"And so he is! Quite blind!"
"No, friend, he is sharper-eyed than you are. Boots and leg bands...
he noticed everything..."
"When he looked at my feet, friend... well, thinks I..."
"And that other one with him, the Austrian, looked as if he were
smeared with chalk - as white as flour! I suppose they polish him up as
they do the guns."
"I say, Fedeshon!... Did he say when the battles are to begin? You
were near him. Everybody said that Buonaparte himself was at Braunau."
"Buonaparte himself!... Just listen to the fool, what he doesn’t
know! The Prussians are up in arms now. The Austrians, you see, are
putting them down. When they’ve been put down, the war with Buonaparte
will begin. And he says Buonaparte is in Braunau! Shows you’re a fool.
You’d better listen more carefully!"
"What devils these quartermasters are! See, the fifth company is
turning into the village already... they will have their buckwheat
cooked before we reach our quarters."
"Give me a biscuit, you devil!"
"And did you give me tobacco yesterday? That’s just it, friend! Ah,
well, never mind, here you are."
"They might call a halt here or we’ll have to do another four miles
without eating."
"Wasn’t it fine when those Germans gave us lifts! You just sit still
and are drawn along."
"And here, friend, the people are quite beggarly. There they all
seemed to be Poles - all under the Russian crown - but here they’re
all regular Germans."
"Singers to the front" came the captain’s order.
And from the different ranks some twenty men ran to the front. A
drummer, their leader, turned round facing the singers, and flourishing
his arm, began a long-drawn-out soldiers’ song, commencing with the
words: "Morning dawned, the sun was rising," and concluding: "On
then, brothers, on to glory, led by Father Kamenski." This song had
been composed in the Turkish campaign and now being sung in Austria, the
only change being that the words "Father Kamenski" were replaced by
"Father Kutuzov."
Having jerked out these last words as soldiers do and waved his arms
as if flinging something to the ground, the drummer - a lean, handsome
soldier of forty - looked sternly at the singers and screwed up his
eyes. Then having satisfied himself that all eyes were fixed on him,
he raised both arms as if carefully lifting some invisible but precious
object above his head and, holding it there for some seconds, suddenly
flung it down and began:
"Oh, my bower, oh, my bower...!"
"Oh, my bower new...!" chimed in twenty voices, and the castanet
player, in spite of the burden of his equipment, rushed out to the front
and, walking backwards before the company, jerked his shoulders and
flourished his castanets as if threatening someone. The soldiers,
swinging their arms and keeping time spontaneously, marched with long
steps. Behind the company the sound of wheels, the creaking of springs,
and the tramp of horses’ hoofs were heard. Kutuzov and his suite were
returning to the town. The commander in chief made a sign that the
men should continue to march at ease, and he and all his suite showed
pleasure at the sound of the singing and the sight of the dancing
soldier and the gay and smartly marching men. In the second file
from the right flank, beside which the carriage passed the company,
a blue-eyed soldier involuntarily attracted notice. It was Dolokhov
marching with particular grace and boldness in time to the song and
looking at those driving past as if he pitied all who were not at that
moment marching with the company. The hussar cornet of Kutuzov’s
suite who had mimicked the regimental commander, fell back from the
carriage and rode up to Dolokhov.
Hussar cornet Zherkov had at one time, in Petersburg, belonged to
the wild set led by Dolokhov. Zherkov had met Dolokhov abroad as a
private and had not seen fit to recognize him. But now that Kutuzov had
spoken to the gentleman ranker, he addressed him with the cordiality of
an old friend.
"My dear fellow, how are you?" said he through the singing, making
his horse keep pace with the company.
"How am I?" Dolokhov answered coldly. "I am as you see."
The lively song gave a special flavor to the tone of free and easy
gaiety with which Zherkov spoke, and to the intentional coldness of
Dolokhov’s reply.
"And how do you get on with the officers?" inquired Zherkov.
"All right. They are good fellows. And how have you wriggled onto the
staff?"
"I was attached; I’m on duty."
Both were silent.
"She let the hawk fly upward from her wide right sleeve," went the
song, arousing an involuntary sensation of courage and cheerfulness.
Their conversation would probably have been different but for the effect
of that song.
"Is it true that Austrians have been beaten?" asked Dolokhov.
"The devil only knows! They say so."
"I’m glad," answered Dolokhov briefly and clearly, as the song
demanded.
"I say, come round some evening and we’ll have a game of faro!"
said Zherkov.
"Why, have you too much money?"
"Do come."
"I can’t. I’ve sworn not to. I won’t drink and won’t play till
I get reinstated."
"Well, that’s only till the first engagement."
"We shall see."
They were again silent.
