In this article, we will consider three stories by Tolstoy: we will describe their summary and analyze them. Sevastopol Tales was published in 1855. They were written during Tolstoy's stay in Sevastopol. We will first describe a summary, and then talk about the work "Sevastopol Stories". Analysis (in December 1854, May and August 1955 the described events take place) will be easier to perceive by remembering the main points of the plot.
Sevastopol in December
Despite the fact that the fighting continues in Sevastopol, life goes on as usual. Hot rolls are sold by vendors, men are sbiten. Peaceful and camp life are strangely mixed here. Everyone is frightened, fussing, but this is a deceptive impression. Many people no longer notice explosions and shots, doing their "everyday business." Only on the bastions you can see the defenders of Sevastopol.
Hospital
Description of the hospital continues Tolstoy "Sevastopol stories". The summary of this episode is as follows. Wounded soldiers in the hospital share their impressions. The one who lost his leg does not remember the pain, because he did not think about it. A shell hit a woman carrying her husband's lunch to the bastion, and her leg was cut off above the knee. Operations and dressings are done in a separate room. The wounded waiting in line see in horror how the doctors amputate the legs and arms of their comrades, and the paramedic throws the cut off indifferently into the corner. Thus, describing the details, Tolstoy conducts an analysis in the work "Sevastopol Tales". In August, nothing, in fact, will not change. People will suffer in the same way, and no one will understand that war is inhuman. Meanwhile, these spectacles shake the soul. War appears not in a brilliant, beautiful order, with drumming and music, but in its true expression - in death, suffering, blood. A young officer who fought on the most dangerous bastion complains not about the abundance of shells and bombs falling on their heads, but about the dirt. It is a response to danger. The officer is too casual, cheeky and bold.
On the way to the fourth bastion
Less and less on the way to the fourth bastion (the most dangerous), non-military people are encountered. Stretchers with the wounded come across more and more often. The artillery officer behaves calmly here, as he is used to the roar of explosions and the whistle of bullets. This hero tells how during the assault only one active gun remained in his battery, as well as very few servants, but the next morning he fired again from all the guns.
The officer recalls how a bomb hit the sailor's dugout, killing 11 people. In the movements, posture, faces of the defenders, the main features that make up the strength of a Russian person are visible - stubbornness and simplicity. However, it seems, as the author notes, that suffering, malice and the danger of war added to them traces of lofty thought and feeling, as well as a consciousness of one's own dignity. Tolstoy conducts a psychological analysis in the work ("Sevastopol stories"). He notes that the feeling of revenge on the enemy, malice lurks in the soul of everyone. When a core flies right at a person, some pleasure does not leave him along with a feeling of fear. Then he himself waits for the bomb to explode closer - there is a "special charm" in such a game with death. The feeling of love for the motherland lives in the people. Great traces of the events in Sevastopol will be left in Russia for a long time to come.
Sevastopol in May
The events of the work "Sevastopol stories" continue in May. Analyzing the duration of the action, it should be noted that six months have passed since the beginning of the fighting in this city. Many died during this period. The most fair solution seems to be the original way of the conflict: if two soldiers fought, one each from the Russian and French armies, and the victory would be for the side for which the winner fought. Such a decision is logical, since it is better to fight one on one than 130 thousand against 130 thousand. From the point of view of Leo Tolstoy, the war is illogical. This is either crazy, or people are not as intelligent creatures as people think.
Officer Mikhailov
The military walk along the boulevards in the besieged city. Among them is the infantry officer Mikhailov, a long-legged, tall, awkward and round-shouldered man. He recently received a letter from a friend. In it, a retired lancer writes how Natasha, his wife (Mikhailov's close friend), follows with enthusiasm from the newspapers how his regiment moves, as well as Mikhailov's exploits. He recalls with bitterness his former circle, which is higher than the present one to such an extent that the soldiers, when he told them about his life (how he played cards with a civilian general or danced indifferently and distrustfully listened to him.
Mikhailov's dream
This officer dreams of a promotion. On the boulevard, he meets Obzhogov, the captain, and ensign Suslikov. his regiment. They greet Mikhailov, shake his hand. However, the officer does not want to deal with them. He yearns for the society of aristocrats. Lev Nikolaevich talks about vanity and analyzes it. "Sevastopol stories" is a work in which there are many author's digressions, reflections on philosophical topics. Vanity, according to the author, is "the disease of our age." Therefore, there are three types of people. The former accept the principle of vanity as a necessary fact, and therefore just. These people obey him freely. Others see it as an insurmountable, unfortunate condition. Still others slavishly, unconsciously act under the influence of vanity. This is how Tolstoy argues ("Sevastopol stories"). Its analysis is based on personal participation in the described events, on observations of people.
Twice Mikhailov passes hesitantly past the circle of aristocrats. Finally he dares to say hello. Previously, this officer was afraid to approach them because these people might not deign to honor him with an answer to a greeting at all and thereby prick his sick pride. Aristocratic society - Galtsin, Adjutant Kalugin, Captain Praskukhin and Lieutenant Colonel Neferdov. They behave towards Mikhailov rather arrogantly. Galtsin, for example, takes the officer by the arm and walks with him a little, just because he knows that this will give him pleasure. However, they soon begin to speak defiantly only among themselves, making it clear to Mikhailov that they no longer need his company.
The captain, returning home, recalls that in the morning he volunteered to go to the bastion instead of the sick officer. It seems to him that he will be killed, and if this does not happen, then he will certainly be rewarded. The staff captain consoles himself that it is his duty to go to the bastion, that he acted honestly. He wonders on the way where he can be wounded - in the head, stomach or leg.
Assembly of aristocrats
Meanwhile, the aristocrats at Kalugin's are drinking tea and playing the piano. At the same time, they behave at all not so pompously, importantly and unnaturally, as on the boulevard, demonstrating their "aristocratism" to others, which Tolstoy notes ("Sevastopol Tales"). Analysis of the behavior of the characters in the work occupies an important place. With an order, an infantry officer enters to the general, but immediately the aristocrats take on a puffed look again, pretending that they did not notice the person who entered. Kalugin, having escorted the courier to the general, is imbued with the responsibility of the moment. He reports that "hot business" is ahead.
In "Sevastopol Tales" it is described in some detail, but we will not dwell on this. Galtsin volunteers to go on a sortie, knowing that he will not go anywhere, because he is afraid. Kalugin begins to dissuade him, knowing also that he will not go. Going out into the street, Galtsin begins to walk aimlessly, not forgetting to ask the wounded passing by about how the battle is going, and also to scold them for their retreat. Going to the bastion, Kalugin does not forget to demonstrate courage along the way: when the whistle of bullets does not bend down, he takes a dashing pose on a horse. He is struck by the unpleasant "cowardice" of the battery commander. But the courage of this man is legendary.
Mikhailov wounded
Having spent half a year on the bastion and not wanting to risk in vain, the battery commander sends Kalugin in response to his demand to inspect the bastion to the guns with a young officer. Praskukhin is ordered by the general to notify Mikhailov's battalion of the redeployment. He delivers it successfully. Under fire in the dark, the battalion begins to move. Praskukhin and Mikhailov, walking side by side, think only of the impression they make on each other. They meet Kalugin, who does not want to endanger himself once again, who learns from Mikhailov about the situation and turns back. The bomb explodes next to him. Praskukhin dies, Mikhailov is wounded in the head, but does not go to the dressing, believing that duty is above all.
All the military the next day walk along the alley and talk about yesterday's events, showing their courage to others. A truce has been declared. The French and Russians communicate with each other with ease. There is no enmity between them. They understand how inhuman war is, these heroes. This is also noted by the author himself, conducting an analysis in the work "Sevastopol Stories".
