is here!
Mama, it's awful!
I don't want to be tortured!
Who's here? Why?
Oh please, Natasha!
It's such a long time since we
have had the pleasure...
I haven't been to visit you
because I had to see my father.
There was something very important
I had to talk to him about.
I would like to speak to you,
Countess.
Go, Natasha, I will call you.
Lord, have pity on me.
Lord, please help me.
Well, Mama?
Go to him.
He's asking for your hand.
Can it be that this stranger
has become everything to me now?
Now he's dearer to me than
anything else in the world.
Since the very first minute I saw
you I have loved you.
Please say that I can hope.
Why ask?
Why doubt what it's impossible
not to know?
Why talk when you can't express
with words what you feel?
- Do you love me?
- Oh yes, yes...
- What is it? Is something wrong?
- I feel so happy.
Now, Prince Andrei no longer felt
the same love for her as before.
Something within him had changed.
There was none of the former
poetic charm of attraction,
only a kind of pity for her
feminine and childish weakness,
a sort of terror before
her devotion and trustfulness.
Although this new feeling was not
as poetic as the old one,
it was stronger and more serious.
Did your mother tell you that we
cannot be married for a year?
Is it possible that it's me?
Is it possible that from now on
I'm to be the wife,
the equal of this stranger,
who is so intelligent and charming,
whom even my father looks up to?
Can it be true
that life is no longer a game,
that now I'm responsible for
everything I do and say?
But what was it he asked me?
You are so young, and I've already
been through such a great deal.
It's for you that I'm afraid.
You don't know yourself yet.
Difficult as it is for me to wait an
entire year, delaying my happiness,
it will give you some time to test
yourself.
I'm asking you to make me
happy in a year.
But till then you are free.
Our engagement will remain secret.
And should you find
that you do not love me...
Why do you say that?
From the first day you came to
Otradnoye, I have loved you.
In one year you will learn
to know yourself.
A whole year?
Why wait a year?
Can't anything be done?
It's frightening!
I'll die waiting a year!
Why, it's so awful!
No! I'll do anything.
I feel so happy!
There was no ceremony
and their betrothal
was not announced to anyone.
Don't go.
I beg you, Natalie,
God knows what may happen.
Perhaps you will stop loving me...
I know I shouldn't talk about that.
But whatever may happen to you
when I'm not here...
Don't go...
Whatever may happen,
go to Pierre for help.
He's the most absent-minded man,
but he has a heart of gold.
Don't go...
How indignant Pierre would have
been
seven years before, when he'd
returned from his sojourn abroad,
if someone had told him
that there would be no need
for him to seek or plan anything,
that his path had long ago been
traced and predetermined for him.
Sometimes he consoled himself that
the life he led was a temporary thing.
But then he would be shocked by
another thought:
How many other men had
temporarily slipped into this sort
of life, just as he had, with all
their teeth and all their hair,
only to leave it without a single
tooth and without a single hair.
Why? What for?
What was going on in the world?
Now and then Pierre recalled
what he had been told
of soldiers under fire in ambuscade
when they have nothing to do,
how they try hard
to find occupation
so as to bear their danger
more easily.
And Pierre pictured all men
as such soldiers
trying to find a refuge from life,
some in ambition, some in cards,
some in framing laws,
some in women, some in games,
some in horses, some in politics,
some in sport, some in wine,
some in the government service.
Nothing is trivial, nothing is
important. Only one thing matters:
To escape from her
as best I can!
Only not to see her,
that dreadful her.
Under the