Book Two: 1805 - Chapter XIX

by Leo Tolstoy

　　The attack of the Sixth Chasseurs secured the retreat of our rightflank. In the center Tushin's forgotten battery, which had managedto set fire to the Schon Grabern village, delayed the Frenchadvance. The French were putting out the fire which the wind wasspreading, and thus gave us time to retreat. The retirement of thecenter to the other side of the dip in the ground at the rear washurried and noisy, but the different companies did not get mixed.But our left- which consisted of the Azov and Podolsk infantry and thePavlograd hussars- was simultaneously attacked and outflanked bysuperior French forces under Lannes and was thrown into confusion.Bagration had sent Zherkov to the general commanding that left flankwith orders to retreat immediately.

　　Zherkov, not removing his hand from his cap, turned his horseabout and galloped off. But no sooner had he left Bagration than hiscourage failed him. He was seized by panic and could not go where itwas dangerous.

　　Having reached the left flank, instead of going to the front wherethe firing was, he began to look for the general and his staff wherethey could not possibly be, and so did not deliver the order.

　　The command of the left flank belonged by seniority to the commanderof the regiment Kutuzov had reviewed at Braunau and in whichDolokhov was serving as a private. But the command of the extreme leftflank had been assigned to the commander of the Pavlograd regimentin which Rostov was serving, and a misunderstanding arose. The twocommanders were much exasperated with one another and, long afterthe action had begun on the right flank and the French were alreadyadvancing, were engaged in discussion with the sole object ofoffending one another. But the regiments, both cavalry and infantry,were by no means ready for the impending action. From privates togeneral they were not expecting a battle and were engaged inpeaceful occupations, the cavalry feeding the horses and theinfantry collecting wood.

　　"He higher iss dan I in rank," said the German colonel of thehussars, flushing and addressing an adjutant who had ridden up, "solet him do what he vill, but I cannot sacrifice my hussars...Bugler, sount ze retreat!"

　　But haste was becoming imperative. Cannon and musketry, minglingtogether, thundered on the right and in the center, while thecapotes of Lannes' sharpshooters were already seen crossing themilldam and forming up within twice the range of a musket shot. Thegeneral in command of the infantry went toward his horse with jerkysteps, and having mounted drew himself up very straight and tall androde to the Pavlograd commander. The commanders met with polite bowsbut with secret malevolence in their hearts.

　　"Once again, Colonel," said the general, "I can't leave half mymen in the wood. I beg of you, I beg of you," he repeated, "tooccupy 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 ifyou 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 sogoot to come to ze front and see dat zis position iss no goot? I don'tvish to destroy my men for your pleasure!"

　　"You forget yourself, Colonel. I am not considering my ownpleasure and I won't allow it to be said!"

　　Taking the colonel's outburst as a challenge to his courage, thegeneral expanded his chest and rode, frowning, beside him to the frontline, as if their differences would be settled there amongst thebullets. They reached the front, several bullets sped over them, andthey halted in silence. There was nothing fresh to be seen from theline, for from where they had been before it had been evident thatit was impossible for cavalry to act among the bushes and brokenground, as well as that the French were outflanking our left. Thegeneral and colonel looked sternly and significantly at one anotherlike two fighting cocks preparing for battle, each vainly trying todetect signs of cowardice in the other. Both passed the examinationsuccessfully. As there was nothing to said, and neither wished to giveoccasion for it to be alleged that he had been the first to leavethe range of fire, they would have remained there for a long timetesting each other's courage had it not been that just then they heardthe rattle of musketry and a muffled shout almost behind them in thewood. The French had attacked the men collecting wood in the copse. Itwas no longer possible for the hussars to retreat with the infantry.They were cut off from the line of retreat on the left by theFrench. However inconvenient the position, it was now necessary toattack in order to cut away through for themselves.

　　The squadron in which Rostov was serving had scarcely time tomount before it was halted facing the enemy. Again, as at the Ennsbridge, there was nothing between the squadron and the enemy, andagain that terrible dividing line of uncertainty and fear-resembling the line separating the living from the dead- lay betweenthem. All were conscious of this unseen line, and the question whetherthey 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 toquestions put to him by the officers, and, like a man desperatelyinsisting on having his own way, gave an order. No one said anythingdefinite, but the rumor of an attack spread through the squadron.The command to form up rang out and the sabers whizzed as they weredrawn from their scabbards. Still no one moved. The troops of the leftflank, infantry and hussars alike, felt that the commander did nothimself know what to do, and this irresolution communicated itselfto the men.

　　"If only they would be quick!" thought Rostov, feeling that atlast the time had come to experience the joy of an attack of whichhe had so often heard from his fellow hussars.

