Nikolay spent the whole evening concentrating his attention on a pretty little blonde, blue-eyed and buxom, the wife of a local official. With the naive certainty enjoyed by young men out on the town that other men’s wives were created for their special benefit, Rostov never left this lady’s side, and he was also very friendly towards her husband, treating him conspiratorially, as if they both knew an unspoken truth: they were made for each other – Nikolay and his wife, that is. The husband didn’t seem persuaded of this, however, and he tried giving Rostov a dark look or two. But Nikolay was brimming with such innocent good humour that now and then even the husband fell prey to his exuberance. Towards the end of the evening, however, as the wife’s face grew redder and livelier, the husband’s grew steadily paler and sadder. It was as if they had been issued with a limited amount of vivacity between them, and as the wife’s share of it rose, the husband’s dwindled away.
CHAPTER 5
With a smile that never left his lips Nikolay leant forward a little in his armchair, and bent down over his blonde beauty, searching classical mythology for suitable compliments to pay her.
Breezily shifting the position of his legs in his tight riding-breeches, still wafting his perfume all over the room, and full of admiration for his fair companion, himself and the splendid curves of his own legs encased in their tight boots, Nikolay told the little blonde there was a lady here in Voronezh he was planning to abduct.
‘What’s she like?’
‘Charming. Divine. Her eyes’ (Nikolay gazed at his companion) ‘are blue, her lips are coral, pearly-white . . .’ (he glanced down at her shoulders) ‘a figure like Diana’s . . .’
Her husband came over and asked his wife sullenly what they were talking about.
‘Ah, Nikita Ivanych!’ said Nikolay, getting to his feet in a courteous gesture. And as though anxious for Nikita Ivanych to share the joke he began to tell him, too, about his plan to run away with a blonde lady.
The husband smiled grimly, the wife radiantly.
The kindly governor’s wife came over wearing a look of disapproval.
‘Anna Ignatyevna wishes to see you, Nicolas,’ she said, pronouncing the words ‘Anna Ignatyevna’ with such emphasis that Rostov was left in no doubt that Anna Ignatyevna was a very important person. ‘Come along, Nicolas. You don’t mind if I call you that, do you?’
‘Please do, Auntie dear. Who is she?’
‘Anna Ignatyevna Malvintsev. She’s heard about you from her niece. Apparently you rescued her . . . You know who I mean?’
‘Well, I’ve rescued lots of young women!’ cried Nikolay.
‘Her niece is Princess Bolkonsky. She’s here in Voronezh with her aunt. Oh ho! Do I see a little blush? What’s all this then?’
‘No, I just wasn’t thinking. Please, Auntie dear.’
‘Very well, very well. Oh dear, you’re such a funny boy!’
The governor’s wife led him over towards a tall, very stout lady wearing a little blue cap, who had just finished playing cards with the top people in town. It was Madame Malvintsev, Princess Marya’s aunt on her mother’s side, a wealthy, childless widow, who had lived all her life in Voronezh. She was standing there totting up her losses when Rostov approached.
Full of self-importance, she gave a grim frown, took one glance at him and went on chiding a general who had won money from her.
‘My dear boy, I’m so pleased to meet you,’ she said at last, holding out her hand to him. ‘Do come and see me.’
After saying a few words about Princess Marya and her late father, who had evidently not been in Madame Malvintsev’s good books, and asking after Prince Andrey, who was apparently no favourite of hers either, the dignified old lady dismissed him, but not before she had repeated her invitation for him to call on her.
Nikolay promised to do so and blushed again as he took his leave. At the mere mention of Princess Marya’s name Rostov experienced an inexplicable feeling of shyness, even dread.
As he walked away from Madame Malvintsev Rostov had every intention of going back for some more dancing, but the little governor’s wife laid her plump little hand on his sleeve, told him she wanted to have a word with him, and led him off into her sitting-room. One or two people who were already there soon slipped out so as not to be in her way.
‘Do you know something, dear boy,’ said the governor’s wife with a serious expression on her kindly little face. ‘She’ll be just the match for you. Would you like me to fix things up?’
‘Who are you talking about, Auntie dear?’ asked Nikolay.
‘I’ll pair you off with the princess. Katerina Petrovna goes on about Lili, but I say, no – it must be the princess. Is that what you want? I’m sure your mamma will be most gratified. Really, she’s such a nice girl, so charming! And she’s not as plain as all that.’
