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Volume II, Part Three, Chapter XVIII

One morning Colonel Adolf Berg, whom Pierre knew as he knew everyone in Moscow and Petersburg, in a spotless brand-new uniform, with his side-whiskers pomaded forward as the sovereign Alexander Pavlovich wore his, came to see him.

— I have just been to the countess, your wife, and was so unfortunate that my request could not be granted; I hope that with you, count, I shall be more fortunate, — he said, smiling.

— What is it you wish, Colonel? I am at your service.

— I have now, count, completely settled into my new quarters, — Berg informed him, evidently knowing that this could not but be pleasant to hear; — and therefore I wished to give a little evening party for my own and my wife’s acquaintances. (He smiled still more pleasantly.) I wanted to ask the countess and you to do me the honor of coming to us for a cup of tea and… for supper.

Only Countess Elena Vasilievna, considering the society of some Bergs beneath her, could have the cruelty to refuse such an invitation. — Berg explained so clearly why he wished to gather a small and good society at his house, and why it would be pleasant to him, and why he grudged money for cards or anything bad but was ready to bear expense for good society, that Pierre could not refuse and promised to come.

— Only not late, count, if I may make bold to ask, so at ten minutes to eight, I make bold to ask. We shall make up a rubber, our general will be there. He is very kind to me. We shall sup, count. So do me the favor.

Contrary to his habit of being late, Pierre on that day arrived at the Bergs’ at a quarter to eight instead of ten minutes to eight.

The Bergs, having laid in what was needed for the evening, were already ready to receive their guests.

In the new, clean, bright study, adorned with little busts and pictures and with new furniture, sat Berg with his wife. Berg, in a brand-new buttoned uniform, sat beside his wife, explaining to her that one always could and should have the acquaintance of people above oneself, because only then is there any pleasure in acquaintances.

— You pick up something, you can ask a favor about something. Just look at how I have got on from my first ranks (Berg reckoned his life not by years but by the highest awards). My comrades are still nothing, while I am in line for a regimental commander’s vacancy; I have the happiness of being your husband (he rose and kissed Vera’s hand, but on the way to it he turned back a corner of the carpet that had rolled up). And by what did I acquire all this? Chiefly by the ability to choose my acquaintances. It goes without saying that one must be virtuous and orderly.

Berg smiled with the consciousness of his superiority over a weak woman and fell silent, reflecting that all the same this dear wife of his was a weak woman who could not comprehend all that constitutes a man’s worth — ein Mann zu sein. Vera at the same time also smiled with the consciousness of her superiority over her virtuous, good husband, who nevertheless understood life mistakenly, as all men did, in Vera’s conception. Berg, judging by his wife, considered all women weak and stupid. Vera, judging by her one husband and extending the observation, supposed that all men ascribe reason to themselves alone, while at the same time understanding nothing, being proud and egoists.

Berg rose and, embracing his wife carefully so as not to crumple the lace pelerine for which he had paid dearly, kissed her in the middle of the lips.

— Only one thing, that we should not have children so soon, — he said, by an unconscious filiation of ideas.

— Yes, — answered Vera, — I do not at all desire that. One must live for society.

— Princess Yusupova had exactly the same one, — said Berg, with a happy and kindly smile, pointing at the pelerine.

At that moment the arrival of Count Bezukhov was announced. Both spouses exchanged a self-satisfied smile, each ascribing to himself the honor of this visit.

“This is what it means to know how to make acquaintances,” thought Berg, “this is what it means to know how to conduct oneself!”

— Only please, when I am entertaining the guests, — said Vera, — do not interrupt me, because I know how to entertain each one and what should be said in what company.

Berg too smiled.

— One cannot help it: sometimes with men there must be men’s talk, — he said.

Pierre was received in the brand-new drawing room, where one could not sit anywhere without disturbing the symmetry, cleanliness, and order, and so it was quite understandable and not strange that Berg magnanimously offered to disrupt the symmetry of an armchair or a sofa for the dear guest, and, evidently being himself in a painful indecision in this regard, left the decision of this question to the guest’s choice. Pierre upset the symmetry by drawing up a chair for himself, and at once Berg and Vera began the evening, interrupting one another and entertaining the guest.

Vera, having decided in her mind that Pierre must be entertained with talk about the French embassy, at once began that conversation. Berg, having decided that men’s talk too was needed, interrupted his wife’s speech, touching on the question of the war with Austria, and involuntarily leaped from the general conversation to personal considerations about the offers that had been made to him to take part in the Austrian campaign and about the reasons why he had not accepted them. Notwithstanding that the conversation was very disjointed and that Vera was angry at the intrusion of the masculine element, both spouses felt with pleasure that, despite there being only one guest, the evening had begun very well, and that the evening was as like as two drops of water to every other evening with its talk, tea, and lighted candles.

Soon Boris arrived, Berg’s old comrade. He treated Berg and Vera with a certain shade of superiority and patronage. After Boris came a lady with a colonel, then the general himself, then the Rostovs, and the evening had now become completely and unquestionably like all evenings. Berg and Vera could not restrain their joyful smile at the sight of this movement about the drawing room, at the sound of this disconnected chatter, the rustle of dresses, and the bows. Everything was as it was with everyone; the general especially was like one, praising the quarters, patting Berg on the shoulder, and with fatherly arbitrariness arranging the setting-up of the boston table. The general sat down next to Count Ilya Andreich, as the most distinguished of the guests after himself. The old folk with the old, the young with the young, the hostess at the tea table on which were exactly the same kind of cakes in a silver basket as the Panins had had at their party — everything was exactly as it was with others.