Book Eleven: 1812 - Chapter VIII

by Leo Tolstoy

　　Toward the end of the battle of Borodino, Pierre, having run downfrom Raevski's battery a second time, made his way through a gullyto Knyazkovo with a crowd of soldiers, reached the dressing station,and seeing blood and hearing cries and groans hurried on, stillentangled in the crowds of soldiers.

　　The one thing he now desired with his whole soul was to get awayquickly from the terrible sensations amid which he had lived thatday and return to ordinary conditions of life and sleep quietly in aroom in his own bed. He felt that only in the ordinary conditions oflife would he be able to understand himself and all he had seen andfelt. But such ordinary conditions of life were nowhere to be found.

　　Though shells and bullets did not whistle over the road alongwhich he was going, still on all sides there was what there had beenon the field of battle. There were still the same suffering,exhausted, and sometimes strangely indifferent faces, the sameblood, the same soldiers' overcoats, the same sounds of firingwhich, though distant now, still aroused terror, and besides thisthere were the foul air and the dust.

　　Having gone a couple of miles along the Mozhaysk road, Pierre satdown by the roadside.

　　Dusk had fallen, and the roar of guns died away. Pierre layleaning on his elbow for a long time, gazing at the shadows that movedpast him in the darkness. He was continually imagining that a cannonball was flying toward him with a terrific whizz, and then heshuddered and sat up. He had no idea how long he had been there. Inthe middle of the night three soldiers, having brought somefirewood, settled down near him and began lighting a fire.

　　The soldiers, who threw sidelong glances at Pierre, got the fireto burn and placed an iron pot on it into which they broke somedried bread and put a little dripping. The pleasant odor of greasyviands mingled with the smell of smoke. Pierre sat up and sighed.The three soldiers were eating and talking among themselves, taking nonotice of him.

　　"And who may you be?" one of them suddenly asked Pierre, evidentlymeaning what Pierre himself had in mind, namely: "If you want to eatwe'll give you some food, only let us know whether you are an honestman."

　　"I, I..." said Pierre, feeling it necessary to minimize his socialposition as much as possible so as to be nearer to the soldiers andbetter understood by them. "By rights I am a militia officer, but mymen are not here. I came to the battle and have lost them."

　　"There now!" said one of the soldiers.

　　Another shook his head.

　　"Would you like a little mash?" the first soldier asked, andhanded Pierre a wooden spoon after licking it clean.

　　Pierre sat down by the fire and began eating the mash, as theycalled the food in the cauldron, and he thought it more delicious thanany food he had ever tasted. As he sat bending greedily over it,helping himself to large spoonfuls and chewing one after another,his was lit up by the fire and the soldiers looked at him in silence.

　　"Where have you to go to? Tell us!" said one of them.

　　"To Mozhaysk."

　　"You're a gentleman, aren't you?"

　　"Yes."

　　"And what's your name?"

　　"Peter Kirilych."

　　"Well then, Peter Kirilych, come along with us, we'll take youthere."

　　In the total darkness the soldiers walked with Pierre to Mozhaysk.

　　By the time they got near Mozhaysk and began ascending the steephill into the town, the cocks were already crowing. Pierre went onwith the soldiers, quite forgetting that his inn was at the bottomof the hill and that he had already passed it. He would not soonhave remembered this, such was his state of forgetfulness, had henot halfway up the hill stumbled upon his groom, who had been tolook for him in the town and was returning to the inn. The groomrecognized Pierre in the darkness by his white hat.

　　"Your excellency!" he said. "Why, we were beginning to despair!How is it you are on foot? And where are you going, please?"

　　"Oh, yes!" said Pierre.

　　The soldiers stopped.

　　"So you've found your folk?" said one of them. "Well, good-by, PeterKirilych- isn't it?"

　　"Good-by, Peter Kirilych!" Pierre heard the other voices repeat.

　　"Good-by!" he said and turned with his groom toward the inn.

　　"I ought to give them something!" he thought, and felt in hispocket. "No, better not!" said another, inner voice.

　　There was not a room to be had at the inn, they were all occupied.Pierre went out into the yard and, covering himself up head and all,lay down in his carriage.