• (cs) in reply to nag-geoff
    nag-geoff:
    geoffrey:
    mott555:
    I sense a developer who codes solely by copy-pasting existing code around.

    A "can-do" attitude means getting the job done takes precedence over hand-wringing over programmer buzzwords like "DRY" and "encapsulation."

    The date array only needs to be updated once a year, so I fail to see the big deal. Or is it just me?

    Trivial tasks should not be automated. It is a waste of resources. So I agree with you here.

    Yes, if they automated trivial tasks, then you'd no longer have a job posting comments on TDWTF.

  • (cs) in reply to nag-geoff
    nag-geoff:
    geoffrey:
    mott555:
    I sense a developer who codes solely by copy-pasting existing code around.

    A "can-do" attitude means getting the job done takes precedence over hand-wringing over programmer buzzwords like "DRY" and "encapsulation."

    The date array only needs to be updated once a year, so I fail to see the big deal. Or is it just me?

    Trivial tasks should not be automated. It is a waste of resources. So I agree with you here.

    Yes but automating trivial tasks should be (and usually is) trivial. And an automated task is a task you don't have to spend time out of your day screwing around with.

    More code now = less code in the long run(And less of a lot of other shit too).

  • Frank (unregistered) in reply to McAfee AntiBug

    $array_by_year[($year - 3) % 7 + 2005]

    would be correct

  • AllThatJazz (unregistered)

    Obviously written by the Mayans. Since the world ends in 2012, why bother adding it to the code?

  • e john (unregistered)

    what the ... ?

    you bastards. i KNEW i should not have logged in to look at this crap. now i won't be able to get the Things out of my head all night.

  • Dave (unregistered) in reply to Chris P. Peterson
    Chris P. Peterson:
    The 2012 bug is upon us. RUN!!!

    Actually the end of the world is upon is, which is probably why they didn't bother dealing with time beyond that point.

  • nag-geoff (unregistered) in reply to Matt Westwood
    Matt Westwood:
    nag-geoff:
    geoffrey:
    mott555:
    I sense a developer who codes solely by copy-pasting existing code around.

    A "can-do" attitude means getting the job done takes precedence over hand-wringing over programmer buzzwords like "DRY" and "encapsulation."

    The date array only needs to be updated once a year, so I fail to see the big deal. Or is it just me?

    Trivial tasks should not be automated. It is a waste of resources. So I agree with you here.

    Yes, if they automated trivial tasks, then you'd no longer have a job posting comments on TDWTF.

    Well said, you cunt!

    It's these trivial tasks on the shoulders of which, you eventually become indispensable at your workplace.

  • (cs) in reply to Can't be bothered to log in from home
    Can't be bothered to log in from home:
    Everyone should read War and Peace. It's good for you; it builds character.
    I've read it. Once. Got about half way in a month or so (while reading other books, of course; I usually get through about a book a day). Then I was in hospital for a few days, got my folks to bring that in and finished it off. For some strange reason, I've never really been tempted to re-read it... oh, I remember: because it's very boring and ends with 50 pages of political polemic.
  • (cs) 
    private $array_by_year = array(
     '2012'=>array('jan'=>array(),'feb'=>array(),'mar'=>array(),
                   'apr'=>array(),'may'=>array(),'jun'=>array(),
                   'jul'=>array(),'aug'=>array(),'sep'=>array(),
                   'oct'=>array(),'nov'=>array(),'dec'=>array()
                   ),
     '2011'=>array('jan'=>array(),'feb'=>array(),'mar'=>array(),
                   'apr'=>array(),'may'=>array(),'jun'=>array(),
                   'jul'=>array(),'aug'=>array(),'sep'=>array(),
                   'oct'=>array(),'nov'=>array(),'dec'=>array()
                   ),
     '2010'=>array('jan'=>array(),'feb'=>array(),'mar'=>array(),
                   'apr'=>array(),'may'=>array(),'jun'=>array(),
                   'jul'=>array(),'aug'=>array(),'sep'=>array(),
                   'oct'=>array(),'nov'=>array(),'dec'=>array()
                   ),
     '2009'=>array('jan'=>array(),'feb'=>array(),'mar'=>array(),
                   'apr'=>array(),'may'=>array(),'jun'=>array(),
                   'jul'=>array(),'aug'=>array(),'sep'=>array(),
                   'oct'=>array(),'nov'=>array(),'dec'=>array()
                   ),
     '2008'=>array('jan'=>array(),'feb'=>array(),'mar'=>array(),
                   'apr'=>array(),'may'=>array(),'jun'=>array(),
                   'jul'=>array(),'aug'=>array(),'sep'=>array(),
                   'oct'=>array(),'nov'=>array(),'dec'=>array()
                   ),
     '2007'=>array('jan'=>array(),'feb'=>array(),'mar'=>array(),
                   'apr'=>array(),'may'=>array(),'jun'=>array(),
                   'jul'=>array(),'aug'=>array(),'sep'=>array(),
                   'oct'=>array(),'nov'=>array(),'dec'=>array()),
     '2006'=>array('jan'=>array(),'feb'=>array(),'mar'=>array(),
                   'apr'=>array(),'may'=>array(),'jun'=>array(),
                   'jul'=>array(),'aug'=>array(),'sep'=>array(),
                   'oct'=>array(),'nov'=>array(),'dec'=>array()
                   ),
     '2005'=>array('jan'=>array(),'feb'=>array(),'mar'=>array(),
                   'apr'=>array(),'may'=>array(),'jun'=>array(),
                   'jul'=>array(),'aug'=>array(),'sep'=>array(),
                   'oct'=>array(),'nov'=>array(),'dec'=>array()
                   )
);

    Fixed. Was it so hard?!

  • Lord DoucheBag [Just got promoted!] (unregistered) in reply to Arguing About Arguing
    Arguing About Arguing:
    Nagesh:
    Anonymous:
    TRWTF is using PHP.

    This kind of comment never add value to discusion. It is tedius and repetitive and tend to fill up valueable screen real estate.

    Indeed, I would hate for us to ultimately end up spending more time arguing about arguing or worrying about worrying just to end up in the same position at the end of the the day for while we may believe we're seeking an ultimate truth, the value of that truth lies in what we can do now that we know it and we can do nothing if we are so preoccupied with knowing it, true?

    Furthermore, "Well, Prince, so Genoa and Lucca are now just family estates of the Buonapartes. But I warn you, if you don't tell me that this means war, if you still try to defend the infamies and horrors perpetrated by that Antichrist--I really believe he is Antichrist--I will have nothing more to do with you and you are no longer my friend, no longer my 'faithful slave,' as you call yourself! But how do you do? I see I have frightened you--sit down and tell me all the news."

    It was in July, 1805, and the speaker was the well-known Anna Pavlovna Scherer, maid of honor and favorite of the Empress Marya Fedorovna. With these words she greeted Prince Vasili Kuragin, a man of high rank and importance, who was the first to arrive at her reception. Anna Pavlovna had had a cough for some days. She was, as she said, suffering from la grippe; grippe being then a new word in St. Petersburg, used only by the elite.

    All her invitations without exception, written in French, and delivered by a scarlet-liveried footman that morning, ran as follows:

    "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 terrible, I shall be very charmed to see you tonight between 7 and 10- Annette Scherer."

    "Heavens! what a virulent attack!" replied the prince, not in the least disconcerted by this reception. He had just entered, wearing an embroidered court uniform, knee breeches, and shoes, and had stars on his breast and a serene expression on his flat face. He spoke in that refined French in which our grandfathers not only spoke but thought, and with the gentle, patronizing intonation natural to a man of importance who had grown old in society and at court. He went up to Anna Pavlovna, kissed her hand, presenting to her his bald, scented, and shining head, and complacently seated himself on the sofa.

    "First of all, dear friend, tell me how you are. Set your friend's mind at rest," said he without altering his tone, beneath the politeness and affected sympathy of which indifference and even irony could be discerned.

    "Can one be well while suffering morally? Can one be calm in times like these if one has any feeling?" said Anna Pavlovna. "You are staying the whole evening, I hope?"

    "And the fete at the English ambassador's? Today is Wednesday. I must put in an appearance there," said the prince. "My daughter is coming for me to take me there."

    "I thought today's fete had been canceled. I confess all these festivities and fireworks are becoming wearisome."

    "If they had known that you wished it, the entertainment would have been put off," said the prince, who, like a wound-up clock, by force of habit said things he did not even wish to be believed.

    "Don't tease! Well, and what has been decided about Novosiltsev's dispatch? You know everything."

    "What can one say about it?" replied the prince in a cold, listless tone. "What has been decided? They have decided that Buonaparte has burnt his boats, and I believe that we are ready to burn ours."

    Prince Vasili always spoke languidly, like an actor repeating a stale part. Anna Pavlovna Scherer on the contrary, despite her forty years, overflowed with animation and impulsiveness. To be an enthusiast had become her social vocation and, sometimes even when she did not feel like it, she became enthusiastic in order not to disappoint the expectations of those who knew her. The subdued smile which, though it did not suit her faded features, always played round her lips expressed, as in a spoiled child, a continual consciousness of her charming defect, which she neither wished, nor could, nor considered it necessary, to correct.

    In the midst of a conversation on political matters Anna Pavlovna burst out:

    "Oh, don't speak to me of Austria. Perhaps I don't understand things, but Austria never has wished, and does not wish, for war. She is betraying us! Russia alone must save Europe. Our gracious sovereign recognizes his high vocation and will be true to it. That is the one thing I have faith in! Our good and wonderful sovereign has to perform the noblest role on earth, and he is so virtuous and noble that God will not forsake him. He will fulfill his vocation and crush the hydra of revolution, which has become more terrible than ever in the person of this murderer and villain! We alone must avenge the blood of the just one.... Whom, I ask you, can we rely on?... England with her commercial spirit will not and cannot understand the Emperor Alexander's loftiness of soul. She has refused to evacuate Malta. She wanted to find, and still seeks, some secret motive in our actions. What answer did Novosiltsev get? None. The English have not understood and cannot understand the self-abnegation of our Emperor who wants nothing for himself, but only desires the good of mankind. And what have they promised? Nothing! And what little they have promised they will not perform! Prussia has always declared that Buonaparte is invincible, and that all Europe is powerless before him.... And I don't believe a word that Hardenburg says, or Haugwitz either. This famous Prussian neutrality is just a trap. I have faith only in God and the lofty destiny of our adored monarch. He will save Europe!"

    She suddenly paused, smiling at her own impetuosity.

    "I think," said the prince with a smile, "that if you had been sent instead of our dear Wintzingerode you would have captured the King of Prussia's consent by assault. You are so eloquent. Will you give me a cup of tea?"

    "In a moment. A propos," she added, becoming calm again, "I am expecting two very interesting men tonight, le Vicomte de Mortemart, who is connected with the Montmorencys through the Rohans, one of the best French families. He is one of the genuine emigres, the good ones. And also the Abbe Morio. Do you know that profound thinker? He has been received by the Emperor. Had you heard?"

    "I shall be delighted to meet them," said the prince. "But tell me," he added with studied carelessness as if it had only just occurred to him, though the question he was about to ask was the chief motive of his visit, "is it true that the Dowager Empress wants Baron Funke to be appointed first secretary at Vienna? The baron by all accounts is a poor creature."

    Prince Vasili wished to obtain this post for his son, but others were trying through the Dowager Empress Marya Fedorovna to secure it for the baron.

    Anna Pavlovna almost closed her eyes to indicate that neither she nor anyone else had a right to criticize what the Empress desired or was pleased with.

    "Baron Funke has been recommended to the Dowager Empress by her sister," was all she said, in a dry and mournful tone.

    As she named the Empress, Anna Pavlovna's face suddenly assumed an expression of profound and sincere devotion and respect mingled with sadness, and this occurred every time she mentioned her illustrious patroness. She added that Her Majesty had deigned to show Baron Funke beaucoup d'estime, and again her face clouded over with sadness.

    The prince was silent and looked indifferent. But, with the womanly and courtierlike quickness and tact habitual to her, Anna Pavlovna wished both to rebuke him (for daring to speak he had done of a man recommended to the Empress) and at the same time to console him, so she said:

    "Now about your family. Do you know that since your daughter came out everyone has been enraptured by her? They say she is amazingly beautiful."

    The prince bowed to signify his respect and gratitude.

    "I often think," she continued after a short pause, drawing nearer to the prince and smiling amiably at him as if to show that political and social topics were ended and the time had come for intimate conversation--"I often think how unfairly sometimes the joys of life are distributed. Why has fate given you two such splendid children? I don't speak of Anatole, your youngest. I don't like him," she added in a tone admitting of no rejoinder and raising her eyebrows. "Two such charming children. And really you appreciate them less than anyone, and so you don't deserve to have them."

    And she smiled her ecstatic smile.

    "I can't help it," said the prince. "Lavater would have said I lack the bump of paternity."

    "Don't joke; I mean to have a serious talk with you. Do you know I am dissatisfied with your younger son? Between ourselves" (and her face assumed its melancholy expression), "he was mentioned at Her Majesty's and you were pitied...."

    The prince answered nothing, but she looked at him significantly, awaiting a reply. He frowned.

    "What would you have me do?" he said at last. "You know I did all a father could for their education, and they have both turned out fools. Hippolyte is at least a quiet fool, but Anatole is an active one. That is the only difference between them." He said this smiling in a way more natural and animated than usual, so that the wrinkles round his mouth very clearly revealed something unexpectedly coarse and unpleasant.

    "And why are children born to such men as you? If you were not a father there would be nothing I could reproach you with," said Anna Pavlovna, looking up pensively.

    "I am your faithful slave and to you alone I can confess that my children are the bane of my life. It is the cross I have to bear. That is how I explain it to myself. It can't be helped!"

    He said no more, but expressed his resignation to cruel fate by a gesture. Anna Pavlovna meditated.

    "Have you never thought of marrying your prodigal son Anatole?" she asked. "They say old maids have a mania for matchmaking, and though I don't feel that weakness in myself as yet, I know a little person who is very unhappy with her father. She is a relation of yours, Princess Mary Bolkonskaya."

    Prince Vasili did not reply, though, with the quickness of memory and perception befitting a man of the world, he indicated by a movement of the head that he was considering this information.

    "Do you know," he said at last, evidently unable to check the sad current of his thoughts, "that Anatole is costing me forty thousand rubles a year? And," he went on after a pause, "what will it be in five years, if he goes on like this?" Presently he added: "That's what we fathers have to put up with.... Is this princess of yours rich?"

    "Her father is very rich and stingy. He lives in the country. He is the well-known Prince Bolkonski who had to retire from the army under the late Emperor, and was nicknamed 'the King of Prussia.' He is very clever but eccentric, and a bore. The poor girl is very unhappy. She has a brother; I think you know him, he married Lise Meinen lately. He is an aide-de-camp of Kutuzov's and will be here tonight."

    "Listen, dear Annette," said the prince, suddenly taking Anna Pavlovna's hand and for some reason drawing it downwards. "Arrange that affair for me and I shall always be your most devoted slave- slafe with an f, as a village elder of mine writes in his reports. She is rich and of good family and that's all I want."

    And with the familiarity and easy grace peculiar to him, he raised the maid of honor's hand to his lips, kissed it, and swung it to and fro as he lay back in his armchair, looking in another direction.

    "Attendez," said Anna Pavlovna, reflecting, "I'll speak to Lise, young Bolkonski's wife, this very evening, and perhaps the thing can be arranged. It shall be on your family's behalf that I'll start my apprenticeship as old maid." [edit] CHAPTER II

    Anna Pavlovna's drawing room was gradually filling. The highest Petersburg society was assembled there: people differing widely in age and character but alike in the social circle to which they belonged. Prince Vasili's daughter, the beautiful Helene, came to take her father to the ambassador's entertainment; she wore a ball dress and her badge as maid of honor. The youthful little Princess Bolkonskaya, known as la femme la plus seduisante de Petersbourg,* was also there. She had been married during the previous winter, and being pregnant did not go to any large gatherings, but only to small receptions. Prince Vasili's son, Hippolyte, had come with Mortemart, whom he introduced. The Abbe Morio and many others had also come.

