by Leo Tolstoy
‘No, that is enough, I am already tired,’ replied his charming cousin with a smile, disengaging his hand from her shoulder.
Seriozha was obliged to stop, and to stop right by the doorway where Prince Kornakov was leaning casually with his customary expression of self-satisfied composure, saying something to the charming little Countess Schöfing.
‘Here he is in person,’ he said with a glance in Seriozha’s direction. ‘Do come and join us,’ he added, at the same time bowing respectfully to the pretty cousin. ‘The Countess would like you to be presented to her.’
‘I have wanted for a very long time to have this honour,’ said Seriozha with every appearance of youthful confusion, and bowed.
‘But there was really no need to wait until now to say so,’ replied the Countess, looking at him with an ingenuous smile.
Seriozha did not answer but, growing redder and redder, racked his brains to think of something to say other than banalities.
Prince Kornakov seemed to be regarding the young man’s genuine embarrassment with great pleasure, but observing that his embarrassment was continuing, and despite the Countess’s social experience, was even beginning to affect her too, he said:
‘Accordez-vous un tour de valse, Madame la Comtesse?’13 The Countess, aware that he had not danced for a long time, looked at him in surprise.
‘Pas à moi, Madame la Comtesse; je me sens trop laid et trop vieux pour prétendre à cet honneur.’14
‘You will forgive me, my dear boy, for taking on myself the role of your interpreter,’ he added to Seriozha. Seriozha bowed. The Countess stood up and faced him, silently crooked her pretty arm and raised it to shoulder level, but just as Seriozha had put his arm round her the music stopped, and they stood there until the musicians, seeing the signs the Prince was making to them, again struck up the waltz. Seriozha would never forget those few seconds in which he twice took hold of and twice relinquished his lady’s waist.
Seriozha could not feel his feet gliding over the parquet: it seemed to him that he was being transported farther and farther away from the many-coloured crowd all around him. All his vital energies were concentrated in his sense of hearing, which made him obey the sounds of the music, now causing him to moderate the vigour of his movements, now to whirl round faster and faster as he felt the Countess’s waist conforming so wonderfully to his every movement that it seemed to be melting into him, becoming one with him; concentrated too in his gaze, which with an inexplicable blend of delight and dread rested at one moment on the Countess’s white shoulder, and at the next on her radiant blue eyes covered with the lightest film of moisture which lent them an indescribable expression of languor and passion.
‘Just look there, if you please – what could be finer than that young couple?’ said Prince Kornakov, turning to Seriozha’s cousin. ‘You know what a passion I have for bringing attractive young people together.’
‘Yes, now Serge does look really happy.’
‘And not only Serge – I am sure the Countess too finds it far more agreeable to be dancing with him than with an old man like me.’
‘You obviously want me to tell you that you are not yet “an old man”.’
‘Whatever can you take me for? I am well aware that I am not yet old: but I am something worse than that – I am bored, I am played out, just like all these gentlemen here, though they are utterly incapable of realizing it; but in the first place Seriozha is a novelty for me, and in the second place it seems to me that no woman could imagine or desire a better man than he is. Just look, what a delight to see!’ he went on, looking at them with a smile of satisfaction. ‘And how adorable she is! I really am quite in love with them both …’
‘I shall of course warn Liza at once.’ (Liza was the Countess’s name.)
‘No, I have of course long ago apologized to the Countess for not having fallen in love with her – and she knows that it is only because I am quite incapable of falling in love; but I am in love with them both – the pair of them.’
Prince Kornakov was not the only one to admire Seriozha and Countess Schöfing as they waltzed round the floor: all who were not dancing could not help following the couple with their eyes – some with pure delight at the sight of something lovely, others with envy and annoyance.
Seriozha was so deeply stirred by the combined impressions of dancing, music and love, that when Countess Schöfing asked him to escort her back to her seat, and having thanked him with a smile took her hand from his shoulder, he suddenly felt an almost irresistible desire to seize the opportunity of the moment, and to kiss her.
[V]
[Innocence]
VI
Love
The whole ball passed for the infatuated Seriozha like a wonderful and captivating dream, the sort of dream one passionately wishes to be real. The Countess had only the sixth quadrille left unclaimed, and she danced it with him. Their conversation was of the kind usual at balls; but for Seriozha every word possessed a special meaning, as did every smile and glance and movement. During another quadrille an acknowledged admirer of the Countess’s, one D., sat down near them. Seriozha for some reason interpreted this as a sign that D. took him for a mere boy, and was filled with the most hostile feelings towards him; but the Countess was particularly charming and kind to her new acquaintance, speaking in the most cursory manner to D., then at once turning to Seriozha with a smile and a look which clearly expressed her pleasure. There are no two things which are so intimately connected, yet frequently destructive of one another, as are love and self-love. But at this moment these two passions were combined to turn Seriozha’s head completely and utterly. In the mazurka the Countess chose him twice and he chose her twice. During one of the figures she handed him her bouquet. Seriozha pulled out a sprig from it and hid it in his glove. The Countess saw him do it, and smiled.
The Countess was not able to stay for supper. Seriozha accompanied her as far as the steps.
