This is the LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recorded by Reiner. War and Peace by Leo Tolstoy. Translated by Louise and Alma Maud. Book 1, Chapter 1. Well, Prince, so Genoa and Luca are now just family estates of the Bonaparte.   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 a well-known Anna Pavlovna Scherer, made of honor and the favorite of the Empress Maria Fyodorovna. With these words she greeted Prince Vasily 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 Grip, Grip being then a new word in St. Petersburg, only used by the elite. All her invitations, without exception written in French and delivered by a scarlet-livered footman, that morning, ran as follows. If you have nothing better to do, count or print, 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 seven and ten. Annette Scherer. Heavens, what a virulent attack! replied the Prince. Not in the least is concerted by this reception. He had just entered, wearing an embroidered court uniform, knee-breaches 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 was a 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 bold, 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. He said, without altering his tone, beneath his 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 feelings? said Anna Pavlovna. You are staying the whole evening, I hope. And the feet at the English ambassadors? 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 feet had been cancelled. I confess, all these festivities and fireworks are becoming very some. 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 Navasiltia'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 Bonaparte has burned 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 Cher, on the contrary, despite her forty years overflowed with animation and impulsiveness. To be an enthusiast has become her social vocation and sometimes even when she did not feel like it she became enthusiastic in order not to disappoint the expectation 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 not consider 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 noble stroll on earth and he is so worthy as a 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 and 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 in soul. She has refused to evacuate Malta. She wanted to find and still seeks some secret motive in our actions. What answer did Nova Ziltjev 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 Bonaparte is invincible and that all Europe is powerless before him. And I don't believe a word that Hardenburg says or Hogwarts either. This famous Prussian neutrality is just a trap. I have faced 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 that the Prince was a smile. That if you have been sent instead of our dear Winzigeroth 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. Apropos, she added, becoming calm again. I am expecting two very interesting men tonight. They become de Mortemar who is connected with the Montmorensis through the Rohans one of the best French families. He is one of the genuine emigres, the good ones and also the Abbe-Maurio. Do you know the 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 a studded 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 Dovanger Empress warns Baron Funke to be appointed first secretary at Vienna? The Baron, by all accounts, is a poor creature. Prince Vassili wished to obtain this post for his son but others were trying through the Dovanger Empress Maria Ferdiorovna 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 had been recommended to the Dovanger 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 designed to show Baron Funke Buke called his team and again her face clouded over with sadness. The Prince was silent and looked indifferent but with a womanly and courteous like quickness and tact habitual to her Anna Pavlovna wished both to rebuke him for daring to speak he had done and 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's 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 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 Anatol, 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. Lavata 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 majesties 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.  Hippolyt is at least a quiet fool but Anatole is an active one. That's 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 uppensively.  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 mates 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's a relation of yours. Princess Marie Bolonskaya 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 40.000 rubles a year and he went on after a pause. What will 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's a well-known Prince Bolonsky 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 Lisa Mainen lately. He's an Ada camp of Kutuzovs 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. Slave was 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 honour's hand to his lips, kissed it and swung it to and fro as he lay back in his armchair looking in another direction. Attend this, said Anna Pavlovna, reflecting. I'll speak to Lisa, young Walonsky'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 Vasilie's daughter, the beautiful Helena, came to take her father to the ambassador's entertainment. She wore a bald dress and her badge was made of honour. The youthful little Princess Balkanskaya, known as La Femme La Plusse-Douisson de Petersburg, the most fascinating woman in Petersburg, 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 Vasilie's son, Hippolyta, had come with mortemart, whom he introduced. The Abe Morio and others had also come. 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 Balkanskaya 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 for 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 work-bag 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, she said in French, displaying her bag and a dressing all present. Mind a net, I hope you have not played a wicked trick on me," she added, turning to her hostess.  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, Lisa. 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 Vasily, and without waiting for an answer she turned to speak to his daughter, the beautiful Helena.  One of the next arrivals was a stout, heavily built young man with close-crop 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 Bezhikov, 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 she 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 and 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 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. She knew that all the intellectual lights of Petersburg were gathered there, and, like a child in a toy shop, didn't 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. End of Chapter 2 War and Peace by Leo Tolstoy translated by Almer and Louise Maud Book 1, Chapter 3 Read for LibriVox by Nomenphile 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, care-worn 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 abbey. Another, of young people, was grouped round the beautiful Princess Helen, Prince Vasily's daughter, and the little princess Bulkonskaya, very pretty and rosy, though rather too plump for her age. The third group was gathered round Montmartre and Anna Pavlovna. The Vekont 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 maître de hotel serves up as a specially-choiced 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 Vekont and then the abbey, as particularly choice morsels. The group about Montmartre immediately began discussing the murder of the Duke de Aguilne. The Vekont said that the Duke de Aguilne had perished by his own magnanimity, and there were particular reasons for Bonaparte's hatred of him. Ah, yes, do tell us all about it, Vekont, said Anna Pavlovna, with a pleasant feeling that there was something à la Louis XV in the sound of that sentence. Contes-nos-se-la, Vekont? The Vekont bowed and