Notes on WAR AND PEACE Eyes and Lips

 

Eyes and Lips in War and Peace

Tolstoy often uses descriptions of gestures or bodily features to cement his characterizations or move the plot along. When Prince Andrei Bolkonsky returns to the family estate after he and the Russian army have retreated from Smolensk—in Vol. 3, Part 1, Ch. 8—the relatives he encounters after a long absence are all described. His sister Princess Marya “was the same timid, plain, aging maiden, fearful and suffering perpetual moral crises, living out the best years of her life uselessly and joylessly.” No mention here of her “radiant, glistening eyes,” a description that often accompanies her.

 Young Prince Nikolushka is described as having grown and changed. He has dark curly hair, and “unaware of this himself, when laughing and having fun, he would raise his attractive upper lip in exactly the same way as had his late mother, the little princess.” Dead in childbirth by this point in the novel, the little princess, we recall, is almost constantly accompanied by that gesture of lip raising when she smiles.

 Later on in Volume 3 (Part 2, Ch. 13), Tolstoy needs to show the haggard Princess Marya at her best, in the scenes where Nicholas Rostov first meets her (they will later become man and wife). At this point she is in dire straits, since her father, the old prince, has just died, the French are advancing upon the Bolkonsky estate, and her own peasants are preventing her from leaving. But when Rostov walks into the room, “she cast her deep and radiant gaze upon him and began speaking in a breaking voice that quavered with emotion.” There we have it: despite her plain looks, Princess Marya’s radiant eyes, along with the helplessness of her position—which affords Nicholas Rostov the opportunity to play the role of knight/savior of the damsel in distress—carries the day, and Nicholas is won over.

ON WEEDS from Bobby Goosey's Nonsense Verse

 

Notes on WAR AND PEACE Tolstoy as Humorist

 

Notes on War and Peace: Tolstoy the Humorist

As Russian writers go, Tolstoy does not stand out for his humor. Not, at least, in comparison to Gogol or Bulgakov. Even Dostoevsky relies more on humor in his works than Tolstoy does—though Dostoevsky’s humor is dark and warped. But when Tolstoy wants to write funny passages he is well capable of doing so.

 Probably the best example of humor in War and Peace comes in Vol. 3, Part 3, Ch. 6-7, featuring the most dissolute character in the whole novel, Hélène, wife of Pierre Bezukhov. Here we have Hélène, still married to Pierre but conducting simultaneous affairs with an old dignitary and a young foreign prince, and mulling over which of these men to marry. She decides to turn Catholic, somehow convincing herself that by switching religions she will be able to discard an unwanted husband and acquire a new one. Here’s the beginning of Chapter Seven:

 “Hélène realized that the case was very simple and easy from the spiritual point of view, but that her spiritual handlers [the ones who had turned her to Catholicism] were creating difficulties only because they feared how the secular authorities would view this business.

 “Consequently, Hélène decided that the matter had to be prepared for in social circles. She provoked the jealously of the old dignitary, telling him the same thing she had told the first suitor [the foreign prince], that is, she made it clear that the only way of obtaining rights to her consisted in marrying her. For a moment the old grandee was just as astounded by that proposal to marry while married to a living husband as the first young suitor had been; but Hélène’s unshakable conviction that this was as simple and natural as would be the marriage of a young maiden ended up convincing him.

 “If Hélène had manifested even the faintest signs of hesitation, shame, or secretiveness, her case would have been certainly lost; but not only were there no signs of secretiveness or shame; on the contrary, with simple and good-natured naivety she informed her close friends (and that meant all of Petersburg) that both the prince and the grandee had proposed to her, and that she loved them both and feared upsetting either of them.

 “The rumor spread instantly throughout Petersburg, not that Hélène wanted to divorce her husband—had such a rumor spread, a great many people would have declared their objection to such an unlawful intention—but simply that the unfortunate, but ever interesting Hélène was in a quandary over which of two men to marry. The matter now consisted not in the degree to which this was possible, but only in which match was more advantageous and how the court would view it . . . .

 “Only Marya Dmitrievna Akhrosimova, who was in Petersburg that summer to visit one of her sons, allowed herself to express her frank opinion, which ran counter to that of society. Meeting Hélène at a ball, Marya Dmitrievna stopped her in the middle of the ballroom and, amidst a general silence, said to her in a gruff voice:

 ‘So now you’re out to get yourself married while married already to a living husband. Maybe you think you’ve come up with something novel, do you? But no, dearie, it’s been done before. Somebody came up with this a long time ago. This is what they do in any ……. [bordello].’”

