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Volume I, Part Three, Chapter II

Old Prince Nikolai Andreevich Bolkonsky received a letter in December 1805 from Prince Vasili, announcing his coming with his son. ("I am going on a tour of inspection, and of course it is no trouble to me to make a detour of a hundred versts to visit you, my highly respected benefactor," wrote Prince Vasili, "and my Anatole is accompanying me on his way to the army; so I hope you will allow him to express to you personally the deep respect that, emulating his father, he feels for you.")

— Well, there is no need to bring Marya out, suitors are coming to us of their own accord, — the little princess remarked incautiously on hearing this.

Prince Nikolai Andreevich frowned and said nothing.

A fortnight after receiving the letter, Prince Vasili's servants arrived one evening in advance of him, and he and his son arrived the next day.

Old Prince Bolkonsky had always had a poor opinion of Prince Vasili's character, and more so recently, since in the new reigns of Paul and Alexander Prince Vasili had risen high in rank and honors. And now, from the hints contained in his letter and given by the little princess, he saw what the matter was, and his low opinion of Prince Vasili changed into a feeling of contemptuous ill will. He continually snorted when mentioning him. On the day of Prince Vasili's arrival, Prince Nikolai Andreevich was particularly discontented and out of temper. Whether he was out of temper because Prince Vasili was coming, or whether he was particularly dissatisfied with Prince Vasili's visit because he was out of temper, he was in a bad mood, and Tikhon early in the morning advised the architect not to go in to him with his report.

— Do you hear how he's walking? — said Tikhon, drawing the architect's attention to the sound of the prince's footsteps. — Stepping flat on his heels — we know what that means...

However, at nine o'clock the prince came out for his usual walk in his velvet coat with a sable collar and cap. It had snowed the night before. The path along which Prince Nikolai Andreevich walked to the conservatory had been swept, traces of the broom could be seen on the swept snow, and a spade was thrust into a bank of fluffy snow left at the sides of the path. The prince walked through the conservatories, the serfs' quarters, and the outbuildings, frowning and silent.

— Can a sleigh pass? — he asked his overseer, a venerable man, resembling his master in his manners and features, who was accompanying him back to the house.

— The snow is deep, Your Excellency. I have already ordered the avenue to be swept.

The prince bowed his head and went up to the porch. "Thank God," thought the overseer, "the storm has blown over!"

— It would have been hard to drive up, Your Excellency, — added the overseer. — Did Your Excellency hear that a minister is coming to visit Your Excellency?

The prince turned round to the overseer and fixed his frowning eyes on him.

— What? A minister? What minister? Who gave the orders? — he said in his shrill, harsh voice. — The road is not cleared for the princess my daughter, but for a minister! I have no ministers!

— Your Excellency, I thought...

— You thought! — shouted the prince, uttering his words ever more and more rapidly and indistinctly. — You thought... Rascals! Scoundrels!... I'll teach you to think, — and lifting his stick, he swung it at Alpatych and would have struck him if the overseer had not involuntarily dodged the blow. — Thought!... Scoundrels!... shouted the prince hastily. But though Alpatych, frightened at his own audacity in avoiding the stroke, came up to the prince, bowing his bald head submissively before him, or perhaps for that very reason, the prince, though he continued to shout: "Scoundrels!... Throw the snow back on the road!..." did not raise his stick again but ran into the house.

Before dinner, Princess Marya and Mademoiselle Bourienne, who knew that the prince was in a bad humor, stood awaiting him; Mademoiselle Bourienne with a radiant face that said: "I know nothing, I am the same as usual," and Princess Marya pale, frightened, and with downcast eyes. What was hardest for Princess Marya was that she knew that in these circumstances she ought to behave as Mademoiselle Bourienne did, but could not. She thought: "If I act as though I don't notice anything, he will think I have no sympathy for him; if I appear dull and out of spirits, he will say (as he has done before) that I'm in the sulks," and so on.

The prince looked at his daughter's frightened face and snorted.

— Foo... or a fool!... — he muttered.

"And the other one is not here! They've been gossiping to her as well," he thought of the little princess, who was not in the dining room.

— Where is the princess? — he asked. — Is she hiding?...

