Kabanata Kabanata 118 · 第118章

Natásha was sixteen and it was the year 1809, the very year to which

she had counted on her fingers with Borís after they had kissed four

years ago. Since then she had not seen him. Before Sónya and her

mother, if Borís happened to be mentioned, she spoke quite freely of

that episode as of some childish, long-forgotten matter that was not

worth mentioning. But in the secret depths of her soul the question

whether her engagement to Borís was a jest or an important, binding

promise tormented her.

Since Borís left Moscow in 1805 to join the army he had not seen the

Rostóvs. He had been in Moscow several times, and had passed near

Otrádnoe, but had never been to see them.

Sometimes it occurred to Natásha that he did not wish to see her, and

this conjecture was confirmed by the sad tone in which her elders spoke

of him.

“Nowadays old friends are not remembered,” the countess would say

when Borís was mentioned.

Anna Mikháylovna also had of late visited them less frequently, seemed

to hold herself with particular dignity, and always spoke rapturously

and gratefully of the merits of her son and the brilliant career on

which he had entered. When the Rostóvs came to Petersburg Borís called

on them.

He drove to their house in some agitation. The memory of Natásha was

his most poetic recollection. But he went with the firm intention of

letting her and her parents feel that the childish relations between

himself and Natásha could not be binding either on her or on him. He

had a brilliant position in society thanks to his intimacy with Countess

Bezúkhova, a brilliant position in the service thanks to the patronage

of an important personage whose complete confidence he enjoyed, and he

was beginning to make plans for marrying one of the richest heiresses in

Petersburg, plans which might very easily be realized. When he entered

the Rostóvs’ drawing room Natásha was in her own room. When she

heard of his arrival she almost ran into the drawing room, flushed and

beaming with a more than cordial smile.

Borís remembered Natásha in a short dress, with dark eyes shining from

under her curls and boisterous, childish laughter, as he had known her

four years before; and so he was taken aback when quite a different

Natásha entered, and his face expressed rapturous astonishment. This

expression on his face pleased Natásha.

“Well, do you recognize your little madcap playmate?” asked the

countess.

Borís kissed Natásha’s hand and said that he was astonished at the

change in her.

“How handsome you have grown!”

“I should think so!” replied Natásha’s laughing eyes.

“And is Papa older?” she asked.

Natásha sat down and, without joining in Borís’ conversation with

the countess, silently and minutely studied her childhood’s suitor. He

felt the weight of that resolute and affectionate scrutiny and glanced

at her occasionally.

Borís’ uniform, spurs, tie, and the way his hair was brushed were all

comme il faut and in the latest fashion. This Natásha noticed at once.

He sat rather sideways in the armchair next to the countess, arranging

with his right hand the cleanest of gloves that fitted his left hand

like a skin, and he spoke with a particularly refined compression of his

lips about the amusements of the highest Petersburg society, recalling

with mild irony old times in Moscow and Moscow acquaintances. It was

not accidentally, Natásha felt, that he alluded, when speaking of the

highest aristocracy, to an ambassador’s ball he had attended, and to

invitations he had received from N.N. and S.S.

All this time Natásha sat silent, glancing up at him from under her

brows. This gaze disturbed and confused Borís more and more. He looked

round more frequently toward her, and broke off in what he was saying.

He did not stay more than ten minutes, then rose and took his leave. The

same inquisitive, challenging, and rather mocking eyes still looked

at him. After his first visit Borís said to himself that Natásha

attracted him just as much as ever, but that he must not yield to that

feeling, because to marry her, a girl almost without fortune, would

mean ruin to his career, while to renew their former relations without

intending to marry her would be dishonorable. Borís made up his mind

to avoid meeting Natásha, but despite that resolution he called again

a few days later and began calling often and spending whole days at the

Rostóvs’. It seemed to him that he ought to have an explanation with

Natásha and tell her that the old times must be forgotten, that in

spite of everything... she could not be his wife, that he had no means,

and they would never let her marry him. But he failed to do so and felt

awkward about entering on such an explanation. From day to day he

became more and more entangled. It seemed to her mother and Sónya that

Natásha was in love with Borís as of old. She sang him his favorite

songs, showed him her album, making him write in it, did not allow him

to allude to the past, letting it be understood how delightful was the

present; and every day he went away in a fog, without having said what

he meant to, and not knowing what he was doing or why he came, or how

it would all end. He left off visiting Hélène and received reproachful

notes from her every day, and yet he continued to spend whole days with

the Rostóvs.