Book Four: 1806 - Chapter II

by Leo Tolstoy

　　On his return to Moscow from the army, Nicholas Rostov waswelcomed by his home circle as the best of sons, a hero, and theirdarling Nikolenka; by his relations as a charming, attractive, andpolite young man; by his acquaintances as a handsome lieutenant ofhussars, a good dancer, and one of the best matches in the city.

　　The Rostovs knew everybody in Moscow. The old count had money enoughthat year, as all his estates had been remortgaged, and so Nicholas,acquiring a trotter of his own, very stylish riding breeches of thelatest cut, such as no one else yet had in Moscow, and boots of thelatest fashion, with extremely pointed toes and small silver spurs,passed his time very gaily. After a short period of adapting himselfto the old conditions of life, Nicholas found it very pleasant to beat home again. He felt that he had grown up and matured very much. Hisdespair at failing in a Scripture examination, his borrowing moneyfrom Gavril to pay a sleigh driver, his kissing Sonya on the sly- henow recalled all this as childishness he had left immeasurably behind.Now he was a lieutenant of hussars, in a jacket laced with silver, andwearing the Cross of St. George, awarded to soldiers for bravery inaction, and in the company of well-known, elderly, and respectedracing men was training a trotter of his own for a race. He knew alady on one of the boulevards whom he visited of an evening. He ledthe mazurka at the Arkharovs' ball, talked about the war with FieldMarshal Kamenski, visited the English Club, and was on intimateterms with a colonel of forty to whom Denisov had introduced

　　His passion for the Emperor had cooled somewhat in Moscow. Butstill, as he did not see him and had no opportunity of seeing him,he often spoke about him and about his love for him, letting it beunderstood that he had not told all and that there was something inhis feelings for the Emperor not everyone could understand, and withhis whole soul he shared the adoration then common in Moscow for theEmperor, who was spoken of as the "angel incarnate."

　　During Rostov's short stay in Moscow, before rejoining the army,he did not draw closer to Sonya, but rather drifted away from her. Shewas very pretty and sweet, and evidently deeply in love with him,but he was at the period of youth when there seems so much to dothat there is no time for that sort of thing and a young man fearsto bind himself and prizes his freedom which he needs for so manyother things. When he thought of Sonya, during this stay in Moscow, hesaid to himself, "Ah, there will be, and there are, many more suchgirls somewhere whom I do not yet know. There will be time enough tothink about love when I want to, but now I have no time." Besides,it seemed to him that the society of women was rather derogatory tohis manhood. He went to balls and into ladies' society with anaffectation of doing so against his will. The races, the English Club,sprees with Denisov, and visits to a certain house- that was anothermatter and quite the thing for a dashing young hussar!

　　At the beginning of March, old Count Ilya Rostov was very busyarranging a dinner in honor of Prince Bagration at the English Club.

　　The count walked up and down the hall in his dressing gown, givingorders to the club steward and to the famous Feoktist, the Club's headcook, about asparagus, fresh cucumbers, strawberries, veal, and fishfor this dinner. The count had been a member and on the committee ofthe Club from the day it was founded. To him the Club entrusted thearrangement of the festival in honor of Bagration, for few men knew sowell how to arrange a feast on an open-handed, hospitable scale, andstill fewer men would be so well able and willing to make up out oftheir own resources what might be needed for the success of thefete. The club cook and the steward listened to the count's orderswith pleased faces, for they knew that under no other management couldthey so easily extract a good profit for themselves from a dinnercosting several thousand rubles.

　　"Well then, mind and have cocks' comb in the turtle soup, you know!"

　　"Shall we have three cold dishes then?" asked the cook.

　　The count considered.

　　"We can't have less- yes, three... the mayonnaise, that's one," saidhe, bending down a finger.

　　"Then am I to order those large sterlets?" asked the steward.

　　"Yes, it can't be helped if they won't take less. Ah, dear me! I wasforgetting. We must have another entree. Ah, goodness gracious!" heclutched at his head. "Who is going to get me the flowers? Dmitri! Eh,Dmitri! Gallop off to our Moscow estate," he said to the factotumwho appeared at his call. "Hurry off and tell Maksim, the gardener, toset the serfs to work. Say that everything out of the hothouses mustbe brought here well wrapped up in felt. I must have two hundredpots here on Friday."

　　Having given several more orders, he was about to go to his"little countess" to have a rest, but remembering something else ofimportance, he returned again, called back the cook and the clubsteward, and again began giving orders. A light footstep and theclinking of spurs were heard at the door, and the young count,handsome, rosy, with a dark little mustache, evidently rested and madesleeker by his easy life in Moscow, entered the room.

　　"Ah, my boy, my head's in a whirl!" said the old man with a smile,as if he felt a little confused before his son. "Now, if you wouldonly help a bit! I must have singers too. I shall have my ownorchestra, but shouldn't we get the gypsy singers as well? Youmilitary men like that sort of thing."

　　"Really, Papa, I believe Prince Bagration worried himself lessbefore the battle of Schon Grabern than you do now," said his son witha smile.

　　The old count pretended to be angry.

　　"Yes, you talk, but try it yourself!"

　　And the count turned to the cook, who, with a shrewd andrespectful expression, looked observantly and sympathetically at thefather and son.

　　"What have the young people come to nowadays, eh, Feoktist?" saidhe. "Laughing at us old fellows!"

　　"That's so, your excellency, all they have to do is to eat a gooddinner, but providing it and serving it all up, that's not theirbusiness!

