战争与和平(上)-第134章

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　always　will；　beat　blackguards；　and　I’ll　tell　the　Emperor。—Ice；”　he　kept　saying。
The　regimental　doctor　said　it　was　necessary　to　bleed　him。　A　deep　saucer　of　black　blood　was　drawn　from　Denisov’s　hairy　arm；　and　only　then　did　he　recover　himself　sufficiently　to　relate　what　had　happened。
“I　got　there；”　Denisov　said。　“　‘Well；　where　are　your　chief’s　quarters？’　I　asked。　They　showed　me。　‘Will　you　please　to　wait？’　‘I　have　come　on　business；　and　I　have　come　over　thirty　versts；　I　haven’t　time　to　wait；　announce　me。’　Very　good；　but　the　over…thief　appears；　he；　too；　thought　fit　to　lecture　me。　‘This　is　robbery！’　says　he。　‘The　robber；’　said　I；　‘is　not　the　man　who　takes　the　stores　to　feed　his　soldiers；　but　the　man　who　takes　them　to　fill　his　pockets。’　‘Will　you　please　to　be　silent？’　Very　good。　‘Give　a　receipt；’　says　he；　‘to　the　commissioner；　but　the　affair　will　be　reported　at　headquarters。’　I　go　before　the　commissioner。　I　go　in。　Sitting　at　the　table　…　Who？　No；　think　of　it！…　Who　is　it　that’s　starving　us　to　death？”　roared　Denisov；　bringing　the　fist　of　his　lanced　arm　down　so　violently　that　the　table　almost　fell　over；　and　the　glasses　jumped　on　it　“Telyanin！　…　‘What；　it’s　you　that’s　starving　us　to　death？’　said　I；　and　I　gave　him　one　on　the　snout；　and　well　it　went　home；　and　then　another；　so　…　‘Ah！　…　you　so…and…so　…’　and　I　gave　him　a　thrashing。　But　I　did　have　a　bit　of　fun；　though；　I　can　say　that；”　cried　Denisov；　his　white　teeth　showing　in　a　smile　of　malignant　glee　under　his　black　moustaches。　“I　should　have　killed　him；　if　they　hadn’t　pulled　me　off。”
“But　why　are　you　shouting；　keep　quiet；”　said　Rostov；　“it’s　bleeding　again。　Stay；　it　must　be　bound　up。”
Denisov　was　bandaged　up　and　put　to　bed。　Next　day　he　waked　up　calm　and　in　good　spirits。
But　at　midday　the　adjutant　of　the　regiment　came　with　a　grave　and　gloomy　face　to　the　hut　shared　by　Denisov　and　Rostov；　and　regretfully　showed　them　a　formal　communication　to　Major　Denisov　from　the　colonel；　in　which　inquiries　were　made　about　the　incidents　of　the　previous　day。　The　adjutant　informed　them　that　the　affair　seemed　likely　to　take　a　very　disastrous　turn；　that　a　court…martial　was　to　be　held；　and　that；　with　the　strictness　now　prevailing　as　regards　pillaging　and　breach　of　discipline；　it　would　be　a　lucky　chance　if　it　ended　in　being　degraded　to　the　ranks。
The　case；　as　presented　by　the　offended　parties；　was　that　Major　Denisov；　after　carrying　off　the　transports；　had　without　any　provocation　come　in　a　drunken　condition　to　the　chief　commissioner　of　the　commissariat；　had　called　him　a　thief；　threatened　to　beat　him；　and；　when　he　was　led　out；　had　rushed　into　the　office；　attacked　two　officials；　and　sprained　the　arm　of　one　of　them。
In　response　to　further　inquiries　from　Rostov；　Denisov　said；　laughing；　that　it　did　seem　certainly　as　though　some　other　fellow　had　been　mixed　up　in　it；　but　that　it　was　all　stuff　and　nonsense；　that　he　would　never　dream　of　being　afraid　of　courts　of　any　sort；　and　that　if　the　scoundrels　dared　to　pick　a　quarrel　with　him；　he　would　give　them　an　answer　they　wouldn’t　soon　forget。
Denisov　spoke　in　this　careless　way　of　the　whole　affair。　But　Rostov　knew　him　too　well　not　to　detect　that　in　his　heart　（though　he　hid　it　from　others）　he　was　afraid　of　a　court…martial；　and　was　worrying　over　the　matter；　which　was　obviously　certain　to　have　disastrous　consequences。　Documents　began　to　come　every　day；　and　notices　from　the　court；　and　Denisov　received　a　summons　to　put　his　squadron　under　the　command　of　the　officer　next　in　seniority；　and　on　the　first　of　May　to　appear　before　the　staff　of　the　division　for　an　investigation　into　the　row　in　the　commissariat　office。　On　the　previous　day　Platov　undertook　a　reconnaissance　of　the　enemy　with　two　regiments　of　Cossacks　and　two　squadrons　of　hussars。　Denisov；　with　his　usual　swaggering　gallantry；　rode　in　the　front　of　the　line。　One　of　the　bullets　fired　by　the　French　sharpshooters　struck　him　in　the　fleshy　upper　part　of　the　leg。　Possibly　at　any　other　time　Denisov　would　not　have　left　the　regiment　for　so　slight　a　wound；　but　now　he　took　advantage　of　it　to　excuse　himself　from　appearing　before　the　staff；　and　went　into　the　hospital。


