Читать книгу War and Peace: Original Version - Лев Толстой, Leo Tolstoy, Liev N. Tolstói - Страница 47

Prince Andrei was leaving in the evening of the next day. The old prince, not deviating from his routine, had gone to his own quarters after dinner. The little princess was with her sister-in-law. Prince Andrei, wearing a travelling frock coat without epaulettes, had packed with his valet in the rooms allocated to him. Having personally inspected the carriage and the packing of the trunks, he ordered them to be loaded. The only things left in the room were those that Prince Andrei always carried with him: a travelling casket, a large silver wine-case, two Turkish pistols and a sabre, a present from his father that had been brought from the Ochakov campaign. Prince Andrei’s travelling accessories were all in excellent order: everything was new and clean, packed in cloth covers and carefully tied with string.

At moments of departure and change in their lives, people who are capable of reflecting on their actions are usually plunged into a serious state of mind. At such moments the past is usually reviewed and plans for the future are made. Prince Andrei’s expression was very pensive and tender. With his hands set behind his back, swinging round each time in a natural gesture untypical of him, he was striding quickly back and forth from corner to corner across the room, gazing straight ahead and shaking his head thoughtfully. Was he afraid of going to war, or sad at leaving his wife? Perhaps both? However, clearly not wishing to be seen in such a state, he halted when he heard footsteps in the passage, hastily unclasped his hands and stood by the table, as if he were tying on the lid of his casket, and assumed his perennial calm and impenetrable expression. They were the heavy footsteps of Princess Marya.

“They told me you had ordered the luggage to be loaded,” she said, panting (she had evidently been running), “and I wanted so much to have another talk with you alone. God only knows for how long we are parting yet again. You are not angry with me for coming? You have changed so greatly, Andriusha,” she added, as though in explanation of her question.

She smiled as she pronounced the word “Andriusha”. She clearly found it strange to think that this stern, handsome man was the same little boy Andriusha, the curly-headed, mischievous companion of her childhood.

“But where is Lise?” he asked.

“She was so tired, she fell asleep on the sofa in my room. Andrei! What a treasure your wife is,” she said, sitting on the divan facing her brother. “She is a perfect child, such a darling, cheerful child. I have quite fallen in love with her.”

Prince Andrei said nothing, but the princess noticed the ironic and disdainful expression that appeared on his face.

“But one must be tolerant of little weaknesses; who does not have them, Andrei? Do not forget that she was educated and grew up in high society. And then her present situation now is far from rosy. One must always put oneself in the other person’s place. To understand all is to forgive all. How do you think the poor thing feels, after the life to which she is accustomed, parting with her husband and being left alone in the country, and in her condition? It is very hard.”

Prince Andrei smiled, looking at his sister, as we smile when listening to people whom we think we can see through.

“You live in the country and you do not find this life so terrible,” he said.

“I am a different case. What is the point of talking about me? I do not want any other life, I cannot want it, because I do not know any other life. But Andrei, think what it means for a young society woman to be buried in the country for the best years of her life, alone, because dear papa is always occupied and I … you know me … how meagre my interests are for a woman accustomed to the best society. Madame Bourienne is the only …”

“I greatly dislike her, your Bourienne,” said Prince Andrei.

“Oh no, she is very good and kind and, above all, to be pitied. She has no one, no one at all. To tell the truth, not only do I not need her, she is an inconvenience. You know I have always been solitary, and now more so than ever. I like to be alone … Father likes her very much. She and Mikhail Ivanich are the two people with whom he is always kind and gentle, because he has been a benefactor to them both. As Sterne says: ‘We don’t love people so much for the good they have done us, as for the good we have done them.’ Father found her as an orphan in the street, and she is very good-natured. Father loves the way she reads, and she reads aloud to him in the evenings. She reads beautifully.”

“But tell me truly, Marya, I think you must sometimes find father’s character hard to bear?”

“I? I? What should I wish for?” she said, evidently speaking from the heart.

“He has always been brusque, and now he is becoming rather difficult, I think,” said Prince Andrei, clearly in order to bewilder or test his sister by speaking of their father so lightly.

