When Good Intentions Go Wrong — War and Peace

In April news of the Emperor's arrival at Bartenstein livens the troops, but Rostóv has no chance of the review: the Pávlograds are at the outposts. He and Denísov live in an earth hut dug by the soldiers, a trench with steps, board table, earth couches, and, because the squadron likes its commander, even a mended glass window. On freezing nights embers sit on bent iron in the "reception room," and officers sit in shirt sleeves. One morning, returning from orderly duty between seven and eight after a sleepless night, Rostóv sends for embers, changes rain-soaked underclothes, prays, drinks tea, tidies his corner, and lies down in his shirt considering probable promotion for a reconnoitering expedition. He hears Denísov shouting at quartermaster Topchéenko for letting men eat Máshka root; Lazarchúk was seen bringing it from the fields. Lavrúshka talks of loaded wagons, biscuits, and oxen seen while out for provisions. Denísov cries saddle, second platoon, comes in with muddy boots, takes his leaded whip and saber, and goes out telling God and the monarch to judge him afterwards. Rostóv falls asleep and does not leave the hut till evening.

When wagons appear with fifteen hussars, officers playing sváyka in the mud think Denísov has worried and here are the provisions. A short thin infantry officer, very angry, warns Denísov it is mutiny to seize the transport of one's own army; his men have had nothing for two days. Denísov's have had nothing for two weeks. He shouts the officer off as a dog astride a fence, the cavalry insult, then laughs to Rostóv: he has taken infantry transports by force rather than let his men starve. Biscuits are dealt out freely and shared with other squadrons. Next day the regimental commander, fingers spread before his eyes, says he knows nothing and will not begin proceedings, but advises Denísov to ride to staff, settle it in the commissariat, and if possible sign a receipt. Denísov goes with sincere desire to act on the advice and returns gasping, incoherent. The doctor bleeds a saucer of black blood from his hairy arm. Then the story: twenty miles, no waiting, the chief calls it robbery; Denísov answers that robbery is filling one's own pockets, not feeding soldiers. At the commissioner's table he finds Telyánin, the man starving them, and hits him straight on the snout. He would have killed him if they had not taken him away.

Next day he wakes calm. At noon the adjutant shows a paper of inquiry. A court-martial has been appointed; degradation to the ranks would be the best to hope for. The offended parties say Denísov, drunk, called the chief quartermaster a thief, rushed the office, thrashed two officials, and dislocated an arm. Denísov laughs that some other fellow got mixed up in it, that it is rubbish, that he does not fear trial. Rostóv knows him too well not to detect fear hidden from others. Letters arrive daily. On the first of May he is ordered to hand the squadron over and appear before the division staff. The day before, Plátov reconnoiters with Cossacks and hussars. Denísov, as usual, rides in front of the outposts parading his courage. A French sharpshooter's bullet hits the fleshy part of his leg. Another time he would not have left the regiment for so slight a wound; now he uses it to excuse himself from the staff and goes into hospital.