What If Napoleon Threw a War and Nobody Came?

Volume III, Part I of War and Peace starts with a new genre or a new strand of writing: the essay. So far, we've had the peace strand and the war strand, and I've tried to point out the many ways in which they are not separate phenomena, but are actually interwoven and connected to each other. Now, in addition to pure fiction, we have the essays, and so in addition to seeing how war and peace combine in the novel, we should try to see how fiction and essay correspond as well.

In many ways, it makes sense that Tolstoy would introduce a new genre right here, right at this point. Volumes I and II have been the "pre-history," so to speak, but Volume III brings us right into the year 1812 itself - that year that was so fateful (or "fateful," with the quotation marks, depending on your point of view) for both Russia and Napoleon. Previously, we had had large chunks of the novel dedicated to peace (all of Volume I, Part I), then war (all of Volume I, Part II), then the two started to become mixed together, then when there were some lulls in the war, peace (or "peace" - if you consider duels, betrayal, and cruelty to be peace) predominated. The characters have always appeared and disappeared, but usually we have had some sort of measure of consistency: we focus on Nikolai and Andrei for quite some time, then Nikolai disappears and Pierre comes to the fore, then we follow Pierre and Andrei, Andrei and Natasha, Nikolai and Natasha. A few characters predominate for several chapters, then disappear for just as many, but in more or less comprehensible chunks. But in Volume III, everything changes - war scenes and peace scenes follow each other in quick succession, the characters pile on top of one another pell-mell. Here, we have it all: war, peace, Nikolai, Pierre, Andrei, Natasha, Marya, Napoleon, Alexander, Vilna, Smolensk, Moscow, Boris, Petya. The chaotic nature of the war is reflected in the chaotic nature of the book itself. Any dividing lines that may have once existed between war and peace are gone, so why not throw in a new form of writing for good measure?

When Napoleon actually crosses the border into Russia, all borders disappear. The Russians can no longer avoid the war. It literally appears on their doorstep as we watch Smolensk burn to the ground and Princess Marya and her father abandon their ancestral home in retreat from the French. Before her father's death, Princess Marya does not pay attention to the war and does not understand it fully. After he dies, this becomes a luxury she can no longer afford. Andrei once again visits his family's estate at Bald Hills - but not to see his wife give birth to their child and then die, and not to wallow in depression, but because his military detachment has retreated as far as Bald Hills and he wants to be sure his loved ones have left the area. I had mentioned in an earlier blog entry that War and Peace seems in many ways to be based on circles, but that the circles are often broken. Andrei's circular return to Bald Hills is an example of this, and Bald Hills becomes a meeting point, an intersection, of war and peace.

I wonder if Tolstoy is rolling over in his grave right now and gnashing his teeth because I wrote "When Napoleon actually crosses the border into Russia"? If we think about the phrase literally, it conjures up an image of Napoleon, alone, atop some kind of white horse and wearing his tricorne hat, galloping jauntily along the Russian plains by himself. But of course, Napoleon didn't arrive alone - he arrived together with his Grande armee, with the Polish uhlans who are so ridiculously ecstatic to die in front of the Emperor's eyes while he's not even watching them. Tolstoy probably would have hated the phrase I just used because it runs counter to one of his main points: "When it comes to events in history, so-called 'great men' are nothing but labels attached to events; like real labels, they have the least possible connection with events themselves." Actually, maybe he would have liked my phrase because it proves his point: Napoleon didn't cross the border alone, and he didn't invade Russia alone, but his name has become a label for a particular historical event. He is nothing but metonymy; he is just a literary device or a figure of speech.

"Kings are the slaves of history." Tolstoy must have loved writing that phrase - almost as much as I love reading it. As Prince Andrei watches the machinations of the competing military interest groups, he as a fictional character realizes what Tolstoy states in his essays: that great men (or "great men") really have no control over the historical events going on around them, even though we (and they) like to think that they do. In another essay at the beginning of Volume III, Part II, Tolstoy writes that even though the participants in historical events think they are acting according to their own interests and free will, in fact "they were actually nothing more than unwitting tools in the hands of history" and that "this is the unavoidable fate of all men of action, and the higher they stand in the social hierarchy the less freedom they have."

Since the question was recently raised of why and in what way this book has had such an impact on me personally, I will again wax philosophical: Tolstoy is right. We like to think that political leaders or "great men" control events, but they really have less freedom than anyone else. I recently had a very interesting conversation with one of my students, who is taking my class on War and Peace this semester. This past summer, he had an internship in Washington, DC, working in the office of one of his state's Congressmen (for the sake of anonymity, I won't indicate which state, but it wasn't Indiana). During this summer's debt ceiling debacle, they were handed a document and told to basically "balance the budget." They studied the document but, he said, they came to two conclusions. All of their suggestions either a) would have made almost no impact whatsoever, or b) would have been so wildly unpopular that there was no way they could have suggested them to their constituents (like raising taxes), so there wasn't really anything they could do. I hate to become so pedantic that I see Tolstoy everywhere, but... well, come on! This has Tolstoy written all over it. We like to think that X political figure is completely in charge of events, that when things go bad, it's "all his fault," or when things go well it's due to "his genius." But the people at the top of the pyramid have to take into account such a myriad of different opinions, factors, and voices acting upon them that they end up having less free will in their decisions than anyone.

Tolstoy points out that it's not the will of great men that matters in history. "History" is sometimes defined by Tolstoy as "Providence," sometimes as "the amorphous, unconscious life within the swarm of humanity." Napoleon's desire to invade Russia is no more important than "the willingness or unwillingness of any old French corporal to serve a second term, for had he refused to serve, and a second and a third and a thousand corporals and soldiers along with him, Napoleon's army would have been reduced by that number and there could have been no war." This is one of the reasons why War and Peace is so long - it is the "amorphous, unconscious life within the swarm of humanity" that interests Tolstoy because that is what actually makes up history. If Andrei hadn't been so disappointed at being betrayed by a silly young girl and therefore hadn't decided to return to the military, if Nikolai hadn't found family life at home so complicated and confusing and army life so clear and soothing and therefore hadn't returned to his regiment, if Pierre hadn't been so intoxicated by the Tsar's presence, a new uniform, and some vague feelings of being useful to his country and therefore hadn't pledged to send 1,000 recruits, there would have been no Russian army, and hence no war with Napoleon. The Tsar can want war with Napoleon all he wants, and vice-versa, but if nobody shows up, what kind of war can there be?

At our last chat session, someone raised the question, after reading the essay at the beginning of Volume III, Part I, of whether Tolstoy was a pacifist. Yes and no. About a decade before writing War and Peace, he had fought in the military and had even taken part in the bloody battle of Sevastopol during the Crimean War. Decades after writing War and Peace, he became famous for his pacifism. Where exactly he was on that spectrum while writing WP I can't really say, but I am struck by the fact that the formula that shows up in his later works is already present here. There are two things that can put an end to the war between individual human beings: love and forgiveness.

