Andrew involuntarily agreed with him about everything. If he replied and
argued, it was only because he wished to maintain his independence and
not submit to Speranski’s opinions entirely. Everything was right
and everything was as it should be: only one thing disconcerted Prince
Andrew. This was Speranski’s cold, mirrorlike look, which did not
allow one to penetrate to his soul, and his delicate white hands, which
Prince Andrew involuntarily watched as one does watch the hands of
those who possess power. This mirrorlike gaze and those delicate hands
irritated Prince Andrew, he knew not why. He was unpleasantly
struck, too, by the excessive contempt for others that he observed in
Speranski, and by the diversity of lines of argument he used to
support his opinions. He made use of every kind of mental device, except
analogy, and passed too boldly, it seemed to Prince Andrew, from one
to another. Now he would take up the position of a practical man and
condemn dreamers; now that of a satirist, and laugh ironically at his
opponents; now grow severely logical, or suddenly rise to the realm of
metaphysics. (This last resource was one he very frequently employed.)
He would transfer a question to metaphysical heights, pass on to
definitions of space, time, and thought, and, having deduced the
refutation he needed, would again descend to the level of the original
discussion.
In general the trait of Speranski’s mentality which struck Prince
Andrew most was his absolute and unshakable belief in the power and
authority of reason. It was evident that the thought could never occur
to him which to Prince Andrew seemed so natural, namely, that it is
after all impossible to express all one thinks; and that he had never
felt the doubt, "Is not all I think and believe nonsense?" And
it was just this peculiarity of Speranski’s mind that particularly
attracted Prince Andrew.
During the first period of their acquaintance Bolkonski felt a
passionate admiration for him similar to that which he had once felt for
Bonaparte. The fact that Speranski was the son of a village priest,
and that stupid people might meanly despise him on account of his
humble origin (as in fact many did), caused Prince Andrew to cherish his
sentiment for him the more, and unconsciously to strengthen it.
On that first evening Bolkonski spent with him, having mentioned the
Commission for the Revision of the Code of Laws, Speranski told him
sarcastically that the Commission had existed for a hundred and fifty
years, had cost millions, and had done nothing except that Rosenkampf
had stuck labels on the corresponding paragraphs of the different codes.
"And that is all the state has for the millions it has spent," said
he. "We want to give the Senate new juridical powers, but we have no
laws. That is why it is a sin for men like you, Prince, not to serve in
these times!"
Prince Andrew said that for that work an education in jurisprudence was
needed which he did not possess.
"But nobody possesses it, so what would you have? It is a vicious
circle from which we must break a way out."
A week later Prince Andrew was a member of the Committee on Army
Regulations and - what he had not at all expected - was chairman of a
section of the committee for the revision of the laws. At Speranski’s
request he took the first part of the Civil Code that was being drawn up
and, with the aid of the Code Napoleon and the Institutes of Justinian,
he worked at formulating the section on Personal Rights.
CHAPTER VII
Nearly two years before this, in 1808, Pierre on returning to Petersburg
after visiting his estates had involuntarily found himself in a leading
position among the Petersburg Freemasons. He arranged dining and funeral
lodge meetings, enrolled new members, and busied himself uniting various
lodges and acquiring authentic charters. He gave money for the erection
of temples and supplemented as far as he could the collection of alms,
in regard to which the majority of members were stingy and irregular.
He supported almost singlehanded a poorhouse the order had founded in
Petersburg.
His life meanwhile continued as before, with the same infatuations and
dissipations. He liked to dine and drink well, and though he considered
it immoral and humiliating could not resist the temptations of the
bachelor circles in which he moved.
Amid the turmoil of his activities and distractions, however, Pierre at
the end of a year began to feel that the more firmly he tried to rest
upon it, the more Masonic ground on which he stood gave way under him.
At the same time he felt that the deeper the ground sank under him the
closer bound he involuntarily became to the order. When he had joined
the Freemasons he had experienced the feeling of one who confidently
steps onto the smooth surface of a bog. When he put his foot down it
sank in. To make quite sure of the firmness of the ground, he put
his other foot down and sank deeper still, became stuck in it, and
involuntarily waded knee-deep in the bog.
Joseph Alexeevich was not in Petersburg - he had of late stood aside
from the affairs of the Petersburg lodges, and lived almost entirely in
Moscow. All the members of the lodges were men Pierre knew in ordinary
life, and it was difficult for him to regard them merely as Brothers in
Freemasonry and not as Prince B. or Ivan Vasilevich D., whom he knew
in society mostly as weak and insignificant men. Under the Masonic
aprons and insignia he saw the uniforms and decorations at which they
aimed in ordinary life. Often after collecting alms, and reckoning up
twenty to thirty rubles received for the most part in promises from a
dozen members, of whom half were as well able to pay as himself, Pierre
remembered the Masonic vow in which each Brother promised to devote
all his belongings to his neighbor, and doubts on which he tried not to
dwell arose in his soul.
He divided the Brothers he knew into four categories. In the first he
put those who did not take an active part in the affairs of the lodges
or in human affairs, but were exclusively occupied with the mystical
science of the order: with questions of the threefold designation of
God, the three primordial elements - sulphur, mercury, and salt - or
the meaning of the square and all the various figures of the temple of
Solomon. Pierre respected this class of Brothers to which the elder ones
chiefly belonged, including, Pierre thought, Joseph Alexeevich himself,
but he did not share their interests. His heart was not in the mystical
aspect of Freemasonry.
In the second category Pierre reckoned himself and others like him,
seeking and vacillating, who had not yet found in Freemasonry a straight
and comprehensible path, but hoped to do so.
