Chapter Summaries: Dole: Rostof's ride continued. Demoralization of the forces. The fatal field. Rostof finds the emperor, but dares not address him. Rostof's despair. Kutuzof's cook again. Five o'clock p.m. The dike of Augest. Cannonade.
Briggs: Nikolay misses a chance to assist the Emperor. Disaster on a frozen dam.
Translation:
XVIII. About the village of Pratzen Rostov was ordered to search for Kutuzov and the sovereign. But not only were they not there, but there was not one chief, but a heterogeneous crowd of disturbed troops. He drove a now tired horse, so that rather than driving through this crowd, the farther he moved, the more the crowd became frustrated. By the big road on which he left, crowded carriages, crews of all varieties, Russian and Austrian soldiers of all kinds, and troops wounded and unwounded. All this buzzed, mixed and swarmed under the dark sound of flying cannonballs from the French batteries, supplied onto the Pratzen heights. — Where is the sovereign? Where is Kutuzov? — asked Rostov to all whom he could stop, and from whom he could not get an answer. Finally, grabbing behind the collar of a soldier, he made him answer himself. — Eh! Brother! Really a long time all that were there ran away! — said the soldier to Rostov, laughing for some reason and breaking free. Leaving this soldier, who was, obviously, drunk, Rostov stopped a horse valet that took care of an important face and began to question him. The valet declared to Rostov that the sovereign from an hour to that backwards was transported in all spirit on a carriage by this most road, and that the sovereign was dangerously injured. — It may not be, — said Rostov, — it’s right that it was another. — I myself saw, — said the valet with a self-confident grin. — Really I that time would know the sovereign: it seems, with how much time in Petersburg and here I have seen him. Very pale on his carriage he sits. Quadruple black as will be allowed, my father, by us thundered: with time, it seems, and the tsar’s horses and Ilya Ivanych I know; it seems, with others as with the tsar Ilya the coachman will not ride. Rostov let up on his horse and wanted to go farther. He went past a wounded officer turning to him. — And who do you need? — asked the officer. — The commander in chief? Killed by a cannonball in the chest, and killed by our regiment. — Not killed, injured, — corrected another officer. — And who? Kutuzov? — asked Rostov. — Not Kutuzov, but how you mean his, — well, yes all alone, there is not much left alive. Go out there, out to that village, there all the superiors are gathered, — said this officer, pointing at the village Gostieradek, and passed by. Rostov rode with a step, not knowing what for and to whom he now rode. The sovereign was injured, the battle was lost. He could not believe that now. Rostov rode to that direction which was indicated to him and to which were seen a far away tower and church. To where was he to make haste? What should he now say to the sovereign or Kutuzov, should they even be alive and not wounded? — This dear, your nobleness, is where all who ride will be killed, — shouted a soldier to him. — Here you will be killed! — Ah! What do you speak! — said another. — Where is he riding? Nearer here. Rostov thought and went by that direction where it was said to him that he will be killed. "Now I don’t care: really if the sovereign is injured, is it really me to guard myself?" he thought. He entered in that space in which only more people died, running from Pratzen. The French still did not occupy this place, but the Russians, those which were alive or wounded, had for a long time left it. On the field, as stock on becoming prettier arable land, lay nine people, fifteen slain, wounded in each of a dozen places. The wounded crawled down by two, by three together, and was heard their unpleasant, sometimes feigned, as it seemed to Rostov, shouting and moans. Rostov let his horse trot, so that to not see all these sufferings of people, and he had become fearful. He was afraid not for his life, but for that bravery which he needed and which he knew would not withstand this kind of misery. The French, ceasing to fire by this strewn with the dead and wounded field because of how now nobody on it was living, seeing the traveling by it adjutant, led to him the guns and threw a few cannonballs. The feeling of these whistling scary noises and the surrounding of the dead merged for Rostov into one impression of horror and regret to himself. He remembered the last letter of his mother. "What would she feel, — he thought, — if she would see me now here, on this field and with the directed at me guns." At the village of Gostieradek was a thorough confusion, but the more alright Russian troops were marching away from the field of battle. The French shots had not already gotten here, and the sounds of shooting seemed distant. Here all now clearly saw and said that the battle was lost. To those Rostov