War and Peace by Leo Tolstoy
man turned away angrily when he saw the look on her face.
Another five days passed and the young prince, Nikolay Andreyevich, was christened. The wet-nurse bunched up his swaddling-clothes under her chin while the priest took a goose feather and anointed the baby's red and wrinkled little palms and soles.
His grandfather, who was his godfather, all shaky and afraid of dropping the baby, carried him around the battered tin font and handed him over with great care to his godmother, Princess Marya. Prince Andrey sat in the next room waiting for the ceremony to end, beside himself with fear that they might drown the baby. He looked at his son with great delight when the nurse brought him out, and nodded approvingly as she informed him that when they had dropped some of the baby's hair in a piece of wax into the font, it hadn't sunk but had floated on the surface of the water.8
CHAPTER 10
Rostov's involvement in the duel between Dolokhov and Bezukhov had been hushed up by the old count, and instead of being reduced to the ranks as expected he had been appointed adjutant to the governor-general of Moscow. As a result he was unable to go to the country with the rest of the family, and spent the whole summer in Moscow busy with his new duties. Dolokhov recovered, and Rostov became close to him during his convalescence, when Dolokhov lay ill in the house of his passionately doting mother, Marya Ivanovna. She took to Rostov because of his friendship with her Fedya and often talked about her son.
'Yes, Count, he is too noble, too pure in heart,' she would often say, 'for today's corrupt world. Nobody admires virtue nowadays. You get it thrown back in your face. Tell me this, Count - was Bezukhov righteous and honourable in what he did? Fedya has always been noble-hearted and he loved him, and even now he won't have a word said against him. There was that silly business with the policeman in Petersburg - they did play a few tricks on people up there - but weren't they all in it together? Oh yes, but Bezukhov gets off scot-free and my Fedya shoulders all the blame. The things he's had to put up with! I know he's been reinstated, but how could he not have been? I don't imagine there were all that many patriotic sons out there as brave as he was! And now - this duel! Is there nobody with any feeling, any sense of honour nowadays? Challenging him like that - he knew he was an only son - and then aiming straight at him! I thank God for his mercy on us. And what was it all about? I ask you, who doesn't have affairs nowadays? I mean, if he was all that jealous - which I fully understand - he could have let people know a lot earlier, instead of letting it run on for a year. I know why he challenged him - he was counting on Fedya refusing to fight because he owed him money. It's obscene! Depraved! I know you understand Fedya, my dear count. That's why I'm so fond of you, believe me. Not many people do. He has the kind of soul that is too exalted, too angelic!'
And during his convalescence Dolokhov himself began to speak to Rostov in a way that no one would have expected of him.
'I know they all think I'm a nasty piece of work,' he would say. 'Let them think what they want. The only people I want to know are the ones I love. But those that I do love, I would lay down my life for them, and I'll crush anybody else who gets in my way. There's my mother - I adore her, she's a treasure - and one or two friends, including you. Apart from them I ignore everybody unless they are useful or dangerous. And most of them are dangerous, especially the women. Oh yes, dear boy,' he went on, 'I've met one or two men who were loving, noble and high-minded. But I've yet to meet a woman who wasn't for sale - countesses, cooks, they're all the same. I'm looking for a woman with the purity of a saint and complete devotion - and I've yet to meet one. If I could find a woman like that, I'd lay down my life for her! But this lot! . . .' He made a gesture of contempt. 'Believe me, if I value my life, I value it because I'm still hoping I might meet a heavenly creature like that who would restore me and purify me and lift me to a higher level. I don't suppose you understand.' 'Oh yes I do,' answered Rostov, very much under the influence of his new friend.
In the autumn the Rostov family returned to Moscow. At the beginning of the winter Denisov also came back and stayed with the Rostovs. For Nikolay Rostov and all his family the early days of the 1806 winter in Moscow was the happiest and merriest of times. Nikolay brought a lot of young men back home with him into his parents' house. Vera was by now a beautiful young woman of twenty, Sonya, a sixteen-year-old girl with all the charm of an unfolding flower, while Natasha, half-adult, half-child, could be an amusing little girl one minute and an enchanting young woman the next.
