Emma Watson Pussy
War And Peace
packed, repacked, pressed, made the butlers
assistant and Petya--whom she had drawn into the business of
packing--press on the lid, and made desperate efforts herself.
"Thats enough, Natasha," said Sonya. "I see you were right, but
just take out the top one."
"I wont!" cried Natasha, with one hand holding back the hair that
hung over her perspiring face, while with the other she pressed down
the carpets. "Now press, Petya! Press, Vasilich, press hard!" she
The carpets yielded and the lid closed; Natasha, clapping her hands,
screamed with delight and tears fell from her eyes. But this only
lasted a moment. She at once set to work afresh and they now trusted
her completely. The count was not angry even when they told him that
Natasha had countermanded an order of his, and the servants now came
to her to ask whether a cart was sufficiently loaded, and whether it
might be corded up. Thanks to Natashas directions the work now went
on expeditiously, unnecessary things were left, and the most
valuable packed as compactly as possible.
But hard as they all worked till quite late that night, they could
not get everything packed. The countess had fallen asleep and the
count, having put off their departure till next morning, went to bed.
Sonya and Natasha slept in the sitting room without undressing.
That night another wounded man was driven down the Povarskaya, and
Mavra Kuzminichna, who was standing at the gate, had him brought
into the Rostovs yard. Mavra Kuzminichna concluded that he was a very
important man. He was being conveyed in a caleche with a raised
hood, and was quite covered by an apron. On the box beside the
driver sat a venerable old attendant. A doctor and two soldiers
followed the carriage in a cart.
"Please come in here. The masters are going away and the whole house
will be empty," said the old woman to the old attendant.
"Well, perhaps," said he with a sigh. "We dont expect to get him
home alive! We have a house of our own in Moscow, but its a long
way from here, and theres nobody living in it."
"Do us the honor to come in, theres plenty of everything in the
masters house. Come in," said Mavra Kuzminichna. "Is he very ill?"
The attendant made a hopeless gesture.
"We dont expect to get him home! We must ask the doctor."
And the old servant got down from the box and went up to the cart.
"All right!" said the doctor.
The old servant returned to the caleche, looked into it, shook his
head disconsolately, told the driver to turn into the yard, and
stopped beside Mavra Kuzminichna.
"O, Lord Jesus Christ!" she murmured.
She invited them to take the wounded man into the house.
"The masters wont object..." she said.
But they had to avoid carrying the man upstairs, and so they took
him into the wing and put him in the room that had been Madame
This wounded man was Prince Andrew Bolkonski.
Moscows last day had come. It was a clear bright autumn day, a
Sunday. The church bells everywhere were ringing for service, just
as usual on Sundays. Nobody seemed yet to realize what awaited the
Only two things indicated the social condition of Moscow--the
rabble, that is the poor people, and the price of commodities. An
enormous crowd of factory hands, house serfs, and peasants, with
whom some officials, seminarists, and gentry were mingled, had gone
early that morning to the Three Hills. Having waited there for
Rostopchin who did not turn up, they became convinced that Moscow
would be surrendered, and then dispersed all about the town to the
public houses and cookshops. Prices too that day indicated the state
of affairs. The price of weapons, of gold, of carts and horses, kept
rising, but the value of paper money and city articles kept falling,
so that by midday there were instances of carters removing valuable
goods, such as cloth, and receiving in payment a half of what they
carted, while peasant horses were fetching five hundred rubles each,
and furniture, mirrors, and bronzes were being given away for nothing.
In the Rostovs staid old-fashioned house the dissolution of
former conditions of life was but little noticeable. As to the serfs
the only indication was that three out of their huge retinue
disappeared during the night, but nothing was stolen; and as to the
value of their possessions, the thirty peasant carts that had come
in from their estates and which many people envied proved to be
extremely valuable and they
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