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The
stores
,
the
prisoners
,
and
the
marshal
's
baggage
train
stopped
at
the
village
of
Shámshevo
.
The
men
crowded
together
round
the
campfires
.
Pierre
went
up
to
the
fire
,
ate
some
roast
horseflesh
,
lay
down
with
his
back
to
the
fire
,
and
immediately
fell
asleep
.
He
again
slept
as
he
had
done
at
Mozháysk
after
the
battle
of
Borodinó
.
Again
real
events
mingled
with
dreams
and
again
someone
,
he
or
another
,
gave
expression
to
his
thoughts
,
and
even
to
the
same
thoughts
that
had
been
expressed
in
his
dream
at
Mozháysk
.
"
Life
is
everything
.
Life
is
God
.
Everything
changes
and
moves
and
that
movement
is
God
.
And
while
there
is
life
there
is
joy
in
consciousness
of
the
divine
.
To
love
life
is
to
love
God
.
Harder
and
more
blessed
than
all
else
is
to
love
this
life
in
one
's
sufferings
,
in
innocent
sufferings
.
"
"
Karatáev
!
"
came
to
Pierre
's
mind
.
And
suddenly
he
saw
vividly
before
him
a
long-forgotten
,
kindly
old
man
who
had
given
him
geography
lessons
in
Switzerland
.
"
Wait
a
bit
,
"
said
the
old
man
,
and
showed
Pierre
a
globe
.
This
globe
was
alive
--
a
vibrating
ball
without
fixed
dimensions
.
Its
whole
surface
consisted
of
drops
closely
pressed
together
,
and
all
these
drops
moved
and
changed
places
,
sometimes
several
of
them
merging
into
one
,
sometimes
one
dividing
into
many
.
Each
drop
tried
to
spread
out
and
occupy
as
much
space
as
possible
,
but
others
striving
to
do
the
same
compressed
it
,
sometimes
destroyed
it
,
and
sometimes
merged
with
it
.
"
That
is
life
,
"
said
the
old
teacher
.
"
How
simple
and
clear
it
is
,
"
thought
Pierre
.
"
How
is
it
I
did
not
know
it
before
?
"
"
God
is
in
the
midst
,
and
each
drop
tries
to
expand
so
as
to
reflect
Him
to
the
greatest
extent
.
And
it
grows
,
merges
,
disappears
from
the
surface
,
sinks
to
the
depths
,
and
again
emerges
.
There
now
,
Karatáev
has
spread
out
and
disappeared
.
Do
you
understand
,
my
child
?
"
said
the
teacher
.
"
Do
you
understand
,
damn
you
?
"
shouted
a
voice
,
and
Pierre
woke
up
.
