War and Peace

by Leo Tolstoy/Tolstoi

CHAPTER I

"Well, Prince, so Genoa and Lucca are now just family estates of the

Buonapartes. But I warn you, if you don't tell me that this means war,

if you still try to defend the infamies and horrors perpetrated by

that Antichrist--I really believe he is Antichrist--I will have

nothing more to do with you and you are no longer my friend, no longer

my 'faithful slave,' as you call yourself! But how do you do? I see

I have frightened you--sit down and tell me all the news."

It was in July, 1805, and the speaker was the well-known Anna

Pavlovna Scherer, maid of honor and favorite of the Empress Marya

Fedorovna. With these words she greeted Prince Vasili Kuragin, a man

of high rank and importance, who was the first to arrive at her

reception. Anna Pavlovna had had a cough for some days. She was, as

she said, suffering from la grippe; grippe being then a new word in

St. Petersburg, used only by the elite.

All her invitations without exception, written in French, and

delivered by a scarlet-liveried footman that morning, ran as follows:

"If you have nothing better to do, Count [or Prince], and if the

prospect of spending an evening with a poor invalid is not too

terrible, I shall be very charmed to see you tonight between 7 and 10-

Annette Scherer."

"Heavens! what a virulent attack!" replied the prince, not in the

least disconcerted by this reception. He had just entered, wearing

an embroidered court uniform, knee breeches, and shoes, and had

stars on his breast and a serene expression on his flat face. He spoke

in that refined French in which our grandfathers not only spoke but

thought, and with the gentle, patronizing intonation natural to a

man of importance who had grown old in society and at court. He went

up to Anna Pavlovna, kissed her hand, presenting to her his bald,

scented, and shining head, and complacently seated himself on the

sofa.

"First of all, dear friend, tell me how you are. Set your friend's

mind at rest," said he without altering his tone, beneath the

politeness and affected sympathy of which indifference and even

irony could be discerned.

"Can one be well while suffering morally? Can one be calm in times

like these if one has any feeling?" said Anna Pavlovna. "You are

staying the whole evening, I hope?"

"And the fete at the English ambassador's? Today is Wednesday. I

must put in an appearance there," said the prince. "My daughter is

coming for me to take me there."

"I thought today's fete had been canceled. I confess all these

festivities and fireworks are becoming wearisome."

"If they had known that you wished it, the entertainment would

have been put off," said the prince, who, like a wound-up clock, by

force of habit said things he did not even wish to be believed.

"Don't tease! Well, and what has been decided about Novosiltsev's

dispatch? You know everything."

"What can one say about it?" replied the prince in a cold,

listless tone. "What has been decided? They have decided that

Buonaparte has burnt his boats, and I believe that we are ready to

burn ours."

Prince Vasili always spoke languidly, like an actor repeating a

stale part. Anna Pavlovna Scherer on the contrary, despite her forty

years, overflowed with animation and impulsiveness. To be an

enthusiast had become her social vocation and, sometimes even when she

did not feel like it, she became enthusiastic in order not to

disappoint the expectations of those who knew her. The subdued smile

which, though it did not suit her faded features, always played

round her lips expressed, as in a spoiled child, a continual

consciousness of her charming defect, which she neither wished, nor

could, nor considered it necessary, to correct.

In the midst of a conversation on political matters Anna Pavlovna

burst out:

"Oh, don't speak to me of Austria. Perhaps I don't understand

things, but Austria never has wished, and does not wish, for war.

She is betraying us! Russia alone must save Europe. Our gracious

sovereign recognizes his high vocation and will be true to it. That is

the one thing I have faith in! Our good and wonderful sovereign has to

perform the noblest role on earth, and he is so virtuous and noble

that God will not forsake him. He will fulfill his vocation and

crush the hydra of revolution, which has become more terrible than

ever in the person of this murderer and villain! We alone must

avenge the blood of the just one.... Whom, I ask you, can we rely

on?... England with her commercial spirit will not and cannot

understand the Emperor Alexander's loftiness of soul. She has

refused to evacuate Malta. She wanted to find, and still seeks, some

secret motive in our actions. What answer did Novosiltsev get? None.

The English have not understood and cannot understand the

self-abnegation of our Emperor who wants nothing for himself, but only

desires the good of mankind. And what have they promised? Nothing! And

what little they have promised they will not perform! Prussia has

always declared that Buonaparte is invincible, and that all Europe

is powerless before him.... And I don't believe a word that Hardenburg

says, or Haugwitz either. This famous Prussian neutrality is just a

trap. I have faith only in God and the lofty destiny of our adored

monarch. He will save Europe!"

She suddenly paused, smiling at her own impetuosity.

"I think," said the prince with a smile, "that if you had been

sent instead of our dear Wintzingerode you would have captured the

King of Prussia's consent by assault. You are so eloquent. Will you

give me a cup of tea?"

