ather--that again is for
myself."

Prince Andrew grew more and more animated. His eyes glittered feverishly
while he tried to prove to Pierre that in his actions there was no
desire to do good to his neighbor.

"There now, you wish to liberate your serfs," he continued; "that is a
very good thing, but not for you--I don't suppose you ever had anyone
flogged or sent to Siberia--and still less for your serfs. If they are
beaten, flogged, or sent to Siberia, I don't suppose they are any the
worse off. In Siberia they lead the same animal life, and the stripes on
their bodies heal, and they are happy as before. But it is a good thing
for proprietors who perish morally, bring remorse upon themselves,
stifle this remorse and grow callous, as a result of being able to
inflict punishments justly and unjustly. It is those people I pity, and
for their sake I should like to liberate the serfs. You may not have
seen, but I have seen, how good men brought up in those traditions of
unlimited power, in time when they grow more irritable, become cruel and
harsh, are conscious of it, but cannot restrain themselves and grow more
and more miserable."

Prince Andrew spoke so earnestly that Pierre could not help thinking
that these thoughts had been suggested to Prince Andrew by his father's
case.

He did not reply.

"So that's what I'm sorry for--human dignity, peace of mind, purity, and
not the serfs' backs and foreheads, which, beat and shave as you may,
always remain the same backs and foreheads."

"No, no! A thousand times no! I shall never agree with you," said
Pierre.

CHAPTER XII

In the evening Andrew and Pierre got into the open carriage and drove to
Bald Hills. Prince Andrew, glancing at Pierre, broke the silence now and
then with remarks which showed that he was in a good temper.

Pointing to the fields, he spoke of the improvements he was making in
his husbandry.

Pierre remained gloomily silent, answering in monosyllables and
apparently immersed in his own thoughts.

He was thinking that Prince Andrew was unhappy, had gone astray, did not
see the true light, and that he, Pierre, ought to aid, enlighten, and
raise him. But as soon as he thought of what he should say, he felt that
Prince Andrew with one word, one argument, would upset all his teaching,
and he shrank from beginning, afraid of exposing to possible ridicule
what to him was precious and sacred.

"No, but why do you think so?" Pierre sudden