Chapter 8 chapter eight

At the end of the Battle of Borodino, Pierre once again escaped from Raevsky's battery, walked with a group of soldiers along the valley to the village of Knyazkovo, came to the dressing station, saw blood , Hearing the yelling and groaning, he mingled with the soldiers again and hurried on his way. All Pierre's thoughts were now was to get rid of the terrible impressions he had experienced that day as soon as possible, to return to the usual environment of life, and to sleep peacefully in the bed in his room.Only under the usual conditions of life does he feel that he understands himself, understands what he sees and experiences.But such conditions are nowhere to be found.

Along the way, though without the roar of shells and bullets, there was still the same scene in front, back, left, and right of the battlefield, the same painful, tired and sometimes strangely indifferent people, still bleeding, still soldiers in army coats, Still the sound of shooting, though more distant, still evoking horror, and besides, there was only the sweltering heat and dust of the trudge. After walking about three versts along the Mozhaisk road, Pierre sat down on the side of the road. Dusk fell on the earth, and the roar of the guns has also been silenced.Pierre lay down on his elbows, and he lay for a long time looking at the shadows that passed him in the darkness.He kept feeling that, with a terrible whistling, a shell would fly at him; and trembling he raised himself a little.He couldn't remember how long he had been here.In the middle of the night, three soldiers dragged some dry branches, sat down beside him, and began to light the fire.

The soldiers looked sideways at Pierre, lit the fire, put a small pot on it, broke the bread into the pot, and added a little pickled lard.The smell of delicious food with oil and meat mixed with the smell of smoke.Pierre sat up straighter and sighed.The soldiers (there were three of them) were eating, not paying attention to Pierre, and talking as they ate. "What do you do?" one of them said suddenly to Pierre, obviously the meaning of the question was what Pierre was thinking: if you want to eat, we will give it, but you have to say, are you honest? "Me? I..." Pierre hesitated, feeling the need to lower his social status as much as possible in order to be close to the soldiers and understand them. "I'm a civil defense officer, really, but I don't have my brethren here; I've come to fight, and I've been separated from my own men."

"Look at you!" said a soldier. Another soldier shook his head. "Well, eat as much as you want, batter!" said the first soldier, licking the wooden spoon clean, and handing it to Pierre. Pierre sat close to the fire and ate, the mush in the pot he thought was the best food he had ever eaten.His face was illuminated by the flames as he hungrily bent over to spoonfuls from the pot, and the three soldiers watched him silently. "Where are you going? Tell me!" one of them asked again. "I'm going to Mozhaisk." "Maybe you are the master?"

"yes." "What's the name?" "Peter Kirillovich." "Well, Peter Kirillovitch, let's go together, we'll see you there." In the darkness, where nothing could be seen, the soldier walked towards Mozhaisk together with Pierre. When they approached Mozhaisk and climbed the steep mountain in the suburbs, the rooster was already singing.Pierre walked with the soldiers, quite forgetting that the inn was at the foot of the hill, and that he had already passed without knowing it.He wouldn't have remembered (he was so lost) if his trainer hadn't met him halfway up the hill.The groom, who had gone to look for him in the city, had returned to the inn, and recognized Pierre by his white fur cap.

"My lord," he continued intermittently, "we are hopeless. How did you come here on foot? Where are you going? Tell me!" "Ah, well," said Pierre. The soldier stopped. "Hey, what's the matter, did you find your own person?" one asked. "Well, good-bye! Pyotr Kirillovitch, eh? Good-bye, Pyotr Kirillovich!" said the voices of the other two. "Good-bye," said Pierre, walking with his groom to the inn. "They must be paid!" thought Pierre, clutching his pocket. "No, no." A voice said to him. There were no more vacant places in the inn rooms: they were all full.Pierre crossed the yard and lay down to sleep in his carriage with his head covered.