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"
Go
,
Tit
,
thresh
a
bit
!
"
said
the
wag
.
"
Oh
,
go
to
the
devil
!
"
called
out
a
voice
,
drowned
by
the
laughter
of
the
orderlies
and
servants
.
"
All
the
same
,
I
love
and
value
nothing
but
triumph
over
them
all
,
I
value
this
mystic
power
and
glory
that
is
floating
here
above
me
in
this
mist
!
"
That
same
night
,
Rostóv
was
with
a
platoon
on
skirmishing
duty
in
front
of
Bagratión
's
detachment
.
His
hussars
were
placed
along
the
line
in
couples
and
he
himself
rode
along
the
line
trying
to
master
the
sleepiness
that
kept
coming
over
him
.
An
enormous
space
,
with
our
army
's
campfires
dimly
glowing
in
the
fog
,
could
be
seen
behind
him
;
in
front
of
him
was
misty
darkness
.
Rostóv
could
see
nothing
,
peer
as
he
would
into
that
foggy
distance
:
now
something
gleamed
gray
,
now
there
was
something
black
,
now
little
lights
seemed
to
glimmer
where
the
enemy
ought
to
be
,
now
he
fancied
it
was
only
something
in
his
own
eyes
.
His
eyes
kept
closing
,
and
in
his
fancy
appeared
--
now
the
Emperor
,
now
Denísov
,
and
now
Moscow
memories
--
and
he
again
hurriedly
opened
his
eyes
and
saw
close
before
him
the
head
and
ears
of
the
horse
he
was
riding
,
and
sometimes
,
when
he
came
within
six
paces
of
them
,
the
black
figures
of
hussars
,
but
in
the
distance
was
still
the
same
misty
darkness
.
"
Why
not
?
...
It
might
easily
happen
,
"
thought
Rostóv
,
"
that
the
Emperor
will
meet
me
and
give
me
an
order
as
he
would
to
any
other
officer
;
he
'll
say
:
'
Go
and
find
out
what
's
there
.
'
There
are
many
stories
of
his
getting
to
know
an
officer
in
just
such
a
chance
way
and
attaching
him
to
himself
!
What
if
he
gave
me
a
place
near
him
?
Oh
,
how
I
would
guard
him
,
how
I
would
tell
him
the
truth
,
how
I
would
unmask
his
deceivers
!
"
And
in
order
to
realize
vividly
his
love
devotion
to
the
sovereign
,
Rostóv
pictured
to
himself
an
enemy
or
a
deceitful
German
,
whom
he
would
not
only
kill
with
pleasure
but
whom
he
would
slap
in
the
face
before
the
Emperor
.
Suddenly
a
distant
shout
aroused
him
.
He
started
and
opened
his
eyes
.
"
Where
am
I
?
Oh
yes
,
in
the
skirmishing
line
...
pass
and
watchword
--
shaft
,
Olmütz
.
What
a
nuisance
that
our
squadron
will
be
in
reserve
tomorrow
,
"
he
thought
.
"
I
'll
ask
leave
to
go
to
the
front
,
this
may
be
my
only
chance
of
seeing
the
Emperor
.
It
wo
n't
be
long
now
before
I
am
off
duty
.
I
'll
take
another
turn
and
when
I
get
back
I
'll
go
to
the
general
and
ask
him
.
"
He
readjusted
himself
in
the
saddle
and
touched
up
his
horse
to
ride
once
more
round
his
hussars
.
It
seemed
to
him
that
it
was
getting
lighter
.
To
the
left
he
saw
a
sloping
descent
lit
up
,
and
facing
it
a
black
knoll
that
seemed
as
steep
as
a
wall
.
On
this
knoll
there
was
a
white
patch
that
Rostóv
could
not
at
all
make
out
:
was
it
a
glade
in
the
wood
lit
up
by
the
moon
,
or
some
unmelted
snow
,
or
some
white
houses
?
He
even
thought
something
moved
on
that
white
spot
.
"
I
expect
it
's
snow
...
that
spot
...
a
spot
--
une
tache
,
"
he
thought
.
"
There
now
...
it
's
not
a
tache
...
Natásha
...
sister
,
black
eyes
...
Na
...
tasha
...
(
Wo
n't
she
be
surprised
when
I
tell
her
how
I
've
seen
the
Emperor
?
)
Natásha
...
take
my
sabretache
...
"
--
"
Keep
to
the
right
,
your
honor
,
there
are
bushes
here
,
"
came
the
voice
of
an
hussar
,
past
whom
Rostóv
was
riding
in
the
act
of
falling
asleep
.
Rostóv
lifted
his
head
that
had
sunk
almost
to
his
horse
's
mane
and
pulled
up
beside
the
hussar
.
He
was
succumbing
to
irresistible
,
youthful
,
childish
drowsiness
.
"
But
what
was
I
thinking
?
I
must
n't
forget
.
How
shall
I
speak
to
the
Emperor
?
No
,
that
's
not
it
--
that
's
tomorrow
.
Oh
yes
!
Natásha
...
sabretache
...
saber
them
...
Whom
?
The
hussars
...
Ah
,
the
hussars
with
mustaches
.
Along
the
Tverskáya
Street
rode
the
hussar
with
mustaches
...
I
thought
about
him
too
,
just
opposite
Gúryev
's
house
...
Old
Gúryev
...
Oh
,
but
Denísov
's
a
fine
fellow
.
But
that
's
all
nonsense
.
The
chief
thing
is
that
the
Emperor
is
here
.
How
he
looked
at
me
and
wished
to
say
something
,
but
dared
not
...
No
,
it
was
I
who
dared
not
.
But
that
's
nonsense
,
the
chief
thing
is
not
to
forget
the
important
thing
I
was
thinking
of
.
Yes
,
Na-tásha
,
sabretache
,
oh
,
yes
,
yes
!
That
's
right
!
"
And
his
head
once
more
sank
to
his
horse
's
neck
.
All
at
once
it
seemed
to
him
that
he
was
being
fired
at
.
"
What
?
What
?
What
?
...
Cut
them
down
!
What
?
...
"
said
Rostóv
,
waking
up
.
At
the
moment
he
opened
his
eyes
he
heard
in
front
of
him
,
where
the
enemy
was
,
the
long-drawn
shouts
of
thousands
of
voices
.
His
horse
and
the
horse
of
the
hussar
near
him
pricked
their
ears
at
these
shouts
.
Over
there
,
where
the
shouting
came
from
,
a
fire
flared
up
and
went
out
again
,
then
another
,
and
all
along
the
French
line
on
the
hill
fires
flared
up
and
the
shouting
grew
louder
and
louder
.
Rostóv
could
hear
the
sound
of
French
words
but
could
not
distinguish
them
.
The
din
of
many
voices
was
too
great
;
all
he
could
hear
was
:
"
ahahah
!
"
and
"
rrrr
!
"
"
What
's
that
?
What
do
you
make
of
it
?
"
said
Rostóv
to
the
hussar
beside
him
.
"
That
must
be
the
enemy
's
camp
!
"
The
hussar
did
not
reply
.
