Chapter Summaries: Dole: The duel. Dolokhof wounded. Dolokhof's tenderness for his mother and sister.
Briggs: Pierre wounds Dolokhov and emerges unscathed.
Maude: The duel
Pevear and Volkhonsky: The duel.
Translation:
V. — Well, begin! — said Dolohov. — What the same, — said Pierre, all so the same smiling. He became fearful. It was obvious that the business, starting so easily, now nothing could be averted, that it was going by itself, now whatever against the commitment of people must take place. Denisov first went out forward to the barrier and proclaimed: — So as the opponents refused reconciliation, whether there is not anything to start: take the pistols and by the word three begin to converge. — One! Two! Three!... — angrily screamed Denisov and walked away to the side. Both went by the trodden paths all nearer and nearer, in the fog recognizing each other. The opponents had the right, converging to the barrier, to fire, when they wanted. Dolohov was walking slowly, not raising his pistol, peering his own bright, brilliant, blue eyes at the face of his adversary. His mouth, as always, had a similarity to a smile. At the word three Pierre with fast steps went forward, stumbling from the trodden track and stepping in the whole of the snow. Pierre held the pistol, stretched out forward his right arm, apparently fearing that this pistol itself would kill him. His left arm was carefully set aside backwards, because of how he wanted to support his right hand, but he knew that this could not be. Having passed six steps six out from the track in the snow, Pierre turned back below his legs, again quickly looking at Dolohov, and pulling his finger as he was taught, shot. In no way expecting such a strong sound, Pierre flinched from his shot, then smiled at the impression itself and stopped. The smoke, especially thick from the fog, hindered his vision at the first moment; but another shot, which he was waiting for, did not follow. He only heard the hasty steps of Dolohov, and from behind the smoke appeared his figure. He held one hand behind his left side, the other squeezed his lowered pistol. His face was pale. Rostov ran up and said something to him. — No... no, — spoke through teeth Dolohov, — No, it’s not over, — and did still a few falling, waddling steps before the sabers, falling onto the snow beside it. His left hand was in blood, he wiped it about his frock coat and leaned on it. His face was pale, frowning and trembling. — Plea... — started Dolohov, but could not right away pronounce it... — please, — he finished talking with effort. Pierre, barely holding from sobbing, ran to Dolohov, and wanted to now cross the space separating the barriers, as Dolohov shouted: — To the barrier! — and Pierre, realizing the business, stopped at his saber. Only nine steps divided them. Dolohov lowered his head to the snow, greedily bit the snow, again raised his head, mended, picked up his legs and sat down, looking for a lasting center weight. He swallowed the cold snow and sucked it; his lips trembled, but all smiling; his eyes shone effort and malice in his last gathered forces. He raised his pistol and began to aim. — Sideways, cover with your pistol, — spoke Nesvitsky. — Cover! — not able to contain himself, shouted even Denisov, his adversary. Pierre with a meek smile of regret and remorse, helplessly spread apart his legs and hands, all his wide breast stood before Dolohov and sadly watched him. Denisov, Rostov and Nesvitsky squinted. One and that same time they heard a shot and the evil shout of Dolohov. — Past! — shouted Dolohov and powerlessly lied down in the snow face down. Pierre grabbed behind the head and, turning backwards, went into the forest, stepping entirely by the snow and out loud saying incomprehensible words: — Stupid... stupid! Daring... Lies... — he repeated grimacing. Nesvitsky stopped him and drove home. Rostov with Denisov carried the wounded Dolohov. Dolohov, silently, with closed eyes, lied in the sleigh ride and his words was not in response to questions that were made to him; but, entering into Moscow, he suddenly woke up and, with labor lifted his head, took behind the arm the sitting beside him Rostov. Rostov was struck by the completely changed and suddenly enthusiastically tender expression of the face of Dolohov. — Well, what? How do you feel yourself? — asked Rostov. — Bad! But not in this business. My friend, — said Dolohov in an intermittent voice, — where are we? We are in Moscow, I know. I am nothing, but I killed her, killed... she will not carry over this. She will not carry over... — Who? — asked Rostov. — My mother. My mother, my angel, my adored angel, mother, — and Dolohov cried, squeezing the hand of Rostov. When he calmed down some, he explained to Rostov that he lived with his mother, that should his mother see him dying, she would not carry over this. He begged Rostov to go to her and to prepare her. Rostov went forward to enforce the commission, and to his great surprise found out that Dolohov, this brawler, and duelist Dolohov lived in Moscow with his old mother and hunchbacked sister, and was the most gentle son and brother.
