and with a son you love to distraction! One learns many
things then,’ she added with a certain pride. ‘That lawsuit
taught me much. When I want to see one of those big people
I write a note: ‘Princess So-and-So desires an interview with
So and-So,’ and then I take a cab and go myself two, three,
or four timestill I get what I want. I don’t mind what they
think of me.’
‘Well, and to whom did you apply about Bory?’ asked the
countess. ‘You see yours is already an officer in the Guards,
while my Nicholas is going as a cadet. There’s no one to interest himself for him. To whom did you apply?’
‘To Prince Vasili. He was so kind. He at once agreed to
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everything, and put the matter before the Emperor,’ said
Princess Anna Mikhaylovna enthusiastically, quite forgetting all the humiliation she had endured to gain her end.
‘Has Prince Vasili aged much?’ asked the countess. ‘I
have not seen him since we acted together at the Rumyantsovs’ theatricals. I expect he has forgotten me. He paid me
attentions in those days,’ said the countess, with a smile.
‘He is just the same as ever,’ replied Anna Mikhaylovna,
‘overflowing with amiability. His position has not turned
his head at all. He said to me, ‘I am sorry I can do so little for
you, dear Princess. I am at your command.’ Yes, he is a fine
fellow and a very kind relation. But, Nataly, you know my
love for my son: I would do anything for his happiness! And
my affairs are in such a bad way that my position is now a
terrible one,’ continued Anna Mikhaylovna, sadly, dropping
her voice. ‘My wretched lawsuit takes all I have and makes
no progress. Would you believe it, I have literally not a penny and don’t know how to equip Boris.’ She took out her
handkerchief and began to cry. ‘I need five hundred rubles,
and have only one twenty-five-ruble note. I am in such a
state…. My only hope now is in Count Cyril Vladimirovich
Bezukhov. If he will not assist his godsonyou know he is
Bory’s godfatherand allow him something for his maintenance, all my trouble will have been thrown away…. I shall
not be able to equip him.’
The countess’ eyes filled with tears and she pondered in
silence.
‘I often think, though, perhaps it’s a sin,’ said the princess, ‘that here lives Count Cyril Vladimirovich Bezukhov
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so rich, all alone… that tremendous fortune… and what is
his life worth? It’s a burden to him, and Bory’s life is only
just beginning…’
‘Surely he will leave something to Boris,’ said the countess.
‘Heaven only knows, my dear! These rich grandees are so
selfish. Still, I will take Boris and go to see him at once, and
I shall speak to him straight out. Let people think what they
will of me, it’s really all the same to me when my son’s fate
is at stake.’ The princess rose. ‘It’s now two o’clock and you
dine at four. There will just be time.’
And like a practical Petersburg lady who knows how to
make the most of time, Anna Mikhaylovna sent someone to
call her son, and went into the anteroom with him.
‘Good-by, my dear,’ said she to the countess who saw her
to the door, and added in a whisper so that her son should
not hear, ‘Wish me good luck.’
‘Are you going to Count Cyril Vladimirovich, my dear?’
said the count coming out from the dining hall into the anteroom, and he added: ‘If he is better, ask Pierre to dine with
us. He has been to the house, you know, and danced with
the children. Be sure to invite him, my dear. We will see
how Taras distinguishes himself today. He says Count Orlov never gave such a dinner as ours will be!’
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Chapter XV
‘My dear Boris,’ said Princess Anna Mikhaylovna to her
son as Countess Rostova’s carriage in which they were seated drove over the straw covered street and turned into the
wide courtyard of Count Cyril Vladimirovich Bezukhov’s
house. ‘My dear Boris,’ said the mother, drawing her hand
from beneath her old mantle and laying it timidly and tenderly on her son’s arm, ‘be affectionate and attentive to him.
Count Cyril Vladimirovich is your godfather after all, your
future depends on him. Remember that, my dear, and be
nice to him, as you so well know how to be.’
‘If only I knew that anything besides humiliation would
come of it…’ answered her son coldly. ‘But I have promised
and will do it for your sake.’
Although the hall porter saw someone’s carriage standing at the entrance, after scrutinizing the mother and son
(who without asking to be announced had passed straight
through the glass porch between the rows of statues in niches) and looking significantly at the lady’s old cloak, he asked
whether they wanted the count or the princesses, and, hearing that they wished to see the count, said his excellency
was worse today, and that his excellency was not receiving
anyone.
‘We may as well go back,’ said the son in French.
‘My dear!’ exclaimed his mother imploringly, again lay
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ing her hand on his arm as if that touch might soothe or
rouse him.
Boris said no more, but looked inquiringly at his mother
without taking off his cloak.
