Book 3 Chapter 3

IN THE DECEMBER of 1805, the old Prince Nikolay Andreitch Bolkonsky received a letter from Prince Vassily, announcing that he intended to visit him with his son. (“I am going on an inspection tour, and of course a hundred versts is only a step out of the way for me to visit you, my deeply-honoured benefactor,” he wrote. “My Anatole is accompanying me on his way to the army, and I hope you will permit him to express to you in person the profound veneration that, following his father's example, he entertains for you.”)

“Well, there's no need to bring Marie out, it seems; suitors come to us of themselves,” the little princess said heedlessly on hearing of this. Prince Nikolay Andreitch scowled and said nothing.

A fortnight after receiving the letter, Prince Vassily's servants arrived one evening in advance of him, and the following day he came himself with his son.

Old Bolkonsky had always had a poor opinion of Prince Vassily's character, and this opinion had grown stronger of late since Prince Vassily had, under the new reigns of Paul and Alexander, advanced to high rank and honours. Now from the letter and the little princess's hints, he saw what the object of the visit was, and his poor opinion of Prince Vassily passed into a feeling of ill-will and contempt in the old prince's heart. He snorted indignantly whenever he spoke of him. On the day of Prince Vassily's arrival, the old prince was particularly discontented and out of humour. Whether he was out of humour because Prince Vassily was coming, or whether he was particularly displeased at Prince Vassily's coming because he was out of humour, no one can say. But he was out of humour, and early in the morning Tihon had dissuaded the architect from going to the prince with his report.

“Listen how he's walking,” said Tihon, calling the attention of the architect to the sound of the prince's footsteps. “Stepping flat on his heels … then we know …”

At nine o'clock, however, the old prince went out for a walk, as usual, wearing his short, velvet, fur-lined cloak with a sable collar and a sable cap. There had been a fall of snow on the previous evening. The path along which Prince Nikolay Andreitch walked to the conservatory had been cleared; there were marks of a broom in the swept snow, and a spade had been left sticking in the crisp bank of snow that bordered the path on both sides. The prince walked through the conservatories, the servants' quarters, and the out-buildings, frowning and silent.

“Could a sledge drive up?” he asked the respectful steward, who was escorting him to the house, with a countenance and manners like his own.

“The snow is deep, your excellency. I gave orders for the avenue to be swept too.”

The prince nodded, and was approaching the steps. “Glory to Thee, O Lord!” thought the steward, “the storm has passed over!”

“It would have been hard to drive up, your excellency,” added the steward. “So I hear, your excellency, there's a minister coming to visit your excellency?” The prince turned to the steward and stared with scowling eyes at him.

“Eh? A minister? What minister? Who gave you orders?” he began in his shrill, cruel voice. “For the princess my daughter, you do not clear the way, but for the minister you do! For me there are no ministers!”

“Your excellency, I supposed …”

“You supposed,” shouted the prince, articulating with greater and greater haste and incoherence. “You supposed … Brigands! blackguards! … I'll teach you to suppose,” and raising his stick he waved it at Alpatitch, and would have hit him, had not the steward instinctively shrunk back and escaped the blow. “You supposed … Blackguards! …” he still cried hurriedly. But although Alpatitch, shocked at his own insolence in dodging the blow, went closer to the prince, with his bald head bent humbly before him, or perhaps just because of this, the prince did not lift the stick again, and still shouting, “Blackguards! … fill up the road …” he ran to his room.

Princess Marya and Mademoiselle Bourienne stood, waiting for the old prince before dinner, well aware that he was out of temper. Mademoiselle Bourienne's beaming countenance seemed to say, “I know nothing about it, I am just the same as usual,” while Princess Marya stood pale and terrified with downcast eyes. What made it harder for Princess Marya was that she knew that she ought to act like Mademoiselle Bourienne at such times, but she could not do it. She felt, “If I behave as if I did not notice it, he'll think I have no sympathy with him. If I behave as if I were depressed and out of humour myself, he'll say (as indeed often happened) that I'm sulky …” and so on.

The prince glanced at his daughter's scared face and snorted.

“Stuff!” or perhaps “stupid!” he muttered. “And the other is not here! they've been telling tales to her already,” he thought, noticing that the little princess was not in the dining-room.

“Where's Princess Liza?” he asked. “In hiding?”

“She's not quite well,” said Mademoiselle Bourienne with a bright smile; “she is not coming down. In her condition it is only to be expected.”

