 War and Peace, Book 4, Chapter 10, Recording for LibriVox.org by Eva Harnick. Rostov's share in Dolokov's duel with Bezukov was hushed up by the efforts of the old count, and instead of being degraded to the ranks as he expected, he was appointed an adjutant to the Governor General of Moscow. As a result he could not go to the country with the rest of the family, but was kept all summer in Moscow by his new duties. Dolokov recovered and Rostov became very friendly with him during his convalescence. Dolokov lay ill at his mother, who loved him passionately and tenderly, and Old Mary Ivanovna, who had grown fond of Rostov for his friendship to her Fedja, often talked to him about her son. Yes count, she would say, he's too noble and pure soul for our present depraved world. No one now loves virtue. It seems like a reproach to everyone. Now tell me count, was it right, was it honorable of Bezukov? And Fedja, with his noble spirit, loved him and even now, never says a word against him. Those pranks in Petersburg, when they played some tricks on a policeman, didn't they do it together? And there, Bezukov got off scot-tree, while Fedja had to bear the whole burden on his shoulders. Fancy what he had to go through. It is true, he has been reinstated, but how could they fail to do that? I think there were not many such galantsons of the fatherland out there as he, and now this duel. Have these people no feeling or honor, knowing him to be an only son to challenge him and shoot so straight? It is well God had mercy on us. And what was it for? Who doesn't have intrigues nowadays? Why, if he was so jealous, as I see things, he should have thrown it sooner, but he lets it go on for months. And then to call him out, reckoning on Fedja not fighting because he owed him money. What business? What meanness? I know you understand, Fedja, my dear count. That, believe me, is why I am so fond of you. Few people do understand him. He is such a lofty, heavenly soul. Dolokov himself, during his convalescence, spoke to Rostov in a way no one would have expected of him. I know people consider me a bad man, he said, let them. I don't care a straw about anyone but those I love. But those I love, I love so that I would give my life for them and the others I would throttle if they stood in my way. I have an adored, a priceless mother, and two or three friends, you among them. And as for the rest, I only care about them insofar as they are harmful or useful. And most of them are harmful, especially the women. Yes, dear boy, continued. I have met loving, noble, high-minded men. But I have not yet met any women, countesses or cooks who are not vener. I have not yet met that divine purity and devotion I look for in women. If I found such a one, I would give my life for her. But those and he made the gesture of contempt. And believe me, if I still value my life, it is only because I still hope to meet such a divine creature who will regenerate, purify and elevate me. But you don't understand it. Oh yes, I quite understand, answered Rostov, who was under his new friend's influence. In the autumn, Rostov's returned to Moscow. Early in the winter, Denisov also came back and stayed with them. The first half of the winter of 1806, which Nicholas Rostov spent in Moscow, was one of the happiest, merriest times for him and the whole family. Nicholas brought many young men to his parents' house. Vera was a handsome girl of 20. Sonja, a girl of 16, with all the charm of an opening flower. Natasha, half grown up and half child, was now childishly amusing, now girlishly enchanting. At that time in the Rostov's house there prevailed an amorous atmosphere characteristic of homes where there are very young and very charming girls. Every young man who came to the house, seeing those impressionable smiling young faces, smiling probably at their own happiness, feeling the eager bustle around him, and hearing the fitful bursts of song and music and the inconsequent but friendly prattle of young girls ready for anything and full of hope, experienced the same feeling, sharing with the young folk of the Rostov's household a readiness to fall in love and an expectation of happiness. Among the young men introduced by Rostov, one of the first was Dolokov, whom everyone in the house liked except Natasha. She almost quarreled with her brother about him. She insisted that he was a bad man and that in the duel with Bezukov Pierre was right and Dolokov wrong and further that he was disagreeable and unnatural. There is nothing for me to understand, cried out with resolute self-will. She is wicked and heartless. There now, I like you, Denizov, though he is a rake and all that, still I like him. So you see I do understand. I don't know how to put it. With this one, everything is calculated. And I don't like that. But Denizov? Oh, Denizov is quite different, replied Nicholas, implying that even Denizov had nothing compared to Dolokov. You must understand what a soul there is in Dolokov. You should see him with his mother. What a heart. Well, I don't know about that, but I am uncomfortable with him. And do you know he has fallen in love with Sonja? What nonsense. I'm certain of it, you will see. Natasha's prediction proved true. Dolokov, who did not usually care for the society of ladies, began to come often to the house and the question for who's sake, he came, though no one spoke of it, was soon settled. He came because of Sonja. And Sonja, though she would never have dared to say so, knew it and blushed scarlet every time Dolokov appeared. Dolokov often dined at Rostov's. Never