Forgiveness is a major theme that runs through this section of the novel. It starts up in Volume II, Part V - we see it when Natasha slips and falls. Pierre, who is so disgusted by her actions, is eventually moved to pity for her and ultimately to forgiveness. Andrei cannot forgive her, and as a result is consumed by the desire for revenge against Anatole. He literally criss-crosses the Russian Empire in an attempt to "accidentally" bump into Anatole, create a new pretext for offense, and challenge him to a duel. He fantasizes about killing Anatole, about getting revenge on his enemy. Natasha eventually finds some kind of regeneration in religion - she begins to attend church services, and during the prayer service she fantasizes about having more enemies, more people her hate her, so that she can love and forgive them all. She thinks of Anatole not in Andrei's terms of revenge, but in the terms of forgiveness. So when the prayer passed down from the Holy Synod is read aloud, a bloodthirsty prayer glorifying war and requesting God to "Strike down our enemies and be swift to destroy them beneath the feet of Thy faithful servants," Natasha is confused. The narrator tells us, "she couldn't pray for her enemies to be trampled underfoot when only a few minutes earlier she had been wishing for more enemies to love and pray for." Public and private collide and can't be reconciled, so instead Natasha "prayed that everyone should be forgiven, including her, and that she and everyone else should enjoy peace and happiness in their lives." Forgiveness of one's enemies triumphs in Natasha's heart over the government's demand that she condemn them.

This is not a much of a spoiler, but a tiny spoiler it is: Andrei and Anatole will eventually meet up again. When they do, the moment begs the question: why here? why now? It is a moment that, in my opinion, bears reflection on the greater issues of the book: in spite of all of our desires to control history (like Napoleon or Alexander, or like Andrei chasing Anatole all over Russia), and in spite of our attempts to predict the future (like Pierre with his ridiculous - and grammatically incorrect - desire to see Napoleon as the Antichrist and himself as the anti-Antichrist), events work out in their own way, at their own time, and perhaps in accordance with a bigger plan that is beyond our immediate, imperfect comprehension.

Summary of Seventh Chat Session – Wednesday October 28

Congratulations for making it to the halfway mark, everyone! Can you believe that we’ve already had seven chat sessions?? Six more to go. No worries though: War and Peace gives us so much to talk about! And it was no different this week. This part of the novel throws us two very sly curve balls. Probably the biggest plot twist of all time (don’t quote me on that one!), Natasha breaks her engagement with Prince Andrei and attempts to elope with Anatole. How on earth did this happen? The situation made everyone reevaluate their perceptions of the characters, especially Pierre, Natasha, and Prince Andrei. If that wasn’t enough, Tolstoy changes things up again by introducing a new genre/style of writing within the text at the start of Volume III: the historical essay. Are these the views of the nameless narrator? Are they Tolstoy’s? Whoever’s views these are, they question what forces guide and dictate history. They called us back to the issue of fate and predetermination—not only in relation to history, but also to the lives of the characters. Questioning what forces guide history also helps us to understand why Natasha did what she did.

Predestination and Free Will

During the discussion, a participant noted that Tolstoy seems to believe in “predestination—God knowing our fate at birth.” Tolstoy’s opening for Volume III certainly plays with this point. Specifically speaking about the interpretation of history, Tolstoy criticizes “historians in their simple-minded certitude.” Looking at things in retrospect, they use a series of concrete events, usually involving “great men” or major political events and decisions, to explain why things turned out the way they did. Instead, Tolstoy asserts, “we find ourselves faced with an incalculable multiplicity of causes. The more deeply we go into the causes, the more of them there are, and each individual cause seems as justifiable as all the rest, and as false as all the rest in its worthlessness.” As humans, we can’t know the larger scheme of things. Someone also mentioned that it was an obstacle thinking that “free will is not a given!” I’m not entirely sure that Tolstoy says that people don’t have free will at all. In fact, he claims, “Each man lives for himself, using his freedom to get what he wants, and he feels with every fiber of his being that at any particular time he is free to perform an action or refrain from doing so, but the moment any action is taken, it becomes an irrevocable piece of history, with a significance which has more to do with predetermination than freedom.” On an individual level, people act and choose as they please, but every individual’s actions considered altogether builds up the “multiplicity of causes” of why and how things turn out. “Every action they perform, which they take to be self-determined and independent, is in a historical sense quite the opposite; it is interconnected with the whole course of history, and predetermined from eternity.”

Tolstoy—a Pacifist?

Many people in the discussion considered Tolstoy to be a pacifist: “He states that there are many valid reasons for war, but they can’t justify the devastation that will occur.” Another noted that Tolstoy has “a fatalist perspective pertaining to war’s inevitability.” At the beginning of Volume III, the narrator/Tolstoy states, “…war began. In other words, an event took place, which defined human reason and all human nature. Millions of men set out to inflict on one another untold evils—deception, treachery robbery, forgery, counterfeiting, theft, arson, and murder…though at the time the men responsible did not think of these deeds as crimes.” So Tolstoy certainly doesn’t glorify war, as many noted, but considers it something that is bound to happen. Throughout the novel, such violence isn’t restricted to the war scenes—it also occurs in the peace scenes. One noted, “Even peace in life is bloody—the hunt, the bloodlust that Anatole and Dolokhov display, the policeman tied to the bear…” Tolstoy questions why war occurs if “its continued existence is one of the great conundrums to those who believe in the progress of humanity,” as one participant put it. He explores human fallibility, and his stance on predestination and free will offers an answer as to why war occurs.

Pierre, Natasha, and the Comet of 1812

Volume II ends with Pierre gazing at the comet of 1812, “that popular harbinger of untold horrors and the end of he world.” What’s the importance of this comet, and why do we see it through Pierre’s eyes? A participant made a great inference, “Why waste a good comet that so conveniently coincides with the elements of the plot?” Too true! Many noted that this comet could refer to Napoleon’s invasion of Russia or the misfortune of Natasha and Prince Andrei’s breakup…or, some terrible event in the novel that’s yet to come. Through Pierre’s eyes, however, “this heavenly body seemed perfectly attuned to Pierre’s newly melted heart, as it gathered reassurance and blossomed into new life.” One pointed out that the comet signified “a change in Pierre’s outlook of life”—it’s an important spiritual moment for Pierre, much like the night sky was for Natasha and Prince Andrei. It’s interesting how the night sky connects all three of them. Pierre is the common thread amongst the three—he’s the one to introduce Natasha and Prince Andrei to each other (he knew them both before they knew each other, he was the one to recommend Natasha as a dance partner to the Prince at the ball, he speaks to both of them after the break up). Pierre also “seems to understand the emotional sates of both of them.” He seems to be seeing more of what’s going on around him. Not only does he take notice of the comet, but also of Natasha—“he hopes to comfort her” and “becomes a confidante for her.” A participant even made the prediction that “Pierre and Natasha are meant for each other! They both have feelings and consideration for the feelings of others, unlike some they have been attached to.”

