战争与和平(上)-第327章

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“That　will　teach　them　to　set　fire　to　the　places；”　said　some　one　among　the　French。　Pierre　looked　round　at　the　speaker；　and　saw　that　it　was　a　soldier　who　was　trying　to　console　himself　somehow　for　what　had　been　done；　but　could　not。　Without　finishing　his　sentence；　he　waved　his　hand　and　went　on。


Chapter　12
AFTER　THE　EXECUTION　Pierre　was　separated　from　the　other　prisoners　and　left　alone　in　a　small；　despoiled；　and　filthy　church。
Towards　evening　a　patrol　sergeant；　with　two　soldiers；　came　into　the　church　and　informed　Pierre　that　he　was　pardoned；　and　was　now　going　to　the　barracks　of　the　prisoners　of　war。　Without　understanding　a　word　of　what　was　said　to　him；　Pierre　got　up　and　went　with　the　soldiers。　He　was　conducted　to　some　sheds　that　had　been　rigged　up　in　the　upper　part　of　the　meadow　out　of　charred　boards；　beams；　and　battens；　and　was　taken　into　one　of　them。　Some　twenty　persons　of　various　kinds　thronged　round　Pierre。　He　stared　at　them；　with　no　idea　of　what　these　men　were；　why　they　were　here；　and　what　they　wanted　of　him。　He　heard　the　words　they　said　to　him；　but　his　mind　made　no　kind　of　deduction　or　interpretation　of　them；　he　had　no　idea　of　their　meaning。　He　made　some　answer；　too；　to　the　questions　asked　him；　but　without　any　notion　who　was　hearing　him；　or　how　they　would　understand　his　replies。　He　gazed　at　faces　and　figures；　and　all　seemed　to　him　equally　meaningless。
From　the　moment　when　Pierre　saw　that　fearful　murder　committed　by　men　who　did　not　want　to　do　it；　it　seemed　as　though　the　spring　in　his　soul；　by　which　everything　was　held　together　and　given　the　semblance　of　life；　had　been　wrenched　out；　and　all　seemed　to　have　collapsed　into　a　heap　of　meaningless　refuse。　Though　he　had　no　clear　apprehension　of　it；　it　had　annihilated　in　his　soul　all　faith　in　the　beneficent　ordering　of　the　universe；　and　in　the　soul　of　men；　and　in　his　own　soul；　and　in　God。　This　state　of　mind　Pierre　had　experienced　before；　but　never　with　such　intensity　as　now。　When　such　doubts　had　come　upon　him　in　the　past　they　had　arisen　from　his　own　fault。　And　at　the　very　bottom　of　his　heart　Pierre　had　been　aware　then　that　salvation　from　that　despair　and　from　these　doubts　lay　in　his　own　hands。　But　now　he　felt　that　it　was　not　his　fault　that　the　world　was　collapsing　before　his　eyes；　and　that　nothing　was　left　but　meaningless　ruins。　He　felt　that　to　get　back　to　faith　in　life　was　not　in　his　power。
Around　him　in　the　darkness　stood　men。　Probably　they　found　something　very　entertaining　in　him。　They　were　telling　him　something；　asking　him　something；　then　leading　him　somewhere；　and　at　last　he　found　himself　in　a　corner　of　the　shed　beside　men　of　some　sort；　who　were　talking　on　all　sides；　and　laughing。
“And　so；　mates…that　same　prince　who”　（with　a　special　emphasis　on　the　last　word）…some　voice　was　saying　in　the　opposite　corner　of　the　shed。
Sitting　in　the　straw　against　the　wall；　mute　and　motionless；　Pierre　opened；　and　then　closed；　his　eyes。　As　soon　as　he　shut　his　eyes　he　saw　the　fearful　face　of　the　factory　lad；　fearful　especially　from　its　simplicity；　and　the　faces　of　the　involuntary　murderers；　still　more　fearful　in　their　uneasiness。　And　he　opened　his　eyes　again　and　stared　blankly　about　him　in　the　darkness。
Close　by　him　a　little　man　was　sitting　bent　up；　of　whose　presence　Pierre　was　first　aware　from　the　strong　smell　of　sweat　that　rose　at　every　movement　he　made。　This　man　was　doing　something　with　his　feet　in　the　darkness；　and　although　Pierre　did　not　see　his　face；　he　was　aware　that　he　was　continually　glancing　at　him。　Peering　intently　at　him　in　the　dark；　Pierre　made　out　that　the　man　was　undoing　his　foot…gear。　And　the　way　he　was　doing　it　began　to　interest　Pierre。
