At the beginning of 1806, Nikolai Rostov went home for vacation.Denisov was also on his way to his home in Voronezh, and Rostov urged him to go to Moscow with him and stay with them.Denisov met a colleague at the penultimate station, drank three bottles of wine with him, and then approached Rostov, lying on the bottom of the post-sleigh.Although the road was rough, he was not awake when he approached Moscow.The closer Rostov got to Moscow, the more impatient he became. "Is it coming soon? Is it coming soon? Oh, these nasty streets, little shops, white bread, street lamps, and cabs!" thought Rostov, as they drove into Moscow, having registered their slips at the frontier post.

"Denisov, we've arrived! He's still asleep!" he said, leaning forward, as if he hoped to use this position to speed up the sledge.Denisov did not answer. "You see, this is the corner of the cross road, where Zahar the coachman often stops. You see, he is Zahar, and the horse. This is the shop where everyone used to buy honey biscuits. Hello! Is it almost here? " "To which building?" asked the stagecoach driver. "It's at the end of the street. Walking towards that building, I can't see it! This is our building." Rostov said, "Isn't this our building!"

"Denisov! Denisov! We'll be there soon." Denisov raised his head, cleared his throat with a few coughs, but did not answer anything. "Dmitry," said Rostov, turning to the servant sitting on the driver's box, "isn't this the light in our house?" "Yes, sir. There is a light in the master's study." "Haven't slept yet? Huh? What do you think?" "Look, don't forget, bring me a new hussar coat at once," added Rostov, stroking his recently grown mustache. "Well, hurry up," he called to the stagecoach driver. "Vasya, wake up."

He turned to Denisov, who was dozing again with his head down. "Hey, hurry up, drink for three rubles, hurry up!" cried Rostov when the sleigh was only three houses away from the gate.It seemed to him that the horses hadn't started yet.Then the sleigh turned to the right and drove up to the door, and Rostov saw the eaves, the steps, and the pillars of the sidewalk where the plaster had come off.He jumped out of the sled while driving, and ran to the gate.The house stood motionless and indifferent, as if whoever came into it had nothing to do with it.There was no one in the doorway.

"My God! Is everything going well?" Rostov thought for a while, paused for a moment with extreme nervousness, and then ran forward desperately past the gate and the crooked ladder he was familiar with.The door handle was not clean, and the Countess would often lose her temper because of it, but the same door handle was still easily opened. A very bright candle was burning in the reception room. Old Mihailo slept on the big wooden box.Prokofy, the servant of the entourage, was so strong that he could lift the rear of the carriage. He sat and wove shoes out of strips of cloth.He looked at the open door, and his cold sleepy expression changed suddenly to horror and joy.

"My God! Young Count!" he cried when he recognized the young Count. "What's going on? My dear!" Prokofy was trembling with excitement, and rushed to the living room door, perhaps wanting to report, but it seems that he changed his mind again, walked back, and bowed On the young master's shoulders. "Is everyone well?" asked Rostov, freeing his hand. "Thank God! I still have to thank God! I just had dinner! My lord, let me come and see you!" "Is everything going well?" "Thank God, thank God!" Rostov completely forgot about Denisov, and he did not want anyone to be the first to inform him, so he took off his fur coat and ran on tiptoe into the dark hall.Everything was the same, the same green baize-covered card tables, the same chandelier with the shade, but someone saw the young master, and before he had time to run into the parlour, someone was flying She seemed to rush out from the side door, hugged him and kissed him.There was another, a third such person jumping out from another, from a third door, still embracing, still kissing, shouts could be heard, tears of joy could be seen.He could not tell which was the father, where he was, which was Natasha, which was Petya.Everyone shouted, talked, and kissed him at the same time.Only his mother was not among them, he had thought of that.

"But I don't know . ...no candles!Bring the tea! " -------- ① Kolya and Nikolushka are both nicknames for Nikolai. "You want to kiss me!" "My sweetheart... kiss me." Sonya, Natasha, Petya, Anna Mikhaylovna, Vera, the old count were all embracing him, and the servants and servants filled the rooms, chattering and crying with joy. Petya clasped his legs tightly and dangled. "Kiss me!" he cried. Natasha made him bend down a little to come close to her, kissed him several times passionately on the cheek, and then jumped aside, and she pulled his hussar jacket by the hem and bounded like a goat. , making a piercing scream.

Eyes caressing with tears of joy on all sides, lips seeking kisses on all sides. Sonia's face was flushed like a big red cloth, and she also held his hand, beaming with joy, her eyes of happiness cast on his pair of eyes that she was looking forward to seeing.Sonia is sixteen years old this year, and she is very handsome, especially at this happy and passionate moment.She was looking at him intently, smiling, almost holding her breath.He looked at her gratefully, but he was still waiting and looking for someone.Before the old countess could walk out the door, a sound of footsteps finally came from the door.The footsteps were so fast, it couldn't have been his mother's footsteps.

