|
In November, 1805, Prince Vasili had to go on a tour of inspection
in four different provinces. He had arranged this for himself
so as to visit his neglected estates at the same time and pick
up his son Anatole where his regiment was stationed, and take
him to visit Prince Nicholas Bolkonski in order to arrange a match
for him with the daughter of that rich old man. But before leaving
home and undertaking these new affairs, Prince Vasili had to settle
matters with Pierre, who, it is true, had latterly spent whole
days at home, that is, in Prince Vasili's house where he was staying,
and had been absurd, excited, and foolish in Helene's presence
(as a lover should be), but had not yet proposed to her.
"This is all very fine, but things must be settled,"
said Prince Vasili to himself, with a sorrowful sigh, one morning,
feeling that Pierre who was under such obligations to him ("But
never mind that") was not behaving very well in this matter.
"Youth, frivolity... well, God be with him," thought
he, relishing his own goodness of heart, "but it must be
brought to a head. The day after tomorrow will be Lelya's name
day. I will invite two or three people, and if he does not understand
what he ought to do then it will be my affair- yes, my affair.
I am her father."
Six weeks after Anna Pavlovna's "At Home" and after
the sleepless night when he had decided that to marry Helene would
be a calamity and that he ought to avoid her and go away, Pierre,
despite that decision, had not left Prince Vasili's and felt with
terror that in people's eyes he was every day more and more connected
with her, that it was impossible for him to return to his former
conception of her, that he could not break away from her, and
that though it would be a terrible thing he would have to unite
his fate with hers. He might perhaps have been able to free himself
but that Prince Vasili (who had rarely before given receptions)
now hardly let a day go by without having an evening party at
which Pierre had to be present unless he wished to spoil the general
pleasure and disappoint everyone's expectation. Prince Vasili,
in the rare moments when he was at home, would take Pierre's hand
in passing and draw it downwards, or absent-mindedly hold out
his wrinkled, clean-shaven cheek for Pierre to kiss and would
say: "Till tomorrow," or, "Be in to dinner or I
shall not see you," or, "I am staying in for your sake,"
and so on. And though Prince Vasili, when he stayed in (as he
said) for Pierre's sake, hardly exchanged a couple of words with
him, Pierre felt unable to disappoint him. Every day he said to
himself one and the same thing: "It is time I understood
her and made up my mind what she really is. Was I mistaken before,
or am I mistaken now? No, she is not stupid, she is an excellent
girl," he sometimes said to himself "she never makes
a mistake, never says anything stupid. She says little, but what
she does say is always clear and simple, so she is not stupid.
She never was abashed and is not abashed now, so she cannot be
a bad woman!" He had often begun to make reflections or think
aloud in her company, and she had always answered him either by
a brief but appropriate remark- showing that it did not interest
her- or by a silent look and smile which more palpably than anything
else showed Pierre her superiority. She was right in regarding
all arguments as nonsense in comparison with that smile.
She always addressed him with a radiantly confiding smile
meant for him alone, in which there was something more significant
than in the general smile that usually brightened her face. Pierre
knew that everyone was waiting for him to say a word and cross
a certain line, and he knew that sooner or later he would step
across it, but an incomprehensible terror seized him at the thought
of that dreadful step. A thousand times during that month and
a half while he felt himself drawn nearer and nearer to that dreadful
abyss, Pierre said to himself: "What am I doing? I need resolution.
Can it be that I have none?"
He wished to take a decision, but felt with dismay that in
this matter he lacked that strength of will which he had known
in himself and really possessed. Pierre was one of those who are
only strong when they feel themselves quite innocent, and since
that day when he was overpowered by a feeling of desire while
stooping over the snuffbox at Anna Pavlovna's, an unacknowledged
sense of the guilt of that desire paralyzed his will.
On Helene's name day, a small party of just their own people-
as his wife said- met for supper at Prince Vasili's. All these
friends and relations had been given to understand that the fate
of the young girl would be decided that evening. The visitors
were seated at supper. Princess Kuragina, a portly imposing woman
who had once been handsome, was sitting at the head of the table.
