Big Book 2019

This post will be taking a look at the first soirée hosted by Anna Pavlovna, and all the foreshadowing and details that stand out to me now that we are over 900 pages into the book. Rereading this scene was actually very interesting, especially considering all the character introductions, which make evaluating how much, or little, a character has changed rather easy.

    One of the first things to jump out at at me when reading was the gratuitous French. While I was intellectually aware that the usage of French had grown sparser, I never quite realized how much it used to feature. In fact, on page seven there are seven different occurrences of French, all with their own foot note. I had forgotten how much reading the first scene felt like getting thrown into the deep end. Now of course, excepting the scenes with Napoleon, French occurs very little, particularly when Tolstoy gives us one of his lectures which can stretch on for many pages.

    The next most interesting feature of note is Pierre’s introduction. Pierre is introduced as “a massive, fat young man” with an “intelligent and at the same time shy, observant, and natural gaze” (9). While Pierre feels like he has grown leaps and bounds as a character, much of this description remains true. By where we are in the book, he has apparently only become more massive, and as can be seen in the scene on the hill during the Battle of Borodino is still shy but observant and curious. Following his introduction, I found there to be two large pieces of foreshadowing. One is a thought about Pierre by Anna Pavlovna, who thinks of Pierre as the “young man who did not know how to live”. In the context of the scene, this refers to his lack of knowledge about how to conduct himself at a high society soirée, and can therefore be brushed over as a simple description of his upbringing. But after reading through three quarters of the book, it becomes apparent that finding how he wants to live is one of Pierre’s core struggles. He struggles to choose between the armed forces or the diplomatic corps, he struggles with morality and religion, he struggles to free his serfs, and most recently he struggles with understanding war. Pierre would not be Pierre if he was not struggling with life in general. The other piece of foreshadowing also ties into Pierre’s conduct in life. Pierre is described as drifting around the soirée, looking for a conversation to join and afraid of missing out on something. This yet again, though admittedly in broad strokes, is how he has conducted himself throughout the book. He moves from one goal, vice, or topic to another, never staying for long without changing something up. Even the Masons, which he is still at least nominally a part of, has involved change, going from near blind belief in the group to belief in his own personal philosophy, before having yet another revelation, and so on. Again, this scene is just so very Pierre.

    Another interesting moment is seeing Prince Andrei introduced. As of the Battle of Borodino, Andrei has shifted some, but is still remarkably similar. It is described how “he not only knew everyone in the drawing room, but was also so sick of them that it was very boring for him to look at them and listen to them” (14). This does sound quite like the current Prince Andrei, sick of political life and the people who are associated with it, though beneath the surface the reasons for this dislike are quite different. However, a major difference is when he proudly announces how Kutuzov wants him as an adjutant. By the Battle of Borodino he had rejected any such position similar to that of an adjutant, finding much more purpose as an actual officer in the thick of things.

    Overall, I am quite glad I reread the first scene considering how much interesting comparisons and foreshadowing is packed inside, nearly all of which I missed on the first read through.

From the very first battle scenes, Tolstoy utilizes revelatory pain to convey some the main ideas of the text. The first example of this come during the battle of Schöngrabern, when Nikolai is wounded and comes face to face with a French soldier. Nikolai frees himself from under his dying horse to see men charging at him. In his shock, it takes him a moment to realize that these are french soldiers but when he does, his mind starts to race: “Who are they? Why are they running? Can it be they’re running to me? Can it be? And why? To kill me? Me, whom everybody loves so?” He remembered his mother’s love for him, his family’s, his friends’, and the enemy’s intention to kill him seemed impossible. “But maybe even—to kill me!” (189). Nikolai’s shock and pain removes all context to his situation, forcing him to see war for what it is, and in turn showing the reader the senselessness of it all. Once Nikolai is off the battlefield and his shock has worn off, the pain and trauma of his near death experience leaves him longing for home, “‘Nobody needs me!’ thought Rostov. ‘There’s nobody to help me or pity me. And once I was at home, strong, cheerful, loved’” (200). This experience dampens Rostov’s eagerness for battle, but it doesn’t have a lasting effect on his personality, instead it mainly serves as a way for Tolstoy to present the reader with this series of rhetorical questions on the pointlessness of war.

