Briggs: Andrey undergoes an operation on his thigh. Anatole's leg is amputated.
Maude: The operating tent. Portion of Prince Andrew's thighbone extracted. Anatole's leg amputated. Prince Andrew pities him
Pevear and Volokhonsky: Next to Prince Andrei a man has his leg amputated. Prince Andrei recognizes Anatole Kuragin. Pity and love.
Translation:
XXXVII.
One of the doctors in a bloody apron with bloody, small hands, in one of which he between his little finger and big finger (so that to not dirty it), held a cigar, got out from the tent. This doctor raised his head and began to look by the sides, but above the wounded. He obviously wanted to relax a little. Having led a few times his head to the right and to the left, he sighed and lowered his eyes.
— Well now, — he said to the words of the paramedic, indicating to him Prince Andrey, and told to carry him in the tent.
In the crowd of waiting wounded rose a murmur.
— It is seen in this world masters by one live, — spoke one.
Prince Andrey introduced and placed in the that only purified table, with which a paramedic rinsed something. Prince Andrey could not make out separately what was in the tent. The mournful moans from different parties, agonizing pain of his hips, belly and backs entertained him. All that he saw around himself, merged for him in one common impression of naked, bloody human bodies, which, it seemed, filled all the low tent, as a few weeks to that backwards on this warm, August day, these were the same bodies that filled the dirty pond by the Smolensk road. Yes, these were those very bodies, those meat for guns727 themselves, the view of which still then, as would be predicting the present, aroused in him horror.
In the tent were three tables. Two were busy, on the third was placed Prince Andrey. A few times he was left alone, and he unwittingly saw that what was done on the other two tables. On the near table sat a Tatar, probably a Cossack, judging by his uniform, was abandoned beside. Four soldiers held him. A doctor in glasses cut something on his brown, muscular back.
— Uh, uh, uh!... — as if grunted the Tatar, and suddenly, holding up his cheekbones, black, snub-nosed face, grin of white teeth, started to tear, twitch and squeal, piercingly ringing, lingeringly screeching. On the other table, about whom crowded many people, on his back lied a big, full person with a thrown backwards head (the curly hair, and the color and form of his head seemed weirdly familiar to Prince Andrey). A few paramedic persons piled up on the chest of this person and held him. The white, big, complete leg quickly and often, not ceasing, twitched in a feverish fluttering. This person frantically sobbed and choked. Two doctors silently — one was pale and trembling — did something above the other, red foot of this man. Managing with the Tatar, on which was thrown an overcoat, a doctor, in glasses, wiping his hand, came up to Prince Andrey.
He looked at the face of Prince Andrey and hastily turned away.
— Undress! For what are you standing? — he shouted angrily at the paramedics.
The very first distant childhood was remembered by Prince Andrey, when the paramedic in a hurry rolled up his hands to unbutton his buttons and took off from him his dress. The doctor lowly bent down above the wound, felt it and heavily sighed. Then he did a sign to someone. And the agonizing pain inside his belly forced Prince Andrey to lose consciousness. When he woke up, the broken bones of his hips were taken out, shreds of meat were cut off, and his wound bandaged. He was sprinkled on the face with water. As only Prince Andrey opened his eyes, the doctor bent down above him, silently kissed him on the lips and hastily walked away.
After carried over the misery, Prince Andrey felt bliss, a long time not tested by him. All the best, happiest minutes in his life, in particular his very far childhood, when he was undressed and placed in the crib, when the nurse lullingly sang above him, when, burying his head in pillows, he felt himself happy by the one consciousness of life, — presented in his imagination, even not as verified, but as reality.
About these wounded, the outline of the head which seemed to be an acquaintance of Prince Andrey, fussed a doctor; he raised, calmed.
— Show me... Ооооо! Oh! Oоооо! — was heard his interrupted sobbing, scared and submitted to suffering moan. Listening to these moans, Prince Andrey wanted to cry. Whether because of how he without fame died, whether because of how he pitied to part with life, whether from these irrecoverable child memories, whether because of how he suffered, how the other suffered and so pitifully before him moaned this person, yet he wanted to cry a childish, kind, almost joyful tears.
The wounded was shown in a boot with baked blood cut off leg.
