War and Peace, by Leo Tolstoy

[Squid]

"No, impossible!" said Prince Andrew, laughing and pressing Pierre's

hand to show that there was no need to ask the question. He wished

to say something more, but at that moment Prince Vasili and his

daughter got up to go and the two young men rose to let them pass.

 

"You must excuse me, dear Vicomte," said Prince Vasili to the

Frenchman, holding him down by the sleeve in a friendly way to prevent

his rising. "This unfortunate fete at the ambassador's deprives me

of a pleasure, and obliges me to interrupt you. I am very sorry to

leave your enchanting party," said he, turning to Anna Pavlovna.

 

His daughter, Princess Helene, passed between the chairs, lightly

holding up the folds of her dress, and the smile shone 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," said Pierre.

 

In passing Prince Vasili seized Pierre's hand and said to Anna

Pavlovna: "Educate this bear for me! He has been staying with me 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 connection of Prince Vasili's. The elderly lady who

had been sitting with the old aunt rose hurriedly and overtook

Prince Vasili in the anteroom. All the affectation of interest she had

assumed had left her kindly and tearworn face and it now expressed

only anxiety and fear.

 

"How about my son Boris, Prince?" said she, hurrying after him

into the anteroom. "I can't remain any longer in Petersburg. Tell me

what news I may take back to my poor boy."

 

Although Prince Vasili listened reluctantly and not very politely to

the elderly lady, even betraying some impatience, she gave him an

ingratiating and appealing smile, and took his hand that he might

not go away.

 

"What would it cost you to say a word to the Emperor, and then he

would be transferred to the Guards at once?" said she.

 

"Believe me, Princess, I am ready to do all I can," answered

Prince Vasili, "but it is difficult for me to ask the Emperor. I

should advise you to appeal to Rumyantsev through Prince Golitsyn.

That would be the best way."

 

The elderly lady was a Princess Drubetskaya, 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 Vasili that she had

obtained an invitation to Anna Pavlovna's reception and had sat

listening to the vicomte's story. Prince Vasili's words frightened

her, an embittered look clouded her once handsome face, but only for a

moment; then she smiled again and dutched Prince Vasili's arm more

tightly.

 

"Listen to me, Prince," said she. "I have never yet asked you for

anything and I never will again, nor have I ever reminded you of my

father's friendship for you; but now I entreat you for God's sake to

do this for my son--and I shall always regard you as a benefactor,"

she added hurriedly. "No, don't be angry, but promise! I have asked

Golitsyn and he has refused. Be the kindhearted man you always

were," she said, trying to smile though tears were in her eyes.

 

"Papa, we shall be late," said Princess Helene, turning her

beautiful head and looking over her classically molded shoulder 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 Vasili knew this, and having

once realized that if he asked on behalf of all who begged of him,

he would soon be unable to ask for himself, he became chary of using

his influence. But in Princess Drubetskaya'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 in 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 consideration moved

him.

[olyclimber]

I stood before her crushed, crestfallen, revoltingly confused, and I believe I smiled as I did my utmost to wrap myself in the skirts of my ragged wadded dressing gown--exactly as I had imagined the scene not long before in a fit of depression.

[archenemy]

I hate this thread.

[Peter_Puget]

Thread improvement post to benefit the public good

[archenemy]

Now I hate it worser.

[Squid]

"My dear Anna Mikhaylovna," said he 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--your son shall be transferred to the

Guards. Here is my hand on it. Are you satisfied?"

 

"My dear benefactor! This is what I expected from you--I knew your

kindness!" He turned to go.

 

"Wait--just a word! When he has been transferred to the Guards..."

she faltered. "You are on good terms with Michael Ilarionovich

Kutuzov... recommend Boris to him as adjutant! Then I shall be at

rest, and then..."

 

Prince Vasili smiled.

 

"No, I won't promise that. You don't know how Kutuzov is pestered

since his appointment as Commander in Chief. He told me himself that

all the Moscow ladies have conspired to give him all their sons as

adjutants."

 

"No, but do 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, au revoir! Good-by! You hear her?"

 

"Then tomorrow you will speak to the Emperor?"

 

"Certainly; but about Kutuzov, I don't promise."

 

"Do promise, do promise, Vasili!" cried Anna Mikhaylovna as he went,

with the smile of a coquettish girl, which at one time probably came

naturally to her, but was now very ill-suited to her careworn 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 vicomte was still talking, and again

pretended to listen, while waiting till it would be time to leave. Her

task was accomplished.

