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Cengage Learning
The Red Badge of Courage / Edition 1

The Red Badge of Courage / Edition 1

by Stephen Crane
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Stephen Crane's classic 1895 Civil War novel continues to be read, studied, and discussed, generation after generation. Its searing images of war, destruction, and fear endure in the collective American mind. This Fourth Edition of the Norton Critical Edition of The Red Badge of Courage is again based on the 1895 first edition, published by D. Appleton & Co., conservatively amended and accompanied by explanatory annotations. Crane's uncanceled but unpublished manuscript passages, including his discarded Chapter XII, are reprinted in the Textual Appendix.

"Backgrounds and Sources" contains biographical, historical, and contextual material on both Crane and The Red Badge of Courage, with much new material in the Fourth Edition bearing on the novel's Civil War context. Frederick C. Crews, Donald Pizer, Stephen Crane, Jay Martin, John Higham, Charles J. LaRocca, Harold R. Hungerford, Perry Lentz, Eric Solomon, and J. C. Levenson provide the framework for understanding the novel as both literature and history. A number of essays, sketches, and photographs give readers a glimpse of the battle of Chancellorsville, the real-life inspiration for the novel, and of the soldiers who fought it.

"Criticism" is a collection of fifteen essays (two new and one expanded in this edition) that represent the best of what has been written about The Red Badge of Courage, from the earliest assessments to current schools of critical interpretation. Contributors include Donald Pizer, Stephen Crane (in self-judgment), George Wyndham, Frank Norris, R. W. Stallman, John E. Hart, Charles C. Walcutt, John Fraser, James Nagel, Amy Kaplan, James M. Cox, James E. Curran, Jr., and James B. Colvert. A Chronologyand updated Selected Bibliography are also included.

Product Details

ISBN-13: 9780534521172
Publisher: Cengage Learning
Publication date: 07/13/2004
Series: Wadsworth Classics Ser.
Edition description: New Edition
Pages: 112
Product dimensions: 5.90(w) x 8.80(h) x 0.30(d)

About the Author

Fredson Bowers was Linden Kent Professor of English at the University of Virginia. J. C. Levenson was Edgar Allan Poe Professor of English at the University of Virginia.

Read an Excerpt

THE cold passed reluctantly from the earth, and the retiring fogs revealed an army stretched out on the hills, resting. As the landscape changed from brown to green, the army awakened, and began to tremble with eagerness at the noise of rumors. It cast its eyes upon the roads, which were growing from long troughs of liquid mud to proper thoroughfares. A river, amber-tinted in the shadow of its banks, purled at the army's feet; and at night, when the stream had become of a sorrowful blackness, one could see across it the red, eyelike gleam of hostile camp fires set in the low brows of distant hills.

Once a certain tall soldier developed virtues and went resolutely to wash a shirt. He came flying back from a brook waving his garment bannerlike. He was swelled with a tale he had heard from a reliable friend, who had heard it from a truthful cavalryman, who had heard it from his trustworthy brother, one of the orderlies at division headquarters. He adopted the important air of a herald in red and gold.

'We're goin' t' move t'morra--sure,' he said pompously to a group in the company street. 'We're goin' 'way up the river, cut across, an' come around in behint 'em.'

To his attentive audience he drew a loud and elaborate plan of a very brilliant campaign. When he had finished, the blue-clothed men scattered into small arguing groups between the rows of squat brown huts. A negro teamster who had been dancing upon a cracker box with the hilarious encouragement of two-score soldiers was deserted. He sat mournfully down. Smoke drifted lazily from a multitude of quaint chimneys.

'It's a lie! that's all it is--a thunderin' lie!' said another private loudly. His smoothface was flushed, and his hands were thrust sulkily into his trousers' pockets. He took the matter as an affront to him. 'I don't believe the derned old army's ever going to move. We're set. I've got ready to move eight times in the last two weeks, and we ain't moved yet.'

The tall soldier felt called upon to defend the truth of a rumor he himself had introduced. He and the loud one came near to fighting over it.

