Book Twelve: 1812 - Chapter XIII

by Leo Tolstoy

　　Twenty-three soldiers, three officers, and two officials wereconfined in the shed in which Pierre had been placed and where heremained for four weeks.

　　When Pierre remembered them afterwards they all seemed misty figuresto him except Platon Karataev, who always remained in his mind amost vivid and precious memory and the personification of everythingRussian, kindly, and round. When Pierre saw his neighbor nextmorning at dawn the first impression of him, as of something round,was fully confirmed: Platon's whole figure- in a French overcoatgirdled with a cord, a soldier's cap, and bast shoes- was round. Hishead was quite round, his back, chest, shoulders, and even his arms,which he held as if ever ready to embrace something, were rounded, hispleasant smile and his large, gentle brown eyes were also round.

　　Platon Karataev must have been fifty, judging by his stories ofcampaigns he had been in, told as by an old soldier. He did nothimself know his age and was quite unable to determine it. But hisbrilliantly white, strong teeth which showed in two unbrokensemicircles when he laughed- as he often did- were all sound and good,there was not a gray hair in his beard or on his head, and his wholebody gave an impression of suppleness and especially of firmness andendurance.

　　His face, despite its fine, rounded wrinkles, had an expression ofinnocence and youth, his voice was pleasant and musical. But the chiefpeculiarity of his speech was its directness and appositeness. Itwas evident that he never considered what he had said or was goingto say, and consequently the rapidity and justice of his intonationhad an irresistible persuasiveness.

　　His physical strength and agility during the first days of hisimprisonment were such that he seemed not to know what fatigue andsickness meant. Every night before lying down, he said: "Lord, layme down as a stone and raise me up as a loaf!" and every morning ongetting up, he said: "I lay down and curled up, I get up and shakemyself." And indeed he only had to lie down, to fall asleep like astone, and he only had to shake himself, to be ready without amoment's delay for some work, just as children are ready to playdirectly they awake. He could do everything, not very well but notbadly. He baked, cooked, sewed, planed, and mended boots. He wasalways busy, and only at night allowed himself conversation- ofwhich he was fond- and songs. He did not sing like a trained singerwho knows he is listened to, but like the birds, evidently giving ventto the sounds in the same way that one stretches oneself or walksabout to get rid of stiffness, and the sounds were alwayshigh-pitched, mournful, delicate, and almost feminine, and his face atsuch times was very serious.

　　Having been taken prisoner and allowed his beard to grow, heseemed to have thrown off all that had been forced upon him-everything military and alien to himself- and had returned to hisformer peasant habits.

　　"A soldier on leave- a shirt outside breeches," he would say.

　　He did not like talking about his life as a soldier, though he didnot complain, and often mentioned that he had not been flogged onceduring the whole of his army service. When he related anything itwas generally some old and evidently precious memory of his"Christian" life, as he called his peasant existence. The proverbs, ofwhich his talk was full, were for the most part not the coarse andindecent saws soldiers employ, but those folk sayings which takenwithout a context seem so insignificant, but when used appositelysuddenly acquire a significance of profound wisdom.

　　He would often say the exact opposite of what he had said on aprevious occasion, yet both would be right. He liked to talk and hetalked well, adorning his speech with terms of endearment and withfolk sayings which Pierre thought he invented himself, but the chiefcharm of his talk lay in the fact that the commonest events- sometimesjust such as Pierre had witnessed without taking notice of them-assumed in Karataev's a character of solemn fitness. He liked tohear the folk tales one of the soldiers used to tell of an evening(they were always the same), but most of all he liked to hearstories of real life. He would smile joyfully when listening to suchstories, now and then putting in a word or asking a question to makethe moral beauty of what he was told clear to himself. Karataev had noattachments, friendships, or love, as Pierre understood them, butloved and lived affectionately with everything life brought him incontact with, particularly with man- not any particular man, but thosewith whom he happened to be. He loved his dog, his comrades, theFrench, and Pierre who was his neighbor, but Pierre felt that in spiteof Karataev's affectionate tenderness for him (by which heunconsciously gave Pierre's spiritual life its due) he would nothave grieved for a moment at parting from him. And Pierre began tofeel in the same way toward Karataev.

　　To all the other prisoners Platon Karataev seemed a most ordinarysoldier. They called him "little falcon" or "Platosha," chaffed himgood-naturedly, and sent him on errands. But to Pierre he alwaysremained what he had seemed that first night: an unfathomable,rounded, eternal personification of the spirit of simplicity andtruth.

　　Platon Karataev knew nothing by heart except his prayers. When hebegan to speak he seemed not to know how he would conclude.

　　Sometimes Pierre, struck by the meaning of his words, would askhim to repeat them, but Platon could never recall what he had said amoment before, just as he never could repeat to Pierre the words ofhis favorite song: native and birch tree and my heart is sick occurredin it, but when spoken and not sung, no meaning could be got out ofit. He did not, and could not, understand the meaning of words apartfrom their context. Every word and action of his was the manifestationof an activity unknown to him, which was his life. But his life, as heregarded it, had no meaning as a separate thing. It had meaning onlyas part of a whole of which he was always conscious. His words andactions flowed from him as evenly, inevitably, and spontaneously asfragrance exhales from a flower. He could not understand the valueor significance of any word or deed taken separately.