say.
"It won’t do, my love! Not everyone will understand this friendship
dating from your childish days, and to see him so intimate with you may
injure you in the eyes of other young men who visit us, and above all
it torments him for nothing. He may already have found a suitable and
wealthy match, and now he’s half crazy."
"Crazy?" repeated Natasha.
"I’ll tell you some things about myself. I had a cousin..."
"I know! Cyril Matveich... but he is old."
"He was not always old. But this is what I’ll do, Natasha, I’ll
have a talk with Boris. He need not come so often...."
"Why not, if he likes to?"
"Because I know it will end in nothing...."
"How can you know? No, Mamma, don’t speak to him! What nonsense!"
said Natasha in the tone of one being deprived of her property.
"Well, I won’t marry, but let him come if he enjoys it and I enjoy
it." Natasha smiled and looked at her mother. "Not to marry, but
just so," she added.
"How so, my pet?"
"Just so. There’s no need for me to marry him. But... just so."
"Just so, just so," repeated the countess, and shaking all over, she
went off into a good humored, unexpected, elderly laugh.
"Don’t laugh, stop!" cried Natasha. "You’re shaking the whole
bed! You’re awfully like me, just such another giggler.... Wait..."
and she seized the countess’ hands and kissed a knuckle of the little
finger, saying, "June," and continued, kissing, "July, August,"
on the other hand. "But, Mamma, is he very much in love? What do you
think? Was anybody ever so much in love with you? And he’s very nice,
very, very nice. Only not quite my taste - he is so narrow, like the
dining-room clock.... Don’t you understand? Narrow, you know - gray,
light gray..."
"What rubbish you’re talking!" said the countess.
Natasha continued: "Don’t you really understand? Nicholas would
understand.... Bezukhov, now, is blue, dark-blue and red, and he is
square."
"You flirt with him too," said the countess, laughing.
"No, he is a Freemason, I have found out. He is fine, dark-blue and
red.... How can I explain it to you?"
"Little countess!" the count’s voice called from behind the door.
"You’re not asleep?" Natasha jumped up, snatched up her slippers,
and ran barefoot to her own room.
It was a long time before she could sleep. She kept thinking that no one
could understand all that she understood and all there was in her.
"Sonya?" she thought, glancing at that curled-up, sleeping little
kitten with her enormous plait of hair. "No, how could she? She’s
virtuous. She fell in love with Nicholas and does not wish to know
anything more. Even Mamma does not understand. It is wonderful how
clever I am and how... charming she is," she went on, speaking
of herself in the third person, and imagining it was some very wise
man - the wisest and best of men - who was saying it of her. "There
is everything, everything in her," continued this man. "She is
unusually intelligent, charming... and then she is pretty, uncommonly
pretty, and agile - she swims and rides splendidly... and her voice! One
can really say it’s a wonderful voice!"
She hummed a scrap from her favorite opera by Cherubini, threw herself
on her bed, laughed at the pleasant thought that she would immediately
fall asleep, called Dunyasha the maid to put out the candle, and before
Dunyasha had left the room had already passed into yet another happier
world of dreams, where everything was as light and beautiful as in
reality, and even more so because it was different.
Next day the countess called Boris aside and had a talk with him, after
which he ceased coming to the Rostovs’.
CHAPTER XIV
On the thirty-first of December, New Year’s Eve, 1809 - 10 an old
grandee of Catherine’s day was giving a ball and midnight supper. The
diplomatic corps and the Emperor himself were to be present.
The grandee’s well-known mansion on the English Quay glittered with
innumerable lights. Police were stationed at the brightly lit entrance
which was carpeted with red baize, and not only gendarmes but dozens of
police officers and even the police master himself stood at the porch.
Carriages kept driving away and fresh ones arriving, with red-liveried
footmen and footmen in plumed hats. From the carriages emerged men
wearing uniforms, stars, and ribbons, while ladies in satin and ermine
cautiously descended the carriage steps which were let down for them
with a clatter, and then walked hurriedly and noiselessly over the baize
at the entrance.
Almost every time a new carriage drove up a whisper ran through the
crowd and caps were doffed.
"The Emperor?... No, a minister... prince... ambassador. Don’t you
see the plumes?..." was whispered among the crowd.
One person, better dressed than the rest, seemed to know everyone and
mentioned by name the greatest dignitaries of the day.
A third of the visitors had already arrived, but the Rostovs, who were
to be present, were still hurrying to get dressed.
There had been many discussions and preparations for this ball in the
Rostov family, many fears that the invitation would not arrive, that
the dresses would not be ready, or that something would not be arranged
as it should be.
Marya Ignatevna Peronskaya, a thin and shallow maid of honor at
the court of the Dowager Empress, who was a friend and relation of the
countess and piloted the provincial Rostovs in Petersburg high society,
was to accompany them to the ball.
They were to call for her at her house in the Taurida Gardens at ten
o’clock, but it was already five minutes to ten, and the girls were
not yet dressed.
Natasha was going to her first grand ball. She had got up at eight that
morning and had been in a fever of excitement and activity all day. All
her powers since morning had been concentrated on ensuring that they
all - she herself, Mamma, and Sonya - should be as well dressed as
possible. Sonya and her mother put themselves entirely in her hands.