A corporal began to swear before the assemblage. He had just put a costly board floor in his house, he said. During the early spring he had refrained from adding extensively to the comfort of his environment because he had felt that the army might start on the march at any moment. Of late, however, he had been impressed that they were in a sort of eternal camp.

Many of the men engaged in a spirited debate. One outlined in a peculiarly lucid manner all the plans of the commanding general. He was opposed by men who advocated that there were other plans of campaign. They clamored at each other, numbers making futile bids for the popular attention. Meanwhile, the soldier who had fetched the rumor bustled about with much importance. He was continually assailed by questions.

'What's up, Jim?'

'Th' army's goin' t' move.'

'Ah, what yeh talkin' about? How yeh know it is?'

'Well, yeh kin b'lieve me er not, jest as yeh like. I don't care a hang.'

There was much food for thought in the manner in which he replied. He came near to convincing them by disdaining to produce proofs. They grew much excited over it.

There was a youthful private who listened with eager ears to the words of the tall soldier and to the varied comments of his comrades. After receiving a fill of discussions concerning marches and attacks, he went to his hut and crawled through an intricate hole that served it as a door. He wished to be alone with some new thoughts that had lately come to him.

He lay down on a wide bunk that stretched across the end of the room. In the other end, cracker boxes were made to serve as furniture. They were grouped about the fireplace. A picture from an illustrated weekly was upon the log walls, and three rifles were paralleled on pegs. Equipments hung on handy projections, and some tin dishes lay upon a small pile of firewood. A folded tent was serving as a roof. The sunlight, without, beating upon it, made it glow a light yellow shade. A small window shot an oblique square of whiter light upon the cluttered floor. The smoke from the fire at times neglected the clay chimney and wreathed into the room, and this flimsy chimney of clay and sticks made endless threats to set ablaze the whole establishment.

The youth was in a little trance of astonishment. So they were at last going to fight. On the morrow, perhaps, there would be a battle, and he would be in it. For a time he was obliged to labor to make himself believe. He could not accept with assurance an omen that he was about to mingle in one of those great affairs of the earth.

He had, of course, dreamed of battles all his life--of vague and bloody conflicts that had thrilled him with their sweep and fire. In visions he had seen himself in many struggles. He had imagined peoples secure in the shadow of his eagle-eyed prowess. But awake he had regarded battles as crimson blotches on the pages of the past. He had put them as things of the bygone with his thought-images of heavy crowns and high castles. There was a portion of the world's history which he had regarded as the time of wars, but it, he thought, had been long gone over the horizon and had disappeared forever.

From his home his youthful eyes had looked upon the war in his own country with distrust. It must be some sort of play affair. He had long despaired of witnessing a Greeklike struggle. Such would be no more, he had said. Men were better, or more timid. Secular and religious education had effaced the throat-grappling instinct, or else firm finance held in check the passions.

He had burned several times to enlist. Tales of great movements shook the land. They might not be distinctly Homeric, but there seemed to be much glory in them. He had read of marches, sieges, conflicts, and he had longed to see it all. His busy mind had drawn for him large pictures extravagant in color, lurid with breathless deeds.

But his mother had discouraged him. She had affected to look with some contempt upon the quality of his war ardor and patriotism. She could calmly seat herself and with no apparent difficulty give him many hundreds of reasons why he was of vastly more importance on the farm than on the field of battle. She had had certain ways of expression that told him that her statements on the subject came from a deep conviction. Moreover, on her side, was his belief that her ethical motive in the argument was impregnable.

At last, however, he had made firm rebellion against this yellow light thrown upon the color of his ambitions. The newspapers, the gossip of the village, his own picturings, had aroused him to an uncheckable degree. They were in truth fighting finely down there. Almost every day the newspapers printed accounts of a decisive victory.

One night, as he lay in bed, the winds had carried to him the clangoring of the church bell as some enthusiast jerked the rope frantically to tell the twisted news of a great battle. This voice of the people rejoicing in the night had made him shiver in a prolonged ecstasy of excitement. Later, he had gone down to his mother's room and had spoken thus: 'Ma, I'm going to enlist.'

