At the very time when Rostov and IIyin were galloping into the village, Princess Marya was defying the best efforts of Alpatych, the old nurse and the maid to dissuade her from ordering the horses. She was ready to start. But one look at the cavalrymen bearing down on them at a good gallop and the coachmen scattered, assuming them to be Frenchmen, and left the women bewailing their lot inside the house.
‘Kind sir! Father to us all! God has sent thee!’ The voices rang with emotion as Rostov walked in through the entrance hall. Princess Marya was sitting in the big hall, helpless and at her wits’ end, when Rostov was shown in to see her. She had no idea who he was, why he was here or what would become of her. One look at his Russian face and his general demeanour, together with the very sound of his opening words, told her she was dealing with someone of her own station; she glanced at him with her deep, radiant eyes, and spoke, though her voice shook with emotion. Rostov’s romantic imagination immediately dramatized the situation. ‘A defenceless grief-stricken young woman, all alone and left to the mercy of brutal peasants up in arms! Ah, what quirk of fate has landed me here?’ thought Rostov as he listened and watched her. ‘And oh, the gentle poise, the nobility of her features and her eyes!’ he mused as she told her diffident story.
When she started to say that this had all happened the day after her father’s funeral, her voice shook. She turned away, worried that Rostov might think she was trying to play on his feelings, then gave him a quick, quizzical look full of apprehension. There were tears in his eyes. Princess Marya noticed them and looked at him with a radiance in her eyes that took away the plainness of her face.
‘I cannot begin to tell you how glad I am, Princess, that I happened along and can now place myself at your disposal,’ said Rostov, getting to his feet. ‘If you would care to start your journey now, I pledge my honour that no man shall dare do you a discourtesy if only you will allow me to escort you,’ and, after performing the kind of deep bow normally reserved for royalty, he made for the door.
Rostov’s deferential manner seemed calculated to suggest that although he would consider it a great pleasure to make her acquaintance he did not wish to take advantage of her plight to force his attentions upon her.
Princess Marya sensed this with real appreciation.
‘I really am most grateful to you,’ she said to him in French, ‘but I do hope it was all a mistake and no one is really to blame.’ And she burst into tears.
‘Please forgive me,’ she said.
Rostov was frowning as he gave another deep bow and left the room.
CHAPTER 14
‘Nice, isn’t she? Oh yes, my little pink girl’s a beauty. Her name’s Dunyasha . . .’ But then, with one glance at Rostov’s face, Ilyin stopped short. He could see that his revered commanding officer was in a very different frame of mind.
Rostov took one dark look at Ilyin, made no reply and strode off rapidly towards the village.
‘I’ll show them a thing or two. Let me get at them, the swine,’ he muttered to himself. Alpatych trotted on behind, gliding along just short of running pace and struggling to keep up with Rostov.
‘What have you decided to do, your Honour?’ he said, coming alongside.
Rostov stopped, clenched his fists and turned on Alpatych, bristling.
‘Do? What am I going to do, you stupid old fool?’ he shouted. ‘Where have you been all this time. Eh? The peasants are up in arms and you’re in a blue funk! You’re a traitor yourself. I know you lot. I’ll flay every man jack of you . . .’ And then, as if this was a waste of good fire and fury, he turned away from Alpatych and stormed off. Alpatych swallowed his wounded pride and came gliding on behind, still with plenty to say. He told Rostov the peasants were in a very awkward mood just now, and it might be a good idea not to put their backs up without military assistance, and wouldn’t it be best to send for help?
‘I’ll give them military assistance . . . I’ll put their damned backs up . . .’ Nikolay was burbling, out of his mind and choking with savage fury and the need to vent it. With no idea of what he would do when he got there, he strode out, impelled by instinct, bearing down on the crowd. And the nearer he got to them the more Alpatych began to feel that this hot-headed approach might just pay off. The peasants in the crowd seemed to think the same thing as they watched him stride resolutely in their direction with a dark scowl on his face.
Once the hussars had ridden into the village and Rostov had gone up to see the princess the crowd had lost its certainty and solidarity. Some peasants started complaining that the men who had ridden in were Russians, and they might not take too kindly to the idea that they were refusing to let their young lady go. Dron was of that opinion, but the moment he voiced it Karp and others rounded on their former village elder.
