Book 1 Chapter 5

THANKING ANNA PAVLOVNA for her charmante soirée, the guests began to take leave.

Pierre was clumsy, stout and uncommonly tall, with huge red hands; he did not, as they say, know how to come into a drawing-room and still less how to get out of one, that is, how to say something particularly agreeable on going away. Moreover, he was dreamy. He stood up, and picking up a three-cornered hat with the plume of a general in it instead of his own, he kept hold of it, pulling the feathers till the general asked him to restore it. But all his dreaminess and his inability to enter a drawing-room or talk properly in it were atoned for by his expression of good-nature, simplicity and modesty. Anna Pavlovna turned to him, and with Christian meekness signifying her forgiveness for his misbehaviour, she nodded to him and said:

“I hope I shall see you again, but I hope too you will change your opinions, my dear Monsieur Pierre.”

He made no answer, simply bowed and displayed to every one once more his smile, which said as plainly as words: “Opinions or no opinions, you see what a nice, good-hearted fellow I am.” And Anna Pavlovna and every one else instinctively felt this. Prince Andrey had gone out into the hall and turning his shoulders to the footman who was ready to put his cloak on him, he listened indifferently to his wife's chatter with Prince Ippolit, who had also come out into the hall. Prince Ippolit stood close to the pretty princess, so soon to be a mother, and stared persistently straight at her through his eyeglass.

“Go in, Annette, you'll catch cold,” said the little princess, saying good-bye to Anna Pavlovna. “It is settled,” she added in a low voice.

Anna Pavlovna had managed to have a few words with Liza about the match she was planning between Anatole and the sister-in-law of the little princess.

“I rely on you, my dear,” said Anna Pavlovna, also in an undertone; “you write to her and tell me how the father will view the matter. Au revoir!” And she went back out of the hall.

Prince Ippolit went up to the little princess and, bending his face down close to her, began saying something to her in a half whisper.

Two footmen, one the princess's, the other his own, stood with shawl and redingote waiting till they should finish talking, and listened to their French prattle, incomprehensible to them, with faces that seemed to say that they understood what was being said but would not show it. The princess, as always, talked with a smile and listened laughing.

“I'm very glad I didn't go to the ambassador's,” Prince Ippolit was saying: “such a bore.…A delightful evening it has been, hasn't it? delightful.”

“They say the ball will be a very fine one,” answered the little princess, twitching up her downy little lip. “All the pretty women are to be there.”

“Not all, since you won't be there; not all,” said Prince Ippolit, laughing gleefully; and snatching the shawl from the footman, shoving him aside as he did so, he began putting it on the little princess. Either from awkwardness or intentionally—no one could have said which—he did not remove his arms for a long while after the shawl had been put on, as it were holding the young woman in his embrace.

Gracefully, but still smiling, she moved away, turned round and glanced at her husband. Prince Andrey's eyes were closed: he seemed weary and drowsy.

“Are you ready?” he asked his wife, avoiding her eyes.

Prince Ippolit hurriedly put on his redingote, which in the latest mode hung down to his heels, and stumbling over it, ran out on to the steps after the princess, whom the footman was assisting into the carriage.

“Princesse, au revoir,” he shouted, his tongue tripping like his legs.

The princess, picking up her gown, seated herself in the darkness of the carriage; her husband was arranging his sabre; Prince Ippolit, under the pretence of assisting, was in every one's way.

“Allow me, sir,” Prince Andrey said in Russian drily and disagreeably to Prince Ippolit, who prevented his passing.

“I expect you, Pierre,” the same voice called in warm and friendly tones.

The postillion started at a trot, and the carriage rumbled away. Prince Ippolit gave vent to a short, jerky guffaw, as he stood on the steps waiting for the vicomte, whom he had promised to take home.

“Well, my dear fellow, your little princess is very good-looking, very good-looking,” said the vicomte, as he sat in the carriage with Ippolit. “Very good-looking indeed;” he kissed his finger tips. “And quite French.”

