‘Ozheeg, zheeg, ozheeg, zheeg . . .’hissed the sabre on the whetstone; and all at once Petya seemed to hear harmonious music, an orchestra playing some unfamiliar, solemnly sweet hymn. 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 flutes, but fuller and more melodious 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 triumphant 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 mingle again, all joined in the same sweet and solemn hymn. ‘Ah how exquisite! 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 joyful!’ And from unknown depths rose the swelling, triumphant sounds. ‘Now, voices, join in! ’ Petya commanded. And at first in the distance he heard men’s voices, then women’s. The voices swelled into rhythmic, triumphant fulness. Petya felt awe 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 enjoyment, 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 boughs there could be seen a watery light. Petya shook himself, jumped up, took a rouble out of his pocket, and gave it to Lihatchev, brandished his sabre to try it, and thrust it into the scabbard. The Cossacks were untying 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.
XI
Rapidly in the twilight the men picked out their horses, tightened saddle- girths, and formed into parties. Denisov stood by the hut, giving the last orders. The infantry of the detachment moved on along the road, hundreds of feet splashing through the mud. They quickly vanished among the trees in the mist before the dawn. The esaul gave some order to the Cossacks. Petya held his horse by the bridle, eagerly awaiting the word of command to mount. His face glowed from a dip in cold water, and his eyes gleamed. He felt a chill running down his back, and a kind of rapid, rhythmic throbbing all over.
‘Well, have you everything ready.?’ said Denisov. ‘Give us our horses.’
They brought the horses up. Denisov was vexed with the Cossack because the saddlegirths were slack, and swore at him as he mounted his horse. Petya put his foot in the stirrup. The horse, as its habit was, made as though to nip at his leg; but Petya leaped into the saddle, unconscious of his own weight, and looking round at the hussars moving up from behind in the darkness, he rode up to Denisov.
‘Vassily Fyodorovitch, you will trust me with some commission? Please ... for God’s sake . . .’ he said. Denisov seemed to have forgotten Petya’s existence. He looked round at him.
‘One thing I beg of you,’ he said sternly, ‘to obey me and not to put yourself forward.’
All the way Denisov did not say another word to Petya; he rode on in silence. By the time that they reached the edge of the wood, it was perceptibly getting light in the open country. Denisov whispered something to the esaul, and the Cossacks began riding by Petya and Denisov. When they had all passed on Denisov put his spurs to his horse, and rode downhill. Slipping and sinking back on their haunches, the horses slid down into the hollow with their riders. Petya kept beside Denisov. The tremor all over him was growing more intense. It was getting lighter and lighter,
WARANDPEACE ggS
