战争与和平(上)-第328章

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ur　old　parents　living？”　he　asked；　and　though　Pierre　could　not　see　him　in　the　dark；　he　felt　that　the　soldier’s　lips　were　puckered　in　a　restrained　smile　of　kindliness　while　he　asked　these　questions。　He　was　evidently　disappointed　that　Pierre　had　no　parents；　especially　that　he　had　not　a　mother。
“Wife　for　good　counsel；　mother…in…law　for　kind　welcome；　but　none　dear　as　your　own　mother！”　said　he。　“And　have　you　children？”　he　went　on　to　ask。　Pierre’s　negative　reply　seemed　to　disappoint　him　again；　and　he　added　himself：　“Oh　well；　you　are　young　folks；　please　God；　there　will　be。　Only　live　in　peace　and　concord。”
“But　it　makes　no　difference　now；”　Pierre　could　not　help　saying。
“Ah；　my　dear　man；”　rejoined　Platon；　“the　beggar’s　bag　and　the　prison　walls　none　can　be　sure　of　escaping。”　He　settled　himself　more　comfortably；　and　cleared　his　throat；　evidently　preparing　himself　for　a　long　story。　“So　it　was　like　this；　dear　friend；　when　I　used　to　be　living　at　home；”　he　began；　“we　have　a　rich　heritage；　a　great　deal　of　land；　the　peasants　were　well　off；　and　our　house—something　to　thank　God　for；　indeed。　Father　used　to　go　out　to　reap　with　six　of　us。　We　got　along　finely。　Something　like　peasants　we　were。　It　came　to　pass…”　and　Platon　Karataev　told　a　long　story　of　how　he　had　gone　into　another　man’s　copse　for　wood；　and　had　been　caught　by　the　keeper；　how　he　had　been　flogged；　tried；　and　sent　for　a　soldier。　“And　do　you　know；　darling；”　said　he；　his　voice　changing　from　the　smile　on　his　face；　“we　thought　it　was　a　misfortune；　while　it　was　all　for　our　happiness。　My　brother　would　have　had　to　go　if　it　hadn’t　been　for　my　fault。　And　my　younger　brother　had　five　little　ones；　while　I；　look　you；　I　left　no　one　behind　but　my　wife。　I　had　a　little　girl；　but　God　had　taken　her　before　I　went　for　a　soldier。　I　went　home　on　leave；　I　must　tell　you。　I　find　them　all　better　off　than　ever。　The　yard　full　of　beasts；　the　women　folk　at　home；　two　brothers　out　earning　wages。　Only　Mihailo；　the　youngest；　at　home。　Father　says　all　his　children　are　alike；　whichever　finger’s　pricked；　it　hurts　the　same。　And　if　they　hadn’t　shaved　Platon　for　a　soldier；　then　Mihailo　would　have　had　to　go。　He　called　us　all　together—would　you　believe　it—made　us　stand　before　the　holy　picture。　‘Mihailo；’　says　he；　‘come　here；　bend　down　to　his　feet；　and　you；　women；　bow　down；　and　you；　grandchildren。　Do　you　understand？’　says　he。　Yes；　so　you　see；　my　dear。　Fate　acts　with　reason。　And　we　are　always　passing　judgment；　that’s　not　right；　and　this　doesn’t　suit　us。　Our　happiness；　my　dear；　is　like　water　in　a　dragnet；　you　drag；　and　it　is　all　puffed　up；　but　pull　it　out　and　there’s　nothing。　Yes；　that’s　it。”　And　Platon　moved　to　a　fresh　seat　in　the　straw。
After　a　short　pause；　Platon　got　up。
“Well；　I　dare　say；　you　are　sleepy？”　he　said；　and　he　began　rapidly　crossing　himself；　murmuring：
“Lord　Jesus　Christ；　holy　Saint　Nikola；　Frola　and　Lavra；　Lord　Jesus　Christ；　holy　Saint　Nikola；　Frola　and　Lavra；　Lord　Jesus　Christ—have　mercy　and　save　us！”　he　concluded；　bowed　down　to　the　ground；　got　up；　sighed；　and　sat　down　on　his　straw。　“That’s　right。　Let　me　lie　down　like　a　stone；　O　God；　and　rise　up　like　new　bread！”　he　murmured；　and　lay　down；　pulling　his　military　coat　over　him。
“What　prayer　was　that　you　recited？”　asked　Pierre。
“Eh？”　said　Platon　（he　was　already　half　asleep）。　“Recited？　I　prayed　to　God。　Don’t　you　pray；　too？”
“Yes；　I　do；”　said　Pierre。　“But　what　was　it　you　said—Frola　and　Lavra？”
“Eh；　to　be　sure；”　Platon　answered　quickly。　“They’re　the　horses’　saints。　One　must　think　of　the　poor　beasts；　too；”　he　said。　“Why；　the　little　hussy；　she’s　curled　up。　You’re　warm；　child　of　a　bitch！”　he　said；　feeling　the　dog　at　his　feet；　and；　turning　over　again；　he　fell　asleep　at　once。
Outside　shouting　and　wailing　could　be　heard　somewhere　far　away；　and　through　the　cracks　in　the　walls　could　be　seen　the　glow　of　fire；　but　within　the　shed　all　was　dark　and　hushed。　For　a　long　while　Pierre　did　not　sleep；　and　lay　with　open　eyes　in　the　darkness；　listening　to　Platon　snoring　rhythmically　as　he　lay　beside　him；　and　he　felt　that　the　world　that　had　been　shattered　was　rising　up　now　in　his　soul；　in　new　beauty；　and　on　new　foundations　that　could　not　be　shaken。


