library_books Bookstacks

Volume I, Part Two, Chapter III

The Pavlograd Hussar Regiment was stationed two miles from Braunau. The squadron in which Nikolai Rostov served as a cadet was quartered in the German village of Salzeneck. The squadron commander, Captain Denisov, known to the whole cavalry division by the name of Vaska Denisov, had been allotted the best quarters in the village. Cadet Rostov had lived with the squadron commander ever since he overtook the regiment in Poland.

On the 11th of October, the very day when everything at headquarters had been roused by the news of Mack's defeat, camp life in the squadron headquarters was going on peacefully as before. Denisov, who had been playing cards all night, had not yet come home when Rostov, early in the morning, rode back from foraging. Rostov, in his cadet uniform, rode up to the porch, urged his horse on, threw his leg over with a supple, youthful gesture, stood in the stirrup as if unwilling to part with the horse, and at last sprang down and called an orderly.

— Ah, Bondarenko, dear friend, — he said to the hussar who rushed headlong to his horse. — Walk him, my friend, — he said with that brotherly, cheerful tenderness with which good young men address everyone when they are happy.

— Yes, your excellency, — the Ukrainian answered, shaking his head cheerfully.

— Mind you, walk him well!

Another hussar rushed to the horse too, but Bondarenko had already thrown the snaffle reins over. It was evident that the cadet tipped well, and that it was profitable to serve him. Rostov stroked the horse's neck, then its croup, and lingered on the porch.

"Glorious! He will be a fine horse!" he said to himself, and, smiling and holding his sword, he ran up the porch steps, clinking his spurs. The German host, in a knitted jacket and a nightcap, with a pitchfork with which he was clearing out manure, looked out of the cowshed. The German's face suddenly brightened as soon as he saw Rostov. He smiled cheerfully and winked: "Schön, gut Morgen! Schön, gut Morgen!" he repeated, evidently finding pleasure in greeting the young man.

— Schon fleissig! — said Rostov with the same joyful, brotherly smile that never left his animated face. — Hoch Oestreicher! Hoch Russen! Kaiser Alexander hoch! — he said to the German, repeating the words frequently spoken by the German host.

The German laughed, came right out of the cowshed door, pulled off his nightcap, and waving it over his head, shouted:

— Und die ganze Welt hoch!

Rostov himself, like the German, waved his forage cap over his head and, laughing, shouted: "Und Vivat die ganze Welt"! Though there was no reason for any special joy either for the German cleaning out his cowshed, or for Rostov who had been with his platoon for hay, these two men looked at one another with happy delight and brotherly love, shook their heads in token of mutual affection, and parted smiling — the German to the cowshed, and Rostov to the cottage he shared with Denisov.

— What about the master? — he asked Lavrushka, Denisov's rogue of a lackey, who was known to the whole regiment.

— He hasn't been in since evening. Must have been losing, — answered Lavrushka. — I know by now, if he wins, he'll come back early to brag, but if he's not back till morning, it means he's cleaned out — he'll come back angry. Will you order coffee?

— Bring it, bring it.

Ten minutes later Lavrushka brought the coffee.

— Here he comes! — he said. — Now for trouble.

Rostov glanced out of the window and saw Denisov returning home. Denisov was a small man with a red face, sparkling black eyes, and black tousled moustache and hair. He wore an unbuttoned pelisse, wide riding breeches hanging in folds, and on the back of his head a crumpled hussar's cap. He approached the porch gloomily, with his head down.

— Lavrushka, — he shouted loudly and angrily, rolling his r's. — Come on, take it off, blockhead!

— Why, I am taking it off, — Lavrushka's voice answered.

— Ah! you're up already, — said Denisov, entering the room.

— Long ago, — said Rostov, — I've already been for the hay and seen Fräulein Mathilde.

— Really! And I've been cleaned out, brother, yesterday, like a son of a bitch! — shouted Denisov. — Such ill luck! such ill luck!... As soon as you left, it started. Hey, tea!

Denisov puckered his face as if smiling, showing his short, strong teeth, and began with both his short-fingered hands to ruffle his thick black hair, making it stand up like a forest.

— The devil prompted me to go to that rat (an officer's nickname), — he said, rubbing his forehead and face with both hands. — Would you believe it, he didn't give me a single card, not one, not a single card.

Denisov took the lighted pipe that was handed to him, gripped it in his fist, and, scattering fire, struck it against the floor, continuing to shout.

— He lets me win a single stake, and beats me on the double; lets me win a single stake, and beats me on the double.

He scattered the fire, smashed the pipe, and threw it away. Then he was silent, and suddenly looked cheerfully at Rostov with his sparkling black eyes.

— If only there were women. But here there's nothing to do but drink. If only we could start fighting soon...

— Hey, who's there? — he turned to the door, hearing heavy footsteps halting, the clank of spurs, and a respectful cough.

— The quartermaster-sergeant! — said Lavrushka.

Denisov frowned still more.

— Bad, — he muttered, throwing down a purse with a few gold pieces. — Rostov, count, my dear fellow, how much is left there, and thrust the purse under the pillow, — he said, and went out to the sergeant.