approached, nothing could be said to him about where the sovereign or Kutuzov was. One said that the hearing about the wound of the sovereign was true, another said that no, and explained this false spreading by that, really, on his carriage the sovereign galloped backwards from the field of battle with the pale and scared Chief-Marshal Count Tolstoy, leaving with others in the suite of the emperor in the field of battle. One of the officers said to Rostov that behind the village, to the left, he saw someone of the higher superiors, and Rostov went there, now not hoping to find someone, but only so to clear his conscience. Driving three versts past the last Russian troops, Rostov saw about a vegetable garden, dug into a ditch, two riders standing against the ditch. One, with a white sultan hat, seemed for some reason familiar to Rostov; the other, an unfamiliar rider, on a beautiful ginger horses (this horse seemed familiar to Rostov) drove to the ditch, pushed his horse spurs and, releasing his reins, easily jumped over across the ditch garden. The land crumbled from the embankments from the rear hooves of the horse. Coolly turning his horse, he again backwards jumped over the ditch and respectfully turned to the rider with the white sultan, obviously, offering him to do the same. The rider, whose figure seemed familiar to Rostov and for some reason unwittingly chained to himself his attention, made a negative gesture with his head and hand, and by that gesture Rostov instantly found his lamented, adored sovereign. "But this could not be him, alone in the middle of this empty field," thought Rostov. At this time Aleksandr turned his head, and Rostov saw so lively the crashed memory of his favorite features. The sovereign was pale, his cheeks fell in and his eyes were sunken; but by that was more charming, and his meekness was in his outline. Rostov was happy, at making sure that the hearing about the wound of the sovereign was untrue. He was happy that he saw him. He knew that he could, even should, turn to him and deliver that, what was ordered was to deliver from Dolgorukov. Yet as the young man he had fallen in love with trembled dumbly, he did not dare say what he dreamed about at night, and scaredly looked around, searching for assistance or the opportunity of deferral and flight, when had come the coveted minute, and he stood alone with him, so Rostov now, having reached what he desired more than anything in the world, not knowing how to approach the sovereign, and to him presented a thousand considerations for why this was uncomfortable, indecent and impossible. "How! How glad for me is the occasion of benefit from how he is alone and in gloom. His unpleasantness and heaviness may appear to an unknown face in this moment of sorrows; then, what can I say to him now, when in one glance on him freezes my heart and dries up my mouth?" Or one of those countless speeches that he, turning to the sovereign, composed in his imagination, did not come to him now in the head. Those speeches were more of a part of other conditions, those were spoken more part of at the minutes of victories and festivities and predominantly on a deathbed from received wounds, at that time as the sovereign thanked him for heroic actions, and he, dying, expressed his confirmation for the love towards him. "Then, what again will I ask the sovereign about his order for the right flank, when now it is the 4th hour of the evening, and the battle is lost? No, resolutely I should not drive to him, and should not violate his reverie. It is better to die a thousand times than to get from him a bad look, or an evil opinion," decided Rostov and with sadness and with despair in his heart went away, incessantly looking back at all still standing at this same position of indecision as the sovereign. At that time as Rostov made these considerations and sadly drove off from the sovereign, Captain von Toll accidentally ran over to that same place and, seeing the sovereign, drove to him, proposed to him his service and helped him cross by foot through the ditch. The sovereign, wishing to relax and feeling himself unhealthy, sat down under the apple wood, and Toll stopped beside him. Rostov from afar with envy and remorse saw how von Toll longly and with heat spoke something to the sovereign as the sovereign, apparently, cried, closing his eyes and shaking the hand of Toll. "And this could have been me in his location!" thought Rostov to himself and, barely holding tears of regret about the fate of the sovereign, in perfect despair went farther, not knowing where and for what he now rode. His despair was made stronger by how he felt that his own weakness was the cause of his grief. He could have... not only could have, but he should have driven to the sovereign. And this was the only case to show the sovereign his loyalty. And he did not take advantage of it..."What have I done?" he thought. And he turned his horse and galloped backwards to that place