War And Peace: Book 8 - CHAPTER VII

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NEXT DAY, by the advice of Marya Dmitryevna, Count Ilya Andreitch went with

Natasha to call on Prince Nikolay Andreitch. The count prepared for the visit by

no means in a cheerful spirit: in his heart he was afraid. Count Ilya Andreitch

had a vivid recollection of his last interview with the old prince at the time

of the levying of the militia, when, in reply to his invitation to dinner, he

had had to listen to a heated reprimand for furnishing less than the required

number of men. Natasha in her best dress was, on the contrary, in the most

cheerful frame of mind. “They can't help liking me,” she thought; “every one

always does like me. And I'm so ready to do anything they please for them, so

readily to love them—him for being his father, and her for being his sister—they

can have no reason for not loving me!”

They drove to the gloomy old house in Vosdvizhenka, and went into the

vestibule.

“Well now, with God's blessing,” said the count, half in jest, half in

earnest. But Natasha noticed that her father was in a nervous fidget as he went

into the entry, and asked timidly and softly whether the prince and the princess

were at home. After their arrival had been announced, there was some

perturbation visible among the prince's servants. The footman, who was running

to announce them, was stopped by another footman in the big hall, and they

whispered together. A maid-servant ran into the hall, and hurriedly said

something, mentioning the princess. At last one old footman came out with a

wrathful air, and announced to the Rostovs that the prince was not receiving,

but the princess begged them to walk up. The first person to meet the visitors

was Mademoiselle Bourienne. She greeted the father and daughter with marked

courtesy, and conducted them to the princess's apartment. The princess, with a

frightened and agitated face, flushed in patches, ran in, treading heavily, to

meet her visitors, doing her best to seem cordial and at ease. From the first

glance Princess Marya disliked Natasha. She thought her too fashionably dressed,

too frivolously gay and vain. Princess Marya had no idea that before she had

seen her future sister-in-law she had been unfavourably disposed to her, through

unconscious envy of her beauty, her youth, and her happiness, and through

jealousy of her brother's love for her. Apart from this insuperable feeling of

antipathy to her, Princess Marya was at that moment agitated by the fact that on

the Rostovs' having been announced the old prince had shouted that he didn't

want to see them, that Princess Marya could see them if she chose, but they were

not to be allowed in to see him. Princess Marya resolved to see the Rostovs, but

she was every instant in dread of some freak on the part of the old prince, as

he had appeared greatly excited by the arrival of the Rostovs.

“Well, here I have brought you my songstress, princess,” said the count,

bowing and scraping, while he looked round uneasily as though he were afraid the

old prince might come in. “How glad I am that you should make friends.…Sorry,

very sorry, the prince is still unwell”; and uttering a few more stock phrases,

he got up. “If you'll allow me, princess, to leave you my Natasha for a quarter

of an hour, I will drive round—only a few steps from here—to Dogs' Square to see

Anna Semyonovna, and then come back for her.”

Count Ilya Andreitch bethought himself of this diplomatic stratagem to give

the future sisters-in-law greater freedom to express their feelings to one

another (so he told his daughter afterwards), but also to avoid the possibility

of meeting the prince, of whom he was afraid. He did not tell his daughter this;

but Natasha perceived this dread and uneasiness of her father's, and felt

mortified by it. She blushed for her father, felt still angrier at having

blushed, and glanced at the princess with a bold, challenging air, meant to

express that she was not afraid of any one. The princess told the count that she

would be delighted, and only begged him to stay a little longer at Anna

Semyonovna's, and Ilya Andreitch departed.

In spite of the uneasy glances flung at her by Princess Marya, who wanted to

talk to Natasha by herself, Mademoiselle Bourienne would not leave the room, and

persisted in keeping up a conversation about Moscow entertainments and theatres.

