|
Sonya
made some reluctant reply.
"Do
just come and see what a moon!... Oh, how lovely! Come here....
Darling,
sweetheart, come here! There, you see? I feel like sitting down
on
my heels, putting my arms round my knees like this, straining
tight,
as
tight as possible, and flying away! Like this...."
"Take
care, you'll fall out."
He
heard the sound of a scuffle and Sonya's disapproving voice:
"It's
past
one o'clock."
"Oh,
you only spoil things for me. All right, go, go!"
Again
all was silent, but Prince Andrew knew she was still sitting
there.
From time to time he heard a soft rustle and at times a sigh.
"O
God, O God! What does it mean?" she suddenly exclaimed. "To bed
then,
if
it must be!" and she slammed the casement.
"For
her I might as well not exist!" thought Prince Andrew while he
listened
to her voice, for some reason expecting yet fearing that she
might
say something about him. "There she is again! As if it were on
purpose,"
thought he.
In
his soul there suddenly arose such an unexpected turmoil of
youthful
thoughts
and hopes, contrary to the whole tenor of his life, that unable
to
explain his condition to himself he lay down and fell asleep at
once.
CHAPTER
III
Next
morning, having taken leave of no one but the count, and not
waiting
for the ladies to appear, Prince Andrew set off for home.
It
was already the beginning of June when on his return journey he
drove
into
the birch forest where the gnarled old oak had made so strange
and
memorable
an impression on him. In the forest the harness bells sounded
yet
more muffled than they had done six weeks before, for now all was
thick,
shady, and dense, and the young firs dotted about in the forest
did
not jar on the general beauty but, lending themselves to the mood
around,
were delicately green with fluffy young shoots.
The
whole day had been hot. Somewhere a storm was gathering, but only
a
small
cloud had scattered some raindrops lightly, sprinkling the road
and
the sappy leaves. The left side of the forest was dark in the
shade,
the
right side glittered in the sunlight, wet and shiny and scarcely
swayed
by the breeze. Everything was in blossom, the nightingales
trilled,
and their voices reverberated now near, now far away.
"Yes,
here in this forest was that oak with which I agreed," thought
Prince
Andrew. "But where is it?" he again wondered, gazing at the left
side
of the road, and without recognizing it he looked with admiration
at
the very oak he sought. The old oak, quite transfigured,
spreading
out
a canopy of sappy dark-green foliage, stood rapt and slightly
trembling
in the rays of the evening sun. Neither gnarled fingers nor
old
scars nor old doubts and sorrows were any of them in evidence
now.
Through
the hard century-old bark, even where there were no twigs,
leaves
had sprouted such as one could hardly believe the old veteran
could
have produced.
"Yes,
it is the same oak," thought Prince Andrew, and all at once he
was
seized
by an unreasoning springtime feeling of joy and renewal. All the
best
moments of his life suddenly rose to his memory. Austerlitz with
the
lofty heavens, his wife's dead reproachful face, Pierre at the
ferry,
that girl thrilled by the beauty of the night, and that night
itself
and the moon, and.... all this rushed suddenly to his mind.
"No,
life is not over at thirty-one!" Prince Andrew suddenly decided
finally
and decisively. "It is not enough for me to know what I have in
me--everyone
must know it: Pierre, and that young girl who wanted to fly
away
into the sky, everyone must know me, so that my life may not be
lived
for myself alone while others live so apart from it, but so that
it
may be reflected in them all, and they and I may live in
harmony!"
On
reaching home Prince Andrew decided to go to Petersburg that
autumn
and
found all sorts of reasons for this decision. A whole series of
sensible
and logical considerations showing it to be essential for him
to
go to Petersburg, and even to re-enter the service, kept springing
up
in
his mind. He could not now understand how he could ever even have
doubted
the necessity of taking an active share in life, just as a month
before
he had not understood how the idea of leaving the quiet country
could
ever enter his head. It now seemed clear to him that all his
experience
of life must be senselessly wasted unless he applied it to
some
kind of work and again played an active part in life. He did not
even
remember how formerly, on the strength of similar wretched
logical
arguments,
it had seemed obvious that he would be degrading himself if
he
now, after the lessons he had had in life, allowed himself to
believe
in
the possibility of being useful and in the possibility of
happiness
or
love. Now reason suggested quite the opposite. After that journey
to
Ryazan
he found the country dull; his former pursuits no longer
interested
him, and often when sitting alone in his study he got up,
went
to the mirror, and gazed a long time at his own face. Then he
would
turn
away to the portrait of his dead Lise, who with hair curled a la
grecque
looked tenderly and gaily at him out of the gilt frame. She did
not
now say those former terrible words to him, but looked simply,
merrily,
and inquisitively at him. And Prince Andrew, crossing his arms
behind
him, long paced the room, now frowning, now smiling, as he
reflected
on those irrational, inexpressible thoughts, secret as a
crime,
which altered his whole life and were connected with Pierre, with
fame,
with the girl at the window, the oak, and woman's beauty and
love.
