AFTER RIDING up to the highest point of our right flank, Prince Bagration began to go downhill, where a continuous roll of musketry was heard and nothing could be seen for the smoke. The nearer they got to the hollow the less they could see, and the more distinctly could be felt the nearness of the actual battlefield. They began to meet wounded men. Two soldiers were dragging one along, supporting him on each side. His head was covered with blood; he had no cap, and was coughing and spitting. The bullet had apparently entered his mouth or throat. Another one came towards them, walking pluckily alone without his gun, groaning aloud and wringing his hands from the pain of a wound from which the blood was flowing, as though from a bottle, over his greatcoat. His face looked more frightened than in pain. He had been wounded only a moment before. Crossing the road, they began going down a deep descent, and on the slope they saw several men lying on the ground. They were met by a crowd of soldiers, among them some who were not wounded. The soldiers were hurrying up the hill, gasping for breath, and in spite of the general's presence, they were talking loudly together and gesticulating with their arms. In the smoke ahead of them they could see now rows of grey coats, and the commanding officer, seeing Bagration, ran after the group of retreating soldiers, calling upon them to come back. Bagration rode up to the ranks, along which there was here and there a rapid snapping of shots drowning the talk of the soldiers and the shouts of the officers. The whole air was reeking with smoke. The soldiers' faces were all full of excitement and smudged with powder. Some were plugging with their ramrods, others were putting powder on the touch-pans, and getting charges out of their pouches, others were firing their guns. But it was impossible to see at whom they were firing from the smoke, which the wind did not lift. The pleasant hum and whiz of the bullets was repeated pretty rapidly. “What is it?” wondered Prince Andrey, as he rode up to the crowd of soldiers. “It can't be the line, for they are all crowded together; it can't be an attacking party, for they are not moving; it can't be a square, they are not standing like one.”

A thin, weak-looking colonel, apparently an old man, with an amiable smile, and eyelids that half-covered his old-looking eyes and gave him a mild air, rode up to Prince Bagration and received him as though he were welcoming an honoured guest into his house. He announced to Prince Bagration that his regiment had had to face a cavalry attack of the French, that though the attack had been repulsed, the regiment had lost more than half of its men. The colonel said that the attack had been repulsed, supposing that to be the proper military term for what had happened; but he did not really know himself what had been taking place during that half hour in the troops under his command, and could not have said with any certainty whether the attack had been repelled or his regiment had been beaten by the attack. All he knew was that at the beginning of the action balls and grenades had begun flying all about his regiment, and killing men, that then some one had shouted “cavalry,” and our men had begun firing. And they were firing still, though not now at the cavalry, who had disappeared, but at the French infantry, who had made their appearance in the hollow and were firing at our men. Prince Bagration nodded his head to betoken that all this was exactly what he had desired and expected. Turning to an adjutant, he commanded him to bring down from the hill the two battalions of the Sixth Chasseurs, by whom they had just come. Prince Andrey was struck at that instant by the change that had come over Prince Bagration's face. His face wore the look of concentrated and happy determination, which may be seen in a man who in a hot day takes the final run before a header into the water. The lustreless, sleepy look in the eyes, the affectation of profound thought had gone. The round, hard, eagle eyes looked ecstatically and rather disdainfully before him, obviously not resting on anything, though there was still the same deliberation in his measured movements.

The colonel addressed a protest to Prince Bagration, urging him to go back, as there it was too dangerous for him. “I beg of you, your excellency, for God's sake!” he kept on saying, looking for support to the officer of the suite, who only turned away from him.

“Only look, your excellency!” He called his attention to the bullets which were continually whizzing, singing, and hissing about them. He spoke in the tone of protest and entreaty with which a carpenter speaks to a gentleman who has picked up a hatchet. “We are used to it, but you may blister your fingers.” He talked as though these bullets could not kill him, and his half-closed eyes gave a still more persuasive effect to his words. The staff-officer added his protests to the colonel, but Bagration made them no answer. He merely gave the order to cease firing, and to form so as to make room for the two battalions of reinforcements. Just as he was speaking the cloud of smoke covering the hollow was lifted as by an unseen hand and blown by the rising wind from right to left. and the opposite hill came into sight with the French moving across it. All eyes instinctively fastened on that French column moving down upon them and winding in and out over the ups and downs of the ground. Already they could see the fur caps of the soldiers, could distinguish officers from privates, could see their flag flapping against its staff.

“How well they're marching,” said some one in Bagration's suite.

