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Chapter 16 - Pierre at his father’s house; talks with Borís
Pierre, after all, had not managed to choose a career for himself in Petersburg, and had been expelled from there for riotous1 conduct and sent 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 now been for some days in Moscow and was staying as usual at his father’s house. Though he expected that the story of his escapade would be already known in Moscow and that the ladies about his father — who were never favorably disposed toward him — would have used it to turn the count against him, he nevertheless on the day of his arrival went to his father’s part of the house. Entering the drawing room, where the princesses spent most of their time, he greeted the ladies, two of whom were sitting at embroidery2 frames while a third read aloud. It was the eldest3 who was reading — the one who had met Anna Mikhaylovna. The two younger ones were embroidering4: both were rosy5 and pretty and they differed only in that one had a little mole6 on her lip which made her much prettier. Pierre was received as if he were a corpse7 or a leper. The eldest princess paused in her reading and silently stared at him with frightened eyes; the second assumed precisely8 the same expression; while the youngest, the one with the mole, who was of a cheerful and lively disposition9, bent10 over her frame to hide a smile probably evoked11 by the amusing scene she foresaw. She drew her wool down through the canvas and, scarcely able to refrain from laughing, stooped as if trying to make out the pattern.
“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 physically12 and mentally, and apparently13 you 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 outright14, you can see him . . . Olga, go and see whether Uncle’s beef tea is ready — it is almost time,” she added, giving Pierre to understand that they were busy, and busy making his father comfortable, while evidently he, Pierre, was only busy causing him annoyance15.
Olga went out. Pierre stood looking at the sisters; then he bowed and said: “Then I will go to my rooms. You will let me know when I can see him.”
And he left the room, followed by the low but ringing laughter of the 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 are going to behave here as you did in Petersburg, you will end very badly; that is all I have to say to you. The count is very, very ill, and you must not see him at all.”
Since then Pierre had not been disturbed and had spent the whole time in his rooms upstairs.
When Boris appeared at his door Pierre was pacing up and down his room, stopping occasionally at a corner to make menacing gestures at the wall, as if running a sword through an invisible foe16, and glaring savagely17 over his spectacles, and then again resuming his walk, muttering indistinct words, shrugging his shoulders and gesticulating.
“England is done for,” said he, scowling18 and pointing his finger at someone unseen. “Mr. Pitt, as a traitor19 to the nation and to the rights of man, is sentenced to . . . ” But before Pierre — who at that moment imagined himself to be Napoleon in person and to have just effected the dangerous crossing of the Straits of Dover and captured London — could pronounce Pitt’s sentence, he saw a well-built and handsome young officer entering his room. Pierre paused. He had left Moscow when Boris was a boy of fourteen, and had quite forgotten him, but in his usual impulsive20 and hearty21 way he took Boris by the hand 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 not well.”
“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 it necessary to introduce himself, and without experiencing the least embarrassment22 looked Pierre straight in the face.
“Count Rostov asks you to come to dinner today,” said he, after a considerable pause which made Pierre feel uncomfortable.
“Ah, Count Rostov!” exclaimed Pierre joyfully23. “Then you are his son, Ilya? Only fancy, I didn’t know you at first. Do you remember how we went to the Sparrow Hills with Madame Jacquot? . . . It’s such an age . . . ”
“You are mistaken,” said Boris deliberately25, with a bold and slightly sarcastic26 smile. “I am Boris, son of Princess Anna Mikhaylovna Drubetskaya. Rostov, the father, is Ilya, and his son is Nikolai. 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. One has 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 Boulogne expedition? The English will come off badly, you know, if Napoleon gets 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 read the papers and it was the first time he had heard Villeneuve’s name.
“We here in Moscow are more occupied with dinner parties and scandal than with politics,” said he in his quiet ironical27 tone. “I know nothing about it and have not thought about it. Moscow is chiefly busy with gossip,” he continued. “Just now they are talking about you and your father.”
Pierre smiled in his good-natured way as if afraid for his companion’s sake that the latter might say something he would afterwards regret. But Boris spoke28 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 . . . ”
Pierre was still afraid that this officer might inadvertently say something disconcerting to himself.
“And it must seem to you,” said Boris flushing slightly, but not changing his tone or attitude, “it must seem to you that everyone is trying to get something out of the rich man?”
“So it does,” thought Pierre.
“But I just wish to say, to avoid misunderstandings, that you are quite mistaken if you reckon me or my mother among such people. We are very poor, but for my own part at any rate, for the very reason that your father is rich, I don’t regard myself as a relation of his, and neither I nor my mother would ever ask or take anything from him.”