On either side of her sat the more important guests- an old general
and his wife, and Anna Pavlovna Scherer. At the other end sat
the younger and less important guests, and there too sat the members
of the family, and Pierre and Helene, side by side. Prince Vasili
was not having any supper: he went round the table in a merry
mood, sitting down now by one, now by another, of the guests.
To each of them he made some careless and agreeable remark except
to Pierre and Helene, whose presence he seemed not to notice.
He enlivened the whole party. The wax candles burned brightly,
the silver and crystal gleamed, so did the ladies' toilets and
the gold and silver of the men's epaulets; servants in scarlet
liveries moved round the table, the clatter of plates, knives,
and glasses mingled with the animated hum of several conversations.
At one end of the table, the old chamberlain was heard assuring
an old baroness that he loved her passionately, at which she laughed;
at the other could be heard the story of the misfortunes of some
Mary Viktorovna or other. At the center of the table, Prince Vasili
attracted everybody's attention. With a facetious smile on his
face, he was telling the ladies about last Wednesday's meeting
of the Imperial Council, at which Sergey Kuzmich Vyazmitinov,
the new military governor general of Petersburg, had received
and read the then famous rescript of the Emperor Alexander from
the army to Sergey Kuzmich, in which the Emperor said that he
was receiving from all sides declarations of the people's loyalty,
that the declaration from Petersburg gave him particular pleasure,
and that he was proud to be at the head of such a nation and would
endeavor to be worthy of it. This rescript began with the words:
"Sergey Kuzmich, From all sides reports reach me," etc.
"Well, and so he never got farther than: 'Sergey Kuzmich'?"
asked one of the ladies.
"Exactly, not a hair's breadth farther," answered
Prince Vasili, laughing, "'Sergey Kuzmich... From all sides...
From all sides... Sergey Kuzmich...' Poor Vyazmitinov could not
get any farther! He began the rescript again and again, but as
soon as he uttered 'Sergey' he sobbed, 'Kuz-mi-ch,' tears, and
'From all sides' was smothered in sobs and he could get no farther.
And again his handkerchief, and again: 'Sergey Kuzmich, From all
sides,'... and tears, till at last somebody else was asked to
read it."
"Kuzmich... From all sides... and then tears," someone
repeated laughing.
"Don't be unkind," cried Anna Pavlovna from her
end of the table holding up a threatening finger. "He is
such a worthy and excellent man, our dear Vyazmitinov...."
Everybody laughed a great deal. At the head of the table,
where the honored guests sat, everyone seemed to be in high spirits
and under the influence of a variety of exciting sensations. Only
Pierre and Helene sat silently side by side almost at the bottom
of the table, a suppressed smile brightening both their faces,
a smile that had nothing to do with Sergey Kuzmich- a smile of
bashfulness at their own feelings. But much as all the rest laughed,
talked, and joked, much as they enjoyed their Rhine wine, saute,
and ices, and however they avoided looking at the young couple,
and heedless and unobservant as they seemed of them, one could
feel by the occasional glances they gave that the story about
Sergey Kuzmich, the laughter, and the food were all a pretense,
and that the whole attention of that company was directed to-
Pierre and Helene. Prince Vasili mimicked the sobbing of Sergey
Kuzmich and at the same time his eyes glanced toward his daughter,
and while he laughed the expression on his face clearly said:
"Yes... it's getting on, it will all be settled today."
Anna Pavlovna threatened him on behalf of "our dear Vyazmitinov,"
and in her eyes, which, for an instant, glanced at Pierre, Prince
Vasili read a congratulation on his future son-in-law and on his
daughter's happiness. The old princess sighed sadly as she offered
some wine to the old lady next to her and glanced angrily at her
daughter, and her sigh seemed to say: "Yes, there's nothing
left for you and me but to sip sweet wine, my dear, now that the
time has come for these young ones to be thus boldly, provocatively
happy." "And what nonsense all this is that I am saying!"
thought a diplomatist, glancing at the happy faces of the lovers.
"That's happiness!"
Into the insignificant, trifling, and artificial interests
uniting that society had entered the simple feeling of the attraction
of a healthy and handsome young man and woman for one another.