[Dru]

I only met one student at City College that I liked, Robert Becker. He wanted to be a writer. "I'm going to learn everything there is to learn about writing. It will be like taking a car apart and putting it back together again."

 

"Sounds like work," I said.

 

"I'm going to do it."

 

Becker was an inch or so shorter than I was but he was stocky, he was powerfully built, with big shoulders and arms.

 

"I had a childhood disease," he told me. "I had to lay in bed one time for a year squeezing two tennis balls, one in each hand. Just from doing that, I got to be like this."

 

He had a job as a messenger boy at night and was putting himself through college.

 

"How'd you get your job?"

 

"I knew a guy who knew a guy."

 

"I'll bet I can kick your ass."

 

"Maybe, maybe not. I'm only interested in writing."

 

We were sitting in an alcove overlooking the lawn. Two guys were staring at me.

 

Then one of them spoke. "Hey," he asked me, "do you mind if I ask you something?"

 

"Go ahead."

 

"Well, you used to be a sissy in grammar school, I remember you. And now you're a tough guy. What happened?"

 

"I don't know."

 

"Are you a cynic?"

 

"Probably."

 

"Are you happy being a cynic?"

 

"Yes."

 

"Then you're not a cynic because cynics aren't happy!"

 

The two guys did a little vaudeville handshake act and ran off, laughing.

 

"They made you look bad," said Becker.

 

"No, they were trying too hard."

 

"Are you a cynic?"

 

"I'm unhappy. If I was a cynic it would probably make me feel better."

 

We hopped down from the alcove. Classes were over. Becker wanted to put his books in his locker. We walked there and he dumped them in. He handed me five or six sheets of paper.

 

"Here read this. It's a short story."

 

We walked down to my locker. I opened it and handed him a paper bag.

 

"Take a hit . . ."

 

It was a bottle of port.

 

Becker took a hit, then I took one.

 

"You always keep one of these in your locker?" he asked.

 

"I try to."

 

"Listen, tonight's my night off. why don't you come meet some of my friends?"

 

"People don't do me much good."

 

"These are different people."

 

"Yeah? Where at? Your place?"

 

"No. Here, I'll write down the address . . ." He began writing on a piece of paper.

 

"Listen, Becker, what do these people do?"

 

"Drink," said Becker.

 

I put the slip into my pocket . . .

 

That night after dinner I read Becker's short story. It was good and I was jealous. It was about riding his bike at night and then delivering a telegram to a beautiful woman. The writing was objective and clear, there was a gentle decency about it. Becker claimed Thomas Wolfe as an influence but he didn't wail and ham it up like Wolfe did. The emotion was there but it wasn't spelled out in neon. Becker could write, he could write better than I could.

 

My parents had gotten me a typewriter and I had tried some short stories but they had come out very bitter and ragged. Not that that was so bad but the stories seemed to beg, they didn't have their own vitality. My stories were darker than Becker's, stranger, but they didn't work. Well, one or two of them had worked—for me—but it was more or less as if they had fallen into place instead of being guided there. Becker was clearly better. Maybe I'd try painting.

 

I waited until my parents were asleep. My father always snored loudly. When I heard him I opened the bedroom screen and slid out over the berry bush. That put me into the neighbor's driveway and I walked slowly in the dark. Then I walked up Longwood to 21st Street, took a right, then went up the hill along Westview to where the "W" car ended its route. I dropped my token in and walked to the rear of the car, sat down and lit a cigarette. If Becker's friends were anywhere as good as Becker's short story it was going to be one hell of a night.

 

Becker was already there by the time I found the Beacon Street address. His friends were in the breakfast nook. I was introduced. There was Harry, there was Lana, there was Gobbles, there was Stinky, there was Marshbird, there was Ellis, there was Dogface and finally there was The Ripper. They all sat around a large breakfast table. Harry had a legitimate job somewhere, he and Becker were the only ones employed. Lana was Harry's wife, Gobbles their baby was sitting in a highchair. Lana w as the only woman there. When we were introduced she had looked right at me and smiled. They were all young, thin, and puffed at rolled cigarettes.

 

"Becker told us about you," said Harry. "He says you're a writer. "

 

"I've got a typewriter."

 

"You gonna write about us?" asked Stinky.

 

"I'd rather drink."

