AT EIGHT O'CLOCK Kutuzov rode out to Pratzen at the head of Miloradovitch's fourth column, the one which was to occupy the place left vacant by the columns of Przhebyshevsky and Langeron, who had by this time gone down to the plain. He greeted the men of the foremost regiment, and gave them the command to march, showing thereby that he meant to lead that column himself. On reaching the village of Pratzen he halted. Prince Andrey was behind among the immense number of persons who made up the commander-in-chief's suite. Prince Andrey was in a state of excitement, of irritation, and at the same time of repressed calm, as a man often is on attaining a long-desired moment. He was firmly convinced that to-day would be the day of his Toulon or his bridge of Arcola. How it would come to pass he knew not, but he was firmly convinced that it would be so. The locality and the position of our troops he had mastered to the minutest detail, so far as they could be known to any one in our army. His own strategic plan, which obviously could not conceivably be carried out now, was forgotten by him. Throwing himself into Weierother's plan, Prince Andrey was now deliberating over the contingencies that might arise, and inventing new combinations, in which his rapidity of resource and decision might be called for.
On the left, below in the fog, could be heard firing between unseen forces. There, it seemed to Prince Andrey, the battle would be concentrated, there “the difficulty would arise, and there I shall be sent,” he thought, “with a brigade or a division, and there, flag in hand, I shall march forward and shatter all before me.”
Prince Andrey could not look unmoved upon the flags of the passing battalions. Looking at the flag, he kept thinking: perhaps it is that very flag with which I shall have to lead the men. Towards morning nothing was left of the fog on the heights but a hoar frost passing into dew, but in the valleys the fog still lay in a milky-white sea. Nothing could be seen in the valley to the left into which our troops had vanished, and from which sounds of firing were coming. Above the heights stood a clear, dark blue sky, and on the right the vast orb of the sun. In the distance in front, on the coast of that sea of mist, rose up the wooded hills, on which the enemy's army should have been, and something could be descried there. On the right there was the tramp of hoofs and rumble of wheels, with now and then the gleam of bayonets, as the guards plunged into the region of mist; on the left, behind the village, similar masses of cavalry were moving and disappearing into the sea of fog. In front and behind were the marching infantry. The commander-in-chief was standing at the end of the village, letting the troops pass before him. Kutuzov seemed exhausted and irritable that morning. The infantry marching by him halted without any command being given, apparently because something in front blocked up the way.
“Do tell the men to form in battalion columns and go round the village,” said Kutuzov angrily to a general who rode up. “How is it you don't understand, my dear sir, that it's out of the question to let them file through the defile of the village street, when we are advancing to meet the enemy.”
“I had proposed forming beyond the village, your most high excellency,” replied the general.
Kutuzov laughed bitterly.
“A nice position you'll be in, deploying your front in sight of the enemy—very nice.”
“The enemy is a long way off yet, your most high excellency. According to the disposition. …”
“The disposition!” Kutuzov cried with bitter spleen; “but who told you so? … Kindly do as you are commanded.”
“Yes, sir.”
“My dear boy,” Nesvitsky whispered to Prince Andrey, “the old fellow is in a vile temper.”
An Austrian officer wearing a white uniform and green plumes in his hat, galloped up to Kutuzov and asked him in the Emperor's name: Had the fourth column started?
Kutuzov turned away without answering, and his eye fell casually on Prince Andrey, who was standing near him. Seeing Bolkonsky, Kutuzov let his vindictive and bitter expression soften, as though recognising that his adjutant was not to blame for what was being done. And still not answering the Austrian adjutant, he addressed Bolkonsky.
“Go and see, my dear fellow, whether the third division has passed the village. Tell them to stop and wait for my orders.”
Prince Andrey had scarcely started when he stopped him.
“And ask whether the sharpshooters are posted,” he added. “What they are doing, what they are doing!” he murmured to himself, still making no reply to the Austrian.
Prince Andrey galloped off to do his bidding. Overtaking all the advancing battalions, he stopped the third division and ascertained that there actually was no line of sharpshooters in advance of our columns. The officer in command of the foremost regiment was greatly astounded on the order being brought him from the commander-in-chief to send a flying line of sharpshooters in advance. The officer had been resting in the full conviction that there were other troops in front of him, and that the enemy could not be less than ten versts away. In reality there was nothing in front of him but an empty stretch of ground, sloping downhill and covered with fog. Giving him the commander-in-chief's order to rectify the omission, Prince Andrey galloped back. Kutuzov was still at the same spot; his bulky frame drooped in the saddle with the lassitude of old age, and he was yawning wearily with closed eyes. The troops had not yet moved on, but were standing at attention.
