party,’ said he, turning to Anna Pavlovna.
His daughter, Princess Helene, passed between the chairs,
lightly holding up the folds of her dress, and the smile shone
still more radiantly on her beautiful face. Pierre gazed at her
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with rapturous, almost frightened, eyes as she passed him.
‘Very lovely,’ said Prince Andrew.
‘Very,’ said Pierre.
In passing Prince Vasili seized Pierre’s hand and said to
Anna Pavlovna: ‘Educate this bear for me! He has been stay-
ing with me a whole month and this is the first time I have
seen him in society. Nothing is so necessary for a young
man as the society of clever women.’
Anna Pavlovna smiled and promised to take Pierre in
hand. She knew his father to be a connection of Prince Vasi-
li’s. The elderly lady who had been sitting with the old aunt
rose hurriedly and overtook Prince Vasili in the anteroom.
All the affectation of interest she had assumed had left her
kindly and tearworn face and it now expressed only anxi-
ety and fear.
‘How about my son Boris, Prince?’ said she, hurrying
after him into the anteroom. ‘I can’t remain any longer in
Petersburg. Tell me what news I may take back to my poor
boy.’
Although Prince Vasili listened reluctantly and not very
politely to the elderly lady, even betraying some impatience,
she gave him an ingratiating and appealing smile, and took
his hand that he might not go away.
‘What would it cost you to say a word to the Emperor,
and then he would be transferred to the Guards at once?’
said she.
‘Believe me, Princess, I am ready to do all I can,’ answered
Prince Vasili, ‘but it is difficult for me to ask the Emperor. I
should advise you to appeal to Rumyantsev through Prince
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26
Golitsyn. That would be the best way.’
The elderly lady was a Princess Drubetskaya, belong-
ing to one of the best families in Russia, but she was poor,
and having long been out of society had lost her former in-
fluential connections. She had now come to Petersburg to
procure an appointment in the Guards for her only son. It
was, in fact, solely to meet Prince Vasili that she had ob-
tained an invitation to Anna Pavlovna’s reception and had
sat listening to the vicomte’s story. Prince Vasili’s words
frightened her, an embittered look clouded her once hand-
some face, but only for a moment; then she smiled again
and dutched Prince Vasili’s arm more tightly.
‘Listen to me, Prince,’ said she. ‘I have never yet asked
you for anything and I never will again, nor have I ever re-
minded you of my father’s friendship for you; but now I
entreat you for God’s sake to do this for my sonand I shall
always regard you as a benefactor,’ she added hurriedly. ‘No,
don’t be angry, but promise! I have asked Golitsyn and he
has refused. Be the kindhearted man you always were,’ she
said, trying to smile though tears were in her eyes.
‘Papa, we shall be late,’ said Princess Helene, turning
her beautiful head and looking over her classically molded
shoulder as she stood waiting by the door.
Influence in society, however, is a capital which has to
be economized if it is to last. Prince Vasili knew this, and
having once realized that if he asked on behalf of all who
begged of him, he would soon be unable to ask for him-
self, he became chary of using his influence. But in Princess
Drubetskaya’s case he felt, after her second appeal, some-
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thing like qualms of conscience. She had reminded him of
what was quite true; he had been indebted to her father for
the first steps in his career. Moreover, he could see by her
manners that she was one of those womenmostly mother-
swho, having once made up their minds, will not rest until
they have gained their end, and are prepared if necessary to
go on insisting day after day and hour after hour, and even
to make scenes. This last consideration moved him.
‘My dear Anna Mikhaylovna,’ said he with his usual fa-
miliarity and weariness of tone, ‘it is almost impossible for
me to do what you ask; but to prove my devotion to you and
how I respect your father’s memory, I will do the impossi-
bleyour son shall be transferred to the Guards. Here is my
hand on it. Are you satisfied?’
‘My dear benefactor! This is what I expected from youI
knew your kindness!’ He turned to go.
‘Waitjust a word! When he has been transferred to the
Guards...’ she faltered. ‘You are on good terms with Michael
Ilarionovich Kutuzov... recommend Boris to him as adju-
tant! Then I shall be at rest, and then..’
Prince Vasili smiled.
‘No, I won’t promise that. You don’t know how Kutuzov
is pestered since his appointment as Commander in Chief.
He told me himself that all the Moscow ladies have con-
spired to give him all their sons as adjutants.’
‘No, but do promise! I won’t let you go! My dear bene-
factor..’
‘Papa,’ said his beautiful daughter in the same tone as be-
fore, ‘we shall be late.’
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28
‘Well, au revoir! Good-by! You hear her?’
‘Then tomorrow you will speak to the Emperor?’
‘Certainly; but about Kutuzov, I don’t promise.’
