She took some pleasure in the thought that far from being better than everybody else, as she had once imagined, she was worse, much worse than anybody in the whole world. But this had little meaning. She knew it was true, but she kept on wondering, ‘What’s next?’ only to find there was nothing next. There wasn’t any joy in life, but life was passing. Natasha was clearly determined not to be a burden to anybody and not to get in anybody’s way, but she wanted nothing for herself. She kept away from everyone in the house, and her brother Petya was the only person she felt at ease with. She liked being with him more than anyone else, and when she was alone with him there were occasions when she laughed. She hardly ever went out, and among the visitors she welcomed only one person – Pierre. No one could have been gentler, more caring, and yet more serious-minded than Count Bezukhov in his dealings with her. Natasha took in this tenderness at a subconscious level, and this was what made him so nice to be with. But she felt no gratitude towards him on this account: being good seemed to come naturally to Pierre and cost him no effort. Pierre seemed to be so spontaneously good-natured there was no merit in his kindness. Sometimes Natasha noticed some embarrassment or awkwardness in Pierre when she was with him, especially when he was trying to do her a favour or could see something looming up in the conversation that might bring back painful memories. Noting this, she put it down to his kind personality and the same kind of diffidence which she imagined he showed to everybody else. After uttering those unexpected words – if only he had been free to do so he would have been down on his knees asking for her hand and her love – which had come out at a moment of high emotion directed towards her, Pierre had said nothing of his feelings to Natasha, and she could only assume that those words, so comforting at the time, had been said like the usual bits of nonsense you come out with to console a weeping child. Not because Pierre was married, but because Natasha could sense a moral barrier between them – the very thing she had not felt with Kuragin – it never crossed her mind that her relationship with Pierre might one day develop into love on her side, even less on his, or even into the kind of tender, fully acknowledged romantic friendship between a man and a woman of which she had seen several examples.
Towards the end of the fast of St Peter, Agrafena Ivanovna Belova, a country neighbour of the Rostovs, came to Moscow to worship at the shrines of the saints. She suggested to Natasha that she should fast and prepare for Holy Communion, and Natasha seized on the idea with some relish. In defiance of the doctors’ prohibition on going out in the early morning, Natasha insisted on keeping the fast and preparing for Communion not the way it was done in the Rostovs’ household – by attending three services at home – but by following in the footsteps of Agrafena Ivanovna for a whole week, which meant not missing a single service, Matins, Vespers or Mass.
The countess was pleased to see this kind of zeal in Natasha. After all the unsuccessful medical treatment, deep down she was now hoping that prayer might do her daughter more good than medicine, so despite terrible misgivings she fell in with Natasha’s wishes, said nothing to the doctors and handed her into the care of Madame Belova.
Agrafena Ivanovna used to come in to wake Natasha at three in the morning, and more often than not she found her already awake. Natasha was afraid of sleeping in and being late for Matins. After a quick wash she meekly pulled on her shabbiest dress and an old shawl before walking out into the deserted streets, shivering as she met the chill air and the limpid half-light of early morning. On the advice of Agrafena Ivanovna Natasha was preparing for Communion not at her own parish church, but at a church where the priest was described by the devout Madame Belova as someone with a particularly austere and righteous way of living.
