الفصل الفصل 4 · 第4章

Just then another visitor entered the drawing room: Prince Andrew

Bolkónski, the little princess’ husband. He was a very handsome young

man, of medium height, with firm, clearcut features. Everything about

him, from his weary, bored expression to his quiet, measured step,

offered a most striking contrast to his quiet, little wife. It was

evident that he not only knew everyone in the drawing room, but had

found them to be so tiresome that it wearied him to look at or listen to

them. And among all these faces that he found so tedious, none seemed

to bore him so much as that of his pretty wife. He turned away from

her with a grimace that distorted his handsome face, kissed Anna

Pávlovna’s hand, and screwing up his eyes scanned the whole company.

“You are off to the war, Prince?” said Anna Pávlovna.

“General Kutúzov,” said Bolkónski, speaking French and stressing

the last syllable of the general’s name like a Frenchman, “has been

pleased to take me as an aide-de-camp....”

“And Lise, your wife?”

“She will go to the country.”

“Are you not ashamed to deprive us of your charming wife?”

“André,” said his wife, addressing her husband in the same

coquettish manner in which she spoke to other men, “the vicomte has

been telling us such a tale about Mademoiselle George and Buonaparte!”

Prince Andrew screwed up his eyes and turned away. Pierre, who from

the moment Prince Andrew entered the room had watched him with glad,

affectionate eyes, now came up and took his arm. Before he looked round

Prince Andrew frowned again, expressing his annoyance with whoever was

touching his arm, but when he saw Pierre’s beaming face he gave him an

unexpectedly kind and pleasant smile.

“There now!... So you, too, are in the great world?” said he to

Pierre.

“I knew you would be here,” replied Pierre. “I will come to supper

with you. May I?” he added in a low voice so as not to disturb the

vicomte who was continuing his story.

“No, impossible!” said Prince Andrew, laughing and pressing

Pierre’s hand to show that there was no need to ask the question. He

wished to say something more, but at that moment Prince Vasíli and his

daughter got up to go and the two young men rose to let them pass.

“You must excuse me, dear Vicomte,” said Prince Vasíli to the

Frenchman, holding him down by the sleeve in a friendly way to prevent

his rising. “This unfortunate fete at the ambassador’s deprives me

of a pleasure, and obliges me to interrupt you. I am very sorry to leave

your enchanting party,” said he, turning to Anna Pávlovna.

His daughter, Princess Hélène, passed between the chairs, lightly

holding up the folds of her dress, and the smile shone still more

radiantly on her beautiful face. Pierre gazed at her with rapturous,

almost frightened, eyes as she passed him.

“Very lovely,” said Prince Andrew.

“Very,” said Pierre.

In passing Prince Vasíli seized Pierre’s hand and said to Anna

Pávlovna: “Educate this bear for me! He has been staying with me

a whole month and this is the first time I have seen him in society.

Nothing is so necessary for a young man as the society of clever

women.”

Anna Pávlovna smiled and promised to take Pierre in hand. She knew his

father to be a connection of Prince Vasíli’s. The elderly lady who

had been sitting with the old aunt rose hurriedly and overtook Prince

Vasíli in the anteroom. All the affectation of interest she had assumed

had left her kindly and tear-worn face and it now expressed only anxiety

and fear.

“How about my son Borís, Prince?” said she, hurrying after him into

the anteroom. “I can’t remain any longer in Petersburg. Tell me what

news I may take back to my poor boy.”

Although Prince Vasíli listened reluctantly and not very politely

to the elderly lady, even betraying some impatience, she gave him an

ingratiating and appealing smile, and took his hand that he might not go

away.

“What would it cost you to say a word to the Emperor, and then he

would be transferred to the Guards at once?” said she.

“Believe me, Princess, I am ready to do all I can,” answered Prince

Vasíli, “but it is difficult for me to ask the Emperor. I should

advise you to appeal to Rumyántsev through Prince Golítsyn. That would

be the best way.”

The elderly lady was a Princess Drubetskáya, belonging to one of the

best families in Russia, but she was poor, and having long been out of

society had lost her former influential connections. She had now come to

Petersburg to procure an appointment in the Guards for her only son.

It was, in fact, solely to meet Prince Vasíli that she had obtained an

invitation to Anna Pávlovna’s reception and had sat listening to

the vicomte’s story. Prince Vasíli’s words frightened her, an

embittered look clouded her once handsome face, but only for a moment;

then she smiled again and clutched Prince Vasíli’s arm more tightly.

“Listen to me, Prince,” said she. “I have never yet asked you

for anything and I never will again, nor have I ever reminded you of my

father’s friendship for you; but now I entreat you for God’s sake to

do this for my son—and I shall always regard you as a benefactor,”

she added hurriedly. “No, don’t be angry, but promise! I have asked

Golítsyn and he has refused. Be the kindhearted man you always were,”

she said, trying to smile though tears were in her eyes.

“Papa, we shall be late,” said Princess Hélène, turning her

beautiful head and looking over her classically molded shoulder as she

stood waiting by the door.

Influence in society, however, is a capital which has to be economized

if it is to last. Prince Vasíli knew this, and having once realized

that if he asked on behalf of all who begged of him, he would soon be

unable to ask for himself, he became chary of using his influence. But

in Princess Drubetskáya’s case he felt, after her second appeal,

something like qualms of conscience. She had reminded him of what was

quite true; he had been indebted to her father for the first steps in

his career. Moreover, he could see by her manners that she was one of

those women—mostly mothers—who, having once made up their minds,

will not rest until they have gained their end, and are prepared if

necessary to go on insisting day after day and hour after hour, and even

to make scenes. This last consideration moved him.

“My dear Anna Mikháylovna,” said he with his usual familiarity and

weariness of tone, “it is almost impossible for me to do what you

ask; but to prove my devotion to you and how I respect your father’s

memory, I will do the impossible—your son shall be transferred to the

Guards. Here is my hand on it. Are you satisfied?”

“My dear benefactor! This is what I expected from you—I knew your

kindness!” He turned to go.

“Wait—just a word! When he has been transferred to the Guards...”

she faltered. “You are on good terms with Michael Ilariónovich

Kutúzov ... recommend Borís to him as adjutant! Then I shall be at

rest, and then...”

Prince Vasíli smiled.

“No, I won’t promise that. You don’t know how Kutúzov is pestered

since his appointment as Commander in Chief. He told me himself that

all the Moscow ladies have conspired to give him all their sons as

adjutants.”

“No, but do promise! I won’t let you go! My dear benefactor...”

“Papa,” said his beautiful daughter in the same tone as before,

“we shall be late.”

“Well, au revoir! Good-by! You hear her?”

“Then tomorrow you will speak to the Emperor?”

“Certainly; but about Kutúzov, I don’t promise.”

“Do promise, do promise, Vasíli!” cried Anna Mikháylovna as he

went, with the smile of a coquettish girl, which at one time probably

came naturally to her, but was now very ill-suited to her careworn face.

Apparently she had forgotten her age and by force of habit employed

all the old feminine arts. But as soon as the prince had gone her face

resumed its former cold, artificial expression. She returned to the

group where the vicomte was still talking, and again pretended to

listen, while waiting till it would be time to leave. Her task was

accomplished.