________________________________________________
_ Well, is she pretty? Ah, friend- my pink one is delicious; her
name is Dunyasha...."
But on glancing at Rostov's face Ilyin stopped short. He saw that
his hero and commander was following quite a different train of
thought.
Rostov glanced angrily at Ilyin and without replying strode off with
rapid steps to the village.
"I'll show them; I'll give it to them, the brigands!" said he to
himself.
Alpatych at a gliding trot, only just managing not to run, kept up
with him with difficulty.
"What decision have you been pleased to come to?" said he.
Rostov stopped and, clenching his fists, suddenly and sternly turned
on Alpatych.
"Decision? What decision? Old dotard!..." cried he. "What have you
been about? Eh? The peasants are rioting, and you can't manage them?
You're a traitor youself! I know you. I'll flay you all alive!..." And
as if afraid of wasting his store of anger, he left Alpatych and
went rapidly forward. Alpatych, mastering his offended feelings,
kept pace with Rostov at a gliding gait and continued to impart his
views. He said the peasants were obdurate and that at the present
moment it would be imprudent to "overresist" them without an armed
force, and would it not be better first to send for the military?
"I'll give them armed force... I'll 'overresist' them!" uttered
Rostov meaninglessly, breathless with irrational animal fury and the
need to vent it.
Without considering what he would do he moved unconciously with
quick, resolute steps toward the crowd. And the nearer he drew to it
the more Alpatych felt that this unreasonable action might produce
good results. The peasants in the crowd were similarly impressed
when they saw Rostov's rapid, firm steps and resolute, frowning face.
After the hussars had come to the village and Rostov had gone to see
the princess, a certain confusion and dissension had arisen among
the crowd. Some of the peasants said that these new arrivals were
Russians and might take it amiss that the mistress was being detained.
Dron was of this opinion, but as soon as he expressed it Karp and
others attacked their ex-Elder.
"How many years have you been fattening on the commune?" Karp
shouted at him. "It's all one to you! You'll dig up your pot of
money and take it away with you.... What does it matter to you whether
our homes are ruined or not?"
"We've been told to keep order, and that no one is to leave their
homes or take away a single grain, and that's all about it!" cried
another.
"It was your son's turn to be conscripted, but no fear! You
begrudged your lump of a son," a little old man suddenly began
attacking Dron- "and so they took my Vanka to be shaved for a soldier!
But we all have to die."
"To be sure, we all have to die. I'm not against the commune,"
said Dron.
"That's it- not against it! You've filled your belly...."
The two tall peasants had their say. As soon as Rostov, followed
by Ilyin, Lavrushka, and Alpatych, came up to the crowd, Karp,
thrusting his fingers into his belt and smiling a little, walked to
the front. Dron on the contrary retired to the rear and the crowd drew
closer together.
"Who is your Elder here? Hey?" shouted Rostov, coming up to the
crowd with quick steps.
"The Elder? What do you want with him?..." asked Karp.
But before the words were well out of his mouth, his cap flew off
and a fierce blow jerked his head to one side.
"Caps off, traitors!" shouted Rostov in a wrathful voice. "Where's
the Elder?" he cried furiously.
"The Elder.... He wants the Elder!... Dron Zakharych, you!" meek and
flustered voices here and there were heard calling and caps began to
come off their heads.
"We don't riot, we're following the orders," declared Karp, and at
that moment several voices began speaking together.
"It's as the old men have decided- there's too many of you giving
orders."
"Arguing? Mutiny!... Brigands! Traitors!" cried Rostov unmeaningly
in a voice not his own, gripping Karp by the collar. "Bind him, bind
him!" he shouted, though there was no one to bind him but Lavrushka
and Alpatych.
Lavrushka, however, ran up to Karp and seized him by the arms from
behind.
"Shall I call up our men from beyond the hill?" he called out.
Alpatych turned to the peasants and ordered two of them by name to
come and bind Karp. The men obediently came out of the crowd and began
taking off their belts.
"Where's the Elder?" demanded Rostov in a loud voice.
With a pale and frowning face Dron stepped out of the crowd.
"Are you the Elder? Bind him, Lavrushka!" shouted Rostov, as if that
order, too, could not possibly meet with any opposition.
And in fact two more peasants began binding Dron, who took off his
own belt and handed it to them, as if to aid them.
"And you all listen to me!" said Rostov to the peasants. "Be off
to your houses at once, and don't let one of your voices be heard!"
"Why, we've not done any harm! We did it just out of foolishness.
It's all nonsense... I said then that it was not in order," voices
were heard bickering with one another.
"There! What did I say?" said Alpatych, coming into his own again.
"It's wrong, lads!"
