ON REACHING the hut in the wood, Petya found Denisov in the porch. He was waiting for Petya's return in great uneasiness, anxiety, and vexation with himself for having let him go.
“Thank God!” he cried. “Well, thank God!” he repeated, hearing Petya's ecstatic account. “And, damn you, you have prevented my sleeping!” he added. “Well, thank God; now, go to bed. We can still get a nap before morning.”
“Yes … no,” said Petya. “I'm not sleepy yet. Besides, I know what I am; if once I go to sleep, it will be all up with me. And besides, it's not my habit to sleep before a battle.”
Petya sat for a long while in the hut, joyfully1 recalling the details of his adventure, and vividly3 imagining what was coming next day. Then, noticing that Denisov had fallen asleep, he got up and went out of doors.
It was still quite dark outside. The rain was over, but the trees were still dripping. Close by the hut could be seen the black outlines of the Cossacks' shanties4 and the horses tied together. Behind the hut there was a dark blur5 where two waggons7 stood with the horses near by, and in the hollow there was a red glow from the dying fire. The Cossacks and the hussars were not all asleep; there mingled9 with the sound of the falling drops and the munching10 of the horses, the sound of low voices, that seemed to be whispering.
Petya came out of the porch, looked about him in the darkness, and went up to the waggons. Some one was snoring under the waggons, and saddled horses were standing11 round them munching oats. In the dark Petya recognised and approached his own mare12, whom he called Karabach, though she was in fact of a Little Russian breed.
“Well, Karabach, to-morrow we shall do good service,” he said, sniffing13 her nostrils14 and kissing her.
“Why, aren't you asleep, sir?” said a Cossack, sitting under the waggon6.
“No; but … Lihatchev—I believe that's your name, eh? You know I have only just come back. We have been calling on the French.” And Petya gave the Cossack a detailed15 account, not only of his adventure, but also of his reasons for going, and why he thought it better to risk his life than to do things in a haphazard16 way.
“Well, you must be sleepy; get a little sleep,” said the Cossack.
“No, I am used to it,” answered Petya. “And how are the flints in our pistols—not worn out? I brought some with me. Don't you want any? Do take some.”
The Cossack popped out from under the waggon to take a closer look at Petya.
“For, you see, I like to do everything carefully,” said Petya. “Some men, you know, leave things to chance, and don't have things ready, and then they regret it. I don't like that.”
“No, to be sure,” said the Cossack.
“Oh, and another thing, please, my dear fellow, sharpen my sabre for me; I have blunt …” (but Petya could not bring out a lie) … “it has never been sharpened. Can you do that?”
“To be sure I can.”
Lihatchev stood up, and rummaged17 in the baggage, and Petya stood and heard the martial18 sound of steel and whetstone. He clambered on to the waggon, and sat on the edge of it. The Cossack sharpened the sabre below.
“Are the other brave fellows asleep?” said Petya.
“Some are asleep, and some are awake, like us.”
“And what about the boy?”
“Vesenny? He's lying yonder in the hay. He's sleeping well after his fright. He was so pleased.”
For a long while after that Petya sat quiet, listening to the sounds. There was a sound of footsteps in the darkness, and a dark figure appeared.
“What are you sharpening?” asked a man coming up to the waggon.
“A sabre for the gentleman here.”
“That's a good thing,” said the man, who seemed to Petya to be an hussar. “Was the cup left with you here?”
“It's yonder by the wheel.” The hussar took the cup. “It will soon be daylight,” he added, yawning, as he walked off.
