This chapter continues to examine the precipice of Austerlitz, where misguided confidence continues to build. Yet we can observe cracks in that veneer, namely relating to how Tolstoy portrays the Czar.

As the Emperor occupied Wischau, his French physician was summoned. While Alexander was initially excited by the movement of the troops, calvary charges, and clashes, he became ill upon observing casualties and the reality of war.

Ten days prior, while in Olmütz, French General Anne-Jean-Marie-René-Savary, requested and received an audience with the Czar. Savary quickly noticed the overconfidence of Alexander’s inexperienced advisers and that Kutuzov (who advocated patience) was sidelined. Alexander explained to Savary how it was Napoleon’s ambition that brought them all to the precipice of slaughter. This was where Savary was presented with the infamous letter addressed “to the head of the French Government.” Ultimately, the allied army left in five large columns, toward Austerlitz, around 11/17/1805.

In this section, Tolstoy focuses on Savary being sent to the Czar a second time in an 11th hour attempt to negotiate when near the battlefield. Alexander read this outreach as weakness. Savary was admitted, but Alexander refused a proposal to meet directly with Napoleon. The Czar’s army was overjoyed upon learning of this notable rejection. Instead, Prince Dolgorúkov was sent to meet Napoleon.

Tolstoy doesn’t mention this here, but Napoleon keenly set up his camp to show Dolgorúkov miserable surroundings and dispirited men. Dolgorúkov told Napoleon that for peace, he must withdraw from Belgium, Holland, Switzerland, & Lombardy. Napoleon announced in reply: “Then we must fight.” Dolgorúkov later assured the Czar that the French were ripe to be vanquished.

The day before the Battle, there a bustling of activity, which lead to 80,000 men being stretched out over six miles, ready to advance. Information would have to travel along that chain, which would prove a challenge. Tolstoy poetically explains how like the working of an intricate clock, decisions have results. He speaks of wheels interlocking and gathering momentum based on an initial push from the Emperor’s headquarters.

"One wheel slowly moved and another was set in motion, and then third, and then wheels began to revolve faster and faster, levers and cogwheels, chimes to play, figures pop out, and the hands advance with regular motion. Just as with clock, so it is with a military machine…"

The result was 160,000 men — all their passions, desires, remorse, humiliations, sufferings, outbursts of pride, fear, and enthusiasm — ready to embark on the Battle of Three Emperors.

The story turns to the fictional Andrei, who was in constant attendance of those who made the critical decisions relating to Austerlitz. Andrei became aware how Kutuzov was dissatisfied – as most at headquarters were dismissive of him.

Dolgorúkov relays his impression of Napoleon, namely that the General was afraid of a battle and that his hour had come! Dolgorúkov finds Napoleon vain and superficial: “He is a man in a gray overcoat, very anxious that I should call him ‘Your Majesty,’ but who, to his chagrin, got no title from me!” He continues: “We mustn’t forget Suvórov and his rule—not to put yourself in a position to be attacked, but yourself to attack. Believe me in war the energy of young men often shows the way better than all the experience than the old procrastinators”

Dolgorúkov went on to explain the battle plan, a flanking attack formulated by Austrian General Weyrother. Andrei offered one of his own, but was shut down and told to bring up any such suggestions at the next council. Bilibin, the fictional diplomat, enters this dynamic. He proffers how no Russian officers are involved in spearheading the advance, and the three discuss who is said to be leading the units.

After a long and frenetic day, Andrei gets a quiet moment with Kutuzov and asks him what he thinks will come of the upcoming battle:

Kutúzov looked sternly at his adjutant and, after a pause, replied: "I think the battle will be lost, and so I told Count Tolstoy and asked him to tell the Emperor. What do you think he replied? ‘But, my dear general, I am engaged with rice and cutlets, look after military matters yourself!’"

On the precipice of the Battle of Austerlitz, Tolstoy illustrates the bravado and immaturity of youth.

Here, I explore how Tolstoy incorporates elements of his own vice from his younger days, including pride and ambition. Both his early and late material speak to this, most notably personal journals from his time at university as well as the spiritual work, My Confession, written in 1879, when in his early 50s. The latter was an attempt to grapple with eternal questions such as: What am I doing?, and Why am I here? Tolstoy pursues answers in the mold of how Solomon (or “the Preacher”) is presented as taking them on in Ecclesiastes.

Tolstoy appears to have reached the conclusion that those outside his social class (most notably humble peasants) have a higher chance of living in virtue and connecting with the Almighty. He implicitly argues for a reversion to a more simple Faith based on the Teachings of Christ.

Early in Confession, Tolstoy famously wrote:

I cannot think of those years without horror….. I killed men in war and challenged men to duels…. I lost at cards, consumed the labor of the peasants, sentenced them to punishments, lived loosely and deceived people. Lying, robbery, adultery of all kinds, drunkenness, violence, murder -- there was no crime I did not commit, and in spite of that people praised my conduct and my contemporaries considered and consider me to be a comparatively moral man.

He could barely imagine such depravity among the peasant class.

Tolstoy also references his early skepticism of the Russian Orthodox Church, especially as to rituals and teachings found outside the Gospel, such as certain prayers and the veneration of saints.

He reflects that his “false faith” became trying to become the perfect earthly man and he rigorously tried to formulate methods to achieve success.

