Book Eight: 1811-12 - Chapter III

by Leo Tolstoy

　　In 1811 there was living in Moscow a French doctor- Metivier- whohad rapidly become the fashion. He was enormously tall, handsome,amiable as Frenchmen are, and was, as all Moscow said, anextraordinarily clever doctor. He was received in the best housesnot merely as a doctor, but as an equal.

　　Prince Nicholas had always ridiculed medicine, but latterly onMademoiselle Bourienne's advice had allowed this doctor to visit himand had grown accustomed to him. Metivier came to see the prince abouttwice a week.

　　On December 6- St. Nicholas' Day and the prince's name day- allMoscow came to the prince's front door but he gave orders to admitno one and to invite to dinner only a small number, a list of whomhe gave to Princess Mary.

　　Metivier, who came in the morning with his felicitations, consideredit proper in his quality of doctor de forcer la consigne,* as hetold Princess Mary, and went in to see the prince. It happened that onthat morning of his name day the prince was in one of his worst moods.He had been going about the house all the morning finding fault witheveryone and pretending not to understand what was said to him and notto be understood himself. Princess Mary well knew this mood of quietabsorbed querulousness, which generally culminated in a burst of rage,and she went about all that morning as though facing a cocked andloaded gun and awaited the inevitable explosion. Until the doctor'sarrival the morning had passed off safely. After admitting the doctor,Princess Mary sat down with a book in the drawing room near the doorthrough which she could hear all that passed in the study.

　　*To force the guard.

　　At first she heard only Metivier's voice, then her father's, thenboth voices began speaking at the same time, the door was flungopen, and on the threshold appeared the handsome figure of theterrified Metivier with his shock of black hair, and the prince in hisdressing gown and fez, his face distorted with fury and the pupilsof his eyes rolled downwards.

　　"You don't understand?" shouted the prince, "but I do! French spy,slave of Buonaparte, spy, get out of my house! Be off, I tell you..."

　　Metivier, shrugging his shoulders, went up to Mademoiselle Bouriennewho at the sound of shouting had run in from an adjoining room.

　　"The prince is not very well: bile and rush of blood to the head.Keep calm, I will call again tomorrow," said Metivier; and putting hisfingers to his lips he hastened away.

　　Through the study door came the sound of slippered feet and the cry:"Spies, traitors, traitors everywhere! Not a moment's peace in myown house!"

　　After Metivier's departure the old prince called his daughter in,and the whole weight of his wrath fell on her. She was to blame that aspy had been admitted. Had he not told her, yes, told her to make alist, and not to admit anyone who was not on that list? Then why wasthat scoundrel admitted? She was the cause of it all. With her, hesaid, he could not have a moment's peace and could not die quietly.

　　"No, ma'am! We must part, we must part! Understand that,understand it! I cannot endure any more," he said, and left theroom. Then, as if afraid she might find some means of consolation,he returned and trying to appear calm added: "And don't imagine I havesaid this in a moment of anger. I am calm. I have thought it over, andit will be carried out- we must part; so find some place foryourself...." But he could not restrain himself and with the virulenceof which only one who loves is capable, evidently suffering himself,he shook his fists at her and screamed:

　　"If only some fool would marry her!" Then he slammed the door,sent for Mademoiselle Bourienne, and subsided into his study.

　　At two o'clock the six chosen guests assembled for dinner.

　　These guests- the famous Count Rostopchin, Prince Lopukhin withhis nephew, General Chatrov an old war comrade of the prince's, and ofthe younger generation Pierre and Boris Drubetskoy- awaited the princein the drawing room.

　　Boris, who had come to Moscow on leave a few days before, had beenanxious to be presented to Prince Nicholas Bolkonski, and hadcontrived to ingratiate himself so well that the old prince in hiscase made an exception to the rule of not receiving bachelors in hishouse.

　　The prince's house did not belong to what is known as fashionablesociety, but his little circle- though not much talked about intown- was one it was more flattering to be received in than any other.Boris had realized this the week before when the commander in chief inhis presence invited Rostopchin to dinner on St. Nicholas' Day, andRostopchin had replied that he could not come:

　　"On that day I always go to pay my devotions to the relics of PrinceNicholas Bolkonski."

　　"Oh, yes, yes!" replied the commander in chief. "How is he?..."

　　The small group that assembled before dinner in the loftyold-fashioned drawing room with its old furniture resembled the solemngathering of a court of justice. All were silent or talked in lowtones. Prince Nicholas came in serious and taciturn. Princess Maryseemed even quieter and more diffident than usual. The guests werereluctant to address her, feeling that she was in no mood for theirconversation. Count Rostopchin alone kept the conversation going,now relating the latest town news, and now the latest politicalgossip.

　　Lopukhin and the old general occasionally took part in theconversation. Prince Bolkonski listened as a presiding judgereceives a report, only now and then, silently or by a brief word,showing that he took heed of what was being reported to him. Thetone of the conversation was such as indicated that no one approved ofwhat was being done in the political world. Incidents were relatedevidently confirming the opinion that everything was going from bad toworse, but whether telling a story or giving an opinion the speakeralways stopped, or was stopped, at the point beyond which hiscriticism might touch the sovereign himself.