The countess was to wear a claret-colored velvet dress, and the two
girls white gauze over pink silk slips, with roses on their bodices and
their hair dressed à la grecque.
Everything essential had already been done; feet, hands, necks, and
ears washed, perfumed, and powdered, as befits a ball; the openwork
silk stockings and white satin shoes with ribbons were already on; the
hairdressing was almost done. Sonya was finishing dressing and so was
the countess, but Natasha, who had bustled about helping them all, was
behindhand. She was still sitting before a looking-glass with a dressing
jacket thrown over her slender shoulders. Sonya stood ready dressed in
the middle of the room and, pressing the head of a pin till it hurt her
dainty finger, was fixing on a last ribbon that squeaked as the pin went
through it.
"That’s not the way, that’s not the way, Sonya!" cried Natasha
turning her head and clutching with both hands at her hair which the
maid who was dressing it had not time to release. "That bow is not
right. Come here!"
Sonya sat down and Natasha pinned the ribbon on differently.
"Allow me, Miss! I can’t do it like that," said the maid who was
holding Natasha’s hair.
"Oh, dear! Well then, wait. That’s right, Sonya."
"Aren’t you ready? It is nearly ten," came the countess’ voice.
"Directly! Directly! And you, Mamma?"
"I have only my cap to pin on."
"Don’t do it without me!" called Natasha. "You won’t do it
right."
"But it’s already ten."
They had decided to be at the ball by half-past ten, and Natasha had
still to get dressed and they had to call at the Taurida Gardens.
When her hair was done, Natasha, in her short petticoat from under
which her dancing shoes showed, and in her mother’s dressing jacket,
ran up to Sonya, scrutinized her, and then ran to her mother. Turning
her mother’s head this way and that, she fastened on the cap and,
hurriedly kissing her gray hair, ran back to the maids who were turning
up the hem of her skirt.
The cause of the delay was Natasha’s skirt, which was too long.
Two maids were turning up the hem and hurriedly biting off the ends of
thread. A third with pins in her mouth was running about between the
countess and Sonya, and a fourth held the whole of the gossamer garment
up high on one uplifted hand.
"Mavra, quicker, darling!"
"Give me my thimble, Miss, from there..."
"Whenever will you be ready?" asked the count coming to the door.
"Here is some scent. Peronskaya must be tired of waiting."
"It’s ready, Miss," said the maid, holding up the shortened gauze
dress with two fingers, and blowing and shaking something off it, as if
by this to express a consciousness of the airiness and purity of what
she held.
Natasha began putting on the dress.
"In a minute! In a minute! Don’t come in, Papa!" she cried to her
father as he opened the door - speaking from under the filmy skirt which
still covered her whole face.
Sonya slammed the door to. A minute later they let the count in. He was
wearing a blue swallow-tail coat, shoes and stockings, and was perfumed
and his hair pomaded.
"Oh, Papa! how nice you look! Charming!" cried Natasha, as she
stood in the middle of the room smoothing out the folds of the gauze.
"If you please, Miss! allow me," said the maid, who on her knees was
pulling the skirt straight and shifting the pins from one side of her
mouth to the other with her tongue.
"Say what you like," exclaimed Sonya, in a despairing voice as she
looked at Natasha, "say what you like, it’s still too long."
Natasha stepped back to look at herself in the pier glass. The dress
was too long.
"Really, madam, it is not at all too long," said Mavra, crawling on
her knees after her young lady.
"Well, if it’s too long we’ll tack it up... we’ll tack it up
in one minute," said the resolute Dunyasha taking a needle that was
stuck on the front of her little shawl and, still kneeling on the floor,
set to work once more.
At that moment, with soft steps, the countess came in shyly, in her cap
and velvet gown.
"Oo-oo, my beauty!" exclaimed the count, "she looks better than
any of you!"
He would have embraced her but, blushing, she stepped aside fearing to
be rumpled.
"Mamma, your cap, more to this side," said Natasha. "I’ll
arrange it," and she rushed forward so that the maids who were tacking
up her skirt could not move fast enough and a piece of gauze was torn
off.
"Oh goodness! What has happened? Really it was not my fault!"
"Never mind, I’ll run it up, it won’t show," said Dunyasha.
"What a beauty - a very queen!" said the nurse as she came to the
door. "And Sonya! They are lovely!"
At a quarter past ten they at last got into their carriages and started.
But they had still to call at the Taurida Gardens.
Peronskaya was quite ready. In spite of her age and plainness she
had gone through the same process as the Rostovs, but with less
flurry - for to her it was a matter of routine. Her ugly old body was
washed, perfumed, and powdered in just the same way. She had washed
behind her ears just as carefully, and when she entered her drawing
room in her yellow dress, wearing her badge as maid of honor, her old
lady’s maid was as full of rapturous admiration as the Rostovs’
servants had been.
She praised the Rostovs’ toilets. They praised her taste and toilet,
and at eleven o’clock, careful of their coiffures and dresses, they
settled themselves in their carriages and drove off.
CHAPTER XV
Natasha had not had a moment free since early morning and had not once
had time to think of what lay before her.
