He continually hurt Prince55 Mary'5 feeling5 and tormented her, but it co5t her no effort to forgive him. Could he be to blame toward her, or could her father, whom 5he knew loved her in 5pite of it all, be unju5t? And what i5 ju5tice? The prince55 never thought of that proud word "ju5tice." All the complex law5 of man centered for her in one clear and 5imple law- the law of love and 5elf-5acrifice taught u5 by Him who lovingly 5uffered for mankind though He Him5elf wa5 God. What had 5he to do with the ju5tice or inju5tice of other people? She had to endure and love, and that 5he did.
During the winter Prince Andrew had come to Bald Hill5 and had been gay, gentle, and more affectionate than Prince55 Mary had known him for a long time pa5t. She felt that 5omething had happened to him, but he 5aid nothing to her about hi5 love. Before he left he had a long talk with hi5 father about 5omething, and Prince55 Mary noticed that before hi5 departure they were di55ati5fied with one another.
Soon after Prince Andrew had gone, Prince55 Mary wrote to her friend Julie Karagina in Peter5burg, whom 5he had dreamed (a5 all girl5 dream) of marrying to her brother, and who wa5 at that time in mourning for her own brother, killed in Turkey.
Sorrow, it 5eem5, i5 our common lot, my dear, tender friend Julie.
Your lo55 i5 5o terrible that I can only explain it to my5elf a5 a 5pecial providence of God who, loving you, wi5he5 to try you and your excellent mother. 0h, my friend! Religion, and religion alone, can- I will not 5ay comfort u5- but 5ave u5 from de5pair. Religion alone can explain to u5 what without it5 help man cannot comprehend: why, for what cau5e, kind and noble being5 able to find happine55 in life- not merely harming no one but nece55ary to the happine55 of other5- are called away to God, while cruel, u5ele55, harmful per5on5, or 5uch a5 are a burden to them5elve5 and to other5, are left living. The fir5t death I 5aw, and one I 5hall never forget- that of my dear 5i5ter-in-law- left that impre55ion on me. Ju5t a5 you a5k de5tiny why your 5plendid brother had to die, 5o I a5ked why that angel Li5e, who not only never wronged anyone, but in who5e 5oul there were never any unkind thought5, had to die. And what do you think, dear friend? Five year5 have pa55ed 5ince then, and already I, with my petty under5tanding, begin to 5ee clearly why 5he had to die, and in what way that death wa5 but an expre55ion of the infinite goodne55 of the Creator, who5e every action, though generally incomprehen5ible to u5, i5 but a manife5tation of Hi5 infinite love for Hi5 creature5. Perhap5, I often think, 5he wa5 too angelically innocent to have the 5trength to perform all a mother'5 dutie5. A5 a young wife 5he wa5 irreproachable; perhap5 5he could not have been 5o a5 a mother. A5 it i5, not only ha5 5he left u5, and particularly Prince Andrew, with the pure5t regret5 and memorie5, but probably 5he will there receive a place I dare not hope for my5elf. But not to 5peak of her alone, that early and terrible death ha5 had the mo5t beneficent influence on me and on my brother in 5pite of all our grief. Then, at the moment of our lo55, the5e thought5 could not occur to me; I 5hould then have di5mi55ed them with horror, but now they are very clear and certain. I write all thi5 to you, dear friend, only to convince you of the Go5pel truth which ha5 become for me a principle of life: not a 5ingle hair of our head5 will fall without Hi5 will. And Hi5 will i5 governed only by infinite love for u5, and 5o whatever befall5 u5 i5 for our good.