where he saw the emperor; but nobody now was behind the ditch. Only rode wagons and crews. From one wagon Rostov found out that Kutuzov’s staff was located nearby in the village where the wagons went. Rostov went behind them. Ahead of him was walking the horse trainer of Kutuzov, leading the horses in blankets. Behind the horse trainer rode a wagon, and behind the wagon was walking an old yard man in a cap, short fur coat with crooked feet. — Tit, ah Tit! — said the horse trainer. — What? — absent-mindedly was the response of the old man. — Tit! Go on threshing. — Eh, fool, ugh! — angrily spitting, said the old man. Passed a few silent moments, and again that same joke was repeated. ———— At the fifth hour in the evening the battle was lost on all points. More than one hundred cannons were found now in the authorities of the French. Przybyszewski with his corps placed down their weapons. Other columns, having lost about half their people, retreated disturbed, mixing into droves. The leftovers troops of Langeron and Dohturov, mingling, crowded about the ponds, dams and banks at the village Augest. At the 6th hour only at the dam of Augest was still heard the hot cannonade of the French, lined up in numerous batteries on the descent of the Pratzen height and beating our retreating troops. The rearguard of Dohturov and others, collecting battalions, fired back against the French cavalry haunting ours. It began to get dark. On the narrow dam of Augest, on which for so many years peacefully sat out in a cap an old miller with fishing rods, at that time as his grandson rolled up the sleeves of his shirt and sorted through the silver watering can of fluttering fish; on this dam, by which for so many years peacefully drove on their paired carts, loaded with wheat, in furry hats and blue jackets Moravians left by that same dam, dusted with flour, with white carts — on this narrow damn now between wagons and guns, under horses and between wheels crowded the disfigured fear of death, crushing each other, dying, stepping across the dying and killing each other to only pass a few steps, and be exactly so the same killed. Every nine seconds, pumping in the air, a cannon ball smashed or a grenade bursted in the middle of this thick crowd, killing and spraying the blood of those that were standing close. Dolohov, wounded in the arm, by foot with ten soldiers of his company (he was now an officer) and his regimental commander, on horseback, presented themselves as the only leftovers of the regiment. Drawn in a crowd, they crowded at the entrance of the dam and, compressed with all parties, stopped, because ahead fell a horse under the cannon, and the crowd drug it out. Another cannonball killed someone behind them, another struck ahead and splattered blood on Dolohov. The crowd frantically moved forward, shrinking, set off a few steps and again stopped. "Take these one hundred steps and, for sure, we will be saved; to stand still two minutes, and perish, for sure," thought everyone. Dolohov, standing in the middle of the crowd, rushed to the edge of the dam, knocking down two soldiers from their feet, and escaped onto the slimy, ice covered pond. — Collapsing! — he shouted, bouncing on the ice, which burst under him, — Collapsing! — he shouted at the gun. — Hold!... The ice held him, but bent and burst, and it was obvious that not only under the gun or a crowd of people, but under him alone it now would collapse. On him looked and huddled a guard, not daring still to set foot on the ice. The commander of the regiment, standing on horseback at the entry, raised his hand and revealed his mouth, turning to Dolohov. Suddenly one of the cannonballs so lowly whistled above the crowd that all bent over. Something plopped down wet, and the general fell from his horse in a puddle of blood. No one looked at the general, not thinking to raise him. — Go on the ice! Go on the ice! Go! Turn back! Do you not hear! Go! — suddenly after the shot, hitting the general, was heard countless voices, themselves not knowing what and for what was the screaming. One of the rear cannons, marching on the dam, turned off on the ice. The crowd of soldiers from the dam began to run off from the frozen pond. From below one of the front soldiers the ice cracked, and a foot left in the water; he wanted to recover and failed by his belt. The nearest soldiers hesitated, the gun mount stopped their horse, but in the back all still heard the shouting: "Go on the ice, what has begun, go! Go!" and shouting in horror was heard in the crowd. The soldiers surrounding the gun, waved on the horses and beat them, so they curtailed and moved. The horses set off from the shore. The ice, holding on foot, collapsed into a huge piece, and forty people, formerly on the ice, were thrown forward and backwards, drowning one another. All shots so again evenly whistled and flopped on the ice, in the water and more often only in the crowd, covering the dam, ponds and bank.
