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Petya, having left his people after their departure from Moscow,
joined his regiment and was soon taken as orderly by a general
commanding a large guerrilla detachment. From the time he received
his commission, and especially since he had joined the active
army and taken part in the battle of Vyazma, Petya had been in
a constant state of blissful excitement at being grown-up and
in a perpetual ecstatic hurry not to miss any chance to do something
really heroic. He was highly delighted with what he saw and experienced
in the army, but at the same time it always seemed to him that
the really heroic exploits were being performed just where he
did not happen to be. And he was always in a hurry to get where
he was not.
When on the twenty-first of October his general expressed
a wish to send somebody to Denisov's detachment, Petya begged
so piteously to be sent that the general could not refuse. But
when dispatching him he recalled Petya's mad action at the battle
of Vyazma, where instead of riding by the road to the place to
which he had been sent, he had galloped to the advanced line under
the fire of the French and had there twice fired his pistol. So
now the general explicitly forbade his taking part in any action
whatever of Denisov's. That was why Petya had blushed and grown
confused when Denisov asked him whether he could stay. Before
they had ridden to the outskirts of the forest Petya had considered
he must carry out his instructions strictly and return at once.
But when he saw the French and saw Tikhon and learned that there
would certainly be an attack that night, he decided, with the
rapidity with which young people change their views, that the
general, whom he had greatly respected till then, was a rubbishy
German, that Denisov was a hero, the esaul a hero, and Tikhon
a hero too, and that it would be shameful for him to leave them
at a moment of difficulty.
It was already growing dusk when Denisov, Petya, and the esaul
rode up to the watchhouse. In the twilight saddled horses could
be seen, and Cossacks and hussars who had rigged up rough shelters
in the glade and were kindling glowing fires in a hollow of the
forest where the French could not see the smoke. In the passage
of the small watchhouse a Cossack with sleeves rolled up was chopping
some mutton. In the room three officers of Denisov's band were
converting a door into a tabletop. Petya took off his wet clothes,
gave them to be dried, and at once began helping the officers
to fix up the dinner table.
In ten minutes the table was ready and a napkin spread on
it. On the table were vodka, a flask of rum, white bread, roast
mutton, and salt.
Sitting at table with the officers and tearing the fat savory
mutton with his hands, down which the grease trickled, Petya was
in an ecstatic childish state of love for all men, and consequently
of confidence that others loved him in the same way.
"So then what do you think, Vasili Dmitrich?" said
he to Denisov. "It's all right my staying a day with you?"
And not waiting for a reply he answered his own question: "You
see I was told to find out- well, I am finding out.... Only do
let me into the very... into the chief... I don't want a reward...
But I want..."
Petya clenched his teeth and looked around, throwing back
his head and flourishing his arms.
"Into the vewy chief..." Denisov repeated with a
smile.
"Only, please let me command something, so that I may
really command..." Petya went on. "What would it be
to you?... Oh, you want a knife?" he said, turning to an
officer who wished to cut himself a piece of mutton.
And he handed him his clasp knife. The officer admired it.
"Please keep it. I have several like it," said Petya,
blushing. "Heavens! I was quite forgetting!" he suddenly
cried. "I have some raisins, fine ones; you know, seedless
ones. We have a new sutler and he has such capital things. I bought
ten pounds. I am used to something sweet. Would you like some?..."
and Petya ran out into the passage to his Cossack and brought
back some bags which contained about five pounds of raisins. "Have
some, gentlemen, have some!"
"You want a coffeepot, don't you?" he asked the
esaul. "I bought a capital one from our sutler! He has splendid
things. And he's very honest, that's the chief thing. I'll be
sure to send it to you. Or perhaps your flints are giving out,
or are worn out- that happens sometimes, you know. I have brought
some with me, here they are"- and he showed a bag- "a
hundred flints. I bought them very cheap. Please take as many
as you want, or all if you like...."
Then suddenly, dismayed lest he had said too much, Petya stopped
and blushed.
He tried to remember whether he had not done anything else
that was foolish. And running over the events of the day he remembered
the French drummer boy. "It's capital for us here, but what
of him? Where have they put him? Have they fed him? Haven't they
hurt his feelings?" he thought. But having caught himself
saying too much about the flints, he was now afraid to speak out.
"I might ask," he thought, "but they'll say:
'He's a boy himself and so he pities the boy.' I'll show them
tomorrow whether I'm a boy. Will it seem odd if I ask?" Petya
thought. "Well, never mind!" and immediately, blushing
and looking anxiously at the officers to see if they appeared
ironical, he said:
"May I call in that boy who was taken prisoner and give
him something to eat?... Perhaps..."
"Yes, he's a poor little fellow," said Denisov,
who evidently saw nothing shameful in this reminder. "Call
him in. His name is Vincent Bosse. Have him fetched."
"I'll call him," said Petya.
"Yes, yes, call him. A poor little fellow," Denisov
repeated.
Petya was standing at the door when Denisov said this. He
slipped in between the officers, came close to Denisov, and said:
"Let me kiss you, dear old fellow! Oh, how fine, how
splendid!"
And having kissed Denisov he ran out of the hut.
"Bosse! Vincent!" Petya cried, stopping outside
the door.
"Who do you want, sir?" asked a voice in the darkness.
Petya replied that he wanted the French lad who had been captured
that day.
"Ah, Vesenny?" said a Cossack.
Vincent, the boy's name, had already been changed by the Cossacks
into Vesenny (vernal) and into Vesenya by the peasants and soldiers.
In both these adaptations the reference to spring (vesna) matched
the impression made by the young lad.
"He is warming himself there by the bonfire. Ho, Vesenya!
Vesenya!- Vesenny!" laughing voices were heard calling to
one another in the darkness.
"He's a smart lad," said an hussar standing near
Petya. "We gave him something to eat a while ago. He was
awfully hungry!"
The sound of bare feet splashing through the mud was heard
in the darkness, and the drummer boy came to the door.
"Ah, c'est vous!" said Petya. "Voulez-vous
manger? N'ayez pas peur, on ne vous fera pas de mal,"* he
added shyly and affectionately, touching the boy's hand. "Entrez,
entrez."*[2]
*"Ah, it's you! Do you want something to eat? Don't be
afraid, they won't hurt you."
*[2] "Come in, come in."
"Merci, monsieur,"* said the drummer boy in a trembling
almost childish voice, and he began scraping his dirty feet on
the threshold.
*"Thank you, sir."
There were many things Petya wanted to say to the drummer
boy, but did not dare to. He stood irresolutely beside him in
the passage. Then in the darkness he took the boy's hand and pressed
it.
"Come in, come in!" he repeated in a gentle whisper.
"Oh, what can I do for him?" he thought, and opening
the door he let the boy pass in first.
When the boy had entered the hut, Petya sat down at a distance
from him, considering it beneath his dignity to pay attention
to him. But he fingered the money in his pocket and wondered whether
it would seem ridiculous to give some to the drummer boy.
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