Summary of Tenth Chat Session – November 16

You’ve finally made it to quadruple digits in War and Peace! Congratulations! A few participants found that one could tell “these sections are written later both in time and maturity from the earlier parts.” The invasion of Moscow certainly encompasses a number of complexities on a historical scale as well as in the personal lives of the characters. Both Napoleon and Kutuzov must decide what to do in the aftermath of Borodino. Moscow finds itself in a state of restless chaos with Pierre caught in its midst. The governor-general, Rostopchin, struggles with handling the mass exodus of the city, and as all this unfolds, Natasha reunites with Prince Andrei at what seems to be is death bed. Amongst this confusion, Tolstoy emphasizes the powerful effects of “the human connection” that seems to be the antithesis to senseless killing and presents the opportunity for forgiveness.

Napoleon Waits in Vain for His Coup de Théâtre

After Borodino, Napoleon considers himself the victor and declares Moscow under French rule. Many in the discussion found Napoleon’s waiting around for the Russian boyars made Napoleon seem like a “megalomaniac”—one that is about a century out of date regarding the city he claims he’s conquering! Napoleon associates Russia with the east, calling it “Asiatic” and “oriental”—as if Russia is his exotic eastern triumph, a replacement to his failures in Egypt earlier in his career. As he waits, he concerns himself with playing the perfect magnanimous conqueror in this important historical moment—he waits for his “coup de théâtre.” He expects that he will be the one to “civilize” Russia and make his new subjects love him. One noted, “Tolstoy makes Napoleon to be a fool, denying him his historical moment” on account of the Russian’s refusal to be live under French rule. Napoleon “is playing his expected role, like Caesar or Alexander the Great…It is as if there is an expected behavior of such men, or at least Napoleon thinks there is. Too bad the Russians don’t conform to his notions.” Part of Napoleon’s expectations rests on the fact that he has taken Vienna and Berlin before, and the residents there welcomed him. He expects the same with the Russians, though one found, “Tolstoy is showing the reader that the Russian is far more wise than the Austrians or Germans, who allow Napoleon to waltz into those cities, arms wide open… His point is that the Russians would never allow a foreigner to occupy or take over their country.” Tolstoy depicts such a refusal and their evacuation of Moscow as Russian patriotism. Once again, Tolstoy’s demonstrates that “great men are often the most common and the great are often the most flawed.”

Boyars were the highest ranking men up until medieval Russia, roughly between the 10-17^th centuries. Napoleon’s expectation of being greeted by boyars upon the invasion of Moscow displays his ignorance of Russian society and culture. Not too surprising, especially coming from Tolstoy!

French Invasion of Moscow and the Russian Decision to Leave

A participant noted, “The chaos of the Rostov's packing dovetails with the chaos of the French occupation of the city...” In the chaos of evacuating Moscow, Tolstoy seems to distinguish “true” patriotism from “false” patriotism. Even so, as one pointed out, “there are many paradoxes at work.” The Rostovs decide to leave some valuable belongings behind and instead take the wounded soldiers with them, but figures like Count Rostopchin seem to only pretend to be doing what they think is best but only end up making very poor decisions. There are also interesting cases like with Pierre, how he saves the life of and ends up making friends with Ramballe, a French officer. After they become acquainted, Pierre drops his plans to assassinate Napoleon. The choice of Russians to leave as well as Kutuzov’s decision to retreat also lies in this patriotism paradox: the obvious patriotic move may have been to stand and fight, but to do so “was not considered possible, even though the French army had lost two-thirds of its soldiers by then.” For Kutuzov, to stay and fight meant to lose both Moscow and the army, whereas retreat would mean that the Russians may lose the city but would at least keep the army. Tolstoy considered leaving Moscow--on part of Kutuzov as well as the Russian people-- a patriotic act.

The Calculus of History

When explaining the abandonment of Moscow, Tolstoy again brings up his theory of the calculus of history. He sees history “the instantaneous summation of the many that comprise that instant, not some portrayal of great men but of countless living and breathing individuals who act according to their feelings and when this actions are summated history occurs.” Reducing explanations of leaving Moscow as the decision of a few men cannot possibly be sufficient to explain the event, or history itself. It is the multitudes of infinitely small but important beings, each with their own emotions, actions, freewill, and reaction to events, that make history. One noted, “Tolstoy's calculus of history the idea that all historical events are the culmination of multiple factors -- people intersecting with actions and reactions.”

