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WAR AND PEACE
PEACE Part I
OTRADNOJE, COUNT ROSTOW'S ESTATE Spring 1809
The radiance of the sky in spring...
is it an illusion?
Sunshine, springtime, happiness: are these real?
Today, as I rode through the forest,
everything looked fresh and green.
The birch and alder had put forth new leaves.
The young grass was spangled
with the first flowers of spring.
But, on the edge of the forest path,
I saw a huge oak,
covered in old scars,
with gnarled branches and twisted twigs.
It stood like an angry, contemptuous giant
among the delicate birch trees,
and seemed to say,
“Springtime, love, happiness...
it's all a stupid, meaningless illusion.
There's no such thing as spring, sunshine or joy.”
I won't, I can't sleep.
Sonja! Sonja! How can anyone sleep?
There's never been a night like this.
Everything is calm and still, as if it had turned to stone.
Beneath the dark trees,
the wet grass shines like silver.
Upstairs,
they can't sleep either.
But Natasha,
it's after one o'clock.
Perhaps if I crouch down like this
and grip my knees tightly,
as tightly as I can,
I could fly away. Like this!
It's her again!
As if she's doing it on purpose!
Sonja!
That raven-haired, dark-eyed,
strange and slender girl.
It's not a garden outside the window, it's an enchanted kingdom.
Her name is Natasha, it seems.
Little stream, meandering over the bright sand,
making your sweet, quiet music,
how you sparkle as you flow towards the river!
Come to me, o joyous muse!
In a garland of rosebuds
and with a golden flute,
lean over the lively waters and dream.
And, enlivening
the sounds of misty evening,
sing in slumbering Nature's lap.
How beautiful is the sun as it sets behind the mountain,
when shadows envelop the fields
and distant groves,
when animals run down from the golden hills to the river
and the rumbling echo grows louder over the waters.
The fisherman hauls in his nets
and steers his little boat
along the bank, between the branches.
O God, my God!
What a shame to sleep!
But, let's to bed, if sleep we must!
She has not a care for my existence!
There's something special,
very special...
about this girl
who wanted to fly away into the sky.
I thought that my life was over,
that I could hope only to live the rest of my days doing no wrong,
nurturing no worries or desires.
Why, then, this unwarranted,
spring-like feeling of gladness and renewal?
No, life is not over at the age of thirty-one.
My life will not be empty.
We must believe sincerely
that happiness is within our reach.
We must believe in springtime and in joy,
in order to be happy!
ST. PETERSBURG, NEW YEAR'S EVE Six months later
Let the chorus begin!
The song by young Batyushkov.
Dear friends, are you here with me,
beneath the poplar trees,
with golden goblets in your hands,
and words of love and friendship on your lips?
My friends, the moon has risen over the river....
Count Ilya Andreyich Rostov.
... but are we to seek peace here...
Which is your daughter? To my right.
... when the garden...
Sweet god-daughter, you have grown prettier. Sonja dear, bonjour!
... and the crystal streams weave their pattern of cool shadows?
Some look as pretty as us, and others don't.
Count and Countess Bezukhov.
... are you here with me, beneath the poplar trees...
Hélène, tsarina of Petersburg society!
She's beautiful!
Look how men, young and old, are drawn to her. What shoulders!
Yes, it's as if the gaze of men leaves a shine on them.
I prefer to keep away from Bezukhova and I'd advise anyone to do the same.
And him, the fat man in spectacles: he's a world-class freemason!
How funny he looks, next to his wife!
What a ridiculous figure!
Ah, but he's so kind and noble.
He promised me that he'd be here
and that he'd find me dance partners.
Prince Kuragin, Lieutenant Dolokhov!
Kuragin: Bezukhova's brother. How alike they are, how attractive!
Dolokhov is now the talk of the town.
People swear by him. He's as sought-after as sturgeon.
Kuragin and Dolokhov have enthralled all the ladies,
and yet they prefer gypsy girls.
The Tsar is to grace us with his presence!
The Tsar is to grace us with his presence!
Chorus!
Let's sing Lomonosov's ode.
May the planets move harmoniously
along their preordained heavenly paths.
May the rivers flow tranquilly
within the banks which obey your command.
Let enmity
and malice be gone from mens' hearts,
let fire and the sword leave your domain,
may your lands be free from harm.
Spring joyfully puts forth its tender greenery,
so that those who toil,
untroubled in the cornfields, may reap an abundant harvest.
Look, the colonel's dancing the mazurka.
See how lightly he glides across the floor.
Look, the colonel's dancing the mazurka.
See how lightly he glides across the floor.
Sonja, there's another familiar face: Bolkonsky.
Do you remember, Sonja? He stayed with us at Otradnoye.
He drafts plans with ministers
and his arrogance knows no bounds.
Like father, like son.
Don't forget, his papa was a courtier in Catherine the Great's time.
He's a stern old man, but a true patriot.
Will no one choose me as a partner?
Will I not be among the first to dance?
They must know how much I want to dance
and how much they'd enjoy dancing with me.
A waltz, a waltz, a waltz, mesdames!
A waltz, a waltz, a waltz, mesdames!
You're one for dancing, Prince...
My protégée is here:
Count Rostov's young daughter.
Do ask her to dance.
She's an exceptional girl.
Where is this protégée of yours?
A waltz, a waltz, a waltz, mesdames!
Allow me to introduce you to my daughter.
I am fortunate to be her acquaintance,
if the young lady remembers me.
Mais, charmante!
It'd be a pleasure to flirt with her!
Right, Hélène?
Well, if you ask nicely...
all right, I'll help.
Hélène, you're a wonderful sister!
A waltz, a waltz, a waltz, mesdames!
When I was at Otradnoye in May,
I heard you giving voice to your dreams,
on that moonlit spring night.
