an allowance of ten thousand rubles. He had a dim perception of the
following budget:
About 80,000 went in payments on all the estates to the Land Bank, about
30,000 went for the upkeep of the estate near Moscow, the town house,
and the allowance to the three princesses; about 15,000 was given in
pensions and the same amount for asylums; 150,000 alimony was sent to
the countess; about 70,000 went for interest on debts. The building of a
new church, previously begun, had cost about 10,000 in each of the last
two years, and he did not know how the rest, about 100,000 rubles, was
spent, and almost every year he was obliged to borrow. Besides this the
chief steward wrote every year telling him of fires and bad harvests,
or of the necessity of rebuilding factories and workshops. So the first
task Pierre had to face was one for which he had very little aptitude or
inclination - practical business.
He discussed estate affairs every day with his chief steward. But
he felt that this did not forward matters at all. He felt that these
consultations were detached from real affairs and did not link up with
them or make them move. On the one hand, the chief steward put the state
of things to him in the very worst light, pointing out the necessity of
paying off the debts and undertaking new activities with serf labor,
to which Pierre did not agree. On the other hand, Pierre demanded that
steps should be taken to liberate the serfs, which the steward met by
showing the necessity of first paying off the loans from the Land Bank,
and the consequent impossibility of a speedy emancipation.
The steward did not say it was quite impossible, but suggested selling
the forests in the province of Kostroma, the land lower down the river,
and the Crimean estate, in order to make it possible: all of which
operations according to him were connected with such complicated
measures - the removal of injunctions, petitions, permits, and so
on - that Pierre became quite bewildered and only replied:
"Yes, yes, do so."
Pierre had none of the practical persistence that would have enabled him
to attend to the business himself and so he disliked it and only tried
to pretend to the steward that he was attending to it. The steward
for his part tried to pretend to the count that he considered these
consultations very valuable for the proprietor and troublesome to
himself.
In Kiev Pierre found some people he knew, and strangers hastened to make
his acquaintance and joyfully welcomed the rich newcomer, the
largest landowner of the province. Temptations to Pierre’s greatest
weakness - the one to which he had confessed when admitted to the
Lodge - were so strong that he could not resist them. Again whole days,
weeks, and months of his life passed in as great a rush and were as much
occupied with evening parties, dinners, lunches, and balls, giving him
no time for reflection, as in Petersburg. Instead of the new life he had
hoped to lead he still lived the old life, only in new surroundings.
Of the three precepts of Freemasonry Pierre realized that he did not
fulfill the one which enjoined every Mason to set an example of moral
life, and that of the seven virtues he lacked two - morality and the
love of death. He consoled himself with the thought that he fulfilled
another of the precepts - that of reforming the human race - and had
other virtues - love of his neighbor, and especially generosity.
In the spring of 1807 he decided to return to Petersburg. On the way he
intended to visit all his estates and see for himself how far his orders
had been carried out and in what state were the serfs whom God had
entrusted to his care and whom he intended to benefit.
The chief steward, who considered the young count’s attempts almost
insane - unprofitable to himself, to the count, and to the serfs - made
some concessions. Continuing to represent the liberation of the serfs
as impracticable, he arranged for the erection of large
buildings - schools, hospitals, and asylums - on all the estates
before the master arrived. Everywhere preparations were made not for
ceremonious welcomes (which he knew Pierre would not like), but for just
such gratefully religious ones, with offerings of icons and the bread
and salt of hospitality, as, according to his understanding of his
master, would touch and delude him.
The southern spring, the comfortable rapid traveling in a Vienna
carriage, and the solitude of the road, all had a gladdening effect on
Pierre. The estates he had not before visited were each more picturesque
than the other; the serfs everywhere seemed thriving and touchingly
grateful for the benefits conferred on them. Everywhere were receptions,
which though they embarrassed Pierre awakened a joyful feeling in the
depth of his heart. In one place the peasants presented him with bread
and salt and an icon of Saint Peter and Saint Paul, asking permission,
as a mark of their gratitude for the benefits he had conferred on them,
to build a new chantry to the church at their own expense in honor
of Peter and Paul, his patron saints. In another place the women with
infants in arms met him to thank him for releasing them from hard
work. On a third estate the priest, bearing a cross, came to meet
him surrounded by children whom, by the count’s generosity, he was
instructing in reading, writing, and religion. On all his estates Pierre
saw with his own eyes brick buildings erected or in course of erection,
all on one plan, for hospitals, schools, and almshouses, which were soon
to be opened. Everywhere he saw the stewards’ accounts, according to
which the serfs’ manorial labor had been diminished, and heard the
touching thanks of deputations of serfs in their full-skirted blue
coats.
What Pierre did not know was that the place where they presented him
with bread and salt and wished to build a chantry in honor of Peter and
Paul was a market village where a fair was held on St. Peter’s day,
and that the richest peasants (who formed the deputation) had begun
the chantry long before, but that nine tenths of the peasants in that
villages were in a state of the greatest poverty. He did not know that
since the nursing mothers were no longer sent to work on his land, they
did still harder work on their own land. He did not know that the priest
who met him with the cross oppressed the peasants by his exactions, and
that the pupils’ parents wept at having to let him take their children
and secured their release by heavy payments. He did not know that the
brick buildings, built to plan, were being built by serfs whose manorial
labor was thus increased, though lessened on paper. He did not know
that where the steward had shown him in the accounts that the serfs’
payments had been diminished by a third, their obligatory manorial work
had been increased by a half. And so Pierre was delighted with his visit
to his estates and quite recovered the philanthropic mood in which
he had left Petersburg, and wrote enthusiastic letters to his
"brother-instructor" as he called the Grand Master.
