THE ROSTOVS' SON-IN-LAW, Berg, was by now a colonel, with the orders of Vladimir and Anne on his neck, and was still filling the same comfortable and agreeable post of assistant to the head of the staff of the assistant of the chief officer of the staff of the commander of the left flank of the infantry of the first army.
On the 1st of September he had come into Moscow from the army.
He had absolutely nothing to do in Moscow; but he noticed that every one in the army was asking leave to go into Moscow, and was busy doing something there. He, too, thought fit to ask leave of absence on account of urgent domestic and family affairs.
Berg drove up to his father-in-law's house in his spruce chaise, with his pair of sleek roans, precisely similar to those of a certain prince. He looked carefully at the luggage in the yard, and as he ran up the steps, he took out a clean pocket-handkerchief, and tied a knot in it.
Berg ran with a swimming, impatient step from the entry into the drawing-room, embraced the count, kissed Natasha's hand and Sonya's, and then hastened to inquire after mamma's health.
“Health, at a time like this! Come, tell us what news of the army!” said the count. “Are they retreating, or will there be a battle?”
“Only Almighty God can tell what will be the fate of our Fatherland, papa,” said Berg. “The army is animated by the most ardent spirit of heroism, and now its chiefs, so to speak, are sitting in council. No one knows what is coming. But I can tell you, papa, that our heroic spirit, the truly antique valour of the Russian army, which they—it, I mean,” he corrected himself—“showed in the fight of the 26th … well, there are no words that can do justice to it.” (He smote himself on the chest just as he had seen a general do, who had used much the same phrases before him—but he was a little too late, for the blow on the chest should properly have been at the words, “the Russian army.”) “I can assure you, papa, that we officers, so far from having to urge the soldiers on, or anything of the sort, had much ado to keep in check this … yes, these exploits recalling the valour of antiquity,” he rattled off. “General Barclay de Tolly risked his life everywhere in front of his troops, I can assure you. Our corps was posted on the slope of a hill. Only fancy!” And Berg proceeded to recount all the stories he had heard repeated about the battle. Natasha stared at Berg, as though seeking the solution of some problem in his face, and her eyes disconcerted him.
“Altogether, the heroism shown by the Russian soldiers is beyond praise, and beyond description!” said Berg, looking at Natasha; and as though wishing to soften her, he smiled in response to her persistent stare … “ ‘Russia is not in Moscow, she lives in the hearts of her sons!' Eh, papa?” said Berg.
At that moment the countess came in from the divan-room with a look of weariness and annoyance on her face. Berg skipped up, kissed the countess's hand, asked after her health, and stood beside her, with a sympathetic shake of his head.
“Yes, mamma, to tell the truth, these are hard and sorrowful times for every Russian. But why should you be so anxious? You have still time to get away …”
“I can't make out what the servants are about,” said the countess, addressing her husband. “They told me just now nothing was ready. Some one really must go and look after them. It's at such times one misses Mitenka. There will be no end to it.”
The count was about to make some reply; but with a visible effort to restrain himself, got up and went to the door without a word.
Berg, meanwhile, had taken out his handkerchief as though about to blow his nose, and, seeing the knot in it, he pondered a moment, shaking his head with mournful significance.
“And, do you know, papa, I have a great favour to ask …” he began.
“H'm?” said the count, pausing.
“I was passing by Yusupov's house just now,” said Berg, laughing. “The steward, a man I know, ran out and asked me whether I wouldn't care to buy any of their things. I went in, you know, out of curiosity, and there is a little chiffonier and dressing-table. You know, just like what Verushka wanted, and we quarrelled about.” (Berg unconsciously passed into a tone expressive of his pleasure in his own excellent domestic arrangements.) “And such a charming thing!—it moves forward, you know, with a secret English lock. And it's just what Verushka wanted. So I want to make it a surprise for her. I see what a number of peasants you have in the yard. Please, spare me one of them. I'll pay him well, and …”
The count frowned and sniffed.
“Ask the countess; I don't give the orders.”
“If it's troublesome, pray don't,” said Berg. “Only I should have liked it on Vera's account.”
“Ah, go to damnation all of you, damnation! damnation! damnation!” cried the old count. “My head's going round.” And he went out of the room.
The countess began to cry.
“Yes, indeed, these are terrible times, mamma!” said Berg.
Natasha went out with her father, and as though unable to make up her mind on some difficult question, she followed him at first, then turned and ran downstairs.
Petya was standing at the entrance, engaged in giving out weapons to the servants, who were leaving Moscow. The loaded waggons were still standing in the yards. Two of them had been uncorded, and on to one of these the wounded officer was clambering with the assistance of his orderly.
