When Suitors Come Calling — War and Peace

In November 1805 old Prince Nicholas Bolkónski receives Prince Vasíli's letter: an inspection tour, an extra seventy miles to see his honoured benefactor, and Anatole coming on the way to the army to pay respects. The little princess blurts that there will be no need to bring Mary out, suitors are coming of their own accord. The old prince frowns. He has long thought little of Vasíli, less since the new reigns raised him, and the hints turn that opinion into contemptuous ill will. On the day of arrival he is especially out of temper. Tíkhon warns the architect off by the flat-heeled walk. On the swept path to the hothouse Alpátych mentions a minister coming; the prince shrills that the road is not swept for the princess his daughter but for a minister, swings his stick at the overseer, and orders the snow thrown back.

Before dinner Princess Mary waits pale beside Mademoiselle Bourienne's radiant pretence of noticing nothing. He mutters "Fool... or dummy!", finds Lise hiding from his humour out of fear for the baby, and flings away a plate that seems spotted. After soup he grows more genial, looks in on the little princess (now plain, cheeks sunk), and lets Alpátych kiss his hand once the snow is restored. Vasíli arrives that evening over a road purposely laden with snow. Anatole sits with arms akimbo, regarding life as amusement someone else must provide, and thinks marrying a rich, ugly heiress never does any harm. He asks if she is very hideous; his father tells him to be respectful, for everything depends on this.

In Mary's room the agitation wounds her self-esteem. Másha has already reported the son's rosy cheeks and eagle stride. Lise and Bourienne, neither regarding her as a rival, dress her with sincere conviction that ribbons can make a face pretty. Maroon, blue scarf, hair piled up: Lise walks round her and decides it will not do. Mary sees tears in the glass and, in a voice that silences their birdlike chatter, tells them to leave her alone. She will not even change the coiffure. Alone, she imagines a husband, a child at her breast, then rejects it: she is too ugly. Called to tea, she stands before the lamp-lit icon of the Saviour and asks how to stifle earthly longing. The answer that comes is to desire nothing and be ready for anything, even the duties of marriage if that is God's will. With that consolation, and still a hidden hope, she crosses herself and goes down, thinking neither of gown nor of what she will say.