What a splendid ball!
Such finery!
How bright and dazzling everything is!
I, too, loved to waltz. I enjoyed the whirl of the dance.
I understand
your delight and happiness so well.
Are you happy, Natasha?
Happier than I've ever been in my life!
Will you accept an invitation, Prince, to visit us on Sunday?
If she goes to her cousin first,
and then to the other lady,
she will be my wife.
What nonsense sometimes flits through my mind...
She went to her cousin!
PRINCE BOLKONSKY'S HOUSE MOSKOW, JANUARY 181 1
The young Prince's fiancée.
The young Prince's fiancée.
The young Prince's fiancée?
What shall we do?
The old Prince won't receive her.
This morning, I heard the old Prince shout,
“Let the Princess receive her if she will.”
Prince Nikolai Andreyich and the young Princess, are they home?
Kindly announce us: Count Rostov and his daughter.
Well, may the Lord bless us.
They're bound to grow to love me.
I'm prepared to do anything they wish.
I'm willing to love the old prince because he is his father,
and the Princess because she is his sister.
They have no reason
not to love me in return.
The Prince is unable to receive visitors at present.
I'll go and tell the princess you're here.
How can he refuse to see us?
Natasha, you know as well as I do that the old Prince does not
particularly want his son to marry you.
He thinks the match would be
less than brilliant in terms of rank, wealth and family connections.
What right does he have?
Of course, Prince Andrei will make up his own mind,
but it wouldn't do to be united with his family against his wishes.
You're a clever girl, you'll soon put this behind you.
Everything will be fine.
Ah, Count... how nice to see you... I...
My dear Princess,
I've brought my little songbird to meet you.
I have heard so much about you... I am very... very...
I'm so pleased that you two have now met.
If you'll permit, I'll leave Natasha with you for 15 minutes or so.
I'd like to pay a visit to Akhrossimova.
I'll come back directly.
He's just afraid of seeing the old Prince.
It will be a pleasure.
Only, please, don't hurry back.
May I invite you...
Let's sit down.
What can I talk about with this frivolous, dressed-up girl?
Tell me,
do you like Moscow? - Ah yes, very much!
Well, I find the noise and bustle hard to bear.
If it wasn't for my father's illness, we would not have come here.
I fear that he will be worse off here, what with all the talk of Bonaparte.
The whole of Moscow is talking about Bonaparte.
It infuriates my father that he conducts business with our Tsar,
the grandson of Catherine the Great, as if he were his equal.
Will there be another war?
If only we had a general of Suvorov's caliber,
that Corsican monster would never set foot on Russian soil.
Look, here is a miniature of my father.
She talks about everything, except Prince Andrei!
Yet it wouldn't do for me to be the one to speak of him first.
This is my father.
Ah, Madam...
young lady...
Count Rostov's daughter, if I am not mistaken?
Please forgive me,
I didn't know, Madam, the Lord is my witness,
I didn't know that we were to have the pleasure of your company.
I dropped in on my daughter in this attire.
Please forgive me Madam, young lady.
A good family, eh?
Intelligent folk, eh?
Are they rich? Of noble blood?
Well, let him marry. Let him live his own life.
Perhaps you'd go off and live with him, Marya.
Off you'd go, God willing, off you'd go!
And I'll marry Mademoiselle Bourienne,
the governess, yes!
Oh, why is he so?
Why does he taint his soul,
his eternal soul?
He arranged for Prince Andrei to go abroad for a year.
He wanted to postpone our wedding for twelve months,
hoping our love wouldn't endure...
O God, teach me humility!
Here I am. - At long last!
Come, it's time for us to go home!
In a moment, Natasha. I'd like a chat with the Princess.
What right do they have,
to decide that they don't want to accept me into the family?
O God, if only he were here!
Perhaps he'll come today.
Maybe he even arrived yesterday
and I've simply forgotten.
For all I know, he's sitting there in the salon.
I won't be shy, I'll embrace him
and make him gaze into my eyes.
I can picture his face:
the searching, questioning look.
I'll go home and then,
suddenly, I'll see him,
his eyes,
his face, his smile.
Oh, why do I feel so lost?
I need him now.
Now!
Give him to me. I can't wait!
I'm afraid. Something's bound to happen.
What can be done to bring him home quickly?
I fear for him, for myself, for everything.
I don't know why I find it so hard to speak of this marriage,
but whatever my feelings may be,
I must love my brother's chosen one.
Please hear me out... I must...
Dear Natalie, I want you to know,
I'm glad my brother has found happiness...
Princess, it is not convenient to speak of this now.
MOSCOW; PIERRE & HÉLÈNE BEZUKHOV'S The following Sunday evening.
The charming, delightful Natasha!
At last I have the pleasure of seeing you in my house.
How can you live in Moscow and not go anywhere?
Must a betrothed woman live like a bride of Christ?
My fiancé... What have you heard?
That you are now engaged to one of our most intelligent,
cultivated and dynamic young men.
Incidentally...
My brother dined here yesterday
and we almost died laughing.
The poor lad eats nothing, just sighs at the thought of you, my beauty.
He loves you to distraction.
Oh! What are you saying?
How she blushes, my lovely!
It's time to go home, Natasha. And where's Sonya?
My dear Count, you simply can't leave already!
Your daughter is the belle of the ball.
No, on no account will I allow her to go.
I have a treat for you.
Permit me to introduce you to a French abbé. He's most popular.
He'll regale us with all the news from Paris.
Ah, news, news!
The business with the French sounds more serious every hour.
Bonaparte is behaving like a pirate, but the ship he's captured is Europe.
She's wonderful and so beautiful,
and it's obvious that she loves me dearly.
She knows that I'm promised to another, and yet,
and yet with her husband, good, kind Pierre,
she joked and laughed about Anatol.
