Book Eleven: 1812 - Chapter XXXIV

by Leo Tolstoy

　　Having run through different yards and side streets, Pierre got backwith his little burden to the Gruzinski garden at the corner of thePovarskoy. He did not at first recognize the place from which he hadset out to look for the child, so crowded was it now with people andgoods that had been dragged out of the houses. Besides Russianfamilies who had taken refuge here from the fire with theirbelongings, there were several French soldiers in a variety ofclothing. Pierre took no notice of them. He hurried to find the familyof that civil servant in order to restore the daughter to her motherand go to save someone else. Pierre felt that he had still much todo and to do quickly. Glowing with the heat and from running, hefelt at that moment more strongly than ever the sense of youth,animation, and determination that had come on him when he ran tosave the child. She had now become quiet and, clinging with her littlehands to Pierre's coat, sat on his arm gazing about her like somelittle wild animal. He glanced at her occasionally with a slightsmile. He fancied he saw something pathetically innocent in thatfrightened, sickly little face.

　　He did not find the civil servant or his wife where he had leftthem. He walked among the crowd with rapid steps, scanning the variousfaces he met. Involuntarily he noticed a Georgian or Armenian familyconsisting of a very handsome old man of Oriental type, wearing a new,cloth-covered, sheepskin coat and new boots, an old woman of similartype, and a young woman. That very young woman seemed to Pierre theperfection of Oriental beauty, with her sharply outlined, arched,black eyebrows and the extraordinarily soft, bright color of her long,beautiful, expressionless face. Amid the scattered property and thecrowd on the open space, she, in her rich satin cloak with a brightlilac shawl on her head, suggested a delicate exotic plant thrownout onto the snow. She was sitting on some bundles a little behind theold woman, and looked from under her long lashes with motionless,large, almond-shaped eyes at the ground before her. Evidently shewas aware of her beauty and fearful because of it. Her face struckPierre and, hurrying along by the fence, he turned several times tolook at her. When he had reached the fence, still without findingthose he sought, he stopped and looked about him.

　　With the child in his arms his figure was now more conspicuousthan before, and a group of Russians, both men and women, gatheredabout him.

　　"Have you lost anyone, my dear fellow? You're of the gentryyourself, aren't you? Whose child is it?" they asked him.

　　Pierre replied that the child belonged to a woman in a black coatwho had been sitting there with her other children, and he askedwhether anyone knew where she had gone.

　　"Why, that must be the Anferovs," said an old deacon, addressing apockmarked peasant woman. "Lord have mercy, Lord have mercy!" he addedin his customary bass.

　　"The Anferovs? No," said the woman. "They left in the morning.That must be either Mary Nikolievna's or the Ivanovs'!"

　　"He says 'a woman,' and Mary Nikolievna is a lady," remarked a houseserf.

　　"Do you know her? She's thin, with long teeth," said Pierre.

　　"That's Mary Nikolievna! They went inside the garden when thesewolves swooped down," said the woman, pointing to the French soldiers.

　　"O Lord, have mercy!" added the deacon.

　　"Go over that way, they're there. It's she! She kept on lamentingand crying," continued the woman. "It's she. Here, this way!"

　　But Pierre was not listening to the woman. He had for some secondsbeen intently watching what was going on a few steps away. He waslooking at the Armenian family and at two French soldiers who had goneup to them. One of these, a nimble little man, was wearing a blue coattied round the waist with a rope. He had a nightcap on his head andhis feet were bare. The other, whose appearance particularly struckPierre, was a long, lank, round-shouldered, fair-haired man, slow inhis movements and with an idiotic expression of face. He wore awoman's loose gown of frieze, blue trousers, and large torn Hessianboots. The little barefooted Frenchman in the blue coat went up to theArmenians and, saying something, immediately seized the old man by hislegs and the old man at once began pulling off his boots. The other inthe frieze gown stopped in front of the beautiful Armenian girl andwith his hands in his pockets stood staring at her, motionless andsilent.

　　"Here, take the child!" said Pierre peremptorily and hurriedly tothe woman, handing the little girl to her. "Give her back to them,give her back!" he almost shouted, putting the child, who beganscreaming, on the ground, and again looking at the Frenchman and theArmenian family.

