War and Peace - Leo Tolstoy [355]
After Métivier’s departure, the old prince called his daughter to him, and all the force of his wrath fell upon her. It was her fault that a spy had been let in to his rooms. Yet he had told her, he had told her to make a list and not let in anyone not on the list. Why had this scoundrel been let in? She was the cause of it all. “With her he could not have a moment’s peace, he could not die in peace,” he said.
“No, my dear, we must part, we must part, let it be known to you! I cannot have it anymore,” he said and left the room. And, as if fearing she might somehow comfort herself, he came back and, trying to assume a calm look, added: “Don’t think I said it to you in a moment of anger, I am calm, and I have thought it over; and it will be—we must part, find yourself a place!…” But he could not control himself and with that spitefulness which belongs only to someone who loves, he shook his fists at her, obviously suffering, and screamed:
“If only some fool would marry her!” He slammed the door, summoned Mlle Bourienne, and quieted down in his study.
At two o’clock the six chosen persons gathered for dinner. The guests—the well-known Count Rastopchin, Prince Lopukhin with his nephew, General Chatrov, the prince’s old wartime friend, and of the young men Pierre and Boris Drubetskoy—awaited him in the drawing room.
Having come to Moscow on leave a few days earlier, Boris had wished to be introduced to Prince Nikolai Andreich, and had managed to win his favor to such a degree that the prince had made him an exception among all the young bachelors, whom he did not receive.
The prince’s house was not what was known as “society,” but it was a small circle which, though not much talked about in town, it was very flattering to be received in. Boris had understood that a week ago, when, in his presence, Rastopchin had said to the commander in chief, in response to his invitation to dinner on St. Nicholas’s day, that he could not come:
“On that day I always go to venerate the relics of Prince Nikolai Andreich.”
“Ah, yes, yes,” the commander in chief had said. “How is he?…”
The small company that gathered before dinner in the old-fashioned drawing room, with its high ceiling and old furniture, resembled a solemn court in session. Everyone was silent, and if they spoke, they spoke softly. Prince Nikolai Andreevich came out, serious and silent. Princess Marya seemed still more quiet and timid than usual. The guests were reluctant to address her, because they saw that she was not following their conversation. Count Rastopchin alone maintained the thread of the conversation, telling about the latest town or political news.
Lopukhin and the old general took little part in the conversation. Prince Nikolai Andreevich listened as a supreme court justice listens to a report being made to him, only occasionally indicating by a grunt or a brief phrase that he has taken into consideration what is being reported to him. The tone of the conversation made it clear that no one approved of what was happening in the political world. Events were recounted which obviously confirmed that everything was getting worse and worse; but it was striking that in each account and opinion, the narrator stopped or was stopped each time at that limit where disapproval might refer to the person of the sovereign emperor.
Over dinner the conversation turned to the latest political news, about Napoleon’s seizure of the lands of the duke of Oldenburg5 and about a Russian note denouncing Napoleon, which had been sent to all the European courts.
“Bonaparte behaves with Europe like a pirate on a captured ship,” said Count Rastopchin, repeating a phrase he had already uttered several times. “One is only astonished at the patience or blindness of the sovereigns. It has now gone as far as the pope, and Bonaparte, feeling no scruples, wants to overthrow the head of the Catholic religion,6 and everyone is silent. Only our sovereign protested against the seizure of the duke