That means there's no harm in it.
So it doesn't matter.
Since we met, my thoughts have only been of you.
Please don't say such things to me. I love another and am to marry him.
Ah, what of it?
I'm telling you that I love you, love you madly.
You're ravishing. That's hardly my fault, is it?
I can't come to your home, for reasons that are secret.
One day, I'll tell you why. - I don't understand.
Here's a letter. Just one word, and nothing
will stand between us and perfect happiness.
I've nothing... I've nothing to say to you.
Just one word,
for God's sake!
“Only you can decide my fate:
to be loved by you or to die.”
Decide?
Anything, anything he wants.
“You have only to utter the word 'yes' and I'll take you away
to the ends of the earth.”
My God, how could I have let things come to this?
Will I really have to
part for ever
with the pure joy
of Prince Andrei's love?
That joy has filled my life for so long...
Am I lost for his love?
Has something happened to me?
But what's come over me?
Nothing.
Nothing's happened.
Prince Andrei will be able to love me as I am.
As I am... what does that mean?
Ah, God in heaven,
why isn't he here with me?
Why isn't he here with me?
How close I suddenly feel to that man. It's frightening.
Natasha!
Natasha, what about Bolkonsky? - Sonya, Sonya,
you can't understand.
Prince Andrei is very dear to me,
very dear, but what am I to do?
I feel so happy today!
Don't be silly, you've only seen Kuragin three times.
What if he's not a man of honor?
He's honorable, kind and beautiful. - He's a cheat and a scoundrel.
I won't allow him to cause unhappiness.
I won't allow him to disgrace the family.
Come, Natasha, let's go home.
The ladies and gentlemen in this house
are known for their unabashed manners.
This is no place for my Natasha.
DOLOKHOV'S STUDY The following Thursday.
At ten o'clock this evening, she'll be waiting,
then we'll speed in the troika to Kamenka,
and tonight we'll be wed.
Then we'll take the Warsaw road.
I'll whisk her abroad by post-chaise.
She's a beauty! Such a beauty!
Dolokhov, eh? She's a beauty!
Yes, but she's not for us.
You'd do better to wait until she's married.
Idiot! You know...
that I adore young girls!
Seriously, forget all this, there's still time.
... sweet young girls! - I'll be blunt.
Do you think this is all a joke?
Teasing me again?
Why don't you go to hell? Hmm?
I'm telling you for the last time. Have I ever wrecked your plans?
Who arranged everything? Who wrote the love letter?
“Only you can decide my fate: to be loved by you or to die.”
“To be loved by you,
to be loved, or to die!”
Well, thank you, thank you.
D'you think I'm not grateful to you?
Who got you a passport? - Thank you.
Who found a defrocked priest? - Thank you.
Who came up with the money? I did everything.
So you're going to carry her off. What about her fiancé?
Let her break off their engagement. - What about fat Pierre?
I've been at the wrong end of his gun more than once.
He's on his estate, busy liberating peasants
and setting up hospitals. He won't trouble us.
But when the priest marries you and the Rostov girl,
you'll be guilty of bigamy
and they'll take you to court as a criminal.
Blah blah blah! I've heard enough of this drivel!
If we're not at war with the French today, we will be tomorrow.
What then?
What then?
What then?
Well...
I don't know what.
It's time!
What's with my heart?
It's pounding.
Oh, what legs,
what looks!
She's a goddess!
Balaga!
Fyodor lvanych!
You Highness!
Tell me, Balaga, are you fond of me?
Many's the time I've been up to tricks for your Highness
which could've had me sent to Siberia.
Balaga, do something for me now. Which horses did you come with?
Yours, they're fiery beasts.
Balaga, drive the horses, even if it kills them, to arrive in 3 hours.
But if we kill the horses, how'll we get there?
Another joke from you and I'll rearrange your ugly mug!
I spare no effort for my masters.
Ah! Well, sit down. - Sit down, do. - I'd rather stand. - Liar! Sit down
and have a drink!
Here's five hundred. - I like to drive the horses hard,
speeding my masters on their way.
I often risk life and limb. Always on the move!
Five hundred, plus five hundred,
plus five hundred. That's fifteen hundred.
Driving fine horses till they drop,
not giving a damn.
Knocking over gawping passers-by.
Keep out of the way, you fool!
Three thousand, four...
Five!
Quick, the gypsies are waiting.
Gypsy girls await us, we'll make merry!
Drink, Balaga. Smash the glasses.
This is living!
Ten thousand. It's all there.
When are we going then,
Your Highness?
We're leaving this minute.
Well, goodbye Fyedya, thanks for everything.
Raise your glasses, you too, Balaga.
We've had good times,
we've lived.
But when will we meet again?
Farewell, my friends, here's to your health. Hurrah!
Good health to you.
Well, lads, let's get going!
Where's Khvostikov? - In the sleigh.
Who is this Khvostikov? - Your witness.
Joseph, Joseph!
Where's the coat for the lady? Joseph!
Find Matryona Matvevna
and ask her for the sable coat.
Joseph! The sable!
I've heard how it is when a man caries off a woman.
She'll rush out, looking half dead,
wearing just her indoor clothes. If you linger for a moment
there'll be tears. She'll cry for her papa and her mama.
By then she'll be cold and she'll want to turn back and go home.
So you get that fur coat around her straight away...
and carry her to the sleigh as quick as you can.
Not that one!
Are you deaf? Bring the sable.
Hey, Matryosha, the sable!
It's alright,
honestly, I don't mind.
It's alright, take it, take it...
Watch! You do it like so...
then like so...
and finally, like so.
See?
Farewell then, Matryosha, my lovely.
Oh, my carefree days
are over!
Wish me luck.
Well, Prince,
may God shower you with happiness.
Are you ready then?
Let's go! - Hey, steady there! Ha! Ha!