Love was in the air at the Rostovs' at this time, as it always is when there are very young and very charming girls around. Any young man arriving at their house and seeing those young girls' faces, so sensitive and always smiling (probably at their own good fortune) amid all the chasing and scurrying, and hearing all their frivolous girlish chatter, so good-natured, open to everything, brimming with hope, and their equally frivolous singing and music-making, enjoyed the same sensations of love-sickness and impending bliss that the young Rostovs were themselves enjoying.
One of the first young men brought home by Nikolay was Dolokhov, who won over everyone in the house except Natasha. She almost came to blows with her brother over Dolokhov. She insisted that he was a bad lot, that in the duel with Bezukhov, Pierre had been in the right and Dolokhov in the wrong, and that he was a horrible monster.
'I understand the whole thing,' Natasha would cry with resolute self-certainty. 'He's a wicked man and he has no heart. Now take your Denisov - I like him. I know he's a rogue, and all that . . . but still I like him, so I do understand. I don't know how to put it - with Dolokhov everything's done deliberately, and I don't like that. Now Denisov . . .'
'Oh, Denisov's different,' answered Nikolay, implying that Denisov didn't even begin to compare with Dolokhov. 'You have to get through to Dolokhov and understand his soul. You should see him with his mother. What a tender heart!'
'I don't know about that. I just don't feel comfortable with him. You do realize he's fallen in love with Sonya, don't you?'
'Don't be stupid!'
'He has, you know. You'll see.'
Natasha was proved right. Dolokhov, who was no great lover of the ladies, became a regular visitor to the house and the question of whom he was coming to see (which no one actually asked) was soon settled: it was Sonya. And though Sonya would never have dared to admit it, she knew, and she turned beetroot-red every time Dolokhov put in an appearance.
Dolokhov often dined at the Rostovs', never missed any cultural performance that they were going to see, and went to all the balls 'for the under-twenties' at Iogel's, where the Rostovs were regular attenders. He paid a lot of attention to Sonya, and looked at her with such longing in his eyes that Sonya was not the only one who reddened under his gaze - even the old countess and Natasha blushed when they saw him looking at her like that.
It became obvious that this strange, strong man was irresistibly attracted to the dark and elegant young girl who loved someone else.
Rostov sensed something different between Dolokhov and Sonya, but he couldn't put his finger on what was new about their relationship. 'Oh, they're all in love with somebody,' he said, thinking of Sonya and Natasha. But he no longer felt at ease with Sonya and Dolokhov, and before long he was less frequently at home.
That autumn once again the talk was of war with Napoleon, and there was more enthusiasm for it than last year.9 Enforced recruitment began: from every thousand of the population ten men were sent into the army and another nine to the militia. Napoleon's name was cursed right, left and centre, and the coming war was the only topic of conversation in Moscow. As far as the Rostov family was concerned the only thing that mattered in all these preparations for war was their dear Nikolay's categorical refusal to stay behind in Moscow. He was only waiting for the end of Denisov's leave at the end of the holiday season for the pair of them to rejoin their regiment. His impending departure, far from being an obstacle to his enjoyment, spurred him on to enjoy life even more. He spent most of his time out of the house, at dinners, parties and balls.
CHAPTER 11
On the third day after Christmas Nikolay dined at home - a rare occurrence in recent days. The occasion was a grand farewell dinner; Nikolay was due to rejoin his regiment with Denisov after Epiphany. There were a couple of dozen dinner-guests including Dolokhov and Denisov.
Love was still in the air at the Rostovs'; never had the atmosphere of the house been so palpably full of love-sickness as it was during those Christmas holidays. 'Seize the moment of bliss! Love and be loved! This is the only real thing in the whole world. Nothing else makes sense. Here and now this is all we are interested in' - the atmosphere was full of thoughts like these.