"Come if you need anything. One can at least be of use on the
staff..."
Dolokhov smiled. "Don’t trouble. If I want anything, I won’t
beg - I’ll take it!"
"Well, never mind; I only..."
"And I only..."
"Good-by."
"Good health..."
"It’s a long, long way.
To my native land..."
Zherkov touched his horse with the spurs; it pranced excitedly from
foot to foot uncertain with which to start, then settled down, galloped
past the company, and overtook the carriage, still keeping time to the
song.
CHAPTER III
On returning from the review, Kutuzov took the Austrian general into
his private room and, calling his adjutant, asked for some papers
relating to the condition of the troops on their arrival, and the
letters that had come from the Archduke Ferdinand, who was in command of
the advanced army. Prince Andrew Bolkonski came into the room with the
required papers. Kutuzov and the Austrian member of the Hofkriegsrath
were sitting at the table on which a plan was spread out.
"Ah!..." said Kutuzov glancing at Bolkonski as if by this
exclamation he was asking the adjutant to wait, and he went on with the
conversation in French.
"All I can say, General," said he with a pleasant elegance
of expression and intonation that obliged one to listen to each
deliberately spoken word. It was evident that Kutuzov himself listened
with pleasure to his own voice. "All I can say, General, is that if
the matter depended on my personal wishes, the will of His Majesty the
Emperor Francis would have been fulfilled long ago. I should long
ago have joined the archduke. And believe me on my honour that to me
personally it would be a pleasure to hand over the supreme command
of the army into the hands of a better informed and more skillful
general - of whom Austria has so many - and to lay down all this heavy
responsibility. But circumstances are sometimes too strong for us,
General."
And Kutuzov smiled in a way that seemed to say, "You are quite at
liberty not to believe me and I don’t even care whether you do or
not, but you have no grounds for telling me so. And that is the whole
point."
The Austrian general looked dissatisfied, but had no option but to reply
in the same tone.
"On the contrary," he said, in a querulous and angry tone that
contrasted with his flattering words, "on the contrary, your
excellency’s participation in the common action is highly valued by
His Majesty; but we think the present delay is depriving the splendid
Russian troops and their commander of the laurels they have been
accustomed to win in their battles," he concluded his evidently
prearranged sentence.
Kutuzov bowed with the same smile.
"But that is my conviction, and judging by the last letter with which
His Highness the Archduke Ferdinand has honored me, I imagine that the
Austrian troops, under the direction of so skillful a leader as General
Mack, have by now already gained a decisive victory and no longer need
our aid," said Kutuzov.
The general frowned. Though there was no definite news of an Austrian
defeat, there were many circumstances confirming the unfavorable rumors
that were afloat, and so Kutuzov’s suggestion of an Austrian victory
sounded much like irony. But Kutuzov went on blandly smiling with the
same expression, which seemed to say that he had a right to suppose
so. And, in fact, the last letter he had received from Mack’s army
informed him of a victory and stated strategically the position of the
army was very favorable.
"Give me that letter," said Kutuzov turning to Prince Andrew.
"Please have a look at it" - and Kutuzov with an ironical smile
about the corners of his mouth read to the Austrian general the
following passage, in German, from the Archduke Ferdinand’s letter:
We have fully concentrated forces of nearly seventy thousand men with
which to attack and defeat the enemy should he cross the Lech. Also,
as we are masters of Ulm, we cannot be deprived of the advantage of
commanding both sides of the Danube, so that should the enemy not
cross the Lech, we can cross the Danube, throw ourselves on his line
of communications, recross the river lower down, and frustrate his
intention should he try to direct his whole force against our faithful
ally. We shall therefore confidently await the moment when the Imperial
Russian army will be fully equipped, and shall then, in conjunction with
it, easily find a way to prepare for the enemy the fate he deserves.
Kutuzov sighed deeply on finishing this paragraph and looked at the
member of the Hofkriegsrath mildly and attentively.
"But you know the wise maxim your excellency, advising one to expect
the worst," said the Austrian general, evidently wishing to have done
with jests and to come to business. He involuntarily looked round at the
aide-de-camp.
"Excuse me, General," interrupted Kutuzov, also turning to Prince
Andrew. "Look here, my dear fellow, get from Kozlovski all the
reports from our scouts. Here are two letters from Count Nostitz and
here is one from His Highness the Archduke Ferdinand and here are
these," he said, handing him several papers, "make a neat memorandum
in French out of all this, showing all the news we have had of the
movements of the Austrian army, and then give it to his excellency."
Prince Andrew bowed his head in token of having understood from the
first not only what had been said but also what Kutuzov would have
liked to tell him. He gathered up the papers and with a bow to both,
stepped softly over the carpet and went out into the waiting room.
