The Art of Social Performance — War and Peace

Prince Hippolyte seizes Anna Pávlovna's drawing room with the cry Le Roi de Prusse, laughs, then sits back as if the phrase were enough. Anna Pávlovna had begun to tell how Bonaparte stole Frederick the Great's sword at Potsdam, but Hippolyte interrupts until every face turns, then excuses himself and says no more. Mortemart, his friend, finally forces the Vienna joke Hippolyte has been saving all evening: the allies are wrong to fight pour le Roi de Prusse. Borís smiles so the laugh can read as irony or agreement, whichever way the room goes. Everybody laughs. Anna Pávlovna shakes a shriveled finger, calls the joke witty but unjust, and insists they fight for right principles, not Prussian kings.

Talk stays political and grows animated when imperial rewards come up. The man of profound intellect asks why S. S. should not receive the same snuffbox with a portrait that N. N. got last year. A diplomatist answers that a snuffbox is a gift, not a distinction. Someone cites Schwarzenberg as precedent; another calls it impossible; a third offers to bet that the ribbon of an order is a different matter. Wit is traded while war news sits in the background, and Hippolyte's performance is parsed like a dispatch.

When guests rise to go, Hélène, who has spoken little, turns to Borís with caressing command to come on Tuesday. She tells Anna Pávlovna the visit is of great importance, and the hostess supports her with the same sad smile she uses for her exalted patroness. Something Borís said about the Prussian army seems to have made Hélène suddenly need him, as if she will explain on Tuesday. He arrives at her splendid salon, finds other guests, and gets no explanation. Only as he kisses her hand does she whisper, unsmiling, that he must come to dinner the next evening. During that Petersburg stay he becomes an intimate in the countess's house, climbing by charm while the invitation still withholds its reason.