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Berg, the Rostovs' son-in-law, was already a colonel wearing
the orders of Vladimir and Anna, and he still filled the quiet
and agreeable post of assistant to the head of the staff of the
assistant commander of the first division of the Second Army.
On the first of September he had come to Moscow from the army.
He had nothing to do in Moscow, but he had noticed that everyone
in the army was asking for leave to visit Moscow and had something
to do there. So he considered it necessary to ask for leave of
absence for family and domestic reasons.
Berg drove up to his father-in-law's house in his spruce little
trap with a pair of sleek roans, exactly like those of a certain
prince. He looked attentively at the carts in the yard and while
going up to the porch took out a clean pocket handkerchief and
tied a knot in it.
From the anteroom Berg ran with smooth though impatient steps
into the drawing room, where he embraced the count, kissed the
hands of Natasha and Sonya, and hastened to inquire after "Mamma's"
health.
"Health, at a time like this?" said the count. "Come,
tell us the news! Is the army retreating or will there be another
battle?"
"God Almighty alone can decide the fate of our fatherland,
Papa," said Berg. "The army is burning with a spirit
of heroism and the leaders, so to say, have now assembled in council.
No one knows what is coming. But in general I can tell you, Papa,
that such a heroic spirit, the truly antique valor of the Russian
army, which they- which it" (he corrected himself) "has
shown or displayed in the battle of the twenty-sixth- there are
no words worthy to do it justice! I tell you, Papa" (he smote
himself on the breast as a general he had heard speaking had done,
but Berg did it a trifle late for he should have struck his breast
at the words "Russian army"), "I tell you frankly
that we, the commanders, far from having to urge the men on or
anything of that kind, could hardly restrain those... those...
yes, those exploits of antique valor," he went on rapidly.
"General Barclay de Tolly risked his life everywhere at the
head of the troops, I can assure you. Our corps was stationed
on a hillside. You can imagine!"
And Berg related all that he remembered of the various tales
he had heard those days. Natasha watched him with an intent gaze
that confused him, as if she were trying to find in his face the
answer to some question.
"Altogether such heroism as was displayed by the Russian
warriors cannot be imagined or adequately praised!" said
Berg, glancing round at Natasha, and as if anxious to conciliate
her, replying to her intent look with a smile. "'Russia is
not in Moscow, she lives in the hearts of her sons!' Isn't it
so, Papa?" said he.
Just then the countess came in from the sitting room with
a weary and dissatisfied expression. Berg hurriedly jumped up,
kissed her hand, asked about her health, and, swaying his head
from side to side to express sympathy, remained standing beside
her.
"Yes, Mamma, I tell you sincerely that these are hard
and sad times for every Russian. But why are you so anxious? You
have still time to get away...."
"I can't think what the servants are about," said
the countess, turning to her husband. "I have just been told
that nothing is ready yet. Somebody after all must see to things.
One misses Mitenka at such times. There won't be any end to it."
The count was about to say something, but evidently restrained
himself. He got up from his chair and went to the door.
At that moment Berg drew out his handkerchief as if to blow
his nose and, seeing the knot in it, pondered, shaking his head
sadly and significantly.
"And I have a great favor to ask of you, Papa,"
said he.
"Hm..." said the count, and stopped.
"I was driving past Yusupov's house just now," said
Berg with a laugh, "when the steward, a man I know, ran out
and asked me whether I wouldn't buy something. I went in out of
curiosity, you know, and there is a small chiffonier and a dressing
table. You know how dear Vera wanted a chiffonier like that and
how we had a dispute about it." (At the mention of the chiffonier
and dressing table Berg involuntarily changed his tone to one
of pleasure at his admirable domestic arrangements.) "And
it's such a beauty! It pulls out and has a secret English drawer,
you know! And dear Vera has long wanted one. I wish to give her
a surprise, you see. I saw so many of those peasant carts in your
yard. Please let me have one, I will pay the man well, and..."
The count frowned and coughed.
"Ask the countess, I don't give orders."
"If it's inconvenient, please don't," said Berg.
"Only I so wanted it, for dear Vera's sake."
"Oh, go to the devil, all of you! To the devil, the devil,
the devil..." cried the old count. "My head's in a whirl!"
And he left the room. The countess began to cry.
"Yes, Mamma! Yes, these are very hard times!" said
Berg.
Natasha left the room with her father and, as if finding it
difficult to reach some decision, first followed him and then
ran downstairs.
Petya was in the porch, engaged in giving out weapons to the
servants who were to leave Moscow. The loaded carts were still
standing in the yard. Two of them had been uncorded and a wounded
officer was climbing into one of them helped by an orderly.