Though not much time had passed since Prince Andrew had left Russia, he
had changed greatly during that period. In the expression of his face,
in his movements, in his walk, scarcely a trace was left of his former
affected languor and indolence. He now looked like a man who has time
to think of the impression he makes on others, but is occupied with
agreeable and interesting work. His face expressed more satisfaction
with himself and those around him, his smile and glance were brighter
and more attractive.
Kutuzov, whom he had overtaken in Poland, had received him very kindly,
promised not to forget him, distinguished him above the other adjutants,
and had taken him to Vienna and given him the more serious commissions.
From Vienna Kutuzov wrote to his old comrade, Prince Andrew’s father.
Your son bids fair to become an officer distinguished by his industry,
firmness, and expedition. I consider myself fortunate to have such a
subordinate by me.
On Kutuzov’s staff, among his fellow officers and in the army
generally, Prince Andrew had, as he had had in Petersburg society, two
quite opposite reputations. Some, a minority, acknowledged him to be
different from themselves and from everyone else, expected great things
of him, listened to him, admired, and imitated him, and with them Prince
Andrew was natural and pleasant. Others, the majority, disliked him and
considered him conceited, cold, and disagreeable. But among these people
Prince Andrew knew how to take his stand so that they respected and even
feared him.
Coming out of Kutuzov’s room into the waiting room with the papers in
his hand Prince Andrew came up to his comrade, the aide-de-camp on duty,
Kozlovski, who was sitting at the window with a book.
"Well, Prince?" asked Kozlovski.
"I am ordered to write a memorandum explaining why we are not
advancing."
"And why is it?"
Prince Andrew shrugged his shoulders.
"Any news from Mack?"
"No."
"If it were true that he has been beaten, news would have come."
"Probably," said Prince Andrew moving toward the outer door.
But at that instant a tall Austrian general in a greatcoat, with the
order of Maria Theresa on his neck and a black bandage round his head,
who had evidently just arrived, entered quickly, slamming the door.
Prince Andrew stopped short.
"Commander in Chief Kutuzov?" said the newly arrived general
speaking quickly with a harsh German accent, looking to both sides and
advancing straight toward the inner door.
"The commander in chief is engaged," said Kozlovski, going
hurriedly up to the unknown general and blocking his way to the door.
"Whom shall I announce?"
The unknown general looked disdainfully down at Kozlovski, who was
rather short, as if surprised that anyone should not know him.
"The commander in chief is engaged," repeated Kozlovski calmly.
The general’s face clouded, his lips quivered and trembled. He took
out a notebook, hurriedly scribbled something in pencil, tore out the
leaf, gave it to Kozlovski, stepped quickly to the window, and threw
himself into a chair, gazing at those in the room as if asking, "Why
do they look at me?" Then he lifted his head, stretched his neck as
if he intended to say something, but immediately, with affected
indifference, began to hum to himself, producing a queer sound which
immediately broke off. The door of the private room opened and Kutuzov
appeared in the doorway. The general with the bandaged head bent forward
as though running away from some danger, and, making long, quick strides
with his thin legs, went up to Kutuzov.
"Vous voyez le malheureux Mack," he uttered in a broken voice.
Kutuzov’s face as he stood in the open doorway remained perfectly
immobile for a few moments. Then wrinkles ran over his face like a wave
and his forehead became smooth again, he bowed his head respectfully,
closed his eyes, silently let Mack enter his room before him, and closed
the door himself behind him.
The report which had been circulated that the Austrians had been beaten
and that the whole army had surrendered at Ulm proved to be correct.
Within half an hour adjutants had been sent in various directions with
orders which showed that the Russian troops, who had hitherto been
inactive, would also soon have to meet the enemy.
Prince Andrew was one of those rare staff officers whose chief interest
lay in the general progress of the war. When he saw Mack and heard the
details of his disaster he understood that half the campaign was lost,
understood all the difficulties of the Russian army’s position, and
vividly imagined what awaited it and the part he would have to
play. Involuntarily he felt a joyful agitation at the thought of the
humiliation of arrogant Austria and that in a week’s time he might,
perhaps, see and take part in the first Russian encounter with the
French since Suvorov met them. He feared that Bonaparte’s genius
might outweigh all the courage of the Russian troops, and at the same
time could not admit the idea of his hero being disgraced.
Excited and irritated by these thoughts Prince Andrew went toward his
room to write to his father, to whom he wrote every day. In the corridor
he met Nesvitski, with whom he shared a room, and the wag Zherkov;
they were as usual laughing.
"Why are you so glum?" asked Nesvitski noticing Prince Andrew’s
pale face and glittering eyes.
