The Marriage Warning — War and Peace

Alone after Lise leaves, Andrew and Pierre sit in miserable silence until Andrew sighs them into supper. The dining room still smells of new marriage: fresh linen, unused silver, a life built for show. Halfway through the meal Andrew leans his elbows on the table and erupts with a nervous agitation Pierre has never seen on him. Never marry, he says, not until you have done everything you are capable of and have stopped idealizing the woman. Marriage chains a man like a convict; drawing rooms, gossip, balls, and vanity consume what might have been greatness. Bonaparte was free and reached his aim; a chained husband only regrets. His wife is an excellent woman, one of those rare women with whom a man's honour is safe, but he would give anything to be unmarried. Pierre takes off his spectacles and stares. This is not the cool salon wit who lolled at Anna Pavlovna's.

Then Andrew pivots. His part is played out; let them talk about Pierre. Pierre blushes out his illegitimacy, his lack of name and means, and his aimlessness. Andrew, fondness mixed with superiority, calls him the one live man in their set and tells him to quit the Kuragins and their women-and-wine life. It suits Pierre so badly, he says: debauchery, dissipation, and the rest. Pierre admits Anatole asked him out again and says he will not go. Andrew demands his word of honour. Pierre gives it.

The promise sits between them like a clean plate after a rich meal. Pierre is staying in Vasili's house and sharing Anatole's nights. The word of honour is warm. The night is not over.