In August 1855
Kozeltsov appears on the battlefield after being healed. He is independent in judgment, very talented and very clever. All the carts with horses disappeared, many people gathered at the bus stop. Some of the officers have absolutely no means of subsistence. Here is Vladimir, brother of Mikhail Kozeltsev. He did not get into the guard, despite the plans, but was appointed a soldier. He likes fighting.
Sitting at the station, Vladimir is no longer eager to fight. He lost money. The younger brother helps pay off the debt. Upon arrival, they are sent to the battalion. Here, an officer in a booth is sitting over a pile of money. He must count them. The brothers disperse, leaving to sleep on the fifth bastion.
Vladimir offers to spend the night at his commander. He falls asleep with difficulty under the whistling bullets. Michael goes to his commander. He is outraged by the entry of Kozeltsev, who was recently in the same position with him, into the ranks. However, the rest of his return is happy.
In the morning, Vladimir enters the officer circles. Everyone sympathizes with him, especially Junker Vlang. Vladimir gets to a dinner arranged by the commander. There is a lot of talk going on here. The letter sent by the chief of artillery says that an officer is required in Malakhov, but since this place is restless, no one agrees. However, Vladimir decides to go. Vlang goes with him.
Vladimir in Malakhov
Arriving at the place, he finds military weapons in disarray, which there is no one to fix. Volodya communicates with Melnikov, and also quickly finds a common language with the commander.
The assault begins. Sleepy Kozeltsov goes to battle. He rushes at the French, drawing his saber. Volodya is badly wounded. To please him before his death, the priest reports that the Russians have won. Volodya is glad that he was able to serve the country and thinks about his older brother. Volodya is still in command, but after a while he realizes that the French have won. Melnikov's body lies nearby. The banner of the French appears above the barrow. Vlang leaves for a safe place. Thus ends Tolstoy's Sevastopol Tales, a summary of which we have just described.
Analysis of the work
Lev Nikolaevich, having got to the besieged Sevastopol, was shocked by the heroic spirit of the population and troops. He began to write his first story "Sevastopol in the month of December". Then came two others, recounting the events of May and August 1855. All three works are united by the title "Sevastopol stories".
We will not analyze each of them, we will note only common features. From the struggle, which did not subside for almost a year, only three paintings were snatched. But how much they give! Analyzing the work "Sevastopol Stories", it should be noted that Tolstoy gradually increases, from work to work, critical pathos. More and more accusatory beginning appears. The narrator of the work "Sevastopol Tales", which we are analyzing, is striking in the difference between the true greatness of the soldiers, the naturalness of their behavior, the simplicity and conceited desire of the officers to start a battle in order to get a "star". Communicating with soldiers helps officers gain courage and resilience. Only the best of them are close to the people, as the analysis shows.
Tolstoy's "Sevastopol stories" marked the beginning of a realistic depiction of the war. The artistic discovery of the writer was its perception from the point of view of ordinary soldiers. Later he uses in "War and Peace" the experience of working on the work "Sevastopol Tales" by Tolstoy. Analysis of the work shows that the writer was primarily interested in the man who found himself in the war, and the "trench" truth.
Sevastopol in December
The morning dawn is just beginning to color the sky over Sapun Mountain; the dark blue surface of the sea has already thrown off the dusk of the night and is waiting for the first ray to sparkle with a cheerful brilliance; from the bay it carries cold and fog; there is no snow - everything is black, but the morning sharp frost grabs your face and cracks under your feet, and the distant unceasing rumble of the sea, occasionally interrupted by rolling shots in Sevastopol, alone breaks the silence of the morning. On the ships, the eighth flask beats dully.
In the North, little by little daytime activity begins to replace the calm of the night; where the change of sentries took place, rattling their guns; where the doctor is already in a hurry to the hospital; where the soldier crawled out of the dugout, washes his tanned face with icy water and, turning to the blushing east, quickly crossing himself, prays to God; where the high is heavy majara she dragged herself on camels with a creak to the cemetery to bury the bloodied dead, with which it was almost completely overlaid ... You approach the pier - a special smell of coal, manure, dampness and beef strikes you; thousands of various objects - firewood, meat, tours, flour, iron, etc. - lie in a heap near the pier; soldiers of different regiments, with sacks and guns, without sacks and without guns, are crowding around here, smoking, cursing, dragging weights onto the steamer, which, smoking, is standing near the platform; free skiffs filled with all kinds of people - soldiers, sailors, merchants, women - moor and set sail from the pier.
- To Grafskaya, your honor? Please, - two or three retired sailors offer you their services, getting up from the skiffs.
You choose the one that is closer to you, step over the half-rotten corpse of some bay horse, which lies in the mud near the boat, and go to the steering wheel. You set sail from the shore. All around you is the sea, already shining in the morning sun, in front of you is an old sailor in a camel coat and a young white-headed boy, who silently and diligently work with oars. You look at the striped bulks of ships, scattered close and far across the bay, and at the black small dots of boats moving along the brilliant azure, and at the beautiful light buildings of the city, painted with pink rays of the morning sun, visible on the other side, and at the foaming white line booms and sunken ships, from which, in some places, the black ends of the masts stick out sadly, and to the distant enemy fleet, looming on the crystal horizon of the sea, and to the foaming jets in which salt bubbles jump, raised by oars; you listen to the steady sounds of the strokes of the oars, the sounds of voices reaching you through the water, and the majestic sounds of the shooting, which, it seems to you, is intensifying in Sevastopol.
It is impossible that at the thought that you are in Sevastopol, a feeling of some kind of courage, pride does not penetrate into your soul and that the blood does not begin to circulate faster in your veins ...
- Your honor! keep right under Kistentin, - the old sailor will tell you, turning back to check the direction you give the boat, - to the right of the rudder.
“But it still has all the guns on it,” the white-headed guy will notice, passing by the ship and looking at it.
“But how is it: it’s new, Kornilov lived on it,” the old man remarks, also looking at the ship.
- You see, where it broke! - the boy will say, after a long silence, looking at the white cloud of divergent smoke that suddenly appeared high, high above the South Bay and was accompanied by a sharp sound of a bomb explosion.
- It he it’s firing from a new battery now,” the old man will add, indifferently spitting on his hand. - Well, come on, Mishka, we'll overtake the longboat. - And your skiff moves faster along the wide swell of the bay, really overtakes a heavy launch, on which some coolies are piled up and clumsy soldiers row unevenly, and sticks between a multitude of moored boats of all kinds at the Count's Quay.
Crowds of gray soldiers, black sailors and motley women are moving noisily on the embankment. Women are selling rolls, Russian peasants with samovars are shouting: sbiten hot, and right there on the first steps, rusted cannonballs, bombs, buckshot and cast-iron guns of various calibers are lying around. A little further on is a large square, on which some huge beams, cannon-mounts, sleeping soldiers are lying; there are horses, wagons, green tools and boxes, infantry goats; soldiers, sailors, officers, women, children, merchants are moving; carts with hay, with sacks and barrels go; in some places a Cossack and an officer on horseback, a general in a droshky, will pass. To the right, the street is blocked off by a barricade, on which some small cannons stand in embrasures, and a sailor is sitting near them, smoking a pipe. To the left is a beautiful house with Roman numerals on the pediment, under which there are soldiers and bloody stretchers - everywhere you see unpleasant traces of a military camp. Your first impression is certainly the most unpleasant: a strange mixture of camp and city life, a beautiful city and a dirty bivouac, not only is not beautiful, but seems like a disgusting mess; it even seems to you that everyone is frightened, fussing, not knowing what to do. But look closer at the faces of these people moving around you, and you will understand something completely different. Just look at this Furshtat soldier, who is being led to drink by some bay troika and purring something under his breath so calmly that it is obvious that he will not get lost in this heterogeneous crowd, which does not exist for him, but that he is doing his job whatever it was - to water the horses or to carry tools - just as calmly, and self-confidently, and indifferently, no matter how it all happened somewhere in Tula or Saransk. You read the same expression on the face of this officer, who, in immaculate white gloves, passes by, and on the face of a sailor who smokes, sitting on the barricade, and on the face of working soldiers, with a stretcher, waiting on the porch of the former Assembly, and on the face of this girl , who, afraid to get her pink dress wet, jumps over the pebbles across the street.