Some of Tolstoy’s suggestions, taken from his journals, are: never hesitate to speak before onlookers; lead the conversation and speak deliberately; do not constantly move from conversation to conversation or language or language; seek the company of High Society; and invite the most important ladies – as that will be the event to be at!

An aunt who helped raise him strongly suggested that he have relations with a married woman of the highest status – as she believed nothing so fully formed a young man. She also wanted him to become an aide-de-camp, if possible to the Emperor. She further advised to marry into extreme wealth and become possessed of as many serfs as possible.

Tolstoy’s journals continue in a self-help fashion, suggesting: do not put off what you set out to do; make an effort and the thoughts and ideas of how to achieve goals will come; write down your plan and do not get up from the table until you make sufficient progress.

Tolstoy also set regimented schedules for himself: 9-10 a.m.: Bathe and exercise, 10-12 a.m,: Music, play a least four pages of sheets, all scales and chords; 6-8 p.m.: Attend to his studies; 8-10 p.m.: Estate management.

His time at the University of Kazan was an intense period of self-observation and served as a preparatory stage, filled with experimentation and vice, for where he wound up.

Ultimately, Tolstoy came to realize his aristocratic peers developed this heightened arrogance, believing they are in the best position guide their fellow man. The rejection of such self-perfection efforts was significant to Tolstoy developing into an elderly sage, where pilgrimages were made to his estate.

It is manifestly important to consider how Tolstoy embraces General Kutuzov as Napoleon’s opposite - as more Godly and attuned to the unknowable nature of life. This symbolic depiction made the old general a national hero.

This episode finishes by examining how the sinful ambitions he very much shared are fused into the characters of Napoleon, Boris, Berg, Anatole, Vasilly, Andrei, Pierre and Nicholas.

Three days after the review and a near 40 mile march south, Denisov’s squadron was assigned to be a reserve unit in the early stages of the monumental Battle of Austerlitz.

Rostov was in something of a depression, as he wasted the inner struggle it took to conquer his apprehension. While idle, he observed squadrons of Cossacks, hussars, infantry and artillery pass. Around 9 a.m., he heard firing and shouts. Later, a handful of French prisoners were brought back. A successful small affair culminated and the Village of Wishau was taken, building false confidence. The morning glitter of the sun was in keeping with news of the victory.

Denisov tried to cheer up Rostov, “Come here. Let’s dwink to dwown our gwief!” A fellow Hussar soon noticed: “There! They are bringing another!,” pointing to a captive French dragoon along with his horse. Denisov was able to buy the horse for two gold pieces with money from Rostov. The prisoner was from Alsace, a Rhine border area heavily influenced by German speakers. The Hussars realized their prisoner brought aspects of culture so alien to them. Such contacts and influences would have profound impact on the progression of history.

The day takes a dramatic upon shouts of “The Emperor! The Emperor!” as The Imperial Guard was spotted. All regret at not getting into action vanished and Rostov mounted his horse with joy. Nearer to him came that human sun and Rostov felt enveloped in his rays.

Rostov again heard Alexander’s voice, so kindly and calm, inquiring if he was passing “The Pavlograd Hussars.” The Emperor drew level with Rostov and halted. Alexander’s face shone with gaiety and youth. Rostov believed the Emperor’s light blue eyes met his but could only hope Alexander understood what was within his soul. The Czar soon signaled his horse and galloped away.

Tolstoy describes how Alexander could not resist being present and was thrilled by news of the successful engagement. The battle was represented as a brilliant victory, however, there was a mistaken belief that a solid portion of the French were retreating.

The Pavlograds were ordered to advance to Wischau -- described as a quant German town. Rostov saw the Emperor for a third time, here at a market place where there had been heavy firing and lay several killed and wounded.

The Emperor was riding a mare and leaning while holding at some magnifying glasses (a lorgnette). He gazed at a bleeding soldier who was so revolting that his proximity to royalty bothered Rostov. An adjutant lifted the soldier to place him on a stretcher, causing the soldier to groan. The Czar, so enthusiastic to put men in peril, instructed: “Gently, gently! Can’t you do it more gently?” Soon enough he rode away. Rostov saw tears filling the Emperor’s eyes and heard him say to his close advisor, Adam Czartorýski: “What a terrible thing war! Quelle terrible chose que la guerre!”

Soon enough, the Pavlograd Hussars were stationed before Wischau. The Emperor’s gratitude was announced, rewards were promised and the men received a double ration of vodka. The campfires crackled and soldiers’ songs resounded.

Denisov celebrated a promotion to the rank of major, and Rostov, quite inebriated, proposed a toast. To the “the health of our Sovereign, that good, enchanting and great man! Let us drink to his health and to the certain defeat of the French! If we fought before, not letting the French pass at Schön Grabern, what shall we not do now when he is at the front? We will all die for him gladly! Is it not so? Perhaps I am not saying it right, I have drunk a good deal—but that is how I feel, and so do you! To the health of Alexander the First!" Hurrah! Hurrah!” responded the Hussars. Even the old cavalry captain, Kirsten, shouted no less sincerely.

Later that night, Denisov patted Rostov and announced: “As there’s no one to fall in love with on campaign, he’s fallen in love with the Czar!.” Rostov told Denisov not to belittle his emotions and walked off to wander among the campfires, dreaming of what happiness it would be to die—not in saving the Emperor’s life but simply to die before his eyes. He was in love with the Czar and the hope of future triumph. He was hardly the only one to experience such pathos in those memorable moments preceding the true affair at Austerlitz.