 

Later the comedy is compounded. Hélène sends her husband Pierre a loving letter, informing him of her plans to marry. Pierre reads the letter only upon his return—disillusioned and enervated—from the battlefield at Borodino. Disjointed thoughts race through his head: “Them—the soldiers on the battery, Prince André killed . . . the old man . . . Simplicity means submission to God’s will. We must suffer . . . the meaning of it all . . . got to harness the carriage . . . my wife is getting married . . . one must forget and understand . . .” (Vol. 3, Part 3, Ch. 11).

 

Notes on WAR AND PEACE Air Warfare Against Napoleon

                                                            Early Hot Air Balloon Designs

Air Warfare Against Napoleon

In War and Peace (Vol. 3, Part 2, Ch. 18) Pierre Bezukhov drives out of Moscow, to the village of Vorontsovo, to have a look at a novel weapon in development. This is the big hot-air balloon designed by Franz Leppich, a Dutch peasant, also known by his alias, Schmidt. Leppich had originally approached Napoleon with his project in 1811, but was rejected and exiled from France. The gondola of the balloon had a twenty-meter wooden platform with gun mounts and compartments for bombs. Locomotion for this primitive blimp was to be provided by forty rowers with giant paddles, who would row the balloon through the air (?).

 

Tsar Aleksandr I apparently saw great promise in the Leppich balloon. A letter in French is quoted, in which he writes as follows: “As soon as Leppich is ready, put together a cockpit crew of trustworthy and intelligent men and send a courier to General Kutuzov to inform him of this. I have told him of the project. I implore you, urge Leppich to be very careful where he lands for the first time, so as not to miscalculate and fall into the hands of the enemy. It is imperative that he coordinate his movements with the general-in-chief.”

 

Leppich took forever to get his balloon ready, all the time asking for more money from state coffers. In November of 1812, he declared his project complete and ready for testing, but the test failed, and the balloon never got off the ground. After making this brief appearance in the annals of history, Franz Leppich was never heard from again.

 

                                                            The Leppich Balloon

Notes on WAR AND PEACE Tolstoy and the Deep State

 

The Deep State

“A recent survey of 26,000 people in twenty-five countries asked respondents whether they believe there is ‘a single group of people who secretly control events and rule the world together.’ Thirty-seven percent of Americans replied that this is definitely or probably true. So did 45 percent of Italians, 55 percent of Spaniards, and 78 percent of Nigerians.”

Yuval Noah Harari in New York Times, November 20, 2020

 

“Global cabal theories suffer from the same basic flaw: they assume that history is simple. The key premise is that it is relatively easy to manipulate the world. A small group of people can understand, predict and control everything, from wars to technological revolutions to pandemics.”

Ibid

 

One of our distinguishing traits as Americans (or as people?) is that we don’t like to think—we’re too lazy and ignorant—and we distrust thinkers. That’s why we go for simplistic ideas. What’s this new 5G technology everybody’s talking about? I don’t know; I’m too dumb. No doubt, though, it has something to do with the nefarious plot of the Global Cabal, those Jews and Masons and such who run the world and all its institutions.

 

What about the Covid pandemic? Easy. More plotting on the part of the Global Cabal. They cooked up the virus, with the help of China; then they spread it all over the world.

 

Why is Bozo the Clown such a great President? Because—even though he’s an idiot and an unhinged narcissist—he has fought tooth and nail to save us from the Global Cabal. And I like him because he never reads books; he’s a dumbass, just like me. But we both, me and him, despite our ignorance, know a whole lot more about how the Deep State works—the REAL facts about world politics—than the la-tee-dah profs do. Them guys with bald heads and ponytails caint even park their bicycles straight.

 

How did Bozo lose the election? He didn’t really; he won. But the nefarious, scheming fat cats in the Global Cabal—or the Deep State; call it what you will—stole it away from him.

 

Tolstoy and the Deep State: War and Peace

Throughout his long novel Tolstoy repeats the same message about world history over and over; it is the message of Yuval Noah Harari in his recent article: history is vastly complex. No one great man (Napoleon), or no secret cabal of Jews and Masons, can control the inchoate forces of history. Why did Napoleon invade Russia in 1812? Nobody knows, least of all Napoleon or some Global Cabal. How did he get himself bogged down in Russia and end up losing most of the French army? Because the Russian generals were such great strategists? Ha. Because Tsar Aleksandr I had a wonderful plan? Ha. Because Napoleon’s own strategic gifts finally failed him? No. Because just because. The concatenation of circumstances and events is too complicated for anyone ever to grasp.