In the third category he included those Brothers (the majority) who saw
nothing in Freemasonry but the external forms and ceremonies, and prized
the strict performance of these forms without troubling about their
purport or significance. Such were Willarski and even the Grand Master
of the principal lodge.
Finally, to the fourth category also a great many Brothers belonged,
particularly those who had lately joined. These according to Pierre’s
observations were men who had no belief in anything, nor desire for
anything, but joined the Freemasons merely to associate with the wealthy
young Brothers who were influential through their connections or rank,
and of whom there were very many in the lodge.
Pierre began to feel dissatisfied with what he was doing. Freemasonry,
at any rate as he saw it here, sometimes seemed to him based merely
on externals. He did not think of doubting Freemasonry itself, but
suspected that Russian Masonry had taken a wrong path and deviated
from its original principles. And so toward the end of the year he went
abroad to be initiated into the higher secrets of the order.
In the summer of 1809 Pierre returned to Petersburg. Our Freemasons knew
from correspondence with those abroad that Bezukhov had obtained the
confidence of many highly placed persons, had been initiated into many
mysteries, had been raised to a higher grade, and was bringing back with
him much that might conduce to the advantage of the Masonic cause
in Russia. The Petersburg Freemasons all came to see him, tried to
ingratiate themselves with him, and it seemed to them all that he was
preparing something for them and concealing it.
A solemn meeting of the lodge of the second degree was convened, at
which Pierre promised to communicate to the Petersburg Brothers what
he had to deliver to them from the highest leaders of their order. The
meeting was a full one. After the usual ceremonies Pierre rose and began
his address.
"Dear Brothers," he began, blushing and stammering, with a written
speech in his hand, "it is not sufficient to observe our mysteries in
the seclusion of our lodge - we must act - act! We are drowsing, but we
must act." Pierre raised his notebook and began to read.
"For the dissemination of pure truth and to secure the triumph of
virtue," he read, "we must cleanse men from prejudice, diffuse
principles in harmony with the spirit of the times, undertake the
education of the young, unite ourselves in indissoluble bonds with the
wisest men, boldly yet prudently overcome superstitions, infidelity, and
folly, and form of those devoted to us a body linked together by unity
of purpose and possessed of authority and power.
"To attain this end we must secure a preponderance of virtue over vice
and must endeavor to secure that the honest man may, even in this world,
receive a lasting reward for his virtue. But in these great endeavors we
are gravely hampered by the political institutions of today. What is
to be done in these circumstances? To favor revolutions, overthrow
everything, repel force by force?... No! We are very far from that.
Every violent reform deserves censure, for it quite fails to remedy
evil while men remain what they are, and also because wisdom needs no
violence.
"The whole plan of our order should be based on the idea of
preparing men of firmness and virtue bound together by unity of
conviction - aiming at the punishment of vice and folly, and patronizing
talent and virtue: raising worthy men from the dust and attaching
them to our Brotherhood. Only then will our order have the power
unobtrusively to bind the hands of the protectors of disorder and to
control them without their being aware of it. In a word, we must found a
form of government holding universal sway, which should be diffused over
the whole world without destroying the bonds of citizenship, and beside
which all other governments can continue in their customary course and
do everything except what impedes the great aim of our order, which
is to obtain for virtue the victory over vice. This aim was that of
Christianity itself. It taught men to be wise and good and for their
own benefit to follow the example and instruction of the best and wisest
men.
"At that time, when everything was plunged in darkness, preaching
alone was of course sufficient. The novelty of Truth endowed her with
special strength, but now we need much more powerful methods. It is
now necessary that man, governed by his senses, should find in virtue
a charm palpable to those senses. It is impossible to eradicate the
passions; but we must strive to direct them to a noble aim, and it is
therefore necessary that everyone should be able to satisfy his passions
within the limits of virtue. Our order should provide means to that end.
"As soon as we have a certain number of worthy men in every state,
each of them again training two others and all being closely united,
everything will be possible for our order, which has already in secret
accomplished much for the welfare of mankind."
This speech not only made a strong impression, but created excitement in
the lodge. The majority of the Brothers, seeing in it dangerous designs
of Illuminism, * met it with a coldness that surprised Pierre. The Grand
Master began answering him, and Pierre began developing his views with
more and more warmth. It was long since there had been so stormy a
meeting. Parties were formed, some accusing Pierre of Illuminism, others
supporting him. At that meeting he was struck for the first time by
the endless variety of men’s minds, which prevents a truth from ever
presenting itself identically to two persons. Even those members
who seemed to be on his side understood him in their own way with
limitations and alterations he could not agree to, as what he always
wanted most was to convey his thought to others just as he himself
understood it.
* The Illuminati sought to substitute republican for
monarchical institutions.
At the end of the meeting the Grand Master with irony and ill-will
reproved Bezukhov for his vehemence and said it was not love of virtue
alone, but also a love of strife that had moved him in the dispute.
Pierre did not answer him and asked briefly whether his proposal would
be accepted. He was told that it would not, and without waiting for the
usual formalities he left the lodge and went home.
CHAPTER VIII
Again Pierre was overtaken by the depression he so dreaded. For three
days after the delivery of his speech at the lodge he lay on a sofa at
home receiving no one and going nowhere.
It was just then that he received a letter from his wife, who implored
him to see her, telling him how grieved she was about him and how she
wished to devote her whole life to him.
At the end of the letter she informed him that in a few days she would
return to Petersburg from abroad.
