《War And Peace》 Book5 CHAPTER XV
by Leo Tolstoy
ON RETURNING this time from his leave, Rostov for the first time felt and
recognised how strong was the tie that bound him to Denisov and all his
regiment.
When Rostov reached the regiment, he experienced a sensation akin to what he
had felt on reaching his home at Moscow. When he caught sight of the first
hussar in the unbuttoned uniform of his regiment, when he recognised red-haired
Dementyev, and saw the picket ropes of the chestnut horses, when Lavrushka
gleefully shouted to his master, “The count has come!” and Denisov, who had been
asleep on his bed, ran all dishevelled out of the mud-hut, and embraced him, and
the officers gathered around to welcome the newcomer—Rostov felt the same
sensation as when his mother had embraced him, and his father and sisters, and
the tears of joy that rose in his throat prevented his speaking. The regiment
was a home, too, and a home as unchangeably dear and precious as the parental
home.
After reporting himself to his colonel, being assigned to his own squadron,
and serving on orderly duty and going for forage, after entering into all the
little interests of the regiment, and feeling himself deprived of liberty and
nailed down within one narrow, unchangeable framework, Rostov had the same
feeling of peace and of moral support and the same sense of being at home here,
and in his proper place, as he had once felt under his father's roof. Here was
none of all that confusion of the free world, where he did not know his proper
place, and made mistakes in exercising free choice. There was no Sonya, with
whom one ought or ought not to have a clear understanding. There was no
possibility of going to one place or to another. There were not twenty-four
hours every day which could be used in so many different ways. There were not
those innumerable masses of people of whom no one was nearer or further from
one. There were none of those vague and undefined money relations with his
father; no memories of his awful loss to Dolohov. Here in the regiment
everything was clear and simple. The whole world was divided into two unequal
parts: one, our Pavlograd regiment, and the other—all the remainder. And with
all that GREat remainder one had no concern. In the regiment everything was well
known: this man was a lieutenant, that one a captain; this was a good fellow and
that one was not; but most of all, every one was a comrade. The canteen keeper
would give him credit, his pay would come every four months. There was no need
of thought or of choice; one had only to do nothing that was considered low in
the Pavlograd regiment, and when occasion came, to do what was clear and
distinct, defined and commanded; and all would be well.
On becoming subject again to the definite regulations of regimental life,
Rostov had a sense of pleasure and relief, such as a weary man feels in lying
down to rest. The regimental life was the GREater relief to Rostov on this
campaign, because after his loss to Dolohov (for which, in spite of his family's
efforts to console him, he could not forgive himself), he had resolved not to
serve as before, but to atone for his fault by good conduct, and by being a
thoroughly good soldier and officer, that is a good man, a task so difficult in
the world, but so possible in the regiment.
Rostov had determined to repay his gambling debt to his parents in the course
of five years. He had been sent ten thousand a year; now he had made up his mind
to take only two thousand, and to leave the remainder to repay the debt to his
parents.
After continual retreats, advances, and engagements at Pultusk and
Preussisch-Eylau, our army was concentrated about Bartenstein. They were waiting
for the arrival of the Tsar and the beginning of a new campaign.
The Pavlograd regiment, belonging to that part of the army which had been in
the campaign of 1805, had stayed behind in Russia to make up its full complement
of men, and did not arrive in time for the first actions of the campaign. It
took no part in the battles of Pultusk and of Preussisch-Eylau, and joining the
army in the field, in the second half of the campaign, was attached to Platov's
detachment.
Platov's detachment was acting independently of the main army. Several times
the Pavlograd hussars had taken part in skirmishes with the enemy, had captured
prisoners, and on one occasion had even carried off the carriages of Marshal
Oudinot. In April the Pavlograd hussars had for several weeks been encamped near
an utterly ruined, empty German village, and had not stirred from that
spot.
It was thawing, muddy, and cold, the ice had broken upon the river, the roads
had become impassable; for several days there had been neither provender for the
horses nor provisions for the men. Seeing that the transport of provisions was
impossible, the soldiers dispersed about the abandoned and desert villages to
try and find potatoes, but very few were to be found even of these.
