Book 3 Chapter 2

IN THE DECEMBER of 1805, the old Prince Nikolay Andreitch Bolkonsky received a letter from Prince Vassily, announcing that he intended to visit him with his son. (“I am going on an inspection tour, and of course a hundred versts is only a step out of the way for me to visit you, my deeply-honoured benefactor,” he wrote. “My Anatole is accompanying me on his way to the army, and I hope you will permit him to express to you in person the profound veneration that, following his father's example, he entertains for you.”)

“Well, there's no need to bring Marie out, it seems; suitors come to us of themselves,” the little princess said heedlessly on hearing of this. Prince Nikolay Andreitch scowled and said nothing.

A fortnight after receiving the letter, Prince Vassily's servants arrived one evening in advance of him, and the following day he came himself with his son.

Old Bolkonsky had always had a poor opinion of Prince Vassily's character, and this opinion had grown stronger of late since Prince Vassily had, under the new reigns of Paul and Alexander, advanced to high rank and honours. Now from the letter and the little princess's hints, he saw what the object of the visit was, and his poor opinion of Prince Vassily passed into a feeling of ill-will and contempt in the old prince's heart. He snorted indignantly whenever he spoke of him. On the day of Prince Vassily's arrival, the old prince was particularly discontented and out of humour. Whether he was out of humour because Prince Vassily was coming, or whether he was particularly displeased at Prince Vassily's coming because he was out of humour, no one can say. But he was out of humour, and early in the morning Tihon had dissuaded the architect from going to the prince with his report.

“Listen how he's walking,” said Tihon, calling the attention of the architect to the sound of the prince's footsteps. “Stepping flat on his heels … then we know …”

At nine o'clock, however, the old prince went out for a walk, as usual, wearing his short, velvet, fur-lined cloak with a sable collar and a sable cap. There had been a fall of snow on the previous evening. The path along which Prince Nikolay Andreitch walked to the conservatory had been cleared; there were marks of a broom in the swept snow, and a spade had been left sticking in the crisp bank of snow that bordered the path on both sides. The prince walked through the conservatories, the servants' quarters, and the out-buildings, frowning and silent.

“Could a sledge drive up?” he asked the respectful steward, who was escorting him to the house, with a countenance and manners like his own.

“The snow is deep, your excellency. I gave orders for the avenue to be swept too.”

The prince nodded, and was approaching the steps. “Glory to Thee, O Lord!” thought the steward, “the storm has passed over!”

“It would have been hard to drive up, your excellency,” added the steward. “So I hear, your excellency, there's a minister coming to visit your excellency?” The prince turned to the steward and stared with scowling eyes at him.

“Eh? A minister? What minister? Who gave you orders?” he began in his shrill, cruel voice. “For the princess my daughter, you do not clear the way, but for the minister you do! For me there are no ministers!”

“Your excellency, I supposed …”

“You supposed,” shouted the prince, articulating with greater and greater haste and incoherence. “You supposed … Brigands! blackguards! … I'll teach you to suppose,” and raising his stick he waved it at Alpatitch, and would have hit him, had not the steward instinctively shrunk back and escaped the blow. “You supposed … Blackguards! …” he still cried hurriedly. But although Alpatitch, shocked at his own insolence in dodging the blow, went closer to the prince, with his bald head bent humbly before him, or perhaps just because of this, the prince did not lift the stick again, and still shouting, “Blackguards! … fill up the road …” he ran to his room.

Princess Marya and Mademoiselle Bourienne stood, waiting for the old prince before dinner, well aware that he was out of temper. Mademoiselle Bourienne's beaming countenance seemed to say, “I know nothing about it, I am just the same as usual,” while Princess Marya stood pale and terrified with downcast eyes. What made it harder for Princess Marya was that she knew that she ought to act like Mademoiselle Bourienne at such times, but she could not do it. She felt, “If I behave as if I did not notice it, he'll think I have no sympathy with him. If I behave as if I were depressed and out of humour myself, he'll say (as indeed often happened) that I'm sulky …” and so on.

The prince glanced at his daughter's scared face and snorted.

“Stuff!” or perhaps “stupid!” he muttered. “And the other is not here! they've been telling tales to her already,” he thought, noticing that the little princess was not in the dining-room.

“Where's Princess Liza?” he asked. “In hiding?”

“She's not quite well,” said Mademoiselle Bourienne with a bright smile; “she is not coming down. In her condition it is only to be expected.”

