Briggs: Pierre still derives great joy from Karatayev's solemn happiness.
Pevear and Volokhonsky. Karataev's story
Time: the 22d, at noon
Mentioned: the night before, ten years or more
Translation:
XIII.
On the 22nd, at noon, Pierre was walking on the mountain by the dirty slippery road, looking at his legs and on the uneven way. Occasionally he looked at the familiar crowd surrounding him, and again at his legs. And that, and another was equally to him familiar. The purple, curved-legged gray dog funnily ran around the road, occasionally, in proof of his agility and contentment, pursing his back paw and jumping on three and then again on all fours flinging with a bark at Voroniev, who was sitting in the fall. The gray dog was more fun and smoother than in Moscow. To all parties lied the meat of the institutions of animals — from human to horse, in institutions the degrees of decomposition; and the wolves were not let by the marching people, so that the gray dog could gorge on as much as anything.
The rain was walking with the morning and it seemed that here it would pass and in the sky it would be clear, as following behind a short stopping the rain let still stronger. The nourished by rain road now did not accept in itself water, and streams flowed by the ruts.
Pierre was walking, looking back by the sides, considering his steps by three and bending his fingers. Turning to the rain, he internally sentenced: well now, well now more, more to give.
To him it seemed that he did not think; but long away and deeply somewhere something major and comforting thought his soul. This was some of the finest spiritual extraction from yesterday’s conversation with Karataev.
Yesterday, at the night halt, chilled at the putting out fire, Pierre got up and moved to the nearest, better burning bonfire. At the bonfire to which he came up, sat Platon, hiding, as with a robe, his head with his overcoat and telling the soldiers with his flowing, enjoyable, yet weak, painful voice, a familiar to Pierre story. It was already behind midnight. This was that time in which Karataev usually revived from a feverish seizure and had been especially lively. Coming up to the bonfire and upon hearing the weak, painful voice of Platon, and seeing his brightly lit by the fire miserable face, Pierre felt that something unpleasant pricked in his heart. He was scared by his pity to this person and wanted to leave, but there was not another bonfire, and Pierre, trying to not look at Platon, hooked to the bonfire.
— What, how is your health? — he asked.
— What health? To a disease cry— God does not give death, — said Karataev, and immediately again returned to the started story.
— ...And here you are, my brother, — continued Platon with a smile on his thin, pale face, and with a special, joyful shine in his eyes, — here you are, my brother...
Pierre knew this story for a long time, Karataev six times alone to him told this story and always with a special joyful feeling. But as well as Pierre knew this story, he now listened to it, as for some reason as new, and that quiet delight, which, telling it, apparently was felt by Karataev, informed Pierre. This story was about an old merchant, good and godly living with his family and traveling once with his friend, a wealthy merchant, to Makar.
Stopping at an inn courtyard, both merchants fell asleep and on the next day the fellow merchant was found stabbed and robbed. The bloody knife was found under the pillow of the old merchant. The merchant was judged, punished, whipped, and were pulled out his nostrils — as it should be by order, spoke Karataev, — and he was exiled to hard labor.
—"And here you are, my brother (at this location Pierre caught the story of Karataev), passes to that business nine years or more. Lives the old man in hard labor. So follows he submits, not making him thin. Only to God he asks of death. — Good. And they collect, at night business, the convicts, so the same here as you and I, and the old man was with them. And called for the conversation for whom that suffers, in what God is to blame. Began to tell, one soul that was ruined, then two, then an arsonist, then being fluent for such that and that. The old man was asked; what for, they say, grandfather, do you suffer? I, my cute brothers, say, for them, yes for human sins I suffer. But I did not ruin a soul and did not take another's, but what beggar fraternity I shared. I, my cute brothers, am a merchant; and my wealth had been great. Such and such, he speaks. And he told them, meaning, as all business was by order. I speak about myself not grieving. I mean, I found God. Another speaks to me that they pity the old woman and children. And so cried the old man. It happened that in their company was that very person, I mean, that killed the merchant. Where, he says, grandfather, were you? When, in which month? All asked. He was ill in his heart. He approached in such a manner to the old man — clapping on his legs. For me you, he says to the old man, disappear. It is really true; innocently and in vain, he says, this person tormented the kids. I, he says, did that very business and put the knife under your sleepy head. I am sorry, he says, grandfather, for Christ."
