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other or nurse for them to kiss or rub the tender spot； and it feels better for the kissing and rubbing。 The child cannot believe that these stronger； cleverer creatures have not the power to relieve its pain。 And the hope of relief and the expressions of sympathy as the mother rubs it comfort it。 To Natasha the doctors took the place of the mother； kissing and rubbing her “bobo；” when they declared that all the trouble would soon be over； if the coachman were to drive to the chemist’s shop； in Arbatsky Place； and buy—for a rouble and seventy copecks—those powders and pills in a pretty little box； and if those powders were given to the patient in boiled water precisely every two hours； neither more nor less。
What would Sonya； and the count； and the countess have done； how would they have felt if they had taken no steps； if they had not had those pills at certain hours； and the warm beverage； and the chicken cutlets； and all the detailed regime laid down by the doctors； which gave occupation and consolation to all of them。 How could the count have borne his dearly loved daughter’s illness if he had not known that it was costing him a thousand roubles； and that he would not grudge thousands more； if that would do her any good； if he had not known that； in case she did not get better； he would spend thousands more on taking her abroad and consulting doctors there； if he had not been able to tell people how Metivier and Feller had failed to diagnose the complaint； but Friez had fathomed it； and Mudrov had succeeded even better in defining it？ What would the countess have done if she had not sometimes been able to scold her sick Natasha for not following the doctors’ orders quite faithfully？
“You can never get well like this；” she would say； finding a refuge from her grief in anger； “if you won’t listen to the doctors and take your medicine properly！ We can’t have any nonsense； when it may turn to pneumonia；” said the countess； and in pronouncing that—not to her only—mysterious word； she found great comfort。 What would Sonya have done； had she not had the glad consciousness that at first she had not had her clothes off for three nights running； so as to be in readiness to carry out the doctors’ orders； and that now she did not sleep at night for fear of missing the exact hour at which the innocuous pills were to be given out of the gilt pill…box？ Even Natasha herself； though she did declare that no medicines could do her any good； and that it was all nonsense； was glad to see so many sacrifices being made for her； and glad to have to take medicines at certain hours。 And she was even glad； indeed； to be able by her disregard of the doctors’ prescription to show how little faith she put in them； and how little she cared for life。
The doctor came every day； felt her pulse； looked at her tongue； and made jokes； regardless of her dejected face。 But then when he had gone into the next room； and the countess had hastily followed him； he assumed a serious face； and shaking his head gravely； said that though there was indeed danger； he had hopes from the effect of the most recent medicine； and that they could only wait and see； that the illness was more due to moral than physical causes； but … The countess slipped some gold into his hand； trying to conceal the action from herself and from him； and always went back to the sick…room with a lighter heart。
The symptoms of Natasha’s illness were loss of appetite； sleeplessness； a cough； and continual depression。 The doctors declared that she must have medical treatment； and therefore kept her in the stifling atmosphere of the town。 And all the summer of 1812 the Rostovs did not visit the country。
In spite of the numerous little bottles and boxes of pills； drops； and powders； of which Madame Schoss； who had a passion for them； made a complete collection； in spite of the loss of the country life to which she was accustomed； youth gained the upper hand； Natasha’s grief began to be covered up by the impressions of daily life； it ceased to lie like an aching load on her heart； it began to fade into the past； and Natasha began to return to physical health again。
Chapter 17
NATASHA was calmer； but no happier。 She did not merely shun every external form of amusement—balls； skating； concerts； and theatres—but she never even laughed without the sound of tears behind her laughter。 She could not sing。 As soon as she began to laugh or attempted to sing all by herself； tears choked her： tears of remorse； tears of regret for that time of pure happiness that could never return； tears of vexation that she should so wantonly have ruined her young life； that might have been so happy。 Laughter and singing especially seemed to her like scoffing at her grief。 She never even thought of desiring admiration； she had no impulse of vanity to restrain。 She said and felt at that time that all men were no more to her than Nastasya Ivanovna； the buffoon。 An inner sentinel seemed to guard against every sort of pleasure。 And； indeed； she seemed to have lost all the old interests of her girlish； careless life； that had been so full of hope。 Most often； and with most pining； she brooded over the memory of those autumn months； the hunting； the old uncle； and the Christmas holidays spent with Nikolay at Otradnoe。 What would she not have given to bring back one single day of that time！ But it was all over for her。 Her presentiment at the time had not deceived her； that such a time of freedom and readiness for every enjoyment would never come again。 But yet she had to live。
It comforted her to think； not that she was better； as she had once fancied； but worse； far worse than any one； than any one in the whole world。 But that meant little to her。 She believed it； but then she asked： “And what next？” And there was nothing to come。 There was no gladness in life； but life was passing。 All Natasha tried after was plainly to be no burden to others； and not to hinder other people’s enjoyment； but for herself she wanted nothing。 She held aloof from all the household。 It was only with her brother； Petya； that she felt at ease。 She liked being with him better than being with the rest； and sometimes even laughed when she was alone with him。 She hardly left the house to go anywhere； and of the guests who came to the house she was only glad to see one person—Pierre。 No one could have been more tender； circumspect； and at the same time serious； than Count Bezuhov in his manner to her。 Natasha was unconsciously aware of this tenderness； and it was owing to it that she found more pleasure in his society。 But she was not even grateful to him for it。 Nothing good in him seemed to her due to an effort on Pierre’s part。 It seemed so natural to Pierre to be kind that there was no merit in his kindness。 Sometimes Natasha noticed some confusion or awkwardness in Pierre in her presence； especially when he was trying to do something for her pleasure or afraid something in the conversation might suggest to her painful reminiscences。 She observed this； and put it down to his general kindliness and shyness； which she supposed would be the same with every one else。 Ever since those unforeseen words—that if he had been free； he