【有声英语文学名著】战争与和平 Book 6（18）

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Next day Prince Andrey 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 fatigue¹ 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 passionate² devotee of the new ideas and of Speranski, and a diligent³ 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 partisans⁴. Hardly had he got rid of his hat before he ran into Prince Andrey’s room with a preoccupied⁵ 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 spoke⁶ of it enthusiastically. The Emperor’s speech had been extraordinary. It had been a speech such as only constitutional monarchs⁷ 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 fiscal⁸ 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 epoch⁹, the greatest epoch in our history,” he concluded.

Prince Andrey 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 insignificant¹⁰. He listened with quiet irony¹¹ 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 Andrey had felt in the impending¹² reforms. He was going to dine that evening at Speranski’s, “with only a few friends,” as the host had said when inviting¹³ him. The prospect¹⁴ of that dinner in the intimate home circle of the man he so admired had greatly interested Prince Andrey, 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 parqueted¹⁵ dining room this small house, remarkable¹⁶ for its extreme cleanliness (suggesting that of a monastery), Prince Andrey, who was rather late, found the friendly gathering¹⁷ 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 Andrey 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 Andrey 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 standing¹⁸ 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 countenance¹⁹. His guests surrounded him. Magnitski, addressing himself to Speranski, was relating an anecdote²⁰, and Speranski was laughing in advance at what Magnitski was going to say. When Prince Andrey entered the room Magnitski’s words were again crowned by laughter. Stolypin gave a deep bass²¹ guffaw²² as he munched²³ a piece of bread and cheese. Gervais laughed softly with a hissing²⁴ chuckle²⁵, and Speranski in a high-pitched staccato manner.

Still laughing, Speranski held out his soft white hand to Prince Andrey.

“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 Andrey looked at the laughing Speranski with astonishment²⁶, regret, and disillusionment. It seemed to him that this was not Speranski but someone else. Everything that had formerly²⁷ 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 anecdotes²⁸. 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 insignificance²⁹ of those people was so definitely accepted that the only possible attitude toward them was one of good humored ridicule³⁰. 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 vehemence³¹. Gervais intervened with a joke, and the talk reverted³² to its former lively tone.

Evidently Speranski liked to rest after his labors³³ 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 Andrey mirthless and tiresome³⁴. Speranski’s high-pitched voice struck him unpleasantly, and the incessant³⁵ laughter grated on him like a false note. Prince Andrey 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 cork³⁶ thrown out of the water, and he could not jest with them.

There was nothing wrong or unseemly in what they said, it was witty³⁷ 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 unnatural³⁸ to Prince Andrey.

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 Andrey 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 corked³⁹ 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 converse⁴⁰ sensibly and quietly with one another.

“Now for the recitation!” said Speranski on returning from his study. “A wonderful talent!” he said to Prince Andrey, 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 Andrey 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 Andrey 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 Andrey’s ears long after he had left the house.

When he reached home Prince Andrey began thinking of his life in Petersburg during those last four months as if it were something new. He recalled his exertions⁴¹ 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 sedulously⁴² and promptly⁴³ all that related to the gist⁴⁴ of the business was evaded⁴⁵. He recalled his labors on the Legal Code, and how painstakingly⁴⁶ he had translated the articles of the Roman and French codes into Russian, and he felt ashamed of himself. Then he vividly⁴⁷ 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.

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