 

INVITATION TO AN INCANTATION, from Bobby Goosey's Nonsense Verse

 

Notes on WAR AND PEACE Napoleon, Bathed in Self-Love, Pulling on Ears

 

Napoleon, Ever Bathed in Self-Love, Pulling on Ears

Napoleon Bonaparte, who makes several appearances in War and Peace, is always portrayed negatively and ironically. Emphasis is placed on his short stature, his plump hands and little jutting belly. Above all, he is shown as lost in delusionary admiration of self. Here he is, in 1812—about to launch the move that will destroy him, an invasion of Russia—putting on a performance for General Balashev, who has delivered a message to him from the Russian emperor Aleksandr I.

 “‘What I can’t understand,’ he said, ‘is that the emperor Alexander made all these personal enemies of mine his intimates. That I don’t . . . understand. Didn’t he reflect that I might do the same?’ He turned to Balashev with this question, and the recollection evidently pushed him back onto the track of his morning’s wrath, which was still fresh in him.

    ‘And let him know that I will do it,’ said Napoleon, getting up and shoving his cup away with his hand. ‘I’ll kick all his relatives out of Germany, all these Württembergs, Badens, Weimars . . . Yes, I’ll kick them out. Let him prepare a refuge for them in Russia!’    

    Balashev inclined his head, showing by his look that he would have liked to bow out, and was listening only because he could not help listening to what was said to him. Napoleon did not notice that expression; he addressed Balashev not as his enemy’s envoy, but as a man who was now entirely devoted to him, and was supposed to take joy in his former master’s humiliation.    

    ‘And why has the emperor Alexander taken charge of the army? What for? War is my trade, and his business is to rule, not to command troops. Why has he taken such responsibility upon himself?’

    Napoleon took out his snuffbox again, silently paced the room several times, and suddenly went up to Balashev unexpectedly, and with a slight smile, as confidently, quickly, and simply as if he were doing something not only important but pleasant to Balashev, raised his hand to the face of the forty-year-old Russian general and, taking him by the ear, tugged at it slightly, smiling with his lips only.

    Avoir l’oreille tirée par l’Empereur [to have your ear pulled by the Emperor] was considered the greatest honor and favor at the French court.    

    ‘Eh bien, vous ne dites rien, admirateur et courtisan de l’Empereur Alexandre?’ [So then, you have nothing to say, admirer and courtier of the Emperor Alexander?] he said, as if it was ridiculous in his presence to be anyone else’s courtisan and admirateur than his, Napoleon’s.”

Vol. Three, Part One, Ch. Seven

 

A POEM ABOUT A GNOME, from Bobby Goosey's Nonsense Verse

 

Notes on Tolstoy's WAR AND PEACE: Seekers After the Meaning of Life and Holy Pilgrim Wanderers

 

Seekers After the Meaning of Life, and Holy Pilgrim Wanderers

In War and Peace Tolstoy lends his own preoccupations and megrims to his characters: (1) his struggles with depression and search for meaning in life to Count Pierre Bezukhov and Prince Andrei Bolkonsky; (2) his lifelong dream of giving up on civilization and tramping the countryside as a religious pilgrim to Princess Marya Bolkonskaya.

 

“Under the pretext of a gift for the holy pilgrim women, Princess Marya provided herself with all the accoutrements of a wanderer: a shirt, bast shoes, a kaftan, and a black kerchief. Often, when going to her secret chest, Princess Marya would pause, unable to decide if the time had come to carry out her plan. Listening to the stories of the women who roved, she would often become enthused by their simple talk, mechanical for them, but full of deep meaning for her, so that several times already she had been on the verge of dropping everything and fleeing the house. In her imagination she saw herself out on the road now, she and Fedosyuchka in coarse rags, walking down a dusty byway with a stick and a bag, aimlessly wandering without envy, without human love, without desires, from one place of holy pilgrimage to another, and, in the end, to the place where there is neither sorrow nor sighs, but only eternal joy and bliss.”

