Prince Vasíli is on the precipice of enticing Pierre to ask for his daughter’s hand. He hardly let a day go by without hosting an event at which Pierre was present. For six weeks, the new Count was lured into making a home of Vasíli’s mansion.

Vasíli was planning to get two of his children married, Anatole as well as Hélène. Vasíli felt compelled to finalize matters with Pierre before touring his neglected provincial estates. He then desired to pick-up Anatole from his regiment and take him to Smolensk to arrange a match with Gen. Bolkónski’s daughter.

Pierre’s conduct was as a young lover’s should be - excited and foolish. Vasíli thought, “Youth, frivolity... God be with him.” He surmised the right time to push for resolution was at Hélène’s upcoming name-day celebration. Pierre’s mixed emotions persisted. He realized how devastating it could be to tie his fate to Hélène. Yet he had no ability to leave her orbit. He was overpowered by desire.

In Society’s eyes Pierre was more and more connected with Hélène. All were waiting for him to propose. Terror seized Pierre upon realizing how close he was. When the celebration arrived, the guests included close friends and family. All were in high spirits. Vasíli merrily went round the table, chatting about the Imperial Council, where the military governor read a missive about the war from Czar Alexander. The governor was overjoyed the letter was directed to him.

As much as such trifling interests united the aristocrats, all this was sideshow to Pierre and Hélène. Pierre found the dynamic intoxicating. He thought, “They are all expecting it, so…I cannot disappoint them!” He considered himself a Paris possessed of Helen of Troy. Deep down, Pierre knew that only since becoming the Count did he receive favor. Still, in the moment, he believed that it was he who was unusually striking. He was taken out of this mindset when Vasíli asked when he last heard from Andrei, who had written from Olmütz.

After supper, Pierre & Hélène followed others to the drawing room. Pierre had had never spoke to Hélène of love but knew it was time to. He first made some small talk. Vasíli, hovering, came up to them and again brought up the proud governor. Pierre smiled and gave a look that assured he was doing what was expected. In the next room, the Kuragin family spoke on how “marriages are made in heaven.”

The couple kept the family waiting and eventually Vasíli lost patience and decided to drag Pierre across the line. Vasíli’s manifested a triumphant countenance upon his approach and congratulated Pierre on what Pierre could not bring himself to do. He proclaimed, “Thank God! My wife has told me everything!” (though his wife did no such thing). He put his arms around the two and continued, “My dear boy... Lëlya... I am very pleased. I loved your father...and she will make you a good wife...God bless you!” He embraced and kissed them.

Pierre reflected. “All this had to be…so it is useless to ask whether it is good or bad.” At least he was rid of the doubt. Pierre held Hélène’s hand and confidently called her name. He knew “something special is always said in such cases”. He looked deep into her eyes and she drew nearer to him and told him to take of his spectacles. Pierre did so and was about to stoop and kiss her hand but with a rapid movement of her head, Hélène intercepted his lips with her own. “It is too late now, it’s done, besides I love her,” thought Pierre. He then uttered those forgotten special words, Je vous aime, but they sounded so weak he was ashamed.

Six weeks later Pierre was married, and settled in his newly furnished Petersburg mansion.

The first Sevastopol Sketch focuses on December of 1854.

Sevastopol is a name of Greek origin and is a well-known port city in Crimea. Before it was Ukrainian -- and before it was Russian or under Russian occupation -- it was part of the Crimean Khanate, heavily influenced by the Ottomans. Greek names were stamped on conquered cities just north of the Black Sea (think also Melitopol, Mariupol, and Kherson) by Czars & Czarinas as a show of respect for Greek culture. Notably, Greeks had a presence there going back thousands of years.

The first Sketch focuses on a sunrise to sunset amidst the Siege. We take in Sevastopol through the perspective of an officer and get closer to the infamous bastions as the day goes on.

Around 8 a.m., you (the officer) take notice of the rising sun above Sapun Ridge, which rises 240 meters. There is a changing of the guard, a soldier washing his face in frigid water, as well as doctors and nurses reporting to their stations. Life gets moving amidst the backdrop of death, which you can observe through wagons transporting the departed.

You traverse a muddy beach, passing over a dead horse, and get into a small boat pulled by an old man and boy. The vessel sails around a disabled warship and soon reaches a wharf near the city center. Sevastopol remains a traditional city but has also become a war encampment. The surface bears the scars of cannon fire. There is a bustle – smoking, chatting, gambling and arguing. You take in: Cossacks with their horses, women with their children, and trades-folk. All their faces express enthusiasm in carrying on. Nobody is paralyzed by fear.

