Chapter Summaries: Dole: Appearance of the French. The Cossack patrol. The solemn gap between the two belligerents. The Unknown. Under fire. Passage of the Hussars. Nikolai Rostof. Ordered to burn the bridge. Misunderstanding. Grape. The beauty of the scene. Contrast with the death and the destruction of battle. Rostof's prayer. Under fire for the first time.
Briggs: The burning of the bridge. Nikolay's undistinguished baptism of fire.
Translation:
VIII. The rest of the infantry hastily passed by the bridge, spiraling as a funnel at the entry. Finally all the wagons passed, the crush became less, and the last battalion marched on the bridge. Alone the hussar squadron with Denisov stayed on that side of the bridge against the enemy. The enemy, far away from the prominent opposite mountains, from below the bridge was still not visible, as out of the hollows by which flowed the river, the horizon ended at the opposite elevation not farther than half a mile. Ahead was the desert, in which somewhere moved heaps of our traveling Cossacks. Suddenly on the opposite elevation roads were seen troops in blue hoods and artillery. These were the French. The departure of the Cossacks trotting, walked away from below the mountain. All the officers and people of the squadron of Denisov, although they tried to speak about the outsider and looked on the sides, they did not stop to think only about that that was there at the mountain, and incessantly all peered at the coming out horizon spots, which they recognized behind the enemy troops. The weather after noon again cleared up, the sun brightly came down above the Danube and surrounded the dark mountain. It was quiet, and from those mountains occasionally reached the sounds of horns and screams of the enemy. Between the squadron and the enemy now was nobody besides a small departure. The empty space, three hundred sazhens, separated them from him. The enemy ceased to fire, and by that clearer felt that strict, terrible, inaccessible and elusive feature, which share two enemy troops. “One step behind this hell, a reminder of hell, separating the alive from the dead, and — the suspense of misery and daring. And what is there? Who is there? There, behind this field, the wood, the roof, and the lighted sun? No one knows, or wants to know; and fearfully cross this hell, and wants to cross it; and knows that earlier or later the work crosses it and knows that there by that side are the features of the inevitable knowledge that there is the side of death. But I am strong, healthy, happy and annoyed and surrounded by such healthy, annoyed, and busy people.” If they do not think this, any person feels this, finding in their view the enemy, and this feeling attaches a special shine and joyful sharpness of impressions of all that is happening in these minutes. On the mound the enemy seemed to smoke a shot, and a cannon ball, whistling, flew above the heads of the hussar squadron. The officers, standing together, departed their places. The hussars carefully aligned the horses. In the squadron all fell silent. All looked forward at the enemy and at the squadron commander, expecting commands. Flew by another, and a third cannonball. Obviously this fired by the hussar; yet the cannonball, evenly and quickly whistling, flew by the head of the hussar and hit somewhere in the back. The hussars did not look around, yet at each sound of a flying shot, as if by command all of the squadron with their own monotonously diverse faces held back their breath while the cannonball flew, rose on their stirrups and again lowered. The soldiers, not turning their heads, squinted at each other, with curiosity looked at the impression of their friends. On each face, from Denisov to the bugler, seemed about the lips and chin alone in a common feature of fright, irritation and excitement. The master sentinel frowned, looking around the soldiers, as if threatening punishment. Cadet Mironov bent down at each flying by shot. Rostov, standing up on the left flank on his touched feet, yet prominent Grachik, had the happy view of a student, called before a large public to an exam in which he is sure how to distinguish. He clearly and lightly looked around to all, as to be asking to turn attention to how he calmly showed his worth under the cannonball. Yet in his face that same feature that was new and strict, against his commitment, showed up about his mouth. — Who there is bowing? Cadet Mironov! No good, I see you! — shouted Denisov to who did not stand in the location and who spun around on his horse before the squadron. The snub-nose and black face of Vaski Denisov and all of his small downed figure with his sinewy (with short fingers, covered with hair) brushed hand, in which he held the hilt of the saber taking it from head to head, exactly such the same as always, especially in the evening after drinking two bottles. He was only more than ordinarily red and, lifting up his furry head, as a bird when they drink, ruthlessly pushing his own small feet and spurs on the sides of the good Bedouin, he, as if falling backwards, galloped to another flank squadron and in a hoarse voice shouted for them to look for their pistols. He drove to Kirsten. The staff-captain, on his wide and powerful mare, stepped towards Denisov. The staff-captain, with his own long mustache, was as serious as always, only his eyes shone more than ordinary. — And what? — he said to Denisov, — It will not reach the business to a fight. Here see, backwards we go out. — Damn they know what to do! — grunted Denisov. — Ah! Rostov! — he shouted to the cadet, noticing his fun face. — Well, wait. And he smiled approvingly, apparently rejoicing in the cadet. Rostov felt himself completely happy. At this time the chief was seen on the bridge. Denisov galloped to him. — Your excellency! Let me attack! I’ll knock them over. — Who here attacks, — said the chief in a dull voice, grimacing, as from a pesky fly. — And what for do you stand here? See, the flankers retreat. Lead backwards your squadron. The squadron moved from the bridge and got out from under the shots, not having lost one man. Following behind him moved the second squadron, formerly in rows, and the last Cossacks cleared that side. Two squadrons of the Pavlograd, going by the bridge, one behind the other went backwards to the mountain. Regimental commander Karl Bogdanovich Shubert drove to the squadron of Denisov and rode a step near Rostov, not giving him any