    The most fascinating woman in Petersburg.

    To each new arrival Anna Pavlovna said, "You have not yet seen my aunt," or "You do not know my aunt?" and very gravely conducted him or her to a little old lady, wearing large bows of ribbon in her cap, who had come sailing in from another room as soon as the guests began to arrive; and slowly turning her eyes from the visitor to her aunt, Anna Pavlovna mentioned each one's name and then left them.

    Each visitor performed the ceremony of greeting this old aunt whom not one of them knew, not one of them wanted to know, and not one of them cared about; Anna Pavlovna observed these greetings with mournful and solemn interest and silent approval. The aunt spoke to each of them in the same words, about their health and her own, and the health of Her Majesty, "who, thank God, was better today." And each visitor, though politeness prevented his showing impatience, left the old woman with a sense of relief at having performed a vexatious duty and did not return to her the whole evening.

    The young Princess Bolkonskaya had brought some work in a gold-embroidered velvet bag. Her pretty little upper lip, on which a delicate dark down was just perceptible, was too short for her teeth, but it lifted all the more sweetly, and was especially charming when she occasionally drew it down to meet the lower lip. As is always the case with a thoroughly attractive woman, her defect--the shortness of her upper lip and her half-open mouth--seemed to be her own special and peculiar form of beauty. Everyone brightened at the sight of this pretty young woman, so soon to become a mother, so full of life and health, and carrying her burden so lightly. Old men and dull dispirited young ones who looked at her, after being in her company and talking to her a little while, felt as if they too were becoming, like her, full of life and health. All who talked to her, and at each word saw her bright smile and the constant gleam of her white teeth, thought that they were in a specially amiable mood that day.

    The little princess went round the table with quick, short, swaying steps, her workbag on her arm, and gaily spreading out her dress sat down on a sofa near the silver samovar, as if all she was doing was a pleasure to herself and to all around her. "I have brought my work," said she in French, displaying her bag and addressing all present. "Mind, Annette, I hope you have not played a wicked trick on me," she added, turning to her hostess. "You wrote that it was to be quite a small reception, and just see how badly I am dressed." And she spread out her arms to show her short-waisted, lace-trimmed, dainty gray dress, girdled with a broad ribbon just below the breast.

    "Soyez tranquille, Lise, you will always be prettier than anyone else," replied Anna Pavlovna.

    "You know," said the princess in the same tone of voice and still in French, turning to a general, "my husband is deserting me? He is going to get himself killed. Tell me what this wretched war is for?" she added, addressing Prince Vasili, and without waiting for an answer she turned to speak to his daughter, the beautiful Helene.

    "What a delightful woman this little princess is!" said Prince Vasili to Anna Pavlovna.

    One of the next arrivals was a stout, heavily built young man with close-cropped hair, spectacles, the light-colored breeches fashionable at that time, a very high ruffle, and a brown dress coat. This stout young man was an illegitimate son of Count Bezukhov, a well-known grandee of Catherine's time who now lay dying in Moscow. The young man had not yet entered either the military or civil service, as he had only just returned from abroad where he had been educated, and this was his first appearance in society. Anna Pavlovna greeted him with the nod she accorded to the lowest hierarchy in her drawing room. But in spite of this lowest-grade greeting, a look of anxiety and fear, as at the sight of something too large and unsuited to the place, came over her face when she saw Pierre enter. Though he was certainly rather bigger than the other men in the room, her anxiety could only have reference to the clever though shy, but observant and natural, expression which distinguished him from everyone else in that drawing room.

    "It is very good of you, Monsieur Pierre, to come and visit a poor invalid," said Anna Pavlovna, exchanging an alarmed glance with her aunt as she conducted him to her.

    Pierre murmured something unintelligible, and continued to look round as if in search of something. On his way to the aunt he bowed to the little princess with a pleased smile, as to an intimate acquaintance.

    Anna Pavlovna's alarm was justified, for Pierre turned away from the aunt without waiting to hear her speech about Her Majesty's health. Anna Pavlovna in dismay detained him with the words: "Do you know the Abbe Morio? He is a most interesting man."

    "Yes, I have heard of his scheme for perpetual peace, and it is very interesting but hardly feasible."

    "You think so?" rejoined Anna Pavlovna in order to say something and get away to attend to her duties as hostess. But Pierre now committed a reverse act of impoliteness. First he had left a lady before she had finished speaking to him, and now he continued to speak to another who wished to get away. With his head bent, and his big feet spread apart, he began explaining his reasons for thinking the abbe's plan chimerical.

    "We will talk of it later," said Anna Pavlovna with a smile.

    And having got rid of this young man who did not know how to behave, she resumed her duties as hostess and continued to listen and watch, ready to help at any point where the conversation might happen to flag. As the foreman of a spinning mill, when he has set the hands to work, goes round and notices here a spindle that has stopped or there one that creaks or makes more noise than it should, and hastens to check the machine or set it in proper motion, so Anna Pavlovna moved about her drawing room, approaching now a silent, now a too-noisy group, and by a word or slight rearrangement kept the conversational machine in steady, proper, and regular motion. But amid these cares her anxiety about Pierre was evident. She kept an anxious watch on him when he approached the group round Mortemart to listen to what was being said there, and again when he passed to another group whose center was the abbe.

    Pierre had been educated abroad, and this reception at Anna Pavlovna's was the first he had attended in Russia. He knew that all the intellectual lights of Petersburg were gathered there and, like a child in a toyshop, did not know which way to look, afraid of missing any clever conversation that was to be heard. Seeing the self-confident and refined expression on the faces of those present he was always expecting to hear something very profound. At last he came up to Morio. Here the conversation seemed interesting and he stood waiting for an opportunity to express his own views, as young people are fond of doing. [edit] CHAPTER III

    Anna Pavlovna's reception was in full swing. The spindles hummed steadily and ceaselessly on all sides. With the exception of the aunt, beside whom sat only one elderly lady, who with her thin careworn face was rather out of place in this brilliant society, the whole company had settled into three groups. One, chiefly masculine, had formed round the abbe. Another, of young people, was grouped round the beautiful Princess Helene, Prince Vasili's daughter, and the little Princess Bolkonskaya, very pretty and rosy, though rather too plump for her age. The third group was gathered round Mortemart and Anna Pavlovna.

    The vicomte was a nice-looking young man with soft features and polished manners, who evidently considered himself a celebrity but out of politeness modestly placed himself at the disposal of the circle in which he found himself. Anna Pavlovna was obviously serving him up as a treat to her guests. As a clever maitre d'hotel serves up as a specially choice delicacy a piece of meat that no one who had seen it in the kitchen would have cared to eat, so Anna Pavlovna served up to her guests, first the vicomte and then the abbe, as peculiarly choice morsels. The group about Mortemart immediately began discussing the murder of the Duc d'Enghien. The vicomte said that the Duc d'Enghien had perished by his own magnanimity, and that there were particular reasons for Buonaparte's hatred of him.

    "Ah, yes! Do tell us all about it, Vicomte," said Anna Pavlovna, with a pleasant feeling that there was something a la Louis XV in the sound of that sentence: "Contez nous cela, Vicomte."

    The vicomte bowed and smiled courteously in token of his willingness to comply. Anna Pavlovna arranged a group round him, inviting everyone to listen to his tale.

    "The vicomte knew the duc personally," whispered Anna Pavlovna to of the guests. "The vicomte is a wonderful raconteur," said she to another. "How evidently he belongs to the best society," said she to a third; and the vicomte was served up to the company in the choicest and most advantageous style, like a well-garnished joint of roast beef on a hot dish.

    The vicomte wished to begin his story and gave a subtle smile.

    "Come over here, Helene, dear," said Anna Pavlovna to the beautiful young princess who was sitting some way off, the center of another group.

    The princess smiled. She rose with the same unchanging smile with which she had first entered the room--the smile of a perfectly beautiful woman. With a slight rustle of her white dress trimmed with moss and ivy, with a gleam of white shoulders, glossy hair, and sparkling diamonds, she passed between the men who made way for her, not looking at any of them but smiling on all, as if graciously allowing each the privilege of admiring her beautiful figure and shapely shoulders, back, and bosom--which in the fashion of those days were very much exposed--and she seemed to bring the glamour of a ballroom with her as she moved toward Anna Pavlovna. Helene was so lovely that not only did she not show any trace of coquetry, but on the contrary she even appeared shy of her unquestionable and all too victorious beauty. She seemed to wish, but to be unable, to diminish its effect.

    "How lovely!" said everyone who saw her; and the vicomte lifted his shoulders and dropped his eyes as if startled by something extraordinary when she took her seat opposite and beamed upon him also with her unchanging smile.

    "Madame, I doubt my ability before such an audience," said he, smilingly inclining his head.

    The princess rested her bare round arm on a little table and considered a reply unnecessary. She smilingly waited. All the time the story was being told she sat upright, glancing now at her beautiful round arm, altered in shape by its pressure on the table, now at her still more beautiful bosom, on which she readjusted a diamond necklace. From time to time she smoothed the folds of her dress, and whenever the story produced an effect she glanced at Anna Pavlovna, at once adopted just the expression she saw on the maid of honor's face, and again relapsed into her radiant smile.

    The little princess had also left the tea table and followed Helene.

    "Wait a moment, I'll get my work.... Now then, what are you thinking of?" she went on, turning to Prince Hippolyte. "Fetch me my workbag."

    There was a general movement as the princess, smiling and talking merrily to everyone at once, sat down and gaily arranged herself in her seat.

    "Now I am all right," she said, and asking the vicomte to begin, she took up her work.

    Prince Hippolyte, having brought the workbag, joined the circle and moving a chair close to hers seated himself beside her.

    Le charmant Hippolyte was surprising by his extraordinary resemblance to his beautiful sister, but yet more by the fact that in spite of this resemblance he was exceedingly ugly. His features were like his sister's, but while in her case everything was lit up by a joyous, self-satisfied, youthful, and constant smile of animation, and by the wonderful classic beauty of her figure, his face on the contrary was dulled by imbecility and a constant expression of sullen self-confidence, while his body was thin and weak. His eyes, nose, and mouth all seemed puckered into a vacant, wearied grimace, and his arms and legs always fell into unnatural positions.

    "It's not going to be a ghost story?" said he, sitting down beside the princess and hastily adjusting his lorgnette, as if without this instrument he could not begin to speak.

    "Why no, my dear fellow," said the astonished narrator, shrugging his shoulders.

    "Because I hate ghost stories," said Prince Hippolyte in a tone which showed that he only understood the meaning of his words after he had uttered them.

    He spoke with such self-confidence that his hearers could not be sure whether what he said was very witty or very stupid. He was dressed in a dark-green dress coat, knee breeches of the color of cuisse de nymphe effrayee, as he called it, shoes, and silk stockings.

    The vicomte told his tale very neatly. It was an anecdote, then current, to the effect that the Duc d'Enghien had gone secretly to Paris to visit Mademoiselle George; that at her house he came upon Bonaparte, who also enjoyed the famous actress' favors, and that in his presence Napoleon happened to fall into one of the fainting fits to which he was subject, and was thus at the duc's mercy. The latter spared him, and this magnanimity Bonaparte subsequently repaid by death.

    The story was very pretty and interesting, especially at the point where the rivals suddenly recognized one another; and the ladies looked agitated.

    "Charming!" said Anna Pavlovna with an inquiring glance at the little princess.

    "Charming!" whispered the little princess, sticking the needle into her work as if to testify that the interest and fascination of the story prevented her from going on with it.

    The vicomte appreciated this silent praise and smiling gratefully prepared to continue, but just then Anna Pavlovna, who had kept a watchful eye on the young man who so alarmed her, noticed that he was talking too loudly and vehemently with the abbe, so she hurried to the rescue. Pierre had managed to start a conversation with the abbe about the balance of power, and the latter, evidently interested by the young man's simple-minded eagerness, was explaining his pet theory. Both were talking and listening too eagerly and too naturally, which was why Anna Pavlovna disapproved.

    "The means are... the balance of power in Europe and the rights of the people," the abbe was saying. "It is only necessary for one powerful nation like Russia--barbaric as she is said to be--to place herself disinterestedly at the head of an alliance having for its object the maintenance of the balance of power of Europe, and it would save the world!"

    "But how are you to get that balance?" Pierre was beginning.

    At that moment Anna Pavlovna came up and, looking severely at Pierre, asked the Italian how he stood Russian climate. The Italian's face instantly changed and assumed an offensively affected, sugary expression, evidently habitual to him when conversing with women.

    "I am so enchanted by the brilliancy of the wit and culture of the society, more especially of the feminine society, in which I have had the honor of being received, that I have not yet had time to think of the climate," said he.

    Not letting the abbe and Pierre escape, Anna Pavlovna, the more conveniently to keep them under observation, brought them into the larger circle.

    [edit] CHAPTER IV

    Just then another visitor entered the drawing room: Prince Andrew Bolkonski, the little princess' husband. He was a very handsome young man, of medium height, with firm, clearcut features. Everything about him, from his weary, bored expression to his quiet, measured step, offered a most striking contrast to his quiet, little wife. It was evident that he not only knew everyone in the drawing room, but had found them to be so tiresome that it wearied him to look at or listen to them. And among all these faces that he found so tedious, none seemed to bore him so much as that of his pretty wife. He turned away from her with a grimace that distorted his handsome face, kissed Anna Pavlovna's hand, and screwing up his eyes scanned the whole company.

    "You are off to the war, Prince?" said Anna Pavlovna.

    "General Kutuzov," said Bolkonski, speaking French and stressing the last syllable of the general's name like a Frenchman, "has been pleased to take me as an aide-de-camp...."

    "And Lise, your wife?"

    "She will go to the country."

    "Are you not ashamed to deprive us of your charming wife?"

    "Andre," said his wife, addressing her husband in the same coquettish manner in which she spoke to other men, "the vicomte has been telling us such a tale about Mademoiselle George and Buonaparte!"

    Prince Andrew screwed up his eyes and turned away. Pierre, who from the moment Prince Andrew entered the room had watched him with glad, affectionate eyes, now came up and took his arm. Before he looked round Prince Andrew frowned again, expressing his annoyance with whoever was touching his arm, but when he saw Pierre's beaming face he gave him an unexpectedly kind and pleasant smile.

    "There now!... So you, too, are in the great world?" said he to Pierre.

    "I knew you would be here," replied Pierre. "I will come to supper with you. May I?" he added in a low voice so as not to disturb the vicomte who was continuing his story.

    "No, impossible!" said Prince Andrew, laughing and pressing Pierre's hand to show that there was no need to ask the question. He wished to say something more, but at that moment Prince Vasili and his daughter got up to go and the two young men rose to let them pass.

    "You must excuse me, dear Vicomte," said Prince Vasili to the Frenchman, holding him down by the sleeve in a friendly way to prevent his rising. "This unfortunate fete at the ambassador's deprives me of a pleasure, and obliges me to interrupt you. I am very sorry to leave your enchanting party," said he, turning to Anna Pavlovna.

    His daughter, Princess Helene, passed between the chairs, lightly holding up the folds of her dress, and the smile shone still more radiantly on her beautiful face. Pierre gazed at her with rapturous, almost frightened, eyes as she passed him.

    "Very lovely," said Prince Andrew.

    "Very," said Pierre.

    In passing Prince Vasili seized Pierre's hand and said to Anna Pavlovna: "Educate this bear for me! He has been staying with me a whole month and this is the first time I have seen him in society. Nothing is so necessary for a young man as the society of clever women."

    Anna Pavlovna smiled and promised to take Pierre in hand. She knew his father to be a connection of Prince Vasili's. The elderly lady who had been sitting with the old aunt rose hurriedly and overtook Prince Vasili in the anteroom. All the affectation of interest she had assumed had left her kindly and tearworn face and it now expressed only anxiety and fear.