                                                                           War and Peace, Volume Two, Part 3, Ch. 26

ACHOO-HIC! from Bobby Goosey's Nonsense Verse

 

Notes on WAR AND PEACE Women in Tolstoy, The Diligent Mavrusha, the Resolute Dunyasha

 

                                                                         Women in Tolstoy

Feminists have often poured out their wrath upon the head of poor, dead Tolstoy, and—especially if held to modern, stringent standards—Tolstoy is a sinner against muliebrity. He has the "wrong" point of view on women's rights and abortion, even on contraception (see Anna Karenina). On the other hand, who in world literature has ever written better about women? Reading the passage in War and Peace describing the women in the Rostov household preparing for the big New Year’s Eve Ball of 1809/1810—in Volume Two, Part 3, Ch. 14—leaves me amazed at how well he captures the spirit of excitement in the air.

 “Having finished doing her hair, Natasha, in a short petticoat, her ball slippers showing from beneath it, and wearing her mother’s bed jacket, ran up to Sonya, looked her over, and then ran to her mother. She turned her mother’s head, pinned on the toque, and, taking a quick swipe at kissing her gray hair, ran back to the maids who were taking up her skirt.

                The only thing now was Natasha’s skirt, which was too long. Two maids were taking it up, hurriedly biting off the thread. A third, holding pins in her lips and between her teeth, kept running from the countess to Sonya; a fourth held the whole gauze dress on her high-raised arm.

                ‘Mavrusha, darling, be quick!’

                ‘Hand me the thimble there, miss.’

                ‘Will you hurry up, finally?’ the count said, on the other side of the door. ‘Here’s your perfume. Mme. Peronsky must be tired of waiting.’

                ‘It’s ready, miss,’ said the maid, lifting the taken-up gauze dress with two fingers, and shaking it and blowing at something, showing by this gesture an awareness of the airiness and purity of what she was holding.

                Natasha started putting the dress on.

                ‘Just one moment, don’t come in, papa!’ she cried to her father, who had opened the door, still under the gauze of her skirt, which covered her whole face. Sonya slammed the door. A moment later the count was admitted. He was wearing a dark blue tailcoat, stockings and shoes, was perfumed and pomaded.

                ‘Papa, you look so handsome, it’s lovely!’ said Natasha, standing in the middle of the room and spreading the folds of the gauze.

                ‘Allow me, miss, let me,’ said the maid, on her knees, pulling at the dress, and moving the pins with her tongue from one side of her mouth to the other.

                ‘Say what you like,’ Sonya cried with despair in her voice, looking at Natasha’s dress, ‘say what you like, it’s still too long!’

                Natasha stepped back to look at herself in the pier glass. The dress was too long.

                ‘Lordy, no, miss, it’s not too long at all,’ said Mavrusha, who was crawling along the floor after her young lady.

                ‘Well, if it’s too long, we can take it up, we’ll take it up in a minute,’ said the resolute Dunyasha, taking a needle out of the fichu on her breast and setting to work again on the floor.

                Just then the countess came in bashfully, with quiet steps, in her toque and velvet dress.

                ‘Ohh, my beauty!’ cried the count. ‘Better than any of you! . . .’ He was about to embrace her, but she retreated, blushing, so as not to have her dress rumpled.

                ‘Mama, the toque should be more to one side,’ said Natasha. ‘I’ll re-pin it,’ and she rushed forward, and the sewing girls, who could not keep up with her, tore off a piece of gauze.

                ‘My Lord! What is this? It’s not my fault, I swear . . .’

                ‘Never mind, I’ll stitch it up, it won’t show,’ said Dunyasha.

                ‘My beauty, my queen!’ the nanny said, coming through the door. ‘And Sonyushka, too, what beauties!’

                                Pevear and Volokhonsky translation, with a few slight changes

 

Of all the wonderful details in this passage, my favorite are those describing the resolute Dunyasha and the diligent Mavrusha, bustling about with pins in their lips and teeth, crawling along the floor, shaking out the folds of the beautiful airy dress. Thanks to their efforts Natasha will be the belle of the ball, and Prince Andrei will fall in love with her.

Notes on WAR AND PEACE, Tolstoy Getting Inside Heads

                                             PRINCE ANDREI BOLKONSKY AND THE OAK

Tolstoy’s greatest gift as a writer lies in the way he can get inside the heads of all different persons. The amplitude of War and Peace, the way he explores the inner worlds of even the most minor of characters. And he’s not satisfied with that. Over the course of his career he got inside the heads even of horses and dogs.