After exhausting two pairs of horses as usual - and he still never managed to go everywhere and see everyone - Nikolay arrived home just in time for dinner. The moment he entered the house he could sense the same atmosphere of love-sickness, but something else as well: he became aware of a curious kind of embarrassment between some of the company. The worst affected were Sonya, Dolokhov, the old countess and to some extent Natasha. Nikolay realized something must have happened between Sonya and Dolokhov before dinner, and during the meal he used his customary sensitivity to tread warily and be nice to the pair of them. That same evening there was to be one of the dances put on for his pupils during the holidays by Iogel, the dancing-master.
'Nikolay, are you coming to Iogel's? Please say yes,' said Natasha. 'He asked about you specially, and Denisov's coming.'
'I will go anywhere the countess wequires!' said Denisov, who had joked his way into the role of Natasha's champion knight within the household. 'I stand weady for the shawl dance.'
'If I can fit it in! I did promise to go to the Arkharovs - they're throwing a party,' said Nikolay.
'What about you?' he said, turning to Dolokhov. And the moment he had asked the question, he realized he shouldn't have done.
'Yes, well possibly . . .' Dolokhov's response was frigid and furious, as he glanced first at Sonya and then at Nikolay, treating him to exactly the same scowl he had launched at Pierre over dinner at the English Club.
'Something wrong here,' thought Nikolay, and his suspicions were confirmed when Dolokhov left immediately after dinner. He called Natasha over and asked what was going on.
'Oh, I've been looking for you,' said Natasha, skipping over to him. 'I told you, didn't I? You wouldn't believe me,' she said triumphantly. 'He's proposed to Sonya.'
Sonya had not been much in Nikolay's mind of late, but he still felt a great wrench inside him when he heard this. Dolokhov was a good match for an orphan girl like Sonya, who had no dowry - in some ways a brilliant match. From the point of view of the countess and in the eyes of society there could no question of a refusal. And so Nikolay's immediate reaction was to feel annoyed with Sonya. He worked himself up to say, 'Oh splendid. Of course she'll have to forget all those childish promises and accept,' but before he could get the words out Natasha went on to say, 'But can you imagine? She turned him down! Just like that! . . . She told him she's in love with somebody else,' she added after a brief pause.
'Yes, my Sonya couldn't have done anything else!' thought Nikolay.
'Mamma went on and on at her not to, but she turned him down, and I know she's not going to change her mind, not if she said . . .'
'Mamma begged her not to?' Nikolay said reproachfully.
'Yes,' said Natasha. 'Listen, darling Nikolay - don't get angry with me - I know you'll never marry her. Don't ask me how I know - I just know for certain you'll never marry her.'
'You can't possibly know that,' said Nikolay, 'but I must have a word with her. Oh, Sonya, she is lovely!' he added with a smile.
'Yes, she is! I'll send her in.' And Natasha gave her brother a kiss and ran off.
A minute later in came Sonya, looking scared, upset and guilty. Nikolay went over and kissed her hand. It was the first time since his return that they had been alone together and talked about love.
'Sophie,' he said to her, timidly at first but getting braver by the minute, 'if you want to turn down a brilliant match, very much to your advantage . . . well, he's a splendid fellow, thoroughly noble . . . he's my friend . . .' Sonya interrupted him.
'I have turned him down,' she blurted out.
'If you are turning him down because of me, I'm afraid I . . .'
Again Sonya cut him short. She looked at him, anxious and imploring.
'Please, Nikolay, don't say that,' she said.
'No, I have to. Perhaps I'm being a bit conceited, but it's better to have the whole thing out. If you're turning him down because of me, I have to be honest with you. I do love you. I think I love you more than anyone in the world . . .'
'That's enough for me,' said Sonya, beetroot-red.
'No, but listen - I've been in love thousands of times, and I shall be again and again, though I could never feel the same kind of warmth and trust and love that I do towards you. Besides, I'm still a young man. And Mamma doesn't want me to. Well . . . that's it . . . I can't promise you anything . . . Please think carefully about Dolokhov's proposal,' he said, not finding it easy to say the name of his friend.
'Oh, don't say that. I don't want anything. I love you as a brother, and I always will, and I don't need anything else.'
'You're an angel. I don't deserve you. I'm just scared . . . I don't want to deceive you.' And Nikolay kissed her hand again.