Chapter　17
IN　THE　MONTH　of　June　was　fought　the　battle　of　Friedland；　in　which　the　Pavlograd　hussars　did　not　take　part。　It　was　followed　by　a　truce。　Rostov；　who　sorely　felt　his　friend’s　absence；　and　had　had　no　news　of　him　since　he　left；　was　uneasy　about　his　wound　and　the　course　his　difficulties　might　be　taking；　and　he　took　advantage　of　the　truce　to　get　leave　to　visit　Denisov　at　the　hospital。
The　hospital　was　in　a　little　Prussian　town；　which　had　twice　been　sacked　by　Russian　and　French　troops。　In　the　summer　weather；　when　the　country　looked　so　pleasant；　this　little　town　presented　a　strikingly　melancholy　contrast；　with　its　broken　roofs　and　fences；　its　foul　streets　and　ragged　inhabitants；　and　the　sick　and　drunken　soldiers　wandering　about　it。
The　hospital　was　a　stone　house　with　remnants　of　fence　torn　up　in　the　yard；　and　window　frames　and　panes　partly　broken。　Several　soldiers　bandaged　up；　and　with　pale　and　swollen　faces；　were　walking　or　sitting　in　the　sunshine　in　the　yard。
As　soon　as　Rostov　went　in　at　the　door；　he　was　conscious　of　the　stench　of　hospital　and　putrefying　flesh　all　about　him。　On　the　stairs　he　met　a　Russian　army　doctor　with　a　cigar　in　his　mouth。　He　was　followed　by　a　Russian　trained　assistant。
“I　can’t　be　everywhere　at　once；”　the　doctor　was　saying；　“come　in　the　evening　to　Makar　Alexyevitch’s；　I　shall　be　there。”　The　assistant　asked　some　further　question。　“Oh！　do　as　you　think　best！　What　difference　will　it　make？”
The　doctor　caught　sight　of　Rostov　mounting　the　stairs。
“What　are　you　here　for；　your　honour？”　said　the　doctor。　“What　are　you　here　for？　Couldn’t　you　meet　with　a　bullet　that　you　want　to　pick　up　typhus？　This　is　a　pest…house；　my　good　sir。”
“How　so？”　asked　Rostov。
“Typhus；　sir。　It’s　death　to　any　one　to　go　in。　It’s　only　we　two；　Makeev　and　I”　（he　pointed　to　the　assistant）　“who　are　still　afoot　here。　Five　of　us；　doctors；　have　died　here　already。　As　soon　as　a　new　one　comes；　he’s　done　for　in　a　week；”　said　the　doctor　with　evident　satisfaction。　“They　have　sent　for　Prussian　doctors；　but　our　allies　aren’t　fond　of　the　job。”
Rostov　explained　that　he　wanted　to　see　Major　Denisov　of　the　hussars；　who　was　lying　wounded　here。
“I　don’t　know；　can’t　tell　you；　my　good　sir。　Only　think；　I　have　three　hospitals　to　look　after　alone—over　four　hundred　patients。　It’s　a　good　thing　the　Prussian　charitable　ladies　send　us　coffee　and　lint—two　pounds　a　month—or　we　should　be　lost。”　He　laughed。　“Four　hundred；　sir；　and　they　keep　sending　me　in　fresh　cases。　It　is　four　hundred；　isn’t　it？　Eh？”　He　turned　to　the　assistant。
The　assistant　looked　worried。　He　was　unmistakably　in　a　hurry　for　the　talkative　doctor　to　be　gone；　and　was　waiting　with　vexation。
“Major　Denisov；”　repeated　Rostov；　“he　was　wounded　at　Moliten。”
“I　believe　he’s　dead。　Eh；　Makeev？”　the　doctor　queried　of　the　assistant　carelessly。
The　assistant　did　not；　however；　confirm　the　doctor’s　words。
“Is　he　a　long；　red…haired　man？”　asked　the　doctor。
Rostov　described　Denisov’s　appearance。
“He　was　here；　he　was；”　the　doctor　declared；　with　a　sort　of　glee。　“He　must　be　dead；　but　still　I’ll　see。　I　have　lists。　Have　you　got　them；　Makeev？”
“The　lists　are　at　Makar　Alexyevitch’s；”　said　the　assistant。　“But　go　to　the　officers’　ward；　there　you’ll　see　for　yourself；”　he　added；　turning　to　Rostov。
“Ah；　you’d　better　not；　sir！”　said　the　doctor；　“or　you　may　have　to　stay　here　yourself。”　But　Rostov　bowed　himself　away　from　the　doctor；　and　asked　the　assistant　to　show　him　the　way。
“Don’t　blame　me　afterwards；　mind！”　the　doctor　shouted　up　from　the　stairs　below。
Rostov　and　the　assistant　went　into　the　corridor。　The　hospital　stench　was　so　strong　in　that　dark　corridor　that　Rostov　held　his　nose；　and　was　obliged　to　pause　to　recover　his　energy　to　go　on。　A　door　was　opened　on　the　right；　and　there　limped　out　on　crutches　a　thin　yellow　man　with　bare　feet；　and　nothing　on　but　his　underlinen。　Leaning　against　the　doorpost；　he　gazed　with　glittering；　anxious　eyes　at　the　persons　approaching。　Rostov　glanced　in　at　the　door　and　saw　that　the　sick　and　wounded　were　lying　there　on　the　fl