War And Peace

The prince said nothing, while she gave him a knowing look, waiting in silence for his reply. Prince Vasily frowned.

‘What can I do?’ he said at last. ‘You know I’ve done everything a father could do to bring them up well, and they have both turned out to be idiots. At least Hippolyte’s a fool on the quiet – Anatole’s the rowdy one. That’s the only difference between them,’ he said, with an unusually awkward and forced smile, which gave a sharp twist to the lines round his mouth, making it surprisingly ugly and coarse.

‘Why do men like you have children? If you weren’t a father, I could find no fault with you,’ said Anna Pavlovna, looking up pensively.

‘I’m your faithful slave. I wouldn’t admit it to anyone else, but my children are the bane of my life. They’re the cross I have to bear. That’s how I explain it to myself. What would you . . . ?’ He broke off with a gesture that signalled his resignation to a cruel fate. Anna Pavlovna thought things over.

‘That prodigal son of yours, Anatole, haven’t you thought of marrying him off? They do say,’ she went on, ‘that old maids have a mania for matchmaking. So far I’ve never been conscious of this failing in myself, but I do have a certain little person in my mind, someone who is very unhappy with her father – a relative of ours, the young Princess Bolkonsky.’

Prince Vasily made no reply, but being quick on the uptake and good at remembering things – qualities that came naturally to the denizens of high society – he gave a slight nod to show that he had noted her comment and was considering it.

‘No, listen, do you realize that boy’s costing me forty thousand roubles a year?’ he said, obviously unable to check the dismal drift of his thinking. He paused. ‘What will it be like in five years’ time if he carries on like this? You see what the benefits of fatherhood are . . . This princess of yours, is she rich?’

‘Her father’s a very rich man and a miser. He lives out in the country. You know, Prince Bolkonsky. He’s very well known. He retired under the late Emperor. They used to call him the “the King of Prussia”. He’s a very clever man, but he’s a crank, not easy to get on with. Poor little thing, she’s as miserable as any girl could be. It was her brother who married Liza Meinen not too long ago. He’s one of Kutuzov’s adjutants. He’s coming here tonight.’

‘Listen, my dear Annette,’ said the prince, suddenly taking his companion’s hand and pressing it downwards for reasons best known to himself. ‘You set this up for me, and I’ll serve you like a faithful slave for ever. (Or slafe, with an ‘f’, as my village elder puts it when he writes to me.) She’s a girl from a good family, and she’s rich. That’s all I need.’

And with the freedom, familiarity and sheer style that were his hallmark, he took hold of the maid of honour’s hand, kissed it and gave it a little shake, easing back into his armchair and looking away from her.

‘Wait a minute,’ said Anna Pavlovna, thinking things over. ‘I’ll have a little talk with Lise, young Bolkonsky’s wife, this very evening. Perhaps something can be arranged. I’ll use your family to start learning the old maid’s trade.’

CHAPTER 2

Anna Pavlovna’s drawing-room was steadily filling up. All the important people in St Petersburg society were there, varying enormously in age and character for all their shared social background. Prince Vasily’s daughter, the beautiful Hélène, had just arrived to take him on to the Ambassador’s reception; she was wearing a ballgown enhanced by a maid of honour’s monogram. The young Princess Bolkonsky, a slip of a girl known as the most seductive woman in Petersburg, was there too; married the previous winter, she no longer appeared at large occasions because she was pregnant, but she did still attend small soirées. Prince Vasily’s son, Prince Hippolyte, arrived with Mortemart, and introduced him. Also present were the Abbé Morio and many other people.

Anna Pavlovna was welcoming her guests as they arrived with a ‘Have you met my aunt?’ or ‘I don’t think you know my aunt’ before steering them with great solemnity towards a little old lady with big bows in her hair, who had come sailing in from the next room as soon as the guests had begun to arrive. Anna Pavlovna would announce them by name, slowly transferring her gaze from guest to aunt, and then move on. All the guests went through the motions of greeting this aunt, who was unknown, uninteresting and unneeded by anyone. Anna Pavlovna observed their greetings with sadness and solemn sympathy, a picture of silent approval. The lady known as ‘my aunt’ spoke in the same way to every new arrival, commenting on their health, her own health and the health of her Majesty, who was by now, thank God, feeling better. All those who approached were polite enough to refrain from showing undue haste, but once this onerous duty had been fulfilled they walked away from the old lady with a sense of relief, and never went near her again all evening.