'Are you Count Ilya Rostov's son? My wife was a great friend of your dear mamma's. We offer a little entertainment on Thursdays, and today is Thursday. Do come and see us. Take us as you find us,' said the governor, seeing him out.
Nikolay took a carriage with post-horses, invited his quartermaster to get in beside him and galloped off to see the gentleman with the best horses who lived fifteen miles away.
In those early days in Voronezh everything Nikolay undertook was enjoyable and easy, and, typically for a man in a really good mood, it all went like clockwork.
The country gentleman Nikolay had been sent to see turned out to be an old cavalry officer, a bachelor, an expert on horses who loved his hunting and owned many good things: a smoking-room, a century-old herb-brandy, vintage Hungarian wines and some quite superb horses.
It took Nikolay no time to agree terms: six thousand roubles bought him seventeen prime stallions, ideal, as he put it, for presentation as remount samples. Rostov stayed for dinner, drank rather too much Hungarian wine and exchanged kisses with the country gentleman, having struck up a warm relationship with him, before driving back down the vilest of roads in the happiest of moods, constantly badgering the coachman to get a move on so they wouldn't be late for the governor's evening reception.
Nikolay changed his clothes, washed his head in cold water, splashed himself with scent and turned up at the governor's, only slightly late, ready with the phrase 'Better late than never'.
It wasn't a ball as such, and not a word had been said about dancing, but they all knew Katerina Petrovna would play waltzes and schottisches on the clavier, so there would be some dancing, and everyone, counting on this, had come dressed for a ball.
Provincial life in the year 1812 went on exactly as before, except that the provincial towns were enlivened by the sudden appearance of wealthy families from Moscow, and also, as in everything else that was going on in Russia at that time, there was a noticeable attitude of devil-may-care resignation - we're in it up to our knees, and nothing makes any difference now - and the inevitable small talk, instead of limiting itself to the weather or mutual acquaintances, was now extended to include Moscow, the army and Napoleon.
The gathering at the governor's consisted of the cream of Voronezh society.
There were lots of ladies there, and quite a few people known to Nikolay from Moscow, but among the men there was no one to compete with a chevalier of St George, a dashing hussar and a young man as good-natured and well-bred as Count Rostov. Among the men there was an Italian prisoner, an officer in the French army; and Nikolay felt that the presence of this prisoner added to his stature as a Russian hero. He was a kind of trophy. Nikolay could sense this, and as far as he could tell everybody looked on the Italian in the same way. He went out of his way to treat the foreign officer with dignity while keeping him at arm's length.
As soon as Nikolay entered the room in his hussar's uniform, exuding a fragrance of scent mingled with wine, and pronounced the words, 'Better late than never,' which then echoed round the room, people clustered around him. All eyes were on him, and he felt immediately at home in this provincial town, taking his rightful place as a universal favourite, which was always an agreeable position to be in, but now amounted to a heady pleasure after long days of abstinence. At every posting-station, in all the taverns, in the horse-breeder's smoking-room, he had encountered servant-girls flattered by his attention, but here at the governor's evening party it was even better: Nikolay seemed to see before him an inexhaustible supply of young married ladies and pretty girls just waiting to be noticed by him. They all flirted with him, the ladies and the girls, and the elderly among them took it upon themselves from this first evening to try and get this gallant young rake of a hussar married off and settled down. The latter group included no less a person than the governor's wife, who treated Rostov like a close relative, using affectionate language and calling him 'Nicolas'.
Katerina Petrovna did what was expected of her, striking up with waltzes and schottisches, and the dancing began, an opportunity for Nikolay to charm the company even further by his nimble-footedness. He took them all by surprise by his free-and-easy dancing style. He even surprised himself by the way he danced that evening. He had never danced like that in Moscow - he would have considered it improper, sheer bad taste, to career about with such abandon - but here he felt it necessary to amaze them all by producing something out of the ordinary, something they would assume to be the way they did things in the capital, though it hadn't yet got out to the provinces.
