《War And Peace》　Book11 　CHAPTER XVII
　　　　by Leo Tolstoy

BY TWO O'CLOCK the Rostovs' four carriages, packed and ready to start, stood
in the approach. The waggon-loads of wounded were filing one after another out
of the yard.

The coach in which Prince Andrey was being taken drove by the front door, and
attracted the attention of Sonya, who was helping a maid to arrange the
countess's seat comfortably in her huge, high carriage.

"Whose carriage is that?" asked Sonya, popping her head out of the carriage
window.

"Why, haven't you heard, miss?" answered the maid. "The wounded prince; he
stayed the night in the house, and is going on with us."

"Oh, who is he? what's his name?"

"Our betrothed that was ... Prince Bolkonsky himself!" answered the maid,
sighing. "They say he is dying."

Sonya jumped out of the carriage and ran in to the countess. The countess,
dressed for the journey, in her hat and shawl, was walking wearily about the
drawing-room, waiting for the rest of the household to come in and sit down with
closed doors, for the usual silent prayer before setting out. Natasha was not in
the room.

"Mamma," said Sonya. "Prince Andrey is here, wounded and dying; He is going
with us."

The countess opened her eyes in dismay, and clutching Sonya's arm, looked
about her.

"Natasha," she said.

Both to Sonya and the countess this news had for the first moment but one
significance. They knew their Natasha, and alarm at the thought of the effect
the news might have on her outweighed all sympathy for the man, though they both
liked him.

"Natasha does not know yet, but he is going with us," said Sonya.

"You say he is dying?"

Sonya nodded.

The countess embraced Sonya and burst into tears. "The ways of the Lord are
past our finding out!" she thought, feeling that in all that was passing now the
Hand of the Almighty, hithertounseen, was beginning to be manifest.

"Well, mamma, it's all ready. What is it? ..." asked Natasha, running with her
eager face into the room.

"Nothing," said the countess. "If we're ready, then do let us start." And the
countess bent over her reticule to hide her agitated face. Sonya embraced
Natasha and kissed her.

Natasha looked inquisitively at her.

"What is it? What has happened?"

"Nothing, ... oh, no, ..."

"Something very bad, concerning me? ... What is it?" asked the keen-witted
Natasha.

Sonya sighed, and made no reply. The count, Petya, Madame Schoss, Mavra
Kuzminishna, and Vassilitch came into the drawing-room; and closing the doors,
they all sat down, and sat so in silence, without looking at each other for
several seconds.

The count was the first to get up. With a loud sigh he crossed himself before
the holy picture. All the others did the same. Then the count proceeded to
embrace Mavra Kuzminishna and Vassilitch, who were to remain in Moscow; and
while they caught at his hand and kissed his shoulder, he patted them on the
back with vaguelyaffectionate and reassuring phrases. The countess went off to
the little chapel, and Sonya found her there on her knees before the holy
pictures, that were still left here and there on the walls. All the holy
pictures most precious through association with the traditions of the family
were being taken with them.

In the porch and in the yard the servants who were going-all of whom had been
armed with swords and daggers by Petya-with their trousers tucked in their
boots, and their sashes or leather belts tightly braced, took leave of those who
were left behind.

As is invariably the case at starting on a journey, a great many things were
found to have been forgotten, or packed in the wrong place; and two grooms were
kept a long while standing, one each side of the open carriage door, ready to
help the countess up the carriage steps, while maids were flying with pillows
and bags from the house to the carriages, the coach, and the covered gig, and
back again.

"They will always forget everything as long as they live!" said the countess.
"You know that I can't sit like that." And Dunyasha, with clenched teeth and an
aggrieved look on her face, rushed to the carriage to arrange the cushions again
without a word.

"Ah, those servants," said the count, shaking his head.

The old coachman Efim, the only one whom the countess could trust to drive
her, sat perched up on the box, and did not even look round at what was passing
behind him. His thirty years' experience had taught him that it would be some
time yet before they would say, "Now, in God's name, start!" and that when they
had said it, they would stop him at least twice again to send back for things
that had been forgotten; and after that he would have to pull up once more for
the countess herself to put her head out of window and beg him, for Christ's
sake, to drive carefully downhill. He knew this, and therefore awaited what was
to come with more patience than his horses, especially the left one, the
chestnut Falcon, who was continually pawing the ground and champing at the bit.
At last all were seated; the carriage steps were pulled up, and the door
slammed, and the forgotten travelling-case had been sent for and the countess
had popped her head out and given the usual injunctions. Then Efim deliberately
took his hat off and began crossing himself. The postillion and all the servants
did the same.

