Book Four: 1806 - Chapter III

by Leo Tolstoy

　　On that third of March, all the rooms in the English Club werefilled with a hum of conversation, like the hum of bees swarming inspringtime. The members and guests of the Club wandered hither andthither, sat, stood, met, and separated, some in uniform and some inevening dress, and a few here and there with powdered hair and inRussian kaftans. Powdered footmen, in livery with buckled shoes andsmart stockings, stood at every door anxiously noting visitors'every movement in order to offer their services. Most of those presentwere elderly, respected men with broad, self-confident faces, fatfingers, and resolute gestures and voices. This class of guests andmembers sat in certain habitual places and met in certain habitualgroups. A minority of those present were casual guests- chieflyyoung men, among whom were Denisov, Rostov, and Dolokhov- who wasnow again an officer in the Semenov regiment. The faces of these youngpeople, especially those who were militarymen, bore that expression ofcondescending respect for their elders which seems to say to the oldergeneration, "We are prepared to respect and honor you, but all thesame remember that the future belongs to us."

　　Nesvitski was there as an old member of the Club. Pierre, who at hiswife's command had let his hair grow and abandoned his spectacles,went about the rooms fashionably dressed but looking sad and dull.Here, as elsewhere, he was surrounded by an atmosphere of subservienceto his wealth, and being in the habit of lording it over these people,he treated them with absent-minded contempt.

　　By his age he should have belonged to the younger men, but by hiswealth and connections he belonged to the groups old and honoredguests, and so he went from one group to another. Some of the mostimportant old men were the center of groups which even strangersapproached respectfully to hear the voices of well-known men. Thelargest circles formed round Count Rostopchin, Valuev, andNaryshkin. Rostopchin was describing how the Russians had beenoverwhelmed by flying Austrians and had had to force their way throughthem with bayonets.

　　Valuev was confidentially telling that Uvarov had been sent fromPetersburg to ascertain what Moscow was thinking about Austerlitz.

　　In the third circle, Naryshkin was speaking of the meeting of theAustrian Council of War at which Suvorov crowed like a cock in replyto the nonsense talked by the Austrian generals. Shinshin, standingclose by, tried to make a joke, saying that Kutuzov had evidentlyfailed to learn from Suvorov even so simple a thing as the art ofcrowing like a cock, but the elder members glanced severely at thewit, making him feel that in that place and on that day, it wasimproper to speak so of Kutuzov.

　　Count Ilya Rostov, hurried and preoccupied, went about in his softboots between the dining and drawing rooms, hastily greeting theimportant and unimportant, all of whom he knew, as if they were allequals, while his eyes occasionally sought out his fine well-set-upyoung son, resting on him and winking joyfully at him. Young Rostovstood at a window with Dolokhov, whose acquaintance he had lately madeand highly valued. The old count came up to them and pressedDolokhov's hand.

　　"Please come and visit us... you know my brave boy... beentogether out there... both playing the hero... Ah, VasiliIgnatovich... How d'ye do, old fellow?" he said, turning to an old manwho was passing, but before he had finished his greeting there was ageneral stir, and a footman who had run in announced, with afrightened face: "He's arrived!"

　　Bells rang, the stewards rushed forward, and- like rye shakentogether in a shovel- the guests who had been scattered about indifferent rooms came together and crowded in the large drawing room bythe door of the ballroom.

　　Bagration appeared in the doorway of the anteroom without hat orsword, which, in accord with the Club custom, he had given up to thehall porter. He had no lambskin cap on his head, nor had he a loadedwhip over his shoulder, as when Rostov had seen him on the eve ofthe battle of Austerlitz, but wore a tight new uniform with Russianand foreign Orders, and the Star of St. George on his left breast.Evidently just before coming to the dinner he had had his hair andwhiskers trimmed, which changed his appearance for the worse. Therewas something naively festive in his air, which, in conjunction withhis firm and virile features, gave him a rather comical expression.Bekleshev and Theodore Uvarov, who had arrived with him, paused at thedoorway to allow him, as the guest of honor, to enter first. Bagrationwas embarrassed, not wishing to avail himself of their courtesy, andthis caused some delay at the doors, but after all he did at lastenter first. He walked shyly and awkwardly over the parquet floor ofthe reception room, not knowing what to do with his hands; he was moreaccustomed to walk over a plowed field under fire, as he had done atthe head of the Kursk regiment at Schon Grabern- and he would havefound that easier. The committeemen met him at the first door and,expressing their delight at seeing such a highly honored guest, tookpossession of him as it were, without waiting for his reply,surrounded him, and led him to the drawing room. It was at firstimpossible to enter the drawing-room door for the crowd of members andguests jostling one another and trying to get a good look at Bagrationover each other's shoulders, as if he were some rare animal. CountIlya Rostov, laughing and repeating the words, "Make way, dear boy!Make way, make way!" pushed through the crowd more energeticallythan anyone, led the guests into the drawing room, and seated themon the center sofa. The bigwigs, the most respected members of theClub, beset the new arrivals. Count Ilya, again thrusting his waythrough the crowd, went out of the drawing room and reappeared aminute later with another committeeman, carrying a large silver salverwhich he presented to Prince Bagration. On the salver lay someverses composed and printed in the hero's honor. Bagration, onseeing the salver, glanced around in dismay, as though seeking help.But all eyes demanded that he should submit. Feeling himself intheir power, he resolutely took the salver with both hands andlooked sternly and reproachfully at the count who had presented itto him. Someone obligingly took the dish from Bagration (or hewould, it seemed, have held it till evening and have gone in to dinnerwith it) and drew his attention to the verses.

