‘He’s right, that tree, a thousand times right,’ mused the prince. ‘Other people, young people, they can keep that sham going, but he and I know what life is. Our lives are over and done with!’ The tree had stirred up a host of new ideas in the prince’s soul which held no hope, though their bitterness was sweet. On the journey there he seemed to have reconsidered his entire life and come right back to his first conclusion, which was as reassuring as it was devoid of hope – that he needn’t bother with anything new, all he had to do was live out his life without doing any harm, free from worry and any kind of desire.
CHAPTER 2
As trustee of his son’s Ryazan estates Prince Andrey needed to have a meeting with the local marshal of the nobility. Count Ilya Rostov was the marshal in question, and in mid-May Prince Andrey went to see him.
Spring was now at its hottest. The woodland was clothed in green, and everywhere was dusty and so hot that if you drove past any water you felt like going in for a swim.
Prince Andrey was in a miserable mood as he drove up the avenue towards the Rostovs’ house at Otradnoye, mentally running through the bits of business that he would want to raise with the marshal. Through the trees on the right he heard happy female voices, and then he watched as a small crowd of young girls ran across his path. Out in front, dashing towards the coach came a black-haired, black-eyed girl, quite remarkably slender in her yellow print dress, with a white handkerchief on her head and stray locks of loose hair tumbling out of it. She was calling out, but once she saw a stranger she ran back laughing, without a glance in his direction.
For some reason Prince Andrey felt a sudden pang. It was such a lovely day, with sunshine and happiness on every hand, and here was this pretty slip of a girl who was oblivious to his existence and cared even less about it, and she was so pleased and happy with her own special life – a silly life, he had no doubt, but one that was merry and happy. ‘What is she so glad about? What’s in her mind? Not army regulations. Not Ryazan peasants and the rent they’ll have to pay. What
This year (1809) Count Ilya Rostov was living at Otradnoye exactly as he had always done, which meant entertaining virtually the whole province with hunting parties, theatricals, dinners and music. Always delighted to see a new guest, he gave Prince Andrey a warm welcome and almost forced him to stay the night.
Prince Andrey was bored during the day, left to the ministrations of an elderly host and hostess and some of the more notable guests amid the throng that filled the count’s house in honour of an impending name-day. Several times Bolkonsky glanced across at Natasha, who never stopped laughing and enjoying herself with all the younger members of the company, and every time he wondered, ‘What’s in her mind? What is it that she is so glad about?’
That night, alone in a new place, he couldn’t get to sleep. He read for a while, put out his candle and then lit it again. It was hot in his bedroom with the shutters closed on the inside. He felt angry with this stupid old man (his description of Count Rostov) who had detained him by claiming that the documents they needed were still in town, and he was annoyed with himself for having stayed.
Prince Andrey got out of bed and went over to open the window. The moment he pulled the shutters back, moonlight poured into the room as if it had been standing outside for ages waiting for this opportunity. He opened the window. The night was cool, still and bright. Just outside the window stood a row of pollarded trees, black on one side, gleaming with silver on the other. Beneath them there was a rambling kind of vegetation with lush, damp leaves and stems dappled with silver. Further away, beyond the silhouetted trees, some sort of sloping roof glistening with dew, and away to the right stood the rambling mass of a tall tree, with brilliant-white trunk and branches, and there above it was the moon, almost full, in a clear, almost starless spring sky. Prince Andrey leant out with his elbows on the window-ledge and fixed his gaze on that sky.
His room was on the middle floor; there were people in the room above, and they too were still awake. He could hear girls talking.
‘Just once more,’ said a female voice overhead, and Prince Andrey had no difficulty in recognizing it.
‘Oh, when are you coming to bed?’ came another voice.
‘I’m not. I can’t sleep. It’s no use. Come on. Last time.’
The two female voices sang a musical line, the finale of some duet.
‘Isn’t it lovely! Anyway, it’s time to go to sleep. Come on, that’s it.’