Yes! you will certainly be disappointed if you enter Sevastopol for the first time. In vain will you look for traces of fussiness, confusion or even enthusiasm, readiness for death, determination on even one face - there is none of this: you see everyday people calmly engaged in everyday business, so perhaps you will reproach yourself for excessive enthusiasm, doubt a little about the validity of the concept of the heroism of the defenders of Sevastopol, which was formed in you from stories, descriptions, and the sight and sounds from the North side. But before you doubt, go to the bastions, look at the defenders of Sevastopol at the very place of defense, or, better, go directly opposite to this house, which was formerly the Sevastopol Assembly and on the porch of which there are soldiers with stretchers - you will see the defenders of Sevastopol there, you will see terrible and sad, great and funny, but amazing, uplifting spectacles.
You enter a large assembly hall. As soon as you open the door, the sight and smell of forty or fifty amputees and the most seriously wounded patients, some in beds, mostly on the floor, suddenly strikes you. Do not believe the feeling that keeps you on the threshold of the hall - this is a bad feeling - go ahead, do not be ashamed that you seem to have come watch sufferers, do not be ashamed to approach and talk to them: the unfortunate love to see a human sympathetic face, they love to talk about their suffering and hear words of love and compassion. You pass in the middle of the beds and look for a face less severe and suffering, to whom you dare to approach in order to have a conversation.
- Where are you injured? - you ask hesitantly and timidly of one old, emaciated soldier, who, sitting on a bunk, follows you with a good-natured look and, as if inviting you to come up to him. I say: “You ask timidly,” because suffering, in addition to deep sympathy, for some reason inspires fear of offending and high respect for the one who endured it.
“In the foot,” the soldier replies; but at this very time you yourself notice from the folds of the blanket that he has no legs above the knee. “Thank God now,” he adds, “I want to be discharged.”
- How long have you been injured?
- Yes, the sixth week has gone, your honor!
- What, does it hurt you now?
- No, now it doesn’t hurt, nothing; only as if it aches in the calf when the weather is bad, otherwise nothing.
- How did you get hurt?
- On the fifth bucksion, your honor, how was the first gang: he pointed the gun, began to retreat, in a sort of manner, to another embrasure, as he hit me on the leg, exactly as if he stumbled into a hole. Look, no legs.
Didn't it hurt that first minute?
- Nothing; only as hot as being kicked in the leg.
- Well, and then?
- And then nothing; only as they began to stretch the skin, it seemed to hurt so much. It is the first thing, your honor, don't think too much: whatever you think, it's nothing to you. More and more because of what a person thinks.
At this time, a woman in a gray striped dress and tied with a black scarf comes up to you; she intervenes in your conversation with the sailor and begins to tell about him, about his sufferings, about the desperate situation in which he was for four weeks, about how, being wounded, he stopped the stretcher in order to look at the salvo of our battery, like great the princes spoke to him and granted him twenty-five rubles, and how he told them that he again wanted to go to the bastion in order to teach the young, if he himself could no longer work. Saying all this in one breath, this woman looks first at you, then at the sailor, who, turning away and as if not listening to her, pinches lint on his pillow, and her eyes shine with some special delight.
- This is my mistress, your honor! - the sailor remarks to you with such an expression, as if saying: “You must excuse her. It is known that the woman's business - he says stupid words.
You begin to understand the defenders of Sevastopol; for some reason you feel ashamed of yourself in front of this person. You would like to tell him too much to express your sympathy and surprise to him; but you find no words or are dissatisfied with those that come to your mind - and you silently bow before this silent, unconscious greatness and firmness of spirit, this shame before your own dignity.
“Well, God forbid you get well soon,” you say to him and stop in front of another patient who lies on the floor and, as it seems, awaits death in unbearable suffering.
This is a blond man with a plump and pale face. He lies on his back with his left arm thrown back, in a position that expresses severe suffering. Dry open mouth with difficulty lets out wheezing breath; blue pewter eyes are rolled up, and from under the tangled blanket stick out the remnant of the right hand, wrapped in bandages. The heavy smell of a dead body strikes you more strongly, and the devouring inner heat, penetrating all the limbs of the sufferer, seems to penetrate you too.
What, is he unconscious? - you ask the woman who follows you and looks at you affectionately, as if at home.
“No, he still hears, but it’s very bad,” she adds in a whisper. - I gave him tea today - well, even though he is a stranger, you still have to have pity - so I almost didn’t drink.
- How do you feel? you ask him.
- Ghoring at the heart.
A little further on you see an old soldier who is changing clothes. His face and body are somehow brown and thin, like a skeleton. He does not have an arm at all: it is hollowed out at the shoulder. He sits cheerfully, he recovered; but from the dead, dull look, from the terrible thinness and wrinkles of the face, you see that this is a creature that has already suffered the best part of its life.
On the other side, you will see on the bed the pained, pale and tender face of a woman, on which a feverish blush plays all over her cheek.
“This sailor of ours was hit in the leg by a bomb on the 5th,” your guide will tell you, “she brought her husband to the bastion to dine.
- Well, cut off?
- Cut off above the knee.
Now, if your nerves are strong, go through the door to the left: in that room they make dressings and operations. You will see doctors there with bloody elbows and pale, gloomy physiognomies, busy near the bed, on which, with open eyes and speaking, as if in delirium, meaningless, sometimes simple and touching words, lies a wounded man under the influence of chloroform. Doctors are busy with the disgusting but beneficial business of amputations. You will see how a sharp curved knife enters a white healthy body; you will see how, with a terrible, tearing cry and curses, the wounded man suddenly comes to his senses; you will see how the paramedic throws a severed hand into the corner; you will see how another wounded man lies on a stretcher in the same room and, looking at the operation of a comrade, writhes and groans not so much from physical pain as from the moral suffering of waiting - you will see terrible, soul-shaking spectacles; you will see the war not in the correct, beautiful and brilliant formation, with music and drumming, with waving banners and prancing generals, but you will see the war in its true expression - in blood, in suffering, in death ...
Leaving this house of suffering, you will certainly experience a gratifying feeling, breathe fresh air into yourself more fully, feel pleasure in the consciousness of your health, but at the same time, in the contemplation of these sufferings, you will draw the consciousness of your insignificance and calmly, without indecision, go to the bastions ...
“What does the death and suffering of such an insignificant worm as I mean, compared with so much death and so much suffering?” But the sight of a clear sky, a brilliant sun, a beautiful city, an open church, and military people moving in different directions will soon bring your spirit into a normal state of frivolity, small worries and passion for the present alone.
You will come across, perhaps from the church, the funeral of some officer, with a pink coffin and music and fluttering banners; perhaps the sounds of shooting from the bastions will reach your ears, but this will not lead you to your former thoughts; the funeral will seem to you a very beautiful warlike spectacle, the sounds - very beautiful warlike sounds, and you will not connect either with this spectacle or with these sounds a clear thought, transferred to yourself, about suffering and death, as you did at the dressing station.
Having passed the church and the barricade, you will enter the most lively part of the city with inner life. On both sides there are signs of shops, taverns; merchants, women in hats and headscarves, dapper officers - they all tell you about the firmness of spirit, self-confidence, and the safety of the inhabitants.
Go to the tavern to the right if you want to listen to the talk of sailors and officers: there, surely, there are stories about this night, about Fenka, about the case of the twenty-fourth, about how expensive and bad cutlets are served, and about how he was killed and that comrade.
