Book 3 Chapter 13

ROSTOV had been sent that night with a platoon on picket duty to the line of outposts in the foremost part of Bagration's detachment. His hussars were scattered in couples about the outposts; he himself rode about the line of the outposts trying to struggle against the sleepiness which kept overcoming him. Behind him could be seen the immense expanse of the dimly burning fires of our army; before him was the misty darkness. However intently Rostov gazed into this misty distance, he could see nothing; at one moment there seemed something greyish, at the next something blackish, then something like the glimmer of a fire over there where the enemy must be, then he fancied the glimmer had been only in his own eyes. His eyes kept closing, and there floated before his mind the image of the Emperor, then of Denisov, and Moscow memories, and again he opened his eyes and saw close before him the head and ears of the horse he was riding, and sometimes black figures of hussars, when he rode within six paces of them, but in the distance still the same misty darkness. “Why? it may well happen,” mused Rostov, “that the Emperor will meet me and give me some commission, as he might to any officer; he'll say, “Go and find out what's there.” There are a lot of stories of how quite by chance he has made the acquaintance of officers and given them some place close to him too. Oh, if he were to give me a place in attendance on him! Oh, what care I would take of him, how I would tell him the whole truth, how I would unmask all who deceive him!” And to picture his love and devotion to the Tsar more vividly, Rostov imagined some enemy or treacherous German, whom he would with great zest not simply kill, but slap in the face before the Tsar's eyes. All at once a shout in the distance roused Rostov. He started and opened his eyes. “Where am I? Yes, in the picket line; the pass and watchword—shaft, Olmütz. How annoying that our squadron will be in reserve …” he thought. “I'll ask to go to the front. It may be my only chance of seeing the Emperor. And now it's not long before I'm off duty. I'll ride round once more, and as I come back, I'll go to the general and ask him.” He sat up straight in the saddle and set off to ride once more round his hussars. It seemed to him that it was lighter. On the left side he could see a sloping descent that looked lighted up and a black knoll facing it that seemed steep as a wall. On this knoll was a white patch which Rostov could not understand; was it a clearing in the wood, lighted up by the moon, or the remains of snow, or white horses? It seemed to him indeed that something was moving over that white spot. “It must be snow—that spot: a spot—une tache,” Rostov mused dreamily. “But that's not a tache … Na … tasha, my sister, her black eyes. Na … tasha (won't she be surprised when I tell her how I've seen the Emperor!) Natasha … tasha … sabretache.…” “Keep to the right, your honour, there are bushes here,” said the voice of an hussar, by whom Rostov was riding as he fell asleep. Rostov lifted his head, which had dropped on to his horse's mane, and pulled up beside the hussar. He could not shake off the youthful, childish drowsiness that overcame him. “But, I say, what was I thinking? I mustn't forget. How I am going to speak to the Emperor? No, not that—that's to-morrow. Yes, yes! Natasha, attacks, tacks us,—whom? The hussars. Ah, the hussars with their moustaches … Along the Tversky boulevard rode that hussar with the moustaches, I was thinking of him too just opposite Guryev's house.… Old Guryev.… Ah, a fine fellow, Denisov! But that's all nonsense. The great thing is that the Emperor's here now. How he looked at me and longed to say something, but he did not dare.… No, it was I did not dare. But that's nonsense, and the great thing is not to forget something important I was thinking of, yes. Natasha, attacks us, yes, yes, yes. That's right.” And again he dropped with his head on his horse's neck. All at once it seemed to him that he was being fired at. “What? what?… Cut them down! What?” Rostov was saying, as he wakened up. At the instant that he opened his eyes, Rostov heard in front, over where the enemy were, the prolonged shouting of thousands of voices. His horse and the horse of the hussar near him pricked up their ears at these shouts. Over where the shouts came from, a light was lighted and put out, then another, and all along the line of the French troops on the hillside fires were lighted and the shouts grew louder and louder. Rostov heard the sound of French words though he could not distinguish them. He could only hear: aaaa! and rrrr!

“What is it? What do you think?” Rostov said to the hussar near him. “That's in the enemy's camp surely?”

The hussar made no reply.

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

“Who can tell, your honour?” the hussar answered reluctantly.

“From the direction it must be the enemy,” Rostov said again.

“May be 'tis, and may be not,” said the hussar; “it's dark. Now! steady,” he shouted to his horse, who fidgeted. Rostov's horse too was restless, and pawed the frozen ground as it listened to the shouts and looked at the lights. The shouting grew louder and passed into a mingled roar that could only be produced by an army of several thousands. The lights stretched further and further probably along the line of the French camp. Rostov was not sleepy now. The gay, triumphant shouts in the enemy's army had a rousing effect on him. “Vive l'Empereur! l'Empereur!” Rostov could hear distinctly now.

