Princess Mary is not in Moscow and out of danger as Andrew supposed. After Alpatych returns from Smolensk the old prince seems to awake as from a dream. He orders militiamen called up and armed, writes to the commander in chief that he will remain at Bald Hills to the last extremity, and announces to the household that he stays. While remaining, he instructs that the princess and Dessalles with the little prince go to Bogucharovo and thence to Moscow. Mary, alarmed by his feverish activity after apathy, disobeys for the first time and refuses to leave. His fury lists every injustice: she has worn him out, caused the quarrel with his son, harboured nasty suspicions, made it her object to poison his existence. He drives her from his study and warns her not to dare let him see her. He does not have her carried away by force. That cheers her. She knows that in the depth of his soul he is glad she remains.
The morning after little Nicholas has left, the prince dons full uniform and orders and prepares to visit the commander in chief. His caleche is at the door. Mary hears his voice from the garden reviewing armed peasants. Suddenly men run up with frightened faces. In the lime avenue a crowd supports a little old man in uniform. His stern look has altered to timidity and submission. He moves helpless lips. He is laid on the very couch he has so feared. The doctor bleeds him and says a seizure has paralysed his right side. Next day they move him to Bogucharovo. Dessalles and the little prince have already left for Moscow.
For three weeks he lies in the new house Andrew built, unconscious, like a distorted corpse, muttering, eyebrows and lips twitching. The doctor says restlessness is physical. Mary thinks he wishes to tell her something, because her presence increases it. There is no hope of recovery. It is impossible to travel, and it will not do to let him die on the road. Would it not be better if the end came? Night and day she watches, often not for improvement but for the approach of the end. Forgotten hopes of a life free from fear of her father, even of love and family happiness, float like temptations of the devil. She tries to pray, looks at the icons, repeats words, and cannot. A world of free activity has taken possession of her, opposed to the spiritual world where prayer was her comfort. News of the French comes from all sides. A homestead ten miles away has been looted. The doctor, the Marshal of the Nobility, and the rural police urge her to go; French proclamations circulate; the French are some twenty-five miles away. She decides to leave on the fifteenth.
On the night of the fourteenth she listens at the door, wishing to enter, not deciding to, knowing anxiety irritates him. Toward morning he is quiet. She wakes late, hears him groan, and cries with loathing that she wants his death. The doctor says he is a little better and asking for her. She grows pale. He presses her hand, has been calling all night. Always thoughts about you. Thank you, daughter dear, for all, forgive. Call Andrew. She has a letter; he is with the army at Smolensk. Yes. Russia has perished. They have destroyed her. Then, after she has sought meanings in Russia, Andrew, herself, his grandson, or death, Tikhon understands: Put on your white dress. I like it. The doctor leads her to the veranda. A second and final stroke follows. She runs the lime avenues sobbing that she wished for his death, and what use will peace be when he is no longer here. The Marshal comes; Bourienne has stayed. The doctor will not let her in. Dunyasha runs. Mary pushes past, kisses his cheek, and horror replaces tenderness: he is no more; here is something unfamiliar and hostile. Women wash what has been the prince, tie the head and legs, dress him in uniform with decorations. By night candles burn, juniper is strewn, a chanter reads psalms. Inmates and strangers, like horses round a dead horse, kiss the cold hand.
Coming Up in Chapter 199
Until Prince Andrew settled at Bogucharovo the owners have always been absentees, and its peasants, called steppe peasants, differ from those of Bald Hills in speech, dress, and disposition. The old prince used to approve of them for their endurance at harvest, but disliked them for their boorishness.