　　The old man was already sitting barefoot. The little Frenchman hadsecured his second boot and was slapping one boot against the other.The old man was saying something in a voice broken by sobs, but Pierrecaught but a glimpse of this, his whole attention was directed tothe Frenchman in the frieze gown who meanwhile, swaying slowly fromside to side, had drawn nearer to the young woman and taking his handsfrom his pockets had seized her by the neck.

　　The beautiful Armenian still sat motionless and in the sameattitude, with her long lashes drooping as if she did not see orfeel what the soldier was doing to her.

　　While Pierre was running the few steps that separated him from theFrenchman, the tall marauder in the frieze gown was already tearingfrom her neck the necklace the young Armenian was wearing, and theyoung woman, clutching at her neck, screamed piercingly.

　　"Let that woman alone!" exclaimed Pierre hoarsely in a furiousvoice, seizing the soldier by his round shoulders and throwing himaside.

　　The soldier fell, got up, and ran away. But his comrade, throwingdown the boots and drawing his sword, moved threateningly towardPierre.

　　"Voyons, Pas de betises!"* he cried.

　　*"Look here, no nonsense!"

　　Pierre was in such a transport of rage that he remembered nothingand his strength increased tenfold. He rushed at the barefootedFrenchman and, before the latter had time to draw his sword, knockedhim off his feet and hammered him with his fists. Shouts of approvalwere heard from the crowd around, and at the same moment a mountedpatrol of French Uhlans appeared from round the corner. The Uhlanscame up at a trot to Pierre and the Frenchman and surrounded them.Pierre remembered nothing of what happened after that. He onlyremembered beating someone and being beaten and finally feeling thathis hands were bound and that a crowd of French soldiers stoodaround him and were searching him.

　　"Lieutenant, he has a dagger," were the first words Pierreunderstood.

　　"Ah, a weapon?" said the officer and turned to the barefootedsoldier who had been arrested with Pierre. "All right, you can tellall about it at the court-martial." Then he turned to Pierre. "Doyou speak French?"

　　Pierre looked around him with bloodshot eyes and did not reply.His face probably looked very terrible, for the officer said somethingin a whisper and four more Uhlans left the ranks and placed themselveson both sides of Pierre.

　　"Do you speak French?" the officer asked again, keeping at adistance from Pierre. "Call the interpreter."

　　A little man in Russian civilian clothes rode out from the ranks,and by his clothes and manner of speaking Pierre at once knew him tobe a French salesman from one of the Moscow shops.

　　"He does not look like a common man," said the interpreter, aftera searching look at Pierre.

　　"Ah, he looks very much like an incendiary," remarked the officer."And ask him who he is," he added.

　　"Who are you?" asked the interpreter in poor Russian. "You mustanswer the chief."

　　"I will not tell you who I am. I am your prisoner- take me!"Pierre suddenly replied in French.

　　"Ah, ah!" muttered the officer with a frown. "Well then, march!"

　　A crowd had collected round the Uhlans. Nearest to Pierre stoodthe pockmarked peasant woman with the little girl, and when the patrolstarted she moved forward.

　　"Where are they taking you to, you poor dear?" said she. "And thelittle girl, the little girl, what am I to do with her if she's nottheirs?" said the woman.

　　"What does that woman want?" asked the officer.

　　Pierre was as if intoxicated. His elation increased at the sightof the little girl he had saved.

　　"What does she want?" he murmured. "She is bringing me my daughterwhom I have just saved from the flames," said he. "Good-by!" Andwithout knowing how this aimless lie had escaped him, he went alongwith resolute and triumphant steps between the French soldiers.

　　The French patrol was one of those sent out through the variousstreets of Moscow by Durosnel's order to put a stop to the pillage,and especially to catch the incendiaries who, according to the generalopinion which had that day originated among the higher Frenchofficers, were the cause of the conflagrations. After marching througha number of streets the patrol arrested five more Russian suspects:a small shopkeeper, two seminary students, a peasant, and a houseserf, besides several looters. But of all these various suspectedcharacters, Pierre was considered to be the most suspicious of all.When they had all been brought for the night to a large house on theZubov Rampart that was being used as a guardhouse, Pierre was placedapart under strict guard.