Prince Andrei’s Coldness

A few people made the conclusion that Pierre and Natasha seem more similar to each other than Natasha and Prince Andrei. Natasha seems to be forgiving like Pierre, but in this section, Prince Andrei shows no signs of forgiveness towards her whatsoever. Despite his initial reaction of disgust, Pierre is overcome by love and pity, eventually coming around to forgive Natasha. One noted, “Prince Andrei seems to have gone back on his pledge to treat the women in his life better.” A few attested Prince Andrei’s coldness to following the footsteps of his father—“his rigidity and inability to see from any viewpoint but his own.” Prince Andrei’s abandonment of Natasha seems quite abrupt—similar to how he abandoned Speransky, and before that the isolated life on Bald Hills, and before that dreams of becoming the next Napoleon. He goes through and gives up on so many attempts at having meaning and fulfillment in his life! Many pointed out Prince Andrei’s inconsistencies in his beliefs. “Interesting, Andrei made an emotional attachment to both Natasha and Speransky, in different ways, then supports one and not the other…I’m not sure what that says about him.” Prince Andrei does contradict himself a number of times. When he breaks with Natasha officially, he claims that he never liked Speransky despite the fact that he was swooning over him just a few pages before. Even though Prince Andrei experiences so many epiphanies, they seem to slip his memory!

Natasha in Helene’s World

Once again, the Kuragins reappear only to ruin more lives. At the opera, Natasha has her first close conversations with the Kuragins—Helene and Anatole. When Pierre first learns of Natasha’s break with Prince Andrei and attempt to run off with Anatole, he compares her to Helene. He claims that “those” types of women are all alike. In defense of Natasha, someone noted, “Natasha IS caught up in Helene’s world.” Natasha has just returned to the city from the country and is somewhat vulnerable to the charms and “the grotesque” city life and its deceptions. Helene, the master of these deceptions, manages to enchant Natasha with her poise and beauty. If that isn’t enough, Helene even asserts that it would be “amusing” to get her brother and Natasha together. She plays an active role setting up meetings between Natasha and Anatole with her social connections and maneuverings. The Kuragins play with Natasha, as the city atmosphere and Helene’s company seem to suck out Natasha’s usual spiritual vitality. At the same time though, Natasha has been a sort of “temptress for the two major characters (Pierre and Prince Andrei)” among others (Boris, Denisov). It’s no secret that she likes and even craves male attention. So Anatole’s attention “no doubt had a profound effect on Natasha and made her more vulnerable”—especially after being around Helene who is quite experienced in scandalous affairs. As someone put it, “The Kuragins have a great eye for vulnerability!”

Why Does Natasha Fall for Anatole?

A number of factors have already been mentioned as to why Natasha claims to have fallen in love with Anatole: the delay of her wedding and Prince Andrei’s absence, her desire for male attention, the influence of Helene. Anatole himself also has an overbearing presence—Natasha mentions feeling as if there wasn’t that “moral barrier” that’s normally there between her and other males. Anatole was described as “not caring for others” and that “he assumes things will always work out for him, such that he usually gets what he wants.” He doesn’t care about the consequences of his actions. Someone noted, “Anatole and his sister are truly sociopathic, devoid of any effect of their consciousness on tempering their behavior.” Interestingly, Natasha doesn’t see the Helene and Anatole for who they are! Is it purely naivety as “a cloistered young society girl”? Not entirely. There are other reasons why Natasha’s judgment may be clouded—she’s completely entranced by the opera, especially after just coming from the country. She even gets lightheaded and feels confused, and her mother isn’t in the city to be there to advise or talk with her. So Natasha follows what’s acceptable by the standards of those around her—and this time it’s Helene. So many of these scenarios are completely out of Natasha’s control, like being stuck in Moscow without her mother due to the financial crisis of the family, which is related to Nikolai’s refusal to marry Julie Karagin, which is related to Nikolai realizing his love for Sonya because of the mummers and cross-dressing. Helene happens to be in Moscow instead of St. Petersburg, and Natasha is also completely ignorant of Anatole’s secret marriage with another Polish girl. There are so many other examples that can be pulled from the text! The decisions of so many other characters—decisions they made with their own free will—all play into Natasha’s fate of not marrying Prince Andrei.

The Bolkonskys and Natasha

In this section, Princess Marya and Natasha meet each other—but they turn out to dislike each other. The entire meeting is a disaster. Princess Marya is relieved that Natasha breaks things off with Prince Andrei but at the same time holds contempt towards her for the same reasons (“Who would drop Andrei for Anatole?”). A few hundred pages back, however, Princess Marya also falls for Anatole and even thinks, “Who knows, I might have done that myself.” Even though Princess Marya ends up rejecting what she considers “temptations” to pursue a married life with Anatole, she seems to distance herself from Natasha and doesn’t sympathize with her situation too much. Princess Marya knows that she should forgive Natasha for the sake of upholding her own moral and spiritual character, but the fact that Natasha deeply hurt Prince Andrei seems to be a “physical world” factor that the Princess has trouble reconciling with her higher notions of spiritual purity.

The Old Prince also disagrees with the marriage and barely speaks to Natasha when she arrives at Bald Hills for a visit. Many wondered—why is the Old Prince so cruel, not only to Natasha, but to his own daughter, Princess Marya? One participant asserted, “It seems to be a love-hate thing. He does give her quite an education, but treats her abominably—really, it’s abuse.” Besides clearly being old and cranky, the Old Prince is also close to death. The thought of dying or being so old to the point of feeling irrelevant to the present day taunts the Old Prince. He’s “a man from another century” that valued class structure and discipline. One participant observed, “A character that cries out for the past and all its norms, he seems to be a link to the past that is now remembered by fewer Russians who are now in the shadow of Napoleon.”

Until next week!

Summary of Sixth Chat Session – Wednesday, October 19

A number of participants opened up last week’s discussion by commenting on the complexity of the novel—that’s certainly expected, as we are 587 pages in (the Briggs translation) and not even half way through! This week’s reading doesn’t shy away from that building complexity, and many times, things are not as they seem. We have the hunt scene, which not only mirrors the war scenes in a number of ways, but is also a metaphor Tolstoy has been using and will continue to use for the rest of the novel. We also come across the famous “Natasha’s dance” scene in Uncle’s rustic Russian cabin, where Tolstoy develops his notions of Russian essentialism and a new, but perhaps not too surprising, side to Natasha’s character. In the mummers scene, Nikolai comes to realize his love for Sonya, but only after seeing her dressed as a Circassian boy. Even Natasha and Prince Andrei’s relationship isn’t what it seems—they claim that their marriage was “meant to be,” but Prince Andrei’s delay and doubt, along with Natasha’s fears and impatience, seem to challenge such a claim.