“Do you know what it was about?” Petya asked Natasha. (Natasha knew that he meant, what their father and mother had been quarrelling about.) She did not answer.
“It was because papa wanted to give up all the waggons to the wounded,” said Petya. “Vassilitch told me. And what I think …”
“What I think,” Natasha suddenly almost screamed, turning a furious face on Petya, “what I think is, that it's so vile, so loathsome … I don't know. Are we a lot of low Germans? …” Her throat was quivering with sobs, but afraid of being weak, or wasting the force of her anger, she turned and flew headlong up the stairs.
Berg was sitting beside the countess, trying with filial respectfulness to reassure her. The count was walking about the room with a pipe in his hand, when, with a face distorted by passion, Natasha burst like a tempest into the room, and ran with rapid steps up to her mother.
“It's vile! It's loathsome!” she screamed. “It can't be true that it's your order.”
Berg and the countess gazed at her in alarm and bewilderment. The count stood still in the window listening.
“Mamma, it's impossible; look what's being done in the yard!” she cried; “they are being left …”
“What's the matter? Who are they? What do you want?”
“The wounded! It's impossible, mamma, it's outrageous.… No, mamma, darling, it's all wrong; forgive me, please, darling … Mamma, what is it to us what we take away; you only look out into the yard.… Mamma! … It can't be done.…”
The count stood in the window, and listened to Natasha without turning his head. All at once he gave a sort of gulp, and put his face closer to the window.
The countess glanced at her daughter, saw her face full of shame for her mother, saw her emotion, felt why her husband would not look at her now, and looked about her with a distracted air.
“Oh, do as you please. Am I doing anything to hinder any one?” she said, not giving way all at once.
“Mamma, darling, forgive me.”
But the countess pushed away her daughter, and went up to the count.
“My dear, you order what is right.… I don't understand about it, you know,” she said, dropping her eyes with a guilty air.
“The eggs, … the eggs teaching the hen, …” the count murmured through tears of gladness, and he embraced his wife, who was glad to hide her ashamed face on his breast.
“Papa, mamma! may I give the order? May I? …” asked Natasha. “We'll take all that's quite necessary all the same,” she added.
The count nodded; and Natasha, with the same swiftness with which she used to run at “catch-catch,” flew across the hall into the vestibule, and down the steps into the yard.
The servants gathered round Natasha, and could hardly believe the strange order she gave them, till the count himself in his wife's name confirmed the order that all the waggons were to be placed at the disposal of the wounded, and the boxes were to be taken down to the store-rooms. When they understood, the servants gleefully and busily set to this new task. It no longer seemed strange to the servants, it seemed to them, indeed, that no other course was possible; just as a quarter of an hour before they had not thought it strange to leave the wounded behind and take the furniture; had accepted that too, in fact, as the only course possible.
All the household set to work getting the wounded men into the waggons with the greatest zeal, as though to make up for not having espoused their cause earlier. The wounded soldiers came creeping out of their rooms, and crowded round the waggons, with pale, delighted faces. The news spread to the neighbouring houses, and wounded men began to come into the yard from other houses too. Many of the wounded soldiers begged them not to take out the boxes, but only to let them sit on the top of them. But when once the work of unloading had begun there was no stopping it; it seemed of little consequence whether all were left or half. The cases of china, of bronzes, of pictures and looking-glasses, which had been so carefully packed during the previous night lay in the yard, and still they sought and found possibilities of taking out more and more, and leaving more and more, for the wounded.
“We can take four more,” said the steward. “I'll leave my luggage, or else what is to become of them?”
“Oh, let them have our wardrobe cart,” said the countess; “Dunyasha will go with me in the carriage.”
The waggon packed with the ladies' wardrobe was unloaded, and sent to fetch wounded men from two doors off. All the family and the servants too were eager and merry. Natasha was in a state of ecstatic happiness, such as she had not known for a very long while.
“Where are we to fasten this on?” said the servant, trying to lay a trunk on the narrow footboard behind in the carriage. “We must keep just one cart for it.”
“What is it?” asked Natasha.
“The count's books.”
“Leave it. Vassilitch will put it away. That's not necessary.”
The covered gig was full of people; they were only in doubt where Pyotr Ilyitch was to sit.
“He'll go on the box. You'll go on the box, won't you, Petya?” cried Natasha.
Sonya, too, worked with unflagging zeal; but the aim of her exertions was the opposite of Natasha's. She saw to the storing away of all that was left behind, made a list of them at the countess's desire, and tried to get as much as possible taken with them.
