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Updated: June 3, 2025
The limpid voice of Fedya Mazin slowly quivered in the air. "'In mortal strife " he began the song. "'You victims fell " answered thick, subdued voices. The words dropped in two heavy sighs. People stepped forward, each footfall audible. A new song, determined and resolute, burst out: "You yielded up your lives for them." Fedya's voice wreathed and curled like a bright ribbon.
He turned it upon the profits of sugar-boiling, on which he had lately read two French pamphlets, and with modest composure undertook to expound their contents, without mentioning, however, a single word about the source of his information. "Good God, it is Fedya!" came through the half-opened door the voice of Marfa Timofyevna in the next room.
Fedya was afraid of her: he was afraid of her bright sharp eyes and her harsh voice; he dared not utter a sound in her presence; often, when he only moved a little in his chair, she would! hiss out at once: "What are you doing? sit still."
With a pale, grave face Fedya goes up to his father and touches his cheek with his quivering lips, then walks away and sits down in his place without a word. ANDREY VASSILITCH KOVRIN, who held a master's degree at the University, had exhausted himself, and had upset his nerves.
Dolokhov lay ill at his mother's who loved him passionately and tenderly, and old Mary Ivanovna, who had grown fond of Rostov for his friendship to her Fedya, often talked to him about her son. "Yes, Count," she would say, "he is too noble and pure-souled for our present, depraved world. No one now loves virtue; it seems like a reproach to everyone.
"Fedya himself!" and the old woman ran hurriedly into the room. Lavretsky had not time to get up from his seat before she had him in her arms. "Let me have a look at you," she said, holding his face off at arm's length. "Ah! what a splendid fellow you are! You've grown older a little, but not a bit changed for the worse, upon my word!
"I'll grate your tobacco for you," he continued, "I'll pray to God for you, and if there is anything wrong, then flog me like the grey goat. And if you really think I shan't find work, then I'll ask the manager, for Christ's sake, to let me clean the boots, or I'll go instead of Fedya as underherdsman.
I saw Lisaveta Mihalovna too." "Call her Lisa, my dear fellow. Mihalovna indeed to you! But sit still, or you will break Shurotchka's little chair." "She has gone to church," continued Lavretsky. "Is she religious?" "Yes, Fedya, very much so. More than you and I, Fedya." "Aren't you religious then?" lisped Nastasya Karpovna.
"That's Anfissa, the midwife who brought our Fedya into the world," answers his wife. "Always hanging about . . . these cadging toadies!" "There's no making you out, Stepan Stepanitch. You asked her yourself, and now you scold." "I am not scolding; I am speaking. You might find something to do, my dear, instead of sitting with your hands in your lap trying to pick a quarrel.
Not a day passed without Glafira reminding her of her former position, and commending her for not forgetting herself. Malanya Sergyevna could have reconciled herself readily to these reminiscences and commendations, however they might be but Fedya was taken away from her, that was what crushed her.
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