The front part of the column was already dipping down into the hollow. The engagement would take place then on the nearer side of the slope…

The remnants of the regiment that had already been in action, forming hurriedly, drew off to the right; the two battalions of the Sixth Chasseurs marched up in good order, driving the last stragglers before them They had not yet reached Bagration, but the heavy, weighty tread could be heard of the whole mass keeping step. On the left flank, nearest of all to Bagration, marched the captain, a round-faced imposing-looking man, with a foolish and happy expression of face. It was the same infantry officer who had run out of the shanty after Tushin. He was obviously thinking of nothing at the moment, but that he was marching before his commander in fine style. With the complacency of a man on parade, he stepped springing on his muscular legs, drawing himself up without the slightest effort, as though he were swinging, and this easy elasticity was a striking contrast to the heavy tread of the soldiers keeping step with him. He wore hanging by his leg an unsheathed, slender, narrow sword (a small bent sabre, more like a toy than a weapon), and looking about him, now at the commander, now behind, he turned his whole powerful frame round without getting out of step. It looked as though all the force of his soul was directed to marching by his commander in the best style possible. And conscious that he was accomplishing this, he was happy. “Left … left … left …” he seemed to be inwardly repeating at each alternate step. And the wall of soldierly figures, weighed down by their knapsacks and guns, with their faces all grave in different ways, moved by in the same rhythm, as though each of the hundreds of soldiers were repeating mentally at each alternate step, “Left … left … left …” A stout major skirted a bush on the road, puffing and shifting his step. A soldier, who had dropped behind, trotted after the company, looking panic-stricken at his own defection. A cannon ball, whizzing through the air, flew over the heads of Prince Bagration and his suite, and in time to the same rhythm, “Left … left …” it fell into the column.

“Close the ranks!” rang out the jaunty voice of the captain. The soldiers marched in a half circle round something in the place where the ball had fallen, and an old cavalryman, an under officer, lingered behind near the dead, and overtaking his line, changed feet with a hop, got into step, and looked angrily about him. “Left … left … left …” seemed to echo out of the menacing silence and the monotonous sound of the simultaneous tread of the feet on the ground.

“Well done, lads!” said Prince Bagration.

“For your ex … slen, slen, slency!” rang out along the ranks. A surly-looking soldier, marching on the left, turned his eyes on Bagration as he shouted, with an expression that seemed to say, “We know that without telling.” Another, opening his mouth wide, shouted without glancing round, and marched on, as though afraid of letting his attention stray. The order was given to halt and take off their knapsacks.

Bagration rode round the ranks of men who had marched by him, and then dismounted from his horse. He gave the reins to a Cossack, took off his cloak and handed it to him, stretched his legs and set his cap straight on his head. The French column with the officers in front came into sight under the hill.

“With God's help!” cried Bagration in a resolute, sonorous voice. He turned for one instant to the front line, and swinging his arms a little, with the awkward, lumbering gait of a man always on horseback, he walked forward over the uneven ground. Prince Andrey felt that some unseen force was drawing him forward, and he had a sensation of great happiness.

The French were near. Already Prince Andrey, walking beside Bagration, could distinguish clearly the sashes, the red epaulettes, even the faces of the French. (He saw distinctly one bandy-legged old French officer, wearing Hessian boots, who was getting up the hill with difficulty, taking hold of the bushes.) Prince Bagration gave no new command, and still marched in front of the ranks in the same silence. Suddenly there was the snap of a shot among the French, another and a third … and smoke rose and firing rang out in all the broken-up ranks of the enemy. Several of our men fell, among them the round-faced officer, who had been marching so carefully and complacently. But at the very instant of the first shot, Bagration looked round and shouted, “Hurrah!” “Hurra … a … a … ah!” rang out along our lines in a prolonged roar, and out-stripping Prince Bagration and one another, in no order, but in an eager and joyous crowd, our men ran downhill after the routed French.

