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Prince Andrew had spent two years continuously in the country. |
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All the plans Pierre had attempted on his estates- and constantly
changing from one thing to another had never accomplished- were carried out by
Prince Andrew without display and without perceptible difficulty. |
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He had in the highest degree a practical tenacity which Pierre lacked,
and without fuss or strain on his part this set things going. |
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On one of his estates the three hundred serfs were liberated and became
free agricultural laborers- this being one of the first examples of the kind in
Russia. On other estates the serfs' compulsory labor was commuted for a
quitrent. A trained midwife was engaged for Bogucharovo at his expense, and a
priest was paid to teach reading and writing to the children of the peasants and
household serfs. |
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Prince Andrew spent half his time at Bald Hills with his father and his
son, who was still in the care of nurses. The other half he spent in
"Bogucharovo Cloister," as his father called Prince Andrew's estate.
Despite the indifference to the affairs of the world he had expressed to Pierre,
he diligently followed all that went on, received many books, and to his
surprise noticed that when he or his father had visitors from Petersburg, the
very vortex of life, these people lagged behind himself- who never left the
country- in knowledge of what was happening in home and foreign affairs. |
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Besides being occupied with his estates and reading a great variety of
books, Prince Andrew was at this time busy with a critical of survey our last
two unfortunate campaigns, and with drawing up a proposal for a reform of the
army rules and regulations. |
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In the spring of 1809 he went to visit the Ryazan estates which had been
inherited by his son, whose guardian he was. |
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Warmed by the spring sunshine he sat in the caleche looking at the new
grass, the first leaves on the birches, and the first puffs of white spring
clouds floating across the clear blue sky. He was not thinking of anything, but
looked absent-mindedly and cheerfully from side to side. |
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They crossed the ferry where he had talked with Pierre the year before.
They went through the muddy village, past threshing floors and green fields of
winter rye, downhill where snow still lodged near the bridge, uphill where the
clay had been liquefied by the rain, past strips of stubble land and bushes
touched with green here and there, and into a birch forest growing on both sides
of the road. In the forest it was almost hot, no wind could be felt. The birches
with their sticky green leaves were motionless, and lilac-colored flowers and
the first blades of green grass were pushing up and lifting last year's leaves.
The coarse evergreen color of the small fir trees scattered here and there among
the birches was an unpleasant reminder of winter. On entering the forest the
horses began to snort and sweated visibly. |
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Peter the footman made some remark to the coachman; the latter assented.
But apparently the coachman's sympathy was not enough for Peter, and he turned
on the box toward his master. |
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"How pleasant it is, your excellency!" he said with a
respectful smile. |
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"What?" |
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"It's pleasant, your excellency!" |
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"What is he talking about?" thought Prince Andrew. "Oh,
the spring, I suppose," he thought as he turned round. "Yes, really
everything is green already.... How early! The birches and cherry and alders too
are coming out.... But the oaks show no sign yet. Ah, here is one oak!" |
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At the edge of the road stood an oak. Probably ten times the age of the
birches that formed the forest, it was ten times as thick and twice as tall as
they. It was an enormous tree, its girth twice as great as a man could embrace,
and evidently long ago some of its branches had been broken off and its bark
scarred. With its huge ungainly limbs sprawling unsymmetrically, and its gnarled
hands and fingers, it stood an aged, stern, and scornful monster among the
smiling birch trees. Only the dead-looking evergreen firs dotted about in the
forest, and this oak, refused to yield to the charm of spring or notice either
the spring or the sunshine. |
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"Spring, love, happiness!" this oak seemed to say. "Are
you not weary of that stupid, meaningless, constantly repeated fraud? Always the
same and always a fraud? There is no spring, no sun, no happiness! Look at those
cramped dead firs, ever the same, and at me too, sticking out my broken and
barked fingers just where they have grown, whether from my back or my sides: as
they have grown so I stand, and I do not believe in your hopes and your
lies." |
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As he passed through the forest Prince Andrew turned several times to
look at that oak, as if expecting something from it. Under the oak, too, were
flowers and grass, but it stood among them scowling, rigid, misshapen, and grim
as ever. |
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"Yes, the oak is right, a thousand times right," thought Prince
Andrew. "Let others- the young- yield afresh to that fraud, but we know
life, our life is finished!" |