“H'm! h'm! kh! kh!” growled the prince, and he sat down to the table. He thought his plate was not clean: he pointed to a mark on it and threw it away. Tihon caught it and handed it to a footman. The little princess was quite well, but she was in such overwhelming terror of the prince, that on hearing he was in a bad temper, she had decided not to come in.

“I am afraid for my baby,” she said to Mademoiselle Bourienne; “God knows what might not be the result of a fright.”

The little princess, in fact, lived at Bleak Hills in a state of continual terror of the old prince, and had an aversion for him, of which she was herself unconscious, so completely did terror overbear every other feeling. There was the same aversion on the prince's side, too; but in his case it was swallowed up in contempt. As she went on staying at Bleak Hills, the little princess became particularly fond of Mademoiselle Bourienne; she spent her days with her, begged her to sleep in her room, and often talked of her father-in-law, and criticised him to her.

“We have company coming, prince,” said Mademoiselle Bourienne, her rosy fingers unfolding her dinner-napkin. “His excellency Prince Kuragin with his son, as I have heard say?” she said in a tone of inquiry.

“H'm! … his excellence is an upstart. I got him his place in the college,” the old prince said huffily. “And what his son's coming for, I can't make out. Princess Lizaveta Karlovna and Princess Marya can tell us, maybe; I don't know what he's bringing his son here for. I don't want him.” And he looked at his daughter, who turned crimson.

“Unwell, eh? Scared of the minister, as that blockhead Alpatitch called him to-day?”

“Non, mon père.”

Unsuccessful as Mademoiselle Bourienne had been in the subject she had started, she did not desist, but went on prattling away about the conservatories, the beauty of a flower that had just opened, and after the soup the prince subsided.

After dinner he went to see his daughter-in-law. The little princess was sitting at a little table gossiping with Masha, her maid. She turned pale on seeing her father-in-law.

The little princess was greatly changed. She looked ugly rather than pretty now. Her cheeks were sunken, her lip was drawn up, and her eyes were hollow.

“Yes, a sort of heaviness,” she said in answer to the prince's inquiry how she felt.

“Isn't there anything you need?”

“Non, merci, mon père.”

“Oh, very well then, very well.”

He went out and into the waiting-room. Alpatitch was standing there with downcast head.

“Filled up the road again?”

“Yes, your excellency; for God's sake, forgive me, it was simply a blunder.”

The prince cut him short with his unnatural laugh.

“Oh, very well, very well.” He held out his hand, which Alpatitch kissed, and then he went to his study.

In the evening Prince Vassily arrived. He was met on the way by the coachmen and footmen of the Bolkonskys, who with shouts dragged his carriages and sledge to the lodge, over the road, which had been purposely obstructed with snow again.

Prince Vassily and Anatole were conducted to separate apartments.

Taking off his tunic, Anatole sat with his elbows on the table, on a corner of which he fixed his handsome, large eyes with a smiling, unconcerned stare. All his life he had looked upon as an uninterrupted entertainment, which some one or other was, he felt, somehow bound to provide for him. In just the same spirit he had looked at his visit to the cross old gentleman and his rich and hideous daughter. It might all, according to his anticipations, turn out very jolly and amusing. “And why not get married, if she has such a lot of money? That never comes amiss,” thought Anatole.

He shaved and scented himself with the care and elegance that had become habitual with him, and with his characteristic expression of all-conquering good-humour, he walked into his father's room, holding, his head high. Two valets were busily engaged in dressing Prince Vassily; he was looking about him eagerly, and nodded gaily to his son, as he entered with an air that said, “Yes, that's just how I wanted to see you looking.”

“Come, joking apart, father, is she so hideous? Eh?” he asked in French, as though reverting to a subject more than once discussed on the journey.

“Nonsense! The great thing for you is to try and be respectful and sensible with the old prince.”

“If he gets nasty, I'm off,” said Anatole. “I can't stand those old gentlemen. Eh?”

“Remember that for you everything depends on it.”

Meanwhile, in the feminine part of the household not only the arrival of the minister and his son was already known, but the appearance of both had been minutely described. Princess Marya was sitting alone in her room doing her utmost to control her inner emotion.

