________________________________________________
_ Having returned to the watchman's hut, Petya found Denisov in the
passage. He was awaiting Petya's return in a state of agitation,
anxiety, and self-reproach for having let him go.
"Thank God!" he exclaimed. "Yes, thank God!" he repeated,
listening to Petya's rapturous account. "But, devil take you, I
haven't slept because of you! Well, thank God. Now lie down. We can
still get a nap before morning."
"But... no," said Petya, "I don't want to sleep yet. Besides I
know myself, if I fall asleep it's finished. And then I am used to not
sleeping before a battle."
He sat awhile in the hut joyfully recalling the details of his
expedition and vividly picturing to himself what would happen next
day.
Then, noticing that Denisov was asleep, he rose and went out of
doors.
It was still quite dark outside. The rain was over, but drops were
still falling from the trees. Near the watchman's hut the black shapes
of the Cossacks' shanties and of horses tethered together could be
seen. Behind the hut the dark shapes of the two wagons with their
horses beside them were discernible, and in the hollow the dying
campfire gleamed red. Not all the Cossacks and hussars were asleep;
here and there, amid the sounds of falling drops and the munching of
the horses near by, could be heard low voices which seemed to be
whispering.
Petya came out, peered into the darkness, and went up to the wagons.
Someone was snoring under them, and around them stood saddled horses
munching their oats. In the dark Petya recognized his own horse, which
he called "Karabakh" though it was of Ukranian breed, and went up to
it.
"Well, Karabakh! We'll do some service tomorrow," said he,
sniffing its nostrils and kissing it.
"Why aren't you asleep, sir?" said a Cossack who was sitting under a
wagon.
"No, ah... Likhachev- isn't that your name? Do you know I have
only just come back! We've been into the French camp."
And Petya gave the Cossack a detailed account not only of his ride
but also of his object, and why he considered it better to risk his
life than to act "just anyhow."
"Well, you should get some sleep now," said the Cossack.
"No, I am used to this," said Petya. "I say, aren't the flints in
your pistols worn out? I brought some with me. Don't you want any? You
can have some."
The Cossack bent forward from under the wagon to get a closer look
at Petya.
"Because I am accustomed to doing everything accurately," said
Petya. "Some fellows do things just anyhow, without preparation, and
then they're sorry for it afterwards. I don't like that."
"Just so," said the Cossack.
"Oh yes, another thing! Please, my dear fellow, will you sharpen
my saber for me? It's got bl..." (Petya feared to tell a lie, and
the saber never had been sharpened.) "Can you do it?"
"Of course I can."
Likhachev got up, rummaged in his pack, and soon Petya heard the
warlike sound of steel on whetstone. He climbed onto the wagon and sat
on its edge. The Cossack was sharpening the saber under the wagon.
"I say! Are the lads asleep?" asked Petya.
"Some are, and some aren't- like us."
"Well, and that boy?"
"Vesenny? Oh, he's thrown himself down there in the passage. Fast
asleep after his fright. He was that glad!"
After that Petya remained silent for a long time, listening to the
sounds. He heard footsteps in the darkness and a black figure
appeared.
"What are you sharpening?" asked a man coming up to the wagon.
"Why, this gentleman's saber."
"That's right," said the man, whom Petya took to be an hussar.
"Was the cup left here?"
"There, by the wheel!"
The hussar took the cup.
"It must be daylight soon," said he, yawning, and went away.
Petya ought to have known that he was in a forest with Denisov's
guerrilla band, less than a mile from the road, sitting on a wagon
captured from the French beside which horses were tethered, that under
it Likhachev was sitting sharpening a saber for him, that the big dark
blotch to the right was the watchman's hut, and the red blotch below
to the left was the dying embers of a campfire, that the man who had
come for the cup was an hussar who wanted a drink; but he neither knew
nor waited to know anything of all this. He was in a fairy kingdom
where nothing resembled reality. The big dark blotch might really be
the watchman's hut or it might be a cavern leading to the very
depths of the earth. Perhaps the red spot was a fire, or it might be
the eye of an enormous monster. Perhaps he was really sitting on a
wagon, but it might very well be that he was not sitting on a wagon
but on a terribly high tower from which, if he fell, he would have
to fall for a whole day or a whole month, or go on falling and never
reach the bottom. Perhaps it was just the Cossack, Likhachev, who
was sitting under the wagon, but it might be the kindest, bravest,
most wonderful, most splendid man in the world, whom no one knew of.
