A Response to Prince Andrei

June 8, 2009

Prince Andrei, in Tolstoy's War and Peace, commands his friend Pierre to avoid conjugal love. He says: "Never, never marry, my friend. Here's my advice to you: don't marry until you can tell yourself that you've done all you could, and until you've stopped loving the woman you've chosen, until you see her clearly, otherwise you'll be cruelly and irremediably mistaken. Marry when you're old and good for nothing...Otherwise all that's good and lofty in you will be lost. It will all go on trifles. Yes, yes, yes! Don't look at me with such astonishment. If you expect something from yourself in the future, then at every step you'll feel that it's all over for you, it's all closed except the drawing room, where you'll stand on the same level as a court flunky and an idiot...Ah, well!..."

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My dear Prince Andrei, what a sad sight you are before me! You, a man of great ambition, are crestfallen at being hopelessly married. What a pitiable thing to squander one's talents. How I do empathize with you! You, who contain so much that is "good and lofty," have been forced to compromise it. How frustrating, indeed! Surely you were meant for something more, and yet you are here...bored.

May I ask what happened to you? Did love burst in and throw its dust in your eyes? Were you temporarily taken out of your wits by the smell of her neck? Before you knew it, you were twiddling your thumbs the day after your wedding night. "What have I done?" Did you think that very thought, only too late?

But is it really too late? Not for a man of your ability, you courageous and clever man. Andrei has blazed an escape route. You have outsmarted everyone. You have found the perfect out: war! Marriage is one duty; citizenship is another duty all together. You were a citizen before you were a husband and must go off to war. Could anyone really disdain you for defending your country? You are putting your life on the line--the very one you are bored of, I realize--but nevertheless, your own and only life! How noble! So you take leave of your wife, your one irreversible mistake--by taking leave you try to prove it is not so irreversible after all. She will wear her ring and you will wear your sword. You can forget about your great misstep and instead remember your great, rarefied stride.

I cannot help but wonder if you are missing something, though. As your true friend I would be remiss if I did not offer up this question that springs forth from considering your remarks. Is marriage not an accomplishment, dear Andrei? You insinuate as much, but I cannot assent to that proposition.

Must marriage mean that it is all over? Not 'does' it--that is a trivial question. Surely it can end everything for an individual. (Are you not one such individual, Andrei?) Firstly, what is it that ends upon union? Talent? No, surely you possess as much talent prior to the ceremony as posterior to it. Independence? Here we may be closer. One retains an autonomous conscious and has that sort of independence. But one is not as free anymore and thereby one has less independence. Now, one must take an accounting of another's interests. One has been yoked in that fashion and is called to be steered by consideration for another person's well-being. Oh, the burden of it!

Perhaps at one point you thought it was--for why else would a great man such as yourself ever consent to associating yourself with the institution? Now you see it as a trap. It is a leech for you too, is it not? It drains you of your energy. What a curse, to only to be able to be yourself by yourself! If others watch you do your tricks and applaud (as they should for such a courageous and clever performer) you can still be yourself. Bring them backstage, have them follow you through the streets, poking their noses in your consciousness, pricking your conscience with their own dignity--and your self-bubble bursts! You have made the right choice for yourself to be free of such interruptions, but it is all too late. You are stained. I know your misstep and I will not forget it. You may distract everyone else by the clicking of your heels in lockstep with your comrades, but I will nurture the memory of your mistake. And what of when I die? Oh, I wager there will be another who remembers all the same. Then, would you will be so bold as to deny your failure? Or will you stopping making a show and repent?

Some people have no business marrying, I grant you. How can you tell Pierre here not to, though? Do you know him so well? After all, by all appearances, you never knew yourself so well--else you would have known better than to marry with all the talent you possess.