attention, despite that after the former confrontation with Telyanin, they saw each other now for the first time. Rostov, feeling himself in front of the authoritative man before whom he now counted himself guilty, did not lower his eyes from the athletic back, blond nape and red neck of the regimental commander. To Rostov it seemed that Bogdanych only pretended to be inattentive, and that all his objectives now consisted so to test the bravery of the cadet, and he straightened up and funnily looked around; that to him it seemed that Bogdanych purposely rode close, so that to show Rostov his bravery. He thought that his enemy now purposely sent the squadron in a desperate attack so that to punish him, Rostov. He thought that after the attack he would approach him and magnanimously stretch to him his wounded hand in reconciliation. Familiar to the Pavlograd, with highly raised shoulders, the figure of Zherkov (he recently dropped out of their regiment) drove to the regimental commander. Zherkov, after his exile from the main staff, did not stay in the regiment, saying that he was not a fool in front of a dragging strap, when he was on the staff he did nothing, would receive more awards, and was able to settle down as an orderly to Prince Bagration. He had arrived to his former chief with an order from the chief of the rearguard. — Colonel, — he said with his gloomy seriousness, turning to the enemy of Rostov and looking around at his friends, — you are ordered to stay, and to light up the bridge. — Who ordered? — sullenly asked the colonel. — Really I do not know, colonel, who ordered, — was the serious response of the cornet, — but only I was ordered by the prince: “Ride and tell the colonel, so that the hussars would return soon and light the bridge.” Following behind Zherkov to the hussar colonel drove a retinue of officers with that same order. Following behind the retinue of officers on Cossack horses, which forcibly carried them to a gallop, drove the thick Nesvitsky. — How again, colonel, — he shouted, still riding, — I told you to light up the bridge, but now something is distorted; there all with their minds going off, nothing disassembled. The colonel leisurely stopped the regiment and turned to Nesvitsky: — You told me about combustible substances, — he said, — but about turning it into that, you told me nothing. — Yes how again, father, — beginning to talk, then stopping, Nesvitsky taking off his cap and spreading his chubby hand wet from sweat into his hair, — how again you’ve not said to light up the bridge when the combustible substance is placed? — I am not your “father”, sir staff officer, but you have not said to me so to light up the bridge! I know service, and my habit is to strictly execute orders. You have said light up the bridge, but who lights up, I a saint’s soul cannot know... — Well, here it's always so, — waving a hand, said Nesvitsky. — You are so here? — he turned to Zherkov. — Yes for that same. However you dampen, I’ll give you the squeeze. — You have said, sir staff officer... — continued the colonel in an offended tone. — Colonel, — interrupted the retinue officer, — you need to make haste, as the enemy will push their guns into grapeshot. The colonel silently looked at the retinue officer, at the thick staff officer, at Zherkov and frowned. — I will light up the bridge, — he said in a solemn tone, as if he would express by this, that, despite everything being done caused him trouble, he all the same will do what he must. Stroking his own long muscular feet on the horse, as if it was all to blame, the colonel moved forward and the 2nd squadron, in which served Rostov under the command of Denisov, was ordered to return back to the bridge. “Well, so it is, — thought Rostov, — he wants to to test me!” — his heart shrunk, and blood flew to his face. — “Let him see if I am a coward” — he thought. Again on all the fun faces of the people of the squadron appeared that serious feature which was on them at that time as they were standing under the cannonballs. Rostov, not lowering his eyes, watching his enemy, the regimental commander, wishing to find in his face the confirmation of his guesses; but the colonel not once looked at Rostov, but watched, as always, the front, strictly and solemnly. The squad was heard. — Lively! Lively! — about him spoke a few voices. Clinging sabers behind the reins, rattling spurs and in a hurry, the hussars got down, themselves not knowing what they would do. The hussars crossed themselves. Rostov now did not watch the regimental commander, — he was alone. He was afraid, with a fading heart was afraid that he would not be behind the hussars. His hand trembled, when he delivered the horse to the horse breeder, and he felt, as with a knock, surging blood to his heart. Denisov, falling over backwards and shouting something, drove through past him. Rostov saw nothing, besides fleeing around him hussars, clinging to spurs and strumming sabers. — Stretcher! — shouted a voice in the back. Rostov did not think about what was meant by the demand for the stretcher; he ran, trying to only be ahead of all; but at the bridge itself he, not looking below his legs, hit in the viscous, trampled mud and, tripping over, fell on his hand. He ran around another. — On both sides, captain, — he heard the voice of the regimental commander, whom, stopping forward, had on horseback gotten near the bridge with a triumphant and fun face. Rostov, wiping his stained hand about his leggings, turning back to his enemy and wanting to run farther, believing that the farther he went forward, the better he will be. Yet Bogdanych, although he did not see and did not find Rostov, shouted at him: — Who is running in the middle of the bridge? On the right side! Cadet, backwards! — he angrily shouted and turned to Denisov, who, flaunting courage, entered on horseback to board the bridge. — For what is the risk, captain! You would have gotten off, — said the colonel. — Eh! The guilty will be found out, — was the response of Vaska Denisov, turning in the saddle. ———— Between that Nesvitsky, Zherkov and the retinue officer were standing together beyond the shots and looked at that small bunch of people in yellow shakos, dark green jackets, embroidered with nimbles and blue leggings, swarming at the bridge, that on that side, in approaching far away of the blue hoods and groups with horses that was easy to acknowledge for the guns. “To light up or not light up the bridge? Who