RETURNING from his southern tour in the happiest frame of mind, Pierre carried out an intention he had long had, of visiting his friend Bolkonsky, whom he had not seen for two years.
Bogutcharovo lay in a flat, ugly part of the country, covered with fields and copses of fir and birch-trees, in parts cut down. The manor house was at the end of the straight village that ran along each side of the high road, behind an overflowing pond newly dug, and still bare of grass on its banks in the midst of a young copse, with several large pines standing among the smaller trees.
The homestead consisted of a threshing floor, serfs' quarters, stables, bath-houses, lodges, and a large stone house with a semicircular fa?ade, still in course of erection. Round the house a garden had been newly laid out. The fences and gates were solid and new; under a shed stood two fire-engines and a tub painted green. The paths were straight, the bridges were strong and furnished with stone parapets. Everything had an air of being cared for and looked after. The house serfs on the way, in reply to inquiries where the prince was living, pointed to a small new lodge at the very edge of the pond. Prince Andrey's old body-servant, Anton, after assisting Pierre out of his carriage, said that the prince was at home, and conducted him into a clean little lobby.
Pierre was struck by the modesty of this little, clean house, after the splendid surroundings in which he had last seen his friend in Petersburg.
He went hurriedly into the little parlour, still unplastered and smelling of pine wood, and would have gone further, but Anton ran ahead on tip-toe and knocked at the door.
“What is it?” he heard a harsh, unpleasant voice.
“A visitor,” answered Anton.
“Ask him to wait”; and there was the sound of a chair being pushed back.
Pierre went with rapid steps to the door, and came face to face with Prince Andrey, who came out frowning and looking older. Pierre embraced him, and taking off his spectacles, kissed him and looked close at him.
“Well, I didn't expect you; I am glad,” said Prince Andrey.
Pierre said nothing; he was looking in wonder at his friend, and could not take his eyes off him. He was struck by the change in Prince Andrey. His words were warm, there was a smile on the lips and the face, but there was a lustreless, dead look in his eyes, into which, in spite of his evident desire to seem glad, Prince Andrey could not throw a gleam of happiness. It was not only that his friend was thinner, paler, more manly looking, but the look in his eyes and the line on his brow, that expressed prolonged concentration on some one subject, struck Pierre and repelled him till he got used to it.
On meeting after a long separation, the conversation, as is always the case, did not for a long while rest on one subject. They asked questions and gave brief replies about things of which they knew themselves they must talk at length. At last the conversation began gradually to revolve more slowly about the questions previously touched only in passing, their life in the past, their plans for the future, Pierre's journeys, and what he had been doing, the war, and so on. The concentrated and crushed look which Pierre had noticed in Prince Andrey's eyes was still more striking now in the smile with which he listened to him, especially when he was telling him with earnestness and delight of his past or his future. It was as though Prince Andrey would have liked to take interest in what he was telling him, but could not. Pierre began to feel that to express enthusiasm, ideals, and hopes of happiness and goodness was unseemly before Prince Andrey. He felt ashamed of giving expression to all the new ideas he had gained from the masons, which had been revived and strengthened in him by his last tour. He restrained himself, afraid of seeming na?ve. At the same time he felt an irresistible desire to show his friend at once that he was now a quite different Pierre, better than the one he had known in Petersburg.
“I can't tell you how much I have passed through during this time. I shouldn't know my old self.”
“Yes, you are very, very much changed since those days,” said Prince Andrey.
“Well, and what of you?” asked Pierre. “What are your plans?”
“Plans?” repeated Prince Andrey ironically. “My plans?” he repeated, as though wondering what was the meaning of such a word. “Why, you see, I am building; I want next year to settle in here altogether …”
Pierre looked silently and intently into the face of Prince Andrey, which had grown so much older.
“No, I'm asking about …” Pierre began, but Prince Andrey interrupted him.
“But why talk about me … talk to me, and tell me about your journey, about everything you have been doing on your estates.”
