How we cite our quotes: (Volume.Part.Chapter.Paragraph). We used Richard Pevear and Larissa Volokhonsky's translation.
Quote #1
The domestics and servants standing behind each chair; the butler, a napkin over his arm, examined the place settings, winking to the lackeys and constantly shifting his anxious gaze from the wall clock to the door from which [Prince Bolkonsky] was to appear. Prince Andrei was looking at a huge gilded frame, new to him, with a picture of the family tree of the princes Bolkonsky, which hung across the room from an equally huge frame with a poorly painted portrait (obviously from the hand of a household artist) of a sovereign prince in a crown, who was supposed to be a descendant of Rurik and the first ancestor of the Bolkonsky family. Prince Andrei looked at this genealogical tree, shaking his head and chuckling with the air of someone looking at a portrait that is a ridiculously good likeness.
"That's him all over!" he said to Prince Marya, who came up to him.
Princess Marya looked at her brother in surprise. She did not understand what made him smile. Everything her father did evoked an awe in her which was not subject to discussion. (1.1.24.2-4)
What do we learn about the Bolkonsky family from the description of their dining room? From the behavior of the servants? From the way Marya and Andrei react to the portrait of their ancestor?
Quote #2
[Nikolai] became oblivious for a moment, but in that brief interval of oblivion he saw a numberless multitude of things in a dream: he saw his mother and her large white hand, saw Sonya's thin little shoulders, Natasha's eyes and laughter, and Denisov with his voice and mustache, and Telyanin, and his whole story with Telyanin and Bogdanych. That whole story was the same as this soldier with the sharp voice, and that whole story and this soldier were what held, crushed, and pulled his arm to one side so painfully and relentlessly. He tried to get away from them, but they would not let go of his shoulder for a moment, for a split second. It would not hurt, it would be well, if they were not pulling on it; but there was no getting rid of them. [...] "Nobody needs me!" thought Rostov. "There's nobody to help me or pity me. And once I was at home, strong, cheerful, loved." He sighed and involuntarily groaned as he sighed. (1.2.65-67)
Tolstoy is always really good at dream logic – check out the irrational dream that a "story" is what's pulling Nikolai's arm. This is one of the many times in the book when a hurt man immediately flashes back to his home, wanting his mother or some other nurturing figure.
Quote #3
In general, the little princess [Liza] lived at Bald Hills under a constant feeling of fear and antipathy for the old prince [Bolkonsky], though she was not aware of the antipathy, because the fear was so predominant that she could not feel it. On the prince's side there was also antipathy, but it was smothered by contempt. The princess, having made herself at home at Bald Hills, had especially grown to love Mlle. Bourienne, spent whole days with her, invited her to sleep in her room, and often talked with her about her father-in-law, criticizing him. (1.3.3.26)
You know who is a delightful human being? Not Prince Bolkonsky. He makes home a rough place for everyone in his family.
Quote #4
At last the sleigh pulled to the right at the entrance; over his head Rostov saw the familiar cornice with its chipped stucco, the porch, the hitching post. He jumped out of the sleigh while still moving and ran into the front hall. The house stood as immobile, unwelcoming, as if it cared nothing for the one who had arrived. [...] Rostov, forgetting all about Denisov, not wishing anyone to announce him beforehand, threw off his fur coat and ran on tiptoe to the big, dark reception room. Everything was the same—the same card tables, the same chandelier in its cover; but someone had already seen the young master, and before he reached the drawing room, something flew out of a side door precipitously, like a storm, and embraced and began kissing him. A second, then a third such being sprang from a second, a third door; more embraces, more kisses, more shouts tears of joy. He could not make out where and who was his papa, who was Natasha, who was Petya. Everybody wept, talked, and kissed him at the same time. (2.1.1.11-18)
Let's take a close look at the description here. First the house is anthropomorphized. Anthropomorphism is the technique of giving human characteristics to non-human objects or animals. (Like every talking animal in Disney movies, for example, or, here, a house that has the ability to "care" or "not care" about Nikolai.) When Nikolai goes inside, the house is back to being an inanimate object that contains a bunch of other objects: the card tables, the chandelier. Finally, life is given its rightful place as the animation is transferred onto the people in the house, who are just one big undifferentiated mass of loving humanity. A pretty neat bit of psychology, too, as far as Nikolai is concerned.