Vereshchagin, the Mob, and Count Rostopchin

Tolstoy paints a very negative picture of Count Rostopchin, the governor general of Moscow, during the evacuation. “This man had no idea what was happening. He just wanted to be doing something, to take people by surprise, to do a heroic deed that was gloriously patriotic, and he behaved like a little boy amusing himself while events of enormous magnitude—the abandonment and burning of Moscow—were inexorably taking shape, and he kept raising his tiny little fist first to urge on, then to turn back the mighty tide of popular will that swept him along as it went.” Perhaps the most telling of his “false” acts of patriotism is his order to the angry mob to kill Vereshchagin. Trying to find a way to calm the angry mob, Rostopchin rationalizes, “What they need is a victim.” Thus, he orders them to kill him: “Give him a thrashing…Let this traitor die and no longer disgrace the name of a Russian citizen!” A participant noted, “This portrait of Rostopchin is so destructive and so timely. His portrayal as a nineteenth century Pontius Pilote speaks to the inadequacy of many who view their political position as confirmation of their own greatness.” Another noted, “what was so disturbing for me was the fact that there was absolutely no reason for the mob to go after him… The idea that a group of people could be incited to such violence against another human.” Rostopchin, in making the decision to order the killing of Vereshchagin, “was being rational but not moral,” as one put it. Rostopchin cuts off Vereshchagin’s last words as he began to say, “Count, God above is our only…” Rostopchin drowns out Vereshchagin's last plea with shout, ordering the crowd to attach him. Without the human connection, the mob does as Rostopchin orders. “The thread of human sympathy that had been holding the mob in check had been stretched to breaking point, and now it snapped.” After the event, however, everyone feels remorse. “Full of pain and pity, they looked down at the dead body with its blue face filthy with matted dust and blood.” Even Rostopchin, as he rides away in his carriage, realizes the he did wrong in commanding the mob to attack Vereshchagin.

Prince Andrei and Natasha Reunite

Completely opposite to the Vereshchagin affair, many found Prince Andrei and Natasha’s meeting to be one of great love and forgiveness. The scene was praised as being “beautifully written” and “a great piece of work!” One noted, “It is the scene unfolding through the Andrei's delirium that is so astounding to me,” and another, “Tolstoy had a deep understanding of human psyche, and was able to describe it so accurately, so believably.” Tolstoy has us see things through Prince Andrei’s blurry perspective-- blurry because of his illness. “He wraps us around real and delusional so well that we are in a surreal place ourselves.” Sara pointed out the detail of the fly buzzing around, “Again, the real and the delusional colliding—which seems to mimic the scene at Austerlitz, when Napoleon appeared to him to be nothing more than the buzzing of a fly.” Among these semi-delusional semi-real thoughts, Prince Andrei loses his habit of intellectualizing, which in turn allows him to contemplate more “spiritual” matters. He thinks about the “new happiness” revealed to him when he saw Anatole at the field hospital. Coming to finally understand “the happiness of the soul” and “the happiness of loving”—especially the love he felt for Anatole, his enemy—Prince Andrei is able to tell Natasha that he loves her. He even becomes so overwhelmed by his love that even forgets the wrong she did to him and appears confused at her request that he forgive her. Their moment is one of intense human connection. Prince Andrei doesn’t even need to verbalize his forgiveness—he simply holds out his hand, and “Natasha also receives absolution, which finally heals her from the ‘sin’ she feels for her past behavior. It's clear when he smiles and reaches out to her that all is forgiven...it's a very powerful moment.” A participant added, “the idea of forgiveness is the act of freeing oneself from pain, misery.”

Pierre Stays in Moscow

One participant observed, “Pierre, on the other hand, seems to me a construct of LT to show us what is going on in different places… He is always the outsider, going from place to place and character to character.” He comes from Borodino completely taken by the spirit of the soldiers he meets on the battlefield. The experience there transforms him: one noted that he develops “an appreciation of the actions of the simple soldiers and the lessons that all the suffering and horror impart… The simplicity of their actions seems to transcend the usual fear of death. He admires not only their actions but the mental state that allows them to carry on without the fear that would affect others.” Pierre becomes inspired to follow in their footsteps—what he sees as “heroic” acts against the French. However, his mind changes rather quickly. A participant noted, “Pierre is so consumed with his dark ideas of seeking revenge and murdering Napoleon, but as soon as he comes into contact with Ramballe, his ideas fade away. He struck me as someone who is torn between his Russian-ness and the French side of himself.” Pierre reprimands himself for his “weakness” in changing his plans, but his human connection with the French officer convinces him to drop his plans.

Have a happy break everyone…but don’t forget to continue reading War and Peace!

Summary of Ninth Chat Session – Wednesday November 9

In Volume III, Part II, Tolstoy illustrates how the war progresses on Russian soil. He revisits the idea of what “great men” really are as he transitions from a civilian perspective of the war to a military one. However, the military perspective seems considerably different from before. We see Borodino unfold through the eyes of Pierre. He stumbles around the battlefield, trying to make sense of this foreign environment. Our previous military guide, Prince Andrei, reenters the foray with a completely different mindset than he had at previous battles. He understands the follies of desiring to become a “great man” and instead thinks of death, his love for life, forgiveness, and Natasha. As the war commences on the Russian soil, Tolstoy challenges traditional historical interpretations of Borodino, framing it as a moral and spiritual victory of the Russians over the French.