While Nikolai’s revelation didn’t lead to substantial long term changes in his character, just a few pages later Prince Andrei has a similar experience in battle which shifts his outlook on life. As Andrei laid on the battlefield, lapsing in and out of consciousness, looking at the vast sky above him, we are given a window into his thoughts, which are nihilistic and yet somehow blissful: “Yes! everything is empty, everything is a deception, except this infinite sky… And thank God!” (281). Upon regaining consciousness and coming face to face with his former idol, Napoleon (and fueled by excruciating pain and blood loss) Andrei ponders the vanity and insignificance not just of war and glory but everything in life and everything he could possibly comprehend, and loses all interest in his former hero: “To him at that moment all the interests that occupied Napoleon seemed so insignificant, his hero himself seemed so petty to him, with his petty vanity and joy in victory, compared with that lofty, just, and kindly sky, which he had seen and understood, that he was unable to answer him” (292). This moment sets up Andrei to be Tolstoy’s mouthpiece later on and sets up the reader to be more receptive to what he has to say by effectively dethroning Napoleon as a heroic, almost god-like figure in Andrei’s and the reader’s imagination. Andrei’s immense pain sparks one more change that has a lasting effect on him as a character. The chapter before Andrei returns to the army cites his utter contempt for his wife a major reason for him leaving, and we have already seen how cold his relationships with his sister and father are, but as Andrei laid on the stretcher following his encounter with Napoleon, he thought lovingly of family: “At every jolt he again felt unbearable pain; his feverish state worsened, and he became delirious. Those reveries of his father, wife, sister, and future son… constituted the main basis for his feverish imaginings… He imagined a quiet life and peaceful family happiness at Bald Hills” (293). This is clearly not the same Andrei who, just a couple chapters before, told Pierre never to marry, and this dramatic shift in Andrei’s personality keeps him open to the possibility of love in the future.

I find myself puzzled by the character of Countess Rostov. Introduced quite late in the narrative, she now seems to be weaving herself into the narrative as the Rostov family is in disarray due to the impending invasion of Moscow.  It seems to me that the first time she gets a significant mention is 849 pages into the book. Yes, we do see a bit of her when Natasha confides in her mother about her various love interests, but beyond that the countess seems like merely an obligational character, included out of necessity because the reader likely assumes that there is a Countess Rostov, since there is a Count Rostov and Rostov children. The first time we see into the thoughts of the countess (and I don’t mean hear her speak, I mean actually have the narration come from her end) is when she is fretting over her sons at war. She worries about Nikolai on the battlefield, and tries to keep Petya in safe territory. She even has nightmares about her sons being killed, and is “afraid of everything now, without feigning” (855). The countess is depicted as a helpless, protective, emotional mother, mainly capable of worrying herself sick over the safety of her children. Thus far, Tolstoy has not put much faith in any of the female characters and this overly emotional woman seems to fall in line with the rest of the women characters.

