War and Peace

As the 19th century began,

a darkening shadow moved across Europe.

This shadow was propelled by the voice of one man,

Napoleon Bonaparte.

Only Russia and England offered impressive resistance.

Over Russia, the weather was clear, the sun was shining.

Napoleon was 1,000 miles away,

and the streets of Moscow were excellent for parades.

Splendid sights, splendid men, eh, Pierre?

- For parades. - What do you mean by that?

Remember, I've seen the French marching, too.

Don't tell me they march better than that.

- Led by the greatest man in Europe. - Bonaparte?

Bonaparte.

A usurper! A murderer! A deposer of kings!

A colossus! A fresh wind! A cleansing force!

What does your father say when he hears you?

We don't talk about things like that, my father and I.

- How is he? - The doctors say he'll die any moment.

- Have you been to see him? - I'm waiting to be asked.

In heaven, all things will be arranged.

I believe that's the rumour.

This is your home when you want it to be,

and the Rostovs are your family when you want them to be.

I smoke too much.

Isn't it lovely? How can you bear not to go with them?

I can bear it.

If I were a man, I'd be down there, riding a terrible black horse,

waving a sword.

It's so unfair.

Men are the only people permitted to have any fun.

What is it, Natasha?

Those handsome young men marching away to fight.

They could be killed.

Don't be frightened. Come on.

Nicholas!

Now, what's this?

You look so dazzling in your uniform.

And you're going so far away.

Austria's miles, I looked it up on the map.

That brute, Napoleon.

The Austrians make beautiful bracelets. I'll bring you one.

- Two! They're wearing them in pairs! - Two.

Pierre, you remember our cousin, Sonya. She's come to stay.

Yes, though she was considerably younger the last time I saw her.

Girls grow up, Pierre. Very fast. Doesn't he look glorious?

Mama and Papa have such handsome children!

Did you hear that?

Now, attention!

Ensign Count Nicholas Rostov, I decorate you with the Order of...

Absolutely everything!

Don't laugh when she jokes about the army.

Well, Petya, you have to humour women a little!

You do look shiny, Nicholas. If only I was old enough.

That'll come.

By that time, there won't be a Frenchman left to be killed!

Don't worry, there'll always be plenty of Frenchmen.

- Good luck. - That's very civil of you.

- But why not take a commission? - It's so easy for you men.

You decide to do something, then do it.

If you were a man, what would you do?

I'd become enormously powerful.

I'd become the Czar's most trusted minister, and he'd consult me.

And you would sit at my right hand.

Whenever anything was complicated,

the case would be laid before you as judge.

Why me?

Because your heart is pure and you're good.

Well done, my dear.

I think I should leave.

If you had that power, what would you do?

I?

I would hesitate. Now I must go.

- Pierre, come again soon. - I'll walk you to the door.

- Au revoir. - Come soon again.

Come again soon.

Mama and Papa will be awfully lonely with Nicholas gone.

- They do love seeing you. - Of course. I love the whole family.

The whole family? That's not as simple as you think.

What do you mean?

There are currents and counter-currents.

Now, where are you going? Dolokhov's rooms?

I am. How did you know?

I hear things, I hear things.

Go. Go to your night of disgusting, fascinating debauchery.

Bravo! Bravo!

- Careful, there's a bet on here. - Fetch me a bottle of rum!

You two, break this out.

Now, let's get this straight.

Fifty imperials against Prince Anatole

that I drink a bottle of rum without taking it from my mouth,

balancing on the outside ledge without touching the sides of the window.

- Want to make it a hundred? - Fifty is enough for you to lose.

Get down from there, you weaklings.

- Come on! - Come on!

You do it!

Hail Moscow!

Give me that!

Don't be crazy, you'll be killed.

Touch me again, I'll throw you down there.

That goes for every one of you.

Play! Play! What are we paying you for?

Now then, my friends.

Remember, without taking the bottle from your lips.

Bravo!

Fifty imperials, Anatole!

And double for anyone else who will do it.

I'll do it for nothing, without a bet!

- You get dizzy walking up steps! - Out of my way!

Give me a bottle!

Get down from there.

- Get down from there, Pierre. - Let him do it.

Your father is calling you.

Excuse me, gentlemen.

I suggest a little cold water first.

I'll wait for you.

Prince Andrei, is the old boy really dying?

The doctors are certain Count Bezukhov won't last the night.

- Are my father and sister there? - He was there. She was expected.

That's good. I don't have to go. The family's well represented.

Careful, careful.

You disapprove of me? Of course. You'd be wrong if you didn't.

Arriving at the deathbed of my father bleary-eyed, stinking of alcohol.

He disapproves, too, my father.

That's fair enough. I disapprove of many things about him.

Chiefly, I disapprove of the fact that he didn't marry my mother.

Perhaps, if I was legitimate...

I have sinned, Lord, but I have several excellent excuses.

With all that, Andrei, you still disapprove?

You're not being worthy of yourself.

You're not living up to the best things in yourself. Be somebody!

That's where the puzzle begins, be somebody. Be what? Who am I?

Am I the next Count Bezukhov, lord of vast estates

with a fixed position, fixed responsibilities?

Not quite!

My father cannot quite acknowledge that I am his son.

But he cannot quite acknowledge that I am not his son.

That makes everybody uncomfortable, including myself.

- You must aim at something. - You're right, I agree with you.

Each morning I wake up, I'm disgusted with myself

with what I did the night before.

I tell myself, "Today, a change."

If my headache is bad enough, I say, "Pierre",

"today you must take steps to become a saint."

I drop into the club and watch the card-playing,

just order a glass of water to prove how marvellously I resist temptation.

Then someone comes along and says, "Just one vodka, Pierre."

Next morning, my headache is worse, my pockets are emptier.

There must be something you want to do.

I want to discover... Everything!

I want to discover why I know what's right and still do what's wrong.

I want to discover what happiness is, and what value there is in suffering.

I want to discover why men go to war,

and what they really say deep in their hearts when they pray.

I want to discover what men and women feel when they say they love.

There's enough to keep me busy.

It's hard to understand someone like me.

Everything is so clear for you.

- You know exactly what you must do. - Exactly!

You're different from me. You study, you become enlightened.

I study, I become confused.

You love, you marry. You believe, you act. There's a war, you serve.

If only I really answered to your description.

- You do. - Shall I show you how wrong you are?

- I know you. I'm not wrong. - Know why I'm going to the war?

Because I regard Napoleon as a monster?

Because I believe we should fight Austria's battles 2,000 miles away?

Because Russia will be a greater nation after the war?

Then, why?

Because I married the most loving and attractive woman in Moscow,

and I can't stand it.

Never marry, Pierre.

Or only when you're old and good for nothing,

or else everything noble in you will be lost.

You'll waste yourself on trifles.

Yes. Don't look at me like that.

You talk of Bonaparte's career.

If Bonaparte had married young,

he'd still be on half-pay, carrying his wife's handbag,

inviting idiots to his house because his wife wanted invitations to theirs!

- Prince Andrei. - Princess Hélène.

You told my brother he was expected?

- I did. - Isn't he coming?

I believe not.

Thank you.

How is he, Prince Vasili?

His confessor is with him. They are giving him extreme unction.

He was asking for you.

I hope you are in a proper condition to see him this time.

Follow me.

Go ahead. I'll wait for you here.

If you please, Monsieur Pierre.

He wishes you to kiss him goodbye.

This is for you.

Now he would like to sleep.

Pierre...

So late. Finally, at the end, he loved me.

So late.

He gave me this.

This letter is for the Czar.