Читать книгу War and Peace: Original Version - Лев Толстой, Leo Tolstoy, Liev N. Tolstói - Страница 12

Anna Pavlovna’s drawing room began filling up little by little. The highest nobility of St. Petersburg arrived, people who differed greatly in age and character, but were alike in terms of the society in which they all lived: the diplomat Count Z. arrived, covered in stars and decorations from all the foreign courts, then came the Princess L., a fading beauty, the wife of an envoy; a decrepit general entered, clattering his sabre and wheezing; then Prince Vasily’s daughter, the beautiful Hélène, entered, having called to collect her father in order to go on with him to the ambassador’s festivities. She was wearing a ball gown and her insigne as a lady-in-waiting. The young little Princess Bolkonskaya, known as the most enchanting woman in St. Petersburg, also arrived; she had married the previous winter and now no longer appeared at great society events on account of being pregnant, but she still went out to small soirées.

“You have not yet met …” or “I don’t think you know my aunt …” said Anna Pavlovna to each of her guests as they arrived, leading them across with great seriousness to a little old woman with tall bows on her cap who had come gliding out of the next room as soon as the guests had begun to arrive; she introduced each by name, slowly shifting her gaze from guest to aunt, before moving aside. All of the guests performed the ritual of greeting this aunt who was known to no one, in whom no one was interested and whom no one wanted to meet. Anna Pavlovna followed their greetings with sad, solemn concern, tacitly giving approval. In speaking to each of them the aunt used the same expressions, whether they concerned the guest’s health, her own health or the health of Her Majesty, which today, thank God, was improved. Concealing their haste out of a sense of decorum, all who approached the old woman left with a feeling of relief at an onerous duty fulfilled, never to approach her again for the entire evening. Of the ten or so gentlemen and ladies already present, some were gathered by the tea table, some were in the nook behind the trellis, and some by the window: all of them made conversation and moved freely about from one group to another.

The young Princess Bolkonskaya arrived with her needlework in a velvet bag embroidered in gold. Her pretty little upper lip with its faint hint of a dark moustache was too short to cover her teeth, but it opened all the more sweetly for that and occasionally stretched down more sweetly still to touch her lower lip. As is always the case with thoroughly attractive women, her fault – the shortness of her upper lip and her half-open mouth – seemed to be her special, very own beauty. Everyone was gladdened by the sight of this pretty mother-to-be so full of health and vitality, who bore her condition so lightly. Just looking at her, being with her and talking for a while made old men as well as bored, sullen young men feel as though they themselves were growing like her. Anyone who spoke with her and saw the radiant smile that accompanied her every word and the brilliant white teeth that were constantly visible, thought he was especially charming that day. Every one of them thought so. Waddling with short, quick steps, the little princess moved round the table with her needlework bag hanging from her arm and, adjusting her dress, sat herself down happily on the divan beside the silver samovar, as though whatever she did was amusing to herself and to everyone around her.

“I’ve brought along my work,” she said, opening the top of her reticule and addressing everybody at once.

“Now, Annette, don’t you play any nasty tricks on me,” she said, addressing the hostess. “You wrote that you were only having a little soirée, and see how poorly dressed I am.” And she spread out her arms to show off her elegant grey gown trimmed with lace and girdled with a broad ribbon under the bosom.

“Don’t you worry, Lise, you will always be the loveliest of all,” replied Anna Pavlovna.

“You know, my husband is abandoning me, he’s going off to get himself killed,” she continued in the same tone, addressing the general. “Tell me, whatever is the point of this loathsome war?” she asked, turning to Prince Vasily and, without waiting for a reply, turned to Prince Vasily’s daughter, the beautiful Hélène: “You know, Hélène, you are becoming too lovely, just too lovely.”

“What a delightful creature this little princess is!” Prince Vasily said quietly to Anna Pavlovna.

“Your charming son Hippolyte is madly in love with her.”

“The fool has taste.”

Shortly after the little princess entered, a stout young man with short-cropped hair came in, wearing spectacles, light-coloured knee-breeches after the fashion of the time, a high ruffle and brown tailcoat. Despite the fashionable cut of his clothes, this fat young man was clumsy and awkward, in the way that healthy peasant lads are clumsy and awkward. But he was unembarrassed and resolute in his movements. He halted for a moment in the centre of the drawing room and, failing to locate the hostess, bowed to everyone except her, despite the signs she was making to him. Taking the old aunt for Anna Pavlovna herself, he sat down beside her and began speaking, but finally realising from the aunt’s astonished face that this was not the right thing to do, he stood up and said:

THE LITTLE PRINCESS Drawing by M.S. Bashilov, 1866

“I beg your pardon, mademoiselle, I thought you weren’t you.”

Even the impassive aunt blushed at these senseless words and waved with a despairing expression to her niece, beckoning for help. Anna Pavlovna left the other guest with whom she was occupied and came across.

“It’s so very good of you, Monsieur Pierre, to come to visit a poor invalid,” she said to him, smiling and exchanging glances with her aunt.

Pierre then did something even worse. He sat down beside Anna Pavlovna with the expression of a man who intended to stay for some time and immediately started talking about Rousseau, of whom they had spoken at their last meeting but one. Anna Pavlovna had no time for this. She was busy listening, watching, arranging and rearranging her guests.

“I cannot understand why,” said the young man, peering significantly at his interlocutress over the top of his spectacles, “everyone so dislikes The Confessions, when the Nouvelle Héloïse is far more inferior.”

The fat young man expressed his meaning awkwardly, challenging Anna Pavlovna to an argument and completely failing to notice that the lady-in-waiting had absolutely no interest whatever in which work was good or bad, especially now, when she had so many other things to think of and remember.

PIERRE BEZUKHOV Drawing by M.S. Bashilov, 1866

“‘May the last trumpet sound when it will, I shall appear with this book in my hand,’” he said, smiling as he quoted the first page of The Confessions. “No, madame, if you read the book, you will love the man.”

“Yes, of course,” replied Anna Pavlovna, in spite of holding entirely the opposite opinion, and she surveyed her guests, wishing to get to her feet. But Pierre continued:

“It’s not just a book, it’s an entire work. The Confessions is a total confession. Is that not so?”

“But I have no desire to be his confessor, Monsieur Pierre, his sins are too vile,” she said, rising to her feet with a smile. “Come along, I shall introduce you to my cousin.”

And having rid herself of this young man who did not know how to behave, she returned to her concerns as mistress of the house and continued listening and watching, ready to offer assistance whenever conversation flagged, like the foreman of a spinning mill who, with his workers all at their places, keeps pacing about, watching that the spindles all keep turning. And just as the foreman of the spinning mill, on noticing that a spindle has stopped or is squeaking strangely or loudly, hurries across and adjusts it or sets it moving as it should, so Anna Pavlovna approached a circle that had fallen quiet or was talking too much and, with a single word or slight rearrangement, set her regular, decorous conversational engine in motion once again.