CHAPTER 12
The balls put on by Iogel were the best in Moscow. This is what all the mothers said as they watched their young daughters performing the dances they had been recently learning. So did the boys and girls themselves as they danced till they were ready to drop; so did the grown-up young men and women, who came along thinking these dances were rather beneath them and ended up enjoying every minute. That year two matches had been made at these dances. Two pretty young princesses, the Gorchakov sisters, had both found suitors here and married them, which made the dances more popular than ever. There was one special feature about these dances - they had no host and hostess, only good old Iogel himself, who put his own art to good service with much mincing and bowing as he flitted around his guests like a feather and collected their tickets. Another feature was that these dances were attended only by those who really wanted to dance and enjoy themselves, in the way that girls of thirteen or fourteen do when they are wearing long dresses for the first time. With one or two exceptions they were pretty girls, or they managed to look pretty, with their smiling faces and sparkling eyes. Sometimes the best pupils were allowed to perform the difficult shawl dance, and that included Natasha, who danced more gracefully than anyone else. But at this latest ball they only danced the schottische, the anglaise and the mazurka, which was becoming all the rage. Iogel had taken a ballroom in Bezukhov's house, and everyone pronounced the evening a great success. There were many pretty girls there, and the Rostov girls were among the prettiest. They both felt particularly happy and high-spirited that evening. Sonya was feeling so proud to have received a proposal from Dolokhov and turned him down and then had things out with Nikolay that, before they had even left for the ball, she had gone twirling around the room, not giving her maid a chance to finish doing her hair, and now she positively glowed with energy and joy.
Natasha was just as proud and even happier - this was her first real ball in a long dress. Both girls wore white muslin dresses with pink ribbons.
Natasha made sure she fell in love the moment she stepped into the ballroom, not with anyone in particular, in love with everyone. Every time she looked at someone she fell in love, and the love lasted no longer than the look. She kept running up to Sonya and saying, 'Oh, isn't it marvellous?'
Nikolay and Denisov strolled from room to room, watching the dancers with a kind of protective benevolence.
'She's so sweet. She'll be a weal beauty,' said Denisov.
'Who will?'
'Countess Natasha,' answered Denisov.
After a short pause he said again, 'Look at her dancing. So gwaceful!'
'Who are you talking about?'
'Oh, weally, I'm talking about your sister!' cried Denisov angrily.
Rostov laughed.
'My dear count, you were one of my best pupils - you must dance,' said little Iogel, coming up to Nikolay. 'Look at all these pretty young ladies!' He turned with the same request to Denisov, also an ex-pupil.
'No, my dear fellow, I'm a wotten dancer but a good wallflower,' said Denisov. 'Don't you wemember how little cwedit I did to your instwuction?'
'Oh no!' said Iogel, quick to reassure him. 'You didn't concentrate, but you had talent, plenty of talent.'
The band struck up with a mazurka, the latest thing. Nikolay felt he couldn't refuse Iogel, so he asked Sonya to dance. Denisov sat down by some elderly ladies and leant towards them with one elbow on his sabre. Tapping his foot in time to the music, he managed to keep them amused while keeping an eye on the young people dancing. Iogel was dancing the first couple with Natasha, his star pupil, his pride and joy. Light as thistledown in his tiny slippers, Iogel led the way, swooping across the room with a diffident Natasha studiously concentrating on her steps. Denisov couldn't take his eyes off her. He tapped out the rhythm with his sabre, which was meant to imply that if he wasn't dancing it was because he chose not to, not because he couldn't dance. While the dancers were in the middle of a figure he saw Rostov walking past and beckoned him over.
'It's not wight, you know,' he said. 'Is this weckoned to be a Polish mazurka? . . . But she's such a good dancer.'
Knowing that even in Poland Denisov had been famous for dancing the Polish mazurka, Nikolay ran over to Natasha.
'Go and invite Denisov. He can dance, you know. He's marvellous at it!' he said.