Time: four o'clock, five o'clock, six o'clock in the evening (Bell also adds dusk)
Location: village of Pratzen, Pratzen heights, village of Hostieradek (Gostieradeck in Dole and Briggs. Gostieradek in Bell. Hosjeradek in Maude.), village of Augezd (and dam. Dole has Augest (as does Bell and Briggs) and dyke.)
Mentioned: Russian, Austrian, French, St. Petersburg
Pevear and Volkhonsky Notes: The soldiers are disorderly and drunk and Rostov can’t find who he is looking for. Confusing, conflicting reports, and bickering colors all this section of the chapter.
Briggs: Nikolay misses a chance to assist the Emperor. Disaster on a frozen dam.
Translation:
XVIII. About the village of Pratzen Rostov was ordered to search for Kutuzov and the sovereign. But not only were they not there, but there was not one chief, but a heterogeneous crowd of disturbed troops. He drove a now tired horse, so that rather than driving through this crowd, the farther he moved, the more the crowd became frustrated. By the big road on which he left, crowded carriages, crews of all varieties, Russian and Austrian soldiers of all kinds, and troops wounded and unwounded. All this buzzed, mixed and swarmed under the dark sound of flying cannonballs from the French batteries, supplied onto the Pratzen heights. — Where is the sovereign? Where is Kutuzov? — asked Rostov to all whom he could stop, and from whom he could not get an answer. Finally, grabbing behind the collar of a soldier, he made him answer himself. — Eh! Brother! Really a long time all that were there ran away! — said the soldier to Rostov, laughing for some reason and breaking free. Leaving this soldier, who was, obviously, drunk, Rostov stopped a horse valet that took care of an important face and began to question him. The valet declared to Rostov that the sovereign from an hour to that backwards was transported in all spirit on a carriage by this most road, and that the sovereign was dangerously injured. — It may not be, — said Rostov, — it’s right that it was another. — I myself saw, — said the valet with a self-confident grin. — Really I that time would know the sovereign: it seems, with how much time in Petersburg and here I have seen him. Very pale on his carriage he sits. Quadruple black as will be allowed, my father, by us thundered: with time, it seems, and the tsar’s horses and Ilya Ivanych I know; it seems, with others as with the tsar Ilya the coachman will not ride. Rostov let up on his horse and wanted to go farther. He went past a wounded officer turning to him. — And who do you need? — asked the officer. — The commander in chief? Killed by a cannonball in the chest, and killed by our regiment. — Not killed, injured, — corrected another officer. — And who? Kutuzov? — asked Rostov. — Not Kutuzov, but how you mean his, — well, yes all alone, there is not much left alive. Go out there, out to that village, there all the superiors are gathered, — said this officer, pointing at the village Gostieradek, and passed by. Rostov rode with a step, not knowing what for and to whom he now rode. The sovereign was injured, the battle was lost. He could not believe that now. Rostov rode to that direction which was indicated to him and to which were seen a far away tower and church. To where was he to make haste? What should he now say to the sovereign or Kutuzov, should they even be alive and not wounded? — This dear, your nobleness, is where all who ride will be killed, — shouted a soldier to him. — Here you will be killed! — Ah! What do you speak! — said another. — Where is he riding? Nearer here. Rostov thought and went by that direction where it was said to him that he will be killed. "Now I don’t care: really if the sovereign is injured, is it really me to guard myself?" he thought. He entered in that space in which only more people died, running from Pratzen. The French still did not occupy this place, but the Russians, those which were alive or wounded, had for a long time left it. On the field, as stock on becoming prettier arable land, lay nine people, fifteen slain, wounded in each of a dozen places. The wounded crawled down by two, by three together, and was heard their unpleasant, sometimes feigned, as it seemed to Rostov, shouting and moans. Rostov let his horse trot, so that to not see all these sufferings of people, and he had become fearful. He was afraid not for his life, but for that bravery which he needed and which he knew would not withstand this kind of misery. The