巴格拉季翁骑马走到我军右翼的最高点，开始沿着下坡驰去，从那里可以听见若断若续的枪炮声，硝烟弥漫，遮蔽得什么也看不见。他们越走近谷地，就越看不清楚，但越感觉到临近真正的战场。他们遇见一些伤员。两名士兵从两边搀着一个头部鲜血淋漓的未戴军帽的伤员。他声音嘶哑，口吐血水。看来有一颗子弹打中了嘴巴或喉咙。他们遇见的另一个伤员，没有带枪，强打精神，独自步行，哼哼地大声喊叫，新伤口使他痛得不住地晃动手臂，手上的鲜血像从玻璃瓶中溢出似地流到他的大衣上。从他脸上看出，与其说他感到痛苦，毋宁说他心惊胆战。他是一分钟以前负伤的。他们穿过了大路，就沿着陡坡走下去，在斜坡上看见几个躺在地上的人；他们还碰见一群士兵，其中也有一些没有负伤的人。士兵们呼吸困难地登上山去，都在看看将军的面色，大声地谈话，挥动着手臂。在前面的硝烟中可以望得清一排排身穿灰色大衣的军人；有一名军官看见巴格拉季翁之后，大喊大叫地跟在成群结队的士兵后面飞奔，叫他们回头。巴格拉季翁骑马走到队列面前，队列中时而这里时而那里急骤地响起噼噼啪啪的枪声，它把谈话声和口令声淹没了。空气中充满着硝烟。士兵们的脸孔都给薰黑了，但还显得富有活力。有一些人正在用通条捣碎火药，有一些人正在把火药装进火枪药池里，从袋子里取出火药，还有一些人正在射击。但是，硝烟没有被风吹散，他们向谁射击，看不清楚。可以不时地听见一阵阵悦耳的嗡嗡声和呼啸声。“这是什么名堂呢？”安德烈公爵骑马走到这群士兵前面，心中想道，“这不能算是散兵线，因为他们挤成一堆了！这不能算是进攻，因为他们没有向前推进；也不能算是方阵，因为他们站得不对劲。”

瘦削的、看样子虚弱的小老头——团长，面露快活的微笑，一对眼睑把他那老年人的眼睛遮着一大半，使他富有温顺的样子，他骑马走到巴格拉季翁公爵跟前，像主人招待贵宾那样接待他。他向巴格拉季翁公爵报告，说法国骑兵曾向他的兵团发动进攻，虽然这次进攻已被击退，但是兵团损失了半数以上的人员。团长说，进攻已被击退了，他臆想出这个军用术语，用以表明他的兵团中发生的事件；但是他本人的确不知道，他所负责统率的军队在这半个小时内发生了什么事件，因此他无法确切地说，进攻已被击退了，或是说兵团已被进攻所粉碎。开战的时候，他只知道，炮弹和榴弹开始发射到他的兵团所在地，击中一些人。后来有个人喊道：“骑兵，”我们的士兵于是开始射击。在此之前，骑兵业已隐藏，射击的对象不是骑兵，而是在谷地露面并向我军扫射的法国步兵。巴格拉季翁公爵颔颔首，心里表示，这全部事态和他预料的情况完全一样。他把脸转向副官，命令他将他们甫才从近旁经过的第六猎骑兵团的两个营从山上调来。这时候，巴格拉季翁公爵脸上发生的变化使安德烈公爵感到惊讶。他脸上流露着聚精会神、愉快而坚定的表情，就像某人在炎热的日子准备跳水时正跑最后几步似的。但是，既无睡眠不足的暗淡的目光，亦无假装的陷入沉思的样子；一对坚定的浑圆的鹰眼热情洋溢地、略微轻蔑地向前望去，显然，他的目光没有停留在任何东西上，虽然他的动作和从前一样，既迟缓，又有节奏。

团长把脸转向巴格拉季翁公爵，恳求他撤退，因为这里太危险了。“大人，看在上帝份上，赏个光吧！”他说道，一面望着侍从军官，乞求他证明他说的话是真实的，可是侍从军官转过脸去，不理睬他。“看，请您注意！”他叫他注意在他们身边不住地呼啸的子弹。他带着请求和责备的口气说道，就像木匠带着同样的口气对拿起斧头的老爷说：“我们的事儿是干惯了的，您会把手上磨出茧子来。”他这样说话，就像子弹打不死他自己似的，他那对半开半合的眼睛赋予他以更强的说服力。校官附和团长，也来规劝，但是巴格拉季翁公爵不回答他们的话，只是下命令停止射击，整理队伍，给行将到达的两个营让路。当他说话时，起了一阵风，遮掩谷地的烟幕被一只看不见的手从右边拉到左边去。对面一座山在他们面前展现了，山上的法国官兵渐渐地向前推进。大家的目光不由地望着那支沿着阶地蜿蜒曲折地行进、并向他们步步逼近的法国纵队。可以望得见士兵戴的毛茸茸的帽子，可以分辨清军官和普通士兵，也可以望见军旗拍打着旗杆。

“他们走得挺不错。”巴格拉季翁的侍从中的一个人说道。

纵队的先头部分已经下去，进入谷地。武装冲突应当在这边斜坡上发生。

投入战斗的我团残部急忙整理队伍，向右边走去。第六猎骑兵团的两个营以整齐的队形从他们身后走来，一面赶开掉队的人员。他们还没有走到巴格拉季翁身边，就已经听见一大群人齐步走的沉重的脚步声。一名连长从左翼走来，他离巴格拉季翁最近；连长的面部浑圆，身材端正，脸上流露着愚蠢而欣喜的表情，他就是从随军商贩棚子里跑出来的那个人。看来在这个时刻，他除了雄赳赳气昂昂地从首长身边走过而外，心里什么也不想。