Petya must, one would suppose, have known that he was in a wood, with Denisov's band of irregulars, a verst from the road; that he was sitting on a waggon captured from the French; that there were horses fastened to it; that under it was sitting the Cossack Lihatchev sharpening his sabre; that the big, black blur on the right was the hut, and the red, bright glow below on the left the dying camp-fire; that the man who had come for the cup was an hussar who was thirsty. But Petya knew nothing of all that, and refused to know it. He was in a fairyland, in which nothing was like the reality. The big patch of shadow might be a hut certainly, but it might be a cave leading down into the very depths of the earth. The red patch might be a fire, but it might be the eye of a huge monster. Perhaps he really was sitting now on a waggon, but very likely he was sitting not on a waggon, but on a fearfully high tower, and if he fell off, he would go on flying to the earth for a whole day, for a whole month—fly and fly for ever and never reach it. Perhaps it was simply the Cossack Lihatchev sitting under the waggon; but very likely it was the kindest, bravest, most wonderful and splendid man in the world whom no one knew of. Perhaps it really was an hussar who had come for water and gone into the hollow; but perhaps he had just vanished, vanished altogether and was no more.
Whatever Petya had seen now, it would not have surprised him. He was in a land of fairies, where everything was possible.
He gazed at the sky. The sky too was an enchanted19 realm like the earth. It had begun to clear, and the clouds were scudding20 over the tree-tops, as though unveiling the stars. At times it seemed as though they were swept away, and there were glimpses of clear, black sky between them. At times these black patches looked like storm-clouds. At times the sky seemed to rise high, high overhead, and then again to be dropping down so that one could reach it with the hand.
Petya closed his eyes and began to nod. The branches dripped. There was a low hum of talk and the sound of some one snoring. The horses neighed and scuffled.
“Ozheeg, zheeg, ozheeg, zheeg…” hissed21 the sabre on the whetstone; and all at once Petya seemed to hear harmonious22 music, an orchestra playing some unfamiliar23, solemnly sweet hymn24. Petya was as musical by nature as Natasha, and far more so than Nikolay; but he had had no musical training, and never thought about music, so that the melody that came unexpectedly into his mind had a special freshness and charm for him. The music became more and more distinct. The melody grew and passed from one instrument to another. There was being played what is called a fugue, though Petya had not the slightest idea of what was meant by a fugue. Each instrument—one like a violin, others like flutes25, but fuller and more melodious26 than violins and flutes—played its part, and before it had finished the air, melted in with another, beginning almost the same air, and with a third and a fourth; and all mingled into one harmony, and parted again, and again mingled into solemn church music, and then into some brilliant and triumphant27 song of victory.
“Oh yes, of course I am dreaming,” Petya said to himself, nodding forward. “It is only in my ears. Perhaps, though, it's my own music. Come, again. Strike up, my music! Come!…”
He closed his eyes. And from various directions the sounds began vibrating as though from a distance, began to strike up, to part, and to mingle8 again, all joined in the same sweet and solemn hymn. “Ah how exquisite28! As much as I want, and as I like it!” Petya said to himself. He tried to conduct this immense orchestra.
“Come, softly, softly, now!” And the sounds obeyed him. “Come, now fuller, livelier! More and more joyful2!” And from unknown depths rose the swelling29, triumphant sounds. “Now, voices, join in!” Petya commanded. And at first in the distance he heard men's voices, then women's. The voices swelled30 into rhythmic31, triumphant fulness. Petya felt awe32 and joy as he drank in their marvellous beauty.
With the triumphant march of victory mingled the song of voices, and the drip of the branches and the zheeg, zheeg, zheeg of the sabre on the whetstone; and again the horses neighed and scuffled, not disturbing the harmony, but blending into it. How long it lasted, Petya could not tell; he was enjoying it, and wondering all the while at his own enjoyment33, and regretting he had no one to share it with. He was waked by the friendly voice of Lihatchev.
“It's ready, your honour, you can cut the Frenchman in two now.”
Petya waked up.
“Why, it's light already; it's really getting light,” he cried. The horses, unseen before, were visible to the tails now, and through the leafless boughs34 there could be seen a watery35 light. Petya shook himself, jumped up, took a rouble out of his pocket, and gave it to Lihatchev, brandished36 his sabre to try it, and thrust it into the scabbard. The Cossacks were untying37 the horses and fastening the saddlegirths.
