the whole town. This was terrible! What a position for the Emperor to
be in! Kutuzov was a traitor, and Prince Vasili during the visits of
condolence paid to him on the occasion of his daughter’s death said of
Kutuzov, 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
Rostopchin:
Prince Kutuzov’s adjutant has brought me a letter in which he demands
police officers to guide the army to the Ryazan road. He writes that
he is regretfully abandoning Moscow. Sire! Kutuzov’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 Volkonski to Kutuzov
with the following rescript:
Prince Michael Ilarionovich! 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 Yaroslavl, 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
Volkonski, to hear from you the situation of the army and the reasons
that have induced you to take this melancholy decision.
CHAPTER III
Nine days after the abandonment of Moscow, a messenger from Kutuzov
reached Petersburg with the official announcement of that event. This
messenger was Michaud, a Frenchman who did not know Russian, but who was
quoique etranger, russe de cœur et d’âme, * as he said of himself.
* Though a foreigner, Russian in heart and soul.
The Emperor at once received this messenger in his study at the palace
on Stone Island. Michaud, who had never seen Moscow before the campaign
and who did not know Russian, yet felt deeply moved (as he wrote) when
he appeared before notre tres gracieux souverain * with the news of the
burning of Moscow, dont les flammes eclairaient sa route. *(2)
* Our most gracious sovereign.
* (2) Whose flames illumined his route.
Though the source of M. Michaud’s chagrin must have been different from
that which caused Russians to grieve, he had such a sad face when shown
into the Emperor’s study that the latter at once asked:
"Have you brought me sad news, Colonel?"
"Very sad, sire," replied Michaud, lowering his eyes with a sigh. "The
abandonment of Moscow."
"Have they surrendered my ancient capital without a battle?" asked the
Emperor quickly, his face suddenly flushing.
Michaud respectfully delivered the message Kutuzov had entrusted to him,
which was that it had been impossible to fight before Moscow, and that
as the only remaining choice was between losing the army as well as
Moscow, or losing Moscow alone, the field marshal had to choose the
latter.
The Emperor listened in silence, not looking at Michaud.
"Has the enemy entered the city?" he asked.
"Yes, sire, and Moscow is now in ashes. I left it all in flames,"
replied Michaud in a decided tone, but glancing at the Emperor he was
frightened by what he had done.
The Emperor began to breathe heavily and rapidly, his lower lip
trembled, and tears instantly appeared in his fine blue eyes.
But this lasted only a moment. He suddenly frowned, as if blaming
himself for his weakness, and raising his head addressed Michaud in a
firm voice:
"I see, Colonel, from all that is happening, that Providence requires
great sacrifices of us... I am ready to submit myself in all things to
His will; but tell me, Michaud, how did you leave the army when it
saw my ancient capital abandoned without a battle? Did you not notice
discouragement?..."
Seeing that his most gracious ruler was calm once more, Michaud also
grew calm, but was not immediately ready to reply to the Emperor’s
direct and relevant question which required a direct answer.
"Sire, will you allow me to speak frankly as befits a loyal soldier?" he
asked to gain time.
"Colonel, I always require it," replied the Emperor. "Conceal nothing
from me, I wish to know absolutely how things are."
"Sire!" said Michaud with a subtle, scarcely perceptible smile on his
lips, having now prepared a well-phrased reply, "sire, I left the
whole army, from its chiefs to the lowest soldier, without exception in
desperate and agonized terror..."
"How is that?" the Emperor interrupted him, frowning sternly. "Would
misfortune make my Russians lose heart?... Never!"
Michaud had only waited for this to bring out the phrase he had
prepared.
"Sire," he said, with respectful playfulness, "they are only afraid lest
Your Majesty, in the goodness of your heart, should allow yourself to be
persuaded to make peace. They are burning for the combat," declared this
representative of the Russian nation, "and to prove to Your Majesty by
the sacrifice of their lives how devoted they are...."
"Ah!" said the Emperor reassured, and with a kindly gleam in his eyes,
he patted Michaud on the shoulder. "You set me at ease, Colonel."
He bent his head and was silent for some time.
"Well, then, go back to the army," he said, drawing himself up to his
full height and addressing Michaud with a gracious and majestic gesture,
"and tell our brave men and all my good subjects wherever you go that
when I have not a soldier left I shall put myself at the head of my
beloved nobility and my good peasants and so use the last resources of
my empire. It still offers me more than my enemies suppose," said the
Emperor growing more and more animated; "but should it ever be ordained
by Divine Providence," he continued, raising to heaven his fine eyes
shining with emotion, "that my dynasty should cease to reign on the
throne of my ancestors, then after exhausting all the means at my
command, I shall let my beard grow to here" (he pointed halfway down his
chest) "and go and eat potatoes with the meanest of my peasants, rather
than sign the disgrace of my country and of my beloved people whose
sacrifices I know how to appreciate."
Having uttered these words in an agitated voice the Emperor suddenly
turned away as if to hide from Michaud the tears that rose to his eyes,
and went to the further end of his study. Having stood there a few
moments, he strode back to Michaud and pressed his arm below the elbow
with a vigorous movement. The Emperor’s mild and handsome face was
flushed and his eyes gleamed with resolution and anger.
