On Hélène’s name-day Prince Vasily gave a small dinner party for ‘a few of their own’, as his wife put it – just a handful of relatives and friends. All these relatives and friends were given to believe that this was the day when the young lady’s destiny would be decided. They were all now at the table. Princess Kuragin, a huge, imposing woman who had once been beautiful, sat at the head, with guests of honour on either side – an old general and his wife, and Anna Pavlovna Scherer. At the other end of the table sat the less elderly and less important guests, including Pierre and Hélène, who were family, sitting side by side. Prince Vasily did not eat. He wandered up and down the table in jovial mood, sitting down beside one guest and then another. To each he addressed a few pleasant and casual words, except Pierre and Hélène, whose presence he seemed not to notice. Prince Vasily was the life and soul of the party. The wax candles burnt brightly, silver and crystal glistened on the table, as did the ladies’ finery and the gold and silver of the men’s epaulettes. Servants wove in and out around the table in their red livery. There was a clinking of knives, glasses and plates, and a buzz of lively chatter from several conversations around the table. At one end an ageing chamberlain could be heard assuring an elderly baroness of his ardent love for her, and she was laughing. At the other end someone was describing the misfortune of a certain Marya Viktorovna. In mid-table Prince Vasily had collected his own little audience. With a playful smile on his lips he was telling the ladies about last Wednesday’s session of the privy council when Sergey Kuzmich Vyazmitinov, the newly appointed military governor of St Petersburg, read out a missive – much talked of at the time – which he had received from Emperor Alexander. Writing from the army, the Emperor had assured Sergey Kuzmich that from all sides he was receiving tokens of devotion from his people, he found the one from St Petersburg particularly gratifying, it was an honour for him to be at the head of such a nation and he would do his best to live up to it. The missive began with the words, ‘Sergey Kuzmich. From all sides reports are reaching me . . .’
‘Are you saying he never got further than “Sergey Kuzmich”?’ one lady asked.
‘No, no, not a syllable,’ Prince Vasily answered with a laugh.
‘ “Sergey Kuzmich . . . From all sides.” “From all sides . . . Sergey Kuzmich . . .” Poor old Vyazmitinov, he just couldn’t get any further. He kept starting again, but as soon as he says “Sergey,” . . . he starts sniffing . . . “Kuz . . . mi . . . ich” . . . then tears . . . and “From all sides” is smothered in sobs, and he can’t go on. Out comes the handkerchief again . . . “Sergey Kuzmich. From all sides” . . . more tears. We had to get somebody else to read it . . . !’
‘ “Kuzmich . . . From all sides” . . . and tears . . .’ someone repeated, laughing.
‘Don’t be so nasty to him,’ said Anna Pavlovna from the other end of the table, wagging a finger at him. ‘He’s a worthy and excellent man, our good Vyazmitinov.’
Everyone was laughing heartily. At the head of the table among the honoured guests everyone seemed to be enjoying the evening; in their various ways they were all in a good mood and high spirits. Only Pierre and Hélène sat there in silence towards the bottom of the table. Both of them managed a broad grin, but it had no connection with Sergey Kuzmich – it was a smile of embarrassment at what they were feeling. But for all the happy chatter, the laughter and the joking, for all their enjoyment of the white wine, the sauté and the ices, for all their scrupulous avoidance of looking at the young couple, the apparent indifference and studied lack of interest, it was still somehow felt from the odd stolen glance that the story about Sergey Kuzmich and all the laughter and the food were a false front, because everybody there was really concentrating on nothing but the two of them, Pierre and Hélène. As he mimicked the sniffs of Sergey Kuzmich, Prince Vasily carefully avoided any glance in his daughter’s direction, but as he laughed his expression seemed to say, ‘Yes, it’s going well, it’ll be settled today.’ Anna Pavlovna may have wagged her finger at him for laughing at ‘our good Vyazmitinov’, but when her eyes flashed towards Pierre, Prince Vasily read her look as congratulations on gaining a future son-in-law and a daughter’s happiness. Old Princess Kuragin, sighing sadly as she offered more wine to the lady next to her, glanced huffily at her daughter, and her sigh to her companion seemed to say, ‘No, there’s nothing left for you and me now, my dear, nothing but sweet wine – it’s time for these infuriating youngsters to flaunt their happiness!’ ‘What a lot of rubbish I’m spouting – as if I had any interest in it,’ the diplomat was thinking as he stole a glance at the lovers’ happy faces. ‘Now that’s what I call happiness!’