“H'm! h'm! kh! kh!” growled the prince, and he sat down to the table. He thought his plate was not clean: he pointed to a mark on it and threw it away. Tihon caught it and handed it to a footman. The little princess was quite well, but she was in such overwhelming terror of the prince, that on hearing he was in a bad temper, she had decided not to come in.

“I am afraid for my baby,” she said to Mademoiselle Bourienne; “God knows what might not be the result of a fright.”

The little princess, in fact, lived at Bleak Hills in a state of continual terror of the old prince, and had an aversion for him, of which she was herself unconscious, so completely did terror overbear every other feeling. There was the same aversion on the prince's side, too; but in his case it was swallowed up in contempt. As she went on staying at Bleak Hills, the little princess became particularly fond of Mademoiselle Bourienne; she spent her days with her, begged her to sleep in her room, and often talked of her father-in-law, and criticised him to her.

“We have company coming, prince,” said Mademoiselle Bourienne, her rosy fingers unfolding her dinner-napkin. “His excellency Prince Kuragin with his son, as I have heard say?” she said in a tone of inquiry.

“H'm! … his excellence is an upstart. I got him his place in the college,” the old prince said huffily. “And what his son's coming for, I can't make out. Princess Lizaveta Karlovna and Princess Marya can tell us, maybe; I don't know what he's bringing his son here for. I don't want him.” And he looked at his daughter, who turned crimson.

“Unwell, eh? Scared of the minister, as that blockhead Alpatitch called him to-day?”

“Non, mon père.”

Unsuccessful as Mademoiselle Bourienne had been in the subject she had started, she did not desist, but went on prattling away about the conservatories, the beauty of a flower that had just opened, and after the soup the prince subsided.

After dinner he went to see his daughter-in-law. The little princess was sitting at a little table gossiping with Masha, her maid. She turned pale on seeing her father-in-law.

The little princess was greatly changed. She looked ugly rather than pretty now. Her cheeks were sunken, her lip was drawn up, and her eyes were hollow.

“Yes, a sort of heaviness,” she said in answer to the prince's inquiry how she felt.

“Isn't there anything you need?”

“Non, merci, mon père.”

“Oh, very well then, very well.”

He went out and into the waiting-room. Alpatitch was standing there with downcast head.

“Filled up the road again?”

“Yes, your excellency; for God's sake, forgive me, it was simply a blunder.”

The prince cut him short with his unnatural laugh.

“Oh, very well, very well.” He held out his hand, which Alpatitch kissed, and then he went to his study.

In the evening Prince Vassily arrived. He was met on the way by the coachmen and footmen of the Bolkonskys, who with shouts dragged his carriages and sledge to the lodge, over the road, which had been purposely obstructed with snow again.

Prince Vassily and Anatole were conducted to separate apartments.

Taking off his tunic, Anatole sat with his elbows on the table, on a corner of which he fixed his handsome, large eyes with a smiling, unconcerned stare. All his life he had looked upon as an uninterrupted entertainment, which some one or other was, he felt, somehow bound to provide for him. In just the same spirit he had looked at his visit to the cross old gentleman and his rich and hideous daughter. It might all, according to his anticipations, turn out very jolly and amusing. “And why not get married, if she has such a lot of money? That never comes amiss,” thought Anatole.

He shaved and scented himself with the care and elegance that had become habitual with him, and with his characteristic expression of all-conquering good-humour, he walked into his father's room, holding, his head high. Two valets were busily engaged in dressing Prince Vassily; he was looking about him eagerly, and nodded gaily to his son, as he entered with an air that said, “Yes, that's just how I wanted to see you looking.”

“Come, joking apart, father, is she so hideous? Eh?” he asked in French, as though reverting to a subject more than once discussed on the journey.

“Nonsense! The great thing for you is to try and be respectful and sensible with the old prince.”

“If he gets nasty, I'm off,” said Anatole. “I can't stand those old gentlemen. Eh?”

“Remember that for you everything depends on it.”

Meanwhile, in the feminine part of the household not only the arrival of the minister and his son was already known, but the appearance of both had been minutely described. Princess Marya was sitting alone in her room doing her utmost to control her inner emotion.

“Why did they write, why did Liza tell me about it? Why, it cannot be!” she thought, looking at herself in the glass. “How am I to go into the drawing-room? Even if I like him, I could never be myself with him now.” The mere thought of her father's eyes reduced her to terror. The little princess and Mademoiselle Bourienne had already obtained all necessary information from the maid, Masha; they had learned what a handsome fellow the minister's son was, with rosy cheeks and black eye-brows; how his papa had dragged his legs upstairs with difficulty, while he, like a young eagle, had flown up after him three steps at a time. On receiving these items of information, the little princess and Mademoiselle Bourienne, whose eager voices were audible in the corridor, went into Princess Marya's room.