“You have so many good points, Andrei, but you have a certain pride of intellect,” said the princess, as always following the train of her own thoughts rather than the course of the conversation, “and that is a great sin. How can we possibly judge our father? And even if it were possible, then what feeling, apart from profound respect, can a man such as our father inspire? I am so content and happy with him. My only wish would be for you all to be as happy as I am.”

Her brother shook his head mistrustfully.

“The one thing that I do find hard – I will tell you truly, Andrei – is father’s way of thinking where religion is concerned. I don’t understand how a man of such immense intelligence can fail to see what is as clear as day and can go so far astray! This is my only unhappiness. But even here I have recently seen some improvement. Lately his jibes have been less barbed, and he has received one particular monk and spent a long time talking with him.”

“Well, I fear that you and the monk are wasting your efforts, Masha,” Prince Andrei said mockingly but affectionately.

“Ah, mon ami! I only pray to God and hope that he will hear me. Andrei!” she said timidly after a moment of silence. “I have something very important to ask you.”

“What, my dear?”

“No, promise you won’t refuse. It will give you no trouble at all and is in no way unworthy of you. You will simply console me. Promise, Andriusha,” she said, thrusting her hand into her reticule and grasping something inside without withdrawing it, as though this something that she held was the object of her request and could not be revealed until she had received his promise to fulfil her request. She looked at her brother with a timid, imploring expression.

“Even if it were a lot of trouble …” Prince Andrei replied, as if he could guess what it was all about.

“You think what you like. I know you’re just the same as father. Think what you like, but do this for me. Do it, please! Father’s father, our grandfather, wore it in all the wars.” She still did not take the thing she was holding out of her reticule. “Well, do you promise me?”

“Of course, but what is the problem?”

“Andrei, I shall bless you with the icon, and you must promise me that you will never take it off. Do you promise?”

“So long as it doesn’t weigh two poods and won’t sprain my neck. Anything to please you,” said Prince Andrei but, instantly noticing the sorrowful expression that his sister’s face had assumed at his jest, he repented. “I shall be very glad, truly, very glad, my dear friend,” he added.

“Against your will He will save you and spare you and turn you to Him, because in Him alone lie both truth and peace,” she said in a voice trembling with feeling, solemnly holding up in front of her brother with both hands a little old oval icon of the Saviour with a dark face, set in a silver riza and hung on a finely worked little silver chain. She crossed herself, kissed the little icon and held it out to Andrei.

“Please, for me …”

Bright rays of kindly light shone from her timidly glowing eyes. Those radiant eyes illuminated her always sickly, thin face and made it beautiful. Andrei wanted to take the icon, but she stopped him. Andrei understood: he crossed himself and kissed the icon. At one and the same time his expression was tender (he was touched), loving, affectionate and mocking.

“Thank you, my dear.” She kissed his clear, brown forehead and sat down on the divan again. Neither of them spoke for a moment.

“I was telling you, Andrei, be kind and generous, as you always used to be. Don’t judge Lise harshly,” she began. “She is so loving, so kind and her position now is very difficult.”

“I do not believe, Masha, that I’ve ever told you I had reason to reproach my wife for anything or that I felt dissatisfied with her. Why are you saying this to me?”

Princess Marya blushed in patches and fell silent, as though she felt guilty.

“I have said nothing,” he went on, “but something has been said to you. And that makes me sad.”

The red blotches grew even more intense on Princess Marya’s forehead, neck and cheeks. She wanted to say something, but could not utter the words. Her brother guessed. After dinner the little princess had wept, saying she had a premonition that the birth would be disastrous, that she was afraid, and she had complained of her wretched fate, her father-in-law and her husband. When the tears stopped, she had fallen asleep. Prince Andrei felt sorry for his sister.

“Know one thing, Masha, there is nothing with which I can reproach my wife, I never have reproached her and never will; and there is nothing with which I can reproach myself concerning her, and it will always be so, no matter what my circumstances might be. But if you wish to know the truth … Do you wish to know if I am happy? No. Is she happy? No. Why is this? I do not know …”

So saying, he got to his feet, walked over to his sister, bent down and kissed her on the forehead. The lustrous glow of her beautiful eyes was unusually pensive and kind; however, he was not looking at his sister, but over her head into the darkness of the open door.