“And here is the commander,” said Lihatchev.
Denisov came out of the hut, and calling to Petya, bade him get ready.
彼佳回到看林人的小屋，在走廊里就遇见了杰尼索夫。他正焦急地等候彼佳回来，他后悔，不该派彼佳去。
“感谢上帝！”他喊道。“啊，感谢上帝！”他听了彼佳兴高采烈的讲述又重复了一遍。“你这鬼东西，为了你，我觉都没睡！”杰尼索夫说。“啊，感谢上帝，现在可以躺下了。天亮前还可以打上个盹。”
“嗯，不，”彼佳说。“我不想睡，我知道我自己，一睡下去，就要睡过头，战斗前，我习惯了不睡觉。”
彼佳在屋里坐了一会儿，愉快地回忆着深入放营的桩桩细节，生动地遐想明天的情景。当他见到述尼索夫已经熟睡，他站起来，向院子里走去。
外面漆黑一片。雨停了，树上还在往下滴着水点。在看林人的小屋旁边，隐隐约约可以看见哥萨克的窝棚和拴在一起的马的黑影。在小屋后边，有两辆看起来是黑色的大车，大车旁边还有几匹马，凹地里亮着快要燃尽的火堆。哥萨克的骠骑兵并没有都睡觉，伴随着树上往下滴水的滴答声和附近一些马的咀嚼声，从四处传来悄悄的谈话声。
彼佳从屋内走出来，在黑暗中举目四望，然后向大车走去。车下面有人在打呼噜，大车周围几匹备好鞍蹬的马正在嚼着燕麦。黑暗中彼佳认出了自己的坐骑，虽然它是乌克兰种，但是他仍叫它卡拉巴赫①马，于是他向这匹马走去。
①卡拉巴赫是阿塞拜疆的一个地区，以产名马著称。
“喂，卡拉巴赫，我们明天要去执行任务了。”他说，闻了闻马的鼻孔，吻了一下。
“怎么，长官，还没睡？”坐在大车下面的一个哥萨克说。
“没有，你，大家叫你利哈乔夫吧？我刚回来，我们到法国人那里去了一趟。”于是彼佳不仅详细地向哥萨克讲述了他这次行动，而且讲了他为什么要去，以及他认为宁愿自己冒生命危险，也比去乞怜上帝保佑好。
“咹，还是睡一会吧。”哥萨克说。
“不，我习惯了，”彼佳回答，“你手枪里的大石用完了吧？
我带的有，要吧？拿去用吧。”
那个哥萨克从大车下面探出身子，以便靠近点仔细地看了看彼佳。
“我干什么事情都要事先有准备。”彼佳说，“而有的人随随便便，不作准备，过了又后悔。我不喜欢那样。”
“这一点也不错。”那个哥萨克说。
“对了，还有一件事，朋友，能帮我磨一下佩刀吗？（彼佳没有撤谎）这把刀还没有开过口，能行吗？”
“那有什么，完全可以。”
利哈乔夫站起身，在一个袋里摸索了一下，不一会，彼佳就听到磨石上发出霍霍的响声。他爬上大车，坐在车沿上。
哥萨克在车下面磨着佩刀。
“怎么样，弟兄们都睡了吗？”彼佳说。
“有的睡了，有的没睡——像我们这样。”
“唉，那个孩子呢？”
“韦辛尼吗？他在门厅躺着，没人管他。受了惊恐以后，他睡着了。他现在可高兴啦！”
随后，彼佳默不作声，他听着磨刀的声音。黑暗中传来了脚步声，出现了一个黑影。
“磨什么？”那人走近大车，问道。
“给这位小爷子磨佩刀。”
“好事，”那人说，彼佳觉得他是个骠骑兵。“我的茶杯是不是忘在你这儿了？”
“在车轱辘旁边。”
骠骑兵拿起杯子。
“天快亮了吧。”他打着呵欠说了一句，然后走到一旁去了。
彼佳原本知道他是在树林里，在杰尼索夫的游击队里，离大路有一里路，他正坐在从法国人手里缴获来的一辆大车上，大车旁边拴着马，大车下坐着哥萨克利哈乔夫，正帮他磨刀，右边一团黑影是看林人小屋，右下方亮着一团红的是快烧完了的火堆，来拿茶杯的是一个想喝水的骠骑兵；但是，他什么也不知道，他也不想知道这一切。他已置身于神话般的天堂里，在那里一切现实都不相似。那团大黑影想必是看林人的小屋，也可能是无底深渊。那团红的或许是一堆火，也可能是一个庞然大怪物的眼睛。也许他现在是坐在一辆大车上，也很可能不是坐在大车上，而是坐在其高无比的塔顶上，要从上面跌落下地，需要一整天，整整一个月，或者一直往下落，永远也掉不到地上。坐在大车下面的，或许是那个哥萨克利哈乔夫，但也可能是世界上最善良、最勇敢、最奇特、最完美，还没有人认识他的人。可能有一个骠骑兵来找水喝，然后回到林间凹地里去了，然而，或许他已消失了，而且永远消失了。他这个人已根本不存在了。
不论彼佳现时看见什么，没有一样能使他惊奇。他已置身于神话般的天堂里，在那里一切都是可能的。
他仰望天空，上天和大地一样神奇，天渐渐晴了，云在树梢上空飞掠而过，好像露出了星星，有时好像出现了晴朗的黑色天空，有时觉得这黑洞洞的是乌云，有时又觉得天空在头顶上直往上升，有时又觉得天压得这么低，简直用手就可以触摸到。
彼佳闭上双目，摇晃了一下身子。
树枝上滴着水珠。有人低声谈话，马在相互拥挤，嘶鸣，还有一个人在打呼噜。
“呼哧，呼，呼哧，呼……”这是磨佩刀的声音。突然，彼佳听见了一个阵容整齐的乐队演奏一种不知名的、庄严又悦耳的赞美歌曲。彼佳和娜塔莎一样，比尼古拉更有音乐天赋，但他从来都没有学过音乐，连想都未想过。正因为这样，这意外闯入他头脑的乐曲，他觉得特别新奇，格外动人。乐曲越来越清晰，从一种乐器转换成另一种乐器，演奏的是“逃亡曲”，虽然彼佳完全不懂什么叫“逃亡曲”。每种乐器，有时像提琴，有时像小号，然而比提琴和小号更好听、更纯净。每种乐器都是各奏各的，在还没有奏完一个乐曲时就同时演奏另一种乐器，然后同第三、第四种乐器汇合起来，所有的乐器一齐演奏，分开，又合起来，时而奏起庄严的教堂音乐，时而奏出宏亮的胜利进行曲。
“啊，我在做梦，”彼佳向前顿了一下，自言自语道。“这是我耳朵里的声音。或许，这是我的音乐。好，再来。奏吧，我的音乐！奏啊！……”
他闭上眼睛。声音从四面八方，又好像从远方传送过来，渐渐合成和声。分开来，合起来，然后又合成悦耳的，庄严的赞美歌。“嘿，这太好了，这真好，妙！我要听什么，就有什么。”彼佳自言自语。他试图指挥这个庞大的乐队。
“好，轻一点，轻一点，停。”那些声音听从他指挥。“好，饱满一点，欢快点，还要再欢快。”从远处传来逐渐加强的庄严的声音。“喂，声乐！”彼佳命令，于是起初传来男声，随后是女声，声音逐渐加强，不快也不慢，庄严稳重。彼佳听着那十分美妙的声音，心中又惊又喜。
庄严的胜利进行曲，伴随着一支歌，水珠的滴答声，呼哧，呼哧的磨刀声，战马相互拥挤声，嘶鸣声，这一切声音并没有扰乱这演奏，而是融为一体了。
彼佳不知道这样持续有多久：他欣赏着，他一直为这种享受感到惊奇，他为没有伙伴来分享而遗憾。利哈齐夫的声音唤醒了他。
“长官，磨好了，您可用它把法国人劈成两半了。”
彼佳醒了。
“天亮了，真天亮了！”他喊道。