 

"Fine. We're going to have a drinking contest. Got any mon-ey?" Stinky asked.

 

"Two dollars . . ."

 

"O.K., the ante is two dollars. Everybody up!" Harry said.

 

That made eighteen dollars. The money looked good laying there. A bottle appeared and then shot glasses.

 

"Becker told us you think you're a tough guy. Are you a tough guy?"

 

"Yeah."

 

"Well, we're gonna see . . ."

 

The kitchen light was very bright. It was straight whiskey. A dark yellow whiskey. Harry poured the drinks. Such beauty. My mouth, my throat, couldn't wait. The radio was on. Oh, Johnny, oh Johnny, how you can love! somebody sang.

 

"Down the hatch!" said Harry.

 

There was no way I could lose. I could drink for days. I had never had enough to drink.

 

Gobbles had a tiny shot glass of his own. As we raised ours and drank them, he raised his and drank. Everybody thought it was funny. I didn't think it was so funny for a baby to drink but I didn't say anything.Harry poured another round.

 

"You read my short story, Hank?" Becker asked.

 

"Yeah."

 

"How'd you like it?"

 

"It was good. You're ready now. All you need is some luck."

 

"Down the hatch!" said Harry.

 

The second round was no problem, we all got it down, includ-ing Lana.

 

Harry looked at me. "You like to duke it, Hank?"

 

"No. "

 

"Well, in case you do, we got Dogface here."

 

Dogface was twice my size. It was so wearisome being in the world. Every time you looked around there was some guy ready to take you on without even inhaling. I looked at Dogface. "Hi, buddy!"

 

"Buddy, my ass," he said. "Just get your next drink down."

 

Harry poured them all around. He skipped Gobbles in the highchair, though, which I appreciated. All right, we raised them, we all got that round down. Then Lana dropped out.

 

"Somebody's got to clean up this mess and get Harry ready for work in the morning," she said.

 

The next round was poured. Just as it was the door banged open and a large good-looking kid of around 22 came running into the room. "Shit, Harry," he said, "bide me! I just bead up a fucking gas station! "

 

"My car's in the garage," Harry said. "Get down on the floor in the back seat and stay there!"

 

We drank up. The next round was poured. A new bottle appeared. The eighteen dollars was still in the center of the table. We were still all hanging in there except Lana. It w as going to take plenty of whiskey to do us in.

 

"Hey," I asked Harry, "aren't Vie going to run out of drinks?"

 

"Show him, Lana . . ."

 

Lana pulled open some upper cupboard doors. I could see bottles and bottles of whiskey lined up, all the same brand. It looked like the loot from a truck hijack and it probably was. And these were the gang members: Harry, Lana, Stinky, Marshbird, Ellis, Dogface and The Ripper, maybe Becker, and most likely the young guy now on the floor in the back seat of Harry's car. I felt honored to be drinking with such an active part of the popula-tion of Los Angeles. Becker not only knew how to v. rite, Becker knew his people. I would dedicate my first novel to Robert Becker. And it would be a better novel than of Time and the River.

 

Harry kept pouring the rounds and we kept drinking them down. The kitchen was blue v with cigarette smoke.

 

Marshbird dropped out first. He had a very large nose, he just shook his head, no more, no more, and all you could see was this long nose waving "no" in the blue smoke.

 

Ellis was the next to drop out. He had a lot of hair on his chest but evidently not much on his balls.

 

Dogface was next. He just jumped up and ran to the crapper and puked. Listening to him Harry got the same idea and leaped up and puked in the sink.

 

That left me, Becker, Stinky and The Ripper.

 

Becker quit next. He just folded his arms on the table, put his head down in his arms and that was it.

 

"The night's so young," I said. "I usually drink until the sun comes up."

 

"Yeah," said The Ripper, "you shit in a basket too!"

 

"Yeah, and it's shaped like your head."

 

The Ripper stood up. "You son-of-a-bitch, I'll bust your ass!"

 

He swung at me from across the table, missed and knocked over the bottle. Lana got a rag and mopped it up. Harry opened a bottle.

 

"Sit down, Rip, or you forfeit your bet," Harry said.

 

Harry poured a new round. We drank them down.

 

The Ripper stood up, walked to the rear door, opened it and looked out into the night.

 

"Hey, Rip, what the hell you doing?" Stinky asked.

 

"I'm checking to see if there's a full moon."

 

"Well, is there?"

