Book Ten: 1812 - Chapter IV

by Leo Tolstoy

　　Bald Hills, Prince Nicholas Bolkonski's estate, lay forty miles eastfrom Smolensk and two miles from the main road to Moscow.

　　The same evening that the prince gave his instructions toAlpatych, Dessalles, having asked to see Princess Mary, told her that,as the prince was not very well and was taking no steps to securehis safety, though from Prince Andrew's letter it was evident thatto remain at Bald Hills might be dangerous, he respectfully advisedher to send a letter by Alpatych to the Provincial Governor atSmolensk, asking him to let her know the state of affairs and theextent of the danger to which Bald Hills was exposed. Dessalleswrote this letter to the Governor for Princess Mary, she signed it,and it was given to Alpatych with instructions to hand it to theGovernor and to come back as quickly as possible if there was danger.

　　Having received all his orders Alpatych, wearing a white beaver hat-a present from the prince- and carrying a stick as the prince did,went out accompanied by his family. Three well-fed roans stood readyharnessed to a small conveyance with a leather hood.

　　The larger bell was muffled and the little bells on the harnessstuffed with paper. The prince allowed no one at Bald Hills to drivewith ringing bells; but on a long journey Alpatych liked to have them.His satellites- the senior clerk, a countinghouse clerk, a scullerymaid, a cook, two old women, a little pageboy, the coachman, andvarious domestic serfs- were seeing him off.

　　His daughter placed chintz-covered down cushions for him to sit onand behind his back. His old sister-in-law popped in a small bundle,and one of the coachmen helped him into the vehicle.

　　"There! There! Women's fuss! Women, women!" said Alpatych, puffingand speaking rapidly just as the prince did, and he climbed into thetrap.

　　After giving the clerk orders about the work to be done, Alpatych,not trying to imitate the prince now, lifted the hat from his baldhead and crossed himself three times.

　　"If there is anything... come back, Yakov Alpatych! For Christ'ssake think of us!" cried his wife, referring to the rumors of warand the enemy.

　　"Women, women! Women's fuss!" muttered Alpatych to himself andstarted on his journey, looking round at the fields of yellow ryeand the still-green, thickly growing oats, and at other quite blackfields just being plowed a second time.

　　As he went along he looked with pleasure at the year's splendid cropof corn, scrutinized the strips of ryefield which here and therewere already being reaped, made his calculations as to the sowingand the harvest, and asked himself whether he had not forgotten any ofthe prince's orders.

　　Having baited the horses twice on the way, he arrived at the towntoward evening on the fourth of August.

　　Alpatych kept meeting and overtaking baggage trains and troops onthe road. As he approached Smolensk he heard the sounds of distantfiring, but these did not impress him. What struck him most was thesight of a splendid field of oats in which a camp had been pitched andwhich was being mown down by the soldiers, evidently for fodder.This fact impressed Alpatych, but in thinking about his own businesshe soon forgot it.

　　All the interests of his life for more than thirty years had beenbounded by the will of the prince, and he never went beyond thatlimit. Everything not connected with the execution of the prince'sorders did not interest and did not even exist for Alpatych.

　　On reaching Smolensk on the evening of the fourth of August he putup in the Gachina suburb across the Dnieper, at the inn kept byFerapontov, where he had been in the habit of putting up for thelast thirty years. Some thirty years ago Ferapontov, by Alpatych'sadvice, had bought a wood from the prince, had begun to trade, and nowhad a house, an inn, and a corn dealer's shop in that province. He wasa stout, dark, red-faced peasant in the forties, with thick lips, abroad knob of a nose, similar knobs over his black frowning brows, anda round belly.

　　Wearing a waistcoat over his cotton shirt, Ferapontov was standingbefore his shop which opened onto the street. On seeing Alpatych hewent up to him.

　　"You're welcome, Yakov Alpatych. Folks are leaving the town, but youhave come to it," said he.

　　"Why are they leaving the town?" asked Alpatych.

　　"That's what I say. Folks are foolish! Always afraid of the French."

　　"Women's fuss, women's fuss!" said Alpatych.

