“Have you seen yet” or “have you made the acquaintance of ma tante?”†26 Anna Pavlovna said to the arriving guests, and led them quite seriously to a little old lady in high ribbons, who had come sailing out of the next room as soon as the guests began to arrive, called them by name, slowly shifting her gaze from the guest to ma tante, and then walked away.
All the guests performed the ritual of greeting the totally unknown, totally uninteresting and unnecessary aunt. With sad, solemn sympathy, Anna Pavlovna followed their greetings, silently approving of them. To each of them ma tante spoke in the same expressions about his health, her own health, and the health of her majesty, which, thank God, was better that day. All those who went up to her, showing no haste for propriety’s sake, left the little old lady with a feeling of relief after the fulfillment of a heavy obligation, never to approach her again all evening.
The young princess Bolkonsky came with handwork in a gold-embroidered velvet bag. Her pretty upper lip with its barely visible black mustache was too short for her teeth, but the more sweetly did it open and still more sweetly did it sometimes stretch and close on the lower one. As happens with perfectly attractive women, her flaw—a short lip and half-opened mouth—seemed her special, personal beauty. Everyone felt cheerful looking at this pretty future mother full of health and liveliness, who bore her condition so easily. To old men and to bored, morose young ones it seemed that they themselves came to resemble her, having been with her and spoken with her for a time. Anyone who talked with her and saw her bright little smile at every word and her gleaming white teeth, which showed constantly, thought himself especially amiable that day. And that is what each of them thought.
The little princess, waddling, went around the table with small, quick steps, her bag of handwork hanging on her arm, and, cheerfully straightening her dress, sat down on the sofa near the silver samovar, looking as though everything she did was a partie de plaisir*27 for her and for everyone around her.
“J’ai apporté mon ouvrage,”†28 she said, unclasping her reticule and addressing them all together.
“Look, Annette, ne me jouez pas un mauvais tour,” she turned to the hostess. “Vouz m’avez écrit que c’était une toute petite soirée; voyez comme je suis attifée.”‡29
And she spread her arms to show her elegant gray, lace-trimmed dress, tied slightly below the breasts with a broad ribbon.
“Soyez tranquille, Lise, vous serez toujours la plus jolie,”§30 Anna Pavlovna replied.
“Vous savez, mon mari m’abandonne,” she went on in the same tone, turning to a general, “il va se faire tuer. Dites moi, pourquoi cette vilaine guerre?”#31 she said to Prince Vassily and, not waiting for an answer, turned to Prince Vassily’s daughter, the beautiful Hélène.
“Quelle délicieuse personne, que cette petite princesse!”**32 Prince Vassily said to Anna Pavlovna.
Soon after the little princess came a massive, fat young man with a cropped head, in spectacles, light-colored trousers of the latest fashion, a high jabot, and a brown tailcoat. This fat young man was the illegitimate son of a famous courtier from Catherine’s time, Count Bezukhov, who was now dying in Moscow. He did not serve anywhere yet, he had only just arrived from abroad, where he had been educated, and this was his first time in society. Anna Pavlovna greeted him with a nod reserved for people of the lowest hierarchy in her salon. But, despite this greeting of the lowest sort, at the sight of the entering Pierre uneasiness and fear showed in Anna Pavlovna’s face, like that expressed at the sight of something all too enormous and unsuited to the place. Though Pierre was indeed somewhat larger than the other men in the room, this fear could have referred only to the intelligent and at the same time shy, observant, and natural gaze which distinguished him from everyone else in that drawing room.
“C’est bien aimable à vous, monsieur Pierre, d’être venu voir une pauvre malade,”*33 Anna Pavlovna said to him, exchanging fearful looks with the aunt, to whom she was bringing him. Pierre burbled something incomprehensible and went on searching for something with his eyes. He smiled joyfully, merrily, bowed to the little princess as to a close acquaintance, and went up to the aunt. Anna Pavlovna’s fear was not in vain, because Pierre, without hearing out the aunt’s talk about her majesty’s health, walked away from her. The frightened Anna Pavlovna stopped him with the words:
“You don’t know the abbé Morio? He’s a very interesting man…” she said.
“Yes, I’ve heard about his plan for eternal peace,11 and it’s very interesting, but hardly possible…”
“You think so?…” said Anna Pavlovna, in order to say something, and again turned to her duties as mistress of the house, but Pierre committed the reverse discourtesy. Earlier he had walked away without hearing out a lady who was talking to him; now he held with his conversation a lady who needed to leave him. Lowering his head and spreading his big feet, he began to explain to Anna Pavlovna why he thought that the abbé’s plan was a chimera.
“We’ll talk later,” Anna Pavlovna said, smiling.
And, ridding herself of the young man who did not know how to live, she returned to her duties as mistress of the house and went on listening and looking out, ready to come to the rescue at any point where the conversation lagged. As the owner of a spinning mill, having put his workers in their places, strolls about the establishment, watching out for an idle spindle or the odd one squealing much too loudly, and hastens to go and slow it down or start it up at the proper speed—so Anna Pavlovna strolled about her drawing room, going up to a circle that had fallen silent or was too talkative, and with one word or rearrangement set the conversation machine running evenly and properly again. But amidst all these cares there could still be seen in her a special fear for Pierre. She glanced at him concernedly when he went over to listen to what was being talked about around Mortemart and went on to another circle where the abbé was talking. For Pierre, brought up abroad, this soirée of Anna Pavlovna’s was the first he had seen in Russia. He knew that all the intelligentsia of Petersburg was gathered there, and, like a child in a toy shop, he looked everywhere at once. He kept fearing to miss intelligent conversations that he might have listened to. Looking at the self-assured and elegant expressions on the faces gathered here, he kept expecting something especially intelligent. Finally he went up to Morio. The conversation seemed interesting to him, and he stopped, waiting for a chance to voice his thoughts, as young people like to do.
III
Anna Pavlovna’s soirée got going. The spindles on all sides hummed evenly and ceaselessly. Besides ma tante, next to whom sat only one elderly lady with a thin, weepy face, somewhat alien to this brilliant company, the company had broken up into three circles. In one, mostly masculine, the center was the abbé in another, of young people, it was the beautiful Princess Hélène, Prince Vassily’s daughter, and the pretty, red-cheeked little princess Bolkonsky, too plump for her age. In the third, it was Mortemart and Anna Pavlovna.