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A whole sequence of new thoughts, hopeless but mournfully pleasant, rose
in his soul in connection with that tree. During this journey he, as it were,
considered his life afresh and arrived at his old conclusion, restful in its
hopelessness: that it was not for him to begin anything anew- but that he must
live out his life, content to do no harm, and not disturbing himself or desiring
anything. |
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Prince Andrew had to see the Marshal of the Nobility for the district in
connection with the affairs of the Ryazan estate of which he was trustee. This
Marshal was Count Ilya Rostov, and in the middle of May Prince Andrew went to
visit him. |
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It was now hot spring weather. The whole forest was already clothed in
green. It was dusty and so hot that on passing near water one longed to bathe. |
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Prince Andrew, depressed and preoccupied with the business about which he
had to speak to the Marshal, was driving up the avenue in the grounds of the
Rostovs' house at Otradnoe. He heard merry girlish cries behind some trees on
the right and saw group of girls running to cross the path of his caleche. Ahead
of the rest and nearer to him ran a dark-haired, remarkably slim, pretty girl in
a yellow chintz dress, with a white handkerchief on her head from under which
loose locks of hair escaped. The girl was shouting something but, seeing that he
was a stranger, ran back laughing without looking at him. |
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Suddenly, he did not know why, he felt a pang. The day was so beautiful,
the sun so bright, everything around so gay, but that slim pretty girl did not
know, or wish to know, of his existence and was contented and cheerful in her
own separate- probably foolish- but bright and happy life. "What is she so
glad about? What is she thinking of? Not of the military regulations or of the
arrangement of the Ryazan serfs' quitrents. Of what is she thinking? Why is she
so happy?" Prince Andrew asked himself with instinctive curiosity. |
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In 1809 Count Ilya Rostov was living at Otradnoe just as he had done in
former years, that is, entertaining almost the whole province with hunts,
theatricals, dinners, and music. He was glad to see Prince Andrew, as he was to
see any new visitor, and insisted on his staying the night. |
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During the dull day, in the course of which he was entertained by his
elderly hosts and by the more important of the visitors (the old count's house
was crowded on account of an approaching name day), Prince Andrew repeatedly
glanced at Natasha, gay and laughing among the younger members of the company,
and asked himself each time, "What is she thinking about? Why is she so
glad?" |
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That night, alone in new surroundings, he was long unable to sleep. He
read awhile and then put out his candle, but relit it. It was hot in the room,
the inside shutters of which were closed. He was cross with the stupid old man
(as he called Rostov), who had made him stay by assuring him that some necessary
documents had not yet arrived from town, and he was vexed with himself for
having stayed. |
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He got up and went to the window to open it. As soon as he opened the
shutters the moonlight, as if it had long been watching for this, burst into the
room. He opened the casement. The night was fresh, bright, and very still. Just
before the window was a row of pollard trees, looking black on one side and with
a silvery light on the other. Beneath the trees grewsome kind of lush, wet,
bushy vegetation with silver-lit leaves and stems here and there. Farther back
beyond the dark trees a roof glittered with dew, to the right was a leafy tree
with brilliantly white trunk and branches, and above it shone the moon, nearly
at its full, in a pale, almost starless, spring sky. Prince Andrew leaned his
elbows on the window ledge and his eyes rested on that sky. |
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His room was on the first floor. Those in the rooms above were also
awake. He heard female voices overhead. |
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"Just once more," said a girlish voice above him which Prince
Andrew recognized at once. |
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"But when are you coming to bed?" replied another voice. |
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"I won't, I can't sleep, what's the use? Come now for the last
time." |
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Two girlish voices sang a musical passage- the end of some song. |
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"Oh, how lovely! Now go to sleep, and there's an end of it." |
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"You go to sleep, but I can't," said the first voice, coming
nearer to the window. She was evidently leaning right out, for the rustle of her
dress and even her breathing could be heard. Everything was stone-still, like
the moon and its light and the shadows. Prince Andrew, too, dared not stir, for
fear of betraying his unintentional presence. |
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"Sonya! Sonya!" he again heard the first speaker. "Oh, how
can you sleep? Only look how glorious it is! Ah, how glorious! Do wake up,
Sonya!" she said almost with tears in her voice. "There never, never
was such a lovely night before!" |
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Sonya made some reluctant reply. |
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"Do just come and see what a moon!... Oh, how lovely! Come here....