When Natasha's turn came round again, she got up and tripped rather timidly across the room in her tiny dancing-shoes with their pretty bows to the corner where Denisov was sitting. She could feel everyone's eyes on her as people waited to see what might happen. Nikolay watched as a little amiable argument took p
Another five days passed and the young prince, Nikolay Andreyevich, was christened. The wet-nurse bunched up his swaddling-clothes under her chin while the priest took a goose feather and anointed the baby's red and wrinkled little palms and soles.
His grandfather, who was his godfather, all shaky and afraid of dropping the baby, carried him around the battered tin font and handed him over with great care to his godmother, Princess Marya. Prince Andrey sat in the next room waiting for the ceremony to end, beside himself with fear that they might drown the baby. He looked at his son with great delight when the nurse brought him out, and nodded approvingly as she informed him that when they had dropped some of the baby's hair in a piece of wax into the font, it hadn't sunk but had floated on the surface of the water.8
CHAPTER 10
Rostov's involvement in the duel between Dolokhov and Bezukhov had been hushed up by the old count, and instead of being reduced to the ranks as expected he had been appointed adjutant to the governor-general of Moscow. As a result he was unable to go to the country with the rest of the family, and spent the whole summer in Moscow busy with his new duties. Dolokhov recovered, and Rostov became close to him during his convalescence, when Dolokhov lay ill in the house of his passionately doting mother, Marya Ivanovna. She took to Rostov because of his friendship with her Fedya and often talked about her son.
'Yes, Count, he is too noble, too pure in heart,' she would often say, 'for today's corrupt world. Nobody admires virtue nowadays. You get it thrown back in your face. Tell me this, Count - was Bezukhov righteous and honourable in what he did? Fedya has always been noble-hearted and he loved him, and even now he won't have a word said against him. There was that silly business with the policeman in Petersburg - they did play a few tricks on people up there - but weren't they all in it together? Oh yes, but Bezukhov gets off scot-free and my Fedya shoulders all the blame. The things he's had to put up with! I know he's been reinstated, but how could he not have been? I don't imagine there were all that many patriotic sons out there as brave as he was! And now - this duel! Is there nobody with any feeling, any sense of honour nowadays? Challenging him like that - he knew he was an only son - and then aiming straight at him! I thank God for his mercy on us. And what was it all about? I ask you, who doesn't have affairs nowadays? I mean, if he was all that jealous - which I fully understand - he could have let people know a lot earlier, instead of letting it run on for a year. I know why he challenged him - he was counting on Fedya refusing to fight because he owed him money. It's obscene! Depraved! I know you understand Fedya, my dear count. That's why I'm so fond of you, believe me. Not many people do. He has the kind of soul that is too exalted, too angelic!'
And during his convalescence Dolokhov himself began to speak to Rostov in a way that no one would have expected of him.
'I know they all think I'm a nasty piece of work,' he would say. 'Let them think what they want. The only people I want to know are the ones I love. But those that I do love, I would lay down my life for them, and I'll crush anybody else who gets in my way. There's my mother - I adore her, she's a treasure - and one or two friends, including you. Apart from them I ignore everybody unless they are useful or dangerous. And most of them are dangerous, especially the women. Oh yes, dear boy,' he went on, 'I've met one or two men who were loving, noble and high-minded. But I've yet to meet a woman who wasn't for sale - countesses, cooks, they're all the same. I'm looking for a woman with the purity of a saint and complete devotion - and I've yet to meet one. If I could find a woman like that, I'd lay down my life for her! But this lot! . . .' He made a gesture of contempt. 'Believe me, if I value my life, I value it because I'm still hoping I might meet a heavenly creature like that who would restore me and purify me and lift me to a higher level. I don't suppose you understand.' 'Oh yes I do,' answered Rostov, very much under the influence of his new friend.
In the autumn the Rostov family returned to Moscow. At the beginning of the winter Denisov also came back and stayed with the Rostovs. For Nikolay Rostov and all his family the early days of the 1806 winter in Moscow was the happiest and merriest of times. Nikolay brought a lot of young men back home with him into his parents' house. Vera was by now a beautiful young woman of twenty, Sonya, a sixteen-year-old girl with all the charm of an unfolding flower, while Natasha, half-adult, half-child, could be an amusing little girl one minute and an enchanting young woman the next.
