War And Peace: Book 9 - CHAPTER XII

作者: Leo Tolstoy

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Author: Leo Tolstoy

BEFORE THE BEGINNING of the campaign Rostov had received a letter from his

parents, in which they informed him briefly of Natasha's illness and the

breaking off of her engagement, and again begged him to retire from the army and

come home to them. Natasha had, they explained, broken off the engagement by her

own wish. On receiving this letter Nikolay did not even attempt to retire from

the army or to obtain leave, but wrote to his parents that he was very sorry to

hear of Natasha's illness and her rupture with her betrothed, and that he would

do everything in his power to follow their wishes. To Sonya he wrote

separately.

“Adored friend of my heart,” he wrote; “nothing but honour could avail to

keep me from returning to the country. But now, at the beginning of a campaign,

I should feel myself dishonoured in my comrades' eyes, as well as my own, if I

put my own happiness before my duty and my love for my country. But this shall

be our last separation. Believe me, immediately after the war, if I be living

and still loved by thee, I shall throw up everything and fly to thee to press

thee for ever to my ardent breast.”

It was, in fact, only the outbreak of the war that detained Rostov and

hindered him from returning home, as he had promised, and marrying Sonya. The

autumn at Otradnoe with the hunting, and the winter with the Christmas

festivities and Sonya's love had opened before his imagination a vista of peace

and quiet country delights unknown to him before, and this prospect now lured

him back. “A charming wife, children, a good pack of hounds, ten to twelve

leashes of swift harriers, the estate to look after, the neighbours, election to

offices, perhaps, by the provincial nobility,” he mused. But now war was

breaking out, and he had to remain with his regiment. And since this had to be,

Nikolay Rostov was characteristically able to be content too with the life he

led in the regiment, and to make that life a pleasant one.

On his return from his leave, Nikolay had been joyfully welcomed by his

comrades and sent off for remounts. He succeeded in bringing back from Little

Russia some first-rate horses that gave him great satisfaction, and won him the

commendation of his superior officers. In his absence he had been promoted to be

captain, and when the regiment was being made ready with reinforcements for

active service, he was again put in command of his old squadron.

The campaign was beginning, pay was doubled, the regiment was reinforced with

new officers, new men, and fresh horses, and had moved into Poland. The temper

of eager cheerfulness, always common at the beginning of a war, was general in

the army, and Rostov, fully conscious of his improved position in the regiment,

gave himself up heart and soul to the pleasures and interests of the army,

though he knew that sooner or later he would have to leave it.

The army had been compelled to retreat from Vilna owing to various complex

considerations of state, of policy, and tactics. Every step of that retreat had

been accompanied by a complicated play of interests, arguments, and passions at

headquarters. For the hussars of the Pavlograd regiment, however, this whole

march in the finest part of the summer, with ample supplies of provisions, was a

most simple and agreeable business. Depression, uneasiness, and intrigue were

possible only at headquarters; the rank and file of the army never even wondered

where and why they were going. If the retreat was a subject of regret, it was

simply owing to the necessity of leaving quarters one had grown used to or a

pretty Polish hostess. If the idea did occur to any one that things were amiss,

he tried, as a good soldier should, to put a cheerful face on it; and to keep

his thoughts fixed on the duty that lay nearest, and not on the general progress

of the war. At first they had been very pleasantly stationed near Vilna, where

they made acquaintance with the Polish gentry of the neighbourhood, prepared for

reviews, and were reviewed by the Tsar and various commanders of high authority.

Then came the command to retreat to Sventsyany, and to destroy all the stores

that could not be carried away. Sventsyany was memorable to the hussars simply

as the drunken camp, the name given to the encampment there by the whole

army, and as the scene of many complaints against the troops, who had taken

advantage of orders to collect stores, and under the head of stores had carried

off horses and carriages and carpets from the Polish landowners. Rostov

remembered Sventsyany, because on the very day of his arrival there he had

dismissed his quartermaster and did not know how to manage the men of his

squadron, who had, without his knowledge, carried off five barrels of strong old

ale and were all drunk. From Sventsyany they had fallen further back, and then

further again, till they reached Drissa; and from Drissa they retreated again,

till they were getting near the frontiers of Russia proper.

On the 13th of July the Pavlograd hussars took part in their first serious

action.

