Chapter 17 Chapter Seventeen

A truce was declared in June after a battle broke out in Friedland, in which the Paulograd Corps did not take part.Rostov was distressed by the absence of his friend, had not heard from him since he left, worried about the progress of his case and his injuries, so he took advantage of the truce to take leave of absence to visit Denisov in the hospital . The hospital is located in a small town in Prussia that was twice destroyed by Russian and French troops.Because it is summer, the fields are very comfortable, and this town is full of ruins, ruined roofs, dirty streets, residents in rags, and drunk and sick soldiers wandering on the streets. It constitutes an exceptionally dark scene.

A masonry house in the hospital, the remnants of the demolished wall can be seen in the courtyard, and the doors, windows and glass are partially destroyed.A few bandaged soldiers with pale faces and swollen bodies paced up and down, and sometimes sat in the courtyard basking in the sun. No sooner had Rostov entered the room than he was overwhelmed by the smell of rotting flesh and the hospital.On the stairs he met a Russian military doctor smoking a cigar. The Russian healer followed him. "I don't know how to do many things at the same time," said the doctor. "You go to Makar Alexievich's at night, and I will go there too." The doctor asked him something else.

"Cough! You know what to do, so do it! Aren't they all the same?" The doctor saw Rostov coming upstairs. "My lord, why did you come here?" said the doctor, "what did you come for? Perhaps the bullet missed you and you contracted typhoid fever? This is a leprosy hospital, my lord. "Why not come?" asked Rostov. "Typhoid fever, man. Whoever walks in dies. It's just me and Makeev (pointing to the doctor) dragging around here. About five of our doctor brothers died here. The new ones are going to die every other week," said the doctor, evidently pleased. "Prussian doctors have been invited, but none of our allies like to come here."

Rostov explained to him that he wanted to see Denisov, a hussar major who lived there. "Dude, I don't know, I don't know, just think about it, I work in three hospitals by myself, with more than four hundred patients! Fortunately, the good-hearted Mrs. Prussia sends us two Russian pounds of coffee and two Russian pounds of coffee every month." Pound flannelette, or it's all over." He laughed. "Dude, four hundred patients, and they keep bringing me new ones. Do you have four hundred? Huh?" he asked the doctor. The doctor looked exhausted.Evidently he was waiting in chagrin for the doctor who had been chatting too long to hurry away.

"Major Denisov," repeated Rostov, "he was wounded at Molitan." "He seems to be dead. Is that so? Makeyev," the doctor asked the healer coldly. But the doctor did not confirm what the doctor said. "What's he like? Tall, reddish-brown?" asked the doctor. Rostov described Denisov's appearance. "Yes, there was such a person," said the doctor, as if he was very happy. "This person may be dead, but let me check. I have a list here. Makeyev, do you have a list?" "The list is with Makar Alexievich," said the doctor. "Please go to the officers' ward, where you can see it with your own eyes." Turning to Rostov, he added In a word.

"Well, brother, it's better not to go!" said the doctor, "or it seems you'll stay there yourself." But Rostov bowed to the doctor, took his leave, and asked him to take him away. "It's a deal, don't blame me," shouted the doctor from the bottom of the stairs. Rostov and the doctor went into the corridor.In this dim corridor, the smell of the hospital was so strong that Rostov, holding his nose, had to stop in order to muster his strength to move on.The door on the right opened, and a thin, yellow-faced man leaning on crutches, barefoot, and wearing a suit of underwear leaned out from there.Leaning on the door lintel, he looked at the people passing by with jealous, bright eyes from time to time.Rostov looked through the door and saw the sick and wounded lying on the floor covered with hay and army coats.

"May I go in and have a look?" Rostov asked. "What are you looking for?" said the doctor.But just because the doctors obviously did not want him to enter the ward, Rostov insisted on going into the soldier's ward.He was used to the smell in the hallway, and it was stronger here.The smell here is slightly different, more pungent.It can be keenly felt that the smell of the corridor is emanating from here. The sun lit up the long room through the large windows, and in this room the sick and wounded lay in two rows with their heads against the wall, leaving a passage in the middle.Most of them were unconscious and paid no attention to the people who walked in.The sane people bowed their heads, or lifted their thin, yellow faces, and looked intently at Rostov, all with the same expression—desire for help, reproach, and envy of the other's health.Rostov walked into the middle of the ward, looked at the door of the next room (the doors were all open), and saw the same scene from both sides of the room.He stopped and looked around silently.He had never expected to witness such a scene.Just in front of him, lying on the bare floor in the middle of the aisle, was a sick man, probably a Cossack, with a boyish haircut.The Cossack was lying on his back with his huge arms and legs stretched out.His face was red, his eyes were rolled up, and only the whites of the eyes could be seen. On his bare feet and red hands, the blue veins were stretched tightly like strings.The back of his head touched the floor, and he said something hoarsely, and began to repeat it again.Rostov listened to him carefully and caught his repeated words.This sentence is: drink some water, drink water, drink some water!Rostov looked around, looking for help, to put the patient down, and to give him a drink of water.

"Who cares for the sick here?" he asked the healer.At this moment a baggage soldier, a hospital worker, came out from the next room, stepped back, and stood straight in front of Rostov. "Greetings, my excellency!" cried the soldier, staring at Rostov, whom he evidently regarded as the head of the hospital. "Let him lie down and let him drink some water," said Rostov, pointing to the Cossack soldier. "My lord, yes," said the soldier quite cheerfully. He widened his eyes and straightened his body even more, but remained in place. "No, there is nothing to be done here," Rostov thought for a while, lowered his eyes, and wished to go out, but he felt a meaningful look staring at him from the right, and he looked back.Almost in the corner of the room, sitting on top of a military overcoat, an old soldier with a sallow, serious face like a skeleton and a pale, unshaven beard, was looking intently at Rostov.The man sitting next to the veteran pointed at Rostov from one side and said something to him in a low voice.Rostov understood what the old man wanted from him.He walked up to the old man and saw that only one leg was bent, the other was completely gone from the knee up.Beside the old man was another man at a considerable distance, lying motionless with his head thrown back, a young soldier with a turned-up nose and freckled, waxy-white face, with rolled eyes, Rose Tove looked at the soldier with the upturned nose, and a chill ran down his spine.

"Look, this soldier seems to be..." he said, turning his face to the doctor. "My lord, we have asked," said the old soldier, his chin trembling. "A man died this morning. You know, we are also human beings, not dogs..." "I'll send someone to carry him away, carry him away," the doctor said hastily, "My lord, I ask you to leave here." "Let's go, let's go," said Rostov hastily, lowering his eyes, huddled up, trying not to be noticed, passing through the row of accusing and jealous eyes staring at him, and he walked out of the room. room.