Love was in the air at the Rostovs' at this time, as it always is when there are very young and very charming girls around. Any young man arriving at their house and seeing those young girls' faces, so sensitive and always smiling (probably at their own good fortune) amid all the chasing and scurrying, and hearing all their frivolous girlish chatter, so good-natured, open to everything, brimming with hope, and their equally frivolous singing and music-making, enjoyed the same sensations of love-sickness and impending bliss that the young Rostovs were themselves enjoying.
One of the first young men brought home by Nikolay was Dolokhov, who won over everyone in the house except Natasha. She almost came to blows with her brother over Dolokhov. She insisted that he was a bad lot, that in the duel with Bezukhov, Pierre had been in the right and Dolokhov in the wrong, and that he was a horrible monster.
'I understand the whole thing,' Natasha would cry with resolute self-certainty. 'He's a wicked man and he has no heart. Now take your Denisov - I like him. I know he's a rogue, and all that . . . but still I like him, so I do understand. I don't know how to put it - with Dolokhov everything's done deliberately, and I don't like that. Now Denisov . . .'
'Oh, Denisov's different,' answered Nikolay, implying that Denisov didn't even begin to compare with Dolokhov. 'You have to get through to Dolokhov and understand his soul. You should see him with his mother. What a tender heart!'
'I don't know about that. I just don't feel comfortable with him. You do realize he's fallen in love with Sonya, don't you?'
'Don't be stupid!'
'He has, you know. You'll see.'
Natasha was proved right. Dolokhov, who was no great lover of the ladies, became a regular visitor to the house and the question of whom he was coming to see (which no one actually asked) was soon settled: it was Sonya. And though Sonya would never have dared to admit it, she knew, and she turned beetroot-red every time Dolokhov put in an appearance.
Dolokhov often dined at the Rostovs', never missed any cultural performance that they were going to see, and went to all the balls 'for the under-twenties' at Iogel's, where the Rostovs were regular attenders. He paid a lot of attention to Sonya, and looked at her with such longing in his eyes that Sonya was not the only one who reddened under his gaze - even the old countess and Natasha blushed when they saw him looking at her like that.
It became obvious that this strange, strong man was irresistibly attracted to the dark and elegant young girl who loved someone else.
Rostov sensed something different between Dolokhov and Sonya, but he couldn't put his finger on what was new about their relationship. 'Oh, they're all in love with somebody,' he said, thinking of Sonya and Natasha. But he no longer felt at ease with Sonya and Dolokhov, and before long he was less frequently at home.
That autumn once again the talk was of war with Napoleon, and there was more enthusiasm for it than last year.9 Enforced recruitment began: from every thousand of the population ten men were sent into the army and another nine to the militia. Napoleon's name was cursed right, left and centre, and the coming war was the only topic of conversation in Moscow. As far as the Rostov family was concerned the only thing that mattered in all these preparations for war was their dear Nikolay's categorical refusal to stay behind in Moscow. He was only waiting for the end of Denisov's leave at the end of the holiday season for the pair of them to rejoin their regiment. His impending departure, far from being an obstacle to his enjoyment, spurred him on to enjoy life even more. He spent most of his time out of the house, at dinners, parties and balls.
CHAPTER 11
On the third day after Christmas Nikolay dined at home - a rare occurrence in recent days. The occasion was a grand farewell dinner; Nikolay was due to rejoin his regiment with Denisov after Epiphany. There were a couple of dozen dinner-guests including Dolokhov and Denisov.
Love was still in the air at the Rostovs'; never had the atmosphere of the house been so palpably full of love-sickness as it was during those Christmas holidays. 'Seize the moment of bliss! Love and be loved! This is the only real thing in the whole world. Nothing else makes sense. Here and now this is all we are interested in' - the atmosphere was full of thoughts like these.
After exhausting two pairs of horses as usual - and he still never managed to go everywhere and see everyone - Nikolay arrived home just in time for dinner. The moment he entered the house he could sense the same atmosphere of love-sickness, but something else as well: he became aware of a curious kind of embarrassment between some of the company. The worst affected were Sonya, Dolokhov, the old countess and to some extent Natasha. Nikolay realized something must have happened between Sonya and Dolokhov before dinner, and during the meal he used his customary sensitivity to tread warily and be nice to the pair of them. That same evening there was to be one of the dances put on for his pupils during the holidays by Iogel, the dancing-master.