Nikolay spent the whole evening concentrating his attention on a pretty little blonde, blue-eyed and buxom, the wife of a local official. With the naive certainty enjoyed by young men out on the town that other men's wives were created for their special benefit, Rostov never left this lady's side, and he was also very friendly towards her husband, treating him conspiratorially, as if they both knew an unspoken truth: they were made for each other - Nikolay and his wife, that is. The husband didn't seem persuaded of this, however, and he tried giving Rostov a dark look or two. But Nikolay was brimming with such innocent good humour that now and then even the husband fell prey to his exuberance. Towards the end of the evening, however, as the wife's face grew redder and livelier, the husband's grew steadily paler and sadder. It was as if they had been issued with a limited amount of vivacity between them, and as the wife's share of it rose, the husband's dwindled away.
CHAPTER 5
With a smile that never left his lips Nikolay leant forward a little in his armchair, and bent down over his blonde beauty, searching classical mythology for suitable compliments to pay her.
Breezily shifting the position of his legs in his tight riding-breeches, still wafting his perfume all over the room, and full of admiration for his fair companion, himself and the splendid curves of his own legs encased in their tight boots, Nikolay told the little blonde there was a lady here in Voronezh he was planning to abduct.
'What's she like?'
'Charming. Divine. Her eyes' (Nikolay gazed at his companion) 'are blue, her lips are coral, pearly-white . . .' (he glanced down at her shoulders) 'a figure like Diana's . . .'
Her husband came over and asked his wife sullenly what they were talking about.
'Ah, Nikita Ivanych!' said Nikolay, getting to his feet in a courteous gesture. And as though anxious for Nikita Ivanych to share the joke he began to tell him, too, about his plan to run away with a blonde lady.
The husband smiled grimly, the wife radiantly.
The kindly governor's wife came over wearing a look of disapproval.
'Anna Ignatyevna wishes to see you, Nicolas,' she said, pronouncing the words 'Anna Ignatyevna' with such emphasis that Rostov was left in no doubt that Anna Ignatyevna was a very important person. 'Come along, Nicolas. You don't mind if I call you that, do you?'
'Please do, Auntie dear. Who is she?'
'Anna Ignatyevna Malvintsev. She's heard about you from her niece. Apparently you rescued her . . . You know who I mean?'
'Well, I've rescued lots of young women!' cried Nikolay.
'Her niece is Princess Bolkonsky. She's here in Voronezh with her aunt. Oh ho! Do I see a little blush? What's all this then?'
'No, I just wasn't thinking. Please, Auntie dear.'
'Very well, very well. Oh dear, you're such a funny boy!'
The governor's wife led him over towards a tall, very stout lady wearing a little blue cap, who had just finished playing cards with the top people in town. It was Madame Malvintsev, Princess Marya's aunt on her mother's side, a wealthy, childless widow, who had lived all her life in Voronezh. She was standing there totting up her losses when Rostov approached.
Full of self-importance, she gave a grim frown, took one glance at him and went on chiding a general who had won money from her.
'My dear boy, I'm so pleased to meet you,' she said at last, holding out her hand to him. 'Do come and see me.'
After saying a few words about Princess Ma
rya and her late father, who had evidently not been in Madame Malvintsev's good books, and asking after Prince Andrey, who was apparently no favourite of hers either, the dignified old lady dismissed him, but not before she had repeated her invitation for him to call on her.
Nikolay promised to do so and blushed again as he took his leave. At the mere mention of Princess Marya's name Rostov experienced an inexplicable feeling of shyness, even dread.
As he walked away from Madame Malvintsev Rostov had every intention of going back for some more dancing, but the little governor's wife laid her plump little hand on his sleeve, told him she wanted to have a word with him, and led him off into her sitting-room. One or two people who were already there soon slipped out so as not to be in her way.
'Do you know something, dear boy,' said the governor's wife with a serious expression on her kindly little face. 'She'll be just the match for you. Would you like me to fix things up?'
'Who are you talking about, Auntie dear?' asked Nikolay.