In the damp chill air and crowded closeness of the swaying carriage, she
for the first time vividly imagined what was in store for her there at
the ball, in those brightly lighted rooms - with music, flowers, dances,
the Emperor, and all the brilliant young people of Petersburg. The
prospect was so splendid that she hardly believed it would come true,
so out of keeping was it with the chill darkness and closeness of the
carriage. She understood all that awaited her only when, after stepping
over the red baize at the entrance, she entered the hall, took off her
fur cloak, and, beside Sonya and in front of her mother, mounted the
brightly illuminated stairs between the flowers. Only then did she
remember how she must behave at a ball, and tried to assume the majestic
air she considered indispensable for a girl on such an occasion. But,
fortunately for her, she felt her eyes growing misty, she saw nothing
clearly, her pulse beat a hundred to the minute, and the blood throbbed
at her heart. She could not assume that pose, which would have made her
ridiculous, and she moved on almost fainting from excitement and trying
with all her might to conceal it. And this was the very attitude that
became her best. Before and behind them other visitors were entering,
also talking in low tones and wearing ball dresses. The mirrors on the
landing reflected ladies in white, pale-blue, and pink dresses, with
diamonds and pearls on their bare necks and arms.
Natasha looked in the mirrors and could not distinguish her reflection
from the others. All was blended into one brilliant procession.
On entering the ballroom the regular hum of voices, footsteps, and
greetings deafened Natasha, and the light and glitter dazzled her still
more. The host and hostess, who had already been standing at the door
for half an hour repeating the same words to the various arrivals,
"Charme de vous voir," * greeted the Rostovs and Peronskaya in
the same manner.
* "Delighted to see you."
The two girls in their white dresses, each with a rose in her
black hair, both curtsied in the same way, but the hostess’ eye
involuntarily rested longer on the slim Natasha. She looked at her
and gave her alone a special smile in addition to her usual smile as
hostess. Looking at her she may have recalled the golden, irrecoverable
days of her own girlhood and her own first ball. The host also followed
Natasha with his eyes and asked the count which was his daughter.
"Charming!" said he, kissing the tips of his fingers.
In the ballroom guests stood crowding at the entrance doors awaiting
the Emperor. The countess took up a position in one of the front rows
of that crowd. Natasha heard and felt that several people were asking
about her and looking at her. She realized that those noticing her liked
her, and this observation helped to calm her.
"There are some like ourselves and some worse," she thought.
Peronskaya was pointing out to the countess the most important people
at the ball.
"That is the Dutch ambassador, do you see? That gray-haired man,"
she said, indicating an old man with a profusion of silver-gray curly
hair, who was surrounded by ladies laughing at something he said.
"Ah, here she is, the Queen of Petersburg, Countess Bezukhova,"
said Peronskaya, indicating Helene who had just entered. "How
lovely! She is quite equal to Marya Antonovna. See how the men, young
and old, pay court to her. Beautiful and clever... they say Prince
- - is quite mad about her. But see, those two, though not
good-looking, are even more run after."
She pointed to a lady who was crossing the room followed by a very plain
daughter.
"She is a splendid match, a millionairess," said Peronskaya. "And
look, here come her suitors."
"That is Bezukhova’s brother, Anatole Kuragin," she said,
indicating a handsome officer of the Horse Guards who passed by them
with head erect, looking at something over the heads of the ladies.
"He’s handsome, isn’t he? I hear they will marry him to that rich
girl. But your cousin, Drubetskoy, is also very attentive to her. They
say she has millions. Oh yes, that’s the French ambassador himself!"
she replied to the countess’ inquiry about Caulaincourt. "Looks as
if he were a king! All the same, the French are charming, very charming.
No one more charming in society. Ah, here she is! Yes, she is still the
most beautiful of them all, our Marya Antonovna! And how simply she
is dressed! Lovely! And that stout one in spectacles is the universal
Freemason," she went on, indicating Pierre. "Put him beside his wife
and he looks a regular buffoon!"
Pierre, swaying his stout body, advanced, making way through the crowd
and nodding to right and left as casually and good-naturedly as if he
were passing through a crowd at a fair. He pushed through, evidently
looking for someone.
Natasha looked joyfully at the familiar face of Pierre, "the
buffoon," as Peronskaya had called him, and knew he was looking for
them, and for her in particular. He had promised to be at the ball and
introduce partners to her.
But before he reached them Pierre stopped beside a very handsome, dark
man of middle height, and in a white uniform, who stood by a window
talking to a tall man wearing stars and a ribbon. Natasha at once
recognized the shorter and younger man in the white uniform: it was
Bolkonski, who seemed to her to have grown much younger, happier, and
better-looking.
"There’s someone else we know - Bolkonski, do you see, Mamma?"
said Natasha, pointing out Prince Andrew. "You remember, he stayed a
night with us at Otradnoe."
"Oh, you know him?" said Peronskaya. "I can’t bear him. Il fait
à present la pluie et le beau temps. * He’s too proud for anything.
Takes after his father. And he’s hand in glove with Speranski,
writing some project or other. Just look how he treats the ladies!
There’s one talking to him and he has turned away," she said,
pointing at him. "I’d give it to him if he treated me as he does
those ladies."
* "He is all the rage just now."