Pierre began describing what he had been doing on his estates, trying as far as he could to disguise his share in the improvements made on them. Prince Andrey several times put in a few words before Pierre could utter them, as though all Pierre's doings were an old, familiar story, and he were hearing it not only without interest, but even as it were a little ashamed of what was told him.
Pierre began to feel awkward and positively wretched in his friend's company. He relapsed into silence.
“I tell you what, my dear fellow,” said Prince Andrey, who was unmistakably dreary and ill at ease with his visitor, “I'm simply bivouacking here; I only came over to have a look at things. I'm going back again to my sister to-day. I will introduce you to her. But I think you know her, though,” he added, obviously trying to provide entertainment for his guest, with whom he now found nothing in common. “We will set off after dinner. And now would you care to see my place?” They went out and walked about till dinner time, talking of political news and common acquaintances, like people not very intimate. The only thing of which Prince Andrey now spoke with some eagerness and interest was the new buildings and homestead he was building; but even in the middle of a conversation on this subject, on the scaffolding, when Prince Andrey was describing to Pierre the plan of the house, he suddenly stopped. “There's nothing interesting in that, though, let us go in to dinner and set off.”
At dinner the conversation fell on Pierre's marriage.
“I was very much surprised when I heard of it,” said Prince Andrey.
Pierre blushed as he always did at any reference to his marriage, and said hurriedly: “I'll tell you one day how it all happened. But you know that it's all over and for ever.”
“For ever?” said Prince Andrey; “nothing's for ever.”
“But do you know how it all ended? Did you hear of the duel?”
“Yes, you had to go through that too!”
“The one thing for which I thank God is that I didn't kill that man,” said Pierre.
“Why so?” said Prince Andrey. “To kill a vicious dog is a very good thing to do, really.”
“No, to kill a man is bad, wrong …”
“Why is it wrong?” repeated Prince Andrey; “what's right and wrong is a question it has not been given to men to decide. Men are for ever in error, and always will be in error, and in nothing more than in what they regard as right and wrong.”
“What does harm to another man is wrong,” said Pierre, feeling with pleasure that for the first time since his arrival Prince Andrey was roused and was beginning to speak and eager to give expression to what had made him what he now was.
“And who has told you what is harm to another man?” he asked.
“Harm? harm?” said Pierre; “we all know what harms ourselves.”
“Yes, we know that, but it's not the same harm we know about for ourselves that we do to another man,” said Prince Andrey, growing more and more eager, and evidently anxious to express to Pierre his new view of things. He spoke in French. “I only know two very real ills in life, remorse and sickness. There is no good except the absence of those ills. To live for myself so as to avoid these two evils: that's the sum of my wisdom now.”
“And love for your neighbour, and self-sacrifice?” began Pierre. “No, I can't agree with you! To live with the sole object of avoiding doing evil, so as not to be remorseful, that's very little. I used to live so, I used to live for myself, and I spoilt my life. And only now, when I'm living, at least trying to live” (modesty impelled Pierre to correct himself) “for others, only now I have learnt to know all the happiness of life. No, I don't agree with you, and indeed, you don't believe what you're saying yourself.”
Prince Andrey looked at Pierre without speaking, and smiled ironically. “Well, you'll see my sister Marie. You will get on with her,” said he. “Perhaps you are right for yourself,” he added, after a brief pause, “but every one lives in his own way; you used to live for yourself, and you say that by doing so you almost spoiled your life, and have only known happiness since you began to live for others. And my experience has been the reverse. I used to live for glory. (And what is glory? The same love for others, the desire to do something for them, the desire of their praise.) In that way I lived for others, and not almost, but quite spoilt my life. And I have become more peaceful since I live only for myself.”
“But how are you living only for yourself?” Pierre asked, getting hot. “What of your son, your sister, your father?”
“Yes, but that's all the same as myself, they are not others,” said Prince Andrey; “but others, one's neighbours, as you and Marie call them, they are the great source of error and evil. One's neighbours are those—your Kiev peasants—whom one wants to do good to.”
And he looked at Pierre with a glance of ironical challenge. He unmistakably meant to draw him on.
