Book Four: 1806 - Chapter I

by Leo Tolstoy

　　Early in the year 1806 Nicholas Rostov returned home on leave.Denisov was going home to Voronezh and Rostov persuaded him totravel with him as far as Moscow and to stay with him there. Meeting acomrade at the last post station but one before Moscow, Denisov haddrunk three bottles of wine with him and, despite the jolting rutsacross the snow-covered road, did not once wake up on the way toMoscow, but lay at the bottom of the sleigh beside Rostov, who grewmore and more impatient the nearer they got to Moscow.

　　"How much longer? How much longer? Oh, these insufferable streets,shops, bakers' signboards, street lamps, and sleighs!" thought Rostov,when their leave permits had been passed at the town gate and they hadentered Moscow.

　　"Denisov! We're here! He's asleep," he added, leaning forward withhis whole body as if in that position he hoped to hasten the speedof the sleigh.

　　Denisov gave no answer.

　　"There's the corner at the crossroads, where the cabman, Zakhar, hashis stand, and there's Zakhar himself and still the same horse! Andhere's the little shop where we used to buy gingerbread! Can't youhurry up? Now then!"

　　"Which house is it?" asked the driver.

　　"Why, that one, right at the end, the big one. Don't you see? That'sour house," said Rostov. "Of course, it's our house! Denisov, Denisov!We're almost there!"

　　Denisov raised his head, coughed, and made no answer.

　　"Dmitri," said Rostov to his valet on the box, "those lights arein our house, aren't they?"

　　"Yes, sir, and there's a light in your father's study."

　　"Then they've not gone to bed yet? What do you think? Mind now,don't forget to put out my new coat," added Rostov, fingering hisnew mustache. "Now then, get on," he shouted to the driver. "Do wakeup, Vaska!" he went on, turning to Denisov, whose head was againnodding. "Come, get on! You shall have three rubles for vodka- geton!" Rostov shouted, when the sleigh was only three houses from hisdoor. It seemed to him the horses were not moving at all. At lastthe sleigh bore to the right, drew up at an entrance, and Rostov sawoverhead the old familiar cornice with a bit of plaster broken off,the porch, and the post by the side of the pavement. He sprang outbefore the sleigh stopped, and ran into the hall. The house stood coldand silent, as if quite regardless of who had come to it. There was noone in the hall. "Oh God! Is everyone all right?" he thought, stoppingfor a moment with a sinking heart, and then immediately starting torun along the hall and up the warped steps of the familiarstaircase. The well-known old door handle, which always angered thecountess when it was not properly cleaned, turned as loosely asever. A solitary tallow candle burned in the anteroom.

　　Old Michael was asleep on the chest. Prokofy, the footman, who wasso strong that he could lift the back of the carriage from behind, satplaiting slippers out of cloth selvedges. He looked up at theopening door and his expression of sleepy indifference suddenlychanged to one of delighted amazement.

　　"Gracious heavens! The young count!" he cried, recognizing his youngmaster. "Can it be? My treasure!" and Prokofy, trembling withexcitement, rushed toward the drawing-room door, probably in orderto announce him, but, changing his mind, came back and stooped to kissthe young man's shoulder.

　　"All well?" asked Rostov, drawing away his arm.

　　"Yes, God be thanked! Yes! They've just finished supper. Let me havea look at you, your excellency."

　　"Is everything quite all right?"

　　"The Lord be thanked, yes!"

　　Rostov, who had completely forgotten Denisov, not wishing anyoneto forestall him, threw off his fur coat and ran on tiptoe through thelarge dark ballroom. All was the same: there were the same old cardtables and the same chandelier with a cover over it; but someone hadalready seen the young master, and, before he had reached thedrawing room, something flew out from a side door like a tornado andbegan hugging and kissing him. Another and yet another creature of thesame kind sprang from a second door and a third; more hugging, morekissing, more outcries, and tears of joy. He could not distinguishwhich was Papa, which Natasha, and which Petya. Everyone shouted,talked, and kissed him at the same time. Only his mother was notthere, he noticed that.

　　"And I did not know... Nicholas... My darling!..."

　　"Here he is... our own... Kolya,* dear fellow... How he haschanged!... Where are the candles?... Tea!..."

　　*Nicholas.

　　"And me, kiss me!"

　　"Dearest... and me!"

　　Sonya, Natasha, Petya, Anna Mikhaylovna, Vera, and the old countwere all hugging him, and the serfs, men and maids, flocked into theroom, exclaiming and oh-ing and ah-ing.

　　Petya, clinging to his legs, kept shouting, "And me too!"

　　Natasha, after she had pulled him down toward her and covered hisface with kisses, holding him tight by the skirt of his coat, sprangaway and pranced up and down in one place like a goat and shriekedpiercingly.

　　All around were loving eyes glistening with tears of joy, and allaround were lips seeking a kiss.

