War and Peace - Leo Tolstoy [721]
“Yes, yes, that’s true,” said Pierre, smiling cheerfully. “Yes, yes, I don’t need any of it. My ruin has made me much richer.”
But in January Savelyich came from Moscow, told him about the situation in Moscow, about the estimate an architect had given him for restoring the houses in and near Moscow, speaking of it as a decided thing. At the same time, Pierre received letters from Prince Vassily and other Petersburg acquaintances. The letters spoke of his wife’s debts. And Pierre decided that his steward’s plan, which he had liked so much, was wrong, and that he had to go to Petersburg to settle his wife’s affairs and had to rebuild in Moscow. Why it had to be so, he did not know; but he knew unquestionably that it had to be. As a result of this decision, his income would be diminished by three quarters. But it had to be so; he felt it.
Willarski was going to Moscow, and they arranged to go together.
All through his convalescence in Orel, Pierre had experienced a feeling of joy, freedom, life; but when, during his journey, he found himself in the open world and saw hundreds of new faces, that feeling increased still more. All through the journey, he experienced the joy of a schoolboy on vacation. All persons—the coachman, the stationmaster, the muzhiks on the road or in the villages—everything had a new significance for him. The presence and observations of Willarski, who constantly complained about the poverty, the backwardness compared to Europe, the ignorance of Russia, only enhanced Pierre’s joy. Where Willarski saw deadness, Pierre saw the extraordinary, mighty force of vitality, that force which, in the snow, over this vast expanse, maintained the life of this whole, special, and united people. He did not contradict Willarski and, as if agreeing with him (since pretending to agree was the shortest means of avoiding an argument that could not lead anywhere), listened to him with a joyful smile.
XIV
Just as it is hard to explain why and where ants hurry to from a demolished anthill, some away from the anthill carrying specks of dust, eggs, and dead bodies, and others back to the anthill—why they run into each other, chase each other, fight—so it would be hard to explain the reasons that made the Russian people, after the departure of the French, crowd into the place which was formerly called Moscow. But just as, when looking at the ants scattered around the destroyed anthill, despite its complete obliteration, one can see by the tenacity, the energy, the countless numbers of the swarming insects, that everything has been destroyed, except for something indestructible, immaterial, which made for the whole strength of the anthill—so Moscow, in the month of October, despite the fact that there were no authorities, no churches, no holy objects, no wealth, no houses, was the same Moscow it had been in August. Everything was destroyed, except for something immaterial but mighty and indestructible.
The promptings of the people who rushed to Moscow from all sides after it was cleared of the foe were the most varied, personal, and, in the initial period, for the most part, wild, animal promptings. Only one prompting was common to them all—to rush to the place that was formerly called Moscow, so as to apply their activity there.
In a week there were already fifteen thousand inhabitants in Moscow, in two—twenty-five thousand, and so on. Rising ever higher and higher, this number, by the fall of 1813, had reached a figure exceeding the population of the year 1812.
The first Russian people who entered Moscow were the Cossacks of Wintzingerode’s detachment, the muzhiks of the neighboring villages, and inhabitants who had fled and had been hiding in the vicinity. On entering devastated Moscow and finding it looted, the Russians also started looting. They went on with what the French had been doing. The muzhiks came to Moscow with