before? They run to and light up the bridge, or the French will drive with grapeshot and interrupt them?” These questions with a fading heart unwittingly assigned to himself all from this large quantity of troops that were standing above the bridge and in the bright evening light looked at the bridge and the hussars and on that side, to the moving blue hoods with bayonets and guns. — Oh! They will get the hussars! — spoke Nesvitsky. — not farther than the grapeshot shot now. — In vain he led so many people, — said the retinue officer. — And in most cases, — said Nesvitsky. — Here would two well sent, all care. — Ah, your excellency, — intervened Zherkov, not lowering his eyes from the hussar, yet all from his naive manner, from behind which it cannot be guessed, whether he was serious about what he said, or not. — Ah, your excellency! How do you judge! Two people to send, but to whom do we give the same Vladimir with a bow? But so that beating the squadron can be represented and get the most bows. Our Bogdanych knows the orders. — Well, — said the retinue officer, — this is buckshot! He showed the French guns, which started from the front and hastily drove off. On the French side, in those groups where the guns were seen the smoke, another, a third, almost at one time, and at that moment as the sound of the first shot flew by, was seen a fourth. Two sounds in one, behind another, and a third. — Oh, Oh! — gasped Nesvitsky, as if from burning pain, grabbing behind the arm the retinue officer. — Look, one fell, fell, fell! — Two, it seems? — Were I tsar, never would I wage war, — said Nesvitsky, turning away. The French guns again hastily charged. The infantry in blue hoods running, moved to the bridge. Again, but at different intervals, was seen a haze, and cracked and torn apart buckshot by the bridge. Yet at this time Nesvitsky could not see what was done on the bridge. From the bridge rose a thick smoke. The hussars were in time to light up the bridge, and the French battery fired by them now not as if to hinder this, but for that the guns were induced to fire. The French had time to shoot three grapeshots before the hussars had returned to the horse breeders. Two salvos were made wrongly, and buckshot carried all over, but the last shot hit in the middle of the heaps of the hussars and knocked out three. Rostov, anxious about his own relationship to Bogdanych, stopped on the bridge, not knowing what to do. Hacking (as he always imagined himself in battle) was for nobody, to help in the lighting the bridge he too could not, because he did not take with himself, as the other soldiers did, a harness of straw. He stood and looked around as suddenly the bridge tore apart as if scattered nuts, and one of the hussars nearer to all formerly against him, with a groan fell on the railing. Rostov ran up to him together with another. Again someone shouted: “stretcher!.” The hussar was picked up by four men and came to be raised. — Оооо!... for Christ, — shouted the wounded; but he all the same was raised and placed. Nikolay Rostov turned away and, as if looking for something, had begun to look in the distance, at the water of the Danube, at the sky, and at the sun. How good seemed the sky, so blue, calm and deep! How brightly and solemnly descended the sun! So affectionately glistened the shiny water on the distant Danube! And still better were the distant, behind the bluish Danube mountains, the monastery, the mysterious gorges, flooded to the tops of the fog pine forest... there quietly, happily... “Nothing, nothing I would desire, nothing I would desire, if I would only be there, — thought Rostov. — In I alone and in this sun there is so much happiness, but here... moans, misery, fear and this indefiniteness, this haste... here more shouting something, and again all ran somewhere backwards, and I will run with them, and here it is, here it is, death, needing me, around me... in an instant — and I never now will see this sun, this water, these gorges”... At this moment the sun had become hidden behind the clouds; ahead Rostov saw another stretcher. And the fear of death and stretchers, and love to the sun and life — all merged into one painfully disturbing impression. “Lord my God! Who is there in this sky, bless this sorry me and defend me!” Rostov whispered about himself. The hussars ran up to the horse breeders, the voices became louder and calmer, and the stretchers were hidden from the eyes. — What, brother, sniffed gunpowder?... — the screaming voice of Vaski Denisov above his ear. “All is finished; but I am a coward, yes, I am a coward,” thought Rostov and, heavily sighing, taking from the hands of the horse breeder his lagging behind leg Grachik and began to sit down. — What was this, buckshot? — he asked Denisov. — And still how! — screamed Denisov. — Well done work! But the work is bad! Attack — a kind business, chopping at the dogs, but here, damn knows what to beat as at a target. And Denisov drove off to stop near from Rostov to the group: the regimental commander, Nesvitsky, Zherkov and the retinue officer. “However, it seems, nothing was seen,” Rostov thought about himself. And really, nothing was seen, because of how each was familiar with that feeling, which was experienced in the first time unfired upon cadet. — Here on your war report you will, — said Zherkov, — see me promoted into the second lieutenant. — Report back prince that I lit the bridge, — said the colonel solemnly and funnily. — But if losses are asked about? — Nothing! — poured out the colonel, — two hussars wounded, and one on the spot, — he said with apparent joy, not in his forces to hold on from a happy smile, sonorously chopping off the beautiful word on the spot.
Time: See previous chapter. After noon.
Locations: See previous chapter. Also the hill (also called a mountain) on the opposite side and the opposite eminence of the road. Also the Danube and the monastery.
Mentioned: French. Arabian (Arab in Bell. Bedouin in Dunnigan, Mandelker, and Dole.
Pevear and Volkhonsky notes: Perhaps our first real view of the French occurs early on in this chapter (sure there have been French people, such as the emigre from the soiree, but of those with Napoleon, this is our first real view of them, unlike a couple chapters ago when they were basically just ants, though even here, they are obscured by the sun at the opening of the chapter)
Briggs: The burning of the bridge. Nikolay's undistinguished baptism of fire.
