Christ loved mankind. Countess Mary’s soul always strove
toward the infinite, the eternal, and the absolute, and could
therefore never be at peace. A stern expression of the lofty,
secret suffering of a soul burdened by the body appeared on
her face. Nicholas gazed at her. ‘O God! What will become
of us if she dies, as I always fear when her face is like that?’
thought he, and placing himself before the icon he began to
say his evening prayers.
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Chapter XVI
Natasha and Pierre, left alone, also began to talk as
only a husband and wife can talk, that is, with extraordinary clearness and rapidity, understanding and expressing
each other’s thoughts in ways contrary to all rules of logic,
without premises, deductions, or conclusions, and in a quite
peculiar way. Natasha was so used to this kind of talk with
her husband that for her it was the surest sign of something
being wrong between them if Pierre followed a line of logical reasoning. When he began proving anything, or talking
argumentatively and calmly and she, led on by his example,
began to do the same, she knew that they were on the verge
of a quarrel.
From the moment they were alone and Natasha came up
to him with wide-open happy eyes, and quickly seizing his
head pressed it to her bosom, saying: ‘Now you are all mine,
mine! You won’t escape!’from that moment this conversation began, contrary to all the laws of logic and contrary
to them because quite different subjects were talked about
at one and the same time. This simultaneous discussion of
many topics did not prevent a clear understanding but on
the contrary was the surest sign that they fully understood
one another.
Just as in a dream when all is uncertain, unreasoning,
and contradictory, except the feeling that guides the dream,
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so in this intercourse contrary to all laws of reason, the
words themselves were not consecutive and clear but only
the feeling that prompted them.
Natasha spoke to Pierre about her brother’s life and doings, of how she had suffered and lacked life during his own
absence, and of how she was fonder than ever of Mary, and
how Mary was in every way better than herself. In saying
this Natasha was sincere in acknowledging Mary’s superiority, but at the same time by saying it she made a demand
on Pierre that he should, all the same, prefer her to Mary
and to all other women, and that now, especially after having seen many women in Petersburg, he should tell her so
afresh.
Pierre, answering Natasha’s words, told her how intolerable it had been for him to meet ladies at dinners and balls
in Petersburg.
‘I have quite lost the knack of talking to ladies,’ he said.
‘It was simply dull. Besides, I was very busy.’
Natasha looked intently at him and went on:
‘Mary is so splendid,’ she said. ‘How she understands
children! It is as if she saw straight into their souls. Yesterday, for instance, Mitya was naughty..’
‘How like his father he is,’ Pierre interjected.
Natasha knew why he mentioned Mitya’s likeness to
Nicholas: the recollection of his dispute with his brotherin-law was unpleasant and he wanted to know what Natasha
thought of it.
‘Nicholas has the weakness of never agreeing with anything not generally accepted. But I understand that you
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value what opens up a fresh line,’ said she, repeating words
Pierre had once uttered.
‘No, the chief point is that to Nicholas ideas and discussions are an amusementalmost a pastime,’ said Pierre. ‘For
instance, he is collecting a library and has made it a rule
not to buy a new book till he has read what he had already
boughtSismondi and Rousseau and Montesquieu,’ he added
with a smile. ‘You know how much I…’ he began to soften down what he had said; but Natasha interrupted him to
show that this was unnecessary.
‘So you say ideas are an amusement to him…’
‘Yes, and for me nothing else is serious. All the time in
Petersburg I saw everyone as in a dream. When I am taken
up by a thought, all else is mere amusement.’
‘Ah, I’m so sorry I wasn’t there when you met the children,’ said Natasha. ‘Which was most delighted? Lisa, I’m
sure.’
‘Yes,’ Pierre replied, and went on with what was in his
mind. ‘Nicholas says we ought not to think. But I can’t help
it. Besides, when I was in Petersburg I felt (I can this to you)
that the whole affair would go to pieces without meeveryone was pulling his own way. But I succeeded in uniting
them all; and then my idea is so clear and simple. You see, I
don’t say that we ought to oppose this and that. We may be
mistaken. What I say is: ‘Join hands, you who love the right,
and let there be but one bannerthat of active virtue.’ Prince
Sergey is a fine fellow and clever.’
Natasha would have had no doubt as to the greatness of
Pierre’s idea, but one thing disconcerted her. ‘Can a man
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so important and necessary to society be also my husband?
How did this happen?’ She wished to express this doubt to
him. ‘Now who could decide whether he is really cleverer
than all the others?’ she asked herself, and passed in review
all those whom Pierre most respected. Judging by what he
had said there was no one he had respected so highly as Platon Karataev.
