THE DAY AFTER ROSTOV'S VISIT to Boris, the review took place of the Austrian and Russian troops, both the reinforcements freshly arrived from Russia and the troops that had been campaigning with Kutuzov. Both Emperors, the Russian Emperor with the Tsarevitch, and the Austrian with the archduke, were to assist at this review of the allied forces, making up together an army of eighty thousand men. From early morning the troops, all smart and clean, had been moving about the plain before the fortress. Thousands of legs and bayonets moved with flags waving, and halted at the word of command, turned and formed at regular intervals, moving round other similar masses of infantry in different uniforms. With the rhythmic tramp of hoofs, the smartly dressed cavalry in blue, and red, and green laced uniforms rode jingling by on black and chestnut and grey horses, the bandsmen in front covered with embroidery. Between the infantry and the cavalry the artillery, in a long line of polished, shining cannons quivering on their carriages, crawled slowly by with their heavy, brazen sound, and their peculiar smell from the linstocks, and ranged themselves in their places. Not only the generals in their full parade uniform, wearing scarves and all their decorations, with waists, portly and slim alike, pinched in to the uttermost, and red necks squeezed into stiff collars, not only the pomaded, dandified officers, but every soldier, with his clean, washed, and shaven face, and weapons polished to the utmost possibility of glitter, every horse rubbed down till its coat shone like satin, and every hair in its moistened mane lay in place—all alike felt it no joking matter, felt that something grave and solemn was going forward. Every general and every soldier was conscious of his own significance, feeling himself but a grain of sand in that ocean of humanity, and at the same time was conscious of his might, feeling himself a part of that vast whole. There had been strenuous exertion and bustle since early morning, and by ten o'clock everything was in the required order. The rows of soldiers were standing on the immense plain. The whole army was drawn out in three lines. In front was the cavalry; behind, the artillery; still further back, the infantry.
Between each two ranks of soldiery there was as it were a street. The army was sharply divided into three parts: Kutuzov's army (on the right flank of which stood the Pavlograd hussars in the front line), the regiments of the line and the guards that had arrived from Russia, and the Austrian troops. But all stood in one line, under one command, and in similar order.
Like a wind passing over the leaves, the excited whisper fluttered over the plain: “They are coming! they are coming!” There was a sound of frightened voices, and the hurried men's fuss over the last finishing touches ran like a wave over the troops.
A group came into sight moving towards them from Olmütz in front of them. And at the same moment, though there had been no wind, a faint breeze fluttered over the army, and stirred the streamers on the lances, and sent the unfurled flags flapping against their flagstaffs. It looked as though in this slight movement the army itself were expressing its joy at the approach of the Emperors. One voice was heard saying: “Steady!” Then like cocks at sunrise, voices caught up and repeated the sound in different parts of the plain. And all sank into silence.
In the deathlike stillness, the only sound was the tramp of hoofs. It was the Emperors' suite. The Emperors rode towards the flank, and the trumpets of the first cavalry regiment began playing a march. It seemed as though the sound did not come from the trumpeters, but that the army itself was naturally giving forth this music in its delight at the Emperors' approach. Through the music could be distinctly heard one voice, the genial, youthful voice of the Emperor Alexander. He uttered some words of greeting, and the first regiment boomed out: “Hurrah!” with a shout so deafening, so prolonged, so joyful, that the men themselves felt awestruck at the multitude and force of the mass they made up.
Rostov, standing in the foremost ranks of Kutuzov's army, which the Tsar approached first of all, was possessed by the feeling, common to every man in that army—a feeling of self-oblivion, of proud consciousness of their might and passionate devotion to the man who was the centre of that solemn ceremony.
He felt that at one word from that man all that vast mass (and he, an insignificant atom bound up with it) would rush through fire and water, to crime, to death, or to the grandest heroism, and so he could not but thrill and tremble at the sight of the man who was the embodiment of that word.
