Classics and the Western Canon discussion

We will be discussing two books 12 and 13 this week. My week is going to be extremely busy, including a memorial service for my mother, so I thought I had better get started now with book 12. In P/V it is Volume Four, Part One.

Anna Pavlovna is throwing yet another of her famous soirees, and the topic of the evening is Helene's interesting illness--an "inconvenience" caused by the younger of her suitors and likely to be be very troubling to the older, rich suitor. Not to worry; a new doctor is going to help her get rid of the problem. The result is fatal to both mother and child. So now Pierre is single again. Another development--Nikolai calls on Marya and worries about what to do with Sonya. There's more to come in this drama-packed section, but you'll have to read that for yourself. Great section!

Lily mentioned that there are two deaths coming up that we should think about and compare. The first one is in this book. Stop right here if you have not read book 12 yet. The rest of you may scroll down a ways.





I was struck by the responses of the mourners in the last three paragraphs of this section. They all wept, but for varying reasons:

When the body, washed and dressed, lay in the coffin on a table, everyone came to take leave of him and they all wept.

Little Nicholas cried because his heart was rent by painful perplexity. The countess and Sonya cried from pity for Natasha and because he was no more. The old count cried because he felt that before long, he, too, must take the same terrible step.

Natasha and Princess Mary also wept now, but not because of their own personal grief; they wept with a reverent and softening emotion which had taken possession of their souls at the consciousness of the simple and solemn mystery of death that had been accomplished in their presence.
The older translators vary the word used for crying. Pevear and Velokhonsky, noting that the author used the same word in each instance in these paragraphs, use 'wept' and 'weep' each time.

What are we to make of Platon? For some reason he reminds me of another almost mythical figure from children's literature--Dickon in The Secret Garden. His platitudes seem to contradict each other, but then many of our own sayings do, too, such as Look before you leap and He who hesitates is lost. I love his bedtime prayer about lying down like up stone and rising up like new bread. Platon seems to me to be just what the doctor ordered for Pierre.

I had thought that Helene was one of the ones that Lily was referring to? It wasn't related to the war.


I've heard that some translations are better than others at translating the russian folk sayings.

The thing about Platon that resonated with me was the idea that he was the sort who could make and do many things - not all of them very well. He's no artisan but I've known rural people who are very much like that - good at improvising. I liked Platon better than the uncle.

Theresa wrote: "I had thought that Helene was one of the ones that Lily was referring to? It wasn't related to the war."

Oh, perhaps you're right. Lily?

Laurele wrote: "Lily mentioned that there are two deaths coming up that we should think about and compare. The first one is in this book. Stop right here if you have not read book 12 yet. The rest of you may scrol..."

It's interesting that none of the women weep for the man who has died; they weep for those who live. They weep out of compassion for each other rather than grief. This is really beautiful... but also very odd. I am thinking of Natasha in particular -- she is weeping at the mystery of death, not because the man she loves so deeply is dead. Seriously?

But the men are different. The boy weeps because he doesn't understand what is going on, which is understandable, but the Count weeps from a sudden recognition of his own mortality. In the midst of a war with men dying all around him. This also strikes me as odd, and next to the noble emotions of the women, somewhat humorous.

Thomas wrote: "Laurele wrote: "Lily mentioned that there are two deaths coming up that we should think about and compare. The first one is in this book. Stop right here if you have not read book 12 yet. The rest ..."

I think when someone dies, and everyone is crying, they are initially participating in a social activity (they cry because everyone else is crying, it is infectious, like laughing). The individual reasons that surface during this activity are unique to each individual. The wailing of the group sort of gets those feelings to awaken. I think that to cry for the victim himself would be too complicated during such a primal experience. To feel their loss they have to acknowledge that 'he' is no more. So even though he has lost his life, he doesn't exist. His friends and family probably do feel sorry for him when they are in moments of quiet reflection and can think about things with less emotion.

