Chapter Summaries: Dole: Unexpected appearance of the French. Kutuzof wounded. Defeat. Prince Andrei tries to save the day. Battle scenes. Prince Andrei wounded. Infinite depths of sky.
Briggs: Andrey halts the Russian retreat but is then badly wounded.
Translation:
XVI. Kutuzov, accompanied by his own adjutants, went stepping behind the carabiniers. Driving half a verst from the tail columns, he had stopped at a lone abandoned home (probably, a former tavern) beside the branching of two roads. Both roads went down below the mountain, and by both went troops. The fog started to disperse, and vaguely, at a distance of two versts, now were seen the enemy troops in the opposite highlands. Down to the left the shooting became more audible. Kutuzov had stopped talking with the Austrian general. Prince Andrey, standing up a little behind, peered at them and, wishing to ask for the visual pipe of the adjutant, turned to him. — Look, look, — spoke this adjutant, looking at the not far army, but downwards by the mountain before itself. — this is the French! Two generals and adjutants began to clutch for the pipe, pulling it from one another. All the faces suddenly changed, and in all expressed horror. The French were supposed to be two versts from us, but they appeared suddenly, and suddenly before us. — This is the enemy?... No!... Yes, see, it is... for sure...what is this? — was heard a voice. Prince Andrey with simply his eyes saw down to the right rising towards the Apsheron a thick column of French, not five hundred steps farther from the place where Kutuzov stood. "Here it is, the decisive minute has come! To me the business has reached," thought Prince Andrey, and stroking his horse, drove to Kutuzov. — We need to stop the Apsheron, — he shouted, — your excellence! Yet at that same moment all froze in the smoke, rang out close shooting, and a naively scared voice two steps from Prince Andrey shouted: "Well, brothers, quitting time!" and as if this voice was the squad by this voice all threw and ran. Mixed, all the increasing crowd ran backwards to that place where five minutes back the troops passed by the emperors. Not only was it difficult to stop this crowd, but it was impossible for themselves not to go back together with this crowd. Bolkonsky only tried to not lag behind from it and looked around, perplexed and it was not in his forces to understand what was done before him. Nesvitsky with an embittered look, red and not similar to himself, shouted to Kutuzov that should he not leave now, he will be taken into captivity for sure. Kutuzov stood at this same location and, not answering, got his handkerchief. From his cheeks flowed blood. Prince Andrey squeezed to him. — Are you wounded? — he asked, barely holding his trembling bottom jaw. — The wound is not here, but here! — said Kutuzov, clutching his handkerchief to his wounded cheek and pointing at the running. — Stop them! — he shouted and at that same time, probably making sure that it was impossible to stop them, stroked his horse and went to the right. Again the surging crowd running seized him with themselves and entailed backwards. The troops ran in such a thick crowd, that time hitting in the middle of the crowd, it was difficult to get out of it. Who shouted: "Go! Hesitating for what?" who here the same, turning around, shooting into the air; who beat the horse on which Kutuzov himself rode. With the greatest effort getting out of the flow of the crowd to the left, Kutuzov with his suite, reduced more than twice, went at the sounds of the close gunshots. Getting out of the running crowd, Prince Andrey, trying to not lag behind of Kutuzov, saw in the descent of the mountains, in the smoke, the still firing Russian battery and the running up to it French. Higher stood the Russian infantry, not moving forward to help the battery, or backwards by one direction from running. A general on horseback separated from this infantry and drove to Kutuzov. From the suite of Kutuzov was left only four men. All were pale and silently looked at each other. — Stop these bastards! — gasping for breath, spoke Kutuzov to the regimental commander, pointing at the running; but at that same moment, as if a punishment for these words, as a swarm of birds, as a whistle, flew by bullets by the regiment and suite of Kutuzov. The French attacked the battery and, seeing Kutuzov, fired at him. With this one gulp the regimental commander grabbed behind the leg; a few soldiers fell, and an ensign, standing with a