Towards dusk the cannonade began to subside. Alpatitch came out of the cellar and stood in the doorway.
The clear evening sky was all overcast with smoke. And a new crescent moon looked strange, shining high up in the sky, through that smoke. After the terrible thunder of the cannons had ceased, a hush seemed to hang over the town, broken only by the footsteps, which seemed all over the town, the sound of groans and distant shouts, and the crackle of fires. The cook’s moans had ceased now. On two sides black clouds of smoke from fires rose up and drifted away. Soldiers in different uniforms walked and ran about the streets in different directions, not in ranks, but like ants out of a disturbed ant heap. Several of them ran into Ferapontov’s yard before Alpatitch’s eyes. He went out to the gate. A regiment, crowded and hurrying, blocked up the street, going back.
WARANDPEACE 659
‘The town’s surrendered; get away, get away,’ said an officer noticing his figure; and turning immediately to the soldiers, he shouted, ‘I’ll teach you to run through the yards! ’
Alpatitch went back to the house, and calling the coachman told him to set off. Alpatitch and the coachman were followed out by all the household of Ferapontov. When they saw the smoke and even the flames of burning houses, which began to be visible now in the dusk, the women, who had been silent till then, broke into a sudden wail, as they gazed at the fires. As though seconding them, similar wails rose up in other parts of the street. Alpatitch and the coachman with trembling hands pulled out the tangled reins and the traces of the horses under the shed.
As Alpatitch was driving out of the gate, he saw about a dozen soldiers in loud conversation in Ferapontov’s open shop. They were filling their bags and knapsacks with wheaten Hour and sunflower seeds. At that moment Ferapontov returned and went into the shop. On seeing the soldiers, he was about to shout at them, but all at once he stopped short, and clutching at his hair broke into a sobbing laugh.
‘Carry it all away, lads! Don’t leave it for the devils,’ he shouted, snatching up the sacks himself and pitching them into the street. Some of the soldiers ran away in a fright, others went on filling up their bags. Seeing Alpatitch, Ferapontov turned to him.
‘It’s all over with Russia! ’ he shouted. ‘Alpatitch 1 it’s all over! I’ll set fire to it myself. It’s over . . .’ Ferapontov ran into the house.
An unbroken stream of soldiers was blocking up the whole street, so that Alpatitch could not pass and was obliged to wait. Ferapontov’s wife and children were sitting in a cart too, waiting till it was possible to start.
It was by now quite dark. There were stars in the sky, and from time to time the new moon shone through the veil of smoke. Alpatitch’s and his hostess’s vehicles moved slowly along in the rows of soldiers and of other conveyances, and on the slope down to the Dnieper they had to halt altogether. In a lane not far from the cross-roads where the traffic had come to a full stop, there were shops and a house on fire. The fire was by now burning down. The flame died down and was lost in black smoke, then flared up suddenly, lighting up with strange distinctness the faces of the crowd at the cross-roads. Black figures were flitting about before the fire, and talk and shouts could be heard above the unceasing crackling of the flames. Alpatitch, seeing that it would be some time before his gig could move forward, got out and went back to the lane to look at the fire. Soldiers were scurrying to and fro before the fire; and Alpatitch saw two soldiers with a man in a frieze coat dragging burning beams from the fire across the street to a house near, while others carried armfuls of hay.
Alpatitch joined a great crowd of people standing before a high corn granary in full blaze. The walls were all in flames; the back wall had fallen in; the plank roof was breaking down, and the beams were glowing. The crowd were evidently watching for the moment when the roof would fall in. Alpatitch too waited to see it.
‘Alpatitch! ’ the old man suddenly heard a familiar voice calling to him.
‘Mercy on us, your excellency,’ answered Alpatitch, instantly recognis ing the voice of his young master.
Prince Andrey, wearing a cape, and mounted on a black horse, was i t the crowd, and looking at Alpatitch.
‘How did you come here?’ he asked. v
‘Your . . . your excellency! ’ Alpatitch articulated, and he broke into sobs. . . . ‘Your, your . . . is it all over with us, really? Master . . .’
‘How is it you are here?’ repeated Prince Andrey. The flames flared up at that instant, and Alpatitch saw in the bright light his young master’s pale and worn face. Alpatitch told him how he had been sent to the town and had difficulty in getting away.
‘What do you say, your excellency, is it all over with us?’ he asked again.
