Count Ilya Rostov had resigned as Marshal of the Nobility because the position involved too much expense, but still there was no improvement in his affairs. Natasha and Nikolay often came across their parents deep in private conversation and looking worried, and there was talk of having to sell off the Rostovs’ magnificent family seat and the estate near Moscow. With the count no longer serving as Marshal lavish entertainment had become unnecessary and family life at Otradnoye was less hectic than in years gone by. But the huge house with its extensive wings was still teeming with people, and a couple of dozen still sat down to table. There were all manner of kith and kin going back years, family in all but name, the sort of people whose continued existence in the count’s house seemed inevitable. There was Dimmler, the music-teacher, and his wife; Iogel, the dancing-master, and his family; an elderly resident lady known as Madame Belov, and many others – Petya’s tutors, the girls’ old governess, and one or two characters who just found it better, or cheaper, to live there than on their own. Entertainment was less lavish, but the Rostovs still lived on in a certain style, and anything else would have been unthinkable for the count and countess. There was the same hunting establishment, which had actually been expanded by Nikolay. There were still the same fifty horses and fifteen grooms in the stables, the same expensive presents on name-days, and the same sumptuous dinners involving the whole neighbourhood. The count still ran the same games of whist and boston, fanning his cards out for all to see and letting the neighbours bleed him of hundreds every day of the week until they came to regard the privilege of making up a rubber with Count Ilya Rostov as a handy source of revenue.
The count proceeded with his affairs like someone blundering into a huge animal trap, trying not to believe he had been caught but getting more and more entangled with every step he took, and not up to the task of either tearing himself free from the nets or disentangling himself with care and patience. The countess with her loving heart could sense that her children were being steadily ruined, though it was no good blaming the count, because he couldn’t help being what he was, and he was desperately worried too (though he did his best to hide it) about the ruin that stared him and his children in the face, so she began to look for some way to put things right. To her woman’s way of thinking there was only one way out – Nikolay must marry a wealthy heiress. This was their last hope, she felt, and if Nikolay refused the match she had found for him they would have to say goodbye to any possibility of restoring the family fortunes. This match was Julie Karagin, the daughter of splendid and virtuous parents known to the Rostovs since childhood; she had become a wealthy heiress on the recent death of her last surviving brother.
The countess had written personally to Madame Karagin in Moscow, suggesting a possible marriage between their two children, and the reply was favourable. Madame Karagin had replied that she herself was in agreement, but everything depended on how her daughter felt. She now invited Nikolay to Moscow. Several times the countess had told her son with tears in her eyes that with both of her daughters nicely settled her only wish now was to see him married. She said she could go peacefully to her grave once this was settled. Then she would add that she had an excellent girl in mind, and tried to sound him out on the subject of matrimony.
On other occasions she would sing Julie’s praises and suggest that Nikolay might like to go down to Moscow and enjoy himself during the holidays. Nikolay soon guessed what his mother was driving at in these little confidences, and there came a time when he forced her out into the open. She came straight out with it: any hopes of restoring the family fortunes now depended on his marrying Julie Karagin.
‘What do you mean, Mamma? If I loved a girl with no money would you really want me to sacrifice my feelings and my honour just to make us all rich?’ he asked his mother, unaware of the cruelty in his question, but wanting to show off his own noble sentiments.
‘No, no. You don’t understand,’ said his mother, not knowing how to put herself in the right. ‘You don’t understand, darling. It’s your happiness I’m thinking about,’ she added, sensing she was very much in the wrong, and floundering because of it. She burst into tears.
‘Mamma, please don’t cry. Just tell me this is what you want, and you know I’ll give up anything, my whole life if necessary, for your peace of mind,’ said Nikolay. ‘I’ll sacrifice anything, even my feelings.’
But the countess didn’t want to hear the question put like that. She wanted no sacrifices from her son; she wanted to make sacrifices for him.
‘No. You still don’t understand. Let’s talk about something else,’ she said, wiping her tears away.
