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COUNT ILYA ANDREITCH ROSTOV arrived in Moscow towards the end of January with
Natasha and Sonya. The countess was still unwell, and unable to travel, but they
could not put off coming till she recovered, for Prince Andrey was expected in
Moscow every day. They had, besides, to order the trousseau, to sell the estate
in the suburbs of Moscow, and to take advantage of old Prince Bolkonsky's
presence in Moscow to present his future daughter-in-law to him. The Rostovs'
house in Moscow had not been heated all the winter; and as they were coming only
for a short time, and the countess was not with them, Count Ilya Andreitch made
up his mind to stay with Marya Dmitryevna Ahrostimov, who had long been pressing
her hospitality upon the count.
Late in the evening the four loaded sledges of the Rostovs drove into the
courtyard of Marya Dmitryevna in Old Equerrys' Place. Marya Dmitryevna lived
alone. She had by now married off her daughter. Her sons were all in the
service.
She still held herself as erect; still gave every one her opinions in the
same loud, outspoken, decided fashion; and her whole bearing seemed a reproof to
other people for every sort of weakness, passion, and temptation, of which she
would not admit the bare possibility. In the early morning, in a house-jacket,
she looked after the management of her household. Then she drove on saints' days
to Mass, and from Mass to the gaols and prisons; and of what she did there, she
never spoke to any one.
On ordinary days she dressed and received petitioners of various classes, of
whom some sought her aid every day. Then she had dinner, an abundant and
appetising meal, at which some three or four guests were always present. After
dinner she played a game of boston; and at night had the newspapers and new
books read aloud to her while she knitted. It was only as a rare exception that
she went out in the evening; if she did so, it was only to visit the most
important people in the town.
She had not gone to bed when the Rostovs arrived, and the door in the
vestibule squeaked on the block, as the Rostovs and their servants came in from
the cold outside. Marya Dmitryevna stood in the doorway of the hall, with her
spectacles slipping down on her nose, and her head flung back, looking with a
stern and irate face at the new-comers. It might have been supposed that she was
irritated at their arrival, and would pack them off again at once, had she not
at the very time been giving careful instructions to her servants where to
install her guests and their belongings.
“The count's things? Bring them here,” she said, pointing to the trunks, and
not bestowing a greeting on any one. “The young ladies', this way to the left.
Well, what are we pottering about for?” she called to her maids. “Warm the
samovar! She's plumper, prettier,” she pronounced of Natasha, flushed from the
frosty air, as she drew her closer by her hood. “Foo! she is cold! You make
haste and get your wraps off,” she shouted to the count, who would have kissed
her hand. “You're frozen, I warrant. Rum for the tea! Sonyushka,
bonjour,” she said to Sonya, indicating by this French phrase the
slightly contemptuous affectionateness of her attitude to Sonya.
When they had all taken off their outdoor things, set themselves straight
after the journey, and come in to tea, Marya Dmitryevna kissed them all in due
course.
“Heartily glad you have come, and are staying with me,” she said. “It's long
been time you were here,” she said, with a significant glance at Natasha.… “The
old fellow's here, and his son's expected from day to day. You must, you must
make their acquaintance. Oh, well, we shall talk of that later on,” she added,
with a glance at Sonya, showing that she did not care to talk of it before her.
“Now, listen,” she turned to the count, “what do you want to do to-morrow? Whom
will you send for? Shinshin?”—she crooked one finger. “The tearful Anna
Mihalovna— two. She's here with her son. The son's to be married too! Then
Bezuhov. He's here, too, with his wife. He ran away from her, and she has come
trotting after him. He dined with me last Wednesday. Well, and I'll take
them”—she indicated the young ladies—“to-morrow to Iversky chapel, and then we
shall go to Aubert-Chalmey. You'll be getting everything now, I expect! Don't
judge by me—the sleeves nowadays are like this! The other day the young
princess, Irina Vassilyevna, came to see me, just as though she had put two
barrels on her arms, a dreadful fright. Every day there's a new fashion. And
what sort of business is it you have come for yourself?” she said severely,
addressing the count.
“Everything has come together,” answered the count. “There's the girl's rags
to buy; and now there's a purchaser turned up for the Moscow estate and the
house. If you'll graciously permit it, I'll choose an opportunity and drive over
to Maryinskoe for a day, leaving my girls on your hands.”
“Very good, very good, they'll be safe enough with me. I'm as safe as the
Mortgage Bank. I'll take them where they must go, and scold them and pet them
too,” said Marya Dmitryevna, putting her big hand on the cheek of her favourite
and god-daughter Natasha.
Next morning Marya Dmitryevna bore the young ladies off to Iversky chapel and
to Madame Aubert-Chalmey, who was so frightened of Marya Dmitryevna that she
always sold her dresses at a loss simply to get rid of her as soon as possible.
Marya Dmitryevna ordered almost the whole trousseau. On their return, she sent
every one out of the room but Natasha, and called her favourite to sit beside
her arm-chair.
“Well, now we can have a chat. I congratulate you on your betrothed. A fine
fellow you have hooked! I'm glad of it for your sake, and I have known him since
he was that high”—she held her hand a yard from the floor. Natasha flushed
joyfully. “I like him and all his family. Now, listen! You know, of course, that
old Prince Nikolay was very much against his son's marrying. He's a whimsical
old fellow! Of course, Prince Andrey is not a child, he can get on without him,
but to enter a family against the father's will is not a nice thing to do. One
wants peace and love in a family. You're a clever girl, you'll know how to
manage things. You must use your wits and your kind heart. And every thing will
come right.”
Natasha was silent, not as Marya Dmitryevna supposed from shyness. In reality
Natasha disliked any one's interfering in what touched her love for Prince
Andrey, which seemed to her something so apart from all human affairs, that no
one, as she imagined, could understand it. She loved Prince Andrey, and only
him, and knew only him; he loved her, and was to arrive in a day or two and
carry her off. She did not care about anything else.
“I have known him a long while, do you see; and Masha, your sister-in-law, I
love. Sisters-in-law are said to be mischief-makers, but she— well, she wouldn't
hurt a fly. She has begged me to bring you two together. You must go to see her
to-morrow with your father, and be as nice as possible; you are younger than she
is. By the time your young man comes back, you'll be friends with his sister and
his father, and they will have learned to love you. Yes or no? It will be better
so, eh?”
“Oh yes!” Natasha responded reluctantly.
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