“Let us go to her, we must say goodbye. Or you go on without me, wake her up, and I will come in a moment. Petrushka!” he shouted to his valet. “Come here, take these things away. This goes on the seat, this on the right side.”

Princess Marya stood up and went towards the door. She stopped.

“If you had faith, you would turn to God in prayer for Him to grant you the love that you do not feel, and your prayer would be heard.”

“Yes, is that so?” said Prince Andrei. “Go, Masha, I will come in a moment.”

On the way to his sister’s room, in the gallery connecting one wing with the other, Prince Andrei encountered the sweetly smiling Mademoiselle Bourienne, crossing his path for the third time that day in remote passageways, with her rapturous and naïve smile.

“Ah, I thought you were in your room,” she said, for some reason blushing and lowering her pretty eyes. Prince Andrei glared hard at her. “I love this gallery, it’s so mysterious here.”

An expression of bitter fury suddenly erupted on Prince Andrei’s face, as if she and her kind were to blame for some misfortune in his life. Remaining silent and avoiding her eyes, he stared at her forehead and hair, but with such disdain that the Frenchwoman blushed and walked away without a word.

As he drew close to his sister’s room, the Princess Lise was already awake, and through the open door he could hear her merry little voice, hurrying out the words one after another. She was speaking as if she wanted to make up for lost time after long restraint.

“Yes, just imagine, the old Countess Zubova with false curls and with false teeth, as if she were defiantly mocking the years … Ha-ha-ha.”

Prince Andrei had already heard this precise phrase about the Countess Zubova and the same laugh from his wife in the company of strangers about five times. He quietly entered the room. The little princess, rotund and rosy, with her needlework in her hands, was sitting in an armchair, prattling incessantly, picking over her St. Petersburg reminiscences and running through her phrases. Prince Andrei went up to her, stroked her hair and asked if she was rested now after the journey. She made some reply and then continued with the same conversation.

The coach and team of six horses were standing at the entrance. Outside it was a warm autumn night. The coachman could not see the shafts of the carriage. On the porch people were bustling about with lanterns. The large windows of the huge, beautiful house were ablaze with lights. The domestics were jostling in the lobby, wishing to say goodbye to the young prince; all the members of the household were standing in the hall: Mikhail Ivanovich, Mademoiselle Bourienne, Princess Marya and Princess Lise. Prince Andrei had been called to the study by his father, who wanted to take his leave of him face to face. Everybody was waiting for them to come out.

When Prince Andrei entered the study, the old prince was sitting writing at the desk in his old man’s spectacles and the white dressing gown in which he never received anyone. He glanced round.

“Are you going?” And he started writing again.

“I’ve come to take my leave.”

“Kiss me here.” He pointed to his cheek. “Thank you, thank you.”

“What are you thanking me for?”

“For not putting things off, not clinging to a woman’s skirt. Duty above everything. Thank you, thank you!” And he carried on writing so that splashes of ink flew from his creaking pen. “If there is something you need to say, say it. I can do these two things at the same time,” he added.

“About my wife … I already feel guilty for leaving a pregnant woman on your hands …”

“Don’t tell lies. Say what you want to say.”

“When the time comes for my wife to give birth, during the final days of November, send to Moscow for the accoucheur… Let him be here.”

The old prince stopped what he was doing and fixed his son with a strict eye, as if he did not understand.

“I know that no one can help, if nature will not,” said Prince Andrei, clearly embarrassed. “I agree that out of a million cases, only one turns out badly, but it is our fantasy, hers and mine. They have said things to her, she has seen it in a dream, and she is afraid.”

“Hm … hm …” the old prince mused to himself, carrying on writing. “I will do it.” He dashed off his signature, suddenly turned quickly towards his son and laughed. “A bad business, eh?”

“What is bad, father?”

“The wife!” said the old prince with curt emphasis.

