Rostov even noticed that Denisov looked uncomfortable whenever he was reminded of the regiment, or of that other life of freedom outside the hospital. He seemed to be trying to forget the old life, as if he wanted to concentrate solely on his dealings with the commissariat officials. When Rostov asked how things were going in this direction, Denisov felt under his pillow and quickly pulled out a document which had recently come from the commission, and a first draft of his response to it. He got more and more excited as he read through his reply and he was particularly keen to emphasize for Rostov’s benefit one or two clever barbs launched against his adversaries. Denisov’s hospital companions, who had gathered round Rostov when they spotted a new arrival from the freedom of the outside world, began to drift away one by one as soon as Denisov started to read his text. Rostov guessed from the looks on their faces that all these gentlemen had heard the story many times before and they were getting bored with it. The only exceptions were his nearest neighbour, a fat Uhlan, who sat there on his bunk scowling darkly and smoking his pipe, and little one-armed Tushin, who never stopped listening, though he showed disapproval by shaking his head. The Uhlan interrupted Denisov in mid-flow.
‘As far as I’m concerned,’ he said, turning to Rostov, ‘he ought to go straight to the Emperor and ask for a pardon. Everybody says there are big rewards on offer just now, and he’ll get a pardon for sure . . .’
‘What, me wequest a pardon fwom the Empewor!’ said Denisov in a voice which he tried to invest with all his old energy and ardour, though there was a sense of impotence behind all the irritation. ‘Why should I? If I was a wobber I’d ask for mercy, but hewe I am on a charge for twying to show who the wobbers are. Let them twy me. Nobody can fwighten me. I have twuly served my Tsar and my country, and I’m not a thief! They can weduce me to the wanks, and . . . Well anyway, this is stwaight talking. You listen to what I’ve witten: “If I had wobbed the government . . .” ’
‘That’s well put, no doubt about it,’ said Tushin. ‘But it’s not the point, Vasily,’ he turned to Rostov, ‘you have to give in to them, and Vasily won’t do it. You know the auditor said it doesn’t look good.’
‘So what?’ said Denisov.
‘The auditor wrote out a petition for you,’ Tushin went on. ‘All you have to do is sign it and send it off. This gentleman will take it. He’ (Rostov was indicated) ‘probably has influence up at HQ. This is your best chance.’
‘I’ve told you I’m not gwovelling to anybody,’ said Denisov, cutting in, and he went on reading his reply.
Rostov didn’t dare argue with Denisov, though he felt instinctively that the course proposed by Tushin and the other officers was the safest. He would have been only too happy to help Denisov, but he knew all about his obstinacy and his hot-tempered self-righteousness.
Denisov’s vitriolic outpouring lasted more than an hour, and when it was over Rostov said nothing. He spent the rest of the day, deeply dispirited, in the company of Denisov’s new friends, who had gathered round him again, telling them everything he knew and listening to other people’s stories. Denisov looked on gloomily and said not a word as the evening went on.
Late in the evening when Rostov was about to leave, he asked Denisov if he had any jobs for him to do.
‘Yes, hang on,’ said Denisov. He looked round at the officers, took his papers out from under the pillow and went over to the window where there was an inkstand. He sat down to write.
‘I can see it’s no good knocking my head against a bwick wall,’ he said, coming away from the window and handing Rostov a large envelope. It was the petition addressed to the Emperor which the auditor had drawn up for him, and in it Denisov avoided references to any wrong doing by officials in the commissariat, and simply asked for a pardon. ‘Please hand it in. I think . . .’ He stopped short and smiled a forced and sickly smile.
CHAPTER 19
Rostov returned to the regiment, reported to the commander on the progress of Denisov’s case and then rode on to Tilsit with the letter to the Emperor.
On the 13th of June the French and Russian Emperors met at Tilsit. Boris Drubetskoy had asked the dignitary for whom he worked to include him in the entourage appointed for Tilsit.
‘I’d like to see the great man,’ he said, meaning Napoleon, having hitherto called him Bonaparte like everybody else.
‘Do you mean Bonaparte?’ said the general with a smile.
Boris looked quizzically at his general, but soon spotted that this was a little test in the form of a joke.
‘I am speaking, sir, of the Emperor Napoleon,’ he replied. The general smiled again and clapped him on the shoulder.
