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slightly swinging one foot, and, with his head a little bent,
looked with beaming face at the princess without speaking
and evidently not thinking about her at all. Anatole was not
quick-witted, nor ready or eloquent in conversation, but he
had the faculty, so invaluable in society, of composure and
imperturbable self-possession. If a man lacking in self-confidence remains dumb on a first introduction and betrays
a consciousness of the impropriety of such silence and an
anxiety to find something to say, the effect is bad. But Anatole was dumb, swung his foot, and smilingly examined the
princess’ hair. It was evident that he could be silent in this
way for a very long time. ‘If anyone finds this silence inconvenient, let him talk, but I don’t want to‘‘ he seemed to say.
Besides this, in his behavior to women Anatole had a manner which particularly inspires in them curiosity, awe, and
even lovea supercilious consciousness of his own superiority. It was was as if he said to them: ‘I know you, I know
you, but why should I bother about you? You’d be only too
glad, of course.’ Perhaps he did not really think this when
he met womeneven probably he did not, for in general he
thought very littlebut his looks and manner gave that impression. The princess felt this, and as if wishing to show
him that she did not even dare expect to interest him, she
turned to his father. The conversation was general and animated, thanks to Princess Lise’s voice and little downy lip
that lifted over her white teeth. She met Prince Vasili with
that playful manner often employed by lively chatty people,
and consisting in the assumption that between the person
they so address and themselves there are some semi-private,
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long-established jokes and amusing reminiscences, though
no such reminiscences really existjust as none existed in
this case. Prince Vasili readily adopted her tone and the
little princess also drew Anatole, whom she hardly knew,
into these amusing recollections of things that had never
occurred. Mademoiselle Bourienne also shared them and
even Princess Mary felt herself pleasantly made to share in
these merry reminiscences.
‘Here at least we shall have the benefit of your company all to ourselves, dear prince,’ said the little princess (of
course, in French) to Prince Vasili. ‘It’s not as at Annette’s*
receptions where you always ran away; you remember cette
chere Annette!’
*Anna Pavlovna.
‘Ah, but you won’t talk politics to me like Annette!’
‘And our little tea table?’
‘Oh, yes!’
‘Why is it you were never at Annette’s?’ the little princess asked Anatole. ‘Ah, I know, I know,’ she said with a sly
glance, ‘your brother Hippolyte told me about your goings
on. Oh!’ and she shook her finger at him, ‘I have even heard
of your doings in Paris!’
‘And didn’t Hippolyte tell you?’ asked Prince Vasili,
turning to his son and seizing the little princess’ arm as if
she would have run away and he had just managed to catch
her, ‘didn’t he tell you how he himself was pining for the
dear princess, and how she showed him the door? Oh, she is
a pearl among women, Princess,’ he added, turning to Princess Mary.
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When Paris was mentioned, Mademoiselle Bourienne
for her part seized the opportunity of joining in the general
current of recollections.
She took the liberty of inquiring whether it was long
since Anatole had left Paris and how he had liked that city.
Anatole answered the Frenchwoman very readily and, looking at her with a smile, talked to her about her native land.
When he saw the pretty little Bourienne, Anatole came to
the conclusion that he would not find Bald Hills dull either.
‘Not at all bad!’ he thought, examining her, ‘not at all bad,
that little companion! I hope she will bring her along with
her when we’re married, la petite est gentille.’*
*The little one is charming.
The old prince dressed leisurely in his study, frowning
and considering what he was to do. The coming of these visitors annoyed him. ‘What are Prince Vasili and that son of
his to me? Prince Vasili is a shallow braggart and his son,
no doubt, is a fine specimen,’ he grumbled to himself. What
angered him was that the coming of these visitors revived
in his mind an unsettled question he always tried to stifle,
one about which he always deceived himself. The question
was whether he could ever bring himself to part from his
daughter and give her to a husband. The prince never directly asked himself that question, knowing beforehand
that he would have to answer it justly, and justice clashed
not only with his feelings but with the very possibility of
life. Life without Princess Mary, little as he seemed to value
her, was unthinkable to him. ‘And why should she marry?’
he thought. ‘To be unhappy for certain. There’s Lise, mar404
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ried to Andrewa better husband one would think could
hardly be found nowadaysbut is she contented with her lot?
And who would marry Marie for love? Plain and awkward!
They’ll take her for her connections and wealth. Are there
no women living unmarried, and even the happier for it?’
So thought Prince Bolkonski while dressing, and yet the
question he was always putting off demanded an immediate
answer. Prince Vasili had brought his son with the evident
intention of proposing, and today or tomorrow he would
probably ask for an answer. His birth and position in society were not bad. ‘Well, I’ve nothing against it,’ the prince
said to himself, ‘but he must be worthy of her. And that is
what we shall see.’
