Chapter Chapter 92 · 第92章

The war was flaming up and nearing the Russian frontier. Everywhere one

heard curses on Bonaparte, “the enemy of mankind.” Militiamen and

recruits were being enrolled in the villages, and from the seat of

war came contradictory news, false as usual and therefore variously

interpreted. The life of old Prince Bolkónski, Prince Andrew, and

Princess Mary had greatly changed since 1805.

In 1806 the old prince was made one of the eight commanders in chief

then appointed to supervise the enrollment decreed throughout Russia.

Despite the weakness of age, which had become particularly noticeable

since the time when he thought his son had been killed, he did not think

it right to refuse a duty to which he had been appointed by the Emperor

himself, and this fresh opportunity for action gave him new energy

and strength. He was continually traveling through the three provinces

entrusted to him, was pedantic in the fulfillment of his duties, severe

to cruel with his subordinates, and went into everything down to the

minutest details himself. Princess Mary had ceased taking lessons in

mathematics from her father, and when the old prince was at home went

to his study with the wet nurse and little Prince Nicholas (as his

grandfather called him). The baby Prince Nicholas lived with his wet

nurse and nurse Sávishna in the late princess’ rooms and Princess

Mary spent most of the day in the nursery, taking a mother’s place to

her little nephew as best she could. Mademoiselle Bourienne, too, seemed

passionately fond of the boy, and Princess Mary often deprived herself

to give her friend the pleasure of dandling the little angel—as she

called her nephew—and playing with him.

Near the altar of the church at Bald Hills there was a chapel over the

tomb of the little princess, and in this chapel was a marble monument

brought from Italy, representing an angel with outspread wings ready to

fly upwards. The angel’s upper lip was slightly raised as though

about to smile, and once on coming out of the chapel Prince Andrew and

Princess Mary admitted to one another that the angel’s face reminded

them strangely of the little princess. But what was still stranger,

though of this Prince Andrew said nothing to his sister, was that in the

expression the sculptor had happened to give the angel’s face, Prince

Andrew read the same mild reproach he had read on the face of his dead

wife: “Ah, why have you done this to me?”

Soon after Prince Andrew’s return the old prince made over to him a

large estate, Boguchárovo, about twenty-five miles from Bald Hills.

Partly because of the depressing memories associated with Bald Hills,

partly because Prince Andrew did not always feel equal to bearing with

his father’s peculiarities, and partly because he needed solitude,

Prince Andrew made use of Boguchárovo, began building and spent most of

his time there.

After the Austerlitz campaign Prince Andrew had firmly resolved not

to continue his military service, and when the war recommenced

and everybody had to serve, he took a post under his father in the

recruitment so as to avoid active service. The old prince and his son

seemed to have changed roles since the campaign of 1805. The old man,

roused by activity, expected the best results from the new campaign,

while Prince Andrew on the contrary, taking no part in the war and

secretly regretting this, saw only the dark side.

On February 26, 1807, the old prince set off on one of his circuits.

Prince Andrew remained at Bald Hills as usual during his father’s

absence. Little Nicholas had been unwell for four days. The coachman who

had driven the old prince to town returned bringing papers and letters

for Prince Andrew.

Not finding the young prince in his study the valet went with the

letters to Princess Mary’s apartments, but did not find him there. He

was told that the prince had gone to the nursery.

“If you please, your excellency, Pétrusha has brought some papers,”

said one of the nursemaids to Prince Andrew who was sitting on a

child’s little chair while, frowning and with trembling hands, he

poured drops from a medicine bottle into a wineglass half full of water.

“What is it?” he said crossly, and, his hand shaking

unintentionally, he poured too many drops into the glass. He threw the

mixture onto the floor and asked for some more water. The maid brought

it.

There were in the room a child’s cot, two boxes, two armchairs, a

table, a child’s table, and the little chair on which Prince Andrew

was sitting. The curtains were drawn, and a single candle was burning on

the table, screened by a bound music book so that the light did not fall

on the cot.