And yet, but a few pages later, Tolstoy bestows power on the countess. As the Rostov family packs up to leave Moscow, Berg asks a favor of Count Rostov; the Count responds with “ask the countess, I’m not in charge” (861). To me, this was quite shocking. A powerful woman has been quite rare in this text, and it is even more rare that a male character explicitly stated that she is more powerful than he. Not only does this woman have power, but the man acknowledges it and passes on the power to her. Although Berg seeks answers from the Count, he passes on the duty to his wife. Further, when Natasha begins to give orders on how to pack up the house, “people gathered around Natasha and could not believe the strange instructions she gave them, until the count himself, in his wife’s name, confirmed the instructions” (863). Not only does the count tell Berg that the countess is his superior, but her word has more weight than his. When Natasha is questioned, it is not his word that sets everyone straight, it is the countess’s. Why does the countess have so much power all of a sudden? Previously we see her as the helpless mother whining about her children’s lives being threatened and more, and now we see her wielding more power than the count. Perhaps this is a tactic to make the count seem even more pitiful; we already have seen the count as a bit of a push-over, especially with regards to financial affairs, and maybe using the countess as a more powerful figure than he is to emphasize that point. Alternatively, maybe Tolstoy really did want to bestow some power and influence upon the countess. To be fair, this is in a domestic setting, so to give the countess some power in this sphere would not be that outrageous. It is very possible that the countess really is an influential figure in this situation, considering it is only with regards to moving the household belongings, after all; the countess is still far removed from anything relating to battle and warfare. But still, why bother giving the countess power? Why is her character really only emerging so late in the narrative? Maybe there is also a connection to Tolstoy’s wife. We know she played a significant role in editing “War and Peace,” so perhaps she had some role to play in developing the countesses character a bit more? Alternatively, maybe Tolstoy created that dimension for the countess as a subtle acknowledgement of his wife’s influence in creating this book? I wonder if this part about the countess was included in the original draft, or if it developed in the later drafts, and as a result of Tolstoy himself or his wife.

War and Peace is a fantastic work of fiction, and it is often important to remember that War and Peace is just that: fiction. While Tolstoy the author crafts brilliant sentences, and Tolstoy the essayist makes compelling arguments for his ideas, Tolstoy the historian is a bit of a flop. The most likely reason for his historical inaccuracies are that Tolstoy was creating a work of fiction and wanted to bend reality to make a better story, but it is also possible that he had patriotic motivations or that much like the rest of Europe, Tolstoy was simply on the we-hate-Napoleon train and bought into the warped historical perspectives of the time.

Tolstoy has made a stunning number of accurate historical allusions, such as Napoleon and his favourite chess metaphor for battle (801),which he used during the Battle of Borodino), the painting of The King of Rome brought to Napoleon’s tent on the eve of the battle (778-780), or even Napoleon waking up at 3 in the morning right before the Battle of Borodino drinking punch and talking about fickle Fortune (786-788); however, Tolstoy the historian has made a fair amount of incorrect implications in his writing that seem to exist only to help him further his own anti-Napoleon crusade. During the Battle of Borodino, many of Napoleon’s generals came up to him and begged for reinforcements from the only all-French division, the Young Guard, and this is an event Tolstoy depicts when Napoleon is faced with a request for reinforcements three times in a row (801-802); however, Tolstoy’s narrative deviates from historical record when Napoleon gives into the demand and sends a division out as reinforcements when in reality, Napoleon never gave in, supposedly having claimed of the Young Guard, “I do not wish to see it destroyed. I am sure to gain the battle without it taking part,” (Roberts, 606). Additionally, when Tolstoy has Kutuzov claim prematurely without full knowledge of his army that they would attack the next day (807-808) – an unlikely action for a commander in chief of an army– Tolstoy then “forgets” to mention how the Russian casualties was around one-and-a-half times the casualty count of the French, and how the Russians retreated from the French during the night right after the Battle of Borodino.

One of the most striking hiccups of Tolstoy the historian is the convenient lack of attribution of the fire of Moscow to Napoleon’s downfall. In one of Tolstoy’s historical interludes, he gives us the future of the French campaign: “… the French reach Moscow and stop there. During the five weeks after that, there is not a single battle. The French do not move. LIke a mortally wounded beast, which, losing blood, licks its wounds, they remain in Moscow for five weeks without undertaking anything, and suddenly, with no new cause, flee back:” (824)
While at first I was fairly frustrated with Tolstoy for his seemingly intentional avoidance of large factors contributing to Napoleon’s failed Russian campaign (such as Typhus fever, which killed roughly 1/5 of his whole army), I’ve grown to just find them an amusing trait that one tolerates to be polite, such as when talking to a fairly rambly grandparent who doesn’t quite get all the facts right.