"In a moment. A propos," she added, becoming calm again, "I am

expecting two very interesting men tonight, le Vicomte de Mortemart,

who is connected with the Montmorencys through the Rohans, one of

the best French families. He is one of the genuine emigres, the good

ones. And also the Abbe Morio. Do you know that profound thinker? He

has been received by the Emperor. Had you heard?"

"I shall be delighted to meet them," said the prince. "But tell me,"

he added with studied carelessness as if it had only just occurred

to him, though the question he was about to ask was the chief motive

of his visit, "is it true that the Dowager Empress wants Baron Funke

to be appointed first secretary at Vienna? The baron by all accounts

is a poor creature."

Prince Vasili wished to obtain this post for his son, but others

were trying through the Dowager Empress Marya Fedorovna to secure it

for the baron.

Anna Pavlovna almost closed her eyes to indicate that neither she

nor anyone else had a right to criticize what the Empress desired or

was pleased with.

"Baron Funke has been recommended to the Dowager Empress by her

sister," was all she said, in a dry and mournful tone.

As she named the Empress, Anna Pavlovna's face suddenly assumed an

expression of profound and sincere devotion and respect mingled with

sadness, and this occurred every time she mentioned her illustrious

patroness. She added that Her Majesty had deigned to show Baron

Funke beaucoup d'estime, and again her face clouded over with sadness.

The prince was silent and looked indifferent. But, with the

womanly and courtierlike quickness and tact habitual to her, Anna

Pavlovna wished both to rebuke him (for daring to speak he had done of

a man recommended to the Empress) and at the same time to console him,

so she said:

"Now about your family. Do you know that since your daughter came

out everyone has been enraptured by her? They say she is amazingly

beautiful."

The prince bowed to signify his respect and gratitude.

"I often think," she continued after a short pause, drawing nearer

to the prince and smiling amiably at him as if to show that

political and social topics were ended and the time had come for

intimate conversation--"I often think how unfairly sometimes the

joys of life are distributed. Why has fate given you two such splendid

children? I don't speak of Anatole, your youngest. I don't like

him," she added in a tone admitting of no rejoinder and raising her

eyebrows. "Two such charming children. And really you appreciate

them less than anyone, and so you don't deserve to have them."

And she smiled her ecstatic smile.

"I can't help it," said the prince. "Lavater would have said I

lack the bump of paternity."

"Don't joke; I mean to have a serious talk with you. Do you know I

am dissatisfied with your younger son? Between ourselves" (and her

face assumed its melancholy expression), "he was mentioned at Her

Majesty's and you were pitied...."

The prince answered nothing, but she looked at him significantly,

awaiting a reply. He frowned.

"What would you have me do?" he said at last. "You know I did all

a father could for their education, and they have both turned out

fools. Hippolyte is at least a quiet fool, but Anatole is an active

one. That is the only difference between them." He said this smiling

in a way more natural and animated than usual, so that the wrinkles

round his mouth very clearly revealed something unexpectedly coarse

and unpleasant.

"And why are children born to such men as you? If you were not a

father there would be nothing I could reproach you with," said Anna

Pavlovna, looking up pensively.

"I am your faithful slave and to you alone I can confess that my

children are the bane of my life. It is the cross I have to bear. That

is how I explain it to myself. It can't be helped!"

He said no more, but expressed his resignation to cruel fate by a

gesture. Anna Pavlovna meditated.

"Have you never thought of marrying your prodigal son Anatole?"

she asked. "They say old maids have a mania for matchmaking, and

though I don't feel that weakness in myself as yet, I know a little

person who is very unhappy with her father. She is a relation of

yours, Princess Mary Bolkonskaya."

Prince Vasili did not reply, though, with the quickness of memory

and perception befitting a man of the world, he indicated by a

movement of the head that he was considering this information.

"Do you know," he said at last, evidently unable to check the sad

current of his thoughts, "that Anatole is costing me forty thousand

rubles a year? And," he went on after a pause, "what will it be in

five years, if he goes on like this?" Presently he added: "That's what

we fathers have to put up with.... Is this princess of yours rich?"

"Her father is very rich and stingy. He lives in the country. He

is the well-known Prince Bolkonski who had to retire from the army

under the late Emperor, and was nicknamed 'the King of Prussia.' He is

very clever but eccentric, and a bore. The poor girl is very

unhappy. She has a brother; I think you know him, he married Lise

Meinen lately. He is an aide-de-camp of Kutuzov's and will be here

tonight."

"Listen, dear Annette," said the prince, suddenly taking Anna

Pavlovna's hand and for some reason drawing it downwards. "Arrange

that affair for me and I shall always be your most devoted slave-

slafe with an f, as a village elder of mine writes in his reports.

She is rich and of good family and that's all I want."

And with the familiarity and easy grace peculiar to him, he raised

the maid of honor's hand to his lips, kissed it, and swung it to and

fro as he lay back in his armchair, looking in another direction.

"Attendez," said Anna Pavlovna, reflecting, "I'll speak to Lise,

young Bolkonski's wife, this very evening, and perhaps the thing can

be arranged. It shall be on your family's behalf that I'll start my

apprenticeship as old maid."

