War And Peace

The two young men, student and officer, were the same age and had been friends since childhood. Both were good-looking, but in different ways. Boris was a tall, fair-haired youth with fine regular features, a handsome face and a look of composure. Nikolay was a small young man with a shock of hair and an innocent look. His upper lip showed the beginnings of a black moustache, and his whole face expressed energy and enthusiasm. He had blushed as he came into the room, clearly trying to think of something to say and not being able to do so. Boris, by contrast, was immediately at his ease; he talked fluently and amusingly about Mimi, the doll – he had known her as a young girl before her nose got broken, and my, how she had grown up during the five years he had known her, and by the way she had a great crack right across her skull. He said all this and then looked at Natasha. She turned away, glanced at her younger brother, who had screwed up his face and was shaking with suppressed laughter; no longer able to restrain herself, she leapt up and sprinted out of the room as fast as her little legs could go. Boris did not laugh.

‘Mama, weren’t you about to go too? Do you want the carriage?’ he asked, smiling at his mother.

‘Yes, do go and tell them to get it ready,’ she said with a smile. Boris followed Natasha slowly out through the door. The fat little boy ran angrily after them, apparently annoyed that his busy life had been so rudely interrupted.

CHAPTER 9

The only youngsters left in the drawing-room – apart from the countess’s elder daughter, who was four years older than her sister and had assumed grown-up status, and also the young lady visitor – were Nikolay and Sonya, the niece. Sonya was a slim, petite brunette, with gentle eyes shaded by long lashes, a thick black braid of hair double-coiled round her head, with a sallow hue to her face and more so to her neck, and rather skinny bare arms that were sinewy but nicely shaped. There was a smoothness in the way she moved, a gentle suppleness in her little limbs and a kind of wary aloofness that suggested a pretty half-grown kitten that would one day turn into a lovely cat. She seemed to have thought it necessary to get involved in the general conversation if only by smiling, but now, in spite of herself, she found her eyes under their long thick lashes turning to her cousin, who was going off into the army. Her girlish passion bordering on adoration was so obvious that her smile didn’t fool anyone; it was clear that the kitten had crouched down only to pounce faster than ever on her cousin and tease him the moment they could get out of the drawing-room like Boris and Natasha.

‘Yes, my dear,’ said the old count, addressing the visitor and pointing at Nikolay, ‘now that his friend Boris has got his commission, because of their friendship he doesn’t want to be left behind, so he’s giving up university and his poor old father. He’s going into the army, my dear. There was a place waiting for him in the Archives, and all that . . . But that’s friendship for you, isn’t it?’

‘They do say war has been declared,’ said the visitor.

‘They’ve been saying that for ages,’ said the count. ‘They’ll say it again lots of times before they stop. But that’s friendship for you, my dear!’ he repeated. ‘He’s joining the hussars.’

The visitor shook her head, at a loss for words.

‘It’s nothing to do with friendship,’ Nikolay blustered, exploding as if this was a dreadful insult. ‘It’s not friendship – I just want to be in the army. It’s my vocation.’

He turned to look at his cousin and the young lady visitor; they returned his look with a smile of approval.

‘Colonel Schubert’s dining with us tonight. He’s with the Pavlograd hussars. Been here on leave, and he’s taking Nikolay back with him. Can’t be helped,’ said the count, shrugging his shoulders and making a joke out of something that had obviously caused him a lot of distress.

‘Papa, I’ve told you already,’ said his son, ‘if you really don’t want me to go, I’ll stay. But I know I’m useless anywhere except in the army. I’m not a diplomat or a civil servant. I’m no good at hiding my feelings,’ he said, keeping the flirtatious eye of a handsome young man on Sonya and the young lady.

The kitten, with her eyes glued on him, seemed likely at any second to pounce like a real cat and start teasing him.

‘Very well, then,’ said the old count. ‘Such passion. It’s that man Bonaparte. He’s turned all their heads. They keep thinking about him rising from little corporal to Emperor. Well, God bless them . . .’ he added, not noticing the visitor’s smile of amusement.