BOOK ELEVEN: 1812
8. CHAPTER VIII
Toward the end of the battle of Borodino, Pierre, having run down
from Raevski's battery a second time, made his way through a gully
to Knyazkovo with a crowd of soldiers, reached the dressing station,
and seeing blood and hearing cries and groans hurried on, still
entangled in the crowds of soldiers.
The one thing he now desired with his whole soul was to get away
quickly from the terrible sensations amid which he had lived that
day and return to ordinary conditions of life and sleep quietly in a
room in his own bed. He felt that only in the ordinary conditions of
life would he be able to understand himself and all he had seen and
felt. But such ordinary conditions of life were nowhere to be found.
Though shells and bullets did not whistle over the road along
which he was going, still on all sides there was what there had been
on the field of battle. There were still the same suffering,
exhausted, and sometimes strangely indifferent faces, the same
blood, the same soldiers' overcoats, the same sounds of firing
which, though distant now, still aroused terror, and besides this
there were the foul air and the dust.
Having gone a couple of miles along the Mozhaysk road, Pierre sat
down by the roadside.
Dusk had fallen, and the roar of guns died away. Pierre lay
leaning on his elbow for a long time, gazing at the shadows that moved
past him in the darkness. He was continually imagining that a cannon
ball was flying toward him with a terrific whizz, and then he
shuddered and sat up. He had no idea how long he had been there. In
the middle of the night three soldiers, having brought some
firewood, settled down near him and began lighting a fire.
The soldiers, who threw sidelong glances at Pierre, got the fire
to burn and placed an iron pot on it into which they broke some
dried bread and put a little dripping. The pleasant odor of greasy
viands mingled with the smell of smoke. Pierre sat up and sighed.
The three soldiers were eating and talking among themselves, taking no
notice of him.
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