ON SATURDAY, the 31st of August, the whole household of the Rostovs seemed turned upside down. All the doors stood wide open, all the furniture had been moved about or carried out, looking-glasses and pictures had been taken down. The rooms were littered up with boxes, with hay and packing paper and cord. Peasants and house-serfs were tramping about the parquet floors carrying out the baggage. The courtyard was crowded with peasants' carts, some piled high with goods and corded up, others still standing empty.
The voices and steps of the immense multitude of servants and of peasants, who had come with the carts, resounded through the courtyard and the house. The count had been out since early morning. The countess had a headache from the noise and bustle, and was lying down in the new divan-room with compresses steeped in vinegar on her head. Petya was not at home; he had gone off to see a comrade, with whom he was planning to get transferred from the militia to a regiment at the front. Sonya was in the great hall, superintending the packing of the china and glass. Natasha was sitting on the floor in her dismantled room among heaps of dresses, ribbons, and scarfs. She sat gazing immovably at the floor, holding in her hands an old ball-dress, the very dress, now out of fashion, in which she had been to her first Petersburg ball.
Natasha was ashamed of doing nothing when every one in the house was so busy, and several times that morning she had tried to set to work; but her soul was not in it; and she was utterly unable to do anything unless all her heart and soul were in it. She stood over Sonya while she packed the china, and tried to help; but soon threw it up, and went to her room to pack her own things. At first she had found it amusing to give away her dresses and ribbons to the maids, but afterwards when it came to packing what was left, it seemed a wearisome task.
“Dunyasha, you'll pack it all, dear? Yes? yes?”
And when Dunyasha readily undertook to do it all for her, Natasha sat down on the floor with the old ball-dress in her hands, and fell to dreaming on subjects far removed from what should have been occupying her mind then. From the reverie she had fallen into, Natasha was aroused by the talk of the maids in the next room and their hurried footsteps from their room to the backstairs. Natasha got up and looked out of the window. A huge train of carts full of wounded men had stopped in the street.
The maids, the footmen, the housekeeper, the old nurse, the cooks, the coachmen, the grooms, and the scullion-boys were all at the gates, staring at the wounded men.
Natasha flung a white pocket-handkerchief over her hair, and holding the corners in both hands, went out into the street.
The old housekeeper, Mavra Kuzminishna, had left the crowd standing at the gate, and gone up to a cart with a tilt of bast-mats thrown over it. She was talking to a pale young officer who was lying in this cart. Natasha took a few steps forward and stood still timidly, holding her kerchief on and listening to what the housekeeper was saying.
“So you have no one then in Moscow?” Mavra Kuzminishna was saying. “You'd be more comfortable in some apartment.… In our house even. The masters are all leaving.”
“I don't know if it would be allowed,” said the officer in a feeble voice. “There's our chief officer … ask him,” and he pointed to a stout major who had turned back and was walking along the row of carts down the street.
Natasha glanced with frightened eyes into the face of the wounded officer, and at once went to meet the major.
“May the wounded men stay in our house?” she asked.
The major with a smile put his hand to his cap.
“What is your pleasure, ma'mselle?” he said, screwing up his eyes and smiling.
Natasha quietly repeated her question, and her face and her whole manner, though she still kept hold of the corners of the pocket-handkerchief, was so serious, that the major left off smiling, and after a moment's pondering—as though asking himself how far it were possible—he gave her an affirmative answer.
“Oh yes, why not, they may,” he said.
Natasha gave a slight nod, and went back with rapid steps to Mavra Kuzminishna, who was still talking with commiserating sympathy to the young officer.
“They may; he said they might!” whispered Natasha.
The officer in the covered cart turned into the Rostovs' courtyard, and dozens of carts of wounded men began at the invitation of the inhabitants to drive up to the entries of the houses in Povarsky Street. Natasha was evidently delighted at having to do with new people in conditions quite outside the ordinary routine of life. She joined Mavra Kuzminishna in trying to get as many as possible driven into their yard.
“We must ask your papa though,” said Mavra Kuzminishna.
“Nonsense, nonsense. What does it matter? For one day, we'll move into the drawing-room. We can give them all our half of the house.”
“What an idea! what next? The lodge, may be, the men's room, and old nurse's room; and you must ask leave for that.”
“Well, I will ask.”
Natasha ran indoors, and went on tiptoe to the half-open door of the divan-room, where there was a strong smell of vinegar and Hoffmann's drops.
“Are you asleep, mamma?”
“Oh, what chance is there of sleep!” said the countess, who had just dropped into a doze.