　　"Fo'ward, with God, lads!" rang out Denisov's voice. "At a twotfo'ward!"

　　The horses' croups began to sway in the front line. Rook pulled atthe reins and started of his own accord.

　　Before him, on the right, Rostov saw the front lines of hishussars and still farther ahead a dark line which he could not seedistinctly but took to be the enemy. Shots could be heard, but someway off.

　　"Faster!" came the word of command, and Rostov felt Rook's flanksdrooping as he broke into a gallop.

　　Rostov anticipated his horse's movements and became more and moreelated. He had noticed a solitary tree ahead of him. This tree hadbeen in the middle of the line that had seemed so terrible- and now hehad crossed that line and not only was there nothing terrible, buteverything was becoming more and more happy and animated. "Oh, how Iwill 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 afull gallop so that he outstripped the others. Ahead, the enemy wasalready visible. Suddenly something like a birch broom seemed to sweepover the squadron. Rostov raised his saber, ready to strike, but atthat instant the trooper Nikitenko, who was galloping ahead, shot awayfrom him, and Rostov felt as in a dream that he continued to becarried forward with unnatural speed but yet stayed on the samespot. From behind him Bondarchuk, an hussar he knew, jolted againsthim and looked angrily at him. Bondarchuk's horse swerved and gallopedpast.

　　"How is it I am not moving? I have fallen, I am killed!" Rostovasked and answered at the same instant. He was alone in the middleof a field. Instead of the moving horses and hussars' backs, he sawnothing before him but the motionless earth and the stubble aroundhim. There was warm blood under his arm. "No, I am wounded and thehorse is killed." Rook tried to rise on his forelegs but fell back,pinning his rider's leg. Blood was flowing from his head; he struggledbut could not rise. Rostov also tried to rise but fell back, hissabretache having become entangled in the saddle. Where our menwere, and where the French, he did not know. There was no one near.

　　Having disentangled his leg, he rose. "Where, on which side, was nowthe line that had so sharply divided the two armies?" he asked himselfand could not answer. "Can something bad have happened to me?" hewondered as he got up: and at that moment he felt that somethingsuperfluous was hanging on his benumbed left arm. The wrist felt as ifit were not his. He examined his hand carefully, vainly trying to findblood on it. "Ah, here are people coming," he thought joyfully, seeingsome men running toward him. "They will help me!" In front came aman wearing a strange shako and a blue cloak, swarthy, sunburned,and with a hooked nose. Then came two more, and many more runningbehind. One of them said something strange, not in Russian. In amongthe hindmost of these men wearing similar shakos was a Russian hussar.He was being held by the arms and his horse was being led behind him.

　　"It must be one of ours, a prisoner. Yes. Can it be that they willtake me too? Who are these men?" thought Rostov, scarcely believinghis eyes. "Can they be French?" He looked at the approachingFrenchmen, and though but a moment before he had been galloping to getat them and hack them to pieces, their proximity now seemed so awfulthat he could not believe his eyes. "Who are they? Why are theyrunning? Can they be coming at me? And why? To kill me? Me whomeveryone is so fond of?" He remembered his mother's love for him,and his family's, and his friends', and the enemy's intention tokill him seemed impossible. "But perhaps they may do it!" For morethan ten seconds he stood not moving from the spot or realizing thesituation. The foremost Frenchman, the one with the hooked nose, wasalready so close that the expression of his face could be seen. Andthe excited, alien face of that man, his bayonet hanging down, holdinghis breath, and running so lightly, frightened Rostov. He seized hispistol and, instead of firing it, flung it at the Frenchman and ranwith all his might toward the bushes. He did not now run with thefeeling of doubt and conflict with which he had trodden the Ennsbridge, but with the feeling of a hare fleeing from the hounds. Onesingle sentiment, that of fear for his young and happy life, possessedhis whole being. Rapidly leaping the furrows, he fled across the fieldwith the impetuosity he used to show at catchplay, now and thenturning his good-natured, pale, young face to look back. A shudderof terror went through him: "No, better not look," he thought, buthaving reached the bushes he glanced round once more. The French hadfallen behind, and just as he looked round the first man changed hisrun to a walk and, turning, shouted something loudly to a comradefarther back. Rostov paused. "No, there's some mistake," thought he."They can't have wanted to kill me." But at the same time, his leftarm felt as heavy as if a seventy-pound weight were tied to it. Hecould run no more. The Frenchman also stopped and took aim. Rostovclosed his eyes and stooped down. One bullet and then another whistledpast him. He mustered his last remaining strength, took hold of hisleft hand with his right, and reached the bushes. Behind these weresome Russian sharpshooters.