Following this letter one of the Masonic Brothers whom Pierre respected
less than the others forced his way in to see him and, turning the
conversation upon Pierre’s matrimonial affairs, by way of fraternal
advice expressed the opinion that his severity to his wife was wrong
and that he was neglecting one of the first rules of Freemasonry by not
forgiving the penitent.
At the same time his mother-in-law, Prince Vasili’s wife, sent to
him imploring him to come if only for a few minutes to discuss a most
important matter. Pierre saw that there was a conspiracy against him and
that they wanted to reunite him with his wife, and in the mood he then
was, this was not even unpleasant to him. Nothing mattered to him.
Nothing in life seemed to him of much importance, and under the
influence of the depression that possessed him he valued neither his
liberty nor his resolution to punish his wife.
"No one is right and no one is to blame; so she too is not to
blame," he thought.
If he did not at once give his consent to a reunion with his wife, it
was only because in his state of depression he did not feel able to take
any step. Had his wife come to him, he would not have turned her away.
Compared to what preoccupied him, was it not a matter of indifference
whether he lived with his wife or not?
Without replying either to his wife or his mother-in-law, Pierre late
one night prepared for a journey and started for Moscow to see Joseph
Alexeevich. This is what he noted in his diary:
Moscow, 17th November
I have just returned from my benefactor, and hasten to write down what I
have experienced. Joseph Alexeevich is living poorly and has for three
years been suffering from a painful disease of the bladder. No one has
ever heard him utter a groan or a word of complaint. From morning till
late at night, except when he eats his very plain food, he is working
at science. He received me graciously and made me sit down on the bed
on which he lay. I made the sign of the Knights of the East and of
Jerusalem, and he responded in the same manner, asking me with a mild
smile what I had learned and gained in the Prussian and Scottish lodges.
I told him everything as best I could, and told him what I had proposed
to our Petersburg lodge, of the bad reception I had encountered, and of
my rupture with the Brothers. Joseph Alexeevich, having remained silent
and thoughtful for a good while, told me his view of the matter, which
at once lit up for me my whole past and the future path I should follow.
He surprised me by asking whether I remembered the threefold aim of
the order: (1) The preservation and study of the mystery. (2) The
purification and reformation of oneself for its reception, and (3) The
improvement of the human race by striving for such purification. Which
is the principal aim of these three? Certainly self-reformation and
self-purification. Only to this aim can we always strive independently
of circumstances. But at the same time just this aim demands the
greatest efforts of us; and so, led astray by pride, losing sight of
this aim, we occupy ourselves either with the mystery which in our
impurity we are unworthy to receive, or seek the reformation of
the human race while ourselves setting an example of baseness and
profligacy. Illuminism is not a pure doctrine, just because it is
attracted by social activity and puffed up by pride. On this ground
Joseph Alexeevich condemned my speech and my whole activity, and in the
depth of my soul I agreed with him. Talking of my family affairs he said
to me, "the chief duty of a true Mason, as I have told you, lies in
perfecting himself. We often think that by removing all the difficulties
of our life we shall more quickly reach our aim, but on the contrary,
my dear sir, it is only in the midst of worldly cares that we can attain
our three chief aims: (1) Self-knowledge - for man can only know himself
by comparison, (2) Self-perfecting, which can only be attained by
conflict, and (3) The attainment of the chief virtue - love of death.
Only the vicissitudes of life can show us its vanity and develop our
innate love of death or of rebirth to a new life." These words are all
the more remarkable because, in spite of his great physical sufferings,
Joseph Alexeevich is never weary of life though he loves death, for
which - in spite of the purity and loftiness of his inner man - he does
not yet feel himself sufficiently prepared. My benefactor then explained
to me fully the meaning of the Great Square of creation and pointed out
to me that the numbers three and seven are the basis of everything. He
advised me not to avoid intercourse with the Petersburg Brothers, but
to take up only second-grade posts in the lodge, to try, while
diverting the Brothers from pride, to turn them toward the true path
self-knowledge and self-perfecting. Besides this he advised me for
myself personally above all to keep a watch over myself, and to that end
he gave me a notebook, the one I am now writing in and in which I will
in future note down all my actions.
Petersburg, 23rd November
I am again living with my wife. My mother-in-law came to me in tears and
said that Helene was here and that she implored me to hear her; that
she was innocent and unhappy at my desertion, and much more. I knew
that if I once let myself see her I should not have strength to go on
refusing what she wanted. In my perplexity I did not know whose aid and
advice to seek. Had my benefactor been here he would have told me what
to do. I went to my room and reread Joseph Alexeevich’s letters and
recalled my conversations with him, and deduced from it all that I
ought not to refuse a supplicant, and ought to reach a helping hand to
everyone - especially to one so closely bound to me - and that I must
bear my cross. But if I forgive her for the sake of doing right, then
let union with her have only a spiritual aim. That is what I decided,
and what I wrote to Joseph Alexeevich. I told my wife that I begged her
to forget the past, to forgive me whatever wrong I may have done her,
and that I had nothing to forgive. It gave me joy to tell her this. She
need not know how hard it was for me to see her again. I have settled on
the upper floor of this big house and am experiencing a happy feeling of
regeneration.
CHAPTER IX
At that time, as always happens, the highest society that met at court
and at the grand balls was divided into several circles, each with its
own particular tone. The largest of these was the French circle of the
Napoleonic alliance, the circle of Count Rumyantsev and Caulaincourt.
In this group Helene, as soon as she had settled in Petersburg with
her husband, took a very prominent place. She was visited by the members
of the French embassy and by many belonging to that circle and noted for
their intellect and polished manners.
