‘His Excellency’s orders. I’m to see the governor,’ answered Alpatych, stretching up proudly to his full height and putting one hand to his bosom, as he always did when he spoke the old prince’s name . . . ‘His Excellency bade me inquire about the present state of affairs,’ he said.
‘May as well tell you, then,’ cried the gentleman. ‘It’s come to this – you can’t get a cart or anything else! . . . There it goes again – hear that?’ he said, pointing in the direction of the gunfire.
‘This is it . . . we’ve all had it . . . brigands!’ he said, repeating himself, and went off down the steps.
Alpatych shook his head and went on up. The waiting-room was full of merchants, women and clerks, looking at each other in complete silence. The door of the governor’s room opened, at which they all stood up and pressed forward. A clerk hurried out, spoke to a merchant, told a tubby official with a cross round his neck to follow him, and vanished again, obviously anxious to avoid all the looks and questions coming his way. Alpatych edged forward, and the next time the clerk came out he put one hand inside his buttoned coat and spoke to him, handing over the two letters.
‘For his Honour Baron Asch from General-in-Chief Prince Bolkonsky,’ he boomed out with so much portentousness and heavy meaning that the clerk turned and took the letters. A few minutes later the governor received Alpatych and said to him hurriedly, ‘Please tell the prince and the princess I knew nothing about it . . . I was acting on orders from above . . . and that’s . . .’
He gave Alpatych a printed notice.
‘And by the way, since the prince is not well I advise them to leave for Moscow. I’m off myself very soon. Tell them . . .’ But the governor never finished his sentence. An officer covered in dust and drenched with sweat rushed in and blurted out something in French. Horror was written all over the governor’s face.
‘You can go,’ he said, nodding to Alpatych, and then he turned to the officer with more questions. Horrified, helpless eyes turned eagerly towards Alpatych when he came out of the governor’s room. No longer could Alpatych ignore the gunfire, which was getting closer and louder by the minute, as he hurried back to the inn. The document handed to Alpatych by the governor read as follows:
Be assured that at present the town of Smolensk is not in the slightest danger, nor is it likely to be so threatened. I shall proceed from one side, and Prince Bagration from the other, and we shall join forces outside Smolensk on the 22nd inst., after which our two armies with their combined forces will defend their compatriots in the province entrusted to your governance until their efforts shall have driven back the enemies of our country, or until their gallant ranks be destroyed down to the last warrior. You will hereby take note that you have a perfect right to reassure the inhabitants of Smolensk, since those who are defended by two such valiant armies may be confident of their victory. (Directive from Barclay de Tolly to the Civil Governor of Smolensk, Baron Asch, 1812.)
Crowds of people were scurrying nervously about the streets.
Carts piled high with household crockery, chairs and little cupboards were pouring out through gates in a constant stream and trundling down the streets. There were carts outside the entrance to the house next-door to Ferapontov, and women were howling as they said goodbye. A yapping yard dog frisked around the harnessed horses.
Alpatych put on more speed than usual as he hurried into the yard and went straight in under the shed roof to his horses and trap. The coachman was asleep. He woke him up, told him to get the horses ready, and went over to the house. In the family quarters he could hear children wailing, a woman sobbing uncontrollably, and Ferapontov yelling himself hoarse with rage. The cook burst into the passage flapping like a frightened hen, just as Alpatych walked in.
‘It’s the mistress. He’s beating her up. He’ll be the death of her! . . . He’s beat her up, smashed her face in! . . .’
‘What for?’ asked Alpatych.
‘She wanted to go. It’s just a woman’s way! Take me away, she says. Don’t finish me off with all my little ones. Folks has all gone, she says. What about us? And he’s just beat her up . . . beat her and smashed her!’
Alpatych nodded to signify some kind of approval, but he didn’t want to hear any more so he strode straight across towards the opposite door into the room where his purchases had been left.
‘You brute! You murderer!’ yelled a thin, pale woman rushing out with a baby in her arms and the scarf torn off her head. She ran down the steps into the yard. Ferapontov came after her, but when he saw Alpatych he pulled his waistcoat down, smoothed his hair back, gave a yawn and followed Alpatych across into the room.
‘Not going already, are you?’ he asked.
Without answering or looking round, Alpatych gathered up his purchases and asked how much he owed.
