Rereading War and Peace: Vol.3, P.2-3

1/ In an earlier blog post, I wrote that Tolstoy a few times compared things to the stage. The theatre metaphors reappear in this part. 

“The actors of 1812 have long since left the stage, their personal interests have vanished leaving no trace, and nothing remains of that time but its historic results.” (Vol.3, P.2, ch.1) 

More:

“In this letter Prince Andrei pointed out to his father the danger of staying at Bald Hills, so near the theatre of war and on the army’s direct line of march, and advised him to move to Moscow.” (Vol.3, P.2, ch.2) 

The phrase “the theatre of war” appears 3 more times in the same chapter.

This is interesting: 

“Amid the powder-smoke slowly dispersing over the whole space through which Napoleon rode, horses and men were lying in pools of blood, singly or in heaps. Neither Napoleon nor any of his generals had ever before seen such horrors or so many slain in such a small area. The roar of guns, that had not ceased for ten hours, wearied the ear and gave a peculiar significance to the spectacle, as music does to tableaux vivants.” (Vol.3, P.2, ch.34) 

I like that. There’s something strange and striking I can’t quite explain about the comparison to tableaux vivants.

The theatre metaphor comes up again later, when Napoleon is in a deserted Moscow. The narrator ends the chapter with: 

“Le coup de théâtre avait raté.” (Vol.3, P.3, ch.20) 

Translation: “The coup de théâtre had not come off.”

There are some other interesting similes in War and Peace: 

“Once more something whistled, but this time quite close, swooping downwards like a little bird; a flame flashed in the middle of the street, something exploded, and the street was shrouded in smoke.” (Vol.3, P.2, ch.4)

The comparison to little birds has appeared before: 

“… at that instant, as if to punish him for those words, bullets flew hissing across the regiment and across Kutuzov’s suite like a flock of little birds.” (Vol.1, P.3, ch.16) 

And it appears again: 

“‘Look out!’ came a frightened cry from a soldier and, like a bird whirring in rapid flight and alighting on the ground, a shell dropped with little noise within two steps of Prince Andrei and close to the battalion commander’s horse.” (Vol.3, P.2, ch.36) 

People don’t often talk about Tolstoy’s metaphors and generally focus more on his characters or his ideas, but once in a while there is something unusual. 

“The old man was still sitting in the ornamental garden, like a fly on the face of a loved one who is dead…” (Vol.3, P.2, ch.5) 

This is Alpatych, the old servant staying at Bald Hills after everyone else has left. He is now talking to Andrei. 

This is an even stranger metaphor:

“[Natasha] was also happy because she had someone to adore her: the adoration of others was a lubricant the wheels of her machine needed to make them run freely—and Petya adored her.” (Vol.3, P.3, ch.12)

Isn’t that such a dry, mechanical metaphor for someone like Natasha? 

2/ Tolstoy’s depiction of the relationship between old Bolkonsky and Marya is magnificent, especially in the last moments. It is a moving scene, and his depiction of the frailty of an old man makes me think of Lear (especially the reunion with Cordelia), and of Sir Leicester from Bleak House. 

One of the things I love about War and Peace is how similar the children are to their parents: Boris is a social climber and opportunist like his mother Anna Mikhailovna Drubetskaya; Hélène and Anatole are base, unprincipled, and deceitful like their father Vasili Kuragin; Nikolai and Natasha have the love and warmth and simplicity of old Rostov; Andrei and Marya are also like the old Bolkonsky, even though they themselves find him difficult.  

Andrei has the pride of a Bolkonsky, and the contempt for frivolous society. More importantly, there’s something hard and cruel about him sometimes, as in his father. Look at the scene where Pierre meets Andrei for the first time after the engagement is broken off: 

“‘I much regret her illness,’ said Prince Andrei; and he smiled like his father, coldly, maliciously, and unpleasantly.

‘So Monsieur Kuragin has not honoured Countess Rostova with his hand?’ said Prince Andrei, and he snorted several times.

‘He could not marry, for he was married already,’ said Pierre.

Prince Andrei laughed disagreeably, again reminding one of his father.” (Vol.2, P.5, ch.21) 

Andrei’s coldness to Natasha and his earlier coldness to Lise are not different from the coldness we have seen in his father.

Marya also inherits something from the old prince: 

“To her consternation she detected in herself in relation to Nikolushka some symptoms of her father’s irritability. However often she told herself that she must not get irritable when teaching her nephew, almost every time that, pointer in hand, she sat down to show him the French alphabet, she so longed to pour her own knowledge quickly and easily into the child—who was already afraid that Auntie might at any moment get angry—that at his slightest inattention she trembled, became flustered and heated, raised her voice, and sometimes pulled him by the arm and put him in the corner. Having put him in the corner she would herself begin to cry over her cruel, evil nature…” (Vol.2, P.5, ch.2) 

She also has the Bolkonsky pride: 

“Princess Marya was the same as always, but beneath her sympathy for her brother Pierre noticed her satisfaction that the engagement had been broken off. Looking at them Pierre realized what contempt and animosity they all felt for the Rostovs, and that it was impossible in their presence even to mention the name of her who could give up Prince Andrei for anyone else.” 

