Rzhevskiy protiv Napoleona Page #3

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but let the bumblebees go to hell.

If some land, so be it.

-What are you thinking by 'land', Lieutenant?

You have no nectar. Well,

with time you will understand.

So, Countess Rzhevska?

From now on, the fate of Russia

rests in your hands.

Girls, what luck!

They say Rzhevsky is back!

Not a word about me.

Not a word...

Ney, who is this Rzhevsky?

-Nonsense, my Emperor.

A hero, lover from local folklore

and wives' tales. Don't pay it any attention.

Ney, why isn't anyone

inviting me to dance?

You're a general.

Do something!

Go on, try it.

Now surely you will succeed.

Countess Rzhevska and Count Tolstoy!

Son of a b*tch...!

-Countess, you are a decent lady.

Curse in French.

Do you have a plan?

Why so tense?

I'm going to flirt with Napoleon.

Lieutenant, you're a woman.

You don't 'flirt', you only hang around...

Leo Nikolayevich, your chauvinism makes me

want to throw myself under a train.

Sorry!

Madam, your appearance here

greatly pleases Napoleon Bonaparte.

Then I wish him health.

And what's your name, young man?

I am the Emperor of France,

Napoleon Bonaparte.

Whoa! I'm sorry,

I was not aware.

Politics does not interest me,

but the true presence of a lover in the room,

can be detected by the smell.

I'm pleasantly surprised,

Madam. Usually,

I'm the one who makes those assessments...

-This is Moscow, naughty boy.

Here we're all predators.

You must tell me, where did you get that hat?

This is an original Armani.

-Stop bragging, Emperor.

Gees, how I like you.

What's this?

Well, all right.

Madam, I am ecstatic.

My life is often dangerous,

but never have I rescued

such a fragile creature as you.

What a job...

What a woman! Mon bnfique!

Steel, power, nature, Russia.

I've never had that.

A drink for courage.

Another against the complex.

A glass for the voice.

Where am I?

-... is what amazes me most personally.

Who am I?

-Ivan Ivanovich Rzhevsky.

Born near Samara.

Yes... You got drunk yesterday

Lieutenant, as a pig.

First you thought you were Marilyn Monroe.

Then you did a strip.

And then you danced the cancan until three in the morning.

"In Moscow, a new Cinderella!"

I do not remember.

-Look in the mirror! Look at you.

Have you lost your mind?

-What?

It started last night,

as always, good.

Hello?

After the ball, you wanted to go off and relax.

You relaxed yourself in a brothel.

If only you could've stopped there,

but no, you asked for Gypsies.

Three times you passed out and

three times you came back.

You were out there singing, playing, crying,

you promised to marry

with the Gypsy Baron's daughter.

And he was two hours explaining

it was no daughter, but a son.

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