War And Peace

‘It’s all right for you . . . I’m not jealous . . . I love you and Boris too,’ she said, pulling herself together a little. ‘He’s so nice . . . there’s nothing to stop you. But Nikolay’s my cousin³² . . . it would take . . . the Archbishop . . . and they won’t . . . So, if anyone tells Mamma,’ (Sonya looked on the countess as a mother and called her Mamma) ‘she’ll just say I’m ruining Nikolay’s career, I’m heartless and ungrateful, but really . . . I swear to God’ (she made the sign of the cross) ‘that I do love her, I love all of you – except Vera . . . What’s wrong with her? What have I done to her? I really am grateful to you, I’d sacrifice anything for you, but there’s nothing for me to . . .’

Sonya broke down again and buried her head in her hands and the mattress. Natasha was beginning to calm down, and her face showed that she grasped the full significance of her friend’s distress.

‘Sonya!’ she snapped. She seemed to have guessed the real reason for her cousin’s misery. ‘Has Vera been talking to you since dinner? She has, hasn’t she?’

‘Yes, it’s these poems that Nikolay wrote himself, and I copied out some other poetry, and she found it all on my table, and said she’d show it to Mamma, and she said I was an ungrateful girl, and Mamma would never let him marry me, and he was going to marry Julie. And you’ve seen him all day with her . . . Oh, Natasha, why?’

And again she burst into tears, more bitter than ever. Natasha pulled her up, gave her a hug and started to comfort her, smiling through her own tears.

‘Sonya, you mustn’t believe her, darling, you really mustn’t. Do you remember us talking together in the sitting-room, the three of us, you, me and Nikolay? You remember – after supper. We worked everything out for the future. I can’t quite remember how, but, you remember, everything was going to be all right and nothing would be impossible. Listen, Uncle Shinshin’s brother is married to his cousin, and we’re only second cousins. And Boris said it’s definitely possible. You know I told him everything. He’s so clever and so good,’ said Natasha. ‘Don’t cry, Sonya, lovely, sweet, darling Sonya,’ and she laughed as she kissed her. ‘Vera’s spiteful. Never mind her! Everything will be all right, and she won’t tell Mamma. Nikolay will tell her himself, and he’s never even thought about Julie.’

And she kissed her on the top of her head. Sonya half-rose, and the kitten in her revived, its eyes gleaming; it seemed ready to flick its tail, pounce about on its soft paws and start playing with a ball, as good kittens do.

‘Do you think so? No, really, do you?’ she said rapidly, smoothing dress and hair.

‘Yes, I really do,’ answered Natasha, tucking some straggling hair back into place on her friend’s head, and they laughed together.

‘All right, then, let’s go and sing “The Spring”.’

‘Yes, let’s.’

‘And you know that fat Pierre who sat opposite me, he’s so funny!’ Natasha said suddenly and she stopped. ‘I’m having such a wonderful time!’ she shouted, and ran off down the corridor.

Brushing the fluff off her dress, and hiding the poetry in her bodice next to her throat and bony little chest, Sonya ran after Natasha, with flushed face and light, happy steps, down the corridor and into the sitting-room. By popular request the youngsters sang a quartet called ‘The Spring’, which everyone enjoyed, then Nikolay sang a song he had just learnt by heart.

There where the evening moonlight shimmers,

How sweet and lovely to renew

And trust the happy hope that glimmers,

For somewhere, someone thinks of you!

And she will strain her little fingers

And they the golden harp will strum.

With harmony and love that lingers

She calls to you

, ‘O come, O come!’

Though paradise will one day beckon

Alas! Your love will not be there . . .

Before he could get to the end, out in the big hall the young people started getting ready for the dancing, and the gallery musicians began stamping their feet and coughing.

Pierre was sitting in the drawing-room, where Shinshin – knowing he was just back from abroad – came over and started up a conversation about politics which Pierre found very boring. Others joined them. When the orchestra struck up, Natasha walked in, went straight up to Pierre, laughing and blushing, and said, ‘Mamma told me to ask you to dance.’

‘I’m afraid I can never get the figures right,’ said Pierre, ‘but if you’ll be my teacher . . .’ and he reached down to offer his big arm to the tiny little girl.