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Natasha had married in the early spring of 1813, and in 1820
already had three daughters besides a son for whom she had longed
and whom she was now nursing. She had grown stouter and broader,
so that it was difficult to recognize in this robust, motherly
woman the slim, lively Natasha of former days. Her features were
more defined and had a calm, soft, and serene expression. In her
face there was none of the ever-glowing animation that had formerly
burned there and constituted its charm. Now her face and body
were of all that one saw, and her soul was not visible at all.
All that struck the eye was a strong, handsome, and fertile woman.
The old fire very rarely kindled in her face now. That happened
only when, as was the case that day, her husband returned home,
or a sick child was convalescent, or when she and Countess Mary
spoke of Prince Andrew (she never mentioned him to her husband,
who she imagined was jealous of Prince Andrew's memory), or on
the rare occasions when something happened to induce her to sing,
a practice she had quite abandoned since her marriage. At the
rare moments when the old fire did kindle in her handsome, fully
developed body she was even more attractive than in former days.
Since their marriage Natasha and her husband had lived in
Moscow, in Petersburg, on their estate near Moscow, or with her
mother, that is to say, in Nicholas' house. The young Countess
Bezukhova was not often seen in society, and those who met her
there were not pleased with her and found her neither attractive
nor amiable. Not that Natasha liked solitude- she did not know
whether she liked it or not, she even thought that she did not-
but with her pregnancies, her confinements, the nursing of her
children, and sharing every moment of her husband's life, she
had demands on her time which could be satisfied only by renouncing
society. All who had known Natasha before her marriage wondered
at the change in her as at something extraordinary. Only the old
countess with her maternal instinct had realized that all Natasha's
outbursts had been due to her need of children and a husband-
as she herself had once exclaimed at Otradnoe not so much in fun
as in earnest- and her mother was now surprised at the surprise
expressed by those who had never understood Natasha, and she kept
saying that she had always known that Natasha would make an exemplary
wife and mother.
"Only she lets her love of her husband and children overflow
all bounds," said the countess, "so that it even becomes
absurd."
Natasha did not follow the golden rule advocated by clever
folk, especially by the French, which says that a girl should
not let herself go when she marries, should not neglect her accomplishments,
should be even more careful of her appearance than when she was
unmarried, and should fascinate her husband as much as she did
before he became her husband. Natasha on the contrary had at once
abandoned all her witchery, of which her singing had been an unusually
powerful part. She gave it up just because it was so powerfully
seductive. She took no pains with her manners or with of speech,
or with her toilet, or to show herself to her husband in her most
becoming attitudes, or to avoid inconveniencing him by being too
exacting. She acted in contradiction to all those rules. She felt
that the allurements instinct had formerly taught her to use would
now be merely ridiculous in the eyes of her husband, to whom she
had from the first moment given herself up entirely- that is,
with her whole soul, leaving no corner of it hidden from him.
She felt that her unity with her husband was not maintained by
the poetic feelings that had attracted him to her, but by something
else- indefinite but firm as the bond between her own body and
soul.
To fluff out her curls, put on fashionable dresses, and sing
romantic songs to fascinate her husband would have seemed as strange
as to adorn herself to attract herself. To adorn herself for others
might perhaps have been agreeable- she did not know- but she had
no time at all for it. The chief reason for devoting no time either
to singing, to dress, or to choosing her words was that she really
had no time to spare for these things.
We know that man has the faculty of becoming completely absorbed
in a subject however trivial it may be, and that there is no subject
so trivial that it will not grow to infinite proportions if one's
entire attention is devoted to it.
The subject which wholly engrossed Natasha's attention was
her family: that is, her husband whom she had to keep so that
he should belong entirely to her and to the home, and the children
whom she had to bear, bring into the world, nurse, and bring up.
And the deeper she penetrated, not with her mind only but
with her whole soul, her whole being, into the subject that absorbed
her, the larger did that subject grow and the weaker and more
inadequate did her powers appear, so that she concentrated them
wholly on that one thing and yet was unable to accomplish all
that she considered necessary.
There were then as now conversations and discussions about
women's rights, the relations of husband and wife and their freedom
and rights, though these themes were not yet termed questions
as they are now; but these topics were not merely uninteresting
to Natasha, she positively did not understand them.