“You are joking,” said Pierre, getting more and more earnest. “What error and evil can there be in my wishing (I have done very little and done it very badly), but still wishing to do good, and doing indeed something any way? Where can be the harm if unhappy people, our peasants, people just like ourselves, growing up and dying with no other idea of God and the truth, but a senseless prayer and ceremony, if they are instructed in the consoling doctrines of a future life, of retribution, and recompense and consolation? What harm and error can there be in my giving them doctors, and a hospital, and a refuge for the aged, when men are dying of disease without help, and it is so easy to give them material aid? And isn't there palpable, incontestable good, when the peasants and the women with young children have no rest day or night, and I give them leisure and rest? …” said Pierre, talking hurriedly and lisping. “And I have done that; badly it's true, and too little of it, but I have done something towards it, and you'll not only fail to shake my conviction that I have done well, you'll not even shake my conviction that you don't believe that yourself. And the great thing,” Pierre continued, “is that I know this and know it for a certainty—that the enjoyment of doing this good is the only real happiness in life.”
“Oh, if you put the question like that, it's a different matter,” said Prince Andrey. “I'm building a house and laying out a garden, while you are building hospitals. Either occupation may serve to pass the time. But as to what's right and what's good—leave that to one who knows all to judge; it's not for us to decide. Well, you want an argument,” he added; “all right, let us have one.” They got up from the table and sat out on the steps in default of a balcony. “Come, let us argue the matter,” said Prince Andrey. “You talk of schools,” he went on, crooking one finger, “instruction, and so forth, that is, you want to draw him” (he pointed to a peasant who passed by them taking off his cap), “out of his animal condition and to give him spiritual needs, but it seems to me that the only possible happiness is animal happiness, and you want to deprive him of it. I envy him, while you are trying to make him into me, without giving him my circumstances. Another thing you speak of is lightening his toil. But to my notions, physical labour is as much a necessity for him, as much a condition of his existence, as intellectual work is for me and for you. You can't help thinking. I go to bed at three o'clock, thoughts come into my mind, and I can't go to sleep; I turn over, and can't sleep till morning, because I'm thinking, and I can't help thinking, just as he can't help ploughing and mowing. If he didn't, he would go to the tavern, or become ill. Just as I could not stand his terrible physical labour, but should die of it in a week, so he could not stand my physical inactivity, he would grow fat and die. The third thing—what was it you talked about?”
Prince Andrey crooked his third finger.
“Oh, yes, hospitals, medicine. He has a fit and dies, but you have him bled and cure him. He will drag about an invalid for ten years, a burden to every one. It would be ever so much simpler and more comfortable for him to die. Others are born, and there are always plenty. If you grudge losing a labourer—that's how I look at him—but you want to cure him from love for him. But he has no need of that. And besides, what a notion that medicine has ever cured any one! Killed them—yes!” he said, scowling and turning away from Pierre.
Prince Andrey gave such a clear and precise utterance to his ideas that it was evident he had thought more than once of this already, and he talked rapidly and eagerly, as a man does who has long been silent. His eyes grew keener, the more pessimistic were the views he expressed.
“Oh, this is awful, awful!” said Pierre. “I don't understand how one can live with such ideas. I have had moments of thinking like that; it was not long ago at Moscow and on a journey, but then I become so abject that I don't live at all, everything's hateful to me … myself, most of all. Then I don't eat, I don't wash … how can you go on? …”
“Why not wash, that's not clean,” said Prince Andrey; “on the contrary, one has to try and make one's life more agreeable as far as one can. I'm alive, and it's not my fault that I am, and so I have to try without hurting others to get on as well as I can till death.”
“But what impulse have you to live with such ideas? You would sit still without stirring, taking no part in anything.…”
“Life won't leave you in peace even so. I should be glad to do nothing, but here you see on one side, the local nobility have done me the honour of electing me a marshal; it was all I could do to get out of it. They could not understand that I haven't what's needed, haven't that good-natured, fussy vulgarity we all know so well, that's needed for it. Then there's this house here, which had to be built that I might have a nook of my own where I could be quiet. Now there's the militia.”
“Why aren't you serving in the army?”