"How easy it is, how little effort it needs, to do so much good,"
thought Pierre, "and how little attention we pay to it!"
He was pleased at the gratitude he received, but felt abashed at
receiving it. This gratitude reminded him of how much more he might do
for these simple, kindly people.
The chief steward, a very stupid but cunning man who saw perfectly
through the naïve and intelligent count and played with him as with
a toy, seeing the effect these prearranged receptions had on Pierre,
pressed him still harder with proofs of the impossibility and above all
the uselessness of freeing the serfs, who were quite happy as it was.
Pierre in his secret soul agreed with the steward that it would be
difficult to imagine happier people, and that God only knew what would
happen to them when they were free, but he insisted, though reluctantly,
on what he thought right. The steward promised to do all in his power to
carry out the count’s wishes, seeing clearly that not only would the
count never be able to find out whether all measures had been taken for
the sale of the land and forests and to release them from the Land Bank,
but would probably never even inquire and would never know that the
newly erected buildings were standing empty and that the serfs continued
to give in money and work all that other people’s serfs gave - that is
to say, all that could be got out of them.
CHAPTER XI
Returning from his journey through South Russia in the happiest state
of mind, Pierre carried out an intention he had long had of visiting his
friend Bolkonski, whom he had not seen for two years.
Bogucharovo lay in a flat uninteresting part of the country among
fields and forests of fir and birch, which were partly cut down. The
house lay behind a newly dug pond filled with water to the brink and
with banks still bare of grass. It was at the end of a village that
stretched along the highroad in the midst of a young copse in which were
a few fir trees.
The homestead consisted of a threshing floor, outhouses, stables, a
bathhouse, a lodge, and a large brick house with semicircular façade
still in course of construction. Round the house was a garden newly laid
out. The fences and gates were new and solid; two fire pumps and a
water cart, painted green, stood in a shed; the paths were straight,
the bridges were strong and had handrails. Everything bore an impress of
tidiness and good management. Some domestic serfs Pierre met, in reply
to inquiries as to where the prince lived, pointed out a small newly
built lodge close to the pond. Anton, a man who had looked after Prince
Andrew in his boyhood, helped Pierre out of his carriage, said that the
prince was at home, and showed him into a clean little anteroom.
Pierre was struck by the modesty of the small though clean house after
the brilliant surroundings in which he had last met his friend in
Petersburg.
He quickly entered the small reception room with its still-unplastered
wooden walls redolent of pine, and would have gone farther, but Anton
ran ahead on tiptoe and knocked at a door.
"Well, what is it?" came a sharp, unpleasant voice.
"A visitor," answered Anton.
"Ask him to wait," and the sound was heard of a chair being pushed
back.
Pierre went with rapid steps to the door and suddenly came face to
face with Prince Andrew, who came out frowning and looking old. Pierre
embraced him and lifting his spectacles kissed his friend on the cheek
and looked at him closely.
"Well, I did not expect you, I am very glad," said Prince Andrew.
Pierre said nothing; he looked fixedly at his friend with surprise. He
was struck by the change in him. His words were kindly and there was a
smile on his lips and face, but his eyes were dull and lifeless and in
spite of his evident wish to do so he could not give them a joyous
and glad sparkle. Prince Andrew had grown thinner, paler, and more
manly-looking, but what amazed and estranged Pierre till he got used
to it were his inertia and a wrinkle on his brow indicating prolonged
concentration on some one thought.
As is usually the case with people meeting after a prolonged separation,
it was long before their conversation could settle on anything. They
put questions and gave brief replies about things they knew ought to
be talked over at length. At last the conversation gradually settled on
some of the topics at first lightly touched on: their past life, plans
for the future, Pierre’s journeys and occupations, the war, and so
on. The preoccupation and despondency which Pierre had noticed in his
friend’s look was now still more clearly expressed in the smile
with which he listened to Pierre, especially when he spoke with joyful
animation of the past or the future. It was as if Prince Andrew would
have liked to sympathize with what Pierre was saying, but could not.
The latter began to feel that it was in bad taste to speak of his
enthusiasms, dreams, and hopes of happiness or goodness, in Prince
Andrew’s presence. He was ashamed to express his new Masonic views,
which had been particularly revived and strengthened by his late tour.
He checked himself, fearing to seem naïve, yet he felt an irresistible
desire to show his friend as soon as possible that he was now a quite
different, and better, Pierre than he had been in Petersburg.
"I can’t tell you how much I have lived through since then. I hardly
know myself again."
"Yes, we have altered much, very much, since then," said Prince
Andrew.
"Well, and you? What are your plans?"
"Plans!" repeated Prince Andrew ironically. "My plans?" he said,
as if astonished at the word. "Well, you see, I’m building. I mean
to settle here altogether next year...."
Pierre looked silently and searchingly into Prince Andrew’s face,
which had grown much older.
