'What does that woman want?' asked the officer.
Pierre was as if intoxicated. His elation increased at the sight of the little girl he had saved.
'What does she want?' he murmured. 'She is bringing me my daughter whom I have just saved from the flames,' said he. 'Good-by!' And without knowing how this aimless lie had escaped him, he went along with resolute and triumphant steps between the French soldiers.
The French patrol was one of those sent out through the various streets of Moscow by Durosnel's order to put a stop to the pillage, and especially to catch the incendiaries who, according to the general opinion which had that day originated among the higher French officers, were the cause of the conflagrations. After marching through a number of streets the patrol arrested five more Russian suspects: a small shopkeeper, two seminary students, a peasant, and a house serf, besides several looters. But of all these various suspected characters, Pierre was considered to be the most suspicious of all. When they had all been brought for the night to a large house on the Zubov Rampart that was being used as a guardhouse, Pierre was placed apart under strict guard.
BOOK TWELVE: 1812
CHAPTER I
In Petersburg at that time a complicated struggle was being carried on with greater heat than ever in the highest circles, between the parties of Rumyantsev, the French, Marya Fedorovna, the Tsarevich, and others, drowned as usual by the buzzing of the court drones. But the calm, luxurious life of Petersburg, concerned only about phantoms and reflections of real life, went on in its old way and made it hard, except by a great effort, to realize the danger and the difficult position of the Russian people. There were the same receptions and balls, the same French theater, the same court interests and service interests and intrigues as usual. Only in the very highest circles were attempts made to keep in mind the difficulties of the actual position. Stories were whispered of how differently the two Empresses behaved in these difficult circumstances. The Empress Marya, concerned for the welfare of the charitable and educational institutions under her patronage, had given directions that they should all be removed to Kazan, and the things belonging to these institutions had already been packed up. The Empress Elisabeth, however, when asked what instructions she would be pleased to give--with her characteristic Russian patriotism had replied that she could give no directions about state institutions for that was the affair of the sovereign, but as far as she personally was concerned she would be the last to quit Petersburg.
At Anna Pavlovna's on the twenty-sixth of August, the very day of the battle of Borodino, there was a soiree, the chief feature of which was to be the reading of a letter from His Lordship the Bishop when sending the Emperor an icon of the Venerable Sergius. It was regarded as a model of ecclesiastical, patriotic eloquence. Prince Vasili himself, famed for his elocution, was to read it. (He used to read at the Empress'.) The art of his reading was supposed to lie in rolling out the words, quite independently of their meaning, in a loud and singsong voice alternating between a despairing wail and a tender murmur, so that the wail fell quite at random on one word and the murmur on another. This reading, as was always the case at Anna Pavlovna's soirees, had a political significance. That evening she expected several important personages who had to be made ashamed of their visits to the French theater and aroused to a patriotic temper. A good many people had already arrived, but Anna Pavlovna, not yet seeing all those whom she wanted in her drawing room, did not let the reading begin but wound up the springs of a general conversation.
The news of the day in Petersburg was the illness of Countess Bezukhova. She had fallen ill unexpectedly a few days previously, had missed several gatherings of which she was usually ornament, and was said to be receiving no one, and instead of the celebrated Petersburg doctors who usually attended her had entrusted herself to some Italian doctor who was treating her in some new and unusual way.
They all knew very well that the enchanting countess' illness arose from an inconvenience resulting from marrying two husbands at the same time, and that the Italian's cure consisted in removing such inconvenience; but in Anna Pavlovna's presence no one dared to think of this or even appear to know it.
'They say the poor countess is very ill. The doctor says it is angina pectoris.'
'Angina? Oh, that's a terrible illness!'
'They say that the rivals are reconciled, thanks to the angina...' and the word angina was repeated with great satisfaction.
'The count is pathetic, they say. He cried like a child when the doctor told him the case was dangerous.'
'Oh, it would be a terrible loss, she is an enchanting woman.'
'You are speaking of the poor countess?' said Anna Pavlovna, coming up just then. 'I sent to ask for news, and hear that she is a little better. Oh, she is certainly the most charming woman in the world,' she went on, with a smile at her own enthusiasm. 'We belong to different camps, but that does not prevent my esteeming her as she deserves. She is very unfortunate!' added Anna Pavlovna.
Supposing that by these words Anna Pavlovna was somewhat lifting the veil from the secret of the countess' malady, an unwary young man ventured to express surprise that well known doctors had not been called in and that the countess was being attended by a charlatan who might employ dangerous remedies.
'Your information maybe better than mine,' Anna Pavlovna suddenly and venomously retorted on the inexperienced young man, 'but I know on good authority that this doctor is a very learned and able man. He is private physician to the Queen of Spain.'
And having thus demolished the young man, Anna Pavlovna turned to another group where Bilibin was talking about the Austrians: having wrinkled up his face he was evidently preparing to smooth it out again and utter one of his mots.
'I think it is delightful,' he said, referring to a diplomatic note that had been sent to Vienna with some Austrian banners captured from the French by Wittgenstein, 'the hero of Petropol' as he was then called in Petersburg.
'What? What's that?' asked Anna Pavlovna, securing silence for the mot, which she had heard before.
And Bilibin repeated the actual words of the diplomatic dispatch, which he had himself composed.
'The Emperor returns these Austrian banners,' said Bilibin, 'friendly banners gone astray and found on a wrong path,' and his brow became smooth again.
'Charming, charming!' observed Prince Vasili.
'The path to Warsaw, perhaps,' Prince Hippolyte remarked loudly and unexpectedly. Everybody looked at him, understanding what he meant. Prince Hippolyte himself glanced around with amused surprise. He knew no more than the others what his words meant. During his diplomatic career he had more than once noticed that such
