mirWith its impressive fifteen hundred pages, War and Peace (first published in the book form in 1869) by Leo Tolstoy, remains the epitome of greatness in any shape or form. Although the novel is set in a relatively short period of time (1805-1812, and in 1820, in the epilogue), it never fails to leave an indelible impression of epic grandeur. Despite its precise historical context and a detailed depiction of real-life events, invariably supported by a multitude of authentic documents, War and Peace is not only a chronicle of a certain period nor is it a historical novel, but a novel about history or, more precisely, a novel that addresses the very issue of history-makers, as well as individual responsibility in an uncontrollable and unstoppable stream of history. The author devoted his full attention to this subject particularly in the second half of the novel, in which he directly and explicitly dealt with the philosophy of history. Also, he covered the subject in a concrete way by presenting a story of three extended and widespread aristocratic families. Many prominent and striking characters appear on the background of elaborately projected contexts; their actions, considerations, inquiries and insights reflect an astonishing complexity and the anarchic dynamics of the time. Using bold brush strokes, the consistency of the whole is ensured, and Tolstoy’s unmistakable sense of the dramatic results in a series of dynamic, compelling scenes. The universal content of our shared humanity still appeals to us. It is a novel about peace that is never really peaceful, battles that are raging in remote territories, and sinister claws of war, stretched out to reach remote rural estates and metropolitan lounges … Sounds familiar, doesn’t it?

Great works of art are fascinating. This fascination is dangerous, since it makes us dream of the impossible. How does one stage, in a span of just a few hours, such a rich and large-scale work as Tolstoy’s War and Peace? The novel’s length in itself is a source of beauty, richness and truth. This is a novel which is impossible to summarize, bursting with tenderness and cruelty, and presenting an original and cynical meditation on the tragedy of history at the background of an enormous historical fresco. We will not stage the exact chronology of the tragic destinies of the Bolkonskys, the Rostovs, the Bezukhovs and other Russian aristocrats during the hustle and bustle of the Napoleonic Wars. Nor shall we enact all of their complicated love stories that emerged in the grip of time and misfortune. Nor shall we stage all political combinations emerging and renewing themselves in the continually disintegrating Europe. It is clear that the staging cannot replace the reading of the novel. I invite you, therefore, to come and see how the imagination of contemporary artists echoes some of the figures and events in Europe, described 150 years ago by a great writer. His message is not very encouraging: war and peace are made of the same substance. There is no war without peace. Peace is born out of war and contains in itself the metastases of war.
Silviu Purcărete