‘My friend,’ said Anna Mikhaylovna in gentle tones, addressing the hall porter, I know Count Cyril Vladimirovich
is very ill… that’s why I have come… I am a relation. I shall
not disturb him, my friend… I only need see Prince Vasili
Sergeevich: he is staying here, is he not? Please announce
me.’
The hall porter sullenly pulled a bell that rang upstairs,
and turned away.
‘Princess Drubetskaya to see Prince Vasili Sergeevich,’
he called to a footman dressed in knee breeches, shoes, and
a swallow-tail coat, who ran downstairs and looked over
from the halfway landing.
The mother smoothed the folds of her dyed silk dress
before a large Venetian mirror in the wall, and in her trodden-down shoes briskly ascended the carpeted stairs.
‘My dear,’ she said to her son, once more stimulating him
by a touch, ‘you promised me!’
The son, lowering his eyes, followed her quietly.
They entered the large hall, from which one of the doors
led to the apartments assigned to Prince Vasili.
Just as the mother and son, having reached the middle of
the hall, were about to ask their way of an elderly footman
who had sprung up as they entered, the bronze handle of
one of the doors turned and Prince Vasili came outwearing a velvet coat with a single star on his breast, as was his
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custom when at hometaking leave of a good-looking, darkhaired man. This was the celebrated Petersburg doctor,
Lorrain.
‘Then it is certain?’ said the prince.
‘Prince, humanum est errare,* but…’ replied the doctor,
swallowing his r’s, and pronouncing the Latin words with a
French accent.
*To err is human.
‘Very well, very well..’
Seeing Anna Mikhaylovna and her son, Prince Vasili
dismissed the doctor with a bow and approached them silently and with a look of inquiry. The son noticed that an
expression of profound sorrow suddenly clouded his mother’s face, and he smiled slightly.
‘Ah, Prince! In what sad circumstances we meet again!
And how is our dear invalid?’ said she, as though unaware
of the cold offensive look fixed on her.
Prince Vasili stared at her and at Boris questioningly
and perplexed. Boris bowed politely. Prince Vasili without acknowledging the bow turned to Anna Mikhaylovna,
answering her query by a movement of the head and lips indicating very little hope for the patient.
‘Is it possible?’ exclaimed Anna Mikhaylovna. ‘Oh, how
awful! It is terrible to think…. This is my son,’ she added, indicating Boris. ‘He wanted to thank you himself.’
Boris bowed again politely.
‘Believe me, Prince, a mother’s heart will never forget
what you have done for us.’
‘I am glad I was able to do you a service, my dear Anna
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Mikhaylovna,’ said Prince Vasili, arranging his lace frill,
and in tone and manner, here in Moscow to Anna Mikhaylovna whom he had placed under an obligation, assuming
an air of much greater importance than he had done in Petersburg at Anna Scherer’s reception.
‘Try to serve well and show yourself worthy,’ added he,
addressing Boris with severity. ‘I am glad…. Are you here on
leave?’ he went on in his usual tone of indifference.
‘I am awaiting orders to join my new regiment, your excellency,’ replied Boris, betraying neither annoyance at the
prince’s brusque manner nor a desire to enter into conversation, but speaking so quietly and respectfully that the
prince gave him a searching glance.
‘Are you living with your mother?’
‘I am living at Countess Rostova’s,’ replied Boris, again
adding, ‘your excellency.’
‘That is, with Ilya Rostov who married Nataly Shinshina,’ said Anna Mikhaylovna.
‘I know, I know,’ answered Prince Vasili in his monotonous voice. ‘I never could understand how Nataly made up
her mind to marry that unlicked bear! A perfectly absurd
and stupid fellow, and a gambler too, I am told.’
‘But a very kind man, Prince,’ said Anna Mikhaylovna
with a pathetic smile, as though she too knew that Count
Rostov deserved this censure, but asked him not to be too
hard on the poor old man. ‘What do the doctors say?’ asked
the princess after a pause, her worn face again expressing
deep sorrow.
‘They give little hope,’ replied the prince.
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‘And I should so like to thank Uncle once for all his kindness to me and Boris. He is his godson,’ she added, her tone
suggesting that this fact ought to give Prince Vasili much
satisfaction.
Prince Vasili became thoughtful and frowned. Anna
Mikhaylovna saw that he was afraid of finding in her a rival for Count Bezukhov’s fortune, and hastened to reassure
him.
‘If it were not for my sincere affection and devotion to
Uncle,’ said she, uttering the word with peculiar assurance
and unconcern, ‘I know his character: noble, upright… but
you see he has no one with him except the young princesses…. They are still young….’ She bent her head and continued
in a whisper: ‘Has he performed his final duty, Prince? How
priceless are those last moments! It can make things no
worse, and it is absolutely necessary to prepare him if he
