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.
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‘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 outwell, 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 outthat happens sometimes, you know. I have brought
some with me, here they are’and he showed a bag‘a hundred
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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
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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
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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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Chapter VIII
The arrival of Dolokhov diverted Petya’s attention from
the drummer boy, to whom Denisov had had some mutton and vodka given, and whom he had had dressed in a
Russian coat so that he might be kept with their band and
not sent away with the other prisoners. Petya had heard in
the army many stories of Dolokhov’s extraordinary bravery and of his cruelty to the French, so from the moment
he entered the hut Petya did not take his eyes from him, but
braced himself up more and more and held his head high,
that he might not be unworthy even of such company.
Dolokhov’s appearance amazed Petya by its simplicity.
Denisov wore a Cossack coat, had a beard, had an icon of
Nicholas the Wonder-Worker on his breast, and his way of
speaking and everything he did indicated his unusual position. But Dolokhov, who in Moscow had worn a Persian
costume, had now the appearance of a most correct officer of
the Guards. He was clean-shaven and wore a Guardsman’s
padded coat with an Order of St. George at his buttonhole
and a plain forage cap set straight on his head. He took off
his wet felt cloak in a corner of the room, and without greeting anyone went up to Denisov and began questioning him
about the matter in hand. Denisov told him of the designs
the large detachments had on the transport, of the message
Petya had brought, and his own replies to both generals.
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Then he told him all he knew of the French detachment.
‘That’s so. But we must know what troops they are and
their numbers,’ said Dolokhov. ‘It will be necessary to go
there. We can’t start the affair without knowing for certain how many there are. I like to work accurately. Here
nowwouldn’t one of these gentlemen like to ride over to the
French camp with me? I have brought a spare uniform.’
‘I, I… I’ll go with you!’ cried Petya.
‘There’s no need for you to go at all,’ said Denisov, addressing Dolokhov, ‘and as for him, I won’t let him go on
any account.’
‘I like that!’ exclaimed Petya. ‘Why shouldn’t I go?’
‘Because it’s useless.’
‘Well, you must excuse me, because… because… I shall
go, and that’s all. You’ll take me, won’t you?’ he said, turning to Dolokhov.
‘Why not?’ Dolokhov answered absently, scrutinizing
the face of the French drummer boy. ‘Have you had that
youngster with you long?’ he asked Denisov.
‘He was taken today but he knows nothing. I’m keeping
him with me.’
‘Yes, and where do you put the others?’ inquired Dolokhov.
‘Where? I send them away and take a weceipt for them,’
shouted Denisov, suddenly flushing. ‘And I say boldly that
I have not a single man’s life on my conscience. Would it be
difficult for you to send thirty or thwee hundwed men to
town under escort, instead of stainingI speak bluntlystaining the honor of a soldier?’
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‘That kind of amiable talk would be suitable from this
young count of sixteen,’ said Dolokhov with cold irony, ‘but
it’s time for you to drop it.’
‘Why, I’ve not said anything! I only say that I’ll certainly
go with you,’ said Petya shyly.
‘But for you and me, old fellow, it’s time to drop these
amenities,’ continued Dolokhov, as if he found particular
pleasure in speaking of this subject which irritated Denisov.
‘Now, why have you kept this lad?’ he went on, swaying his
head. ‘Because you are sorry for him! Don’t we know those
‘receipts’ of yours? You send a hundred men away, and thirty get there. The rest either starve or get killed. So isn’t it all
the same not to send them?’
The esaul, screwing up his light-colored eyes, nodded approvingly.
‘That’s not the point. I’m not going to discuss the matter.
I do not wish to take it on my conscience. You say they’ll
die. All wight. Only not by my fault!’
Dolokhov began laughing.
‘Who has told them not to capture me these twenty
times over? But if they did catch me they’d string me up to
an aspen tree, and with all your chivalry just the same.’ He
paused. ‘However, we must get to work. Tell the Cossack to
fetch my kit. I have two French uniforms in it. Well, are you
coming with me?’ he asked Petya.
‘I? Yes, yes, certainly!’ cried Petya, blushing almost to
tears and glancing at Denisov.
While Dolokhov had been disputing with Denisov what
should be done with prisoners, Petya had once more felt
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awkward and restless; but again he had no time to grasp fully what they were talking about. ‘If grown-up, distinguished
men think so, it must be necessary and right,’ thought he.
‘But above all Denisov must not dare to imagine that I’ll
obey him and that he can order me about. I will certainly go
to the French camp with Dolokhov. If he can, so can I!’
And to all Denisov’s persuasions, Petya replied that he
too was accustomed
