War and Peace - Leo Tolstoy [755]
The guests were glad of Pierre as a man who always animated and united any company.
The adults of the household, not to mention his wife, were glad of him as a friend in whose presence life was easier and calmer.
The old ladies were glad of the presents he would be bringing, and above all that Natasha would come to life again.
Pierre felt the various views of these various worlds upon him, and hastened to give each person what was expected.
Pierre, the most absentminded and forgetful of men, had this time bought everything, according to the list his wife had drawn up, not forgetting either the errands for her mother and brother, or the present of fabric for Mrs. Belov’s dress, or the toys for his nephews. In the early days of his marriage, this demand of his wife’s—that he do that and not forget anything he had undertaken to buy—had seemed strange to him, and he had been struck by her serious distress when, on his first trip, he had forgotten everything. But later on he got used to it. Knowing that Natasha never asked anything for herself, and asked for others only when he volunteered, he now, unexpectedly for himself, took a childlike pleasure in this buying of presents for the whole household and never forgot anything. If he did earn Natasha’s reproach, it was only for buying things that were superfluous and too expensive. In the opinion of most people, to her other shortcomings (or qualities, in Pierre’s opinion)—slovenliness, letting herself go—Natasha had also added stinginess.
From the time when Pierre began to live in a big household, a family, which required big expenses, he noticed, to his surprise, that he was spending twice less than before, and that his affairs, recently upset in particular by his first wife’s debts, had begun to improve.
Life was cheaper because it was restricted: Pierre no longer had, nor wished to have, that most expensive luxury, which is the kind of life that can be changed at any moment. He felt that his way of life was now defined once and for all, till death, that to change it was not in his power, and therefore this way of life was cheap.
Pierre was sorting out his purchases with a merry, smiling face.
“Look at this!” he said, unfolding a length of cotton like a shopkeeper. Natasha sat facing him, holding her elder daughter on her lap and quickly shifting her shining eyes from her husband to what he was displaying.
“That’s for Mrs. Belov? Excellent.” She felt it for quality.
“A rouble, probably?”
Pierre told her the price.
“Expensive,” said Natasha. “Well, how glad the children will be, and maman. Only you needn’t have bought this for me,” she added, unable to suppress a smile, and admiring a gold and pearl comb such as were only just coming into fashion.
“Adèle got me confused: buy it, buy it,” said Pierre.
“When will I ever wear it?” Natasha put it into her braid. “It’s for Mashenka’s coming out; maybe they’ll be wearing them again by then. Well, come on.”
And, taking the presents, they went first to the nursery, then to the countess.
The countess, as usual, was sitting with Mrs. Belov over double patience when Pierre and Natasha, packages under their arms, came into the drawing room.
The countess was already past sixty. Her hair was completely white, and she wore a cap with a ruffle that went all the way around her face. Her face was wrinkled, her upper lip was sunken, and her eyes were dull.
After the deaths of her son and her husband, which had followed so quickly upon each other, she felt