Bogucharovo lay in flat, dull countryside covered with fields and stretches of birch and fir-trees, some felled and others growing wild. The manor house was at the end of a village that lay sprawled out down a long straight road. It stood in young woodland dominated by several large pine-trees, just above a newly dug pond filled to overflowing, with grass yet to grow on its banks.
The homestead consisted of a threshing floor, outbuildings, stables, a bath-house, a lodge and a large stone house with a semi-circular façade, still under construction. Around the house a new garden had recently been laid out. The fences and gates were solid and new, and in an open shed there were two fire-pumps and a water-butt painted green. The paths were straight, the bridges were strong and they had handrails. There was an air of efficiency and good house-keeping about the place. Some house serfs along the way, when asked where the prince was living, pointed to a small new lodge at the very edge of the pond. Prince Andrey’s old servant, Anton, who had been with him since childhood, helped Pierre down from the carriage, said that the prince was at home and showed him into a clean little ante-room.
Pierre was struck by the modesty of this clean little house, after the splendid surroundings in which he had last seen his friend in Petersburg.
He walked quickly through into a little parlour, finished but not yet plastered and smelling of pine wood, and he would have gone on, but Anton tiptoed ahead and knocked at the door.
‘What is it?’ came a rough, unpleasant voice.
‘A visitor,’ answered Anton.
‘Ask him to wait.’ A chair was heard being scraped back.
Pierre hurried up to the door and suddenly found himself face to face with Prince Andrey, who was on his way out with a scowl on his face, looking older. Pierre hugged him, lifted his spectacles, kissed him on the cheeks and gave him a close scrutiny.
‘Well, look who’s here! I’m so pleased to see you,’ said Prince Andrey.
Pierre said nothing; he was looking at his friend in some surprise and couldn’t take his eyes off him. He was struck by how much Prince Andrey had changed. His words were welcoming enough, his face and his lips seemed to smile, but the lacklustre eyes had a dead look about them and despite his best efforts Prince Andrey seemed unable to make them shine with joy and happiness. It wasn’t just that his friend looked thinner and paler, as well as being more mature; Pierre was shocked by Andrey’s subdued look and his furrowed brow, both of which suggested obsessive worrying about something, and he was put off for a moment until he got used to it.
It always happens that when friends come together after a long separation the conversation jumps from one topic to another. Quick questions were met with short answers as they touched on things which they knew ought to be discussed at length. At last the conversation began to settle down, gradually returning to points that had been skimpily treated before, inquiries about how things had been going, any future plans, Pierre’s travels and what he had been up to, the war and much more besides. The crestfallen look of worry which Pierre had noticed in Prince Andrey’s eyes was even more noticeable in his smile as he listened, especially when Pierre spoke with joy and enthusiasm about the past and the future. The impression was that Prince Andrey wanted to involve himself in what Pierre was saying but couldn’t manage to do so. Pierre began to feel it was somehow wrong to be talking to Prince Andrey so eagerly about his dreams and all his hopes of happiness and goodness. It would be too embarrassing for him to go into the new ideas he had got from the masons, and especially the way these had been refreshed and strengthened by his recent tour. He held back, afraid to seem naive, but at the same time he felt an urgent desire to show his friend without further ado that he was a changed man, better than the old Pierre that he had known in Petersburg.
‘I can’t begin to tell you what I’ve gone through since we met. I wouldn’t recognize my old self.’
‘Yes, we’ve both changed a lot since those days,’ said Prince Andrey.
‘Anyway, what about you?’ asked Pierre. ‘What are your plans?’
‘Plans?’ echoed Prince Andrey sarcastically. ‘My plans?’ he said again, as if surprised by the word and its meaning. ‘Well . . . you can see I’ve got some building going on. I should be able to move in next year . . .’
Pierre said nothing; he was staring closely at Prince Andrey’s face, which seemed to have aged so much.
‘No, what I meant was . . .’ Pierre began but Prince Andrey cut him short.
‘But let’s not talk about me . . . You do the talking. Tell me about your grand tour. What have you been up to on your estates?’