French, ceasing to fire by this strewn with the dead and wounded field because of how now nobody on it was living, seeing the traveling by it adjutant, led to him the guns and threw a few cannonballs. The feeling of these whistling scary noises and the surrounding of the dead merged for Rostov into one impression of horror and regret to himself. He remembered the last letter of his mother. "What would she feel, — he thought, — if she would see me now here, on this field and with the directed at me guns." At the village of Gostieradek was a thorough confusion, but the more alright Russian troops were marching away from the field of battle. The French shots had not already gotten here, and the sounds of shooting seemed distant. Here all now clearly saw and said that the battle was lost. To those Rostov approached, nothing could be said to him about where the sovereign or Kutuzov was. One said that the hearing about the wound of the sovereign was true, another said that no, and explained this false spreading by that, really, on his carriage the sovereign galloped backwards from the field of battle with the pale and scared Chief-Marshal Count Tolstoy, leaving with others in the suite of the emperor in the field of battle. One of the officers said to Rostov that behind the village, to the left, he saw someone of the higher superiors, and Rostov went there, now not hoping to find someone, but only so to clear his conscience. Driving three versts past the last Russian troops, Rostov saw about a vegetable garden, dug into a ditch, two riders standing against the ditch. One, with a white sultan hat, seemed for some reason familiar to Rostov; the other, an unfamiliar rider, on a beautiful ginger horses (this horse seemed familiar to Rostov) drove to the ditch, pushed his horse spurs and, releasing his reins, easily jumped over across the ditch garden. The land crumbled from the embankments from the rear hooves of the horse. Coolly turning his horse, he again backwards jumped over the ditch and respectfully turned to the rider with the white sultan, obviously, offering him to do the same. The rider, whose figure seemed familiar to Rostov and for some reason unwittingly chained to himself his attention, made a negative gesture with his head and hand, and by that gesture Rostov instantly found his lamented, adored sovereign. "But this could not be him, alone in the middle of this empty field," thought Rostov. At this time Aleksandr turned his head, and Rostov saw so lively the crashed memory of his favorite features. The sovereign was pale, his cheeks fell in and his eyes were sunken; but by that was more charming, and his meekness was in his outline. Rostov was happy, at making sure that the hearing about the wound of the sovereign was untrue. He was happy that he saw him. He knew that he could, even should, turn to him and deliver that, what was ordered was to deliver from Dolgorukov. Yet as the young man he had fallen in love with trembled dumbly, he did not dare say what he dreamed about at night, and scaredly looked around, searching for assistance or the opportunity of deferral and flight, when had come the coveted minute, and he stood alone with him, so Rostov now, having reached what he desired more than anything in the world, not knowing how to approach the sovereign, and to him presented a thousand considerations for why this was uncomfortable, indecent and impossible. "How! How glad for me is the occasion of benefit from how he is alone and in gloom. His unpleasantness and heaviness may appear to an unknown face in this moment of sorrows; then, what can I say to him now, when in one glance on him freezes my heart and dries up my mouth?" Or one of those countless speeches that he, turning to the sovereign, composed in his imagination, did not come to him now in the head. Those speeches were more of a part of other conditions, those were spoken more part of at the minutes of victories and festivities and predominantly on a deathbed from received wounds, at that time as the sovereign thanked him for heroic actions, and he, dying, expressed his confirmation for the love towards him. "Then, what again will I ask the sovereign about his order for the right flank, when now it is the 4th hour of the evening, and the battle is lost? No, resolutely I should not drive to him, and should not violate his reverie. It is better to die a thousand times than to get from him a bad look, or an evil opinion," decided Rostov and with