It might really have been that the hussar came for water and went back
into the hollow, but perhaps he had simply vanished- disappeared
altogether and dissolved into nothingness.
Nothing Petya could have seen now would have surprised him. He was
in a fairy kingdom where everything was possible.
He looked up at the sky. And the sky was a fairy realm like the
earth. It was clearing, and over the tops of the trees clouds were
swiftly sailing as if unveiling the stars. Sometimes it looked as if
the clouds were passing, and a clear black sky appeared. Sometimes
it seemed as if the black spaces were clouds. Sometimes the sky seemed
to be rising high, high overhead, and then it seemed to sink so low
that one could touch it with one's hand.
Petya's eyes began to close and he swayed a little.
The trees were dripping. Quiet talking was heard. The horses neighed
and jostled one another. Someone snored.
"Ozheg-zheg, Ozheg-zheg..." hissed the saber against the
whetstone, and suddenly Petya heard an harmonious orchestra playing
some unknown, sweetly solemn hymn. Petya was as musical as Natasha and
more so than Nicholas, but had never learned music or thought about
it, and so the melody that unexpectedly came to his mind seemed to him
particularly fresh and attractive. The music became more and more
audible. The melody grew and passed from one instrument to another.
And what was played was a fugue- though Petya had not the least
conception of what a fugue is. Each instrument- now resembling a
violin and now a horn, but better and clearer than violin or horn-
played its own part, and before it had finished the melody merged with
another instrument that began almost the same air, and then with a
third and a fourth; and they all blended into one and again became
separate and again blended, now into solemn church music, now into
something dazzlingly brilliant and triumphant.
"Oh- why, that was in a dream!" Petya said to himself, as he lurched
forward. "It's in my ears. But perhaps it's music of my own. Well,
go on, my music! Now!..."
He closed his eyes, and, from all sides as if from a distance,
sounds fluttered, grew into harmonies, separated, blended, and again
all mingled into the same sweet and solemn hymn. "Oh, this is
delightful! As much as I like and as I like!" said Petya to himself.
He tried to conduct that enormous orchestra.
"Now softly, softly die away!" and the sounds obeyed him. "Now
fuller, more joyful. Still more and more joyful!" And from an
unknown depth rose increasingly triumphant sounds. "Now voices join
in!" ordered Petya. And at first from afar he heard men's voices and
then women's. The voices grew in harmonious triumphant strength, and
Petya listened to their surpassing beauty in awe and joy.
With a solemn triumphal march there mingled a song, the drip from
the trees, and the hissing of the saber, "Ozheg-zheg-zheg..." and
again the horses jostled one another and neighed, not disturbing the
choir but joining in it.
Petya did not know how long this lasted: he enjoyed himself all
the time, wondered at his enjoyment and regretted that there was no
one to share it. He was awakened by Likhachev's kindly voice.
"It's ready, your honor; you can split a Frenchman in half with it!"
Petya woke up.
"It's getting light, it's really getting light!" he exclaimed.
The horses that had previously been invisible could now be seen to
their very tails, and a watery light showed itself through the bare
branches. Petya shook himself, jumped up, took a ruble from his pocket
and gave it to Likhachev; then he flourished the saber, tested it, and
sheathed it. The Cossacks were untying their horses and tightening
their saddle girths.
"And here's the commander," said Likhachev.
Denisov came out of the watchman's hut and, having called Petya,
gave orders to get ready. _
Read next: Book Fourteen: 1812: Chapter 11
Read previous: Book Fourteen: 1812: Chapter 9
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