War and Peace - Leo Tolstoy [39]
“Here in Moscow we’re more taken up with dinners and gossip than with politics,” he said in his calm, mocking tone. “I neither know nor think about any of it. Moscow is taken up with gossip most of all,” he went on. “Now the talk is about you and the count.”
Pierre smiled his kindly smile, as if fearing that his interlocutor might say something he would then regret. But Boris spoke distinctly, clearly, drily, looking Pierre straight in the eye.
“Moscow has nothing else to do but gossip,” he went on. “Everyone’s concerned about whom the count will leave his fortune to, though maybe he’ll outlive us all, which is my heartfelt wish…”
“Yes, it’s all very painful,” Pierre picked up, “very painful.” Pierre kept fearing that this officer would accidentally fall into a conversation awkward for himself.
“And it must seem to you,” Boris said, blushing slightly, but without changing his voice or pose, “it must seem to you that all everyone is concerned with is getting something out of the rich man.”
“Here we go,” thought Pierre.
“But I precisely wish to tell you, so as to avoid misunderstandings, that you are greatly mistaken if you count my mother and me among those people. We’re very poor, but I can speak for myself at least: precisely because your father is rich, I don’t consider myself his relation, and neither I nor my mother will ever ask for or accept anything from him.”
Pierre could not understand for a long time, but when he did, he jumped up from the sofa, seized Boris’s arm from below with his peculiar quickness and awkwardness, and, turning much more red than Boris, began speaking with a mixed feeling of shame and vexation:
“How strange! Did I ever…and who could think…I know very well…”
But Boris interrupted him again:
“I’m glad I’ve spoken it all out. Maybe it’s unpleasant for you, you must excuse me,” he said, reassuring Pierre instead of being reassured by him, “but I hope I haven’t offended you. I make it a rule to say everything directly…What shall I tell them, then? Will you come to the Rostovs’ for dinner?”
And Boris, obviously relieving himself of a painful duty, getting out of an awkward situation himself, and putting another man in one, again became perfectly pleasant.
“No, listen,” said Pierre, calming down. “You’re a surprising man. What you just said is good, very good. Of course, you don’t know me. We haven’t met for so long…since we were children…You may suppose that I…I understand you, understand you very well. I wouldn’t have done it, I wouldn’t have courage enough, but it’s beautiful. I’m very glad to have made your acquaintance. It’s strange,” he added, after a pause, and smiling, “what you supposed of me!” He laughed. “Well, so what? We’ll become better acquainted. If you please.” He shook Boris’s hand. “You know, I haven’t once been to see the count. He hasn’t sent for me…I pity him as a human being…But what to do?”
“And you think Napoleon will manage to send the army across?” Boris asked, smiling.
Pierre understood that Boris wanted to change the subject, and, agreeing with him, began to explain the advantages and disadvantages of the Boulogne undertaking.
A lackey came to summon Boris to the princess. The princess was leaving. Pierre promised to come for dinner, in order to become closer with Boris, pressed his hand hard, looked him affectionately in the eye through his spectacles…After his departure, Pierre spent a long time pacing the room, no longer piercing the invisible enemy with his sword, but smiling at the memory of this nice, intelligent, and firm young man.
As happens in early youth, and especially when one is alone, he felt a gratuitous tenderness for this young man and promised himself to be sure to become friends with him.
Prince Vassily was seeing the princess off. The princess was holding a handkerchief to her eyes, and her face was all in tears.
“It’s terrible! terrible!” she was saying. “But whatever it costs me, I will fulfill my duty. I will come to spend the night. He can’t be left like that. Every minute is precious. I don’t understand