War and Peace

nna Pávlovna’s presentiment was in fact fulfilled. Next day during the
service at the palace church in honor of the Emperor’s birthday, Prince
Volkónski was called out of the church and received a dispatch from
Prince Kutúzov. It was Kutúzov’s report, written from Tatárinova on the
day of the battle. Kutúzov wrote that the Russians had not retreated a
step, that the French losses were much heavier than ours, and that he
was writing in haste from the field of battle before collecting full
information. It followed that there must have been a victory. And at
once, without leaving the church, thanks were rendered to the Creator
for His help and for the victory.

Anna Pávlovna’s presentiment was justified, and all that morning a
joyously festive mood reigned in the city. Everyone believed the victory
to have been complete, and some even spoke of Napoleon’s having been
captured, of his deposition, and of the choice of a new ruler for
France.

It is very difficult for events to be reflected in their real strength
and completeness amid the conditions of court life and far from the
scene of action. General events involuntarily group themselves around
some particular incident. So now the courtiers’ pleasure was based as
much on the fact that the news had arrived on the Emperor’s birthday as
on the fact of the victory itself. It was like a successfully arranged
surprise. Mention was made in Kutúzov’s report of the Russian losses,
among which figured the names of Túchkov, Bagratión, and Kutáysov. In
the Petersburg world this sad side of the affair again involuntarily
centered round a single incident: Kutáysov’s death. Everybody knew
him, the Emperor liked him, and he was young and interesting. That day
everyone met with the words:

“What a wonderful coincidence! Just during the service. But what a loss
Kutáysov is! How sorry I am!”

“What did I tell about Kutúzov?” Prince Vasíli now said with a
prophet’s pride. “I always said he was the only man capable of defeating
Napoleon.”

But next day no news arrived from the army and the public mood grew
anxious. The courtiers suffered because of the suffering the suspense
occasioned the Emperor.

“Fancy the Emperor’s position!” said they, and instead of extolling
Kutúzov as they had done the day before, they condemned him as the cause
of the Emperor’s anxiety. That day Prince Vasíli no longer boasted of
his protégé Kutúzov, but remained silent when the commander in chief was
mentioned. Moreover, toward evening, as if everything conspired to make
Petersburg society anxious and uneasy, a terrible piece of news was
added. Countess Hélène Bezúkhova had suddenly died of that terrible
malady it had been so agreeable to mention. Officially, at large
gatherings, everyone said that Countess Bezúkhova had died of a
terrible attack of angina pectoris, but in intimate circles details
were mentioned of how the private physician of the Queen of Spain had
prescribed small doses of a certain drug to produce a certain effect;
but Hélène, tortured by the fact that the old count suspected her and
that her husband to whom she had written (that wretched, profligate
Pierre) had not replied, had suddenly taken a very large dose of the
drug, and had died in agony before assistance could be rendered her.
It was said that Prince Vasíli and the old count had turned upon the
Italian, but the latter had produced such letters from the unfortunate
deceased that they had immediately let the matter drop.

Talk in general centered round three melancholy facts: the Emperor’s
lack of news, the loss of Kutáysov, and the death of Hélène.

On the third day after Kutúzov’s report a country gentleman arrived from
Moscow, and news of the surrender of Moscow to the French spread through
the whole town. This was terrible! What a position for the Emperor to
be in! Kutúzov was a traitor, and Prince Vasíli during the visits of
condolence paid to him on the occasion of his daughter’s death said of
Kutúzov, whom he had formerly praised (it was excusable for him in his
grief to forget what he had said), that it was impossible to expect
anything else from a blind and depraved old man.

“I only wonder that the fate of Russia could have been entrusted to such
a man.”

As long as this news remained unofficial it was possible to doubt it,
but the next day the following communication was received from Count
Rostopchín:

Prince Kutúzov’s adjutant has brought me a letter in which he demands
police officers to guide the army to the Ryazán road. He writes that
he is regretfully abandoning Moscow. Sire! Kutúzov’s action decides the
fate of the capital and of your empire! Russia will shudder to learn of
the abandonment of the city in which her greatness is centered and in
which lie the ashes of your ancestors! I shall follow the army. I have
had everything removed, and it only remains for me to weep over the fate
of my fatherland.

On receiving this dispatch the Emperor sent Prince Volkónski to Kutúzov
with the following rescript:

Prince Michael Ilariónovich! Since the twenty-ninth of August I have
received no communication from you, yet on the first of September I
received from the commander in chief of Moscow, via Yaroslávl, the sad
news that you, with the army, have decided to abandon Moscow. You can
yourself imagine the effect this news has had on me, and your silence
increases my astonishment. I am sending this by Adjutant-General Prince
Volkónski, to hear from you the situation of the army and the reasons
that have induced you to take this melancholy decision.