“My dear,” said Princess Mary, addressing her brother from beside

the cot where she was standing, “better wait a bit... later...”

“Oh, leave off, you always talk nonsense and keep putting things

off—and this is what comes of it!” said Prince Andrew in an

exasperated whisper, evidently meaning to wound his sister.

“My dear, really... it’s better not to wake him... he’s asleep,”

said the princess in a tone of entreaty.

Prince Andrew got up and went on tiptoe up to the little bed, wineglass

in hand.

“Perhaps we’d really better not wake him,” he said hesitating.

“As you please... really... I think so... but as you please,” said

Princess Mary, evidently intimidated and confused that her opinion

had prevailed. She drew her brother’s attention to the maid who was

calling him in a whisper.

It was the second night that neither of them had slept, watching the boy

who was in a high fever. These last days, mistrusting their household

doctor and expecting another for whom they had sent to town, they had

been trying first one remedy and then another. Worn out by sleeplessness

and anxiety they threw their burden of sorrow on one another and

reproached and disputed with each other.

“Pétrusha has come with papers from your father,” whispered the

maid.

Prince Andrew went out.

“Devil take them!” he muttered, and after listening to the verbal

instructions his father had sent and taking the correspondence and his

father’s letter, he returned to the nursery.

“Well?” he asked.

“Still the same. Wait, for heaven’s sake. Karl Ivánich always says

that sleep is more important than anything,” whispered Princess Mary

with a sigh.

Prince Andrew went up to the child and felt him. He was burning hot.

“Confound you and your Karl Ivánich!” He took the glass with the

drops and again went up to the cot.

“Andrew, don’t!” said Princess Mary.

But he scowled at her angrily though also with suffering in his eyes,

and stooped glass in hand over the infant.

“But I wish it,” he said. “I beg you—give it him!”

Princess Mary shrugged her shoulders but took the glass submissively

and calling the nurse began giving the medicine. The child screamed

hoarsely. Prince Andrew winced and, clutching his head, went out and sat

down on a sofa in the next room.

He still had all the letters in his hand. Opening them mechanically he

began reading. The old prince, now and then using abbreviations, wrote

in his large elongated hand on blue paper as follows:

Have just this moment received by special messenger very joyful

news—if it’s not false. Bennigsen seems to have obtained a complete

victory over Buonaparte at Eylau. In Petersburg everyone is rejoicing,

and the rewards sent to the army are innumerable. Though he is a

German—I congratulate him! I can’t make out what the commander at

Kórchevo—a certain Khandrikóv—is up to; till now the additional

men and provisions have not arrived. Gallop off to him at once and

say I’ll have his head off if everything is not here in a week.

Have received another letter about the Preussisch-Eylau battle

from Pétenka—he took part in it—and it’s all true. When

mischief-makers don’t meddle even a German beats Buonaparte. He is

said to be fleeing in great disorder. Mind you gallop off to Kórchevo

without delay and carry out instructions!

Prince Andrew sighed and broke the seal of another envelope. It was

a closely written letter of two sheets from Bilíbin. He folded it up

without reading it and reread his father’s letter, ending with the

words: “Gallop off to Kórchevo and carry out instructions!”

“No, pardon me, I won’t go now till the child is better,” thought

he, going to the door and looking into the nursery.

Princess Mary was still standing by the cot, gently rocking the baby.

“Ah yes, and what else did he say that’s unpleasant?” thought

Prince Andrew, recalling his father’s letter. “Yes, we have gained

a victory over Bonaparte, just when I’m not serving. Yes, yes, he’s

always poking fun at me.... Ah, well! Let him!” And he began reading

Bilíbin’s letter which was written in French. He read without

understanding half of it, read only to forget, if but for a moment, what

he had too long been thinking of so painfully to the exclusion of all

else.