War and Peace
Natásha. But he was not as much at ease with Sónya and Dólokhov as
before and was less frequently at home.
In the autumn of 1806 everybody had again begun talking of the war with
Napoleon with even greater warmth than the year before. Orders were
given to raise recruits, ten men in every thousand for the regular army,
and besides this, nine men in every thousand for the militia. Everywhere
Bonaparte was anathematized and in Moscow nothing but the coming war
was talked of. For the Rostóv family the whole interest of these
preparations for war lay in the fact that Nicholas would not hear of
remaining in Moscow, and only awaited the termination of Denísov’s
furlough after Christmas to return with him to their regiment. His
approaching departure did not prevent his amusing himself, but rather
gave zest to his pleasures. He spent the greater part of his time away
from home, at dinners, parties, and balls.
CHAPTER XI
On the third day after Christmas Nicholas dined at home, a thing he had
rarely done of late. It was a grand farewell dinner, as he and Denísov
were leaving to join their regiment after Epiphany. About twenty people
were present, including Dólokhov and Denísov.
Never had love been so much in the air, and never had the amorous
atmosphere made itself so strongly felt in the Rostóvs’ house as at
this holiday time. “Seize the moments of happiness, love and be loved!
That is the only reality in the world, all else is folly. It is the one
thing we are interested in here,” said the spirit of the place.
Nicholas, having as usual exhausted two pairs of horses, without
visiting all the places he meant to go to and where he had been invited,
returned home just before dinner. As soon as he entered he noticed and
felt the tension of the amorous air in the house, and also noticed a
curious embarrassment among some of those present. Sónya, Dólokhov,
and the old countess were especially disturbed, and to a lesser degree
Natásha. Nicholas understood that something must have happened between
Sónya and Dólokhov before dinner, and with the kindly sensitiveness
natural to him was very gentle and wary with them both at dinner. On
that same evening there was to be one of the balls that Iogel (the
dancing master) gave for his pupils during the holidays.
“Nicholas, will you come to Iogel’s? Please do!” said Natásha.
“He asked you, and Vasíli Dmítrich * is also going.”
* Denísov.
“Where would I not go at the countess’ command!” said Denísov,
who at the Rostóvs’ had jocularly assumed the role of Natásha’s
knight. “I’m even weady to dance the pas de châle.”
“If I have time,” answered Nicholas. “But I promised the
Arkhárovs; they have a party.”
“And you?” he asked Dólokhov, but as soon as he had asked the
question he noticed that it should not have been put.
“Perhaps,” coldly and angrily replied Dólokhov, glancing at Sónya,
and, scowling, he gave Nicholas just such a look as he had given Pierre
at the club dinner.
“There is something up,” thought Nicholas, and he was further
confirmed in this conclusion by the fact that Dólokhov left immediately
after dinner. He called Natásha and asked her what was the matter.
“And I was looking for you,” said Natásha running out to him. “I
told you, but you would not believe it,” she said triumphantly. “He
has proposed to Sónya!”
Little as Nicholas had occupied himself with Sónya of late, something
seemed to give way within him at this news. Dólokhov was a suitable and
in some respects a brilliant match for the dowerless, orphan girl. From
the point of view of the old countess and of society it was out of the
question for her to refuse him. And therefore Nicholas’ first feeling
on hearing the news was one of anger with Sónya.... He tried to say,
“That’s capital; of course she’ll forget her childish promises
and accept the offer,” but before he had time to say it Natásha began
again.
“And fancy! she refused him quite definitely!” adding, after a
pause, “she told him she loved another.”
“Yes, my Sónya could not have done otherwise!” thought Nicholas.
“Much as Mamma pressed her, she refused, and I know she won’t change
once she has said...”
“And Mamma pressed her!” said Nicholas reproachfully.
“Yes,” said Natásha. “Do you know, Nicholas—don’t be
angry—but I know you will not marry her. I know, heaven knows how, but
I know for certain that you won’t marry her.”
“Now you don’t know that at all!” said Nicholas. “But I must
talk to her. What a darling Sónya is!” he added with a smile.
“Ah, she is indeed a darling! I’ll send her to you.”
And Natásha kissed her brother and ran away.
A minute later Sónya came in with a frightened, guilty, and scared
look. Nicholas went up to her and kissed her hand. This was the first
time since his return that they had talked alone and about their love.
“Sophie,” he began, timidly at first and then more and more
boldly, “if you wish to refuse one who is not only a brilliant and
advantageous match but a splendid, noble fellow... he is my friend...”
Sónya interrupted him.
“I have already refused,” she said hurriedly.
“If you are refusing for my sake, I am afraid that I...”
Sónya again interrupted. She gave him an imploring, frightened look.
“Nicholas, don’t tell me that!” she said.
“No, but I must. It may be arrogant of me, but still it is best to say
it. If you refuse him on my account, I must tell you the whole truth. I
love you, and I think I love you more than anyone else....”
“That is enough for me,” said Sónya, blushing.
“No, but I have been in love a thousand times and shall fall in
love again, though for no one have I such a feeling of friendship,
confidence, and love as I have for you. Then I am young. Mamma does
not wish it. In a word, I make no promise. And I beg you to consider
Dólokhov’s offer,” he said, articulating his friend’s name with
difficulty.
