They all separated, but, except Anatole
who fell asleep as soon as he got into bed, all kept
awake a long time that night.
“Is he really to be my husband,
this stranger who is so kind yes, kind,
that is the chief thing,” thought Princess Mary;
and fear, which she had seldom experienced, came upon
her. She feared to look round, it seemed to her
that someone was there standing behind the screen in
the dark corner. And this someone was he the
devil and he was also this man with the
white forehead, black eyebrows, and red lips.
She rang for her maid and asked her to sleep in her
room.
Mademoiselle Bourienne walked up and
down the conservatory for a long time that evening,
vainly expecting someone, now smiling at someone, now
working herself up to tears with the imaginary words
of her pauvre mere rebuking her for her
fall.
The little princess grumbled to her
maid that her bed was badly made. She could not
lie either on her face or on her side. Every position
was awkward and uncomfortable, and her burden oppressed
her now more than ever because Anatole’s presence
had vividly recalled to her the time when she was
not like that and when everything was light and gay.
She sat in an armchair in her dressing jacket and
nightcap and Katie, sleepy and disheveled, beat and
turned the heavy feather bed for the third time, muttering
to herself.
“I told you it was all lumps
and holes!” the little princess repeated.
“I should be glad enough to fall asleep, so it’s
not my fault!” and her voice quivered like that
of a child about to cry.
The old prince did not sleep either.
Tikhon, half asleep, heard him pacing angrily about
and snorting. The old prince felt as though he
had been insulted through his daughter. The insult
was the more pointed because it concerned not himself
but another, his daughter, whom he loved more than
himself. He kept telling himself that he would
consider the whole matter and decide what was right
and how he should act, but instead of that he only
excited himself more and more.
“The first man that turns up she
forgets her father and everything else, runs upstairs
and does up her hair and wags her tail and is unlike
herself! Glad to throw her father over! And
she knew I should notice it. Fr... fr... fr!
And don’t I see that that idiot had eyes only
for Bourienne I shall have to get rid of
her. And how is it she has not pride enough to
see it? If she has no pride for herself she might
at least have some for my sake! She must be shown
that the blockhead thinks nothing of her and looks
only at Bourienne. No, she has no pride... but
I’ll let her see....”
The old prince knew that if he told
his daughter she was making a mistake and that Anatole
meant to flirt with Mademoiselle Bourienne, Princess
Mary’s self-esteem would be wounded and his point
(not to be parted from her) would be gained, so pacifying
himself with this thought, he called Tikhon and began
to undress.
“What devil brought them here?”
thought he, while Tikhon was putting the nightshirt
over his dried-up old body and gray-haired chest.
“I never invited them. They came to disturb
my life and there is not much of it left.”
“Devil take ’em!”
he muttered, while his head was still covered by the
shirt.
Tikhon knew his master’s habit
of sometimes thinking aloud, and therefore met with
unaltered looks the angrily inquisitive expression
of the face that emerged from the shirt.
“Gone to bed?” asked the prince.
Tikhon, like all good valets, instinctively
knew the direction of his master’s thoughts.
He guessed that the question referred to Prince Vasili
and his son.
“They have gone to bed and put
out their lights, your excellency.”
“No good... no good...”
said the prince rapidly, and thrusting his feet into
his slippers and his arms into the sleeves of his dressing
gown, he went to the couch on which he slept.
Though no words had passed between
Anatole and Mademoiselle Bourienne, they quite understood
one another as to the first part of their romance,
up to the appearance of the pauvre mere;
they understood that they had much to say to one another
in private and so they had been seeking an opportunity
since morning to meet one another alone. When
Princess Mary went to her father’s room at the
usual hour, Mademoiselle Bourienne and Anatole met
in the conservatory.
Princess Mary went to the door of
the study with special trepidation. It seemed
to her that not only did everybody know that her fate
would be decided that day, but that they also knew
what she thought about it. She read this in Tikhon’s
face and in that of Prince Vasili’s valet, who
made her a low bow when she met him in the corridor
carrying hot water.
The old prince was very affectionate
and careful in his treatment of his daughter that
morning. Princess Mary well knew this painstaking
expression of her father’s. His face wore
that expression when his dry hands clenched with vexation
at her not understanding a sum in arithmetic, when
rising from his chair he would walk away from her,
repeating in a low voice the same words several times
over.
He came to the point at once, treating her ceremoniously.
“I have had a proposition made
me concerning you,” he said with an unnatural
smile. “I expect you have guessed that Prince
Vasili has not come and brought his pupil with him”
(for some reason Prince Bolkonski referred to Anatole
as a “pupil”) “for the sake of my
beautiful eyes. Last night a proposition was
made me on your account and, as you know my principles,
I refer it to you.”
“How am I to understand you,
mon pere?” said the princess, growing
pale and then blushing.
“How understand me!” cried
her father angrily. “Prince Vasili finds
you to his taste as a daughter-in-law and makes a
proposal to you on his pupil’s behalf.
That’s how it’s to be understood!
’How understand it’!... And I ask
you!”
“I do not know what you think,
Father,” whispered the princess.
“I? I? What of me?
Leave me out of the question. I’m not going
to get married. What about you? That’s
what I want to know.”
The princess saw that her father regarded
the matter with disapproval, but at that moment the
thought occurred to her that her fate would be decided
now or never. She lowered her eyes so as not to
see the gaze under which she felt that she could not
think, but would only be able to submit from habit,
and she said: “I wish only to do your will,
but if I had to express my own desire...”