Tolstoy’s Depiction of Great Men and the “Truth”

During the discussion, many found Napoleon to be confident and inspiring, though to negative effect. One noted, “Tolstoy has made me question Napoleon’s ability.” Regarding his confidence, another noted, “He had military success in the past and decided to add laurels by invading Russia when he might have retired.” He inspires in such a way that “people wanted to drown for him,” as one observed. Tolstoy’s depictions of Napoleon reminded many that War and Peace is the work of an author, where “Napoleon seems to exist, like some Old Testament villain, to prove the point of the author.” Sara pointed out that Tolstoy felt constrained when writing a historical novel by the thought that he would have to use historical sources, which strayed from “the truth.” So we see Tolstoy grapple with what is considered the “truth” and why novels could accomplish that more than history. One participant found that Tolstoy emphasizes the “special characteristics of the Russian soldier—his sacrifices epitomized in the battery on the summit.” On a similar note, another pointed to the differences between a historian and an author: “novelists who look into the human heart have different ways of looking at events than an historian might.”

Tolstoy considers everyone involved in the “multiplicity of causes” of events in history, rather than limiting its interpretation to the “great men” and their sole decisions and actions. Before Borodino, Tolstoy goes at great length to discredit the emphasis historians place on military leaders as the arbiters of history. In the historical essay before Borodino (Volume III, Part II, Chapter 19), Tolstoy calls Kutuzov and Napoleon’s decisions in offering and accepting the battle at Borodino “involuntary and meaningless.” Their decision to engage completely went against their own interests— Kutuzov’s being the defense of Moscow, and Napoleon’s the glory of his Grande Armée. Instead of looking to Kutuzov and Napoleon, Tolstoy looks to the Russian soldier for a reason to explain the events at Borodino. He explains that Russian soldiers fought “under conditions that made it unthinkable even to get through three hours without the army being utterly defeated and put to flight, let alone keep on fighting for ten hours and still leave the issue in doubt.”

Pierre and Prince Andrei on the Battlefield

A few participants were surprised at Pierre’s appearance on the battlefield “as if he were going to a play.” One found, “Pierre seems to almost be a war correspondent,” where “we can try to understand war from a non-military member point of view”—a “naïve view” at that. Pierre, obviously unacquainted with the battlefield, makes observations that a soldier would perhaps not be aware of. A participant pointed out that Pierre notices extremes: “He sees a lot of beauty in the landscape, as well as the horrors going on there.” Pierre stands out from the rest of the soldiers, donning a white hat that many soldiers find ridiculous. Though despite his “outsider” aura, a small battalion takes Pierre in as one of their own. Pierre questions them about their fear of death, and they respond that, of course, they are afraid. Pierre as an outsider, however, witnesses the brutality of war, though seems to be unable to connect himself with the prospects of dying like the soldiers around him. Death on the battlefield is uncertain to him.

Prince Andrei on the other hand—the experienced soldier—is only hyper-aware of the prospects of dying on the battlefield. His hyper-awareness makes him want to forget death completely: he distracts himself from the gunfire and shots of cannons all around him by counting his paces back and forth and remembers Natasha. When a shell is about to burst at his feet, he declares, “I can’t die. I don’t want to die. I love life. I love this grass, the earth, the air...” Many in the discussion wondered if Prince Andrei could ever be satisfied and happy and found, “Andrei without the influence of Pierre or Natasha would be a terribly depressing person.” He seems to find a form of fulfillment when he meets Anatole at the field hospital. One pointed out, “Tolstoy seems to suggest that forgiveness is the really important issue,” experiencing “forgiveness and universal love”—Tolstoy’s vision of goodness and possible salvation. Another noted, “Prince Andrei ends his euphoria of seeing Anatole and experiencing universal love with the assertion that ‘it’s too late for me.’” By this point, Prince Andrei “has lost his wife, his home, his father, his fiancé, and now has what appears to be a mortal wound.” It is only after all of these losses that he is able to forgive Anatole. A participant responded, “Perhaps it is only in such moments that we can better concentrate and gain insight beyond the usual mundane aspects of life.”

