Prince Andrey was a regimental commander, and as such he was committed to the management of the regiment, the welfare of his men, the need to receive and transmit orders. For him the burning and abandonment of Smolensk were an epoch-making event. A new feeling, a burning hatred of the enemy, made him transcend his personal sorrow. He was wholly committed to his regiment, he looked after his officers and men, and he treated them with kindness. The regiment called him ‘our prince’, they were proud of him, and he was well-liked. But his kindness and friendliness were confined to the regiment, Timokhin and other such men, different people from an alien sphere, people with no knowledge or understanding of his past. The moment he brushed up against anyone from the old days, or any of the staff officers, he became all prickly, full of venom, derision and contempt. Anything that linked him with memories from the past he found repulsive, so, when it came to dealings with that old world, all he wanted was to avoid unfairness and
Indeed, all was darkness and gloom for Prince Andrey, especially after Smolensk had been abandoned on the 6th of August, though he believed it could and should have been defended, and after his ailing father had been forced to flee to Moscow, leaving his beloved Bald Hills open to plundering, the estate that he had loved so much, developed and settled with peasants. Because of his position, Prince Andrey had others things to think about – he was bothered about his regiment. However, on the 10th of August the column which included his regiment marched past the turn-off to Bald Hills. Two days before Prince Andrey had been informed that his father, his son and his sister had left for Moscow. Even though there was nothing for him to do on the estate, he decided, with a typical urge to rub salt into his own wounds, that he must ride over to Bald Hills.
He had his horse saddled and rode off down the side-road towards his father’s house, where he had been born and spent his childhood. As he rode past the pond, where there had always been dozens of peasant women gossiping as they pounded the washing or rinsed the clothes, Prince Andrey could see there was no one there, and the little wooden pier was torn away and floating sideways, half-sunk in the middle of the pond. He rode to the keeper’s lodge. There was no one anywhere near the stone gates, and the door had been left open. The paths of the garden were overgrown, and calves and horses could be seen wandering about all over the English park. Prince Andrey rode over to the conservatory, where some of the glass panes were broken and the trees in tubs were either knocked over or dried up. He called Taras, the gardener. No response. Going round the conservatory into the open garden, he saw that the ornamental fence was in ruins, and plum-tree branches had been ripped off with the fruit. An old peasant (Prince Andrey had seen him by the gate since childhood) was still there on a little green bench making a shoe from bark-fibre.
He was too deaf to hear Prince Andrey coming up. He just sat there on the seat where the old prince had been fond of sitting, with the bark-fibre hanging from the branches of a broken down and dried-up magnolia.
Prince Andrey rode on to the house. Several lime-trees in the old garden had been cut down, and a piebald mare was wandering about with her foal among the rose bushes right in front of the house. The windows were all shuttered, except for one downstairs that was open. A little serf-boy dashed indoors the moment he saw Prince Andrey.
Alpatych had sent his family away, and was staying on alone at Bald Hills. He was sitting in the house, reading
Then he turned away, annoyed with himself for being so soft, and went into a full account of how things stood. Everything of real or sentimental value had been moved to Bogucharovo. Some grain had been carted away, anything up to a hundred quarters, but the hay and spring corn – a wonderful crop this year, according to Alpatych – had been commandeered by the troops and cut while still green. The peasants were ruined; some had gone to Bogucharovo, but a few had stayed on. Prince Andrey cut him short and asked when his father and sister had left, meaning when had they set off for Moscow. Alpatych assumed he was talking about the move to Bogucharovo; he said they had set off on the 7th, and then he was off again into problems of management, and he wanted instructions.
‘Am I under your Honour’s orders to let the oats go and get a receipt from the officers?’ he asked. ‘We’ve still got six hundred quarters.’