“Don’t say that to me! I want nothing. I love you as a brother and
always shall, and I want nothing more.”
“You are an angel: I am not worthy of you, but I am afraid of
misleading you.”
And Nicholas again kissed her hand.
CHAPTER XII
Iogel’s were the most enjoyable balls in Moscow. So said the mothers
as they watched their young people executing their newly learned steps,
and so said the youths and maidens themselves as they danced till they
were ready to drop, and so said the grown-up young men and women who
came to these balls with an air of condescension and found them most
enjoyable. That year two marriages had come of these balls. The two
pretty young Princesses Gorchakóv met suitors there and were married
and so further increased the fame of these dances. What distinguished
them from others was the absence of host or hostess and the presence of
the good-natured Iogel, flying about like a feather and bowing according
to the rules of his art, as he collected the tickets from all his
visitors. There was the fact that only those came who wished to dance
and amuse themselves as girls of thirteen and fourteen do who are
wearing long dresses for the first time. With scarcely any exceptions
they all were, or seemed to be, pretty—so rapturous were their smiles
and so sparkling their eyes. Sometimes the best of the pupils, of whom
Natásha, who was exceptionally graceful, was first, even danced the pas
de châle, but at this last ball only the écossaise, the anglaise, and
the mazurka, which was just coming into fashion, were danced. Iogel had
taken a ballroom in Bezúkhov’s house, and the ball, as everyone said,
was a great success. There were many pretty girls and the Rostóv girls
were among the prettiest. They were both particularly happy and gay.
That evening, proud of Dólokhov’s proposal, her refusal, and her
explanation with Nicholas, Sónya twirled about before she left home
so that the maid could hardly get her hair plaited, and she was
transparently radiant with impulsive joy.
Natásha no less proud of her first long dress and of being at a real
ball was even happier. They were both dressed in white muslin with pink
ribbons.
Natásha fell in love the very moment she entered the ballroom. She
was not in love with anyone in particular, but with everyone. Whatever
person she happened to look at she was in love with for that moment.
“Oh, how delightful it is!” she kept saying, running up to Sónya.
Nicholas and Denísov were walking up and down, looking with kindly
patronage at the dancers.
“How sweet she is—she will be a weal beauty!” said Denísov.
“Who?”
“Countess Natásha,” answered Denísov.
“And how she dances! What gwace!” he said again after a pause.
“Who are you talking about?”
“About your sister,” ejaculated Denísov testily.
Rostóv smiled.
“My dear count, you were one of my best pupils—you must dance,”
said little Iogel coming up to Nicholas. “Look how many charming young
ladies—” He turned with the same request to Denísov who was also a
former pupil of his.
“No, my dear fellow, I’ll be a wallflower,” said Denísov.
“Don’t you wecollect what bad use I made of your lessons?”
“Oh no!” said Iogel, hastening to reassure him. “You were only
inattentive, but you had talent—oh yes, you had talent!”
The band struck up the newly introduced mazurka. Nicholas could not
refuse Iogel and asked Sónya to dance. Denísov sat down by the old
ladies and, leaning on his saber and beating time with his foot, told
them something funny and kept them amused, while he watched the young
people dancing, Iogel with Natásha, his pride and his best pupil, were
the first couple. Noiselessly, skillfully stepping with his little
feet in low shoes, Iogel flew first across the hall with Natásha, who,
though shy, went on carefully executing her steps. Denísov did not
take his eyes off her and beat time with his saber in a way that clearly
indicated that if he was not dancing it was because he would not and not
because he could not. In the middle of a figure he beckoned to Rostóv
who was passing:
“This is not at all the thing,” he said. “What sort of Polish
mazuwka is this? But she does dance splendidly.”
Knowing that Denísov had a reputation even in Poland for the masterly
way in which he danced the mazurka, Nicholas ran up to Natásha:
“Go and choose Denísov. He is a real dancer, a wonder!” he said.
When it came to Natásha’s turn to choose a partner, she rose and,
tripping rapidly across in her little shoes trimmed with bows, ran
timidly to the corner where Denísov sat. She saw that everybody was
looking at her and waiting. Nicholas saw that Denísov was refusing
though he smiled delightedly. He ran up to them.
“Please, Vasíli Dmítrich,” Natásha was saying, “do come!”
“Oh no, let me off, Countess,” Denísov replied.
“Now then, Váska,” said Nicholas.
“They coax me as if I were Váska the cat!” said Denísov jokingly.
“I’ll sing for you a whole evening,” said Natásha.
“Oh, the faiwy! She can do anything with me!” said Denísov, and
he unhooked his saber. He came out from behind the chairs, clasped his
partner’s hand firmly, threw back his head, and advanced his foot,
waiting for the beat. Only on horse back and in the mazurka was
Denísov’s short stature not noticeable and he looked the fine fellow
he felt himself to be. At the right beat of the music he looked sideways
at his partner with a merry and triumphant air, suddenly stamped with
one foot, bounded from the floor like a ball, and flew round the room
taking his partner with him. He glided silently on one foot half across
the room, and seeming not to notice the chairs was dashing straight at
them, when suddenly, clinking his spurs and spreading out his legs,
he stopped short on his heels, stood so a second, stamped on the spot
clanking his spurs, whirled rapidly round, and, striking his left heel