war and peace 50

war and peace 50

Julie was preparing to leave Moscow next day and was giving a farewell soiree.   "Bezukhov est ridicule, but he is so kind and good-natured. What pleasure is there to be so caustique?"   "A forfeit!" cried a young man in militia uniform whom Julie called "mon chevalier," and who was going with her to Nizhni.   In Julie's set, as in many other circles in Moscow, it had been agreed that they would speak nothing but Russian and that those who made a slip and spoke French should pay fines to the Committee of Voluntary Contributions.   "Another forfeit for a Gallicism," said a Russian writer who was present. "'What pleasure is there to be' is not Russian!"   "You spare no one," continued Julie to the young man without heeding the author's remark.   "For caustique--I am guilty and will pay, and I am prepared to pay again for the pleasure of telling you the truth. For Gallicisms I won't be responsible," she remarked, turning to the author: "I have neither the money nor the time, like Prince Galitsyn, to engage a master to teach me Russian!"   "Ah, here he is!" she added. "Quand on... No, no," she said to the militia officer, "you won't catch me. Speak of the sun and you see its rays!" and she smiled amiably at Pierre. "We were just talking of you," she said with the facility in lying natural to a society woman. "We were saying that your regiment would be sure to be better than Mamonov's."   "Oh, don't talk to me of my regiment," replied Pierre, kissing his hostess' hand and taking a seat beside her. "I am so sick of it."   "You will, of course, command it yourself?" said Julie, directing a sly, sarcastic glance toward the militia officer.   The latter in Pierre's presence had ceased to be caustic, and his face expressed perplexity as to what Julie's smile might mean. In spite of his absent-mindedness and good nature, Pierre's personality immediately checked any attempt to ridicule him to his face.   "No," said Pierre, with a laughing glance at his big, stout body. "I should make too good a target for the French, besides I am afraid I should hardly be able to climb onto a horse."   Among those whom Julie's guests happened to choose to gossip about were the Rostovs.   "I hear that their affairs are in a very bad way," said Julie. "And he is so unreasonable, the count himself I mean. The Razumovskis wanted to buy his house and his estate near Moscow, but it drags on and on. He asks too much."   "No, I think the sale will come off in a few days," said someone. "Though it is madness to buy anything in Moscow now."   "Why?" asked Julie. "You don't think Moscow is in danger?"   "Then why are you leaving?"   "I? What a question! I am going because... well, because everyone is going: and besides--I am not Joan of Arc or an Amazon."   "Well, of course, of course! Let me have some more strips of linen."   "If he manages the business properly he will be able to pay off all his debts," said the militia officer, speaking of Rostov.   "A kindly old man but not up to much. And why do they stay on so long in Moscow? They meant to leave for the country long ago. Natalie is quite well again now, isn't she?" Julie asked Pierre with a knowing smile.   "They are waiting for their younger son," Pierre replied. "He joined Obolenski's Cossacks and went to Belaya Tserkov where the regiment is being formed. But now they have had him transferred to my regiment and are expecting him every day. The count wanted to leave long ago, but the countess won't on any account leave Moscow till her son returns."   "I met them the day before yesterday at the Arkharovs'. Natalie has recovered her looks and is brighter. She sang a song. How easily some people get over everything!"   "Get over what?" inquired Pierre, looking displeased.   Julie smiled.   "You know, Count, such knights as you are only found in Madame de Souza's novels."   "What knights? What do you mean?" demanded Pierre, blushing.   "Oh, come, my dear count! C'est la fable de tout Moscou. Je vous admire, ma parole d'honneur!" *     * "It is the talk of all Moscow. My word, I admire you!"   "Forfeit, forfeit!" cried the militia officer.   "All right, one can't talk--how tiresome!"   "What is 'the talk of all Moscow'?" Pierre asked angrily, rising to his feet.   "Come now, Count, you know!"   "I don't know anything about it," said Pierre.   "I know you were friendly with Natalie, and so... but I was always more friendly with Vera--that dear Vera."   "No, madame!" Pierre continued in a tone of displeasure, "I have not taken on myself the role of Natalie Rostova's knight at all, and have not been to their house for nearly a month. But I cannot understand the cruelty..."   "Qui s'excuse s'accuse," * said Julie, smiling and waving the lint triumphantly, and to have the last word she promptly changed the subject. "Do you know what I heard today? Poor Mary Bolkonskaya arrived in Moscow yesterday. Do you know that she has lost her father?"     * "Who excuses himself, accuses himself."   "Really? Where is she? I should like very much to see her," said Pierre.   "I spent the evening with her yesterday. She is going to their estate near Moscow either today or tomorrow morning, with her nephew."   "Well, and how is she?" asked Pierre.   "She is well, but sad. But do you know who rescued her? It is quite a romance. Nicholas Rostov! She was surrounded, and they wanted to kill her and had wounded some of her people. He rushed in and saved her...."   "Another romance," said the militia officer. "Really, this general flight has been arranged to get all the old maids married off. Catiche is one and Princess Bolkonskaya another."   "Do you know, I really believe she is un petit peu amoureuse du jeune homme." *     * "A little bit in love with the young man."   "Forfeit, forfeit, forfeit!"   "But how could one say that in Russian?"         CHAPTER XVIII   When Pierre returned home he was handed two of Rostopchin's broadsheets that had been brought that day.   The first declared that the report that Count Rostopchin had forbidden people to leave Moscow was false; on the contrary he was glad that ladies and tradesmen's wives were leaving the city. "There will be less panic and less gossip," ran the broadsheet "but I will stake my life on it that scoundrel will not enter Moscow." These words showed Pierre clearly for the first time that the French would enter Moscow. The second broadsheet stated that our headquarters were at Vyazma, that Count Wittgenstein had defeated the French, but that as many of the inhabitants of Moscow wished to be armed, weapons were ready for them at the arsenal: sabers, pistols, and muskets which could be had at a low price. The tone of the proclamation was not as jocose as in the former Chigirin talks. Pierre pondered over these broadsheets. Evidently the terrible stormcloud he had desired with the whole strength of his soul but which yet aroused involuntary horror in him was drawing near.   "Shall I join the army and enter the service, or wait?" he asked himself for the hundredth time. He took a pack of cards that lay on the table and began to lay them out for a game of patience.   "If this patience comes out," he said to himself after shuffling the cards, holding them in his hand, and lifting his head, "if it comes out, it means... what does it mean?"   He had not decided what it should mean when he heard the voice of the eldest princess at the door asking whether she might come in.   "Then it will mean that I must go to the army," said Pierre to himself. "Come in, come in!" he added to the princess.   Only the eldest princess, the one with the stony face and long waist, was still living in Pierre's house. The two younger ones had both married.   "Excuse my coming to you, cousin," she said in a reproachful and agitated voice. "You know some decision must be come to. What is going to happen? Everyone has left Moscow and the people are rioting. How is it that we are staying on?"   "On the contrary, things seem satisfactory, ma cousine," said Pierre in the bantering tone he habitually adopted toward her, always feeling uncomfortable in the role of her benefactor.   "Satisfactory, indeed! Very satisfactory! Barbara Ivanovna told me today how our troops are distinguishing themselves. It certainly does them credit! And the people too are quite mutinous--they no longer obey, even my maid has taken to being rude. At this rate they will soon begin beating us. One can't walk in the streets. But, above all, the French will be here any day now, so what are we waiting for? I ask just one thing of you, cousin," she went on, "arrange for me to be taken to Petersburg. Whatever I may be, I can't live under Bonaparte's rule."   "Oh, come, ma cousine! Where do you get your information from? On the contrary..."   "I won't submit to your Napoleon! Others may if they please.... If you don't want to do this..."   "But I will, I'll give the order at once."   The princess was apparently vexed at not having anyone to be angry with. Muttering to herself, she sat down on a chair.   "But you have been misinformed," said Pierre. "Everything is quiet in the city and there is not the slightest danger. See! I've just been reading..." He showed her the broadsheet. "Count Rostopchin writes that he will stake his life on it that the enemy will not enter Moscow."   "Oh, that count of yours!" said the princess malevolently. "He is a hypocrite, a rascal who has himself roused the people to riot. Didn't he write in those idiotic broadsheets that anyone, 'whoever it might be,