Book Seven: 1810-11 - Chapter I

by Leo Tolstoy

　　The Bible legend tells us that the absence of labor- idleness- was acondition of the first man's blessedness before the Fall. Fallen manhas retained a love of idleness, but the curse weighs on the racenot only because we have to seek our bread in the sweat of ourbrows, but because our moral nature is such that we cannot be bothidle and at ease. An inner voice tells us we are in the wrong if weare idle. If man could find a state in which he felt that thoughidle he was fulfilling his duty, he would have found one of theconditions of man's primitive blessedness. And such a state ofobligatory and irreproachable idleness is the lot of a whole class-the military. The chief attraction of military service has consistedand will consist in this compulsory and irreproachable idleness.

　　Nicholas Rostov experienced this blissful condition to the fullwhen, after 1807, he continued to serve in the Pavlograd regiment,in which he already commanded the squadron he had taken over fromDenisov.

　　Rostov had become a bluff, good-natured fellow, whom his Moscowacquaintances would have considered rather bad form, but who was likedand respected by his comrades, subordinates, and superiors, and waswell contented with his life. Of late, in 1809, he found in lettersfrom home more frequent complaints from his mother that theiraffairs were falling into greater and greater disorder, and that itwas time for him to come back to gladden and comfort his old parents.

　　Reading these letters, Nicholas felt a dread of their wanting totake him away from surroundings in which, protected from all theentanglements of life, he was living so calmly and quietly. He feltthat sooner or later he would have to re-enter that whirlpool of life,with its embarrassments and affairs to be straightened out, itsaccounts with stewards, quarrels, and intrigues, its ties, society,and with Sonya's love and his promise to her. It was all dreadfullydifficult and complicated; and he replied to his mother in cold,formal letters in French, beginning: "My dear Mamma," and ending:"Your obedient son," which said nothing of when he would return. In1810 he received letters from his parents, in which they told him ofNatasha's engagement to Bolkonski, and that the wedding would be ina year's time because the old prince made difficulties. This lettergrieved and mortified Nicholas. In the first place he was sorry thatNatasha, for whom he cared more than for anyone else in the family,should be lost to the home; and secondly, from his hussar point ofview, he regretted not to have been there to show that fellowBolkonski that connection with him was no such great honor afterall, and that if he loved Natasha he might dispense with permissionfrom his dotard father. For a moment he hesitated whether he shouldnot apply for leave in order to see Natasha before she was married,but then came the maneuvers, and considerations about Sonya andabout the confusion of their affairs, and Nicholas again put it off.But in the spring of that year, he received a letter from hismother, written without his father's knowledge, and that letterpersuaded him to return. She wrote that if he did not come and takematters in hand, their whole property would be sold by auction andthey would all have to go begging. The count was so weak, andtrusted Mitenka so much, and was so good-natured, that everybodytook advantage of him and things were going from bad to worse. "ForGod's sake, I implore you, come at once if you do not wish to makeme and the whole family wretched," wrote the countess.

　　This letter touched Nicholas. He had that common sense of amatter-of-fact man which showed him what he ought to do.

　　The right thing now was, if not to retire from the service, at anyrate to go home on leave. Why he had to go he did not know; butafter his after-dinner nap he gave orders to saddle Mars, an extremelyvicious gray stallion that had not been ridden for a long time, andwhen he returned with the horse all in a lather, he informed Lavrushka(Denisov's servant who had remained with him) and his comrades whoturned up in the evening that he was applying for leave and wasgoing home. Difficult and strange as it was for him to reflect that hewould go away without having heard from the staff- and this interestedhim extremely- whether he was promoted to a captaincy or would receivethe Order of St. Anne for the last maneuvers; strange as it was tothink that he would go away without having sold his three roans to thePolish Count Golukhovski, who was bargaining for the horses Rostov hadbetted he would sell for two thousand rubles; incomprehensible as itseemed that the ball the hussars were giving in honor of the PolishMademoiselle Przazdziecka (out of rivalry to the Uhlans who hadgiven one in honor of their Polish Mademoiselle Borzozowska) wouldtake place without him- he knew he must go away from this good, brightworld to somewhere where everything was stupid and confused. A weeklater he obtained his leave. His hussar comrades- not only those ofhis own regiment, but the whole brigade- gave Rostov a dinner to whichthe subscription was fifteen rubles a head, and at which there weretwo bands and two choirs of singers. Rostov danced the Trepak withMajor Basov; the tipsy officers tossed, embraced, and droppedRostov; the soldiers of the third squadron tossed him too, and shouted"hurrah!" and then they put him in his sleigh and escorted him asfar as the first post station.