Undoing　the　strings　in　which　one　foot　was　tied　up；　he　wound　them　neatly　off；　and　at　once　set　to　work　on　the　other　leg；　glancing　at　Pierre。　While　one　hand　hung　up　the　first　leg…binder；　the　other　was　already　beginning　to　untie　the　other　leg。　In　this　way；　deftly；　with　rounded；　effective　movements　following　one　another　without　delay；　the　man　unrolled　his　leg…wrappers　and　hung　them　up　on　pegs　driven　in　over…head；　took　out　a　knife；　cut　off　something；　shut　the　knife　up；　put　it　under　his　bolster　and　settling　himself　more　at　his　ease；　clasped　his　arms　round　his　knees；　and　stared　straight　at　Pierre。　Pierre　was　conscious　of　something　pleasant；　soothing；　and　rounded　off　in　those　deft　movements；　in　his　comfortable　establishment　of　his　belongings　in　the　corner；　and　even　in　the　very　smell　of　the　man；　and　he　did　not　take　his　eyes　off　him。
“And　have　you　seen　a　lot　of　trouble；　sir？　Eh？”　said　the　little　man　suddenly。　And　there　was　a　tone　of　such　friendliness　and　simplicity　in　the　sing…song　voice　that　Pierre　wanted　to　answer；　but　his　jaw　quivered；　and　he　felt　the　tears　rising。　At　the　same　second；　leaving　no　time　for　Pierre’s　embarrassment　to　appear；　the　little　man　said；　in　the　same　pleasant　voice：
“Ay；　darling；　don’t　grieve；”　he　said；　in　that　tender；　caressing　sing…song　in　which　old　Russian　peasant　women　talk。　“Don’t　grieve；　dearie；　trouble　lasts　an　hour；　but　life　lasts　for　ever！　Ay；　ay；　my　dear。　And　we　get　on　here　finely；　thank　God；　nothing　to　vex　us。　They’re　men；　too；　and　bad　and　good　among　them；”　he　said；　and；　while　still　speaking；　got　with　a　supple　movement　on　his　knees　to　his　feet；　and　clearing　his　throat　walked　away。
“Hey；　the　hussy；　here　she　is！”　Pierre　heard　at　the　end　of　the　shed　the　same　caressing　voice。　“Here　she　is；　the　hussy；　she　remembers　me！　There；　there；　lie　down！”　And　the　soldier；　pushing　down　a　dog　that　was　jumping　up　on　him；　came　back　to　his　place　and　sat　down。　In　his　hands　he　had　something　wrapped　up　in　a　cloth。
“Here；　you　taste　this；　sir；”　he　said；　returning　to　the　respectful　tone　he　had　used　at　first；　and　untying　and　handing　to　Pierre　several　baked　potatoes。　“At　dinner　we　had　soup。　But　the　potatoes　are　first…rate！”
Pierre　had　eaten　nothing　the　whole　day；　and　the　smell　of　the　potatoes　struck　him　as　extraordinarily　pleasant。　He　thanked　the　soldier　and　began　eating。
“But　why　so；　eh？”　said　the　soldier　smiling；　and　he　took　one　of　the　potatoes。　“You　try　them　like　this。”　He　took　out　his　clasp…knife　again；　cut　the　potato　in　his　hand　into　two　even　halves；　and　sprinkled　them　with　salt　from　the　cloth；　and　offered　them　to　Pierre。
“The　potatoes　are　first…rate；”　he　repeated。　“You　taste　them　like　that。”
It　seemed　to　Pierre　that　he　had　never　eaten　anything　so　good。
“No；　I　am　all　right；”　said　Pierre；　“but　why　did　they　shoot　those　poor　fellows？…The　last　was　a　lad　of　twenty。”
“Tss…tss…”　said　the　little　man。　“Sin；　indeed；…sin…”　he　added　quickly；　just　as　though　the　words　were　already　in　his　mouth　and　flew　out　of　it　by　accident；　he　went　on：　“How　was　it；　sir；　you　came　to　stay　in　Moscow　like　this？”
“I　didn’t　think　they　would　come　so　soon。　I　stayed　by　accident；”　said　Pierre。
“But　how　did　they　take　you；　darling；　from　your　home？”
“No；　I　went　out　to　see　the　fire；　and　then　they　took　me　up　and　brought　me　to　judgment　as　an　incendiary。”
“Where　there’s　judgment；　there　there’s　falsehood；”　put　in　the　little　man。
“And　have　you　been　here　long？”　asked　Pierre；　as　he　munched　the　last　potato。
“I？　On　Sunday　they　took　me　out　of　the　hospital　in　Moscow。”
“Who　are　you；　a　soldier？”
“We　are　soldiers　of　the　Apsheron　regiment。　I　was　dying　of　fever。　We　were　never　told　anything。　There　were　twenty　of　us　lying　sick。　And　we　had　never　a　thought；　never　a　guess　of　how　it　was。”
“Well；　and　are　you　miserable　here？”　asked　Pierre。
“Miserable；　to　be　sure；　darling。　My　name’s　Platon；　surname　Karataev；”　he　added；　evidently　to　make　it　easier　for　Pierre　to　address　him。　“In　the　regiment　they　called　me　‘the　little　hawk。’　How　can　one　help　being　sad；　my　dear？　Moscow—she’s　the　mother　of　cities。　One　must　be　sad　to　see　it。　Yes；　the　maggot　gnaws　the　cabbage；　but　it　dies　before　it’s　done；　so　the　old　folks　used　to　say；”　he　added　quickly。
“What；　what　was　that　you　said？”　asked　Pierre。
“I？”　said　Karataev。　“I　say　it’s　not　by　our　wit；　but　as　God　thinks　fit；”　said　he；　supposing　that　he　was　repeating　what　he　had　said。　And　at　once　he　went　on：　“Tell　me；　sir；　and　have　you　an　estate　from　your　fathers？　And　a　house　of　your　own？　To　be　sure；　your　cup　was　overflowing！　And　a　wife；　too？　And　are　your　old　parents　living？”　he　asked；　and