Ippolit snorted and laughed.

“And, do you know, you are a terrible fellow with that little innocent way of yours,” pursued the vicomte. “I am sorry for the poor husband, that officer boy who gives himself the airs of a reigning prince.”

Ippolit guffawed again, and in the middle of a laugh articulated:

“And you said that the Russian ladies were not equal to the French ladies. You must know how to take them.”

Pierre, arriving first, went to Prince Andrey's study, like one of the household, and at once lay down on the sofa, as his habit was, and taking up the first book he came upon in the shelf (it was C?sar's Commentaries) he propped himself on his elbow, and began reading it in the middle.

“What a shock you gave Mlle. Scherer! She'll be quite ill now,” Prince Andrey said, as he came into the study rubbing his small white hands.

Pierre rolled his whole person over so that the sofa creaked, turned his eager face to Prince Andrey, smiled and waved his hand to him.

“Oh, that abbé was very interesting, only he's got a wrong notion about it.…To my thinking, perpetual peace is possible, but I don't know how to put it.…Not by means of the balance of political power.…”

Prince Andrey was obviously not interested in these abstract discussions.

“One can't always say all one thinks everywhere, mon cher. Come tell me, have you settled on anything at last? Are you going into the cavalry or the diplomatic service?” asked Prince Andrey, after a momentary pause.

Pierre sat on the sofa with his legs crossed under him.

“Can you believe it, I still don't know. I don't like either.”

“But you must decide on something; you know your father's expecting it.”

At ten years old Pierre had been sent with an abbé as tutor to be educated abroad, and there he remained till he was twenty. When he returned to Moscow, his father had dismissed the tutor and said to the young man: “Now you go to Petersburg, look about you and make your choice. I agree to anything. Here is a letter to Prince Vassily and here is money. Write and tell me everything; I will help you in everything.” Pierre had been three months already choosing a career and had not yet made his choice. It was of this choice Prince Andrey spoke to him now. Pierre rubbed his forehead.

“But he must be a freemason,” he said, meaning the abbé he had seen that evening.

“That's all nonsense,” Prince Andrey pulled him up again; “we'd better talk of serious things. Have you been to the Horse Guards?”

“No, I haven't; but this is what struck me and I wanted to talk to you about it. This war now is against Napoleon. If it were a war for freedom, I could have understood it, I would have been the first to go into the army; but to help England and Austria against the greatest man in the world—that's not right.”

Prince Andrey simply shrugged his shoulders at Pierre's childish words. He looked as though one really could not answer such absurdities. But in reality it was hard to find any answer to this na?ve question other than the answer Prince Andrey made. “If every one would only fight for his own convictions, there'd be no war,” he said.

“And a very good thing that would be too,” said Pierre.

Prince Andrey smiled ironically. “Very likely it would be a good thing, but it will never come to pass…”

“Well, what are you going to the war for?” asked Pierre.

“What for? I don't know. Because I have to. Besides, I'm going…” he stopped. “I'm going because the life I lead here, this life is—not to my taste!”

客人们都向安娜·帕夫洛夫娜道谢，多亏她举行这次charmantesoirée①，开始散场了。

①法语：迷人的晚会。

皮埃尔笨手笨脚。他长得非常肥胖，身材比普通人高，肩宽背厚，一双发红的手又粗又壮。正如大家所说的那样，他不熟谙进入沙龙的规矩，更不熟谙走出沙龙的规矩，很不内行，即是说，他不会在出门之前说两句十分悦耳的话。除此而外，他还颟颟顸顸。他站立起来，随手拿起一顶带有将军羽饰的三角帽，而不去拿自己的阔边帽，他手中拿着三角帽，不停地扯着帽缨，直至那个将军索回三角帽为止。不过他的善良、憨厚和谦逊的表情弥补了他那漫不经心、不熟谙进入沙龙的规矩、不擅长在沙龙中说话的缺陷。安娜·帕夫洛夫娜向他转过脸来，抱有基督徒的温和态度，对他乖戾的举动表示宽恕，点点头对他说道：