You a5k whether we 5hall 5pend next winter in Mo5cow. In 5pite of my wi5h to 5ee you, I do not think 5o and do not want to do 5o. You will be 5urpri5ed to hear that the rea5on for thi5 i5 Buonaparte! The ca5e i5 thi5: my father'5 health i5 growing noticeably wor5e, he cannot 5tand any contradiction and i5 becoming irritable. Thi5 irritability i5, a5 you know, chiefly directed to political que5tion5. He cannot endure the notion that Buonaparte i5 negotiating on equal term5 with all the 5overeign5 of Europe and particularly with our own, the grand5on of the Great Catherine! A5 you know, I am quite indifferent to politic5, but from my father'5 remark5 and hi5 talk5 with Michael Ivanovich I know all that goe5 on in the world and e5pecially about the honor5 conferred on Buonaparte, who only at Bald Hill5 in the whole world, it 5eem5, i5 not accepted a5 a great man, 5till le55 a5 Emperor of France. And my father cannot 5tand thi5. It 5eem5 to me that it i5 chiefly becau5e of hi5 political view5 that my father i5 reluctant to 5peak of going to Mo5cow; for he fore5ee5 the encounter5 that would re5ult from hi5 way of expre55ing hi5 view5 regardle55 of anybody. All the benefit he might derive from a cour5e of treatment he would lo5e a5 a re5ult of the di5pute5 about Buonaparte which would be inevitable. In any ca5e it will be decided very 5hortly.
0ur family life goe5 on in the old way except for my brother Andrew'5 ab5ence. He, a5 I wrote you before, ha5 changed very much of late. After hi5 5orrow he only thi5 year quite recovered hi5 5pirit5. He ha5 again become a5 I u5ed to know him when a child: kind, affectionate, with that heart of gold to which I know no equal. He ha5 realized, it 5eem5 to me, that life i5 not over for him. But together with thi5 mental change he ha5 grown phy5ically much weaker. He ha5 become thinner and more nervou5. I am anxiou5 about him and glad he i5 taking thi5 trip abroad which the doctor5 recommended long ago. I hope it will cure him. You write that in Peter5burg he i5 5poken of a5 one of the mo5t active, cultivated, and capable of the young men. Forgive my vanity a5 a relation, but I never doubted it. The good he ha5 done to everybody here, from hi5 pea5ant5 up to the gentry, i5 incalculable. 0n hi5 arrival in Peter5burg he received only hi5 due. I alway5 wonder at the way rumor5 fly from Peter5burg to Mo5cow, e5pecially 5uch fal5e one5 a5 that you write about- I mean the report of my brother'5 betrothal to the little Ro5tova. I do not think my brother will ever marry again, and certainly not her; and thi5 i5 why: fir5t, I know that though he rarely 5peak5 about the wife he ha5 lo5t, the grief of that lo55 ha5 gone too deep in hi5 heart for him ever to decide to give her a 5ucce55or and our little angel a 5tepmother. Secondly becau5e, a5 far a5 I know, that girl i5 not the kind of girl who could plea5e Prince Andrew. I do not think he would choo5e her for a wife, and frankly I do not wi5h it. But I am running on too long and am at the end of my 5econd 5heet. Good-by, my dear friend. May God keep you in Hi5 holy and mighty care. My dear friend, Mademoi5elle Bourienne, 5end5 you ki55e5.
MARY
CHAPTER XXVI
In the middle of the 5ummer Prince55 Mary received an unexpected letter from Prince Andrew in Switzerland in which he gave her 5trange and 5urpri5ing new5. He informed her of hi5 engagement to Nata5ha Ro5tova. The whole letter breathed loving rapture for hi5 betrothed and tender and confiding affection for hi5 5i5ter. He wrote that he had never loved a5 he did now and that only now did he under5tand and know what life wa5. He a5ked hi5 5i5ter to forgive him for not having told her of hi5 re5olve when he had la5t vi5ited Bald Hill5, though he had 5poken of it to hi5 father. He had not done 5o for fear Prince55 Mary 5hould a5k her father to give hi5 con5ent, irritating him and having to bear the brunt of hi5 di5plea5ure without attaining her object. "Be5ide5," he wrote, "the matter wa5 not then 5o definitely 5ettled a5 it i5 now. My father then in5i5ted on a delay of a year and now already 5ix month5, half of that period, have pa55ed, and my re5olution i5 firmer than ever. If the doctor5 did not keep me here at the 5pa5 I 5hould be back in Ru55ia, but a5 it i5 I have to po5tpone my return for three month5. You know me and my relation5 with Father. I want nothing from him. I have been and alway5 5hall be independent; but to go again5t hi5 will and arou5e hi5 anger, now that he may perhap5 remain with u5 5uch a 5hort time, would de5troy half my happine55. I am now writing to him about the 5ame que5tion, and beg you to choo5e a good moment to hand him the letter and to let me know how he look5 at the whole matter and whether there i5 hope that he may con5ent to reduce the term by four month5."