　　During the first half of the journey- from Kremenchug to Kiev- allRostov's thoughts, as is usual in such cases, were behind him, withthe squadron; but when he had gone more than halfway he began toforget his three roans and Dozhoyveyko, his quartermaster, and towonder anxiously how things would be at Otradnoe and what he wouldfind there. Thoughts of home grew stronger the nearer he approachedit- far stronger, as though this feeling of his was subject to the lawby which the force of attraction is in inverse proportion to thesquare of the distance. At the last post station before Otradnoe hegave the driver a three-ruble tip, and on arriving he ranbreathlessly, like a boy, up the steps of his home.

　　After the rapture of meeting, and after that odd feeling ofunsatisfied expectation- the feeling that "everything is just thesame, so why did I hurry?"- Nicholas began to settle down in his oldhome world. His father and mother were much the same, only a littleolder. What was new in them was a certain uneasiness and occasionaldiscord, which there used not to be, and which, as Nicholas soon foundout, was due to the bad state of their affairs. Sonya was nearlytwenty; she had stopped growing prettier and promised nothing morethan she was already, but that was enough. She exhaled happiness andlove from the time Nicholas returned, and the faithful, unalterablelove of this girl had a gladdening effect on him. Petya and Natashasurprised Nicholas most. Petya was a big handsome boy of thirteen,merry, witty, and mischievous, with a voice that was already breaking.As for Natasha, for a long while Nicholas wondered and laughedwhenever he looked at her.

　　"You're not the same at all," he said.

　　"How? Am I uglier?"

　　"On the contrary, but what dignity? A princess!" he whispered toher.

　　"Yes, yes, yes!" cried Natasha, joyfully.

　　She told him about her romance with Prince Andrew and of his visitto Otradnoe and showed him his last letter.

　　"Well, are you glad?" Natasha asked. "I am so tranquil and happynow."

　　"Very glad," answered Nicholas. "He is an excellent fellow.... Andare you very much in love?"

　　"How shall I put it?" replied Natasha. "I was in love with Boris,with my teacher, and with Denisov, but this is quite different. I feelat peace and settled. I know that no better man than he exists, andI am calm and contented now. Not at all as before."

　　Nicholas expressed his disapproval of the postponement of themarriage for a year; but Natasha attacked her brother withexasperation, proving to him that it could not be otherwise, andthat it would be a bad thing to enter a family against the father'swill, and that she herself wished it so.

　　"You don't at all understand," she said.

　　Nicholas was silent and agreed with her.

　　Her brother often wondered as he looked at her. She did not seemat all like a girl in love and parted from her affianced husband.She was even-tempered and calm and quite as cheerful as of old. Thisamazed Nicholas and even made him regard Bolkonski's courtshipskeptically. He could not believe that her fate was sealed, especiallyas he had not seen her with Prince Andrew. It always seemed to himthat there was something not quite right about this intended marriage.

　　"Why this delay? Why no betrothal?" he thought. Once, when he hadtouched on this topic with his mother, he discovered, to hissurprise and somewhat to his satisfaction, that in the depth of hersoul she too had doubts about this marriage.

　　"You see he writes," said she, showing her son a letter of PrinceAndrew's, with that latent grudge a mother always has in regard to adaughter's future married happiness, "he writes that he won't comebefore December. What can be keeping him? Illness, probably! Hishealth is very delicate. Don't tell Natasha. And don't attachimportance to her being so bright: that's because she's living throughthe last days of her girlhood, but I know what she is like everytime we receive a letter from him! However, God grant thateverything turns out well!" (She always ended with these words.) "Heis an excellent man!"