Natasha felt offended by the delay in the entry, by her father's nervousness,

and by the constrained manner of the princess, who seemed to her to be making a

favour of receiving her. And then everything displeased her. She did not like

Princess Marya. She seemed to her very ugly, affected, and frigid. Natasha

suddenly, as it were, shrank into herself, and unconsciously assumed a

non-chalant air, which repelled Princess Marya more and more. After five minutes

of irksome and constrained conversation, they heard the sound of slippered feet

approaching rapidly. Princess Marya's face expressed terror: the door of the

room opened, and the prince came in, in a white night-cap and

dressing-gown.

“Ah, madam,” he began, “madam, countess.…Countess Rostov… if I'm not

mistaken…I beg you to excuse me, to excuse me…I didn't know, madam. As God's

above, I didn't know that you were deigning to visit us, and came in to my

daughter in this costume. I beg you to excuse me…as God's above, I didn't know,”

he repeated so unnaturally, with emphasis on the word “God,” and so

unpleasantly, that Princess Marya rose to her feet with her eyes on the ground,

not daring to look either at her father or at Natasha. Natasha, getting up and

curtseying, did not know either what she was to do. Only Mademoiselle Bourienne

smiled agreeably.

“I beg you to excuse me, I beg you to excuse me! As God's above, I didn't

know,” muttered the old man, and looking Natasha over from head to foot, he went

out.

Mademoiselle Bourienne was the first to recover herself after this

apparition, and began talking about the prince's ill-health. Natasha and

Princess Marya gazed dumbly at one another, and the longer they gazed dumbly at

one another without saying what they wanted to say, the more unfavourably each

felt disposed to the other.

When the count returned, Natasha showed a discourteous relief at seeing him,

and made haste to get away. At that moment she almost hated that stiff, oldish

princess, who could put her in such an awkward position, and spend half an hour

with her without saying a word about Prince Andrey. “I couldn't be the first to

speak of him before that Frenchwoman,” thought Natasha. Princess Marya meanwhile

was tortured by the very same feeling. She knew what she had to say to Natasha,

but she could not do it, both because Mademoiselle Bourienne prevented her, and

because she did not know herself why—it was difficult for her to begin to speak

of the marriage. The count was already going out of the room when Princess Marya

moved rapidly up to Natasha, took her hand, and, with a heavy sigh, said: “Wait

a moment, I want…” Natasha's expression as she looked at Princess Marya was

ironical, though she did not know why.

“Dear Natalie,” said Princess Marya, “do believe how glad I am that my

brother has found such happiness…” She paused, feeling she was telling a lie.

Natasha noticed the pause, and guessed the reason of it.

“I imagine, princess, that it is not now suitable to speak of that,” said

Natasha, with external dignity and coldness, though she felt the tears rising in

her throat.

“What have I said, what have I done?” she thought as soon as she had gone out

of the room.

They had to wait a long while for Natasha to come to dinner that day. She was

sitting in her room, crying like a child, choking, and sobbing. Sonya stood over

her, and kept kissing her on the head.

“Natasha, what is it?” she kept saying. “Why need you mind about them? It

will pass, Natasha.”

“No, if only you knew how insulting it was…as though I…”

“Don't talk of it, Natasha; it's not your fault, you see, so what does it

matter to you! Kiss me,” said Sonya.

Natasha raised her head, and kissing her friend on the lips, pressed her wet

face against her.

“I can't say; I don't know. It's no one's fault,” said Natasha; “it's my

fault. But it's all awfully painful. Oh, why doesn't he come?…”

She went down to dinner with red eyes. Marya Dmitryevna, who had heard how

the old prince had received the Rostovs, pretended not to notice Natasha's

troubled face, and kept up a loud, jesting conversation at table with the count

and the other guests.

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1. Ebooks list page : 83
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3. War And Peace: Book 2 - CHAPTER III
4. War And Peace: Book 2 - CHAPTER II
5. War And Peace: Book 2 - CHAPTER I
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8. War And Peace: Book 3 - CHAPTER XVI
9. War And Peace: Book 3 - CHAPTER XV
10. War And Peace: Book 3 - CHAPTER XIV
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12. War And Peace: Book 2 - CHAPTER VI
13. War And Peace: Book 2 - CHAPTER XIX
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