— She is not quite well, — said Mademoiselle Bourienne with a bright smile, — she won't be coming down. It is so understandable in her condition.

— Hm! hm! khm! khm! — muttered the prince, sitting down to table.

His plate seemed to him not clean; he pointed to a spot and threw it away. Tikhon caught it and handed it to a footman. The little princess was not unwell; but she had such an overpowering fear of the prince that, hearing he was in a bad humor, she had resolved not to appear.

— I am afraid for the baby, — she said to Mademoiselle Bourienne, — heaven knows what might happen from fright.

In general, the little princess lived at Bald Hills constantly under the feeling of fear and antipathy towards the old prince, which she did not acknowledge to herself because the fear was so prevalent that she could not feel it. The prince's antipathy towards her was mutual, but it was stifled by his contempt. The princess, having settled at Bald Hills, grew particularly fond of Mademoiselle Bourienne, spent her days with her, asked her to sleep in her room, and often talked with her about her father-in-law, criticizing him.

— We are having visitors, prince, [This was said in French in the original: Il nous arrive du monde, mon prince,] — said Mademoiselle Bourienne, unfolding her white napkin with her rosy fingers. — His Excellency Prince Kuragin with his son, as I've heard? [This was said in French in the original: Son excellence le prince Kouraguine avec son fils, à ce que j'ai entendu dire?] — she said inquiringly.

— Hm... this excellency is a puppy... I got him his appointment in the College, — said the prince disdainfully. — And why the son is coming, I cannot understand. Princess Elizaveta Karlovna and Princess Marya perhaps know; I don't know what he's bringing this son here for. I don't need him. — And he looked at his blushing daughter.

— Unwell, are you? From fear of the minister, as that blockhead Alpatych said today.

— No, father. [This was said in French in the original: Non, mon père.]

Unsuccessfully as Mademoiselle Bourienne had hit upon a subject of conversation, she did not stop, but chattered on about the conservatories, and about the beauty of a new flower that had blossomed, and the prince softened after the soup.

After dinner, he went to see his daughter-in-law. The little princess was sitting at a small table, chattering with Masha, her maid. She turned pale on seeing her father-in-law.

The little princess had changed very much. She was now rather plain than pretty. Her cheeks had sunk, her upper lip was raised, her eyes were drawn down.

— Yes, some sort of heaviness, — she answered the prince's inquiry as to how she felt.

— Do you want anything?

— No, thank you, father. [This was said in French in the original: Non, merci, mon père.]

— Well, all right, all right.

He went out and walked to the waiting room. Alpatych, with his head bowed, stood in the waiting room.

— Is the road filled up?

— It's filled up, Your Excellency; forgive me, for God's sake, for a single stupidity.

The prince interrupted him and laughed his unnatural laugh.

— Well, all right, all right.

He stretched out his hand, which Alpatych kissed, and went into his study.

Prince Vasili arrived that evening. He was met on the Prospekt (as the avenue was called) by coachmen and footmen, who with shouts drew his sleighs and sledges to the wing along the snow-covered road.

Prince Vasili and Anatole were shown into separate rooms.

Anatole sat taking off his coat and putting his hands on his hips before a table, on the corner of which he fixed his beautiful large eyes, smiling steadfastly and absently. All his life he had looked upon as a continual entertainment, which someone or other for some reason felt obliged to arrange for him. In the same way he now looked upon his journey to a wicked old man and to a rich and ugly heiress. All this could result, according to his supposition, in something very good and amusing. "And why not marry her if she's very rich? That never comes amiss," thought Anatole.

He shaved, scented himself carefully and foppishly, and with his innate good-naturedly victorious air, holding his handsome head high, went into his father's room. Two valets were bustling about Prince Vasili, dressing him; he himself turned around animatedly and gave a cheerful nod to his son when he entered, as though to say: "Yes, this is how I want you!"

— No, joking apart, father, is she very ugly? Eh? — he asked in French, as though continuing a conversation that had taken place more than once during their journey.

— Enough, nonsense! The main thing is to try and be respectful and prudent with the old prince.

— If he's going to scold, I shall go away, — said Anatole. — I can't stand these old men. Eh?