AT MADAM AKHROSSIMOVA'S The same night.
Oh, my dear Miss Natasha,
all is lost, it seems. Our young lady has told
the mistress of the house everything.
Sonya? - Yes, Miss.
No, Sonya wouldn't do that.
Dunyasha, did you hear her yourself?
No, the maids told me.
Well, the maids are talking nonsense.
They'll be coming for me any minute now.
Fetch my shawl.
Sonya
would never do such a thing!
The mistress would like to see you.
Mistress? What mistress? And who are you?
I have orders
to take you to her. This way, please. - Kuragin!
Come back, it's a trap!
Come back!
A fine young lady you are!
Arranging trysts with your admirers in my house!
Listen to me when I'm talking to you.
There's no point in keeping up the pretense.
You've behaved disgracefully, like a little wanton.
Whom did you take up with? With Bezukhova.
What did you find in her company? French notions,
French fashion.
The ladies, if one can call them that, sit *** clad,
looking like the advertisements near the market baths.
They coo over Métivier, the so-called doctor from France.
They worship the French. Paris, to them, is heaven on earth.
What is there for you in such company?
Leave me alone.
Oh, what a handful these girls become without their mother!
What shall I tell the dear Countess?
Well, what shall I say to your mother?
Why isn't she here?
She'd understand.
It was lucky for him that he got away.
But I shall find him.
Do you hear what I'm saying?
Leave... me...
What do I care?
I shall die...
Natalya, I wish you nothing but happiness.
Alright, you lie there like that and listen.
Well, now your father will have to know,
so will your brother, and your fiancé, too!
I've known Prince Andrei since he was a boy...
and I love him as a mother loves her son.
I have no fiancé, I've broken off our engagement.
Be that as it may, they'll find out. And what if there's a duel?
Oh, leave me alone. Why did you ruin everything?
And just what did you expect?
Why? Why? Why? Who asked you to? - Why did he try to carry you off?
He's a villain and a scoundrel, that's why.
He's better than all of you! - Just wait till I see him again!
If you hadn't meddled...
O God, God, what is this?
Sonya, why? You all hate and despise me.
Leave me alone!
Announcing... - I said I wouldn't receive visitors.
... Count Pyotr Kirillovich Bezukhov.
Bezukhov?
Show him in.
He's the very person to help me now.
He may be the most muddleheaded man,
and people may laugh at him,
but he has a heart of gold.
Oh, my friend, what a business!
Never, in my 58 years,
have I come across such a shameful thing!
What has happened?
Natalya, unbeknown to her parents, has spurned her fiancè.
Kuragin holds her spellbound, you see.
He and your wife lead her astray.
In her father's absence, she was planning to marry in secret.
They can't do that!
He's already married. - What a fine young man! A villain!
Do arrange for him to leave Moscow,
or else there will be a scandal and duels. - He will leave.
He'll leave tomorrow. - And tell Natalya that he's married.
At least she won't go on waiting.
Don't let her father know about this.
Things are bad enough as it is. His estate is about to be sold.
You're welcome to stay for tea, if you'd like to.
I've sought to avoid her,
thinking that my feelings for her
are stronger than they should be.
After all, I'm a married man and she's betrothed to my friend.
Betrothed to my friend...
betrothed to Prince Andrei,
who loves her with such passion.
This Natasha Rostova, once so sweet,
has rejected Andrei Bolkonsky
for that fool Anatol
and has become so besotted with him
that she agreed to run away with him.
And what of Prince Andrei?
What of the pride of the Bolkonsky family?
Am I really not alone
in suffering the miserable fate of being tied
to a worthless, contemptible woman?
Natalya Ilinichna...
Is it true that he's married?
That should not matter to you, because...
So it's a lie that he's married?
No, it's the truth.
Pyotr Kirillovich,
I have complete faith in you.
You're the nicest,
most kind-hearted person I know.
Tell me, is he married?
Did he marry long ago?
Word of honor?
Word of honor.
I ask but one thing of you:
think of me a as a friend.
If you ever want help or advice,
or if you just feel the need
to unburden your soul to someone,
not now, but when this cloud has lifted from your heart,
think of me.
Don't say such things to me.
Believe me, I don't deserve your kind words.
Pyotr Kirillovich,
Prince Bolkonsky has always been your friend.
He told me
that if anything happened, I should turn to you.
Tell him that...
... I'm asking him to... to...
forgive me.
Yes... I'll tell him...
But...
Oh, I know that this is the end,
that there can never be anything more between us again.
Only, I'm tormented by the evil,
the wrong that I've done.
Tell him
that I beg him to forgive me,
if he can find it in himself to forgive me.
I beg him to forgive me for everything.
I shall tell him.
I shall tell him everything.
But don't go on torturing yourself.
You still have your whole life ahead of you.
Ahead of me? No!
It's all over.
All over?
If I were the handsomest,
cleverest and finest man in the world,
and if I were free,
I'd get on my knees here and now,
to ask...
... for your hand...
... and... and
... for your love.
You have your whole life in front of you...
He's married...
Whole life ahead...
He's married...
Word of honor...
I'm the worst creature in the world!
She called me her enemy.
She's avoiding me.
She'll kill herself.
Go and put her to bed
and give her some lime-blossom tee.
Sonya!
Save me!
Sonya!
I've taken poison!
PIERRE BEZUKHOV'S STUDY. The same night.
Picture the scene, Countess.
I called on
old Prince Bolkonsky to convey my greetings on his name day.
I entered his house, with goodwill,
whereupon he was seized by such fury
that he shook from head to toe and assaulted me with these words:
“French spy, slave of Bonaparte,
get out of my house!”
Imagine sending away such a doctor as this,
a medical wizard no less!
It is unpardonable.
He must be growing confused in his old age.