CHAPTER XVI
Suddenly everybody stirred, began talking, and pressed forward and then
back, and between the two rows, which separated, the Emperor entered to
the sounds of music that had immediately struck up. Behind him walked
his host and hostess. He walked in rapidly, bowing to right and left
as if anxious to get the first moments of the reception over. The band
played the polonaise in vogue at that time on account of the words that
had been set to it, beginning: "Alexander, Elisaveta, all our hearts
you ravish quite..." The Emperor passed on to the drawing room, the
crowd made a rush for the doors, and several persons with excited faces
hurried there and back again. Then the crowd hastily retired from
the drawing room door, at which the Emperor reappeared talking to the
hostess. A young man, looking distraught, pounced down on the ladies,
asking them to move aside. Some ladies, with faces betraying complete
forgetfulness of all the rules of decorum, pushed forward to the
detriment of their toilets. The men began to choose partners and take
their places for the polonaise.
Everyone moved back, and the Emperor came smiling out of the drawing
room leading his hostess by the hand but not keeping time to the
music. The host followed with Marya Antonovna Naryshkina; then
came ambassadors, ministers, and various generals, whom Peronskaya
diligently named. More than half the ladies already had partners
and were taking up, or preparing to take up, their positions for the
polonaise. Natasha felt that she would be left with her mother and
Sonya among a minority of women who crowded near the wall, not having
been invited to dance. She stood with her slender arms hanging down,
her scarcely defined bosom rising and falling regularly, and with
bated breath and glittering, frightened eyes gazed straight before
her, evidently prepared for the height of joy or misery. She was
not concerned about the Emperor or any of those great people whom
Peronskaya was pointing out - she had but one thought: "Is it
possible no one will ask me, that I shall not be among the first to
dance? Is it possible that not one of all these men will notice me?
They do not even seem to see me, or if they do they look as if they
were saying, ‘Ah, she’s not the one I’m after, so it’s not worth
looking at her!’ No, it’s impossible," she thought. "They must
know how I long to dance, how splendidly I dance, and how they would
enjoy dancing with me."
The strains of the polonaise, which had continued for a considerable
time, had begun to sound like a sad reminiscence to Natasha’s ears.
She wanted to cry. Peronskaya had left them. The count was at the
other end of the room. She and the countess and Sonya were standing by
themselves as in the depths of a forest amid that crowd of strangers,
with no one interested in them and not wanted by anyone. Prince Andrew
with a lady passed by, evidently not recognizing them. The handsome
Anatole was smilingly talking to a partner on his arm and looked at
Natasha as one looks at a wall. Boris passed them twice and each time
turned away. Berg and his wife, who were not dancing, came up to them.
This family gathering seemed humiliating to Natasha - as if there were
nowhere else for the family to talk but here at the ball. She did not
listen to or look at Vera, who was telling her something about her own
green dress.
At last the Emperor stopped beside his last partner (he had danced
with three) and the music ceased. A worried aide-de-camp ran up to the
Rostovs requesting them to stand farther back, though as it was they
were already close to the wall, and from the gallery resounded the
distinct, precise, enticingly rhythmical strains of a waltz. The Emperor
looked smilingly down the room. A minute passed but no one had yet begun
dancing. An aide-de-camp, the Master of Ceremonies, went up to Countess
Bezukhova and asked her to dance. She smilingly raised her hand and
laid it on his shoulder without looking at him. The aide-de-camp, an
adept in his art, grasping his partner firmly round her waist, with
confident deliberation started smoothly, gliding first round the edge of
the circle, then at the corner of the room he caught Helene’s
left hand and turned her, the only sound audible, apart from the
ever-quickening music, being the rhythmic click of the spurs on his
rapid, agile feet, while at every third beat his partner’s velvet
dress spread out and seemed to flash as she whirled round. Natasha
gazed at them and was ready to cry because it was not she who was
dancing that first turn of the waltz.
Prince Andrew, in the white uniform of a cavalry colonel, wearing
stockings and dancing shoes, stood looking animated and bright in the
front row of the circle not far from the Rostovs. Baron Firhoff was
talking to him about the first sitting of the Council of State to be
held next day. Prince Andrew, as one closely connected with Speranski
and participating in the work of the legislative commission, could give
reliable information about that sitting, concerning which various rumors
were current. But not listening to what Firhoff was saying, he was
gazing now at the sovereign and now at the men intending to dance who
had not yet gathered courage to enter the circle.
Prince Andrew was watching these men abashed by the Emperor’s
presence, and the women who were breathlessly longing to be asked to
dance.
Pierre came up to him and caught him by the arm.
"You always dance. I have a protegee, the young Rostova, here. Ask
her," he said.
"Where is she?" asked Bolkonski. "Excuse me!" he added, turning
to the baron, "we will finish this conversation elsewhere - at a ball
one must dance." He stepped forward in the direction Pierre indicated.
The despairing, dejected expression of Natasha’s face caught his eye.
He recognized her, guessed her feelings, saw that it was her debut,
remembered her conversation at the window, and with an expression of
pleasure on his face approached Countess Rostova.
"Allow me to introduce you to my daughter," said the countess, with
heightened color.
"I have the pleasure of being already acquainted, if the countess
remembers me," said Prince Andrew with a low and courteous bow quite
belying Peronskaya’s remarks about his rudeness, and approaching
Natasha he held out his arm to grasp her waist before he had completed
his invitation. He asked her to waltz. That tremulous expression on
Natasha’s face, prepared either for despair or rapture, suddenly
brightened into a happy, grateful, childlike smile.
