Book Nine (1812) — Chapter 14

The order comes to move on, and the hussars leave the warmth of the tavern for the wet road to Ostrovny. The transition from the comic warmth of the preceding scene to the march in darkness and mud is characteristically abrupt — Tolstoy never allows his reader to settle into a single register for long. The soldiers mount and move, clanking sabres, subdued talk, hooves splashing in the mud, the whole animal and mechanical business of cavalry in motion. Rostov leads his squadron with the practiced ease of a young commander who has grown into his role. He thinks briefly of Mary Hendrikhovna and then of Natasha — his cousin by affection if not blood, and the woman whose suffering at Kuragin's hands he cannot entirely put aside even here. The war contains its private griefs and its private loyalties, and they travel with the soldiers as surely as their saddlebags. As dawn approaches, the squadron catches sight of French dragoons pursuing Russian Uhlans across the open ground ahead. The military situation clarifies instantly into a tactical problem: if the hussars strike now, they can rout the dragoons. If they hesitate, the moment will pass. Rostov's hunting instincts, which Tolstoy has established as the deepest grammar of his character, recognize the opportunity before his mind has consciously framed it.