War and Peace

particular reasons for Buonaparte’s hatred of him.
‘Ah, yes! Do tell us all about it, Vicomte,’ said Anna Pav-
lovna, 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 ra-
conteur,’ 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 advan-
tageous 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 roomthe 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 allow-
ing each the privilege of admiring her beautiful figure and 
shapely shoulders, back, and bosomwhich in the fashion of 

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those days were very much exposedand 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, glanc-
ing 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 

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20
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 extraor-
dinary resemblance to his beautiful sister, but yet more by 
the fact that in spite of this resemblance he was exceed-
ingly 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 won-
derful classic beauty of her figure, his face on the contrary 
was dulled by imbecility and a constant expression of sul-
len 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 un-
natural 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 

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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 fa-
mous 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 fas-
cination 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 Pavlov-
na, who had kept a watchful eye on the young man who so 
alarmed her, noticed that he was talking too loudly and ve-
hemently 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 

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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 neces-
sary for one powerful nation like Russiabarbaric as she is 
said to beto 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 begin-
ning.
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 habitu-
al to him when conversing with women.
‘I am so enchanted by the brilliancy of the wit and cul-
ture 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.

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Chapter IV
Just them 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 evi-
dent 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 compa-
ny.
‘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 French-
man, ‘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, 

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‘the vicomte has been telling us such a tale about Mademoi-
selle 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 pleas-
ant 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 Vasi-
li 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