The Hunt in Relation to War

A participant noted, “I read the hunt scene as men getting in touch with their ‘animal’ personas”—much like war, the hunters engage on an instinctual level. Sara pointed out how this section opens up with Nikolai reflecting on the merits of military life versus the messiness of family life. In the hunt, as in war, everything has its place, and everyone knows what to do. At the same time, though, there is also the element of surprise or “the fog of war.” The wolf appears when they least expect it—Nikolai even prays to God for the wolf to come out! Count Rostov wanders around confused, and as someone noted, “didn’t even know his place during the hunt.” The blurring of rank is also present. Danilo, a serf of the Rostovs’ and a skilled hunter, reprimands his master, Count Rostov, for standing idly by while letting the wolf get away. Under other circumstances, Danilo would have gotten in serious trouble for yelling and brandishing his whip at his master! There is a certain “equalizing force at work” during the hunt, where ability outweighs official rank. Like in war, the participants seem to be “on a level playing field out in nature away from society,” as one described it. A similar defiance of expectation takes place when Natasha joins the hunt. As a participant put it, “It’s rather ironic that Natasha, a French educated young countess, is out there on the sidelines with the men at battle.” Another participant described her as a “tomboy” in this moment—she unexpectedly rides on horseback well, and even gets praise from other hunters for her abilities. She joins the hunt just to enjoy, which is unusual for a woman at that time. Some attested to her character—her “zest for life” and wanting “a rare chance to break free and just live.” Natasha effortlessly catching men’s attention and enjoying it doesn’t seem far from her character either.

The hunt is marked with savagery. Whether or not it was common practice, there is merit in one participant’s amazement at the number of dogs “Hundreds!? For one little fox?” An obvious connection with the hunt and war is that the primary objective for its participants on the ground—that is, the hunters and soldiers—is to kill. Many noted Nikolai’s claim that catching the wolf was “the happiest moment” of his life. It’s interesting to see how Nikolai is actually successful/competent in the hunt, unlike at Schongraben and other previous war scenes. As a participant noted, “Nikolai actually accomplished something!” A certain pomp accompanies the hunt scene as in the war scenes. Nikolai’s show of masculinity—constantly trying to fend off Natasha and Petya—reflects his desire to fabricate moments of “greatness” when retelling stories of battle during the war. Perhaps Nikolai will make a human “catch” during war like his wolf catch during the hunt.

A film still from the hunting scene in Sergei Bondarchuk’s 1965 adaption of War and Peace.

The Hunt in Relation to the Aristocracy

A number of participants made interesting observations of how the hunt seems to reveal certain characteristics of the aristocracy through the behavior of the Rostovs. Count Rostov’s confusion, uselessness, and even childlike behavior during the hunt were connected with his mounting financial problems. One noted, “The Count as already lost his influence and power here.” This comment could pertain to the hunt—a serf yells at him—as well as his financial situation threatening the loss of his noble status. Another noted, “I think he got to such a degree of financial troubles because he never paid attention, never learned what he needed to know to manage the fortune. It was always beyond his ability or he never mustered the ability to bother with it.” The Count expresses a similar absent-mindedness during the hunt in being well aware of its rules but not participating—either from an inability or from being slightly tipsy! “He seems to have no explicit awareness of his real circumstances” to the point of excessiveness. However, such a trait isn’t painted as entirely negative or deliberately selfish—his negligence seems to be part of his nature. Despite this, a participant claimed that “Maybe Tolstoy is using Count Rostov as an example of how far off track the Russian aristocracy has wandered away from the working land, and too wrapped up in the European/French style of living—superficial, and possibly worse.” There’s a distinction between the fanciful life of the Rostov family and the rustic simplicity of Uncle. Even during the hunt, there’s a tension between Nikolai’s “thousand ruble dogs” and Uncle’s “one ruble dog”! Tolstoy makes the point to have Uncle’s dog beat out the expensive dogs that they “paid whole villages for.” Sara points to the “villages” bit as an oblique reference to the abuses of landlords over their serfs. It doesn’t seem incidental that Count Rostov’s behavior stands out so much during the hunt. Sara pointed out that, on a number of occasions, Tolstoy uses the metaphor of “being caught in a trap” with characters that feel hounded or persecuted. He used it during Pierre’s nightmarish dream, as well as with Count Rostov regarding his growing money problems. Many noted how Nikolai seems to follow in his father’s footsteps in the sense of ignoring financial issues. First he needlessly acquires a huge gambling debt from Dolokhov, and then he gives up trying to solve the financial issues of his family even when his mother begs him. The whole family seems “frivolous and feckless.”

Russian Essentialism at Uncle’s Cabin

First, a note on Uncle being called “Uncle”: Sara pointed out that he is some kind of distant relative to the Rostovs, not necessarily a biological uncle. In Russian speech, it’s not uncommon to use words like “Uncle” and “Auntie” when speaking to a close family friend—it’s a title that indicates closeness and familiarity.

Tolstoy makes it clear that the Rostovs do not stand for all of the aristocracy. Many in the discussion pointed to Uncle as a clear exception—“The scene at Uncle’s seems to be the ‘real Russia,’ not the Europeanized version that ‘society’ was trying to emulate.” He represents “the ‘other’ Russia, not Petersburg and Moscow society life.” Uncle lives in simplicity, and one observed that it seemed like “everything was better—the bountiful home food, the energetic dancing, the natural rustic atmosphere of his cabin.” His closeness to “the real Russia” may also be seen in his romantic relationship with the peasant Anisya. At first, Anisya is shy in the presence of Nikolai and Natasha and even closes the door between the drawing room and the peasants’ quarters. Uncle tells her to open the door, so they are literally breaking barriers between the peasants and the nobility. Uncle seems to have a greater sense of free will, “doing as he pleases in comfortable isolation,” as one noted. A few people found a connection between Uncle and Tushin in their embodiment of being natural and down to earth. Both are of the lower nobility, have a strong sense of Russianness and independence, and aren’t concerned with petty schemes to gain higher rank or wealth. Clearly, Uncle’s far from Petersburg society and even seems “more Russian, ” “more pleasant and down to earth” for it!

Natasha’s dance bridges that gap between “real Russia” and the Europeanized aristocracy. Many noted, “Natasha got the difficult Russian dance moves instinctively and naturally—not the usual thing for an upper class girl.” Natasha, who grew up with a French governess, French fashions, and an affinity for foreign food and, really, all things foreign, knew how to dance the Russian way all on her own! Anisya and the peasants marvel at her abilities, and she doesn’t disappoint them at all. A participant noted, “Tolstoy seems to be saying that being Russian is innate, or perhaps only for those that live naturally and not intellectually.” Through Natasha, Tolstoy shows that being Russian is innate and can’t be wiped out by French or foreign influences. Natasha’s escape to the countryside brings out this genuine Russianness in her. Not everyone has this ability though! Many observed that people like Helene wouldn’t be able to connect with their Russianness—“The society or intellectual types seem to have lost their touch with the land.” Perhaps they need Natasha’s instinctual nature as well as a few trips in the countryside.

Natasha and Prince Andrei: Is It “Meant To Be?”