"Colonel Michaud, do not forget what I say to you here, perhaps we may
recall it with pleasure someday... Napoleon or I," said the Emperor,
touching his breast. "We can no longer both reign together. I have
learned to know him, and he will not deceive me any more...."
And the Emperor paused, with a frown.
When he heard these words and saw the expression of firm resolution in
the Emperor’s eyes, Michaud - quoique etranger, russe de cœur et d’âme, - at
that solemn moment felt himself enraptured by all that he had heard (as
he used afterwards to say), and gave expression to his own feelings and
those of the Russian people whose representative he considered himself
to be, in the following words:
"Sire!" said he, "Your Majesty is at this moment signing the glory of
the nation and the salvation of Europe!"
With an inclination of the head the Emperor dismissed him.
CHAPTER IV
It is natural for us who were not living in those days to imagine that
when half Russia had been conquered and the inhabitants were fleeing to
distant provinces, and one levy after another was being raised for the
defense of the fatherland, all Russians from the greatest to the least
were solely engaged in sacrificing themselves, saving their fatherland,
or weeping over its downfall. The tales and descriptions of that time
without exception speak only of the self-sacrifice, patriotic devotion,
despair, grief, and the heroism of the Russians. But it was not really
so. It appears so to us because we see only the general historic
interest of that time and do not see all the personal human interests
that people had. Yet in reality those personal interests of the moment
so much transcend the general interests that they always prevent the
public interest from being felt or even noticed. Most of the people at
that time paid no attention to the general progress of events but were
guided only by their private interests, and they were the very people
whose activities at that period were most useful.
Those who tried to understand the general course of events and to take
part in it by self-sacrifice and heroism were the most useless members
of society, they saw everything upside down, and all they did for the
common good turned out to be useless and foolish - like Pierre’s and
Mamonov’s regiments which looted Russian villages, and the lint the
young ladies prepared and that never reached the wounded, and so on.
Even those, fond of intellectual talk and of expressing their feelings,
who discussed Russia’s position at the time involuntarily introduced
into their conversation either a shade of pretense and falsehood or
useless condemnation and anger directed against people accused of
actions no one could possibly be guilty of. In historic events the rule
forbidding us to eat of the fruit of the Tree of Knowledge is specially
applicable. Only unconscious action bears fruit, and he who plays a part
in an historic event never understands its significance. If he tries to
realize it his efforts are fruitless.
The more closely a man was engaged in the events then taking place in
Russia the less did he realize their significance. In Petersburg and
in the provinces at a distance from Moscow, ladies, and gentlemen in
militia uniforms, wept for Russia and its ancient capital and talked of
self-sacrifice and so on; but in the army which retired beyond Moscow
there was little talk or thought of Moscow, and when they caught sight
of its burned ruins no one swore to be avenged on the French, but they
thought about their next pay, their next quarters, of Matreshka the
vivandiere, and like matters.
As the war had caught him in the service, Nicholas Rostov took a close
and prolonged part in the defense of his country, but did so casually,
without any aim at self-sacrifice, and he therefore looked at what was
going on in Russia without despair and without dismally racking his
brains over it. Had he been asked what he thought of the state of
Russia, he would have said that it was not his business to think about
it, that Kutuzov and others were there for that purpose, but that he had
heard that the regiments were to be made up to their full strength, that
fighting would probably go on for a long time yet, and that things being
so it was quite likely he might be in command of a regiment in a couple
of years’ time.
As he looked at the matter in this way, he learned that he was being
sent to Voronezh to buy remounts for his division, not only without
regret at being prevented from taking part in the coming battle, but
with the greatest pleasure - which he did not conceal and which his
comrades fully understood.
A few days before the battle of Borodino, Nicholas received the
necessary money and warrants, and having sent some hussars on in
advance, he set out with post horses for Voronezh.
Only a man who has experienced it - that is, has passed some months
continuously in an atmosphere of campaigning and war - can understand the
delight Nicholas felt when he escaped from the region covered by the
army’s foraging operations, provision trains, and hospitals. When - free
from soldiers, wagons, and the filthy traces of a camp - he saw villages
with peasants and peasant women, gentlemen’s country houses, fields
where cattle were grazing, posthouses with stationmasters asleep in
them, he rejoiced as though seeing all this for the first time. What for
a long while specially surprised and delighted him were the women, young
and healthy, without a dozen officers making up to each of them; women,
too, who were pleased and flattered that a passing officer should joke
with them.
In the highest spirits Nicholas arrived at night at a hotel in Voronezh,
ordered things he had long been deprived of in camp, and next day, very
clean-shaven and in a full-dress uniform he had not worn for a long
time, went to present himself to the authorities.
The commander of the militia was a civilian general, an old man who was
evidently pleased with his military designation and rank. He received
Nicholas brusquely (imagining this to be characteristically military)
and questioned him with an important air, as if considering the general
progress of affairs and approving and disapproving with full right to do
so. Nicholas was in such good spirits that this merely amused him.
From the commander of the militia he drove to the governor. The governor
was a brisk little man, very simple and affable. He indicated the stud
farms at which Nicholas might procure horses, recommended to him a horse
dealer in the town and a landowner fourteen miles out of town who had
the best horses, and promised to assist him in every way.
"You are Count Ilya Rostov’s son? My wife was a great friend of your
mother’s. We are at home on Thursdays - today is Thursday, so please come
and see us quite informally," said the governor, taking leave of him.