Translation:
VIII. The rest of the infantry hastily passed by the bridge, spiraling as a funnel at the entry. Finally all the wagons passed, the crush became less, and the last battalion marched on the bridge. Alone the hussar squadron with Denisov stayed on that side of the bridge against the enemy. The enemy, far away from the prominent opposite mountains, from below the bridge was still not visible, as out of the hollows by which flowed the river, the horizon ended at the opposite elevation not farther than half a mile. Ahead was the desert, in which somewhere moved heaps of our traveling Cossacks. Suddenly on the opposite elevation roads were seen troops in blue hoods and artillery. These were the French. The departure of the Cossacks trotting, walked away from below the mountain. All the officers and people of the squadron of Denisov, although they tried to speak about the outsider and looked on the sides, they did not stop to think only about that that was there at the mountain, and incessantly all peered at the coming out horizon spots, which they recognized behind the enemy troops. The weather after noon again cleared up, the sun brightly came down above the Danube and surrounded the dark mountain. It was quiet, and from those mountains occasionally reached the sounds of horns and screams of the enemy. Between the squadron and the enemy now was nobody besides a small departure. The empty space, three hundred sazhens, separated them from him. The enemy ceased to fire, and by that clearer felt that strict, terrible, inaccessible and elusive feature, which share two enemy troops. “One step behind this hell, a reminder of hell, separating the alive from the dead, and — the suspense of misery and daring. And what is there? Who is there? There, behind this field, the wood, the roof, and the lighted sun? No one knows, or wants to know; and fearfully cross this hell, and wants to cross it; and knows that earlier or later the work crosses it and knows that there by that side are the features of the inevitable knowledge that there is the side of death. But I am strong, healthy, happy and annoyed and surrounded by such healthy, annoyed, and busy people.” If they do not think this, any person feels this, finding in their view the enemy, and this feeling attaches a special shine and joyful sharpness of impressions of all that is happening in these minutes. On the mound the enemy seemed to smoke a shot, and a cannon ball, whistling, flew above the heads of the hussar squadron. The officers, standing together, departed their places. The hussars carefully aligned the horses. In the squadron all fell silent. All looked forward at the enemy and at the squadron commander, expecting commands. Flew by another, and a third cannonball. Obviously this fired by the hussar; yet the cannonball, evenly and quickly whistling, flew by the head of the hussar and hit somewhere in the back. The hussars did not look around, yet at each sound of a flying shot, as if by command all of the squadron with their own monotonously diverse faces held back their breath while the cannonball flew, rose on their stirrups and again lowered. The soldiers, not turning their heads, squinted at each other, with curiosity looked at the impression of their friends. On each face, from Denisov to the bugler, seemed about the lips and chin alone in a common feature of fright, irritation and excitement. The master sentinel frowned, looking around the soldiers, as if threatening punishment. Cadet Mironov bent down at each flying by shot. Rostov, standing up on the left flank on his touched feet, yet prominent Grachik, had the happy view of a student, called before a large public to an exam in which he is sure how to distinguish. He clearly and lightly looked around to all, as to be asking to turn attention to how he calmly showed his worth under the cannonball. Yet in his face that same feature that was new and strict, against his commitment, showed up about his mouth. — Who there is bowing? Cadet Mironov! No good, I see you! — shouted Denisov to who did not stand in the location and who spun around on his horse before the squadron. The snub-nose and black face of Vaski Denisov and all of his small downed figure with his sinewy (with short fingers, covered with hair) brushed hand, in which he held the hilt of the saber taking it from head to head, exactly such the same as always, especially in the evening after drinking two bottles. He was only more than ordinarily red and, lifting up his furry head, as a bird when they drink, ruthlessly pushing his own small feet and spurs on the sides of the good Bedouin, he, as if falling backwards, galloped to another flank squadron and in a hoarse voice shouted for them to look for their pistols. He drove to Kirsten. The staff-captain, on his wide and powerful mare, stepped towards Denisov. The staff-captain, with his own long mustache, was as serious as always, only his eyes shone more than ordinary. — And what? — he said to Denisov, — It will not reach the business to a fight. Here see, backwards we go out. — Damn they know what to do! — grunted Denisov. — Ah! Rostov! — he shouted to the cadet, noticing his fun face. — Well, wait. And he smiled approvingly, apparently rejoicing in the cadet. Rostov felt himself completely happy. At this time the chief was seen on the bridge. Denisov galloped to him. — Your excellency! Let me attack! I’ll knock them over. — Who here attacks, — said the chief in a dull voice, grimacing, as from a pesky fly. — And what for do you stand here? See, the flankers retreat. Lead backwards your squadron. The squadron moved from the bridge and got out from under the shots, not having lost one man. Following behind him moved the second squadron, formerly in rows, and the last Cossacks cleared that side. Two squadrons of the Pavlograd, going by the bridge, one behind the other went backwards to the mountain. Regimental commander Karl Bogdanovich Shubert drove to the squadron of Denisov and rode a step near Rostov, not giving him any attention, despite that after the former confrontation with Telyanin, they saw each other now for the first time. Rostov, feeling himself in front of the authoritative man before whom he now counted himself guilty, did not lower his eyes from the athletic back, blond nape and red neck of the regimental commander. To Rostov it seemed that Bogdanych only pretended to be inattentive, and that all his objectives now consisted so to test the bravery of the cadet, and he straightened up and funnily looked around; that to him it seemed that Bogdanych purposely rode close, so that to