But she put on a new dress which he had not seen yet, which he had sewn in his absence.Everyone moved away from him, so he ran up to her.As they approached head-on, she wailed and fell into his arms.She could not lift her head, but pressed her face against the cold ribbon of his hussar uniform.No one paid attention to Denisov, who entered the room and stood there, watching the mother and child, wiping away his tears. "My name is Vasily Denisov, and I am a friend of your son," he said, introducing himself to the count who was looking at him suspiciously. "Welcome, yes, yes," said the count, holding Denisov and kissing him, "Nikolushka wrote... Natasha, Vera, he is Denisov."

The same happy, enthusiastic faces turned towards the shaggy body of Denisov and surrounded him. "Darling, Denisov!" Natasha, ecstasy, uttered a piercing voice, ran up to Denisov, embraced him and kissed him.Everyone was puzzled by Natasha's behavior.Denisov also blushed, but smiled, took Natasha's hand and kissed it. Denisov was shown to the room prepared for him, and the Rostovs gathered round Nikolushka in the lounge with sofas. The old countess sat beside him without letting go of his hand which she kissed every minute, and the others gathered around them were watching his every movement, listening to his every word, watching his words. gaze, and stared at him with delighted and caressing eyes.The little brother and sisters were disputing, and they were vying to be seated near him, fighting over the tea, the handkerchief, and the pipe.