Rostov took the money and, mechanically sorting the old and new gold pieces and putting them in piles, began counting them.

— Ah! Telyanin! How do you do! I was cleaned out yesterday, — Denisov's voice was heard from the other room.

— At whose place? At Bykov's, at the rat's?... I knew it, — said another, thin voice, and immediately after that Lieutenant Telyanin, a small officer of the same squadron, entered the room.

Rostov tossed the purse under the pillow and shook the small, moist hand offered him. Telyanin had been transferred from the Guards for something before the campaign. He behaved himself very well in the regiment; but he was not liked, and Rostov in particular could neither overcome nor conceal his unreasonable disgust for this officer.

— Well, young cavalryman, how is my Rook serving you? — he asked. (Rook was a riding horse, a half-broken colt, sold to Rostov by Telyanin.)

The lieutenant never looked a person in the face when speaking; his eyes continually shifted from one object to another.

— I saw you riding today...

— Oh, he's all right, a good horse, — answered Rostov, in spite of the fact that the horse, for which he had paid 700 rubles, was not worth half that price. — He's begun to go a bit lame on the near foreleg... — he added.

— A cracked hoof! That's nothing. I'll teach you, show you, what kind of a rivet to put on.

— Yes, please show me, — said Rostov.

— I'll show you, I'll show you, it's no secret. And you'll thank me for the horse.

— Then I'll order the horse to be brought round, — said Rostov, wishing to get rid of Telyanin, and went out to order the horse to be brought.

In the entry Denisov, with a pipe, crouching on the threshold, sat facing the sergeant who was reporting something. Seeing Rostov, Denisov frowned and, pointing over his shoulder with his thumb to the room where Telyanin was sitting, he grimaced and gave a shudder of disgust.

— Ugh, I don't like that fellow, — he said, not minding the presence of the sergeant.

Rostov shrugged his shoulders as if to say: "Neither do I, but what's to be done!" and, having given his order, returned to Telyanin.

Telyanin was still sitting in the same lazy pose in which Rostov had left him, rubbing his small white hands.

"There really are some repulsive faces," thought Rostov as he entered the room.

— Well, have you ordered the horse to be brought? — said Telyanin, getting up and looking carelessly around.

— Yes.

— Let's go ourselves. I only came in to ask Denisov about yesterday's order. Have you received it, Denisov?

— Not yet. Where are you off to?

— I just want to teach this young man how to shoe a horse, — said Telyanin.

They went out onto the porch and into the stable. The lieutenant showed how to make a rivet, and went away to his own quarters.

When Rostov returned, there was a bottle of vodka and a sausage on the table. Denisov was sitting at the table, scratching with his pen on paper. He looked gloomily into Rostov's face.

— I am writing to her, — he said.

He leaned his elbows on the table with his pen in his hand, and, evidently glad of a chance to say in words faster than he could write all that he wanted to write, he told his letter to Rostov.

— You see, my friend, — he said. — We sleep until we love. We are children of dust... but when we fall in love — you are a God, you are as pure as on the first day of creation... Who's that again? Send him to the devil. I have no time! — he shouted at Lavrushka, who, not in the least intimidated, came up to him.

— Who should it be? You ordered him yourself. The quartermaster-sergeant has come for the money.

Denisov frowned, wanted to shout something, and stopped.

— This is bad, — he muttered to himself. — How much money was left in the purse? — he asked Rostov.

— Seven new ones and three old ones.

— Oh, this is bad! Well, what are you standing there for, you scarecrow, send the sergeant in! — Denisov shouted at Lavrushka.

— Please, Denisov, take some money from me, I have some, you know, — said Rostov, blushing.

— I don't like borrowing from my own, I don't like it, — muttered Denisov.

— But if you won't take money from me as a comrade, you will offend me. Really, I have some, — Rostov repeated.

— No, no.

And Denisov went to the bed to get the purse from under the pillow.

— Where did you put it, Rostov?

— Under the bottom pillow.

— But it's not here.

Denisov threw both pillows on the floor. There was no purse.

— That's a miracle!

— Wait, didn't you drop it? — said Rostov, picking up the pillows one by one and shaking them.

He pulled off the quilt and shook it. There was no purse.

— Could I have forgotten? No, I even thought that you put it exactly like a treasure under your head, — said Rostov. — I put the purse here. Where is it? — he turned to Lavrushka.

— I haven't been in. Where you put it, there it must be.

— But it's not.

— You're always like that, you throw it somewhere and forget. Look in your pockets.

— No, if I hadn't thought about the treasure, — said Rostov, — but I remember that I put it there.

Lavrushka turned the whole bed over, looked under it, under the table, rummaged all over the room, and stopped in the middle of the room. Denisov watched Lavrushka's movements in silence, and when Lavrushka spread out his arms in surprise, saying it was nowhere, he glanced at Rostov.

— Rostov, you haven't been playing schoolboy pranks...

Rostov, feeling Denisov's gaze upon him, raised his eyes and at the same instant dropped them. All his blood, which seemed to be locked somewhere below his throat, rushed to his face and eyes. He could not draw his breath.