smiled courteously in token of his willingness to comply. Anna Pavlovna arranged the group around him, inviting everyone to his tale. The Vekont knew the Duke personally, whispered Anna Pavlovna to one of her guests. The Vekont is a wonderful raconteur, said she to another. How evidently he belongs to the best society, she said to a third. And the Vekont 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 Vekont wished to begin his story and gave a subtle smile. Come over here, Helendir, 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 the slightest rustle of her white dress trimmed with moss and ivy, with a gleam of her 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 the ballroom with her as she moved toward Anna Pavlovna. Helendir loved 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, everyone said who saw her, and the Vekont 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. Madam, I doubt my ability before such an audience, he said, smiling and inclining his head. The princess rested her bare, round arm on a little table and considered her 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 its 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 Annapovlovna at once adopted just the expression she saw on the maid of honour's face and again relapsed into her radiant smile. The little princess had also left the tea table and followed Helen. Wait a moment, I'll get my work. Now then what are you thinking of, she went on turning to Prince Hippolyte. Fetch my work bag. There was a general movement as the princess smiling and talking merrily to everyone at once sat down and gaily arranged herself in the seat. Now I am all right, she said, and asking the vicante to begin she took up her work. Prince Hippolyte, having brought the work bag joined the circle and moving a chair close to hers seated off beside her. Lecharmah 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 soul and 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, he said, sitting down beside the princess and hastily adjusting his lornette as if without this instrument he could speak. Why, no, my dear fellow, said the astonished narrator, shrugging his shoulders. Because I hate ghost stories, said Prince Ippolite, 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-bridges of the color of quiche-de-nif efferé, as he called it, shoes and silk stockings. The vicant told his tale very neatly. It was an anecdote then current to the effect that the Duc de Aguilne had gone secretly to Paris to visit Manmousel Georges, that at her house he came upon Bonaparte, who also enjoyed the famous actress's favors, and that in his presence Napoleon happened to fall into one of the fainting fits of the project, 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 as if to testify that the interest and fascination of the story prevented her from going on with it. The vicant 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 abbaye, so she hurried to the rescue. Pierre had managed to start a conversation 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 abbaye was saying. It is only necessary for one powerful nation like Russia, to have, disinterestedly, at the head of an alliance, having for its object the maintenance of the balance of power in Europe, and it would save the world. But how are you to get such a balance? Pierre was beginning at the moment Anna Pavlovna came up and, looking severely at Pierre, asked the Italian how he stood the Russian climate. The Italian's face instantly changed and assumed an offensively affected and utterly 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 the honour of being received that I have not yet have time to think of the climate, he said. Not letting the abbaye and Pierre escape, Anna Pavlovna, the more conveniently to keep them under observation, brought them into the larger circle. War and Peace by Leo Tolstoy. Translated by Almer and Louise Maud. Book 1, Chapter 4. Read for LibriVox by Nomanphile. Just then, another visitor entered the drawing room. Prince Andrew Balkonsky, the little princess's husband. He was a very handsome young man of medium height, with firm, clear-cut features. Everything about him, from fury, bored expression, to his quiet measured step, offered the most striking contrast to his 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 Annapavlovna's hand, and screwing up his eyes scanned the whole company. You are off to the war, Prince? said Annapavlovna. General Kutuzov, said Balkonsky, speaking French and stressing the last syllable of the general's name, like a Frenchman, has been pleased to take me as his aide to camp. And Lisa, your wife? She will go to the country. Are you not ashamed to deprive a charming wife? Andrei, said his wife, addressing her husband in the same coquettish manner in which she spoke to other men. The Vekont has been telling us such a tale about man was El Georges and Bonaparte.  Pierre, who from the moment Prince Andrew had entered the room, had watched him with glad, affectionate eyes, now came up and took his arm. Andrei 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, he said 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 Vekont, who was angry. 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 Vassily and his daughter got up to go, and the two young men rose to let them pass. You must excuse me, my dear Vekont, said Prince Vassily to the Frenchman, holding him down by the sleeve in a friendly way. I am very sorry to leave your charming party, he said to Anna Pavlovna. His daughter, Princess Helen, passed between the chairs, lightly holding up the folds of her dress, and the smile shown 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 lovely, said Pierre. In passing Prince Vassily seized Pierre's hand, and said to Anna Pavlovna, educate this bear for me. He has been staying with me for 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 Prince Vassily's. The elderly lady who had been sitting with the old aunt rose hurriedly and overtook Prince Vassily in the anti-room. All the affectation of interest she had assumed had left her kindly and tear-worn face, and it now expressed only anxiety and fear. How about my son Boris, Prince? She said, hurrying after him into the anti-room. I can't remain any longer in Petersburg. Tell me what news Prince Vassily had.  What would it cost you to say a word to the Emperor, and then he would be transferred to the guards at once? She said. Believe me, Princess, I am ready to do all I can. But it's difficult for me to ask the Emperor. I would advise you to appeal to Remyansiv through Prince Golitsyn. That would be the best way. The elderly lady was Princess Drebetskaya, 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 Vasily that she had obtained an invitation to Anna Pavlovna's reception, and had sat listening to the Vekont's story. Prince Vasily's words frightened her, an embittered look clouded her once-handsome face, but only for a moment. Then she smiled again, and clutched Prince Vasily's arm more tightly. Listen to me, Prince, she said. I have never asked you for anything, and I never will again. Nor have I ever reminded you of your friendship for you. But now I entreat you for God's sake. Do this for my son, and I shall always regard you as a benefactor." She added hurriedly. No, do not be angry, but promise. I have asked Gulitsin, and he has refused. Be the kind-hearted man you always were, she said, trying to smile through the tears that were in her eyes. Papa, we shall be late. Said Princess Helene, turning her beautiful head and looking over her classically 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 Vasily knew this, and, having once realized that if he asked on behalf of all who begged him, he would soon be unable to ask for himself, he became wary of using his influence. But in Princess Trubetskaya'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 of 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 duration moved him. My dear Anna Michelovna, he said, 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.   