It would not
have dimmed Natasha's charm, it would have heightened it. While she is
simply the heroine of a romance she is enchanting, no doubt; but when
she takes her place in a drama so much greater than herself, her
beauty is infinitely enhanced. She becomes representative, with all
her gifts and attractions; she is there, not because she is a
beautiful creature, but because she is the spirit of youth. Her charm
is then universal; it belongs to the spirit of youth and lasts for
ever.
With all this I think it begins to be clear why the broad lines of
Tolstoy's book have always seemed uncertain and confused. Neither his
subject nor his method were fixed for him as he wrote; he ranged
around his mountain of material, attacking it now here and now there,
never deciding in his mind to what end he had amassed it. None of his
various schemes is thus completed, none of them gets the full
advantage of the profusion of life which he commands. At any moment
great masses of that life are being wasted, turned to no account; and
the result is not merely negative, for at any moment the wasted life,
the stuff that is not being used, is dividing and weakening the effect
of the picture created out of the rest. That so much remains, in spite
of everything, gives the measure of Tolstoy's genius; _that_ becomes
the more extraordinary as the chaotic plan of his book is explored.
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