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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 Nikolievich,
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.
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