‘Do promise, do promise, Vasili!’ cried Anna Mikhay-
lovna as he went, with the smile of a coquettish girl, which
at one time probably came naturally to her, but was now
very ill-suited to her careworn face.
Apparently she had forgotten her age and by force of habit
employed all the old feminine arts. But as soon as the prince
had gone her face resumed its former cold, artificial expres-
sion. She returned to the group where the vicomte was still
talking, and again pretended to listen, while waiting till it
would be time to leave. Her task was accomplished.
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Chapter V
‘And what do you think of this latest comedy, the corona-
tion at Milan?’ asked Anna Pavlovna, ‘and of the comedy of
the people of Genoa and Lucca laying their petitions before
Monsieur Buonaparte, and Monsieur Buonaparte sitting on
a throne and granting the petitions of the nations? Ador-
able! It is enough to make one’s head whirl! It is as if the
whole world had gone crazy.’
Prince Andrew looked Anna Pavlovna straight in the
face with a sarcastic smile.
‘‘Dieu me la donne, gare a qui la touche!’* They say he
was very fine when he said that,’ he remarked, repeating the
words in Italian: ‘‘Dio mi l’ha dato. Guai a chi la tocchi!’’
*God has given it to me, let him who touches it beware!
‘I hope this will prove the last drop that will make the
glass run over,’ Anna Pavlovna continued. ‘The sovereigns
will not be able to endure this man who is a menace to ev-
erything.’
‘The sovereigns? I do not speak of Russia,’ said the vi-
comte, polite but hopeless: ‘The sovereigns, madame... What
have they done for Louis XVII, for the Queen, or for Ma-
dame Elizabeth? Nothing!’ and he became more animated.
‘And believe me, they are reaping the reward of their be-
trayal of the Bourbon cause. The sovereigns! Why, they are
sending ambassadors to compliment the usurper.’
War and Peace
30
And sighing disdainfully, he again changed his posi-
tion.
Prince Hippolyte, who had been gazing at the vicomte
for some time through his lorgnette, suddenly turned com-
pletely round toward the little princess, and having asked
for a needle began tracing the Conde coat of arms on the
table. He explained this to her with as much gravity as if she
had asked him to do it.
‘Baton de gueules, engrele de gueules d’ azurmaison
Conde,’ said he.
The princess listened, smiling.
‘If Buonaparte remains on the throne of France a year
longer,’ the vicomte continued, with the air of a man who,
in a matter with which he is better acquainted than anyone
else, does not listen to others but follows the current of his
own thoughts, ‘things will have gone too far. By intrigues,
violence, exile, and executions, French societyI mean good
French societywill have been forever destroyed, and then..’
He shrugged his shoulders and spread out his hands.
Pierre wished to make a remark, for the conversation in-
terested him, but Anna Pavlovna, who had him under
observation, interrupted:
‘The Emperor Alexander,’ said she, with the melancholy
which always accompanied any reference of hers to the Im-
perial family, ‘has declared that he will leave it to the French
people themselves to choose their own form of government;
and I believe that once free from the usurper, the whole na-
tion will certainly throw itself into the arms of its rightful
king,’ she concluded, trying to be amiable to the royalist
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emigrant.
‘That is doubtful,’ said Prince Andrew. ‘Monsieur le Vi-
comte quite rightly supposes that matters have already gone
too far. I think it will be difficult to return to the old re-
gime.’
‘From what I have heard,’ said Pierre, blushing and
breaking into the conversation, ‘almost all the aristocracy
has already gone over to Bonaparte’s side.’
‘It is the Buonapartists who say that,’ replied the vicomte
without looking at Pierre. ‘At the present time it is difficult
to know the real state of French public opinion.
‘Bonaparte has said so,’ remarked Prince Andrew with a
sarcastic smile.
It was evident that he did not like the vicomte and was
aiming his remarks at him, though without looking at him.
‘‘I showed them the path to glory, but they did not fol-
low it,’’ Prince Andrew continued after a short silence, again
quoting Napoleon’s words. ‘‘I opened my antechambers and
they crowded in.’ I do not know how far he was justified in
saying so.’
‘Not in the least,’ replied the vicomte. ‘After the mur-
der of the duc even the most partial ceased to regard him
as a hero. If to some people,’ he went on, turning to Anna
Pavlovna, ‘he ever was a hero, after the murder of the duc
there was one martyr more in heaven and one hero less on
earth.’
Before Anna Pavlovna and the others had time to smile
their appreciation of the vicomte’s epigram, Pierre again
broke into the conversation, and though Anna Pavlovna felt
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32
sure he would say something inappropriate, she was unable
to stop him.