missed the performance at which they were present. And went to Ioga's boss for young people, which the Rostovs always attended. He was pointedly attentive to Sonja and looked at her in such a way that not only could she not bear his glances without coloring, but even the old countess and Natasha blushed when they saw his looks. It was evident that this strange, strong man was under the irresistible influence of the dark, graceful girl who loved another. Rostov noticed something new in Dolokov's relations with Sonja, but he did not explain to himself what these new relations were. They are always in love with someone, his sort of Sonja and Natasha. But he was not as much at ease with Sonja and Dolokov as before and was less frequently at home. In the autumn of 1806 everybody had again began talking of the war with Napoleon, with even greater warmth than the year before. Orders were given to today's recruits, ten men in every thousand for the regular army, and beside this, nine men in every thousand for the militia. Everywhere Bonaparte was anatomized, and in Moscow nothing but the coming war was talked of. For the Rostov family, the whole interest of these preparations for war lay in the fact that Nicholas would not hear of remaining in Moscow and only awaited the termination of Denisov's furlough after Christmas to return with him to their regiment. His approaching departure did not prevent his amusing himself, but rather gave zest to his pleasures. He spent the greater part of his time away from home at dinners, parties and balls. End of chapter 10, recording by Eva Harnik, Pontevedra, Florida. War and Peace, book 4, chapter 11. Read for LibriVox.org by Eva Harnik. On the third day after Christmas, Nicholas dined at home, a sink he had rarely done off late. It was a grand farewell dinner, as he and Denisov were leaving to join their regiment after Epiphany. About twenty people were present, including Dolokov and Denisov. Never had love been so much in the air, and never had that amorous atmosphere made itself so strongly felt in the Rostov's house as a debt this holiday time. Seize the moments of happiness, love and be loved. That is the only reality in the world, all else is folly. It is the one thing we are interested in here, said the spirit of the place. Nicholas, having as usual exhausted two pairs of horses, without visiting all the places he meant to go to and where he had been invited, returned home just before dinner. As soon as he entered, he noticed and felt the tension of the amorous air in the house, and also noticed a curious embarrassment among some of those present. Sonja Dolokov and the Old Countess were especially disturbed and to lesser the Green Natasha. Nicholas understood that something must have happened between Sonja and Dolokov before dinner, and with the kindly sensitiveness natural to him was very gentle and wary with them both at dinner. On that same evening there was to be one of the balls that Ayoga, the dancing master, gave for his pupils during the holidays. Nicholas, will you come to Ayoga's, please do, said Natasha. He asked you, and Vasily Dimitric is also going. Estrik explains, Vasily Dimitric is Denisov. Where would I not go at the Countess's command, said Denisov, who at Rostov's had jocularly assumed the role of Natasha's knight. I am even ready to dance the Puddeschall. If I have time, answered Nicholas, but I promise the Arkharovs they have a party. And you, he asked Dolokov, but as soon as he had asked the question he noticed that it should not have been put. Perhaps coldly and angrily replied Dolokov glancing at Sonja, and scowling he gave Nicholas just such a look as he had given Pierre at the club dinner. There is something up, sought Nicholas, and he was further confirmed in this conclusion by the fact that Dolokov left immediately after dinner. He called Natasha and asked her what was the matter. And I was looking for you, said Natasha running out to him. I told you, but you wouldn't believe it, she said triumphantly. He has proposed to Sonja. Little as Nicholas had occupied himself with Sonja of late, something seemed to give way within him at this news. Dolokov was a suitable and in some respects a brilliant match for the dourless orphan girl. From the point of view of the old Countess and of society, it was out of the question for her to refuse him. And therefore Nicholas's first feeling on hearing the news was one of anger with Sonja. He tried to say that's capital, of course she will forget her childish promises and accept the offer. But before he had time to say it, Natasha began again. And fancy, she refused him quite definitely. Adding after a pause, she told him she loved another. Yes, my Sonja could not have done otherwise, sought Nicholas. Much as Mama pressed her, she refused and I know she won't change once she has said. And Mama pressed her, said Nicholas reproachfully. Yes, said Natasha. Do you know Nicholas, don't be angry, but I know you will not marry her. I know heaven knows how, but I know for certain that you won't marry her. Now don't know that at all, said Nicholas. But I must talk to her, what a darling Sonja is, he added with a smile. Ah, she is indeed a darling. I will send her to you. And Natasha kissed her brother and run away. A minute later Sonja came in with a frightened, guilty and scared look. Nicholas went up to her and kissed her hand. This was the first time since his return that they had talked alone and about their love. Sophie, he began timidly at first and then more and more boldly. If you wish to refuse one who is not only a