War And Peace

Pierre saw in an instant what an unusual, complex and powerfully moving series of thoughts and feelings must have been going through the boy’s mind quite independently while they had been talking, and when he thought back to what he had been saying he felt annoyed that the boy had heard it all. But he still had to give him an answer.

‘I think he probably would,’ he said reluctantly, and walked out.

The boy looked down, and saw, apparently for the first time, what a mess he had made on the desk. He went beetroot red and walked over to Nikolay.

‘I’m very sorry, Uncle. It was an accident,’ he said, pointing to the broken bits of sealing-wax and pens.

Nikolay reacted with a face like thunder. ‘All right. All right,’ he said, throwing the broken pens and sealing-wax down under the table. And he turned away, all too obviously fighting down his mounting fury.

‘You shouldn’t have been here at all,’ he said.

CHAPTER 15

Over supper no more was said about politics or societies; the conversation turned to Nikolay’s favourite subject: memories of 1812. Denisov led off, and Pierre was at his genial and amusing best. The family broke up on the friendliest of terms.

Nikolay got undressed in his study, gave some instructions to his steward, who had been waiting for him, went into the bedroom in his dressing-gown and found his wife still at her desk, writing.

‘What are you writing, Marie?’ asked Nikolay. Countess Marya coloured up. She was afraid that what she was writing would not be understood or approved of by her husband.

She would have liked to hide what she was writing, but at the same time she was glad she had been caught, and had to tell him.

‘It’s my diary, Nikolay,’ she said, handing him a blue note-book, filled with her bold, meticulous handwriting.

‘A diary!’ said Nikolay with a touch of mockery, taking the note-book. It was in French.

December 4th

Andryusha [their eldest son] refused to get dressed when he woke up this morning, so Mademoiselle Louise sent for me. He was naughty and stubborn. Tried threatening him, but he only got more bad-tempered. I said leave it to me, put him to one side, helped nurse to get the other children up, and told him I didn’t love him. He was quiet for a long time – seemed surprised. Then he rushed at me still in his night-shirt, and sobbed so much it took me ages to calm him down. Clearly, what hurt him most was that he had upset me. Then when I gave him his report in the evening he cried pitifully again as he kissed me. You can do anything with him by showing affection.

‘What’s this about a report?’ asked Nikolay.

‘I’ve started giving the older ones little marks in the evening to let them know how well they’ve been behaving.’

Nikolay glanced at the luminous eyes watching him and carried on leafing through the diary and dipping in. The children’s lives were documented with every detail that their mother deemed to be significant in showing the character of the children, or leading to general ideas about bringing them up. It was mostly a mass of trivial detail, but it didn’t seem like that to the mother or the father, as he now read through this record of his children’s lives for the very first time. An entry for the 5th of December read as follows:

Mitya was naughty at table. Papa said no pudding. He had none, but he looked so miserable and positively greedy while the others were eating. My belief – punishing them by not letting them have any sweet things only encourages greediness. Must tell Nikolay.

Nikolay put the book down and looked at his wife. The luminous eyes were staring at him in some doubt: would he, or would he not, approve? There was no doubt about it: Nikolay not only approved, he was delighted with his wife.

Perhaps it was all a bit too pedantic, perhaps it didn’t need to be done at all, thought Nikolay, but he was delighted by this constant, unflagging spiritual application, aimed only at improving the children’s moral well-being. If Nikolay had been able to pin down his attitude he would have found that his strong, proud and tender love for his wife was actually founded on a certain reverence for her spirituality, and the lofty world of morality that she lived in and he had virtually no access to.

He was so proud that she was clever and good, he acknowledged his own insignificance alongside her in the spiritual world and he rejoiced all the more to realize that she, with her spirit, not only belonged to him, but was part of his very self.

‘I really do approve of this, darling!’ he said, with a meaningful air. And after a short pause he added, ‘I’ve behaved very badly today. You weren’t there in the study. Pierre and I were having things out, and I lost my temper. I just couldn’t help it. He’s such a baby. I don’t know what would happen to him if Natasha didn’t keep him under control. Can you imagine why he went to Petersburg? . . . They’ve set up a . . .’

‘Yes, I do know,’ said Countess Marya. ‘Natasha told me.’