Having thought long and hard about the closing view we have of Sonya at the end of Tolstoy's novel, War and Peace, I find myself foaming at the mouth ... yet again!
I know I mentioned this very briefly in my previous rant on the subject, but I would like to scream it out from the rafters yet again: by the epilogue, the Rostovs' finances are on the mend, and Natasha, having married Pierre, is sitting on piles and piles of wealth. Are we seriously expected to believe they couldn't spare a modest dowry for Sonya?
No one is saying they need to give the poor woman her weight in gold, but, surely, providing her with enough that a marriage to a minor official or neighbouring minor landowner should not be a strain on the family finances.
Instead, we get Natasha acting like Sonya is made out of cardboard and doesn't have the depth of feeling any other human would. And we get Marya resenting the women who was given no choice whatsoever in the matter.
Now, Tolstoy would say Sonya's fate is owing to her lack of inner fire. But this is the same man who began his married life by giving his young bride a journal detailing his personal debauchery. I think it's safe to say what he defines as "inner fire" is, in fact, a spate of unfiltered narcissistic selfishness. And aside from that, what exactly did Marya do different to get Nikolai? Nothing! The author likes her, so she gets a happy ending. The author dislikes Sonya, so she gets to be unhappy and ignored. I won't speculate on why. I think we all know why.
My point is, it would have cost Tolstoy less than nothing to give Sonya some dignity. And he didn't.
Or, what I hope is a comprehensive defence of Sonya
When I began reading War and Peace, I had very little expectations of falling as deeply in love with the character of Sonya as I ended up doing upon reaching the end of the novel. As I slammed the cover shut with an indignant huff, my mind whirled with one major unignorable.
The cruelty!
The gall!
The sheer cheek!
My Sonya…a sterile flower?!
And to have been given such a dismissive description by one whom she felt to be as close as a sister to her. Unforgivable…
Perhaps I am rushing ahead. For those to whom it has been some time since they’ve picked up a copy of Lev Tolstoy’s magistral War and Peace, Sonya is the little loved and underappreciated poor relation in the Rostov household. It is not revealed whom exactly she is kin to (Count Iliya or his wife), but we do know she has no fortunate to speak of and little connections beyond her benefactors. She is, in some respects, the sort of character whom Dickens would happily lead a merry (painful) dance before rewarding her with a happy ending.
Sonya, loyal to a fault, spends her time chiefly engaged in loving her faithless cousin, Nikolai. She worries for him, she devotes herself to the care of his family at the expense of her own comfort and in the end sacrifices the little happiness she counted on as hers simply so that he can guiltlessly move on from the little game of love he’d engaged her in. Nikolai may not mean to hurt her; none of the Rostovs do, with the exception of the Countess when in a huff over her prospective marriage to her son. But he is as careless as she is devoted. And cruelty of that sort must be more painful; at least with hatred there is a passion fuelling it. But to Nikolai, it’s simply that Sonya does not figure in his thoughts beyond the briefest of moments.
After all, he reasons, she is young and is bound to fall in love with someone else eventually. That, naturally, mitigates any discomfort he might feel engaging in affairs, even if only of the emotional order, with other women. He is young too, and thus entitled to his entertainments. That at least is as far as his concern for Sonya will allow him to pursue the thought of his own selfishness. Not that he brings any of it to Sonya’s attention.
What exactly are we to make of that? Personally, I would say he is a spineless, self-indulgent and selfish brat. He allowed Sonya to commit herself with words and led her on while being unsure himself. He gave her promises all the same. And then, when life handed him the chance of a better union, he dared aim his resentment towards Sonya who’d done nothing but love him. As though she’d made him promise. As though she’d forced him into something he did not want. He had every chance of disclosing that he was not the least bit serious about her.
His only attempt was pushing her into Dolokhov’s arms. But frankly, his lacklustre words would have failed to convince a simpleton, let alone a young woman who was in love with him. The truth is, Nikolai is ambivalent towards Sonya almost until the bitter end and makes his personal happiness at her expense a mission she must shoulder on her own. It is left to Sonya to release him from his obligation towards her, all the while being forced to remain his dependant, to endure a lifetime of seeing him in the arms of another woman.
How exactly can one heal in such conditions?
To then have Natasha disparage her is beyond the pale. Natasha, whose youthful fickle heart, sees her changing her beloved on a dime should have no right to criticise Sonya in a perfect world. But here we are; Natasha, the indirect cause of two men’s deaths, calls her steadfast companion, the woman who stood by her through thick and thin, a sterile flower. All because Sonya was unlucky enough to love Nikolai, who is surely the equal of his sister in capriciousness. Sonya, who to Natasha’s mind cannot comprehend love because it seems shocking to her to move from one lover to the next in the span of a few days. The same Sonya who saved her from a miserable existence, who made it possible that she might reconcile with Andrei before the man’s death.
But no, apparently Sonya is some strange exhibit in the conservatory because she has the heart to go through the motions despite being entirely crushed.
In his 1908 review posted in The Sewanee Review, Bernard Gorin makes the following observation:
But who made it impossible for Sonya to fulfil that all important mission? Who swayed her into a faithful promise only to betray that understanding at every given opportunity? Who made no effort whatsoever to help her towards such a goal when finally he had the means?
If Tolstoy’s criticism of Sonya is reduced to her love not finding fulfilment, then one can only laugh. He is the puppet master here. Far from being a cautionary tale in the deficits of meek women, Sonya is a warning on the unfaltering, unjust portrayal born out of callous disregard.
I think it's downright criminal how little the dynamic and its potential offshoots are explored when it comes to Sonya and Dolokhov. Tolstoy had an entirely different vision, so I suppose one cannot argue with the facts of his own creation, but as a reader, if one takes a moment to consider these two, it quickly becomes apparent just how many iterations of their coming (and abiding) together could have added further to the plotlines and said something of substance. Instaed, they have been dismissed in the haste to prop up Nikolai and Maria or Pierre and Natasha, who while interesting in their own right, in many respects get a seemingly better deal out of life.
It goes without saying that everyone has their own interests, especially when it comes to such a rich narrative as War and Peace. Still, I am hopeful these two, as a duo specifically, will benefit from further attention in the near future.