brilliant and advantageous match, but a splendid noble fellow, he is my friend. Sonja interupted him. I have already refused, she said hurriedly. If you are refusing for my sake, I am afraid that I... Sonja again interrupted, she gave him an imploring frightened look. Nicholas, don't tell me that, she said. No, but I must. It may be arrogant of me, but still it is best to say it. If you refuse him on my account, I must tell you the whole truth. I love you and I think I love you more than anyone else. That is enough for me, said Sonja blushing. No, but I have been in love a thousand times and shall fall in love again. Thau, for no one have I such a feeling of friendship, confidence, and love as I have for you. Then I am young… Mama does not wish it. In a word I make no promise cospassknáig, he said articulating his friends name with difficulty. Don't say that to me I want nothing. I love you as a brother, and always shall, and I want nothing more. You are an angel, I am not worthy of you, but I am afraid of misleading you. And Nicholas again kissed her hand. End of Chapter 11. Reading by Eva Harnick, Pontevedra, Florida. War and Peace, Book 4, Chapter 12. Read for LibriVox.org by Eva Harnick. Ayo girls were the most enjoyable wars in Moscow. So said the mothers as they watched their young people executing their newly learned steps. And so said the youth and maidens themselves as they danced till they were ready to drop. And so said the grown-up young men and women who came to these wars with an air of condescension and found them most enjoyable. That year two marriages had come of these wars. The two pretty young princesses Gorshakov met suitors there and were married and so further increased the fame of these dances. What distinguished them from others was the absence of host or hostess and the presence of the good-natured ayo girl flying about like a feather and bowing according to the rules of his art as he collected the tickets from all his visitors. There was the fact that only those came who wished to dance and amused themselves as girls of 13 and 14 do who are wearing long dresses for the first time. With scarcely any exceptions they all were or seemed to be pretty so rapturous were their smiles and so sparkling their eyes. Sometimes the best of the pupils of whom Natasha who was exceptionally graceful was first even danced the part de chalet, but at this last ball only the echo says the English and the Mazorka which was just coming into fashion were danced. Ayo girl had taken a ballroom in Bezukov's house and the ball as everyone said was a great success. There were many pretty girls and the rest of girls were among the prettiest. They were both particularly happy and gay. That evening, proud of Dolokov's proposal, her refusal and her explanation with Nicholas, Sonja twirled about before she left home so that the maid could hardly get her hair plated and she was transparently radiant with impulsive joy. Natasha no less proud of her first long dress and of being at a real ball was even happier. They were both dressed in white muslin with pink ribbons. Natasha fell in love the very moment she entered the ballroom. She was not in love with anyone in particular but with everyone. Whatever person she happened to look at, she was in love with for that moment. Oh how delightful it is, she kept saying running up to Sonja. Nicholas and Denisov were walking up and down looking with kindly patronage at the dancers. How sweet she is, she will be a real beauty said Denisov. Who? Countess Natasha answered Denisov. And how she dances, what grace he said again after a pause. Who are you talking about? About your sister ejaculated Denisov testily, most of smart. My dear Count, you were one of my best pupils. You must dance, said little Iogal coming up to Nicholas. Look how many charming young ladies. He turned with the same request to Denisov who was also a former pupil of his. No my dear fellow, I will be a wall flower said Denisov. Don't you recollect what bad use I made of your lessons? Oh no, said Iogal, he's turning to reassure him. You were only inattentive, but you had talent. Oh yes, you had talent. The band struck up the newly introduced Mizzouka. Nicholas could not refuse Iogal and ask Sonja to dance. Denisov sat down by the old ladies and leaning on his saber and beating time with his foot, showed them something funny and kept them amused while he watched the young people dancing. Iogal with Natasha, his pride and his best pupil were the first couple. Noiselessly skillfully stepping with his little feet in low shoes, Iogal flew first across the hall with Natasha, who though shy went on carefully executing her steps. Denisov did not take his eyes off her and beat time with his saber in a way that clearly indicated that if he was not dancing, it was because he would not and not because he could not. In the middle of a figure he began to Rostov who was passing. This is not at all the thing he said. A fort of Polish Mizzouka is this, but she does dance splendidly. Knowing that Denisov had a reputation even in Poland for the masterly way in which he danced the Mizzouka, Nicholas ran up to Natasha. Go on, choose Denisov, he's a real dancer, a wonder, he said. When it came to Natasha's turn to choose a partner, tripping rapidly across in her little shoes trimmed with bows, ran timidly to the corner where Denisov sat. She saw that everybody was looking at her and waiting. Nicholas saw that Denisov was refusing, though he smiled delightedly. He ran up to them. Please Vasily Dimitric, Natasha was saying, do come. Oh no, let me