War And Peace: Book 4 - CHAPTER III

作者: Leo Tolstoy

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Author: Leo Tolstoy

ON THE 3RD OF MARCH all the rooms of the English Club were full of the hum of

voices, and the members and guests of the club, in uniforms and frock-coats,

some even in powder and Russian kaftans, were standing meeting, parting, and

running to and fro like bees swarming in spring. Powdered footmen in livery,

wearing slippers and stockings, stood at every door, anxiously trying to follow

every movement of the guests and club members, so as to proffer their services.

The majority of those present were elderly and respected persons, with broad,

self-confident faces, fat fingers, and resolute gestures and voices. Guests and

members of this class sat in certain habitual places, and met together in

certain habitual circles. A small proportion of those present were casual

guests—chiefly young men, among them Denisov, Rostov, and Dolohov, who was now

an officer in the Semyonovsky regiment again. The faces of the younger men,

especially the officers, wore that expression of condescending deference to

their elders which seems to say to the older generation, “Respect and deference

we are prepared to give you, but remember all the same the future is for us.”

Nesvitsky, an old member of the club, was there too. Pierre, who at his wife's

command had let his hair grow and left off spectacles, was walking about the

rooms dressed in the height of the fashion, but looking melancholy and

depressed. Here, as everywhere, he was surrounded by the atmosphere of people

paying homage to his wealth, and he behaved to them with the careless,

contemptuous air of sovereignty that had become habitual with him.

In years, he belonged to the younger generation, but by his wealth and

connections he was a member of the older circles, and so he passed from one set

to the other. The most distinguished of the elder members formed the centres of

circles, which even strangers respectfully approached to listen to the words of

well-known men. The larger groups were formed round Count Rostoptchin, Valuev,

and Naryshkin. Rostoptchin was describing how the Russians had been trampled

underfoot by the fleeing Austrians, and had had to force a way with the bayonet

through the fugitives. Valuev was confidentially informing his circle that

Uvarov had been sent from Petersburg to ascertain the state of opinion in Moscow

in regard to Austerlitz.

In the third group Naryshkin was repeating the tale of the meeting of the

Austrian council of war, at which, in reply to the stupidity of the Austrian

general, Suvorov crowed like a cock. Shinshin, who stood near, tried to make a

joke, saying that Kutuzov, it seemed, had not even been able to learn from

Suvorov that not very difficult art of crowing like a cock—but the elder club

members looked sternly at the wit, giving him thereby to understand that even

such a reference to Kutuzov was out of place on that day.

Count Ilya Andreitch Rostov kept anxiously hurrying in his soft boots to and

fro from the dining-room to the drawing-room, giving hasty greetings to

important and unimportant persons, all of whom he knew, and all of whom he

treated alike, on an equal footing. Now and then his eyes sought out the

graceful, dashing figure of his young son, rested gleefully on him, and winked

to him. Young Rostov was standing at the window with Dolohov, whose acquaintance

he had lately made, and greatly prized. The old count went up to them, and shook

hands with Dolohov.

“I beg you will come and see us; so you're a friend of my youngster's … been

together, playing the hero together out there.… Ah! Vassily Ignatitch … a good

day to you, old man,” he turned to an old gentleman who had just come in, but

before he had time to finish his greetings to him there was a general stir, and

a footman running in with an alarmed countenance, announced: “He had

arrived!”

Bells rang; the stewards rushed forward; the guests, scattered about the

different rooms, gathered together in one mass, like rye shaken together in a

shovel, and waited at the door of the great drawing-room.

At the door of the ante-room appeared the figure of Bagration, without his

hat or sword, which, in accordance with the club custom, he had left with the

hall porter. He was not wearing an Astrachan cap, and had not a riding-whip over

his shoulder, as Rostov had seen him on the night before the battle of

Austerlitz, but wore a tight new uniform with Russian and foreign orders and the

star of St. George on the left side of his chest. He had, obviously with a view

to the banquet, just had his hair cut and his whiskers clipped, which changed

his appearance for the worse. He had a sort of na

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