War And Peace полностью

The count’s tone was diffident, as always when it came to money. The countess knew the tone well, the inevitable harbinger of some new piece of business likely to be ruinous for the children, like the building of a new gallery, or a conservatory, getting up a new theatre in the house, or forming an orchestra, and it was now a matter of habit and duty for her to resist anything that came to her in that diffident tone.

Assuming her attitude of tearful resignation, she spoke to her husband.

‘Listen, Count, you’ve brought us so low we’re getting nothing for the house, and now you want to get rid of all our things – the children’s property. It was you who told me we have a hundred thousand roubles’ worth of valuables in this house. I won’t have it, my dear, I won’t have it. What do you think you’re doing? It’s the government’s job to look after the wounded, and they know full well. Look at the Lopukhins across the street – they cleared out every stick only the other day. That’s how other people do things. We’re the only fools. You may have no consideration for me, but at least think about the children.’

The count threw up his hands, and went out of the room without saying a word.

‘Papa! What’s all this about?’ asked Natasha, who had followed him to her mother’s room.

‘Nothing! You keep out of this!’ the count said angrily.

‘But I heard,’ said Natasha. ‘Why is Mamma objecting?’

‘Keep out of it!’ cried the count.

Natasha walked over to the window, looking thoughtful.

‘Oh, Papa, look. Berg’s come to see us,’ she said, looking out of the window.

CHAPTER 16

By this time Berg, the Rostovs’ son-in-law, was a colonel, with the orders of Vladimir and Anne round his neck, and he was still enjoying his nice little sinecure as assistant head of staff to the assistant chief officer commanding the Second Corps first division.

On the 1st of September he had come back to Moscow from the army. He had nothing to do in the city, but he had noticed that everyone else in the army was going to Moscow on leave, and they were finding things to do there. So he decided that he too ought to apply for some leave on domestic and family grounds.

Berg drove up to his father-in-law’s house in his neat little trap drawn by a pair of sleek roans, an exact copy of those belonging to a certain prince. He took a long look at the carts in the yard, and as he ran up the steps he took out a clean pocket-handkerchief and tied a knot in it.

Berg glided speedily from the ante-room to the drawing-room, where he embraced the count, kissed Natasha’s hand and Sonya’s, and lost no time inquiring after Mamma’s health.

‘Never mind people’s health at a time like this! Come on, tell us what’s going on in the army!’ said the count. ‘Are they retreating, or will they stand and fight?’

‘Our Eternal Father is the only power that can decide the fate of our country, Papa,’ said Berg. ‘The army burns with the spirit of heroism, and at this very moment our leaders have, so to speak, foregathered in council. No one knows the outcome. But in general I can say this, Papa – that heroic spirit, the authentic and time-honoured valour of our Russian army that they – I mean it,’ he said, correcting himself, ‘ – showed in the battle of the 26th . . . well, no words can do justice to it.’ (He smote himself on the breast in the manner of a general he had heard holding forth, but his timing was out – the blow on the chest should have been delivered along with the phrase ‘our Russian army’.) ‘I can say quite openly that we officers, far from having to urge the soldiers on, or anything like that, were hard put to hold back this . . . those brave deeds of ancient valour,’ he gabbled. ‘General Barclay de Tolly risked his life all over the place at the head of his troops, I can assure you. Our particular corps was stationed on a hillside . . . Imagine the scene . . .’ And off he went into all the stories he had committed to memory from the many circulating at a time of good stories. Natasha embarrassed Berg by watching him closely as if the solution to some problem was hidden in his face.

‘Such widespread heroism as was demonstrated by the Russian soldiers is beyond description and worthy of the highest praise!’ said Berg, looking at Natasha, and in an attempt to mollify her he answered her sharp stare with a smile . . . ‘Russia is not to be found in Moscow, she dwells in the hearts of her sons! Isn’t that right, Papa?’

At this moment the countess came in from the sitting-room looking weary and thoroughly annoyed. Berg leapt to his feet, kissed the countess’s hand, asked after her health, and stood at her side, exuding sympathy with much shaking of his head.

‘Yes, Mamma, the truth is, these are hard and anxious times for every Russian. But why are you looking so worried? There’s still time to get away . . .’