War and Peace - Leo Tolstoy [259]
“Think what you will…She’s like a sister to me, and I can’t describe to you how hurt I felt…because…well, since I…”
Denisov slapped him on the shoulder and quickly began pacing the room without looking at Rostov, something he did in moments of inner turmoil.
“It’s your crazy Rostov breed,” he said, and Rostov noticed tears in Denisov’s eyes.
XVI
In the month of April, the troops were enlivened by news that the sovereign was coming to the army. Rostov did not manage to get to the review that the sovereign held in Bartenstein: the Pavlogradsky regiment was stationed at outposts far forward of Bartenstein.
They were on bivouac. Denisov and Rostov lived in a dugout covered with branches and turf that the soldiers had made for them. The dugout was made in the following way, which had then come into fashion: a trench was dug four feet wide, five feet deep, and nine feet long. At one end of the dugout, steps were made, and this was the way down, the entrance; the trench itself was the room, in which the lucky ones, such as the squadron commander, had a board lying on four posts at the far end—this was a table. Along both sides of the trench, earth was removed to a width of two and a half feet, and this made two beds or couches. The roof was constructed in such a way that one could stand up in the middle, and one could even sit up on the beds if one moved closer to the table. Denisov, who lived in luxury, because the soldiers of his squadron loved him, also had a board in the pediment of the roof with a piece of broken but mended glass set into it. When it was very cold, hot coals from the soldiers’ bonfires were brought to the steps (the anteroom, as Denisov called this part of the shed) on a bent piece of sheet iron, and it became so warm that the officers, of whom there were always many with Rostov and Denisov, sat in nothing but their shirts.
In the month of April, Rostov was on duty. Past seven in the morning, coming home after a sleepless night, he ordered hot coals brought, changed his rain-soaked underclothes, said his prayers, drank some tea, got warm, tidied things up in his corner and on the table, and with a wind-burned face, in nothing but his shirt, lay on his back with his hands behind his head. He thought pleasantly about the promotion he was supposed to receive one of those days for his last reconnoitering, and waited for Denisov, who had stepped out somewhere. Rostov wanted to talk with him.
From behind the hut came the rolling shout of Denisov, obviously in a fit of temper. Rostov moved to the window to see whom he was dealing with, and saw Sergeant Major Topcheenko.
“I ordered you not to let them eat that root, Mashka’s or whatever!” shouted Denisov. “I saw it myself, Lazarchuk was bringing some from the fields.”
“I ordered them, Your Honor, they don’t obey,” said the sergeant major.
Rostov lay down again on his bed and thought with pleasure: “Let him fuss and bustle now, I’ve done my job and I’m lying down—that’s splendid!” Through the wall he heard that, besides the sergeant major, Lavrushka, Denisov’s pert and roguish lackey, was also talking. Lavrushka was telling something about some sort of wagons, biscuits, and oxen he had seen when he went for provisions.
From behind the shed came the shouting of Denisov again, moving away, and the words: “Saddle up—second section!”
“Where are they going?” Rostov wondered.
Five minutes later Denisov came into the shed, climbed onto the bed in his muddy boots, angrily smoked his pipe, scattered all his belongings around, strapped on his riding whip and saber, and started out of the dugout. To Rostov’s question, where to?—he answered angrily