War And Peace

Nikolay said nothing. He went bright red, walked away and started pacing up and down in silence. He knew what she was crying about, but deep down he couldn’t bring himself just like that to acknowledge that something he had been used to since childhood, something he considered perfectly normal, could be wrong. ‘Sentimental nonsense, women’s thinking . . . Or could she be right?’ he said to himself. Still uncertain, he glanced again at her loving face that was so full of pain, and suddenly it came to him: she was right – all this time he had been sinning against himself.

‘Marie,’ he said softly, going over to her, ‘it won’t happen again. I promise. Ever,’ he repeated in a trembling voice, like a little boy wanting to be forgiven.

The tears flowed faster from the countess’s eyes. She took her husband’s hand and kissed it.

‘Nikolay, when did you break your cameo ring?’ she said, changing the subject as she looked at the finger that wore a ring with a cameo head of Laocoön.¹²

‘Today. Same thing. Oh, Marie, don’t remind me!’ he burst out again. ‘I swear it won’t happen again. And let this always be a reminder to me,’ he said, pointing to the broken ring.

And from then on, whenever he was having things out with his village elders and foremen, as soon as he felt a rush of blood to his face and began to clench his fists, Nikolay would twist the broken ring around his finger and look away from the man who had made him so angry. Even then a couple of times a year he would forget himself, and then he would go straight to his wife, make a full confession and promise once again that this really was the last time.

‘Marie, you must despise me,’ he said to her. ‘It’s what I deserve.’

‘You must walk away, just walk away as fast as you can if you feel yourself losing control,’ his wife said despondently, trying to pacify him.

Among the gentry of the province Nikolay was respected but not well liked. The gentry’s interests were not his interests. This meant that some people saw him as arrogant and others thought he was stupid. He spent the whole of the summer, from spring sowing to harvest-time, farming. When autumn came he went off hunting with the same kind of businesslike attitude he applied to farming, disappearing with his hunt for weeks on end. In winter he went round their other properties, or did a lot of reading, mainly historical works, on which he spent a little money each year. He was putting together what he called a serious library, and he made it a matter of principle to read every book he bought. He would retire to his study looking very important and sit there engaged in his reading. The occupation that he had originally taken on as a duty soon became a habit, and it now gave him a special thrill of pleasure as he revelled in the sense of doing something that mattered. Apart from the trips away on business he spent all winter ensconced at home with his family, involving himself very closely in the day-to-day relations between his children and their mother. He felt closer and closer to his wife, discovering new spiritual treasures in her with each passing day.

From the time of Nikolay’s marriage Sonya had lived in his house. Before they were married Nikolay had told his wife everything that had happened between him and Sonya, blaming himself and praising her. He asked Princess Marya to be kind and affectionate to his cousin. His wife fully appreciated that he had treated Sonya badly, and she had too; she couldn’t help thinking that her wealth had influenced Nikolay in his choice, she could find no fault in Sonya, and she wanted to like her. But she didn’t, and to make matters worse she often found herself harbouring feelings of enmity towards her that she couldn’t suppress.

One day she was talking to her friend Natasha about Sonya and her own unfair prejudice against her.

‘Do you know what I think?’ said Natasha. ‘You’re always reading the Bible, aren’t you? There’s a passage there that’s all about Sonya.’

‘Which one?’ asked Countess Marya in some surprise.

‘ “To him that hath shall be given, and from him that hath not shall be taken away even that which he hath.” You remember. She’s the one that hath not. I don’t know why – perhaps she’s not selfish enough. I just don’t know, but from her it shall certainly be taken away – in fact, it already has been. Sometimes I feel terribly sorry for her. In the old days I used to want Nikolay to marry her, but I had a kind of feeling it wasn’t going to happen. She’s what they call a barren flower. You know – you get them on strawberry plants. Sometimes I feel sorry for her, but sometimes I think she doesn’t feel things the way we would have done.’