"There’s nothing to be gay about," answered Bolkonski.
Just as Prince Andrew met Nesvitski and Zherkov, there came toward
them from the other end of the corridor, Strauch, an Austrian general
who on Kutuzov’s staff in charge of the provisioning of the Russian
army, and the member of the Hofkriegsrath who had arrived the previous
evening. There was room enough in the wide corridor for the generals to
pass the three officers quite easily, but Zherkov, pushing Nesvitski
aside with his arm, said in a breathless voice,
"They’re coming!... they’re coming!... Stand aside, make way,
please make way!"
The generals were passing by, looking as if they wished to avoid
embarrassing attentions. On the face of the wag Zherkov there suddenly
appeared a stupid smile of glee which he seemed unable to suppress.
"Your excellency," said he in German, stepping forward and
addressing the Austrian general, "I have the honor to congratulate
you."
He bowed his head and scraped first with one foot and then with the
other, awkwardly, like a child at a dancing lesson.
The member of the Hofkriegsrath looked at him severely but, seeing the
seriousness of his stupid smile, could not but give him a moment’s
attention. He screwed up his eyes showing that he was listening.
"I have the honor to congratulate you. General Mack has arrived, quite
well, only a little bruised just here," he added, pointing with a
beaming smile to his head.
The general frowned, turned away, and went on.
"Gott, wie naiv!" * said he angrily, after he had gone a few steps.
* "Good God, what simplicity!"
Nesvitski with a laugh threw his arms round Prince Andrew, but
Bolkonski, turning still paler, pushed him away with an angry look and
turned to Zherkov. The nervous irritation aroused by the appearance
of Mack, the news of his defeat, and the thought of what lay before the
Russian army found vent in anger at Zherkov’s untimely jest.
"If you, sir, choose to make a buffoon of yourself," he said
sharply, with a slight trembling of the lower jaw, "I can’t prevent
your doing so; but I warn you that if you dare to play the fool in my
presence, I will teach you to behave yourself."
Nesvitski and Zherkov were so surprised by this outburst that they
gazed at Bolkonski silently with wide-open eyes.
"What’s the matter? I only congratulated them," said Zherkov.
"I am not jesting with you; please be silent!" cried Bolkonski,
and taking Nesvitski’s arm he left Zherkov, who did not know what to
say.
"Come, what’s the matter, old fellow?" said Nesvitski trying to
soothe him.
"What’s the matter?" exclaimed Prince Andrew standing still in
his excitement. "Don’t you understand that either we are officers
serving our Tsar and our country, rejoicing in the successes and
grieving at the misfortunes of our common cause, or we are merely
lackeys who care nothing for their master’s business. Quarante mille
hommes massacres et l’armee de nos allies detruite, et vous
trouvez là le mot pour rire," * he said, as if strengthening his
views by this French sentence. "C’est bien pour un garçon de rien
comme cet individu dont vous avez fait un ami, mais pas pour vous, pas
pour vous. *(2) Only a hobbledehoy could amuse himself in this
way," he added in Russian - but pronouncing the word with a French
accent - having noticed that Zherkov could still hear him.
* "Forty thousand men massacred and the army of our allies
destroyed, and you find that a cause for jesting!"
* (2) "It is all very well for that good-for-nothing fellow
of whom you have made a friend, but not for you, not for
you."
He waited a moment to see whether the cornet would answer, but he turned
and went out of the corridor.
CHAPTER IV
The Pavlograd Hussars were stationed two miles from Braunau. The
squadron in which Nicholas Rostov served as a cadet was quartered in
the German village of Salzeneck. The best quarters in the village were
assigned to cavalry-captain Denisov, the squadron commander, known
throughout the whole cavalry division as Vaska Denisov. Cadet Rostov,
ever since he had overtaken the regiment in Poland, had lived with the
squadron commander.
On October 11, the day when all was astir at headquarters over the news
of Mack’s defeat, the camp life of the officers of this squadron was
proceeding as usual. Denisov, who had been losing at cards all night,
had not yet come home when Rostov rode back early in the morning from
a foraging expedition. Rostov in his cadet uniform, with a jerk to his
horse, rode up to the porch, swung his leg over the saddle with a supple
youthful movement, stood for a moment in the stirrup as if loathe to
part from his horse, and at last sprang down and called to his orderly.
"Ah, Bondarenko, dear friend!" said he to the hussar who rushed up
headlong to the horse. "Walk him up and down, my dear fellow," he
continued, with that gay brotherly cordiality which goodhearted young
people show to everyone when they are happy.
"Yes, your excellency," answered the Ukrainian gaily, tossing his
head.
"Mind, walk him up and down well!"