off countess, Denisov replied. Now then Vaska, said Nicholas. They coax me as if I were Vaska, the cat, said Denisov jokingly. I will sing for you a whole evening, said Natasha. Oh the fairy, she can do anything with me, said Denisov, and he unhooked his saber. He came out from behind the chairs, clasped his partner's hand family through back his head and advanced his foot waiting for the beat. Only on horseback and in the Mazurka was Denisov's short statue not noticeable and he looked the fine fellow he felt himself to be. At the right beat of the music, he looked sideways at his partner with a merry and triumphant air, suddenly stamped with one foot bounded from the floor like a ball and flew round the room taking his partner with him. He glided silently on one foot half across the room and seeming not to notice the chairs was dashing straight at them and suddenly clinking his purse and spreading out his legs, he stopped short on his heels, stood so a second, stamped on the spot, clanking his purse, whirled rapidly round and striking his left heel against his right, flew round again in a circle. Atása guessed what he meant to do and abandoning herself to him followed his lead hardly knowing how. First he spun her round, holding her now with his left, now with his right hand. Then falling on one knee he twirled her round him and again jumping up, dashed so impetuously forward that it seemed as if he would rush through the whole suite of rooms without drawing breath and then he suddenly stopped and performed some new and unexpected steps. When at last, smartly whittling his partner round in front of her chair, he drew up with a click of his purse and bowed to her, Atása did not even make him a curtsie. She fixed her eyes on him in amazement, smiling as if she did not recognize him. What does this mean, she brought out? Although a young girl did not acknowledge this to be the real Mazurka, everyone was delighted with Dennis's skill, he was asked again and again as a partner and the old man began smilingly to talk about Poland and the good old days. Dennis off flushed after the Mazurka and mopping himself with his handkerchief, sat down by Natasha and did not leave her for the rest of the evening. End of Chapter 12. Recording by Eva Harnik, Pontevedra, Florida. Boren piece, Book 4, Chapter 13. Recording for LibriVox.org by Eva Harnik. For two days after that, Rostov did not see Dolokov at his own or at Dolokov's home. On the third day he received a note from him. As I do not intend to be at your house again for reasons you know of and I am going to rejoin my regiment, I am giving a farewell supper tonight to my friends, come to the English hotel. About ten o'clock Rostov went to the English hotel straight from the theater, where he had been with his family and Dennis off. He was at once shown to the best room, which Dolokov had taken for that evening. Some twenty men were gathered round the table at which Dolokov sat between two candles. On the table was a pile of gold and paper money and he was keeping the bank. Rostov had not seen him since his proposal and Sonya's refusal was then uncomfortable at the thought of how they would meet. Dolokov's clear cold glance met Rostov as soon as he entered the door as though he had long expected him. It is a long time since we met, he said, thanks for coming. I will just finish dealing and then Ilyushka will come with his chorus. You called once or twice at your house, said Rostov Redming. Dolokov made no reply. You may punt, he said. Rostov recalled at that moment a strange conversation he had once had with Dolokov. None but fools trust to luck in play, Dolokov had then said. Or are you afraid to play with me? Dolokov now asked as if guessing Rostov sort. Benease his smile, Rostov saw in him the mood he had shown at the club dinner and at other times when as if tired of everyday life he had felt a need to escape from it by some strange and usually cruel action. Rostov felt ill at ease. He tried but failed to find some joke with which to reply to Dolokov's words. But before he had thought of anything, Dolokov looking straight in his face said slowly and deliberately so that everyone could hear. Do you remember we had a talk about cards? The fool who trusts to luck one should make certain and I want to try. To try his luck or the certainty Rostov asked himself. Well, you should better not play, Dolokov added and springing a new pack of cards said, Bank, gentlemen. Moving the money forward, he prepared to deal. Rostov sat down by his side and at first did not play. Dolokov kept glancing at him. Why don't you play? he asked. And strange to say, Nicholas felt that he could not help taking up a card, putting a small stake on it and beginning to play. I have no money with me, he said. I will trust you. Rostov staked five rubles on a card and lost, state again and again lost. Dolokov killed that is beat ten cards of Rostov's running. Gentlemen, said Dolokov after he had dealt for some time, please place your money on the cards, or I may get muddled in the reckoning. One of the players said he hoped he might be trusted. Yes, you might, but I am afraid of getting the accounts mixed, so I ask you to put the money on your cards, replied Dolokov. Don't stint yourself. We will settle afterwards, he added turning to Rostov. The game continued. A waiter kept handing round champagne. All Rostov's cards were beaten and he had 800 rubles scored up against him. He wrote 800 rubles on a card, but while the waiter filled his glass, he changed his mind and altered it to his usual stake of 20 