These questions, then as now, existed only for those who see
nothing in marriage but the pleasure married people get from one
another, that is, only the beginnings of marriage and not its
whole significance, which lies in the family.
Discussions and questions of that kind, which are like the
question of how to get the greatest gratification from one's dinner,
did not then and do not now exist for those for whom the purpose
of a dinner is the nourishment it affords; and the purpose of
marriage is the family.
If the purpose of dinner is to nourish the body, a man who
eats two dinners at once may perhaps get more enjoyment but will
not attain his purpose, for his stomach will not digest the two
dinners.
If the purpose of marriage is the family, the person who wishes
to have many wives or husbands may perhaps obtain much pleasure,
but in that case will not have a family.
If the purpose of food is nourishment and the purpose of marriage
is the family, the whole question resolves itself into not eating
more than one can digest, and not having more wives or husbands
than are needed for the family- that is, one wife or one husband.
Natasha needed a husband. A husband was given her and he gave
her a family. And she not only saw no need of any other or better
husband, but as all the powers of her soul were intent on serving
that husband and family, she could not imagine and saw no interest
in imagining how it would be if things were different.
Natasha did not care for society in general, but prized the
more the society of her relatives- Countess Mary, and her brother,
her mother, and Sonya. She valued the company of those to whom
she could come striding disheveled from the nursery in her dressing
gown, and with joyful face show a yellow instead of a green stain
on baby's napkin, and from whom she could hear reassuring words
to the effect that baby was much better.
To such an extent had Natasha let herself go that the way
she dressed and did her hair, her ill-chosen words, and her jealousy-
she was jealous of Sonya, of the governess, and of every woman,
pretty or plain- were habitual subjects of jest to those about
her. The general opinion was that Pierre was under his wife's
thumb, which was really true. From the very first days of their
married life Natasha had announced her demands. Pierre was greatly
surprised by his wife's view, to him a perfectly novel one, that
every moment of his life belonged to her and to the family. His
wife's demands astonished him, but they also flattered him, and
he submitted to them.
Pierre's subjection consisted in the fact that he not only
dared not flirt with, but dared not even speak smilingly to, any
other woman; did not dare dine at the Club as a pastime, did not
dare spend money a whim, and did not dare absent himself for any
length of time, except on business- in which his wife included
his intellectual pursuits, which she did not in the least understand
but to which she attributed great importance. To make up for this,
at home Pierre had the right to regulate his life and that of
the whole family exactly as he chose. At home Natasha placed herself
in the position of a slave to her husband, and the whole household
went on tiptoe when he was occupied- that is, was reading or writing
in his study. Pierre had but to show a partiality for anything
to get just what he liked done always. He had only to express
a wish and Natasha would jump up and run to fulfill it.
The entire household was governed according to Pierre's supposed
orders, that is, by his wishes which Natasha tried to guess. Their
way of life and place of residence, their acquaintances and ties,
Natasha's occupations, the children's upbringing, were all selected
not merely with regard to Pierre's expressed wishes, but to what
Natasha from the thoughts he expressed in conversation supposed
his wishes to be. And she deduced the essentials of his wishes
quite correctly, and having once arrived at them clung to them
tenaciously. When Pierre himself wanted to change his mind she
would fight him with his own weapons.
Thus in a time of trouble ever memorable to him after the
birth of their first child who was delicate, when they had to
change the wet nurse three times and Natasha fell ill from despair,
Pierre one day told her of Rousseau's view, with which he quite
agreed, that to have a wet nurse is unnatural and harmful. When
her next baby was born, despite the opposition of her mother,
the doctors, and even of her husband himself- who were all vigorously
opposed to her nursing her baby herself, a thing then unheard
of and considered injurious- she insisted on having her own way,
and after that nursed all her babies herself.
It very often happened that in a moment of irritation husband
and wife would have a dispute, but long afterwards Pierre to his
surprise and delight would find in his wife's ideas and actions
the very thought against which she had argued, but divested of
everything superfluous that in the excitement of the dispute he
had added when expressing his opinion.
After seven years of marriage Pierre had the joyous and firm
consciousness that he was not a bad man, and he felt this because
he saw himself reflected in his wife. He felt the good and bad
within himself inextricably mingled and overlapping. But only
what was really good in him was reflected in his wife, all that
was not quite good was rejected. And this was not the result of
logical reasoning but was a direct and mysterious reflection.
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