Formerly, when Pierre had been with Anna Pavlovna he had always felt that whatever he was saying sounded unseemly, tactless or out of place; phrases that had seemed so clever as he formed them in his mind always came out as something stupid, whereas Hippolyte’s silliest remarks were taken as clever and pleasing. Now every word he uttered was deemed delightful. Anna Pavlovna may not have actually said so, but he could see she was longing to, and it was only respect for his modesty that kept her from doing so.
At the beginning of the winter of 1805-6, Pierre received one of Anna Pavlovna’s customary pink invitation-cards, to which had been added: ‘Here you will find the lovely Hélène, of whom one can never see enough.’
As he read this Pierre felt for the first time that a kind of bond had formed between him and Hélène, which people were now noticing, and this idea both alarmed him, because it seemed like a growing obligation that he could not fulfil, and yet pleased him as an amusing prospect.
Anna Pavlovna’s soirée was just like the previous one, except that the special attraction provided for her guests was not Mortemart, but a diplomat fresh back from Berlin with the latest details of Emperor Alexander’s visit to Potsdam,2 and of the indissoluble alliance sworn between two distinguished friends to uphold the cause of righteousness against an enemy of the human race. Pierre was welcomed by Anna Pavlovna with just a touch of sadness at the recent loss sustained by the young man on the death of old Count Bezukhov. (Everyone seemed to think that Pierre needed constant assurance that he was much distressed by the death of a father he had hardly known.) Her sadness was much like the even more exalted emotion that she always displayed at any reference to her most august Majesty the Empress Maria Fyodorovna. Pierre felt flattered by it. Anna Pavlovna had used all her old skill to set up different circles in her drawing-room. One large group, which included Prince Vasily and some generals, had the benefit of the diplomat. Another group was positioned near the tea table. Pierre made a move to join the first group, but Anna Pavlovna – who was behaving like an exasperated general on the battlefield thinking up thousands of unachievable bright ideas – on seeing Pierre, fingered his coat sleeve and said, ‘Wait, I have plans for you for this evening.’
She looked round at Hélène and beamed at her.
‘My dear Hélène, please show some charity to my poor aunt, who simply adores you. Go and keep her company just for ten minutes. And so that you don’t find it too tiresome, here’s our dear count who will surely not refuse to follow you.’
The lovely Hélène moved off towards the old aunt, but Anna Pavlovna kept Pierre back at her side, with the air of somebody who has one last, essential arrangement to put in place.
‘She is gorgeous, isn’t she?’ she said to Pierre, nodding after the majestic beauty as she floated away from them. ‘Look how she carries herself! For such a young girl, what sensitivity, what magnificent deportment! It comes from the heart, you know. It will be a happy man who wins her. A man with no social skills would occupy a brilliant place in society beside her, don’t you think? I just wanted to know what you think.’ And she let him go.
Pierre was speaking sincerely when he gave a positive response to her question about Hélène’s perfect deportment. If he ever gave a thought to Hélène it was to recall her beauty and that extraordinary way she had of maintaining an aloof and dignified silence in society.
The old aunt welcomed the two young people into her corner but seemed less eager to express her adoration of Hélène than to demonstrate her fear of Anna Pavlovna. She kept glancing at her niece as if wondering what she was supposed to do with them. Before moving on, Anna Pavlovna again fingered Pierre’s sleeve, and said: ‘I hope you will never again say that my parties are boring,’ and she glanced at Hélène.
Hélène smiled back in a way that suggested she knew it was impossible for her to be looked at without being admired. The old aunt coughed, swallowed and said in French that she was very glad to see Hélène; then she turned to Pierre with the same greeting and the same set facial expression. In the middle of a desultory and tedious conversation Hélène looked round at Pierre and treated him to one of the bright and beautiful smiles which everyone received from her. Pierre was so used to it, this smile that meant so little to him, that he virtually ignored it. The aunt was speaking at that moment about a collection of snuff-boxes which had belonged to old Count Bezukhov, and she showed them her own little box. Princess Hélène asked if she could look at the portrait of the aunt’s husband on the snuff-box lid.