show Rostov his bravery. He thought that his enemy now purposely sent the squadron in a desperate attack so that to punish him, Rostov. He thought that after the attack he would approach him and magnanimously stretch to him his wounded hand in reconciliation. Familiar to the Pavlograd, with highly raised shoulders, the figure of Zherkov (he recently dropped out of their regiment) drove to the regimental commander. Zherkov, after his exile from the main staff, did not stay in the regiment, saying that he was not a fool in front of a dragging strap, when he was on the staff he did nothing, would receive more awards, and was able to settle down as an orderly to Prince Bagration. He had arrived to his former chief with an order from the chief of the rearguard. — Colonel, — he said with his gloomy seriousness, turning to the enemy of Rostov and looking around at his friends, — you are ordered to stay, and to light up the bridge. — Who ordered? — sullenly asked the colonel. — Really I do not know, colonel, who ordered, — was the serious response of the cornet, — but only I was ordered by the prince: “Ride and tell the colonel, so that the hussars would return soon and light the bridge.” Following behind Zherkov to the hussar colonel drove a retinue of officers with that same order. Following behind the retinue of officers on Cossack horses, which forcibly carried them to a gallop, drove the thick Nesvitsky. — How again, colonel, — he shouted, still riding, — I told you to light up the bridge, but now something is distorted; there all with their minds going off, nothing disassembled. The colonel leisurely stopped the regiment and turned to Nesvitsky: — You told me about combustible substances, — he said, — but about turning it into that, you told me nothing. — Yes how again, father, — beginning to talk, then stopping, Nesvitsky taking off his cap and spreading his chubby hand wet from sweat into his hair, — how again you’ve not said to light up the bridge when the combustible substance is placed? — I am not your “father”, sir staff officer, but you have not said to me so to light up the bridge! I know service, and my habit is to strictly execute orders. You have said light up the bridge, but who lights up, I a saint’s soul cannot know... — Well, here it's always so, — waving a hand, said Nesvitsky. — You are so here? — he turned to Zherkov. — Yes for that same. However you dampen, I’ll give you the squeeze. — You have said, sir staff officer... — continued the colonel in an offended tone. — Colonel, — interrupted the retinue officer, — you need to make haste, as the enemy will push their guns into grapeshot. The colonel silently looked at the retinue officer, at the thick staff officer, at Zherkov and frowned. — I will light up the bridge, — he said in a solemn tone, as if he would express by this, that, despite everything being done caused him trouble, he all the same will do what he must. Stroking his own long muscular feet on the horse, as if it was all to blame, the colonel moved forward and the 2nd squadron, in which served Rostov under the command of Denisov, was ordered to return back to the bridge. “Well, so it is, — thought Rostov, — he wants to to test me!” — his heart shrunk, and blood flew to his face. — “Let him see if I am a coward” — he thought. Again on all the fun faces of the people of the squadron appeared that serious feature which was on them at that time as they were standing under the cannonballs. Rostov, not lowering his eyes, watching his enemy, the regimental commander, wishing to find in his face the confirmation of his guesses; but the colonel not once looked at Rostov, but watched, as always, the front, strictly and solemnly. The squad was heard. — Lively! Lively! — about him spoke a few voices. Clinging sabers behind the reins, rattling spurs and in a hurry, the hussars got down, themselves not knowing what they would do. The hussars crossed themselves. Rostov now did not watch the regimental commander, — he was alone. He was afraid, with a fading heart was afraid that he would not be behind the hussars. His hand trembled, when he delivered the horse to the horse breeder, and he felt, as with a knock, surging blood to his heart. Denisov, falling over backwards and shouting something, drove through past him. Rostov saw nothing, besides fleeing around him hussars, clinging to spurs and strumming sabers. — Stretcher! — shouted a voice in the back. Rostov did not think about what was meant by the demand for the stretcher; he ran, trying to only be ahead of all; but at the bridge itself he, not looking below his legs, hit in the viscous, trampled mud and, tripping over, fell on his hand. He ran around another. — On both sides, captain, — he heard the voice of the regimental commander, whom, stopping forward, had on horseback gotten near the bridge with a triumphant and fun face. Rostov, wiping his stained hand about his leggings, turning back to his enemy and wanting to run farther, believing that the farther he went forward, the better he will be. Yet Bogdanych, although he did not see and did not find Rostov, shouted at him: — Who is running in the middle of the bridge? On the right side! Cadet, backwards! — he angrily shouted and turned to Denisov, who, flaunting courage, entered on horseback to board the bridge. — For what is the risk, captain! You would have gotten off, — said the colonel. — Eh! The guilty will be found out, — was the response of Vaska Denisov, turning in the saddle. ———— Between that Nesvitsky, Zherkov and the retinue officer were standing together beyond the shots and looked at that small bunch of people in yellow shakos, dark green jackets, embroidered with nimbles and blue leggings, swarming at the bridge, that on that side, in approaching far away of the blue hoods and groups with horses that was easy to acknowledge for the guns. “To light up or not light up the bridge? Who before? They run to and light up the bridge, or the French will drive with grapeshot and interrupt them?” These questions with a fading heart unwittingly assigned to himself all from this large quantity of troops that were standing above the bridge and in the bright evening light looked at the bridge and the hussars and on that side, to the moving blue hoods with bayonets and guns. — Oh! They will get the hussars! — spoke Nesvitsky. — not farther than the grapeshot shot now. — In vain he led so many people, — said the retinue officer. — And in most cases, — said Nesvitsky. — Here would two well sent, all care. — Ah, your excellency, — intervened Zherkov, not lowering his eyes from the hussar, yet all