Darling, sweetheart, come here! There, you see? I feel like sitting down on my
heels, putting my arms round my knees like this, straining tight, as tight as
possible, and flying away! Like this...." |
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"Take care, you'll fall out." |
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He heard the sound of a scuffle and Sonya's disapproving voice:
"It's past one o'clock." |
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"Oh, you only spoil things for me. All right, go, go!" |
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Again all was silent, but Prince Andrew knew she was still sitting there.
From time to time he heard a soft rustle and at times a sigh. |
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"O God, O God! What does it mean?" she suddenly exclaimed.
"To bed then, if it must be!" and she slammed the casement. |
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"For her I might as well not exist!" thought Prince Andrew
while he listened to her voice, for some reason expecting yet fearing that she
might say something about him. "There she is again! As if it were on
purpose," thought he. |
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In his soul there suddenly arose such an unexpected turmoil of youthful
thoughts and hopes, contrary to the whole tenor of his life, that unable to
explain his condition to himself he lay down and fell asleep at once. |
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Next morning, having taken leave of no one but the count, and not waiting
for the ladies to appear, Prince Andrew set off for home. |
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It was already the beginning of June when on his return journey he drove
into the birch forest where the gnarled old oak had made so strange and
memorable an impression on him. In the forest the harness bells sounded yet more
muffled than they had done six weeks before, for now all was thick, shady, and
dense, and the young firs dotted about in the forest did not jar on the general
beauty but, lending themselves to the mood around, were delicately green with
fluffy young shoots. |
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The whole day had been hot. Somewhere a storm was gathering, but only a
small cloud had scattered some raindrops lightly, sprinkling the road and the
sappy leaves. The left side of the forest was dark in the shade, the right side
glittered in the sunlight, wet and shiny and scarcely swayed by the breeze.
Everything was in blossom, the nightingales trilled, and their voices
reverberated now near, now far away. |
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"Yes, here in this forest was that oak with which I agreed,"
thought Prince Andrew. "But where is it?" he again wondered, gazing at
the left side of the road, and without recognizing it he looked with admiration
at the very oak he sought. The old oak, quite transfigured, spreading out a
canopy of sappy dark-green foliage, stood rapt and slightly trembling in the
rays of the evening sun. Neither gnarled fingers nor old scars nor old doubts
and sorrows were any of them in evidence now. Through the hard century-old bark,
even where there were no twigs, leaves had sprouted such as one could hardly
believe the old veteran could have produced. |
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"Yes, it is the same oak," thought Prince Andrew, and all at
once he was seized by an unreasoning springtime feeling of joy and renewal. All
the best moments of his life suddenly rose to his memory. Austerlitz with the
lofty heavens, his wife's dead reproachful face, Pierre at the ferry, that girl
thrilled by the beauty of the night, and that night itself and the moon, and....