‘I hope we shall see you at our house,’ she said, giving him her hand.
‘And when may I come?’
‘At any time.’
‘At any time?!’ he repeated in a voice filled with emotion, and involuntarily squeezed the delicate little hand which lay so trustfully in his. The Countess blushed, her hand quivered – was she trying to reply to his pressure, or to free her hand? Heaven knows – a shy smile trembling on her rosy little mouth, she walked away down the steps.
Seriozha was inexpressibly happy. The emotion of love, aroused in his youthful soul for the first time, could not confine itself to one object, but overflowed on to all human beings and everything around him. Everyone seemed to him so kind, so loving and so worthy of being loved. He stopped on the staircase, took the torn-off sprig out of his glove, and with a rapture which brought the tears to his eyes, pressed it several times to his lips.
‘Well, and are you pleased with your charming débardeur?’ asked Prince Kornakov.
‘Oh, how grateful I am to you! I have never been so happy,’ he answered ardently, pressing the Prince’s hand.
VII
And she could be happy too
On arriving home the Countess enquired out of habit about the Count. He had not yet returned. For the first time she felt pleased that he was not there. She wanted for a few hours at least to set a distance between herself and the reality which seemed to her now, after this evening, oppressive, and to spend a short while alone with her dreams. And her dreams were delightful.
Seriozha was so unlike all the men who had hitherto surrounded her that he could not fail to catch her attention. His movements, his voice, his look, all bore the special stamp of youth, of openness and warmth of spirit. The type of the innocent boy who has yet to experience the upsurge of the passions and of sensual enjoyments, a type which ought to be such a normal one among people who have not strayed from the law of nature but which is, alas, so rarely met with among them, proved to be for the Countess, who had spent her whole life in this unnatural sphere cal
led society, a most fascinating and delightful novelty.
In my opinion the Countess looked even better in her white house-coat and cap than she had done in her ball gown. Reclining with her feet upon the double bed and leaning her elbows on the pillow, she gazed into the pale light of the lamp. A half-sad smile still lingered on her lovely little mouth.
‘Liza, may I come in?’ asked the Count’s voice from the other side of the door.
‘Please do,’ she answered without changing her position.
‘Did you enjoy yourself this evening, my dear?’ enquired the Count, kissing her.
‘Yes, I did.’
‘Then why are you looking so sad, Liza – you aren’t angry with me, are you?’
The Countess remained silent and her lips started to tremble, like the lips of a child about to cry.
‘I’m sure you are in fact angry with me – on account of my gambling. Well, you can set your mind at rest, my dearest: tonight I have just won back everything, and I shall not play again …
‘What is the matter?’ he asked again, gently kissing her hands:
The Countess made no reply but the tears trickled from her eyes. However much the Count caressed her and questioned her, she would not tell him why she was weeping; but she cried more and more bitterly.
Let her alone, you man without heart, without conscience. She is weeping precisely because you are caressing her and because you have the right to do so; and because the comforting fancies which filled her imagination have been dissipated like vapour by the touch of reality – the reality to which she was so indifferent until this evening, but which now has become repulsive and frightful to her from the moment when she realized the possibility of genuine love, and happiness.
VIII
We meet a universally respected nobleman
‘What, are you bored, my dear boy?’ said Prince Kornakov to Seriozha, who was wandering from room to room with a strange expression of indifference and agitation, taking no part in the dancing or the conversations.
‘Yes,’ he replied with a smile, ‘I would like to leave.’
‘Let us go to my house then – nous causerons.’15
‘I trust you are not staying here for supper, Kornakov?’ asked a man passing by. He was a tall, stout man of about forty with a puffy, decidedly unattractive yet pleasingly impudent face, who passed through the crowd with a firm and confident step and now paused in the doorway, his hat in his hand.
‘Have you finished your card game already?’
‘I managed to get that over before suppertime, thank God, and now I am fleeing from a deadly mayonnaise with Russian truffles, a tainted sturgeon, and other suchlike attractions,’ he shouted to practically the whole ballroom.
‘Where are you going for supper?’
‘Either to Trakhmanov’s, if he’s not asleep yet, or to the Novotroitsky inn. Why don’t you come with us? Atalov here is going too.’
‘Well, shall we go, Ivin?’ said Prince Kornakov. ‘By the way, are you acquainted?’ he added, addressing the stout man.
Seriozha shook his head.
‘This is Sergei Ivin, Marya Ivanovna’s son,’ said the Prince.
‘Delighted,’ said the stout gentleman without looking at him and proffering a podgy hand as he continued to make for the exit.
‘Come along quickly now.’
