2014년 11월 28일 금요일

war and peace 40

war and peace 40


CHAPTER XIX From the day his wife arrived in Moscow Pierre had been intending to go

away somewhere, so as not to be near her. Soon after the Rostovs came to

Moscow the effect Natasha had on him made him hasten to carry out his

intention. He went to Tver to see Joseph Alexeevich's widow, who had

long since promised to hand over to him some papers of her deceased husband's.

 

When he returned to Moscow Pierre was handed a letter from Marya Dmitrievna asking him to come and see her on a matter of great importance relating to Andrew Bolkonski and his betrothed. Pierre had

been avoiding Natasha because it seemed to him that his feeling for her

was stronger than a married man's should be for his friend's fiancee.

Yet some fate constantly threw them together.

 

"What can have happened? And what can they want with me?" thought he as

he dressed to go to Marya Dmitrievna's. "If only Prince Andrew would

hurry up and come and marry her!" thought he on his way to the house.

 

On the Tverskoy Boulevard a familiar voice called to him.

 

"Pierre! Been back long?" someone shouted. Pierre raised his head. In a

sleigh drawn by two gray trotting-horses that were bespattering the

dashboard with snow, Anatole and his constant companion Makarin dashed

past. Anatole was sitting upright in the classic pose of military

dandies, the lower part of his face hidden by his beaver collar and his

head slightly bent. His face was fresh and rosy, his white-plumed hat,

tilted to one side, disclosed his curled and pomaded hair besprinkled

with powdery snow.

 

"Yes, indeed, that's a true sage," thought Pierre. "He sees nothing

beyond the pleasure of the moment, nothing troubles him and so he is

always cheerful, satisfied, and serene. What wouldn't I give to be like

him!" he thought enviously.

 

In Marya Dmitrievna's anteroom the footman who helped him off with his

fur coat said that the mistress asked him to come to her bedroom.

 

When he opened the ballroom door Pierre saw Natasha sitting at the

window, with a thin, pale, and spiteful face. She glanced round at him,

frowned, and left the room with an expression of cold dignity.

 

"What has happened?" asked Pierre, entering Marya Dmitrievna's room.

 

"Fine doings!" answered Dmitrievna. "For fifty-eight years have I lived

in this world and never known anything so disgraceful!"

 

And having put him on his honor not to repeat anything she told him,

Marya Dmitrievna informed him that Natasha had refused Prince Andrew

without her parents' knowledge and that the cause of this was Anatole

Kuragin into whose society Pierre's wife had thrown her and with whom

Natasha had tried to elope during her father's absence, in order to be

married secretly.

 

Pierre raised his shoulders and listened open-mouthed to what was told

him, scarcely able to believe his own ears. That Prince Andrew's deeply

loved affianced wife--the same Natasha Rostova who used to be so

charming--should give up Bolkonski for that fool Anatole who was already

secretly married (as Pierre knew), and should be so in love with him as

to agree to run away with him, was something Pierre could not conceive

and could not imagine.

 

He could not reconcile the charming impression he had of Natasha, whom

he had known from a child, with this new conception of her baseness,

folly, and cruelty. He thought of his wife. "They are all alike!" he

said to himself, reflecting that he was not the only man unfortunate

enough to be tied to a bad woman. But still he pitied Prince Andrew to

the point of tears and sympathized with his wounded pride, and the more

he pitied his friend the more did he think with contempt and even with

disgust of that Natasha who had just passed him in the ballroom with

such a look of cold dignity. He did not know that Natasha's soul was

overflowing with despair, shame, and humiliation, and that it was not

her fault that her face happened to assume an expression of calm dignity

and severity.

 

"But how get married?" said Pierre, in answer to Marya Dmitrievna. "He

could not marry--he is married!"

 

"Things get worse from hour to hour!" ejaculated Marya Dmitrievna. "A

nice youth! What a scoundrel! And she's expecting him--expecting him

since yesterday. She must be told! Then at least she won't go on

expecting him."

 

After hearing the details of Anatole's marriage from Pierre, and giving

vent to her anger against Anatole in words of abuse, Marya Dmitrievna

told Pierre why she had sent for him. She was afraid that the count or

Bolkonski, who might arrive at any moment, if they knew of this affair

(which she hoped to hide from them) might challenge Anatole to a duel,

and she therefore asked Pierre to tell his brother-in-law in her name to

leave Moscow and not dare to let her set eyes on him again. Pierre--only

now realizing the danger to the old count, Nicholas, and Prince Andrew--

promised to do as she wished. Having briefly and exactly explained her

wishes to him, she let him go to the drawing room.

 

"Mind, the count knows nothing. Behave as if you know nothing either,"

she said. "And I will go and tell her it is no use expecting him! And

stay to dinner if you care to!" she called after Pierre.

 

Pierre met the old count, who seemed nervous and upset. That morning

Natasha had told him that she had rejected Bolkonski.