“Damn it, how bad we are today!” says a white-haired, beardless naval officer in a green knitted scarf in a bass voice.
- Where are we? another asks him.
Year of writing:
1855
Reading time:
Description of the work:
The Sevastopol stories (there are three stories in the cycle), written by Leo Tolstoy in 1855, depict well how Sevastopol was defended. Leo Tolstoy describes the heroism of the soldiers who defended the city, shows the inhumanity and senselessness of the war.
It is noteworthy that this is the first time that such a famous writer as Tolstoy was personally present at the events taking place and immediately wrote about it, thus reporting everything in an authentic form to his readers. It turns out that one can confidently say about Tolstoy that he is the first Russian war correspondent.
Read below a summary of the Sevastopol stories cycle.
Sevastopol in December
“The dawn is just beginning to color the sky over Sapun Mountain; the dark blue surface of the sea has already thrown off the twilight of the night and is waiting for the first ray to sparkle with a cheerful brilliance; from the bay it carries cold and fog; there is no snow - everything is black, but the sharp morning frost grabs your face and cracks under your feet, and the distant unceasing rumble of the sea, occasionally interrupted by rolling shots in Sevastopol, alone breaks the silence of the morning ... It cannot be that at the thought that you are in Sevastopol, a feeling of some kind of courage, pride, and so that the blood does not begin to circulate faster in your veins has not penetrated into your soul ... ”Despite the fact that hostilities are going on in the city, life goes on as usual: vendors sell hot men are a wreck. It seems that camp and peaceful life are strangely mixed here, everyone is fussing and frightened, but this is a deceptive impression: most people no longer pay attention to either shots or explosions, they are busy with “everyday business”. Only on the bastions "you will see ... the defenders of Sevastopol, you will see terrible and sad, great and funny, but amazing, uplifting spectacles there."
In the hospital, wounded soldiers talk about their impressions: the one who lost his leg does not remember the pain, because he did not think about it; a woman carrying lunch to her husband's bastion was hit by a shell, and her leg was cut off above the knee. Dressings and operations are done in a separate room. The wounded, awaiting their turn for surgery, are horrified to see how doctors amputate their comrades' arms and legs, and the paramedic indifferently throws the severed body parts into a corner. Here you can see "terrible, soul-shattering spectacles ... the war is not in the correct, beautiful and brilliant formation, with music and drumming, with fluttering banners and prancing generals, but ... war in its true expression - in blood, in suffering , in death ... ". A young officer who fought on the fourth, most dangerous bastion, complains not about the abundance of bombs and shells falling on the heads of the defenders of the bastion, but about the dirt. This is his defensive reaction to danger; he behaves too boldly, cheekily and at ease.
On the way to the fourth bastion, non-military people are less and less common, and stretchers with the wounded are increasingly coming across. Actually, on the bastion, the artillery officer behaves calmly (he is used to both the whistle of bullets and the roar of explosions). He tells how during the assault on the 5th, only one active gun and very few servants remained on his battery, but still the next morning he was already firing from all the guns again.
The officer recalls how the bomb hit the sailor's dugout and killed eleven people. In the faces, posture, movements of the defenders of the bastion, “the main features that make up the strength of the Russian are visible - simplicity and stubbornness; but here on every face it seems to you that the danger, malice and suffering of war, in addition to these main signs, have also laid traces of consciousness of one’s dignity and lofty thoughts and feelings ... A feeling of anger, revenge on the enemy ... is hidden in the soul of everyone. When the cannonball flies directly at a person, he does not leave a feeling of pleasure and at the same time fear, and then he himself waits for the bomb to explode closer, because "there is a special charm" in such a game with death. “The main, gratifying conviction that you made is the conviction that it is impossible to take Sevastopol, and not only to take Sevastopol, but to shake the strength of the Russian people anywhere ... Because of the cross, because of the name, because of the threat people can accept these terrible conditions: there must be another high motivating reason - this reason is a feeling that rarely manifests itself, shy in Russian, but lies in the depths of everyone's soul - love for the motherland ... This epic of Sevastopol will leave great traces in Russia for a long time, whose hero was the Russian people ... "
Sevastopol in May
Six months have passed since the start of hostilities in Sevastopol. “Thousands of human vanities managed to be offended, thousands managed to be satisfied, puffed up, thousands - to calm down in the arms of death” The most fair is the solution of the conflict in an original way; if two soldiers fought (one from each army), and victory would remain with the side whose soldier emerges victorious. Such a decision is logical, because it is better to fight one on one than a hundred and thirty thousand against a hundred and thirty thousand. In general, war is illogical, from the point of view of Tolstoy: “one of two things: either war is madness, or if people do this madness, then they are not rational creatures at all, as we somehow usually think”
In the besieged Sevastopol, the military walk along the boulevards. Among them is an infantry officer (headquarters captain) Mikhailov, a tall, long-legged, stooped and awkward man. He recently received a letter from a friend, a retired lancer, in which he writes how his wife Natasha (Mikhailov's close friend) enthusiastically follows through the newspapers the movements of his regiment and the exploits of Mikhailov himself. Mikhailov bitterly recalls his former circle, which was "so much higher than the current one that when, in moments of frankness, he happened to tell his infantry comrades how he had his own droshky, how he danced at the governor's balls and played cards with a civilian general" , they listened to him indifferently, incredulously, as if not wanting only to contradict and prove the opposite
Mikhailov dreams of a promotion. He meets Captain Obzhogov and Ensign Suslikov on the boulevard, employees of his regiment, and they shake hands with him, but he wants to deal not with them, but with "aristocrats" - for this he walks along the boulevard. “And since there are many people in the besieged city of Sevastopol, therefore, there is a lot of vanity, that is, aristocrats, despite the fact that death hangs every minute over the head of every aristocrat and non-aristocrat ... Vanity! It must be a characteristic feature and a special disease of our age ... Why in our age there are only three kinds of people: some - accepting the beginning of vanity as a fact that necessarily exists, therefore just, and freely obeying it; others - accepting it as an unfortunate but insurmountable condition, and still others - unconsciously, slavishly acting under its influence ... "
Mikhailov twice hesitantly passes by a circle of "aristocrats" and, finally, dares to come up and say hello (before he was afraid to approach them because they might not at all honor him with an answer to the greeting and thereby prick his sick pride). "Aristocrats" are Adjutant Kalugin, Prince Galtsin, Lieutenant Colonel Neferdov and Captain Praskukhin. In relation to the approached Mikhailov, they behave rather arrogantly; for example, Galtsin takes him by the arm and walks a little back and forth only because he knows that this sign of attention should please the staff captain. But soon the "aristocrats" begin to defiantly talk only to each other, thereby making it clear to Mikhailov that they no longer need his company.
Returning home, Mikhailov recalls that he volunteered to go the next morning instead of a sick officer to the bastion. He feels that he will be killed, and if he is not killed, then surely he will be rewarded. Mikhailov consoles himself that he acted honestly, that it is his duty to go to the bastion. On the way, he wonders where he might be wounded - in the leg, in the stomach or in the head.
Meanwhile, the "aristocrats" are drinking tea at Kalugin's in a beautifully furnished apartment, playing the piano, remembering their St. Petersburg acquaintances. At the same time, they behave not at all so unnaturally, importantly and pompously, as they did on the boulevard, demonstrating their “aristocratism” to those around them. An infantry officer enters with an important assignment to the general, but the "aristocrats" immediately assume their former "puffed up" look and pretend that they do not notice the newcomer at all. Only after escorting the courier to the general, Kalugin is imbued with the responsibility of the moment, announces to his comrades that a “hot” business is ahead.