"No, I meant to ask..." Pierre began, but Prince Andrew interrupted
him.
"But why talk of me?... Talk to me, yes, tell me about your travels
and all you have been doing on your estates."
Pierre began describing what he had done on his estates, trying as far
as possible to conceal his own part in the improvements that had been
made. Prince Andrew several times prompted Pierre’s story of what he
had been doing, as though it were all an old-time story, and he listened
not only without interest but even as if ashamed of what Pierre was
telling him.
Pierre felt uncomfortable and even depressed in his friend’s company
and at last became silent.
"I’ll tell you what, my dear fellow," said Prince Andrew, who
evidently also felt depressed and constrained with his visitor, "I am
only bivouacking here and have just come to look round. I am going back
to my sister today. I will introduce you to her. But of course you know
her already," he said, evidently trying to entertain a visitor with
whom he now found nothing in common. "We will go after dinner. And
would you now like to look round my place?"
They went out and walked about till dinnertime, talking of the political
news and common acquaintances like people who do not know each other
intimately. Prince Andrew spoke with some animation and interest only of
the new homestead he was constructing and its buildings, but even here,
while on the scaffolding, in the midst of a talk explaining the future
arrangements of the house, he interrupted himself:
"However, this is not at all interesting. Let us have dinner, and then
we’ll set off."
At dinner, conversation turned on Pierre’s marriage.
"I was very much surprised when I heard of it," said Prince Andrew.
Pierre blushed, as he always did when it was mentioned, and said
hurriedly: "I will tell you some time how it all happened. But you
know it is all over, and forever."
"Forever?" said Prince Andrew. "Nothing’s forever."
"But you know how it all ended, don’t you? You heard of the duel?"
"And so you had to go through that too!"
"One thing I thank God for is that I did not kill that man," said
Pierre.
"Why so?" asked Prince Andrew. "To kill a vicious dog is a very
good thing really."
"No, to kill a man is bad - wrong."
"Why is it wrong?" urged Prince Andrew. "It is not given to man
to know what is right and what is wrong. Men always did and always will
err, and in nothing more than in what they consider right and wrong."
"What does harm to another is wrong," said Pierre, feeling with
pleasure that for the first time since his arrival Prince Andrew was
roused, had begun to talk, and wanted to express what had brought him to
his present state.
"And who has told you what is bad for another man?" he asked.
"Bad! Bad!" exclaimed Pierre. "We all know what is bad for
ourselves."
"Yes, we know that, but the harm I am conscious of in myself is
something I cannot inflict on others," said Prince Andrew, growing
more and more animated and evidently wishing to express his new outlook
to Pierre. He spoke in French. "I only know two very real evils in
life: remorse and illness. The only good is the absence of those evils.
To live for myself avoiding those two evils is my whole philosophy
now."
"And love of one’s neighbor, and self-sacrifice?" began Pierre.
"No, I can’t agree with you! To live only so as not to do evil and
not to have to repent is not enough. I lived like that, I lived for
myself and ruined my life. And only now when I am living, or at least
trying" (Pierre’s modesty made him correct himself) "to live for
others, only now have I understood all the happiness of life. No, I
shall not agree with you, and you do not really believe what you are
saying." Prince Andrew looked silently at Pierre with an ironic smile.
"When you see my sister, Princess Mary, you’ll get on with her,"
he said. "Perhaps you are right for yourself," he added after
a short pause, "but everyone lives in his own way. You lived for
yourself and say you nearly ruined your life and only found happiness
when you began living for others. I experienced just the reverse. I
lived for glory. - And after all what is glory? The same love of others,
a desire to do something for them, a desire for their approval. - So I
lived for others, and not almost, but quite, ruined my life. And I have
become calmer since I began to live only for myself."
"But what do you mean by living only for yourself?" asked Pierre,
growing excited. "What about your son, your sister, and your
father?"
"But that’s just the same as myself - they are not others,"
explained Prince Andrew. "The others, one’s neighbors, le prochain,
as you and Princess Mary call it, are the chief source of all error and
evil. Le prochain - your Kiev peasants to whom you want to do good."
And he looked at Pierre with a mocking, challenging expression. He
evidently wished to draw him on.
"You are joking," replied Pierre, growing more and more excited.
"What error or evil can there be in my wishing to do good, and even
doing a little - though I did very little and did it very badly? What
evil can there be in it if unfortunate people, our serfs, people like
ourselves, were growing up and dying with no idea of God and truth
beyond ceremonies and meaningless prayers and are now instructed in
a comforting belief in future life, retribution, recompense, and
consolation? What evil and error are there in it, if people were dying
of disease without help while material assistance could so easily be
rendered, and I supplied them with a doctor, a hospital, and an asylum
for the aged? And is it not a palpable, unquestionable good if a
peasant, or a woman with a baby, has no rest day or night and I give
them rest and leisure?" said Pierre, hurrying and lisping. "And
I have done that though badly and to a small extent; but I have done
something toward it and you cannot persuade me that it was not a good
action, and more than that, you can’t make me believe that you do not
think so yourself. And the main thing is," he continued, "that I
know, and know for certain, that the enjoyment of doing this good is the
only sure happiness in life."
