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Prince Vasili was not a man who deliberately thought out his
plans. Still less did he think of injuring anyone for his own
advantage. He was merely a man of the world who had got on and
to whom getting on had become a habit. Schemes and devices for
which he never rightly accounted to himself, but which formed
the whole interest of his life, were constantly shaping themselves
in his mind, arising from the circumstances and persons he met.
Of these plans he had not merely one or two in his head but dozens,
some only beginning to form themselves, some approaching achievement,
and some in course of disintegration. He did not, for instance,
say to himself: "This man now has influence, I must gain
his confidence and friendship and through him obtain a special
grant." Nor did he say to himself: "Pierre is a rich
man, I must entice him to marry my daughter and lend me the forty
thousand rubles I need." But when he came across came across
a man of position his instinct immediately told him that this
man could be useful, and without any premeditation Prince Vasili
took the first opportunity to gain his confidence, flatter him,
become intimate with him, and finally make his request.
He had Pierre at hand in Moscow and procured for him an appointment
as Gentleman of the Bedchamber, which at that time conferred the
status of Councilor of State, and insisted on the young man accompanying
him to Petersburg and staying at his house. With apparent absent-mindedness,
yet with unhesitating assurance that he was doing the right thing,
Prince Vasili did everything to get Pierre to marry his daughter.
Had he thought out his plans beforehand he could not have been
so natural and shown such unaffected familiarity in intercourse
with everybody both above and below him in social standing. Something
always drew him toward those richer and more powerful than himself
and he had rare skill in seizing the most opportune moment for
making use of people.
Pierre, on unexpectedly becoming Count Bezukhov and a rich
man, felt himself after his recent loneliness and freedom from
cares so beset and preoccupied that only in bed was he able to
be by himself. He had to sign papers, to present himself at government
offices, the purpose of which was not clear to him, to question
his chief steward, to visit his estate near Moscow, and to receive
many people who formerly did not even wish to know of his existence
but would now have been offended and grieved had he chosen not
to see them. These different people- businessmen, relations, and
acquaintances alike- were all disposed to treat the young heir
in the most friendly and flattering manner: they were all evidently
firmly convinced of Pierre's noble qualities. He was always hearing
such words as: "With your remarkable kindness," or,
"With your excellent heart," "You are yourself
so honorable Count," or, "Were he as clever as you,"
and so on, till he began sincerely to believe in his own exceptional
kindness and extraordinary intelligence, the more so as in the
depth of his heart it had always seemed to him that he really
was very kind and intelligent. Even people who had formerly been
spiteful toward him and evidently unfriendly now became gentle
and affectionate. The angry eldest princess, with the long waist
and hair plastered down like a doll's, had come into Pierre's
room after the funeral. With drooping eyes and frequent blushes
she told him she was very sorry about their past misunderstandings
and did not now feel she had a right to ask him for anything,
except only for permission, after the blow she had received, to
remain for a few weeks longer in the house she so loved and where
she had sacrificed so much. She could not refrain from weeping
at these words. Touched that this statuesque princess could so
change, Pierre took her hand and begged her forgiveness, without
knowing what for. From that day the eldest princess quite changed
toward Pierre and began knitting a striped scarf for him.
"Do this for my sake, mon cher; after all, she had to
put up with a great deal from the deceased," said Prince
Vasili to him, handing him a deed to sign for the princess' benefit.
Prince Vasili had come to the conclusion that it was necessary
to throw this bone- a bill for thirty thousand rubles- to the
poor princess that it might not occur to her to speak of his share
in the affair of the inlaid portfolio. Pierre signed the deed
and after that the princess grew still kinder. The younger sisters
also became affectionate to him, especially the youngest, the
pretty one with the mole, who often made him feel confused by
her smiles and her own confusion when meeting him.