rubles. David, said Dolokov, though he did not seem to be even looking at Rostov. You will win it back all the sooner. I lose to the others, but win from you. Or are you afraid of me, he asked again. Rostov submitted. He let the 800 remain and laid down a seven of hearts with a torn corner, which he had picked up from the floor. He well remembered that seven afterwards. He laid down the seven of hearts, on which with a broken bit of chalk he had written 800 rubles in clear upright figures. He emptied the glass of warm champagne that was handed him, smiled at Dolokov's words, and with a sinking heart waiting for a seven to turn up, kissed at Dolokov's hands, which held the pack. Much depended on Rostov's winning or losing on that seven of hearts. On the previous Sunday, the old count had given his son 2,000 rubles, and though he always disliked speaking of money difficulties, had told Nicholas that this was all he could let him have till May and asked him to be more economical this time. Nicholas had replied that it would be more than enough for him and that he gave his word of honor not to take anything more till the spring. Now only 1200 rubles was left of that money so that this seven of hearts meant for him not only the loss of 1600 rubles, but the necessity of going back on his word. With a sinking heart he watched Dolokov's hands and sword. Now then, make haste and let me have this card and I will take my cap and drive home to Sapa with Denisov, Natasha and Sonja and will certainly never touch a card again. At that moment his home life jokes with Petya, talks with Sonja, duets with Natasha, Piqué with his father and even his comfortable bed in the house on the Povarskaya rose before him with such vividness, clearness and charm as if it were all a lost and unappreciated bliss long past. He could not conceive that a stupid chance letting the seven be dealt to the right rather than to the left might deprive him of all this happiness newly appreciated and newly illumined and plunge him into the depths of unknown and undefined misery. That could not be. Yet he waited with a sinking heart the movement of Dolokov's hands. Those broad reddish hands with hairy wrists visible from under the shirt cuffs laid down the pack and took up a glass and a pipe that were handed him. So you are not afraid to play with me, repéted Dolokov and as if about to tell a good story he put down the cards, leaned back in his chair and began deliberately with a smile. Yes, gentlemen, I have been told there is a rumor going about Moscow that I am a sharper, so I advise you to be careful. Come now, deal, exclaimed Rostov. Oh, those Moscow gossips, said Dolokov and he took up the cards with a smile. Ah, Rostov almost screamed lifting both hands to his head. The seven he needed was lying uppermost the first card in the pack. He had lost more than he could pay. Still, don't ruin yourself, said Dolokov with a side glance at Rostov as he continued to deal. End of chapter 13 Recording by Eva Harnick Pontevedra, Florida War and Peace Book 4 chapter 14 Recording for LibriVox.org by Eva Harnick An hour and a half later most of the players were but little interested in their own play. The whole interest was concentrated on Rostov. Így is, most of the players had a long column of figures scored against him which he had reckoned up to 10,000. But that now, as he vaguely supposed must have risen to 15,000. In reality, it already exceeded 20,000 rubles. Dolokov was no longer listening to stories or telling them, but followed every movement of Rostov's hands and occasionally ran his eyes over the score against him. He had decided to play until that score reached 43,000. He had fixed on that number because 43 was the sum of his and Sonja's joined ages. Rostov leaning his head on both hands set at the table which was crawled over with figures, wet with spilled wine and littered with cards. One tormenting impression did not leave him, that those broad-boned reddish hands with hairy wrists visible from under the shirt sleeves, those hands which he loved and hated held him in their power. 600 rubles, 8, a corner, 9, vining it back is impossible. Oh, how pleasant it was at home. The nave, double or quits, it can't be. And why is he doing this to me, Rostov pondered. Sometimes he staked a large sum, but Dolokov refused to accept it and fixed the stake himself. Nicholas submitted to him that one moment prayed to God as he had done on the battlefield at the bridge over the ends and then guessed that the card that came first to hand from the crumpled heap under the table would save him, now counted the quarts on his coat and took a card with that number and tried staking the total of his losses on it, then he looked round for eight from the other players paired at the now cold face of Dolokov and tried to read what was passing in his mind. He knows of course what this loss means to me. He can't want my ruin. Wasn't he my friend? Wasn't I fond of him? But it is not his fault. What is he to do if he has such luck? And it is not my fault either, he sought to himself. I have done nothing wrong. Have I killed anyone or insulted or wished harm to anyone? Why such a terrible misfortune? And when did it begin? Such a little while ago I came to this table with the thought of winning a hundred rubles to buy that casket for mama's name day and then going home. I was so happy, so free, so lighthearted and I did not realize how happy I was. When did that end and when did this new terrible state of things begin? What marked the change? I sat all the time in this same place at this table, chose