For a long time Pierre could not understand, but when he did, he jumped up from the sofa, seized Boris under the elbow in his quick, clumsy way, and, blushing far more than Boris, began to speak with a feeling of mingled30 shame and vexation.
“Well, this is strange! Do you suppose I . . . who could think? . . . I know very well . . . ”
But Boris again interrupted him.
“I am glad I have spoken out fully24. Perhaps you did not like it? You must excuse me,” said he, putting Pierre at ease instead of being put at ease by him, “but I hope I have not offended you. I always make it a rule to speak out . . . Well, what answer am I to take? Will you come to dinner at the Rostovs’?”
And Boris, having apparently relieved himself of an onerous31 duty and extricated32 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 wonderful fellow! What you have just said is good, very good. Of course you don’t know me. We have not met for such a long time . . . not since we were children. You might think that I . . . I understand, quite understand. I could not have done it myself, I should not have had the courage, but it’s splendid. I am very glad to have made your acquaintance. It’s queer,” he added after a pause, “that you should have suspected me!” He began to laugh. “Well, what of it! I hope we’ll get better acquainted,” and he pressed Boris’ hand. “Do you know, I have not once been in to see the count. He has not sent for me. . . . I am sorry for him as a man, but what can one do?”
“And so you think Napoleon will manage to get an army across?” asked Boris with a smile.
Pierre saw that Boris wished to change the subject, and being of the same mind he began explaining the advantages and disadvantages of the Boulogne expedition.
A footman came in to summon Boris — the princess was going. Pierre, in order to make Boris’ better acquaintance, promised to come to dinner, and warmly pressing his hand looked affectionately over his spectacles into Boris’ eyes. After he had gone Pierre continued pacing up and down the room for a long time, no longer piercing an imaginary foe with his imaginary sword, but smiling at the remembrance of that pleasant, intelligent, and resolute33 young man.
As often happens in early youth, especially to one who leads a lonely life, he felt an unaccountable tenderness for this young man and made up his mind that they would be friends.
Prince Vasili saw the princess off. She held a handkerchief to her eyes and her face was tearful.
“It is dreadful, dreadful!” she was saying, “but cost me what it may I shall do my duty. I will come and spend the night. He must not be left like this. Every moment is precious. I can’t think why his nieces put it off. Perhaps God will help me to find a way to prepare him! . . . 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 when they were in the carriage. “He hardly recognizes anybody.”
“I don’t understand, Mamma — what is his attitude to Pierre?” asked the 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.
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1
riotous
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| adj.骚乱的；狂欢的 | |
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embroidery
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| n.绣花，刺绣；绣制品 | |
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eldest
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| adj.最年长的，最年老的 | |
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embroidering
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| v.（在织物上）绣花( embroider的现在分词 )；刺绣；对…加以渲染（或修饰）；给…添枝加叶 | |
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rosy
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| adj.美好的，乐观的，玫瑰色的 | |
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mole
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| n.胎块；痣；克分子 | |
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corpse
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| n.尸体，死尸 | |
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precisely
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| adv.恰好，正好，精确地，细致地 | |
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disposition
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| n.性情，性格；意向，倾向；排列，部署 | |
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bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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evoked
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| [医]诱发的 | |
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physically
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| adj.物质上，体格上，身体上，按自然规律 | |
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apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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outright
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| adv.坦率地；彻底地；立即；adj.无疑的；彻底的 | |
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annoyance
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| n.恼怒，生气，烦恼 | |
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foe
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| n.敌人，仇敌 | |
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savagely
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| adv. 野蛮地，残酷地 | |
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scowling
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| 怒视，生气地皱眉( scowl的现在分词 ) | |
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traitor
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| n.叛徒，卖国贼 | |
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impulsive
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| adj.冲动的，刺激的；有推动力的 | |
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hearty
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| adj.热情友好的；衷心的；尽情的，纵情的 | |
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embarrassment
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| n.尴尬；使人为难的人(事物)；障碍；窘迫 | |
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joyfully
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| adv. 喜悦地, 高兴地 | |
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fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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deliberately
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| adv.审慎地；蓄意地；故意地 | |
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sarcastic
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| adj.讥讽的，讽刺的，嘲弄的 | |
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ironical
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| adj.讽刺的，冷嘲的 | |
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spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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horrid
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| adj.可怕的；令人惊恐的；恐怖的；极讨厌的 | |
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mingled
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| 混合，混入( mingle的过去式和过去分词 )； 混进，与…交往[联系] | |
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onerous
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| adj.繁重的 | |
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extricated
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| v.使摆脱困难，脱身( extricate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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resolute
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| adj.坚决的，果敢的 | |
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