《War And Peace》 Epilogue1 CHAPTER V
by Leo Tolstoy
NATASHA'S MARRIAGE to Bezuhov, which took place in 1813, was the last happy
event in the family of the old Rostovs. Count Ilya Andreivitch died the same
year; and as is always the case, with the death of the father the family was
broken up.
The events of the previous year: the burning of Moscow and the flight from
that city; the death of Prince Andrey and Natasha's despair; the death of Petya
and the grief of the countess fell like one blow after another on the old
count's head. He seemed not to understand, and to feel himself incapable of
understanding, the significance of all these events, and figuratively speaking,
bowed his old head to the storm, as though expecting and seeking fresh blows to
make an end of him. By turns he seemed scared and distraught, and then
unnaturally lively and active.
Natasha's marriage for a time occupied him on its external side. He arranged
dinners and suppers in honour of it, and obviously tried to be cheerful; but his
cheerfulness was not infectious as in old days, but, on the contrary, aroused
the commiseration of those who knew and liked him.
After Pierre and his wife had left, he collapsed and began to complain of
depression. A few days later he fell ill and took to his bed. In spite of the
doctor's assurances, he knew from the first days of his illness that he would
never get up again. For a whole fortnight the countess sat in a low chair by his
pillow, never taking off her clothes. Every time she gave him his medicine, he
mutely kissed her hand, weeping. On the last day, sobbing, he begged forgiveness
of his wife, and of his absent son, too, for squandering their property, the
chief sin that lay on his conscience. After receiving absolution and the last
unction, he quietly died; and next day a crowd of acquaintances, come to pay the
last debt of respect to the deceased, filled the Rostovs' hired lodgings. All
those acquaintances, who had so often dined and danced in his house, and had so
often laughed at his expense, were saying now with the same inward feeling of
contrition and self-reproach, as though seeking to justify themselves: “Yes,
whatever he may have been, he was a splendid man. One doesn't meet such men
nowadays … And who has not his weaknesses?…”
It was precisely when the count's fortunes were so irretrievably embroiled
that he could not conceive how, in another year, it would end, that he suddenly
died.
Nikolay was with the Russian army in Paris when the news of his father's
death reached him. He at once applied for his discharge, and without waiting for
it, obtained leave and went to Moscow. Within a month after the count's death
the financial position had been made perfectly clear, astounding every one by
the immense sum of various petty debts, the existence of which no one had
suspected. The debts were more than double the assets of the estate.
The friends and relations advised Nikolay to refuse to accept his
inheritance. But Nikolay looked on such a refusal as a slur on the honoured
memory of his father; and so he would not hear of such a course, and accepted
the inheritance with the obligation of paying the debts.
The creditors, who had so long been silent, held in check during the old
count's lifetime by the vague but powerful influence of his easy good-nature,
all beset Nikolay at once. There seemed, as so often happens, a sort of rivalry
among them, which should get paid first; and the very people, such as Mitenka
and others, who held promissory notes, not received in discharge of debts, but
as presents, were now the most importunate of the creditors. They would give
Nikolay no peace and no respite, and those who had shown pity for the old man,
who was responsible for their losses (if they really had lost money by him),
were now ruthless in their persecution of the young heir, who was obviously
guiltless as far as they were concerned, and had voluntarily undertaken to pay
them.
Not one of the plans that Nikolay resorted to was successful: the estate was
sold by auction at half its value, and half the debts remained still unpaid.
Nikolay accepted a loan of thirty thousand roubles offered him by his
brother-in-law Bezuhov; and paid that portion of the debts that he recognised as
genuine obligations. And to avoid being thrown into prison for the remainder, as
the creditors threatened, he once more entered the government service.
To return to the army, where at the next promotion he would have been
colonel, was out of the question, because his mother now clung to her son as her
one hold on life. And so in spite of his disinclination to remain in Moscow, in
the midst of a circle of acquaintances who had known him in former days, in
spite of his distaste for the civil service, he accepted a civilian post in
Moscow, and taking off his beloved uniform, established himself in a little
lodging in Sivtsevoy Vrazhok with his mother and Sonya.
Natasha and Pierre were living at this period in Petersburg, and had no very
distinct idea of Nikolay's position. After having borrowed money from his
brother-in-law, Nikolay did his utmost to conceal his poverty-stricken position
from him. His situation was rendered the more difficult, as with his twelve
hundred roubles of salary he had not only to keep himself, Sonya, and his
mother, but to keep his mother in such a way that she would not be sensible of
their poverty. The countess could not conceive of life being possible without
the luxurious surroundings to which she had been accustomed from her childhood;
and without any idea of its being difficult for her son, she was continually
insisting on having a carriage, which they had not, to send for a friend, or an
expensive delicacy for herself, or wine for her son, or money to buy a present,
as a surprise for Natasha, for Sonya, or for Nikolay himself.
Sonya kept house, waited on her aunt, read aloud to her, bore with her
caprices and her secret dislike, and helped Nikolay to conceal from the old
countess their poverty-stricken position. Nikolay felt himself under a debt of
gratitude to Sonya that he could never repay, for all she did for his mother; he
admired her patience and devotion, but he tried to keep himself aloof from
her.
In his heart he seemed to feel a sort of grudge against her for being too
perfect, and for there being no fault to find with her. She had all the good
qualities for which people are valued, but little of what would have made him
love her. And he felt that the more he valued her the less he loved her. He had
taken her at her word when she had written to him giving him his freedom, and
now he behaved with her as though what had passed between them had been long,
long ago forgotten, and could never under any circumstances be renewed.
Nikolay's position was becoming worse and worse. His hope of laying by
something out of his salary proved to be an idle dream. Far from saving
anything, he was even running up some small debts to satisfy his mother's
exigencies. There seemed no means of escape from his position. The idea of
marrying a rich heiress, which his female relatives suggested, was repulsive to
him. The only other solution of his difficulties—the death of his mother—never
entered his head. He desired nothing, and hoped for nothing; and at the bottom
of his heart he took a stern and gloomy satisfaction in the unrepining endurance
of his position. He tried to avoid his old acquaintances, with their
commiseration and their mortifying offers of assistance; shunned every sort of
entertainment and amusement; and even at home did nothing but play patience with
his mother, pace silently about the room, and smoke pipe after pipe. He seemed
studiously to maintain in himself that gloomy temper, which alone enabled him to
bear his position.
