The countess was horrified. As he was saying all this she kept a nervous watch on her son’s eager, excited face. She knew it: one word from her about Petya staying away from this battle (she could see he was relishing the prospect of it), and he would go on at her about being a man, honour, the fatherland – the bone-headed obstinacy of men that brooked no opposition – and all would be lost. So, in the hope of getting away beforehand and taking Petya along as their guard and protector, she said nothing to her son, but as soon as dinner was over she took her husband to one side, burst into tears and begged him to take her away as soon as possible, that night if it could be done. Until this moment she had been a model of self-control, but now with all the guile and affection that come naturally to a woman, she said she would die of fright if they didn’t get away that very night. For once she was not pretending; everything scared her now.
CHAPTER 14
Madame Schoss, who had been out walking on a visit to her daughter, added to the countess’s fears by describing what she had seen outside a public house in Myasnitsky Street. That thoroughfare was on her way home, but she hadn’t been able to walk down it because there was a drunken mob rampaging round the public house. She had taken a cab and driven home by a roundabout route; the driver had told her that the mob had been breaking barrels open, and they had been told to do so.
After lunch all the Rostov household were only too eager to resume the business of packing and preparing for their departure at top speed. The old count jumped to it, and spent the whole day trotting in and out of the courtyard, shouting meaningless instructions to the hurrying servants, and trying to get them to go even faster. Petya directed operations outside. Sonya couldn’t make head or tail of the count’s contradictory orders, and she didn’t know which way to turn. The servants were running about all over the place, inside and out, shouting, arguing and making a terrible racket. Natasha now joined the fray, with her usual enthusiasm. At first her sudden involvement was viewed with some suspicion. Everybody expected nothing but silliness from her and they wouldn’t do what she said, but she stuck to her guns and urgently insisted on being obeyed, losing her temper and almost weeping from frustration because they wouldn’t listen, and at last she won them round. Her first solid achievement, which cost her much effort but finally established her authority, had to do with packing the rugs. The house contained a number of expensive Gobelin tapestries and Persian carpets. When Natasha got to work she found two boxes standing open in the ballroom, one almost full of china, the other full of rugs. There was a lot more china stacked on the tables and more still coming in from the pantry. What they needed was a third box, and the servants had gone to get one.
‘Sonya, don’t do that. We’ll get it all in,’ said Natasha.
‘We won’t, miss. We’ve already tried,’ said the under-butler.
‘No, wait a minute, please.’ And Natasha started taking the paper-wrapped plates and dishes out of the box.
‘It would be better to wrap the dishes in with the rugs,’ she said.
‘But, for goodness’ sake, we’ve still got enough rugs left to fill three boxes,’ said the footman.
‘Just wait. Please.’ And Natasha began sorting things out. She moved swiftly and with an expert hand. ‘We don’t need these,’ she said, handling some Kiev plates. ‘We do need this lot. They can go in the rugs,’ she decided, fishing out the Saxony dishes.
‘Oh, Natasha, please don’t. Leave us alone. We’ll get it all packed,’ Sonya chided.
‘What a young lady!’ exclaimed the butler.
But Natasha was determined. She pulled everything out and quickly started repacking, deciding that the poor-quality rugs and spare crockery needn’t be taken at all. When everything had been emptied out she began the repacking, and lo and behold, by throwing out all the cheaper stuff that wasn’t worth taking the valuable items were easily squeezed into two boxes. There was only one problem: the lid of the rug box wouldn’t shut. A few things could have been taken out, but Natasha wanted to do it her way. She unpacked, repacked, squashed it down, got one of the servants to help Petya, now pressed into service, force the lid down, and added her own desperate efforts.
‘It’s no good, Natasha,’ Sonya said. ‘I can see you’re right, but you’ll have to take the top one out.’