all this rushed suddenly to his mind. |
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"No, life is not over at thirty-one!" Prince Andrew suddenly
decided finally and decisively. "It is not enough for me to know what I
have in me- everyone must know it: Pierre, and that young girl who wanted to fly
away into the sky, everyone must know me, so that my life may not be lived for
myself alone while others live so apart from it, but so that it may be reflected
in them all, and they and I may live in harmony!" |
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On reaching home Prince Andrew decided to go to Petersburg that autumn
and found all sorts of reasons for this decision. A whole serics of sensible and
logical considerations showing it to be essential for him to go to Petersburg,
and even to re-enter the service, kept springing up in his mind. He could not
now understand how he could ever even have doubted the necessity of taking an
active share in life, just as a month before he had not understood how the idea
of leaving the quiet country could ever enter his head. It now seemed clear to
him that all his experience of life must be senselessly wasted unless he applied
it to some kind of work and again played an active part in life. He did not even
remember how formerly, on the strength of similar wretched logical arguments, it
had seemed obvious that he would be degrading himself if he now, after the
lessons he had had in life, allowed himself to believe in the possibility of
being useful and in the possibility of happiness or love. Now reason suggested
quite the opposite. After that journey to Ryazan he found the country dull; his
former pursuits no longer interested him, and often when sitting alone in his
study he got up, went to the mirror, and gazed a long time at his own face. Then
he would turn away to the portrait of his dead Lise, who with hair curled a la
grecque looked tenderly and gaily at him out of the gilt frame. She did not now
say those former terrible words to him, but looked simply, merrily, and
inquisitively at him. And Prince Andrew, crossing his arms behind him, long
paced the room, now frowning, now smiling, as he reflected on those irrational,
inexpressible thoughts, secret as a crime, which altered his whole life and were
connected with Pierre, with fame, with the girl at the window, the oak, and
woman's beauty and love. And if anyone came into his room at such moments he was
particularly cold, stern, and above all unpleasantly logical. |
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"My dear," Princess Mary entering at such a moment would say,
"little Nicholas can't go out today, it's very cold." |
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"If it were hot," Prince Andrew would reply at such times very
dryly to his sister, "he could go out in his smock, but as it is cold he
must wear warm clothes, which were designed for that purpose. That is what
follows from the fact that it is cold; and not that a child who needs fresh air
should remain at home," he would add with extreme logic, as if punishing
someone for those secret illogical emotions that stirred within him. |
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At such moments Princess Mary would think how intellectual work dries men
up. |
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Prince Andrew arrived in Petersburg in August, 1809. It was the time when
the youthful Speranski was at the zenith of his fame and his reforms were being
pushed forward with the greatest energy. That same August the Emperor was thrown
from his caleche, injured his leg, and remained three weeks at Peterhof,
receiving Speranski every day and no one else. At that time the two famous
decrees were being prepared that so agitated society- abolishing court ranks and
introducing examinations to qualify for the grades of Collegiate Assessor and
State Councilor- and not merely these but a whole state constitution, intended
to change the existing order of government in Russia: legal, administrative, and
financial, from the Council of State down to the district tribunals. Now those
vague liberal dreams with which the Emperor Alexander had ascended the throne,
and which he had tried to put into effect with the aid of his associates,
Czartoryski, Novosiltsev, Kochubey, and Strogonov- whom he himself in jest had
called his Comite de salut public- were taking shape and being realized. |
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Now all these men were replaced by Speranski on the civil side, and
Arakcheev on the military. Soon after his arrival Prince Andrew, as a gentleman
of the chamber, presented himself at court and at a levee. The Emperor, though
he met him twice, did not favor him with a single word. It had always seemed to
Prince Andrew before that he was antipathetic to the Emperor and that the latter
disliked his face and personality generally, and in the cold, repellent glance
the Emperor gave him, he now found further confirmation of this surmise. The
courtiers explained the Emperor's neglect of him by His Majesty's displeasure at
Bolkonski's not having served since 1805. |
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"I know myself that one cannot help one's sympathies and
antipathies," thought Prince Andrew, "so it will not do to present my
proposal for the reform of the army regulations to the Emperor personally, but
the project will speak for itself." |