— Remember that everything depends on this for you.

At that time in the maid's room not only the arrival of the minister and his son was known, but the personal appearance of both of them had already been minutely described. Princess Marya sat alone in her room and vainly strove to master her inner agitation.

"Why did they write, why did Lise tell me this? After all, it cannot be!" she said to herself, looking in the mirror. "How can I go into the drawing room? Even if he should please me, I couldn't be myself with him now." The mere thought of her father's look filled her with terror.

The little princess and Mademoiselle Bourienne had already received all necessary information from Masha, the maid, about what a rosy, black-haired handsome fellow the minister's son was, and about how his papa had hardly been able to drag his legs upstairs while he, like an eagle, taking three steps at a time, had run past him. Receiving this information, the little princess and Mademoiselle Bourienne, whose lively voices could already be heard in the corridor, came into Princess Marya's room.

— They've arrived, Marya, [This was said in French in the original: Ils sont arrivés, Marie,] do you know? — said the little princess, waddling with her stomach and sinking heavily into an armchair.

She was no longer in the loose dress she had worn in the morning, but was wearing one of her best dresses; her hair was carefully arranged, and her face was animated, not hiding, however, its sunken and deadened outlines. In the finery in which she used to go out in Petersburg society, it was still more noticeable how much uglier she had grown. A certain unnoticed improvement had taken place in Mademoiselle Bourienne's attire too, which made her fresh, pretty face even more attractive.

— Well, and are you staying as you are, dear princess? — she began. — They will come and announce that the gentlemen are in the drawing room; we shall have to go down, and you have not dressed at all! [This was said in French in the original: Eh bien, et vous restez comme vous êtes, chère princesse?... On va venir annoncer, que ces messieurs sont au salon; il faudra descendre, et vous ne faites pas un petit brin de toilette!]

The little princess got up from her chair, rang for the maid, and hastily and merrily began to devise apparel for Princess Marya and help to execute it. Princess Marya felt her dignity insulted by the fact that the arrival of her promised suitor agitated her, and she was still more offended that her two friends did not imagine it could be otherwise. To tell them how ashamed she was for herself and for them would have been to betray her emotion; to refuse to dress as they suggested would have entailed prolonged jokes and insistence. She flushed, her beautiful eyes grew dim, her face was covered with red patches and taking on that unbeautiful expression of a victim which most frequently stayed on her face, she surrendered herself to the power of Mademoiselle Bourienne and Lise. Both women occupied themselves quite sincerely with making her look beautiful. She was so plain that neither of them could harbor any idea of rivalry with her; so they set to work to dress her in all sincerity, with that naive and firm conviction women have that attire can make a face beautiful.

— No, really, my dear, [This was said in French in the original: ma bonne amie,] that dress is not pretty, — said Lise, looking sideways at the princess from a distance. — Tell them to get out the dark red one from the trunk. Really! Well, you see, maybe the fate of a lifetime is being decided. But this is too light, it's not pretty, no, it's not pretty!

It was not the dress that was not pretty, but the princess's face and whole figure, but neither Mademoiselle Bourienne nor the little princess felt this; they still thought that if a blue ribbon were placed in her hair, her hair combed up, and the blue scarf let down from her brown dress, and so on, all would be well. They forgot that the frightened face and the figure could not be altered, and therefore however much they modified the setting and the adornment of that face, the face itself remained pitiful and ugly. After two or three changes, to which Princess Marya submissively yielded, at the moment when her hair was combed up (a coiffure which completely changed and disfigured her face), in a blue scarf and a dark red smart dress, the little princess twice walked round her, adjusted a fold of the dress with her small hand, pulled the scarf down here, and looked at her with her head on one side, now from this side, now from that.

— No, that's impossible, — she said firmly, clasping her hands. — No, Marya, that really doesn't suit you at all. I prefer you in your little everyday gray dress. No, please, do that for me. [This was said in French in the original: Non, Marie, décidement ça ne vous va pas. Je vous aime mieux dans votre petite robe grise de tous les jours. Non, de grâce, faites cela pour moi.] Katya, — she said to the maid, — bring the princess her gray dress, and you'll see, Mademoiselle Bourienne, how I'll arrange it, — she said with a smile of anticipating artistic joy.