Monsieur l'abbé, does that constitute a venial sin or a mortal sin?
Péché mortel. - A mortal sin.
Be on your guard, Anatol,
lest the young Bolkonsky
prove to be as insane as his father.
Ah, Pierre,
you haven't heard what's happened to our Anatol...
Wherever you go, evil and depravity follow.
Please, not in front of our guests.
Let's adjourn to the drawing room.
I need to have a talk with you.
Did you promise
Count Rostov's daughter
that you'd marry her, and were you about to carry her off?
Mon cher,
I am not obliged to reply to... questions put in that tone of voice.
When I tell you I need to have a talk with you...
Alright,
but this is stupid, eh?
You're a rogue and a villain,
And I don't know why I don't just afford myself the pleasure...
... of beating your brains out with this.
Did you promise to marry her?
I... I didn't think...
I never promised, because...
because...
Do you have any letters from her?
Don't worry, I won't use force.
The letters: that's the first thing done.
Now the second thing:
you must leave Moscow tomorrow.
How on earth can I... - The third thing is this:
I ask you never to tell a soul about what was
between you and the young lady.
I know
that I can't forbid you to do so,
but, if there's a glimmer of conscience in you,
you'll realize that,
besides your own fun and games,
there's the happiness of others to consider.
You'll understand that you're ruining
someone else's whole life,
solely because
you want to enjoy yourself.
Play around with women like my wife, your sister.
But promising a young girl that you'll marry her...
lying to her, trying to carry her off...
Can't you understand? That's as low-down
as battering an old man or a child!
I don't know anything about that. Eh?
I don't know and I don't want to know.
But you've addressed such words to me,
“low-down” and the like,
which I, as a man of honor, will tolerate from no one.
Are you demanding satisfaction?
You... you... you... could at least take back your words.
Eh? If you want me to do as you ask. Eh?
I do, I take them back.
I apologize.
And if you need any money
before you leave...
Oh, what a despicable,
heartless breed!
I long to go away,
anywhere, to get away from this house,
to abandon this life of useless luxury.
Oh how can I find inner peace?
I've sought it by helping and caring for others,
sought it in the fraternity of the freemasons,
with their teachings of equality and love.
sought it in the distractions of worldly society
and sought it in romantic love:
love for Natasha Rostova.
Natasha Rostova!
Count Pjotr Kirillovich,
a messenger has arrived from Vilna.
Napoleon has massed his troops at our border.
War?
I fear it means war.
EPIGRAPH
The forces
of two and ten European nations
have invaded Russia.
The forces
of two and ten European nations
have invaded Russia.
He has generated
a spark of outrage
in the Russian soul,
which has flared up
into sacred fury.
Russians have risen up
to defend their country.
The strength of a nation at war
has been mustered,
formidable and magnificent.
Our people rose,
fell on the enemy, and pounded him,
bringing death to the invader.
Great is our country.
She has raised countless brave sons
within her ***.
Vast is
our Mother Russia.
Her abundant resources
are more than a match for the armies
that trample her living land.
But our Motherland
has not yet risen
to her giant
and fearful stature.
And woe betide the enemy
when she does rise up.
A cruel death awaits him.
Immense is our Russia,
our Native Russian land.
END OF PART ONE
WAR Part II
BATTLEFIELD AT BORODlNO The night before 26 August, 1812
Come on, lads! - That's the way!
Let's put our backs into it!
It's moving.
Together now, heave! Heave like the bargemen!
The enemy is strong,
but the people will all do their part.
We'll do our part. - The rallying cry is “Moscow!”
Moscow! Moscow...
Where is the commander? - I'm on my way to see him.
Hey lads, let's do our part!
Let's all put or backs into it!
You're Prince Bolkonsky? A pleasure.
Lieutenant Denisov. Most people call me Vaska.
You have business to discuss? I have a plan for the partisans.
The French line is overstretched.
Give me 500 men. I'll rouse the peasantry.
And I, Vasily Denisov, give my word of honor:
I'll smash Napoleon's line of communication.
We'll strike down and scatter everything,
blow, like dust from the face of the earth,
everything
in the path of the sweeping hurricane
as it bears down on the enemy's rear.
Give me 500 men,
only 500 men.
500! There won't be 500 of us,
but thousands and thousands!
Isn't that right, lads?
Thousands...
Thousands...
Our Kutuzov came to the people,
he asked the people to smash the French,
he told us to give them a thrashing.
Russia calls her sons to battle.
A mother's call tugs at the heart.
The people came running, from beyond the blue hills,
streaming from the forests, and from beyond the distant sea.
Willing to give our lives, we'll go, we'll crush the iron regiments.
The enemy's dark tracks are everywhere. Grief roams the land.
The foe leaves a wake of destruction.
The crushed crops lie weeping, weeping in the fields.
The slashed birches weep. The enemy has trampled our motherland,
but he will not diminish our Russian strength.
Our Kutuzov came to the people, he told us to smash the French.
Countless are the brave sons who came to his side!
Our hearts are full of holy vengeance, and we go to fight to the death.
The evil foe will die. Crows and wolves will be his company.
We'll leave neither hide nor hair, we'll rattle his bones in a sack,
we'll squash him like a flea, or crush him like a bulb of garlic.
The foreign locust, it seems, wanted to know what it was like
to live off the back of our heroes!
Then came Father Kutuzov,
who called on the people to thrash the French.
The people mustered their great strength and rose.
He who came to Russia brandishing a sword
will not escape with his life.
Denisov,
her first fiancé.
It was he who, without knowing how,
proposed to Natasha Rostova, just fifteen years old.
And I loved her.
She seemed to me
to have a mysterious strength.
And I understood
and loved
this inner strength.
I loved her openness
and sincerity
so strongly, and with such joy.
Kuragin needed none of these things.
