Kabanata Kabanata 124 · 第124章

Next day Prince Andrew 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 Rostóva 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 fatigue 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 Bítski, who served on various committees, frequented

all the societies in Petersburg, and was a passionate devotee of the new

ideas and of Speránski, and a diligent 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

partisans. Hardly had he got rid of his hat before he ran into Prince

Andrew’s room with a preoccupied 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 spoke of it enthusiastically. The

Emperor’s speech had been extraordinary. It had been a speech such as

only constitutional monarchs 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 fiscal system must be reorganized and the accounts

published,” recounted Bítski, emphasizing certain words and opening

his eyes significantly.

“Ah, yes! Today’s events mark an epoch, the greatest epoch in our

history,” he concluded.

Prince Andrew 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 insignificant. He

listened with quiet irony to Bítski’s enthusiastic account of it. A

very simple thought occurred to him: “What does it matter to me or to

Bítski 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

Andrew had felt in the impending reforms. He was going to dine that

evening at Speránski’s, “with only a few friends,” as the host

had said when inviting him. The prospect of that dinner in the intimate

home circle of the man he so admired had greatly interested Prince

Andrew, especially as he had not yet seen Speránski in his domestic

surroundings, but now he felt disinclined to go to it.

At the appointed hour, however, he entered the modest house Speránski

owned in the Taurida Gardens. In the parqueted dining room of this small

house, remarkable for its extreme cleanliness (suggesting that of a

monastery), Prince Andrew, who was rather late, found the friendly

gathering of Speránski’s intimate acquaintances already assembled

at five o’clock. There were no ladies present except Speránski’s

little daughter (long-faced like her father) and her governess. The

other guests were Gervais, Magnítski, and Stolýpin. While still in

the anteroom Prince Andrew heard loud voices and a ringing staccato

laugh—a laugh such as one hears on the stage. Someone—it sounded

like Speránski—was distinctly ejaculating ha-ha-ha. Prince Andrew

had never before heard Speránski’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 standing between two

windows at a small table laid with hors-d’oeuvres. Speránski, 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 countenance. His

guests surrounded him. Magnítski, addressing himself to Speránski,

was relating an anecdote, and Speránski was laughing in advance at

what Magnítski was going to say. When Prince Andrew entered the room

Magnítski’s words were again crowned by laughter. Stolýpin gave

a deep bass guffaw as he munched a piece of bread and cheese. Gervais

laughed softly with a hissing chuckle, and Speránski in a high-pitched

staccato manner.

Still laughing, Speránski held out his soft white hand to Prince

Andrew.

“Very pleased to see you, Prince,” he said. “One moment...” he

went on, turning to Magnítski 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 Andrew looked at the laughing Speránski with astonishment,

regret, and disillusionment. It seemed to him that this was not

Speránski but someone else. Everything that had formerly appeared

mysterious and fascinating in Speránski 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 anecdotes. Before Magnítski

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 insignificance of those people was so definitely accepted

that the only possible attitude toward them was one of good humored

ridicule. Speránski 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. Stolýpin, 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. Magnítski starting quizzing Stolýpin about his

vehemence. Gervais intervened with a joke, and the talk reverted to its

former lively tone.

Evidently Speránski liked to rest after his labors 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

Andrew mirthless and tiresome. Speránski’s high-pitched voice struck

him unpleasantly, and the incessant laughter grated on him like a false

note. Prince Andrew 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 cork thrown out of the water, and he could

not jest with them.

There was nothing wrong or unseemly in what they said, it was witty 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 Speránski’s daughter and her governess rose. He patted

the little girl with his white hand and kissed her. And that gesture,

too, seemed unnatural to Prince Andrew.

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 Andrew began to

express a contrary opinion. Speránski 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, Speránski corked 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 Speránski and he took them to his study. As soon as he had left

the room the general merriment stopped and the guests began to converse

sensibly and quietly with one another.

“Now for the recitation!” said Speránski on returning from

his study. “A wonderful talent!” he said to Prince Andrew, and

Magnítski 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 Andrew went up to Speránski and took

his leave.

“Where are you off to so early?” asked Speránski.

“I promised to go to a reception.”

They said no more. Prince Andrew looked closely into those mirrorlike,

impenetrable eyes, and felt that it had been ridiculous of him to have

expected anything from Speránski and from any of his own activities

connected with him, or ever to have attributed importance to what

Speránski was doing. That precise, mirthless laughter rang in Prince

Andrew’s ears long after he had left the house.

When he reached home Prince Andrew began thinking of his life in

Petersburg during those last four months as if it were something new. He

recalled his exertions 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 sedulously and

promptly all that related to the gist of the business was evaded. He

recalled his labors on the Legal Code, and how painstakingly he had

translated the articles of the Roman and French codes into Russian,

and he felt ashamed of himself. Then he vividly pictured to himself

Boguchárovo, his occupations in the country, his journey to Ryazán;

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.