    "How about my son Boris, Prince?" said she, hurrying after him into the anteroom. "I can't remain any longer in Petersburg. Tell me what news I may take back to my poor boy."

    Although Prince Vasili listened reluctantly and not very politely to the elderly lady, even betraying some impatience, she gave him an ingratiating and appealing smile, and took his hand that he might not go away.

    "What would it cost you to say a word to the Emperor, and then he would be transferred to the Guards at once?" said she.

    "Believe me, Princess, I am ready to do all I can," answered Prince Vasili, "but it is difficult for me to ask the Emperor. I should advise you to appeal to Rumyantsev through Prince Golitsyn. That would be the best way."

    The elderly lady was a Princess Drubetskaya, belonging to one of the best families in Russia, but she was poor, and having long been out of society had lost her former influential connections. She had now come to Petersburg to procure an appointment in the Guards for her only son. It was, in fact, solely to meet Prince Vasili that she had obtained an invitation to Anna Pavlovna's reception and had sat listening to the vicomte's story. Prince Vasili's words frightened her, an embittered look clouded her once handsome face, but only for a moment; then she smiled again and dutched Prince Vasili's arm more tightly.

    "Listen to me, Prince," said she. "I have never yet asked you for anything and I never will again, nor have I ever reminded you of my father's friendship for you; but now I entreat you for God's sake to do this for my son--and I shall always regard you as a benefactor," she added hurriedly. "No, don't be angry, but promise! I have asked Golitsyn and he has refused. Be the kindhearted man you always were," she said, trying to smile though tears were in her eyes.

    "Papa, we shall be late," said Princess Helene, turning her beautiful head and looking over her classically molded shoulder as she stood waiting by the door.

    Influence in society, however, is a capital which has to be economized if it is to last. Prince Vasili knew this, and having once realized that if he asked on behalf of all who begged of him, he would soon be unable to ask for himself, he became chary of using his influence. But in Princess Drubetskaya's case he felt, after her second appeal, something like qualms of conscience. She had reminded him of what was quite true; he had been indebted to her father for the first steps in his career. Moreover, he could see by her manners that she was one of those women--mostly mothers--who, having once made up their minds, will not rest until they have gained their end, and are prepared if necessary to go on insisting day after day and hour after hour, and even to make scenes. This last consideration moved him.

    "My dear Anna Mikhaylovna," said he with his usual familiarity and weariness of tone, "it is almost impossible for me to do what you ask; but to prove my devotion to you and how I respect your father's memory, I will do the impossible--your son shall be transferred to the Guards. Here is my hand on it. Are you satisfied?"

    "My dear benefactor! This is what I expected from you--I knew your kindness!" He turned to go.

    "Wait--just a word! When he has been transferred to the Guards..." she faltered. "You are on good terms with Michael Ilarionovich Kutuzov... recommend Boris to him as adjutant! Then I shall be at rest, and then..."

    Prince Vasili smiled.

    "No, I won't promise that. You don't know how Kutuzov is pestered since his appointment as Commander in Chief. He told me himself that all the Moscow ladies have conspired to give him all their sons as adjutants."

    "No, but do promise! I won't let you go! My dear benefactor..."

    "Papa," said his beautiful daughter in the same tone as before, "we shall be late."

    "Well, au revoir! Good-by! You hear her?"

    "Then tomorrow you will speak to the Emperor?"

    "Certainly; but about Kutuzov, I don't promise."

    "Do promise, do promise, Vasili!" cried Anna Mikhaylovna as he went, with the smile of a coquettish girl, which at one time probably came naturally to her, but was now very ill-suited to her careworn face.

    Apparently she had forgotten her age and by force of habit employed all the old feminine arts. But as soon as the prince had gone her face resumed its former cold, artificial expression. She returned to the group where the vicomte was still talking, and again pretended to listen, while waiting till it would be time to leave. Her task was accomplished.

    [edit] CHAPTER V

    "And what do you think of this latest comedy, the coronation at Milan?" asked Anna Pavlovna, "and of the comedy of the people of Genoa and Lucca laying their petitions before Monsieur Buonaparte, and Monsieur Buonaparte sitting on a throne and granting the petitions of the nations? Adorable! It is enough to make one's head whirl! It is as if the whole world had gone crazy."

    Prince Andrew looked Anna Pavlovna straight in the face with a sarcastic smile.

    "'Dieu me la donne, gare a qui la touche!'* They say he was very fine when he said that," he remarked, repeating the words in Italian: "'Dio mi l'ha dato. Guai a chi la tocchi!'"

    God has given it to me, let him who touches it beware!

    "I hope this will prove the last drop that will make the glass run over," Anna Pavlovna continued. "The sovereigns will not be able to endure this man who is a menace to everything."

    "The sovereigns? I do not speak of Russia," said the vicomte, polite but hopeless: "The sovereigns, madame... What have they done for Louis XVII, for the Queen, or for Madame Elizabeth? Nothing!" and he became more animated. "And believe me, they are reaping the reward of their betrayal of the Bourbon cause. The sovereigns! Why, they are sending ambassadors to compliment the usurper."

    And sighing disdainfully, he again changed his position.

    Prince Hippolyte, who had been gazing at the vicomte for some time through his lorgnette, suddenly turned completely round toward the little princess, and having asked for a needle began tracing the Conde coat of arms on the table. He explained this to her with as much gravity as if she had asked him to do it.

    "Baton de gueules, engrele de gueules d' azur--maison Conde," said he.

    The princess listened, smiling.

    "If Buonaparte remains on the throne of France a year longer," the vicomte continued, with the air of a man who, in a matter with which he is better acquainted than anyone else, does not listen to others but follows the current of his own thoughts, "things will have gone too far. By intrigues, violence, exile, and executions, French society--I mean good French society--will have been forever destroyed, and then..."

    He shrugged his shoulders and spread out his hands. Pierre wished to make a remark, for the conversation interested him, but Anna Pavlovna, who had him under observation, interrupted:

    "The Emperor Alexander," said she, with the melancholy which always accompanied any reference of hers to the Imperial family, "has declared that he will leave it to the French people themselves to choose their own form of government; and I believe that once free from the usurper, the whole nation will certainly throw itself into the arms of its rightful king," she concluded, trying to be amiable to the royalist emigrant.

    "That is doubtful," said Prince Andrew. "Monsieur le Vicomte quite rightly supposes that matters have already gone too far. I think it will be difficult to return to the old regime."

    "From what I have heard," said Pierre, blushing and breaking into the conversation, "almost all the aristocracy has already gone over to Bonaparte's side."

    "It is the Buonapartists who say that," replied the vicomte without looking at Pierre. "At the present time it is difficult to know the real state of French public opinion."

    "Bonaparte has said so," remarked Prince Andrew with a sarcastic smile.

    It was evident that he did not like the vicomte and was aiming his remarks at him, though without looking at him.

    "'I showed them the path to glory, but they did not follow it,'" Prince Andrew continued after a short silence, again quoting Napoleon's words. "'I opened my antechambers and they crowded in.' I do not know how far he was justified in saying so."

    "Not in the least," replied the vicomte. "After the murder of the duc even the most partial ceased to regard him as a hero. If to some people," he went on, turning to Anna Pavlovna, "he ever was a hero, after the murder of the duc there was one martyr more in heaven and one hero less on earth."

    Before Anna Pavlovna and the others had time to smile their appreciation of the vicomte's epigram, Pierre again broke into the conversation, and though Anna Pavlovna felt sure he would say something inappropriate, she was unable to stop him.

    "The execution of the Duc d'Enghien," declared Monsieur Pierre, "was a political necessity, and it seems to me that Napoleon showed greatness of soul by not fearing to take on himself the whole responsibility of that deed."

    "Dieu! Mon Dieu!" muttered Anna Pavlovna in a terrified whisper.

    "What, Monsieur Pierre... Do you consider that assassination shows greatness of soul?" said the little princess, smiling and drawing her work nearer to her.

    "Oh! Oh!" exclaimed several voices.

    "Capital!" said Prince Hippolyte in English, and began slapping his knee with the palm of his hand.

    The vicomte merely shrugged his shoulders. Pierre looked solemnly at his audience over his spectacles and continued.

    "I say so," he continued desperately, "because the Bourbons fled from the Revolution leaving the people to anarchy, and Napoleon alone understood the Revolution and quelled it, and so for the general good, he could not stop short for the sake of one man's life."

    "Won't you come over to the other table?" suggested Anna Pavlovna.

    But Pierre continued his speech without heeding her.

    "No," cried he, becoming more and more eager, "Napoleon is great because he rose superior to the Revolution, suppressed its abuses, preserved all that was good in it--equality of citizenship and freedom of speech and of the press--and only for that reason did he obtain power."

    "Yes, if having obtained power, without availing himself of it to commit murder he had restored it to the rightful king, I should have called him a great man," remarked the vicomte.

    "He could not do that. The people only gave him power that he might rid them of the Bourbons and because they saw that he was a great man. The Revolution was a grand thing!" continued Monsieur Pierre, betraying by this desperate and provocative proposition his extreme youth and his wish to express all that was in his mind.

    "What? Revolution and regicide a grand thing?... Well, after that... But won't you come to this other table?" repeated Anna Pavlovna.

    "Rousseau's Contrat social," said the vicomte with a tolerant smile.

    "I am not speaking of regicide, I am speaking about ideas."

    "Yes: ideas of robbery, murder, and regicide," again interjected an ironical voice.

    "Those were extremes, no doubt, but they are not what is most important. What is important are the rights of man, emancipation from prejudices, and equality of citizenship, and all these ideas Napoleon has retained in full force."

    "Liberty and equality," said the vicomte contemptuously, as if at last deciding seriously to prove to this youth how foolish his words were, "high-sounding words which have long been discredited. Who does not love liberty and equality? Even our Saviour preached liberty and equality. Have people since the Revolution become happier? On the contrary. We wanted liberty, but Buonaparte has destroyed it."

    Prince Andrew kept looking with an amused smile from Pierre to the vicomte and from the vicomte to their hostess. In the first moment of Pierre's outburst Anna Pavlovna, despite her social experience, was horror-struck. But when she saw that Pierre's sacrilegious words had not exasperated the vicomte, and had convinced herself that it was impossible to stop him, she rallied her forces and joined the vicomte in a vigorous attack on the orator.

    "But, my dear Monsieur Pierre," said she, "how do you explain the fact of a great man executing a duc--or even an ordinary man who--is innocent and untried?"

    "I should like," said the vicomte, "to ask how monsieur explains the 18th Brumaire; was not that an imposture? It was a swindle, and not at all like the conduct of a great man!"

    "And the prisoners he killed in Africa? That was horrible!" said the little princess, shrugging her shoulders.

    "He's a low fellow, say what you will," remarked Prince Hippolyte.

    Pierre, not knowing whom to answer, looked at them all and smiled. His smile was unlike the half-smile of other people. When he smiled, his grave, even rather gloomy, look was instantaneously replaced by another--a childlike, kindly, even rather silly look, which seemed to ask forgiveness.

    The vicomte who was meeting him for the first time saw clearly that this young Jacobin was not so terrible as his words suggested. All were silent.

    "How do you expect him to answer you all at once?" said Prince Andrew. "Besides, in the actions of a statesman one has to distinguish between his acts as a private person, as a general, and as an emperor. So it seems to me."

    "Yes, yes, of course!" Pierre chimed in, pleased at the arrival of this reinforcement.

    "One must admit," continued Prince Andrew, "that Napoleon as a man was great on the bridge of Arcola, and in the hospital at Jaffa where he gave his hand to the plague-stricken; but... but there are other acts which it is difficult to justify."

    Prince Andrew, who had evidently wished to tone down the awkwardness of Pierre's remarks, rose and made a sign to his wife that it was time to go.

    Suddenly Prince Hippolyte started up making signs to everyone to attend, and asking them all to be seated began:

    "I was told a charming Moscow story today and must treat you to it. Excuse me, Vicomte--I must tell it in Russian or the point will be lost...." And Prince Hippolyte began to tell his story in such Russian as a Frenchman would speak after spending about a year in Russia. Everyone waited, so emphatically and eagerly did he demand their attention to his story.

    "There is in Moscow a lady, une dame, and she is very stingy. She must have two footmen behind her carriage, and very big ones. That was her taste. And she had a lady's maid, also big. She said..."

    Here Prince Hippolyte paused, evidently collecting his ideas with difficulty.

    "She said... Oh yes! She said, 'Girl,' to the maid, 'put on a livery, get up behind the carriage, and come with me while I make some calls.'"

    Here Prince Hippolyte spluttered and burst out laughing long before his audience, which produced an effect unfavorable to the narrator. Several persons, among them the elderly lady and Anna Pavlovna, did however smile.

    "She went. Suddenly there was a great wind. The girl lost her hat and her long hair came down...." Here he could contain himself no longer and went on, between gasps of laughter: "And the whole world knew...."

    And so the anecdote ended. Though it was unintelligible why he had told it, or why it had to be told in Russian, still Anna Pavlovna and the others appreciated Prince Hippolyte's social tact in so agreeably ending Pierre's unpleasant and unamiable outburst. After the anecdote the conversation broke up into insignificant small talk about the last and next balls, about theatricals, and who would meet whom, and when and where.

    [edit] CHAPTER VI

    Having thanked Anna Pavlovna for her charming soiree, the guests began to take their leave.

    Pierre was ungainly. Stout, about the average height, broad, with huge red hands; he did not know, as the saying is, how to enter a drawing room and still less how to leave one; that is, how to say something particularly agreeable before going away. Besides this he was absent-minded. When he rose to go, he took up instead of his own, the general's three-cornered hat, and held it, pulling at the plume, till the general asked him to restore it. All his absent-mindedness and inability to enter a room and converse in it was, however, redeemed by his kindly, simple, and modest expression. Anna Pavlovna turned toward him and, with a Christian mildness that expressed forgiveness of his indiscretion, nodded and said: "I hope to see you again, but I also hope you will change your opinions, my dear Monsieur Pierre."

    When she said this, he did not reply and only bowed, but again everybody saw his smile, which said nothing, unless perhaps, "Opinions are opinions, but you see what a capital, good-natured fellow I am." And everyone, including Anna Pavlovna, felt this.

    Prince Andrew had gone out into the hall, and, turning his shoulders to the footman who was helping him on with his cloak, listened indifferently to his wife's chatter with Prince Hippolyte who had also come into the hall. Prince Hippolyte stood close to the pretty, pregnant princess, and stared fixedly at her through his eyeglass.

    "Go in, Annette, or you will catch cold," said the little princess, taking leave of Anna Pavlovna. "It is settled," she added in a low voice.

    Anna Pavlovna had already managed to speak to Lise about the match she contemplated between Anatole and the little princess' sister-in-law.

    "I rely on you, my dear," said Anna Pavlovna, also in a low tone. "Write to her and let me know how her father looks at the matter. Au revoir!"--and she left the hall.

    Prince Hippolyte approached the little princess and, bending his face close to her, began to whisper something.

    Two footmen, the princess' and his own, stood holding a shawl and a cloak, waiting for the conversation to finish. They listened to the French sentences which to them were meaningless, with an air of understanding but not wishing to appear to do so. The princess as usual spoke smilingly and listened with a laugh.

    "I am very glad I did not go to the ambassador's," said Prince Hippolyte "-so dull-. It has been a delightful evening, has it not? Delightful!"

    "They say the ball will be very good," replied the princess, drawing up her downy little lip. "All the pretty women in society will be there."

    "Not all, for you will not be there; not all," said Prince Hippolyte smiling joyfully; and snatching the shawl from the footman, whom he even pushed aside, he began wrapping it round the princess. Either from awkwardness or intentionally (no one could have said which) after the shawl had been adjusted he kept his arm around her for a long time, as though embracing her.

