战争与和平(上)-第58部分

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you　know；　it　may　be　the　turning…point　in　your　whole　life。　That　one’s　too　light；　it’s　not　right；　no；　it’s　not！”
It　was　not　the　dress　that　was　wrong；　but　the　face　and　the　whole　figure　of　the　princess；　but　that　was　not　felt　by　Mademoiselle　Bourienne　and　the　little　princess。　They　still　fancied　that　if　they　were　to　put　a　blue　ribbon　in　her　hair；　and　do　it　up　high；　and　to　put　the　blue　sash　lower　on　the　maroon　dress　and　so　on；　then　all　would　be　well。　They　forgot　that　the　frightened　face　and　figure　of　Princess　Marya　could　not　be　changed；　and　therefore；　however　presentable　they　might　make　the　setting　and　decoration　of　the　face；　the　face　itself　would　still　look　piteous　and　ugly。　After　two　or　three　changes；　to　which　Princess　Marya　submitted　passively；　when　her　hair　had　been　done　on　the　top　of　her　head　（which　completely　changed　and　utterly　disfigured　her）；　and　the　blue　sash　and　best　maroon　velvet　dress　had　been　put　on；　the　little　princess　walked　twice　round；　and　with　her　little　hand　stroked　out　a　fold　here　and　pulled　down　the　sash　there；　and　gazed　at　her　with　her　head　first　on　one　side　and　then　on　the　other。
“No；　it　won’t　do；”　she　said　resolutely；　throwing　up　her　hands。　“No；　Marie；　decidedly　that　does　not　suit　you。　I　like　you　better　in　your　little　grey　everyday　frock。　No；　please　do　that　for　me。　Katya；”　she　said　to　the　maid；　“bring　the　princess　her　grey　dress；　and　look；　Mademoiselle　Bourienne；　how　I’ll　arrange　it；”　she　said；　smiling　with　a　foretaste　of　artistic　pleasure。　But　when　Katya　brought　the　dress；　Princess　Marya　was　still　sitting　motionless　before　the　looking…glass；　looking　at　her　own　face；　and　in　the　looking…glass　she　saw　that　there　were　tears　in　her　eyes　and　her　mouth　was　quivering；　on　the　point　of　breaking　into　sobs。
“Come；　dear　princess；”　said　Mademoiselle　Bourienne；　“one　more　little　effort。”
The　little　princess；　taking　the　dress　from　the　hands　of　the　maid；　went　up　to　Princess　Marya。
“Now；　we’ll　try　something　simple　and　charming；”　she　said。　Her　voice　and　Mademoiselle　Bourienne’s　and　the　giggle　of　Katya　blended　into　a　sort　of　gay　babble　like　the　twitter　of　birds。
“No；　leave　me　alone；”　said　the　princess；　and　there　was　such　seriousness　and　such　suffering　in　her　voice　that　the　twitter　of　the　birds　ceased　at　once。　They　looked　at　the　great；　beautiful　eyes；　full　of　tears　and　of　thought；　looking　at　them　imploringly；　and　they　saw　that　to　insist　was　useless　and　even　cruel。
“At　least　alter　your　hair；”　said　the　little　princess。　“I　told　you；”　she　said　reproachfully　to　Mademoiselle　Bourienne；　“there　were　faces　which　that　way　of　doing　the　hair　does　not　suit　a　bit。　Not　a　bit；　not　a　bit；　please　alter　it。”
“Leave　me　alone；　leave　me　alone；　all　that　is　nothing　to　me；”　answered　a　voice　scarcely　able　to　struggle　with　tears。
Mademoiselle　Bourienne　and　the　little　princess　could　not　but　admit　to　themselves　that　Princess　Marya　was　very　plain　in　this　guise；　far　worse　than　usual；　but　it　was　too　late。　She　looked　at　them　with　an　expression　they　knew　well；　an　expression　of　deep　thought　and　sadness。　That　expression　did　not　inspire　fear。　（That　was　a　feeling　she　could　never　have　inspired　in　any　one。）　But　they　knew　that　when　that　expression　came　into　her　face；　she　was　mute　and　inflexible　in　her　resolutions。
“You　will　alter　it；　won’t　you？”　said　Liza；　and　when　Princess　Marya　made　no　reply；　Liza　went　out　of　the　room。
