《War And Peace》Book4 CHAPTER XII

《War And Peace》　Book4 　CHAPTER XII
　　　　by Leo Tolstoy

IOGEL'S were the most enjoyable balls in Moscow. So the mammas said as they
looked at their boys and girls executing the steps they had only lately learnt.
So too said the boys and girls themselves, who danced till they were ready to
drop; so too said the grown-up girls and young men, who came to those dances in
a spirit of condescension, and found in them the GREatest enjoyment. That year
two matches had been made at those dances. The two pretty young princesses
Gortchakov had found suitors there, and had been married, and this had given the
dances even greater vogue than before. What distinguished these dances from
others was the absence of host and hostess, and the presence of the
good-humoured Iogel, who had sold tickets for lessons to all his guests, and
fluttered about like a feather, bowing and scraping in accordance with the rules
of his art. Another point of difference, too, was that none came to these dances
but those who really wanted to dance and enjoy themselves, in the way that girls
of thirteen and fourteen do, putting on long dresses for the first time. All
with rare exceptions were or looked pretty, so ecstatically they smiled and so
rapturously their eyes sparkled. The pas de châle even was sometimes
danced by the best pupils, among whom Natasha was the best of all, and
conspicuous for her gracefulness. But at this last ball they only danced
ecossaises, anglaises, and a mazurka that was just coming into fashion. A great
hall had been taken by Iogel in the house of Bezuhov, and the ball, as every one
said, was a great success. There were many pretty girls, and the Rostov girls
were among the prettiest. They were both particularly happy and gay. That
evening Sonya, elated by Dolohov's offer, her refusal, and her interview with
Nikolay, had kept whirling round at home, not letting her maid have a chance of
doing her hair, and now at the dance she was transparently radiant with
impulsive happiness.

Natasha, no less elated at being for the first time at a real ball in a long
skirt, was even happier. Both the girls wore white muslin dresses with pink
ribbons.

Natasha fell in love the moment she walked into the ballroom. She was not in
love with any one in particular, but in love with every one. Whomever she looked
at, for the moment that she was looking at him, she was in love with.

“Oh, how nice it is!” she kept saying, running up to Sonya.

Nikolay and Denisov walked about the room and looked with friendly patronage
at the dancers.

“How sweet she is; she will be a beauty,” said Denisov.

“Who?”

“Countess Natasha,” answered Denisov.

“And how she dances; what grace!” he said again, after a short pause.

“Of whom are you speaking?”

“Why, of your sister,” cried Denisov angrily.

Rostov laughed.

“My dear count, you are one of my best pupils, you must dance,” said little
Iogel, coming up to Nikolay. “Look at all these pretty young ladies!” He turned
with the same request to Denisov, who had also at one time been his pupil.

“No, my dear fellow, I will be a wallflower,” said Denisov. “Don't you
remember how little credit I did to your teaching?”

“Oh no!” said Iogel, hastening to reassure him. “You were only inattentive,
but you had talent, you had talent.”

They began to play the new mazurka. Nikolay could not refuse Iogel, and asked
Sonya to dance. Denisov sat down by the elderly ladies, and leaning his elbow on
his sword, and beating time with his foot, he began telling something amusing
and making the old ladies laugh, while he watched the young ones dancing. Iogel
was dancing in the first couple with Natasha, his best pupil and his pride. With
soft and delicate movements of his little slippered feet, Iogel first flew
across the room with Natasha—shy, but conscientiously executing her steps.
Denisov did not take his eyes off her, and beat time with his sword with an air
that betrayed, that if he were not dancing it was because he would not, and not
because he could not, dance. In the middle of a figure he beckoned Rostov to
him.

“That's not the right thing a bit,” he said. “Is that the Polish mazurka? But
she does dance splendidly.”

Knowing that Denisov had been renowned even in Poland for his fine dancing of
the Polish mazurka, Nikolay ran up to Natasha.

“Go and choose Denisov. He does dance. It's a marvel!” he said.

When it was Natasha's turn again, she got up, and tripping rapidly in her
ribbon-trimmed dancing-shoes, she timidly ran alone across the room to the
corner where Denisov was sitting. She saw that every one was looking at her,
waiting to see what she would do. Nikolay saw that Denisov and Natasha were
carrying on a smiling dispute, and that Denisov was refusing, though his face
wore a delighted smile. He ran up.

“Please do, Vassily Dmitritch,” Natasha was saying; “come please.”

“Oh, have mercy on me, countess,” Denisov was saying jocosely.

“Come now, nonsense, Vaska,” said Nikolay.

“They coax me like the pussy-cat Vaska,” said Denisov good-humouredly.

“I'll sing to you a whole evening,” said Natasha.

“The little witch, she can do anything with me!” said Denisov; and he
unhooked his sword. He came out from behind the chairs, clasped his partner
firmly by the hand, raised his head and stood with one foot behind the other,
waiting for the time. It was only on horseback and in the mazurka that Denisov's
low stature was not noticeable, and that he looked the dashing hero he felt
himself to be. At the right bar in the time he glanced sideways with a
triumphant and amused air at his partner, and making an unexpected tap with one
foot he bounded springily like a ball from the floor and flew round, whirling
his partner round with him. He flew inaudibly across the hall with one leg
forward, and seemed not to see the chairs standing before him, darting straight
at them; but all at once with a clink of his spurs and a flourish of his foot he
stopped short on his heels, stood so a second, with a clanking of spurs stamped
with both feet, whirled rapidly round, and clapping the left foot against the
right, again he flew round. Natasha's instinct told her what he was going to do,
and without herself knowing how she did it, she followed his lead, abandoning
herself to him. At one moment he spun her round, first on his right arm, then on
his left arm, then falling on one knee, twirled her round him and again
galloped, dashing forward with such vehemence that he seemed to intend to race
through the whole suite of rooms without taking breath. Then he stopped suddenly
again and executed new and unexpected steps in the dance. When after spinning
his partner round before her seat he drew up smartly with a clink of his spurs,
bowing to her, Natasha did not even make him a curtsey. She looked at him
smiling with a puzzled face, as though she did not recognise him.

“What does it mean?” she said.

Although Iogel would not acknowledge this mazurka as the real one, every one
was enchanted with Denisov's dancing of it, and he was continually being chosen
as partner; while the old gentlemen, smiling, talked about Poland and the good
old days. Denisov, flushed with his exertions and mopping his face with his
handkerchief, sat by Natasha and would not leave her side all the rest of the
ball.