“I do not understand,” said Prince Andrei.

“But there is nothing to be done, my friend,” said the prince, “they are all like that, you can’t get unmarried again. Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone, but you know it yourself.”

He took hold of his son’s hand with his own bony little hand, shook it, glanced straight into his son’s face with his quick, lively eyes that seemed to see right through people, and laughed his cold laugh again.

The son sighed, confessing with this sigh that his father had understood him. The old man continued folding and sealing letters, grabbing up and throwing down the sealing wax, seal and paper with his customary rapidity.

“It can’t be helped. She’s a beauty! I will do everything. Don’t you worry,” he rattled out during the process of sealing.

Andrei said nothing; he was glad to know that his father had understood him. The old man stood up and held out a letter to his son.

“Listen,” he said, “do not concern yourself about your wife: everything that can possibly be done, will be done. Now listen: give this letter to Mikhail Illarionovich. I have written that he should place you somewhere really useful and not keep you as an adjutant for long. A loathsome position. You tell him that I remember him and love him. And write to say how he receives you. If he is good, serve him. The son of Nikolai Andreich Bolkonsky will never serve under anyone out of charity. Well, now come here.”

He spoke so rapidly that he did not finish half his words, but his son was used to understanding him. He led his son over to the bureau, lowered the lid, pulled out a drawer and took out a notebook filled with his own large, tall, narrow handwriting.

“I am certain to die before you. So that you know, here are my memoirs, send them to the Emperor after my death. Now, here is a bank note and a letter. It is a prize for the person who will write a history of Suvorov’s wars. Send it to the Academy. Here are my remarks, when I am gone read them for yourself, you’ll find them useful.”

Andrei did not tell his father that he was sure to live a long time yet. He realised that he should not say that.

“I will do everything you say, father,” he said.

“Well, and now goodbye.” He gave his son his hand to kiss and embraced him. “Remember one thing, Prince Andrei – if they kill you, it will hurt this old man badly …” He paused unexpectedly, then suddenly continued in a shrill voice: “But if I learn that you have not conducted yourself like the son of Nikolai Bolkonsky, I shall be ashamed.”

“You did not need to tell me that, father,” said the son, smiling.

The old man paused.

“And I also wanted to ask you,” continued Prince Andrei, “if I should be killed and if I should have a son, keep him by your side, as I was telling you yesterday, let him grow up with you, please.”

“Not let your wife have him?” the old man said and laughed joyfully. They stood facing each other without speaking. The old man’s quick, lively eyes gazed directly into his son’s. Something twitched in the lower part of the old prince’s face.

“Farewell, on your way,” he said suddenly said. “On your way!” he shouted in a loud, angry voice, opening the door of the study.

“What is it, what?” the little princess and Princess Marya asked, catching sight of Prince Andrei and, for just a moment, the figure of the old man in a white dressing gown, glancing out of the doorway, wearing his old man’s glasses and no wig, shouting in an angry voice.

Prince Andrei heaved a deep sigh and gave no answer.

“Well,” he said, turning to his wife, and this “well” sounded like a cold sneer, as if he were saying: now try getting up to your tricks.

“Already, Andrei?” said the little princess, freezing like ice and looking at her husband in terror. He put his arms round her. She shrieked and fell on his shoulder in a faint.

He carefully drew away the shoulder on which she had slumped and glanced into her face, then seated her gently in an armchair.

“Goodbye, Marya,” he said quietly to his sister, then they kissed each other, holding hands, and he strode rapidly out of the room.

Princess Lise lay in the armchair and Mademoiselle Bourienne massaged her temples. Princess Marya, with her tearful, beautiful eyes, supported her sister-in-law and continued to gaze at the door through which Prince Andrei had left, making the sign of the cross after him.

From the study, like gunshots, came the rapidly repeated, angry sounds of the old man blowing his nose. As soon as Prince Andrei had left, the door of the study opened swiftly and the old man emerged, a severe figure in a white dressing gown.

“Has he gone? That’s good, then,” he said and, casting a furious glance at the insensible little princess, he shook his head reproachfully and slammed the door shut again.