"Yes, if you put it like that it’s quite a different matter," said
Prince Andrew. "I build a house and lay out a garden, and you build
hospitals. The one and the other may serve as a pastime. But what’s
right and what’s good must be judged by one who knows all, but not by
us. Well, you want an argument," he added, "come on then."
They rose from the table and sat down in the entrance porch which served
as a veranda.
"Come, let’s argue then," said Prince Andrew, "You talk of
schools," he went on, crooking a finger, "education and so forth;
that is, you want to raise him" (pointing to a peasant who passed by
them taking off his cap) "from his animal condition and awaken in him
spiritual needs, while it seems to me that animal happiness is the only
happiness possible, and that is just what you want to deprive him of.
I envy him, but you want to make him what I am, without giving him my
means. Then you say, ‘lighten his toil.’ But as I see it, physical
labor is as essential to him, as much a condition of his existence, as
mental activity is to you or me. You can’t help thinking. I go to bed
after two in the morning, thoughts come and I can’t sleep but toss
about till dawn, because I think and can’t help thinking, just as
he can’t help plowing and mowing; if he didn’t, he would go to the
drink shop or fall ill. Just as I could not stand his terrible physical
labor but should die of it in a week, so he could not stand my physical
idleness, but would grow fat and die. The third thing - what else was
it you talked about?" and Prince Andrew crooked a third finger. "Ah,
yes, hospitals, medicine. He has a fit, he is dying, and you come and
bleed him and patch him up. He will drag about as a cripple, a burden to
everybody, for another ten years. It would be far easier and simpler for
him to die. Others are being born and there are plenty of them as it is.
It would be different if you grudged losing a laborer - that’s how I
regard him - but you want to cure him from love of him. And he does not
want that. And besides, what a notion that medicine ever cured anyone!
Killed them, yes!" said he, frowning angrily and turning away from
Pierre.
Prince Andrew expressed his ideas so clearly and distinctly that it was
evident he had reflected on this subject more than once, and he spoke
readily and rapidly like a man who has not talked for a long time. His
glance became more animated as his conclusions became more hopeless.
"Oh, that is dreadful, dreadful!" said Pierre. "I don’t
understand how one can live with such ideas. I had such moments
myself not long ago, in Moscow and when traveling, but at such times I
collapsed so that I don’t live at all - everything seems hateful to
me... myself most of all. Then I don’t eat, don’t wash... and how is
it with you?..."
"Why not wash? That is not cleanly," said Prince Andrew; "on the
contrary one must try to make one’s life as pleasant as possible.
I’m alive, that is not my fault, so I must live out my life as best I
can without hurting others."
"But with such ideas what motive have you for living? One would sit
without moving, undertaking nothing...."
"Life as it is leaves one no peace. I should be thankful to do
nothing, but here on the one hand the local nobility have done me the
honor to choose me to be their marshal; it was all I could do to get
out of it. They could not understand that I have not the necessary
qualifications for it - the kind of good-natured, fussy shallowness
necessary for the position. Then there’s this house, which must be
built in order to have a nook of one’s own in which to be quiet. And
now there’s this recruiting."
"Why aren’t you serving in the army?"
"After Austerlitz!" said Prince Andrew gloomily. "No, thank you
very much! I have promised myself not to serve again in the active
Russian army. And I won’t - not even if Bonaparte were here at
Smolensk threatening Bald Hills - even then I wouldn’t serve in the
Russian army! Well, as I was saying," he continued, recovering his
composure, "now there’s this recruiting. My father is chief in
command of the Third District, and my only way of avoiding active
service is to serve under him."
"Then you are serving?"
"I am."
He paused a little while.
"And why do you serve?"
"Why, for this reason! My father is one of the most remarkable men of
his time. But he is growing old, and though not exactly cruel he has too
energetic a character. He is so accustomed to unlimited power that he is
terrible, and now he has this authority of a commander in chief of
the recruiting, granted by the Emperor. If I had been two hours late
a fortnight ago he would have had a paymaster’s clerk at Yukhnovna
hanged," said Prince Andrew with a smile. "So I am serving because
I alone have any influence with my father, and now and then can save him
from actions which would torment him afterwards."
"Well, there you see!"
"Yes, but it is not as you imagine," Prince Andrew continued. "I
did not, and do not, in the least care about that scoundrel of a clerk
who had stolen some boots from the recruits; I should even have been
very glad to see him hanged, but I was sorry for my father - that again
is for myself."
Prince Andrew grew more and more animated. His eyes glittered feverishly
while he tried to prove to Pierre that in his actions there was no
desire to do good to his neighbor.
"There now, you wish to liberate your serfs," he continued; "that
is a very good thing, but not for you - I don’t suppose you ever had
anyone flogged or sent to Siberia - and still less for your serfs. If
they are beaten, flogged, or sent to Siberia, I don’t suppose they are
any the worse off. In Siberia they lead the same animal life, and the
stripes on their bodies heal, and they are happy as before. But it is
a good thing for proprietors who perish morally, bring remorse upon
themselves, stifle this remorse and grow callous, as a result of being
able to inflict punishments justly and unjustly. It is those people I
pity, and for their sake I should like to liberate the serfs. You
may not have seen, but I have seen, how good men brought up in those
traditions of unlimited power, in time when they grow more irritable,
become cruel and harsh, are conscious of it, but cannot restrain
themselves and grow more and more miserable."
