War and Peace - Leo Tolstoy [218]
“Ah, how nice!” she kept saying, running to Sonya.
Nikolai and Denisov walked around the rooms, looking at the dancers benignly and patronizingly.
“How pretty she is, she’ll be a beauty,” said Denisov.
“Who?”
“Countess Natasha,” replied Denisov. “And how well she dances, what race!” he said again, after some silence.
“Who are you talking about?”
“Your sister,” Denisov cried angrily.
Rostov smiled.
“Mon cher comte, vous êtes l’un de mes meilleurs écoliers, il faut que vous dansiez,” said little Iogel, coming over to Nikolai. “Voyez combien de jolies demoiselles.”*289 He turned with the same request to Denisov, who was also his former pupil.
“Non, mon cher, je ferai tapisserie,”†290 said Denisov. “Don’t you remember what poor use I made of your lessons?”
“Oh, no!” Iogel hastened to reassure him. “You were merely inattentive, but you had the ability, yes, you had the ability.”
They began to play the newly fashionable mazurka. Nikolai could not refuse Iogel and asked Sonya to dance. Denisov sat down with the old ladies, and, his elbow propped on his saber, his foot beating time, told some merry story and made the old ladies laugh, while glancing at the dancing young people. Iogel danced in the lead couple with Natasha, his pride and his best pupil. Moving his feet softly, delicately, in his little boots, Iogel flew down the ballroom with Natasha, who timidly but carefully performed her pas. Denisov’s eyes were fixed on her, and he beat time with an air which said clearly that he was not dancing himself only because he did not want to, not because he could not. In the middle of a figure, he called out to Rostov, who was just passing by.
“That’s not it at all,” he said. “Is that a Polish mazurka? But she dances splendidly.”
Knowing that Denisov was famous even in Poland for his skill in dancing the Polish mazurka, Nikolai ran over to Natasha.
“Go and choose Denisov. You should see him dance! It’s a wonder!” he said.
When Natasha’s turn came again, she got up and, stepping quickly in her beribboned little shoes, she timidly ran alone across the room to the corner where Denisov was sitting. She saw that everyone was looking at her and waiting. Nikolai saw that Denisov and Natasha were having a smiling argument, and that Denisov was protesting but smiling joyfully. He ran over.
“Please, Vassily Dmitrich,” Natasha said, “please do.”
“No, really. Spare me, Countess,” said Denisov.
“Enough, now, Vasya,” said Nikolai.
“He talks to me like Vaska the cat,” Denisov said jokingly.
“I’ll sing for you all evening,” said Natasha.
“The sorceress, she does whatever she likes with me!” said Denisov, and he unbuckled his saber. He came out from behind the chairs, took his lady firmly by the hand, threw back his head, and advanced his foot, waiting for the downbeat. Only on horseback and in the mazurka did Denisov’s small stature not show, and he looked like the fine fellow he felt himself to be. On the downbeat, he gave his lady a victorious and jocular sidelong look, unexpectedly stamped his foot, bounced off the floor springily, like a ball, and flew along in a circle, drawing his lady after him. He flew inaudibly across half the room on one leg, and, seeming not to see the chairs that stood before him, raced straight for them; but suddenly, clanking his spurs and spreading his legs, he stopped on his heels, paused like that for a second, tapped his feet in place with a clanking of spurs, spun quickly, then, tapping his right ankle with his left foot, again flew along in a circle. Natasha intuitively guessed what he was about to do and, not knowing how herself, followed him—giving herself to him. Now he twirled her on his right arm, now on his left, now he fell on his knees and led her around him, then jumped up and sped on as precipitously as if he intended to run through all the rooms without pausing for breath; now he suddenly stopped again and performed a new and unexpected caper. When he swiftly twirled his lady in front of