Book Eleven: 1812 - Chapter IX

by Leo Tolstoy

　　Scarcely had Pierre laid his head on the pillow before he felthimself falling asleep, but suddenly, almost with the distinctnessof reality, he heard the boom, boom, boom of firing, the thud ofprojectiles, groans and cries, and smelled blood and powder, and afeeling of horror and dread of death seized him. Filled with fright heopened his eyes and lifted his head from under his cloak. All wastranquil in the yard. Only someone's orderly passed through thegateway, splashing through the mud, and talked to the innkeeper. AbovePierre's head some pigeons, disturbed by the movement he had made insitting up, fluttered under the dark roof of the penthouse. Thewhole courtyard was permeated by a strong peaceful smell of stableyards, delightful to Pierre at that moment. He could see the clearstarry sky between the dark roofs of two penthouses.

　　"Thank God, there is no more of that!" he thought, covering up hishead again. "Oh, what a terrible thing is fear, and how shamefully Iyielded to it! But they... they were steady and calm all the time,to the end..." thought he.

　　They, in Pierre's mind, were the soldiers, those who had been at thebattery, those who had given him food, and those who had prayed beforethe icon. They, those strange men he had not previously known, stoodout clearly and sharply from everyone else.

　　"To be a soldier, just a soldier!" thought Pierre as he fell asleep,"to enter communal life completely, to be imbued by what makes themwhat they are. But how cast off all the superfluous, devilish burdenof my outer man? There was a time when I could have done it. I couldhave run away from my father, as I wanted to. Or I might have beensent to serve as a soldier after the duel with Dolokhov." And thememory of the dinner at the English Club when he had challengedDolokhov flashed through Pierre's mind, and then he remembered hisbenefactor at Torzhok. And now a picture of a solemn meeting of thelodge presented itself to his mind. It was taking place at the EnglishClub and someone near and dear to him sat at the end of the table."Yes, that is he! It is my benefactor. But he died!" thought Pierre."Yes, he died, and I did not know he was alive. How sorry I am that hedied, and how glad I am that he is alive again!" On one side of thetable sat Anatole, Dolokhov, Nesvitski, Denisov, and others likethem (in his dream the category to which these men belonged was asclearly defined in his mind as the category of those he termedthey), and he heard those people, Anatole and Dolokhov, shouting andsinging loudly; yet through their shouting the voice of his benefactorwas heard speaking all the time and the sound of his words was asweighty and uninterrupted as the booming on the battlefield, butpleasant and comforting. Pierre did not understand what his benefactorwas saying, but he knew (the categories of thoughts were also quitedistinct in his dream) that he was talking of goodness and thepossibility of being what they were. And they with their simple, kind,firm faces surrounded his benefactor on all sides. But though theywere kindly they did not look at Pierre and did not know him.Wishing to speak and to attract their attention, he got up, but atthat moment his legs grew cold and bare.He felt ashamed, and with one arm covered his legs from which hiscloak had in fact slipped. For a moment as he was rearranging hiscloak Pierre opened his eyes and saw the same penthouse roofs,posts, and yard, but now they were all bluish, lit up, andglittering with frost or dew.

　　"It is dawn," thought Pierre. "But that's not what I want. I want tohear and understand my benefactor's words." Again he covered himselfup with his cloak, but now neither the lodge nor his benefactor wasthere. There were only thoughts clearly expressed in words, thoughtsthat someone was uttering or that he himself was formulating.

　　Afterwards when he recalled those thoughts Pierre was convinced thatsomeone outside himself had spoken them, though the impressions ofthat day had evoked them. He had never, it seemed to him, been able tothink and express his thoughts like that when awake.

　　"To endure war is the most difficult subordination of man'sfreedom to the law of God," the voice had said. "Simplicity issubmission to the will of God; you cannot escape from Him. And theyare simple. They do not talk, but act. The spoken word is silver butthe unspoken is golden. Man can be master of nothing while he fearsdeath, but he who does not fear it possesses all. If there were nosuffering, man would not know his limitations, would not know himself.The hardest thing [Pierre went on thinking, or hearing, in hisdream] is to be able in your soul to unite the meaning of all. Tounite all?" he asked himself. "No, not to unite. Thoughts cannot beunited, but to harness all these thoughts together is what we need!Yes, one must harness them, must harness them!" he repeated to himselfwith inward rapture, feeling that these words and they alone expressedwhat he wanted to say and solved the question that tormented him.

　　"Yes, one must harness, it is time to harness."

　　"Time to harness, time to harness, your excellency! Yourexcellency!" some voice was repeating. "We must harness, it is time toharness...."

　　It was the voice of the groom, trying to wake him. The sun shonestraight into Pierre's face. He glanced at the dirty innyard in themiddle of which soldiers were watering their lean horses at the pumpwhile carts were passing out of the gate. Pierre turned away withrepugnance, and closing his eyes quickly fell back on the carriageseat. "No, I don't want that, I don't want to see and understand that.I want to understand what was revealing itself to me in my dream.One second more and I should have understood it all! But what am Ito do? Harness, but how can I harness everything?" and Pierre feltwith horror that the meaning of all he had seen and thought in thedream had been destroyed.

　　The groom, the coachman, and the innkeeper told Pierre that anofficer had come with news that the French were already nearMozhaysk and that our men were leaving it.

　　Pierre got up and, having told them to harness and overtake him,went on foot through the town.

　　The troops were moving on, leaving about ten thousand wounded behindthem. There were wounded in the yards, at the windows of the houses,and the streets were crowded with them. In the streets, around cartsthat were to take some of the wounded away, shouts, curses, andblows could be heard. Pierre offered the use of his carriage, whichhad overtaken him, to a wounded general he knew, and drove with him toMoscow. On the way Pierre was told of the death of hisbrother-in-law Anatole and of that of Prince Andrew.