　　"Just what I think, Yakov Alpatych. What I say is: orders havebeen given not to let them in, so that must be right. And the peasantsare asking three rubles for carting- it isn't Christian!"

　　Yakov Alpatych heard without heeding. He asked for a samovar and forhay for his horses, and when he had had his tea he went to bed.

　　All night long troops were moving past the inn. Next morningAlpatych donned a jacket he wore only in town and went out onbusiness. It was a sunny morning and by eight o'clock it was alreadyhot. "A good day for harvesting," thought Alpatych.

　　From beyond the town firing had been heard since early morning. Ateight o'clock the booming of cannon was added to the sound ofmusketry. Many people were hurrying through the streets and there weremany soldiers, but cabs were still driving about, tradesmen stood attheir shops, and service was being held in the churches as usual.Alpatych went to the shops, to government offices, to the post office,and to the Governor's. In the offices and shops and at the post officeeveryone was talking about the army and about the enemy who wasalready attacking the town, everybody was asking what should bedone, and all were trying to calm one another.

　　In front of the Governor's house Alpatych found a large number ofpeople, Cossacks, and a traveling carriage of the Governor's. At theporch he met two of the landed gentry, one of whom he knew. Thisman, an ex-captain of police, was saying angrily:

　　"It's no joke, you know! It's all very well if you're single. 'Oneman though undone is but one,' as the proverb says, but withthirteen in your family and all the property... They've brought usto utter ruin! What sort of governors are they to do that? Theyought to be hanged- the brigands!..."

　　"Oh come, that's enough!" said the other.

　　"What do I care? Let him hear! We're not dogs," said theex-captain of police, and looking round he noticed Alpatych.

　　"Oh, Yakov Alpatych! What have you come for?"

　　"To see the Governor by his excellency's order," answeredAlpatych, lifting his head and proudly thrusting his hand into thebosom of his coat as he always did when he mentioned the prince.... Hehas ordered me to inquire into the position of affairs," he added.

　　"Yes, go and find out!" shouted the angry gentleman. "They'vebrought things to such a pass that there are no carts oranything!... There it is again, do you hear?" said he, pointing in thedirection whence came the sounds of firing.

　　"They've brought us all to ruin... the brigands!" he repeated, anddescended the porch steps.

　　Alpatych swayed his head and went upstairs. In the waiting room weretradesmen, women, and officials, looking silently at one another.The door of the Governor's room opened and they all rose and movedforward. An official ran out, said some words to a merchant, calleda stout official with a cross hanging on his neck to follow him, andvanished again, evidently wishing to avoid the inquiring looks andquestions addressed to him. Alpatych moved forward and next time theofficial came out addressed him, one hand placed in the breast ofhis buttoned coat, and handed him two letters.

　　"To his Honor Baron Asch, from General-in-Chief Prince Bolkonski,"he announced with such solemnity and significance that the officialturned to him and took the letters.

　　A few minutes later the Governor received Alpatych and hurriedlysaid to him:

　　"Inform the prince and princess that I knew nothing: I acted onthe highest instructions- here..." and he handed a paper toAlpatych. "Still, as the prince is unwell my advice is that theyshould go to Moscow. I am just starting myself. Inform them..."

　　But the Governor did not finish: a dusty perspiring officer ran intothe room and began to say something in French. The Governor's faceexpressed terror.

　　"Go," he said, nodding his head to Alpatych, and began questioningthe officer.

　　Eager, frightened, helpless glances were turned on Alpatych whenhe came out of the Governor's room. Involuntarily listening now to thefiring, which had drawn nearer and was increasing in strength,Alpatych hurried to his inn. The paper handed to him by the Governorsaid this:

　　"I assure you that the town of Smolensk is not in the slightestdanger as yet and it is unlikely that it will be threatened withany. I from the one side and Prince Bagration from the other aremarching to unite our forces before Smolensk, which junction will beeffected on the 22nd instant, and both armies with their united forceswill defend our compatriots of the province entrusted to your caretill our efforts shall have beaten back the enemies of our Fatherland,or till the last warrior in our valiant ranks has perished. Fromthis you will see that you have a perfect right to reassure theinhabitants of Smolensk, for those defended by two such brave armiesmay feel assured of victory." (Instructions from Barclay de Tolly toBaron Asch, the civil governor of Smolensk, 1812.)

