Читать книгу War and Peace: Original Version - Лев Толстой, Leo Tolstoy, Liev N. Tolstói - Страница 16

The end of the vicomte’s story went as follows:

“The Duc d’Enghien took out of his pocket a vial of rock crystal mounted in gold which contained the elixir of life given to his father by the Comte St. Germain. This elixir, as is well known, possessed the property of bringing the dead, or the almost dead, back to life, but it was not to be given to anyone but members of the house of Condé. Outsiders who tasted the elixir were cured in the same way as the Condés, but they became implacable enemies of the ducal house. A proof of this can be seen in the fact that the duke’s father, wishing to restore his dying horse, gave it these drops. The horse revived, but several times afterwards it attempted to kill its rider and once during a battle it carried him into the republicans’ camp. The duke’s father killed his beloved horse. In spite of this, the young and chivalrous Duc d’Enghien poured several drops into the mouth of his enemy Buonaparte, and the ogre revived.”

“‘Who are you?’ asked Buonaparte.

“‘A relative of the maid,’ replied the duke.

“‘Lies!’ cried Buonaparte.

“‘General, I am unarmed,’ replied the duke.

“‘Your name?’

“‘I have saved your life,’ replied the duke.

“The duke left, but the elixir took effect. Buonaparte began to feel hatred for the duke and from that day on he swore to destroy the unfortunate and magnanimous youth. Having learned who his rival was from a handkerchief dropped by the duke, which was embroidered with the crest of the house of Condé, Buonaparte ordered his minions to contrive a conspiracy between Pichegru and Georges as a pretext, then had the heroic martyr seized in the dukedom of Baden and killed.

“The angel and the demon. And that was how the most terrible crime in history was committed.”

With this the vicomte concluded his story and swung round on his chair in an excess of agitation. Everyone was silent.

“The murder of the duke was more than a crime, vicomte,” said Prince Andrei, smiling gently, as though he were making fun of the vicomte, “it was a mistake.”

The vicomte raised his eyebrows and spread his arms wide. His gesture could have signified many things.

“But what do you make of the latest farce, of the coronation in Milan?” asked Anna Pavlovna. “In this new farce, the peoples of Genoa and Lucca declare their wishes to Mr. Buonaparte and Mr. Buonaparte sits on a throne and grants the people’s wishes. Oh, it is exquisite! Why, it’s enough to drive one insane. Just imagine, the entire world has lost its wits.”

Prince Andrei turned away from Anna Pavlovna, as if to imply that the talk was leading nowhere.

“God has given me the crown. Woe betide him who touches it,” Prince Andrei declared proudly, as though they were his own words (they were in fact those of Bonaparte when the crown was set upon his head). “They say he looked awfully fine as he pronounced those words,” he added.

Anna Pavlovna glanced sharply at Prince Andrei.

“I hope,” she continued, “that that was the drop which will finally make the glass run over. The sovereigns can no longer tolerate this man who is such a threat to everything.”

“The sovereigns? I do not speak of Russia,” said the vicomte with courteous despair, “but the sovereigns! What did they do for Louis XVI, for the Queen, for Elizabeth? Nothing!” he continued, growing animated. “And believe me, they are now being punished for their betrayal of the Bourbon cause. The sovereigns? They send their ambassadors to greet this usurper of the throne.”

And with a contemptuous sigh he again shifted his position. At these words Prince Hippolyte, who had been looking at the vicomte through his lorgnette the whole time, suddenly turned his entire body towards the little Princess Bolkonskaya and, after asking her for a needle, began to show her, by drawing with the point on the table, the Condé coat of arms. He expounded it to her with an expression as intent as if the princess had asked him to do it.

“The Condé coat of arms consists of a shield with a staff gules engrailed with a staff azure,” he prattled. The princess listened, smiling.

“If Buonaparte remains on the throne of France for another year,” said the vicomte, continuing the chief conversation with the air of a man who is listening to no one, but merely pursuing his own train of thought on a matter which he knows better than everyone else, “then things will be carried too far by all the intrigues, violence, exiles and executions. Society, I mean good society, French society, will be exterminated for ever, and then what?”

He shrugged his shoulders and spread his hands.

“The Emperor Alexander,” said Anna Pavlovna with the melancholy that always accompanied her talk of the imperial family, “has declared that he will allow the French themselves to choose their own form of government. And I think there can be no doubt that, once it is liberated from the usurper, the entire nation will throw itself into the arms of the legitimate King,” said Anna Pavlovna, striving to be as gracious as possible with the émigré and royalist.

“Oh, if only that happy moment could come!” said the vicomte, inclining his head in gratitude for this mark of attention.

“And what do you think, Monsieur Pierre?” Anna Pavlovna sweetly asked the fat young man whose awkward silence was irksome to her as a polite hostess. “What do you think? You have recently come from Paris.”

While waiting for a reply, Anna Pavlovna smiled at the vicomte and the others, as if to say: “I must be polite even with him; you see, I still speak to him, even though I know he has nothing to say.”