War and Peace - Leo Tolstoy [454]
“Well, that’ll do,” said the other.
“What do I care, let him hear! Why, we’re not dogs,” said the former police captain and, looking around, he saw Alpatych.
“Ah, Yakov Alpatych, what brings you here?”
“Orders from his excellency, to see the governor,” replied Alpatych, proudly holding up his head and laying his hand on his bosom, as he always did when he mentioned the prince…“He was pleased to order me to inquire into the state of affairs,” he said.
“Go ahead, inquire,” cried the gentleman. “They’ve brought it to the point where there’s no carts, nothing!…There, do you hear?” he said, pointing in the direction from which the shooting was heard.
“They’ve brought us all to ruin…brigands!” he said again and stepped off the porch.
Alpatych shook his head and went up the steps. In the waiting room there were merchants, women, officials, silently exchanging glances with each other. The door to the office opened; they all stood up and moved forward. An official ran out, said something to a merchant, told a fat official with a cross on his neck to follow him, and again disappeared behind the door, obviously avoiding all the glances and questions addressed to him. Alpatych moved to the front, and at the official’s next emergence, placing his hand inside his buttoned tunic, addressed the official, handing him two letters.
“To Baron Asch from General in Chief Prince Bolkonsky,” he intoned so solemnly and significantly that the official turned to him and took his letters. A few minutes later, the governor received Alpatych and hurriedly said to him:
“Inform the prince and princess that nothing was known to me: I have been acting on orders from above—here…”
He handed Alpatych a paper.
“However, as the prince is unwell, I advise them to go to Moscow. I am going there myself presently. Tell…” But the governor did not finish. A dusty and sweaty officer came running in and began saying something in French. A look of terror appeared on the governor’s face.
“Go,” he said, nodding to Alpatych, and he started asking the officer something. Greedy, frightened, helpless eyes turned to Alpatych when he came out of the governor’s office. Involuntarily listening now to the near and ever-increasing gunfire, Alpatych hurried to the inn. The paper that the governor gave to Alpatych was the following:
I assure you that the town of Smolensk is not yet threatened with the least danger, and it is unlikely that it will be. I on one side and Prince Bagration on the other are moving to unite before Smolensk, which will take place on the twenty-second instant, and the joint forces of the two armies will defend the compatriots of the province entrusted to you, until their efforts have beaten back the enemy of the fatherland or until the last warrior of their valiant ranks has perished. From this you will see that you have full right to set the inhabitants of Smolensk at ease, for those defended by two such valiant armies can be certain of victory. (Directive from Barclay de Tolly to the civil governor of Smolensk, Baron Asch, 1812.)5
People were worriedly milling about in the streets.
Carts heaped high with household wares, chairs, cupboards kept coming out of the gates of houses and driving down the streets. At the house next to Ferapontov’s, wagons stood and women, bidding farewell, wailed and murmured. A yard dog, barking, fidgeted about in front of the harnessed horses.
Alpatych, at a more hurried pace than usual, came into the yard and went straight to the shed for his horses and cart. The coachman was asleep; he woke him, told him to hitch up, and went into the front hall. From the innkeeper’s room came the sound of a child crying, a woman’s rending sobs, and the angry, hoarse shouting of Ferapontov. The cook, like a frightened hen, fluttered up in the front hall as soon as Alpatych came in.
“He killed her—he beat the mistress!…How he beat her, how