from his naive manner, from behind which it cannot be guessed, whether he was serious about what he said, or not. — Ah, your excellency! How do you judge! Two people to send, but to whom do we give the same Vladimir with a bow? But so that beating the squadron can be represented and get the most bows. Our Bogdanych knows the orders. — Well, — said the retinue officer, — this is buckshot! He showed the French guns, which started from the front and hastily drove off. On the French side, in those groups where the guns were seen the smoke, another, a third, almost at one time, and at that moment as the sound of the first shot flew by, was seen a fourth. Two sounds in one, behind another, and a third. — Oh, Oh! — gasped Nesvitsky, as if from burning pain, grabbing behind the arm the retinue officer. — Look, one fell, fell, fell! — Two, it seems? — Were I tsar, never would I wage war, — said Nesvitsky, turning away. The French guns again hastily charged. The infantry in blue hoods running, moved to the bridge. Again, but at different intervals, was seen a haze, and cracked and torn apart buckshot by the bridge. Yet at this time Nesvitsky could not see what was done on the bridge. From the bridge rose a thick smoke. The hussars were in time to light up the bridge, and the French battery fired by them now not as if to hinder this, but for that the guns were induced to fire. The French had time to shoot three grapeshots before the hussars had returned to the horse breeders. Two salvos were made wrongly, and buckshot carried all over, but the last shot hit in the middle of the heaps of the hussars and knocked out three. Rostov, anxious about his own relationship to Bogdanych, stopped on the bridge, not knowing what to do. Hacking (as he always imagined himself in battle) was for nobody, to help in the lighting the bridge he too could not, because he did not take with himself, as the other soldiers did, a harness of straw. He stood and looked around as suddenly the bridge tore apart as if scattered nuts, and one of the hussars nearer to all formerly against him, with a groan fell on the railing. Rostov ran up to him together with another. Again someone shouted: “stretcher!.” The hussar was picked up by four men and came to be raised. — Оооо!... for Christ, — shouted the wounded; but he all the same was raised and placed. Nikolay Rostov turned away and, as if looking for something, had begun to look in the distance, at the water of the Danube, at the sky, and at the sun. How good seemed the sky, so blue, calm and deep! How brightly and solemnly descended the sun! So affectionately glistened the shiny water on the distant Danube! And still better were the distant, behind the bluish Danube mountains, the monastery, the mysterious gorges, flooded to the tops of the fog pine forest... there quietly, happily... “Nothing, nothing I would desire, nothing I would desire, if I would only be there, — thought Rostov. — In I alone and in this sun there is so much happiness, but here... moans, misery, fear and this indefiniteness, this haste... here more shouting something, and again all ran somewhere backwards, and I will run with them, and here it is, here it is, death, needing me, around me... in an instant — and I never now will see this sun, this water, these gorges”... At this moment the sun had become hidden behind the clouds; ahead Rostov saw another stretcher. And the fear of death and stretchers, and love to the sun and life — all merged into one painfully disturbing impression. “Lord my God! Who is there in this sky, bless this sorry me and defend me!” Rostov whispered about himself. The hussars ran up to the horse breeders, the voices became louder and calmer, and the stretchers were hidden from the eyes. — What, brother, sniffed gunpowder?... — the screaming voice of Vaski Denisov above his ear. “All is finished; but I am a coward, yes, I am a coward,” thought Rostov and, heavily sighing, taking from the hands of the horse breeder his lagging behind leg Grachik and began to sit down. — What was this, buckshot? — he asked Denisov. — And still how! — screamed Denisov. — Well done work! But the work is bad! Attack — a kind business, chopping at the dogs, but here, damn knows what to beat as at a target. And Denisov drove off to stop near from Rostov to the group: the regimental commander, Nesvitsky, Zherkov and the retinue officer. “However, it seems, nothing was seen,” Rostov thought about himself. And really, nothing was seen, because of how each was familiar with that feeling, which was experienced in the first time unfired upon cadet. — Here on your war report you will, — said Zherkov, — see me promoted into the second lieutenant. — Report back prince that I lit the bridge, — said the colonel solemnly and funnily. — But if losses are asked about? — Nothing! — poured out the colonel, — two hussars wounded, and one on the spot, — he said with apparent joy, not in his forces to hold on from a happy smile, sonorously chopping off the beautiful word on the spot.
Time: See previous chapter. After noon.
Locations: See previous chapter. Also the hill (also called a mountain) on the opposite side and the opposite eminence of the road. Also the Danube and the monastery.
Mentioned: French. Arabian (Arab in Bell. Bedouin in Dunnigan, Mandelker, and Dole.
Pevear and Volkhonsky notes: Perhaps our first real view of the French occurs early on in this chapter (sure there have been French people, such as the emigre from the soiree, but of those with Napoleon, this is our first real view of them, unlike a couple chapters ago when they were basically just ants, though even here, they are obscured by the sun at the opening of the chapter)
“They were separated by an empty space of about six hundred yards...that strict, menacing, inaccessible, and elusive line that separates two enemy armies became all the more clearly felt...One step beyond that line, reminiscent of the
line separating the living from the dead, and it’s the unknown, suffering, and death...what is there?...you would like to know; and you’re afraid to cross that line, and would like to cross it; and you know that sooner or later you will have to
cross it and find out what is there’”
line separating the living from the dead, and it’s the unknown, suffering, and death...what is there?...you would like to know; and you’re afraid to cross that line, and would like to cross it; and you know that sooner or later you will have to
cross it and find out what is there’”
These quoted lines in the second half of the above quote really belong to no one specifically, but everyone collectively.