    Still smiling, she gracefully moved away, turning and glancing at her husband. Prince Andrew's eyes were closed, so weary and sleepy did he seem.

    "Are you ready?" he asked his wife, looking past her.

    Prince Hippolyte hurriedly put on his cloak, which in the latest fashion reached to his very heels, and, stumbling in it, ran out into the porch following the princess, whom a footman was helping into the carriage.

    "Princesse, au revoir," cried he, stumbling with his tongue as well as with his feet.

    The princess, picking up her dress, was taking her seat in the dark carriage, her husband was adjusting his saber; Prince Hippolyte, under pretense of helping, was in everyone's way.

    "Allow me, sir," said Prince Andrew in Russian in a cold, disagreeable tone to Prince Hippolyte who was blocking his path.

    "I am expecting you, Pierre," said the same voice, but gently and affectionately.

    The postilion started, the carriage wheels rattled. Prince Hippolyte laughed spasmodically as he stood in the porch waiting for the vicomte whom he had promised to take home.

    "Well, mon cher," said the vicomte, having seated himself beside Hippolyte in the carriage, "your little princess is very nice, very nice indeed, quite French," and he kissed the tips of his fingers. Hippolyte burst out laughing.

    "Do you know, you are a terrible chap for all your innocent airs," continued the vicomte. "I pity the poor husband, that little officer who gives himself the airs of a monarch."

    Hippolyte spluttered again, and amid his laughter said, "And you were saying that the Russian ladies are not equal to the French? One has to know how to deal with them."

    Pierre reaching the house first went into Prince Andrew's study like one quite at home, and from habit immediately lay down on the sofa, took from the shelf the first book that came to his hand (it was Caesar's Commentaries), and resting on his elbow, began reading it in the middle.

    "What have you done to Mlle Scherer? She will be quite ill now," said Prince Andrew, as he entered the study, rubbing his small white hands.

    Pierre turned his whole body, making the sofa creak. He lifted his eager face to Prince Andrew, smiled, and waved his hand.

    "That abbe is very interesting but he does not see the thing in the right light.... In my opinion perpetual peace is possible but--I do not know how to express it... not by a balance of political power...."

    It was evident that Prince Andrew was not interested in such abstract conversation.

    "One can't everywhere say all one thinks, mon cher. Well, have you at last decided on anything? Are you going to be a guardsman or a diplomatist?" asked Prince Andrew after a momentary silence.

    Pierre sat up on the sofa, with his legs tucked under him.

    "Really, I don't yet know. I don't like either the one or the other."

    "But you must decide on something! Your father expects it."

    Pierre at the age of ten had been sent abroad with an abbe as tutor, and had remained away till he was twenty. When he returned to Moscow his father dismissed the abbe and said to the young man, "Now go to Petersburg, look round, and choose your profession. I will agree to anything. Here is a letter to Prince Vasili, and here is money. Write to me all about it, and I will help you in everything." Pierre had already been choosing a career for three months, and had not decided on anything. It was about this choice that Prince Andrew was speaking. Pierre rubbed his forehead.

    "But he must be a Freemason," said he, referring to the abbe whom he had met that evening.

    "That is all nonsense." Prince Andrew again interrupted him, "let us talk business. Have you been to the Horse Guards?"

    "No, I have not; but this is what I have been thinking and wanted to tell you. There is a war now against Napoleon. If it were a war for freedom I could understand it and should be the first to enter the army; but to help England and Austria against the greatest man in the world is not right."

    Prince Andrew only shrugged his shoulders at Pierre's childish words. He put on the air of one who finds it impossible to reply to such nonsense, but it would in fact have been difficult to give any other answer than the one Prince Andrew gave to this naive question.

    "If no one fought except on his own conviction, there would be no wars," he said.

    "And that would be splendid," said Pierre.

    Prince Andrew smiled ironically.

    "Very likely it would be splendid, but it will never come about..."

    "Well, why are you going to the war?" asked Pierre.

    "What for? I don't know. I must. Besides that I am going..." He paused. "I am going because the life I am leading here does not suit me!"

    [edit] CHAPTER VII

    The rustle of a woman's dress was heard in the next room. Prince Andrew shook himself as if waking up, and his face assumed the look it had had in Anna Pavlovna's drawing room. Pierre removed his feet from the sofa. The princess came in. She had changed her gown for a house dress as fresh and elegant as the other. Prince Andrew rose and politely placed a chair for her.

    "How is it," she began, as usual in French, settling down briskly and fussily in the easy chair, "how is it Annette never got married? How stupid you men all are not to have married her! Excuse me for saying so, but you have no sense about women. What an argumentative fellow you are, Monsieur Pierre!"

    "And I am still arguing with your husband. I can't understand why he wants to go to the war," replied Pierre, addressing the princess with none of the embarrassment so commonly shown by young men in their intercourse with young women.

    The princess started. Evidently Pierre's words touched her to the quick.

    "Ah, that is just what I tell him!" said she. "I don't understand it; I don't in the least understand why men can't live without wars. How is it that we women don't want anything of the kind, don't need it? Now you shall judge between us. I always tell him: Here he is Uncle's aide-de-camp, a most brilliant position. He is so well known, so much appreciated by everyone. The other day at the Apraksins' I heard a lady asking, 'Is that the famous Prince Andrew?' I did indeed." She laughed. "He is so well received everywhere. He might easily become aide-de-camp to the Emperor. You know the Emperor spoke to him most graciously. Annette and I were speaking of how to arrange it. What do you think?"

    Pierre looked at his friend and, noticing that he did not like the conversation, gave no reply.

    "When are you starting?" he asked.

    "Oh, don't speak of his going, don't! I won't hear it spoken of," said the princess in the same petulantly playful tone in which she had spoken to Hippolyte in the drawing room and which was so plainly ill-suited to the family circle of which Pierre was almost a member. "Today when I remembered that all these delightful associations must be broken off... and then you know, Andre..." (she looked significantly at her husband) "I'm afraid, I'm afraid!" she whispered, and a shudder ran down her back.

    Her husband looked at her as if surprised to notice that someone besides Pierre and himself was in the room, and addressed her in a tone of frigid politeness.

    "What is it you are afraid of, Lise? I don't understand," said he.

    "There, what egotists men all are: all, all egotists! Just for a whim of his own, goodness only knows why, he leaves me and locks me up alone in the country."

    "With my father and sister, remember," said Prince Andrew gently.

    "Alone all the same, without my friends.... And he expects me not to be afraid."

    Her tone was now querulous and her lip drawn up, giving her not a joyful, but an animal, squirrel-like expression. She paused as if she felt it indecorous to speak of her pregnancy before Pierre, though the gist of the matter lay in that.

    "I still can't understand what you are afraid of," said Prince Andrew slowly, not taking his eyes off his wife.

    The princess blushed, and raised her arms with a gesture of despair.

    "No, Andrew, I must say you have changed. Oh, how you have..."

    "Your doctor tells you to go to bed earlier," said Prince Andrew. "You had better go."

    The princess said nothing, but suddenly her short downy lip quivered. Prince Andrew rose, shrugged his shoulders, and walked about the room.

    Pierre looked over his spectacles with naive surprise, now at him and now at her, moved as if about to rise too, but changed his mind.

    "Why should I mind Monsieur Pierre being here?" exclaimed the little princess suddenly, her pretty face all at once distorted by a tearful grimace. "I have long wanted to ask you, Andrew, why you have changed so to me? What have I done to you? You are going to the war and have no pity for me. Why is it?"

    "Lise!" was all Prince Andrew said. But that one word expressed an entreaty, a threat, and above all conviction that she would herself regret her words. But she went on hurriedly:

    "You treat me like an invalid or a child. I see it all! Did you behave like that six months ago?"

    "Lise, I beg you to desist," said Prince Andrew still more emphatically.

    Pierre, who had been growing more and more agitated as he listened to all this, rose and approached the princess. He seemed unable to bear the sight of tears and was ready to cry himself.

    "Calm yourself, Princess! It seems so to you because... I assure you I myself have experienced... and so... because... No, excuse me! An outsider is out of place here... No, don't distress yourself... Good-by!"

    Prince Andrew caught him by the hand.

    "No, wait, Pierre! The princess is too kind to wish to deprive me of the pleasure of spending the evening with you."

    "No, he thinks only of himself," muttered the princess without restraining her angry tears.

    "Lise!" said Prince Andrew dryly, raising his voice to the pitch which indicates that patience is exhausted.

    Suddenly the angry, squirrel-like expression of the princess' pretty face changed into a winning and piteous look of fear. Her beautiful eyes glanced askance at her husband's face, and her own assumed the timid, deprecating expression of a dog when it rapidly but feebly wags its drooping tail.

    "Mon Dieu, mon Dieu!" she muttered, and lifting her dress with one hand she went up to her husband and kissed him on the forehead.

    "Good night, Lise," said he, rising and courteously kissing her hand as he would have done to a stranger.

    [edit] CHAPTER VIII

    The friends were silent. Neither cared to begin talking. Pierre continually glanced at Prince Andrew; Prince Andrew rubbed his forehead with his small hand.

    "Let us go and have supper," he said with a sigh, going to the door.

    They entered the elegant, newly decorated, and luxurious dining room. Everything from the table napkins to the silver, china, and glass bore that imprint of newness found in the households of the newly married. Halfway through supper Prince Andrew leaned his elbows on the table and, with a look of nervous agitation such as Pierre had never before seen on his face, began to talk--as one who has long had something on his mind and suddenly determines to speak out.

    "Never, never marry, my dear fellow! That's my advice: never marry till you can say to yourself that you have done all you are capable of, and until you have ceased to love the woman of your choice and have seen her plainly as she is, or else you will make a cruel and irrevocable mistake. Marry when you are old and good for nothing--or all that is good and noble in you will be lost. It will all be wasted on trifles. Yes! Yes! Yes! Don't look at me with such surprise. If you marry expecting anything from yourself in the future, you will feel at every step that for you all is ended, all is closed except the drawing room, where you will be ranged side by side with a court lackey and an idiot!... But what's the good?..." and he waved his arm.

    Pierre took off his spectacles, which made his face seem different and the good-natured expression still more apparent, and gazed at his friend in amazement.

    "My wife," continued Prince Andrew, "is an excellent woman, one of those rare women with whom a man's honor is safe; but, O God, what would I not give now to be unmarried! You are the first and only one to whom I mention this, because I like you."

    As he said this Prince Andrew was less than ever like that Bolkonski who had lolled in Anna Pavlovna's easy chairs and with half-closed eyes had uttered French phrases between his teeth. Every muscle of his thin face was now quivering with nervous excitement; his eyes, in which the fire of life had seemed extinguished, now flashed with brilliant light. It was evident that the more lifeless he seemed at ordinary times, the more impassioned he became in these moments of almost morbid irritation.

    "You don't understand why I say this," he continued, "but it is the whole story of life. You talk of Bonaparte and his career," said he (though Pierre had not mentioned Bonaparte), "but Bonaparte when he worked went step by step toward his goal. He was free, he had nothing but his aim to consider, and he reached it. But tie yourself up with a woman and, like a chained convict, you lose all freedom! And all you have of hope and strength merely weighs you down and torments you with regret. Drawing rooms, gossip, balls, vanity, and triviality--these are the enchanted circle I cannot escape from. I am now going to the war, the greatest war there ever was, and I know nothing and am fit for nothing. I am very amiable and have a caustic wit," continued Prince Andrew, "and at Anna Pavlovna's they listen to me. And that stupid set without whom my wife cannot exist, and those women... If you only knew what those society women are, and women in general! My father is right. Selfish, vain, stupid, trivial in everything--that's what women are when you see them in their true colors! When you meet them in society it seems as if there were something in them, but there's nothing, nothing, nothing! No, don't marry, my dear fellow; don't marry!" concluded Prince Andrew.

    "It seems funny to me," said Pierre, "that you, you should consider yourself incapable and your life a spoiled life. You have everything before you, everything. And you..."

    He did not finish his sentence, but his tone showed how highly he thought of his friend and how much he expected of him in the future.

    "How can he talk like that?" thought Pierre. He considered his friend a model of perfection because Prince Andrew possessed in the highest degree just the very qualities Pierre lacked, and which might be best described as strength of will. Pierre was always astonished at Prince Andrew's calm manner of treating everybody, his extraordinary memory, his extensive reading (he had read everything, knew everything, and had an opinion about everything), but above all at his capacity for work and study. And if Pierre was often struck by Andrew's lack of capacity for philosophical meditation (to which he himself was particularly addicted), he regarded even this not as a defect but as a sign of strength.

    Even in the best, most friendly and simplest relations of life, praise and commendation are essential, just as grease is necessary to wheels that they may run smoothly.

    "My part is played out," said Prince Andrew. "What's the use of talking about me? Let us talk about you," he added after a silence, smiling at his reassuring thoughts.

    That smile was immediately reflected on Pierre's face.

    "But what is there to say about me?" said Pierre, his face relaxing into a careless, merry smile. "What am I? An illegitimate son!" He suddenly blushed crimson, and it was plain that he had made a great effort to say this. "Without a name and without means... And it really..." But he did not say what "it really" was. "For the present I am free and am all right. Only I haven't the least idea what I am to do; I wanted to consult you seriously."

    Prince Andrew looked kindly at him, yet his glance--friendly and affectionate as it was--expressed a sense of his own superiority.

    "I am fond of you, especially as you are the one live man among our whole set. Yes, you're all right! Choose what you will; it's all the same. You'll be all right anywhere. But look here: give up visiting those Kuragins and leading that sort of life. It suits you so badly--all this debauchery, dissipation, and the rest of it!"

    "What would you have, my dear fellow?" answered Pierre, shrugging his shoulders. "Women, my dear fellow; women!"

    "I don't understand it," replied Prince Andrew. "Women who are comme il faut, that's a different matter; but the Kuragins' set of women, 'women and wine' I don't understand!"

    Pierre was staying at Prince Vasili Kuragin's and sharing the dissipated life of his son Anatole, the son whom they were planning to reform by marrying him to Prince Andrew's sister.

    "Do you know?" said Pierre, as if suddenly struck by a happy thought, "seriously, I have long been thinking of it.... Leading such a life I can't decide or think properly about anything. One's head aches, and one spends all one's money. He asked me for tonight, but I won't go."

    "You give me your word of honor not to go?"

    "On my honor!"

    [edit] CHAPTER IX

    It was past one o'clock when Pierre left his friend. It was a cloudless, northern, summer night. Pierre took an open cab intending to drive straight home. But the nearer he drew to the house the more he felt the impossibility of going to sleep on such a night. It was light enough to see a long way in the deserted street and it seemed more like morning or evening than night. On the way Pierre remembered that Anatole Kuragin was expecting the usual set for cards that evening, after which there was generally a drinking bout, finishing with visits of a kind Pierre was very fond of.

    "I should like to go to Kuragin's," thought he.

    But he immediately recalled his promise to Prince Andrew not to go there. Then, as happens to people of weak character, he desired so passionately once more to enjoy that dissipation he was so accustomed to that he decided to go. The thought immediately occurred to him that his promise to Prince Andrew was of no account, because before he gave it he had already promised Prince Anatole to come to his gathering; "besides," thought he, "all such 'words of honor' are conventional things with no definite meaning, especially if one considers that by tomorrow one may be dead, or something so extraordinary may happen to one that honor and dishonor will be all the same!" Pierre often indulged in reflections of this sort, nullifying all his decisions and intentions. He went to Kuragin's.

    Reaching the large house near the Horse Guards' barracks, in which Anatole lived, Pierre entered the lighted porch, ascended the stairs, and went in at the open door. There was no one in the anteroom; empty bottles, cloaks, and overshoes were lying about; there was a smell of alcohol, and sounds of voices and shouting in the distance.