　　People were anxiously roaming about the streets.

　　Carts piled high with household utensils, chairs, and cupboards keptemerging from the gates of the yards and moving along the streets.Loaded carts stood at the house next to Ferapontov's and women werewailing and lamenting as they said good-by. A small watchdog ran roundbarking in front of the harnessed horses.

　　Alpatych entered the innyard at a quicker pace than usual and wentstraight to the shed where his horses and trap were. The coachmanwas asleep. He woke him up, told him to harness, and went into thepassage. From the host's room came the sounds of a child crying, thedespairing sobs of a woman, and the hoarse angry shouting ofFerapontov. The cook began running hither and thither in the passagelike a frightened hen, just as Alpatych entered.

　　"He's done her to death. Killed the mistress!... Beat her... draggedher about so!..."

　　"What for?" asked Alpatych.

　　"She kept begging to go away. She's a woman! 'Take me away,' saysshe, 'don't let me perish with my little children! Folks,' she says,'are all gone, so why,' she says, 'don't we go?' And he beganbeating and pulling her about so!"

　　At these words Alpatych nodded as if in approval, and not wishing tohear more went to the door of the room opposite the innkeeper's, wherehe had left his purchases.

　　"You brute, you murderer!" screamed a thin, pale woman who, with ababy in her arms and her kerchief torn from her head, burst throughthe door at that moment and down the steps into the yard.

　　Ferapontov came out after her, but on seeing Alpatych adjusted hiswaistcoat, smoothed his hair, yawned, and followed Alpatych into theopposite room.

　　"Going already?" said he.

　　Alpatych, without answering or looking at his host, sorted hispackages and asked how much he owed.

　　"We'll reckon up! Well, have you been to the Governor's?" askedFerapontov. "What has been decided?"

　　Alpatych replied that the Governor had not told him anythingdefinite.

　　"With our business, how can we get away?" said Ferapontov. "We'dhave to pay seven rubles a cartload to Dorogobuzh and I tell themthey're not Christians to ask it! Selivanov, now, did a good strokelast Thursday- sold flour to the army at nine rubles a sack. Willyou have some tea?" he added.

　　While the horses were being harnessed Alpatych and Ferapontov overtheir tea talked of the price of corn, the crops, and the good weatherfor harvesting.

　　"Well, it seems to be getting quieter," remarked Ferapontov,finishing his third cup of tea and getting up. "Ours must have got thebest of it. The orders were not to let them in. So we're in force,it seems.... They say the other day Matthew Ivanych Platov drovethem into the river Marina and drowned some eighteen thousand in oneday."

　　Alpatych collected his parcels, handed them to the coachman whohad come in, and settled up with the innkeeper. The noise of wheels,hoofs, and bells was heard from the gateway as a little trap passedout.

　　It was by now late in the afternoon. Half the street was inshadow, the other half brightly lit by the sun. Alpatych looked out ofthe window and went to the door. Suddenly the strange sound of afar-off whistling and thud was heard, followed by a boom of cannonblending into a dull roar that set the windows rattling.

　　He went out into the street: two men were running past toward thebridge. From different sides came whistling sounds and the thud ofcannon balls and bursting shells falling on the town. But these soundswere hardly heard in comparison with the noise of the firing outsidethe town and attracted little attention from the inhabitants. The townwas being bombarded by a hundred and thirty guns which Napoleon hadordered up after four o'clock. The people did not at once realizethe meaning of this bombardment.

　　At first the noise of the falling bombs and shells only arousedcuriosity. Ferapontov's wife, who till then had not ceased wailingunder the shed, became quiet and with the baby in her arms went to thegate, listening to the sounds and looking in silence at the people.

　　The cook and a shop assistant came to the gate. With livelycuriosity everyone tried to get a glimpse of the projectiles as theyflew over their heads. Several people came round the corner talkingeagerly.

　　"What force!" remarked one. "Knocked the roof and ceiling all tosplinters!"

