Maximum-assistance view: every word above everyday vocabulary is explained at every appearance; each name is introduced at its first appearance in the chapter.

CHAPTER III

Anna Pávlovna’s (the lady of the Empress’s court whose evening party this is) reception (gathering of guests) was in full swing (was busy and lively, at its liveliest moment). The spindles hummed steadily and ceaselessly on all sides (the groups of talk kept going like the spinning wheels of a mill, without a stop, all round the room). With the exception of (Apart from) the aunt (Anna Pávlovna’s old aunt), beside whom sat only one elderly lady (next to whom only one old lady was sitting), who with her thin careworn (tired and marked by long worry) face was rather out of place (not really belonging) in this brilliant society (this room full of rich, important, finely dressed people), the whole company (everyone there) had settled into (divided into) three groups. One, chiefly masculine (mostly men), had formed round (had gathered around) the abbé (the Italian priest). Another, of young people, was grouped round (had gathered around) the beautiful Princess Hélène (the famous young beauty the last chapter introduced), Prince Vasíli’s (a great man at court, Hélène’s father) daughter, and the little Princess Bolkónskaya (Lise, the young married princess; the little princess is what everyone calls her), very pretty and rosy (with pink cheeks), though rather too plump (fat, in a soft way) for her age. The third group was gathered round (had formed around) Mortemart (a French nobleman who ran away from his own country when the Revolution there ended the rule of the king) and Anna Pávlovna.

The vicomte (Mortemart, a Frenchman from a family of high rank; vicomte is the French title for such a man) was a nice-looking young man with soft features (a gentle, delicate face) and polished (smooth and well trained) manners, who evidently (clearly) considered himself a celebrity (thought himself a famous man) but out of politeness (to be polite) modestly placed himself at the disposal of the circle in which he found himself (quietly let the group he was in make use of him as they liked). Anna Pávlovna was obviously serving him up as a treat to her guests (presenting him to her guests like a special dish). As a clever maître d’hôtel (French: head waiter) serves up as a specially choice delicacy (presents as a specially fine dish) a piece of meat that no one who had seen it in the kitchen would have cared to eat (would have wanted to eat), so Anna Pávlovna served up to her guests (in the same way, Anna Pávlovna presented to her guests), first the vicomte (the French nobleman) and then the abbé (the Italian priest), as peculiarly choice morsels (as especially fine small dishes). The group about Mortemart (the group standing round Mortemart, who is the vicomte) immediately began discussing the murder of the Duc d’Enghien (a French duke; everyone in Europe was talking about his killing). The vicomte said that the Duc d’Enghien had perished by his own magnanimity (died because he was too generous), and that there were particular reasons (special reasons) for Buonaparte’s (the French emperor; the Italian form of his name is used to make him small) hatred of him.

“Ah, yes! (a cry of pleased interest) Do tell us all about it (Please tell us all about it; ‘do’ adds warmth to the request), Vicomte (Mortemart, a Frenchman from a family of high rank; vicomte is the French title for such a man),” said Anna Pávlovna, with a pleasant feeling that there was something à la Louis XV (French: in the style of Louis XV, the French king of the 1700s, whose palace was famous for its fine manners) in the sound of that sentence: “Contez nous çela, Vicomte (French: Tell us that, Vicomte).”

The vicomte (Mortemart, a Frenchman from a family of high rank; vicomte is the French title for such a man) bowed (bent forward politely) and smiled courteously (politely) in token of his willingness to comply (to show he was willing to do as she asked). Anna Pávlovna arranged a group round him (gathered a group around him), inviting (asking) everyone to listen to his tale (his story).

“The vicomte (Mortemart, a Frenchman from a family of high rank; vicomte is the French title for such a man) knew the duc (the Duc d’Enghien; duc means duke, the title just below a prince) personally,” whispered (said very quietly) Anna Pávlovna to one of the guests. “The vicomte is a wonderful raconteur (French: a skilled teller of stories),” said she to another. “How evidently he belongs to the best society (Anyone can see straight away that he belongs among the very best people),” said she to a third; and the vicomte was served up to the company (presented to the guests) in the choicest and most advantageous style (in the finest way, to show him at his best), like a well-garnished joint of roast beef on a hot dish (like a fine piece of cooked meat, nicely decorated, on a hot plate).

The vicomte (Mortemart, a Frenchman from a family of high rank; vicomte is the French title for such a man) wished to begin (wanted to begin) his story and gave a subtle smile (a slight smile, hardly there).

“Come over here, Hélène, dear,” said Anna Pávlovna to the beautiful young princess who was sitting some way off (a little distance away), the center of another group.