Natasha's weeping at the mystery of death seems quite in character for her, particularly given her recent religious interests. Quite brilliant of Tolstoy to prepare his heroine for the grief of losing a loved one by first putting her through the humiliation that led to her increased religious devotion.

Laurele wrote: "Theresa wrote: "I had thought that Helene was one of the ones that Lily was referring to? It wasn't related to the war."

Oh, perhaps you're right. Lily?"

Actually, I was referring to the contrasts between the murders of the prisoners, especially the last young workman immediately before Pierre, and the death of Prince Andrey. But, as I have been thinking about Tolstoy's treatment of death throughout what writings of his I have read (as well as his own death as portrayed in The Last Station), I realize how widely and deeply Tolstoy explores the topic. Indeed, W&P almost opens with a very ceremonial and legal treatment of death (church and state and death -- add "and families" perhaps).

As for the death of Helene, my rather unconsidered reaction was that it was as close to a deus ex machina exercise as any I have seen Tolstoy execute in W&P -- he needed to get poor Helene out of the way so he could go on and develop the plot he had decided upon (I don't remember whether that is considered to have been his initial plot expectations.) Yes, I understand I am being a mite cynical here.

But the death of Helene and how it is treated is certainly fair game for comparison here.

Among the telling passages for me about the deaths of the prisoners were those that dealt with the soldiers in the firing squads:

The orders of the cold and calm senior officer were followed by: "There was movement in the ranks of soldiers, and it was noticeable that they were all hurrying, and hurrying not as people hurry to do something everyone understands, but as they hurry in order to finish a necessary but unpleasant and incomprehensible business."

Then a quotation I have already noted in another context elsewhere:

"On all the Russian faces, on the faces of the French soldiers and officers, on all without exception, he read the same fear, horror, and struggle that were in his heart. 'But who, finally, is doing this? They're all suffering just as I am. Who is it? Who?' flashed for a second in Pierre's soul." p. 966, P&V (Vol 4, Part 1, Chap XI).

See also the final two paragraphs of that section, about the "soldier who wanted to comfort himself at least somehow for what had been done, but could not."

Lily wrote: "Among the telling passages for me about the deaths of the prisoners were those that dealt with the soldiers in the firing squads:

There was the cold and calm senior officer followed by: "There was..."

I remember when I read that section I immediately thought of George Orwell's essay A Hanging. I now wonder if Orwell's essay was inspired by Tolstoy.

Even more compelling were the reactions of the prisoners themselves, from the young factory worker who may indeed not have been entirely expired when the soldiers hastily buried the evidences of their crimes, to those who concerned themselves about last minute physical comforts to the total unbelief and terror of each doomed prisoner at what was about to occur.

Contrast with reaction to still another death to come (p1058, Vol 4, Part 3, Chap. XII in P&V): (view spoiler)[ Somehow, as I write this tonight, I sense a certain parallel in the unbelief and horror of these prisoners to the unbelief and horror the Countess Rostov (and perhaps her husband) felt on learning the death of their beloved Petya. But she had to/got to live on. The count's days were numbered as less. (hide spoiler)]

Thomas wrote: "It's interesting that none of the women weep for the man who has died; they weep for those who live. They weep out of compassion for each other rather than grief. This is really beautiful... but also very odd. I am thinking of Natasha in particular -- she is weeping at the mystery of death, not because the man she loves so deeply is dead. Seriously?

But the men are different. The boy weeps because he doesn't understand what is going on, which is understandable, but the Count weeps from a sudden recognition of his own mortality. In the midst of a war with men dying all around him. This also strikes me as odd, and next to the noble emotions of the women, somewhat humorous."

Thank you for your thoughtful insights, Thomas.

