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When Princess Mary came down, Prince Vasili and his son were
already in the drawing room, talking to the little princess and
Mademoiselle Bourienne. When she entered with her heavy step,
treading on her heels, the gentlemen and Mademoiselle Bourienne
rose and the little princess, indicating her to the gentlemen,
said: "Voila Marie!" Princess Mary saw them all and
saw them in detail. She saw Prince Vasili's face, serious for
an instant at the sight of her, but immediately smiling again,
and the little princess curiously noting the impression "Marie"
produced on the visitors. And she saw Mademoiselle Bourienne,
with her ribbon and pretty face, and her unusually animated look
which was fixed on him, but him she could not see, she only saw
something large, brilliant, and handsome moving toward her as
she entered the room. Prince Vasili approached first, and she
kissed the bold forehead that bent over her hand and answered
his question by saying that, on the contrary, she remembered him
quite well. Then Anatole came up to her. She still could not see
him. She only felt a soft hand taking hers firmly, and she touched
with her lips a white forehead, over which was beautiful light-brown
hair smelling of pomade. When she looked up at him she was struck
by his beauty. Anatole stood with his right thumb under a button
of his uniform, his chest expanded and his back drawn in, slightly
swinging one foot, and, with his head a little bent, looked with
beaming face at the princess without speaking and evidently not
thinking about her at all. Anatole was not quick-witted, nor ready
or eloquent in conversation, but he had the faculty, so invaluable
in society, of composure and imperturbable self-possession. If
a man lacking in self-confidence remains dumb on a first introduction
and betrays a consciousness of the impropriety of such silence
and an anxiety to find something to say, the effect is bad. But
Anatole was dumb, swung his foot, and smilingly examined the princess'
hair. It was evident that he could be silent in this way for a
very long time. "If anyone finds this silence inconvenient,
let him talk, but I don't want to"' he seemed to say. Besides
this, in his behavior to women Anatole had a manner which particularly
inspires in them curiosity, awe, and even love- a supercilious
consciousness of his own superiority. It was was as if he said
to them: "I know you, I know you, but why should I bother
about you? You'd be only too glad, of course." Perhaps he
did not really think this when he met women- even probably he
did not, for in general he thought very little- but his looks
and manner gave that impression. The princess felt this, and as
if wishing to show him that she did not even dare expect to interest
him, she turned to his father. The conversation was general and
animated, thanks to Princess Lise's voice and little downy lip
that lifted over her white teeth. She met Prince Vasili with that
playful manner often employed by lively chatty people, and consisting
in the assumption that between the person they so address and
themselves there are some semi-private, long-established jokes
and amusing reminiscences, though no such reminiscences really
exist- just as none existed in this case. Prince Vasili readily
adopted her tone and the little princess also drew Anatole, whom
she hardly knew, into these amusing recollections of things that
had never occurred. Mademoiselle Bourienne also shared them and
even Princess Mary felt herself pleasantly made to share in these
merry reminiscences.
"Here at least we shall have the benefit of your company
all to ourselves, dear prince," said the little princess
(of course, in French) to Prince Vasili. "It's not as at
Annette's* receptions where you always ran away; you remember
cette chere Annette!"
*Anna Pavlovna.
"Ah, but you won't talk politics to me like Annette!"
"And our little tea table?"
"Oh, yes!"
"Why is it you were never at Annette's?" the little
princess asked Anatole. "Ah, I know, I know," she said
with a sly glance, "your brother Hippolyte told me about
your goings on. Oh!" and she shook her finger at him, "I
have even heard of your doings in Paris!"
"And didn't Hippolyte tell you?" asked Prince Vasili,
turning to his son and seizing the little princess' arm as if
she would have run away and he had just managed to catch her,
"didn't he tell you how he himself was pining for the dear
princess, and how she showed him the door? Oh, she is a pearl
among women, Princess," he added, turning to Princess Mary.
When Paris was mentioned, Mademoiselle Bourienne for her part
seized the opportunity of joining in the general current of recollections.
She took the liberty of inquiring whether it was long since
Anatole had left Paris and how he had liked that city. Anatole
answered the Frenchwoman very readily and, looking at her with
a smile, talked to her about her native land. When he saw the
pretty little Bourienne, Anatole came to the conclusion that he
would not find Bald Hills dull either. "Not at all bad!"
he thought, examining her, "not at all bad, that little companion!
I hope she will bring her along with her when we're married, la
petite est gentille."*
*The little one is charming.
The old prince dressed leisurely in his study, frowning and
considering what he was to do. The coming of these visitors annoyed
him. "What are Prince Vasili and that son of his to me? Prince
Vasili is a shallow braggart and his son, no doubt, is a fine
specimen," he grumbled to himself. What angered him was that
the coming of these visitors revived in his mind an unsettled
question he always tried to stifle, one about which he always
deceived himself. The question was whether he could ever bring
himself to part from his daughter and give her to a husband. The
prince never directly asked himself that question, knowing beforehand
that he would have to answer it justly, and justice clashed not
only with his feelings but with the very possibility of life.
