《War And Peace》Book9 CHAPTER XII

《War And Peace》　Book9 　CHAPTER XII
　　　　by 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.

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.