sadness and with despair in his heart went away, incessantly looking back at all still standing at this same position of indecision as the sovereign. At that time as Rostov made these considerations and sadly drove off from the sovereign, Captain von Toll accidentally ran over to that same place and, seeing the sovereign, drove to him, proposed to him his service and helped him cross by foot through the ditch. The sovereign, wishing to relax and feeling himself unhealthy, sat down under the apple wood, and Toll stopped beside him. Rostov from afar with envy and remorse saw how von Toll longly and with heat spoke something to the sovereign as the sovereign, apparently, cried, closing his eyes and shaking the hand of Toll. "And this could have been me in his location!" thought Rostov to himself and, barely holding tears of regret about the fate of the sovereign, in perfect despair went farther, not knowing where and for what he now rode. His despair was made stronger by how he felt that his own weakness was the cause of his grief. He could have... not only could have, but he should have driven to the sovereign. And this was the only case to show the sovereign his loyalty. And he did not take advantage of it..."What have I done?" he thought. And he turned his horse and galloped backwards to that place where he saw the emperor; but nobody now was behind the ditch. Only rode wagons and crews. From one wagon Rostov found out that Kutuzov’s staff was located nearby in the village where the wagons went. Rostov went behind them. Ahead of him was walking the horse trainer of Kutuzov, leading the horses in blankets. Behind the horse trainer rode a wagon, and behind the wagon was walking an old yard man in a cap, short fur coat with crooked feet. — Tit, ah Tit! — said the horse trainer. — What? — absent-mindedly was the response of the old man. — Tit! Go on threshing. — Eh, fool, ugh! — angrily spitting, said the old man. Passed a few silent moments, and again that same joke was repeated. ———— At the fifth hour in the evening the battle was lost on all points. More than one hundred cannons were found now in the authorities of the French. Przybyszewski with his corps placed down their weapons. Other columns, having lost about half their people, retreated disturbed, mixing into droves. The leftovers troops of Langeron and Dohturov, mingling, crowded about the ponds, dams and banks at the village Augest. At the 6th hour only at the dam of Augest was still heard the hot cannonade of the French, lined up in numerous batteries on the descent of the Pratzen height and beating our retreating troops. The rearguard of Dohturov and others, collecting battalions, fired back against the French cavalry haunting ours. It began to get dark. On the narrow dam of Augest, on which for so many years peacefully sat out in a cap an old miller with fishing rods, at that time as his grandson rolled up the sleeves of his shirt and sorted through the silver watering can of fluttering fish; on this dam, by which for so many years peacefully drove on their paired carts, loaded with wheat, in furry hats and blue jackets Moravians left by that same dam, dusted with flour, with white carts — on this narrow damn now between wagons and guns, under horses and between wheels crowded the disfigured fear of death, crushing each other, dying, stepping across the dying and killing each other to only pass a few steps, and be exactly so the same killed. Every nine seconds, pumping in the air, a cannon ball smashed or a grenade bursted in the middle of this thick crowd, killing and spraying the blood of those that were standing close. Dolohov, wounded in the arm, by foot with ten soldiers of his company (he was now an officer) and his regimental commander, on horseback, presented themselves as the only leftovers of the regiment. Drawn in a crowd, they crowded at the entrance of the dam and, compressed with all parties, stopped, because ahead fell a horse under the cannon, and the crowd drug it out. Another cannonball killed someone behind them, another struck ahead and splattered blood on Dolohov. The crowd frantically moved forward, shrinking, set off a few steps and again stopped. "Take these one hundred steps and, for sure, we will be saved; to stand still two minutes, and perish, for sure," thought everyone. Dolohov, standing in the middle of the crowd, rushed to the edge of the dam, knocking down two soldiers from their feet, and escaped onto the slimy, ice covered