War and Peace - Leo Tolstoy [564]
“We can take four more,” said the steward, “I’m handing over my carriage, otherwise where will they go?”
“Hand over my wardrobe cart, too,” said the countess. “Dunyasha will ride in the carriage with me.”
The wardrobe cart was handed over and sent to fetch some wounded men two houses away. All the household and the servants were cheerfully animated. Natasha was in a state of rapturously happy animation, such as she had not experienced for a long time.
“Where shall we tie it on?” asked the servants, trying to fix a trunk to the narrow tailboard of the carriage. “You must leave us at least one cart.”
“What’s in it?” asked Natasha.
“The count’s books.”
“Leave it. Vassilyich will put it away. It’s not needed.”
The britzka was full of people; the question was where Pyotr Ilyich would sit.
“On the box. Will you sit on the box, Petya?” cried Natasha.
Sonya also bustled about constantly; but the goal of her bustling was the opposite of Natasha’s. She was putting away the things that had to be left behind; she made a list of them, as the countess wished, and tried to take along as much as possible.
XVII
Towards two o’clock the Rostovs’ four carriages, harnessed and packed, stood by the entrance. The carts of wounded were driving out of the courtyard one after another.
The caleche in which Prince Andrei was being transported, driving past the porch, caught the attention of Sonya, who, along with a maid, was arranging a seat for the countess in her enormous, high carriage, which stood by the entrance.
“Whose caleche is that?” asked Sonya, leaning out the window of the carriage.
“Don’t you know, miss?” the maid replied. “The wounded prince: he spent the night here and is also going with us.”
“But who is he? What’s his name?”
“It’s our former fiancé himself, Prince Bolkonsky!” the maid answered with a sigh. “They say he’s dying.”
Sonya jumped out of the carriage and ran to the countess. The countess, already dressed for traveling, in a shawl and a hat, tired out, was pacing the drawing room waiting for the household, so as to sit with the door closed and pray before their departure.13 Natasha was not in the room.
“Maman,” said Sonya, “Prince Andrei is here, wounded, dying. He’s going with us.”
The countess opened her eyes fearfully and, seizing Sonya’s hand, looked around.
“Natasha?” she said.
For both Sonya and the countess, this news had in the first moment only one meaning. They knew their Natasha, and the dread of what would happen to her at this news stifled in them any sympathy for the man, whom they both liked.
“Natasha doesn’t know yet; but he’s going with us,” said Sonya.
“You say he’s dying?”
Sonya nodded her head.
The countess embraced Sonya and wept.
“The ways of God are inscrutable!” she thought, feeling that in all that was now happening an almighty hand, which had previously been hidden from people’s eyes, was beginning to show.
“Well, mama, everything’s ready. What’s the matter?…” Natasha asked, running into the room with an animated look.
“Nothing,” said the countess. “Everything’s ready, so let’s go.” And the countess bent over her reticule to hide her upset face. Sonya embraced Natasha and kissed her.
Natasha looked at her questioningly.
“What’s wrong? What’s happened?”
“Nothing…No…”
“Something very bad for me?…What is it?” the sensitive Natasha asked.
Sonya sighed and said nothing. The count, Petya, Mme Schoss, Mavra Kuzminishna, and Vassilyich came into the drawing room, and having closed the door, they all sat