Immediately on leaving the governor’s, Nicholas hired post horses and,
taking his squadron quartermaster with him, drove at a gallop to the
landowner, fourteen miles away, who had the stud. Everything seemed to
him pleasant and easy during that first part of his stay in Voronezh
and, as usually happens when a man is in a pleasant state of mind,
everything went well and easily.
The landowner to whom Nicholas went was a bachelor, an old cavalryman, a
horse fancier, a sportsman, the possessor of some century-old brandy
and some old Hungarian wine, who had a snuggery where he smoked, and who
owned some splendid horses.
In very few words Nicholas bought seventeen picked stallions for six
thousand rubles - to serve, as he said, as samples of his remounts. After
dining and taking rather too much of the Hungarian wine, Nicholas - having
exchanged kisses with the landowner, with whom he was already on the
friendliest terms - galloped back over abominable roads, in the brightest
frame of mind, continually urging on the driver so as to be in time for
the governor’s party.
When he had changed, poured water over his head, and scented himself,
Nicholas arrived at the governor’s rather late, but with the phrase
"better late than never" on his lips.
It was not a ball, nor had dancing been announced, but everyone knew
that Catherine Petrovna would play valses and the ecossaise on the
clavichord and that there would be dancing, and so everyone had come as
to a ball.
Provincial life in 1812 went on very much as usual, but with this
difference, that it was livelier in the towns in consequence of the
arrival of many wealthy families from Moscow, and as in everything that
went on in Russia at that time a special recklessness was noticeable, an
"in for a penny, in for a pound - who cares?" spirit, and the inevitable
small talk, instead of turning on the weather and mutual acquaintances,
now turned on Moscow, the army, and Napoleon.
The society gathered together at the governor’s was the best in
Voronezh.
There were a great many ladies and some of Nicholas’ Moscow
acquaintances, but there were no men who could at all vie with the
cavalier of St. George, the hussar remount officer, the good-natured
and well-bred Count Rostov. Among the men was an Italian prisoner, an
officer of the French army; and Nicholas felt that the presence of that
prisoner enhanced his own importance as a Russian hero. The Italian
was, as it were, a war trophy. Nicholas felt this, it seemed to him
that everyone regarded the Italian in the same light, and he treated him
cordially though with dignity and restraint.
As soon as Nicholas entered in his hussar uniform, diffusing around him
a fragrance of perfume and wine, and had uttered the words "better late
than never" and heard them repeated several times by others, people
clustered around him; all eyes turned on him, and he felt at once
that he had entered into his proper position in the province - that of
a universal favorite: a very pleasant position, and intoxicatingly so
after his long privations. At posting stations, at inns, and in the
landowner’s snuggery, maidservants had been flattered by his notice, and
here too at the governor’s party there were (as it seemed to Nicholas)
an inexhaustible number of pretty young women, married and unmarried,
impatiently awaiting his notice. The women and girls flirted with him
and, from the first day, the people concerned themselves to get this
fine young daredevil of an hussar married and settled down. Among these
was the governor’s wife herself, who welcomed Rostov as a near relative
and called him "Nicholas."
Catherine Petrovna did actually play valses and the ecossaise, and
dancing began in which Nicholas still further captivated the provincial
society by his agility. His particularly free manner of dancing even
surprised them all. Nicholas was himself rather surprised at the way he
danced that evening. He had never danced like that in Moscow and would
even have considered such a very free and easy manner improper and in
bad form, but here he felt it incumbent on him to astonish them all by
something unusual, something they would have to accept as the regular
thing in the capital though new to them in the provinces.
All the evening Nicholas paid attention to a blue-eyed, plump and
pleasing little blonde, the wife of one of the provincial officials.
With the naïve conviction of young men in a merry mood that other men’s
wives were created for them, Rostov did not leave the lady’s side and
treated her husband in a friendly and conspiratorial style, as if,
without speaking of it, they knew how capitally Nicholas and the lady
would get on together. The husband, however, did not seem to share that
conviction and tried to behave morosely with Rostov. But the
latter’s good-natured naïvete was so boundless that sometimes even he
involuntarily yielded to Nicholas’ good humor. Toward the end of the
evening, however, as the wife’s face grew more flushed and animated, the
husband’s became more and more melancholy and solemn, as though there
were but a given amount of animation between them and as the wife’s
share increased the husband’s diminished.
CHAPTER V
Nicholas sat leaning slightly forward in an armchair, bending closely
over the blonde lady and paying her mythological compliments with a
smile that never left his face. Jauntily shifting the position of his
legs in their tight riding breeches, diffusing an odor of perfume, and
admiring his partner, himself, and the fine outlines of his legs in
their well-fitting Hessian boots, Nicholas told the blonde lady that he
wished to run away with a certain lady here in Voronezh.
"Which lady?"
"A charming lady, a divine one. Her eyes" (Nicholas looked at his
partner) "are blue, her mouth coral and ivory; her figure" (he glanced
at her shoulders) "like Diana’s...."
The husband came up and sullenly asked his wife what she was talking
about.
"Ah, Nikita Ivanych!" cried Nicholas, rising politely, and as if wishing
Nikita Ivanych to share his joke, he began to tell him of his intention
to elope with a blonde lady.
The husband smiled gloomily, the wife gaily. The governor’s good-natured
wife came up with a look of disapproval.