“我亲爱的皮埃尔先生，我希望再能和您见面，但是我也希望您能改变您的见解。”她说道。

当她对他说这话时，他一言未答，只是行了一鞠躬礼，又向大家微微一笑，这微笑没有说明什么涵义，大概只能表示，“意见总之是意见，可你们知道，我是一个多么好、多么善良的人。”所有的人随同安娜·帕夫洛夫娜，都不由自主地产生了这个感想。

安德烈公爵走到接待室，他向给他披斗篷的仆人挺起肩膀，冷淡地听听他妻子和那位也走到接待室来的伊波利特公爵闲谈。伊波利特站在长得标致的身已怀胎的公爵夫人侧边，戴起单目眼镜目不转睛地直盯着她。

“安内特，您进去吧，您会伤风的，”矮小的公爵夫人一面向安娜·帕夫洛夫娜告辞，一面对她说。“C'estarrèté①，”

她放低嗓门补充说。

安娜·帕夫洛夫娜已经和丽莎商谈过她想要给阿纳托利和矮小的公爵夫人的小姑子说媒的事情。

“亲爱的朋友，我信任您了，”安娜·帕夫洛夫娜也放低嗓门说道，“您给她写封信，再告诉我，commentlepéreenvisBageralachose．Aurevoir②。”她于是离开招待室。

①法语：就这样确定了。

②法语：您父亲对这件事的看法。再会。

伊波利特公爵走到矮小的公爵夫人近旁，弯下腰来把脸凑近她，轻言细语地对她说些什么话。

两名仆人，一名是公爵夫人的仆人，他手中拿着肩巾，另一名是他的仆人，他手上提着长礼服，伫立在那里等候他们把话说完毕。他们听着他们心里不懂的法国话，那神态好像他们懂得似的，可是不想流露出他们听懂的神色。公爵夫人一如平常，笑容可掬地谈吐，听话时面露笑意。

“我非常高兴，我没有到公使那里去，”伊波利特公爵说道，“令人纳闷……晚会真美妙，是不是，真美妙？”

“有人说，舞会妙极了，”公爵夫人噘起长满茸毛的小嘴唇道，“社团中美貌的女人都要在那里露面。”

“不是所有的女人，因为您就不出席，不是所有女人，”伊波利特公爵说，洋洋得意地大笑，他霍地从仆人手中拿起肩巾，甚至推撞他，把肩巾披在公爵夫人身上。不知是动作不灵活还是蓄意这样做（谁也搞不清是怎么回事），肩巾还披在她身上，他却久久地没有把手放开，俨像在拥抱那个少妇似的。