He just saw a fresh, young girl,
with whom he had no wish to link his destiny.
And he's enjoying life to this day.
And I? I was making plans worthy of a poet.
I believed in an ideal, heavenly love,
which should have kept her faithful to me during a year of separation.
Oh, innocent boy!
I was afraid
that she'd be pining, wishing her life away till my return.
In fact, it was much simpler.
It's all terribly simple
and despicable.
Pierre Bezukhov...
I hope he doesn't mention her...
Mind you don't lose your hat, master!
Hey lads, let's give it all we've got!
Well, well! Whoever would 've thought it?
I came... you know... I wanted to see the battle.
Yes, yes.
And you freemasons that preach that men should love one another,
what do they have to say about war?
How can it be averted?
The theater of war must be widened. - Oh, yes.
Just listen to those German generals.
Since our aim is to weaken the enemy, the loss of individuals, of course,
must not be taken into account. - Oh, yes.
Expand the war!
Expand it!
My father was in their war,
and he has died of grief.
The French have destroyed my home,
and are going to ravage Moscow.
They've handed the whole of Europe
to Bonaparte, and now they come here to teach us the art of war.
Fine teachers they are!
Sir, the regiment has lined up behind the hill.
But I'll tell you this:
come what may, believe me,
we will win this battle.
Ask him,
he knows that we're going to win.
What they don't understand
is that we'll be fighting for our Russian land,
and victory will be ours.
Success in battle
depends on the feeling
in me,
in him, and in every soldier.
The more anger in our hearts when we fight,
the less thought we'll give to our own lives.
Then we'll *** victory from the enemy.
We saw the light at the end of the tunnel, sir,
when the commander came to us.
To kill
and to die!
Anyone who's come to this,
like me,
knowing the same suffering along the way...
Farewell, I must go.
Will we not meet again?
If my time has come...
If it must be...
I'll meet my death as bravely as any other.
I know
that I'll never see him again.
Hurrah! Hurrah!
In the old way, as Suvorov taught, we'll shout hurrah and march onward!
We'll run the enemy through with our bayonets,
we'll slaughter his troops, we'll cut them all down.
Our aim, friends, will be fierce and true.
Let's all do our best, lads!
In the old way, as Suvorov taught,
we'll shout hurrah, hurrah!
We'll shout hurrah and march onward, in the old way, as Surovov taught,
so that the villain himself will die on a bayonet,
and his host will fall in battle.
Hurrah! Hurrah!
Hurrah! Hurrah!
There is no people greater than ours.
Splendid people, second to none.
The brute will be mortally wounded
by the united strength of Russia,
and will be driven from our sacred land.
The Fanagorysky Grenadier Regiment
Hurrah!
Imagine retreating with good men like that!
Prince Bolkonsky's Rifle Regiment.
Hurrah for the glorious riflemen!
Call Prince Bolkonsky.
The Ismailovsky Life Guard Regiment.
Hurrah for the glorious guards!
Ah, Prince, you've come, my friend.
I sent for you to...
I sent to ask you to stay and work for me.
Thank you,
sir,
but I'm afraid that I'm no longer suited to be a staff officer.
That's a shame. You would have served me well.
The main thing is
that I'm used to the regiment.
I've grown attached to the men,
and they think highly of me, it seems.
It's a shame, but you're right.
Advisers are never in short supply.
Ah, advisers, advisers!
Our regiments would be different
if all advisers
served in them, like you.
Go your own way, and may God go with you.
Yours is
the path of honor.
Well, farewell, my friend.
Patience and time,
these are mighty assets in war.
And the French,
mark my words...
I'll force them to eat the flesh of their own horses.
The people have stirred.
We'll go forward into the bloody battle to save our land.
For the honor of our dear country,
we'll fight to the death.
The Field Marshal is leading our army.
We're all behind him, brothers.
We'll rise to defend sacred Russia.
Brothers, we'll fight to the death.
Like a father, Kutuzov is leading us.
He's leading the Russian people forward to fight for justice.
The Field Marshal leads our troops. We're all behind him, brothers!
We'll rise to defend sacred Russia.
NAPOLEON'S HEADQUARTERS The morning of August 26, 1812
The wine is uncorked,
so we must drink it.
One word from me,
one movement of my arm,
would signal the end of this ancient Asiatic city,
sacred Moscow.
But I always condescend
to show mercy to the vanquished.
From the heights of the Kremlin,
I will dispense fair laws.
I will show them
what it is to be truly civilized.
Moscow...
This is doubtless a deputation bearing the keys to the city.
Your majesty, the second assault has been beaten off by the Russians.
Marshall Davout has been killed.
My valiant General Compans, too, has fallen in battle.
Davout... Compans... - The men are proud
to fight and die under the Emperor's gaze.
The presence of Your Majesty sends them into selfless oblivion.
Those positions shall be taken!
Continue the assault.
Marshal Ney's troops shall support the attack.
Your Majesty, the positions will be taken,
if Your Majesty will bring forward another division from the reserves.
Those Russians are keeping us under hellish fire.
Marshal Davout has been wounded. - Wounded or killed?
Oh, no, just wounded.
Reserves?
Tell the King of Naples
that the sun is not yet high in the sky,
and that I still cannot see
my chessboard clearly.
Off you go now.
To go through that firing again...
Courage, courage, my boy. Such is a soldier's lot.
Caulaincourt! Berthier!
I give my word of honor that the Russians will meet their doom,
if Your Majesty will bring forward one more division.
Ardent words, Belliard.
The smoke of battle can easily cloud a soldier's judgment.
Ride off and look about you, and then come back to me.
Well, what are you after?
Prince Eugène...
... Is requesting reinforcements?
Our artillery
is wiping them out,
row upon row!
Yet still they resist.
We must bring reserves forward.