Galtsin asks if he should go on a sortie, knowing that he will not go anywhere, because he is afraid, and Kalugin begins to dissuade Galtsin, also knowing that he will not go anywhere. Galtsin goes out into the street and begins to walk aimlessly back and forth, not forgetting to ask the wounded passing by how the battle is going, and scolding them for retreating. Kalugin, having gone to the bastion, does not forget to demonstrate his courage to everyone along the way: he does not bend down when the bullets whistle, he takes a dashing pose on horseback. He is unpleasantly struck by the "cowardice" of the battery commander, whose bravery is legendary.
Not wanting to take unnecessary risks, the battery commander, who spent half a year on the bastion, in response to Kalugin's demand to inspect the bastion, sends Kalugin to the guns along with a young officer. The general gives the order to Praskukhin to notify Mikhailov's battalion of the redeployment. He successfully delivers the order. In the dark, under enemy fire, the battalion begins to move. At the same time, Mikhailov and Praskukhin, walking side by side, think only about the impression they make on each other. They meet Kalugin, who, not wanting to "expose himself" once again, learns about the situation on the bastion from Mikhailov and turns back. A bomb explodes next to them, Praskukhin dies, and Mikhailov is wounded in the head. He refuses to go to the dressing station, because it is his duty to be with the company, and besides, he has a reward for the wound. He also believes that his duty is to pick up the wounded Praskukhin or make sure that he is dead. Mikhailov crawls back under fire, is convinced of the death of Praskukhin and returns with a clear conscience.
“Hundreds of fresh, bloody bodies of people, two hours ago full of various high and small hopes and desires, with stiff limbs, lay on a dewy flowering valley that separates the bastion from the trench, and on the flat floor of the chapel of the Dead in Sevastopol; hundreds of people - with curses and prayers on parched lips - crawled, tossed and groaned, some among the corpses on a flowering valley, others on stretchers, on cots and on the bloody floor of the dressing station; and all the same, as in the old days, the lightning lit up over Sapun Mountain, the twinkling stars turned pale, a white fog pulled from the noisy dark sea, a scarlet dawn lit up in the east, crimson long clouds fled across the light azure horizon, and everything is the same , as in former days, promising joy, love and happiness to the whole revived world, a mighty, beautiful luminary emerged.
The next day, the "aristocrats" and other military men stroll along the boulevard and vied with each other to talk about yesterday's "case", but in such a way that they basically state "the participation that he took and the courage that the narrator showed in the case." “Each of them is a little Napoleon, a little monster, and now he is ready to start a battle, to kill a hundred people just to get an extra star or a third of his salary.”
A truce has been declared between the Russians and the French, ordinary soldiers freely communicate with each other and, it seems, do not feel any enmity towards the enemy. The young cavalry officer is simply delighted to be able to chat in French, thinking he is incredibly smart. He discusses with the French what an inhuman deed they started together, referring to the war. At this time, the boy walks around the battlefield, collects blue wildflowers and looks at the corpses in surprise. White flags are displayed everywhere.
“Thousands of people crowd, look, talk and smile at each other. And these people, Christians, professing one great law of love and self-sacrifice, looking at what they have done, will not suddenly fall with repentance on their knees before the one who, having given them life, put into the soul of everyone, along with the fear of death, love for good and beautiful, and with tears of joy and happiness will not embrace like brothers? Not! White rags are hidden - and again the instruments of death and suffering whistle, pure innocent blood is shed again and groans and curses are heard ... Where is the expression of evil, which should be avoided? Where is the expression of the good that should be imitated in this story? Who is the villain, who is her hero? Everyone is good and everyone is bad ... The hero of my story, whom I love with all the strength of my soul, whom I tried to reproduce in all its beauty and who has always been, is and will be beautiful, is true "
Sevastopol in August 1855
Lieutenant Mikhail Kozeltsov, a respected officer, independent in his judgments and in his actions, not stupid, in many ways talented, a skilled drafter of government papers and a capable storyteller, returns to his position from the hospital. “He had one of those self-esteem, which merged with life to such an extent and which most often develops in some male, and especially military circles, that he did not understand any other choice, how to excel or be destroyed, and that self-esteem was the engine even of his internal motives."
A lot of people passing by have accumulated at the station: there are no horses. Some officers heading to Sevastopol do not even have lifting money, and they do not know how to continue their journey. Among those waiting is Kozeltsov's brother, Volodya. Contrary to family plans, Volodya, for minor misconduct, did not join the guard, but was sent (at his own request) to the active army. He, like any young officer, really wants to "fight for the Fatherland", and at the same time serve in the same place as his elder brother.
Volodya is a handsome young man, he is both shy in front of his brother and proud of him. The elder Kozeltsov invites his brother to immediately go with him to Sevastopol. Volodya seems to be embarrassed; he no longer really wants to go to war, and, besides, he, sitting at the station, managed to lose eight rubles. Kozeltsov pays his brother's debt with the last money, and they set off. On the way, Volodya dreams of the heroic deeds that he will certainly accomplish in the war together with his brother, of his beautiful death and dying reproaches to everyone else for not being able to appreciate “those who truly loved the Fatherland” during their lifetime, etc.
Upon arrival, the brothers go to the booth of a convoy officer, who counts a lot of money for the new regimental commander, who is acquiring a "farm". No one understands what made Volodya leave his quiet place in the far rear and come to warring Sevastopol without any profit. The battery, to which Volodya is seconded, stands on Korabelnaya, and both brothers go to spend the night with Mikhail on the fifth bastion. Before that, they visit Comrade Kozeltsov in the hospital. He is so bad that he does not immediately recognize Michael, he is waiting for an early death as a deliverance from suffering.
Leaving the hospital, the brothers decide to disperse, and, accompanied by the batman Mikhail Volodya, goes to his battery. The battery commander offers Volodya to spend the night in the staff captain's bed, which is located on the bastion itself. However, Junker Vlang is already sleeping on the bunk; he has to give way to the ensign (Voloda) who has arrived. At first Volodya cannot sleep; he is now frightened by the darkness, then by a premonition of imminent death. He fervently prays for deliverance from fear, calms down and falls asleep to the sound of falling shells.
Meanwhile, Kozeltsov Sr. arrives at the disposal of the new regimental commander - his recent comrade, now separated from him by a wall of subordination. The commander is unhappy that Kozeltsov is returning to duty prematurely, but instructs him to take command of his former company. In the company, Kozeltsov is greeted joyfully; it is noticeable that he enjoys great respect among the soldiers. Among the officers, he also expects a warm welcome and a sympathetic attitude towards the wound.
The next day, the bombardment continues with renewed vigor. Volodya begins to enter the circle of artillery officers; one can see their mutual sympathy for each other. Volodya is especially liked by the junker Vlang, who in every possible way foresees any desires of the new ensign. The good Captain Kraut, a German, who speaks Russian very correctly and too beautifully, returns from the positions. There is talk of abuse and legalized theft in senior positions. Volodya, blushing, assures the audience that such an "ignoble" deed will never happen to him.
Everyone is interested at lunch at the battery commander's, the conversations do not stop despite the fact that the menu is very modest. An envelope arrives from the chief of artillery; an officer with servants is required for a mortar battery on Malakhov Kurgan. This is a dangerous place; no one volunteers to go. One of the officers points to Volodya and, after a short discussion, he agrees to go "shoot" Together with Volodya, Vlang is sent. Volodya takes up the study of the "Guide" on artillery firing. However, upon arrival at the battery, all “rear” knowledge turns out to be unnecessary: firing is carried out randomly, not a single shot even resembles those mentioned in the “Manual” by weight, there are no workers to repair broken guns. In addition, two soldiers of his team are wounded, and Volodya himself repeatedly finds himself on the verge of death.
