The more intimately anyone was involved in the unfolding Russian drama of the day, the more easily its meaning escaped him. In Petersburg, and out in the provinces a long way from Moscow, ladies and gentlemen put on their militia uniforms, bewailed the fate of Russia and the loss of her ancient capital and talked of self-sacrifice, and so on. But in the army, which had retreated beyond Moscow, scarcely anybody talked or thought about Moscow, or gazed at the burning city and vowed to get his own back on the French, because they were all thinking about pay-day, or the next halt, or Mary the canteen-girl, or things like that.
Nikolay Rostov never had any idea of self-sacrifice; it was only because war happened to break out while he was still a serving soldier that he found himself with a direct and lengthy part to play in the defence of his country, and consequently able to look on what was happening in Russia without falling into despair or coming to pessimistic conclusions. If he had been asked his opinion of Russia’s present situation he would have said it wasn’t his job to think about things like that, that’s what Kutuzov and the rest of them were there for, but he had heard the regiments were being topped up, so there must be a lot of fighting still to do, and with things as they were he ought to make colonel within a couple of years.
Since this was his general attitude he felt no misgivings at having to absent himself from the coming battle when he was suddenly directed to go down to Voronezh and get hold of fresh horses for the division. In fact he received the news with the greatest satisfaction, which he didn’t seek to hide, and his comrades fully understood.
A few days before the battle of Borodino Nikolay was issued with money and travel documents, and off he went to Voronezh, using post-horses, having sent some hussars on ahead.
Only someone who has been through the same thing, someone who has spent months on end in the atmosphere of an army in the field, could possibly imagine the feeling of bliss that Nikolay experienced when he escaped from a region crawling with troops, foraging parties, trains of supply-wagons, and field-hospitals, when he left behind all the soldiers, army vehicles, the squalid conditions of camp life, and started to see villagers with working men and peasant women, fine country houses, cattle grazing in the fields and posting-stations with their sleepy masters. He was ecstatically happy; it was as if he was seeing it all for the first time. And what really surprised him, and pleased him, was the sight of women, healthy young women, who didn’t have dozens of officers hovering around them, women who were delighted and flattered to meet a travelling officer and share a joke with him.
Nikolay was in buoyant mood when he arrived at his hotel in Voronezh late at night. He ordered everything he hadn’t been able to get hold of for ages in the army, and the following morning he gave himself a really close shave and put on the full-dress uniform that he hadn’t worn for many a long day, before driving over to present himself to the authorities.
The commander of the local militia was a civilian general, an old gentleman who was obviously enjoying his military status and rank. His attitude to Nikolay was rather truculent – he thought he knew the right attitude for a military man to adopt – and he interrogated him very seriously, as if it was his right to do so, and to find out how things were going, without showing approval or disapproval. Nikolay was in such a good mood that all this struck him as amusing.
From the militia commander he went to see the governor. The governor was a fussy little man, warm-hearted and as straight as a die. He told Nikolay about various stud-farms where he might be able to get horses, recommended a horse-dealer down town and a gentleman farmer fifteen miles away who had the best horses, and said he would help in any way he could.
‘Are you Count Ilya Rostov’s son? My wife was a great friend of your dear mamma’s. We offer a little entertainment on Thursdays, and today is Thursday. Do come and see us. Take us as you find us,’ said the governor, seeing him out.
Nikolay took a carriage with post-horses, invited his quartermaster to get in beside him and galloped off to see the gentleman with the best horses who lived fifteen miles away.
In those early days in Voronezh everything Nikolay undertook was enjoyable and easy, and, typically for a man in a really good mood, it all went like clockwork.
The country gentleman Nikolay had been sent to see turned out to be an old cavalry officer, a bachelor, an expert on horses who loved his hunting and owned many good things: a smoking-room, a century-old herb-brandy, vintage Hungarian wines and some quite superb horses.