　　Sonya too, all rosy red, clung to his arm and, radiant with bliss,looked eagerly toward his eyes, waiting for the look for which shelonged. Sonya now was sixteen and she was very pretty, especially atthis moment of happy, rapturous excitement. She gazed at him, nottaking her eyes off him, and smiling and holding her breath. He gaveher a grateful look, but was still expectant and looking forsomeone. The old countess had not yet come. But now steps were heardat the door, steps so rapid that they could hardly be his mother's.

　　Yet it was she, dressed in a new gown which he did not know, madesince he had left. All the others let him go, and he ran to her.When they met, she fell on his breast, sobbing. She could not lift herface, but only pressed it to the cold braiding of his hussar's jacket.Denisov, who had come into the room unnoticed by anyone, stood thereand wiped his eyes at the sight.

　　"Vasili Denisov, your son's friend," he said, introducing himself tothe count, who was looking inquiringly at him.

　　"You are most welcome! I know, I know," said the count, kissingand embracing Denisov. "Nicholas wrote us... Natasha, Vera, look! Hereis Denisov!"

　　The same happy, rapturous faces turned to the shaggy figure ofDenisov.

　　"Darling Denisov!" screamed Natasha, beside herself with rapture,springing to him, putting her arms round him, and kissing him. Thisescapade made everybody feel confused. Denisov blushed too, but smiledand, taking Natasha's hand, kissed it.

　　Denisov was shown to the room prepared for him, and the Rostovsall gathered round Nicholas in the sitting room.

　　The old countess, not letting go of his hand and kissing it everymoment, sat beside him: the rest, crowding round him, watched everymovement, word, or look of his, never taking their blissfullyadoring eyes off him. His brother and sisters struggled for the placesnearest to him and disputed with one another who should bring himhis tea, handkerchief, and pipe.

　　Rostov was very happy in the love they showed him; but the firstmoment of meeting had been so beatific that his present joy seemedinsufficient, and he kept expecting something more, more and yet more.

　　Next morning, after the fatigues of their journey, the travelersslept till ten o'clock.

　　In the room next their bedroom there was a confusion of sabers,satchels, sabretaches, open portmanteaus, and dirty boots. Two freshlycleaned pairs with spurs had just been placed by the wall. Theservants were bringing in jugs and basins, hot water for shaving,and their well-brushed clothes. There was a masculine odor and a smellof tobacco.

　　"Hallo, Gwiska- my pipe!" came Vasili Denisov's husky voice."Wostov, get up!"

　　Rostov, rubbing his eyes that seemed glued together, raised hisdisheveled head from the hot pillow.

　　"Why, is it late?"

　　"Late! It's nearly ten o'clock," answered Natasha's voice. Arustle of starched petticoats and the whispering and laughter ofgirls' voices came from the adjoining room. The door was opened acrack and there was a glimpse of something blue, of ribbons, blackhair, and merry faces. It was Natasha, Sonya, and Petya, who hadcome to see whether they were getting up.

　　"Nicholas! Get up!" Natasha's voice was again heard at the door.

　　"Directly!"

　　Meanwhile, Petya, having found and seized the sabers in the outerroom, with the delight boys feel at the sight of a military elderbrother, and forgetting that it was unbecoming for the girls to seemen undressed, opened the bedroom door.

　　"Is this your saber?" he shouted.

　　The girls sprang aside. Denisov hid his hairy legs under theblanket, looking with a scared face at his comrade for help. The door,having let Petya in, closed again. A sound of laughter came frombehind it.

　　"Nicholas! Come out in your dressing gown!" said Natasha's voice.

　　"Is this your saber?" asked Petya. "Or is it yours?" he said,addressing the black-mustached Denisov with servile deference.

　　Rostov hurriedly put something on his feet, drew on his dressinggown, and went out. Natasha had put on one spurred boot and was justgetting her foot into the other. Sonya, when he came in, wastwirling round and was about to expand her dresses into a balloonand sit down. They were dressed alike, in new pale-blue frocks, andwere both fresh, rosy, and bright. Sonya ran away, but Natasha, takingher brother's arm, led him into the sitting room, where they begantalking. They hardly gave one another time to ask questions and givereplies concerning a thousand little matters which could notinterest anyone but themselves. Natasha laughed at every word hesaid or that she said herself, not because what they were saying wasamusing, but because she felt happy and was unable to control herjoy which expressed itself by laughter.

　　"Oh, how nice, how splendid!" she said to everything.

　　Rostov felt that, under the influence of the warm rays of love, thatchildlike smile which had not once appeared on his face since heleft home now for the first time after eighteen months againbrightened his soul and his face.

　　"No, but listen," she said, "now you are quite a man, aren't you?I'm awfully glad you're my brother." She touched his mustache. "I wantto know what you men are like. Are you the same as we? No?"

　　"Why did Sonya run away?" asked Rostov.

　　"Ah, yes! That's a whole long story! How are you going to speak toher- thou or you?"

　　"As may happen," said Rostov.

　　"No, call her you, please! I'll tell you all about it some othertime. No, I'll tell you now. You know Sonya's my dearest friend.Such a friend that I burned my arm for her sake. Look here!"

　　She pulled up her muslin sleeve and showed him a red scar on herlong, slender, delicate arm, high above the elbow on that part that iscovered even by a ball dress.