CHAPTER II

Anna Pavlovna's drawing room was gradually filling. The highest

Petersburg society was assembled there: people differing widely in age

and character but alike in the social circle to which they belonged.

Prince Vasili's daughter, the beautiful Helene, came to take her

father to the ambassador's entertainment; she wore a ball dress and

her badge as maid of honor. The youthful little Princess

Bolkonskaya, known as la femme la plus seduisante de Petersbourg,* was

also there. She had been married during the previous winter, and being

pregnant did not go to any large gatherings, but only to small

receptions. Prince Vasili's son, Hippolyte, had come with Mortemart,

whom he introduced. The Abbe Morio and many others had also come.

*The most fascinating woman in Petersburg.

To each new arrival Anna Pavlovna said, "You have not yet seen my

aunt," or "You do not know my aunt?" and very gravely conducted him or

her to a little old lady, wearing large bows of ribbon in her cap, who

had come sailing in from another room as soon as the guests began to

arrive; and slowly turning her eyes from the visitor to her aunt, Anna

Pavlovna mentioned each one's name and then left them.

Each visitor performed the ceremony of greeting this old aunt whom

not one of them knew, not one of them wanted to know, and not one of

them cared about; Anna Pavlovna observed these greetings with mournful

and solemn interest and silent approval. The aunt spoke to each of

them in the same words, about their health and her own, and the health

of Her Majesty, "who, thank God, was better today." And each

visitor, though politeness prevented his showing impatience, left

the old woman with a sense of relief at having performed a vexatious

duty and did not return to her the whole evening.

The young Princess Bolkonskaya had brought some work in a

gold-embroidered velvet bag. Her pretty little upper lip, on which a

delicate dark down was just perceptible, was too short for her

teeth, but it lifted all the more sweetly, and was especially charming

when she occasionally drew it down to meet the lower lip. As is always

the case with a thoroughly attractive woman, her defect--the shortness

of her upper lip and her half-open mouth--seemed to be her own special

and peculiar form of beauty. Everyone brightened at the sight of

this pretty young woman, so soon to become a mother, so full of life

and health, and carrying her burden so lightly. Old men and dull

dispirited young ones who looked at her, after being in her company

and talking to her a little while, felt as if they too were

becoming, like her, full of life and health. All who talked to her,

and at each word saw her bright smile and the constant gleam of her

white teeth, thought that they were in a specially amiable mood that

day.

The little princess went round the table with quick, short,

swaying steps, her workbag on her arm, and gaily spreading out her

dress sat down on a sofa near the silver samovar, as if all she was

doing was a pleasure to herself and to all around her. "I have brought

my work," said she in French, displaying her bag and addressing all

present. "Mind, Annette, I hope you have not played a wicked trick

on me," she added, turning to her hostess. "You wrote that it was to

be quite a small reception, and just see how badly I am dressed."

And she spread out her arms to show her short-waisted, lace-trimmed,

dainty gray dress, girdled with a broad ribbon just below the breast.

"Soyez tranquille, Lise, you will always be prettier than anyone

else," replied Anna Pavlovna.

"You know," said the princess in the same tone of voice and still in

French, turning to a general, "my husband is deserting me? He is going

to get himself killed. Tell me what this wretched war is for?" she

added, addressing Prince Vasili, and without waiting for an answer she

turned to speak to his daughter, the beautiful Helene.

"What a delightful woman this little princess is!" said Prince

Vasili to Anna Pavlovna.

One of the next arrivals was a stout, heavily built young man with

close-cropped hair, spectacles, the light-colored breeches fashionable

at that time, a very high ruffle, and a brown dress coat. This stout

young man was an illegitimate son of Count Bezukhov, a well-known

grandee of Catherine's time who now lay dying in Moscow. The young man

had not yet entered either the military or civil service, as he had

only just returned from abroad where he had been educated, and this

was his first appearance in society. Anna Pavlovna greeted him with

the nod she accorded to the lowest hierarchy in her drawing room.

But in spite of this lowest-grade greeting, a look of anxiety and

fear, as at the sight of something too large and unsuited to the

place, came over her face when she saw Pierre enter. Though he was

certainly rather bigger than the other men in the room, her anxiety

could only have reference to the clever though shy, but observant

and natural, expression which distinguished him from everyone else

in that drawing room.

"It is very good of you, Monsieur Pierre, to come and visit a poor

invalid," said Anna Pavlovna, exchanging an alarmed glance with her

aunt as she conducted him to her.

Pierre murmured something unintelligible, and continued to look

round as if in search of something. On his way to the aunt he bowed to

the little princess with a pleased smile, as to an intimate

acquaintance.

Anna Pavlovna's alarm was justified, for Pierre turned away from the

aunt without waiting to hear her speech about Her Majesty's health.

Anna Pavlovna in dismay detained him with the words: "Do you know

the Abbe Morio? He is a most interesting man."

