Later, when he is in the barracks with other prisoners of war, Pierre learns he had been officially pardoned. A caressive sing-song voice addresses him and the words penetrate Pierre's numbness."Ay, darling, don't grieve," says an old man from the corner,"Trouble lasts an hour, but life lasts forever." The man sits hunched over his knees, a dog next to him, and the round peasant face characterizes the roundness of his entire aspect. This is Platon Karataev, whom Pierre remembers for the rest of his life while he hardly recalls the other prisoners. Influenced by his new acquaintance, Pierre's soul finds a new world to replace the one destroyed at the firing squad — a world of new beauty which rests"on new foundations that cannot be shattered."
The four weeks Pierre spends in the shed are brightened by Platon's presence. The other prisoners, too, regard the old man with warmth and the dog follows him everywhere. When Karataev goes to sleep he ends his prayers with a special appeal to the"Saints Frola and Lavra," the horses' saints."For one must think of the poor beasts too," Platon explains. Platon, energetic and strong, is over 50 years old. His face bears the innocent expression of a child, and childlike, everything he utters is spontaneous and genuine. He speaks with caressive epithets like a peasant woman, which (Pierre thinks) he invents as he goes along and never knows beforehand what will come out. When hearing stories from the soldiers, Platon asks questions and repeats details to emphasize the moral beauty of what is told. Lacking special attachments, Karataev loves every creature equally: the French, his comrades, the dog, his neighbor. Pierre feels that Karataev, despite his deep affection, would never suffer a moment's grief at parting from him, and Pierre begins to have the same feelings toward Platon. Neither actions nor words seem to hold any significance for the old man; they exist only as part of a sentence or an event that expresses, for the moment, an incomprehensible force, his life itself. And Karataev regards his life meaningful only because it is part of a whole of which he is conscious at all times.
