War and Peace - Leo Tolstoy [361]
VI
At the end of January, Count Ilya Andreich came to Moscow with Natasha and Sonya. The countess was still unwell and could not come, but it was impossible to wait for her recovery: Prince Andrei was expected in Moscow any day; besides that, it was necessary to buy the trousseau, it was necessary to sell the estate near Moscow, and it was necessary to take advantage of the old prince’s presence in Moscow to introduce his future daughter-in-law to him. The Rostovs’ house in Moscow had not been heated; besides that, they were coming for a short time, the countess was not with them, and therefore Ilya Andreich decided to stay in Moscow with Marya Dmitrievna Akhrosimov, who had long been offering the count her hospitality.
Late at night, the Rostovs’ four vehicles drove into Marya Dmitrievna’s courtyard on Old Konyushennaya Street. Marya Dmitrievna lived alone. Her daughter was already married. Her sons were all in the army.
She held herself as straight as ever, and voiced all her opinions just as directly, loudly, and resolutely, and her whole being seemed to reproach other people for all sorts of weaknesses, passions, and enthusiasms, the possibility of which she did not acknowledge. From early morning, in her dressing jacket, she would busy herself with household chores; then, on feast days, she would go to church, and from church to the jails and prisons, where she had some business of which she spoke to no one, and on weekdays she would dress and receive the petitioners of various social conditions who came to her every day, and would then have dinner; at dinner, substantial and tasty, she always had three or four guests; after dinner she would play a game of Boston; in the evening she would have newspapers and new books read to her, while she herself knitted. She rarely made an exception for visits, and if she went visiting, it was only to the most important persons in town.
She was still up when the Rostovs arrived, and the door to the front hall squeaked on its pulley, letting the Rostovs and their servants in from the cold. Marya Dmitrievna, her spectacles low on her nose, her head thrown back, stood in the doorway of the reception room and glared at the entering people with a stern, irate look. One might have thought she was angry with them and was about to drive them out, if she had not been giving solicitous orders to her people at the same time about where to put up the guests and their things.
“The count’s? Over here,” she said, pointing to the suitcases and not greeting anybody. “The young ladies’ here to the left. Well, what are you dawdling for!” she yelled at the maids. “Heat up the samovar! You’ve grown plumper, prettier,” she said, pulling Natasha, pink from the cold, to her by the hood. “Pah, you’re cold! Go and take your things off quickly,” she cried to the count, who was about to kiss her hand. “You must be freezing. Serve rum with the tea! Sonyushka, bonjour,” she said to Sonya, giving a special shade by this French greeting to her slightly scornful and affectionate attitude towards Sonya.
When, having taken their things off and straightened themselves up after the journey, they all came to tea, Marya Dmitrievna kissed them all in proper order.
“I’m heartily glad you’ve come and are staying with me,” she declared. “It’s none too soon,” she said, glancing significantly at Natasha…“The old man’s here, and they’re expecting the son any day. You must, must make his acquaintance. Well, we’ll talk about it later,” she added, her glance at Sonya indicating that she did not want to talk about it in her presence. “Now listen,” she turned to the count, “what do you need for tomorrow? Whom will you send for? Shinshin?” she bent down one finger, “the crybaby Anna Mikhailovna—two. She’s here with her son. Getting married, the son is! Then Bezukhov, I suppose? He’s here, too, with his