Where does one begin in writing about War and Peace? With most editions being
well in excess of 1000 pages and a cast of over 500 characters, it is no mean
task. Indeed, one of the things that makes Tolstoy unique is the way in which his
novels contain so many strands of story, all intertwined in different ways. The
only way it would be possible to offer comment would be to choose just one
theme and set of characters and relationships. This is what I have done,
deciding to look at the relationships between four sets of parents and
children; The Bolkonskis, the Rostovs, the Kuragins and the Drubetskoys.
Another angle which would have been interesting would have been an examination
of how Tolstoy treats the institution and values of marriage, but given his own
life and also the mammoth amount of material on the subject available from Anna Karenina, I have decided that the
best theme to explore is the values and ambitions of parents, with regards to
their children.
An important thing which I noticed in my
reading of this novel, something which I must say fits in very well with all
that I know of Tolstoy as a person, is that the narration of War and Peace is all presented very
factually; we have a third person narrator who very much sticks to the
conventions of the technique. There is no free indirect speech here, everything
we learn of the characters (beyond their own speech) we are told, there is very
little room for interpretation beyond what we are given. There are not real
deviations of many different points of view. Not that this is necessarily a
problem, more just something which influences the way in which we analyse the
themes within the text.
The
edition that I have read is the Louise and Aylmer Maude translation in the
Wordsworth Classics edition, 2001. The way in which some names of characters
are translated is not personally to my taste but to avoid confusion I have
resisted the temptation to change them. At the end of this post, along with the
references, I have included notes on the characters, in case any confusion
arises.
*************
Perhaps the most striking of all the parental
figures in War and Peace is Princess
Anna Drubetskaya, an aristocratic woman fallen on hard times and lacking in
societal influence. Her son is Borís, and the Princess’ soul aim appears to be
doing whatever it takes, losing whatever dignity and respect necessary, in
order to secure him a career. Indeed, our first introduction to the character
of Anna Drubetskaya is in the middle of her efforts to secure a position for
her son by essentially begging Prince Vasíly Kuragin to use his influence to
help her.
‘… She gave him an ingratiating and appealing
smile and took his hand that he might not go away…. “Listen to me, prince,”
said she, “I have never yet asked you for anything and I never will again, nor
have I ever reminded you of my father’s friendship for you; but now I entreat
you for God’s sake to do this for my son – and I shall always regard you as a
benefactor” she added hurriedly.’1
It would appear as though Anna Drubetskaya
has gone to whatever depths to convince the prince to assist her, giving up her
dignity and even attempting to manipulate the prince. Her dignity is certainly
is question when ‘Apparently she had forgotten her age and by
force of habit employed all the old feminine arts. But as soon as the prince
had gone her face resumed its former cold artificial expression. She returned
to the group where the vicomte was still talking, and again pretended to
listen, while waiting till it would be time to leave. Her task was
accomplished.’2
Anna Drubetskaya embodies the expectations of
society in Russia of this era - her
raison d’être is the success of her offspring, she has not needs or desires of
her own and is willing to go to great lengths of self-sacrifice in order to
help him. However, there is a stranger, darker side to her behaviour, in that
she really does not care who she tramples to achieve her goals; in this sense,
at least, she seems manipulative, cold and calculated. Her treatment of Pierre
when his father is dying is essentially quite cruel. His father has literally
just passed away when Anna Drubetskaya says to him, ‘“You know, uncle promised
me only the day before yesterday not to forget Borís. But he has no time [to
alter his will]. I hope, my dear friend, you will carry out your father’s
wish?”’3 It is true that she tells Countess Rostova “Let people
think what they will of me, it’s really all the same to me when my son’s fate
is at stake,”4 but her steely determination towards this aim makes
her an unpleasant person and her son’s desires (if indeed he has any) are not
in any way explored.
