Emma Watson Pussy
War And Peace
"They call me little falcon in the regiment. How is one
to help feeling sad? Moscow--shes the mother of cities. How can one
see all this and not feel sad? But the maggot gnaws the cabbage,
yet dies first; thats what the old folks used to tell us," he
"What? What did you say?" asked Pierre.
"Who? I?" said Karataev. "I say things happen not as we plan but
as God judges," he replied, thinking that he was repeating what he had
said before, and immediately continued:
"Well, and you, have you a family estate, sir? And a house? So you
have abundance, then? And a housewife? And your old parents, are
they still living?" he asked.
And though it was too dark for Pierre to see, he felt that a
suppressed smile of kindliness puckered the soldiers lips as he put
these questions. He seemed grieved that Pierre had no parents,
especially that he had no mother.
"A wife for counsel, a mother-in-law for welcome, but theres none
as dear as ones own mother!" said he. "Well, and have you little
ones?" he went on asking.
Again Pierres negative answer seemed to distress him, and he
hastened to add:
"Never mind! Youre young folks yet, and please God may still have
some. The great thing is to live in harmony...."
"But its all the same now," Pierre could not help saying.
"Ah, my dear fellow!" rejoined Karataev, "never decline a prison
or a beggars sack!"
He seated himself more comfortably and coughed, evidently
preparing to tell a long story.
"Well, my dear fellow, I was still living at home," he began. "We
had a well-to-do homestead, plenty of land, we peasants lived well and
our house was one to thank God for. When Father and we went out mowing
there were seven of us. We lived well. We were real peasants. It so
And Platon Karataev told a long story of how he had gone into
someones copse to take wood, how he had been caught by the keeper,
had been tried, flogged, and sent to serve as a soldier.
"Well, lad," and a smile changed the tone of his voice "we thought
it was a misfortune but it turned out a blessing! If it had not been
for my sin, my brother would have had to go as a soldier. But he, my
younger brother, had five little ones, while I, you see, only left a
wife behind. We had a little girl, but God took her before I went as a
soldier. I come home on leave and Ill tell you how it was, I look and
see that they are living better than before. The yard full of
cattle, the women at home, two brothers away earning wages, and only
Michael the youngest, at home. Father, he says, All my children are
the same to me: it hurts the same whichever finger gets bitten. But if
Platon hadnt been shaved for a soldier, Michael would have had to
go. called us all to him and, will you believe it, placed us in front
of the icons. Michael, he says, come here and bow down to his feet;
and you, young woman, you bow down too; and you, grandchildren, also
bow down before him! Do you understand? he says. Thats how it is,
dear fellow. Fate looks for a head. But we are always judging, thats
not well--thats not right! Our luck is like water in a dragnet:
you pull at it and it bulges, but when youve drawn it out its empty!
Thats how it is."
And Platon shifted his seat on the straw.
After a short silence he rose.
"Well, I think you must be sleepy," said he, and began rapidly
crossing himself and repeating:
"Lord Jesus Christ, holy Saint Nicholas, Frola and Lavra! Lord Jesus
Christ, holy Saint Nicholas, Frola and Lavra! Lord Jesus Christ,
have mercy on us and save us!" he concluded, then bowed to the ground,
got up, sighed, and sat down again on his heap of straw. "Thats the
way. Lay me down like a stone, O God, and raise me up like a loaf," he
muttered as he lay down, pulling his coat over him.
"What prayer was that you were saying?" asked Pierre.
"Eh?" murmured Platon, who had almost fallen asleep. "What was I
saying? I was praying. Dont you pray?"
"Yes, I do," said Pierre. "But what was that you said: Frola and
"Well, of course," replied Platon quickly, "the horses saints.
One must pity the animals too. Eh, the rascal! Now youve curled
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