First Epilogue: 1813-20 - Chapter XVI

by Leo Tolstoy

　　Natasha and Pierre, left alone, also began to talk as only a husbandand wife can talk, that is, with extraordinary clearness and rapidity,understanding and expressing each other's thoughts in ways contrary toall rules of logic, without premises, deductions, or conclusions,and in a quite peculiar way. Natasha was so used to this kind oftalk with her husband that for her it was the surest sign of somethingbeing wrong between them if Pierre followed a line of logicalreasoning. When he began proving anything, or talkingargumentatively and calmly and she, led on by his example, began to dothe same, she knew that they were on the verge of a quarrel.

　　From the moment they were alone and Natasha came up to him withwide-open happy eyes, and quickly seizing his head pressed it to herbosom, saying: "Now you are all mine, mine! You won't escape!"- fromthat moment this conversation began, contrary to all the laws of logicand contrary to them because quite different subjects were talkedabout at one and the same time. This simultaneous discussion of manytopics did not prevent a clear understanding but on the contrary wasthe surest sign that they fully understood one another.

　　Just as in a dream when all is uncertain, unreasoning, andcontradictory, except the feeling that guides the dream, so in thisintercourse contrary to all laws of reason, the words themselveswere not consecutive and clear but only the feeling that promptedthem.

　　Natasha spoke to Pierre about her brother's life and doings, ofhow she had suffered and lacked life during his own absence, and ofhow she was fonder than ever of Mary, and how Mary was in every waybetter than herself. In saying this Natasha was sincere inacknowledging Mary's superiority, but at the same time by saying itshe made a demand on Pierre that he should, all the same, prefer herto Mary and to all other women, and that now, especially afterhaving seen many women in Petersburg, he should tell her so afresh.

　　Pierre, answering Natasha's words, told her how intolerable it hadbeen for him to meet ladies at dinners and balls in Petersburg.

　　"I have quite lost the knack of talking to ladies," he said. "It wassimply dull. Besides, I was very busy."

　　Natasha looked intently at him and went on:

　　"Mary is so splendid," she said. "How she understands children! Itis as if she saw straight into their souls. Yesterday, for instance,Mitya was naughty..."

　　"How like his father he is," Pierre interjected.

　　Natasha knew why he mentioned Mitya's likeness to Nicholas: therecollection of his dispute with his brother-in-law was unpleasant andhe wanted to know what Natasha thought of it.

　　"Nicholas has the weakness of never agreeing with anything notgenerally accepted. But I understand that you value what opens up afresh line," said she, repeating words Pierre had once uttered.

　　"No, the chief point is that to Nicholas ideas and discussions arean amusement- almost a pastime," said Pierre. "For instance, he iscollecting a library and has made it a rule not to buy a new book tillhe has read what he had already bought- Sismondi and Rousseau andMontesquieu," he added with a smile. "You know how much I..." he beganto soften down what he had said; but Natasha interrupted him to showthat this was unnecessary.

　　"So you say ideas are an amusement to him...."

　　"Yes, and for me nothing else is serious. All the time in PetersburgI saw everyone as in a dream. When I am taken up by a thought, allelse is mere amusement."

　　"Ah, I'm so sorry I wasn't there when you met the children," saidNatasha. "Which was most delighted? Lisa, I'm sure."

　　"Yes," Pierre replied, and went on with what was in his mind."Nicholas says we ought not to think. But I can't help it. Besides,when I was in Petersburg I felt (I can this to you) that the wholeaffair would go to pieces without me- everyone was pulling his ownway. But I succeeded in uniting them all; and then my idea is so clearand simple. You see, I don't say that we ought to oppose this andthat. We may be mistaken. What I say is: 'Join hands, you who love theright, and let there be but one banner- that of active virtue.' PrinceSergey is a fine fellow and clever."

　　Natasha would have had no doubt as to the greatness of Pierre'sidea, but one thing disconcerted her. "Can a man so important andnecessary to society be also my husband? How did this happen?" Shewished to express this doubt to him. "Now who could decide whetherhe is really cleverer than all the others?" she asked herself, andpassed in review all those whom Pierre most respected. Judging by whathe had said there was no one he had respected so highly as PlatonKarataev.

　　"Do you know what I am thinking about?" she asked. "About PlatonKarataev. Would he have approved of you now, do you think?"

　　Pierre was not at all surprised at this question. He understoodhis wife's line of thought.

　　"Platon Karataev?" he repeated, and pondered, evidently sincerelytrying to imagine Karataev's opinion on the subject. "He would nothave understood... yet perhaps he would."

　　"I love you awfully!" Natasha suddenly said. "Awfully, awfully!"

　　"No, he would not have approved," said Pierre, after reflection."What he would have approved of is our family life. He was always soanxious to find seemliness, happiness, and peace in everything, andI should have been proud to let him see us. There now- you talk ofmy absence, but you wouldn't believe what a special feeling I have foryou after a separation...."