"Yes, I have heard of his scheme for perpetual peace, and it is very

interesting but hardly feasible."

"You think so?" rejoined Anna Pavlovna in order to say something and

get away to attend to her duties as hostess. But Pierre now

committed a reverse act of impoliteness. First he had left a lady

before she had finished speaking to him, and now he continued to speak

to another who wished to get away. With his head bent, and his big

feet spread apart, he began explaining his reasons for thinking the

abbe's plan chimerical.

"We will talk of it later," said Anna Pavlovna with a smile.

And having got rid of this young man who did not know how to behave,

she resumed her duties as hostess and continued to listen and watch,

ready to help at any point where the conversation might happen to

flag. As the foreman of a spinning mill, when he has set the hands

to work, goes round and notices here a spindle that has stopped or

there one that creaks or makes more noise than it should, and

hastens to check the machine or set it in proper motion, so Anna

Pavlovna moved about her drawing room, approaching now a silent, now a

too-noisy group, and by a word or slight rearrangement kept the

conversational machine in steady, proper, and regular motion. But amid

these cares her anxiety about Pierre was evident. She kept an

anxious watch on him when he approached the group round Mortemart to

listen to what was being said there, and again when he passed to

another group whose center was the abbe.

Pierre had been educated abroad, and this reception at Anna

Pavlovna's was the first he had attended in Russia. He knew that all

the intellectual lights of Petersburg were gathered there and, like

a child in a toyshop, did not know which way to look, afraid of

missing any clever conversation that was to be heard. Seeing the

self-confident and refined expression on the faces of those present he

was always expecting to hear something very profound. At last he

came up to Morio. Here the conversation seemed interesting and he

stood waiting for an opportunity to express his own views, as young

people are fond of doing.

CHAPTER III

Anna Pavlovna's reception was in full swing. The spindles hummed

steadily and ceaselessly on all sides. With the exception of the aunt,

beside whom sat only one elderly lady, who with her thin careworn face

was rather out of place in this brilliant society, the whole company

had settled into three groups. One, chiefly masculine, had formed

round the abbe. Another, of young people, was grouped round the

beautiful Princess Helene, Prince Vasili's daughter, and the little

Princess Bolkonskaya, very pretty and rosy, though rather too plump

for her age. The third group was gathered round Mortemart and Anna

Pavlovna.

The vicomte was a nice-looking young man with soft features and

polished manners, who evidently considered himself a celebrity but out

of politeness modestly placed himself at the disposal of the circle in

which he found himself. Anna Pavlovna was obviously serving him up

as a treat to her guests. As a clever maitre d'hotel serves up as a

specially choice delicacy a piece of meat that no one who had seen

it in the kitchen would have cared to eat, so Anna Pavlovna served

up to her guests, first the vicomte and then the abbe, as peculiarly

choice morsels. The group about Mortemart immediately began discussing

the murder of the Duc d'Enghien. The vicomte said that the Duc

d'Enghien had perished by his own magnanimity, and that there were

particular reasons for Buonaparte's hatred of him.

"Ah, yes! Do tell us all about it, Vicomte," said Anna Pavlovna,

with a pleasant feeling that there was something a la Louis XV in

the sound of that sentence: "Contez nous cela, Vicomte."

The vicomte bowed and smiled courteously in token of his willingness

to comply. Anna Pavlovna arranged a group round him, inviting everyone

to listen to his tale.

"The vicomte knew the duc personally," whispered Anna Pavlovna to of

the guests. "The vicomte is a wonderful raconteur," said she to

another. "How evidently he belongs to the best society," said she to a

third; and the vicomte was served up to the company in the choicest

and most advantageous style, like a well-garnished joint of roast beef

on a hot dish.

The vicomte wished to begin his story and gave a subtle smile.

"Come over here, Helene, dear," said Anna Pavlovna to the

beautiful young princess who was sitting some way off, the center of

another group.

The princess smiled. She rose with the same unchanging smile with

which she had first entered the room--the smile of a perfectly

beautiful woman. With a slight rustle of her white dress trimmed

with moss and ivy, with a gleam of white shoulders, glossy hair, and

sparkling diamonds, she passed between the men who made way for her,

not looking at any of them but smiling on all, as if graciously

allowing each the privilege of admiring her beautiful figure and

shapely shoulders, back, and bosom--which in the fashion of those days

were very much exposed--and she seemed to bring the glamour of a

ballroom with her as she moved toward Anna Pavlovna. Helene was so

lovely that not only did she not show any trace of coquetry, but on

the contrary she even appeared shy of her unquestionable and all too

victorious beauty. She seemed to wish, but to be unable, to diminish

its effect.

"How lovely!" said everyone who saw her; and the vicomte lifted

his shoulders and dropped his eyes as if startled by something

extraordinary when she took her seat opposite and beamed upon him also

with her unchanging smile.

"Madame, I doubt my ability before such an audience," said he,

smilingly inclining his head.