'Henry, don't you be a fool,' his mother had replied. She had then covered her face with the quilt. There was an end to the matter for that night.

Nevertheless, the next morning he had gone to a town that was near his mother's farm and had enlisted in a company that was forming there. When he had returned home his mother was milking the brindle cow. Four others stood waiting. 'Ma, I've enlisted,' he had said to her diffidently. There was a short silence. 'The Lord's will be done, Henry,' she had finally replied, and had then continued to milk the brindle cow.

When he had stood in the doorway with his soldier's clothes on his back, and with the light of excitement and expectancy in his eyes almost defeating the glow of regret for the home bonds, he had seen two tears leaving their trails on his mother's scarred cheeks.

Still, she had disappointed him by saying nothing whatever about returning with his shield or on it. He had privately primed himself for a beautiful scene. He had prepared certain sentences which he thought could be used with touching effect. But her words destroyed his plans. She had doggedly peeled potatoes and addressed him as follows: 'You watch out, Henry, an' take good care of yerself in this here fighting business--you watch out, an' take good care of yerself. Don't go a-thinkin' you can lick the hull rebel army at the start, because yeh can't. Yer jest one little feller amongst a hull lot of others, and yeh've got to keep quiet an' do what they tell yeh. I know how you are, Henry.

'I've knet yeh eight pairs of socks, Henry, and I've put in all yer best shirts, because I want my boy to be jest as warm and comf'able as anybody in the army. Whenever they get holes in 'em, I want yeh to send 'em right-away back to me, so's I kin dern 'em.

'An' allus be careful an' choose yer comp'ny. There's lots of bad men in the army, Henry. The army makes 'em wild, and they like nothing better than the job of leading off a young feller like you, as ain't never been away from home much and has allus had a mother, an' a-learning 'em to drink and swear. Keep clear of them folks, Henry. I don't want yeh to ever do anything, Henry, that yeh would be 'shamed to let me know about. Jest think as if I was a-watchin' yeh. If yeh keep that in yer mind allus, I guess yeh'll come out about right.

'Yeh must allus remember yer father, too, child, an' remember he never drunk a drop of licker in his life, and seldom swore a cross oath.

'I don't know what else to tell yeh, Henry, excepting that yeh must never do no shirking, child, on my account. If so be a time comes when yeh have to be kilt or do a mean thing, why, Henry, don't think of anything 'cept what's right, because there's many a woman has to bear up 'ginst sech things these times, and the Lord 'll take keer of us all.

'Don'ot forgit about the socks and the shirts, child; and I've put a cup of blackberry jam with yer bundle, because I know yeh like it above all things. Good-by, Henry. Watch out, and be a good boy.'

He had, of course, been impatient under the ordeal of this speech. It had not been quite what he expected, and he had borne it with an air of irritation. He departed feeling vague relief.

Still, when he had looked back from the gate, he had seen his mother kneeling among the potato parings. Her brown face, upraised, was stained with tears, and her spare form was quivering. He bowed his head and went on, feeling suddenly ashamed of his purposes.

From his home he had gone to the seminary to bid adieu to many schoolmates. They had thronged about him with wonder and admiration. He had felt the gulf now between them and had swelled with calm pride. He and some of his fellows who had donned blue were quite overwhelmed with privileges for all of one afternoon, and it had been a very delicious thing. They had strutted.

A certain light-haired girl had made vivacious fun at his martial spirit, but there was another and darker girl whom he had gazed at steadfastly, and he thought she grew demure and sad at sight of his blue and brass. As he had walked down the path between the rows of oaks, he had turned his head and detected her at a window watching his departure. As he perceived her, she had immediately begun to stare up through the high tree branches at the sky. He had seen a good deal of flurry and haste in her movement as she changed her attitude. He often thought of it.

On the way to Washington his spirit had soared. The regiment was fed and caressed at station after station until the youth had believed that he must be a hero. There was a lavish expenditure of bread and cold meats, coffee, and pickles and cheese. As he basked in the smiles of the girls and was patted and complimented by the old men, he had felt growing within him the strength to do mighty deeds of arms.