Borodino Compared to Previous Battles

Many found Borodino to be “more graphic—it showed the ugly side of war.” Again, similar to Schongraben and Austerlitz, “There is certainly the same lack of good communication and intelligence--things seem to get done by chance and never according to planned strategy.” Tolstoy again plays with the “multiplicity of causes,” not “great men” having effect on the outcome of war—one pointed out, “There is a frantic uncoordinated pattern during all of the battles in which the sum of individual passions and fears seems far more important than the best plans of Tsars and Emperors.” For the Russians, these passions and fears become more pronounced since they are fighting on Russian soil. When considering an overview of Borodino, Tolstoy’s patriotic side seems to show—he emphasizes that the French lost less men than the Russians, but the Russians keep fighting. In the historical essay at the end of the battle, Tolstoy explains the “moral victory” as the result of the soldiers’ actions. “They were in the grip of some mysterious force…not by the will of man, but by the one who governs men and worlds.” As for the French, Tolstoy explains, “the spirit of the army had failed” because they feared the “undiminished ferocity” of the Russians even after half of its forces were gone. The “hand of an opponent stronger in spirit” had been laid on the French.

The Many Voices of War and Peace

The Russian literary theorist Mikhail Bakhtin isolated what he considered to be some of the most prevalent characteristics in Dostoevsky's (later) works. One of these characteristics he dubs "polyphony" or "multi-voicedness": characters in Dostoevsky's novels are allowed to voice their own ideas and their own beliefs, even when their beliefs contradict those of the author himself. We are so accustomed to equating a character to an author, to believing that authors use their characters as mouthpieces for their own thoughts. But one reads Dostoevsky in that way at one's own risk; to equate author and character often results in completely misunderstanding Dostoevsky's work.


Bakhtin also calls Dostoevsky a "dialogic" writer. His characters, according to Bakhtin, engage in dialogue with each other. Rarely do they think, speak, or act in isolation; they repeat each other's words, react to them, or continue each other's thoughts. In contrast, Bakhtin calls Tolstoy a supremely "monologic" writer. Tolstoy's characters, again according to Bakhtin, rarely engage in dialogue with each other. Sure, Andrei and Pierre might have a conversation on a ferry by the river, and Tolstoy's narrator might tell us that Pierre's words exerted a great deal of influence on Andrei's thinking. But when Andrei pontificates, he thinks his own thoughts, engages in his own monologues; his ideas and beliefs are his own, not echoes or continuations of his arguments with Pierre.


Bakhtin states that Tolstoy is monologic for another reason: his characters (at least his main characters) seem more clearly to be mouthpieces for their author's ideas. Many scholars disagree with Bakhtin, or at least feel that he overstates his case.


If Tolstoy is really a supremely monologic writer, we would expect utter consistency from him. In many cases, we get it: Kutuzov once again appears in this section of the novel as the embodiment of "wise passivity," as opposed to the foolishness of Napoleon, who mistakenly thinks that he controls everything through his will. Much like Bagration earlier, Kutuzov's "orders" are not orders at all; the narrator tells us, "He was not giving any orders; all he did was say yes or no to suggestions." In contrast, Tolstoy provides us in chapter 27 with a detailed account of Napoleon's dispositions for the Battle of Borodino, and then an equally detailed account of how none of these orders were carried out, nor could they have been.

As if this weren't enough, we are convinced of Kutuzov's wisdom and Napoleon's foolishness through the prism of Andrei. In chapter 15, Andrei meets Denisov, who has come to find Kutuzov in order to propose to him a plan of guerrilla warfare. Note how Tolstoy structures the meeting between Andrei and Denisov. At first, we have no indication that it is Denisov who has arrived; all we are told is that "a swarthy little lieutenant-colonel of hussars with prodigious mustaches and sideburns rode up to the gate." But with Denisov's first words, we know exactly who it is: "You, too? Waiting for the commander-in-chief? They say he's weady to weceive evewybody, thank God! Not like those widiculous kwauts!"

As they sit waiting for Kutuzov, Andrei and Denisov are connected through Natasha, through bittersweet memory of their love for her. Andrei, who has been avoiding everyone and everything that reminds him of Natasha, finds "that these particular memories had left him alone for long periods, and when they did come to mind they didn't hurt with anything like the old intensity." Denisov finds the same thing: "And as far as Denisov was concerned, the associations evoked by the name of Bolkonsky belonged to a romantic time in the distant past, when one evening after supper, much affected by Natasha's singing, he had proposed to a little fifteen-year-old girl without really knowing what he was doing." The two men are united by more than their distant love for Natasha; they are united through a sense of time. Natasha is now more or less in the past for them, and time is starting to heal all wounds.

How does this relate to Kutuzov? In the next chapter, Kutuzov reveals to Andrei the secret to successful warfare: time and patience. "There's nothing stronger than those two old soldiers - time and patience. There's nothing they can't do...," he states. Kutuzov's wisdom stretches across the battlefield and into life itself: time and patience are the two "old soldiers" that heal the characters' wounds. The impression of Kutuzov as the wise leader is reinforced through Andrei's own healing process.

