War And Peace полностью

After her father’s funeral Princess Marya locked herself away in her room and wouldn’t let anyone in. A maid came to the door to say that Alpatych had come to ask for instructions about their departure. (This was before Alpatych had spoken to Dron.) Princess Marya half-rose from the sofa where she was lying, and shouted through the closed door that she was never going anywhere, and would they please leave her alone.

The windows of the room Princess Marya was lying in looked west. She lay on the sofa with her face towards the wall, and as she fingered the buttons on a leather cushion she could see nothing but that cushion, and for all her vagueness there was only one thing on her mind. She was thinking about the finality of death and her own vileness of spirit, which she hadn’t known about until now, until it had emerged during her father’s illness. She wanted to pray, but hadn’t the courage to do so; she could not turn to God in her present spiritual state. She lay like this for a very long time.

The sun had gone round to the other side of the house and the slanting rays of evening light filtered in through the open window, casting a glow across part of the morocco cushion Princess Marya was staring at. Suddenly her train of thought was broken. She sat up without knowing what she was doing, smoothed her hair back, got to her feet and walked over to the window, instinctively inhaling the fresh cool air of a fine, if rather breezy, evening.

‘Yes, now you can enjoy a beautiful evening! He’s gone. No one’s going to stop you,’ she said to herself, sinking down on to a chair and resting her head on the window-sill.

A soft and tender voice spoke her name out in the garden and she felt someone kiss her on the head. She looked up. It was Mademoiselle Bourienne dressed in black with tokens of mourning. She had stolen up on Princess Marya, kissed her with a sigh and promptly burst into tears. Princess Marya looked round at her. All their nasty encounters, and her jealousy of the young Frenchwoman, came flooding back into Princess Marya’s mind. She also remembered that he had changed towards Mademoiselle Bourienne in recent days until he could not stand the sight of her, which just went to show how unfair she had been in rebuking her. ‘Yes, and who am I, who am I – the one who wanted him dead – to pass judgement on anyone else?’ she thought.

Princess Marya had a sudden vision of Mademoiselle Bourienne’s predicament, debarred from her company while still dependent on her, and living on among strangers. And she felt sorry for her. She gave her the benefit of a gentle, quizzical gaze and held out her hand. Mademoiselle Bourienne burst into tears again as she took her hand, kissed it, and went on to talk about the princess’s grief, with which she so much wanted to associate herself. She said her only consolation in her grief was that the princess was letting her share it with her. She said that all their former contretemps must pale into insignificance before their overwhelming grief, that she felt a new sense of purity before other people, and that the one above now looked down on her with love and gratitude. The princess listened without taking anything in, though she did glance at her now and then, and her ears were attuned to the sound of her voice.

‘Your position is doubly dreadful, dear Princess,’ said Mademoiselle Bourienne after a short silence. ‘I know you could not think about yourself and you still can’t, but my love is such that I must do it for you . . . Has Alpatych been to see you? Has he talked to you about leaving?’ she asked.

Princess Marya didn’t answer. She could not work out who was moving or where to. ‘How can anyone start doing new things now, or thinking about anything? Nothing makes any difference now, does it?’ she was wondering. She didn’t answer.

‘Dear Marie, you do know, don’t you?’ said Mademoiselle Bourienne, ‘that we’re in danger, we’re surrounded by the French, and it’s dangerous to go anywhere. If we do move we’re almost sure to be taken prisoner, and God knows . . .’

Princess Marya looked at her companion, with not the slightest idea what she was saying.

‘Oh, if only people knew – it makes no difference now,’ she said. ‘Of course, I wouldn’t dream of leaving him . . . Alpatych said something about going away . . . Have a word with him . . . I can’t do anything. I don’t want to . . .’

‘I’ve had a word with him. He’s hoping we may get away tomorrow, but I think we’d be better off staying here,’ said Mademoiselle Bourienne. ‘Because . . . you must agree, dear Marie, that to fall into the hands of soldiers or rioting peasants out on the road would be absolutely awful.’

Mademoiselle Bourienne took a sheet of unusual, non-Russian paper out of her tiny handbag. It was the proclamation by General Rameau telling people not to leave their homes because they would be given full protection by the French commanders. She handed it to the princess.