Prince Andrei on horseback stopped at the battery, looking at the smoke of the gun from which the cannon ball had flown. His eyes ran over the wide expanse. He only saw that the previously motionless masses of the French were swaying, and that there really was a battery to the left. The smoke above it had not yet dispersed. Two Frenchmen on horseback, probably adjutants, were galloping up the hill. A small but distinctly visible enemy column was moving down the hill, probably to strengthen the front line. The smoke of the first shot had not yet dispersed before another puff appeared, followed by a report. The battle had begun. Prince Andrei turned his horse and galloped back to Grunt to find Prince Bagration. He heard the cannonade behind him growing louder and more frequent. Evidently our guns had begun to reply. Below, where the emissaries had passed, musket shots were heard.

Lemarrois had just arrived at a gallop with Bonaparte's stern letter, and Murat, humiliated and anxious to expiate his fault, had at once moved his forces to attack the center and outflank both the Russian wings, hoping before evening and before the arrival of the Emperor to crush the contemptible detachment that stood before him.

"It has begun! Here it is!" thought Prince Andrei, feeling the blood rush to his heart. "But where? How will my Toulon present itself?" he thought.

Passing among the companies that had been eating porridge and drinking vodka a quarter of an hour before, he saw everywhere the same rapid movements of soldiers forming ranks and getting their muskets ready, and on all their faces he recognized the same feeling of animation that was in his own heart. "It has begun! Here it is! Dreadful but joyous!" said the face of each soldier and officer.

Before he had reached the entrenchment that was being dug, he saw, in the evening light of the gloomy autumn day, men on horseback riding toward him. The foremost, wearing a Circassian cloak and a cap with bands of fur, was riding a white horse. It was Prince Bagration. Prince Andrei stopped, waiting for him to come up. Prince Bagration reined in his horse, and recognizing Prince Andrei, nodded to him. He still looked straight ahead while Prince Andrei told him what he had seen.

The expression, "It has begun! Here it is!" was even on Prince Bagration's resolute brown face, with its half-closed, dull, sleepy-looking eyes. Prince Andrei gazed with anxious curiosity at that impassive face and wished he could know what, if anything, this man was thinking and feeling at that moment. "Is there anything at all behind that impassive face?" Prince Andrei asked himself as he looked. Prince Bagration bowed his head in agreement with Prince Andrei's words, and said, "Very good," with an expression as if everything that was happening and that was being reported to him was exactly what he had foreseen. Prince Andrei, out of breath with his rapid ride, spoke quickly. Prince Bagration pronounced his words with his Eastern accent particularly slowly, as if to impress upon him that there was no need to hurry. However, he put his horse to a trot in the direction of Tushin's battery. Prince Andrei followed with the suite. Behind Prince Bagration rode an officer of the suite, the Prince's personal adjutant, Zherkov, an orderly officer, the staff officer on duty, riding a beautiful English horse, and a civil official, the auditor, who had asked to be allowed to be present at the battle out of curiosity. The auditor, a plump man with a full face, looked around with a naive smile of joy, jolting on his horse, presenting a strange appearance in his camlet overcoat on a pack saddle among the hussars, Cossacks, and adjutants.

— He wants to see a battle, — said Zherkov to Bolkonsky, pointing to the auditor, — but he's already got a pain in the pit of his stomach.

— Oh, leave off, — said the auditor, with a beaming, naive, and at the same time cunning smile, as if it flattered him to be the subject of Zherkov's joke, and as if he were intentionally trying to appear stupider than he really was.

Très drôle, mon monsieur prince, [Very funny, my mister prince,] — said the staff officer on duty. (He remembered that the title prince is pronounced in some special way in French, but could not get it right.)

By this time they were all approaching Tushin's battery, and a cannon ball struck the ground in front of them.

— What was that that fell? — asked the auditor, smiling naively.

— French pancakes, — answered Zherkov.

— So that's what they hit with? — asked the auditor. — How awful!

And he seemed to swell all over with pleasure. He had hardly finished speaking when an unexpectedly terrible whistle was again heard, which suddenly ended with a thud into something liquid, and sh-sh-sh-sh-plop — a Cossack riding a little to the right and behind the auditor fell to earth with his horse. Zherkov and the staff officer bent over their saddles and turned their horses away. The auditor stopped facing the Cossack and looked at him with attentive curiosity. The Cossack was dead, but his horse was still struggling.