 Here he is in a famous scene from War and Peace, in which the writer presents the viewpoint of a querulous old oak tree (Volume Two, Part Three, Chapter One): “At the side of the road stood an oak. Probably ten times older than the birches of the wood. It was ten times as thick and twice as tall as any birch. An enormous oak, twice the span of a man’s arms in girth, with limbs broken off long ago and broken bark covered with old scars. With its huge, gnarled, ungainly, unsymmetrically spread arms and fingers, it stood, old, angry, scornful, and ugly, amidst the smiling birches. It alone did not want to submit to the charm of spring, did not want to see either the springtime or the sun.

‘Spring, and love, and happiness!’ the oak seemed to say. ‘And how is it you’re not bored with the same stupid, senseless deception! Always the same, and always deception! There is no spring, no sun, no happiness. Look, there sit those smothered, dead fir trees, always the same; look at me spreading my broken, flayed fingers wherever they grow—back behind me or at my sides. As they’ve grown, so I stand, and I don’t believe in your hopes and deceptions.’”

Pevear and Volokhonsky translation

 Of course, the thoughts of the oak tree, “scowling, motionless, ugly and stubborn,” are mediated through the consciousness of a central character, Prince Andrei Bolkonsky. He, not the tree, is the one who has given up on life and cannot appreciate the glory of a fresh new spring. This soon becomes obvious, after Prince Andrei has visited the Rostov estate—and is on the verge of falling in love with Natasha Rostova.

 Returning home, riding once again through the same forest, but rejuvenated, he wonders about the old tree, “the oak that I agreed with.” He seeks it out again, “But where is it? he thought again, looking at the left side of the road, and then, not recognizing it, he admired the very oak he was looking for. The old oak, quite transformed, spreading out a canopy of succulent dark greenery, basked, barely swaying, in the rays of the evening sun. Of the gnarled fingers, the scars, the old grief and mistrust—nothing could be seen. Succulent green leaves without branches broke through the stiff, hundred-year-old bark, and it was impossible to believe that this old fellow had produced them. Yes, it’s the same oak, thought Prince Andrei, and suddenly a springtime feeling of gratuitous joy and renewal came over him.”

 

d

From BOBBY GOOSEY'S NONSENSE VERSE, "Baba Haga Yahaga"

                                                                   Artist: Ivan Bilibin

                                                                                Ivan Bilibin

                                                       Иван Билибин, "Баба Яга"

Notes on WAR AND PEACE The Non-Proposal Accepted, (Another Accepted, And One That Does Not Come Off)

 

The Non-Proposal Accepted

Some parts of War and Peace are so beautifully written, and so full of a perfect grasp of human psychology, that you can read them over and over. Such is Pierre’s non-proposal to Hélène Kuragin—which turns out to be a proposal—in Volume One, Part Three, Chapter Two. Such a marriage would have been unthinkable before Pierre had unexpectedly inherited all his father’s money, shed his illegitimate status, and become the new Count Bezukhov. But now the conniving Prince Vassily Kuragin wants to make a marriage for his daughter with a rich man. Pierre is slowly brought into the position of a man who discovers that the marriage is already assured in the minds of everyone but himself. He has serious doubts about entering into this marriage, and he ends up arguing with himself for ages. He knows that Hélène is depraved and stupid, as are all the Kuragin siblings, but he convinces himself otherwise, pressured by the high society all around him and influenced largely by her sensuality.

 In the scene of the non-proposal family and friends are gathered in the Kuragin household for a celebration of Hélène’s name day. She and Pierre are seated side by side at the dinner, and all those present—while speaking of other matters, while joking and laughing—have in mind only what is soon to be the happy occasion of the proposal. But poor Pierre, still struggling with his inner doubts, is unable to say the words. One part of him wishes only to abandon this whole scene and flee from the Kuragins forever, but he realizes that he is already in too deep.

 Finally, Prince Vassily, in effect, makes the proposal himself. After the dinner is over and most of the guests have left, Pierre and Hélène sit by themselves in a separate room, while Pierre still agonizes. Then Prince Vassily rushes into the room: “He strode quickly and joyfully up to Pierre. There was such extraordinary joy on his face that Pierre stood up, frightened. ‘Thank God,’ Prince Vassily said; ‘my wife has told me everything.’ [His wife had told him nothing] He put one arm around Pierre and the other around his daughter. ‘Lelya, my dear, I’m ever, ever so glad. I loved your father . . . and she will be a good wife to you . . . God bless you!’”