"I have long been waiting for you," that frightened happy little
girl seemed to say by the smile that replaced the threatened tears, as
she raised her hand to Prince Andrew’s shoulder. They were the second
couple to enter the circle. Prince Andrew was one of the best dancers of
his day and Natasha danced exquisitely. Her little feet in their white
satin dancing shoes did their work swiftly, lightly, and independently
of herself, while her face beamed with ecstatic happiness. Her slender
bare arms and neck were not beautiful - compared to Helene’s her
shoulders looked thin and her bosom undeveloped. But Helene seemed, as
it were, hardened by a varnish left by the thousands of looks that had
scanned her person, while Natasha was like a girl exposed for the first
time, who would have felt very much ashamed had she not been assured
that this was absolutely necessary.
Prince Andrew liked dancing, and wishing to escape as quickly as
possible from the political and clever talk which everyone addressed
to him, wishing also to break up the circle of restraint he disliked,
caused by the Emperor’s presence, he danced, and had chosen Natasha
because Pierre pointed her out to him and because she was the first
pretty girl who caught his eye; but scarcely had he embraced that
slender supple figure and felt her stirring so close to him and smiling
so near him than the wine of her charm rose to his head, and he
felt himself revived and rejuvenated when after leaving her he stood
breathing deeply and watching the other dancers.
CHAPTER XVII
After Prince Andrew, Boris came up to ask Natasha for a dance, and
then the aide-de-camp who had opened the ball, and several other young
men, so that, flushed and happy, and passing on her superfluous partners
to Sonya, she did not cease dancing all the evening. She noticed and
saw nothing of what occupied everyone else. Not only did she fail to
notice that the Emperor talked a long time with the French ambassador,
and how particularly gracious he was to a certain lady, or that Prince
So-and-so and So-and-so did and said this and that, and that Helene
had great success and was honored by the special attention of So-and-so,
but she did not even see the Emperor, and only noticed that he had gone
because the ball became livelier after his departure. For one of the
merry cotillions before supper Prince Andrew was again her partner. He
reminded her of their first encounter in the Otradnoe avenue, and how
she had been unable to sleep that moonlight night, and told her how he
had involuntarily overheard her. Natasha blushed at that recollection
and tried to excuse herself, as if there had been something to be
ashamed of in what Prince Andrew had overheard.
Like all men who have grown up in society, Prince Andrew liked meeting
someone there not of the conventional society stamp. And such was
Natasha, with her surprise, her delight, her shyness, and even her
mistakes in speaking French. With her he behaved with special care and
tenderness, sitting beside her and talking of the simplest and most
unimportant matters; he admired her shy grace. In the middle of the
cotillion, having completed one of the figures, Natasha, still out of
breath, was returning to her seat when another dancer chose her. She was
tired and panting and evidently thought of declining, but immediately
put her hand gaily on the man’s shoulder, smiling at Prince Andrew.
"I’d be glad to sit beside you and rest: I’m tired; but you see
how they keep asking me, and I’m glad of it, I’m happy and I love
everybody, and you and I understand it all," and much, much more was
said in her smile. When her partner left her Natasha ran across the
room to choose two ladies for the figure.
"If she goes to her cousin first and then to another lady, she will be
my wife," said Prince Andrew to himself quite to his own surprise, as
he watched her. She did go first to her cousin.
"What rubbish sometimes enters one’s head!" thought Prince Andrew,
"but what is certain is that that girl is so charming, so original,
that she won’t be dancing here a month before she will be married....
Such as she are rare here," he thought, as Natasha, readjusting a
rose that was slipping on her bodice, settled herself beside him.
When the cotillion was over the old count in his blue coat came up to
the dancers. He invited Prince Andrew to come and see them, and asked
his daughter whether she was enjoying herself. Natasha did not answer
at once but only looked up with a smile that said reproachfully: "How
can you ask such a question?"
"I have never enjoyed myself so much before!" she said, and Prince
Andrew noticed how her thin arms rose quickly as if to embrace her
father and instantly dropped again. Natasha was happier than she had
ever been in her life. She was at that height of bliss when one becomes
completely kind and good and does not believe in the possibility of
evil, unhappiness, or sorrow.
At that ball Pierre for the first time felt humiliated by the position
his wife occupied in court circles. He was gloomy and absent-minded. A
deep furrow ran across his forehead, and standing by a window he stared
over his spectacles seeing no one.
On her way to supper Natasha passed him.
Pierre’s gloomy, unhappy look struck her. She stopped in front of him.
She wished to help him, to bestow on him the superabundance of her own
happiness.
"How delightful it is, Count!" said she. "Isn’t it?"
Pierre smiled absent-mindedly, evidently not grasping what she said.
"Yes, I am very glad," he said.
"How can people be dissatisfied with anything?" thought Natasha.
"Especially such a capital fellow as Bezukhov!" In Natasha’s
eyes all the people at the ball alike were good, kind, and splendid
people, loving one another; none of them capable of injuring
another - and so they ought all to be happy.
CHAPTER XVIII
Next day Prince Andrew thought of the ball, but his mind did not dwell
on it long. "Yes, it was a very brilliant ball," and then... "Yes,
that little Rostova is very charming. There’s something fresh,
original, un-Petersburg-like about her that distinguishes her." That
was all he thought about yesterday’s ball, and after his morning tea
he set to work.