Whom shall we send?
Claparède's division.
Claparède's division!
No, I can't send Claparède.
Send Friant's division.
Recall Claparède's division!
An order for General Friant.
If I may be so bold...
Allow me to suggest that Your Majesty partakes of luncheon.
I hope that I may congratulate Your Majesty on an another victory.
There is nothing in the world
to prevent Your Majesty from lunching.
Go to hell!
Why is our sovereign so gloomy today?
We've won the battle, haven't we?
Won it?
We could easily lose it.
If luck deserts us for a second, we could be done for.
Things are not what they were, not at all what they were.
Things are not what they were, not at all what they were
in earlier battles.
Then, after two or three orders,
marshals would ride up, smiling
and declaring the trophies taken:
corps of prisoners,
cannon, standards and colors...
But now something strange
is happening on the field of battle.
The troops are the same,
the generals are the same,
I myself am the same,
only now I am much more experienced.
Why, then,
does the dreaded sweep
of my arm not bring us victory?
COUNCIL OF WAR WITH MARSHAL KUTUZOV September 1, 1812
And so, gentlemen, the question is:
would it be to our advantage
to fight for Moscow...
... or to give this ancient capital
over to the enemy?
“This sacred, ancient capital!”
The question before us cannot be phrased like that.
As long as the army exists,
we can hope that victory
in this war will be ours.
But, if our army is annihilated,
it will be the end, not only of Moscow, but of Russia.
Are we to risk
losing our army as well as Moscow
by engaging the enemy from an unfavorable position,
or are we to fall back beyond Moscow?
That is the question, and I would like to hear your opinions.
If we engage the enemy
on this side of Moscow, defeat will be inevitable.
It is painful to talk of abandoning the capital,
but I think that we must retreat.
The position in the Vorobyovy Hills in unfavorable,
but knowing what Moscow means to the people,
I suggest that we fight to defend our capital.
It's easy to imagine the reaction
of foreign heads of state to the occupation of Moscow.
I suggest that, at night,
all our forces mass on the left flank
to attack the center of Napoleon's array,
weakened by our advance corps.
It's dangerous to move troops within sight of the enemy's position.
We must also think of our casualties.
The enemy's losses
are no less significant than ours.
If it is decided to join battle,
it would be better to meet the enemy head on.
But there's more to Russia than Moscow.
Think of the sons of the country.
Above all, we must spare our soldiers.
In my view,
we should abandon Moscow without a fight.
But I'm speaking as a soldier.
The decision rests with our commander,
Michail Illarionovich.
And so, gentlemen,
the pot has been broken and I must pay for it.
Gentlemen, I have heard your opinions.
By abandoning Moscow,
we'll be laying a deadly trap for the foe.
With the power vested in me by His Majesty,
I order a retreat,
for the good of our country.
From Moscow, we'll join the Ryazan road.
You're free to go, gentlemen.
The enemy bears down on us with fire and steel.
The flame of hostility is kindled in our blood.
With our Kutuzov, with our Field Marshal
leading the fight for our country, we don't fear death.
We'd give our lives to defend our homeland,
our mighty land, the land of our fathers.
The Russian warrior
is faithful to his mother country and to Prince Kutuzov.
When,
oh when was this dreadful business decided?
You look majestic in the sunlight,
the mother of all Russian towns.
Moscow, you lie before us.
As your hour
of trouble and peril approaches,
must our Russian troops really retreat
from your sacred walls without a fight?
The perfidious foe has dared to invade our land,
but he'll soon come to grief.
Love for our country, our soldiers' courage
and our prayers will give us victory.
Russia is not in the habit of yielding.
her people will fight for her freedom.
We will return peace to the land of our fathers
and bring peace to other nations.
Within the white walls of Moscow,
the foe will never be able to subdue
the valiant hearts of our citizens, born free.
The Russian soil
will be strewn with the enemy's bones.
The foe will be defeated by our great people.
The enemy bears down on us with fire and steel,
the flame of hostility is kindled in our blood.
With our Kutuzov, with our Field Marshal
leading the fight for our country, we don't fear death.
We'd give our lives to defend our homeland,
our mighty land, the land of our fathers.
The Russian warrior is faithful to his motherland and to Prince Kutuzov.
A STREET IN MOSCOW The following day, September 2, 1812
Moscow is deserted!
The Emperor's in a foul mood.
The deputation with the keys to the city didn't turn up.
One officer, too keen to do his duty,
arrested a handful of vagabonds,
and driving them on with his horse, brought them to the Emperor himself,
thinking that they were the deputation.
That farcical scene can only have irritated...
... and offended the Emperor.
They say that the Russian ladies are very pretty.
But they must be a bit stupid
to hide themselves in the countryside when the French army is in town.
They've missed a golden opportunity.
A young sweetheart sang... - Boom, boom, my heart is pounding.
A young sweetheart sang: My beloved is riding off to war.
Boom, boom, my heart is pounding. My beloved is riding off to war.
He strikes down the enemy and blows the trumpet.
Boom, boom, my heart is pounding. My beloved is riding off to war.
When victory is ours...
Boom, boom, my heart is pounding. - When victory is ours,
I'll give him a warm welcome.
Boom, boom, my heart is pounding. I'll give him a warm welcome.
He'll come home, he'll find love.
Boom, boom, my heart is pounding.
I'll give him a warm welcome.
Let's go, my lovely, into the garden green.
The cherries have long been ripe, they're waiting to be picked.
Let's go toil, my darling, in the garden green.
I can't go, I've fallen and hurt myself, dear.
I can't find my apron anywhere. What shall we put them in, dearest?
Gérard! - Jacqueau!
Have you found a comfy billet? - I've had better.
Just wait, I'll set you up in the finest palace in Moscow.
When I'm ruler of India, I'll make you Minister of Kashmir.
