arms on the back of the sofa, sat in his former position with his eyes shut. Pierre looked at him and had not time to turn away when the old man, opening his eyes, fixed his steady and severe gaze straight on Pierre's face.
Pierre felt confused and wished to avoid that look, but the bright old eyes attracted him irresistibly.
CHAPTER II
'I have the pleasure of addressing Count Bezukhov, if I am not mistaken,' said the stranger in a deliberate and loud voice.
Pierre looked silently and inquiringly at him over his spectacles.
'I have heard of you, my dear sir,' continued the stranger, 'and of your misfortune.' He seemed to emphasize the last word, as if to say--'Yes, misfortune! Call it what you please, I know that what happened to you in Moscow was a misfortune.'--'I regret it very much, my dear sir.'
Pierre flushed and, hurriedly putting his legs down from the bed, bent forward toward the old man with a forced and timid smile.
'I have not referred to this out of curiosity, my dear sir, but for greater reasons.'
He paused, his gaze still on Pierre, and moved aside on the sofa by way of inviting the other to take a seat beside him. Pierre felt reluctant to enter into conversation with this old man, but, submitting to him involuntarily, came up and sat down beside him.
'You are unhappy, my dear sir,' the stranger continued. 'You are young and I am old. I should like to help you as far as lies in my power.'
'Oh, yes!' said Pierre, with a forced smile. 'I am very grateful to you. Where are you traveling from?'
The stranger's face was not genial, it was even cold and severe, but in spite of this, both the face and words of his new acquaintance were irresistibly attractive to Pierre.
'But if for reason you don't feel inclined to talk to me,' said the old man, 'say so, my dear sir.' And he suddenly smiled, in an unexpected and tenderly paternal way.
'Oh no, not at all! On the contrary, I am very glad to make your acquaintance,' said Pierre. And again, glancing at the stranger's hands, he looked more closely at the ring, with its skull--a Masonic sign.
'Allow me to ask,' he said, 'are you a Mason?'
'Yes, I belong to the Brotherhood of the Freemasons,' said the stranger, looking deeper and deeper into Pierre's eyes. 'And in their name and my own I hold out a brotherly hand to you.'
'I am afraid,' said Pierre, smiling, and wavering between the confidence the personality of the Freemason inspired in him and his own habit of ridiculing the Masonic beliefs--'I am afraid I am very far from understanding-- how am I to put it?--I am afraid my way of looking at the world is so opposed to yours that we shall not understand one another.'
'I know your outlook,' said the Mason, 'and the view of life you mention, and which you think is the result of your own mental efforts, is the one held by the majority of people, and is the invariable fruit of pride, indolence, and ignorance. Forgive me, my dear sir, but if I had not known it I should not have addressed you. Your view of life is a regrettable delusion.'
'Just as I may suppose you to be deluded,' said Pierre, with a faint smile.
'I should never dare to say that I know the truth,' said the Mason, whose words struck Pierre more and more by their precision and firmness. 'No one can attain to truth by himself. Only by laying stone on stone with the cooperation of all, by the millions of generations from our forefather Adam to our own times, is that temple reared which is to be a worthy dwelling place of the Great God,' he added, and closed his eyes.
'I ought to tell you that I do not believe... do not believe in God,' said Pierre, regretfully and with an effort, feeling it essential to speak the whole truth.
The Mason looked intently at Pierre and smiled as a rich man with millions in hand might smile at a poor fellow who told him that he, poor man, had not the five rubles that would make him happy.
'Yes, you do not know Him, my dear sir,' said the Mason. 'You cannot know Him. You do not know Him and that is why you are unhappy.'
'Yes, yes, I am unhappy,' assented Pierre. 'But what am I to do?'
'You know Him not, my dear sir, and so you are very unhappy. You do not know Him, but He is here, He is in me, He is in my words, He is in thee, and even in those blasphemous words thou hast just uttered!' pronounced the Mason in a stern and tremulous voice.
He paused and sighed, evidently trying to calm himself.
'If He were not,' he said quietly, 'you and I would not be speaking of Him, my dear sir. Of what, of whom, are we speaking? Whom hast thou denied?' he suddenly asked with exulting austerity and authority in his voice. 'Who invented Him, if He did not exist? Whence came thy conception of the existence of such an incomprehensible Being? didst thou, and why did the whole world, conceive the idea of the existence of such an incomprehensible Being, a Being all-powerful, eternal, and infinite in all His attributes?...'
He stopped and remained silent for a long time.
Pierre could not and did not wish to break this silence.
'He exists, but to understand Him is hard,' the Mason began again, looking not at Pierre but straight before him, and turning the leaves of his book with his old hands which from excitement he could not keep still. 'If it were a man whose existence thou didst doubt I could bring him to thee, could take him by the hand and show him to thee. But how can I, an insignificant mortal, show His omnipotence, His infinity, and all His mercy to one who is blind, or who shuts his eyes that he may not see or understand Him and may not see or understand his own vileness and sinfulness?' He paused again. 'Who art thou? Thou dreamest that thou art wise because thou couldst utter those blasphemous words,' he went on, with a somber and scornful smile. 'And thou art more foolish and unreasonable than a little child, who, playing with the parts of a skillfully made watch, dares to say that, as he does not understand its use, he does not believe in the master who made it. To know Him is hard.... For ages, from our
