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Chapter 8

           Therewasnoonetohewdown(ashehadalwaysimaginedbattlestohimself),norcouldhehelptofirethebridgebecausehehadnotbroughtanyburningstrawwithhimliketheothersoldiers.Hestoodlookingabouthim,whensuddenlyheheardarattleonthebridgeasifnutswerebeingspilt,andthehussarnearesttohimfellagainsttherailswithagroan.Rostóvranuptohimwiththeothers.Againsomeoneshouted,“Stretchers!”Fourmenseizedthehussarandbeganliftinghim.

           “Oooh!ForChrist’ssakeletmealone!”criedthewoundedman,butstillhewasliftedandlaidonthestretcher.

           NicholasRostóvturnedawayand,asifsearchingforsomething,gazedintothedistance,atthewatersoftheDanube,atthesky,andatthesun.Howbeautifultheskylooked;howblue,howcalm,andhowdeep!Howbrightandgloriouswasthesettingsun!WithwhatsoftglitterthewatersofthedistantDanubeshone.Andfairerstillwerethefarawaybluemountainsbeyondtheriver,thenunnery,themysteriousgorges,andthepineforestsveiledinthemistoftheirsummits...Therewaspeaceandhappiness...“Ishouldwishfornothingelse,nothing,ifonlyIwerethere,”thoughtRostóv.“Inmyselfaloneandinthatsunshinethereissomuchhappiness;buthere...groans,suffering,fear,andthisuncertaintyandhurry...There—theyareshoutingagain,andagainareallrunningbacksomewhere,andIshallrunwiththem,andit,death,ishereabovemeandaround...AnotherinstantandIshallneveragainseethesun,thiswater,thatgorge!...

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