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Prince Vasili kept the promise he had given to Princess Drubetskaya
who had spoken to him on behalf of her only son Boris on the evening
of Anna Pavlovna's soiree. The matter was mentioned to the Emperor,
an exception made, and Boris transferred into the regiment of
Semenov Guards with the rank of cornet. He received, however,
no appointment to Kutuzov's staff despite all Anna Mikhaylovna's
endeavors and entreaties. Soon after Anna Pavlovna's reception
Anna Mikhaylovna returned to Moscow and went straight to her rich
relations, the Rostovs, with whom she stayed when in the town
and where and where her darling Bory, who had only just entered
a regiment of the line and was being at once transferred to the
Guards as a cornet, had been educated from childhood and lived
for years at a time. The Guards had already left Petersburg on
the tenth of August, and her son, who had remained in Moscow for
his equipment, was to join them on the march to Radzivilov.
It was St. Natalia's day and the name day of two of the Rostovs-
the mother and the youngest daughter- both named Nataly. Ever
since the morning, carriages with six horses had been coming and
going continually, bringing visitors to the Countess Rostova's
big house on the Povarskaya, so well known to all Moscow. The
countess herself and her handsome eldest daughter were in the
drawing-room with the visitors who came to congratulate, and who
constantly succeeded one another in relays.
The countess was a woman of about forty-five, with a thin
Oriental type of face, evidently worn out with childbearing- she
had had twelve. A languor of motion and speech, resulting from
weakness, gave her a distinguished air which inspired respect.
Princess Anna Mikhaylovna Drubetskaya, who as a member of the
household was also seated in the drawing room, helped to receive
and entertain the visitors. The young people were in one of the
inner rooms, not considering it necessary to take part in receiving
the visitors. The count met the guests and saw them off, inviting
them all to dinner.
"I am very, very grateful to you, mon cher," or
"ma chere"- he called everyone without exception and
without the slightest variation in his tone, "my dear,"
whether they were above or below him in rank- "I thank you
for myself and for our two dear ones whose name day we are keeping.
But mind you come to dinner or I shall be offended, ma chere!
On behalf of the whole family I beg you to come, mon cher!"
These words he repeated to everyone without exception or variation,
and with the same expression on his full, cheerful, clean-shaven
face, the same firm pressure of the hand and the same quick, repeated
bows. As soon as he had seen a visitor off he returned to one
of those who were still in the drawing room, drew a chair toward
him or her, and jauntily spreading out his legs and putting his
hands on his knees with the air of a man who enjoys life and knows
how to live, he swayed to and fro with dignity, offered surmises
about the weather, or touched on questions of health, sometimes
in Russian and sometimes in very bad but self-confident French;
then again, like a man weary but unflinching in the fulfillment
of duty, he rose to see some visitors off and, stroking his scanty
gray hairs over his bald patch, also asked them to dinner. Sometimes
on his way back from the anteroom he would pass through the conservatory
and pantry into the large marble dining hall, where tables were
being set out for eighty people; and looking at the footmen, who
were bringing in silver and china, moving tables, and unfolding
damask table linen, he would call Dmitri Vasilevich, a man of
good family and the manager of all his affairs, and while looking
with pleasure at the enormous table would say: "Well, Dmitri,
you'll see that things are all as they should be? That's right!
The great thing is the serving, that's it." And with a complacent
sigh he would return to the drawing room.
"Marya Lvovna Karagina and her daughter!" announced
the countess' gigantic footman in his bass voice, entering the
drawing room. The countess reflected a moment and took a pinch
from a gold snuffbox with her husband's portrait on it.
"I'm quite worn out by these callers. However, I'll see
her and no more. She is so affected. Ask her in," she said
to the footman in a sad voice, as if saying: "Very well,
finish me off."
A tall, stout, and proud-looking woman, with a round-faced
smiling daughter, entered the drawing room, their dresses rustling.
"Dear Countess, what an age... She has been laid up,
poor child... at the Razumovski's ball... and Countess Apraksina...
I was so delighted..." came the sounds of animated feminine
voices, interrupting one another and mingling with the rustling
of dresses and the scraping of chairs. Then one of those conversations
began which last out until, at the first pause, the guests rise
with a rustle of dresses and say, "I am so delighted... Mamma's
health... and Countess Apraksina... and then, again rustling,
pass into the anteroom, put on cloaks or mantles, and drive away.