Another hussar also rushed toward the horse, but Bondarenko had already
thrown the reins of the snaffle bridle over the horse’s head. It was
evident that the cadet was liberal with his tips and that it paid to
serve him. Rostov patted the horse’s neck and then his flank, and
lingered for a moment.
"Splendid! What a horse he will be!" he thought with a smile, and
holding up his saber, his spurs jingling, he ran up the steps of the
porch. His landlord, who in a waistcoat and a pointed cap, pitchfork in
hand, was clearing manure from the cowhouse, looked out, and his face
immediately brightened on seeing Rostov. "Schön gut Morgen! Schön
gut Morgen!" * he said winking with a merry smile, evidently pleased
to greet the young man.
* "A very good morning! A very good morning!"
"Schon fleissig?" * said Rostov with the same gay brotherly smile
which did not leave his eager face. "Hoch Oestreicher! Hoch Russen!
Kaiser Alexander hoch!" *(2) said he, quoting words often repeated by
the German landlord.
* "Busy already?"
* (2) "Hurrah for the Austrians! Hurrah for the Russians!
Hurrah for Emperor Alexander!"
The German laughed, came out of the cowshed, pulled off his cap, and
waving it above his head cried:
"Und die ganze Welt hoch!" *
* "And hurrah for the whole world!"
Rostov waved his cap above his head like the German and cried laughing,
"Und vivat die ganze Welt!" Though neither the German cleaning his
cowshed nor Rostov back with his platoon from foraging for hay had any
reason for rejoicing, they looked at each other with joyful delight and
brotherly love, wagged their heads in token of their mutual affection,
and parted smiling, the German returning to his cowshed and Rostov
going to the cottage he occupied with Denisov.
"What about your master?" he asked Lavrushka, Denisov’s orderly,
whom all the regiment knew for a rogue.
"Hasn’t been in since the evening. Must have been losing,"
answered Lavrushka. "I know by now, if he wins he comes back early to
brag about it, but if he stays out till morning it means he’s lost and
will come back in a rage. Will you have coffee?"
"Yes, bring some."
Ten minutes later Lavrushka brought the coffee. "He’s coming!"
said he. "Now for trouble!" Rostov looked out of the window and
saw Denisov coming home. Denisov was a small man with a red face,
sparkling black eyes, and black tousled mustache and hair. He wore an
unfastened cloak, wide breeches hanging down in creases, and a crumpled
shako on the back of his head. He came up to the porch gloomily, hanging
his head.
"Lavwuska!" he shouted loudly and angrily, "take it off,
blockhead!"
"Well, I am taking it off," replied Lavrushka’s voice.
"Ah, you’re up already," said Denisov, entering the room.
"Long ago," answered Rostov, "I have already been for the hay,
and have seen Fräulein Mathilde."
"Weally! And I’ve been losing, bwother. I lost yesterday like a
damned fool!" cried Denisov, not pronouncing his r’s. "Such ill
luck! Such ill luck. As soon as you left, it began and went on. Hullo
there! Tea!"
Puckering up his face though smiling, and showing his short strong
teeth, he began with stubby fingers of both hands to ruffle up his thick
tangled black hair.
"And what devil made me go to that wat?" (an officer nicknamed
"the rat") he said, rubbing his forehead and whole face with both
hands. "Just fancy, he didn’t let me win a single cahd, not one
cahd."
He took the lighted pipe that was offered to him, gripped it in his
fist, and tapped it on the floor, making the sparks fly, while he
continued to shout.
"He lets one win the singles and collahs it as soon as one doubles it;
gives the singles and snatches the doubles!"
He scattered the burning tobacco, smashed the pipe, and threw it away.
Then he remained silent for a while, and all at once looked cheerfully
with his glittering, black eyes at Rostov.
"If at least we had some women here; but there’s nothing foh one
to do but dwink. If we could only get to fighting soon. Hullo, who’s
there?" he said, turning to the door as he heard a tread of heavy
boots and the clinking of spurs that came to a stop, and a respectful
cough.
"The squadron quartermaster!" said Lavrushka.
Denisov’s face puckered still more.
"Wetched!" he muttered, throwing down a purse with some gold in it.
"Wostov, deah fellow, just see how much there is left and shove the
purse undah the pillow," he said, and went out to the quartermaster.
Rostov took the money and, mechanically arranging the old and new coins
in separate piles, began counting them.
"Ah! Telyanin! How d’ye do? They plucked me last night," came
Denisov’s voice from the next room.
"Where? At Bykov’s, at the rat’s... I knew it," replied a piping
voice, and Lieutenant Telyanin, a small officer of the same squadron,
entered the room.