“Mamma, darling!” said Natasha, kneeling before her mother and leaning her face against her mother's. “I am sorry, forgive me, I'll never do it again, I waked you. Mavra Kuzminishna sent me; they have brought some wounded men in, officers, will you allow it? They have nowhere to go; I know you will allow it, …” she said rapidly, not taking breath.
“Officers? Who have been brought in? I don't understand,” said the countess.
Natasha laughed, the countess too smiled faintly.
“I knew you would let me … so I will tell them so.” And Natasha, kissing her mother, got up and went to the door.
In the hall she met her father, who had come home with bad news.
“We have lingered on too long!” said the count, with unconscious anger in his voice; “the club's shut up and the police are leaving.”
“Papa, you don't mind my having invited some of the wounded into the house?” said Natasha.
“Of course not,” said the count absently. “But that's not to the point. I beg you now not to let yourself be taken up with any nonsense, but to help to pack and get off—to get off to-morrow …”
And the count gave his butler and servants the same orders. Petya came back at dinner-time, and he too had news to tell them.
He said that the mob was taking up arms to-day in the Kremlin; that though Rastoptchin's placard said he would give the word two days later, it had really been arranged that all the people should go next day in arms to the Three Hills, and there a great battle was to be fought.
The countess looked in timid horror at her son's eager, excited face, as he told them this. She knew that if she said a word to try and dissuade Petya from going to this battle (she knew how he was enjoying the prospect of it), he would say something about the duty of a man, about honour, and the fatherland—something irrational, masculine, and perverse—which it would be useless to oppose, and all hope of preventing him would be gone. And, therefore, hoping to succeed in setting off before this battle, and in taking Petya with her, to guard and protect them on the road, she said nothing to her son, but after dinner called her husband aside, and with tears besought him to take her away as soon as could be, that night if possible. With the instinctive, feminine duplicity of love, though she had till then shown not the slightest sign of alarm, she declared she should die of terror if they did not get away that very night. She was indeed without feigning afraid now of everything.