As Natasha discovers her Russianness in the country with Uncle, Prince Andrei turns to Western Europe (perhaps he feels like he’s already spent enough time in the country!). A few people saw his departure as an escape. When Natasha and Prince Andrei finally become officially engaged, they look back at their relationship and claim that it was fate for them to be together. However, they overlook a number of scenarios that seem to contradict that claim. As one noted, “I was taken aback when Andrei seems to regret his proposal to Natasha as soon as she accepts it. He’s definitely conflicted.” Up until their engagement, Natasha and Prince Andrei are clearly attracted to each other, but she’s constantly overcome by fear when she’s around him. “There seems to be a conflict with Natasha concerning the proposal also—she mentions being scared often, which seems to foreshadow trouble in spite of their joy at the moment.” His absence changes her somehow—besides the hunt and the mummers scenes, she’s constantly anxious and depressed. Letters from Prince Andrei are not enough—they even make her angry! She can’t communicate her pure emotion through writing to him. This draws a clear difference between her and Prince Andrei—she’s clearly not the intellectual type, as she can’t write to him without grammatical errors. This poses the question, “Andrei's intellect and reason can hold out, but can Natasha's emotions?” Someone made an interesting observation that “Andrei is simultaneously scared and attracted to Natasha’s emotional qualities and attributes as someone who lives almost exclusively in the intellectual, rational world.” In one scene, shortly before Prince Andrei’s departure, Natasha sings and has a strong emotional impact on Prince Andrei. Obviously, Natasha’s singing brings him pleasure and joy, but at the same time, it makes him sad (he chokes back tears), because it reminds him of "the dreadful disparity between something infinitely great and eternal that existed within him and something else, something constraining and physical that constituted him and even her." A participant pointed out, “We certainly have reason to doubt Natasha’s stamina and consistency.”

Love in Disguise: Nikolai and Sonya

As the relationship between Natasha and Prince Andrei is cast in doubt, the relationship between Nikolai and Sonya becomes affirmed—only after Nikolai sees Sonya dressed as a Circassian boy. In the mummers scene, we see more cross-dressing (the first one being the “fool” briefly mentioned at the hunt). Sara mentioned that Nikolai as a woman is less intimidating, and Sonya as a man is more daring and reckless. A change in appearance seems to have a huge effect on the way they’re perceived as well as the way they act. All of them, especially Nikolai, seem to be under a sort of spell, “confusing people and faces.” This confusion is somehow magical, and it brings him closer to Sonya.

A Circassian soldier. It’s interesting to consider how Nikolai’s love of the Tsar was compared to the love between a man and woman. Now, he only realizes his love for Sonya after seeing her dressed as a man! Do you think this look would suit her?

Besides the issue of Nikolai’s interesting attraction to Sonya with a moustache, their confirmed relationship brings up an even graver issue—securing the Rostov fortune. In an act of defiance against his family and one of love for Sonya, Nikolai refuses to marry Julie Karagin, the heiress briefly mentioned at the beginning of the novel. Julie becomes a savior for the Rostovs. Nikolai’s refusal to marry her causes great tension between him and his parents, especially his mother.

A farthingale—a structure used in 15-16^th century Western European fashion to support skirts in the desired shape. During the mummers scene, Nikolai disguises himself as an old woman and comes out wearing a farthingale.

The Next Part is a Doozy

Come to next week’s chat session to talk about what it all means! See you then!

Making History, Making Fate, and Making it Strange

*Spoiler Alert*


(If you haven't finished reading Volume II, Part V - Book Eight in the Maude translation - I will give away some important plot elements. You might want to finish this section of WP before you read this entry.)


In a letter of 1867, Tolstoy called this part of War and Peace, the part with Natasha and Anatole, "the most difficult place and the crux of the whole novel." I couldn't agree more. I love this part of the book. To me, it's the pieces of a puzzle coming together.


Parts III, IV, and V of this volume strike me as a perfect illustration of Tolstoy's theory of history. The Russian word "istoriia" means both "history," in the large sense of historical events and the field of inquiry, and "story" in the closer, more intimate sense of "Let me tell you a story." I find it fascinating that the Russian language combines these ideas - the general and the particular - and this is exactly what Tolstoy does in his novel. In the main, the characters of War and Peace experience historical events through their individual perspectives, and the forces of history can be expressed through the events of an individual's life.


As individuals, we are constantly looking forward, trying to figure out where history is going, where our lives are going. We constantly try to read our fate or destiny. It is no accident that Volume II, Part IV of War and Peace - the country scenes at the Rostovs' estate involving the wolf hunt, Natasha's dance, and the mummer scene - are filled with references to fortune telling. When Natasha is bored, she wanders through the house giving random orders just to test her power over the household. One order she gives is to find a rooster and some oats - a reference to a Russian superstition that one can predict the future based on how the rooster pecks at the oats. When the members of the Rostov household arrive at the Melyukovs' estate dressed in their mummer costumes, Madame Melyukov and her daughters are "quietly dropping melted wax into water and watching the shadows of the shapes that came out" - another fortune-telling device whereby one divines the future by the shapes the wax takes when it comes into contact with water. There are other fortune-telling scenes in this section: Sonya is on her way to tell her fortune in the barn when Nikolai catches her up and kisses her, and later that evening Sonya gazes into two mirrors in an attempt to predict the future (she doesn't really see anything, but she makes something up - a seemingly small detail, but actually an important point for later).


But the problem is that we can't predict the future, much in the same way that all those strategists and theorists can't really predict the course of a battle. Anything can happen, and usually does. At the ball where he first dances with Natasha, Andrei watches her and thinks to himself, "If she goes to her cousin first and then to another lady, she's going to be my wife." The narrator then makes sure that we know, "She went to her cousin first." And then lo and behold, a few chapters later, Natasha and Andrei are engaged. If we stopped reading here, it would seem that Andrei's fortune-telling has come true. But the problem is that the book goes on. And by Part V, Natasha has fallen for Anatole Kuragin, made plans to elope with him, and broken off her engagement with Andrei. Who could have seen this coming?? Definitely not Natasha or Andrei. So it would seem that Andrei's attempts at divining the future were wrong, and Natasha won't be his wife. But then again, the book is over 1300 pages long, and we're not even halfway through it at this point! So who knows what could happen - who could have predicted when seeing Nikolai flirt with Julie Karagin at the very beginning of the novel that she would eventually become a rich heiress, and the entire fortune of the Rostovs would depend on Nikolai marrying her?


In the same way, when Andrei first meets the political figure Speransky, he takes him as "a man of genius," "the power behind" the whole reform movement, and a man who holds "in his hands, those puffy white hands, the very destiny of Russia." Readers of War and Peace when it first appeared as well as later readers have an advantage over Andrei due to historical perspective (hindsight is always 20/20), and we know that Andrei is mistaken - Speransky is ousted from power not long after Andrei meets him. The day after the ball, Andrei hears the details about the session of the State Council and the Tsar's speech: "It had been the kind of speech that only a constitutional monarch could have delivered." Andrei's acquaintance claims, "Yes, today's events mark a new epoch, the greatest epoch in our history." Again, from our historical perspective, we know this to be untrue - although Alexander I toyed with the idea of reform and a constitutional monarchy, he later retracted all these ideas and none of them came to pass. If hindsight is 20/20, foresight is 20/200.


