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It was a long time before Pierre could fall asleep that night.
He paced up and down his room, now turning his thoughts on a difficult
problem and frowning, now suddenly shrugging his shoulders and
wincing, and now smiling happily.
He was thinking of Prince Andrew, of Natasha, and of their
love, at one moment jealous of her past, then reproaching himself
for that feeling. It was already six in the morning and he still
paced up and down the room.
"Well, what's to be done if it cannot be avoided? What's
to be done? Evidently it has to be so," said he to himself,
and hastily undressing he got into bed, happy and agitated but
free from hesitation or indecision.
"Strange and impossible as such happiness seems, I must
do everything that she and I may be man and wife," he told
himself.
A few days previously Pierre had decided to go to Petersburg
on the Friday. When he awoke on the Thursday, Savelich came to
ask him about packing for the journey.
"What, to Petersburg? What is Petersburg? Who is there
in Petersburg?" he asked involuntarily, though only to himself.
"Oh, yes, long ago before this happened I did for some reason
mean to go to Petersburg," he reflected. "Why? But perhaps
I shall go. What a good fellow he is and how attentive, and how
he remembers everything," he thought, looking at Savelich's
old face, "and what a pleasant smile he has!"
"Well, Savelich, do you still not wish to accept your
freedom?" Pierre asked him.
"What's the good of freedom to me, your excellency? We
lived under the late count- the kingdom of heaven be his!- and
we have lived under you too, without ever being wronged."
"And your children?"
"The children will live just the same. With such masters
one can live."
"But what about my heirs?" said Pierre. "Supposing
I suddenly marry... it might happen," he added with an involuntary
smile.
"If I may take the liberty, your excellency, it would
be a good thing."
"How easy he thinks it," thought Pierre. "He
doesn't know how terrible it is and how dangerous. Too soon or
too late... it is terrible!"
"So what are your orders? Are you starting tomorrow?"
asked Savelich.
"No, I'll put it off for a bit. I'll tell you later.
You must forgive the trouble I have put you to," said Pierre,
and seeing Savelich smile, he thought: "But how strange it
is that he should not know that now there is no Petersburg for
me, and that that must be settled first of all! But probably he
knows it well enough and is only pretending. Shall I have a talk
with him and see what he thinks?" Pierre reflected. "No,
another time."
At breakfast Pierre told the princess, his cousin, that he
had been to see Princess Mary the day before and had there met-
"Whom do you think? Natasha Rostova!"
The princess seemed to see nothing more extraordinary in that
than if he had seen Anna Semenovna.
"Do you know her?" asked Pierre.
"I have seen the princess," she replied. "I
heard that they were arranging a match for her with young Rostov.
It would be a very good thing for the Rostovs, they are said to
be utterly ruined."
"No; I mean do you know Natasha Rostova?"
"I heard about that affair of hers at the time. It was
a great pity."
"No, she either doesn't understand or is pretending,"
thought Pierre. "Better not say anything to her either."
The princess too had prepared provisions for Pierre's journey.
"How kind they all are," thought Pierre. "What
is surprising is that they should trouble about these things now
when it can no longer be of interest to them. And all for me!"
On the same day the Chief of Police came to Pierre, inviting
him to send a representative to the Faceted Palace to recover
things that were to be returned to their owners that day.
"And this man too," thought Pierre, looking into
the face of the Chief of Police. "What a fine, good-looking
officer and how kind. Fancy bothering about such trifies now!
And they actually say he is not honest and takes bribes. What
nonsense! Besides, why shouldn't he take bribes? That's the way
he was brought up, and everybody does it. But what a kind, pleasant
face and how he smiles as he looks at me."
Pierre went to Princess Mary's to dinner.
As he drove through the streets past the houses that had been
burned down, he was surprised by the beauty of those ruins. The
picturesqueness of the chimney stacks and tumble-down walls of
the burned-out quarters of the town, stretching out and concealing
one another, reminded him of the Rhine and the Colosseum. The
cabmen he met and their passengers, the carpenters cutting the
timber for new houses with axes, the women hawkers, and the shopkeepers,
all looked at him with cheerful beaming eyes that seemed to say:
"Ah, there he is! Let's see what will come of it!"
At the entrance to Princess Mary's house Pierre felt doubtful
whether he had really been there the night before and really seen
Natasha and talked to her. "Perhaps I imagined it; perhaps
I shall go in and find no one there." But he had hardly entered
the room before he felt her presence with his whole being by the
loss of his sense of freedom. She was in the same black dress
with soft folds and her hair was done the same way as the day
before, yet she was quite different. Had she been like this when
he entered the day before he could not for a moment have failed
to recognize her.