　　"Well, I will read them, then!" Bagration seemed to say, and, fixinghis weary eyes on the paper, began to read them with a fixed andserious expression. But the author himself took the verses and beganreading them aloud. Bagration bowed his bead and listened:

　　Bring glory then to Alexander's reign And on the throne our Titus shield. A dreaded foe be thou, kindhearted as a man, A Rhipheus at home, a Caesar in the field! E'en fortunate Napoleon Knows by experience, now, Bagration, And dare not Herculean Russians trouble...But before he had finished reading, a stentorian major-domoannounced that dinner was ready! The door opened, and from thedining room came the resounding strains of the polonaise:

　　Conquest's joyful thunder waken, Triumph, valiant Russians, now!...and Count Rostov, glancing angrily at the author who went on readinghis verses, bowed to Bagration. Everyone rose, feeling that dinner wasmore important than verses, and Bagration, again preceding all therest, went in to dinner. He was seated in the place of honor betweentwo Alexanders- Bekleshev and Naryshkin- which was a significantallusion to the name of the sovereign. Three hundred persons tooktheir seats in the dining room, according to their rank andimportance: the more important nearer to the honored guest, asnaturally as water flows deepest where the land lies lowest.

　　Just before dinner, Count Ilya Rostov presented his son toBagration, who recognized him and said a few words to him,disjointed and awkward, as were all the words he spoke that day, andCount Ilya looked joyfully and proudly around while Bagration spoke tohis son.

　　Nicholas Rostov, with Denisov and his new acquaintance, Dolokhov,sat almost at the middle of the table. Facing them sat Pierre,beside Prince Nesvitski. Count Ilya Rostov with the other members ofthe committee sat facing Bagration and, as the very personification ofMoscow hospitality, did the honors to the prince.

　　His efforts had not been in vain. The dinner, both the Lenten andthe other fare, was splendid, yet he could not feel quite at ease tillthe end of the meal. He winked at the butler, whispered directionsto the footmen, and awaited each expected dish with some anxiety.Everything was excellent. With the second course, a gigantic sterlet(at sight of which Ilya Rostov blushed with self-consciouspleasure), the footmen began popping corks and filling the champagneglasses. After the fish, which made a certain sensation, the countexchanged glances with the other committeemen. "There will be manytoasts, it's time to begin," he whispered, and taking up his glass, herose. All were silent, waiting for what he would say.

　　"To the health of our Sovereign, the Emperor!" he cried, and atthe same moment his kindly eyes grew moist with tears of joy andenthusiasm. The band immediately struck up "Conquest's joyfulthunder waken..." All rose and cried "Hurrah!" Bagration also rose andshouted "Hurrah!" in exactly the same voice in which he had shouted iton the field at Schon Grabern. Young Rostov's ecstatic voice couldbe heard above the three hundred others. He nearly wept. "To thehealth of our Sovereign, the Emperor!" he roared, "Hurrah!" andemptying his glass at one gulp he dashed it to the floor. Manyfollowed his example, and the loud shouting continued for a long time.When the voices subsided, the footmen cleared away the broken glassand everybody sat down again, smiling at the noise they had made andexchanging remarks. The old count rose once more, glanced at a notelying beside his plate, and proposed a toast, "To the health of thehero of our last campaign, Prince Peter Ivanovich Bagration!" andagain his blue eyes grew moist. "Hurrah!" cried the three hundredvoices again, but instead of the band a choir began singing acantata composed by Paul Ivanovich Kutuzov:

　　Russians! O'er all barriers on! Courage conquest guarantees; Have we not Bagration? He brings foe men to their knees,... etc.As soon as the singing was over, another and another toast wasproposed and Count Ilya Rostov became more and more moved, moreglass was smashed, and the shouting grew louder. They drank toBekleshev, Naryshkin, Uvarov, Dolgorukov, Apraksin, Valuev, to thecommittee, to all the Club members and to all the Club guests, andfinally to Count Ilya Rostov separately, as the organizer of thebanquet. At that toast, the count took out his handkerchief and,covering his face, wept outright.