Incensed by the words ‘scheming hussy’, Nikolay told his mother in no uncertain terms he had never expected her to try and make him prostitute his feelings, and if this was how things stood it was the last time he would ever . . . But he never delivered the final word which his mother was now dreading, given the look on his face, and which would probably have remained a bitter memory between them for ever. He never delivered it because Natasha, who had been listening at the door, now ran in with a grave look on her pale face.
‘Nikolay, darling, you don’t know what you’re saying. Shut up, shut up! I’m telling you now to
‘Mamma, darling, it’s nothing to do with . . . My poor, dear darling . . .’ she babbled at her mother, who was gazing in horror at her son, aware that a permanent break was staring them in the face, yet too stubborn and too worked up to give in. ‘I’ll sort things out later, Nikolay. Just go away. Listen to me, dear darling Mamma,’ she said to her mother.
Her words may have been incoherent but they achieved the desired effect.
The countess gave a huge gasp and buried her face on her daughter’s bosom, while Nikolay got to his feet, and walked out of the room clutching his head.
Natasha took it upon herself to effect a reconciliation, and she succeeded in so far as Nikolay received an undertaking from his mother that Sonya would not be put under pressure, and he for his part promised not to do anything without his parents’ knowledge.
Fully determined to wind things up with the army, retire and come home to marry Sonya, Nikolay returned to his regiment at the beginning of January, chastened and unhappy about the clash with his parents, but, as he thought, still madly in love.
When Nikolay had gone the atmosphere in the Rostov household was more depressed than at any time in the past. The countess fell ill from all the emotional turmoil.
Sonya was saddened by having to part from Nikolay, and more so by the hostile attitude the countess couldn’t help adopting towards her. The count was more worried than ever by the disastrous state of his finances, which now demanded decisive action. They were going to have to sell the town house and the estate near Moscow, and this meant going to Moscow. But because of the countess’s illness he kept putting off his departure from one day to the next. Natasha, having originally endured separation from her fiancé fairly easily and even cheerfully, now grew increasingly impatient and restive with each passing day. The thought that the prime of her life, which could have been spent loving him, was draining away uselessly like this and benefiting no one, preyed upon her mind. Letters from Prince Andrey just made her angry. She was offended by the very idea that, while her life consisted of nothing but thinking of him, he was living a real life, seeing new places and new people that must be fascinating. The more interesting his letters were, the more they annoyed her. Her letters to him gave her no comfort; she looked on them as a tedious and formal obligation. She was no great writer, finding it impossible to set down adequately in a letter a thousandth part of what she was used to conveying by means of her voice, her smile and her eyes. She wrote him a series of dry, formal and identical missives to which she attached not the slightest importance, with spelling mistakes corrected by the countess at the rough copy stage.
The countess’s health was not improving, but it was becoming impossible to put off the visit to Moscow any longer. There was the trousseau to see about and the house had to be sold, in addition to which Prince Andrey was due to go first to Moscow, where his father was spending the winter, and Natasha felt certain he was already there. The countess stayed behind in the country when, towards the end of January, the count left for Moscow, taking Sonya and Natasha with him.
PART V
CHAPTER 1
