|
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.
|