“After Austerlitz!” said Prince Andrey gloomily. “No, thank you; I swore to myself that I would never serve in the Russian army again. And I will not, if Bonaparte were stationed here at Smolensk, threatening Bleak Hills! even then I wouldn't serve in the Russian army. Well, so I was saying,” Prince Andrey went on, regaining his composure. “Now, there's the militia; my father's commander-in-chief of the third circuit, and the only means for me to escape from active service is to serve under him.”
“So you are in the service, then?”
“Yes.” He was silent for a while.
“Then why do you serve?”
“I'll tell you why. My father is one of the most remarkable men of his time. But he's grown old, and he's not cruel exactly, but he's of too energetic a character. He's terrible from his habit of unlimited power, and now with this authority given him by the Emperor as a commander-in-chief in the militia. If I had been two hours later a fortnight ago, he would have hanged the register-clerk at Yuhnovo,” said Prince Andrey with a smile. “So I serve under him now because no one except me has any influence over my father, and I sometimes save him from an act which would be a source of misery to him afterwards.”
“Ah, there you see!”
“Yes, it is not as you think,” Prince Andrey continued. “I didn't, and I don't wish well in the slightest to that scoundrelly register-clerk who had stolen boots or something from the militiamen; indeed, I would have been very glad to see him hanged, but I feel for my father, that is again myself.”
Prince Andrey grew more and more eager. His eyes glittered feverishly, as he tried to prove to Pierre that there was never the slightest desire to do good to his neighbour in his actions.
