“I’m so enchanted with the charms of the intelligence and cultivation of society, especially the women’s, where I have had the happiness to be received, that I have not yet had time to think about the climate,” he said.
Not letting go of the abbé and Pierre, Anna Pavlovna, the better to keep an eye on them, joined them to the general circle.
Just then a new person entered the drawing room. This new person was the young Prince Andrei Bolkonsky, the little princess’s husband. Prince Bolkonsky was of medium height, a rather handsome young man with well-defined and dry features. Everything in his figure, from his weary, bored gaze to his quiet, measured gait, presented the sharpest contrast with his small, lively wife. Obviously, he not only knew everyone in the drawing room, but was also so sick of them that it was very boring for him to look at them and listen to them. Of all the faces he found so boring, the face of his pretty wife seemed to be the one he was most sick of. With a grimace that spoiled his handsome face, he turned away from her. He kissed Anna Pavlovna’s hand and, narrowing his eyes, looked around at the whole company.
“Vous vous enrôlez pour la guerre, mon prince?”†44 said Anna Pavlovna.
“Le général Koutouzoff,” said Bolkonsky, emphasizing the last syllable, zoff, like a Frenchman, “a bien voulu de moi pour aide-de-camp…”‡45
“Et Lise, votre femme?”§46
“She’ll go to the country.”
“Shame on you to deprive us of your lovely wife.”
“André,” said his wife, addressing her husband in the same coquettish tone in which she addressed others, “what a story the viscount told us about mademoiselle George and Bonaparte!”
Prince Andrei closed his eyes and turned away. Pierre, who had not taken his joyful, friendly eyes off Prince Andrei since he entered the drawing room, went up to him and took his arm. Prince Andrei, without turning around, wrinkled his face into a grimace, expressing vexation at whoever had taken his arm, but, seeing Pierre’s smiling face, suddenly smiled an unexpectedly kind and pleasant smile.
“Well, well!…So you, too, are in high society!” he said to Pierre.
“I knew you’d be here,” Pierre replied. “I’ll come to you for supper,” he added softly, so as not to interfere with the viscount, who was going on with his story. “May I?”
“No, you may not,” Prince Andrei said, laughing, letting Pierre know by the pressure of his hand that there was no need to ask. He was about to say more, but just then Prince Vassily and his daughter rose, and the men stood up to let them pass.
“You will excuse me, my dear viscount,” Prince Vassily said to the Frenchman, gently pulling him down on his chair by the sleeve, so that he would not stand up. “This unfortunate fête at the ambassador’s deprives me of my pleasure and interrupts you. I’m very sorry to leave your delightful soirée,” he said to Anna Pavlovna.
His daughter, Princess Hélène, lightly holding the folds of her gown, walked between the chairs, and the smile shone still more brightly on her beautiful face. Pierre looked with enraptured, almost frightened eyes at this beauty as she walked past him.
“Very good-looking,” said Prince Andrei.
“Very,” said Pierre.
Passing by, Prince Vassily seized Pierre by the hand and turned to Anna Pavlovna.
“Educate this bear for me,” he said. “He’s been living with me for a month, and this is the first time I’ve seen him in society. Nothing is so necessary for a young man as the company of intelligent women.”
IV
Anna Pavlovna smiled and promised to occupy herself with Pierre, who she knew was related to Prince Vassily through his father. The elderly lady who had so far been sitting with ma tante hastily got up and overtook Prince Vassily in the front hall. All the former sham interest disappeared from her face. Her kind, weepy face expressed only anxiety and fear.
“What can you tell me, Prince, about my Boris?” she said, overtaking him in the front hall. (She pronounced the name Boris with a special emphasis on the o.) “I cannot remain in Petersburg any longer. Tell me, what news can I bring my poor boy?”
Though Prince Vassily listened to the elderly lady reluctantly and almost impolitely, and even showed impatience, she smiled at him gently and touchingly, and even took him by the arm to keep him from walking away.
“It won’t cost you anything to say a word to the sovereign, and he’ll be transferred straight away to the guards,” she pleaded.
“Believe me, Princess, I’ll do all I can,” replied Prince Vassily, “but it’s hard for me to ask the sovereign. I’d advise you to turn to Rumyantsev through Prince Golitsyn—that would be smarter.”
The elderly lady bore the name of Princess Drubetskoy, one of the best families of Russia, but she was poor, had long since left society, and had lost her former connections. She had come now to solicit an appointment to the guards for her only son. She had invited herself and come to Anna Pavlovna’s soirée only in order to see Prince Vassily, only for that had she listened to the viscount’s story. Prince Vassily’s words frightened her; her once beautiful face showed spite, but that lasted no more than a moment. She smiled again and took a slightly stronger grip on Prince Vassily’s arm.
“Listen, Prince,” she said, “I’ve never asked you for anything, and never will, I’ve never reminded you of my father’s friendship for you. But now, I adjure you in God’s name, do this for my son, and I will consider you my benefactor,” she added hastily. “No, don’t be angry, but promise me. I asked Golitsyn and he refused. Soyez le bon enfant que vous avez été,”*47 she said, trying to smile, though there were tears in her eyes.
“Papá, we’ll be late,” said Princess Hélène, who was waiting at the door, turning her beautiful head on her classical shoulders.
But influence in society is a capital that must be used sparingly, lest it disappear. Prince Vassily knew that and, having once realized that if he were to solicit for everyone who solicited from him, it would soon become impossible for him to solicit for himself, he rarely used his influence. In Princess Drubetskoy’s case, however, after her new appeal, he felt something like a pang of conscience. She had reminded him of the truth: he owed his first steps in the service to her father. Besides, he could see from the way she behaved that she was one of those women, especially mothers, who, once they take something into their heads, will not leave off until their desire is fulfilled, and are otherwise prepared to pester you every day and every minute, and even to make scenes. This last consideration gave him pause.
“Chère Anna Mikhailovna,” he said, with his usual tone of familiarity and boredom, “it is almost impossible for me to do what you want; but to prove to you how much I love you and honor the memory of your late father, I will do the impossible: your son will be transferred to the guards, here is my hand on it. Are you satisfied?”
“My dear, you are our benefactor! I expected nothing else from you; I knew how kind you are.”
He was about to leave.
“Wait, two more words. Une fois passé aux gardes…”*48 She faltered. “You’re on good terms with Mikhail Ilarionovich Kutuzov, recommend Boris as his adjutant. Then I’ll be at peace and…”
Prince Vassily smiled.
“That I will not promise you. You know how besieged Kutuzov has been since he was appointed commander in chief.13 He told me himself that all the Moscow ladies are conspiring to send their children to be his adjutants.”