Prince Nicholas Bolkonski treats his
daughter, Princess Maria, appallingly. He is exceptionally controlling of her,
he ‘himself undertook his daughter’s education… and arranged her life so that
her whole time was occupied.’5 In addition to this, he bullies and
deliberately humiliates her, while all the while being privately extremely
dependent upon her. Princess Maria, for her part, is very pious and
self-sacrificing, but is also completely terrified of her father. ‘The princess
looked in a scared way at her father’s eyes glittering close to her; the red
patches on her face came and went, and it was plain that she understood nothing
and was so frightened that her fear would prevent her understanding any of her
father’s further explanations…’6Prince Nicholas deliberately
humiliates his daughter in front of her prospective suitor, purely through fear
of abandonment, evident in the fact that,
‘the question was whether he could ever bring
himself to part from his daughter and give her to a husband. The prince never
directly asked himself that question, knowing beforehand that he would have to
answer it justly, and justice clashed not only with his feelings but with the
very possibility of life. Life without Princess Maria, little as he seemed to
value her, was unthinkable to him. “And why should she marry,” he thought. “To
be unhappy for certain. There’s Lise, married to Andrew – a better husband one
would think could hardly be found nowadays – but is she contented with her lot?
And who would marry Marie for love? Plain and awkward!”’7
This strange mixture of resentment and
dependence, desire to protect his daughter from pain whilst at the same time
apparently valuing her so little, is a complex and strange issue, especially
when juxtaposed with Prince Nicholas’ treatment of his son, Andrew, whom he
treats almost as an equal and, at least in terms of Andrew’s wife, sides with
blindly. Prince Andrew also seems to have a deep understanding of his father
and his ways, evident in this speech he makes to Pierre, ‘My father is one of
the most remarkable men of his time. But he is growing old, and though not
exactly cruel, he has too energetic a character. He is so accustomed to
unlimited power that he is terrible, and now he has the authority of a
commander-in-chief of the recruiting, granted by the Emperor… So I am serving
because I alone have any influence with my father, and now and then can save
him from actions which would torment him afterwards.’16 Both Andrew
and Maria have a profound level of love and respect for their father, who does
seem to genuinely love and care for them both, in spite of his behaviour at
times. Perhaps it should also be noted that the role of fathers at the time
this novel was published was obviously very different to the way it is now.
Prince Nicholas is an incredibly selfish
parent – the needs of his children always fall secondary to his own. On the
subject of his devoted son, Prince Andrew, wishing to marry Natasha, ‘[Nicholas]
could not comprehend how anyone could wish to alter his life or introduce
anything new into it, when his own life was already ending. “If only they would
let me end my days as I want to,” thought the old man, “then they might do as
they please.”22 This almost suggests that the Prince does not really
care about the good of his children; overall, he is more concerned with his own
peace and quiet. On the subject of Prince
Andrew’s desire to marry Natasha Rostova, Prince Nicholas has an interesting
array of arguments against it.
‘In the first place the marriage was not a
brilliant one as regards birth, wealth or rank. Secondly, Prince Andrew was not
as young as he had been and his health was poor (the old man laid special
stress on this), while she was very young. Thirdly, he had a son whom it would
be a pity to entrust to a chit of a girl. “Fourthly and finally… I beg you to
put it off for a year… then if your love or passion or obstinacy – as you
please – is still as great, marry!”’23
The reasons for opposition
the Prince deems most important are interesting, in that they all centre
entirely on financial or social gain.
Based upon the family of Tolstoy’s wife Sofia
(née Behr)8, the Rostovs are a classic example of the archetypal affectionate
family. The love of all three children and both parents for the eldest son,
Nicholas, is quite startling and ‘on his return to Moscow from the army,
Nicholas Rostov was welcomed by his home circle as the best of sons, a hero and
their darling Nikolenka.’9 The family has limited money and yet it
spends a lot on Nicholas (more than it should, really). Examples of the loving,
close nature of the Rostov parents and their children are repeated throughout
the novel, as when Nicholas is described as being ‘enfolded in the poetic
atmosphere of love which pervaded the Rostov household.’10 Countess
Rostova shows a very limited interest in issues of marriage, apart from having
some dread of a marriage between her son and his cousin Sonya ‘which might
hinder Nicholas from making a brilliant match.’11 Beyond this, the
Countess appears to approach her affairs with a degree of naivety, as does her
husband. The Countess is even under the impression that “’till now I have
always been my children’s’ friend and had their full confidence.”12
which shows that she is ‘repeating the mistake of many parents who imagine that
their children have no secrets from them.’13 Both she and her
husband are terrible with money and judging by Nicholas, they have not managed
to impart any wisdom in this regard to their children.