“Good, good,” he said to Prince Andrey, and he turned to the general who, watch in hand, was saying that it was time they started, as all the columns of the left flank had gone down already.
“We have plenty of time yet, your excellency,” Kutuzov interpolated between his yawns. “Plenty of time!” he repeated.
At that moment in the distance behind Kutuzov there were sounds of regiments saluting; the shouts came rapidly nearer along the whole drawn-out line of the advancing Russian columns. Clearly he who was the object of these greetings was riding quickly. When the soldiers of the regiment, in front of which Kutuzov was standing, began to shout, he rode off a little on one side, and wrinkling up his face, looked round. Along the road from Pratzen, galloped what looked like a whole squadron of horsemen of different colours. Two of them galloped side by side ahead of the rest. One was in a black uniform with a white plume, on a chestnut English thoroughbred, the other in a white uniform on a black horse. These were the two Emperors and their suites. With a sort of affectation of the manner of an old soldier at the head of his regiment, Kutuzov gave the command, “Steady,” to the standing troops and rode up to the Emperors, saluting. His whole figure and manner were suddenly transformed. He assumed the air of a subordinate, a man who accepts without criticism. With an affectation of respectfulness which unmistakably made an unpleasant impression on Alexander, he rode up and saluted him.
The unpleasant impression, like the traces of fog in a clear sky, merely flitted across the young and happy face of the Emperor and vanished. He looked that day rather thinner after his illness than he had been at the review of Olmütz, where Bolkonsky had seen him for the first time abroad. But there was the same bewitching combination of majesty and mildness in his fine, grey eyes, and on his delicate lips the same possibility of varying expressions and the predominant expression of noble-hearted, guileless youth.
At the Olmütz review he had been more majestic, here he was livelier and more energetic. He was flushed a little from the rapid three-verst gallop, and as he pulled up his horse, he breathed a sigh of relief, and looked round at those among the faces of his suite that were as young and eager as his own. Behind the Tsar were Tchartorizhsky, and Novosiltsov, and Prince Bolkonsky, and Stroganov, and the rest, all richly dressed, gay young men on splendid, well-groomed, fresh horses, slightly heated from the gallop. The Emperor Francis, a rosy, long-faced young man, sat excessively erect on his handsome sable horse, casting deliberate and anxious looks around him. He beckoned one of his white adjutants and asked him a question. “Most likely at what o'clock they started,” thought Prince Andrey, watching his old acquaintance with a smile, which he could not repress, as he remembered his audience with him. With the Emperors' suite were a certain number of fashionable young aristocrats—Russians and Austrians selected from the regiments of the guards and the line. Among them were postillions leading extra horses, beautiful beasts from the Tsar's stables, covered with embroidered horsecloths.
Like a breath of fresh country air rushing into a stuffy room through an open window was the youth, energy, and confidence of success that the cavalcade of brilliant young people brought with them into Kutuzov's cheerless staff.
“Why aren't you beginning, Mihail Larionovitch?” the Emperor Alexander said hurriedly, addressing Kutuzov, while he glanced courteously towards the Emperor Francis.
“I am waiting to see, your majesty,” Kutuzov answered, bowing reverentially.
The Emperor turned his ear towards him, with a slight frown and an air of not having caught his words.
“I'm waiting to see, your majesty,” repeated Kutuzov (Prince Andrey noticed that Kutuzov's upper lip quivered unnaturally as he uttered that: “I'm waiting”). “Not all the columns are massed yet, your majesty.”
The Tsar heard him, but the answer apparently did not please him; he shrugged his sloping shoulders, and glanced at Novosiltsov, who stood near, with a look that seemed to complain of Kutuzov.
“We are not on the Tsaritsin field, you know, Mihail Larionovitch, where the parade is not begun till all the regiments are ready,” said the Tsar, glancing again at the Emperor Francis as though inviting him, if not to take part, at least to listen to what he was saying. But the Emperor Francis still gazed away and did not listen.
“That's just why I'm not beginning, sire,” said Kutuzov in a resounding voice, as though foreseeing a possibility his words might be ignored, and once more there was a quiver in his face. “That's why I am not beginning, sire; because we are not on parade and not on the Tsaritsin field,” he articulated clearly and distinctly.
All in the Tsar's suite exchanged instantaneous glances with one another, and every face wore an expression of regret and reproach. “However old he may be, he ought not, he ought never to speak like that,” the faces expressed.
The Tsar looked steadily and attentively into Kutuzov's face, waiting to see if he were not going to say more. But Kutuzov too on his side, bending his head respectfully, seemed to be waiting. The silence lasted about a minute.
