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An exploding phosphorous round silhouettes a helmeted American doughboy of the 28th Division at Fismette in August The French-ordered attack was a costly failure. Only a few dozen of them remained, scattered in the cellars of half-ruined houses and strung out behind a battered stone wall that spanned the northern edge of the village.
They had been fighting for weeks and had not eaten a scrap of food for four days.
Nerves frazzled and lungs wracked by gas, they slumped at their posts, seemingly more dead than alive. They had long since used up their grenades. German artillery had knocked out their only machine gun. Their rifle ammunition was running low.
And they were trapped. German troops occupied the steep hillsides that dominated the village to the north, east and west. To the south the debris-choked river flowed 45 feet wide and 15 deep. Otherwise, the only way across was a shattered stone footbridge that barely linked one bank to the other.
Clambering over the bridge was a slow business—impossible in daylight, due to enemy mortars and machine guns, and risky at night.
For the past two hours the Germans had bombarded Fismette with every gun in their arsenal. A full battalion of elite stormtroopers armed with rifles, grenades and flamethrowers rushed the weak American line.
As thick black smoke and flames spurted toward them, the ranking American officer, Major Alan Donnelly, could find only two words to say.
Later that year the unit was redesignated the 28th Division, assigned to the American Expeditionary Forces and shipped to France under the command of Maj. Though grouchy and inflexible, Muir knew what fighting meant. Serving as a sharpshooter during the Spanish-American War, he had received the Distinguished Service Cross for single-handedly killing the entire crew of a Spanish artillery piece.
As no independent American Army in France yet existed, however, they were under the overall command of Maj. Attacking northward from the Marne River about 50 miles east of Paris, they pushed into an enemy-held salient backed by the Aisne River.
They had advanced 20 miles in just over a month and cleared out most of the German salient.
Degoutte nevertheless ordered the 28th Division to cross the Vesle, capture Fismette and hold it as a bridgehead. The bridgehead at Fismette was too vulnerable, they argued. Enemy-held hills overlooked it on all sides, and withdrawal under fire over the Vesle would be next to impossible.
But Degoutte would have none of it, and the American generals had to swallow their objections. The Germans did not concede Fismette easily. On the night of August 6—7, troops of the th Infantry attacked the village, but German resistance was too strong, and they had to withdraw. They tried again the following morning after American artillery had laid down a heavy barrage, and after a savage street fight they gained enough of a toehold to hang on.
For the next 24 hours attacks, counterattacks and constant hand-to-hand fighting engulfed Fismette in an inferno of flame, smoke and noise. Lieutenant Hervey Allen, a literate young man from Pittsburgh who would later become a successful novelist, approached the riverbank opposite Fismette late on the evening of August 9.
His company of the th Infantry had been fighting the Germans for six weeks and had not received rations for the past few days. Somewhere in there lay Fismette. The infantrymen crossed the stone bridge just after midnight. As they picked their way forward, they prayed enemy flares would not light up the sky and expose them to machine-gun fire.
Fortunately, the sky remained dark. Rifle fire intensified, however, as the doughboys entered Fismette. The Germans still held much of the village, and contested the Americans house to house.
Ahead, on a half-wooded upward slope cut by a small gully, German machine guns barked at them furiously from the shelter of some trees. The captain ordered an attack but was shot dead as he led his men into the open.
Allen and the others continued forward another 50 yards before retiring to the village with heavy losses. Their standing orders were to attack and seize the hills above Fismette, but this seemed insane when even survival was problematic.‘Staring past the wall, Allen saw a sudden puff of smoke that rolled forward with a jet of yellow flame.
Men curled up as smoke and flame rolled over them, and he dazedly thought of burning leaves’ To the surviving doughboys, the cry seemed like a death knell. Only a few dozen of them remained.
The faint glow of dusk had given way to the deep black of night by the time the streetcar clattered up Summer Street at , its sole headlight and the scattered street lamps waging a losing. Which elements of A View from the Bridge resemble Greek Tragedy?
How does this change or affect the significance of the play as a modern drama?
Fierce loyalties Lloyd Hutchinson and Julia Ford in A View from the Bridge. Photograph: Stephen Vaughan The power of Charlotte Gwinner's production rises, like steam from the sidewalk, through. A large section of the bridge collapsed in torrential rain. Credit: ANSA A section of the bridge crashed down over a river, an industrial zone, some railroad tracks and buildings in torrential rain. A View from a Bridge uses the conventions of a Greek Tragedy, as Arthur Miller used a final climax in the play where Eddie Carbone (one of the main characters) tragically dies, which suggests his play is based on a traditional Greek tragedy.
There are several elements of A View from the Bridge that resemble Greek drama. Eddie is the tragic, mad character who is helpless in the face of his own. - A View from the Bridge by Arthur Miller 'A View from the Bridge' is a 's play written by Arthur Miller.
It follows the same structure as an Ancient Greek tragedy, where the main actor and in this case Eddie Carbone falls to a tragic and yet a predictable inflicted death.
Sep 06, · A view of the east side of the bridge from a nearby apartment. Nadia Shira Cohen for The New York Times Because the investigation is in its early stages, conclusions could still change. A truck is blocked at the end of the collapsed Morandi highway bridge in Genoa, northern Italy, Wednesday, Aug.
15, A bridge on a main highway linking Italy with France collapsed in the Italian port city of Genoa during a sudden, violent storm, sending vehicles plunging 90 meters (nearly feet) into a heap of rubble below.