“Well, you want to liberate your serfs, too,” he pursued; “that's a very good thing, but not for you—I expect you have never flogged a man nor sent one to Siberia—and still less for your peasants. If a peasant is beaten, flogged, sent to Siberia, I dare say he's not a bit the worse for it. In Siberia he can lead the same brute existence; the stripes on the body heal, and he's as happy as before. But it's needed for the people who are ruined morally, who are devoured by remorse, who stifle that remorse and grow callous from being able to inflict punishment all round them. Perhaps you have not seen it, but I have seen good men, brought up in the traditions of unlimited power with years, as they grew more irritable, become cruel and brutal, conscious of it, and unable to control themselves, and growing more and more miserable.”
Prince Andrey spoke with such earnestness that Pierre could not help thinking those ideas were suggested to him by his father. He made him no reply.
“So that's what I grieve for—for human dignity, for peace of conscience, for purity, and not for their backs or their heads, which always remain just the same backs and heads, however you thrash or shave them.”
“No, no, a thousand times no! I shall never agree with you,” said Pierre.
皮埃尔怀着非常幸运的心情从南方游历归来，他实现了他自己的宿愿——驱车去访问他两年未曾见面的友人博尔孔斯基。
博古恰罗沃村位于风景不优美的平坦地带，这里满布着田地、已被砍伐和未被砍伐的枞树林和桦树林。老爷的庭院在村庄尽头的大路边上，后面有一个不久前掘成的灌满水的池塘，沿岸还没有长满野草，一片幼林散布在周围，其间耸立着几棵高大的松树。
老爷的庭院里有个打谷场、院内建筑物、马厩、澡堂、厢房和一幢正在兴建的带有半圆形三角墙的砖石结构的大楼房。住宅周围有一个不久前种有树木的花园。围墙和大门都是崭新的、很牢固的；屋檐底下放着两条消防水龙和涂有绿漆的大圆桶；几条路都是笔直的，几座桥都是很坚固的，桥两边添建上栏杆。样样东西带有精心制造、善于经营的印记。皮埃尔向遇见的仆人询问公爵住在何处时，他们指了指位于池塘边上的一栋新盖的小厢房。安德烈公爵的老仆人安东搀扶皮埃尔下马车，并对他说公爵在家，之后便把他领进一间干净的小前厅。
皮埃尔最后一次在彼得堡看见他的朋友住在富丽堂皇的大楼之后，眼前这栋虽然干净、但却质朴的小房子，使他惊讶不已。他急急忙忙走进一间还在散发松枝气味的、尚未抹灰泥的小客厅，他本想继续往前走，但是安东踮着脚尖儿向前跑去，叩了叩房门。
“喂，那里怎么啦？”传来刺耳的令人厌恶的嗓音。
“是客人。”安东回答。
“请你等一等，”可以听见搬动椅子的响声。皮埃尔迈着飞快的脚步走到门边，面对面撞上向他走来的安德烈公爵，安德烈公爵蹙起额角，显得衰老了。皮埃尔拥抱他，提起眼镜，吻他的两颊，在近侧注视着他。
