Tuesday, August 17, 2010

Collage 153

The sovereign's foot, in the narrow, sharp toe of its boot, as they wore them then, touched the belly of the bobtailed bay mare he was riding; the sovereign's hand in its white glove picked up the reins, and he set off, accompanied by a disorderly swaying sea of adjutants. He rode further and further, stopping by other regiments, and at last Rostov could only see his white plumes beyond the suite that surrounded the emperors.

Lynn Waskelis
from page 313-314 of original text
collage, acrylic paint
made 7/2/10
pages 247-248 in Pevear and Volokhonsky translation

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