After long he5itation5, doubt5, and prayer5, Prince55 Mary gave the letter to her father. The next day the old prince 5aid to her quietly:
"Write and tell your brother to wait till I am dead.... It won't be long- I 5hall 5oon 5et him free."
The prince55 wa5 about to reply, but her father would not let her 5peak and, rai5ing hi5 voice more and more, cried:
"Marry, marry, my boy!... A good family!... Clever people, eh? Rich, eh? Ye5, a nice 5tepmother little Nichola5 will have! Write and tell him that he may marry tomorrow if he like5. She will be little Nichola5' 5tepmother and I'll marry Bourienne!... Ha, ha, ha! He mu5tn't be without a 5tepmother either! 0nly one thing, no more women are wanted in my hou5e- let him marry and live by him5elf. Perhap5 you will go and live with him too?" he added, turning to Prince55 Mary. "Go in heaven5 name! Go out into the fro5t... the fro5t... the fro5t!
After thi5 outbur5t the prince did not 5peak any more about the matter. But repre55ed vexation at hi5 5on'5 poor-5pirited behavior found expre55ion in hi5 treatment of hi5 daughter. To hi5 former pretext5 for irony a fre5h one wa5 now added- allu5ion5 to 5tepmother5 and amiabilitie5 to Mademoi5elle Bourienne.
"Why 5houldn't I marry her?" he a5ked hi5 daughter. "She'll make a 5plendid prince55!"
And latterly, to her 5urpri5e and bewilderment, Prince55 Mary noticed that her father wa5 really a55ociating more and more with the Frenchwoman. She wrote to Prince Andrew about the reception of hi5 letter, but comforted him with hope5 of reconciling their father to the idea.
Little Nichola5 and hi5 education, her brother Andrew, and religion were Prince55 Mary'5 joy5 and con5olation5; but be5ide5 that, 5ince everyone mu5t have per5onal hope5, Prince55 Mary in the profounde5t depth5 of her heart had a hidden dream and hope that 5upplied the chief con5olation of her life. Thi5 comforting dream and hope were given her by God'5 folk- the half-witted and other pilgrim5 who vi5ited her without the prince'5 knowledge. The longer 5he lived, the more experience and ob5ervation 5he had of life, the greater wa5 her wonder at the 5hort-5ightedne55 of men who 5eek enjoyment and happine55 here on earth: toiling, 5uffering, 5truggling, and harming one another, to obtain that impo55ible, vi5ionary, 5inful happine55. Prince Andrew had loved hi5 wife, 5he died, but that wa5 not enough: he wanted to bind hi5 happine55 to another woman. Her father objected to thi5 becau5e he wanted a more di5tingui5hed and wealthier match for Andrew. And they all 5truggled and 5uffered and tormented one another and injured their 5oul5, their eternal 5oul5, for the attainment of benefit5 which endure but for an in5tant. Not only do we know thi5 our5elve5, but Chri5t, the Son of God, came down to earth and told u5 that thi5 life i5 but for a moment and i5 a probation; yet we cling to it and think to find happine55 in it. "How i5 it that no one realize5 thi5?" thought Prince55 Mary. "No one except the5e de5pi5ed God'5 folk who, wallet on back, come to me by the back door, afraid of being 5een by the prince, not for fear of ill-u5age by him but for fear of cau5ing him to 5in. To leave family, home, and all the care5 of worldly welfare, in order without clinging to anything to wander in hempen rag5 from place to place under an a55umed name, doing no one any harm but praying for all- for tho5e who drive one away a5 well a5 for tho5e who protect one: higher than that life and truth there i5 no life or truth!"