“However, if it's your majesty's command,” said Kutuzov, lifting his head and relapsing into his former affectation of the tone of a stupid, uncritical general, who obeys orders. He moved away, and beckoning the commanding officer of the column, Miloradovitch, gave him the command to advance.
The troops began to move again, and two battalions of the Novgorod regiment and a battalion of the Apsheron regiment passed before the Tsar.
While the Apsheron battalion was marching by, Miloradovitch, a red-faced man, wearing a uniform and orders, with no overcoat, and a turned-up hat with huge plumes stuck on one side, galloped ahead of them, and saluting in gallant style, reined up his horse before the Tsar.
“With God's aid, general,” said the Tsar.
“Ma foi, sire, we will do whatever is in our power to do,” he answered gaily, arousing none the less an ironical smile among the gentlemen of the Tsar's suite by his bad French accent. Miloradovitch wheeled his horse round sharply, and halted a few steps behind the Tsar. The Apsheron men, roused by the presence of the Tsar, stepped out gallantly as they marched by the Emperors and their suites.
“Lads!” shouted Miloradovitch in his loud, self-confident, and cheery voice. He was apparently so excited by the sounds of the firing, the anticipation of battle, and the sight of the gallant Apsheron men, his old comrades with Suvorov, that he forgot the Tsar's presence. “Lads! it's not the first village you've had to take!” he shouted.
“Glad to do our best,” roared the soldiers. The Tsar's horse reared at the unexpected sound. This horse, who had carried the Tsar at reviews in Russia, bore his rider here on the field of Austerlitz, patiently enduring the heedless blows of his left foot, and pricked up his ears at the sound of shots as he had done on the review ground with no comprehension of the significance of these sounds, nor of the nearness of the raven horse of Emperor Francis, nor of all that was said and thought and felt that day by the man who rode upon his back.