他怀着置身于前线使他觉得洋洋自得的心情，迈开肌肉健壮的两腿，像泅水那样轻松愉快地走着，毫不费劲地挺直身子，他那轻快的步子和合着他的步调的士兵们的沉重的脚步迥然不同。他的大腿旁挎着一柄出鞘的又细又窄的长剑（不像兵器的弯曲的小剑），他时而望望首长们，时而向后张望；灵活地转动他那强而有力的身躯，为了不走乱脚步。看样子，他正集中全部精力，以最优美的姿势从首长们身边过去，心里体会到，他能够出色地完成任务，因而感到非常愉快。他每隔一步心里似乎在说：“左……左……左……，”密密麻麻的士兵的脸上流露着各种不同的严肃的神态，他们都合着这个节拍前进，背囊和枪支的重荷使他们感到不方便，就好像这几百士兵中的每个人每隔一步心里就会说：“左……左……左……”肥胖的少校，喘着粗气，走乱了脚步，从大路上的一棵灌木旁边绕过去。一名掉队的士兵气喘吁吁，因为不守纪律而面露惊恐的神情，快步流星地走去，赶上了连队。一颗炮弹挤压着空气，从巴格拉季翁公爵和侍从们头上飞过，也合着“左——左！”的节拍，命中了纵队。可以听见连长夸耀的嗓音：“靠拢！”士兵们从炮弹落下的地方呈弧形绕过去，年老的骑兵，侧翼的士官，在阵亡的人员附近掉队了，后来又赶上自己的队伍，跳一跳，换一下脚步，合着队伍行进的脚步，他很气忿地回顾一下。在令人恐惧的沉寂中，在脚步同时落地的单调的响声中，似乎还可以听见“左……左……

左……”的声音。

“好样的，伙伴们啊！”巴格拉季翁公爵说道。

“为——大——人！……”这一喊声响彻了队伍之中。满面愁容的士兵从左边走来，不住地喊叫，他朝巴格拉季翁望了一眼，那神色就像在说：“我们自己都知道。”另一名士兵没有回顾，仿佛害怕分散注意力，他张开口，叫叫喊喊，徒步走过去。

发出了停止前进，取下背囊的命令。

巴格拉季翁绕过从他旁边走去的队伍之后，下了马。他把缰绳交给哥萨克兵，脱下披肩也交给他，伸开两腿，把头上的帽子弄平整。由军官们率领的法国纵队的先头部分从山下走出来了。

“愿上帝保佑！”巴格拉季翁用坚定的听得见的嗓音说道，一刹那，把脸转向战线的正面，两手轻轻地来回摆动，似乎很费劲地迈开骑士的笨拙的脚步，沿着凹凸不平的战场走去了。安德烈公爵心里觉得似乎有某种不可克服的力量拖着他朝前走，他感到非常幸运。①

①这里举行了一次进攻，梯也尔提及进攻时说：“Lesrusssseconduisirent，vailla－ment，etchoserateálaguerre，onvitdeuxmassesdinfanteriemarcherresolumentl'unecontrelautresansqu'ancunedesdeuxdédaavantd'êtreabordeé，”（俄国人表现得英勇豪迈，这是战争中罕见的事。两队步兵坚毅地以白刃相迎，无一方作出让步，直至决一死战。）拿破仑在圣赫勒拿岛上曾说：“Quelquesbataillonsrussesmontrèrentdel'intrépidites．”——作者注。（俄国有几个营队表现了大无畏精神。——俄编者注。）

法国人已经走得很近了，安德烈公爵与巴格拉季翁并排地走着，能够辨别出法国人的肩带、红色的肩章，甚至连面孔也看得清楚。（他清楚地看见一个年老的法国军官，他迈开套着鞋罩的外八字脚攀缘着灌木，费劲地登上山坡。）巴格拉季翁公爵没有发出新命令，仍旧沉默地在队列前面走着。忽然法国人之中响起了枪声，第二声，第三声……在那溃乱的敌军队伍中冒起了一阵硝烟，响起噼啪的射击声。有几个我们的人倒下了，其中有那个快活地、劲儿十足地行进的圆脸的军官。但是正当响了第一枪的那一瞬间，巴格拉季翁回头一看，大声喊道：“乌拉！”

我们的队列之中响起一片拖长的“乌拉——拉”的呐喊声。我们的官兵，你追我赶，并且赶上了巴格拉季翁公爵；这一队列虽然不整齐，但是人人欢喜，十分活跃，开始成群地跑下山去，追击溃不成军的法国人。