Book 14 Chapter 7

ON LEAVING MOSCOW, Petya had parted from his parents to join his regiment, and shortly afterwards had been appointed an orderly in attendance on a general who was in command of a large detachment. From the time of securing his commission, and even more since joining a regiment in active service, and taking part in the battle of Vyazma, Petya had been in a continual state of happy excitement at being grown-up, and of intense anxiety not to miss any opportunity of real heroism. He was highly delighted with all he had seen and experienced in the army, but, at the same time, he was always fancying that wherever he was not, there the most real and heroic exploits were at that very moment being performed. And he was in constant haste to be where he was not.

On the 21st of October, when his general expressed a desire to send some one to Denisov's company, Petya had so piteously besought him to send him, that the general could not refuse. But, as he was sending him off, the general recollected Petya's foolhardy behaviour at the battle of Vyazma, when, instead of riding by way of the road to take a message, Petya had galloped across the lines under the fire of the French, and had there fired a couple of pistol-shots. Recalling that prank, the general explicitly forbade Petya's taking part in any enterprise whatever that Denisov might be planning. This was why Petya had blushed and been disconcerted when Denisov asked him if he might stay. From the moment he set off till he reached the edge of the wood, Petya had fully intended to do his duty steadily, and to return at once. But when he saw the French, and saw Tihon, and learned that the attack would certainly take place that night, with the rapid transition from one view to another, characteristic of young people, he made up his mind that his general, for whom he had till that moment had the greatest respect, was a poor stick, and only a German, that Denisov was a hero, and the esaul a hero, and Tihon a hero, and that it would be shameful to leave them at a moment of difficulty.

It was getting dark when Denisov, with Petya and the esaul, reached the forester's hut. In the half-dark they could see saddled horses, Cossacks and hussars, rigging up shanties in the clearing, and building up a glowing fire in a hollow near, where the smoke would not be seen by the French. In the porch of the little hut there was a Cossack with his sleeves tucked up, cutting up a sheep. In the hut, three officers of Denisov's band were setting up a table made up of doors. Petya took off his wet clothes, gave them to be dried, and at once set to work to help the officers in fixing up a dining-table.

In ten minutes the table was ready and covered with a napkin. On the table was set vodka, a flask of rum, white bread, and roast mutton, and salt.

Sitting at the table with the officers, tearing the fat, savoury mutton with greasy fingers, Petya was in a childishly enthusiastic condition of tender love for all men and a consequent belief in the same feeling for himself in others.

“So what do you think, Vassily Fyodorovitch,” he said to Denisov, “it won't matter my staying a day with you, will it?” And without waiting for an answer, he answered himself: “Why, I was told to find out, and here I am finding out … Only you must let me go into the middle … into the real … I don't care about rewards … But I do want …” Petya clenched his teeth and looked about him, tossing his head and waving his arm.

“Into the real, real thing …” Denisov said, smiling.

“Only, please, do give me a command of something altogether, so that I really might command,” Petya went on. “Why, what would it be to you? Ah, you want a knife?” he said to an officer, who was trying to tear off a piece of mutton. And he gave him his pocket-knife.

The officer praised the knife.

“Please keep it. I have several like it …” said Petya, blushing. “Heavens! Why, I was quite forgetting,” he cried suddenly. “I have some capital raisins, you know the sort without stones. We have a new canteen-keeper, and he does get first-rate things. I bought ten pounds of them. I'm fond of sweet things. Will you have some?” … and Petya ran out to his Cossack in the porch, and brought in some panniers in which there were five pounds of raisins. “Please take some.”

“Don't you need a coffee-pot?” he said to the esaul; “I bought a famous one from our canteen-keeper! He has first-rate things. And he's very honest. That's the great thing. I'll be sure and send it you. Or perhaps your flints are worn out; that does happen sometimes. I brought some with me, I have got them here …” he pointed to the panniers. “A hundred flints. I bought them very cheap. You must please take as many as you want or all, indeed …” And suddenly, dismayed at the thought that he had let his tongue run away with him, Petya stopped short and blushed.

He began trying to think whether he had been guilty of any other blunders. And running through his recollections of the day the image of the French drummer-boy rose before his mind.

“We are enjoying ourselves, but how is he feeling? What have they done with him? Have they given him something to eat? Have they been nasty to him?” he wondered.

But thinking he had said too much about the flints, he was afraid to speak now.

“Could I ask about him?” he wondered. “They'll say: he's a boy himself, so he feels for the boy. I'll let them see to-morrow whether I'm a boy! Shall I feel ashamed if I ask?” Petya wondered. “Oh, well! I don't care,” and he said at once, blushing and watching the officers' faces in dread of detecting amusement in them:

“Might I call that boy who was taken prisoner, and give him something to eat … perhaps …”

“Yes, poor little fellow,” said Denisov, who clearly saw nothing to be ashamed of in this reminder. “Fetch him in here. His name is Vincent Bosse. Fetch him in.”