'Nikolay, are you coming to Iogel's? Please say yes,' said Natasha. 'He asked about you specially, and Denisov's coming.'
'I will go anywhere the countess wequires!' said Denisov, who had joked his way into the role of Natasha's champion knight within the household. 'I stand weady for the shawl dance.'
'If I can fit it in! I did promise to go to the Arkharovs - they're throwing a party,' said Nikolay.
'What about you?' he said, turning to Dolokhov. And the moment he had asked the question, he realized he shouldn't have done.
'Yes, well possibly . . .' Dolokhov's response was frigid and furious, as he glanced first at Sonya and then at Nikolay, treating him to exactly the same scowl he had launched at Pierre over dinner at the English Club.
'Something wrong here,' thought Nikolay, and his suspicions were confirmed when Dolokhov left immediately after dinner. He called Natasha over and asked what was going on.
'Oh, I've been looking for you,' said Natasha, skipping over to him. 'I told you, didn't I? You wouldn't believe me,' she said triumphantly. 'He's proposed to Sonya.'
Sonya had not been much in Nikolay's mind of late, but he still felt a great wrench inside him when he heard this. Dolokhov was a good match for an orphan girl like Sonya, who had no dowry - in some ways a brilliant match. From the point of view of the countess and in the eyes of society there could no question of a refusal. And so Nikolay's immediate reaction was to feel annoyed with Sonya. He worked himself up to say, 'Oh splendid. Of course she'll have to forget all those childish promises and accept,' but before he could get the words out Natasha went on to say, 'But can you imagine? She turned him down! Just like that! . . . She told him she's in love with somebody else,' she added after a brief pause.
'Yes, my Sonya couldn't have done anything else!' thought Nikolay.
'Mamma went on and on at her not to, but she turned him down, and I know she's not going to change her mind, not if she said . . .'
'Mamma begged her not to?' Nikolay said reproachfully.
'Yes,' said Natasha. 'Listen, darling Nikolay - don't get angry with me - I know you'll never marry her. Don't ask me how I know - I just know for certain you'll never marry her.'
'You can't possibly know that,' said Nikolay, 'but I must have a word with her. Oh, Sonya, she is lovely!' he added with a smile.
'Yes, she is! I'll send her in.' And Natasha gave her brother a kiss and ran off.
A minute later in came Sonya, looking scared, upset and guilty. Nikolay went over and kissed her hand. It was the first time since his return that they had been alone together and talked about love.
'Sophie,' he said to her, timidly at first but getting braver by the minute, 'if you want to turn down a brilliant match, very much to your advantage . . . well, he's a splendid fellow, thoroughly noble . . . he's my friend . . .' Sonya interrupted him.
'I have turned him down,' she blurted out.
'If you are turning him down because of me, I'm afraid I . . .'
Again Sonya cut him short. She looked at him, anxious and imploring.
'Please, Nikolay, don't say that,' she said.
'No, I have to. Perhaps I'm being a bit conceited, but it's better to have the whole thing out. If you're turning him down because of me, I have to be honest with you. I do love you. I think I love you more than anyone in the world . . .'
'That's enough for me,' said Sonya, beetroot-red.
'No, but listen - I've been in love thousands of times, and I shall be again and again, though I could never feel the same kind of warmth and trust and love that I do towards you. Besides, I'm still a young man. And Mamma doesn't want me to. Well . . . that's it . . . I can't promise you anything . . . Please think carefully about Dolokhov's proposal,' he said, not finding it easy to say the name of his friend.
'Oh, don't say that. I don't want anything. I love you as a brother, and I always will, and I don't need anything else.'
'You're an angel. I don't deserve you. I'm just scared . . . I don't want to deceive you.' And Nikolay kissed her hand again.
