‘How many years have you fattened your belly on this village?’ shouted Karp. ‘You don’t care! You’ll dig up your crock of gold and scram. You’re not bothered whether our homes are burnt down or not!’
‘Everythin’ under control, they says, no one leaves, nothin’ moves out – and ’ere she is flittin’ with all ’er stuff!’ shouted someone else.
‘Your son should’ve been called up, but you saw ’im all right, didn’t you?’ put in a little old man, suddenly turning on Dron, ‘and ’twas my Vanka got took and ’ad ’is head shaved. Oh, I don’t know . . . we’ve all got to die!’
‘Oh yes, we’ve all got to die!’
‘I’m not one to go against the commune,’ said Dron.
‘Go against it? You’ve fattened your belly on it!’
Two lanky peasants said their piece. When Rostov accompanied by Ilyin, Lavrushka and Alpatych were almost up to the crowd Karp stuck his thumbs into his belt and stepped forward with the suggestion of a smile on his face. Dron did the opposite; he skulked off to the back, and the crowd closed round him.
‘Hey there! Who’s your village elder?’ snapped Rostov, striding quickly up to the crowd.
‘Elder? What do you . . . ?’ asked Karp. But before he could finish his cap was sent spinning and his head jerked back from a hard punch.
‘Caps off, traitors!’ roared Rostov in a voice that told them his blood was up. ‘Where’s the elder?’ he yelled furiously.
‘The elder! ’E wants the elder. Mr Dron, ’tis you ’e wants,’ came various voices from peasants quick to knuckle under, while caps were being doffed.
‘No rioting here. We’m keeping good order,’ declared Karp. And several other voices called out at the same time from the back:
‘It’s like what the old ’uns says . . . too many be givin’ out orders.’
‘Don’t you argue with me! Mutiny! You thieving swine! Traitors!’ Rostov’s voice was unrecognizable, a mindless screech, as he grabbed Karp by the collar. ’Tie this man up!’ he shouted, though there was no one but Lavrushka and Alpatych to do the tying up.
Lavrushka, however, ran over to Karp and grabbed him by the arms from behind.
‘Shall I call our boys up, your Honour?’ he shouted.
Alpatych turned to the peasants and called two of them out by name to come and tie Karp’s hands. The peasants were quick to obey, stepping out of the crowd and undoing their belts as they came.
‘Where’s the village elder?’ shouted Rostov.
Dron, frowning and pallid, stepped out too.
‘Are you the elder? Tie him up, Lavrushka,’ shouted Rostov in a voice that brooked no opposition. And sure enough, two more peasants set about tying Dron’s hands, and he obligingly took off his belt and handed it over.
‘Now listen to me, all of you,’ Rostov turned to the peasants. ‘Quick march! Go back to your homes this instant. I don’t want to hear another word from you.’
‘Hey, we ’aven’t done nothin’ wrong. We bin a bit daft. Just a bit o’ nonsense, though . . . Told you things was gettin’ out o’ hand,’ came various incriminatory voices.
‘Didn’t I tell you?’ said Alpatych, coming into his own. ‘It was wrong, boys.’
‘We bin a bit daft, Yakov Alpatych,’ came other voices, and the crowd began to break up and scatter about the village.
The two tied-up peasants were taken up to the manor house. The two drunken peasants followed on behind.
‘Hey, look at ’e now!’ said one of them, addressing Karp.
‘Thinks you can talk like that to your betters? What d’ye think you was doing? You’re a fool,’ put in the other man, ‘a right fool.’
Within two hours the horses and wagons were standing in the courtyard of the Bogucharovo house. The peasants were scurrying in and out, stowing the family things in the carts, and Dron, released at Princess Marya’s behest from the lumber-room where they had locked him up, was out in the yard directing the men.
‘Hey, watch what you’re doing,’ said one of the peasants, a tall man with a round, beaming face, taking a casket from a housemaid’s hands. ‘That’s worth a bit, that is. If you just chuck it in like that or shove it under the rope it’ll get scratched. I don’t like that sort of thing. Everything should be done properly. Do it by the book. Look, like this, place it under the matting and cover it up with hay. There you are. Splendid job!’
‘Lord have mercy on us, look at all these books,’ said another peasant, bringing out Prince Andrey’s book-cases. ‘Hey, mind you don’t slip! They weighs a ton, boys. Nice books these!’
‘All them pages, took ’em ages!’ said a tall, round-faced peasant nodding with a knowing wink in the direction of some big fat dictionaries sitting on top.
Rostov had no desire to force himself on the princess, so he didn’t go back to see her, preferring to stay down in the village and wait for her to drive out. Eventually Princess Marya’s carriages drove away from the house, whereupon Rostov got on his horse and rode alongside as far as the road occupied by our troops, seven or eight miles from Bogucharovo. At the inn at Yankovo he parted from her with a show of courtesy and allowed himself to kiss her hand for the first time.