The princess rested her bare round arm on a little table and

considered a reply unnecessary. She smilingly waited. All the time the

story was being told she sat upright, glancing now at her beautiful

round arm, altered in shape by its pressure on the table, now at her

still more beautiful bosom, on which she readjusted a diamond

necklace. From time to time she smoothed the folds of her dress, and

whenever the story produced an effect she glanced at Anna Pavlovna, at

once adopted just the expression she saw on the maid of honor's

face, and again relapsed into her radiant smile.

The little princess had also left the tea table and followed Helene.

"Wait a moment, I'll get my work.... Now then, what are you thinking

of?" she went on, turning to Prince Hippolyte. "Fetch me my workbag."

There was a general movement as the princess, smiling and talking

merrily to everyone at once, sat down and gaily arranged herself in

her seat.

"Now I am all right," she said, and asking the vicomte to begin, she

took up her work.

Prince Hippolyte, having brought the workbag, joined the circle

and moving a chair close to hers seated himself beside her.

Le charmant Hippolyte was surprising by his extraordinary

resemblance to his beautiful sister, but yet more by the fact that

in spite of this resemblance he was exceedingly ugly. His features

were like his sister's, but while in her case everything was lit up by

a joyous, self-satisfied, youthful, and constant smile of animation,

and by the wonderful classic beauty of her figure, his face on the

contrary was dulled by imbecility and a constant expression of

sullen self-confidence, while his body was thin and weak. His eyes,

nose, and mouth all seemed puckered into a vacant, wearied grimace,

and his arms and legs always fell into unnatural positions.

"It's not going to be a ghost story?" said he, sitting down beside

the princess and hastily adjusting his lorgnette, as if without this

instrument he could not begin to speak.

"Why no, my dear fellow," said the astonished narrator, shrugging

his shoulders.

"Because I hate ghost stories," said Prince Hippolyte in a tone

which showed that he only understood the meaning of his words after he

had uttered them.

He spoke with such self-confidence that his hearers could not be

sure whether what he said was very witty or very stupid. He was

dressed in a dark-green dress coat, knee breeches of the color of

cuisse de nymphe effrayee, as he called it, shoes, and silk stockings.

The vicomte told his tale very neatly. It was an anecdote, then

current, to the effect that the Duc d'Enghien had gone secretly to

Paris to visit Mademoiselle George; that at her house he came upon

Bonaparte, who also enjoyed the famous actress' favors, and that in

his presence Napoleon happened to fall into one of the fainting fits

to which he was subject, and was thus at the duc's mercy. The latter

spared him, and this magnanimity Bonaparte subsequently repaid by

death.

The story was very pretty and interesting, especially at the point

where the rivals suddenly recognized one another; and the ladies

looked agitated.

"Charming!" said Anna Pavlovna with an inquiring glance at the

little princess.

"Charming!" whispered the little princess, sticking the needle

into her work as if to testify that the interest and fascination of

the story prevented her from going on with it.

The vicomte appreciated this silent praise and smiling gratefully

prepared to continue, but just then Anna Pavlovna, who had kept a

watchful eye on the young man who so alarmed her, noticed that he

was talking too loudly and vehemently with the abbe, so she hurried to

the rescue. Pierre had managed to start a conversation with the abbe

about the balance of power, and the latter, evidently interested by

the young man's simple-minded eagerness, was explaining his pet

theory. Both were talking and listening too eagerly and too naturally,

which was why Anna Pavlovna disapproved.

"The means are... the balance of power in Europe and the rights of

the people," the abbe was saying. "It is only necessary for one

powerful nation like Russia--barbaric as she is said to be--to place

herself disinterestedly at the head of an alliance having for its

object the maintenance of the balance of power of Europe, and it would

save the world!"

"But how are you to get that balance?" Pierre was beginning.

At that moment Anna Pavlovna came up and, looking severely at

Pierre, asked the Italian how he stood Russian climate. The

Italian's face instantly changed and assumed an offensively

affected, sugary expression, evidently habitual to him when conversing

with women.

"I am so enchanted by the brilliancy of the wit and culture of the

society, more especially of the feminine society, in which I have

had the honor of being received, that I have not yet had time to think

of the climate," said he.

Not letting the abbe and Pierre escape, Anna Pavlovna, the more

conveniently to keep them under observation, brought them into the

larger circle.

CHAPTER IV

Just then another visitor entered the drawing room: Prince Andrew

Bolkonski, 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 Pavlovna's hand, and screwing up his eyes scanned

the whole company.

"You are off to the war, Prince?" said Anna Pavlovna.

"General Kutuzov," said Bolkonski, 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?"

"Andre," 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 Vasili 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 Vasili 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 Pavlovna.

His daughter, Princess Helene, 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 Vasili seized Pierre's hand and said to Anna

Pavlovna: "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 Pavlovna smiled and promised to take Pierre in hand. She knew

his father to be a connection of Prince Vasili's. The elderly lady who

had been sitting with the old aunt rose hurriedly and overtook

Prince Vasili in the anteroom. All the affectation of interest she had

assumed had left her kindly and tearworn face and it now expressed

only anxiety and fear.

