War and Peace: Original Version. Лев Толстой
what a joy for the princess,” she said to them. “At last, I must let her know.”
“No, no, please … You are Mademoiselle Bourienne; I am already acquainted with you from the friendship that my sister-in-law feels for you,” said the little princess, kissing the Frenchwoman. “She is not expecting us.”
They approached the door of the divan room, from behind which they could hear the same passage being repeated over and over again. Prince Andrei stopped and frowned, as though in anticipation of something unpleasant.
Princess Lise went in. The passage broke off in the middle, there was a cry, Princess Marya’s heavy footsteps and the sounds of kissing and muffled voices. When Prince Andrei went in, his wife and his sister, who had only seen each other once for a short time during Prince Andrei’s wedding, were clasped tightly in each other’s arms, still pressing their lips to the same spots which they had found in that first moment. Mademoiselle Bourienne was standing beside them, pressing her hands to her heart and smiling devoutly, obviously equally prepared either to burst into tears or burst out laughing. Prince Andrei shrugged and frowned, in the way that lovers of music frown when they hear a false note. The two women released each other and then once again, as though afraid of missing their chance, they grabbed each other by the hands, began kissing each other’s hands and pulling their own away, and then again began kissing each other on the face and then, to Prince Andrei’s absolute astonishment, they both burst into tears and started hugging and kissing each other again. Mademoiselle Bourienne burst into tears too. Prince Andrei obviously felt awkward and embarrassed, but to the two women it seemed quite natural that they should be crying, they seemed never to have imagined that this meeting could have taken place in any other way.
“Ah, my dear! Ah, Marie.” Both women suddenly started talking at once and burst into laughter. “I had a dream …” – “So you were not expecting us? Ah, Marie, you have grown so thin …” – “And you have put on so much weight …”
“I recognised the princess immediately,” interjected Mademoiselle Bourienne.
“And I never even suspected,” exclaimed Princess Marya. “Ah, Andrei, I didn’t even see you there.”
Prince Andrei and his sister kissed, hand in hand, and he told her that she was the same old cry-baby that she always used to be. Through her tears, Princess Marya turned on her brother the warm, loving, gentle gaze of her large, radiant eyes, so lovely at that moment that his sister, always so plain, seemed beautiful to him. But that very instant she turned back to her sister-in-law and began squeezing her hand without speaking. Princess Lise spoke incessantly. Every now and then her short upper lip with the light moustache flew down for an instant, touched the right spot on the rosy-pink lower lip and then once again her smile was revealed in a bright gleam of teeth and eyes. She related an incident that had happened to them on Mtsensk Mountain, which could have proved dangerous in her condition, and then immediately announced that she had left all her dresses behind in St. Petersburg and God only knew what she would wear here, and that Andrei had changed completely, and that Kitty Odyntsova had married an old man, and that there was a perfectly serious suitor for Princess Marya, but they would talk about that later. Princess Marya was still staring silently at her brother’s wife and her lovely eyes were filled with both love and sadness, as if she pitied this young woman but could not express to her the reason for her pity. She was clearly caught up in her own train of thought now, independently of what her sister-in-law was saying. In the middle of Lise’s account of the latest festivities in St. Petersburg, Princess Marya turned to her brother.
“And are you definitely going to the war, Andrei?” she said with a sigh.
Lise sighed too.
“Tomorrow, in fact,” Marya’s brother replied.
“He is abandoning me here, and God only knows why, when he could have had a promotion …” Princess Marya did not hear her out and, still following the thread of her own thought, she indicated her sister-in-law’s belly with an affectionate glance and asked: “Will it be soon now?”
The little princess’s face changed. She sighed.
“Two months,” she said.
“And you are not afraid?” asked Princess Marya, kissing her again. Prince Andrei winced at this question. Lise’s lip moved down. She moved her face close to her sister-in-law’s and suddenly burst into tears again.
“She needs to rest,” said Prince Andrei. “Don’t you, Lise? Take her to your room, and I shall go to father. How is he, still the same?”
“The same, the very same, I do not know how you will find him,” the princess replied happily.
“The same routine, and the walks along the avenues? The lathe?” asked Prince Andrei with a barely perceptible smile, indicating that, much as he loved and respected his father, he understood his weaknesses.
“The same routine, and the lathe, and still mathematics and my geometry lessons,” Princess Marya replied happily, as though her lessons in geometry were one of the most joyful memories of her life.
XXXV
When the twenty minutes remaining until the time for the old prince to rise had elapsed, Tikhon came to announce the young prince to his father. The old man made an exception to his regular habits in honour of his son’s arrival: he ordered him to be admitted while he was dressing for dinner. The prince dressed in the old style, in a kaftan with powdered hair. As Prince Andrei entered his father’s apartments – not with the peevish expression and manners that he affected in society drawing rooms, but with the animated face that he wore when he was talking with Pierre – the old man was sitting in his dressing room on a broad armchair upholstered in morocco leather, wearing a dressing gown and presenting his head to Tikhon’s hands.
“Ah! The soldier! So you want to conquer Bonaparte?”
That was how the old man greeted his son. He shook his powdered head, as far as the plait being woven by Tikhon’s hands would allow it.
“Make sure you set about him well, or he’ll soon be listing us among his subjects. Greetings.” And he proffered his cheek.
The old man was in a good mood following his nap before dinner. (He said that sleep after dinner was silver, but sleep before dinner was golden.) He peered happily at his son from under his thick, beetling brows. Prince Andrei approached his father and kissed him on the spot he indicated. He did not respond to his father’s favourite topic of conversation – poking fun at modern military men, and especially at Bonaparte.
“Yes, I have come to see you, father, and with a pregnant wife,” said Prince Andrei, following the movement of every feature of his father’s face with eager eyes full of respect. “How is your health?”
“The only people who are unwell, brother, are fools and profligates, and you know me, busy from morning till night, abstemious, so I am well.”
“Thank God,” said his son, smiling.
“God has nothing to do with it. Well now, tell me,” he continued, returning to his favourite hobby-horse, “how the Germans and Bonaparte have taught you to fight according to this new science of yours that they call strategy.”
Prince Andrei smiled.
“Allow me to gather my wits, father,” he said with a smile which showed that his father’s weaknesses did not prevent him from respecting and loving him. “I’ve not even settled in yet.”
“Lies, lies,” cried the old man, shaking his pigtail to see whether it was firmly plaited and grabbing his son by the arm. “The house is all ready for your wife. Princess Marya will show her around and chatter away nineteen to the dozen. That is their womanish business. I am glad she is here. Sit down, talk to me. Mikhelson’s army I can understand. Tolstoy’s too … a simultaneous expedition … But what is the southern army going to do? Prussia, neutrality