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He mentioned what he had written to an old field marshal, a friend of his
father's. The field marshal made an appointment to see him, received him
graciously, and promised to inform the Emperor. A few days later Prince Andrew
received notice that he was to go to see the Minister of War, Count Arakcheev. |
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On the appointed day Prince Andrew entered Count Arakcheev's waiting room
at nine in the morning. |
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He did not know Arakcheev personally, had never seen him, and all he had
heard of him inspired him with but little respect for the man. |
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"He is Minister of War, a man trusted by the Emperor, and I need not
concern myself about his personal qualities: he has been commissioned to
consider my project, so he alone can get it adopted," thought Prince Andrew
as he waited among a number of important and unimportant people in Count
Arakcheev's waiting room. |
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During his service, chiefly as an adjutant, Prince Andrew had seen the
anterooms of many important men, and the different types of such rooms were well
known to him. Count Arakcheev's anteroom had quite a special character. The
faces of the unimportant people awaiting their turn for an audience showed
embarrassment and servility; the faces of those of higher rank expressed a
common feeling of awkwardness, covered by a mask of unconcern and ridicule of
themselves, their situation, and the person for whom they were waiting. Some
walked thoughtfully up and down, others whispered and laughed. Prince Andrew
heard the nickname "Sila Andreevich" and the words, "Uncle will
give it to us hot," in reference to Count Arakcheev. One general (an
important personage), evidently feeling offended at having to wait so long, sat
crossing and uncrossing his legs and smiling contemptuously to himself. |
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But the moment the door opened one feeling alone appeared on all faces-
that of fear. Prince Andrew for the second time asked the adjutant on duty to
take in his name, but received an ironical look and was told that his turn would
come in due course. After some others had been shown in and out of the
minister's room by the adjutant on duty, an officer who struck Prince Andrew by
his humiliated and frightened air was admitted at that terrible door. This
officer's audience lasted a long time. Then suddenly the grating sound of a
harsh voice was heard from the other side of the door, and the officer- with
pale face and trembling lips- came out and passed through the waiting room,
clutching his head. |
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After this Prince Andrew was conducted to the door and the officer on
duty said in a whisper, "To the right, at the window." |
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Prince Andrew entered a plain tidy room and saw at the table a man of
forty with a long waist, a long closely cropped head, deep wrinkles, scowling
brows above dull greenish-hazel eyes and an overhanging red nose. Arakcheev
turned his head toward him without looking at him. |
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"What is your petition?" asked Arakcheev. |
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"I am not petitioning, your excellency," returned Prince Andrew
quietly. |
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Arakcheev's eyes turned toward him. |
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"Sit down," said he. "Prince Bolkonski?" |
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"I am not petitioning about anything. His Majesty the Emperor has
deigned to send your excellency a project submitted by me..." |
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"You see, my dear sir, I have read your project," interrupted
Arakcheev, uttering only the first words amiably and then- again without looking
at Prince Andrew- relapsing gradually into a tone of grumbling contempt.
"You are proposing new military laws? There are many laws but no one to
carry out the old ones. Nowadays everybody designs laws, it is easier writing
than doing." |
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"I came at His Majesty the Emperor's wish to learn from your
excellency how you propose to deal with the memorandum I have presented,"
said Prince Andrew politely. |
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"I have endorsed a resolution on your memorandum and sent it to the
committee. I do not approve of it," said Arakcheev, rising and taking a
paper from his writing table. "Here!" and he handed it to Prince
Andrew. |
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Across the paper was scrawled in pencil, without capital letters,
misspelled, and without punctuation: "Unsoundly constructed because
resembles an imitation of the French military code and from the Articles of War
needlessly deviating." |
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"To what committee has the memorandum been referred?" inquired
Prince Andrew. |
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"To the Committee on Army Regulations, and I have recommended that
your honor should be appointed a member, but without a salary." |
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Prince Andrew smiled. |
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"I don't want one." |
