The novel grew and grew. In 1856 Tolstoy drafted several chapters about a man who had returned from exile in Siberia, for his involvement in the abortive Decemberist uprising of 1825. Then Tolstoy pushed back in history to 1812, and finally to 1805: he would start when Napoleon, a self-appointed emperor, moved against the Austrian-Russian coalition. Tolstoy planned that events in 1825 and 1856 would form later volumes of a trilogy. But his main interest was in writing about the joys and misfortunes of aristocratic family life. Plans and drafts were adopted, revised, abandoned and replaced in profusion.6 In 1865 thirty-eight chapters were published in the
Tolstoy drew heavily on real-life sources. For military scenes, his extensive research, including memoirs, and his own first-hand experience guaranteed the sureness of his grip on the details of battle. For characters, his family contributed: his maternal grandfather, Nikolay Volkonsky, monster that he must have been, provided a prototype for Andrey’s father; his own father for Nikolay Rostov; and his wife’s sister, the impish Tanya. The dualism in Tolstoy’s own personality is reflected in Andrey and Pierre – intellect versus spirit, discipline versus laxity, pride versus spontaneity and generosity. As the Russian novelist and critic Dmitri Merezhovsky said: ‘The artistic work of Leo Tolstoy is at bottom nothing less than one tremendous diary, kept for fifty years, one endless, explicit confession.’7
There had been much discussion of the novel in Russia as it had emerged, and not all of it was complimentary. But by 1870 the first edition had sold out and the author was basking in national acclaim – and we know from her diaries that his wife was well satisfied with her supportive role. Both were pleased with the money that rolled in from royalties, though Tolstoy soon came to regard such earnings as immoral.
The inclusion of Tolstoy’s reflections on the workings of history and the methods used by historians has always been controversial. But these passages often punctuate events rather adroitly, serving, for instance, to introduce new sections in a measured and thoughtful manner that seems unobjectionable. (See the opening chapters of all three parts of Volume III.) The rest of Tolstoy’s arguments were brought together in a second epilogue, which is repetitive and may seem too long or unnecessarily complex, but adds to the scope of the ‘novel’.
His views on warfare, history and historians are serious and original, and they can also be rather amusing. His general purpose is to debunk. Most of all, he wants to cut Napoleon down to size, not only because he was a hated enemy of Russia, but because he was also a ludicrous figure of overweening, pompous pride. At the same time Tolstoy is keen to take issue with the traditional writers of history, who distort the truth by their narrow-minded attitudes and over-simplification. As Henry Gifford wrote: ‘
The 1860s were a golden decade in Russian literature. In 1862 Ivan Turgenev published
On Translating