“Why did they write, why did Liza tell me about it? Why, it cannot be!” she thought, looking at herself in the glass. “How am I to go into the drawing-room? Even if I like him, I could never be myself with him now.” The mere thought of her father's eyes reduced her to terror. The little princess and Mademoiselle Bourienne had already obtained all necessary information from the maid, Masha; they had learned what a handsome fellow the minister's son was, with rosy cheeks and black eye-brows; how his papa had dragged his legs upstairs with difficulty, while he, like a young eagle, had flown up after him three steps at a time. On receiving these items of information, the little princess and Mademoiselle Bourienne, whose eager voices were audible in the corridor, went into Princess Marya's room.

“They are come, Marie, do you know?” said the little princess, waddling in and sinking heavily into an armchair. She was not wearing the gown in which she had been sitting in the morning, but had put on one of her best dresses. Her hair had been carefully arranged, and her face was full of an eager excitement, which did not, however, conceal its wasted and pallid look. In the smart clothes which she had been used to wear in Petersburg in society, the loss of her good looks was even more noticeable. Mademoiselle Bourienne, too, had put some hardly perceptible finishing touches to her costume, which made her fresh, pretty face even more attractive.

“What, and you are staying just as you are, dear princess. They will come in a minute to tell us the gentlemen are in the drawing-room,” she began. “We shall have to go down, and you are doing nothing at all to your dress.”

The little princess got up from her chair, rang for the maid, and hurriedly and eagerly began to arrange what Princess Marya was to wear, and to put her ideas into practice. Princess Marya's sense of personal dignity was wounded by her own agitation at the arrival of her suitor, and still more was she mortified that her two companions should not even conceive that she ought not to be so agitated. To have told them how ashamed she was of herself and of them would have been to betray her own excitement. Besides, to refuse to be dressed up, as they suggested, would have been exposing herself to reiterated raillery and insistence. She flushed; her beautiful eyes grew dim; her face was suffused with patches of crimson; and with the unbeautiful, victimised expression which was the one most often seen on her face, she abandoned herself to Mademoiselle Bourienne and Liza. Both women exerted themselves with perfect sincerity to make her look well. She was so plain that the idea of rivalry with her could never have entered their heads. Consequently it was with perfect sincerity, in the na?ve and unhesitating conviction women have that dress can make a face handsome, that they set to work to attire her.

“No, really, ma bonne amie, that dress isn't pretty,” said Liza, looking sideways at Princess Marya from a distance; “tell her to put on you your maroon velvet there. Yes, really! Why, 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?

一八○五年十二月间，尼古拉·安德烈伊奇·博尔孔斯基老公爵接到瓦西里公爵一封信，通知他，说他将偕同儿子前来造访。“我去各地视察，为晋谒您——晋谒至为尊敬的恩人，我认为走一百俄里路，自然不是走冤枉路，”他写道，“我的阿纳托利陪我同行，他就要入伍了。我希望，您能允许他亲自向您表示深厚的敬意。因为他效法父亲，所以他对您怀有深厚的敬意。”

“用不着把玛丽（即是玛丽亚）送到门外去，求婚的男子亲自会走到我们家里来。”矮小的公爵夫人听到这席话后，冒失地说道。

尼古拉·安德烈伊奇公爵蹙了蹙额角，什么话也没有说。

接到信后过了两个礼拜，一天晚上，瓦西里公爵的仆人先到了，翌日，他本人偕同儿子也到了。

博尔孔斯基老头子总是对瓦西里公爵的性格给予很低的评价，尤其是近来，当瓦西里公爵在保罗和亚历山大两个新朝代当政时期身任要职、光门耀祖之后，就愈加贬低他了。而目下，他从这封信和矮小的公爵夫人的暗示中明白了这是怎么一回事，他就由心灵深处对瓦西里公爵的非议转变为恶意的轻蔑。他谈论他时经常嗤之以鼻。在瓦西里公爵就要来临的那天，尼古拉·安德烈伊奇公爵特别感到不满，心绪也不佳。是否因为瓦西里公爵就要来临，他才心情不佳，还是因为他心绪不佳，所以对瓦西里公爵的来临才特别感到不满，不过，他心绪确乎不佳。吉洪清早就劝告建筑师不要随带报告到公爵跟前去。

“您总听见，他走来走去，”吉洪说道，要建筑师注意听公爵的步履声。“他踮着整个后跟走路，我们就知道……”

