Count Rastoptchin at one time cried shame on those who were going, then removed all the public offices, then served out useless weapons to the drunken rabble, then brought out the holy images, and prevented Father Augustin from removing the holy relics and images, then got hold of all the private conveyances that were in Moscow, then in one hundred and thirty-six carts carried out the air-balloon made by Lep- pich, at one time hinted that he should set fire to Moscow, at one time described how he had burnt his own house, and wrote a proclamation to the French in which he solemnly reproached them for destroying the home of his childhood. He claimed the credit of having set fire to Moscow, then disavowed it; he commanded the people to capture all spies, and bring them to him, then blamed the people for doing so; he sent all the French residents out of Moscow, and then let Madame Aubert-Chalmey, who formed the centre of French society in Moscow, remain. For no particular reason he ordered the respected old postmaster, Klucharov, to be seized and banished. He got the people together on the Three Hills to fight the French, and then, to get rid of them, handed a man over to them to murder, and escaped himself by the back door. He vowed he
would never survive the disaster of Moscow, and later on wrote French
verses in albums on his share in the affair. 1
This man had no inkling of the import of what was happening. All he wanted was to do something himself, to astonish people, to perform some heroic feat of patriotism, and, like a child, he frolicked about the grand and inevitable event of the abandonment and burning of Moscow, trying with his puny hand first to urge on, and then to hold back, the tide of the vast popular current that was bearing him along with it.
VI
Ellen had accompanied the court on its return from Vilna to Petersburg, and there found herself in a difficult position.
In Petersburg Ellen had enjoyed the special patronage of a great personage, who occupied one of the highest positions in the government. In Vilna she had formed a liaison with a young foreign prince.
When she returned to Petersburg the prince and the great dignitary were both in that town; both claimed their rights, and Ellen was confronted with a problem that had not previously arisen in her career— the preservation of the closest relations with both, without giving offence to either.
What might have seemed to any other woman a difficult or impossible task never cost a moment’s thought to Countess Eezuhov, who plainly deserved the reputation she enjoyed of being a most intelligent woman. Had she attempted concealment; had she allowed herself to get out of her awkward position by subterfuges, she would have spoilt her own case by acknowledging herself the guilty party. But like a truly great man, who can always do everything he chooses, Ellen at once assumed the rectitude of her own position, of which she was indeed genuinely convinced, and the guilty responsibility of every one else concerned.
The first time the young foreign prince ventured to reproach her, she lifted her beautiful head, and, with a haughty tone towards him, said firmly:
‘This is the egoism and the cruelty of men. I expected nothing else. Woman sacrifices herself for you; she suffers, and this is her reward. What right have you, your highness, to call me to account for my friendships, my affections? He is a man who has been more than a father to me! ’
The prince would have said something. Ellen interrupted him.
‘Well, yes, perhaps he has sentiments for me other than those of a father, but that is not a reason I should shut my door on him. I am not
1 ‘Je stiis ne Tartare Je voulus etre Romain Les Franqais m’appelerent barbare,
Les Russes—George Dandin.’
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a man to be ungrateful. Know, youi highness, that in all that relates to my private sentiments I will account only to God and to my conscience!’ she concluded, laying her hand on her beautiful, heaving bosom, and looking up to heaven.
‘But listen to me, in God’s name!’ . . .
‘Marry me, and I will be your slave!’
‘But it is impossible.’
‘You do not deign to stoop to me, you . . Ellen burst into tears.
The prince attempted to console her. Ellen, as though utterly distraught, declared through her tears that there was nothing to prevent her marrying; that there were precedents (they were but few at that time, but Ellen quoted the case of Napoleon and some other persons of exalted rank); that she had never been a real wife to her husband; that she had been dragged an unwilling victim into the marriage.
‘But the law, religion . . .’ murmured the prince, on the point of yielding.
‘Religion, laws . . . what can they have been invented for, if they are unable to manage that?’ said Ellen.
The prince was astonished that so simple a reflection had never occurred to him, and applied to the council of the brotherhood of the Society of Jesus, with which he was in close relations.