Prince Bagration screwed up his eyes, looked round, and, seeing the cause of the confusion, turned away with indifference, as if to say, "Is it worth while noticing trifles!" He reined in his horse, with the ease of a skillful rider, bent over slightly, and disengaged his saber, which had caught in his cloak. It was an old-fashioned saber, unlike those worn now. Prince Andrei remembered the story of Suvorov giving his saber to Bagration in Italy, and the recollection was particularly pleasant to him at that moment. They had reached the battery at which Bolkonsky had stood when he was examining the battlefield.

— Whose company? — asked Prince Bagration of an artillery noncommissioned officer standing by the ammunition wagons.

He asked, "Whose company?" but he really meant, "Are you frightened here?" and the artilleryman understood him.

— Captain Tushin's, your excellency! — shouted the red-haired, freckled artilleryman in a cheerful voice, standing at attention.

— Yes, yes, — muttered Bagration as if considering something, and he rode past the limbers to the farthest cannon.

As he approached, a ringing shot issued from it, deafening him and his suite, and in the smoke that suddenly enveloped the gun they could see the artillerymen who had seized it, straining, rolling it quickly back to its former position. A broad-shouldered, gigantic soldier, number one, with a mop, sprang back to the wheel, his legs wide apart. Number two with a trembling hand placed a charge in the muzzle. The short, round-shouldered Captain Tushin, stumbling over the trail of the gun carriage, dashed forward, not noticing the general and looking out from under his small hand.

— Add two more lines, and it will be just right, — he cried in a piping voice to which he tried to impart a dashing note ill-suited to his figure. — Number two! — he squeaked. — Fire, Medvedev!

Bagration called to him, and Tushin, with a timid and awkward movement, not at all like a military salute, but like a priest blessing someone, put three fingers to his peak and approached the general. Though Tushin's guns had been intended to scour the valley, he was firing incendiary balls at the village of Schöngrabern, visible just opposite, in front of which large masses of French were advancing.

No one had given Tushin orders where and at what to fire, but after consulting his sergeant major, Zakharchenko, for whom he had great respect, he had decided that it would be a good thing to set fire to the village. "Very good!" said Bagration in reply to the officer's report, and began deliberately to examine the whole battlefield unfolding before him, as if considering something. The French had advanced nearest on our right. Below the height on which the Kiev regiment was stationed, in the hollow of the riverbed, the soul-stirring rolling fire of musketry was heard, and much farther to the right, beyond the dragoons, the officer of the suite pointed out to Bagration a French column that was outflanking us. To the left the horizon was bounded by the adjacent wood. Prince Bagration ordered two battalions from the center to be sent to reinforce the right flank. The officer of the suite ventured to remark to the prince that if these battalions went away, the guns would remain without cover. Prince Bagration turned to the officer and with his dull eyes looked at him in silence. It seemed to Prince Andrei that the officer's remark was just and that really no answer could be made to it. But at that moment an adjutant galloped up from the commander of the regiment in the hollow with news that immense masses of the French were coming down upon them, that his regiment was in disorder and was retreating upon the Kiev grenadiers. Prince Bagration bowed his head in token of assent and approval. He rode off at a walk to the right and sent an adjutant to the dragoons with orders to attack the French. But this adjutant returned half an hour later with the news that the commander of the dragoons had already retreated beyond the ravine, because a heavy fire had been opened on him and he was losing men uselessly, and so had hastened to send some sharpshooters into the wood.

— Very good! — said Bagration.

As he was leaving the battery, firing was heard on the left also in the wood, and as it was too far to the left flank for him to have time to go there himself, Prince Bagration sent Zherkov to tell the senior general — the one who had presented his regiment to Kutuzov at Braunau — that he must retreat as rapidly as possible beyond the ravine, as the right flank would probably not be able to withstand the enemy's attack long. About Tushin and the battalion that had been covering him all was forgotten. Prince Andrei listened carefully to Bagration's colloquies with the commanding officers and the orders he gave them and, to his surprise, found that no orders were really given, but that Prince Bagration tried to make it appear that everything done by necessity, by accident, or by the will of subordinate commanders was done, if not by his direct command, at least in accord with his intentions. Prince Andrei noticed, however, that though what happened was due to chance and was independent of the commander's will, owing to the tact Bagration showed, his presence was very valuable. Officers who approached him with disturbed countenances became calm; soldiers and officers greeted him cheerfully, grew more animated in his presence, and evidently wished to display their courage before him.