thout any thought of his own； he had gained that peace and that harmony with himself simply through the horror of death； through hardships； through what he had seen in Karataev。 Those fearful moments that he had lived through during the execution had； as it were； washed for ever from his imagination and his memory the disturbing ideas and feelings that had once seemed to him so important。 No thought came to him of Russia； of the war； of politics； or of Napoleon。 It seemed obvious to him that all that did not concern him； that he was not called upon and so was not able to judge of all that。 “Russia and summer never do well together；” he repeated Karataev’s words； and those words soothed him strangely。 His project of killing Napoleon； and his calculations of the cabalistic numbers； and of the beast of the Apocalypse struck him now as incomprehensible and positively ludicrous。 His anger with his wife； and his dread of his name being disgraced by her； seemed to him trivial and amusing。 What business of his was it； if that woman chose to lead somewhere away from him the life that suited her tastes？ What did it matter to any one—least of all to him—whether they found out or not that their prisoner’s name was Count Bezuhov？
He often thought now of his conversation with Prince Andrey； and agreed fully with his friend； though he put a somewhat different construction on his meaning。 Prince Andrey had said and thought that happiness is only negative； but he had said this with a shade of bitterness and irony。 It was as though in saying this he had expressed another thought—that all the strivings towards positive happiness； that are innate in us； were only given us for our torment。 But Pierre recognised the truth of the main idea with no such undercurrent of feeling。 The absence of suffering； the satisfaction of needs； and following upon that； freedom in the choice of occupation； that is； of one’s manner of life； seemed to Pierre the highest and most certain happiness of man。 Only here and now for the first time in his life Pierre fully appreciated the enjoyment of eating when he was hungry； of drinking when he was thirsty； of sleep when he was sleepy； of warmth when he was cold； of talking to a fellow creature when he wanted to talk and to hear men’s voices。 The satisfaction of his needs—good food； cleanliness； freedom—seemed to Pierre now that he was deprived of them to be perfect happiness； and the choice of his occupation； that is； of his manner of life now that that choice was so limited； seemed to him such an easy matter that he forgot that a superfluity of the conveniences of life destroys all happiness in satisfying the physical needs； while a great freedom in the choice of occupation； that freedom which education； wealth； and position in society had given him； makes the choice of occupations exceedingly difficult； and destroys the very desire and possibility of occupation。
All Pierre’s dreams now turned to the time when he would be free。 And yet； in all his later life； Pierre thought and spoke with enthusiasm of that month of imprisonment； of those intense and joyful sensations that could never be recalled； and above all of that full； spiritual peace； of that perfect； inward freedom； of which he had only experience at that period。
On the first day； when； getting up early in the morning； he came out of the shed into the dawn； and saw the cupolas and the crosses of the New Monastery of the Virgin； all still in darkness； saw the hoar frost on the long grass； saw the slopes of the Sparrow Hills and the wood…clad banks of the encircling river vanishing into the purple distance； when he felt the contact of the fresh air and heard the sounds of the rooks crying out of Moscow across the fields； and when flashes of light suddenly gleamed out of the east and the sun’s rim floated triumphantly up from behind a cloud； and cupolas and crosses and hoar frost and the horizon and the river were all sparkling in the glad light； Pierre felt a new feeling of joy and vigour in life such as he had never experienced before。
And that feeling had not left him during the whole period of his imprisonment； but on the contrary had gone on growing in him as the hardships of his position increased。
That feeling—of being ready for anything； of moral alertness—was strengthened in Pierre by the high opinion in which he began to be held by his companions very soon after he entered the shed。 His knowledge of languages； the respect shown him by the French； the good…nature with which he gave away anything he was asked for （he received the allowance of three roubles a week； given to officers among the prisoners）； the strength he showed in driving nails into the wall； the gentleness of his behaviour to his companions； and his capacity—which seemed to him mysterious—of sitting stockstill doing nothing and plunged in thought； all made him seem to the soldiers a rather mysterious creature of a higher order。 The very peculiarities that in the society he had previously lived in had been a source of embarrassment； if not of annoyance—his strength； his disdain for the comforts of life； his absent…mindedness； his good…nature—here among these men gave him the prestige almost of a hero。 And Pierre felt that their view of him brought its duties。
