Chapter Chapter 6 · 第6章

Having thanked Anna Pávlovna 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 saying is, how to enter a drawing

room and still less how to leave one; that is, how to say something

particularly agreeable before 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, however, redeemed by

his kindly, simple, and modest expression. Anna Pávlovna 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 Pávlovna, 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 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 Pávlovna. “It is settled,” she added in a low

voice.

Anna Pávlovna 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 Pávlovna, 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 wrapping 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 everyone’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 gently 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 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 innocent 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 resting on his elbow, began reading it in the middle.

“What have you done to Mlle Schérer? She will be quite ill now,”

said Prince Andrew, as he entered the study, rubbing 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 abbé is very interesting but he does not see the thing in the

right light.... In my opinion perpetual peace is possible but—I do not

know how to express it ... not by a balance 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.

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 abbé as tutor,

and had remained away till he was twenty. When he returned to Moscow

his father dismissed the abbé 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 Vasíli, and here is money. Write

to me all about it, and I will help you in everything.” Pierre had

already 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 abbé whom

he had met that evening.

“That is all nonsense.” Prince Andrew again interrupted 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 impossible to reply to such

nonsense, but it would in fact have been difficult to give any other

answer than the one Prince Andrew gave to this naïve 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 going....” He

paused. “I am going because the life I am leading here does not suit

me!”