但是，公爵像平时一样，八点多钟就穿着一件缝有黑貂皮领的天鹅绒皮袄，戴着一顶黑貂皮帽出去散步。前一天夜里下了一场雪。尼古拉·安德烈伊奇经常走的那条通往暖房的小路打扫得干干净净，在扫开的雪地上可以看见扫帚的痕迹，一把铁锹被插在小路两旁松散的雪堤上。老公爵走到暖房，之后又走到下房和木房，他蹙起额角，沉默不言。

“雪橇可以通行吗？”他向那个送他回家的相貌和风度俨像主人的受人敬爱的管家问道。

“大人，雪很深。我已经吩咐仆人把大马路打扫干净。”

公爵垂下头，走到台阶前。“谢天谢地，”管家想了想，“乌云过去了！”

“大人，通行是有困难的，”管家补充一句话。“大人，听说有一位大臣要来拜看大人，是吗？”

公爵把脸转向管家，用那阴沉的目光盯着他。

“怎么？有一位大臣？啥样的大臣？是谁吩咐的？”他用生硬而刺耳的嗓音说道。“没有给公爵小姐——我的女儿打扫马路，而要给这位大臣打扫马路！我这儿没有什么大臣啊！”

“大人，我以为……”

“你以为！”公爵喊道，他说话越来越急促，前言越来越搭不上后语。“你以为……土匪！骗子！我就来教你以为。”他抡起手杖，要向阿尔帕特奇打去，如果管家不是本能地闪开，他就打过来了。“你以为！……骗子手！”他急忙喊道。阿尔帕特奇竟敢躲避向他打来的一棍，大吃一惊，他向公爵近旁走去，服服帖帖地低下他的秃头，也许正因为这一点，公爵才继续叫喊：“骗子手！……填好这条路！”虽然如此，可是他再也没有抡起他的手杖，向屋里跑去。

午饭前，公爵小姐和布里安小姐都知道公爵的心绪恶劣，于是站在那儿恭候他。布里安小姐容光焕发，喜气洋洋，仿佛在说：“我一如平日，什么事情都不晓得。”玛丽亚公爵小姐面色惨白，心惊胆战，一对眼睛低垂着。玛丽亚公爵小姐觉得最苦恼的是：她知道在这种场合应当像布里安小姐那样处理事情，但是他没法做到。她仿佛觉得，“假若我装出一副不理会的样子，他就会以为我对他缺乏同情心，如果我觉得烦闷，情绪恶劣，他就会说（这是从前常有的情形），我垂头丧气。”其余可从此类推。

公爵望了望女儿惶恐的神态，气冲冲地开口说：

“废料……或者是个傻瓜！……”他说道。

“那一个没有到！她们真的诽谤她了。”他心中想到那个没有到餐厅来的矮小的公爵夫人。

“公爵夫人在哪里？”他问道。“躲起来了吗？……”

“她不太舒服，”布里安小姐面露愉快的微笑，说道，“她不会出来。在她那种情况下，这是可以理解的。”

“呣！呣！呣！呣！”公爵说道，在桌旁坐下。

他觉得盘子不干净，指了指盘子上的污点，把它扔了。吉洪接住盘子，递给小菜间的侍者。矮小的公爵夫人不是身体不舒服，而是她心里害怕公爵已经达到难以克服的地步，她一听见公爵的情绪恶劣，就决定闭门不出。

“我替孩子担心，”她对布里安小姐说道，“惶恐不安，天知道会出什么事。”

一般地说，矮小的公爵夫人住在童山，经常惶恐不安，对老公爵怀有一种她所意识不到的厌恶感，因为恐惧占了上风，所以她没有这种体会。从老公爵而言，他也怀有厌恶感，但是它被蔑视感冲淡了。矮小的公爵夫人在童山住惯了，特别疼爱布里安小姐，和她在一起过日子，请她在自己身边过夜，常常和她谈到老公公，将他评论一番。

“Ilnousarrivedumonde，monprince，”①布思安小姐用她那白里泛红的小手打开白餐巾时，说道，“SonexcellenceleprinceHenKouraguineavecavecsonfils，àcequej'aientenBdudire．”②她带着疑问的语调说。

①法语：公爵，客人要到我们这里来。

②法语：据我所听说的，是库拉金公爵大人偕同他的儿子。

“呣……这个excellence是小孩……我把他安排在委员会里供职，”老公爵带着蒙受屈辱的样子说。“儿子来干啥，我简直弄不明白。丽莎韦塔·卡尔洛夫娜（即是矮小的公爵夫人）和玛丽亚公爵小姐也许知道。我不知道他干嘛把儿子带到这里来。我用不着。”他望了望满面通红的女儿。