“They are come, Marie, do you know?” said the little princess, waddling in and sinking heavily into an armchair. She was not wearing the gown in which she had been sitting in the morning, but had put on one of her best dresses. Her hair had been carefully arranged, and her face was full of an eager excitement, which did not, however, conceal its wasted and pallid look. In the smart clothes which she had been used to wear in Petersburg in society, the loss of her good looks was even more noticeable. Mademoiselle Bourienne, too, had put some hardly perceptible finishing touches to her costume, which made her fresh, pretty face even more attractive.

“What, and you are staying just as you are, dear princess. They will come in a minute to tell us the gentlemen are in the drawing-room,” she began. “We shall have to go down, and you are doing nothing at all to your dress.”

The little princess got up from her chair, rang for the maid, and hurriedly and eagerly began to arrange what Princess Marya was to wear, and to put her ideas into practice. Princess Marya's sense of personal dignity was wounded by her own agitation at the arrival of her suitor, and still more was she mortified that her two companions should not even conceive that she ought not to be so agitated. To have told them how ashamed she was of herself and of them would have been to betray her own excitement. Besides, to refuse to be dressed up, as they suggested, would have been exposing herself to reiterated raillery and insistence. She flushed; her beautiful eyes grew dim; her face was suffused with patches of crimson; and with the unbeautiful, victimised expression which was the one most often seen on her face, she abandoned herself to Mademoiselle Bourienne and Liza. Both women exerted themselves with perfect sincerity to make her look well. She was so plain that the idea of rivalry with her could never have entered their heads. Consequently it was with perfect sincerity, in the na?ve and unhesitating conviction women have that dress can make a face handsome, that they set to work to attire her.

“No, really, ma bonne amie, that dress isn't pretty,” said Liza, looking sideways at Princess Marya from a distance; “tell her to put on you your maroon velvet there. Yes, really! Why, you know, it may be the turning-point in your whole life. That one's too light, it's not right, no, it's not!”

It was not the dress that was wrong, but the face and the whole figure of the princess, but that was not felt by Mademoiselle Bourienne and the little princess. They still fancied that if they were to put a blue ribbon in her hair, and do it up high, and to put the blue sash lower on the maroon dress and so on, then all would be well. They forgot that the frightened face and figure of Princess Marya could not be changed, and therefore, however presentable they might make the setting and decoration of the face, the face itself would still look piteous and ugly. After two or three changes, to which Princess Marya submitted passively, when her hair had been done on the top of her head (which completely changed and utterly disfigured her), and the blue sash and best maroon velvet dress had been put on, the little princess walked twice round, and with her little hand stroked out a fold here and pulled down the sash there, and gazed at her with her head first on one side and then on the other.

“No, it won't do,” she said resolutely, throwing up her hands. “No, Marie, decidedly that does not suit you. I like you better in your little grey everyday frock. No, please do that for me. Katya,” she said to the maid, “bring the princess her grey dress, and look, Mademoiselle Bourienne, how I'll arrange it,” she said, smiling with a foretaste of artistic pleasure. But when Katya brought the dress, Princess Marya was still sitting motionless before the looking-glass, looking at her own face, and in the looking-glass she saw that there were tears in her eyes and her mouth was quivering, on the point of breaking into sobs.

“Come, dear princess,” said Mademoiselle Bourienne, “one more little effort.”

The little princess, taking the dress from the hands of the maid, went up to Princess Marya.

“Now, we'll try something simple and charming,” she said. Her voice and Mademoiselle Bourienne's and the giggle of Katya blended into a sort of gay babble like the twitter of birds.

“No, leave me alone,” said the princess; and there was such seriousness and such suffering in her voice that the twitter of the birds ceased at once. They looked at the great, beautiful eyes, full of tears and of thought, looking at them imploringly, and they saw that to insist was useless and even cruel.

“At least alter your hair,” said the little princess. “I told you,” she said reproachfully to Mademoiselle Bourienne, “there were faces which that way of doing the hair does not suit a bit. Not a bit, not a bit, please alter it.”

“Leave me alone, leave me alone, all that is nothing to me,” answered a voice scarcely able to struggle with tears.