The princess (Hélène) smiled. She rose (stood up) with the same unchanging (always the same) smile with which she had first entered the room—the smile of a perfectly beautiful woman. With a slight rustle (soft sound of moving cloth) of her white dress trimmed with moss and ivy (decorated at the edges with green leaves, some flat and soft, some from a plant that climbs up walls), with a gleam (shine) of white shoulders, glossy (shining) hair, and sparkling (shining with light) diamonds, she passed between the men who made way for her (stepped aside to let her pass), not looking at any of them but smiling on all (smiling at everyone), as if graciously allowing each the privilege of admiring (as if kindly giving each man the honour of looking at her with pleasure) her beautiful figure and shapely (well-formed) shoulders, back, and bosom (breast)—which in the fashion of those days were very much exposed (which the dress styles of the time left very bare)—and she seemed to bring the glamour of a ballroom (the magic and shine of a great dance hall) with her as she moved toward Anna Pávlovna. Hélène was so lovely that not only did she not show any trace of coquetry (playful flirting to attract men), but on the contrary (the opposite was true) she even appeared shy of (seemed shy about) her unquestionable and all too victorious beauty (her beauty, which no one could doubt and which made everyone look at her, far too easily). She seemed to wish, but to be unable, to diminish its effect (to make her beauty have less effect on people).

“How lovely! (How beautiful she is!)” said everyone who saw her; and the vicomte (Mortemart, a Frenchman from a family of high rank; vicomte is the French title for such a man) lifted his shoulders and dropped his eyes (shrugged and looked down) as if startled by something extraordinary (as if surprised by something amazing) when she took her seat opposite (sat down facing him) and beamed upon him (smiled brightly at him) also with her unchanging (always the same) smile.

“Madame (French: Madam, the polite word for speaking to a lady), I doubt my ability before such an audience (I am not sure I can do well with such listeners),” said he, smilingly inclining his head (bowing his head with a smile).

The princess (Hélène) rested (laid flat on) her bare round arm on a little table and considered a reply unnecessary (did not think she needed to answer). She smilingly (with a smile) waited. All the time the story was being told she sat upright (sat straight), glancing now at (looking first at) her beautiful round arm, altered (changed) in shape by its pressure on the table, now at her still more beautiful bosom (then at her breast, which was even more beautiful), on which she readjusted (moved back into place) a diamond necklace (a chain of diamonds worn round the neck). From time to time (Sometimes) she smoothed (flattened with her hand) the folds of her dress (the loose cloth of her dress), and whenever the story produced an effect (made the listeners feel something) she glanced (looked quickly) at Anna Pávlovna, at once (immediately) adopted just the expression she saw (made her face show exactly the same look she saw) on the maid of honor’s (Anna Pávlovna’s court position: a lady in the Empress’s service) face, and again relapsed into her radiant smile (went back to her bright, shining smile).

The little princess (Princess Bolkónskaya, Lise) had also left the tea table and followed Hélène.

“Wait a moment, I’ll get my work (my sewing).... Now then (a sharp way of getting someone’s attention), what are you thinking of? (not a real question: what are you doing, sitting there?)” she went on (she continued), turning to Prince Hippolyte (Hélène’s brother). “Fetch (Bring) me my workbag (sewing bag).”

There was a general movement (Everyone moved a little to make room) as the princess (the little princess, Lise), smiling and talking merrily (happily) to everyone at once (at the same time), sat down and gaily arranged herself in her seat (settled herself happily in her seat).

“Now I am all right (Now I am comfortable),” she said, and asking the vicomte (Mortemart, a Frenchman from a family of high rank; vicomte is the French title for such a man) to begin, she took up her work (picked up her sewing).

Prince Hippolyte, having brought the workbag (sewing bag), joined the circle (joined the group) and moving a chair close to hers (her chair) seated himself (sat down) beside her.

Le charmant Hippolyte (French: ‘the lovely Hippolyte’; people call him this as a joke, meaning the opposite) was surprising by (surprised people with) his extraordinary resemblance (he looked very much like his sister) to his beautiful sister (Hélène), but yet more by the fact that (but surprised them even more by the fact that) in spite of (even though) this resemblance he was exceedingly (extremely) ugly. His features (The parts of his face) 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 (her whole face shone with a happy, pleased-with-herself, young, never-stopping, lively smile), and by the wonderful classic beauty of her figure (the perfect beauty of her body, like a statue’s), his face on the contrary (instead) was dulled (made lifeless) by imbecility (stupidity) and a constant expression of sullen self-confidence (bad-tempered, unfriendly self-confidence), while his body was thin and weak. His eyes, nose, and mouth all seemed puckered into a vacant, wearied grimace (pulled into an empty, tired, twisted look), and his arms and legs always fell into unnatural positions (were always in awkward, strange shapes).

“It’s not going to be a ghost story?” said he (he said), sitting down beside the princess (the little princess) and hastily (quickly) adjusting (setting straight) his lorgnette (glasses on a handle, raised to the eyes), as if without this instrument he could not begin to speak (as if he could not start talking without this thing in his hand).