and placed cards and watched those broad-boned agile hands in the same way. When did it happen and what has happened? I am well and strong and still the same and in the same place. No, it can't be. Surely it will all end in nothing. He was flushed and based in perspiration though the room was not hot. His face was terrible and piteous to see, especially from its helpless efforts to seem calm. The score against him reached a full sum of 43,000. Rostov had just prepared a card by vending the corner of which he meant to double the 3,000 just put down to his score when Dolokov, slamming down the pack of cards, put it aside and began rapidly adding up the total of Rostov's debt, breaking the chalk as he marked the figures in his clear, bold hand. Szupper, it is time for supper and here are the gypsies. Some swarthy men and women were really entering from the cold outside and saying something in their gypsy accents. Nicholas understood that it was all over but he said in an indifferent tone well, won't you go on? I had a splendid card already if it were the fun of the game which interested him most. It is all up, I am lost, sought he. Now bullets through my brain that is all that is left me. And at the same time he said in a cheerful voice come now, just this one more little card. All right, said Dolokov, having finished the addition. All right. 21 rubles, he said, pointing to the figure 21 by which the total exceeded the round sum of 43,000. And taking up a pack he prepared to deal. Rostov submissively unbent the corner of his card and instead of the 6,000 he had intended carefully wrote 21. It's all the same to me, he said. I only want to see whether you will let me win this then or beat it. Dolokov began to deal seriously. Oh, how Rostov detested at that moment those hands with their short reddish fingers and hairy wrists which held him in their power. The 10 fell to him. You owe 43,000 count, said Dolokov watching himself, he rose from the table. One does get tired, sitting so long, he added. Yes, I am tired too, said Rostov. Dolokov cut him short as if to remind him that it was not for him to jest. When am I to receive the money count? Rostov flashing drew Dolokov into the next room. I cannot pay it all immediately. Will you take an IOU, he said. I say, Rostov, said Dolokov clearly smiling and looking Nicholas straight in the eyes. You know the saying, lucky in love, unlucky at cards. Your cousin is in love with you, I know. Oh, it is terrible to feel oneself so in this man's power, so trust of. He knew what a shock he would inflict on his father and mother by the news of this loss. He knew what a relief it would be to escape it all and felt that Dolokov knew that he could save him from all this shame and sorrow but wanted now to play with him as a cat does with a mouse. Your cousin, Dolokov started to say but Nicholas interrupted him. My cousin has nothing to do with this it is not necessary to mention her. He exclaimed fiercely. Then when am I to have it tomorrow replied Rostov and left the room. End of chapter 14 recording by Eva Harnick Pontavedra, Florida. To say tomorrow and keep up a dignified tone was not difficult but to go home alone see his sisters, brother, mother and father confess and ask for money he had no right to after giving his word of honor was terrible. At home they had not yet gone to bed. The young people after returning from the theater had had supper and were grouped around the clavichord. As soon as Nicholas entered he was enfolded in that poetic atmosphere of love which pervaded the Rostov household that winter and now after Dolokov's proposal and Yogle's ball seemed to have grown thicker round Sonya and Natasha as the air does before a thunderstorm. Sonya and Natasha in the light blue dresses they had worn at the theater looking pretty and conscious of it were standing by the clavichord happy and smiling. Vieira was playing chess with Shinshin in the drawing room. The old Countess, waiting for the return of her husband and son sat playing patience with the old gentlewoman who lived in their house. Yanisov with sparkling eyes and ruffled hair sat at the clavichord striking chords with his short fingers, his legs thrown back and his eyes rolling as he sang with his small husky but true voice. Some verses called Enchantress which he had composed and to which he was trying to fit music. Enchantress, say to my forsaken liar what magic power is this recalls me still what spark has set my inmost soul on fire what is this bliss that makes my fingers thrill. He was singing in passionate tones gazing with his sparkling black agadise with the frightened and happy Natasha. Splendid, excellent! exclaimed Natasha another verse, she said without noticing Nicholas. Everything still the same with them thought Nicholas glancing into the drawing room where he saw Vieira and his mother with the old lady. Ah, and here's Nicholas! cried Natasha running up to him. His papa at home, he asked. I'm so glad you've come! said Natasha without answering him. We are enjoying ourselves. Vasily Dimitrych is staying a day longer for my sake, did you know? No, papa is not back yet, said Sonja. Nicholas, have you come, come here dear called the old Countess from the drawing room. Nicholas went to her, kissed her hand and sitting down silently at her table began to watch her hands arranging the cards. From the dancing room still heard the laughter and merry voices trying to persuade Natasha to sing. All white, all white shouted Dennis off. It's no good making excuses now. It's your turn to sing the bakawala and tweet