 Having made the proposal without making it, left alone with his future bride, Pierre knows that there are special words to be said on this occasion, but he cannot think what to say. “It’s too late now, it’s all over, and anyway I love her, thought Pierre. ‘Je vous aime!’ he said, having recalled what had to be said on these occasions, but the words sounded so insipid that he felt ashamed of himself.”

 “She will be a good wife to you.” Hardly, and we, the readers, along with Pierre, can already anticipate problems soon to come. An old lady among the guests has mouthed the usual platitude in French, “Les marriages se font dans les cieux.” Marriages are made in heaven. Certainly not this one, though.

 The next time we encounter Pierre he is fighting a duel with the feral and cruel Dolokhov, whose dalliance with Hélène is nourishment for the gossipmongers in the high society milieu of Moscow and St. Petersburg. Although Pierre has never held a pistol in his life, by some miracle he wounds, almost kills the experienced duelist Dolokhov. After the duel, in a state of emotional collapse, Pierre returns home, where his wife makes the mistake of berating him and calling him a fool. Pierre picks up a paperweight and brandishes it over his head. “I’ll kill you!” he screams. But, unfortunately, the despicable Hélène manages to escape the room. Pierre pays dearly for his ill-considered marriage; he buys his way out of it by giving his wife almost half of all his wealth. In other words, for her atrocious behavior she is rewarded with exactly what she wanted when she entered into the marriage. Later, influenced by the Freemasons and all too eager to feel guilty, Pierre makes another big mistake: he allows his wife to return to him.

 

                              More on Proposals and Non-Proposals (from Tolstoy's Anna Karenina)

"Varvara Andreevna, when I was young I set before myself the ideal of the woman I loved and would be happy to call my wife. I have lived through a long life, and now, for the first time, I have met the one I sought--in you. I love you, and offer you my hand."

Sergey Ivanovich was saying this to himself while he was ten paces from Varenka. Kneeling down, with her hands over the mushrooms to guard them from Grisha, she was calling little Masha.

"Come here, little ones! There are so many!" she was saying in her sweet, deep voice.

Seeing Sergey Ivanovich approaching, she did not get up and did not change her position, but everything told him that she felt his presence and was glad of it.

"Well, did you find some?" she asked from under the white kerchief, turning her beautiful, gently smiling face to him.

"Not one," said Sergey Ivanovich. "Did you?"

She did not answer, busy with the children who thronged about her.

"That one too, near the twig." She pointed out to little Masha a mushroom, split in half across its rosy cap by the dry grass from under which it had thrust itself. Varenka got up while Masha picked the mushroom, breaking it into two white halves. "This brings back my childhood," she added, moving apart from the children by Sergey Ivanovich.

They walked on for some steps in silence. Varenka saw that he wanted to speak; she guessed of what, and felt faint with joy and panic. They had walked so far away that no one could hear them now, but still he did not begin to speak. It would have been better for Varenka to be silent. After a silence it would have been easier for them to say what they wanted to say than after talking about mushrooms. But against her own will, as it were accidentally, Varenka said:

"So you found nothing? In the middle of the wood there are always fewer, though." Sergey Ivanovich sighed and made no answer. He was annoyed that she had spoken about the mushrooms. He wanted to bring her back to the first words she had uttered about her childhood; but after a pause of some length, as though against his own will, he made an observation in response to her last words.

"I have heard that the white edible mushrooms are found principally at the edge of the wood, though I can't tell them apart."

Some minutes more passed, they moved still farther away from the children, and were quite alone. Varenka's heart throbbed so that she heard it beating, and felt that she was turning red and pale and red again.

To be the wife of a man like Koznyshev, after her position with Madame Stahl, was to her imagination the height of happiness. Besides, she was almost certain that she was in love with him. And this moment it would have to be decided. She felt frightened. She dreaded both his speaking and his not speaking.

Now or never it must be said--that Sergey Ivanovich felt too. Everything in the expression, the flushed cheeks and the downcast eyes of Varenka betrayed a painful suspense. Sergey Ivanovich saw it and felt sorry for her. He felt even that to say nothing now would be a slight to her. Rapidly in his own mind he ran over all the arguments in support of his decision. He even said over to himself the words in which he meant to propose, but instead of those words, some utterly unexpected refection that occurred to him made him ask:

"What is the difference between the birch mushroom and the white mushroom?"

Varenka's lips quivered with emotion as she answered:

"In the top part there is scarcely any difference; it's in the stalk."

