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ure of getting his dinner； and tea； and supper。 But for a long while afterwards he was always in his dreams surrounded by his conditions as a prisoner。
And only in the same gradual way did Pierre grasp the meaning of the news he had heard since his escape： of the death of Prince Andrey； of the death of his wife； and of the overthrow of the French。
The joyful sense of freedom—that full； inalienable freedom inherent in man； of which he had first had a consciousness at the first halting…place outside Moscow—filled Pierre’s soul during his convalescence。 He was surprised that this inner freedom； independent as it was of all external circumstances； was now as it were decked out in a luxury； a superfluity of external freedom。 He was alone in a strange town without acquaintances。 No one made any demands on him； no one sent him anywhere。 He had all he wanted； the thought of his wife； that had in old days been a continual torture to him； was no more； since she herself was no more。
“Ah； how happy I am！ how splendid it is！” he said to himself； when a cleanly covered table was moved up to him； with savoury…smelling broth； or when he got into his soft； clean bed at night； or when the thought struck him that his wife and the French were no more。 “Ah； how good it is！ how splendid！” And from old habit he asked himself the question； “Well； and what then？ what am I going to do？” And at once he answered himself： “I am going to live。 Ah； how splendid it is！”
What had worried him in old days； what he had always been seeking to solve； the question of the object of life； did not exist for him now。 That seeking for an object in life was over for him now； and it was not fortuitously or temporarily that it was over。 He felt that there was no such object； and could not be。 And it was just the absence of an object that gave him that complete and joyful sense of freedom that at this time made his happiness。
He could seek no object in life now； because now he had faith—not faith in any sort of principles； or words； or ideas； but faith in a living； ever…palpable God。 In old days he had sought Him in the aims he set before himself。 That search for an object in life had been only a seeking after God； and all at once in his captivity he had come to know； not through words or arguments； but by his own immediate feeling； what his old nurse had told him long before； that God is here； and everywhere。 In his captivity he had come to see that the God in Karataev was grander； more infinite； and more unfathomable than the Architect of the Universe recognised by the masons。 He felt like a man who finds what he has sought at his feet； when he has been straining his eyes to seek it in the distance。 All his life he had been looking far away over the heads of all around him； while he need not have strained his eyes； but had only to look in front of him。
In old days he had been unable to see the great； the unfathomable； and the infinite in anything。 He had only felt that it must be somewhere； and had been seeking it。 In everything near and comprehensible； he had seen only what was limited； petty； everyday； and meaningless。 He had armed himself with the telescope of intellect； and gazed far away into the distance； where that petty； everyday world； hidden in the mists of distance； had seemed to him great and infinite； simply because it was not clearly seen。 Such had been European life； politics； freemasonry； philosophy； and philanthropy in his eyes。 But even then； in moments which he had looked on as times of weakness； his thought had penetrated even to these remote objects； and then he had seen in them the same pettiness； the same ordinariness and meaninglessness。
Now he had learnt to see the great； the eternal； and the infinite in everything； and naturally therefore； in order to see it； to revel in its contemplation； he flung aside the telescope through which he had hitherto been gazing over men’s heads； and looked joyfully at the ever…changing； ever grand； unfathomable； and infinite life around him。 And the closer he looked at it； the calmer and happier he was。 The terrible question that had shattered all his intellectual edifices in old days； the question： What for？ had no existence for him now。 To that question； What for？ he had now always ready in his soul the simple answer： Because there is a God； that God without whom not one hair of a man’s head falls。
Chapter 13
PIERRE was hardly changed in his external habits。 In appearance he was just the same as before。 He was； as he had always been； absent…minded； and seemed preoccupied with something of his own； something apart from what was before his eyes。 The difference was that in old days； when he was unconscious of what was before his eyes； or what was being said to him； he would seem with painfully knitted brows to be striving unsuccessfully to discern something far away from him。 He was just as unconscious now of what was said to him； or of what was before him。 But now with a faint； apparently ironical smile； he gazed at what was before him； or listened to what was said； though he was obviously seeing and hearing something quite different。 In old days he had seemed a good…hearted man； but unhappy。 And so people had unconsciously held a little aloof from him。 Now a smile of joy in life was continually playing about his mouth； and his eyes were bright with sympathy for others； and the question： Were they all as happy as he？ And people felt at ease in his presence。
In old days he had talked a great deal； and had got hot when he talked； and he had listened very little。 Now he was rarely carried away in conversation； and knew how to listen； so that people were very ready to tell him the inmost secrets of their hearts。
The princess； who had never liked Pierre； and had cherished a particularly hostile feeling towards him； since after the old count’s death she had felt herself under obligation to him； had come to Orel with the intention of proving to him that in spite of his ingratitude she felt it her duty to nurse him； but after a short time she felt； to her own surprise and annoyance； that she was growing fond of him。 Pierre did nothing to try and win his cousin’s favour； he simply looked at her with curiosity。 In old days she had felt that there was mockery and indifference in his eyes； and she had shrunk into herself before him； as she did before other people； and had shown him only her aggressive side。 Now she felt on the contrary as though he were delving into the most secret recesses of her life。 It was at first mistrustfully； and then with gratitude； that she let him see now the latent good side of her character。
The most artful person could not have stolen into the princess’s confidence more cunningly； by arousing her recollections of the best time of her youth； and showing sympathy with them。 And yet all Pierre’s artfulness consisted in seeking to please himself by drawing out human qualities in the bitter； hard； and； in her own way； proud princess。
“Yes； he is a very； very good…hearted fellow when he is not under bad influence； but under the influence of people like me；” thought the princess。
The change that had taken place in Pierre was noticed in their own way by his servants too