War and Peace - Leo Tolstoy [424]
Seeing the gloomy face of the doctor, looking askance at his wife, the officers grew still merrier, and many could not keep from laughing, for which they hastily tried to find plausible pretexts. When the doctor left, taking his wife along, and settled with her in the little kibitka, the officers lay down in the tavern, covering themselves with their wet greatcoats; but for a long time they did not sleep, now talking, remembering the doctor’s fright and his wife’s merriment, now running out to the porch and reporting on what was going on in the kibitka. Several times Rostov covered his head and tried to fall asleep; but again someone’s remark would distract him, again a conversation would begin, and again there would be causeless, merry, childlike laughter.
XIV
It was past two o’clock and no one was asleep yet when the quartermaster appeared with orders to set out for the little village of Ostrovna.
Still with the same talk and laughter, the officers quickly began to get ready; again they set up the samovar with dirty water. But Rostov, not waiting for tea, went to his squadron. Dawn was breaking; the rain had stopped, the clouds had scattered. It was damp and cold, especially in still-wet clothes. Leaving the tavern, Rostov and Ilyin, in the half-light of dawn, peeked into the doctor’s little kibitka, its leather glistening from the rain, from the apron of which the doctor’s legs stuck out, and in the middle of which they could see his wife’s nightcap on the pillow and hear her sleepy breathing.
“She’s really very sweet!” Rostov said to Ilyin, who was leaving with him.
“A lovely woman!” Ilyin replied with a sixteen-year-old’s earnestness.
Half an hour later the lined-up squadron was standing on the road. The command “Mount up!” rang out, the soldiers crossed themselves and began to mount up. Rostov, riding ahead, gave the command, “March!” and, stretching out four abreast, the hussars, with the sounds of hoofs splashing on the wet road, the clank of sabers, and quiet talk, started down the big, birch-lined road, in the wake of the preceding infantry and artillery.
The ragged, bluish-purple clouds, turning red in the east, were driven quickly by the wind. It was growing lighter and lighter. The short, curly grass that always grows at the sides of country roads was clearly visible, still wet from last night’s rain; the hanging branches of the birches, also wet, swayed in the wind and shed bright drops sideways. The soldiers’ faces could be seen more and more clearly. Rostov rode with Ilyin, who never lagged behind him, along the side of the road, between the double row of birches.
While on campaign, Rostov allowed himself the liberty of riding a Cossack horse instead of a regimental one. A fancier and a hunter, he had recently obtained for himself a fine, big, dashing Don horse, light chestnut with a white mane and tail, on which no one could outgallop him. It was a pleasure for Rostov to ride this horse. He thought about the horse, about the morning, about the doctor’s wife, and never once thought about the impending danger.
Formerly, going into action, Rostov had been afraid; now he did not feel the least fear. He was not afraid, not because he was used to gunfire (one cannot get used to danger), but because he had learned to control his soul in the face of danger. He got used, going into action, to thinking about everything except what would seem more interesting than anything else—the impending danger. However hard he had tried, however much he had reproached himself for cowardice during his first period of service, he had been unable to achieve this; but now, with the years, it had come by itself. He was now riding beside Ilyin between the birches, occasionally pulling leaves off the branches that happened in his way, occasionally touching the horse’s flank with his foot, occasionally handing his finished pipe, without turning around, to the hussar behind him—all with such a calm and carefree air as though he was just out for a ride. He felt pity, looking at the troubled face