Emma Watson Pussy
War And Peace
the Alexander Nevsky? You know papas
received the Alexander Nevsky?"
Vassily Lukitch replied that the Vladimir was greater than the
"And higher still?"
"Well, highest of all is the Andrey Pervozvanny."
"And higher than the Andrey?"
"I dont know."
"What, you dont know?" and Seryozha, leaning on his elbows, sank
into deep meditation.
His meditations were of the most complex and diverse character.
He imagined his fathers having suddenly been presented with both
the Vladimir and the Andrey today, and in consequence being much
better tempered at his lesson, and dreamed how, when he was grown
up, he would himself receive all the orders, and what they might
invent higher than the Andrey. Directly any higher order were
invented, he would win it. They would make a higher one still,
and he would immediately win that too.
The time passed in such meditations, and when the teacher came,
the lesson about the adverbs of place and time and manner of
action was not ready, and the teacher was not only displeased,
but hurt. This touched Seryozha. He felt he was not to blame
for not having learned the lesson; however much he tried, he was
utterly unable to do that. As long as the teacher was explaining
to him, he believed him and seemed to comprehend, but as soon as
he was left alone, he was positively unable to recollect and to
understand that the short and familiar word "suddenly" is an
adverb of manner of action. Still he was sorry that he had
disappointed the teacher.
He chose a moment when the teacher was looking in silence at the
"Mihail Ivanitch, when is your birthday?" he asked all, of a
"Youd much better be thinking about your work. Birthdays are of
no importance to a rational being. Its a day like any other on
which one has to do ones work."
Seryozha looked intently at the teacher, at his scanty beard, at
his spectacles, which had slipped down below the ridge on his
nose, and fell into so deep a reverie that he heard nothing of
what the teacher was explaining to him. He knew that the teacher
did not think what he said; he felt it from the tone in which it
was said. "But why have they all agreed to speak just in the
same manner always the dreariest and most useless stuff? Why
does he keep me off; why doesnt he love me?" he asked himself
mournfully, and could not think of an answer.
After the lesson with the grammar teacher came his fathers
lesson. While waiting for his father, Seryozha sat at the table
playing with a penknife, and fell to dreaming. Among Seryozhas
favorite occupations was searching for his mother during his
walks. He did not believe in death generally, and in her death
in particular, in spite of what Lidia Ivanovna had told him and
his father had confirmed, and it was just because of that, and
after he had been told she was dead, that he had begun looking
for her when out for a walk. Every woman of full, graceful
figure with dark hair was his mother. At the sight of such a
woman such a feeling of tenderness was stirred within him that
his breath failed him, and tears came into his eyes. And he was
on the tiptoe of expectation that she would come up to him, would
lift her veil. All her face would be visible, she would smile,
she would hug him, he would sniff her fragrance, feel the
softness of her arms, and cry with happiness, just as he had one
evening lain on her lap while she tickled him, and he laughed and
bit her white, ring-covered fingers. Later, when he accidentally
learned from his old nurse that his mother was not dead, and his
father and Lidia Ivanovna had explained to him that she was dead
to him because she was wicked (which he could not possibly
believe, because he loved her), he went on seeking her and
expecting her in the same way. That day in the public gardens
there had been a lady in a lilac veil, whom he had watched with a
throbbing heart, believing it to be she as she came towards them
along the path. The lady had not come up to them, but had
disappeared somewhere. That day, more intensely than ever,
Seryozha felt a rush of love for her, and now,
Anna Karenina page 300 Anna Karenina page 302