 

There was no answer. We heard him fall through the door, down the steps and into the bushes. We left him there.

 

That left me and Stinky.

 

"I've never seen anybody take Stinky yet," said Harry.

 

Lana had just put Gobbles to bed. she walked back into the kitchen.

 

"Jesus, there are dead bodies all over the place."

 

"Pour'em, Harry," I said.

 

Harry filled Stinky's glass, then mine. I knew there was no way I could get that drink down. I did the only thing I could do. I pretended it was easy. I grabbed the shot glass and belted it down. Stinky just stared at me. "I'll be right back. I gotta go to the crapper. "

 

We sat and waited.

 

"Stinky's a nice guy," I said. "You shouldn't call him Stinky. How'd he get that name?"

 

"I dunno," said Harry, "somebody just laid it on him."

 

"That guy in the back of your car. He ever going to come out?"

 

"Not till morning."

 

We sat and waited. "I think," said Harry, "we better take a look . "

 

We opened the bathroom door. Stinky didn't appear to be in there. Then we saw him. He had fallen into the bathtub. His feet stuck up over the edge. His eyes were closed, he was down in there, and out. We walked back to the table. "The money's yours," said Harry.

 

"How about letting me pay for some of those bottles of whiskey ?"

 

"Forget it."

 

"You mean it?"

 

"Yes, of course."

 

I picked up the money and put it in my right front pocket. Then I looked at Stinky's drink.

 

"No use wasting this," I said.

 

"You mean you're going to drink that?" asked Lana.

 

"Why not? One for the road . . ."

 

I gulped it down.

 

"O.K., see you guys, it's been great!"

 

"Goodnight, Hank . . ."

 

I walked out the back door, stepping over The Ripper's body. I found a back alley and took a left. I walked along and I saw a green Chevy sedan. I staggered a bit as I approached it. I grabbed the rear door handle to steady myself. The god-damned door was unlocked and it swung open, knocking me sideways. I fell hard, skinning my left elbow on the pavement. There was a full moon. The whiskey had hit me all at once. I felt as if I couldn't get up. I had to get up. I was supposed to be a tough guy. I rose, fell against the half-open door, grabbed at it, held it. Then I had the inside handle and was steadying myself. I got myself into the back seat and then I just sat there. I sat there for some time. Then I started to puke. It really came. It came and it came, it covered the rear floorboard. Then I sat for a while. Then I managed to get out of the car. I didn't feel as dizzy. I took out my handkerchief and wiped the vomit off my pant legs and off of my shoes as best I could. I closed the car door and walked on down the alley. I had to find the "W" streetcar. I would find it.

 

I did. I rode it in. I made it down Westview Street, walked down 21st Street, turned south down Longwood Avenue to 2 122. I walked up the neighbor's driveway, found the berry bush, crawled over it, through the open screen and into my bedroom. I undressed and went to bed. I must have consumed over a quart of whiskey. My father was still snoring, just as he had been when 1 had left, only at the moment it was louder and uglier. I slept anyhow.

 

As usual I approached Mr. Hamilton's English class thirty minutes late. It was 7:30 a.m. I stood outside the door and listened. They were at Gilbert and Sullivan again. And it was still all about going to the sea and the Queen's Navy. Hamilton couldn't get enough of that. In high school I'd had an English teacher and it had been Poe, Poe, Edgar Allan Poe.

 

I opened the door. Hamilton went over and lifted the needle from the record. Then he announced to the class, "When Mr. Chinaski arrives we always know that it is 7:30 a.m. Mr. Chinaski is always on time. The only problem being that it is the wrong time."

 

He paused, glancing at the faces in his class. He was very, very dignified. Then he looked at me.

 

"Mr. Chinaski, whether you arrive at 7:30 a.m. or whether you arrive at all will not matter. I am assigning you a 'D' for English 1."

 

"A 'D,' Mr. Hamilton?" I asked, flashing my famous sneer. "Why not an 'F'?"

 

"Because 'F.' at times, equates with 'Fuck.' And I don't think you're worth a 'Fuck.'"

 

The class cheered and roared and stomped and stamped. I turned around, walked out, closed the door behind me. I walked down the hallway, still hearing them going at it in there.

[EWolfe]

Cripes, Dru. Who has time to read that?