她一直微露笑容，风度优雅地避开他，转过身来望了望丈夫。安德烈公爵阖上了眼睛，他似乎十分困倦，现出昏昏欲睡的神态。

“您已准备就绪了吧？”他向妻子问道，目光却回避她。

伊波利特公爵急急忙忙地穿上他那件新款式的长过脚后跟的长礼服，有点绊脚地跑到台阶上去追赶公爵夫人，这时分，仆人搀着她坐上马车。

“Princesse，aurevoir①．”他高声喊道，他的舌头也像两腿被礼服绊住那样，几乎要说不出话来。

①法语：公爵夫人，再会。

公爵夫人撩起连衣裙，在那昏暗的马车中坐下来，她的丈夫在整理军刀，以效劳作为藉口的伊波利特公爵打扰了大家。

“先生，请让开。”伊波利特公爵妨碍安德烈公爵走过去，安德烈公爵于是冷冰冰地、满不高兴地用俄国话对他说道。

“皮埃尔，我在等候你。”安德烈公爵用那同样温柔悦耳的嗓音说道。

前导马御手开动了马车，马车车轮于是隆隆地响了起来。伊波利特公爵发出若断若续的笑声，站在门廊上等候子爵，他已答应乘车送子爵回家。

“呵，亲爱的，您这位矮小的公爵夫人十分可爱。十分可爱。简直是个法国女人。”子爵和伊波利特在马车中并排坐下来，说道。他吻了一下自己的指头尖。

伊波利特噗嗤一声笑了起来。

“您知不知道，您那纯真无瑕的样子真骇人，”子爵继续说下去，“我为这个可怜的丈夫——硬充是世袭领主的小军官表示遗憾。”

伊波利特又噗嗤一声笑了，透过笑声说道：

“可是您说过，俄国女士抵不过法国女士。要善于应付。”

皮埃尔先行到达，他像家里人一样走进了安德烈公爵的书斋，习以为常地立刻躺在沙发上，从书架上随便拿起一本书（这是凯撒写的《见闻录》），他用臂肘支撑着身子，从书本的半中间读了起来。

“你对舍列尔小姐怎么样？她现在完全病倒了。”安德烈公爵搓搓他那洁白的小手走进书斋时说道。

皮埃尔把整个身子翻了过来。沙发给弄得轧轧作响，他把神彩奕奕的脸孔转向安德烈公爵，露出一阵微笑，又把手挥动一下。

“不，这个神父很有风趣，只是不太明白事理……依我看，永久和平有可能实现，但是我不会把这件事说得透彻……横直不是凭藉政治均衡的手段……”

显然，安德烈公爵对这些抽象的话题不发生兴趣。

“我亲爱的，你不能到处把你想说的话一股脑儿说出来，啊，怎么样，你终究拿定了什么主意？你要做一名近卫重骑兵团的士兵，还是做一名外交官？”安德烈公爵在沉默片刻之后问道。

“您可以想象，我还不知道啦。这二者我都不喜欢。”

“可你要知道，总得拿定主意吧？你父亲在期望呢。”

皮埃尔从十岁起便随同做家庭教师的神父被送到国外去了，他在国外住到二十岁。当他回到莫斯科以后，他父亲把神父解雇了，并对这个年轻人说道：“你现在就到彼得堡去吧，观光一下，选个职务吧。我什么事情都同意。这是一封写给瓦西里公爵的信，这是给你用的钱。你把各种情况写信告诉我吧，我会在各个方面助你一臂之力。”皮埃尔选择职务选了三个月，可是一事无成。安德烈公爵也和他谈到选择职务这件事。皮埃尔揩了一下额头上的汗。

“他必然是个共济会会员。”他说道，心里指的是他在一次晚会上见过面的那个神父。

“这全是胡言乱语，”安德烈公爵又制止他，说道：“让我们最好谈谈正经事吧。你到过骑兵近卫军没有？……”

“没有，我没有去过，可是我脑海中想到一件事，要和您谈谈才好。目前这一场战争，是反对拿破仑的战争。假如这是一场争取自由的战争，那我心中就会一明二白，我要头一个去服兵役。可是帮助美国和奥地利去反对世界上一个最伟大的人……这就很不好了。”

安德烈公爵对皮埃尔这种稚气的言谈只是耸耸肩膀而已。他做出一副对这种傻话无可回答的神态，诚然，对这种幼稚的问题，只能像安德烈公爵那样作答，真难以作出他种答案。

“设若人人只凭信念而战，那就无战争可言了。”他说。

“这就美不胜言了。”皮埃尔说道。

安德烈公爵发出了一阵苦笑。

“也许，这真是美不胜言，但是，这种情景永远不会出现……”

“啊，您为什么要去作战呢？”皮埃尔问道。

“为什么？我也不知道，应当这样做。除此而外，我去作战……”他停顿下来了，“我去作战是因为我在这里所过的这种生活，这种生活不合乎我的心愿！”