“真没有料到，我很高兴。”安德烈公爵说。皮埃尔没有说什么话，他很惊讶，目不转睛地望着自己的朋友。安德烈公爵身上发生的变化使他诧异。安德烈公爵说的话非常亲热，他嘴角上和脸上流露着微笑，但是目光暗淡、毫无表情，虽然他看来很想、但却不能给目光增添愉快的光辉。那使皮埃尔惊异而且感到疏远的，不是他的朋友变瘦了，脸色苍白了，长得更结实，而是这种眼神和额头上的皱纹，这些足以表明他长久地聚精会神地考虑着某个问题，不过皮埃尔一时还不习惯他的眼神和皱纹罢了。
正如在长期离别后重逢时常有的情形那样，话题久久地不能确定下来，他们总是三言两语地发问和回答那些他们自己才知道的、需要长久地交谈的事题。最后，他们的谈话开始逐渐地涉及以前中断的讲话、过去的生活、未来的规划、皮埃尔的游历、他的业务、战争问题等等。皮埃尔在安德烈公爵的眼神中发现的那种凝思和阴悒的神情，在他微露笑容倾听皮埃尔讲话的时候，尤其是在皮埃尔精神振奋、心情愉快地谈论过去和未来的时候，表露得更加强烈了。安德烈公爵仿佛希望、但却不能参与他所讲到的那种活动。皮埃尔开始感觉到，在安德烈公爵面前，凡是喜悦的心情、幻想、对幸福和善行的冀望，都是不适宜的。他感到羞惭的是，他表露他这个共济会员的新思想，特别是最近一次旅行使他脑海中重现和产生的各种思想。他克制自己，害怕自己成为一个幼稚的人，同时他禁不住想尽快地向自己的朋友表示，他现在完全不同了，变成一个比在彼得堡时更好的皮埃尔了。
“我没法对您说，在这段时间我所经历的事情可真多。就连我自己也不认识自己了。”
“是的，从那时起，我们都有很多、很多的变化。”安德烈公爵说。
“可是您怎样呢？”皮埃尔问，“您有哪些计划？”
“计划吗？”安德烈公爵讽刺地重说了一遍，“我的计划吗？”他重复地说，仿佛对这种词的意义感到惊讶，“你不是看得见，我在盖房子，想在明年全部搬迁……”
皮埃尔默不作声，目不转睛地瞅着安德烈公爵见老的面孔。
“不，我是问你……”皮埃尔说，可是安德烈公爵打断他的话。
“关于我，有什么可说的……你讲讲，讲讲你的旅行，讲讲你在自己领地上所做的一切吧 ”
皮埃尔开始讲到他在自己领地上所做的事情，尽可能瞒住他参与改革这件事。安德烈公爵有几次事先向皮埃尔提到他要讲的事情，好像皮埃尔所做的事情是众人早已熟知的，不仅听来乏味，甚至于听到皮埃尔讲话，就觉得不好意思。
皮埃尔觉得和这个朋友交际很不自在，甚至是怪难受的。
他不吭声了。
“我的心肝，你听着，”安德烈公爵说道，显然他也觉得难过，和客人在一起非常腼腆，“我在这里露宿，不过是来看看动静。我今日又要到妹妹那里去。我把你介绍给他们认识一下。对了，你好像认识他们，”他说道，显然是要吸引这位客人，尽管他觉得现在和他没有什么共同语言了。“我们在吃罢午饭后一同去吧。你现在想看看我的庄园吗？”他们走出门去，一直蹓跶到吃午饭的时候，他们就像不太亲密的人那样，光谈论政治新闻和普通的熟人。安德烈公爵只是在讲到他所兴建的新庄园和建筑工程的时候，才有一点儿兴致，但是在谈到半中间，即是当安德烈公爵向皮埃尔描绘未来的住房布局的时候，他忽然在那临时搭起的木板台上停住了。“不过这里头没有什么能引起兴趣的东西，我们同去吃午饭，然后出发吧。”午宴间，话题转到皮埃尔的婚事上。
“当我听到这件事，我觉得非常诧异。”安德烈公爵说道。
皮埃尔涨红了脸，就像他平常提起这件事时总会脸红那样，他急急忙忙地说：
“我以后什么时候把这一切是怎样发生的讲给您听。不过您知道，这一切都结束了，永远结束了。”
“永远吗？”安德烈公爵说，“根本不会有永远的事情。”
“不过您知道，这一切是怎样了结的吗？您听过有关决斗的事么？”
“是的，你也经历过这种事。”
“我感谢上帝的惟有一点，就是我没有打死这个人。”皮埃尔说。
“究竟为什么？”安德烈公爵说，“打死一只凶恶的狗甚至是件好事情。”
“不，打死人不好，没有道理……”
“为什么没有道理？”安德烈公爵又说，“人们并没有判断是非的天赋。人们经常会犯错误，将来也会犯错误，无非是错在他们认为对与不对的问题上。”
“危害他人就是不对的。”皮埃尔说，他蛮高兴地感到，自从他到达此地之后，安德烈公爵头一次振奋起来，开始说话，想把是什么使他变成现在这个样子的话全都说出来。
“是谁告诉你，什么叫做危害他人？”他问。
“恶事？恶事？”皮埃尔说。“我们大家都知道，什么是别人危害自己。”
