War And Peace

‘My dear Countess, it’s been such a long time . . . She’s been laid up, poor child . . . It was at the Razumovskys’ ball . . . and the Countess Apraksin . . . I was so glad . . .’ The women’s voices could be heard chattering away, interrupting each other and blending in with the sound of dresses rustling and chairs scraping. It was the kind of conversation calculated to last just long enough for the caller to get up at the first pause, skirts again rustling, murmur, ‘I’m so delighted . . . Mamma’s health . . . and the Countess Apraksin . . .’ and walk out again, still rustling, into the vestibule to don cloak or coat and drive away. The conversation dealt with the latest news in town: the illness of the wealthy old Count Bezukhov, who had cut such a dashing figure in Catherine’s time,¹⁹ and his illegitimate son, Pierre, who had behaved so badly at one of Anna Pavlovna’s soirées. ‘I’m so sorry for the poor count,’ said the visitor. ‘His health has been so poor, and now this nasty business with his son. It’ll be the death of him!’

‘What’s all this?’ asked the countess, as if she had no idea what the lady was saying, though she had heard about the cause of Count Bezukhov’s distress at least fifteen times already.

‘This is what modern education does for you! When he was abroad,’ the visitor continued, ‘this young man was given a free rein, and now in Petersburg, so they say, he’s been doing such terrible things they’ve had to send him away under police guard.’

‘You don’t say so!’ said the countess.

‘He’s in with the wrong set,’ put in Princess Anna Mikhaylovna. ‘He and Prince Vasily’s son, and apparently another young man called Dolokhov, have . . . well, heaven knows what dreadful things they’ve been up to. And they’ve both paid the price. Dolokhov has been reduced to the ranks, and Bezukhov’s son has been banished to Moscow. Anatole Kuragin’s father has managed to hush things up for him. But he’s been sent away too.’

‘Why, what did they do?’ asked the countess.

‘They’re absolute scoundrels, especially Dolokhov,’ said the visitor. ‘He’s the son of Marya Dolokhov, such a respectable lady, you know, but there you are! Just imagine, the three of them somehow got hold of a bear, they put it in a carriage and went off with it to see some actresses. The police rushed in to stop them. They got a police officer, tied him back to back with the bear and dropped the bear into the Moika. The bear swam about with the policeman on his back.’

‘That policeman, my dear, what a picture!’ cried the count, helpless with laughter.

‘Oh, how shocking! Count, this is no laughing matter.’ But the ladies couldn’t help laughing too.

‘They only just managed to save the wretched man,’ the visitor went on. ‘And that’s the clever sort of trick the son of Count Kirill Bezukhov gets up to!’ she added. ‘And people said he was so well educated and clever. This is what foreign education has done for us. I hope no one will receive him here, in spite of his wealth. They tried to introduce him to me. I refused point-blank. I have daughters.’

‘What makes you say this young man is so wealthy?’ asked the countess, turning away from the girls, who at once pretended not to be listening. ‘All his children are illegitimate. I believe Pierre is also . . . illegitimate.’

The visitor waved her hand. ‘He has a score of them, I believe.’

Princess Anna Mikhaylovna intervened, clearly wanting to demonstrate her contacts and her knowledge of society matters. ‘I’ll tell you what it’s all about,’ she said in a meaningful half-whisper. ‘Count Kirill’s reputation is something we all know. He’s lost count of how many children he has, but this Pierre has always been his favourite.’

‘What a handsome man he was,’ said the countess, ‘only a year ago! A better-looking man I’ve never seen.’

‘He’s very different now,’ said Anna Mikhaylovna. ‘But what I wanted to say was this,’ she went on. ‘On his wife’s side the direct heir to the whole estate is Prince Vasily, but the father is very fond of Pierre. He took trouble over his education, and he has written a letter to the Emperor . . . so if he dies (he’s in such a bad state that it’s expected any moment, and Lorrain has come down from Petersburg), nobody knows whether that huge fortune will go to Pierre or Prince Vasily. Forty thousand serfs and millions of roubles. I know it’s true – Prince Vasily has told me himself. And Kirill happens to be a third cousin of mine on my mother’s side. And he’s Boris’s godfather too,’ she added, apparently attaching no significance to this circumstance.

‘Prince Vasily arrived in Moscow yesterday. Some sort of inspection, I was told,’ said the visitor.

‘Yes, but just between the two of us,’ said the princess, ‘that’s just an excuse. He’s really come to see Count Kirill, knowing he’s in such a bad way.’