“I'll call him,” said Petya.

“Yes, do. Poor little fellow,” repeated Denisov.

Petya was standing at the door as Denisov said this. He slipped in between the officers and went up to Denisov.

“Let me kiss you, dear old fellow,” he said. “Ah, how jolly it is! how splendid!” And, kissing Denisov, he ran out into the yard.

“Bosse! Vincent!” Petya cried, standing by the door.

“Whom do you want, sir?” said a voice out of the darkness. Petya answered that he wanted the French boy, who had been taken prisoner that day.

“Ah! Vesenny?” said the Cossack.

His name Vincent had already been transformed by the Cossacks into Vesenny, and by the peasants and the soldiers into Visenya. In both names there was a suggestion of the spring—vesna—which seemed to them to harmonise with the figure of the young boy.

“He's warming himself there at the fire. Ay, Visenya! Visenya!” voices called from one to another with laughter in the darkness. “He is a sharp boy,” said an hussar standing near Petya. “We gave him a meal not long ago. He was hungry, terribly.”

There was a sound of footsteps in the darkness, and the drummer-boy came splashing through the mud with his bare feet towards the door.

“Ah, that's you!” said Petya. “Are you hungry? Don't be afraid, they won't hurt you,” he added, shyly and cordially touching his hand. “Come in, come in.”

“Thank you,” answered the drummer, in a trembling, almost childish voice, and he began wiping the mud off his feet on the threshold. Petya had a great deal he longed to say to the drummer-boy, but he did not dare. He stood by him in the porch, moving uneasily. Then he took his hand in the darkness and squeezed it. “Come in, come in,” he repeated, but in a soft whisper.

“Oh, if I could only do something for him!” Petya was saying inwardly, and opening the door he ushered the boy in before him.

When the drummer-boy had come into the hut, Petya sat down at some distance from him, feeling that it would be lowering his dignity to take much notice of him. But he was feeling the money in his pocket and wondering whether it would do to give some to the drummer-boy.

彼佳告别了双亲，离开了莫斯科，回到了自己的团队，不久，他就成为一个指挥一支大游击队的将军的传令兵。彼佳自从晋升为军官，特别是他到了战斗部队，参加过维亚济马战役之后，经常处在幸福、激动的状态中，他为自己已长成大人而高兴，他总是兴高采烈地忙这忙那，不放过任何一个从事真正的英雄事业的机会。他沉醉于军营中的战斗生涯，他对在军营中的所见所闻，都有着浓烈的兴趣。他又总觉得，老是在他没有在场的那个地方正在进行着真正的英雄事业。因此他迫切要去他没有去过的地方。

十月二十一日，他的将军要派一个人到杰尼索夫的游击队去，彼佳向将军苦苦哀求，使得将军难以拒绝。但是，将军想起了彼佳在维亚济马战役中的疯狂行为，他不从选定的路线前往，而是强行驰越法军火力封锁线，在飞越封锁线时，他还打了两枪。所以这次将军特别向他交待，不准他参加杰尼索夫的任何战斗行动。正是由于这个原因，当杰尼索夫问起他能不能留下来的时候，彼佳脸立刻红了，心也慌了。在到达树林边缘之前，彼佳原打算，他应当坚决服从命令，立即返回部队。但是，当他亲眼看见了法国人，又见到了吉洪，并听到当晚要对法军进行袭击，他以年轻人极易迅速改变观点的特点，改变了主意，他认为，他一直尊敬的那位将军是一个无能的德国人，而杰尼索夫才是英雄，哥萨克一等上尉是英雄，吉洪是英雄，在这困难时刻，离开他们是可耻的。

杰尼索夫、彼佳和哥萨克一等上尉来到看林小屋的时候，已经是黄昏了。在暮色中可以看见备好鞍蹬的马，哥萨克和骠骑兵在林间空地上搭起窝棚，在林间凹地里（为了不让法国人看见冒烟）生起通红的火。在小屋篷下面，一个哥萨克卷起袖筒切羊肉。屋子里有三名杰尼索夫队里的军官正把一扇门板搭成桌子。彼佳脱下湿衣服，交给人烘干，然后立刻动手帮助那三个军官布置餐桌。

十分钟后，一张铺有桌布的饭桌准备好了。桌上摆着伏特加、军用水壶盛着的甜酒、白面包、烤羊肉，还有盐。

彼佳和军官们一起坐在桌旁撕着吃那香喷喷的肥羊肉，满手流着油。彼佳天真烂漫，他爱一切人，因而他也相信别人也同样地爱他。

“您以为怎样，瓦西里·费奥多罗维奇，”他对杰尼索夫说，“我在您这儿住一天，没事吧？”不等回答，他自己就回答了：“我是奉命来了解情况的，我这不是正在打听……不过，求您让我参加最……最主要的…我不需要奖赏……我只希望……”彼佳咬着牙，环视了一下四周，头抬得高高地，挥了挥胳膊。