Mademoiselle Bourienne and the little princess could not but admit to themselves that Princess Marya was very plain in this guise, far worse than usual, but it was too late. She looked at them with an expression they knew well, an expression of deep thought and sadness. That expression did not inspire fear. (That was a feeling she could never have inspired in any one.) But they knew that when that expression came into her face, she was mute and inflexible in her resolutions.

“You will alter it, won't you?” said Liza, and when Princess Marya made no reply, Liza went out of the room.

Princess Marya was left alone. She did not act upon Liza's wishes, she did not re-arrange her hair, she did not even glance into the looking-glass. Letting her eyes and her hands drop helplessly, she sat mentally dreaming. She pictured her husband, a man, a strong, masterful, and inconceivably attractive creature, who would bear her away all at once into an utterly different, happy world of his own. A child, her own, like the baby she had seen at her old nurse's daughter's, she fancied at her own breast. The husband standing, gazing tenderly at her and the child. “But no, it can never be, I am too ugly,” she thought.

“Kindly come to tea. The prince will be going in immediately,” said the maid's voice at the door. She started and was horrified at what she had been thinking. And before going downstairs she went into the oratory, and fixing her eyes on the black outline of the great image of the Saviour, she stood for several minutes before it with clasped hands. Princess Marya's soul was full of an agonising doubt. Could the joy of love, of earthly love for a man, be for her? In her reveries of marriage, Princess Marya dreamed of happiness in a home and children of her own, but her chief, her strongest and most secret dream was of earthly love. The feeling became the stronger the more she tried to conceal it from others, and even from herself. “My God,” she said, “how am I to subdue in my heart these temptings of the devil? How am I to renounce for ever all evil thoughts, so as in peace to fulfil Thy will?” And scarcely had she put this question than God's answer came to her in her own heart. “Desire nothing for thyself, be not covetous, anxious, envious. The future of men and thy destiny too must be unknown for thee; but live that thou mayest be ready for all. If it shall be God's will to prove thee in the duties of marriage, be ready to obey His will.” With this soothing thought (though still she hoped for the fulfilment of that forbidden earthly dream) Princess Marya crossed herself, sighing, and went downstairs, without thinking of her dress nor how her hair was done; of how she would go in nor what she would say. What could all that signify beside the guidance of Him, without Whose will not one hair falls from the head of man?

一八○五年十一月，瓦西里公爵要到四个省份去视察。他给自己布置了这项任务，目的是要顺便去看看他那衰败的领地。他带着儿子阿纳多利（在他的兵团的驻地），和他一道去拜看尼古拉·安德烈耶维奇·博尔孔斯基公爵，目的是要儿子娶到这个有钱的老头的女儿。但是在启行去办理这几件新事以前，瓦西里公爵务必要为皮埃尔处理一些事情。迩来皮埃尔整天价呆在家中，即是呆在他所居住的瓦西里公爵家中，消磨时光。海伦在场的时候，他显得荒唐可笑、激动而愚蠢（热恋的人自然会露出这副样子），但是他还没有提出求婚的事。

“Toutcaestleeletbon，maisilfautquecaJinisse，”①有一天早上，瓦西里公爵愁闷地叹息，喃喃自语地说，他意识到，皮埃尔感谢他的隆情厚意（但愿基督保佑他！），他没有办妥这件事。“青春年少……轻举妄动……得啦，愿上帝保佑。”瓦西里公爵想了想，因为他待人和善而感到高兴。“maisilfautquecafinisse，②后天是海伦的命名日，我得请客，如果他不懂得应该怎样应付，那就是我的责任。是的，我有责任。我是父亲啊！”