"All our stupidity, Yakov Alpatych," came the answers, and the
crowd began at once to disperse through the village.
The two bound men were led off to the master's house. The two
drunken peasants followed them.
"Aye, when I look at you!..." said one of them to Karp.
"How can one talk to the masters like that? What were you thinking
of, you fool?" added the other- "A real fool!"
Two hours later the carts were standing in the courtyard of the
Bogucharovo house. The peasants were briskly carrying out the
proprietor's goods and packing them on the carts, and Dron,
liberated at Princess Mary's wish from the cupboard where he had
been confined, was standing in the yard directing the men.
"Don't put it in so carelessly," said one of the peasants, a man
with a round smiling face, taking a casket from a housemaid. "You know
it has cost money! How can you chuck it in like that or shove it under
the cord where it'll get rubbed? I don't like that way of doing
things. Let it all be done properly, according to rule. Look here, put
it under the bast matting and cover it with hay- that's the way!"
"Eh, books, books!" said another peasant, bringing out Prince
Andrew's library cupboards. "Don't catch up against it! It's heavy,
lads- solid books."
"Yes, they worked all day and didn't play!" remarked the tall,
round-faced peasant gravely, pointing with a significant wink at the
dictionaries that were on the top.
Unwilling to obtrude himself on the princess, Rostov did not go back
to the house but remained in the village awaiting her departure.
When her carriage drove out of the house, he mounted and accompanied
her eight miles from Bogucharovo to where the road was occupied by our
troops. At the inn at Yankovo he respectfully took leave of her, for
the first time permitting himself to kiss her hand.
"How can you speak so!" he blushingly replied to Princess Mary's
expressions of gratitude for her deliverance, as she termed what had
occurred. "Any police officer would have done as much! If we had had
only peasants to fight, we should not have let the enemy come so far,"
said he with a sense of shame and wishing to change the subject. "I am
only happy to have had the opportunity of making your acquaintance.
Good-by, Princess. I wish you happiness and consolation and hope to
meet you again in happier circumstances. If you don't want to make
me blush, please don't thank me!"
But the princess, if she did not again thank him in words, thanked
him with the whole expression of her face, radiant with gratitude
and tenderness. She could not believe that there was nothing to
thank him for. On the contrary, it seemed to her certain that had he
not been there she would have perished at the hands of the mutineers
and of the French, and that he had exposed himself to terrible and
obvious danger to save her, and even more certain was it that he was a
man of lofty and noble soul, able to understand her position and her
sorrow. His kind, honest eyes, with the tears rising in them when
she herself had begun to cry as she spoke of her loss, did leave her
memory.
When she had taken leave of him and remained alone she suddenly felt
her eyes filling with tears, and then not for the first time the
strange question presented itself to her: did she love him?
On the rest of the way to Moscow, though the princess' position
was not a cheerful one, Dunyasha, who went with her in the carriage,
more than once noticed that her mistress leaned out of the window
and smiled at something with an expression of mingled joy and sorrow.
"Well, supposing I do love him?" thought Princess Mary.
Ashamed as she was of acknowledging to herself that she had fallen
in love with a man who would perhaps never love her, she comforted
herself with the thought that no one would ever know it and that she
would not be to blame if, without ever speaking of it to anyone, she
continued to the end of her life to love the man with whom she had
fallen in love for the first and last time in her life.
Sometimes when she recalled his looks, his sympathy, and his
words, happiness did not appear impossible to her. It was at those
moments that Dunyasha noticed her smiling as she looked out of the
carriage window.
"Was it not fate that brought him to Bogucharovo, and at that very
moment?" thought Princess Mary. "And that caused his sister to
refuse my brother?" And in all this Princess Mary saw the hand of
Providence.
The impression the princess made on Rostov was a very agreeable one.
To remember her gave him pleasure, and when his comrades, hearing of
his adventure at Bogucharovo, rallied him on having gone to look for
hay and having picked up one of the wealthiest heiresses in Russia, he
grew angry. It made him angry just because the idea of marrying the
gentle Princess Mary, who was attractive to him and had an enormous
fortune, had against his will more than once entered his head. For
himself personally Nicholas could not wish for a better wife: by
marrying her he would make the countess his mother happy, would be
able to put his father's affairs in order, and would even- he felt it-
ensure Princess Mary's happiness.
But Sonya? And his plighted word? That was why Rostov grew angry
when he was rallied about Princess Bolkonskaya. _
Read next: Book Ten: 1812: Chapter 15
Read previous: Book Ten: 1812: Chapter 13
Table of content of War and Peace
GO TO TOP OF SCREEN
Post your review
Your review will be placed after the table of content of this book