Wait, just a word. When he has been transferred to the guards, she faltered, you are on good terms with Mikhail Ilarionovich Kutuzov. Recommend Boris to him as an agitant. Then I shall be at rest, and then Prince Vasily smiled. No, I won't promise that. You don't know how Kutuzov is pressed since his appointment as commander in chief. He told me himself that all the Moscow ladies have conspired to give him their sons No, but 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, Auvois, goodbye, you hear her. Then tomorrow you will speak to the emperor? Certainly, but about Kutuzov I don't promise. Do promise, do promise Vasily, cried enemy Helovna as he went with a smile of a coquettish girl which at one time probably came naturally to her, but was now very ill-suited to her care-worn 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 Vekont was still talking and again pretended to listen while waiting till it would be time to leave. Her task was accomplished. End of Chapter 4 War and Peace by Leo Tolstoy Translated by Elmer and Louise Maud Book 1, Chapter 5 Read for LibriVox by Nomenphile And what do you think of this latest comedy, The Coronation at Milan, asked Anna Pavlovna, and the comedy of the people of Genoa and Luca laying their petitions before Montser Bonaparte and Montser Bonaparte sitting on a throne and granting petitions of the nations. Adorable. It's enough to make one's head whirl. It's as if the whole world had gone crazy. Prince Andrew looked Anna Pavlovna straight in the face with a sarcastic smile. Dio me la donne Garei a chi la tocce. They say he was very fine when he said that, he remarked. Repeating the words in Italian Dio me la dato Quai a chi la tocce. 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. Sovereigns. I do not speak of Russia, said the vicant, polite but hopeless. The sovereigns, madame, what have they done for Louis the 15th? For the queen. 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 changed his position. Principaleet, who had been gazing at the vicant for some time through his larnette, suddenly turned completely round for a needle, began tracing the Condé coat of arms on the table. He explained this to her with as much gravity as if she had asked him to do it. Bouton de Goules. Engrel de Goules de Asur. My son, Condé, he said. The princess listened, smiling. If Bonaparte remains on the throne of France a year longer, the vicant 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 currents 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 his hands. Pierre wished to make a remark for the conversation interested him, but Anne-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 the royalist immigrant. That's doubtful, said Prince Andrew. Once here the vicont 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 of the aristocracy has already gone over to Bonaparte's side. It is the Bonapartists who say that, they have already applied the vicont 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 vicont, 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 anti-chambers, and they crowded in. I do not know how far he was justified in saying so. Not in the least, replied the vicont. After the murder of the Duke, even the most partial ceased to regard him as a hero. If to some people he went on, turning to Anna Pavlovna, he was ever a hero. After the murder of the Duke 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 vicont'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 Duke Diagin, declared Muncer Pierre, was politically necessary, and it seems to me that Napoleon showed greatness of soul by not fearing to take on himself the whole responsibility of the deed. Tieu, mon Dieu, muttered Anna Pavlovna in a terrified whisper. What, Muncer Pierre? Do you consider that assassination shows greatness of soul? said the little princess, smiling and drawing her work closer to her. Oh, oh! exclaimed several voices. Capital, said Principaleet in English, and began slapping his knee with the palm of his hand. The vicont 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 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, he cried, 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, and 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 vicont. 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 Montseur 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 over to the other table? repeated Anna Pavlovna. Rousseau's social contract said the vicont with a tolerant smile. I'm not speaking of Regicide, I'm speaking about ideas. Yes, ideas ideas of robbery, murder and Regicide. Interjected an ironical voice. Those were extremes, no doubt. But they are not what is important. What is important is 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 vicont contemptuously as if at last deciding seriously to prove to this youth how foolish his words were. High sounding words that have long been discredited. Who does not love liberty and equality? Even our saviour preached liberty and equality. Have people since the revolution been happier? On the contrary. We wanted liberty, but Bonaparte has destroyed it. Prince Andrew kept looking with an amused smile from Pierre to the vicont and from the vicont 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 did not exasperate the vicont and had convinced herself that it was impossible to stop him, she rallied her forces and joined the vicont in a vigorous attack on the orator. But my dear Montsour Pierre she said how do you explain the fact of a great man executing a duke an ordinary man who is innocent and untried? I should like said the vicont to ask how Montsour explains the 18th Brumaire. Was not that an imposture? It was a swindle. And not at all like the conduct of a great man.  He's a low fellow say what you will as he believed. 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 rather gloomy look was instantaneously replaced by another a childlike, kindly even rather silly look which seemed to ask forgiveness. The vicont 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 Angola and in the hospital at Jaffa where he gave his hand to the plague-stricken. 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 Ippolite started up making signs to everyone to attend and asking them all to be seated. I was told a charming Moscow story today and must treat you to it. Excuse me, Vikant, I must tell it in Russian or the point will be lost. And Prince Ippolite began to tell his story in such Russian as a Frenchman would speak after spending a year in Russia. Everyone waited so emphatically and eagerly did he demand their attention to his story. There is in Moscow a lady, Undam 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 Ippolite 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 Ippolite 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 Anapavlovna 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 not contain himself any 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, Anapavlovna and the others appreciated Prince Ippolite's social tact in so agreeably ending Pierre's unpleasant and unamiable outburst. After the anecdote, conversation broke up into insignificant small talk about the last and next balls, about theatricals and who would meet whom and when and where. End of Chapter 5 War and Peace Book 1, Chapter 6 Read for LibriVox.org by Stuart Wills Having thanked Anapavlovna 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 its plume until the General asked him to restore it. All this absent-mindedness and inability to enter a room and converse in it was, however redeemed by his kindly, simple and modest expression. Anapavlovna turned toward him and, with a Christian mildness that expressed forgiveness of his indiscretion, nodded and said, I hope to see you again, but 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 Anapavlovna 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 Hippolyta who had also come into the hall. Prince Hippolyta 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 Anapavlovna. It is settled, she added, in a low voice. Anapavlovna had already managed to speak to Lisa about the match she contemplated between Anatole and the little princess's sister-in-law. I will rely on you, my dear, said Anapavlovna, 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 Hippolyta approached the little princess and, bending his face close to her, began to whisper something. Two footmen, the princesses and his own, stood holding a shawl and a cloak waiting for the conversation to finish. They listened to the French sentences 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 ambassadors, said Prince Hippolyta. 