War And Peace: Book 5 - CHAPTER VIII

作者: Leo Tolstoy

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Author: Leo Tolstoy

WAR had broken out and the theatre of it was closer to the borders of Russia.

On all sides could be heard curses upon the enemy of the human race, Bonaparte;

in the villages there were levies of recruits and reserve men, and from the

theatre of war came news of the most conflicting kind, false as usual, and hence

variously interpreted.

The life of the old Prince Bolkonsky, of Prince Andrey, and of Princess Marya

was greatly changed since the year 1805.

In 1806 the old prince had been appointed one of the eight

commanders-in-chief, created at that time for the equipment of the militia

throughout all Russia. In spite of his weakness and age, which had been

particularly noticeable during the time when he believed his son to have been

killed, the old prince did not think it right to refuse a duty to which he had

been appointed by the Emperor himself, and this new field for his activity gave

him fresh energy and strength. He was continually away on tours about the three

provinces that were put under his command; he was punctilious to pedantry in the

performance of his duties, severe to cruelty with his subordinates, and entered

into the minutest details of the work himself. Princess Marya no longer took

lessons in mathematics from her father, and only went into her father's room on

the mornings when he was at home, accompanied by the wet nurse and little Prince

Nikolay (as his grandfather called him). The baby, Prince Nikolay, with his wet

nurse and the old nurse Savishna, occupied the rooms that had been his mother's,

and Princess Marya spent most of her time in the nursery taking a mother's place

to her little nephew, to the best of her powers. Mademoiselle Bourienne, too,

appeared to be passionately fond of the child, and Princess Marya often

sacrificed herself by giving up to her friend the pleasure of dandling and

playing with the little angel (as she called the baby).

Near the altar of the church at Bleak Hills was a little chapel over the tomb

of the little princess, and in the chapel had been placed a marble monument

brought from Italy, representing an angel with its wings parted about to take

flight for heaven. The angel had the upper lip lifted as though about to smile,

and one day Prince Andrey and Princess Marya, as they came out of the chapel,

confessed to one another that, strange to say, the face of the angel reminded

them of the face of the little princess. But what was stranger, though this

Prince Andrey did not confess to his sister, was that in the expression the

sculptor had chanced to put into the angel's face, Prince Andrey read the same

words of reproach which he had read then on the face of his dead wife: “Ah, why

have you done this to me? …”

Soon after Prince Andrey's return, the old prince made over a part of the

property to him, giving him Bogutcharovo, a large estate about thirty miles from

Bleak Hills. Partly to escape the painful memories associated with Bleak Hills,

partly because Prince Andrey did not always feel equal to bearing with his

father's peculiarities, and partly from a craving for solitude, Prince Andrey

made use of Bogutcharovo, established himself there and spent the greater part

of his time there.

After the Austerlitz campaign, Prince Andrey had grimly resolved never to

serve again in the army. And when war broke out and all were bound to serve, he

took service under his father in the levying of the militia, so as to escape

active service. Since the campaign of 1805 the old prince and his son had as it

were exchanged parts. The old prince, stimulated by activity, expected the best

results from the present campaign. Prince Andrey, on the contrary, taking no

part in the war, and secretly regretting his inaction, saw in it nothing but

what was bad.

On the 26th of February, 1807 the old prince set off on a tour of inspection.

Prince Andrey was staying at Bleak Hills, as he usually did in his father's

absence. Little Nikolushka had been ill for the last three days. The coachman,

who had driven the old prince away, returned bringing papers and letters from

the town for Prince Andrey. The valet with the letters not finding the young

prince in his study, went to Princess Marya's apartments, but he was not there

either. The valet was told that the prince had gone to the nursery. “If you

please, your excellency, Petrusha has come with some papers,” said one of the

nursery maids, addressing Prince Andrey, who was sitting on a child's little

chair. Screwing up his eyes, he was with trembling hands pouring drops from a

medicine bottle into a glass half full of water.

“What is it?” he said angrily, and his hand shaking, he accidentally poured

too many drops from the bottle into the glass. He tipped the medicine out of the

glass on to the floor and asked for some more water. The maid gave it him.