Princess　Marya　was　left　alone。　She　did　not　act　upon　Liza’s　wishes；　she　did　not　re…arrange　her　hair；　she　did　not　even　glance　into　the　looking…glass。　Letting　her　eyes　and　her　hands　drop　helplessly；　she　sat　mentally　dreaming。　She　pictured　her　husband；　a　man；　a　strong；　masterful；　and　inconceivably　attractive　creature；　who　would　bear　her　away　all　at　once　into　an　utterly　different；　happy　world　of　his　own。　A　child；　her　own；　like　the　baby　she　had　seen　at　her　old　nurse’s　daughter’s；　she　fancied　at　her　own　breast。　The　husband　standing；　gazing　tenderly　at　her　and　the　child。　“But　no；　it　can　never　be；　I　am　too　ugly；”　she　thought。
“Kindly　come　to　tea。　The　prince　will　be　going　in　immediately；”　said　the　maid’s　voice　at　the　door。　She　started　and　was　horrified　at　what　she　had　been　thinking。　And　before　going　downstairs　she　went　into　the　oratory；　and　fixing　her　eyes　on　the　black　outline　of　the　great　image　of　the　Saviour；　she　stood　for　several　minutes　before　it　with　clasped　hands。　Princess　Marya’s　soul　was　full　of　an　agonising　doubt。　Could　the　joy　of　love；　of　earthly　love　for　a　man；　be　for　her？　In　her　reveries　of　marriage；　Princess　Marya　dreamed　of　happiness　in　a　home　and　children　of　her　own；　but　her　chief；　her　strongest　and　most　secret　dream　was　of　earthly　love。　The　feeling　became　the　stronger　the　more　she　tried　to　conceal　it　from　others；　and　even　from　herself。　“My　God；”　she　said；　“how　am　I　to　subdue　in　my　heart　these　temptings　of　the　devil？　How　am　I　to　renounce　for　ever　all　evil　thoughts；　so　as　in　peace　to　fulfil　Thy　will？”　And　scarcely　had　she　put　this　question　than　God’s　answer　came　to　her　in　her　own　heart。　“Desire　nothing　for　thyself；　be　not　covetous；　anxious；　envious。　The　future　of　men　and　thy　destiny　too　must　be　unknown　for　thee；　but　live　that　thou　mayest　be　ready　for　all。　If　it　shall　be　God’s　will　to　prove　thee　in　the　duties　of　marriage；　be　ready　to　obey　His　will。”　With　this　soothing　thought　（though　still　she　hoped　for　the　fulfilment　of　that　forbidden　earthly　dream）　Princess　Marya　crossed　herself；　sighing；　and　went　downstairs；　without　thinking　of　her　dress　nor　how　her　hair　was　done；　of　how　she　would　go　in　nor　what　she　would　say。　What　could　all　that　signify　beside　the　guidance　of　Him；　without　Whose　will　not　one　hair　falls　from　the　head　of　man？


Chapter　4
WHEN　PRINCESS　MARYA　went　into　the　room；　Prince　Vassily　and　his　son　were　already　in　the　drawing…room；　talking　to　the　little　princess　and　Mademoiselle　Bourienne。　When　she　walked　in　with　her　heavy　step；　treading　on　her　heels；　the　gentlemen　and　Mademoiselle　Bourienne　rose；　and　the　little　princess；　with　a　gesture　indicating　her　to　the　gentlemen；　said：　“Here　is　Marie！”　Princess　Marya　saw　them　all　and　saw　them　in　detail。　She　saw　the　face　of　Prince　Vassily；　growing　serious　for　an　instant　at　the　sight　of　her；　and　then　hastily　smiling；　and　the　face　of　the　little　princess；　scanning　the　faces　of　the　guests　with　curiosity　to　detect　the　impression　Marie　was　making　on　them。　She　saw　Mademoiselle　Bourienne；　too；　with　her　ribbon　and　her　pretty　face；　turned　towards　him　with　a　look　of　more　eagerness　than　she　had　ever　seen　on　it。　But　him　she　could　not　see；　she　could　only　see　something　large；　bright…coloured；　and　handsome　moving　towards　her；　as　she　entered　the　room。　Prince　Vassily　approached　her　first；　and　she　kissed　his　bald　head；　as　he　bent　over　to　kiss　her　hand；　and　in　reply　to　his　words　said；　that　on　the　contrary；　she　remembered　him　very　well。　Then　Anatole　went　up　to　her。　