War and Peace: Original Version. Лев Толстой

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      “I didn’t wake up until three. Would you believe that we drank eleven bottles between the five of us?” (Pierre always addressed Prince Andrei formally, while the prince spoke to him in a more informal manner. This was a habit they had acquired as children, and it had never changed.) “Such splendid fellows. That Englishman’s a marvel!”

      “That’s one pleasure I have never understood,” said Prince Andrei.

      “What are you saying? You are a quite different kind of person, remarkable in every way,” Pierre said sincerely.

      “At our dear Anatoly Kuragin’s place again?”

      “Yes.”

      “I can’t think why you associate with that trash!”

      “But he really is a fine chap.”

      “He’s trash!” Prince Andrei said curtly and frowned. “Hippolyte is a very bright boy, though, isn’t he?” he added.

      Pierre laughed, setting his entire body shaking so that the divan began creaking again. “In Moscou there is a certain lady,” he mimicked through his laughter.

      “But you know, he really is a good chap,” the prince interceded for Hippolyte. “Well then, have you finally decided on anything? Are you going to be a Horse Guard or a diplomat?”

      Pierre sat up on the divan, drawing his legs under him.

      “Can you imagine, I still don’t know? I don’t like either choice!”

      “But you have to decide on something, don’t you? Your father’s waiting.”

      At the age of ten Pierre had been sent abroad with his tutor, an abbot, and had stayed there until he was twenty. When he returned to Moscow, his father had dismissed the abbot and told the young man: “Now go to St. Petersburg, take a look around, get to know people and think about which path to choose. I agree to anything. Here is a letter for you to Prince Vasily, and here is money. Write to me about everything, I will help you with everything.” Pierre had been trying to choose a career for three months now, and he had still got nowhere. This was the choice which Prince Andrei had mentioned to him. Pierre rubbed his forehead.

      “I understand military service, but explain this to me,” he said. “Why are you – you understand everything – why are you going to this war, against whom, after all? Against Napoleon and France. If it were a war for liberty, I would understand, I would be the first to join the army, but to help England and Austria against the greatest man in the world … I do not understand how you can go.”

      “You must see, mon cher,” Prince Andrei began, perhaps unwittingly wishing to conceal his own vagueness of thought from himself, suddenly beginning to speak in French and changing his former sincere tone for a formal and cold one, “one can take an entirely different point of view on this question.”

      And, as though everything he mentioned were his own personal business or that of his intimate acquaintances, he proceeded to expound to Pierre the view then current in the highest circles of St. Petersburg society of the political mission of Russia in Europe at that time.

      Since the revolution Europe had been plagued by wars. The cause of the wars, apart from Napoleon’s ambition, stemmed from an imbalance of power in Europe. One great power was needed to take the matter in hand with strict impartiality and, through alliances, to define new state boundaries and establish a new balance of power in Europe together with a new people’s law, by virtue of which war would become impossible and all misunderstandings between states would be settled by mediation. Russia had taken this selfless role upon herself in the forthcoming war. Russia would seek only to return France to its boundaries of 1796, allowing the French themselves to choose their own form of government, and also to restore the independence of Italy, the Cisalpine kingdom, the new state of the two Belgiums and the new German Alliance, and even to restore Poland.

      Pierre listened attentively, several times respectfully restraining his impulse to contradict his friend.

      “Do you see that this time we are not being as foolish as we seem?” Prince Andrei concluded.

      “Yes, yes, but why won’t they propose this plan to Napoleon himself?” Pierre exclaimed. “He would be the first to accept it, if this plan were sincere: he would understand and love any great idea.”

      Prince Andrei paused and rubbed his forehead with his small hand.

      “And apart from that, I am going …” He stopped. “I am going because the life that I lead here, this life – does not suit me!”

      “Why not?” Pierre asked in amazement.

      “Because, my dearest friend,” said Prince Andrei, standing up with a smile, “for the vicomte and Hippolyte to wander from one drawing room to the next and mull over nonsense and tell fairytales about Mademoiselle Georges or about some ‘girl’ is all well and good, but that role will not do for me. I cannot stand it any longer,” he added.

      Pierre’s glance expressed his agreement.

      “But here’s another thing. Why is Kutuzov important? And what does it mean to be an adjutant?” asked Pierre with that rare naïvety possessed by some young people who are not afraid of exposing their ignorance with a question.

      “You’re the only person who could possibly not know that,” Prince Andrei replied, smiling and shaking his head. “Kutuzov is Suvorov’s right hand, the best Russian general.”

      “But how can you be an adjutant? Doesn’t that mean they can order you about?”

      “Of course, an adjutant’s influence is absolutely insignificant,” Prince Andrei replied, “but I have to make a start. Besides, it is what my father wanted. I shall ask Kutuzov to give me a unit. And then we shall see …”

      “It will be strange, it’s bound to be, for you to fight against Napoleon,” said Pierre, as though assuming that as soon as Prince Andrei reached the war he would have to engage, if not in single-handed combat, then at least in very close action against Napoleon himself.

      Prince Andrei smiled pensively at his own thoughts, twisting the wedding ring on his third finger with a graceful, effeminate gesture.

      X

      A woman’s dress rustled in the next room. As if he had just woken up, Prince Andrei shook himself and his face assumed the expression it had worn in Anna Pavlovna’s drawing room. Pierre lowered his feet from the divan. The princess came in. She was wearing a different dress, more homely but just as elegant and fresh. Prince Andrei stood up and courteously moved up an armchair for her by the fireplace, but there was such intense boredom on his face as he did so, the princess would surely have taken offence, had she been able to see it.

      “Why, I often wonder,” she began, as always in French, as she hastily seated herself in the armchair, “why did Annette never marry? How foolish you all are, gentlemen, for not marrying her. Forgive my saying so, but you understand nothing at all about women.”

      Pierre and Prince Andrei involuntarily exchanged glances and said nothing. But neither their glance nor their СКАЧАТЬ