War and Peace - Leo Tolstoy [349]
Sonya grieved both at being parted from Nikolai and still more at the hostile tone with which the countess could not help treating her. The count was more preoccupied than ever with the bad state of his affairs, which called for some decisive measures. It was necessary to sell the Moscow house and nearby estate, and to sell the house it was necessary to go to Moscow. But because of the countess’s health, they had to put off the departure from day to day.
Natasha, who had borne the initial time of her separation from her fiancé lightly and even cheerfully, now grew more and more troubled and impatient with every day. The thought that her best time, which she could have used in loving him, was being wasted like that, for nothing, tormented her unremittingly. His letters mostly made her angry. It offended her to think that, while she lived only by thoughts of him, he was living a real life, seeing new places and new people who interested him. The more diverting his letters were, the more vexed she felt. Her own letters to him not only did not furnish her with any comfort, but were a boring and false duty. She was unable to write, because she could not conceive the possibility of truthfully expressing in a letter even a thousandth part of what she was used to expressing with her voice, smile, and gaze. She wrote him classically monotonous, dry letters, to which she herself did not ascribe any significance, and in the drafts of which the countess corrected the spelling errors.
The countess’s health still did not improve; but it was no longer possible to put off the trip to Moscow. A dowry had to be prepared, the house had to be sold, and, besides, Prince Andrei was first expected in Moscow, where Prince Nikolai Andreich was spending that winter, and Natasha was sure that he had already arrived.
The countess stayed in the country, and the count, taking Sonya and Natasha with him, went to Moscow at the end of January.
Part Five
I
After the engagement of Prince Andrei and Natasha, Pierre, without any obvious reason, suddenly felt the impossibility of going on with his former life. However firmly convinced he was of the truths revealed to him by his benefactor, however joyful for him had been that first time of enthusiastic inner work of self-improvement, to which he had given himself with such ardor—after Prince Andrei’s betrothal to Natasha, and after the death of Iosif Alexeevich, of which he received news at almost the same time, the whole charm of that former life suddenly vanished for him. Only the skeleton of life remained: his house with his brilliant wife, who now enjoyed the favors of an important person; acquaintance with all Petersburg; and service with its dull formalities. And that former life suddenly presented itself to Pierre with unexpected vileness. He ceased writing in his diary, avoided the company of the brothers, began going to the club again, began drinking heavily again, became close again with bachelor companies, and began leading such a life that Elena Vassilievna felt it necessary to reprimand him sternly. Pierre felt that she was right and, to avoid compromising his wife, left for Moscow.
In Moscow, as soon as he moved into his huge house with the dried- and drying-up princesses, with its enormous staff, as soon as he saw—on driving through the city—the Iverskaya Chapel1 with countless candles burning before the gold casing, saw the Kremlin Square with its untrampled snow, the cabbies, the hovels of the Sivtsev Vrazhek, saw old Moscow men, who desired nothing and were not hurrying anywhere as they lived out their lives, saw little old women, Moscow ladies, Moscow balls, and the Moscow English Club—he felt himself at home, in a quiet haven. For him Moscow was comfortable, warm, habitual, and dirty, like an old dressing gown.
All Moscow society, from old women to children, received Pierre like a long-awaited guest, whose place was always kept ready and vacant. For Moscow society, Pierre was