Rostov thrust the purse under the pillow and shook the damp little hand
which was offered him. Telyanin for some reason had been transferred
from the Guards just before this campaign. He behaved very well in the
regiment but was not liked; Rostov especially detested him and was
unable to overcome or conceal his groundless antipathy to the man.
"Well, young cavalryman, how is my Rook behaving?" he asked. (Rook
was a young horse Telyanin had sold to Rostov.)
The lieutenant never looked the man he was speaking to straight in the
face; his eyes continually wandered from one object to another.
"I saw you riding this morning..." he added.
"Oh, he’s all right, a good horse," answered Rostov, though the
horse for which he had paid seven hundred rubbles was not worth half
that sum. "He’s begun to go a little lame on the left foreleg," he
added.
"The hoof’s cracked! That’s nothing. I’ll teach you what to do
and show you what kind of rivet to use."
"Yes, please do," said Rostov.
"I’ll show you, I’ll show you! It’s not a secret. And it’s a
horse you’ll thank me for."
"Then I’ll have it brought round," said Rostov wishing to avoid
Telyanin, and he went out to give the order.
In the passage Denisov, with a pipe, was squatting on the threshold
facing the quartermaster who was reporting to him. On seeing Rostov,
Denisov screwed up his face and pointing over his shoulder with his
thumb to the room where Telyanin was sitting, he frowned and gave a
shudder of disgust.
"Ugh! I don’t like that fellow," he said, regardless of the
quartermaster’s presence.
Rostov shrugged his shoulders as much as to say: "Nor do I, but
what’s one to do?" and, having given his order, he returned to
Telyanin.
Telyanin was sitting in the same indolent pose in which Rostov had
left him, rubbing his small white hands.
"Well there certainly are disgusting people," thought Rostov as he
entered.
"Have you told them to bring the horse?" asked Telyanin, getting up
and looking carelessly about him.
"I have."
"Let us go ourselves. I only came round to ask Denisov about
yesterday’s order. Have you got it, Denisov?"
"Not yet. But where are you off to?"
"I want to teach this young man how to shoe a horse," said
Telyanin.
They went through the porch and into the stable. The lieutenant
explained how to rivet the hoof and went away to his own quarters.
When Rostov went back there was a bottle of vodka and a sausage on the
table. Denisov was sitting there scratching with his pen on a sheet of
paper. He looked gloomily in Rostov’s face and said: "I am witing
to her."
He leaned his elbows on the table with his pen in his hand and,
evidently glad of a chance to say quicker in words what he wanted to
write, told Rostov the contents of his letter.
"You see, my fwiend," he said, "we sleep when we don’t love. We
are childwen of the dust... but one falls in love and one is a God, one
is pua’ as on the fihst day of cweation... Who’s that now? Send him
to the devil, I’m busy!" he shouted to Lavrushka, who went up to
him not in the least abashed.
"Who should it be? You yourself told him to come. It’s the
quartermaster for the money."
Denisov frowned and was about to shout some reply but stopped.
"Wetched business," he muttered to himself. "How much is left in
the puhse?" he asked, turning to Rostov.
"Seven new and three old imperials."
"Oh, it’s wetched! Well, what are you standing there for, you
sca’cwow? Call the quahtehmasteh," he shouted to Lavrushka.
"Please, Denisov, let me lend you some: I have some, you know,"
said Rostov, blushing.
"Don’t like bowwowing from my own fellows, I don’t," growled
Denisov.
"But if you won’t accept money from me like a comrade, you will
offend me. Really I have some," Rostov repeated.
"No, I tell you."
And Denisov went to the bed to get the purse from under the pillow.
"Where have you put it, Wostov?"
"Under the lower pillow."
"It’s not there."
Denisov threw both pillows on the floor. The purse was not there.
"That’s a miwacle."
"Wait, haven’t you dropped it?" said Rostov, picking up the
pillows one at a time and shaking them.
He pulled off the quilt and shook it. The purse was not there.
"Dear me, can I have forgotten? No, I remember thinking that you kept
it under your head like a treasure," said Rostov. "I put it just
here. Where is it?" he asked, turning to Lavrushka.
"I haven’t been in the room. It must be where you put it."
"But it isn’t?..."
"You’re always like that; you thwow a thing down anywhere and forget
it. Feel in your pockets."
"No, if I hadn’t thought of it being a treasure," said Rostov,
"but I remember putting it there."
Lavrushka turned all the bedding over, looked under the bed and under
the table, searched everywhere, and stood still in the middle of the
room. Denisov silently watched Lavrushka’s movements, and when the
latter threw up his arms in surprise saying it was nowhere to be found
Denisov glanced at Rostov.
"Wostov, you’ve not been playing schoolboy twicks..."
