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When Princess Mary heard from Nicholas that her brother was
with the Rostovs at Yaroslavl she at once prepared to go there,
in spite of her aunt's efforts to dissuade her- and not merely
to go herself but to take her nephew with her. Whether it were
difficult or easy, possible or impossible, she did not ask and
did not want to know: it was her duty not only herself to be near
her brother who was perhaps dying, but to do everything possible
to take his son to him, and so she prepared to set off. That she
had not heard from Prince Andrew himself, Princess Mary attributed
to his being too weak to write or to his considering the long
journey too hard and too dangerous for her and his son.
In a few days Princess Mary was ready to start. Her equipages
were the huge family coach in which she had traveled to Voronezh,
a semiopen trap, and a baggage cart. With her traveled Mademoiselle
Bourienne, little Nicholas and his tutor, her old nurse, three
maids, Tikhon, and a young footman and courier her aunt had sent
to accompany her.
The usual route through Moscow could not be thought of, and
the roundabout way Princess Mary was obliged to take through Lipetsk,
Ryazan, Vladimir, and Shuya was very long and, as post horses
were not everywhere obtainable, very difficult, and near Ryazan
where the French were said to have shown themselves was even dangerous.
During this difficult journey Mademoiselle Bourienne, Dessalles,
and Princess Mary's servants were astonished at her energy and
firmness of spirit. She went to bed later and rose earlier than
any of them, and no difficulties daunted her. Thanks to her activity
and energy, which infected her fellow travelers, they approached
Yaroslavl by the end of the second week.
The last days of her stay in Voronezh had been the happiest
of her life. Her love for Rostov no longer tormented or agitated
her. It filled her whole soul, had become an integral part of
herself, and she no longer struggled against it. Latterly she
had become convinced that she loved and was beloved, though she
never said this definitely to herself in words. She had become
convinced of it at her last interview with Nicholas, when he had
come to tell her that her brother was with the Rostovs. Not by
a single word had Nicholas alluded to the fact that Prince Andrew's
relations with Natasha might, if he recovered, be renewed, but
Princess Mary saw by his face that he knew and thought of this.
Yet in spite of that, his relation to her- considerate, delicate,
and loving- not only remained unchanged, but it sometimes seemed
to Princess Mary that he was even glad that the family connection
between them allowed him to express his friendship more freely.
She knew that she loved for the first and only time in her life
and felt that she was beloved, and was happy in regard to it.
But this happiness on one side of her spiritual nature did
not prevent her feeling grief for her brother with full force;
on the contrary, that spiritual tranquility on the one side made
it the more possible for her to give full play to her feeling
for her brother. That feeling was so strong at the moment of leaving
Voronezh that those who saw her off, as they looked at her careworn,
despairing face, felt sure she would fall ill on the journey.
But the very difficulties and preoccupations of the journey, which
she took so actively in hand, saved her for a while from her grief
and gave her strength.
As always happens when traveling, Princess Mary thought only
of the journey itself, forgetting its object. But as she approached
Yaroslavl the thought of what might await her there- not after
many days, but that very evening- again presented itself to her
and her agitation increased to its utmost limit.
The courier who had been sent on in advance to find out where
the Rostovs were staying in Yaroslavl, and in what condition Prince
Andrew was, when he met the big coach just entering the town gates
was appalled by the terrible pallor of the princess' face that
looked out at him from the window.
"I have found out everything, your excellency: the Rostovs
are staying at the merchant Bronnikov's house, in the Square not
far from here, right above the Volga," said the courier.
Princess Mary looked at him with frightened inquiry, not understanding
why he did not reply to what she chiefly wanted to know: how was
her brother? Mademoiselle Bourienne put that question for her.
"How is the prince?" she asked.
"His excellency is staying in the same house with them."
"Then he is alive," thought Princess Mary, and asked
in a low voice: "How is he?"
"The servants say he is still the same."
What "still the same" might mean Princess Mary did
not ask, but with an unnoticed glance at little seven-year-old
Nicholas, who was sitting in front of her looking with pleasure
at the town, she bowed her head and did not raise it again till
the heavy coach, rumbling, shaking and swaying, came to a stop.
The carriage steps clattered as they were let down.
The carriage door was opened. On the left there was water-
a great river- and on the right a porch. There were people at
the entrance: servants, and a rosy girl with a large plait of
black hair, smiling as it seemed to Princess Mary in an unpleasantly
affected way. (This was Sonya.) Princess Mary ran up the steps.
"This way, this way!" said the girl, with the same artificial
smile, and the princess found herself in the hall facing an elderly
woman of Oriental type, who came rapidly to meet her with a look
of emotion. This was the countess. She embraced Princess Mary
and kissed her.
"Mon enfant!" she muttered, "je vous aime et
vous connais depuis longtemps."*
*"My child! I love you and have known you a long time."
