The Weight of Victory — War and Peace

Rostov, with a sportsman's eye, is among the first to see blue French dragoons pursuing the Uhlans in disorder at the foot of the hill. He feels as at a hunt that if the hussars strike now the French cannot stand, and that the moment will not return. He turns to Captain Andrew Sevastyanych and says they could crush them. Without waiting for the reply, he gallops to the head of his squadron. The men share his feeling and follow before the word of command is finished. He acts as when hunting, without reflection. His Donets horse is eager, bullets whistle, and the pace becomes a gallop. The foremost dragoons turn. Rostov gives rein as if cutting across a wolf's path, clears a bush, and strikes a French officer on a grey horse.

The blow only slightly cuts the arm above the elbow. The officer falls more from shock and fright. He hops with one foot caught in the stirrup, pale, mud-stained, fair, with a dimple in the chin and light-blue eyes that look homelike, not like an enemy's. He cries surrender. Hussars free his foot. One wounded dragoon will not give up his horse. Rostov rides back with a vague depression he cannot name. Count Ostermann-Tolstoy thanks him, will report the deed to the Emperor, and will recommend a St. George's Cross. Rostov had expected punishment for charging without orders. The praise does not lift the moral nausea.

That day and the next he is silent and preoccupied. He looks at his prisoner, who waves with a feigned smile; the sword cut can scarcely be called a wound. He turns over the exploit that has won him the cross and a name for bravery. Others may be more afraid than he thought. Heroism may be only that. He did not do it for his country. His hand paused when he raised the saber. Why kill a frightened man with a dimple? While he reaches no answer, the wheel of fortune in the service turns. After Ostrovna he is noticed, given command of a hussar battalion, and chosen whenever a brave officer is wanted.