War and Peace - Leo Tolstoy [14]
“Mais non, mon cher,”†40 the surprised storyteller said, shrugging his shoulders.
“C’est que je déteste les histoires des revenants,”‡41 said Prince Ippolit in such a tone that it was clear he had said these words and only then understood what they meant.
Because of the self-assurance with which he spoke, no one could make out whether what he had said was very clever or very stupid. He was wearing a dark green tailcoat, trousers the color of cuisse de nymphe effrayée,§42 as he said himself, stockings and shoes.
The vicomte told very nicely the then current anecdote that the duc d’Enghien had secretly gone to Paris to meet with Mlle George, and that there he had met Bonaparte, who also enjoyed the famous actress’s favors, and that there, having met the duke, Napoleon happened to fall into one of those faints he was prone to and found himself in the duke’s power, which the duke did not take advantage of, and that Bonaparte afterwards revenged himself for this magnanimity with the duke’s death.
The story was very nice and interesting, especially the moment when the rivals suddenly recognized each other, and the ladies, it seemed, were stirred.
“Charmant,” said Anna Pavlovna, looking questioningly at the little princess.
“Charmant,” whispered the little princess, sticking the needle into her work as if to signify that the interest and charm of the story kept her from going on working.
The viscount appreciated this silent praise and, smiling gratefully, began to go on; but at that moment Anna Pavlovna, who kept glancing at the young man she found so frightening, noticed that his conversation with the abbé was much too loud and vehement, and she rushed to the rescue at the place of danger. Indeed, Pierre had managed to strike up a conversation with the abbé about political balance, and the abbé, obviously intrigued by the young man’s simplehearted vehemence, was developing his favorite idea before him. The two men listened and talked too animatedly and naturally, and it was this that Anna Pavlovna did not like.
“The means are European balance and the droit des gens,”*43 the abbé was saying. “Let a powerful state like Russia, famous for its barbarism, stand disinterestedly at the head of a union having as its purpose the balance of Europe—and it will save the world!”
“How are you going to find such balance?” Pierre began; but just then Anna Pavlovna came over and, with a stern glance at Pierre, asked the Italian how he was taking the local climate. The Italian’s face suddenly changed and acquired an insultingly false sweetness of expression, which was probably habitual with him in conversations with women.
“I’m so enchanted with the charms of the intelligence and cultivation of society, especially the women’s, where I have had the happiness to be received, that I have not yet had time to think about the climate,” he said.
Not letting go of the abbé and Pierre, Anna Pavlovna, the better to keep an eye on them, joined them to the general circle.
Just then a new person entered the drawing room. This new person was the young Prince Andrei Bolkonsky, the little princess’s husband. Prince Bolkonsky was of medium height, a rather handsome young man with well-defined and dry features. Everything in his figure, from his weary, bored gaze to his quiet, measured gait, presented the sharpest contrast with his small, lively wife. Obviously, he not only knew everyone in the drawing room, but was also so sick of them that it was very boring for him to look at them and listen to them. Of all the faces he found so boring, the face of his pretty wife seemed to be the one he was most sick of. With a grimace that spoiled his handsome face, he turned away from her. He kissed Anna Pavlovna’s hand and, narrowing his eyes, looked around at the whole company.
“Vous vous enrôlez pour la guerre, mon prince?”†44 said Anna Pavlovna.
“Le général Koutouzoff,” said Bolkonsky, emphasizing the last syllable, zoff, like a Frenchman,