After complicated journeying with many pauses, there had come months of monotonous life in a camp. He had had the belief that real war was a series of death struggles with small time in between for sleep and meals; but since his regiment had come to the field the army had done little but sit still and try to keep warm.

He was brought then gradually back to his old ideas. Greeklike struggles would be no more. Men were better, or more timid. Secular and religious education had effaced the throat-grappling instinct, or else firm finance held in check the passions.

He had grown to regard himself merely as a part of a vast blue demonstration. His province was to look out, as far as he could, for his personal comfort. For recreation he could twiddle his thumbs and speculate on the thoughts which must agitate the minds of the generals. Also, he was drilled and drilled and reviewed, and drilled and drilled and reviewed.

The only foes he had seen were some pickets along the river bank. They were a sun-tanned, philosophical lot, who sometimes shot reflectively at the blue pickets. When reproached for this afterward, they usually expressed sorrow, and swore by their gods that the guns had exploded without their permission. The youth, on guard duty one night, conversed across the stream with one of them. He was a slightly ragged man, who spat skillfully between his shoes and possessed a great fund of bland and infantile assurance. The youth liked him personally.

'Yank,' the other had informed him, 'yer a right dum good feller.' This sentiment, floating to him upon the still air, had made him temporarily regret war.

Various veterans had told him tales. Some talked of gray, bewhiskered hordes who were advancing with relentless curses and chewing tobacco with unspeakable valor; tremendous bodies of fierce soldiery who were sweeping along like the Huns. Others spoke of tattered and eternally hungry men who fired despondent powders. 'They'll charge through hell's fire an' brimstone t' git a holt on a haversack, an' sech stomachs ain't a-lastin' long,' he was told. From the stories, the youth imagined the red, live bones sticking out through slits in the faded uniforms.

Still, he could not put a whole faith in veterans' tales, for recruits were their prey. They talked much of smoke, fire, and blood, but he could not tell how much might be lies. They persistently yelled, 'Fresh fish!' at him, and were in no wise to be trusted.

However, he perceived now that it did not greatly matter what kind of soldiers he was going to fight, so long as they fought, which fact no one disputed. There was a more serious problem. He lay in his bunk pondering upon it. He tried to mathematically prove to himself that he would not run from a battle.

Previously he had never felt obliged to wrestle too seriously with this question. In his life he had taken certain things for granted, never challenging his belief in ultimate success, and bothering little about means and roads. But here he was confronted with a thing of moment. It had suddenly appeared to him that perhaps in a battle he might run. He was forced to admit that as far as war was concerned he knew nothing of himself.

A sufficient time before he would have allowed the probl

Table of Contents

Preface     vii
A Note on the Text     ix
The Text of The Red Badge of Courage     1
Textual Appendix     105
Emendations     105
The Manuscript of The Red Badge of Courage: Uncanceled Passages and the Discarded Chapter XII     106
Backgrounds and Sources     115
Stephen Crane's Life and Times: An Introduction     117
[Crane's Life and Times]   Frederick C. Crews     117
Letters on Art and The Red Badge of Courage   Stephen Crane     123
The Massing of Forces-The Forging of Masses   Jay Martin     127
The Reorientation of American Culture in the 1890s   John Higham     139
The Red Badge of Courage as a Novel of the Civil War     152
[The Historical Setting of The Red Badge of Courage]   Charles J. LaRocca     152
"That Was at Chancellorsville": The Factual Framework of The Red Badge of Courage   Harold R. Hungerford     155
[Private Fleming's Initial Combat at Chancellorsville]   Perry Lentz     166
Chancellorsville, Afternoon of 2 May 1863     175
Three Sketches of Chancellorsville from Battles and Leaders of the Civil War     176
Photographs of Men of the 124th New York Volunteers     179
A Definition of the War Novel   Eric Solomon     181
Tolstoy's Sebastopol and The Red Badge of Courage   J. C. Levenson     187
Criticism     193
Crane and The Red Badge of Courage: A Guide to Criticism   Donald Pizer     195
Early Estimates     229
The Veteran   Stephen Crane     229
A Remarkable Book   George Wyndham     233
A Controversy in The Dial     241
The Green Stone of Unrest   Frank Norris     248
The Modern Critical Revival     251
Stephen Crane: A Revaluation   R. W. Stallman     251
The Red Badge of Courage as Myth and Symbol   John E. Hart     262
[Stephen Crane: Naturalist]   Charles C. Walcutt     271
Crime and Forgiveness: The Red Badge in Time of War   John Fraser     279
[Impressionism in The Red Badge of Courage]   James Nagel     291
The Red Badge of Courage: Text, Theme, and Form   Donald Pizer     306
The Spectacle of War in Crane's Revision of History   Amy Kaplan     319
On Stephen Crane's The Red Badge of Courage   James M. Cox      327
Nobody seems to know where we go": Uncertainty, History and Irony in The Red Badge of Courage   John E. Curran Jr     343
Unreal War in The Red Badge of Courage   James B. Colvert     355
Stephen Crane: A Chronology     367
Selected Bibliography     373