八月三十一日，星期六，罗斯托夫府上一切都好像闹了个底朝天。所有房间的门都敞开着，全部家具搬了出来或挪动了地方，镜子和画框也取了下来。屋里摆着箱子，旁边零乱地放着干草、包装纸和绳索。农夫和家奴搬着东西，沉重地踩着镶木地板走动，院子里停满了农民的大车，一些已高高堆满东西并捆扎停当，一些还是空的。
屋里屋外，人声鼎沸，脚步杂沓，奴仆们和跟车来的农夫们各自忙活，此呼彼应。伯爵一早外出不知去向。伯爵夫人由于忙乱和嘈杂而头痛起来，头上缠着浸了醋的布，躺在新起居室里。彼佳不在家（他去找他的伙伴，打算同他一起由民团转为现役军人）。索尼娅在大厅看着包装玻璃器皿和瓷器。娜塔莎坐在搬得凌乱的她的房间地板上，周围乱堆着衣服，腰带和围巾，她手里拿着她初次参加彼得堡舞会穿过的旧舞衣（现已过时），呆呆地望着地板。
娜塔莎觉得惭愧，别人都那么忙，而她什么事都不做，于是，从早上起几次想找点事做；但她又没有心思做事，没有心思做事时，她便不能，也不善于做任何事情，因为不是全力以赴的缘故。她站着看蹲着包扎瓷器的索尼娅，想帮帮忙，但立刻又抛开这边的活儿，回自己房间去收拾衣物。起初，她把衣服和腰带分发给女仆，还满高兴的，但过了一会儿，还得收拾剩下的东西，她又觉得索然无味了。
“杜尼亚莎，你来收拾好不好，亲爱的？是不是？”
当杜尼亚莎乐意地把一切应承下来，娜塔莎坐到地板上，又捡起旧的舞衣陷入沉思，但绝不是在思索现在本应占据她脑子的事。隔壁女仆房里使女们的说话声和她们从房里向后门走去的匆忙的脚步声，把她从沉思中唤醒了。娜塔莎站起来往窗外看。街上停着一长串伤兵车辆。
男女仆人，管家和乳娘，厨师和马夫，前导驭手，打杂的厨役都站在大门口看伤兵。
娜塔莎用一条白手绢盖住头发，两手牵住手绢角走出了大门。
过去的管家玛夫拉·库兹米尼什娜老太婆，离开聚在门口的人群，走近一辆有蒲席棚的大车，同躺在车上的年轻的苍白的军官谈话。娜塔莎挪动了几步，怯生地停下，两手仍牵住手绢，叫管家谈话。
“怎么您，这样说来，在莫斯科一个亲戚朋友也没有？”玛夫拉·库兹米尼什娜说。“您最好找一家安静些的住宅……比如到我们府上。老爷太太要走的。
“不知道准不准，”军官有气无力地说，“那是首长……请问问他去，”他指了指一位肥胖的少校，这个少校正沿着一溜大车往回走来。
娜塔莎惊吓地向受伤军官的面庞扫了一眼，即刻朝少校迎面走去。
“可不可以让您的伤兵住到我们家里？”她问。
少校面带微笑把手举向帽檐。
“您觉得谁住到你们家里好呢，小姐？”他眯起眼睛微笑着问。
娜塔莎平静地重说了一遍，虽然她的手依然牵着手绢角，但她的面庞，以及她全部举止都是严肃的，于是，少校收敛了笑容，先是考虑，像是同自己商量这样做的可能性，然后肯定地回答了她。
“哦，行，怎么不行，可以。”他说。
娜塔莎微微点了点头，快步回到玛夫拉·库兹米尼什娜身边，她正站在躺着的军官旁边，疼爱地同他说着话。
“可以，他说了，可以！”娜塔莎低声说。
军官那辆篷车拐进了罗斯托夫家的院子，几十辆载有伤兵的大车应市民的邀请，开进了波瓦尔大街各家院落和门廊。娜塔莎显然很欣赏这种生活常规之外的，与陌生人的交往。她与玛夫拉·库兹未尼什娜一道努力使尽量多的伤兵开进自家院子。
“还是得向爸爸禀告一下。”玛夫拉·库兹米尼什娜说。
“没事，没事，反正都一样！我们搬到客厅去住一天。腾一半给他们都行。”
“呶，小姐，瞧您想的！就是住厢房，下房和保姆的房间，也得问一声呀。”
“呶，我去问。”
娜塔莎跑回家，踮脚走进半掩着的起居室的房门，里面散发出醋味和霍夫曼药水味。
“您睡着了吗？妈妈。”
“唉，睡什么觉啊！”伯爵夫人被惊醒了说，她刚打了个盹儿。
“妈妈，亲爱的。”娜塔莎说，她跪了下来，把脸贴近母亲的脸。“对不起，请您原谅，我吵醒您了，以后决不会这样。玛夫拉·库兹米尼什娜叫我来的，伤兵运到了，都是军官，您答应吗？他们没地方呆；我知道您会答应……”她一口气匆忙地说。
“什么军官？把谁运来了？一点也搞不明白。”伯爵夫人说。
娜塔莎笑了，伯爵夫人也有气无力地笑了。
“我知道您会答应的……那么，我就去说啦。”娜塔莎吻了母亲，起身朝房门走去。
在大厅里，她遇上带回坏消息的父亲。
“我们倒稳坐不动！”伯爵不禁懊恼地说，“俱乐部可关门了，警察也走了。”
“爸爸，我把伤兵请到家里来了，行吗？”娜塔莎对他说。
“当然，行。”心慌意乱的伯爵随便应着。“问题不在这儿，我现在要求大家别管不重要的小事，而是帮忙收拾停当，明天就走，走……”接着，伯爵向管家和仆人发出同样的命令。
午饭时才回家来的彼佳讲开了自己的新闻。
他说，今天民众都在克里姆林宫领武器，虽然拉斯托普钦伯爵的通告里说，他两三天内要发出号令，但大概已经作出了安排，命令全体民众带上武器明天去三座山，那里将要打一场大仗。
彼佳讲话时，伯爵夫人胆怯地望着儿子愉快的神采飞扬的脸庞。她知道，如果她说出她求彼佳别去参加这场战役（她知道他为即将来临的战役感到高兴），那他就会讲出男子汉啦，荣誉啦，祖国啦等等话来，——讲出这些没有意义的，男人的固执的无法反对的事，事情就糟了，所以，她指望安排好在打仗之前就走，她作为一个保护者和庇护者，带上彼佳走，暂时什么也不对彼佳讲，而在饭后叫人请伯爵来，眼泪汪汪地求他尽快用车子送她走，就在当晚送她走，如果来得及的话。一直没露出丝毫畏惧的伯爵夫人，现在以女人的出于母爱的本能的狡黠对丈夫说，如果今晚他们不能乘车离开的话，她便会吓死。用不着假装，她现在的确什么都怕了。
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