Everything had been eaten up, and all the inhabitants of the district had
fled; those that remained were worse than beggars, and there was nothing to be
taken from them; indeed, the soldiers, although little given to compassion,
often gave their last ration to them.
The Pavlograd regiment had only lost two men wounded in action, but had lost
almost half its men from hunger and disease. In the hospitals they died so
invariably, that soldiers sick with fever or the swelling that came from bad
food, preferred to remain on duty, to drag their feeble limbs in the ranks,
rather than to go to the hospitals. As spring came on, the soldiers found a
plant growing out of the ground, like asparagus, which for some reason they
called Mary's sweet-root, and they wandered about the fields and meadows seeking
this Mary's sweet-root (which was very bitter). They dug it up with their swords
and ate it, in spite of all prohibition of this noxious root being eaten. In the
spring a new disease broke out among the soldiers, with swelling of the hands,
legs, and face, which the doctors attributed to eating this root. But in spite
of the prohibition, the soldiers of Denisov's squadron in particular ate a GREat
deal of the Mary's sweet-root, because they had been for a fortnight eking out
the last biscuits, giving out only half a pound a man, and the potatoes in the
last lot of stores were sprouting and rotten.
The horses, too, had for the last fortnight been fed on the thatched roofs of
the houses; they were hideously thin, and still covered with their shaggy,
winter coats, which were coming off in tufts.
In spite of their destitute condition, the soldiers and officers went on
living exactly as they always did. Just as always, though now with pale and
swollen faces and torn uniforms, the hussars were drawn up for calling over,
went out to collect forage, cleaned down their horses, and rubbed up their arms,
dragged in straw from the thatched roofs in place of fodder, and assembled for
dinner round the cauldrons, from which they rose up hungry, making jokes over
their vile food and their hunger. Just as ever, in their spare time off duty the
soldiers lighted camp-fires, and warmed themselves naked before them, smoked,
picked out and baked the sprouting, rotten potatoes, and told and heard either
stories of Potyomkin's and Suvorov's campaigns or popular legends of cunning
Alyoshka, and of the priests' workman, Mikolka.
The officers lived as usual in twos and threes in the roofless, broken-down
houses. The senior officers were busily engaged in trying to get hold of straw
and potatoes, and the means of sustenance for the soldiers generally, while the
younger ones spent their time as they always did, some over cards (money was
plentiful, though there was nothing to eat), others over more innocent games, a
sort of quoits and skittles. Of the general cause of the campaign little was
said, partly because nothing certain was known, partly because there was a vague
feeling that the war vas not going well.
Rostov lived as before with Denisov, and the bond of friendship between them
had become still closer since their furlough. Denisov never spoke of any of
Rostov's family, but from the tender affection the senior officer showed his
junior, Rostov felt that the older hussar's luckless passion for Natasha had
something to do with the strengthening of their friendship. There was no doubt
that Denisov tried to take care of Rostov, and to expose him as rarely as
possible to danger, and after action it was with unmistakable joy that he saw
him return safe and sound. On one of his foraging expeditions in a deserted and
ruined village to which he had come in search of provisions, Rostov found an old
Pole and his daughter with a tiny baby. They were without clothes or food; they
had not the strength to go away on foot, and had no means of getting driven
away. Rostov brought them to his camp, installed them in his own quarters, and
maintained them for several weeks till the old man was better. One of Rostov's
comrades, talking of women, began to rally him on the subject, declaring that he
was the slyest fellow of the lot, and that he ought to be ashamed not to have
introduced his comrades, too, to the pretty Polish woman he had rescued. Rostov
took the jest as an insult, and firing up, said such unpleasant things to the
officer, that Denisov had much ado to prevent a duel. When the officer had gone
away, and Denisov, who knew nothing himself of Rostov's relations with the
Polish woman, began to scold him for his hastiness, Rostov said to him: “Say
what you like.… She was like a sister to me, and I can't tell you how sick it
made me … because … well, just because …”
Denisov slapped him on the shoulder, and fell to walking rapidly up and down
the room not looking at Rostov, which was what he always did at moments of
emotional excitement. “What a jolly lot of fools all you Rostovs are,” he said,
and Rostov saw tears in Denisov's eyes.
