War and Peace - Leo Tolstoy [386]
Pierre, his shoulders hunched and his mouth gaping, listened to what Marya Dmitrievna was telling him and could not believe his ears. Prince Andrei’s fiancée, so deeply loved, this once sweet Natasha Rostov, to exchange Bolkonsky for that fool Anatole, who was already married (Pierre knew the secret of his marriage), and fall in love with him so much as to agree to elope with him!—that Pierre could not understand and could not imagine.
The sweet impression of Natasha, whom he had known since she was a child, could not be combined in his soul with the new notion of her baseness, stupidity, and cruelty. He remembered his wife. “They’re all the same,” he said to himself, thinking that he was not the only one to have the sad lot of being connected with a vile woman. But still he pitied Prince Andrei to the point of tears, pitied his pride. And the more he pitied his friend, the greater was the contempt and even loathing with which he thought of this Natasha, who had just walked past him in the reception room with an expression of such cold dignity. He did not know that Natasha’s soul was filled with despair, shame, humiliation, and that it was not her fault that her face happened to express calm dignity and severity.
“What do you mean, get married!” said Pierre to Marya Dmitrievna’s words. “He can’t get married: he is married.”
“Worse and worse by the hour,” said Marya Dmitrievna. “A fine lad! What a scoundrel! And she’s waiting, she’s been waiting for two days. We must tell her; at least she’ll stop waiting.”
Having learned from Pierre the details of Anatole’s marriage, having vented her anger in abusive words, Marya Dmitrievna told him why she had summoned him. Marya Dmitrievna was afraid that the count or Bolkonsky, who might come any minute, would find out about the affair, which she intended to conceal from them, and challenge Kuragin to a duel, and therefore she asked him to order his brother-in-law, on her behalf, to leave Moscow and not dare let her set eyes on him again. Pierre promised to fulfill her wish, only now realizing the danger which threatened the old count, and Nikolai, and Prince Andrei. Briefly and precisely laying out her demands for him, she let him out to the drawing room.
“Mind you, the count doesn’t know anything. You make as if you don’t know anything either,” she said to him. “And I’ll go and tell her there’s nothing to wait for! Stay for dinner if you like,” Marya Dmitrievna called out to Pierre.
Pierre met the old count. He was embarrassed and upset. That morning Natasha had told him that she had refused Bolkonsky.
“Trouble, trouble, mon cher,” he said to Pierre, “these girls are trouble when their mother’s not around. I’m so sorry I came. I’ll be frank with you. Have you heard, she refused her fiancé without asking anyone. I must say, I was never very glad of this marriage. Suppose he’s a good man, but there’d be no happiness against his father’s will, and Natasha won’t remain without suitors. But it’s been going on for so long, and how is it she’s taken such a step without telling her father or mother? And now she’s sick, and God knows what will happen! It’s bad, Count, it’s bad with daughters and no mother…” Pierre saw that the count was very upset, he tried to change the subject of conversation, but the count kept coming back to his grief.
Sonya came into the drawing room with an alarmed face.
“Natasha’s not very well. She’s in her room and would like to see you. Marya Dmitrievna is with her and also asks you to come.”
“Yes, you’re close friends with Bolkonsky, she probably wants you to tell him something. Ah, my God, my God! Everything was so nice!” And, clutching at his sparse gray