Time: see previous chapter.
Locations: see previous chapter. Moscow.
Pevear and Volkhonsky: The chapter break sets up the suspense of the duel in a way a chapter break hadn’t done, at least so strongly, before.
Briggs: Pierre wounds Dolokhov and emerges unscathed.
Maude: The duel
Pevear and Volkhonsky: The duel.
Translation:
V. — Well, begin! — said Dolohov. — What the same, — said Pierre, all so the same smiling. He became fearful. It was obvious that the business, starting so easily, now nothing could be averted, that it was going by itself, now whatever against the commitment of people must take place. Denisov first went out forward to the barrier and proclaimed: — So as the opponents refused reconciliation, whether there is not anything to start: take the pistols and by the word three begin to converge. — One! Two! Three!... — angrily screamed Denisov and walked away to the side. Both went by the trodden paths all nearer and nearer, in the fog recognizing each other. The opponents had the right, converging to the barrier, to fire, when they wanted. Dolohov was walking slowly, not raising his pistol, peering his own bright, brilliant, blue eyes at the face of his adversary. His mouth, as always, had a similarity to a smile. At the word three Pierre with fast steps went forward, stumbling from the trodden track and stepping in the whole of the snow. Pierre held the pistol, stretched out forward his right arm, apparently fearing that this pistol itself would kill him. His left arm was carefully set aside backwards, because of how he wanted to support his right hand, but he knew that this could not be. Having passed six steps six out from the track in the snow, Pierre turned back below his legs, again quickly looking at Dolohov, and pulling his finger as he was taught, shot. In no way expecting such a strong sound, Pierre flinched from his shot, then smiled at the impression itself and stopped. The smoke, especially thick from the fog, hindered his vision at the first moment; but another shot, which he was waiting for, did not follow. He only heard the hasty steps of Dolohov, and from behind the smoke appeared his figure. He held one hand behind his left side, the other squeezed his lowered pistol. His face was pale. Rostov ran up and said something to him. — No... no, — spoke through teeth Dolohov, — No, it’s not over, — and did still a few falling, waddling steps before the sabers, falling onto the snow beside it. His left hand was in blood, he wiped it about his frock coat and leaned on it. His face was pale, frowning and trembling. — Plea... — started Dolohov, but could not right away pronounce it... — please, — he finished talking with effort. Pierre, barely holding from sobbing, ran to Dolohov, and wanted to now cross the space separating the barriers, as Dolohov shouted: — To the barrier! — and Pierre, realizing the business, stopped at his saber. Only nine steps divided them. Dolohov lowered his head to the snow, greedily bit the snow, again raised his head, mended, picked up his legs and sat down, looking for a lasting center weight. He swallowed the cold snow and sucked it; his lips trembled, but all smiling; his eyes shone effort and malice in his last gathered forces. He raised his pistol and began to aim. — Sideways, cover with your pistol, — spoke Nesvitsky. — Cover! — not able to contain himself, shouted even Denisov, his adversary. Pierre with a meek smile of regret and remorse, helplessly spread apart his legs and hands, all his wide breast stood before Dolohov and sadly watched him. Denisov, Rostov and Nesvitsky squinted. One and that same time they heard a shot and the evil shout of Dolohov. — Past! — shouted Dolohov and powerlessly lied down in the snow face down. Pierre grabbed behind the head and, turning backwards, went into the forest, stepping entirely by the snow and out loud saying incomprehensible words: — Stupid... stupid! Daring... Lies... — he repeated grimacing. Nesvitsky stopped him and drove home. Rostov with Denisov carried the wounded Dolohov. Dolohov, silently, with closed eyes, lied in the sleigh ride and his words was not in response to questions that were made to him; but, entering into Moscow, he suddenly woke up and, with labor lifted his head, took behind the arm the sitting beside him Rostov. Rostov was struck by the completely changed and suddenly enthusiastically tender expression of the face of Dolohov. — Well, what? How do you feel yourself? — asked Rostov. — Bad! But not in this business. My friend, — said Dolohov in an intermittent voice, — where are we? We are in Moscow, I know. I am nothing, but I killed her, killed... she will not carry over this. She will not carry over... — Who? — asked Rostov. — My mother. My mother, my angel, my adored angel, mother, — and Dolohov cried, squeezing the hand of Rostov. When he calmed down some, he explained to Rostov that he lived with his mother, that should his mother see him dying, she would not carry over this. He begged Rostov to go to her and to prepare her. Rostov went forward to enforce the commission, and to his great surprise found out that Dolohov, this brawler, and duelist Dolohov lived in Moscow with his old mother and hunchbacked sister, and was the most gentle son and brother.