“我们知道，我本人意识到的那种恶事，我不能用以危害他人，”安德烈公爵越来越觉得兴奋，看样子他想对皮埃尔说出他自己对事物的新观点。他用法语说，“Je ne connais dansla vie que deux maux bien réels：c'est le remord et la maladie．Il n'est de bien que l'abAsence de ces maux．①为自己而生活，只有避免这两大祸患，而今这就是我的全部哲理。”
①法语：我知道，生活上只有两种真正的不幸：良心的谴责和疾病，只要没有这两大祸患，就是幸福。
“对人仁爱吗，自我牺牲吗？”皮埃尔说，“不，我并不能赞同您的观点！生活的目的只是为了不做恶事，不追悔，这还是很不够的。我曾经这样生活，我为我自己而生活，并且毁灭了自己的生活，只有现在，当我为他人而活着的时候，至少我是竭力地（皮埃尔出自谦虚，作了修正）为他人而活着的时候，只有现在我才明白生活的种种幸福。不，我并不赞同您的观点，而且您心里并没有想到您口里所说的话。”安德烈公爵默不作声地望着皮埃尔，流露出讥讽的微笑。
“你将会见到我妹妹公爵小姐玛丽亚，你和她是合得来的。”他说，“大概，对你来说，你是对的。”他沉默片刻，继续说，“可是每个人都按照自己的方式生活，你以前为自己而生活，你说你几乎因此而毁灭了自己的生活，只有当你开始为他人而生活的时候，你才知道什么是幸福。可是我的感受恰好相反。我以前为荣耀而生活（到底什么是荣耀？还不就是爱他人，希望为他人做点事情，希望博得他人的赞扬。），我这样为他人而生活，到头来不是差不多，而是完全毁灭了我自己的生活。自从我只为我一人而生活以来，我的心情变得更平静了。”
“怎么能够只为自己而生活啊？”皮埃尔激昂起来，他问道。“可是儿子呢？妹妹呢？父亲呢？”
“但是这一切还依旧是我，而不是其他人，”安德烈公爵说，“而其他人，他人，您和公爵小姐称之为le prochain①，这就是谬误和祸患的主要根源。Le prochain，这就是您想对他们行善的基辅农民。”
①法语：他人。
他用讥讽和挑衅的目光朝皮埃尔瞟了一眼。显然他在向皮埃尔挑衅。
“您在开玩笑，”皮埃尔说，越来越兴奋。“我愿意行善，尽管做得很少，做得很不好，但是我多少做了一点善事，这能算是什么谬误，什么恶事啊？那些不幸的人，我们的农民，也像我们一样，从成长到死亡，他们对上帝和真理的知识只囿于宗教仪式和于事无益的祈祷，他们要在来生、报应、奖赏、慰藉这些令人安心的信念上接受教益，这能算是什么恶事吗？在提供物质援助毫不困难的时候，却有一些人因缺乏救助而病死，在这种情况下我向他们提供医生和医院，向老年人提供养老院，这能算是什么谬误，什么恶事吗？农夫、携带婴孩的农妇，日夜不得安宁，我让他们有空闲，得到休息，这难道不是意识得到的毫无疑义的福利事业吗……”皮埃尔急促地说，连“c”、“W”音也分不清了。“我做了这件事，尽管做得不好，做得不够，但多少做了一点事情，您不仅未能使我相信我所做的事并非善事，而且也未能使我相信您自己有这样的想法。主要是，”皮埃尔继续说话，“我知道，而且确切地知道，行善这一乐趣是生活上唯一靠得住的幸福。”
“是啊，如果这样提出问题，那就是另一回事了，”安德烈公爵说，“我盖房子，开辟一个种植树木的花园，你兴建医院。这二者都能成为一种消遣。至于说什么是公允，什么是善举，不是让我们，而是让那个通晓一切的人来判断。啊，你想争论，”他补充一句，“那么你就来争论吧。”他们从桌子后面走出来，在那代替阳台的门廊上坐下来。
“啊，那就来争论吧，”安德烈公爵说，“你谈到学校，”他弯屈着一个指头，继续说，“教导等，你想把他，”他指着一个摘下帽子从他们身边走过去的农夫，说，“从牲畜状态中拯救出来，使他感到精神上有一种需要，可是我觉得，唯一有可能得到的幸福就是牲畜的幸福，可是你想夺去他这种幸福。我羡慕他，而你却不把我的资财交给他，就想把他变成我这个模样的人，你说到另一件事：减轻他的劳动。可是依我看，体力劳动对于他，就像脑力劳动对于你和我那样，是一种需要，是他生存的条件。你不能不考虑。我在两点多钟上床睡觉，忽然我的脑海中浮现出各种心事，辗转于床褥，不能成眠，一直到早上都没有睡着，所以这样，是因为我在思考，不能不思考，就像他不能不耕田，不能不割草一样，否则他就会走进酒馆，或者害病了。就像我经受不了他那可怕的体力劳动，过了一周以后就会归西天，他也经受不了我这游手好闲、四体不勤的生活，他会变得非常肥胖，活不成了。第三，你到底还说了什么？”
安德烈公爵屈起了第三个指头。