　　"Routed up the earth like a pig," said another.

　　"That's grand, it bucks one up!" laughed the first. "Lucky youjumped aside, or it would have wiped you out!"

　　Others joined those men and stopped and told how cannon balls hadfallen on a house close to them. Meanwhile still more projectiles, nowwith the swift sinister whistle of a cannon ball, now with theagreeable intermittent whistle of a shell, flew over people's headsincessantly, but not one fell close by, they all flew over. Alpatychwas getting into his trap. The innkeeper stood at the gate.

　　"What are you staring at?" he shouted to the cook, who in her redskirt, with sleeves rolled up, swinging her bare elbows, had steppedto the corner to listen to what was being said.

　　"What marvels!" she exclaimed, but hearing her master's voice sheturned back. pulling down her tucked-up skirt.

　　Once more something whistled, but this time quite close, swoopingdownwards like a little bird; a flame flashed in the middle of thestreet, something exploded, and the street was shrouded in smoke.

　　"Scoundrel, what are you doing?" shouted the innkeeper, rushing tothe cook.

　　At that moment the pitiful wailing of women was heard from differentsides, the frightened baby began to cry, and people crowded silentlywith pale faces round the cook. The loudest sound in that crowd washer wailing.

　　"Oh-h-h! Dear souls, dear kind souls! Don't let me die! My goodsouls!..."

　　Five minutes later no one remained in the street. The cook, with herthigh broken by a shell splinter, had been carried into the kitchen.Alpatych, his coachman, Ferapontov's wife and children and the houseporter were all sitting in the cellar, listening. The roar of guns,the whistling of projectiles, and the piteous moaning of the cook,which rose above the other sounds, did not cease for a moment. Themistress rocked and hushed her baby and when anyone came into thecellar asked in a pathetic whisper what had become of her husbandwho had remained in the street. A shopman who entered told her thather husband had gone with others to the cathedral, whence they werefetching the wonder-working icon of Smolensk.

　　Toward dusk the cannonade began to subside. Alpatych left the cellarand stopped in the doorway. The evening sky that had been so clear wasclouded with smoke, through which, high up, the sickle of the new moonshone strangely. Now that the terrible din of the guns had ceased ahush seemed to reign over the town, broken only by the rustle offootsteps, the moaning, the distant cries, and the crackle of fireswhich seemed widespread everywhere. The cook's moans had now subsided.On two sides black curling clouds of smoke rose and spread from thefires. Through the streets soldiers in various uniforms walked orran confusedly in different directions like ants from a ruinedant-hill. Several of them ran into Ferapontov's yard before Alpatych'seyes. Alpatych went out to the gate. A retreating regiment,thronging and hurrying, blocked the street.

　　Noticing him, an officer said: "The town is being abandoned. Getaway, get away!" and then, turning to the soldiers, shouted:

　　"I'll teach you to run into the yards!"

　　Alpatych went back to the house, called the coachman, and told himto set off. Ferapontov's whole household came out too, followingAlpatych and the coachman. The women, who had been silent till then,suddenly began to wail as they looked at the fires- the smoke and eventhe flames of which could be seen in the failing twilight- and as ifin reply the same kind of lamentation was heard from other parts ofthe street. Inside the shed Alpatych and the coachman arranged thetangled reins and traces of their horses with trembling hands.

　　As Alpatych was driving out of the gate he saw some ten soldiersin Ferapontov's open shop, talking loudly and filling their bags andknapsacks with flour and sunflower seeds. Just then Ferapontovreturned and entered his shop. On seeing the soldiers he was aboutto shout at them, but suddenly stopped and, clutching at his hair,burst into sobs and laughter:

　　"Loot everything, lads! Don't let those devils get it!" he cried,taking some bags of flour himself and throwing them into the street.

　　Some of the soldiers were frightened and ran away, others went onfilling their bags. On seeing Alpatych, Ferapontov turned to him:

　　"Russia is done for!" he cried. "Alpatych, I'll set the place onfire myself. We're done for!..." and Ferapontov ran into the yard.

