Berg, the Rostovs' son-in-law, is already a colonel wearing the orders of Vladimir and Anna, and he still fills the quiet and agreeable post of assistant to the head of the staff of the assistant commander of the first division of the Second Army. On the first of September he has come to Moscow from the army. He has nothing to do in Moscow, but he has noticed that everyone in the army is asking for leave to visit Moscow and has something to do there. So he considers it necessary to ask for leave of absence for family and domestic reasons. He drives up to his father-in-law's house in his spruce little trap with a pair of sleek roans, exactly like those of a certain prince. He looks attentively at the carts in the yard and, while going up to the porch, takes out a clean pocket handkerchief and ties a knot in it. From the anteroom he runs with smooth though impatient steps into the drawing room, embraces the count, kisses the hands of Natasha and Sonya, and hastens to inquire after Mamma's health. Health, at a time like this? says the count. Come, tell us the news. Is the army retreating or will there be another battle? God Almighty alone can decide the fate of our fatherland, Papa, Berg replies. The army is burning with a spirit of heroism and the leaders, so to say, have now assembled in council. No one knows what is coming. But in general he can tell them of such a heroic spirit, the truly antique valour of the Russian army displayed in the battle of the twenty-sixth, that there are no words worthy to do it justice. He smites himself on the breast as a general he has heard speaking had done, but a trifle late, for he should have struck his breast at the words Russian army. The commanders, far from having to urge the men on, could hardly restrain those exploits of antique valour. General Barclay de Tolly risked his life everywhere at the head of the troops. Natasha watches him with an intent gaze that confuses him, as if she were trying to find in his face the answer to some question. Russia is not in Moscow, she lives in the hearts of her sons, isn't it so, Papa? Just then the countess comes in from the sitting room with a weary and dissatisfied expression. Berg hurriedly jumps up, kisses her hand, asks about her health, and, swaying his head from side to side to express sympathy, remains standing beside her. These are hard and sad times for every Russian. But why are you so anxious? You still have time to get away. I cannot think what the servants are about, the countess says, turning to her husband. Nothing is ready yet. One misses Mitenka at such times. The count is about to say something, but evidently restrains himself, gets up, and goes to the door.
At that moment Berg draws out his handkerchief as if to blow his nose and, seeing the knot in it, ponders, shaking his head sadly and significantly. And I have a great favour to ask of you, Papa. Hm, says the count, and stops. Berg was driving past Yusupov's house just now when the steward, a man he knows, ran out and asked whether he would not buy something. He went in out of curiosity, and there is a small chiffonier and a dressing table. Dear Vera wanted a chiffonier like that, they had a dispute about it. And it is such a beauty. It pulls out and has a secret English drawer. Dear Vera has long wanted one. He wishes to give her a surprise. He saw so many of those peasant carts in the yard. Please let him have one, he will pay the man well. The count frowns and coughs. Ask the countess, I do not give orders. If it is inconvenient, please do not, Berg says. Only I so wanted it, for dear Vera's sake. Oh, go to the devil, all of you, cries the old count. My head is in a whirl. He leaves the room. The countess begins to cry. Yes, Mamma, these are very hard times, says Berg. Natasha leaves the room with her father and, as if finding it difficult to reach some decision, first follows him and then runs downstairs. Petya is in the porch, engaged in giving out weapons to the servants who are to leave Moscow. The loaded carts are still standing in the yard. Two of them have been uncorded and a wounded officer is climbing into one of them helped by an orderly. Do you know what it is about? Petya asks Natasha. She understands that he means what their parents are quarrelling about. She does not answer. It is because Papa wanted to give up all the carts to the wounded, Petya says. Vasilich told me. I consider. I consider, Natasha suddenly almost shouts, turning her angry face to Petya, I consider it so horrid, so abominable, so, I do not know what. Are we despicable Germans? Her throat quivers with convulsive sobs and, afraid of weakening and letting the force of her anger run to waste, she turns and rushes headlong up the stairs.
Berg is sitting beside the countess consoling her with the respectful attention of a relative. The count, pipe in hand, is pacing up and down the room, when Natasha, her face distorted by anger, bursts in like a tempest and approaches her mother with rapid steps. It is horrid. It is abominable. You cannot possibly have ordered it. Berg and the countess look at her, perplexed and frightened. The count stands still at the window and listens. Mamma, it is impossible: see what is going on in the yard. They will be left. What is the matter with you? Who are they? What do you want? Why, the wounded. It is impossible, Mamma. It is monstrous. No, Mamma darling, it is not the thing. Please forgive me, darling. What does it matter what we take away? Only look what is going on in the yard. The count stands by the window and listens without turning round. Suddenly he sniffs and puts his face closer to the window. The countess glances at her daughter, sees her face full of shame for her mother, sees her agitation, and understands why her husband does not turn to look at her now, and she glances round quite disconcerted. Oh, do as you like. Am I hindering anyone? she says, not surrendering at once. Mamma, darling, forgive me. But the countess pushes her daughter away and goes up to her husband. My dear, you order what is right. You know I do not understand about it, she says, dropping her eyes shamefacedly. The eggs are teaching the hen, mutters the count through tears of joy, and he embraces his wife, who is glad to hide her look of shame on his breast. Papa, Mamma, may I see to it? We will still take all the most necessary things. The count nods, and Natasha, at the rapid pace at which she used to run when playing at tag, runs through the ballroom to the anteroom and downstairs into the yard. The servants gather round her, but cannot believe the strange order until the count himself, in his wife's name, confirms it: give up all the carts to the wounded and take the trunks to the storerooms. When they understand, they set to work at this new task with pleasure and zeal. It no longer seems strange to them but on the contrary the only thing that could be done, just as a quarter of an hour before it had not seemed strange to anyone that the wounded should be left behind and the goods carted away. The whole household, as if to atone for not having done it sooner, sets eagerly to work placing the wounded in the carts. The wounded drag themselves out of their rooms and stand with pale but happy faces round the carts. The news that carts are to be had spreads to the neighbouring houses. Many of the wounded ask them not to unload the carts but only to let them sit on the top of the things. But the work of unloading, once started, cannot be arrested. It seems not to matter whether all or only half the things are left behind. Cases full of china, bronzes, pictures, and mirrors that had been so carefully packed the night before now lie about the yard, and still they go on searching for possibilities of unloading this or that and letting the wounded have another and yet another cart. We can take four more men, says the steward. They can have my trap, or else what is to become of them? Let them have my wardrobe cart, says the countess. Dunyasha can go with me in the carriage. They unload the wardrobe cart and send it to take wounded men from a house two doors off. The whole household, servants included, is bright and animated. Natasha is in a state of rapturous excitement such as she has not known for a long time. Sonya too is busy, but the aim of her efforts is quite different. She is putting away the things that have to be left behind and making a list of them as the countess wished, and she tries to get as much taken away with them as possible.