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"A member without salary," repeated Arakcheev. "I have the
honor... Eh! Call the next one! Who else is there?" he shouted, bowing to
Prince Andrew. |
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While waiting for the announcement of his appointment to the committee
Prince Andrew looked up his former acquaintances, particularly those he knew to
be in power and whose aid he might need. In Petersburg he now experienced the
same feeling he had had on the eve of a battle, when troubled by anxious
curiosity and irresistibly attracted to the ruling circles where the future, on
which the fate of millions depended, was being shaped. From the irritation of
the older men, the curiosity of the uninitiated. the reserve of the initiated,
the hurry and preoccupation of everyone, and the innumerable committees and
commissions of whose existence he learned every day, he felt that now, in 1809,
here in Petersburg a vast civil conflict was in preparation, the commander in
chief of which was a mysterious person he did not know, but who was supposed to
be a man of genius- Speranski. And this movement of reconstruction of which
Prince Andrew had a vague idea, and Speranski its chief promoter, began to
interest him so keenly that the question of the army regulations quickly receded
to a secondary place in his consciousness. |
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Prince Andrew was most favorably placed to secure good reception in the
highest and most diverse Petersburg circles of the day. The reforming party
cordially welcomed and courted him, the first place because he was reputed to be
clever and very well read, and secondly because by liberating his serfs he had
obtained the reputation of being a liberal. The party of the old and
dissatisfied, who censured the innovations, turned to him expecting his sympathy
in their disapproval of the reforms, simply because he was the son of his
father. The feminine society world welcomed him gladly, because he was rich,
distinguished, a good match, and almost a newcomer, with a halo of romance on
account of his supposed death and the tragic loss of his wife. Besides this the
general opinion of all who had known him previously was that he had greatly
improved during these last five years, having softened and grown more manly,
lost his former affectation, pride, and contemptuous irony, and acquired the
serenity that comes with years. People talked about him, were interested in him,
and wanted to meet him. |
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The day after his interview with Count Arakcheev, Prince Andrew spent the
evening at Count Kochubey's. He told the count of his interview with Sila
Andreevich (Kochubey spoke of Arakcheev by that nickname with the same vague
irony Prince Andrew had noticed in the Minister of War's anteroom). |
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"Mon cher, even in this case you can't do without Michael
Mikhaylovich Speranski. He manages everything. I'll speak to him. He has
promised to come this evening." |
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"What has Speranski to do with the army regulations?" asked
Prince Andrew. |
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Kochubey shook his head smilingly, as if surprised at Bolkonski's
simplicity. |
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"We were talking to him about you a few days ago," Kochubey
continued, "and about your freed plowmen." |
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"Oh, is it you, Prince, who have freed your serfs?" said an old
man of Catherine's day, turning contemptuously toward Bolkonski. |
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"It was a small estate that brought in no profit," replied
Prince Andrew, trying to extenuate his action so as not to irritate the old man
uselessly. |
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"Afraid of being late..." said the old man, looking at
Kochubey. |
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"There's one thing I don't understand," he continued. "Who
will plow the land if they are set free? It is easy to write laws, but difficult
to rule.... Just the same as now- I ask you, Count- who will be heads of the
departments when everybody has to pass examinations?" |
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"Those who pass the examinations, I suppose," replied Kochubey,
crossing his legs and glancing round. |
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"Well, I have Pryanichnikov serving under me, a splendid man, a
priceless man, but he's sixty. Is he to go up for examination?" |
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"Yes, that's a difficulty, as education is not at all general,
but..." |
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Count Kochubey did not finish. He rose, took Prince Andrew by the arm,
and went to meet a tall, bald, fair man of about forty with a large open
forehead and a long face of unusual and peculiar whiteness, who was just
entering. The newcomer wore a blue swallow-tail coat with a cross suspended from
his neck and a star on his left breast. It was Speranski. Prince Andrew
recognized him at once, and felt a throb within him, as happens at critical
moments of life. Whether it was from respect, envy, or anticipation, he did not
know. Speranski's whole figure was of a peculiar type that made him easily
