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That same night, Rostov was with a platoon on skirmishing
duty in front of Bagration's detachment. His hussars were placed
along the line in couples and he himself rode along the line trying
to master the sleepiness that kept coming over him. An enormous
space, with our army's campfires dimly glowing in the fog, could
be seen behind him; in front of him was misty darkness. Rostov
could see nothing, peer as he would into that foggy distance:
now something gleamed gray, now there was something black, now
little lights seemed to glimmer where the enemy ought to be, now
he fancied it was only something in his own eyes. His eyes kept
closing, and in his fancy appeared- now the Emperor, now Denisov,
and now Moscow memories- and he again hurriedly opened his eyes
and saw close before him the head and ears of the horse he was
riding, and sometimes, when he came within six paces of them,
the black figures of hussars, but in the distance was still the
same misty darkness. "Why not?... It might easily happen,"
thought Rostov, "that the Emperor will meet me and give me
an order as he would to any other officer; he'll say: 'Go and
find out what's there.' There are many stories of his getting
to know an officer in just such a chance way and attaching him
to himself! What if he gave me a place near him? Oh, how I would
guard him, how I would tell him the truth, how I would unmask
his deceivers!" And in order to realize vividly his love
devotion to the sovereign, Rostov pictured to himself an enemy
or a deceitful German, whom he would not only kill with pleasure
but whom he would slap in the face before the Emperor. Suddenly
a distant shout aroused him. He started and opened his eyes.
"Where am I? Oh yes, in the skirmishing line... pass
and watchword- shaft, Olmutz. What a nuisance that our squadron
will be in reserve tomorrow," he thought. "I'll ask
leave to go to the front, this may be my only chance of seeing
the Emperor. It won't be long now before I am off duty. I'll take
another turn and when I get back I'll go to the general and ask
him." He readjusted himself in the saddle and touched up
his horse to ride once more round his hussars. It seemed to him
that it was getting lighter. To the left he saw a sloping descent
lit up, and facing it a black knoll that seemed as steep as a
wall. On this knoll there was a white patch that Rostov could
not at all make out: was it a glade in the wood lit up by the
moon, or some unmelted snow, or some white houses? He even thought
something moved on that white spot. "I expect it's snow...
that spot... a spot- une tache," he thought. "There
now... it's not a tache... Natasha... sister, black eyes... Na...
tasha... (Won't she be surprised when I tell her how I've seen
the Emperor?) Natasha... take my sabretache..."- "Keep
to the right, your honor, there are bushes here," came the
voice of an hussar, past whom Rostov was riding in the act of
falling asleep. Rostov lifted his head that had sunk almost to
his horse's mane and pulled up beside the hussar. He was succumbing
to irresistible, youthful, childish drowsiness. "But what
was I thinking? I mustn't forget. How shall I speak to the Emperor?
No, that's not it- that's tomorrow. Oh yes! Natasha... sabretache...
saber them...Whom? The hussars... Ah, the hussars with mustaches.
Along the Tverskaya Street rode the hussar with mustaches... I
thought about him too, just opposite Guryev's house... Old Guryev....
Oh, but Denisov's a fine fellow. But that's all nonsense. The
chief thing is that the Emperor is here. How he looked at me and
wished to say something, but dared not.... No, it was I who dared
not. But that's nonsense, the chief thing is not to forget the
important thing I was thinking of. Yes, Na-tasha, sabretache,
oh, yes, yes! That's right!" And his head once more sank
to his horse's neck. All at once it seemed to him that he was
being fired at. "What? What? What?... Cut them down! What?..."
said Rostov, waking up. At the moment he opened his eyes his eyes
he heard in front of him, where the enemy was, the long-drawn
shouts of thousands of voices. His horse and the horse of the
hussar near him pricked their ears at these shouts. Over there,
where the shouting came from, a fire flared up and went out again,
then another, and all along the French line on the hill fires
flared up and the shouting grew louder and louder. Rostov could
hear the sound of French words but could not distinguish them.
The din of many voices was too great; all he could hear was: "ahahah!"
and "rrrr!"
"What's that? What do you make of it?" said Rostov
to the hussar beside him. "That must be the enemy's camp!"
The hussar did not reply.
"Why, don't you hear it?" Rostov asked again, after
waiting for a reply.
"Who can tell, your honor?" replied the hussar reluctantly.
"From the direction, it must be the enemy," repeated
Rostov.
"It may be he or it may be nothing," muttered the
hussar. "It's dark... Steady!" he cried to his fidgeting
horse.
Rostov's horse was also getting restive: it pawed the frozen
ground, pricking its ears at the noise and looking at the lights.
The shouting grew still louder and merged into a general roar
that only an army of several thousand men could produce. The lights
spread farther and farther, probably along the line of the French
camp. Rostov no longer wanted to sleep. The gay triumphant shouting
of the enemy army had a stimulating effect on him. "Vive
l'Empereur! L'Empereur!" he now heard distinctly.
"They can't be far off, probably just beyond the stream,"
he said to the hussar beside him.
The hussar only sighed without replying and coughed angrily.
The sound of horse's hoofs approaching at a trot along the line
of hussars was heard, and out of the foggy darkness the figure
of a sergeant of hussars suddenly appeared, looming huge as an
elephant.
