WAR & PEACE BOXED SET(ISBN=9780679405733) 战争与和平套装当当网5星级英文学习产品

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版次：1
页数：全三册
字数：
印刷时间：2011年12月01日
开本：32开
纸张：胶版纸
包装：盒装
是否套装：否
国际标准书号ISBN：9780679405733
作者:Leo Nikolayevich Tolstoy　著, Louise Maude　译者出版社:Random House US出版时间:2011年12月

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　　From the award-winning translators of Anna Karenina and The Brothers Karamazov comes this magnificent new translation of Tolstoy's mastwerwork.
　　War and Peace broadly focuses on Napoleon's invasion of Russia in 1812 and follows three of the most well-known characters in literature: Pierre Bezukhov, the illegitimate son of a count who is fighting for his inheritance and yearning for spiritual fulfillment; Prince Andrei Bolkonsky, who leaves his family behind to fight in the war against Napoleon; and Natasha Rostov, the beautiful young daughter of a nobleman who intrigues both men.
　　As Napoleon's army invades, Tolstoy brilliantly follows characters from diverse backgrounds—peasants and nobility, civilians and soldiers—as they struggle with the problems unique to their era, their history, and their culture. And as the novel progresses, these characters transcend their specificity, becoming some of the most moving—and human—figures in world literature. Translated by Richard Pevear and Larissa Volokhonsky
　　(Book Jacket Status: Not Jacketed)
　　Three-Volume Boxed Set
　　

目　　录

LEO TOLSTOY WAR AND PEACE 1
LEO TOLSTOY WAR AND PEACE 2
LEO TOLSTOY WAR AND PEACE 3

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　　“There remains the greatest of all novelists—for what else can we call the author of War and Peace?” —Virginia Woolf

在线试读部分章节

　　WELL, PRINCE, Genoa and Lucca are now no more than privateestates of the Bonaparte family. No, I warn you, that if you do nottell me we are at war, if you again allow yourself to palliate allthe infamies and atrocities of this Antichrist (upon my word, Ibelieve he is), I don’t know you in future, you are no longer myfriend, no longer my faithful slave, as you say. There, how do youdo, how do you do? I see I’m scaring you, sit down and talk tome.”
　　These words were uttered in July 1805 by Anna Pavlovna Scherer, adistinguished lady of the court, and confidential maid-of-honour tothe Empress Marya Fyodorovna. It was her greeting to PrinceVassily, a man high in rank and office, who was the first to arriveat her soirée. Anna Pavlovna had been coughing for the last fewdays; she had an attack of la grippe, as she said—grippe was then anew word only used by a few people. In the notes she had sent roundin the morning by a footman in red livery, she had written to allindiscriminately:
　　“If you have nothing better to do, count (or prince), and if theprospect of spending an evening with a poor invalid is not tooalarming to you, I shall be charmed to see you at my house between7 and 10. Annette Scherer.”
　　“Heavens! what a violent outburst!” the prince responded, not inthe least disconcerted at such a reception. He was wearing anembroidered court uniform, stockings and slippers, and had stars onhis breast, and a bright smile on his flat face.
　　He spoke in that elaborately choice French, in which ourforefathers not only spoke but thought, and with those slow,patronising intonations peculiar to a man of importance who hasgrown old in court society. He went up to Anna Pavlovna, kissed herhand, presenting her with a view of his perfumed, shining baldhead, and complacently settled himself on the sofa.
　　“First of all, tell me how you are, dear friend. Relieve afriend’s anxiety,” he said, with no change of his voice and tone,in which indifference, and even irony, was perceptible through theveil of courtesy and sympathy.
　　“How can one be well when one is in moral suffering? How can onehelp being worried in these times, if one has any feeling?” saidAnna Pavlovna. “You’ll spend the whole evening with me, Ihope?”

WELL, PRINCE, Genoa and Lucca are now no more than private
estates of the Bonaparte family. No, I warn you, that if you do not
tell me we are at war, if you again allow yourself to palliate all
the infamies and atrocities of this Antichrist (upon my word, I
believe he is), I don’t know you in future, you are no longer my
friend, no longer my faithful slave, as you say. There, how do you
do, how do you do? I see I’m scaring you, sit down and talk to
me.” 
　　These words were uttered in July 1805 by Anna Pavlovna Scherer, a
distinguished lady of the court, and confidential maid-of-honour to
the Empress Marya Fyodorovna. It was her greeting to Prince
Vassily, a man high in rank and office, who was the first to arrive
at her soirée. Anna Pavlovna had been coughing for the last few
days; she had an attack of la grippe, as she said—grippe was then a
new word only used by a few people. In the notes she had sent round
in the morning by a footman in red livery, she had written to all
indiscriminately: 
　　“If you have nothing better to do, count (or prince), and if the
prospect of spending an evening with a poor invalid is not too
alarming to you, I shall be charmed to see you at my house between
7 and 10. Annette Scherer.” 
　　“Heavens! what a violent outburst!” the prince responded, not in
the least disconcerted at such a reception. He was wearing an
embroidered court uniform, stockings and slippers, and had stars on
his breast, and a bright smile on his flat face. 
　　He spoke in that elaborately choice French, in which our
forefathers not only spoke but thought, and with those slow,
patronising intonations peculiar to a man of importance who has
grown old in court society. He went up to Anna Pavlovna, kissed her
hand, presenting her with a view of his perfumed, shining bald
head, and complacently settled himself on the sofa. 
　　“First of all, tell me how you are, dear friend. Relieve a
friend’s anxiety,” he said, with no change of his voice and tone,
in which indifference, and even irony, was perceptible through the
veil of courtesy and sympathy. 
　　“How can one be well when one is in moral suffering? How can one
help being worried in these times, if one has any feeling?” said
Anna Pavlovna. “You’ll spend the whole evening with me, I
hope?” 
　　“And the fête at the English ambassador’s? To-day is Wednesday. I
must put in an appearance there,” said the prince. “My daughter is
coming to fetch me and take me there.” 
　　“I thought to-day’s fête had been put off. I confess that all
these festivities and fireworks are beginning to pall.” 
　　“If they had known that it was your wish, the fête would have
been put off,” said the prince, from habit, like a wound-up clock,
saying things he did not even wish to be believed. 
　　“Don’t tease me. Well, what has been decided in regard to the
Novosiltsov dispatch? You know everything.” 
　　“What is there to tell?” said the prince in a tired, listless
tone. “What has been decided? It has been decided that Bonaparte
has burnt his ships, and I think that we are about to burn
ours.” 
　　Prince Vassily always spoke languidly, like an actor repeating
his part in an old play. Anna Pavlovna Scherer, in spite of her
forty years, was on the contrary brimming over with excitement and
impulsiveness. To be enthusiastic had become her pose in society,
and at times even when she had, indeed, no inclination to be so,
she was enthusiastic so as not to disappoint the expectations of
those who knew her. The affected smile which played continually
about Anna Pavlovna’s face, out of keeping as it was with her faded
looks, expressed a spoilt child’s continual consciousness of a
charming failing of which she had neither the wish nor the power to
correct herself, which, indeed, she saw no need to correct.

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