Time: see previous chapter.
Locations: see previous chapter. Moscow.
Pevear and Volkhonsky: The chapter break sets up the suspense of the duel in a way a chapter break hadn’t done, at least so strongly, before.
“It was obvious that the affair, having begun so lightly, could no longer be prevented by anything, that it was going on by itself, independently of men’s will, and would be accomplished.”
Denisov as referee. The emphasis on smiles, Dolokhov’s smiles before and after he is shot and is about to shoot, Pierre’s smile after he shoots. Pierre does not cover himself.
Dolokhov’s wounded state concentrates on what he has done to his mother.
“To his (Rostov’s) great surprise, discovered that Dolokhov, this rowdy duelist, lived in Moscow with his old mother and hunchbacked sister, and was a most affectionate son and brother.”
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 *):
Dolokhof
Pierre
Denisof
Rostof
Nesvitsky
Marya Ivanovna (just “mother” for Dolokhof)
Dolokhof’s sister (“hunchbacked”)
Abridged Versions: No break for Bell.
Gibian: Chapter 5.
Gibian: Chapter 5.
Fuller: Chapter seems preserved. No break
Komroff: Some detail and build up is missing before the shot. The entreaties for Pierre to turn sideways are removed. Followed by a line break.
Kropotkin: Chapter is preserved, end of chapter 3. Chapter 20: Here Pierre is referenced as “absent minded” and still focused on the war. He is a little more carefree. The duel plays out very similarly though shorter, but we don’t hear
about Dolokhov’s mother before the chapter break.
Simmons: Chapter 5: Chapter is preserved.
about Dolokhov’s mother before the chapter break.
Simmons: Chapter 5: Chapter is preserved.
Additional Notes:
Johnson/Bayley/Pushkin: Page 12: "The duel took place next day, in deep snow. D'Anthes fired first and Pushkin was hit. Prostrate, he managed to fire his own shot and slightly wound his opponent. His own injury was severe, and
after undergoing torment at the hands of the doctors he died two days later."
Johnson/Bayley/Pushkin: Page 12: "The duel took place next day, in deep snow. D'Anthes fired first and Pushkin was hit. Prostrate, he managed to fire his own shot and slightly wound his opponent. His own injury was severe, and
after undergoing torment at the hands of the doctors he died two days later."
Page 16: "To Russian critics Onegin was the prime example of what they had come to call 'the superfluous man', the figure who in a repressed and despotic society can find no proper outlet for his energies, and who in consequence
fritters away his life as a gambler and dandy, cynical lover and rouge...
Briggs' Translation Timeline of Tolstoy's life: 1860-61...Serves as Arbiter of the Peace, dealing with post-Emancipation land settlements. Quarrels with Turgenev and challenges him (no duel). Travels in France, Germany, Italy and
England. Loses great deal of money through gambling.
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