“Not far off, beyond the stream it must be,” he said to the hussar near him.

The hussar merely sighed without replying, and cleared his throat angrily. They heard the thud of a horse trotting along the line of hussars, and there suddenly sprang up out of the night mist, looking huge as an elephant, the figure of a sergeant of hussars.

“Your honour, the generals!” said the sergeant, riding up to Rostov. Rostov, still looking away towards the lights and shouts, rode with the sergeant to meet several men galloping along the line. One was on a white horse. Prince Bagration with Prince Dolgorukov and his adjutant had ridden out to look at the strange demonstration of lights and shouts in the enemy's army. Rostov, going up to Bagration, reported what he had heard and seen to him, and joined the adjutants, listening to what the generals were saying.

“Take my word for it,” Prince Dolgorukov was saying to Bagration, “it's nothing but a trick; they have retreated and ordered the rearguard to light fires and make a noise to deceive us.”

“I doubt it,” said Bagration; “since evening I have seen them on that knoll; if they had retreated, they would have withdrawn from there too. Monsieur l'officier,” Prince Bagration turned to Rostov, “are the enemy's pickets still there?”

“They were there this evening, but now I can't be sure, your excellency. Shall I go with some hussars and see?” said Rostov.

Bagration stood still, and before answering, tried to make out Rostov's face in the mist.

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

“Yes, sir.”

Rostov put spurs to his horse, called up the sergeant Fedtchenko, and two other hussars, told them to ride after him, and trotted off downhill in the direction of the shouting, which still continued. Rostov felt both dread and joy in riding alone with three hussars into that mysterious and dangerous, misty distance, where no one had been before him. Bagration shouted to him from the hill not to go beyond the stream, but Rostov made as though he had not heard his words, and rode on without stopping, further and further, continually mistaking bushes for trees and ravines for men, and continually discovering his mistakes. As he galloped downhill he lost sight both of our men and the enemy, but more loudly and distinctly he heard the shouts of the French. In the valley he saw ahead of him something that looked like a river, but when he had ridden up to it, he found out it was a road. As he got out on the road he pulled up his horse, hesitating whether to go along it or to cut across it, and ride over the black field up the hillside. To follow the road, which showed lighter in the mist, was more dangerous, because figures could be more easily descried upon it. “Follow me,” he said, “cut across the road,” and began galloping up the hill towards the point where the French picket had been in the evening.

“Your honour, here he is!” said one of the hussars behind; and before Rostov had time to make out something that rose up suddenly black in the mist, there was a flash of light, the crack of a shot and a bullet, that seemed whining a complaint, whizzed high in the air and flew away out of hearing. Another shot missed fire, but there was a flash in the pan. Rostov turned his horse's head and galloped back. He heard four more shots at varying intervals, and four more bullets whistled in varying tones somewhere in the mist. Rostov held in his horse, who seemed inspirited, as he was himself by the shots, and rode back at a walkingpace. “Now, then, some more; now then, more!” a sort of light-hearted voice murmured in his soul. But there were no more shots. Only as he approached Bagration, Rostov put his horse into a gallop again, and with his hand to his cap, rode up to him.

Dolgorukov was still insisting on his opinion that the French were retreating, and had only lighted fires to mislead them. “What does it prove?” he was saying, as Rostov rode up to them. “They might have retreated and left pickets.”

“It's clear they have not all retired, prince,” said Bagration. “We must wait till morning; to-morrow we shall know all about it.”

“The picket's on the hill, your excellency, still where it was in the evening,” Rostov announced, his hand to his cap, unable to restrain the smile of delight that had been called up by his expedition and the whiz of the bullets.

“Very good, very good,” said Bagration, “I thank you, monsieur l'officier.”

“Your excellency,” said Rostov, “may I ask a favour?”

“What is it?”

“To-morrow our squadron is ordered to the rear; may I beg you to attach me to the first squadron?”

“What's your name?”

“Count Rostov.”

“Ah, very good! You may stay in attendance on me.”

“Ilya Andreitch's son?” said Dolgorukov. But Rostov made him no reply.

“So I may reckon on it, your excellency.”

“I will give the order.”

“To-morrow, very likely, they will send me with some message to the Emperor,” he thought. “Thank God!”