    Cards and supper were over, but the visitors had not yet dispersed. Pierre threw off his cloak and entered the first room, in which were the remains of supper. A footman, thinking no one saw him, was drinking on the sly what was left in the glasses. From the third room came sounds of laughter, the shouting of familiar voices, the growling of a bear, and general commotion. Some eight or nine young men were crowding anxiously round an open window. Three others were romping with a young bear, one pulling him by the chain and trying to set him at the others.

    "I bet a hundred on Stevens!" shouted one.

    "Mind, no holding on!" cried another.

    "I bet on Dolokhov!" cried a third. "Kuragin, you part our hands."

    "There, leave Bruin alone; here's a bet on."

    "At one draught, or he loses!" shouted a fourth.

    "Jacob, bring a bottle!" shouted the host, a tall, handsome fellow who stood in the midst of the group, without a coat, and with his fine linen shirt unfastened in front. "Wait a bit, you fellows.... Here is Petya! Good man!" cried he, addressing Pierre.

    Another voice, from a man of medium height with clear blue eyes, particularly striking among all these drunken voices by its sober ring, cried from the window: "Come here; part the bets!" This was Dolokhov, an officer of the Semenov regiment, a notorious gambler and duelist, who was living with Anatole. Pierre smiled, looking about him merrily.

    "I don't understand. What's it all about?"

    "Wait a bit, he is not drunk yet! A bottle here," said Anatole, taking a glass from the table he went up to Pierre.

    "First of all you must drink!"

    Pierre drank one glass after another, looking from under his brows at the tipsy guests who were again crowding round the window, and listening to their chatter. Anatole kept on refilling Pierre's glass while explaining that Dolokhov was betting with Stevens, an English naval officer, that he would drink a bottle of rum sitting on the outer ledge of the third floor window with his legs hanging out.

    "Go on, you must drink it all," said Anatole, giving Pierre the last glass, "or I won't let you go!"

    "No, I won't," said Pierre, pushing Anatole aside, and he went up to the window.

    Dolokhov was holding the Englishman's hand and clearly and distinctly repeating the terms of the bet, addressing himself particularly to Anatole and Pierre.

    Dolokhov was of medium height, with curly hair and light-blue eyes. He was about twenty-five. Like all infantry officers he wore no mustache, so that his mouth, the most striking feature of his face, was clearly seen. The lines of that mouth were remarkably finely curved. The middle of the upper lip formed a sharp wedge and closed firmly on the firm lower one, and something like two distinct smiles played continually round the two corners of the mouth; this, together with the resolute, insolent intelligence of his eyes, produced an effect which made it impossible not to notice his face. Dolokhov was a man of small means and no connections. Yet, though Anatole spent tens of thousands of rubles, Dolokhov lived with him and had placed himself on such a footing that all who knew them, including Anatole himself, respected him more than they did Anatole. Dolokhov could play all games and nearly always won. However much he drank, he never lost his clearheadedness. Both Kuragin and Dolokhov were at that time notorious among the rakes and scapegraces of Petersburg.

    The bottle of rum was brought. The window frame which prevented anyone from sitting on the outer sill was being forced out by two footmen, who were evidently flurried and intimidated by the directions and shouts of the gentlemen around.

    Anatole with his swaggering air strode up to the window. He wanted to smash something. Pushing away the footmen he tugged at the frame, but could not move it. He smashed a pane.

    "You have a try, Hercules," said he, turning to Pierre.

    Pierre seized the crossbeam, tugged, and wrenched the oak frame out with a crash.

    "Take it right out, or they'll think I'm holding on," said Dolokhov.

    "Is the Englishman bragging?... Eh? Is it all right?" said Anatole.

    "First-rate," said Pierre, looking at Dolokhov, who with a bottle of rum in his hand was approaching the window, from which the light of the sky, the dawn merging with the afterglow of sunset, was visible.

    Dolokhov, the bottle of rum still in his hand, jumped onto the window sill. "Listen!" cried he, standing there and addressing those in the room. All were silent.

    "I bet fifty imperials"--he spoke French that the Englishman might understand him, but he did, not speak it very well--"I bet fifty imperials... or do you wish to make it a hundred?" added he, addressing the Englishman.

    "No, fifty," replied the latter.

    "All right. Fifty imperials... that I will drink a whole bottle of rum without taking it from my mouth, sitting outside the window on this spot" (he stooped and pointed to the sloping ledge outside the window) "and without holding on to anything. Is that right?"

    "Quite right," said the Englishman.

    Anatole turned to the Englishman and taking him by one of the buttons of his coat and looking down at him--the Englishman was short- began repeating the terms of the wager to him in English.

    "Wait!" cried Dolokhov, hammering with the bottle on the window sill to attract attention. "Wait a bit, Kuragin. Listen! If anyone else does the same, I will pay him a hundred imperials. Do you understand?"

    The Englishman nodded, but gave no indication whether he intended to accept this challenge or not. Anatole did not release him, and though he kept nodding to show that he understood, Anatole went on translating Dolokhov's words into English. A thin young lad, an hussar of the Life Guards, who had been losing that evening, climbed on the window sill, leaned over, and looked down.

    "Oh! Oh! Oh!" he muttered, looking down from the window at the stones of the pavement.

    "Shut up!" cried Dolokhov, pushing him away from the window. The lad jumped awkwardly back into the room, tripping over his spurs.

    Placing the bottle on the window sill where he could reach it easily, Dolokhov climbed carefully and slowly through the window and lowered his legs. Pressing against both sides of the window, he adjusted himself on his seat, lowered his hands, moved a little to the right and then to the left, and took up the bottle. Anatole brought two candles and placed them on the window sill, though it was already quite light. Dolokhov's back in his white shirt, and his curly head, were lit up from both sides. Everyone crowded to the window, the Englishman in front. Pierre stood smiling but silent. One man, older than the others present, suddenly pushed forward with a scared and angry look and wanted to seize hold of Dolokhov's shirt.

    "I say, this is folly! He'll be killed," said this more sensible man.

    Anatole stopped him.

    "Don't touch him! You'll startle him and then he'll be killed. Eh?... What then?... Eh?"

    Dolokhov turned round and, again holding on with both hands, arranged himself on his seat.

    "If anyone comes meddling again," said he, emitting the words separately through his thin compressed lips, "I will throw him down there. Now then!"

    Saying this he again turned round, dropped his hands, took the bottle and lifted it to his lips, threw back his head, and raised his free hand to balance himself. One of the footmen who had stooped to pick up some broken glass remained in that position without taking his eyes from the window and from Dolokhov's back. Anatole stood erect with staring eyes. The Englishman looked on sideways, pursing up his lips. The man who had wished to stop the affair ran to a corner of the room and threw himself on a sofa with his face to the wall. Pierre hid his face, from which a faint smile forgot to fade though his features now expressed horror and fear. All were still. Pierre took his hands from his eyes. Dolokhov still sat in the same position, only his head was thrown further back till his curly hair touched his shirt collar, and the hand holding the bottle was lifted higher and higher and trembled with the effort. The bottle was emptying perceptibly and rising still higher and his head tilting yet further back. "Why is it so long?" thought Pierre. It seemed to him that more than half an hour had elapsed. Suddenly Dolokhov made a backward movement with his spine, and his arm trembled nervously; this was sufficient to cause his whole body to slip as he sat on the sloping ledge. As he began slipping down, his head and arm wavered still more with the strain. One hand moved as if to clutch the window sill, but refrained from touching it. Pierre again covered his eyes and thought he would never never them again. Suddenly he was aware of a stir all around. He looked up: Dolokhov was standing on the window sill, with a pale but radiant face.

    "It's empty."

    He threw the bottle to the Englishman, who caught it neatly. Dolokhov jumped down. He smelt strongly of rum.

    "Well done!... Fine fellow!... There's a bet for you!... Devil take you!" came from different sides.

    The Englishman took out his purse and began counting out the money. Dolokhov stood frowning and did not speak. Pierre jumped upon the window sill.

    "Gentlemen, who wishes to bet with me? I'll do the same thing!" he suddenly cried. "Even without a bet, there! Tell them to bring me a bottle. I'll do it.... Bring a bottle!"

    "Let him do it, let him do it," said Dolokhov, smiling.

    "What next? Have you gone mad?... No one would let you!... Why, you go giddy even on a staircase," exclaimed several voices.

    "I'll drink it! Let's have a bottle of rum!" shouted Pierre, banging the table with a determined and drunken gesture and preparing to climb out of the window.

    They seized him by his arms; but he was so strong that everyone who touched him was sent flying.

    "No, you'll never manage him that way," said Anatole. "Wait a bit and I'll get round him.... Listen! I'll take your bet tomorrow, but now we are all going to ----'s."

    "Come on then," cried Pierre. "Come on!... And we'll take Bruin with us."

    And he caught the bear, took it in his arms, lifted it from the ground, and began dancing round the room with it.

    [edit] CHAPTER X

    Prince Vasili kept the promise he had given to Princess Drubetskaya who had spoken to him on behalf of her only son Boris on the evening of Anna Pavlovna's soiree. The matter was mentioned to the Emperor, an exception made, and Boris transferred into the regiment of Semenov Guards with the rank of cornet. He received, however, no appointment to Kutuzov's staff despite all Anna Mikhaylovna's endeavors and entreaties. Soon after Anna Pavlovna's reception Anna Mikhaylovna returned to Moscow and went straight to her rich relations, the Rostovs, with whom she stayed when in the town and where her darling Bory, who had only just entered a regiment of the line and was being at once transferred to the Guards as a cornet, had been educated from childhood and lived for years at a time. The Guards had already left Petersburg on the tenth of August, and her son, who had remained in Moscow for his equipment, was to join them on the march to Radzivilov.

    It was St. Natalia's day and the name day of two of the Rostovs--the mother and the youngest daughter--both named Nataly. Ever since the morning, carriages with six horses had been coming and going continually, bringing visitors to the Countess Rostova's big house on the Povarskaya, so well known to all Moscow. The countess herself and her handsome eldest daughter were in the drawing-room with the visitors who came to congratulate, and who constantly succeeded one another in relays.

    The countess was a woman of about forty-five, with a thin Oriental type of face, evidently worn out with childbearing--she had had twelve. A languor of motion and speech, resulting from weakness, gave her a distinguished air which inspired respect. Princess Anna Mikhaylovna Drubetskaya, who as a member of the household was also seated in the drawing room, helped to receive and entertain the visitors. The young people were in one of the inner rooms, not considering it necessary to take part in receiving the visitors. The count met the guests and saw them off, inviting them all to dinner.

    "I am very, very grateful to you, mon cher," or "ma chere"--he called everyone without exception and without the slightest variation in his tone, "my dear," whether they were above or below him in rank--"I thank you for myself and for our two dear ones whose name day we are keeping. But mind you come to dinner or I shall be offended, ma chere! On behalf of the whole family I beg you to come, mon cher!" These words he repeated to everyone without exception or variation, and with the same expression on his full, cheerful, clean-shaven face, the same firm pressure of the hand and the same quick, repeated bows. As soon as he had seen a visitor off he returned to one of those who were still in the drawing room, drew a chair toward him or her, and jauntily spreading out his legs and putting his hands on his knees with the air of a man who enjoys life and knows how to live, he swayed to and fro with dignity, offered surmises about the weather, or touched on questions of health, sometimes in Russian and sometimes in very bad but self-confident French; then again, like a man weary but unflinching in the fulfillment of duty, he rose to see some visitors off and, stroking his scanty gray hairs over his bald patch, also asked them to dinner. Sometimes on his way back from the anteroom he would pass through the conservatory and pantry into the large marble dining hall, where tables were being set out for eighty people; and looking at the footmen, who were bringing in silver and china, moving tables, and unfolding damask table linen, he would call Dmitri Vasilevich, a man of good family and the manager of all his affairs, and while looking with pleasure at the enormous table would say: "Well, Dmitri, you'll see that things are all as they should be? That's right! The great thing is the serving, that's it." And with a complacent sigh he would return to the drawing room.

    "Marya Lvovna Karagina and her daughter!" announced the countess' gigantic footman in his bass voice, entering the drawing room. The countess reflected a moment and took a pinch from a gold snuffbox with her husband's portrait on it.

    "I'm quite worn out by these callers. However, I'll see her and no more. She is so affected. Ask her in," she said to the footman in a sad voice, as if saying: "Very well, finish me off."

    A tall, stout, and proud-looking woman, with a round-faced smiling daughter, entered the drawing room, their dresses rustling.

    "Dear Countess, what an age... She has been laid up, poor child... at the Razumovski's ball... and Countess Apraksina... I was so delighted..." came the sounds of animated feminine voices, interrupting one another and mingling with the rustling of dresses and the scraping of chairs. Then one of those conversations began which last out until, at the first pause, the guests rise with a rustle of dresses and say, "I am so delighted... Mamma's health... and Countess Apraksina..." and then, again rustling, pass into the anteroom, put on cloaks or mantles, and drive away. The conversation was on the chief topic of the day: the illness of the wealthy and celebrated beau of Catherine's day, Count Bezukhov, and about his illegitimate son Pierre, the one who had behaved so improperly at Anna Pavlovna's reception.

    "I am so sorry for the poor count," said the visitor. "He is in such bad health, and now this vexation about his son is enough to kill him!"

    "What is that?" asked the countess as if she did not know what the visitor alluded to, though she had already heard about the cause of Count Bezukhov's distress some fifteen times.

    "That's what comes of a modern education," exclaimed the visitor. "It seems that while he was abroad this young man was allowed to do as he liked, now in Petersburg I hear he has been doing such terrible things that he has been expelled by the police."

    "You don't say so!" replied the countess.

    "He chose his friends badly," interposed Anna Mikhaylovna. "Prince Vasili's son, he, and a certain Dolokhov have, it is said, been up to heaven only knows what! And they have had to suffer for it. Dolokhov has been degraded to the ranks and Bezukhov's son sent back to Moscow. Anatole Kuragin's father managed somehow to get his son's affair hushed up, but even he was ordered out of Petersburg."

    "But what have they been up to?" asked the countess.

    "They are regular brigands, especially Dolokhov," replied the visitor. "He is a son of Marya Ivanovna Dolokhova, such a worthy woman, but there, just fancy! Those three got hold of a bear somewhere, put it in a carriage, and set off with it to visit some actresses! The police tried to interfere, and what did the young men do? They tied a policeman and the bear back to back and put the bear into the Moyka Canal. And there was the bear swimming about with the policeman on his back!"

    "What a nice figure the policeman must have cut, my dear!" shouted the count, dying with laughter.

    "Oh, how dreadful! How can you laugh at it, Count?"

    Yet the ladies themselves could not help laughing.

    "It was all they could do to rescue the poor man," continued the visitor. "And to think it is Cyril Vladimirovich Bezukhov's son who amuses himself in this sensible manner! And he was said to be so well educated and clever. This is all that his foreign education has done for him! I hope that here in Moscow no one will receive him, in spite of his money. They wanted to introduce him to me, but I quite declined: I have my daughters to consider."

    "Why do you say this young man is so rich?" asked the countess, turning away from the girls, who at once assumed an air of inattention. "His children are all illegitimate. I think Pierre also is illegitimate."

    The visitor made a gesture with her hand.

    "I should think he has a score of them."

    Princess Anna Mikhaylovna intervened in the conversation, evidently wishing to show her connections and knowledge of what went on in society.

    "The fact of the matter is," said she significantly, and also in a half whisper, "everyone knows Count Cyril's reputation.... He has lost count of his children, but this Pierre was his favorite."

    "How handsome the old man still was only a year ago!" remarked the countess. "I have never seen a handsomer man."

    "He is very much altered now," said Anna Mikhaylovna. "Well, as I was saying, Prince Vasili is the next heir through his wife, but the count is very fond of Pierre, looked after his education, and wrote to the Emperor about him; so that in the case of his death--and he is so ill that he may die at any moment, and Dr. Lorrain has come from Petersburg--no one knows who will inherit his immense fortune, Pierre or Prince Vasili. Forty thousand serfs and millions of rubles! I know it all very well for Prince Vasili told me himself. Besides, Cyril Vladimirovich is my mother's second cousin. He's also my Bory's godfather," she added, as if she attached no importance at all to the fact.