Most importantly, you approach the Sevastopol Assembly Hall, which is serving as a hospital. You enter to the sights, sounds and smell of the wounded. Some are in hammocks, but the majority are on the floor. You are overcome through absorbing the pervasive suffering. You address a few of the men and they respond to your empathy. You meet one who lost his leg, who graciously thanks God that he will get his discharge. He tells you that it is best not to dwell. You come across housewives, one visiting her husband and another who was severely wounded while delivering food to her husband. You come across a blonde man with swollen face and labored breathing who is near death. You sense his internal fire of pain. You see an old gaunt solder changing his clothes. His body displays a lifetime of hardship. You can’t find words to convey your admiration.

You take in the horrors of the operating area. Sleepless doctors are at work administering chloroform and hacking limbs. You see repeated -- the placing a sharp curved knife into a healthy part of the body and the men coming to with piercing cries. What follows is an arm or leg being thrown onto a pile. The men in queue for such treatment obsess over the terror that lies ahead.

Tolstoy’s point is that such is the reality of War, not the music and drum beats and gallantry, and waving flags. This is the grim nature of suffering and death.

You leave and head to an actual bastion. You reflect on what you observed and grasp your insignificance. You take a moment to behold the majestic sky -- The Lord’s sky. For any War & Peace reader, this scene bring to mind Andrei on the field of Austerlitz, gazing from the grass at the brilliant sky. Your mind soars above the fine city with a lovely church; and Your mind is restored.

Note: There are NO spoilers in the the 2nd Epilogue to War & Peace, which is analyzed in bonus chapters. This final part of the novel involves a metaphysical exploration of the philosophy underlying W&P.

This is a complex chapter easy to get lost in. Tolstoy wrestles with one of his common themes -- Are people led or are they ready to move and inevitably pops up someone to guide them in the direction they were going?

Tolstoy emphasizes that the life of the nations is not symbolically expressed by the lives of great men such as like Napoleon, Czar Alexander or Kutuzov. Thus, Napoleon cannot be said to sum up the French people at the turn of the 19th Century. It is people themselves who are always the story of their times!

Tolstoy proffers that prominent historians/academics tend to teach, using animals as an allegory for historical movements — a herd of cattle goes in a direction because the animal in front leads and the collective will of the others vest in that leader; and if the one at the top changes, it is because of another transfer of collective will. Tolstoy preaches there is a false appeal in believing any such theory. For the academic, watching the aforesaid herd, pays no attention to the varying quality of the cows in different parts of the field or the driving of the herdsman. Such assessments are made with the benefit of hindsight and attribution of bias. Academics tend to prop up figures they find important based on values they wish to advance.

Historians are mistaken when they regard historical persons, from monarchs to artists to journalists, as expressions of their age. A significant aspect of power lies with the people. The responsibility for what happens in this world, remains with each of us.

Tolstoy then explores concept of “power” and how that word is understood. When we look at what causes historical events, we cannot help but incorporate this force. “Power” is something you can’t see – as you can visualize a cannon or statue -- yet it exists. There is an ineffability of the word. Yet we all give “power” significance because of our ability to reason and life experience.

Whenever a major event occurs, a man will appear by whose will it took place. To him we attach power. Examples given are: Napoleon III issues a decree and the French go to Mexico; the Kings of Prussia and Bismarck issue decrees and an army enters Bohemia; Napoleon I issues a decree Russia is invaded; Alexander I gives a command and the French submit to the Bourbons. However, reflection shows that it is more than such words that moves men. A prominent man’s orders are only part of the story, as there is also the physical act of the multitudes agreeing and going along.

History shows that a monarch’s expression of the will often produces no effect, as such commands are often not executed; and other times the very opposite of what is ordered occurs.

Power, from the standpoint of experience, is better defined as the relation that exists between the expression of someone’s will and the execution of that will by others. When there is a bilateral relationship – then there can be said to be power!

Tolstoy ends the chapter referencing an ancient school of thought, where historians took for granted a divine role in human affairs. When a deity issues a command, the expression of that will is independent of time and is not caused by anything, for divinity is not controlled or tied down by our concept of power. He finds the ancients more useful than most academics with respect to studying the nature of power and causality.