Chương Chương 126 · 第126章

One morning Colonel Berg, whom Pierre knew as he knew everybody in

Moscow and Petersburg, came to see him. Berg arrived in an immaculate

brand-new uniform, with his hair pomaded and brushed forward over his

temples as the Emperor Alexander wore his hair.

“I have just been to see the countess, your wife. Unfortunately she

could not grant my request, but I hope, Count, I shall be more fortunate

with you,” he said with a smile.

“What is it you wish, Colonel? I am at your service.”

“I have now quite settled in my new rooms, Count” (Berg said

this with perfect conviction that this information could not but be

agreeable), “and so I wish to arrange just a small party for my own

and my wife’s friends.” (He smiled still more pleasantly.) “I

wished to ask the countess and you to do me the honor of coming to tea

and to supper.”

Only Countess Hélène, considering the society of such people as the

Bergs beneath her, could be cruel enough to refuse such an invitation.

Berg explained so clearly why he wanted to collect at his house a small

but select company, and why this would give him pleasure, and why though

he grudged spending money on cards or anything harmful, he was prepared

to run into some expense for the sake of good society—that Pierre

could not refuse, and promised to come.

“But don’t be late, Count, if I may venture to ask; about ten

minutes to eight, please. We shall make up a rubber. Our general is

coming. He is very good to me. We shall have supper, Count. So you will

do me the favor.”

Contrary to his habit of being late, Pierre on that day arrived at the

Bergs’ house, not at ten but at fifteen minutes to eight.

Having prepared everything necessary for the party, the Bergs were ready

for their guests’ arrival.

In their new, clean, and light study with its small busts and pictures

and new furniture sat Berg and his wife. Berg, closely buttoned up in

his new uniform, sat beside his wife explaining to her that one always

could and should be acquainted with people above one, because only then

does one get satisfaction from acquaintances.

“You can get to know something, you can ask for something. See how I

managed from my first promotion.” (Berg measured his life not by years

but by promotions.) “My comrades are still nobodies, while I am only

waiting for a vacancy to command a regiment, and have the happiness to

be your husband.” (He rose and kissed Véra’s hand, and on the way

to her straightened out a turned-up corner of the carpet.) “And

how have I obtained all this? Chiefly by knowing how to choose my

aquaintances. It goes without saying that one must be conscientious and

methodical.”

Berg smiled with a sense of his superiority over a weak woman, and

paused, reflecting that this dear wife of his was after all but a weak

woman who could not understand all that constitutes a man’s dignity,

what it was ein Mann zu sein. * Véra at the same time smiling with a

sense of superiority over her good, conscientious husband, who all the

same understood life wrongly, as according to Véra all men did. Berg,

judging by his wife, thought all women weak and foolish. Véra, judging

only by her husband and generalizing from that observation, supposed

that all men, though they understand nothing and are conceited and

selfish, ascribe common sense to themselves alone.

* To be a man.

Berg rose and embraced his wife carefully, so as not to crush her lace

fichu for which he had paid a good price, kissing her straight on the

lips.

“The only thing is, we mustn’t have children too soon,” he

continued, following an unconscious sequence of ideas.

“Yes,” answered Véra, “I don’t at all want that. We must live

for society.”

“Princess Yusúpova wore one exactly like this,” said Berg, pointing

to the fichu with a happy and kindly smile.

Just then Count Bezúkhov was announced. Husband and wife glanced at one

another, both smiling with self-satisfaction, and each mentally claiming

the honor of this visit.

“This is what comes of knowing how to make acquaintances,” thought

Berg. “This is what comes of knowing how to conduct oneself.”

“But please don’t interrupt me when I am entertaining the guests,”

said Véra, “because I know what interests each of them and what to

say to different people.”

Berg smiled again.

“It can’t be helped: men must sometimes have masculine

conversation,” said he.

They received Pierre in their small, new drawing room, where it was

impossible to sit down anywhere without disturbing its symmetry,

neatness, and order; so it was quite comprehensible and not strange that

Berg, having generously offered to disturb the symmetry of an armchair

or of the sofa for his dear guest, but being apparently painfully

undecided on the matter himself, eventually left the visitor to settle

the question of selection. Pierre disturbed the symmetry by moving a

chair for himself, and Berg and Véra immediately began their evening

party, interrupting each other in their efforts to entertain their

guest.

Véra, having decided in her own mind that Pierre ought to be

entertained with conversation about the French embassy, at once began

accordingly. Berg, having decided that masculine conversation was

required, interrupted his wife’s remarks and touched on the question

of the war with Austria, and unconsciously jumped from the general

subject to personal considerations as to the proposals made him to take

part in the Austrian campaign and the reasons why he had declined them.

Though the conversation was very incoherent and Véra was angry at the

intrusion of the masculine element, both husband and wife felt with

satisfaction that, even if only one guest was present, their evening had

begun very well and was as like as two peas to every other evening party

with its talk, tea, and lighted candles.

Before long Borís, Berg’s old comrade, arrived. There was a shade of

condescension and patronage in his treatment of Berg and Véra. After

Borís came a lady with the colonel, then the general himself, then the

Rostóvs, and the party became unquestionably exactly like all other

evening parties. Berg and Véra could not repress their smiles of

satisfaction at the sight of all this movement in their drawing room,

at the sound of the disconnected talk, the rustling of dresses, and the

bowing and scraping. Everything was just as everybody always has it,

especially so the general, who admired the apartment, patted Berg on the

shoulder, and with parental authority superintended the setting out of

the table for boston. The general sat down by Count Ilyá Rostóv, who

was next to himself the most important guest. The old people sat with

the old, the young with the young, and the hostess at the tea table, on

which stood exactly the same kind of cakes in a silver cake basket as

the Panins had at their party. Everything was just as it was everywhere

else.