The cannonballs, overshooting, cause everyone to hush, stopping the pushing chaos.
“One common trait of a struggle between irritation and excitement.” Peer pressure body language, with
Rostov’s coming “against his will”.
The colonel seems bored, “wincing as if a fly was pestering him.”
Rostov desperately tries to interpret Schubert’s actions.
Tolstoy really balances all these characters he has introduced in this part here.
Emphasis on the Germanness of the colonel, along with confusion about orders to set the bridge on fire.
Rostov thinking about self, desperate to try to prove himself.
Line break before “Meanwhile, Nesvitsky, Zherkov…”
The tension being built is whether the bridge will be set on fire in time or not.
‘“If I were the tsar, I’d never go to war,” Nesvitsky said”’
Rostov sees that war isn’t like he had imagined it and hadn’t been prepared.
“Nikolai Rostov turned away, and as if searching for something, began looking at the distance, at the waters of the Danube, at the sky, at the sun! How good the sky seemed, how blue, calm, and deep! How bright and solemn the setting
sun!”
sun!”
Rostov’s broken speech about how he wishes he was no longer there.
The sun disappears, Tolstoy hits us over the head with the symbolism. Rostov prays to God for help, admits that he is a coward.
Weird and intentional tone shift at end of chapter, talking about medals, promotions, and the weird way the colonel says “killed on the spot.”
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 *):
Vaska Denisof (and his Bedouin. Also called “Captain”)
Mironof (as in Dole. “Mironov” in Wiener, Briggs, and Edmonds, “Mironow” in Bell. A “yunker”, see variations in Chapter 4 of Part II, Chapter 30 overall)
Nikolai Rostof (also referred to by the colonel as “Yunker”)
Grachik
Kirsten (“the second captain” and his “steady-going mare”, as in Dole)
Schubert (the German colonel of hussars from the Rostov dinner. Also, the colonel the message is supposed to be delivered to in the previous chapter. Also the Bogdanovitch mentioned a few chapters ago. These are all one character.
The “Bogdanuitch” is also used in this chapter. Also called “the regimental commander” and “the captain” in Dole)
Telyanin (spelled “Telyagin” by Dole this time)
Zherkof
Prince Bagration
The commander of the rearguard
officer of his suite (no reason to think it isn’t the same one, Dole has “the suite” this time though and uses the more neutral “an” instead of “the”. See previous chapters for discussion on articles. Confusingly called “the staff officer” in
Dole as well after the line break)
Nesvitsky (“on his Cossack’s horse”, called “Mister Staff Officer” by Schubert
(the French and “enemy” are of course talked about in general and soldiers/hussars/Cossacks, including a wounded hussar, in general. “The keeper of the horse” Rostov gives his horse to is also mentioned)
(while Vladimir is a reference to a real person, it is used in the context of a medal/rank and thus does not count as a mentioned character)
(depending on interpretation, Czar Alexander is mentioned in Nesvitsky’s line, but Bell takes the neutral “a monarch”, Wiener “an emperor”, Edmonds, Dunnigan, and Mandelker has capitalized “Tsar”, Briggs “the Tsar”)
Abridged Versions: Bell does not put a line break before “Meanwhile”, but does put one after Rostow calls out to God before “The hussars were remounting.” No line or chapter break at end of chapter however.
No line breaks in Garnett. The Dole Google books version is missing part of the chapter, skipping from page 173 to 176, missing a lot of Rostov’s adventure and realizations and Nesvitsky’s famous line.
Gibian: Line break after "turning in his saddle." End of chapter 5.
Fuller: Cut from end of the universal thoughts the men have to Denisov saying “Devil knows what they’re about”, which cuts Mironov, the cannonballs, and the description of Denisov. The reference to Telyanin and Rostov’s constant
watching of Scubert is removed. Zherkov’s description and update is also removed, though he still has his function in the chapter. Nesvitsky and Zherkov’s short exchange during the argument over burning the bridge is cut. No line
break, just like Garnett, which it is based on, and the second half of the chapter is preserved and followed by a line break.
Fuller: Cut from end of the universal thoughts the men have to Denisov saying “Devil knows what they’re about”, which cuts Mironov, the cannonballs, and the description of Denisov. The reference to Telyanin and Rostov’s constant
watching of Scubert is removed. Zherkov’s description and update is also removed, though he still has his function in the chapter. Nesvitsky and Zherkov’s short exchange during the argument over burning the bridge is cut. No line
break, just like Garnett, which it is based on, and the second half of the chapter is preserved and followed by a line break.
Komroff: The description of the coming French early in the chapter is whittled down. The Cossack patrol also seems to be removed. The cannonball sequence is shortened and Mironov is removed, as is Denisov’s description.
Zherkov’s description and update is shortened. Zherkov and Nesvitsky’s short exchange is removed. The description of the hussars as they get ready to go burn the bridge before “stretchers” is shortened. The conversation Schubert
and Denisov have before the line break in other chapters (missing in Komroff) is removed. Zherkov and Nevistsky’s role in the conversation here are severely reduced. Rostov’s fragmented soliloquy is removed and his looking at his
surroundings and having the revelation seems shortened. Denisov’s portion of the conversation he has with Rostov is removed. There is a line break before the final conversation Schubert has, removing Zherkov’s contributions and
ending with a line break itself.