"How about my son Boris, 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 Vasili 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 Vasili, "but it is difficult for me to ask the Emperor. I

should advise you to appeal to Rumyantsev through Prince Golitsyn.

That would be the best way."

The elderly lady was a Princess Drubetskaya, 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 Vasili that she had

obtained an invitation to Anna Pavlovna's reception and had sat

listening to the vicomte's story. Prince Vasili's words frightened

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

moment; then she smiled again and clutched Prince Vasili'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

Golitsyn 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 Helene, 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 Vasili 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 Drubetskaya'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 Mikhaylovna," 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 Ilarionovich

Kutuzov... recommend Boris to him as adjutant! Then I shall be at

rest, and then..."

Prince Vasili smiled.

"No, I won't promise that. You don't know how Kutuzov 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 Kutuzov, I don't promise."

"Do promise, do promise, Vasili!" cried Anna Mikhaylovna 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.

CHAPTER V

"And what do you think of this latest comedy, the coronation at

Milan?" asked Anna Pavlovna, "and of the comedy of the people of Genoa

and Lucca laying their petitions before Monsieur Buonaparte, and

Monsieur Buonaparte sitting on a throne and granting the petitions

of the nations? Adorable! It is enough to make one's head whirl! It is

as if the whole world had gone crazy."

Prince Andrew looked Anna Pavlovna straight in the face with a

sarcastic smile.

"'Dieu me la donne, gare a qui la touche!'* They say he was very

fine when he said that," he remarked, repeating the words in

Italian: "'Dio mi l'ha dato. Guai a chi la tocchi!'"

*God has given it to me, let him who touches it beware!

"I hope this will prove the last drop that will make the glass run

over," Anna Pavlovna continued. "The sovereigns will not be able to

endure this man who is a menace to everything."

"The sovereigns? I do not speak of Russia," said the vicomte, polite

but hopeless: "The sovereigns, madame... What have they done for Louis

XVII, for the Queen, or for Madame Elizabeth? Nothing!" and he

became more animated. "And believe me, they are reaping the reward

of their betrayal of the Bourbon cause. The sovereigns! Why, they

are sending ambassadors to compliment the usurper."

And sighing disdainfully, he again changed his position.

Prince Hippolyte, who had been gazing at the vicomte for some time

through his lorgnette, suddenly turned completely round toward the

little princess, and having asked for a needle began tracing the Conde

coat of arms on the table. He explained this to her with as much

gravity as if she had asked him to do it.

"Baton de gueules, engrele de gueules d' azur--maison Conde," said

he.

The princess listened, smiling.

"If Buonaparte remains on the throne of France a year longer," the

vicomte continued, with the air of a man who, in a matter with which

he is better acquainted than anyone else, does not listen to others

but follows the current of his own thoughts, "things will have gone

too far. By intrigues, violence, exile, and executions, French

society--I mean good French society--will have been forever destroyed,

and then..."

He shrugged his shoulders and spread out his hands. Pierre wished to

make a remark, for the conversation interested him, but Anna Pavlovna,

who had him under observation, interrupted:

"The Emperor Alexander," said she, with the melancholy which

always accompanied any reference of hers to the Imperial family,

"has declared that he will leave it to the French people themselves to

choose their own form of government; and I believe that once free from

the usurper, the whole nation will certainly throw itself into the

arms of its rightful king," she concluded, trying to be amiable to the

royalist emigrant.

"That is doubtful," said Prince Andrew. "Monsieur le Vicomte quite

rightly supposes that matters have already gone too far. I think it

will be difficult to return to the old regime."

"From what I have heard," said Pierre, blushing and breaking into

the conversation, "almost all the aristocracy has already gone over to

Bonaparte's side."

"It is the Buonapartists who say that," replied the vicomte

without looking at Pierre. "At the present time it is difficult to

know the real state of French public opinion."

"Bonaparte has said so," remarked Prince Andrew with a sarcastic

smile.

It was evident that he did not like the vicomte and was aiming his

remarks at him, though without looking at him.

"'I showed them the path to glory, but they did not follow it,'"

Prince Andrew continued after a short silence, again quoting

Napoleon's words. "'I opened my antechambers and they crowded in.' I

do not know how far he was justified in saying so."

"Not in the least," replied the vicomte. "After the murder of the

duc even the most partial ceased to regard him as a hero. If to some

people," he went on, turning to Anna Pavlovna, "he ever was a hero,

after the murder of the duc there was one martyr more in heaven and

one hero less on earth."

Before Anna Pavlovna and the others had time to smile their

appreciation of the vicomte's epigram, Pierre again broke into the

conversation, and though Anna Pavlovna felt sure he would say

something inappropriate, she was unable to stop him.