‘The execution of the Duc d’Enghien,’ declared Monsieur
Pierre, ‘was a political necessity, and it seems to me that Na-
poleon showed greatness of soul by not fearing to take on
himself the whole responsibility of that deed.’
‘Dieu! Mon Dieu!’ muttered Anna Pavlovna in a terri-
fied whisper.
‘What, Monsieur Pierre... Do you consider that assas-
sination shows greatness of soul?’ said the little princess,
smiling and drawing her work nearer to her.
‘Oh! Oh!’ exclaimed several voices.
‘Capital!’ said Prince Hippolyte in English, and began
slapping his knee with the palm of his hand.
The vicomte merely shrugged his shoulders. Pierre looked
solemnly at his audience over his spectacles and continued.
‘I say so,’ he continued desperately, ‘because the Bour-
bons fled from the Revolution leaving the people to anarchy,
and Napoleon alone understood the Revolution and quelled
it, and so for the general good, he could not stop short for
the sake of one man’s life.’
‘Won’t you come over to the other table?’ suggested Anna
Pavlovna.
But Pierre continued his speech without heeding her.
‘No,’ cried he, becoming more and more eager, ‘Napoleon
is great because he rose superior to the Revolution, sup-
pressed its abuses, preserved all that was good in itequality
of citizenship and freedom of speech and of the pressand
only for that reason did he obtain power.’
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‘Yes, if having obtained power, without availing himself
of it to commit murder he had restored it to the rightful
king, I should have called him a great man,’ remarked the
vicomte.
‘He could not do that. The people only gave him power
that he might rid them of the Bourbons and because they
saw that he was a great man. The Revolution was a grand
thing!’ continued Monsieur Pierre, betraying by this des-
perate and provocative proposition his extreme youth and
his wish to express all that was in his mind.
‘What? Revolution and regicide a grand thing?... Well,
after that... But won’t you come to this other table?’ repeated
Anna Pavlovna.
‘Rousseau’s Contrat social,’ said the vicomte with a toler-
ant smile.
‘I am not speaking of regicide, I am speaking about
ideas.’
‘Yes: ideas of robbery, murder, and regicide,’ again inter-
jected an ironical voice.
‘Those were extremes, no doubt, but they are not what is
most important. What is important are the rights of man,
emancipation from prejudices, and equality of citizenship,
and all these ideas Napoleon has retained in full force.’
‘Liberty and equality,’ said the vicomte contemptuously,
as if at last deciding seriously to prove to this youth how
foolish his words were, ‘high-sounding words which have
long been discredited. Who does not love liberty and equal-
ity? Even our Saviour preached liberty and equality. Have
people since the Revolution become happier? On the con-
War and Peace
34
trary. We wanted liberty, but Buonaparte has destroyed it.’
Prince Andrew kept looking with an amused smile from
Pierre to the vicomte and from the vicomte to their hostess.
In the first moment of Pierre’s outburst Anna Pavlovna, de-
spite her social experience, was horror-struck. But when she
saw that Pierre’s sacrilegious words had not exasperated the
vicomte, and had convinced herself that it was impossible to
stop him, she rallied her forces and joined the vicomte in a
vigorous attack on the orator.
‘But, my dear Monsieur Pierre,’ said she, ‘how do you
explain the fact of a great man executing a ducor even an
ordinary man whois innocent and untried?’
‘I should like,’ said the vicomte, ‘to ask how monsieur ex-
plains the 18th Brumaire; was not that an imposture? It was
a swindle, and not at all like the conduct of a great man!’
‘And the prisoners he killed in Africa? That was horri-
ble!’ said the little princess, shrugging her shoulders.
‘He’s a low fellow, say what you will,’ remarked Prince
Hippolyte.
Pierre, not knowing whom to answer, looked at them
all and smiled. His smile was unlike the half-smile of other
people. When he smiled, his grave, even rather gloomy, look
was instantaneously replaced by anothera childlike, kindly,
even rather silly look, which seemed to ask forgiveness.
The vicomte who was meeting him for the first time saw
clearly that this young Jacobin was not so terrible as his
words suggested. All were silent.
‘How do you expect him to answer you all at once?’ said
Prince Andrew. ‘Besides, in the actions of a statesman one
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has to distinguish between his acts as a private person, as a
general, and as an emperor. So it seems to me.’
‘Yes, yes, of course!’ Pierre chimed in, pleased at the ar-
rival of this reinforcement.
‘One must admit,’ continued Prince Andrew, ‘that Na-
poleon as a man was great on the bridge of Arcola, and in
the hospital at Jaffa where he gave his hand to the plague-
stricken; but... but there are other acts which it is difficult
to justify.’
