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When Natasha opened Prince Andrew's door with a familiar movement
and let Princess Mary pass into the room before her, the princess
felt the sobs in her throat. Hard as she had tried to prepare
herself, and now tried to remain tranquil, she knew that she would
be unable to look at him without tears.
The princess understood what Natasha had meant by the words:
"two days ago this suddenly happened." She understood
those words to mean that he had suddenly softened and that this
softening and gentleness were signs of approaching death. As she
stepped to the door she already saw in imagination Andrew's face
as she remembered it in childhood, a gentle, mild, sympathetic
face which he had rarely shown, and which therefore affected her
very strongly. She was sure he would speak soft, tender words
to her such as her father had uttered before his death, and that
she would not be able to bear it and would burst into sobs in
his presence. Yet sooner or later it had to be, and she went in.
The sobs rose higher and higher in her throat as she more and
more clearly distinguished his form and her shortsighted eyes
tried to make out his features, and then she saw his face and
met his gaze.
He was lying in a squirrel-fur dressing gown on a divan, surrounded
by pillows. He was thin and pale. In one thin, translucently white
hand he held a handkerchief, while with the other he stroked the
delicate mustache he had grown, moving his fingers slowly. His
eyes gazed at them as they entered.
On seeing his face and meeting his eyes Princess Mary's pace
suddenly slackened, she felt her tears dry up and her sobs ceased.
She suddenly felt guilty and grew timid on catching the expression
of his face and eyes.
"But in what am I to blame?" she asked herself.
And his cold, stern look replied: "Because you are alive
and thinking of the living, while I..."
In the deep the deep gaze that seemed to look not outwards
but inwards there was an almost hostile expression as he slowly
regarded his sister and Natasha.
He kissed his sister, holding her hand in his as was their
wont.
"How are you, Mary? How did you manage to get here?"
said he in a voice as calm and aloof as his look.
Had he screamed in agony, that scream would not have struck
such horror into Princess Mary's heart as the tone of his voice.
"And have you brought little Nicholas?" he asked
in the same slow, quiet manner and with an obvious effort to remember.
"How are you now?" said Princess Mary, herself surprised
at what she was saying.
"That, my dear, you must ask the doctor," he replied,
and again making an evident effort to be affectionate, he said
with his lips only (his words clearly did not correspond to his
thoughts):
"Merci, chere amie, d'etre venue."*
*"Thank you for coming, my dear."
Princess Mary pressed his hand. The pressure made him wince
just perceptibly. He was silent, and she did not know what to
say. She now understood what had happened to him two days before.
In his words, his tone, and especially in that calm, almost antagonistic
look could be felt an estrangement from everything belonging to
this world, terrible in one who is alive. Evidently only with
an effort did he understand anything living; but it was obvious
that he failed to understand, not because he lacked the power
to do so but because he understood something else- something the
living did not and could not understand- and which wholly occupied
his mind.
"There, you see how strangely fate has brought us together,"
said he, breaking the silence and pointing to Natasha. "She
looks after me all the time."
Princess Mary heard him and did not understand how he could
say such a thing. He, the sensitive, tender Prince Andrew, how
could he say that, before her whom he loved and who loved him?
Had he expected to live he could not have said those words in
that offensively cold tone. If he had not known that he was dying,
how could he have failed to pity her and how could he speak like
that in her presence? The only explanation was that he was indifferent,
because something else, much more important, had been revealed
to him.
The conversation was cold and disconnected and continually
broke off.
"Mary came by way of Ryazan," said Natasha.
Prince Andrew did not notice that she called his sister Mary,
and only after calling her so in his presence did Natasha notice
it herself.
"Really?" he asked.
"They told her that all Moscow has been burned down,
and that..."
Natasha stopped. It was impossible to talk. It was plain that
he was making an effort to listen, but could not do so.
"Yes, they say it's burned," he said. "It's
a great pity," and he gazed straight before him, absently
stroking his mustache with his fingers.
"And so you have met Count Nicholas, Mary?" Prince
Andrew suddenly said, evidently wishing to speak pleasantly to
them. "He wrote here that he took a great liking to you,"
he went on simply and calmly, evidently unable to understand all
the complex significance his words had for living people. "If
you liked him too, it would be a good thing for you to get married,"
he added rather more quickly, as if pleased at having found words
he had long been seeking.
Princess Mary heard his words but they had no meaning for
her, except as a proof of how far away he now was from everything
living.
"Why talk of me?" she said quietly and glanced at
Natasha.
Natasha, who felt her glance, did not look at her. All three
were again silent.
"Andrew, would you like..." Princess Mary suddenly
said in a trembling voice, "would you like to see little
Nicholas? He is always talking about you!"
Prince Andrew smiled just perceptibly and for the first time,
but Princess Mary, who knew his face so well, saw with horror
that he did not smile with pleasure or affection for his son,
but with quiet, gentle irony because he thought she was trying
what she believed to be the last means of arousing him.
"Yes, I shall be very glad to see him. Is he quite well?"
When little Nicholas was brought into Prince Andrew's room
he looked at his father with frightened eyes, but did not cry,
because no one else was crying. Prince Andrew kissed him and evidently
did not know what to say to him.
When Nicholas had been led away, Princess Mary again went
up to her brother, kissed him, and unable to restrain her tears
any longer began to cry.
He looked at her attentively.
"Is it about Nicholas?" he asked.
Princess Mary nodded her head, weeping.
"Mary, you know the Gosp..." but he broke off.
"What did you say?"
"Nothing. You mustn't cry here," he said, looking
at her with the same cold expression.
When Princess Mary began to cry, he understood that she was
crying at the thought that little Nicholas would be left without
a father. With a great effort he tried to return to life and to
see things from their point of view.
"Yes, to them it must seem sad!" he thought. "But
how simple it is.
"The fowls of the air sow not, neither do they reap,
yet your Father feedeth them," he said to himself and wished
to say to Princess Mary; "but no, they will take it their
own way, they won't understand! They can't understand that all
those feelings they prize so- all our feelings, all those ideas
that seem so important to us, are unnecessary. We cannot understand
one another," and he remained silent.
Prince Andrew's little son was seven. He could scarcely read,
and knew nothing. After that day he lived through many things,
gaining knowledge, observation, and experience, but had he possessed
all the faculties he afterwards acquired, he could not have had
a better or more profound understanding of the meaning of the
scene he had witnessed between his father, Mary, and Natasha,
than he had then. He understood it completely, and, leaving the
room without crying, went silently up to Natasha who had come
out with him and looked shyly at her with his beautiful, thoughtful
eyes, then his uplifted, rosy upper lip trembled and leaning his
head against her he began to cry.
After that he avoided Dessalles and the countess who caressed
him and either sat alone or came timidly to Princess Mary, or
to Natasha of whom he seemed even fonder than of his aunt, and
clung to them quietly and shyly.
When Princess Mary had left Prince Andrew she fully understood
what Natasha's face had told her. She did not speak any more to
Natasha of hopes of saving his life. She took turns with her beside
his sofa, and did not cry any more, but prayed continually, turning
in soul to that Eternal and Unfathomable, whose presence above
the dying man was now so evident.
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