The shouts and lights in the enemy's army had been due to the fact that while Napoleon's proclamation had been read to the troops, the Emperor had himself ridden among the bivouacs. The soldiers on seeing the Emperor had lighted wisps of straw and run after him, shouting, “Vive l'Empereur!” Napoleon's proclamation was as follows:—

“Soldiers! The Russian army is coming to meet you, to avenge the Austrian army, the army of Ulm. They are the forces you have defeated at Hollabrunn, and have been pursuing ever since up to this place. The position we occupy is a powerful one, and while they will march to out-flank me on the right, they will expose their flank to me! Soldiers! I will myself lead your battalions. I will keep out of fire, if you, with your habitual bravery, carry defeat and disorder into the ranks of the enemy. But if victory is for one moment doubtful, you will see your Emperor exposed to the enemy's hottest attack, for there can be no uncertainty of victory, especially on this day, when it is a question of the honour of the French infantry, on which rests the honour of our nation. Do not, on the pretext of removing the wounded, break the order of the ranks! Let every man be fully penetrated by the idea that we must subdue these minions of England, who are inspired by such hatred of our country. This victory will conclude our campaign, and we can return to winter quarters, where we shall be reinforced by fresh forces now being formed in France; and then the peace I shall conclude will be one worthy of my people, of you and me.

这天夜里，罗斯托夫到了巴格拉季翁的部队前面的侧防散兵线上。他的骠骑兵成对地分布在这条散兵线上；他本人沿着散兵线来回地骑行，极力地克服难以克服的睡意。在他后面可以看见我军的半明不灭的篝火在雾霭中占有一大片空地；他前面弥漫着昏暗的雾霭。不管罗斯托夫怎样仔细察看雾气沉沉的远方，他什么也看不见。那里时而是露出灰蒙蒙的东西，时而仿佛显露出黑乎乎的东西，时而在敌人盘踞的那个地方仿佛火光闪烁，时而他心中想到，这不过是他的眼睛在闪闪发光。他闭上眼睛，脑海中时而想到国王，时而想到杰尼索夫，时而浮现出莫斯科的回忆，他又赶快睁开眼睛，在自己前面不远的地方看见他骑的那匹战马的头颅和耳朵，在六步路远的地方他快要碰上骠骑兵，他有时看见他们的黑乎乎的身影；而在远处看见的仍然是昏暗的雾霭。“究竟为什么？”罗斯托夫想道，“可能是国王遇见我，就像遇见任何一个军官那样，交给我一项任务，”他说：“你去打听那里的情况。他们讲过许多话，说他全属偶然地认识了某个军官，并使他成为自己的亲信。如果他把我变成他的亲信，那会怎样啊！啊，我真要捍卫他，我真要向他说出全部实话，我真要揭露那些和他作对的骗子手！”罗斯托夫为了要生动地想象他对国王的爱戴和忠诚，于是脑海中想象到一个敌人或是德国骗子手出现的情景。他不仅要痛快地把他杀死，而且要在国王眼前提他的耳光。忽然一阵远方的喊声惊醒了罗斯托夫，他哆嗦一下，睁开了眼睛。

“我在哪里啊！是的，在散兵线上，口号和暗号是‘车辕杆，奥尔米茨。'令人多么懊丧，我们的骑兵连明日要充当后备队了。”他想了想，“我请求参战。这也许是拜见国王的唯一的机会。是的，从现在算起，不要过多久就得换班了。我再去巡逻一遍，回来以后立即到将军那里去，向他提出请求。”他在马鞍上纠正了姿势，就策马放行，再去巡视自己的骠骑兵。他似乎觉得天更亮了。在左方可以看见被月亮照耀的慢坡，像垣墙一般陡峭，耸立于对方的黑魆魆的山岗。这个山岗上有个罗斯托夫根本没法弄明白的白点，是否是被月牙儿照亮的林间空地，抑或是一堆残留的积雪，抑或是白垩垩的房屋？他甚至觉得，有什么东西开始沿着这个白点慢慢地移动。“这个白点也许是积雪，”法文的“点子”是“unetache，”

罗斯托夫想道。“这不是塔什……”