Chapter　13
IN　THIS　SHED；　where　Pierre　spent　four　weeks；　there　were　twenty…three　soldiers；　three　officers；　and　two　civilian　functionaries；　all　prisoners。
They　were　all　misty　figures　to　Pierre　afterwards；　but　Platon　Karataev　remained　for　ever　in　his　mind　the　strongest　and　most　precious　memory；　and　the　personification　of　everything　Russian；　kindly；　and　round。　When　next　day　at　dawn　Pierre　saw　his　neighbour；　his　first　impression　of　something　round　was　fully　confirmed；　Platon’s　whole　figure　in　his　French　military　coat；　girt　round　the　waist　with　cord；　in　his　forage…cap　and　bast　shoes；　was　roundish；　his　head　was　perfectly　round；　his　back；　his　chest；　his　shoulders；　even　his　arms；　which　he　always　held　as　though　he　were　about　to　embrace　something；　were　round　in　their　lines；　his　friendly　smile　and　big；　soft；　brown　eyes；　too；　were　round。
Platon　Karataev　must　have　been　over　fifty　to　judge　by　his　stories　of　the　campaigns　in　which　he　had　taken　part。　He　did　not　himself　know　and　could　not　determine　how　old　he　was。　But　his　strong；　dazzlingly　white　teeth　showed　in　two　unbroken　semicircles　whenever　he　laughed；　as　he　often　did；　and　all　were　good　and　sound：　there　was　not　a　grey　hair　in　his　beard　or　on　his　head；　and　his　whole　frame　had　a　look　of　suppleness　and　of　unusual　hardiness　and　endurance。
His　face　had　an　expression　of　innocence　and　youth　in　spite　of　the　curving　wrinkles　on　it；　his　voice　had　a　pleasant　sing…song　note。　But　the　great　peculiarity　of　his　talk　was　its　spontaneity　and　readiness。　It　was　evident　that　he　never　thought　of　what　he　was　saying；　or　of　what　he　was　going　to　say；　and　that　gave　a　peculiar；　irresistible　persuasiveness　to　his　rapid　and　genuine　intonations。
His　physical　powers　and　activity　were　such；　during　the　first　period　of　his　imprisonment；　that　he　seemed　not　to　know　what　fatigue　or　sickness　meant。　Every　evening　as　he　lay　down　to　sleep；　he　said：　“Let　me　lie　down；　Lord；　like　a　stone；　let　me　rise　up　like　new　bread”；　and　every　morning　on　getting　up；　he　would　shake　his　shoulder　in　the　same　way；　saying：　“Lie　down　and　curl　up；　get　up　and　shake　yourself。”　And　he　had；　in　fact；　only　to　lie　down　in　order　to　sleep　at　once　like　a　stone；　and　he　had　but　to　shake　himself　to　be　ready　at　once；　on　waking；　without　a　second’s　delay；　to　set　to　work　of　some　sort；　just　as　children；　on　waking；　begin　at　once　playing　with　their　toys。　He　knew　how　to　do　everything；　not　particularly　well；　but　not　badly　either。　He　baked；　and　cooked；　and　sewed；　and　planed；　and　cobbled　boots。　He　was　always　busy；　and　only　in　the　evenings　allowed　himself　to　indulge　in　conversation；　which　he　loved；　and　singing。　He　sang　songs；　not　as　singers　do；　who　know　they　are　listened　to；　but　sang；　as　the　birds　sing；　obviously；　because　it　was　necessary　to　him　to　utter　those　sounds；　as　it　sometimes　is　to　stretch　or　to　walk　about；　and　those　sounds　were　always　thin；　tender；　almost　feminine；　melancholy　notes；　and　his　face　as　he　uttered　them　was　very　serious。
Being　in　prison；　and　having　let　his　beard　grow；　he　had　apparently　cast　off　all　the　soldier’s　ways　that　had　been　forced　upon　him　and　were　not　natural　to　him；　and　had　unconsciously　relapsed　into　his　old　peasant　habits。
“A　soldier　discharged　is　the　shirt　outside　the　breeches　again；”　he　used　to　say。　He　did　not　care　to　talk　of　his　life　as　a　soldier；　though　he　never　complained；　and　often　repeated　that　he　had　never　once　been　beaten　since　he　had　been　in　the　service。　When　he　told　stories；　it　was　always　by　preference　of　his　old　and　evidently　precious　memories　of　his　life　as　a　“Christian；”　as　he　pronounced　the　word　“krestyan；”　or　peasant。　The　proverbial　sayings；　of　which　his　talk　was　full；　were　not　the　bold；　and　mostly　indecent；　sayings　common　among　soldiers；　but　those　peasant　saws；　which　seem　of　so　little　meaning　looked　at　separately；　and　gain　all　at　once　a　significance　of　profound　wisdom　when　uttered　appropriately。
Often　he　would　say　something　directly　contrary　to　what　he　had　said　before；　but　both　sayings　were　equally　true。　He　liked　talking；　and　talked　well；　adorning　his　speech　wit