I see Tolstoy’s growing contempt for the medical field in this chapter. I love how he sums things up at the conclusion of the chapter:
“In spite of the many pills she swallowed and the drops and powders out of the little bottles and boxes of which Madame Schoss who was fond of such things made a large collection, and in spite of being deprived of the country life to which she was accustomed, youth prevailed. Natasha’s grief began to be overlaid by the impressions of daily life, it ceased to press so painfully on her heart, it gradually faded into the past, and she began to recover physically.”
He expresses similar doubts about the effectiveness of the medical arts in his later works, most notably Ivan Ilych.