I perhaps perceive less gender differences than you identify, although in looking at the text I realize that Tolstoy has made some expressions seem perhaps odd, but not out of (gender) character. Personal experience says to me that oddness can go with initial reactions to death. It is perhaps safer to be concerned about others than to face one's own grief -- a bit of denial yet. Tolstoy may be romanticizing Natasha a bit here "in weeping at the mystery of death", and we will get a passage on p1077 of P&V (view spoiler)[ in which Natasha recalls a discussion with Andrei where she felt she misspoke and should have said "...You know that for me there is nothing in life without you, and to suffer with you is the best happiness for me." (hide spoiler)]

I'm not so sure the gender differences are so sharp as Tolstoy perhaps makes them seem, although his instincts as to whom he had each express what seem keen, i.e., some gender differences may exist as much in the acceptability of the outward expressions as in the inward realities. What impresses me about Tolstoy is the range and subtlety of what he captures, more than to whom he ascribes either specific emotions or actions. (He still reflects aspects of the age in which he lived.)

Lily wrote: "Thomas wrote: "It's interesting that none of the women weep for the man who has died; they weep for those who live. They weep out of compassion for each other rather than grief. This is really beau..."

Just reviewing your original question about the two deaths:


I am especially struck by two closely following sections where Tolstoy contrasts in considerable detail what might be called "death as associated with the brutalities of man towards man" and death as it occurs for a fairly regular individual with all the complex interactions and emotions that evokes.

So, the fairly regular individual is Prince Andrey and the death associated with the brutalities of man toward man is with the prisoners?


I actually found the incident related in book 11, with Count Rostopchin and the young man - Vereshchagin - killed by the mob, to be a more interesting study of man's brutality to man. Rostophin's later feeble attempts to find his way out of the dark side and to shake the guilt of the event was quite interesting.

Lily wrote: "I perhaps perceive less gender differences than you identify..."

I'm not sure what to make of the gender distinction, and perhaps it is not very consequential after all. I suspect you are right about that, and right as well about Tolstoy's tendency towards romanticizing. This story certainly has its operatic moments.

Theresa wrote: "So, the fairly regular individual is Prince Andrey and the death associated with the brutalities of man toward man is with the prisoners?..."

Yes.

I actually found the incident related in book 11, with Count Rostopchin and the young man - Vereshchagin - killed by the mob, to be a more interesting study of man's brutality to man....

You send me back to re-read. (For me, Delta Kindle edition, Book 4, largely Chap 25.)

Yes, it probably is the more complicated story. It was the close juxtaposition of the two stories here that struck me. (Prince Andrei does represent that not all the death from war occurs immediately, but sometimes slowly and painfully. I recall the lines where the doctor seems sorry that Natasha seems able to improve Andrei's health, perhaps by providing a reason to live.)

But you remind us that Tolstoy has been building the death theme -- wish I knew the appropriate musical term for the analogous effect in a symphony.

Somehow, Count Rostopchin is one of the characters I have managed to largely overlook, even on a second read. I noted the large number of matches when I requested his name -- and re-skimmed some of them. ;-(

Lily wrote: "Theresa wrote: "So, the fairly regular individual is Prince Andrey and the death associated with the brutalities of man toward man is with the prisoners?..."

Yes.

I actually found the incident re..."

Originally I had thought that you were referring to Helene as the death of the `fairly regular individual` and the death of Andrey as the death associated with war and brutality. I had to think about it, but it seemed to me afterward that Helene`s death wasn`t accompanied by as much grief as the death of Andrey. At first I thought you were trying to make the point that non-war related deaths were taken less seriously or had less drama associated with them. It seemed like an interesting idea I hadn`t considered. When I first read of the death of Helene I was a bit shocked and wondered if Tolstoy just put that in there to keep the story alive and moving with interesting events (I was beginning to get bored of same old same old..battles, romances, and introspection). I dismissed that idea and decided that it was a way of contrasting the death of a conscientious person (Andrey) with the death of a shallow, uncaring person (Helene). Helene didn`t care much about anyone in her life and subsequently she died mostly alone and forgotten. In her life she was inclined toward shallow interests in others and on her deathbed her friends and family were at parties saying kind but insincere platitudes about her fine character. They didn`t really care about her anymore than she cared about them.

Theresa wrote: "...They didn`t really care about her anymore than she cared about them...."

