War and Peace - Leo Tolstoy [682]
VIII
From the drummer boy, who, on Denisov’s instructions, was given vodka and mutton, and whom Denisov ordered dressed in a Russian kaftan, so that he could stay with the party and not be sent away with the prisoners, Petya’s attention was distracted by the arrival of Dolokhov. In the army, Petya had heard many stories of Dolokhov’s extraordinary courage and cruelty to the French, and therefore, once Dolokhov entered the cottage, Petya gazed at him without taking his eyes away, and kept encouraging himself by tossing his raised head, so as not to be unworthy even of such company as Dolokhov.
Dolokhov’s appearance struck Petya strangely by its simplicity.
Denisov was dressed in a Cossack coat, wore a beard and an icon of St. Nicholas the Wonderworker on his chest, and in his manner of speaking, in all his ways, expressed the singularity of his position. Dolokhov, on the contrary, who formerly in Moscow had worn Persian dress, now had the look of a most prim officer of the guards. His face was clean-shaven, he was dressed in a padded guardsman’s jacket with a St. George in the buttonhole and in a simple peaked cap set straight on his head. He took off his wet felt cape in the corner and, going up to Denisov, without greeting anyone, at once began asking him about business. Denisov told him about the designs that the large detachments had on their transport, about the sending of Petya, and about his response to the two generals. Then Denisov told him all he knew about the position of the French.
“That’s all very well, but we must know what kind of troops they are and how many,” said Dolokhov. “We’ll have to go there. We can’t go into action without knowing for certain how many they are. I like to do things neatly. So, gentlemen, does anyone want to go with me to their camp? I’ve got uniforms with me.”
“Me, me…I’ll go with you!” cried Petya.
“There’s no need at all for you to go,” said Denisov, addressing Dolokhov, “and him I won’t let go for anything.”
“That’s just fine!” cried Petya. “Why can’t I go?…”
“Because there’s no need.”
“Well, excuse me, because…because…I’m going, that’s all. Will you take me?” he turned to Dolokhov.
“Why not…” Dolokhov answered distractedly, peering into the face of the French drummer boy.
“Have you had this little fellow long?” he asked Denisov.
“We took him today, but he doesn’t know anything. I’m keeping him with me.”
“And where do the rest disappear to?” asked Dolokhov.
“Meaning what? I send them off and take receipts!” Denisov cried, suddenly turning red. “And I say boldly that I don’t have a single man on my conscience. Is it hard for you to send thirty or even three hundred men to town under escort, instead—I’ll say it outright—instead of besmihrching the honor of a soldier?”
“Such niceties would be fitting for the little sixteen-year-old count here,” Dolokhov said with a cold smirk, “but it’s time you gave them up.”
“What, I’m not saying anything, I’m only saying that I’ll definitely go with you,” Petya said timidly.
“But for you and me, brother, it’s time to drop these niceties,” Dolokhov went on, as if he found a special pleasure in talking about this subject, which irritated Denisov. “Now, why have you taken this one with you?” he said, shaking his head. “Because you feel sorry for him? We know those receipts of yours. You send off a hundred men, thirty will arrive. The rest will starve to death or be killed. Does it make any difference if you don’t take them?”
The esaul, narrowing his pale eyes, nodded approvingly.
“That makes no difference, there’s nothing to discuss. I don’t want to take it on my soul. You say they’ll die. Very well. As long as it’s not because of me.”
Dolokhov laughed.
“Who told them not to capture me twenty times over? But if they do—for me and for you, with all your chivalry, it’s the same aspen tree.” He paused. “Anyhow, we’ve got to get down to business. Send for my Cossack with the bundle! I have two French uniforms. Well, are you coming with me?” he asked Petya.
“Me? Yes, yes, definitely,” cried Petya, blushing almost