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War and Peace
CHAPTER X
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 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.