Helene had been at Erfurt during the famous meeting of the Emperors
and had brought from there these connections with the Napoleonic
notabilities. At Erfurt her success had been brilliant. Napoleon himself
had noticed her in the theater and said of her: "C’est un superbe
animal." * Her success as a beautiful and elegant woman did not
surprise Pierre, for she had become even handsomer than before. What did
surprise him was that during these last two years his wife had succeeded
in gaining the reputation "d’ une femme charmante, aussi spirituelle
que belle." *(2) The distinguished Prince de Ligne wrote her
eight-page letters. Bilibin saved up his epigrams to produce them
in Countess Bezukhova’s presence. To be received in the Countess
Bezukhova’s salon was regarded as a diploma of intellect. Young men
read books before attending Helene’s evenings, to have something to
say in her salon, and secretaries of the embassy, and even ambassadors,
confided diplomatic secrets to her, so that in a way Helene was a
power. Pierre, who knew she was very stupid, sometimes attended, with a
strange feeling of perplexity and fear, her evenings and dinner parties,
where politics, poetry, and philosophy were discussed. At these parties
his feelings were like those of a conjuror who always expects his trick
to be found out at any moment. But whether because stupidity was just
what was needed to run such a salon, or because those who were deceived
found pleasure in the deception, at any rate it remained unexposed and
Helene Bezukhova’s reputation as a lovely and clever woman became
so firmly established that she could say the emptiest and stupidest
things and everybody would go into raptures over every word of hers
and look for a profound meaning in it of which she herself had no
conception.
* "That’s a superb animal."
* (2) "Of a charming woman, as witty as she is lovely."
Pierre was just the husband needed for a brilliant society woman. He was
that absent-minded crank, a grand seigneur husband who was in no one’s
way, and far from spoiling the high tone and general impression of the
drawing room, he served, by the contrast he presented to her, as an
advantageous background to his elegant and tactful wife. Pierre during
the last two years, as a result of his continual absorption in abstract
interests and his sincere contempt for all else, had acquired in his
wife’s circle, which did not interest him, that air of unconcern,
indifference, and benevolence toward all, which cannot be acquired
artificially and therefore inspires involuntary respect. He entered
his wife’s drawing room as one enters a theater, was acquainted with
everybody, equally pleased to see everyone, and equally indifferent to
them all. Sometimes he joined in a conversation which interested him
and, regardless of whether any "gentlemen of the embassy" were
present or not, lispingly expressed his views, which were sometimes not
at all in accord with the accepted tone of the moment. But the general
opinion concerning the queer husband of "the most distinguished woman
in Petersburg" was so well established that no one took his freaks
seriously.
Among the many young men who frequented her house every day, Boris
Drubetskoy, who had already achieved great success in the service, was
the most intimate friend of the Bezukhov household since Helene’s
return from Erfurt. Helene spoke of him as "mon page" and treated
him like a child. Her smile for him was the same as for everybody,
but sometimes that smile made Pierre uncomfortable. Toward him Boris
behaved with a particularly dignified and sad deference. This shade
of deference also disturbed Pierre. He had suffered so painfully three
years before from the mortification to which his wife had subjected him
that he now protected himself from the danger of its repetition, first
by not being a husband to his wife, and secondly by not allowing himself
to suspect.
"No, now that she has become a bluestocking she has finally renounced
her former infatuations," he told himself. "There has never been
an instance of a bluestocking being carried away by affairs of the
heart" - a statement which, though gathered from an unknown source,
he believed implicitly. Yet strange to say Boris’ presence in his
wife’s drawing room (and he was almost always there) had a physical
effect upon Pierre; it constricted his limbs and destroyed the
unconsciousness and freedom of his movements.
"What a strange antipathy," thought Pierre, "yet I used to like
him very much."
In the eyes of the world Pierre was a great gentleman, the rather blind
and absurd husband of a distinguished wife, a clever crank who did
nothing but harmed nobody and was a first-rate, good-natured fellow. But
a complex and difficult process of internal development was taking place
all this time in Pierre’s soul, revealing much to him and causing him
many spiritual doubts and joys.
CHAPTER X
Pierre went on with his diary, and this is what he wrote in it during
that time:
24th November
Got up at eight, read the Scriptures, then went to my duties. (By Joseph
Alexeevich’s advice Pierre had entered the service of the state and
served on one of the committees.) Returned home for dinner and dined
alone - the countess had many visitors I do not like. I ate and drank
moderately and after dinner copied out some passages for the Brothers.
In the evening I went down to the countess and told a funny story about
B., and only remembered that I ought not to have done so when everybody
laughed loudly at it.
I am going to bed with a happy and tranquil mind. Great God, help me to
walk in Thy paths, (1) to conquer anger by calmness and deliberation,
(2) to vanquish lust by self-restraint and repulsion, (3) to withdraw
from worldliness, but not avoid (a) the service of the state, (b) family
duties, (c) relations with my friends, and the management of my affairs.
