War and Peace
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 Alexéevich, 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 Alexéevich 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 Alexéevich 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 Hélène 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 Alexéevich’s letters and
recalled my conversations with him, and deduced from it all that I
ought not to refuse a supplicant, and ought to reach a helping hand to
everyone—especially to one so closely bound to me—and that I must
bear my cross. But if I forgive her for the sake of doing right, then
let union with her have only a spiritual aim. That is what I decided,
and what I wrote to Joseph Alexéevich. I told my wife that I begged her
to forget the past, to forgive me whatever wrong I may have done her,
and that I had nothing to forgive. It gave me joy to tell her this. She
need not know how hard it was for me to see her again. I have settled on
the upper floor of this big house and am experiencing a happy feeling of
regeneration.
CHAPTER IX
At that time, as always happens, the highest society that met at court
and at the grand balls was divided into several circles, each with its
own particular tone. The largest of these was the French circle of the
Napoleonic alliance, the circle of Count Rumyántsev and Caulaincourt.
In this group Hélène, 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.
Hélène 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. Bilíbin saved up his epigrams to produce them
in Countess Bezúkhova’s presence. To be received in the Countess
Bezúkhova’s salon was regarded as a diploma of intellect. Young men
read books before attending Hélène’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 Hélène 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
Hélène Bezúkhova’s reputation as a lovely and clever woman became
so firmly established that she could say the emptiest and stupidest
things and everybody would go into raptures over every word of hers
and look for a profound meaning in it of which she herself had no
conception.
* “That’s a superb animal.”
* (2) “Of a charming woman, as witty as she is lovely.”
Pierre was just the husband needed for a brilliant society woman. He was
that absent-minded crank, a grand seigneur husband who was in no one’s
way, and far from spoiling the high tone and general impression of the
drawing room, he served, by the contrast he presented to her, as an
advantageous background to his elegant and tactful wife. Pierre during
the last two years, as a result of his continual absorption in abstract
interests and his sincere contempt for all else, had acquired in his
wife’s circle, which did not interest him, that air of unconcern,
indifference, and benevolence toward all, which cannot be acquired
artificially and therefore inspires involuntary respect. He entered
his wife’s drawing room as one enters a theater, was acquainted with
everybody, equally pleased to see everyone, and equally indifferent to
them all. Sometimes he joined in a conversation which interested him
and, regardless of whether any “gentlemen of the embassy” were
present or not, lispingly expressed his views, which were sometimes not
at all in accord with the accepted tone of the moment. But the general
opinion concerning the queer husband of “the most distinguished woman
in Petersburg” was so well established that no one took his freaks
seriously.
Among the many young men who frequented her house every day, Borís
Drubetskóy, who had already achieved great success in the service, was
the most intimate friend of the Bezúkhov household since Hélène’s
return from Erfurt. Hélène 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 Borís
behaved with a particularly dignified and sad deference. This shade
of deference also disturbed Pierre. He had suffered so painfully three
years before from the mortification to which his wife had subjected him
that he now protected himself from the danger of its repetition, first
by not being a husband to his wife, and secondly by not allowing himself
to suspect.
“No, now that she has become a bluestocking she has finally renounced
her former infatuations,” he told himself. “There has never been
an instance of a bluestocking being carried away by affairs of the
heart”—a statement which, though gathered from an unknown source,
he believed implicitly. Yet strange to say Borís’ presence in his
wife’s drawing room (and he was almost always there) had a physical
effect upon Pierre; it constricted his limbs and destroyed the
unconsciousness and freedom of his movements.
“What a strange antipathy,” thought Pierre, “yet I used to like
him very much.”
In the eyes of the world Pierre was a great gentleman, the rather blind
and absurd husband of a distinguished wife, a clever crank who did
nothing but harmed nobody and was a first-rate, good-natured fellow. But
a complex and difficult process of internal development was taking place
all this time in Pierre’s soul, revealing much to him and causing him
many spiritual doubts and joys.
CHAPTER X
Pierre went on with his diary, and this is what he wrote in it during
that time:
24th November
Got up at eight, read the Scriptures, then went to my duties. (By Joseph
Alexéevich’s advice Pierre had entered the service of the state and
served on one of the committees.) Returned home for dinner and dined
alone—the countess had many visitors I do not like. I ate and drank
moderately and after dinner copied out some passages for the Brothers.
In the evening I went down to the countess and told a funny story about
B., and only remembered that I ought not to have done so when everybody
laughed loudly at it.
I am going to bed with a happy and tranquil mind. Great God, help me to
walk in Thy paths, (1) to conquer anger by calmness and deliberation,
(2) to vanquish lust by self-restraint and repulsion, (3) to withdraw
from worldliness, but not avoid (a) the service of the state, (b) family
duties, (c) relations with my friends, and the management of my affairs.
27th November
I got up late. On waking I lay long in bed yielding to sloth. O God,
help and strengthen me that I may walk in Thy ways! Read the Scriptures,
but without proper feeling. Brother Urúsov 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