silly ladies. Get used to it and you’ll like it,’ and he patted
her cheek. ‘It will drive all the nonsense out of your head.’
She turned to go, but he stopped her with a gesture and
took an uncut book from the high desk.
‘Here is some sort of Key to the Mysteries that your Heloise has sent you. Religious! I don’t interfere with anyone’s
belief… I have looked at it. Take it. Well, now go. Go.’
He patted her on the shoulder and himself closed the
door after her.
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Princess Mary went back to her room with the sad,
scared expression that rarely left her and which made her
plain, sickly face yet plainer. She sat down at her writing
table, on which stood miniature portraits and which was
littered with books and papers. The princess was as untidy
as her father was tidy. She put down the geometry book and
eagerly broke the seal of her letter. It was from her most intimate friend from childhood; that same Julie Karagina who
had been at the Rostovs’ name-day party.
Julie wrote in French:
Dear and precious Friend, How terrible and frightful a
thing is separation! Though I tell myself that half my life
and half my happiness are wrapped up in you, and that in
spite of the distance separating us our hearts are united by
indissoluble bonds, my heart rebels against fate and in spite
of the pleasures and distractions around me I cannot overcome a certain secret sorrow that has been in my heart ever
since we parted. Why are we not together as we were last
summer, in your big study, on the blue sofa, the confidential
sofa? Why cannot I now, as three months ago, draw fresh
moral strength from your look, so gentle, calm, and penetrating, a look I loved so well and seem to see before me
as I write?
Having read thus far, Princess Mary sighed and glanced
into the mirror which stood on her right. It reflected a weak,
ungraceful figure and thin face. Her eyes, always sad, now
looked with particular hopelessness at her reflection in the
glass. ‘She flatters me,’ thought the princess, turning away
and continuing to read. But Julie did not flatter her friend,
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the princess’ eyeslarge, deep and luminous (it seemed as if
at times there radiated from them shafts of warm light)were
so beautiful that very often in spite of the plainness of her
face they gave her an attraction more powerful than that of
beauty. But the princess never saw the beautiful expression
of her own eyesthe look they had when she was not thinking of herself. As with everyone, her face assumed a forced
unnatural expression as soon as she looked in a glass. She
went on reading:
All Moscow talks of nothing but war. One of my two
brothers is already abroad, the other is with the Guards,
who are starting on their march to the frontier. Our dear
Emperor has left Petersburg and it is thought intends to expose his precious person to the chances of war. God grant
that the Corsican monster who is destroying the peace of
Europe may be overthrown by the angel whom it has pleased
the Almighty, in His goodness, to give us as sovereign! To
say nothing of my brothers, this war has deprived me of one
of the associations nearest my heart. I mean young Nicholas Rostov, who with his enthusiasm could not bear to
remain inactive and has left the university to join the army.
I will confess to you, dear Mary, that in spite of his extreme
youth his departure for the army was a great grief to me.
This young man, of whom I spoke to you last summer, is
so noble-minded and full of that real youthfulness which
one seldom finds nowadays among our old men of twenty
and, particularly, he is so frank and has so much heart. He
is so pure and poetic that my relations with him, transient
as they were, have been one of the sweetest comforts to my
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poor heart, which has already suffered so much. Someday
I will tell you about our parting and all that was said then.
That is still too fresh. Ah, dear friend, you are happy not to
know these poignant joys and sorrows. You are fortunate,
for the latter are generally the stronger! I know very well
that Count Nicholas is too young ever to be more to me than
a friend, but this sweet friendship, this poetic and pure intimacy, were what my heart needed. But enough of this! The
chief news, about which all Moscow gossips, is the death of
old Count Bezukhov, and his inheritance. Fancy! The three
princesses have received very little, Prince Vasili nothing,
and it is Monsieur Pierre who has inherited all the property
and has besides been recognized as legitimate; so that he is
now Count Bezukhov and possessor of the finest fortune in
Russia. It is rumored that Prince Vasili played a very despicable part in this affair and that he returned to Petersburg
quite crestfallen.