And this human feeling dominated everything else and soared above
all their affected chatter. Jests fell flat, news was not interesting,
and the animation was evidently forced. Not only the guests but
even the footmen waiting at table seemed to feel this, and they
forgot their duties as they looked at the beautiful Helene with
her radiant face and at the red, broad, and happy though uneasy
face of Pierre. It seemed as if the very light of the candles
was focused on those two happy faces alone.
Pierre felt that he the center of it all, and this both pleased
and embarrassed him. He was like a man entirely absorbed in some
occupation. He did not see, hear, or understand anything clearly.
Only now and then detached ideas and impressions from the world
of reality shot unexpectedly through his mind.
"So it is all finished!" he thought. "And how
has it all happened? How quickly! Now I know that not because
of her alone, nor of myself alone, but because of everyone, it
must inevitably come about. They are all expecting it, they are
so sure that it will happen that I cannot, I cannot, disappoint
them. But how will it be? I do not know, but it will certainly
happen!" thought Pierre, glancing at those dazzling shoulders
close to his eyes.
Or he would suddenly feel ashamed of he knew not what. He
felt it awkward to attract everyone's attention and to be considered
a lucky man and, with his plain face, to be looked on as a sort
of Paris possessed of a Helen. "But no doubt it always is
and must be so!" he consoled himself. "And besides,
what have I done to bring it about? How did it begin? I traveled
from Moscow with Prince Vasili. Then there was nothing. So why
should I not stay at his house? Then I played cards with her and
picked up her reticule and drove out with her. How did it begin,
when did it all come about?" And here he was sitting by her
side as her betrothed, seeing, hearing, feeling her nearness,
her breathing, her movements, her beauty. Then it would suddenly
seem to him that it was not she but he was so unusually beautiful,
and that that was why they all looked so at him, and flattered
by this general admiration he would expand his chest, raise his
head, and rejoice at his good fortune. Suddenly he heard a familiar
voice repeating something to him a second time. But Pierre was
so absorbed that he did not understand what was said.
"I am asking you when you last heard from Bolkonski,"
repeated Prince Vasili a third time. "How absent-minded you
are, my dear fellow."
Prince Vasili smiled, and Pierre noticed that everyone was
smiling at him and Helene. "Well, what of it, if you all
know it?" thought Pierre. "What of it? It's the truth!"
and he himself smiled his gentle childlike smile, and Helene smiled
too.
"When did you get the letter? Was it from Olmutz?"
repeated Prince Vasili, who pretended to want to know this in
order to settle a dispute.
"How can one talk or think of such trifles?" thought
Pierre.
"Yes, from Olmutz," he answered, with a sigh.
After supper Pierre with his partner followed the others into
the drawing room. The guests began to disperse, some without taking
leave of Helene. Some, as if unwilling to distract her from an
important occupation, came up to her for a moment and made haste
to go away, refusing to let her see them off. The diplomatist
preserved a mournful silence as he left the drawing room. He pictured
the vanity of his diplomatic career in comparison with Pierre's
happiness. The old general grumbled at his wife when she asked
how his leg was. "Oh, the old fool," he thought. "That
Princess Helene will be beautiful still when she's fifty."
"I think I may congratulate you," whispered Anna
Pavlovna to the old princess, kissing her soundly. "If I
hadn't this headache I'd have stayed longer."
The old princess did not reply, she was tormented by jealousy
of her daughter's happiness.
While the guests were taking their leave Pierre remained for
a long time alone with Helene in the little drawing room where
they were sitting. He had often before, during the last six weeks,
remained alone with her, but had never spoken to her of love.
Now he felt that it was inevitable, but he could not make up his
mind to take the final step. He felt ashamed; he felt that he
was occupying someone else's place here beside Helene. "This
happiness is not for you," some inner voice whispered to
him. "This happiness is for those who have not in them what
there is in you."
But, as he had to say something, he began by asking her whether
she was satisfied with the party. She replied in her usual simple
manner that this name day of hers had been one of the pleasantest
she had ever had.
Some of the nearest relatives had not yet left. They were
sitting in the large drawing room. Prince Vasili came up to Pierre
with languid footsteps. Pierre rose and said it was getting late.