What People are Saying About This

Joseph Conrad

as to 'masterpiece,' there is no doubt that The Red Badge of Courage is that, if only because of the marvellous accord of the vivid impressionistic description of action on that woodland battlefield and the imagined style of the analysis of ... the inward moral struggle going on in the breast of one individual - the Young Soldier.

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The Red Badge of Courage 2.9 out of 5 based on 0 ratings. 9 reviews.
jcdemo on LibraryThing More than 1 year ago
This is one of the few books I've read countless times. I usually only want to read a book once, but this one is the kind of story you can go back to over and over again.
MKirchner on LibraryThing More than 1 year ago
Some Call it a Classic, but I¿m not Sure WhyWhen I chose to read The Red Badge of Courage I had certain expectations for the book. Being regarded as a classic I assumed there would be epic struggles throughout the book, focusing on soldiers of different ranks and authority as they fought and died with honor and dignity. I also thought that the book would be easy to read and comprehend, since it isn¿t a very long book. Because it was such a short book I also figured that it would immediately jump into the action and grab me making me want to read more and more. After I started reading it though, I knew I was in for a much different experience.If I had made a smart decision I would have stopped reading The Red Badge of Courage and picked up another book after the first couple chapters. The way they were written made important features to the story seem confusing and uninteresting by using strange narrative choices and unrecognizable terminology (to me at least). I kept on reading because I knew it was a classic, so I figured that the story was going to get better. To my disappointment as the story went on, the action became more abundant, but the way it was portrayed was unchanging. Although these complaints are probably just my feelings caused from not being exposed to this type of literature, I suspect that I am not the only individual who had trouble reading this book. Another reason I found this book hard to read is the dialogue. Most of the conversations consist of dialogue such as, ¿Well, he was a reg¿lar jim-dandy fer nerve, wa¿n¿t he?¿. This is interesting at first, but about halfway through I was tired of it. I think that the book would have been better if the strange talking was just toned down a bit.I enjoyed the characters in this book for the most part, but only a couple of them were memorable. The author of The Red Badge of Courage, Stephen Crane, portrays the characters in a strange way. For instance, Henry Fleming, the main character, is often referred to as, ¿The Youth¿, and is rarely referred to by his actual name. this let me connect to him in a different way, but it takes so long for him to introduce his name that it became annoying. He also did the same thing with all the other characters in the book, referring to people as ¿The Wounded Soldier¿, and ¿The Lieutenant¿. One of the things I truly admired about this book was the character progression throughout the story. I liked the way ¿The Youth¿ became stronger and more courageous from battle to battle and how his views changed about his fellow soldiers. Overall I was not very fond of The Red Badge of Courage mainly because it was tough to read. All the strange narrative and dialogue choices made me have to read certain parts two or three times before I truly understood what was going on. I didn¿t necessarily have a problem with the events that took place in the story, in fact I found them to be a bit interesting, I just did not like the way the book was written. Looking back now, I can understand why others may have liked this book, but it just wasn¿t for me.
michaeleconomy on LibraryThing More than 1 year ago
lame... a war book with no action in it, and some guy running around whiningi had to read this in highschoolnot a fun to read book
MissClark on LibraryThing More than 1 year ago