①法语：这一切都很美妙，但是，任何事必有结局。

②法语：必须、必须了结这件事。

安娜·帕夫洛夫娜举办晚会之后，皮埃尔熬过了一个心情激动的不眠之夜，夜里他断定，娶海伦为妻是一件不幸的事，他要避开海伦，远走高飞，皮埃尔作出这一决定后度过了一个半月，他没有从瓦西里公爵家里迁走，他很恐惧地感到在人们的眼睛里，他和海伦的关系日甚一日地暧昧，他无论怎样都不能恢复他以前对她的看法，他也不能离开她，他觉得多么可怕，可是他应当把自己的命运和她联系起来。也许，他本可克制自己，但是瓦西里公爵家里没有一天不举办晚会（以前他家里很少举行招待会），如果他不想使得众人扫兴，不想使得等候他的众人失望，他就不得不出席晚会。瓦西里公爵在家时，他偶尔会从皮埃尔身边走过，拉着他的一只手，往下按，心不在焉地把他那刮得光光的布满皱纹的面颊伸给他亲吻，并且说：“明天见”，或者说：“来吃顿午饭，要不然我就看不见你了”，或者说：“我为你特地留在家里”以及其他诸如此类的话。虽然瓦西里公爵为皮埃尔而特地留在家里（正如他所说的），但是他和他说不上两句话。皮埃尔觉得不能辜负他的期望。他每天都对自己说着同样的话：“总得了解她，弄个明白，她是个怎样的人？我以前出了差错，还是现在出了差错？不，她并不傻，不，她是一个顶好的女郎！”他有时自言自语地说。“她从来没有出过什么差错，她从来没有说过什么蠢话。他少于言谈，可是她说的话总是言简意赅。她并不愚蠢。她从来不会忸怩不安，现在也不会忸怩不安。她真的不是坏女人啊！”他常常遇到和她交谈的机会，她每次都回答他的话：或者随便说句简短的话，表示她不感兴趣；或者报以沉默的笑意和眼神，极其明显地向皮埃尔显示她的优越性。她认为，同她的微笑相比，一切议论都是胡诌，她的看法是对的。

她对他总是露出欢快而信赖的微笑，这是在他一人面前流露的微笑，比起她平素为美容而露出的纯朴的微笑，含有更为深长的意味。皮埃尔知道，众人等待的只是，他临了说出一句话，越过已知的界线，他也知道，他迟早要越过这条界线。可是一当他想到这可怕的步骤，就有一种不可思议的恐惧把他笼罩住了。在这一个半月当中，皮埃尔自己觉得越来越远地被拖进那个使他害怕的深渊。他曾千次地对自己说：“这究竟是怎么回事？要有决心啊！难道我没有决心么？”

他想下定决心，但是他惊恐地感觉到，在这种场合下他竟缺乏他认为自己怀有、从前确实怀有的决心。他属于那些人之列，只有当那些人觉得自己完全纯洁的时候，他们才是强而有力的。他向安娜·帕夫洛夫娜弯下腰来拿鼻烟壶时所体会到的那种渴望的感觉把他控制住了，从那天起，这种渴望造成了他的不自觉的愧悔之感，麻痹了他的决心。

海伦的命名日的那一天，瓦西里公爵的几个最亲近的人——如公爵夫人所云，几个亲戚和友人，在瓦西里公爵家中用晚餐。所有这些亲戚和朋友都明白，这一天应当决定过命名日的女郎的命运。客人们正在吃晚饭。那个身材高大、从前长得俊俏而今仍然庄重的叫做库拉金娜的公爵夫人，在主人席上就坐。贵宾们——老将军和他的夫人以及安娜·帕夫洛夫娜、舍列尔在女主人两旁就坐；不太年老的贵宾们在餐桌末端就座，家里人也坐在那里作陪，皮埃尔和海伦并排坐着。瓦西里公爵不吃晚饭，他在餐桌近旁踱着方步，心情愉快地时而挨近这个客人坐下，时而挨近那个客人坐下。他漫不经心地对每个人说句动听的话，只有皮埃尔和海伦除外，他好像没有发觉他们在出席晚宴似的。瓦西里公爵使大家活跃起来。烛光璀璨，银质器皿和水晶玻璃器皿、女人们的服装和将军们的金银肩章闪烁着光辉。身穿红色长衫的仆人穿梭似地走来走去。可以听见刀子、酒杯、餐盘碰击的响声，这张餐桌的周围有几伙人正在热烈地交谈。可以听见，在餐桌的一端，有个年老的宫廷高级侍从硬要一个年老的男爵夫人相信他怀有热爱她的诚心，她听后哈哈大笑。另一端，有人在叙述某个玛丽亚·维克托罗夫娜遭受挫折的故事。靠近餐桌的中间，瓦西里公爵把听众聚集在他的身旁。他的嘴角上流露着诙谐的微笑，叙述最近一次（星期三）国务院会议的情形，在会议上彼得堡新任总督谢尔盖·库兹米奇·维亚济米季诺夫接获亚历山大·帕夫洛维奇皇帝从军队中发布并转交给他的著称于当时的圣旨，他宣读圣旨，皇帝在圣旨中告知谢尔盖·库兹米奇：他从四方接获百姓效忠皇上的宣言，彼得堡的宣言使他特别高兴。他引以自豪的是，他荣幸地担任这样一个国家的元首，他要竭力而为，使自己无愧于国家。圣旨开头写的是：“谢尔盖·库兹米奇！据各方传闻……”等等。

