The Complete Works of Count Tolstoy/Childhood/Chapter 22
XXII.
The Mazurka
The young man whose lady I had taken away was dancing a mazurka, and leading it as the first pair. He leaped from his seat, holding his lady's hand, and instead of making "pas de Basques," as Mimi had taught us, simply ran ahead. When he reached the corner, he stopped, spread his legs, struck the floor with his heel, turned about, and hopping, ran ahead.
As I had no lady for the mazurka, I sat behind grandmother's high chair and observed.
"What is he doing there?" I reflected. "That is not at all the way Mimi taught us; she assured us that everybody danced a mazurka on tiptoe, moving the feet evenly and in a circle; and now it seems that they dance it quite differently. There the Ivins, and Etienne, and all are dancing, but none of them make ' pas de Basques; ' and even Volódya has learned the new fashion. It is not at all bad! And what a sweet girl Sónichka is! There, she has started again —" I felt exceedingly happy.
The mazurka came to an end. A few elderly men and women walked up to grandmother, in order to bid her good-bye, and departed. Avoiding the dancers, the lackeys were carefully carrying things for the tables into the back rooms. Grandmother was visibly tired, spoke as if against her will, and prolonged her words beyond measure. The musicians for the thirtieth time lazily began the same motive. The tall young lady, with whom I had danced, noticed me, while making a figure, and, smiling treacherously, — probably, because she wished to please grandmother by it, — brought Sónichka and one of the numberless princesses to me. "Rose ou hortie," she said to me.
"Oh, you are here!" said grandmother, turning around in her chair. "Go, my dear, go!"
Although I then felt more like hiding my head behind grandmother's chair than issuing from it, there was no refusing. I got up, said "Rose," and timidly looked at Sónichka. I had no time to come to my senses, when somebody's hand in a white glove passed through my arm, and the princess with the pleasantest smile rushed ahead, not suspecting in the least that I was completely ignorant of what I was to do with my feet.
I knew that "pas de Basques" was out of place and indecent, and might bring shame upon me; but the familiar sounds of the mazurka, acting upon my hearing, gave a certain direction to my acoustic nerves, which, in their turn, transmitted the motion to my legs; and these, quite involuntarily and to the surprise of the spectators, began to evolve the fatal round and even figures on the tiptoes. As long as we proceeded in a straight direction, things went fairly well, but at turning I noticed that if I did not use proper precaution I should fly ahead. To avoid such an unpleasantness, I stopped with the intention of producing the same figures which the young man had so beautifully produced in the leading pair. But the very moment I spread my legs and was about to leap up, the princess hurriedly ran about me, and looked at my legs with an expression of blank surprise and curiosity. That look undid me. I so completely lost myself, that instead of dancing, I began, in the strangest manner and entirely out of keeping with the measure of the dance or anything else, to wriggle my feet in one spot, and finally stopped entirely. Everybody was looking at me, some in wonderment, some with curiosity, some in derision, and some with compassion. Grandmother alone remained indifferent.
"Il ne fallait pas danser, si vous ne savez pas!" was heard the angry voice of papa over my very ear, and, giving me a light push, he took the hand of my lady, made the round with her in the ancient fashion, with the loud approval of the spectators, and brought her back to her seat. The mazurka was over soon after that.
"O Lord! Why dost Thou punish me so severely!"
"Everybody hates me, and will always hate me. My road is barred to everything: to friendship, to love, to honours, — everything is lost! Why did Volódya make signs to me, which everybody could see, but which did not help me? Why did that abominable princess look at my legs? Why did Sónichka — she is a dear, but why did she smile at me then? Why did papa blush and seize my hand? Is it possible he, too, was ashamed of me? Oh, that is terrible! I am sure, if mamma had been here, she would not have blushed for her Nikólenka." And my imagination was transported far, after that sweet image. I recalled the meadow in front of the house, the tall linden-trees of the garden, the clear pond, over which the swallows circled, the azure sky, on which white, transparent clouds hovered, the fragrant ricks of newly mown hay; and many other peaceful, glowing recollections arose in my distracted imagination.