“哦，是的，医院、药剂。他中风了，濒临于死亡，而你给他放血，把他治好了。他这个残废还要走来走去，拖上十载，成为众人的累赘。死亡对于他，反而简单得多，舒适得多。另一些不断地出生，数量可真多。如果你会舍不得断送一个多余的劳工，那还算好，我是这样看待他的，其实你是出于爱护他才给他医治的。可是这不是他所需要的。再则，认为医生曾经医治好什么人，简直是痴心妄想！会把人杀死，的确如此！”他说，凶狠地蹙起额角，把脸转过去，不再理睬皮埃尔。
安德烈公爵十分清晰而且明确地表达自己的想法，由此可见他不止一次想过这件事，他很乐意地而且急促地说着，就像某人长久地不开口谈话似的。他的见地越不可信，他的目光就越兴奋。
“哎呀，这多么可怕，多么可怕！”皮埃尔说，“我只是不明白，怀有这样的思想怎么能够过日子。我也有过这样的时候，这是在不久以前的事，在莫斯科和在路途上的事，不过那时候我堕落到这种地步，以致不能生活下去，一切都使我觉得可憎，……主要是，我憎恶自己，那时候我不吃饭，不洗面……欸，你怎么样？……”
“干嘛不洗面，这很邋遢，”安德烈公爵说，“相反要尽量想办法使自己的生活变得更愉快。我活着，我在这方面没有过错，因此要想个办法活得更好，不妨碍他人，一直到寿终正寝。”
“可是到底是什么促使您怀有这样的思想过日子？你以后坐着不动，无所事事……”
“就是这样我也得不到安闲。我情愿不干什么事情。且看，一方面，本地的贵族们赐以我荣幸，推选我担任首席贵族，我好不容易摆脱开了。他们没法了解，我身上缺乏这种能力，没有担任这种职务所必须具备的伪善、潜心钻营、卑鄙庸俗的本领。再则，为了要有一个悠闲度日的栖身之处，还得盖起这幢屋子。目前还有民兵的事情。”
“干嘛您不在军队里服役呢？”
“这是奥斯特利茨战役以后的事啊！”安德烈公爵阴郁地说。“不，太感谢啦，我许下诺言，将不在作战部队中服役。即使波拿巴盘踞在这儿，在斯摩棱斯克附近，威胁童山，我也不会在俄国军队中服役。喏，我对你说了，”安德烈公爵心平气和地继续说下去。“现在又有民兵的事情，我父亲被任命为第三军区总司令，在他部下服务，是我避免服役的唯一手段。”
“这么说，您还是在服役罗？”
“我正在服役。”他沉默片刻后说道。
“那么您干嘛要服役呢？”
“就是为了这个缘故。我父亲是当代最杰出的人物之一。但是他渐入老境，并不能说他禀性残忍，不过他太活跃了。他已习惯于掌握无限权力，令人生畏，目前他拥有国王赐予民兵总司令的这种权力。两个礼拜前，如果我迟到两个钟头，他就会把尤赫诺夫的录事处以绞刑的，”安德烈公爵含着微笑说。“我之所以服兵役，是因为除我而外，没有什么人能够影响他，在某些场合我可以使他不干那种日后使他感到痛苦的事情。”
“啊，您这就明白了嘛！”
“嗯，mais ce n'est pas comme vous l'entenAdez，”①安德烈公爵继续说，“我过去和现在都丝毫不想对这个盗窃民兵靴子的录事坏蛋行善，我看见他被绞死，甚至会感到悦意的。但是我怜悯父亲，即是说，又是怜悯自己。”
①法语：但这并不像你想的那样。
安德烈公爵越来越兴奋。当他力图向皮埃尔证明在他的行动中从来看不出他有对他人行善的意愿的时候，他的眼睛非常兴奋地闪闪发光。
“嗯，你想解放农民，”他继续说下去。“这好极了，但是这不是为了你自己（我想你从来没有鞭笞任何人，从来没有把什么人流放到西伯利亚去），相对地说，更不是为了农民。如果打他们、鞭笞他们，把他们放逐到西伯利亚去，我想，他们不觉得这有什么不妙。他们在西伯利亚过着同样的牲畜般的生活，身上的伤疤愈合了，他们又像从前那样觉得很幸福了。解放农民这件事对于那些人才是必要的，他们已道德沦丧，给自己招致悔恨，又常常抑制这种心情，但因他们能够施以公正和不公正的惩罚，而渐渐变得冷酷无情。我所怜悯的正是这些人，为了这些人，我极欲解放农民。你也许未曾目睹，我却目睹此情，那些在传统的无限权力之下受到薰陶的好人，随着年岁的增长，渐渐变得易于恼怒，变得更残酷、更粗暴，虽然他们也知道这一点，但是不能克制住自己，于是变得越来越不幸了。”
安德烈公爵津津有味地说着这席话，以致皮埃尔不由地想起他父亲使他产生这些思想。他什么话也没有回答他。
“那末我所怜悯的就是这种人——具有人类的尊严、宁静的良心、纯洁而高贵的人，而不以他们的背脊和前额为转移，背脊与前额不管你怎样抽、怎样剃，仍然是背脊和前额。”
“不，不，要说出一千个不！我决不同意您的看法。”皮埃尔说。
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