Book Six: 1808-10 - Chapter III

by Leo Tolstoy

　　Next morning, having taken leave of no one but the count, and notwaiting for the ladies to appear, Prince Andrew set off for home.

　　It was already the beginning of June when on his return journey hedrove into the birch forest where the gnarled old oak had made sostrange and memorable an impression on him. In the forest theharness bells sounded yet more muffled than they had done six weeksbefore, for now all was thick, shady, and dense, and the young firsdotted about in the forest did not jar on the general beauty but,lending themselves to the mood around, were delicately green withfluffy young shoots.

　　The whole day had been hot. Somewhere a storm was gathering, butonly a small cloud had scattered some raindrops lightly, sprinklingthe road and the sappy leaves. The left side of the forest was dark inthe shade, the right side glittered in the sunlight, wet and shiny andscarcely swayed by the breeze. Everything was in blossom, thenightingales trilled, and their voices reverberated now near, nowfar away.

　　"Yes, here in this forest was that oak with which I agreed," thoughtPrince Andrew. "But where is it?" he again wondered, gazing at theleft side of the road, and without recognizing it he looked withadmiration at the very oak he sought. The old oak, quite transfigured,spreading out a canopy of sappy dark-green foliage, stood rapt andslightly trembling in the rays of the evening sun. Neither gnarledfingers nor old scars nor old doubts and sorrows were any of them inevidence now. Through the hard century-old bark, even where there wereno twigs, leaves had sprouted such as one could hardly believe the oldveteran could have produced.

　　"Yes, it is the same oak," thought Prince Andrew, and all at once hewas 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 suddenlyto his mind.

　　"No, life is not over at thirty-one!" Prince Andrew suddenly decidedfinally and decisively. "It is not enough for me to know what I havein me- everyone must know it: Pierre, and that young girl who wantedto fly away into the sky, everyone must know me, so that my life maynot 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 livein harmony!"

　　On reaching home Prince Andrew decided to go to Petersburg thatautumn and found all sorts of reasons for this decision. A wholeserics of sensible and logical considerations showing it to beessential for him to go to Petersburg, and even to re-enter theservice, kept springing up in his mind. He could not now understandhow he could ever even have doubted the necessity of taking anactive share in life, just as a month before he had not understood howthe idea of leaving the quiet country could ever enter his head. Itnow seemed clear to him that all his experience of life must besenselessly wasted unless he applied it to some kind of work and againplayed an active part in life. He did not even remember howformerly, on the strength of similar wretched logical arguments, ithad seemed obvious that he would be degrading himself if he now, afterthe lessons he had had in life, allowed himself to believe in thepossibility of being useful and in the possibility of happiness orlove. Now reason suggested quite the opposite. After that journey toRyazan he found the country dull; his former pursuits no longerinterested 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 hewould turn away to the portrait of his dead Lise, who with hair curleda 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 lookedsimply, merrily, and inquisitively at him. And Prince Andrew, crossinghis arms behind him, long paced the room, now frowning, now smiling,as he reflected on those irrational, inexpressible thoughts, secret asa crime, which altered his whole life and were connected withPierre, with fame, with the girl at the window, the oak, and woman'sbeauty and love. And if anyone came into his room at such moments hewas particularly cold, stern, and above all unpleasantly logical.

　　"My dear," Princess Mary entering at such a moment would say,"little Nicholas can't go out today, it's very cold."

　　"If it were hot," Prince Andrew would reply at such times very drylyto his sister, "he could go out in his smock, but as it is cold hemust wear warm clothes, which were designed for that purpose. Thatis what follows from the fact that it is cold; and not that a childwho needs fresh air should remain at home," he would add withextreme logic, as if punishing someone for those secret illogicalemotions that stirred within him.

　　At such moments Princess Mary would think how intellectual workdries men up.