    "Prince Vasili arrived in Moscow yesterday. I hear he has come on some inspection business," remarked the visitor.

    "Yes, but between ourselves," said the princess, "that is a pretext. The fact is he has come to see Count Cyril Vladimirovich, hearing how ill he is."

    "But do you know, my dear, that was a capital joke," said the count; and seeing that the elder visitor was not listening, he turned to the young ladies. "I can just imagine what a funny figure that policeman cut!"

    And as he waved his arms to impersonate the policeman, his portly form again shook with a deep ringing laugh, the laugh of one who always eats well and, in particular, drinks well. "So do come and dine with us!" he said.

    [edit] CHAPTER XI

    Silence ensued. The countess looked at her callers, smiling affably, but not concealing the fact that she would not be distressed if they now rose and took their leave. The visitor's daughter was already smoothing down her dress with an inquiring look at her mother, when suddenly from the next room were heard the footsteps of boys and girls running to the door and the noise of a chair falling over, and a girl of thirteen, hiding something in the folds of her short muslin frock, darted in and stopped short in the middle of the room. It was evident that she had not intended her flight to bring her so far. Behind her in the doorway appeared a student with a crimson coat collar, an officer of the Guards, a girl of fifteen, and a plump rosy-faced boy in a short jacket.

    The count jumped up and, swaying from side to side, spread his arms wide and threw them round the little girl who had run in.

    "Ah, here she is!" he exclaimed laughing. "My pet, whose name day it is. My dear pet!"

    "Ma chere, there is a time for everything," said the countess with feigned severity. "You spoil her, Ilya," she added, turning to her husband.

    "How do you do, my dear? I wish you many happy returns of your name day," said the visitor. "What a charming child," she added, addressing the mother.

    This black-eyed, wide-mouthed girl, not pretty but full of life- with childish bare shoulders which after her run heaved and shook her bodice, with black curls tossed backward, thin bare arms, little legs in lace-frilled drawers, and feet in low slippers--was just at that charming age when a girl is no longer a child, though the child is not yet a young woman. Escaping from her father she ran to hide her flushed face in the lace of her mother's mantilla--not paying the least attention to her severe remark--and began to laugh. She laughed, and in fragmentary sentences tried to explain about a doll which she produced from the folds of her frock.

    "Do you see?... My doll... Mimi... You see..." was all Natasha managed to utter (to her everything seemed funny). She leaned against her mother and burst into such a loud, ringing fit of laughter that even the prim visitor could not help joining in.

    "Now then, go away and take your monstrosity with you," said the mother, pushing away her daughter with pretended sternness, and turning to the visitor she added: "She is my youngest girl."

    Natasha, raising her face for a moment from her mother's mantilla, glanced up at her through tears of laughter, and again hid her face.

    The visitor, compelled to look on at this family scene, thought it necessary to take some part in it.

    "Tell me, my dear," said she to Natasha, "is Mimi a relation of yours? A daughter, I suppose?"

    Natasha did not like the visitor's tone of condescension to childish things. She did not reply, but looked at her seriously.

    Meanwhile the younger generation: Boris, the officer, Anna Mikhaylovna's son; Nicholas, the undergraduate, the count's eldest son; Sonya, the count's fifteen-year-old niece, and little Petya, his youngest boy, had all settled down in the drawing room and were obviously trying to restrain within the bounds of decorum the excitement and mirth that shone in all their faces. Evidently in the back rooms, from which they had dashed out so impetuously, the conversation had been more amusing than the drawing-room talk of society scandals, the weather, and Countess Apraksina. Now and then they glanced at one another, hardly able to suppress their laughter.

    The two young men, the student and the officer, friends from childhood, were of the same age and both handsome fellows, though not alike. Boris was tall and fair, and his calm and handsome face had regular, delicate features. Nicholas was short with curly hair and an open expression. Dark hairs were already showing on his upper lip, and his whole face expressed impetuosity and enthusiasm. Nicholas blushed when he entered the drawing room. He evidently tried to find something to say, but failed. Boris on the contrary at once found his footing, and related quietly and humorously how he had know that doll Mimi when she was still quite a young lady, before her nose was broken; how she had aged during the five years he had known her, and how her head had cracked right across the skull. Having said this he glanced at Natasha. She turned away from him and glanced at her younger brother, who was screwing up his eyes and shaking with suppressed laughter, and unable to control herself any longer, she jumped up and rushed from the room as fast as her nimble little feet would carry her. Boris did not laugh.

    "You were meaning to go out, weren't you, Mamma? Do you want the carriage?" he asked his mother with a smile.

    "Yes, yes, go and tell them to get it ready," she answered, returning his smile.

    Boris quietly left the room and went in search of Natasha. The plump boy ran after them angrily, as if vexed that their program had been disturbed.

    [edit] CHAPTER XII

    The only young people remaining in the drawing room, not counting the young lady visitor and the countess' eldest daughter (who was four years older than her sister and behaved already like a grown-up person), were Nicholas and Sonya, the niece. Sonya was a slender little brunette with a tender look in her eyes which were veiled by long lashes, thick black plaits coiling twice round her head, and a tawny tint in her complexion and especially in the color of her slender but graceful and muscular arms and neck. By the grace of her movements, by the softness and flexibility of her small limbs, and by a certain coyness and reserve of manner, she reminded one of a pretty, half-grown kitten which promises to become a beautiful little cat. She evidently considered it proper to show an interest in the general conversation by smiling, but in spite of herself her eyes under their thick long lashes watched her cousin who was going to join the army, with such passionate girlish adoration that her smile could not for a single instant impose upon anyone, and it was clear that the kitten had settled down only to spring up with more energy and again play with her cousin as soon as they too could, like Natasha and Boris, escape from the drawing room.

    "Ah yes, my dear," said the count, addressing the visitor and pointing to Nicholas, "his friend Boris has become an officer, and so for friendship's sake he is leaving the university and me, his old father, and entering the military service, my dear. And there was a place and everything waiting for him in the Archives Department! Isn't that friendship?" remarked the count in an inquiring tone.

    "But they say that war has been declared," replied the visitor.

    "They've been saying so a long while," said the count, "and they'll say so again and again, and that will be the end of it. My dear, there's friendship for you," he repeated. "He's joining the hussars."

    The visitor, not knowing what to say, shook her head.

    "It's not at all from friendship," declared Nicholas, flaring up and turning away as if from a shameful aspersion. "It is not from friendship at all; I simply feel that the army is my vocation."

    He glanced at his cousin and the young lady visitor; and they were both regarding him with a smile of approbation.

    "Schubert, the colonel of the Pavlograd Hussars, is dining with us today. He has been here on leave and is taking Nicholas back with him. It can't be helped!" said the count, shrugging his shoulders and speaking playfully of a matter that evidently distressed him.

    "I have already told you, Papa," said his son, "that if you don't wish to let me go, I'll stay. But I know I am no use anywhere except in the army; I am not a diplomat or a government clerk.--I don't know how to hide what I feel." As he spoke he kept glancing with the flirtatiousness of a handsome youth at Sonya and the young lady visitor.

    The little kitten, feasting her eyes on him, seemed ready at any moment to start her gambols again and display her kittenish nature.

    "All right, all right!" said the old count. "He always flares up! This Buonaparte has turned all their heads; they all think of how he rose from an ensign and became Emperor. Well, well, God grant it," he added, not noticing his visitor's sarcastic smile.

    The elders began talking about Bonaparte. Julie Karagina turned to young Rostov.

    "What a pity you weren't at the Arkharovs' on Thursday. It was so dull without you," said she, giving him a tender smile.

    The young man, flattered, sat down nearer to her with a coquettish smile, and engaged the smiling Julie in a confidential conversation without at all noticing that his involuntary smile had stabbed the heart of Sonya, who blushed and smiled unnaturally. In the midst of his talk he glanced round at her. She gave him a passionately angry glance, and hardly able to restrain her tears and maintain the artificial smile on her lips, she got up and left the room. All Nicholas' animation vanished. He waited for the first pause in the conversation, and then with a distressed face left the room to find Sonya.

    "How plainly all these young people wear their hearts on their sleeves!" said Anna Mikhaylovna, pointing to Nicholas as he went out. "Cousinage--dangereux voisinage;"* she added.

    Cousinhood is a dangerous neighborhood.

    "Yes," said the countess when the brightness these young people had brought into the room had vanished; and as if answering a question no one had put but which was always in her mind, "and how much suffering, how much anxiety one has had to go through that we might rejoice in them now! And yet really the anxiety is greater now than the joy. One is always, always anxious! Especially just at this age, so dangerous both for girls and boys."

    "It all depends on the bringing up," remarked the visitor.

    "Yes, you're quite right," continued the countess. "Till now I have always, thank God, been my children's friend and had their full confidence," said she, repeating the mistake of so many parents who imagine that their children have no secrets from them. "I know I shall always be my daughters' first confidante, and that if Nicholas, with his impulsive nature, does get into mischief (a boy can't help it), he will all the same never be like those Petersburg young men."

    "Yes, they are splendid, splendid youngsters," chimed in the count, who always solved questions that seemed to him perplexing by deciding that everything was splendid. "Just fancy: wants to be an hussar. What's one to do, my dear?"

    "What a charming creature your younger girl is," said the visitor; "a little volcano!"

    "Yes, a regular volcano," said the count. "Takes after me! And what a voice she has; though she's my daughter, I tell the truth when I say she'll be a singer, a second Salomoni! We have engaged an Italian to give her lessons."

    "Isn't she too young? I have heard that it harms the voice to train it at that age."

    "Oh no, not at all too young!" replied the count. "Why, our mothers used to be married at twelve or thirteen."

    "And she's in love with Boris already. Just fancy!" said the countess with a gentle smile, looking at Boris' and went on, evidently concerned with a thought that always occupied her: "Now you see if I were to be severe with her and to forbid it... goodness knows what they might be up to on the sly" (she meant that they would be kissing), "but as it is, I know every word she utters. She will come running to me of her own accord in the evening and tell me everything. Perhaps I spoil her, but really that seems the best plan. With her elder sister I was stricter."

    "Yes, I was brought up quite differently," remarked the handsome elder daughter, Countess Vera, with a smile.

    But the smile did not enhance Vera's beauty as smiles generally do; on the contrary it gave her an unnatural, and therefore unpleasant, expression. Vera was good-looking, not at all stupid, quick at learning, was well brought up, and had a pleasant voice; what she said was true and appropriate, yet, strange to say, everyone- the visitors and countess alike--turned to look at her as if wondering why she had said it, and they all felt awkward.

    "People are always too clever with their eldest children and try to make something exceptional of them," said the visitor.

    "What's the good of denying it, my dear? Our dear countess was too clever with Vera," said the count. "Well, what of that? She's turned out splendidly all the same," he added, winking at Vera.

    The guests got up and took their leave, promising to return to dinner.

    "What manners! I thought they would never go," said the countess, when she had seen her guests out.

    [edit] CHAPTER XIII

    When Natasha ran out of the drawing room she only went as far as the conservatory. There she paused and stood listening to the conversation in the drawing room, waiting for Boris to come out. She was already growing impatient, and stamped her foot, ready to cry at his not coming at once, when she heard the young man's discreet steps approaching neither quickly nor slowly. At this Natasha dashed swiftly among the flower tubs and hid there.

    Boris paused in the middle of the room, looked round, brushed a little dust from the sleeve of his uniform, and going up to a mirror examined his handsome face. Natasha, very still, peered out from her ambush, waiting to see what he would do. He stood a little while before the glass, smiled, and walked toward the other door. Natasha was about to call him but changed her mind. "Let him look for me," thought she. Hardly had Boris gone than Sonya, flushed, in tears, and muttering angrily, came in at the other door. Natasha checked her first impulse to run out to her, and remained in her hiding place, watching--as under an invisible cap--to see what went on in the world. She was experiencing a new and peculiar pleasure. Sonya, muttering to herself, kept looking round toward the drawing-room door. It opened and Nicholas came in.

    "Sonya, what is the matter with you? How can you?" said he, running up to her.

    "It's nothing, nothing; leave me alone!" sobbed Sonya.

    "Ah, I know what it is."

    "Well, if you do, so much the better, and you can go back to her!"

    "So-o-onya! Look here! How can you torture me and yourself like that, for a mere fancy?" said Nicholas taking her hand.

    Sonya did not pull it away, and left off crying. Natasha, not stirring and scarcely breathing, watched from her ambush with sparkling eyes. "What will happen now?" thought she.

    "Sonya! What is anyone in the world to me? You alone are everything!" said Nicholas. "And I will prove it to you."

    "I don't like you to talk like that."

    "Well, then, I won't; only forgive me, Sonya!" He drew her to him and kissed her.

    "Oh, how nice," thought Natasha; and when Sonya and Nicholas had gone out of the conservatory she followed and called Boris to her.

    "Boris, come here," said she with a sly and significant look. "I have something to tell you. Here, here!" and she led him into the conservatory to the place among the tubs where she had been hiding.

    Boris followed her, smiling.

    "What is the something?" asked he.

    She grew confused, glanced round, and, seeing the doll she had thrown down on one of the tubs, picked it up.

    "Kiss the doll," said she.

    Boris looked attentively and kindly at her eager face, but did not reply.

    "Don't you want to? Well, then, come here," said she, and went further in among the plants and threw down the doll. "Closer, closer!" she whispered.

    She caught the young officer by his cuffs, and a look of solemnity and fear appeared on her flushed face.

    "And me? Would you like to kiss me?" she whispered almost inaudibly, glancing up at him from under her brows, smiling, and almost crying from excitement.

    Boris blushed.

    "How funny you are!" he said, bending down to her and blushing still more, but he waited and did nothing.

    Suddenly she jumped up onto a tub to be higher than he, embraced him so that both her slender bare arms clasped him above his neck, and, tossing back her hair, kissed him full on the lips.

    Then she slipped down among the flowerpots on the other side of the tubs and stood, hanging her head.

    "Natasha," he said, "you know that I love you, but..."

    "You are in love with me?" Natasha broke in.

    "Yes, I am, but please don't let us do like that.... In another four years... then I will ask for your hand."

    Natasha considered.

    "Thirteen, fourteen, fifteen, sixteen," she counted on her slender little fingers. "All right! Then it's settled?"

    A smile of joy and satisfaction lit up her eager face.

    "Settled!" replied Boris.

    "Forever?" said the little girl. "Till death itself?"

    She took his arm and with a happy face went with him into the adjoining sitting room.

    Didn't read it.

  • Durn (unregistered) in reply to QJo
    QJo:
    Anketam:
    My obsessive compulsiveness is killing me with 2007 not having the last ), on its own line like the rest.

    That was the year the programmer didn't use cut-and-paste but just typed it in laboriously one character at a time via the keyboard. When he got to the end he was tired of typing, so he neglected to press the enter key that final time. The next day he was fired for being lazy.

    That was the year the n00b started and didn't realise he could just copy-paste

  • Johnahon (unregistered)

    OMG, OMG, OMG - has anyone mentioned that the world will en in 2012....how prophetic is this code!!!

  • Major DoucheBag (unregistered) in reply to Johnahon
    Johnahon:
    OMG, OMG, OMG - has anyone mentioned that the world will en in 2012....how prophetic is this code!!!

    The /end/ of 2012 - get your facts straight!

  • PlutoPlanet (unregistered)

    Somebody missed that doomsday is in the END of of 2012?

