|
Prince Andrew had spent two years continuously in the country.
All the plans Pierre had attempted on his estates- and constantly
changing from one thing to another had never accomplished- were
carried out by Prince Andrew without display and without perceptible
difficulty.
He had in the highest degree a practical tenacity which Pierre
lacked, and without fuss or strain on his part this set things
going.
On one of his estates the three hundred serfs were liberated
and became free agricultural laborers- this being one of the first
examples of the kind in Russia. On other estates the serfs' compulsory
labor was commuted for a quitrent. A trained midwife was engaged
for Bogucharovo at his expense, and a priest was paid to teach
reading and writing to the children of the peasants and household
serfs.
Prince Andrew spent half his time at Bald Hills with his father
and his son, who was still in the care of nurses. The other half
he spent in "Bogucharovo Cloister," as his father called
Prince Andrew's estate. Despite the indifference to the affairs
of the world he had expressed to Pierre, he diligently followed
all that went on, received many books, and to his surprise noticed
that when he or his father had visitors from Petersburg, the very
vortex of life, these people lagged behind himself- who never
left the country- in knowledge of what was happening in home and
foreign affairs.
Besides being occupied with his estates and reading a great
variety of books, Prince Andrew was at this time busy with a critical
of survey our last two unfortunate campaigns, and with drawing
up a proposal for a reform of the army rules and regulations.
In the spring of 1809 he went to visit the Ryazan estates
which had been inherited by his son, whose guardian he was.
Warmed by the spring sunshine he sat in the caleche looking
at the new grass, the first leaves on the birches, and the first
puffs of white spring clouds floating across the clear blue sky.
He was not thinking of anything, but looked absent-mindedly and
cheerfully from side to side.
They crossed the ferry where he had talked with Pierre the
year before. They went through the muddy village, past threshing
floors and green fields of winter rye, downhill where snow still
lodged near the bridge, uphill where the clay had been liquefied
by the rain, past strips of stubble land and bushes touched with
green here and there, and into a birch forest growing on both
sides of the road. In the forest it was almost hot, no wind could
be felt. The birches with their sticky green leaves were motionless,
and lilac-colored flowers and the first blades of green grass
were pushing up and lifting last year's leaves. The coarse evergreen
color of the small fir trees scattered here and there among the
birches was an unpleasant reminder of winter. On entering the
forest the horses began to snort and sweated visibly.
Peter the footman made some remark to the coachman; the latter
assented. But apparently the coachman's sympathy was not enough
for Peter, and he turned on the box toward his master.
"How pleasant it is, your excellency!" he said with
a respectful smile.
"What?"
"It's pleasant, your excellency!"
"What is he talking about?" thought Prince Andrew.
"Oh, the spring, I suppose," he thought as he turned
round. "Yes, really everything is green already.... How early!
The birches and cherry and alders too are coming out.... But the
oaks show no sign yet. Ah, here is one oak!"
At the edge of the road stood an oak. Probably ten times
the age of the birches that formed the forest, it was ten times
as thick and twice as tall as they. It was an enormous tree, its
girth twice as great as a man could embrace, and evidently long
ago some of its branches had been broken off and its bark scarred.
With its huge ungainly limbs sprawling unsymmetrically, and its
gnarled hands and fingers, it stood an aged, stern, and scornful
monster among the smiling birch trees. Only the dead-looking evergreen
firs dotted about in the forest, and this oak, refused to yield
to the charm of spring or notice either the spring or the sunshine.
"Spring, love, happiness!" this oak seemed to say.
"Are you not weary of that stupid, meaningless, constantly
repeated fraud? Always the same and always a fraud? There is no
spring, no sun, no happiness! Look at those cramped dead firs,
ever the same, and at me too, sticking out my broken and barked
fingers just where they have grown, whether from my back or my
sides: as they have grown so I stand, and I do not believe in
your hopes and your lies."
As he passed through the forest Prince Andrew turned several
times to look at that oak, as if expecting something from it.
Under the oak, too, were flowers and grass, but it stood among
them scowling, rigid, misshapen, and grim as ever.
"Yes, the oak is right, a thousand times right,"
thought Prince Andrew. "Let others- the young- yield afresh
to that fraud, but we know life, our life is finished!"
A whole sequence of new thoughts, hopeless but mournfully
pleasant, rose in his soul in connection with that tree. During
this journey he, as it were, considered his life afresh and arrived
at his old conclusion, restful in its hopelessness: that it was
not for him to begin anything anew- but that he must live out
his life, content to do no harm, and not disturbing himself or
desiring anything.
|