Prince Andrew, who had evidently wished to tone down
the awkwardness of Pierre’s remarks, rose and made a sign
to his wife that it was time to go.
Suddenly Prince Hippolyte started up making signs to
everyone to attend, and asking them all to be seated began:
‘I was told a charming Moscow story today and must
treat you to it. Excuse me, VicomteI must tell it in Russian
or the point will be lost....’ And Prince Hippolyte began to
tell his story in such Russian as a Frenchman would speak
after spending about a year in Russia. Everyone waited, so
emphatically and eagerly did he demand their attention to
his story.
‘There is in Moscow a lady, une dame, and she is very
stingy. She must have two footmen behind her carriage, and
very big ones. That was her taste. And she had a lady’s maid,
also big. She said..’
Here Prince Hippolyte paused, evidently collecting his
ideas with difficulty.
‘She said... Oh yes! She said, ‘Girl,’ to the maid, ‘put on a
livery, get up behind the carriage, and come with me while
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36
I make some calls.’’
Here Prince Hippolyte spluttered and burst out laughing
long before his audience, which produced an effect unfa-
vorable to the narrator. Several persons, among them the
elderly lady and Anna Pavlovna, did however smile.
‘She went. Suddenly there was a great wind. The girl
lost her hat and her long hair came down....’ Here he could
contain himself no longer and went on, between gasps of
laughter: ‘And the whole world knew...’
And so the anecdote ended. Though it was unintelligi-
ble why he had told it, or why it had to be told in Russian,
still Anna Pavlovna and the others appreciated Prince Hip-
polyte’s social tact in so agreeably ending Pierre’s unpleasant
and unamiable outburst. After the anecdote the conversa-
tion broke up into insignificant small talk about the last and
next balls, about theatricals, and who would meet whom,
and when and where.
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Chapter VI
Having thanked Anna Pavlovna for her charming soiree,
the guests began to take their leave.
Pierre was ungainly. Stout, about the average height,
broad, with huge red hands; he did not know, as the say-
ing is, to enter a drawing room and still less how to leave
one; that is, how to say something particularly agreeable be-
fore going away. Besides this he was absent-minded. When
he rose to go, he took up instead of his own, the general’s
three-cornered hat, and held it, pulling at the plume, till the
general asked him to restore it. All his absent-mindedness
and inability to enter a room and converse in it was, howev-
er, redeemed by his kindly, simple, and modest expression.
Anna Pavlovna turned toward him and, with a Christian
mildness that expressed forgiveness of his indiscretion,
nodded and said: ‘I hope to see you again, but I also hope
you will change your opinions, my dear Monsieur Pierre.’
When she said this, he did not reply and only bowed, but
again everybody saw his smile, which said nothing, unless
perhaps, ‘Opinions are opinions, but you see what a capital,
good-natured fellow I am.’ And everyone, including Anna
Pavlovna, felt this.
Prince Andrew had gone out into the hall, and, turning
his shoulders to the footman who was helping him on with
his cloak, listened indifferently to his wife’s chatter with
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38
Prince Hippolyte who had also come into the hall. Prince
Hippolyte stood close to the pretty, pregnant princess, and
stared fixedly at her through his eyeglass.
‘Go in, Annette, or you will catch cold,’ said the little
princess, taking leave of Anna Pavlovna. ‘It is settled,’ she
added in a low voice.
Anna Pavlovna had already managed to speak to Lise
about the match she contemplated between Anatole and the
little princess’ sister-in-law.
‘I rely on you, my dear,’ said Anna Pavlovna, also in a low
tone. ‘Write to her and let me know how her father looks at
the matter. Au revoir!’and she left the hall.
Prince Hippolyte approached the little princess and,
bending his face close to her, began to whisper something.
Two footmen, the princess’ and his own, stood holding
a shawl and a cloak, waiting for the conversation to finish.
They listened to the French sentences which to them were
meaningless, with an air of understanding but not wishing
to appear to do so. The princess as usual spoke smilingly
and listened with a laugh.
‘I am very glad I did not go to the ambassador’s,’ said
Prince Hippolyte ‘-so dull-. It has been a delightful evening,
has it not? Delightful!’
‘They say the ball will be very good,’ replied the princess,
drawing up her downy little lip. ‘All the pretty women in
society will be there.’
‘Not all, for you will not be there; not all,’ said Prince
Hippolyte smiling joyfully; and snatching the shawl from
the footman, whom he even pushed aside, he began wrap-
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ping it round the princess. Either from awkwardness or
intentionally (no one could have said which) after the shawl
had been adjusted he kept his arm around her for a long
time, as though embracing her.
Still smiling, she gracefully moved away, turning and
glancing at her husband. Prince Andrew’s eyes were closed,
so weary and sleepy did he seem.