In contrast, when Pierre meets up with Andrei on the evening before the Battle of Borodino, he states, "They do say war is a bit like playing chess." Andrei disputes Pierre's claim: "Yes, it is, but there's one little difference. In chess you can take as long as you want over every move. You're beyond the limits of time. Oh, there is one other difference: a knight is always stronger than a pawn and two pawns are always stronger than one, whereas in war a battalion can sometimes be stronger than a division, and sometimes weaker than a company." Not "little differences," to be sure! Andrei points out the obvious: unlike chess, war is no game, and it is dependent on a multitude of factors that the player cannot foresee ahead of time. In chess, you can calculate a sequence of moves; in war, you cannot. In an echo of Pierre and Andrei's conversation, Napoleon repeatedly equates war with chess. At one point, he states, "The board's set up. The game begins tomorrow." At another point, he complains, "Tell the King of Naples that it is still not midday, and I cannot yet see my chess-board clearly."

Napoleon's equation of chess and war is utterly mistaken in one sense, completely horrifying in another. Not only does he not understand the realities of war as Andrei, Kutuzov, and the narrator understand them, he also views war as a game. He is not concerned with the human cost of war, the destruction and the violence. Instead, war is a game that is set up in partially in order to bring him greater glory, partially to bring him amusement. Napoleon's courtier de Bausset brings him a portrait of his infant son, the "King of Rome," playing cup and ball, with the ball representing the earth and the stick in his hand representing a sceptre. When Napoleon sits and stares at this portrait, it is as if he is looking into a mirror: two children playing games with the world as their toys.

So in many ways, we do have that monologic consistency: Kutuzov is always wise, on the battlefield and off, while Napoleon is always foolish. But then there are moments of utter inconsistency in the novel as well. In the earlier chapters of this section, we saw the peasants as they interacted with Princess Marya. Stubborn, recalcitrant, unwilling to listen to reason or accept assistance, Marya's peasants are depicted as a dark, wild, chaotic force. They are irrational: they have a tendency to suddenly, for no apparent reason, pick up and move hundreds of miles to another part of the country, and then just as suddenly, again for no apparent reason, pick up and return to the place they left. They are superstitious: the Bolkonskys' steward Alpatych enjoys the reputation of being a wizard. All he has to do is exclaim "I can see three yards beneath you!" and it becomes true. They are subservient and submissive: Nikolai, along with two or three other officers, can bend them into submission, and they will even hand over their own belts and tie each other up, to boot.

At the same time, however, when Pierre tours through the town of Mozhaysk, he is struck by the conscripted peasants preparing for the coming battle. They are "brimming with energy and running with sweat," and working with "raucous comments and roars of laughter." They seem to embody the same life force that we saw earlier with the drunken party and the tying of a bear to a policeman, the same life force of Natasha dancing her native Russian dance at Uncle's cabin. It is these peasants who "told Pierre more about the primacy and solemn meaning of the here and now than anything he had yet seen and heard." For Pierre, they are the embodiment of the spirit of the army, and more importantly, of living in the present moment. And so when an officer passes by them, holding his nose and exclaiming, "Ugh, filthy swine!" we can't help but feel a bit offended, perhaps even feel a bit of wounded national pride, even if we aren't Russian. I'm speaking here purely in terms of the world of the novel. Tolstoy has set us up to feel this wounded national pride in the same way that he set us up to feel it in Volume I, Part I, chapter 5, when Hippolyte Kuragin tells a French viscount, "And you told me that Russian ladies weren't as good as French ladies. You just have to know how to get things going." In both cases, what is natively Russian is being slandered.

The peasants and common soldiers are depicted as being "truly Russian" - note their sincere devotion and solemnity during the procession with the icon of Smolensk, as opposed to the falseness and hypocrisy of Boris Drubetskoy as he plays both sides, courting both Kutuzov and Bennigsen, to ensure that he will receive a medal no matter what. Pierre notes the distinction between the peasants and the common soldiers on one hand and Boris and the officers on the other: "But what struck Pierre was that the reason for all the excitement on some of the faces had to do with questions of personal success, and he could not get out of his mind a different kind of excitement seen on other faces that had to do with universal questions rather than personal ones, questions of life and death." This is, perhaps, one of those monologic moments of Tolstoy's: the common soldiers are unquestionably on a higher moral plane than the officers. At the same time, though, the peasants had earlier been portrayed as a chaotic, irrational, uncomprehending mob. So both points of view are presented, and part of the beauty of the complexity of the novel is to accept both of them.