But either from fatigue or want of sleep he was ill-disposed for work
and could get nothing done. He kept criticizing his own work, as he
often did, and was glad when he heard someone coming.
The visitor was Bitski, who served on various committees, frequented
all the societies in Petersburg, and a passionate devotee of the new
ideas and of Speranski, and a diligent Petersburg newsmonger - one of
those men who choose their opinions like their clothes according to
the fashion, but who for that very reason appear to be the warmest
partisans. Hardly had he got rid of his hat before he ran into Prince
Andrew’s room with a preoccupied air and at once began talking. He
had just heard particulars of that morning’s sitting of the Council
of State opened by the Emperor, and he spoke of it enthusiastically. The
Emperor’s speech had been extraordinary. It had been a speech such as
only constitutional monarchs deliver. "The Sovereign plainly said
that the Council and Senate are estates of the realm, he said that the
government must rest not on authority but on secure bases. The Emperor
said that the fiscal system must be reorganized and the accounts
published," recounted Bitski, emphasizing certain words and opening
his eyes significantly.
"Ah, yes! Today’s events mark an epoch, the greatest epoch in our
history," he concluded.
Prince Andrew listened to the account of the opening of the Council of
State, which he had so impatiently awaited and to which he had attached
such importance, and was surprised that this event, now that it had
taken place, did not affect him, and even seemed quite insignificant. He
listened with quiet irony to Bitski’s enthusiastic account of it. A
very simple thought occurred to him: "What does it matter to me or to
Bitski what the Emperor was pleased to say at the Council? Can all that
make me any happier or better?"
And this simple reflection suddenly destroyed all the interest Prince
Andrew had felt in the impending reforms. He was going to dine that
evening at Speranski’s, "with only a few friends," as the host
had said when inviting him. The prospect of that dinner in the intimate
home circle of the man he so admired had greatly interested Prince
Andrew, especially as he had not yet seen Speranski in his domestic
surroundings, but now he felt disinclined to go to it.
At the appointed hour, however, he entered the modest house Speranski
owned in the Taurida Gardens. In the parqueted dining room this small
house, remarkable for its extreme cleanliness (suggesting that of a
monastery), Prince Andrew, who was rather late, found the friendly
gathering of Speranski’s intimate acquaintances already assembled
at five o’clock. There were no ladies present except Speranski’s
little daughter (long-faced like her father) and her governess. The
other guests were Gervais, Magnitski, and Stolypin. While still in
the anteroom Prince Andrew heard loud voices and a ringing staccato
laugh - a laugh such as one hears on the stage. Someone - it sounded
like Speranski - was distinctly ejaculating ha-ha-ha. Prince Andrew
had never before heard Speranski’s famous laugh, and this ringing,
high-pitched laughter from a statesman made a strange impression on him.
He entered the dining room. The whole company were standing between two
windows at a small table laid with hors-d’oeuvres. Speranski, wearing
a gray swallow-tail coat with a star on the breast, and evidently still
the same waistcoat and high white stock he had worn at the meeting of
the Council of State, stood at the table with a beaming countenance. His
guests surrounded him. Magnitski, addressing himself to Speranski,
was relating an anecdote, and Speranski was laughing in advance at
what Magnitski was going to say. When Prince Andrew entered the room
Magnitski’s words were again crowned by laughter. Stolypin gave
a deep bass guffaw as he munched a piece of bread and cheese. Gervais
laughed softly with a hissing chuckle, and Speranski in a high-pitched
staccato manner.
Still laughing, Speranski held out his soft white hand to Prince
Andrew.
"Very pleased to see you, Prince," he said. "One moment..." he
went on, turning to Magnitski and interrupting his story. "We have
agreed that this is a dinner for recreation, with not a word about
business!" and turning again to the narrator he began to laugh afresh.
Prince Andrew looked at the laughing Speranski with astonishment,
regret, and disillusionment. It seemed to him that this was not
Speranski but someone else. Everything that had formerly appeared
mysterious and fascinating in Speranski suddenly became plain and
unattractive.
At dinner the conversation did not cease for a moment and seemed to
consist of the contents of a book of funny anecdotes. Before Magnitski
had finished his story someone else was anxious to relate something
still funnier. Most of the anecdotes, if not relating to the state
service, related to people in the service. It seemed that in this
company the insignificance of those people was so definitely accepted
that the only possible attitude toward them was one of good humored
ridicule. Speranski related how at the Council that morning a deaf
dignitary, when asked his opinion, replied that he thought so too.
Gervais gave a long account of an official revision, remarkable for the
stupidity of everybody concerned. Stolypin, stuttering, broke into
the conversation and began excitedly talking of the abuses that existed
under the former order of things - threatening to give a serious turn
to the conversation. Magnitski starting quizzing Stolypin about his
vehemence. Gervais intervened with a joke, and the talk reverted to its
former lively tone.
Evidently Speranski liked to rest after his labors and find amusement
in a circle of friends, and his guests, understanding his wish, tried
to enliven him and amuse themselves. But their gaiety seemed to Prince
Andrew mirthless and tiresome. Speranski’s high-pitched voice struck
him unpleasantly, and the incessant laughter grated on him like a false
note. Prince Andrew did not laugh and feared that he would be a damper
on the spirits of the company, but no one took any notice of his being
out of harmony with the general mood. They all seemed very gay.