The Countess relies very
heavily on her son later on in the novel, when it comes to issues of family
finance. For example, ‘[Nicholas] found in letters from home more frequent complaints
from his mother that their affairs were falling into greater and greater
disorder, and that it was time for him to come back to gladden and comfort his
old parents’.24 The Countess shows a far less pleasant side to her
personality when it comes to her manipulation of the feelings of her son, and ‘in
the spring of that year, he received a letter from his mother, written without
his father’s knowledge, and that letter persuaded him to return. She wrote that
if he did not come and take matters in hand, their whole property would be sold
by auction and they would all have to go begging.’25 To some extent,
one could argue that this is the cost of having been so doted upon in his youth,
but the expectations placed upon Nicholas are extreme, and show that even the
Countess is not immune to the cold social manoeuvring of the time. ‘She told
him that her only hope of getting their affairs disentangled, now lay in his
marrying Julie Karagina’.26 After the death of the Count,
responsibilities fall even harder onto the shoulders of poor Nicholas, although
in keeping with the close and loving nature of the family, he accepts them
readily. However, his situation is a far from easy one. ‘The debts of [Count
Rostov] amounted to double the value of the property… Friends and relatives
advised Nicholas to decline the inheritance. But he regarded such a refusal as
a slur on his father’s memory, which he held sacred, and therefore would not
hear of refusing, and accepted the inheritance together with the obligation to
pay the debts.’27 Nicholas’ feelings for his parents even after the
position in which he has been placed demonstrates what many people believe make
up the fundamental of essence of an ideal family; unconditional love. The
Countess certainly does not help to improve matters for Nicholas, as
‘[she]
could not conceive of a life without the luxurious conditions she had been used
to from childhood and, unable to realize how hard it was for her son, kept
demanding now a carriage (which they did not keep) to send for a friend, now
some expensive article of food for herself, or wine for her son, or money to
buy a present as a surprise for Natasha, or Sonya, or for Nicholas himself’.28
The younger Rostov daughter, Natasha, is very
outgoing and flirtatious (perhaps what would now be described as ‘boy-mad’).
Her ‘honour’ is not very well protected, it would seem and her behaviour is
never curtailed by her parents, even when it is inappropriate for her age. Her
mother is aware that she is too young to marry and so her neglect presumably
comes from a lack of noticing her daughter’s behaviour. Indeed, the Countess is
outraged when Nicholas’ friend Denísov proposes to Natasha and is ‘indignant
that they should have dared to treat this little Natasha as grown up.’14
As much as the Rostovs do not do their offspring any favours when it comes to
financial stability, when Natasha is sixteen and discussing with her mother a
possible union with Borís, her mother’s reasons why the marriage would not be a
good idea are ‘because he is young, because he is poor, because he is a
relation… and because you yourself do not love him.’21 That Countess
Rostova considers the latter point a
reason to be acknowledged among the others is surprising, not least when looked
at in relation to the other parents discussed here. Her concern for the
long-term happiness for her daughter, while practical in terms of the financial
implications, is also emotional and this is one way in which the Rostov parents
are well-rounded.
Ultimately, Natasha’s fate proves to be a
good one, but the journey to it is far from easy and she experiences great
suffering along the way. The failure of her parents to curtail her behaviour
and teach her how to avoid becoming entangled in scandal, is certainly a large
part of this. However, the love that pervades the Rostov household is
definitely unmatched by any other household presented in the novel.