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 Hippolyta, smiling joyfully, and snatching the shawl from the footmen, 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 Hippolyta 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. Princess, 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 sabre, Prince Hippolyta, under the pretense of helping, was in everyone's way. Allow me, sir, said Prince Andrew in Russian in a cold, disagreeable tone with Hippolyta, who was blocking his path. I am expecting you, Pierre, he said the same voice, but gently and affectionately. The postelion started, the carriage wheels rattled. Prince Hippolyta laughed spasmodically as he stood in the porch waiting for the vicombe, who he had promised to take home. Well, mon cher, said the vicombe, having seated himself beside Hippolyta in the carriage, your little princess is very nice, very nice indeed, quite French, and he kissed the tips of his fingers. Hippolyta burst out laughing.  I pity the poor husband, that little officer who gives himself the heirs of a monarch. Hippolyta spluttered again, and amid his laughter said, and you were saying that the ladies are not equal to the French, one has to know how to deal with them. Pierre, reaching the house first, went into Prince Andrew's study like one quite at home, and from habit immediately lay down on the sofa. Took from the shelf the first book that came to his hand, it was Caesar's commentaries, and resting on his elbow began reading it in the middle. What have you done to Mademoiselle Sherer?  Pierre turned his whole body, making the sofa creak. He lifted his eager face to Prince Andrew's smiled and waved his hands. That abbey is very interesting, but he does not see the thing in the right light. In my opinion perpetual peace is possible, but I do not know how to express it, not by a balance of political power. It was evident that Prince Andrew was not interested in such abstract conversation. One can't everywhere say all one thinks more Cher. Well, have you at last decided on anything? Are you going to be a guardsman or a diplomatist? asked Prince Andrew after a momentary silence. Pierre sat up on the sofa, with his legs tucked under him. Really I don't yet know. I don't like either one or the other. But you must decide on something. Your father expects it. Pierre at the age of ten had been sent abroad with an abbey as tutor, and had remained away till he was twenty. When he returned to Moscow, his father dismissed the abbey and said to the young man, now go to Petersburg, look around, and choose your profession. I will agree to anything. Here is a letter to Prince Vasily and here is money. I will help you in everything. Pierre had already been choosing a career for three months and had not decided on anything. It was about this choice that Prince Andrew was speaking. Pierre rubbed his forehead. But he must be a freemason, said he referring to the abbey whom he had met that evening. That is all nonsense. Prince Andrew again interrupted him. Let us talk business. Have you been to the horse-guards? I have not. But this is what I have been thinking and wanted to tell you. There is a war now against Napoleon. If it were a war for freedom I could understand it and should be the first to enter the army. But to help England and Austria against the greatest man in the world is not right. Prince Andrew only shrugged his shoulders at Pierre's childish words. He put on the air of one who finds it impossible to reply to such nonsense. It is impossible to give any other answer than the one Prince Andrew gave to this naive question. If no one fought except on his own conviction there would be no wars, he said. And that would be splendid, said Pierre. Prince Andrew smiled ironically. Very likely it would be splendid. But it will never come about. Well, why are you going to the war, asked Pierre? What for? I don't know. I must. Besides that I am going he paused. I am going because the life I am leading here does not suit me. End of Chapter 6 War and Peace Book 1, Chapter 7 Read for LibriVox.org by Stuart Wills The rustle of a woman's dress was heard in the next room. Prince Andrew shook himself as if waking up, and his face assumed the look it had had in Anna Pavlovna's drawing-room. Pierre removed his feet from the sofa. The princess came in. She had changed her gown for a house dress as fresh and elegant as the other. Prince Andrew rose and politely placed a chair for her. How is it, she began, as usual, in France, settling down briskly and fussily in the easy-chair, how is it Annette never got married?    And I am still arguing with your husband. I can't understand why he wants to go to the war, replied Pierre, addressing the princes with none as shown by young men in their intercourse with young women. The princess started. Evidently, Pierre's words touched her to the quick. Ah, that is just what I tell him, said she. I don't understand it. I don't in the least understand why men can't live without wars. How is it that we women don't want anything of the kind, don't need it? Now you shall judge between us. Here he is uncle's aide-de-camp, a most brilliant position. He is so well known, so much appreciated by everyone. The other day at the apraxons I heard a lady asking, is that the famous Prince Andrew? I did indeed. She laughed. He is so well received everywhere. He might easily become aide-de-camp to the emperor. You know the emperor spoke to him most graciously. What do you think? Pierre looked at his friend and noticing that he did not like the conversation, gave no reply. When are you starting? He asked. Oh, don't speak of his going, don't! I won't hear spoken of. Said the princess in the same petulantly playful tone in which she had spoken to Hippolyta in the drawing-room, and which was so plainly ill-suited to the family-circle of which she was most a member.  Her husband looked at her as if surprised to notice that someone besides Pierre and himself was in the room and addressed her in a tone with a vivid politeness. What is it you are afraid of, Lisa? I don't understand, said he. There what egotists men all are, all, all egotists, just for the whim of his own goodness only knows why he leaves me and locks me up alone in the country. With my father and sister, remember, said Prince Andrew gently, alone all the same, without my friends, and he expects me not to be afraid. Her tone was now quarrelous, and her lip drawn back, giving her not a joyful but an animal, squirrel-like expression. She paused as if she felt it indecorous to speak of her pregnancy before Pierre, though the gist of the matter lay in that.  The Princess blushed and raised her arm with a gesture of despair. No, Andrew, I must say you have changed. Oh, how you have! Your doctor tells you to go to bed earlier, said Prince Andrew, you had better go. The Princess said nothing, but suddenly her short downy lip quivered. Pierre looked over his spectacles with naive surprise, now at him and now at her, moved as if about to rise too, but changed his mind. Why should I mind Mr. Pierre being here? exclaimed the little Princess suddenly, her pretty face all at once distorted by a tearful grimace. I have long wanted to ask you, Andrew, why you have changed so to me? What have I done to you?  