‘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.’