you. The Countess glanced at her silent son. What is the matter? she asked. Oh, nothing! said he, as if weary of being continually asked the same question. Will papa be back soon? I expect so. Everything's the same with them. They know nothing about it. Where am I to go? thought Nicholas and went again into the dancing room where the clavichord stood. Sonja was sitting at the clavichord playing the prelude to Dennis off's favorite barcarole. Natasha was preparing to sing. Dennis off was looking at her within raptured eyes. Nicholas began pacing up and down the room. Why did they want to make her sing? There's nothing to be happy about, thought he. Sonja struck the first chord of the prelude. My God, I'm a ruined and dishonored man. A bullet through my brain is the only thing left me. Not singing, his thoughts ran on. Go away, but where to? It's one, let them sing. He continued to pace the room, looking gloomily at Dennis off and the girls and avoiding their eyes. Nikolinka, what is the matter? Sonja's eyes fixed on him seemed to ask. She noticed at once that something had happened to him. Nicholas turned away from her. Natasha, too, with her quick instinct, had instantly noticed her brother's condition. But though she noticed it, she was herself in such high spirits at that moment, so far from sorrow, sadness, or self-approach, that she purposely deceived herself as young people often do. No, I am too happy now to spoil my enjoyment by sympathy with anyone's sorrow, she felt, and she said to herself, No, I must be mistaken. He must be feeling happy, just as I am. Now, Sonja, she said, going to the very middle of the room, where she considered the resonance was best. Having lifted her head and let her arms droop lifelessly, as ballet dancers do, Natasha, rising energetically from her heels to her toes, stepped to the middle of the room and stood still. Yes, that's me, she seemed to say, answering the rapt gaze with which Jenesov followed her. And what is she so pleased about? thought Nicholas, looking at his sister. Why isn't she dull and ashamed? Natasha took the first note, her throat swelled, her chest rose, her eyes became serious. At that moment she was oblivious of her surroundings, and from her smiling lips flowed sounds which anyone may produce at the same intervals, hold for the same time, but which leave you cold a thousand times, and the thousand and first time thrill you and make you weep. Natasha, that winter, had for the first time begun to sing seriously, mainly because Jenesov so delighted in her singing. She no longer sang as a child. There was no longer in her singing that comical, childish, painstaking effect that had been in it before. But she did not yet sing well, as all the connoisseurs who heard her said, it is not trained, but it is a beautiful voice that must be trained. Only they generally said this some time after she had finished singing. While that untrained voice in correct breathing in labor transitions was sounding, even the connoisseurs said nothing, but only delighted in it and wished to hear it again. In her voice there was a virginal freshness, an unconsciousness of her own powers, and an as yet untrained velvety softness, which so mingled with her lack of art and singing, that it seemed as if nothing in that voice could be altered without spoiling it. What is this, thought Nicholas, listening to her with widely opened eyes? What has happened to her? How she is singing today? And suddenly the whole world centered for him on anticipation of the next note, the next phrase, and everything in the world was divided into three beats. O mio crudelia feto. One, two, three. One, two, three. One, oh mio crudelia feto. One, two, three. One, oh this senseless life of ours, thought Nicholas, all this misery and money and doll cough and anger and honor, it's all nonsense, but this is real. Now then Natasha, now then dearest, now then darling. How will she take that sea? She's taken it, thank God. Without noticing that he was singing, to strengthen the sea he hung a second, a third below the high note. Oh God, how fine. Did I really take it? How fortunate, he thought. Oh how that chord vibrated, and how moved was something that was finest and rose off soul. And this something was apart from everything else in the world and above everything in the world. What were losses and doll cough and words of honor? All nonsense. One might kill and rob, and yet be happy. End of Chapter 15. War and Peace. Book 4, Chapter 16. Read for LibriVox.org by Leon Meyer. Chapter 16. It was long since Rostov had felt such enjoyment from music as he did that day. But no sooner had Natasha finished her musical role, than reality again presented itself. He got up without saying a word and went downstairs to his own room. A quarter of an hour later the old count came in from his club, cheerful and contented. Nicholas, hearing him drive up, went to meet him. Well, had a good time, said the old count, smiling gaily and proudly at his son. Nicholas tried to say yes, but could not, and nearly burst into sobs. The count was lighting his pipe and did not notice his son's condition. Ah, it can't be avoided, thought Nicholas, for the first and last time. And suddenly, in the most casual tone, which made him feel ashamed of himself, he said, as if merely asking his father to let him have the carriage to drive to town. Papa, I have come on a matter of business. I was nearly forgetting. I need some money. Dear me, said his father, who was in especially good humor, I told you it would not be enough. How much? Very much, said Nicholas, flushing, and