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Yazar: Leo Tolstoy

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The night was foggy and through the fog the moonlight gleamed
mysteriously. "Yes, tomorrow, tomorrow!" he thought. "Tomorrow
everything may be over for me! All these memories will be no
more, none of them will have any meaning for me. Tomorrow
perhaps, even certainly, I have a presentiment that for the first
time I shall have to show all I can do." And his fancy pictured
the battle, its loss, the concentration of fighting at one point,
and the hesitation of all the commanders. And then that happy
moment, that Toulon for which he had so long waited, presents
itself to him at last. He firmly and clearly expresses his
opinion to Kutuzov, to Weyrother, and to the Emperors. All are
struck by the justness of his views, but no one undertakes to
carry them out, so he takes a regiment, a division-stipulates
that no one is to interfere with his arrangements-leads his
division to the decisive point, and gains the victory alone. "But
death and suffering?" suggested another voice.

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