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Two months had elapsed since the news of the battle of Austerlitz
and the loss of Prince Andrew had reached Bald Hills, and in spite
of the letters sent through the embassy and all the searches made,
his body had not been found nor was he on the list of prisoners.
What was worst of all for his relations was the fact that there
was still a possibility of his having been picked up on the battlefield
by the people of the place and that he might now be lying, recovering
or dying, alone among strangers and unable to send news of himself.
The gazettes from which the old prince first heard of the defeat
at Austerlitz stated, as usual very briefly and vaguely, that
after brilliant engagements the Russians had had to retreat and
had made their withdrawal in perfect order. The old prince understood
from this official report that our army had been defeated. A week
after the gazette report of the battle of Austerlitz came a letter
from Kutuzov informing the prince of the fate that had befallen
his son.
"Your son," wrote Kutuzov, "fell before my
eyes, a standard in his hand and at the head of a regiment- he
fell as a hero, worthy of his father and his fatherland. To the
great regret of myself and of the whole army it is still uncertain
whether he is alive or not. I comfort myself and you with the
hope that your son is alive, for otherwise he would have been
mentioned among the officers found on the field of battle, a list
of whom has been sent me under flag of truce."
After receiving this news late in the evening, when he was
alone in his study, the old prince went for his walk as usual
next morning, but he was silent with his steward, the gardener,
and the architect, and though he looked very grim he said nothing
to anyone.
When Princess Mary went to him at the usual hour he was working
at his lathe and, as usual, did not look round at her.
"Ah, Princess Mary!" he said suddenly in an unnatural
voice, throwing down his chisel. (The wheel continued to revolve
by its own impetus, and Princess Mary long remembered the dying
creak of that wheel, which merged in her memory with what followed.)
She approached him, saw his face, and something gave way within
her. Her eyes grew dim. By the expression of her father's face,
not sad, not crushed, but angry and working unnaturally, she saw
that hanging over her and about to crush her was some terrible
misfortune, the worst in life, one she had not yet experienced,
irreparable and incomprehensible- the death of one she loved.
"Father! Andrew!"- said the ungraceful, awkward
princess with such an indescribable charm of sorrow and self-forgetfulness
that her father could not bear her look but turned away with a
sob.
"Bad news! He's not among the prisoners nor among the
killed! Kutuzov writes..." and he screamed as piercingly
as if he wished to drive the princess away by that scream... "Killed!"
The princess did not fall down or faint. She was already pale,
but on hearing these words her face changed and something brightened
in her beautiful, radiant eyes. It was as if joy- a supreme joy
apart from the joys and sorrows of this world- overflowed the
great grief within her. She forgot all fear of her father, went
up to him, took his hand, and drawing him down put her arm round
his thin, scraggy neck.
"Father" she said, "do not turn away from me,
let us weep together."
"Scoundrels! Blackguards!" shrieked the old man,
turning his face away from her. "Destroying the army, destroying
the men! And why? Go, go and tell Lise."
The princess sank helplessly into an armchair beside her father
and wept. She saw her brother now as he had been at the moment
when he took leave of her and of Lise, his look tender yet proud.
She saw him tender and amused as he was when he put on the little
icon. "Did he believe? Had he repented of his unbelief? Was
he now there? There in the realms of eternal peace and blessedness?"
she thought.
"Father, tell me how it happened," she asked through
her tears.
"Go! Go! Killed in battle, where the best of Russian
men and Russia's glory were led to destruction. Go, Princess Mary.
Go and tell Lise. I will follow."
When Princess Mary returned from her father, the little princess
sat working and looked up with that curious expression of inner,
happy calm peculiar to pregnant women. It was evident that her
eyes did not see Princess Mary but were looking within... into
herself... at something joyful and mysterious taking place within
her.
"Mary," she said, moving away from the embroidery
frame and lying back, "give me your hand." She took
her sister-in-law's hand and held it below her waist.
Her eyes were smiling expectantly, her downy lip rose and
remained lifted in childlike happiness.
Princess Mary knelt down before her and hid her face in the
folds of her sister-in-law's dress.
"There, there! Do you feel it? I feel so strange. And
do you know, Mary, I am going to love him very much," said
Lise, looking with bright and happy eyes at her sister-in-law.
Princess Mary could not lift her head, she was weeping.
"What is the matter, Mary?"
"Nothing... only I feel sad... sad about Andrew,"
she said, wiping away her tears on her sister-in-law's knee.
Several times in the course of the morning Princess Mary began
trying to prepare her sister-in-law, and every time began to cry.
Unobservant as was the little princess, these tears, the cause
of which she did not understand, agitated her. She said nothing
but looked about uneasily as if in search of something. Before
dinner the old prince, of whom she was always afraid, came into
her room with a peculiarly restless and malign expression and
went out again without saying a word. She looked at Princess Mary,
then sat thinking for a while with that expression of attention
to something within her that is only seen in pregnant women, and
suddenly began to cry.
"Has anything come from Andrew?" she asked.
"No, you know it's too soon for news. But my father is
anxious and I feel afraid."
"So there's nothing?"
"Nothing," answered Princess Mary, looking firmly
with her radiant eyes at her sister-in-law.
She had determined not to tell her and persuaded her father
to hide the terrible news from her till after her confinement,
which was expected within a few days. Princess Mary and the old
prince each bore and hid their grief in their own way. The old
prince would not cherish any hope: he made up his mind that Prince
Andrew had been killed, and though he sent an official to Austria
to seek for traces of his son, he ordered a monument from Moscow
which he intended to erect in his own garden to his memory, and
he told everybody that his son had been killed. He tried not to
change his former way of life, but his strength failed him. He
walked less, ate less, slept less, and became weaker every day.
Princess Mary hoped. She prayed for her brother as living and
was always awaiting news of his return.
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