When Old Friends Become Strangers — War and Peace

Returning from South Russia in the happiest mind, Pierre at last visits Bolkónski after two years. Boguchárovo sits in flat country among cut fir and birch, behind a newly dug pond with still-bare banks. A large brick house with a semicircular façade is going up; fences, fire pumps, and straight paths look tidy. Domestic serfs point Pierre to a small lodge by the pond. Antón, who looked after Andrew in boyhood, helps him from the carriage. After Petersburg brilliance the modest pine-smelling rooms strike Pierre. Andrew comes out frowning and looking old; Pierre embraces him, lifts his spectacles, and kisses his cheek. Kind words and a smile cannot put sparkle into dull eyes. Andrew is thinner, paler, more manly, with a wrinkle of prolonged concentration that amazes and estranges Pierre until he grows used to it.

Conversation stumbles through past life, plans, Pierre's journeys, and the war. Andrew's despondent smile deepens when Pierre speaks with joyful animation of past or future. Pierre checks his Masonic enthusiasm, ashamed to seem naïve, yet longs to show he is a different, better man. Andrew repeats "plans" ironically: he is building, and means to settle here altogether next year. He would rather hear about Pierre's estates. Pierre conceals his own part; Andrew prompts the story as if it were old and listens without interest, even as if ashamed. They walk till dinner talking of political news and acquaintances like strangers. Only the new homestead animates Andrew, and even on the scaffolding he breaks off: this is not interesting; let us dine and set off. At dinner Pierre's marriage comes up. Pierre blushes, says it is over forever; Andrew answers that nothing is forever. Pierre thanks God he did not kill the man in the duel; Andrew asks why, saying to kill a vicious dog is a good thing, and that men always err about right and wrong.

On the porch Andrew states his philosophy in French: the only real evils are remorse and illness; the only good is their absence; he lives for himself to avoid both. Pierre will not agree. He lived for himself and ruined his life; only in trying to live for others has he understood happiness. Andrew says he lived for glory, which is the same love of others, and quite ruined himself; he has been calmer since living only for himself. Son, sister, and father are not "others." Neighbours, le prochain, Kiev peasants, are the chief source of error. Pierre, lisping and hurrying, lists schools, hospitals, rest for nursing women. Andrew crooks fingers: education would rob a passing peasant of animal happiness; physical labour is as necessary to him as thought is to Andrew, who tosses till dawn; hospitals patch a dying man into a ten-year burden. After Austerlitz he will not serve in the active army even if Bonaparte stood at Smolénsk. He serves under his father in recruiting only because, two hours late a fortnight ago, the old prince would have hanged a paymaster's clerk at Yúkhnovna for stolen boots. He did not care about the clerk; he was sorry for his father. He pities proprietors corrupted by unlimited power more than beaten serfs. Pierre answers a thousand times no.