"Your honor, the generals!" said the sergeant, riding
up to Rostov.
Rostov, still looking round toward the fires and the shouts,
rode with the sergeant to meet some mounted men who were riding
along the line. One was on a white horse. Prince Bagration and
Prince Dolgorukov with their adjutants had come to witness the
curious phenomenon of the lights and shouts in the enemy's camp.
Rostov rode up to Bagration, reported to him, and then joined
the adjutants listening to what the generals were saying.
"Believe me," said Prince Dolgorukov, addressing
Bagration, "it is nothing but a trick! He has retreated and
ordered the rearguard to kindle fires and make a noise to deceive
us."
"Hardly," said Bagration. "I saw them this
evening on that knoll; if they had retreated they would have withdrawn
from that too.... Officer!" said Bagration to Rostov, "are
the enemy's skirmishers still there?"
"They were there this evening, but now I don't know,
your excellency. Shall I go with some of my hussars to see?"
replied Rostov.
Bagration stopped and, before replying, tried to see Rostov's
face in the mist.
"Well, go and see," he said, after a pause.
"Yes, sir."
Rostov spurred his horse, called to Sergeant Fedchenko and
two other hussars, told them to follow him, and trotted downhill
in the direction from which the shouting came. He felt both frightened
and pleased to be riding alone with three hussars into that mysterious
and dangerous misty distance where no one had been before him.
Bagration called to him from the hill not to go beyond the stream,
but Rostov pretended not to hear him and did not stop but rode
on and on, continually mistaking bushes for trees and gullies
for men and continually discovering his mistakes. Having descended
the hill at a trot, he no longer saw either our own or the enemy's
fires, but heard the shouting of the French more loudly and distinctly.
In the valley he saw before him something like a river, but when
he reached it he found it was a road. Having come out onto the
road he reined in his horse, hesitating whether to ride along
it or cross it and ride over the black field up the hillside.
To keep to the road which gleamed white in the mist would have
been safer because it would be easier to see people coming along
it. "Follow me!" said he, crossed the road, and began
riding up the hill at a gallop toward the point where the French
pickets had been standing that evening.
"Your honor, there he is!" cried one of the hussars
behind him. And before Rostov had time to make out what the black
thing was that had suddenly appeared in the fog, there was a flash,
followed by a report, and a bullet whizzing high up in the mist
with a plaintive sound passed out of hearing. Another musket missed
fire but flashed in the pan. Rostov turned his horse and galloped
back. Four more reports followed at intervals, and the bullets
passed somewhere in the fog singing in different tones. Rostov
reined in his horse, whose spirits had risen, like his own, at
the firing, and went back at a footpace. "Well, some more!
Some more!" a merry voice was saying in his soul. But no
more shots came.
Only when approaching Bagration did Rostov let his horse gallop
again, and with his hand at the salute rode up to the general.
Dolgorukov was still insisting that the French had retreated
and had only lit fires to deceive us.
"What does that prove?" he was saying as Rostov
rode up. "They might retreat and leave the pickets."
"It's plain that they have not all gone yet, Prince,"
said Bagration. "Wait till tomorrow morning, we'll find out
everything tomorrow."
"The picket is still on the hill, your excellency, just
where it was in the evening," reported Rostov, stooping forward
with his hand at the salute and unable to repress the smile of
delight induced by his ride and especially by the sound of the
bullets.
"Very good, very good," said Bagration. "Thank
you, officer."
"Your excellency," said Rostov, "may I ask
a favor?"
"What is it?"
"Tomorrow our squadron is to be in reserve. May I ask
to be attached to the first squadron?"
"What's your name?"
"Count Rostov."
"Oh, very well, you may stay in attendance on me."
"Count Ilya Rostov's son?" asked Dolgorukov.
But Rostov did not reply.
"Then I may reckon on it, your excellency?"
"I will give the order."
"Tomorrow very likely I may be sent with some message
to the Emperor," thought Rostov.
"Thank God!"
The fires and shouting in the enemy's army were occasioned
by the fact that while Napoleon's proclamation was being read
to the troops the Emperor himself rode round his bivouacs. The
soldiers, on seeing him, lit wisps of straw and ran after him,
shouting, "Vive l'Empereur!" Napoleon's proclamation
was as follows:
Soldiers! The Russian army is advancing against you to avenge
the Austrian army of Ulm. They are the same battalions you broke
at Hollabrunn and have pursued ever since to this place. The position
we occupy is a strong one, and while they are marching to go round
me on the right they will expose a flank to me. Soldiers! I will
myself direct your battalions. I will keep out of fire if you
with your habitual valor carry disorder and confusion into the
enemy's ranks, but should victory be in doubt, even for a moment,
you will see your Emperor exposing himself to the first blows
of the enemy, for there must be no doubt of victory, especially
on this day when what is at stake is the honor of the French infantry,
so necessary to the honor of our nation.
Do not break your ranks on the plea of removing the wounded!
Let every man be fully imbued with the thought that we must defeat
these hirelings of England, inspired by such hatred of our nation!
This victory will conclude our campaign and we can return to winter
quarters, where fresh French troops who are being raised in France
will join us, and the peace I shall conclude will be worthy of
my people, of you, and of myself.
NAPOLEON
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