She was as he had known her almost as a child and later on
as Prince Andrew's fiancee. A bright questioning light shone in
her eyes, and on her face was a friendly and strangely roguish
expression.
Pierre dined with them and would have spent the whole evening
there, but Princess Mary was going to vespers and Pierre left
the house with her.
Next day he came early, dined, and stayed the whole evening.
Though Princess Mary and Natasha were evidently glad to see their
visitor and though all Pierre's interest was now centered in that
house, by the evening they had talked over everything and the
conversation passed from one trivial topic to another and repeatedly
broke off. He stayed so long that Princess Mary and Natasha exchanged
glances, evidently wondering when he would go. Pierre noticed
this but could not go. He felt uneasy and embarrassed, but sat
on because he simply could not get up and take his leave.
Princess Mary, foreseeing no end to this, rose first, and
complaining of a headache began to say good night.
"So you are going to Petersburg tomorrow?" she asked.
"No, I am not going," Pierre replied hastily, in
a surprised tone and as though offended. "Yes... no... to
Petersburg? Tomorrow- but I won't say good-by yet. I will call
round in case you have any commissions for me," said he,
standing before Princess Mary and turning red, but not taking
his departure.
Natasha gave him her hand and went out. Princess Mary on the
other hand instead of going away sank into an armchair, and looked
sternly and intently at him with her deep, radiant eyes. The weariness
she had plainly shown before had now quite passed off. With a
deep and long-drawn sigh she seemed to be prepared for a lengthy
talk.
When Natasha left the room Pierre's confusion and awkwardness
immediately vanished and were replaced by eager excitement. He
quickly moved an armchair toward Princess Mary.
"Yes, I wanted to tell you," said he, answering
her look as if she had spoken. "Princess, help me! What am
I to do? Can I hope? Princess, my dear friend, listen! I know
it all. I know I am not worthy of her, I know it's impossible
to speak of it now. But I want to be a brother to her. No, not
that, I don't, I can't..."
He paused and rubbed his face and eyes with his hands.
"Well," he went on with an evident effort at self-control
and coherence. "I don't know when I began to love her, but
I have loved her and her alone all my life, and I love her so
that I cannot imagine life without her. I cannot propose to her
at present, but the thought that perhaps she might someday be
my wife and that I may be missing that possibility... that possibility...
is terrible. Tell me, can I hope? Tell me what I am to do, dear
princess!" he added after a pause, and touched her hand as
she did not reply.
"I am thinking of what you have told me," answered
Princess Mary. "This is what I will say. You are right that
to speak to her of love at present..."
Princess Mary stopped. She was going to say that to speak
of love was impossible, but she stopped because she had seen by
the sudden change in Natasha two days before that she would not
only not be hurt if Pierre spoke of his love, but that it was
the very thing she wished for.
"To speak to her now wouldn't do," said the princess
all the same.
"But what am I to do?
"Leave it to me," said Princess Mary. "I know..."
Pierre was looking into Princess Mary's eyes.
"Well?... Well?..." he said.
"I know that she loves... will love you," Princess
Mary corrected herself.
Before her words were out, Pierre had sprung up and with a
frightened expression seized Princess Mary's hand.
"What makes you think so? You think I may hope? You think...?"
"Yes, I think so," said Princess Mary with a smile.
"Write to her parents, and leave it to me. I will tell her
when I can. I wish it to happen and my heart tells me it will."
"No, it cannot be! How happy I am! But it can't be....
How happy I am! No, it can't be!" Pierre kept saying as he
kissed Princess Mary's hands.
"Go to Petersburg, that will be best. And I will write
to you," she said.
"To Petersburg? Go there? Very well, I'll go. But I may
come again tomorrow?"
Next day Pierre came to say good-by. Natasha was less animated
than she had been the day before; but that day as he looked at
her Pierre sometimes felt as if he was vanishing and that neither
he nor she existed any longer, that nothing existed but happiness.
"Is it possible? No, it can't be," he told himself at
every look, gesture, and word that filled his soul with joy.
When on saying good-by he took her thin, slender hand, he
could not help holding it a little longer in his own.
"Is it possible that this hand, that face, those eyes,
all this treasure of feminine charm so strange to me now, is it
possible that it will one day be mine forever, as familiar to
me as I am to myself?... No, that's impossible!..."
"Good-by, Count," she said aloud. "I shall
look forward very much to your return," she added in a whisper.
And these simple words, her look, and the expression on her
face which accompanied them, formed for two months the subject
of inexhaustible memories, interpretations, and happy meditations
for Pierre. "'I shall look forward very much to your return....'
Yes, yes, how did she say it? Yes, 'I shall look forward very
much to your return.' Oh, how happy I am! What is happening to
me? How happy I am!" said Pierre to himself.
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