seen the body of Petya Rostov. That same day he had learned
that Prince Andrew, after surviving the battle of Borodino
for more than a month had recently died in the Rostovs’
house at Yaroslavl, and Denisov who told him this news also
mentioned Helene’s death, supposing that Pierre had heard
of it long before. All this at the time seemed merely strange to
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Pierre: he felt he could not grasp its significance. Just then he
was only anxious to get away as quickly as possible from places where people were killing one another, to some peaceful
refuge where he could recover himself, rest, and think over
all the strange new facts he had learned; but on reaching Orel
he immediately fell ill. When he came to himself after his illness he saw in attendance on him two of his servants, Terenty
and Vaska, who had come from Moscow; and also his cousin
the eldest princess, who had been living on his estate at Elets
and hearing of his rescue and illness had come to look after
him.
It was only gradually during his convalescence that Pierre
lost the impressions he had become accustomed to during the
last few months and got used to the idea that no one would
oblige him to go anywhere tomorrow, that no one would deprive him of his warm bed, and that he would be sure to get
his dinner, tea, and supper. But for a long time in his dreams
he still saw himself in the conditions of captivity. In the same
way little by little he came to understand the news he had
been told after his rescue, about the death of Prince Andrew,
the death of his wife, and the destruction of the French.
A joyous feeling of freedomthat complete inalienable freedom natural to man which he had first experienced at the
first halt outside Moscowfilled Pierre’s soul during his convalescence. He was surprised to find that this inner freedom,
which was independent of external conditions, now had as it
were an additional setting of external liberty. He was alone
in a strange town, without acquaintances. No one demanded
anything of him or sent him anywhere. He had all he wanted:
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the thought of his wife which had been a continual torment
to him was no longer there, since she was no more.
‘Oh, how good! How splendid!’ said he to himself when a
cleanly laid table was moved up to him with savory beef tea,
or when he lay down for the night on a soft clean bed, or when
he remembered that the French had gone and that his wife
was no more. ‘Oh, how good, how splendid!’
And by old habit he asked himself the question: ‘Well, and
what then? What am I going to do?’ And he immediately gave
himself the answer: ‘Well, I shall live. Ah, how splendid!’
The very question that had formerly tormented him, the
thing he had continually sought to findthe aim of lifeno longer existed for him now. That search for the aim of life had
not merely disappeared temporarilyhe felt that it no longer
existed for him and could not present itself again. And this
very absence of an aim gave him the complete, joyous sense
of freedom which constituted his happiness at this time.
He could not see an aim, for he now had faithnot faith
in any kind of rule, or words, or ideas, but faith in an everliving, ever-manifest God. Formerly he had sought Him in
aims he set himself. That search for an aim had been simply a
search for God, and suddenly in his captivity he had learned
not by words or reasoning but by direct feeling what his nurse
had told him long ago: that God is here and everywhere. In
his captivity he had learned that in Karataev God was greater,
more infinite and unfathomable than in the Architect of the
Universe recognized by the Freemasons. He felt like a man
who after straining his eyes to see into the far distance finds
what he sought at his very feet. All his life he had looked over
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the heads of the men around him, when he should have merely looked in front of him without straining his eyes.
In the past he had never been able to find that great inscrutable infinite something. He had only felt that it must
exist somewhere and had looked for it. In everything near
and comprehensible he had only what was limited, petty,
commonplace, and senseless. He had equipped himself with
a mental telescope and looked into remote space, where petty
worldliness hiding itself in misty distance had seemed to him
great and infinite merely because it was not clearly seen. And
such had European life, politics, Freemasonry, philosophy,
and philanthropy seemed to him. But even then, at moments
of weakness as he had accounted them, his mind had penetrated to those distances and he had there seen the same
pettiness, worldliness, and senselessness. Now, however, he
had learned to see the great, eternal, and infinite in everything, and thereforeto see it and enjoy its contemplationhe
naturally threw away the telescope through which he had till
now gazed over men’s heads, and gladly regarded the everchanging, eternally great, unfathomable, and infinite life
around him. And the closer he looked the more tranquil and
happy he became. That dreadful question, ‘What for?’ which
had formerly destroyed all his mental edifices, no longer existed for him. To that question, ‘What for?’ a simple answer
was now always ready in his soul: ‘Because there is a God,
that God without whose will not one hair falls from a man’s
head.’