Vlang is very scared; he is no longer able to hide it and thinks solely about saving his own life at any cost. Volodya is "a little creepy and fun." Volodya's soldiers are holed up in Volodya's dugout. He communicates with interest with Melnikov, who is not afraid of bombs, being sure that he will die a different death. Having got used to the new commander, the soldiers under Volodya begin to discuss how the allies under the command of Prince Konstantin will come to their aid, how both warring parties will be given a rest for two weeks, and then they will take a fine for each shot, how in the war a month of service will be considered as year, etc.
Despite Vlang's entreaties, Volodya comes out of the dugout into the fresh air and sits on the doorstep with Melnikov until morning, while bombs fall around him and bullets whistle. But in the morning the battery and guns were put in order, and Volodya completely forgot about the danger; he only rejoices that he performs his duties well, that he does not show cowardice, but, on the contrary, is considered brave.
The French assault begins. Half-asleep, Kozeltsov jumps out to the company, awake, most of all concerned that he should not be considered a coward. He grabs his little saber and runs ahead of everyone at the enemy, shouting to inspire the soldiers. He is wounded in the chest. Waking up, Kozeltsov sees the doctor examining his wound, wiping his fingers on his coat and sending a priest to him. Kozeltsov asks if the French have been driven out; the priest, not wanting to upset the dying man, says that the Russians have won. Kozeltsov is happy; “He thought with an extremely gratifying feeling of self-satisfaction that he had done his duty well, that for the first time in his entire service he had acted as well as he could, and he could not reproach himself for anything.” He dies with the last thought of his brother, and Kozeltsov wishes him the same happiness.
The news of the assault finds Volodya in the dugout. "It was not so much the sight of the calmness of the soldiers as the miserable, undisguised cowardice of the junker that aroused him." Not wanting to be like Vlang, Volodya commands lightly, even cheerfully, but soon hears that the French are bypassing them. He sees enemy soldiers very close, it strikes him so much that he freezes in place and misses the moment when he can still be saved. Melnikov dies next to him from a bullet wound. Vlang tries to shoot back, calls Volodya to run after him, but, jumping into the trench, he sees that Volodya is already dead, and in the place where he just stood, the French are and shoot at the Russians. The French banner flutters over the Malakhov Kurgan.
Vlang with a battery on a steamboat arrives in a safer part of the city. He bitterly mourns the fallen Volodya; to which he was truly attached. The retreating soldiers, talking among themselves, notice that the French will not be staying in the city for long. “It was a feeling, as if similar to remorse, shame and anger. Almost every soldier, looking from the North side at the abandoned Sevastopol, sighed with inexpressible bitterness in his heart and threatened the enemies.
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Lev Nikolayevich Tolstoy
"Sevastopol stories"
Sevastopol in December
“The dawn is just beginning to color the sky over Sapun Mountain; the dark blue surface of the sea has already thrown off the twilight of the night and is waiting for the first ray to sparkle with a cheerful brilliance; from the bay it carries cold and fog; there is no snow - everything is black, but the sharp morning frost grabs your face and cracks under your feet, and the distant unceasing rumble of the sea, occasionally interrupted by rolling shots in Sevastopol, alone breaks the silence of the morning ... It cannot be that at the thought that you are in Sevastopol, a feeling of some kind of courage, pride, and so that the blood does not begin to circulate faster in your veins has not penetrated into your soul ... ”Despite the fact that hostilities are going on in the city, life goes on as usual: merchants sell hot rolls, and peasants sell sbiten. It seems that camp and peaceful life are strangely mixed here, everyone is fussing and frightened, but this is a deceptive impression: most people no longer pay attention to either shots or explosions, they are busy with “everyday business”. Only on the bastions "you will see ... the defenders of Sevastopol, you will see terrible and sad, great and funny, but amazing, uplifting spectacles there."
In the hospital, wounded soldiers talk about their impressions: the one who lost his leg does not remember the pain, because he did not think about it; a woman carrying lunch to her husband's bastion was hit by a shell, and her leg was cut off above the knee. Dressings and operations are done in a separate room. The wounded, awaiting their turn for surgery, are horrified to see how doctors amputate their comrades' arms and legs, and the paramedic indifferently throws the severed body parts into a corner. Here you can see “terrible, soul-shattering spectacles… war not in the correct, beautiful and brilliant formation, with music and drumming, with fluttering banners and prancing generals, but… war in its true expression — in blood, in suffering, in death… ". A young officer who fought on the fourth, most dangerous bastion, complains not about the abundance of bombs and shells falling on the heads of the defenders of the bastion, but about the dirt. This is his defensive reaction to danger; he behaves too boldly, cheekily and at ease.
On the way to the fourth bastion, non-military people are less and less common, and stretchers with the wounded are increasingly coming across. Actually, on the bastion, the artillery officer behaves calmly (he is used to both the whistle of bullets and the roar of explosions). He tells how during the assault on the 5th, only one active gun and very few servants remained on his battery, but still the next morning he was already firing from all the guns again.
The officer recalls how the bomb hit the sailor's dugout and killed eleven people. In the faces, posture, movements of the defenders of the bastion, “the main features that make up the strength of the Russian are visible - simplicity and stubbornness; but here on every face it seems to you that the danger, malice and suffering of war, in addition to these main signs, have also laid traces of consciousness of one’s dignity and lofty thoughts and feelings ... A feeling of anger, revenge on the enemy ... is hidden in the soul of everyone. When the cannonball flies directly at a person, he does not leave a feeling of pleasure and at the same time fear, and then he himself waits for the bomb to explode closer, because "there is a special charm" in such a game with death. “The main, gratifying conviction that you made is the conviction that it is impossible to take Sevastopol, and not only to take Sevastopol, but to shake the strength of the Russian people anywhere ... Because of the cross, because of the name, because of the threat, they cannot accept people, these terrible conditions: there must be another high motivating reason - this reason is a feeling that rarely manifests itself, bashful in Russian, but lies in the depths of everyone's soul - love for the motherland ... This epic of Sevastopol, of which the people were the hero, will leave great traces in Russia for a long time Russian…"
Sevastopol in May
Six months have passed since the start of hostilities in Sevastopol. “Thousands of human vanities managed to be offended, thousands managed to be satisfied, puffed up, thousands - to calm down in the arms of death.” The most fair is the solution of the conflict in an original way; if two soldiers fought (one from each army), and victory would remain with the side whose soldier emerges victorious. Such a decision is logical, because it is better to fight one on one than a hundred and thirty thousand against a hundred and thirty thousand. In general, war is illogical, from the point of view of Tolstoy: “one of two things: either war is madness, or if people do this madness, then they are not rational creatures at all, as we somehow usually think”
In the besieged Sevastopol, the military walk along the boulevards. Among them is an infantry officer (headquarters captain) Mikhailov, a tall, long-legged, stooping and awkward man. He recently received a letter from a friend, a retired lancer, in which he writes how his wife Natasha (Mikhailov's close friend) enthusiastically follows through the newspapers the movements of his regiment and the exploits of Mikhailov himself. Mikhailov bitterly recalls his former circle, which was "so much higher than the current one that when, in moments of frankness, he happened to tell his infantry comrades how he had his own droshky, how he danced at the governor's balls and played cards with a civilian general" , they listened to him indifferently, incredulously, as if not wanting only to contradict and prove the opposite
Mikhailov dreams of a promotion. He meets Captain Obzhogov and Warrant Officer Suslikov on the boulevard, employees of his regiment, and they shake hands with him, but he wants to deal not with them, but with "aristocrats" - for this he walks along the boulevard. “And since there are many people in the besieged city of Sevastopol, therefore, there is a lot of vanity, that is, aristocrats, despite the fact that death hangs every minute over the head of every aristocrat and non-aristocrat ... Vanity! It must be a characteristic feature and a special disease of our age ... Why in our age there are only three kinds of people: one - accepting the beginning of vanity as a fact that necessarily exists, therefore just, and freely obeying it; others accepting it as an unfortunate but insurmountable condition, and still others unconsciously acting slavishly under its influence…”
Mikhailov twice hesitantly passes by a circle of "aristocrats" and, finally, dares to come up and say hello (before he was afraid to approach them because they might not at all honor him with an answer to the greeting and thereby prick his sick pride). The “aristocrats” are Adjutant Kalugin, Prince Galtsin, Lieutenant Colonel Neferdov and Captain Praskukhin. In relation to the approached Mikhailov, they behave rather arrogantly; for example, Galtsin takes him by the arm and walks a little back and forth only because he knows that this sign of attention should please the staff captain. But soon the "aristocrats" begin to defiantly talk only to each other, thereby making it clear to Mikhailov that they no longer need his company.
