War and Peace (62 page)

The Rostovs’ house was at that time full of a sort of peculiar atmosphere of love-making, as commonly happens in a household where there are very young and very charming girls. Among those young girls’ faces, impressionable and always smiling (probably at their own happiness), in that whirl of eager bustle, amid that young feminine chatter, so inconsequent, but so friendly to every one, so ready for anything, so full of hope, and the inconsequent sound of singing and of music, any young man who came into the house felt the same sensation of readiness to fall in love and longing for happiness, that the younger members of the Rostov household were feeling themselves.

Among the young men Rostov brought to the house, one of the foremost was Dolohov, who was liked by every one in the house except Natasha. She almost had a quarrel with her brother over Dolohov. She persisted that he was a spiteful man; that in the duel with Bezuhov, Pierre had been in the right and Dolohov in the wrong, and that he was horrid and not natural.

“I know nothing about it, indeed,” Natasha would cry with self-willed obstinacy; “he’s spiteful and heartless. Your Denisov now, you see, I like; he’s a rake, and all that, but still I like him, so I do understand. I don’t know how to tell you; with him everything is done on a plan, and I don’t like that. Denisov, now …”

“Oh, Denisov’s another matter,” answered Nikolay, in a tone that implied that in comparison with Dolohov even Denisov was not of much account. “One must understand what soul there is in that Dolohov; one must see him with his mother; such a noble heart!”

“I know nothing about that, but I don’t feel at home with him. And do you know he’s falling in love with Sonya?”

“What nonsense!”

“I am sure, you will see he is.”

Natasha’s prediction was fulfilled. Dolohov, who did not as a rule care for ladies, began to come often to the house; and the question, for whose sake he came, was soon (though no one spoke of it) decided—it was on Sonya’s account. And though Sonya would never have ventured to say so, she knew it, and blushed scarlet every time Dolohov made his appearance.

Dolohov often dined at the Rostovs’, never missed a performance at which they were to be present, and attended Iogel’s balls “for the boys and girls,” at which the Rostovs were always to be found. He showed marked attention to Sonya, and looked at her with such an expression in his eyes that Sonya could not bear his eyes on her without turning crimson, and even the old countess and Natasha blushed when they saw that look.

It was evident that this strong, strange man could not shake off the impression made on him by the dark, graceful young girl, who was in love with another man.

Rostov noticed something new between Dolohov and Sonya, but he did not define to himself precisely what that new attitude was. “They are all in love with some one,” he thought of Sonya and Natasha. But he did not feel quite at his ease as before with Sonya and Dolohov, and he began to be less often at home.

In the autumn of 1806 every one was beginning to talk again of war with Napoleon, and with even greater fervour than in the previous year. A levy was decreed, not only often recruits for active service, but of nine militiamen for the reserve as well, from every thousand of the population. Everywhere Bonaparte was anathematised, and the only thing talked of in Moscow was the impending war. To the Rostov family the interest of these preparations for war was entirely centered in the fact that Nikolushka refused to remain longer in Moscow, and was only waiting for the end of Denisov’s leave to rejoin his regiment with him after the holidays. His approaching departure, far from hindering him from
enjoying himself, gave an added zest to his pleasures. The greater part of his time he spent away from home, at dinners, parties, and balls.

On the third day after Christmas Nikolay dined at home, which he had rarely done of late. This was a farewell dinner in Nikolay’s honour, as he was to set off with Denisov after the baptism festival to rejoin his regiment. Twenty persons were dining, among them Dolohov and Denisov.

Never had the love in the air of the Rostovs’ house, never had the atmosphere of being in love, made itself so strongly felt as during those Christmas holidays. “Seize the moment of happiness, love and be loved! That is the only thing real in the world; the rest is all nonsense. And that is the one thing we are interested in here,” was the sentiment that atmosphere was eloquent of.