In the room were a couple of armchairs, a child's crib, a table and a child's

table and a little chair, on which Prince Andrey was sitting. The windows were

curtained, and on the table a single candle was burning, screened by a

note-book, so that the light did not fall on the crib.

“My dear,” said Princess Marya, turning to her brother from beside the crib

where she was standing, “it would be better to wait a little…later.”

“Oh, please, do as I say, what nonsense you keep talking, you have kept

putting things off, and see what's come of it!” said Prince Andrey in an

exasperated whisper, evidently meaning to wound his sister.

“My dear, it's really better not to wake him, he has fallen asleep,” said the

princess in a voice of entreaty.

Prince Andrey got up and went on tiptoe to the crib with the glass in his

hand.

“Should we really not wake him?” he said, hesitating.

“As you think—really…I believe so…but as you think,” said Princess Marya,

obviously intimidated and ashamed that her opinion should triumph. She drew her

brother's attention to the maid, who was summoning him in a whisper.

It was the second night that they had been without sleep looking after the

baby, who was feverish. Mistrusting their own household doctor and expecting the

doctor they had sent from the town, they had spent all that time trying first

one remedy and then another. Agitated and worn out by sleeplessness, they vented

their anxiety on each other, found fault with each other, and quarrelled.

“Petrusha with papers from your papa,” whispered the maid. Prince Andrey went

out.

“Damn them all!” he commented angrily, and after listening to the verbal

instructions sent him from his father, and taking the correspondence and his

father's letter, he went back to the nursery. “Well?” queried Prince

Andrey.

“No change, wait a little, for God's sake. Karl Ivanitch always says sleep is

better than anything,” Princess Marya whispered with a sigh. Prince Andrey went

up to the baby and felt him. He was burning hot. “Bother you and your Karl

Ivanitch!” He took the glass with the drops of medicine in it and again went up

to the crib.

“Andryusha, you shouldn't!” said Princess Marya. But he scowled at her with

an expression of anger and at the same time of anguish, and bent over the child

with the glass.

“But I wish it,” he said. “Come, I beg you, give it him…”

Princess Marya shrugged her shoulders but obediently she took the glass, and

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

wheezed. Prince Andrey, scowling and clutching at his head, went out of the room

and sat down on the sofa in the adjoining one.

The letters were still in his hand. Mechanically he opened them and began to

read. The old prince in his big, sprawling hand, making use of occasional

abbreviations, wrote on blue paper as follows:

“I have this moment received, through a special messenger, very joyful news,

if it's not a falsehood. Bennigsen has gained it seems a complete victory over

Bonaparte near Eylau. In Petersburg every one's jubilant and rewards have been

sent to the army without stint. Though he's a German—I congratulate him.

Commander in Kortchevo, a certain Handrikov, I can't make out what he's about;

full contingent of men and regulation provision not yet arrived. Gallop over at

once and say I'll have his head off if it's not all here within the week. I have

a letter too about the Prussian battle at Preussisch-Eylau from Petenka, he took

part in it,—it's true. If people don't meddle who've no business to meddle, even

a German beats Bonaparte. They say he's running away in great disorder. Mind you

gallop over to Kortchevo and do the business without delay!”

Prince Andrey sighed and broke open the other letter. It was a letter from

Bilibin, two sheets covered with fine handwriting. He folded it up without

reading it, and read through once more his father's letter, ending with the

words: “Mind you gallop over to Kortchevo and do the business without

delay!”

“No, excuse me, I'm not going now till the child is better,” he thought, and

going to the door he glanced into the nursery. Princess Marya was still standing

at the crib, softly rocking the baby. “Oh, and what was the other unpleasant

thing he writes about?” Prince Andrey thought of the contents of his father's

letter. “Yes. Our troops have gained a victory over Bonaparte precisely when I'm

not in the army. Yes, yes, everything mocks at me…well and welcome too…” and he

began reading the letter in French from Bilibin. He read, not understanding half

of it, read simply to escape for one moment from thinking of what he had too

long, too exclusively and too anxiously been dwelling upon.

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