War And Peace: Book 1 - CHAPTER XV

作者: Leo Tolstoy

Free Download Babylon Translate Software

The poster (email) is not available. 收藏推荐:

图书介绍

Author: Leo Tolstoy

COUNTESS ROSTOV, with her daughters and the greater number of the guests, was

sitting in the drawing-room. The count led the gentlemen of the party to his

room, calling their attention to his connoisseur's collection of Turkish pipes.

Now and then he went out and inquired, had she come yet? They were waiting for

Marya Dmitryevna Ahrosimov, known in society as le terrible dragon, a

lady who owed her renown not to her wealth or her rank, but to her mental

directness and her open, unconventional behaviour. Marya Dmitryevna was known to

the imperial family; she was known to all Moscow and all Petersburg, and both

cities, while they marvelled at her, laughed in their sleeves at her rudeness,

and told good stories about her, nevertheless, all without exception respected

and feared her.

In the count's room, full of smoke, there was talk of the war, which had been

declared in a manifesto, and of the levies of troops. The manifesto no one had

yet read, but every one knew of its appearance. The count was sitting on an

ottoman with a man smoking and talking on each side of him. The count himself

was neither smoking nor talking, but, with his head cocked first on one side and

then on the other, gazed with evident satisfaction at the smokers, and listened

to the argument he had got up between his two neighbours.

One of these two was a civilian with a thin, wrinkled, bilious, close-shaven

face, a man past middle age, though dressed like the most fashionable young man.

He sat with his leg up on the ottoman, as though he were at home, and with the

amber mouthpiece in the side of his mouth, he smoked spasmodically, puckering up

his face. This was an old bachelor, Shinshin, a cousin of the countess's, famed

in Moscow drawing-rooms for his biting wit. He seemed supercilious in his manner

to his companion, a fresh, rosy officer of the Guards, irreproachably washed and

brushed and buttoned. He held his pipe in the middle of his mouth, and drawing

in a little smoke, sent it coiling in rings out of his fine red lips. He was

Lieutenant Berg, an officer in the Semenovsky regiment with whom Boris was to go

away, and about whom Natasha had taunted Vera, calling Berg her suitor. The

count sat between these two listening intently to them. The count's favourite

entertainment, next to playing boston, of which he was very fond, was that of

listening to conversation, especially when he had succeeded in getting up a

dispute between two talkative friends.

“Come, how is it, mon très honorable Alphonse Karlitch,” said

Shinshin, chuckling, and using a combination of the most popular Russian

colloquialisms and the most recherchès French expressions, which

constituted the peculiarity of his phraseology. “You reckon you'll get an income

from the government, and you want to get a little something from your company

too?”

“No, Pyotr Nikolaitch, I only want to show that in the cavalry the advantages

are few as compared with the infantry. Consider my position now, for instance,

Pyotr Nikolaitch.” Berg talked very precisely, serenely, and politely. All he

said was always concerning himself. He always maintained a serene silence when

any subject was discussed that had no direct bearing on himself. And he could be

silent in that way for several hours at a time, neither experiencing nor causing

in others the slightest embarrassment. But as soon as the conversation concerned

him personally, he began to talk at length and with visible satisfaction.

“Consider my position, Pyotr Nikolaitch: if I were in the cavalry, I should

get no more than two hundred roubles every four months, even at the rank of

lieutenant, while as it is I get two hundred and thirty,” he explained with a

beaming, friendly smile, looking at Shinshin and the count as though he had no

doubt that his success would always be the chief goal of all other people's

wishes. “Besides that, Pyotr Nikolaitch, exchanging into the Guards, I'm so much

nearer the front,” pursued Berg, “and vacancies occur so much more frequently in

the infantry guards. Then you can fancy how well I can manage on two hundred and

thirty roubles. Why, I'm putting by and sending some off to my father too,” he

pursued, letting off a ring of smoke.

“There is a balance. A German will thrash wheat out of the head of an axe, as

the Russian proverb has it,” said Shinshin, shifting his pipe to the other side

of his mouth and winking to the count.

The count chuckled. The other visitors seeing that Shinshin was talking came

up to listen. Berg, without perceiving either their sneers or their lack of

interest, proceeded to explain how by exchanging into the guards he had already

gained a step in advance of his old comrades in the corps; how in war-time the

commander of a company may so easily be killed, and he as next in command might

very easily succeed him, and how every one in the regiment liked him, and how

pleased his father was with him. Berg was unmistakably enjoying himself as he

told all this, and seemed never to suspect that other people too might have

their own interests. But all he said was so nice, so sedate, the na