banner, released it from his hands; the standard staggered and fell, lingering on the gun of a neighboring soldier. The soldiers without commanders began to fire. — Oooh! — with an expression of despair mumbled Kutuzov and turned back. — Bolkonsky, — he whispered trembling from the consciousness of his senile impotent voice. — Bolkonsky, — he whispered, pointing at the upset battalion and at the enemy, — What is this? But before he finished saying this word, Prince Andrey, feeling tears of shame and anger coming up to his throat, now jumped off from his horse and ran to the banner. — Guys, forward! — he shouted childishly and piercingly. "Here it is!" thought Prince Andrey, grabbing the staff of the banner and with enjoyment hearing whistling bullets, obviously, directed against him. A few soldiers fell. — Hoorah! — shouted Prince Andrey, barely holding in his hands the heavy standard, and ran forward with such undoubted certainty that all the battalions will run behind him. Really, he ran one only a few steps. Set off one, another soldier, and all of the battalion with screaming "hoorah!" ran forward and overtook him. A noncommissioned officer of the battalion, running up hesitated to take from the weight of the standard in the hands of Prince Andrey, but immediately the same was killed. Prince Andrey again grabbed the standard and, dragging the staff behind him, ran with the battalion. Ahead of himself he saw our artillerists, of which alone fought, others threw guns and ran towards him; he saw a French infantry soldier that grabbed the artillery horses and turned the guns. Prince Andrey with the battalion now was at 20 steps from the cannons. He heard above himself the unceasing whistling of bullets, and incessantly right and left from him the whoop and fall of soldiers. Yet he did not watch them; he peered only at that what was happening ahead of him — in the battery. He clearly saw now one figure, a ginger artillerist with a down on the side shako, pulling at one part of the banner, then the French soldier pulled the banner to himself for another side. Prince Andrey saw now clearly the bewildered and together embittered expression of these two people, apparently not understanding what they did. "What are they doing? — thought Prince Andrey, looking at them: —For what does the redhead artillerist not run, when on him are no weapons? For what does the French not sting him? Not in time to run, as the French will remember about his gun and kill him." Really, another French, with a gun in superiority ran up to the struggling, and the fate of the ginger artillerist, all still did not understand what awaited him, and with triumph the pulling up of the banner should be decided. But Prince Andrey did not see that this was finished. As it would with the scope of a strong stick something from the nearest soldier, as it seemed to him, stroked him on the head. This hurt a little, but the main thing that was unpleasant was that this pain overwhelmed him and hindered him from seeing that what he watched. "What is this? I am falling? My legs give way," he thought and fell on his back. He eyes revealed what he hoped to see, then ran out a fight with the French artillerists, and he wished to know, killed or not was the redhead artillerist, the guns taken or saved. But he saw nothing. Above him was nothing now, besides the sky — the high sky, not clear, but all the same immeasurably high, with quiet crawling by him gray clouds. "How quiet, calm and solemn, it is really not so, as I ran, — thought Prince Andrey, — not so, as we ran, shouted and fought; really not so, as with embittered and scared faces of the French and artillerist dragging the banner, — it is really not such crawling clouds by this high endless sky. How the same have I not before seen this high sky? And how I am happy that I have found it finally. Yes! All is empty, all is cheating, besides this endless sky. Nothing, no nothing, besides it. Yet and this is even nothing, nothing besides silence and reassurance. And thank God!..."
Time: See previous chapter
Locations: an abandoned house in the rear of the column
Mentioned: Austrian, French, Russian
Pevear and Volkhonsky Notes: Love the “probably a former tavern” parenthetical, as if this is at all relevant. Everything turns to chaos, of course everyone was wrong, it becomes impossible to see, and then everyone starts running. Andrei “unable to understand what was happening in front of him.”
Briggs: Andrey halts the Russian retreat but is then badly wounded.