27th November
I got up late. On waking I lay long in bed yielding to sloth. O God,
help and strengthen me that I may walk in Thy ways! Read the Scriptures,
but without proper feeling. Brother Urusov came and we talked about
worldly vanities. He told me of the Emperor’s new projects. I began
to criticize them, but remembered my rules and my benefactor’s
words - that a true Freemason should be a zealous worker for the state
when his aid is required and a quiet onlooker when not called on to
assist. My tongue is my enemy. Brothers G. V. and O. visited me and we
had a preliminary talk about the reception of a new Brother. They laid
on me the duty of Rhetor. I feel myself weak and unworthy. Then our
talk turned to the interpretation of the seven pillars and steps of the
Temple, the seven sciences, the seven virtues, the seven vices, and the
seven gifts of the Holy Spirit. Brother O. was very eloquent. In the
evening the admission took place. The new decoration of the Premises
contributed much to the magnificence of the spectacle. It was Boris
Drubetskoy who was admitted. I nominated him and was the Rhetor. A
strange feeling agitated me all the time I was alone with him in the
dark chamber. I caught myself harboring a feeling of hatred toward him
which I vainly tried to overcome. That is why I should really like
to save him from evil and lead him into the path of truth, but evil
thoughts of him did not leave me. It seemed to me that his object in
entering the Brotherhood was merely to be intimate and in favor with
members of our lodge. Apart from the fact that he had asked me several
times whether N. and S. were members of our lodge (a question to which I
could not reply) and that according to my observation he is incapable of
feeling respect for our holy order and is too preoccupied and satisfied
with the outer man to desire spiritual improvement, I had no cause to
doubt him, but he seemed to me insincere, and all the time I stood
alone with him in the dark temple it seemed to me that he was smiling
contemptuously at my words, and I wished really to stab his bare breast
with the sword I held to it. I could not be eloquent, nor could I
frankly mention my doubts to the Brothers and to the Grand Master. Great
Architect of Nature, help me to find the true path out of the labyrinth
of lies!
After this, three pages were left blank in the diary, and then the
following was written:
I have had a long and instructive talk alone with Brother V., who
advised me to hold fast by Brother A. Though I am unworthy, much was
revealed to me. Adonai is the name of the creator of the world. Elohim
is the name of the ruler of all. The third name is the name unutterable
which means the All. Talks with Brother V. strengthen, refresh, and
support me in the path of virtue. In his presence doubt has no place.
The distinction between the poor teachings of mundane science and our
sacred all-embracing teaching is clear to me. Human sciences dissect
everything to comprehend it, and kill everything to examine it. In the
holy science of our order all is one, all is known in its entirety and
life. The Trinity - the three elements of matter - are sulphur, mercury,
and salt. Sulphur is of an oily and fiery nature; in combination with
salt by its fiery nature it arouses a desire in the latter by means
of which it attracts mercury, seizes it, holds it, and in combination
produces other bodies. Mercury is a fluid, volatile, spiritual essence.
Christ, the Holy Spirit, Him!...
3rd December
Awoke late, read the Scriptures but was apathetic. Afterwards went and
paced up and down the large hall. I wished to meditate, but instead my
imagination pictured an occurrence of four years ago, when Dolokhov,
meeting me in Moscow after our duel, said he hoped I was enjoying
perfect peace of mind in spite of my wife’s absence. At the time I
gave him no answer. Now I recalled every detail of that meeting and in
my mind gave him the most malevolent and bitter replies. I recollected
myself and drove away that thought only when I found myself glowing with
anger, but I did not sufficiently repent. Afterwards Boris Drubetskoy
came and began relating various adventures. His coming vexed me from the
first, and I said something disagreeable to him. He replied. I flared
up and said much that was unpleasant and even rude to him. He became
silent, and I recollected myself only when it was too late. My God, I
cannot get on with him at all. The cause of this is my egotism. I set
myself above him and so become much worse than he, for he is lenient
to my rudeness while I on the contrary nourish contempt for him. O God,
grant that in his presence I may rather see my own vileness, and behave
so that he too may benefit. After dinner I fell asleep and as I was
drowsing off I clearly heard a voice saying in my left ear, "Thy
day!"
I dreamed that I was walking in the dark and was suddenly surrounded by
dogs, but I went on undismayed. Suddenly a smallish dog seized my left
thigh with its teeth and would not let go. I began to throttle it with
my hands. Scarcely had I torn it off before another, a bigger one, began
biting me. I lifted it up, but the higher I lifted it the bigger and
heavier it grew. And suddenly Brother A. came and, taking my arm, led
me to a building to enter which we had to pass along a narrow plank.
I stepped on it, but it bent and gave way and I began to clamber up a
fence which I could scarcely reach with my hands. After much effort I
dragged myself up, so that my leg hung down on one side and my body on
the other. I looked round and saw Brother A. standing on the fence and
pointing me to a broad avenue and garden, and in the garden was a large
and beautiful building. I woke up. O Lord, great Architect of Nature,
help me to tear from myself these dogs - my passions especially the
last, which unites in itself the strength of all the former ones, and
aid me to enter that temple of virtue to a vision of which I attained in
my dream.
7th December
I dreamed that Joseph Alexeevich was sitting in my house, and that I
was very glad and wished to entertain him. It seemed as if I chattered
incessantly with other people and suddenly remembered that this could
not please him, and I wished to come close to him and embrace him. But
as soon as I drew near I saw that his face had changed and grown young,
and he was quietly telling me something about the teaching of our order,
but so softly that I could not hear it. Then it seemed that we all left
the room and something strange happened. We were sitting or lying on
the floor. He was telling me something, and I wished to show him my
sensibility, and not listening to what he was saying I began picturing
to myself the condition of my inner man and the grace of God sanctifying
me. And tears came into my eyes, and I was glad he noticed this. But he
looked at me with vexation and jumped up, breaking off his remarks. I
felt abashed and asked whether what he had been saying did not concern
me; but he did not reply, gave me a kind look, and then we suddenly
found ourselves in my bedroom where there is a double bed. He lay down
on the edge of it and I burned with longing to caress him and lie down
too. And he said, "Tell me frankly what is your chief temptation? Do
you know it? I think you know it already." Abashed by this question,
I replied that sloth was my chief temptation. He shook his head
incredulously; and even more abashed, I said that though I was living
with my wife as he advised, I was not living with her as her husband. To
this he replied that one should not deprive a wife of one’s embraces
and gave me to understand that that was my duty. But I replied that
I should be ashamed to do it, and suddenly everything vanished. And I
awoke and found in my mind the text from the Gospel: "The life was
the light of men. And the light shineth in darkness; and the darkness
comprehended it not." Joseph Alexeevich’s face had looked young
and bright. That day I received a letter from my benefactor in which he
wrote about "conjugal duties."