‘Are you ready?’ he asked his wife, looking past her.
Prince Hippolyte hurriedly put on his cloak, which in
the latest fashion reached to his very heels, and, stumbling
in it, ran out into the porch following the princess, whom a
footman was helping into the carriage.
‘Princesse, au revoir,’ cried he, stumbling with his tongue
as well as with his feet.
The princess, picking up her dress, was taking her seat
in the dark carriage, her husband was adjusting his saber;
Prince Hippolyte, under pretense of helping, was in every-
one’s way.
‘Allow me, sir,’ said Prince Andrew in Russian in a cold,
disagreeable tone to Prince Hippolyte who was blocking his
path.
‘I am expecting you, Pierre,’ said the same voice, but gen-
tly and affectionately.
The postilion started, the carriage wheels rattled. Prince
Hippolyte laughed spasmodically as he stood in the porch
waiting for the vicomte whom he had promised to take
home.
‘Well, mon cher,’ said the vicomte, having seated himself
beside Hippolyte in the carriage, ‘your little princess is very
War and Peace
40
nice, very nice indeed, quite French,’ and he kissed the tips
of his fingers. Hippolyte burst out laughing.
‘Do you know, you are a terrible chap for all your inno-
cent airs,’ continued the vicomte. ‘I pity the poor husband,
that little officer who gives himself the airs of a monarch.’
Hippolyte spluttered again, and amid his laughter said,
‘And you were saying that the Russian ladies are not equal
to the French? One has to know how to deal with them.’
Pierre reaching the house first went into Prince Andrew’s
study like one quite at home, and from habit immediately
lay down on the sofa, took from the shelf the first book that
came to his hand (it was Caesar’s Commentaries), and rest-
ing on his elbow, began reading it in the middle.
‘What have you done to Mlle Scherer? She will be quite
ill now,’ said Prince Andrew, as he entered the study, rub-
bing his small white hands.
Pierre turned his whole body, making the sofa creak. He
lifted his eager face to Prince Andrew, smiled, and waved
his hand.
‘That abbe is very interesting but he does not see the
thing in the right light.... In my opinion perpetual peace is
possible butI do not know how to express it... not by a bal-
ance of political power...’
It was evident that Prince Andrew was not interested in
such abstract conversation.
‘One can’t everywhere say all one thinks, mon cher. Well,
have you at last decided on anything? Are you going to be a
guardsman or a diplomatist?’ asked Prince Andrew after a
momentary silence.
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Pierre sat up on the sofa, with his legs tucked under
him.
‘Really, I don’t yet know. I don’t like either the one or the
other.’
‘But you must decide on something! Your father expects
it.’
Pierre at the age of ten had been sent abroad with an abbe
as tutor, and had remained away till he was twenty. When
he returned to Moscow his father dismissed the abbe and
said to the young man, ‘Now go to Petersburg, look round,
and choose your profession. I will agree to anything. Here
is a letter to Prince Vasili, and here is money. Write to me
all about it, and I will help you in everything.’ Pierre had al-
ready been choosing a career for three months, and had not
decided on anything. It was about this choice that Prince
Andrew was speaking. Pierre rubbed his forehead.
‘But he must be a Freemason,’ said he, referring to the
abbe whom he had met that evening.
‘That is all nonsense.’ Prince Andrew again interrupt-
ed him, ‘let us talk business. Have you been to the Horse
Guards?’
‘No, I have not; but this is what I have been thinking and
wanted to tell you. There is a war now against Napoleon. If it
were a war for freedom I could understand it and should be
the first to enter the army; but to help England and Austria
against the greatest man in the world is not right.’
Prince Andrew only shrugged his shoulders at Pierre’s
childish words. He put on the air of one who finds it im-
possible to reply to such nonsense, but it would in fact have
War and Peace
42
been difficult to give any other answer than the one Prince
Andrew gave to this naive question.
‘If no one fought except on his own conviction, there
would be no wars,’ he said.
‘And that would be splendid,’ said Pierre.
Prince Andrew smiled ironically.
‘Very likely it would be splendid, but it will never come
about..’
‘Well, why are you going to the war?’ asked Pierre.
‘What for? I don’t know. I must. Besides that I am go-
ing...’ He paused. ‘I am going because the life I am leading
here does not suit me!’
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Chapter VII
The rustle of a woman’s dress was heard in the next room.
Prince Andrew shook himself as if waking up, and his face
assumed the look it had had in Anna Pavlovna’s drawing
room. Pierre removed his feet from the sofa. The princess
came in. She had changed her gown for a house dress as
fresh and elegant as the other. Prince Andrew rose and po-
litely placed a chair for her.