罗斯托夫的女婿贝格已经是拥有弗拉基米尔和安娜两枚勋章的上校了，职务仍然是第二集团军第一支队参谋部副参谋长。
九月一日，他从部队来莫斯科。
他在莫斯科无事可干，但他发觉大家都在请假去莫斯科办点事。他也认为有必要请假去办点家务私事。
贝格乘坐自己漂亮的四轮马车，由两匹喂饱了的黄骠马（像某一位公爵的马一样）拉着，驶到他岳父的府上。他注意地朝院子里的那些车辆望了一望，然后登上台阶，这时他掏出一条干净手帕来打了一个结。
他飘逸地小跑着经过前厅走到客厅里，拥抱伯爵，吻娜塔莎和索尼娅的手，急切地问岳母的健康。
“现在谈什么健康哟？呶，你说说看，”伯爵说，“部队怎么样了？要撤离，还是要打一仗？”
“只有永恒的上帝，爸爸，”贝格说，“才能决定祖国的命运。军队的士气旺盛，头头们，这么说吧，在开军事会议。结果如何，不知道。但我概括起来跟您说吧，爸爸，在二十六日那次战役中，俄国部队，”他又更正说，“整个俄军所表现或者显示的英雄气概，和俄军自古以来的勇敢精神，是无法用恰当的词汇来描写的……告诉您吧，爸爸（他拍着胸脯说，就像一位在他面前讲话的将军拍过胸脯一样，但拍得早了一点，应该是在说到‘俄军'时捶胸），坦白地告诉您吧，我们做长官的不仅不用督战什么的，我们还能奋力保持住这种，这种……这个，勇敢的自古以来的功勋，”他急不择言地说。
“巴克莱·德·托利将军处处奋不顾身，身先士卒，跟您说吧。我们军团就守在山坡上。您想想看！”这样，贝格把他记得起的这段时间听到的各种传闻，——讲述完毕。娜塔莎目不转睛地望着他，似乎想在他脸上找出某个问题的答案，看得他不好意思起来。
“总而言之，俄国军人所显示的英勇气概，是难以想象的，值得赞扬的！”贝格说，看了看娜塔莎，像是要邀赏，并对其专注的目光报之以微笑……‘俄国不在莫斯科，她在她子女们的心中！'是吧，爸爸？”贝格说。
这时，从起居室里走来了面容疲倦、情绪不满的伯爵夫人。贝格急忙起身，吻伯爵夫人的手，问候她的健康，摇头叹息地表示同情，侍立在她身旁。
“对了，妈妈，说真的，这对所有俄国人都是艰难而忧郁的时刻。您干吗如此不安呢？您还来得及走……”
“我不明白，人们都在干些什么，”伯爵夫人对丈夫说，“刚才有人告诉我，什么都还未准备就绪。可是，总得有个人来料理呀。真教人痛惜米坚卡。这种局面还不会结束哩！”
伯爵想谈一谈，但显然忍住了。他从椅子上起身朝门口走去。
贝格这时好像要擤鼻涕，掏出手帕，看到打的结，忧郁而沉重地摇了摇头，默想了片刻。
“啊爸爸，我有件大事求您。”他说。
“嗯？……”伯爵止住了脚步，说道。
“刚才我经过尤苏波夫家，”他笑着说，“管家我认识，他跑出来问我要不要买点什么。您知道，我出于好奇进去了，看到一个小衣柜和一个梳妆台。您知道，薇鲁什卡要这两件东西，我们为此还吵过嘴。（贝格谈到梳妆台和衣柜时，语调便由于对室内陈设的兴趣而快活起来）。还真奇妙哩！梳妆台可以抽出来，还带有英国式的机关哩，您知道吗？薇洛奇卡早就想要了。我想让她大吃一惊。我在你们这儿看到这么多农夫在院子里。拨一辆车给我用吧，我会出大价钱的，并且……”
伯爵皱起眉头，清了清喉咙。
“向伯爵夫人要，我是不管事的。”
“如果为难，那就不要了，”贝格说。“我只是很想为薇鲁什卡买下来。”
“咳，都走开，都见鬼去，见鬼去，见鬼去，见鬼去！……”老伯爵大声叫着，“脑袋都晕了。”接着走出了屋子。
伯爵夫人哭了。
“的确，妈妈，是很艰难的时刻！”贝格说。
娜塔莎同父亲一道走了出去，好像很费力地在思索什么事情，跟着走了几步，然后从台阶跑到院子里去。
彼佳在台阶上给那些离开莫斯科的人发放武器。院子里仍然停着装载好了的车辆。其中有二辆已经打散，一个勤务兵托着他的军官正往车上爬。
“知不知道为什么？”彼佳问娜塔莎（娜塔莎明白彼佳所指的是父亲和母亲吵嘴。）她没有回答。