In the same vein, some of Prince Andrei's speeches are so disturbing, I have to believe that Tolstoy is allowing him to speak in his own voice, not that of his creator. One example is in his earlier conversation with Pierre when he drops by to see Andrei at his estate at Bogucharovo. Depressed and bitter after his wife's death, Andrei insists that the only way to be happy is to live for oneself alone. On some level, his arguments make sense, but on another level everything human in us recoils from what he says. It is important to remember that when Andrei states that he cannot possibly know what is good and what is bad, that there is no sense in improving the peasants' life through education and hospitals, that one has to find happiness in oneself and let everybody else go to the devil, he is in a state of profound depression. When Pierre finds Andrei on the eve before the Battle of Borodino, Andrei is again depressed and bitter. He delivers a long speech about taking no prisoners in war, stating that "war is not being nice to each other, it's the vilest thing in human life, and we ought to understand that and not play at war. It's a terrible necessity, and we should be strict about it and take it seriously. It comes down to this: no more lying, war means war and it's not a plaything. Otherwise war will be a nice hobby for idle people and butterfly minds..." On some level, Andrei's words strike us as true - war is vile, and we shouldn't play at it and allow it to be the plaything of people like Napoleon. At the same time, though, there is something horrible in Andrei's words "Don't take any prisoners! Kill and be killed! Anyone who has got this far, as I have, through suffering..." The thought of no mercy, no magnanimity, goes against everything in us that is human.

Again, I have to believe that Andrei is speaking with his voice, not that of Tolstoy. Andrei is speaking through his own perception and experience, an experience colored by suffering, betrayal, and a desire for revenge. Andrei states, "Stop taking prisoners. What's the sense in taking prisoners? It's just medieval chivalry. ... They're my enemies, they're all criminals - that's the way I see it. ... They must be put to death. If they're my enemies, they can't be my friends, whatever might have been said at Tilsit." But let's think back to Nikolai as he charged across the field and attacked the French. With the instincts of the hunt coursing through him, he picked out his prey, took aim, and... looked into the blue eyes of his target. He noticed that the young Frenchman had a dimple. And... he couldn't do it, couldn't kill him. The simple act of looking into a man's eyes, of making a human connection with him, made Nikolai unable to kill a person who was supposedly his enemy.

If we think back to Natasha, we remember her praying in church, revelling in the sensation of forgiving and loving her enemies, even wishing she had more enemies to love and forgive. We remember Natasha's confusion at the priest's command that she pray that the enemies of Russia be trampled underfoot. Princess Marya gave Andrei the advice: "If you think someone has done you wrong you must forgive and forget. We have no right to punish others. And you will know the joy of forgiveness." In this section, Pierre again meets Dolokhov, but inspired by the possibility that he might die on the battlefield the next day, Dolokhov asks Pierre for forgiveness for his past offenses. The theme of forgiving one's enemies has become more and more prevalent in these last sections. And it is in this part of the novel that Andrei once again encounters Anatole.

After chasing Anatole all over the Russian Empire, bent on meting out punishment and revenge, Andrei finally meets Anatole in a medical tent, when both are seriously wounded. Prince Andrei has been hit by shrapnel, Anatole has his leg amputated. It is both horrifying and deeply touching when Anatole asks the doctors to show him his amputated leg. His character and all of his actions have been based on his physical attractiveness. Everything that has defined him is now taken from him and shown to him, with a boot still on it. At the sight of Anatole's pain and suffering, Andrey is moved not to feelings of hatred of his enemies and revenge; he does not revel in the fact that Anatole has been punished by some higher power. Instead, he feels intimately connected to Anatole, and he experiences the profoundest of emotions: pity and love. We read, "Everything came back to him, and his heart filled with a blissful surge of passionate pity and love for this man." Andrey also comes to the profoundest of revelations: "Sympathy and love, for our brothers, those who love us and those who hate us, for our enemies. Yes, the kind of love God preached on earth, that Marie told me about I could not understand..." Andrei's previous words about killing all prisoners, that they are my enemies and must be killed, dissolve in a pure moment of love and connection.

And yet, in the very next chapter, Tolstoy's narrator once again rails on Napoleon! For a moment, Napoleon seems to understand the horror of the battlefield and the destruction he has helped to bring about. He feels sick at heart, unable to stop the thing that supposedly depends solely on his will. "For one brief moment personal, human feelings won out over the artificial apology for a life that he had been leading for such a long time." But then, "like a horse on a treadmill," Napoleon resumes the role that was his destiny, and the narrator lashes out at him with unmitigated vehemence: "though he never, to the end of his days, had the slightest understanding of goodness, beauty, truth, or the significance of his own deeds, which were too far removed from truth and goodness, too remote from anything human for him to be able to grasp their significance." The narrator's outburst seems to be in complete contrast to Andrei's revelation. After all, if Andrei has learned to forgive his enemy, why can't the narrator?

It has been suggested to me that perhaps the narrator of War and Peace is a character like any other, with his own prejudices and opinions like any of the other characters. It also seems to me like there are different narrators, who are allowed to speak in their own voices. There is the more distanced and objective narrator who delivers abstract discourses on the theory of history, and then there is this narrator, subject to venomous outbursts against Napoleon. Andrei seems to have learned the ultimate lesson of pity, forgiveness, and brotherly love, but this narrator still seems to have a ways to go.

