Briggs: Pierre sees Karatayev as the embodiment of simplicity and truth.
Translation:
XIII.
In the booth, in which entered Pierre and in which he stayed for four weeks, was 23 captive soldiers, three officers and two officials.
All they then as in a fog presented to Pierre, but Platon Karataev stayed forever in the soul of Pierre a very strong and dear memory and the personification of the only Russian good and round. When on the next day, at dawn, Pierre saw his neighbor, the first impression of something round was quite reiterated: all the figure of Platon in his belted by a rope French greatcoat, in a cap and bast shoes, was round, his head was completely round, his back, chest, shoulders, and even his hands, which he carried as if he would always be going to embrace something, were round; his pleasant smile, and his large hazel, gentle eyes were round.
Platon Karataev must have been behind 50 years-old, judging by his stories about the marches in which he participated as a long-time soldier. He himself did not know and in no way could determine, how many years-old he was; but his teeth, brightly white and strong, which all showed up in their own two semicircles when he laughed (what he often did), were all good, and intact; not one gray hair was in his beard and hair, and all his body had the view of a flexible and in particular hardness and endurance.
His face, despite its small round wrinkles, had an expression of innocence and youth; his voice was agreeable and melodious. But the main feature of his speech consisted in directness and flow. He apparently never thought about what he said and what he will say; and from this in his quickness and allegiance in the intonation was a special irresistible persuasiveness.
His physical forces and agility were this at the first time of captivity that it seemed he did not understand what such was fatigue and disease. Every morning and night he, lying down, spoke —"Place, Lord, a pebble, lift a ball"; in the morning, getting up, always equally shrugging his shoulders, spoke: "lied down curled up, got up shaking himself." And really, it was the cost of him to lie down, so that immediately again to fall asleep, rock and shake, so that immediately again, without seconds of delay, to take behind some business, as children, standing up, take for toys. He all was not able to do very well, but not badly. He baked, cooked, sewed, sliced, and sharpened boots. He always was busy and only at night allowed himself conversations, which he loved, and songs. He sang songs, not so as sing singers, knowing that they are listened to, but sang as sing birds, obviously because of how these sounds of him were so the same necessary to issue, as necessary be to pulled or dispersed; and these sounds always were subtle, gentle, almost womanly and mournful, and his face in this happened to be very serious.
Hit in captivity and overgrown with a beard, he apparently dropped from himself all let loose in him as alien and soldierly and unwittingly returned to the still peasant, popular harmony.
— A soldier on leave — shirt from trousers, — he used to say.
He reluctantly spoke about his soldier's time, although not complaining, and often repeated that he in all service was not beat once. When he talked, then he predominantly talked of his old and apparently dear to his memories "Christian", as he pronounced, peasant life. The sayings that filled his speech were not those of the most part indecent and lively sayings which speak soldiers, but these were those folk sayings which seem so insignificant taken separately, and which received suddenly matters of deep wisdom, when they were said by this way.
Often he spoke completely the opposite to that what he spoke before, but that, and another was fair. He loved to speak and spoke okay, adorning his speech with affectionate proverbs, which, to Pierre it seemed, he himself invented; but the main beauty of his stories consisted in that in his caressing speech events the most simple, sometimes those very that not noticed by him, saw Pierre, received the character of solemn goodness. He loved to listen to tales that were talked by evenings (all one and the same) of one soldier, but more only he loved to listen to stories about the present life. He happily smiled, listening to such stories, inserting words and making questions, leaning to that so to grasp for himself the goodness of what was told him. Attachments, friendship, love, as understand Pierre, Karataev had none; but he loved and lovingly lived with all, with his reduced life, and in particular with the man — not with a famous somehow man, but with those people that were before his eyes. He loved his mongrel, loved his friends, the French, loved Pierre, which was his neighbor; but Pierre felt that Karataev, despite all his caressing tenderness to him (which he unwittingly gave back due to the spiritual life of Pierre), in a moment would not be upset parting with him. And Pierre that same feeling started to test to Karataev.
Platon Karataev was for all the rest of the captives a very ordinary soldier; he was called Falcon or Platosha, good-naturedly mocked above him, and sent him for parcels. Yet for Pierre, how he presented on the first night, was an incomprehensible, round and eternal personification of the spirit of simplicity and truth, so he stayed forever.
Platon Karataev knew nothing by heart besides his prayers. When he spoke his speech, he, beginning them, it seemed, did not know how he would finish them.
When Pierre, sometimes stricken by the meaning of his speech, requested to repeat what he said, Platon could not remember what he said a moment to that backwards, so the same, as he could in no way say to Pierre the words of his favorite song. There was: "dear, little birch and sickening me," but in his words came out no sense. He did not understand and could not understand the meanings of his words, separately taken from his speech. Each word of his and each action was a manifestation of unknown to him activities, which was his life. Yet his life, as he himself watched on it, had no sense, as a separate life. It had meaning only as a particle of a whole, which he constantly felt. His words and action poured out from him so the same evenly, necessary and directly, as a smell separates from a flower. He could not understand prices, or meanings of separately taken action or words.
Locations: the booth which Pierre occupied
Mentioned: Russian, French
Pevear and Volokhonsky Notes: Pierre stays in the shed for four weeks and all those besides Platon Karataev do not make an impression upon his memory. There is an emphasis on Karataev's Russianness and how everything about him is round. Tolstoy spends quite a bit of time describing him and plays on the fact that he is not really soldiery, but instead peasant and Christian.
"He often said something completely opposite to what he had said before, but both the one and the other were right."
There is an emphasis on his lack of attachment and that while he was kind and cared about the people around him, he would not miss them if they were gone and would not change if it happened. He also very much lives in the moment, not quite knowing what he had just said or whether or what he was going to say next.
Characters (characters who do not appear, but are mentioned are placed in italics. First appearances are in Bold. First mentions are underlined. Final appearance denoted by *):
Pierre
Platon Karatayef (also "sokolik" or "little hawk", as well as "Platosha".)
the dog
Abridged Versions: End of chapter 3 in Bell.
Gibian: end of Chapter 3.
Fuller: Chapter is preserved and followed by a line break.
Komroff: The discussion of Platon's prayer life at the end of the chapter is removed. Followed by a line break.
Kropotkin: Some of Platon's discussion about soldiers and his mispronunciation of Christian is removed. The discussion about his proverbs and stories is shortened. End of chapter 8.
Simmons: Some bits of the glowing descriptions of Platon is removed. End of chapter 3.
Additional Notes:
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