Why is it?" Leesa was all Prince Andrew said. But that one word expressed an entreaty, a threat, and above all conviction that she would herself regret her words. But she went on hurriedly. You treat me like an invalid or a child. Well, did you behave like that six months ago? Leesa, I beg you to desist, said Prince Andrew, still more emphatically. Pierre, who had been growing more and more agitated as he listened to all this, rose and approached the Princess. He seemed unable to bear the sight of tears and was ready to cry himself. Calm yourself, Princess.  No, don't distress yourself. Goodbye. Prince Andrew caught him by the hand. No, wait, Pierre, the Princess is too kind to wish to deprive me of the pleasure of spending the evening with you. No. He looks only of himself, muttered the Princess, without restraining her angry tears. Leesa, said Prince Andrew dryly, raising his voice to the pitch which indicates that patience is exhausted. Suddenly the angry, squirrel-like expression of the Princess's pretty face changed into a winning and piteous look of fear.  Monde Dieu, Monde Dieu! she muttered, and lifting her dress with one hand she went up to her husband and kissed him on the forehead. Good night, Leesa, said he, rising and courteously kissing her hand as he would have done to a stranger. End of chapter 7 The Friends Were Silent Neither cared to begin talking, Pierre continually glanced at Prince Andrew.  Let us go and have supper, he said with a sigh going to the door. They entered the elegant, newly decorated and luxurious dining-room. Everything from the table napkins to the silver, china and glass bore that imprint of newness found in the households of newly married. Halfway through supper Prince Andrew leaned his elbows on the table, and with a look of nervous agitation, such as Pierre had never before seen on his face, began to talk, as one who has long had something on his mind and suddenly determines to speak out. Never, never marry, my dear fellow, that's my advice, never marry, till you can say to yourself that you have done all you are capable of, and until you have ceased to love the woman of your choice and have seen her plainly as she is, or else you will make a cruel and irrevocable mistake. Marry when you are old and good for nothing, you will be lost, it will all be wasted on trifles. Yes, yes, yes, don't look at me with such surprise.  But what's the good? And he waved his arm. Pierre took off his spectacles, which made his face seem different, and the good-natured expression still more apparent, and gazed at his friend in amazement. My wife, continued Prince Andrew, is an excellent woman, one of those rare women with whom a man's honour is safe, but, oh, God, what would I not give now to be unmarried?  As he said this, Prince Andrew was less than ever like that Balkonsky, who had lulled on Anna Pavlovna's easy-chairs and with half-closed eyes had uttered French phrases between his teeth. Every muscle of his thin face was now quivering with nervous excitement, his eyes in which the fire of life had seemed extinguished, now flashed with brilliant light. It was evident that the more lifeless he seemed at ordinary times, the more impassioned he became in these moments of almost morbid irritation. You don't understand why I say this, he continued, but it is the whole story of life. You talk of Bonaparte and his career, said he, though Pierre had not mentioned Bonaparte, but Bonaparte, when he worked, went step by step towards his goal. He was free. He had nothing but his aim to consider, and he reached it. But tie yourself up with a woman, and like a chained convict, you lose all freedom. And all you have of hope and strength merely weighs you down and torments you with regret. Drawing-rooms, gossip, balls, vanity and triviality. These are the enchanted circle I cannot escape from. I am now going to the war, the greatest war there ever was, and I know nothing and am fit for nothing. I am very amiable and have a caustic wit, continued Prince Andrew, and at Ana Pavlovna's they listened to me, and that stupid set without whom my wife cannot exist, and those women, oh, if you only knew what those society women are, and women in general. My father was right. Selfish, vain, stupid, trivial in everything. That's what women are when you see them in their true colours. When you meet them in society it seems as if there was something in them, but there's nothing, nothing, nothing. No, don't marry, my dear fellow, don't marry, concluded Prince Andrew.  You have everything before you, everything, and you don't marry. He did not finish his sentence, but his tone showed how highly he thought of his friend, and how much he expected of him in the future. How can he talk like that, thought Pierre. He considered his friend a model of perfection, because Prince Andrew possessed in the highest degree just the very qualities Pierre lacked, and which might be best described as strength of will. In Andrew's calm manner of treating everything, his extraordinary memory, his extensive reading, he'd read everything, knew everything, and had an opinion about everything, but above all, at his capacity for work and study, and if Pierre was often struck by Andrew's lack of capacity for philosophical meditation to which he himself was particularly addicted, he regarded even this, not as a defect, but as a sign of strength. Even in the best, most friendly and simplest relations of life, praise and commendation are essential, just as grease is necessary to wheels that they may run smoothly. My part is played out, said Prince Andrew. What's the use of talking about me? Let us talk about you," he added after a silence, smiling at his reassuring thoughts. That smile was immediately reflected on Pierre's face. But what is there to say about me? said Pierre, his face relaxing into a careless, merry smile. What am I? An illegitimate son! He suddenly blushed crimson, and it was plain that he'd made a great effort to say this, without a name and without means, and it really—but he did not say what it really was. For the present I am free and am all right. Only I haven't the least idea what I'm to do. I wanted to consult you seriously. Prince Andrew looked kindly at him, yet his glance, friendly and affectionate as it was, expressed a sense of his own superiority.  Yes, you're all right. Choose what you will, it's all the same. You'll be all right anywhere. But look here, give up visiting those Braggins and leading that sort of life. It suits you so badly, all this debauchery, dissipation, and the rest of it. What would you have, my dear fellow? answered Pierre, shrugging his shoulders. Women, my dear fellow, women! I don't understand it, replied Prince Andrew. Women who are commieleful, that's a different matter, a Caragin's set of women. Women and wine, I don't understand. Pierre was staying at Prince Facili Caragins and sharing the dissipated life of his son Anatole, the son whom they were planning to reform by marrying him to Prince Andrew's sister. Do you know, said Pierre, as if suddenly struck by a happy thought, seriously, I've long been thinking of it.  