War And Peace

In that first minute Pierre unwittingly revealed to them all, to her and Princess Marya and most of all to himself, a secret that even he had been unaware of. He blushed with delight and squirmed with anguish. He tried to hide his excitement. But the more he tried to hide it, the more clearly – more clearly than the sharpest words could have done – he was telling himself, her and Princess Marya that he loved her.

‘No, it’s nothing. It’s the sudden shock,’ Pierre thought. But the moment he tried to go back to the conversation with Princess Marya he glanced again at Natasha and an even deeper blush spread over his face, and his heart was flooded with an even more violent surge of rapture and terror. He stammered and stuttered, and stopped in mid-sentence.

Pierre had not noticed Natasha because she was the last person he had expected to see here, but he had failed to recognize her because of the immense change that had taken place in her since their last meeting. She was much thinner and paler. But it wasn’t this that made her unrecognizable. No one would have recognized her when he entered the room because when he had first glanced at her the face and eyes that in days gone by had always glowed with a half-suppressed smile of sheer joie de vivre had held no trace of a smile. They were anybody’s eyes, kindly, brooding, quizzical and sad.

Pierre’s discomfort aroused no similar discomfort in Natasha; all it prompted was a look of pleasure, barely perceptible as it lit up her whole face.

CHAPTER 16

‘She’s come to stay with me,’ said Princess Marya. ‘The count and countess will be here in a day or two. The countess is in a terrible state. But Natasha had to see a doctor. They made her come with me.’

‘Oh yes. Is any family free from sorrow?’ said Pierre, turning to Natasha. ‘You know it happened the day we were rescued. I saw him. He was a lovely boy!’

Natasha was looking at him, and in response to his words her eyes opened even wider and grew brighter.

‘What could anybody say or think that would bring any consolation?’ said Pierre. ‘Nothing. Why did he have to die, a fine young boy like him, so full of life?’

‘Yes. It would be hard to live without faith nowadays . . .’ said Princess Marya.

‘You’re quite right. Only too true,’ Pierre put in hurriedly.

‘Why is that true?’ Natasha asked, looking closely into Pierre’s eyes.

‘Why is it true?’ said Princess Marya. ‘Well, you only have to think about what is in store for us . . .’

Natasha wasn’t listening to Princess Marya; she gave Pierre another quizzical look.

‘And also because,’ Pierre went on, ‘only someone who believes there is a God guiding our lives could stand a loss like hers, and . . . yours,’ said Pierre.

Natasha opened her mouth as if to speak, but she stopped short.

Pierre turned away hurriedly and asked Princess Marya about the last days of his friend’s life. By now Pierre’s embarrassment had almost disappeared, but he felt that all his former freedom had disappeared with it. He felt that now there was a judge listening to his every word and every action, someone whose judgement mattered more than the judgement of everybody else in the world. Here he was talking, and with every word he spoke he was conscious of the impression he was making on Natasha. He didn’t go out of his way to say things that might please her, but whatever he said, he was judging himself from her point of view.

With the reluctance that is normal in a situation like this Princess Marya started telling Pierre about the state she had found her brother in. But Pierre’s questions, his excitement, his eager eyes and his face trembling with emotion gradually induced her to go into details that, for her own sake, she had so far been scared to bring back to mind.

‘Yes, yes. I can see that . . .’ said Pierre, leaning well forward over Princess Marya, and drinking in her every word. ‘Yes, yes. So he did find peace? He did soften? He always strove with all his soul for one thing – to be a good man so he wouldn’t have to be afraid of dying. His faults – if he had any – came from outside himself. Anyway, he did soften, didn’t he?’ he said.

‘It was a great joy that he met up with you again,’ he said to Natasha, turning suddenly towards her, and looking into her brimming eyes.

Natasha’s face quivered. She frowned, and looked down for a moment. There was a second’s hesitation: should she speak or not?

‘Yes, it was,’ she said in a low, deep voice. ‘It really was a great joy for me.’ She paused. ‘And he . . . he . . . he told me he was longing for me to come to him the moment I went in . . .’ Natasha’s voice broke. She flushed, clasped her hands tightly on her knees and then suddenly, controlling herself with an obvious effort, she looked up and started speaking very quickly.