— And there was nobody in the room except the lieutenant and yourselves. It's somewhere here, — said Lavrushka.

— Come on, you devil's puppet, bestir yourself, look for it, — Denisov suddenly shouted, turning purple and rushing at his servant with a threatening gesture. — Find the purse or I'll flog you. I'll flog everyone!

Rostov, keeping his eyes away from Denisov, began buttoning his jacket, buckled on his saber, and put on his cap.

— I tell you to find the purse, — shouted Denisov, shaking the orderly by the shoulders and pushing him against the wall.

— Denisov, let him alone; I know who took it, — said Rostov, going to the door without raising his eyes.

Denisov stopped, thought, and, evidently understanding what Rostov hinted at, seized him by the arm.

— Nonsense! — he shouted, so that the veins swelled like cords on his neck and forehead. — I tell you, you've gone mad, I won't allow it. The purse is here; I'll flay this scoundrel alive, and it will be here.

— I know who took it, — Rostov repeated in a trembling voice, and went to the door.

— And I tell you, don't you dare do it, — Denisov shouted, rushing to the cadet to hold him back.

But Rostov snatched his arm away and, with as much anger as if Denisov were his greatest enemy, fixed his eyes straight and firmly upon him.

— Do you understand what you are saying? — he said in a trembling voice. — There was no one in the room except me. So if it isn't that, then...

He could not finish, and ran out of the room.

— Ah, the devil take you and everyone, — were the last words Rostov heard.

Rostov came to Telyanin's quarters.

— The master is not at home, he went to headquarters, — Telyanin's orderly told him. — Or has something happened? — the orderly added, surprised at the cadet's upset face.

— No, nothing.

— You just missed him, — said the orderly.

Headquarters was situated three versts from Salzeneck. Rostov, without going home, took his horse and rode to headquarters. In the village occupied by the headquarters there was an inn frequented by officers. Rostov rode up to the inn; at the porch he saw Telyanin's horse.

In the second room of the inn sat the lieutenant over a dish of sausages and a bottle of wine.

— Ah, so you've dropped in too, young man, — he said, smiling and raising his eyebrows high.

— Yes, — said Rostov, as if it cost him a great effort to utter this word, and sat down at the next table.

Both were silent; in the room sat two Germans and one Russian officer. Everyone was silent, and the sounds of knives on plates and the lieutenant's munching could be heard. When Telyanin had finished his breakfast, he took a double purse out of his pocket, parted the rings with his small white fingers curved upwards, took out a gold piece, and, raising his eyebrows, gave the money to the servant.

— Please be quick, — he said.

The gold piece was a new one. Rostov got up and went up to Telyanin.

— Let me look at the purse, — he said in a low, scarcely audible voice.

With darting eyes, but eyebrows still raised, Telyanin handed him the purse.

— Yes, it's a pretty purse... Yes... yes... — he said, and suddenly grew pale. — Look at it, young man, — he added.

Rostov took the purse in his hands and looked at it, and at the money in it, and at Telyanin. The lieutenant was looking around, according to his habit, and seemed suddenly to have become very cheerful.

— If we get to Vienna, I'll leave it all there, but now there's nowhere to spend it in these wretched little towns, — he said. — Well, give it here, young man, I'm going.

Rostov was silent.

— And what about you? going to have breakfast too? They feed you decently, — continued Telyanin. — Let's have it.

He stretched out his hand and took hold of the purse. Rostov let go of it. Telyanin took the purse and began to lower it into the pocket of his riding breeches, and his eyebrows carelessly went up, and his mouth opened slightly, as if he were saying: "Yes, yes, I put my purse in my pocket, and it's a very simple matter, and it's nobody else's business."

— Well, young man? — he said, sighing and looking from under his raised eyebrows into Rostov's eyes. Some kind of light flashed with the speed of an electric spark from Telyanin's eyes to Rostov's and back, and back, and back, all in one instant.

— Come here, — Rostov said, seizing Telyanin by the arm. He almost dragged him to the window. — This is Denisov's money, you took it... — he whispered in his ear.

— What?... What?... How dare you? What?... — said Telyanin.

But these words sounded like a piteous, despairing cry and a prayer for forgiveness. As soon as Rostov heard this tone of voice, a huge stone of doubt fell from his soul. He felt glad, and at the same instant he felt sorry for the miserable man standing before him; but the business begun had to be seen through to the end.

— God knows what people here might think, — muttered Telyanin, seizing his cap and making for a small empty room, — we must explain ourselves...

— I know it, and I will prove it, — said Rostov.

— I...

Every muscle of Telyanin's pale, frightened face began to quiver; his eyes still darted about, but somewhere low down, not rising to Rostov's face, and sobs were heard.

— Count!... don't ruin a young man... here is this wretched money, take it... — He threw it on the table. — I have a father; an old man, a mother!..

Rostov took the money, avoiding Telyanin's look, and, without saying a word, went out of the room. But at the door he stopped and turned back.

— My God, — he said with tears in his eyes, — how could you do it?

— Count, — said Telyanin, approaching the cadet.

— Don't touch me, — said Rostov, drawing back.

— If you are in need, take this money. — He flung the purse at him and ran out of the inn.