Published to coincide with the centenary of Tolstoy''s death,
here is an exciting new edition of one of the great literary works
of world literature. Tolstoy''s epic masterpiece captures with
unprecedented immediacy the broad sweep of life during the
Napoleonic wars and the brutal invasion of Russia. Balls and
soirées, the burning of Moscow, the intrigues of statesmen and
generals, scenes of violent battles, the quiet moments of everyday
life--all in a work whose extraordinary imaginative power has never
been surpassed. The Maudes'' translation of Tolstoy''s epic
masterpiece has long been considered the best English version, and
now for the first time it has been revised to bring it fully into
line with modern approaches to the text. French passages are
restored, Anglicization of Russian names removed, and outmoded
expressions updated. A new introduction by Amy Mandelker considers
the novel''s literary and historical context, the nature of the
work, and Tolstoy''s artistic and philosophical aims. New, expanded
notes provide historical background and identifications, as well as
insight into Russian life and society.
關於作者：
Amy Mandelker is Associate Professor of
Comparative Literature at City University of New York.
目錄：
BIOGRAPHICAL NOTE
INTRODUCTION by A.N.Wilson
WAR AND PEACE
READING GROUP GUIDE
內容試閱：
From Joseph Frank’s Introduction to War and
Peace
Tolstoy’s masterly portrayal of military life, already evident in
his earlier work, reaches new heights in War and Peace on a much
larger scale. No other novel can compete with Tolstoy’s in the
superb panoply he offers of regimental displays and parades, and of
battle scenes seen both from a distance and in close combat. Also,
as Marie Eugène Melchior, vicomte de Vogüé, noted in Le Roman russe
1886, his pioneering book on the Russian novel, which brought
writers like Tolstoy and Dostoevsky to the attention of the
European public, no one could compete with Tolstoy in his portrayal
of the life of the court and the upper reaches of society. The
Vicomte himself, who had frequented the Russian court, remarks that
when writers attempt to portray such closed social circles of the
highest society they rarely succeed in winning the confidence of
their readers; but Tolstoy had no such difficulty because here he
was “in his native element.” He was in his native element as well,
after his years in the Caucasus and in Sevastopol, in the many
scenes in which the rank-and-file Russian soldiers banter with each
other around their bivouacs or while marching to and from their
battles.
Nothing fascinated Tolstoy more, at least in this period of his
career, than the mysterious force that, as he put it, moved
millions of men to march from west to east and then back again, all
the while “perpetrat[ing] against one another so great a mass of
crime—fraud, swindling, robbery . . . plunder, incendiarism, and
murder—that the annals of all the criminal courts of the world
could not muster such a sum of wickedness in whole centuries.” How
could an event of this kind have taken place, “opposed to human
reason and all human nature,” while at the same time “the men who
committed those deeds did not at that time look on them as
crimes.”
The problem of war and warfare more and more preoccupies Tolstoy
as the book moves on, and it evolves into a theory of history whose
ideas are scattered throughout these later chapters and argued
theoretically in the second epilogue. Sir Isaiah Berlin’s The
Hedgehog and the Fox views Tolstoy as a fox, unremittingly occupied
with the minutiae of particulars while longing for the unitary
vision of the hedgehog “who knows one big thing.” His brilliant and
stimulating pages have given Tolstoy’s views on history a new
prominence, but this is not the place to plunge into their
philosophical complexities. As a great novelist, Tolstoy dramatizes
the pith of his doctrines with illuminating clarity, and we can
grasp their essential point by citing a few scenes from the
book.
One such point is the impossibility of those presumably in
command to anticipate what will happen on the battlefield, and thus
the uselessness of all elaborate plans prepared in advance. The
Austrian general Weyrother presents such a plan before the battle
of Austerlitz and is certain that it will bring victory; but the
combined Austrian-Russian forces are badly beaten. An even more
elaborate plan is proposed before the battle of Borodino and proves
equally useless. The reason for such failure is illustrated by the
account of the minor battle of Sch?ngraben, where Prince Andrey
watches the behavior of the Russian commander Prince Bagration as
the fighting proceeds.
All sorts of contradictory reports came in, but “Prince Bagration
confined himself to trying to appear as though everything that was
being done of necessity, by chance, or at the will of individual
officers, was all done, if not by his order, at least in accordance
with his intentions.” As a result, officers who were “distraught
regained their composure” and morale was strengthened. For Tolstoy,
it was morale that ultimately decided the course of combat—the
morale of the soldiers and the behavior of individuals like the
unprepossessing Captain Tushin, who pays no attention to orders,
responds to the immediate situation, and, as only Prince Andrey
realizes, is really responsible for the Russsian success at
Sch?ngraben . Tolstoy thus rejects the “great man” theory of
history, particularly thinking of Napoleon, which attributes
military success to the superior capacities of a leader capable of
dominating in advance the uncertainties and vicissitudes of what
transpires on the battlefield.
Prince Andrey learns another Tolstoyan lesson when, sent to
report on a minor victory, he is ushered into the presence of
Emperor Francis of Austria and discovers that those presumably in
command had little or no interest in what really occurred to those
fighting and dying on their behalf. The questions he is asked by
the Emperor are completely trivial; no opening is provided him “to
give an accurate description, just as he had it ready in his head,”
and he realizes that the “sole aim” of the Emperor was to put a
certain number of questions. “The answers to these questions, as
was only too evident, could have no interest for him.” Much the
same point is made about those supposedly in command, like
Alexander I and Napoleon, who are so far removed from the reality
of battle that they have no control over the result. Tolstoy is
particularly concerned to undermine the reputation of Napoleon and
does so in numerous scenes that display him as an ordinary mortal,
extremely self-confident and erroneously convinced that he had
complete mastery of the situation. Nothing astonishes him more than
the Russian refusal to reply to his overtures for peace after
capturing Moscow.
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