The difference is that she’s more religious, and more understanding. I wonder what the mother was like. 

3/ One of the advantages War and Peace has over history books is that Tolstoy shows the war as seen through different eyes: the perspective of the inexperienced, idealistic Nikolai is contrasted with the experience of Andrei, who feels more at home in the army than in society; Nikolai’s idealism and his adoration, bordering on worship, of the Tsar (“He felt that at a single word from that man all this vast mass (and he himself an insignificant atom in it) would go through fire and water, commit crimes, die, or perform deeds of highest heroism, and so he could not but tremble and his heart stand still at the imminence of that word”—Vol.1, P.3, ch8) are contrasted with the pragmatic, opportunistic way Boris looks at the war and the military (“He was conscious that here he was in contact with the springs that set in motion the enormous movements of the mass of which in his regiment he felt himself a tiny, obedient, and insignificant atom”—Vol.1, P.3, ch.9); we see the difference between the young, naïve, and boastful Nikolai when he first joins the army and the older, more experienced Nikolai in the war of 1812; the young Nikolai’s feeling is mirrored by the childish enthusiasm of Petya; Tolstoy shows the perspectives of simple soldiers such as Nikolai, higher-up officers such as Andrei, and leaders such as Napoleon; he also depicts the war through the eyes of a non-military man, like Pierre.

It’s a rich, colourful account of the war. Pierre may be a stand-in for Tolstoy in many ways (as Levin later is in Anna Karenina), but Andrei is a mouthpiece for Tolstoy’s thoughts about the Great Man theory of history. Both Pierre and Andrei (and many other characters in War and Peace) are still more vividly real and complex than almost any other writer’s characters however—even when they share some similarities with the author, they seem to have a will of their own. 

To go back to Tolstoy’s descriptions of the war, sometimes there’s a beautiful image like this: 

“Above the Kolocha, in Borodino and on both sides of it, especially to the left where the Voina flowing between its marshy banks falls into the Kolocha, a mist had spread which seemed to melt, to dissolve and to become translucent when the brilliant sun appeared and magically coloured and outlined everything. The smoke of the guns mingled with this mist, and over the whole expanse and through that mist the rays of the morning sun were reflected, flashing back like lightning from the water, from the dew, and from the bayonets of the troops crowded together by the river banks and in Borodino.” (Vol.3, P.2, ch.30) 

4/ The scene of Pierre meeting Andrei before the Battle of Borodino and the scene of Andrei feeling compassion for Anatole are wonderful moments. But I want to draw your attention to something else less talked about.

The philosophy chapters and the history chapters, when we don’t see the major characters—the characters we know and care about, can be quite dry. But sometimes Tolstoy does something interesting. For example, in the scene where the Council of War discuss whether or not to abandon Moscow (Vol.3, P.3, ch.4), he depicts it from the perspectives of various military leaders but also writes the point of view of Malasha, the six-year-old granddaughter of a peasant named Andrei Savostyanov, who in her mind calls Kutuzov “Grandad”. Strictly speaking, Malasha’s perspective of the discussion adds nothing to the plot, but it’s a nice touch. It’s unexpected and refreshing.

5/ I can’t help thinking that there’s something lacking in the characterisation of Hélène. I don’t mean depth—she’s a nasty airhead—she’s not Becky Sharp. 

But something seems to be lacking, and I suppose it’s because Tolstoy seems to be harsher, much harsher on her than on Dolokhov or Anatole or Prince Vasili, almost as hostile as towards Napoleon. In War and Peace, Tolstoy seems able to understand everyone, to see things from their point of view, and to depict a vast range of characters without judgment. An exception is Napoleon—we can all see Tolstoy’s hatred and contempt for the man—but I think Hélène is another exception. With Prince Vasili and Anatole, Tolstoy enters their minds and depicts their points of view and presents them as they are, but when he writes Hélène, who is exactly the same as Anatole in callousness and depravity, he seems to be looking at her from the outside and not the inside. 

“Had Hélène herself shown the least sign of hesitation, shame, or secrecy, her cause would certainly have been lost; but not only did she show no signs of secrecy or shame, on the contrary, with good-natured naïveté she told her intimate friends (and these were all Petersburg) that both the prince and the magnate had proposed to her, and that she loved both and was afraid of grieving either.