“你不舒服，是不是？就像今日阿尔帕特奇这个笨蛋所说的，你给大臣吓坏了。”

“不是的，monpère．”①

不管布里安小姐的话题怎样不妥当，但她并没有停住，还是喋喋不休地谈论暖房，谈论刚刚绽开的一朵鲜花的优美，公爵喝过汤之后，变得温和了。

午饭后，他去儿媳妇那儿走走。矮小的公爵夫人坐在小茶几旁和侍女玛莎絮絮叨叨地谈话。她看见老公公后，脸色变得苍白了。

矮小的公爵夫人变得很厉害了。现在与其说她好看，莫如说她丑陋。她两颊松垂，嘴唇翘起，眼皮耷拉着。

“是的，真难受。”公爵问她有什么感觉，她这样回答。

“需要什么吗？”

“merci，monpère，②不需要什么。”

①法语：爸爸。

②法语：爸爸，谢谢你。

“嗯，好，好。”

他走出来，走到堂倌休息室。阿尔帕特奇低下头来，在堂倌休息室里站着。

“把马路填好了吗？”

“大人，填好了。看在上帝份上，请原谅我这个糊涂人。”

公爵打断他的话，不自然地大笑起来。

“嗯，好，好。”

他伸出手来，阿尔帕特奇吻吻他的手，之后他走进了书斋。

傍晚，瓦西里公爵到了。车夫和堂倌们在大道上（大路被称为大道）迎接他。他们在故意撒上雪花的路上大喊大叫地把他的马车和雪橇拉到耳房前面。

他们拨给瓦西里公爵和阿纳托利两个单独的房间。

阿纳托利脱下无袖上衣，双手叉腰坐在桌前，面露微笑，瞪着他那双好看的大眼睛，目不转睛地心不在焉地凝视着桌子的一角。他把他的一辈子视为某人不知为什么应该给他安排的无休无止的纵情作乐。他也是这样看待他对这个凶狠的老头子和很有钱的丑陋的女继承人的走访的。照他的推测，这一切都会导致顺利的极为有趣的结局。“既然她很富有，干嘛不娶她为妻？这决不会造成障碍。”阿纳托利想道。

他刮了脸，照老习惯细心而讲究地给自己身上洒香水，带着他那生来如此的和善和洋洋自得的神态，高高地昂着漂亮的头，走进父亲的住房。两个老仆人给瓦西里公爵穿衣裳，在他身旁忙碌地干活。他兴致勃勃地向四周环顾，向走进来的儿子愉快地点点头，仿佛在说：“是的，我所需要的正是你这副样子！”

“爸爸，不，真的，她很丑陋吗？啊？”他用法国话问道，好像继续在谈旅行时不止一次地谈过的话题。

“够了，甭再说蠢话！主要的是，对老公爵要极力表示尊敬，言行要慎重。”

“如果他开口骂人，我就走开，”阿纳托利说道。“这些老头子我不能容忍。啊？”

“你要记住，对你来说，一切以此为转移。”

这时，女仆居住的房里不仅获悉大臣偕同儿子光临的消息，而且对他们二人的外貌描述得详详细细。公爵小姐玛丽亚一人坐在自己房里，枉然地试图克制自己内心的激动。

“他们干嘛要写信，丽莎干嘛要对我谈到这件事呢？要知道这是不可能的！”她一面照镜子，一面自言自语地说。“我怎么走到客厅里去呢？如果我真的喜欢他，我此刻也不能独个儿和他在一块啦。”一想到父亲的目光，就使她胆寒。

矮小的公爵夫人和布里安小姐从侍女玛莎那里接获各种有用的情报，谈到某个面颊绯红、眉毛乌黑的美男子就是大臣的儿子，他父亲拖着两腿费劲地登上阶梯，而他竟像一只苍鹰，一举步就登上三级梯子，跟在他身后走去，矮小的公爵夫人和布里安小姐从走廊里就听见他们兴致勃勃的谈话声，获得这些情报后，就走进公爵小姐的房间。