Translation:
XVI. Kutuzov, accompanied by his own adjutants, went stepping behind the carabiniers. Driving half a verst from the tail columns, he had stopped at a lone abandoned home (probably, a former tavern) beside the branching of two roads. Both roads went down below the mountain, and by both went troops. The fog started to disperse, and vaguely, at a distance of two versts, now were seen the enemy troops in the opposite highlands. Down to the left the shooting became more audible. Kutuzov had stopped talking with the Austrian general. Prince Andrey, standing up a little behind, peered at them and, wishing to ask for the visual pipe of the adjutant, turned to him. — Look, look, — spoke this adjutant, looking at the not far army, but downwards by the mountain before itself. — this is the French! Two generals and adjutants began to clutch for the pipe, pulling it from one another. All the faces suddenly changed, and in all expressed horror. The French were supposed to be two versts from us, but they appeared suddenly, and suddenly before us. — This is the enemy?... No!... Yes, see, it is... for sure...what is this? — was heard a voice. Prince Andrey with simply his eyes saw down to the right rising towards the Apsheron a thick column of French, not five hundred steps farther from the place where Kutuzov stood. "Here it is, the decisive minute has come! To me the business has reached," thought Prince Andrey, and stroking his horse, drove to Kutuzov. — We need to stop the Apsheron, — he shouted, — your excellence! Yet at that same moment all froze in the smoke, rang out close shooting, and a naively scared voice two steps from Prince Andrey shouted: "Well, brothers, quitting time!" and as if this voice was the squad by this voice all threw and ran. Mixed, all the increasing crowd ran backwards to that place where five minutes back the troops passed by the emperors. Not only was it difficult to stop this crowd, but it was impossible for themselves not to go back together with this crowd. Bolkonsky only tried to not lag behind from it and looked around, perplexed and it was not in his forces to understand what was done before him. Nesvitsky with an embittered look, red and not similar to himself, shouted to Kutuzov that should he not leave now, he will be taken into captivity for sure. Kutuzov stood at this same location and, not answering, got his handkerchief. From his cheeks flowed blood. Prince Andrey squeezed to him. — Are you wounded? — he asked, barely holding his trembling bottom jaw. — The wound is not here, but here! — said Kutuzov, clutching his handkerchief to his wounded cheek and pointing at the running. — Stop them! — he shouted and at that same time, probably making sure that it was impossible to stop them, stroked his horse and went to the right. Again the surging crowd running seized him with themselves and entailed backwards. The troops ran in such a thick crowd, that time hitting in the middle of the crowd, it was difficult to get out of it. Who shouted: "Go! Hesitating for what?" who here the same, turning around, shooting into the air; who beat the horse on which Kutuzov himself rode. With the greatest effort getting out of the flow of the crowd to the left, Kutuzov with his suite, reduced more than twice, went at the sounds of the close gunshots. Getting out of the running crowd, Prince Andrey, trying to not lag behind of Kutuzov, saw in the descent of the mountains, in the smoke, the still firing Russian battery and the running up to it French. Higher stood the Russian infantry, not moving forward to help the battery, or backwards by one direction from running. A general on horseback separated from this infantry and drove to Kutuzov. From the suite of Kutuzov was left only four men. All were pale and silently looked at each other. — Stop these bastards! — gasping for breath, spoke Kutuzov to the regimental commander, pointing at the running; but at that same moment, as if a punishment for these words, as a swarm of birds, as a whistle, flew by bullets by the regiment and suite of Kutuzov. The French attacked the battery and, seeing Kutuzov, fired at him. With this one gulp the regimental commander grabbed behind the leg; a few soldiers fell, and an ensign, standing with a banner, released it from his hands; the standard staggered and fell, lingering on the gun of a neighboring soldier. The soldiers without commanders began to fire. — Oooh! — with an expression of despair mumbled Kutuzov and turned back. — Bolkonsky, — he whispered trembling from the consciousness of his senile impotent voice. — Bolkonsky, — he