9th December
I had a dream from which I awoke with a throbbing heart. I saw that
I was in Moscow in my house, in the big sitting room, and Joseph
Alexeevich came in from the drawing room. I seemed to know at once that
the process of regeneration had already taken place in him, and I rushed
to meet him. I embraced him and kissed his hands, and he said, "Hast
thou noticed that my face is different?" I looked at him, still
holding him in my arms, and saw that his face was young, but that he
had no hair on his head and his features were quite changed. And I said,
"I should have known you had I met you by chance," and I thought to
myself, "Am I telling the truth?" And suddenly I saw him lying like
a dead body; then he gradually recovered and went with me into my study
carrying a large book of sheets of drawing paper; I said, "I drew
that," and he answered by bowing his head. I opened the book, and on
all the pages there were excellent drawings. And in my dream I knew
that these drawings represented the love adventures of the soul with its
beloved. And on its pages I saw a beautiful representation of a maiden
in transparent garments and with a transparent body, flying up to the
clouds. And I seemed to know that this maiden was nothing else than a
representation of the Song of Songs. And looking at those drawings I
dreamed I felt that I was doing wrong, but could not tear myself away
from them. Lord, help me! My God, if Thy forsaking me is Thy doing, Thy
will be done; but if I am myself the cause, teach me what I should do! I
shall perish of my debauchery if Thou utterly desertest me!
CHAPTER XI
The Rostovs’ monetary affairs had not improved during the two years
they had spent in the country.
Though Nicholas Rostov had kept firmly to his resolution and was still
serving modestly in an obscure regiment, spending comparatively little,
the way of life at Otradnoe - Mitenka’s management of affairs, in
particular - was such that the debts inevitably increased every year.
The only resource obviously presenting itself to the old count was to
apply for an official post, so he had come to Petersburg to look for one
and also, as he said, to let the lassies enjoy themselves for the last
time.
Soon after their arrival in Petersburg Berg proposed to Vera and was
accepted.
Though in Moscow the Rostovs belonged to the best society without
themselves giving it a thought, yet in Petersburg their circle of
acquaintances was a mixed and indefinite one. In Petersburg they were
provincials, and the very people they had entertained in Moscow without
inquiring to what set they belonged, here looked down on them.
The Rostovs lived in the same hospitable way in Petersburg as in
Moscow, and the most diverse people met at their suppers. Country
neighbors from Otradnoe, impoverished old squires and their daughters,
Peronskaya a maid of honor, Pierre Bezukhov, and the son of their
district postmaster who had obtained a post in Petersburg. Among the
men who very soon became frequent visitors at the Rostovs’ house in
Petersburg were Boris, Pierre whom the count had met in the street and
dragged home with him, and Berg who spent whole days at the Rostovs’
and paid the eldest daughter, Countess Vera, the attentions a young man
pays when he intends to propose.
Not in vain had Berg shown everybody his right hand wounded at
Austerlitz and held a perfectly unnecessary sword in his left. He
narrated that episode so persistently and with so important an air that
everyone believed in the merit and usefulness of his deed, and he had
obtained two decorations for Austerlitz.
In the Finnish war he also managed to distinguish himself. He had picked
up the scrap of a grenade that had killed an aide-de-camp standing near
the commander in chief and had taken it to his commander. Just as he had
done after Austerlitz, he related this occurrence at such length and
so insistently that everyone again believed it had been necessary to do
this, and he received two decorations for the Finnish war also. In
1809 he was a captain in the Guards, wore medals, and held some special
lucrative posts in Petersburg.
Though some skeptics smiled when told of Berg’s merits, it could not
be denied that he was a painstaking and brave officer, on excellent
terms with his superiors, and a moral young man with a brilliant career
before him and an assured position in society.
Four years before, meeting a German comrade in the stalls of a Moscow
theater, Berg had pointed out Vera Rostova to him and had said in
German, "das soll mein Weib werden," * and from that moment had
made up his mind to marry her. Now in Petersburg, having considered the
Rostovs’ position and his own, he decided that the time had come to
propose.
* "That girl shall be my wife."
Berg’s proposal was at first received with a perplexity that was not
flattering to him. At first it seemed strange that the son of an obscure
Livonian gentleman should propose marriage to a Countess Rostova; but
Berg’s chief characteristic was such a naïve and good natured egotism
that the Rostovs involuntarily came to think it would be a good thing,
since he himself was so firmly convinced that it was good, indeed
excellent. Moreover, the Rostovs’ affairs were seriously embarrassed,
as the suitor could not but know; and above all, Vera was twenty-four,
had been taken out everywhere, and though she was certainly good-looking
and sensible, no one up to now had proposed to her. So they gave their
consent.
