Tolstoy was a historical determinist. Therefore, in describing Russia’s battles with Napoleon in 1805–1807 and then the Patriotic War of 1812, he insisted that their outcome and the course of historic events in general did not depend on emperors or military leaders or their orders, as was traditionally believed: “In order for the will of Napoleon and Alexander (the people on whom events seemed to depend) to be executed, a coincidence of endless circumstances was necessary.”
For Tolstoy, both Napoleon and Alexander I were just puppets who thought that they were puppeteers; they were only “the unconscious weapon for the achievement of historical universal goals.”
According to Tolstoy, Napoleon and Alexander I considered themselves to be national leaders, practically demigods, and therefore the writer presented them in a caricatured way in the novel. Tolstoy’s sympathy was with the phlegmatic Russian commander Kutuzov, who “understands that there is something more powerful and significant than his will—it is the inevitable course of events.”
For him, Kutuzov’s highest wisdom was his historical fatalism. Viktor Shklovsky, a Tolstoy biographer, commented that the real Kutuzov was no fatalist, he was merely an aging man who husbanded his strength.39 But Tolstoy turned him into the spokesman of his idea, and now we see Kutuzov through the prism of War and Peace.
Despite irritated reviews by military experts who accused the writer of distorting historical facts, Tolstoy’s interpretation of Commander Kutuzov found resonance with Nicholas II, who was a religious fatalist. When he was twenty-six, he wrote to his mother, “God alone wills all, He does everything for our good, and we must accept His holy will with prayer!” His invariable calm response to the apocalyptic predictions and moaning of his officials and entourage was “It’s all God’s will.”
His identification with Kutuzov as depicted in War and Peace is obvious here. When, in 1915, Nicholas took on the command of the Russian army that was waging war against the Germans, he behaved exactly like Tolstoy’s Kutuzov: he didn’t interfere in tactical decisions, concerning himself mainly with improving the morale of soldiers and officers. He earnestly believed that would guarantee victory in the war.
Nicholas II thought he understood the Russian people, understood his soldiers, and knew how they would behave in a difficult moment. He was sure they all shared his profound faith in God and supported the emperor’s divine right to rule Russia.
His mistaken belief was created in part by his perception of Tolstoy’s War and Peace.
Every reader of War and Peace remembers its protagonists: the delightful Natasha Rostova and her noisy, silly, and charming family; Natasha’s fiancé, the ambitious and brave Prince Andrei Bolkonsky, and his eccentric father; the fat, clumsy, and kind Pierre Bezukhov. Tolstoy’s creations remain with you forever as you go through life.
But one of the most memorable characters (despite the relatively few pages devoted to him) is a peasant soldier, Platon Karataev, whom Pierre Bezukhov befriends while in French captivity. For Tolstoy, Karataev is a symbol of the Russian people: he is pious, patient, and gentle. No trials or temptations can confuse his clear mind and Christian soul.
Nicholas II imagined that the Russian nation and the Russian army consisted of millions of peasant Karataevs, who, he was sure, would never fall for the antimonarchist propaganda of a bunch of revolutionary “devils.” Lenin also read Tolstoy and also drew political conclusions, but they were directly opposite.
According to Lenin’s analysis, Tolstoy was predicting a successful Russian revolution. In an article written in 1908 on the occasion of the writer’s eightieth birthday, “Leo Tolstoy as a Mirror of the Russian Revolution,” Lenin maintained that even though “Tolstoy’s ideas are a mirror of the weakness and inadequacies of our peasant rebellion,” the situation was changing every day: “The old pillars of peasant economy and peasant life, pillars that have held up for ages, are breaking down with extraordinary speed.”40
Lenin admitted that Tolstoy was “an artist of genius who gave us not only incomparable pictures of Russian life but first-rate works of world literature.” But Lenin, a cynical professional politician, did not fall under the magical spell of Tolstoy’s “realism,” and did not confuse the literary characters with actual people.
Also, Lenin saw in Tolstoy’s novels what Nicholas II preferred not to notice—“mountains of hatred, anger, and desperate determination,” felt by the peasants who were already prepared, in Lenin’s opinion, “to sweep out the official church, and the landowners, and the landowner government.”
The February Revolution of 1917 occurred almost spontaneously, without plan, organization, or leadership. During those days Russia’s capital overflowed with crowds of revolutionary soldiers and sailors—the main force of the rebellion. Some historians, then and now, characterized the crowd as a gathering of “devils.” This is hardly an objective assessment. But it is also unlikely that there were many Platon Karataevs from War and Peace among the rebels.
One of the most remarkable descriptions of the February Revolution came from its witness Vassily Rozanov, a perceptive essayist. Rozanov was one of the first to be struck by how quickly Imperial Russia collapsed, in just two, at most three, days. “The remains of the police crawled out of the attics and surrendered. The troops rolled over like an avalanche to the side of the rebellion, and attempts to return power by military force to the old hands looked like attempts to weave a knout out of sand. Everything was falling apart.”41
Rozanov was amazed to hear of an old peasant declaring that “the former tsar should be skinned strip by strip.”42 Rozanov was shocked: there’s your holy Russian muzhik, there’s your Dostoevsky and Tolstoy and War and Peace.
According to Rozanov, the Russian revolution was fed and prepared by Russian culture: “There is no doubt that Russia was killed by literature. Of the ‘corrupters’ of Russia, there is not a single one without a literary background.”43 And the last Russian tsar, lamented Rozanov, turned out to be inadequate, and broke down.
There has been a fatal “rift between the monarchy and literature,” Rozanov concluded bitterly. And as a result, “Literally, God spat and blew out the candle.”44 The vast empire slipped out of the Romanovs’ hands, and with it, its biggest treasure—the great Russian culture.
Yet the Romanovs will remain forever in the history of that magnificent culture, where Catherine the Great quarrels and makes up with Derzhavin and Nicholas I with Pushkin, Karamzin mentors Alexander I, Zhukovsky brings up the future Alexander II, Alexander III listens attentively to Tchaikovsky’s Swan Lake, and Nicholas II reads Tolstoy’s stories to his son.
Notes
INTRODUCTION
1. Konstantin Pleshakov, Sv. iskusstvo [Sacred art] (Moscow, 2003), p. 15.
2. Viktor Shklovsky, in conversation with the author.
CHAPTER 1
The First Romanovs: From Tsar Mikhail to Peter I
1. Russkii arkhiv, 1910, vol. 2, p. 377.
2. Vadim Kozhinov, Tiutchev (Moscow, 1994), p. 218.
3. Quoted from M. I. Glinka, Issledovaniia i materialy [Research and materials] (Moscow and Leningrad, 1950), p. 16.
4. Quoted from Russkii biograficheskii slovar’ [Russian biographical dictionary], vol.: Suvorov-Tkachev (St. Petersburg, 1912), p. 177.