Book 14 Chapter 12

THE PARTY of prisoners, of whom Pierre was one, was on the 22nd of October not with the troops and transport, in whose company they had left Moscow, though no fresh instructions in regard to them had been given by the French authorities. Half of the transport with stores of biscuit, which had followed them during the early stages of the march, had been carried off by the Cossacks, the other half had got away in front. Of the cavalry soldiers on foot, who had marched in front of the prisoners, not one was left; they had all disappeared. The artillery, which the prisoners had seen in front during the early stages, was now replaced by the immense train of Marshal Junot's baggage, convoyed by an escort of Westphalians. Behind the prisoners came a transport of cavalry accoutrements.

The French had at first marched in three columns, but from Vyazma they had formed a single mass. The symptoms of lack of discipline, which Pierre had observed at the first halt outside Moscow, had by now reached their extreme limits.

The road along which they marched was strewn on both sides with the carcases of dead horses. The tattered soldiers, stragglers from different regiments, were continually changing, joining the column as it marched, and dropping behind it again. Several times there had been false alarms, and the soldiers of the cavalry had raised their guns, and fired and fled, trampling one another underfoot. Then they had rallied again, and abused one another for their causeless panic.

These three bodies, travelling together—the cavalry transport, the convoy of prisoners, and Junot's baggage transport—still made up a complete separate whole, though each of its three parts was rapidly dwindling away.

Of the cavalry transport, which had at first consisted of one hundred and twenty waggons, only sixty were left; the rest had been carried off or abandoned. Several waggonloads of Junot's baggage, too, had been discarded or captured. Three waggons had been attacked and pillaged by stragglers from Davoust's regiment. From the talk he overheard among the Germans, Pierre learned that a more careful watch was kept over this baggage-train than over the prisoners, and that one of their comrades, a German, had been shot by order of the marshal himself because a silver spoon belonging to the marshal had been found in the soldier's possession.

The convoy of prisoners had dwindled even more than the other two convoys. Of the three hundred and thirty men who had started from Moscow there were now less than a hundred left. The prisoners were a burden even more irksome to the soldiers than the cavalry stores and Junot's baggage. The saddles and Junot's spoons they could understand might be of some use, but why cold and starving soldiers should stand as sentinels, keeping guard over Russians as cold and starving, who were continually dying and being left behind on the road, and whom they had orders to shoot—it was not only incomprehensible, but revolting. And the soldiers of the escort, apparently afraid in the miserable plight they were in themselves, to give way to the pity they felt for the prisoners, for fear of making their own lot harder, treated them with marked moroseness and severity.

At Dorogobuzh the soldiers of the escort had gone off to plunder their own stores, leaving the prisoners locked in a stable, and several prisoners had burrowed under the wall and run away, but they were caught by the French and shot.

The arrangement, made at the start from Moscow, that the officers among the prisoners should march separately from the common soldiers, had long since been given up. All who could walk marched together; and at the third stage Pierre had rejoined Karataev and the bow-legged, purple-grey dog, who had chosen Karataev for her master.

On the third day after leaving Moscow, Karataev had a return of the fever, which had kept him in the Moscow hospital, and as Karataev's strength failed, Pierre held more aloof from him. Pierre could not have said why it was, but from the time Karataev fell sick, he had to make an effort to force himself to go near him. And when he did go near him and heard the subdued moans, which Karataev often uttered, as he lay at the halting-places, and smelt the increasing odour from the sick man. Pierre moved further away from him and did not think about him.