　　Soldiers were passing in a constant stream along the street blockingit completely, so that Alpatych could not pass out and had to wait.Ferapontov's wife and children were also sitting in a cart waitingtill it was it was possible to drive out.

　　Night had come. There were stars in the sky and the new moon shoneout amid the smoke that screened it. On the sloping descent to theDnieper Alpatych's cart and that of the innkeeper's wife, which wereslowly moving amid the rows of soldiers and of other vehicles, hadto stop. In a side street near the crossroads where the vehicles hadstopped, a house and some shops were on fire. This fire was alreadyburning itself out. The flames now died down and were lost in theblack smoke, now suddenly flared up again brightly, lighting up withstrange distinctness the faces of the people crowding at thecrossroads. Black figures flitted about before the fire, and throughthe incessant crackling of the flames talking and shouting could beheard. Seeing that his trap would not be able to move on for sometime, Alpatych got down and turned into the side street to look at thefire. Soldiers were continually rushing backwards and forwards nearit, and he saw two of them and a man in a frieze coat dragging burningbeams into another yard across the street, while others carriedbundles of hay.

　　Alpatych went up to a large crowd standing before a high barnwhich was blazing briskly. The walls were all on fire and the backwall had fallen in, the wooden roof was collapsing, and the rafterswere alight. The crowd was evidently watching for the roof to fall in,and Alpatych watched for it too.

　　"Alpatych!" a familiar voice suddenly hailed the old man.

　　"Mercy on us! Your excellency!" answered Alpatych, immediatelyrecognizing the voice of his young prince.

　　Prince Andrew in his riding cloak, mounted on a black horse, waslooking at Alpatych from the back of the crowd.

　　"Why are you here?" he asked.

　　"Your... your excellency," stammered Alpatych and broke into sobs."Are we really lost? Master!..."

　　"Why are you here?" Prince Andrew repeated.

　　At that moment the flames flared up and showed his young master'spale worn face. Alpatych told how he had been sent there and howdifficult it was to get away.

　　"Are we really quite lost, your excellency?" he asked again.

　　Prince Andrew without replying took out a notebook and raising hisknee began writing in pencil on a page he tore out. He wrote to hissister:

　　"Smolensk is being abandoned. Bald Hills will be occupied by theenemy within a week. Set off immediately for Moscow. Let me know atonce when you will start. Send by special messenger to Usvyazh."

　　Having written this and given the paper to Alpatych, he told him howto arrange for departure of the prince, the princess, his son, and theboy's tutor, and how and where to let him know immediately. Beforehe had had time to finish giving these instructions, a chief ofstaff followed by a suite galloped up to him.

　　"You are a colonel?" shouted the chief of staff with a Germanaccent, in a voice familiar to Prince Andrew. "Houses are set onfire in your presence and you stand by! What does this mean? Youwill answer for it!" shouted Berg, who was now assistant to thechief of staff of the commander of the left flank of the infantry ofthe first army, a place, as Berg said, "very agreeable and well enevidence."

　　Prince Andrew looked at him and without replying went on speaking toAlpatych.

　　"So tell them that I shall await a reply till the tenth, and if bythe tenth I don't receive news that they have all got away I shallhave to throw up everything and come myself to Bald Hills."

　　"Prince," said Berg, recognizing Prince Andrew, "I only spokebecause I have to obey orders, because I always do obey exactly....You must please excuse me," he went on apologetically.

　　Something cracked in the flames. The fire died down for a moment andwreaths of black smoke rolled from under the roof. There was anotherterrible crash and something huge collapsed.

　　"Ou-rou-rou!" yelled the crowd, echoing the crash of thecollapsing roof of the barn, the burning grain in which diffused acakelike aroma all around. The flames flared up again, lighting theanimated, delighted, exhausted faces of the spectators.

　　The man in the frieze coat raised his arms and shouted:

　　"It's fine, lads! Now it's raging... It's fine!"

　　"That's the owner himself," cried several voices.

　　"Well then," continued Prince Andrew to Alpatych, "report to them asI have told you"; and not replying a word to Berg who was now mutebeside him, he touched his horse and rode down the side street.