Where to begin with the Kuragin family? With
a father who claims to have no natural affinity for speaking to his own
children, who describes his sons as fools, and yet has a strangely determined
interest in their marrying well, it is no surprise that they are so
dysfunctional. Prince Vasíly Kuragin supports his daughter, Hélène, in seducing
as many men as possible if it will lead to her success within society. Hélène,
like her brother Anatole, is sexually free (there are even rumours that the two
have had a sexual relationship) and she has several affairs. Prince Kuragin
attempts to marry his son Anatole off to Princess Maria Bolkonskya, reminding
him that “for you, everything depends on this.”15 His concerns
regarding his children amount simply to ensuring that they make financially and
socially acceptable matches; their happiness, mental health or reputations seem
to matter very little to him.
Bizarrely, Prince Vasíly’s wife is hardly
ever mentioned in the novel; indeed, for a very large part of the novel I
assumed her to be dead. The few contributions she makes are pointless at best,
and unpleasant and worst. For example, upon being congratulated on her
daughter’s upcoming marriage to Pierre, Hélène’s mother ‘did not reply, she was
too tormented by jealousy of her daughter’s happiness.’17Now this is
hardly healthy. It would appear that Prince Vasíly wife, who as far as I could
make out remains unnamed, is as terrible as her husband when it comes to
conspiring and manipulating for the benefit of their children, while at the
same time entirely neglecting to bring their children up to be well-balanced
and possessing of good morals. When Pierre receives a letter from her, he sees
that ‘there was a conspiracy against him and that they wanted to reunite him
with his wife…’18
The strange involvement of the parents in
their children’s’ affairs is very different to the involvement of Anna
Drubetskaya in those of her son, in that the latter is motivated by a profound
and all-encompassing love and a desire to see her son succeed as best he
possibly can. There seems to be something a little more sinister when it comes
to the behaviour of the Kuragin parents. Prince Vasíly himself is unpleasantly
involved in the relations between Pierre and Hélène. After they separate,
Kuragin tells Pierre that ‘Hélène is as innocent before you as Christ was
before the Jews19 and states ‘…I know all about it…it is simply a
misunderstanding… [if you do not reconcile] let me tell you it’s quite likely
you’ll have to suffer for it.’20
It would appear that all issues regarding
parenthood in War and Peace focus
around the pursuit of status, be that through the attainment of further wealth,
through good marriage, or through good educations or careers. Almost all of the
parents are lacking in some way; the Rostovs fail massively when it comes to
providing financial stability, Kuragin has produced emotionally unstable
offspring and Bolkonski has a daughter who not only fears him, but is also
fairly unable to cope with life. It could be said that the Princess Drubetskaya
is a healthy example of good parenting, but even she has put too much into her
son, who is himself embarrassed at times by her behaviour. The pursuit of status is symptomatic of this
particular culture during this era, when love meant very little next to ‘a good
match’ and it is not necessarily a criticism when parents attempted to attain
this for their offspring. More generally, Tolstoy succeeds in this novel in
creating a full cast of characters, situations, relationships and
circumstances, vast in scope and yet minute in detail. I did not find it as
enjoyable as Anna Karenina, hitting a
wall about halfway through which required I take a bit of a break from reading.
It is, however, unquestionably a work of genius and an important piece of
literature. I would recommend this novel to anybody, without question, although
it would be advisable to take it slowly and just enjoy it. It is certainly not
a novel to be rushed.
My next blog post will be on the subject of
Thomas Hardy’s The Return of the Native,
which I will be reading for the Beaconsfield Book Club in North London. I know it
may seem strange to be going back to Hardy so soon, but I will do my best to
keep the next post as far in subject from the post on Jude the Obscure. Check back in two weeks to have a read. As
always, feel free to leave a comment, or contact me on greeninliterature@gmail.com. You can also follow
this blog on twitter (@00KVortex).
Thanks,
-
K