“Why no (No, of course not; ‘Why’ here only shows mild surprise, not a question), my dear fellow (a friendly way of speaking to a man),” said the astonished narrator (the vicomte, who was telling the story, surprised), shrugging his shoulders (raising his shoulders, puzzled by the question).

“Because I hate ghost stories,” said Prince Hippolyte in a tone which showed that he only understood the meaning of his words after he had uttered them (in a voice which showed he understood what he had said only after saying it).

He spoke with such self-confidence that his hearers (the people listening) could not be sure whether what he said was very witty (clever and funny) or very stupid. He was dressed in a dark-green dress coat (a formal coat with tails at the back), knee breeches (trousers ending at the knee) of the color of cuisse de nymphe effrayée, as he called it (French: ‘thigh of a frightened nymph’; a nymph is a beautiful young female spirit of old tales; a silly fashionable name for a pale pink, and the writer is laughing at it), shoes, and silk stockings (long silk socks).

The vicomte (Mortemart, a Frenchman from a family of high rank; vicomte is the French title for such a man) told his tale very neatly (told his story very well). It was an anecdote, then current (a short story that people were telling at the time), to the effect that (which said that) the Duc d’Enghien (the French duke of the story) had gone secretly to Paris to visit Mademoiselle George (a Paris stage star of the time); that at her house he came upon (unexpectedly met) Bonaparte (Napoleon; the book spells his name both ways), who also enjoyed the famous actress’ favors (who was also the famous actress’s lover, said politely), and that in his presence Napoleon happened to fall into (happened to have) one of the fainting fits (attacks of suddenly losing consciousness) to which he was subject (which he suffered from), and was thus at the duc’s mercy (was so completely in the duke’s power). The latter spared him (The duke let him live), and this magnanimity Bonaparte subsequently repaid by death (Bonaparte later paid back this generous act by having him killed).

The story was very pretty (charming, neatly told) and interesting, especially at the point where the rivals (the two men who wanted the same woman) suddenly recognized one another; and the ladies looked agitated (excited and a little upset).

“Charming (how lovely)!” said Anna Pávlovna with an inquiring glance (a questioning look) at the little princess (Princess Bolkónskaya, Lise).

“Charming (how lovely)!” whispered (said very quietly) the little princess (Princess Bolkónskaya, Lise), sticking the needle into her work (the sewing in her hands) as if to testify (show) that the interest and fascination of the story prevented her from going on with it (the story was too interesting for her to keep sewing).

The vicomte (Mortemart, a Frenchman from a family of high rank; vicomte is the French title for such a man) appreciated this silent praise (was pleased by this praise without words) and smiling gratefully (with thanks) prepared to continue (got ready to continue), but just then Anna Pávlovna, who had kept a watchful eye on (had been watching closely) the young man who so alarmed her (the young man whose manner worried her so much), noticed that he was talking too loudly (louder than she thought right) and vehemently (with strong feeling) with the abbé (the Italian priest), so she hurried to the rescue (rushed over to stop it). Pierre (Count Bezúkhov’s son, back from years abroad, whose manner worried the hostess) had managed to start a conversation with the abbé about the balance of power (the idea that no one country in Europe should become stronger than the rest), and the latter (the abbé), evidently (clearly) interested by the young man’s simple-minded eagerness (innocent, open enthusiasm), was explaining his pet (favourite) theory. Both were talking and listening too eagerly (with more interest than was thought proper here) and too naturally (in too plain and honest a way for this room), which was why Anna Pávlovna disapproved (did not like it).

“The means are (The way to do it is) ... the balance of power (the idea that no one country in Europe should become stronger than the rest) in Europe and the rights of the people,” the abbé (the Italian priest) was saying. “It is only necessary for one powerful nation like Russia (the country where this story takes place)—barbaric as she is said to be (however rough and backward people say Russia is)—to place herself disinterestedly (without seeking any gain for herself) at the head of an alliance (as the leader of a group of allied countries) having for its object the maintenance of (whose aim is to keep) the balance of power of Europe, and it would save the world!”

“But how are you to get that balance (how do you create that balance)?” Pierre was beginning.

At that moment Anna Pávlovna came up (walked across to them) and, looking severely at (with a hard look at) Pierre, asked the Italian (the Italian priest) how he stood Russian climate (how he was coping with the Russian weather). The Italian’s face instantly (in that same moment) changed and assumed an offensively affected, sugary expression (changed to a false, over-sweet look that was unpleasant to see), evidently habitual to him when conversing with women (clearly his usual look when talking with women).

“I am so enchanted by the brilliancy of the wit and culture of the society (delighted by the quick minds and learning of the company), more especially of the feminine society (especially of the ladies), in which I have had the honor of being received (where I was proud to be made welcome), that I have not yet had time to think of the climate,” said he.

Not letting the abbé and Pierre escape (not letting the priest and Pierre get away), Anna Pávlovna, the more conveniently to keep them under observation (so that she could watch them more easily), brought them into the larger circle (brought them over to the bigger group).