She　still　could　not　see　him。　She　only　felt　a　soft　hand　taking　her　hand　firmly；　and　she　touched　with　her　lips　a　white　forehead；　over　which　there　was　beautiful　fair　hair；　smelling　of　pomade。　When　she　glanced　at　him；　she　was　impressed　by　his　beauty。　Anatole　was　standing　with　the　thumb　of　his　right　hand　at　a　button　of　his　uniform；　his　chest　squared　and　his　spine　arched；　swinging　one　foot；　with　his　head　a　little　on　one　side；　he　was　gazing　in　silence　with　a　beaming　face　on　the　princess；　obviously　not　thinking　of　her　at　all。　Anatole　was　not　quick…witted；　he　was　not　ready；　not　eloquent　in　conversation；　but　he　had　that　faculty；　so　invaluable　for　social　purposes；　of　composure　and　imperturbable　assurance。　If　a　man　of　no　self…confidence　is　dumb　at　first　making　acquaintance；　and　betrays　a　consciousness　of　the　impropriety　of　this　dumbness　and　an　anxiety　to　find　something　to　say；　the　effect　will　be　bad。　But　Anatole　was　dumb　and　swung　his　leg；　as　he　watched　the　princess’s　hair　with　a　radiant　face。　It　was　clear　that　he　could　be　silent　with　the　same　serenity　for　a　very　long　while。　“If　anybody　feels　silence　awkward；　let　him　talk；　but　I　don’t　care　about　it；”　his　demeanour　seemed　to　say。　Moreover；　in　his　manner　to　women；　Anatole　had　that　air；　which　does　more　than　anything　else　to　excite　curiosity；　awe；　and　even　love　in　women；　the　air　of　supercilious　consciousness　of　his　own　superiority。　His　manner　seemed　to　say　to　them：　“I　know　you；　I　know；　but　why　trouble　my　head　about　you？　You’d　be　pleased　enough；　of　course！”　Possibly　he　did　not　think　this　on　meeting　women　（it　is　probable；　indeed；　that　he　did　not；　for　he　thought　very　little　at　any　time）；　but　that　was　the　effect　of　his　air　and　his　manner。　Princess　Marya　felt　it；　and　as　though　to　show　him　she　did　not　even　venture　to　think　of　inviting　his　attention；　she　turned　to　his　father。　The　conversation　was　general　and　animated；　thanks　to　the　voice　and　the　little　downy　lip；　that　flew　up　and　down　over　the　white　teeth　of　the　little　princess。　She　met　Prince　Vassily　in　that　playful　tone　so　often　adopted　by　chatty　and　lively　persons；　the　point　of　which　consists　in　the　assumption　that　there　exists　a　sort　of　long…established　series　of　jokes　and　amusing；　partly　private；　humorous　reminiscences　between　the　persons　so　addressed　and　oneself；　even　when　no　such　reminiscences　are　really　shared；　as　indeed　was　the　case　with　Prince　Vassily　and　the　little　princess。　Prince　Vassily　readily　fell　in　with　this　tone；　the　little　princess　embellished　their　supposed　common　reminiscences　with　all　sorts　of　droll　incidents　that　had　never　occurred；　and　drew　Anatole　too　into　them；　though　she　had　scarcely　known　him。　Mademoiselle　Bourienne　too　succeeded　in　taking　a　part　in　them；　and　even　Princess　Marya　felt　with　pleasure　that　she　was　being　made　to　share　in　their　gaiety。
“Well；　anyway；　we　shall　take　advantage　of　you　to　the　utmost　now　we　have　got　you；　dear　prince；”　said　the　little　princess；　in　French；　of　course；　to　Prince　Vassily。　“Here　it　is　not　as　it　used　to　be　at　our　evenings　at　Annette’s；　where　you　always　ran　away。　Do　you　remember　our　dear　Annette？”
“Ah　yes；　but　then　you　mustn’t　talk　to　me　about　politics；　like　Annette！”
“And　our　little　tea…table？”
“Oh　yes！”
“Why　is　it　you　never　used　to　be　at　Annette’s？”　the　little　princess　asked　of　Anatole。　“Ah；　I　know；　I　know；”　she　said；　winking；　“your　brother；　Ippolit；　has　told　me　tales　of　your　doings。　Oh！”　She　shook　her　finger　at　him。　“I　know　about　your　exploits