Sonya’s letter written from
Troitsa, which had come as an answer to Nicholas’
prayer, was prompted by this: the thought of getting
Nicholas married to an heiress occupied the old countess’
mind more and more. She knew that Sonya was the
chief obstacle to this happening, and Sonya’s
life in the countess’ house had grown harder
and harder, especially after they had received a letter
from Nicholas telling of his meeting with Princess
Mary in Bogucharovo. The countess let no occasion
slip of making humiliating or cruel allusions to Sonya.
But a few days before they left Moscow,
moved and excited by all that was going on, she called
Sonya to her and, instead of reproaching and making
demands on her, tearfully implored her to sacrifice
herself and repay all that the family had done for
her by breaking off her engagement with Nicholas.
“I shall not be at peace till you promise me
this.”
Sonya burst into hysterical tears
and replied through her sobs that she would do anything
and was prepared for anything, but gave no actual
promise and could not bring herself to decide to do
what was demanded of her. She must sacrifice
herself for the family that had reared and brought
her up. To sacrifice herself for others was Sonya’s
habit. Her position in the house was such that
only by sacrifice could she show her worth, and she
was accustomed to this and loved doing it. But
in all her former acts of self-sacrifice she had been
happily conscious that they raised her in her own
esteem and in that of others, and so made her more
worthy of Nicholas whom she loved more than anything
in the world. But now they wanted her to sacrifice
the very thing that constituted the whole reward for
her self-sacrifice and the whole meaning of her life.
And for the first time she felt bitterness against
those who had been her benefactors only to torture
her the more painfully; she felt jealous of Natasha
who had never experienced anything of this sort, had
never needed to sacrifice herself, but made others
sacrifice themselves for her and yet was beloved by
everybody. And for the first time Sonya felt
that out of her pure, quiet love for Nicholas a passionate
feeling was beginning to grow up which was stronger
than principle, virtue, or religion. Under the
influence of this feeling Sonya, whose life of dependence
had taught her involuntarily to be secretive, having
answered the countess in vague general terms, avoided
talking with her and resolved to wait till she should
see Nicholas, not in order to set him free but on
the contrary at that meeting to bind him to her forever.
The bustle and terror of the Rostovs’
last days in Moscow stifled the gloomy thoughts that
oppressed Sonya. She was glad to find escape
from them in practical activity. But when she
heard of Prince Andrew’s presence in their house,
despite her sincere pity for him and for Natasha,
she was seized by a joyful and superstitious feeling
that God did not intend her to be separated from Nicholas.
She knew that Natasha loved no one but Prince Andrew
and had never ceased to love him. She knew that
being thrown together again under such terrible circumstances
they would again fall in love with one another, and
that Nicholas would then not be able to marry Princess
Mary as they would be within the prohibited degrees
of affinity. Despite all the terror of what had
happened during those last days and during the first
days of their journey, this feeling that Providence
was intervening in her personal affairs cheered Sonya.
At the Troitsa monastery the Rostovs
first broke their journey for a whole day.
Three large rooms were assigned to
them in the monastery hostelry, one of which was occupied
by Prince Andrew. The wounded man was much better
that day and Natasha was sitting with him. In
the next room sat the count and countess respectfully
conversing with the prior, who was calling on them
as old acquaintances and benefactors of the monastery.
Sonya was there too, tormented by curiosity as to what
Prince Andrew and Natasha were talking about.
She heard the sound of their voices through the door.
That door opened and Natasha came out, looking excited.
Not noticing the monk, who had risen to greet her
and was drawing back the wide sleeve on his right
arm, she went up to Sonya and took her hand.
“Natasha, what are you about?
Come here!” said the countess.
Natasha went up to the monk for his
blessing, and he advised her to pray for aid to God
and His saint.
As soon as the prior withdrew, Natasha
took her friend by the hand and went with her into
the unoccupied room.
“Sonya, will he live?”
she asked. “Sonya, how happy I am, and how
unhappy!... Sonya, dovey, everything is as it
used to be. If only he lives! He cannot...
because... because... of” and Natasha burst into
tears.
“Yes! I knew it! Thank
God!” murmured Sonya. “He will live.”
Sonya was not less agitated than her
friend by the latter’s fear and grief and by
her own personal feelings which she shared with no
one. Sobbing, she kissed and comforted Natasha.
“If only he lives!” she thought.
Having wept, talked, and wiped away their tears, the
two friends went together to Prince Andrew’s
door. Natasha opened it cautiously and glanced
into the room, Sonya standing beside her at the half-open
door.
Prince Andrew was lying raised high
on three pillows. His pale face was calm, his
eyes closed, and they could see his regular breathing.
“O, Natasha!” Sonya suddenly
almost screamed, catching her companion’s arm
and stepping back from the door.
“What? What is it?” asked Natasha.
“It’s that, that...” said Sonya,
with a white face and trembling lips.
Natasha softly closed the door and
went with Sonya to the window, not yet understanding
what the latter was telling her.
“You remember,” said Sonya
with a solemn and frightened expression. “You
remember when I looked in the mirror for you... at
Otradnoe at Christmas? Do you remember what I
saw?”
“Yes, yes!” cried Natasha
opening her eyes wide, and vaguely recalling that
Sonya had told her something about Prince Andrew whom
she had seen lying down.
“You remember?” Sonya
went on. “I saw it then and told everybody,
you and Dunyasha. I saw him lying on a bed,”
said she, making a gesture with her hand and a lifted
finger at each detail, “and that he had his eyes
closed and was covered just with a pink quilt, and
that his hands were folded,” she concluded,
convincing herself that the details she had just seen
were exactly what she had seen in the mirror.
She had in fact seen nothing then
but had mentioned the first thing that came into her
head, but what she had invented then seemed to her
now as real as any other recollection. She not
only remembered what she had then said that
he turned to look at her and smiled and was covered
with something red but was firmly convinced
that she had then seen and said that he was covered
with a pink quilt and that his eyes were closed.
“Yes, yes, it really was pink!”
cried Natasha, who now thought she too remembered
the word pink being used, and saw in this the most
extraordinary and mysterious part of the prediction.
“But what does it mean?” she added meditatively.
“Oh, I don’t know, it
is all so strange,” replied Sonya, clutching
at her head.
A few minutes later Prince Andrew
rang and Natasha went to him, but Sonya, feeling unusually
excited and touched, remained at the window thinking
about the strangeness of what had occurred.
They had an opportunity that day to
send letters to the army, and the countess was writing
to her son.
“Sonya!” said the countess,
raising her eyes from her letter as her niece passed,
“Sonya, won’t you write to Nicholas?”
She spoke in a soft, tremulous voice, and in the weary
eyes that looked over her spectacles Sonya read all
that the countess meant to convey with these words.
Those eyes expressed entreaty, shame at having to
ask, fear of a refusal, and readiness for relentless
hatred in case of such refusal.
Sonya went up to the countess and,
kneeling down, kissed her hand.
“Yes, Mamma, I will write,” said she.
Sonya was softened, excited, and touched
by all that had occurred that day, especially by the
mysterious fulfillment she had just seen of her vision.
Now that she knew that the renewal of Natasha’s
relations with Prince Andrew would prevent Nicholas
from marrying Princess Mary, she was joyfully conscious
of a return of that self-sacrificing spirit in which
she was accustomed to live and loved to live.
So with a joyful consciousness of performing a magnanimous
deed interrupted several times by the tears
that dimmed her velvety black eyes she wrote
that touching letter the arrival of which had so amazed
Nicholas.