Returning home, Mikhailov recalls that he volunteered to go the next morning instead of a sick officer to the bastion. He feels that he will be killed, and if he is not killed, then surely he will be rewarded. Mikhailov consoles himself that he acted honestly, that going to the bastion is his duty. On the way, he wonders where he might be wounded - in the leg, in the stomach or in the head.
Meanwhile, the "aristocrats" are drinking tea at Kalugin's in a beautifully furnished apartment, playing the piano, remembering their St. Petersburg acquaintances. At the same time, they behave not at all so unnaturally, importantly and pompously, as they did on the boulevard, demonstrating their “aristocratism” to those around them. An infantry officer enters with an important assignment to the general, but the "aristocrats" immediately assume their former "puffed up" look and pretend that they do not notice the newcomer at all. Only after escorting the courier to the general, Kalugin is imbued with the responsibility of the moment, announces to his comrades that a “hot” business is ahead.
Galtsin asks if he should go on a sortie, knowing that he will not go anywhere, because he is afraid, and Kalugin begins to dissuade Galtsin, also knowing that he will not go anywhere. Galtsin goes out into the street and begins to walk aimlessly back and forth, not forgetting to ask the wounded passing by how the battle is going, and scolding them for retreating. Kalugin, having gone to the bastion, does not forget to demonstrate his courage to everyone along the way: he does not bend down when the bullets whistle, he takes a dashing pose on horseback. He is unpleasantly struck by the "cowardice" of the battery commander, whose bravery is legendary.
Not wanting to take unnecessary risks, the battery commander, who spent half a year on the bastion, in response to Kalugin's demand to inspect the bastion, sends Kalugin to the guns along with a young officer. The general gives the order to Praskukhin to notify Mikhailov's battalion of the redeployment. He successfully delivers the order. In the dark, under enemy fire, the battalion begins to move. At the same time, Mikhailov and Praskukhin, walking side by side, think only about the impression they make on each other. They meet Kalugin, who, not wanting to "expose himself" once again, learns about the situation on the bastion from Mikhailov and turns back. A bomb explodes next to them, Praskukhin dies, and Mikhailov is wounded in the head. He refuses to go to the dressing station, because it is his duty to be with the company, and besides, he has a reward for the wound. He also believes that his duty is to pick up the wounded Praskukhin or make sure that he is dead. Mikhailov crawls back under fire, is convinced of the death of Praskukhin and returns with a clear conscience.
“Hundreds of fresh, bloody bodies of people, two hours ago full of various high and small hopes and desires, with stiff limbs, lay on a dewy flowering valley that separates the bastion from the trench, and on the flat floor of the chapel of the Dead in Sevastopol; hundreds of people - with curses and prayers on parched lips - crawled, tossed and groaned, some among the corpses in the flowering valley, others on stretchers, on cots and on the bloody floor of the dressing station; and all the same, as in the old days, the lightning lit up over Sapun Mountain, the twinkling stars turned pale, a white fog pulled from the noisy dark sea, a scarlet dawn lit up in the east, crimson long clouds fled across the light azure horizon, and everything is the same , as in former days, promising joy, love and happiness to the whole revived world, a mighty, beautiful luminary emerged.
The next day, the "aristocrats" and other military men stroll along the boulevard and vied with each other to talk about yesterday's "case", but in such a way that they basically state "the participation that he took and the courage that the narrator showed in the case." “Each of them is a little Napoleon, a little monster, and now he is ready to start a battle, to kill a hundred people just to get an extra star or a third of his salary.”
A truce has been declared between the Russians and the French, ordinary soldiers freely communicate with each other and, it seems, do not feel any enmity towards the enemy. The young cavalry officer is simply delighted to be able to chat in French, thinking he is incredibly smart. He discusses with the French what an inhuman deed they started together, referring to the war. At this time, the boy walks around the battlefield, collects blue wildflowers and looks at the corpses in surprise. White flags are displayed everywhere.
“Thousands of people crowd, look, talk and smile at each other. And these people are Christians who profess one great law of love and selflessness, looking at what they have done, they will not suddenly fall with repentance on their knees before the one who, having given them life, put into the soul of everyone, along with the fear of death, love for good and beautiful, and with tears of joy and happiness will not embrace like brothers? Not! White rags are hidden - and again the instruments of death and suffering whistle, pure innocent blood is shed again and groans and curses are heard ... Where is the expression of evil, which should be avoided? Where is the expression of the good that should be imitated in this story? Who is the villain, who is her hero? Everyone is good and everyone is bad ... But the hero of my story, whom I love with all the strength of my soul, whom I tried to reproduce in all its beauty and who has always been, is and will be beautiful, is true "
Sevastopol in August 1855
Lieutenant Mikhail Kozeltsov, a respected officer, independent in his judgments and in his actions, not stupid, in many ways talented, a skilled drafter of government papers and a capable storyteller, returns to his position from the hospital. “He had one of those self-esteem, which merged with life to such an extent and which most often develops in some male, and especially military circles, that he did not understand any other choice, how to excel or be destroyed, and that self-esteem was the engine even of his internal motives."
A lot of people passing by have accumulated at the station: there are no horses. Some officers heading to Sevastopol do not even have lifting money, and they do not know how to continue their journey. Among those waiting is Kozeltsov's brother, Volodya. Contrary to family plans, Volodya, for minor misconduct, did not join the guard, but was sent (at his own request) to the active army. He, like any young officer, really wants to "fight for the Fatherland", and at the same time serve in the same place as his elder brother.
Volodya is a handsome young man, he is both shy in front of his brother and proud of him. The elder Kozeltsov invites his brother to immediately go with him to Sevastopol. Volodya seems to be embarrassed; he no longer really wants to go to war, and, besides, he, sitting at the station, managed to lose eight rubles. Kozeltsov pays his brother's debt with the last money, and they set off. On the way, Volodya dreams of heroic deeds that he will certainly accomplish in the war with his brother, of his beautiful death and dying reproaches to everyone else for not being able to appreciate “truly loving Fatherland” during their lifetime, etc.
Upon arrival, the brothers go to the booth of a convoy officer, who counts a lot of money for the new regimental commander, who is acquiring a "farm". No one understands what made Volodya leave his quiet place in the far rear and come to warring Sevastopol without any profit. The battery, to which Volodya is seconded, stands on Korabelnaya, and both brothers go to spend the night with Mikhail on the fifth bastion. Before that, they visit Comrade Kozeltsov in the hospital. He is so bad that he does not immediately recognize Michael, he is waiting for an early death as a deliverance from suffering.
Leaving the hospital, the brothers decide to disperse, and, accompanied by the batman Mikhail Volodya, goes to his battery. The battery commander offers Volodya to spend the night in the staff captain's bed, which is located on the bastion itself. However, Junker Vlang is already sleeping on the bunk; he has to give way to the ensign (Voloda) who has arrived. At first Volodya cannot sleep; he is now frightened by the darkness, then by a premonition of imminent death. He fervently prays for deliverance from fear, calms down and falls asleep to the sound of falling shells.