“娜塔莎，妹妹，一双乌黑的眼睛，娜……塔什卡，（当我告诉她我看见国王，她会多么惊讶啊！）带上娜塔什卡……图囊……“阁下，靠右边点儿，要不然，真会碰着这儿的灌木林，”传来骠骑兵的说话声，罗斯托夫昏昏欲睡地从他身边走过去。罗斯托夫抬起他那低垂在马鬃上的头，在骠骑兵身边停步了。这个孩提般的年轻人非常想睡觉。“哦，我究竟想什么呀？——可不要忘记。我将要怎样和国王谈话？不是，不是这码事，是明天的事。是的，是的，踩踩塔什卡……使我们迟钝——使谁迟钝啊？使骠骑兵迟钝。骠骑兵和大胡子……这个蓄着胡髭的骠骑兵沿着特维尔大街骑行，我还想起他来了，就在古里耶夫的住宅对面……古里耶夫老头子……嗨，杰尼索夫是个很不错的人！不过这全是废话。主要的是，现在国王就在这儿。他是怎样看待我的，我心里很想对他说点什么话，可是他不敢……不对，是我不敢。这都是废话，主要的是，可不要忘记我心里想的要紧的事，这没有错。踩踩塔什卡，使我们迟钝，对，对，对。这很妙。”他又把头低垂在战马的颈上。他突然觉得，有人在向他射击。“是怎么回事？是怎么回事？是怎么回事？……杀吧！是怎么回事？……”罗斯托夫清醒后说道。在罗斯托夫睁开眼睛的那转瞬之间，他听见前面的敌军那边的千千万万人的曼声的叫喊。他的一匹马、站在他身边的骠骑兵的一匹马都竖起耳朵来倾听这一片喊声。在喊声传来的那个地方，火光闪耀，旋即熄灭，然后又点起火来，火光在那山头上的法军的全线闪耀起来，喊声愈加响亮。罗斯托夫听见法国人的说话声，但他没法听清晰。许多人正在叽叽喳喳地谈话。现在可以听见“啊啊啊、啦啦啦”的声音。

“这是什么声音？你意下如何？”罗斯托夫把脸转向站在他身边的骠骑兵，说道，“要知道，这是敌人那边的说话声，是吗？”

“怎么，难道你听不见吗？”罗斯托夫等他回答，等了很久，又提问了。

“阁下，谁知道啊。”骠骑兵不乐意地回答。

“从地点来看，也许是敌人吧？”罗斯托夫又重复一句。

“也许是敌人，也许不是敌人，”骠骑兵说道，“晚上发生的事情。喂，乱搞不行！”他对他骑的那匹微微骚动的马嚷道。

罗斯托夫的马也性急起来了，它用一只蹄子踢着冰冻的土地，倾听着嘈杂的声音，出神地望着火光。喊声越来越响亮，汇成数千人的军队才能发出的轰鸣。火光蔓延的范围越来越大，大概在法军营盘的全线扩展开来。罗斯托夫已经睡不着了。敌军得意洋洋的欢呼声使他感到激动不安。现在罗斯托夫已经清晰地听见“Vivel'empereur，l'empereur”！①的呼声。

①法语：皇帝万岁，皇帝！

“可是离这里不远，——大概在小河那边？”他对站在身边的骠骑兵说。

骠骑兵只得叹口气，什么都不回答，愤怒地咳嗽几声清清嗓子。骠骑兵的全线都能听见疾速前进的骑士的马蹄声，一名骠骑兵士官的身躯俨如一头巨象忽然从黑夜的雾霭中闪现出来了。

“阁下，将军们到了！”骠骑兵士官走到罗斯托夫跟前时说道。

罗斯托夫继续观看火光、静听呐喊声，他随同这名士官前去迎接几位沿着散兵线奔驰而至的骑者。其中一位骑着白马。巴格拉季翁公爵、多尔戈鲁科夫公爵和几名副官出来观察敌军的火光和喊声这一奇特的现象。罗斯托夫走到巴格拉季翁跟前，向他汇报了情况，接着加入了副官的队列，谛听将军们讲话。

“请您相信我，”多尔戈鲁科夫公爵把脸转向巴格拉季翁时说，“这无非是阴谋诡计：他已经撤退，吩咐在后卫中点火、鼓噪，目的是欺骗我们。”

“未必如此，”巴格拉季翁说，“一入夜我就看见他们盘踞在那座小丘上，如果他们走了，那末就从那里拔营了。军官先生，”巴格拉季翁公爵把脸转向罗斯托夫说，“那里还有他的侧翼防御者吗？”

“大人，入夜时还有，现在我无从知道。请您下命令，我就带领骠骑兵去跟踪追击。”罗斯托夫说。

巴格拉季翁停下来，不回答，极力地从雾霭中看清罗斯托夫的面孔。

“怎么样，去看看吧。”他沉默片刻后说道。

“大人，遵命。”

