‘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!’