Karataev fell silent, happily smiling, looking at the fire and correcting the logs.
"The old man speaks: they say God forgives you, but we are all, they say, to God sinful, I for their sins suffer. He cried burning tears. What again do you think, falcon," — all lighter and lighter beaming an enthusiastic smile, spoke Karataev, as if in what he had now said, concluded the main beauty and all the matters of the story —"what again do you think, falcon, announced this killer by the chief. I, he says, ruined six souls (he was a big villain), but I only pity this old man. Let it be again he for me is not crying. It was explained: a written sent paper followed. The place was far, while the court business, while all the paperwork was written as it must be, by the means of command. To the tsar it reached. While that was, came the tsar’s decree: release the merchant, give him awards for how much there he was sentenced. Came the paper, and the old man was searched for. Where such did an old man innocently and in vain suffer? From the tsar the paper exited. Began the search." — The lower jaw of Karataev trembled. — "But he was already forgiven by God and died. So that, falcon," finished Karataev and for long, silently smiling, watched before himself.
Not this very story, but its secret meaning, that enthusiastic joy which shone on the face of Karataev at this story, this mysterious matter of joy, this vaguely and happily filled now the soul of Pierre.
Mentioned: Moscow, the fair of St. Macarius (Makary in Garnett, Briggs, and Pevear and Volokhonsky. Makarii in Bell. Nizhni fair in Maude. just pilgrimage in Bell.)
Pevear and Volokhonsky Notes: Pierre is walking with the dog, who is feeding on the dead bodies as much as it likes. Pierre meanwhile is trying to count his steps and bend his fingers while he thinks about the story ("God Sees the Truth But Waits") Platon told him the day before.
"It was not the story itself, but its mysterious meaning, the rapturous joy that shone in Karataev's face as he told it, the mysterious significance of that joy, that now strangely and joyfully filled Pierre's soul."
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
Sierui (what Dole calls the dog here. Bell just calls it "the little dog". Wiener calls it "Gray".)
Platon Karatayef
(also the wolves and the dead soldiers and horses. Also the soldiers and the old merchant, his friend the rich merchant, and the prisoners, including the one that confesses, in the story. There is also a mention of the tsar in the story, but I don't think it literally counts as a reference to Alexander.)
Abridged Versions: Line break instead of chapter break in Bell.
Gibian: line break instead of chapter break.
Fuller: Chapter is preserved and followed by a line break.
Komroff: Only the intro of the chapter, containing Pierre and the dog walking on the road is preserved. The rest of the chapter is cut. No break.
Kropotkin: The chapter cuts off without a break after Pierre says "rain, rain, please come not again", cutting out the Platon and his story section of the chapter.
Bromfield: Chapter 22: Pierre has been eating horsemeat as they have marched out and he notices the terrible sores on his feet. He discovers that the carriages and carts belong to the Duke of Ettingen. Pierre marches with a soldier who taught him how to bind his feet but the soldier is now sick. The French tell him that orders are that anyone left behind is to be shot. The old soldier accepts his fate. Notably the soldiers carry out his death do so angry, "But terrible though this was, Pierre did not blame them. They themselves were in such a bad state that some of them might have agreed to take the old soldier's place." Pierre sees the suffering of the French as nothing but a dream. "Almost every evening he said, "Today I'm finished" - but the next day he walked on again." They see a carriage go by and say "Long live the Emperor" and this revitalizes them for a moment, "Yet everything still went on just the same: the same cold, hunger and physical effort, pointless and cruel, and the same fear, which never left the troops." Pierre goes into a deep sleep and is then woken up by Dolokhov, who at this point is doing his spying and pretending to be French. He then tells Pierre that he will save him and the next day the French are raided by the Cossacks. Pierre goes to Tambov and discovers that Andrei has gone back to the army.
Simmons: the weather description early on is shortened and Karataev's story is also shortened. Line break instead of chapter break.
Additional Notes:
No comments:
Post a Comment