On the previous evening there had been a violent storm of rain and hail. The

summer of 1812 was remarkably stormy throughout.

The two Pavlograd squadrons were bivouacking in the middle of a field of rye,

which was already in ear, but had been completely trodden down by the cattle and

horses. The rain was falling in torrents, and Rostov was sitting with a young

officer, Ilyin, a protégé of his, under a shanty, that had been hastily rigged

up for them. An officer of their regiment, adorned with long moustaches, that

hung down from his cheeks, was caught in the rain on his way back from visiting

the staff, and he went into Rostov's shanty for shelter.

“I'm on my way from the staff, count. Have you heard of Raevsky's exploit?”

And the officer proceeded to relate to them details of the Saltanov battle that

had been told him at the staff.

Rostov smoked his pipe, and wriggled his neck, down which the water was

trickling. He listened with little interest, looking from time to time at the

young officer Ilyin, who was squatting beside him. Ilyin, a lad of sixteen, who

had lately joined the regiment, took now with Nikolay the place Nikolay had

taken seven years before with Denisov. Ilyin tried to imitate Rostov in

everything and adored him, as a girl might have done.

The officer with the double moustaches, Zdrzhinsky, in a very high-flown

manner, described the dike at Saltanov as the Russian Thermopylae, and the

heroic deed of General Raevsky on that dike as worthy of antiquity. Zdrzhinsky

told then how Raevsky had thrust his two sons forward on the dike under a

terrific fire, and had charged at their side. Rostov listened to the tale, and

said nothing betokening sympathy with Zdrzhinsky's enthusiasm. He looked,

indeed, as though ashamed of what he was told, but not intending to gainsay it.

After Austerlitz and the campaign of 1807, Rostov knew from his own experience

that men always lie when they describe deeds of battle, as he did himself

indeed. He had had too sufficient experience to know that everything in battle

happens utterly differently from our imagination and description of it. And so

he did not like Zdrzhinsky's story, and did not, indeed, like Zdrzhinsky

himself, who had, besides his unprepossessing moustaches, a habit of bending

right over into the face of the person he was speaking to. He was in their way

in the cramped little shanty. Rostov looked at him without speaking. “In the

first place, on the dike they were charging there must have been such a crowd

and confusion that, if Raevsky really thrust his sons forward, it would have had

no effect except on the dozen men closest to him,” thought Rostov; “the rest

could not have even seen who were with Raevsky on the dike. And those who did

see it were not likely to be greatly affected by it, for what thought had they

to spare for Raevsky's tender, parental feelings, when they had their own skins

to think of saving? And besides the fate of the country did not depend on

whether that dike was taken or not, as we are told the fate of Greece did depend

on Thermopylae. And then what was the object of such a sacrifice? Why do your

own children a mischief in war? I wouldn't put Petya, my brother, in a place of

danger; no, even Ilyin here, who's nothing to me but a good-natured lad, I would

do my best to keep safe and sheltered,” Rostov mused, as he listened to

Zdrzhinsky. But he did not give utterance to his thoughts, he had experience of

that too. He knew that this tale redounded to the glory of our arms, and

therefore one must appear not to doubt its truth: and he acted

accordingly.

“I can't stand this, though,” said Ilyin, noticing that Rostov did not care

for Zdrzhinsky's story; “stockings and shirt, and all—I'm wet through. I'm going

to look for shelter. I fancy the rain's not so heavy.” Ilyin ran out and

Zdrzhinsky rode away.

Five minutes later Ilyin came splashing through the mud to the shanty.

“Hurrah! Rostov, make haste and come along. I have found an inn, two hundred

paces or so from here; a lot of our fellows are there already. We can get dry

anyway, and Marya Hendrihovna's there.”

Marya Hendrihovna was the wife of the regimental doctor; a pretty young

German woman, whom he had married in Poland. Either from lack of means or

disinclination to part from his young wife in the early days of their marriage,

the doctor had brought her with him in the regiment, and his jealousy was a

favourite subject for the jibes of the hussars.

Rostov flung on a cape, shouted to Lavrushka to follow them with their

things, and went off with Ilyin, slipping in the mud, and splashing through the

pools in the drizzling rain and the darkness, which was rent at intervals by

distant lightning.

“Rostov, where are you?”

“Here. What a flash!” they called to one another as they went.

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