After exhausting two pairs of horses, as he did every day without having been everywhere he ought to have been, and everywhere he had been invited, Nikolay reached home just at dinner-time. As soon as he went in he felt that intense atmosphere of love in the house, but in addition to that he became conscious of a strange embarrassment that seemed to prevail between certain persons in the company. Sonya seemed particularly disturbed, so did Dolohov and the old countess, and in a lesser degree Natasha. Nikolay saw that something must have passed before dinner between Sonya and Dolohov, and with the delicate instinct characteristic of him, he was very sympathetic and wary with both of them during dinner. On that evening there was to be one of the dances given by Iogel, the dancing-master, during the holidays to his pupils.

“Nikolenka, are you going to Iogel’s? Please, do go,” said Natasha; “he particularly begged you to, and Vassily Dmitritch” (this was Denisov) “is going.”

“Where would I not go at the countess’s commands!” said Denisov, who had jestingly taken up the role of Natasha’s knight in the Rostov household. “I am ready to dance the
pas de châle
.”

“If I have time! I promised the Arharovs; they have a party,” said Nikolay.

“And you?…” he turned to Dolohov. And as soon as he had asked the question, he saw that he should not have asked it.

“Yes, possibly …” Dolohov answered coldly and angrily, glancing at Sonya; and he glanced again, scowling at Nikolay with exactly the same look with which he had looked at Pierre at the club dinner.

“There’s something wrong,” thought Nikolay; and he was still more confirmed in that surmise, when immediately after dinner Dolohov went away. He beckoned Natasha, and asked her what had happened.

“I was looking for you,” said Natasha, running out to him. “I told you so, and still you wouldn’t believe me,” she said triumphantly; “he has made Sonya an offer.”

Little as Nikolay had been thinking of Sonya of late, he felt as if something were being torn from him when he heard this. Dolohov was a good, and in some respects a brilliant, match for the portionless orphan Sonya. From the point of view of the countess and of society it was out of the question for her to refuse him. And so Nikolay’s first feeling when he heard of it was one of exasperation against Sonya. He braced himself up to say, “And a capital thing, too; of course she must forget her childish promises and accept the offer”; but he had not succeeded in saying this when Natasha said:

“Only fancy! she has refused him, absolutely refused him! She says she loves some one else,” she added after a brief pause.

“Yes, my Sonya could not do otherwise!” thought Nikolay.

“Mamma begged her ever so many times not to, but she refused; and I know she won’t change, if she has said a thing.…”

“And mamma begged her not to!” Nikolay said reproachfully.

“Yes,” said Natasha. “Do you know, Nikolenka—don’t be angry—but I know you won’t marry her. I know—I don’t know why—but I know for certain that you won’t marry her.”

“Well, you can’t know that,” said Nikolay; “but I want to talk to her. How charming Sonya is!” he added, smiling.

“Yes, she is so charming! I’ll send her in to you.” And Natasha kissed her brother and ran away.

A minute later Sonya came in, looking frightened, distraught, and guilty. Nikolay went up to her and kissed her hand. It was the first time since his return that they had talked alone and of their love.

“Sophie,” he said to her, at first timidly, but more and more boldly as he went on, “if you were simply refusing a brilliant, an advantageous match—but he’s a splendid, noble fellow … he’s my friend …”

Sonya interrupted him.

“I have refused him,” she said hastily.

“If you are refusing him for my sake, I am afraid that I …”

Sonya again cut him short. With frightened, imploring eyes she looked at him.

“Nikolenka, don’t say that to me,” she said.

“No, I must. Perhaps it’s
suffisance
on my part, but still it’s better to say it. If you are refusing him on my account, I ought to tell you the whole truth. I love you, I believe, more than any one …”

“That’s enough for me,” said Sonya, flushing crimson.

“No; but I have been in love a thousand times, and I shall fall in love again, though such a feeling of affection, confidence and love I have for no one as for you. Then I am young. Mamma does not wish it. Well—in fact—I can make no promise. And I beg you to consider the offer of Dolohov,” he said, with an effort articulating the name of his friend.

“Don’t speak to me of it. I want nothing. I love you as a brother, and shall always love you, and I want nothing more.”

“You are an angel; I’m not worthy of you, but I am only afraid of deceiving you.”

Nikolay kissed her hand once more.