'I'll pair you off with the princess. Katerina Petrovna goes on about Lili, but I say, no - it must be the princess. Is that what you want? I'm sure your mamma will be most gratified. Really, she's such a nice girl, so charming! And she's not as plain as all that.'
'I'll say she isn't,' said Nikolay, apparently offended at the very idea. 'As for me, Auntie dear, like a good soldier I don't force myself on anyone, but neither do I refuse anything that turns up,' Rostov blurted out unthinkingly.
'All right. But do remember - this is no joking matter.'
'Of course it isn't!'
'Yes, yes . . .' said the governor's wife, apparently to herself. 'Oh, there is one other thing, dear boy. You're making rather too much of that other lady - the blonde. I know the husband's a pathetic creature, but really . . .'
'Oh no, he and I are the best of friends,' said Nikolay in all his simple-heartedness. It had never crossed his mind that what he saw as a pleasant pastime could be offensive to anybody else.
But over supper he remembered what had happened.
'I was a bit stupid saying things like that to the governor's wife!' he thought. 'She's going to start fixing things up, and what do I do about Sonya?'
When the time came for him to take his leave of the governor's wife, and she said to him once again with a smile, 'You won't forget, will you?' he took her to one side.
'There is just one thing . . . To be quite candid, Auntie dear . . .'
'What's all this then? Come on over here, my dear, and sit down with me.'
Nikolay felt a sudden urge, a need even, to pour out all his innermost feelings (those things he would never have spoken about to his mother, his sister, or even a close friend) to this woman, who was virtually a stranger. Later on, whenever Nikolay remembered this inexplicable, spontaneous outpouring, even though it was to have highly important consequences for him, it seemed to have come about by a sudden silly impulse, as things like this always seem to have done. But at the same time this outburst of plain speaking, along with one or two other little things, really were to have consequences of massive importance to him and his whole family.
'It's like this, Auntie dear. Mamma has been trying for ages to get me married off to an heiress, but I hate the idea of marrying for money.'
'Oh, yes, I can see that,' said the governor's wife.
'But Princess Bolkonsky's different. For one thing, I can honestly say I like her very much. I feel close to her. And apart from that, ever since I happened across her in such an odd situation, I know it sounds weird, but I can't help thinking fate had a hand in it. I mean, just think: Mamma has been dreaming about this for ages, but she and I have never happened to meet before. Something has always happened to stop us meeting. Then, while ever my sister, Natasha, was engaged to her brother, it was obvious there couldn't be any question of my marrying her. I had to meet her first just at the time when Natasha's engagement had been broken off, and after that, well . . . So you see how it is. I've never said this to anyone before, and I never shall again. You're the only one.'
The governor's wife thanked him by squeezing his elbow.
'Do you know my cousin, Sonya? I'm in love with her. I've promised to marry her, and I'm going to marry her . . . So you see. It's out of the question.' Nikolay was bright red and becoming incoherent.
'My dear, dear boy, you mustn't talk like that. Why, Sonya hasn't a penny to her name, and you told me yourself your papa's affairs are in a terrible state. And what about your mamma? Well, it would kill her, for one thing. And for another, Sonya, if she has any heart at all, what kind of life would it be for her? Your mother at her wits' end. The family facing ruin. Oh no, my dear, you and Sonya will have to understand how things are.'
Nikolay said nothing. It came as a great relief to hear these arguments.
'Anyway, Auntie dear, it's not to be,' he said with a sigh after a brief silence. 'And in any case, would the princess have me? Don't forget she's still in mourning. It's unthinkable, isn't it?'
'What makes you think I'm going to get you married off here and now? There are different ways of going about things,' said the governor's wife.
'I can see you know a thing or two about matchmaking, Auntie dear . . .' said Nikolay, placing a kiss on her plump little hand.