But when Katya brought the required dress, Princess Marya remained sitting motionless before the mirror, looking at her face, and saw in the mirror that her eyes were full of tears, and that her mouth was quivering, getting ready to sob.

— Come, dear princess, — said Mademoiselle Bourienne, — one more little effort. [This was said in French in the original: Voyons, chère princesse... encore un petit effort.]

The little princess, taking the dress from the maid's hands, came up to Princess Marya.

— No, now we'll arrange it simply, nicely, — she said.

Her voice, Mademoiselle Bourienne's, and Katya's, who was laughing at something, mingled into a merry chatter, like the singing of birds.

— No, leave me alone, [This was said in French in the original: Non, laissez-moi,] — said the princess.

And her voice sounded with such seriousness and suffering that the chatter of the birds ceased at once. They looked at the large, beautiful eyes, full of tears and thought, looking at them clearly and imploringly, and understood that it was useless and even cruel to insist.

— At least change your hairstyle, — said the little princess. — I was telling you, — she said reprovingly to Mademoiselle Bourienne, — Marya has one of those faces that this kind of coiffure doesn't suit at all. But not at all, not at all. Please change it. [This was said in French in the original: Au moins changez de coiffure... Je vous disais... Marie a une de ces figures, auxquelles ce genre de coiffure ne va pas du tout. Mais du tout, du tout. Changez de grâce.]

— Leave me alone, leave me alone, it's all perfectly the same to me, [This was said in French in the original: Laissez-moi, laissez-moi, tout ça m'est parfaitement égal,] — answered a voice hardly restraining tears.

Mademoiselle Bourienne and the little princess had to admit to themselves that Princess Marya in this guise looked very ugly, worse than usual; but it was too late. She looked at them with that expression they knew, an expression of thought and sadness. This expression did not inspire them with fear towards Princess Marya. (She never inspired anyone with this feeling.) But they knew that when this expression appeared on her face, she was silent and unshakable in her resolutions.

— You will change it, won't you? [This was said in French in the original: Vous changerez, n'est-ce pas?] — said Lise, and when Princess Marya answered nothing, Lise went out of the room.

Princess Marya was left alone. She did not comply with Lise's wish and not only did not alter her coiffure, but did not even glance at herself in the mirror. Dropping her eyes and hands powerlessly, she sat silently and pondered. An image rose before her of a husband, a man, a strong, dominant, and incomprehensibly attractive being, suddenly transporting her into his own, entirely different, happy world. A child of her own, such as she had seen yesterday at the nurse's daughter's, rose in her imagination at her own breast. A husband stands and looks tenderly at her and the child. "But no, it's impossible, I am too ugly," she thought.

— Please come down to tea. The prince will be out presently, — said the maid's voice from behind the door.

She started and grew terrified of what she had been thinking about. And before going down, she stood up, went to the icon case, and fixing her eyes on the black face of the large image of the Savior illuminated by the icon lamp, stood before it for several minutes with folded hands. In Princess Marya's soul there was an agonizing doubt. Was the joy of love, of earthly love for a man, possible for her? In her reflections on marriage Princess Marya dreamed of family happiness and children, but her chief, strongest, and most hidden dream was of earthly love. The feeling was the stronger the more she tried to hide it from others and even from herself. "My God," she said, "how can I stifle these devil's thoughts in my heart? How can I renounce forever these evil thoughts, so as quietly to fulfill Thy will?" And hardly had she put this question, when God already answered her in her own heart: "Desire nothing for thyself; do not seek, do not agitate thyself, do not envy. The future of men and thy destiny must be unknown to thee; but live so as to be ready for anything. If it pleases God to test thee in the duties of marriage, be ready to fulfill His will." With this soothing thought (but yet with a hope for the fulfillment of her forbidden, earthly dream) Princess Marya, sighing, crossed herself and went downstairs, thinking neither of her dress, nor of her hair, nor of how she would go in or what she would say. What could all this signify in comparison with the predestination of God, without Whose will not a hair falls from a man's head.