Iogel’s were the most enjoyable balls in Moscow. So the mammas said as they looked at their boys and girls executing the steps they had only lately learnt. So too said the boys and girls themselves, who danced till they were ready to drop; so too said the grown-up girls and young men, who came to those dances in a spirit of condescension, and found in them the greatest enjoyment. That year two matches had been made at those dances. The two pretty young princesses Gortchakov had found suitors there, and had been married, and this had given the dances even greater vogue than before. What distinguished these dances from others was the absence of host and hostess, and the presence of the good-humoured Iogel, who had sold tickets for lessons to all his guests, and fluttered about like a feather, bowing and scraping in accordance with the rules of his art. Another point of difference, too, was that none came to these dances but those who really wanted to dance and enjoy themselves, in the way that girls of thirteen and fourteen do, putting on long dresses for the first time. All with rare exceptions were or looked pretty,
so ecstatically they smiled and so rapturously their eyes sparkled. The
pas de châle
even was sometimes danced by the best pupils, among whom Natasha was the best of all, and conspicuous for her gracefulness. But at this last ball they only danced ecossaises, anglaises, and a mazurka that was just coming into fashion. A great hall had been taken by logel in the house of Bezuhov, and the ball, as every one said, was a great success. There were many pretty girls, and the Rostov girls were among the prettiest. They were both particularly happy and gay. That evening Sonya, elated by Dolohov’s offer, her refusal, and her interview with Nikolay, had kept whirling round at home, not letting her maid have a chance of doing her hair, and now at the dance she was transparently radiant with impulsive happiness.

Natasha, no less elated at being for the first time at a real ball in a long skirt, was even happier. Both the girls wore white muslin dresses with pink ribbons.

Natasha fell in love the moment she walked into the ballroom. She was not in love with any one in particular, but in love with every one. Whomever she looked at, for the moment that she was looking at him, she was in love with.

“Oh, how nice it is!” she kept saying, running up to Sonya.

Nikolay and Denisov walked about the room and looked with friendly patronage at the dancers.

“How sweet she is; she will be a beauty,” said Denisov.

“Who?”

“Countess Natasha,” answered Denisov.

“And how she dances; what grace!” he said again, after a short pause.

“Of whom are you speaking?”

“Why, of your sister,” cried Denisov angrily.

Rostov laughed.

“My dear count, you are 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, who had also at one time been his pupil.

“No, my dear fellow, I will be a wallflower,” said Denisov. “Don’t you remember how little credit I did to your teaching?”

“Oh no!” said Iogel, hastening to reassure him. “You were only inattentive, but you had talent, you had talent.”

They began to play the new mazurka. Nikolay could not refuse Iogel, and asked Sonya to dance. Denisov sat down by the elderly ladies, and
leaning his elbow on his sword, and beating time with his foot, he began telling something amusing and making the old ladies laugh, while he watched the young ones dancing. Iogel was dancing in the first couple with Natasha, his best pupil and his pride. With soft and delicate movements of his little slippered feet, Iogel first flew across the room with Natasha—shy, but conscientiously executing her steps. Denisov did not take his eyes off her, and beat time with his sword with an air that betrayed, that if he were not dancing it was because he would not, and not because he could not, dance. In the middle of a figure he beckoned Rostov to him.

“That’s not the right thing a bit,” he said. “Is that the Polish mazurka? But she does dance splendidly.”

Knowing that Denisov had been renowned even in Poland for his fine dancing of the Polish mazurka, Nikolay ran up to Natasha.

“Go and choose Denisov. He does dance. It’s a marvel!” he said.

When it was Natasha’s turn again, she got up, and tripping rapidly in her ribbon-trimmed dancing-shoes, she timidly ran alone across the room to the corner where Denisov was sitting. She saw that every one was looking at her, waiting to see what she would do. Nikolay saw that Denisov and Natasha were carrying on a smiling dispute, and that Denisov was refusing, though his face wore a delighted smile. He ran up.

“Please do, Vassily Dmitritch,” Natasha was saying; “come please.”

“Oh, have mercy on me, countess,” Denisov was saying jocosely.

“Come now, nonsense, Vaska,” said Nikolay.