“Hurrah! hurrah! hurrah!” thundered on all sides, and one regiment after another greeted the Tsar with the strains of the march, then hurrah!…then the march, and again hurrah! and hurrah! which growing stronger and fuller, blended into a deafening roar.
Before the Tsar had reached it, each regiment in its speechless immobility seemed like a lifeless body. But as soon as the Tsar was on a level with it, each regiment broke into life and noise, which joined with the roar of all the line, by which the Tsar had passed already. In the terrific, deafening uproar of those voices, between the square masses of troops, immobile as though turned to stone, moved carelessly, but symmetrically and freely, some hundreds of men on horseback, the suite, and in front of them two figures—the Emperors. Upon these was entirely concentrated the repressed, passionate attention of all that mass of men.
The handsome, youthful Emperor Alexander, in the uniform of the Horse Guards, in a triangular hat with the base in front, attracted the greater share of attention with his pleasant face and sonorous, low voice.
Rostov was standing near the trumpeters, and with his keen eyes he recognised the Tsar from a distance and watched him approaching. When the Tsar was only twenty paces away, and Nikolay saw clearly in every detail the handsome, young, and happy face of the Emperor, he experienced a feeling of tenderness and ecstasy such as he had never known before. Everything in the Tsar—every feature, every movement—seemed to him full of charm.
Halting before the Pavlograd regiment, the Tsar said something in French to the Austrian Emperor and smiled.
Seeing that smile, Rostov unconsciously began to smile himself and felt an even stronger rush of love for his Emperor. He longed to express his love for the Tsar in some way. He knew it was impossible, and he wanted to cry. The Tsar called up the colonel of the regiment and said a few words to him.
“By God! what would happen to me if the Emperor were to address me!” thought Rostov; “I should die of happiness.”
The Tsar addressed the officers, too.
“All of you, gentlemen” (every word sounded to Rostov like heavenly music), “I thank you with all my heart.”
How happy Rostov would have been if he could have died on the spot for his Emperor.
“You have won the flags of St. George and will be worthy of them.”
“Only to die, to die for him!” thought Rostov.
The Tsar said something more which Rostov did not catch, and the soldiers, straining their lungs, roared “hurrah!”
Rostov, too, bending over in his saddle, shouted with all his might, feeling he would like to do himself some injury by this shout, if only he could give full expression to his enthusiasm for the Tsar.
The Tsar stood for several seconds facing the hussars, as though he were hesitating.
“How could the Emperor hesitate?” Rostov wondered; but then, even that hesitation seemed to him majestic and enchanting, like all the Tsar did.
The Tsar's hesitation lasted only an instant. The Tsar's foot, in the narrow-pointed boot of the day, touched the belly of the bay English thoroughbred he was riding. The Tsar's hand in its white glove gathered up the reins and he moved off, accompanied by the irregularly heaving sea of adjutants. Further and further he rode away, stopping at the other regiments, and at last the white plume of his hat was all that Rostov could see above the suite that encircled the Emperors.
Among the gentlemen of the suite, Rostov noticed Bolkonsky, sitting his horse in a slack, indolent pose. Rostov remembered his quarrel with him on the previous day and his doubt whether he ought or ought not to challenge him. “Of course, I ought not,” Rostov reflected now.…”And is it worth thinking and speaking of it at such a moment as the present? At the moment of such a feeling of love, enthusiasm, and self-sacrifice, what are all our slights and squabbles? I love every one, I forgive every one at this moment,” thought Rostov.
When the Tsar had made the round of almost all the regiments, the troops began to file by him in a parade march, and Rostov on Bedouin, which he had lately bought from Denisov, was the officer at the rear, that is, had to pass last, alone, and directly in view of the Tsar.
Before he reached the Tsar, Rostov, who was a capital horseman, set spurs twice to his Bedouin, and succeeded in forcing him into that frantic form of gallop into which Bedouin always dropped when he was excited. Bending his foaming nose to his chest, arching his tail, and seeming to skim through the air without touching the earth, Bedouin, as though he, too, were conscious of the Tsar's eye upon him, flew by in superb style, with a graceful high action of his legs.