　　At dinner the talk turned on the latest political news: Napoleon'sseizure of the Duke of Oldenburg's territory, and the Russian Note,hostile to Napoleon, which had been sent to all the European courts.

　　"Bonaparte treats Europe as a pirate does a captured vessel," saidCount Rostopchin, repeating a phrase he had uttered several timesbefore. "One only wonders at the long-suffering or blindness of thecrowned heads. Now the Pope's turn has come and Bonaparte doesn'tscruple to depose the head of the Catholic Church- yet all keepsilent! Our sovereign alone has protested against the seizure of theDuke of Oldenburg's territory, and even..." Count Rostopchin paused,feeling that he had reached the limit beyond which censure wasimpossible.

　　"Other territories have been offered in exchange for the Duchy ofOldenburg," said Prince Bolkonski. "He shifts the Dukes about as Imight move my serfs from Bald Hills to Bogucharovo or my Ryazanestates."

　　"The Duke of Oldenburg bears his misfortunes with admirable strengthof character and resignation," remarked Boris, joining inrespectfully.

　　He said this because on his journey from Petersburg he had had thehonor of being presented to the Duke. Prince Bolkonski glanced atthe young man as if about to say something in reply, but changed hismind, evidently considering him too young.

　　"I have read our protests about the Oldenburg affair and wassurprised how badly the Note was worded," remarked Count Rostopchin inthe casual tone of a man dealing with a subject quite familiar to him.

　　Pierre looked at Rostopchin with naive astonishment, notunderstanding why he should be disturbed by the bad composition of theNote.

　　"Does it matter, Count, how the Note is worded," he asked, "solong as its substance is forcible?"

　　"My dear fellow, with our five hundred thousand troops it shouldbe easy to have a good style," returned Count Rostopchin.

　　Pierre now understood the count's dissatisfaction with the wordingof the Note.

　　"One would have thought quill drivers enough had sprung up,"remarked the old prince. "There in Petersburg they are always writing-not notes only but even new laws. My Andrew there has written awhole volume of laws for Russia. Nowadays they are always writing!"and he laughed unnaturally.

　　There was a momentary pause in the conversation; the old generalcleared his throat to draw attention.

　　"Did you hear of the last event at the review in Petersburg? Thefigure cut by the new French ambassador."

　　"Eh? Yes, I heard something: he said something awkward in HisMajesty's presence."

　　"His Majesty drew attention to the Grenadier division and to themarch past," continued the general, "and it seems the ambassadortook no notice and allowed himself to reply that: 'We in France pay noattention to such trifles!' The Emperor did not condescend to reply.At the next review, they say, the Emperor did not once deign toaddress him."

　　All were silent. On this fact relating to the Emperor personally, itwas impossible to pass any judgment.

　　"Impudent fellows!" said the prince. "You know Metivier? I turnedhim out of my house this morning. He was here; they admitted him spiteof my request that they should let no one in," he went on, glancingangrily at his daughter.

　　And he narrated his whole conversation with the French doctor andthe reasons that convinced him that Metivier was a spy. Though thesereasons were very insufficient and obscure, no one made any rejoinder.

　　After the roast, champagne was served. The guests rose tocongratulate the old prince. Princess Mary, too, went round to him.

　　He gave her a cold, angry look and offered her his wrinkled,clean-shaven cheek to kiss. The whole expression of his face toldher that he had not forgotten the morning's talk, that his decisionremained in force, and only the presence of visitors hindered hisspeaking of it to her now.

　　When they went into the drawing room where coffee was served, theold men sat together.

　　Prince Nicholas grew more animated and expressed his views on theimpending war.

　　He said that our wars with Bonaparte would be disastrous so longas we sought alliances with the Germans and thrust ourselves intoEuropean affairs, into which we had been drawn by the Peace of Tilsit."We ought not to fight either for or against Austria. Our politicalinterests are all in the East, and in regard to Bonaparte the onlything is to have an armed frontier and a firm policy, and he willnever dare to cross the Russian frontier, as was the case in 1807!"

　　"How can we fight the French, Prince?" said Count Rostopchin. "Canwe arm ourselves against our teachers and divinities? Look at ouryouths, look at our ladies! The French are our Gods: Paris is ourKingdom of Heaven."

　　He began speaking louder, evidently to be heard by everyone.

　　"French dresses, French ideas, French feelings! There now, youturned Metivier out by the scruff of his neck because he is aFrenchman and a scoundrel, but our ladies crawl after him on theirknees. I went to a party last night, and there out of five ladiesthree were Roman Catholics and had the Pope's indulgence for doingwoolwork on Sundays. And they themselves sit there nearly naked,like the signboards at our Public Baths if I may say so. Ah, whenone looks at our young people, Prince, one would like to take Peterthe Great's old cudgel out of the museum and belabor them in theRussian way till all the nonsense jumps out of them."

　　All were silent. The old prince looked at Rostopchin with a smileand wagged his head approvingly.

　　"Well, good-by, your excellency, keep well!" said Rostopchin,getting up with characteristic briskness and holding out his hand tothe prince.

　　"Good-by, my dear fellow.... His words are music, I never tire ofhearing him!" said the old prince, keeping hold of the hand andoffering his cheek to be kissed.

　　Following Rostopchin's example the others also rose.