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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.
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