Despite her excitement, Princess Mary realized that this was the
countess and that it was necessary to say something to her. Hardly
knowing how she did it, she contrived to utter a few polite phrases
in French in the same tone as those that had been addressed to
her, and asked: "How is he?"
"The doctor says that he is not in danger," said
the countess, but as she spoke she raised her eyes with a sigh,
and her gesture conveyed a contradiction of her words.
"Where is he? Can I see him- can I?" asked the princess.
"One moment, Princess, one moment, my dear! Is this his
son?" said the countess, turning to little Nicholas who was
coming in with Dessalles. "There will be room for everybody,
this is a big house. Oh, what a lovely boy!"
The countess took Princess Mary into the drawing room, where
Sonya was talking to Mademoiselle Bourienne. The countess caressed
the boy, and the old count came in and welcomed the princess.
He had changed very much since Princess Mary had last seen him.
Then he had been a brisk, cheerful, self-assured old man; now
he seemed a pitiful, bewildered person. While talking to Princess
Mary he continually looked round as if asking everyone whether
he was doing the right thing. After the destruction of Moscow
and of his property, thrown out of his accustomed groove he seemed
to have lost the sense of his own significance and to feel that
there was no longer a place for him in life.
In spite of her one desire to see her brother as soon as possible,
and her vexation that at the moment when all she wanted was to
see him they should be trying to entertain her and pretending
to admire her nephew, the princess noticed all that was going
on around her and felt the necessity of submitting, for a time,
to this new order of things which she had entered. She knew it
to be necessary, and though it was hard for her she was not vexed
with these people.
"This is my niece," said the count, introducing
Sonya- "You don't know her, Princess?"
Princess Mary turned to Sonya and, trying to stifle the hostile
feeling that arose in her toward the girl, she kissed her. But
she felt oppressed by the fact that the mood of everyone around
her was so far from what was in her own heart.
"Where is he?" she asked again, addressing them
all.
"He is downstairs. Natasha is with him," answered
Sonya, flushing. "We have sent to ask. I think you must be
tired, Princess."
Tears of vexation showed themselves in Princess Mary's eyes.
She turned away and was about to ask the countess again how to
go to him, when light, impetuous, and seemingly buoyant steps
were heard at the door. The princess looked round and saw Natasha
coming in, almost running- that Natasha whom she had liked so
little at their meeting in Moscow long since.
But hardly had the princess looked at Natasha's face before
she realized that here was a real comrade in her grief, and consequently
a friend. She ran to meet her, embraced her, and began to cry
on her shoulder.
As soon as Natasha, sitting at the head of Prince Andrew's
bed, heard of Princess Mary's arrival, she softly left his room
and hastened to her with those swift steps that had sounded buoyant
to Princess Mary.
There was only one expression on her agitated face when she
ran into the drawing room- that of love- boundless love for him,
for her, and for all that was near to the man she loved; and of
pity, suffering for others, and passionate desire to give herself
entirely to helping them. It was plain that at that moment there
was in Natasha's heart no thought of herself or of her own relations
with Prince Andrew.
Princess Mary, with her acute sensibility, understood all
this at the first glance at Natasha's face, and wept on her shoulder
with sorrowful pleasure.
"Come, come to him, Mary," said Natasha, leading
her into the other room.
Princess Mary raised her head, dried her eyes, and turned
to Natasha. She felt that from her she would be able to understand
and learn everything.
"How..." she began her question but stopped short.
She felt that it was impossible to ask, or to answer, in words.
Natasha's face eyes would eyes would have to tell her all more
clearly and profoundly.
Natasha was gazing at her, but seemed afraid and in doubt
whether to say all she knew or not; she seemed to feel that before
those luminous eyes which penetrated into the very depths of her
heart, it was impossible not to tell the whole truth which she
saw. And suddenly, Natasha's lips twitched, ugly wrinkles gathered
round her mouth, and covering her face with her hands she burst
into sobs.
Princess Mary understood.
But she still hoped, and asked, in words she herself did not
trust:
"But how is his wound? What is his general condition?"
"You, you... will see," was all Natasha could say.
They sat a little while downstairs near his room till they
had left off crying and were able to go to him with calm faces.
"How has his whole illness gone? Is it long since he
grew worse? When did this happen?" Princess Mary inquired.
Natasha told her that at first there had been danger from
his feverish condition and the pain he suffered, but at Troitsa
that had passed and the doctor had only been afraid of gangrene.
That danger had also passed. When they reached Yaroslavl the wound
had begun to fester (Natasha knew all about such things as festering)
and the doctor had said that the festering might take a normal
course. Then fever set in, but the doctor had said the fever was
not very serious.
"But two days ago this suddenly happened," said
Natasha, struggling with her sobs. "I don't know why, but
you will see what he is like."
"Is he weaker? Thinner?" asked the princess.
"No, it's not that, but worse. You will see. O, Mary,
he is too good, he cannot, cannot live, because..."
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