pond. — Collapsing! — he shouted, bouncing on the ice, which burst under him, — Collapsing! — he shouted at the gun. — Hold!... The ice held him, but bent and burst, and it was obvious that not only under the gun or a crowd of people, but under him alone it now would collapse. On him looked and huddled a guard, not daring still to set foot on the ice. The commander of the regiment, standing on horseback at the entry, raised his hand and revealed his mouth, turning to Dolohov. Suddenly one of the cannonballs so lowly whistled above the crowd that all bent over. Something plopped down wet, and the general fell from his horse in a puddle of blood. No one looked at the general, not thinking to raise him. — Go on the ice! Go on the ice! Go! Turn back! Do you not hear! Go! — suddenly after the shot, hitting the general, was heard countless voices, themselves not knowing what and for what was the screaming. One of the rear cannons, marching on the dam, turned off on the ice. The crowd of soldiers from the dam began to run off from the frozen pond. From below one of the front soldiers the ice cracked, and a foot left in the water; he wanted to recover and failed by his belt. The nearest soldiers hesitated, the gun mount stopped their horse, but in the back all still heard the shouting: "Go on the ice, what has begun, go! Go!" and shouting in horror was heard in the crowd. The soldiers surrounding the gun, waved on the horses and beat them, so they curtailed and moved. The horses set off from the shore. The ice, holding on foot, collapsed into a huge piece, and forty people, formerly on the ice, were thrown forward and backwards, drowning one another. All shots so again evenly whistled and flopped on the ice, in the water and more often only in the crowd, covering the dam, ponds and bank.
Time: four o'clock, five o'clock, six o'clock in the evening (Bell also adds dusk)
Location: village of Pratzen, Pratzen heights, village of Hostieradek (Gostieradeck in Dole and Briggs. Gostieradek in Bell. Hosjeradek in Maude.), village of Augezd (and dam. Dole has Augest (as does Bell and Briggs) and dyke.)
Mentioned: Russian, Austrian, French, St. Petersburg
Pevear and Volkhonsky Notes: The soldiers are disorderly and drunk and Rostov can’t find who he is looking for. Confusing, conflicting reports, and bickering colors all this section of the chapter.
Finally letting the realization that they are losing the battle and all hope is lost sink in, Rostov gets again suicidal in action. Weird passage where Rostov thinks the cries of the wounded are “feigned”.
He doesn’t want to look at them. As things get more dangerous, Rostov again thinks about his mother. Rostov finds the sovereign, which is his dream, but as Tolstoy points out, “Rostov, having attained what he desired more than
anything in the world, did not know how to approach the sovereign…” Once we get what we want, we don’t know what to do with it.
anything in the world, did not know how to approach the sovereign…” Once we get what we want, we don’t know what to do with it.
This was not the situation that Rostov imagined, and thus he doesn’t want to approach the sovereign. He then loses his chance to Captain von Toll, who Rostov instantly feels jealous of.
Again, a weird Titus scene before a line break. We jump from three in the afternoon to five and go to a more detached narration recapping all the losses for the Russians. Tolstoy has us picture the battle field as a place where
people drove around peacefully and nothing happened to “now...crowded men disfigured by the fear of death, crushing each other, dying, stepping over the dying, and killing each other, only to go a few steps and be killed
themselves just the same.”
people drove around peacefully and nothing happened to “now...crowded men disfigured by the fear of death, crushing each other, dying, stepping over the dying, and killing each other, only to go a few steps and be killed
themselves just the same.”
‘“Get through these hundred steps and I’m saved for sure; stand here another two minutes and I’m sure to be dead,” each man was thinking” The collective consciousness of the soldiers yet again. The chapter ends with the
confusion on the ice dam.
confusion on the ice dam.
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 *):
Rostof
Kutuzof
Emperor Alexander (also “emperor”, “sovereign”, and “Tsar”)
Ilya Ivanuitch (the emperor’s “coachmen”. “Ilya Ivanych” in Mandelker, Dunnigan, and Briggs. “...Ivanitch” in Garnett.)