　　"Yes, I should think..." Natasha began.

　　"No, it's not that. I never leave off loving you. And one couldn'tlove more, but this is something special.... Yes, of course-" he didnot finish because their eyes meeting said the rest.

　　"What nonsense it is," Natasha suddenly exclaimed, "abouthoneymoons, and that the greatest happiness is at first! On thecontrary, now is the best of all. If only you did not go away! Doyou remember how we quarreled? And it was always my fault. Alwaysmine. And what we quarreled about- I don't even remember!"

　　"Always about the same thing," said Pierre with a smile. "Jealo..."

　　"Don't say it! I can't bear it!" Natasha cried, and her eyesglittered coldly and vindictively. "Did you see her?" she added, aftera pause.

　　"No, and if I had I shouldn't have recognized her."

　　They were silent for a while.

　　"Oh, do you know? While you were talking in the study I waslooking at you," Natasha began, evidently anxious to disperse thecloud that had come over them. "You are as like him as two peas-like the boy." (She meant her little son.) "Oh, it's time to go tohim.... The milk's come.... But I'm sorry to leave you."

　　They were silent for a few seconds. Then suddenly turning to oneanother at the same time they both began to speak. Pierre began withself-satisfaction and enthusiasm, Natasha with a quiet, happy smile.Having interrupted one another they both stopped to let the othercontinue.

　　"No. What did you say? Go on, go on."

　　"No, you go on, I was talking nonsense," said Natasha.

　　Pierre finished what he had begun. It was the sequel to hiscomplacent reflections on his success in Petersburg. At that moment itseemed to him that he was chosen to give a new direction to thewhole of Russian society and to the whole world.

　　"I only wished to say that ideas that have great results arealways simple ones. My whole idea is that if vicious people are unitedand constitute a power, then honest folk must do the same. Nowthat's simple enough."

　　"Yes."

　　"And what were you going to say?"

　　"I? Only nonsense."

　　"But all the same?"

　　"Oh nothing, only a trifle," said Natasha, smilingly still morebrightly. "I only wanted to tell you about Petya: today nurse wascoming to take him from me, and he laughed, shut his eyes, and clungto me. I'm sure he thought he was hiding. Awfully sweet! There, nowhe's crying. Well, good-by!" and she left the room.

　　Meanwhile downstairs in young Nicholas Bolkonski's bedroom alittle lamp was burning as usual. (The boy was afraid of the darkand they could not cure him of it.) Dessalles slept propped up on fourpillows and his Roman nose emitted sounds of rhythmic snoring.Little Nicholas, who had just waked up in a cold perspiration, satup in bed and gazed before him with wide-open eyes. He had awaked froma terrible dream. He had dreamed that he and Uncle Pierre, wearinghelmets such as were depicted in his Plutarch, were leading a hugearmy. The army was made up of white slanting lines that filled the airlike the cobwebs that float about in autumn and which Dessalles calledles fils de la Vierge. In front was Glory, which was similar tothose threads but rather thicker. He and Pierre were borne alonglightly and joyously, nearer and nearer to their goal. Suddenly thethreads that moved them began to slacken and become entangled and itgrew difficult to move. And Uncle Nicholas stood before them in astern and threatening attitude.

　　"Have you done this?" he said, pointing to some broken sealing waxand pens. "I loved you, but I have orders from Arakcheev and will killthe first of you who moves forward." Little Nicholas turned to look atPierre but Pierre was no longer there. In his place was his father-Prince Andrew- and his father had neither shape nor form, but heexisted, and when little Nicholas perceived him he grew faint withlove: he felt himself powerless, limp, and formless. His fathercaressed and pitied him. But Uncle Nicholas came nearer and nearerto them. Terror seized young Nicholas and he awoke.

　　"My father!" he thought. (Though there were two good portraits ofPrince Andrew in the house, Nicholas never imagined him in humanform.) "My father has been with me and caressed me. He approved ofme and of Uncle Pierre. Whatever he may tell me, I will do it.Mucius Scaevola burned his hand. Why should not the same sort of thinghappen to me? I know they want me to learn. And I will learn. Butsomeday I shall have finished learning, and then I will dosomething. I only pray God that something may happen to me such ashappened to Plutarch's men, and I will act as they did. I will dobetter. Everyone shall know me, love me, and be delighted with me!"And suddenly his bosom heaved with sobs and he began to cry.

　　"Are you ill?" he heard Dessalles' voice asking.

　　"No," answered Nicholas, and lay back on his pillow.

　　"He is good and kind and I am fond of him!" he thought of Dessalles."But Uncle Pierre! Oh, what a wonderful man he is! And my father?Oh, Father, Father! Yes, I will do something with which even hewould be satisfied...."