‘That is what we shall see! That is what we shall see!’ he
added aloud.
He entered the drawing room with his usual alert step,
glancing rapidly round the company. He noticed the change
in the little princess’ dress, Mademoiselle Bourienne’s ribbon, Princess Mary’s unbecoming coiffure, Mademoiselle
Bourienne’s and Anatole’s smiles, and the loneliness of his
daughter amid the general conversation. ‘Got herself up like
a fool!’ he thought, looking irritably at her. ‘She is shameless, and he ignores her!’
He went straight up to Prince Vasili.
‘Well! How d’ye do? How d’ye do? Glad to see you!’
‘Friendship laughs at distance,’ began Prince Vasili in his
usual rapid, self-confident, familiar tone. ‘Here is my second son; please love and befriend him.’
Prince Bolkonski surveyed Anatole.
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‘Fine young fellow! Fine young fellow!’ he said. ‘Well,
come and kiss me,’ and he offered his cheek.
Anatole kissed the old man, and looked at him with curiosity and perfect composure, waiting for a display of the
eccentricities his father had told him to expect.
Prince Bolkonski sat down in his usual place in the corner of the sofa and, drawing up an armchair for Prince
Vasili, pointed to it and began questioning him about political affairs and news. He seemed to listen attentively to what
Prince Vasili said, but kept glancing at Princess Mary.
‘And so they are writing from Potsdam already?’ he said,
repeating Prince Vasili’s last words. Then rising, he suddenly went up to his daughter.
‘Is it for visitors you’ve got yourself up like that, eh?’ said
he. ‘Fine, very fine! You have done up your hair in this new
way for the visitors, and before the visitors I tell you that
in future you are never to dare to change your way of dress
without my consent.’
‘It was my fault, mon pere,’ interceded the little princess,
with a blush.
‘You must do as you please,’ said Prince Bolkonski, bowing to his daughter-in-law, ‘but she need not make a fool of
herself, she’s plain enough as it is.’
And he sat down again, paying no more attention to his
daughter, who was reduced to tears.
‘On the contrary, that coiffure suits the princess very
well,’ said Prince Vasili.
‘Now you, young prince, what’s your name?’ said Prince
Bolkonski, turning to Anatole, ‘come here, let us talk and
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get acquainted.’
‘Now the fun begins,’ thought Anatole, sitting down with
a smile beside the old prince.
‘Well, my dear boy, I hear you’ve been educated abroad,
not taught to read and write by the deacon, like your father and me. Now tell me, my dear boy, are you serving in
the Horse Guards?’ asked the old man, scrutinizing Anatole
closely and intently.
‘No, I have been transferred to the line,’ said Anatole,
hardly able to restrain his laughter.
‘Ah! That’s a good thing. So, my dear boy, you wish to
serve the Tsar and the country? It is wartime. Such a fine
fellow must serve. Well, are you off to the front?’
‘No, Prince, our regiment has gone to the front, but I am
attached… what is it I am attached to, Papa?’ said Anatole,
turning to his father with a laugh.
‘A splendid soldier, splendid! ‘What am I attached to!’
Ha, ha, ha!’ laughed Prince Bolkonski, and Anatole laughed
still louder. Suddenly Prince Bolkonski frowned.
‘You may go,’ he said to Anatole.
Anatole returned smiling to the ladies.
‘And so you’ve had him educated abroad, Prince Vasili,
haven’t you?’ said the old prince to Prince Vasili.
‘I have done my best for him, and I can assure you the
education there is much better than ours.’
‘Yes, everything is different nowadays, everything is
changed. The lad’s a fine fellow, a fine fellow! Well, come
with me now.’ He took Prince Vasili’s arm and led him to
his study. As soon as they were alone together, Prince Vasili
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announced his hopes and wishes to the old prince.
‘Well, do you think I shall prevent her, that I can’t part
from her?’ said the old prince angrily. ‘What an idea! I’m
ready for it tomorrow! Only let me tell you, I want to know
my son-in-law better. You know my principleseverything
aboveboard? I will ask her tomorrow in your presence; if
she is willing, then he can stay on. He can stay and I’ll see.’
The old prince snorted. ‘Let her marry, it’s all the same to
me!’ he screamed in the same piercing tone as when parting
from his son.
‘I will tell you frankly,’ said Prince Vasili in the tone of
a crafty man convinced of the futility of being cunning
with so keen-sighted companion. ‘You know, you see right
through people. Anatole is no genius, but he is an honest,
goodhearted lad; an excellent son or kinsman.’
‘All right, all right, we’ll see!’
As always happens when women