"Anna Ignatyevna wants to see you, Nicholas," said she, pronouncing the
name so that Nicholas at once understood that Anna Ignatyevna was a very
important person. "Come, Nicholas! You know you let me call you so?"
"Oh, yes, Aunt. Who is she?"
"Anna Ignatyevna Malvintseva. She has heard from her niece how you
rescued her.... Can you guess?"
"I rescued such a lot of them!" said Nicholas.
"Her niece, Princess Bolkonskaya. She is here in Voronezh with her aunt.
Oho! How you blush. Why, are...?"
"Not a bit! Please don’t, Aunt!"
"Very well, very well!... Oh, what a fellow you are!"
The governor’s wife led him up to a tall and very stout old lady with
a blue headdress, who had just finished her game of cards with the most
important personages of the town. This was Malvintseva, Princess Mary’s
aunt on her mother’s side, a rich, childless widow who always lived in
Voronezh. When Rostov approached her she was standing settling up for
the game. She looked at him and, screwing up her eyes sternly, continued
to upbraid the general who had won from her.
"Very pleased, mon cher," she then said, holding out her hand to
Nicholas. "Pray come and see me."
After a few words about Princess Mary and her late father, whom
Malvintseva had evidently not liked, and having asked what Nicholas
knew of Prince Andrew, who also was evidently no favorite of hers, the
important old lady dismissed Nicholas after repeating her invitation to
come to see her.
Nicholas promised to come and blushed again as he bowed. At the mention
of Princess Mary he experienced a feeling of shyness and even of fear,
which he himself did not understand.
When he had parted from Malvintseva Nicholas wished to return to the
dancing, but the governor’s little wife placed her plump hand on his
sleeve and, saying that she wanted to have a talk with him, led him to
her sitting room, from which those who were there immediately withdrew
so as not to be in her way.
"Do you know, dear boy," began the governor’s wife with a serious
expression on her kind little face, "that really would be the match for
you: would you like me to arrange it?"
"Whom do you mean, Aunt?" asked Nicholas.
"I will make a match for you with the princess. Catherine Petrovna
speaks of Lily, but I say, no - the princess! Do you want me to do it? I
am sure your mother will be grateful to me. What a charming girl she is,
really! And she is not at all so plain, either."
"Not at all," replied Nicholas as if offended at the idea. "As befits
a soldier, Aunt, I don’t force myself on anyone or refuse anything," he
said before he had time to consider what he was saying.
"Well then, remember, this is not a joke!"
"Of course not!"
"Yes, yes," the governor’s wife said as if talking to herself. "But,
my dear boy, among other things you are too attentive to the other, the
blonde. One is sorry for the husband, really...."
"Oh no, we are good friends with him," said Nicholas in the simplicity
of his heart; it did not enter his head that a pastime so pleasant to
himself might not be pleasant to someone else.
"But what nonsense I have been saying to the governor’s wife!" thought
Nicholas suddenly at supper. "She will really begin to arrange a
match... and Sonya...?" And on taking leave of the governor’s wife,
when she again smilingly said to him, "Well then, remember!" he drew her
aside.
"But see here, to tell the truth, Aunt..."
"What is it, my dear? Come, let’s sit down here," said she.
Nicholas suddenly felt a desire and need to tell his most intimate
thoughts (which he would not have told to his mother, his sister, or
his friend) to this woman who was almost a stranger. When he afterwards
recalled that impulse to unsolicited and inexplicable frankness which
had very important results for him, it seemed to him - as it seems to
everyone in such cases - that it was merely some silly whim that seized
him: yet that burst of frankness, together with other trifling events,
had immense consequences for him and for all his family.
"You see, Aunt, Mamma has long wanted me to marry an heiress, but the
very idea of marrying for money is repugnant to me."
"Oh yes, I understand," said the governor’s wife.
"But Princess Bolkonskaya - that’s another matter. I will tell you the
truth. In the first place I like her very much, I feel drawn to her; and
then, after I met her under such circumstances - so strangely, the idea
often occurred to me: ‘This is fate.’ Especially if you remember that
Mamma had long been thinking of it; but I had never happened to meet her
before, somehow it had always happened that we did not meet. And as long
as my sister Natasha was engaged to her brother it was of course out of
the question for me to think of marrying her. And it must needs happen
that I should meet her just when Natasha’s engagement had been broken
off... and then everything... So you see... I never told this to anyone
and never will, only to you."
The governor’s wife pressed his elbow gratefully.
"You know Sonya, my cousin? I love her, and promised to marry her, and
will do so.... So you see there can be no question about - " said Nicholas
incoherently and blushing.
"My dear boy, what a way to look at it! You know Sonya has nothing and
you yourself say your Papa’s affairs are in a very bad way. And what
about your mother? It would kill her, that’s one thing. And what sort of
life would it be for Sonya - if she’s a girl with a heart? Your mother
in despair, and you all ruined.... No, my dear, you and Sonya ought to
understand that."
Nicholas remained silent. It comforted him to hear these arguments.
"All the same, Aunt, it is impossible," he rejoined with a sigh, after
a short pause. "Besides, would the princess have me? And besides, she is
now in mourning. How can one think of it!"
"But you don’t suppose I’m going to get you married at once? There is
always a right way of doing things," replied the governor’s wife.
"What a matchmaker you are, Aunt..." said Nicholas, kissing her plump
little hand.
