In 1806 the old prince had been appointed one of the eight commanders-in-chief then appointed to direct recruitment all over Russia. Despite his age and infirmity, which had become more apparent during the period when he thought his son had been killed, the old prince felt he had no right to refuse a post to which he had been appointed by the Emperor himself, and this new field of activity gave him fresh energy and strength. He was continually away from home touring the three provinces under his command. Punctilious to the last degree in the performance of his duties, strict to the point of cruelty with his subordinates, he went into every last detail of his work. Princess Marya had stopped studying mathematics with her father, and now when she went into her father’s room in the morning if he happened to be at home she was accompanied by the wet-nurse and little Prince Nikolay (as his grandfather called him). Baby Nikolay lived with his wet-nurse and the old nurse Savishna in the little princess’s rooms, and Princess Marya spent most of her time in the nursery doing her best to be a mother to her little nephew. Mademoiselle Bourienne appeared equally devoted to the child, and Princess Marya often deprived herself to let her friend enjoy cuddling ‘their little angel’, as she called the baby, and playing with him.
In a little side-chapel near to the altar of the church at Bald Hills stood the tomb of the little princess, and there they had set up a marble monument ordered from Italy which depicted an angel with wings outspread ready to fly up to heaven. The angel’s top lip curled up a little in a half-smile, and one day Prince Andrey and Princess Marya admitted to each other coming out of the chapel that the angel’s face bore a curious resemblance to the face of the little princess. Even stranger – and this was something Prince Andrey did not admit to his sister – was the expression the sculptor had happened to put on the angel’s face, because Prince Andrey could read in it the same words of gentle reproach that he had once read on the face of his dead wife, ‘Oh, why have you done this to me?’
Soon after his return the old prince had made over to Prince Andrey a large estate called Bogucharovo just over twenty-five miles away. Partly to escape painful memories associated with Bald Hills, partly because Prince Andrey did not always feel like putting up with his father’s eccentric behaviour and partly out of a need for solitude, Prince Andrey made much use of Bogucharovo, where he set up home and began to spend most of his time.
After the Austerlitz campaign, Prince Andrey had firmly resolved never to go back to the army, and when war broke out and everyone was obliged to serve, he avoided active involvement by working under his father in recruitment. Since the campaign of 1805 the old prince and his son had virtually exchanged roles. The old prince, spurred on by his new activity, was optimistic about the present campaign, whereas Prince Andrey, who was out of the war and secretly regretting it, looked on the black side.
On the 26th of February 1807 the old prince set off on a tour of the area. Prince Andrey was staying at Bald Hills, as he usually did when his father was away. Little Nikolay had been ill for the last three days. The coachman who had been driving the old prince returned with some papers and letters picked up in the town for Prince Andrey. The valet couldn’t find the young prince in his study to give him the letters, so he went over to Princess Marya’s apartment, but he wasn’t there either. They told him the prince had gone to the nursery. ‘If you please, your Excellency, Petrusha has brought some papers for you,’ said one of the nursery-maids to Prince Andrey, who was busy, sitting on a child’s little chair and squinting closely as he poured some drops from a medicine bottle into half a wine-glass of water with trembling hands.
‘What is it?’ he said angrily, and his hand shook so much that he accidentally poured too many drops from the bottle into the glass. He tipped the medicine out on to the floor and asked for more water. The maid gave him some.
The furniture consisted of a couple of armchairs, a baby’s cot, two chests, two tables, one for a small child, and the tiny chair that Prince Andrey was sitting on. The curtains were drawn, and a single candle was burning on the table, screened by a bound musical score which shielded the cot from the light.
‘My dear,’ said Princess Marya, turning to her brother from the side of the cot, ‘let’s wait a bit . . . do it later on.’
‘Oh, please. You do say some stupid things. You keep waiting for something to happen, and now look!’ said Prince Andrey in an exasperated whisper, with every intention of hurting her.
‘We’d better not wake him, my dear . . . he’s gone to sleep,’ the princess pleaded.
Prince Andrey got to his feet and tiptoed over to the cot, carrying the glass.
‘Is that what you think? We ought not to wake him up?’ he said, hesitating.