It seemed so natural to Pierre that everyone should like him,
and it would have seemed so unnatural had anyone disliked him,
that he could not but believe in the sincerity of those around
him. Besides, he had no time to ask himself whether these people
were sincere or not. He was always busy and always felt in a state
of mild and cheerful intoxication. He felt as though he were the
center of some important and general movement; that something
was constantly expected of him, that if he did not do it he would
grieve and disappoint many people, but if he did this and that,
all would be well; and he did what was demanded of him, but still
that happy result always remained in the future.
More than anyone else, Prince Vasili took possession of Pierre's
affairs and of Pierre himself in those early days. From the death
of Count Bezukhov he did not let go his hold of the lad. He had
the air of a man oppressed by business, weary and suffering, who
yet would not, for pity's sake, leave this helpless youth who,
after all, was the son of his old friend and the possessor of
such enormous wealth, to the caprice of fate and the designs of
rogues. During the few days he spent in Moscow after the death
of Count Bezukhov, he would call Pierre, or go to him himself,
and tell him what ought to be done in a tone of weariness and
assurance, as if he were adding every time: "You know I am
overwhelmed with business and it is purely out of charity that
I trouble myself about you, and you also know quite well that
what I propose is the only thing possible."
"Well, my dear fellow, tomorrow we are off at last,"
said Prince Vasili one day, closing his eyes and fingering Pierre's
elbow, speaking as if he were saying something which had long
since been agreed upon and could not now be altered. "We
start tomorrow and I'm giving you a place in my carriage. I am
very glad. All our important business here is now settled, and
I ought to have been off long ago. Here is something I have received
from the chancellor. I asked him for you, and you have been entered
in the diplomatic corps and made a Gentleman of the Bedchamber.
The diplomatic career now lies open before you."
Notwithstanding the tone of wearied assurance with which these
words were pronounced, Pierre, who had so long been considering
his career, wished to make some suggestion. But Prince Vasili
interrupted him in the special deep cooing tone, precluding the
possibility of interrupting his speech, which he used in extreme
cases when special persuasion was needed.
"Mais, mon cher, I did this for my own sake, to satisfy
my conscience, and there is nothing to thank me for. No one has
ever complained yet of being too much loved; and besides, you
are free, you could throw it up tomorrow. But you will see everything
for yourself when you get to Petersburg. It is high time for you
to get away from these terrible recollections." Prince Vasili
sighed. "Yes, yes, my boy. And my valet can go in your carriage.
Ah! I was nearly forgetting," he added. "You know, mon
cher, your father and I had some accounts to settle, so I have
received what was due from the Ryazan estate and will keep it;
you won't require it. We'll go into the accounts later."
By "what was due from the Ryazan estate" Prince
Vasili meant several thousand rubles quitrent received from Pierre's
peasants, which the prince had retained for himself.
In Petersburg, as in Moscow, Pierre found the same atmosphere
of gentleness and affection. He could not refuse the post, or
rather the rank (for he did nothing), that Prince Vasili had procured
for him, and acquaintances, invitations, and social occupations
were so numerous that, even more than in Moscow, he felt a sense
of bewilderment, bustle, and continual expectation of some good,
always in front of him but never attained.
Of his former bachelor acquaintances many were no longer in
Petersburg. The Guards had gone to the front; Dolokhov had been
reduced to the ranks; Anatole was in the army somewhere in the
provinces; Prince Andrew was abroad; so Pierre had not the opportunity
to spend his nights as he used to like to spend them, or to open
his mind by intimate talks with a friend older than himself and
whom he respected. His whole time was taken up with dinners and
balls and was spent chiefly at Prince Vasili's house in the company
of the stout princess, his wife, and his beautiful daughter Helene.
Like the others, Anna Pavlovna Scherer showed Pierre the change
of attitude toward him that had taken place in society.
Formerly in Anna Pavlovna's presence, Pierre had always felt
that what he was saying was out of place, tactless and unsuitable,
that remarks which seemed to him clever while they formed in his
mind became foolish as soon as he uttered them, while on the contrary
Hippolyte's stupidest remarks came out clever and apt. Now everything
Pierre said was charmant. Even if Anna Pavlovna did not say so,
he could see that she wished to and only refrained out of regard
for his modesty.
