War and Peace - Leo Tolstoy [378]
“Three days,” said Natasha. “It seems to me I’ve loved him for a hundred years. It seems to me I’ve never loved anyone before him. And never loved anyone the way I love him. You can’t understand it, Sonya. Wait, sit here.” Natasha embraced and kissed her. “I’ve been told it happens, and you’ve probably heard it, but only now have I experienced this love. This isn’t like before. As soon as I saw him, I felt that he was my master and I was his slave, and that I couldn’t help loving him. Yes, slave! What he tells me to do, I’ll do. You don’t understand it. What am I to do? What am I to do, Sonya?” Natasha said with a happy and frightened face.
“But think what you’re doing,” said Sonya. “I can’t leave it like this. These secret letters…How could you let him go so far?” she said with a horror and revulsion she had difficulty hiding.
“I told you,” replied Natasha, “that I have no will, how can you not understand that: I love him!”
“Then I won’t let it go so far, I’ll tell,” cried Sonya, bursting into tears.
“For God’s sake, what are you…If you tell, you’re my enemy,” Natasha began. “You want me to be unhappy, you want them to separate us…”
Seeing this fear of Natasha’s, Sonya wept tears of shame and pity for her friend.
“But what has happened between you?” she asked. “What has he told you? Why can’t he visit our house?”
Natasha did not answer her question.
“For God’s sake, Sonya, don’t tell anyone, don’t torment me,” Natasha pleaded. “Remember, it’s wrong to interfere in such things. I revealed it to you…”
“But why these secrets? Why doesn’t he come to the house?” Sonya kept asking. “Why doesn’t he seek your hand directly? Prince Andrei gave you full freedom, if that’s how it is; but I don’t believe it. Natasha, have you thought what secret reasons there might be?”
Natasha looked at Sonya with astonished eyes. Clearly, this question had presented itself to her for the first time, and she did not know how to answer it.
“What reasons, I don’t know. But it means there are reasons!”
Sonya sighed and shook her head mistrustfully.
“If there are reasons…” she began. But Natasha, guessing her doubts, interrupted her fearfully.
“Sonya, it’s impossible to doubt him, impossible, impossible, do you understand?” she cried.
“Does he love you?”
“Love?” Natasha repeated with a smile of regret at her friend’s incomprehension. “Haven’t you read the letter, haven’t you seen him?”
“But if he’s an ignoble man?”
“He—an ignoble man? If you only knew!” said Natasha.
“If he’s a noble man, then he should either declare his intentions or stop seeing you; and if you don’t want to do it, I’ll do it; I’ll write to him and tell papa,” Sonya said resolutely.
“But I can’t live without him!” cried Natasha.
“Natasha, I don’t understand you. What are you saying! Think of your father, of Nicolas.”
“I don’t need anybody, I don’t love anybody but him. How dare you say he’s ignoble? Don’t you know that I love him?” cried Natasha. “Go away, Sonya, I don’t want to quarrel with you, go away, for God’s sake, go away: you see how tormented I am,” Natasha cried angrily in a restrainedly irritated and desperate voice. Sonya burst into sobs and ran out of the room.
Natasha went to the table and, without a moment’s thought, wrote that reply to Princess Marya which she had been unable to write all morning. In this letter she curtly wrote to Princess Marya that all their misunderstandings were over, that, taking advantage of the magnanimity of Prince Andrei, who, on leaving, had given her freedom, she asked her to forget everything and to forgive her if she was to blame before her, but that she could not be his wife. All this seemed so easy, simple, and clear to her at that moment.
On Friday the Rostovs were to go to the country, and on Wednesday the count went with a buyer to his estate near Moscow.
On the day of the count