‘Do you know what I am thinking about?’ she asked.
‘About Platon Karataev. Would he have approved of you
now, do you think?’
Pierre was not at all surprised at this question. He understood his wife’s line of thought.
‘Platon Karataev?’ he repeated, and pondered, evidently sincerely trying to imagine Karataev’s opinion on the
subject. ‘He would not have understood… yet perhaps he
would.’
‘I love you awfully!’ Natasha suddenly said. ‘Awfully, awfully!’
‘No, he would not have approved,’ said Pierre, after reflection. ‘What he would have approved of is our family life.
He was always so anxious to find seemliness, happiness,
and peace in everything, and I should have been proud to
let him see us. There nowyou talk of my absence, but you
wouldn’t believe what a special feeling I have for you after
a separation…’
‘Yes, I should think…’ Natasha began.
‘No, it’s not that. I never leave off loving you. And one
couldn’t love more, but this is something special…. Yes, of
course-’ he did not finish because their eyes meeting said
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the rest.
‘What nonsense it is,’ Natasha suddenly exclaimed,
‘about honeymoons, and that the greatest happiness is at
first! On the contrary, now is the best of all. If only you did
not go away! Do you remember how we quarreled? And it
was always my fault. Always mine. And what we quarreled
aboutI don’t even remember!’
‘Always about the same thing,’ said Pierre with a smile.
‘Jealo..’
‘Don’t say it! I can’t bear it!’ Natasha cried, and her eyes
glittered coldly and vindictively. ‘Did you see her?’ she added, after a pause.
‘No, and if I had I shouldn’t have recognized her.’
They were silent for a while.
‘Oh, do you know? While you were talking in the study
I was looking at you,’ Natasha began, evidently anxious to
disperse the cloud that had come over them. ‘You are as like
him as two peaslike the boy.’ (She meant her little son.) ‘Oh,
it’s time to go to him…. The milk’s come…. But I’m sorry to
leave you.’
They were silent for a few seconds. Then suddenly turning to one another at the same time they both began to
speak. Pierre began with self-satisfaction and enthusiasm,
Natasha with a quiet, happy smile. Having interrupted one
another they both stopped to let the other continue.
‘No. What did you say? Go on, go on.’
‘No, you go on, I was talking nonsense,’ said Natasha.
Pierre finished what he had begun. It was the sequel to
his complacent reflections on his success in Petersburg. At
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that moment it seemed to him that he was chosen to give
a new direction to the whole of Russian society and to the
whole world.
‘I only wished to say that ideas that have great results are
always simple ones. My whole idea is that if vicious people
are united and constitute a power, then honest folk must do
the same. Now that’s simple enough.’
‘Yes.’
‘And what were you going to say?’
‘I? Only nonsense.’
‘But all the same?’
‘Oh nothing, only a trifle,’ said Natasha, smilingly still
more brightly. ‘I only wanted to tell you about Petya: today
nurse was coming to take him from me, and he laughed,
shut his eyes, and clung to me. I’m sure he thought he was
hiding. Awfully sweet! There, now he’s crying. Well, goodby!’ and she left the room.
Meanwhile downstairs in young Nicholas Bolkonski’s
bedroom a little lamp was burning as usual. (The boy was
afraid of the dark and they could not cure him of it.) Dessalles slept propped up on four pillows and his Roman nose
emitted sounds of rhythmic snoring. Little Nicholas, who
had just waked up in a cold perspiration, sat up in bed and
gazed before him with wide-open eyes. He had awaked
from a terrible dream. He had dreamed that he and Uncle
Pierre, wearing helmets such as were depicted in his Plutarch, were leading a huge army. The army was made up of
white slanting lines that filled the air like the cobwebs that
float about in autumn and which Dessalles called les fils de
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la Vierge. In front was Glory, which was similar to those
threads but rather thicker. He and Pierre were borne along
lightly and joyously, nearer and nearer to their goal. Suddenly the threads that moved them began to slacken and
become entangled and it grew difficult to move. And Uncle
Nicholas stood before them in a stern and threatening attitude.
‘Have you done this?’ he said, pointing to some broken
sealing wax and pens. ‘I loved you, but I have orders from
Arakcheev and will kill the first of you who moves forward.’
Little Nicholas turned to look at Pierre but Pierre was no
longer there. In his place was his fatherPrince Andrewand
his father had neither shape nor form, but he existed, and
when little Nicholas perceived him he grew faint with
