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with his mouth wide open and passed on.
The order was given to halt and down knapsacks.
Bagration rode round the ranks that had marched past
him and dismounted. He gave the reins to a Cossack, took
off and handed over his felt coat, stretched his legs, and set
his cap straight. The head of the French column, with its officers leading, appeared from below the hill.
‘Forward, with God!’ said Bagration, in a resolute, sonorous voice, turning for a moment to the front line, and
slightly swinging his arms, he went forward uneasily over
the rough field with the awkward gait of a cavalryman.
Prince Andrew felt that an invisible power was leading him
forward, and experienced great happiness.
The French were already near. Prince Andrew, walking
beside Bagration, could clearly distinguish their bandoliers,
red epaulets, and even their faces. (He distinctly saw an old
French officer who, with gaitered legs and turned-out toes,
climbed the hill with difficulty.) Prince Bagration gave no
further orders and silently continued to walk on in front of
the ranks. Suddenly one shot after another rang out from
the French, smoke appeared all along their uneven ranks,
and musket shots sounded. Several of our men fell, among
them the round-faced officer who had marched so gaily and
complacently. But at the moment the first report was heard,
Bagration looked round and shouted, ‘Hurrah!’
‘Hurrahah!ah!’ rang a long-drawn shout from our ranks,
and passing Bagration and racing one another they rushed
in an irregular but joyous and eager crowd down the hill at
their disordered foe.
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Chapter XIX
The attack of the Sixth Chasseurs secured the retreat of
our right flank. In the center Tushin’s forgotten battery,
which had managed to set fire to the Schon Grabern village, delayed the French advance. The French were putting
out the fire which the wind was spreading, and thus gave
us time to retreat. The retirement of the center to the other
side of the dip in the ground at the rear was hurried and
noisy, but the different companies did not get mixed. But
our leftwhich consisted of the Azov and Podolsk infantry
and the Pavlograd hussarswas simultaneously attacked and
outflanked by superior French forces under Lannes and was
thrown into confusion. Bagration had sent Zherkov to the
general commanding that left flank with orders to retreat
immediately.
Zherkov, not removing his hand from his cap, turned
his horse about and galloped off. But no sooner had he left
Bagration than his courage failed him. He was seized by
panic and could not go where it was dangerous.
Having reached the left flank, instead of going to the
front where the firing was, he began to look for the general
and his staff where they could not possibly be, and so did
not deliver the order.
The command of the left flank belonged by seniority
to the commander of the regiment Kutuzov had reviewed
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at Braunau and in which Dolokhov was serving as a private. But the command of the extreme left flank had been
assigned to the commander of the Pavlograd regiment in
which Rostov was serving, and a misunderstanding arose.
The two commanders were much exasperated with one
another and, long after the action had begun on the right
flank and the French were already advancing, were engaged
in discussion with the sole object of offending one another. But the regiments, both cavalry and infantry, were by
no means ready for the impending action. From privates to
general they were not expecting a battle and were engaged
in peaceful occupations, the cavalry feeding the horses and
the infantry collecting wood.
‘He higher iss dan I in rank,’ said the German colonel of
the hussars, flushing and addressing an adjutant who had
ridden up, ‘so let him do what he vill, but I cannot sacrifice
my hussars… Bugler, sount ze retreat!’
But haste was becoming imperative. Cannon and musketry, mingling together, thundered on the right and in the
center, while the capotes of Lannes’ sharpshooters were already seen crossing the milldam and forming up within
twice the range of a musket shot. The general in command
of the infantry went toward his horse with jerky steps, and
having mounted drew himself up very straight and tall
and rode to the Pavlograd commander. The commanders
met with polite bows but with secret malevolence in their
hearts.
‘Once again, Colonel,’ said the general, ‘I can’t leave half
my men in the wood. I beg of you, I beg of you,’ he repeated,
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‘to occupy the position and prepare for an attack.’
‘I peg of you yourself not to mix in vot is not your business!’ suddenly replied the irate colonel. ‘If you vere in the
cavalry..’
‘I am not in the cavalry, Colonel, but I am a Russian general and if you are not aware of the fact..’
‘Quite avare, your excellency,’ suddenly shouted the colonel, touching his horse and turning purple in the face. ‘Vill
you be so goot to come to ze front and see dat zis position iss
no goot? I don’t vish to destroy my men for your pleasure!’