CHAPTER 12
The balls put on by Iogel were the best in Moscow. This is what all the mothers said as they watched their young daughters performing the dances they had been recently learning. So did the boys and girls themselves as they danced till they were ready to drop; so did the grown-up young men and women, who came along thinking these dances were rather beneath them and ended up enjoying every minute. That year two matches had been made at these dances. Two pretty young princesses, the Gorchakov sisters, had both found suitors here and married them, which made the dances more popular than ever. There was one special feature about these dances - they had no host and hostess, only good old Iogel himself, who put his own art to good service with much mincing and bowing as he flitted around his guests like a feather and collected their tickets. Another feature was that these dances were attended only by those who really wanted to dance and enjoy themselves, in the way that girls of thirteen or fourteen do when they are wearing long dresses for the first time. With one or two exceptions they were pretty girls, or they managed to look pretty, with their smiling faces and sparkling eyes. Sometimes the best pupils were allowed to perform the difficult shawl dance, and that included Natasha, who danced more gracefully than anyone else. But at this latest ball they only danced the schottische, the anglaise and the mazurka, which was becoming all the rage. Iogel had taken a ballroom in Bezukhov's house, and everyone pronounced the evening a great success. There were many pretty girls there, and the Rostov girls were among the prettiest. They both felt particularly happy and high-spirited that evening. Sonya was feeling so proud to have received a proposal from Dolokhov and turned him down and then had things out with Nikolay that, before they had even left for the ball, she had gone twirling around the room, not giving her maid a chance to finish doing her hair, and now she positively glowed with energy and joy.
Natasha was just as proud and even happier - this was her first real ball in a long dress. Both girls wore white muslin dresses with pink ribbons.
Natasha made sure she fell in love the moment she stepped into the ballroom, not with anyone in particular, in love with everyone. Every time she looked at someone she fell in love, and the love lasted no longer than the look. She kept running up to Sonya and saying, 'Oh, isn't it marvellous?'
Nikolay and Denisov strolled from room to room, watching the dancers with a kind of protective benevolence.
'She's so sweet. She'll be a weal beauty,' said Denisov.
'Who will?'
'Countess Natasha,' answered Denisov.
After a short pause he said again, 'Look at her dancing. So gwaceful!'
'Who are you talking about?'
'Oh, weally, I'm talking about your sister!' cried Denisov angrily.
Rostov laughed.
'My dear count, you were one of my best pupils - you must dance,' said little Iogel, coming up to Nikolay. 'Look at all these pretty young ladies!' He turned with the same request to Denisov, also an ex-pupil.
'No, my dear fellow, I'm a wotten dancer but a good wallflower,' said Denisov. 'Don't you wemember how little cwedit I did to your instwuction?'
'Oh no!' said Iogel, quick to reassure him. 'You didn't concentrate, but you had talent, plenty of talent.'
The band struck up with a mazurka, the latest thing. Nikolay felt he couldn't refuse Iogel, so he asked Sonya to dance. Denisov sat down by some elderly ladies and leant towards them with one elbow on his sabre. Tapping his foot in time to the music, he managed to keep them amused while keeping an eye on the young people dancing. Iogel was dancing the first couple with Natasha, his star pupil, his pride and joy. Light as thistledown in his tiny slippers, Iogel led the way, swooping across the room with a diffident Natasha studiously concentrating on her steps. Denisov couldn't take his eyes off her. He tapped out the rhythm with his sabre, which was meant to imply that if he wasn't dancing it was because he chose not to, not because he couldn't dance. While the dancers were in the middle of a figure he saw Rostov walking past and beckoned him over.
'It's not wight, you know,' he said. 'Is this weckoned to be a Polish mazurka? . . . But she's such a good dancer.'
Knowing that even in Poland Denisov had been famous for dancing the Polish mazurka, Nikolay ran over to Natasha.
'Go and invite Denisov. He can dance, you know. He's marvellous at it!' he said.
When Natasha's turn came round again, she got up and tripped rather timidly across the room in her tiny dancing-shoes with their pretty bows to the corner where Denisov was sitting. She could feel everyone's eyes on her as people waited to see what might happen. Nikolay watched as a little amiable argument took p