‘Oh, Cousin, please forgive me for coming in to see you.’ She seemed excited and her tone was disparaging. ‘But I hope you realize some decisions have to be taken. What on earth is going to happen? Everyone has left Moscow, and the people are up in arms. Why are we staying on?’
‘Quite the reverse, dear cousin, everything seems to be most satisfactory, ’ said Pierre in the bantering tone he usually adopted with his cousin to dispel the embarrassment he always felt towards her in his role as benefactor.
‘Oh yes, satisfactory . . . highly satisfactory, I’m sure. Varvara Ivanovna has been telling me how well our troops are doing. And much credit it does them, I must say. And the people, too, they’ve taken to the streets and they won’t obey any orders. My own maid has turned against me. If things go on as they are they’ll soon be after our blood. You can’t walk down the street. But what bothers me is that the French will be here in a day or two. Why are we waiting for them? Please, Cousin, just do me one favour,’ said the princess, ‘give orders for me to be taken to Petersburg. Say what you will about me, I could not live under Bonaparte.’
‘My dear cousin, that’s quite enough. Where do you get your information from? You’ve got things the wrong way round . . .’
‘I will not submit to your Napoleon. Others may do as they like . . . If you won’t do this for me . . .’
‘But I will, I’ll give the orders straightaway.’
The princess was obviously quite put out by having no one to vent her anger on. Muttering under her breath she perched on the edge of a chair.
‘But what you’ve heard is not right,’ said Pierre. ‘Everything’s quiet down town, and there’s no danger. Look what I’ve just been reading . . .’ Pierre showed her the posters. ‘The count says here he’ll stake his life on it the enemy will never set foot in Moscow.’
‘Oh, you and your count,’ the princess spat out spitefully. ‘He’s a hypocrite and a villain. He was the one who brought them out on to the streets. Didn’t he write on his stupid posters that they should grab the world and his wife by the scruff of the neck and dump them in the lock-up? Stupid man! Honour and glory, says he, to anyone who does. Look where it’s got us, all his fine talk! Varvara Ivanovna told me she was almost strung up by the mob for speaking a few words of French.’
‘Well, I know how it is . . . But you do take things too seriously,’ said Pierre, dealing out his cards for a game of patience.
That hand did come out, but rather than going off to join the army Pierre stayed on in a Moscow that was getting emptier by the day, and his mood was the same – a mixture of excitement, indecision and delicious dread of impending doom.
By the following evening the princess had gone, and Pierre’s head steward came in to report that the money needed for the equipment of his regiment could not be raised without selling one of his estates. He did his best to persuade Pierre that all these silly ideas about a regiment would be the ruin of him. Pierre could hardly conceal a smile as he listened to the steward.
‘Well, go on, sell it,’ he said. ‘It can’t be helped. There’s no going back on what I said!’
The worse things got, especially things that mattered to him, the happier Pierre was, and the clearer it became that the long-awaited catastrophe was almost upon them. Hardly any of Pierre’s acquaintances were still in town. Julie had gone, Princess Marya had gone. Of the people closest to him only the Rostovs were left, but Pierre didn’t go to see them.
That day for a little relaxation Pierre drove out to the village of Vorontsovo to have a look at a huge balloon that was being built by Leppich5 for devastating use against the enemy, and the test balloon due for launching the following day. The balloon wasn’t quite ready, but Pierre found out it was being built with the Tsar’s approval. The Tsar had written to Count Rostopchin (in French) as follows:
As soon as Leppich is ready select a crew of good, clever men for his gondola, and dispatch a courier to General Kutuzov to give him due warning. I have told him about this. Please ensure that Leppich is strongly advised to be very careful where he comes down for the first time lest he go off course and fall into the hands of the enemy. It is essential that he co-ordinate his movements with those of the commander-in-chief.
On the way home from Vorontsovo Pierre was driving through Bolotny Square when he saw a crowd at the Place of Execution, so he stopped and got out of his carriage. A French chef accused of espionage was being flogged. The flogging was over, and the executioner was at the flogging-bench untying a stout man with red sideburns, blue stockings and a green jacket stripped off his back, who was moaning grievously. Another criminal, frail, thin and pale, was waiting for his turn. To judge by their faces both of them were Frenchmen. Pierre shoved his way through the crowd looking every bit as terrified and sickly as the skinny Frenchman.
