When Children Listen to Adult Conversations — War and Peace

Soon after this the children come in to say good night. They kiss everyone, the tutors and governesses make their bows, and they go out. Only young Nicholas and his tutor remain. Dessalles whispers to the boy to come downstairs. No, the lad replies, I will ask my aunt to let me stay. His face expresses entreaty, agitation, and ecstasy. Countess Mary glances at him and tells Pierre that when he is here the boy cannot tear himself away. Pierre smiles at young Nicholas: you and I have not seen anything of one another yet. How like he is growing, Mary. Like my father? the boy asks, flushing crimson, looking up with bright, ecstatic eyes. Pierre nods and goes on with what he had been saying. Mary sits doing woolwork. Natasha does not take her eyes off her husband. Nicholas and Denisov rise, ask for pipes, fetch more tea from Sonya at the samovar, and question Pierre. The curly-headed, delicate boy sits with shining eyes unnoticed in a corner, starting every now and then, muttering to himself, turning his thin neck toward Pierre.

The conversation turns on contemporary gossip about those in power. Denisov, dissatisfied on account of his own disappointments in the service, hears with pleasure of things done in Petersburg which seem to him stupid, and makes forcible comments. One used to have to be a German; now one must dance with Tatawinova and Madame Krudener. They should let Bonaparte loose. Nicholas notices his nephew, his face darkens, and he goes up to the boy. Why are you here? Let him be, Pierre says, taking Nicholas by the arm. Something else is needed. When you stand expecting the overstrained string to snap, as many as possible must join hands to withstand the general calamity. Young and strong are being enticed away, by women, honours, ambition, money. Widen the scope of our society. Let the word of command be not virtue alone but independence and action. Nicholas irritably sits down. Action with what aim? What position will you adopt toward the government? The position of assistants, Pierre says. The society need not be secret if the government allows it. It is not hostile. It is a society of true conservatives, gentlemen, only to prevent some Pugachev from killing my children and yours, and Arakcheev from sending me to a Military Settlement. Yes, but it is a secret society and therefore hostile and harmful. Why? Did the Tugendbund which saved Europe do any harm?

An awkward silence follows. Natasha is the first to speak, defending her husband and attacking her brother. Her defence is weak and inapt, but she attains her object: the conversation resumes, no longer in that unpleasantly hostile tone. When they all get up to go in to supper, little Nicholas Bolkonski goes up to Pierre, pale, with shining, radiant eyes. Uncle Pierre, you, no. If Papa were alive, would he agree with you? Pierre suddenly realises what a special, independent, complex process of thought and feeling must have been going on in this boy, and remembering all he has said he regrets that the lad should have heard him. He has, however, to give an answer. Yes, I think so, he says reluctantly, and leaves the study. The lad looks down, notices for the first time what he has done to the things on the table, flushes, and goes up to Nicholas. Uncle, forgive me, I did that unintentionally, pointing to the broken sealing wax and pens. All right, all right, Nicholas says, throwing the bits under the table, suppressing vexation with difficulty. You ought not to have been here at all.