In captivity in the shed that had been his prison, Pierre had learned not through his intellect, but through his whole being, through life, that man is created for happiness, that happiness lies in himself, in the satisfaction of his natural, human cravings; that all unhappiness is due, not to lack of what is needful, but to superfluity. But now, during the last three weeks of the march, he had learned another new and consolatory truth—he had learned that there is nothing terrible to be dreaded in the world. He had learned that just as there is no position in the world in which a man can be happy and perfectly free, so too there is no position in which he need be unhappy and in bondage. He had found out that there is a limit to suffering and a limit to freedom, and that that limit is very soon reached; that the man who suffered from a crumpled petal in his bed of roses, suffered just as much as he suffered now, sleeping on the bare, damp earth, with one side getting chilled as the other side got warm; that when in former days he had put on his tight dancing-shoes, he had suffered in just the same way as now, when he walked quite barefoot (his foot-gear had long since fallen to pieces), with his feet covered with sores. He learned that when he had—by his own free-will, as he had fancied—married his wife, he had been no more free than now when he was locked up for the night in a stable. Of all that he did himself afterwards call sufferings, though at the time he hardly felt them so, the chief was the state of his bare, blistered, sore feet. The horse-flesh was savoury and nourishing, the saltpetre flavour given it by the gun-powder they used instead of salt was positively agreeable; there was no great degree of cold, it was always warm in the daytime on the march, and at night there were the camp-fires, and the lice that devoured him helped to keep him warm. One thing was painful in the earlier days— that was his feet.

On the second day of the march, as he examined his blisters by the camp-fire, Pierre thought he could not possibly walk on them; but when they all got up, he set off limping, and later on, when he got warm, he walked without pain, though his feet looked even more terrible that evening. But he did not look at them, and thought of something else.

Only now Pierre grasped all the force of vitality in man, and the saving power innate in man, of transferring his attention, like the safety-valve in steam-engines, that lets off the superfluous steam so soon as its pressure exceeds a certain point.

He did not see and did not hear how the prisoners that lagged behind were shot, though more than a hundred of them had perished in that way. He did not think about Karataev, who was getting weaker every day, and would obviously soon fall a victim to the same fate. Still less did Pierre think about himself. The harder his lot became, the more terrible his future, the more independent of his present plight were the glad and soothing thoughts, memories, and images that occurred to him.

皮埃尔所在的那个俘虏队，自从由莫斯科出发，直到现在，法军司令部没有下达过任何新的命令。十月二十二日和这个俘虏队走在一起的已经不是从莫斯科出发时的那些军队和车队了。在他们后面装干粮的车队，头几天就被哥萨克掳走了一半，而另一半走到前头去了；原先走在前边的已失去了马的骑兵，连一个也没剩下，全失踪了。前几天前面还是炮队，现在却是朱诺元帅的庞大车队，这个车队由威斯特法利亚人护卫着。走在后面的是骑兵的车队。

从维亚济马出发，最初分三个纵队行事，现在已乱成一团。从莫斯科出发后第一次休息时皮埃尔所见到的混乱现象，现在已达到了极点。

沿途两旁，到处是死马；各个部队掉了队的士兵，衣衫褴褛，他们时而走进行进中的纵队，时而又掉队，不断变换着。

途中，闹过几次虚惊，士兵们举枪射击，盲目乱跑，互相冲撞，然后又集合起来，为这无端的惊吓互相埋怨、咒骂。

这三股——骑兵的车队、俘虏押送队和朱诺的辎重队——一起行军，仍旧构成一个独立的统一的整体，尽管这支队伍在迅速地减员。

骑兵车队原有一百二十辆大车，现在已不到六十辆；其余的有些被劫走，有些被扔弃掉。朱诺的辎重队的遭遇也一样。有三辆大车被达乌兵团的散兵劫走。皮埃尔从德国籍士兵的谈话中得知，押送这个车队的人比押送俘虏的人多，他们的一个同伴，一个德国籍士兵，因为在他身上发现一把元帅的银匙，元帅亲自下命令处决了他。

在这三股当中，俘虏押送队减员最多。从莫斯科出发时是三百三十人，现在剩下不到一百人。押送部队觉得，俘虏比骑兵队的马鞍和朱诺的轻重更累赘。他们明白，马鞍和朱诺的银匙还有点用处，但是对于让又冷又饿的士兵去看守和扣解同样是又冷又饿的俄国人来说有什么用。（俄国俘虏一路上死亡和掉队，掉队的人被奉命就地枪杀）这不仅不可理解，而且令人厌恶。押送队士兵的处境和战俘们同样悲惨，他们生怕，如果他给俘虏以同情，那就会使自身处境更加悲惨，所以他们对战俘的态度格外冷漠和严厉。