I am reminded of the second chapter of Covey's The 7 Habits of Highly Effective People: Powerful Lessons in Personal Change -- with tongue-in-cheek synopsis -- live your life so as to bring the people you want to your last party, even if you arrive in an urn.

Lily wrote: "Theresa wrote: "...They didn`t really care about her anymore than she cared about them...."

I am reminded of the second chapter of Covey's [book:The 7 Habits of Highly Effective People: Powerful L..."

Speaking of that last party, wasn't that an incredibly touching scene where Andrey's father died and had that experience with his daughter essentially asking for forgiveness. I thought it was moving. Not only do we want to live our life to have people at the party, but we don't want it to be a moment of regret either. I'm thinking of the comparison between Andrey's death experience verses his father's.

Jeremy wrote: "...I'm thinking of the comparison between Andrey's death experience versus his father's...."

Intriguing comment. Are you willing to say more, Jeremy?

Without going back and rereading for the subtle details, it strikes me that the need for forgiveness, whether to give or to receive, may be as much one of perception of those closest, which may be quite different than the perceptions of external observers.

Lily wrote: "Jeremy wrote: "...I'm thinking of the comparison between Andrey's death experience versus his father's...."

Intriguing comment. Are you willing to say more, Jeremy?

Without going back and reread..."

Sure. :-) I remember taking a class in college where I learned something about the idea that the bereavement process is much worse and takes longer for those who survive someone with whom there was a rocky unresolved relationship. Andrey's father's kindness and forgiveness-seeking-attitude towards his daughter at the very end was likely not only a comfort to himself in his last hours as he felt the joy of repentance and forgiveness, but it was a gift to her. She was not only able to witness on the surface the love she always suspected underneath, but it likely improved her ability to move on in life after the fact because of the closure.

On the other hand with Andrey it was interesting how Tolstoy described a kindness that overtook him towards the end. I thought I saw similarities between him and his father as they both seemed to have risen above the cares of man and flesh and we're able to express their love with out the boundaries that existed before, however, there was a difference with Andrey's experience. He became kinder and more affectionate but at the same time almost unkind and less loving in the sense that he was loosing his care to remain in the world with those he loved, Natasha, his sister, and even his son. I honestly haven't had any experiences similar to this in my own life so I don't really know would it would be like, but Andrey's experience seems more foreign to my way of thinking. I understand the expression Tolstoy used of God taking care of his sister, Natasha, and his son in Andrey's absence as he referenced the scripture in Mathew 10 that describes Gods love and protection over all of us exemplifying the sparrow that is taken care of; however, Andrey's reluctance to want to stay for the love of his life, his sister, and his son strikes me as a little odd. Even though he had faith they would be taken care of, I feel true love yearns for an endless association and I would have imagined that he would have still felt sorry to be leaving them, even if for a time. Just some thoughts.

Jeremy wrote: "Lily wrote: "Jeremy wrote: "...I'm thinking of the comparison between Andrey's death experience versus his father's...."

Intriguing comment. Are you willing to say more, Jeremy?

Without going ba..."

He had yielded to the inevitability of death and put his worldly cares behind him. I suppose his feelings toward the people in his life were among those worldly cares. What I find curious, is that he held onto his upbringing - his civilized manners - to the very end. He said goodbye to his son because it was expected of him. He was doing it out of politeness, not feeling. Tolstoy says that Andrey died at the moment he realized he couldn't keep death out of the room. He says and implies that this death is an awakening from the dream of life. I've heard it said that the dead, even if they survive to an afterlife, do not 'care' about the living. The living must care for each other. I wonder if Tolstoy would have agreed? He does seem to be suggesting that Andrey was as good as dead when he realized death was near and unavoidable. Does making peace with one's mortality require one to let go of all relationships with the living?

Theresa wrote: "I've heard it said that the dead, even if they survive to an afterlife, do not 'care' about the living. The living must care for each other. I wonder if Tolstoy would have agreed?"

