War and Peace: Original Version. Лев Толстой

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      “You intend to go to the war, prince?” said Anna Pavlovna.

      “General Kutuzóv,” he said, stressing the final syllable, zóff, like a Frenchman, and removing a glove from a perfectly white, tiny hand with which he rubbed his eye, “General-in-Chief Kutuzóv has asked me to be his adjutant.”

      “But what about Lise, your wife?”

      “She will go to the country.”

      “And are you not ashamed to deprive us of your delightful wife?”

      The young adjutant puffed out his lips to make a derisive sound of the kind that only the French make, but said nothing.

      “André,” said his wife, addressing her husband in the same flirtatious tone in which she addressed strangers, “do come here and sit down and listen to the story the vicomte is telling us about Mademoiselle Georges and Buonaparte.”

      Andrei narrowed his eyes and sat down as far away as possible, as though he had not heard his wife.

      “Pray continue, vicomte,” said Anna Pavlovna. “The vicomte was telling us how the Duc d’Enghien visited Mademoiselle Georges,” she added, addressing the new arrival, so that he could follow the continuation of the story.

      “The purported rivalry between Buonaparte and the duke over Mademoiselle Georges,” said Prince Andrei in a tone suggesting it was absurd for anyone not to know about that, and he slumped against the armrest of his chair. At this point the young man in spectacles named Monsieur Pierre, who had not taken his delighted, affectionate gaze off Prince Andrei from the moment he entered the drawing room, approached him and grasped him by the arm. Prince Andrei was so incurious that, without even glancing round, he twisted his face into a grimace that expressed annoyance with whoever was touching his epaulette, but on seeing Pierre’s smiling face, Prince Andrei also broke into a smile, and suddenly his entire face was transformed by the kind and intelligent expression that suffused it.

      “What’s this? You here, my dear Horse Guard?” the prince asked with delight, but also with a slightly patronising and supercilious inflection.

      “I knew that you would be,” replied Pierre. “I’ll come to you for supper,” he added quietly, in order not to disturb the vicomte, who was continuing with his story. “May I?”

      “No, you may not,” said Prince Andrei, laughing and turning away, but letting Pierre know with a gentle squeeze of his hand that he need not have asked.

      The vicomte was telling them that Mademoiselle Georges had implored the duke to hide, that the duke had said he had never hidden from anyone, and that Mademoiselle Georges had said to him, “Your highness, your sword belongs to the King and to France” and that the duke had after all hidden himself under the laundry in the next room, and that when Napoleon had become unwell, the duke had emerged from under the laundry and seen Buonaparte there before him.

      “Charming, quite exquisite!” said a voice among the listeners.

      Even Anna Pavlovna, having observed that the most difficult part of the tale had been negotiated successfully, calmed down and was quite able to enjoy the story. The vicomte warmed to his task and, rolling his r’s powerfully, declaimed with the animation of an actor …

      “The enemy of his house, the usurper of the throne, the man who stood at the head of his nation, was here, before him, prostrate and motionless on the ground and perhaps at his last gasp. As the great Corneille said: ‘Malicious glee surged in his breast and outraged majesty alone helped him repel it.’”

      The vicomte stopped and, as he prepared to proceed with his story with still greater verve, he smiled, as though reassuring the ladies, who were already over-excited. Quite without warning during this pause, the beautiful Princess Hélène looked at her watch, exchanged glances with her father, and the two of them suddenly stood up, their movements disturbing the circle and interrupting the story.

      “We shall be late, papa,” she said simply, all the while beaming her smile at everyone.

      “Do forgive me, my dear vicomte,” said Prince Vasily to the Frenchman, affectionately tugging him down by the sleeve to prevent him rising from his seat. “These wretched festivities of the ambassador’s deprive me of my pleasure and interrupt you.”

      “So awfully sorry to forsake your exquisite soirée,” he said to Anna Pavlovna.

      His daughter, Princess Hélène, began making her way between the chairs, gently restraining the folds of her gown, with the smile on her lovely face beaming ever more radiantly.

      V

      Anna Pavlovna requested the vicomte to wait while she showed Prince Vasily and his daughter out through the next room. The elderly lady who had previously been sitting with the aunt and had then so foolishly expressed her interest in the vicomte’s story, hastily rose to her feet and followed Prince Vasily to the entrance hall.

      The former pretence of interest had completely vanished from her face. That kind, tearful face now expressed only anxiety and fear.

      “What can you tell me, prince, about my Boris?” she said, as she caught up with him in the hallway (she pronounced the name Boris with a distinctive stress on the “o”). “I cannot stay here in St. Petersburg any longer. Tell me, what news can I bring my poor boy?”

      Although Prince Vasily listened to the elderly lady unwillingly, almost impolitely, and even showed his impatience, she smiled at him affectionately and imploringly, and to prevent him leaving took him by the arm.

      “What trouble would it be for you to have a word with His Majesty, and he would be directly transferred to the Guards,” she pleaded.

      “Believe me, I will do all that I can, princess,” replied Prince Vasily, “but it is difficult for me to ask His Majesty; I would advise you to appeal to Razumovsky through Prince Golitsyn, that would be wiser.”

      The elderly lady bore the name of Drubetskaya, one of the finest family names in Russia, but she was poor and, having long since withdrawn from society, she had forfeited her former connections. She had come here now solely to obtain an appointment to the Guards for her only son. It was only in order to see Prince Vasily that she had had herself invited to Anna Pavlovna’s soirée, and it was only for that reason that she had sat listening to the vicomte’s story. She was alarmed at Prince Vasily’s words; her once-beautiful face expressed, for a moment, something close to disdain. She smiled again and clutched Prince Vasily’s arm more tightly.

      “Listen, prince,” she said, “I have never once petitioned you for anything and I never will, and I have never once reminded you of my father’s friendship towards you. But now I entreat you in God’s name, do this for my son and I shall regard you as my benefactor,” she added hastily. “No, do not be angry, but promise me. I have asked Golitsyn and he refused. Be the same good fellow you always were,” she said, trying to smile, despite the tears in her eyes.

      “Papa, we shall be late,” said Princess Hélène, turning her beautiful head on her classical shoulders as she waited by the door.

      Influence in society is capital which, if it is not to diminish, must be protected. Prince Vasily knew this and, realising that СКАЧАТЬ