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Volume I, Part Three, Chapter XII

Rostov was that night with his platoon in the skirmish line, in advance of Bagration's detachment. His hussars were scattered in pairs along the line; he himself rode along the line trying to overcome the sleepiness that was irresistibly overcoming him. Behind him he could see the vast expanse of the dimly burning campfires of our army in the mist; in front of him was the foggy darkness. No matter how much Rostov peered into that foggy distance, he could see nothing: now it looked gray, now as if something black were there; now there seemed to be the glimmer of fires where the enemy should be; now he thought it was only the sparkling in his own eyes. His eyes kept closing, and in his imagination appeared now the Emperor, now Denisov, now memories of Moscow, and he again hastily opened his eyes and saw close before him the head and ears of the horse he was riding, sometimes the black figures of hussars when he rode within six paces of them, but in the distance it was still the same foggy darkness. "Why not? It is very possible," thought Rostov, "that the Emperor, meeting me, gives me a commission, as he would to any officer: says, 'Go and find out what is there.' There are many stories of how quite by chance he thus recognized some officer and attached him to himself. What if he attached me to himself! Oh, how I would guard him, how I would tell him the whole truth, how I would expose his deceivers!" And Rostov, in order to vividly imagine his love and devotion to the sovereign, pictured to himself an enemy or a deceitful German, whom he not only killed with pleasure, but slapped in the face in the presence of the sovereign. Suddenly a distant shout aroused Rostov. He started and opened his eyes.

"Where am I? Ah, yes, in the skirmish line: sign and countersign — shaft, Olmütz. What a nuisance that our squadron is to be in reserve tomorrow... — he thought. — I will ask to be in action. It may be my only chance of seeing the Emperor. Yes, it won't be long now before I am relieved. I'll ride round once more, and when I return I will go to the general and ask him." He readjusted himself in the saddle and touched his horse to ride round his hussars once more. It seemed to him that it was growing lighter. To the left a sloping illuminated incline was visible, and opposite to it a black knoll that seemed as steep as a wall. On this knoll there was a white patch that Rostov could not understand at all: was it a clearing in the wood illuminated by the moon, or some remaining snow, or white houses? It even seemed to him that something moved on that white patch. "It must be snow, that patch; a patch — une tache," thought Rostov. "There you have it, not a tache..."

"Natasha, sister, black eyes. Na... tasha... (How surprised she will be when I tell her how I saw the Emperor!) Natashku... sabretache [tashku] take..." — "Keep to the right, your honor, there are bushes here," said the voice of a hussar past whom Rostov was riding as he fell asleep. Rostov raised his head, which had already sunk to his horse's mane, and stopped beside the hussar. The youthful, childlike slumber was irresistibly overcoming him. "Yes, what was I thinking of? — I mustn't forget. How shall I speak to the Emperor? No, not that — that's tomorrow. Yes, yes! On the sabretache [tashku], step on... dull us [tupit nas] — whom? The hussars. And the hussars have mustaches... That hussar with the mustache was riding along the Tverskaya, I also thought of him then, just opposite Guriev's house... Old Guriev... Ah, a fine fellow Denisov! Yes, all this is nonsense. The main thing now is that the Emperor is here. How he looked at me, and wished to say something, but he did not dare... No, it was I who did not dare. But that is nonsense, the main thing is not to forget that I was thinking something important, yes. Na-tashku, nas-tupit, yes, yes, yes. That is good." — And his head again fell onto his horse's neck. Suddenly it seemed to him that he was being shot at. "What? What? What!... Cut them down! What?..." said Rostov, waking up. At the moment he opened his eyes, Rostov heard in front of him, where the enemy was, the prolonged shouts of thousands of voices. His horse and the horse of the hussar standing near him pricked their ears at these shouts. Over the spot where the shouts came from, a single fire flared up and went out, then another, and along the whole line of the French troops on the hill fires blazed up, and the shouts grew louder and louder. Rostov could hear the sound of French words, but could not distinguish them. Too many voices were roaring. Now it could be heard: aaaa! and rrrr!

— What is that? What do you think? — said Rostov, turning to the hussar standing near him. — That's the enemy, isn't it?

The hussar made no reply.

— Why, don't you hear? — Rostov asked again, after waiting some time for a reply.

— And who knows, your honor, — the hussar answered reluctantly.

— From the direction, it must be the enemy? — Rostov repeated again.

— Maybe it is, and maybe it's just so, — muttered the hussar. — It's nighttime. Now then! Steady! — he shouted at his horse, which was shifting under him.

Rostov's horse was also getting restless, pawing the frozen ground, listening to the sounds and looking at the fires. The shouts of the voices kept growing louder and louder, merging into a general roar that could only be produced by an army of several thousand men. The fires spread further and further, probably along the line of the French camp. Rostov no longer wanted to sleep. The joyful, triumphant shouts in the enemy army had a stimulating effect on him: Vive l'empereur, l'empereur! [Long live the Emperor, the Emperor!] Rostov could now hear clearly.

— But they are not far off, — must be just beyond the stream? — he said to the hussar standing beside him.

The hussar only sighed without answering, and coughed angrily. Along the line of hussars the sound of a horse trotting was heard, and out of the night mist suddenly emerged, looking like a huge elephant, the figure of a hussar non-commissioned officer.