Prince Andrew spoke so earnestly that Pierre could not help thinking
that these thoughts had been suggested to Prince Andrew by his
father’s case.
He did not reply.
"So that’s what I’m sorry for - human dignity, peace of mind,
purity, and not the serfs’ backs and foreheads, which, beat and shave
as you may, always remain the same backs and foreheads."
"No, no! A thousand times no! I shall never agree with you," said
Pierre.
CHAPTER XII
In the evening Andrew and Pierre got into the open carriage and drove to
Bald Hills. Prince Andrew, glancing at Pierre, broke the silence now and
then with remarks which showed that he was in a good temper.
Pointing to the fields, he spoke of the improvements he was making in
his husbandry.
Pierre remained gloomily silent, answering in monosyllables and
apparently immersed in his own thoughts.
He was thinking that Prince Andrew was unhappy, had gone astray, did not
see the true light, and that he, Pierre, ought to aid, enlighten, and
raise him. But as soon as he thought of what he should say, he felt that
Prince Andrew with one word, one argument, would upset all his teaching,
and he shrank from beginning, afraid of exposing to possible ridicule
what to him was precious and sacred.
"No, but why do you think so?" Pierre suddenly began, lowering his
head and looking like a bull about to charge, "why do you think so?
You should not think so."
"Think? What about?" asked Prince Andrew with surprise.
"About life, about man’s destiny. It can’t be so. I myself thought
like that, and do you know what saved me? Freemasonry! No, don’t
smile. Freemasonry is not a religious ceremonial sect, as I thought
it was: Freemasonry is the best expression of the best, the eternal,
aspects of humanity."
And he began to explain Freemasonry as he understood it to Prince
Andrew. He said that Freemasonry is the teaching of Christianity freed
from the bonds of State and Church, a teaching of equality, brotherhood,
and love.
"Only our holy brotherhood has the real meaning of life, all the rest
is a dream," said Pierre. "Understand, my dear fellow, that outside
this union all is filled with deceit and falsehood and I agree with you
that nothing is left for an intelligent and good man but to live out
his life, like you, merely trying not to harm others. But make our
fundamental convictions your own, join our brotherhood, give yourself up
to us, let yourself be guided, and you will at once feel yourself, as I
have felt myself, a part of that vast invisible chain the beginning of
which is hidden in heaven," said Pierre.
Prince Andrew, looking straight in front of him, listened in silence to
Pierre’s words. More than once, when the noise of the wheels prevented
his catching what Pierre said, he asked him to repeat it, and by the
peculiar glow that came into Prince Andrew’s eyes and by his silence,
Pierre saw that his words were not in vain and that Prince Andrew would
not interrupt him or laugh at what he said.
They reached a river that had overflowed its banks and which they had to
cross by ferry. While the carriage and horses were being placed on it,
they also stepped on the raft.
Prince Andrew, leaning his arms on the raft railing, gazed silently at
the flooding waters glittering in the setting sun.
"Well, what do you think about it?" Pierre asked. "Why are you
silent?"
"What do I think about it? I am listening to you. It’s all very
well.... You say: join our brotherhood and we will show you the aim of
life, the destiny of man, and the laws which govern the world. But who
are we? Men. How is it you know everything? Why do I alone not see what
you see? You see a reign of goodness and truth on earth, but I don’t
see it."
Pierre interrupted him.
"Do you believe in a future life?" he asked.
"A future life?" Prince Andrew repeated, but Pierre, giving him no
time to reply, took the repetition for a denial, the more readily as he
knew Prince Andrew’s former atheistic convictions.
"You say you can’t see a reign of goodness and truth on earth. Nor
could I, and it cannot be seen if one looks on our life here as the end
of everything. On earth, here on this earth" (Pierre pointed to
the fields), "there is no truth, all is false and evil; but in the
universe, in the whole universe there is a kingdom of truth, and we who
are now the children of earth are - eternally - children of the
whole universe. Don’t I feel in my soul that I am part of this vast
harmonious whole? Don’t I feel that I form one link, one step, between
the lower and higher beings, in this vast harmonious multitude of
beings in whom the Deity - the Supreme Power if you prefer the term - is
manifest? If I see, clearly see, that ladder leading from plant to man,
why should I suppose it breaks off at me and does not go farther and
farther? I feel that I cannot vanish, since nothing vanishes in this
world, but that I shall always exist and always have existed. I feel
that beyond me and above me there are spirits, and that in this world
there is truth."
"Yes, that is Herder’s theory," said Prince Andrew, "but it is
not that which can convince me, dear friend - life and death are what
convince. What convinces is when one sees a being dear to one, bound
up with one’s own life, before whom one was to blame and had hoped to
make it right" (Prince Andrew’s voice trembled and he turned away),
"and suddenly that being is seized with pain, suffers, and ceases to
exist.... Why? It cannot be that there is no answer. And I believe there
is.... That’s what convinces, that is what has convinced me," said
Prince Andrew.
"Yes, yes, of course," said Pierre, "isn’t that what I’m
saying?"
"No. All I say is that it is not argument that convinces me of the
necessity of a future life, but this: when you go hand in hand with
someone and all at once that person vanishes there, into nowhere, and
you yourself are left facing that abyss, and look in. And I have looked
in...."