Last week I wrote about Pierre, this week there’s more. When finding quotes for my blog post and then reading Lauren’s blog post, about Pierre in Battle of Borodino, I was struck by the remarks about Pierre’s outfit and more specifically, his white hat (mentioned on pages 760, 791, 793). I was puzzled as to why this one accessory stuck out to the soldiers so much. Perhaps it’s the style? Or the color? Upon thinking about this more I came to the idea that Pierre’s white hat could be symbolic of white flags in warfare.

White flags are symbols of “truce, ceasefire, and surrender. ” They are used to signify that the person is unarmed and that they should not be fired upon. More generally they are used to “indicate that a person is exempt from combat.” The use of white flags under these circumstances has a long history dating back to around 250 AD in the Han Dynasty.

Pierre and his white hat seem to fit the model of the white flag well. He is not directly involved in combat, spending most of his time riding aimlessly on his horse or observing the war from the battery. Additionally, he carries no firearm and is somehow able to avoid the danger that others around him experience. While the general model fits, I find it more difficult to make a connection between Pierre and the ideas of truce and ceasefire. For much of the war, he enjoys and is in awe of the noise and overall spectacle of the battlefield. In his interaction with the French officer he ends up having the upper hand: “evidently the French officer was more inclined to the thought that he had been taken prisoner” (pg 797). It is only until after Pierre sees the wounded and dead that he expresses a desire for the war to end: “‘No, now they’ll stop it, now they’ll be horrified at what they’ve done!’” (pg 789). While the metaphor of the white hat may not be a perfect match, the comparison is compelling.

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/White_flag#Origin

A Pyrrhic victory is a victory that can be deemed not worth it since one’s own army has lost so much in order to win it. However, the battle of Borodino can only appear to be described as a Cadmean victory for the Russians. A Cadmean victory, though similar to a Pyrrhic victory, can be described as having ruinous costs beyond that of a Pyrrhic one. At a testing time, the Russian army succeeded in repelling the French. The Russians believed that the battle of Borodino had been won but when “Kutuzov ordered preparations for a new battle to finish off the enemy… reports came in one after another about unheard of losses, about the loss of half the army, and a new battle turned out to be physically impossible”(824). The Russian forces, while reigning victorious, took immense losses in their effort to survive. Earlier, Kutuzov, during the final stages of the battle, only wished to hear news of success and victory while dismissing opposing reports. Reports of lines being overrun fell upon deaf ears and Kutuzov only sent out word of victory while units like Andrei’s faced immeasurable casualties and it was said that “all the Russian troops were battered, there was not a single army unit that had not suffered in the battle, and the Russians, while staying in their places, had lost half their troops”(819). From this insolence and stubbornness, he came to find himself in a position believing he commanded a strong and complete army while in reality, he commands a broken force with major losses. The result of Kutuzov’s Cadmean victory was his forced hand to retreat beyond Moscow and surrender it to the enemy.

What would happen if the beloved leader of a nation being invaded disappeared at the most important part of the war? One might guess there would be uproar and fear, right? Well, apparently not. As of page 915 of War and Peace, the last time we heard about the sovereign’s actions was when he appointed Kutuzov commander in chief. Even then, we hear about this through the lens of Prince Vassily and Anna Pavlovna. Thirty-five pages later we are told that the sovereign left Moscow. We have not been told about him since. Odd, no?