Summary of Eighth Chat Session – Wednesday November 2, 2011

After much of the philosophizing on war at the beginning of Volume III, we finally see Napoleon making headway in his invasion of Russia. The invasion comes as a surprise: “No one even dreamt that the Russian provinces were in danger of being invaded, or imagined the war might be carried beyond the frontiers of the Polish provinces.” The invasion inspires a number of varied reactions, and Tolstoy presents us with a variety of perspectives—from the top of the military and down to the peasants and serfs. He frames the invasion with essays questioning the role of "Great Men" in causing such events. The Old Prince Bolkonsky's death also frames Napoleon's invasion and echoes the theme of forgiveness in this part of the novel.

Peasants Revolt Against Princess Marya

During the discussion, many people were curious about the peasants’ anger towards Princess Marya as she was trying to offer them grain and a chance to leave the Bogucharovo estate for Moscow. Sara pointed out that the Bogucharavo peasants are different from those at Bald Hills. According to the narrator, “They differed in speech, dress, and attitude. The claimed to be from the steppe… The Old Prince applauded their stamina, but he didn’t like them because they were an uncivilized lot.” They are “more wild” than the peasants at Bald Hills because Bogucharovo never had an owner living on the estate. Prince Andrei, the absentee landlord, only drops by and leaves whenever he pleases. The peasants would be compelled by a “force” to move to different locations, and then they would return at will. Perhaps because of the low-literacy rate among these “unsupervised” peasants, they are superstitious and highly subject to rumors on the war, Napoleon, the end of the world, and complete freedom. A few people pointed out the elder Dron’s belief that Alpatych, the Prince’s steward, is a wizard who could “see three yards” under any person—Dron fears him because of it! The narrator also describes how the French persuades the peasants to tolerate their presence. The French claim that they would provide refuge against the Cossacks, who destroy deserted villages. So, the peasants make vague connections between tolerating the French and having freedom from their Russian landowners—hence their hostility to Princess Marya’s suggestion that they take her grain and move out with her to Moscow. A participant made the observation that the serfs “are panicky about the invasion since they are kept isolated, uninformed, and uneducated—so they react badly."

Someone asked whether the peasants thought themselves as “middle-class” after Prince Andrei provided schools and hospitals to the Bogucharovo peasants. In fact, his changes to improve their position have the opposite effect! “Prince Andrei’s last stay at Bogucharovo, and his innovations—hospitals, schools, and rent reductions—far from mollifying them, and intensified those aspects of their character that the Old Prince had identified as uncivilized.” Such reforms were common in the 1860s, but in this particular moment, Tolstoy seems to find faults in such efforts! Sara mentioned that later in the 1870s, revolutionary students tried to go to “the people” to teach them and preach revolutionary ideals, but the peasants failed to understand. Their ultimate loyalties were with the Tsar.

Many also noted the divide between the upper classes and the peasants. Even in language they were divided—the peasants and “more natural” characters speak Russian, and high society speaks French. Sara also brought up the point that peasant rebellions were very prevalent since “that was often the only way for serfs to express their dissatisfaction, because at various points they were legally forbidden from bringing a complaint against their masters, unless someone was killed or died at the master's hand.”

At the time of Napoleon’s invasion, there were rumors of emancipation—and the Bogucharovo peasants definitely react to Princess Marya with these rumors in mind. However, Tolstoy depicts the peasants as inconsistent in what they actually want. Someone in the discussion even mentioned, “Freedom is not an easy thing and can even be scary,” suggesting that the peasants may claim to want freedom without understanding what that would really entail. The peasants in this scene even go back on their demands for emancipation. The village elder Dron asks Princess Marya to be set free, and the mob refuses to accept her grain, thinking that she’s trying to trick them into further enslavement. When Nikolai rides into the village, however, they obediently follow his orders—even “one or two of them even take off their own belts so that they can be tied up!”

The Death of the Old Prince Bolkonsky

Princess Marya is left to fend for herself and deal with the peasants on her own because of her father’s death. Within the novel, Tolstoy places the Old Prince’s death at an interesting place—right in the midst of the French invasion. Without him around, she realizes that she will have to take up new responsibilities making decisions about what to do in the impending war.