　　"I burned this to prove my love for her. I just heated a ruler inthe fire and pressed it there!"

　　Sitting on the sofa with the little cushions on its arms, in whatused to be his old schoolroom, and looking into Natasha's wildlybright eyes, Rostov re-entered that world of home and childhoodwhich had no meaning for anyone else, but gave him some of the bestjoys of his life; and the burning of an arm with a ruler as a proof oflove did not seem to him senseless, he understood and was notsurprised at it.

　　"Well, and is that all?" he asked.

　　"We are such friends, such friends! All that ruler business was justnonsense, but we are friends forever. She, if she loves anyone, doesit for life, but I don't understand that, I forget quickly."

　　"Well, what then?"

　　"Well, she loves me and you like that."

　　Natasha suddenly flushed.

　　"Why, you remember before you went away?... Well, she says you areto forget all that.... She says: 'I shall love him always, but let himbe free.' Isn't that lovely and noble! Yes, very noble? Isn't it?"asked Natasha, so seriously and excitedly that it was evident thatwhat she was now saying she had talked of before, with tears.

　　Rostov became thoughtful.

　　"I never go back on my word," he said. "Besides, Sonya is socharming that only a fool would renounce such happiness."

　　"No, no!" cried Natasha, "she and I have already talked it over.We knew you'd say so. But it won't do, because you see, if you saythat- if you consider yourself bound by your promise- it will seemas if she had not meant it seriously. It makes it as if you weremarrying her because you must, and that wouldn't do at all."

　　Rostov saw that it had been well considered by them. Sonya hadalready struck him by her beauty on the preceding day. Today, whenhe had caught a glimpse of her, she seemed still more lovely. Shewas a charming girl of sixteen, evidently passionately in love withhim (he did not doubt that for an instant). Why should he not love hernow, and even marry her, Rostov thought, but just now there were somany other pleasures and interests before him! "Yes, they have taken awise decision," he thought, "I must remain free."

　　"Well then, that's excellent," said he. "We'll talk it over lateron. Oh, how glad I am to have you!

　　"Well, and are you still true to Boris?" he continued.

　　"Oh, what nonsense!" cried Natasha, laughing. "I don't think abouthim or anyone else, and I don't want anything of the kind."

　　"Dear me! Then what are you up now?"

　　"Now?" repeated Natasha, and a happy smile lit up her face. "Haveyou seen Duport?"

　　"No."

　　"Not seen Duport- the famous dancer? Well then, you won'tunderstand. That's what I'm up to."

　　Curving her arms, Natasha held out her skirts as dancers do, ranback a few steps, turned, cut a caper, brought her little feet sharplytogether, and made some steps on the very tips of her toes.

　　"See, I'm standing! See!" she said, but could not maintain herselfon her toes any longer. "So that's what I'm up to! I'll never marryanyone, but will be a dancer. Only don't tell anyone."

　　Rostov laughed so loud and merrily that Denisov, in his bedroom,felt envious and Natasha could not help joining in.

　　"No, but don't you think it's nice?" she kept repeating.

　　"Nice! And so you no longer wish to marry Boris?"

　　Natasha flared up. "I don't want to marry anyone. And I'll tellhim so when I see him!"

　　"Dear me!" said Rostov.

　　"But that's all rubbish," Natasha chattered on. "And is Denisovnice?" she asked.

　　"Yes, indeed!"

　　"Oh, well then, good-by: go and dress. Is he very terrible,Denisov?"

　　"Why terrible?" asked Nicholas. "No, Vaska is a splendid fellow."

　　"You call him Vaska? That's funny! And is he very nice?"

　　"Very."

　　"Well then, be quick. We'll all have breakfast together."

　　And Natasha rose and went out of the room on tiptoe, like a balletdancer, but smiling as only happy girls of fifteen can smile. WhenRostov met Sonya in the drawing room, he reddened. He did not know howto behave with her. The evening before, in the first happy moment ofmeeting, they had kissed each other, but today they felt it couldnot be done; he felt that everybody, including his mother and sisters,was looking inquiringly at him and watching to see how he would behavewith her. He kissed her hand and addressed her not as thou but as you-Sonya. But their eyes met and said thou, and exchanged tenderkisses. Her looks asked him to forgive her for having dared, byNatasha's intermediacy, to remind him of his promise, and then thankedhim for his love. His looks thanked her for offering him his freedomand told her that one way or another he would never cease to love her,for that would be impossible.

　　"How strange it is," said Vera, selecting a moment when all weresilent, "that Sonya and Nicholas now say you to one another and meetlike strangers."

　　Vera's remark was correct, as her remarks always were, but, likemost of her observations, it made everyone feel uncomfortable, notonly Sonya, Nicholas, and Natasha, but even the old countess, who-dreading this love affair which might hinder Nicholas from making abrilliant match- blushed like a girl.

　　Denisov, to Rostov's surprise, appeared in the drawing room withpomaded hair, perfumed, and in a new uniform, looking just as smart ashe made himself when going into battle, and he was more amiable to theladies and gentlemen than Rostov had ever expected to see him.