　　"That's it, that's it!" exclaimed the count, and gaily seizing hisson by both hands, he cried, "Now I've got you, so take the sleigh andpair at once, and go to Bezukhob's, and tell him 'Count Ilya hassent you to ask for strawberries and fresh pineapples.' We can't getthem from anyone else. He's not there himself, so you'll have to go inand ask the princesses; and from there go on to the Rasgulyay- thecoachman Ipatka knows- and look up the gypsy Ilyushka, the one whodanced at Count Orlov's, you remember, in a white Cossack coat, andbring him along to me."

　　"And am I to bring the gypsy girls along with him?" askedNicholas, laughing. "Dear, dear!..."

　　At that moment, with noiseless footsteps and with thebusinesslike, preoccupied, yet meekly Christian look which neverleft her face, Anna Mikhaylovna entered the hall. Though she came uponthe count in his dressing gown every day, he invariably becameconfused and begged her to excuse his costume.

　　"No matter at all, my dear count," she said, meekly closing hereyes. "But I'll go to Bezukhov's myself. Pierre has arrived, and nowwe shall get anything we want from his hothouses. I have to see him inany case. He has forwarded me a letter from Boris. Thank God, Boris isnow on the staff."

　　The count was delighted at Anna Mikhaylovna's taking upon herselfone of his commissions and ordered the small closed carriage for her.

　　"Tell Bezukhov to come. I'll put his name down. Is his wife withhim?" he asked.

　　Anna Mikhaylovna turned up her eyes, and profound sadness wasdepicted on her face.

　　"Ah, my dear friend, he is very unfortunate," she said. "If whatwe hear is true, it is dreadful. How little we dreamed of such a thingwhen we were rejoicing at his happiness! And such a lofty angelic soulas young Bezukhov! Yes, I pity him from my heart, and shall try togive him what consolation I can."

　　"Wh-what is the matter?" asked both the young and old Rostov.

　　Anna Mikhaylovna sighed deeply.

　　"Dolokhov, Mary Ivanovna's son," she said in a mysterious whisper,"has compromised her completely, they say. Pierre took him up, invitedhim to his house in Petersburg, and now... she has come here andthat daredevil after her!" said Anna Mikhaylovna, wishing to showher sympathy for Pierre, but by involuntary intonations and a halfsmile betraying her sympathy for the "daredevil," as she calledDolokhov. "They say Pierre is quite broken by his misfortune."

　　"Dear, dear! But still tell him to come to the Club- it will allblow over. It will be a tremendous banquet."

　　Next day, the third of March, soon after one o'clock, two hundredand fifty members of the English Club and fifty guests were awaitingthe guest of honor and hero of the Austrian campaign, PrinceBagration, to dinner.

　　On the first arrival of the news of the battle of Austerlitz, Moscowhad been bewildered. At that time, the Russians were so used tovictories that on receiving news of the defeat some would simply notbelieve it, while others sought some extraordinary explanation of sostrange an event. In the English Club, where all who weredistinguished, important, and well informed forgathered when thenews began to arrive in December, nothing was said about the war andthe last battle, as though all were in a conspiracy of silence. Themen who set the tone in conversation- Count Rostopchin, Prince YuriDolgorukov, Valuev, Count Markov, and Prince Vyazemski- did not showthemselves at the Club, but met in private houses in intimate circles,and the Moscovites who took their opinions from others- Ilya Rostovamong them- remained for a while without any definite opinion on thesubject of the war and without leaders. The Moscovites felt thatsomething was wrong and that to discuss the bad news was difficult,and so it was best to be silent. But after a while, just as a jurycomes out of its room, the bigwigs who guided the Club's opinionreappeared, and everybody began speaking clearly and definitely.Reasons were found for the incredible, unheard-of, and impossibleevent of a Russian defeat, everything became clear, and in all cornersof Moscow the same things began to be said. These reasons were thetreachery of the Austrians, a defective commissariat, the treachery ofthe Pole Przebyszewski and of the Frenchman Langeron, Kutuzov'sincapacity, and (it was whispered) the youth and inexperience of thesovereign, who had trusted worthless and insignificant people. But thearmy, the Russian army, everyone declared, was extraordinary and hadachieved miracles of valor.The soldiers, officers, and generals wereheroes. But the hero of heroes was Prince Bagration, distinguishedby his Schon Grabern affair and by the retreat from Austerlitz,where he alone had withdrawn his column unbroken and had all daybeaten back an enemy force twice as numerous as his own. What alsoconduced to Bagration's being selected as Moscow's hero was the factthat he had no connections in the city and was a stranger there. Inhis person, honor was shown to a simple fighting Russian soldierwithout connections and intrigues, and to one who was associated bymemories of the Italian campaign with the name of Suvorov. Moreover,paying such honor to Bagration was the best way of expressingdisapproval and dislike of Kutuzov.

　　"Had there been no Bagration, it would have been necessary to inventhim," said the wit Shinshin, parodying the words of Voltaire.Kutuzov no one spoke of, except some who abused him in whispers,calling him a court weathercock and an old satyr.

　　All Moscow repeated Prince Dolgorukov's saying: "If you go onmodeling and modeling you must get smeared with clay," suggestingconsolation for our defeat by the memory of former victories; andthe words of Rostopchin, that French soldiers have to be incited tobattle by highfalutin words, and Germans by logical arguments toshow them that it is more dangerous to run away than to advance, butthat Russian soldiers only need to be restrained and held back! On allsides, new and fresh anecdotes were heard of individual examples ofheroism shown by our officers and men at Austerlitz. One had saved astandard, another had killed five Frenchmen, a third had loaded fivecannon singlehanded. Berg was mentioned, by those who did not knowhim, as having, when wounded in the right hand, taken his sword in theleft, and gone forward. Of Bolkonski, nothing was said, and only thosewho knew him intimately regretted that he had died so young, leaving apregnant wife with his eccentric father.