Chapter 11 Chapter Eleven

On the morning of October 6th, Pierre came out of the shed and, on his return, stopped by the door to play with a long, short, curved-legged, snow-green puppy that danced around him.The puppy lived in their shed, slept with Karataev at night, and sometimes ran into the city and back again.He probably never belonged to anyone, and still belongs to no one, and never had a name, the French called it Azor, the soldier who liked to tell stories called him Femgalka, Karatayev and others Everyone calls it Little Huizi, and sometimes Weiwei.It has no owner, no name, even an unknown species and coat color, all of which don't seem to bother the blue-gray puppy.Its shaggy tail stands up like a hat feather, stiff and round, and its bowed legs are so obedient, it often lifts one hind leg gracefully, and runs on three legs very lightly and quickly, as if disdainful Use the same for all four legs.Everything makes it happy.Now it rolls on the ground, barking cheerfully, basks in the sun with a thoughtful expression, and plays with a piece of wood or a piece of hay.

Pierre's clothes now consisted of only a dirty and torn shirt (the only one remaining from his original clothes), a pair of soldier's trousers remade from a peasant's gown and cap, according to Karataev's Opinion, tie the trousers with a rope to keep warm.Pierre's body changed a lot during this period.Although from the outside, he still has the obsessive physique inherited from their family, but he is not so fat anymore.The lower half of the face was covered with beards; the hair was untidy and full of lice, and the hair coiled around the head like a hat.The expression of the eyes was firm, calm, alert, and alive, an expression Pierre had never had before.His formerly slack, undisciplined eyes were replaced by an energetic spirit, always ready for action and rebellion.His feet are bare.

Pierre looked now at the fields that had been passed by so many vehicles and people on horseback since that morning, now at the distance across the river, now at the little dog that was pretending to bite him sincerely, now at the Looking at his bare legs, he put them into different positions with great interest, wiggling his thick, dirty toes.Whenever he looked at his bare feet, there was a smile of excitement and complacency on his face.The appearance of this pair of bare feet reminded him of all the experiences and principles he had learned during this period of time, and this memory made him feel happy.

For many days in a row, it was sunny and sunny, and every morning there was a thin layer of frost—— The so-called "sunny early autumn". Outdoors, under the sun, it is warm, this warmth combined with the slight chill in the morning, the air is fresh, cool and pleasant, which makes people feel extra pleasant. Over all things, near and far, there was a mysterious, clear radiance which could only be seen in autumn at this period.In the distance, Sparrow's and the village, the church, and the tall white houses are all clearly visible.The bare woods, the sand, the stones, the roofs, the green spire of the church, the corner of the white house in the distance—the finest lines of all these objects stood out with extraordinary clarity in the clear, bright air. up.Nearby are the ruins of the burnt aristocratic mansions occupied by the French army that can be seen everywhere, and there are dark green lilac bushes around the walls.Even this squalid ruin, hideously ugly in the gloom, now revealed a comforting beauty in its clear, quiet radiance.

A French squad leader, with his coat unbuttoned, a cap on his head, and a pipe in his mouth, came out from the corner of the shed, approached Pierre, and gave him a friendly wink. "Quelsoleil, hein, monsieur Kiril? (That's what the French call Pierre), Ondiraitleprintemps." Then the monitor, leaning against the door, handed Pierre his pipe, although whenever he did, Pierre Er always refuses. "Sil'on marchait parun temps comme celui—la..." He was about to go on. -------- ①French: What a sun, um, Mr. Kirill, it's almost spring. ②French: If you march in such weather...

Pierre asked if he had heard any news of the departure, and the squad leader said that almost all the troops had already departed and that orders to deal with the prisoners were due today.In the hut where Pierre lived, a soldier named Sokolov was seriously ill and dying. Pierre told the squad leader that proper arrangements should be made for him, and the squad leader told Pierre to take it easy. , because they have a field hospital and a permanent hospital, both of which will take care of the sick. In short, the officers have thought of everything that may happen. "Etpuis, monsieurKiril, vousn'avezqu'adireunmotaucaptaine, voussavez. Oh, c'estun...quinoubliejamaisrien.Ditesaucaptainequandilferasatournee, ilferatoutpourvous..."①

The captain mentioned by the squad leader often had long talks with Pierre and gave him various cares. "Vois-tu, St. Thomas, qu'ilmedisaitl'autrejour: Kirilc'estunhommeguiadel'instruction, quiparlefranBcais; c'estunseigneurrusse, quiaeudesmalheurs, maisc'estunhomme. , voyezvous, onaimel'instructionetlesgenscommeilfaut.C'estpourvousquejediscela, monsieurKirBil.Dansl'affairedel'autrejoursicen'etaitavous, caauraitfinimal."② -------- ①French: And, Mr. Kirill, you just have to say something to the captain, you know...he's...a man who cares about everything.When he comes to patrol again, you can tell the captain, he will do everything for you...