Life without Princess Mary, little as he seemed to value her,
was unthinkable to him. "And why should she marry?"
he thought. "To be unhappy for certain. There's Lise, married
to Andrew- a better husband one would think could hardly be found
nowadays- but is she contented with her lot? And who would marry
Marie for love? Plain and awkward! They'll take her for her connections
and wealth. Are there no women living unmarried, and even the
happier for it?" So thought Prince Bolkonski while dressing,
and yet the question he was always putting off demanded an immediate
answer. Prince Vasili had brought his son with the evident intention
of proposing, and today or tomorrow he would probably ask for
an answer. His birth and position in society were not bad. "Well,
I've nothing against it," the prince said to himself, "but
he must be worthy of her. And that is what we shall see."
"That is what we shall see! That is what we shall see!"
he added aloud.
He entered the drawing room with his usual alert step, glancing
rapidly round the company. He noticed the change in the little
princess' dress, Mademoiselle Bourienne's ribbon, Princess Mary's
unbecoming coiffure, Mademoiselle Bourienne's and Anatole's smiles,
and the loneliness of his daughter amid the general conversation.
"Got herself up like a fool!" he thought, looking irritably
at her. "She is shameless, and he ignores her!"
He went straight up to Prince Vasili.
"Well! How d'ye do? How d'ye do? Glad to see you!"
"Friendship laughs at distance," began Prince Vasili
in his usual rapid, self-confident, familiar tone. "Here
is my second son; please love and befriend him."
Prince Bolkonski surveyed Anatole.
"Fine young fellow! Fine young fellow!" he said.
"Well, come and kiss me," and he offered his cheek.
Anatole kissed the old man, and looked at him with curiosity
and perfect composure, waiting for a display of the eccentricities
his father had told him to expect.
Prince Bolkonski sat down in his usual place in the corner
of the sofa and, drawing up an armchair for Prince Vasili, pointed
to it and began questioning him about political affairs and news.
He seemed to listen attentively to what Prince Vasili said, but
kept glancing at Princess Mary.
"And so they are writing from Potsdam already?"
he said, repeating Prince Vasili's last words. Then rising, he
suddenly went up to his daughter.
"Is it for visitors you've got yourself up like that,
eh?" said he. "Fine, very fine! You have done up your
hair in this new way for the visitors, and before the visitors
I tell you that in future you are never to dare to change your
way of dress without my consent."
"It was my fault, mon pere," interceded the little
princess, with a blush.
"You must do as you please," said Prince Bolkonski,
bowing to his daughter-in-law, "but she need not make a fool
of herself, she's plain enough as it is."
And he sat down again, paying no more attention to his daughter,
who was reduced to tears.
"On the contrary, that coiffure suits the princess very
well," said Prince Vasili.
"Now you, young prince, what's your name?" said
Prince Bolkonski, turning to Anatole, "come here, let us
talk and get acquainted."
"Now the fun begins," thought Anatole, sitting down
with a smile beside the old prince.
"Well, my dear boy, I hear you've been educated abroad,
not taught to read and write by the deacon, like your father and
me. Now tell me, my dear boy, are you serving in the Horse Guards?"
asked the old man, scrutinizing Anatole closely and intently.
"No, I have been transferred to the line," said
Anatole, hardly able to restrain his laughter.
"Ah! That's a good thing. So, my dear boy, you wish to
serve the Tsar and the country? It is wartime. Such a fine fellow
must serve. Well, are you off to the front?"
"No, Prince, our regiment has gone to the front, but
I am attached... what is it I am attached to, Papa?" said
Anatole, turning to his father with a laugh.
"A splendid soldier, splendid! 'What am I attached to!'
Ha, ha, ha!" laughed Prince Bolkonski, and Anatole laughed
still louder. Suddenly Prince Bolkonski frowned.
"You may go," he said to Anatole.
Anatole returned smiling to the ladies.
"And so you've had him educated abroad, Prince Vasili,
haven't you?" said the old prince to Prince Vasili.
"I have done my best for him, and I can assure you the
education there is much better than ours."
"Yes, everything is different nowadays, everything is
changed. The lad's a fine fellow, a fine fellow! Well, come with
me now." He took Prince Vasili's arm and led him to his study.
As soon as they were alone together, Prince Vasili announced his
hopes and wishes to the old prince.
"Well, do you think I shall prevent her, that I can't
part from her?" said the old prince angrily. "What an
idea! I'm ready for it tomorrow! Only let me tell you, I want
to know my son-in-law better. You know my principles- everything
aboveboard? I will ask her tomorrow in your presence; if she is
willing, then he can stay on. He can stay and I'll see."
The old prince snorted. "Let her marry, it's all the same
to me!" he screamed in the same piercing tone as when parting
from his son.