Rostov himself drew back his legs and drew in his stomach, and feeling himself all of a piece with his horse, rode by the Tsar with a frowning but blissful face, looking a regular devil, as Denisov used to say.
“Bravo, Pavlograds!” said the Tsar.
“My God! shouldn't I be happy if he bade me fling myself into fire this instant,” thought Rostov.
When the review was over, the officers, both of the reinforcements and of Kutuzov's army, began to gather together in groups. Conversations sprang up about the honours that had been conferred, about the Austrians and their uniforms, and their front line, about Bonaparte and the bad time in store for him now, especially when Essen's corps, too, should arrive, and Prussia should take our side. But the chief subject of conversation in every circle was the Emperor Alexander; every word he had uttered, every gesture was described and expatiated upon with enthusiasm.
There was but one desire in all: under the Emperor's leadership to face the enemy as soon as possible. Under the command of the Emperor himself they would not fail to conquer any one whatever: so thought Rostov and most of the officers after the review.
After the review they all felt more certain of victory than they could have been after two decisive victories.
鲍里斯和罗斯托夫会面的翌日，奥国部队和俄国部队举行了一次阅兵式。接受检阅的俄国部队包括新近从俄国开来的部队和随同库图佐夫出征归来的部队。两位皇帝——俄皇偕同皇储、奥皇偕同大公，检阅了八万盟军。