Recently during one of our chat sessions, a participant made the comment, "The characters live in the moment, but they often don't understand its significance." This is entirely true, as the characters in War and Peace constantly over- or underestimate the significance of events as they unfold. To make matters worse, they "creatively remember" the past, making it fit into the pattern they want it to assume. We've already seen this in the war scenes - the way that soldiers "remember" the events of a battle not according to what actually happened, but according to what they wanted to happen. Here as well, after Natasha and Andrei become engaged, they are convinced that they fell in love at first sight during Andrei's previous visit to the Rostovs' estate. As readers, we know this to be ridiculous - Andrei was keenly aware that Natasha had no idea he even existed, and although her admiration of the moon had a profound effect on his psyche, she herself as an individual did not. And yet, the entire household "expressed amazement at the way things had turned out, and how clear the omens had all been." There are "many other auguries, noted by various family-members, foreshadowing what was to come." One of these "omens" is the fact that Andrei and Nikolai had met in 1805 - even though when they met, they disliked each other and almost fought a duel. But they so badly want to see Andrei and Natasha's engagement as fated, that they pick out details that prove it to be so. Other details - like Natasha's fear of Andrei, her feeling of "strangulation" when he comes to propose, Vera's doubts that Natasha is capable of being constant in her affections, the Countess's desire to love Andrei like a son but inability to do so - are forgotten because they don't conform with the story in which the characters so desperately want to believe. When Andrei bids farewell to Natasha before he goes abroad, she pleads, "Please don't go!" and she says it "in a voice that made him wonder whether he ought not to stay after all, a voice he would long remember." But of course he doesn't stay - he underestimates the importance of the moment and the real omen that is being presented to him. As readers, we also might not note the importance of this detail when it's presented to us. It's only if we go back to it later, with the knowledge that Natasha has broken off their engagement because of her infatuation with Anatole, that we understand its true significance. Andrei did not let Natasha's words and the tone of her voice affect him at the time - he remembers them later presumably because now he is searching for omens and signs that would prove that this event was fated to come to pass.


This has implications for the writing and understanding of history as well. In the grander scheme of things, we so desperately want to see certain historical events as fated that we remember only those events that support that interpretation. Historians, in trying to prove that the Russians were fated to lose at Austerlitz, or that they were fated to defeat Napoleon at Borodino, or that they were ultimately to destroy Napoleon's army and drive it back to France, choose only those events that support their conclusions, ignoring a whole string of contrary events along the way.


The characters in War and Peace are limited by their puny human perspective. They can't foresee the future, even though they try to, they often think that their "fate is being decided," even though it's really not, and they often completely misunderstand the significance of both the present moment and past events. When Natasha is driving back from "Uncle"'s house with Nikolai, she states, "I'm certain I'll never be as relaxed and happy as I am right now..." It is a moment that I always find very poignant and sad. This is true fortune-telling: Natasha is being prescient with even realizing it.


However, all of this is not to suggest that fate is not at work in the novel. The point is not that fate does not exist or that certain events are not fated, but simply that the characters are unable to realize from their limited perspective what is truly fate. They are unable - whether in war or in peace - to see the bigger picture, or often even to see that a bigger picture exists. In Tolstoy's outlook, there is only one entity that knows that bigger picture: God.


Usually when I teach War and Peace, my students react very negatively to Princess Marya (although not this time so much, interestingly enough!). They see her as too passive, too wishy-washy, not independent or forceful enough. And yet, she is the character who, more often than any of the others, voices the great truths of the novel. In a letter to Julie Karagin in Part III, chapter 25, Marya expresses the realization that although the death of Lise Bolkonsky, Andrei's wife, seemed like a tragedy when it happened, only now can she start to see "why it was necessary for her to die, and how that death was but an expression of the infinite goodness of the Creator, whose every action, though for the most part passing all understanding, is but a manifestation of His infinite love for His creation." Marya states that "Perhaps, I often think, she was too angelic, too innocent to have enough strength to perform all the duties of a mother." Her conclusion is that although as a wife Lise was beyond reproach, she might not have been so as a mother, and that although she would have been horrified to admit this at the time, she is starting to realize that Lise's death was actually a blessing to her and Andrei. Her ultimate conclusion is that "not a hair of our head shall fall without His will. And His will is governed only by His infinite love for us, and so it is that whatever comes to pass, all is for our good."


And indeed, although Andrei had been depressed and broken by Lise's death, one has to wonder what would have happened had she not died. Perhaps he would have returned from Austerlitz, full of determination to appreciate his wife in a way that he hadn't before. And maybe he would have succeeded. Or maybe he would have eventually found her to be even more shallow and preposterous than he remembered. Maybe this would have driven him to an even deeper depression and bitterness than the one he found himself in, one that he could never really get out of. Maybe he would have ended up like Pierre, constantly depressed and with a wife who constantly had extramarital affairs. Perhaps his son Nikolai would have had two parents who avoided each other, each embracing the social whirl or government duties, just so as to escape from each other. Instead, Andrei became a devoted father, freed his serfs, and worked to renovate his estate, and Nikolai was brought up by a devoted aunt.


Natasha is devastated when the elopement with Anatole is foiled - but he was already married, so what would have happened to her if their plan had succeeded? Anatole is a character that thinks only about himself and never considers the consequences of his actions. A few days after the ruined elopement, Pierre sees him driving dashingly through the streets, not a care in the world. Pierre doesn't know at that point what has happened, but the reader does. We realize that if Anatole can forget Natasha so quickly, what would have happened to her after a few weeks - or a few days - when the novelty of their affair had faded? After all, he'd already married one young woman in Poland and abandoned her, why wouldn't he do the same to Natasha? Natasha is also distraught at having hurt Andrei, and although he refuses to show it, he is deeply hurt as well. But what kind of marriage would they have had? We've already seen how depressed, angry, and resentful Natasha was starting to feel towards him - his letters to her only aroused her anger that he was off enjoying himself while she was wasting away in the country.

But when we get into the question of Natasha falling for Anatole and almost eloping with him, the inevitable question arises: why did this happen? And this leads us to another aspect of Tolstoy's theory of history, one that he elaborates on in more didactic, essayistic form at the beginning of Volume III. When we look backwards at events, we try to isolate the one single thing that caused something to happen. But according to Tolstoy, this is a mistake: events happen not due to one single cause, but to a whole myriad of causes.

First of all, it is entirely in keeping with Natasha's character to do this. She craves attention, especially male attention, and she has a history of falling in and out of love - with Boris, Denisov, her dancing instructor, Boris again, even with everyone in the room. In addition, Natasha has been feeling increasingly more depressed and anxious, and she keenly feels that her youth is slipping away. But to say that if she had just had "more will power" none of this would have happened is to ignore a multitude of other factors that influenced her.