"You see," said Berg to his comrade, whom he called "friend"
only because he knew that everyone has friends, "you see, I have
considered it all, and should not marry if I had not thought it all out
or if it were in any way unsuitable. But on the contrary, my papa and
mamma are now provided for - I have arranged that rent for them in the
Baltic Provinces - and I can live in Petersburg on my pay, and with
her fortune and my good management we can get along nicely. I am not
marrying for money - I consider that dishonorable - but a wife should
bring her share and a husband his. I have my position in the service,
she has connections and some means. In our times that is worth
something, isn’t it? But above all, she is a handsome, estimable girl,
and she loves me...."
Berg blushed and smiled.
"And I love her, because her character is sensible and very good.
Now the other sister, though they are the same family, is quite
different - an unpleasant character and has not the same intelligence.
She is so... you know?... Unpleasant... But my fiancee!... Well, you
will be coming," he was going to say, "to dine," but changed his
mind and said "to take tea with us," and quickly doubling up his
tongue he blew a small round ring of tobacco smoke, perfectly embodying
his dream of happiness.
After the first feeling of perplexity aroused in the parents by Berg’s
proposal, the holiday tone of joyousness usual at such times took
possession of the family, but the rejoicing was external and insincere.
In the family’s feeling toward this wedding a certain awkwardness
and constraint was evident, as if they were ashamed of not having loved
Vera sufficiently and of being so ready to get her off their hands. The
old count felt this most. He would probably have been unable to state
the cause of his embarrassment, but it resulted from the state of his
affairs. He did not know at all how much he had, what his debts amounted
to, or what dowry he could give Vera. When his daughters were born
he had assigned to each of them, for her dowry, an estate with three
hundred serfs; but one of these estates had already been sold, and the
other was mortgaged and the interest so much in arrears that it would
have to be sold, so that it was impossible to give it to Vera. Nor had
he any money.
Berg had already been engaged a month, and only a week remained before
the wedding, but the count had not yet decided in his own mind the
question of the dowry, nor spoken to his wife about it. At one time the
count thought of giving her the Ryazan estate or of selling a forest,
at another time of borrowing money on a note of hand. A few days before
the wedding Berg entered the count’s study early one morning and, with
a pleasant smile, respectfully asked his future father-in-law to let
him know what Vera’s dowry would be. The count was so disconcerted by
this long-foreseen inquiry that without consideration he gave the first
reply that came into his head. "I like your being businesslike about
it.... I like it. You shall be satisfied...."
And patting Berg on the shoulder he got up, wishing to end the
conversation. But Berg, smiling pleasantly, explained that if he did not
know for certain how much Vera would have and did not receive at least
part of the dowry in advance, he would have to break matters off.
"Because, consider, Count - if I allowed myself to marry now
without having definite means to maintain my wife, I should be acting
badly...."
The conversation ended by the count, who wished to be generous and to
avoid further importunity, saying that he would give a note of hand
for eighty thousand rubles. Berg smiled meekly, kissed the count on the
shoulder, and said that he was very grateful, but that it was impossible
for him to arrange his new life without receiving thirty thousand in
ready money. "Or at least twenty thousand, Count," he added, "and
then a note of hand for only sixty thousand."
"Yes, yes, all right!" said the count hurriedly. "Only excuse me,
my dear fellow, I’ll give you twenty thousand and a note of hand for
eighty thousand as well. Yes, yes! Kiss me."
CHAPTER XII
Natasha was sixteen and it was the year 1809, the very year to which
she had counted on her fingers with Boris after they had kissed four
years ago. Since then she had not seen him. Before Sonya and her
mother, if Boris happened to be mentioned, she spoke quite freely of
that episode as of some childish, long-forgotten matter that was not
worth mentioning. But in the secret depths of her soul the question
whether her engagement to Boris was a jest or an important, binding
promise tormented her.
Since Boris left Moscow in 1805 to join the army he had not seen the
Rostovs. He had been in Moscow several times, and had passed near
Otradnoe, but had never been to see them.
Sometimes it occurred to Natasha that he did not wish to see her, and
this conjecture was confirmed by the sad tone in which her elders spoke
of him.
"Nowadays old friends are not remembered," the countess would say
when Boris was mentioned.
Anna Mikhaylovna also had of late visited them less frequently, seemed
to hold herself with particular dignity, and always spoke rapturously
and gratefully of the merits of her son and the brilliant career on
which he had entered. When the Rostovs came to Petersburg Boris called
on them.
He drove to their house in some agitation. The memory of Natasha was
his most poetic recollection. But he went with the firm intention of
letting her and her parents feel that the childish relations between
himself and Natasha could not be binding either on her or on him. He
had a brilliant position in society thanks to his intimacy with Countess
Bezukhova, a brilliant position in the service thanks to the patronage
of an important personage whose complete confidence he enjoyed, and he
was beginning to make plans for marrying one of the richest heiresses in
Petersburg, plans which might very easily be realized. When he entered
the Rostovs’ drawing room Natasha was in her own room. When she
heard of his arrival she almost ran into the drawing room, flushed and
beaming with a more than cordial smile.
Boris remembered Natasha in a short dress, with dark eyes shining from
under her curls and boisterous, childish laughter, as he had known her
four years before; and so he was taken aback when quite a different
Natasha entered, and his face expressed rapturous astonishment. This
expression on his face pleased Natasha.
"Well, do you recognize your little madcap playmate?" asked the
countess.
Boris kissed Natasha’s hand and said that he was astonished at the
change in her.
"How handsome you have grown!"
"I should think so!" replied Natasha’s laughing eyes.
"And is Papa older?" she asked.
Natasha sat down and, without joining in Boris’ conversation with
the countess, silently and minutely studied her childhood’s suitor. He
felt the weight of that resolute and affectionate scrutiny and glanced
at her occasionally.