Rostov felt Denisov’s gaze fixed on him, raised his eyes, and
instantly dropped them again. All the blood which had seemed congested
somewhere below his throat rushed to his face and eyes. He could not
draw breath.
"And there hasn’t been anyone in the room except the lieutenant and
yourselves. It must be here somewhere," said Lavrushka.
"Now then, you devil’s puppet, look alive and hunt for it!"
shouted Denisov, suddenly, turning purple and rushing at the man with
a threatening gesture. "If the purse isn’t found I’ll flog you,
I’ll flog you all."
Rostov, his eyes avoiding Denisov, began buttoning his coat, buckled
on his saber, and put on his cap.
"I must have that purse, I tell you," shouted Denisov, shaking his
orderly by the shoulders and knocking him against the wall.
"Denisov, let him alone, I know who has taken it," said Rostov,
going toward the door without raising his eyes. Denisov paused, thought
a moment, and, evidently understanding what Rostov hinted at, seized
his arm.
"Nonsense!" he cried, and the veins on his forehead and neck stood
out like cords. "You are mad, I tell you. I won’t allow it.
The purse is here! I’ll flay this scoundwel alive, and it will be
found."
"I know who has taken it," repeated Rostov in an unsteady voice,
and went to the door.
"And I tell you, don’t you dahe to do it!" shouted Denisov,
rushing at the cadet to restrain him.
But Rostov pulled away his arm and, with as much anger as though
Denisov were his worst enemy, firmly fixed his eyes directly on his
face.
"Do you understand what you’re saying?" he said in a trembling
voice. "There was no one else in the room except myself. So that if it
is not so, then..."
He could not finish, and ran out of the room.
"Ah, may the devil take you and evewybody," were the last words
Rostov heard.
Rostov went to Telyanin’s quarters.
"The master is not in, he’s gone to headquarters," said
Telyanin’s orderly. "Has something happened?" he added, surprised
at the cadet’s troubled face.
"No, nothing."
"You’ve only just missed him," said the orderly.
The headquarters were situated two miles away from Salzeneck, and
Rostov, without returning home, took a horse and rode there. There was
an inn in the village which the officers frequented. Rostov rode up to
it and saw Telyanin’s horse at the porch.
In the second room of the inn the lieutenant was sitting over a dish of
sausages and a bottle of wine.
"Ah, you’ve come here too, young man!" he said, smiling and
raising his eyebrows.
"Yes," said Rostov as if it cost him a great deal to utter the
word; and he sat down at the nearest table.
Both were silent. There were two Germans and a Russian officer in the
room. No one spoke and the only sounds heard were the clatter of knives
and the munching of the lieutenant.
When Telyanin had finished his lunch he took out of his pocket a double
purse and, drawing its rings aside with his small, white, turned-up
fingers, drew out a gold imperial, and lifting his eyebrows gave it to
the waiter.
"Please be quick," he said.
The coin was a new one. Rostov rose and went up to Telyanin.
"Allow me to look at your purse," he said in a low, almost
inaudible, voice.
With shifting eyes but eyebrows still raised, Telyanin handed him the
purse.
"Yes, it’s a nice purse. Yes, yes," he said, growing suddenly
pale, and added, "Look at it, young man."
Rostov took the purse in his hand, examined it and the money in it, and
looked at Telyanin. The lieutenant was looking about in his usual way
and suddenly seemed to grow very merry.
"If we get to Vienna I’ll get rid of it there but in these wretched
little towns there’s nowhere to spend it," said he. "Well, let me
have it, young man, I’m going."
Rostov did not speak.
"And you? Are you going to have lunch too? They feed you quite
decently here," continued Telyanin. "Now then, let me have it."
He stretched out his hand to take hold of the purse. Rostov let go of
it. Telyanin took the purse and began carelessly slipping it into the
pocket of his riding breeches, with his eyebrows lifted and his mouth
slightly open, as if to say, "Yes, yes, I am putting my purse in my
pocket and that’s quite simple and is no one else’s business."
"Well, young man?" he said with a sigh, and from under his lifted
brows he glanced into Rostov’s eyes.
Some flash as of an electric spark shot from Telyanin’s eyes to
Rostov’s and back, and back again and again in an instant.
"Come here," said Rostov, catching hold of Telyanin’s arm and
almost dragging him to the window. "That money is Denisov’s; you
took it..." he whispered just above Telyanin’s ear.
"What? What? How dare you? What?" said Telyanin.
But these words came like a piteous, despairing cry and an entreaty for
pardon. As soon as Rostov heard them, an enormous load of doubt
fell from him. He was glad, and at the same instant began to pity the
miserable man who stood before him, but the task he had begun had to be
completed.