In the beginning of the winter of 1805-6 Pierre received one
of Anna Pavlovna's usual pink notes with an invitation to which
was added: "You will find the beautiful Helene here, whom
it is always delightful to see."
When he read that sentence, Pierre felt for the first time
that some link which other people recognized had grown up between
himself and Helene, and that thought both alarmed him, as if some
obligation were being imposed on him which he could not fulfill,
and pleased him as an entertaining supposition.
Anna Pavlovna's "At Home" was like the former one,
only the novelty she offered her guests this time was not Mortemart,
but a diplomatist fresh from Berlin with the very latest details
of the Emperor Alexander's visit to Potsdam, and of how the two
august friends had pledged themselves in an indissoluble alliance
to uphold the cause of justice against the enemy of the human
race. Anna Pavlovna received Pierre with a shade of melancholy,
evidently relating to the young man's recent loss by the death
of Count Bezukhov (everyone constantly considered it a duty to
assure Pierre that he was greatly afflicted by the death of the
father he had hardly known), and her melancholy was just like
the august melancholy she showed at the mention of her most august
Majesty the Empress Marya Fedorovna. Pierre felt flattered by
this. Anna Pavlovna arranged the different groups in her drawing
room with her habitual skill. The large group, in which were Prince
Vasili and the generals, had the benefit of the diplomat. Another
group was at the tea table. Pierre wished to join the former,
but Anna Pavlovna- who was in the excited condition of a commander
on a battlefield to whom thousands of new and brilliant ideas
occur which there is hardly time to put in action- seeing Pierre,
touched his sleeve with her finger, saying:
"Wait a bit, I have something in view for you this evening."
(She glanced at Helene and smiled at her.) "My dear Helene,
be charitable to my poor aunt who adores you. Go and keep her
company for ten minutes. And that it will not be too dull, here
is the dear count who will not refuse to accompany you."
The beauty went to the aunt, but Anna Pavlovna detained Pierre,
looking as if she had to give some final necessary instructions.
"Isn't she exquisite?" she said to Pierre, pointing
to the stately beauty as she glided away. "And how she carries
herself! For so young a girl, such tact, such masterly perfection
of manner! It comes from her heart. Happy the man who wins her!
With her the least worldly of men would occupy a most brilliant
position in society. Don't you think so? I only wanted to know
your opinion," and Anna Pavlovna let Pierre go.
Pierre, in reply, sincerely agreed with her as to Helene's
perfection of manner. If he ever thought of Helene, it was just
of her beauty and her remarkable skill in appearing silently dignified
in society.
The old aunt received the two young people in her corner,
but seemed desirous of hiding her adoration for Helene and inclined
rather to show her fear of Anna Pavlovna. She looked at her niece,
as if inquiring what she was to do with these people. On leaving
them, Anna Pavlovna again touched Pierre's sleeve, saying: "I
hope you won't say that it is dull in my house again," and
she glanced at Helene.
Helene smiled, with a look implying that she did not admit
the possibility of anyone seeing her without being enchanted.
The aunt coughed, swallowed, and said in French that she was very
pleased to see Helene, then she turned to Pierre with the same
words of welcome and the same look. In the middle of a dull and
halting conversation, Helene turned to Pierre with the beautiful
bright smile that she gave to everyone. Pierre was so used to
that smile, and it had so little meaning for him, that he paid
no attention to it. The aunt was just speaking of a collection
of snuffboxes that had belonged to Pierre's father, Count Bezukhov,
and showed them her own box. Princess Helene asked to see the
portrait of the aunt's husband on the box lid.
"That is probably the work of Vinesse," said Pierre,
mentioning a celebrated miniaturist, and he leaned over the table
to take the snuffbox while trying to hear what was being said
at the other table.