"With God's blessing!" said Efim, putting his hat on. "Off!" The postillion
started his horse. The right-shaft horse began to pull, the high springs
creaked, and the carriage swayed. The footman jumped up on the box while it was
moving. The carriage jolted as it drove out of the yard on to the uneven
pavement; the other vehicles jolted in the same way as they followed in a
procession up the street. All the occupants of the carriages, the coach and the
covered gig, crossed themselves on seeing the church opposite. The servants, who
were staying in Moscow, walked along on both sides of the carriages to see them
off.

Natasha had rarely felt such a joyful sensation as she experienced at that
moment sitting in the carriage by the countess and watching, as they slowly
moved by her, the walls of forsaken, agitated Moscow. Now and then she put her
head out of the carriage window and looked back, and then in front of the long
train of waggons full of wounded soldiers preceding them. Foremost of them all
she could see Prince Andrey's closed carriage. She did not know who was in it,
and every time she took stock of the procession of waggons she looked out for
that coach. She knew it would be the foremost. In Kudrino and from Nikitsky
Street, from Pryesny, and from Podnovinsky several trains of vehicles, similar
to the Rostovs', came driving out, and by the time they reached Sadovoy Street
the carriages and carts were two deep all along the road.

As they turned round Suharev Tower, Natasha, who was quickly and
inquisitively scrutinising the crowd driving and walking by, uttered a cry of
delight and surprise:

"Good Heavens! Mamma, Sonya, look; it's he!"

"Who? who?"

"Look, do look! Bezuhov," said Natasha, putting her head out of the carriage
window and staring at a tall, stout man in a coachman's long coat, obviously a
gentleman disguised, from his carriage and gait. He was passing under the arch
of the Suharev Tower beside a yellow-looking, beardless, little old man in a
frieze cloak.

"Only fancy! Bezuhov in a coachman's coat, with a queer sort of old-looking
boy," said Natasha. "Do look; do look!"

"No, it's not he. How can you be so absurd!"

"Mamma," cried Natasha. "On my word of honour, I assure you, it is he. Stop,
stop," she shouted to the coachman; but the coachman could not stop, because
more carts and carriages were coming out of Myeshtchansky Street, and people
were shouting at the Rostovs to move on, and not to keep the rest of the traffic
waiting.

All the Rostovs did, however, though now at a much greater distance, see
Pierre, or a man extraordinarily like him, wearing a coachman's coat, and
walking along the street with bent head and a serious face beside a little,
beardless old man, who looked like a footman. This old man noticed a face poked
out of the carriage window staring at them, and respectfullytouching Pierre's
elbow, he said something to him, pointing towards the carriage. It was some time
before Pierre understood what he was saying; he was evidently deeply absorbed in
his own thoughts. At last he looked in the direction indicated, and recognising
Natasha, he moved instantly towards the carriage, as though yielding to the
first impulse. But after taking a dozen steps towards it, he stopped short,
apparently recollecting something. Natasha's head beamed out of the carriage
window with friendly mockery.

"Pyotr Kirillitch, come here! We recognized you, you see! It's a wonder!" she
cried, stretching out a hand to him. "How is it? Why are you like this?"

Pierre took her outstretched hand, and awkwardly kissed it as he ran beside
the still moving carriage.

"What has happened, count?" the countess asked him, in a surprised and
commiserating tone.

"Eh? Why? Don't ask me," said Pierre, and he looked up at Natasha, the charm
of whose radiant, joyous eyes he felt upon him without looking at her.

"What are you doing, or are you staying in Moscow?"

Pierre was silent.

"In Moscow?" he queried. "Yes, in Moscow. Good-bye."

"Oh, how I wish I were a man, I would stay with you. Ah, how splendid that
is!" said Natasha. "Mamma, do let me stay."

Pierre looked absently at Natasha, and was about to say something, but the
countess interrupted him.

"You were at the battle, we have been told."

"Yes, I was there," answered Pierre. "To-morrow there will be a battle again
..." he was beginning, but Natasha interposed:

"But what is the matter, count? You are not like yourself ..."

"Oh, don't ask me, don't ask me, I don't know myself. To-morrow ... No!
Good-bye; good-bye," he said; "it's an awful time!" And he left the carriage and
walked away to the pavement.

For a long while Natasha's head was still thrust out of the carriage window,
and she beamed at him with a kindly and rather mocking, joyous smile.