The Household's Many Worlds — War and Peace

As in every large household, there are at Bald Hills several perfectly distinct worlds which merge into one harmonious whole, though each retains its peculiarities and makes concessions to the others. Every event, joyful or sad, is important to all these worlds, but each has its own reasons to rejoice or grieve independently. Pierre's return is a joyful and important event, and they all feel it to be so. The servants, the most reliable judges of their masters because they judge not by conversation but by acts and way of life, are glad because they know that when Pierre is there Count Nicholas will cease going every day to the estate, will be in better spirits, and they will all receive handsome presents for the holidays. The children and governesses are glad because no one else draws them into the social life of the household as he does. He alone can play on the clavichord that ecossaise, his only piece, to which, as he says, all possible dances can be danced, and they feel sure he has brought presents.

Young Nicholas, now a slim lad of fifteen, delicate and intelligent, with curly light-brown hair and beautiful eyes, is delighted because Uncle Pierre is the object of his rapturous and passionate affection. No one instilled this love. Countess Mary has done her utmost to make him love her husband, and little Nicholas does love Uncle Nicholas, but with just a shade of contempt. Pierre he adores. He does not want to be a hussar or a Knight of St. George like Nicholas; he wants to be learned, wise, and kind like Pierre. In Pierre's presence his face shines, he flushes and is breathless. He does not miss a word, and afterwards, with Dessalles or by himself, reconsiders everything Pierre has said. Pierre, sorting purchases with a merry face, unrolls stuff like a shopman. Natasha, with her eldest daughter on her lap, turns sparkling eyes from husband to goods. That is for Belova? Excellent. Too dear. Only you need not have bought me this, she adds, unable to suppress a smile at a gold comb set with pearls. Adele tempted me. When am I to wear it? When I take little Masha into society? Collecting the presents they go first to the nursery and then to the old countess.

She sits with Belova, playing grand-patience as usual. She is over sixty, quite gray, in a cap with a frill. Her face has shrivelled, her upper lip has sunk, her eyes are dim. After the deaths of son and husband in such rapid succession she feels herself a being accidentally forgotten in this world, belonging to no one. She has to exercise her still-existing faculty of thinking, and the pretext is patience. When she needs to cry, the deceased count is the pretext. When she wants to be agitated, Nicholas and his health. When she feels a need to speak spitefully, Countess Mary. When her vocal organs need exercise, toward seven after an after-dinner rest in a darkened room, the pretext is retelling the same stories to the same audience. The whole household understands her condition though no one speaks of it. Only by a rare glance exchanged with a sad smile between Nicholas, Pierre, Natasha, and Countess Mary is the common understanding expressed. Those glances say more: she has played her part, what they now see is not her whole self, we must all become like her, and they are glad to yield to this once precious being. Memento mori, said these glances. Only the heartless, the stupid, and the little children fail to understand and avoid her.