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!

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!