"Well, that’s it then! You know that there is a there and there is a
Someone? There is the future life. The Someone is - God."
Prince Andrew did not reply. The carriage and horses had long since been
taken off, onto the farther bank, and reharnessed. The sun had sunk half
below the horizon and an evening frost was starring the puddles near
the ferry, but Pierre and Andrew, to the astonishment of the footmen,
coachmen, and ferrymen, still stood on the raft and talked.
"If there is a God and future life, there is truth and good, and
man’s highest happiness consists in striving to attain them. We must
live, we must love, and we must believe that we live not only today on
this scrap of earth, but have lived and shall live forever, there, in
the Whole," said Pierre, and he pointed to the sky.
Prince Andrew stood leaning on the railing of the raft listening to
Pierre, and he gazed with his eyes fixed on the red reflection of the
sun gleaming on the blue waters. There was perfect stillness. Pierre
became silent. The raft had long since stopped and only the waves of the
current beat softly against it below. Prince Andrew felt as if the sound
of the waves kept up a refrain to Pierre’s words, whispering:
"It is true, believe it."
He sighed, and glanced with a radiant, childlike, tender look at
Pierre’s face, flushed and rapturous, but yet shy before his superior
friend.
"Yes, if it only were so!" said Prince Andrew. "However, it is
time to get on," he added, and, stepping off the raft, he looked up
at the sky to which Pierre had pointed, and for the first time since
Austerlitz saw that high, everlasting sky he had seen while lying on
that battlefield; and something that had long been slumbering, something
that was best within him, suddenly awoke, joyful and youthful, in his
soul. It vanished as soon as he returned to the customary conditions
of his life, but he knew that this feeling which he did not know how to
develop existed within him. His meeting with Pierre formed an epoch in
Prince Andrew’s life. Though outwardly he continued to live in the
same old way, inwardly he began a new life.
CHAPTER XIII
It was getting dusk when Prince Andrew and Pierre drove up to the front
entrance of the house at Bald Hills. As they approached the house,
Prince Andrew with a smile drew Pierre’s attention to a commotion
going on at the back porch. A woman, bent with age, with a wallet on her
back, and a short, long-haired, young man in a black garment had rushed
back to the gate on seeing the carriage driving up. Two women ran out
after them, and all four, looking round at the carriage, ran in dismay
up the steps of the back porch.
"Those are Mary’s ‘God’s folk,’" said Prince Andrew. "They
have mistaken us for my father. This is the one matter in which she
disobeys him. He orders these pilgrims to be driven away, but she
receives them."
"But what are ‘God’s folk’?" asked Pierre.
Prince Andrew had no time to answer. The servants came out to meet them,
and he asked where the old prince was and whether he was expected back
soon.
The old prince had gone to the town and was expected back any minute.
Prince Andrew led Pierre to his own apartments, which were always kept
in perfect order and readiness for him in his father’s house; he
himself went to the nursery.
"Let us go and see my sister," he said to Pierre when he returned.
"I have not found her yet, she is hiding now, sitting with her
‘God’s folk.’ It will serve her right, she will be confused, but
you will see her ‘God’s folk.’ It’s really very curious."
"What are ‘God’s folk’?" asked Pierre.
"Come, and you’ll see for yourself."
Princess Mary really was disconcerted and red patches came on her face
when they went in. In her snug room, with lamps burning before the icon
stand, a young lad with a long nose and long hair, wearing a monk’s
cassock, sat on the sofa beside her, behind a samovar. Near them, in an
armchair, sat a thin, shriveled, old woman, with a meek expression on
her childlike face.
"Andrew, why didn’t you warn me?" said the princess, with mild
reproach, as she stood before her pilgrims like a hen before her
chickens.
"Charmee de vous voir. Je suis tres contente de vous voir," * she
said to Pierre as he kissed her hand. She had known him as a child, and
now his friendship with Andrew, his misfortune with his wife, and above
all his kindly, simple face disposed her favorably toward him. She
looked at him with her beautiful radiant eyes and seemed to say, "I
like you very much, but please don’t laugh at my people." After
exchanging the first greetings, they sat down.
* "Delighted to see you. I am very glad to see you."
"Ah, and Ivanushka is here too!" said Prince Andrew, glancing with
a smile at the young pilgrim.
"Andrew!" said Princess Mary, imploringly. "Il faut que vous
sachiez que c’est une femme," * said Prince Andrew to Pierre.
"Andrew, au nom de Dieu!" *(2) Princess Mary repeated.
* "You must know that this is a woman."
* (2) "For heaven’s sake."
It was evident that Prince Andrew’s ironical tone toward the pilgrims
and Princess Mary’s helpless attempts to protect them were their
customary long-established relations on the matter.
"Mais, ma bonne amie," said Prince Andrew, "vous devriez au
contraire m’être reconnaissante de ce que j’explique à Pierre
votre intimite avec ce jeune homme." *
* "But, my dear, you ought on the contrary to be grateful to
me for explaining to Pierre your intimacy with this young
man."
"Really?" said Pierre, gazing over his spectacles with curiosity and
seriousness (for which Princess Mary was specially grateful to him) into
Ivanushka’s face, who, seeing that she was being spoken about, looked
round at them all with crafty eyes.