with a stupid, careless smile, for which he was long unable to forgive himself. I have lost a little, I mean, a good deal, a great deal. Forty-three thousand. What, to home? Nonsense, cried the count, suddenly reddening with an apoplectic flush a nek and nape, as old people do. I promised to pay tomorrow, said Nicholas. Well, said the old count, spreading out his arms and sinking helplessly on the sofa. It can't be helped, it happens to everyone, said the son, with a bold, free and easy tone, while in his soul he regarded himself as a worthless scoundrel, whose whole life could not atone for his crime. He longed to kiss his father's hands and kneel to beg his forgiveness, but said in a careless and even rude voice that it happens to everyone. The old count cast down his eyes on hearing his son's words and began bustlingly searching for something. Yes, yes, he muttered. It will be difficult, I fear, difficult to raise. Happens to everybody, yes, who has not done it. And with the furtive glance at his son's face the count went out of the room. Nicholas had been prepared for resistance, but had not at all expected this. Papa, papa, he called after him, sobbing, forgive me. And, seizing his father's hand, he pressed it to his lips and burst into tears. While father and son were having their explanation, the mother and daughter were having one not less important. Natasha came running to her mother, quite excited. Mama, mama, he has made me... made what? Made me an offer, mama. Mama, she exclaimed. The countess did not believe her ears. Genesov had proposed to whom? To this chit of a girl, Natasha, who not so long ago was playing with dolls and who was still having lessons. Don't, Natasha, what nonsense, she said, hoping it was a joke. Nonsense, indeed. I'm telling you the fact, said Natasha indignately. I come to ask you what to do, and you call it nonsense. The countess shrugged her shoulders. If it is true that Monsu Genesov has made you a proposal, tell him he is a fool. That's all. No, he is not a fool, replied Natasha indignately and seriously. Well, then, what do you want? You're all in love nowadays. Well, if you are in love, marry him, said the countess, with a laugh of annoyance. Good luck to you. No, Mama, I'm not in love with him. I suppose I'm not in love with him. Well, then, tell him so. Mama, are you cross? Don't be cross, dear. Is it my fault? No, but what is it, my dear? Do you want me to go and tell him? said the countess, smiling. No, I will do it myself. No, Mama, it's all very well for you, with a responsive smile. You should have seen how he said it. I know he did not mean to say it, but it came out accidentally. Well, all the same, you must refuse him. No, I mustn't. I'm so sorry for him. He's so nice. Well, then, accept his offer. It's high time for you to be married, answered the countess sharply and sarcastically. I don't know how him to say it. And there's nothing for you to say. I shall speak to him myself, said the countess, indignant that they should have dared to treat this little Natasha as grown up. No, not on any account. I will tell him myself, and you'll listen at the door. And Natasha ran off across the drying room to the dancing hall, where Denisov was sitting on the same chair by the clavichord with his face in his hands. He jumped up at the sound of her light step. Natalie, he said, moving with rapid steps toward her. Decide my fate. It is in your hands. Vasily Dimitric, I'm so sorry for you. No, but you are so nice. But it won't do. Not that. But as a friend I shall always love you. Denisov bent over her hand and she heard strange sounds she did not understand. She kissed his rough curly black head. At this instant they heard the quick rustle of the countess's dress. She came up to them. Vasily Dimitric, I thank you for the honor, she said, with an embarrassed voice, though it sounded severe to Denisov. But my daughter is so young and I thought that as my son's friend you would have addressed yourself first to me. In that case you would not have obliged me to give this refusal. Countess, said Denisov, with downcast eyes and a guilty face. He tried to say more, but faltered. Natasha could not remain calm seeing him in such a plight. Countess, I have done wrong. Denisov went on in an unsteady voice. But believe me, I so adore your daughter and all your family that I would give my life twice over. He looked at the countess and seeing her severe face said, well, goodbye Countess. And kissing her hand he left the room with quick resolute strides without looking at Natasha. Next day saw Denisov off. He did not wish to say another day in Moscow. All Denisov's Moscow friends gave him a farewell entertainment at the gypsies with the result that he had no recollection of how he was put in the sleigh or of the first three stages of his journey. After Denisov's departure, Nicholas spent another fortnight in Moscow without going out of the house waiting for the money his father could not at once raise. And he spent most of his time in the girl's room. Sonja was more tender and devoted to him than ever. He was as if she wanted to show him that his losses were an achievement that made her love him all the more. But Nicholas now considered himself unworthy of her. He filled the girl's albums with verses and music. And having at last sent Dolikov the whole 43,000 rubles and received his receipt he left at the end of November without taking leave of any of his acquaintances to overtake his regiment which was already in Poland. End of Chapter 16 End of War and Peace Book 4 By Leo Tolstoy