He tried several times to join in the conversation, but his remarks were
tossed aside each time like a cork thrown out of the water, and he could
not jest with them.
There was nothing wrong or unseemly in what they said, it was witty and
might have been funny, but it lacked just that something which is the
salt of mirth, and they were not even aware that such a thing existed.
After dinner Speranski’s daughter and her governess rose. He patted
the little girl with his white hand and kissed her. And that gesture,
too, seemed unnatural to Prince Andrew.
The men remained at table over their port - English fashion. In the
midst of a conversation that was started about Napoleon’s Spanish
affairs, which they all agreed in approving, Prince Andrew began to
express a contrary opinion. Speranski smiled and, with an evident wish
to prevent the conversation from taking an unpleasant course, told a
story that had no connection with the previous conversation. For a few
moments all were silent.
Having sat some time at table, Speranski corked a bottle of wine and,
remarking, "Nowadays good wine rides in a carriage and pair," passed
it to the servant and got up. All rose and continuing to talk loudly
went into the drawing room. Two letters brought by a courier were handed
to Speranski and he took them to his study. As soon as he had left
the room the general merriment stopped and the guests began to converse
sensibly and quietly with one another.
"Now for the recitation!" said Speranski on returning from
his study. "A wonderful talent!" he said to Prince Andrew, and
Magnitski immediately assumed a pose and began reciting some humorous
verses in French which he had composed about various well-known
Petersburg people. He was interrupted several times by applause. When
the verses were finished Prince Andrew went up to Speranski and took
his leave.
"Where are you off to so early?" asked Speranski.
"I promised to go to a reception."
They said no more. Prince Andrew looked closely into those mirrorlike,
impenetrable eyes, and felt that it had been ridiculous of him to have
expected anything from Speranski and from any of his own activities
connected with him, or ever to have attributed importance to what
Speranski was doing. That precise, mirthless laughter rang in Prince
Andrew’s ears long after he had left the house.
When he reached home Prince Andrew began thinking of his life in
Petersburg during those last four months as if it were something new. He
recalled his exertions and solicitations, and the history of his project
of army reform, which had been accepted for consideration and which they
were trying to pass over in silence simply because another, a very poor
one, had already been prepared and submitted to the Emperor. He thought
of the meetings of a committee of which Berg was a member. He remembered
how carefully and at what length everything relating to form and
procedure was discussed at those meetings, and how sedulously and
promptly all that related to the gist of the business was evaded. He
recalled his labors on the Legal Code, and how painstakingly he had
translated the articles of the Roman and French codes into Russian,
and he felt ashamed of himself. Then he vividly pictured to himself
Bogucharovo, his occupations in the country, his journey to Ryazan;
he remembered the peasants and Dron the village elder, and mentally
applying to them the Personal Rights he had divided into paragraphs, he
felt astonished that he could have spent so much time on such useless
work.
CHAPTER XIX
Next day Prince Andrew called at a few houses he had not visited before,
and among them at the Rostovs’ with whom he had renewed acquaintance
at the ball. Apart from considerations of politeness which demanded the
call, he wanted to see that original, eager girl who had left such a
pleasant impression on his mind, in her own home.
Natasha was one of the first to meet him. She was wearing a dark-blue
house dress in which Prince Andrew thought her even prettier than in
her ball dress. She and all the Rostov family welcomed him as an old
friend, simply and cordially. The whole family, whom he had formerly
judged severely, now seemed to him to consist of excellent, simple,
and kindly people. The old count’s hospitality and good nature, which
struck one especially in Petersburg as a pleasant surprise, were such
that Prince Andrew could not refuse to stay to dinner. "Yes,"
he thought, "they are capital people, who of course have not the
slightest idea what a treasure they possess in Natasha; but they are
kindly folk and form the best possible setting for this strikingly
poetic, charming girl, overflowing with life!"
In Natasha Prince Andrew was conscious of a strange world completely
alien to him and brimful of joys unknown to him, a different world,
that in the Otradnoe avenue and at the window that moonlight night
had already begun to disconcert him. Now this world disconcerted him no
longer and was no longer alien to him, but he himself having entered it
found in it a new enjoyment.
After dinner Natasha, at Prince Andrew’s request, went to the
clavichord and began singing. Prince Andrew stood by a window talking
to the ladies and listened to her. In the midst of a phrase he ceased
speaking and suddenly felt tears choking him, a thing he had thought
impossible for him. He looked at Natasha as she sang, and something new
and joyful stirred in his soul. He felt happy and at the same time sad.
He had absolutely nothing to weep about yet he was ready to weep. What
about? His former love? The little princess? His disillusionments?...
His hopes for the future?... Yes and no. The chief reason was a sudden,
vivid sense of the terrible contrast between something infinitely great
and illimitable within him and that limited and material something that
he, and even she, was. This contrast weighed on and yet cheered him
while she sang.
As soon as Natasha had finished she went up to him and asked how he
liked her voice. She asked this and then became confused, feeling that
she ought not to have asked it. He smiled, looking at her, and said he
liked her singing as he liked everything she did.