Princess Mary’s embarrassment on her people’s account was quite
unnecessary. They were not in the least abashed. The old woman, lowering
her eyes but casting side glances at the newcomers, had turned her cup
upside down and placed a nibbled bit of sugar beside it, and sat
quietly in her armchair, though hoping to be offered another cup of tea.
Ivanushka, sipping out of her saucer, looked with sly womanish eyes
from under her brows at the young men.
"Where have you been? To Kiev?" Prince Andrew asked the old woman.
"I have, good sir," she answered garrulously. "Just at
Christmastime I was deemed worthy to partake of the holy and heavenly
sacrament at the shrine of the saint. And now I’m from Kolyazin,
master, where a great and wonderful blessing has been revealed."
"And was Ivanushka with you?"
"I go by myself, benefactor," said Ivanushka, trying to speak in a
bass voice. "I only came across Pelageya in Yukhnovo...."
Pelageya interrupted her companion; she evidently wished to tell what
she had seen.
"In Kolyazin, master, a wonderful blessing has been revealed."
"What is it? Some new relics?" asked Prince Andrew.
"Andrew, do leave off," said Princess Mary. "Don’t tell him,
Pelageya."
"No... why not, my dear, why shouldn’t I? I like him. He is kind,
he is one of God’s chosen, he’s a benefactor, he once gave me ten
rubles, I remember. When I was in Kiev, Crazy Cyril says to me (he’s
one of God’s own and goes barefoot summer and winter), he says,
‘Why are you not going to the right place? Go to Kolyazin where a
wonder-working icon of the Holy Mother of God has been revealed.’ On
hearing those words I said good-by to the holy folk and went."
All were silent, only the pilgrim woman went on in measured tones,
drawing in her breath.
"So I come, master, and the people say to me: ‘A great blessing has
been revealed, holy oil trickles from the cheeks of our blessed Mother,
the Holy Virgin Mother of God.’..."
"All right, all right, you can tell us afterwards," said Princess
Mary, flushing.
"Let me ask her," said Pierre. "Did you see it yourselves?" he
inquired.
"Oh, yes, master, I was found worthy. Such a brightness on the face
like the light of heaven, and from the blessed Mother’s cheek it drops
and drops...."
"But, dear me, that must be a fraud!" said Pierre, naïvely, who had
listened attentively to the pilgrim.
"Oh, master, what are you saying?" exclaimed the horrified
Pelageya, turning to Princess Mary for support.
"They impose on the people," he repeated.
"Lord Jesus Christ!" exclaimed the pilgrim woman, crossing herself.
"Oh, don’t speak so, master! There was a general who did not
believe, and said, ‘The monks cheat,’ and as soon as he’d said it
he went blind. And he dreamed that the Holy Virgin Mother of the Kiev
catacombs came to him and said, ‘Believe in me and I will make you
whole.’ So he begged: ‘Take me to her, take me to her.’ It’s the
real truth I’m telling you, I saw it myself. So he was brought, quite
blind, straight to her, and he goes up to her and falls down and says,
‘Make me whole,’ says he, ‘and I’ll give thee what the Tsar
bestowed on me.’ I saw it myself, master, the star is fixed into the
icon. Well, and what do you think? He received his sight! It’s a sin
to speak so. God will punish you," she said admonishingly, turning to
Pierre.
"How did the star get into the icon?" Pierre asked.
"And was the Holy Mother promoted to the rank of general?" said
Prince Andrew, with a smile.
Pelageya suddenly grew quite pale and clasped her hands.
"Oh, master, master, what a sin! And you who have a son!" she began,
her pallor suddenly turning to a vivid red. "Master, what have you
said? God forgive you!" And she crossed herself. "Lord forgive him!
My dear, what does it mean?..." she asked, turning to Princess
Mary. She got up and, almost crying, began to arrange her wallet. She
evidently felt frightened and ashamed to have accepted charity in a
house where such things could be said, and was at the same time sorry to
have now to forgo the charity of this house.
"Now, why need you do it?" said Princess Mary. "Why did you come
to me?..."
"Come, Pelageya, I was joking," said Pierre. "Princesse, ma
parole, je n’ai pas voulu l’offenser. * I did not mean anything,
I was only joking," he said, smiling shyly and trying to efface his
offense. "It was all my fault, and Andrew was only joking."
* "Princess, on my word, I did not wish to offend her."
Pelageya stopped doubtfully, but in Pierre’s face there was such a
look of sincere penitence, and Prince Andrew glanced so meekly now at
her and now at Pierre, that she was gradually reassured.
CHAPTER XIV
The pilgrim woman was appeased and, being encouraged to talk, gave a
long account of Father Amphilochus, who led so holy a life that his
hands smelled of incense, and how on her last visit to Kiev some monks
she knew let her have the keys of the catacombs, and how she, taking
some dried bread with her, had spent two days in the catacombs with
the saints. "I’d pray awhile to one, ponder awhile, then go on to
another. I’d sleep a bit and then again go and kiss the relics, and
there was such peace all around, such blessedness, that one don’t want
to come out, even into the light of heaven again."
Pierre listened to her attentively and seriously. Prince Andrew went out
of the room, and then, leaving "God’s folk" to finish their tea,
Princess Mary took Pierre into the drawing room.
"You are very kind," she said to him.