A rumour immediately spread in Petersburg, not that Hélène wanted to be divorced from her husband (had such a report spread many would have opposed so illegal an intention) but simply that the unfortunate and interesting Hélène was in doubt which of the two men she should marry. The question was no longer whether this was possible, but only which was the better match and how the matter would be regarded at court. There were, it is true, some rigid individuals unable to rise to the height of such a question, who saw in the project a desecration of the sacrament of marriage, but there were not many such and they remained silent, while the majority were interested in Hélène’s good fortune and in the question which match would be the more advantageous. Whether it was right or wrong to re-marry while one had a husband living they did not discuss, for that question had evidently been settled by people ‘wiser than you or me’, as they said, and to doubt the correctness of that decision would be to risk exposing one’s stupidity and incapacity to live in society.” (Vol.3, P.3, ch.7) 

Tolstoy is very clearly and very strongly condemning Hélène. I went back and reread: Tolstoy seems softer on Anatole when the guy seduces Natasha, despite knowing about her engagement and despite being married himself. 

Perhaps it’d be different when Hélène is dying. I suppose we’ll see. 

6/ I love Tolstoy’s comparison of an abandoned Moscow to a queenless hive. 

“The bees circle round a queenless hive in the hot beams of the midday sun as gaily as around the living hives; from a distance it smells of honey like the others, and bees fly in and out in the same way. But one has only to observe that hive to realize that there is no longer any life in it. […] From the alighting-board, instead of the former spirituous fragrant smell of honey and venom, and the warm whiffs of crowded life, comes an odour of emptiness and decay mingling with the smell of honey.” (Vol.3, P.3, ch.20)

This extended metaphor is much longer than anything I’ve seen so far in War and Peace: Tolstoy spends nearly 2 pages talking about Moscow as a queenless hive.

“All is neglected and foul. Black robber-bees are swiftly and stealthily prowling about the combs, and the short home-bees, shrivelled and listless as if they were old, creep slowly about without trying to hinder the robbers, having lost all desire and all sense of life. Drones, bumble-bees, wasps, and butterflies, knock awkwardly against the wall of the hive in their flight. Here and there among the cells containing dead brood and honey an angry buzzing can sometimes be heard.” (ibid.) 

This reminds me of the “digressions” in Moby Dick. Tolstoy himself kept bees, so he spent nearly 2 pages talking about bees. It’s an apt metaphor though, that I can’t deny. 

There are more comparisons to animals: 

“Like a monkey which puts its paw into the narrow neck of a jug, and having seized a handful of nuts will not open its fist for fear of losing what it holds, and therefore perishes, the French when they left Moscow had inevitably to perish because they carried their loot with them, yet to abandon what they had stolen was as impossible for them as it is for the monkey to open its paw and let go of its nuts.” (Vol.3, P.3, ch.26) 

And:

“As a hungry herd of cattle keeps well together when crossing a barren field, but gets out of hand and at once disperses uncontrollably as soon as it reaches rich pastures, so did the army disperse all over the wealthy city.” (ibid.) 

7/ I like this: 

“While the sea of history remains calm the ruler-administrator in his frail bark, holding on with a boat-hook to the ship of the people, and himself moving, naturally imagines that his efforts move the ship he is holding on to. But as soon as a storm arises and the sea begins to heave and the ship to move, such a delusion is no longer possible. The ship moves independently with its own enormous motion, the boat-hook no longer reaches the moving vessel, and suddenly the administrator, instead of appearing a ruler and a source of power, becomes an insignificant, useless, feeble man.” (Vol.3, P.3, ch.25) 

“The sea of history”, “the ship of the people”—this reminds me of the ship motif that scatters throughout Bleak House.

Later Tolstoy uses the ship image again when Count Rastopchin gets the crowd worked up and tells them to do whatever they want with the traitor Vereshchagin:  

“The barrier of human feeling, strained to the utmost, that had held the crowd in check, suddenly broke. The crime had begun and must now be completed. The plaintive moan of reproach was drowned by the threatening and angry roar of the crowd. Like the seventh and last wave that shatters a ship, that last irresistible wave burst from the rear and reached the front ranks, carrying them off their feet and engulfing them all.” (ibid.) 

That’s a powerful image for a terrifying scene. The madness, the savagery of the mob. How strange that I didn’t remember this scene from my last reading. 

Strictly speaking, the episode doesn’t advance the plot and doesn’t involve any of the major characters. Some readers may find it irrelevant. But I love these “superfluous” scenes; I love that War and Peace has a massive scope and paints a rich, colourful picture of Russia; and I love that Tolstoy adds to the picture something savage, something not flattering to Russian people. A North Vietnamese writer (or Vietnamese after 1975) wouldn’t, or wouldn’t be allowed to, write such a scene in such a way. 

I have some thoughts about the philosophy parts of the book, but I’m saving them for now.