从清早起，穿着得考察而且整洁的部队动弹起来了，在要塞前面的场地上排队。时而可以看见千千万万只脚和刺刀随同迎风飘扬的旗帜向前移动着，听从军官的口令或停步，或转弯，或保持间隔排成队列，绕过身穿另一种军装的步兵群众。时而可以听见节奏均匀的马蹄声和马刺的碰击声，这些穿着蓝色、红色、绿色的绣花制服的骑兵骑在乌黑色、棕红色、青灰色的战马上，一些穿着绣花衣服的军乐乐师站在队列的前面。时而可以看见炮队拉长了距离，一门门擦得闪闪发亮的大炮在炮架上颤动着，可以听见铜件震动的响声，可以闻见点火杆散发的气味，炮队在步兵和骑兵之间爬行前进，在指定的地点拉开距离停下来。不仅是将军都全身穿着检阅制服，他们那粗大的或是细小的腰身都束得很紧，衣领衬托着脖子，托得通红，腰间都系着武装带，胸前佩戴着各种勋章；不仅是军官抹了发油，穿戴得时髦，而且每个士兵都露出一副精神充沛的洗得干干净净的刮得光光的面孔，每个士兵都把装具擦得锃亮，每匹战马都受到精心饲养，毛色像绸缎般闪耀着光彩，湿润的马鬃给梳得一丝不紊。人人都觉得正在完成一项非同儿戏的意义重大而庄严的事业。每个将军和士兵都觉得自己非常渺小，也意识到自己只是这个人海之中的一粒沙土，而且也觉得自己强而有力，也意识到自己是这个浩大的整体中的一部分。
从清早起，就开始非常紧张地张罗要办的事，可谓为全力以赴。到了十点钟，一切都如愿地准备就绪。一列一列的官兵都在宽阔的场地上站到队里了。全军排列成三行：骑兵排在前头，炮兵排在骑兵后面，步兵尾随于其后。
队列之间保留有街道一般的间隔。军队的三个部分——库图佐夫的战斗部队（保罗格勒兵团的官兵站在前面一行的右翼），刚从俄国开来的集团军直属兵团和近卫兵团以及奥国的部队，明显地分隔开来。但是他们都站在同一行列中，均由同一的首长指挥，具有同一的队形。
一阵激动不安的絮语有如风扫落叶似地传来了：“他们来了！他们来了！”可以听见惊恐的语声，一阵忙乱的高潮——
最后的准备工作——冲进了各支部队。
一群渐渐移近的官兵在前面的奥尔米茨那边出现了。这天虽是风平浪静，然而就在这时候军队中起了一阵微风，轻轻地拂动矛上的小旗，迎风招展的军旗拍打着旗杆。在两位国王驾到的时候，军队的这个细微的动作仿佛显示了自己的喜悦。传出了一声口令：“立正！”紧接着就像公鸡报晓似的，各个角落里重复着相同的口令。这之后一切都沉默下来。
在死一般的沉寂中，可以听见得得的马蹄声。他们是二位国王的侍从武官。二位国王向侧翼奔驰而至，第一骑兵团的司号员吹奏大进行曲。吹奏军号的仿佛不是司号员，而是军队本身自然而然地发出的乐声，国王的驾临真使他们感到非常高兴。从这些声音中，可以清晰地听见年轻的亚历山大皇帝的亲热的语声。他致了祝词，接着第一兵团高呼：“乌拉！”那呼声震耳欲聋，经久不息，令人欢欣鼓舞。众人本身所构成的这个庞大的队伍的人数和威力使他们自己大吃一惊。
罗斯托夫站在库图佐夫统率的军队的前列，国王先向这支军队奔驰而来。罗斯托夫体验到这支军队中每个人所体验到的那种感情——忘我的感情、国家强盛引起的自豪以及对那个为之而举行大典的人的强烈的爱戴。
他感觉到，这个人只要说出一句话，这支庞大的军队（他自己虽是微不足道的一粒砂，但是他和这支军队息息相关）就要去赴汤蹈火，去犯罪，去拼死，或者去建立伟大而英勇的业绩，所以一知道这个人就要说出这句话，他不能不颤栗，不能不为之心悸。
“乌拉！乌拉！乌拉！”从四面传来雷鸣般的欢呼声，一个兵团接着一个兵团鸣奏大进行曲来迎接国王，然后传来“乌拉”声，大进行曲的乐音，又响起“乌拉！”，欢呼声“乌拉！”越来越高，越来越强烈，终于汇成一片震耳欲聋的轰鸣。
在国王还没有驰近的时候，每个兵团沉默不言，毫不动弹，俨像没有生命的物体一般；国王一走到他们近旁的时候，兵团就活跃起来，喧哗起来，和国王走过的队列中的官兵的高喊声汇合起来。在这可怕的震耳欲聋的高喊声中，在这变成石头般的一动不动的方形队列的人群中，有几百个骑马的侍从武官漫不经心地、但却保持对称地，总之是畅快地骑行，两位皇帝在前面率领他们。这一群人的抑制住的强烈的注意力集中在他们身上。
俊美而年轻的亚历山大皇帝身穿骑兵近卫军制服，头戴一顶宽檐伸出的三角帽，他那喜悦的脸色、清晰而低沉的嗓音吸引了众人的注意。
