginning to show- when he was thrown amid those
big, dreadful, cruel men who were fighting somewhere about something
and apparently finding pleasure in it- then his mother thought
she loved him more, much more, than all her other children. The
nearer the time came for Petya to return, the more uneasy grew
the countess. She began to think she would never live to see such
happiness. The presence of Sonya, of her beloved Natasha, or even
of her husband irritated her. "What do I want with them?
I want no one but Petya," she thought.
At the end of August the Rostovs received another letter from
Nicholas. He wrote from the province of Voronezh where he had
been sent to procure remounts, but that letter did not set the
countess at ease. Knowing that one son was out of danger she became
the more anxious about Petya.
Though by the twentieth of August nearly all the Rostovs'
acquaintances had left Moscow, and though everybody tried to persuade
the countess to get away as quickly as possible, she would not
bear of leaving before her treasure, her adored Petya, returned.
On the twenty-eighth of August he arrived. The passionate tenderness
with which his mother received him did not please the sixteen-year-old
officer. Though she concealed from him her intention of keeping
him under her wing, Petya guessed her designs, and instinctively
fearing that he might give way to emotion when with her- might
"become womanish" as he termed it to himself- he treated
her coldly, avoided her, and during his stay in Moscow attached
himself exclusively to Natasha for whom he had always had a particularly
brotherly tenderness, almost lover-like.
Owing to the count's customary carelessness nothing was ready
for their departure by the twenty-eighth of August and the carts
that were to come from their Ryazan and Moscow estates to remove
their household belongings did not arrive till the thirtieth.
From the twenty-eighth till the thirty-first all Moscow was
in a bustle and commotion. Every day thousands of men wounded
at Borodino were brought in by the Dorogomilov gate and taken
to various parts of Moscow, and thousands of carts conveyed the
inhabitants and their possessions out by the other gates. In spite
of Rostopchin's broadsheets, or because of them or independently
of them, the strangest and most contradictory rumors were current
in the town. Some said that no one was to be allowed to leave
the city, others on the contrary said that all the icons had been
taken out of the churches and everybody was to be ordered to leave.
Some said there had been another battle after Borodino at which
the French had been routed, while others on the contrary reported
that the Russian army bad been destroyed. Some talked about the
Moscow militia which, preceded by the clergy, would go to the
Three Hills; others whispered that Augustin had been forbidden
to leave, that traitors had been seized, that the peasants were
rioting and robbing people on their way from Moscow, and so on.
But all this was only talk; in reality (though the Council of
Fili, at which it was decided to abandon Moscow, had not yet been
held) both those who went away and those who remained behind felt,
though they did not show it, that Moscow would certainly be abandoned,
and that they ought to get away as quickly as possible and save
their belongings. It was felt that everything would suddenly break
up and change, but up to the first of September nothing had done
so. As a criminal who is being led to execution knows that he
must die immediately, but yet looks about him and straightens
the cap that is awry on his head, so Moscow involuntarily continued
its wonted life, though it knew that the time of its destruction
was near when the conditions of life to which its people were
accustomed to submit would be completely upset.
During the three days preceding the occupation of Moscow the
whole Rostov family was absorbed in various activities. The head
of the family, Count Ilya Rostov, continually drove about the
city collecting the current rumors from all sides and gave superficial
and hasty orders at home about the preparations for their departure.
The countess watched the things being packed, was dissatisfied
with everything, was constantly in pursuit of Petya who was always
running away from her, and was jealous of Natasha with whom he
spent all his time. Sonya alone directed the practical side of
matters by getting things packed. But of late Sonya had been particularly
sad and silent. Nicholas' letter in which he mentioned Princess
Mary had elicited, in her presence, joyous comments from the countess,
who saw an intervention of Providence in this meeting of the princess
and Nicholas.
"I was never pleased at Bolkonski's engagement to Natasha,"
said the countess, "but I always wanted Nicholas to marry
the princess, and had a presentiment that it would happen. What
a good thing it would be!"
Sonya felt that this was true: that the only possibility of
retrieving the Rostovs' affairs was by Nicholas marrying a rich
woman, and that the princess was a good match. It was very bitter
for her. But despite her grief, or perhaps just because of it,
she took on herself all the difficult work of directing the storing
and packing of their things and was busy for whole days. The count
and countess turned to her when they had any orders to give. Petya
and Natasha on the contrary, far from helping their parents, were
generally a nuisance and a hindrance to everyone. Almost all day
long the house resounded with their running feet, their cries,
and their spontaneous laughter. They laughed and were gay not
because there was any reason to laugh, but because gaiety and
mirth were in their hearts and so everything that happened was
a cause for gaiety and laughter to them. Petya was in high spirits
because having left home a boy he had returned (as everybody told
him) a fine young man, because he was at home, because he had
left Belaya Tserkov where there was no hope of soon taking part
in a battle and had come to Moscow where there was to be fighting
in a few days, and chiefly because Natasha, whose lead he always
followed, was in high spirits. Natasha was gay because she had
been sad too long and now nothing reminded her of the cause of
her sadness, and because she was feeling well. She was also happy
because she had someone to adore her: the adoration of others
was a lubricant the wheels of her machine needed to make them
run freely- and Petya adored her. Above all, they were gay because
there was a war near Moscow, there would be fighting at the town
gates, arms were being given out, everybody was escaping- going
away somewhere, and in general something extraordinary was happening,
and that is always exciting, especially to the young.
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