“念到‘谢尔盖·库兹米奇，'真的没有继续念下去吗？”

一个女士问道。

“是的，是的，一个字也没有多念，”瓦西里公爵一面发笑，一面回答。‘谢尔盖·库兹米奇……据各方传闻。据各方传闻。谢尔盖·库兹米奇……'可怜的维亚济米季诺夫无论怎样也没法念下去了。接连有几次他从头念起。但是一念到谢尔盖……就哽咽起来……库……兹米……奇，就眼泪长流……据各方传闻，语声就被哭声淹没了，他不能念下去了。又用手帕揩眼泪，又念‘谢尔盖·库兹米奇，据各方传闻'，又眼泪长流……于是请别人把它念完。”

“库兹米奇……据各方传闻……又眼泪长流……”有个什么人笑着重复这句话。

“不要狠毒啊，”安娜·帕夫洛夫娜从餐桌的另一头伸出一个指头，装出威吓的样子，说道，“C'estunsibraveetexBcellenthommenotrebonViasmitinoff…”①

①法语：我们的心地善良的维亚济米季洛夫，他是个挺好的人。

传来了一阵哄堂大笑。坐在贵宾席上的人们在各种不同的兴奋心情的影响下，看来都很愉快，只有皮埃尔和海伦沉默不言，几乎在餐桌的末端并排坐着，这两个人勉强忍住，没有流露出与谢尔盖·库兹米奇无关的喜洋洋的微笑，一种为自己的感情自觉得羞惭的微笑。无论人们谈论什么，怎样发笑，无论人们怎样津津有味地喝莱茵葡萄洒、吃软炸肉、吃冰激凌、吃浇汁菜，无论人们的目光怎样避开这对恋人，好像对他们冷漠无情，不予理睬，但不知怎的，从频频投向他们的目光来看，却使客人感觉到，谢尔盖·库兹米奇无论是打诨、发笑，还是狼吞虎咽，——全是装模作样的，这帮人的注意力都贯注在皮埃尔和海伦这对恋人身上。瓦西里公爵一面效法谢尔盖·库兹米奇呜咽的样子，一面向女儿瞟了一眼，在他发笑的时候，他的面部表情好像在说：“是的，是的，事事都很顺遂，今儿一切都能解决。”安娜·帕夫洛夫娜为心地善良的维亚济米季诺夫鸣不平，而向他做出威吓的姿势，这时她用闪闪发亮的眼睛望望皮埃尔，瓦西里公爵从她的目光中看出这是向他未来的女婿和女儿的幸福所表示的祝贺。年老的公爵夫人气忿地向她女儿瞥了一眼，愁闷地叹一口气，向邻坐的女客敬酒，这声叹息似乎是说：“是的，我亲爱的，如今我和您只有喝杯甜酒了；如今是这些年轻人大胆挑衅的幸福时刻。”那个外交官望着一对恋人的幸福的面容，心里想道：“我所讲的都是些蠢话，仿佛这会使我很感兴趣似的。看，这就是幸福啊！”

在把这群人一个个联系起来的人为的趣味之中，夹进了一对清秀而健康的男女青年互相倾心的纯朴的感情。这种人类的感情压倒了一切，支配着他们的虚伪的空谈。笑谑听来令人愁闷，新闻显得索然无味，热闹的景象原来是伪装的。不仅是他们，就连侍候饭桌的仆人仿佛也具有同样的感觉。他们入迷地望着美人儿海伦和她那容光焕发的脸盘，望着皮埃尔那副红彤彤的、肥胖的、显得幸福而心神不定的面孔，以致于忘记侍候客人。一支支烛光仿佛也只凝聚在这两张显得幸福的脸上。

皮埃尔觉得他自己是一切事物的中心，这种地位既使他高兴，又使他腼腆。他处于那种状态，就像某人埋头于一种业务似的。他什么也看不清楚，什么也不明白，什么也听不真切。他的心灵中只是有时意外地闪现出片断的思绪和现实的印象。

“一切就是这样完了吗！”他想道，“这一切都是怎样弄成的呢？真是太快了！我现在知道，不只是为了她一个人，也不是为了我一个人，而是为了众人，这件事情必然会实现。他们预料这件事必将出现，而且相信，这件事将能实现，所以我不能使他们失望。但是这件事将要怎样实现呢？我不知道，但它一定会实现！”皮埃尔想道，一面瞅着他眼睛旁边露出的她那发亮光滑的肩头。