At the same time, though, she experiences a sense of “impending liberation,” but “feels guilty for wishing her father to die in order to free her of her misery.” She starts thinking about marriage but is overcome by guilt at the thought of wishing her father dead so that she can live her idealized life. After he has his stroke, she avoids visiting him because of this guilt. When she does end up visiting him, his words of affection and forgiveness surprise her. He tells her, “'Dear girl!’ Or was it, 'darling'? ‘Thank you... my dear daughter.. forgive me...’" It almost seems out of character for the Old Prince to forgive her—just a few pages back he calls Princess Marya a “tormenter” and blames her for his unhappiness! Being so close to death the Old Prince. He becomes physically weak (I mean, he had 2 strokes!), and somehow with physical deterioration he becomes meeker: “even as he spoke a look of childish shyness and uncertainty came over his face.” Tolstoy describes the death of the Old Prince through Princess Marya’s eyes, so as readers, we have no idea what is going through his mind as he dies. Already, we know that forgiveness is a huge part of what’s going on inside him. As a participant observed, “The Old Prince is only able to admit his horrible treatment of his daughter at his death bed, as if he has to confess and ask forgiveness in order to pass to the other side, to move on to the next world.”

Many considered his death a type of “liberation” for Princess Marya—it lets her fall in love with Nikolai and frees her from her father’s torment. Princess Marya herself calls Nikolai’s appearance “an act of Providence” herself. Her desperate situation heightens Nikolai’s “romantic imagination,” and there’s always the chance that if he didn’t meet Princess Marya under such circumstances, he would have never recognized her beauty or felt such a strong connection with her.

Tolstoy’s Depiction of “Great Men”

A participant noted that Tolstoy’s essays imply that “great men don’t control events but they certainly shape them or influence them.” So a few people wondered—how would Tolstoy explain figures like Stalin who forced things on the population, like collectivization and industrialization? At the beginning of Part II of Volume III, Tolstoy claims, “It was Providence that compelled all those men, striving for the realization for their own personal ambitions, to work cooperatively towards an outcome of immense significance, of which no single individual (not Napoleon, not Alexander, even less anybody actually involved in the fighting) had the slightest inkling.” It seems like Tolstoy would consider Stalin to be one of those men who “strove for the realization of his own personal ambitions” that played a single role, no more and no less than everyone else around him, to work “cooperatively towards an outcome of immense significance.” As someone noted, “according to LT, historical events are shaped by multiple factors, influences, and unpredictable interplay of a variety of things.” Individuals, so-called “great men” and “little men” alike, play their own roles in the larger scheme of things whether they are aware of it or not—and one’s role is no less significant than another’s. So who controls “the larger scheme of things”? (One participant wondered, “So God gave LT the manuscript?”) As the creator of the novel, obviously, Tolstoy does know the larger scheme of things, what will happen, what his characters know and don’t know, and what we as readers know and don’t know. “One of the benefits of being a novelist is being able to create a world and BE God!” Even his narrative point of view reflects a God-like omniscience, as it changes from making big and lofty statements (like in the historical essays) to explaining “the smallest stirrings in a person’s soul.”

Someone observed, “Tolstoy seems to have a nonchalant attitude towards Napoleon and Alexander.” Many found that Tolstoy is clearly critical of Napoleon, but towards the Tsar, he is depicted with “human weakness and lacking judgment, but also caring, compassionate, and emotional.” He was seen as “feeble and at times clueless. He wants no part of being commander in chief and lets others appoint one.” Another observed, “Alexander sometimes seems to be something of a non-entity, he stands around and the crowd or the nobles project onto him what they expect the Tsar to be.” Alexander doesn’t avoid Tolstoy’s critical eye towards great men. “Tolstoy had to deal with censors when he dealt with the Tsar,” as someone noted. With Napoleon, Tolstoy isn’t so subtle in criticism. “Napoleon is depicted as a megalomaniac, with no care or concern for the average man. Just in love with himself and his vision of what he will accomplish.” Both men are revered, and both inspire sometimes irrational, reckless behavior. Someone noted, “What people feel towards these ‘great men’ seems based on the superficial but is passionately felt.” A crowd will almost trample a young boy, Petya, to death just to see the Tsar. Such brutality isn’t too different from soldiers willing to swim across a river and drown to death in order to display their love for Napoleon.

Tolstoy and…Calculus?

Many pointed out that they noticed Tolstoy likes to drop mathematics (and sometimes physics) references. Pierre cheats on his numerology experiment, trying to force his prediction of the future to fit what he wants it to be (not unlike grade school marriage prediction games…). I remember a physics reference, where Tolstoy compares Nikolai’s excitement of coming home for the first time since he left for the war to the classical gravitational force equation. The closer he was to home, the stronger the force that compelled him to go home, out of nostalgia. Anyone catch more math/physics references?

If we let D be the distance between the center of Nikolai and and the center of Otradnoye in meters, m₁ be the mass of Nikolai in kilograms, m₂ the mass of Otradnoye in kilograms, and G be the gravitational constant, then F is “the desire to return home” in Newtons. The smaller D is, the larger F will be.

See you all on Wednesday!