Countess Rostova (just “mother”)
Count Tolstoi (with “Ober-hofmarshal” prefix)
Dolgorukof
Captain von Toll
Tit
Prsczebiszewsky
Langeron
Dokhturof
The little old miller (who used to fish where the battle was. Maude and Mandelker drop “little”, as does Wiener, who changes “the” to “an”. Bell changes “little” to “good”)
His grandson
Dolokhof
The commander of the regiment (clearly Dolkhof's, is this the regimental commander from the beginning of part 2? He dies here)
(masses and masses of soldiers, including a drunk soldier, a “denschchik or the groom of some person of consequence” and the officer that argues with him. Also, who is it they are thinking of that was wounded? Some
soldiers that yell at Rostof and many many short undifferentiated people Rostof talks to on his mission that seem pointless to list)
soldiers that yell at Rostof and many many short undifferentiated people Rostof talks to on his mission that seem pointless to list)
Abridged Versions: Dunnigan, Briggs, Dole, Mandelker, and Maude use line break after Tit joke is repeated. Edmonds, Garnett, and Wiener do not.
Line break for Bell on page 145 between “were not far from the village and they were going to join them. Rostow followed.” and “By five in the evening the defeat was total." Chapter 10 ends where the other versions end.
Gibian: Line break after "then the same joke was repeated." Line break instead of chapter break at the end.
Fuller: Entire chapter is cut.
Fuller: Entire chapter is cut.
Komroff: chapter ends with the Tsar weeping. End of Book Three.
Kropotkin: Chapter 13 begins after the battle is lost by five o’clock, really only keeping the Dolokof episode.
Bromfield: Chapter 16.
Simmons: Rostov's discussion with the soldiers as he is looking for the emperor is removed. Line break after "in the same attitude of indecision", removing Van Toll's role in the chapter. Some of the set up of the different
parts of the army is removed, getting to Dolokhov faster. Line break.
Simmons: Rostov's discussion with the soldiers as he is looking for the emperor is removed. Line break after "in the same attitude of indecision", removing Van Toll's role in the chapter. Some of the set up of the different
parts of the army is removed, getting to Dolokhov faster. Line break.
Additional Notes:
Fremont-Barnes:
Page 105: "With the French in control of the heights by midday, the climax of the battle was over, the Allies having offered a remarkable degree of resistance over the course of nearly three hours. In the end, superior
French training, discipline and skill at arms had told."
Page 114: "1500hrs Assailed by overwhelming numbers, the Russians flee from Sokolnitz, leaving many surrounded; the French follow up toward Telnitz; figures of 3rd Column desperately seek to escape
encirclement, with many killed or captured; between 12,000 and 14,000 Allied troops now hemmed in on the southern sector, with a limited avenue of retreat 1530hrs Effective co-ordinated resistance by Allied forces
ceases; troops in full retreat 1600hrs Fleeing Allied troops cross the frozen Satchan Pond, their combined weight, in conjunction with French artillery fire, breaking the ice and causing panic but little loss of life"
Speirs: Page 31: The rest of the battle is seen through the eyes of Nikolay Rostov...He gets mixed up in crowds of routed soldiers and finally sees the Tsar standing alone in a field, looking sad...
Fremont-Barnes:
Page 105: "With the French in control of the heights by midday, the climax of the battle was over, the Allies having offered a remarkable degree of resistance over the course of nearly three hours. In the end, superior
French training, discipline and skill at arms had told."
Page 114: "1500hrs Assailed by overwhelming numbers, the Russians flee from Sokolnitz, leaving many surrounded; the French follow up toward Telnitz; figures of 3rd Column desperately seek to escape
encirclement, with many killed or captured; between 12,000 and 14,000 Allied troops now hemmed in on the southern sector, with a limited avenue of retreat 1530hrs Effective co-ordinated resistance by Allied forces
ceases; troops in full retreat 1600hrs Fleeing Allied troops cross the frozen Satchan Pond, their combined weight, in conjunction with French artillery fire, breaking the ice and causing panic but little loss of life"
Speirs: Page 31: The rest of the battle is seen through the eyes of Nikolay Rostov...He gets mixed up in crowds of routed soldiers and finally sees the Tsar standing alone in a field, looking sad...
No comments:
Post a Comment