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Chapter XIII
In external ways Pierre had hardly changed at all. In appearance he was just what he used to be. As before he was
absent-minded and seemed occupied not with what was
before his eyes but with something special of his own. The
difference between his former and present self was that formerly when he did not grasp what lay before him or was said
to him, he had puckered his forehead painfully as if vainly
seeking to distinguish something at a distance. At present he still forgot what was said to him and still did not see
what was before his eyes, but he now looked with a scarcely
perceptible and seemingly ironic smile at what was before
him and listened to what was said, though evidently seeing
and hearing something quite different. Formerly he had appeared to be a kindhearted but unhappy man, and so people
had been inclined to avoid him. Now a smile at the joy of
life always played round his lips, and sympathy for others,
shone in his eyes with a questioning look as to whether they
were as contented as he was, and people felt pleased by his
presence.
Previously he had talked a great deal, grew excited when
he talked, and seldom listened; now he was seldom carried
away in conversation and knew how to listen so that people
readily told him their most intimate secrets.
The princess, who had never liked Pierre and had been
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particularly hostile to him since she had felt herself under
obligations to him after the old count’s death, now after
staying a short time in Orelwhere she had come intending
to show Pierre that in spite of his ingratitude she considered
it her duty to nurse himfelt to her surprise and vexation
that she had become fond of him. Pierre did not in any way
seek her approval, he merely studied her with interest. Formerly she had felt that he regarded her with indifference
and irony, and so had shrunk into herself as she did with
others and had shown him only the combative side of her
nature; but now he seemed to be trying to understand the
most intimate places of her heart, and, mistrustfully at first
but afterwards gratefully, she let him see the hidden, kindly
sides of her character.
The most cunning man could not have crept into her
confidence more successfully, evoking memories of the best
times of her youth and showing sympathy with them. Yet
Pierre’s cunning consisted simply in finding pleasure in
drawing out the human qualities of the embittered, hard,
and (in her own way) proud princess.
‘Yes, he is a very, very kind man when he is not under
the influence of bad people but of people such as myself,’
thought she.
His servants tooTerenty and Vaskain their own way
noticed the change that had taken place in Pierre. They considered that he had become much ‘simpler.’ Terenty, when
he had helped him undress and wished him good night, often lingered with his master’s boots in his hands and clothes
over his arm, to see whether he would not start a talk. And
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Pierre, noticing that Terenty wanted a chat, generally kept
him there.
‘Well, tell me… now, how did you get food?’ he would
ask.
And Terenty would begin talking of the destruction of
Moscow, and of the old count, and would stand for a long
time holding the clothes and talking, or sometimes listening to Pierre’s stories, and then would go out into the hall
with a pleasant sense of intimacy with his master and affection for him.
The doctor who attended Pierre and visited him every
day, though he considered it his duty as a doctor to pose as a
man whose every moment was of value to suffering humanity, would sit for hours with Pierre telling him his favorite
anecdotes and his observations on the characters of his patients in general, and especially of the ladies.
‘It’s a pleasure to talk to a man like that; he is not like our
provincials,’ he would say.
There were several prisoners from the French army in
Orel, and the doctor brought one of them, a young Italian,
to see Pierre.
This officer began visiting Pierre, and the princess used to
make fun of the tenderness the Italian expressed for him.
The Italian seemed happy only when he could come to
see Pierre, talk with him, tell him about his past, his life at
home, and his love, and pour out to him his indignation
against the French and especially against Napoleon.
‘If all Russians are in the least like you, it is sacrilege to
fight such a nation,’ he said to Pierre. ‘You,
