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War And Peace 581

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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 added rapidly. "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 happened..." 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 Lavra?" "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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