先前看不清的马，现在连尾巴都看见了，从光秃的树枝中，透露一片水光。彼佳跳起身，抖擞了一下，从口袋里掏出一卢布给利哈乔夫，挥动了几下，试了试，插入刀鞘。哥萨克们解开马，收紧了肚带。
“司令官来了。”利哈齐夫说。
杰尼索夫从看林小屋走出来，把彼佳叫过去，他下令集合。
收听单词发音 |
1
joyfully
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| adv. 喜悦地, 高兴地 | |
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joyful
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| adj.欢乐的，令人欢欣的 | |
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vividly
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| adv.清楚地，鲜明地，生动地 | |
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shanties
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| n.简陋的小木屋( shanty的名词复数 )；铁皮棚屋；船工号子；船歌 | |
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blur
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| n.模糊不清的事物；vt.使模糊，使看不清楚 | |
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waggon
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| n.运货马车，运货车；敞篷车箱 | |
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waggons
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| 四轮的运货马车( waggon的名词复数 )； 铁路货车； 小手推车 | |
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mingle
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| vt.使混合，使相混；vi.混合起来；相交往 | |
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mingled
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| 混合，混入( mingle的过去式和过去分词 )； 混进，与…交往[联系] | |
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munching
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| v.用力咀嚼（某物），大嚼( munch的现在分词 ) | |
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standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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mare
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| n.母马，母驴 | |
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sniffing
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| n.探查法v.以鼻吸气，嗅，闻( sniff的现在分词 )；抽鼻子（尤指哭泣、患感冒等时出声地用鼻子吸气）；抱怨，不以为然地说 | |
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nostrils
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| 鼻孔( nostril的名词复数 ) | |
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detailed
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| adj.详细的，详尽的，极注意细节的，完全的 | |
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haphazard
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| adj.无计划的，随意的，杂乱无章的 | |
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rummaged
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| 翻找，搜寻( rummage的过去式和过去分词 )； 已经海关检查 | |
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martial
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| adj.战争的，军事的，尚武的，威武的 | |
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enchanted