Prince Andrew left the Rostovs’ late in the evening. He went to bed
from habit, but soon realized that he could not sleep. Having lit his
candle he sat up in bed, then got up, then lay down again not at all
troubled by his sleeplessness: his soul was as fresh and joyful as if he
had stepped out of a stuffy room into God’s own fresh air. It did not
enter his head that he was in love with Natasha; he was not thinking
about her, but only picturing her to himself, and in consequence all
life appeared in a new light. "Why do I strive, why do I toil in this
narrow, confined frame, when life, all life with all its joys, is open
to me?" said he to himself. And for the first time for a very long
while he began making happy plans for the future. He decided that he
must attend to his son’s education by finding a tutor and putting
the boy in his charge, then he ought to retire from the service and go
abroad, and see England, Switzerland and Italy. "I must use my freedom
while I feel so much strength and youth in me," he said to himself.
"Pierre was right when he said one must believe in the possibility of
happiness in order to be happy, and now I do believe in it. Let the dead
bury their dead, but while one has life one must live and be happy!"
thought he.
CHAPTER XX
One morning Colonel Berg, whom Pierre knew as he knew everybody in
Moscow and Petersburg, came to see him. Berg arrived in an immaculate
brand-new uniform, with his hair pomaded and brushed forward over his
temples as the Emperor Alexander wore his hair.
"I have just been to see the countess, your wife. Unfortunately she
could not grant my request, but I hope, Count, I shall be more fortunate
with you," he said with a smile.
"What is it you wish, Colonel? I am at your service."
"I have now quite settled in my new rooms, Count" (Berg said
this with perfect conviction that this information could not but be
agreeable), "and so I wish to arrange just a small party for my own
and my wife’s friends." (He smiled still more pleasantly.) "I
wished to ask the countess and you to do me the honor of coming to tea
and to supper."
Only Countess Helene, considering the society of such people as the
Bergs beneath her, could be cruel enough to refuse such an invitation.
Berg explained so clearly why he wanted to collect at his house a small
but select company, and why this would give him pleasure, and why though
he grudged spending money on cards or anything harmful, he was prepared
to run into some expense for the sake of good society - that Pierre
could not refuse, and promised to come.
"But don’t be late, Count, if I may venture to ask; about ten
minutes to eight, please. We shall make up a rubber. Our general is
coming. He is very good to me. We shall have supper, Count. So you will
do me the favor."
Contrary to his habit of being late, Pierre on that day arrived at the
Bergs’ house, not at ten but at fifteen minutes to eight.
Having prepared everything necessary for the party, the Bergs were ready
for their guests’ arrival.
In their new, clean, and light study with its small busts and pictures
and new furniture sat Berg and his wife. Berg, closely buttoned up in
his new uniform, sat beside his wife explaining to her that one always
could and should be acquainted with people above one, because only then
does one get satisfaction from acquaintances.
"You can get to know something, you can ask for something. See how I
managed from my first promotion." (Berg measured his life not by years
but by promotions.) "My comrades are still nobodies, while I am only
waiting for a vacancy to command a regiment, and have the happiness to
be your husband." (He rose and kissed Vera’s hand, and on the way
to her straightened out a turned-up corner of the carpet.) "And
how have I obtained all this? Chiefly by knowing how to choose my
aquaintances. It goes without saying that one must be conscientious and
methodical."
Berg smiled with a sense of his superiority over a weak woman, and
paused, reflecting that this dear wife of his was after all but a weak
woman who could not understand all that constitutes a man’s dignity,
what it was ein Mann zu sein. * Vera at the same time smiling with a
sense of superiority over her good, conscientious husband, who all the
same understood life wrongly, as according to Vera all men did. Berg,
judging by his wife, thought all women weak and foolish. Vera, judging
only by her husband and generalizing from that observation, supposed
that all men, though they understand nothing and are conceited and
selfish, ascribe common sense to themselves alone.
* To be a man.
Berg rose and embraced his wife carefully, so as not to crush her lace
fichu for which he had paid a good price, kissing her straight on the
lips.
"The only thing is, we mustn’t have children too soon," he
continued, following an unconscious sequence of ideas.
"Yes," answered Vera, "I don’t at all want that. We must live
for society."
"Princess Yusupova wore one exactly like this," said Berg, pointing
to the fichu with a happy and kindly smile.
Just then Count Bezukhov was announced. Husband and wife glanced at one
another, both smiling with self-satisfaction, and each mentally claiming
the honor of this visit.
"This is what comes of knowing how to make acquaintances," thought
Berg. "This is what comes of knowing how to conduct oneself."
"But please don’t interrupt me when I am entertaining the guests,"
said Vera, "because I know what interests each of them and what to
say to different people."
Berg smiled again.
"It can’t be helped: men must sometimes have masculine
conversation," said he.
They received Pierre in their small, new drawing room, where it was
impossible to sit down anywhere without disturbing its symmetry,
neatness, and order; so it was quite comprehensible and not strange that
Berg, having generously offered to disturb the symmetry of an armchair
or of the sofa for his dear guest, but being apparently painfully
undecided on the matter himself, eventually left the visitor to settle
the question of selection. Pierre disturbed the symmetry by moving a
chair for himself, and Berg and Vera immediately began their evening
party, interrupting each other in their efforts to entertain their
guest.
Vera, having decided in her own mind that Pierre ought to be
entertained with conversation about the French embassy, at once began
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956
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958
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962
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965
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.
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967
968
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971
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.
974
975
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,
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,
991
,
992
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993
.
994
,
995
,
996
.
997
998
,
999
,
1000