"I will tell you frankly," said Prince Vasili in
the tone of a crafty man convinced of the futility of being cunning
with so keen-sighted companion. "You know, you see right
through people. Anatole is no genius, but he is an honest, goodhearted
lad; an excellent son or kinsman."
"All right, all right, we'll see!"
As always happens when women lead lonely lives for any length
of time without male society, on Anatole's appearance all the
three women of Prince Bolkonski's household felt that their life
had not been real till then. Their powers of reasoning, feeling,
and observing immediately increased tenfold, and their life, which
seemed to have been passed in darkness, was suddenly lit up by
a new brightness, full of significance.
Princess Mary grew quite unconscious of her face and coiffure.
The handsome open face of the man who might perhaps be her husband
absorbed all her attention. He seemed to her kind, brave, determined,
manly, and magnanimous. She felt convinced of that. Thousands
of dreams of a future family life continually rose in her imagination.
She drove them away and tried to conceal them.
"But am I not too cold with him?" thought the princess.
"I try to be reserved because in the depth of my soul I feel
too near to him already, but then he cannot know what I think
of him and may imagine that I do not like him."
And Princess Mary tried, but could not manage, to be cordial
to her new guest. "Poor girl, she's devilish ugly!"
thought Anatole.
Mademoiselle Bourienne, also roused to great excitement by
Anatole's arrival, thought in another way. Of course, she, a handsome
young woman without any definite position, without relations or
even a country, did not intend to devote her life to serving Prince
Bolkonski, to reading aloud to him and being friends with Princess
Mary. Mademoiselle Bourienne had long been waiting for a Russian
prince who, able to appreciate at a glance her superiority to
the plain, badly dressed, ungainly Russian princesses, would fall
in love with her and carry her off; and here at last was a Russian
prince. Mademoiselle Bourienne knew a story, heard from her aunt
but finished in her own way, which she liked to repeat to herself.
It was the story of a girl who had been seduced, and to whom her
poor mother (sa pauvre mere) appeared, and reproached her for
yielding to a man without being married. Mademoiselle Bourienne
was often touched to tears as in imagination she told this story
to him, her seducer. And now he, a real Russian prince, had appeared.
He would carry her away and then sa pauvre mere would appear and
he would marry her. So her future shaped itself in Mademoiselle
Bourienne's head at the very time she was talking to Anatole about
Paris. It was not calculation that guided her (she did not even
for a moment consider what she should do), but all this had long
been familiar to her, and now that Anatole had appeared it just
grouped itself around him and she wished and tried to please him
as much as possible.
The little princess, like an old war horse that hears the
trumpet, unconsciously and quite forgetting her condition, prepared
for the familiar gallop of coquetry, without any ulterior motive
or any struggle, but with naive and lighthearted gaiety.
Although in female society Anatole usually assumed the role
of a man tired of being run after by women, his vanity was flattered
by the spectacle of his power over these three women. Besides
that, he was beginning to feel for the pretty and provocative
Mademoiselle Bourienne that passionate animal feeling which was
apt to master him with great suddenness and prompt him to the
coarsest and most reckless actions.
After tea, the company went into the sitting room and Princess
Mary was asked to play on the clavichord. Anatole, laughing and
in high spirits, came and leaned on his elbows, facing her and
beside Mademoiselle Bourienne. Princess Mary felt his look with
a painfully joyous emotion. Her favorite sonata bore her into
a most intimately poetic world and the look she felt upon her
made that world still more poetic. But Anatole's expression, though
his eyes were fixed on her, referred not to her but to the movements
of Mademoiselle Bourienne's little foot, which he was then touching
with his own under the clavichord. Mademoiselle Bourienne was
also looking at Princess Mary, and in her lovely eyes there was
a look of fearful joy and hope that was also new to the princess.
"How she loves me!" thought Princess Mary. "How
happy I am now, and how happy I may be with such a friend and
such a husband! Husband? Can it be possible?" she thought,
not daring to look at his face, but still feeling his eyes gazing
at her.
In the evening, after supper, when all were about to retire,
Anatole kissed Princess Mary's hand. She did not know how she
found the courage, but she looked straight into his handsome face
as it came near to her shortsighted eyes. Turning from Princess
Mary he went up and kissed Mademoiselle Bourienne's hand. (This
was not etiquette, but then he did everything so simply and with
such assurance!) Mademoiselle Bourienne flushed, and gave the
princess a frightened look.
"What delicacy! " thought the princess. "Is
it possible that Amelie" (Mademoiselle Bourienne) "thinks
I could be jealous of her, and not value her pure affection and
devotion to me?" She went up to her and kissed her warmly.
Anatole went up to kiss the little princess' hand.
"No! No! No! When your father writes to tell me that
you are behaving well I will give you my hand to kiss. Not till
then!" she said. And smilingly raising a finger at him, she
left the room.
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