《War And Peace》　Book11 　CHAPTER XII
　　　　by Leo Tolstoy

THE ROSTOVS remained in Moscow till the 1st of September, the day before the
enemy entered the city.

After Petya had joined Obolensky's regiment of Cossacks and had gone away to
Byely Tserkov, where the regiment was being enrolled, the countess fell into a
panic of terror. The idea that both her sons were at the war, that they had both
escaped from under her wing, that any day either of them-and possibly even both
at once, like the three sons of a lady of her acquaintance-might be killed,
seemed for the first time that summer to strike her imagination with cruel
vividness. She tried to get Nikolay back, wanted to go herself after Petya, or
to obtain some post for him in Petersburg; but all these seemed equally
impossible. Petya could not be brought back except by the return of his
regiment, or through being transferred to another regiment on active service.
Nikolay was somewhere at the front, and nothing had been heard from him since
the letter in which he had given a detailed account of his meeting with Princess
Marya. The countess could not sleep at nights, and when she did sleep, she
dreamed that her sons had been killed. After much talking the matter over, and
many consultations of friends, the count at last hit on a means for soothing the
countess. He got Petya transferred from Obolensky's regiment to Bezuhov's, which
was in formation near Moscow. Though, even so, Petya remained in the army, by
this exchange the countess had the consolation of seeing one son at least again
under her wing; and she hoped to manage not to let her Petya escape her again,
but to succeed in getting him always appointed to places where there would be no
risk of his being in battle. While Nikolay had been the only one in danger, the
countess had fancied (and had suffered some pricks of conscience on the subject)
that she loved her elder son better than the other children. But now that her
younger boy, the scapegrace Petya, always idle at his lessons, always in
mischief, and teasing every one, her little Petya, with his snub-nose, his merry
black eyes, his fresh colour, and the soft down just showing on his cheeks, had
slipped away into the company of those big, dreadful, cruel men, who were
fighting away somewhere about something, and finding a sort of pleasure in
it-now it seemed to the mother that she loved him more, far more, than all the
rest. The nearer the time came for the return of her longed-for Petya to Moscow,
the greater was the uneasiness of the countess. She positively thought she would
never live to see such happiness. Not only Sonya's presence, even her favourite
Natasha's, even her husband's company, irritated the countess. "What do I want
with them, I want no one but Petya!" she thought. One day towards the end of
August, the Rostovs received a second letter from Nikolay. He wrote from the
province of Voronezh, where he had been sent to procure remounts. This letter
did not soothe the countess. Knowing that one son was out of danger, she seemed
to feel even greater alarm on Petya's account.

Although by the 20th of August almost all the Rostovs' acquaintances had left
Moscow; although everybody was trying to persuade the countess to get away as
quickly as possible, she would not hear of leaving till her treasure, her
idolised Petya, had come back. On the 28th of August Petya arrived. The morbidly
passionatetenderness with which his mother received him was by no means
gratifying to the sixteen-year-old officer. Though his mother concealed her
intention of never letting him escape from under her wing again, Petya divined
her plans, and instinctively afraid of his mother's making him too soft, of her
"making a ninny" of him (as he expressed it in his own mind), he treated her
rather coolly, avoided being with her, and during his stay in Moscow devoted
himself exclusively to Natasha, for whom he had always had the warmest brotherly
affection, almost approaching adoration.

The count, with his characteristiccarelessness, had by the 28th made no
preparations for leaving, and the waggons that were to come from their Moscow
and Ryazan estate to remove all their property out of the house only arrived on
the 30th.

From the 28th to the 31st, Moscow was all bustle and movement. Every day
thousands of wounded from the field of Borodino were brought in at the
Dorogomilov gate and conveyed across Moscow, and thousands of vehicles, full of
residents and their belongings, were driving out at the gates on the opposite
side of the city. In spite of Rastoptchin's placards-either arising
independently of them, or perhaps in consequence of them-the strangest and most
contradictory rumours were circulating about the town. Some said that every one
was forbidden to leave the city; others asserted that all the holy pictures had
been taken from the churches, and every one was to be driven out of Moscow by
force. Some said there had been another battle after Borodino, in which the
French had been utterly defeated; others declared that the whole Russian army
had been annihilated. Some talked of the Moscow militia, which was to advance,
preceded by priests, to Three Hills; others whispered that Father Augustin had
been forbidden to leave, that traitors had been caught, that the peasants were
in revolt, and were plundering those who left the town, and so on. But all this
was only talk: in reality even though the council at Fili, at which it was
decided to abandon Moscow, had not yet taken place, all-those who were leaving
and those who were staying-felt that Moscow would be surrendered, though they
did not say so freely, and felt that they must make all haste to escape, and to
save their property. There was a feeling that there must come a general crash
and change, yet till the 1st of September everything went on unchanged. Like a
criminal being led to the gallows, who knows in a minute he must die, and yet
stares about, and puts straight the cap awry on his head, Moscow instinctively
went on with the daily routine of life, though aware that the hour of ruin was
approaching, when all the customary conditions of life would be at an end.

During the three days preceding the occupation of Moscow, the whole Rostov
family was busily engaged in various practical ways. The head of the family,
Count Ilya Andreitch, was continually" title="ad.不断地，频繁地">continually driving about the town, picking up all the
rumours that were in circulation, and while at home, gave superficial and hasty
directions for the preparations for departure.

The countess superintended the sorting out of things to be packed; she was
out of humour with every one, and was in continual pursuit of Petya, who was as
continually" title="ad.不断地，频繁地">continually escaping from her, and exciting her jealousy by spending all his
time with Natasha. Sonya was the only person who really undertook the practical
business of getting things packed. But Sonya had been particularly silent and
melancholy of late. She had been present when Nikolay's letter mentioning
Princess Marya had elicited the most delighted deductions from the countess, who
saw in Nikolay's meeting with Princess Marya the direct intervention of
Providence.

"I was never really happy," said the countess, "when Bolkonsky was engaged to
Natasha, but I had always longed for Nikolay to marry the princess, and I have
always had a presentiment about it. And what a good thing it would be!"

Sonya felt that this was true; that the only possibility of retrieving the
Rostovs' position was by Nikolay's marriage to an heiress, and that the princess
would be an excellent match for him. But this reflection was very bitter for
her. In spite, or perhaps in consequence, of her sadness, she undertook the
difficult task of seeing after the sorting and packing of the household goods,
and for whole days together she was busily employed. The count and countess
referred to her when they had any orders to give. Petya and Natasha, on the
contrary, did nothing to help their parents, but were generally in every one's
way, and were only a hindrance. And all day long the house resounded with their
flying footsteps and shouts and shrieks of causeless mirth. They laughed and
were gay, not in the least because there was reason for laughter. But they were
gay and glad at heart, and so everything that happened was reason enough for
gaiety and laughter in them. Petya was in high spirits because he had left home
a boy, and come back (so every one told him) a fine young man, because he was at
home, because he had left Byely Tserkov, where there seemed no hope of being
soon on active service, and come to Moscow where there would be fighting in a
few days, and above all, because Natasha, whose lead he always followed, was in
high spirits. Natasha was gay, because she had too long been sad, and now
nothing reminded her of the cause of her sadness, and she was quite strong
again. She was gay too, because she needed some one to adore her (the adoration
of others was like the grease on the wheels, without which her mechanism never
worked quite smoothly), and Petya did adore her. And above all, they were both
gay, because there was war at the very gates of Moscow, because there would be
fighting at the barriers, because arms were being given out, and everybody was
rushing about, and altogether something extraordinary was happening, which is
always inspiriting, especially for the young.