 

"Troubles, troubles, my dear fellow!" he said to Pierre. "What troubles

one has with these girls without their mother! I do so regret having

come here.... I will be frank with you. Have you heard she has broken

off her engagement without consulting anybody? It's true this engagement

never was much to my liking. Of course he is an excellent man, but

still, with his father's disapproval they wouldn't have been happy, and

Natasha won't lack suitors. Still, it has been going on so long, and to

take such a step without father's or mother's consent! And now she's

ill, and God knows what! It's hard, Count, hard to manage daughters in

their mother's absence...."

 

Pierre saw that the count was much upset and tried to change the

subject, but the count returned to his troubles.

 

Sonya entered the room with an agitated face.

 

"Natasha is not quite well; she's in her room and would like to see you.

Marya Dmitrievna is with her and she too asks you to come."

 

"Yes, you are a great friend of Bolkonski's, no doubt she wants to send

him a message," said the count. "Oh dear! Oh dear! How happy it all

was!"

 

And clutching the spare gray locks on his temples the count left the

room.

 

When Marya Dmitrievna told Natasha that Anatole was married, Natasha did

not wish to believe it and insisted on having it confirmed by Pierre

himself. Sonya told Pierre this as she led him along the corridor to

Natasha's room.

 

Natasha, pale and stern, was sitting beside Marya Dmitrievna, and her

eyes, glittering feverishly, met Pierre with a questioning look the

moment he entered. She did not smile or nod, but only gazed fixedly at

him, and her look asked only one thing: was he a friend, or like the

others an enemy in regard to Anatole? As for Pierre, he evidently did

not exist for her.

 

"He knows all about it," said Marya Dmitrievna pointing to Pierre and

addressing Natasha. "Let him tell you whether I have told the truth."

 

Natasha looked from one to the other as a hunted and wounded animal

looks at the approaching dogs and sportsmen.

 

"Natalya Ilynichna," Pierre began, dropping his eyes with a feeling of

pity for her and loathing for the thing he had to do, "whether it is

true or not should make no difference to you, because..."

 

"Then it is not true that he's married!"

 

"Yes, it is true."

 

"Has he been married long?" she asked. "On your honor?..."

 

Pierre gave his word of honor.

 

"Is he still here?" she asked, quickly.

 

"Yes, I have just seen him."

 

She was evidently unable to speak and made a sign with her hands that

they should leave her alone.

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER XX

 

Pierre did not stay for dinner, but left the room and went away at once.

He drove through the town seeking Anatole Kuragin, at the thought of

whom now the blood rushed to his heart and he felt a difficulty in

breathing. He was not at the ice hills, nor at the gypsies', nor at

Komoneno's. Pierre drove to the club. In the club all was going on as

usual. The members who were assembling for dinner were sitting about in

groups; they greeted Pierre and spoke of the town news. The footman

having greeted him, knowing his habits and his acquaintances, told him

there was a place left for him in the small dining room and that Prince

Michael Zakharych was in the library, but Paul Timofeevich had not yet

arrived. One of Pierre's acquaintances, while they were talking about

the weather, asked if he had heard of Kuragin's abduction of Rostova

which was talked of in the town, and was it true? Pierre laughed and

said it was nonsense for he had just come from the Rostovs'. He asked

everyone about Anatole. One man told him he had not come yet, and

another that he was coming to dinner. Pierre felt it strange to see this

calm, indifferent crowd of people unaware of what was going on in his

soul. He paced through the ballroom, waited till everyone had come, and

as Anatole had not turned up did not stay for dinner but drove home.

 

Anatole, for whom Pierre was looking, dined that day with Dolokhov,

consulting him as to how to remedy this unfortunate affair. It seemed to

him essential to see Natasha. In the evening he drove to his sister's to

discuss with her how to arrange a meeting. When Pierre returned home

after vainly hunting all over Moscow, his valet informed him that Prince

Anatole was with the countess. The countess' drawing room was full of

guests.

 

Pierre without greeting his wife whom he had not seen since his return--

at that moment she was more repulsive to him than ever--entered the

drawing room and seeing Anatole went up to him.

 

"Ah, Pierre," said the countess going up to her husband. "You don't know

what a plight our Anatole..."

 

She stopped, seeing in the forward thrust of her husband's head, in his

glowing eyes and his resolute gait, the terrible indications of that

rage and strength which she knew and had herself experienced after his

duel with Dolokhov.

 

"Where you are, there is vice and evil!" said Pierre to his wife.

"Anatole, come with me! I must speak to you," he added in French.

 

Anatole glanced round at his sister and rose submissively, ready to

follow Pierre. Pierre, taking him by the arm, pulled him toward himself

and was leading him from the room.

 

"If you allow yourself in my drawing room..." whispered Helene, but

Pierre did not reply and went out of the room.

 

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