recognizable. In the society in which Prince Andrew lived he had never seen
anyone who together with awkward and clumsy gestures possessed such calmness and
self-assurance; he had never seen so resolute yet gentle an expression as that
in those half-closed, rather humid eyes, or so firm a smile that expressed
nothing; nor had he heard such a refined, smooth, soft voice; above all he had
never seen such delicate whiteness of face or hands- hands which were broad, but
very plump, soft, and white. Such whiteness and softness Prince Andrew had only
seen on the faces of soldiers who had been long in hospital. This was Speranski,
Secretary of State, reporter to the Emperor and his companion at Erfurt, where
he had more than once met and talked with Napoleon. |
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Speranski did not shift his eyes from one face to another as people
involuntarily do on entering a large company and was in no hurry to speak. He
spoke slowly, with assurance that he would be listened to, and he looked only at
the person with whom he was conversing. |
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Prince Andrew followed Speranski's every word and movement with
particular attention. As happens to some people, especially to men who judge
those near to them severely, he always on meeting anyone new- especially anyone
whom, like Speranski, he knew by reputation- expected to discover in him the
perfection of human qualities. |
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Speranski told Kochubey he was sorry he had been unable to come sooner as
he had been detained at the palace. He did not say that the Emperor had kept
him, and Prince Andrew noticed this affectation of modesty. When Kochubey
introduced Prince Andrew, Speranski slowly turned his eyes to Bolkonski with his
customary smile and looked at him in silence. |
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"I am very glad to make your acquaintance. I had heard of you, as
everyone has," he said after a pause. |
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Kochubey said a few words about the reception Arakcheev had given
Bolkonski. Speranski smiled more markedly. |
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"The chairman of the Committee on Army Regulations is my good friend
Monsieur Magnitski," he said, fully articulating every word and syllable,
"and if you like I can put you in touch with him." He paused at the
full stop. "I hope you will find him sympathetic and ready to co-operate in
promoting all that is reasonable." |
|
|
A circle soon formed round Speranski, and the old man who had talked
about his subordinate Pryanichnikov addressed a question to him. |
|
|
Prince Andrew without joining in the conversation watched every movement
of Speranski's: this man, not long since an insignificant divinity student, who
now, Bolkonski thought, held in his hands- those plump white hands- the fate of
Russia. Prince Andrew was struck by the extraordinarily disdainful composure
with which Speranski answered the old man. He appeared to address condescending
words to him from an immeasurable height. When the old man began to speak too
loud, Speranski smiled and said he could not judge of the advantage or
disadvantage of what pleased the sovereign. |
|
|
Having talked for a little while in the general circle, Speranski rose
and coming up to Prince Andrew took him along to the other end of the room. It
was clear that he thought it necessary to interest himself in Bolkonski. |
|
|
"I had no chance to talk with you, Prince, during the animated
conversation in which that venerable gentleman involved me," he said with a
mildly contemptuous smile, as if intimating by that smile that he and Prince
Andrew understood the insignificance of the people with whom he had just been
talking. This flattered Prince Andrew. "I have known of you for a long
time: first from your action with regard to your serfs, a first example, of
which it is very desirable that there should be more imitators; and secondly
because you are one of those gentlemen of the chamber who have not considered
themselves offended by the new decree concerning the ranks allotted to
courtiers, which is causing so much gossip and tittle-tattle." |
|
|
"No," said Prince Andrew, "my father did not wish me to
take advantage of the privilege. I began the service from the lower grade." |
|
|
"Your father, a man of the last century, evidently stands above our
contemporaries who so condemn this measure which merely reestablishes natural
justice." |
|
|
"I think, however, that these condemnations have some ground,"
returned Prince Andrew, trying to resist Speranski's influence, of which he
began to be conscious. He did not like to agree with him in everything and felt
a wish to contradict. Though he usually spoke easily and well, he felt a
difficulty in expressing himself now while talking with Speranski. He was too
much absorbed in observing the famous man's personality. |
|
|
"Grounds of personal ambition maybe," Speranski put in quietly. |
|
|
"And of state interest to some extent," said Prince Andrew. |
|
|
"What do you mean?" asked Speranski quietly, lowering his eyes. |
|
|
"I am an admirer of Montesquieu," replied Prince Andrew,
"and his idea that le principe des monarchies est l'honneur me parait
incontestable. Certains droits et privileges de la noblesse me paraissent etre
des moyens de soutenir ce sentiment."* |
|
|
*"The principle of monarchies is honor seems to me incontestable.
