Book One: 1805 - Chapter XVI

by Leo Tolstoy

　　Pierre, after all, had not managed to choose a career for himself inPetersburg, and had been expelled from there for riotous conduct andsent to Moscow. The story told about him at Count Rostov's was true.Pierre had taken part in tying a policeman to a bear. He had nowbeen for some days in Moscow and was staying as usual at hisfather's house. Though he expected that the story of his escapadewould be already known in Moscow and that the ladies about his father-who were never favorably disposed toward him- would have used it toturn the count against him, he nevertheless on the day of hisarrival went to his father's part of the house. Entering the drawingroom, where the princesses spent most of their time, he greeted theladies, two of whom were sitting at embroidery frames while a thirdread aloud. It was the eldest who was reading- the one who had metAnna Mikhaylovna. The two younger ones were embroidering: both wererosy and pretty and they differed only in that one had a little moleon her lip which made her much prettier. Pierre was received as ifhe were a corpse or a leper. The eldest princess paused in her readingand silently stared at him with frightened eyes; the second assumedprecisely the same expression; while the youngest, the one with themole, who was of a cheerful and lively disposition, bent over herframe to hide a smile probably evoked by the amusing scene sheforesaw. She drew her wool down through the canvas and, scarcelyable to refrain from laughing, stooped as if trying to make out thepattern.

　　"How do you do, cousin?" said Pierre. "You don't recognize me?"

　　"I recognize you only too well, too well."

　　"How is the count? Can I see him?" asked Pierre, awkwardly as usual,but unabashed.

　　"The count is suffering physically and mentally, and apparentlyyou have done your best to increase his mental sufferings."

　　"Can I see the count?" Pierre again asked.

　　"Hm.... If you wish to kill him, to kill him outright, you can seehim... Olga, go and see whether Uncle's beef tea is ready- it isalmost time," she added, giving Pierre to understand that they werebusy, and busy making his father comfortable, while evidently he,Pierre, was only busy causing him annoyance.

　　Olga went out. Pierre stood looking at the sisters; then he bowedand said: "Then I will go to my rooms. You will let me know when I cansee him."

　　And he left the room, followed by the low but ringing laughter ofthe sister with the mole.

　　Next day Prince Vasili had arrived and settled in the count's house.He sent for Pierre and said to him: "My dear fellow, if you aregoing to behave here as you did in Petersburg, you will end verybadly; that is all I have to say to you. The count is very, veryill, and you must not see him at all."

　　Since then Pierre had not been disturbed and had spent the wholetime in his rooms upstairs.

　　When Boris appeared at his door Pierre was pacing up and down hisroom, stopping occasionally at a corner to make menacing gestures atthe wall, as if running a sword through an invisible foe, andglaring savagely over his spectacles, and then again resuming hiswalk, muttering indistinct words, shrugging his shoulders andgesticulating.

　　"England is done for," said he, scowling and pointing his fingerat someone unseen. "Mr. Pitt, as a traitor to the nation and to therights of man, is sentenced to..." But before Pierre- who at thatmoment imagined himself to be Napoleon in person and to have justeffected the dangerous crossing of the Straits of Dover and capturedLondon- could pronounce Pitt's sentence, he saw a well-built andhandsome young officer entering his room. Pierre paused. He had leftMoscow when Boris was a boy of fourteen, and had quite forgottenhim, but in his usual impulsive and hearty way he took Boris by thehand with a friendly smile.

　　"Do you remember me?" asked Boris quietly with a pleasant smile."I have come with my mother to see the count, but it seems he is notwell."

　　"Yes, it seems he is ill. People are always disturbing him,"answered Pierre, trying to remember who this young man was.

　　Boris felt that Pierre did not recognize him but did not consider itnecessary to introduce himself, and without experiencing the leastembarrassment looked Pierre straight in the face.

　　"Count Rostov asks you to come to dinner today," said he, after aconsiderable pause which made Pierre feel uncomfortable.

　　"Ah, Count Rostov!" exclaimed Pierre joyfully. "Then you are hisson, Ilya? Only fancy, I didn't know you at first. Do you remember howwe went to the Sparrow Hills with Madame Jacquot?... It's such anage..."

　　"You are mistaken," said Boris deliberately, with a bold andslightly sarcastic smile. "I am Boris, son of Princess AnnaMikhaylovna Drubetskaya. Rostov, the father, is Ilya, and his son isNicholas. I never knew any Madame Jacquot."

　　Pierre shook his head and arms as if attacked by mosquitoes or bees.