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| adj. 被施魔法的，陶醉的，入迷的 动词enchant的过去式和过去分词 | |
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scudding
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| n.刮面v.（尤指船、舰或云彩）笔直、高速而平稳地移动( scud的现在分词 ) | |
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hissed
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| 发嘶嘶声( hiss的过去式和过去分词 )； 发嘘声表示反对 | |
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harmonious
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| adj.和睦的，调和的，和谐的，协调的 | |
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unfamiliar
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| adj.陌生的，不熟悉的 | |
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hymn
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| n.赞美诗，圣歌，颂歌 | |
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flutes
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| 长笛( flute的名词复数 )； 细长香槟杯（形似长笛） | |
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melodious
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| adj.旋律美妙的，调子优美的，音乐性的 | |
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triumphant
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| adj.胜利的，成功的；狂欢的，喜悦的 | |
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exquisite
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| adj.精美的；敏锐的；剧烈的，感觉强烈的 | |
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swelling
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| n.肿胀 | |
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swelled
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| 增强( swell的过去式和过去分词 )； 肿胀； （使）凸出； 充满（激情） | |
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rhythmic
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| adj.有节奏的，有韵律的 | |
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awe
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| n.敬畏，惊惧；vt.使敬畏，使惊惧 | |
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enjoyment
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| n.乐趣；享有；享用 | |
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boughs
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| 大树枝( bough的名词复数 ) | |
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watery
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| adj.有水的，水汪汪的；湿的，湿润的 | |
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brandished
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| v.挥舞( brandish的过去式和过去分词 )；炫耀 | |
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untying
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| untie的现在分词 | |
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