“是为爸爸想把大车拨给伤员乘坐，”彼佳说，“瓦西里奇对我说的。我认为……”
“我认为，”突然，娜塔莎几乎叫了起来，把愤怒的面孔朝着彼佳，“我认为，真可耻，真可恶，真……我不知道了。难道我们是一些德国人吗？…”她的喉咙哽咽得发颤，他怕她的凶狠无处发泄而白白消失，便又回转身来，飞快登上台阶。
贝格坐在伯爵夫人身旁，愉快地恭敬地安慰着岳母。伯爵手提烟斗在室内踱来踱去，这时，娜塔莎，脸都气得变了样，一阵风一样冲进客厅，快步走向母亲。
“这是耻辱！这是作恶！”她喊叫着。“您那样下命令不行。”
贝格和伯爵夫人不解而又惊吓地望着娜塔莎。伯爵则呆在窗旁听着。
“妈咪，这样不行，您瞧瞧院子里的情况！”她大声说，“他们要留下来！”……”
“你怎么啦？他们是谁呀？你要什么？”
“伤兵，就是他们！这不行，妈咪；这太不像话……，不，妈咪，亲爱的，这不是那么回事，请您原谅，妈咪……亲爱的，那些要运走的东西对我们有什么用嘛，您只要看看院子里面……妈咪！……这样不行啊！……”
伯爵站在窗户旁听着娜塔莎说话，脸也没有转过来。他突然鼻子哼了一下，把脸贴近窗户。
伯爵夫人望着女儿，看到她为母亲感到羞耻的脸，看到她的激动，明白了为什么丈夫现在连看都不看她一眼，因此张皇失措地环顾周围。
“噢，你们想怎么办就去办吧！难道我妨碍谁了！”她说，还未一下子认输。
“妈咪，亲爱的，请原谅我。”
伯爵夫人却推开女儿，朝伯爵走去。
“Mon cher，你来管事吧，该怎么……我可是不知道这事啊。”她说，悔恨地垂下目光。
“鸡子……鸡子教训母鸡……”透过幸福的泪花，伯爵说出了这句话，然后拥抱妻子，妻子则高兴地把羞愧的面孔藏在丈夫怀里。
“爸爸，妈咪！可以由我来管吗？可以吗？”娜塔莎问。
“我们就只带上最要紧的……”她说。
伯爵赞同地向她点头，娜塔莎随即像玩逮人游戏一样，飞快跑过客厅，穿过前厅，跑下台阶到了院子里。
人们聚拢在娜塔莎身旁，一直不敢相信她传达的那道奇怪的命令，直到伯爵亲自出来以妻子的名义肯定那道命令，即把车辆拨给伤员，而把箱子搬回贮藏室，他们才相信。弄清楚命令后，人们高兴地匆忙地担负起这项新的任务。现在，奴仆们不仅不觉得奇怪，相反，还觉得不能不这样；就像一刻钟以前，不仅谁也不觉得留下伤员带走东西奇怪，而且还觉得正该如此。
所有的家奴，好像要补偿刚才没这样做的过失，利索地干起了安置受伤官兵的新任务。伤员们拖着腿从各自的房间里出来围住大车，苍白的脸上露出喜色。邻近几家也传开了还有车辆的消息，所以，其他家里住的伤员也开始到罗斯托夫家的院子里来。伤员中的许多人请求不用卸下东西，让他们就坐在东西上面。可是，已经开始解开绳索的情况再也收不了场了。留一半或留下全部都一样。院子里散放着不带走的装有武器、青铜器绘画和镜子的箱子，这是昨晚辛辛苦苦收拾好了的；人们仍在寻找，并且也找到了那些可以不带走的东西，腾出了一辆接一辆的大车。
“还可以再搭四个人，”管家说，“我把我的车也让出来，要不，把他们搁在哪儿呢？”
“把我运衣服的车也给他们，”伯爵夫人说，“杜尼亚莎跟我坐一辆车。”
他们又腾出运衣服的车去接隔壁第三、第四家的伤员。所有家奴和仆人干得都挺带劲。娜塔莎充满了兴奋而且幸福的快活情绪，这种热闹气氛她已久违了。
“把它捆在哪儿呢？”仆人边问边把箱子往马车后狭窄的踏脚蹬上放，“至少得再留一辆才行。”
“它装的什么？”娜塔莎问。
“伯爵的书籍。”
“放下。瓦西里奇来收捡。这个用不着。”
这辆轻便马车已坐满了人，彼得·伊里伊奇坐在哪儿都成了问题。
“他坐前座。你坐前座上吧，彼佳？”娜塔莎大声说。
索尼娅同样也在忙个不停；但她忙碌的方向正好与娜塔莎的方向相反。她把不带走的东西送回屋里去，并照伯爵夫人的意思一一登记，还尽力多带走一些东西。
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