________________________________________________
_ In the middle of this fresh tale Pierre was summoned to the
commander in chief.
When he entered the private room Count Rostopchin, puckering his
face, was rubbing his forehead and eyes with his hand. A short man was
saying something, but when Pierre entered he stopped speaking and went
out.
"Ah, how do you do, great warrior?" said Rostopchin as soon as the
short man had left the room. "We have heard of your prowess. But
that's not the point. Between ourselves, mon cher, do you belong to
the Masons?" he went on severely, as though there were something wrong
about it which he nevertheless intended to pardon. Pierre remained
silent. "I am well informed, my friend, but I am aware that there
are Masons and Masons and I hope that you are not one of those who
on pretense of saving mankind wish to ruin Russia."
"Yes, I am a Mason," Pierre replied.
"There, you see, mon cher! I expect you know that Messrs.
Speranski and Magnitski have been deported to their proper place.
Mr. Klyucharev has been treated in the same way, and so have others
who on the plea of building up the temple of Solomon have tried to
destroy the temple of their fatherland. You can understand that
there are reasons for this and that I could not have exiled the
Postmaster had he not been a harmful person. It has now come to my
knowledge that you lent him your carriage for his removal from town,
and that you have even accepted papers from him for safe custody. I
like you and don't wish you any harm and- as you are only half my age-
I advise you, as a father would, to cease all communication with men
of that stamp and to leave here as soon as possible."
"But what did Klyucharev do wrong, Count?" asked Pierre.
"That is for me to know, but not for you to ask," shouted
Rostopchin.
"If he is accused of circulating Napoleon's proclamation it is not
proved that he did so," said Pierre without looking at Rostopchin,
"and Vereshchagin..."
"There we are!" Rostopchin shouted at Pierre louder than before,
frowning suddenly. "Vereshchagin is a renegade and a traitor who
will be punished as he deserves," said he with the vindictive heat
with which people speak when recalling an insult. "But I did not
summon you to discuss my actions, but to give you advice- or an
order if you prefer it. I beg you to leave the town and break off
all communication with such men as Klyucharev. And I will knock the
nonsense out of anybody"- but probably realizing that he was
shouting at Bezukhov who so far was not guilty of anything, he
added, taking Pierre's hand in a friendly manner, "We are on the eve
of a public disaster and I haven't time to be polite to everybody
who has business with me. My head is sometimes in a whirl. Well, mon
cher, what are you doing personally?"
"Why, nothing," answered Pierre without raising his eyes or changing
the thoughtful expression of his face.
The count frowned.
"A word of friendly advice, mon cher. Be off as soon as you can,
that's all I have to tell you. Happy he who has ears to hear. Good-by,
my dear fellow. Oh, by the by!" he shouted through the doorway after
Pierre, "is it true that the countess has fallen into the clutches
of the holy fathers of the Society of Jesus?"
Pierre did not answer and left Rostopchin's room more sullen and
angry than he had ever before shown himself.
When he reached home it was already getting dark. Some eight
people had come to see him that evening: the secretary of a committee,
the colonel of his battalion, his steward, his major-domo, and various
petitioners. They all had business with Pierre and wanted decisions
from him. Pierre did not understand and was not interested in any of
these questions and only answered them in order to get rid of these
people. When left alone at last he opened and read his wife's letter.
"They, the soldiers at the battery, Prince Andrew killed... that old
man... Simplicity is submission to God. Suffering is necessary...
the meaning of all... one must harness... my wife is getting
married... One must forget and understand..." And going to his bed
he threw himself on it without undressing and immediately fell asleep.
When he awoke next morning the major-domo came to inform him that
a special messenger, a police officer, had come from Count
Rostopchin to know whether Count Bezukhov had left or was leaving
the town.
A dozen persons who had business with Pierre were awaiting him in
the drawing room. Pierre dressed hurriedly and, instead of going to
see them, went to the back porch and out through the gate.
From that time till the end of the destruction of Moscow no one of
Bezukhov's household, despite all the search they made, saw Pierre
again or knew where he was. _
Read next: Book Eleven: 1812: Chapter 12
Read previous: Book Eleven: 1812: Chapter 10
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