I presume that no one requires a detailed description of the type of this stout gentleman, who was in fact called N. N. Dolgov. Every one of my readers, even if he does not know him, has probably seen him or heard of N.N.: it should therefore be enough to supply a few essential features, for this person to spring to life in the reader’s imagination in all the fullness of his base and worthless nature. So, at least, it seems to me. Wealth, aristocratic birth, social sophistication, great and varied talents – all vitiated or disfigured by idleness and vice. A cynical mind which questions everything without limits, and resolves every question to the advantage of the lowest passions. A complete lack of conscience, shame, and any notion of morality in one’s pleasures. The blatant egoism of vice. A gift for coarse and harsh language. Sensuality, gluttony and drunkenness; contempt for everyone, himself excepted. A view of things from two aspects only – the satisfaction they can give him, and their defects. And two principal traits: a useless, aimless, thoroughly idle life, and the most vile depravity, which he not only does not bother to conceal, but flaunts openly with great satisfaction. People say that he is a wicked man; but always and everywhere he is respected, and people are proud to be linked with him; he is aware of this, and laughs, and despises them all the more. And how could he fail also to despise what is known as virtue, when all his life he has trampled on it, yet for all that is happy after his fashion – that is to say, his passions are gratified and people respect him.
Seriozha was in an exceptionally good humour. The presence of Prince Kornakov, whom he liked very much and who for some reason had a strong influence on him, gave him great satisfaction. And making the acquaintance of someone as notable as the stout gentleman tickled his vanity most pleasantly. At first the stout gentleman paid little attention to Seriozha, but when the Cossack waiter he had summoned on arriving at the Novotroitsky brought the pasties and wine he had ordered he grew more cordial, and noticing the young man’s relaxed mood he began chatting to him (there is nothing men of Dolgov’s stamp dislike more than shyness), patting him on the shoulder, and clinking glasses with him.
The thoughts and feelings of a young man in love are so powerfully focused on a single object that he has no time to observe and analyse the people he encounters; and of course nothing so much inhibits growing freedom and familiarity in social relations as the tendency, particularly in young men, not to accept people for what they seem to be, but to try to discover their inner, secret thoughts and motives. That evening Seriozha was in fact conscious of a powerful desire to be witty and amiable, and of the ability to be so without the slightest effort on his part.
Getting to know the retired General, a boon companion of Dolgov’s, which had at one time been a fantasy of his vanity, now ceased to give him any great satisfaction. On the contrary, he had the impression that he himself was bestowing honour and satisfaction on this General by speaking to him at all, since instead of speaking to the General he could have been speaking to her, or at least thinking about her. Until now he had never ventured to call Kornakov ‘thou’, although Kornakov frequently addressed him in the second person singular, but this evening he took the plunge, and using this intimate form of address gave him extraordinary pleasure. The Countess’s caressing look and her smile had given him a greater feeling of self-reliance than intelligence, academic distinction, good looks or constant praise could ever have done: in a single hour they had transformed him from boy to man. He suddenly felt within himself all those manly qualities which he had been only too well aware that he lacked: firmness, decision, courage, and a proud conviction of his own worth. An attentive observer might even have detected a change in his outward appearance that evening. His step had become more confident and freer, his body looked more upright, his arms no longer gave the impression that he was unsure what to do with them, his head was held higher, the childish softness and vagueness of his features was gone, the muscles of his brow and cheeks were more distinct, and his smile was bolder and firmer.
IX
Revelry
In a small and elegant back room of the Novotroitsky inn used only by patrons who were particularly well-known, our four acquaintances were sitting at a long table on which supper had been eaten.
‘You know who I want to drink to,’ said Seriozha to Prince Kornakov, pouring out a glass and raising it to his lips. Seriozha’s face was very red and his eyes had an oily, unnatural appearance.
‘Let us drink,’ replied Kornakov, his usual bored and impassive expression transformed by an affectionate smile.
This toast to an unnamed person was repeated se
veral times. The General had taken off his tie and was lying on a divan with a bottle of cognac, a glass and some cheese beside him. His face was somewhat redder and puffier than usual and from his impudent and half screwed-up eyes it was evident that he was enjoying himself.
‘This is what I really like,’ he said, looking at Seriozha who was seated opposite him emptying one glass after another. ‘There was a time when I used to drink champagne, as you do. I would drink a whole bottle at supper at a ball, and then whatever happened I would dance and be even more charming than before.’
‘No, I have no regrets for those days,’ said N.N., leaning on his elbow and looking with a melancholy expression into Kornakov’s agreeably animated eyes. ‘I can still put away as many glasses as you could wish, but what of that? The only sad thing is that the time is long past when, like him, I would drink some lady’s health, and I would sooner have died than refuse to drink to anyone when I was dead set on reaching le fond de la bouteille,16 for I really believed that I would end up marrying the woman whose health I drank from this found de la bouteille. Oh, if only I could have married all the women to whom I’ve dedicated that last drop, how many wonderful wives I would have had! Ah yes, what wonderful wives – if you only knew, Seriozha …’ – and he waved his hand in the air. ‘Well, and here is your fond de la bouteille,’ he said, pouring out the last of the wine for him … ‘But what am I saying? You shouldn’t be doing this …’ – and he gave him a cheerful and affectionate smile.
‘Oh, don’t remind me. I had forgotten all about the things I should not be doing, and I don’t want to think about them, I feel so content here and now.’ And his eyes shone with the pure delight of a young man throwing himself fearlessly into his first passionate love.
‘Well, what about this, how delightful he is!’ said N.N., turning to the General. ‘You can’t imagine how much he reminds me of myself. Débouchons-le tout à fait.’17