And as soon as these words were uttered, both he and she felt that it was over, that what was to have been said would not be said; and their, emotion, which had up to then been continually growing more intense, began to subside.

"The birch mushroom's stalk suggests a dark man's chin after two days without shaving," said Sergey Ivanovich, speaking quite calmly now.

"Yes, that's true," answered Varenka, smiling, and unconsciously the direction of their walk changed. They began to turn toward the children. Varenka felt both hurt and ashamed; at the same time she had a sense of relief.

When he had returned home and went over the whole subject, Sergey Ivanovich thought that his previous decision had been a mistake. He could not be false to the memory of Marie.

"Gently, children, gently!" Lyovin shouted quite angrily to the children, standing in front of his wife to protect her when the crowd of children flew with shrieks of delight to meet them.

Behind the children Sergey Ivanovich and Varenka walked out of the wood. Kitty had no need to ask Varenka; she saw from the calm and somewhat crestfallen faces of both that her plans had not come off.

"Well?" her husband questioned her as they were going home again.

"It didn't bite," said Kitty, her smile and manner of speaking recalling her father, a likeness Lyovin often noticed with pleasure.

"How didn't bite?"

"I'll show you," she said, taking her husband's hand, lifting it to her mouth, and just faintly brushing it with closed lips. "Like a kiss on a bishop's hand."

"Which didn't bite?" he said, laughing.

"Both. But it should have been like this. . ."

"There are some peasants coming. . ."

"Oh, they didn't see."

END (from Modern Library Paperback, 1965, Constance Garnett translation, as revised by Leonard J. Kent and Nina Berberova)

Of course, even though this chapter is self-sufficient as a work of art, it helps to know something about the back-grounding for the two characters, Sergey Ivanovich Koznyshev and Varenka. Neither of them is sure that he/she is in love and neither is sure that marriage is the best thing. Both have long lived alone and are somewhat frightened by the prospect of marriage.

These feelings come out in the constraint of their conversation, in the conventional phrases that pop out of their mouths at the very moment when they should be saying entirely different things. There is a vein of irrationality running throughout all of "Anna Karenina," constant reaffirmation of the fact that moods, subtle subconscious feelings are often more responsible for motivating human behavior than any carefully reasoned facts.

This story of the non-proposal seems to indicate that had the characters been in the right psychological frame of mind, the proposal would have been made and accepted. Then the whole future of the two would have been different. Since neither of them is really sure about marriage the psychological restraints subconsciously motivate their words. Note that both are secretly relieved when the moment passes.

On the other hand, only a few moments before this fruitless conversation it appeared that both characters were in the right frame of mind. Sergey Ivanovich watches Varenka as she stands "in the glowing light of the slanting sunbeams" (589) and has the impression that she blends harmoniously with "the yellow oatfield lying bathed in the slanting sunshine, and beyond it, the distant ancient forest flecked with yellow and melting into the blue of the distance" (590).

So it is as if Nature itself is conspiring to make the match; the beauty of nature sets things up ideally for the coming proposal. You get the impression that the main culprits are the mushrooms. Mushrooms and romantic love are, so to speak, incompatible. Sergey Ivanovich should have approached Varenka, say, when she was picking roses, and all would have been well.

Or would it have? Maybe they would have begun speaking of the relative sharpness of the thorns in different varieties of roses. Who knows? After all, no one can account for the myriads of subconscious and conscious feelings that account for any human action. Tolstoy would have been fascinated by recent discoveries in modern brain science, which suggest that there are eons of neurons in the brain, all competing with one another to influence any human action. He did not know anything about neurons, but he had the intuitive sense of an artist, and this is demonstrated by the mushroom story.

It is interesting to compare this scene of the non-proposal to Lyovin's second, wordless proposal to Kitty (p. 417-19). This proposal scene takes place in direct proximity to a discussion of the "woman question" by other characters who are present. Lyovin and Kitty stand apart from all this, ignoring the discussion and speaking to each other with their eyes--as if to demonstrate that abstract theoretical discussions are insignificant in comparison to the real thing: genuine loving feelings between a man and woman. The other characters indulge themselves in words; Lyovin and Kitty are in an elevated state, where words are irrelevant.