One's head aches, and one spends all one's money. He asked me for tonight, but I won't go. You give me your word of honour, not to go? On my honour. End of Chapter 8. War and Peace Book 1 Chapter 9 Read for LibriVox.org by Richard Grove It was past one o'clock when Pierre left his friend. It was a cloudless northern summer night. Pierre took an open cab intending to drive straight home, but the nearer he drew to the house, the more he felt the impossibility of going to sleep on such a night. It was light enough to see a long way in the deserted street, and it seemed more like morning or evening than night. On the way, Pierre remembered that Anatole Caragin was expecting the usual set events that evening, after which there was generally a drinking bout. Finishing with visits of a kind Pierre was very fond of. I should like to go to Caragin's, thought he. But he immediately recalled his promise to Prince Andrew not to go there. Then, as happens to people of weak character, he desired so passionately once more to enjoy that dissipation he was so accustomed to, that he decided to go. The thought immediately occurred to him that the promise to Prince Andrew was of no account. Because before he gave it, he had already promised Prince Anatole to come to his gathering. Besides, thought he, all such words of honour are conventional things with no definitive meaning, especially if one considers that by tomorrow one may be dead. Or something so extraordinary may happen to one that honour and dishonour will be all the same. Pierre often indulged in reflections and intentions. He went to Caragin's. Reaching the large house near the horse's guard's barracks in which Anatole lived, Pierre entered the lighted porch, ascended the stairs and went in the open door. There was no one in the enter room. Empty bottles, cloaks, and overshoes were lying about. There was a smell of alcohol and sounds of voices shouting in the distance. Cards and supper were over, but the visitors had not yet dispersed. Pierre threw off his cloak and entered the first room in which were the remains of supper. A footman, thinking no one saw him, was drinking on the sly what was left in the glasses. From the third room came sounds of laughter, the shouting of familiar voices, the growling of a bear and general commotion. Some eight or nine young men were crowding anxiously around an open window. Three others were romping with a young bear, one pulling him by the chain and trying to set him at the others. I bet a hundred on Stevens, shouted one. Nine, no holding on, cried another. I bet on Dolokov, cried a third. Keragin, you part our hands. There, leave Bruin alone. Here's a bet on. At one draught, or he loses, shouted a fourth. Jacob, bring the bottle! shouted the host. A tall, handsome fellow who stood in the midst of the group without a coat and with his fine linen shirt fastened in front. Wait a bit, you fellows. Here's Petya, good man, cried he, addressing Pierre. Another voice from a man of medium height with clear blue eyes, particularly striking amongst all these drunken voices by its sober ring, cried from the window, come here, part the bats. This was Dolokov, an officer of the Seminov Regiment, a notorious gambler in Duelist who was living with Anatole. Anatole smiled, looking about him merrily. I don't understand. What's it all about? Wait a bit, he's not drunk yet. A bottle here, said Anatole. Taking a glass from the table, he went up to Pierre. First of all, you must drink. Pierre drank one glass after another. Looking from under his brows at the tipsy guests who were again crowding around the window and listening to their chatter. Anatole kept on refilling Pierre's glass while explaining that Dolokov was fighting with Stevens, an English naval officer, that he would drink a bottle of rum sitting on the outer ledge of the third floor with his legs hanging out. Go on, you must drink it all, said Anatole, giving Pierre the last glass, or I won't let you go. No, I won't, said Pierre, pushing Anatole aside, and he went up to the window. Dolokov was holding the Englishman's hand and clearly and distinctively repeating the terms of the bet, saying himself particularly to Anatole and Pierre. Dolokov was of medium height, with curly hair and light blue eyes. He was about twenty-five, like all infantry officers. He wore a known moustache so that his mouth, the most striking feature of his face, was clearly seen. The lines of that mouth were remarkably finely curved. The middle of the upper lip formed a sharp wedge and closed firmly on the firm lower one. And something like two distinct smiles played continually around the two corners of his mouth. This together with the resolute, insolent intelligence of his eyes produced an effect which made it impossible not to notice his face. Dolokov was a man of small means and no connections. Yet though Anatole spent tens of thousands of rubles, Dolokov lived with him and had placed himself on such a footing that all who knew him, including Anatole himself, respected him more than they did Anatole. Dolokov could play all games and nearly always won. However much he drank, he never lost his clear-headedness. Both Kiragin and Dolokov were at that time notorious among the rakes and skate graces of Petersburg. The bottle of rum was brought. The window frame, which prevented anyone from sitting on the outer sill, was being forced out by two footmen who were evidently flurried and intimidated by the directions and shouts of the gentlemen around. Anatole, with his swaggering air, strode up to the window. He wanted to smash something. Pushing away the footmen, he tugged at the frame, but could not move it. He smashed a pane. You have a try, Hercules, he said, turning to Pierre. Pierre seized the cross-beam, tugged, and wrenched the oak frame out with a crash. Take it right out or they'll think I'm holding on, said Dolokov. Is the Englishman bragging? Is it all right, said Anatole? First rate, said Pierre, looking at Dolokov, who with a bottle of rum in his hand was approaching the window from which the light of the sky, the dawn merging with the afterglow of sunset, was visible.  Listen, cried he, standing there and addressing those in the room. All were silent. I bet fifty imperials. He spoke French that the Englishman might understand him, but he did not speak it very well. I bet fifty imperials. Or do you wish to make it a hundred, added he, addressing the Englishman? No, fifty, replied the latter. All right, fifty imperials. That I will drink a whole bottle of rum without taking it from my mouth, sitting outside the window on this spot. He stooped and pointed to the sloping edge outside the window, and without holding on to anything. Is that right? Quite right, said the Englishman. Anatole turned to the Englishman and, taking him by one of the buttons of his coat and looking down at him, the Englishman was short, began repeating the terms of the wager to him in English. Wait, cried Dolokov, hammering with the bottle on the window sill to attract attention. Wait a bit, Kiragin. Listen, if anyone else does the same, I will pay him a hundred imperials.  The Englishman nodded, but gave no indication whether he intended to accept this challenge or not. Anatole did not release him, and though he kept nodding to show that he understood, Anatole went on translating Dolokov's words into English. A thin young lad, a hasar of the lifeguards who had been losing that evening, climbed on the window sill, leaned over and looked down.  Looking down from the window with the stones of the pavement, shut up, cried Dolokov, pushing him away from the window. The lad jumped awkwardly back into the room, tripping over his spurs. Placing the bottle on the window sill, where he could reach it easily, Dolokov climbed carefully and slowly through the window and lowered his legs. Pressing against both sides of the window, he adjusted himself on his seat, lowered his hands, moved a little to the right to the left and took up the bottle. Anatole brought two candles and placed them on the window sill, though it was already quite light.  Everyone crowded to the window, the Englishman in front. Pierre stood smiling but silent. One man, older than the other's presence, suddenly pushed forward with a scarred and angry look and wanted to seize hold of Dolokov's shirt. I say, this is folly, he'll be killed," said this more sensible man. Anatole stopped him. Don't touch him. You startled him and then he'll be killed, eh? What then, eh? Dolokov turned round and again holding on with both hands, arranged himself in his seat. If anyone comes meddling again, said he, emitting the words separately through his thin compressed lips, I will throw him down there, now then. Saying this, he again turned round, dropped his hands, took the bottle, and lifted it to his lips, threw back his head and raised his free hand to balance himself. One of the footmen who had stooped to pick up some broken glass remained in that position without taking his eyes from the window and from Dolokov's back. Anatole stood erect with staring eyes. The Englishman looked on sideways, pursing his lips.  