[Squid]

"And what do you think of this latest comedy, the coronation at

Milan?" asked Anna Pavlovna, "and of the comedy of the people of Genoa

and Lucca laying their petitions before Monsieur Buonaparte, and

Monsieur Buonaparte sitting on a throne and granting the petitions

of the nations? Adorable! It is enough to make one's head whirl! It is

as if the whole world had gone crazy."

 

Prince Andrew looked Anna Pavlovna straight in the face with a

sarcastic smile.

 

"'Dieu me la donne, gare a qui la touche!' They say he was very

fine when he said that," he remarked, repeating the words in

Italian: "'Dio mi l'ha dato. Guai a chi la tocchi!'"

[olyclimber]

She ought to have tried not to notice, as though everything had been as usual, while instead of that, she ... and I dimly felt that I should make her pay dearly for ALL THIS.

[Dru]

When awful darkness and silence reign

Over the great Gromboolian plain,

Through the long, long wintry nights;

When the angry breakers roar,

As they beat on the rocky shore;

When Storm-clouds brood on the towering heights

Of the Hills on the Chankly Bore:

 

Then, through the vast and gloomy dark,

There moves what seems a fiery spark,

A lonely spark with silvery rays

Piercing the coal-black night,

A meteor strange and bright:

Hither and thither the vision strays,

A single lurid light.

 

Slowly it wanders - pauses - creeps -

Anon it sparkles - flashes and leaps;

And ever as onward it gleaming goes

A light on the Bong-tree stem it throws.

And those who watch at that midnight hour

From Hall or Terrace, or lofty Tower,

Cry, as the wild light passes along,

"The Dong! - the Dong!

The wandering Dong through the forest goes!

The Dong! the Dong!

The Dong with a luminous Nose!"

 

Long years ago

The Dong was happy and gay,

Till he fell in love with a Jumbly Girl

Who came to those shores one day.

For the Jumblies came in a Sieve, they did -

Landing at eve near the Zemmery Fidd

Where the Oblong Oysters grow,

And the rocks are smooth and gray.

And all the woods and the valleys rang

With the Chorus they daily and nightly sang -

 

"Far and few, far and few,

Are the lands where the Jumblies live;

Their heads are green, and their hands are blue,

And they went to sea in a Sieve."

 

Happily, happily passed those days!

While the cheerful Jumblies staid;

They danced in circlets all night long,

To the plaintive pipe of the lively Dong,

In moonlight, shine, or shade.

For day and night he was always there

By the side of the Jumbly Girl so fair,

With her sky-blue hands, and her sea-green hair.

Till the morning came of that fateful day

When the Jumblies sailed in their Sieve away,

And the Dong was left on the cruel shore

Gazing - gazing for evermore -

Ever keeping his weary eyes on

That pea-green sail on the far horizon -

Singing the Jumbly Chorus still

As he sat all day on the grass hill -

 

"Far and few, far and few,

Are the lands where the Jumblies live;

Their heads are green, and their hands are blue,

And they went to sea in a Sieve."

 

But when the sun was low in the West,

The Dong arose and said,

"What little sense I once possessed

Has quite gone out of my head!"

And since that day he wanders still

By lake and forest, marsh and hill,

Singing - "O somewhere, in valley or plain

Might I find my Jumbly Girl again!

For ever I'll seek by lake and shore

Till I find my Jumbly Girl once more!"

Playing a pipe with silvery squeaks,

Since then his Jumbly Girl he seeks,

And because by night he could not see,

He gathered the bark of the Twangum Tree

On the flowery plain that grows.

And he wove him a wondrous Nose,

A Nose as strange as a Nose could be!

Of vast proportions and painted red,

And tied with cords to the back of his head.

- In a hollow rounded space it ended

With a luminous lamp within suspended,

All fenced about

With a bandage stout

To prevent the wind from blowing it out;

And with holes all round to send the light,

In gleaming rays on the dismal night.

 

And now each night, and all night long,

Over those plains still roams the Dong!

And above the wail of the Chimp and Snipe

You may hear the wail of his plaintive pipe,

While ever he seeks, but seeks in vain,

To meet with his Jumbly Girl again;

Lonely and wild - all night he goes -

The Dong with a luminous Nose!

And all who watch at the midnight hour,

From Hall or Terrace, or Lofty Tower,

Cry, as they trace the Meteor bright,

Moving along through the dreary night,

"This is the hour when forth he goes,

The Dong with the luminous Nose!

Yonder - over the plain he goes;

He goes;

He goes!

The Dong with a luminous Nose!"