whispered, pointing at the upset battalion and at the enemy, — What is this? But before he finished saying this word, Prince Andrey, feeling tears of shame and anger coming up to his throat, now jumped off from his horse and ran to the banner. — Guys, forward! — he shouted childishly and piercingly. "Here it is!" thought Prince Andrey, grabbing the staff of the banner and with enjoyment hearing whistling bullets, obviously, directed against him. A few soldiers fell. — Hoorah! — shouted Prince Andrey, barely holding in his hands the heavy standard, and ran forward with such undoubted certainty that all the battalions will run behind him. Really, he ran one only a few steps. Set off one, another soldier, and all of the battalion with screaming "hoorah!" ran forward and overtook him. A noncommissioned officer of the battalion, running up hesitated to take from the weight of the standard in the hands of Prince Andrey, but immediately the same was killed. Prince Andrey again grabbed the standard and, dragging the staff behind him, ran with the battalion. Ahead of himself he saw our artillerists, of which alone fought, others threw guns and ran towards him; he saw a French infantry soldier that grabbed the artillery horses and turned the guns. Prince Andrey with the battalion now was at 20 steps from the cannons. He heard above himself the unceasing whistling of bullets, and incessantly right and left from him the whoop and fall of soldiers. Yet he did not watch them; he peered only at that what was happening ahead of him — in the battery. He clearly saw now one figure, a ginger artillerist with a down on the side shako, pulling at one part of the banner, then the French soldier pulled the banner to himself for another side. Prince Andrey saw now clearly the bewildered and together embittered expression of these two people, apparently not understanding what they did. "What are they doing? — thought Prince Andrey, looking at them: —For what does the redhead artillerist not run, when on him are no weapons? For what does the French not sting him? Not in time to run, as the French will remember about his gun and kill him." Really, another French, with a gun in superiority ran up to the struggling, and the fate of the ginger artillerist, all still did not understand what awaited him, and with triumph the pulling up of the banner should be decided. But Prince Andrey did not see that this was finished. As it would with the scope of a strong stick something from the nearest soldier, as it seemed to him, stroked him on the head. This hurt a little, but the main thing that was unpleasant was that this pain overwhelmed him and hindered him from seeing that what he watched. "What is this? I am falling? My legs give way," he thought and fell on his back. He eyes revealed what he hoped to see, then ran out a fight with the French artillerists, and he wished to know, killed or not was the redhead artillerist, the guns taken or saved. But he saw nothing. Above him was nothing now, besides the sky — the high sky, not clear, but all the same immeasurably high, with quiet crawling by him gray clouds. "How quiet, calm and solemn, it is really not so, as I ran, — thought Prince Andrey, — not so, as we ran, shouted and fought; really not so, as with embittered and scared faces of the French and artillerist dragging the banner, — it is really not such crawling clouds by this high endless sky. How the same have I not before seen this high sky? And how I am happy that I have found it finally. Yes! All is empty, all is cheating, besides this endless sky. Nothing, no nothing, besides it. Yet and this is even nothing, nothing besides silence and reassurance. And thank God!..."
Time: See previous chapter
Locations: an abandoned house in the rear of the column
Mentioned: Austrian, French, Russian
Pevear and Volkhonsky Notes: Love the “probably a former tavern” parenthetical, as if this is at all relevant. Everything turns to chaos, of course everyone was wrong, it becomes impossible to see, and then everyone starts running. Andrei “unable to understand what was happening in front of him.”
Kutuzov remains calm, even wounded, and can see where the real problem lies. They are unable to stop the running men, which Kutuzov calls ‘villains”.
Kutuzov then loses composure and has to have Bolkonsky tell him what is going on.
Andrei picks up the standard, and it does inspire some to run forward, more men not understanding what they are doing.
Andrei is hit, and just as Rostov did earlier, expresses confusion, not understanding the hit and what is happening to him.