The Tsar turned with a smile to one of his courtiers, pointing to the gallant-looking Apsheron regiment, and said something to him.
在雾蒙蒙的左边的洼地上，传来了望不见的军队之间的互相射击声。安德烈公爵仿佛觉得，有一场集中火力的战斗将在那里爆发，那里会遇到阻碍，“我将被派往某地，”他想道，“我将要带着一个旅，或者一个师在那里举着战旗前进，摧毁我面前的一切障碍。”
安德烈公爵不能漠不关心地望着从他身旁走过的各营官兵的旗帜。他望着旗帜，心里总是想着，这也许正是那面旗帜，我必须举着它走在我们部队的前头。
黎明前，夜里的雾霭在高地上只留下一层转化为露水的白霜，那雾霭还像乳白色的海洋一般弥漫于谷地之中。左边的谷地里什么都看不清楚，我们的部队沿着下坡路走进谷地，从那里传来一阵射击声。昏暗而清净的苍穹悬挂在高地的上方，右面是巨大的球状的太阳。远前方，雾海的彼岸可以望见林木茂盛的山岗，敌军想必驻扎在这几座山岗上，不知道是什么东西隐约可见。近卫军正向右边走进雾气腾腾的地方，那里传来马蹄声和车轮声，刺刀有时分闪闪发光；在左边的村庄后面，许多一模一样的骑兵向附近驰来，又在雾海之中隐没了。步兵在前前后后推进。总司令站在村口，让部队从他身边走过去。是日早晨，库图佐夫显得疲惫不堪，有几分怒色。从他身旁走过的步兵没有接到命令就停止前进，显然不知是什么在前面把它挡住了。
“请您干脆说一声，将部队排成几个营纵队，迂回到村庄后面去，”库图佐夫对那个驰近的将军愤怒地说，“将军大人，阁下，您怎么不明白，当我们走去攻击敌人的时候，在村庄的这条街上的狭窄的地方是不能拉开队伍的。”
“大人，我原来打算在村后排队。”将军答道。
库图佐夫愤怒地笑了起来。
“您要在敌人眼前展开纵队，这样做那太好了，那太好了！”
“大人，敌人还离得很远。根据进军部署……”
“进军部署，”库图佐夫气忿地喊道，“是谁说给您听的？
……给您什么命令，请您照办吧。”
“是的，遵命。”
“monchev”涅斯维茨基轻言细语地对安德烈公爵说，“levieuxestd'unehumeurdechien．”①
一名奥国军官戴着一顶绿色羽饰宽边帽，穿着一套白色制服，骑马走到库图佐夫面前，他代表皇帝向他提问：“第四纵队是不是已经参战了？”
库图佐夫不回答他，转过脸去，他的视线无意中落在他旁边站着的安德烈公爵身上。库图佐夫看见博尔孔斯基，他那讥刺而凶狠的眼神变得柔和起来，好像意识到，他的副官对发生的事件没有什么过失。他不回答奥国副官的问话，却把脸转向博尔孔斯基，说道：
“Allezvoir，moncher，silatroisiemedivisionadepasselevil－lage．Dites－luides'arreteretd'attendremesorBdres．”②
安德烈公爵刚刚走开，他就叫他停下来。
“Etdemandezlui，silestirailleurssontpostes，”他补充说，“Cequ'ilsfontcequ'ilsfont！”③他自言自语地说，一直不回答奥地利人。
①法语：喂，亲爱的，老头子的情绪很不好。
②法语：我亲爱的，听我说，看看第三师是不是从村子里走过去了。吩咐它停止前进，听候我的命令。
③法语：“您问问，是否已布置尖兵。他们在做什么事呀，在做什么事呀！”
他赶过了在前面走的几个营，就叫第三师停止前进，他相信，我们的纵队前面的确没有散兵线。在前面行进的兵团的团长对总司令命令布成散兵线一事感到非常诧异。团长满怀信心，自以为前面还有部队，敌人不会盘踞在近于十俄里的地方。真的，前面除了空旷的被浓雾遮蔽的、向前倾斜的地段而外，什么也望不见。安德烈公爵代表总司令命令下级弥补过失之后，便骑马跑回去了。库图佐夫还站在原地不动，现出衰迈的老态，将他那肥胖的身躯俯在马鞍上，合上眼睛，沉重地打着哈欠。部队已经不向前推进了，士兵们把枪托放下站着。
“好，好，”他对安德烈公爵说，又把脸转向将军，这位将军手里拿着一只表，他说左翼的各个纵队已从坡地走下来，应该向前推进了。
“大人，我们还来得及，”库图佐夫打哈欠时说道，“我们还来得及！”他重说一遍。
这时候，库图佐夫后面可以听见远处传来的各个兵团请安的声音，这种声音开始迅速地临近于进军中排成一字长蛇阵的俄国纵队的全线。可以看见那个领受叩安的人快要来了。当库图佐夫领头的那个兵团的士兵高声呼喊的时候，他骑在马上向一旁走了几步，蹙起额角，回头看看。有一连穿着五颜六色的服装的骑士好像在普拉茨村村外的路上奔驰而来。其中二人在其余的骑士前面并骑地大步驰骋着。一人身穿黑制服，头上露出白帽缨，骑在一匹英国式的枣红马背上，另一人身穿白制服，骑着一匹乌骓。这就是两位由侍从伴随的皇帝。库图佐夫站在队列中，做出老兵的样子，向站着的部队官兵发出“立正！”的口令并且举手行礼，向皇帝面前走去。他的整个外貌和气派蓦地改变了。他带着一副唯唯诺诺、不明事理的下属的模样，流露出装模作样的恭敬的神态向皇帝面前走来，举手行礼，显然令人厌恶，亚历山大皇帝感到十分诧异。