The conversation was on the chief topic of the day: the illness
of the wealthy and celebrated beau of Catherine's day, Count Bezukhov,
and about his illegitimate son Pierre, the one who had behaved
so improperly at Anna Pavlovna's reception.
"I am so sorry for the poor count," said the visitor.
"He is in such bad health, and now this vexation about his
son is enough to kill him!"
"What is that?" asked the countess as if she did
not know what the visitor alluded to, though she had already heard
about the cause of Count Bezukhov's distress some fifteen times.
"That's what comes of a modern education," exclaimed
the visitor. "It seems that while he was abroad this young
man was allowed to do as he liked, now in Petersburg I hear he
has been doing such terrible things that he has been expelled
by the police."
"You don't say so!" replied the countess.
"He chose his friends badly," interposed Anna Mikhaylovna.
"Prince Vasili's son, he, and a certain Dolokhov have, it
is said, been up to heaven only knows what! And they have had
to suffer for it. Dolokhov has been degraded to the ranks and
Bezukhov's son sent back to Moscow. Anatole Kuragin's father managed
somehow to get his son's affair hushed up, but even he was ordered
out of Petersburg."
"But what have they been up to?" asked the countess.
"They are regular brigands, especially Dolokhov,"
replied the visitor. "He is a son of Marya Ivanovna Dolokhova,
such a worthy woman, but there, just fancy! Those three got hold
of a bear somewhere, put it in a carriage, and set off with it
to visit some actresses! The police tried to interfere, and what
did the young men do? They tied a policeman and the bear back
to back and put the bear into the Moyka Canal. And there was the
bear swimming about with the policeman on his back!"
"What a nice figure the policeman must have cut, my dear!"
shouted the count, dying with laughter.
"Oh, how dreadful! How can you laugh at it, Count?"
Yet the ladies themselves could not help laughing.
"It was all they could do to rescue the poor man,"
continued the visitor. "And to think it is Cyril Vladimirovich
Bezukhov's son who amuses himself in this sensible manner! And
he was said to be so well educated and clever. This is all that
his foreign education has done for him! I hope that here in Moscow
no one will receive him, in spite of his money. They wanted to
introduce him to me, but I quite declined: I have my daughters
to consider."
"Why do you say this young man is so rich?" asked
the countess, turning away from the girls, who at once assumed
an air of inattention. "His children are all illegitimate.
I think Pierre also is illegitimate."
The visitor made a gesture with her hand.
"I should think he has a score of them."
Princess Anna Mikhaylovna intervened in the conversation,
evidently wishing to show her connections and knowledge of what
went on in society.
"The fact of the matter is," said she significantly,
and also in a half whisper, "everyone knows Count Cyril's
reputation.... He has lost count of his children, but this Pierre
was his favorite."
"How handsome the old man still was only a year ago!"
remarked the countess. "I have never seen a handsomer man."
"He is very much altered now," said Anna Mikhaylovna.
"Well, as I was saying, Prince Vasili is the next heir through
his wife, but the count is very fond of Pierre, looked after his
education, and wrote to the Emperor about him; so that in the
case of his death- and he is so ill that he may die at any moment,
and Dr. Lorrain has come from Petersburg- no one knows who will
inherit his immense fortune, Pierre or Prince Vasili. Forty thousand
serfs and millions of rubles! I know it all very well for Prince
Vasili told me himself. Besides, Cyril Vladimirovich is my mother's
second cousin. He's also my Bory's godfather," she added,
as if she attached no importance at all to the fact.
"Prince Vasili arrived in Moscow yesterday. I hear he
has come on some inspection business," remarked the visitor.
"Yes, but between ourselves," said the princess,
that is a pretext. The fact is he has come to see Count Cyril
Vladimirovich, hearing how ill he is."
"But do you know, my dear, that was a capital joke,"
said the count; and seeing that the elder visitor was not listening,
he turned to the young ladies. "I can just imagine what a
funny figure that policeman cut!"
And as he waved his arms to impersonate the policeman, his
portly form again shook with a deep ringing laugh, the laugh of
one who always eats well and, in particular, drinks well. "So
do come and dine with us!" he said.
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