Let's go, my lovely, into the garden green.
I can't go, I've fallen and hurt myself, dear.
I can't find my apron anywhere. What shall we put them in, dearest?
They will protect...
... our property.
They're stealing our property!
They're taking our property!
See, they're nothing but vile plunderers!
Brothers, what is this?
They've even stuck things on their bayonets!
Those foreigners!
When an army begins to plunder...
... then it is an army no more.
What a shameful spectacle! Have a look at this instead...
Where does that come from?
It was hanging above the bed in the house where I was staying.
The owner obviously had taste: it's a genuine Watteau.
So, it doesn't belong to you? Why?
When you've marched all this way,
you're entitled to grab a souvenir for your sweetheart.
It's time this French masterpiece went back to France.
I'm in a hurry, goodbye.
The Emperor's ordered the priests to be brought back
and church services to be resumed.
Moscow will not bow down before the enemy.
We won't let him rest in our Moscow.
To defend this great city, the people will fight to the death.
Forward, sons of Moscow, to fight to the death!
Moscow will not bow down before the enemy.
The foe will not subdue our forces, our Russian strength.
The sacred fury of the people will strike him down.
He will discover how dear Moscow is to her sons.
The sacred rage of the people awaits him in the white-walled city.
Moscow will not bow down before the enemy.
We won't let him rest in our Moscow.
To defend this great city, the people will fight to the death.
Forward, sons of Moscow...
The foe will meet his doom in Moscow. Burn the city!
Russian people, free-born,
burn the city! The foe will meet his doom on Moscow! Burn the city!
We shall not yield! Burn the city!
Moscow will not bow down before the enemy.
We won't let him rest in our Moscow.
To defend this city, the people will fight to the death!
Forward, sons of Moscow, to fight to the death!
The foe will find no comfort,
only death, death in the fire. Death awaits him in Moscow.
I must do the deed,
or die.
Pyotr Kirillych, Sir,
Have you got a moment?
What? Who are you?
Mavra Kuzminichna, you are here?
Where is Count Ilya Andreyich Rostov? In Moscow?
He's gone away, Sir.
But they left their things.
Left them?
Yes. Wounded soldiers were billeted in the house,
and as they were ready to go,
our young mistress, Natalya Ilinichna,
decided to take all the wounded with her.
She ordered the trunks to be thrown from the carts.
The dear Countess cried and cried.
The young mistress started shouting, “Mama, it's a horrid thing to do!”
She shouted and wept and stood her ground.
That's our young mistress for you.
They left their Persian rugs,
their Dresden china,
their porcelain, mirrors, paintings
and bronzes... - And they took the wounded.
One of them was the wounded Prince.
Prince? Who?
Him that was our mistress's fiancé.
They haven't told their dear child.
Lord Jesus Christ!
Prince Andrei!
And you, Sir, what'll you do? Stay in Moscow?
In Moscow?
Yes, in Moscow.
Farewell.
Wounded, and then he ends up with the Rostovs.
How fate plays with us!
I must do the deed.
I must kill Napoleon.
Perhaps it will cost me my life.
But perhaps it will end Europe's suffering.
God's hand, not mine,
is punishing you, I will say.
Where did you get such a thrashing?
Looking for food outside of Moscow.
We thought we were goners. - Women with pitchforks.
Women? Must have been nice... - The peasants burn their houses...
The peasants burn their grain... -... and are moving into the forest.
They drive away their cattle.
They run at us with pitchforks.
By the devil, we'll teach them. Fall in! Quick march!
Burn all the stores!
Burn them!
Don't let them
fall into the hands of the demon foe!
We'd sooner let them go to waste!
You, too, burn all the stores.
Burn all the stores.
Burn them, don't let them fall into the hands of the demon foe!
Moscow will not bow down before the enemy.
We won't let him rest in our Moscow.
To defend this great city, the people will fight to the death.
Forwards, sons of Moscow, to fight to the death!
People, rise up for Moscow's honor, for our white-walled capital!
People, rise up for Moscow's honor, for the honor of our great city!
Burn them! Burn them!
Don't let the demon foe get his hands on them!
Burn them!
Bring the tinder!
Burn the stores!
Let the enemy find death in Moscow! - Burn everything!
Burn everything! - He expected us to welcome him!
So, we'll welcome him with fire!
Davout, the cruel Davout,
emperor Napoleon's hatchet man!
Who are these people?
Arsonists, General Sir.
You know the Emperor's order:
those guilty of arson are to be executed without delay.
And was this one starting fires?
Have you been starting fires?
No, I struck a French soldier
who was trying to insult a woman.
It is every man's duty to defend a woman who is being insulted and...
I want a straight answer.
Have you been starting fires?
I know this man.
Your Highness! You... You cannot know me.
This is a Russian spy.
Oh, no, I'm an officer of the volunteer corps.
Your name?
Count Bezukhov.
Who will prove to me that you're not lying?
Your Highness!
Carry out this order.
By the right, quick march!
Two at a time!
I'm like some paltry scrap
that's fallen into the wheels of a machine.
So, they are to execute, kill, take life away from me,
Pyotr Bezukhov,
with all my thoughts,
desires, aspirations and memories!
Next!
No, no, no!
Don't kill me! Don't kill me!
No, no, you can't kill me!
You can't kill me!
Why isn't he shouting?
Why has he stopped shouting?
What cold-blooded ***!
It's suddenly as though
the spring in my soul,
which held everything in place,
and gave meaning to life,
has been ripped out,
and everything has fallen into a worthless heap.
Ah, let the dreadful deed,
which is to be done,
be done with haste.
Wake up, lad, you've been let off.
That'll teach them to start fires.
You've been reprieved. You're going to the prison barracks.
Nothing matters now,
nothing.
Hurrah!