War And Peace полностью

The trivialities and affectations shared by all the guests had been invaded by a simple feeling – the mutual attraction between two handsome and healthy young creatures. And this one human feeling dominated everything else and soared above all their affected chatter. Jokes fell flat, news was boring, the jollity was obviously forced. It was not only the guests – even the servants seemed to have the same feeling as they neglected their duties to glance at the lovely Hélène with her radiant look and the broad, red, happy face of the uneasy Pierre. The very candlelight seemed to be concentrated on those two happy faces.

Pierre sensed that he was the centre of everything, a situation that he found both agreeable and embarrassing. He was like a man deeply preoccupied, with no clarity of vision, no proper hearing, no understanding of anything. Only now and then did a few desultory ideas and fleeting impressions of reality flash across his mind.

‘It’s all over, then!’ he was thinking. ‘How did it come about? It’s been so quick! I can see now it is definitely going to happen – not for her sake and not just for mine, but for everybody else’s. They’re all expecting it, they’re all so sure it’s coming – I can’t let them down, I just can’t. But how will it work out? I don’t know, but there’s one thing for sure – it will happen, it will!’ thought Pierre, glancing at the dazzling shoulders so close to his eyes.

Then suddenly a vague sense of shame would come over him. He felt embarrassed to be the sole object of attention, such a lucky man in the eyes of everyone else, a man with a plain face acting like Paris possessing his Helen.³ ‘Oh well, I suppose it’s always like this. There’s no other way,’ he would tell himself by way of consolation. ‘But what have I done to deserve this? When did it all start? I came up from Moscow with Prince Vasily. Nothing happened. After that why shouldn’t I have stayed with him? Then I played cards with her, I picked up her evening bag and we went skating. When did it all start? When did it happen?’ And here he was sitting next to her, a virtual fiancé, hearing and seeing, sensing her closeness, her breathing, the movements of her body, her beauty. Then it suddenly seemed to him that he was the extraordinarily good-looking one, not Hélène, and that was why they were all looking at him, and there he was, revelling in the general admiration, sitting up straight, tilting his head and rejoicing in his happiness. Then suddenly he heard a voice, a familiar voice, repeating something to him.

Pierre was so absorbed that he couldn’t take in what was being said.

‘I was asking whether you’d heard from Bolkonsky,’ said Prince Vasily for the third time. ‘You’re getting a bit absent-minded, my boy.’ Prince Vasily smiled, and Pierre saw that everyone, everyone was smiling at him and Hélène.

‘All right, all right. You all know, don’t you?’ Pierre was saying to himself. ‘So what? Yes, it’s all true.’ He smiled his gentle, childlike smile, and Hélène smiled too.

‘When did you hear from him? Was he in Olmütz?’ repeated Prince Vasily, who needed to know in order to settle an argument.

‘Why are they talking and thinking such stupid things?’ Pierre wondered.

‘Er, yes, it was from Olmütz,’ he answered with a sigh.

When dinner was over Pierre took his lady into the drawing-room following the others. The guests began to take their leave, several without saying goodbye to Hélène. Apparently not wanting to distract her from the serious business of the evening, some guests went up to her for only a moment and then scuttled away, refusing any offer to be shown out. The diplomat was silent and glum as he left the drawing-room, comparing the futility of his diplomatic career with Pierre’s happiness. The old general growled angrily at his wife when she asked how his leg was. ‘Stupid old fool,’ he thought. ‘That Hélène will be just like her when she’s fifty.’

‘I believe congratulations are in order,’ Anna Pavlovna whispered to Princess Kuragin, giving her an affectionate kiss. ‘I would stay, but I’m afraid I have a headache.’ The princess didn’t respond; she was writhing with envy at her daughter’s happiness.

While the guests were leaving Pierre found himself left alone with Hélène for some time in the little drawing-room where they had gone to sit down. During the last six weeks he had often been left alone with Hélène, but he had never spoken to her of love. He now sensed that this was inevitable but still couldn’t bring himself to take the last step. He still had a feeling of shame; here at Hélène’s side he seemed to be occupying some other man’s place. ‘This happiness is not for you,’ an inner voice told him. ‘This happiness is for people who don’t have what you have.’ But something had to be said, so he launched himself by asking whether she had enjoyed the evening. She replied with her usual straightforwardness – this name-day had been one of the nicest she’d ever had.