Rostov was so happy to be caressed by all the people, but the first moment of their meeting was so joyful that now he felt that happiness was not enough, that he was still, still, still looking forward to something. The next morning, those who were tired from the journey slept until after nine o'clock. In the front room lay sabers, handbags, picture bags, open trunks, and shabby boots.Two pairs of well-polished leather boots with spurs had just been placed against the wall.Several servants brought washbasins, hot water for shaving, and some clean clothes.The room smelled of tobacco and men. "Hey, Grishka, bring the pipe!" cried Vasily Denisov in that hoarse voice. "Rostov, get up!" Rostov wiped his sleepy eyes and raised his unkempt head from the sleeping pillow. "What, is it too late?" "It's late, past nine o'clock." Natasara replied in a loud voice, and the rustling of starched clothes, whispers, and girlish laughter came from the next room, and flashed in the slightly open room. Something azure, ribbons, black hair, and a cheerful face.That was Natasha, Sonya, and Petya, who came to see if he was up. "Nikolenka, get up!" Natasha's voice came from the door again. "I'll get up right away!" Petya saw several sabers in the first room, and picked them up hastily. He was very happy, as children usually feel when they see their elder brothers, and when he opened the door, he forgot about his sisters. I feel inappropriate when I see a man stripped naked. "Is this your saber?" he cried.The girls ducked aside.Denisov's terrified eyes widened, and he hid his own hairy feet under the covers, and he gave his colleague a wink, begging him for a favor.The door opened, Petya was let in, and the door closed again.Laughter can be heard behind the door. "Nikolenka, put on your smock and come out," came Natasha's voice. "Is this your saber?" asked Petya, "or is it yours?" he said to the dark, bearded Denisov with a humble and respectful air. Rostov quickly put on his boots, put on his long blouse, and went out.Natasha put on one leather boot with spurs and put her foot in the other.Sonia was circling when he walked out, just trying to puff up her dress and curtsy.In the same new sky-blue dresses, both women looked delicate, flushed, and very happy.Sonia ran away, and Natasha took her brother's hand and led him to the lounge full of sofas, and the two began to chat.They didn't have time to ask and answer a thousand trivial questions that only the two of them cared about.Natasha smiled at everything he said and hers, not because what they said was funny, but because she was so happy that she could not help laughing out loud. "Oh, how wonderful, how wonderful!" she added incidentally to everything she heard.Rostov felt, under the influence of the light of warm caresses, for the first time after a year and a half, a childish smile, which he had not seen since he left the house, spread in his heart and face. "No, listen," she said, "are you quite a man now? I am so glad that you are my brother." She stroked his mustache. "I should like to know, are you men How is it? Are they all like us? Isn't it the same?" "Why did Sonia run away?" asked Rostov. "Yes, it's a long story! Do you address Sonia as 'you' or 'you'?" "It depends," said Rostov. "Please call her 'you' and tell you later." "How is this going?" "Here, I'll tell you now. Sonia is my friend, you know, such a dear friend that I would burn my own arm for her. Please see," she rolled up her muslin sleeve, and let the He looked at a red mark on her long, lithe little arm (often hidden by ball gowns) just below the shoulder and well above the crook of the elbow. "I burned this place to prove my love to her. I just put the ruler on the fire and burn it red, and press on this place!" In the room that had once served as a classroom, Rostov sat on a sofa with spring cushions in the armrests, looked into Natasha's bright and lively eyes, and entered again the child's world of his own family, a world in which nothing but He is meaningless to anyone outside, and he thinks this is the best enjoyment in life. As for showing love by burning an arm with a ruler, he also thinks it is beneficial.It didn't surprise him that he knew this. "So what? Is that all?" he asked. "Why, we're all on good terms, all on good terms! Burning your arm with a ruler doesn't matter, it's a stupid thing to do, but we'll always be friends. When she loves someone, she loves her forever; but I didn’t understand that, and I immediately put it out of my mind.” "So what?" "Yeah, she loves me so much, and loves you too." Natasha blushed suddenly, "Do you still remember, before we parted...she said she wanted you to forget all of this...she said: I love him forever, May he be free and at ease. You know, it's wonderful and noble! Isn't it? Very noble? Isn't it?" Natasha asked him so solemnly and passionately that she had said this before. There were tears in her eyes.Rostov was lost in thought. "I will never take back my promise," he said, "nor will I ever do it again, and what fool would want to give up his happiness when Sonia is so beautiful?" "No, no," cried Natasha, "I've talked to her about it. We know you're going to say that. But it can't be done, you see, if you're going to say that— To think yourself bound by a promise, then it would seem as if she said it on purpose, and it would be outrageous, after all, that you had to marry her out of necessity." Rostov saw that all this had been conceived ingeniously by them.Sonia had stunned him yesterday with her beauty.After catching a glimpse of her today, he thought she was even more beautiful.Evidently she was an enchanting girl of sixteen who loved him madly (he had no doubts about it).Why could he not love her now, and even marry her, thought Rostov, but... but... how many other pleasures and activities there are now! "Yes, how beautifully they conceived it." He thought for a moment, "Still want to be a free man." "Oh, it's wonderful," he said. "We'll talk about it later. Oh, how glad I am to see you!" he added. "Well, why didn't you betray Boris?" asked the brother. "It's a stupid thing!" cried Natasha, smiling. "Whether it's him or anyone else, I don't think about it, and I don't want to know." "So that's what happened! Then what are you going to do?" "Me?" repeated Natasha, her face radiant with a happy smile. "Did you see Dipper?" "No." "Have you ever seen the famous dancer Dubort? Then you can't figure it out. You see, this is how I dance." Natasha lifted her skirt like a dance, curled her arms into a circle, and ran Take a few steps, turn around, jump into the air, slap your feet on each other, and walk a few steps on tiptoe. "Look, didn't I stop?" she said, but she couldn't stand on tiptoe. "You see that's how I dance! I'm never going to marry anybody, I'm going to be a dancer. But I beg you don't tell anybody." Rostov laughed loudly and cheerfully, which made Denisov in the next room jealous, and Natasha, unable to bear it, laughed with him. "No, don't you think it's good?" she always said. "It's wonderful. You don't want to marry Boris anymore, do you?" Natasha flushed. "I wouldn't marry anyone. I would say the same thing to him when I see him." "So it is!" said Rostov. "Yes, it's all nonsense," Natasha went on, "what, Denisov is a good man?" she asked. "He is a good man." "Well, good-bye, go and get dressed. Denisov, is he a terrible man?" "Why is it terrible?" asked Nikolai. "No, Vaska is a very nice person." "Do you call him Vasika? . . . That's strange. What, is he all right?" "Good." "Hey, hurry up and have some tea. Let's have some tea together." Natasha came across the room on tiptoe like a dancer, smiling as only a happy girl of fifteen can smile.Rostov blushed when he met Sonia in the drawing room.He didn't know what to do with her.Yesterday they had kissed each other in the ecstasy of their meeting, but today they felt it was wrong, and he felt that his mother, his sisters, were all looking at him incredulously, waiting for what he would do to her.He kissed her hand and addressed her as "you" - "Sonia".But after their eyes met, they called each other "you" and kissed tenderly.She begged his forgiveness with her eyes, because she had dared to mention his promise to him through the messenger Natasha, and thanked him for his attachment.He also thanked her with a glance for agreeing with his proposal of personal freedom, and saying that whatever the circumstances, he would always love her and could not help loving her. "But how queer it is," said Vera, choosing the moment of silence, "that Sonia and Nikolenka are now strangers, calling 'you' when they meet." Vera's remark, like all hers, was fitting. Reasonable, but like most of her comments, everyone felt uncomfortable, not only Sonia, Nicholas and Natasha, but even the old countess blushed like a girl, because She was afraid that her son's love for Sonia would make him lose the spouse of a famous family.To Rostov's surprise Denisov appeared in the drawing-room in a new uniform, pomaded and perfumed, as if in battle, well dressed, and he So courteous to ladies and gentlemen that Rostov never expected him to behave in this way.