"The execution of the Duc d'Enghien," declared Monsieur Pierre, "was

a political necessity, and it seems to me that Napoleon showed

greatness of soul by not fearing to take on himself the whole

responsibility of that deed."

"Dieu! Mon Dieu!" muttered Anna Pavlovna in a terrified whisper.

"What, Monsieur Pierre... Do you consider that assassination shows

greatness of soul?" said the little princess, smiling and drawing

her work nearer to her.

"Oh! Oh!" exclaimed several voices.

"Capital!" said Prince Hippolyte in English, and began slapping

his knee with the palm of his hand.

The vicomte merely shrugged his shoulders. Pierre looked solemnly at

his audience over his spectacles and continued.

"I say so," he continued desperately, "because the Bourbons fled

from the Revolution leaving the people to anarchy, and Napoleon

alone understood the Revolution and quelled it, and so for the general

good, he could not stop short for the sake of one man's life."

"Won't you come over to the other table?" suggested Anna Pavlovna.

But Pierre continued his speech without heeding her.

"No," cried he, becoming more and more eager, "Napoleon is great

because he rose superior to the Revolution, suppressed its abuses,

preserved all that was good in it--equality of citizenship and freedom

of speech and of the press--and only for that reason did he obtain

power."

"Yes, if having obtained power, without availing himself of it to

commit murder he had restored it to the rightful king, I should have

called him a great man," remarked the vicomte.

"He could not do that. The people only gave him power that he

might rid them of the Bourbons and because they saw that he was a

great man. The Revolution was a grand thing!" continued Monsieur

Pierre, betraying by this desperate and provocative proposition his

extreme youth and his wish to express all that was in his mind.

"What? Revolution and regicide a grand thing?... Well, after that...

But won't you come to this other table?" repeated Anna Pavlovna.

"Rousseau's Contrat social," said the vicomte with a tolerant smile.

"I am not speaking of regicide, I am speaking about ideas."

"Yes: ideas of robbery, murder, and regicide," again interjected

an ironical voice.

"Those were extremes, no doubt, but they are not what is most

important. What is important are the rights of man, emancipation

from prejudices, and equality of citizenship, and all these ideas

Napoleon has retained in full force."

"Liberty and equality," said the vicomte contemptuously, as if at

last deciding seriously to prove to this youth how foolish his words

were, "high-sounding words which have long been discredited. Who

does not love liberty and equality? Even our Saviour preached

liberty and equality. Have people since the Revolution become happier?

On the contrary. We wanted liberty, but Buonaparte has destroyed it."

Prince Andrew kept looking with an amused smile from Pierre to the

vicomte and from the vicomte to their hostess. In the first moment

of Pierre's outburst Anna Pavlovna, despite her social experience, was

horror-struck. But when she saw that Pierre's sacrilegious words had

not exasperated the vicomte, and had convinced herself that it was

impossible to stop him, she rallied her forces and joined the

vicomte in a vigorous attack on the orator.

"But, my dear Monsieur Pierre," said she, "how do you explain the

fact of a great man executing a duc--or even an ordinary man who--is

innocent and untried?"

"I should like," said the vicomte, "to ask how monsieur explains the

18th Brumaire; was not that an imposture? It was a swindle, and not at

all like the conduct of a great man!"

"And the prisoners he killed in Africa? That was horrible!" said the

little princess, shrugging her shoulders.

"He's a low fellow, say what you will," remarked Prince Hippolyte.

Pierre, not knowing whom to answer, looked at them all and smiled.

His smile was unlike the half-smile of other people. When he smiled,

his grave, even rather gloomy, look was instantaneously replaced by

another--a childlike, kindly, even rather silly look, which seemed

to ask forgiveness.

The vicomte who was meeting him for the first time saw clearly

that this young Jacobin was not so terrible as his words suggested.

All were silent.

"How do you expect him to answer you all at once?" said Prince

Andrew. "Besides, in the actions of a statesman one has to distinguish

between his acts as a private person, as a general, and as an emperor.

So it seems to me."

"Yes, yes, of course!" Pierre chimed in, pleased at the arrival of

this reinforcement.

"One must admit," continued Prince Andrew, "that Napoleon as a man

was great on the bridge of Arcola, and in the hospital at Jaffa

where he gave his hand to the plague-stricken; but... but there are

other acts which it is difficult to justify."

Prince Andrew, who had evidently wished to tone down the awkwardness

of Pierre's remarks, rose and made a sign to his wife that it was time

to go.

Suddenly Prince Hippolyte started up making signs to everyone to

attend, and asking them all to be seated began:

"I was told a charming Moscow story today and must treat you to

it. Excuse me, Vicomte--I must tell it in Russian or the point will be

lost...." And Prince Hippolyte began to tell his story in such Russian

as a Frenchman would speak after spending about a year in Russia.

Everyone waited, so emphatically and eagerly did he demand their

attention to his story.

"There is in Moscow a lady, une dame, and she is very stingy. She

must have two footmen behind her carriage, and very big ones. That was

her taste. And she had a lady's maid, also big. She said..."