CHAPTER VI
On reaching Moscow after her meeting with Rostov, Princess Mary had
found her nephew there with his tutor, and a letter from Prince Andrew
giving her instructions how to get to her Aunt Malvintseva at Voronezh.
That feeling akin to temptation which had tormented her during her
father’s illness, since his death, and especially since her meeting with
Rostov was smothered by arrangements for the journey, anxiety about her
brother, settling in a new house, meeting new people, and attending to
her nephew’s education. She was sad. Now, after a month passed in quiet
surroundings, she felt more and more deeply the loss of her father which
was associated in her mind with the ruin of Russia. She was agitated and
incessantly tortured by the thought of the dangers to which her brother,
the only intimate person now remaining to her, was exposed. She was
worried too about her nephew’s education for which she had always felt
herself incompetent, but in the depths of her soul she felt at peace - a
peace arising from consciousness of having stifled those personal dreams
and hopes that had been on the point of awakening within her and were
related to her meeting with Rostov.
The day after her party the governor’s wife came to see Malvintseva
and, after discussing her plan with the aunt, remarked that though
under present circumstances a formal betrothal was, of course, not to be
thought of, all the same the young people might be brought together and
could get to know one another. Malvintseva expressed approval, and the
governor’s wife began to speak of Rostov in Mary’s presence, praising
him and telling how he had blushed when Princess Mary’s name was
mentioned. But Princess Mary experienced a painful rather than a joyful
feeling - her mental tranquillity was destroyed, and desires, doubts,
self-reproach, and hopes reawoke.
During the two days that elapsed before Rostov called, Princess Mary
continually thought of how she ought to behave to him. First she decided
not to come to the drawing room when he called to see her aunt - that it
would not be proper for her, in her deep mourning, to receive visitors;
then she thought this would be rude after what he had done for her; then
it occurred to her that her aunt and the governor’s wife had intentions
concerning herself and Rostov - their looks and words at times seemed to
confirm this supposition - then she told herself that only she, with her
sinful nature, could think this of them: they could not forget that
situated as she was, while still wearing deep mourning, such matchmaking
would be an insult to her and to her father’s memory. Assuming that she
did go down to see him, Princess Mary imagined the words he would say
to her and what she would say to him, and these words sometimes seemed
undeservedly cold and then to mean too much. More than anything she
feared lest the confusion she felt might overwhelm her and betray her as
soon as she saw him.
But when on Sunday after church the footman announced in the drawing
room that Count Rostov had called, the princess showed no confusion,
only a slight blush suffused her cheeks and her eyes lit up with a new
and radiant light.
"You have met him, Aunt?" said she in a calm voice, unable herself to
understand that she could be outwardly so calm and natural.
When Rostov entered the room, the princess dropped her eyes for an
instant, as if to give the visitor time to greet her aunt, and then
just as Nicholas turned to her she raised her head and met his look with
shining eyes. With a movement full of dignity and grace she half rose
with a smile of pleasure, held out her slender, delicate hand to him,
and began to speak in a voice in which for the first time new deep
womanly notes vibrated. Mademoiselle Bourienne, who was in the drawing
room, looked at Princess Mary in bewildered surprise. Herself a
consummate coquette, she could not have maneuvered better on meeting a
man she wished to attract.
"Either black is particularly becoming to her or she really has greatly
improved without my having noticed it. And above all, what tact and
grace!" thought Mademoiselle Bourienne.
Had Princess Mary been capable of reflection at that moment, she would
have been more surprised than Mademoiselle Bourienne at the change that
had taken place in herself. From the moment she recognized that dear,
loved face, a new life force took possession of her and compelled her to
speak and act apart from her own will. From the time Rostov entered, her
face became suddenly transformed. It was as if a light had been kindled
in a carved and painted lantern and the intricate, skillful, artistic
work on its sides, that previously seemed dark, coarse, and meaningless,
was suddenly shown up in unexpected and striking beauty. For the first
time all that pure, spiritual, inward travail through which she had
lived appeared on the surface. All her inward labor, her dissatisfaction
with herself, her sufferings, her strivings after goodness, her
meekness, love, and self-sacrifice - all this now shone in those radiant
eyes, in her delicate smile, and in every trait of her gentle face.
Rostov saw all this as clearly as if he had known her whole life. He
felt that the being before him was quite different from, and better
than, anyone he had met before, and above all better than himself.
Their conversation was very simple and unimportant. They spoke of the
war, and like everyone else unconsciously exaggerated their sorrow
about it; they spoke of their last meeting - Nicholas trying to change the
subject - they talked of the governor’s kind wife, of Nicholas’ relations,
and of Princess Mary’s.
She did not talk about her brother, diverting the conversation as soon
as her aunt mentioned Andrew. Evidently she could speak of Russia’s
misfortunes with a certain artificiality, but her brother was too near
her heart and she neither could nor would speak lightly of him. Nicholas
noticed this, as he noticed every shade of Princess Mary’s character
with an observation unusual to him, and everything confirmed his
conviction that she was a quite unusual and extraordinary being.
Nicholas blushed and was confused when people spoke to him about the
princess (as she did when he was mentioned) and even when he thought of
her, but in her presence he felt quite at ease, and said not at all what
he had prepared, but what, quite appropriately, occurred to him at the
moment.