Quote #5
5
When returning from his leave, Rostov felt, for the first time, how close was the bond that united him to Denisov and the whole regiment.On approaching it [...] Rostov experienced the same feeling as when his mother, his father, and his sister had embraced him, and tears of joy choked him so that he could not speak. The regiment was also a home, and as unalterably dear and precious as his parents' house.
When he had reported himself to the commander of the regiment and had been reassigned to his former squadron, had been on duty and had gone out foraging, when he had again entered into all the little interests of the regiment and felt himself deprived of liberty and bound in one narrow, unchanging frame, he experienced the same sense of peace, of moral support, and the same sense of being at home here in his own place, as he had felt under the parental roof. But here was none of all that turmoil of the world at large, where he did not know his right place and took mistaken decisions [...] In the regiment, everything was definite: who was lieutenant, who captain, who was a good fellow, who a bad one, and most of all, who was a comrade. [...] there was nothing to think out or decide, you had only to do nothing that was considered bad in the Pavlograd regiment and, when given an order, to do what was clearly, distinctly, and definitely ordered and all would be well. (2.2.15.1-3)
For Nikolai, the army is a home away from home that's simpler and less confusing. What's also striking is the way people create the sensation of "home" regardless of where they are. In this novel, "home" can be formed anywhere there is some tiny shred of comfort or good feeling.
Quote #6
Soon after Uncle's reappearance the door was opened, evidently from the sound by a barefooted girl, and a stout, rosy, good-looking woman of about forty, with a double chin and full red lips, entered carrying a large loaded tray. With hospitable dignity and cordiality in her glance and in every motion, she looked at the visitors and, with a pleasant smile, bowed respectfully. In spite of her exceptional stoutness, which caused her to protrude her chest and stomach and throw back her head, this woman (who was Uncle's housekeeper) trod very lightly. She went to the table, set down the tray, and with her plump white hands deftly took from it the bottles and various hors d'oeuvres and dishes and arranged them on the table. When she had finished, she stepped aside and stopped at the door with a smile on her face. [...] All this was tended, gathered, and cooked by Anisya Fyodorovna. All this smelled, and spoke, and had the taste of Anisya Fyodorovna. It all spoke of juiciness, cleanness, whiteness, and a pleasant smile. (2.4.7.14-15)
Here we have the essence of what creates the idea of "home" for this unmarried, family-less man. It's his housekeeper, who infuses everything with her Anisya Fyodorovna-ness. Look at the repeating word "all" in the last few sentences – "all this," "it all." How does the repetition of this word heighten the description? How would the passage sound without this kind of repetition?
Quote #7
In Moscow as soon as [Pierre] entered his huge house in which the faded and fading princesses still lived, with its enormous retinue; as soon as, driving through the town, he saw the Iberian shrine with innumerable tapers burning before the golden covers of the icons, saw the Kremlin Square with its snow undisturbed by vehicles, the sleigh drivers and hovels of the Sivtsev Vrazhok, saw those old Moscovites who desired nothing, hurried nowhere, and were ending their days leisurely; when he saw those old Moscow ladies, the Moscow balls, and the English Club, he felt himself at home in a quiet haven. In Moscow he felt at peace, at home, warm and dirty as in an old dressing gown. (2.5.1.2)
Part of what's comforting about Moscow for Pierre is the repetitive and unsurprising life he leads there. Check out how that monotony and routine is reinforced by the long first sentence, which does nothing but simply list all the sights. The sentence even keeps reusing the same structure, repeating the words "when he saw" at the beginning of almost every new list.