令人不悦意的印象仅似晴空的残云，掠过了皇帝那年轻而且显得幸福的面孔，旋即消逝了。微恙痊愈之后，他今天比博尔孔斯基首次在国外奥尔米茨阅兵场上，看见他时更瘦弱，但在他那俊秀的灰色眼睛中，令人惊叹的庄重与温厚的神情兼而有之，他那薄薄的嘴唇上现出他能流露的各种表情，主要是心地善良而且天真无邪的青年的表情。
在奥尔米茨阅兵式上，他比较威严，而在这里他比较愉快而且刚健。在疾驰三俄里之后，他的面部有点儿发红，他勒住战马，缓了一口气，掉转头来望望他的侍从们和他一样年轻、一样兴致勃勃的面孔。恰尔托里日斯基、诺沃西利采夫、博尔孔斯基公爵、斯特罗加诺夫和另外一些侍从，个个都是衣着华丽、心情愉快的青年。他们骑着被精心饲养、不同凡俗、微微冒汗的骏马在皇帝背后停步了，他们面露微笑，彼此交谈着。费朗茨皇帝是个长脸的、面颊绯红的青年，身子挺直地骑着一匹标致的乌骓。他忧虑地、从容不迫地向四周环顾。他把一名身穿白色制服的副官喊到自己身边，不知向他问了一句什么话。“他们大概是在几点钟动身的。”安德烈公爵在观察自己的老友时，面露笑容，他心里这样想了一阵，每当回忆国王接见他的情景时，他不禁流露出这种微笑。在二位皇帝的侍从中，有近卫军和兵团中精选出来的俄奥两国的英姿勃勃的传令军官。调马师们在他们中间牵着若干匹沙皇备用的、披上绣花马被的标致的御马。
这些疾驰而至的出色的青年，使那闷闷不乐的库图佐夫的司令部焕发出青春、活力和对胜利的自信，正如一股田野的清新空气忽然被吹进令人窒闷的房间一样。
“米哈伊尔·伊拉里奥诺维奇，您干嘛还不开始？”亚历山大皇帝急忙把脸转向库图佐夫，说道，他同时毕恭毕敬地望望弗郎茨皇帝。
“陛下，我正在等待。”库图佐夫一面回答，一面恭恭敬敬地向前弯下腰来。
皇帝侧起耳朵，微微地皱起眉头，表示他还没有听清楚。
“陛下，我正在等待，”库图佐夫重复自己说的话（当库图佐夫在说“我正在等待”这句话的时候，安德烈公爵发现，库图佐夫的上唇不自然地颤栗了一下），“陛下，各个纵队还没有集合起来。”
国王听见了，可是看起来，他不喜欢这句回答的话；他耸耸微微拱起的肩膀，向站在身旁的诺沃西利采夫瞥了一眼，这种眼神仿佛在埋怨库图佐夫似的。
“米哈伊尔·伊拉里奥诺维奇，要知道，我们不是在皇后操场，各个兵团没有来齐以前，那里不会开始检阅的。”国王又望望弗朗茨皇帝的眼睛说道，仿佛是邀请他参加阅兵，否则就请他听听他讲话，但是弗朗茨皇帝继续朝四下张望，没有去听他讲话。
“国王，因此就没有开始，”库图佐夫用洪亮的嗓音说道，仿佛预防可能听不清楚他说的话，这时候，他脸上有个地方又颤栗了一下。“国王，之所以没有开始，是因为我们不在阅兵式上，也不在皇后操场上。”地清晰而明确地说。
国王的侍从霎时间互使眼色，他们的脸上流露着不满和责备的神态。“无论他多么老迈，他不应当，决不应当那样说话。”这些面孔表达了这种思想。
国王聚精会神地凝视库图佐夫的眼睛，等待他是否还要说些什么话。而库图佐夫恭恭敬敬地低下头来，看样子也在等待。沉默延续了将近一分钟。
“但是，陛下，只要发出命令。”库图佐夫抬起头来，说道，又把语调变成迟钝的不很审慎的唯命是从的将军原有的语调。
他驱马上路，一面把纵队司令米洛拉多维奇喊到跟前，把进攻的命令交给他了。
部队又行动起来，诺夫戈罗德兵团的两个营和阿普舍龙兵团的一个营从国王身旁开走了。
当阿普舍龙的一营人走过的时候，面色绯红的米洛拉多维奇没有披军大衣，穿着一身制服，胸前挂满了勋章，歪歪戴着一顶大缨帽，疾速地向前驰骋，在皇帝面前猛然勒住战马，英姿勃勃地举手敬礼。
“将军，上帝保佑您。”国王对他说。
“Mafoi，sire，nousferonscequequiseradansnotrepossibilite，sire，”①他愉快地回答，但是他那蹩脚的法国口音，引起皇帝的侍从先生们的一阵讥笑。
①法语：陛下，我们要办到可能办到的一切事情。
“伙伴们！”米洛拉多维奇用那洪亮、充满自信而且愉快的嗓音高喊了一声，显然，这一阵阵的射击声、战斗的期待、英姿飒爽的阿普舍龙兵团官兵的外表、以及动作敏捷地从两位皇帝身边经过的苏沃洛夫式的战友们的外貌，使他感到极度兴奋，以致忘记了国王在场，“伙伴们，你们现在要攻占的不是第一个村庄啊！”他高声喊道。
“我们都乐于效命！”士兵们高呼。
国王的御马听见突然的呐喊，猛地往旁边一窜。这匹早在俄国就驮着国王检阅的御马，在奥斯特利茨这个战场上忍受着国王用左脚心不在焉的踢蹬，如同在玛斯广场一样，它听见射击声就竖起耳朵，它既不明了它所听见的射击声的涵义，也不明了弗朗茨皇帝乘坐的乌骓与它相邻的涵义，也不明了骑者是日所说的话语、所想的事题、所感觉到的一切的涵义。
国王面露笑容，指着英姿飒爽的阿普舍龙兵团的官兵，把脸转向一位近臣，不知说了什么话。