Just one of these influences is the setting itself and the mindset it puts her in. Natasha meets Anatole at the opera, a high-society function in marked contrast to the natural, homey, cozy Russian scenes in Part IV. Instead of the natural music and dancing at Uncle's cabin, she experiences the extreme contrast - the highly artificial world of the opera. In Part V, chapter 9, Tolstoy utilizes a literary device that the literary theorist Viktor Shklovsky called "estrangement" or "defamiliarization" or "making strange." The scenes of the opera are described through Natasha's perspective: "The stage consisted of flat boards down the middle with painted cardboard representing trees at both sides and cloth-covered boards at the back. Several young girls in red tops and white skirts were sitting in the middle of the stage. One very fat girl in a white silk dress sat to one side on a low bench with green cardboard glued on the back of it. They were all singing something. When they had finished their song the woman in white came forward to the prompter's box, and a man with fat legs squeezed into silk tights, with a feather in his hat and a dagger in his belt, came up to her and burst into song with much waving of his arms."

It is a device that Tolstoy uses in much of his work, so if you read anything else by him you will encounter it again. When we describe things, we use conventional terms. If Tolstoy had used conventional terminology, there would have been nothing odd about this passage, and we would have taken it for granted. But by presenting it to us without the use of conventional language, we are forced to view the scene in a new way that highlights its strangeness and artificiality. Art depends on the suspension of disbelief - we have to believe that what is being presented to us is "real." When we view an opera, we are not supposed to think about the prompter's box. We are supposed to describe "scenery" or "sets," not boards, painted cardboard, and pasted-on trees. We are supposed to go into raptures over "the princess," not "the woman in white." We are supposed to describe "costumes," not "fat legs squeezed into silk tights," and we're supposed to use terms like "aria," not "they sang something."

Just to be on the safe side, Tolstoy's narrator lets us know the effect this spectacle has on Natasha: "Just back from the country, and now in a serious frame of mind, Natasha saw all this as astonishingly grotesque." The contrast between the grotesque artificiality of the opera and the naturalness of the country is disorienting for her. She begins "to glide steadily into a state of light-headedness" and "she lost all sense of what she was and where she was and what was going on before her eyes." Enter, at that precise moment, Anatole.

When we were discussing the early war scenes of the novel, someone stated that the war scenes are a series of "what ifs." The same is true, perhaps even more true, for this section of the novel and Natasha's infatuation with Anatole. What if Natasha hadn't gone to the opera that night? What if she hadn't been sitting next to Helene? What if she hadn't been so dazzled by Helene and vulnerable to her influence? Natasha feels quite strongly the absence of a "moral barrier" between herself and Anatole - what if she hadn't felt that? But there's more - Natasha is not only dazed and confused at the opera, under Helene's spell, flattered by Anatole's attention, and upset and depressed over her separation from Andrei, she's also still reeling from the disastrous meeting with Andrei's family. And there's still more - when Natasha returns home after the opera, she is confused about her feelings and needs to discuss them with someone. She can't talk to Sonya - who is a bit of a prude in matters such as these - and she can't talk to her father. "Her mother, the old countess, was the only person to whom Natasha could have confided all that was on her mind - at night and in bed." But the countess isn't in Moscow with the family because she has taken ill due to her argument with Nikolai. The whole reason the Rostovs are even in Moscow at all is because they need to sell some property because of their financial troubles. And why are they having financial troubles? Because Nikolai wants to marry Sonya rather than a rich heiress, the Rostovs had to give Berg 80,000 rubles for Vera's dowry, Nikolai lost 43,000 rubles at cards, and the count is a well-intentioned spendthrift who can't manage their finances.

So then we start getting into a whole long line of "what ifs": what if the Rostovs had been greeted differently when they arrived at the Bolkonskys', and Natasha hadn't been offended and become so surly? What if Mademoiselle Bourienne hadn't been present at the meeting between Marya and Natasha and they had been able to speak more freely? What if Old Prince Bolkonsky hadn't insisted on the one-year separation, or what if Andrei had refused to comply? What if Sonya had dressed up as an old hag and Nikolai had dressed up as a Cossack and the two hadn't fallen in love under the moonlight and finally decided to get married? Would he still have quarrelled with his mother? What if Nikolai hadn't lost the 43,000 rubles at cards - but that would require Dolokhov not to have fallen in love with Sonya, so what if he hadn't? What if Natasha weren't so inexperienced and fickle, and what if the Count were better with money, and Nikolai weren't so concerned about his honor and were willing to marry Julie Karagin, and, and, and... You get my point. It's a series of "what ifs" that could take us all the way to the beginning of the novel.

It's a commonplace to say "if I knew then what I know now...," implying that if we could somehow go back in time and do things differently we would. But later in the novel, Tolstoy will say something along the lines of, even if you could go back in time, given the exact same factors and the exact same combination of circumstances, you would still make the same decision you made then. We make the only decision we can make at the time.

I'm going to get a bit personal and philosophical here: I had mentioned awhile ago that War and Peace is one of the two books that have profoundly changed my way of thinking and way of looking at life. At our last chat session, someone asked me what I meant by that, and this section is it. First, I like to think that Princess Marya is right - that there is a bigger plan out there, and that everything happens for a reason that is in our best interest, even if we don't see it at the time. So there is no point worrying excessively about the future, because everything will work out the way it is supposed to. Second, there is no one moment that determines the course of our lives, and there is no point in having excessive regrets about the past because the decisions we make are the only ones we can make at that particular time. Instead, we have to live in the present. And figure out how to get it right.

Summary of Fifth Chat Session - Wednesday, October 12

This week’s reading and discussion largely focused on the emotional and philosophical highest highs and lowest lows of two characters—Pierre and Prince Andrei. We have caught them at that turbulent and experimental stage that often meets us right after having gone through a major turn point in life. Pierre has joined Freemasonry and has started practicing it in the “Pierre way” of doing things. Prince Andrei has been living at Bald Hills while trying to cope with the death of his wife, as well as the death of his dreams of being a ‘great man,’ all the while caring for his newborn son. They have developed new philosophies on how to live life, and both of them even come together to discuss their views. Somehow, nature—the sky, an oak tree, the river—seems to be a huge part of that discussion.

Pierre and Prince Andrei’s Views on Serfdom and Living Life

Back to our discussion, a participant made the observation that Pierre and Prince Andrei have “taken a journey in their thinking.” Pierre has tried to practice the freemason duty of bettering society, and he has done so by trying to help his serfs—albeit “ineptly” as many observed! There were quite a few explanations for this. Pierre, being illegitimate, lacks the training and experience to run an estate. He seems to have “a lack of focus in his inability to commit to something, whether a spiritual or earthly activity.” He doesn’t completely grasp the rules and ideals set by Freemasonry and even botches up the improvements he tries to make to his estate along Freemasonry’s philosophies. Despite his failures, many felt that “Pierre is still likeable”—even Count Bolkonsky likes him! He has good intentions but isn’t too good at leading social change. Even as his steward cheats and lies to him, Pierre, nonetheless, has still developed a lively spirituality that is more his own that one of Freemasonry. During his conversation with Prince Andrei on the ferry, he claims that “If there is a God and an afterlife, then there is truth and there is goodness; and man’s greatest happiness lies in struggling to achieve them. We must live, love, and believe that our life is not only here and now on this little patch of earth, but we have lived before and shall live forever out there in the wholeness of things.” Pierre points to the sky, and Prince Andrei again thinks about its loftiness—a reminder of Austerlitz. Pierre’s comment momentarily lifts Prince Andrei from his depression and catalyzes an “inner change.”