And
if anyone came into his room at such moments he was particularly
cold,
stern, and above all unpleasantly logical.
"My
dear," Princess Mary entering at such a moment would say, "little
Nicholas
can't go out today, it's very cold."
"If
it were hot," Prince Andrew would reply at such times very dryly
to
his
sister, "he could go out in his smock, but as it is cold he must
wear
warm clothes, which were designed for that purpose. That is what
follows
from the fact that it is cold; and not that a child who needs
fresh
air should remain at home," he would add with extreme logic, as
if
punishing
someone for those secret illogical emotions that stirred
within
him.
At
such moments Princess Mary would think how intellectual work
dries
men
up.
CHAPTER
IV
Prince
Andrew arrived in Petersburg in August, 1809. It was the time
when
the youthful Speranski was at the zenith of his fame and his
reforms
were being pushed forward with the greatest energy. That same
August
the Emperor was thrown from his caleche, injured his leg, and
remained
three weeks at Peterhof, receiving Speranski every day and no
one
else. At that time the two famous decrees were being prepared
that
so
agitated society--abolishing court ranks and introducing
examinations
to
qualify for the grades of Collegiate Assessor and State
Councilor--
and
not merely these but a whole state constitution, intended to
change
the
existing order of government in Russia: legal, administrative,
and
financial,
from the Council of State down to the district tribunals. Now
those
vague liberal dreams with which the Emperor Alexander had
ascended
the
throne, and which he had tried to put into effect with the aid of
his
associates, Czartoryski, Novosiltsev, Kochubey, and
Strogonov--whom
he
himself in jest had called his Comite de salut public--were
taking
shape
and being realized.
Now
all these men were replaced by Speranski on the civil side, and
Arakcheev
on the military. Soon after his arrival Prince Andrew, as a
gentleman
of the chamber, presented himself at court and at a levee. The
Emperor,
though he met him twice, did not favor him with a single word.
It
had always seemed to Prince Andrew before that he was antipathetic
to
the
Emperor and that the latter disliked his face and personality
generally,
and in the cold, repellent glance the Emperor gave him, he
now
found further confirmation of this surmise. The courtiers
explained
the
Emperor's neglect of him by His Majesty's displeasure at
Bolkonski's
not
having served since 1805.
"I
know myself that one cannot help one's sympathies and
antipathies,"
thought
Prince Andrew, "so it will not do to present my proposal for the
reform
of the army regulations to the Emperor personally, but the
project
will speak for itself."
He
mentioned what he had written to an old field marshal, a friend
of
his
father's. The field marshal made an appointment to see him,
received
him
graciously, and promised to inform the Emperor. A few days later
Prince
Andrew received notice that he was to go to see the Minister of
War,
Count Arakcheev.
On
the appointed day Prince Andrew entered Count Arakcheev's waiting
room
at nine in the morning.
He
did not know Arakcheev personally, had never seen him, and all he
had
heard
of him inspired him with but little respect for the man.
"He
is Minister of War, a man trusted by the Emperor, and I need not
concern
myself about his personal qualities: he has been commissioned to
consider
my project, so he alone can get it adopted," thought Prince
Andrew
as he waited among a number of important and unimportant people
in
Count Arakcheev's waiting room.
During
his service, chiefly as an adjutant, Prince Andrew had seen the
anterooms
of many important men, and the different types of such rooms
were
well known to him. Count Arakcheev's anteroom had quite a special
character.
The faces of the unimportant people awaiting their turn for
an
audience showed embarrassment and servility; the faces of those
of
higher
rank expressed a common feeling of awkwardness, covered by a mask
of
unconcern and ridicule of themselves, their situation, and the
person
for
whom they were waiting. Some walked thoughtfully up and down,
others
whispered
and laughed. Prince Andrew heard the nickname "Sila
Andreevich"
and the words, "Uncle will give it to us hot," in reference
to
Count Arakcheev. One general (an important personage), evidently
feeling
offended at having to wait so long, sat crossing and uncrossing
his
legs and smiling contemptuously to himself.
But
the moment the door opened one feeling alone appeared on all
faces--
that
of fear. Prince Andrew for the second time asked the adjutant on
duty
to take in his name, but received an ironical look and was told
that
his turn would come in due course. After some others had been
shown
in
and out of the minister's room by the adjutant on duty, an
officer
who
struck Prince Andrew by his humiliated and frightened air was
admitted
at that terrible door. This officer's audience lasted a long
time.
Then suddenly the grating sound of a harsh voice was heard from
the
other side of the door, and the officer--with pale face and
trembling
lips--came out and passed through the waiting room, clutching
his
head.
After
this Prince Andrew was conducted to the door and the officer on
duty
said in a whisper, "To the right, at the window."
Prince
Andrew entered a plain tidy room and saw at the table a man of
forty
with a long waist, a long closely cropped head, deep wrinkles,
scowling
brows above dull greenish-hazel eyes and an overhanging red
nose.
Arakcheev turned his head toward him without looking at him.
| 
댓글 없음:
댓글 쓰기