罗斯托夫站在离司号员不远的地方，他用他那锐利的目光很远就认出了国王，注视着他的莅临。当国王向尼古拉身边走来，在离他二十步远的地方，他清晰地、仔细地观看皇帝的清秀的年轻而显得幸福的面孔，他觉察到一种他未曾觉察的温情和欣喜。尼古拉似乎觉得国王的一切——每个动作和每个特征都富有魅力。
国王在保罗格勒兵团前面停步了，他用法语向奥国皇帝说了一句什么话，脸上露出了微笑。
罗斯托夫看见这种微笑后，他自己也禁不住微笑起来，并且体察到他对国王的那种有如潮水般涌来的至为强烈的爱戴之感。他想借助于某种方式来表达他对国王的爱戴之感。他知道，这是不可能的，他真想哭出声来。国王传唤了团长，并且对他说了几句话。
“我的天呀，如果国王会对我讲话，我会怎么样啊！”罗斯托夫想道，“我真会幸福得要命。”
国王也对军官们讲话：
“我衷心地感谢诸位（每个词罗斯托夫都听见了，仿佛这是来自上天的声音）。”
如果罗斯托夫现在能够为他自己的沙皇献身，他就会多么幸福啊！
“你们赢得了圣乔治军旗，今后你们要受之无愧啊。”
“只要为他而献身，为他而献身！”罗斯托夫想道。
国王还说了什么话，可是罗斯托夫没有听清楚，接着士兵们声嘶力竭地高呼：“乌拉！”
罗斯托夫弯下身子，贴在马鞍上，也使出全力去喊叫，只要他能够充分地表达他对国王的喜悦心情，他就想喊破喉咙来。
国王在骠骑兵对面站了几秒钟，仿佛有点踌躇的样子。
“国王怎么会踌躇不前呢？”罗斯托夫想了想，可是后来，他认为，就连这种踌躇的样子也像国王的所作所为那样，是庄严的，令人赞叹的。
国王踌躇的神态延续了片刻。他脚上穿着当时流行的狭窄的尖头皮靴，轻轻地踢了一下他所骑的那匹英国式的枣红大马的腹股沟，又用那只戴着白手套的手拉紧了缰绳，于是在微波荡漾的海洋般的副官伴随之下策马上路了。他在其他的几个兵团附近停留半晌，越来越远了，后来罗斯托夫只能从簇拥着国王的侍从们后面看见他的皇冠的羽饰。
罗斯托夫在侍从先生中也发现那个懒洋洋的放荡不羁的博尔孔斯基，这时他正在骑行。罗斯托夫回想起昨日他们发生的口角，他脑海中浮现出一个问题：是不是要把他叫出来。
“不消说，用不着啊，”罗斯托夫这时候想了一下……“在眼前这个时刻，这件事值不值得去考虑，去谈论呢？在充满爱心、欣悦和为国王献身之感的时刻，我们之间发生的口角和屈辱具有什么意义呢？！而今我要爱大家，宽恕大家。”罗斯托夫想道。
国王巡视了几乎所有的兵团之后，部队开始以分列式从国王面前走过去。罗斯托夫骑着一匹他刚向杰尼索夫买下的贝杜英，处在骑兵连的队列末尾，就是说，他单独一人，在国王眼前走过去了。
当罗斯托夫这个优秀的骑手还没有走到国王面前的时候，他便用马刺刺了贝杜英两下，很幸运地促使贝杜英迈出它那急躁时所迈出的猛烈的迅步。贝杜英把那吐出白沫的马嘴低垂到胸前，翘起尾巴，仿佛脚不沾地地腾空飞奔似的，动作很优美，它高高地抬起四脚，变换步法，好像它也觉察到国王向它投射的目光，它于是威风凛凛地走过去了。
罗斯托夫本人，把腿向后伸，收缩腹部，他觉得自己和马合为一体，他蹙起了额角，显露出怡然自得的神色，就像杰尼索夫所说的那样，魔鬼一般地从国王身边奔驰过去了。
“保罗格勒兵团的官兵，呱呱叫！”国王说道。
“我的天呀！假如他吩咐我马上去赴汤蹈火，我该多么幸运啊！”罗斯托夫想了想。
检阅完毕的时候，新近开来的军官和库图佐夫手下的军官成群结队地聚拢起来，开始谈论各种奖励，谈论奥军官兵和官兵的军装、奥军的战场、谈论波拿巴，特别是在埃森军团行将逼近、普鲁士加入我方的时候，波拿巴转眼就要遭殃了。
但在各个小组中，谈论得最多的是有关亚历山大皇帝的事迹，众人传达他的一言一行，为之而感到高兴。
大家所希望的只有一条：在国王统率下尽快去歼击敌军。由国君亲临指挥，战无不胜，所向披靡，阅兵之后罗斯托夫和多数军官都是这样想的。
阅兵之后，大家都比打赢两仗后更加充满胜利的信心。
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