Prior to this point, Prince Andrei had been quite opposed to Pierre’s new philosophies. As Pierre tried to work hard to help his serfs (but ultimately fails to accomplish anything effective), Prince Andrei enveloped himself “in isolationism and a pessimistic outlook,” which “seemed to have made him the happier man,” as a participant noted. “Prince Andrei intellectualizes whereas Pierre intuits,” someone put it. For Pierre, it seems good and natural to try and help his serfs, but Prince Andrei, by logic, concludes that helping them is pointless. Prince Andrei decides that it’s better “not to do anything that was meant to do good to his neighbor.” Many in the discussion noted that such thoughts are somehow in his character—his father seems to have been a huge influence on Prince Andrei regarding running estates and how to treat serfs. Prince Andrei is certainly more experienced than Pierre—by having his father to show him how to handle things as well as being well read in these kinds of affairs. He seems to have a stronger grasp on the realities of reform, unlike Pierre’s “grand dreams” to simply do good for the serfs. Someone made the great observation that “Andrei's point of hoping to do no harm shows awareness of unintended consequences, whereas Pierre is full of hope and change but has no understanding of the system he is trying to change.” At the same time, one noted, “Even though Pierre is not sophisticated enough, perhaps, to appreciate the difficulties of his ideals, at least he has them and pursues them! I see merit in that.” Even Prince Andrei sees merit in that! Pierre’s words right before he points to the sky deeply affect Prince Andrei, and they lift him, at least a little bit, out of his pessimistic depression.

Pierre’s Effect on Prince Andrei

During this point in the novel, we find Pierre and Prince Andrei in opposite moods. Pierre is beaming with his new philosophies and newfound spirituality, but Prince Andrei is “depressed and withdrawn from life” due to the loss of his wife. He’s so depressed that he’s even lackluster in greeting Pierre, who was once that face in which Prince Andrei found relief among the Petersburg circles and crowds. Why does Prince Andrei meet his old friend so coldly? He seems to be a changed man. Austerlitz changes Prince Andrei’s perspective, quite literally: staring at the sky wounded on the ground, the war and Napoleon seem small. He decides that he wants to make things up with Lise, but her death keeps him from reconciling things with her. His depression seems less linked to a deep-seated need to contribute to Russian society, than being linked to his inability to erase the guilt of causing Lise’s dying expression facial expression, “Why did you do this to me?” from his conscience. On one level, as someone pointed out, “he realized that he probably loved her more then he thought he did,” but on another level, he feels torn that he couldn’t express that to her before she died and that he couldn’t help her in a time of crisis. Prince Andrei decides to reject outside life—life in society, life serving in the war—from a certain shame he feels after realizing that his dreams to be like Napoleon hurt Lise so much. He couldn’t become a ‘great man,’ and he was deprived of the chance for changing for the better in the way that he wanted to after Lise died. Prince Andrei is burdened by both guilt and disappointment in being unable to accomplish his goals. Prince Andrei criticizes Pierre for living for others as being the same as his old desire to be loved by everyone like Napoleon (which is contradictory). Pierre’s fresh-faced enthusiasm to break into the world and improve the lives of others goes against Prince Andrei’s philosophy of isolating oneself in order to minimize hurting others.

As someone noted, “Prince Andrei, even though he argued with Pierre, picked up on some of Pierre’s ideas.” They may have differed in opinion about how and why serfs should be liberated and how to run their estates, but Pierre’s words on love, connection, wholeness, and the afterlife influence Prince Andrei. He seems to be attracted to “childlike” people—Pierre and Natasha. It’s also interesting how Prince Andrei has the connection of the sky with each of them—Pierre pointing to the sky on the ferry and Natasha marveling at the night sky through the window above his room. These instances inspire Prince Andrei to connect with the world again, at first in small ways like wanting Natasha to know him, but then in larger contexts like when he becomes involved in working with Speransky. The mighty oak illustrates Prince Andrei’s change in perspective—at first its leafless branches reminded Prince Andrei of his own loneliness and inability to thrive, but then after, he sees the oak in full blossom, and he again has hope in life. His spirit is rejuvenated after talking to Pierre on the ferry and overhearing Natasha marvel at the moon and the night sky. A participant made the great point that the oak tree scene shows that “Prince Andrei renewed his desire to rejoin ‘civilization’ and pursue the possibility of love and happiness.” The sky at Austerlitz, Lise’s expression at her death, Pierre at the ferry, and Natasha looking at the moon are described in the novel as “the best moments of Prince Andrei’s life.” They are moments, as someone observed, “when he feels rather than intellectualizes.” These are also moments when Prince Andrei lived in the moment, which some called “the power of now.” At these moments, Prince Andrei stopped to see what was really going on, to see what was happening around him, rather than being distracted by thinking about the past mistakes and regrets or philosophizing about the future. These “now” moments end up being his most life affirming experiences.

Switching Places

By the start of Part III, Pierre and Prince Andrei seem to have switched places—Prince Andrei is the one who seems rejuvenated as a new man, whereas Pierre no longer finds solace in Freemasonry and falls into depression. Instead of finding a new idol in the military sphere, Prince Andrei looks up to Speransky in creating reforms in Russia. He has a certain “showmanship,” but many found him to be “another empty soul with intellect but no insight” “just another politician,” with “puffy white hands that supposedly hold the destiny of Russia in them.” Another Napoleon! Sara pointed out some a little historical context—Speransky was gotten rid of, and his reforms didn’t take hold during Alexander I’s reign. His eyes are flat and lifeless like mirrors. He has “an insistence on reason and an arrogant belief in the infallibility of his own gifts.” He seems to be outside the “now.” Prince Andrei senses this and eventually drops his fixation on Speransky and reforming Russia because of his new love for Natasha. Prince Andrei, Natasha, and Pierre seem connected in their attraction to the flux of life—in their instinctual way of making decisions and their constant search for moments to feel alive. In the discussion someone noted that Pierre, Prince Andrei, and Natasha “have a constant sense of the present but seldom have an awareness of its importance.”

What’s Going to Happen Next?

A few predictions those in discussion made of what may be coming up in War and Peace: Some people thought that there might be a good outcome for Pierre, but not for Prince Andrei—“because he seems to have a darker character.” Perhaps “the liaison between Natasha and Prince Andrei won’t be long lasting or successful,” someone pointed out. Many thought that Pierre will continue to drift, since thus far “he can’t stick to something long enough to have any lasting results.” As for Helene and Pierre, “things must be over between them—she will not change and he does not have it in him to change for her in the way she would want.” Sara assured us that the best is yet to come!

See you all next Wednesday!