[Squid]

"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."

[olyclimber]

"Isn't that shameful, isn't that humiliating?" you will say, perhaps, wagging your heads contemptuously. "You thirst for life and try to settle the problems of life by a logical tangle. And how persistent, how insolent are your sallies, and at the same time what a scare you are in! You talk nonsense and are pleased with it; you say impudent things and are in continual alarm and apologising for them. You declare that you are afraid of nothing and at the same time try to ingratiate yourself in our good opinion. You declare that you are gnashing your teeth and at the same time you try to be witty so as to amuse us. You know that your witticisms are not witty, but you are evidently well satisfied with their literary value. You may, perhaps, have really suffered, but you have no respect for your own suffering. You may have sincerity, but you have no modesty; out of the pettiest vanity you expose your sincerity to publicity and ignominy. You doubtlessly mean to say something, but hide your last word through fear, because you have not the resolution to utter it, and only have a cowardly impudence. You boast of consciousness, but you are not sure of your ground, for though your mind works, yet your heart is darkened and corrupt, and you cannot have a full, genuine consciousness without a pure heart. And how intrusive you are, how you insist and grimace! Lies, lies, lies!"

[Squid]

"The sovereigns? I do not speak of Russia," said the vicomte, polite

but hopeless: "The sovereigns, madame... What have they done for Louis

XVII, for the Queen, or for 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 again changed his position.

 

Prince Hippolyte, who had been gazing at the vicomte for some time

through his lorgnette, suddenly turned completely round toward the

little princess, and having asked for a needle began tracing the Conde

coat of arms on the table. He explained this to her with as much

gravity as if she had asked him to do it.

 

"Baton de gueules, engrele de gueules d' azur--maison Conde," said

he.

[olyclimber]

I waited before him for three minutes with my arms crossed A LA NAPOLEON. My temples were moist with sweat. I was pale, I felt it.

[Squid]

The princess listened, smiling.

 

"If Buonaparte remains on the throne of France a year longer," the

vicomte 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 current 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 out his hands. Pierre wished to

make a remark, for the conversation interested him, but Anna 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 amiable to the

royalist emigrant.

 

"That is doubtful," said Prince Andrew. "Monsieur le Vicomte 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 the aristocracy has already gone over to

Bonaparte's side."

[olyclimber]

I was a terrible dreamer, I would dream for three months on end, tucked away in my corner, and you may believe me that at those moments I had no resemblance to the gentleman who, in the perturbation of his chicken heart, put a collar of German beaver on his great-coat. I suddenly became a hero.

[archenemy]

the gentleman who, in the perturbation of his chicken heart, put a collar of German beaver on his great-coat. I suddenly became a hero.

You became a hero because another guy had his head in a beaver? Preposterous.

[minx]

whew! glad this thread is back. i just finished my book and need something to read!

[Squid]

"It is the Buonapartists who say that," replied the vicomte

without 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 vicomte 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 antechambers and they crowded in.' I

do not know how far he was justified in saying so."

[olyclimber]

I believed blindly at such times that by some miracle, by some external circumstance, all this would suddenly open out, expand; that suddenly a vista of suitable activity -- beneficent, good, and, above all, ready made (what sort of activity I had no idea, but the great thing was that it should be all ready for me) -- would rise up before me -- and I should come out into the light of day, almost riding a white horse and crowned with laurel.

[Squid]

"Not in the least," replied the vicomte. "After the murder of the

duc even the most partial ceased to regard him as a hero. If to some

people," he went on, turning to Anna Pavlovna, "he ever was a hero,

after the murder of the duc 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 vicomte'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 Duc d'Enghien," declared Monsieur Pierre, "was

a political necessity, and it seems to me that Napoleon showed

greatness of soul by not fearing to take on himself the whole

responsibility of that deed."

 

"Dieu! Mon Dieu!" muttered Anna Pavlovna in a terrified whisper.

 

"What, Monsieur Pierre... Do you consider that assassination shows

greatness of soul?" said the little princess, smiling and drawing

her work nearer to her.

 

"Oh! Oh!" exclaimed several voices.

 

"Capital!" said Prince Hippolyte in English, and began slapping

his knee with the palm of his hand.

 

The vicomte 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

from 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," cried he, 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, 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 vicomte.

[archenemy]

Squid, I used to like you.

Now you're boring me.

Please stop.

[olyclimber]

Hi.

[archenemy]

inane.