Had Princess Marya been capable of reflection at that moment, she would have been more amazed than Mademoiselle Bourienne at the change that had come over her. The moment she set eyes on that dear, sweet face a new kind of vitality seemed to take possession of her, removing her conscious will and telling her what to say and do. From the time Rostov entered the room her face was transformed. It was like a new light in a carved and painted lantern, suddenly bringing out in breathtaking beauty all the detailed work on its panels that until then had looked rough, dark and devoid of all meaning. This was the kind of transformation that had come over Princess Marya’s face. For the first time in her life all the pure, inner spirituality that she had worked so hard to achieve was revealed for all to see. All her hard-won spirituality and self-criticism, suffering, striving for goodness, humility, love and capacity for self-sacrifice flowed from her now in the glow of her radiant eyes, her gentle smile and every feature of her tender face.
None of this was lost on Nikolay Rostov; it was as if he had known her all her life. Here before him was a creature totally different from anyone he had ever met before, and better than anyone, someone much better than himself, and this mattered most of all.
The conversation was quite inconsequential. They talked about the war, automatically exaggerating, like everybody else, how sad they were about it, they recalled their last meeting, though this made Nikolay anxious to change the subject, and they spoke of the governor’s nice wife, and their two families.
Princess Marya said nothing about her brother; it was her turn to change the subject whenever her aunt mentioned Prince Andrey. Clearly, she could speak out and put on a show of being worried about Russia’s troubles, but her brother was a subject too close to her heart, and she was neither willing nor able to mouth pleasantries about him. Nikolay noticed this, as indeed he noticed, with newly developed powers of observation, every nuance of Princess Marya’s character, all of them adding to his certainty that she was someone special and altogether original.
Nikolay had been just like Princess Marya, blushing with embarrassment when he heard her name mentioned or even thought about her, but now he was with her he felt perfectly at ease; completely forgetting all his carefully prepared phrases, he felt able to blurt out the first thing that came into his head, and it was always the right thing to have said.
Nikolay did not stay long. During a pause in the conversation he did what people always do when there are children about: he turned to Prince Andrey’s little son. Giving him a cuddle, he asked whether he wanted to grow up to be a soldier. He picked the little boy up and whirled him round joyously, sneaking a glance at Princess Marya. Her gentle, happy, unassuming eyes were watching the child she loved in the arms of the man she loved. Her special look, and its meaning, were apparently not lost on Nikolay; he flushed with pleasure, and delightedly smothered the child with affectionate kisses.
Because she was still in mourning Princess Marya was not going out into society, and it did not seem right for Nikolay to call on them again, but the governor’s wife was determined to go on with her matchmaking. She kept on telling Nikolay all the nice things Princess Marya had said about him, and vice versa, and she tried to persuade Rostov to declare himself to Princess Marya. With this in mind, she arranged for the young people to come together at the bishop’s house before morning service.
Rostov made it clear to the governor’s wife that he was not going to make a declaration of any kind to Princess Marya, but he did promise to be there.
He felt as if he was back at Tilsit. On that occasion Rostov had not allowed himself to doubt whether what everybody else accepted as right really was right, and now, after a brief but genuine struggle between his efforts to think out his life in terms of pure reason and meekly giving in to circumstances, he went for the latter, handing himself over to a power that seemed to be inexorably sweeping him along. He knew that after his promise to Sonya any declaration of his feelings to Princess Marya could only be described as dishonourable. And he knew he would never do anything dishonourable. But he also knew (though it wasn’t a question of knowing, more a feeling at the bottom of his heart), that by surrendering to circumstances and to the people who were now guiding him, he was not doing anything wrong, he was just doing something very, very serious, more serious than anything he had ever done before.
