War and Peace - Leo Tolstoy [71]
“Well, my friend, I’m afraid you and this monk are wasting your powder,” Prince Andrei said mockingly but affectionately.
“Ah, mon ami. I only pray to God and hope He will hear me. André,” she said timidly, after a moment’s silence, “I have a big request to make of you.”
“What is it, my friend?”
“No, promise me you won’t refuse. It won’t be any trouble for you, and there won’t be anything in it that’s unworthy of you. Only you’ll comfort me. Promise, Andryusha,” she said, putting her hand into her reticule and taking hold of something in it, but not showing it yet, as if what she was holding constituted the object of her request, and before she got his promise to fulfill her request, she could not take this something out of her reticule.
She looked at her brother with a timid, pleading gaze.
“Even if it was a great deal of trouble for me…” Prince Andrei said, as if guessing what it was about.
“You can think what you like! I know you’re the same as mon père. Think what you like, but do it for me. Do it, please! Father’s father, our grandfather, wore it through all the wars…” She still would not take what she was holding out of the reticule. “So promise me?…”
“Of course, what is it?”
“André, I’m going to bless you with an icon, and you promise me never to take it off…Do you promise?”
“Of course, if it doesn’t weigh a hundred pounds and pull my neck down…To give you pleasure…” said Prince Andrei, but that same second, noticing the distressed look that came to his sister’s face at this joke, he instantly repented. “I’m very glad, truly, very glad, my friend,” he added.
“Against your will He will save you and have mercy on you and turn you to Him, because in Him alone there is truth and peace,” she said in a voice trembling from emotion, with a solemn gesture holding up in both hands before her brother an old oval icon of the Savior with a blackened face, in a silver setting, on a finely wrought silver chain.
She crossed herself, kissed the icon, and gave it to Andrei.
“Please, André, for me…”
From her big eyes shone rays of a kindly and timid light. These eyes lit up her whole thin, sickly face and made it beautiful. Her brother wanted to take the icon, but she stopped him. Andrei understood, made the sign of the cross, and kissed the icon. His face was at the same time tender (he was touched) and mocking.
“Merci, mon ami.”
She kissed him on the forehead and sat down again on the sofa. They were silent.
“So as I was saying to you, André, be kind and magnanimous, as you’ve always been. Don’t judge Lise too severely,” she began. “She’s so dear, so kind, and her position is very hard now.”
“I don’t believe I’ve said anything to you, Masha, about reproaching my wife for anything or being displeased with her. Why are you saying all this to me?”
Princess Marya broke out in red blotches and said nothing, as if she felt guilty.
“I haven’t said anything to you, but it has already been said to you. And that makes me sad.”
The red blotches stood out still more on Princess Marya’s forehead, neck, and cheeks. She wanted to say something, but could not bring it out. Her brother had guessed right: the little princess had wept after dinner, had said she had a foreboding of a bad delivery, was afraid of it, and had complained about her life, her father-in-law, and her husband. After her tears, she had fallen asleep. Prince Andrei felt sorry for his sister.
“Know one thing, Masha, I cannot, have not, and never will reproach my wife for anything, nor can I reproach myself for anything in relation to her; and that will always be so, whatever circumstances I find myself in. But if you want to know the truth…if you want to know whether I’m happy? No. Is she happy? No. Why is