War and Peace - Leo Tolstoy [450]
That day at dinner, when Dessales said he had heard that the French had already entered Vitebsk, the old prince remembered about Prince Andrei’s letter.
“I received a letter from Prince Andrei today,” he said to Princess Marya. “Have you read it?”
“No, mon père,” the princess replied fearfully. She could not have read a letter the reception of which she had not even heard about.
“He writes about this war,” the prince said, with that contemptuous smile that had become habitual to him whenever he spoke about the ongoing war.
“It must be very interesting,” said Dessales. “The prince is in a position to know…”
“Ah, very interesting!” said Mlle Bourienne.
“Go and fetch it for me,” the old prince turned to Mlle Bourienne. “You know, on the little table under the paperweight.”
Mlle Bourienne jumped up joyfully.
“Ah, no,” he cried, frowning. “You go, Mikhail Ivanych.”
Mikhail Ivanych got up and went to the study. But as soon as he left, the old prince looked around uneasily, threw down his napkin, and went himself.
“They can’t do anything, they get it all muddled.”
While he was gone, Princess Marya, Dessales, Mlle Bourienne, and even Nikolushka silently exchanged glances. The old prince came back with hurried steps, accompanied by Mikhail Ivanych, with the letter and a plan, which he put down next to him, not letting anyone read them during dinner.
Having moved to the drawing room, he gave the letter to Princess Marya and, spreading out in front of him the plan of the new construction, at which he directed his eyes, told her to read it aloud. When she had read the letter, Princess Marya gave her father a questioning glance. He was looking at the plan, obviously immersed in his thoughts.
“What do you think of that, Prince?” Dessales allowed himself to address him with a question.
“I? I?…” said the prince, as if unpleasantly awakened, without taking his eyes from the construction plan.
“It’s quite possible that the theater of war will get so close to us…”
“Ha, ha, ha! The theater of war!” said the prince. “I have said and I still say that the theater of war is Poland, and the enemy will never penetrate beyond the Niemen.”
Dessales looked with astonishment at the prince, who spoke of the Niemen when the enemy was already at the Dnieper; but Princess Marya, who had forgotten the geographical position of the Niemen, thought that what her father had said was true.
“The snow will melt, and they’ll drown in the Polish swamps. Only they could fail to see that,” said the prince, evidently thinking of the campaign of 1807, which took place, as it seemed to him, so recently. “Bennigsen should have entered Prussia sooner, then things would have taken a different turn…”
“But, Prince,” Dessales said timidly, “the letter mentions Vitebsk…”
“Ah, yes, the letter…” the prince said with displeasure, “yes…yes…” His face suddenly took on a dark expression. He paused. “Yes, he writes that the French were crushed—by what river was it?”
Dessales lowered his eyes.
“The prince writes nothing about that,” he said softly.
“He doesn’t? Well, I didn’t think it up myself.” Everyone was silent for a long time.
“Yes…yes…So, Mikhail Ivanych,” he said suddenly, raising his head and pointing to the construction plan, “tell me how you want to change it…”
Mikhail Ivanych went over to the plan, and the prince, having talked with him about the plan for the new construction, glanced angrily at Princess Marya and Dessales and went to his room.
Princess Marya saw the embarrassed and astonished glance Dessales directed at her father, noticed his silence, and was struck to see that her father had forgotten his son’s letter on the table in the drawing room; but she was afraid not only to speak and ask Dessales about the cause of his embarrassment and silence, but afraid even to think about it.
In the evening, Mikhail Ivanych, sent by the prince,