‘You forget yourself, Colonel. I am not considering my
own pleasure and I won’t allow it to be said!’
Taking the colonel’s outburst as a challenge to his courage, the general expanded his chest and rode, frowning,
beside him to the front line, as if their differences would be
settled there amongst the bullets. They reached the front,
several bullets sped over them, and they halted in silence.
There was nothing fresh to be seen from the line, for from
where they had been before it had been evident that it was
impossible for cavalry to act among the bushes and broken
ground, as well as that the French were outflanking our left.
The general and colonel looked sternly and significantly at
one another like two fighting cocks preparing for battle,
each vainly trying to detect signs of cowardice in the other. Both passed the examination successfully. As there was
nothing to said, and neither wished to give occasion for it to
be alleged that he had been the first to leave the range of fire,
they would have remained there for a long time testing each
other’s courage had it not been that just then they heard the
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rattle of musketry and a muffled shout almost behind them
in the wood. The French had attacked the men collecting
wood in the copse. It was no longer possible for the hussars
to retreat with the infantry. They were cut off from the line
of retreat on the left by the French. However inconvenient
the position, it was now necessary to attack in order to cut
away through for themselves.
The squadron in which Rostov was serving had scarcely
time to mount before it was halted facing the enemy. Again,
as at the Enns bridge, there was nothing between the squadron and the enemy, and again that terrible dividing line of
uncertainty and fearresembling the line separating the living from the deadlay between them. All were conscious of
this unseen line, and the question whether they would they
would cross it or not, and how they would cross it, agitated
them all.
The colonel rode to the front, angrily gave some reply to
questions put to him by the officers, and, like a man desperately insisting on having his own way, gave an order. No one
said anything definite, but the rumor of an attack spread
through the squadron. The command to form up rang
out and the sabers whizzed as they were drawn from their
scabbards. Still no one moved. The troops of the left flank,
infantry and hussars alike, felt that the commander did not
himself know what to do, and this irresolution communicated itself to the men.
‘If only they would be quick!’ thought Rostov, feeling that
at last the time had come to experience the joy of an attack
of which he had so often heard from his fellow hussars.
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‘Fo’ward, with God, lads!’ rang out Denisov’s voice. ‘At a
twot fo’ward!’
The horses’ croups began to sway in the front line. Rook
pulled at the reins and started of his own accord.
Before him, on the right, Rostov saw the front lines of his
hussars and still farther ahead a dark line which he could
not see distinctly but took to be the enemy. Shots could be
heard, but some way off.
‘Faster!’ came the word of command, and Rostov felt
Rook’s flanks drooping as he broke into a gallop.
Rostov anticipated his horse’s movements and became
more and more elated. He had noticed a solitary tree ahead
of him. This tree had been in the middle of the line that had
seemed so terribleand now he had crossed that line and not
only was there nothing terrible, but everything was becoming more and more happy and animated. ‘Oh, how I will
slash at him!’ thought Rostov, gripping the hilt of his saber.
‘Hur-a-a-a-ah!’ came a roar of voices. ‘Let anyone come
my way now,’ thought Rostov driving his spurs into Rook
and letting him go at a full gallop so that he outstripped
the others. Ahead, the enemy was already visible. Suddenly something like a birch broom seemed to sweep over the
squadron. Rostov raised his saber, ready to strike, but at that
instant the trooper Nikitenko, who was galloping ahead,
shot away from him, and Rostov felt as in a dream that he
continued to be carried forward with unnatural speed but
yet stayed on the same spot. From behind him Bondarchuk,
an hussar he knew, jolted against him and looked angrily at
him. Bondarchuk’s horse swerved and galloped past.
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‘How is it I am not moving? I have fallen, I am killed!’
Rostov asked and answered at the same instant. He was
alone in the middle of a field. Instead of the moving horses
and hussars’ backs, he saw nothing before him but the motionless earth and the stubble around him. There was warm
blood under his arm. ‘No, I am wounded and the horse is
killed.’ Rook tried to rise on his forelegs but fell back, pinning his rider’s leg. Blood was flowing from his head; he
struggled but could not rise. Rostov also tried to rise but fell
back, his sabretache having become entangled in the saddle. Where our men were, and where the French, he did not
know. There was no one near.
Having disentangled