Pierre hid his face, from which a faint smile forgot to fade, though his features now expressed horror and fear. All were still. Pierre took his hands from his eyes. Dolokov still sat in the same position. Only his head was thrown further back until his curly hair touched his shirt collar. And the hand holding the bottle lifted higher and higher and trembled with the effort. The bottle was emptying perceptively and rising still higher and his head tilting yet farther back. Why is it so long, thought Pierre? It seemed to him that more than half an hour had elapsed. Suddenly Dolokov made a backward movement with his spine and his arm trembled nervously. This was sufficient to cause his whole body to slip as he sat on the sloping edge. He began slipping down. His head and arm wavered still more with the strain. One hand moved as if to clutch the window sill but refrained from touching it. Pierre again covered his eyes and thought he would never open them again. Suddenly he was aware of a stir all around. He looked up. Dolokov was standing on the window sill with a pale but radiant face. It's empty. He threw the bottle to the Englishman who caught it neatly. Dolokov jumped down. He smelled strongly of rum. Well done! Fine fellow, now there's a bet for you. Devil-take, you came from different sides. The Englishman took out his purse and began counting out the money. Dolokov stood frowning and did not speak. Pierre jumped upon the window sill. Gentlemen, who wishes to bet with me? I'll do the same thing, he suddenly cried, even without a bet. There! Tell him to bring me a bottle. I'll do it! Bring a bottle! Let him do it! Let him do it! said Dolokov, smiling. What next?  No one would let you.  I'll drink it! Let's have a bottle of rum! shouted Pierre, banging the table with a determined and drunken gesture and preparing to climb out of the window. They seized him by his arms but he was so strong that everyone who touched him was sent flying. He'll never manage him that way, said Anatole. Wait a bit and I'll get round him. Listen, I'll take your bet tomorrow but now we're all going to... Come on then, cried Pierre. Come on, we'll take Bruin with us. And he caught the bear, took it in his arms, lifted it from the ground and began dancing round the room with it. End of Chapter 9. War and Peace Book 1, Chapter 10. Read for Librovox.org by Patricia Oakley. Prince Facili kept the promise he had given to Princess Drubotskaya who had spoken to him on behalf of her only son Boris on the evening of Anna Pavlovna's soiree. The matter was mentioned to the Emperor, an exception made, and Boris transferred into the regiment of the Simeonov Guards with the rank of Cornet. He received, however, no appointment to Coutouse of Staff despite all Anna Mikhailovna's endeavors and entreaties. Soon after Anna Pavlovna's reception Anna Mikhailovna returned to Moscow and went straight to her rich relations, the Rostovs, with whom she stayed when in the town and where her darling Bore who had only just entered a regiment of the line and was being at once transferred to the Guards where Cornet had been educated from childhood and lived for years at a time. The Guards had already left Petersburg on the 10th of August, and her son who had remained in Moscow for his equipment was to join them on the March to Radzivilov. It was St. Natalia's day and the name day of two of the Rostovs, the mother and the youngest daughter, both named Natali. Ever since the morning carriages had been coming and going continually, bringing visitors to the Countess Rostova's big house on the Povarskaya, so well known to all Moscow. The Countess herself and her handsome eldest daughter were in the drawing-room with the visitors who came to congratulate and who constantly succeeded one another in relays. The Countess was a woman of about forty-five with a thin oriental type of face evidently worn out with child-bearing. She had had twelve. A languor of motion and speech resulting from weakness gave her a distinguished air which inspired respect. Princess Anna Mikhailovna Drupyskaya, who, as a member of the household, was also seated in the drawing-room, helped to receive and entertain the visitors. The young people were in one of the inner rooms, not considering it necessary to take part in receiving the visitors. The Count met the guests and saw them off, inviting them all to dinner. I am very, very grateful to you, Monsher, or Macheri, he called everyone without exception, and without the slightest variation in his tone, my dear, whether they were above or below him in rank. I thank you for myself and for our two dear ones whose name-day we are keeping. But mind you come to dinner or I shall be offended, Macheri. On behalf of the whole family I beg you to come, Monsher. These words he repeated to everyone without exception or variation, with the same expression on his full, cheerful, clean-shaven face, the same firm pressure of the hand, and the same quick repeated vows. As soon as he had seen a visitor off, he returned to one of those who were still in the drawing-room, drew a chair toward him or her, and jauntily spreading out his legs and putting his hands on his knees with the air of a man who enjoys life and knows how to live, he swayed to and fro with dignity, offering surmises about the weather, or touched on questions of health, sometimes in Russian and sometimes in very bad but self-confident French. Then again, like a man weary but unflinching in the fulfillment of duty, he rose to see some visitors off, and stroking his scanty gray hairs over his bald patch also asked them to dinner. Sometimes, on his way back from the enter-room, he would pass through the conservatory and pantry into the large marble dining hall where tables were being set out for eighty people, and looking at the footmen who were bringing in silver and china, moving tables, and unfolding the mosque table linen, he would call Dimitri Vasilevich, a man of good family and the manager of all his affairs, and while looking with pleasure at the enormous table would say, well, Dimitri, you see that things are all as they should be, that's right! The great thing is the serving, that's it. And with a complacent sigh he would return to the drawing-room. Maria Lvovna Karagina and her daughter announced the Countess's gigantic footmen in his base voice entering the drawing-room. The Countess reflected a moment and took a pinch from a gold box with her husband's portrait on it. I'm quite worn out by these collars. However, I'll see her and no more. She is so affected. Ask her in, she said to the footmen in a sad voice as of saying, very well, finish me off. A tall, stout and proud looking woman, with a round-faced smiling daughter entered the drawing-room, their dresses rustling. Dear Countess, what an age! She has been laid up poor child at the Razumovsky's ball and Countess Aplaskina. I was so delighted. He made the sounds of animated feminine voices interrupting one another and mingling with the rustling of dresses and the scraping of chairs. Then one of these conversations began which lasted out until at the first pause the Countess rise with a rustle of dresses and say, I am so delighted. Mama's health and Countess Aplaskina and then again rustling pass into the ant-room put on cloaks or mantles and drive away. The conversation was on the chief topic of the day, the illness of the wealthy and celebrated bow of Catherine's Day, Count Pizdukhov, and about his illegitimate son Pierre, the one who had behaved so improperly at Anna Pavlovna's reception. I am so sorry for the poor Count, said the visitor. He is in such bad health and now this vexation about his son is enough to kill him. What is that? Ask the Countess, as if she did not know what the visitor alluded to. Though she had already heard about the cause of Count Pizdukhov's distress some fifteen times. That's what comes from modern education, exclaimed the visitor. It seems that while he was abroad this young man was allowed to do as he liked and now in Petersburg I hear he has been doing such terrible things that he has been expelled by the police. You don't say so, replied the Countess. He chose his friends badly interposed Anna Mikhailovna. Prince Vasily's son he and a certain Dolochov have, it is said, been up to heaven only knows what. And they have had to suffer for it. Dolochov has been degraded to the ranks and Pizdukhov's son sent back to Moscow. Anna Tolkhoragin's father managed somehow to get his son's affair hushed up but even he was ordered out of Petersburg. But what have they been up to? Ask the Countess. They are regular brigands, especially Dolochov, replied the visitor. He is a son of Maria Ivanovna Dolochova.  