‘How is it,’ she began, as usual in French, settling down
briskly and fussily in the easy chair, ‘how is it Annette never
got married? How stupid you men all are not to have mar-
ried her! Excuse me for saying so, but you have no sense
about women. What an argumentative fellow you are, Mon-
sieur Pierre!’
‘And I am still arguing with your husband. I can’t un-
derstand why he wants to go to the war,’ replied Pierre,
addressing the princess with none of the embarrassment so
commonly shown by young men in their intercourse with
young women.
The princess started. Evidently Pierre’s words touched
her to the quick.
‘Ah, that is just what I tell him!’ said she. ‘I don’t under-
stand it; I don’t in the least understand why men can’t live
without wars. How is it that we women don’t want anything
of the kind, don’t need it? Now you shall judge between us.
War and Peace
44
I always tell him: Here he is Uncle’s aide-de-camp, a most
brilliant position. He is so well known, so much appreciated
by everyone. The other day at the Apraksins’ I heard a lady
asking, ‘Is that the famous Prince Andrew?’ I did indeed.’
She laughed. ‘He is so well received everywhere. He might
easily become aide-de-camp to the Emperor. You know the
Emperor spoke to him most graciously. Annette and I were
speaking of how to arrange it. What do you think?’
Pierre looked at his friend and, noticing that he did not
like the conversation, gave no reply.
‘When are you starting?’ he asked.
‘Oh, don’t speak of his going, don’t! I won’t hear it spo-
ken of,’ said the princess in the same petulantly playful tone
in which she had spoken to Hippolyte in the drawing room
and which was so plainly ill-suited to the family circle of
which Pierre was almost a member. ‘Today when I remem-
bered that all these delightful associations must be broken
off... and then you know, Andre...’ (she looked significantly
at her husband) ‘I’m afraid, I’m afraid!’ she whispered, and
a shudder ran down her back.
Her husband looked at her as if surprised to notice that
someone besides Pierre and himself was in the room, and
addressed her in a tone of frigid politeness.
‘What is it you are afraid of, Lise? I don’t understand,’
said he.
‘There, what egotists men all are: all, all egotists! Just for
a whim of his own, goodness only knows why, he leaves me
and locks me up alone in the country.’
‘With my father and sister, remember,’ said Prince An-
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drew gently.
‘Alone all the same, without my friends.... And he ex-
pects me not to be afraid.’
Her tone was now querulous and her lip drawn up, giving
her not a joyful, but an animal, squirrel-like expression. She
paused as if she felt it indecorous to speak of her pregnancy
before Pierre, though the gist of the matter lay in that.
‘I still can’t understand what you are afraid of,’ said
Prince Andrew slowly, not taking his eyes off his wife.
The princess blushed, and raised her arms with a gesture
of despair.
‘No, Andrew, I must say you have changed. Oh, how you
have..’
‘Your doctor tells you to go to bed earlier,’ said Prince
Andrew. ‘You had better go.’
The princess said nothing, but suddenly her short downy
lip quivered. Prince Andrew rose, shrugged his shoulders,
and walked about the room.
Pierre looked over his spectacles with naive surprise,
now at him and now at her, moved as if about to rise too,
but changed his mind.
‘Why should I mind Monsieur Pierre being here?’ ex-
claimed the little princess suddenly, her pretty face all at
once distorted by a tearful grimace. ‘I have long wanted to
ask you, Andrew, why you have changed so to me? What
have I done to you? You are going to the war and have no
pity for me. Why is it?’
‘Lise!’ was all Prince Andrew said. But that one word ex-
pressed an entreaty, a threat, and above all conviction that
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46
she would herself regret her words. But she went on hur-
riedly:
‘You treat me like an invalid or a child. I see it all! Did
you behave like that six months ago?’
‘Lise, I beg you to desist,’ said Prince Andrew still more
emphatically.
Pierre, who had been growing more and more agitated
as he listened to all this, rose and approached the princess.
He seemed unable to bear the sight of tears and was ready
to cry himself.
‘Calm yourself, Princess! It seems so to you because... I
assure you I myself have experienced... and so... because...
No, excuse me! An outsider is out of place here... No, don’t
distress yourself... Good-by!’
Prince Andrew caught him by the hand.
‘No, wait, Pierre! The princess is too kind to wish to de-
prive me of the pleasure of spending the evening with you.’
‘No, he thinks only of himself,’ muttered the princess
without restraining her angry tears.
‘Lise!’ said Prince Andrew dryly, raising his voice to the
pitch which indicates that patience is exhausted.
Suddenly the angry, squirrel-like expression of the prin-
cess’ pretty face changed into a winning and piteous look
of fear. Her beautiful eyes glanced askance at her husband’s
face, and her own assumed the timid, deprecating expres-
sion of a dog when it rapidly but feebly wags its drooping
tail.