②French: You know, Tomas said to me some time ago: Kirill is an educated man, he speaks French, he is a down-and-out Russian aristocrat, but he is also a character, he is a reasonable man... What does he need, satisfy him.Ask people for advice, and you will love knowledge and educated people, and I mean you, Herr Kirill, things would have been very bad if it hadn't been for you the other day. After chatting for a while, the squad leader left. (What the squad leader said happened a few days ago was that the prisoners fought with the French. Pierre dissuaded his companions and calmed down the incident.) Several prisoners listened to Pierre. After talking with the squad leader, he immediately asked Pierre what the squad leader said. Pierre told his companions that the squad leader said that the French army had already set off. In front of the shed.He saluted Pierre quickly and timidly, raising his finger to his forehead, and asked Pierre if Pratoche, the soldier who sewed his shirt, was in the shed.

A week earlier the French had received a shipment of hides and linen to distribute to the captives for sewing boots and shirts. "It's done, it's done, boy!" said Karatayev, coming out with his neatly folded shirt. Because of the warm weather and the convenience of his work, Karatayev wore only a pair of trousers and a ragged shirt as black as mud.He tied his hair with burdock bark like a craftsman, and his round face seemed rounder and more cheerful than ever. "Promise—the brother of business. Say it's done on Friday, and it will be done on Friday," said Prall, laughing as he unbuttoned his sewn shirt.

The Frenchman looked around anxiously, as if to reassure a doubt, and hurriedly took off his uniform and put on the shirt.There was no shirt under the Frenchman's uniform, but a long, oily, speckled silk waistcoat against his naked, brown, lean body.He was evidently afraid that his captives would laugh at him if they saw him, so he quickly pulled his head under his shirt.Not a single word was spoken by any of the prisoners. "Look, what a fit!" Platon repeated as he stretched his shirt.After the Frenchman put his head and hands in, he didn't even lift his eyelids. He looked down at the shirt, and at the seams of the shirt.

"Well, boy, it's not a tailor's shop, and there's not a real tool; no tool, as the saying goes, can kill a lice," said Platon, with a wider smile, and it seemed he was very Appreciate your own craft. "C'estbien, c'estbien, merci, maisvousdevezavoirdelatoiledereste?" said the Frenchman. "You have to wear it next to your body, it will fit better," said Karatayev, who went on to praise his work. "That's beautiful and comfortable..." "Merci, merci, monvieux, lereste?...②The Frenchman smiled and said, he took out a banknote and gave it to Karatayev, "Maislereste..."③ Pierre saw that Platon did not want to understand the French, so he just watched and did not interfere.Karatayev thanked the French for his money and continued to admire his work.The Frenchman insisted on returning the remaining rags, so he asked Pierre to translate his words. "What would he want those rags for?" said Karatayev. "We can make a good pair of foot wraps. Well, God bless him." Karatayev's face suddenly darkened, and he took a roll of rags from his pocket, without even looking at the Frenchman. , and handed it to him. "Oh, really!" Karatayev turned and walked back. The Frenchman looked at the rags, thought for a moment, and looked at Pierre with a questioning look, which seemed to say something to him. "Platoche, ditesdonc, Platoche," cried the Frenchman, blushing suddenly. "Gradezpourvous." ⑤ He passed the rags again, turned and walked away. -------- ①French: Okay, okay, thank you, where is the rest of the cloth? ②French: Okay, okay, thank you, where is the rest of the cloth? " ③French: Thank you, thank you, my friend, the leftover cloth, give it back to me... ④ French: Platon, I said, Platon, ⑤ French: Take it. "Look how strange that is," Karataev said, shaking his head. "People say they're not Christians, and they have a conscience. That's what the old folks used to say: 'Sweaty hands are open, dry hands are fisted.' (The richer the stingier , the poorer the more generous.——Translator’s Note.) He was naked himself, but he returned those things to me.” Karatayev smiled thoughtfully, and then, He looked at the remaining rags and was silent for a while. "You'd make a nice foot-wrap out of this, my dear friends," he said, and went back into the bar.