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.

The day after the review, Boris rides to Olmütz to build on his burgeoning relationship with Andrei, with the goal of obtaining a position of adjutant. He reflected, “It is all well for Rostov, whose father sends him 20,000 rubles at a time, to NOT wish to be anyone’s lackey, but I who have little but my brains, must not miss any opportunity!”

Olmütz was transformed into the headquarters where the Emperors resided. When Boris inquired of Andrei, he was shunned by officials who grew tired of the number of low-level officers who were coming and going. He learned Andrei would return the next day, so at that time Boris visited Kutuzov’s quarters and found Andrei in a reception room. He noticed Andrei with an older General, who was hardly keeping Andrei’s interest. Andrei, clearly part of the inner circle of influence, was ecstatic to interrupt the old man and turned to Boris with a smile. Boris realized that besides discipline, subordination and order prescribed in the official Army code, there was a more important way of life, which forced the General to the sideline. Boris resolved to become part of this higher world.

Andrei informed Boris that he had been occupied with the Austrian command and references the historic General Franz von Weyrother, who plays a critical role in the upcoming Battle of Austerlitz. Boris could only pretend to understand who Andrei was alluding to. Andrei conveys that he will recommend Boris for a position as an adjunct. Boris is thankful and very much desires an audience with Kutuzov but Andrei explains the commander’s staff is overflowing with many who have no use.

Andrei wishes to refer Boris to the historic advisor to the Czar, Peter Dolgorúkov, who Andrei labels “a good friend and excellent fellow.” Therefore, they went to the local palace where a significant council of war of the Hofkriegsrat and Russian Command just finished.

The consensus was to advance and vanquish Napoleon. Dolgorúkov was under the spell of the event, where the ambitions misguided youth prevailed. This was contrary to the views of Kutuzov. All voices who counseled delay were silenced by conclusive evidence of the victory that awaited. The advantages included: superior numbers, the perceived quality of troops, knowledge of the terrain, and that the allies were inspired by the Emperors.

Dolgorúkov was exhausted but eager for inevitable victory. Andrei introduced his protégé, but Dolgorúkov was unable to get beyond the impending action. Dolgorúkov referenced how Napoleon sent a letter, proposing peace, which was viewed as a ruse to gain time. Tolstoy brings out the historic affront crafted in response. Dolgorúkov explains “What was most amusing was how we could not think how to address our reply! Not to Napolean as ‘Consul’ nor ‘Emperor,’ or ‘General Bonaparte.’” The fictional Diplomat Bilibin jokingly suggested “Usurper and Enemy of Mankind.” What was agreed on was: To the Head of the French Government / Au chef du gouvernement français.

Andrei acknowledges how much Napoleon will be insulted, which makes Dolgorúkov recall a tale about Napoleon, who held held a reputation “as the most cunning and subtle diplomat, a combination of French adroitness and Italian play-acting!” On one purported occasion, Bonaparte wished to take the measure of a Russian ambassador, Count Markov, and purposely dropped a handkerchief and then stood looking at Markov, expecting Markov to assist. Instead, Markov dropped his own and picked it up without touching Bonaparte’s.

When Andrei reintroduces Boris, the young man receives passing acknowledgment, but is told his appeal will be addressed another time. Still, Boris was enraptured by his surroundings. He recognized he was among the springs that set in motion enormous movements of men. If left just in his regiment, he would consider himself an obedient and insignificant atom.

As exiting, they all noticed a short man with a clever face and sharply projecting jaw, who nodded to Dolgorúkov as to an intimate friend but stared at Andrei with cool intensity. “Who was that?” asked Boris. Andrei explained, “He is one of the most remarkable, but to me most unpleasant of men—the Minister of Foreign Affairs, Prince Adam Czartorýski.... It is such men as he who decide the fate of nations.”

Tolstoy is referencing an extremely significant Polish statesman, who lived to just over 90. At the time of the novel is set, Czartorýski was a close friend and trusted advisor to Tsar Alexander, but was later famous for trying restore sovereignty to Poland.

This second episode on the Calvary Maiden takes you through some of the formative years of the author, Nadezhda Durova.

Durova wrote briefly of her years growing up then focused on her time dressing as a man and serving for 10 years as a low-level officer in the Czar’s army, starting around 1806.

Her journals were source material for Tolstoy as to the lives of those who served in the period War & Peace is set, 1805-1812. It is presented to give you a glimpse into those frequently nameless and overlooked, who often gave their lives in the Napoleonic conflicts.

Durova’s story brings up still-relevant issues of identify, in terms how some who grew up in modern-day Ukraine or partitioned Poland, had different ties, (some to Polish nobility, others to Cossacks, some to Turks, others to runaway serfs), identified themselves. A number, like Durova, graciously accepted a life of service to the Czar. Others, like the former serf, Taras Shevchenko, or the Polish Diplomat, Adam Czartoryski, advanced the idea of nationhood and identity separate from Russian domination.

This episode is a brief overview of Durova’s experience from when she was 4 months-old, when she begins to articulate the ever-present animosity with her mother. This is illustrated with Durova being thrown out of a moving carriage upon her mother became frustrated while nursing. Her father then gave her to the primary care of one of his male servants, who Durova clung to at the sight of her mother. For her first four years of life, Durova’s family remained on the road, in military service, where she was affected by hussars shouting, drilling and riding their horses. This lifestyle attracted her.

Her Muscovite father recognized life with a growing family mandated a different position and traveled to Moscow in search of same. It was at that time that Durova and her mother returned to her parents’ home near the Poltova region in Ukraine. She spent time on the property marching, making forts, and pretending to be in hussar service. Her maternal grandparents, who initially rejected their Ukrainian daughter marrying a Muscovite, reconciled with the situation.

Durova’s father eventually received a commission to become a district mayor in Sarapul, near the Kama River in the foothills of the Ural Mountains. She spent the better part of a decade in this colder climate. She would often run away and explore nearby forests and rivers. Her father accepted her adventurous inclinations and gifted her horse, Alcides, who remained with Durova well into her military service. Durova would often wake up at the crack-of-dawn and take Alcides for a liberating run, with servants becoming accustomed to this unusual dynamic. This frustrated her mother to no end. However, her kind father and the rest of the family got a kick out of Durova’s precociousness. She remained in Sarapul until her mother grew tired of her presence and encouraged sending her back to Ukraine to live with her grandmother.