‘Mon Dieu, mon Dieu!’ she muttered, and lifting her
dress with one hand she went up to her husband and kissed
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him on the forehead.
‘Good night, Lise,’ said he, rising and courteously kissing
her hand as he would have done to a stranger.
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48
Chapter VIII
The friends were silent. Neither cared to begin talking.
Pierre continually glanced at Prince Andrew; Prince An-
drew rubbed his forehead with his small hand.
‘Let us go and have supper,’ he said with a sigh, going to
the door.
They entered the elegant, newly decorated, and luxuri-
ous dining room. Everything from the table napkins to the
silver, china, and glass bore that imprint of newness found
in the households of the newly married. Halfway through
supper Prince Andrew leaned his elbows on the table and,
with a look of nervous agitation such as Pierre had never be-
fore seen on his face, began to talkas one who has long had
something on his mind and suddenly determines to speak
out.
‘Never, never marry, my dear fellow! That’s my advice:
never marry till you can say to yourself that you have done
all you are capable of, and until you have ceased to love the
woman of your choice and have seen her plainly as she is, or
else you will make a cruel and irrevocable mistake. Marry
when you are old and good for nothingor all that is good
and noble in you will be lost. It will all be wasted on trifles.
Yes! Yes! Yes! Don’t look at me with such surprise. If you
marry expecting anything from yourself in the future, you
will feel at every step that for you all is ended, all is closed
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except the drawing room, where you will be ranged side
by side with a court lackey and an idiot!... But what’s the
good?...’ and he waved his arm.
Pierre took off his spectacles, which made his face seem
different and the good-natured expression still more appar-
ent, and gazed at his friend in amazement.
‘My wife,’ continued Prince Andrew, ‘is an excellent
woman, one of those rare women with whom a man’s honor
is safe; but, O God, what would I not give now to be unmar-
ried! You are the first and only one to whom I mention this,
because I like you.’
As he said this Prince Andrew was less than ever like
that Bolkonski who had lolled in Anna Pavlovna’s easy
chairs and with half-closed eyes had uttered French phrases
between his teeth. Every muscle of his thin face was now
quivering with nervous excitement; his eyes, in which the
fire of life had seemed extinguished, now flashed with bril-
liant light. It was evident that the more lifeless he seemed at
ordinary times, the more impassioned he became in these
moments of almost morbid irritation.
‘You don’t understand why I say this,’ he continued, ‘but
it is the whole story of life. You talk of Bonaparte and his ca-
reer,’ said he (though Pierre had not mentioned Bonaparte),
‘but Bonaparte when he worked went step by step toward
his goal. He was free, he had nothing but his aim to consid-
er, and he reached it. But tie yourself up with a woman and,
like a chained convict, you lose all freedom! And all you
have of hope and strength merely weighs you down and tor-
ments you with regret. Drawing rooms, gossip, balls, vanity,
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50
and trivialitythese are the enchanted circle I cannot escape
from. I am now going to the war, the greatest war there ever
was, and I know nothing and am fit for nothing. I am very
amiable and have a caustic wit,’ continued Prince Andrew,
‘and at Anna Pavlovna’s they listen to me. And that stupid
set without whom my wife cannot exist, and those women...
If you only knew what those society women are, and women
in general! My father is right. Selfish, vain, stupid, trivial
in everythingthat’s what women are when you see them in
their true colors! When you meet them in society it seems as
if there were something in them, but there’s nothing, noth-
ing, nothing! No, don’t marry, my dear fellow; don’t marry!’
concluded Prince Andrew.
‘It seems funny to me,’ said Pierre, ‘that you, you should
consider yourself incapable and your life a spoiled life. You
have everything before you, everything. And you..’
He did not finish his sentence, but his tone showed how
highly he thought of his friend and how much he expected
of him in the future.
‘How can he talk like that?’ thought Pierre. He consid-
ered his friend a model of perfection because Prince Andrew
possessed in the highest degree just the very qualities Pierre
lacked, and which might be best described as strength of
will. Pierre was always astonished at Prince Andrew’s calm
manner of treating everybody, his extraordinary memory,
his extensive reading (he had read everything, knew every-
thing, and had an opinion about everything), but above all
at his capacity for work and study. And if Pierre was often
struck by Andrew’s lack of capacity for philosophical medi-
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tation (to which he himself was particularly addicted), he
regarded even this not as a defect but as a sign of strength.
Even in the best, most friendly and simplest relations of
life, praise and commendation are essential, just as grease is
necessary to wheels that they may run smoothly.