Throughout the book, the sovereign Alexander has always been somewhat of a mystery. Tolstoy throws him in here and there, always for the same reason: to arouse the troops and instill a certain sense of patriotism in the soldiers and in the nobles. In the span of 5 pages, we see this happen twice. First, on page 675 we observe Petya in a crowd of people fighting over biscuits the sovereign is throwing down from his balcony. Everyone in the crowd is absolutely elated to be in the presence of their leader; they yell “Angel! Father! Hurrah! Dearest!” (675) at the very sight of him. Just a few pages later we see Pierre among the nobility, waiting to greet the sovereign. Once Alexander enters the room he immediately instills in the nobles a sense of nationalism so great that they are willing to donate their men and fortunes in service of the country. We are told that “Pierre had no other feelings at the moment except the desire to show that it was all nothing to him, and he was ready to sacrifice everything” (681). However, it is interesting that among the nobles, this general feeling of unwavering service to the nation disappears once the sovereign leaves; after they get home they groan and are “astonished at what they had done” (681). This is the first indication that the sovereign is not necessarily beloved in all aspects of life. From this point on, the character of Alexander seems to go downhill. We are told that “Alexander refused all negotiations because he felt himself personally offended” (682), then when he stays with the army during the war “his presence… destroys the first army’s energy for action” (684). Finally, the sovereign leaves the army and we lose sight of him. In these final chapters before Alexander’s departure, Tolstoy strangely adds a new side to the emperor that we haven’t fully seen before. We see weakness in his leadership and in his character. Yet, just as we begin to see his complexities, Tolstoy strips him from the story for at least 200 pages. The war continues, Moscow is lost, we hear from Napolean, Kutuzov, and Rastopchin, but no one bothers to mention Alexander. Why did Tolstoy do this and when will we see the sovereign again?

The Russians’ decision to leave their city to whims the French rather than “bring… the keys to the city for the French” proved to be a critical distinction in the course of the war. Unlike the other large European cities he conquered, Napoleon’s arrival to a deserted town greatly affected his control over his troops. When a fire inevitably broke out, Moscow became a lost cause. But who caused the fire is questioned even by Tolstoy, “the French ascribed the burning of Moscow au patriotisme féroce de Rastopchine and the Russian — to the savagery of the French” (897). Tolstoy’s views on the Moscow Fire of 1812 are very clear: the wood-based city structure would burn down under those conditions whether or not there were “a hundred and forty poor-quality fire pumps” (897) and regardless of who was there to stop it. By burning two thirds of the city, the fire not only made staying difficult for Napoleon and his army but also increased the patriotic spirit of the Russian people. Seeing their beloved capital city burn drove even the carriage driver to tears (915). The fire turned the war in Russia’s favor. If Napoleon’s troops had the proper shelter and rations that existed prior to the fire, they could have easily survived the winter in Moscow.

The argument that no matter what the city would have burned made me question what would have happened if the citizens had remained to fight the fires. When looking back at the fire, members of Rostov’s entourage believe firmly that “they’ll put it out, no fear” (915). However, the count’s valet questions their belief, “who is there to put it out?” (915). If the citizens had stayed, how would they have put out a fire whose “sparks” could be seen “flying” from 13 miles away (914)? When researching information on firefighting equipment of the 1800s, I discovered that the technology was extremely lacking. In reading War and Peace, readers are aware that Russia is behind the curve of the Western innovation and technology. Their firefighting equipment is no different, their pumps were ancient. The first fire pump was invented in roughly 250 BCE and remained largely unchanged until the 1910s. Not only were the pumps human powered, but Tolstoy notes that the Russian pumps were also of “poor-quality”. The crude means of fighting large city fires that existed in 1812 could not have stopped a fire of this magnitude, and, abandoned or not, Moscow would have burned.

Enlightenment thinkers had different views on the “state of nature.” While Hobbes believed that the state of nature was a chaotic affair in which life was “nasty, brutal, and short,” Locke and Rousseau viewed humans as benevolent and cooperative creatures. However, they all agreed that in order to maintain order and elevate humans from their natural state, a “social contract” must exist that requires humans to give up their natural rights (e.g. freedom to act however they like) in exchange for protection from an overarching governmental body. In War and Peace, during the French invasion of Moscow, we see a complete breakdown of the social contract and its effects, and we get insight into which of these thinkers Tolstoy was inclined to agree with.