Prince Vasili gave him a look of stern inquiry, as though what
Pierre had just said was so strange that one could not take it
in. But then the expression of severity changed, and he drew Pierre's
hand downwards, made him sit down, and smiled affectionately.
"Well, Lelya?" he asked, turning instantly to his
daughter and addressing her with the careless tone of habitual
tenderness natural to parents who have petted their children from
babyhood, but which Prince Vasili had only acquired by imitating
other parents.
And he again turned to Pierre.
"Sergey Kuzmich- From all sides-" he said, unbuttoning
the top button of his waistcoat.
Pierre smiled, but his smile showed that he knew it was not
the story about Sergey Kuzmich that interested Prince Vasili just
then, and Prince Vasili saw that Pierre knew this. He suddenly
muttered something and went away. It seemed to Pierre that even
the prince was disconcerted. The sight of the discomposure of
that old man of the world touched Pierre: he looked at Helene
and she too seemed disconcerted, and her look seemed to say: "Well,
it is your own fault."
"The step must be taken but I cannot, I cannot!"
thought Pierre, and he again began speaking about indifferent
matters, about Sergey Kuzmich, asking what the point of the story
was as he had not heard it properly. Helene answered with a smile
that she too had missed it.
When Prince Vasili returned to the drawing room, the princess,
his wife, was talking in low tones to the elderly lady about Pierre.
"Of course, it is a very brilliant match, but happiness,
my dear..."
"Marriages are made in heaven," replied the elderly
lady.
Prince Vasili passed by, seeming not to hear the ladies, and
sat down on a sofa in a far corner of the room. He closed his
eyes and seemed to be dozing. His head sank forward and then he
roused himself.
"Aline," he said to his wife, "go and see what
they are about."
The princess went up to the door, passed by it with a dignified
and indifferent air, and glanced into the little drawing room.
Pierre and Helene still sat talking just as before.
"Still the same," she said to her husband.
Prince Vasili frowned, twisting his mouth, his cheeks quivered
and his face assumed the coarse, unpleasant expression peculiar
to him. Shaking himself, he rose, threw back his head, and with
resolute steps went past the ladies into the little drawing room.
With quick steps he went joyfully up to Pierre. His face was so
unusually triumphant that Pierre rose in alarm on seeing it.
"Thank God!" said Prince Vasili. "My wife has
told me everything!- (He put one arm around Pierre and the other
around his daughter.)- "My dear boy... Lelya... I am very
pleased." (His voice trembled.) "I loved your father...
and she will make you a good wife... God bless you!..."
He embraced his daughter, and then again Pierre, and kissed
him with his malodorous mouth. Tears actually moistened his cheeks.
"Princess, come here!" he shouted.
The old princess came in and also wept. The elderly lady was
using her handkerchief too. Pierre was kissed, and he kissed the
beautiful Helene's hand several times. After a while they were
left alone again.
"All this had to be and could not be otherwise,"
thought Pierre, "so it is useless to ask whether it is good
or bad. It is good because it's definite and one is rid of the
old tormenting doubt." Pierre held the hand of his betrothed
in silence, looking at her beautiful bosom as it rose and fell.
"Helene!" he said aloud and paused.
"Something special is always said in such cases,"
he thought, but could not remember what it was that people say.
He looked at her face. She drew nearer to him. Her face flushed.
"Oh, take those off... those..." she said, pointing
to his spectacles.
Pierre took them off, and his eyes, besides the strange look
eyes have from which spectacles have just been removed, had also
a frightened and inquiring look. He was about to stoop over her
hand and kiss it, but with a rapid, almost brutal movement of
her head, she intercepted his lips and met them with her own.
Her face struck Pierre, by its altered, unpleasantly excited expression.
"It is too late now, it's done; besides I love her,"
thought Pierre.
"Je vous aime!"* he said, remembering what has to
be said at such moments: but his words sounded so weak that he
felt ashamed of himself.
*"I love you."
Six weeks later he was married, and settled in Count Bezukhov's
large, newly furnished Petersburg house, the happy possessor,
as people said, of a wife who was a celebrated beauty and of millions
of money.
|