CHAPTER 6
When she had arrived in Moscow not long after her encounter with Rostov at Bogucharovo, Princess Marya had found her nephew there with his tutor, and a letter from Prince Andrey telling her how to get to her aunt, Madame Malvintsev, in Voronezh. The whole business of making arrangements for the journey while worrying about her brother, the organization of her life in a new home, new people, bringing her nephew up - all these things had drowned out the siren voices that had called to Princess Marya's heart and tormented her during her father's illness and after his death, especially in the aftermath of her encounter with Rostov. She felt depressed. Now after a month spent in quiet seclusion she began to feel the loss of her father more and more poignantly, and in her heart it was bound up with the downfall of Russia. She was terribly anxious; the thought of the danger to which her brother was now exposed - he being the only close contact left to her now - was a source of continual torment. She was also worried about bringing her nephew up properly, a task she constantly felt she wasn't up to. But at the bottom of her heart she was at peace with herself, conscious that she had managed to suppress the dreams and hopes of personal happiness that had threatened to erupt in relation to her encounter with Nikolay Rostov.
When the governor's wife called on Madame Malvintsev the day after her evening reception, she outlined her plans and talked them over, insisting that although present circumstances precluded the usual processes of matchmaking, there was nothing to stop them bringing the young people together, and letting them get to know one another, and so, with the full approval of the aunt, she began to talk about Rostov in Princess Marya's presence, singing his praises, and describing how he had coloured up at the mention the princess's name, though this caused Princess Marya more pain than joy. Her inner peace was gone; desires, doubts, self-reproach and hope had risen again.
For two whole days before Rostov called, Princess Marya never stopped thinking about the best way to react to his visit. First she would make up her mind not to come down into the drawing-room when he came to see her aunt; it would be improper for her to receive visitors while she was still in deep mourning. Then she thought no, this would be churlish after what he had done for her. Then the possibility occurred to her that her aunt and the governor's wife were cooking something up for her and Rostov, a suspicion seemingly confirmed at times by particular words of theirs and some odd looks. Then she would tell herself that only her own depravity could have led her to think this of them: surely they must realize that in her situation, still wearing the heaviest mourning, that kind of matchmaking would be an offence both to her and to her father's memory. Working on the supposition that she would go down to see him, Princess Marya tried to anticipate what he would say
to her, and what she would say to him, but her words either seemed too frigid, something he didn't deserve, or else they struck her as fraught with too much meaning. Worst of all she dreaded the embarrassment that was sure to overwhelm her, and betray her, the moment she saw him.
But when Sunday came and the footman entered the drawing-room after matins to announce the arrival of Count Rostov, the princess showed no sign of embarrassment, nothing more than a slight reddening of the cheeks, and her eyes gleamed with a radiance that was new.
'You've seen him, haven't you, Auntie?' Princess Marya asked in a calm voice, not knowing herself how she could put on such a good show of being so calm and natural.
When Rostov came in the princess looked down for a moment, giving their visitor time to exchange greetings with her aunt, but then, at the precise moment when Nikolay turned to her, she looked up again and met his gaze with shining eyes. Smiling with pleasure, she half-rose in a single movement full of dignity and grace, offered a slender, delicate hand, and spoke to him in a vibrant contralto new to her repertoire. Mademoiselle Bourienne was there with them, and she stared at Princess Marya in total amazement. Skilled as she was in matters of flirtation, she couldn't have improved on this tactical display of how to greet a man you want to win over.
'Either black is her colour, or else she's grown quite pretty, and I never noticed. Where did she get that poise and style?' thought Mademoiselle Bourienne.
Had Princess Marya been capable of reflection at that moment, she would have been more amazed than Mademoiselle Bourienne at the change that had come over her. The moment she set eyes on that dear, sweet face a new kind of vitality seemed to take possession of her, removing her conscious will and telling her what to say and do. From the time Rostov entered the room her face was transformed. It was like a new light in a carved and painted lantern, suddenly bringing out in breathtaking beauty all the detailed work on its panels that until then had looked rough, dark and devoid of all meaning. This was the kind of transformation that had come over Princess Marya's face. For the first time in her life all the pure, inner spirituality that she had worked so hard to achieve was revealed for all to see. All her hard-won spirituality and self-criticism, suffering, striving for goodness, humility, love and capacity for self-sacrifice flowed from her now in the glow of her radiant eyes, her gentle smile and every feature of her tender face.