罗斯托夫用马刺刺马，把士官费德琴科和两名骠骑兵喊来，命令他们在后面骑行，向那不断传来呐喊声的山下疾驰而去。罗斯托夫一人带领三名骠骑兵，朝着尚无一人先行到达的神秘莫测的万分危险的雾气沉沉的远方走去，他觉得可怕而又高兴。巴格拉季翁从山上大声对他说，叫他不要向小河对岸的远方走去，可是罗斯托夫装作好像他没有听见他说的话似的，他不停地前进，越走越远了，不断地上当，把灌木林当作树林，又把土坎当作人，不断地领悟到自己受骗。他快步走到山下后，已经看不见我方的，也看不见敌方的火光，但是可以听见法国官兵的呐喊声越来越响亮，越来越清晰。在谷地里他看见自己前面有什么如同河流的东西，但当他驰到地头，他发现一条满布车辙的马路。他走上马路，犹豫不决地轻轻勒住马，沿着马路向前走呢，还是穿过马路沿着黑色的田野向山下走去呢。沿着那雾霭中发亮的马路骑行比较安全，因为一眼就能看清路上的行人。“跟在我后面走。”他说道，穿过了马路，开始迅速地登山，向法军步哨晚上驻守的地方走去。

“大人，这就是敌人！”一名骠骑兵在后面说。

罗斯托夫还没有来得及看清突然在雾霭中闪现出来的漆黑的东西，就有一道火光闪耀，砰然响了一枪。那颗子弹仿佛抱怨什么似的，在那高高的雾霭中发出飕飕的响声，顷刻间听不见了。另一枪没有射出去，火花在火药池上闪烁了一下。罗斯托夫拨转马头，快步地走回去了。在不同的时间间隔又响了四枪，子弹在雾霭中的什么地方各唱各的调子。罗斯托夫听见枪声，微微地勒住那匹像他一样快乐的马，一步一步地慢行。“喂，再鸣一枪，喂，再鸣一枪！”他的愉快的心声在说，可是再也没有听见枪声了。

当罗斯托夫驰近巴格拉季翁时，他才又让马儿奔驰起来，罗斯托夫向他跟前走去，举手行礼。

多尔戈鲁科夫一直坚持自己的意见，硬说法军撤退了，他们四处点火，只是妄想欺骗我们罢了。

“这究竟能够证明什么呢？”当罗斯托夫走到他们面前时，说道，“他们也许已经退却，留下了步哨。”

“公爵，看来还没有走光，”巴格拉季翁说道，“到明天早上，明天就会见分晓。”

“大人，山上还有步哨，他们一直待在夜晚盘踞的那个地方。”罗斯托夫禀告，他向前弯下腰去，举手敬礼，禁不住流露出愉快的微笑。他这次骑行，主要是子弹的呼啸声，使他心中产生这种愉快的感觉。

“好，好，”巴格拉季翁说，“军官先生，谢谢您。”

“大人，”罗斯托夫说，“有求于您。”

“怎么回事？”

“明天我们的骑兵连被派去充当后备队，我求您把我暂时调到第一骑兵连。”

“贵姓？”

“罗斯托夫伯爵。”

“好！你就留在我这里当个传令军官吧。”

“伊利亚·安德烈伊奇的儿子吗？”多尔戈鲁科夫说。

但是罗斯托夫没有回答他。

“大人，那末我就待命啦。”

“我来下命令。”

“明天很可能要派人带一项命令去觐见国王，”他想了想，“谢天谢地！”

敌军中所以发出喊声，燃起火把，是因为他们向部队宣读拿破仑的圣旨，这时皇帝正骑马亲自巡视自己的野营地。士兵们看见皇帝，点燃一捆捆麦秆，跟在皇帝后面奔走，高呼：

“皇帝万岁”。拿破仑的圣旨如下：

士兵们！俄国军队为奥军、乌尔姆军复仇，现正攻击你们。这几个营队正是你们在霍拉布伦近郊打败，并从那时起跟踪追逐到该地的军队。我们占领的阵地具有极大的威力，故当他们向前推进，妄图从右面包抄我军之际，他们势必会向我军暴露其侧翼！士兵们！我亲自领导你们的营队。倘使你们怀有一般的勇敢精神，就能在敌人的队伍中引起惊惶失措，我则可远离火线；但若胜利即使有一瞬间令人担心，你们就会看见你们的皇帝遭受到敌人的第一次打击，因为胜利无可动摇，尤当事关法国步兵的荣誉之日，法国步兵则是为民族荣誉而战的一支必不可少的武装力量。

不应在送走伤员的借口下使部队陷于瘫痪！每个人都要满怀这样一种观念：务必打败这些极度仇恨我们民族的英国雇佣兵。这次胜利将结束我们的出征，我们就能回到冬季驻扎地，在此处遇见法国组建的新近到达的法国军队，届时我所签订的和约将不辜负我的人民，不辜负你们，也不辜负我。