At that very moment Prince Andrey was sitting with Pierre, talking about his love for Natasha and his absolute determination to marry her.
That evening Countess Hélène Bezukhov had given a reception attended by the French ambassador, a royal prince who had recently become a very frequent visitor at the countess’s, and many brilliant ladies and gentlemen. Pierre had come down and wandered from room to room, unnerving all the guests by looking so tense, gloomy and preoccupied.
Ever since the night of the ball Pierre had been aware of an impending bout of nervous depression, and had been trying desperately to struggle against it. Since his wife’s involvement with the royal prince Pierre had been unexpectedly made a gentleman of the bedchamber, and from that time he had felt a growing sense of weariness and embarrassment in court society, and his old thoughts about the vanity of all human life began to resurface more and more often. The affection he had recently noticed between his protégée, Natasha, and Prince Andrey had made him feel gloomier still because of the contrast between his position and his friend’s. He made equal efforts to avoid two lines of thought: his wife, and the relationship between Natasha and Prince Andrey. Once again everything seemed meaningless on the scale of eternity; once again he faced the question, ‘What’s it all about?’ Day after day, night after night, he forced himself to concentrate on masonic work, hoping to ward off any evil spirits. Shortly before midnight Pierre had come away from the countess’s apartment and walked upstairs to his low-ceilinged room which reeked of tobacco smoke, where he had put on his tatty old dressing-gown and seated himself at the desk to carry on copying out the original transactions of the Scottish freemasons, when somebody came into the room. It was Prince Andrey.
‘Oh, it’s you,’ said Pierre, looking distracted and none too pleased. ‘I’m rather busy, as you can see,’ he added, pointing to his note-book with the escapist look of a miserable man using work to get away from the trials of life.
Prince Andrey strolled in and stopped in front of Pierre with radiant bliss written all over his face, bursting with new life, and he beamed at his friend with the smugness of a happy man, never even noticing the gloomy face before him.
‘Listen, dear boy,’ he said, ‘I tried to tell you yesterday, and I’ve come to tell you now. I’ve never felt anything like this. I’m in love, my friend.’
Pierre suddenly heaved a great sigh and flopped down ponderously on to the sofa next to Prince Andrey.
‘With Natasha Rostov, I suppose,’ he said.
‘Yes, yes, who else could it be? I’d never have believed it, but the feeling’s too strong for me. Yesterday I went through such torment and agony, but I wouldn’t change that agony for anything in the world. I’ve never lived until now. I can’t live without her. But can she love me? . . . I’m too old for her . . . Well, say something.’
‘Me? Say something? Well, what did I tell you?’ said Pierre, suddenly getting to his feet and beginning to pace up and down the room. ‘It’s what I’ve always thought. That girl’s a real treasure . . . There’s something special about her . . . My dear fellow, don’t stop to think about it. Don’t hesitate. Just get married, get married, get married! I know you’ll be the happiest man on earth.’
‘What about her?’
‘She loves you.’
‘Don’t talk rubbish,’ said Prince Andrey, beaming as he looked Pierre in the face.
‘She does. I know she does,’ Pierre cried angrily.
‘No, listen,’ said Prince Andrey, catching him by the arm and stopping him in his tracks. ‘You can see what a state I’m in. I’ve got to talk to somebody about it.’
‘Well, come on then, tell me all about it. I’m only too pleased to listen,’ said Pierre, and his face changed perceptibly, the furrow of care on his forehead was smoothed away, and he listened with pleasure to what Prince Andrey had to say.
His friend was now just what he seemed to be, a new man, utterly changed. Where had his depression gone, his contempt for life, all that disillusionment? Pierre was the only person he could have spoken to so openly, and now he poured forth all that was on his mind. He began by planning his future well ahead with an easy spirit and great resolution, saying he wasn’t prepared to sacrifice his own happiness for any silly ideas his father might have, and he would either make his father agree to the marriage and come to like her, or go ahead without his consent, and then he went on to marvel at the feeling that had overwhelmed him – something strange, new and beyond his control.
‘I’d never have believed it, if anybody had said I could love like this,’ said Prince Andrey. ‘It’s nothing like what I felt before. The whole world is split in two for me now: one half is
‘Darkness and gloom,’ Pierre repeated. ‘Oh yes, I know all about that.’