When a pause occurred during his short visit, Nicholas, as is usual when
there are children, turned to Prince Andrew’s little son, caressing him
and asking whether he would like to be an hussar. He took the boy on
his knee, played with him, and looked round at Princess Mary. With a
softened, happy, timid look she watched the boy she loved in the arms
of the man she loved. Nicholas also noticed that look and, as if
understanding it, flushed with pleasure and began to kiss the boy with
good natured playfulness.
As she was in mourning Princess Mary did not go out into society, and
Nicholas did not think it the proper thing to visit her again; but all
the same the governor’s wife went on with her matchmaking, passing on to
Nicholas the flattering things Princess Mary said of him and vice
versa, and insisting on his declaring himself to Princess Mary. For this
purpose she arranged a meeting between the young people at the bishop’s
house before Mass.
Though Rostov told the governor’s wife that he would not make any
declaration to Princess Mary, he promised to go.
As at Tilsit Rostov had not allowed himself to doubt that what everybody
considered right was right, so now, after a short but sincere struggle
between his effort to arrange his life by his own sense of justice, and
in obedient submission to circumstances, he chose the latter and yielded
to the power he felt irresistibly carrying him he knew not where. He
knew that after his promise to Sonya it would be what he deemed base to
declare his feelings to Princess Mary. And he knew that he would never
act basely. But he also knew (or rather felt at the bottom of his heart)
that by resigning himself now to the force of circumstances and to those
who were guiding him, he was not only doing nothing wrong, but was doing
something very important - more important than anything he had ever done
in his life.
After meeting Princess Mary, though the course of his life went on
externally as before, all his former amusements lost their charm for him
and he often thought about her. But he never thought about her as he
had thought of all the young ladies without exception whom he had met
in society, nor as he had for a long time, and at one time rapturously,
thought about Sonya. He had pictured each of those young ladies as
almost all honest-hearted young men do, that is, as a possible wife,
adapting her in his imagination to all the conditions of married life:
a white dressing gown, his wife at the tea table, his wife’s carriage,
little ones, Mamma and Papa, their relations to her, and so on - and these
pictures of the future had given him pleasure. But with Princess Mary,
to whom they were trying to get him engaged, he could never picture
anything of future married life. If he tried, his pictures seemed
incongruous and false. It made him afraid.
CHAPTER VII
The dreadful news of the battle of Borodino, of our losses in killed and
wounded, and the still more terrible news of the loss of Moscow reached
Voronezh in the middle of September. Princess Mary, having learned of
her brother’s wound only from the Gazette and having no definite news of
him, prepared (so Nicholas heard, he had not seen her again himself) to
set off in search of Prince Andrew.
When he received the news of the battle of Borodino and the abandonment
of Moscow, Rostov was not seized with despair, anger, the desire for
vengeance, or any feeling of that kind, but everything in Voronezh
suddenly seemed to him dull and tiresome, and he experienced an
indefinite feeling of shame and awkwardness. The conversations he heard
seemed to him insincere; he did not know how to judge all these affairs
and felt that only in the regiment would everything again become clear
to him. He made haste to finish buying the horses, and often became
unreasonably angry with his servant and squadron quartermaster.
A few days before his departure a special thanksgiving, at which
Nicholas was present, was held in the cathedral for the Russian victory.
He stood a little behind the governor and held himself with military
decorum through the service, meditating on a great variety of subjects.
When the service was over the governor’s wife beckoned him to her.
"Have you seen the princess?" she asked, indicating with a movement of
her head a lady standing on the opposite side, beyond the choir.
Nicholas immediately recognized Princess Mary not so much by the profile
he saw under her bonnet as by the feeling of solicitude, timidity, and
pity that immediately overcame him. Princess Mary, evidently engrossed
by her thoughts, was crossing herself for the last time before leaving
the church.
Nicholas looked at her face with surprise. It was the same face he had
seen before, there was the same general expression of refined, inner,
spiritual labor, but now it was quite differently lit up. There was a
pathetic expression of sorrow, prayer, and hope in it. As had occurred
before when she was present, Nicholas went up to her without waiting to
be prompted by the governor’s wife and not asking himself whether or not
it was right and proper to address her here in church, and told her he
had heard of her trouble and sympathized with his whole soul. As soon as
she heard his voice a vivid glow kindled in her face, lighting up both
her sorrow and her joy.
"There is one thing I wanted to tell you, Princess," said Rostov. "It
is that if your brother, Prince Andrew Nikolaevich, were not living, it
would have been at once announced in the Gazette, as he is a colonel."
The princess looked at him, not grasping what he was saying, but cheered
by the expression of regretful sympathy on his face.
"And I have known so many cases of a splinter wound" (the Gazette said
it was a shell) "either proving fatal at once or being very slight,"
continued Nicholas. "We must hope for the best, and I am sure..."
Princess Mary interrupted him.
"Oh, that would be so dread..." she began and, prevented by agitation
from finishing, she bent her head with a movement as graceful as
everything she did in his presence and, looking up at him gratefully,
went out, following her aunt.
That evening Nicholas did not go out, but stayed at home to settle some
accounts with the horse dealers. When he had finished that business it
was already too late to go anywhere but still too early to go to bed,
and for a long time he paced up and down the room, reflecting on his
life, a thing he rarely did.