“Ilssontarrivés，Marie，①您知道吗？”矮小的公爵夫人说道，她步履维艰，摇晃着她那大肚子，身子沉甸甸地坐到安乐椅上。

①法语：玛丽，他们到了。

她已经不穿早晨穿过的那件短上衣了，而是穿着一件挺好的连衣裙。她的头部经过细心梳理，神采奕奕，但仍旧遮掩不住邋遢的毫无生气的外貌。从她穿的这件在彼得堡交际场中常穿的服装来看，更显得难看多了。布里安小姐身上的服装也不易觉察地改观了，使她那美丽而鲜嫩的脸蛋平添上几分魅力。

“Ehbien，etvousrestezcommevousètes，chère

privncesse？”她说，“Onvavenivannoncer，quecesmessieurssontausalon，ilfaudradescendre，etvousnefaitespasunpetitbrindétoilette！①”

矮小的公爵夫人从安乐椅上站立起来，按铃呼唤侍女，急忙而又愉快地给公爵小姐玛丽亚的衣着出点子，并且着手给她穿衣服。公爵小姐玛丽亚觉得受委屈，有损她的自尊心，那个许配给她的未婚夫的来临，弄得她心情激动，使她更受委屈的是，她的两个女友预测这件事只能这样办，如果告诉她们说她为自己也为她们而感到羞愧的话，那就是说暴露了她自己的激动心情，如果拒绝她们给她穿着，势必会导致长时间的取笑和聒絮。她面红耳赤，一对美丽的眼睛变得无神了，脸上尽是红斑，她带着她脸上时常流露的牺牲者的难看的表情，受制于布里安小姐和丽莎。这两个女人十分真诚地想使她变得漂亮。她长得非常丑陋，她们之中谁也不会产生和她争妍斗艳的念头，因此她们是出自一片诚心，而且怀有女人们那种天真而坚定的信念，认为衣着可以使面容变得美丽，于是她们就着手给她穿上衣服。

“Malonneamie②，说实话，不行，这件连衣裙不美观，”丽莎说道，她从侧面远远地望着公爵小姐，“你那里有一件紫红色的连衣裙，吩咐人拿来！好吧，要知道，也许这就能决定一生的命运。可是这件连衣裙颜色太浅，不美观，不行，不美观！”

①法语：欸，您怎么还是穿着以前穿的那件衣服？马上就有人来说话，他们走出来了。得到楼下去，您略微打扮一下也好啊。

②法语：我的朋友。

不是连衣裙不美观，而是公爵小姐的脸盘和身材不美观，可是布里安小姐和矮小的公爵夫人没有觉察到这点。她们总是觉得，如果把一条天蓝色的绸带系在向上梳的头发上，并从棕色的连衣裙上披下一条天蓝色的围巾，等等，一切就会显得美观了。她们忘记，她那副惊恐的面孔和身体是无法改变的。所以，无论她们怎样改变外表并且加以修饰，但是她的面孔仍然显得难看，很不美观。公爵小姐玛丽亚温顺地听从她们三番两次地给她调换服装，然后把头发往上梳平（这个发式完全会改变并且影响她的脸型），披上一条天蓝色的围巾，穿上华丽的紫红色的连衣裙，这时矮小的公爵夫人在她周围绕了两圈左右，用一只小手弄平连衣裙上的皱褶，轻轻拽一拽围巾，时而从那边，时而从这边侧着头看看。

“不，还是不行的，”她两手举起轻轻一拍，坚决地说。

“Non，Marie，décidémentcanevousvapas．Jevousaimemieuxdansvotrepetiterobegrvisedetouslesjours．Non，degrace，faitescelapourmoi。①卡佳，”她对侍女说。“你给公爵小姐把那件浅灰色的连衣裙拿来，布里安小姐，您再看看我怎么安排这件事吧。”她带着一个演员预感到欢乐而流露的微笑，说道。

①法语：玛丽，不行，这件您穿来根本不合适。您穿您每日穿的那件浅灰色的连衣裙，我就更喜欢您了。请您为了我就这么办吧。

可是当卡佳把那件需要的连衣裙拿来的时候，公爵小姐玛丽亚还是一动不动地坐在镜台前面，端详着自己的脸蛋，卡佳从镜中望见，她的眼睛里噙满着泪水，她的嘴巴颤栗着，快要嚎啕大哭了。