"Oh, I really did not mean to hurt her feelings. I understand them so
well and have the greatest respect for them."
Princess Mary looked at him silently and smiled affectionately.
"I have known you a long time, you see, and am as fond of you as of a
brother," she said. "How do you find Andrew?" she added hurriedly,
not giving him time to reply to her affectionate words. "I am very
anxious about him. His health was better in the winter, but last spring
his wound reopened and the doctor said he ought to go away for a
cure. And I am also very much afraid for him spiritually. He has not a
character like us women who, when we suffer, can weep away our sorrows.
He keeps it all within him. Today he is cheerful and in good spirits,
but that is the effect of your visit - he is not often like that. If
you could persuade him to go abroad. He needs activity, and this quiet
regular life is very bad for him. Others don’t notice it, but I see
it."
Toward ten o’clock the men servants rushed to the front door, hearing
the bells of the old prince’s carriage approaching. Prince Andrew and
Pierre also went out into the porch.
"Who’s that?" asked the old prince, noticing Pierre as he got out
of the carriage.
"Ah! Very glad! Kiss me," he said, having learned who the young
stranger was.
The old prince was in a good temper and very gracious to Pierre.
Before supper, Prince Andrew, coming back to his father’s study, found
him disputing hotly with his visitor. Pierre was maintaining that a time
would come when there would be no more wars. The old prince disputed it
chaffingly, but without getting angry.
"Drain the blood from men’s veins and put in water instead, then
there will be no more war! Old women’s nonsense - old women’s
nonsense!" he repeated, but still he patted Pierre affectionately
on the shoulder, and then went up to the table where Prince Andrew,
evidently not wishing to join in the conversation, was looking over the
papers his father had brought from town. The old prince went up to him
and began to talk business.
"The marshal, a Count Rostov, hasn’t sent half his contingent. He
came to town and wanted to invite me to dinner - I gave him a pretty
dinner!... And there, look at this.... Well, my boy," the old prince
went on, addressing his son and patting Pierre on the shoulder. "A
fine fellow - your friend - I like him! He stirs me up. Another says
clever things and one doesn’t care to listen, but this one talks
rubbish yet stirs an old fellow up. Well, go! Get along! Perhaps I’ll
come and sit with you at supper. We’ll have another dispute. Make
friends with my little fool, Princess Mary," he shouted after Pierre,
through the door.
Only now, on his visit to Bald Hills, did Pierre fully realize the
strength and charm of his friendship with Prince Andrew. That charm was
not expressed so much in his relations with him as with all his family
and with the household. With the stern old prince and the gentle, timid
Princess Mary, though he had scarcely known them, Pierre at once felt
like an old friend. They were all fond of him already. Not only Princess
Mary, who had been won by his gentleness with the pilgrims, gave him her
most radiant looks, but even the one-year-old "Prince Nicholas" (as
his grandfather called him) smiled at Pierre and let himself be taken
in his arms, and Michael Ivanovich and Mademoiselle Bourienne looked at
him with pleasant smiles when he talked to the old prince.
The old prince came in to supper; this was evidently on Pierre’s
account. And during the two days of the young man’s visit he was
extremely kind to him and told him to visit them again.
When Pierre had gone and the members of the household met together, they
began to express their opinions of him as people always do after a new
acquaintance has left, but as seldom happens, no one said anything but
what was good of him.
CHAPTER XV
When returning from his leave, Rostov felt, for the first time, how
close was the bond that united him to Denisov and the whole regiment.
On approaching it, Rostov felt as he had done when approaching his home
in Moscow. When he saw the first hussar with the unbuttoned uniform
of his regiment, when he recognized red-haired Dementyev and saw the
picket ropes of the roan horses, when Lavrushka gleefully shouted to
his master, "The count has come!" and Denisov, who had been asleep
on his bed, ran all disheveled out of the mud hut to embrace him,
and the officers collected round to greet the new arrival, Rostov
experienced the same feeling as when his mother, his father, and his
sister had embraced him, and tears of joy choked him so that he could
not speak. The regiment was also a home, and as unalterably dear and
precious as his parents’ house.
When he had reported himself to the commander of the regiment and had
been reassigned to his former squadron, had been on duty and had gone
out foraging, when he had again entered into all the little interests
of the regiment and felt himself deprived of liberty and bound in one
narrow, unchanging frame, he experienced the same sense of peace, of
moral support, and the same sense of being at home here in his own
place, as he had felt under the parental roof. But here was none of
all that turmoil of the world at large, where he did not know his right
place and took mistaken decisions; here was no Sonya with whom he
ought, or ought not, to have an explanation; here was no possibility of
going there or not going there; here there were not twenty-four hours
in the day which could be spent in such a variety of ways; there was not
that innumerable crowd of people of whom not one was nearer to him or
farther from him than another; there were none of those uncertain and
undefined money relations with his father, and nothing to recall that
terrible loss to Dolokhov. Here, in the regiment, all was clear and
simple. The whole world was divided into two unequal parts: one, our
Pavlograd regiment; the other, all the rest. And the rest was no
concern of his. In the regiment, everything was definite: who was
lieutenant, who captain, who was a good fellow, who a bad one, and most
of all, who was a comrade. The canteenkeeper gave one credit, one’s
pay came every four months, there was nothing to think out or decide,
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