Princess Mary had made an agreeable impression on him when he had met
her in Smolensk province. His having encountered her in such exceptional
circumstances, and his mother having at one time mentioned her to him as
a good match, had drawn his particular attention to her. When he met her
again in Voronezh the impression she made on him was not merely pleasing
but powerful. Nicholas had been struck by the peculiar moral beauty he
observed in her at this time. He was, however, preparing to go away and
it had not entered his head to regret that he was thus depriving himself
of chances of meeting her. But that day’s encounter in church had, he
felt, sunk deeper than was desirable for his peace of mind. That pale,
sad, refined face, that radiant look, those gentle graceful gestures,
and especially the deep and tender sorrow expressed in all her features
agitated him and evoked his sympathy. In men Rostov could not bear to
see the expression of a higher spiritual life (that was why he did not
like Prince Andrew) and he referred to it contemptuously as philosophy
and dreaminess, but in Princess Mary that very sorrow which revealed
the depth of a whole spiritual world foreign to him was an irresistible
attraction.
"She must be a wonderful woman. A real angel!" he said to himself.
"Why am I not free? Why was I in such a hurry with Sonya?" And he
involuntarily compared the two: the lack of spirituality in the one and
the abundance of it in the other - a spirituality he himself lacked and
therefore valued most highly. He tried to picture what would happen were
he free. How he would propose to her and how she would become his wife.
But no, he could not imagine that. He felt awed, and no clear picture
presented itself to his mind. He had long ago pictured to himself a
future with Sonya, and that was all clear and simple just because it
had all been thought out and he knew all there was in Sonya, but it was
impossible to picture a future with Princess Mary, because he did not
understand her but simply loved her.
Reveries about Sonya had had something merry and playful in them, but to
dream of Princess Mary was always difficult and a little frightening.
"How she prayed!" he thought. "It was plain that her whole soul was in
her prayer. Yes, that was the prayer that moves mountains, and I am
sure her prayer will be answered. Why don’t I pray for what I want?" he
suddenly thought. "What do I want? To be free, released from Sonya...
She was right," he thought, remembering what the governor’s wife had
said: "Nothing but misfortune can come of marrying Sonya. Muddles,
grief for Mamma... business difficulties... muddles, terrible muddles!
Besides, I don’t love her - not as I should. O, God! release me from
this dreadful, inextricable position!" he suddenly began to pray. "Yes,
prayer can move mountains, but one must have faith and not pray as
Natasha and I used to as children, that the snow might turn into
sugar - and then run out into the yard to see whether it had done so. No,
but I am not praying for trifles now," he thought as he put his pipe
down in a corner, and folding his hands placed himself before the icon.
Softened by memories of Princess Mary he began to pray as he had not
done for a long time. Tears were in his eyes and in his throat when the
door opened and Lavrushka came in with some papers.
"Blockhead! Why do you come in without being called?" cried Nicholas,
quickly changing his attitude.
"From the governor," said Lavrushka in a sleepy voice. "A courier has
arrived and there’s a letter for you."
"Well, all right, thanks. You can go!"
Nicholas took the two letters, one of which was from his mother and
the other from Sonya. He recognized them by the handwriting and opened
Sonya’s first. He had read only a few lines when he turned pale and his
eyes opened wide with fear and joy.
"No, it’s not possible!" he cried aloud.
Unable to sit still he paced up and down the room holding the letter and
reading it. He glanced through it, then read it again, and then again,
and standing still in the middle of the room he raised his shoulders,
stretching out his hands, with his mouth wide open and his eyes fixed.
What he had just been praying for with confidence that God would hear
him had come to pass; but Nicholas was as much astonished as if it were
something extraordinary and unexpected, and as if the very fact that it
had happened so quickly proved that it had not come from God to whom he
had prayed, but by some ordinary coincidence.
This unexpected and, as it seemed to Nicholas, quite voluntary letter
from Sonya freed him from the knot that fettered him and from which
there had seemed no escape. She wrote that the last unfortunate
events - the loss of almost the whole of the Rostovs’ Moscow property - and
the countess’ repeatedly expressed wish that Nicholas should marry
Princess Bolkonskaya, together with his silence and coldness of late,
had all combined to make her decide to release him from his promise and
set him completely free.
It would be too painful to me to think that I might be a cause of sorrow
or discord in the family that has been so good to me (she wrote), and my
love has no aim but the happiness of those I love; so, Nicholas, I
beg you to consider yourself free, and to be assured that, in spite of
everything, no one can love you more than does
Your Sonya
Both letters were written from Troitsa. The other, from the countess,
described their last days in Moscow, their departure, the fire, and
the destruction of all their property. In this letter the countess also
mentioned that Prince Andrew was among the wounded traveling with them;
his state was very critical, but the doctor said there was now more
hope. Sonya and Natasha were nursing him.
Next day Nicholas took his mother’s letter and went to see Princess
Mary. Neither he nor she said a word about what "Natasha nursing him"
might mean, but thanks to this letter Nicholas suddenly became almost as
intimate with the princess as if they were relations.
The following day he saw Princess Mary off on her journey to Yaroslavl,
and a few days later left to rejoin his regiment.
