Emma Watson Pussy
Books:
Anna Karenina
War And Peace
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gave a wrong answer.
"Well now, isnt she a fool!" shouted the prince, pushing the book
aside and turning sharply away; but rising immediately, he paced up
and down, lightly touched his daughters hair and sat down again.
He drew up his chair, and continued to explain.
"This wont do, Princess; it wont do," said he, when Princess Mary,
having taken and closed the exercise book with the next days
lesson, was about to leave: "Mathematics are most important, madam!
I dont want to have you like our silly ladies. Get used to it and
youll 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 dont interfere with anyones 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.
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, the princess eyes--large, 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 eyes--the 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
War And Peace page 50 War And Peace page 52
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