"Do you know what it's about?" Petya asked Natasha.
She understood that he meant what were their parents quarreling
about. She did not answer.
"It's because Papa wanted to give up all the carts to
the wounded," said Petya. "Vasilich told me. I consider..."
"I consider," Natasha suddenly almost shouted, turning
her angry face to Petya, "I consider it so horrid, so abominable,
so... I don't know what. Are we despicable Germans?"
Her throat quivered with convulsive sobs and, afraid of weakening
and letting the force of her anger run to waste, she turned and
rushed headlong up the stairs.
Berg was sitting beside the countess consoling her with the
respectful attention of a relative. The count, pipe in hand, was
pacing up and down the room, when Natasha, her face distorted
by anger, burst in like a tempest and approached her mother with
rapid steps.
"It's horrid! It's abominable! she screamed. "You
can't possibly have ordered it!"
Berg and the countess looked at her, perplexed and frightened.
The count stood still at the window and listened.
"Mamma, it's impossible: see what is going on in the
yard!" she cried. "They will be left!..."
"What's the matter with you? Who are 'they'? What do
you want?"
"Why, the wounded! It's impossible, Mamma. It's monstrous!...
No, Mamma darling, it's not the thing. Please forgive me, darling....
Mamma, what does it matter what we take away? Only look what is
going on in the yard... Mamma!... It's impossible!"
The count stood by the window and listened without turning
round. Suddenly he sniffed and put his face closer to the window.
The countess glanced at her daughter, saw her face full of
shame for her mother, saw her agitation, and understood why her
husband did not turn to look at her now, and she glanced round
quite disconcerted.
"Oh, do as you like! Am I hindering anyone?" she
said, not surrendering at once.
"Mamma, darling, forgive me!"
But the countess pushed her daughter away and went up to her
husband.
"My dear, you order what is right.... You know I don't
understand about it," said she, dropping her eyes shamefacedly.
"The eggs... the eggs are teaching the hen," muttered
the count through tears of joy, and he embraced his wife who was
glad to hide her look of shame on his breast.
"Papa! Mamma! May I see to it? May I?..." asked
Natasha. "We will still take all the most necessary things."
The count nodded affirmatively, and Natasha, at the rapid
pace at which she used to run when playing at tag, ran through
the ballroom to the anteroom and downstairs into the yard.
The servants gathered round Natasha, but could not believe
the strange order she brought them until the count himself, in
his wife's name, confirmed the order to give up all the carts
to the wounded and take the trunks to the storerooms. When they
understood that order the servants set to work at this new task
with pleasure and zeal. It no longer seemed strange to them but
on the contrary it seemed the only thing that could be done, just
as a quarter of an hour before it had not seemed strange to anyone
that the wounded should be left behind and the goods carted away
but that had seemed the only thing to do.
The whole household, as if to atone for not having done it
sooner, set eagerly to work at the new task of placing the wounded
in the carts. The wounded dragged themselves out of their rooms
and stood with pale but happy faces round the carts. The news
that carts were to be had spread to the neighboring houses, from
which wounded men began to come into the Rostovs' yard. Many of
the wounded asked them not to unload the carts but only to let
them sit on the top of the things. But the work of unloading,
once started, could not be arrested. It seemed not to matter whether
all or only half the things were left behind. Cases full of china,
bronzes, pictures, and mirrors that had been so carefully packed
the night before now lay about the yard, and still they went on
searching for and finding possibilities of unloading this or that
and letting the wounded have another and yet another cart.
"We can take four more men," said the steward. "They
can have my
trap, or else what is to become of them?"
"Let them have my wardrobe cart," said the countess.
"Dunyasha can go with me in the carriage."
They unloaded the wardrobe cart and sent it to take wounded
men from a house two doors off. The whole household, servants
included, was bright and animated. Natasha was in a state of rapturous
excitement such as she had not known for a long time.
"What could we fasten this onto?" asked the servants,
trying to fix a trunk on the narrow footboard behind a carriage.
"We must keep at least one cart."
"What's in it?" asked Natasha.
"The count's books."
"Leave it, Vasilich will put it away. It's not wanted."
The phaeton was full of people and there was a doubt as to
where Count Peter could sit.
"On the box. You'll sit on the box, won't you, Petya?"
cried Natasha.
Sonya too was busy all this time, but the aim of her efforts
was quite different from Natasha's. She was putting away the things
that had to be left behind and making a list of them as the countess
wished, and she tried to get as much taken away with them as possible.
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