CHAPTER VIII
Sonya’s letter written from Troitsa, which had come as an answer to
Nicholas’ prayer, was prompted by this: the thought of getting Nicholas
married to an heiress occupied the old countess’ mind more and more. She
knew that Sonya was the chief obstacle to this happening, and Sonya’s
life in the countess’ house had grown harder and harder, especially
after they had received a letter from Nicholas telling of his meeting
with Princess Mary in Bogucharovo. The countess let no occasion slip of
making humiliating or cruel allusions to Sonya.
But a few days before they left Moscow, moved and excited by all that
was going on, she called Sonya to her and, instead of reproaching and
making demands on her, tearfully implored her to sacrifice herself
and repay all that the family had done for her by breaking off her
engagement with Nicholas.
"I shall not be at peace till you promise me this."
Sonya burst into hysterical tears and replied through her sobs that
she would do anything and was prepared for anything, but gave no actual
promise and could not bring herself to decide to do what was demanded
of her. She must sacrifice herself for the family that had reared and
brought her up. To sacrifice herself for others was Sonya’s habit. Her
position in the house was such that only by sacrifice could she show her
worth, and she was accustomed to this and loved doing it. But in all her
former acts of self-sacrifice she had been happily conscious that they
raised her in her own esteem and in that of others, and so made her more
worthy of Nicholas whom she loved more than anything in the world. But
now they wanted her to sacrifice the very thing that constituted the
whole reward for her self-sacrifice and the whole meaning of her life.
And for the first time she felt bitterness against those who had been
her benefactors only to torture her the more painfully; she felt jealous
of Natasha who had never experienced anything of this sort, had never
needed to sacrifice herself, but made others sacrifice themselves for
her and yet was beloved by everybody. And for the first time Sonya felt
that out of her pure, quiet love for Nicholas a passionate feeling
was beginning to grow up which was stronger than principle, virtue,
or religion. Under the influence of this feeling Sonya, whose life of
dependence had taught her involuntarily to be secretive, having answered
the countess in vague general terms, avoided talking with her and
resolved to wait till she should see Nicholas, not in order to set him
free but on the contrary at that meeting to bind him to her forever.
The bustle and terror of the Rostovs’ last days in Moscow stifled the
gloomy thoughts that oppressed Sonya. She was glad to find escape
from them in practical activity. But when she heard of Prince Andrew’s
presence in their house, despite her sincere pity for him and for
Natasha, she was seized by a joyful and superstitious feeling that God
did not intend her to be separated from Nicholas. She knew that Natasha
loved no one but Prince Andrew and had never ceased to love him. She
knew that being thrown together again under such terrible circumstances
they would again fall in love with one another, and that Nicholas would
then not be able to marry Princess Mary as they would be within the
prohibited degrees of affinity. Despite all the terror of what had
happened during those last days and during the first days of their
journey, this feeling that Providence was intervening in her personal
affairs cheered Sonya.
At the Troitsa monastery the Rostovs first broke their journey for a
whole day.
Three large rooms were assigned to them in the monastery hostelry, one
of which was occupied by Prince Andrew. The wounded man was much better
that day and Natasha was sitting with him. In the next room sat the
count and countess respectfully conversing with the prior, who was
calling on them as old acquaintances and benefactors of the monastery.
Sonya was there too, tormented by curiosity as to what Prince Andrew and
Natasha were talking about. She heard the sound of their voices through
the door. That door opened and Natasha came out, looking excited. Not
noticing the monk, who had risen to greet her and was drawing back the
wide sleeve on his right arm, she went up to Sonya and took her hand.
"Natasha, what are you about? Come here!" said the countess.
Natasha went up to the monk for his blessing, and he advised her to pray
for aid to God and His saint.
As soon as the prior withdrew, Natasha took her friend by the hand and
went with her into the unoccupied room.
"Sonya, will he live?" she asked. "Sonya, how happy I am, and how
unhappy!... Sonya, dovey, everything is as it used to be. If only he
lives! He cannot... because... because... of..." and Natasha burst into
tears.
"Yes! I knew it! Thank God!" murmured Sonya. "He will live."
Sonya was not less agitated than her friend by the latter’s fear and
grief and by her own personal feelings which she shared with no one.
Sobbing, she kissed and comforted Natasha. "If only he lives!" she
thought. Having wept, talked, and wiped away their tears, the two
friends went together to Prince Andrew’s door. Natasha opened it
cautiously and glanced into the room, Sonya standing beside her at the
half-open door.
Prince Andrew was lying raised high on three pillows. His pale face was
calm, his eyes closed, and they could see his regular breathing.
"O, Natasha!" Sonya suddenly almost screamed, catching her companion’s
arm and stepping back from the door.
"What? What is it?" asked Natasha.
"It’s that, that..." said Sonya, with a white face and trembling lips.
Natasha softly closed the door and went with Sonya to the window, not
yet understanding what the latter was telling her.
"You remember," said Sonya with a solemn and frightened expression.
"You remember when I looked in the mirror for you... at Otradnoe at
Christmas? Do you remember what I saw?"
"Yes, yes!" cried Natasha opening her eyes wide, and vaguely recalling
that Sonya had told her something about Prince Andrew whom she had seen
lying down.
"You remember?" Sonya went on. "I saw it then and told everybody, you
and Dunyasha. I saw him lying on a bed," said she, making a gesture with
her hand and a lifted finger at each detail, "and that he had his eyes
closed and was covered just with a pink quilt, and that his hands were
folded," she concluded, convincing herself that the details she had just
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