Chapter 13
ON THE NIGHT of the 6th of October； the march of the retreating French army began： kitchens and shanties were broken up； waggons were packed； and troops and trains of baggage began moving。
At seven o’clock in the morning an escort of French soldiers in marching order； in shakoes； with guns； knapsacks； and huge sacks； stood before the sheds and a running fire of eager French talk； interspersed with oaths； was kept up all along the line。
In the shed they were ready； dressed and belted and shod； only waiting for the word of command to come out。 The sick soldier； Sokolov； pale and thin； with blue rings round his eyes； sat alone in his place； without boots or out…of…door clothes on。 His eyes； that looked prominent from the thinness of his face； gazed inquiringly at his companions； who took no notice of him； and he uttered low groans at regular intervals。 It was evidently not so much his sufferings—he was ill with dysentery—as the dread and grief of being left alone that made him groan。
Pierre was shod with a pair of slippers that Karataev had made for him out of the leather cover of a tea…chest； brought him by a Frenchman for soling his boots。 With a cord tied round for a belt； he went up to the sick man； and squatted on his heels beside him。
“Come； Sokolov； they are not going away altogether； you know。 They have a hospital here。 Very likely you will be better off than we others；” said Pierre。
“O Lord！ it will be the death of me！ O Lord！” the soldier groaned more loudly。
“Well； I will ask them again in a minute；” said Pierre； and getting up； he went to the door of the shed。 While Pierre was going to the door； the same corporal； who had on the previous day offered Pierre a pipe； came in from outside； accompanied by two soldiers。 Both the corporal and the soldiers were in marching order； with knapsacks on and shakoes； with straps buttoned； that changed their familiar faces。
The corporal had come to the door so as to shut it in accordance with the orders given him。 Before getting them out； he had to count over the prisoners。
“Corporal； what is to be done with the sick man？” Pierre was beginning； but at the very moment that he spoke the words he doubted whether it were the corporal he knew or some stranger—the corporal was so unlike himself at that moment。 Moreover； at the moment Pierre was speaking； the roll of drums was suddenly heard on both sides。 The corporal scowled at Pierre’s words； and uttering a meaningless oath； he slammed the door。 It was half…dark now in the shed； the drums beat a sharp tattoo on both sides； drowning the sick man’s groans。
“Here it is！…Here it is again！” Pierre said to himself； and an involuntary shudder ran down his back。 In the changed face of the corporal； in the sound of his voice； in the stimulating and deafening din of the drums； Pierre recognised that mysterious； unsympathetic force which drove men； against their will； to do their fellow…creatures to death； that force； the effect of which he had seen at the execution。 To be afraid； to try and avoid that force； to appeal with entreaties or with exhortations to the men who were serving as its instruments； was useless。 That Pierre knew now。 One could but wait and be patient。 Pierre did not go near the sick man again； and did not look round at him。 He stood at the door of the shed in silence； scowling。
When the doors of the shed were opened； and the prisoners； huddling against one another like a flock of sheep； crowded in the entry； Pierre pushed in front of them； and went up to the very captain who was； so the corporal had declared； ready to do anything for him。 The captain was in marching trim； and from his face； too； there looked out the same “it” Pierre had recognised in the corporal’s words and in the roll of the drums。
“Filez； filez！” the captain was saying； frowning sternly； and looking at the prisoners crowding by him。
Pierre knew his effort would be in vain； yet he went up to him。
“Well； what is it？” said the officer； scanning him coldly； as though he did not recognise him。 Pierre spoke of the sick prisoner。
“He can walk； damn him！” said the captain。
“Filez； filez！” he went on； without looking at Pierre。
“Well； no； he is in agony…！” Pierre was beginning。
“Voulez…vous bien？”…shouted the captain； scowling malignantly。
“Dram…da…da…dam； dam…dam；” rattled the drums； and Pierre knew that the mysterious force had already complete possession of those men； and that to say anything more now was useless。
The officers among the prisoners were separated from the soldiers and ordered to march in front。
The officers； among whom was Pierre； were thirty in number； the soldiers three hundred。
These officers； who had come out of other sheds； were all strangers to Pierre； and much better dressed than he was。 They looked at him in his queer foot…gear with aloof and mistrustful eyes。 Not far from Pierre walked a stout major； with a fat； sallow； irascible countenance。 He was dressed in a Kazan gown