Here Prince Hippolyte paused, evidently collecting his ideas with

difficulty.

"She said... Oh yes! She said, 'Girl,' to the maid, 'put on a

livery, get up behind the carriage, and come with me while I make some

calls.'"

Here Prince Hippolyte spluttered and burst out laughing long

before his audience, which produced an effect unfavorable to the

narrator. Several persons, among them the elderly lady and Anna

Pavlovna, did however smile.

"She went. Suddenly there was a great wind. The girl lost her hat

and her long hair came down...." Here he could contain himself no

longer and went on, between gasps of laughter: "And the whole world

knew...."

And so the anecdote ended. Though it was unintelligible why he had

told it, or why it had to be told in Russian, still Anna Pavlovna

and the others appreciated Prince Hippolyte's social tact in so

agreeably ending Pierre's unpleasant and unamiable outburst. After the

anecdote the conversation broke up into insignificant small talk about

the last and next balls, about theatricals, and who would meet whom,

and when and where.

CHAPTER VI

Having thanked Anna Pavlovna for her charming soiree, the guests

began to take their leave.

Pierre was ungainly. Stout, about the average height, broad, with

huge red hands; he did not know, as the saying is, how to enter a

drawing room and still less how to leave one; that is, how to say

something particularly agreeable before going away. Besides this he

was absent-minded. When he rose to go, he took up instead of his

own, the general's three-cornered hat, and held it, pulling at the

plume, till the general asked him to restore it. All his

absent-mindedness and inability to enter a room and converse in it

was, however, redeemed by his kindly, simple, and modest expression.

Anna Pavlovna turned toward him and, with a Christian mildness that

expressed forgiveness of his indiscretion, nodded and said: "I hope to

see you again, but I also hope you will change your opinions, my

dear Monsieur Pierre."

When she said this, he did not reply and only bowed, but again

everybody saw his smile, which said nothing, unless perhaps, "Opinions

are opinions, but you see what a capital, good-natured fellow I am."

And everyone, including Anna Pavlovna, felt this.

Prince Andrew had gone out into the hall, and, turning his shoulders

to the footman who was helping him on with his cloak, listened

indifferently to his wife's chatter with Prince Hippolyte who had also

come into the hall. Prince Hippolyte stood close to the pretty,

pregnant princess, and stared fixedly at her through his eyeglass.

"Go in, Annette, or you will catch cold," said the little

princess, taking leave of Anna Pavlovna. "It is settled," she added in

a low voice.

Anna Pavlovna had already managed to speak to Lise about the match

she contemplated between Anatole and the little princess'

sister-in-law.

"I rely on you, my dear," said Anna Pavlovna, also in a low tone.

"Write to her and let me know how her father looks at the matter. Au

revoir!"--and she left the hall.

Prince Hippolyte approached the little princess and, bending his

face close to her, began to whisper something.

Two footmen, the princess' and his own, stood holding a shawl and

a cloak, waiting for the conversation to finish. They listened to

the French sentences which to them were meaningless, with an air of

understanding but not wishing to appear to do so. The princess as

usual spoke smilingly and listened with a laugh.

"I am very glad I did not go to the ambassador's," said Prince

Hippolyte "-so dull-. It has been a delightful evening, has it not?

Delightful!"

"They say the ball will be very good," replied the princess, drawing

up her downy little lip. "All the pretty women in society will be

there."

"Not all, for you will not be there; not all," said Prince Hippolyte

smiling joyfully; and snatching the shawl from the footman, whom he

even pushed aside, he began wrapping it round the princess. Either

from awkwardness or intentionally (no one could have said which) after

the shawl had been adjusted he kept his arm around her for a long

time, as though embracing her.

Still smiling, she gracefully moved away, turning and glancing at

her husband. Prince Andrew's eyes were closed, so weary and sleepy did

he seem.

"Are you ready?" he asked his wife, looking past her.

Prince Hippolyte hurriedly put on his cloak, which in the latest

fashion reached to his very heels, and, stumbling in it, ran out

into the porch following the princess, whom a footman was helping into

the carriage.

"Princesse, au revoir," cried he, stumbling with his tongue as

well as with his feet.

The princess, picking up her dress, was taking her seat in the

dark carriage, her husband was adjusting his saber; Prince

Hippolyte, under pretense of helping, was in everyone's way.

"Allow me, sir," said Prince Andrew in Russian in a cold,

disagreeable tone to Prince Hippolyte who was blocking his path.

"I am expecting you, Pierre," said the same voice, but gently and

affectionately.

The postilion started, the carriage wheels rattled. Prince Hippolyte

laughed spasmodically as he stood in the porch waiting for the vicomte

whom he had promised to take home.

"Well, mon cher," said the vicomte, having seated himself beside

Hippolyte in the carriage, "your little princess is very nice, very

nice indeed, quite French," and he kissed the tips of his fingers.

Hippolyte burst out laughing.

"Do you

Date: 2015-01-29; view: 491