War And Peace

Cautiously easing her breast away, Natasha cradled her little boy, handed him over to the nurse and then walked quickly off towards the door. But she stopped in the doorway as if she felt guilty for being so quick and happy to get rid of the baby, and she looked back. The nurse with her elbows raised, lifted the baby over the rail and into the cot.

‘Yes, go along, ma’am, go along. Don’t you worry. You go along,’ whispered the nurse, smiling with the close familiarity that is bound to arise between nurse and mistress.

Natasha tripped down to the ante-room. Denisov was on his way out of the study into the hall with his pipe in his mouth, and for him it was like seeing Natasha again for the first time. Her face was transformed, flooded with a new radiance and joyful brightness.

‘He’s back!’ she called across as she flew past, and Denisov felt delighted to hear that Pierre was back, even though he didn’t like him very much. Running into the ante-room, Natasha caught sight of a tall figure in a fur-coat busy undoing his scarf.

‘Yes, it’s him. It’s true. He’s back,’ she said to herself as she rushed at him, gave him a hug and pressed her head against his chest, before pulling back to look at her husband’s ruddy, frosted face glowing with happiness. ‘Yes, it’s him. All happy and contented . . .’

Then suddenly she remembered all the suspense and torment she had gone through during the last two weeks. The glow of joy was wiped off her face, she scowled and a torrent of angry words and recrimination rained down on Pierre’s head.

‘Oh yes, it’s all right for you. You’ve been having a good time, enjoying yourself . . . What about me? You might have thought about the children. Here I am nursing. My milk went wrong. Petya nearly died. And you’ve been off enjoying yourself. Enjoying yourself!’

Pierre knew it wasn’t his fault; he couldn’t have come any earlier. He knew this outburst on her part was unseemly, but it would be over in a couple of minutes. Most important of all, he knew that he himself was deliriously happy. He felt like smiling, but he wouldn’t dare think of it. He put on a pathetic show of dismay and bowed his head to the storm.

‘God’s truth, I just couldn’t . . . Anyway, how is Petya?’

‘He is all right now. Come and see. You ought to be ashamed of yourself. If you could have seen what I’m like without you, what I’ve been through . . .’

‘Are you well?’

‘Come on. Come on,’ she said, holding on to his hand. And off they went to their rooms. When Nikolay and his wife came to look for Pierre they found him in the nursery, dandling his baby son, who was now awake again, on the palm of his big right hand. There was a gleeful smile on the baby’s broad face with its wide-open, toothless mouth. The storm had long blown over, and Natasha’s face was flooded with brightness, happiness and sunshine as she gazed tenderly at her husband and son.

‘How did your discussions with Prince Fyodor go?’ Natasha was saying.

‘Oh, splendidly.’

‘Look, he can hold his head up,’ said Natasha, pointing to the baby. ‘Oh, what a scare he gave me . . . And did you see the princess? Is it true she’s in love with that . . .’

‘Yes, you can well imagine . . .’

At that moment Nikolay and his wife came in. Pierre kept hold of his son as he bent down, exchanged kisses and answered their various questions. But it was obvious that in spite of all the interesting things they had to talk about, Pierre’s only real interest was in the baby, with his wobbly head in its little cap.

‘What a sweetie!’ said Countess Marya, looking at the baby and playing with him. ‘That’s one thing I don’t understand about you, Nikolay,’ she said, turning to her husband. ‘How it is you don’t feel the charm of these exquisite little creatures?’

‘Well, I don’t and I can’t,’ said Nikolay, looking coldly at the baby. ‘Just a lump of flesh. Come on, Pierre.’

‘The main thing is, he really is a very loving father,’ said Countess Marya, apologizing for her husband, ‘but only after they are a year or so old . . .’

‘Oh, Pierre’s a splendid nurse,’ said Natasha. ‘He says his hand is just right for a baby’s bottom. Look.’

‘Yes, but not this one,’ Pierre cried with a laugh as he snatched up the baby and handed him back to his nurse.

CHAPTER 12

As in any family worthy of the name, several separate worlds coexisted within the one household at Bald Hills, and while each preserved its own individuality, they all made allowances for each other and they blended together into one harmonious whole. Every event that occurred in the house, happy or sad, was of equal importance to each of these little worlds, but each of them also had its own personal and quite independent reasons for applauding or regretting every event.

Thus Pierre’s homecoming, a joyful and important event, was accepted as such in all circles.