War and Peace: Volume 3, Part 2: Chapters 36–39 Summary & Analysis

Prince Andrei’s reserve regiment is stationed behind Semyonovskoe. In the afternoon, the regiment is moved into the line of fire, and it loses a third of its men without firing a shot. The men sit for hours on the ground, absorbing themselves in small tasks, trying to ignore it as more and more wounded are carried past. They grow ever more exhausted and demoralized. Even Prince Andrei has nothing to do but pace. He realizes he can’t even rouse his men’s spirits. Each of them, like him, is fully absorbed in ignoring the reality of death all around them.

At one point, a shell lands two paces from Prince Andrei. As he stands frozen, he looks with “new, envious eyes” at the meadow surrounding him, feeling his love for life and his reluctance to die. At the same time, he remembers that his men are watching. Suddenly the shell explodes, and Andrei is hurled sideways. Blood pools next to him. Muzhiks run over to move him, and despite Andrei’s moans, they manage to load him onto a stretcher. Seeing his wound, an officer says, “That’s the end!”

Prince Andrei is carried to the vast dressing station in the woods. While he waits to be treated, he listens to a sergeant with a bandaged head rapturously telling the story of General Murat’s capture. Like the other listeners, Andrei feels comforted by the story, yet he wonders what difference it makes now. He reflects that there’s something about life that he still doesn’t understand.

When Prince Andrei is carried into a tent, those waiting grumble at the preferential treatment. Prince Andrei feels overwhelmed by the bloody sights in the tent, the memory of the “cannon fodder” in the pond weeks ago, and his own pain. He can’t stop himself from watching as men near him undergo agonizing amputations. When the doctor prods Andrei’s stomach wound, he falls unconscious. When he revives, his shattered hip and his stomach wound have been treated and dressed. He feels a deep, childlike sense of peace.

When Prince Andrei hears another man sobbing, he wants to weep in sympathy. The man’s leg has been amputated. When the doctor steps away from the man, Andrei is shocked to recognize Anatole Kuragin. It takes him a moment to remember his connection with the man. Eventually, a clear memory of young, innocent Natasha surfaces in his mind, filling him with love. He even feels tender pity and compassion for Anatole, his enemy. Andrei realizes this is the kind of Christian love Princess Marya prayed for Andrei to feel; it’s the lingering mystery of life he’d been wondering about. He knows he’s come to understand it too late.

Normally, Napoleon enjoys surveying the field after battle in order to test his mettle. Today, however, he can’t stand it. He just cowers out of sight, feeling responsible for the action yet powerless to stop it. When an adjutant reports that, even though batteries are firing from the heights, the Russians keep coming, Napoleon orders them to keep firing. In doing so, he fulfills the “inhuman role” to which he’s assigned. In fact, to the end of his life, Napoleon is unable to understand goodness—that would require him to renounce the cruelties for which he’s renowned.

Yet, in his memoirs written on St. Helena, Napoleon later recalled the Russian war as a sensible and “pacific” one, fought in the interests of a good cause. He claims that if he had been able to found a comprehensive European system, the entire continent could have become one people. He would have resigned as dictator and fought no more wars. In claiming these things, Napoleon remains convinced that he acted for the people’s good. This justification allows him to distance himself from the horror of the acts committed.

The fields belonging to the Davydov family, worked by peasants over centuries, are now blood-soaked and covered with bodies. The atmosphere smells of saltpeter and blood. A gentle rain starts. Slowly, the battle fizzles out. Both sides are decimated and exhausted. To an outsider, it might look as though either side could destroy their enemy with one last effort; yet, in reality, neither side can muster the strength for that.

For their part, the French have spent the last 15 years believing in Napoleon’s invincibility. In retrospect, some historians claimed that, if only Napoleon had sent his old guard into battle, he could have dislodged the Russians from the road to Moscow, obtaining his overall objective. Yet, even if he had ordered this, it could not have been—the French army was simply too dispirited. Whereas the Russians gained a sense of moral superiority at Borodino, the French were totally demoralized for the first time.