“Voyons，chèreprincesse，”布里安小姐说道。“encoreunpetiteffort．”①

矮小的公爵夫人从侍女手中取来连衣裙，向公爵小姐玛丽亚面前走去。

“那样不行，现在我们要打扮得既简朴又好看。”她说道。

她的嗓音、布里安小姐的嗓音、还有那个因某事而发笑的卡佳的嗓音，汇合成类似鸟鸣的欢乐的呢喃声。

“Non，laissez－moi．”②公爵小姐说。

她的嗓音听来如此严肃、令人难受，飞鸟的呢喃声顿时停止了。她们望了望她那对美丽的大眼睛，眼睛噙满着泪水，深思熟虑地，炯炯有神地、恳求地望着她们，她们心里明白，继续坚持非但无益，反而残忍。

“Aumoinschangezdecoiffure．”矮小的公爵夫人说道，“Jeuousdissais，”她把脸转向布里安小姐，带着责备的腔调说，“Marieaunedecesfigures，auxquellesgenredecoffurenevapasdutout，Maisdutout，dutout．Changezdegrace．”③Laissez－moi，laissez－moi，toutcam'estparfaitementégal．”④可以听见勉强忍住眼泪的人回答的声音。

①法语：唉，公爵小姐，再克制一下自己吧。

②法语：不，请别管我好了。

③法语：“至少要改变发式。我对您说过。”“这种发式根本不适合玛丽这一类人的脸型。请您改变发式吧。”

④法语：别管我吧，我横竖一样。

布里安小姐和矮小的公爵夫人应当自己承认，公爵小姐玛丽亚这副样子很难看，较之平日更丑陋，可是已经太晚了。她脸上带有她们所熟悉的那种独立思考而又悲伤的表情不停地注视她们。这种表情并没有使她们产生对公爵玛丽亚小姐的畏惧心理。（她没有使任何人产生这种感觉。）但是她们知道，一当她脸上带有这种神态，她就会沉默不言，她一下定决心，就毫不动摇。

“Vouschangerez，n'est－cePas？”①丽莎说道，当玛丽亚公爵小姐一言未答的时候，丽莎从房里走出来了。

①法语：您准会换个发式的，是不是？

公爵小姐玛丽亚独自一人留下来了。她没有履行丽莎的意愿，不仅没有改变发式，而且没有对着镜子瞧瞧自己。她软弱无力地垂下眼帘和胳膊，默不作声地坐着，暗自思量着。她脑海中想象到一个丈夫，一个强而有力的男人，一个居于高位、具有不可思议的魅力的人士，他忽然把她带进一个完全不同的幸福的世界。她脑海中想象到她怀有一个自己的孩子，就是她昨日在乳妈的女儿那里看见的那个模样的孩子。丈夫在面前站着，温柔地望着她和孩子。“可是我想得不对，这是不可能的，我的相貌太丑了。”她心中想道。

“请您去饮茶。公爵马上要出来会客。”从门后可以听见侍女的说话声。

她清醒了，她对自己想到的事情大吃一惊。在下楼之前，她站立起来，走进供神像的礼拜室，她把视线集中在长明灯照耀的大型神像的黑脸膛上，把双手交叉起来，在神像面前站立几分钟。公爵小姐玛丽亚心头充满着痛楚的疑虑。她是否能够享受爱情的欢乐，人世间爱慕男人的欢乐？玛丽亚公爵小姐在产生结婚的念头之际，她心中所想望的是家庭的幸福和儿女，但是主要的至为强烈的宿愿，那就是人世间的爱情。她越是对旁人，甚至对她自己隐瞒感情，这种感情就越发强烈。“我的天啦，”她说道，“我怎么能够抑制我内心的这些魔鬼一般可怕的念头？我怎么能够永远抛弃这种坏主意？俾使我能心平气和地实现你的意愿？”她刚刚提出这个问题，上帝就在她心中作出了答复：“别为自己希图任何东西，用不着探求，用不着激动，更不宜嫉妒。对你来说，人们的未来和你的命运都不是应当知道的，为了不惜付出一切，你就得这样话下去。如果上帝要考验你对婚姻的责任心，你就得乐意去履行他的旨意。”公爵小姐玛丽亚怀有这种安于现状的思想（但仍旧指望她能够实现她得到已被封禁的尘世爱情的宿愿），她叹了一口气，在胸前画了十字，就走下楼去。她既不考虑连衣裙，也不考虑发式，更不考虑她怎样走进门去，说些什么话。因为没有上帝的旨意，就连一根毛发也不会从人的头上掉下来，这一切比起上帝的预先裁定，究竟能够意味着什么呢。