  • gizmore (unregistered)

    I propose to extend the code like this:

    '2012' => array( 'jan' => array(1,2,3,4,5,6,7,8,9,10,11,12,13,14,15,16,17,18,19,20,21,22,23,24,25,26,27,28,29,30,31), 'feb' => array(1,2,3,4,5,6,7,8,9,10,11,12,13,14,15,16,17,18,19,20,21,22,23,24,25,26,27,28,29), 'mar' => array(1,2,3,4,5,6,7,8,9,10,11,12,13,14,15,16,17,18,19,20,21,22,23,24,25,26,27,28,29,30,31),

    .... SNIP ... );

    The nice thing is that it's easy to check for anni bissexti and even implement February 30th, which will occur in a few years.

  • nightly (unregistered)

    TRWTF is that almost every single comment here provides more content than it's related "article".

  • Major DoucheBag (unregistered) in reply to nightly
    nightly:
    TRWTF is that almost every single comment here provides more content than it's related "article".

    TRWTF is that almost every single comment here provides more content than it's related "article".

    TRWTF is that almost every single comment here provides more content than it's related "article".

    TRWTF is that almost every single comment here provides more content than it's related "article".

    TRWTF is that almost every single comment here provides more content than it's related "article".

    TRWTF is that almost every single comment here provides more content than it's related "article".

    TRWTF is that almost every single comment here provides more content than it's related "article".

    TRWTF is that almost every single comment here provides more content than it's related "article".

    TRWTF is that almost every single comment here provides more content than it's related "article".

    TRWTF is that almost every single comment here provides more content than it's related "article".

    TRWTF is that almost every single comment here provides more content than it's related "article".

    TRWTF is that almost every single comment here provides more content than it's related "article".

    TRWTF is that almost every single comment here provides more content than it's related "article".

    TRWTF is that almost every single comment here provides more content than it's related "article".

    TRWTF is that almost every single comment here provides more content than it's related "article".

    TRWTF is that almost every single comment here provides more content than it's related "article".

    TRWTF is that almost every single comment here provides more content than it's related "article".

    TRWTF is that almost every single comment here provides more content than it's related "article".

    TRWTF is that almost every single comment here provides more content than it's related "article".

    TRWTF is that almost every single comment here provides more content than it's related "article".

    TRWTF is that almost every single comment here provides more content than it's related "article".

    TRWTF is that almost every single comment here provides more content than it's related "article".

    TRWTF is that almost every single comment here provides more content than it's related "article".

    FTFY

  • (cs) in reply to John Muller
    John Muller:
    frits-boog:
    Matt Westwood:
    FuBar:
    nag-geoff:
    "When the snow starts falling, that means two things," writes Lee, "there's a bit of a slower commute, and the End of Year bugs start coming out of the woodwork. "Lee's the short-sighted moron, who never ventured anywhere below the equator.
    You mean like Antarctica?

    Technically, "below" the equator means underground. no, scratch that, it means anywhere closer to the centre of the Earth than the Equator. Hang on, the Earth bulges at the Equator, so technically speaking, as long as you're close enough to sea level, that means quite a lot of the Earth's surface, but the further north and south you go, the further below the Equator you are.

    I always feel a real sense of delight getting one over on Nag-geoff.

    It's probably nowhere near the delight he feels when you respond to him with pedantry in spades. It's even better if filled with vitriol.

    BTW- Isn't there a law about immitating a forum member inevitably makes you as annoying as they are?

    I always like going South; somehow, it feels like going downhill.

    Also, it rarely snows in Antarctica, is just dosn't melt when it does. If fact, I wouldn't be surprised to find the majority of antarctic ice is made from penguin urine.

    I like going South as well (more than about 3 miles or so) - it means I'm going on holiday.

  • (cs) in reply to PiisAWheeL
    PiisAWheeL:

    Yes but automating trivial tasks should be (and usually is) trivial. And an automated task is a task you don't have to spend time out of your day screwing around with.

    More code now = less code in the long run(And less of a lot of other shit too).

    There's your mistake.

    "Hey, we have to get this bug fixed right now don't give me all that "long run" rubbish, or I'll long-run you right out of the door!"

  • (cs) in reply to nag-geoff
    nag-geoff:
    Matt Westwood:
    nag-geoff:
    geoffrey:
    mott555:
    I sense a developer who codes solely by copy-pasting existing code around.

    A "can-do" attitude means getting the job done takes precedence over hand-wringing over programmer buzzwords like "DRY" and "encapsulation."

    The date array only needs to be updated once a year, so I fail to see the big deal. Or is it just me?

    Trivial tasks should not be automated. It is a waste of resources. So I agree with you here.

    Yes, if they automated trivial tasks, then you'd no longer have a job posting comments on TDWTF.

    Well said, you cunt!

    It's these trivial tasks on the shoulders of which, you eventually become indispensable at your workplace.

    I was once given the job of improving efficiency on one of the projects which was costing nearly as much to maintain and operate as we were earning revenue. By the time I'd finished (a couple of weeks later) I had automated three people's entire time.

    Their jobs consisted of: "Extract this data into a file, replace all the undisplayable characters, save it as a CSV, open it in Excel, sort in order of whichever-field, count the top however-many, cut and paste these into another spreadsheet, save as a CSV then copy and paste each line into ..." etc. etc.

    So automation of trivial tasks becomes a two-edged sword. Some are of the opinion that it's always wrong to automate someone else's job, however tedious and pointless. Others take the view that those people may be offered the opportunity to be trained for something more interesting, challenging and productive. On the other hand, in many cases, perhaps not.

  • (cs) in reply to Scarlet Manuka
    Scarlet Manuka:
    Can't be bothered to log in from home:
    Everyone should read War and Peace. It's good for you; it builds character.
    I've read it. Once. Got about half way in a month or so (while reading other books, of course; I usually get through about a book a day). Then I was in hospital for a few days, got my folks to bring that in and finished it off. For some strange reason, I've never really been tempted to re-read it... oh, I remember: because it's very boring and ends with 50 pages of political polemic.

    War and Peace is for wimps. If you really want to bury yourself in a thousand pages of political polemic, read Atlas Shrugged. Or better still, one of the more recent works by Neal Stephenson (advert.)

  • veggen (unregistered) in reply to Major DoucheBag
    Major DoucheBag:
    nightly:
    TRWTF is that almost every single comment here provides more content than it's related "article".

    TRWTF is that almost every single comment here provides more content than it's related "article". ...

    FTFY

    Major DoucheBag:
    nightly:
    TRWTF is that almost every single comment here provides more content than it's related "article".

    TRWTF is that almost every single comment here provides more content than it's related "article". ...

    FTFY

    How's that fixing anything?

    Now, seriously, is it only me that is getting bored of all the "look, this guy copy and pasted stuff" articles? It's been seen a million times before and it takes a fraction of a second to realize that and skip the rest (and even if I didn't it would take less then 3 seconds as the article is basically empty anyway). Post some actual content (as in >>a featured article<<) god damn it. It's been a week since the last one.

  • (cs) in reply to Nagesh
    Nagesh:
    Anonymous:
    TRWTF is using PHP.
    Directive 346 is as follows.

    "TRWTF is using [language] comments give lack of flexibility, more costly evolution, inhibit the use of the forum acting as a service to users and make it an inhibitor to evolution."

    As such, please remove from all unnecessary comments.

    Sincerely, Nagesh

    FTFY

  • (cs) in reply to veggen
    veggen:
    Major DoucheBag:
    nightly:
    TRWTF is that almost every single comment here provides more content than it's related "article".

    TRWTF is that almost every single comment here provides more content than it's related "article". ...

    FTFY

    Major DoucheBag:
    nightly:
    TRWTF is that almost every single comment here provides more content than it's related "article".

    TRWTF is that almost every single comment here provides more content than it's related "article". ...

    FTFY

    How's that fixing anything?

    Now, seriously, is it only me that is getting bored of all the "look, this guy copy and pasted stuff" articles? It's been seen a million times before and it takes a fraction of a second to realize that and skip the rest (and even if I didn't it would take less then 3 seconds as the article is basically empty anyway). Post some actual content (as in >>a featured article<<) god damn it. It's been a week since the last one.

    The real WTF is that this comment was posted, copied, cut and pasted, FTFY'd and still nobody changed that irritating illiteracy "it's" into the correct "its".

  • (cs) in reply to foo
    foo:
    Ton:
    When *I* see code like this, I wonder how many programmers know exactly what these fancy machines are for, but ALSO know there PHBs use 'lines of code' as a performance rating metric...
    Nothing wrong with that, if done correctly -- as the denominator. Since code is effort to write and a liability to maintain, it's analogous to resource usage.

    If you're a trucker and use twice as much gas as me to get something from here to there, you're half as efficient (roughly speaking). Likewise if you solve the same task with twice as many lines as me.

    So all I have to do to reach the ultimate form of efficiency, is take away all linebreaks in my code? In other words: Ruby allows for the most efficient code!

  • L. (unregistered) in reply to Nagesh
    Nagesh:
    Watson:
    Clearly this was done in case the number of months or their names were to change: since there is no reliable source for this information in advance, the array can only be updated in the new year once the calendar is confirmed.
    That must be it. The ITU-R is considering abolishing leap seconds -- who knows if they're going to invent leap months instead to keep everything synchronized in the (very) long run?

    Awesome Troll dear Nagesh.

    For the lesser folks, nagesh is dead wrong because leap whatever_time_unit's are details only used for the presentation of the data to 'dumb' humans who can't process absolute time.

  • L. (unregistered) in reply to r66
    r66:
    My Balls Are Racist:
    The developer was probably following the Aztec calendar, which predicts the world will end by 2012.

    The plaga that makes your booty move.

    Well, since the world would end then on 2012-12, the programmer of this better should have added 2012, too.

    I still wonder for what tihs array of months could be good for (and how somebody can even start to program something like this).

    Meh .. I got my birthday on 12/12/12 next year . prolly the biggest birthday party for me to date . god bless the end of the world . twice.

  • L. (unregistered) in reply to QJo
    QJo:
    nag-geoff:
    Matt Westwood:
    nag-geoff:
    geoffrey:
    mott555:
    I sense a developer who codes solely by copy-pasting existing code around.

    A "can-do" attitude means getting the job done takes precedence over hand-wringing over programmer buzzwords like "DRY" and "encapsulation."

    The date array only needs to be updated once a year, so I fail to see the big deal. Or is it just me?

    Trivial tasks should not be automated. It is a waste of resources. So I agree with you here.

    Yes, if they automated trivial tasks, then you'd no longer have a job posting comments on TDWTF.

    Well said, you cunt!

    It's these trivial tasks on the shoulders of which, you eventually become indispensable at your workplace.

    I was once given the job of improving efficiency on one of the projects which was costing nearly as much to maintain and operate as we were earning revenue. By the time I'd finished (a couple of weeks later) I had automated three people's entire time.

    Their jobs consisted of: "Extract this data into a file, replace all the undisplayable characters, save it as a CSV, open it in Excel, sort in order of whichever-field, count the top however-many, cut and paste these into another spreadsheet, save as a CSV then copy and paste each line into ..." etc. etc.

    So automation of trivial tasks becomes a two-edged sword. Some are of the opinion that it's always wrong to automate someone else's job, however tedious and pointless. Others take the view that those people may be offered the opportunity to be trained for something more interesting, challenging and productive. On the other hand, in many cases, perhaps not.

    How about some sensitivity . no laughing matter and stuff ?

    Who gives a f*ck if those humans want to steal the work of robots ? I say they don't deserve it if they can't do it faster and cheaper.

  • L. (unregistered) in reply to The poop of DOOM
    The poop of DOOM:
    foo:
    Ton:
    When *I* see code like this, I wonder how many programmers know exactly what these fancy machines are for, but ALSO know there PHBs use 'lines of code' as a performance rating metric...
    Nothing wrong with that, if done correctly -- as the denominator. Since code is effort to write and a liability to maintain, it's analogous to resource usage.

    If you're a trucker and use twice as much gas as me to get something from here to there, you're half as efficient (roughly speaking). Likewise if you solve the same task with twice as many lines as me.

    So all I have to do to reach the ultimate form of efficiency, is take away all linebreaks in my code? In other words: Ruby allows for the most efficient code!
    Er // You can do it in PHP, JS and quite a few others (i'd bet on java if I was sure but hey .)

  • (cs) in reply to L.
    L.:
    The poop of DOOM:
    foo:
    Ton:
    When *I* see code like this, I wonder how many programmers know exactly what these fancy machines are for, but ALSO know there PHBs use 'lines of code' as a performance rating metric...
    Nothing wrong with that, if done correctly -- as the denominator. Since code is effort to write and a liability to maintain, it's analogous to resource usage.

    If you're a trucker and use twice as much gas as me to get something from here to there, you're half as efficient (roughly speaking). Likewise if you solve the same task with twice as many lines as me.

    So all I have to do to reach the ultimate form of efficiency, is take away all linebreaks in my code? In other words: Ruby allows for the most efficient code!
    Er // You can do it in PHP, JS and quite a few others (i'd bet on java if I was sure but hey .)
    You obviously have never heard Ruby programmers talk about how they can do on one line what would be done on five or so lines in other languages. The basic concept of it, is that they don't really use linebreaks, but if you go through the code, it does the exact same thing and is the same amount of code. Just on one line.

  • F (unregistered) in reply to Anketam
    Anketam:
    My obsessive compulsiveness is killing me with 2007 not having the last ), on its own line like the rest.
    Presumably there was reason to believe that, unlike the other years, 2007 would never require extra months to be added.
  • L. (unregistered) in reply to The poop of DOOM
    The poop of DOOM:
    L.:
    The poop of DOOM:
    foo:
    Ton:
    When *I* see code like this, I wonder how many programmers know exactly what these fancy machines are for, but ALSO know there PHBs use 'lines of code' as a performance rating metric...
    Nothing wrong with that, if done correctly -- as the denominator. Since code is effort to write and a liability to maintain, it's analogous to resource usage.

    If you're a trucker and use twice as much gas as me to get something from here to there, you're half as efficient (roughly speaking). Likewise if you solve the same task with twice as many lines as me.

    So all I have to do to reach the ultimate form of efficiency, is take away all linebreaks in my code? In other words: Ruby allows for the most efficient code!
    Er // You can do it in PHP, JS and quite a few others (i'd bet on java if I was sure but hey .)
    You obviously have never heard Ruby programmers talk about how they can do on one line what would be done on five or so lines in other languages. The basic concept of it, is that they don't really use linebreaks, but if you go through the code, it does the exact same thing and is the same amount of code. Just on one line.

    With the added benefit that it is slow as f*ck right ?

