War and Peace - Leo Tolstoy [314]
On the eve of his departure from Petersburg, Prince Andrei brought along Pierre, who had not once been to the Rostovs’ since the time of the ball. Pierre looked perplexed and embarrassed. He was talking with the mother. Natasha sat down with Sonya by the chess table, thereby inviting Prince Andrei to join her. He went over to them.
“You’ve known Bezukhov for a long time, haven’t you?” he asked. “Do you like him?”
“Yes, he’s nice, but very funny.”
And, as always when she spoke of Pierre, she began telling anecdotes about his absentmindedness, anecdotes which had even been made up about him.
“You know, I’ve entrusted him with our secret,” said Prince Andrei. “I’ve known him since childhood. He has a heart of gold. I beg you, Natalie,” he suddenly said earnestly, “I’m going away. God knows what may happen. You may stop lov…Well, I know I mustn’t talk about that. One thing—whatever happens with you while I’m not here…”
“What’s going to happen?”
“Whatever misfortune there may be,” Prince Andrei went on, “I beg you, Mademoiselle Sophie, whatever may happen, turn to him alone for advice and help. He’s the most absentminded and ridiculous man, but he has a heart of gold.”
Neither her father and mother, nor Sonya, nor Prince Andrei himself could have foreseen how parting with her fiancé would affect Natasha. Flushed and agitated, her eyes dry, she wandered about the house that day, occupying herself with the most insignificant things, as if not understanding what awaited her. She did not cry when, at the moment of taking leave of her, he kissed her hand for the last time.
“Don’t leave!” was all she said to him, in a voice which made him wonder whether he ought indeed to stay, and which he remembered long afterwards. When he was gone, she also did not cry; but for several days she sat, not crying, in her room, not interested in anything and only saying from time to time: “Ah, why did he go?”
But two weeks after his departure, just as unexpectedly for those around her, she recovered from her moral illness and became the same as before, only with a changed moral physiognomy, as children get up with a different face after a prolonged illness.
XXV
The health and character of Prince Nikolai Andreevich Bolkonsky, during that last year after his son’s departure, declined considerably. He became still more irritable than before, and all the outbursts of his groundless wrath fell mainly upon Princess Marya. He seemed to carefully seek out all her sorest spots so as to torment her morally as cruelly as possible. Princess Marya had two passions and therefore two joys: her nephew Nikolushka and religion—and the two were the favorite topics of the prince’s attacks and mockery. Whatever the talk was about, he always brought the conversation down to the superstitions of old maids or to the pampering and spoiling of children. “You want to make Nikolushka into an old maid like yourself. You shouldn’t: Prince Andrei needs a son, not an old maid,” he would say. Or, turning to Mlle Bourienne, he would ask her, in front of Princess Marya, how she liked our priests and icons, and would joke…
He insulted Princess Marya constantly and painfully, but his daughter did not even have to force herself to forgive him. How could he be guilty before her, and how could her father who (she knew all the same) loved her, be unjust to her? And what is justice? The princess never thought about this proud word justice. All the complicated laws of mankind were concentrated for her in one simple and clear law—the law of love and self-denial taught us by Him who suffered for mankind with