"Heaven only knows what the people here may imagine," muttered
Telyanin, taking up his cap and moving toward a small empty room. "We
must have an explanation..."
"I know it and shall prove it," said Rostov.
"I..."
Every muscle of Telyanin’s pale, terrified face began to quiver, his
eyes still shifted from side to side but with a downward look not rising
to Rostov’s face, and his sobs were audible.
"Count!... Don’t ruin a young fellow... here is this wretched money,
take it..." He threw it on the table. "I have an old father and
mother!..."
Rostov took the money, avoiding Telyanin’s eyes, and went out of the
room without a word. But at the door he stopped and then retraced his
steps. "O God," he said with tears in his eyes, "how could you do
it?"
"Count..." said Telyanin drawing nearer to him.
"Don’t touch me," said Rostov, drawing back. "If you need it,
take the money," and he threw the purse to him and ran out of the inn.
CHAPTER V
That same evening there was an animated discussion among the
squadron’s officers in Denisov’s quarters.
"And I tell you, Rostov, that you must apologize to the colonel!"
said a tall, grizzly-haired staff captain, with enormous mustaches and
many wrinkles on his large features, to Rostov who was crimson with
excitement.
The staff captain, Kirsten, had twice been reduced to the ranks for
affairs of honor and had twice regained his commission.
"I will allow no one to call me a liar!" cried Rostov. "He told
me I lied, and I told him he lied. And there it rests. He may keep me
on duty every day, or may place me under arrest, but no one can make
me apologize, because if he, as commander of this regiment, thinks it
beneath his dignity to give me satisfaction, then..."
"You just wait a moment, my dear fellow, and listen," interrupted
the staff captain in his deep bass, calmly stroking his long mustache.
"You tell the colonel in the presence of other officers that an
officer has stolen..."
"I’m not to blame that the conversation began in the presence of
other officers. Perhaps I ought not to have spoken before them, but I am
not a diplomatist. That’s why I joined the hussars, thinking that here
one would not need finesse; and he tells me that I am lying - so let him
give me satisfaction..."
"That’s all right. No one thinks you a coward, but that’s not the
point. Ask Denisov whether it is not out of the question for a cadet to
demand satisfaction of his regimental commander?"
Denisov sat gloomily biting his mustache and listening to the
conversation, evidently with no wish to take part in it. He answered the
staff captain’s question by a disapproving shake of his head.
"You speak to the colonel about this nasty business before other
officers," continued the staff captain, "and Bogdanich" (the
colonel was called Bogdanich) "shuts you up."
"He did not shut me up, he said I was telling an untruth."
"Well, have it so, and you talked a lot of nonsense to him and must
apologize."
"Not on any account!" exclaimed Rostov.
"I did not expect this of you," said the staff captain seriously and
severely. "You don’t wish to apologize, but, man, it’s not only to
him but to the whole regiment - all of us - you’re to blame all round.
The case is this: you ought to have thought the matter over and
taken advice; but no, you go and blurt it all straight out before the
officers. Now what was the colonel to do? Have the officer tried and
disgrace the whole regiment? Disgrace the whole regiment because of one
scoundrel? Is that how you look at it? We don’t see it like that. And
Bogdanich was a brick: he told you you were saying what was not true.
It’s not pleasant, but what’s to be done, my dear fellow? You landed
yourself in it. And now, when one wants to smooth the thing over, some
conceit prevents your apologizing, and you wish to make the whole
affair public. You are offended at being put on duty a bit, but why not
apologize to an old and honorable officer? Whatever Bogdanich may
be, anyway he is an honorable and brave old colonel! You’re quick at
taking offense, but you don’t mind disgracing the whole regiment!"
The staff captain’s voice began to tremble. "You have been in the
regiment next to no time, my lad, you’re here today and tomorrow
you’ll be appointed adjutant somewhere and can snap your fingers when
it is said ‘There are thieves among the Pavlograd officers!’ But
it’s not all the same to us! Am I not right, Denisov? It’s not the
same!"
Denisov remained silent and did not move, but occasionally looked with
his glittering black eyes at Rostov.
"You value your own pride and don’t wish to apologize," continued
the staff captain, "but we old fellows, who have grown up in and, God
willing, are going to die in the regiment, we prize the honor of the
regiment, and Bogdanich knows it. Oh, we do prize it, old fellow! And
all this is not right, it’s not right! You may take offense or not but
I always stick to mother truth. It’s not right!"
And the staff captain rose and turned away from Rostov.
"That’s twue, devil take it!" shouted Denisov, jumping up. "Now
then, Wostov, now then!"
Rostov, growing red and pale alternately, looked first at one officer
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