Meanwhile, Kozeltsov Sr. arrives at the disposal of the new regimental commander - his recent comrade, now separated from him by a wall of subordination. The commander is unhappy that Kozeltsov is returning to duty prematurely, but instructs him to take command of his former company. In the company, Kozeltsov is greeted joyfully; it is noticeable that he enjoys great respect among the soldiers. Among the officers, he also expects a warm welcome and a sympathetic attitude towards the wound.
The next day, the bombardment continues with renewed vigor. Volodya begins to enter the circle of artillery officers; one can see their mutual sympathy for each other. Volodya is especially liked by the junker Vlang, who in every possible way foresees any desires of the new ensign. The good Captain Kraut, a German, who speaks Russian very correctly and too beautifully, returns from the positions. There is talk of abuse and legalized theft in senior positions. Volodya, blushing, assures the audience that such an "ignoble" deed will never happen to him.
Everyone is interested at lunch at the battery commander's, the conversations do not stop despite the fact that the menu is very modest. An envelope arrives from the chief of artillery; an officer with servants is required for a mortar battery on Malakhov Kurgan. This is a dangerous place; no one volunteers to go. One of the officers points to Volodya and, after a short discussion, he agrees to go "shoot" Together with Volodya, Vlang is sent. Volodya takes up the study of the "Guide" on artillery firing. However, upon arrival at the battery, all “rear” knowledge turns out to be unnecessary: firing is carried out randomly, not a single shot even resembles those mentioned in the “Manual” by weight, there are no workers to repair broken guns. In addition, two soldiers of his team are wounded, and Volodya himself repeatedly finds himself on the verge of death.
Vlang is very scared; he is no longer able to hide it and thinks solely about saving his own life at any cost. Volodya is "a little creepy and fun." Volodya's soldiers are holed up in Volodya's dugout. He communicates with interest with Melnikov, who is not afraid of bombs, being sure that he will die a different death. Having got used to the new commander, the soldiers under Volodya begin to discuss how the allies under the command of Prince Konstantin will come to their aid, how both warring parties will be given a rest for two weeks, and then they will take a fine for each shot, how in the war a month of service will be considered as year, etc.
Despite Vlang's entreaties, Volodya comes out of the dugout into the fresh air and sits on the doorstep with Melnikov until morning, while bombs fall around him and bullets whistle. But in the morning the battery and guns were put in order, and Volodya completely forgot about the danger; he only rejoices that he performs his duties well, that he does not show cowardice, but, on the contrary, is considered brave.
The French assault begins. Half-asleep, Kozeltsov jumps out to the company, awake, most of all concerned that he should not be considered a coward. He grabs his little saber and runs ahead of everyone at the enemy, shouting to inspire the soldiers. He is wounded in the chest. Waking up, Kozeltsov sees the doctor examining his wound, wiping his fingers on his coat and sending a priest to him. Kozeltsov asks if the French have been driven out; the priest, not wanting to upset the dying man, says that the Russians have won. Kozeltsov is happy; “He thought with an extremely gratifying feeling of self-satisfaction that he had done his duty well, that for the first time in his entire service he had acted as well as he could, and he could not reproach himself for anything.” He dies with the last thought of his brother, and Kozeltsov wishes him the same happiness.
The news of the assault finds Volodya in the dugout. "It was not so much the sight of the calmness of the soldiers as the miserable, undisguised cowardice of the junker that aroused him." Not wanting to be like Vlang, Volodya commands lightly, even cheerfully, but soon hears that the French are bypassing them. He sees enemy soldiers very close, it strikes him so much that he freezes in place and misses the moment when he can still be saved. Melnikov dies next to him from a bullet wound. Vlang tries to shoot back, calls Volodya to run after him, but, jumping into the trench, he sees that Volodya is already dead, and in the place where he just stood, the French are and shoot at the Russians. The French banner flutters over the Malakhov Kurgan.
Vlang with a battery on a steamboat arrives in a safer part of the city. He bitterly mourns the fallen Volodya; to which he was truly attached. The retreating soldiers, talking among themselves, notice that the French will not be staying in the city for long. “It was a feeling, as if similar to remorse, shame and anger. Almost every soldier, looking from the North side at the abandoned Sevastopol, sighed with inexpressible bitterness in his heart and threatened the enemies.
Sevastopol in December
There are fights in the city, but life goes on: they sell hot buns, sbiten. Life camp and peace strangely mixed up. People no longer pay attention to shots and explosions. The wounded in the hospital share their impressions. The one who lost his leg does not remember the pain. Those awaiting surgery watch in horror as their arms and legs are amputated. The paramedic throws the cut off into the corner. Here the war is not in the right order with music, but blood, suffering, death. A young officer from the 4th, the most dangerous bastion, complains not about bombs, but about dirt. Increasingly rare on the way to the 4th fortification, non-military people are encountered and more often they carry the wounded. The artilleryman says that on the 5th there was only one gun left and few servants, and in the morning they were again firing from all the guns. The officer recalled how the bomb fell into the dugout and killed 11 people. The defenders of the bastion show the features that make up the strength of the people: simplicity and stubbornness, dignity and lofty thoughts and feelings. In the epic of Sevastopol, the Russian people became a hero.
Sevastopol in May
Six months have passed since the fighting in Sevastopol. Thousands calmed down in the arms of death. It is more fair that two soldiers fight - one from each army. And the victory of that side was counted, whose soldier won. After all, war is crazy. Soldiers walk around the besieged Sevastopol. Infantry officer Mikhailov, a tall, stooping, awkward man, received a letter with a story about how his wife, Natasha, was following the events in the newspapers. He is vain, he wants to be promoted. Mikhailov hesitantly goes to the adjutant Kalugin, Prince Galtsin and others who make up the circle of aristocrats. They are arrogant and, having paid attention, they begin to talk to each other, demonstrating that they do not need Mikhailov's company. The officer goes to the bastion and wonders where he will be wounded. Aristocrats drink tea, listen to the piano, chat. An infantry officer enters with an important mission - and everyone looks puffed up. It's going to be hot.
Galtsin is afraid of attacks on the front line. He walks down the street, asking the wounded how the battle is going and scolds that they are retreating. Kalugin on the bastion demonstrates courage: he does not bend, he famously sits on horseback. He is struck by the alleged cowardice of the legendary battery commander.
Under fire, the battalion is redeploying. Mikhailov and Praskukhin meet Kalugin, he learns about the position of the bastion from Mikhailov, turns back, where it is safer. A bomb explodes and Praskukhin dies. Mikhailov, although wounded, does not go for dressing, remains with the company. Crawling under fire, he is convinced of the death of Praskukhin.
And the next day, the aristocrats are again walking along the boulevard, talking about a hot case, as if everyone had accomplished a feat.
Sevastopol in August 1855
Mikhail Kozeltsov, a lieutenant respected for independence in judgments and actions, is going to the position from the hospital. There are no horses at the station. The brother of Kozeltsov is also here. Volodya, of his own free will, goes to fight for the Fatherland where his older brother is. Arriving at the place, the brothers go to spend the night at the 5th bastion. Volodya goes to his battery. The darkness frightens him, he cannot sleep and prays for deliverance from fear.
Kozeltsov Sr. took command of his own company, where he is welcome. The bombing continues with renewed vigor. An officer was needed for Malakhov Kurgan. The place is dangerous, but Kozeltsov agrees. He was on the verge of death several times. The guns on the battery are already in order, and Volodya, forgetting about the danger, is glad that he did it and is considered brave. The assault begins. Kozeltsov runs ahead of the company with his saber. He is wounded in the chest. The doctor, having examined the wound, calls the priest. Kozeltsov is interested in whether the French have been knocked out. Not wanting to upset the mortally wounded, the priest assures the victory of the Russians. Volodya dies with the thought of his brother.
The French banner flutters over the Malakhov Kurgan. But the retreating soldiers are sure that the French will not stay here for long.