  • Paul A (unregistered) 
    // in case year will change in future
const $2005 = 2005;
const $2006 = 2006;
const $2007 = 2007;
const $2008 = 2008;
const $2009 = 2009;
const $2010 = 2010;
const $2011 = 2011;
const $2012 = 2012;
const $2013 = 2013;
// in case month names will be overwritten by NWO
const $JANUARY = 'jan';
const $FEBRUARY = 'feb';
const $MARCH = 'mar';
const $APRIL = 'apr';
const $MAY = 'may'; // after MAY all months should be shortened to 3 letters, because it is rude
const $JUN = 'jun';
const $JUL = 'jul';
const $AUG = 'aug';
const $SEP = 'sep';
const $OCT = 'oct';
const $NOV = 'nov';
const $DEC = 'dec';

private $array_by_year = array(
	$2013 => array($JANUARY=>array(),$FEBRUARY=>array(),$MARCH=>array(),
                   $APRIL=>array(),$MAY=>array(),$JUN=>array(),
                   $JUL=>array(),$AUG=>array(),$SEP=>array(),
                   $OCT=>array(),$NOV=>array(),$DEC=>array()
                   ),
    $2012=>array($JANUARY=>array(),$FEBRUARY=>array(),$MARCH=>array(),
                   $APRIL=>array(),$MAY=>array(),$JUN=>array(),
                   $JUL=>array(),$AUG=>array(),$SEP=>array(),
                   $OCT=>array(),$NOV=>array(),$DEC=>array()
                   ),
	$2011=>array($JANUARY=>array(),$FEBRUARY=>array(),$MARCH=>array(),
                   $APRIL=>array(),$MAY=>array(),$JUN=>array(),
                   $JUL=>array(),$AUG=>array(),$SEP=>array(),
                   $OCT=>array(),$NOV=>array(),$DEC=>array()
                   ),
    $2010=>array($JANUARY=>array(),$FEBRUARY=>array(),$MARCH=>array(),
                   $APRIL=>array(),$MAY=>array(),$JUN=>array(),
                   $JUL=>array(),$AUG=>array(),$SEP=>array(),
                   $OCT=>array(),$NOV=>array(),$DEC=>array()
                   ),
    $2009=>array($JANUARY=>array(),$FEBRUARY=>array(),$MARCH=>array(),
                   $APRIL=>array(),$MAY=>array(),$JUN=>array(),
                   $JUL=>array(),$AUG=>array(),$SEP=>array(),
                   $OCT=>array(),$NOV=>array(),$DEC=>array()
                   ),
    $2008=>array($JANUARY=>array(),$FEBRUARY=>array(),$MARCH=>array(),
                   $APRIL=>array(),$MAY=>array(),$JUN=>array(),
                   $JUL=>array(),$AUG=>array(),$SEP=>array(),
                   $OCT=>array(),$NOV=>array(),$DEC=>array()
                   ),
    $2007=>array($JANUARY=>array(),$FEBRUARY=>array(),$MARCH=>array(),
                   $APRIL=>array(),$MAY=>array(),$JUN=>array(),
                   $JUL=>array(),$AUG=>array(),$SEP=>array(),
                   $OCT=>array(),$NOV=>array(),$DEC=>array()
				   ),
    $2006=>array($JANUARY=>array(),$FEBRUARY=>array(),$MARCH=>array(),
                   $APRIL=>array(),$MAY=>array(),$JUN=>array(),
                   $JUL=>array(),$AUG=>array(),$SEP=>array(),
                   $OCT=>array(),$NOV=>array(),$DEC=>array()
                   ),
    $2005=>array($JANUARY=>array(),$FEBRUARY=>array(),$MARCH=>array(),
                   $APRIL=>array(),$MAY=>array(),$JUN=>array(),
                   $JUL=>array(),$AUG=>array(),$SEP=>array(),
                   $OCT=>array(),$NOV=>array(),$DEC=>array()
                   )
);
// end
  • (cs) in reply to Paul A
    Paul A:
    // in case year will change in future
const $2005 = 2005;
const $2006 = 2006;

    :
:
$2009=>array($JANUARY=>array(),$FEBRUARY=>array(),$MARCH=>array(),
$APRIL=>array(),$MAY=>array(),$JUN=>array(),
$JUL=>array(),$AUG=>array(),$SEP=>array(),
$OCT=>array(),$NOV=>array(),$DEC=>array()
),
$2008=>array($JANUARY=>array(),$FEBRUARY=>array(),$MARCH=>array(),
$APRIL=>array(),$MAY=>array(),$JUN=>array(),
$JUL=>array(),$AUG=>array(),$SEP=>array(),
$OCT=>array(),$NOV=>array(),$DEC=>array()
),
$2007=>array($JANUARY=>array(),$FEBRUARY=>array(),$MARCH=>array(),
$APRIL=>array(),$MAY=>array(),$JUN=>array(),
$JUL=>array(),$AUG=>array(),$SEP=>array(),
$OCT=>array(),$NOV=>array(),$DEC=>array()
),
$2006=>array($JANUARY=>array(),$FEBRUARY=>array(),$MARCH=>array(),
$APRIL=>array(),$MAY=>array(),$JUN=>array(),
$JUL=>array(),$AUG=>array(),$SEP=>array(),
$OCT=>array(),$NOV=>array(),$DEC=>array()
),
    

    :
:
// end

    Oh, now look what you've done! You've mucked up the formatting for 2007! It'll never work properly now!

  • L. (unregistered) in reply to Paul A
    Paul A:
    // in case year will change in future
const $2005 = 2005;
const $2006 = 2006;
const $2007 = 2007;
const $2008 = 2008;
const $2009 = 2009;
const $2010 = 2010;
const $2011 = 2011;
const $2012 = 2012;
const $2013 = 2013;
// in case month names will be overwritten by NWO
const $JANUARY = 'jan';
const $FEBRUARY = 'feb';
const $MARCH = 'mar';
const $APRIL = 'apr';
const $MAY = 'may'; // after MAY all months should be shortened to 3 letters, because it is rude
const $JUN = 'jun';
const $JUL = 'jul';
const $AUG = 'aug';
const $SEP = 'sep';
const $OCT = 'oct';
const $NOV = 'nov';
const $DEC = 'dec';

    private $array_by_year = array(
$2013 => array($JANUARY=>array(),$FEBRUARY=>array(),$MARCH=>array(),
$APRIL=>array(),$MAY=>array(),$JUN=>array(),
$JUL=>array(),$AUG=>array(),$SEP=>array(),
$OCT=>array(),$NOV=>array(),$DEC=>array()
),
$2012=>array($JANUARY=>array(),$FEBRUARY=>array(),$MARCH=>array(),
$APRIL=>array(),$MAY=>array(),$JUN=>array(),
$JUL=>array(),$AUG=>array(),$SEP=>array(),
$OCT=>array(),$NOV=>array(),$DEC=>array()
),
$2011=>array($JANUARY=>array(),$FEBRUARY=>array(),$MARCH=>array(),
$APRIL=>array(),$MAY=>array(),$JUN=>array(),
$JUL=>array(),$AUG=>array(),$SEP=>array(),
$OCT=>array(),$NOV=>array(),$DEC=>array()
),
$2010=>array($JANUARY=>array(),$FEBRUARY=>array(),$MARCH=>array(),
$APRIL=>array(),$MAY=>array(),$JUN=>array(),
$JUL=>array(),$AUG=>array(),$SEP=>array(),
$OCT=>array(),$NOV=>array(),$DEC=>array()
),
$2009=>array($JANUARY=>array(),$FEBRUARY=>array(),$MARCH=>array(),
$APRIL=>array(),$MAY=>array(),$JUN=>array(),
$JUL=>array(),$AUG=>array(),$SEP=>array(),
$OCT=>array(),$NOV=>array(),$DEC=>array()
),
$2008=>array($JANUARY=>array(),$FEBRUARY=>array(),$MARCH=>array(),
$APRIL=>array(),$MAY=>array(),$JUN=>array(),
$JUL=>array(),$AUG=>array(),$SEP=>array(),
$OCT=>array(),$NOV=>array(),$DEC=>array()
),
$2007=>array($JANUARY=>array(),$FEBRUARY=>array(),$MARCH=>array(),
$APRIL=>array(),$MAY=>array(),$JUN=>array(),
$JUL=>array(),$AUG=>array(),$SEP=>array(),
$OCT=>array(),$NOV=>array(),$DEC=>array()
),
$2006=>array($JANUARY=>array(),$FEBRUARY=>array(),$MARCH=>array(),
$APRIL=>array(),$MAY=>array(),$JUN=>array(),
$JUL=>array(),$AUG=>array(),$SEP=>array(),
$OCT=>array(),$NOV=>array(),$DEC=>array()
),
$2005=>array($JANUARY=>array(),$FEBRUARY=>array(),$MARCH=>array(),
$APRIL=>array(),$MAY=>array(),$JUN=>array(),
$JUL=>array(),$AUG=>array(),$SEP=>array(),
$OCT=>array(),$NOV=>array(),$DEC=>array()
)
);
// end

    This is soo wrong . You'll have to rewrite everything if the number of months changes .. and your month variables carry the to-be old names, how will anyone maintain that when the months are named oneuary,twouary,threeuary and so forth ?

    $years=array('2005','2006','2007','2008','2009','2010','2011','2012','2013'); $monthsperyear=array('12','12','12','12','12','12','12','12','12'); $months=array('January','February','Marchary','Aprilary','Mayary','Juneary','Julyary','Augustary','Septemberary','Octoberary','Novemberary','Decemberary','Mysteriousthirteenthary');

    And then you loop for victory.

    So much cleaner AND you can extend it to any number of months, years as strings (like '2012','Year that the world ended','PotatoFestival') ... This is how you make good bad code !

  • nag-geoff (unregistered) in reply to QJo
    QJo:
    nag-geoff:
    Matt Westwood:
    nag-geoff:
    geoffrey:
    mott555:
    I sense a developer who codes solely by copy-pasting existing code around.

    A "can-do" attitude means getting the job done takes precedence over hand-wringing over programmer buzzwords like "DRY" and "encapsulation."

    The date array only needs to be updated once a year, so I fail to see the big deal. Or is it just me?

    Trivial tasks should not be automated. It is a waste of resources. So I agree with you here.

    Yes, if they automated trivial tasks, then you'd no longer have a job posting comments on TDWTF.

    Well said, you cunt!

    It's these trivial tasks on the shoulders of which, you eventually become indispensable at your workplace.

    I was once given the job of improving efficiency on one of the projects which was costing nearly as much to maintain and operate as we were earning revenue. By the time I'd finished (a couple of weeks later) I had automated three people's entire time.

    Their jobs consisted of: "Extract this data into a file, replace all the undisplayable characters, save it as a CSV, open it in Excel, sort in order of whichever-field, count the top however-many, cut and paste these into another spreadsheet, save as a CSV then copy and paste each line into ..." etc. etc.

    So automation of trivial tasks becomes a two-edged sword. Some are of the opinion that it's always wrong to automate someone else's job, however tedious and pointless. Others take the view that those people may be offered the opportunity to be trained for something more interesting, challenging and productive. On the other hand, in many cases, perhaps not.

    That's the lie they sell to wean you off from the task's teat. Throughout the history of mankind, man has been intent on making other men redundant. That's bloody capitalism for you, old chap!

  • SomeDude (unregistered) in reply to frits

    Obviously :-)

  • (cs) in reply to L.
    L.:
    $months=array('January','February','Marchary','Aprilary','Mayary','Juneary','Julyary','Augustary','Septemberary','Octoberary','Novemberary','Decemberary','Mysteriousthirteenthary');

    That mysterious thirteenth month? It's called Undecimber(ary).

  • Patrick (unregistered)

    echo $MemeReference[23];

  • foo (unregistered) in reply to The poop of DOOM
    The poop of DOOM:
    foo:
    Ton:
    When *I* see code like this, I wonder how many programmers know exactly what these fancy machines are for, but ALSO know there PHBs use 'lines of code' as a performance rating metric...
    Nothing wrong with that, if done correctly -- as the denominator. Since code is effort to write and a liability to maintain, it's analogous to resource usage.

    If you're a trucker and use twice as much gas as me to get something from here to there, you're half as efficient (roughly speaking). Likewise if you solve the same task with twice as many lines as me.

    So all I have to do to reach the ultimate form of efficiency, is take away all linebreaks in my code?
    I should have known it was risky to assume some common sense in this forum ...

  • (cs) in reply to foo
    foo:
    The poop of DOOM:
    foo:
    Ton:
    When *I* see code like this, I wonder how many programmers know exactly what these fancy machines are for, but ALSO know there PHBs use 'lines of code' as a performance rating metric...
    Nothing wrong with that, if done correctly -- as the denominator. Since code is effort to write and a liability to maintain, it's analogous to resource usage.

    If you're a trucker and use twice as much gas as me to get something from here to there, you're half as efficient (roughly speaking). Likewise if you solve the same task with twice as many lines as me.

    So all I have to do to reach the ultimate form of efficiency, is take away all linebreaks in my code?
    I should have known it was risky to assume some common sense in this forum ...

    We have common sense but it is far more fun to not use it when there is such an easy exploit in your logic
  • (cs) in reply to Arguing About Arguing
    Arguing About Arguing:
    Giant War and Peace copypasta
    I'm really kind of sad... I scrolled down to the bottom, and I really expected that there'd be a clever juxtaposition of famous literature with the theme to The Fresh Prince of Bel Air, or perhaps some other internet meme, but no. Tolstoy all the way down. What kind of internet denizen are you?

    That said, I admit fully that my code has hardcoded dates of when Chinese New Year is through 2020, and after that if that code is still used, someone will have to add some more. But, in my defense, Chinese New Year is bloody difficult to determine the date of.

  • Prinny (unregistered)

    Obviously there will be no 2012, not only is our programmer efficient, the programmer is also psychic.

  • the beholder (unregistered) in reply to L.
    L.:
    The poop of DOOM:
    foo:
    Ton:
    When *I* see code like this, I wonder how many programmers know exactly what these fancy machines are for, but ALSO know there PHBs use 'lines of code' as a performance rating metric...
    Nothing wrong with that, if done correctly -- as the denominator. Since code is effort to write and a liability to maintain, it's analogous to resource usage.

    If you're a trucker and use twice as much gas as me to get something from here to there, you're half as efficient (roughly speaking). Likewise if you solve the same task with twice as many lines as me.

    So all I have to do to reach the ultimate form of efficiency, is take away all linebreaks in my code? In other words: Ruby allows for the most efficient code!
    Er // You can do it in PHP, JS and quite a few others (i'd bet on java if I was sure but hey .)
    And it is the definitive proof that VB is not as efficient as those other languages.

  • Arguing About Arguing (unregistered) in reply to neminem
    neminem:
    Arguing About Arguing:
    Giant War and Peace copypasta
    I'm really kind of sad... I scrolled down to the bottom, and I really expected that there'd be a clever juxtaposition of famous literature with the theme to The Fresh Prince of Bel Air, or perhaps some other internet meme, but no. Tolstoy all the way down. What kind of internet denizen are you?
    The kind that made you read the whole thing to no avail.
  • (cs)

    You'll stop laughing at this enterprisey code when in 2012, President Obama signs an EO to add a few months in between October and November to give him extra time to "fix the economy."

  • (cs) in reply to L.
    L.:
    The poop of DOOM:
    L.:
    The poop of DOOM:
    foo:
    Ton:
    When *I* see code like this, I wonder how many programmers know exactly what these fancy machines are for, but ALSO know there PHBs use 'lines of code' as a performance rating metric...
    Nothing wrong with that, if done correctly -- as the denominator. Since code is effort to write and a liability to maintain, it's analogous to resource usage.

    If you're a trucker and use twice as much gas as me to get something from here to there, you're half as efficient (roughly speaking). Likewise if you solve the same task with twice as many lines as me.

    So all I have to do to reach the ultimate form of efficiency, is take away all linebreaks in my code? In other words: Ruby allows for the most efficient code!
    Er // You can do it in PHP, JS and quite a few others (i'd bet on java if I was sure but hey .)
    You obviously have never heard Ruby programmers talk about how they can do on one line what would be done on five or so lines in other languages. The basic concept of it, is that they don't really use linebreaks, but if you go through the code, it does the exact same thing and is the same amount of code. Just on one line.
    With the added benefit that it is slow as f*ck right ?
    Well the recommendation was to measure performance using LOC, not actual performance.

  • (cs) in reply to Arguing About Arguing
    Arguing About Arguing:
    neminem:
    Arguing About Arguing:
    Giant War and Peace copypasta
    I'm really kind of sad... I scrolled down to the bottom, and I really expected that there'd be a clever juxtaposition of famous literature with the theme to The Fresh Prince of Bel Air, or perhaps some other internet meme, but no. Tolstoy all the way down. What kind of internet denizen are you?
    The kind that made you read the whole thing to no avail.
    Except I didn't. I read about a paragraph, then scrolled down to the bottom. Just saying.
  • Turd (unregistered) in reply to Nagesh
    Nagesh:
    Some fool is copy pasting some thing nobody is wanting to read.

    I agree, some people are just jerks.

  • Friedrice The great (unregistered) in reply to PZ
    PZ:
    But...HOW DOES IT END?!?!
    In an endless series of lame sequels?

Leave a comment on “The Date Array”

Log In or post as a guest

Replying to comment #:

Log Out

« Return to Article