LITMIR.BIZ

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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.

      CHAPTER XI

      Silence ensued. The countess looked at her callers, smiling affably, but not concealing the fact that she would not be distressed if they now rose and took their leave. The visitor’s daughter was already smoothing down her dress with an inquiring look at her mother, when suddenly from the next room were heard the footsteps of boys and girls running to the door and the noise of a chair falling over, and a girl of thirteen, hiding something in the folds of her short muslin frock, darted in and stopped short in the middle of the room. It was evident that she had not intended her flight to bring her so far. Behind her in the doorway appeared a student with a crimson coat collar, an officer of the Guards, a girl of fifteen, and a plump rosy-faced boy in a short jacket.

      The count jumped up and, swaying from side to side, spread his arms wide and threw them round the little girl who had run in.

      “Ah, here she is!” he exclaimed laughing. “My pet, whose name day it is. My dear pet!”

      “Ma chere, there is a time for everything,” said the countess with feigned severity. “You spoil her, Ilya,” she added, turning to her husband.

      “How do you do, my dear? I wish you many happy returns of your name day,” said the visitor. “What a charming child,” she added, addressing the mother.

      This black-eyed, wide-mouthed girl, not pretty but full of life—with childish bare shoulders which after her run heaved and shook her bodice, with black curls tossed backward, thin bare arms, little legs in lace-frilled drawers, and feet in low slippers—was just at that charming age

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