Emma Watson Pussy
Books:
Anna Karenina
War And Peace
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lacked the power to do so but because he
understood something else--something the living did not and could
not understand--and which wholly occupied his mind.
"There, you see how strangely fate has brought us together," said
he, breaking the silence and pointing to Natasha. "She looks after
me all the time."
Princess Mary heard him and did not understand how he could say such
a thing. He, the sensitive, tender Prince Andrew, how could he say
that, before her whom he loved and who loved him? Had he expected to
live he could not have said those words in that offensively cold tone.
If he had not known that he was dying, how could he have failed to
pity her and how could he speak like that in her presence? The only
explanation was that he was indifferent, because something else,
much more important, had been revealed to him.
The conversation was cold and disconnected and continually broke
off.
"Mary came by way of Ryazan," said Natasha.
Prince Andrew did not notice that she called his sister Mary, and
only after calling her so in his presence did Natasha notice it
herself.
"Really?" he asked.
"They told her that all Moscow has been burned down, and that..."
Natasha stopped. It was impossible to talk. It was plain that he was
making an effort to listen, but could not do so.
"Yes, they say its burned," he said. "Its a great pity," and he
gazed straight before him, absently stroking his mustache with his
fingers.
"And so you have met Count Nicholas, Mary?" Prince Andrew suddenly
said, evidently wishing to speak pleasantly to them. "He wrote here
that he took a great liking to you," he went on simply and calmly,
evidently unable to understand all the complex significance his
words had for living people. "If you liked him too, it would be a good
thing for you to get married," he added rather more quickly, as if
pleased at having found words he had long been seeking.
Princess Mary heard his words but they had no meaning for her,
except as a proof of how far away he now was from everything living.
"Why talk of me?" she said quietly and glanced at Natasha.
Natasha, who felt her glance, did not look at her. All three were
again silent.
"Andrew, would you like..." Princess Mary suddenly said in a
trembling voice, "would you like to see little Nicholas? He is
always talking about you!"
Prince Andrew smiled just perceptibly and for the first time, but
Princess Mary, who knew his face so well, saw with horror that he
did not smile with pleasure or affection for his son, but with
quiet, gentle irony because he thought she was trying what she
believed to be the last means of arousing him.
"Yes, I shall be very glad to see him. Is he quite well?"
When little Nicholas was brought into Prince Andrews room he looked
at his father with frightened eyes, but did not cry, because no one
else was crying. Prince Andrew kissed him and evidently did not know
what to say to him.
When Nicholas had been led away, Princess Mary again went up to
her brother, kissed him, and unable to restrain her tears any longer
began to cry.
He looked at her attentively.
"Is it about Nicholas?" he asked.
Princess Mary nodded her head, weeping.
"Mary, you know the Gosp..." but he broke off.
"What did you say?"
"Nothing. You mustnt cry here," he said, looking at her with the
same cold expression.
When Princess Mary began to cry, he understood that she was crying
at the thought that little Nicholas would be left without a father.
With a great effort he tried to return to life and to see things
from their point of view.
"Yes, to them it must seem sad!" he thought. "But how simple it is.
"The fowls of the air sow not, neither do they reap, yet your Father
feedeth them," he said to himself and wished to say to Princess
Mary; "but no, they will take it their own way, they wont understand!
They cant understand that all those feelings they prize so--all our
feelings, all those ideas that seem so important to us, are
unnecessary. We cannot understand one another," and he remained
silent.
Prince Andrews little son was seven. He could scarcely read, and
knew nothing. After that day he lived through many things, gaining
knowledge, observation, and experience, but had he possessed all the
faculties he afterwards acquired, he could not have had a better or
more profound understanding of the meaning of the scene he
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