Zherkov’s description and update is shortened. Zherkov and Nesvitsky’s short exchange is removed. The description of the hussars as they get ready to go burn the bridge before “stretchers” is shortened. The conversation Schubert
and Denisov have before the line break in other chapters (missing in Komroff) is removed. Zherkov and Nevistsky’s role in the conversation here are severely reduced. Rostov’s fragmented soliloquy is removed and his looking at his
surroundings and having the revelation seems shortened. Denisov’s portion of the conversation he has with Rostov is removed. There is a line break before the final conversation Schubert has, removing Zherkov’s contributions and
ending with a line break itself.
Kropotkin: Mironov and Denisof’s description is removed. Rostof’s section in the canonball portion is also removed. Denisof’s initial conversation with Rostof is also removed. Zherkof’s description and update is shortened. No line
break at “Meanwhile.” The description of the French guns and what they were able to do after Nesvitsky’s line about being Tsar and before cutting back to Rostof is severely shortened. Rostof’s view of nature and his realization is
basically cut to just his call to God. Rest of chapter ends chapter 4.
break at “Meanwhile.” The description of the French guns and what they were able to do after Nesvitsky’s line about being Tsar and before cutting back to Rostof is severely shortened. Rostof’s view of nature and his realization is
basically cut to just his call to God. Rest of chapter ends chapter 4.
Bromfield: Chapter 8: Beginning of chapter plays out the same. Then we cut to Peronsky who is handsome but very scared. Chapter 8 ends after “the final Cossacks withdrew, clearing that side of the river” after the commander tells
them they cannot attack. Chapter 9 begins with “After crossing the bridge...two squadrons of Pavlograd Hussars.” Playing out the same, no line break before “Meanwhile”. The rest of the chapter plays out the same and ends chapter 9.
Simmons: Entire chapter is cut.
them they cannot attack. Chapter 9 begins with “After crossing the bridge...two squadrons of Pavlograd Hussars.” Playing out the same, no line break before “Meanwhile”. The rest of the chapter plays out the same and ends chapter 9.
Simmons: Entire chapter is cut.
Additional notes:
Garnett: “Pyotr Ivanovitch Bagration (1765-1812) One of Suvorov’s favorites, was mortally wounded in the battle of Borodino. Tolstoy attributes to Bagration the capacity of inspiring confidence in his troops by the singular strategy of
always approving their tactics, even when unfavorable, as if they coincided precisely with his calculations and commands.”
Roberts: Page 257: Napoleon “If one thinks always of humanity - only of humanity - one should give up going to war.”
The Causes of War by Michael Howard
Page 23: “Ever since the 18th century, war had been blamed by intellectuals upon the stupidity or the self-interest of governing elites (as it is now blamed upon “military-industrial complexes”), with the implicit or explicit assumption that
if the control of state affairs were in the hands of sensible men--businessmen, as Richard Cobden thought, the workers, as Jean Jaures thought--then wars would be no more......For liberal intellectuals, war was self-evidently a pathological aberration from the norm, at best a ghastly mistake, at worst a crime. Those who initiated wars must in their view have been criminal, or sick, or the victims of forces beyond their power to control.”
The Raid (Maude/Furbank)
Page 1: “War always interested me: not war in the sense of manoeuvers devised by great generals - my imagination refused to follow such immense movements, I did not understand them - but the reality of war, the actual killing. I was more interested to know in what way and under the influence of what feeling one soldier kills another than to know how the armies were arranged at Austerlitz and Borodino. I had long passed the time when, pacing the room alone and waving my arms, I imagined myself a hero instantaneously slaughtering an immense number of men and receiving a generalship as well as imperishable glory for so doing. The question now occupying me was different: under the influence of what feeling does a man, with no apparent advantage to himself, decide to subject himself to danger and, what is more surprising still, to kill his fellow men? I always wished to think that this is done under the influence of anger, but we cannot suppose that all those who fight are angry all the time, and I had to postulate feelings of self-preservation and duty.”
always approving their tactics, even when unfavorable, as if they coincided precisely with his calculations and commands.”
Roberts: Page 257: Napoleon “If one thinks always of humanity - only of humanity - one should give up going to war.”
The Causes of War by Michael Howard
Page 23: “Ever since the 18th century, war had been blamed by intellectuals upon the stupidity or the self-interest of governing elites (as it is now blamed upon “military-industrial complexes”), with the implicit or explicit assumption that
if the control of state affairs were in the hands of sensible men--businessmen, as Richard Cobden thought, the workers, as Jean Jaures thought--then wars would be no more......For liberal intellectuals, war was self-evidently a pathological aberration from the norm, at best a ghastly mistake, at worst a crime. Those who initiated wars must in their view have been criminal, or sick, or the victims of forces beyond their power to control.”
The Raid (Maude/Furbank)
Page 1: “War always interested me: not war in the sense of manoeuvers devised by great generals - my imagination refused to follow such immense movements, I did not understand them - but the reality of war, the actual killing. I was more interested to know in what way and under the influence of what feeling one soldier kills another than to know how the armies were arranged at Austerlitz and Borodino. I had long passed the time when, pacing the room alone and waving my arms, I imagined myself a hero instantaneously slaughtering an immense number of men and receiving a generalship as well as imperishable glory for so doing. The question now occupying me was different: under the influence of what feeling does a man, with no apparent advantage to himself, decide to subject himself to danger and, what is more surprising still, to kill his fellow men? I always wished to think that this is done under the influence of anger, but we cannot suppose that all those who fight are angry all the time, and I had to postulate feelings of self-preservation and duty.”
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