‘My part is played out,’ said Prince Andrew. ‘What’s the
use of talking about me? Let us talk about you,’ he added af-
ter a silence, smiling at his reassuring thoughts.
That smile was immediately reflected on Pierre’s face.
‘But what is there to say about me?’ said Pierre, his face
relaxing into a careless, merry smile. ‘What am I? An il-
legitimate son!’ He suddenly blushed crimson, and it was
plain that he had made a great effort to say this. ‘Without
a name and without means... And it really...’ But he did not
say what ‘it really’ was. ‘For the present I am free and am all
right. Only I haven’t the least idea what I am to do; I wanted
to consult you seriously.’
Prince Andrew looked kindly at him, yet his glance-
friendly and affectionate as it wasexpressed a sense of his
own superiority.
‘I am fond of you, especially as you are the one live man
among our whole set. Yes, you’re all right! Choose what you
will; it’s all the same. You’ll be all right anywhere. But look
here: give up visiting those Kuragins and leading that sort
of life. It suits you so badlyall this debauchery, dissipation,
and the rest of it!’
‘What would you have, my dear fellow?’ answered Pierre,
shrugging his shoulders. ‘Women, my dear fellow; women!’
‘I don’t understand it,’ replied Prince Andrew. ‘Wom-
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52
en who are comme il faut, that’s a different matter; but the
Kuragins’ set of women, ‘women and wine’ I don’t under-
stand!’
Pierre was staying at Prince Vasili Kuragin’s and shar-
ing the dissipated life of his son Anatole, the son whom they
were planning to reform by marrying him to Prince An-
drew’s sister.
‘Do you know?’ said Pierre, as if suddenly struck by a
happy thought, ‘seriously, I have long been thinking of it....
Leading such a life I can’t decide or think properly about
anything. One’s head aches, and one spends all one’s mon-
ey. He asked me for tonight, but I won’t go.’
‘You give me your word of honor not to go?’
‘On my honor!’
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Chapter IX
It was past one o’clock when Pierre left his friend. It was a
cloudless, northern, summer night. Pierre took an open cab
intending to drive straight home. But the nearer he drew to
the house the more he felt the impossibility of going to sleep
on such a night. It was light enough to see a long way in the
deserted street and it seemed more like morning or evening
than night. On the way Pierre remembered that Anatole
Kuragin was expecting the usual set for cards that evening,
after which there was generally a drinking bout, finishing
with visits of a kind Pierre was very fond of.
‘I should like to go to Kuragin’s,’ thought he.
But he immediately recalled his promise to Prince An-
drew not to go there. Then, as happens to people of weak
character, he desired so passionately once more to enjoy that
dissipation he was so accustomed to that he decided to go.
The thought immediately occurred to him that his promise
to Prince Andrew was of no account, because before he gave
it he had already promised Prince Anatole to come to his
gathering; ‘besides,’ thought he, ‘all such ‘words of honor’
are conventional things with no definite meaning, especial-
ly if one considers that by tomorrow one may be dead, or
something so extraordinary may happen to one that honor
and dishonor will be all the same!’ Pierre often indulged in
reflections of this sort, nullifying all his decisions and inten-
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54
tions. He went to Kuragin’s.
Reaching the large house near the Horse Guards’ bar-
racks, in which Anatole lived, Pierre entered the lighted
porch, ascended the stairs, and went in at the open door.
There was no one in the anteroom; empty bottles, cloaks,
and overshoes were lying about; there was a smell of alcohol,
and sounds of voices and shouting in the distance.
Cards and supper were over, but the visitors had not yet
dispersed. Pierre threw off his cloak and entered the first
room, in which were the remains of supper. A footman,
thinking no one saw him, was drinking on the sly what
was left in the glasses. From the third room came sounds
of laughter, the shouting of familiar voices, the growling of
a bear, and general commotion. Some eight or nine young
men were crowding anxiously round an open window. Three
others were romping with a young bear, one pulling him by
the chain and trying to set him at the others.
‘I bet a hundred on Stevens!’ shouted one.
‘Mind, no holding on!’ cried another.
‘I bet on Dolokhov!’ cried a third. ‘Kuragin, you part our
hands.’
‘There, leave Bruin alone; here’s a bet on.’
‘At one draught, or he loses!’ shouted a fourth.
‘Jacob, bring a bottle!’ shouted the host, a tall, handsome
fellow who stood in the midst of the group, without a coat,
and with his fine linen shirt unfastened in front. ‘Wait a bit,
you fellows.... Here is Petya! Good man!’ cried he, address-
ing Pierre.
Another voice, from a man of medium height with clear
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blue eyes, particularly striking among all these drunken
voices by its sober ring, cried from the window: ‘Come here;
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