War and Peace: Original Version

Rostov tossed the purse under the pillow and shook the moist little hand extended towards him. Before the campaign, Telyanin had for some reason or other been transferred from the Guards. He was disliked in the squadron for his stand-offish manner. Rostov had bought his horse from him.

“Well now, young cavalryman, how’s my Grachik serving you?” he asked. The lieutenant never looked into the eyes of the person with whom he was talking; his eyes constantly shifted about from one object to another. “I saw you ride past today …”

“Well enough, a sound mount,” Rostov replied in the serious tone of an experienced cavalryman, even though the horse that he had bought for seven hundred roubles had bad legs and was not worth half that price. “He’s started limping a bit on his left foreleg …” he added.

“Is the hoof split? That’s all right. I’ll teach you how, I’ll show you what kind of brace to put on.”

Telyanin’s eyes never settled, despite the fact that his entire small figure had assumed an indolently nonchalant pose and the tone of his speech was slightly superior and patronising.

“Would you like some tea? Yes, please do show me how to do that brace,” said Rostov.

“I’ll show you, I’ll show you, it’s no secret. And you’ll thank me for that horse.”

“I’ll order the horse to be led round then.” And Rostov went out to have it brought.

Out in the lobby Denisov, wearing a short padded kaftan, was sitting hunched over his pipe on the doorstep in front of the sergeant-major, who was reporting something.

Catching sight of Rostov, Denisov screwed up his face and, pointing back over his shoulder with his thumb into the room that Telyanin had entered, he frowned and shook his head in disgust.

“Oh, I don’t like that fine fellow,” he said, unembarrassed by the presence of the sergeant-major.

Rostov shrugged, as if to say: “Neither do I, but what can you do?” and, after giving his instructions, he went back to Telyanin.

Telyanin was sitting in the same indolent pose in which Rostov had left him, rubbing his small white hands.

“What a station – not a single house or a single woman since we left Poland,” said Telyanin, standing up and glancing casually around himself. “Well then, did you tell them to bring the horse?” he added.

“Yes.”

“Let’s go then.”

“But what about tea?”

“No, I don’t want any. I only called in to ask Denisov about yesterday’s order. Have you received it, Denisov?”

“Not yet. Where are you going?”

“I want to teach this young man how to shoe a horse,” said Telyanin.

They went out through the porch and into the stable. The lieutenant showed him how to put on the brace and went back to his quarters.

When Rostov returned there was vodka and ham standing on the table and Denisov, now dressed, was walking backwards and forwards across the room with rapid strides. He looked into Rostov’s face sombrely.

“It’s not often I don’t like someone,” said Denisov, “but I find that Telyanin as repulsive as milk with sugar. He swindled you with that Grachik of his, that’s for sure. Let’s go to the stable. Take Bedouin anyway, cash in hand on the nail, and two bottles of champagne.”

Rostov blushed fiercely again, like a girl.

“No, please, Denisov … I won’t take the horse, not for anything. If you won’t take money as a comrade, you’ll offend me. Really. I have money.”

Denisov frowned, turned away and began tousling his hair. He was clearly displeased by this.

“Well, have it your way!”

Rostov made to take out his money.

“Later, later, I still have some. Chuchela, send in the sergeant-major,” Denisov shouted to Nikita, “I have to pay him back some money.”

He went to the bed to get the purse from under the pillow.

“Where did you put it?”

“Under the bottom pillow.”

“I’m looking under the bottom pillow.”

Denisov threw both pillows on to the floor. The purse was not there.

“That’s incredible!”

“Wait, perhaps you might have dropped it,” said Rostov, picking up the pillows by turn and shaking them. He took off the blanket and shook it out. The purse was not there.

“Could I really have forgotten? No, I even had a thought that you kept your treasure under your head,” said Rostov. “I put the purse here. Where is it?” he said, turning to the servant.

“I haven’t been in here. It ought to be where you left it.”

“But it’s not …”

“You’re always throwing things down somewhere and then forgetting. Look in your pockets.”

“No, I wouldn’t have had that thought about the treasure,” said Rostov, “I remember putting it there.”

Nikita rummaged through the entire bed, looking under it, under the table, rummaging through the whole room, but the purse was not there. Denisov, having turned out his own pockets, followed Nikita’s movements without speaking, and when Nikita shrugged and spread his arms in amazement, saying it was not in his pocket, he gave Rostov a glance.

“Rostov, you’re playing a schoolboy …”

He didn’t finish. Rostov was standing there with both hands in his pockets and his head bowed. Sensing Denisov’s gaze on him, he looked up and instantly lowered his eyes again. At that instant all of his blood, which had been locked somewhere below his throat, rushed up into his face and eyes. The young man was clearly unable to catch his breath. Denisov hastily turned away, winced and began tousling his hair.

“And there was no one in the room, apart from the lieutenant and you yourself. It’s in here somewhere.”

“Right, you devil’s puppet, get cracking, look for it,” Denisov suddenly shouted, turning crimson and rushing at the orderly with a threatening gesture. “I’ll have that purse, or I’ll whip you!”

Gasping for breath and avoiding looking at Denisov, Rostov began buttoning up his jacket. He fastened on his sabre and put on his forage cap.

“Come on, you devil. I tell you, find me that purse,” shouted Denisov, senselessly shaking the orderly by the shoulders and pushing him against the wall.

“Denisov, leave him. I’ll be back straightaway,” said Rostov, walking to the door without looking up.

“Rostov! Rostov!” Denisov shouted so hard that the veins on his neck and forehead swelled up like ropes. “I tell you, you’ve gone crazy, I won’t allow it.” And Denisov grabbed Rostov by the arm. “The purse is here, I’ll flay all the orderlies, and it will be here.”