— Oh! Ооооо! — he sobbed as a woman. The doctor standing before the wounded, blocking his face, walked away.
— My God! What is this? What for is he here? — said to himself Prince Andrey.
In the miserable, sobbing, exhausted man, who only now had the taken away leg, he found out Anatole Kuragin. Anatole held in his hands offered to him water in a glass, the edges of which he could not catch to his trembling, swollen lips. Anatole heavily sobbed. "Yes, this is he; yes, this person that is close and heavily bound with me," thought Prince Andrey, not understanding more clearly what was before him. "In what consists this recognized man with my childhood, with my life?" he asked himself, not finding an answer. And suddenly a new, unexpected memory from the peace of a child, pure and lovely, introduced itself to Prince Andrey. He remembered Natasha, when he saw her for the first time at the ball of the year 1810, with the subtle neck and thin hands, with a readiness to delight, scared, happy face, and love and tenderness to her still livelier and stronger than then woke up in his soul. He remembered now that recognition, which existed between them and by this man, through tears, filling his swollen eyes, dully watched him. Prince Andrey remembered all, and the enthusiastic pity and love to this person filled his happy heart.
Prince Andrey could not hold on more and cried gentle, loving tears above people, above himself and above them and their own delusions.
"Compassion, love to brothers, to the affectionate, love to the hating of us, love to enemies, yes, that love, which preached God to the land, which Princess Marya taught me and which I did not understand; here from what do I pity my life, here it that what still stayed for me, if I would live. Yet now it is already late. I know this!"
727 chair à canon (cannon fodder)
Mentioned: a few weeks before, August, 1810
Locations: See previous chapter
Mentioned: Smolensk, Tartar
Pevear and Volokhonsky Notes: A cigar smoking doctor wanting a break now has to work on Andrei, who is moved to the front.
"'Looks like in the next world, too only the masters'll have it good," one said."
We get another description of muddled confusion and a call back to Andrei's experiences on the Smolensk road. The doctors work on a screaming Tartar and another man who is crying (who seems strangely familiar to Andrei).
While Andrei is being worked on: "All the best and happiest moments of his life, especially his most distant childhood, when he had been undressed and put in his little bed, when the nanny had sung to lull him to sleep, when, burying his head in the pillows, he had felt happy in the mere consciousness of life, presented itself to his imagination not as the past, but as a reality."
The combination of this and the crying of the man makes him want to cry. The man is Anatole and he has had his leg amputated. This causes Andrei to think about Natasha and reexperience why he had fallen in love with her. He also feels love and pity for Anatole and realizes that his sister had been right about love and forgiveness.
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 *):
Prince Andrei
old nyanya
Anatol Kuragin
Natasha
Princess Mariya
Abridged Versions: End of Chapter 7 in Bell.
Gibian: Chapter 37.
Fuller: Chapter is preserved and followed by a line break.
Komroff: The cigar smoking doctor at the beginning of the chapter is removed. Otherwise, the chapter is preserved and this is the end of Book 10.
Kropotkin: Chapter 23: Chapter is preserved.
Bromfield: Chapter is virtually the same, no break.
Simmons: Chapter 37: the complaining about Andrei getting to go ahead in line is removed.
Additional Notes:
The Raid: Page 26: “the young ensign...was as pale as a sheet and his pretty head, on which only a shadow remained of the warlike enthusiasm that had animated him a few minutes before, was dreadfully sunk between his shoulders and drooped on his chest. There was a small spot of blood on the white shirt beneath his unbuttoned coat. ‘Ah, what a pity!’ I said, involuntarily turning away from this sad spectacle. ‘Of course it’s a pity,’ said an old soldier, who stood leaning on his musket beside me with a gloomy expression on his face. ‘He’s not afraid of anything. How can one do such things?’ he added, looking intently at the wounded lad. ‘He was still foolish and now he has paid for it!’
A Prisoner of the Caucasus: Page 120: “the Tatar, rocking from side to side, his face pushed up against the Tatar’s evil smelling back. All he could see was that powerful back and a sinewy neck, blue and clean-shaven at the nape.”
Speirs: Page 47: “The importance of forgiveness in a world where the individual has no right to pass judgement, is an old concept. Mary with her simple religion and her modesty now becomes important in the scheme.”
No comments:
Post a Comment