Certain rights and privileges for the aristocracy appear to me a means of
maintaining that sentiment." |
|
|
The smile vanished from Speranski's white face, which was much improved
by the change. Probably Prince Andrew's thought interested him. |
|
|
"Si vous envisagez la question sous ce point de vue,"* he
began, pronouncing French with evident difficulty, and speaking even slower than
in Russian but quite calmly. |
|
|
*"If you regard the question from that point of view." |
|
|
Speranski went on to say that honor, l'honeur, cannot be upheld by
privileges harmful to the service; that honor, l'honneur, is either a negative
concept of not doing what is blameworthy or it is a source of emulation in
pursuit of commendation and rewards, which recognize it. His arguments were
concise, simple, and clear. |
|
|
"An institution upholding honor, the source of emulation, is one
similar to the Legion d'honneur of the great Emperor Napoleon, not harmful but
helpful to the success of the service, but not a class or court privilege." |
|
|
"I do not dispute that, but it cannot be denied that court
privileges have attained the same end," returned Prince Andrew. "Every
courtier considers himself bound to maintain his position worthily." |
|
|
"Yet you do not care to avail yourself of the privilege,
Prince," said Speranski, indicating by a smile that he wished to finish
amiably an argument which was embarrassing for his companion. "If you will
do me the honor of calling on me on Wednesday," he added, "I will,
after talking with Magnitski, let you know what may interest you, and shall also
have the pleasure of a more detailed chat with you." |
|
|
Closing his eyes, he bowed a la francaise, without taking leave, and
trying to attract as little attention as possible, he left the room. |
|
|
During the first weeks of his stay in Petersburg Prince Andrew felt the
whole trend of thought he had formed during his life of seclusion quite
overshadowed by the trifling cares that engrossed him in that city. |
|
|
On returning home in the evening he would jot down in his notebook four
or five necessary calls or appointments for certain hours. The mechanism of
life, the arrangement of the day so as to be in time everywhere, absorbed the
greater part of his vital energy. He did nothing, did not even think or find
time to think, but only talked, and talked successfully, of what he had thought
while in the country. |
|
|
He sometimes noticed with dissatisfaction that he repeated the same
remark on the same day in different circles. But he was so busy for whole days
together that he had no time to notice that he was thinking of nothing. |
|
|
As he had done on their first meeting at Kochubey's, Speranski produced a
strong impression on Prince Andrew on the Wednesday, when he received him
tete-a-tate at his own house and talked to him long and confidentially. |
|
|
To Bolkonski so many people appeared contemptible and insignificant
creatures, and he so longed to find in someone the living ideal of that
perfection toward which he strove, that he readily believed that in Speranski he
had found this ideal of a perfectly rational and virtuous man. Had Speranski
sprung from the same class as himself and possessed the same breeding and
traditions, Bolkonski would soon have discovered his weak, human, unheroic
sides; but as it was, Speranski's strange and logical turn of mind inspired him
with respect all the more because he did not quite understand him. Moreover,
Speranski, either because he appreciated the other's capacity or because he
considered it necessary to win him to his side, showed off his dispassionate
calm reasonableness before Prince Andrew and flattered him with that subtle
flattery which goes hand in hand with self-assurance and consists in a tacit
assumption that one's companion is the only man besides oneself capable of
understanding the folly of the rest of mankind and the reasonableness and
profundity of one's own ideas. |
|
|
During their long conversation on Wednesday evening, Speranski more than
once remarked: "We regard everything that is above the common level of
rooted custom..." or, with a smile: "But we want the wolves to be fed
and the sheep to be safe..." or: "They cannot understand this..."
and all in a way that seemed to say: "We, you and I, understand what they
are and who we are." |
|
|
This first long conversation with Speranski only strengthened in Prince
Andrew the feeling he had experienced toward him at their first meeting. He saw
in him a remarkable, clear-thinking man of vast intellect who by his energy and
persistence had attained power, which he was using solely for the welfare of
Russia. In Prince Andrew's eyes Speranski was the man he would himself have
wished to be- one who explained all the facts of life reasonably, considered
important only what was rational, and was capable of applying the standard of
reason to everything. Everything seemed so simple and clear in Speranski's
exposition that Prince 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. |
|
|
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
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. |
|
|
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 suppliant, 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. |
|
|
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. |
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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. |
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"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. |
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"What a strange antipathy," thought Pierre, "yet I used to
like him very much." |
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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. |
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Pierre went on with his diary, and this is what he wrote in it during
that time: |
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24th November |
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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. |
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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. |
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27th November |
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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! |
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After this, three pages were left blank in the diary, and then the
following was written: |
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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!... |
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3rd December |
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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!" |
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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. |
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7th December |
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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
be 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." |
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9th December |
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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! |
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