在多罗戈希日，押送队士兵把俘虏们锁在马栅里后，他们出去抢劫他们自己的仓库。有几个俘虏从墙脚下挖洞逃了出去，但又被法国人捉回来枪毙了。

从莫斯科出发时俘虏队中是把军官和士兵分开的，这个规定无形中就取消了。现在凡是还能走得动的都一起走，从第三天上皮埃尔和卡拉塔耶夫和那条认卡拉塔耶夫为自己主人的雪青色的哈叭狗又会合到了一块。

卡拉塔耶夫因患了疟疾病在莫斯科住进了医院。离开莫斯科后的第三天疟疾病又发作了。他身体逐渐衰弱，皮埃尔离开了他。皮埃尔不知道为什么，自卡拉塔耶夫病得十分衰弱以后，皮埃尔总是迫不得已时才走近他。每到歇营地，卡拉塔耶夫就躺倒呻吟，皮埃尔每次走近他，就听见他呻吟，还闻到从他身上发出一股越来越浓烈的味道，皮埃尔就远远躲开，连想都不去想他了。

作为一名俘虏，皮埃被关在马棚内，他不是从理智上，而是从自己的现实处境，以自己的生命，悟出了一个道理：人被创造出来是为了幸福，幸福存在于自身，幸福在于满足人的自然需要，而一切不幸并不在于缺少什么，而在于过剩，在这三个星期的押解途中，他又悟出了一个新的、令人欣慰的道理：他已认识到，世上没有什么可怕的事。他还认识到，世上没有哪个环境是人在其中过得幸福和完全自由，也没有哪个环境人在其中过得不幸福和不自由。他认识到，痛苦有一个界限，自由也有一个界限，而这两个界限又非常接近；一个人为他的锦绣衣被折了一个角而感到苦脑，也正如他现在睡在光秃的湿地上，一边冷一边热而感到苦恼一样；从前他曾为穿紧脚的舞鞋而感到苦恼，而现在他完全光着脚（他的鞋早已破烂了），用两只伤痕累累的脚走路，也感到同样的痛苦。他发现，他和妻子结婚时是出于自己的意志，然而并不比现在夜间被锁在马栅里更自由。在所有他自己后来称作痛苦的事情中（他当时几乎没有感觉是痛苦），主要的是那双赤裸的，磨破了的，满是伤痕的两只脚。（马肉味道鲜美且富有营养，代替盐的火药硝烟味甚至令人愉快，天气不太冷，白天走路暖洋洋的，夜间燃起篝火；虱子咬得痒痒的。）开始时唯一难以忍受的是那双脚。

上路的第二天，皮埃尔在火堆旁看着他的两只脚。他想，没法再用它走路了；可是，当大家都站起来出发时，他也就一步一拐地跟着走了，走得周身发热，也就不觉得痛了。到了晚上，那双脚看起来比先前更可怕了。他不去看，却去想点别的什么事情。

皮埃尔现在才懂得：一个人所具有的全部生命力，以及人本身固有的可以把注意力由一件事转向另一件事，使自己脱出困境的潜在力量，它就像是蒸汽锅炉上的安全阀门，在蒸汽压力超过了一定限度的时候，它就会自动把多余的蒸汽释放出去。

他不曾看见也未曾听见法军枪杀掉队的俘虏，虽然已有一百多人就这样被消灭了。他不去想身体日益衰弱的卡拉塔耶夫，很明显，他自己很快就要遭受同样的命运。皮埃尔更少想他自己。他的处境越困难，他的前途越可怕，他心中就出现欢快的，令人欣慰的思想、回忆和想象。这样就使自己越发与已陷入的困境无关。