He half rose, meaning to go round, but the aunt handed him
the snuffbox, passing it across Helene's back. Helene stooped
forward to make room, and looked round with a smile. She was,
as always at evening parties, wearing a dress such as was then
fashionable, cut very low at front and back. Her bust, which had
always seemed like marble to Pierre, was so close to him that
his shortsighted eyes could not but perceive the living charm
of her neck and shoulders, so near to his lips that he need only
have bent his head a little to have touched them. He was conscious
of the warmth of her body, the scent of perfume, and the creaking
of her corset as she moved. He did not see her marble beauty forming
a complete whole with her dress, but all the charm of her body
only covered by her garments. And having once seen this he could
not help being aware it, just as we cannot renew an illusion we
have once seen through.
"So you have never noticed before how beautiful I am?"
Helene seemed to say. "You had not noticed that I am a woman?
Yes, I am a woman who may belong to anyone- to you too,"
said her glance. And at that moment Pierre felt that Helene not
only could, but must, be his wife, and that it could not be otherwise.
He knew this at that moment as surely as if he had been standing
at the altar with her. How and when this would be he did not know,
he did not even know if it would be a good thing (he even felt,
he knew not why, that it would be a bad thing), but he knew it
would happen.
Pierre dropped his eyes, lifted them again, and wished once
more to see her as a distant beauty far removed from him, as he
had seen her every day until then, but he could no longer do it.
He could not, any more than a man who has been looking at a tuft
of steppe grass through the mist and taking it for a tree can
again take it for a tree after he has once recognized it to be
a tuft of grass. She was terribly close to him. She already had
power over him, and between them there was no longer any barrier
except the barrier of his own will.
"Well, I will leave you in your little corner,"
came Anna Pavlovna's voice, "I see you are all right there."
And Pierre, anxiously trying to remember whether he had done
anything reprehensible, looked round with a blush. It seemed to
him that everyone knew what had happened to him as he knew it
himself.
A little later when he went up to the large circle, Anna Pavlovna
said to him: "I hear you are refitting your Petersburg house?"
This was true. The architect had told him that it was necessary,
and Pierre, without knowing why, was having his enormous Petersburg
house done up.
"That's a good thing, but don't move from Prince Vasili's.
It is good to have a friend like the prince," she said, smiling
at Prince Vasili. "I know something about that. Don't I?
And you are still so young. You need advice. Don't be angry with
me for exercising an old woman's privilege."
She paused, as women always do, expecting something after
they have mentioned their age. "If you marry it will be a
different thing," she continued, uniting them both in one
glance. Pierre did not look at Helene nor she at him. But she
was just as terribly close to him. He muttered something and colored.
When he got home he could not sleep for a long time for thinking
of what had happened. What had happened? Nothing. He had merely
understood that the woman he had known as a child, of whom when
her beauty was mentioned he had said absent-mindedly: "Yes,
she's good looking," he had understood that this woman might
belong to him.
"But she's stupid. I have myself said she is stupid,"
he thought. "There is something nasty, something wrong, in
the feeling she excites in me. I have been told that her brother
Anatole was in love with her and she with him, that there was
quite a scandal and that that's why he was sent away. Hippolyte
is her brother... Prince Vasili is her father... It's bad...."
he reflected, but while he was thinking this (the reflection was
still incomplete), he caught himself smiling and was conscious
that another line of thought had sprung up, and while thinking
of her worthlessness he was also dreaming of how she would be
his wife, how she would love him become quite different, and how
all he had thought and heard of her might be false. And he again
saw her not as the daughter of Prince Vasili, but visualized her
whole body only veiled by its gray dress. "But no! Why did
this thought never occur to me before?" and again he told
himself that it was impossible, that there would be something
unnatural, and as it seemed to him dishonorable, in this marriage.
He recalled her former words and looks and the words and looks
of those who had seen them together. He recalled Anna Pavlovna's
words and looks when she spoke to him about his house, recalled
thousands of such hints from Prince Vasili and others, and was
seized by terror lest he had already, in some way, bound himself
to do something that was evidently wrong and that he ought not
to do. But at the very time he was expressing this conviction
to himself, in another part of his mind her image rose in all
its womanly beauty.
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