Quote #8
At length Dron, the village Elder, entered the room with a deep bow to Princess Marya [...].
"Dronushka," she said, regarding as a sure friend this Dronushka who always used to bring a special kind of gingerbread from his visit to the fair at Vyazma every year and smilingly offer it to her [...]. "Dronushka, Alpatych has gone off somewhere and I have no one to turn to. Is it true, as they tell me, that I can't even go away?"
"Why shouldn't you go away, your excellency? You can go," said Dron.
"I was told it would be dangerous because of the enemy. Dear friend, I can do nothing. I understand nothing. I have nobody! I want to go away tonight or early tomorrow morning." [...]
To Princess Mary it was strange that now, at a moment when such sorrow was filling her soul, there could be rich people and poor, and the rich could refrain from helping the poor. She had heard vaguely that there was such a thing as "landlord's corn" which was sometimes given to the peasants. [...] She began asking Dron about the peasants' needs and what there was in Bogucharovo that belonged to the landlord. [...] Dron looked intently at the princess while she was speaking."Discharge me, little mother, for God's sake! Order the keys to be taken from me," said he. "I have served twenty-three years and have done no wrong. Discharge me, for God's sake!"
Princess Mary did not understand what he wanted of her or why he was asking to be discharged. She replied that she had never doubted his devotion and that she was ready to do anything for him and for the peasants. (3.2.10.23-46)
This is a heavy-duty scene and needs some serious unpacking.
From Marya's point of view, Dron is the same guy she remembers being nice to her as a child. She still kind of thinks of him as an adult, as a bit of an authority figure, and someone whose loyalty is to her and the Bolkonsky family because he's part of their home life. But he's also her serf, so technically she owns him.
From Dron's point of view, Marya might have been a little girl once, but now she's the representative of the family that put him in charge of all the other serfs. That's a position that's about to get him into hot water now that the peasants are rebelling. So he wants to resign and give up this double allegiance.
But Marya has no insight into his point of view at all. When she thinks of what kind of problems serfs might be having, the only thing that comes to mind is hunger or poverty. This is not the case here, since these peasants have plenty to eat and just want more freedom. So much miscommunication. Awesomely well played.
Quote #9
Though tattered, hungry, worn out, and reduced to a third of their original number, the French entered Moscow in good marching order. It was a weary and famished, but still a fighting and menacing army. But it remained an army only until its soldiers had dispersed into their different lodgings. As soon as the men of the various regiments began to disperse among the wealthy and deserted houses, the army was lost forever and there came into being something nondescript, neither citizens nor soldiers but what are known as marauders. [...] Ten minutes after each regiment had entered a Moscow district, not a soldier or officer was left. Men in military uniforms and Hessian boots could be seen through the windows, laughing and walking through the rooms. In cellars and storerooms similar men were busy among the provisions, and in the yards unlocking or breaking open coach house and stable doors, lighting fires in kitchens and kneading and baking bread with rolled-up sleeves, and cooking; or frightening, amusing, or caressing women and children. There were many such men both in the shops and houses but there was no army. (3.3.26.19)
This is what we mean when we say that the domestic can break out like an infection anywhere in this novel. Seriously, the invading Frenchmen start baking bread and hanging out with the Russian women and children the minute they get to town. Talk about trying to create to "home" wherever you go.
Quote #10
As in every large household, there were at Bald Hills several perfectly distinct worlds which merged into one harmonious whole, though each retained its own peculiarities and made concessions to the others. Every event, joyful or sad, that took place in that house was important to all these worlds, but each had its own special reasons to rejoice or grieve over that occurrence independently of the others. (Epilogue.1.12.1)
This is an interesting observation about privacy versus community in a household. Think about other households in the book; what is the ratio of individual to whole-family emotions? Are there some homes that share more than others? Is this good or bad?