时而他忽然不知为什么而感到害羞。他觉得不自在的是，他一个人吸引众人的注意，他在别人的眼睛中是个幸运的人，他的相貌长得丑陋，却成为占有海伦的帕里斯。“想必这总是常有的事，应当这样做，”他安慰自己，“但是我为这件事做了什么呢？这是什么时候开始的呢？我是和瓦西里公爵一起从莫斯科启程的。当时什么事都没有发生。后来我为什么没有在他家里居住？后来我和她一同打纸牌，替她拾起一个女式手提包，和她一道坐马车游玩。这是什么时候开始的，这一切是什么时候实现的？你看他现在成了未婚夫坐在她身旁，听见，看见，觉察到她的亲近，她的呼吸，她的一举一动，她的优美。时而他忽然觉得，不是她，而是他自己长得异常俊美，所以人们才这样注视他，于是，他因为引起众人的惊奇而深感幸福，他挺起胸，昂起头，为自己的幸福而高兴。忽然他听到一种声音，熟悉的声音，这种声音又对他说着什么话。可是皮埃尔着了迷，因此不明了别人对他说着什么话。

“我问你，什么时候你收到博尔孔斯基的信，”瓦西里公爵第三次重复地说，“我亲爱的，你是多么漫不经心啊。”

瓦西里公爵面露微笑，皮埃尔看见，大家都对他和海伦微露笑容。“既然你们都知道，那也没有什么，”皮埃尔自言自语地说，“这是实情，那又怎样呢？”他独自露出温顺而稚气的微笑，海伦也面露微笑。

“你究竟是什么时候接到的？是从奥尔米茨寄来的吧？”瓦西里公爵重说了一遍，他仿佛是要知道这件事才能调停论争似的。

“是不是可以考虑和谈论这种琐碎事呢？”皮埃尔想道。

“是的，信是从奥尔米茨寄来的。”他叹口气答道。

吃罢晚饭，皮埃尔带着他的女伴跟随其他来客步入客厅。客人们开始四散，有些人未向海伦告辞就乘车走了。有些人到她跟前呆一会儿，就连忙离开，不让海伦送他们，好像不想打断她干的正经事。那个外交官忧悒地默不作声，从客厅中走出来。他脑海中想到，他在外交场中的升迁，和皮埃尔的幸福相对比，不过是泡影。年老的将军的太太问到将军的腿病的时候，他愤怒地向她发了一顿牢骚。“啊唷，你这个老傻瓜，”他想了一下，“你看叶连娜·瓦西里耶夫娜（即海伦）就是到了五十岁还是个美人儿。”

“我好像可以向您道贺了，”安娜·帕夫洛夫娜向公爵夫人一面轻言细语地说，一面用劲地吻吻她。“若不是偏头痛，我就会留下来的。”

公爵夫人什么都不回答，她对自己女儿的幸福的妒嫉使她觉得苦恼。

送客出门时，皮埃尔一人和海伦在他们就坐的小客厅里呆了很久。此时以前，在最近一个半月里，他也时常一个人陪伴着海伦，但他从未向她吐露爱情。此时他觉得他非这样做不可。但是他无论怎样都拿不定主意去走最后一步路。他十分羞愧，仿佛觉得他在海伦身边占据别人的地位。“这种幸福不为我所有，”一种内心的声音告诉他，“这种幸福应为那些缺少你所占有之物的人所享受。”可是应该讲点什么话，他于是开口说了。他问她对今天的晚会是否感到满意。她仍然像平时那样，简简单单地作答，对她来说，今天的命名日是一次至为愉快的命名日。

近亲之中有些人还没有走。他们坐在大客厅里。瓦西里公爵拖着懒洋洋的步子走到皮埃尔跟前。皮埃尔站立起来，说天已经很晚了。瓦西里公爵用严肃而疑惑的目光望望他，好像他说的话很古怪，简直没法听进去。但是紧接着严肃的表情改变了，瓦西里公爵拉了拉皮埃尔的手，往下一按，让他坐下，亲切地微微一笑。

“啊，廖莉娅（海伦的爱称），怎么啦？”他立刻把脸转向女儿，带着他那温和而漫不经心的口吻说，那口吻是父母从儿女童年时代起就疼爱儿女所习惯用的，不过瓦西里公爵是从模仿别的父母中才领会到这种口吻的。