One example of the failure of a social contract is Rastopchin’s execution of Vereshchagin.  Rastopchin’s character resembles Robespierre of the French revolution, who conducted public lynchings and executions during the “Reign of Terror” while preaching for universal rights and justice. After Rastopchin claims that Vereshchagin is a traitor and orders his execution, the rage and fear of the mob is finally released to its full extent. Tolstoy writes that “The barrier of human feeling, strained to the utmost in holding back the crowd, instantly broke” (890), which pinpoints almost the exact moment the social contract is broken. Later on in the same scene, a voice from the crowd states that “‘the people are like beasts’” (890). If there is any benevolence or goodness in the crowd, they are temporarily stripped away to reveal only selfishness and brutality. The most obvious interpretation of this scene is that Tolstoy aligns with Hobbes, and believes that people naturally exhibit evil and ruthless tendencies when not compelled to do otherwise. However, Rastopchin’s role in the execution casts this into doubt. Locke believed that people were naturally good, but that they could be influenced to do bad by certain, rare, evil people. Therefore, Rastopchin’s mob reveals that Tolstoy either agrees with Locke or Hobbes more than Rousseau.

The second example of a “state of nature” without a governing social contract is the French troops’ occupation of Moscow. Tolstoy describes at length the looting and lack of order that occurs: “As soon as the men of the regiments began to disperse among the empty and wealthy houses, the army was annihilated forever, and what emerged were neither inhabitants nor soldiers, but something between the two, known as looters” (896). Because the soldiers are not under the jurisdiction of the Russian government, and the French commanders fail to stop the looting, the French soldiers are no longer bound by any social contract that requires them to follow standards of conduct (thus resulting in their “in between” state). The French soldiers then proceed to loot Moscow and carelessly let it burn to the ground, which seems very much like the state of nature imagined by Hobbes rather than by Locke. Tolstoy also feels that the burning of Moscow was inevitable and not caused by any particular savagery on either side, which shows that he believes it to be a result of human nature rather than a specific action taken by one side or the other. Therefore, throughout this chapter, Tolstoy’s portrayal of the state of nature is consistently Hobbesian.

The capture-the-flag game that we played was both exciting and boring at the same time. Just like how the war was described by Tolstoy, our game was largely in stalemate because players were more willing to defend than attack. It was almost as if people did not want confrontation because they were either afraid of going to jail or because they did not know how to capture the flag without being noticed.

As a member of team Russia, I have to give credit to the French team for being able to choose and defend their flag really well. It was placed in an area that was impossible to reach without being noticed. To work around this obstacle, a teammate and I were forced to sign out of school and run around the block. We then snuck through some neighbors’ backyards in order to try to climb down over the hills stealthily. Unfortunately our plan failed miserably, and I only ended up getting my khakis and socks soaked in mud and water. The last forty-five minutes of the game was spent with a stalemate at the Russian flag when several members of the French team attempted a steal. It was the most boring cat and mouse game ever. The most fun I had was the adrenaline rush of sneaking through neighbors’ yards.

The real Battle of Borodino went through nearly the same sequence of events. Early Russian skirmishes and attacks against the French made Napoleon see an opportunity to launch a full attack. Then as the Russians retreated to Borodino, they decided to fortify themselves in a standoff. The French attempted win a decisive victory and Borodino, but they also suffered heavy losses, forcing both sides to withdraw from more fighting. It was a stalemate, but it also defeated morale on both sides from heavy losses.

As Tolstoy believes, war is not a fight between strategy, but rather the courage and spirit of those who fight it. In our own game of capture-the-flag, strategies on both sides seemed to also fail. It seemed that the only way to win was to just launch a mindless, full-scale charge towards the other team’s flag. Perhaps that is the only way to win real wars.