Book Fifteen: 1812-13 - Chapter XII

by Leo Tolstoy

　　As generally happens, Pierre did not feel the full effects of thephysical privation and strain he had suffered as prisoner untilafter they were over. After his liberation he reached Orel, and on thethird day there, when preparing to go to Kiev, he fell ill and waslaid up for three months. He had what the doctors termed "biliousfever." But despite the fact that the doctors treated him, bled him,and gave him medicines to drink, he recovered.

　　Scarcely any impression was left on Pierre's mind by all thathappened to him from the time of his rescue till his illness. Heremembered only the dull gray weather now rainy and now snowy,internal physical distress, and pains in his feet and side. Heremembered a general impression of the misfortunes and sufferings ofpeople and of being worried by the curiosity of officers andgenerals who questioned him, he also remembered his difficulty inprocuring a conveyance and horses, and above all he remembered hisincapacity to think and feel all that time. On the day of his rescuehe had seen the body of Petya Rostov. That same day he had learnedthat Prince Andrew, after surviving the battle of Borodino for morethan a month had recently died in the Rostovs' house at Yaroslavl, andDenisov who told him this news also mentioned Helene's death,supposing that Pierre had heard of it long before. All this at thetime seemed merely strange to Pierre: he felt he could not grasp itssignificance. Just then he was only anxious to get away as quicklyas possible from places where people were killing one another, to somepeaceful refuge where he could recover himself, rest, and think overall the strange new facts he had learned; but on reaching Orel heimmediately fell ill. When he came to himself after his illness he sawin attendance on him two of his servants, Terenty and Vaska, who hadcome from Moscow; and also his cousin the eldest princess, who hadbeen living on his estate at Elets and hearing of his rescue andillness had come to look after him.

　　It was only gradually during his convalescence that Pierre lostthe impressions he had become accustomed to during the last few monthsand got used to the idea that no one would oblige him to go anywheretomorrow, that no one would deprive him of his warm bed, and that hewould be sure to get his dinner, tea, and supper. But for a longtime in his dreams he still saw himself in the conditions ofcaptivity. In the same way little by little he came to understandthe news he had been told after his rescue, about the death ofPrince Andrew, the death of his wife, and the destruction of theFrench.

　　A joyous feeling of freedom- that complete inalienable freedomnatural to man which he had first experienced at the first haltoutside Moscow- filled Pierre's soul during his convalescence. Hewas surprised to find that this inner freedom, which was independentof external conditions, now had as it were an additional setting ofexternal liberty. He was alone in a strange town, withoutacquaintances. No one demanded anything of him or sent him anywhere.He had all he wanted: the thought of his wife which had been acontinual torment to him was no longer there, since she was no more.

　　"Oh, how good! How splendid!" said he to himself when a cleanly laidtable was moved up to him with savory beef tea, or when he lay downfor the night on a soft clean bed, or when he remembered that theFrench had gone and that his wife was no more. "Oh, how good, howsplendid!"

　　And by old habit he asked himself the question: "Well, and whatthen? What am I going to do?" And he immediately gave himself theanswer: "Well, I shall live. Ah, how splendid!"

　　The very question that had formerly tormented him, the thing hehad continually sought to find- the aim of life- no longer existed forhim now. That search for the aim of life had not merely disappearedtemporarily- he felt that it no longer existed for him and could notpresent itself again. And this very absence of an aim gave him thecomplete, joyous sense of freedom which constituted his happiness atthis time.

　　He could not see an aim, for he now had faith- not faith in any kindof rule, or words, or ideas, but faith in an ever-living,ever-manifest God. Formerly he had sought Him in aims he sethimself. That search for an aim had been simply a search for God,and suddenly in his captivity he had learned not by words or reasoningbut by direct feeling what his nurse had told him long ago: that Godis here and everywhere. In his captivity he had learned that inKarataev God was greater, more infinite and unfathomable than in theArchitect of the Universe recognized by the Freemasons. He felt like aman who after straining his eyes to see into the far distance findswhat he sought at his very feet. All his life he had looked over theheads of the men around him, when he should have merely looked infront of him without straining his eyes.

　　In the past he had never been able to find that great inscrutableinfinite something. He had only felt that it must exist somewhereand had looked for it. In everything near and comprehensible he hadonly what was limited, petty, commonplace, and senseless. He hadequipped himself with a mental telescope and looked into remote space,where petty worldliness hiding itself in misty distance had seemedto him great and infinite merely because it was not clearly seen.And such had European life, politics, Freemasonry, philosophy, andphilanthropy seemed to him. But even then, at moments of weakness ashe had accounted them, his mind had penetrated to those distancesand he had there seen the same pettiness, worldliness, andsenselessness. Now, however, he had learned to see the great, eternal,and infinite in everything, and therefore- to see it and enjoy itscontemplation- he naturally threw away the telescope through whichhe had till now gazed over men's heads, and gladly regarded theever-changing, eternally great, unfathomable, and infinite life aroundhim. And the closer he looked the more tranquil and happy he became.That dreadful question, "What for?" which had formerly destroyed allhis mental edifices, no longer existed for him. To that question,"What for?" a simple answer was now always ready in his soul: "Becausethere is a God, that God without whose will not one hair falls froma man's head."