Boris’ uniform, spurs, tie, and the way his hair was brushed were all
comme il faut and in the latest fashion. This Natasha noticed at once.
He sat rather sideways in the armchair next to the countess, arranging
with his right hand the cleanest of gloves that fitted his left hand
like a skin, and he spoke with a particularly refined compression of his
lips about the amusements of the highest Petersburg society, recalling
with mild irony old times in Moscow and Moscow acquaintances. It was
not accidentally, Natasha felt, that he alluded, when speaking of the
highest aristocracy, to an ambassador’s ball he had attended, and to
invitations he had received from N.N. and S.S.
All this time Natasha sat silent, glancing up at him from under her
brows. This gaze disturbed and confused Boris more and more. He looked
round more frequently toward her, and broke off in what he was saying.
He did not stay more than ten minutes, then rose and took his leave. The
same inquisitive, challenging, and rather mocking eyes still looked
at him. After his first visit Boris said to himself that Natasha
attracted him just as much as ever, but that he must not yield to that
feeling, because to marry her, a girl almost without fortune, would
mean ruin to his career, while to renew their former relations without
intending to marry her would be dishonorable. Boris made up his mind
to avoid meeting Natasha, but despite that resolution he called again
a few days later and began calling often and spending whole days at the
Rostovs’. It seemed to him that he ought to have an explanation with
Natasha and tell her that the old times must be forgotten, that in
spite of everything... she could not be his wife, that he had no means,
and they would never let her marry him. But he failed to do so and felt
awkward about entering on such an explanation. From day to day he
became more and more entangled. It seemed to her mother and Sonya that
Natasha was in love with Boris as of old. She sang him his favorite
songs, showed him her album, making him write in it, did not allow him
to allude to the past, letting it be understood how delightful was the
present; and every day he went away in a fog, without having said what
he meant to, and not knowing what he was doing or why he came, or how
it would all end. He left off visiting Helene and received reproachful
notes from her every day, and yet he continued to spend whole days with
the Rostovs.
CHAPTER XIII
One night when the old countess, in nightcap and dressing jacket,
without her false curls, and with her poor little knob of hair showing
under her white cotton cap, knelt sighing and groaning on a rug and
bowing to the ground in prayer, her door creaked and Natasha, also in
a dressing jacket with slippers on her bare feet and her hair in
curlpapers, ran in. The countess - her prayerful mood dispelled - looked
round and frowned. She was finishing her last prayer: "Can it be that
this couch will be my grave?" Natasha, flushed and eager, seeing
her mother in prayer, suddenly checked her rush, half sat down, and
unconsciously put out her tongue as if chiding herself. Seeing that
her mother was still praying she ran on tiptoe to the bed and, rapidly
slipping one little foot against the other, pushed off her slippers and
jumped onto the bed the countess had feared might become her grave. This
couch was high, with a feather bed and five pillows each smaller than
the one below. Natasha jumped on it, sank into the feather bed, rolled
over to the wall, and began snuggling up the bedclothes as she settled
down, raising her knees to her chin, kicking out and laughing almost
inaudibly, now covering herself up head and all, and now peeping at her
mother. The countess finished her prayers and came to the bed with a
stern face, but seeing, that Natasha’s head was covered, she smiled
in her kind, weak way.
"Now then, now then!" said she.
"Mamma, can we have a talk? Yes?" said Natasha. "Now, just one on
your throat and another... that’ll do!" And seizing her mother round
the neck, she kissed her on the throat. In her behavior to her mother
Natasha seemed rough, but she was so sensitive and tactful that however
she clasped her mother she always managed to do it without hurting her
or making her feel uncomfortable or displeased.
"Well, what is it tonight?" said the mother, having arranged her
pillows and waited until Natasha, after turning over a couple of times,
had settled down beside her under the quilt, spread out her arms, and
assumed a serious expression.
These visits of Natasha’s at night before the count returned from his
club were one of the greatest pleasures of both mother, and daughter.
"What is it tonight? - But I have to tell you..."
Natasha put her hand on her mother’s mouth.
"About Boris... I know," she said seriously; "that’s what I
have come about. Don’t say it - I know. No, do tell me!" and she
removed her hand. "Tell me, Mamma! He’s nice?"
"Natasha, you are sixteen. At your age I was married. You say Boris
is nice. He is very nice, and I love him like a son. But what then?...
What are you thinking about? You have quite turned his head, I can see
that...."
As she said this the countess looked round at her daughter. Natasha
was lying looking steadily straight before her at one of the mahogany
sphinxes carved on the corners of the bedstead, so that the countess
only saw her daughter’s face in profile. That face struck her by its
peculiarly serious and concentrated expression.
Natasha was listening and considering.
"Well, what then?" said she.
"You have quite turned his head, and why? What do you want of him? You
know you can’t marry him."
"Why not?" said Natasha, without changing her position.
"Because he is young, because he is poor, because he is a relation...
and because you yourself don’t love him."
"How do you know?"
"I know. It is not right, darling!"
"But if I want to..." said Natasha.
"Leave off talking nonsense," said the countess.
"But if I want to..."
"Natasha, I am in earnest..."
Natasha did not let her finish. She drew the countess’ large hand to
her, kissed it on the back and then on the palm, then again turned it
over and began kissing first one knuckle, then the space between the
knuckles, then the next knuckle, whispering, "January, February,
March, April, May. Speak, Mamma, why don’t you say anything? Speak!"
said she, turning to her mother, who was tenderly gazing at her daughter
and in that contemplation seemed to have forgotten all she had wished to
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