Finding Home in Structure — War and Peace

When Nicholas Rostóv returns from leave he feels, for the first time, how close the bond is that unites him to Denísov and the whole regiment. Approaching it is like approaching home in Moscow. The first hussar in the unbuttoned uniform, red-haired Deméntyev, picket ropes of the roan horses, Lavrúshka shouting that the count has come, Denísov running disheveled from a mud hut to embrace him, officers collecting round: tears of joy choke him as when mother, father, and sister embraced him. The regiment is a home as unalterably dear as his parents' house. Reporting to the commander, reassigned to his former squadron, on duty, foraging, he feels deprived of liberty and bound in a narrow frame, and with that the same peace he knew under the parental roof. Here there is no Sónya with whom he ought or ought not to have an explanation, no undefined money relations with his father, nothing to recall the terrible loss to Dólokhov. The world divides into two unequal parts: our Pávlograd regiment, and the rest, which is no concern of his. Who is lieutenant, who captain, who a good fellow, who a comrade: all is definite. Pay comes every four months; one has only to do nothing considered bad and, when ordered, to do what is clearly ordered.

He has resolved to atone for the Dólokhov debt by serving really well, a first-rate comrade and officer, a splendid man altogether, so difficult in the world and so possible here. He receives ten thousand a year and now takes only two thousand, leaving the rest to repay his parents in five years. After Pultúsk and Preussisch-Eylau the army concentrates near Bartenstein, awaiting the Emperor. The Pávlograds, recruiting in Russia, missed those actions and join late, attached to Plátov's independent division. They have exchanged shots, taken prisoners, even captured Marshal Oudinot's carriages. In April they sit immovable for weeks near a ruined, deserted German village. Thaw, mud, broken ice, impassable roads: no provisions, no fodder. Men search abandoned villages for potatoes. Inhabitants have fled or are worse than beggars; soldiers often give them the last of their rations. Only two Pávlograds have been wounded in action; nearly half the regiment has died of hunger and sickness. Hospitals mean death, so men with fever or swelling stay on duty. They dig a bitter plant they call Máshka's sweet root, though ordered not to, and a new swelling of arms, legs, and face is blamed on it. Horses eat straw from thatched roofs. Still they form line, groom, joke at the caldrons, steam naked at bonfires, tell stories of Potëmkin, Suvórov, Alësha the Sly.

Rostóv lives with Denísov, more friendly than ever since furlough. Denísov never speaks of the Rostóv family, but tender friendship shows that his luckless love for Natásha plays a part; he exposes Rostóv to danger as seldom as possible. On a foraging expedition Rostóv finds an old Pole and his daughter with an infant, half clad, too weak to walk, with no conveyance. He brings them to his lodging for weeks while the old man recovers. A comrade, talking of women, chaffs that Rostóv is wily and should introduce the pretty Polish girl. Rostóv takes it as an insult, says such unpleasant things that Denísov can barely prevent a duel. Afterwards Rostóv says she is like a sister. Denísov pats his shoulder, paces without looking, and mutters through tears that the Rostóvs are a mad breed. Structure gives Nicholas peace even in mud, yet honour still flares hot.