“参加最主要的……”杰尼索夫笑着重复彼佳的话。

“只请你给我一个小队，由我来指挥，”彼佳继续说，“这在您算不了什么吧？噢，你要小刀？”他对一个想切羊肉的军官说。他递过去一把折叠式小刀。

那个军官称赞他的刀子。

“请留下用吧，这种刀我还有好几把，”彼佳红着脸说。

“唉！老兄！我全给忘了，”他忽然叫了起来，“我还有很好的葡萄干，要知道，是没有核的，我们那里新来了一个随军小贩，有很多好东西，我一下买了十斤，我喜欢吃点甜的，大家要吃吗？”彼佳跑到门口去找他的哥萨克，拿来几个口袋，里面大约有五斤葡萄干。“请吧！先生们！请，请。”

“您要不要咖啡壶？”他对哥萨克一等上尉说。“我在我们那个小贩那里买的，挺精致的。他有很多好东西。他人也老实。这一点尤其重要。我一定给您送来。还有，你们的火石也许用完了，——这是常有的事。我带的有，就在这儿……”他指了指那些口袋，“一百块，我买的很便宜。要多少，就拿多少，全拿去也可以……”彼佳突然停住了口，脸红了，自己觉得扯得太远了。

他开始回忆他今天有没有做什么傻事，他仔细搜索着记忆。他一下想到了那个法国小鼓手。“我们挺自在了，他现在怎么样了？他在哪？给他吃的没有？欺负他没有？”他在想。

他觉得他扯了那么一通打火石的事，现在有点害怕。

“可以问吗？”他想，他们一定会说，他还是个孩子，小孩同情小孩。我明天一定要让他们知道，我是一个怎样的孩子！“如果我要问，是不是怪难为情的？”彼佳想。“唉，反正都一样！”他一下红了脸，惊慌地望了一下那些军官，看他们脸上有没有讥讽的表情，他说：

“可不可以把捉来的那个小俘虏叫来，给他点什么吃的……可能……”

“是啊，可怜的小家伙，”杰尼索夫说，他显然不会认为这个提议有什么可害羞的。“把他叫来，他叫樊尚·博斯。叫他来吧。”

“去叫，去叫。可怜的小家伙，”杰尼索夫重复道。

杰尼索夫说这话的时候，彼佳站在门旁。他从军官们中间穿过去，走到杰尼索夫身旁。

“让我吻吻您，亲爱的。”他说，“嘿，多好啊！太好了！”

他吻了一下杰尼索夫，立刻往院子里跑去。

“博斯！樊尚！”彼佳在门口喊道。

“您找谁？先生！”黑暗中一个声音说。彼佳回答道，“我找今天俘虏的那个法国小孩。”

“噢！韦辛尼吗？”一个哥萨克说。

樊尚这个名字已经被叫走了音：哥萨克叫他韦辛尼，农民和战士叫他韦辛纳。这两种叫法都是春天的意思。这正好和那个小毛孩子相称。

“他正在火堆旁烤火呢。喂，韦辛纳！韦辛纳！韦辛尼！”

黑暗中接连传出呼唤声和笑声。

“那孩子挺机灵，”站在彼佳身旁的骠骑兵说，“方才我们给他东西吃了。他饿的不得了！”

在黑暗中响起了脚步声，小鼓手光着脚板，踏着泥泞，来到了门前。

“AhC'estvous！”彼佳说：“Voulezvousmanger？N'ayezpaspeur，onnevousferapasdemal，'他又说。他羞怯地，热情地抚摸着他的手又补了一句：“Entrez，entrez．”①“Merci，monsieur．”②小鼓手用颤抖的、几乎是小孩子般的声音回答，他在门口擦脚上的泥。彼佳有很多话要对小鼓手说，但是他不敢，进屋前站在他身边，不知怎样才好。在黑暗中他抓住那孩子的手，握了握。

①法语：啊，就是你呀！要吃东西吗？别怕，不会把你怎么样的。进来吧。

②法语：谢谢，先生。

“Entrez，entrez．”他轻声地说。

“咳，我能为他做些什么呢？”彼佳自言自语，他打开门，让那孩子先进去。

小鼓手进到屋里，彼佳在离他远一点的地方坐了下来，他觉得对他太注意会有损于他的身份。他把手插进衣袋摸着球，他犹豫不决，要是给小鼓手球是不是一件害臊的事情。