War And Peace

And although Countess Marya argued that these words from the Bible didn’t have quite that meaning, as she watched Sonya she couldn’t help agreeing with Natasha’s explanation. Sonya really did seem to find her situation quite bearable; she seemed fully reconciled to her lot as a barren flower. She seemed to be fonder of the family as a whole than the people in it. Like a cat, she had attached herself to the house rather than the people. She waited on the old countess, petted the children and spoilt them, and never refused to do any little thing she could, but everything she did was taken for granted, without any great show of gratitude . . .

The manor house at Bald Hills had been rebuilt, but not on the same scale as under the old prince.

The building work begun in days of hardship was no more than rudimentary. The huge house on its old stone foundations was wood-built and plastered only on the inside. The great rambling house with its bare boards was furnished with plain, hard armchairs and sofas and tables knocked up by serf carpenters using local birch-timber. The house was very roomy, with quarters for the house serfs and accommodation for visitors.

Relatives – Rostovs and Bolkonskys – would sometimes descend on Bald Hills bringing the whole family, sixteen horses and dozens of servants, and stay for months at a time. And four times a year, on the name-days and birthdays of the master and mistress, up to a hundred visitors would come together for a day or two. The rest of the year consisted of the smooth routine of family life with its normal occupations, and with breakfast, lunch, dinner and supper all coming from their own produce.

CHAPTER 9

It was the eve of St Nicholas, the 5th of December 1820. That year Natasha had been staying at Bald Hills with her husband and children since the beginning of the autumn. Pierre was away in Petersburg ‘on personal business’, as he liked to put it. He had gone originally for three weeks, but he had already been away for six, and they expected him home any minute now.

On this 5th of December, as well as the Bezukhovs there was another visitor staying with the Rostovs – Nikolay’s old friend, the now retired General Vasily Denisov.

On the 6th more guests were coming to celebrate his name-day, and Nikolay knew he would have to exchange his loose Tatar coat for a frock-coat and tight boots with pointed toes, and drive over to the new church he had built, and after that to listen to congratulations, offer refreshments to his guests and chat about the elections of the Nobility and this year’s harvest. But the day before all that he felt he had a right to spend as usual. By dinner-time Nikolay had gone through the bailiff’s accounts from the Ryazan estate, the property of his wife’s nephew, written a couple of business letters and walked round the granaries, cattle-yard and stables. After taking certain steps to control the general drunkenness expected next day among the peasants at such a big saint’s day celebration, he came in to dinner without having had a chance to talk to his wife in private all day long and sat down at a long table set for twenty, where all the family were assembled, including his mother, old Mademoiselle Belov, her companion, his wife and three children, their governess and tutor, his wife’s nephew with his tutor, Sonya, Denisov, Natasha, her three children, their governess and Mikhail Ivanych, the old prince’s architect, who was living on at Bald Hills in retirement.

Countess Marya was sitting at the other end of the table. The moment her husband sat down at the table she could tell from the way he snatched up his napkin and shoved back the tumbler and wine-glass set for him that he was in a bad mood, as he sometimes was just before the soup when he had come in from work and sat straight down to dinner. Countess Marya knew this mood only too well, and when she herself was in a good mood she would wait quietly until he had finished his soup, and only then open up a conversation and make him admit there was no reason to be in a bad mood, but today she quite forgot this way of dealing with him, she felt hurt that he was angry with her for no good reason, and she was miserable. She asked where he had been. He told her. She asked whether everything was all right with the estate. He scowled unpleasantly at her forced way of speaking and gave a curt response.

‘I wasn’t wrong, then,’ thought Countess Marya, ‘but why should he take things out on me?’ In his manner of speaking she could read ill will towards her and a desire to cut short the conversation. She was well aware that her words did sound rather forced, but she couldn’t resist asking one or two more questions.