I confess I understand very little about all these matters
of wills and inheritance; but I do know that since this young
man, whom we all used to know as plain Monsieur Pierre,
has become Count Bezukhov and the owner of one of the
largest fortunes in Russia, I am much amused to watch the
change in the tone and manners of the mammas burdened
by marriageable daughters, and of the young ladies themselves, toward him, though, between you and me, he always
seemed to me a poor sort of fellow. As for the past two
years people have amused themselves by finding husbands
for me (most of whom I don’t even know), the matchmaking chronicles of Moscow now speak of me as the future
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Countess Bezukhova. But you will understand that I have
no desire for the post. A propos of marriages: do you know
that a while ago that universal auntie Anna Mikhaylovna
told me, under the seal of strict secrecy, of a plan of marriage for you. It is neither more nor less than with Prince
Vasili’s son Anatole, whom they wish to reform by marrying him to someone rich and distinguee, and it is on you
that his relations’ choice has fallen. I don’t know what you
will think of it, but I consider it my duty to let you know of
it. He is said to be very handsome and a terrible scapegrace.
That is all I have been able to find out about him.
But enough of gossip. I am at the end of my second sheet
of paper, and Mamma has sent for me to go and dine at the
Apraksins’. Read the mystical book I am sending you; it has
an enormous success here. Though there are things in it difficult for the feeble human mind to grasp, it is an admirable
book which calms and elevates the soul. Adieu! Give my
respects to monsieur your father and my compliments to
Mademoiselle Bourienne. I embrace you as I love you.
JULIE
P.S. Let me have news of your brother and his charming
little wife.
The princess pondered awhile with a thoughtful smile
and her luminous eyes lit up so that her face was entirely
transformed. Then she suddenly rose and with her heavy
tread went up to the table. She took a sheet of paper and her
hand moved rapidly over it. This is the reply she wrote, also
in French:
Dear and precious Friend, Your letter of the 13th has giv
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en me great delight. So you still love me, my romantic Julie?
Separation, of which you say so much that is bad, does not
seem to have had its usual effect on you. You complain of
our separation. What then should I say, if I dared complain,
I who am deprived of all who are dear to me? Ah, if we had
not religion to console us life would be very sad. Why do
you suppose that I should look severely on your affection
for that young man? On such matters I am only severe with
myself. I understand such feelings in others, and if never
having felt them I cannot approve of them, neither do I condemn them. Only it seems to me that Christian love, love
of one’s neighbor, love of one’s enemy, is worthier, sweeter,
and better than the feelings which the beautiful eyes of a
young man can inspire in a romantic and loving young girl
like yourself.
The news of Count Bezukhov’s death reached us before
your letter and my father was much affected by it. He says
the count was the last representative but one of the great
century, and that it is his own turn now, but that he will do
all he can to let his turn come as late as possible. God preserve us from that terrible misfortune!
I cannot agree with you about Pierre, whom I knew as a
child. He always seemed to me to have an excellent heart,
and that is the quality I value most in people. As to his inheritance and the part played by Prince Vasili, it is very sad
for both. Ah, my dear friend, our divine Saviour’s words,
that it is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle
than for a rich man to enter the Kingdom of God, are terribly true. I pity Prince Vasili but am still more sorry for
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Pierre. So young, and burdened with such richesto what
temptations he will be exposed! If I were asked what I desire most on earth, it would be to be poorer than the poorest
beggar. A thousand thanks, dear friend, for the volume
you have sent me and which has such success in Moscow.
Yet since you tell me that among some good things it contains others which our weak human understanding cannot
grasp, it seems to me rather useless to spend time in reading what is unintelligible and can therefore bear no fruit. I
never could understand the fondness some people have for
confusing their minds by dwelling on mystical books that
merely awaken their doubts and excite their imagination,
giving them a bent for exaggeration quite contrary to Christian simplicity. Let us rather read the Epistles