She had no time to finish. The old prince interrupted
her.
“That’s admirable!”
he shouted. “He will take you with your
dowry and take Mademoiselle Bourienne into the bargain.
She’ll be the wife, while you...”
The prince stopped. He saw the
effect these words had produced on his daughter.
She lowered her head and was ready to burst into tears.
“Now then, now then, I’m
only joking!” he said. “Remember this,
Princess, I hold to the principle that a maiden has
a full right to choose. I give you freedom.
Only remember that your life’s happiness depends
on your decision. Never mind me!”
“But I do not know, Father!”
“There’s no need to talk!
He receives his orders and will marry you or anybody;
but you are free to choose.... Go to your room,
think it over, and come back in an hour and tell me
in his presence: yes or no. I know you will
pray over it. Well, pray if you like, but you
had better think it over. Go! Yes or no,
yes or no, yes or no!” he still shouted when
the princess, as if lost in a fog, had already staggered
out of the study.
Her fate was decided and happily decided.
But what her father had said about Mademoiselle Bourienne
was dreadful. It was untrue to be sure, but still
it was terrible, and she could not help thinking of
it. She was going straight on through the conservatory,
neither seeing nor hearing anything, when suddenly
the well-known whispering of Mademoiselle Bourienne
aroused her. She raised her eyes, and two steps
away saw Anatole embracing the Frenchwoman and whispering
something to her. With a horrified expression
on his handsome face, Anatole looked at Princess Mary,
but did not at once take his arm from the waist of
Mademoiselle Bourienne who had not yet seen her.
“Who’s that? Why?
Wait a moment!” Anatole’s face seemed to
say. Princess Mary looked at them in silence.
She could not understand it. At last Mademoiselle
Bourienne gave a scream and ran away. Anatole
bowed to Princess Mary with a gay smile, as if inviting
her to join in a laugh at this strange incident, and
then shrugging his shoulders went to the door that
led to his own apartments.
An hour later, Tikhon came to call
Princess Mary to the old prince; he added that Prince
Vasili was also there. When Tikhon came to her
Princess Mary was sitting on the sofa in her room,
holding the weeping Mademoiselle Bourienne in her
arms and gently stroking her hair. The princess’
beautiful eyes with all their former calm radiance
were looking with tender affection and pity at Mademoiselle
Bourienne’s pretty face.
“No, Princess, I have lost your
affection forever!” said Mademoiselle Bourienne.
“Why? I love you more than
ever,” said Princess Mary, “and I will
try to do all I can for your happiness.”
“But you despise me. You
who are so pure can never understand being so carried
away by passion. Oh, only my poor mother...”
“I quite understand,”
answered Princess Mary, with a sad smile. “Calm
yourself, my dear. I will go to my father,”
she said, and went out.
Prince Vasili, with one leg thrown
high over the other and a snuffbox in his hand, was
sitting there with a smile of deep emotion on his face,
as if stirred to his heart’s core and himself
regretting and laughing at his own sensibility, when
Princess Mary entered. He hurriedly took a pinch
of snuff.
“Ah, my dear, my dear!”
he began, rising and taking her by both hands.
Then, sighing, he added: “My son’s
fate is in your hands. Decide, my dear, good,
gentle Marie, whom I have always loved as a daughter!”
He drew back and a real tear appeared in his eye.
“Fr... fr...” snorted
Prince Bolkonski. “The prince is making
a proposition to you in his pupil’s I
mean, his son’s name. Do you
wish or not to be Prince Anatole Kuragin’s wife?
Reply: yes or no,” he shouted, “and
then I shall reserve the right to state my opinion
also. Yes, my opinion, and only my opinion,”
added Prince Bolkonski, turning to Prince Vasili and
answering his imploring look. “Yes, or no?”
“My desire is never to leave
you, Father, never to separate my life from yours.
I don’t wish to marry,” she answered positively,
glancing at Prince Vasili and at her father with her
beautiful eyes.
“Humbug! Nonsense!
Humbug, humbug, humbug!” cried Prince Bolkonski,
frowning and taking his daughter’s hand; he did
not kiss her, but only bending his forehead to hers
just touched it, and pressed her hand so that she
winced and uttered a cry.
Prince Vasili rose.
“My dear, I must tell you that
this is a moment I shall never, never forget.
But, my dear, will you not give us a little hope of
touching this heart, so kind and generous? Say
’perhaps’... The future is so long.
Say ‘perhaps.’”
“Prince, what I have said is
all there is in my heart. I thank you for the
honor, but I shall never be your son’s wife.”
“Well, so that’s finished,
my dear fellow! I am very glad to have seen you.
Very glad! Go back to your rooms, Princess.
Go!” said the old prince. “Very,
very glad to have seen you,” repeated he, embracing
Prince Vasili.
“My vocation is a different
one,” thought Princess Mary. “My vocation
is to be happy with another kind of happiness, the
happiness of love and self-sacrifice. And cost
what it may, I will arrange poor Amelie’s happiness,
she loves him so passionately, and so passionately
repents. I will do all I can to arrange the match
between them. If he is not rich I will give her
the means; I will ask my father and Andrew. I
shall be so happy when she is his wife. She is
so unfortunate, a stranger, alone, helpless!
And, oh God, how passionately she must love him if
she could so far forget herself! Perhaps I might
have done the same!...” thought Princess Mary.