On that first morning, when he had got up at first light, come out of the shed and seen the dark domes and crosses on the Novodevichy Convent, then the grass with its dusting of hoar-frost, then the slopes of the Sparrow hills and the wooded river-banks meandering away into the purple distance, when he had felt the chill touch of the morning air and heard the cawing of jackdaws flying across the fields away from Moscow, and then seen a sudden glint of light in the east followed by the sun’s rim rising majestically from behind a cloud, and the domes and crosses, the hoar-frost, the horizon and the river all merrily sparkling in the new light – Pierre had felt a new surge of strength and vitality, the like of which he had never known before.
And that feeling had never left him during the whole period of his incarceration; on the contrary, it had expanded within him as the hardships of his plight had gone on increasing.
This feeling that Pierre had of being ready for anything, of moral alertness, was reinforced by the high esteem in which he came to be held by his companions very soon after he entered the shed. His knowledge of foreign languages, the courtesy shown to him by the French, his readiness to give away anything he was asked for (as an officer he was given three roubles a week), the physical strength he showed by hammering nails into the hut wall, his gentle attitude towards them all, and his incredible ability to sit there for ages doing nothing but think, made him seem like a superior being enveloped in mystery. The very qualities that had proved inhibiting, if not actually destructive, in the society he had lived in before – his physical strength, disdain for luxury, absent-mindedness, open-heartedness – gave him virtually heroic status here among these men. And Pierre felt that this view of him imposed its own obligations.
CHAPTER 13
In the early hours of the 7th of October the exodus of the French army began. Kitchens and sheds were taken down, wagons were loaded, and off went the troops and the baggage-trains.
At seven in the morning a convoy of French soldiers stood in marching order outside the sheds wearing their shakos and waiting with knapsacks, muskets and huge sacks, and the whole line was abuzz with the chatter of Frenchmen, which included a lot of colourful language.
In the shed they stood ready, dressed, belted and shod, waiting for the word to move. The sick man, Sokolov, looking pale and thin, with blue rings round his eyes, sat in his place all on his own, the only one not wearing boots or outdoor clothing. His eyes protruded from an emaciated face as he stared round quizzically at his mates, who were all ignoring him, and he moaned quietly at regular intervals. Clearly, it wasn’t so much the pain of his dysentery as the fear and worry of being left behind that was making him moan.
Pierre was wearing a piece of string round his waist and a pair of light shoes that Karatayev had cobbled up from the covering of a tea-chest that a Frenchman had brought in to have his boots soled with. He went over to the sick man and squatted down beside him.
‘Come on, Sokolov, they’re not all going at the same time, you know. They’ve got a hospital here. As like as not you’ll be better off than the rest of us,’ said Pierre.
‘Oh God! I’m a dead man! Oh God!’ The soldier redoubled his moaning.
‘Hang on, I’ll ask them again. Give me a minute,’ said Pierre. He got to his feet and went over to the shed door. While he was making his way across, the corporal who had offered Pierre a pipe the day before came up outside with two soldiers. All three, corporal and privates, were in marching order, with shakos and knapsacks in place and chinstraps buttoned, which altered their familiar faces.
The corporal was on his way to lock the door in accordance with orders received. The prisoners had to be counted before they could be let out.
‘Corporal, what’s going to happen to the sick man?’ Pierre launched forth, but at the moment of doing so he began to have doubts. Was this the same corporal that he knew so well or another person? He looked totally different at that moment. To make matters worse, Pierre found himself speaking against a sudden drum-roll that rattled out on two sides. The corporal scowled at Pierre’s words, uttered a few meaningless oaths and slammed the door. Left in semi-darkness inside the shed, they could hear the crisp drum-roll coming from two sides and drowning out the sick man’s moans.
