Collected Shorter Fiction, Volume 2 полностью

At the various balls held that winter, which were the first in his experience, he several times encountered Countess Schöfing, whom Prince Kornakov (who gave nicknames to all and sundry) referred to as the sweet little débardeur. Once, when he found himself dancing opposite her, Seriozha’s eyes had met the ingenuously curious gaze of the Countess and this gaze of hers had so struck him and given him such delight that he could not understand why he was not already head over heels in love with her, and it filled him, heaven knows why, with such trepidation that he began to regard her as some sort of exceptional, higher being with whom he was unworthy to have anything in common, and for this reason he had several times avoided the chance of being presented to her.

Countess Schöfing united in herself all those elements calculated to inspire love, especially in a young boy such as Seriozha. She was unusually attractive, attractive both as a woman and as a child: enchanting shoulders and bosom, a shapely, supple waist endowed with a fluid grace of movement; and an utterly childlike little face which breathed meekness and good-humour. Apart from all this she possessed the allure of a woman whose position is at the very top of the best society; and nothing lends a woman greater charm than to have the reputation of being a charming woman. Countess Schöfing had a further magic shared by very few, the magic of simplicity – not simplicity the opposite of affectation, but rather that endearing naïve simplicity so rarely encountered, which gives a most attractive quality of originality to a society woman. Every question she asked, she asked simply, and replied likewise to all questions which were put to her; she expressed everything which came into her charming, clever little head, and everything came out with extraordinary niceness. She was one of those uncommon women who are loved by all, even by those who ought to have been envious of her.

The strange thing was that such a woman should have given her hand with no regrets to Count Schöfing. But of course she could not know that beyond those sweet compliments paid her by her husband there existed other forms of speech; that beyond the merits of dancing excellently, being a devoted civil servant, and being the favourite of all respectable old ladies – merits which Count Schöfing possessed in the highest degree – there existed other merits; that beyond this decorous sociable and social life which her husband arranged for her, there existed another life in which it was possible to find love and happiness. That aside, one must be fair to Count Schöfing and acknowledge that he was in all respects the best of husbands: even Natalya Apollonovna herself was heard to say in her best nasal French accent, ‘C’est un excellent parti, ma chère.’⁹ What more could she have desired? All the young men she had so far met in society were so similar to her Jean, and indeed were no better than he was; so that falling in love never entered her head – she imagined that she loved her husband – and her life had turned out so well. She loved dancing, and she danced; she loved to charm people, and she charmed them; she loved all her good friends, and everyone loved her in return.

III

Why bother to record all the details of the ball? Who does not remember the strange, striking impression produced on him by the blinding brightness of a thousand lights illuminating things from all sides at once and casting no shadow: the shine of diamonds, eyes, flowers, silk, velvet, bare shoulders, black evening coats, white waistcoats, satin slippers, multicoloured uniforms and liveries; the scent of flowers and women’s perfumes; the noise of hundreds of feet and voices, muffled by the captivating, intoxicating music of waltzes and polkas; and the continual, almost fantastic intermingling of all these elements? Who does not remember how impossible it was to separate one detail from another, how all these impressions blended together, leaving only one predominant feeling – of merriment, in which everything seemed so gay and light and joyful, and the heart beat fast with delight; or its opposite, in which everything seemed dreadfully heavy and oppressive, and full of sadness?

And the feelings aroused in our two friends by this ball were indeed utterly different, one from the other.