Thanks Theresa, that last question you asked has helped me pinpoint the dissonance I was feeling with my on thoughts on love and death with what Tolstoy was describing. Yes, I would whole heartily agree to disagree with Tolstoy on that subject! I think you are right that he would agree with that statement you've heard of. This idea of the dead 'care' not about the living, or in Andrey's case the near dead, I think is more of a sign of a lack of love and compassion than a sign of making peace with one's mortality.

I feel that although our deceased loved ones don't feel physical pains in the next life, that they still look down on us and yearn for our success, rejoice in our joys, and yes experience the pain of grief at our sufferings. Jesus himself wept at the death of Lazarus. :-)

Christianity aside, I think most of the world, considers pure love and unconditional compassion to be one of the humanities ultimate achievements, an aim worthy of spending a lifetime trying to achieve. With that perspective the idea of reaching a point where you don't feel like showing love and compassion for those with whom you supposedly love more and feel more compassion than life it's self seems more a downward spiral of delusion than a worthy attainment.

Jeremy wrote: "Theresa wrote: "I've heard it said that the dead, even if they survive to an afterlife, do not 'care' about the living. The living must care for each other. I wonder if Tolstoy would have agreed?"
..."

In book 11, moments before Andrey and Natasha are reunited, Andrey is thinking about love:

"Yes- love," he thought again quite clearly. "But not love which loves for something, for some quality, for some purpose, or for some reason, but the love which I- while dying- first experienced when I saw my enemy and yet loved him. I experienced that feeling of love which is the very essence of the soul and does not require an object. Now again I feel that bliss. To love one's neighbors, to love one's enemies, to love everything, to love God in all His manifestations. It is possible to love someone dear to you with human love, but an enemy can only be loved by divine love. That is why I experienced such joy when I felt that I loved that man. What has become of him? Is he alive?...

"When loving with human love one may pass from love to hatred, but divine love cannot change. No, neither death nor anything else can destroy it. It is the very essence of the soul...


By saying that divine love can never die, he seems to be suggesting that human love can die with the body.


By the time we get to the end of Book 12 his understanding of earthly and divine love have become fully developed:

During the hours of solitude, suffering, and partial delirium he spent after he was wounded, the more deeply he penetrated into the new principle of eternal love revealed to him, the more he unconsciously detached himself from earthly life. To love everything and everybody and always to sacrifice oneself for love meant not to love anyone, not to live this earthly life. And the more imbued he became with that principle of love, the more he renounced life and the more completely he destroyed that dreadful barrier which- in the absence of such love- stands between life and death.

I think Tolstoy is suggesting that our individual love for others is never greater than our love for life itself. When we successfully come to terms with the approach of death we consciously let go of all earthly things - including individual love and its raptures - and settle into a peaceful state of divine love..

Is that plausible?

Theresa wrote: "Jeremy wrote: "Theresa wrote: "I've heard it said that the dead, even if they survive to an afterlife, do not 'care' about the living. The living must care for each other. I wonder if Tolstoy would..."
This interesting to me, and it's a very beautiful and impressionable passage! Thanks for posting it! It's going to take me a minute to collect my thoughts and respond. :-)

In the last few days of my mother' slide, she kept mistaking my sister and me for her sisters, who had already passed. It seemed they were somehow closer to her than we were. At one point during the eight hours we spent with her in the hospital, she lifted her head off the pillow and reached with her arms up toward the ceiling. The hospital sent her home, saying they could find nothing wrong. She did not wake up the next morning. We did not learn the rest of the story until a few days later, when one of the attendants at her assisted living home chanced to meet us at Barnes and Noble. He said that when she was brought home from the hospital, she kept smiling and giggling. They asked her what she was so happy about, and she said, "I saw Irby (our father) at the hospital, and he said I get to go home today." She was on the threshold of two worlds, just as Andrei was. Priorities change.

Laurele wrote: "In the last few days of my mother' slide, she kept mistaking my sister and me for her sisters, who had already passed. It seemed they were somehow closer to her than we were. At one point during th..."

That is a nice story. Thanks for sharing.

Theresa wrote: "... Thanks for sharing..."

Yes. Very much so.