　　"Oh dear, what am I thinking about? I've mixed everything up. Onehas so many relatives in Moscow! So you are Boris? Of course. Well,now we know where we are. And what do you think of the Boulogneexpedition? The English will come off badly, you know, if Napoleongets across the Channel. I think the expedition is quite feasible.If only Villeneuve doesn't make a mess of things!

　　Boris knew nothing about the Boulogne expedition; he did not readthe papers and it was the first time he had heard Villeneuve's name.

　　"We here in Moscow are more occupied with dinner parties and scandalthan with politics," said he in his quiet ironical tone. "I knownothing about it and have not thought about it. Moscow is chiefly busywith gossip," he continued. "Just now they are talking about you andyour father."

　　Pierre smiled in his good-natured way as if afraid for hiscompanion's sake that the latter might say something he wouldafterwards regret. But Boris spoke distinctly, clearly, and dryly,looking straight into Pierre's eyes.

　　"Moscow has nothing else to do but gossip," Boris went on."Everybody is wondering to whom the count will leave his fortune,though he may perhaps outlive us all, as I sincerely hope he will..."

　　"Yes, it is all very horrid," interrupted Pierre, "very horrid."

　　Pierre was still afraid that this officer might inadvertently saysomething disconcerting to himself.

　　"And it must seem to you," said Boris flushing slightly, but notchanging his tone or attitude, "it must seem to you that everyone istrying to get something out of the rich man?"

　　"So it does," thought Pierre.

　　"But I just wish to say, to avoid misunderstandings, that you arequite mistaken if you reckon me or my mother among such people. We arevery poor, but for my own part at any rate, for the very reason thatyour father is rich, I don't regard myself as a relation of his, andneither I nor my mother would ever ask or take anything from him."

　　For a long time Pierre could not understand, but when he did, hejumped up from the sofa, seized Boris under the elbow in his quick,clumsy way, and, blushing far more than Boris, began to speak with afeeling of mingled shame and vexation.

　　"Well, this is strange! Do you suppose I... who could think?... Iknow very well..."

　　But Boris again interrupted him.

　　"I am glad I have spoken out fully. Perhaps you did not like it? Youmust excuse me," said he, putting Pierre at ease instead of beingput at ease by him, "but I hope I have not offended you. I always makeit a rule to speak out... Well, what answer am I to take? Will youcome to dinner at the Rostovs'?"

　　And Boris, having apparently relieved himself of an onerous duty andextricated himself from an awkward situation and placed another in it,became quite pleasant again.

　　"No, but I say," said Pierre, calming down, "you are a wonderfulfellow! What you have just said is good, very good. Of course youdon't know me. We have not met for such a long time... not since wewere children. You might think that I... I understand, quiteunderstand. I could not have done it myself, I should not have had thecourage, but it's splendid. I am very glad to have made youracquaintance. It's queer," he added after a pause, "that you shouldhave suspected me!" He began to laugh. "Well, what of it! I hope we'llget better acquainted," and he pressed Boris' hand. "Do you know, Ihave not once been in to see the count. He has not sent for me.... Iam sorry for him as a man, but what can one do?"

　　"And so you think Napoleon will manage to get an army across?" askedBoris with a smile.

　　Pierre saw that Boris wished to change the subject, and being of thesame mind he began explaining the advantages and disadvantages ofthe Boulogne expedition.

　　A footman came in to summon Boris- the princess was going. Pierre,in order to make Boris' better acquaintance, promised to come todinner, and warmly pressing his hand looked affectionately over hisspectacles into Boris' eyes. After he had gone Pierre continued pacingup and down the room for a long time, no longer piercing animaginary foe with his imaginary sword, but smiling at the remembranceof that pleasant, intelligent, and resolute young man.

　　As often happens in early youth, especially to one who leads alonely life, he felt an unaccountable tenderness for this young manand made up his mind that they would be friends.

　　Prince Vasili saw the princess off. She held a handkerchief to hereyes and her face was tearful.

　　"It is dreadful, dreadful!" she was saying, "but cost me what it mayI shall do my duty. I will come and spend the night. He must not beleft like this. Every moment is precious. I can't think why his niecesput it off. Perhaps God will help me to find a way to preparehim!... Adieu, Prince! May God support you..."

　　"Adieu, ma bonne," answered Prince Vasili turning away from her.

　　"Oh, he is in a dreadful state," said the mother to her son whenthey were in the carriage. "He hardly recognizes anybody."

　　"I don't understand, Mamma- what is his attitude to Pierre?" askedthe son.

　　"The will will show that, my dear; our fate also depends on it."

　　"But why do you expect that he will leave us anything?"

　　"Ah, my dear! He is so rich, and we are so poor!"

　　"Well, that is hardly a sufficient reason, Mamma..."

　　"Oh, Heaven! How ill he is!" exclaimed the mother.