But they're just fancy. Those three got hold of a bear somewhere, put it in a carriage and set it off to visit some actresses. The police tried to interfere and what did the young man do? They tied a policeman and the bear back to back and put the bear into the Moika canal and there was the bear swimming about with the policeman on his back. What a nice figure the policeman must have cut, my dear. Shouted the Count, dying with laughter. Oh, how dreadful! How can you laugh at it, Count? Yet the ladies themselves could not help laughing. It was all they could do to rescue the poor man, continued the visitor. And to think it is Cyril Vladimirovich Pizdukhov's son who amuses himself in this sensible manner. And he was said to be so well educated and clever. This is all that his foreign education has done for him. I hope that here in Moscow no one will receive him in spite of his money. They wanted to introduce him to me, but I quite declined. I have my daughters to consider. Why do you say this young man is so rich? Ask the Countess, turning away from the girls, who had once assumed an heir of inattention. His children are all illegitimate. I think Pierre also is illegitimate. The visitor made a gesture with her hand. I should think he has a score of them. Princess Anna Mikhailovna intervened in the conversation, evidently wishing to show her connections and knowledge of what went on in society. The fact of the matter is, said she significantly, and also in a half whisper. Everyone knows Count Cyril's reputation. He has lost count of his children, but this Pierre was his favorite. How handsome the old man still was only a year ago, remarked the Countess. I have never seen a handsomer man. He is very much altered now, said Anna Mikhailovna. Well, as I was saying, Prince Basilie is the next heir through his wife, but the Count is very fond of Pierre, looked after his education, and wrote to the Emperor about him, so that in the case of his death, and he is so ill, he may die at any moment, and Dr. Lorraine has come from Petersburg, no one knows who will inherit his immense fortune, Pierre or Prince Basilie. Forty thousand serfs and millions of rubles. I know it all very well that Prince Basilie told me himself. Besides, Cyril Vladimirovich is my mother's second cousin. He is also my Bory's godfather, she added, as if she attached no importance at all to the fact. Prince Basilie arrived in Moscow yesterday. I hear he has come on some inspection business, remarked the visitor. Yes, but between ourselves, said the Princess. That is a pretext. The fact is he has come to see Count Cyril Vladimirovich, hearing how ill he is. But do you know, my dear, that was a capital joke, said the Count, and seeing that the elder visitor was not listening, he turned to the young ladies. I can just imagine what a funny figure that policeman cut. And as he waved his arms to impersonate the policeman, his portly form again shook with a deep ringing laugh, the laugh of one who always eats well, and in particular, drinks well. So do come and dine with us, he said. End of Chapter 10 War and Peace Book 1, Chapter 11 Read for LibriVox.org by Patricia Oakley Silence ensued. The Countess looked at her collars smiling affably, but not concealing the fact that she would not be distressed when she now rose and took their leave. The visitor's daughter was already smoothing down her dress with an inquiring look at her mother, when suddenly from the next room were heard the footsteps of boys and girls running to the door and the noise of a chair falling over, and a girl of thirteen hiding something in the folds of her short muslin frock darted in and stopped short in the middle of the room. It was evident that she had not intended to run away. Behind her in the doorway appeared a student with a crimson coat collar, an officer of the guards, a girl of fifteen, and a plump, rosy-faced boy in a short jacket. The Count jumped up and, swaying from side to side, spread his arms wide and threw them round the little girl who had just run in. Ah, here she is, he exclaimed, laughing, that's my dear pet. Monsieur, there is a time for everything, said the Countess, with famed severity, you spoil her ilia, she added, turning to her husband. How do you do, my dear? I wish you many happy returns of your name-day, said the visitor.   Escaping from her father, she ran to hide her flushed face in the lace of her mother's mantilla, not paying the least attention to her severe remark and began to laugh. She laughed, and in a fragmentary sentences, tried to explain about a doll which she produced from the folds of her frock. Do you see, my doll, Mimi, you see, was all Natasha managed to utter. To her everything seemed funny. She leaned against her mother and burst into such a loud ringing fit of laughter that even the prim visitor could not help joining in. Now, then, go away and take your monstrosity with you, said the mother, pushing away her daughter with pretended sternness, and turning to the visitor she added, she is my youngest girl. Natasha, raising her face for a moment from her mother's mantilla, glanced up at her and again hid her face. The visitor, compelled to look on this family scene, thought it necessary to take some part in it. Tell me, my dear, said she to Natasha. Is Mimi a relation of yours? A daughter, I suppose? Natasha did not like the visitor's tone of condensation to childish things. She did not reply but looked at her seriously. Meanwhile, the younger generation, Boris, the officer, and a Mikhailovna son, Nicholas, the undergraduate, the Count's eldest son, Sonya, the Count's 15-year-old niece, and Lopetia, his youngest boy, had all settled down in the drawing-room and were obviously trying to restrain within the bounds of decorum the excitement and mirth that's shown in all their faces. Evidently in the back rooms, from which they had dashed out so impetuously, the conversation had been more amusing than the drawing-room talk of society's scandal, the weather, and Countess Apraskina. Now and then they glanced at one another, hardly able to suppress their laughter. The two young men, the student and the officer, friends from childhood, were of the same age and both handsome fellows, so not alike. Boris was tall and fair, and his calm and handsome face had regular delicate features. Nicholas was short with curly hair and an open expression. Dark hairs were already showing on his upper lip, and his whole face expressed impetuosity and enthusiasm. Nicholas blushed when he entered the drawing-room. He evidently tried to find something to say, but failed. Boris, on the contrary, at once found his footing and related quietly and humorously how he had known Dahl Mimi when she was still quite a young lady, before her nose was broken, how she had aged during the five years he had known her and how her head had cracked right across the skull. Having said this, he glanced at Natasha. She turned away from him and glanced at her younger brother who was screwing up his eyes and shaking with suppressed laughter. And, unable to control herself any longer, she jumped up and rushed from the room as fast as her nimble little feet would carry her. Boris did not laugh.  Do you want the carriage? He asked his mother with a smile. Yes, yes. Go and tell him to get it ready, she answered, returning his smile. Boris quietly left the room and went in search of Natasha. The plump boy ran after them angrily.