他又把脸转向皮埃尔，说道：

“谢尔盖·库兹米奇，据各方传闻。”他在扣紧背心最上面的一个钮扣时说道。

皮埃尔微微一笑，但是从他的微笑可以看出，他懂得，瓦西里公爵这时对谢尔盖·库兹米奇的笑话并不发生兴趣，瓦西里公爵也明白，皮埃尔了解这一点。瓦西里公爵忽然嘟哝了一阵，便走出去。皮埃尔仿佛觉得，就连瓦西里公爵也困惑不安。这个年老的上流社会人士的窘态感动了皮埃尔；他向海伦望了一眼，好像她也惶恐起来，她那眼神在说：“也没有什么，您自己有过错。”

“一定要跨越过去，可是我不能，我不能。”皮埃尔想道，又开口说到旁人，说到谢尔盖·库兹米奇，问到这是个什么笑话：

因为他没有听进去。海伦微露笑容回答，说她也不知道。

当瓦西里公爵向客厅走去时，公爵夫人向一个年迈的太太轻言细语地谈论皮埃尔的事情。

“当然罗，C'estunpartitrèsbrillant，maisleboenheur，machère…”

“Lesmariagessefontdanslescieux”，①年迈的太太答道。

瓦西里公爵好像没有去听太太们说话，他向远处的屋角走去，在一张长沙发上坐下。他闭上眼睛，好像在打瞌睡。他的头垂到胸前，可是接着醒过来了。

“Aline，”他对妻子说：“Allezvoircequ'ilsfont．”②

①法语：“当然罗，这是非常出色的配偶，我亲爱的，但是幸福……”“大凡婚事均为天作之合。”

②法语：阿琳娜，你去看看他们在做什么。

公爵夫人走到了门前，她装出一副意味深长而又冷漠的样子从门旁走过，向客厅瞥了一眼。皮埃尔和海伦还坐在那里聊天。

“还是那个样子。”她回答丈夫。

瓦西里公爵蹙起额角，把嘴巴撇到一边，脸上起了皱纹，他的两颊颤动起来，现出他所固有的令人厌恶的粗暴表情。他振作精神，站立起来，迈着坚定的脚步从太太们身边向小客厅走去。他很高兴地快步流星地走到皮埃尔跟前。公爵脸上流露出非常激昂的神情，皮埃尔望见他，吓了一跳，站起来。

“谢天谢地！”他说道，“妻子把什么都对我说了！”他用一只手抱住皮埃尔，用另一只手抱住女儿。“廖莉娅，我的亲人！我感到非常、非常高兴。”他的声音颤栗起来，“我热爱你的父亲……她将是你的好妻子……愿上帝为你们祝福！

……”

他抱住女儿，然后又抱住皮埃尔，用他那老年人的嘴吻吻他。他的眼泪真的浸湿了皮埃尔的面颊。

“我的公爵夫人，到这里来。”他喊道。

公爵夫人走出来，也哭起来了。这个年迈的太太也用手绢揩干眼泪。他们都吻了皮埃尔，他也吻了几次标致的海伦的手。过了一阵子，又让他们俩呆在一起了。

“这一切应当是这样的，不可能是另一个样子。”皮埃尔想道，因此这件事是好还是坏，没有什么可问的。好就好在事情决定了，以前折磨他的疑团消失了。皮埃尔沉默地握着未婚妻的手，注视着她那美丽的一起一伏的胸脯。

“海伦！”他大声地说，随即停住了。

“在这些场合人们会说些什么特别的话。”他想道，但是他无论怎样也没法想起，在这些场合人们究竟会说些什么话。他望望她的脸色。她愈加靠近他了。她的脸上泛起了红晕。

“嗐，摘下这个……就是这个……”她指着他的眼镜。

皮埃尔摘下眼镜，他的眼睛除开具有人们摘下眼镜后常有的怪相之外，它还惊慌而疑惑地张望。他想向她手边弯下腰来，吻吻她的手，可是她飞快地粗鲁地将脑袋向前移近，截住他的嘴唇，让它和自己的嘴唇相吻合。她的脸色变了，那种不愉快的、心慌意乱的表情使皮埃尔颇为惊讶。

“现在已经太晚了，一切都完了；不过我爱她。”皮埃尔想了想。

“Jevousaime！”①他说道，想起了在这些场合要说什么话；但是这句话听来贫乏无味，以致他为自己羞愧。

①法语：我爱您！

过了一个半月，他结婚了，人人都说他是个拥有美丽的妻子和数百万家财的幸运者，他在彼得堡的一栋重新装修的别祖霍夫伯爵大楼中住下来。