— Your honor, the generals! — said the non-commissioned officer, riding up to Rostov.

Rostov, still looking back at the fires and the shouts, rode with the non-commissioned officer to meet several horsemen riding along the line. One was on a white horse. Prince Bagration and Prince Dolgorukov with their adjutants had ridden out to look at the strange phenomenon of the fires and shouts in the enemy's army. Rostov, riding up to Bagration, reported to him, and joined the adjutants, listening to what the generals were saying.

— Believe me, — said Prince Dolgorukov, addressing Bagration, — that this is nothing but a ruse: he has retreated, and ordered the rearguard to light fires and make a noise to deceive us.

— Hardly, — said Bagration. — I saw them on that knoll this evening; if they had gone, they would have removed themselves from there as well. Officer, — said Prince Bagration, turning to Rostov, — are his skirmishers still there?

— They were there this evening, but now I cannot say, your excellency. Order me to do so, and I will ride down with some hussars to see, — said Rostov.

Bagration paused and, without answering, tried to discern Rostov's face in the mist.

— Well, go and see, — he said, after a brief pause.

— Yes, sir.

Rostov spurred his horse, called to the non-commissioned officer Fedchenko and two other hussars, ordered them to follow him, and rode at a trot down the hill in the direction of the continuing shouts. Rostov felt both a shudder and a joy to ride alone with three hussars out there into that mysterious and dangerous foggy distance where no one had been before him. Bagration shouted to him from the hill not to go beyond the stream, but Rostov pretended not to hear his words, and, without stopping, rode further and further on, constantly deceived, taking bushes for trees and gullies for men, and constantly explaining his mistakes to himself. Having trotted down the hill, he could no longer see either our fires or the enemy's, but he heard the shouts of the French more loudly and clearly. In the hollow he saw something like a river before him, but when he reached it he recognized a trodden road. Having reached the road he checked his horse in hesitation: whether to ride along it, or cross it and ride up the hill over the black field. To ride along the road, which gleamed light in the mist, was safer, because it was easier to distinguish people. "Follow me," he said, crossed the road, and began to gallop up the hill toward the place where the French picket had stood that evening.

— Your honor, there he is! — said one of the hussars behind him.

And before Rostov had time to make out something black that suddenly appeared in the fog, there was a flash of light, the click of a shot, and a bullet, as if complaining of something, buzzed high in the mist and flew out of hearing. Another gun did not fire, but a flash flared in the pan. Rostov turned his horse and galloped back. Four more shots rang out at intervals, and the bullets sang on different tones somewhere in the mist. Rostov checked his horse, which, like himself, felt cheered by the shots, and proceeded at a walk. "Well, once more, once more!" some joyful voice was saying in his soul. But there were no more shots.

Only when approaching Bagration did Rostov again let his horse break into a gallop, and with his hand at his visor, rode up to him.

Dolgorukov still insisted on his opinion that the French had retreated and had lit the fires only to deceive us.

— What does that prove? — he said, as Rostov rode up to them. — They might have retreated and left the pickets.

— Evidently they have not all gone yet, Prince, — said Bagration. — Wait till tomorrow morning, tomorrow we shall know everything.

— There is a picket on the hill, your excellency, right where it was this evening, — reported Rostov, leaning forward, holding his hand to his visor, and unable to repress the smile of joy aroused in him by his ride and, above all, by the sound of the bullets.

— Good, good, — said Bagration. — I thank you, officer.

— Your excellency, — said Rostov, — permit me to ask a favor of you.

— What is it?

— Tomorrow our squadron is assigned to the reserves; permit me to ask to be attached to the first squadron.

— What's your name?

— Count Rostov.

— Ah, good! Stay with me as an orderly.

— Ilya Andreich's son? — said Dolgorukov.

But Rostov did not answer him.

— Then I may hope, your excellency.

— I will give the order.

"Tomorrow it is very possible that I may be sent with some order to the Emperor," he thought. "Thank God!" ————

The shouts and fires in the enemy army were caused by the fact that while Napoleon's order was being read to the troops, the Emperor himself rode around his bivouacs on horseback. The soldiers, on seeing the Emperor, lit bundles of straw and ran after him with shouts of vive l'empereur! [long live the Emperor!] Napoleon's order was as follows:

"Soldiers! The Russian army is advancing against you to avenge the Austrian army of Ulm. These are the same battalions that you defeated at Hollabrunn, and that you have pursued constantly to this spot. The positions we occupy are formidable, and while they march to outflank me on the right, they will present their flank to me! Soldiers! I will myself direct your battalions. I will keep out of the fire, if you, with your usual bravery, carry disorder and confusion into the enemy's ranks; but should victory be in doubt for even a moment, you will see your Emperor exposing himself to the enemy's first blows, for there must be no hesitation in victory, especially on a day when the honor of the French infantry is at stake, an honor so essential to the honor of our nation.

Under the pretext of carrying away the wounded, do not break the ranks! Let everyone be fully imbued with the thought that we must defeat these mercenaries of England, inspired by such hatred against our nation. This victory will end our campaign, and we shall be able to return to winter quarters, where we will be joined by new French troops that are being formed in France; and then the peace that I shall conclude will be worthy of my people, of you, and of me. Napoleon."