Note that nothing such as a mere mushroom is going to get in their way. One of them tries to cause a bit of psychological mischief, but Kitty completely ignores it:

"You've killed a bear, I've been told!" said Kitty, vainly trying to catch with her fork a perverse mushroom [in the Russian, "nepokornyj, otskal'zyvajushchij grib"--literally "an un-submissive, slithering away mushroom"] that was trying to slip away. . . . "Are there bears on your place?" she added, turning her lovely head toward him and smiling."

Of course, she as well is talking around the subject of love (she is off on bears), but the feelings between the two characters as this point are so right that it makes no difference what they are talking about. She could even talk about mushrooms!

"There was apparently nothing extraordinary in what she said, but what unutterable meaning there was for him in every sound, in every turn of her lips, her eyes, her hands as she said it! There was entreaty for forgiveness, and trust in him and tenderness--soft, timid tenderness--and promise and hope and love for him, which he could not but believe in and which choked him with happiness" (405).

What a writer Tolstoy is. WHAT A WRITER.

Notes on WAR AND PEACE Strange Perception in the Midst of Battle

 

SHOT OUT OF YOUR HORSE, FINDING NEW STRANGE WAYS OF VIEWING WAR

Reading Part II of War and Peace, which is the “war” part. Tolstoy has a great feel for the sense of confusion and disorderly turmoil that predominates in time of combat. Maybe because he saw combat himself. In the Caucasus and during the Crimean War. Nikolay Rostov and his mounted hussars are about to attack the French. “The command to form up was heard, then sabers squealed as they were drawn from scabbards. But still no one moved. The troops of the left flank, both infantry and hussars, sensed that their superiors themselves did not know what to do, and the indecisiveness of the superiors communicated itself to the troops.” In this part of the novel Tolstoy makes it clear that even Prince Bagration, the general in command of the Russian forces, has no precise idea about what he’s doing; he plays the tune mainly by ear.

 Nikolay Rostov gallops into battle, waving his saber, caught up in the joyful spirit of combat, “the delight of the attack,” intent on chopping up his enemies, but then, suddenly, his horse is shot out from under him, and everything changes. His left arm is mangled, he is on foot facing French infantry, and Tolstoy uses his favorite device of making it strange.

“Has something happened to me? Such things do happen and what must be done when they happen? . . . His hand was like someone else’s, not his own. He examined the hand, looking for blood, finding none. Well, here are some people, he thought, rejoicing, seeing several men running toward him. They’ll help me!”

 Of course, those running toward him are French soldiers, and this slowly dawns on him. “He looked at the approaching Frenchmen, and although a brief moment ago he had been galloping furiously in order to get at these Frenchmen and cut them to pieces, they were so close to him now, and so terrible, that he could not believe his eyes. Who are they? Why are they running? Can it be that they’re running toward me? And why? To kill me? ME, who everybody loves so much? He recalled his mother’s love for him, his family’s love, his friends’ love, and the idea that the enemy intended to kill him seemed impossible.”

 

Humor in Russian Literature: Chekhov, Dostoevsky, Gogol

 

Humor in Russian Literature: Chekhov

Just re-read Chekhov’s Seagull, a play I had not read in years. He designates this thing as a “comedy in four acts,” and I suppose you could see the dismalness of the human condition as comedy. The play, like his other big-name dramas—The Cherry Orchard, Three Sisters, Uncle Vanya—is replete with ineffectual losers, mooning over their lost lives and doing, essentially, nothing. Everybody is in love, but in love with the wrong person. The Seagull ends with the suicide of one of the main characters. Comedy?

 

Humor in Russian Literature: Dostoevsky

Those who think there is nothing funny in Dostoevsky’s morbid works have not read Dostoevsky. He has a great sense of humor, but his humor is dark to extremes. Read the passage in Notes from the Underground, where the perverse unnamed narrator describes how he tries—repeatedly—to walk down the sidewalk without stepping aside for an arrogant military man coming from the opposite direction. Hilarious. But, then again, this intense short funny novel is so reeking in hysteria that, for a reader, getting all the way through it is no laughing matter.

 

Humor in Russian Literature: Gogol

Nikolai Gogol used to give readings for a select audience at the homes of his patrons. He was so good at reading/performing his own works, which are genuinely funny, that people would be down on the floor, holding their sides with laughter. There is little or no pure, hearty, loud and joyous life-affirming laughter in Dostoevsky and Chekhov, but Gogol’s works are awash in such laughter. Despite the fact that he himself, who wrote the humor, was a frenetic neurotic—in his personal life one of the most screwed-up of all Russian writers. A religious fanatic and closet homosexual who starved himself to death at age 42.