“There was nothing over him now except the sky--the lofty sky, not clear, but still immeasurably lofty, with gray clouds slowly creeping across it.”
“Everything is empty, everything is a deception, except this infinite sky...there is nothing except silence, tranquility.”
Characters (characters who do not appear, but are mentioned are placed in italics. First appearances are in Bold. First mentions are underlined. Final appearance denoted by *):
Kutuzof (his “aides” are misspelled as “aids” in Dole, but not done so in last chapter)
The Austrian general (see previous chapter)
Prince Andrei Bolkonsky
Nesvitsky
(masses and masses of soldiers. There is a regimental commander that is impossible to tell whether it is the one with the previous chapter. A non-commissioned officer of the battalion who grabs the standard and is “instantly shot
down.” The red-headed artilleryman struggling with the French soldier. Another Frenchmen with a bayonet.)
down.” The red-headed artilleryman struggling with the French soldier. Another Frenchmen with a bayonet.)
Abridged Versions: Line break instead of a chapter break in Bell.
Gibian: Line break instead of chapter break.
Gibian: Line break instead of chapter break.
Fuller: Chapter is preserved and followed by a line break.
Komroff: Chapter seems basically preserved with a chapter break.
Kropotkin: Chapter 12: Description of the fog is removed. Rest of chapter seems preserved.
Bromfield: Andrei thinks about the battle at Schongraben. It takes a little longer for Kutuzov to get wounded. Some information about a battalion commander that is killed around them. The chapter extends a little and follows the
battalion and gives a little more general information about the armies, but this hurts the effect of the narrative that Prince Andrei’s words have as a close of the chapter. End of chapter 13.
Simmons: The description of Kutuzov riding at the rear of the column and the abandoned house is gone. Line break instead of chapter break.
battalion and gives a little more general information about the armies, but this hurts the effect of the narrative that Prince Andrei’s words have as a close of the chapter. End of chapter 13.
Simmons: The description of Kutuzov riding at the rear of the column and the abandoned house is gone. Line break instead of chapter break.
Additional Notes:
Herold: Page 174: “It was the famous sun of Austerlitz, and the sky so poignantly described in Tolstoi’s War and Peace, into which Andre Bolkonsky, lying on his back wounded, gazes serently, at peace with life and death. “Passing
in front of several regiments in battle array,” the bulletin continued, “the Emperor said, ‘Soldiers! We must end this battle with a thunderclap that will confound the arrogance of our enemies’; and instantly their hats waving at the ends
of their bayonets and (their) shouts of Vive l’Empereur! Gave the actual signal for the battle begin….”’
Herold: Page 174: “It was the famous sun of Austerlitz, and the sky so poignantly described in Tolstoi’s War and Peace, into which Andre Bolkonsky, lying on his back wounded, gazes serently, at peace with life and death. “Passing
in front of several regiments in battle array,” the bulletin continued, “the Emperor said, ‘Soldiers! We must end this battle with a thunderclap that will confound the arrogance of our enemies’; and instantly their hats waving at the ends
of their bayonets and (their) shouts of Vive l’Empereur! Gave the actual signal for the battle begin….”’
“Tolstoy and the Forms of Life” by Martin Price Page 236: Prince Andrew’s snatching up the fallen standard at Austerlitz as Napoleon had done at the bridge of Arcola, and leading an improbable charge against the French…’he
shouted in a voice as piercing as a child’s” the final simile is telling; there is a wonderful naivety about his action…Prince Andrew is the antithesis of such unheroic figures as Pierre and Kutuzov. And, like all the Bolkonskis in the
novel, he has turned away from life.”
Moser/Rowe: Page 47: “Andrew...remains oddly static. Each lesson he learns leaves him in need of another...John Hagan has observed that Price Andrew goes through “fiive distinct cycles of death and rebirth.”..The first cycle...
begins with Andrew’s fall at the battle of Austerlitz...Andrew’s father tells everyone that his son is dead.”
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