The Complete Works of Count Tolstoy/Childhood/Chapter 17
XVII.
Princess Kornákov
"Ask her in," said grandmother, seating herself deeper in the chair.
The princess was a woman about forty-five years of age, small of stature, sickly, lean, and bilious, with grayish green, disagreeable little eyes, the expression of which clearly contradicted the unnaturally sweet curves of her mouth. Underneath a velvet hat with an ostrich feather could be seen her bright red hair; her eyebrows and eyelashes appeared even brighter and redder on the sickly colour of her face. In spite of all this, she gave a general impression of generosity and energy, thanks to her unaffected movements, her tiny hands, and the peculiar leanness of all her features.
The princess talked a great deal, and by reason of her talkativeness belonged to that class of people who are always speaking as though some one were contradicting them, although not a word is said. She now raised her voice, now gradually lowered it in order to burst forth with new vivacity, and glanced at her silent listeners, as if trying to strengthen herself by that glance.
Though the princess had kissed grandmother's hand, and continually called her ma bonne tante, I noticed that grandmother was not satisfied with her; she raised her brows in a peculiar manner, as she listened to the reason why Prince Mikháylo was absolutely unable to come to congratulate grandmother, though he wished very much to do so, and, answering in Russian to the French speech of the princess, she said, dwelling with emphasis on her words:
"I thank you very much, my dear, for your attention, but as to Prince Mikháylo not being able to come, what is the use mentioning it? He has always a great deal to do. And what pleasure could it be for him to sit down with an old woman?"
And, not giving the princess a chance to contradict her words, she continued:
"Tell me, how are your children, my dear?"
"The Lord be praised, ma tante, they are growing, studying, and having a good time — especially Etienne, the eldest, is getting to be so mischievous that there is no getting on with him; but he is bright, un garçon qui promet. Just imagine, mon cousin," she continued, turning exclusively to papa, because grandmother, who was not in the least interested in the children of the princess, but wanted to praise her own grandchildren, carefully took my poem from under the box, and began to unfold the paper: "Just imagine, mon cousin, what he did a few days ago — "
The princess leaned over to papa, and began to tell him something with great animation. Having finished her story, which I did not hear, she burst out laughing and, looking interrogatively at papa, said:
"What do you think of that boy, mon cousin? He deserved a whipping; but that trick of his was so bright and amusing, that I forgave him, mon cousin."
And the princess fixed her eyes upon grandmother, and continued to smile, without saying anything.
"Do you beat your children, my dear?" asked grandmother, significantly raising her eyebrows, and emphasizing the word beat.
"Oh, ma bonne tante," answered the princess in a kind voice, casting a rapid glance upon papa, "I know your opinion in regard to this matter, but permit me to disagree with you in this only: however much I have thought, or read, or consulted about the question, my experience has brought me to the conviction that it is necessary to act upon children through fear. To make anything of a child, you need fear — am I not right, mon cousin? And what is it, je vous demande un peu, children fear more than the rod?"
Saying this, she looked interrogatively at us, and, I must confess, I felt very ill at ease during that moment.
"Say what you may, a boy up to twelve and even fourteen years of age is a child. With girls it is a different matter."
"Yes, that is very nice, my dear," said grandmother, folding my poem and replacing it under the box, as if she did not regard the princess, after these words, worthy of hearing such a production. "That is very nice, only, please, tell me, what refined feelings can you after that expect of your children?"
And, regarding this argument as incontrovertible, grandmother added, in order to break off the conversation:
"However, everybody has his own opinion upon that matter."
The princess did not answer, and only smiled condescendingly, wishing thus to say that she forgave this queer prejudice in a person whom she respected so much.
"Ah, introduce me to your young people," said she, looking at us and smiling politely.
We rose, and, fixing our eyes upon the face of the princess, did not know in the least what to do in order to prove that we had become acquainted.
"Kiss the hand of the princess," said papa.
"I ask you to love your old aunt," said she, kissing Volódya's hair. "Though I am but distantly related to you, I count not by degrees of relationship, but by ties of friendship," she added, speaking more especially to grandmother, but grandmother was still dissatisfied with her, and said:
"Ah, my dear, do we nowadays count such relationship?"
"This one will be a worldly young man," said papa, pointing to Volódya, "and this one a poet," he added, while I was kissing the small dry hand of the princess, and with extraordinary distinctness imagined a switch in that hand, and under the switch a bench, and so forth.
"Which one?" asked the princess, keeping hold of my hand.
"This one, the little fellow with the locks," answered papa, smiling merrily.
"What have my locks done to him? Has he nothing else to talk about?" thought I, and went into the corner.
I had the oddest conceptions of beauty, — I even regarded Karl Ivánovich as the first beau in the world; but I knew full well that I was not good-looking, and in this opinion was not mistaken. Therefore, every reference to my looks was offensive to me.
I remember very well how once at dinner, — I was then six years old, — they were speaking of my exterior, and mamma was trying to find something comely in my face. She said that I had bright eyes and a pleasant smile, and, finally, yielding to father's proofs and to evidence, was compelled to admit that I was homely. Later, when I thanked her for the dinner, she patted my cheek, and said:
"Know this much, Nikólenka, no one will love you for your face, so you must try and be a good and clever boy."
These words not only convinced me that I was not handsome, but also that I must try by all means to be a good and clever boy.
In spite of this, moments of despair frequently came over me. I imagined that there was no happiness in the world for a man with such a broad nose, fat lips, and small gray eyes, as mine were. I asked God to do a miracle, and to change me into a handsome boy, and everything I then had, and everything I should ever have in the future, I would gladly have given for a pretty face.