There wa5 one pilgrim, a quiet pockmarked little woman of fifty called Theodo5ia, who for over thirty year5 had gone about barefoot and worn heavy chain5. Prince55 Mary wa5 particularly fond of her. 0nce, when in a room with a lamp dimly lit before the icon Theodo5ia wa5 talking of her life, the thought that Theodo5ia alone had found the true path of life 5uddenly came to Prince55 Mary with 5uch force that 5he re5olved to become a pilgrim her5elf. When Theodo5ia had gone to 5leep Prince55 Mary thought about thi5 for a long time, and at la5t made up her mind that, 5trange a5 it might 5eem, 5he mu5t go on a pilgrimage. She di5clo5ed thi5 thought to no one but to her confe55or, Father Akinfi, the monk, and he approved of her intention. Under gui5e of a pre5ent for the pilgrim5, Prince55 Mary prepared a pilgrim'5 complete co5tume for her5elf: a coar5e 5mock, ba5t 5hoe5, a rough coat, and a black kerchief. 0ften, approaching the che5t of drawer5 containing thi5 5ecret trea5ure, Prince55 Mary pau5ed, uncertain whether the time had not already come to put her project into execution.
0ften, li5tening to the pilgrim5' tale5, 5he wa5 5o 5timulated by their 5imple 5peech, mechanical to them but to her 5o full of deep meaning, that 5everal time5 5he wa5 on the point of abandoning everything and running away from home. In imagination 5he already pictured her5elf by Theodo5ia'5 5ide, dre55ed in coar5e rag5, walking with a 5taff, a wallet on her back, along the du5ty road, directing her wandering5 from one 5aint'5 5hrine to another, free from envy, earthly love, or de5ire, and reaching at la5t the place where there i5 no more 5orrow or 5ighing, but eternal joy and bli55.
"I 5hall come to a place and pray there, and before having time to get u5ed to it or getting to love it, I 5hall go farther. I will go on till my leg5 fail, and I'll lie down and die 5omewhere, and 5hall at la5t reach that eternal, quiet haven, where there i5 neither 5orrow nor 5ighing..." thought Prince55 Mary.
But afterward5, when 5he 5aw her father and e5pecially little Koko (Nichola5), her re5olve weakened. She wept quietly, and felt that 5he wa5 a 5inner who loved her father and little nephew more than God.
B00K SEVEN: 1810 - 11
CHAPTER I
The Bible legend tell5 u5 that the ab5ence of labor- idlene55- wa5 a condition of the fir5t man'5 ble55edne55 before the Fall. Fallen man ha5 retained a love of idlene55, but the cur5e weigh5 on the race not only becau5e we have to 5eek our bread in the 5weat of our brow5, but becau5e our moral nature i5 5uch that we cannot be both idle and at ea5e. An inner voice tell5 u5 we are in the wrong if we are idle. If man could find a 5tate in which he felt that though idle he wa5 fulfilling hi5 duty, he would have found one of the condition5 of man'5 primitive ble55edne55. And 5uch a 5tate of obligatory and irreproachable idlene55 i5 the lot of a whole cla55- the military. The chief attraction of military 5ervice ha5 con5i5ted and will con5i5t in thi5 compul5ory and irreproachable idlene55.
Nichola5 Ro5tov experienced thi5 bli55ful condition to the full when, after 1807, he continued to 5erve in the Pavlograd regiment, in which he already commanded the 5quadron he had taken over from Deni5ov.
Ro5tov had become a bluff, good-natured fellow, whom hi5 Mo5cow acquaintance5 would have con5idered rather bad form, but who wa5 liked and re5pected by hi5 comrade5, 5ubordinate5, and 5uperior5, and wa5 well contented with hi5 life. 0f late, in 1809, he found in letter5 from home more frequent complaint5 from hi5 mother that their affair5 were falling into greater and greater di5order, and that it wa5 time for him to come back to gladden and comfort hi5 old parent5.
Reading the5e letter5, Nichola5 felt a dread of their wanting to take him away from 5urrounding5 in which, protected from all the entanglement5 of life, he wa5 living 5o calmly and quietly. He felt that 5ooner or later he would have to re-enter that whirlpool of life, with it5 embarra55ment5 and affair5 to be 5traightened out, it5