If I had had any illusions about the ugliness and horror of war, its cruelty and senselessness, they would have been shattered after reading Crane's classic. However, I had none and found it very depressing and not at all inspiring. The main character was difficult to emphasize with, even though one feels pity for his position, however stupid and foolish he may have been to get himself there. Furthermore, although the evils of war are vividly shown, quite truthfully painting a picture of some of the horrors experienced by men on th lines, I found it notable that Crane fails to point out that amid all its brutality and wretchedness, there are reasons that a war should be fought. And that despite fallen human nature, conflicts have been fought, however rarely, with honor and integrity, with the particpants acting with dignity and treating their opponents with respect.
anushh on LibraryThing More than 1 year ago
Ahh finally done. Can't believe I actually mustered enough patience to finish this book.
tyroeternal on LibraryThing More than 1 year ago
Certainly not what I expected, but slowly it turned around from being a 1 star rating to a 4 star. No, there is no exciting action or entertainment but there is something to be said for it's commentary on war and psychology. I do not see myself reading it again, but that does not mean it was so terrible.
Nharry on LibraryThing More than 1 year ago
Stephen Crane creates a novel that illustrates the internal growth of Henry, a boy who signs up for the Union army. Striving for glory, attention, women, and the general spoils of war, Henry¿s growth is shown in The Red Badge of Courage by his developing perceptions of war. The boy becomes a man not through getting ¿a red badge of courage¿ but by fighting with his heart and by finding his own reasons to fight in the `war machine¿. The boy¿s fear changes to contempt for the Union leaders until he personally becomes successful on the battlefield. His success and survival is what dictates his courage and he acquires a certain quite confidence within himself. This peace is self-sustainable and independent from the women, attention, and glory of being in a war.As Crane writes the novel, he carefully uses certain literary techniques to enhance Henry¿s presence as a hero in the novel. Henry¿s personality and existence in the war machine stands out because Cane uses vague vocabulary to illustrate soldiers and humanity. The Union army is simplified to be the ¿blue soldiers¿ and the Confederate army is reduced to be the ¿red soldiers¿. Devoid from political ambitions or those for `the greater good¿, Henry doesn¿t relate to the army¿s common cause. Therefore, Henry¿s development into adulthood is his personal journey. Subsequently, he fights harder in skirmishes and becomes a `hero¿ on the battlefield.Although I enjoyed the action surrounding Henry¿s involvement in the war, the substance of the story was in Henry¿s personal growth. So, despite the depth in Henry¿s character development, Cane¿s technique of creating rich scenes on the battlefield didn¿t `flow well¿ with the impersonal references to soldiers and the `war machine¿. This cast a somewhat depressing tone over humanity especially when contrasted against nature. While this was an exciting read at times, it wasn¿t my personal favorite because of how Henry¿s personal growth paralleled his actions subsequently making the story a little too predictable at times.
dereklink on LibraryThing More than 1 year ago
This book is about a youth who goes to war. He pretends that he is brave, but is in fact a coward at heart. It is interesting if you use your imagination. Otherwise, it is a pretty bland book and I fell asleep a few times while reading it.
CodyA More than 1 year ago
I would recommend this book to anyone who wants to read about America. It was amazing and has distinctive styles. I love the fact that it had realistic battle scenes and kept me on the edge of my seat the whole time. The main character Henry Fleming was an 18 year old boy who was fighting in plenty of wars throughout the book. This book took place during the time period of the Civil War. I thought the book was amazing because I really enjoy history and the wars especially the Civil War. It was cool because the author Stephen Crane made me feel like I was actually in the war that was going on. I would have to say that my favorite battle was the first one where Henry and the other soldiers were awaiting a war beside a river. It was interesting reading whether Henry would turn away in fear or be brave and fight with his army. In the book Henry disappointed me but other times he made me happy or glad he made some certain choices. My last piece of advice to anyone who reads this book would be to enjoy reading about wars and huge historical events.CodyA